A house then, home now

The house was nice. The tiles, they were neat. The furniture wasn’t over-the-top, but was compactly adequate. The bedsheets were decent, not too well-picked. She walked in, not looking at swishing her magic wand and turning everything around. The barren kitchen was being taken care of, little by little. Plastic jars, a kitchen queen, dinner sets of all forms -- melamine, plastic, china. Beautiful cane lamps splashed a new lease of life to the otherwise boring walls. Terracotta artwork displayed on intrinsically handwoven cane discs. Beautiful lamps on tiles that now wore a more polished look. Carefully hand-picked bedsheets and matching pillow cases replaced the old one. Soon, new curtains came in. Mats and carpets added blobs of colour to the floor. Everything had a designated place. Everything was chosen carefully. Everything was bought and gifted with oodles of love. Well-planned, every penny spent to its worth.

Bit by bit, they transformed their apartment into home. Their nest, their paradise. A house then, a home now. Homes aren't built overnight. You need to invest love and care. Only then can the beautiful transformation begin...

No kid-ding!

His bum rested on the soft, grey carpet that was spread out royally, covering every inch of the room. The TV was blaring away with some obnoxious-looking woman gyrating to a stolen tune. His big, green, inquisitive eyes were glued to the colourful plastic blocks that his mother had scattered over the carpet.

One by one, the 10-month-old meticulously picked up block after block, and began stacking them. There were obvious distractions -- the crooning woman on the TV was one for sure. He raised his tiny, wobbly head and looked at the TV for a while, but eventually, he got back to business, stacking ‘em away. When the block building was almost as tall as him, he took a second, admired his work of art and let out a squeal of delight, clapping his hands.

Soon enough, their cat, taking exceptional interest in the colourful screen of the TV, made a beeline for the idiot box. In a second, the masterpiece was gone; the beauty was lost; the blocks, shattered; all the efforts wasted. It hurt him, his eyes gave it away.

He looked down at the scattered blocks and without a hint of tears in his eyes, he picked them up, one by one, and began creating the masterpiece, again.

Second chance. It worked, hopefully.

The Dolls’ House

It’s surprising how life comes a full circle.

She plonked herself on the couch, that sunk under her weight, with a doll in her hands. She ran her wrinkled, trembling fingers through its tangled, plastic golden hair, her eyes lost in the depths of time. She saw a young girl, squealing, the giggles echoing in her ears. The dimples on her chin welcomed the wide grin. The wind caressed the curly locks away from her chubby cheeks. She giggled again, clutching her doll close to her bosom. She was her best friend, her companion. She’d check on her the moment she opened her eyes, bathe her, brush her hair and dress her up. She called her ‘Mia’. You’d never find her without her Mia. They’d eat together, bathe together and fade away in dreamland tucked in the comfort of her soft bed, together.

Time took wings and Mia was lost in oblivion, in some corner, with rodents feasting on bits of her face, and dust resting in peace in the dark circles of her eyes. Her old friend had moved on, in the company of ‘real’ dolls.

The phone rang, waking her up from her reverie. She hung up without a word, clutched Mia close to her bosom. She had become Mia, a doll adored until 'real’ companions took her place. And with time, she too, like Mia, was pushed into the darkness of oblivion, muted by life, with melancholy feasting on her soul. She looked at Mia, seeing glimpses of her life in the lifeless doll, uniting with her long lost best friend, bathing her, brushing her hair and dressing her up. You’d never find her without her Mia. They’d eat together, bathe together and fade away in dreamland tucked in the comfort of her soft bed, together. And one fine day, she became Mia's mirror image -- lying on her couch, a life-sized lifeless doll.

Life came a full circle.

En-light-enment!

She lay on her bed, the mattress sinking under her weight. She lay, gazing at the ceiling. The fan looked like a white disk, slicing the thin air around it. The bedsheet was moist and warm. She tossed and turned, wiping the sweat with the back of her palm. She gazed at the ceiling again, fixing her gaze on the white disk, creaking with every slice it accomplished. She was fascinated by it, except for her belief that it was useless; pointlessly slicing around. “The heat will kill me,” she thought, silently cursing the disc, its creaking noise and its uselessness.

Suddenly, everything around fell silent, creepily silent. She opened her eyes in a flash and it was pitch dark. She fumbled around, her nimble fingers trying to figure things around her. She felt like her insides were melting. Pearls of sweat were dripping down her spine, drenching the bedsheet and making it uncomfortably wet and warm. The silence was pricking her ears. The ceiling was out of her sight. She could feel the heat that her back was emitting. She sat up, the heat killing her. “I won’t wake up alive tomorrow,” she thought.

The disc whirred, startling her awake. She opened her eyes and saw the corridor lights peeking through the curtains. The light was back. She gazed at the ceiling, fascinated by the white disc that was now slicing away with all its might. She fell in love with it. She fell in love with the disc, it’s creaking noise and everything about it.

Give a person something in abundance and watch him curse it. Take it away from him, and watch him fall in love with it. Time. Teaches lessons everyday, every minute.

Nail-ed it!

She stepped on the escalator, scanning her grocery list in her mind, trying to figure out if she’d missed listing anything important. Lost in a wave of thoughts, her eyes fell on the woman behind her. She was dressed in a crisp blue suit, her hair prepped and beautifully set, her curls falling softly on her shoulders. She looked at her slender hand, holding the sides artistically. Her nails looked stunning, nicely shaped, manicured and neat. Suddenly, she looked at her own. Unevenly chipped nails, with stains of green peeking from underneath. The veggies’ sap must have seeped in, she thought. She quickly slid them under her dupatta. She was embarrassed; she could feel her cheeks flush hot, she could feel them turning into a shade of crimson.

She never grew nails, for she wouldn’t be able to knead the dough for rotis. She couldn’t pamper herself to manicures; not because she couldn’t afford one, but because she couldn’t maintain them. Everytime she chopped veggies, the knife would come threateningly close to ruining it.

Suddenly, she felt something. No, she didn’t feel sorry. She felt good. Her half-chipped nails, her flour stained t-shirts, her hair tied into an unkempt bun -- they were all worth the smiles and the burps that her culinary experiments resulted in. She didn’t need manicures to pamper herself; the empty plates and satisfied smiles nailed it for her!

It’s a scary world out there...

It’s funny how people change in a split second. It’s like, they’re all sweet and stuff and whoa! Gone. It’s like a magic trick, where the magician puts a rabbit on display, in front of the packed auditorium. And suddenly, pooof! It vanishes into thin air. Sweetness and goodness vanish these days too. People snub you, keep stern faces and look perpetually irritated. It’s shocking, you know, annoying too. It’s just like walking blindfolded on a bustling street -- what you think is a safe zone for walking isn’t really like that. You never know when a speeding truck is about to ram into you, kill you and then speed off like nothing happened. I worry. Unpredictability scares me. Unexpected reactions scare me even more. It’s a scary world out there, alright, but what makes the world scary, is the scariest part.

Holy Cow!

***The street is abuzz, with thousand glimmering lights dotting the skyline. Incessant honking, curses flying freely and tempers soaring mark the night. Amidst this chaos, I notice a cow, trying it’s best to carry a sack full of stuff on its back, dragging its legs as fast as it can. The honking intensifies, with people rolling down their car windows and yelling at the poor animal. Its owner makes a sheepish face, as he becomes the magnet of curses, doing everything he can to drag the cow faster, while dodging the scorning eyes that are burning him with their gazes. The cow struts on, at its own leisurely pace, the owner bows his head and shields himself on its side. The people on the streets are irritated and rightly so; the cow has unknowingly caused a major traffic snarl, leading to a lot of inconvenience. However, there is not much that the cow itself can do; the burden on its back is slowing it down. Meanwhile, the owner is torn between the angry people, who are right in their own way, and his cow, whose plight he can understand, but can do very little to help...***

Cut to our own lives. There are times when we dwell in the past, carrying it’s baggage on our backs like the cow. The baggage pulls us down, refusing to let go from its clutches. We hunch, slow down and at times stop, without realising the menace we are being to people around; people who watch the show and hurl abuses. Our near and dear ones, meanwhile, dangle between sensibility and sensitivity, unable to make a rational decision. Yes, in keeping pace with us, they slow down too, they stop too, answering the thousand prying eyes that have questions aplenty.

They know what we are doing is illogical and the spectators are on their money, but seeing us suffer and die a slow death kills them too. In the battle between protecting us from the reprimanding and unapproving ‘others’ and pushing us to shed the baggage, it is our close ones who are bruised the most.

Unlike the cow on the road that had no way of helping itself, we can make an effort. Like my friend explained, there are four categories of thoughts -- positive, negative, waste and common. While the positives ones are good and oh-so-welcome, the negative ones aren’t that bad either; they help us be prepared for the worst. However, as soon as we start indulging in negative thoughts from our past, they qualify for the third category which is waste. As long as our negative thoughts concern our future, there is something that can be done. But, as soon as they board the time machine to the past, they will ruin us, harming people around us with their diabolic sting.

It’s best to move on; shed the baggage and feel light...outside and within. Let our hearts and minds be a clean slate, imbibing the positive scribblings and rubbing off the negatives. It’s only then that we can live life, breathe easy and not create snarls anywhere.

Yes, a ‘holy’ cow taught me this. All of this! :)