Hello

(Hello)

ships not anchored

stationed here n there

like scattered pollens

of a broken flower

on the waters of Ganges

carefree.

just besides

toy like cars

ply on highway

with tail lights

blinking.

drops of light fall

and rise

on the façade of that

glass building

that stands tall

next to them

-pretending to be happy.

also, boasting is

another concrete high rise

just to my left

busy with its humans

stuck to desks

in cubicles

typing

typing

typing

and few, over the phone

talking

typing

talking

I sit by my window

observing and sipping thoughts

and typing…

typing this piece

whilst watching

an evening slip by

into the dawn of another

monotonous day.

#AnEveningInHongkong #hellofromtheotherside #ｔｈｏｕｇｈｔｓ #aboutLastEvening

The Moon and Me.

Tonight,
the moon came knocking
on my door-
out of breath; gleaming
up from the clouds
right on my floor.

©picture clicked at home from the Balcony

©poetry by AchlaGrover

Lost in Time.

the dragonfly was red and her wings
were wet. the sun was dim and
time so lost. the wind was silent
and the trees were dark. the moon was out
and the sky got embossed. the ripple came up
and the glossy sheet broke

that evening by the lakeside
a harmony of chaos.

Answers.

 

Sometimes you should let HIM rest
and retrospect
retrospect in your own space
for the answers you are looking for
may be lurking somewhere in the narrow lanes
that you left behind.

My Anonymous Story – Chapter 1

10.30 am.
A usual chaotic morning.
House chores on full swing.
Her Dad in his music world.
Sound of a very busy street.

Things did not change even after 25 years. There was noise inside, there was noise outside – out there in the dust laden street. She still loved this chaotic morning, it fell on her ears like a melodious harmony. There was so much to relate to this symphony. Winters were special. They were cold but they were warm. Home was the best place in winters.

She was home after a year so had the privilege to sleep a little longer than usual. It was almost 11.30am when she thought of leaving her comfortable bed and stepping out. Pushing the heavy cotton Rajai away, she slipped into those blue bata slippers. “hmm…looks like these belong to Grandpa” thinking to herself.

Rubbing her eyes she dragged herself out to the sunlit balcony. Out to Fresh air. And then after bending her body a bit backward and forward with both her hands stretched out, she crossed her arms around herself and she sat on that wooden bench in the balcony to catch on a little sun in that freezing morning. The pink sweater looked a bit loose on to her and the checkered white pyjamas too big. Her hair occasionally lifted and shown bronze in the sunlight.

“Namastae Deedee”. Said Raani, their age-old maid. (Hello deedee).
She turned around to greet. “Arrey Namastae, kaisee ho aap?”. (Greetings, how are you doing today?)

It was like an unsaid tradition back at home. The maid would wait till long just to greet them in the morning whenever they got back from their high schools in big towns…just to see if their faces after this long-span of time were still the same or turned Aliens since they moved out of that small crevice.

“Bus theek hai aap sunao, itnae din baad aayae ho yaad nahi aati humari?”.

She smiled back.” Aati hai raani…bahut aati hai magar chutti nahi milti kya karen..”I knew how much I loved home. They knew how much I loved home. We all knew I loved home. But still that goddamn question? she thought to herself.

“I think didi doesn’t get to eat over there…look how skinny she has gone” and Mom nodded her head concurring to Raani’s beliefs. “she has a lot of work to manage there…you don’t know how difficult is it to manage in big cities”. And those little endless conversations would carry on. They wanted to know how people in Mumbai dress up. What do they eat? How do they look like? It was hard explaining they were very much similar to them.

It was an undying conversation whenever she visited back home.She looked at herself, her body contour, the way the silhouette of the tee fell on those curves. It wasn’t that bad a frame, but their idea of a healthy frame was obese in her terms. She knew she had to bear this everyday… and they would nod their head like roberts concurring to mom’s beliefs stating ”haan sahi kha unty”.

She couldn’t help but giggle within. She loved the way Raani addressed her mom – Unty and not Aunty. Small pleasures in life.