Dance is like a therapy to our mind, body, and spirit. It was a much-needed stress reliever during this period of restrictions. I love to dance and I am a professionally trained Kathak dancer. And with a little bit of extra time on hand (thanks to the lockdown), I found myself dancing…
Well…right after I decide that I have to re-start blogging, my site crashes! For past two to three days, I was desperately trying to salvage the site. As most of you would know by now, I’m not much of a techno-savvy person. So obviously I had a hard time trying to understand the tech lingo. After a few futile attempts I reached out to few of my friends and they helped me salvage the site. A cursory look tells me that I have lost a few blogs but I have republished them. All your encouraging comments on them have been lost unfortunately.
However, I’m very glad that I didn’t lose my whole site. I’m already struggling with having to accommodate blogging in my schedule. I would have completely lost heart if I had lost everything. Umpphhhh… So here I’m after a minor hick-up. 😊
The Sea and Mumbai!
Rhythm and movement are fundamental to life. Rhythm pulsates through everything within the vast universe to an atom. It is a source of life, activity and creation. It is said that Shiva’s Tandava sets the rhythm of our cosmos. You can perceive the dance of Shiva in the movement of the sun, the moon, the stars and in the waves of the ocean.
If you are a 90s kid born in India, you will remember how songs made us all fall in love with love. Music, especially the Bollywood romantic and the Hindi Pop, was a huge part of our childhood. We danced to the peppy tunes, hummed along with the singers, and played out make believe stories. I’m sure all of us must have longed to grow up and fall head over heels in love with someone just so that we could experience all those things expressed in the songs! Heck, I even wanted that certain someone to sing those songs to me…
Define a home. What does that even mean? Have you ever wondered what a home is or what defines your home?
I know most of you would say home is NOT four walls, because that’s what we have been reading everywhere. But I say home is exactly that. Four walls!
It is the comfort that those four walls offer to cry shamelessly or the freedom to fart as loudly and as smelly as you want…home is your world within those four walls! Outside them, it’s not home. So yes, for me my home is those four walls!
It was almost a month since Sunil had migrated to the city in search of some work. After the stillness of his village, the traffic, the crowds, and the vastness of the city had scared him for a while. But soon he fell in love with the Life of this city. Most of all. with the lifelines of this hustling-bustling city, the trains! Continue reading Accepted
He playfully ruffles my hair, leans in closer to kiss my forehead but suddenly stops short. I hold his gaze and watch as the ghost of the laugh we just shared gets eclipsed by intense thoughts. I know what he is thinking…and maybe he is right. Continue reading The fate bleeds…
I can’t tone down my excitement or my love for the rains. Especially when it pours and pours, and presents with unexpected holidays! It has been raining cats and dogs for the past two days. I think for the very first – in my memory – the “lifeline of Mumbai”, the Mumbai Local trains, have come to a full stop – quite literally. But that hadn’t stopped us Mumbaikars from trying to get to the office. I don’t frankly know whether its the love for office or the need of an adventure of having travelled in torrential rains or the crumbling necessity to earn, that prompts us to get out of the comforts of our homes and get stuck in the downpour. And that’s exactly what happened yesterday. Mumbaikar went out and got stuck. Continue reading A Rainy Day
The first drops of heavenly nectar fall freely from the dark grey clouds leaving the soil wet, the trees green, the air fresh with the natural fragrance and the breeze cool. The farmers rejoice at last and the plough is employed, the bulls thrust through the wet earth. Sadly, now the mangoes will disappear There is a new freshness and enthusiasm in the atmosphere. Continue reading Rain Rain…
The rains are finally here in Mumbai. It’s my favourite season! Sharing with you one of my most favourite poems on rain. This one titled as “How beautiful is the rain” by famous American poet Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. It is a poem that perfectly captures the moment when the first of the showers arrive, how the rain impacts everything and everyone.
How Beautiful is the Rain! :
How beautiful is the rain!
After the dust and heat,
In the broad and fiery street,
In the narrow lane,
How beautiful is the rain!
How it clatters along the roofs,
Like the tramp of hoofs!
How it gushes and struggles out
From the throat of the overflowing spout
Across the window-pane
It pours and pours;
And swift and wide,
Like a river down the gutter roars
The rain, the welcome rain!
The sick man from his chamber
Looks at the twisted brooks;
He can feel the cool
Breath of each little pool;
His fevered brain
Grows calm again,
And he breathes a blessing on the rain.
From the neighbouring school
Come the boys,
With more than their wonted noise
And down the wet streets
Sail their mimic fleets,
Till the treacherous pool
Engulfs them in its whirling
And turbulent ocean.
In the country, on every side,
Where far and wide,
Like a leopard’s tawny and spotted hide
Stretches the plain,
To the dry grass and the drier grain
How welcome is the rain!
In the furrowed land
The toilsome and patient oxen stand:
Lifting the yoke-encumbered head,
With their dilated nostrils spread,
They silently inhale
The clover-scented gale,
And the vapours that arise
From the well-watered and smoking soil.
For this rest in the furrow after toil
Their large and lustrous eyes
Seem to thank the Lord,
More than man’s spoken word.
N ear at hand,
From under the sheltering trees,
The farmer sees
His pastures, and his fields of grain,
As they bend their tops
To the numberless beating drops
Of the incessant rain.
He counts it as no sin
That he sees therein
Only his own thrift and gain.
- H W Longfellow
The poem is full of rhyme and grace, yet not at all “poetic”. The scenarios are quite relatable. And that’s what I think makes this poem very real in all senses. Do you guys have any favourites? Comment away…let’s compare notes 😛
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