Tuesday, October 6, 2015


From the pen-APN 

While groping through some old image files on my computer I saw a photo of Suhana. I maximized the photo and the charming girl instantly lit up my desktop and my mind as well. During my studentship Suhana was the most charming girl of my class.  I knew Suhana very well and I could remember every little bit of things related to her even though a decade had passed in the mean while.  
In the photo she was standing behind the speaker’s table with a microphone. The photograph had been clicked when she was delivering her speech in a college function conducted for welcoming the new-comers. Suhana was standing tall in the photograph and her beautiful lips were twisted expressively as she was uttering words of friendliness to her juniors. She was an impassioned speaker who could readily touch anyone’s heart. With an endearing smile looking at the new-comers that day she had told, “All say, give respect and take respect; But I say, give respect and take love.” When she had uttered the word ‘Love’ in that gathering, all students had clapped enthusiastically which had continued for more than a minute. After winning everyone’s heart, by her sweet words and charm, when she was getting down from the dais, she had shot a meaningful glance at me. That day I had spoken to that gathering prior to her. However, in my speech like a despotic ruler, in a Hitlerian voice, I had over-stressed the need for being respectful to the seniors. I was serious and authoritative but Suhana was humane and friendly. With smiles on her lips she had flatly contradicted me and had over thrown my stand by spreading the message of love. And that day I had been completely defeated by her wit and charm in the midst of thunderous clapping of the overjoyed audience.     
I clicked upon the ‘close mark (X)’ on the right-hand corner of Suhana’s photo on the screen. And at the same time, at the corner of my eyes tears also came involuntarily. No doubt, I had become nostalgic but I was sure that those tears were composed of both the joy of her appearance in my life and then her resulting disappearance from my reach.
She is now like those sweet smelling flowers at night which remain invisible from eyes but go on spreading its delicate fragrance in the gentle wind.     

Sunday, September 20, 2015

Rain, Rain Go Away

From the pen APN, 19.09.2015
It was raining hard outside. Big rain drops were hitting the ground and then they were getting scattered into fine droplets. The music of the rain had filled the environment. The clouds had made the afternoon dim and the sun was missing. 

The window of my room was open and my son was completely absorbed in looking at the rain washing the road that passes by my official quarters. He was silent for a considerable time and was completely lost in observing the Nature.
My wife drew my attention to my son’s deep meditation at the rain with a comment, “Looking at the rain, like father, the boy has also set out into a dream-world.” 

I felt a little proud. After all, my wife recognized that I am a dreamer, writer and poet-like person. Such types of comments are very rarely heard from wives. (The word ‘WIFE’ is made plural to denote all the wives of the world married to persons like me or you) 

I looked at my son; he was really lost in viewing the dance of the rain drops. His serious silence was heralding that he was deeply thinking about some philosophical questions of life. I wanted to read his mind but I failed. He looked like a saint of very high order who was lost in the highest plane of meditation. 

I went near him and slowly touched his shoulder. The young child’s shoulder was indicative of his natural softness. He was still looking at the rain intently. So he did not respond to my touch. I softly asked him, “What are you looking at?” With his eyes still on the continuing rain, he told, “I am looking at the rain.” He described me the obvious and my intention to get into his mind was checked as if by a protective fire-wall. I mellowed my voice and asked him again, “What are you thinking, my son?” This time he looked into my eyes and in a serious complaining tone muttered, “Because of this rain I cannot go out and I have not played for last two days.”  

I suddenly realized how rain could affect a child so deeply. I also understood the veracity of the nursery poem which says, “Rain, rain go away/Little Johnny wants to play/Rain, rain go to Spain/Do not show your face again.”

Tuesday, September 8, 2015


From the pen APN 

My son knows well how to demand things and also knows how to get them fulfilled. Whenever he requires anything, he would pull my face close to his face, just keeping bare minimum distance, and looking deep into my eyes, he would speak to my daddy-heart about his requirements. Every time he does so, I feel a sort of hypnotic message put into my brain and sparing no efforts, I do my level best to fulfill his demands.  

His recent demand was a costume of Lord Krishna. Three days back, his school had declared a fancy dress competition on the occasion of Janmastami. So he was extremely excited about it. He gave me an impeccable description of the requirements like feather of peacock, crown, the flute, armlets, anklets, bangles, Chains, necklace, floral garlands, etc. Every hour he added new items to his list and accordingly the list grew bigger and bigger. 

As I stay in a remote village, procuring the enlisted items from the local market was next to impossible. The nearest town where such things can be available is about 55 kilometers far from my work station. And the pitiable thing is that a visit to that town will demand a valuable day of your life. So I was reluctant to go there. But I had to eat the frog because every child thinks his/her father to be a superman who can fly to the skies to bring new planets to their little ones.  

In the morning time, my son had made the demand to me and by the afternoon I threw an application at office seeking permission to leave Head Quarters. After a couple of hours, I was at a big shop of a big town, choosing costume for my son from a variety of options. Almost all his items were neatly packed and I rode back home.

The smile that I saw on the face of my son was broader enough to engulf both the exhaustion and the distance between the town and my village. I smiled back and I saw how delicately my son was examining all those items in his small hands with flickers of smiles on his face. 

Next day he was all Krishna. Clutching his flute, in his new avatar, he left for the school and I left for my office. When I returned, I saw him sleeping on the bed as Krishna. Besides his flute, a new spanking tiffin box was laying beside him. He was asleep like an innocent little angel and in one hand he had clasped a hundred rupee note. My wife came silently and embraced me. Before I could understand anything, she smiled and handed me a certificate which stated that my son was second in the school for his costume and performance.  

The little Krishna was still asleep and the proud papa and mama were silent in a deep embrace. They never knew that a hundred rupee note, a tiffin box and a certificate could make their life so heaven-like.