Author: meenas17

 I used to drive up and down

 participating in events

wearing a silk saree, jewels

 making myself presentable.

Draped in a starched cotton saree 

 wearing just a chain, a bangle 

 ear studs,,I spend time in 

 with my companions – books and laptop.

Writing I do, a passion and a practice.

with interest.   it is for satisfaction, 

never with a desire to see them in print.

 I know mine is not worthy.

Living like a hermit neither 

cross legged, nor meditating in remote hills

  stay right in the center of the happening 

 place, at the same time  away from the crowd.

Requirements   have diminished. 

Partaking food is a necessity. Waking 

and sleeping turns a routine.    

Semblance to a wildflower,

which needs no tending, no manure,

Flowers, blossom dazzle bright, keep cheer, 

dance with the wind. pleasing none.

Withers unnoticed.

,.

 .

Pleasant as ever

  open the door

 early in the morn

 the sun rises in tone

 over the lawn green 

 I espy a brown and yellow sheen

 a pair of mynah’s hover

 so close could be lovers

 gleefully chirp

 busily peck

 tiny worms cling to their beak

 fly away in a freak

 seeing me unlock

 the gate, The pair flocks

 towards the flower beds

 roses pink and red

jasmine and lilies white

oh! what a sight!

the clock strikes eight

 I am fortunate to witness

 the spirited richness.

I come across a new word

 “Plaster face”.  The epithet

 takes me by. surprise.

Visualizing a face plastered 

 for bruises my first take

  is deemed as prosaic.

Going deep, could that be one

modified by plastic surgery. 

 considered a medical phenomenon.

Still more into, a stone

like one, unemotional,

nay that is stone faced.

Penetrating further, discover

the one that hides the suffering,

a melodrama.

 Smile enlightens, happiness radiates

 when the inner self bleeds

a phycological metaphor.

 Not uncommon to find such 

an inside out that would embellish,

a design unnatural.

A decoration with fake diamonds

gaudy and distractive, a disguise

a subtle satire.

I see plaster faces everywhere

 mixing, mingling, socializing.

A stage performance.

Soft is lovable 

 The usage stretches farther

 a soft spot one says

connoting a special place 

 for the loved one.

 Goes all the more

soft corner int he heart

 directs to an unexplained

 liking for a person

 beyond comprehension.

A soft person in the making, 

 gentle and genial, a

 figure distanced from 

 the assertive, unfortunately

most look down on the softies.

The sweet tone  more than a whisper 

 neither loud nor feeble

 a genial one, a voice.

adored and appreciated

which the majority lack,

 The degrees of softness

 soft, softer and softest

 emphasize the coveted. 

 nature of the tone, approach,

 and behaviour,

Soft is a wee ahead of silence,

 If one is gold another is silver

 both turn impeccable,

 upholding worthy values

 and desirable impact.

A ceremonial oil bath is a must for me on Fridays.

 I diligently go through the bath,, applying oil,

 washing with Shikakai,

 Drying my hair with sambrani powder smeared liberally.

over the red-hot cinders placed in a brass stand,  I leave the hair free, 

tie a knot at the end. Quickly string jasmine flowers, run them  

between the strands.

 To the melody of M.S Subbalakshmi’s Suprabhata,

 I light the Diya’s, adorn the Goddesses and Gods with arali,  

white lilies, manoranjitham, conch shaped blue flowers, 

, Bilva and Tulsi leaves.

,

 With diya  in hand visit every room of the house

 step down to the garden perform an elaborate aarathi 

to Tulsi plant which is grown in the Northeastern part, 

the Ishanya mulai  a revered direction.

Back in the Puja, I sing slokas praising

 Mahalakshmi, Saraswathi, Meenakshi, 

Prostrates before the Goddesses 

 rise up smearing the forehead with Kumkum.

 I no longer visit temples, which are governed by rules

 a checking the portals, similar to the one 

 in airports, Constant monitoring, periodic 

checking, turns repulsive.

 My Puja room has become a 100 sq ft temple.

 Prahalad   replies to his father’s  Hiranyakashipu, a demon

 king’s command to stop praying to Lord Krishna. 

 “God is present in  pillars and in dust”.

I believe in

Omnipresence, Omnipotence and Omniscience.

.

 Hard water stains spoil

depositing sediments of calcium 

 the bath looks shabby.

A relative of mine casts her evil eye

 on the upkeep of the house.

On the face value it was an appreciation.

I am not a subscriber of superstition.

 Few days after, I find my bath tiles

 turn whit with deposits of calcium

 Once in a way. hard water stains 

create an issue. This time it takes my life out.

 Adopting many techniques to clean

.

 Nothing works out. I research

 work like a devil, morn to night

 I burn the midnight oil.

Turn a scholar My bath becomes the lab

 where I do research. I My pursuit, if successful

 will bring honors “A Nobel prize” at least.

My lab technicians are my chauffer, gardener and cook.

 I give them a free hand to experiment.

 Project is named as ” Glittering Tiles”

Cook adopts the age old , cleaning with 

 brick powder, Gardener reaches out to the medieval 

 scrubs with bleaching powder, 

Latest and newest is treating the tiles with liquid oxygen.

 Chauffer, a young chap, tries the=is prescription.  

 Stains remain stubborn.

on my part I prepare a concoction, 

mixing washing liquid, dish washing liquid,

 and Pitambri.    Hush! Quiet! Confidential 

Concoction assumes beige colour, akin to the tiles.

Hurray! I have succeeded   Find Edison in me,

“To invent, you need a good imagination and a pile of junk.”

 I scrub, wash, dry, Confronted by success,

 I relax happily eyeing the Nobel Award,

 World’s greatest honour.

https://www.tapatalk.com/groups/thewaters35527/viewtopic.php?p=223832#p223832

A feigned world around me

siblings, children, relations.

speak and do the contrary

 very hard to believe.

I perceive their performance 

wide mouthed as If the 

Ten Commandments. is played 

before me.

The words come so sweet, 

 appear genuine, I listen to them 

as if they are incarnation of Krisna 

 imparting lessons of virtue.

So naive and ignorant 

 I am in this world

 of melodrama. Erring always, 

 proving expensive and explosive.

Otherwise, I am a sharp-

witted person, possess

comprehensive skills,

very sensitive.

Soft as a rose

to those who are true.

 Prickly as a thorn

 to the ones who cheat

I am blunt and dull headed 

when I encounter the blood related

Why? I think hard.  I deliberate.

 unable to delineate.

.

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