Yashodhara

Yashodhara

Do you know that name?

Prince Siddhartha, Gautama, Sakyamuni, Buddha.

Everybody knows these names...

but...

Yashodhara?

Yashodhara was married to Siddhartha.

She loved him dearly.

One night Siddhartha left her and their son, Rahul ...

while they were sleeping, to seek Enlightenment...

... to become Buddha.

He did not even say a word to her when he left.

Yashodhara has shown compassion for the sick

... and ailing long before Siddhartha ever did!

... long before Siddhartha was even aware of suffering!

Who can say if he owed his Enlightenment to her?

Perhaps Yashodhara wanted to leave Siddhartha and Rahul.

How can we ever know if Yashodhara fell victim to anger ...

... to loneliness or bitterness

... after Siddhartha left her.

Who even thought about her?

What must she have said when Rahul, her son...

...asked that eternal question

Where is my father?

What must she have told him?

How could a mother leave her own child in the middle of the night?

lt is only possible for a man to do.

After that, Yashodhara had no choice.

She had to lead a life of renunciation.

She cut off her hair,

and lived like an ascetic.

lf your thoughts toward Dharma were of the same intensity ...

... as the love and passion you have shown to your teenaged lover or the newly married wife...

... you would have become a Buddha ...

... in this very body

... in this very life.

Inspired by the movie 'Samsara'

My name in yours

I

Love to smile when you are there in my thoughts

Love to dream when its about you

Love the time which revolves around you

Love all those places where we spent time together

Love to be in you

And...

My name in yours

She is

She

The Strength of my life

Whom I adore

Keys to all my happiness

Fills me with her tender touch

An Inevitable part

Simple but honest

The rare one with enormous excellence

Decent, but always inane

Brighten me with her smile, youthfulness filled with affection

Obscure to many just like the twilight

Incomparable

And with her,

Smile touches my lips...

Dreams come to my eyes...

Happiness besieges and sweet flings encircle me..........

_____________________________________________

Read also 'She'

Where do you want to land ???

Love can be inconvenient,

perhaps inappropriate.

It can be dangerous.

Make us do things, 

we wouldn't dream of doing.

But wrong?

That just depends on

Where we end up, doesn't it?

But it's over now

Lay a whisper

On my pillow

Leave the winter

On the ground

I wake up lonely

The stare of silence

In the bedroom

And all around

Touch me now

I close my eyes

And dream away

It must have been love

But it's over now

It must have been good

But I lost it somehow

It must have been love

But it's over now

From the moment we touched

Till the time had run out 

… a romantic song from the movie ‘Pretty Woman”

I got a question

I got a question in my heart
Today when I thought I felt
We both walked together for some time
We both weren't companion forever

I used to laugh on your talks
My breaths were fragrant with yours
I have only one pain in my heart
We both weren't companion forever

Who thought there will be days like this?
We will even lose our shadows
I don't know if I am happy or sad
We both weren't companion forever
I got a question in my heart

No, not at all

9.00AM, The alarm started buzzing again indicating the time for my medicine. I was in no mood to digest that devil bitter pill. Kept my eyes closed...and pretended to my own as I am sleeping. But then someone touched my leg with a bit warm blanket... It felt wonderful though winter was getting ready to say good bye in a week or two. I started loving the warmth and tried to shut my eyes... then all of a sudden I sprung on my bed to see who did this...

More than the discovery of the blanket, I shouted in pain as my broken leg started paining like hell. I gained my mind after few seconds to see who put the blanket...

Oh it was she, she came early in the morning to see me...a wild thought fired in me, 'Has she ever slept last night?'  When I tried to hide my emotions, my lips made a curve and welcomed her with a big smile.

I wanted to see her face, but she had fixed her beautiful eyes on the plaster which was made to heal the broken leg. I wanted to say, have a look at me, my pain will go...could not spell. Her eyes started pouring, which I really hate to see, but that time I felt good. Don’t know why, may be it made me feel that she still cares for me.

A drop dropped. 'It will dissolve the plaster', I teased.

'Idiot', she said and punched slowly.

'Aahh!' I faked pain.

'Sorry, sorry, sorry.....ry' at least ten times she told by heart.

'It’s ok', I could not stopped smiling revealing it’s fake. She raised her face; I could see the broad temple.

'You haven't changed a bit, still the same idiot.'

'Yeah, I am the same, at least for you.' I stressed the last few words.

My mom came in smiling. Her smile even grew big after seeing her. 'You are so early!' my mom asked casually.

'Aunty, I could not sleep last night, thinking about this idiot.' I marveled at her frankness. 'You carry on aunty, I will be here,' she said. My mom smiled and said, 'I know', while leaving the room.

I was literally bored to spell the same thing, how the accident happened, when someone come to visit me as a goodwill geasture. But I was enthusiast like a kid to tell my so called adventure to her. She was all ears, fixing her eyes at mine. Nothing would have motivated than her black eyes to stretch my story at all possible angels, true and false at sometime.

She closed her eyes and uttered ‘aah’ when I told about the number of stitches… I felt somehow guilty to make her feel that way, and closed the adventure episode and started talking about her and him, his boy friend, bloody demon.

When I exhausted my little brain with the unwanted gossip, she knew that too, she started. ‘Don’t talk all this bulls**t. Can’t you keep your mouth closed for a moment?’ She saw me like a school teacher asking some naughty students to keep their mouth shut. Those students must be idiots who keep quite with this loving gesture of silence... I kept my index finger sealing my lips.....

'Good boy,' she said......  She has not changed a bit. The same killing orders...same silky hairs and same dimple when she moves her cheek even if for a shy smile...

After a pause, I resumed by saying, ‘I think you know better ways to make my mouth shut,’ felt awkward after touching the weak thread. I turned my face away.

She paused for few moments, and then smiled back. Girls are the best in switching the topics. I had to return to her face when she tingled her bangles in front of me.

‘So tell me about your life at Hyderabad. We haven't met for months, what’s going on there at Hyderabad? Have you got any hariyalis (she calls all beautiful girls as hariyalis)?’ Asked all these in one go like she was in a hurry or maybe she wanted to change the topic as soon as possible.

‘It’s all fine,’ I answered the two questions with three words.

‘How come you are so miser in choosing words,’ she pretended to be surprised when we both knew it was otherwise.

‘So, do you have a girlfriend?’

I shook my head.

‘You should get one. It wonderful to be in love. A feeling even better than dreams.’   She told.

‘It’s wonderful when the other has the same feeling,’ I regretted on choice of words instantly.

She looked at my eyes. I turned towards the window and focused on two birds chirping contineosly and caring each other; I imagined, the cute one being she, and the other.....

After a pause, she said, ‘you can find someone nice, if you open up.’

‘I don’t need,’ I told still looking at the window; the two birds were still chirping on the branch. What the birds talk…

She held my chin and turned my face towards her. ‘You have a good job, fat salary. I will be just a school teacher uttering A B C D. You can get someone better.’

‘Someone better than you?’ I said.

‘Absolutely,’ she said.

‘That’s not possible,’ before she could answer I dialed my cousin’s mobile to drop her at her place, although I knew she had all the time on Sunday and her parents won’t mind a little knowing she is at my place.

I was quite, she too. Sometimes being quite makes you hear the storm. I was quite okay with the storm at any form, but her silence was killing...

I opened my laptop and started showing some dumb useless pictures to her to avoid any more talk. When she wanted to say something, I intentionally diverted the topic and prayed for my idiot cousin to come early.

My cousin came greeted her. She stood up to go, but suddenly told to my cousin, ‘Go and start the car, I am coming.’

She turned to me and said, ‘Don’t tell me that you still have feelings for me?’

I swallowed hard, faked a smile and told, ‘No, not at all, .......it’s over,’ and offered for a hand shake without looking at her eyes.

I didn't know what else to do. She came forward, kissed on my forehead and whispered, ‘Take care.’

…waiting of Kurukshetra

I am Kurukshetra, the battle ground. I have seen 16 days of great war, the Mahabharat, the war of honour. But today is different, though I have no personal agenda, still I prefer to pause for a moment for someone who made me proud dying here.

…17th day over. Kurukshetra battleground is mourning on the demise of the great Karna. Mourning is not for the sake of his demise, these kind of warriors are born to honour the death, the mourn is for the reason that the great warrior could not get his due identity and the honour in his lifetime he deserves.

His mother, Kunti, could not dare to cut the rope of societal prestige, and his father, the Sun, could not find time from his busy schedule of charioting the galaxy to make others alive. Whom do I ask, if there is one who is guilty in the birth of Karna, then who he/she is? I am sure, Karna himself is not guilty. But through out his life he got punished for the sin he has never committed. Being the son of a charioteer (low cast) is not an act of shame. But if he was born in the low cast and got recognized as a Kshatriya (higher cast), then it would have been an insult to his mother…because, a mother has no cast…she is for sure far above it.

Hey Sun God, your son will be a question for the societies in the future. as when someone has no control over his/her birth, then why he/she get the punishment for that. But I am sure…in certain point of time, in a different identity, in a different era….you and Knunti have to take the brave step…you both have to stop the way you have abandoned Karna in Dwapar yuga…I, the poor battle ground Kurukshetra is waiting for that day.

For you

Oh beloved!
O beloved darling!
On my knees, alive but dead.
Look at the invisible blood, I am dead.
I'm not gone, my mind has drifted.
Don't expect much,
I am wrapped and twisted.

The clouds have gathered every time,
but it rained not once.
My beloved never come close to me,
the night passed on.

it’s selfish

There is nothing selfish than Love,

it doesn't ask for sacrifice, but a determination to achieve,

no great intent, but a small wish to be with the one you love,

this is its secret, and this makes it success.

 

What others will say, think, what's right, what's wrong,

all have no meaning,

when one sheds off all these worthless burden over heart,

road will be clear, life will be easier,

destiny will give it's pen write it your own.

Happy Rakhya Bandhan

She loves me, fights at silly, fumes when teased, shares the smallest of the chocolate, opens door at my late night return, waits till late to make me eat, lies often at papa for me, acts as spy for my mom, fights often…shares all…loves limitless…and on the day of Rakhi ties all her faith on my right hand…feeds me sweets…prays for my long life…and gives me a hug i can ever ask at almighty.

Love you dear sisters…

HAPPY RAKHYA BANDHAN

Happy Friendship Day

Hello Buddy ?

It's been more than years and we are more like enemies than friends !!!And the irony is, you are my lucky star all the way along. It’s not a different Sunday today but a day to recall all the sweet n sour moments with a glimpse of half moon on your lips....are you smiling ??? (Kamine nahin hasa to tera khoon pi jaunga)

I still remember you being philosophical on stupid topics,

Of being quite and talking the most,

Of headaches and hand aches  of loosing and smiling together,

Of winning and shaking heart to heart,

Of being teasing each other,

Of telling lies on each others and smiling together,

Of getting fear and saying …cool, dude,

Of watching late night movies (which movies U  know better) and telling white lies to parents,

Of proposing the same and being enemies,

Of getting rejected and crying together,

Of going to unknown parties to eat free and getting caught,

Of ignoring each other and caring,

Of agreeing and disagreeing,

Of talking all unparliamentary words and listening carefully,

Of fighting till blood and searching for band-aid,

Of being accused of useless from parents and smiling at each other,

Of listening and forgetting,

Of crying to see at sickness …. to fight with doctor,

Of forgetting B'day and asking for parties,

Of applying cake as facial and eating that,

Of scolding each other and smiling,

Of sharing the ladoos from aunty,

Of writing each other’s love letters,

Of forwarding SMS and calling to ask...Got it ?

Of copying each others project and swearing on God...'Its genuine'

Of copying paper in Exam and smiling with pride,

Of searching job together and telling....'interviewer was dumb'

Of getting job and partying late night

Of telling 'my boss knows nothing'

Of till date challenging the sentence "CHANGE IS CONSTANT"....cos getting a friend like you proves....at times the ever true ‘Change’ is helpless at this divinity.....

Happy Friendship Day

 

Love,

Sakti…a devil by choice !

Because I know no other!

That broad, strong frame,
Those blushed up red cheeks,
Bright and chirpy eyes,
That curly asset — his hair
Like the tendrils to hold my little fingers in,
And sometimes my ball pen and paper rocket
I can never forget those mystery coils
Smooth as bed, pitch black, oily and shiny,
The hairs of my Papa.

His small sharp black beard
From where I learnt what sensation was all about
When he rubs his beardy cheeks on me
I chose to forget the world
And he, his’ on my giggling...
The soapy creamy lather
Just like the butter on the b’day cake
The walk of the razor on his face
And the small toffee as gift for holding the mirror.

Neat, clean and firm
With few bluish veins
I remember those hands
I think of them often
They were the only set of hands
Capable of lifting me up whenever I fell
Tailor-made
Just to anchor me anytime.

Those hands
Walks through my naughty hairs
Making me fearless
When Mom shouts at my mischief
And becomes a slapping machine
When getting caught smoking the half burnt beedi* of grandpa
Full of mystery
The hands of my Papa.

Holding me through my testing times
Nurturing me out of my pain
I can never forget
Rock solid, passionate, loving, and artistic—
The hands of my Papa.

The waiting for festivals
The early rise in the morning
The searching for the new dress
And fighting with my elder bro
For telling his dress better than me
Papa’s rescue hugs and kisses on forehead
Forgetting the fight on the joy of being dearer
Still pondering, still searching for the same
But can’t get with 30K** Armani or 50K Tuxedo.

Bank for me was his wallet,
Shoulder as vehicle…
Love for me was snuggling up to his nose,
Just as I did when I was a kid,
Smell for me was his sweaty shirts,
Which I could smell three rooms apart,
Touch for me was when he pressed my head
And I would pass out into deep slumber,
Religion for me was his prayers in the morning
And above all,
Happiness to me was a picture of him in his handsome, glorious past.

I often ask myself:
Why this obsession?
Why this undying, untainted love?
Why these urge to spot him in a crowd?
The only answer I get to all these baffling questions is — because I know no other!

No wonder, today, when I think back on these words
Love, happiness, religion — I can’t seem to find meaning in them.
Their connotation and implication in my life has changed,
Just like my Papa
But, the one thing that has not changed is his hands,
They still can lift me up when I fall,
Hold me through testing times and nurture me out of my pain.

He is, unfortunately, not the same,
His broad-strong frame has shrunk into a fragile reminiscence of his past,
His cheeks are shrivelled, thus can’t blush up,
His beautiful, bright black-eyes
Are glazed and tainted forever with an ocean of pain, responsibility and experience.
His curly asset, they have shed, balding him of his demeanour.
My handsome hero has surely changed,
But my love for him never will!
Because I know no other!


Notes:
* Beedi = Similar to cigar but mostly used in Indian countryside
** K = Thousand