29 June 2013

The Write Tribe Wednesday Prompt # 7

"Sometimes the smallest things take up the most room in your heart."  Winnie the Pooh

There are plenty of small/short/lesser known things that appeal to me more than the big and the bombastic.

  • A "Hi" from a loved friend brings a smile to your lips and is more precious to you than a large solitaire diamond.

  • The askew sun that your little child drew is more precious to you than a Piccaso.

  • Finding a 50 Rupee note in an old jacket makes you feel you just won a windfall.

I give a list of 3 things each from the kitchen, makeup, poems, books and songs that are small/tiny/less known, but indispensible and dear to me.

From the Kitchen:

I just cannot cook without these tiny spices

1. Jeera







2. Heeng












 3. Rai
















From my dressing table:


Can any lady do without these?

1. Lip Balm











2. Hair pins












3. Safety pins






























From my favorite songs:

These singers were not in the top bracket, but what a voice they had. Listen to the songs they sung.

1. Sandhya Mukherjee


2. Meena Kapoor


3. Jagjit Kaur 




From my favorite books:

I choose these three slim books that are worth their weight many times over.

1. The adventures of Rusty - Ruskin Bond






Ruskin Bond rarely indulges in long winded writing. His stories are about day to day doings in the life of Rusty. In one chapter he describes how well his grandmother cooks. In another he writes about the misdoings of his Uncle Ken. These small snapshots from the life of Rusty are captivating.






2. The Prophet by Khalil Gibran



The Prophet speaks on a number of topics ranging from relationship between wife and husband, child and parents, between friends.



"For what is your friend that you should seek him with hours to kill
Seek him always with hours to live.
For it is his to fill your need, but not your emptiness.
And in the sweetness of friendship let there be laughter, and sharing of pleasures.
For in the dew of little things the heart finds its morning and is refreshed.”

There is nothing preachy in this book, just common sense.



3. The Little Prince - Antoine de Saint-Exupéry





This is one slim little book that gives me the goosebumps everytime I read it. It makes you re-examine your life, and fall in love once again with the little things.








I rarely go about recommending books.   I know people have varied tastes and what I love is not what others will love as well. But these three books MUST sit on everyone's bookshelves.


From my favorite poems:

There are many grand poems out there in our world. Our religious works are primarily poetry. The Bible, Ramayana, Guru Granth Sahib, The Koran. They are all magnificent poems. But in keeping with the theme of the post, I list here three small poems.

Summer is icumen in -Anonymous

This is an ancient poem celebrating the coming of Summer. It is recognised as one of the oldest poems in English. I love the imagery it invokes, blowing mead, lowing cows, the ewes frolicking!

Sumer is icumen in,
Loude sing cuckou!
Groweth seed and bloweth meed,
And springth the wode now.
Sing cuckou!

Ewe bleteth after lamb,
Loweth after calve cow,
Bulloc sterteth, bucke verteth,
Merye sing cuckou!
Cuckou, cuckou,
Wel singest thou cuckou:
Ne swik thou never now!


2. Home they Brought her warrior dead-Lord Alfred Tennyson

What an evocative poem about a soldiers wife who is struck by grief.


Home they brought her warrior dead:
She nor swooned, nor uttered cry:
All her maidens, watching, said,
‘She must weep or she will die.’

Then they praised him, soft and low,
Called him worthy to be loved,
Truest friend and noblest foe;
Yet she neither spoke nor moved.

Stole a maiden from her place,
Lightly to the warrior stepped,
Took the face-cloth from the face;
Yet she neither moved nor wept.

Rose a nurse of ninety years,
Set his child upon her knee—
Like summer tempest came her tears—
‘Sweet my child, I live for thee.’

 

3. For the want of a nail - Anonymous

Nothing illustrates the importance of small things like this little cautionary poem.

For want of a nail the shoe was lost.
For want of a shoe the horse was lost.
For want of a horse the rider was lost.
For want of a rider the message was lost.
For want of a message the battle was lost.
For want of a battle the kingdom was lost.
And all for the want of a horseshoe nail.


Write Tribe Prompt

19 June 2013

Write Tribe Wednesday Prompt # 6

The phone rang.

"Hello, Roshni!"

"Oh Hi! Rahul!"

"I have to say something to you."

"Bolo"

"Listen, you said I was not paying attention to you these days.

There is a reason behind this"

"Why are you silent, Roshni?

Listen, things have been so boring between us lately.

I have been wondering....."

"Say something Roshni"


"Rahul.... I never felt anything was wrong between us.  I always felt so comfortable with you."


"Don't cry Roshni!  It will spoil everything"


"Spoil? Spoil what, Rahul?"


"Oh, now you are angry."


"Speak up, say what you want to."


"Now you sound really angry. 

Alright I wanted to say that things have been boring between us.

Humdrum.  I don't want things to go on this way."


Silence.


"I want you to marry me, Roshni"

"WHAT?  YOU SILLY GOOSE!"

Rahul covered his face with his hand and burst out laughing.




MorgueFile (http://mrg.bz/LsH3I1)


Write Tribe Prompt

17 June 2013

7x7x7x7

Write Tribe Prompt




Grab the 7th book from your bookshelf.
Open it up to page 7.
Pinpoint the 7th sentence on the page.
Begin a poem/a piece of prose that begins with that sentence
Limit it in length to 7 lines/7 sentences.


7th Book - Emily Bronte's Poems

7th page

     LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP.

     Love is like the wild rose-briar;      Friendship like the holly-tree.
     The holly is dark when the rose-briar blooms,
     But which will bloom most constantly?

     The wild rose-briar is sweet in spring,
     Its summer blossoms scent the air;
     Yet wait till winter comes again,
     And who will call the wild-briar fair?

     Then, scorn the silly rose-wreath now,
     And deck thee with the holly's sheen,
     That, when December blights thy brow,
      He still may leave thy garland green.

7th line

Yet wait till winter comes again,



     My offering:



Yet wait till winter comes again,

You will miss the summer sun.

When swathed in sweaters and caps,

You'll miss the light cotton wraps.

You will miss the cool drinks,

the ice-creams.



Enjoy the summer while it lasts;
 the hot sun, the sudden rains!

06 June 2013

Why I write



I suppose I have to thank the Radiant Reader, my English text in 3rd Standard, for instilling a love of reading in me.  I was trying to trace the exact point in time that I developed a love for reading. So I went back to my childhood.  I loved the language classes.  As soon as I got my books for the new session in school, I would pick up my English and Hindi textbooks and flip through them, reading all the fiction given therein. 

We used to subscribe to Dharmyug and Chandamama, popular Hindi magazines of the 60s.  I remember my aunt complaining to my cousin that the minute I spotted a new issue of either of these magazines, I was lost to the world. 

My cousins were fond of the romantic novels of Gulshan Nanda.  My uncle used to frown upon them, quite rightfully thinking they were bad reading material for young girls.  One afternoon my uncle caught me with my nose buried in a Gulshan Nanda novel.  He snatched it from of my hand and threw it outside the house.  My cousins, who used to read these on the sly, cast baleful looks at me for ‘outing’ them.

Soon afterwards, my uncle took me to a private library close to my house and enrolled me there.  It was one of the best things to happen to me.  I would draw books from the library and read like there was no tomorrow.  I was roundly scolded by all for such a passion for reading.

I write because I love to read.

I wrote a short story about a young woman who is adopted, and sets out to find her mother.  It was in Hindi, and the style was quite like Gulshan Nanda’s.  It was trashed by my cousins.  Later, under the influence of Enid Blyton and Daphne Du Maurier, I started writing in English.  All my writing was kept hidden in a notebook.

Much later, after college was done with, I typed out an article on my father’s typewriter and sent it to The Times of India for publication in their ‘Middles’ section.  It was picked up for publication, and I got a cheque of  Rs.150/- for it.  It was a princely sum in the early 80s.

Now.  I blog.

I write because it is a compulsion.

Write Tribe Prompt

Shimla's Indian Coffee House

For those who live in the Tricity (Chandigarh, Panchkula and Mohali), Shimla is a weekend destination. For the daring ones, who have the sta...