Estranged....

Thanks to the Karnataka bandh, and some unusual shrewdness on my part, I got to spend 5 wonderful days at home. As though an evil eye had been cast, my vacation was marred by a blocked sinus, and an infected eye.
But all that couldn’t take the fun out of the neighbor’s and relatives visits on the last days of Navrathri. For once, I didn’t seek refuge in the recesses of my room, leaving poor mom struggling to create extraordinary yet very plausible excuses for my absence. As a matter of (utterly useless) fact, I actually enjoyed playing the host. I was found answering the same questions over and over again , asking the same questions over and over and over again and bestowing a gracious smile upon the blessed of the men folk (/grinning away to the end of the world) to perfection that someone even told my mom that I was coming of age, at last.

Though I managed to escape my standard chores during the festivities, by almost feigning a wheeze, the task of dismantling the Kolu (a doll display, the highlight of the 10 day long festive season) fell upon me. Surprisingly, I liked doing it, and it so happened I was pretty efficient at it.

The last day of my vacation proved to me and the world at large that there was nothing really surprising about my surprises. I was home-sick. Dreadfully home-sick. I, who was sick of home 730 days back was finally and phenomenally home-sick. Not having spent more than 3 days at a stretch with the family the past 2 years, had eventually wrecked its havoc on me. And every moment of these 5 days, was so precious to me that I couldn’t bring myself to sulk even for a second, much against my true nature. I was so anxious to make the best of the time I had at home, that I didn’t even crib about having to leave.

On retrospect, just as I was bemusing over my fate, weighing with utmost graveness, the pros and cons of my estranged existence, the “fair” side of my self, murmured “Think of all those girls who visit their families once a year, staying far away, atleast you have the luxury of going every other weekend.” But still, self-pity is a strong emotion. Crushing the fair one, it loomed large, clouding the days to come.

That’s when, one Ms. R.C, who happens to one of those “girls-who-go-home-once-a-year”, sent me this poem. It appears, that she started to write on “childhood dreams”, inspired by a conversation with a collegue, and came up with this lovely piece.

And the fair one had the last laugh.



P.S: Ms R.C happens to be a talented poetess in hindi too, unfortunately I don’t happen to find a translator at hand all the time, to appreciate her works. This is the first one in English that was brought to my perusal.

P.P.S : I had always wanted to do something with the publishing industry, but considered myself too naïve for the field. But this time, continuing the trend, I surprised myself with a tactical move, reeking with originality. Before she could think of syndicating her writing, I pounced upon the guile-less poetess with an absolutely tempting (!!!) offer to feature her in my blog.