Your Imagination!

 

 

 

A palatial domicile, you had dreamed of,

in your compound trees, ornate

with pretty swaying twigs, full of greens,

the dawn sun in its glow of saffron,

chirping and singing birds having wings

of varying hues as a palatal feast for the eyes.

 

A happy home was in your imagination,

 affectionate home mates, tangy food,

clothing of your liking, travel style of your choice

sizable rooms, costly seating in the sitting,cosy beds,

A.C.to keep your body driving away the hot feeling,

a loving partner, adjusting and bearing your ire.

 

But ifs and buts rule your physique and psyche,

if your grey matter revolves in the orbit of gloom,

if desires wear the coat of irk and distress and

if your pals, partners or progeny build an invisible

fencing around you, you will repel them

covertly, then gloom will be your mind’s emperor.

 

So, be in love with the stars blinking at you,

 with the grin of the moon,the lovely birds, 

 the beautiful blooms, the glassy pond-liquid, 

lotuses and lilies in friendship, the swimming Pisces,

and make such things your worries’ erasers,

all pull your minds to reside with them.

 

 

 

 

The First story of Gadha!

The First Story Of Gadh!

If any subject teacher is on leave, another teacher will be given a gift named substitution work. Gadha’s class teacher was on leave that day. She was Usha, stylish, good-looking and a new teacher. Usha did a catwalk to substitute Sreedevi Teacher’s 8th class. Usually, in the substitution period, the teachers will be drowning in note corrections.  But Usha, because of her inexperienced status, was enthusiastic to trouble the children with Math lessons.

Gadha, “O! This part, our Sreedevi teacher has finished. Getting bored,” spoke in her mind. She took a notebook, opened its last pages and drew something this way that way and all. Suddenly she fell in a thought, “Why can’t I make Unni a subject?”

Yes, she set about thus.

Unni, the Wayward

Unni was a simple, loving boy. He was my neighbour, reading in sixth grade. The only problem, games cuddle him firmly and vice versa, always. If elders want some help from him, he pays no attention to it. So, his mother in half affection and half ire, gave him a pet name Unni, the Obstinate.

His mother Vasanthi’s legs seemed to be trying her expertise, as she sped domestic, the kitchen corner pushed her stumbling and she got hurt. She broke her left leg with inexorable bleeding. Somebody informed Unni, but he thought, “Nothing; might be a small wound, Amma will manage.” He went on with his amusements. Anyway, his Papa from the work site arrived and Mom reached the hospital. As doctors expressed their helplessness, she had to bid bye to all. Unni burst into tears, but his tender age suddenly allowed him to attain normalcy. The nomenclature,  ‘Wayward’ his mother gifted, his villagers painted with his name, and he became Unni, the Wayward. A couple of years passed, and his mind started to sit gloomy, felt his loss, so one day he penned down all his tearing emotions on a sheet of paper.  

Though his father was not that educated to understand it fully, his uncle’s words did leap out with appreciation. Uncle, Raj sent the story to a leading magazine. The week followed, dawned with Unni’s story in the magazine.  Unni’s presence became life in the children’s columns of best-selling periodicals and his villagers decided to cut off his ‘ Wayward’ tail from his name. Later, Unni himself ornamented his personage with his mother-given term and his pen name.

“Gadha, what is up there?” A thunder broke into the class atmosphere.  Gadha had touched the end part of her narration; no sooner did she keep back the book in the bag than another student snatched it to the teacher. The teacher stormed to the principal’s room taking hold of Gadha.

“ Ah! Beautiful substance, Gadha, what a language! A writer I see in you,” the Principal said on reading the child’s work.

“Usha, you are fresh, have patience. Don’t worry. That is why.”

Yes. The principal’s words ended in a fulfilling dream. Gadha is a writer now.

A Story of Yonder!

 

Climbed it, the little legs, the tree,

 cheated the tender limbs, the plant tall,

or the legs cheated the owner,

fell, adorned the legs, the doctor

no, a nurse with a plaster,

when so, the doctor asked her.

 

Would have agony, cuddled Mom,

if had been with Dad,  my mother,

he cried endlessly at me,

Now, no suffering she has, oh!No,

you are cruel, God! With Father

 not there, Mom, to dry my tears.  

 

One and a half months ate away

 days, numbering forty-five,

throwing the child to bed indeed.

 I lamented in my heart and was sad

seeing my playmates

run, jump and shower with water.  

 

The great doctor, time patted

 on the wound and pampered

the child, I, to try standing

and with his pals, playing,

as before, yes, the child became

smarter than earlier.