Wishes, Dear Sister!

Dear Sister,

The bond that we share is no ordinary bond. It is a unique and most treasured bond of relationship that only some lucky siblings get to live on this earth, and we are amongst those few.

As we celebrate this day as your birthday, I often think we're lucky and similary by many means. I had formed the most convincing reason to this as a little boy years ago, realizing that both of us shared the same nature of dates in our birthdays. I was born on the third day of the third month, and you on the tenth day of the tenth month. Even today, at 26, I love thinking it on the same line. Talking of similarities, it also reminds me of our reading habits that we successfully developed together.

The beauty of a brothet-sister relationship is, however, not in the similarities but in the differences. If you remember, me troubling you in little matters and you retaliating back. Your threats to complaint and my tongue hanging out and dancing in circles. You digging your nails in my flesh and I pulling your ponytail in return, and the disagreement to let go first. And to hit back for one last time even after the truce, were some moments that passed away with that childhood innocence.

The pillow fights being the best warfront. It began with the clash to grab the harder pillow first. To leave the other person with the leftover softer pillow was a shameful defeat in itself. Even if I would throw away my pillow, the duel wouldn't end until I would accep defeat by saying it. And, because rules were rules, it would be the same for you. But the one who accepted defeat wouldn't sit quiet, in a few minutes the smashes would come to life again.

But outside the house we were each other's back. Though the threat of complaining never took off, but to let not do something wrong was always foremost. If I had to get something done by you, it would mean a cost. No matter how important the work would be, the cost could never be escaped. That cost-to-help was the most valuable trade, where I would try my best to not pay and you determined to not help without having what you desire.

Today, things have changed, those pillow fights are almost history now. Now we don't often hit each other, only the eyes do the talking. But, yes if it would start, I bet it wouldn't end. It would go on for hours, in breaks and actions, and cease to stop at any cost if provoked. The child within hasn't died, it has just got busy with the reasonings of responsibilities. We have taken up from complaining to keeping each other's secrets and guide each other through the tides of odds. As I remember, you were so little and innocent once, and suddenly so big enough to even guide and mentor me at times. Perhaps with the years that pass, girls turn wise and boys just fat, it is so that I see a very mature change in you that has taken this relationship to even better heights. And I know as the years pass this bond will grow more stronger than ever.

I wish you the best in your endeavours, with a firm belief that you will definitely excel in whatever you do.

Happy Birthday!

With lots of love.
Your brother.

Man, Oh man! You Selfish Man

Man, Oh man! You selfish man

You wagged and smiled

And offered rides

Held my hand

And wrapped that band

Brought me rings and tied those lace

For my hatred you had grace

No love, no strings of pull

Between the two of us

But, yet your devotion so full

A masked Romeo

A covered ditch

Oh you! Son of a....

You're no lover, a fisherman

With hooks and baits, and a net

You go-getter, an opportunist

Inhumane and deceitful

For if there's some will in you

Or just a little shame

Go get a life, go-get-her

Go live, TO-get-HER

A Hindu-Muslim Conversation

If I were to tell someone about a random conversation, they wouldn't be so much interested. But, if it happened to be a Hindu-Muslim chit-chat, anyone would be all ears. Such is the essence of these two religions, that it doesn't leave anyone intrigued to himself. As we perceive these two religions, or infact as the world guides us to perceive them, these are like two threads of the same color knotted together, but distinctly visible in different shades. They're like jute and nylon proving their appearance, strength and usefulness. Like magnets, but with the opposite poles, or like a ship and the wind that blow against each other. They're together but apart; like a starless sky on a full moon night. But seldom they meet, and when they meet, it is a full bloom.

To begin talking, I paid a visit to my barber today. His name and religion, that I believe you have already assumed, are both wrapped in green. Not to say that you're wrong by any means, but this, to remove the doubts (if any) I must tell is a happy story.

In a conjusted lane with parked vehicles and hand-carts, ragpickers and daily commuters, stood his shop with loud music right opposite to a Navratara pandaa that echoed with bhajans. As I sat on the chair before him, he discussed with someone about his plans of going home on the eve of Muhharam. I asked him if the festival was on the twelfth of this month, and he nodded in approval. To not drop the conversation there, I further asked him if there would be a "mela" here on the day of Muharram; he corrected me and told it is a "juloos," and it happens every year.

The conversation had turned open ended, and interesting in this short while. I told him that in my hometown, as a child I used to see this procession and be amazed at the stunts the men did. He told me, it isn't in religious interest, but just in a frenzy state of mind that boys beat themselves with belts and tubelights. In the meanwhile, on the opposite side of the road the Navratra pandaal started with the day's aarti. He asked why is Shri Ganesha's aarti sung before all other aartis, even when Navratras has no significance with Ganesha. It seemed he had carried that question from a far past, not been able to ask someone before. It was an unbiased-religious intrigueness that dropped off from his face. I answered with the same expressions, even happier and expressive. I told him exactly the same that once my father had told me in response to the same question, that anything good that we ever start is called a "lagan"(a good occassion), and with every lagan, comes a vighan (an evil disturbing force). Lord Ganesha is called Vighnaharan, the destructor of that evil force, and remembering him before anything auspecious is bound to keep the bad times away. He was pleased to know the reason, and smiled in contentment.

Things had taken such a good turn, that he stopped for a minute and said, "Ruko mujhe speakers band karne do, aarti shuru ho gai hai."

And there it ended in smiles and praises, in a blend of saffron and green!