Valentine

She was dark skinned and with a voice that could scare the living daylights out of you.

She was like the crow, feared but never understood and always looked down upon.

She never made much friends even though here  mom made the most delicious of curries.
She had long curly hair and every one called her as Kawkaw.

She was always seated in a discrete corner of the bench, writing the notes which the class teacher dictated.

I only got to know her one day when i came to class early to write answers on my desk to secure the passing marks for this exam.

She too had come and i set about my task with a devilish intensity. And very much later did i know that she was crying, her sobs had gotten louder.

Someone had played a prank on her. They had called her names and filled crow feathers in her bag yesterday.

I really did not know what to do, so I asked her to stop crying and gave her my handkerchief.

That was the first time I saw her smile, and she looked damn beautiful. I think she saw me look at her and blushed too.It was the first spark that ignited a intense passion.

I flunked the exam, she too did the same.We had to reappear the next year. And this ritual had started, she would get her dabbis full of my favorite curries and we would start discussing subjects, she always had a look of satisfaction on her face when I finished her dabbis.
We talked about god, about life , love and movies. Long days seemed to vanish around our discussions and arguments.

I was fond of her in a fondish way,But she was fond of me in a different sort of a way.
I got a letter dipped in red ink that read:

I think i am in love with you.
No one in my life has ever seen me as a person. They have almost always looked at me with an intense disgust. My black skin has always been the joke, my voice has always been ridiculous and I always felt unbeautiful.

Until you came to me and in a gesture that was unknown to me, friendship.

I think I am in love with you.
I laugh when you are around, I blush when look into my eyes and question my glance.
I don't feel like staying in class when you are not around.
With you around I just dont remember that the rest of them still see me as a joke.
I look at myself very differently now, thanks to you...

And as I read the letter, I realised it had not been written in red ink, it was something else.

It sent shivers down my spine, the ones that get you all spooky.
There was a part of me that was happy, a part of me that was terrified and a part of me that was still in shock.

I had to read it again and again, and every time I read it, I felt a strange sense of emotion, tears welled up in my eyes as I read her thoughts.

I called her and broke the news to her.

I could hear her crying even long after the call had been cut and the night had fallen.

And for the first time in her life there was a fairy tale.

Then and now.

Switch back a decade, I was still in school.
I used to visit my grandmother s house.
Maybe a few weeks prior itself the festivities would have begun. Me and my granny would visit the local market and buy the first dosage of jaggery, kobbri and sugarcane.

Sugarcane, that was the best. Afternoons were not in any way boring. I was always waiting for afternoon.
The faint smell of melting sugar tickled me out of sleep, only to find my granny in the kitchen making the Sakkare achu. Just when the instant was right I would swoop in or be called for to hold the wooden framework to make this sugary delight.
And the one that broke while carefully pulling away the mould was reserved for me.

This was a habit that gave me great joy, and at times I simply devoured a tasty treat without my granny noticing.

Also at my command was the lines and lines of sugarcane stacked against the wall, tall juicy and vibrant , inviting me to bite into their sugary richness.
And so we did like elephants drawn to sugarcane, tearing away the tough skin with our bare teeth and then competing with each other as to who made the tallest mound of sugarcane fibres.

It was a childhood delight i miss most these days.

Then i would be given chores like cutting the jaggery into small refined pieces and then mixing them with previously fried groundnut.

Then a lot of people from the locality would come over and simply talk on random things. These people brought along with them an assortment of young kids to play with.

And thus the festival was a ritual, a celebration of sorts that had a charm to it that nothing could beat.

Nowadays there is hardly a flicker of excitement for festivals, preferring already ready made ingredients instead of the home made, stereotyped wishes over a small little conversation...

I think with technology we have grown and Sankranthi is happy !

Images rather than wishes. I hardly can say, the motive behind the wishes have in any way diminished but the personal feel has definitely taken a hit.
Forward messages sent in hordes of 100s and images have taken courtesy wishes to a whole new level of artistry.

Well then that's that.
World is changing, so should our rituals.

But then old school has a charm of its own...

Happy Sankranthi.
(Irrespective , Sankranthi will be happy)
But it should bring a smile on your face and others around you plus fun and excitement in the day , then it has truly been a happy day of this festival for you...

Until the next festival over and out.

Best Regards,
Pungi

First book blues

This first book has tested my patience a little.

I had one definite thought in mind, This was going to be difficult. Infact it has always been difficult. And that's why it took me five long years to compile , sort and find answers to all the questions of how , why and what to do ?

Frankly  i don't have all the answers.
Its still a discovery in progress.

And every time there is a review comment, a comma missing , a lack of rhythm, no title and maybe no proper indentation, i feel like i am that dude who realised he is in love with the girl after she got married.

Well that's life.
Everything needs to be perfect. Atleast that's what everyone tells.

It hits hard when reviews are not about the content but about the presentation.

This is one thing i had considered.
But it hit really hard.
As hard as the fair and lovely advertisement and the fogg body spray when compared to the reality of it all.

There was another question that seemed  to catch me off guard.

Why should i read your book ?
No why ?

What makes me different  from all the books out there.

For me, its my brainchild.
No one is bothered about my brainchild. They have their own.

Phew. So much to digest in so little time.

And the journey has just begun.

Untitled Verses by Pungidasa

Well ,

I have been writing since 5 years now.

I do not know how I have managed to do that.

A lot of gratitude goes to each and every one of you that has directly or indirectly been an influence on what I write and how I write.

The joy of bringing a smile on your face as you read through my posts is simply rewarding enough.

For over 5 years a lot of people have asked me when I will publish my first book.

And I almost always said, ”sometime in the near future” , the time has finally come to make that happen...

Here is Introducing my first book .

Untitled Verses

An Elixir of poems.

By Pungidasa

Available at this link as an ebook

http://www.lulu.com/shop/pungidasa/untitled-verses/ebook/product-22998625.html

Please do read and give me a feedback
And if you do like it ,
Do share it.

Thank you

Best Regards
Sunil Sathyendra aka Pungidasa...

My holidays

It has been ages since i have enjoyed this feel.

It is a feel. More intense than the feeling or should i say more complete.

The terrace has always been my most favourite of places and yes, i was up there.
The cold December morning had thawed and the sun had slowly gained control and by afternoon become pleasant.
The wind was still a little cold but the weather was perfect.

And i took a nap.

For an hour or so, on the floor.

In almost sixteen years that was the second time i had done that.

It was a high like none other to wake up to a cloudy sky, slightly biting wind and a luke warm sun.

I was transported back to where we all run when we need instant happiness.

I was back to my childhood.
As i came back to my kitchen and made myself some tea. A light drizzle made its way towards the balcony.

And the feel intensified.

The fragrance of wet earth.

Its a charm of its own. A charm that very few occasions in the last few years in office have ever provided.

I vividly remember our gang of friends.
We were around sixteen. I am not talking about our age but the number of kids that always played.

Our house was the only house in the neighbourhood that did not object to us playing cricket.

Although we rarely broke anyone's window panes we were never allowed to play in front of their houses, we were shooed away like we were the untouchables.

And if my some miracle we did play, the ball in play always seemed to find the destination of the Hitler Uncles and Horrible Aunties.

I tell you it was a minefield out there, we had to play like marines. And every time someone hit the ball into Hitler land we were hostage negotiators, taking their baseless abuses which we never listened after we got the ball.We just nodded like we do at all status meetings.

And then if we did play like nice kids, there were the long ditches that became the next magnets and scuba diving into them crawling along until we were decorated in mud, slime and stink.

And then there were dogs we had to be watchful of.

Apart from all this.
We had fun. Girls boys , young and old, ugly or beautiful, dark or white did not seem to matter.

The games ended at eight, after we were sure that every light eon had been used up.And at seven thirty next morning we were up like rabbits, raising dust like Alexander's army.

And my house was the treasury for all playing equipment, the drinks break always was at my place.
And my grandmother's afternoon job was to provide us with drinking water.

And we had competitions, as to who drunk most water from the jug in one shot. I was always the winner.

We had fights , most fights ended in a few minutes but a few others lasted a few days but all was well always.

We loved it, every minute of this life.
And then we never knew we were doing something we would always remember.

And if there was no one to play with, then i would take my cycle and simply make laps in the road, thinking i was some Micheal Schumacher, singing like a mad donkey on the road.

It just left carefree.

I think i miss the most of it this way.
We had birthdays, no booze or selfies, yet we always had fun and remembered every birthday...

On the verge of my 15 day vacation when my colleagues asked me if i was getting married, questioning my long holiday schedule, i am lost in the nostalgia, the old school charm , the romance of an era when i was simply uncomplicated.

Now i have holidays, a list of priorities,
A concrete jungle, my car which i don't really know how to drive, no friends who play cricket or do much.

They all want to play WhatsApp or Facebook or eat beer and snort weed , or take selfies every 500 micro second.

But i have a vacation of 15 days to relax, to recollect old memories and connect with all the trails that lead to conversations that matter.

My red balloon

It was those days when schools had holidays on weekends. I was may be in third standard, and usually my school van would be filled with equally interesting looking faces bored into existence at 7.30 in the morning and then our bus snaked it's way through small gullies and roads and at long last to my school at 9.00 sharp, five days a week

As usual my school had declared a holiday on Saturday and most of my friends were off to their relatives houses and I was left alone with nothing to do.
And my mother noticed me simply sitting in front of the wall and looking at nothing in particular.

She seemed to understand my boredom and she announced with a cheer in her voice that we would visit the flower show that afternoon after lunch.

I jumped from my place and hugged her tight. I had never been to a flower show and this would be severely exciting. I got ready , ate my lunch with an expectant enthusiasm that came naturally. I had my red dress, my red hat and red shoes on in a jiffy.
This was my favourite attire and by default red was my favourite colour.

We walked for a long time until we found a autorikshaw that took us to my first flower show.

The flowers were neatly arranged. There was a lot of people and naturally my mom always held my hand. I just did not find this any amusing. All the latent enthusiasm was gone. I had dropped my shoulders even before i had seen the third flower.

When the show was over, my mom looked at my sad face and told me that we would buy ice cream later.

we walked around doing in search of it. But i found this long tall uncle with dark black eyes selling balloons.
I was in luck. He had red balloons and he told me that it was a special balloon filled with magic. I should hold it tight or else it would float away.

I was given a choice, the ice cream or the balloon and without further ado , i had the object of beauty in my possession.

It was round, completely red and shone brilliantly in the sunlight.

I held it really tight because i desperately wanted this. For the first time in the day i was happy.

My mom bought herself an ice cream and declared that all her money was over.

I sneezed once.
Then twice.

My little red balloon took to the air.The helium balloon rose higher and higher, faster than the load of tears that welled in my eyes.

I kept crying and looking up into the sky. My little red balloon flying up in the sky further and further until i could see it no more.

A modern Tapas

It is a slow transition,
Something that took time and a lot of intensely tense moments.

A real sense of calmness has settled upon my demeanour, it has taken a lot of sculpting to get here.

I have had a lot of jittery moments that have questioned and tugged at my resolve; the desperate craving to be heard, to be seen and appreciated.

And then I made a pact with myself, to become the social media yogi.
To move away from the din of the moving madness, and like the Shiva, become a tapasvi.

It was ridiculously tough at the beginning, my thoughts always tugging at the need to come to a road that I have been addicted to.

There was never a day in the last four to six years that I have not opened my Facebook account.

I decided enough was enough, and I challenged myself to stop using it for a while.
A target of 21 days without social media interactions.

And ...

It's day 42 today,and it has been an intense journey thus far.

It's like a pilgrimage, to move away from something you have grown to like and connect to; to move away from the normalcy and the comfort into a place unknown.

At first , It was alien, my hands were fidgety to come back to the state of ritual.
Each time I had the urge to simply login , i had to manufacture a reason to stay away; to abstain from this addiction.

This act of training the monkey in the mind ; the child in the mind ,  away from its favourite toy is tough. This military ritual took time to sink in.

And believe it or not, I had a lot of time to simply sit at home and have a conversation.

It became a detachment.
Slowly the things that made the list of important things took a back seat.

And this aim to rid myself of this entanglement took center stage.

The connection of the being with people, the chaos of the interconnect was just getting too unreal.
And the relative cool shade of this isolation gave me the much needed connect with myself.

And now this calmness of the mind, the trained monkey in the head have become a state of bliss.

This state of disconnect,
An almost absence from the need to be heard, read and appreciated has been a personal transition.

A task I never could bring myself to even think of before.

Personally it has been a very calming influence.
From a person who sent write-ups daily for over 5 years to a readership of over 500 people,
To switch off this way has been a task that has truly been a Tapas.