My Picture Stories

A picture is worth a thousand words. Sometimes, a picture could totally change a vague idea into a very real breathing and kicking thing, assuming a life of its own, completely occupying you, consuming you whole – body, mind, and soul.

Mine is a typical arranged marriage. You arrive at a “marriageable age”. Your parents talk to you and put out a word about your “availability” in their social circles. And you wait…

Then finally, a few weeks later, they find a “nice” boy. They match your ages, heights, horoscopes, and a whole load of crap that’s to be matched. And then, you exchange photographs.

When his photograph arrived, a few people at home looked at it before I did. They started throwing around these random judgments – he's cute, he's handsome, nice, tall, etcetera, etcetera…

So, my indifference slips a little bit and I get a little curious. Finally, I open the laptop and while his picture loads, my family throw in more appreciative adjectives for my benefit. Amidst all this hubbub, I look at his picture and decide – well, they are not wrong. He is one attractive man. It’s a waist length photograph. He’s in this red and white shirt, posing for the camera, smiling and all…

He had a very gentle and pleasant smile and I wonder “what's he smiling at”, though I knew that he was just posing for a photo.

He had thick and black curly hair which was well-groomed and I wonder “Did he get a hair-cut done specially for this picture?”

His arms are long and strong-looking and I wonder what his touch would feel like.

While going to bed that night, I wonder if he was going to bed too. While having breakfast next morning, I wonder what's his favorite dish. I wonder what movies he likes to watch, what books he likes to read. I wonder what his kind of vacation is. At every moment, I would think – What is he doing right now, at this exact moment? Is he eating, is he working, is he sleeping? Does he know I am thinking about him?

All of a sudden, he was this real, living, breathing person whose existence I was not aware till now, who I had never met till date, yet strangely, could not get out of my head. Not that I wanted to, of course. I shamelessly admit – I was obsessed. I was obsessed and I just couldn’t wait to meet this stranger.

Fast forward six years. I’m married to this stranger, we have an adorable little boy, who’s also a brat sometimes. And now, we register to legally adopt a girl child. We fill up a truck load of forms, face innumerable interviews, finish another truck load of formalities and then, we wait…

Here again, they match your requirements with the available children and finally, a few years later, there’s a match – a nine-month old baby girl! While speaking to the Children’s home about the baby, I hear some appreciative adjectives – she’s very cute, she’s extremely active, healthy, adorable... My nerves are a wreck (well, I can’t tell you how nervous I was) when I opened the laptop and saw her picture and I decide – well, they are not wrong – She’s one adorable little munchkin.

It was a tiny passport size picture. She had little almond-shaped eyes looking not towards the camera, but towards a side and I wonder “What is she looking at? What’s there that grabbed her attention?”

She had thin little lips, forming just a hint of a smile and I wonder “What’s got her so amused?”

On her head were just a few brownish strands set slickly on her head with a couple sticking out awkwardly from one side and I wonder “Has some one combed her hair back so slickly or is her hair prim and proper always?”

While having dinner that evening, I wonder what she liked to eat – is she a fussy eater? While going to bed at night, I wonder if she likes to hear lullabies at bedtime. I wonder if she liked to play peek-a-boo or would it scare her. I wonder if she has a favorite toy, I wonder what she likes to play, I wonder if she smiles a lot. At every moment, I would think – What is she doing now, right at this exact moment? Is she eating, is she sleeping, is she playing? Does she know I am thinking about her?

All of a sudden, she was this real, living, breathing person, albeit a little person, whose existence I was not aware till now, who I had never met till date, yet strangely, could not get out of my head. Not that I wanted to of course. I admit I was obsessed. I was obsessed and I just couldn’t wait to meet my little stranger.

Woes of a Mother...

Of the whole creation am I a wonder

There’s no one else like me, where ever you wander

I’m a perfect balance of the heat and the cold

I’m the envy of any other world

Of the whole universe am I the queen

Within me, my equerries convene

The enchanted five some - air, water, fire, sky, and earth

Perform their magic and create the precious breath

My child, my prince is the apple of our eye

“Life” we call him, since within him our lives lie

For him, all my love and care I gather

For I love my offsrping, just like any other mother

Together, my ladies and I nurture him with all the care in the world

Seeing a wonder, seeing him mould

Proud and surprised I am at his intelligence

Longing for his escalation, I offer him fortunes immense

Swift and ambitious as he is

Quick is he to seize his opportunities

He works, builds, and he grows

He toils hard through highs and lows

Before long, he begins conquering worlds far-off

He grows more determined, he just cannot have enough

Without restraint, he plucks the fruit I bear him

With them, he fuels his never-ending dream

In front of my eyes, he converts

To suit himself, my treasures he diverts

Now, he destroys rather than build

Making me bitterly realise that he is a child gone wild

He tears me apart, hurting me slowly

Plunging knifes into my body maliciously

He now has no sympathy, no rest

Kicks me till I bleed, in my breast

He claims me now, he has forgotten to ask

I try to stop him, but it’s no longer an easy task

He treats me less like a mother and more like a whore

How much ever I give him, he wants more and more

Finally, I’m tired and withered

My entire body is blood-smeared

And try as I might

I can never show my son the light

Just before my eyes close

I see something much worse

Bleeding to his death my son lay

In front of my eyes he is wasting away

YOUR WRATH...

I finally took the courage to look at you
It has been so many days, but the pain was still there, clearly written on your face
Just one careless sentence and I broke your heart
Oh! What have I done?
I looked at your eyes, they were still raining fire
You looked back at me, as if daring me

I know not now how to take it back
Oh how I wish I had never said that !
How I wish we could go back to what we were!
How I wish I had used my head back then!
How I wish I could turn back time and change it all!
And Now, as I look at you, I still know not how to make amends

I want to say sorry
But I know it is too small a word to express my regret
Too small to disclose the war that is being raged inside of me
I swear I had never hated myself more
I couldn't look at you anymore and dropped my eyes, bent my head again, like a guilty prisoner
Guilty, I was! Guilty as hell!

I wanted to fall on my knees and beg for your forgiveness
But it was as if my knees are made of stone and
My voice got stuck in my throat
Oh please don't look at me like that
I feel like running away, I feel like dying
I feel like filth for hurting you

Oh please don't walk away like that
Please talk to me, please look at me
With those eyes piercing through my heart
So hard that I could feel the pain
All I need is to ask for another chance and
It wasn't supposed to be so hard

I gathered enough courage to croak, "mom"
Awkwardly, cowardly, feebly and shamefully
You looked back, still looking at me as if daring me
I deserved it and I knew it
So I went on, first stuttering, stammering and unsure
Looking here and there, avoiding those eyes of yours

But when I did glance at your face, I knew
You had been waiting for this, as much as I did
Now I looked straight into your wet eyes
I apologized, with moist eyes, I asked you for another chance
You smiled, the fire long gone from your eyes, with love and reverence in its place
As for me, I felt so light, so light that I thought I was floating in the sky!

A PEACOCK QUILL STORY...

The mansion was silent and I was idle. Yes! I was idle! After so many years.


The kids had gone off to their school and my husband to his work. As for my work, I had it organized enough to take care of itself even in my brief absence.


I looked around myself and found nothing to comfort my racing nerves. Was it a good idea? The doctors say anything. Do they know me better than myself?


I remembered the doctor’s words, “you have to slow down, take some time off,” and that’s what I was doing. I was suddenly tempted to rush into my den, the place I retreat to in the midst of every night, when I get jerked off my sleep, just to see my laptop and may be just sit there a while, check a couple of mails, finish a couple of errands (though they could have waited till morning). And that was what got my family alarmed. I’m a workaholic. I knew that. But it isn’t a disease. Is it?


Why has it suddenly become so difficult to think of something else other than home and work? It was not so when I was a little girl, was it? What did I ever do when I was small? I remember running. Yes! I ran a lot! I ran at home, I ran outside, I ran in the school. I remember I had a little doll, and all my energy went into looking after it. I smiled. And suddenly, a thought struck. I know what I could do now!


It was as if I was transported back to my childhood. I ran across the hall- not like how I do every morning, before rushing off to my office, but I ran like how I used to do when I was little. I ran straight into the dusty store room. I rummaged through layers and layers of stuff that hadn’t been used for years. I never had any idea before now how much filth I owned. What was I storing all this stuff for anyway?


After an incredibly long time, I finally found what I was looking for. The large box was old; the surface of it was peeling off. On the top was my name, barely visible, scribbled in blue- I remembered my mother’s handwriting, the characteristic scrawl, when she wrote in hurry, all the while issuing warnings and concerns, for I was going to live all alone, for the first time in my life.


I lifted the awfully heavy box and carried it into my bedroom, set it on the floor and carefully started removing the things from it, one-by-one, the things I had cherished as a little girl, the things, though looked trivial now, but were so treasured once- a stack of papers splashed with colors, tiny dolls, old ribbons, a little book in which, I wrote meaningless poetry, countless number of shells, photographs of friends and family and so on…


It was when I was going through an old book that it flew down, straight into my lap. I picked it up gingerly. A peacock quill. It still felt soft. At first, I couldn’t remember owning it and then slowly, it all started coming back, in bits and pieces.


Where I had got it from or when I didn’t know, but it somehow ended up in my fairy tale book. It was the most colorful and beautiful thing I had ever possessed and I loved it. I was possessive of it. It was my secret possession and prized. I never showed it to my parents for the fear of parting with it. And one day, when I took it to school and showed it to my friends, they were full of awe. Some asked me to give it to them, some begged and some cried. But, I wouldn’t. Would I? I had it with me, day and night, where ever I went.


But I didn’t know what it ate! My best friend had suggested feeding it with grains. “Feed it well and the feather would grow. My grandmother told me. She had this magic feather when she was small. She had fed it well and the feather grew so big,” she said, stretching her arms wide. She said it had powers. It was a magical feather. I was overjoyed and surprised. Of course, it had powers!


I was so excited. I fed it with different grains. Ever day, my friend and I would peep into the fairy tale book and every time, we got overjoyed imagining 'the magic quill' had indeed grown a little.


For a few days, my life revolved around it. After a few days, I suddenly got bored of the peacock quill and I gradually forgot all about it and managed to push off its existence into oblivion and its memory into a deep, dark corner of my mind.


Wow! What a life it was! This is what is missing in my life. That passion! That innocence! That obtaining joy in the little things of life! This is all there is to life and happiness.


In pursuit of the biggies in life- studies, career, marriage, kids, money, status and power, we often forget living life, enjoying the things that bring us a lot of happiness. I had realized it now and had decided that becoming a little girl and living my life once in a while, wouldn’t hurt. Would it?

I'M A MOTHER...

The moment I took him in my arms, the wailing stopped. It was replaced by a soft mumbling. He seemed to feel at home. The wrinkles on his face gradually softened, the frown between his eyebrows unknotted and his features registered a look of peace. He looked happy and at peace with the world. Tears ran down my cheeks as I realized that he actually knew the feel of my touch. He moved his tiny limbs feebly, unlike his earlier frail attempts to kick them frantically in the air. I didn't even know how long I'd held him. I watched on as the world's most beautiful thing fell asleep in his mother's loving arms. Right then, I knew that he is the most important thing in my whole life and the best thing that had happened to me.

We were together almost all the time. My thoughts, my world, my everything spiralled down, centered around him. I spoke with him, even though people reminded me, "he is a little baby. He wouldn't understand a thing." I paid them a deaf ear. "My son is far more intelligent than they know. He understands everything I say," was my stubborn notion. I played all sorts of silly games with him. I had spent every waking moment with him, marvelling at him, thinking what I'd done to deserve this wonderful gift. And when I slept, I had him beside me, held on to him, afraid to part with him even for the fraction of a second.

His first word was 'ma', like I'd always known and imagined and my dear little boy didn't disappoint me. The sound was like music to my ears, the sweetest thing I'd ever heard till date. I could not stop crying the whole day.

He took his first step and I clapped and jumped, pride filling my heart.

He curled his tiny fingers around mine when he slept and I thought, "I'm his saviour."

He fell down, got hurt and I felt a piercing pain that seemed to tear my heart apart.

He cried if he didn't find me beside him when he woke up and I felt happy that he missed me.

He went off to school and I missed him terribly.

He brought home an ailing puppy one day and nursed it back to health and I was moved at his kindness.

He brought home a trophy another day and I was proud of his achievement.

And then...

He brought home a couple to his buddies and I knew his horizon was expanding.

He never seemed to be alone, and I understood that there are other people in his life now.

I dutifully packed his lunch boxes. which were mostly returned uneaten and I struggled to make tastier food for him.

I quietly looked on as he drove away to parties with his friends.

I craved for his company as he hardly stayed at home now.

My heart leapt with joy when he occasionally smiled at me or when he gave me a peck on my cheek.

I wished I could be like one of his friends, and I could have some of his time. I tried to bridge the generation gap between us.

And one fine day...

He brought home a beautiful girl said, "Ma, I'm in love. I want to marry her." I looked at his innocent face and suddenly realised how quickly time has passed, how big my boy has grown. This was bound to happen and I knew it. I had always wanted it to happen. Yet, it wasn't altogether clear to me if I was happy or sad.

I was overwhelmed that he would now be a man, have a family, a wife, kids and all. Yet, the thought that another woman became a lot more important for him made a lump form in my throat. Does he still love me? I fought back tears- I wasn't sure if they were happy tears and plastered a smile across my face to show my assent, lest he would become upset with me. I felt silly, like a stupid little girl.

Joy twinkled in his eyes as he came closer to me and gave a peck on my cheek, whispered in my ear, "I love you ma. You know you are the best!" He looked at me, gratitude in his eyes. Of course, my approval does matter to him. He does love me, my dear boy!!! The best son anyone could ever have!!!

I smiled and this time, I'm smiling with pure bliss!!!

Inspired from one of the most loving mothers I had ever seen (my mother-in-law)

AN IMAGE FFROM THE BEAUTIFUL PAST...

I felt a tugging at my shirt and I looked down. A little child was trying to get my attention, looking up at me and smiling. It was a little girl, with an oddly familiar pair of large, dark, lively eyes and an even more intimate, smile. I was baffled! The resemblance was stark and striking.
They were the same black eyes. It was the same innocent smile. They were the two things I first got attracted to, so many years ago.
I was still speculating, fascinated, when I heard a voice-a voice that keeps ringing in my ears to this day, almost every morning, every night, all these years. I couldn't believe my ears! It was the same voice! It was her voice! I immediately spun around and there she was, walking quickly towards me, looking at her child, anxious! No sooner had her eyes turned towards me, than she stopped dead in her tracks and as I had expected, her eyes registered surprise and awe. Or was she shocked?
Those eyes... gazing into which, I used to see my own image, yet, completely forgot myself, utterly lost myself in their soft gaze...That was so many years back. Now I'm seeing them again, looking at me the same way they did back then. Her eyes were still the same, large, liquid, expressive. They looked just the same, except for a vague trace of the apparently newly-appearing crow's feet at their edges.
Now, as she blinked, a dark curl of her hair swept across her face, brushing her skin lightly. Unconsiously, her hand raised to her face, and she twisted the lucious ringlet, between two of her long, slim fingers and tucked it discreetly behind her ear, gracefully, just like how she used to do when she caught me staring appreciatively at the curls of her hair flying against her face. Her hair...into which, I gladly buried my face, inhaling its dainty frangrance and played with it, feeling its softness...That was so many years back. Her hair still looked the same, excpet for a few grey strands here and there.
And now, I could see her lower lip trembling slightly. She immediately caught it tight between her teeth, sending a shot of pain across my heart. I wanted to run to her and rescue her lip of the menacing hold between her teeth. Her rosy lips...which always had an innocent, never-ending smile. Her lips...which had felt so soft and passionately receptive when I kissed.
She looked the same-exactly the same. '...except that she'd gained a little weight,' the logical corner of my mind tried to intervene. But my eyes and my heart proclaimed that she still looked gorgeous. For me, undoubtedly, she is the most beautiful woman in the whole world. If anything, her womanly grace seemed more beautiful than her frilly innocence. There was this mysterious dignity about her now, which looked like a perfect blend of maturity and chastity.
I, myself, was surprised at the reaction of my own body and heart to her presence. There was no hunger, no urgency, like before. But still, just like before, my heart still beat fast and galloped, threatening to jump right out of me, at that moment. And my body, though didnt show any signs of carnal desire, still craved for her soothing, reassuring touch, telling me silently that everything is going to be alright.
Yes! I wish she were mine. I wish she were with me now. I knew it was impossible. What I didnt know was whether she felt the same about me. I wished I could read her thoughts. I wished I could ask her what was going on in her mind. I wished I could talk to her just once.
She opened her mouth as if about to say something. And as we gazed at each other, neither of us noticed her daughter running towards her. When the little girl hugged her mother, she gave a start as if she woke up from sleep. She looked at her little child and again at me. Resigningly, she picked up her daughter and tearing her eyes away from me, she turned away. I wouldn't swear on it, but I thought I had seen a tear spilling out of one of her eyes, just like it did on that fateful day, many years back, when fate tore us apart. Through misty eyes, I just looked on as she walked away from me again, after all these years.

THE FLYING TIME...

They bring a smile onto the lips
They bring tears into the eyes
The echo of sweet voices reverberating in the ears
And then, an involuntary and heavy sigh
The time could have stood still, but it just flew by...

That running in the green pastures with their little white blossoms
That ignoring the broken twigs tearing and scratching tiny bare feet
That tripping and falling, being helped up onto the feet again
That squealing joyfully, singing and racing across hand-in-hand
The time could have stood still, but it just flew by...

That pouring over the year's books just one day before the exam
That waiting tensly for the inevitable 'death sentence'
That crying over someone's shoulder dreading failure
That partying hard into the night celebrating success
The time could have stood still, but it just flew by...

That sharing a secret joke across the table strewn with unhealthy food
That burst of laughter at one of the friends, who stared humiliated
That springing of surprises, endless gossiping, dancing and howling into the sleepless night
That tearful farewell, those kisses, hugs, tears and more tears
The time could have stood still, but it just flew by...

That first crush, a boundless attraction, those knowing winks, oohs and aahs
That game of secret admiration, eying one another
That naked bathing in the moon light on an eerily dreamy night
That falling in and out of love and that heart-break
The time could have stood still, but it just flew by...

Those reminiscences...
Just one step back in the past
There are so many of them, to last a life time
Those memories...
Just one look back at the life lived
There are still so fresh unaffected by the flying time

BEST ENEMIES!!!

I looked on as the bright lights of the terminal gradually disappeared at a distance. As we sped away from the airport, a sadness swept over me, filling my inside. I felt as if I was loosing something dear. It felt funny. I had never felt like this before about my brother. I tried to focus…

We never had any pleasant times together. It was just that we grew up together, lived under the same roof and shared similar genes. And yeah…we fought, owing to the tiny age gap between us. And we ‘fought like dogs,’ my mother used to say.

A slight drizzle started outside and I felt tiny wet drops sprinkling against my skin. I closed the window and sat back again, thinking.

The rain…we played in the rain as small kids, jumping, splashing water on each other. But somehow, at last, we usually ended up crying or making each other cry. I smiled…remembering the day we fought in rain, doubled up in a muddy water puddle, in the back yard. When my mother found us, she gave us nice thrashing followed by a warm bath and a clean set of clothes. The next day, both of us fell ill…

When it was cold, we snuggled up, close to each other like little cute puppies. But once we woke up, the story repeated itself.

On his eleventh birthday, I had burnt his hand and as a revenge, on my birthday, which actually came only a few days later, he messed up my cake, before my friends came over. Wow! We were enemies!!!

We fought for everything. We fought for our parents. We fought for the TV.

As we grew up and became less violent, the only interaction we had too vanished. However, my brother actually started guiding me, helping me with my studies and career.

I looked at my parents-dad silently driving and mom with her eyes closed, a tiny tear materializing at one end of her eye: she is apparently thinking about her son, my brother.

I was startled and shook out of my thoughts by the vibration of my phone. Clearing my voice, I softly said into it, “hello!”

“Its me,” he said. The very sound of his voice moistened my eyes. God! I’m crying!

“Just wanted to say,” he continued, awkwardly, “I’ll miss you, sis.”

“I’ll miss you too,” I crocked and then less awkwardly I said, “I love you, bro!”

Well, he is my brother and I love him! Of course we never had any pleasant times together. Or did we?!


Inspired from a my best friend's experience :) Thanks Amu for sharing it with me. Luv U!!

THE FORSAKEN...

He was woken up by a dirty drop falling on his forehead. The drop originated at the edge of his thin and flimsy iron shelter under which, he took his refuge and fell straight on his forehead, causing him to start. He trembled involuntarily for a while and slowed down gradually as he succeeded slowly in gathering his bearings.
It was damp outside, owing to the heavy downpour the previous night. He got up and sat in his little hub, examining the bruise caused due to the fight he had the previous day. He yanked of the little insects greedily feasting on his blood and continued looking at the injury with an eye of an eager chemist. He got up suddenly, ran to the nearby pool of water and washed it. But the bleeding wouldn't stop and the pain only worsened. He regretted his earlier action. But, he remembered correctly. His mother gave the same treatment to his injury before applying the thick green balm. it didn't give this reaction back then.
He suddenly realized that it was time to forget about the pain, which only seemed to grow by the minute. It was time to get to work.
He worked strenuously till the sun shined bright, carrying the stinking garbage to the waiting rickshaw from all the houses in the neighborhood. The rickshaw puller, his boss, was a mysterious man-always seemed to be a very cheerful and kind man, dancing unsteadily with a sweet smell hovering over him. He wondered where the smell came from. The boss had another thing which puzzled him-a brightly burning, thin stick emitting smoke between his lips, which initially frightened him. He choked when the boss had blown the smoke onto his face. But, lately, he had started to like the smell and the smoke. When he had enough money, he would try the burning stick.
When he had collected enough coins for his breakfast, he bought a stale piece of bread and ran quickly to hide and eat it. Exhibition of such a hard-earned prize food would attract the big boys, who would snatch his only breakfast and beat him up like how they did the previous day.
His stomach growled. He felt sick in his stomach as he took his first bite and he felt pressure building up inside his mouth, ready to push his bread out. He resisted it and waited until it died off. The bread didn't taste good, like it did when his mother gave him. He gobbled up the remaining part and settled down for another nap. But, sleep wouldn't come. He remembered his mother's voice when she sang him to sleep.
His head ached and throbbed. He put his his palm on his forehead, just like how his mother did when he felt this way before. His forehead felt warm and sweaty. He got up again and ran into the open though he didn't feel like running. It was time for school. He stood at a place from where , he could see kids running into the school building.
They were different-a lot different. They resembled neither him nor the big boys. They wore shoes and socks. They wore clean clothes and carried big bags. He enjoyed watching them.
There was a school boy as tall as he was, standing there, his mother bending down. She was setting his well-parted hair. The school school boy's hair look very impressive. He raised his sweaty palm to part his hair like the school boy's looking at his reflection in the small pool of dirty water on the street. When he got convinced that his ruffled hair looked like the boy's, he let out a sigh satisfied and looked at the school boy again. He moved closer to them to hear the mother's instructing her son to come back straight to his home after his school. He felt happy . He could go where ever he pleased. He had nobody to instruct him. He was a free bird, a master of his own.
But, as the mother kissed the school boy, and waved to him, he moved still closer hoping to catch her eye. She turned back without even looking at him and walked away as he stared after her. He turned back and ran in the opposite direction as the school boy walked slowly into his class.

DAD'S ANGEL...

There she was, standing amidst the beautiful flowers, looking prettier than the flowers themselves.She is my only daughter-my angel, the most striking girl I had ever known."She is no longer a girl," my wife often remarks, mockingly, "she is a woman now."But for my eyes, she is still that little, milk-toothed girl, wearing a small red frock, two little pony tails tied up with two little red ribbons, waving to me, tearfully as she walked into her school.I can never forget the day, when I first took her tiny frame in my arms and couldn't help,but awe at her resemblance to my own mother (I had lost her when I was very young).I had been grateful to my wife ever since she had gifted me with this tiny creature- the creature that absorbed all my time and thoughts. I had planned with extreme care and sincerity and worked ferociously to make her future more secure. Working for her sake gave me an immense happiness and satisfaction I had never dreamed possible.I ardently wished to be the only audience for her first step, her first word, or in fact, her first anything.Much to my surprise (I would rather say I was shocked), in spite of the amount of time I had spent with her, her first utterance was 'mama.' Not dada! But mama! My wife beamed at her and I just stayed quiet.She was so full of wonders and surprises. Everything she did was an achievement-her fist day at school, her first trophy, her first bicycle ride, her father's day greeting card (I always took pride in it as she made it with her own little hands.)And I was her 'Super dad'!...the greatest hero in her life, and an 'all-knower'. I was her best friend. She was as proud of me as I was of her. She was the loveliest and the most adorable child any father could ever have. Somehow, I had failed to realize that this phase was transient. As she stepped into her teens, her world widened. As her world widened, I became more and more insignificant, though her place in my life remained undeterred.She kept secrets from me...She was reluctant to let me into her room, which was almost always filled with her friends. Before I knew what was happening, the distance between us grew. "She needs privacy." Her mother always seemed to understand her. It was at this particular time that she had gifted me, on 'Father's day", a beautiful photograph that we had taken together."I love you, dad," she said, tears in her eyes. I was elated to learn that she still loves her father. It was one of those rare moments when I had tears in my eyes. She added, "Super dads don't cry."We spent the entire day together and it dawned on me that her priorities had changed over time and it was quite natural. I started coping up with this change. Suddenly, my daughter was a woman.When she was twenty five, she wanted to get married (that was the biggest shock I had ever got)."She is too young, " I argued with my wife and the 'practical thinker' laughed and said, "I was younger than her when we had her. Stop being an over possessive father, dear." She tried to put some sense in my mind.Now, as my daughter stood amidst the flowers looking beautiful than ever, in her bridal wear, smiling at me I prayed silently for her, asking God to shower all the happiness on her. I never realized that she was beside me, when she whispered playfully in my ear-"Super dad is praying for his daughter. God bless him."


Inspired from the movie 'Father of the Bride'

THE PAIN AND THE PLEASURE...

I was tired- very, very tired. In fact, I was never so tired in my life. Every part of my body was throbbing and aching, bringing back the memories of the dreadful experience I just had.
Dreadful-was it? Yes. And not just that, but more than that. I had never known that such a pain existed and even if it did, I didn't think I would endure it and still be alive.
As I recollected it, a chill ran down my spine and I was shivering. I could sense a batch of fresh beads of perspiration on my forehead.
I fought with myself, trying hard to stay awake. But my eyes, in spite of my anguishing cries from within, persisted. They wanted to close.
I was waiting, waiting desperately, fighting with myself to stay awake. Unfortunately, the wait turned out to be longer than what I had anticipated. It was only a few minutes-I learnt later. But I felt it was the longest wait of my life.
Finally, I saw it. There it was completely and neatly wrapped up and small.
My arms barely had any strength. Still, I took it trying very hard to steady my shaking hands, trying to silence the tremors all over my body.
Then, I looked at it. The very first sight of it whisked off rapidly all the pain and exhaustion I had felt till then. I was smiling, smiling out of pure happiness. And whats more-I was very much sober, wide awake.
It was undoubtedly, the most beautiful thing I had ever set my eyes on. It made me so happy that I felt like screaming out and jumping with joy. I was on cloud nine.
I loved it...Yes, I did...May be, this is what they call 'Love at first sight'. I smiled again. My love for it is fierce and protective. 'I would never let it go through any harm-never!' I swore to myself. Tears welled up in my eyes as I looked at it again and again, afraid to loose it's sight even for the briefest moment, at the calm and serene beauty of the small, deeply set eyes, small tightly shut mouth and the small fidgety limbs of my First Born!!!!