Teach your fingers while they can still learn!

Son, I am writing to you this afternoon for an important reason.

You are growing up fast and so are ten little soldiers on your palm. It is important that you educate them while they can still learn and before they are misguided by musings of your own mind. While it is essential for you to know and understand the Archimedes principle, Trigonometry identities, and Human Anatomy, it is equally important that you impart some knowledge, skills, and habits to your ten tiny soldiers. Sounds absurd? Maybe it does, but hear me out first!

Son, do you know when you were just ten months old, you broke your dad's expensive glasses and my favorite flower vase. And at two, your aunt's imported perfume bottle and your uncle's iPhone. And at three, your own beloved toy-train? Unknowingly, of course. Do you know the reason why all toddlers have this similar habit? Because when we are born, our baby fingers are like untamed wild creatures who want to reach out but have no clue of what to do with the things that come their way. Their basic instinct is to just grab and throw, destroy, unaware of the fact that most broken things can't be fixed. Hence, when we grow up, it is our duty to tame our fingers and discipline this bunch of nincompoops into a responsible army. Reason? Phones and glasses and toys are replaceable, Son. People aren't! 

Dear Son, I have always believed that what you do is what you are- what you do matters more than where you are, what you are born with or what you dream of. You just need to apprise your little army with what your heart desires and it will build you huge skyscrapers, write profound novels, smash tennis balls in courts and even grow your favorite oranges in the backyard. But you know what, this army can be easily persuaded. It adapts quickly and can change its habits in a jiffy. You give them a lighter and they can light a lamp this moment and ignite a cigarette the next. You teach them to shoot and they can pose for Olympic medals or become those of a terrorist's. Hence, it is important that you cultivate in them the right wisdom so that they can make the right decisions. Decisions that reflect your quintessence.

Hands are the maps of our lives, Son. They have in them chronicled all reminiscences of heart and soul. I want you to take a look at the hands of your grandparents. Do you notice they are stiff and wrinkled with umpteen age marks? Do you see the hands of your grand-moms? Can you figure out the stories they are telling? The stories of swollen fingertips, knife cuts, and hot oil burns, buried layer under layer? The stories of three stubborn kids, difficult in-laws, and no helping hand? The stories of tireless tending and no stopping? Teach your fingers Son- the ability to endure. The strength to carry on, never rest, and nurture the family despite thousand reasons to give up. Do you see the hands of your grand-dads? Can you figure out their stories? The stories of their hands that scorched all day in the heat to hold the stars in place, for me, your dad and our siblings? The stories of calloused palms that earned every brick of the house we grew up in? The stories of rugged fingers, which before putting morsels in their own mouths, counted pennies for our school fees? Teach your fingers Son -to work hard. They would be bent and broken, dried and raw, tired and slimy but they should never stop working. Your grandparents worked hard and endured all the hardships. And that's how our skies were always sunny. I am afraid they hid the dark clouds beneath their veins, like a rock salt. Go. Kiss their hands. The tears might just melt. 

Dear son, you see the spaces between your fingers? They were created to fit in a special someone's. A few years from now you would fall in love or may be in love already. Love that someone with both your hands. Press your fingers a little harder and hug tight when she says "I'm fine" but you see she isn't okay. Make her some good coffee and a cheese sandwich when she has had a tiring day. Comb her confusions, clap her achievements, kiss the scars that shine on her fingertips. Wash away the sweat on her palms with you grip. Most importantly, learn to hold her hands. Hold her hands like universe holds the stars. Like ocean holds the sand. Like papers hold the ink. How you hold a hand is a sketch of your soul. Make sure it comes out fine. Son, someday you will travel places and meet new faces and your mind will give you an impression that you have ample options. But your fingers will always know where did they fit best. Listen to them. Teach them to knuckle down in a relationship before they learn to unbutton. Let your fingers have the spine! They are much more than nerves and tissues and veins. They are an army. Powerful, yet sensitive. Forgiving, but they never forget!

Son, teach your fingers to create and caress. To not hesitate to pick up sanitary napkins from the store for the women in the house. To make a phone call and not type emotionless emoticons. To plant saplings and count blessings. To not scorn while doing dishes or cleaning toilet seats. To hold walking sticks and school bags with equal ease.  To buy pencils and drum on dining tables. To not let go too easily, to touch appropriately. To not hold on too much. To draw clouds in the dust. To dress up wounds, to paint half-moons. To fold in prayers and curl into fists. To flip the pages of the fables and clear the mist. To not crumble when they bid goodbyes...Teach them while they can still learn! They can learn more than minds do. Understand more than hearts do. They are beautiful than faces could ever be.

You cannot stop their lines from forming but you can always color your highways!

Love,
Mom

बेकार की गणित !

मेरी छत पे अंगड़ाई लेते सूरज 

तुम्हारी खिड़की पर शर्माते चाँद 

के दरमियाँ, चलो फ़ासले नापते हैं !

तुम्हारी मेज़ पर रखी मेरी तस्वीर 

मेरी अलमारी में रखी तुम्हारी पुरानी कमीज़ 

के दरमियाँ, चलो फ़ासले नापते हैं !

तुमारी दांईं आँख के तिल ,मेरी पलकों के बीच 

मेरी हिचकियाँ  ,तुमारी करवटों के बीच 

तुम्हारी कलाई घड़ी ,मेरी दीवार घड़ी की सूईयों  के बीच
टिक-टिक, टिक-टिक करती तन्हाईयों के बीच 

चलो फ़ासले नापते हैं !

मेरी जम्हाइयां , तुमारी झपकियों के बीच 

मेरे काम, तुम्हारी थकान के बीच 

मेरे सवाल ,तुम्हारी खामोशियों के बीच 

तुम्हारे अश्क़, मेरे बयानों के बीच 

चलो फ़ासले नापते हैं !

मेरे आँगन के पीपल , तुम्हारे बरामदे के मेपल के बीच
माप लेते हैं दूरियां , वो अल्हड़ समंदर 

जो अलसाया पड़ा है, मेरे तुम्हारे दरमियाँ
उसकी गहरायी भी मालूम करते हैं
चुरा ले जाता है जो मेरे परफ़्यूम की खुशबू 

ठीक तुम्हारी नाँक के नीचे से और आने नहीं देता
तुम्हारी पतंग मेरे खेमे में  !
पता लगाते हैं अंतर तापमान का भी मेरे तुम्हारे शहर के बीच
और फ़िज़ाओं की नब्ज़ टटोलते हैं !

उफ़ !!!

कितना कुछ है नापने ,तौलने को
सुनो ! इस बेकार की गणित से
ज़मानें को ही उलझने देते हैं !

तुम्हारे ख्वाबों में मेरी मौजूदगी है
मेरी दुआओं में तुम्हारा ज़िक्र
वो जो पुल बन रहा है आसमां के उस पार
चलो , वहां तक एक दौड़ लगा कर आते हैं !

--सौम्या 

Over a cup of tea

when the sun was slowly sinking
and the breeze was charismatic
and the pale blue sky was dyed
our favorite colors red and purple

when grass rustled
and birds huddled
and the weather was oddly whimsical
You and I were having tea
perfectly brewed with ginger
unmindful of the unknown faces
on a boulevard lined with red roses

We were delighted with the splendor around
and with the exquisiteness inside
our penchant for tea grew and expanded
to the fondness for the connoisseur opposite
you and I, we knew this secretly

the aroma traveled, to-and-fro
carrying our spirits across the table
conversation commenced, glances shared,
smiles cruised, butterflies whispered love in the air
refreshing it was, like never before
the tea and the company

silent spurs weren't awkward, but fitting
happiness was the only emotion in the setting.
we sipped the cup’s contents slowly, serenely
hoping to expand the span of the moment
to forever, to eternity

you looked at me with an unwavering gaze
I asked ‘What is it?’
You replied ‘Nothing.’
In a jiffy, your eyes revealed ‘I want you’
anon, my lips acknowledged ‘I’m all yours’
over a cup of tea! ~Saumya

Dear Friend with a Certificate

Dear Friend with a Certificate,

First and foremost, this is not a hateful write-up. Not another debate on the need of caste or gender-based reservation. Not an article on the origin of caste or the history of oppression. Not pointing fingers to political, religious or communal groups. It is not meant to offend you or anybody. It has no pun intended, no sarcasm hidden between the lines.  If it still displeases you, I offer you my apologies and the below quote.

If you are still reading, let me address you in the most appropriate way I know- FRIEND. Just as Oxford Dictionary defines the word. Plain,Simple,Friend. Dear Friend, We, you and I- we go to the same shopping malls, eat at the same restaurants, read the similar kind of books, play at the same grounds and breath the same air. We go through the exact same feelings of love, hope, despair, pride, shame and loneliness throughout the course of our lives. The sound of our laughter, the composition of our tears and even the smell of our farts is same. We have shared our lunch-boxes, made fun of teachers, bargained in street shops, used each other's clothes and jewelry, celebrated festivals together and what not. Amidst all similarities, however, there is a difference- a piece of paper, undersigned by a  government official, differentiates us. It is a certificate that you are entitled to, and I am not, on the basis of your Surname and this certificate can bestow you a seat dream in a Government institute or Organization. 

Though I detest the reservation system in its current form, I have absolutely no qualms against you friend. It was not your choice to be born in a 'caste' as it was not my choice to be born a particular 'gender'. I don't understand why 'what' and 'where' we are born matters so much despite the fact that we have no control over it. I am not a socialist enough to support stratification of Surnames or a feminist enough to talk about gender equality and women reservation in a single sentence. Dear Friend, I don't deny your hard work, believe me. You are doing amazing things in life. I know many friends who have certificates but they are pursuing PhD's in top US varsities or presenting top-notch innovation strategies in corporate summits. I also know a friend, a class topper, who had a certificate but she never used it at the time of admission or during placements. The entire batch respects her even today. I know there are more like her.

Am I going to ask you to start a revolution and burn your certificates? Absolutely not! Everybody likes privileges or free gifts, to be very honest. Who knows, if tomorrow, people who share my surname go to streets and protest for reservation, I might also get a similar certificate and start using it. Just One Life, dear friend. And each one of us has an appetite for a little luck in one hand and a bunch of certificates in another. Always,no?

Well, what is this write-up about then? It's about a small ask. The ask is, to tell the truth. The truth that you owe to people who don't have certificates or who have but don't use their certificates. The truth about your actual marks, actual percentile, actual rank.You owe this truth not to your friend, colleague, competitor or foe but to something known as hard-work. Because Hard-work is not a caste, gender or surname thing, it is a discipline, determination and sweat thing. Dear Friend, when your Facebook wall is flooded with congratulatory messages, that someone who scored more than you and still didn't make it, is contemplating over his mistakes and doubting his capabilities. He is unable to decide if he should quit or compromise or give another try. He is someone who quit his job for his dream, someone who skipped innumerable movies to buy books and take test series, someone who slept two hours less every day to analyze his mistakes, someone who is hell bent to not use his certificate or someone who was barely able to make both ends meet and counted pennies to fill forms. I am not saying that you didn't do any of it. You did. And so did he. But I know somebody who scored a 66.79 percentile and bagged a seat in a top institution but reported 99.79 to everyone! People who don't have certificates or don't use their certificates do not deserve such a lie, especially when they score a 96. 

I am not stereotyping anyone, I am not defending anyone, I am not generalizing anything. I know many people who tell the truth straight away. I know a friend and mind you a very adorable one, who openly accepted to use her certificate and it never changed anything in our relationship. Except that, I was in awe of her honesty.  

We are all humans who fall and rise and grow and not a 'tool' of a political party.Hard-work is a revered thing, friend. WE should not mock somebody else's with a lie. And WE as in 'WE' in the Preamble of the constitution.

~A friendly 'I'ndividual