Temptations

People do strange things when they are away from home. She was no exception. The girl hated sugar or milk with her coffee, but there she was, in a strange country, sitting with her feet tucked in, trying hard to keep warm with a steaming mug held in her hands.
She had roamed around the tiny kitchen, preparing it. Milk and sugar. Her mind, wandering. As usual.

Coffee... not the way she liked it.

Coffee... just the way she wanted it. Right at that moment.

Her eyes watering. Not with tears. She never cries. It was just the freezing wind. She was sitting in the open balcony. Fighting the cold. Refusing to get inside. Just another of her testing-my-will-power things. She wasn’t even aware of the fact that she was being stubborn.. it was a second nature. It was what kept her going. Yes. She is insane. Just kind of.

She takes the first sip... as if giving into some strange and exotic temptation. Hey eyes remain focused on something just above the horizon. It’s nothing.

A sigh. Inaudible. She forgot the sugar. Years and years of sugarless coffees can do that to you. Even when you wanna add some sweetness, you go for the bitterness.

Is it hardwired in our souls, running away from temptations? Anything and everything that feels nice? No?

What’s the biggest fear? Not finding something you were looking for... or finding it and then lose it. We have had generations brought up to the thought that the one who resists the temptation is a saint.

The one, who doesn’t give in, is the strongest.

Is it so?

Is she the strongest? Not giving in. Never giving in.

Don’t you think that the strongest person is the one who dares to trust? The one who gives in, tries to live the life to the fullest.. instead of building a fort around, keeping the elements away. Good or otherwise.

She thinks about getting up. She wants it. Her feet refuse to move.

Too much of effort for a bloody spoonful of sugar.

I don’t exactly need it.

Too many years spent on separating the needs from wishes.

Who makes the segregation? What is so different between the needs and wishes?

Her mind wanders again. The familiarity of the bitter coffee is reassuring. The thoughts of sweetness start to fade. She is content.

How many dreams have you given up on? How many chances have you let go? Of a life you wished for. Of a person you dreamt of.

How many perfect ending have you ran away from?

Why?

Settling for the second best. Settling for something that you never wanted... never wished for.

Why?

The perfection is elusive. Yes. It’s always a comforting thought, to know that it wasn’t the perfect one that failed you.

It’s easy to blame the second best.

It’s easy to settle for something less than your dreams. You get someone to blame.

There isn’t much coffee left in the mug now. She looks away from the horizon, down at her hands. The fingertips are all pink. It’s the cold. Too cold.

She takes another sip.

And the realization dawns ...

the sugar, now half melted, sits at bottom.
The sugar that she wished for.
The sugar that was always there.
Never stirred.....

The coffee is way too sweet now... She puts it away...

A sly grin dances on her lips....

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The Nightmare

One more day..
One more smile..
I live in that place, between
dawn and the daybreak.
Trying desperately,
to stall the time.
Stolen moments..
too fragile for dreams.
Wrapped in your arms,
watching you sleep

Shy, the rain giggles,
caressed by
the lovelorn wind.
I blush, watching
the lines of your face..
and the smile on your lips.
Your heartbeats,
talking to my fingertips.

Shadows rustle,
monsters insane.
Pulling me away,
from you yet again.
I close my eyes,
too scared to scream.
And then I feel you,
whispering so softly -
“Hush my baby,
it’s just a bad dream”

©Chhaya

This is my 25th poem on this blog (counting the haiku efforts as 1 poem). I was going to post a different one, but then thought that the silver jubilee thing shouldn’t be too dark. Thank you everyone, for being such good friends... This one is for you all...

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Just Friends

The smiles we shared
and some tears unshed.
´Just friends´
with a shrug of shoulders,
Always, we claimed.

My heart never stopped,
when you held me close.
It was bliss.
You were my home.
The extension of my soul.

Your thoughts never
made my nights sleepless.
Far away, in the darkness,
endless conversations.
Eloquent silence.

Losing you to the sense
of wrong and right,
isn’t the end of the world.
Then why to me
it feels like?

© Chhaya

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The Coward

Don’t take it away from me
this armour I have
made painstakingly
through the nights so lonely
with every moment I waited
for someone like you

Now that you are here
I am scared of
losing my heart
to the one made for me
You are too sacred
to be touched.
I am too greedy
to let go.

I don’t know why
I need this distance
am I scared of getting
my heart broken?
or is it your soul
I want to spare?
walking away from you
waiting for you to
pull me close
fighting your love
longing for the defeat

Will you know when I
fake a heart of stone
and see through the curtains of
my words so cruel?
will you read my eyes
and stay
or will you let me win
and wither away?

© Chhaya

i know this poem doesnt rhyme much.. this is how it was supposed to be

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The Ladakh Diary – Starting with the End!

It was the longest vacation of my life. Two weeks of huffing and puffing – Ooh! and Aaahs! – Oops and ‘Lord have mercy’. The scariest roads I had ever been on, the most beautiful places I had ever been to. It’s not possible to describe it in words, even for a so called poet/writer like me. Still, I will try my best to paint a few pictures and share those I clicked during the tour.

Why with the end?

I am starting this tour-diary with the entry reserved for the last post in the series. The reason – I was unfortunate enough to be booked on a Jetlite flight from Srinagar to Mumbai.
Now for the people who have no clue what I am talking about, Jetlite is an airline owned by the Jet Airways. Most of the pilots of the Jet were on a 5-6 days long strike and as a result it took me 14-15 hours to reach Mumbai.

Fasten your seatbelts for a long and boring post full of cribbing.
Actually I wanna get over with this part cz I don’t wanna end my Ladakh diary on a bad note. So bear with me

False sense of Security

It was the 11th September – the one bad day you can pick to fly from the most disturbed area of India – Kashmir.

I knew my 2:30 pm direct flight to Mumbai will be cancelled but Jetlite did not bother to send any mail/sms/call. I made it to the Srinagar airport by 10 am so that I can check the status. We were stopped at two places outside the premises and our bags were x-rayed, our backpacks checked and we were frisked (so sad, my name is not SRK or I would be getting so much publicity by now). The frisking was very revolting, especially for me as I have severe ‘Personal Space’ problem. But I totally understand the need for security.

Overall, I was made to go through 6 security checks – 4 frisking. I would not be cribbing about it but in the end I found it all very useless cz even with all the touching, the frisking was done very immaturely. The worst part was – there were no demands for a photo ID!! I could have been absolutely anyone. Even a Pakistani and they wouldn’t know.

False Promises

I was promised a flight to Mumbai as mine was cancelled. Jetlite promised that my flight (scheduled at 3 pm) will stop at Jammu and Delhi but will ultimately go to Mumbai and I won’t have to get off from the plane. I confirmed the same with more than 5 Jet personnel. All said – Yes Yes. You won’t have to get off before Mumbai.

All Lies.

The cafeteria had stale food! We were famished by the time the flight was announced at 3:30 pm. Even with all the problems, I was really happy that finally the flight was taking me home. I was dying to see friendly and smiling faces.. (

The unwanted

The Jetlite flight decided to take all the passengers of a cancelled Kingfisher flight (the Kingfisher passengers all got complimentary snacks .. hehehe... never mind).

To my utter horror I realized that there were people sitting on the seats allotted to us on our boarding pass!! The very rude airhostess of Jetlite tried to sushhh me in a corner. It was the last nail in the coffin of my patience level. I told her clearly that I was gonna stand in the aisle unless she solves my problem.

No response. Not even a Plastic smile on her face! The Lady pretended to be deaf!
After 10 minutes she said – All the empty seats are free. Go sit anywhere. I knew that very moment that the flight was not going to Mumbai after all. I asked the flight supervisor – Some more false promises.

Alien in our own country!!?

During the flight the guy sitting in my row asked for a sandwich. The air-hostess said they only had cold beverages. To my surprise, I saw her serving a chicken sandwich to a foreigner sitting just in the front seat!! I Wonder why he was denied the food. He was certainly willing to pay for it!

As I knew, we were dumped in Delhi. The PA system announced that the Kingfisher passengers going to Chennai were to remain seated and the Bangalore passengers were to contact ground staff. No announcement for the Mumbai passengers. We had to get down and ask a staff standing near the plane who was equally rude and foul mouthed.

Getting Dumped, rather unceremoniously

It was raining and the city was colder than Srinagar at that moment (thank god I had a jacket in my backpack). Our luggage was still inside the plane. Promises were made again that it will reach Mumbai and we will be boarding a plane at 8:30 pm.

We were about 8-10 Mumbai bound passengers. We had no clue what to do next, whom to contact!

We raced from the arrival terminal to the departure terminal for our flight to Mumbai. No transportation was provided. There were two really old ladies... I wonder how horrible they were feeling.

Losing my temper

By this time I was full of anger. I started hunting for a person-in-charge but all we got was – Go to that counter – Go to this counter. Even the ground staff in-charge of our case was too rude, callous and @$%@^%#%^.

I told them clearly that I was not gonna board any flight unless I got my complaint registered.
In the end, I finally found a person in charge who heard me. Noted down my complaint and then called the night-manager of the staff. I was so angry - I could feel my hands shaking. I told them that I totally understand their problem due to the pilot strike but it does not give then an excuse to lie to passengers and be soooooooo rude to them.

Made a formal complaint against the ground staff and the cabin crew members – with their names. (thank god for the name tags)

Home Sweet Home!

Got some extra special treatment after that. written apology letter was offered - upgraded to the full service level – the manager personally escorted to the special bus to the next plane etc.
In the end, with all the delays, it was 1 am when I made it home. 15 hours after reaching Srinagar Airport

man... was I happy to see the chaos called Mumbai!!!!

Love
Chhaya

PS: I got it all out in this post and now from the next post of the Ladakh Diary, you will get to read more interesting things with better pictures! The new header of the blog is the picture I took in Leh.

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Take My Breath Away

Okay.. so my last poem was a dud ... agreed. The story behind it is – someone reminded me of the fact that I was only writing about three topics..... so, I tried writing about the things I don’t exactly feel.. hence the disaster.

Psst Psst...what I am trying to say is – Blame Him! Not Me!

Atonement was close to my heart but The Glass Window was a faked pain. I guess that is even worse than faked pleasure.

Life or my lifestyle has never stopped me from getting soaked in the rain or getting my feet dirty. Playing with kids or sing along a corny Bryan Adams song like ‘Let’s make a night to remember’ ... I actually do every mad thing that comes in my mind. That includes talking to my pet fish and going out for ice-cream at midnight. (I guess it explains my insanely accident prone nature, but more about that later)

Anyways.. so, a few days back, I was in my ‘cocoon’ mood. You know, the days when you just don’t wanna talk to nobody (pardon my double-negative.. sometimes wrong things make the most sense). It hadn’t rained for more than a week. The evening was slightly lost in the heat of the day.

Was home alone so I did what I do when such an evening arrives. Made a big mug of coffee and then sat by the window. My building is in this huge residential complex with gardens and pools. There is a playground right in front and I could watch the kids playing. Everyone had a hankie tied to his face, what with the swine flu scare.

The coffee was awesome.. first two teaspoons of the newly opened Coffee jar without milk or sugar to corrupt it. Just pure tantalizing smell of individuality. Have you ever wondered how the Ad agencies target families with tea and individuals with coffee??
Hmmm.. heck.. I think too much..

So what happened was – the rain came lashing down on the parched earth and the air was completely fragrant with the smell of first rain.. second time in one Monsoon .. whoa!! .... My heart went - 'thud' and I was thrown back into my childhood.

Good smell has always been the biggest turn on for me after thunders and storms. May be it is because we tag those forgotten memories with them. I cant smell Old Spice aftershave without my mind going to my Dad.. Freshly made Roti (Indian bread) never fails to remind me of Mom.. Smell of coffee and new book go together reminding me of every moment alone...

Funny, the way smells instantly bring back memories.. some pleasant, some unpleasant.. some that you don’t even wanna acknowledge


Love
Chhaya

PS: the image is obviously googled

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The Glass Window

Children of the street
dance in the first rain,
Screaming with delight.
Barefoot and half naked.
Surrounded with the comfort,
of money and fame..
I steal greedy glances through
the impersonal window frame.

Safety of Grandma’s arms and
the beauty of her weathered face -
I am trying to remember,
fighting hard to forget.
Trapped in the addictive -
golden coffin of success,
I live my death
in tiny instalments.


© Chhaya
I forbid any comparison between Slumdog Millionaire and this poem... :

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