Brilliance

Brilliance
can be
a flash in the pan
convenient
conventional
and
contained

Another
disturbing type
is the continued
brilliance
of the desert sun
which
scorches
burns
and
blinds

The newborn

“there she goes , bawling again!!”

He whispered urgently , making two distinct foggy patches on the glass, one from his mouth , another , smaller one , from his nose . After a while , he sniffed. Then took out his specs to wipe them . He was crying . Goodness!! Who was the baby here ?

“For heavens sake , calm down !! Babies bawl , she will be fine .” Amita tried to drag him away from the glass partition , but he wont be budged . He kept chanting “Don’t cry baby .Put your little foot down .” Whispering , entreating , drooling over the glass , almost getting himself expelled from the premises. 

Drama quotient runs high in our family . Specially with him . And now he was a grandpa. Unstoppable . Amita sighed with resignation on the green reccine sofa . “It was a mistake to bring him along to see the baby ,” She thought , resolving never to drive him down again.

She wondered looking at him go to pieces , like this , at a newborn baby, how he had managed to raise four kids , through illnesses , adolescence and bad relationships . Amita developed new respect for her eminently patient sister , sitting on the edge of the sofa , staring straight ahead , pretending not to see or hear her better- half bawl his eyes out . 

Presently , the daughter-in -law called for her mother-in-law , and Rita stood up with the basket full of essential supplies , dry clothes for the new mother , diced fruits , hot water in thermos flask , and more nappies for the baby . 

Amita . still full of admiration for her sister , went in and realised that Jiju, despite his display of histrionics , had decided to stay in the visitor's foyer.

"He will faint if he so much as sees a drip in her arm . Better let him sit here ." Rita explained confidentially , once in the changing area. 

Strangely, Amita found Jiju calmly contemplating a semi clad Sunny Leone on a magazine cover , scratching his bald pate , when the sisters emerged , an hour later , once the visiting time was over . 

He hastily put away Sunny and meekly followed them to the parking lot . 

The wedding Party

Today morning the sky was cloudy , wind blew gently . Unusually . It is not mean to rain at this time of the year. Yet , the threat of the rain was very much there. It was almost as if the heavens were frowning at earthlings.

A group of glistening cars had gathered at the farthest end of the blind end of the road . Men wore brightly coloured , starched turbans , and women wore blingy , headache inducing outfits . All were heavily bejewelled and perfumed . Men strutted , women simpered and giggled . A cameraman and his assistant were busy recording each and every moment of this gathering .

Suddenly , a band , which was standing silently , on the sidelines , sprung into action . Maroon and white uniforms , with gold streaked headwear , played tunes from Hindi movies , marched and pirouetted . A gleeful (and prepared ) guest threw banknotes / coins towards the band , and was immediately snatched up from the ground , by a hitherto invisible group of scruffy street urchins . Their appearance was in total contrast to the group following them . 

The park

It was a fairly new park for walking around . A large footpath , that zig zagged , in and out of line of vision , following no particular pattern , and forcing enthusiasts to some time , jump onto the mud path , when they found some rotund competitor , as me , blocking their path .

The edge of the park lines the residential quarters . One man comes onto a balcony , and worships the tulsi , drenching the poor miserable plant , in a high deluge , chanting all the while .

A couple jogs past , slowly , whispering about prices of "mooli". Another jogger crosses my path twice , she does the round anti clockwise . Me clockwise . A pair of power walkers , race with me , giggling and nudging when they overtake , giving me snide looks . A lone retiree , claps his hands together , every tenth step or so , and chants loudly,"hare ram , hare murari ".

His breath , as he crosses me , is predictably , alcoholic. His clothes crumpled , and he is not into walking actually . He just woke up too soon , the horizon is just about pink-red.

From a gurudwara , the early morning prayers  waft up , on the cold morning air . Like a balm to frozen ears.

An ayappa temple has come to life too , and a fragrant lamp of  diyas light up the insides of the age old temple , blackened with holy soot. People are moving around barefoot and somewhere  , in the residential complex , MS Subbalaxmi comes to life with her trademark "militant -sounding" tava suprabhatam.

An old man stretches on the dewy grass. His wife watches from a bench , mildly apprehensive .

That is something endearing and precious about our country .The integration and simple acceptance of all .