Broken

We are all but broken women 

pieced together by the joyful memories 

lining every heartbreak,

every belied relationship 

and all of the hidden sorrows

behind fallacious, colourful smiles. 

We are but broken girls 

sprouting out of our own wombs,

further broken with every push;

standing out of monotony 

as a lovely mosaic of our own mess. 

We are broken.

But oh, the shards are just too beautiful 

to comprehend,

to surpass 

or to be neglected. 

Just remember to piece yourself together.

You'll be spectacular. 

Original Artwork by Hemalatha Venkatman | Copyrighted  | Do not reproduce without permission 

|In connection with my art blog Hemu's Art Blog's ongoing Inktober Challenge and the Facebook page of this blog where I have been putting up a poem a day. | 

~Penned and sketched by Hemu 

The Girl Who Catches Stars in Her Hair

I know a girl whose hands are always full
with misery and poetry, love in vain and abyss infinite.
Yet, she settles down to catch the evading stars every night
and because her hands are full,
the stars perch themselves on her hair
so that she may smile.

Original Artwork by Hemalatha Venkatraman | Copyrighted | Do not use without permission 

| I have been going about with pet projects on my art and writing blogs where I put up one inked sketch as a part of the Inktober Challenge throughout October. On this blog's Facebook page, (Street of Smiles) I've putting up one poem a day for as long as I can. I collaborated both the projects for the day, combining my art and poetry. Please do let know what you think of it. :) My art blog can be found at Hemu's Art Blog! ) Thanks and cheers! |


Penned and sketched by
Hemu 

Dangling Feet

   I’m borderline aqua-phobic. The line lies between that simple stance that my feet can touch the floor of the water bed and the assurance that drowning is not a possibility. It lies submerged in the sea-green blues of the waters, the fear of not death but suffocation unto death and the helplessness of it.

   Sixteen years of age was when I set out to Calcutta for the first time in my life en-route to Manipur. The train chugged away, pulling with ease the coaches that followed, sculpted with steel carrying people full of dreams. The locomotive sped at an immense speed as I edged my way to the doors of my bogie, swaying with the whims of the vehicle itself.

  It was noon and everyone had slept into obliviousness. The door was wide open, as I held the handles just on the outside and lunged my body forward for the erstwhile breezing wind to scream in my ears. Drawn to the avenues open to my senses; I merely collapsed and sat down on the steps, still holding on to the rails, feet dangling to the moving Jelly stones. The rhythmic lull of the wagons over the railway tracks seemed like the ritual of love-making between two as I closed my eyes; unaware of the people around me, singled out within.

   I don’t know how many minutes passed before my eyes opened to a change in sound, the return of the breeze alongside the summer sun. The rhythm was the same, but the echoes and sounds that emanated, completely different.  I gazed ahead to look at the calm blues staring back at me, its ripples moving from one to another, in constant motion.

   My fingers tightened around the handles as I peered down. Hundred feet below were deep waters that could devour me alive. It was the first time I saw seemingly bottomless waters below my own dangling feet. The initial flutters of anxiety and fear had drowned in the overwhelming feeling that was caught at my throat. I had never felt this comfortable, alive and fearless of waters. Transience and permanence loomed to and fro, as the moving waters coupled with the climax of the lulling pleasures put me in the moment, in complete awareness of my senses.

   I was neither in the past, nor an eon later. I lived that moment, completely, without the fear of suffocation and drowning lest I fall. In that unknown place, over an unknown water body somewhere in North-east India, I could then do nothing but smile as the cool wind kissed my face.
I have never felt that liberated, thoughtless and free in all my life, ever since.

~Hemu

I do NOT own this image. Source: Google images 

Mirrored

Image Credit: Laura Williams

If you mirror me and I see your soul,
will I be looking at you or me?
Or,
do you think, maybe it'll be a pensive
of your confident being mixed with mine;
filling it up with stars
where my insecure spirit leaves a hole?






~Hemu 

Karna

|This happened to be a piece I'd penned last year right after I read this book called 'Mrityunjaya-The Death Conqueror'. The life of Karna is one of the most fascinating and tragic stories I've ever come across. He happens to be my most favorite character in The Mahabharata alongside Draupadi and Krsna. I keep attempting to sketch him again and again and never have I been satisfied with what I complete as it never seems to represent him in entirety. The artwork can be found on my blog, here. Cheers! Revel in His life, for it's complicated and beautiful. |



What is more trying by destiny, oh warrior

 than to be painfully oblivious to the origin of your birth?

You who slayed vice with smoldering golden rays

later blanketed in the smog of your munificence

sparked from vanity leased out in thy head;

exorcising material despair,

subduing with grains of praise the

licking ravage flames in your chest,

under the gilded skin armour, shut.

What could have been more ruthless

than the rejection of the dark-skinned maiden-

flinging insults like dung to a damp wall

while your strength lay untested and unapproved?

The woman you loved and hated within eons;

that your brothers  five later betrothed ,undivided

only to garrote you to shameful death.

What decremented your virtuous soul further?

the culminated fury abreast constant light

of doubt-ridden guilt about your legacy

Or losing your honour to jealousy

Beginning a vow out of an unnecessary jabbering

of the tongue unsaddled by righteous thought?

And when you saw your confounded flaws

mirrored on the deceitful glass of an angered moment,

You saw the image that your blue-skinned kin saw,

an enemy you endured with till your

chariot broke

while fighting with the universal wheel of time-

the only aid to defend the dead in you.

There were those grains of sand that fell through

the goodness, your blood dripping onto the muddy moulds

fusing towards an unjustified departure

defended in the karmic book of a godly conman.

The hourglass now contains merely light

in honour of a hero, tragic 

thus denied a deemed title

because his own blood feared the words

out of an unworthy stranger, spitting in the air.

~Hemu 

Source: Vimanika Comics 

My Madras

I was born long after Madras was rechristened as Chennai. I was born long after the trees along the Marina Beach lost itself in the growing roots of modernism and globalization. I was born long after bell bottoms paved way to formal pants and tight shiny clothing of women from the retro era moved on to where we are now. I was not around for the period when Spencers had a much different and a glorious facade. I was born after the fires licked the Moore Market that I only see in pictures now. I never got to see those beautiful trams nor the clean Coovum river. I was not around for a large part of what many people claim to be the best and glorious period of Madras, but it's still the part I connect with the most and if God wills the time machine's existence, I would love to return to the 80's and live here, all over again.

     In an age of fast-pacing and rapidly moving world where change makes its presence felt all over and spilling, my city has managed to hold on to Her reigns and let the gallop slow down, but never stopping. The change that has come about has always been nothing but gradual, taking one step at a time and relishing what it may have to offer. While cities like Bangalore and Delhi may have lost the scent of itself over the years, Madras still lingers on. There was no greed with the city in wanting to swallow the latest and the newest. By this, I do not mean that we shunned anything new and progressing. There has always been progress. The beauty of the ascendance and progression is largely determined by how it is done. In that manner, there is no beating Madras. We hold on to our davara-tumblers long after porcelain coffee mugs have come in. Filter kaapi still beats CCD's cappuccino hands down. 

    Very few cities have a classiness to it. On that front, Madras is almost synonymous with culture and dignity. Margazhi season kutcheris, bharatnatyam recitals, the flavour of Mylapore, literary fests and a long list of festivals and fairs that we celebrate in our own little silent ways.I've heard North-Indians say how South-India, Tamilnadu and Madras in particular don't have fun in celebrating our festivals and weddings. 'It's a drab', they say. But who says loud music and heavy dancing is the only way to unwind? Have they witnessed the 'maalai maatharthu' of a typical Tamil-Brahman wedding here, the excited talk and chatter between households and people across the streets during Navrathri Golu or taken a walk along the long roads on the pristine night of Karthikai Deepam? This just happens to be a different character and hue altogether that no other city has. A silence that shouts joy more than anything else.

   Yes, on more issues than one, Madras is said to be conservative.But it has never stopped anyone from doing anything they want to do. What I love most about this city are the people. Large-hearted, warm people who despite their inhibitions, never throw you about. Shorts never changes a good old auto-driver from giving us the right directions and goodwill. On a particular night, I got lost in North Madras (Royapuram side) and it was  pretty late. I didn't know the way around that area quite well and had to stop two or three times to reach back home. Each of them told me the way like I was related to them.The kindly auto-driver called out to me to be careful and made me wait till the vehicles on the side of the road had passed and the sweeper ladies on the flyover said, 'Badhrama ponga, kannungala' after my friend and myself thanked them. The local departmental store owners smile every time I walk in and the Bhaai's never let go without saying a bye.Religion is not a problem for us and Madras is a a haven of mutual co-existence and religious harmony. Everyone smiles.The bus conductor, the traffic policeman, the daily commuter on the train and the kids on the bicycle. From a city so welcoming, what else would one want? 

  It's been 375 brilliant years of sambar-vadai, filter kaapi, Carnatic music and divine beaches. It's been 375 years of happiness amalgamated with street plays, MGR, Shivaji Ganesan, Superstar Rajinikanth; plays and theatres that support drama and art. It's been 375 years of diverse architecture: vernacular, Indo-sarcenic, colonial and the ones now. It's been 375 years spread with tree walks, temple walks, Panagal park and Ranganathan street hustles. It's been 375 long years of sentiment, love, emotion and pride for Madras. 

Like I read somewhere, Chennai is a city. Madras is an emotion. That explains everything I have to say. 

Happy 375th to you Madras! :) We love you. Let's clink our tumblers together for the years to come. 

~Hemu 

  

Image source:  Internet -google images

One of my Madras doodles.You can check  our the rest of the sketch series on Madras over  here.

      

Transcendence

What hasn't yet been swallowed by the billowing winds of change
catches itself in between the lines in my palms
that I stare at each morning as the sun shakes off its dust
in the quest for a clean, blue sky.

I wash my hands in the pearls thrown ashore
attempting to see nothing, hear no song nor see any dream;
but it has already stitched itself onto my eyelashes
that throw me in lands, I only can wish to see.

A land where transparency reigns over the transient world.
At the least, I'll know what's coming.
And where I'll not be going.

~Hemu

A Shadow

I saw someone come with me all the while I walked on the streets so hot,
smaller in form, darker in shade..
Why she kept following me, I just don't understand.
Growing inch by inch, throwing her magnificent self across my body,
her details blurred, yet her form so clear, I saw her live
as she swallowed the light, holding it in her pit.. the illuminating rays so bright.
She kept ahead of me, holding my legs in her black mass..
and I just followed her wherever she went for the rest of the time, lit,
unable to leave her to her dark mates hidden in the narrow alleys and masses of opaques.
I thought she was weak, clinging to me like a filthy little rag,
sticking by the legs of a person she never knew.
But, I saw the fact that I couldn't get rid of her, try as I might,
until, she decided it was time.
Hours rolled and she started running behind me, like an unknown bond,
unable to let go of me...
An unacknowledged bond just like my hand or my sight,
only, she couldn't see, blind in her path that saw only me and no one else.
The evening sun set as I paced my footsteps faster,
in an urge to take her to safety, an incomprehensive love taking over me...
to let her live.
She didn't sense my efforts as she diminished, little by little,
her feet growing small with a shaded snake
grabbing her legs so taut from under my trousers.
I quickened my steps, wanting to see,
that mysterious entity, live with me...
and yet, she died. There. Right in front of my eyes,
falling apart, disappearing into the black of the tar of the roads..
screaming for help and searching for light.
I scrambled on my knees catching at her waist when her belly exploded
and all of her swallowed light flew,
catching my hair in its golden rays, merging with the black around.
To see her last sprinkles dissolve into thin air that hosts the unending black.
I shrieked for company and tried to hold on to her,
but she only slipped away, like an element so free.
I envied her freedom from where I knelt, vanishing into substances
and wetting my cheeks with hot tears streaming
at a demise so unknown...
Merely to realize, that she was bound.
Just the very next day clinging to me, yet again.
She went on to live without the botheration of having to die.
She just, held on to my physical existence, recognized
for I think she knew my soul might not cast any for others to see and sense.
She lived, a constant reminder of a nagging thought that I don't understand,
until she clung to the trunk of a huge tree,
throwing me into darkness.

~ Hemu 

The Lady at my Table

Canteen, that's where I spent most of my time. Not to eat, but to feel at peace. To feel happy and satisfied like everyone else, there.. to escape from the clutches of the classrooms, studios and teachers who look through their spectacles with such suspicion that you could fall from your stool searching for your fallen pencil.. it's like they push you from there. Early before a session starts and sometimes after a good sleep in the last row... that's where I head to. The college canteen.

                     It's a great place. The canteen. With a small atrium shaking hands with the light, it sort of illuminates my day. Collegemates and classmates sitting around in groups, fighting for their spoon of pasta, the weary canteen boy who is ever in demand, the lovers who always chose to stand under the atrium, banking their weights on the high table, ever smiling and looking into each others eyes ( Holy god only knows what they ever mean by "we talk through our eyes..!"), the best friends who always take a happy stand either shrieking or consoling one another and a few like me. Secluded from the fake appearances and gestures of socialization. It's not that I don't get along with people, only people don't get along with me.  

                There is a table I sit at everyday, which forever creaks under my increasing weight.. A table which many fail to see. At the farthest end of the spacious, exposed brick structure. There it stands, a table.. A chair where I sit and another opposite to me. To one side, I get to see the entire canteen's chaotic capabilities in food, love, friendship and gang wars.. and to the other, there lies a green spread of lawn, sprouting colorful flowers and hiding the existence of a dog and her family of three pups.. Sunlight hits me, not too much, not too shaded either, just the way I like it. With an olive drab shade to the half-hanging bamboo curtain and a few colourful posters, there was nothing that people I saw, found interesting. Just a table and two old chairs. Creaky and lonely, just like me.

  

             That day, I was sitting at my regular, sipping my cup of hot tea along with a book.. I usually read, not because it gives me joy, but because, I don't know what else to do. It is escapade into another world where you are concerned about the character, not yourself.. where you're worried about what is going to happen to him or her, that, there is a momentary loss in the anxieties of your own. It is just a hot cup of tea, a book and yourself, in silence, not from outside, but from inside. Infact, I hear nothing. I feel it isn't worth my time.. to stop looking away from the changing worlds.. I grew deaf to it all. It didn't make me look up.. all those commotions of a birthday party, the cries of the "hot" girls of college, the stupid supposed-to-be-humorous comments of the silly boys, a screaming canteen owner, the sizzling sounds of cooking food and beeping ovens through the open kitchen door... I grew immune to it all. In a way, it told me things were normal. It meant people were at their usual, getting more and more stupid and less logical. Something inside me always said, this, was not what I wanted to hear. Something else it is, but just not this. Not the panic that I hear in their shouts, not the insecure feeling I sense.. Something else, it said inside me, whatever it is, inside me. 

          

               I pored over the book in eternal silence. I read on and on.. until his image struck me. He often did intrude into my happy world, making me feel miserable and useless. He is the boy I like. He is the boy who makes my head swerve in his direction as he walks by. He is my friend and no more than that, yet, my fistful beat my head in this. He is the reason for a lot of my smiles, silent sobs at night and the feeling of emptiness way down till my stomach. Emptiness, as heavy as void probably shouldn't be.. and so I moved around slowly. Beyond all my changing characters, he remained as a constant one. Ever to swift too take over my thoughts, too cute for me to look away and a baby for me to adore. He was all in one. My friend, my baby and my "in-dreams" love of life. There are so many questions in life that I didn't know the answers for. But the one that drove me crazy was this. "So, I do like him.. But does he?" I usually didnt know what to do at times like these. One of my good friends usually said," Yes, you like him. It wasn't a voluntary act that you started liking him.. and it cant be one.. the way you're trying, trying to get him out of your mind. It won't happen.. Let it be, cherish the moment. You may not like him in some time from now.. enjoy the magical feeling until it lasts. " A few other of my good friends want me to tell him! Tell him that I like him! It is going to be something I'll never do in my life, I tell them, everytime that they grew tired of me talking to them about him. They wanted to put an end to the grumbling. I wanted a new beginning.

                   It was one of my "him-struck" times. I was unable to read nor joke around with my friends from the studio.. I sat at 'my' table and stared out at Sasha(that's what I named her!) and her puppies play in eternal jubilation. Lost in thoughts, I came back to earth when I realized my cup of tea has reached its end.. My heart in his thoughts, battling with my mind led me towards a storming headache. I got up, reached for another cup of tea.. The canteen boy, ever too friendly with me, served me first.. Holding the hot paper cup between my thumb and middle finger, I made my way back to my seat. The hot liquid of soothing brown entity had all my concentration, that only after I reached my table and set down the cup of tea, did I realize that there was someone else sitting there.

                 It was a woman of forty-five probably. Her hair was drawn back into a pony tail, just a little longer than mine with her. She wore a purple Kurti and jeans, brandishing a huge black handbag. She was talking over the phone with someone..
"Yeah yeah! I'm right here. Oh, okay. Take your own time! yup.. bye sweetheart."

                   Sweetheart? Who was on the phone? Her child or her husband ? Whoever she is, all that I was concerned was the fact that I had to share a place that I considered only mine. "Damn!",I said over and over again, under my breath,  drinking my cup of tea in extreme interest so that I didn't have to make eye contact with her. Until I heard her speak...

   "Hi! could you please tell me where to get a cup of tea?", she asked.

Wow, here was a lady sitting in the canteen and asking me where we can order a cup of tea. What do I seem like to her? "Over there", I said, politely pointing to the counter.
   She smiled. She had a pretty smile, I have to admit. She got up for helping herself with one of the best tea in the world. The one that my canteen sold. She left her handbag on the table and looked at me... " Could I please leave this here? I'll just go and get my tea and back?" Great, now I was her caretaker as well?
I nodded and she left.
   
     Moments passed before she came back... She was clutching her tea the way I held mine.. in my left hand, gathering all the heat I could, before letting my mouth relish its taste. She sat down and smiled at me. Again. Bham. Her smile, for some reason let me loose all my feelings of distaste for her. I just smiled for a reply.

"Thank you, my dear!", she said.
"My pleasure, aunty!"
"You know, that word keeps reminding me of my age.?"

I was taken aback. I was lost in thoughts of his smile...and hers. they seemed so alike. I didn't expect her to continue a conversation. Well, now that she did, I had to, too. But whatever did she expect me to call her? Dude or something?

"Err.. I'm so sorry. I didnt mean to offend you."
"Aw, knock it my dear. It is my age isn't it..? Just that after coming here and seeing the kids here and all.. I was reminded of my college days. Must be fun for you right? College and all?"

   She seemed nice. Probably I was in too much of a foul mood to have surpassed the goodness of the lady. I smiled... and our conversation struck.

 "Yes, college is indeed nice. Though there are ups and downs.. exams, fights, broken hearts... it's still a place I head to with immense attachment."

"Hmmm..", she replied sipping her cup of tea with an extreme sense of pleasure shining on her face. She paused to look at me, and spoke.. Her voice was probably the "something". I'm surely not immune to it. Just like his voice, that I'd turn to.

".... Broken hearts.. Yes.. You have your heart in pieces, do you, my dear?"

She was wading into deep waters of my personal feelings. Angry as I should have got, I felt nothing. In her presence, for some reason, I felt calm and tranquilized. Like a sedated animal listening to her every word. Her smile had captivated me.

"No," I replied. "Not yet."
" Not yet eh? It is an interesting answer." she casually lifted her cup of tea to her mouth and had it in silence.. only for a moment though.. ".. yes, so, are you in love?"

   I was shocked, not because she had thrown at me, a query so private but because I didn't know the answer myself. I knew I had been evading this question for a very long time, to my own friends, to my diary and to myself. I was scared to make or reach a decision... Decision meant confirmation and acknowledgment. No, I wasn't ready for that yet. Though I had been wanting to talk to someone about it, for a very long time, I didn't, in fear. So, now that she has asked me, do I tell her? Anyway I don't know her, she wouldn't go talking about it behind my back.. so, should I tell her or not?

     Her silky voice cut through my thoughts. I looked up to see her looking at me with concern. Her eyes sparkled behind her specs with an unknown intimacy. "Did I say something wrong my dear? I'm really sorry if I did. You don't have to answer me you know..". she trailed but in a firm voice.

  "No," I said, "You haven't said anything wrong. It's just that I don't know what to say, because I myself don't know the answer."

"Well, then you must find out."

I looked at her. Yes, she was right afterall. I must find out, but how.?

"I see confusion in your eyes.. You don't know what to do. Am I right?"

Bloody right I thought. Of course, I don't know what to do.

"You're right aunty.. I don't know what to do. I like a guy who is my friend.. I don't know if he likes me back."

"Did you take any efforts to find out out?"

"No."

She sighed.

"My dear, if you don't let him know, how do you expect a reply? Answers are given after a question is asked. Statements that you might want, you'll receive only if you initiate the conversation on the terms you want it to go. Why don't you just give it a shot? What sort of a boy is he, anyway?"

   A smile reached my lips. What sort of boy is he? Now, how do I explain that?

"He is a cute guy. A guy who is genuine, who likes me as a friend. He is the type of person who makes others laugh. But he is also the popular one. With totally different tastes from mine. Our beliefs aren't the same."

"Do you think that is reason enough, to not tell him? I think you should tell him. As soon as possible. Probably today."

"I dont think it would ever happen. If I told him and he refuses, I wouldn't be able to bear that pain."

"Well, if you don't tell him at all, it'll swell and burst. Much worse than what this can do to you."

“But, I’m scared aunty.. I don’t know how to face him.”

 "Listen to me my dear, were you ever afraid to talk to him as a friend? Did you think twice when you ruffled his hair, when you thought of him as a friend?"

"Err.. no, I didn't. That was different. This feeling is different."

"No, it's all the same. It is friendship that you're gonna take on to a higher level. Take it from me, I can assure you this much. All you have to do is to go tell him.."

    Now, who was this lady who made me listen to her with such intensity.. What lies in her voice that makes me listen to her, I don't know. Who was she anyway? I collected myself back from my thoughts and spoke to the woman in front of me. The one who seemed to know what she spoke. The one who spoke from her heart. 

  "O.K.. let's look at it this way... I walk up to him, tell him that I love him. What if he says he doesn't love me?"

"Oh, let's look at it this way.. You walk up to him and tell him that you love him... And he says.. Damn, I've been wanting to say the same thing to you for a very long time? "

"This isn't an answer, is it? You just asked me a question back."

"Well, sometimes, questions raise questions. When one is answered, the other automatically answers itself. More like your design, I would say.."

"But.. Aunty, I really don't know what I should do. He lives in every page of my diary, he comes in my dreams, I feel comfortable around him.. I feel like I can act as crazy as a monkey and still not care..because he is one too... He is not like me though, he doesn't read, doesn't really believe in God.. But I somehow have this gut feeling that he is meant to be with me.. but I really dont know how to tell him this."

"What if he is struggling with the same problem?"

""Hmm.. I dont know about it, right?"

"Precisely why I am asking you to go tell him. Think my little girl, when you grow up and turn around looking at all the things that you haven't had the guts to face, you' ll want to face it again.. But then, you might not have the age or youth for it. Some things and people you lose now, you'll never be able to retrieve again!"

"But what if my stakes are high?"

"What would happen if you told him my dear? He'll stop talking to you? If he does so, you are better off without the guy.. and if he says he likes you too.. well and good for you don't you think? And if he refuses and remains the same with you, atleast you are cleared of the confusion in your head, aren't you?"

"Hmm.. you make sense."

"Yes, I do. And it would do you good to listen to me.. oh oh.. why in the world are you looking so drained..? wo... why are you ducking now?" 

"Aww.. Aunty, there he is." Damn, why did I let that slip now? 

Indeed, he had come inside at the wrong time. The bugger, I hadn't seen him for a week now. Heard he wasn't feeling well or something. And he turns up now.. with a charismatic woman next to me, asking me to tell him how I feel about him. Lovely timing indeed.

The ever too eager Aunty wanted to catch a glimpse of my favorite boy. She swerved around to see a hoard of young men standing there... 

"Who is it, my dear lady?",she asked. 

I had given my tongue away. No other choice, I had, but to tell her. 

"That boy there.. in the blue shirt with stripes.. OH oh! He saw me.. Crap!"

Indeed, he was heading to our table. I waved and he waved right back with a broad smile. Oh my god... THAT smile.

"Hi, how are you?", he asked, looking at me. 

"Ha, seems like I should be asking you that. How are you feeling man?"

"Well, you can see me now", he said, outstretching his arms, in  order to offer me a total view of his fit state..."Do I look anywhere near being diseased?"

I couldn't help but smile. "No, you dont."

"Well, so who do we have here?", he asked, looking at my guide for the morning, probably, the rest of my life. They both shared a smile. She looked at him and nodded. The lady in the purple kurti got up giving her seat to my boy. Now, now.. what was happening..? This fellow was beaming too. 

"Oh, I should be off now my dear... And my boy, I'll leave the car here, drive back home soon. Take care..", she exclaimed as she dropped the car keys on the old table. 

  

       She looked at the still surprised me, smiled and said, "You have things to tell my dear, and let me assure you it will all turn out well. Trust me." She winked and turned around and walked towards the exit door, her high pony swinging in the air, in total confidence of its place in air. Now, that is a woman, I say. 

 "Well, you've seen her.. and I'm still here you know?" He was looking at me through his overgrown locks of hair. He had been looking at me.

Wow, so, how long have I been staring at her? 

  "Ah, ha, I'm sorry. And.. Er.. hey! I have something to tell you."

"Wow, so, do I."

"And something to ask...", I added. "You know her?" I asked, pointing at the exiting woman. 

He smiled. 

"Yes", he said... "She is my mum." 

The lady in the purple kurti turned, looked at me and smiled. I looked from her son to her.. Damn, the same smile. She winked again and left.

I laughed. I knew what I had to tell him.

~ Hemu