Sunday, November 29, 2015

Street Child


Tattered clothes and a bruised face
And looking oh so lost and wild
Orphaned and abandoned by all
He is called merely a street child

He stands all day at the traffic signal
Running from this car window to that
Begging for a glance and a few coins
His small hands outwards spread

Most people shut their ears to his pleas
And others simply avert their eyes
 They sit in those air conditioned cars
That remain symbols of their pride

They do not take in his appearance
Nor hear his futile desperate cries
To avoid him they speed up and leave
Failing to notice his fear and fright

They speed up to warm meals at home
While he begs for little crumbs
No refuge, and without a shelter
He sleeps on footpaths and in slums

He wonders quietly why he got this life
Where he is treated like a rabid dog
Ignored, leading a loveless existence
Feeling like he is the society’s rot

So next time you’re at a traffic signal
Please do give him a tender glance
All he needs is a little love and help
And at life, just another chance

Trust me, just a little help and love
Will for him go a long long way
And that small smile on his face
Will definitely make your day

© Copyright Renu Vyas

Tuesday, November 03, 2015

Tissue Paper Society


Those old loved landmarks
Each with a memory attached
 All bulldozed and replaced
By new impersonal structures


Those small winding roads 
Where we once took long walks 
On warm summer nights
Are now four lane highways

Those pretty small shops
Filled with colorful knick knacks
That we often browsed through
Replaced with city malls

Those friends we depended on
Now strangers we cannot connect with
Stuck in the games of social status
Wary, distant, cloaked in formalities

Those relationships that were
The roots of our existence
 Now discard us, only to replace
With newer ones that change day/night

Welcome to this new 
Weird, Unemotional
Disposable, use and throw 
Tissue paper society

© Copyright Renu Vyas

Tuesday, October 13, 2015

The Rag Picker


He silently walks the streets at night
With a slightly hunched back
And stops near every garbage pile
With his dirty old tattered sack

Potato peels he pushes aside
Dry flowers he does not need
He comes across a limp dry carrot
On which his child can feed

He sees some plastic bottles
And a couple of polythene bags
He quietly picks and stores them
Along with a few soiled rags

The street dogs bark and chase him
He flees so scared and lost
Until he comes to another dump
Where he once again quietly stops

This hunt goes on all night long
As he roams alleys and dumping sites
Calmly accepting his lifestyle
Along with his sorry state and plight

He remains on the periphery of our world
And struggles each night to survive
Forever remains unnoticed by all
Leading a rag picker’s life

© Copyright Renu Vyas

Wednesday, October 07, 2015

Magical Night Sounds



I love the distant sound of trains. It takes me back in time. I remember the summer nights at my in-laws place in my hometown. Mine was a joint family and I remember how every night we would all sleep on the roof top. I loved sleeping on the rooftop. The cool breeze, the night sounds and the gazing at the stars..

Nights have sounds of their own, that distant sound of a horn, crickets chirping, the whistle of a train, the random bark of a stray dog, and yes, the hushed whispers of the neighbours. But most of all, I loved the sound of the late night train. There was something magical about that sound. Romantic and nostalgic.

I would lie there and wonder where the train was going, who all would be on it, I would imagine reunions and partings. Tears and laughter.  Each night I would lose myself in a different story that my mind would come up with. For me, It represented a romantic vision of the unknown.

Even today, when I hear the sound of a distant whistle of a train, It brings a smile to my face. The sound, the vibrations, it is all so reminiscent of a wonderful past..

Tuesday, October 06, 2015

Nostalgia


Sometimes, the mere smell of a perfume, or the scent of a certain flower, or hearing an old song, or passing by certain places, or seeing an old photograph makes the mind pause, stop and wander down memory lane..

I have always been an extremely sentimental person. There are certain things I’m very attached to,   little mementos from my past that I can never dream of parting with. They may not have any monetary value and they would probably look like worthless junk to other people, but for me they are precious and represent the times that were.

I do understand that not all memories are good ones but as the years go by the bad ones lose their negative aspects and get distorted and hazy while the good ones get even more glorified than what the reality was..but regardless of that, the warm fondness for that era remains an important part of my life.

I have been feeling especially nostalgic lately. I often think back to the days that were and find comfort in those thoughts. Hearing songs from the 60s and 70s is now a reminder of people, places and emotional attachments. Some might laugh or be embarrassed by talking about their past or recalling the days gone by, but for me the past represents the simpler times, it made me who I am today. Each moment a lesson.

I love the feeling of nostalgia. This mixture of happiness and sadness. The whiff of a perfume, a glide of the fingertips across some item, a lovely soulful song, or a faded picture can invoke such strong memories that come flooding back. .all coupled with the strong desire and the aching in the heart to return to that time in the past..

Aah..nostalgia..

Wednesday, September 30, 2015

मुखौटे


आदत पड़ गयी है सबको 
मुखौटों में रहने की 
असली चेहरा दिख जाए 
तो लोग बुरा मान जाते हैं...

© Copyright Renu Vyas



Monday, September 28, 2015

Let Some Wishes Remain Unfulfilled



Why do people always send greetings with the words "I hope all your dreams come true" ? For some reason I find it weird..

Yes, it is always a pleasant feeling when wishes are fulfilled..but If all wishes were fulfilled and all dreams came true , where would be the reason to look forward to anything ? Would I be happy if all my wishes and dreams came true ? Probably not..I would not have anything more to live for.

Let some wishes remain unfulfilled..Gulzar Sahab said it well..

कतरा कतरा मिलती है 
कतरा कतरा जीने दो 
जिंदगी है, बहने दो
प्यासी हूँ मैं, प्यासी रहने दो..

Thursday, September 10, 2015

A Date With Myself



A quiet evening at home.

It's getting harder and harder to find solitude these days. Earlier, one could take a walk in the countryside, enjoy being one with the nature, but now, the countryside is getting smaller and smaller as the concrete world gets bigger and bigger.

I do enjoy the city and its energy, but at times I feel claustrophobic..as if the humanity is pressing in on me. The need to indulge in and enjoy the fullness of my own presence, the luxury of being with my own thoughts overwhelms me..and today was one such day.

Just me, my solitude and the thumri "Yaad piya ki aaye...ye dukh saha na jaye..haye ram".

The soulfulness of this thumri touches the most inner chords of my soul and gives me a feeling of eternal solace.


Tuesday, September 08, 2015

On Babas, Babies and Bachhas



After a long long time I log on to Yahoo Messenger, I see a friend online and decide to catch up with her. I ask her how she and how her family is.

Her: We are fine but you know my Baba has to work so much in office these days. Two of his colleagues are on leave and he has to do their share of the work too..Everyday he comes home so tired and it worries me. My poor bachha..

Me: Yeah..I can understand..we moms do get worried when we see our children tired and all..

Her: Children ?? No no..I am talking about my husband !

Me: Oh..(wondering why a wife would call her husband her "bachha")

Same evening I see her husband come online.

Me: You wife was very worried about you

Him: My baby worries too much.

Me: Oh..even the child worries..that's so sweet..

Him: No I'm talking about my wife

Me: (stumped !!)

Tuesday, August 25, 2015

यादें


मन के आईने पर 
जमी तुम्हारी यादों की धुंध को 
अकसर साफ़ कर लेती हूं मैं 
इस उम्मीद में 
कि कुछ मन भी उजला हो जाए 
और कुछ तुम भी साफ़ नज़र आओ 

© Copyright Renu Vyas


Tuesday, August 04, 2015

मैं एक क़ायनात


मैं माँ की ममता भरी मूरत हूँ 
मैं हूँ बहिन का निःस्वार्थ प्यार 
मैं प्रेमिका की शरारत हूँ 
मैं बेटी का स्नेह और दुलार 

कभी मैं चुपचाप सहने वाली 
कभी हूँ काली का रूप 
कभी पार्वती सी पूजी जाती 
कभी लक्ष्मी का स्वरूप  

कभी ना समझो वो रहस्य हूँ 
कभी सीधी साधी बात 
कभी नदी के चंचल वेग सी 
कभी झील सी गहरी व शान्त 

चंद शब्दों में ना वर्णन हो मेरा 
शब्द भी मेरे लिए हैं अपर्याप्त 
कितने क़िरदार बसते हैं मुझमें  
मैं स्वयं में हूं पूरी क़ायनात 

© Copyright Renu Vyas



Sunday, July 26, 2015

भूला हुआ सा "हम"



"तुम" और "मैं" 
के अहंकार की जंग में 
घायल, गुमसुम
भूला हुआ सा एक "हम"..

© Copyright Renu Vyas

Tuesday, July 21, 2015

Imperfectly Perfect


Recently a friend talked to me about how she had joined a gym as well as a cooking class that specified baking cakes. Why this sudden fascination with cakes I asked ? I know for a fact that she dislikes cakes. Her reply was that other women from some group that she was a part of were always discussing/baking cakes and how she always felt left out and stupid. And the weight issue was due to her children mentioning how so and so aunty always looked and dressed so well.

My friend’s need for perfection and other people’s approval made me think..why do people want to be perfect ? To me, imperfection is beautiful. I truly believe that it is our flaws that make us interesting. It is the little differences between us - our quirks and idiosyncrasies that make us curious about each other and therefore connect. Imperfection brings a certain reality and humanness in us.

Why would I want to be the same as everyone else ? I've never understood the need to fit in with groups, follow popular fashions or to do what everyone else is doing. I like to be my own person, I may not be perfect in some people's eyes, but if I'm happy with me, then that's good enough. Every person is beautiful in their own being. No one else is like them. They are unique but not perfect.

No one is perfect. There is no such thing as a perfect person, if there was then things would not last. Yes we have our "perfect moments" and even those may not be perfect in another’s eyes.

Imperfection represents freedom of choice and living and thinking outside of the box, of making mistakes and learning from them. It represents growth. There is beauty in loving and reveling in the uniqueness of imperfection.

Symmetry and balance can be beautiful and fascinating for sure but so can asymmetry and imbalance. It is the little imperfections which often represent adaptation and change , evolution and development, without which we would all stand still and stagnate.

Everyone has a different perception and this is what makes the beauty of imperfection so unique.

Friday, July 17, 2015

ख़ामोशी


आँखों में है सूनापन 
दिल में बस वीराना है
लबों पे है ख़ामोशी
मन में एक सन्नाटा है   

न जाने वो कौन शख़्स था 
जो जाते जाते मेरे ख़याल ले गया 

© Copyright Renu Vyas




Sunday, July 12, 2015

The India That I Miss

As I grow old, more and more my mind wanders back to my childhood memories. Small things that we took for granted are no more and my heart yearns for the life that was..
Listing a few things from my India in the 70s and 80s that I miss.



Aerograms or हवाई पत्र
Yes, there was a time when every family kept a stock of aerograms to communicate with other family members living in other cities or abroad. The struggle to write down all the details in that limited space had a charm of its own..the birth of a child, the passing away of a distant relative, the exam results of children, the job promotion of uncles..so on and so forth...
And yes..I miss those telegrams too !



Radio Transistor
They were an addiction. One just HAD to hear the Binaca Geetmala and yes the men would be glued to it for cricket commentaries ! And much later came the Walkman..how I loved mine (and my T-series collection of cassettes).


Scooter with sidecar
Aah yes..who can forget them...those who had one were considered R-I-C-H !  And lets not forget Jay and Veeru riding one singing Yeh dosti..those were the days !



No we did not have video games or Play stations. We had these simple games that kept us entertained and busy all day..and how we loved them !


Every house had this..some had the Kala Dant Manjan too !



Remember those ? Reminds me of the song "Dekho dekho dekho bioscope dekho..Delhi ka kutub minar dekho.."


No we had never even heard of dairy milks and fruit n nut..all we knew were these toffees along with the colorful parle poppins and parle kismi toffees.


Diwali crackers were never complete without these "Saanp ki Golis" !

There are so many things I can go on and on about..I truly feel those who were born in that era are blessed !


Wednesday, June 24, 2015

तुझ से मैं तक


तू मेरी हर सोच में  
तू मेरी हर चाह में 
तू मेरी हर बात में 
तू मेरी हर याद में 
तू मेरी हर फ़िक्र में 
तू मेरे हर ज़िक्र में 

 कभी जो तुझ से निकलूं 
तो  "मैं " तक पहुंचूँ 

© Copyright Renu Vyas


Wednesday, June 10, 2015

मेरी अपनी


कभी ख़याल बन 
मुझे दिन में सताती है 
कभी सपना बन के 
मेरी नींदों में आ जाती है 
कभी धड़कन बन 
मेरे दिल में समाती है 
कभी मीठा सा गीत बन 
मेरे होठों से गुनगुनाती है 
और जो मैं कभी 
ज़िन्दगी में मशरूफ हो जाऊं 
तो चुपके से पीछे आ 
मेरी आखों पे हाथ रख 
हौले से पूछ जाती है 
"बताओ तो मैं तुम्हारी कौन ?"
यह कह कर मुस्कुराती है 

अब इतना अपना कौन होगा भला 
तुम्हारी याद के सिवा....

Wednesday, April 29, 2015

My Inner Landscape - My Book Published

Book - My Inner Landscape


Finally my book is published. It is a collection of poetry and is now available on :

Amazon USA

Amazon India

Cyberwit Publications

I look forward to your comments and feedback :)





Book Review – The Wedding Trousseau And Other Short Stories

Book Review – The Wedding Trousseau And Other Short Stories


Book Details:

Title – The Wedding Trousseau And Other Short Stories
Author – Ankita Sharma
Genre – Fiction - Short Stories
Publisher – Humming Words
Publication Year- 2015
Pages – 138
Language - English

The simplicity of the stories in this book makes it an easy read. Each story seems to be taken from day to day life. Thought-provoking, dreamy, sad, and hilarious, this collection of stories by Ankita Sharma takes the reader on a diverse and unforgettable journey through a variety of topics, themes, and emotions. 

The story “One More Bite” - makes one face the inequalities in life and the in-sensitiveness of the financially stable towards those who might not be so.

The Wedding Trousseau is the story of a woman trapped in the complexities of her married life.

All in all, it is a collection of good stories all rolled into one neat package.

These stories are outside my usual genre but I really enjoyed them. Not all of the stories have happy endings, much like real life, but they are all well worth reading.

Book available on:




Tuesday, February 03, 2015

Nostalgia - The 80s

Top post on IndiBlogger.in, the community of Indian Bloggers



Today while browsing through You Tube, I came across the old Surf advertisement. Who can forget Lalita Ji ? certainly not those who grew up in the 80s ! I have often posted about India in the 80s and yet I never seem to tire of it. I guess as we grow older our mind tends to wander down memory lane and the times that were..

Here are a few things that I miss about that era:

  • The simplicity of the TV ads like Lalita Ji's Surf, Humara Bajaj, Chal Meri Luna and the likes.
  • Doordarshan's spinning logo and the annoying music that went with it :P 
  • News by Salma Sultan.
  • The leather covered radios (my grandpa had one and BBC news on the radio was a daily ritual..and lets not forget the Binaca Geetmala).
  • Every week had one purpose - to watch the next episode of Mahabharat.
  • Campa Cola, Signal toothpaste and Ajanta tooth brush.
  • Singer sewing machines.
  • Lakhani Chappal and Bata. (Bata was the rich man's brand back then).
  • The hand held decorated fans or "pankhis" as we called them for when the power was out. (and yes the Khaitan fans too).
  • The kerosene lamps and lanterns.
  • Dalda ghee and Postman oil.
  • Cantharidine hair oil.
  • Playing Gilli Danda, Satolia, Chupa Chupi, Kancha (marbles) and Carrom with cousins.
  • Spinning lattus (tops).
I guess I could go on and on..
Anyone has anything more to add to the list ? :)
 
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