Friday, 28 August 2015

One Dreadful Dengue type of viral fever!

imageMY BADGE NO: 3 !!

One Dreadful Dengue type of viral fever!

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.
‘Writer, Coffee Shop, and a Broken Pencil’

Writer- Ninad …

Coffee shop-his school…

Broken pencil-his illness….

Don’t we writers love to sit with our implements, with a thermos by the side and weave yards and yards of tantalizing tales? Well, here’s one….

Ninad, a bright spark
Needs no second telling
Always, alert and up-to-date
Loves his school and everything within,
Be it Chess cheese chalks and chatter!
With exams round the corner,
Books and study time table, all in order!
Privileged are the schools, parents and teachers
To have Ninad’s name under their banner!
A bolt from the blue, strikes,
One Dreadful Dengue type of viral fever!
Bringing the fevers, shivers, coughs and colds.
Yucky vomits across the scrolls
Thus sending the Bright Spark Ninad home!
All the efforts gone in vain
Late night studies, down the drain!
Born a fighter, will fight the
fevers, shivers, coughs and colds.
And write his papers, to maintain
His certificate embossed with golds!

(No writer can leave a broken pencil, without sharpening it, getting it back on track, as the filter coffee percolates.)

Saturday, 22 August 2015


post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.

Hello out there!! Just a brief description of myself… slim, tall and beautiful. A rowdy mass of curly locks, overflowing my shoulders and resting around my tiny waist.  Famous or rather infamous for my characteristic wild flying temper, engulfing any ill-fated soul crossing my path. 

Coming from a well to do family, had all my needs taken care of. In fact, taken care to that extent, which made me an insufferable companion.Friends nicknamed me , A Snob,
‘'Gauri’s head in air’’
I hated parent teacher meeting, because it brought my Kannada-speaking mother in the presence of my---highly sophisticated--- English speaking convent teachers, the -- nose- in- the- air- types. Being an extremely sooper-good cook, mother, always thought, the way to a teachers heart, is through the stomach. Neatly packed some Bisibele Bhaath , to be passed around the staff room tables, at  school.   GOSH!! Totally unbelievable!! How on earth can my mother do such things?? Hope this episode has skipped the classmates’ roving eyes.!
All the teachers loved n pampered me. Seriously, cannot come to any conclusion, whether, my mother’s  Bisibele Bhaath did it or was it my intelligence?

Miss Snooty Me, did well at the Ramp, anyways, that’s what a show stopper is’nt she? Seen at all the stage shows, teamed with the hunks for the plays, as the lead pair. Bagged all the Antakshari awards, Debates, One minute talk shows and the rest.
 Oh,!  What a riot we created!! ...winning all the way!!  
Got through college with flying colors.. . Placed in my dream job too.! 

Mother continued to pamper anyone who she thought needed to be fed.
I stepped out into the big bad world. All set to face the wolves
The steady, silent spectator to all my tantrums is a simple saree clad lady, whose two strong sturdy-shoulders, always ready to absorb a tear or two, or just act as a warm cozy comfortable cushion, to ease a worried head. Always ready to lend a patient ear to all my blabber, who else? But of course, My Darling Mother.

I started to jot down on paper all that passed my vocal cords. My job as a script writer in this movie hungry nation was not a cake walk. Bollywood never sleeps. Nor do I. Step by step, climbed this notorious ladder, avoiding all the couches. My air, attitude and acid tongue pulled me out of the ruts, many a time.

A hectic week ahead, deadlines, tight schedules, meetings, travels and not to mention -- the enormous work load !! On a continuous war path with the travel agents, the airlines, Patrick - my poor poker-faced driver, Manu the maid who carried out all the mundane jobs, Gary the  gardener,  Swapna the sweeper, and who so ever crossed my path. 

 In the middle of all this highly chaotic confusion, can hear the drone of a voice, calling Gauri. Telling her the rooster heralds the start of the day.
 And it’s time to GET SET and Go !! Life couldn’t get any better., No?
Now,Is this the  ‘Writer’s Wildest Dream Come True’  Scene?

 post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.

Sunday, 16 August 2015

LOVE LIES IN THE EYES OF THE BEHOLDER? Or IS LOVE BLIND?--This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.



This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.

Just like any other family in this world, we, Indians, too have a father, mother and children. Our father is called BAPU, our mother is MAA and children here are known as the JANTA. 

A typical Indian family, where the father lays down the rules,has a bold, strict exterior character and a kind heart within. The mother, loaded (or armed) with peace, tranquility and patience to endure all that which comes her way and win over a no-win situation, with barely these qualities, exhibiting her love. The children..a few millions in number, are varied in their caste, creed and color.

Listing out some ‘talents’ of the Mother’s precious ones---

Some children dealing with the misappropriate allocation of nation’s coal deposit.

Some children dealing with the misappropriate allocation of unified access service licenses.
Some children mastering the art of forgery in printing duplicate stamp papers and selling them to banks and other institutions.                                                                    
Chara Ghotala, as it is popularly known in the vernacular language. Here, vast herds of fictitious livestock for which fodder, medicine and animal husbandry equipment was supposedly procured.


The above are just a few ‘’kaarname” or the crowning glories of her precious children.

A midst talk of bureaucratic morale taking a beating in the ongoing war and the types of bullying behaviors being physical, verbal or social - MOTHER INDIA SMILED, FREE FROM ALL WORRIES- as she is sure that her children will grow up to be responsible adults because this immature, atrocious behavior is solely greed-based.and not need based, and hence, can be reconstructed with her unending supply of patience and love -- or so she believes !!

‘’JAGO JANTA JAGO!!’’ do not trample on Mother’s hope and break her tender loving heart of reviving the bright and shining future of her children..a few millions in number, who are varied in their caste, creed and color.
                                            Mera Bharat Mahaan, JAI HIND !!

 This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by 

Sunday, 9 August 2015



This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.


I cant get the image out of my head,(Friends, my first attempt at WOW. Do write in your valuable comments )
I was in standard ten. At the end of a dreary week, there was a flier, saying that there will be a school excursion to Goa. A good 10 days without those dull and dreary  classes, loads of homework and nagging parents. The jubilant teenagers hit the roof with joy and almost all confirmed for the trip and had a whooping whale of a time. The next year, it was Chennai, again a beach place amongst all the temples and stuff. Then it was Trivandrum, Raameshwaram and Kanya Kumari. 
WAVES, big waves, huge waves, outrageous waves and atrocious waves. The seas and oceans were always associated with voluptuous wavy waves and big time fun.

Decades later, settled in Mumbai, now a mother of  two, heard about a little beach village called Alibaugh. Ventured out for a weekend of fun, to bring back all those beach y -- wavy  memories, tucked away, during the process of settling down from a boisterous bindaas bhidu to a subtle mother of two.

Checked  into a quiet beach side resort. Me - Opened the gates of my tucked away memories and proceeded to have a whooping whale of a time. My memories of those carefree girly days along the sandy-pebbly beaches, its wavy waves as the grumbling grew to a mighty rumbling; And out of the oceans the waves came tumbling. Great waves, small waves, lean waves, black waves, gray waves, along with the rains contributing to the fun and frolic, kids loved the beach time fun. ( hubby happy with his chilled beer and a over-stuffed plate of the Koli’s preparation of bombil and jhingaa fry). Hearts laden with gratification and happiness drew the curtains to slumber away after an energetic and eventful, content day.
After a fit-full undisturbed no dreams sleep, totally rejuvenated and ready for another day with the monstrous waves, opened the window screens, to feast my eyes on the visions of the roaring seas,  from the floors above. 

Stretches and stretches of land and only land met the unsuspicious eyes. Right up to the distant, endless horizons. Utterly shaken and totally disheartened, I ran down in my night gown, towards the shores to see the remains of the sea, seen the previous night.  ALAS!!       -------  I CANT GET THE IMAGE OUT OF MY HEAD-----------

Decades later, I get to see and learn about something called tides. And that too - a high tide and a low tide.!! My geography teacher will be so pleased with me today ,to see/hear me teaching my kids about the tides. It surely is a lesson well learn t. No matter, decades later. Coz, its better late then never.
Today, you can often see us at ALIBAUGH, staying at the same resort, just because
      -------  I CANT GET THE IMAGE OUT OF MY HEAD-----------!!