Have been wanting to try my hand at Haiku for a long time. Don't know whether this fulfills the rules and grammar of Haiku...!
Crowds throng canteen
No lunch for caterer
He’s all smiles
Raindrops on leaves
Dripping pearl strings
Thirsty earth
Juicy guavas
Squirrels race
A snarled pole reaches first
Green henna leaves
Black mortar
Reddened hands
Silken thread
Gossamer fabric
Eight legs clambering down
I’d Rather Hate
Heated words
Spray forth pent up anger
Smouldering lava from a live volcano
Anger over…
What?
Whom?
The action or the person?
Prickly words
Like spiky barbed thorn wires that fence arid lands
Blazing coals
That singes and scorches tender skins
Piercing and burning up the compassionate heart
What I get in return is all love and affection
No hatred, no abhorrence, no disgust
I wince at this ever-flowing abundance of love
That covers the dry thorns with tender foliage and smiling blossoms
That drenches and puts out the burning coals
I cringe and cower
Ashamed of myself
Restless and mortified
Only to return more vengeful
I pray that I may continue to hate
Blazing and raging all over again
Hate the living presence…
Rather than only love the departed soul.
(In memory of my deceased mother...)
Reading is pleasure
Is there anything more gratifying for a bibliophile mom than to watch her kids grow up with books? I introduced M to books at the tender age of one month. Lying down on the cot with her, I would flip through magazines with colorful pictures. Her eyes would flit like bumble bees to catch the fleeting colors in the book as I thumbed the pages.
As eager, excited, and over-ambitious as a mother can get with her first-born, I bought M her first set of picture books when she was just 3 months old. And she was barely 14 months when I got her the entire set of Tamil poems for children by Azha.Valliappa. By the time M learnt to sit without support, I was acting out the poems for her, along with the regular English nursery rhymes.
Soon, I started reading out stories for her, not just during bedtime, but whenever either of us felt so. I read out the story using a different voice for each character. Then, I’ll explain things to her in my voice. M would look on, mesmerized by my ‘performance’.
When M was nearly two-and-a-half years old, I took her to Landmark, the famous bookstore in Chennai. I can never forget the day. She toddled up to a rack, picked up a picture book, plunked onto the floor and started 'reading' the book. I looked at her with swelling pride and admiration, which only a book-lover mother can experience.
From picture books, M moved on to Tinkle, a staple among her friends. She picked up issue after issue from our neighbourhood library and soon exhausted them all. I decided it was high time to initiate her to proper books.
The first book I picked up for M was by Roald Dahl. I had read a couple of his books before and was enamored by his humour. So, I trusted that M would enjoy it, too. M didn’t just like the stories. She fell in love with Roald Dahl’s style of writing. Today, nearly after 7 or 8 months, she has read almost all his titles.
Whenever she enjoyed reading a particular passage, she would share it with me. Several times, she would beg me to read a particular book that she had enjoyed very much. Sometimes, I have to turn down her suggestion for want of time. Disappointed, M would pull a long face and retreat to her favourite couch. I would feel terrible for spoiling her mood. But M’s a sweet kid and understands that life is all about Amma being busy, even when M is blissfully free. And I do know that a time will come when M will get busy, and I’ll be free with all the time in the world in my hands.
That’s the perpetual irony of a working mom’s life, right?
Will blog about C's book-reading habits in another post.
As eager, excited, and over-ambitious as a mother can get with her first-born, I bought M her first set of picture books when she was just 3 months old. And she was barely 14 months when I got her the entire set of Tamil poems for children by Azha.Valliappa. By the time M learnt to sit without support, I was acting out the poems for her, along with the regular English nursery rhymes.
Soon, I started reading out stories for her, not just during bedtime, but whenever either of us felt so. I read out the story using a different voice for each character. Then, I’ll explain things to her in my voice. M would look on, mesmerized by my ‘performance’.
When M was nearly two-and-a-half years old, I took her to Landmark, the famous bookstore in Chennai. I can never forget the day. She toddled up to a rack, picked up a picture book, plunked onto the floor and started 'reading' the book. I looked at her with swelling pride and admiration, which only a book-lover mother can experience.
From picture books, M moved on to Tinkle, a staple among her friends. She picked up issue after issue from our neighbourhood library and soon exhausted them all. I decided it was high time to initiate her to proper books.
The first book I picked up for M was by Roald Dahl. I had read a couple of his books before and was enamored by his humour. So, I trusted that M would enjoy it, too. M didn’t just like the stories. She fell in love with Roald Dahl’s style of writing. Today, nearly after 7 or 8 months, she has read almost all his titles.
Whenever she enjoyed reading a particular passage, she would share it with me. Several times, she would beg me to read a particular book that she had enjoyed very much. Sometimes, I have to turn down her suggestion for want of time. Disappointed, M would pull a long face and retreat to her favourite couch. I would feel terrible for spoiling her mood. But M’s a sweet kid and understands that life is all about Amma being busy, even when M is blissfully free. And I do know that a time will come when M will get busy, and I’ll be free with all the time in the world in my hands.
That’s the perpetual irony of a working mom’s life, right?
Will blog about C's book-reading habits in another post.
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