hopscotch

My first attempt at story-writing. Didn't quite work out. --- Sonia and Meera just couldn't stop smiling! They were setting off for their first trek in few hours time. They giggled at the thought of the fun they were going to have – new friends, trekking and playing in the snow and singing and dancing around the bonfire. What the girls didn't admit to each other was the fact that they were hoping to meet their Prince Charming! That was their secret! At 5 pm, they were at the Pune Railway Station, shepherded by Sonia's father. They spotted the group of trekkers and went over to meet Avadhoot, the group leader. The girls were the youngest member of the group going to Pubbar Valley near Shimla. There were quick introductions and Sonia found herself half in love already. Meera noticed her friend blushing. And guessed the reason behind it. She quickly tugged Sonia's hand when they were boarding the train. “What's up?” Meera whispered into her ears. “Sss

This was written for a contest. Results will be declared in June. Wish me Luck. ---- I was home after almost six months. I stood in the veranda with the bag hanging down from my shoulder. The garden looked lush green and neatly manicured. My growing up years have been associated with this place and its transformation from a vacant plot, into a kitchen garden and then in to a 'wildly growing' garden. There were trees, thickets, shrubs, potted plant, cactus, flowering plant, money plant...you name it and we had it. Or rather my mother had it. My parents, who wanted to build a small house, had pooled their meager resources to buy the land. When the house was being built, we (my elder sibling and I) often accompanied our parents to see the construction. The area surrounding the house, looked dusty and barren except for few trees. “Teak! That's teakwood tree,” Aai shrieked loudly. I had looked around to see if anyone had overheard us. “And”, she said pointing to anothe

For the last few days I have been humming Door Koi Roshan Hua Ek Chehra ...from Thakshak , one of my favourite films. On a whim, I am listing down few romantic (ahem ahem)songs which begin with D Alright, the first one is Deewana Hua Badal from Kashmir ki Kali . Next one is Dooba Dooba of Silk Route (Loved the sea in this one). Then comes Dil Deewana From Maine Pyar Kiya (Bhagyashree's yellow sari...YUCK!). Dil Tadap Tadap Ke from Madhumati... Deewana...Haan Deewana from Parde. There are others too like Dard-e-Disco and Dhoom Machale...but I am not so enamoured of them...

The new advts by Vodafone are cute, throwback to school days - particularly the one in which a girl saves a seat next to her for a friend. It was the same with all of us, I guess - likes and dislikes, friends, best friends and 'enemies'.I don't want to talk of my school enemies here - too petty and now when I look back, I think I made much ado of small things. My bench partner, the one I remember, was Aarti Kurkure, in Std I. I don't remember whom I sat next to in jr and sr kg. In Std III, I think it was Suparna. I don't remember the last name. I think she left the school after that one year. I particularly remember Std III very well because I lost my first tooth (front one - gaping hole, I tell you) on my birthday. It came out when I was eating lady finger veggie from my tiffin box. Suparna, who was sitting next to me in the class, made me drink water and rinse my mouth. For days I worried that the tooth might now grow back and every morning I used to check if

Today's Diwali... And, I am in a crabby mood. (Isn't that an old story?) So...let me just put down in points what I am missing in life at this point: 3.30 in the afternoon, Nov 5. Here goes: 1)My pen friends and the letters we used to write. Status: I'm not in touch with any of them. 2)My old camera. I clicked my college life and niece's photographs with it Status: Left it in the almirah of my cupboard. Don't know if its working. 3)My old diaries. Used to write pages and pages when in college Status: Burnt them. I am regretting! 4)Mogra flowers. Reminds me of Aai. Status: Have to go back home and see if they are in bloom. 5)Chocolates. I used to hunt for them in my sister's bag, cupboard. Status: I can and still eat them by dozens. But they don't taste that good. 6)Rains. The thunderstorm and the lightning. Status: It doesn't rain in Pune. It just drizzles and cleans the road. 7)My home. Status: It's still standing, rock-solid. I ho

This was published in the books page of the Sunday Supplement --- When I was in college, the most-talked about book was Prakash Sant’s Vanwas , or ‘exile’. I was staying in a hostel and was always homesick; and I didn’t want to read a book that would have proclaimed my state of mind loud and clear. It was a chance conversation with my roommate, four years later, that I developed an interest in Lampan or Lampu, the boy character (Sant himself), on whom the books — Vanwas , Pankha , (Fan) Sharada Sangeet and Zumbar (Chandelier) — were based. A highly imaginative and sensitive child, Lampan lives with his maternal grandparents (Narayan Sant and poetess Indira Sant) in a small village near Maharashtra-Karnataka border. He’s a gifted musician: he can sing, compose and play all the musical instruments; but scores a duck in Maths and Geography. Lampu speaks Marathi with a distinct Kannada lilt. His favourite words are “Mad”, Tantotant and Kay mhantat na... tyatli gat . He “measures” h

This was written as a second edit piece. --- The lal dabba , as it is often derisively referred to, holds very special memories for me. I was a gawky, confused teenager when I first came to Pune to study in a reputed city college. I was always homesick for the first few months, and counted days when I could go home. The first opportunity came around the ten-day Ganesh festival. I took an autorickshaw to Swargate and then made my way to the platform for Mumbai bound buses. I stayed in a small village near Panvel, so I had to get down at a 'request stop'. I, therefore, decided to wait for the conductor to ask if he could stop the bus at Dand Phata, the request stop. When he came, with the driver, I was scared of his gruff manner and I fumbled. I had to repeat myself twice before he nodded. I was travelling alone for the first and that too on a bus, so after Khopoli I kept my eyes peeled for Dand Phata. I need not have worried because the conductor called me as the stop nea