(A)waiting Whispers...

Here I am, sitting with a dab of henna on my hair to colour my blacks, (I won't say to cover my greys.. or should I say to pepper my salts?), shelving my tumbling thoughts, tossing away the unwanted, nurturing the sweet ones, and staring at the blank screen of my laptop, waiting... My darling hubby hates henna. He says it is akin to using cowdung.. When I go near him, he twitches his face as if he is smelling the dung!
This blog is becoming an addiction.. oh not to me, but to my friends and relatives and other altruistics.. they think they can sneak inside me, and know all my hidden secrets. Who would ever think that people might actually be interested in what time you get up, what you eat, what you drink and what you dream! So they think that I am an easy-peasy ? Ahh na naaa.. I am the same old self... a heart brimming with secrets, never letting any cats out.. But they tell me they are waiting.. Waiting for new revelations.. It has been quite a while since I've posted anything..

Speaking about waiting, now I am waiting for that magic name to appear on my screen. This waiting is a real torture. We start to wait from the day we are knitted in our mother's womb.. to come out to this world, to walk, to talk.. We wait to grow up. We wait for recognition. We fill our days with those little moments of waiting... We cannot remove it from our lives. Once, long before, I told my.. ah well, someone, who was planning a loooong trip, that I'll wait for him as long as he wants. "For what, dear?", he asked. I didnt reply. I could have told him.. "For you". But then I knew very well that was like chasing a rainbow. Not the waiting, but the fusion.(It is still a con-fusion). Life drifts by.. still I hold on and wait..

When I was a child, I used to wait for trains. Lying down on my swing cot, face pressed against the windows, enjoying the soft kisses of little raindrops, I used to pin my eyes and ears whole day to see them hasting off whistling sweet lullabies for me... I used to wait for a hug that never showed up on my doorstep. I used to pine for a hug from my parents. I dream of being hugged when I toss and turn during sleepless nights. A real hug came my way from a Russian dentist, and then from a close virtual friend when we met.. but the pity is both were women! Still have to find out how a hug from a man will be.. My hubby adheres to my parents footsteps, and so ensures that he doesn't do any faux pas.

And my waiting continues. I am waiting for a rebirth of wonder. I am waiting for the magic fairy to touch me with her wand. I am waiting for those sweet nothings which I crave for. I am waiting for the Midas touch in my garden......!!!

Secret Whispers...

We all have secrets which we hope will go down the drain with time. But they are always there, hiding in some corner.. In childhood they are innocent, tucked away in the imagination like a favourite toy hidden from a sibling under the bed. In adolescence, it is a soft feather, carressing you warmly, hugging you, and lurking as a smile around the corner of your lips. Then, when the mind grows, somewhere in its labyrinthine hollow, your secrets become your prisoners. You keep it behind closed doors, and seal it tight. If, somewhere along the way you slip, and let your guard down for a moment, someone innocently might crawl inside through those closed doors... and a new secret is created!

One of my best friends had a big problem when we were very small. She got very less marks in Social Studies. When we got the report card, her eyes welled up with tears. Her already round eyes became rounder, like a fried papad....
Two seven year old heads glued together, ideas rushed back and forth, but couldn't crack the case of escaping her father's wrath. Dejected, she was on her way back home, when , only a sandwich away, she saw the way out. There, on the entrance of her house, was her dad's name in block letters! She took out her report card, and her pencil, (pens were not allowed in Lower Primary) and clearly wrote down her dad's name along the dotted lines... IN BIG BLOCK LETTERS! (Well, she was clever enough to know that signature means writing your name..) Next day, with a beaming grin of triumph, she handed back her report card to the teacher, who took it without a blink. But mysteriously, her dad materialised after an hour, and he and the teacher were having some secret whispers.... I looked at my friend's face which was as white as her uniform shirt. A moment later her dad hoisted himself right before her eyes, and father and daughter exchanged a long glance. Her lips began to tremble, and two little pearls were waiting to leap out from her eyes. He scooped her up in his big arms, and giving a peck on her cheeks, exclaimed "Who else can be more creative than my daughter!" That was a bountiful moment. Tears flowing freely from her eyes and nose, she kissed him and hugged him tightly. And the teacher too, witnessed the scene with a sly smile.. What would have been in her mind? Yet another secret...