Friday, May 25, 2012

Kyra: The Perfect Lakm`e Girl.

The sea was tranquil and looked innocuous. The beads of sand gleamed in the blinding sun of May as minute diamonds scattered all along the beach. The wind was roasted in the heat of the sunrays but the shade from the palm tree provided a balmy relief. I was buried in the Paulo Coelho’s “Like the Flowing River”. Everything seemed smooth until a point when a shrill voice rattled my eardrum: “Please save my child… he is drowning!”
I ran towards the direction of voice. A small crowd had gathered around a frantic woman who was obviously the mother of the child. The sea had suddenly become rude and was hell-bent on devouring the child. Unfortunately, I am not a swimmer of any repute but when saw that no one was venturing to save the child, I moved ahead but was soon surpassed by a girl in her early twenties. She was quicker than me. My scrawny body got thrown back onto the seashore as soon as it dared the fierce force of the sea, but she kept on making headways deep in the sea and emerged with the boy , unscathed.
She resuscitated the boy and entrusted him to his mother. Everyone hailed the girl. Leaving the crowd behind, she disappeared after a while.
After an hour or so when I was taking a stroll I spotted the girl. She was making the garland with sea shells.
“Hello brave girl.”
“I am Neeraj, may I know by which beautiful name this wonderful girl can be addressed?”
“I am Kyra.”
“Kyra… so you are enjoying  your vacations here?”
“No… I live here.” Said Kyra, spreading her hands around the beach.
“Here? You mean you live in a village nearby.”
“No, I mean I live here around this very beach… in the sea.”
“In the sea?” I asked startled.
“Yes, actually the Sea is my father and in the middle of it is an island where my home is.”
“Don’t be so shocked Neeraj, this is true.”
“If Mr. Sea is your father then why did you plunge in it to save the boy, you could have yelled out and your father would have obliged.”
“The yelling can work on a normal person but not on an inebriated one.”
“Inebriated? I didn’t get.”
“Actually my father is addicted to moonlight and whenever he is high on moonlight he loses his senses.”
“Ok…I see.”  I said as I felt the sun heat unbearable. “Don’t you feel that you should make these garlands in shade, the sunlight is piercing?”
“No it doesn’t affect me.”
“How come?”
“Because I use Lakm`e Sun Expert, actually my boyfriend Dhruv who lives in the sky suggested me this to fight against the lecherous eyes of the Sun.”
“I feel really confused, Dhruv , lecherous eyes of The Sun… I am not getting it.”
“Look the thing is that once Sun had proposed to me but I spurned his proposal because I was already in love with my soothing and dashing  Star Dhruv and this didn’t go down very well with the Sun and he started pestering me with his prickly rays, then my Dhruv suggested me Lakm`e Sun Expert, now I fear not the scorching Sun.”
“Oh! So love showed you the way to fight against the lethal sunrays, I guess you should share your experience with other girls as well.”
“Why don’t you tell about this… you are a blogger right! Tell the world about my experience with Lakme` Sun Expert through your blog.”
“How do you know that I am a blogger?”
She didn’t answer my question and just kept smiling. It was the time for the Sun to set and a crimson sky was beckoning the arrival of the stars of evening on the sky.
“It is time for me to meet my Dhruv… I have got to get ready, come to my home on the island sometime, you will like the place.” Said Kyra and disappeared with the speed of gusty wind in the direction of the sea and towards the place where her home, her island was.
P.S: This is an entry to a contest being held by and Lakm`e. Visit here to unravel the beauty secrets:

Sunday, May 6, 2012

The Internal Matter

They say we are Hindus and should go to India and should not desecrate their land; for India we are Pakistanis and are internal matter of Pakistan. Our ancestors chose to stay back in Pakistan even after the partition, for they didn’t want to get themselves dismembered from their soil.

In the soil …root of people breaths, in the soil… images of past mirrors, in the soil …love of a mother adheres… but when soil becomes sand… it is wafted away by the cruel winds of time and then their remains only callous stones beneath the soles of legs. All recognition of you is obliterated by the gust of time.

So, now time has changed, we are strangers to our own soil. We have our homes but we don’t have possessions to them now. The tents of refugee camps are our recourse to fight against the gruesome realities of nature.

Amid the questions of whose internal matter we are, the internal matter of our dignity and existence is scared.  We had a past, and that is why we have this present but we are horribly clueless about any future. Thus the internal matter of existing at all is in danger. To exist eternally through the progeny is longing of all mortals, but ours is a question to survive the moment… to talk about future of future generations seems a joke at present.

It is said that God is present everywhere but our God seems to have got incarcerated within the walls of a temple in Pakistan. That is why perhaps even he is unable to come to our rescue. But is God also a Hindustani and a Pakistani? Has he also left us because now we are in India? And is it that Gods residing in the temples of India also feel that we are internal matter of the Gods residing in the temples of Pakistan?

P.S: The post and pictures of the post have their root at this link: