Back to school

Back to school

Back to school

Blue and white uniform, we marched out
in gallant boots,
Happy that this is the end
Tyranny of teachers
and exams,
Test of patience – memory
Crushed with numbers, facts
Obstinate for authorities
We romped – no more books
That we don’t want to read,
No more walls,
Pink Floid started
Pouring music to our ears
Progressive and
Mind-bending – who needs
a classroom anyway?
Never did we think, we’re
Walking into a bigger school,
No more tests after lessons
But lifelong lessons
After tests – and yes,
One day, much to our surprise,
We’ll all return, in tiny steps
Glossy books and twinkling eyes
Eager to read
Worldful of
Unknowns.

Gabriella has us write stories of going back to school. Hope you’d like to join us on Dversepoets. Door open at 3 PM EST. The photo is from Hyderabad where I joined a street event with my little one.


My precious~


Feeling spirited
When she wanted to play with my laptop and I was working, I would ask her to keep her fingers away from the keyboard. She would show no signs of sleep even past midnight. She would get anything she can reach in her height and throw them away on the floor and we would get upset soon.
Today I am begging her, Rupu, let’s go play on the laptop. You have my phone – do whatever you wish to and throw it away when you are done with it. Get up, open the tap water and run away from it. Make a mess of the house. Throw away everything you can reach with your tiny hands. Just get up. I won’t try to put you to sleep, we’ll play all along. She isn’t saying anything. All she passes me is a faint, tired look and some mumbling of pain. She has forgotten how she used to call me, her mother, grandmother or that crow sitting on the lamp post next to our apartment. She is lying on her bed in the hospital as some intravenous medicines flow into her body.
I love you my dear child, I have loved you more than anything I have ever loved in my life. I can not see you like this. God has put me through a test. A difficult one but I am not sure how long it will be if I burn out completely. Only hope is that there are so many who are also on their battle with hope. Writing these words on my blog shouldn’t change things apart from earning me some sympathy at best. However, I feel a little bit of strength is coming back to me.

Like father, unlike daughter


I am not only a late riser – but also a slow one. What does that mean? It takes hell lot of a time for me to wake up – in the morning (or any time when I am about to wake up for that matter), I can almost subconsciously feel that now my blissful slumber is about to culminate but my body doesn’t fully wake up and sometimes it takes so unduly long that the person trying to wake me up just gives up. ┬áIt’s not something that I am particularly proud of but given the fact that I am nearing the twice as much of what is called a sweet age, I am not ashamed of it either.
Quite surprisingly, my little one, ten months old now – is able to wake up from the deepest of her sleep without a split second and just gets on with her usual waywardness and hullabaloo like she did before we (read her mother) so laboriously put her to sleep. Even more alarming when the length of her sleep, however small might that be to be in comparison with a heavy sleeper like me, leaves her equally charged up.
Every moment of fatherhood is challenging and enlightening in some form of the other.