Aeroplane journeys...

With new kaftans, lot of sun tan lotions, beautiful cane hat, sexy swim suits, cotton kurtas…the bags were packed for much awaited trip to Mauritius.

We checked in at IGI, cleared the immigration and with smiles and sheer excitement we boarded the plane.

The plane slowly moved to the run way and halted. The pilot announced that he was waiting for a signal to take off as there were some birds crossing the path.

I neatly took off my shoes in order to relax and put my newly bought book in the space provided in front. I could sniff the slight smell of the churning fuel by the engines. The grass on the either side of the runway swayed with the air blown from the rotation of the fans. It seemed as if the wild unkempt grass waved goodbye.

Five minutes passed and we heard our pilot say, ‘we are ready to take off.’ All clear, seat belts tightened and the plane accelerates...

We look at each other, smile and grasp each others hand as we always do on each flight.

Next moment, in a flick of few seconds, there is a loud bang!!

Everyone looks around. Confused, paralysed and shocked!! There is utter silence. We are still very much on the ground.

The pilot gives instructions ‘cabin crew do not move.’ My heart stops beating. I speculate we are hijacked, and this is the end. 9/11 comes to my mind.

Jas says it is engine failure. I overhear a voice; someone sitting at the rear end of the plane, shouts fire, fire, plane is on fire.

We still have seat belts fastened, no one moves. We wait for some instructions, and the pilot commands ‘evacuate ASAP…from the right ….quick….evacuate!!’

Panic strikes, the airhostess opens the emergency exits, the shoots slide open and we jump.

Our plane is on fire!!

With Gods grace no one is hurt, just few minor band aid scratches and all passengers escape.

Today after watching the ghastly 9/11 footage at school, it ran a fear down my spine. It takes courage to even imagine the predicament of the people trapped in those planes which crashed into the twin towers. They knew that it was ‘the end.’

We do not have any clippings or pictures of those passengers. The trauma they would have been through at that spur of moment is incomparable.

The collapse of the famous landmarks of NY is one of the most gruesome acts of brutality. Every time you see the footage you are drowned in sadness.

As the video rolls the shrieks and cries of hundreds of trapped people leaves you speechless. You can feel the agony and helplessness of those to rush out of the burning buildings.

We see the firemen rushing towards the site. Hats off to them, they risk their life in danger to rescue every soul they possibly can.

The rescue team is working hard, the site is gruesome. The two buildings are ablaze like a giant tall volcanoes throwing out smoke. The fire brigades and ambulances are all over the streets. Injured people are being rushed to aid. The rescue team is finding hard to plunge into the smoke but they are working very hard.

The clipping shows people hanging outside from the skyscraper, high up in the air. Watching the video our first reaction is Oh my God!

Smoke slowly engulfs the entire city. A blanket of dust and debris covers the streets. On the near by streets we see people dumbstruck and taking pictures and making videos.

The tremor brings down a near by building. Within minutes the two towers fall, crushed to the ground like a pack of cards.

Watching these clippings I visualize the magnum opus of destruction. The death of innocent people. The vulnerability of people to seek help to save their own lives.

The collapse of twin towers is a frightening mark in the history of terrorist attacks on mankind.

My experience of the Air Mauritius- bang runs through my mind. I close my eyes and say to myself not many are lucky to have safe aeroplane journeys. I thank God and seek his blessings. May peace prevail on earth.

Ini-Mini-Miny-Moe...

Ugh!! It happened again.
I try to control as much as I can, I try to avoid as much as I can yet at times I have to succumb as negligence with the bladder could prove fatal.

Every time I go to the ‘ladies’ I fear to view the left over residue of the lady who just eased herself and left. Disgusting civic behaviour!!

I hate to see the turd designs labelling the seat with unique personal signatures. It is nauseating!

I have an option, and I try to find another toilet. The other compartment is much worse, I view little yellow droplets sprinkled over the seat like rain drops over parched earth!!

The bladder is killing me I have to relieve asap. I try yet another door…ugh!! To my disappointment it has filthy red stain marks. It gets unbearable I have to choose…Ini-Mini-Miny-Moe…I just pick one and go… … aaaaaaahhhhhhh…

I have observed this uncouth conduct of disgrace in restaurants, hotels, universities, work place, airports, malls,pubs… … almost all the ‘ladies’ I have used.

It feels sick. Makes you puke the very moment you see a dirty seat.

Women have a big issue with men if they leave the toilet seat left up at home. I am sure many would have had this issue time and again in their house. Men are considered incorrigible characters (with of course some good exceptions). We repetitively try and teach them bathroom manners. What happens to our etiquette's (with of course few good exceptions again) when it comes to toilets outside our home?
It is important to maintain the same decorum for the society as well.

Hey dear womenfolk please be courteous enough and think before you leave your ghastly marks behind.

A Posy of Death

Why did they give me flowers as a present?

With no offence to anyone’s sentiments.

Beautiful pink roses and there smooth feather touch. Well matched with lemon yellow daisies and a couple of bright asiatic lilies. Simply put the bunch was gorgeous!!


Each flower had its own sweet smell, special character and ultimate beauty to capture my heart and captivate my soul. The bouquet was presented to me with all the love and warmth.

But I felt ashamed to hold the bouquet in my hands and celebrate happy felicitations. ‘Cause they were just a cluster of dead living things!!’

Moreover they were made lifeless for me and I was celebrating!!

The aroma of fresh flowers fills my senses but not at the cost of their lives. Their beauty attracts me but when they are not plucked from their roots and are well attached to the mother plant.

Flowers are my favourite living things. I love the way they dance with the gust of wind. Reminds me of few old lines ‘no one has seen the wind, neither you nor I but when the trees bend you the wind is passing by.’

The wind and the flora; they are eternal dance partners and I enjoy watching them dance. They sway to and forth when they dance in co-ordination.

But when one partner outshines the other it’s the Tandav Nritya and it causes destruction. The evidence of wrath shows up in their gloomy dull look, the scattered petals and broken branches all over the place.

However bad the storm, it eventually passes and there is life and growth again. I collect all the petals to make a pot-pouri. It indeed adds a difference to my living room.

I adore watching the flowers when it rains. Their drooping petals loaded with water like a little baby drenched in rain awaits its mother to cuddle its hair with a warm towel. The ambience is simply adorable.

Soon the sun is out, the water evaporates and there is merry all around. The atmosphere is gay and fragrance prevails.

How could you kill these tender, adorable flowers and present them with love to someone?

It’s been a week and half have already died. It causes immense agony to throw them in the bin. I tried to keep them blooming but their slow death is inevitable. I can’t stop it. The helplessness is killing.

Once upon a time they were dazzling beauties and now they stare at me in silence, shouting; ‘Aastha, you are the cause of our death.’ The atmosphere is sad. I want them to live, I want them to bloom. They don’t want false promises, I have been there friend for years and today I am caught in an act of treason.

I don’t want to be a part of this slaughter ever again. Please forgive me my friends.

My Dear Friend - Rose

Deep blue eyes with beautiful brushed lashes, curly blonde hair running over its rosy cheeks. Attired in silky white smoked frock covering its glossy knees.Showing its sleek legs with ankle frilled lace socks and those tiny feet elegantly buckled in black shoes.

Two feet tall neatly wrapped up in a huge box, I was thrilled to receive my first doll that I named Rose.

In fear to ruin its pearly white dress and a new acquaintance to me, for days Rose stayed in its box. No doubt it was a fancy and expensive frock but also the only pair Rose had.

Our meetings were restricted to few minutes in the morning before I left for school and an hour or two perhaps after I returned from school.

With Rose confined to it box, placed on the right corner of my study table and myself crossed leg on the chair we talked for hours about issues big and small.

I yapped and it listened without complaint. Then one day we overcame the boundary of this formality of once a day meet and greet session and we became friends. Ultimate friends!

Rose left the box for good and was with me wherever I went...

We had breakfast, we had lunch and of course we had dinner together. Rose accompanied me to the market with mother. Dropped me till my bus stop in the morning and was there to greet in the afternoons as well.

We slept together, we woke up together. I taught Rose to brush teeth twice a day- in the morning and before we go to bed.

Almost once in two weeks Rose was even a pal in the bath tub. While mother plaited my hair I experimented on Rose’s golden locks. We shared our hair clips and accessories.

Mother stitched dresses for Rose as beautiful as mine. Frocks, skirts, pants and shirts, salwar-kameez, night gown, hand knit sweater, lehnga-choli and dupatta. I also requested mother to get a box to arrange all clothes.

Rose sat there in silence while I finished my home work after school everyday. In await of the fun which came thereafter.

We played doctor- doctor together. Rose never grumbled and was always a ready patient for operation and surgeries.

In parlour-parlour I fancied Rose as my luxury client to try my hand on good make up skills and the art of tying a sari.

Rose was always a diligent student when we played teacher-teacher and I dictated spellings in the classroom sessions we had.

Then one day I took Rose out to introduce to my friends. As happy they were to meet Rose, equally pleased was Rose and in a few minutes contact Rose adapted a well suited role for itself in our ghar- ghar plays.

For eleven years Rose was my best friend, my buddy, my sister, my baby...

Rose was a part of me. It was there when I needed a shoulder to cry, when I was lonely. It was there when we celebrated festivals.

On my birthday party each year Rose saw me grow from a little girl to a young lady.

And I saw Rose slowly wither away. I never expected to seal and plaster the crack in its legs and elbows. The fading blue enticing eyes and a jelly like substance which made its lashes stick open and not close ever again. The rosy cheeks cracked and sulked.

Years later I realized one of the reasons Rose left me was it knew well I was grown up and had different priorities now and it was time to move on.

Twenty two years ago in 1986 father had introduced me to Rose when I passed Kindergarten (K.G.) with flying colours. Eleven years strong bond I still cherish. Its been almost ten years we bid goodbye. But every year as my birthday approaches writing the party list, I miss my dear friend-Rose.