Conversation

 Tears roll down. She is crying a lot. I just can't look at her.' Say something nice.Don't sit like a 12 year old' the floating me scolds me. I try to figure out something intelligent to say. I search furiously in my mind. But instead of saying something nice I just gawk at her.
Her pain is hurting me. I desperately want to help her. Though I don't have even slightest idea how i am going to do so.'She is my friend..I have to offer her comfort ...she needs it.'
Instead of finding some nice things to say my little grey cells offer me a distant memory ,a really faded one.
The plot took place in the same place and characters the same people.
She was crying hard. She has tripped while learning bicycle.The bruises are hurting. I sit there in front of her and apply some medicine and softly put bandage . I could feel her pain .But I am not saying anything to her just listening. Eventually she stops crying.and then we both decide that next time she run her bicycle I will run behind to catch her if she loses her balance.I can see our happy faces.
I get up and offer her my hanky.She silently wipes her eyes.She looks like a cartoon character,I feel.
She has stopped crying now.Now even I know what I want say though I have least idea how to phrase it properly.
I just peer at her. and we bead goodbye.
I come home every bit angry on my foolishness. My phone rings.I have a message...
'Hey mate ...Thnks for being der always....:-) luv u...'
Tears start rolling down...

Teabags & Icecubes

          I remember how astonished I was when for the first time I saw teabags.That was quite a sight!
Neatly arranged in a nice little box. Those tiny things took no time to burst when dipped in the boiling water.I  was so amused.Just dip a little bag in the boiling water ,add milk ,add sugar and your tea is ready!wow!!!
          The next thing that made me equally astonished was an icecube.
In our science class we were given an icecube each. We were supposed to study its various properties. So the very first thing temperature 0C.no doubt in that.Now structure...solid,crystalline,cold. Cold fumes were rising from it. I stared at it and then touched it reluctantly.It was very cold and had a marble touch. I picked it and held it against my cheeks. It felt cold but nice. Then I rubbed it hard.To my surprise my cheek turned red.I felt burning.
It was later explained that the ice has latent heat which caused that cold burning. Then even the familiar melting process of the ice also made me think.

Unpredictable are the substances , I felt and  so are the people ,now I have realized.

Some times we are like a teabag. We are calm, sympathetic and independent.But when the conditions are stretched,unable to handle stress,we burst. Then to make the things right some milk and sugar is needed. we need someone to correct the things for us,adding their flavour to our life.

The ice cube state might sound cold, solid and dependent but when the tension strikes us,we manage to fight alone. If we cant handle it we surrender to it. Adjust our pride ,accept the defeat and gradually melt in the water. But when the temperature is favourable, we regain the our own shape ,beauty and the solid crystalline form.

At every moment each of us is playing either of the above role.Sometimes we are teabags ready to rebel or the icecube building the crystal or may be sugar and milk happy to make someone else's tea wonderful.
Whichever our role might be we have to play it without cursing the boiling water.

For I feel that in some manner I owe thousand thanks to the boiling water because it helps me to discover the every role that I can play gracefully .

स्वप्न

मराठीच्या पुस्तकात ६ वी /७ वी ला एक धडा होता. लेखकाला भेटलेल्या एका छोट्याशा,निरागस मुलाच एक छोटेसे ,निरागस स्वप्न होते.
'कोकणातल्या एखाद्या लहानश्या गावात एक कौलरू घर असावे. त्या घराला गोजिरे अंगण असवे. निरभ्र रात्री चांदण्यांनी तिथे रांगत यावे अन् त्याने ते उचलून कडेवर घ्यावे.'
वरवर बघता किती साधे सरळ वाटते ना..
त्या शब्दांमागची भावना कधी उलगडून बघायची तेव्हा गरजच वाटली नाही.
वर्षमागून वर्षे आपापली जकात घेऊन पसार झाली. तो धडा , त्याचे लेखक ,त्या कथेचा संदर्भ सगळे मनातून पुसले गेले.उरले ते फक्त स्वप्न!
माझ्या आयुष्याची मोरपिशी स्वप्न रेखाटाना मी त्याच्या स्वप्नाचाही विचार करत होते. त्या साध्या स्वप्नातील विविध छटांचा अर्थ लावतअसताना त्याच्याशी माझे नाते कधी जुळले ते कळलेच नाही.
त्याला घर हवे होते, चार भिंतींचा निवारा न्व्हे.त्यच्या मनात प्रेमाची, आपुलकीची आस होती. पाठीवर हात ठेवणार्या आपल्या माणसाची ओढ होती.
त्याला गोजिरे आंगण हवे होते. हे आंगण म्हणजेच त्याला अभिप्रेत असलेले आवकाश का?
निरभ्र रात्रीचे चांदणे म्हणजे झगझगते यश, प्रकाशित ध्येय की त्याच्या मनात असलेल्या समाधानाचे समर्पक प्रमाण?
आज इतक्या वर्षानंतरसुद्धा त्या अनामिकाने त्याच्या इंद्रधनू स्वप्नमध्ये मला बांधून ठेवले आहे.
इतके की त्याचायसारके एक स्वप्न मिसुधा पाहु लगलेंइकोप,स्वप्नील आयुष्या जगायचे,चांदण्यांना कवेत घ्यायचे.
कुठेतरी या गोंगटापासून दूर एखाद्या ओढ्याच्य कुशीत , डोंगराच्या आडोशालाएक उंच मनोरा असव.त्या मनोर्याला एक गोल सज्जा असव.त्या सज्जात मी उभी असावे. चांदण्यांशी हितगुज करावे,स्तब्ध उभे राहावे नि:स्तब्ध वार्‍याच्या संगतीम्ध्ये. निर्मळ, शुभ्र , स्वच्छ आंघोळ केलेल्या चंद्रच्या प्रकाशात स्वत:ची नव्याने ओळख व्हावी....
त्याच्या स्वप्नाचा विचार करताना मी हळूच त्याचे चित्र रेखाटते की माझे प्रतिबिंब बघते आहे.
सगळा विचार करताना मी च गोंधळून जाते.
माझा प्रयत्न नक्की कोणता?
स्वप्न त्याचे की माझे?
तो म्हणजे मीच का?
पुन्हा गोंधळून जाऊन मी समोर बघते तर काय सांगू..बाकवर बसून पुस्तक वाचणार्या एका खट्याळ छोट्या मुलीने माझ्या वेडेपणावर खळखळून ह्सत मला चक्क डोळा मारला.

Treasure

               As a kid I used to gather flowers every day. The fragrance of the flowers made me cheerful. I used to spend hours engrossed in exploring those little wonders. Some had tender stalks that would bend even if fairy elves stepped on. Some had strong stalks but little size. Some had velvet surfaces some had thorns. They were different but still similar in their own ways. Why shouldn’t they be? After all they were part of the same family. 

             As the sky changed its colour they used to start losing their beauty. Difficult to part from them I used to keep the petals in my note books. They became my treasure that was to be shared only with my friends so that it wouldn't disappear like it always did in my favorite fairytale.

             Years passed. I eventually gave up collecting them. But I am still not able to get rid of my precious  treasure. It is not the petals that matter. What I cherish are the memories. The innocent laughs,care and love. Nothing can give back those years. I don’t even want them. For  now I can understand them ,those petals, I had collected years back.

             Every existence has its idiom and tongue. As we grow it becomes more peculiar and significant. He tends to resolve it all the tongues into his own. Sometimes bestows it upon other men. Any man translates others and sometimes himself too.  These translations linger in the mind blooming into pretty flowers, spreading their charismatic fragrance and then eventually disappearing, leaving petal as the souvenir.

These petals will always be treasured in the mind.But then I don’t want it to disappear even now. So I have decided to share it with you.