অনুরণন

There is nothing here, No Time. No Tear. Smiles happen, By Practice I fear. Often from home Stories I hear.. Of festive joys & deaths O'dear! I know of two worlds. A day there, is an endless night here. I dream in both, asleep in neither. Sometimes in thrill, I measure the distance, in miles and metres. Either way, From Home I stay Afar. Away.

indeed india, i miss you. well, to start with, i miss your typically morning noises.. the bustle of households, the chatter of housewives, the business of house maids, 'back-up' music of neighbourhood cars, pitched calls of street hawkers, kick starts of 2-wheelers, school buses making their way through.. and repititively, the melody of MS's suprabhatam. i miss a day's omnipresent-naturally occuring blunders.. the overflow of garbage bins, tar roads punctuated by lawful dig ups, traffic junks, hunk-honks of auto rajas, fights for vacancies at bus foot boards, warning less electricity breaks, saying no to beggars, a single rain's flood warning .. and all the associated uncertainties.. i miss the stimuli to my senses... the vividity of feminine drapery .. colorfully spun sarees and flirtily favorable dupattas, aromas of samosa and chai, nostalgia of ameen sayani on AIR FM RAINBOW, taste of the temple's sacred water, sourness of roadside pani puri, freshness of ...