#5. Sunday Coffee and Second Chances

It is 6 AM on a Sunday morning.

My eyes shot open and look at the clock.

Trying to go back to sleep is a lost cause.

I get up and rub my eyes with my fists,

giving myself bags, and pick up the book next to me

on my night stand.

I’d given up on it, last night,

but it was so beautiful.

Memories are a bane,

but I banish those thoughts aside

and heave myself off the bed,

to get myself some coffee

on an unnaturally bright and early

Sunday morning.

 

 

#28. Why want Leap Years

#28. Why want Leap Years

Every year,

I get to see you for

365.25 days.

But on leap years,

I get to see you

an extra, full day

and it’s the most cherished day

ever, in my life.

Sorry about this one.

And it’s a wrap!

We’ve partially successfully completed attempting the Spring Palette for The Heart, and we hope to see you soon again!

And I really hope to get better in writing poems. I’ve loved doing it but I know there’s immense scope for improvement. I can’t wait to find more prompts and attempt them, so until then, hang on!

#25. Unconscious doodles

#25. Unconscious doodles

Before, I hated drawing.

I despised artists; I thought art was a waste of time.

I mean, a “painting” wish some red streaks and splashes becomes famous?

For what, like those red streaks were somewhat very purposeful?

Phshhhhh. Puh’lease. Like it matters.

But now, I can’t stop my pencil from moving about.

From restaurant paper napkins to exam sheets,

everything was covered in hearts.

all kinds of hearts, filled, empty.

Coloured, patterned.

Ends touching.

Ends hollow.

It was all because of this one artist that I grew up with,

who taught me, unintentionally, that all people,

all hearts, collectively, individually

are pieces of art

when brought together, makes up the universe.

Something new.

This is the Spring Palette for the Heart, by Parvathi and Me.

 

 

#14. Smudged

My hands find her eyes from behind the big arm chair and close over them.

She doesn’t let go of the book she’s reading; instead I feel her smile and rolling her eyes.

I laugh and put my lips to her ear lobes, tenderly kissing and biting it. I move over to her forehead, without losing contact with her skin.

I release my hands over her eyes, kissing them, then moving to her nose, her cheeks.

I find her mouth, but i don’t kiss it. I move down, towards her exposed shoulder and neck and collar bone.

As soon as my lips touches her neck, she moans. I’m a goner.

She pulls me closer, and I have to move towards the front, which, frankly, is how i should’ve started in the first place.

I take her book out of her hand and toss it behind me. She protests a bit, but when i find her soft spot, I made sure all she thought about was me.

And this moment.

Something I kept imagining in class instead of listening. I wish I went at least halfway, but I like it here, like this.

This is the Spring Palette for the Heart, by Parvathi and Me.

 

#3. Eyes Light Up

#3. Eyes Light Up

I take the book from you

admiring the cover

and trying to figure out what gave you that

dreamy look on your face. 

I put it in the cart

when you try and reach for it.

“I’m buying it,” 

your eyebrows are all scrunched up,

and your cute little mouth is pursed in 

…annoyance? Anger? I can’t tell.

But it is adorable.

I take the book higher, out of your reach,

lean in close and say,

I’m buying this for you,”

You smile, 

like your soul is contented and happy.

Damn. 

If buying you a book will get me that

look on your face,

I’m ready to buy you a bookstore. 

This is probably the most cheesiest thing that I’ve written but I wanted to write! This is The Spring Palette for the Heart, by Me and Parvathi.

#18. White Washed Dreams

“Science is the best option for you!”

“You like biology? Medicine it is!”

“Computer science in engineering will fetch a job with an attractive salary and a beautiful girl!”

Little did they know,

that with each passing day,

the music stopped playing

and movements stopped. 

The paints stopped mixing,

and the canvases remained blank.

The ink in the pen

dried up

and so did the soul

inside. 

I am so conflicted with my future right now. I had to get it out. No one has forced me to study anything, but the expectations are little suffocating.

The Day I Changed My Life

(I’m scared to put up my fiction. Especially one that was published. But this wasn’t. This is really close to heart and I hope you like it. Share with us if you’ve had such an experience.)

The day I changed my life was the day I picked up my very first book. And, as of today, it has been exactly seven years since I did that.

I was sixteen years old, with a younger brother who loved his books more than me. I couldn’t see what was so great about them. They’re just black ink on white paper! With the exceptions of picture books. And while I didn’t have the time to read my school books, where could I find the time to read stories and useless works of fiction?

My brother always told me to read. He told me that it would give me a broader sense of thinking and a whole new perspective about people and the world and also the way I look at things. As an older sister, I always shut him out. But deep down inside, that little voice inside me always told me that he was right. Naturally, I shut it out, too, even though I knew it was a mistake. How I wished I’d realized it sooner!

One day, I was waiting for the bus to arrive when it started raining heavily. As I opened my umbrella, I saw a second-hand book seller on the side walk across me struggling to keep himself and his books dry. My heart reached out to him. He could suffer a great loss if his books got wet. And I didn’t like anyone suffering knowing I could help. I ran up to him and helped him gather his books, cursing the sudden rain. It took all my will power to not even read the titles of the books. But curiosity won over my will power. I just had to see what it was! When the last book was in my hand, I squinted over the letters saw that it was written ACK on the top- which I immediately recognized it to be an Amar Chitra Katha, the same ones my brother used to brag about. And this one was a collection of adventures of a young detective, Ajay. The illustrations were remarkable! I immediately fell in love with the boy on the cover, which, for some reason, made me want to buy it. I asked the vendor its cost and he asked me to keep it as a gift for helping him. An appreciation of my help. And it was the best gift I ever got so far.

It’s crazy what jealousy can do. I read the whole thing on my way home in the bus and I realized that I was quite a slow reader. This made me jealous of my brother who could read big, fat books in just hours. True, it depends on the interest but also on the fact that his reading habit was longer than mine. Way longer. And it’s this jealousy that led to me reading all my brother’s books and wanting more. I spent all summer with my brother reading and shopping for books, which made him happier than ever.

Today, as a business student and and literature lover, I stand tall with my very own bookstore, called Adopt Books Here! And I’m not sure who’s more proud: My brother or I. This ‘adoption of books’ theory was introduced by book lovers all over the world. So, it wouldn’t be fair on my part to take credit for it. But my brother and I loved it so much that we decided to ‘adopt’ the idea. Along with fresh, crisp new books, second hand books, which are usually neglected, or which are thrown away, are also sold, since my first book was also a second handed one.

On Saturday evenings, the whole store and its costumers engage in some sort of event: be it a book club meeting, workshops, reading to the blind/old, or even book launches. On one such evening, my brother and I had attended the launch of a debut author’s children’s book. After the event, we were closing up when someone yelled at us from behind, asking us not to. He got down from his bike and ran up to us. He was a little older than me, I guessed, and I felt a pang of familiarity. He resembled Ajay from Ajay Adventures! Like, a lot. He said, “I need to buy a signed copy of that newly launched book.”

I was about to answer when my brother spoke up. “Sorry, we’re closed. We open at 9 tomorrow morning. You can come and buy one then.”

“No, no, no, no, no. I really, really need one.” He insisted. “It’s my niece’s birthday, and I promised her that I would get her that book. I want this book to be her first. Please. I don’t care how much it costs. I just want one.” My brother and I are excellent at reading each other’s expressions. And I’m excellent at giving him dirty looks. So, at last he gave in. Instead of opening the doors for him, I fished my signed copy of that book and handed it to the biker. He stared at me in amazement as he took the book. He gazed at it for a moment and then looked me in the eye and said, “Thank you. It means everything to me.” And as he reached his pocket for his wallet, I said, “Please, don’t. It’s a gift.” And he asked me to sign the book, along with the author’s signature. “I’ll make sure my niece remembers you.” He smiled and left with a satisfied look on his face. I left the place with a happy feeling and a nice memory.

That was the first book I owned that I gave for adoption. And it was the best feeling ever.