Beyond the wait

Wait, that moment comes to end,

But patience stays, your truest friend.

Is it beautiful, or just divine?

Time will tell as it draws the line.

Each small step, each choice made,

Paves the path that we will tread.

The climb is tough, the pace is slow,

But steady hearts will always grow.

Nothing beats that joy so pure,

A hope that feels secure.

Though doubts may rise and moments dim,

A quiet hope still starts to swim.

The silence hanging in the air,

The anxious glances here and there

The wait for something to be done

Becomes a tale that’s just begun.

Smiles spread gently, laughter flows,

A wave of peace within us grows.

Faces light up, hearts rejoice,

In that stillness, we hear a joyful voice.

The wait is over, calm and bright,

Let the story continue with new light ...

 

                                                  

Painted horizons

Clouds form a pattern in the sky,

In hues of orange, drifting high.

They move along without a sound,

Like quiet guests that float around.

They never leave, they never stray,

But hide when sunlight floods the day.

At dusk and dawn, they tint the light,

Painting skies in soft twilight.

Like an artist's brush at play,

They shift and change throughout the day.

Minutes turn to hours fast,

Yet every moment seems to last.

Nature’s beauty, calm and deep,

Lulls the restless soul to sleep.

The closer we are, the more we see

How nature sets our spirits free.

Freedom... what a lovely word,

Not always shouted, often heard

In gentle winds and skies above,

In little things, like clouds we love.

Opinions shift, and feelings stray,

But clouds remain, they find their way

In shapes unknown, in forms brand new,

On a journey meant for me and you.

                                              _ Beera

The masked one and the broken light

Once upon a time, in a tiny little town nestled between hills and meadows, there lived a monster. From the time he was a child, the townspeople feared him. Perhaps it was his appearance, or maybe his cold demeanour, but no one dared to go near him. He wandered through life in solitude, never knowing the warmth of companionship.

Years later, a little angel arrived in town. She was full of energy and joy, her smile bright enough to melt even the coldest hearts. The townspeople adored her instantly. She had a kind word for everyone and was always surrounded by admirers. But even in the midst of all that affection, she noticed someone on the outskirts, someone standing alone, pushed away by the rest.That someone was the monster.

She watched his lonely figure for days, her heart quietly aching. One morning, she decided to approach him. “Hi,” she said with a smile, unbothered by the stories she had heard. He didn’t answer at first, but she didn’t give up. Day after day, she returned, sometimes talking, sometimes just sitting beside him in silence.

Eventually, the monster opened up. They became best friends. The townspeople were surprised to see the monster smiling. Slowly, others began talking to him, too. Curiosity turned into kindness. Acceptance replaced fear. The once-feared monster became part of their community, and for the first time, he felt like he belonged. The angel, proud of her friend, watched it all unfold with happiness in her heart.

But one day, when they were alone, the angel saw something she had never seen before.

The monster changed. His smile vanished. The warmth faded. In its place stood someone unrecognisable, cold, manipulative, and frightening. He was no longer the gentle creature he pretended to be. Terrified, the angel stepped back, realizing she had been deceived all along.

She wanted to tell the others, but something held her back, fear. Fear that no one would believe her. Fear that her truth would be buried under the image the monster had built. And so, she stayed quiet.

Slowly, the angel faded into the background. Her smile dimmed, her light grew dull. The villagers, unaware of the truth, continued to praise the monster. He had become the angel in their eyes, kind, generous, and loved. The angel, broken and alone, left the village.

Years passed.

One day, she returned. The town had changed, but what caught her eye was a familiar face, the monster, now older, holding a tiny child in his arms. A little monster, or perhaps... an angel.

Only time would tell.

Started with song, ended with silence and thought

After a short break, I finally watched a movie today, one that had been on my watchlist for a while. Interestingly, it wasn’t the film itself that first caught my attention, but a song from it. During my visit to Kerala, I heard my cousins playing a beautiful track, and curiosity led me to ask which movie it was from. That’s when I learned the name "Nariveta".

Until today, I knew nothing about its plot or genre, so I went in with zero expectations. As the movie began, I wasn’t particularly impressed at first, but I had heard from others that it was worth watching. The first half felt like a typical feel-good story, sprinkled with a bit of mystery through flashbacks.

However, it was the second half that truly elevated the narrative. The film revolves around the lives of tribal communities, homeless on their own land and their fight for basic shelter. It also explores the complexities of human nature, revealing hidden emotions and unexpected behavior.

The gradual transformation of the protagonist—from a self-centered individual to someone who genuinely cares for the people he once saw as strangers is portrayed subtly and effectively. The film gently nudges the viewer to reflect on empathy, dignity, and the value of every human life.

The music stands out as a powerful element in the storytelling. The songs are beautifully composed, with lyrics that echo the pain and resilience of the characters.

Overall, the movie is a moving portrayal of social injustice and the unseen struggles of marginalized communities. It sheds light on the darker side of humanity while also reminding us of hope and change.

Chasing food through the rain

Heavy rain couldn’t stop us from following through with our plan for a good meal. After several delays, we finally made it to the food court above Dmart. It was around evening time when we set out. While we were still planning, the sun peeked out briefly through the clouds. But just as we started getting ready, strong winds began to blow. Still, our determination held strong, as if we were embarking on a heroic mission.

Midway through the journey, the clouds gave way and the rain poured heavily, flooding the roads. Despite carrying an umbrella, we got drenched. Our clothes were soaked through, water dripping from the hems. After battling the downpour, we finally reached the entrance of the food court. Stepping inside, the blast of cool air from the air conditioners sent shivers down our spines.

We picked a spot and settled in, chatting while we observed our surroundings. Couples and families filled the space, yet we couldn't help but look around for another friend group like ours. As time passed, more people poured in likely seeking shelter from the rain, just like us.

Eventually, we placed our orders, and after a short wait, the food arrived. Everyone patiently waited while I clicked a quick photo (I truly appreciate their patience!). Then, we dove into the meal, and the next few minutes disappeared in silence, focused on the delicious spread.

By the time the plates were cleared, our clothes had dried as well. We lingered a little longer, enjoying the comfort and warmth of the space.

Soon, it was time to leave. Outside, it was still drizzling, and the streets were filled with puddles from the earlier downpour. To avoid getting soaked again, we decided to take a rickshaw ride home. The rain continued gently for a while, but by the time we reached our doorstep, it had begun to fade.

And that’s how we made it to the food court despite the stormy weather making the meal feel all the more memorable.

A silent friend

Green, green — everywhere green,

In shapes and shades yet all unseen.

Though every hue may seem apart,

They share the same, a leafy heart.

Fascinating, isn’t it so?

How colors shift as sunsets glow?

From dawn to dusk, her tones rearrange,

Yet through it all, she does not change.

She stands so still by walls and ways,

Unmoving through the nights and days.

Just watching life from up above,

A silent soul, a friend with love.

She bears the weight of joy and pain,

The laughter loud, the silent strain.

In summer's blaze, she does not flee,

But offers shade to you and me.

The clouds then see her burdened form,

And send cool rain, a soft reform.

From crown to root, she's gently kissed,

By drizzling drops of morning mist.

She dances when the breezes blow,

In whispered tunes so sweet and low.

Again she shields us from the rain,

A quiet guard through joy or strain.

She listens though she cannot speak,

Her comfort strong, her presence meek.

We may not hear, yet she replies,

In rustling leaves and gentle sighs.

A world without her — dry, unkind,

A desert both to heart and mind.

I love her grace, her branches bend,

Forever true — my silent friend.

My grandmother's home

My grandmother's house has always felt like a vacation spot. While I never felt deeply connected to the place, each year that I didn’t visit, it felt as if I had left behind something important.

Listening to my friends share stories of their close bonds with their grandmothers bedtime tales, long chats, and shared secrets I realized that my experience was different. Perhaps it was because I was never given the chance to stay with her for long. My visits were brief, only once a year.

As I grew older, my feelings just like the house itself began to change. Nestled among trees on a hilltop, it wasn't just any house anymore; it was my grandmother’s home. The aroma of her cooking would reach us even before we stepped through the door. She always prepared a feast, filled with love. One of my favorite dishes was a cucumber curry she made, its taste still lingers on my tongue, although I haven’t had it in years. Somehow, nothing has ever matched that childhood flavor.

Though I return to the same house every year, I still miss how it used to be. In my memories, the home had a large kitchen where we’d sit and chat while my mother and grandmother cooked together, sharing stories from the past year. There were no modern appliances like no fridge, no mixer grinder. Instead, there was a large grinding stone for making pastes or batter for idli and dosa. Food was slow-cooked in earthen pots over a smoky fire, taking hours but the result was always worth the wait.

My grandmother never owned a television, and still doesn’t. But she had a radio that played songs and narrated stories. With no smartphones back then, we spent our time fully with each other. I vividly remember lying on a wooden cot after lunch, eyes closed, listening to melodies float through the air. Those were the longest, slowest days I've ever experienced beautifully unhurried, unlike today.

There was a waterfall higher up from her house. We spent many evenings there, letting nature’s music soothe us. It's now a tourist spot, drawing visitors from distant places just to witness its beauty. As a child, I never understood why people would travel so far to relax here but now I do.

Even though I return to the same place year after year, it always feels as refreshing as the very first visit.

My grandmother’s home continues to be a special place. And though my bond with her may not mirror the stories others tell, I’ve grown to cherish the time I did spend with her, with my cousins, and within that warm, timeless space we all shared.