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The Outside, Wondrous World



  The world outside is a wondrous place,

Filled with many myriad miracles to see.

A place, where lot to read

A place, where lot to seed.

It’s a place so unflatter and free.

From the welcoming rays of sun,

To the chirping of birds in turn

They play upon your eyes,

Enticing you from your slumber

In a way to wake you up

And in a tone to feed them up.

Every morning, they slays in a white bright sky

Higher and higher above the sky,

To live to the fullest

To slay to the highest.

If you sit down at set of sun

And count the deeds you have done,

And, counting, find

One self-denying act, one word that eased your heart;

One glance most kind, which felt like sunshine where it went,

Then you may count that day well spent.

But if through, all the livelong day

You’ve eased no heart by yea or nay,

If through it all you’ve nothing done that you can trace

That brought the sunshine to one face,

No act of small that helped some soul,

Then count that day as worse than lost.

The outside world is a wondrous world

and inside the heart there’s a flaming touch.

Let’s spare few time and walk a mile

To bask in the splendour of nature for a while

To listen to nature, composing serene rhyme.

A cool, crisp autumn evening,

Filled with stars shining so high,

God, created the nature,

Let’s come and cherish the sky for a while.

From void, he created beauty,

From dark, he created light,

From spark, he created rays,

And from stones, he created gems.

The whistling wind, passes our ears,

Letting to close our eyes, losing all those fears,

The sea shore waves crashing with rocks

Running here and there, there’s no time on my clock.

I sit and ponder how nature got so right

And we lost all our sight.

The outside world is an endless place.

It shows us how small we can be

It shows us how happier we can live.

It showers the troubled hearts,

With blessings of subtle art,

To rejoice the sweet moment of peace

Forgetting all your stress and streak.

If you take the time to really see,

The outside is a glorious place.

And how lucky we are that this Paradise,

Is only a few steps away.

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Up Up and the kite roars

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In mid-January comes our Makar Sankranti

On the northern roads, Sun makes an entry

And the days start becoming lengthy.

 

A time when farmers feel so pride,

Harvests flourish in plenty,

Culinary cultures make delicacies delight

Where undhiyu and Jalebi is served with the crowds.

And Old is replaced by new and bright.

 

Now waiting to fly some kites

Wanting to cut some kites.

Hey sky, here I come.

 

The sun looks so vibrant and radiant delight

That shines through the sky so bright,

The child eyed over the string

Wearing dark goggles and hat so thick,

Caught the string like a medal from the sky.

 

One little kite up in the blue,

Along came together and fell with the two,

Looking pretty, colourful and glowed

Decorating the red-brick wall with

Those splendid colourful glow,

To sell these ready-made kites

And earn handful pie.

 

 

The view of multiple kites,

The landscapes of Chinese lamps

Decorates the plain dark sky

Just like a wonderful exhilaration.

 

First whirling and frightened, then braver grown,

Opposed by the wind, protested by others,

Often shuffled and shake,

But confidence rose to the peak

When saw the banging and thumping of big kite,

That still manage to rise steadily above the clouds,

Therefore, up, up I rose through the air alone.

 

Laddering above the limits,

Avoiding becoming timid,

Though the storm hit hard

And vanish all you dart,

Don’t forget!

We all fail in the beginning

To rise quite high above all limits.

 

Also, when touch the clouds

Don’t forget to stay connected

With the ground,

Any eye off from the flat surface,

can cut your string with a local shout of “Lapet”.

 

 

 

The Story of Grey-love

It’s a story of grey,

Long long ways,

Where granny was a lil girl.

She had very long hair tied within braids,

Ruffled with polka dotted ribbons,

That is entwined around the curls.

My Grandpa was an introvert boy,

He used to wear high waist pants,

With feet soaked in socks.

Both stationed in the fields of paddy,

Where the seed of love was sown and grown.

Every morning they exchanged smiles

With a gesture of greet and meet

Where my grandpa fall in love with her tiny smile curves.

Sharp at 6:00 am with the rising sun,

He watched her smile when she giggle in group,

With a toes high and mirror in right,

From a corner slopping window;

Where the view was blurred but feelings were touched.

One day, again, grandpa adjusted his mirror,

But grandma wasn’t in the group,

He waited and stumbled with hope

To see that smile and start his day.

But who knows, she had already fallen for such shy boy.

Twisting his ears from back,

She caught his love,

And escape in shy,

She run giving piece of letter in words –

“You have pointed out the path”

“And led us along the way;”

“The wisdom you have planted,”

“We both can tightly hold in like long rays.”

Today, when I see them together,

It feels like only yesterday

Their lives have began

Their love for each other never failed,

And hearts continually seemed mending.

I remember one day when,

He cooked Gulab Jamun with Rabdi,

Where she sneaked to shop for groceries.

At 60, he decorated the table with rose,

With lily in hand to again propose

While whipped heart with sauce on toast.

I have seen them dancing,

Pillow fighting, leg pulling,

And mischievously staring each other at dinner,

Holding hands under the table,

As if they are back in paddy fields within the nature.

At times, they fought “for” each other

But never against “each other”,

And celebrated every day with a blessing of love.

Sharp at 7, she gets ready, with a dark red bindi,

Perfectly draping silk Banarasi sari,

Waiting for grandpa to come,

And fit Gajra on her bun.

That’s the most precious love,

I watched being young.

As each of our lives

Continue to change,

Reflections of their love

Never remained same,

It always flew and flung

High above the sky

As if sky were their limits.

With no digital lives,

Their love is real like pearl,

That shines out bright

Every day and night,

With same tease and turn,

Expressing their love,

As if it’s their last day on earth.

Today, he still adjust his mirror,

Sharp at 6:00 am

Where she gets ready for puja,

This is how polka ribbons,

Loved endlessly to high waist pants

And turned him expressive with aging lines,

That changed my lens for love in life.

Quarantine love across balcony

In these uncertain times,

Where we strive to navigate new normal,

Sandy was dancing and enjoying solely.

My eyes parked at her balcony window,

That left no chance to fall in love with her joyful smile.

I waved my hand and wait for a while,

To get her attention for some basic interaction.

Here my heart skip a beat

And got ready with my pen, paper, glue

Pasted on drone to get some more cues.

It landed at her balcony

With my personal number and lovely message.

As she text me, I pinched myself again,

Realising it as dream but here my love story began.

After beating messages and waving at balcony,

It started with a swipe right,

And it wasn’t long till we date on that Friday night.

Finally decided to date for a choice

But how? We are being quarantined at dice.

Our love found some way,

It was creative and yes we slayed.

No barbers, no salon in town,

So we decided to face time and chose our brown.

Subtle colours with matching muffler,

We arranged table with flowers in cutlers.

But where? At distant balconies,

And sighed with face time in hand. 

She knew my favourite colour is yellow

And my most used word is ‘hello’

We shortened each other’s names

But that must have been a part of the games.

We scheduled our dates and

Baked some plates,

With exchanged recipes

Where some cooked and some burnt,

Just as we both ordered that one.

That day I understood,

We had something special,

who lives across the street from me,

And Waiting for no more turn,

I took a bold move to propose,

with the respect of fact to maintain social distancing.

I crossed the street,

By wearing a big bursting bubble

And carried bouquet with some colourful shuffle.

I bend my knees and offer the roses,

She accepted with a bright smile.

We can’t touch each other,

But we touched each other’s soul.

Love isn’t something to be chased,

It’s something that needs to be expressed.

Love isn’t something to be found,

In fact, it is to be given.

Love isn’t something to be obsessed over,

It is meant to be received,

Because love is limitless and ethereal.

DAILY ROUTINE: Not so ordinary days

There is always something,

I do every day,

 But not that same routine all the way.

On Sundays, I am like a cool breeze

Counting square of tiles,

Walking smoothly on carpets,

But no worries to run into any race,

Just like a soft pizza base

That bakes and flakes at its own pace.

I am rolled up sleeves of oversized shirts

That takes a seat to window sills

To feel the morning dew and zeal.

On Mondays, I am like a rushing rail

That turns pyjamas into white collars,

Boils the milk, take a sip with crunchy cookies,

Flip pages of newspapers

To know the lines of market

And read editorial phrases,

For a reason to learn.

On Tuesdays, though

 I am the mediocrity of 9 to 7,

I come home to unmade beds,

Phone my best friends and

Cancel candle light dinner plans

For endless giggle and

Tinkering nights.

On Wednesdays, I attend meetings

With my free-lanced clients,

At overpriced cafes and wonder if

I’ll ever find a long term client.

I am formally dressed with tough blazer,

Plain stockings and a diary in hand.

Those normal days, I take a sneak peak to beaches

To rest and relax but overthink with my future.

Then those cool breezy waves touch my feet,

Blow my hair and make me feel,

I am more than what I think,

And can do more than what I feel.

Thursdays, not so ordinary day,

Hit my alarm, pose for yoga,

Walk to the garden,

Talk to my roses and lilies,

That my grand ma raised.

I laugh and play,

Shh! It’s a secret garden,

Where I stand and stay.

Also, Attend Skype and group calls,

Note my task for the day,

Work and then take a break,

To paint my walls,

With some glitter and rays.

With an ending night,

I bake apricot raisin cakes,

With a drizzle of nutella

To accompany my books,

With some yummy, tasty looks.

On Fridays, I dance with loud music,

Coz, it’s the end of weekdays,

Twist some wax, pipe up candles

With those fairy lights

That are always there on my way.

It’s beautiful to adore the moon,

With black tea on hand

Feeling as if its creamy white circle.

On Saturdays, I have Skype chats with my mother,

And an art therapy with my cat,

Go for shopping and get some breads,

But then this is the day,

Where I write eulogies for myself,

Rhyme for my play

And mumble childish words

Just for the sake of play and slay.

I am totally childlike this day,

To hold on my nostalgic emotions

And appraise how much I am worthy and brave.

From cartoons till clay game,

I run, hop, twirl across the board,

Then jump over the marked one,

Make foams in bath tub,

And count the pores of it,

With this I lift my little insider child,

Cherish my day completely with myself

To preserve my art and lovely twinkling heart.

Bright Light with plain roads – Nidhi Jain

White walls, empty roads

Plain streets, circular rows,

No bumps no motion,

Coz there’s a pause in commotion.

I feel so much puzzled,

Looking towards sudden stoppage in hustle,

There is surely somewhat blooming  

But sadly it’s coming with glooming.

Within the walls, under the roof,

Isolating self in one room.

Suddenly, no crossing of paths

No notorious plane with charts,

No waving of yellow buses,

And suddenly no chattering

With group giggles and lushes.

It has led us too far and flung

Never knew how to hop and jump.  

We can now realize

That the little we have

Is actually more than

We have ever needed.

Staying away from pals feels like rain,

Just as drops and silence eating it through pain.

I miss that pitter patter,

Those 6 am wakeup calls

That fear of reaching late

In a way of rushing through the gate.

No steps to canteen,

No stands at parks,

Just walk and talk

As if you are behind the bars.

But now we can realize

That the little we have

Is actually more than

We have ever needed.

Oh my lost co-traveller and routine hustler!!

Today in the times of empty roads,

We are cherishing our hot coffee

Blending few flavours

Learning new dew savouries

Discovering talents and skills,

With family whom we somewhere lost

In the vapour of earning lofty meals.

Those dusty caroms are out,

Ludo and ladders have knock back,

Cards, popcorns, house talks

Again hit back all around.

Why not travel and join back

At the next crossing?

Let’s meet in the morning

To adore the endless beauty of nature

To greet those chirping, hopping, tweaking,

That we caged for our greedy pleasures.

It’s the time to bounce back in life

Because the little we have,

The more we maintain,

And the more it lasts.  

The artist is the creator of beautiful things. To reveal art and conceal the artist is art’s aim. The critic is he who can translate into another manner or a new material his impression of beautiful things.

Let’s Have More on Havmor?

 

Company: Havmor

Founder: Satish Chandra Chona

 

 

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Here the curtains open offering a scoop of strength and dedication with a fine blend of innovation and creativity.

Havmor is a rib tickler. It all started in the early 1944, where we were not born though. During that juncture, it was one of the famous ice cream brands in Pakistan, Karachi.

The thread of Havmor is pulled by Mr Satish Chona, engineer by forte and connoisseur by tongue. He worked with British Airways but being gourmand he was more attracted towards part time commitment at his uncle’s restaurant. He learnt there the art of making delectable ice creams.

Finally, he made up his mind to set up a pop-up ice cream shop in Karachi, Pakistan called “Havmor”. Notwithstanding, this pop store was started to supplement his family’s income that eventually paved way gathering million smiles during his freezing journey.           

Things were going in a positive way until 1947, the partition of India and Pakistan took place. The roads went quite rough and quagmire.  Mr Chona had to wind up his business and was compelled to leave Pakistan with almost empty handed. Along with his family, he overnight migrated to India in search of shelter. It’s quite heart breaking to wind your profitable business just because politics was at a toss.

He was the only bread winner of his family. Therefore without waiting for any whiff of sunshine, he laid down his first step in Dehradun. But pals, does anyone achieve success in just one go? His first outlet failed because the climate didn’t commensurate with the ice cream. The customers went averse due to its super chilly climate.

But you often get well-wishers on your way, right? He advised him to shift to city of Indore and you know well that nothing works on our side if your fortune doesn’t follow your path. Mr Chona was cheated of his money at Indore. But this tough situation kept him learning about the diversified cultures and its implication. Later few friends suggested him to move to Gujarat. With practically no money in hand, he decided to up the ante for the 3rd time with utmost faith in his recipe.  

Mr Chona began operations with Rs 200. He and his wife, Nirmal Chona used to make ice creams at night and sold them through a handcart in the day time. Their recipe was outstanding to earn their livelihood. The weather stays warm in Gujarat, which lead to higher ice cream sales. He further borrowed a cycle from one of his friends and sold ice cream around Ahmedabad.  

 

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Just like every dark cloud has silver lining, similarly the first successful outlet was finally set up on Relief Road. Later latest technologies were incorporated with his son to establish multiple chains of Havmor. It sells around 1 Lakh litres of ice cream a day. Their exclusive range of ice creams like Pista Malai, Hazelnut Rocher, Family packs and cookies and cream played out pivotal role in its success.

 

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Huber & Holly, a Havmor-owned café offers amazing fusion and customisation of freshly churned cakes, desserts and puddings. Havmor has always, undoubtedly maintained their quality standards. They’ve offered traditional as well as youth-variant flavours to uplift the smile curves of all customers equally.

 

And the curtains closes when in Nov, 17 Havmor – Gujarat based company was acquired by south Korean LOTTE for a whopping 1020cr, promising to deliver a higher level of growth and satisfaction.  

 

 

 

The roasted Banana Leaf

 

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“True Love isn’t Romeo and Juliet. It’s Grandma and Grandchild who grew old together, and watered the banana plantation together.”

 

I have watched my grandma roasting the banana leaf, steaming and folding at an optimum temperature on the gas stove. This routine and unique culinary style elevated my curiosity and I asked her: “Dadi, why you roast and pack the food with banana leaf? You got a fresh wrappers as well.”

“Roasting the food into banana leaf reflects a special aroma, my child”, she intrigued pumping the inhaler into her deteriorating lungs.  Deep down, she’d make a special coconut chutney and packed it safely before I leave for work.

 

After a month or two, my company transferred me to another city. It was really heart breaking to leave my lovely grandma. And after that, I had heard her only through phone calls and on my demand video calls.

On phones, she used to essayed about how her little banana plantation has grown green and gradually turning towards the sun. For every intricate handloom woven sarees and Kurtis, she used to video called me to evident that her age is just a number.

Our voice chats on WhatsApp were the nitty gritty to alleviate all my pains and stress. Somehow I think, social media had played out an imperative role in connecting us heart-to-heart.

It was late in October when I heard that my lovely grandma had tripped off the stairs hauling her oxygen machine behind her. No blood, no scars but the weight of machine bowed her down the god.

I went numb and traumatised. For the first time, I spoke to silence in my head. I immediately rushed to my home town to get the glimpse of my lovely grandma for one last time.

During her funeral, I realized that there were lot of people who’d gather to mourn her death. I wondered how intensely and immensely her neighbours were adoring her. Everyone kept garlands and bouquets before she was buried.

During that time, I cognised that I am missing something special — Yeah! Banana Plantation. I ran to the plant, watered it and promised to keep it alive till the final twitch. 

I cut a banana leaf, roasted it silently in the kitchen and packed the most favourite meal of my grandma. Before she was laid down the grave, I safely kept that meal beside her arms, but sadly for one last time. I wish to wear the shoes of my grandma. Love you Grandma!

Timeline of my 2018 !

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Hey 2018 My muse !

Did you remember? We meet on Monday,

With the same verve and fun,

But a different glow and blow

Just like an ocean flow!

 

You came as a whiff of light,

Made my year so cheerful and bright,

Showering your love and care over me

So that I learn all thick and thin with full of glee.

 

The beginning of 2018 was like a power loom

Grandeur, magnificent and splendour.

But picture was yet to hit

Because I was just at the grass feet.

 

First three months were full of fun and festive

That knitted me with warm and affection

And upbeat with majestic colours.

 

As month passes, the road got tough

That turned me quite numb and rough

Because I failed in my career test.

I had put efforts day and night

With an intention to dart so perfect

But my destiny had already chosen

Something so bright and tight.

 

There came a phase

Where I thought I can’t

But 2018 gave a pat

With a pinch of trust “Only You Can”.

 

May and June gave a hit to my poems,

Arousing a desire to see my name in a newspaper.

They helped me to prove “Only I Can”.

Plethora of companies bang me with “No vacancy for you”

I still searched, roamed to get such job that I want.

It was’nt easy but not difficult enough to drop

But I choose to fight and not stop.

 

June finally bestowed me with a job

That I always wanted, of my interest.

Now I started sailing with my ship,

That gave me a powerful leap.

 

In the later, something fairylike, supernatural happened,

An opportunity bang my door, guess what?

It was Business Standard,

a largest Indian English newspaper.

This newspaper gave me a chance

To ink and see my name under my article.

 

Thanks to my college faculties,

Who teach from heart,

That’s plain to see,

They think you’re divine

And I totally agree.

 

It held a magical moment in my eyes,

Scintillating as a star,

Shining like a moon,

Dear 2018! I knew not

You’ll give me such a grandeur opportunity.

 

Failures often twisted me with lies

They tread me in the very dirt

But still, like dust, I decided to rise.

 

This year had many varied scenes

Of joy and peace, of grief and pain,

Learning was a fun,

Because I fought and not turned.