HOLI DAYS..

That blue of ball pen refill
That violet of maddening thrill
That green of a hazy sheen
That red of a messy sixteen
That yellow of permanence
And that black appearance
That white of a subdued peace
And that mix of splashed piece
It would always be a family time
When Holi would be at its prime
Though I didn’t love chemicals
But as there were no herbals
There was no other way out
But to give in their bout
Yes, they were the traction
The guys from my location
Refusing to leave my trail
Until I joined their rainbow rail
And once I would be on board
I would be one in the hoard
Be it a ball pen refill
Or even the chemical bill
It was an annual spectacle
That I viewed as debacle
It was an annual struggle
That I won like some truffle
Those were the Holi days
Their umpteen mundane ways
When it was a bit Kafkaesque
And it was a bit Supermanesque
When I would say no to say yes
And I would finally find my brush
To spend some time together
To think on its ‘ifs and buts’ later
Yes, it would finally be my time
When Holi would be at its prime

©/IPR: Santosh Chaubey – https://santoshchaubey.wordpress.com/

THE COLLECTIBLES – THAT PEN

This is my place to reminisce on memories of my life gone so far – picking up some thread, some element, some event, some experience from the days in my past – randomly – as they come – because we all are men of memories.

Here this is about this thing – a pen from my past – that came to my mind while discussing the proposition of ‘letting things go’ in life.

Like many, I, too, had this thing in my school days – collecting pens – and trying to get as soon as possible that new trendy introduction in the stationary shop that would be showcased – like a jewel of the category.

Obviously, there were cost constraints and I had to keep my pocket money into consideration while going for such ‘I must have’ decisions.

This pen – Add Diamond Roller – was recently launched in the market – when I saw it in the shop – in 1990s – when I was in 8th standard. I liked it at the first sight so much that I decided I would have it. But then there was this big problem. The pen was priced at Rs. 99, a considerably big sum for a schoolboy in those days, especially when it was the last week of the month. In fact, I had no money to purchase the pen if I had to manage the remaining days of the month with my pocket money.

But then the impulsive desire to have the pen was so intense that I found myself unable to wait for even a day more.

So, what could be done? So, what did I do?

Simple, and in fact, as I had a reputation of a good son, after a bit of convincing, I got some advance on my next month’s pocket money along with the money required to buy the pen.

The next day, the first thing I did was I rushed to the shop before going to the school to have the pen so that I could show it to others, could brag about it, as well as could feel good about it that I had such an expensive and latest addition to premium pens category in the market.

And for the whole day, I bathed in its glory.

And then it happened – the development that made it a memory worth reminiscing – because of its shock value.

I used to commute from auto-rickshaw in those days. I was very cautious about the pen and had it firmly slipped in my trouser’s pocket while boarding the one to my house. As usual, I was with my ‘feel good’ feelings, instilled with the pen’s possession now.

As soon I reached home, I rushed to show it to everyone there. I slipped my hand in my trouser’s pocket to have it and then I felt it – the shock of lifetime in those days. I had lost the pen somewhere – the pen that I had so cravingly purchased in the morning. It had slipped out of my pocket somewhere, probably in the auto-rickshaw.

At that instant I felt the whole world had come upside down. I felt both dumb and numb. While there were words of empathy, sympathy and even mockery on my loss, I suddenly felt detached from the world around me, and rushed to get some isolation.

Well, I didn’t know anything about ‘letting go’ or so in those days and how could we in that age, when we spend the whole life in convincing ourselves about the idea but it took me many days to get past the shock that I had so suddenly felt from the high pedestal of having the most expensive and elegant pen in the whole classroom. What would my friends and classmates say in the class next day? Certainly, you don’t like words of consolation in those moments.

The memory of this incident comes to revisit me again and again – in different hues – after different developments – but with similar core – even after so many years – because some of us build our life on memories – and I am certainly one of those fools. Yes, it makes me feel better that I have learnt to enjoy them or reconcile with them. That pen could not become part of my collection but its memory stayed – with different slants – in different circumstances.

When I thought to share this today, I was not sure if the pen was still available in the market but a Google search took me to its website that told me it was very much there.

Add Gel

©/IPR: Santosh Chaubey – https://santoshchaubey.wordpress.com/

THAT WAS THE ROMANCE OF GROWING UP

Here was the romance of growing up
In the days of yore when it was all throwing up
Then, life had no aims to think on
Then, life had this thing to always move on
Come what may
That was the only way
That was the romance of those pre-college years
When eyes followed eyes, when ears were just ears
A fancy bicycle or an open rickshaw ride
The days were as narrow as the choices were wide
Sometime, it was all about that comic book
Or a routine hide and seek in every possible nook
That orange, or red, or green, or cocoa ice-cream
Was like a trophy in every night’s dream
The joyous rupture of getting a cricket bat
And then some lashing words from that uncle fat
Oh, that daily craving and charm for hot brews
Starting the day early on a sporting cruise
Thinking that everything could be yours
And all you needed were multiple doors
And you would go to every shore
To try with your random oar
Come what may
That would be the only way
That was the romance of growing up
Walking and dancing and showing up
No matter if it didn’t make you feel comfortable
No matter if it didn’t conform to some label
All that mattered was the inner urge
Something, that was notorious for its impulsive surge
To get things done, to meet them all
When past didn’t matter, when future didn’t make it fall
When eyes followed eyes, when ears were just ears
That was the romance of those pre-college years

©/IPR: Santosh Chaubey – https://santoshchaubey.wordpress.com/