Child labour is a crime. Isn’t this line very familiar? But for this little girl, Dhanya, this line was baseless. Eldest among her three siblings, this 8 year old, fatherless girl, knew only one thing, sunrise means getting up and going to Aunty’s house to do all the household works. 

Aunty was a good task master, merciless, with her motto that she is paying money, so all the servants have to work, whatever the situation maybe.

Evening this tired girl used to come home, to see her siblings waiting for the leftovers, given by Aunty. Her sick, fragile mother also worked in many houses to make their ends meet.

Journey was tough, but the spark of happiness in Dhanya’s life was the showroom nearby, where she use to go to see the mannequiens wearing beautiful frocks. And among the frocks, a pink frock was her love. She used to dream, that wearing it she reaches to the fairy land and the world’s best things are at her disposal. This dream was the only happiness in her life and she use to long for that frock. Her heart, her soul, her wishes, her desire became that frock.

One day, as she was staring at the frock, a big car stopped in front of her and a pretty girl of her age, along with her mother walked in the showroom. Suddenly Dhanya saw the salesman changing the manniquein into another frock. She sat on the floor, her heart sank, realising that the girl has bought her dream frock. Her only happiness was going away forever.

The next moment, she could see the girl, wearing that frock and coming out. Tears of desire, tears of hollowness, tears of lost dream… flowed uncontrollably.

Sobbing, she looked at the frock, to bid her last farewell, but what she saw, was that girl struggling to take out the frock strucked in the barbed wire, near her car.

Her mother screamed,” Oh, the frock is torn, how can my princess wear a torn frock, come lets go and get the best frock from the showroom.”

They went in, and the princess came out wearing the best frock. Her mother saw Dhanya standing, simply gave that frock to her and walked away.

Till now Dhanya was crying, but with the dream frock in her hand, she was blank, numb… So much of happiness was beyond her imagination. But the next moment, her self-esteem started arguing with her mind. She thought, ” Did they give the frock because they thought I am a beggar? I didn’t beg, I can never beg! God, I asked from you, but I didn’t ask them. I work hard to earn a meal, I am not a beggar.” The pride, the self-respect of a child was hurt.

Her mother who was witnessing everything, since long, read her mind. She hugged her daughter and said,” They didn’t think anything about you… actually they gave it because they didn’t want it, you got it because you deserved it. You are not a begger, you are the fortunate one and fortune chooses their own way to reach the deserving one. So don’t doubt, it’s all yours.”

Tears rolled over Dhanya’s cheek…the stream could reveal her whimpering…her soul wailed to breathe a respite…she was happy, very happy.

Her mother darned the frock.The frock was again as good as new. Who says princess are different?? Dhanya in that frock was looking every inch a princess, a fairy, an angel.

Make your wish, your desire, so big that it comes running to you. Have the courage to dream, the starting point of achievement is your dream, your desire.



He was asthmatic. Old age, 76 years of age and various ailments were not actually his major pain, his wife’s bitter, foul tongue made his life hell.

The whole night, he used to cough and she uses to scream,” You don’t sleep and don’t let others sleep too. One day, I will strangle you.”

Love grows with age, the couple becomes each other’s life, all this was just a fairy tale for them. Bitterness and humiliation were the gifts, the old lady use to serve the old man.

One fine morning, when the daughter-in-law entered their room with morning tea, she was shocked to see that the old lady was no more. This sort of unexpected death left all of them stunned.

The old man wept for his wife, bought a beautiful sandalwood garland for her photograph and prayed for the departed soul.

Days passed, the old man was at his death bed. His whole family surrounded him, some praying, some crying.

The old man slowly opened his eyes and said,”  There is something I want you all to remember as my parting wisdom…never humilate or hate a person so much, that he gets pleasure doing any wrong deed, as if he is doing the best thing in the world.”

Surprised, astronished, his son tried to blabber,” You mean to say that….???”

There was no one to reply, the old man was resting in peace.


Travelling by road from Nagpur to 300km interior in the jungle, heading towards one of the project sites of my husband, seeing the trees, plants, beautiful patches of greenery, …gave birth to the poem. The Banyan tree was looking like the king of jungle and this beautiful yellow flowering tree ‘Golden Shower’ was simply gorgeous.

Does every love story has a happy ending, or someone sacrifices, or they claim to have a perfect understanding, or the external pressure of family and peers seperate them, or it’s euphoria…the endless ‘or’ becomes cacophony…well, it’s like asking…does an insomniac often need a soporific??

Hey, let my Banyan tree and Golden Shower tree lead rest of the conversation…

      बरगद और अमलताश

बरगद के उस विशाल पेड़ के छत्रछावं पर था जिसका अधिकार,
थे वो कुछ छोटे पेड़, जिसे बरगद कहता था अपना परिवार,
हवा के झोंके, रिमझिम बारिश, कभी सूखे की मार,
सब मिल कर हंसते-झूमते, करते सपनो को अपने साकार ।


दूर खड़ी अमलताश, पीले फुलों के आभुषण पहने,
सब तारीफों के पुल बांधते, उसकी मीठी खुशबु से सारा जंगल महके,
लेकिन वो रहती सिर्फ बरगद के ख्यालों को समेटे,
उसके दुख मे रोती, उसके सुख मे हंसती, वो बहके बहके ।


बरगद पुछता, क्या चाहिए तुम्हें मीठी, बोलो ना,
वो कहती, नही चाहिए कुछ भी, बस लिपटा लो ना,
दोनों की जड़ता, मन के अपनापन में कभी बांधा ना बना,
प्राण-शक्ति की वो परिभाषा, बेगाना कोई कैसे समझेगा ।


बरगद की जड़े बड़कर पहुचीं उसके जड़ो तक, मदमाती,
हवा में बहके, सांसो की वो खुशबु मन्द-मन्द सरसराती,
प्रगाढ़ वो अन्र्तमन की बोली, मखमली सुकुन लेकर आती,
आपस में गुथ गई जड़े, बन गए वो चिर जीवनसाथी ।


लेकिन न था मंजुर बरगद के परिवार को यह अपनापन,
बोले, तोड़ना चाहती है वो हमारा घर, यही है उसका फन,
त्यागो उसको का फरमान गुंजा, असमन्जस्य में पड़ा मन,
अंतत: बरगद सोचा, परिवार ही है उसकी जिन्दगी, उसका धन ।


बोला, मीठी तुम हो समझदार, समझोगी मेरा प्यार,
रखुंगा तुम्हें दिल में सम्भालकर, करना मेरा इंतज़ार,
मीठी हंसकर बोली जाओ, लेकिन दिल दर्द से कर रहा था हाहाकार,
अपने जड़ो को अलग कर, छोड़ गया वो, रिसता रहा घाव की धार ।


उस दिन बसन्त का लहरा रहा था परचम, लेकिन मीठी ने पहना पतझड़ का लिबास,
परिवार के प्यार के आगे, मन का प्यार हारा, शायद सही था हिसाब,
हवा के झोंके से गिर पड़ी मीठी की वो ढुंढ सी काया, ओढे, स्वाभिमान का खिताब,
प्यार अगर है मन मे, तो फैलेगा हर अक्षर, समाप्त कैसे होगा यह किताब ।।


From my balcony, I can see the adjoining balcony of my neighbor, where hangs a beautiful golden cage with a beautiful golden bird inside. Today evening, with my mug of coffee, as I sat on my favorite rocking chair, the soothing breeze, made me imagine…what will the bird think about freedom? If she gets a chance, will she fly away or not? She will choose the luxury and pamparing or the open unlimited sky? After a dilema I was sure, she will choose the liberation of her soul, emancipation of self and will uncage herself…

Let your wings of imagination take a leap to fly with my poem…

                     आजादी का दिवानापन

आज भुल गए वह पिंजरे को बन्द करना,
सोन चिडिया ने धीरे से खुद को समझाया, मत डरना,
कर साहस, आज उड़ जा, मौका नही मिला, फिर मत कहना,
आजादी का चख स्वाद, जंजीरो को अब मत सहना ।

फुदक कर खिड़की तक पहुंची, चिडिया प्यारी,
वो मन्त्रमुग्ध हो विशाल आकाश को निहारी,
खुले आसमान की छटा थी अद्भुत और निराली,
इस आमंत्रण पे हो गई वो वारी वारी ।

पंखो को फैला कर, एक गहरी सांस ले, खुद को समेटकर,
उसने सोचा, ऐसी आराम की जिन्दगी को त्यागकर,
क्यों भटकना, दाना-पानी की तलाश में खुद को थकाकर,
लौट आई वो पिंजरे में, बीत गई पुरी रात सोच सोचकर ।

पौ फटते ही धिक्कार उठा उसका मन,
चन्द दाना, चन्द खाना, तो मिलते है कण कण,
इसके आगे क्या छोटा हो गया, सपना जो देखा हर क्षण,
मुक्ति की उन्मुक्त खुशी ही है, वो असली सच्चा धन ।

उड़ चली वो खुले आसमान मे झुमकर,
रोम रोम मे महक उठा आलौकिक वो सुधाकर,
जिन्दगी तो जीने की परिभाषा है, पीछे मत हट डरकर,
बेड़ियां क्या रोके उनको, जो जीते है अपने दम पर ।।



We all live and we all die, but in between, life waits to see the best of us…the person who can fight for himself, who can express and who can care, who is not a slave and who can stand and say…Yes, I am the blessed one.



The seed sown was deep asleep
The rain whispered and made him peep
Silence in the soul was absolutely deep
Awake dear seed, show your face and leap.

Let the thoughts creep up like fire bush
Let the aroma of wet land be guide to perfect outputs
Let the knot in the heart convert into free brooks
Let it not be suppressed by mean term and looks.

Once awake and once fully alive
Cry like a newborn and prove you can survive
Choose the best nectar from that busy hive
Sing the song of your love, which gives you the drive.

Life when grow from the seed
To a healthy plant, not unwanted weed
Time to sneeze the fear, which was imbibed deep
Warm fuzzies is the only food, you are supposed to feed.

Seed to plant and back again to seed
We can’t stop the cycle of divine breed
But we can hold it to breathe and succeed
To prove that we are sure-enough human indeed.



Last month, same day (28th feb), my baba passed away. He fought with Alzhiemer bravely but surrender to God’s will. A tall, smiling, hard working Miner with helmet on head and hands on the steering of an open jeep, that’s the image of my dad I cherish.

I miss him beyond words, the hurt is like an open wound. I was his first born, baba’s little girl. I cherish the past we shared but miss the future we will not have…

Miss you baba, sleep well…

I know He takes only the best…..

              MISS YOU BABA


The journey was not that easy,
Lights were dim and images very hazy,
World of strangers, all bit crazy,
Was that the reason, to breathe, you felt lazy.


No, you were always a fighter,
Pain, ailments were holding you tighter,
But still you preferred to be life’s subscriber,
Baba you were my real Bengal Tiger.

Holding your hand, unaware of His game,
That God is going to call your name,
Maybe you were so tired, so He came,
You closed your eyes, life will never be same.

I long to spend a day with you,
And want to laugh with you on a topic new,
Your address has changed, that’s true,
Where to search you, there is no clue.


But deep inside my heart you are with me,
Sleep well, take rest, it’s a small plea,
To reach you, my thoughts are the secret key,
He always takes the best, I do agree…..
He always takes the best, I do agree.


It is said, words are mightier than the sword, but eyes speak the best language, as they are the mirror of the soul. In my poem I have let the eyes melt into the heart without any words to support them. Have you ever seen yourself in this mirror of the soul?

                MIRROR OF THE SOUL

Neither the face, nor the vivid circumstances,
It was his eyes, which made all the difference,
Never they spoke and it was not a hinderence,
As the eyes were the words for reference.

In my heart, his eyes spoke, there is a sprain,
She wanted to blink for a breath, but she sustain,
Least she miss the words, soaked in blood and pain,
He also struggled hard to stop the fight between his heart and brain.

It was time to depart and say bon voyage,
But the words still refused to come out of the storage,
Don’t go, stay back please, the eyes paid his homage,
I love you, wept the eyes, be the queen of my cottage.

Years rolled and everything gradually changed,
But not the eyes, who promised to wait,
Those eyes haunted her, even when she meditate,
Come back one day, he silently prayed.

And one day, she came back, in the same old lane,
Surprised he waited, controlling his emotional rain,
Defensive and hurt, he used the words stored in his brain,
Yes I faintly remember, you were one in my friends chain.

She smiled and whispered, remove this bandage,
Lying is an art, but you couldn’t manage,
Your eyes are the mirror of your soul, your salvage,
Dear your eyes still speaks the same language.


Your eyes still speaks the same language…