): हँसी (:

लोग पूछते हैं मुझसे,
“तुम इतना कैसे मुस्कुरा पाती हो ?
तुम झूठी हो जो
खोखली हँसी हमें दिखती हो!”

परवाह मेरी मुहसे भी
ज़्यादा करते हैं!
लोग मेरी हँसी से
काफ़ी डरते हैं !!

परवाह उन्हें ये नहीं,
कि वो खुश क्यों नहीं ।
फ़िक्र बड़ी इस बात की,
कि मैं दुखी क्यों नहीं ?!?

खुश जब मैं काफ़ी होती हूँ ,
उस दोपहर फ़िर काफ़ी रोती हूँ।

नज़र जो लगती है मेरी हँसी को,
ज़माने की ।
क्या करूँ ! मेरी फ़ितरत में नहीं
हँसी छिपाने की ।

हँसती रहूंगी मैं ,
चाहे कितनी भी खोखली क्यों न हो।
दो ऑंसू ही टपक जाएं,
ज़ख्म कितनी भी गहरी क्यों न हो।

रोते हुए जो आई थी,
हँसते चेहरे दिख गए थे।
हँसते हुए जो जाऊँगी,
दुनिया रोती रह जाएगी …

शायद। …. शायद ?

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Today she met with an accident,
As she lay dying,
people passed by her.
deciding to plunder even her mortal remains.

Robbing her of her torn robes,
and her trinkets- one after the other.
lynching her layer by layer,
a sight to shudder!

Tears oozed through her bruises,
blood gushed down her eyes…
As the road moved on,
oblivious to her cries.

Vehicles blamed her for the traffic jam,
people didn’t bother to pretend humane.

And she lay lifeless, wincing,
in excruciating pain,
shriveling up lonely
in the crowded lane…

No FIR was filed, no help offered,
no sympathy was shown, none bothered.

As she breathed her last that day,
she pleaded to God- her one last say,
“Lord! sprinkle some humanity to the humans,
your compassionate creation, the genius ones!!”

she wouldn’t ride cars,
nor would she own homes,
But wouldn’t she own her own breath?

Shouldn’t she have the right to live?
Even if she isn’t the “fine human”.

Yes, what if she’s a Tree?
The Peepul or the People-
Today, I don’t know whom to pity!!



Once, I sat through a traffic jam in a road blocked by a fallen tree. It was a beautiful Peepul tree that we claimed had encroached unto our road. It was chopped off that day and lay there in the middle of the road, bringing the traffic to a halt. It was huge and people struggled to move it out of the way. They decided to rip it apart branch by branch, to clear it out easily.

They blamed it for the traffic jam it had caused- as if dying such cruel death, lynched layer by layer- was its own choice!

It was such a painful sight. And all I could do was write poetry…

The Peepul or the People- Truly, I don’t know whom to pity!!




Nature is a poem minus words,
a thousand chosen couplets,
from the dreams of the Gods.


Diamond dew, on flowers frail,
silver storms at the ocean’s tail.

Butterflies in flight,
and their shadows on the soil.
Sparrows snuggling,
after a days toil.

A leaf dancing solo
through the summer air,
from the eerie eucalyptus
on the laterite chair.


Waters, seemingly flowing
aimlessly to the world’s eyes.
Yet reaching their own predetermined goal,
breaking away from their Earthly ties.

beetles and bees busy preparing,
for the blank white winter’s cold.
Grasses growing little twigs above,
but strong roots beneath, deepening their hold.

saplings tender, so full of life,
peeping from nowhere,
from lifeless lands, barren, bare!


Clouds or cotton balls?
In skies jungle,
the foxes fumble
and the Lion mauls…

The Touch me not, shying away..
like from a lover’s touch
on an unexpected day.

Gulmohur red and gold as a bride,
Silver firs talking to the clouds with pride.
“You may shine silver.
But more Silver I do hide”


All comes and all but goes,
where each being with harmony grows.
lives and believes and departs one day,
leaving behind withered and gray.
to rot beneath this earthen pot.
in a form that it was not.


Majestic mountains might seem mini.
Even tiny Ants have duties many.
Big and small.
Nature has them all.

Each to teach a lessons few,
to rediscover life,
one thought one knew!

O Nature!
No poet’s pen can pen down your beauty,
No painter’s brush paint your bounty,
No photographers’ frame can capture your colour.
No philosopher’s thoughts testify your valour.
No princes’ treasure can buy your riches ,
No prophet’s wisdom preach what Nature teaches.


O Nature!!
Invisible you are in a drop,
and anonymous the drop in the sea.
Your Majesty! I could never comprehend thee!

No Hymns hummed for this hero.
No Songs sung for this soul,
You cannot relish it in plucked fragments,
you ought to rejoice it in whole.

O Nature!
The mysterious teacher!!


I am in love with my hometown’s serenity, its solitude. Sunabeda is the Mountain’s daughter, brought up by soothing sunshine, reprimanded by torrential rains, pacified by winter fogs, … It has a poem scripted on each leaf, flower and cloud. It has magic in its breath that makes each one a poet. And I am no exception!

Meri Mussoorie!

I had a Dream.
A ‘little-Big’ dream
which I wondered, Why had I ever seen?!

The dream was distant,
almost impossible to achieve.
And that was why I wanted to own it,
surrender all I could ever give.

The jolly days of youth,
the warmth of family,
the companionship of friends,
the fashion, the fervour and the trends.

I would choose solitary confinement,
and sleep on a bed of books.
Pages and pages would fly in my dreams,
Dates, people, places- uttered in silent screams.

I would look into the mirror,
and graying eyes would stare.
few strands fall on the floor,
a bald patch without hair.

Mortal fear gripped me by.
My dream could be stolen,
if I didn’t hide it high.

I hid my dream under the clouds,
and hid the clouds in the sky,
then hid the sky above a Hill,
and to hide more had patience still.

So, I hid the Hills in the Mists of Mussoorie,
and hid Mussoorie in the safest of safes.


This safe was my soul,
to breach it, the world had to take me whole.
Dig my grave and bury me in,
But I would still have my Mussoorie within.

After failing to climb the Hill,
to see the sky and cuddle the clouds-
I had immense doubts,
on self, on Destiny, on God.

But My Dream was so endearing,
That I started again enduring-
Pain, soul shearing pain.

Outcast by the world,
mocked by friends…
If sorrows have beginnings,
they also must have ends.

They mock and they will mock.
But I must meanwhile unlock-
the courage to Dream again.

Thought then,
I have hid my dream
in the mists of Mussoorie.
Someday I would go there,
although tired, beaten and weary.

And today..
The clouds have conspired to bring me here.
I have met my dream,
A dream so dear.


PS: 4th July, 2015. I was born again.
12th June, 2014. I had died a million deaths in one go.I had lost the cutoff by a single mark. I couldn’t decide whether or not to cry. The fact that I was so close, yet so far away…
The inertia of my innocent tears… They flowed while I laughed hard. They stopped at the back of my eyes, while I cried, wailing like a child. Like me, they were unsure how to act upon God’s Design.

After the heart break, I had never imagined I could ever post this piece. I had written it in 2012 and waited each single day, to find a reason to post it… .

That day, in the middle of midnight I wrote “The Loser”... https://resonner.wordpress.com/2014/06/12/the-loser/
” Who decides who is the loser?
Who decides whether there ever was anything to lose?
Yes the Loser, who will never lose again…”

Today,The Loser has totally Lost it!
The Loser has lost it all-
her anguish, her doubts, her self!!

Yes the Loser, who will never lose again- her Faith🙂


I realised that day I was no more a child. It was 5:30 in the morning. I turned off my alarm. It wasn’t needed anyway. I had stayed awake the whole night, sitting by her. I was no more a child, ‘coz I could care for a child too. Rizzy was born and I was so damn happy.


Time flies fast while you decide whether to fly along or stay back watching its flight. I flew until my wings were wrapped in cobwebs of ‘circumstances’. I stayed back until I could break open times’s prison and fly free. All way long I had wished. I need a daughter-my alter ego, my mirror. She would think like I think, Speak like I speak. But she wouldn’t speak what I speak. Her words would be like whispers stolen from the storm, an oasis from the desert, a tear from the stubborn soul, a balm for the bleeding bruises, a smile from the weeping bride… Oh Rizzy!


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Rizzy grew up before I could realise. She was in School! An affable soul, she made friends soon. And like a protective mother, I would spend hours following her friends, stalking their daily routines, weeding out the bad from the good. After all a child is a reflection of the company she keeps. And then there would be endless comparisons of her performance, her popularity with her friends.
I would invest all my emotions, energy and efficiency on her. Sometimes, even getting berserk not being able to figure out why she lagged behind others, despite her potential. And at others, I would get overjoyed and mad with pride over her little accomplishments, over the compliments that people gave her. A self- congratulating mother!



As Rizzy started being her Mom’s friend, she started being her confidante too. I would tell her all my secrets, until they were no more secrets- unlocking the huge chest of guilt locked up in my chest. I would share with her my life’s experiences. I would tell them in stories- sometimes true, sometimes made up.
She would be so curiously confused, constantly pestering me. “Tell me Maa! Is the girl you mentioned in the story, You? She so much resembles you!!” And I would smile and say,”you shall know, someday”🙂 A part of me trying to believe myself, it was me. Another half thinking it couldn’t be.



Despite all the experiences, stories and wisdom- Life teaches the teacher more than it can ever teach the student. I learn to accept that Rizzy is Rizzy. Rizzy isn’t me. I learn to unlearn my expectations.

Rizzy revolts. She is obsessed  with the glamour she sees in the world, running after fans and followers, popularity and pals. “Likes” and “Comments” have begun to shape her opinion about herself.  I had her promise me, to honour just one opinion in life- that of Conscience. But even conscience seems conditional these times!

I cannot stop her but I cannot surrender either. I sympathize and support but silently try pulling her out of the mirage of sociability…Rizzy scoffs at me for a while, lonely without the stamp and seal of world’s acceptance. But ultimately she seems to have discovered her Nirvana. She rejoices. I can sense sensibility and gratitude in her words… the whisper stolen from the storm, “Thanks Mom”🙂



And the day comes. Rizzy grows. Rizzy goes.
Rizzy grows. Rizzy outgrows me.

The world has changed and so has she.
My thoughts can no longer accommodate her ‘big ideas’.
Her large frames seem incomplete with my tiny paintings of her… Hence, I resist sharing my thoughts with her. I hide away my purple diary so that I donot disturb Rizzy with my superfluous advises, terrible thoughts… I no more pen down.
I refrain from giving her my paintings to frame them for me.
Rizzy goes, paints her own paintings.
This time, time flies while I stay back and watch its flight.


I had held her hand, not letting her to walk on her own. I have to stop before I cripple her by choice, by obsession. I have to stop being a possessive, zealous and hyper mother.
But I know, I still have to love. I have to love my attachment and yet practice detachment. Someday daughters marry and go… a smile from the weeping bride..
I have to love. I have to let love stay at a distance.



My Thoughts have departed. I wait to depart someday.
Rizzy shall stay back. She wouldn’t let me depart by parting ways with my thoughts. A part of my thoughts would always reflect in her mirror…an oasis from the desert.
~●I walk on the sand washed by the waves,guided by no footsteps. Whether I leave any footprints or not, I am content that, I had the courage to tread the path I set my heart on.●~


May be Rizzy is my footprint. May be not.
May be Time is the wave that washes away my footprints. May be not.

Well, Rizzy! time may wash you away, but I would never.
Happy birthday dear Rizzy! you survived half a decade with this mad author, your Blog Mother!!

Is authoring a Blog any less than Mothering a child?! I shall not think so (for the moment atleast😛 ) Like a Baby it hasn’t let me sleep through endless nights, that I spend on crafting and caressing her. I have waken up at intervals penning down my thoughts, as if waking up to change diapers! I have drifted through long afternoons, embellishing her with widgets, pictures, poems and awards…as if decorating my daughter! With people appreciating my Blog, my Baby- I have become overwhelmed, hyper ecstatic. With critics, I have turned tensed, as if my baby has flunked in her school! I have spent hours gaping at my blog with nostalgia.. As if looking at picture albums and scrapbooks of my child who has suddenly grown big today!😛


Well Rizzy!! What a journey, a metamorphosis!
How big have you grown girl! How well, how wise have you evolved!!
Here again, Happy birthday from the proud mother of the lovely Resonner
! Oh Rizzy!!😀