New Blossoms

Manjari Shukla

The morning itself was a puzzle. A puzzle, may be known to me, but difficult to be solved. What was this exactly, the mind was trying to decipher. The puzzle entered the psyche slowly when I was about to sleep at night, and when in the morning I woke up, it was standing on my Mind’s door, waiting to be unlocked and sorted. I wanted that before solving it out completely, let me try all those things which can answer the query of this puzzle, but to no avail, it was as strong as before and finally decided to be sorted out only with my indulgence and involvement in it. Like the dry leaves of a twig, it appeared, which try getting solace after falling from tree to the land; their final abode. The puzzle was silent, and was not giving any hint to me, so that I can solve it soon, I was fed up after a while, and it continued looking at me with forlorn eyes. The day was passing at its swift rate and I was puzzled by this “puzzle”, neither I was getting a way out, nor anything else, I tried my best to solve this, but to no avail again. The mind’s entrance was occupied by this, and no other thought was trying to enter, as if, all were patiently with the puzzle, waiting…once it gets solved, then we’ll enter the zone was their mantra for the day…but…I was feeling uneasy now, one thought, that too a puzzle, about which I don’t know is standing and waiting; finally Mom brought breakfast for me, and I thought maybe this will help, the first sip of tea started removing the image of puzzle from my psyche, what was it actually, a hangover may be or something which only required a mom-made tea and breakfast, finally I realized, I was at home and Not in hostel, and hence this big question mark of morning tea was standing on the mind’s door and finally I got rid of it. The waiting thoughts entered the mind and then finally I had a good day.

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HOUSE OF CARDS

Manjari Shukla

HOUSE OF CARDS by Sudha Murthy, presents a simple straightforward story with which one can connect so justly. Mridula, the female protagonist from a small village takes us to her world with so much love and admiration. The feelings and emotions which she undergoes, never appears to be exaggerated or made up, they are so real and worldly. Sanjay, her husband, who once showed tremendous faith on her and believed in her being, gradually loses all hope in her, and gets himself so much engrossed in the world of wealth. Their child Shishir, on the track of his dad, starts neglecting and taking for granted the woman, because of whom he has a being, in this world. Mridula becomes a constant sufferer at the hands of husband, son and relatives; and to top it all, she one day realises that she is being financially cheated by the one, she has given her entire life to. She is heartbroken, and decides to leave the place, leaving everything behind, and going to Aladahalli, the birth place of hers, far from the madding crowd of Banglore, where she spent almost 25 years of her life , with her husband and son. The heartbreak of hers soon starts to heal when she being in an optimistic note starts living her life in Aladahalli, and one day, when realisation dawns on Shishir in England about what a woman is, and how she should be treated, the child calls up the father, to make him realise the fault he is committing, no matter whatever be the reason. Sanjay realises the shortcomings, with which he met Mridula, an able- woman in all respects twenty five years ago, and still she accepted him with no expectations. He feels ashamed of himself and decides to apologise to her leaving behind his ego, which was always bragging about this or that. The novel ends on a reconcialiatory note where Sanjay realises the fault he has committed towards the woman who actually made everything for him and their life together, leaving aside all her personal aspirations.

The significance of the title can be interpreted in such a way that, life is more or less like a house of cards, so delicate that it can be blown to pieces, just with a spurt of air. The relations we make in life are like threads which should be well protected and taken care of; any relation, if taken for granted collapses like a house of cards. What Mridula built with utmost love reached a point in her life where her Self was being questioned, there was no way out, but to leave the abode which she made with so much affection and care, but what is said, that good deeds never go in vain; in the end, the realisation dawns on Sanjay, that how much Mridula is important for him and his family. The novel ends when he comes back to her in Aladahalli, so as to reconcile and mend everything, which broke because of his negligence and “taken-for-granted” attitude.

A wonderful read, and something with which one can connect effortlessly.

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Manjari Shukla

The replacement is not possible, because it can never be. The nature you are a part of, and the expectation I hold on to are nothing but a desire to be a part of you. The simplicity you carry with your being and the craziness, I hold on are very different, still the essence of being together never lessens. The moments captured drift slowly into numbness, but this state of being numb is equally alive like the heart beats and breathing of a common man. The reason to be with you is known to me, still the strangeness and newness at the same time, takes me off from my real "Me". All this is needed for articulation, to make you understand that the replacement is not possible, it depends now on you , what you think of the whole issue....

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Manjari Shukla

The randomness to be,is taking me to heights, unachieved and not even thought of, by anyone, it is all pleasure and pleasure, but the inner spirit is feeling a turmoil from within, what is it actually, the randomness is so dynamic ,that it is taking me out of my senses to a land unknown, unseen, unreached and at the same time utmost satisfaction is lingering around, the sentence is loosing the control, and the focus is shifting too, still it is going on and on and on, and still so much is left to be said, how to hold my flow, is the question, I am unaware of, still the flow is maintained, all rubbish, still making atleast some sense. . . .