Conversationally Yours

This week Rosemary wants us to write on family.

Some have large extended families Some have none. Some are left with a few like mine. And some try to forge family-like bonds with friends and acquaintances. But disturbingly a trend has developed in our society to shirk off caregiving  responsibility towards the elderly members of the clan. While migration to an Assisted Care Centre should ideally be a personal choice, in some instances , it is enforced to be completely absolved of all the familial duties as sons and daughters which is painful as well as frightening. Old age is the time when  the comfort and intimacy of near and dear ones are needed the most. But youth can be very impatient and brusque, irreverent and even ruthless in their expectations and decisions. This may add a depressing note to the response to this week's prompt more so after Rosemary's joyful family reunion which I am privy to courtesy her FB shares. Hoping better sense prevails on all here is my response:

Back again!!

Mrs. Crow at my window...

(Those who haven't had an intro with Mrs. Crow she is my (un) friendliest neighbour with loads of 'gyaan' to impart on anything and everything under the sun)

But this day she looked a bit pensive almost morose,

I asked casually, 'What's up?'

'I am thinking of booking a room in a Home for the Ageless...' Said she laconically.

'Ageless?' I was clueless.

'Timeless then, if it suits you', Retorted she,

'I have seen too much of the world , you see. And, of course, my flock...the tricks they play on me. I better be on my own before they disown me '

'Oh! An Old Age Home,' Realisation dawned slowly.

'Yes', Confirmed she, ' That's where peace is.'

'Philosophical', I quipped.

' That's what you are left with after pleasure and pain.'

I pretended to look sad in vain 

At last! I'd be left in peace.

I thought in my heart of hearts.

But she shattered my illusion in a jiffy.

Hopping on to the next branch of the tree she looked back adding, 'Coming along...?'

I coughed and spluttered, 'Well, I am still young.'

She scoffed, ' Perhaps you need more time to be fooled.'

With that she took flight 

Leaving me to ponder on my plight.

Shared with Poets And Storytellers United

Fairy God Mother

This week in Poets And Storytellers United Rommy wants us to write something from the point of view of a fairy tale character.

My response to the prompt:

She landed out of nowhere 

Most probably from above the clouds

Brandishing her magic wand 

And the broom to ride along

Eyes that crinkled with laughter lines 

And fingers so nimble I feared

She might give me a makeover 

Before I could utter, "Oh dear!"

Her charcoal black cat had weird ways

Green emerald eyes that twinkled away

Every thing about her kept me in her sway

Before the hours could tick off the day

She played with her magic spells 'n had fun

As though passing time and turned

The brinjals into purple roses bright

And ash gourds into lilies snowwhite

When I pointed to the big red pumpkin 

She looked most disenchanted though

But squealed with delight as she embarked

On giving the cherries a face lift on the go

As she had descended on a whim she fancied

A flight without a blink and off she went

To some other garden to sprout dreams and Hopes ...but the wind had a different story to tell, "All rubbish! Those magice spells...you know what....at Hogwarts she was just a novice and flown in to check on innocent

muggles whether her charms worked right

and wand did not blow off in the middle of 

casting a transformation but oh thank God

everything went all right and you were saved

from a disaster widespread but the other garden?...No..No ...they were not so lucky

after all where she messed up her magic

and the broom got stuck and the cat grew wings and flew off... left in the lurch

to be spared from muggle wrath she  metamorphosed herself into a rock..."

Shared with Poets And Storytellers United

Numbered Forever

For this week's optional prompt on Poets And Storytellers United, we are invited to write poetry or prose which includes numbers.

Here is mine :

When I was born, ages ago, the hospital did not number my birth. 

As a student I was known by my Roll Number.

During exams my presence was proved again by a number  on the attendance/answer sheet.

At work place it was the Employee Code

Post retirement, thankfully, the Employee Number remains valid.

As a citizen I am again identified by a number.

We have, it seems, become prisoners of numbers.

Life has become a series of checklists wherein we have to tick numbered boxes to express our likes and dislikes, aspirations and assertions, compliances and rejections and sometimes detestations and dejections. Feelings are now being quantified whereas at one point of time I was taught that they are immeasurable.

During surveys, our experiences are required to be rated on a scale of 1 to 5 or 1 to 10 -  highest the number maximum is the satisfaction quotient. 

However, strangely, lesser the number in the ranking scale the greater is the extent of corruption in a country. 

At the fag end of life, I realise the anomalies of number. 

My days on earth are numbered , I know.  

I may finish the race within the count. 

I may lose it before.

Or, by a weird stroke of (ill)luck, I may outnumber the years allotted to me.

It's not in my hand.

But one thing that I fervently wish for is not to lose the count of time.

Shared with Poets And Storytellers United