From Confinement To Creativity

This week Magaly invites us to write poetry or prose, which takes a negative concept and turns it into something positive. 

***

Let me tell you how I started blogging. Surviving office politics I was transferred from one of the Divisions  to Corporate Office.  I thought it would bring me some respite. On the contrary, I had new demons to deal with. 

My boss turned out to be a workaholic with massive insecurities who considered ever other of his colleagues, peers and even subordinates as his rivals. At first he condescendingly asked me whether I knew the basics of computer and other such silly questions. A few trials later he was convinced that I had the capacity to replace him (though this was revealed to me much later).

He started using me like a despatch clerk, sometimes an office assistant and then a typist. Having worked 24x7 independently for the most of my work life this treatment was a psychological snub' which almost shattered 'my self esteem. 

Throughout the day he would be away from his desk, arriving during the closing hours, and would hand me a bunch of inconsequential work stating that these were to be done yesterday. 

When I was almost into the throes of something inbetween depression and inferiority complex, one of my young colleagues, who was very much into Face Book, suggested blogging 'to kill time creatively'. 

I had never heard of it before. She explained what it was and created this blog space for me. At first, being a very private person, I was quite hesitant to share anything (read innermost thoughts, turmoil, dissent etc) in public domain. What would people think of me ? If anyone close happened to read my rants, what then? 

But as I got the heck of it, I realised it was quite a good vent to release the pressure. Gradually, 'talking' to strangers became from easy to enjoyable to a kind of high.

A few colleagues, happened to have read my posts, encouraged me to write on. It helped regain my confidence. I was good at something, wasn't I ? So what if boss thought I was unfit to be entrusted with important assignments. His tyrranical reign continued for seven long years. Phew!!

At last when he got transferred, he thanked me for my invaluable assistance to which in my farewell speech I blurted that he should have mercy on his subordinates to thunderous applause from the Department 

(that suffered him equally). On the aside  though, a well wisher pointed out that I was not required to be so suicidal. 

But then the bottled up fizz had to whoosh out somewhere at some point. 😂 😂 😂 😂 

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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.

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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..."

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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.

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Light And Dark

This week in Poets And Storytellers United, Magaly invites us to write poetry on perspective.

My response to the prompt:

I hold a lantern

Into the night

"Oh! There's light"

I smile 

But after a while

The moon seems

So distant...the stars

Way farther from sight

I agonise over day light 

Irreverent to dreams

Yet

Sometimes

The night embalms

The wounds 

That have slithered

Unto time unknown

I oscillate 

Between darkness

And light

Days and nights

Folding my self

Into a foetus of 

Knowing...not knowing 

The umbilical cord

It seems

Has still not been

Severed

From the closet of

The womb

To a Universe

Of (im) possibilities 

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Change

This week in Poets And Storytellers United Rosemary wants us to tell about change, whatever it calls to mind. 

My response:

I change

With the seasons

I change

With the winds

I change

With the colours

The flowers bring

I change 

With the clouds 

Travelling afar

I change

With the songs

The birds sing

I change

With the currents

Of the rivers' flow

I change

With the night

As the days go

I change

As change 

Is the only theme

That outlives 

My every dream

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Inspiration

This week's prompt is to write prose or poetry on any of the erstwhile prompts date to be mentioned.

I came across this interesting one "teeth, hammer, and blooms" posted by Rommy on 19th of June 2026.

What do you do 

When nothing inspires 

You to word a poem?

You clench your teeth

Hammer your brain

And voila !!

There blooms a poem ???

An easy recipe for

That mind block 

Do you think ?

Not really...I am sure

Because when your

Mind is blocked 

It's blocked forever

And ever...

Not even force

Not even  cajolery 

Not even the immortal

Lines of a classic 

Can induce you to

Write till that 

Sudden burst of

Inspiration alights

From within

The image is AI generated.

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