FADED COLOURS, FRESH MEMORIES

RED SHOES

I still remember the happiest days of my life when Rivka all of five years was delighted beyond measure to take me home as her birthday gift. A pair of red leather shoes which she always wanted. She held me tenderly, close to her lil heart which spoke volumes.

Rivka wore me to the park, playgrounds and picnics.

****

Out of nowhere came that ill fated day, when I could hear horrendous screams and crowds of panic-stricken people were crammed into a truck. Rivka was howling and clinging to her mother. We arrived at a hellish place where I was brutally ripped off Rivka’s feet and thrown onto a pile of other shoes.

Rivka and the others were shoved into a windowless room and locked in. The chimneys of surrounding buildings belched out putrid smoke. I never saw her again.

****

Years later, staring at the pristine room and men working in a calm manner made me relax in the cool confines after being scrubbed clean and polished by gentle hands.

The horrors I'd witnessed were unimaginable and heartbreaking.

Today, since seven decades I sit in a Holocaust Memorial Museum replaying the nightmarish episodes in my mind.

“Rivka….”

(Word count: 196 excluding the title)

©️ Sangeetha Kamath

Pic Courtesy:Image by Catkin from Pixabay

IN BLACK AND WHITE

It's a hot, blazing afternoon once again but things are not quite the same anymore. Years ago, I used to wish for peace and quiet from the bawling, squabbles and playful shrieks which shattered my eardrums.

Mornings began with me looking back at the cherubic faces who stared at me…or rather at the patterns the chalk sticks made on me. The teacher would stand elegantly beside me and go ‘scritch-scratch’ with numbers, alphabets and drawings.

During recess, the tots would, in all enthusiasm draw doodles on me and hurriedly wipe me clean.

Afternoons were a welcome break, when during their nap time, I too had some respite. I loved watching them nod off, their mop of bob hair spread on their arms or desks.

I too drifted off…

A sudden, horrendous explosion rocked the buildings and chunks of concrete came cascading down from the ceiling. Shrieks and screams rent the air.

Airplanes mercilessly dropped vile missiles which zipped hazhardly into buildings and crumbled them.

“Children…children…” the teacher was numb with shock as she stammered the last words from her quivering lips when the entire building came crashing down on us…

****

The silence is now deafening in this abandoned town.

(Word count: 198 excluding the title)

Pic Courtesy Image by Daniel Waleczek from Pixabay

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HOME AND HIBERNATION

And out of nowhere came this madness to wreck mayhem in my already topsy turvy world! Tickets back to Singapore were initially booked on the Chennai transit (why of all the cities?) Because of the shortest layover I could muster, given my still delicate health conditions and which was never even an intentional choice in all my 23 years of travel to and from Singapore. This had to be it even though I was on unfamiliar grounds. But Luck seemed to have a mind of it's own and turned its back on me when Fenjal decided to crash bang in the middle of orderly events, a day before my intended day of travel. When destiny's favorite child was shielded by Baba and his blessings, even Luck had to bow down and retreat in haste. **** Roused from my siesta with a sense of a peculiar dimness and chill , a far cry from the usually sunny and blinding brightness of humid Mangalore, I couldn't help but have that niggling feeling at the back of my mind. Checking on the flight updates for IXE-M...

IRONCLAD

I trudged through withered bracken and the frosted winter parade As ice-storms swept across a barren, icicle'd glade A hushed midnight and the gloomy woods were bathed in a dull pallor of the gibbous moon Melodies lamented and moaned an endless, melancholic tune ‘Twas a lone walk through pastures of wilted blooms Solitude was a friend in the summers of honey breath in the deep green woods Swept away by the currents or blown away by the torrents As twilight lazily rested on hillocks and in the amaranthine dells Like a laden cloud I cascaded down when the load was a dead weight I had gathered pieces of myself and strung them together with a parched wreath Pensive was the boon of listening to rumbling whispers Like a dimpling stream I flowed and carved my own trails Like the ocean arose and crashed to write my own fate, Letting the sun guide my way and the moon shine on my rugged path Now I ask all the pulsing stars to sing of my struggles, The forests to hum...

SECOND LIFE SECOND BIRTHDAY

I finally muster the energy, the grit and the emotional embrace to write about it. When life socked the daylights out of me in ways that I never imagined, I looked on the upside of it as a divine intervention and a another miracle to add to my list in this year 2024 which went down the memory highway full throttle ahead. July 7, Dear Diary is a day which left a distinct mark. A day when my father had a coronary follow up and I not only went along, but also had a check up done for myself. This was a couple of days after my visit to Sai Mandir where Sai Baba guided me to go for a cardiogram. A strong inner voice, authoritative yet kind, a heightened intuition, call it what I may, rang in a manner that couldn't be ignored. That said and done, I had a consultation with my father's doc who did my ECG and ECHO. Minutes flew by in deafening silence when he finally finished the tests and to my horror bluntly revealed that I have an ASD. A 38mm hole in my heart. I was advised to go f...

SAPPHIRE POOLS (DAY 3, POST 1)

Glinting sunlight off jeweled pools of sapphire Shimmering in the vast aridness of coppery fire Fringed with a viridescent canopy of trees fig and fronds of palm A sanctuary for birds and animals to splash about, it's a soothing balm Scorched and parched, my soles trudge on the sun baked grains Seeking respite from the bleeding crimson fireball, stranded I remain Mounting sand dunes, slipping, tumbling, sinking Scraped and raw, peeling sunburnt skin Veils of illusion lifts from fleeting dreams and hollow shine Fading hues of paradise around reduced to shriveled creepers and withering vines Imperial silver puddles on blazing bronze sand Deceived again by the phantom of the parched land Visions and charms swirl like a mist under a chrome moon Conjuring sprites of the desert weave mirages of oasis and lagoons Sailing across a barren horizon are walls of crystal waves No water lilies and wild roses unfurl under these mystic skies. ©️ Sangeetha Kamath Pic Courtesy: Pixabay

TULIP-O'-PURPLE

TULIP-O'-PURPLE The flower you sent me stands tall in a vase of porcelain The bud clammed close concealing drops of rain It holds a promise of a lavender refrain The silken petals of webbed lilac veins The stalk a mossy green reminds me of meadows The long walks in the Alps and valleys below I conjure up woodlands and dappled sunset glow Purple is my favourite colour you always know The delicate bloom of sweet fragrance Reminds me of an amethyst of lustrous brilliance Swaying in the summer breeze it yearns for a dance A single Tulip in a vase takes a ballerina stance Blooming in full two days later Invites butterflies all aflutter As precious as a fairytale dream It is tinged at the tips in hues of clotted cream Purple is soon brown---a colour of wither... A hardbound diary is used to press and preserve Along with the card and cheri...

Sangeetha Kamath

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