Pungidasa's Blog, page 8

The Red Balloon

Her name was Anita. Anita was a young girl who loved to go to school. She packed her bags every Monday with a zeal like none-other. She also loved to play outside her home with her friends.

Her day normally began at six thirty, she would get ready and a school van would pick her up, drop her to school. On weekends, she normally spent her time drawing, painting and singing along with her grandmother, who lived with them.

Anita had a fascination towards red that had caught on early in her childhood; she bought red cars, red dresses to decorated her Barbie dolls, the red crayon was her favourite crayon and the red dress was her most obvious choice for her birthday with strawberry cakes and red candles to top it off.

It was on one of those random Sundays that Anita and her parents decided to take the day off and visit a local park to enjoy the pleasant weather. Anita got ready quite early, with a red frock to go along with red ribbons to tie her hair. Her red shoes shone bright red and completed the picture.

The park, as usual, was a place of chaos that had so many visitors, the young and the old, the just married couples to the ones still dating, tiny toddlers to some energetically young senior citizens. There were merry-go-rounds, ice-cream shops, chat stores, balloons, and the guy who carried with him the bubble-blowers. There were trees all around, small ones, tall ones and rather timid ones that housed a variety of insects and birds.

Anita’s dad carried her on his shoulder, her giggles found their way to her parents who strolled along the serene boulevards of the park. She loved this seat on her dad’s shoulder, often called the queen’s seat by her mother — she had a view of the entire park and all its happenings. Everything she saw left her in awe.

The afternoon sun was enjoying his customary tea and slowly transitioned into his playful self by painting the sky orange and preparing to head home. By then, Anita had found the balloon-seller and had made sure that she held in her possession two red balloons that she neatly tied to her hands.

The parents decided to sit under a tree and relax while Anita played. She found everything interesting; the trees, the crows and mostly the squirrels — she chased after them. She was always in and around her parents but slowly drifted away into the park until she was certain that she was lost.

She turned around and no one she knew was around her, they were all strangers — every one of them tall and bigger than her. Puddles of tears stood in line to flow down and touch the ground. She ran here and there, further getting away from her parents, who, by then, had noticed her absence. They too frantically began their search to find her. Her father was crying too, her mother held her tears and searched for her girl in red.

Against the fading light, her red dress stood out. She had come to a clearing in the trees, a small patch of land with an open sky. She could not appreciate the reddening sky. Her eyes were red with tears and one of her red balloons had burst away, while the remaining one that she had tied to her hand was almost on the verge of flying away, getting lost in the sky.

As it unburdened itself from her hand and rose to the sky, her sobs got even more intense. She just sat there and cried. Her last red balloon had taken to the air, but little did she know that it would save her in the end.

In their search for their daughter, the parents asked every passerby, if they had seen a young girl decked in red, two red balloons tied to her hands. Every query seemed to be in vain until they too lost their way and ended up at the edge of the small patch of free land.

There it was the red balloon; hanging in the air just long enough to be caught in the teary-eyed gaze of the mother. She ran towards the balloon, her voice shouting Anita, Anita, Anita.

The little red balloon had saved the day.

The Red Balloon was originally published in Lit Up on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

I have had no trouble finding the title for my book,

I have had no trouble finding the title for my book,

“13" — I called it. With 13 short stories that are ordinary but making life in its ordinaryness extra-ordinary.

But my poems are an entirely different matter. None of them have titles and names.

I struggle completely to get some of them a title.

Hopefully this will help me get there. Thinking of the characters and plots.

Short stories for kids with morals — The Last Fruit

The Last Fruit

Sometimes I get late to my office owing to waking up late, but on other days I am early or on time to catch the lonely bus to school.

On days that I come in early, I am always greeted by the pomerian dog on its early morning walk that pulls along the elderly gentleman on a daliy excercise ritual. The bells of the temple nearby ring in perfect replay each day like clock work. The voice of the flower and vegetable vendors are faint and hoarse from all the shouting in the early morning.

Then there is always my favourite passtime; just behind the bus stop there is a house , painted red and in one corner there is a small Gasgase tree.

The branches are over hanging and fall out of the house with a small pocket of canopy towards the road.And they bear fruit , little red berries that are sweet to taste and an absolute delight. When the branches are loaded with these fruits they hang lower. I am tempted to pluck a few and enjoy the free treat that mother nature gives us.

But there is just one problem. The house and the tree belongs to a very elderly gentleman who finds all his excercise in shooing away the men and women who pluck the fruits from his beloved tree.

To anyone who cares to listen, he explains in his grave tone; “ I water the tree everyday, I nurture it with manure but everyone just plucks it off like it is their father’s free gift.”

At times I have tried to outsmart him and find myself a nice berry, all red and sweet, but like the sour grapes story I teach children at school it never happens.

When ever I almost have the prize in my hands, the old man comes in like a “berry hound” and gives me that stare akin to “Dare you to touch my tree”. I am forced to move away with a sheepish expression on my face. But the thrill of stealing a berry from under his nose is unparalleled.

It was another such random day when I was early to the bus stop. I had already made up my mind to have a field day today and make the most of the berries overhanging ; teasing me from ten days.

I got caught. The elderly man always had a scowl on his face. Today was no different. And he asked me ; “ What do you want ?”. It was almost an accusation , but I could not help myself and I blurted out “ I love the taste of these berries, i was just about to pluck a few “. I readied myself for the inevitable backlash.

But he looked back into the house and called reinforcements. I called all the gods and was about to encash my good grace when he called me in to the house and said, “take all the berries you want, this will be the last day you enjoy this opportunity.”

There was a sense of acute sadness on his face. I had seen this person since ten years but I had never talked to him. Two men came and handed me around a hundred berries;all ripe and fruity smelling.

But his sense of sadness pulled me away and I looked at him and said thank you.

“It has been forty years in this locality. My sons and grandsons grew up in this house. We are moving away to an apartment that my son has brought. “ Just then we heard the thuds from inside the house. “We havent even left the house yet but they have already started demolishing our house. This tree too shall be cut down. I have nurtured this tree for years but this tree will no longer be mine.Take all the berries you want. “

“So will you be moving I with your sons?” I quizzed.

He ghttps://notionpress.com/read/13-1321050rew graver, “ No no, they are all settled in the states and they need some one here to watch over their new apartment on the twenty third floor. There are no trees with overhanging branches he remarked.We are very much likely the free watchmen for the house.
We move tomorrow to my son’s flat”.

The berries though tasted wonderful. But it was the last time I saw the tree again. It was gone the next day.
The gentleman , the house, the tree, the berries.

you can find my short stories published at https://www.amazon.in/dp/B07C3TW3VX and https://notionpress.com/read/13-1321050

Originally published at pungidasa.blogspot.com on May 31, 2018.

Loved it Karthik, sort of gentle on the eye but still every point of yours is very connectable and…

Loved it Karthik, sort of gentle on the eye but still every point of yours is very connectable and hard hitting.

Perfectly summarized, i have been writing since a long time and could connect to a lot of your…

Perfectly summarized, i have been writing since a long time and could connect to a lot of your observations!!

how to market your book right -5 Reasons why my first book-tanked!!

how to market your book right -5 Reasons why my first book-tanked!!

5 reasons why my first book tanked

It has been over seven years since I started writing but it took me 6 years to publish my poems.

After writing daily and refining my way of delivery of words and emotions I had gathered enough courage and confidence that I could indeed call myself a writer of versatile genres.

I quit Facebook and dropped out of all groups on Whatsapp, became a vairagi :-p

I managed to squeeze in one hour of free time everyday for three months and finally I had a draft version ready. I got it reviewed by my colleagues and friends who had a flair for editing, a hawk eye for collating grammar edits and they did it for free.

I googled “how to publish a book” and put it out there and I was on cloud nine!!

Untitled Verses was a book of poems, I knew it was difficult to start off with poems but if I could pull it off, then I was in a place where I could definitely write more books and sell more books.

But my first venture into the world of publishing failed miserably, here is a list of things I realized after that.

1) For me this book meant the world but for others it was just a book

I had a really stable base of around 700 readers to all my poems that I sent to them almost on a daily basis via Whatsapp. I used to get a good feedback, “Nice one”, “well done”, “this one connected to me “,” when are you publishing a book?”

Naturally I assumed that all these comments would in turn result in the book being sold.

But the same people sent me a “Congratulations

Do you think Indians can stay without Facebook — Post dataleak ?

Everyone here has a smart phone, every one is smart and has a phone!

Everyone takes selfies and photos and shares them on smart platforms such as Facebook and Instagram and later even on Whatsapp!

With the latest scandal rocking the global stage that the social networking giant Facebook had a data leak. News channels and Facebook pages bearing witness to his stoic face whilst the US senators had a VIVA session thrown at him. I think that he was coached by someone from India who had an amazing experience answering the VIVA questions posed to him.

After surfing on the internet as to what the Hulla-gulla was all about, I found that my data could have been leaked. I know that is rather shocking — but I guess we are prone to leaks — Dr.Fixit wala leaks, question paper leaks and other scandal leaks. So as an Indian this did not make much of a change.

The only thing that currently Facebook does not know is my Aadhaar card details, rest of my history, physics, chemistry and math- it knows; because I have put it there.

I usually hang out on Facebook, share Memes that are cliché and no longer funny. I wish everyone a happy birthday, say congratulations to anyone and everyone of my friends who are getting married and or going to another country, see the suggested profiles and then stalk a few people and then logout. Some of my friends though play these online games, put up their photos that look similar to another celebrity. There are so many such rages that happen over the internet.

Your selfies and Kulfies find their way into the happy and satisfying world of the internet via Facebook and Instagram. Weird hashtags make sure that your photos are available to every Tom Dick and Harry who knows the hashtag world.

I don’t know the numbers, but I read somewhere that the number of smartphone users in India is going to double by 2020 and with that the number on the social media platforms too.

Every app that you use shall ask permission to peep into your contact list, messages and gallery; we blindly say yes. But I don’t give permission for my parents to even touch my phone but these apps are harmless. Are they really?

The FB- CA scandal started with alleged data collection over a quiz application. How many online quizzes do you play, how many apps have you installed that access your phone and at how many places have you given your phone number so that you can get a discount.

But the bigger question I have after all the data leak and the potential in which it could change the settings of who took over the white house into play, do you really think that my data on the internet cannot be misused, mis-represented and used to draw other plans in which other companies make money.

So, do you think that you can live without Facebook, Instagram and Whatsapp?

(https://sunilsathyendra.typeform.com/to/ygmZTn :In a online survey with over 20 participants 90 % of them were not willing to uninstall Whatsapp, while 70 % of them Instagram and 60 odd not willing to uninstall Facebook)

These apps run the show for us. The premier place for society to come together.

We protest online, we find our friends online, we chat online, we socialize online, we post photos online, we post where we had been online, we laugh online.

We get posts that we may like, posts that we may find an acute need to support. This is being done I suppose via profiling my pattern of spending, browsing and much more. For example: I may Google vacation in Malawi and seconds later in another website an ad pops up saying the best travel options to go to Malawi. These may be co-incidences. But, are they really?

There are apps out there that give us 50, 100 rupees cashback for the transactions that we do with them, have you asked yourself whether your data there is safe. Your phone number and bank details are all in their database and a hacker could easily swoop in and bankrupt you in seconds.

But hey, who is bothered?

Whatsapp says now that there is end to end encryption for all our messages — really?

Who has bothered to check? Does that mean that before that update arrived, our data could be listened to by others?

But is the young generation of India, specially the ones who use the same the Facebook saga to feel good about themselves, meet their friends, continue chatting with their prospective girlfriends — ever be ready to say no to Facebook?

Are you ready to #deletefacebook?

Imagine your days without Facebook — you can take selfies and other photos but nowhere to put that and get likes and validation?

Imagine your days without Instagram — All those interesting #hashtags that you cannot browse through.

This some-how I can imagine, but without Whatsapp?

Uh-huh! Absolutely unpossible (usage Intended). We will be going back to the stone age then!!

That is where our daily lives begin and end. We share snippets of our lives, we share information, videos, notes to pass in the examination, call people for free in the USA, have cousin groups, make small talk, actually talk and then create gossip centers.

Groups of friends, groups without one friend, road group, school group, college group, office group, trip group, office group with boss, office group without boss, religious groups, just forward sending group and serial discussion group! Whatsapp, Facebook and Instagram are our life blood!

Data breach or no data breach, this Facebook/Whatsapp/Instagram is needed. Period.

You can take our data, profile our characteristics, sell them to other buyers, we are not bothered. We need a platform to rant, socialize and be validated as an individual.

Facebook, Whatsapp and Instagram is here to stay fellas!!

LATIKA OJHA — Thank you for your response.

LATIKA OJHA — Thank you for your response.

Words are all the intoxication I need.

Words are all the intoxication I need.

I can quietly swim in their pools, surf in their waves and simply fall in love with their deep intensity.

I can write them on walls, paper and blogs and draw them into people’s imagations.

Oh what a wonderful world I can build upon their shores,

Painting emotions, giving solace and bringing quiet murmurs of agreement. There is a power to them to disarm volatile intent , stir quarrels and kill doubt.

Words are mine ?

How can I hold them, when they just flow like old rivers, knowing their path and sometimes forging their own.

I may write my name under these alphabets but then it is never really mine , it is always the reader’s to cherish and hold.

In years to come when the dead have slept in quiet slumber too, these words shall stay, not mine sir. Definitely not mine.

Like Ozmandiaz upon the desert floor, I shall not proclaim these words are mine.

They are yours to ponder upon, hold close to your chest, cry upon their shoulders and love them like you have loved love !

I ask myself,

“What use is words if It does not make you feel and Cry??”

Spreading cleanliness is a simple choice

Spreading cleanliness is a simple choice

One of the few places in Bangalore that boasts of coveted green cover is Lal Bagh and naturally so attracts a very large volume of enthusiastic and diverse section of tourists both in an around Bangalore.

With that come no shortage of plastic, bottles, eateries and what not.

On Saturday 17th March 2018, around 230 volunteers from Bosch decided that the "Buck stops here " and cleaned various sections of Lal Bagh to find around 80 bags of plastic waste and 11 bags of pure glass bottles.

Armed with a social belongingness and a drive to keep our own Bangalore clean, the young at age and the young at heart battled the elements unperturbed and completed a very successful clenathon in just around two hours.

230 people on a Saturday morning, just before a major festival is by no means a easy feat, all of which were effortlessly fleeted by a wonderfully managed team of indivisuals whose vision for this event came to fruit.

Sometimes all we need is a spark and then the revolution will begin.
The call for a clean Lal Bagh is cascading momentum but still a lot more things remain to be done and plans are already in full swing to make it a reality.

Some look at the problem , some become the solution.
It is always a choice as to who you choose to be.

Remember spreading Cleanliness is a simple choice.

Here is a look at my previous article here :

https://medium.com/@1213a37ea8cb/3501eba11824