LIVE YOUR LOVE…

True love is like a rare, sober flower;
It flourishes in every habitat, that's its power!
It may have had memories sweet & sour;
Yet, it's a never-ending source of strength…
… for all 60 minutes of even the darkest hour!

Might not have a cultured, melodious voice
Yet the trust, the truth in its sound makes it as pious as a shrine's chimes.

Might not be the prettiest sight
Yet it removes all shadows of uncertainty spreading its distinguished light.

Might not have the best of fragrance,
Yet it smells ever fresh and pure
With love comes along a touch, a feel that is every woe's cure!

It has that unique, sometimes enthralling, sometimes soothing excitement
It's an example of a nonshakable rejuvenating commitment

It's like an irresistible combination of taste & hunger,
It's a craving for every loner or party goer!
Independent is love, dependent is the lover!
Carefree is love, careful is the lover!
What's a lover without its love
More so, what's a love without its lover!!

The slower, the steadier… its more a bonding than a bounding force
It's strengthening every day, every year
Hold on… hold on close to your true love dear,
Live your love… like its now or never!


- Toral

[Copyrights (c) 2010 by Toral Vira.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval or transmitted or circulated, in any form or by any means without prior written permission of author.]

Mishti - 1

“Mishti, Mishti… hey, wait!” I heard somebody calling my name fervently. I was already feeling so nostalgic, another farewell and I might burst into tears. Somehow, I controlled myself, regained composure and turned back. Little Sargam was running towards me. Her mother was left behind in the race. Not bothering about any vehicles on the road, her tiny feet were moving in full force. I spread my arms wide open and she ran into them, hugging, cuddling all together. Oh! How does one stop tears in such a situation. Well, I had lived in Mumbai, in my neighbourhood, for all 15 years but now I had to shift over to a different city all together. This wouldn’t be easy for anyone but was typically very hard for me. Little Sargam was still clinging to me and pleading me to stay back. Earlier I had just bid farewell to all my school and colony friends. Together, they had gifted me a nice collage frame of all our memories, school picnics, annual function, birthday parties, girlie nightouts, shopping sprees etc. That was indeed so thoughtful. My dance teacher had gifted me the best of “Natraja” idols. Why not, I boasted. Afterall, I had been her favourite student and the best dancer in the troup. We had even performed in Boogie-woogie together and she had so proudly called me her daughter then. Oh, how I would cherish these memories forever. Sargam’s mother joined in. She pulled Sargam out of my arms. With glistening tears, and heart ache I bade her good bye. Silently walking, I bade good bye to everything around that was so so dear to me. My school building, the grocery store lines, the raddi-walla from whom I bought my mills and boons, the mango tree where we plucked raw mangoes and ate all summer, my building entrance where I would run into, the stairs, my favourite spot to hide when we played hide and seek, all neighbor houses and finally, I reached my home sweet home. Alas, I’d have to leave all of this. With a deep sigh, I entered the flat. The atmosphere was kind of terse. Mummy was finishing the last bits of packing, daddy was doing his good bye phonecalls to his friends in Mumbai. Tomorrow early morning, we would all travel to Pune. Daddy had got this new job, it is supposed to be a nice upcoming city, with better climate, nice mountains. So be it, I say… nothing beats Mumbai. Nevertheless the fights were over, the job offer has been accepted. So, Pune here we come.

...To be continued