The Tiny Morsels When I was a ten year old, just a little away from our house, was a shack under an ancient banyan tree, delightfully simple and unpretentious, haiku-like. There I had often seen a shepherd and his ten year old son playing with each other- grinning and guffawing, as if they ruled the world. Happy in their small kingdom, humming inchoate songs of love. One day I saw the shepherd feeding his son morsels of food. His little prince ate the meagre repast, smacking his lips, as though he had just partaken of a four- course meal. A gigantic deal! Now years later, as I lie on a feather soft bed, under crisp, white sheets, my heart beats insanely. Those scenes of the past hammer at my head. I trip on memory shards; those smells from the past assault my olfactory senses. I remember my tantrums, and crinkling of nose at the array of dishes laid on the dining table. “Ugh! Yikes! Such insipid food! No way am I going to have this no good-food.” I, a ten year old, would leave the room in a huff. My parents looked on, helplessly. Through the relentless hammering, I see a small shepherd boy sheathed a blissful smile of contentment- happy at the half- filled platter of life. I have a confession to make I plead guilty to the charge of being greedy, apathetic to the impoverished and the needy Yes, I am guilty! The Singsong Morning It was a sing -song morning, with buckets of sunshine, and crisp air. Peacocks preened on the green carpet, birds chirped themselves into a frenzy, grasshoppers glided gracefully, in love with the dawn, filled with the fragrance of a thousand flowers, and the first murmur of the morning breeze. But I lounged in bed, indifferent to nature’s song. Under the whiplashes of a guilty conscience, out of the bed, I staggered. But that hour of dawn had gone. Foolishly, I hunted for the lingering traces of those ethereal footprints- the birdsong, the molten gold of the smiling sunrays, the dew drenched dahlias, the sun- sheathed sunflowers, but, alas, the wee hours had gone. I had lounged in bed, indifferent to nature’s song. Yes, I have a confession to make. Not once, but many times, have I sacrificed the ethereal fragrance of the morning air at the altar of my sloth. I have a confession to make. I plead guilty to the charge of being a lazy laggard. Guilty! Guilty! Guilty! Yes, I am guilty! Of weaving fancies, in my rose- tinted dreams, when the world outside was itself a dream. The Tired Farmer Tired, working in the paddy fields, the farmer slumps down on the earth, and massages his work- calloused hands, his wife watches from the corner of her eye. Sighing, she rummages in a small, shabby bag by her side, and pulls out a small bottle. With gnarled, fingers, she applies some oil on his hands, rubbing them with deft, gentle strokes. He grimaces, casting a grateful look at her. The trees sway in the morning breeze, a sparrow hops next to the farmer. Oh what a charmer! Growing bolder, she hops further on to his shoulder, trying to heal him by her song- chirp- chirp – chirp. A floating cloud, bit by the curiosity bug, peers at them, wondering what is up. The scarecrow looks at the two, and smiles a lopsided smile, as the paddy fields sway with the morning breeze. But the farmer groans, and his wife clings to her everyday depleting resources. I rein in my feeling of remorse. The farmers work day and night, bottling up their anguish, bearing the assault of sun’s scorching fury and sudden rains. We, rapacious humans, go full throttle into a litany of negligent pains. I have a confession to make. I plead guilty to the charge of gross apathy. Yes, I am guilty. Guilty Guilty!
SANTOSH BAKAYA: Multiple award-winning poet, novelist, biographer, TEDx Speaker, acclaimed for her poetic biography of Mahatma Gandhi, Ballad of Bapu, Dr. Santosh Bakaya’s twenty three books encompass multiple genres. Reuel International Awardee [Poetry, 2014], Setu International Awardee for ‘stellar contribution to world literature’, 2018 [Pittsburgh, USA], The First Keshav Malik Award, 2019, Instituted by [AuthorsPress] for her ‘entire staggeringly prolific and quality conscious oeuvre’, WE EUNICE DE SOUZA Award, [WE Literary Community, 2023], for ‘rich and diverse contribution to Poetry, literature and Learning’, she runs a very popular column, Morning Meanderings [Learning and Creativity. Com.] Her collaborative e- books [Blue Pencil] Vodka by the Volga [With Dr. Ampat Koshy, 2020, From Princep Ghat to Peer Panjal [With Gopal Lahiri, 2021] are # 1 Amazon bestsellers. Recently published: What is the Meter of the Dictionary? [AuthorsPress. 2022] The Catnama [With Dr. Sunil Sharma, AuthorsPress, 2023] For Better or Verse [With Ramendra Kumar and Dr. Ampat Koshy, AuthorsPress, 2023]
Confessions 