Guest post - ALL IS WELL..!!!

Okie dokie.. this is hard. Introducing someone who is already popular in the blogosphere is definitely not easy for one reason is that, you are always under a pressure if you have done it right. I had asked her for a guest post long time back. and finally here it is.. Her timing couldn't be more perfect. I was hit by the writer's block and was not able to come up with anything descent enough to post. It was right then she comes to my rescue with her long promised guest post. She is a blogger whose posts have been liked, admired and adored by all. She is a friend who is pure fun and matches up to any level of nonsense nautanki that one can think of, one of my closest friend that I have got.  She is smart and sensitive that reflects in her writing and the words she spins with such simplicity is a treat to read. Now I can write an entire post about her (ahem, I have done that in the past too :P ) but to know her, one needs to meet her. She is none other than our very own Confused Soul..!!! :) :) 

So, anyone who hasn't read her blog, please do it by clicking here. Am sure you wont be disappointed. 

phew.. this was so formal... but I had promised her a nice intro :) 

hope you like it da.. :P 

cheers..!!!

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“Zara thodi der idhar khade hoke nazar rakhenge?”, Khaala asks me.
I notice the unexpected, almost apologetic tone in her voice. 
My attitude (which I conveniently blame on my busy work schedule), is such that most times I don’t even have time to stand and watch my Grandfather as he washes his hands at the sink.
He needs to be watched, my Dada, whenever he is standing. He might fall any second.

So I stand and watch as he slowly washes his dentures.
He pauses, now and again, and looks around him at the tap, the toothbrushes, the mirror. 
As if he can’t remember why he is standing there anymore. With his teeth in his hands. 

I notice how he balances himself against the sink, his hip taking his weight.
His right arm rests on the ledge, almost limp. My eyes trace his arm to his shoulder and register a maroon-blue bruise splattered on it like paint, visible through his wrinkled skin.
Two days ago, he walked to the wrong end of a room searching for the light switch and pressed his hand out the window instead. He lost his balance then, and he hasn’t yet lost the slow healing bruise.

He takes water in his cupped left palm and transfers it to his right. 
I almost expect him to sprinkle it on my face, like he used to when I was a kid. But his limp hand cannot manage that much movement any more.
He lets the water go and turns the top off. Slowly.

Once every evening, or at least the ones in which he feels fit enough to get out of bed, Dada-saab takes a tour of the house.
He checks who all are there. 
He asks if I’ve become a doctor yet. I tell him I’m doing architecture.
He gives a proud smile to my dentist sister.
He compares the time on every clock in the house with his own watch.
He touches the walls of the house, the boundaries of his mobility.
In his own way, he checks if all is well, before returning to his corner of the house and reporting in his diary that it is.

I reflect on the simplicity of his life. 
Simple solutions to problems. He couldn’t stand the sound of traffic and the constant bickering around him, so he stopped wearing his hearing-aid. 
Simple reassurances. Time is still running. At the same pace. 
Simple pleasures. I might be slow, but I can walk around the house.
And then report in my diary that I did. And that all is well.

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Thanks a bunch CS and all of you for reading. Hope you all liked it. Please feel free to express yourself and views.