Haiku Again…From Story To Haiku Part II

As I have said in my earlier post, I learnt much more from the children than they possibly did from me. The one thing that struck me most was the level of exposure they had at such young age – pizza party at home, You Tube watch with friends, visits abroad, taking part in short films were some of the fun experiences which were recounted by the children in the last segment of the session. Gone were the days of garden picnics and vacation at the nearest hill station. I, who was stuck up in my Enid Blyton days when it came to memories of childhood, was once again reminded of the yawning gap between gen now and then.

I wonder how much could they ‘feel’ the story that I weaved around the next haiku:

“This is the fifth time,” Maa scolded, “That you’ve lost your umbrella.” I kept mum because I knew it was the truth.  Funny! It always happened in the school bus.  I would have a regular fight with one of the bus mates for a window seat. Why would Hari or Anu require a seat by the window? They were always chattering and making noise in the bus. What did they care about the blue of the sky? Or the snowy white clouds that flew by from one land to the other? The birds flapping their wings and soaring with the clouds or the sun rays dancing over the leaves of a tree. These never meant a thing to them. I knew. So, I would shove their bags aside and make myself comfortable by the window, the cool breeze blowing across my face.

And then the fairies would descend from their abode of cottony clouds and open their delicate wings of pure white feather to flitter around with the butterflies. They would touch the budding roses. kiss the laughing marigolds and poke the shy lilies bursting into a shower of giggles like little girls. The bees would then hum a song strumming the green leaves.  Huffing and puffing would then join Timmy, the dog, who lived down the lane. After him would follow Ben and Brown wagging their tails. Party time! They would chorus in unison. Ben would be the DJ while Brown would serve the drinks. The fairies would spread laughter and the bees would croon the latest hits. 

And when the party would be at its peak, would then sail in a bank of dark, foreboding clouds sucking away all sun shine and along with the demonic clouds would saunter in Mr. Singh, the bus coordinator. “Rajan!” His booming voice just next to my ears would sound like drum rolls and then a good shake of my shoulder would be the ultimate spoiler, “You’ve again fallen asleep Rajan and missed your stop.” I would look up with groggy eyes trying to recall where I was.

Yes, it’s two lanes away from my house that the bus would stop and I would hop out in a hurry with my bursting school bag completely forgetting the umbrella which would as usual be left behind not to be found ever again.

But tell me, how did Kizie, my haiku mate, knew about all these things when she wrote

overcast sky…

I watch the bus leave

with my umbrella

                                                             – Kizie Basu