Leaving Mussoorie and going Up at Sister's Bazaar,
I've heard that on the way there lives a star.
I moved ahead to locate the one,
Walked I slowly so that I would not miss its shine.
Oh! there's a shining window that opens to a scene,
Opposite to the trees, that were painting the town green.
I should sit for a while under one of the trees as they were giving Gentle
shade by Day,
I was in perspiration, as the month was of May.
My Adventure wind was blowing, and I saw a bunch of kids,
They surely were Growing up with Trees, as they were laughing with naughty and
blooming eyelids.
There opened the window, inverted-D was its shape,
Facing the Open Road, It was like a flower in the landscape.
It was painted white and red,
A pot was smiling out of it which was a Geraniums flower-bed.
Appeared through the window a man who was like Santa without beard,
There was an aura of happiness, and nothing seemed weird.
Looking through the window, he perhaps saw the trees,
Having some Green thoughts, he gave his potted Chrysanthemum a gentle squeeze.
Oh! What a person! He seems so dear,
I suddenly had a thought, what if he were my teddy bear.
I was so desperate to know what he was thinking,
I prayed to the Mother Hill, to give me some linking.
Suddenly came a flash of light, and everything stood still,
Neither moved my Santa, nor any leaf on that hill.
Appeared, before my eyes a beauty, clad in green and brown,
I was mesmerized by her blooming flower crown.
She said, "You are the truest at heart, O beautiful soul!
I heard what you wish for, I'll give you all."
"Keep sitting under this tree and close your eyes,
Think about the person you love most and see how the mind flies."
Thus she disappeared, and my eyes were closed,
All I thought was I need to stay composed.
Because the person I love most is my dad,
Gone was he to the other world, but his memory always makes me glad.
So I did what Hill Mother asked me to do,
Thinking of my dad, I realised I was changing into someone new.
I was a phantom bird, white with a gentle glow,
I can go anywhere, over the Everest, under the Earth, and in the minds, I know.
So I took a slow and happy flight,
Entering my Santa's mind was now my mighty right.
There he was remembering The Year of Kissing and Other Good Times,
Going into his youth, and to his childhood sometimes.
Coming Round the Mountain, enjoying the rain,
Waiting Till the Clouds Roll By, so that he could go watch the tunnel emitting
the train.
Looking for the Rainbow, he strolled in the wild,
Suddenly in his thoughts, he grew young from that quiet child.
Remembering his childhood wish to be a tap dancer star,
He tried a few steps, and thus went very far.
Collided into a hill lad and came to his sense,
He hoped that this beauty didn't take any offence.
She smiled and went running, never to come back,
He accepted the truth that his love life is at lack.
Moved to plains, but didn't get along with the heat,
Mountains were the place, where was his heartbeat.
Came to the hills, and met a noble soul Prem,
Thus adopted the family, and together they moved into the world of fame.
Now he is the Rusty, living in his dream world, with Room on the Roof,
His friends are his desk, window, flowers, birds, and his solitude.
He loves kids, books, films and a lot of food,
He got everything, in dreams he viewed.
He has made children fall in love with books,
And inspired his readers to write about world as it looks.
Now he asks us to get comfy and listen,
When he is Bonding Over Radio to accomplish his story-telling mission.
Thus sighs dear Ruskin Bond, who was the wind last night,
He thinks, upon coming to present, 'Until death comes, all is life.'
And flew out the phantom bird from her Santa's mind,
And I opened my eyes when there was so much to rewind.
Was it a dream, or I really turned into a phantom bird,
I looked around and shouted for Mother Hill, I suppose she heard.
Because clouds covered the hill and raindrops fell on my cheeks,
May be that's the way Mother Hill really speaks.
I looked at the window, it was taking the wind inside,
The man was standing there, with a pot of Nasturtiums on his side.
The world will keep on changing, there is nothing to blame,
But our dear young Ruskin will always remain the same.
Thank you for every moment of happiness and all the experiences,
We will cherish every tiny thing of this world now with happiness and no
differences.
Happy Birthday dear Ruskin sir.
(I wrote this poem for Ruskin Bond's birthday in May 2020)
-Ekta Kubba
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