<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3408867679414358275</id><updated>2011-11-27T16:01:56.881-08:00</updated><category term='Seasons'/><category term='Story'/><category term='Warmth'/><category term='Happiness'/><category term='Sunshine'/><category term='Love'/><title type='text'>Kathayein</title><subtitle type='html'>Once Upon a Time...</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kathayein.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3408867679414358275/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kathayein.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Nidhi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02414053276191208885</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_VID_nN7jq0U/SC8cgwlyMoI/AAAAAAAAAL4/MA_oL7Y6Oeg/S220/26012007033.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>4</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3408867679414358275.post-5041945842330013829</id><published>2008-06-05T04:44:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-05T05:20:54.443-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Story'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Warmth'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Happiness'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Love'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Seasons'/><title type='text'>Gulmohar...The growing years...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Days seemed to fly by, as there was so much of joy all around. Rose used by be busy with only &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Fia&lt;/span&gt; and the daily chores related to her care. She would spend the entire day with her baby, sometimes giggling around seeing &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Fia's&lt;/span&gt; naughty gestures and sometimes worriedly running around for her food, bib or those tiny socks. The window of &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Fia's&lt;/span&gt; playroom opened right in front of me, and I would spend hours on end just watching her, trying to listen to her soft gurgled baby talk. When Rose would be rush out of room to fetch something, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Fia&lt;/span&gt; would fix her eyes on my swaying leaves and feel the cool breeze. At other times, of course, she would enjoy her mother's cuddly warm embrace. Over the months, she was growing into a beautiful baby, just as a tiny bud blossoming into a lovely flower. And I, standing by this corner, would start my mornings with cries of Baby &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Fia&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Her eyes were now more prominent, crystal clear soft blue eyes, which you would like to see forever. Being 4 months old, she could barely twist and turn on bed. Yet she would move her little hands and toes, as if wanting to play around with all that she saw in her room. Her tiny mouth would utter some gurgled sounds, which were more dear to me than a love song. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Whenever Rose would bring her into the garden, I would slowly sway my branches to shower red flowers from my branches. This would always draw her attention and she would look at me with her big clear blue eyes. And then she would gurgle a sweet little "&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;Aaaw&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;gu&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;gu&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;aaw&lt;/span&gt;" - only she knowing the meaning of this cute sound!&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;After spring season, I was bare with very few leaves. Yet as I awaited new leaves, the summer season had become less tolerant for a baby. And so Rose would stay indoors during the day, and come out with &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;Fia&lt;/span&gt; only during the evenings. So a considerable time would be lost during the day and I would excitedly await evenings. And all this while love, care and concern for &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;Fia&lt;/span&gt; kept on increasing. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Summer too passed away and Monsoons began. And began a stretch of lonesome days, when I would hope for rains to stop and see my little sunshine...&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5208370519593446514" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_VID_nN7jq0U/SEfZZHb77HI/AAAAAAAAApg/CtUqnfRxUBQ/s320/050620081656.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3408867679414358275-5041945842330013829?l=kathayein.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kathayein.blogspot.com/feeds/5041945842330013829/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3408867679414358275&amp;postID=5041945842330013829' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3408867679414358275/posts/default/5041945842330013829'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3408867679414358275/posts/default/5041945842330013829'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kathayein.blogspot.com/2008/06/gulmoharthe-growing-years.html' title='Gulmohar...The growing years...'/><author><name>Nidhi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02414053276191208885</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_VID_nN7jq0U/SC8cgwlyMoI/AAAAAAAAAL4/MA_oL7Y6Oeg/S220/26012007033.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp0.blogger.com/_VID_nN7jq0U/SEfZZHb77HI/AAAAAAAAApg/CtUqnfRxUBQ/s72-c/050620081656.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3408867679414358275.post-7265945779729714526</id><published>2008-06-04T03:16:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-05T01:06:09.046-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Story'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Warmth'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Sunshine'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Happiness'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Love'/><title type='text'>Gulmohar... First Conversation with Fia</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Winter was going on, when this little sunshine was born. It was quite cold out in the open, so most of the times the mother and baby would keep indoors. But on sunnier days, Rose would come out with &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Fia&lt;/span&gt; firmly cuddled in her arms. She had placed two chairs in the garden, and had pulled one of them closer to me. She sat down gently and was beaming with a soft motherly smile, holding &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Fia&lt;/span&gt; and humming the most beautiful songs one would have ever heard. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Fia&lt;/span&gt; too had her sparkling soft baby eyes fixed on her mother, as if trying to guess what she was humming. Both were enjoying a sunny day in winter. All this while I was trying to catch a full glimpse of &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Fia&lt;/span&gt; and when I could, she had slept off. Even then, it was a heavenly sight to see this little cherub, cozily sleeping in the warm bosom of her mother. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Fia&lt;/span&gt; was the most beautiful baby I had seen till now. Her soft angelic face, little almond shaped fingers, peach and cream pearl colour. I was just awestruck at this little, fragile creation of God! &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;That day I really wished being a human being. So that I could have touched her, felt her soft little fingers, kissed her gently on her small forehead and kept her in my arms and sung a lullaby. But Alas! I was a tree, and could have just hoped for all this. Yet, I thought for once, that I could still make her feel my presence close to her. So what if I can't take her in my arms, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;at least&lt;/span&gt; she can feel me. I dropped a small leaflet from my branch, the softest one, which landed right on her forehead. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;Fia&lt;/span&gt; felt the gentle leaf and just drooped her drowsy eyes and slept back again. She gave a small yet sleepy &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;unconscious&lt;/span&gt; smile. Upon seeing this, Rose gently took off the leaf and put her gentle hand on &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;Fia's&lt;/span&gt; forehead. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;This was our first &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;unconscious&lt;/span&gt;, unspoken and in a manner unknown conversation. But that's how deepest relations are. They exist nowhere, yet one day, they touch your heart deeply. This was the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;beginning&lt;/span&gt; of a life full of sunshine &amp;amp; smile. A life I would never again wish to exchange with anyone, not even, a human ......&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5207977982529229010" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_VID_nN7jq0U/SEZ0Yc610NI/AAAAAAAAANg/bcL--DYTrwQ/s320/illawarra1.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3408867679414358275-7265945779729714526?l=kathayein.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kathayein.blogspot.com/feeds/7265945779729714526/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3408867679414358275&amp;postID=7265945779729714526' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3408867679414358275/posts/default/7265945779729714526'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3408867679414358275/posts/default/7265945779729714526'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kathayein.blogspot.com/2008/06/gulmohar-first-conversation-with-fia.html' title='Gulmohar... First Conversation with Fia'/><author><name>Nidhi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02414053276191208885</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_VID_nN7jq0U/SC8cgwlyMoI/AAAAAAAAAL4/MA_oL7Y6Oeg/S220/26012007033.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp2.blogger.com/_VID_nN7jq0U/SEZ0Yc610NI/AAAAAAAAANg/bcL--DYTrwQ/s72-c/illawarra1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3408867679414358275.post-410081389298745892</id><published>2008-05-22T01:59:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-22T02:36:40.891-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Story'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Warmth'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Happiness'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Love'/><title type='text'>Gulmohar - Fia, the breeze in my life!</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;I must have been in my growing years, attaining little bark on my stem and branches, when Rose and Martin shifted into this bungalow (I am firmly fixed into a cozy corner of its garden). Rose was a delicate beautiful petite woman, expecting her first child. She seemed kind and adorable, for she would everyday take good care of her husband, her new home and also her new garden. She must have been around 25 years old...at least looked so. Her husband, Martin, a young guy in his 30's , was a nice guy too. I was quite delighted to have a wonderful family like theirs in this bungalow. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;The owners of this bungalow had long back shifted to Canada. Occasionally people would come to see the place, but somehow, its first family had to be of Rose and Martin. And I think that was the best thing to happen to me. Often, when the bungalow had not been occupied, neighbours would pluck flowers, nasty children would jump into the garden to play hide n seek, or would simply just pull leaves from plants and trees. Since I was still growing, they could manage to get their hands on me too. The garden was quite a hassled lot of flora. I was relieved when Martin and family moved in. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Six months later, I was to get a new companion. Martin and Rose would have their first child. All this while, Rose had established a quiet but close bond with all of us in the garden. She would water us, sit beside us in the evenings or would just stroll about in the garden humming a song to her to be child. I could sense her warmth and her immense love and devotion to family.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;A week later, I could sense that joy had finally arrived. They were blessed with a baby girl. Though I had not yet seen her closely, I only heard them call out to her. They had named the baby as Fia. Baby Fia was a little angel. A warm sunshine. A beautiful flower. And a breeze of life in my life... &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5203132104900268130" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_VID_nN7jq0U/SDU9FQAC0GI/AAAAAAAAAMo/KJVnLK8uv08/s320/531831236_b1e5ec03eb_o.jpg" border="0" /&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3408867679414358275-410081389298745892?l=kathayein.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kathayein.blogspot.com/feeds/410081389298745892/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3408867679414358275&amp;postID=410081389298745892' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3408867679414358275/posts/default/410081389298745892'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3408867679414358275/posts/default/410081389298745892'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kathayein.blogspot.com/2008/05/gulmohar-fia-breeze-in-my-life.html' title='Gulmohar - Fia, the breeze in my life!'/><author><name>Nidhi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02414053276191208885</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_VID_nN7jq0U/SC8cgwlyMoI/AAAAAAAAAL4/MA_oL7Y6Oeg/S220/26012007033.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp2.blogger.com/_VID_nN7jq0U/SDU9FQAC0GI/AAAAAAAAAMo/KJVnLK8uv08/s72-c/531831236_b1e5ec03eb_o.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3408867679414358275.post-2371643405507766779</id><published>2008-05-21T04:13:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-21T04:59:29.670-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Story'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Warmth'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Love'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Seasons'/><title type='text'>Gulmohar... Looking back on years goneby</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;I have been here ever since I was planted. I don't know when and how I landed here, or who planted me here. I was too young and tender to realise that. But my growing years have been quite fulfilling. I have known seasons, people, animals, wind, sun, rains, stars - all in their splendour and doom... In happy times and in lonesome days... In playful desires and in dull moods.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Every time a season comes, wrapping me softly and slowly into its bosom and then slowly, when its time for the next season, unwraps its warmth and love, I am left back with myself to witness new world each day. A new world, a new day, new life, new bloom. New people. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Yes, you would wonder how can a tree like me have new people in its life. Though I stand at a nice cozy corner of a garden, I still manage to meet new people. Some old timers still take refuge under my foliage during summers, some rogues still want me down with my branches, some poor souls still pour a bucket or two of water on my roots, some have left my neighbourhood. But one girl is still close to my heart and would always be. I will take you through my story with her, in many phases - because it difficult to summarize her, its difficult to describe her in few good words - because special things in life deserve importance...&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5202797119084311202" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_VID_nN7jq0U/SDQMaglyMqI/AAAAAAAAAMg/hTDAGc249hw/s320/800px-Flame_tree_mali.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3408867679414358275-2371643405507766779?l=kathayein.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kathayein.blogspot.com/feeds/2371643405507766779/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3408867679414358275&amp;postID=2371643405507766779' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3408867679414358275/posts/default/2371643405507766779'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3408867679414358275/posts/default/2371643405507766779'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kathayein.blogspot.com/2008/05/gulmohar-looking-back-on-years-goneby.html' title='Gulmohar... Looking back on years goneby'/><author><name>Nidhi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02414053276191208885</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_VID_nN7jq0U/SC8cgwlyMoI/AAAAAAAAAL4/MA_oL7Y6Oeg/S220/26012007033.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp2.blogger.com/_VID_nN7jq0U/SDQMaglyMqI/AAAAAAAAAMg/hTDAGc249hw/s72-c/800px-Flame_tree_mali.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
