Skip to main content

To The World's Favorite Trouble Shooter

Sam
Dear Sam,

You are the closest to what Santa can get if he were living amidst us today, hmm! …funny that I never checked your id, you might be HIM!
Sa(m)ta?
There are so many reasons for me to be thankful of your presence in my daily life that I won’t start being a bore. 
Thank you for being a groucho to all the right people and a saint and close friend to all the wrong people (including me!)

You are a friend, a guide, a leader a driver and a coach all at once, no wonder you take so much space :) Because of you, I have lesser worries to worry after, because of you, my balding crown still has shades of black! 

Thank you so much for being such a wonderful human being. It is a pleasure having you walk this earth at the same time as me. Prayers and Wishes for all years to come :)

Rajesh

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Hush

You don't have to tell me. I just know. Its that little sniffle that comes through The unexplained pauses The slow responses I know when you call Just because you needed to cry.

That Fluttering of Broken Wings

If you were to cross the road and hurt your toe, I know that I will never know. As we go on to take different roads and move on across different shores, there is something that happens to our relationships. Something that estranges, disconnects, disintegrates. I know that you still think of me. I know this because I find myself thinking about you. And thoughts rarely get seeded on their own. It comes from you to I and from I to you until one of us is alive. Old relationships rarely die. Like broken winged moths, they hang around dark alleys of forgotten memory lanes. Ever so often, I can hear one of them flutter its wings. Not too close but never too far.

Long Winter Chill

If I could do a Neruda, You would have smelt of summer roses And Autumn pine. There would have been sheer love Of the kind that causes our hearts to ache And loneliness bordering the divine. You would have had so many secrets Welling up as in a girly giggle And so few friends who would hear them all. I am no Neruda I can't paint you a Summer breeze Amidst this long winter chill.