Hall of Life

Love..in the..Story

2012-01-27T02:38:00.003+05:30

She remembered everything,
He forgot most of it.
She reminded,
He regretted.
She sulked.
He dealt,
With love, kisses, hugs.
She smiled,
He sighed.
Then...

She remembered some of it,
He forgot nothing.
She fretted,
He cajoled.
She feared.
He fought,
With her demons, dreams, nightmares.
She sighed.
He smiled.
A little...

Written on 27th January, 2012.

(Sorry for such a long silence. It has been two months. First of all A very Happy New !!!! :) We are still in January so it is still valid. And before you say that the poem reminds you of a certain Hollywood movie based on a book and remade into a Hindi movie. Well let me say that, that is not the inspiration. Just that it is said that and true to some extent women remember a lot. Dates, incidents, time, mistakes... ;) and men don't. I know vice versa cases and am sure there will be many. What is important the love of two people in all the mayhem of her and his..story to find their love story. And it is a scary thought that someone whom you love does not remember you or anything else. Till we meet next time spread love and Happy Valentines' Day !!)

The Heart in response to Despair

2011-11-07T04:38:00.003+05:30

Scared of the new he did not move on,

Looking back on what was long gone.

The chasm of despair was wide enough,

Dark and deep, pulsating and painful.

The abyss of fear had its own echo.

Trying to drown the sound of that soft tinkle,

And the eyes would now and then wrinkle.

But on the morrow or days after,

The sun will warm every corner.

Leaves will struggle and shoot to new life.

And one dark corner will be a room long unvisited,

A treasure to keep, to smile and reminisce about.

Shake your head and laugh about.

For the heart believes, has faith.

Hope and love are all around.

To take, not two steps but a leap,

To cross the chasm of despair so deep.

Its beats every day and says

Why think of the end at the new beginning?

Written on 7th November, 2011.

( The second para of the poem (now modified) was in response to a friend's poem about a personal loss. Trying to give him hope wrote that and today completed the whole poem. Life and loss go together and despair has such wide encompassing wings that it can engulf you forever. It is enticing too and a safe place to be because the world out their seems scary and brutal. It is and it is not. Most of us are fortunate enough to have friends, loved ones and family around reach out , hang on , cry, throw a tantrum , sulk but move on. If not for yourself but for them for they will also be tired of counselling you after sometime :P just kidding. Move on. The heart is strong more than you think. Otherwise start using saffola :) 'teri dil ki baat main jaanu'

On that note Eid Mubarak !!!! :) Till we meet again Khuda Haafiz !! :) ) P.S. do visit the link behind the room long unvisited words a previous poem about heart and the hall of life.

To whomsoever it is concerned

2011-10-23T03:34:00.000+05:30

Taking out time to listen,
Hearing out and holding on.
Always around,
Never letting go.
Kissing away the tears and fears.

Years go by,
Only thing that passes are good times,
Unending and unusual.

Written on 23rd October, 2011

(My birthday just went by and I was overwhelmed with the love and wishes of friends and family. There were midnight celebrations and surprises and a treasure hunt thrown in for good measure. Phone calls (international calls too !!), smses and gifts. The day and sometime after it was full of joy, happiness and so much love. It made me realize, well I know it but it reinforced and reiterated the fact that I am much loved. Such a amazing feeling. So a bigggg Thank You to all ( you know who you are ..!! ). A poem after a long time. Till we meet again a very Happy Diwali !!!! :) Adios Amigos..)

The Radio

2011-09-05T20:27:00.001+05:30

Timeless melodies enthralling,
Humming hearts and many ears,
Engaging in a conversation that is beyond words.

Rhythms of love, life, laughter, loneliness in random order or,
Arranged and always aloud.
Demanded or dictated by moody denizens of a well known red abode.
In house juggler on the call, and the show is on,but
Only for the love of music, memories and mellow musings.

Written on 4th September, 2011.

(The Radio is the internal Lan radio I play in my campus and have had a amazing experience doing so. When I started someone asked me to change the name because it was to simple and direct playing The Radio on the Lan radio but way it caught on in campus it soon became THE Radio of the campus. I have earned many friends through it just discussing music on our internal messenger and many fans. I can be unabashedly immodest about one thing in life and that is The Radio. People have met me and said thank you for making their days more fun, or that they remain on campus just because The Radio is on. Once I had one listener ring me up and hum a tune of a song just played so that I can play it again. It took me some time to figure it out but well it was good fun. Now days are close when The Radio will close shop but till that time enjoy listening and a big thank you to everyone out there who ever listened to The Radio. I had a time of my life playing it. Signing off for now till next time take care !!! :) )

The Art of Accepting Gifts

2011-07-29T04:15:00.001+05:30

If the first thought in your mind while taking a gift is "Why ?? and not WOW !!!! then you need to learn the art. You think "Oh god, I have to return the favour in equal measure if not more" then join fast. I used the word taking not accepting because if you accept, then you make it your own with your heart, with all the love and respect and you feel happy and not obliged. Gone are the days when a simple parle-g biscuit packet untidily packed gave so much pleasure ( true story by the way ..you heard it from the acceptor's mouth). Now it is just calculation about the money and more so the comparison and the equality (not of the good kind) of what the current receiver previously gave you. Not a thought is given to the love and affection behind the gift. But the giver is also not above all this and it may not be you and you might be responding or reacting to someone else's (coining a new term ..*drum roll*) calculative gift. It has become a game of one-up- man-ship. "Uska gift mere gift se bada kaise?" *Sigh* innocence is over ..so the joy of gifts is only for the young that too below 7 years because after that I guess they do take part in their parents discussions as to what to give their friends.
"व्यवहार" or social obligation or conduct has taken over the art of gifting. Sometimes it is required to done in the social spectrum among relatives. Ok I agree always but it can be reduced and removed if people want. But व्यवहार among friends is beyond my comprehension. And not among casual friends but good friends. Who gave what, for how much, and what should be given back. Lets not even get started on combined gifts. Such a mess !!!!
Actually this blog is about me if by now you have not realized I am just taking out my frustration but of course regarding gifts only. I love giving gifts as much as I love receiving them. People think and say too that I accept anything and should have no problem in that. Good thing or bad or pathetic...I don't know. But I accept any gift with all the love and thought I give gifts. The overriding motive behind my gifts to people is they remember me by it. I am basically a memory and nostalgia collector so I try to give the memories to others. Joy and happiness too. It is still such fun to open the wrapper ...
I know people who do not believe in either receiving or giving gifts. Well they have a stated and publicly declared policy ..good that's clear. But try giving them a gift, it is addictive I tell you who does not like to be surprised :). Guys specially non-boyfriends dont believe in giving gifts specially to girls on their own combined maybe and among their guy gang possible. Boyfriends do not have a option poor souls !!! but I know boyfriends who don't give gifts as well they might be in deep trouble ;). But then again it is given that he has to give why ?? well the girl also gives ok.. but why necessary? I can hear people say 'you have not been in a relationship' So it is girl thing well not exactly but mostly.
Let me hazard a generalization without fearing a backlash. Girls give gifts among friends and when they are friends mostly and guys when they start earning and to show off their money mostly in social settings maybe among friends too. But I seriously envy the freedom with which guys walk into any party and wedding without carrying a gift and they don't disappoint anyone because that is expected behaviour. Now I am in serious trouble with my gender.
Jokes apart would really request elders to accept gifts from their juniors because when they gift you something they feel proud about it and also happy that they are giving or trying to give you as much happiness as you gave them. Friends ..chill dude and dudettes seriously please. Those who do not believe in either giving or receiving gifts please state your preference clearly not only verbally but in writing as well be it birthdays or marriages or mundans and others please respect it if not the verbal then the written word is sacred. And most importantly if I give you a gift accept it with joy because that is what I was trying to give you and in return give me a memory of good times spent with you and I will cherish it. (Well a gift will do just fine too :) )

Written on 29th July, 2011.

( The title is from a Reader's Digest article which I really liked and cannot find anywhere now. It was beautifully written and said that not only giving gifts but accepting them was also important. I am tired of explaining why I give gifts or giving this one in particular. I like to see the joy on people's face but all I see is question marks. I have to fight to give gifts seriously.. !!! Just realized this could have been the blog short and sweet. But if you are here then you read it anyways :D. This is my third prose blog and two blogs have been old poems one mine and one someone else's so only three original poems till now. Three poems in seven months I need a mid course corrections lets hope that happens. Till we meet again...Happy Teej, and Rakshabandhan. :) )

Duniya mein do type ke...

2011-07-13T01:39:00.001+05:30

Incident One : Caught a radio auto for the railway station. Reached station. Got out to pay the fare. While taking out the money hit forehead with hand and touched a already hurting insect bite. Let out a rather loud cry of pain. The auto driver looked up with concern and asked what happened. Explained just a insect bite. He checked the auto for any luggage or item left behind and nodded his head. Said thank you and moved on.

Incident Two: Do not use a pillow while sleeping. The pillow during train journeys usually end being put behind acting as head rest for the bed. In the 2 A compartment a young guy walked up coolly picked the pillow from behind head and walked away. By the time realization hit he was gone. Boiled with anger. Did nothing. Imagined a good fight in mind. Frustrated. Remembered incident one. Took a deep breath.

Small inconsequential things. Just one question of concern. Just a damn dirty railway pillow.

Written on 13th July, 2011.

(The title is a dialogue from the film Hum from a very famous drunk scene. Black, white or grey you decide or of no consequence you decide. Missed out June's post so this one for June. Hopefully will write another one this month. Till then Happy Monsoons !!!! :) )

साक्षात्कार

2011-05-31T01:50:00.000+05:30

तारों के जंगल में अभियंता का घर

अन्दर जाने के लिए घंटी बजायी

तो कहीं से आवाज़ आई

'स्वागत है '

आसपास कोई न था

तोह क्या यह मेरा भ्रम था

नहीं साहब यह घंटी ही बोली थी

अभियंता के गहर की जो थी

अन्दर जाने में लगा डर

कहीं दरवाज़े ने हाथ मिलाया

और खिड़की ने मुस्काया

पर अपना प्रण हमे याद आया

आज उनसे मिलकर साक्षात्कार लेना ही था

भीतर का दृश्य बड़ा अदभुत था

न कुर्सी, न मेज़, न कालीन, न गलीचा था

कमरा ऐसे खली था जैसे किसी

भिखारी की खाने की थाली था

हम आश्चर्य से थे दंग

तभी हमारा ध्यान हुआ भंग

वहि आवाज़ हमारे परिचय की अभिलाषी थी

अपनी तारीफ़ में हमने बताया

एक अख़बार से सम्बन्ध है

यह कह कर हम हो गए चुप

तभी एक द्वार खुला जिसके अन्दर अँधेरा था घुप्प

हम धड़कते दिल से चल दिए उस ओर

लगा कि पता बतने वाले ने हमे गलत दिया मोड़
चलते चलते पहुंचे जब हम एक स्थान
धड़ाम से गिरते चले गए जाने किस धाम
ईश्वर का हमने लिया नाम
अपने प्रिये जानो को किया अंतिम प्रणाम
सोच लिया था कि अब यह हमारा आखिरी समय है
लेकिन अभी हमारी जीवन यात्रा बची थी
शायद इसलिए भाग्य को हम पर कृपा हुई
और हमारे प्राणों की रक्षा हुई

हमारे सब्र का बांध बस अब टूटने ही वाला था

यह कोई साक्षात्कार था या हमारे संपादक का प्रतिकार
आज बच गए तो सबको देख लेगे
येही सोच कर हम आगे बढ़े थे
उस घडी को हम नहीं पाएंगे भूल
जिसको देख कर हम हर्ष से गए थे फूल
हमारे समक्ष वह कक्ष था जो अभियंता के अविष्कारों से भरा था

वह अभियंता तथा वैज्ञानिक भी थे

परन्तु दिखते वह किसी चिड़ियाघर के नमूने थे

उनकी आधी बातें तोह हमारे सर के ऊपर से निकल गयी दूर

कितनी हमने लिखी कितनी कानों के सफ़र से बहार हो गयी

हम उनके अविष्कारों को समझने में असमर्थ थे

और वह हमारी इस विवशता से अनभिज्ञ थे

जब उनसे लिया गया समय हुआ समाप्त

तो हमे खुली हवा में जाने का सुख होने वाला था प्राप्त

हम फिर उसी राह से लौटने पर घबराये

और अनुरोध कर एक दुसरे मार्ग का पता पाए

पर वह मार्ग तोह पहले से अधिक यम का दूत था

हम वहां से बहार कैसे आये यह हमारी बहादुरी का सबूत था

मन ही मन राम को करते प्रणाम

कुछ बाते हमने मन में ली ठान

सबसे पहले अपने संपादक से लेंगे इस विश्वासघात का सार

फिर समाचार पत्र की इस नौकरी का करेंगे तिरस्कार

और जीवन में अब कभी किसी अभियंता का न लेंगे साक्षात्कार

Written in 1995.

( Was completely blank this month about which poem to write, so dug out an old poem to share. One of my very few Hindi poems. Had written it in class IX and it was published in the school magazine also. Till next time ..प्रणाम :) )

Surrender and you win..

2011-04-21T15:25:00.002+05:30

She slips through your grasp,
Making you wonder when she will come back.
She eludes and evades all ensnares,
Mocking at your weak attempts to entice her.
She peeks from behind clouds of dreams,
Muddling your thoughts and making you mad.
She runs and laughs, stops and giggles,
Mischievous like a naughty girl.
Surrendering to her tantrums is the last resort you think..,
May be she accepts your defeat and takes your head as a prize.
She sneaks in quietly, still lurking furtively in the corridors of your hazy thoughts,
Making sure you have given up the fight to take her over.
She likes to conquer you see,
Make her fight and she quietly withdraws.
Sleep believes in nonviolence and pacifist ways, thats why;
Me, you and everyone waits for that peaceful sleep.

Written on 21st April, 2011.

(Sleep the elusive slippery smart customer.. never comes when you most need it ..and completely abandons you when you will it to come or make an effort to have her.. surrender , beg and give up the fight then she comes .. The blog completed its two years, two days ago on 19th April.. so a double post to celebrate it !! Thank you for reading .. until later..Sleep Well !!!! :) )

Hain Kya Hua ..Kya Hua .. ??

2011-04-15T16:43:00.000+05:30

Hain Kya Hua ..kya hua ..

Ekakani Natak ..

Jagah: Ek colony ke park ki bench par

Patra : 2 adher umar ke vyakti jo har baat pe gyan dete hain aur dikhate hain ki who kitna jaante hain ..

Samay: Sham ek yahi 7 baj rahe hain

Patra 2: bathe kuch soch rahe hain ..unke chehre par sawaal ke sign ..

Patra 1: unki oor aate hue ..ruk kar bolte hain ..

Patra 1 : hain kya hua ?

Patra 2 : kya hua?

Patra 1: yeh sawaalon se bhare chehre ka matlab ?

Patra 2 : dimag ki batti gul hai kuch vichar nahin aa rahe

Patra 1 : ohh ho accha accha power supply down hai lagta .. power station check kariye

Patra 2 : haan major fault hai udhar govt ko tax nahin dene se power ban ho gaya hai poore rajya ka

Patra 1 : tax bahriye zurmane ke saath.. kuch rishwat khilaye , power aa jayige

Patra 2: khilane ke liye to nahin hai.. pila sakte hain

P1 : aree toh pila hi dijiye

P2 : par soch rahe the koi gair-paramparik urja source par kyun nahin dhyan kendrit kiya jaye

P1: aree pehle asal wali power toh layiee phir ..gair paramparik urja par kaam kariye

insaan saans toh lega na bhala khaye kuch bhi

P2: nahin aap sochen jab amrika ne humare nuclear test ke baad ban lagaya tha to humne bahut creativity dikhayi thi aur self-sustaain ho gaye the ...aap atalji se pooch le

P1: yeh acchi baat nahi hai .. jo baat ho woh aap secular non secular par laa ke khada kar dete hain ..

P2 :baat to emergency se shuru hoti hai

P1: baat tab shuru hoti hai ki jab gandhiji ne calutta mein staygarha kiya tha dange rokne ke liye

P2: main to kehta hoon yahan bhi reinessance jaisa kuch hona chahiye.. ye lokpal ek achhi shuruat hai..rom rom me rome bas sakta hai yahan bhi

(P1 khudte hue mann mein sochte hain..accha abhi itaaly se wapas aaye toh shaan dikha rahe.. abhi batata huun )

P1: dekha yeh italy ke log sab jagah pehle hue hain .. hamrare upar raj karna chahte hain

apni roman empire to dedh gayi … soni ki chidiya hi dikhti hai abhi bas

P2: aajkal waise bhi sabhyata to rahi nahin ..hum aap to bas ghoom phir ke haath aur kamal ke beech me ghoom rahe hain bas

P1 : aree kya baat keh di apne ..bas haath kamal to pyar se pakad le.. toh gandhiji ka sapna sach ho jaye

P2 : aji gandhi ji ke to bahut sapne the.. unme se kuch shayad amsterdam me sach hote honge

P1: haan jaise hamam mein sab ......hote hain waise sauna mein bhi sab ... hote honge

P2: aree hamam se yaad aaya ..mujhe nahana hai .. nahi aap toh jaante hain Sarla khana nahi khane degi.. chaliye chalat hain .. tata

P1: tata tata…

P1 aur P2 apne apne gharoon jaate hue .. manch ki lights dheemi hoti hain…

……………………………….Parda girta hai ……………………………………………………..

Written ..rather created and inspired on 14th April 2011

( This conversation was inspired by a conversation between two friends where the discussion thread jumped hoops from one track to another and made no sense. When we converse we love toshow others how much we know and how clever arguments we can make.. but sometimes its turns absurd but hilarious. I thought of using the Devanagari script but them thought ki roman script will give a nice feel to this natak. Chaliye abhi chalat hain phir mulakat hogi.:) )

Leisure

2011-03-15T22:45:00.000+05:30

What is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.

No time to stand beneath the boughs
And stare as long as sheep or cows.

No time to see, when woods we pass,
Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.

No time to see, in broad daylight,
Streams full of stars, like skies at night.

No time to turn at Beauty's glance,
And watch her feet, how they can dance.

No time to wait till her mouth can
Enrich that smile her eyes began.

A poor life this if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.

By William Henry Davies.

(Discovered this poem in conversation with friends. Life's small pleasures which we forget.. !! )

I Can..Can You ? Epilogue

2011-02-28T23:57:00.001+05:30

Some days have passed,
Unassuming yet unbridled with joy.
Nothing has changed, yet everything has.
Songs, all of them make sense !!
Hearts, hopes and hands are linked.
In a circle of life, love and friendship.
Nights are brighter and days shorter.
Everlasting and forever.

Written on 28 February, 2011.

(Initially wanted to write a longer poem but thought should end this short and sweet. So here is the end of the love story .. Happy wala.. If you want to read the first 2 parts then go here Part 1 Part 2. So long then .. Hasta la vista.. !! :) )

I Can..Can You ? Reprise

2011-01-31T03:05:00.000+05:30

I see you walking behind someone,

Looking down on the road,

Mumbling as usual.

He stops, taps your head and smiles at you*.

You light up.

I blink and walk away.

You wave at me, catching my eye.

Hop, never walk towards me.

Throwing your head back, laughing.

A smile has made you happy.

The sunlight catches in your hair,

Golden brown..shimmering you glow.

And blow me away.

I see your heart chipping away.

I want to pick up all those pieces and build us a dream.

You still look up at the sun smiling**.

Such strength !!

I sit down , resenting ..and defeated.

Ruffling my hair, you shake your head at my scowl.

You pull of a tuft to lift my head, my spirits.

I give a mock cry.

But my eyes water ..with pain.. real.

Your eyes huge with concern, so deep and glistening,

Bore into my soul, searching.

I get lost !

You find me, you frown, you look away..

I take your hand to get up.

Thinking, you look down at our hands.

Yours has disappeared in mine the way you like.

I look at you , speaking without saying,

I don't want a promise, or a bond, or this world or any other.

Hold my hand and walk with me,

I can.. can you ?

Written on 31st January, 2011.

( First of all a very Happy New Year !!! :) Thankfully did this month's post in time. This is from the guy's perspective, the third of the kind and first sequel poem. I can ..can you part II. You might want to read the first part * and also the other reference to my other poem She Smiled ** The love story continues.. more when we meet again.. Adios amigos !! )

Airports

2010-12-30T03:37:00.001+05:30

Among the sea of faces, you search for your face with,
Irises widened with joy and moist with tears of joy.
Running open armed like the ship you just debarked from,
Pushing aside black, white, brown bags and baggage.
Overcoming the multiple obstacles marathon, and
Rounding up all the scattered possessions.
Travel tired , taste buds on verge of collapse, and trip tourney on mind, leaving
Surf , sand and snow behind .. crashing into those lovely bones ..you are home !!

Written on 30th December, 2010.

( I had my fair share of airports these past few days and they are delightful places not only because of all the duty free shops but the variety of human experiences you get to witness.For someone who likes to observe people it was great fun. I saw tears of sadness, joy and love, and you can spend hours just watching. Till we meet again .. a very Happy New Year .. Hope it brings joy to all your lives. Adios !! :)

The Case of Case Writing

2010-11-15T14:16:00.000+05:30

We went to the street,
To follow a lead.
Some hit the jackpot,
Some failed to get a slot.

Then the transition came from field to data,
Where we floundered in the now and was is.
Impressed as we were with the entrepreneur,
There was time when there were delays due to busy schedules.

Egos were deflated, advices given but not taken.
Some were lost in translation or trapped in protocols.
From long conversations- half in mind and half on screen.
Came out a case which added to our KASH.*

Hope we get a green signal,
To put it in spiral binding.
And enter a class one day and say.
This case written by my batchmate,
Tells you how to manage the customers and their tastes.

written in April 2008.

( This is for all those PhD scholars out there and for those who aren't too. It was written in my second year of FPM here in IIM A when we had a course on management teaching where we had to write a case with a decision problem for class teaching. It was great fun doing it. My first academic work. I wrote it along with Dada (Bhaskar Bhowmick) my batch mate from the strategy area. We got it registered in the IIM A case repository also, all thanks to his efforts actually !! This poem was written in the last class on the last page of my register while others were presenting !! :) and after a long long time ..actually rediscovered my writing skills during writing this poem. The poem describes our journey from the field to the case when we went out randomly on the streets to search for a lead. Some went to restaurants, paanwallas, chaiwallas and the likes.. Our professor told us to just go walk the streets and discover some interesting leads. He recounted his days as a consultant when he used to leave a poem behind on the desk of the CEO after completing his assignment based on his experiences of the project. This inspired me to write and I read it in class too. It added to my *KASH i.e. Knowledge, Attitude, Skills and Habit too !!!!!!! :) So long then .. Hasta Pronto !! )

Je Me Mi ....

2010-11-01T01:21:00.000+05:30

Scarlet red and Inky blue,

Green trees and Primrose hues.

Glassy lakes and Frothy streams,

Crunchy snow and Scented expanses.

Long tresses over flowing dresses,

Elegant band around the wrist telling time.

Wordy new worlds in my hand,and

Tricky questions to expand.

Lyrical melodies through the night,

Playing keys of black and white.

Looking at life through pinholes,

Travelling afar happily burning soles.

Celluloid dreams and

Piping hot steam from mi madre's dishes.

Cups of memories and full of brown succor too..

and, Lengthy sessions of loquacity.

Putting together imagination in parts and,

The small picture, things and moments.

Peeping from behind the fluffy white the lovely disc of love,

All that I wrote above and how ..

I love.

Written on November 1, 2010.

( Ok so even for me deadlines mean nothing .. and I am late by an hour and fifteen minutes for the October poem. Kudos to me. But here is it ... My favourite things and those which I love to do. My birthday present to me. Till we meet next ..Happy Deewali !! :) )

Links of Life

2010-10-01T05:26:00.001+05:30

Small hand wrapped around a finger.

It pulls up small legs on their feet.

Catch them when they trip.

Small hands hug on tight after a fall.

The fingers.. now all on call embrace, encircle, ensconce.

Links of love.

Sweaty palms, high fives and down lows.

Holding on edge to edge, wrist to tip.

Round and round they trip and slip.

Back slaps, pats and punches.

Caress on cheeks , ruffling hair and fingers on lips.

Links of joy, of friendship.

Folded palms, or hands raised in prayer,

Fingers crossed or making the cross.

Hands on heads giving blessings all across.

Links of hope.

Hands raised in greeting , or a chance meeting.

Sometimes raised in anger or regret.

Or to take on the world with just a closed fist.

With nothing in them only destiny and grit,

And the will to reach the final tryst.

Links of life.

Written on 1st October, 2010.

( In the 18 months of this blog this is the first time I have been late in posting the monthly poem/post. Sorry about that !!! This is the September poem. Hands... so many gestures ..so many expressions and feelings. My favourite.. when a baby holds on to your finger. Her whole being around that one appendage of the whole human body, and as I had mentioned in my last poem a hand disappearing in another in love :) Till then ..and this time we meet sooner within this month. My month !! :) )

I Can ..Can You ?

2010-08-24T10:59:00.002+05:30

I break my own heart everytime,
Build sand castles and raze them to the ground.
Write my life story and erase it each time,
I dream and wake up again and again.

I listen to everything you say,
Hear that too, which you don't.
I live by your smile and,
Die everyday.

I collect things and surround myself with them,

Colourful, beautiful and bright.

You call me the 'material girl',

But they are only to fill spaces and crowd you out.

I look at you and see you looking back at me,
Hoping you would read what my eyes are trying to say.
I look down, look away and blink,
Scared of the happy possibilities.
While you complement me on the brightness of my eyes.

I like the way my hand disappears in yours in a shake,
Holding on I walk the line far ahead in the future.
Only to be brought back by your head shaking with mild amusement,
At my absentminded glazed look.

I fight with you, argue and say clever things,
Pout and be petulant and peevish.
Be jealous, possessive and shed angry tears.
All this and more, while walking a step behind.. silently.
You tap my head to look for me , 'lost are you?' you smile and say.

All world's a stage and, I am the best actress.
I am having the time of my life and yet in this mad merry muddle medley,
I miss you, though you are beside me.
I don't want a promise, or a bond, or this world or any other.
Hold my hand and walk with me,
I can.. can you ?

Written 24th August, 2010.

(So finally a Can poem or rather the Can poem. There are some tributes in the poem to my favourite songs and favourite lines in songs. For e.g. Walk the line by Johnny Cash; ' क्या गिला हम करे वोह बेवफा भी नहीं, हमने वोह सुन लिया उसने कहा भी नहीं .. Pyar kar from Dil toh Pagal Hai; ' घडी देखि थी तोह उसने अपना हाथ रख दिया था उसपे, कितने बड़ा हाथ था उसका, उसकी दोनों कलाईयाँ बंद हो जाया करती थी उसमे, lock हो जाती थी' ... Aasmani Rang from Sunset Point; मुख़्तसर सी बात है तुमसे प्यार है .. Tum Pukar lo from Khamoshi. इसके आगे हम , और क्या कहे जानम समझा करो !!! :) )

For Better or Worse ...For More or Less...

2010-07-16T15:03:00.002+05:30

Lashing tongues, loud and tense;

Overloading the already taut nerves.

Venting out vitriol, they hoist shallow vain between them.

Everlasting and forever.

Anger ebbs and flows.. dissolves in tears.

Near the end, they look at the beginning.

Down memory lane they walk, hands wringing.

Halting at moments..memorable and mundane.

Again and again their eyes look.. and they listen,

Together to the music of their own hearts.

Everlasting and forever.

Written on 16th July, 2010.

( This poem is dedicated to a little angle who's in need of a lot of love and best wishes .. and who celebrates her first b'day without her parents today !!!!!!!! :( For more love in this world , more understanding and more.. just humanness.. I looked at my diary toady where I note down b'days and anniversaries and I saw that I have struck out two marriage anniversaries of friends' ..one because of differences between them , and one was torn apart due to tragedy. One could have been an anniversary .. but was not to be. Love junta love, be more patient and listen more, talk less. Few minutes of listening time you give to another soul might just be the one thing they were looking for. Be more accepting of the idiosyncrasies of people around you because no one is there to match your criteria of what people should be like, and how they should live. There is a far better authority doing it since time came into being. You may say its difficult..but it is not.. just do what you would want the other person to do unto you. I try to do it and truthfully have succeeded quite a bit. This all might seem preachy to you but it is truly heartfelt. Inspiration came from a forward I got where the Washington Post had asked for two rhyming lines, the first one romantic and the other one least romantic. So it got me thinking that love and hate go together and you have to choose between the two. Do notice the how each line starts...And have more Saffola .. "teri dil ki baat main jaanu" :))

Onomatopoetical Water !!!!!!

2010-06-18T04:29:00.000+05:30

Clap of thunder and its due,

It falls on cue.

Crackle of lightning lights its way,

And day becomes night and night day.

Black clouds bang their heads together,

The clanging makes many hearts go asunder.

Heavens are filled with numerous galloping steads,

Following the grand maestro's lead.

It drips, then drizzles.

Drops and sizzles ...on the parched land.

A droning deluge, it waves its magic wand,

Leaving no stone unturned,

Or any space free from squelching mulch grand.

Pitter patter on the terrace, plunking on rooftops,

Spinning like cartwheels; its hard to stop.

Its gushes to meet the sinewy spring,

Making it strong and with watery wings.

And, the gurgling brooks get a second look.

The trees dance to their leaves strummed like guitar string.

Cascading down vales and valleys,

It joins in the merry din.

Bobbing heads, shake off the beads of melted white,

Squealing with laughter and jumping in pools of fun and fight.

Shivering fingers find warm hands,

Stealing looks of joy, and;

Writing silly notes on wet sand.

It washes away tears of many,

Unseen, unheard by any.

There is overflow of mirth and laughter,

Of joy and pleasure.

Hearts meet and run free,

Reminding of times gone down some busy street.

It then is shushed and hushed,

To a murmur; as the heavens above go for a slumber.

And the skies open up to a new light,

Which wakes up the earth with new sight.

Written on 18th June,2010.

(Rains.. beautiful, mesmerizing, musical, and melodious. I like watching the rain and not getting wet in it, to the surprise, and disappointment of many. Well what can I say .. one of the blissful thing would be to have a great novel in hand, a warm cup of tea in another and sitting on a cushioned wide window sill .. better still inside beautiful French windows and just watching the rain and reading. And remember the nursery rhyme 'I hear thunder ....pitter patter raindrops...' Happy Monsoons !!!!!!!! :) )

My Beloved Eve

2010-05-19T23:38:00.001+05:30

Every day I wait for you keeping a,
Vigil through the smelting heat of summer time, till you arrive.
Everything stands still, though the sun is out but my day never begins.
Noting each minute as it passes; I wait till you descend to my abode,
resplendent in twinkling black sight.
I welcome you with open arms.
Never to let you go, till the day do us apart, but as all,
Good things must come to an end,
So must you, my dear evening, fade into the morn and say goodnight.

Written on 19th May, 2010

(Short and sweet !! The fastest poem I have ever written. Thats because the story idea was given by a friend who was frustrated with the heat and imagined the evening as a girl and I wrote the script !! :) The concept of evening as a girl, who comes late, stays for a short time and you want her to stay longer yet she goes even before you realize she is gone.This is the second poem from a guy's perspective. The first one was 'I see the world through you' . Till we meet again !! )

The Moon Talk ...

2010-04-26T00:58:00.145+05:30

'Dynasties have fought under my banner,

Providing cool succor to parched souls in a loving manner.

I am the favourite uncle, friend, guide and messenger,

Mirror of love and manna from heaven for wives dying of hunger !!'

Thus spake the shimmering shingle of white,

Lazily laid back in his throne.. fluffy and light.

Looking at the mortals in life's boring drone,

He goes on to tell tales from his heavy tome.

'When children pout and cry,
Mothers tell my stories and make their sorrows fly.
When young love misses a heartbeat,

They call on my services to deliver the love sheet.

A girl looks up to me always and smiles,

Wondering how I change my shape without a diet and walking miles'.

'Paeans, parchments,poems and numerous pens,

Have been spent on writing about my abode above the glen.

Examples of my beauty are given,

And sometimes used to describe many a luminous maiden'.

He then turns around and goes to sleep ..you think,

But wakes up all the way round the world to drink.

On life, love and longing once again,

And begin..

The cycle of birth and death, waxing and waning

You might feel a tinge of sadness in the voice,

But the glistening halo dispels all darkness and spreads joy.

It follows our mother with care of that a big brother.

Sometimes coming in between her and a hot headed intruder.

'Its a lonely life', he sighs.

But there are perks on being up in the sky.

'Watching and laughing on all the drama below,

Getting all the nicknames and love glow.

Then there is that silly bird that is amorous and arduous in attention,

and the girls that wonder about my dietitian's intentions'.

Written on 26th April, 2010.

(Moon.. one of my favourite photography subjects as well as watching subjects... :) Tried funny and rhyming this time.. guess its works. Pics courtesy Sheel http://www.flickr.com/photos/rahulsheel/ )

An Ode to the Blogoem !! *

2010-03-19T03:23:00.001+05:30

A Friend was born in my teens,

She Smiled and the poetic doors of Hall of Life were opened for me.

Building Dreams with my mind, heart and a lot of Labour of Love,

I was happy when my words brought tears of joy to the Mom of the Little Girl.

and then to share with you all, the happiness this blogoem was born.

Traversing far and wide in with my creative lines,

I hope I have taken you on a journey fine.

Where Beyond the Black Silk Curtain love blossoms, and

The Collector of Smiles nourishes it.

And.

When your Footsteps in the Snow becomes weary,

I hope the River that Runs Through Me gives you comfort.

The Blessed Damozel though not one of my creations shows,

how Vulnerable we can be in love,

But I still wait for that someone to say to me not 'I wish I could '..

But ... 'I see the World Through You'

and thus 'Can I Fall in Love?' is forever work in progress.

I desire to have many more Late Night Conversations with you,

Now more often under the cool canopy of The Tree,

what with temperatures rising...and..

Defeat the sometimes allout

Conquest of Liquid Embers where you need a friend, a shoulder, lots of tissue,

And a cup of tea.

Thank you for all the love and praise..

It was not a waste.

It inspired me to go forth and raise the spectre of an

Epiphany so great,

That

I have written some decent poems till date.

* Anniversary Special.

Written on 19th March, 2010.

( The blog celebrates its one year. It was started on 19th April 2009. I would like to thank you all for reading and appreciating my poems. An Ode to the Blogoem (Blog + Poem) has all the poems and one prose on the blog linked and hyper-linked in a form of a poem. If you have not read anyone of those go ahead and read them. I must confess that I did try to write 'Can I fall in Love?' but couldn't and in the effort spent a dozen pages of my diary on it which has never happened before.Maybe a practical experience is required for this one !! :) but in the process did write two romantic poems. So for that I take myself off the hook and I think will not ever do a radio here.. as in saying this poem is coming up !! Well you learn from your mistakes. How has the journey for me been ? Good !! like when I finished Labour of Love in one go and put it up the same night and wrote LNCs completely online. Almost three poems were half done on paper and half online. I prefer paper first because all that cutting and scratching out can only be done there but different mediums have different quirks and I have used both. So thank you all once again till we meet again !! :)

Late Night Conversations....

2010-02-10T03:45:00.001+05:30

Late Night Conversations !!!!

Alight with a trip down memory lane,

Teaming with anecdotes in light vein.

Endless, seamless, limitless..sprinkled with comic presentations.

Night we think, is still young,

Inky blue sky with a dash of yellow, far flung.

Going back and forth, words flow and so do smiles,

High and low on the furrow full of heartbeats, and time measured in miles.

Tea is a treasured friend with many a cup done.

Candid chaffing, comments, compliments and camaraderie,

Oodles of gossip and doodles of ideas fly with flurry.

Near the door, we find more loquacious power,

Veering towards it we pass another hour.

Embers of the night still smolder,

Roaring with laughter we almost cry on each other's shoulders.

Silence sometimes surrounds us, but we

Again pick up the strands of life

To take journey to the future and back.

In between checking and rechecking the hands of time,

Only to share a glance of disbelief and then again

Nod off to another planet, century, universe and place.

So it continues the late night conversations into the night and light of friendship.

Written on 10th February, 2010.

(Started to write this early morning after returning from a late night conversation but could only finish it today. And for a change, started out to write this only rather than something else and finished it. Not one of my best and can be more self deprecating than that, but leave that to you. Vikram Seth's style makes a come back after 7 years I guess... so must have been the seven year itch !! This style requires more poetic license than other as you have to start the sentences with specific letters and lot of back and forth has to be done. LNCs ..love them ..and always wish they never end. But of course they do. Love them more especially there are many of us and laugh like anything and actually double up in laughter .. which is easier for me as I have a habit to throwing my head back and laughing which sometimes takes my chair by surprise and due to the law of inertia when I come back from the head throw I more often than not fall over and pay my allegiance to mother earth !!! I know the next poem was supposed to 'Can I fall in Love' and has been postponed twice was thinking of a Valentine day special. Lets see if i don't sulk too much at the lack of a Valentine ;) then maybe. But don't worry its on the cards. Till then Happy Valentines Day !!!!! Keep the conversation going ..its important for any relationship.)

The Collector of Smiles *

2010-01-25T05:14:00.002+05:30

"Fool !!!!! " , he cries out

Not in agony for lying on the bed of arrows,

Created by his favourite son.

But for not collecting that one smile,

The one most beautiful and mesmerizing.

The one which would have made him choose life and not death,

Today !!

He had a choice.

He is the grand sire of the mighty nation.

He is, was ..the collector of smiles.

He closes his eyes to the world,

Tired of the looks of sheer disbelief at his fallen visage.

He closes to those gathered all around him.

For knowledge , wisdom , and truth.

He is the fountain, the foundation, the force behind the grand plan of the nation.

Spouting forth the mantras of leading, ruling, conquest and guiles.

But not never of love, life ...and smiles..

He closes and crosses over.

Over the fields of death,

Courts of intrigue,

Palaces of opulence.

Times of building empires,

Of standing behind power and not ....

Defacto and not dejure.

"Ha" ,a mockery, he thinks,

Thats what his life was defacto .. never real, never his.

To a meadow of green and glen,

Of primroses and sun.

He sees a galloping steed, white with speed

And a knight.

Coming for that look,

That song,

That smile.

It is he, to see Her.

He collected the smiles.

The shy ones, which reached his eyes by the time she lifted hers.

The knowing ones, when both smiled together.

The happy ones, when everything glowed in their warmth.

The sad ones, cold yet comforting.

The just like that ones.

The teasing ones, and pleading ones.

The petulant ones and reluctant ones.

But that one smile which would have said it all.

The one he could have lived and died by.

He did not collect that one.

One that she was ready to give, waiting to give ..waited to give.

He lived ..death wasn't an option.

He opens his eyes.

All around are broken minds and bodies.

Hurting hearts.

He calls them closer.

And smiles.

It breaks forth through the mist of gloom.

"Collect smiles", he breathes his last.

They smile hesitantly then with understanding.

Written on 25th January , 2010.

* Fictional account of Devavratha son of Shantanu & Ganga also known as Bhishma Pitamaha.

(What if Bhishma Pitamaha was in love ? He could not do anything about it, because of his vow of serving the throne and life of celibacy. But what if ? It was very interesting how i came up with this idea. Don't remember the whole thing but started out with writing 'Can I fall in love' to a girl reading a love story to the fairy tale of knight in shining armour to someone reminiscing about lost love to this ..or something like that. Did think of ending the poem by the girl closing the book and asking can she fall in love ..but thought the better of it . Now thinking doing a sequel to this poem where the girl reading the story says her part. Lets see.. BTW I think you all were very fortunately spared of the poem 'trouble in fairyland' where all the heroines have neck, back, shoulder pains and this causes their heroes trouble no end mirroring my own neck, back and shoulder pain. Thought it would be very funny but I don't think so now. Well till next time ..and this poem took a long time in writing but here it is. )

Beyond the Black Silk Curtain

2009-12-20T03:23:00.001+05:30

The flame flickers and,

Falls on the twirling muslin.

The candle waxes,

Telling time of the passing aeons in seconds.

She looks up, with

Eyes, doe eyes.

Looking from behind the curtain of black silk.

The eyes catch the flecks of light,

The starlight.

The moonlight.

Like two mirrors, like glassy ponds.

Like a sunflower.

He looks at them.

In them, with wonderment.

Like a child looks at his first rainbow.

He tries to part the silky screen.

She blinks.

She blushes.

She is the sun now, setting and crimson.

The leaves sigh ....

Her feet tinkle with music,

His laughter jingles.

These light rhythms swirl around in the cup of time,

Endless, passing yet still.

Witnessing their unsure steps,

Listening to their unsaid words,

Shaky breath,

Tremulous heartbeat.

Unspoken yet unyielding love.

There is a sudden gush of chill,

The flame flickers violently,

goes out.

Cold brittle fingers tear the curtain apart.

Black on black.

Scraping the silk.

The spell is broken.

The leaves stab.

The eyes are haunted, hunted.

The muslin bristles.

Crimson sun oozes blood.

The Love is unyielding and declared.

Cup of time brims over.

The lights twinkle now.

Their yellowish haze, falls on two silhouettes.

Talking and chattering.

Their laughter echoing all around.

Time thinks its different,

Yet its the same.

Beyond the black silk curtain,

Eyes, doe eyes..

Still look from behind them.

He still sees the rainbow.

Spoken now, still

Love is unyielding.

Written on 20th December, 2009.

{Again started out to write something else from a historical to a love story to how people fall in love which became love over the ages. Hope that comes across. The writing process is very interesting and a poem once a month makes it more so. The poem is a bit filmy , don't you think so ?? :) It is said and felt that love and its expression was very subtle in the past. Films, books and our parents :) tell us so and today its more loud, confident and out there in the open. And yet love is the same and still there is that shyness factor (see Hitch) and that mushy factor ..SRK eyes !!!!!! *sigh* ;) How do people fall in love? That one step a person takes to allow the other to enter their lives, hearts and minds. Maybe I have never been in love that is why am asking these questions. Have come close yet found very difficult to let go. Take that leap of faith. Is that it a leap of faith ?? "You complete me" or " I am complete in myself and don't need anyone to that for me" which one is it ?? Questions , questions. " Can I fall in love? " coming up !!!!!!!! ;) }

The Conquest of Liquid Embers

2009-11-19T22:53:00.002+05:30

I push back the trespassers within their boundaries,

They refuse, they struggle,

They get out.

They strangle my throat, crush my heart,

Steal my breath.

Growing thorns on the way up.

They conquer by rolling hot liquid embers down my facade.

I try to hide my defeat,
The world is watching I tell them.
I beseech; I plead; I beg them to retreat.
But,
They are stubborn, adamant and uncouth.
Smugly reveling in their triumphant rampage.

They claim to have overcome huge barriers to reach this far.
Barriers of fine deception,
Of chaotic composure.
The flagmarch of rebuttals refusing remorse.
And the shoot on sight order,
For errant emotions; the trespassers' partners in crime.

They remind me of times when I allowed them to run amok,
Falling, gushing, running all over.
'Those were different times' I say,
When their victory was not my defeat,
But the only way I could tell the world of my triumph in love, life, living.

They snigger and smirk and continue their riot.
I raise my hand to beat them away.
My fingertips are wet when I touch their small souls.
I destroy them yet they have won.
They are mine, yet leave me behind.
My tears....

Written on 19th November, 2009.

(I had set out to write something different ended up with this poem. Again full of allusions and allegories. Tears and crying in writing fascinate me, especially in Hindi film songs, beautiful lyrics there. One of my favorite is from the Mere haath mein from Fanaa "rone de aaj humko do aansoon bahane de... " This is my second poem on tears the first being Hall of Life http://halloflife.blogspot.com/2009/04/i-dont-cry.html)

A River Runs Through Me

2009-10-29T19:44:00.001+05:30

A river runs through me.

Winding through the brunt bricks of time,

Turning at right angles of centuries,

Carrying the waters of afar lands of wisdom and knowledge.

It meanders among the rich hues of cultures;

Taking the colors of change and giving its soothing touch.

Accepting offerings of hope, dreams and wishes of the throngs of generations at its sides.

It gives cool succor to the parched souls,

And washes away some of their imperfections.

It has seen ages of golden lights, and bloody fights,

It has passed through valleys of milk and honey ;

And

Through silent villages of death.

It has quenched the thirst of wanderers of life, and;

Sometimes,

Doused the fires of several lives torn apart.

It courses through me,

Falling from the mouth of creation, till the end of time.

It has given the rhythm to my heart to beat with the music of life;

The strength in my sinew to battle my fears;

The fluid tenacity in my limbs to walk afar pursuing my dreams.

And,

The wisdom of all my progenitors past.

The river grows old.

It is heavy with load of this earth and beyond.

It meets the vast Oneness and,

Then is born again amid untouched purity and glistening glory.

But its depths still carries the first prayer, the first tear, the first blood and the first word.

On my turning a new corner to the fourth street in life,

And the end of road of one of my grand progenitors,

I ask myself Can I pass away ?

I hear the gurgling of sounds beyond and I remember.

A river runs through me......

Written on 29th October, 2009

(This time my birthday and Diwali were on the same day and everybody including me were looking forward to it. It was after five years that I would be home for my birthday . It was a great day with family and friends. A week later the day I returned back to my campus I received the news that my maternal grandparent had passed away. And I wondered at life's what should I call it circularity.. a week before it was celebration time and then .. Though they say when old people leave us we should not grieve because they have lived a full life and it is time to move on. It is true for my nanaji too. That is when I was reminded of a conversation I had with my friends last year where we were playing with the decision ball and one my friends asked the question "Can I pass away?" and it was interesting to think about it. I had even begun a poem titled with the question. After the recent times I again thought about the question where it struck me that I carry something of my grandparents in me too like I do something of my parents and hence something of everything that has gone by. Therefore the concept of a river which flows over the ages and continues to exist in time though changed and transformed. The river here any of course be any but I had the river Indus in mind as I am fascinated with the Indus valley civilization and the level of progress we had made then. That knowledge surprisingly did not continue down the ages. Some references to the civilization are there in the poem ..short refresher of high school history !!! :) )

Footsteps in the Snow

2009-09-22T02:23:00.169+05:30

She walks through the freshly fallen snow,

Looks back smiling , expecting to see her footsteps.

Her face crumples,

Her throat catches the still wind's numbing wetness.

There is blood.

Red, thick, warm and slick on the snow.

Each footstep is a scarlet pool.

She hears her heart thumping loudly in her mouth.

'She is bleeding !!!! She is bleeding!!!!', she thinks.

No, her feet are fine.

Then Who?, What? How?

Questions she has no answers to.

Then she remembers and runs and runs.

Far away from the red, the scarlet, the slickness.

For it is the snow that is bleeding,

Oozing out the suffering of the depression of the earth once protected by rocky sentries.

She stops only when her bones wanted the earth and her spirit wanted the sky.

But the red river follows her,

Unending, unbending.

Tearless, voiceless,

She raves and rants.

She reaches a forest of dead trees.

Where she can hear the silence,

Where the green leaves are charred,

Where the orange autumn is black,

Where the snow white is red, and,

Where the blue river is filled with dead logs.

She has been here before.

Seen the rock sentries look on mutely,

Heavens far away, disdainful.

The Air still with death.

Choking on blood which is not hers, she falls down.

Silent screams escape her lips and the air stirs.

It howls, from the pain of countless souls,

Traveling on the pilgrimage to light,but;

Fallen treacherously to the terrain, which once went through their backyard,

Into the chasm of darkness.
The pain closes in on her,
Strangling her for breath , for life.

A small bird flutters around,
Trapped between the rocky sentries and aloof skies.
It flutters down and perches on her shoulder.
She flinches at its touch,
Yet finds comfort in its restlessness.
"Stupid bird", she thinks.
Getting tossed and turned by all the elements,
And.
Still trying to fly free.
Is it possible?
Hope.

Possible?
To see the curved wooden floating gardens on the glassy blue mirror,
Carrying all the possible hues and fragrances of the glen.
To see two red apples with two sparkling eyes splitting wit joy !!
To warm hands with the green leaves and sweet brown.
To drink the snow white water at the mouth of nature.

She hopes, She prays.
She smiles.

Written on 22nd September, 2009.

( I have lived in Srinagar, Kashmir Valley for 10 years, from 1980-1990. As they say that the childhood days are best, mine were perfect in the most beautiful place on earth. "Heaven on earth" as one King once said. But we had to leave due to reasons beyond our control, rather we could not come back, as we had gone for our usual winter vacations to my grandparents in Lucknow and the situation got so bad that my parents decided not to return. I couldn't say goodbye , haven't said goodbye.Its our especially my mother's wish to go back once. I know people keep visiting and have good things to say... lets see its like we will get a summon. The poem though sad , hopes for hope. I did think while starting to write that I should write about my life there, but that did not come. Haven't forgotten yet, but as usual the allegories took me along.

The pictures are from the net (do not have the link and I hope haven't violated any copyright). The last photo is of the Nargis flower which has the sweetest smell possible. You can keep it in one corner of the house and in sometime the whole place is filled with its fragrance. My favourite !!!! Flowers grow in abundance there , even a normal home garden literally overflows with them in spring time. Beautiful, absolutely beautiful !!!!!! :) )

The Tree

2009-08-29T18:20:00.019+05:30

The gnarled roots of wisdom,

Ringed with circles of love and longing.

The girdle of strength and determination,

Can encompass more than four arms of joy.

The vales and valleys of wood,

Nestle a whole new world.

Life in all its forms, shapes,sizes,hues and hoots.

The Sun sparkles through the green and brown canopy,

Ricocheting off the springy surfaces,creating a mist of brightness.

Secrets of yore transpire between the,

Azure blue and bottle green.

And twisted lanes of concrete paper,

Bend with the wind's song.

It looks down upon,

Books between two pairs of eyes left unread;

Salinity of labour wafting off tired limbs;

Stories from knobbly hands passing on to pudgy fingers;

and

Wisdom given to pristine minds.

It is beautiful,generous, kind, and warm.

Taking everything in its embrace,

The parching heat,raging storm and

Sometimes the painful shrieks of the mournful heart.

Standing tall and proud,

The umbrella of grandeur mulls its destiny.

How long , before it falls to cold steel,

And not blazing silver?

It wonders.

It will take that too with silent fortitude,

As it has done for the past anons.

Its silent transparent tears will then mingle,

With the dusty brown and moss green.

And somewhere, maybe one pair of eyes,

When rove over the royal blue moving on milky white,

It hopes.

They remember the cool warmth of the,

Green and brown canopy and,

Steady comfort of its' girdle of love.

And.

Ring in the circle of fire to save the destruction of its wisdom.

Written on 29th August, 2009.

(I love trees !!!!!!! They are very beautiful, intriguing , full of secrets and silent conscience keepers. So a tribute to The Tree. And I find this a decent poem, full of allusions and metaphors more than I usually write maybe because I wrote after a long time and many false starts. Would like to explain one thing though the line " Sometimes the painful shrieks of the mournful heart" stems from the scene in Hero Hiralal * Naseerudin Shah and the first and last movie of Sanjana Kapoor where when they are sad they go to a Banyan tree hug it and cry their hearts out . both Dida and I wanted to do that haven't done it yet.

pictures courtesy : Rahul Sheel http://www.flickr.com/photos/rahulsheel/3196516176/ )

The Blessed Damozel

2009-07-16T19:36:00.008+05:30

The Blessed Damozel

By Dante Gabriel Rossetti

1828-1882

THE blessed Damozel lean'd out
         From the gold bar of Heaven:
Her blue grave eyes were deeper much
         Than a deep water, even.
She had three lilies in her hand,
         And the stars in her hair were seven.

Her robe, ungirt from clasp to hem,
         No wrought flowers did adorn,
But a white rose of Mary's gift
         On the neck meetly worn;
And her hair, lying down her back,
         Was yellow like ripe corn.

Herseem'd she scarce had been a day
         One of God's choristers;
The wonder was not yet quite gone
         From that still look of hers;
Albeit, to them she left, her day
         Had counted as ten years.

(To one it is ten years of years:
         ...Yet now, here in this place,
Surely she lean'd o'er me,--her hair
         Fell all about my face....
Nothing: the Autumn-fall of leaves.
         The whole year sets apace.)

It was the terrace of God's house
         That she was standing on,--
By God built over the sheer depth
         In which Space is begun;
So high, that looking downward thence,
         She scarce could see the sun.

It lies from Heaven across the flood
         Of ether, as a bridge.
Beneath, the tides of day and night
         With flame and darkness ridge
The void, as low as where this earth
         Spins like a fretful midge.

But in those tracts, with her, it was
         The peace of utter light
And silence. For no breeze may stir
         Along the steady flight
Of seraphim; no echo there,
         Beyond all depth or height.

Heard hardly, some of her new friends,
         Playing at holy games,
Spake gentle-mouth'd, among themselves,
         Their virginal chaste names;
And the souls, mounting up to God,
         Went by her like thin flames.

And still she bow'd herself, and stoop'd
         Into the vast waste calm;
Till her bosom's pressure must have made
         The bar she lean'd on warm,
And the lilies lay as if asleep
         Along her bended arm.

From the fixt lull of Heaven, she saw
         Time, like a pulse, shake fierce
Through all the worlds. Her gaze still strove,
         In that steep gulf, to pierce
The swarm; and then she spoke, as when
         The stars sang in their spheres.

'I wish that he were come to me,
         For he will come,' she said.
'Have I not pray'd in solemn Heaven?
         On earth, has he not pray'd?
Are not two prayers a perfect strength?
         And shall I feel afraid?

'When round his head the aureole clings,
         And he is clothed in white,
I'll take his hand, and go with him
         To the deep wells of light,
And we will step down as to a stream
         And bathe there in God's sight.

'We two will stand beside that shrine,
         Occult, withheld, untrod,
Whose lamps tremble continually
         With prayer sent up to God;

And see our old prayers, granted, melt
Each like a little cloud.

'We two will lie i' the shadow of
         That living mystic tree
Within whose secret growth the Dove
         Sometimes is felt to be,
While every leaf that His plumes touch
         Saith His name audibly.

'And I myself will teach to him,--
         I myself, lying so,--
The songs I sing here; which his mouth
         Shall pause in, hush'd and slow,
Finding some knowledge at each pause,
         And some new thing to know.'

I read this poem in Class X. I love the part which is highlighted which means that every prayer on earth lights a lamp in heaven and every time that is heard it goes up in smoke. Its so beautiful to imagine hundreds and millions and thousands of lamps. WOW !!!!!! And searching for this poem on the net also taught me a few things. You do find what you are looking for, if you look well. I just remembered the lines I like and that too in simple English not as written by the poet, I did not remember the name of the poem, nor the poet. But I did find it. I remembered i more line the about the girl have seven stars in her hair. Don't ask what all sites and results it got. You might say that in today's world google solves every question but then you need that effort. I think it would have easier to find it in the book. I would have looked up Class X poems , though the syllabus has changed. I did come across my Class Xth Board English paper during the search ... that was something!! Well just wanted to share a poem I liked, for the lack of my own creation. Also like the poem because of its love and loss theme. Its a longer poem than I have posted here. Do not remember reading the whole thing in school. I guess they wanted us to read till the hopeful part. How sweet !!!!! For those who want to read the whole poem the link is given below.

http://www.daypoems.net/poems/720.html

Epiphany

2009-06-19T17:11:00.023+05:30

I had a dentist appointment on Friday 19th June at 2:30pm.. was late and landed at 2:45pm so had to wait. I passed my time by watching t.v. in the waiting lounge which had channel [V] on. Earlier when I had gone India TV was giving breaking news about ghee making in Delhi having animal bones. I saw that for about 15 mins (saying the same thing repetitively) .. really these Hindi news channels (please do not snort and say another pseudo Indian Hindi hater but really..) especially the great India T.V. ... takes the crown, the cake everything ... but this post is not about that .. You know I wrote the blog then and there in the waiting lounge but in my mind of course and thought what if with the all the techie GPS, blue tooth, wifi enabled phone I could have written my blog and posted it then there on the net.. well for the well connected .. but this post is not about that either..

Back to channel [V].. now that the standoff between the multiplexes and the producers is over, got to see to new songs and trailers of the latest films. First there was Bebo (Kareena Kapoor) in a song called Bebo from Kambahkt Ishq (KI). Looking ravishing in clothes and a figure to die for as they say .. ( I wont die or will die in the process of gaining that figure but rather not try) but I wasn't looking at her I was looking at Akshay Kumar. But I couldn't look at him properly as an old aunty and uncle were there too and I felt uncomfortable with Bebo serenading no, actually seducing Akki in the bedroom wearing skimpy ..no not skimpy ( they are the clothes remix albums models wear) but short dresses looking good and the song was not vulgar (though the music and lyrics are nothing to write home about) and it wasn't completely sensuous because as usual Akki was being funny. But still I felt uncomfortable and couldn't look at the t.v. for a long period of time. Though the couple were watching alright. Then came on the song from Love Aaj Kal (LAK) starring Saif Ali Khan and Deepika Padukone. The song was called Twist and it was a usual party song with very similar beats from one of the songs of Billu Barber (oops no only Billu ..I hope nobody sues me !! ) who says you cannot copy your own work ( ask us researchers one paper .... no more secrets about that ) but hats off Pritam da !!!! The song was also not that great. But still Saifoo (faux pas again sorry Bebo, Chote Nawab ) was dancing with semi clad dancers in a disco. I closed my eyes with almost a swear that how long will this continue. Then 'Shortcut the con is on' with Arshad Warsi and Akshaye Khanna, again a promotional with foreign dancers. Then a sleazy number from Paying Guests. Ughh... so I thought I would have no relief either from my dental or mental pain. But then came the song from a film Anubhav starring Sanjay Suri and Gul Panag . A sad song but a bad one no pathos either in the lyrics or music (according to me sad songs are the most beautiful lyrics wise at least), otherwise comfort level wise it was fine. Followed by songs from Sankat City another con movie with an ensemble cast of Kay Kay, Chunky Pandey and then from a film called Runaway seemed a gangster movie with unknown cast. Then Shahid Kapur came on with Aai Pappi and everything was right in the world !!!!!

Now for the epiphany or epiphanies. Its a new word i have just learnt. It has origin in the festival of Epiphany. ( it means sudden intuitive perception of reality by commonplace occurrence, link given below.)

Epiphany no. 1 - There are five categories of movies being made in HiFI (Hindi Film Industry that is ) these days. First is the high quality production wise , high budget films like KI of LAK which are colourful , beautiful, snazzy and mostly romantic films that too dramatic kind not romantic comedies of Hollywood variety. Then con movies are on the rise which basically are about underdogs or losers getting everything in the end, or rather should say films about the underdog which mainly say that going the beaten path does not help and a little con is required. Slapstick comedies or sex comedies if you like PG which well, they do have a audience. Then there are the small movies or as lately called as multiplex movies in terms of grandeur not in terms of story or acting. Some really good movies have seen the light of day, but still some bad films come from that stable too in the name of art movies. And finally bad movies called C grade ones like Runaway or Deshdrohi but the source of good entertainment ( pun intended).

Epiphany no. 2- We do not listen to songs these days we watch them. "Twist" and " Bebo" are ok songs but will definitely make it to the charts despite the fact they are only good to watch rather than to hear to.

Epiphany no. 3- The most profound one. Why was I feeling uncomfortable because they old couple had no perceptible problems, well I guess when people start talking if something embarrassing comes on t.v. then its a sign. But nothing of the sort happened, maybe the case of the tooth pain being considerable was there. But I could and did watch these kind of songs in the mess with people of my age or at least in the same 10 year band because PhD. makes you ancient very soon in ..well don't ask. But still remix videos still made me uncomfortable not because they are vulgar because they are but they are downright pathetic in terms of music , video everything. But I thought who was I to comment rather act so moral ? Was I joining the ranks of the so called moral police ? Does growing old makes you closed and narrow minded. No I thought I can watch Bebo looking good because she does it well and I always have someone with her to look at !! But I cannot watch bad, sleazy videos. Then it hit me that these moral police kinds , those who spout ethics and Indian culture are uncomfortable with all the change happening around them and cannot accept change. They club Bebo ( my buzzword today) and lets say Minsk together which is unfathomable and appalling and they cannot handle this uncomfortableness. They have to do something about like when you feel guilty about something you blame the other person and that too before somebody even has the chance to discover the crime. So out comes the diktats and moral code of conduct, which says I cannot wear jeans to college in Kanpur, cannot marry outside my caste, cannot change my religion by my own choice, cannot hold the hand of my beloved in public; cannot make a film about widows in Banaras. Agreed that there has to some semblance of propriety but let me breathe !!!!! And to say that Indian culture and society was always marveled and celebrated as the most open where it has imbibed so much from other cultures it is difficult to say what is original or taken.

Then someone changed the channel maybe he felt the same ..uncomfortable or wanted to hear the news or .. he was undecided because he was still surfing when I went to the doctor's chamber. So no more of pop sociology or psychology or culture studies or moral science.

(Written- well started on Friday itself completed today. My first prose blog and realised that it is not easy to write I took 2 1/2 days to finish. )

Happy Father's Day especially to Dad !!!!

http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/epiphany

Vulnerable

2009-05-24T14:58:00.000+05:30

Very deep down what you feel,

Unspoken to anybody,

Letting it gush forth like a waterfall,

Never do it with somebody,

Eager to cash on it,

Ready to sympathize; but not able to handle the responsibility,

Always have a friend in your self and,

Befriend only one who truly loves you,

Let the one understand you even if it takes time because,

Everlasting love needs some intelligence too.

Written on 2nd October, 2000.

(Another one in the lines on Vikram Seth's style. The first letters of each line make up the word vulnerable. A lesson I learned with huge difficulty that you have to be careful about how much you let others see your emotions and your emotional side. Well basically you grow up and wise. And strange thing is that now people friends basically who know me longer know that i am very emotional and can cry at the drop of my hat. But people who know me for less time say about 3 years of less think that I am a strong person which I am but also less emotional. Life !!!!! and its myriad hues .. One word ..WOW !!!!!!!! )

Building Dreams

2009-04-29T22:29:00.000+05:30

Building Dreams,

Unfolding the plan, of the art of hand and acumen of the brain,

Inscribing on the earth the power of the soul,

Land, water, air, fire, and space, all the elements are encompassed,

Drawing from all the sources of knowledge to celebrate the mother of all arts,

In balance have to be beauty and utility,

Nothing is wasted of the precious dreams,

Good work done is theirs and yet not.

Dreams are mostly of others,but

Realising them as their own,

Etching on their memory and moving on,

Applause is for the dreams and not the maker; but,

Must is the recognition for work done well; and sooner or later,

Someday when the present is past people will say "look they built dreams."

{One of my good friends' is an architect and I had written it for her. The style is inspired by Vikram Seth's poems in his novel 'The Suitable Boy' where one of suitors of Lata i.e. Amit writes poems to woo her in verse where each lines starts with the letter of their names. so its like Amit, Lata, Amit, Lata..if you read vertically the first letters and so on. Here also you will notice that the first letters make the words Building Dreams. Some poetic license has been taken to fit the verse into the letters.. of course. Building dreams is my way interpreting the work of an architect mostly of course houses which are big dreams of every individual and how the architect makes it real. Though commercial projects also are visions of some big shot !! :) And how they move on from one project to another. This letting go thing bugs me , intrigues me and mesmerises me. How mothers can let go of their children [see Mom and the little girl] , how directors agree to let others see their movies. A very interesting study it will be !! (Researchers' dilemma every where you see a research problem)

P.S. Architecture is known as the mother of all arts as it combines all art forms.}

Written on 18th August, 2000.

She Smiled

2009-04-23T00:33:00.000+05:30

She smiled and took it,

She smiled and took it in,

She smiled and took it inside,

She smiled and took it deep inside,

She smiled and took it deep inside her heart,

She smiled and took the spear of pain,

She smiled and saw her heart cracking up,

She smiled when her being fell about her in pieces,

She smiled and started picking up the pieces,

She smiled and the looked up and the sun smiled back at her;

Brightly !!!!

(Putting the poems on the blog have made me realise that I did not give them titles earlier, and have to think of them now. )

Written in January 2000. (2000 has been the year of the greatest output of poems , mostly some lines strung up together, some decent.)

A Friend

2009-04-22T18:33:00.000+05:30

I was sad (jealous would be better)

To see, two people going hand in hand;

Happily, laughing and talking.

A tear streaked down my cheek.

Then I felt gentle touch on my shoulder,

I looked back, a face I could not recall.

But it soothing, warm, with an ear to ear smile.

We laughed together like small kids,

Shouting, shrieking, jumping together,

Taking out all our longings.

Then it was gone.

I was not sad 'cause I had a special gift.

Now I wave out to them.

I know it was a friend who'll remain for ever.

(This is my first poem ever !!!!!! which I wrote in class 7th. One of my classmates asked me write something in her card which she was to give to her to friend as it was friendship day and then I was inspired to write this poem.)

Written on Friendship day in 1992 ( must be August ..God its been 17 years !!!!! )

Hall of Life

2009-04-20T03:39:00.000+05:30

I don't cry because,

My heart is joined by tears,

Tears warm, smooth and salty,

They fit in any grove,

My heart gives them enough room.

Room of laughter;

Why laughter you ask?

Laughter because true mirth brings tears.

Room of love;

Love the eternal reason for tears

Those who get it cry and those who don't too.

Room of pain;

Pain, very natural you say,

Yes, but not of knife stabs but pin pricks.

Room of joy;

Joy not in reaching the stars,

But of meeting meteorites on the way and then leaving them.

There are many other rooms, interconnected;

Some closed, some open, some fictitious, some real.

But there is a Hall in which all these rooms open,

The Hall of Life.

Life with all its laughter, love, pain and joys.

And all these are joined by tears.

So now you know I don't cry, because I don't want the door of the,

Hall of Life shut on me.

( I used to consider it my best poem till date , before Labour of Love came along. The later is many layered and I really like the metaphors and allusions used in it. This poem is simple, subtle and beautiful. That is why it gives it name to the blog. {I know I am very modest !! ;) } )

Written on 3rd May, 2000.

Mom and the Little Girl

2009-04-19T05:09:00.000+05:30

As the little girl with eyes heavy with sleep

Lay down her head in my lap

It was feather light

I told her mom that it felt nice..

She beamed and said it was the best thing in the world “A mother”

She is mother to a little girl

A mother of a little girl

Mother … because of the little girl.

She learns the rhymes with her and recites it too..

Knows her alphabets and numbers too..

But only as far as the little girl can go

Did you know that Hansel & Gretel’s father drove out their step mom out?

She knows..

From the day she first held her in her arms and glowed with something ethereal

She does a million of small things which might seem mundane ..

The first spoon of cereal to the last glass of milk for the day .. it is a mind boggling game

Rice is eaten without any curry and spoon should also be free of any slurry

“It takes just a little effort” the father had told me once.

Little!!! really as surprises come in small packages so does ..happiness, responsibility and major food habit followers

As the little girl runs to get a hug from one of her favourite uncles..

I wonder how the mother can let go of her so easily, and

Not once but everyday, every time

First day of school and she takes a backseat

First friend and the games exclude her

First crush and ..

But their love which is limitless, timeless, never ending

They share stories, jokes and junk jewelry and in near future

They will fight over clothes and shoes.

As the mother looks on lovingly !!

She is jolted from behind with a spontaneous hug

And the little girl says “ Happy Birthday Mamma”

(Had written it for Bobby (a friend and a mother of a lovely girl Raavee) for her birthday. Inspired by true events)

Written on 27th November, 2008.

Labour of Love

2009-04-19T05:07:00.000+05:30

She was sinking ..

Having lost more than blood

A part of Her soul !

He, was carrying the – a wave in his arms

Light as sand

Soft as wind

Life and death in the same room ..same space ??

Is it possible?

Is it human?

Is it God’s will ?

She created the wave she thinks defiantly !

While holding on to the umbilical cord of life ready to be severed

He does not know his share of blame .. too great too little ?

Blame??

When did it come to this?

Not when they were weaving pink and blue dreams..

Not when the little soft things were filling all the spaces in their lives

Not when the fun of the elephant in their hands gave them pleasure after ages of being blindfolded

Not when speaking rounded languages had them in splits.

They were happy..

They were true

They were fulfilling their destiny of blood making blood not spilling it ,

Sinew making sinew stronger and not slashing it..

For more love in this parched world

They were bringing in that clear sparkling laughter like waterfall.

For that wide eyed wonderment in the cynical maze of there and done..

For that sanity which is lost in the deathly hollows of pains

Life was to shine through the mist of loss.

But at the cost of his love he thought

Never !! Never !!! Not even when..

The Wave breaks against the rocks of love ..

The Man takes off the hood and dons the father’s cap

The Wind caresses him

The Sand of time has begun to fall .. few seconds few minutes then few days and years..

But not alone ..not alone

Partners in crime or destiny or duty or need or desire or walking the well trodden path

He doesn’t know he doesn’t care

He prays, He begs, He breaks !!

The piece of His creation, his God in arms squirms to meet her other half

He brings her closer to Her

Though they are still joined, were joined, will ever be joined by the

Sometime strangulating, sometime relieving, sometime hurting, sometime happy ..cord of love.

The Wave breaks again this time stronger

The Wind gushes too ready to push away the icy hands of darkness

Closed fists, small fists clenched only with love..

She breathes ..she breathes.. He breathes

The Sun breaks through the clouds..

The yellow flower turns and stretches lazily in the warmth.

Written on 26th March, 2009.

I wish I could

2009-04-19T04:54:00.000+05:30

I wish I could strum up guitar strings and tell you how much we love you,

The tune of time tugs at our heart strings and tells that the its been a journey full of laughter,

Sometimes merry, tinkling like falling water from a spring,

And sometimes it is raucous and riotous when the very ramparts of the edifice of fellowship shook with enjoyment.

I wish I could sketch the joy and mirth of the time we spent together,

Which was filled with so much fun, frolic, faux pas and food !!!!!

To draw a line around our waists is a task which still eludes,

And to catch up with your line of thought which changes in a flash is a task less shrewd.

I wish I could capture the beauty of our friendship which transcends ties of blood,

But which gets inspired everyday by the serially soapy ties of melodrama and saas bahu flood,

The soap opera will hopefully outlive its present channel of F(P)M,

And like always in the hundreds of photographs will get clicked.

I wish I could cook up ways to keep you here,

To have more meals made by hierarchically ordered chefs,

From chief, to head, to choppers and mixers,

And have the fun of too many cooks brewing the best broth !!

I wish I could work on two proposals at the same time,

But I am yet to capture the essence of being doctoral student,

The ones that doctors her advisers well and at the same time nurses her heart,

By giving love potions mixed with black tea.

I wish I could say goodbye!!

(Written it for Richa Di as she was leaving us after completing her FPM)

Written on (rather finished it ..on ) 28th March, 2009.

I see the world through you

2009-04-19T04:43:00.000+05:30

'Don't look into my eyes' ...she had written

'I don't want to see this world anymore' ..

I read it and could not understand ...

What she meant ...

Was she saying that 'I look into your eyes and see the world ... you are my mirror' ...

I was a mirror once when my clear sparkling conscience reflected whatever it saw..

No exaggeration , no adulation, no pretence ....

Where did I lose it .. down some road of achievement ...

She meant maybe 'I see the world as you see it ... you are my window'

My senses are fogged now ... right or wrong is not the question ...

I cant seem to see things as they numbed by my many layers of pretences ..

As I climbed higher the space was airless, musty and moldy ...

I had shut the window to the world of tree lined streets and gurgle of innocent voices

Or she was crying out to say ... 'I see the world where you see it ... you are

my compass .. due north..'

Due North ... what fun it was discover where I was going, what I was doing ...

Now directions are useless... they mean nothing..

I am going somewhere without going anywhere ...

A life surviving .. without living...

She was saying ...' look at me and tell me what the world is out there like now...

Because what I see in your eyes is the death of what we believed in once'

I see now and hear too .....

I understand no.. I know that it was I who saw the world through her ...

She was my mirror, my window , my compass..

But one day I turned ... lured by the sounds beyond ... and I turned blind...

Darling .. do not shut me out , do not stop looking..

Because your eyes are my world ... I look in them and I see myself ...

I want to see again, listen again...live again...

(Inspired by one of my friends orkut album pics .. title..

the first line of the poem is the title ..

I was quiet intrigued by it and what she meant.. and hence ..this )

Written on 23rd May, 2008.