Who will come and what they will say on your death?

Who will come and what will they say on your death? 

He had thought about it before.

He thought about it again, today.

Standing in line to pay his respects. 

A manicured hand was going through open free hair in front.

Dark shades were being adjusted on a face behind him. 

What were they thinking? Were they thinking about the person?

The good times..the bad ones..

Or the next thing to do after this social rigamarole.

1. She pushes the dark shades up her eyes

Hoists herself in the line of respects

Dark shades help,

They hide so many things.

Lust, loss, love, loneliness.

Nobody knew of the bond they shared.

The friendship..

How every time she was on the edge

Two friendly hands pulled her back. 

Funerals are no fun she thought..

That would have made those kind eyes laugh..

Dark shades hide tears too.

She thinks about the things to say to the loved ones at the end of the line. 

Words catch in her throat ..make way through her eyes

Hidden behind the shades, she says nothing.. her eyes say everything. 

2. Her hands were getting caught in her unruly hair, 

The multiple diamond bands, bracelets and bangles..all pulling at them. 

She fears she will break a nail..of one of her freshly manicured fingers.

A hand rests on her shoulder.

Saying with a hard squeeze don't fidget, don't look for a cigarette. 

She looks back at the man with a vice grip on her soul, her life, her laughter. 

This pressure on her shoulder was featherlight. 

She looks ahead.. the line is moving too slowly..not at all for her.

It is as still and silent as the person at the end of it.

Silent at her tears, her screams, shrieks, her agony and her appeals.

Her eyes are full of loathing for that silence.

As the line moves.. there is only pity in her blank eyes.  

3. He watches the line move forward

He thinks about the person who died.

His loss..his love..his soulmate 

Who had the courage, but he didn't

To defy the world, it's norms and it's clutches of tradition

He wanted to say I love you, I miss you. 

But he couldn't.

People don't say what they want on your death.

They say want those who are left behind want to hear.

Everyone comes..almost

Most say little,

Some say nothing that matters.

The ones that matter stay silent forever. 

The line has ended..so has the show.
The manicured hand is tapping ash out of a car window.
Through the dark shades she looks at the hand in the car and thinks.. lucky !!
Rolling up the window she sees dark shades..torn jeans..thinks..free !!
He shakes his head..muses..who will come and what they will say on his death?
Good person.. mad person.. definitely mad !!
He laughs, looks up at the sky hoping to hear that smile back.








Written 22nd July, 2019. (initial idea)

Hey junta..how are you all doing? I had said sometime ago actually a long time ago that I would not say long time no see or it's been a long time,, but frankly speaking its been a long time.. this poem took a long time coming..took sometime to come from paper to blog.. took some more time to write this comment..well long should be my middle name now.. :) :P  but well.. so how you all? How's life? What you been all upto? I for starters have been so mired in the petty stuff that I think I forgot to breathe..so this poem is like a breath of fresh air..not my best or my finest..but still I can write. It may seem to be a bit long and a bit laboured..firstly because it took some effort, secondly because though I wrote it on paper first but not the entire poem and while writing it on the blog.. twice it did not get saved so had to write it again. Simplicity of thought gets muddied.

So this is my first poem that I wrote in a moving vehicle..a taxi.. while returning home..it is long journey.. see long again..:) It started with dark shades hide a lot idea. Then as I was in a taxi I remembered that sometime ago in another taxi ride I had seen a beautiful manicured hand out of car window tapping cigarette ash. I couldn't see the face and wondered about the story of that hand. So when dark shades hide tears.. tears in a funeral.. and this hand could have been going to or returning from a funeral. I had already written few lines for poem titled 'Who will come..' earlier from there came the idea of poem within a poem or short stories in a poem. Thus in this poem where three different people have come to the same funeral and telling their own stories. They see the other person and make assumptions without knowing what they are going through. We do that everyday no? Make assumptions about a person without knowing their life journey. 

Have you ever wondered what will people say when you die? more than who will come.. Good person? everyone will say that right..thats a safe word :).. think about it..till then have fun and happy rediscovering yourself. So long !! ;) :P 

There is a sadness in his eyes..

There is a sadness in his eyes...
But his eyes smile, they do, a lot.
What is it then, I see
Is it my questioning look
My searching for sadness
Hoping to find some loss
Some hurt..

He had lost a love.
A life.
He must hurt
I am convinced
I look for proof
I dig
I observe.

His smiling eyes
Are they mocking me?
Hiding behind the veil of happiness!
No they are happy.
Prodding me to smile some more
I laugh a little
Live a little.

I am careful around him
He has not spoken about it
Do I want the details
Yes..
No..I want to know how is he feeling..coping..
No..I want to know how is he happy
Genuinely.
Truly.

His eyes smile a lot
Deeply
There is love, hope..longing
Life..
Maybe I will ask him one day
How..why?
Maybe I will learn to smile some more
He is a good teacher
Infectious.

I smile a little more
My eyes smile a little less
Haltingly..
My sadness is reflected in his.
His looks at me.
Me.
Deeply.

He surrounds me with laughing eyes
I throw my head back and chortle
My eyes are smiling
His shine with mirth.


Written on 11th June, 2017.

(So I have discovered that when I read only then can I write Ideas, words start popping in my head.  Of course I have to have time to sit down, think and write. Of course I have written after a long long time. Also wrote this poem on paper first and at one go after ages. Though what you see here is an edited version. So how have you been? Happy? Sad? Listless? going about the motions? Not wanting to get in the details of the inspiration behind the poem. I think the people who have truly suffered loss are the ones who are also truly happy..or they learn to be happy or they appreciate or treasure the happy times more. Not all..maybe only a few.. Maybe there are just happy souls..innocent..childlike..cute..Actually that is the word cute..in the true sense.. Hope you have such cute souls around you. Happy Vacations !! :) I will see you when I see you)

Walk of Life

Stumbling,tottering and tilting
falling over
getting up again, unsure yet curious
All the time laughing.
smiling and learning.

Kicking around, jumping over,
sprinting and climbing,
scraping..hurting.
Always persevering.
stretching the limits,
achieving and exhaling.

Strolling, ambling aimlessly,
tripping, tramping..locking and unlocking
loving, playing, teasing, pursuing
Twirling.
swaying and spinning.
dancing away in the night.

Shepherding,guiding,
leading and being lead on.

Marching on,
always running but curiously staying at the same place.
trudging and plodding.
Scraping, scurrying,
looking behind never fondly.
Never ahead with awe.

Kneeling, bending with the weight.
stopping..almost..
steadying.
Heavy heart..lifting

Uplifting again..the soul, the mind
starting again..
slipping..tottering..
Smiling and learning anew.


Written on 31st January, 2016.

(Hello there..how is it going? Long time no see, no hear, no write.. We have gone beyond explanations now right??!! Like a bad penny that returns or more like if you love someone set them free and they do return !! :D  Believe me I tired..really..but could not write..not that I did not have the time ..though I was busy and have discovered you are more busy in your head than with work. I just could not write..came here many times started one or two poems..could not finish them..had no new ideas. Today too I came back as I have some time on my hands..what with being laid up in bed compulsorily. Relax not to worry too much..ankle sprain and ligament tear..so basically now learning to walk..self teaching this time around !!:)..and thought what about writing about learning to walk..and from there it went to how walking, and being on our feet, up and about..kinds of defines our phases of life..and hence the poem. I have written about hands as Links of Life  and this could be a kind of a parallel. Self inspiration..don't worry I am not going to write about any more body parts. And well, if nothing else there are a whole lot of synonyms to learn here ;). So in the process learnt to write again..and one more realisation dawned. Creativity needs discipline too. Hope I can translate this into other things in my life. That's a good way to start the new year too right..ya ya I know..but better late than never..Happy New Year !! See you around and keep walking.) 

The Yellow Truck

In the backyard,
Among the beetles and boxes,
Broken bottles and bright sunlight,
The yellow truck glistened.

It sped through,
The wilting lilies and tall grasses,
Whizzing past the rickety chair of grandma,
And spicy sunbathing pickle bottles.

It turned turtle quiet a few times.
Banging into many a feet and furniture.
Screaming children and scolding parents,
Scurrying out of its way.

It sped through,
On four red wheels,
Two wooden planks,
Yellow in colour,
The yellow truck.

It had no engine, no power
Only little hands moved it and
Small legs ran with it, gave it speed.
And leaped over hurdles.
Squeals of laughter were the horns
And tired little bodies, the brakes.

It sped through.
It amazed them,the little beings.
Irritated adults.
Entertained toothless gramps.
Simple, plain, unadorned.
The yellow truck.


Written on 5th October, 2014.

( Hi.. I am back :) No excuses..no complaints and no usage of the word "long" with varied no. of "o". The poem is inspired by a friend who told me story about his yellow truck one of the very few toys he had and how it was so simple and made of  wood ..and not like todays' toys so complicated and sophisticated. He had the most fun with it and amazing thing is his nephew inherited the truck from him and used to play with it. Taking a deep breath and remembering childhood days and reliving the simple joys and fun times is one of our favourite pastimes. Those were the days !! So this festive season (all the ads are saying that :P ) follow the KISS principle..keep it simple stupid !! :) Happy Id and Happy Diwali !! :) )

The river of winter

It gathers like froth over the cold earth,
Swirling around lovers on a secret rendezvous,
Whispering and murmuring.
It flows and ebbs like the sea over the valley,
Playing hide and seek with the moon,
Twinkling and shining.
It twists and turns like a storm,
Rolling down the hills stealthily into the eye of a mystery,
Whistling and  chattering.
It strolls hand in hand with the evening,
Bidding farewell to the sun,
Silently and smiling.
It tempts and teases,
Inviting and forbidding,
Cosy and cold.
Dark and light.
Black and white.
Beautiful and evil.
It envelops all,
The river of winter..
Fog..over the cold earth.



Written on 6th December, 2013.

(Well what do I say..sorry won't cut it but still sorry..My second post this year..lots of changes this year..no longer a student..working..setting up my home..and lots of other things. Its winter time and time for white mornings, staring into nothingness and  mysterious beauty..hot chai and lazy days.. Hope you are having one of these days or will soon have them what with the holidays coming..So here's to cheerful, thankful and forgiving times..:) A Beintot !! ) 

सर्दी में माँ की शाल याद आती है

सर्दी में माँ की शाल याद आती है
वोह पतली सी
हरे रंग की,
कुछ रंग बिरंगी फूल बने थे
कबसे लिपटे थे वोह उन कर्मठ कंधो पर।

माचिस की खुशबू
कई मसालों कि महक
आया करती थी उस से
कभी सर पर कभी कंधों पे झुला करती
काम करते हाथों को गर्मी कहाँ भाती है।

कभी कभी रसोई में दौड़ लगाते हम
छिप जाया करते  उसके अन्दर
उसके हरे धागों के बीच से आती झिलमिल रोशिनी
वह भीनी महक
और सुन्हेलि गर्मी
एक अलग ही संसार था।
सादा सुखद और शांत।

अब सर्दी में मोटे मोटे स्वेटरों में कहीं चिपे हुए हम
नीचे देख के जल्दी जल्दी भागते रहते है
ठंड से .. अकेलेपन से .. शोर से
तो और भी
सर्दी में माँ की शाल याद आती है।


Written on 1st February, 2013.

(First post of the year..A very Happy New Year !! wont apologize for the long absence because there is no excuse or apology. This poem was in my mind since long..I still remember that green shawl mom had and used to wear it in the severe winters of Srinagar. I can still smell matchsticks and spices on it. Have not seen it since long. Will check if she still has it. Memories have a way of lingering.. :) Till next time.. Hopefully soon..Happy Valentines Day !! Spread Love) 

I want to make hot phulkas after PhD.

In a recent article by the poster boy of Indian writing from the flock of B'School graduates - advises men to marry women who do not make hot phulkas at home but work in a potato chips company (am paraphrasing) i.e. are working. He lists lot of advantages a working woman can bring to the family and home. For e.g. she can help her husband in dealing with office politics and bring back information and knowledge as she is better exposed to the world. So now not only do I have to be fair, beautiful, slim and homely to get married, I have to be working woman as well. That is if I have to meet the criteria published daily in newspaper matrimonial pages. Not only convent educated mind you but working.  Thinking that one article can influence the age-old marriage market is perhaps naive but going by his book sales you never know. 

Though it has changed, the market that is. Now educated working women are the need of the hour or rather homes. Therefore I never had a choice. Earlier I was not allowed to study , then only allowed to study so that I become eligible for marriage as times changed and people wanted educated DiLs and then allowed to work but its continuation depended on the in-laws. Now they want working DiLs. Where is my choice and my freedom? If I choose to make hot phulkas after doing PhD who is anybody to tell me that I should not do it?  And use my grand education for a job and mind you earn well. What if I want to pursue a different career and god forbid not marry at all !! Why should anybody tell me what do to and not to do and question me about it.

My mother taught for twenty years and stopped working before reaching retirement age. Did that make her suddenly incapable or did her job as a school teacher make her less capable as mother or wife because she could not tell Dad about mutual funds? Many of friends in school and college had non-working mothers and they were as well-brought up as me and others who had working mothers. Education should lead to jobs is a topic for another post. But where is it written? More so and more importantly education does not come from  sitting in a classroom. That is literacy. Was it not the so called highly educated who were managing the i-banks responsible for the 2008 financial crisis. Education means how to live your life well and make your surroundings if not the world a better place. And knowing the difference between clothes and culture which equate wearing a sari to purity and shorts to promiscuity. You may be a financial wizard but you make millions at the cost of others you are nothing more than a common thief. You maybe Lalitaji in the whitest of white sari yet can be a dowry seeking torturing MiL.

Managing home is a mind blogging task which is to be done 24/7 365 days an year. It involves all the disciplines in the world be it management, finance, politics, ethics, you name it and you get it. The word Economics originates from a Greek word which means household management. Rejecting household work and being a homemaker (now that housewife is out of fashion) is down right ridiculous. The fact is anything I do there is counter by the so called society. If I don't work after completing my education then I was not worth of getting a job. If I don't take a break for having babies and leave them in the care of the maid then I am a callous mother. I am also guilty of stereotyping and questioning others. When after class XII my classmates started getting married and I was like 'so soon'. I did not know under what circumstances and conditions. Maybe after their marriage they completed their education and went on to careers. One of the examples that comes to mind is Tarla Dalal.

Career and jobs are not the be all and end all of life. The reason they are given importance is because through it mostly and especially for women stems their freedom and liberation. What is needed is firstly respect for what ever I am doing be it managing home or managing a fortune 500. Secondly freedom to choose my way of life and the encouragement to pursue my dreams. This not only for me or women but for everybody. In a modern free society the freedom to choose, to be different, have the courage to reject stereotypes and labels are a must. Breath. Live and let live.

P.S. I don't know how to cook !!

Written on 28th September, 2012.

( You can read the article mentioned in the blog here 

http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/home/sunday-toi/all-that-matters/Home-truths-on-career-wives/articleshow/15243750.cms.  Don't have much to say now just that respect others and their choices and yes you may think of all the caveats that are legal :)  Till next time Happy Dusshera !!!! :) )