TGIF, today......

As the current year closes in tightly, the thoughts wander. The days gone by, though hazy, have etched lines and imprints indelibly. The whole period, looks so much like last year's notebooks. The pages are a little limp, dogeared and the writing - incomprehensible. There is a common thread running through all the pages, almost all of them - " could have been so much neater and more organised ". The days gone by suffer from the same comparison.


It is very vivid and stark in the memory. The crispness and the newness of the textbook and the notebook papers. The peculiarly baffling smell ( stench ) of the " gummy ", " keroseney" fresh papers, stuck at some place, leaving black marks on the fingertips while i eagerly flipped them. They were such essential ingredients of the start of an academic new year. The reams of brown paper and the miscalculated hence "perpetually running short labels " to be stuck on the covers, covered the floors of tiny spaces earmarked for the ritual. But most dramatic was the quality of the handwriting which graced the labels and the right hand corners of the notebooks. The very best was reserved for that space and a " rough recce " preceded the " fair " final prints.


As the days progressed and the school hours stretched to infinity, the quality of writing and the substance deteriorated to vagueness and reached a nadir. Strongest of resolves and efforts proved inadequate to recreate the first day magic.Does all this ring a bell?


Reflecting on the quality, nature and substance of the days gone by of the yesteryear, the paramount feeling generally is that " only if given another chance " , i could surely have done much better. Nothing is lost as yet. We all have a full quota of the crisp, fresh, gift wrapped in the most sublime colors of the rainbow, 365 days. Our first baby steps in 2011, shall be ginger yet the very best that we can offer to ourselves and the world, akin to the handwriting on the first few pages of a new notebook. Yes, the need to perform well, everyday thereafter, shall slow us down. The deliberate nature of that pace shall be frowned upon as the days pass. The need to maintain or keep abreast of life and its vagaries shall dilute the purity and sanctity of intent and effort.The handwriting shall gradually turn illegible, and surely we shall find reasons, convincing enough to condone the deterioration that sets in.


Is it a given that we allow the new year's practices, as the new dawn to old habits and perpetuate them? Why is there a need for introspection, alterations, resolutions, looking over the shoulder, hindsight and reformation, NOW ? Why not keep an account, a journal, a dossier, a diary of the flaws, inadequacy, deceit, dishonesty, negativity, on a daily basis? The magnitude of alterations and reforms required for the new year pose such enormity that it deflates and discourages, even the most steely and fiercely resolved.


The pressure of not being able to live up to the contrived promises is so enormous, right at the start of the year, that it is almost like encashing a cheque from the bank where you do not even have an account. Financial bankruptcy does not pose a danger more grave, than the emotional one that follows the realisation of this inadequacy. Hence the attempts to better the good, next year, is fraught with huge problems.And in any case, the worst enemy good has is to do better. So let us remain wedded to our self proclaimed mediocrity, average ordinariness and run - of - the - mill existence. If we deserve that so shall we get it. If we want to get better, we need to set the reforms and earn/ deserve it.Till then let the "disturbing" peace prevail.


Hence prudence demands that all these equations and possibilities be attended at the leisure hours of the coming Saturday and Sunday, nursing the hangover of yet another year gone by.Till then the pages shall remain crisp, fresh and blank, eager to receive our unique imprints. Right now is the time to do exactly what was done for years on the last day, every year. Hold your spirits high ( excuse the pun ) and say cheers.It is everyone's birthday tomorrow. Hic...hic.. hurray....

Dream tonight.

Dreams die hard
Their death though always on the cards

Tonight i sleep early
Offering enough time to exorcise the nightmares, surely
The roller - coaster that happens yearly

The dreams shall cure the ailments worldly
The touchstones of character, purely

If i dream alone,
It remains just that - a dream
If we all dream together
It shall turn real

So come, sleep early !
Staying up all night
Just does not seem right
Nursing a hangover, a new year blight
What a miserable plight
Sleep shall ensure we dream all night
Together, we shall find our path by moonlight
Dreams shall show us the heaven's gates pearly white
A new year, perfectly bright...

Against the odds

We, with a deeper instinct, choose a companion, who compels our strength, who makes enormous demands on us, albeit gently, who does not doubt our courage or toughness, who does not believe us to be naive or innocent, who has the courage to treat us as an equal. This could not be more true in arduous physical tasks. It is quite intuitive on the part of the ones seeking support or encouragement, to seek an ally who is more able bodied. But toughness lies in the soul and spirit, not in muscles.Hence all the able bodied, seemingly tough, may turn out to be bad choices, if the bulk is thought to be the criterion for selection. Brave men are all vertebrates; they have their softness on the surface and their toughness in the middle.How does one scratch/ drill the softness to seek the inner core of toughness? I guess the common thread/ traits running in tough men/ women are that they generally have a sunny attitude to physical demands. The end points and destinations are farthest from their calculations and even if they are not, they never allow the stress of aim/ objective to fudge the joy of being together till the end. For the leaders, the ones to carry the load of expectations, the trick must lie in avoiding negativity associated with enormity of the task. The smartness would lie in controlled awareness, a detached involvement but a fiercely tight lid over personal emotions, focus and concentration. The dependents make no bones about the leaning on the tougher ones for constant guidance - a way forward. But how do the tough ones keep their wits about themselves? The every fact that they are under scrutiny to deliver constantly and not drop their guard can work both ways. Either the seemingly tough ones can buckle under the pressure, expose their underbelly and disappoint. The real tough, revel in dependence and the awareness that no minor slip up or laxity be allowed to enter their though process. They too have their Achilles' heel. They too do not want to wake up eatrly, they too are grumpy early mornings, have their emotional baggage. Their supremely fit looking exterior asks very discomforting questions and the mind injects the usual dose of pessimism and tentativeness. But they learn or have learnt to live through the eyes of the expectant and not their own soft considerations for themselves. They have exactly the same anxiety and weakness. They somehow garner all that is within them to muster enough courage and staying power, to last. Yes, that is it. The staying power ! The murmurs of disapproval for a longer course for running, the inability to take the minds off the task yet to be completed, are all pretty common deterrents to an enjoyable and successful completion. The aches and pains, the cramps and fatigue, generally have a common starting point. More scarily for the tough ones, the murmurs of complaints get more audible and when the support is garnered by the sheer strength of the number in a group, the loneliness gets frightening and the demand to stay rooted in conviction is challenged. It becomes imperative to quell the murmurs of protest and negativity by distraction and a gentle yet firm hand and lead. A single bad example can really spread like a rash to others. Everyone feels the pressure almost at the same time. The tough ones have the experience and belief to last out a bit longer. Their muscles must hurt more, for to lead the pack you need that much extra. Pain and hurt are inevitable, but suffering through them is optional. The weak allow themselves to be overwhelmed by the enormity while the tough bide time, stay out a tad longer. For the tough ones, the pain of discipline is any day preferable to the pain of regret of an incomplete task. Look around and remember always, that the cowards never started and the weak died along the way. Make sure they do not drag you down with them. To measure a man, measure his heart and measure the honesty of his efforts. Carl Jung says, "There is no coming to consciousness without pain." Feel the pain, feel the suffering, it is great for the heart. It is sublime to suffer and feel stronger, later. And about the pain, yes, it always hurts, but after a while, it stops hurting, not because the body stops complaining, but because the signals are not heeded and anyway there is no choice but to suffer and miraculously, it does not get any worse. We actually get used to the pain and it stops hurting. "I have offended God and mankind because my work did not reach the quality it should have." Leonardo da Vinci, dying words, 1519. Pray, where do we all stand in our own eyes and in the eyes of God? Leonardo de Vinci was dying then, we still have time on hand, or so we feel. Why not start afresh?

 

 

Marathon- the perfect metaphor for life

Wee hours of winter mornings seem shrouded in secrecy. The curfew clamped on the roads by the cold, breached by the bone- chilling breeze/wind/ gusts, adds a certain eeriness to the pregnant silence. And the wee hours of a Sunday morning? It is almost sacrilegious to be irreverent to the somnolence of the favoured ones, by any indulgence, other than, by the inadvertent rustle caused by the quilts/ razais/ duvet/, in the elusive and almost always unsatisfactory attempt at covering the freezing toes.


The inexplicable need on the part of most Indians to "seek health" outdoors, during these unforgiving times, (for most, ONLY during these times) wreaks havoc with the sanctity of the mornings and sanity of the siesta seeking somnolent. For eons, serious damage has been inflicted on the dear ones by my obsessive early morning training schedules. These wounds had almost healed. But recently the scabs were mercilessly peeled off and the wounds resurfaced to fester again, as the marathon seasons blossomed and the races sprouted around the globe.


Cross country running in the city, is possible only in the really really early hours. It is a toss up of choosing lesser of the evils.I have forever trusted the pie dogs, ( fiercely protecting their personal fiefdoms, especially against the early morning intruders ) than the frenzied maniacs behind the wheels on Ahmedabad roads. Hence my belief and the conviction born out of it, has altered my body language when confronted in a mock combat by the canines. Somehow, despite repeated alterations in the course, facing or along the traffic directions, my paranoia and fears of being "hit and run over " variety have refused to leave me.but come the Boxing day and the fears be damned. Ahmedabad is seriously trying to shake off its embarrassingly huge prevalence of sedentary habits, and gearing up for its first international marathon.


Training for marathons has always worked its magic on every one, the beginners, the seasoned and the laggards, all want that experience. Running a mile feels like a chaotic promo of a thriller, while marathon running is like having the best seat in an opera and experience the subtle nuances of drama and music, gently unfold. The magic lies in deliberate, leisurely courtship and not an instant gratification of a marriage.Glide on the wings of a gentle breeze, hear the inner voices of your tough yet relaxed mind during the humbling jog, reminding you that anything is possible- always.


We all have been stung, either by the ends of a lit cigarette stub, the matchstick or the inadvertent contact with a, just extinguished sparkler. The startle, the pain, the sting, they all are such short lived. That is a sprint, running a mile. Now, look at the glow of the charcoal slowly getting scorched in a fireplace, roasting, burning slowly. Pertinently, feel the warmth of the fire gently percolating the fingers and creating the magical glow on the face when sitting around a bonfire, that experience transcends us some place else- that is marathon running. It may even roast, but still the burns are painless.


The freedom and the unbridled joy of running - on the empty Peddar road flyover in Mumbai, the bay area of San Fransisco or as it shall transpire on the usually choc- a - bloc, chaotic Astodia Darwaza on the Boxing day marathon in Ahmedabad - are a great outlet to the bottled up steam of a stifling, restricted, opinionated and pathologically constipated society.


Running seems a perfect metaphor for life. When peaks are scaled, successes achieved, unfortunately, the methods are glossed over and only the end result is overemphasized. Whether you crawl, walk, run, sprint, scorch the tar and melt it, the joy is in finishing it. As it transpires, the people who brave the ordeal are either made differently or transform themselves to be different. The front runners were still there to applaud in unison, all those, whose weary bodies were the slaves of the still ticking strong minds, egging them to reach the finish line last Sunday at the dress rehearsal of the marathon. Ahmedabad feels different when you run on its roads. Its citizens behaved differently yesterday. The toothless smiles of the shivering pack of three, tumbling out of the mosque, the wholehearted applause of the couple of beedi smoking, middle aged gents pumping their fists in vicarious pleasure of achievement through the grit of the runners, the shy and almost apologetic hand waving of the decked up pillion rider (behind the back of her portly husband) were great motivators and warmed the cockles.


I hope and pray that the spirits are reignited by the presence of the thousands on the road on the Boxing day.The miracle does not and shall not happen at the finishing line.The miracle will happen silently when the troubled, questioning and doubting bodies shall be silenced by the indomitable spirit of a dogged mind. Come, cheer and see the magic unfold- as subtly as the almost air born Kenyan or Ethiopian's strides shall move their lithe bodies, or as harshly and grossly as punctured egos and hurting, squeaking bodies shall be made willing to inch forward and hurtle along, till the applause of the finishers rings loud and forever in the heart at the finishing line.

Zainab- my recent rhapsody

Yes, Zainab!

The name so exquisitely feminine - a chyme, lilting music to the ears.

Zainab - the child of Ali. Prophet Mohammed's daughter.

Not content with the history attached to this name, i probed further, dug deeper. A scratch and a peek later, the true meaning of this, bubbly, vibrant girl, a bundle of joy, all of just, three, was deciphered. Zainab, in Arabic is a flowering line or a flower. In Africa, the name stands for a decorated or ornamented tree. Finally, my search ended with this explanation-Zainab means a rose flower, " the name of a born legend and these girls get everything they deserve "......But in reality, did my Zainab receive all her dues from the Allah?

NO.

My Zainab is afflicted with Down's syndrome. A chromosomal abnormality that has resulted in delayed development and a congenital heart defect.

My tryst with her was preordained. Why on earth, otherwise, would her ailing dad seek my help and come down all the way from Zanzibar?

Abdullah, had sought my appointment on the phone and the mails never gave me the horrific picture that he presented on arrival. A massive, burly unit, he somehow had stuffed himself in a wheelchair.The horror sunk nice and proper, when i asked him the reason for being confined to the wheelchair. The reply was a mere stare, almost a plea. No words were exchanged. He lifted his robe to reveal an intact left leg. The right, a mere stump, dangled, mocking me. Uncontrolled glucose levels and poor circulation had necessitated amputation. His faith had been his strong ally and he had managed to travel.This very faith was likely to be a burden, a cross whose weight would be difficult for me to carry. He was convinced that all his medical problems would be alleviated. The enormity of the situation got scarier as he was convinced that a magical formula for Zainab too, was a mere consultation away.

Silence, has always offered depth and a sense of eternity to me and speech, the shallowness of time. After the initial shock, no words could be spoken and we all, all the four of us - ( Zainab's mother had somehow managed to retain the piety, strength and calmness despite the odds ) ( a woman, of course ) - for various reasons, resorted to silence. The eternity of it was overwhelming and then suddenly, the little bundle of joy blew a kiss in my direction.The ice was broken, warmth and cheer spread. The directions, approach to help and leads were offered by the God's own child with just a mere wave of a hand, the strange tinkling laughter ( it felt as if coins were falling in heaps out of a box) and sparkling black eyes, bobbing -no- dancing, boring through me.

Children with their inimitable simplicity and absence of hangups have uncanny knack of lightening up the situations. Zainab, surely did that. Abdullah tried his best to impress her with his stern words in Swahili, which only liberated the little girl further, and she ran a riot in my consulting room and made herself the cynosure of all the eyes in the waiting room.


Zainab could not form words. She probably knew she did not have to. She did not need to resort to the conventional, drab mode of communication to convey her innermost feelings. The entire spectrum of emotions was on display those four days when we spoke about love and trust, Zainab and i. On her insistence the family would park themselves in the foyer, much before my scheduled arrival and hang on till i finished my last appointment and then we would chat. I learning Swahili from the parents, and warmth, love, faith, simplicity and uncorrupted joy from my bundle of joy, Zainab.


Abdullah's travails did not turn out to be as bad as thought of previously and tight control of his physical, laboratory and radiological parametres yielded remarkable, visible and perceived wellness. An artificial limb, hitherto thought of as impossible, fitted perfectly and created a ripple of apologetic claps initially, and then a rapturous applause form the staff and attendants, as Abdullah took his first baby steps.


Preordained or coincidental, the reception staff and the nurses along with the three Abdullahs, formed a small family which shared great personal details without any comprehensible language to share. Oh, the power of love, the bond of compassion and interdependence thereof...absolutely unbelievable !


Zainab somehow still posed an enigma, an intrigue. Despite almost all the features attributable to her unforgiving ailment, her attempts to form words offered immense hope to me. To me, it was not the garbled, mumbo - jumbo that was an issue, but it was her sheer helplessness to convey the innermost feelings and the struggles writ large on her face, which generally resulted in angst and rage, that caused the pain. She would realise after her fit of rage and then wrap her tiny, chubby arms around my neck, climb on my chair and sit in the lap and remain silent. It was her way of offering an apology. The encounters of such intense emotions were making me hapless and frustrated.


More the inexplicable forms and rises within me, stronger my convictions get about their future veracity. The answer or the explanation to such phenomenon must lie in the fact that now, since reasoning logic or science have resigned to impotence, the answer in the abstract, which mercifully does not need any embellishments of truth, past evidence and data. At one such moment of inner conviction, i offered these words to the parents, " My little angel shall start talking soon, shall learn the languages faster than the kids her age."



Religion, God, black magic, blind beliefs, move over....Desperate times seek refuge even in stark raving madness, insanity, lunacy. I may have sounded exactly that and nothing more to the parents. But the conviction born out of nothing and nowhere must be a message or an instruction to me from Zainab's protector, Ali !


Lo and behold... Last month a strange international caller, chirped and cooed, " Doctor, ..... ( an uncomfortable pause ) Zainab ! Love you....UMMMMM." and more kisses poured out and wet my face... It did not matter whether her wet tender kisses had made their way all the way from Zanzibar or the well guarded, fiercely controlled emotional dam had burst......

Traveller's diary

Travel brings out the child in almost each one of us, more in some than others. Count me in those "some". The excitement and the need to absorb and imbibe the character of the place, its people, its flavour, create great enthusiasm.

For me, it is the prelude to the journey which sets the wheels in motion. Anyone who has performed on the stage to a sizable audience, shall vouch for the fact that the preparations to a performance and the rehearsals, are a greater source of joy and thrill, as compared to the actual event.

The increasing degree of self preservation and attention to details, so as to avoid the "last minute rush and disappointments", have actually robbed the traveller of the most exciting part of the journey, i.e., the unpredictability and uncertainty giving rise to the unexpectedly beautiful moments.But the old adage applied everywhere to our convenience, better to be safe.........

Hence, the places were picked and chosen and the images already on the desktop backgrounds before we embarked on the recent travel to the far off Italian Riviera. The unraveling of the mystique and intrigue associated with the travel are mercifully still not robbed, by the camera.For knowledge and familiarity destroy the enigma and magic of the unknown and uncharted, and the travel becomes a non event.

The cameras with their still and video photography still, thankfully come a cropper in recreating the atmosphere, the smell, the sound, even the sights and the character of people and places.

So, the sterile and predictably unchanged, (hesitatingly accepting of the travellers, not an open arm welcome, for sure) drabness of Heathrow, as always, failed to surprise. Adherence to systems and protocols have damaged Britain's travel and this becomes more stark and glaring when one visits, say an Italy or an unobtrusive USA.

Having managed to get a fast track clearance to immigration, only meant a greater delay, for the minimalistic attitude towards employment of work force, saw to it that there were unmanned desks a plenty. The couple of desks dedicated to the favoured ones, were the ones which suffered the most.Surprisingly, it required a Brit to call for an officer to get the things moving, after a half an hour of impatient wait and the friends and family mocking at me, as if it was my fault, the ubiquitous queue, the hallmark of the country, started stirring to life.The common queue cleared out much faster than ours.So much for the fast track clearance!

I have been aware of the disparity in the number of personnel employed for a particular task in our country compared to the Western world.But the unflinching, mathematical, predictable regularity with which the Heathrow immigration system fails and reaches newer levels of inefficiency looks worse, every time one returns home at the inexplicable, unearthly wee hours of the morning, to find brilliantly efficient immigration blokes clearing out plane loads of weary souls in a jiffy, be it Mumbai or Delhi. Kudos to the system in India and a huge thumbs down to the under /non performing, non existent system at the Heathrow.

If the immigration counters have not been potent enough to annoy the daylights out of you, then welcome to the unenviable task of grabbing a trolley to the carousel for the non- arrival of your baggage for eternity. The Brits ensure that they are successful in teaching you the lessons in patience, instantly, on your arrival and familiarise you with the inefficiency bursting at its seam.The virtue of patience has been tutored to them not by any design, but by hugely inefficient systems, a default setting now, that are geared to create queues and delays. ( the motor ways and parking issues are another case in point) I am a firm believer that the Brits too want to jostle and grab and jump the signals and the queues,( you can almost hear the gritting of their teeth and the swear words laced with fumes of alcohol), but then there is no pot of promised gold at the end of the rainbow, for the system has outlived its time and surely there is very little to gain. Hence welcome to the school for education in patience through non-performance.

Contd...........1

મહ્યાહને સૂર્યાસ્ત........................


તબીબ હોવાને કારણે, કદાચ કઠોર હ્ર્દય અને સમ્વેદનાશીલ્તાનો અભાવ, એ સાહજિક ગુણધર્મો અને વ્યક્તીત્વ નાં બિનજરૂરી -જરૂરી પાસાં માનવા પડે. આમેય એવી સાધારણતઃ માન્યતા પ્રવર્તતી હોય છે.

હૃદય ઉપર થતા પ્રહારો અને એને કારણે થતા ઘા ની તીવ્રતાની માત્રા નો ક્યારક તો ખ્યાલ પણ નથી આવતો. એનું કારણ એ પણ હોઈ શકે કે કદાચ ઘા ની અસર જ ન થતી હોય.રોજના ધોરણે થતા અસંખ્ય અને અગણિત ઘા અને ઘસરકાઓ જુના કે નવા વચ્ચે નો ભેદ જાણ્યા વગર લુપ્ત થઇ જાતા હોય એવું લાગે છે. હૃદય ને ચીરીને આરપાર સોંસરવા નીકળી જાય તેવા અણધાર્યા ને આકસ્મિક બનાવો તો જવલ્લે જ બને છે. પરંતુ સ્વજન નું મૃત્યુ, તે પણ આકસ્મિક અને યુવાનીના ભર મધ્યાહને તબીબ ને તેના હૃદયની લાચારી, મજબૂરી કે પછી વાસ્તવિકતાનો પરિચય કરાવી દે છે.

જો કઠોર અને નિષ્ઠુરતા નું પ્રતિક એવા તબીબ ને જો હચમચાવી દે તો એક ફૂલ જેવા બાળક ના કુમળા હૃદય ની શી વિસાત? એ હૃદયની 'આકાંક્ષા', મનસુબા, સ્વપ્ન, નો તાગ કાઢવા, તેના સારથી ની ગેરહાજરીમાં કલ્પનાઓ ના ઘોડાઓ દોડાવી,કોણ સક્ષમ બનશે?

પરિપક્વતા અને પ્રતિકુળ સંજોગો ને સાનુકુળ પરિસ્થિતિ માં બદલવાની ક્ષમતા ધરાવવી, એને સૌ એક ખૂબ મોટી ખૂબી કે ગુણ માને છે. બાળક ની સહજતા અને સરળતા, "જે જુએ તે માને અને ન જુએ તે ન માને", જેને વડીલો જીદ કે હઠ કહે છે, તેના હૃદય સાથે છેતરપીંડી કરવા દેતાં નથી. એના મૌન ને અજ્ઞાનતા કે અપરિપક્વતા કે નાદાનિયત માની ને વડીલો પોતાની જાતને છેતરી લેતા હોય છે.કદાચ એ મૌન ને અણસમજ ગણી વાત ને ટાળવા કે બદલવા નો પ્રયત્ન ચાલુજ રાખે છે. બાળક બોલે નહીં એટલે તેને સમજણ નથી? કદાચ એનું મૌન તો વડીલો ને દુઃખ કે ઠેસ ન પહોંચે તે માટે જ હશે ને? સમજણ તો આપણા માં નથી. બાળકની મનોવ્યથા, એની મૂંઝવણ નો હલ કોની પાસે હોય? એના સરળ, સહજ સવાલોના, આપણા વધારે ગૂઢ જવાબો, બાળક ને કેટલા મૂંઝવતા હશે?

'આકાંક્ષા' ની આકાંક્ષાઓ અને એના સાદગીભર્યા રોજિંદા સહવાસ ની મનોકામનાઓ કોણ પૂરી કરશે? એના પિતા તો ભગવાન ને ઘેર પહોંચી ગયા. આકાંક્ષાના શબ્દોમાં એ તો તારો થઈને આકાશમાં પુરાઈ ગયા.

મધ્યરાત્રીએ, એક જ ટકટકી ભરી નજરે જો આકાંક્ષાને, અસંખ્ય તારાઓ માંના કોઈ એક જ 'જ્વલંત' તારા ને નિહાળતી જુઓ, ત્યારે એના અને જ્વલંત ના સાનિધ્યનો અર્થ તારવવાનો પ્રયત્ન ન કરીએ, કે પછી આપણા છીછરા જ્ઞાન નું પ્રદર્શન કરતા સવાલો થી તેને ખલેલ પહોંચાડવા થી વેગળા રહીએ, તો એ કદાચ આપણી પરિપક્વતા ની સાબિતીનો પુરાવો સાબિત થશે!

A hasty burial?

The faint aroma of wet earth
The still sticky mud lining my hearth
Suffocated and choked is my breath
Exhume me, feel caged in my garth.


I too wanted to complain
I too wanted to explain
The tombstone did bear my name
But
Why so much of urgency and such utter disdain?
You could have shown a bit of a restrain
Hoped you would abstain
It wasn't even preordained
Remember
Even an insane feels his pain!

The Grapevine And The Beauty.

The Toms and the Harries
Had their own theories
Give a pass to Paris
The grapevine was rife with my love
Even in Buenos Aires
Why were you unaware
Waved it off as airy-fairy ?.............................................1.


Not for nothing that you're so smug
Oh! your swagger and the shrug
Must stem from your pretty mug
Have seen the mugshots by the shutterbug
Small mercy
You haven't still looked in my eyes
Your beauty would further shine and rise..................................2.

Shadow

Shadows are fickle
So much like dime and nickle
In sunshine, they stay to tickle
Setting sun melts the chicle
Ain't that brickle?

Shadows ditch, but at sunset

You were one better......

Love, sure was not a fetter
I was the lamb
You led me to slaughter
You, my tipple and me the whetter
Drunk on love, i went teeter- totter

My eyes, blinded by love
You melted away in the bright sunshine
For some netter?
Surely not one better

No wonder
You had promised me
To be my shadow
And steal my thunder..................

Our Nest

You flew far and wide, east and west
Picked up threads of satin and twigs, the very best
Your tired wings need rest
I shall build the rest of our warm nest.

Dreamt together of our nest
With warmth and love, we've ended the quest
Our invest, such a joy to our guests
Their smile and peace, make everyday; a fest.

The day
Entwined in each other's arms
Oodles of peace and no false alarms
Soft whispers and raucous laughter
The nest's perennial cloak
We play the roles of creeper and oak
Love and warmth, drench and soak

The night
Soft whispers and sweet nothings
Satin sheets and sweet dreams
Covering us, our only clothing

It's free for all
But you may jostle for space
For the nest
Is teeming with happiness and grace...............

Salvation

Oh! So you thought i had lost my way!
I asked, hoping, you would walk with me
I was desperate, dropping hints
Dreaming of overlapping yours over my footprints
Eager and expectant, eyes full of glint
Only if you had said aye and not a nay
Without you knowing, i would have had my say

Even a stranger would have pointed the direction
It would've been a huge satisfaction
Only if you'd shaken off the inaction
Walked with me without asking the destination
The trust then would've been the ultimate salvation.

Where Are You?

God knows, yes, You alone know
Why on earth, are You invisible, desert or snow?
You've a done a great disappearing act
Now a guest appearance act
Even if it be for one show

Look,
Faith is getting replaced by doubts
Scepticism about you, is sure growing
Come live among us
This place shall be better for our children to grow
Tell us in detail what you know
I promise
All our life, about You
We shall crow.

Redefine.

The times call for grit and toughness
Of that,there is enough awareness
But where is the love,where do i find tenderness?

Feel done in by fate
Scarred, cynical and coarse, ain't we mate?
Gentle and kind, we shall be
May be it ain't too late!

Times compel us to be rude
So we would love to think, right dude?
Let us fall in line
Have ourselves redefine
Refine!

Fortune and fame
Walk around on legs, lame
Try trust and faith
Believe me, they ain't too tame.
Flaunting them shall be no shame.

Greed for power
Everything fair for vanity
Nudge, jostle, shove and push
All for popularity
How about virtues, dated though
Of integrity and purity.

Tried to look for them in me,
Found the coffers empty, mate
Hence
I have been shopping of late
Came back with an empty slate
Endless seems my wait
Walk in, as i await
Loaded with the traits
Who shall enter through the gates?

Bleeding

The banyan tree has fattened
Both our names still etched, though a bit flattened
The arrow has still not pierced the heart through
My hopes and wait still living through
The fresh blood still wets the bark, is dripping through...................

On the wings of a butterfly

Come with me, i shall show you the world

We shall perch on the wings of the butterfly
A bird's eye view from the azure sky
We shall touch the pearls of dew
Rummage through clouds a few
Hitch a ride atop the raindrops
Spiral down the mountain tops
To wet the parched crops
Run amok with the rivers
Go on a maddening spree
We shall melt in the ebbing waters of the receding sea
Only to ride the tide again and make merry you see!

My God Sprouts Everyday

My garden is an orchestra
Through the creator
It plays its music
Original scores
Always something extra
Am so lucky
To be the chosen one
Listen to the symphony
Through my glass window's fenestra.


The land and the nature
Compose their music
Always a soft signature
Need quiet and peace
Hear the rustle of leaves
Swaying of trees
Undulating grass blades
Serene breeze
Hone the ears amateur
Blustery winds
The torrents of rain sheets
The deafening drums of the thunder
A scary departure.

A lifetime of history
Each day a new story
It is my temple
My God sprouts everyday
He tells me stories
Makes me the music
In return
Through my trees
I keep my endless efforts
Of returning the favour
To Him, i talk
High up in the heavens.

Broken Lines.

Love sure must be blind
Little wonder
When i shut my eyes- blind
Within me, you, i find...............................................1.



In an orphanage
With a chalk, on the blackboard
A teacher scribbled
"Ma" and "Pa"
Then she was visibly bored
So
She asked her pet ward
To come aboard
The little boy
Scribbled his name
Between, Ma and Pa
Joined the three
With broken lines
His design of the umbilical cord?
But good Lord!
Didn't his plight strike a chord?
He had everyone floored..........................................2.

Leaves- A Crunch

The heart bleeds for the fallen leaves
The crunch under the stomping feet
Bores holes in the heart-a bleeding sieve
Matched by the blood spots
The fallen leaves weaved
On the branches, they bereaved
The yellowing leaves, their edges frayed
The rainbow leaves- nascent flowers of autumn
So subtly they turn a shade
The first shimmering glade
The earth loves to clad
Still the beauty of a garden
And its every withering blade.

Love says, don't fret

It started out as any usual tiff
She sounded miffed
I too acted stiff

The phone calls were the first casualty
The long unending chats started begging for more loyalty
Both were nursing a bruised ego's frailty

The phones were used, only to stare at
The growing silence fed the ego, fat
The passage of time fuelled an innocuous spat
To an acrimonious tit for tat

Wiser heads offered advice
A rendezvous with mates, to thaw the ice
To splint the fractured splice
All of us sat on the beach atop a gneiss

They talked gibberish
With a broken twig, i soiled the white sand, with my usual rubbish
She sat tight lipped, not even a whish
They sat quiet, with grins impish
All this was really very foolish

They gave up and beat a retreat
I bet they were now not so upbeat
We two, were on our feet
So aware and so discrete

She led as we trundled along
She a tad ahead, i, where i belong

The sea breeze blowing in our faces
Her locks flying, hitting my senses
The sensuous incense
Left me sans defense
Was there any point in furthering the lame pretense?

The eyes met
Hers too were wet
Silence was a huge debt
It had seemed such a threat
For words, still, we didn't sweat
Love told us not to fret.................................

Love Reborn.

We decided to play a game, well past midnight
I asked her if she could count from one to infinite
She was a game, try she would, definite
I had her curiosity, ignite

Hand in hand we walked up to the terrace
Full moon night, the moon with a glow on her face
Cool breeze, aflutter the lingerie's lace
She sure matched the night with all her grace

She started, from one
I knew even by dawn, she wouldn't be done
I dropped a hint, for fun
Asked her to count the stars
Voila!
Saw the stars in her eyes, no pun!

She must have reached the umpteen
And the clouds crossed over
Worse they giggled and laughed
Poor thing lost the count
Started again,all over

Just as she had a few to reach the infinite
She hit the moonlight
Stung by the resplendent sight
Her efforts were blight

She was still a game
I had started feeling the shame
She was at it again, just the same
Her belief in me, a freeze-frame

She put all her heart and started again
Her blood shot eyes revealing the pain
As she neared the gain
A star fell from the sky,
A shooting star straight in our lane

The darkness just before dawn
The darkest hour of the morn
Her eyes searching my wish, lovelorn
Mine hopelessly in love, reborn
A love for a lifetime, sworn......................

Sorrow.

Silence holds sorrows better
Words, shall result in the eyes, wetter.

Sorrow weeps for the loss, in the present
Of the delight that was ours, in the past

Sorrows stay longer
Of our hearts they grow fonder
Stay within and yonder

Burn the fuel of sorrows
For the journey of life, ponder
Don't use them
They shall last a lifetime
You shall wonder

A Petitre Interjection.

The postman knocked at the door
A letter,"par avion'', lay carelessly flung on the floor
Instantly, i knew it was yours
For the handwriting are etched deep in the core.

It felt like yesterday
The lump exploded,
I thought i had kept it at bay

The letter felt moist
Had the ink not dried on the letter?
Or your tears had kept it wetter?

It smelt of you- divine
The fragrance replete in every line
It arrived in December
It still had the warmth of your breath
Love was alive and thriving
So was our faith

You said there was mist and fog
The weather was misery agog
You asked me for a bright sun
Assumed, here it was all fun

I sure shall send all the warmth
Of our love in a swath
Ensure the summer in rathe
Strewn with sunshine in your path

Yes, it's bright and sunny
But all is no fun, honey
Can i ask you for a repartee?

Even if there is no intention
(Your love not a contention)
Shall you scribble the fabrication?
I know the facts from the fiction
Yearning, a petite interjection
I shall discern the cloaked accession
From the obvious dissension.......................

A Perfect Murder.

Every bullet leaves a trace
More gruesome a murder, more obvious the face
Every riddle is pregnant with a clue in its maze
The eyes must have vision, just not a dumb gaze

More elaborate a murder, greater the blunder
Set up a murder, sure to flounder
As in life, so in death
Subtlety shall ensure the wonder
From underneath the feet asunder
Shall steal the thunder

A perfect murder?
Must have carcass bleed and wonder
Weren't it luckier?
The sender, a tad kinder
A more gruesome mode, any contender?

Fallen In Love?

The shores seem stretched silence- serene
The sea raucous, roaring- rapturous with rapids

But for all his might
The sea is still not right
Losing to the tidal waves in its fight
Surrenders to the shore
Which makes light
Of the load of the sea and its plight
The mighty waves blight
Be it day or night..............................................................1.



Have you ever fallen in love?
Then how come you still exist?
You'd have lost yourself in her
Try and search for yourself
You shall find yourself, never..............................................2.

Rocking And Alive

Believe your God controls the destiny
But even then everyday, your life is a mutiny
Thank ?, a man is not accused
Of writing it and under scrutiny
Otherwise
Even your God shall not answer the litany......................1.


Ironic, isn't it?
If you drown, then you float
The sea shall fling you to the shore
Dare to swim and go against the tide
He shall drag you mid sea and gloat.....................................2.


While i was alive, they called me naive
Looked around for a place to survive
Have my peace revive
But
The world would connive and contrive

Then i gave up and died
Went to the cemetery
Looked around for an abode
Hoping my fortunes shall now revive
Found the angels standing in attendance
Warned me,"This place is rocking and alive"...................3.

Untouched.Really?

Will someone please ask
These seemingly dry stones?
Are they for real
The stoic sage or the clones?

I don't know ....

So tell me, please
When this water brushes you
And bathes you
Something must be happening to you......
Then how do you remain dry?
Really untouched, are you?

A Folklore.

Yes, the story had to start like this.

Once upon a time, there was a king.It was/ is obligatory for the kings to be whimsical.A whim entered our king's head and he asked his chief advisor to grow him the kind of flowers which had hitherto not been grown-resplendent in color, divine in fragrance and blossoming all year round, a heaven on earth.

The wise man was not deemed wise for no reason.He said that it wasn't for him to grow this,only a true love/ lover could grow it.So he asked the king to send his soldiers around the town to find a true lover.

When the soldiers were told about the mission, they were clueless.The general came forward and told the king that if they were to nab some thieves/ robbers, it would be a cakewalk but this task felt very strange and they did not even know the name or the abode of the true lover.So the wise man was summoned again.He told the general that he knew the name of the person, and it was "True Lover." He further added hat he could offer a clue about the place where the "true lover" lived.According to him, there would be a beautiful bed of spring flowers all year round and there would be lush green trees, peacocks lazing about, cuckoos cooing, springs spraying crystals around, gentle breeze whispering sweet nothings to the trees and the "true lover" would be basking in all this.

Once the orders were issued, the soldiers marched round the kingdom.They nosed around, bullied a bit, sent the sleuths and finally they brought a withered old lady, to the king.She could barely stand, leaning on her crooked stick,she cupped her hand on her forehead and looked at the king and his court.

The king was furious.He demanded an explanation.The soldiers said that the old lady was impossible to comprehend and decipher.But the folks in her vicinity addressed her as "True Lover"... Whenever there was any auspicious event in the kingdom, her house was the first to be decorated. She was the first one to bless the newlyweds and whenever the locals were in strife, they would seek her blessings and the clouds of gloom, dissipated.

The wise man knew instantly that the soldiers had not blundered and he knelt down and touched her feet.The king reluctantly followed the suit.The old lady retreated her steps backwards when the king touched her feet.Then she made herself a little more stable and leaned on her stick, fixed her gaze on the king,"Son, just about the end of the journey now.Have kept the lamp burning all this life. Whenever he would return, he would not have to look for his love.Have kept this patience going and guess have lived the whole life, waiting."

"If my love had returned, i too would have been blessed with a gem at my place.We too would have our own home bred king.Looks a distant dream now, may be too you.But i have seen and lived this dream everyday of this very long life.Have saved the tears only for his return, today you touched my feet and all that came flooding back......"

The stuttering voice had already cracked, the tears welled up in the slits that were once the eyes which had experienced only longing and yearning.The tears, locked hitherto in the deep recesses of her core, found the escape, rolled down and touched the ground.And then the most incredible spectacle unfolded. Wherever the tears touched the earth, flowers blossomed, the colors- resplendent, the fragrance- divine, just as had been commanded by the king..And before the king and his court could recover from the shock, the "True Lover" had collapsed on the bed of flowers she had created for herself- a heaven on earth.

Spring In The Stride.Caught in the midst of a raging spring. The sun twirling his moustache, the brightness, an afterthought-lingering Trees caught half awake, half napping, lazing Tender leaves tickling, now fully alert, yet smiling Bright sun rays piercing the dust, the particles dancing Window bars, no prison, the incandescence bursting Cuckoo feasting on my mulberry tree, incessantly cooing The dogs circling the queen bitch, she, nonchalantly wooing The kittens quasi purposely, pawing and mewing The imprisoned smiles indoors, spewing; spreading, spilling The world suddenly so charming.

The Uniing Wall.

No, you should not have gone away
I had almost learnt to find my way
It was just that you held so much of sway
I could not fathom a night from a day.

Even love knows not its own depth
Until after the separation, you have wept
Didn't the tears scald your eyes?
For even the dead felt the pain when they left

We never allowed even a small distance
Our love shall be the bridge to abridge this great distance
You are the very reason for my existence
Shall break this resistance
Through our love, the truth of our subsistence

This wall between us
Be the link and not a curse
I shall always knock, with love,shall i nurse
Be the silence you choose to remain terse
I shall still hear the love's unspoken verse.

Lost.

Your void, your absence, that gnawing feeling
The being, bare and raw, all layers peeling
Heart wild, aflutter, begging your touch healing
Eyes welling, head reeling, soul wailing
Worse, i, myself, had me failing.

Don't ask how mad, hopping mad
Count the clouds above, that mad
Don't ask how sad, numbing sad
Pore into my emptiness, that sad

Then
The first spring flower bore your name
The fluttering butterfly wings spread your fragrance
The virgin sprouting grass filled me with your freshness
The orange hue of the rising sun had your glow
The twinkling stars winked at me the night
The gushing springs, so reminiscent of your ringing laughter
And the winding path pointed to your dwelling

So
I took the road that led me to your place
Found my lost name at the door
Did the blank paper also have your face?

Insanity-The Bliss.

Sad ! There is no hope for you
You all are so sane...

Cheers ! Oodles of hope and joy for me
And you all call me insane.....

What a pity!
Your sane ways, so full of logic and reason
I think, to a life, that is treason
No humour, no wit
And you call me, a twit.

Insanity may bear little reason
But you bet
Shine and cheer, spread all through the season

The lands and the seas are all in my possession
You worry your heads off for little seisin

Peace and joy, my only mission
Your sane life? So much of fission!

Words To Conceal Thoughts.

Words uttered, only to conceal the inner thoughts
Stillness preferred, stoic, face head on, the dangers fraught
Lit a lamp, to discover darkness underneath, a reality much sought
Laugh aloud together, the damn tears harass a lot...........................

.......1.


There isn't enough love around
Blessed are we, love is what we've found
With you around, i shall cover the lost ground
Our love shall make the world go round...................................................2.


Strange isn't it?
Walking together, we tripped on each other
So aware and conscious not to tread on the other
So, i walked alone
Walking alone was so easy, moved unhindered
Vision and path not tinkered
Till got entangled in own feet
Alas!
The beauty of togetherness squandered.....................................................3.

Dream.Lost And Found.

Was lost in a dream, had found the bliss
The eyes wide shut, sure not to miss
A trance so deep, almost death reminisce

Divine slumber in the lap of night
Surrendered to the stillness sans a fight
The eyes shut, drained of all light
Suddenly, what was that? A flight, fright or fight
Reality struck with all its might
My dream, lost- was blight......

Did you come across it?
Please return, it's mine
Wouldn't be any use, not thine
For me, it's sacred, my shrine......

Asked East, it pointed to West
Asked North, said South was the best.
Went to the woods, said you won't find it anywhere in these nest/s
Looked at the skies, someone yelled from the heavens
"Big deal, this is every one's dream
I thought yours was different"
Sheepish, turned to the earth
Overheard-"Of fools, here, there is no dearth"

Lost and tired
Heart, in dejection, mired
Shut the eyes, imagination fired
Nestled within was the dream
All decked up prior to pyre...................