Click here: Sown deep
The End
This would be my last one here.
Or the second last, technically. I would like to snap all ties with my beloved
blog. For reasons more than one. Stealthily shall I bypass them. For me, this
blog has been a forum for confessions slightly hidden away from the regular eyes
hovering on popular podia like Facebook. Like books are to be kept in a shelf
different from medals, ideas and thoughts of different shapes and sizes have
their own place. This blog has been a source of immense joy for me ever since
its inception, two years back. Probably two autumns is too short a life for any
blog. But as theists would agree, the creator has authority to end one’s creations.
If I ever feel like, I could give it fresh life, which at present I intend not
to.
The purpose of a blog, as I discovered, could be manifold-
but never the same as maintaining a diary. A blog need not be a
chronological account of events. Instead, it could, as in my case, be back-and-forth
trips down some cherished memory-lanes or dark alleys. Sparks from the past and
speculations about the future merged into the present as my keyboard in close
association with my fingers gave expression to the blood gushing between the
heart and the brain. I tried not to “publicize” my blog as far as possible but
I confess that the visitor meter ticking away faster than I would expect charged
me with a “feel-good” factor and spurred me to my next post. I really do
not know how people from Philippines or Madagascar or Turkey ended up visiting my
page. I do not even know if this information is accurate. Still, blogger
managed to keep me happy with these little rewards. Comments from random strangers and friends who
I thought stopped reading my posts (to keep up with their busy schedule or in
protest against my compromise of quality of posts in favor of quantity) cheered
me up in the gloomiest of times. Thank You for all these.
Well, the blog had its “other” advantages. Like being member
of popular blogger networks such as the Indiblogger
and thereby being part of its very interesting meets where besides getting to
know other bloggers, one has the privilege of having a sumptuous dinner or high
tea at a posh Delhi hotel where otherwise one’s entry, as in my case on account
of my tattered countenance, would have been prohibited! Add to that, this blog
fetched me an award (hotel coupons and in turn a trip to Agra!) which I would relish for quite some time.
It is never easy to desert something which you’ve nurtured
with such care. But “time” dictates me
to take a prudent call on this. The memories attached with this blog better be
interred right here (I can only hope) as I prepare to steer my life to a road probably remarkably different from the one I traversed so far. For those who
want to come with me to the next ride, hopefully you’ll be less disappointed
since I plan not to compromise on quality ever again. As I contemplate on how
best I could transit my blog to a different place with a different name, which
is to be announced shortly, I take your leave.
Thanks for following, reading, commenting, sharing,
bookmarking, admiring and believing!
Towards Light
Panting haplessly inside a
dark tunnel,
A boy in shorts wants to
make it to the end
Before the punctual rail
engine breathes out fire,
Crushes him to his pyre.
Is it the star, down at
evening,
Generous and timid- its
red laser
Or the butcher train and
its burning yellow?
Frightened, he runs for
life towards the light-
For he was told light was
knowledge.
The science of
probability, common sense-
All pointed to the exit,
The exit welcoming- either
honest or satanic;
He'd never know which one,
Unless he reached there.
For education is important...
For education is important,
It is with pride I have received
them,
Advantaged at birth, inequity's
the game;
Sailing across for a place in
the hall of fame,
Literacy for many or varsity for
a few-
Who is to blame?
For education is important,
Plush jobs that follow, albeit
dull, chased us;
All busy to board the already
crowded bus,
Shoving the elderly co-passenger
to win a better seat,
To disembark at the next stop-
To tell the world of our feat.
For education is important,
It was prudent to have a working
filter,
That'd shun the waste and out of
the gutter,
They're convinced that was
better for the greater-
For they never thought that the
best would someday
Join hands to write a letter-
“For education is important,
We lions saved it for us, let
the cows munch on grass,
Extracted the gold, left the
brass,
You might call us crass, we'll
let those comments pass-
We built hospitals, invited
patients over,
Without employing a nurse!”
Belief
The
prayers had long receded
Into
foul alleys of Oblivion or Karma's bliss,
Half-shut
eyes, unprejudiced,
That
demanded evidence of His,
Inquiring
of the boy- deceased.
The
white cloaked priest, the saffron saint
All
resigned to 'Thee',
Your
wishes, your want- they chant-
Tell
'em to open their eyes and see,
Breathe
the air of logic and not lament.
Some
complained it was his past life,
Others
spoke of his parents' misdeeds;
How
would I influence my fortune,
One
that would be reaped by others' seeds?
Would
I choose to work
If
it were to be evaluated not any soon?
Prayers,
albeit fewer, have golds flourishing,
The
stakes are high, hopes diminishing;
You
gotta respond before it's late,
Before
they stop invoking your name.
Crimes, Protests and Solutions
It
is perhaps impossible to shut one's ears to the public protests going on all over India, and Delhi in particular, in response to the
medieval act of brutality meted out to a young lady and her friend.
Impossible, unless you are the Prime Minister of this country, or so
say some. I would rather say that the Home Minister and his likes
have been responsive to the situation in all the wrong ways;
unresponsiveness probably would have served somewhat a better
purpose. (The last statement was made out of an inherent respect for
Dr. Singh's above-the-average academic achievements and not for his
failure as the leader of world's greatest democracy.)
I
am not here to discuss what the Government should or shouldn't have
done. Having studied in a public university, I am well aware of how
government officials are expected to react in such turbulent times
that hurt their slumber; as a rule of thumb, this is what they do:
buy time! This is not difficult to see given that the mass suffers
from 'short-term' memory. We've seen that in recent cases of protest
against corruption and in the past, during protest against
reservations. The current rage is all-pervading, except that it is
likely to die down very soon, that the media now already has other
breaking news such as Sachin's retirement from one-day cricket or
more ridiculously, the success of Dabangg-2. This is not
surprising, especially because the ones protesting are driven more by
passion and less by thoughts. Let us assume the ideal situation where
as a result of the huge participation in the nationwide protests, the
case is fast-tracked and all the accused are sentenced to death. The
country will rejoice, come down to streets and the media will be
somewhat relieved at not having to figure out what would feature on
their cover page that particular day. What would hurt me most is that
my Facebook news feeds would be flooded by the same status updates, slightly
varying in some cases, some teary-eyed, others full of pride. Case
closed- until the modesty of another woman is outraged the very next
night.
Some
people complain that the Government has been too complacent about the
way it carries out its duties, others say that the policemen are
worthless pot-belly haggards, good only at accepting bribes. True, to
a large extent. But I still fail to understand how an efficient
policeman would have been able to prevent the crime in this country
of ours. How would a policeman know what's going on inside a moving
bus? Does one realize how many cops are required to keep a firm vigil
on all vehicles- public and private- moving across just Delhi, with
so few security cameras at our disposal? One might call the
Government's failure to install security cameras a total
disappointment. But unlike popular road-signs “accident-prone
area”, one does not expect anything called a “rape-prone area”;
atrocities such as these could occur in the remotest corner of
Rajasthan to the posh locale of Mumbai. Does a government go about
installing CCTVs everywhere? Even with an incorruptible system and
higher taxes deducted from your salary (which again has the potential
to start a fresh round of protest!), this would still not be
feasible.
As
has been oft said, punishing the criminal serves no purpose unless
you look carefully where exactly are things going wrong. When people
say “hanging” the criminal would deter others from doing the same
crime again, think again. I can readily provide the example of
Dhananjoy who was hanged for the same crime, after his mercy plea was
rejected by the then President of India, Dr. Kalam. Probably it
'brought justice to the girl' and her family, as they were quoted to
have said. But justice wasn't brought to the millions of women who
come so close to have escaped a similar fate as that girl, every day.
Most readers would by now be thinking that I am here to discuss that
there's no solution to this problem. Well, there is.
Investigate further. How does one decide whether or not to
commit a particular crime at any give moment? Since I am neither a
criminal myself (really, believe me or not) nor a Sigmund Freud, my
vision is limited. But from what I understand, there has to be some
spur- a catalyst- some lightning-fast life-altering decision driven
by an unsettled mind, wanting to break free of certain customs
fettered by one's upbringing. What they lack at that moment is
perhaps control of the self.
Education,
I would argue, largely takes care of this problem, except in certain
physiological cases. By education, I don't mean literacy. Literacy
certainly forms the big chunk in education and could help curb these
crimes to half the current number. I cannot but agree with Shashi
Tharoor when he points out that if there has to be one solution to
all the problems in this society, it must be: Educate the girl child.
By educating the girl, we are educating not one person, but a family.
An educated mother would mean informed decisions, better
family-planning and broader outlook that would disseminate to her
children (both male and female). Educated families would mean an
educated society. An educated society would mean greater respect for
women and reduced crimes- not just against women. It would also mean
not accepting dowries which, as one of my seniors rightly pointed out
on Facebook, originates from the same misfortune (or so shall we say)
of considering women as “objects”. It is thus no surprise, as
Amartya Sen argues, that the states of Kerala and the North-eastern
states, which have an above-the-Indian-average literacy rate,
registers extremely few cases of crime against women while states
such as Uttar Pradesh presents horrific statistics. An interesting
point to note here is that abundance of wealth has no role to play in
this context. An opulent state like Punjab or Delhi could be put to
shame by the poverty-stricken Nagaland, if their statistics of crimes
against women were to be compared. While there is no comparison as to
which states are better and which are not, there certainly are
lessons that the rest of the country can learn from the so-called
disadvantaged states; they deserve utmost respect and applause,
simply because they need not drive Audis to learn and respect the
basic principles of living in a human(e) society.
Reward
Fate that resigned to
faith,
While overcoming both
sloth and mirth,
Birds that guide me
to silent hills,
And bards goad me for a thousand drills,
Prepares me for the
uniqueness
In acceptance and in rejection-
Immensely gratifying,
For I don’t have to
ask for rewards,
Which are preserved
in a covert safe,
Securely hidden from
the searching eyes,
Just for me, at the
end of the weather
I embark to brave.
Parenting
Over the last
two years of my stay in the Delhi-NCR region, I have, along with my friends
from my native state, been overwhelmed by the differences in culture that exist
between the two regions. The difference is sometimes surprising and at other
times shocking. One of the many conflicts that succeeded in evoking “shock” in
me is definitely ‘parenting’. Although I have literally no access to any of the
households in my current neighborhood, the observations on the road or the
playground, to an extent, enable me to sum up the attitude of the young parents
of this generation.
Every evening,
when I return from office, I see parents- the father and/or the mother (in most
case, a mother) - pushing their children around in a perambulator. Certainly, while
the gentle breeze in the evening is the closest today’s children get to, to be
part of Nature and the temperature at dusk might just be conducive to the
baby’s health, there is something else that worries me. Consider a couple of
scenes from my daily observation:
1.
The mother chats with her friend over the mobile-phone,
while driving the carriage around. She is not to be blamed because pushing a
carriage around for an hour or a half isn’t the most interesting job in the
world; ennui drives her to play with the keys of her smart-phone. She might as well stop to talk to a neighbor
physically- a welcome break in the baby-carriage marathon!
2.
The lady is lucky to have her husband with her, while
pushing the child around; so, she has someone to talk to by her side. The
couple enjoys a nice evening-walk, while also taking care of the ever-widening
waist size. Dual purpose served! Other purposes might also include buying
grocery.
Now, in each of
the above scenarios, I haven’t talked about the baby- who should have been our
prime focus. What does the little thing do all this time? Doesn’t it get bored?
Does it “learn” all this while? Does it ‘evolve’? How does it react to the
external world i.e. outside of his/her family?
I get a feeling
that these are not important questions for the young parents of today. Educated
that they are, MS-Excel troubleshooting allures them more.
Recently, I saw
a couple traveling in a rickshaw (i.e. a tricycle). For those who don’t know,
rickshaws here have a front seat that accommodates two people and faces in the
direction of travel; there is another seat at the back which faces the opposite
direction. The couple I am referring to was sitting on the front seat and the
child was made to sit at the back, which essentially means that the couple was
sitting with their backs facing the back of the child. The kid was definitely not
more than four years old. The father was holding his son with one hand; all the
while busy gossiping with his wife as the child precariously held a rod to
support him, while questioning my gaze!
If I compare
the situation with the kind of parenting I have received or observed in the
area I come from, the difference is a wide gulf. A pram is something I rarely see
there, one of the many things I don’t miss. The advantage of living in a simple
middle-class neighborhood is that mothers do not need to worry about spoiling
the paint on the face and can keep their babies close to the bosom. That way, I
believe, albeit not supported by any scientific study, babies feel safe and
comfy. And comfort partly is a result of this safety. After all, you won’t feel
comfortable sitting in a BMW, with a gun held against your head!
Moreover, the
child learns from it being in the parent’s arms more than it would in a lonely
well-decorated carriage. This is precisely because it can now observe more
closely with its cute little eyes, try to comprehend the way parents talk,
react to a situation or laugh at a joke. Certainly, the baby might not be cognizant
of all these aspects and emotions, but unconsciously acquires ‘experiences’ from
the world, continuously adding to its kitty bricks that are vital to the
building of a human being. The kind of perambulators used here prevents
eye-contact between the child and the parent for most of the time. The touch of
a parent’s skin is always the most assuring one; they constantly nourish me
with courage and confidence and propel me to strive to reach the zenith to this
day. Surely the babies of today miss them!
The attachment between
parents and children is extremely important in deciding what the child grows to
be. To strengthen this bond, my view is: parents, especially mothers, should
care less often about whether the baby would wet the clothes or louse up her make-up;
instead she should pick the little-one up in her arms, throw it up in the air
and catch it back while it falls, to make it realize where refuge exactly resides.
Also, it’s always a better idea not to bore the child because it still can’t
indulge in philosophy; instead one should let him/her participate, laugh at the
innocent toothless giggles and respond to him/her. And although the parents
might be doing that at home, there’s no reason why they should behave
differently when outside!
The competition
A Ferrari and a bicycle
Doesn’t vie for the top spot
In a race that the world knows is unfair;
For if there was a competition
Where the winner was judged
By the time spent in the journey,
For curiously appreciating the hill-top view
From every sharp turn,
For slowing down to let the stray dog pass
And for contemplating over
The aroma of wild flowers
While being nipped by the November air,
The cyclist would’ve indeed been
The winner.
A rat's rant
It’s
extremely odd that I should be writing about this now, for this could indeed be
demotivating for me in the first place. In fact, at this mature hour, I should
be focusing on something very important; something most people believe is “life-changing”:
the CAT examination, which in my case is due in two days. Like all serious rats
in this marathon race, I am concerned about my performance in this test. All
rats do fear the CAT. But why am I wasting my time writing this (more so when I
know that I have not more than 5-10 regular readers of my blog), instead of
taking another of those numerous “mock-tests”? Probably because this is where I
find my true calling.
My
eyes have been irritating relentlessly, a result of incessant computer-based mock-tests
and other stuff for which I have been staring at the computer screen for hours
together, without taking a break, while keeping an eye on the timer and trying
to figure out the correct “choice” among probable answers instead of attempting
to “solve” them. One of the several life-altering experiences that one goes
through as one prepares for the big leap, I guess. CAT aspirants will know what
I am talking about. A splash of water and get back to the next question! They
say- “Sky is the limit” and the only strip of sky I see now is through my
window, dark and clouded by affluent Noida constructions.
Besides,
there’s a logjam. Like the ones you frequently get to see during the Parliament
sessions- the ones that bring them to a screeching halt. But, this one’s inside
my head. One part is unwilling to listen to another. I don’t know what those parts
of the brain are called (the marks I earned in Biology in school bears
testimony to the fact that I am not expected to know about this). But, I know
one thing for sure that these parts are protesting: revolting against the “unnatural”
exercises they’ve been asked to perform. May be they are planning to bring down
the dictator in me. I wish them success!
One
thing about when you’re racing against time is that you cannot “think” to best
of your abilities. Probably the pattern of the examination is so designed as to
find to-be-managers who would be capable of making decisions and solving
problems at hand really fast. I, however, doubt that those decisions made over
fast food might not necessarily the best.
So, during CAT, when I read a very thought-provoking comprehension passage, I will
be asked to keep my brain in the bag, along with my mobile-phone. For the use
of brain would be limited to finding coherence between the questions and the “lines”
in the passage. Those “lines” will never become food for my brain. (And if I
try that, I am doomed!) If I find the questions “tricky”, I might have to skip
a passage altogether. (I deeply empathize with the authors whose passages are
used in a test where the students find no time to appreciate their creation!) I
will have no time to indulge in a logical chain of conclusions beyond what is
asked for in the paper, no time to contradict the author and no space for
freedom of expression (I cannot laugh out loud if I find a piece amusing, for
the guy beside me will be upset and the staff will throw me out of the hall).
So, I’ll silently say to myself: LOL (i.e.
without the exclamation sign).
So
much is at stake over one test. Months of dedicated toil will mean nothing to
the world if you get a stomach infection or a common cold on that day. No one
would care if you reached the examination center late because your car broke
down or if you met with an accident. Not that I want any of these to happen to
anyone else or myself, I cannot rule the myriad possibilities out, given our limited
control over the state of affairs around us at any point in time. So, if no one
cares, why should I? “Sit back and relax”-
that’s what I’ve told myself, for it’s more important for the people around you
to know what you are capable of than one examination full of uncertainties decide
it. Yes, it can yield me a prized seat in one of the IIMs, a handsome paycheck thereafter
and a luxury undreamt of. At the same time, I don’t want to miss out on the
little things that make me who I am, even if I don’t get there. You can say
that I chose the ‘wrong’ examination. But, my friend, no examination is ‘right’
for me. So, once again, “Sit back and
relax”.
Pursuit of happiness- 3
A neophyte that I was
In games that shapes societies,
Creates bonds, restrains and ties,
Bodies and souls.
Philosophy was complex,
While immersed in booze,
Malaise was unearthed
And vengeance unsheathed.
Time flew, experience accrued,
Books sold and the mood eased;
As the recipe to happiness
Became known.
The secret lay open, as they say,
For the pleasure in living is in
Secretly watching the loved ones-
Joyous and happy.
Review: Barfi!
I am no critic and given the handful of movies I could treat myself with, in my short span of life, my opinion is plainly drawn from a non-critic audience-who-goes-out-on-weekends-to-movies-for-entertainment point-of-view. If you are thinking that this article will spoil your experience of the movie, rest assured this is in no way a spoiler; moreover, you might feel more motivated to go and watch it after you read it. Which you definitely should, unless you already have. The story-line is clichéd in some ways and there have been myriad films made in Bollywood that tell you the same story, give or take a few episodes. What sets this film a class apart from the mundane others, is the way the story has been narrated. Audiences in India aren’t new to the triangular love-story. Nor is it new to the portrayal of the lives of the disabled- the deaf, the dumb, the blind, the autistic, a patient of the Alzheimer’s and other kinds of handicap. What is common to all these films is that the story-teller attempts to draw the sympathy of the audience, banking on a deluge of emotions- mostly lachrymal- to achieve success, in Box office and award functions.
The trailers and promotions might
have given you a similar experience- a movie that you can go and watch with
your family or with your loved one- a movie devoid of sex, violence or even
verbal abuse. You might even have imagined yourself exiting the multiplex with
a heavy heart or a soggy hanky, contemplating about those unfortunate beings for
the next few minutes before going back to enjoying your own fortune. On the
contrary, this movie is meant to be an enriching experience, for it doesn’t harp
on the emotional string, doesn’t produce that monotonous pensive tune, doesn’t
moisten your eyes all wild; instead, just when you start feeling the deep
undertone of melancholy the characters are experiencing, the actor will
brighten up your face by his caricatures and antics. This is not the story of
two handicapped people; it’s about love and more importantly, the timing of
love. This certainly has to be a first in Bollywood: in its depiction of how
the experience of love changes over time.
The use of symbolism is so aptly
crafted that it would certainly have made even the master Ray proud. The use of
choirs with musical instruments out of nowhere isn’t meant to have the same
implication as the nonsensical dance sequences the Indian audience is so used
to, where the hero and his lady-love move across continents dancing on top of
snow-covered peaks to dense tropical jungles, ignoring the unity of time, place
and action and of course visa complexities! The glass ball showing an inverted
image of any object is an absolute treat to watch. The director brings to the fore
the difference in perspective with which we all view the world and how each is
equally valid. The spherical cage with the rabbit incessantly trying to climb through
its walls is another of the numerous superlative images used in the movie. The
reflection of light from broken glass, the shoe thrown up in the sky, the asynchronous
steps of a deaf dancer all add to the poetic beauty of what is deemed to be one
of the best-made films in Indian cinema.
The beautiful script is supported
by some of the best acting Bollywood has seen in recent times. After the
release of Gangs of Wasseypur, I had little doubts that the acting skills of
the likes of Nawazuddin Siddiqui and Manoj Bajpai would be surpassed anytime
soon. Within only a couple of months, I am forced to think otherwise, umm, at
least think twice and still be unsure! Raj Kapoor would certainly have been
extremely proud of this young man, Ranbir. It might be too early to compare him
with the legend Charlie Chaplin, as some reviews apparently point to, while at
the same time it would be extremely unfair to criticize him for “copying” the
legendary silent-movie star, for Basu’s portrayal of Barfi is not meant to
serve either purpose. Instead, it is an Indianized version of a happy handicap,
with which he lives his life to uphold the beauty of life itself. PC proves her
mettle yet again with a challenging role. Music, specially the background score,
plays an important part in keeping the spirits high, never letting the audience
drown in the ennui of silence. The lyric of the title track sounds funny when
you hear for the first time, makes you think the second time and touches the
soft part the third time.
I must admit that I have a soft
corner for the locations used in the movie: Darjeeling and Kolkata. Because I
can relate to my childhood trips to the unofficial summer capital of Bengal-
Darjeeling, a beautiful landscape nested in the lap of Himalayas, with its
narrow-gauge lines and the tea-gardens. The occasional Durga idols in the
making, the lush green fields, the pot-belly policemen, the lackadaisical tram
and the magnificent Howrah Bridge standing guard to the City of Joy, add to the
beauty of the brilliant cinematography.
Is there a lesson that you take
home? Not once will the message be slapped on your face; instead it is learnt
collectively through small episodes of apparently trivial importance- the
lesson of finding happiness in the humblest of events in life, of being happy
and being loved despite the greatest challenges and handicaps. Truth is: only a
combined effort of a hand-picked team reflects in the making of a good film. And
Barfi is a perfect example. So, do not wait to see if it sweeps the award
ceremonies or box-office collections, because some movies are made to help you appreciate life, happiness and love.
Being Online
As I write this post, I can
clearly see colorful dots in green, red and yellow. Do not be mistaken, for I
am not talking about traffic signals here- they change colors fast- yes, as
opposed to what most people believe or at least act like, they do not
indefinitely remain red! I’ve digressed
enough! These dots can be found preceding several of the known and unknown
names on almost all instant-messaging clients. These days, they have integrated
it with their e-mail systems- so, Gmail (okay…to sound impartial, let me also
name Yahoomail) is no longer just about e-mails: in fact, it now is less emails
and more chats. Invariably, you must have noticed people with characteristics familiar
to the following:
· The “always-Busy” class: For them, life is probably all about a bunch of people born with the sole purpose of interrupting them and ruining their peace of mind. To all those folks, here’s a message: close your browser, disconnect the data service on your phone and enjoy the breeze in the balcony. Turn that red-light on only when you are really busy forwarding important e-mails (like ‘forward to 10 people or you end up in hell, having to share the room with Osama-bin-Laden’!). Moreover, if you are eternally busy, one day, people will realize that you are never really busy and only pretend to. So, they will ping you, without caring if you were really busy forwarding that Rajnikant joke. In reality, most people of this class will respond to your ping almost instantly, proving the color of the signal wrong!
· The “always-Invisible” class: These people are not bad. In fact, they think they could have been Mr.
· The “always-Away” or “always-Idle” class: These people are just fond of being online. They seem to be enjoying the fruits of technological advances, turning their green bulb on, which turns yellow in a while, as every effort to reach out to them goes in vain. Don’t ping them, for you’ll not receive a response. At least, don’t try this too many times: you could as well be tagged “desperate”! Yes, they could have other work and prefer to stay away from their computer. So they are really busy people. Huh? Did I say “always- idle”? I should consider revising it. The truth is: they might be doing anything that your wild mind can or cannot imagine!
The Haunting past
High up in the sky
and deep inside the cottony clouds
The mirror is clear
and I see my face in the droplets;
Content to have
escaped the fetters of sulky emotions,
Frequently made
turbid like tempest makes of glass,
And able to unintimidatingly
look into my own eyes-
Serene and
immaculate- craving no more for you,
Even if the terrible
thing was to bid a tearful adieu;
Knowing that out of
sight might be out of mind,
Indulging in newer
ventures to leave a past behind,
That proudly was a basket
full of fresh dreams
Bartered in lieu of what
I felt were mutual feelings.
The last string is
still attached, feeble yet unyielding,
Holding onto me like
a child drowning in deep sea,
Who realizes that
it’s sometimes better to let go
And try to explore that
which’s underneath!
Conflict
Cold shudder, now and
then,
Melancholic angst
reign;
Thousand words to
console
And swooshing heavy breaths,
Diving into the soul
To feel uncanny
depths.
Confused and
colonized,
Living a life biased
'Cause we are
civilized.
Following their idea of
dreams
Shutting ears from
painful screams
To be a part of a
race,
To save their face,
The ones who’ve betted on you.
Sometimes I forget...
Sometimes I forget
To write-
About things hovering in my mind,
Of places close to my heart,
About people my kind-
As if the mind is a cart
Overloaded with bags, carrying the past-
To the nearest shore,
To let them go with the wave,
While the crowd is intoxicated in a rave.
Sometimes I forget
To talk-
Of people who made me me,
About journeys that made me free,
Of discussions that made me see-
As if other things are important;
While being shut from the innerself,
Wearing a mask
To face the world of deaf,
The one with eyes and teeth.
But I never forget
To think-
To thank,
Of times in luxury and in dank;
With subdued expressions,
Restrained emotions,
Uncaptured lachrymose secretions-
As joy and sorrow create a collage,
Reminding me of being
Part of a memorable voyage.
Examination hall
Confident, I entered the examination hall,
Standing amongst the serious crowd, tall;
Looking for a place, next to a pretty face ;)
Alas, all occupied!
Invariably, the last row corner seat,
Less airy, so as not to fall asleep, but neat.
As challenges popped up on the computer screen,
And I, hurriedly scribbled in vain, to questions bland
The timer ticking away, as if to a magician’s wand;
I decided I had had enough!
The guy next to me was bored to death
Scrolling through questions, yawning,
Looking sideways, his head swaying,
Oft opting for a deep breath.
Another one was busy adjusting his chair,
A third, a could-be
model, her hair.
Most girls looked serious, boys looking vicious;
One of them closed his eyes in apparently a ritual,
Either asking God for help or for making a wild guess!
An obese guy had his head down,
As if, waiting for a bud to sprout,
From seeds he had sown!
Curly hair, with the appearance of a bee-hive,
Possibly from a budding rock band,
Ronaldo-spikes, energetic, impatient and uneasy,
Possibly from the soccer field,
Thick-rimmed glasses reading comprehensions
Of prosaic measure with poetic muse;
All aspired for the same- what a shame!
Pursuit of happiness- 2
In counting in the night-sky the uncountable,
The feral animals from the fable,
Ice-cream and cakes on the birthday table,
With the little sibling everyday quibble;
In holding your papa’s hand,
Colorful balloons on stand,
Watching waves soak the sand,
The kiss on the forehead that costs
More than a grand!
In sharing junk food with friends,
Homecoming from school in the rain,
In diving to stop the ball
From touching the boundary, the wall;
The nursery rhymes in family gatherings
The gestures, the mannerism, the noddings-
Earn you thunderous applause;
In winning the drawing competition,
Hands all dyed in red and green!
When I knew nothing of philosophy
My life was easy,
Like the child, who need not pay-
For being happy!
Pursuit of happiness
Miles away,
Uttering unheardof words,
In an unknown time-zone
Where thick is the layer of ozone,
Wrapped in colored leaves
Out of civilized bounds,
To chirping birds,
And to the tinkling of stream
That passionately kisses
The grey pebbles, as if in a dream,
Men and women dance
Around the newly born.
Their happiness is in the belief-
Of having been blessed,
Of having been rewarded,
For the agony that preceded.
Prayers and grateful tears,
Held as beads of pearl
Like the ones gracing their ears,
Would put to shame-
The civilized- the rich and the literate,
In whose eyes they
are lame.
Expectations
Strange expectations,
Impossible and in reach,
Cloud my aspirations-
A year or more,
Of habit of failures,
Wrecking the ship
That once was brightly lit.
As the mind shifts its base-
Trying to think of it
Less and less,
The more it haunts
The more it stings,
Melancholic tunes
Sound beautiful,
As the lachrymose eyes
Bleed colorless.
The best I know
From what I learnt,
Is not to expect;
For the best surprises
Are the ones that
Pull you off your seat,
Sudden and incognizant;
Laughter and tears
In a motley
That they call life.
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