An Incomplete Song

This is a song for you,
I wish to sing to make you happy,
The song has no melody,
But a rhythm only heart can study,
I wish to tell you,
There isn't much I want,
Just be happy and always smile,
Have I told you?
When you look charming?
Oh!put on that smile and you are ready.

I wish to tell you,
What I thought about us,
We both were happy in our worlds,
Writing post cards from the places we travelled,
You, as usual, were busy in knowing,
I, as usual, was busy roaming,
You were narrating tales of history,
And I was telling you all about eateries,
We wrote to each other quite regularly,
Happy in our lives,
We missed each other dearly.

I wish to tell you,
How I live on fond memories,
Visiting different places,
Remembering balmy evenings,
Chaotic markets and train conversations,
A bit of usual confusion,
Arguing without any reason,
Your arms always reaching out to me,
In the crowd, even in darkest alleys.

It was a time when everything was alive,
It is even today,
Just that we do it our way,
In different cities and places,
Where we are living,
Ever since we changed destinations.

Mourning in process

I am tired of pleasing you,
Tired of constantly thinking about us,
Tired of telling lies,
Tired of so-called sacrifice.

I am so scared of you,
Yes, scared!
Because you are judgmental,
Because of your disciplined life,
Because you think,
I should dispose-off my emotional side.

Sometimes I pity you,
For being so wise,
For thinking mistakes are like lies,
Impossible to hide in disguise.

I hate you,
For telling me, speak truth,
When I do, you don’t have the guts to accept,
You behave as if I have disappointed you again,
Committed a crime,
Oh! The bonding is lost,
I can see clearly from closed eyes.

So much for the love and care,
All these years,
You think I have changed,
Let’s talk and let me explain,
Before you dismiss me again,
Ridicule my explanations,
And say you will never love me again,
Let’s try to understand,
Before you quietly close the chapters,
Without clearing the air.

Lost Battle

I can’t fight you,
Neither can I predict,
All I can hope is,
Wish for the best,
What I have,
May not be what I wanted,
What I need,
Maybe is what I don’t have,
Maybe my needs were funny,
Maybe my desires were many,
Maybe I had become too greedy,
Maybe I didn't see the reality,
Maybe or may not be,
One thing is clear,
I can’t fight you,
My dear destiny!

Punctured Pauses

My emotions won’t crawl this time,
They will speak,
As they always did,
Silently suffocating your mind,
With the displeasure of old times.

---**---

My eyes won’t sparkle today,
The kohl is no more there,
Tears have washed it away,
When you decided,
Not to look in my eyes again.

---**---

I won’t smile today,
Lips are tired of pretending,
Rather, this time,
Crack a joke, for old times’ sake,
Ask me something you remember,
I will surely smile, though faintly,
For your good memory,
Coz once upon a time,
You had said you don’t remember anything.

--**--


Do you like the silence and the long pauses?
Before you think you have arrived,
A twist in the tale and a few surprises,
Stretched are imaginations,
To the extremes you can’t even imagine,
Delayed are thoughts when words float like clouds,
So annoying is this silence,
Nothing less than punctured pauses.

--**--

Behind Barbed-Wires and Walls

There is a different world behind those seven-foot walls,
And the barbed-wires,
Have heard from others, there is a small paradise.
A big fountain in the middle of the garden,
An array of cars, avoiding collision,
No, I am not talking of a mansion,
Have heard from others, it a humble little heaven.
White marble on the floor is sparklingly clean,
Walls effuse taste of a distinctive breed,
An obese dog refuses to acknowledge me,
He looks happy in his dreamy state,
Showered with so much love,
I feel pity as the place wasn’t meant for it.
Whiff of fragrance overwhelms me,
Enters a petite frame with coloured lips,
Animated eyes welcome me,
Oh, the chivalry transfers an uneasy feel.
Here comes a little girl,
With two-plaits and a lot of worry,
Carrying a tray with her small hands,
Looking at me with a broken smile.
Had heard it before, child labour is no more,
I must be dreaming,
The polka-dot figure had vanished behind ruffled curtains,
Still moving, admitting her presence.
‘Rani’ what you have done?
Again put in sugar when I wanted none’
Hurling abuses, she told me,
‘These silly, poor people would never learn,
No point in giving them shelter,
You please have your tea, it seriously doesn’t matter.’
Quietly I did, wondering what shelter is,
Trampling childhood and crushing someone’s dreams,
Those hands would be holding a pencil,
Going by the meaning of shelter in the dictionary,
Futile it is, as they say,
Behind those seven-foot walls and the barbed-wires,
Life is not always as you see.

A song in Paradise

It just runs wild in my imagination,
An oasis in the middle of a desert,
How incredible it would be,
To see this beauty,
Of vegetation and water,
Decorating dusty hues of sand,
With green and blue,
In the middle of nowhere,
Where mirages appear,
Every then and there.
Let’s be lost in this wilderness forever,
Making friends with the sun,
Seeking pleasure from heaven.
Let’s sing the songs we always wanted to sing,
Not worrying about the notes and the pitch,
The storm might divert our attention,
Don’t worry, we are still in heaven.
Let’s follow the footsteps engraved in sand,
Make funny poses and do shadow dancing,
It won’t be pleasant as I have described,
Yet there is a hidden mystery,
While one breaths in this paradise.

Golden Opportunity

He asked would you be interested,
I thought for a second and nodded my head in agreement,
Quickly he brought a piece of paper.
And said, ‘tell me your credentials?’
A writer, a traveller, and a budding photographer?
I murmured, sometimes, a poet as well.
Good enough, your CV is ready,
I hope it reaches the authority,
As we are looking for someone,
Whose credentials are many;
In a world where competition is heavy,
I am giving you this golden opportunity.
Even though the deal was signed,
I couldn’t get ‘selling’ off my mind.
I thought I was human, not for sale,
But this world tells me get rid of stale,
In a world where competition is heavy,
I was getting this golden opportunity.
Those shining today, were whining once,
Of less opportunity,
So my dear, I had no other option,
As the competition is heavy.
This time let me be the privileged one,
It was my friend who thought of me,
Asking, 'If not him, we will take you instead,'
Did I hear you say?
In a world where networking is necessary,
I got this golden opportunity.
You maybe right,
But please don’t be angry,
As till today,
 I don’t know how to sell myself completely.

Fighting for Freedom

Last night I dreamt of you,
In the dark alleys of night,
Wandering like a cold soul,
Wearing a veil to hide emotional you.
Eyes seething with pain,
Had someone died again,
Did he belong to you?
Before I could ask,
You vanished like bubbles do.
On the light-blue shirt,
I saw patterns,
Flush of red,
Looked to me as if blood,
Was someone killed again?
Far from a distance,
Was a lonely mosque,
Reflecting green,
Shining in the moonlight,
I heard some noises,
A few slogans,
Of people wanting 'freedom.'
What is ‘Azadi’?
Asked the little boy.
Before I could reply,
A bullet broke the silent night.
Big thud, and he fell,
His rolling eyes and the crimson blood.
A melancholy swallowed the night,
Right is wrong and wrong is right,
So much bloodshed,
Nothing quenches hatred,
Another day, another life,
World tip-toes on a knife,
And they keep talking,
forever,
Peace comes never,
So they keep crying,
For another husband, another son,
For a lost world where no one has won.

And never will.

A date

“Are you trying to save money?” “You never thought about other options”, “You must be crazy” ---- I have heard all of these with one constant expression of befuddlement. But this dissent changes nothing; my habit of romancing roads continues even today, and hopefully will.

I don’t remember how this beautiful association with roads began and when. But, the monochromatic / sepia-toned glimpses from the past pop up sometimes; in those hazy moments I see myself measuring roads of Srinagar, alongside the canal, heading towards my uncle’s office and lusting for my favourite “cassata.” It wasn’t just the lust, the shade of Chinaar trees never allowed the sun to peek through the designer leaves and sturdy branches; coupled with fresh breeze and strange calmness, my short strides and happy mind was always comfortable... and all the while I would just think about one thing --- cassata.

Over all these years, the relationship with roads got strengthened, like a life-long companionship; in the days of gloom and sparks, I tend to tread the road – thinking, wondering, observing, and singing. Today, the Chinnar's shade has gone, and the fresh breeze doesn't visit me anymore. But a rather queer feeling envelops me whenever I walk alone. To me, every new road is a discovery, and every hidden alley an invention; seeing new faces is a hobby, and spotting new things a passion. Perhaps, my childhood days are to be blamed: cousins would visit us during their summer holidays and the game of “Chor-Police” would be played throughout the day, till each and every bone of our body moaned in pain.

  This game was interesting: running away from the police and finding new places to hide in the dingy alleys of my maternal grandparents’ house was no less than a treasure hunt – only the smartest would escape – hence, I was never caught. Sneaking into the house of strangers, playing with their parrots, avoiding ferocious dogs in the lanes and just running for your life from the pseudo policemen – it surely was a childhood to cherish. Since then the affair with the roads and the streets and the lanes took off, got expanded and spread to faraway places from my home.

Henceforth be it Jammu, Aligarh, Pune, Mumbai or Delhi – the exercise has continued with same anticipation and love. These days, with my new job, I am getting more time to walk in the service lanes of Noida. Walking back home, covering a distance of four kilometres, five days a week has its advantages. Many strange faces look familiar: a middle-aged woman walking her dog every evening; three teenage girls chattering away with their school bags on; over-fed dogs refusing to walk even a few meters; two guards outside the house of an IFS officer; an old Sardarji out for an evening walk and the roadside tea shop guy. These familiar faces have made the journey more pleasant, more comfortable. How many of such not-so-important observations we miss every day? We hardly care, anyway.

  Since the Chinaar trees don't dot this urban landscape, I have the company of few withered gulmohar trees. They stare at me, perhaps with amusement, as I race against the timer at the signal posts; 43, 42, 41, 40... I walk fast to win the impromptu race and allow myself to save a minute. And it helps me to get out from boredom. It surely is not an easy task; walking past through speedy cars and motorbikes at a time when everyone is in a hurry – I have to be cautious. I manoeuvre through the stalled traffic like an agile snake: measuring the chasm between the vehicles, flexibly stretching and adjusting my body, exhibiting quick reflexes. A fun game indeed. Though at times, it comes with disappointments, especially when you miss the deadline.

You might surely put me in the bracket of eccentric people who find happiness in unusual things. But when was the last time you observed the tree at the end of your lane: how it sheds leaves in autumn; how beautiful it looks in rain; how lonely raindrops look on its leaves; how a few leaves have caught rare disease, and how it longs for a whisper in its hollow trunk and someone to listen to his stories; how the red flowers, you pluck every day for prayers, fear separation; how they too wish to blossom and hate to see you; and have you ever wondered why there are no more red flowers on it?

There is a pattern we human beings follow. The other living beings too follow some pattern. We just fail to appreciate and see it because we have no time for things that are deemed useless or foolish observations. Let the fool in me lust more for such observations that fill the garden of my dreams with a flush of various hues. Let me be a fool who aimlessly walks on the roads to listen to its story; to love what you have never seen and to appreciate what you will never see. Let the joy that I find in these strange things stay forever. Let the child in me wonder why a lonely bird is flying alone when everyone has gone home. Let me wonder and ponder over the simple pleasures of life.

One night from my terrace

Deafening silence of the night,
A few dogs barking away from my sight,
Far away from city life,
Fireflies danced in the sky.

Breeze was in a mood to flirt,
Singing songs only a few could listen,
Humming a few lines I joined the chorus,
We sang together till the night was over.

Watching us, the moon gloated,
He was fighting a losing battle,
Clouds had rented hues from the sun,
Interspersed they glazed in crimson.

Whispering were the lonely streets,
Trampled by the men and machines,
Their whimpers were difficult to hear,
It was time for them to breathe.

Witnessing this,
From my terrace,
One lonely night,
I contemplated with keen observation.

What flowed was a soliloquy,
Of  beautiful past,
And unseen future,
A subtle smile crossed my lips,
Sealed all anticipations.

Humming the songs of night,
I joined the chorus,
Relished every moment,
Of the bewildered night.

Fresh and Free

Do they know it is coming?
Wait is over, so is the longing,
Does the wind tells them,
It is approaching.
Hearing the news,
Shimmying and swaying,
With the mystic notes of breeze,
They dance in harmony.
Fireworks in the sky,
Crackling clouds fight like a child,
Birds hide in their nests,
Thunder strikes at her best.
Who will survive the test this time?
Discussions like this,
Spread like wild fire.
‘I have survived many rains,
Have seen flood and dirty drains,
I think I have a few more years,
Till I bid adieu to the ageing days,’
A lush gulmohar speaks his mind,
And a little sapling frowns all this while.
After all it is his first time,
Not sure how it feels,
To get drenched and envy in green,
Would it pass the test of life?
Old gulmohar frowns this time.
Shimmying and swaying,
Are the trees,
Sparkling and shining they look,
As a few raindrops fall from their leaves.
Together they sing,
‘Oh! dear rains,
Love to have you again,
Stay longer,
Patience has paid,
You are here again,
Oh! Lovely rains,
It’s time to surrender,
Dreariness is over,
Mood of celebration takes over.’

Belying Night

It didn’t rain last night,
I was waiting,
As you had said,
It would,
Benighted night had cast its shadow,
I could see nothing,
But a few stars,
Struggling their way out,
To shine in the dark.
Moon was lazy,
Thanking the clouds,
For making it hazy,
Tired of constant attention,
Was seeking time for contemplation.
Earth was dry and dusty,
Mind you,
Extremely thirsty and weary,
Sun was harsh this year,
Warped in the hands of fate,
She didn’t want to die in this state.
Leaves pined for a new lease of life,
Wilted they were, almost dry,
From fresh green to canary yellow,
Their journey surely wasn’t mellow.
In this obscurity,
Hoping for some distraction,
I looked up,
At the swollen clouds,
They refused to break,
‘Not today my dear’
With a derision,
They looked away.
I still waited,
As you had said,
Last night it would,
But it never rained.

Variegated Vignettes

If it wasn’t for you, it wouldn’t have been for anyone.

It wasn’t until I heard that baritone, with apt pauses and stresses while you spoke for good one hour that I decided to meet you in person. It has never been difficult to spot you even when you are in a crowd: the snow-white hair and the charming countenance in the trademark crisp white cotton kutra sets you apart in many ways. I wanted to ask why you love white so much. Why do you always wear mojaris? I have always wondered whether this white cloak is to veil the darkness, or maybe sadness that lurks deep inside your heart, somewhere. A stillness that connects you with so many people, with the magic wand of words you weave that fall like a script written exclusively for us. What is that makes you think like us, without knowing us, in so many ways? But, there was no time; you were busy meeting people you knew, blessing them and hugging them. There I was, right behind the girl you hugged, our eyes did meet, though only for a fraction of second till you daintily treaded towards the exit. That was the first time, perhaps, I had seen you so closely, and observed those wrinkles around your small eyes; you had removed thin-golden frames that adorn your eyes most of the time except when you are reading. Yes, I observed that. While you were holding those white sheets of paper on the podium, and reciting those poems, your frames were missing. Conjuring various emotions were those poems, and we devoured each one envying how beautifully you could sketch a prosaic situation into variegated vignettes. I wanted to tell you how the crinkles on the hemline of your kurta added another dimension to your visage; how piquant it always has been to hum your notes for every season and reason; how every prose has a heart and how every verse has a life; how we find solace under the splattering sunshine of the paeans of love, life, loss and pain.

Hence, I decided to chase to tell him how good he is. It wouldn’t be a discovery for him to know the fact, but it would be an experience for me to remember as I didn’t want to regret later for not trying. So the zeal to meet him stripped off the shyness and hesitation that I am loaded with. Lucky I was, indeed, as I saw him talking to someone in the gallery where his face was incandescent under the jarring tube-lights and the white-marble flooring. Like a teenager in love, my heart was thumping and the queasiness had taken over my nerves, after all, it was my first ever chase and hopefully -- the last one. With every step, a sense of intoxication was overwhelming my senses. The rephrasing and rehearsals of the impending conversations had vanished in the mazes of mind; I was blank, almost numb. He was talking to someone, till he saw me, the other person paved way for me. I looked at him, right into his eyes, shook hands. And the shameless me, refused to let go off the hand, holding it, looking straight into his eyes, I said, “You write so well. Though there is nothing common between the two of us, except for the birthdays. Thank you so much for writing so beautifully.” He smiled back, and in his mesmerising baritone said, “Thank You.”

I left the place wondering what kind of a stupid thing to say. But, at times stupidity takes over this colourless life and makes it more florid, more vibrant. I guess that was the moment for me.

If it wasn’t for you Gulzar, it wouldn’t have been for anyone.

Shameless Desires

To slip into those size 11 slippers,

And walk like an alien,

Wearing his favourite t-shirt

Feel like a kid on her own,

Clinging on to those big arms,

As long as she could,

Not worrying about tomorrow,

Only mistake she overlooked.

Conjuring various memories,

Are the circles,

They circled around so many times,

Delaying departures,

Waiting for the next day to arrive,

Of the morning sun,

That was bright,

Like his smile,

Of the sunset,

That promised,

A beautiful time,

Growing old in his shoes,

Was one thing she shamelessly desired for.

One Day

It so happened,
One day,
Our paths crossed again,
Even after a decade,
Awkwardness was still there,
We left it like that,
Between the sheets,
Paper thin emotions,
Didn’t take much time to heal.

It so happened,
That day,
When we met for the last time,
On a sultry summer evening,
With the same awkwardness,
Cautiously avoiding eye contact,
Pretending to be normal,
While wondering when we could,
Just run away.

Run away from being pretentious,
Run away from each other,
Run away from the time we spent together,
Run away from the throes of emotions.

It so happened,
One day,
Our paths crossed again,
This time we had nothing to share...........

A New Journey

Unpredictable ways of life,
A new lesson every time,
Learning is in your hands,
Hidden are divine surprises.
Beneath the superficial surface,
Lies a beautiful mind,
Thinking silently,
You need a jolt to realise.
Being blunt is a virtue,
Makes life pretty easy,
Stop pleasing people,
It doesn’t come handy.
Alone you always stand.
Don’t belie the reality,
Forget the forlorn past,
Lessons learnt should be in the memory.
Take the tightrope walk,
Shrug off your guards,
Plunge into an unknown territory,
And get busy with a new journey.

A lousy afternoon

The day looks long. So long that when I look at the clock it stares back with a mischievous smile. Even yawn is taking its own sweet time to stretch all the muscles of my face; there is blood rush, I can feel it running all over my face, with the 'power yawn.' Yes, I would like to call it a “power yawn.” The dials of my blue watch have smothered in the lethargy of Delhi’s sweltering summer -- they too are in the mood for an afternoon nap, it seems. My favourite song is playing in the loop for the past three hours. My ears are not tired, but mind is wandering; focussing is a problem as the dials of my watch are still in slumber, I guess.

I look up; creaking sound of the rotating fan is annoying. I look at my watch again, with some hope. It isn’t four yet. My focus is now on the fan; I am trying to catch the scurrying movements of its blades – they are running in rhythmic circular motion. I stretch my body, I am bored of fan. I could hear the crackling sound of my back bone; sitting on the chair for long hours can do this. But, the relief you get after that crackling --- there is blood rush in that part of the system and an immense sense of pleasure.

I looked at my watch. This time it has woken up: its 4 pm and a long day indeed. Just two more hours are left, but everything still looks so still. So monotonous.

Of sand and ocean

It slowly slips from my hands,
Holding something that wasn’t mine,
Small crystals shine on my palm,
The grey sand merges with soil.

-*-
Let’s take a dip,
And touch the depth of the ocean.
Let’s fathom the secrets,
Of hidden treasures.
Let’s swim across the sea,
With different creatures.
Let’s live for a day,
Without any apprehensions.

-*-

Blink and Miss

On the top of the cliff,

The air was thin,

Cracking through the bones,

Wafting through mountains,

Seeping into your system,

A surreal feeling.

-*-

Echoes reverberated,

In and around,

Those lonely mountains,

Waiting to be heard,

For their thrilling battles,

Trivial to us.

-*-

Raindrops in my tea,

Splattering merrily,

Ripples on the surface,

Vanishing quickly,

Like shooting stars,

You see only once in a while.

-*-

Isolated Existence

Water was still and stagnant,
Underneath the bridge,
Its journey had stopped there,
For unknown reasons.

It had been travelling for some time,
From cold mountains to hot plains,
It had seen it all,
Till a part of it stopped here,
Underneath the bridge.

It had kissed the sun many times,
Braved nasty rains and battled ferocious winds,
It had frozen many times,
Before it reached here,
In the middle of the city,
Among the maddening crowd,
Underneath the bridge.

Tired or exhausted?
Or living a life away from reality?
Who can say the reason
Of this isolated existence.

My silent friend

I was annoyed. I have been trying to play with it, but he was lying there still, not moving an inch from the wooden plank beneath. His long, droopy ears were a contradiction to its breed, but nevertheless, I loved them. Those ears were touching the plank, and his round black eyes were gazing at the floor; he was motionless, unlike my other friends who used to make sounds, walk, play music, and most importantly, they all were colourful. It was a pleasure to look at them, be with them, enjoy various sounds, watch different movements and race with them. But with him, I had to make efforts. I had to do all the talking; he would listen to me patiently, would allow me to cuddle him when I was low or crying, or maybe bored of those jazzy friends. He was grey in colour, like that of  the sand; he was soft like cotton; he was my silent friend.

“Why you left me like that? I was all alone in the big hall, on that wooden plank, I was waiting for you to come and pick me up, but you never did... Why?” My eyes opened in a flash, I had this dream again. Sweat drops had appeared on my forehead, and my heart was beating fast. The recurring dream has become a part of my dreamland. It would appear and then disappear for a few weeks, months or even years, but it would come back again, to remind me of my selfishness. The thought was hidden somewhere in my subconscious mind. It was the guilt that was keeping this incident alive. It was the guilt of abandoning something very dear, just because it wasn’t a peppy playmate like others. Guilt lingers with you; initially it eats you up, and slowly it shifts its place from conscious to subconscious mind, only to rise from the mind’s maze at the least expected time.

We had packed our bags and we were ready to leave. All of my other friends were neatly packed in the carton. They were all set to leave with me for a new place, new city, new life, new people and of course, new friends. I was all excited, so were my other friends. But I hadn’t packed him, because I had decided to leave him there, to punish him for being so lifeless. We had plans to come back again after a few months, and my mother had promised that we would bring him next time. He was old, possibly more than five years older than the others. His colour had faded, his body was sagging and he had started looking ugly. I had tried to wash him several times, but every time, his grey colour lost more shine and firmness. Maybe, I had started ignoring him when I met new friends, or maybe, I was bored of him and more attracted towards my new company. In the journey of life, one tends to take old friendships and relationships for granted, and invest more energy, time and effort in the new ones to let them blossom. It must have happened with me too.

“Days turned into months, and months into years, I waited for you to come and see me. I was covered in dust, and there was no one to look after,” he said, this time, after all these years. “Those walls and rooms where I used to see people, happy, smiling faces... they were quiet for decades. I would wake up with the sunrays coming through those wooden windows, and fall asleep with the sunset. Lying there in the dark was a nightmare,” he continued. “In summer it was fine, but winters were harsh, they were cold. You remember how we used to shift to the ground floor during winter? That warm and cosy environment had vanished, the way you did.”

“Then one day, new people came. I looked awful and they showed no mercy either. They threw me in the garbage bin. My memories of the house, where I had been living for all these years, were forced to leave the house like me. So what if I didn’t talk? I was a part of your life and that house. I died that day. It was unbearable to see myself being punished for silence.”My eyes again opened in a flash, but this time there was no sweat, no fast heart beats. Calmness had descended, because I knew the reason why I never had any other soft toy in my life. It was because I had abandoned one. And that guilt never allowed me to take a fancy on others.

.............My silent friend was a grey-coloured rabbit.

Those Mud Walls

“It looks smaller than I had imagined,” I muttered. My imagination of 20 years had deceived me; and it was difficult to digest the fact -- all these years I had dreamt about it, with vivid images of my happy childhood, or should I say pampered childhood; all of that had shattered in a second. I was a bit disappointed, but nevertheless happy. It wasn’t looking good either: there was a melancholy in the dilapidated wooden structure and staircase, mud walls and cemented floor, and the tinted rooftop. The big plastic bucket wasn’t there, in which I used to throw my perfumed eraser, and spend hours in retrieving it, with my short slender arms, like the way you search treasure in the deep, vast ocean. I was small, merely six or seven years old -- the only child, so this was my favourite pastime. Spending hours in silly things. The mud walls of my room were intact; they weren’t chipped unlike the walls of other rooms. Licking those mud walls was my secret activity; so many times I was chided for that, but cleverly, I would sneak out, when no one was around, to lick it. I have always loved the petrichor fragrance, and those mud walls were my easiest gateway to heaven. This time, those walls didn’t recognise me, and I too didn’t lick them. We were strangers, they couldn’t recognise me, and my eyes full of tears were still in daze to acknowledge the fact that my imagination had deceived me. When I had left the house, I was a kid. Those humble walls, the house... they appeared bigger to me, they were warm to me. But today I have grown up, and they looked smaller and were cold to me. After all, I had abandoned them on the fateful June 30, 1990.

That Night

 The other night, with his eyes half open, he was dreaming of the present and the future. Fathoming hints hidden in the subconscious mind, and seeing what was to come next.

The other night, with his eyes closed, he was dreaming of the present. Wondering where he was heading in life. What he once had and never cared for, today he longed for that.

The other night, with his eyes open, he was dreaming of the past. Pondering over what went wrong, and why he was suffering though it wasn't his fault.

The other night, he was quite. The eerie calmness pointed to the lull before the storm. Like a volcano, he will burst one day. There's too much for the little shoulders to take. When boys of his age are having fun, he is battling a war on the personal front.

And now, every night, he doesn't dream, he doesn't think... he doesn't sleep.

Just a Thought..

Expectation is the biggest human folly. We would like to believe we don’t expect, but we invariably start expecting from those we feel are ours. We feel we own them and they too should reciprocate to our demands; and when this doesn’t happen, we lose hope, we crumble and cringe; we become bitter and start acting frantically which comes close to obsession. A feeling of let-down and remorse takes over; and in the battle of our emotions, we lose that person whom we thought was ours, whom we thought we owned. Comes with human nature, but the sooner you realise, better for you and the other person; better for the relationship to survive the test of time. 

Mango Tree

This year it bore no mangoes,
It stood there barren,
Shedding dried leaves in autumn,
Growing new ones in spring,
Pointing at my casual behaviour,
For not watering, for not even patting,
Ignoring the corner where it stood tall.

This year I grew roses,
Of different hues,
I watered them, watched them,
Smelled them, and felt proud,
All this while, I conveniently forgot my first child.

This year I will miss monkeys,
They used to come,
Every day in the morning, afternoon and sometimes evening,
Resting in the shade of tree,
Sucking the mangoes,
Ignoring my ordeal,
Mocking at me by tasting it first,
By breaching my privacy.

We used to compete,
Who would get the best deal
They discarded the raw ones, I collected them,
Keeping them in one corner of my kitchen,
Allowing them to ripe,
Under layers of cloth, and darkness,
Relishing them in solitude.

Alas, not this year,
I have this luxury,
The sweet fruit,
Has forbidden me.

Nothingness

What if I lie in my bed without worrying about tomorrow? See the world through glass windows. Confine to the concrete walls. Not knowing what lies ahead. Just lie there, stare at the ceiling, the fan, the vase, the doors and the curtains. Just lie in my bed doing nothing, thinking nothing. The feeling of nothingness is surreal: an uncanniness difficult to interpret; a shrouded mystery difficult to unravel; and a stoic silence difficult to break. Will allow the pigeons to flutter on the roof, and squirrels to squeak outside my door – not to seek their company, but just to listen to their voices, to know, I am not alone; to know, there is a world beyond these walls; to fear tomorrow is near, and I am unaware and indifferent...

Not wanting to know anything...

After All....

Burdened by the feeling of guilty,

Living a life like that is not even worthy,

It is hard to accept your follies,

Blaming others comes pretty easily.

The hunch of insecurity,

And lack of certainty,

Pulls away the cord,

Exposing reality.

Wrapping  truth brutally,

With the sheets of ego,

Forgetting good times,

You ride high on cruelty.

After all, blaming others comes pretty easily.

New Songs

I am trying to rephrase a few verses of my life. Sing new songs of joy, with those who are mine.

I am trying to let go off my temptations.  Dig a grave to bury sins of the days gone by.

I am trying to fathom. This beautiful mind, I have, but I never realised.

I am trying to be a free soul, a liberated mind. A desire I always had.

I am trying to be blunt, so stay away if I am just a shoulder to cry on.

I am trying to find the answer of questions that only I have.

Chosen Three

Sorrow, grief or despair?
I have nothing to share,
Been all alone on my own,
I have learnt to take care.

Rude, indifferent or brusque?
I don't care how you interpret,
As long as I wish to fly,
Let me be a free bird in the sky.

Love, lust or happiness?
They are part of the same bouquet,
Some get it all, some none,
Let me just keep mum.

Three tales

Look through my eyes,
There is much more beneath this smile,
A burning desire, an honest soul,
Misinterpreted in the world of egoistic galore.

-*-

As the blind man tasted his tear,
He tried to overcome an unknown fear,
It was salty,
He wondered in vain
Will it be always a part of my life?
Thinking about it all over again
He tasted another tear.

-*-
While writing a parody on life,
A sudden melancholy swept down my spine,
Why always dull and gloomy?
It swings like a pendulum in vast sky.

-*-

Short Notice

There she lied naked on the road,
Getting attention galore,
She was changing her clothes,
Oblivious of hundred of eyes piercing through her week bones.

Was she an orphan?
Or dumped by her family,
Disowned by her husband,
Or robbed by her fate?

Unkempt hair, dirty feet,
With wrinkled forehead and chapped skin,
Using a torn newspaper and her hands,
She tried to cover her bare parts.

A thin blanket and dirty steel glass,
Were a part of her life,
As people passed by,
She stayed naked for a while.

-*-
On a chilly winter in capital,
Two little girls in long skirts,
Walking down a deserted street,
Busy in their playful activity.

Holding hands, naughty glances,
Two little girls were chatter boxes,
As I looked at them,
Through the window of my car,
My gaze got fixed for a while.

Loaded with woolens, I was all shivering,
But the two little girls,
In dirty shawls,
Walking barefoot on road,
Not feeling the cold at all.

Someone has said it right,
The more you have, the more you fright,
With that thought in my mind,
I drove away from the sight.

Piece of Junk

He chose to give it away,
Without even asking,
It was the scrapper,
Who got lucky that day!

Over the years, those pieces of papers,
Painstakingly written letters, greeting cards and two-diaries,
Lying untouched in one corner of my room,
I thought, were safe in the big brown carton.

The adolescent secrets, girlie talks,
Every page had a memory and a few hearty laughs,
A coded language was invented to keep the conversation secret,
Oh! I so wanted to go throgh it.

What you had to do with them?, he questioned
They were mere papers, lying in dust.
I looked at him and replied, "The junk was mine, whatever it was, after all it was mine."

No words can explain, what that junk meant,
My heart sank, as the loss was irreplaceable,
Money can't buy memories, technology can't recycle.
Childhood memories meet a silent disaster.

Follow the Trail

I wasn't born this way-
Selfish, rude and cunning,
It's what life taught me in its own simple way

I wasn't this mad,
Till the days sulked in rants.
And long dark nights awaited by my side.

I was made to love,
To be good,
But back-stabbing and wickedness,
Changed it all.

With no trust, everyone seemed to be miles apart,
Hence I chose to stay away,
From all the gambles of life.

But this is not just my story,
Everyone has a faded glory,
But who has time to think?
We have got used to it, isn't?

None of us was born this way,
But look at the silly ways,
We adapted,
To be less bruised and dejected,

Now trapped in a life,
Which gives us comfort,
But we still look out for happiness,
If it was available on sale,
We all would have been following the trail

For Whom!

Today is not my day,
Who knows about tomorrow?
What about future?
I can't live my life with presumptions!

I have a bad day,
So what?
After all, everyone has one
Then why am I so bothered?

It's not fair,
To ask me,
Why I am bizarre?
This is my life!

I don't share my sorrows,
Who has the patience to hear them all?
Today you might listen,
But tomorrow you won't.

Then what?
I am alone again,
Looking for someone,
To borrow this sorrow!

The War

Look at those kids,
In the middle of the barren land,
What are they doing?

Playing, playing with the mines,
It's their source of income,
After all, they live in Iraq!

Look at those little girls,
Wearing long skirts,
Holding two buckets,
Going uphill,
What are they doing?

Fetching, fetching water,
They have to toil hard, to survive,
After all, they live in Iraq.

Look at those kids,
What has happened to them?
They are roaming in the market,
What are they doing there?

Buying, buying guns,
They have to learn to defend, to fight the war,
After all, they live in Iraq.

Look at the girl,
Walking up towards the cliff,
What is she doing?

Suicide, Suicide,
Tormented and raped, what else she can,
After all, she lives in Iraq.

So it happened..

So it happened,
I landed in the desert,
Where there was a rose,
In full bloom.

So it happened,
I found a mirage,
Gateway to happiness,
Wide open.

So it happened,
I reached there,
In the middle of nowhere,
I found love.

It happened,
When I plucked the rose,
The mirage disappeared,
Love was lost,
Amid despair.

Has happened,
In the past,
In the vast golden sand,
Where only sun has its say.

Mirages fade,
As storm breaks free,
Changing hazy lines of the sand,
Rewriting their destiny,
In a fraction of time.

So it happened again,
As the camels walked endlessly,
In search of a destination,
As the journey sealed their fate.

As long days refused to pass by,
Cold nights quiver in silent sigh,
As eyes looked at the twinkling sky,
The moon lent a restless smile.

I am assured, this is the time,
When I can get away with the baggage,
I am assured, this is the place,
Where I can conceal the pain.

So vast and huge,
This desert is,
I want to bury here,
The baggage of sadness,
So that it neverever follows me again!

In the Name of Life

It was a June morning,
Playing we were in the courtyard,
Paying no attention,
To people walking by.

We were busy, pulling each other,
Giggling and laughing,
Rearing to go,
For a long journey.

Till we heard a cry,
And then a shot,
Someone was moaning,
Just outside our door.

We were terrified,
Pulled by our mother,
Brought inside the house,
To be told to not to cry.

We saw blood,
Dark, red blood,
Spread on the road, just next door,
Someone was shot,
But who he was?

Horrified, eyes wide open,
We asked her,
'Ma, where is our dad?'
She said, "Nothing to worry,
He is alright".

So someone was killed again,
In the streets of Kashmir,
In the name of freedom,
Some soul was shown the exit door.

But, who was the man?
After debates and discussions,
We reached to the conclusion,
It must be the poor coolie,
Who was pulling our luggage.

So, we started playing again,
Waiting to be told,
To pick up our bags,
And jump into the car.

As hours passed by,
Impatience crawled in,
We saw him,
Wasting time in the neighbourhood,
Chatting with some policeman.

Why was he still there,
We all wondered,
We again opened the window
To the road,
Where we were told,
"Professor Sir is no more!"

They had killed my grandfather,
Who had just brought the food,
Hoping he would come back soon,
To the valley, that was his home.

He was wrong, he died there,
In the name of freedom,
We survived,
In the name of life.

The Book

Some chapters of my book are unwritten,
Some fading away with the passage of time,
Some angerily waiting for a read,
Some waiting to be complete.

Random thoughts are striking my mind,
Far there, in the far far land,
As the rainbow shines amidst bright sun,
Rain droplets vanish within seconds.

There is a feeling of happiness,
Sinking in,
For the wonderful scene,
I just witnessed.

Can't talk about rainbows and rains,
No sunshines and hazy rainy days,
The chapters of my life,
Have so many colours,
I wonder which to take to sketch the cover.

What happens to the blank page?
I still have a long way,
To understand this complex life,
Which is a bag full of surprise.

So many Surprises

There are no regrets,
Just experiences,
Some good, some bad,
You look back and smile..

Laughing with your friends in the college canteen,
or heading for an unknown journey,
Spending sleepless nights over your first love,
Endless debates about what went wrong...

Looking back, you smile,
Some bitter, some sweet,
Thoughts flash in front of your sight.

Droplets of first rain,
Smell of wet mud,
Your first rose,
And the first kiss....

You look back and smile,
As you hum a song,
With fond memories,
Enriched by the experiences of life,
You promise for a better life....

But, the bumpy ride,
Isn't easy indeed,
Every time you feel wise,
You make a silly mistake,
So don't underestimate,
This life, has so many surprises..

Secrets

Just like an onion,
All the deepest secrets are layered,
One over another,
Try to open it,
A pungent smell will fill the air,
Something, that has been with you for years...

The scars of yesterday,
Can't heal in a day,
Fools are those,
Who believe,
Secrets can be shared...

Somethings remain with you forever,
Whenever you think about them,
Process of justification begins,
To admit your fault, is the biggest fear,
And hence the chapter is all clear.

Some secrets go to the pyre with you,
It joins you in the coffin, when they bury you,
Nothing can take them away from you,
Like a faintest memory,
They keep coming back to you...

The pain, the laughs and the lessons,
Everything comes with these secrets,
Talk about your wildest dreams,
Who knows, it too has a place?

Secrets die with you,
But sometimes they do come back,
In real life,
With suffering and shame,
But, they too teach you one thing..
Never reveal a secret,
Let it remain quiet forever,
Let it grow old with you,
With all your deepest memories..

Time of The Year

It's the time of the year again,
You stare at the rain,
Wondering when will it alleviate your pain,
Thinking of what all you have lost and gained...

It's the time of the year again,
When I whisper in your ears,
Saying that I believe,
In this beautiful life....

I know, somewhere, there is a soul,
Waiting for me,
To know me, accept me,
For who I am....

There have been disappointments,
Uncertainties, share of laughter,
But looking up to the cloudy sky,
I see a faint light,
Struggling to make its way....

The ray of hope,
Gives me a smile,
Assuring me to hang on for a while,
There is life in all small things,
There is happiness in every little thing...

Just open up your mind,
Move beyond those confined walls,
Embrace the world with its follies,
How bland life would have been,
If it was in one colour....

Let the rain take away your worries,
Smell the mud and look at the birds,
How happy is everyone,
Just notice.....

Don't feel alone, if no one is around,
Live with the nature,
Hug it tight in your arms,
Till they go away,
Paving way for another season,
Another reason,
For joy, happiness and smiles...

Wait for the moment,
When life will surprise you,
With its colours,
When you will wonder,
What a splendour...

Wait for the day,
You learn to live,
In your own way,
For yourself....

Wounds

Wounds from past refuse to heal,
Some scars are still there,
A sudden outburst,
And they are revealed...

Like a recurring dream,
A sudden rush of anxiety,
Drops of disturbed sweat,
Scatter on your forehead...

Lines of worry,
Are visible on face,
Mask of pretence,
Can't attenuate the pain...

Thoughts will disturb present,
Pulling you towards past,
Aloofness will play catalyst,
To pull you back by miles...

Disturbed smile, dishevelled mind,
Are key to the paranoid era,
One step there,
Wounds are fresh again....

Sweet and Sour

In the company of loneliness,
She enjoys every bit of life,
Listens to the music of nature,
Looks at strangers with surprise,
She finds peace in silence,
Hides from chaotic crowds,
There is a mystery in life,
She is trying to understand.

-*-

There you are,
Taunting me again,
For not being what you want.

There you are,
Looking at me,
For charming you with sweet smile.

There you are,
Laughing at me,
For behaving like a kid in your paradise.

There you are,
Loving me,
For being a part of your life.

Homeless

In his dirty clothes and disheveled hair,
He looks at everyone with a mocking fear,
Muttering some words to himself,
He smiles after every few seconds,
Unaware of surroundings,
He makes different faces,
And then he looks at me,
With crude intentions.

Cursing the world for all its follies,
He fumes in anger and fury,
There was a man,
Who had lost everyone,
Home to him was a pavement,
Near to garbage bin.

As he walks toward the road,
And attracts sympathy galore,
'He is a mad man, please don't worry'
Someone screamed,
'So carry on honey'.

Circle

She waited again,
This time it was a long one,
Silence was piercing, hands were numb,
Eyes were moist, hope was dying,
Heartache again?

So shortlived it was,
She couldn’t believe,
Just a few month old,
Full stop to her dreams,
Such is the worth,
Of  shallow love.

Departing another fairytale,
She picked up the pieces,
Why did she allow happiness,
Pierce through her walled palaces?

Again she will write,
Songs of sadness,
Again she will become,
Indifferent to people,
Again a mask,
To hide her emotions,
Again the circle,
Of upheaval emotions.

Three Butterflies

When was the last time you saw three butterflies playing?
Randomly, circling around each other,
In the hues of white, blue and black,
Standing out with their polka dots.

Just above the rushing river,
Meandering through steady rocks,
Much below the blue sky,
Accompanied by the sunlight.

Circling around each other,
They were flying,
When was the last time you saw three butterflies playing?

In awe, I looked at them,
And pitied my monotonous life;
Where I follow trails of rules,
And get tangled in my own life.

I long for fresh air and breeze,
All I get is a polluted defeat,
Where birds even think twice,
Forget about butterflies.

I wish, I could be carefree,
Roam in the jungles of serenity,
Sit beside a rushing river,
And watch the butterflies play together.

In the Company

It played hide and seek,
With the clouds,
Not in the company of,
Twinkling stars.

Round and shinning,
Overcoming gracefully,
Not losing its sheen,
It was busy in the journey.

Yet, there was a melancholy,
A sound of uneasiness,
A withered heart, an aching soul,
That looked at the moon,
And asked will it dawn soon.

It was a long, lonely night,
Surely, not in her best mood,
Forcing a smile for her pals,
She was confused.

Up, there too,
The moon was alone,
Shining bright,
Yet moaning in pain,
Wondering if the dawn was near.

Contradictions

It’s raining, and the sun is shinning too,
Quietly a rainbow comes out from a window,
Filling the sky in myriad hues,
Bowing at nature’s rule.

-*-

A bullet hit him hard,
In pain, he looks at the sky,
Back home his family is waiting,
A war hero or a lost son?

-*-

Celebrating their 25th anniversary,
Both of them have one question,
Was it togetherness or a compromise?
Answer still lies in oblivion.

-*-

He runs away from the crowd,
Wishing to be alone,
And here he is,
Walking with the crowd,
Feeling so lonely.

-*-

So many contradictions around us,
Fail to go unnoticed,
A fragile bond we share with life,
Weaves various layers all this while,
Trapped in these confusions,
We carry on with a life of contradictions.

Mirror Won't Lie

Truth stares right at your face,
Just look into the mirror,
And see the change,
Those eyes speak the truth,
A language only you understood.

Scraps of soul are on sale again,
This time reasons weren’t the same,
Mirror refuses to lie,
As you put up a polite smile.

It is the only friend you have,
In front of whom you can cry,
Smile, smirk or just stare,
It will give a patient ear.

Not there to judge your actions,
Every time when you defy perfection,
People around you are jealous,
Deep inside you crave satisfaction.

Bare truth needs no clothes,
It reflects your bruised soul,
Assure yourself umpteen times,
‘I was right, and cheated again,’
But the mirror won’t lie.

Some questions

It is not about today or tomorrow,
It’s not about the moment,
It’s about this lifetime,
Where do we see us going?

It’s not about you,
It’s not about me,
It’s about us,
Would we be happy forever?

Will you eagerly wait for me, like you do today?
Will your company make me as happy, as it does today?
Will going out together be as beautiful as today?
Will holding hands be as assuring as today?

Call me skeptical,
What I see around isn’t pleasing,
Tangled relations, confused people,
Broken smiles, tears of depression.

Yet, I know what I want,
So, tell me your plans?
I will listen to you all this while,
Before I make any other plans.

Wishful Thinking

Twinkling stars,
Moonless night,
Pointing our fingers,
At a shooting star....

Cool breeze,
Kissing naked feet,
Desires and wishes,
Thumping heartbeat....

Silence of mountains,
A calm night,
Holding your arm,
We walk side-by-side....