An electric moon casts its beams over a sleeping world.
Its soothing rays exude the confidence of a guiding light.
A little child wakes up to a nightmare,
Sees the shining beauty and goes back to sleep reassured.
Lovers find a spot under a shady tree whose branches keep their secret safe from the electric moon’s snooping gaze.
A thief treads cautiously, keen to avoid its glare
But fails to escape its roving eye.
He feels let down by the miserable replica of the queen of the night.
He picks up a stone and throws it with a curse at this enemy of darkness and his personal nemesis.
A watchman gives chase just as the electric moon whirrs and splinters.
The illusion fades behind the clouds of an angry man’s revenge.
The still night reigns again.
A moonless sky mourns the loss of its companion of a few minutes.
30.07.09
Inspired by a night on a terrace with a very dear friend. A power shutdown ensured that the world around turned to nature for respite from the heat. Fanned by a gentle breeze, spurred by a Halogen bulb flickering on a distant terrace, this night and this poem changed life in more ways than one. The optimist in me hopes and prays that it changed only for the better. May God bless you.
Tuesday, 4 August 2009
Choices
A word most often heard, most often ignored and most often blamed. Let our choices defend themselves.
We make our choices, we do what we want,
We overlook the barriers, forget that we can’t
Loved ones may be hurt by the decisions we take
Storms may brew because of the choices we make.
But remember this friend, this life is ours.
For joy or for sorrow, be aware of your powers.
Listen to your heart, you will be satisfied
At the end of the day, you’ll be glad you tried.
26/8/01
We make our choices, we do what we want,
We overlook the barriers, forget that we can’t
Loved ones may be hurt by the decisions we take
Storms may brew because of the choices we make.
But remember this friend, this life is ours.
For joy or for sorrow, be aware of your powers.
Listen to your heart, you will be satisfied
At the end of the day, you’ll be glad you tried.
26/8/01
The Unspoken Word
Time flies
And as it flies, it takes along with it
Winged memories;
Of days spent in togetherness and joy,
Of words of wisdom
That you have imparted to me,
Of lessons taught,
And things you have made me see.
Of secrets shared,
Both moments of pleasure and pain.
Today, as I send you birthday wishes,
The gift of this day dawns on me.
At the same time, I realise,
“Sweet songs are those that tell of saddest thought”
And behind the smile and joyful greeting,
Tears stalk the distance.
Your silence leaves me uncomforted…
The unspoken word reigns!
12.09.00
And as it flies, it takes along with it
Winged memories;
Of days spent in togetherness and joy,
Of words of wisdom
That you have imparted to me,
Of lessons taught,
And things you have made me see.
Of secrets shared,
Both moments of pleasure and pain.
Today, as I send you birthday wishes,
The gift of this day dawns on me.
At the same time, I realise,
“Sweet songs are those that tell of saddest thought”
And behind the smile and joyful greeting,
Tears stalk the distance.
Your silence leaves me uncomforted…
The unspoken word reigns!
12.09.00
Misunderstood
Again and again I stand accused of the same crime
Again and again I am judged by the same standards.
I try to explain my position
And am accused; of not compromising or compromising too much.
I move on, with Damocles’s curse hanging over my head;
A garland woven out of shreds of your heart
Weighing heavily around my neck
I bow to ease the pain.
You think it is a sign of shame.
You think I plead guilty to your charges.
I know the pain of losing a loved one’s trust for no justified reason
I know for this is not the first time.
Either way, it is a defeat for both of us
Either way, we are both scarred for life.
Again and again I am judged by the same standards.
I try to explain my position
And am accused; of not compromising or compromising too much.
I move on, with Damocles’s curse hanging over my head;
A garland woven out of shreds of your heart
Weighing heavily around my neck
I bow to ease the pain.
You think it is a sign of shame.
You think I plead guilty to your charges.
I know the pain of losing a loved one’s trust for no justified reason
I know for this is not the first time.
Either way, it is a defeat for both of us
Either way, we are both scarred for life.
Friday, 13 March 2009
Thus spake the hills of Ladakh
“The hills are alive with the sound of music”, or so I always thought. My visit to Ladakh changed that perception forever. The ear-splitting silence of the brown, rugged mountains echoed throughout the journey, opening my eyes to a lot more than the snow-capped peaks in the distance, the lush green patches of grasslands around Thikse and horses strutting along a crystal stream near Pangong Lake.
I was meant to visit a sister lost in her calling helping special people cope with the rigours of existence in the mountains. But from the moment the Jet Airways airplane touched the tarmac at Leh and the pilot announced the altitude, the cold morning breeze that passed through me was full of a message... here was something that would change my life.
After a rest that seemed to stretch into eternity more because of my excitement than the prolonged three hours, the hot gur gur chai (a pink tea with salt and Amul butter that makes a gur gur sound as it is made!!) pulled me back to my feet. With utter disregard for the blazing July sun, I set out to explore the house. Now, that was some fun. What with a ‘sun room’ (with what else but access to bright sunshine on a cold afternoon), bright, pretty flowers, wooden walls and a nice well-kept garden, it seemed like a house out of a picture book.
The first day was devoted to the neighbourhood, because of what my sister claimed could be an attack of altitude sickness. And then, there was no stopping us. We walked around the city of Leh, meeting her friends, sipping gur gur chai where offered and licking softees at other places. The quaint homes, the view of the mountains no matter where you stood, and at nightfall, the dense carpet of stars spreading across the universe — every step was a revelation.
But what was most disquieting at first, and which I grew to love by the time I was ready to leave, was the silence.
The people, though, were far from silent. The shopkeepers greeted tourists, particularly foreigners, with a friendly ‘juley (hello!)’, loudspeakers blared rhythmic chants, drivers blew horns as they sped through the narrow zigzag roads. But despite that, the mountains seemed to have enveloped the whole world in a shroud of stillness.
At night, the old fort in the middle of the town sent off eerie lights, as if twinkling with the reminiscences of the lives of kings and queens long dead and gone.
When we went visiting villages in Ladakh, there was more thand the scenic beauty to be enjoyed. There were some lessons to be learnt as well.
I met a differently-abled 10-year-old who had to be carried to and fro her house and school by her brother, until the students decided to get together to make it easier for her and her parents by building a path across the intermittent streams and the stony slopes.
I visited a village where people had to hike four hours across a mountain to reach any semblance of civilization. Loads of wood on their back only contributed to the strength of their spirit. I miserably failed when it came to transporting my little knapsack on the same journey!
I also met a man who had lost all his limbs when he was a child. For a living, he made paper packets with his mouth; and for life, he taught others to do the same with a smile on his weather-beaten face.
(Today, Ka Iqbal is one of the recipients of the CNN IBN Real Heroes Award for his role in helping make physically challenged people self-dependent. http://ibnlive.in.com/videos/111527/handicapped-ladakh-man-seeks-new-challenges.html)
I met children who carried huge buckets of water day in and day out from a stream almost two kilometres from their house. I also met people young and old, travelling on foot, no matter whether it was hot or cold. And through it all, they smiled and sang, in a language I tried hard to relate to. But probably, the comfort of an urban upbringing had dimmed my vision and closed my ears.
Watching over all this, were the huge, barren mountain ranges, towered over by azure skies, each more lifeless than the other. Yet, each seemed to be belittled by the power of human courage, which had strived not just to survive the difficult terrains and weather, but also to live a meaningful life.
Oftentimes I wonder if I am insensitive to not want to go back to Ladakh and serve these Titans of courage. Then, a voice calls out from the depths of my existence. Every time I crib about the heat or the pollution, about a headache or a muscle pull, I give silent thanks to the almighty spirit of humanity that I do not have to trek across an endless mountain with a huge bundle of logs on my back to return to the warmth of a gur gur chai and a cozy bukhari.
(Written some time between my Ladakh trip in June 2002 and August 2006)
I was meant to visit a sister lost in her calling helping special people cope with the rigours of existence in the mountains. But from the moment the Jet Airways airplane touched the tarmac at Leh and the pilot announced the altitude, the cold morning breeze that passed through me was full of a message... here was something that would change my life.
After a rest that seemed to stretch into eternity more because of my excitement than the prolonged three hours, the hot gur gur chai (a pink tea with salt and Amul butter that makes a gur gur sound as it is made!!) pulled me back to my feet. With utter disregard for the blazing July sun, I set out to explore the house. Now, that was some fun. What with a ‘sun room’ (with what else but access to bright sunshine on a cold afternoon), bright, pretty flowers, wooden walls and a nice well-kept garden, it seemed like a house out of a picture book.
The first day was devoted to the neighbourhood, because of what my sister claimed could be an attack of altitude sickness. And then, there was no stopping us. We walked around the city of Leh, meeting her friends, sipping gur gur chai where offered and licking softees at other places. The quaint homes, the view of the mountains no matter where you stood, and at nightfall, the dense carpet of stars spreading across the universe — every step was a revelation.
But what was most disquieting at first, and which I grew to love by the time I was ready to leave, was the silence.
The people, though, were far from silent. The shopkeepers greeted tourists, particularly foreigners, with a friendly ‘juley (hello!)’, loudspeakers blared rhythmic chants, drivers blew horns as they sped through the narrow zigzag roads. But despite that, the mountains seemed to have enveloped the whole world in a shroud of stillness.
At night, the old fort in the middle of the town sent off eerie lights, as if twinkling with the reminiscences of the lives of kings and queens long dead and gone.
When we went visiting villages in Ladakh, there was more thand the scenic beauty to be enjoyed. There were some lessons to be learnt as well.
I met a differently-abled 10-year-old who had to be carried to and fro her house and school by her brother, until the students decided to get together to make it easier for her and her parents by building a path across the intermittent streams and the stony slopes.
I visited a village where people had to hike four hours across a mountain to reach any semblance of civilization. Loads of wood on their back only contributed to the strength of their spirit. I miserably failed when it came to transporting my little knapsack on the same journey!
I also met a man who had lost all his limbs when he was a child. For a living, he made paper packets with his mouth; and for life, he taught others to do the same with a smile on his weather-beaten face.
(Today, Ka Iqbal is one of the recipients of the CNN IBN Real Heroes Award for his role in helping make physically challenged people self-dependent. http://ibnlive.in.com/videos/111527/handicapped-ladakh-man-seeks-new-challenges.html)
I met children who carried huge buckets of water day in and day out from a stream almost two kilometres from their house. I also met people young and old, travelling on foot, no matter whether it was hot or cold. And through it all, they smiled and sang, in a language I tried hard to relate to. But probably, the comfort of an urban upbringing had dimmed my vision and closed my ears.
Watching over all this, were the huge, barren mountain ranges, towered over by azure skies, each more lifeless than the other. Yet, each seemed to be belittled by the power of human courage, which had strived not just to survive the difficult terrains and weather, but also to live a meaningful life.
Oftentimes I wonder if I am insensitive to not want to go back to Ladakh and serve these Titans of courage. Then, a voice calls out from the depths of my existence. Every time I crib about the heat or the pollution, about a headache or a muscle pull, I give silent thanks to the almighty spirit of humanity that I do not have to trek across an endless mountain with a huge bundle of logs on my back to return to the warmth of a gur gur chai and a cozy bukhari.
(Written some time between my Ladakh trip in June 2002 and August 2006)
Wednesday, 21 January 2009
On the way to hyderabad — second sunrise of 2009
Ball of fire, can I hold you in my palm?
Red, round and brilliant —
Why don't you climb down from the horizon
Wade through the sea of fog
And step into my heart?
Monday, 12 January 2009
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