Thursday, August 30, 2007

All I ask for

I know there's no future for us
so let our relationship be nameless
no need to try and give it a shape
cos its best when there are no rules; when its formless
no need to expect anything and then later, weep
no need for any promises that we cant keep

forget all the warnings and advice, throw them out of the window
let's listen to our hearts and ask for no more.
make love to me the way you want to
let me explore you like a virtu
lets sing and dance and enjoy the night
cos the night is young and the moon full 'n shining bright

don't curb the passions; let them swallow
and set our souls aglow
no need to share all my joys and sorrow
just love me today, like there's no tomorrow

Wednesday, August 22, 2007

too much of Google,
thoughts fizzle,
pen & paper wrestle,
blocks to tackle.

Coffee off the kettle,
down the throat trickle,
muses tickle,
ideas sparkle !

Tuesday, August 21, 2007

an old dream

Cleaning cupboards can be a lot of fun. Especially when you come across some of your belongings that you never knew existed. Amidst a broken voodoo doll (ahem, my idea of play as a child was quite different), a couple of rough sketches, some stones and sticks, I found this essay that I had written when I was 13 yrs old. It was for some competition held at school and I had won a cash award of Rs.1000. The copy is hand written with a Hero pen, in blue ink.


Read on . . .


India of my Dreams

India, my country, also called Bharat, has a long history – political, cultural and spiritual – of at least ten thousand years. While other parts of this known and unknown world were steeped in the misty depths of darkness, the glow of wisdom, the light of glory, was shining here, shimmering here, like a beacon.

Coming to modern times, my country was politically cut up into three pieces, the western and eastern planks forming the theocratic state of Pakistan, and the middle piece forming secular India in 1947. The demand for dividing India into two regions on religious basis sprang from religious passion, fanatical intolerance and political skullduggery. Now, India is the cradle of Hinduism, and tenets of this religion spread even in the ancient times to other countries, notably the eastern Asiatic countries like Cambodia, Indonesia, etc. Buddhism, Jainism and Sikhism sprang from it. All religions were welcome here. The early Christians arrived here in 48 AD. St. Thomas, the Apostle of Jesus Christ was welcome here and was allowed to settle down and spread his religion. The Jews were equally welcome. So were the Zoroastrians. Muslims alone came with the sword, but they too settled here. Finally they demanded partition of the family and had their say under a willing British mastermind. But history, that forbidden teacher, taught them a lesson. Their house was once again partitioned in 1971 and the Eastern flank, peopled by the dark Bengali Muslims, walked away with Bangladesh. Baluchistan and Sind are of dissent and further partitions cannot be ruled out. My dream of India is that all these three pieces should come together and once again form that great India, recapturing the glory that was Ind.

Moving on, even modern India lives in villages. There are 5,50,000 of them, which people 70% of the population. There are umpteen villages among these, where drinking water and primary education are still luxuries, even after 53 years of independence. In the India of my dreams, all these villages will have enough drinking water and all the boys and girls will have had at least primary education.

In the India of my dreams, all the great rivers of the country like the motherly Ganga, Yamuna, Kaveri, Krishna, Godavari, Narmada, Brahmaputra, Sone, etc will be interlinked by an intelligent system of canals and there shall be neither floods, nor famines.

In the India of my dreams, parents will be a very reasonable community of people, unlike now. They will not beget in such thoughtless fashion of passion as of now to become a teeming billion! They will not force their children to be doctors or engineers. Instead, only those who are naturally inclined will seek medical and engineering education. In that way we will have dedicated doctors and enterprising engineers who are there owing to their natural inclination.

In the India of my dreams, followers of other religions will, in their own mature reflection and thinking, come to realize that all paths lead to one goal and just as a 100 is received by adding 10 ten times, 20 five times, 50 two times, or in such endless ways, God – the Ultimate Reality - could also be reached through any number of methods and not necessarily one or two as some of the arrived faiths in this country have the cheek to believe and tell the aborigines of this country.

In the India of my dreams, Science & Technology will flourish as much as Art & Music. While we have our own thriving culture in the arts, we have to make headway in the technological front.

In the India of my dreams, every house will have a computer and an internet connection to make life more meaningful, interesting, instructive and enjoyable. In the India of my dreams, there will be no poverty, no waste of food, no spitting and littering as of now.

In the India of my dreams, dogs and stray animals will not be allowed to become the menace that they are now.

In the India of my dreams, vegetarianism and Ayurveda will flourish and the dead will continue to be cremated and those who do not cremate the dead will also realize the spiritual meaning and social good of such customs.

In the India of my dreams, the smoker will not offend the non-smoker into passive smoking as of now.

In the India of my dreams, God will still be a realizable agenda of daily existence.

And in my heart, I believe that all such dreams of every Indian will come true and that India will shine in all respects. For that matter, has anyone spread a thought as to why the Upanishads were born in India and not in Uganda; Why the Mahabharata, encompassing the Great Bhagavad-Gita, was conceived and written in India and not in ‘Maha’ Britain; Why Valmiki was born in India and wrote in Sanskrit, and not in the Virgin Islands and wrote in Arabic; Why Adi Shankaracharya was born in Kaladi in Kerala and not in Aden; Why Sri Ramakrishna Paramahamsa was born in Bengal and not in Belgium; Why Swami Vivekananda settled in India and not in America, amidst the lust and luxury; Why a Mohandas – suited, coated and educated in England to become a Barrister-at-law – returned to India, changed his robes and become a half naked fakir; to lead this country into Freedom and Light; Why Pandit Jawaharlal Nehru should describe river Ganga in such ecstatic prosperity when writing up such a mundane thing as his will?

In spite of all the negative, disappointing, disconcerting and dehumanizing factors that are discernible in every sphere of endeavor in the country at the moment, I have a deeply held; almost spiritual conviction, that one day this country will rise again to the great levels of consciousness, both spiritual and material, that it had reached years ago.

The Photograph

You are on my desk, caught in a photograph

You watch me work, write, yawn, laugh

I look at you often

And it’s like the best conversation

You sit there all day, twixt the tissue box and potted plant

Giving me the undivided attention I want

I wonder if you think of me, when I think of you.

Is there a picture of me on your desk too?


I care for you in my own strange way

Maybe you’ll never know; maybe I’ll never show.

Life is Fleeting

Gauri is in the kitchen making coffee. Aman enters, puts his files and bag down, goes into the kitchen and hugs Gauri. He slowly traces kisses from her ear down to her neck.

"Stop!", she shouts and pushes him away and continues to make coffee.

"Why, whats wrong with you?", asks Aman and he grabs her by the waist and starts kissing her face again.

Gauri pushes him away again and walks towards the door.

Aman gets there before her and stops her.

"What is it? Tell me. You hate me, don't you? You don't think I'm good enough, huh?" he shouts.

He tries to force himself on her.

Trring.. trring.. the telephone rings.

He shoves her away and picks up the receiver. "Hello?"

No reply from the other end.

"Hello…. Speak, you bastard!"

No response. He slams the receiver down and looks at her.

"That must have been for you, right? You think I don't know? You think I am a fool?" he strides towards her and pulls her close to him. He starts ripping her clothes off and does not stop in spite of her constant screaming.

Trrring… trring.. the telephone rings again.

He throws her on the ground, picks up the receiver and shouts "Stop calling her you bastard. You want to know what is happening here right now? She is with me. She is mine and there is nothing you can do about it. Listen. Hear her scream, beg, plead." He guffaws.

He turns around and finds that Gauri is sipping coffee from her mug.

"Come here, you filthy whore!" He screams and walks towards her.

Gauri puts her mug on the table and turns towards him, trying to protest and stop him. He throws her against the wall, presses himself against her and starts to pull her hair and bite her.

Suddenly the big marble jar, placed on the top shelf moves back and forth dangerously. The meretricious ornamentation falls on Aman with a loud bang.


Its all over in a moment. No more shouting or screaming. He did not let out a single sound.

An undignified, helpless death.

Gauri picks up her mug from the table, walks towards the window and continues to drink her coffee.

Who reads this stuff, anyway?