Never out of sight and yet long gone

I am the delight of a muddy street enraptured by the sleet.
I am the conspiracy of a moonless night where lovers meet.

I am the carelessness of a damsel whose feet found music,
I am the verve of a bird garnering for the future stick after stick.

I am the aroma of a windless afternoon where cares retreat,
I am the rustle of a soulless leaf beneath your hasty feet.

I am the blush of a bloom bedecked by the morning dew,
I am the joy of a cloud embraced by the familiar rays anew.

I am the splendour of a rainbow; incomplete, incongruous and yet a rapture drawn,
I am the simple pleasures of life, never out of sight and yet long gone.

There was none

On tracks of steel, cramped space and body awry,
A man, with a bag precariously poised on his left, I could descry.

Amazement led to the discovery of mirth,
A stance sideways and legs stretched out wide, to every movement alert.

Mirth allowed grievance to creep in, for fellow beings as an afterthought,
Handgrip above, and not the deportment and space, use he ought.

Steels grinding to a scratchy halt, and a twitch in the posture so fun,
Bitterness then dawned, where there should be right – there was none.

I still have a dream...

In an era of struggle and strife, I had a dream,
Into utopia I would segue and peace I would glean.

Impossible they admonished, methods would yield no good,
Lessons from experiments, by truth I stood.

Of prosperity and of choice, I did hope,
Simplicity was my motto, nadirs of despair I would cope.

Through your soul I breathe, through your eyes I deem,
In an era of struggle and strife, I still have a dream.

Oh I just love looking at him!

So uncouth! So condescending! So unfit!
Blurted out an agitated Annie,
Flair he lacks, chivalry he has not a bit.

Marie- befuddled at visions so ugly,
Oh look at his face- inundated with scars,
A sight grotesque and so unsightly.

He has no standing and he holds no fame,
Dreamy eyes bedecked Angie,
To things of importance he holds no claim.

Wild calls from within didn’t sting,
Maggie broke out of a spell cast,
Oh I just love looking at him!


P.S - I was inspired by what a dear friend inadvertently said.

Daw they call me

In the hush of this lonely night I lay in disdain,
Not of life or people, but of this immutable pain.

Free thoughts and free minds I, did and will, aspire,
Tears are for the weak, courage for those who follow and admire.

Bereavement or despair, my strife is life long,
My voice may not quell your agony, but in your tenacity I find myself strong.

Bars of iron encumber, kindred spirits propel,
From nadirs of solitude, to the enchantment of heavenly gospel.

Daw they call me, my heart seethes in ignominy,
Eyes await a dawn, of new horizons and harmony.

- Of what has been a life of struggle and and a voice of hope - Aung San Suu Kyi

Quest for Paro

My olfactory glands (and related glands) do not always comply with the normal rules of nature’s propensity towards well-being and such was my state as I embarked on my next trip. The regulars on this page shall sigh in anguish and repetition – ‘Since when did normal rules of nature apply to your body?’ Anyways, as I boarded Air India flight en route to Bangalore, little did I know, it would turn out to be my quest for Paro.

The Beaver Beckons..

Bangalore was a long transit and I was enchanted and entertained as well as ensconced by Beaver. Yes, the one with claws and buck tooth. This time I also noticed keratin effusion of the rough variety. Beaver also ensured that I was well rhymed with all crevices and nooks at Bangalore International Airport, thus ensuring a safe passage in my quest for Paro.

As dusk began to gather, I headed for Kolkata (with a brief excursion over Hyderabad). May be time was my nemesis during my overnight stay at City of Joy, but first impressions failed to enchant me towards this Eden. However I was enchanted by a woman next to me, perhaps entrusting her house for the first time to the untrustworthy care of her husband which entailed statements like ‘Gas theek se band karr dena,Khidkhi khula matt chodna,theek se khaana khaana…’

And the Fairy Tale...

The next day began a fairy tale, as my flight (Druk Air) segued through heavens, glided over lush valleys and gently caressed through the clouds – and I was finally with Paro.

Paro airport is in Paro District(one of the three districts – Thimphu,Paro and Phuentsholing not requiring a special pass for Indians arriving in Bhutan). The journey from Paro to Thimphu meanders through valleys of captivity and enchantment, through hills of intrigue and passion and through rivulets of purity and devotion.

Of the time afforded by work, I did saunter through mystical valley that lends itself in to Thimphu City. A quaint landscape hugged closely by hills, romancing with the flirty clouds; Thimphu is culturally ‘very much’ Bhutan with men and women – their gho and kira respectively and yet as dusk settles over this sleepy town, the night life propels in to being. Thimphu and perhaps Bhutan seems almost like a home away from home with Indian influences everywhere from food to usage of Hindi.

Colour and Simplicity...

This is a country of colour and a country of the sacrosanct. The chorrtens,stupas and monasteries dot this landscape and the prayer flags add splendour to charm. An interesting note on the prayer flags as pointed out by my cab driver – Ugyen – the flags are etched with mantras and as they flutter in blissful winds of Bhutan, they convey a prayer from the mortals to the Almighty. The colours – five of them (red,blue,green,yellow and White) represent the five elements.

Simplicity is reflected in every strain of what is Bhutanese. Red Rice and Ema Datshi( Chilly in Cheese Gravy) spoil your palette, leaving you craving for more. There is a smile of warmth everywhere you cast your eyes. There is also warmth in the chill Himalayan breeze that hugs like one of its own.

A Dream...

In my time in Bhutan, I also saw a dream. I could feel the bliss of spirituality and I was walking through clouds. I saw 109 celestial stupas speaking a language of divinity cleansing me of my worldly ordeals. I could feel heaven filter through me, straining impurity and infusing goodness of life. I was in Dochu La, about 45 minutes drive from Thimphu.

Shangri La....

In a world which holds time precious, Bhutan is the best kept secret perhaps the mythical Shangri La. As the forces of nature concoct a mystical mixture, time stands still perhaps in awe, perhaps in a trance. Forces of global economy and growth have not yet bewitched the region and time seems to have entrapped the simplicity of life and yes, bestowed a smile on every Bhutanese.

Quest for Paro took me down several paths, through unknown territories and magical landscapes and then it dawned – this quest is life long.

Check out the album -

Quest for Paro - Bhutan

My past you shall descry..

Where the lawn lays unkempt and the street goes awry,
Behind murk of uncaring time, my past you shall descry,
My memory betrays, my mind has gone numb, Who am I?

I have been your reflection; I have been your raconteur,
I have shown you your soul, read your mind and known your allure.

Opulence I have witnessed, tales of poverty have saddened,
Exuberance of youth has elated; rashness of mind maddened.

I have been privy to tender whispers of care,
I have withstood wails of agony and anguished in your empty stare.

I have been cynosure of care and have been a chronicle of apathy,
I have scaled summits of pride and plumbed nadirs of atrophy.

Where the lawn lays unkempt and the street goes awry,
Behind murk of uncaring time, my past you shall descry.
My memory betrays, my mind has gone numb, Who am I?