For Now and Forever

I do not mourn today, I do not shed a tear,

For her voice will live on forever in melancholy or cheer.

What she possessed was not just a gift of music but a healing to a million souls,

She could stir emotions, every reverberation is etched in heavenly scrolls.

No one has touched so many lives and pushed us through every endeavour,

She lives on, for she will continue to enlighten and enliven, for now and forever.

To Lata Mangeshkar

Good Bye Amma

 Unfettered at last, the heavens lovingly took you in their clasp,                                                                   You were my first sight while I seethed at your last gasp.

My heart fills with agony, for I do not know who will embrace my copious pain ?

But I take heart, you will show me a way once again.

My small joys may lose their rhyme, for I do not know who will now clap in that unacquainted awe?

But I take heart, you will always be my bystander in all the happiness I draw.

For I know, all I have to do is listen to my heart,

For I have captured a part of you, and even death cannot do us apart.

Good Bye Amma.

My tiny princess

My tiny princess, tiny fingers and tiny toes,

Twitches and twirls, cogent forehead and expressive nose.

A crooked grin that distends in to an infectious beam,

You make us sing and frolic and segue in to day dream.

Eyes probe and answer, they seek and lure,

Purity glistens and all aches they cure.

Giggles and gaggles of debate,

You put to rest all the ideological prate.

My tiny princess, tiny fingers and tiny toes,

Bobbles and turns, joy is not elusive but a prose.

Rain Drops Rain Drops

Like a dream that saunters by, Like a vision that blurs reality.

Rain Drops Rain Drops, a million hopes that conjure a dreamy tapestry.

Like silhouettes of success faraway, like a laze that even affects gravity.

Rain Drops Rain Drops, a million tunes and one rhapsody.

Like a smell that lingers Long after, like a silken touch that emanicipates your  vanity.

Rain Drops Rain Drops, a million blushes attempting to smile freely.

Trapped

A joyous trill I hear from a world afar,

Melancholic expressions, as well, that emancipates a fettered soul.

Songs of silence is all I know, in this world I abhor.



Hues of fantasy I imagine to exist only in dreams,

Can it be really that ornate I ponder or is it a mirage of my insipid soul?

Colours of darkness, is all I descry, that glitters and gleams.



An angel whispered once to me of the boundaries beyond that horizon,

I could only show that angel the incarcerations within my soul,

Thought is infinite, they say, yet trapped within realities which I cannot broaden.

Vertiginous esctacy

Tender blush daubs her emblazened lips and coy face,

As the lord of sky in all his might imprisons her in his embrace.

Her silken braid of lust encumbers his chest and they sink in to vertiginous esctacy,

And their love awakens the twinkling fairies from slumber in to depths of fantasy.  



-- This was composed over a sms and found its way back to me thanks to Anusha. Thanks mate!

A paradoxical communion

Where doctrines of ages collude in a spiritual union,
I stand in silent prayer on the mount of a paradoxical communion.

Where battles razed structures, doused spirits; only to rise once again,
I stand with my palm on the wall of angst that reverberates of disdain.

Where mandates they may sign, lines they may draw and votes they may beseech,
I stand under a dome of peace, seeking only what has been promised to each.

Once again...

Once again I seethe in agony as they devise plans to inflict pain,
I dreamed of paradise, I saw a world devoid of disdain.
But I was wrong.

Once again my bosom cannot comfort, while they shed a joyous tear,
I held anguish in my arms, I tried to preserve the breath of a soul, and I tried to vanquish fear.
But I failed.

Once again a million souls weep, while a few mock in distaste,
Am I old and weak, from the wounds of ignominy, from the pelts of hate?
But I should rise.

Once again I fill my heart with stone, while fear lurks in my warm embrace,
I will rise, I will provide, I will fill laughter, I will spread joy, with progress I shall once again set pace.
But I fear, will I fail once again?

He was buried without a nation

Abstract thoughts would waft as he gazed in to the void world beyond,
History would dance on the palette of joy as this eccentric soul daubed imageries so fond.

A romantic soul whose age would defy, but heart needed no reason to flutter.
But alas, a mother abdicated her prodigal son while humanity could only stutter.

Poetry set ablaze from canvas of love, parochial thoughts construed humiliation,
Posterity shall always be fida, not knowing that he was buried without a nation.

She is death

A sacred bosom that holds images of that first coy kiss,
A darkened soul of a devil that wraps within a silken bliss.

A heart that reverberates with anguish and provides for helpless multitudes,
A poison ivy insidiously tormenting with her vicissitudes.

A beautiful mind that beckons the bereaved to peace,
A harried thought that beguiles the innocent to a dreadful abyss. 

She is life, she enraptures, she loves and she creates, 
She is death, she torments, she hates and she destroys.  

Angels of peace

Angels of peace perched on twigs by a reflective puddle,
All knowing eyes plumb the depths of worldly muddle.

Joyous cryptic wings gossamer challenge the mundane,
Refulgent colours waft by and heal the disdain.

Synchronous flights darn your soul mottled by distress,
Meditative glance beseeches your thoughts to flee the duress.

For, it started raining all over again!

On a day like any other, on a day when heavens failed to judge,
Gray and musty like a widowed damsel.
Broken reflections in puddles of diabolical sludge,
View by my window like a melancholic sequel.

On a day like any other, on a day of muddle,
Beams of laughter filtered through the mist.
Warmth of gentle sunshine began to cuddle,
Rustles amongst joyous leaves being kissed.

On a day like any other, on a day that wouldn’t vanish,
There bloomed a twilight of a beginning and a blush of a dancing dame.
But then, it all failed to flutter and flourish,
For, it started raining all over again!

One Hundred Years of Solitude

I am in love. Yes, you read it right. I am in love with a Colombian who goes by the name Gabriel Garcia Marquez. As with ‘Love in the Time of Cholera’, ‘One Hundred Years of Solitude’ immerses you in a surreal world of ‘magical realism’; where you are forced to intertwine reality with the improbable and eventually concoct the two in to one inseparable potion of ecstasy.

The story is about an enchanted land called Macondo – a land lost in the realms of time – where life persisted in solitude and transformed itself from the world of discovery to the world of illusion and desolation. It’s a chronicle of the Buendia family which starts with a promise, achieves acmes of success, and oscillates through wretched self destructing cycle of decrepitude.

Marquez paints vivid and biblical images of Macondo undergoing transformation through times of progress, despair through war, and ignorance through times of gloom. He explores layers of human psyche through juxtaposition with various characters in the novel spanning from angelic innocence of Remedios , barbaric ferocity Jose Arcadio, listless ego of Col. Aureliano Buendia, carnal angst of Aureliano Babilonia and tenacity of Ursula. He mesmerizes and challenges known institutions of human thought through his fable set in solitude, set in misery, set in ignominy and set in turbulence. Life seems to repeat as history is re-learnt through mistakes and future is prophesied and pre-established by the past.

One Hundred Years of Solitude is a masterpiece which can be architected only once in a while. It’s a challenge to the accepted framework of human thoughts and would devour your being in to ‘magical realism’. Go celebrate your thoughts and challenge its limits.

Love in the Time of Cholera

For 51 years 9 Months and 4 days, Floretino Ariza had waited – to consummate a dream of unbridled love of his youth. This is an epoch weaved by Gabriel Garcia Marquez in ‘Love in the Time of Cholera’.

For some – like Dr Juvenal Urbino – unrequited love meets its fate with a whiff of bitter almonds(cyanide) while for the impassioned few it’s a tide of undulating time stretching itself between upheavals of the youth and the fast approaching mortality. Marquez creates layers of unencumbered imagination in this saga of love – which falls astray in its youth only to rediscover the true meaning in crepuscular years. Marquez’s fable revolves around Floretino Ariza and his undying quest for Fermina Daza through which he unravels the depths of passion, character and love. Dr Juvenal Urbino marries Fermina Daza – who chooses a steady life over impassioned love – and thereon begins the wait.

This book is a translucent depiction variegated with vagaries of human mind and complexities manifold. Yet at the heart of it lies simplicity. It’s a saga set in the time of disease, war and change. Marquez does not fear exploring the human cravings for the carnal pleasures through Florentino Ariza’s navigation of life neither does he shy away from probing at the inherent human weaknesses which tend to uproot even the most earnest. Every action or inaction, every step or misstep, every thought or lack of it - guide or misguide Florentino Ariza through his life towards his only desire, only goal and only dream.

‘The trouble is without river navigation, there is no love’ – Florentino Ariza’s uncle had once advised and this would reverberate years later –when on board a ship, underneath a starless sky, his doddering hands would explore and find bony and ragged fingers of Fermina Daza waiting – as if forever.

The book is a celebration of an imaginative brain and a toast to the ability of the author to portray the most complex with such lucidity that you are left gasping for more.

Read it and dare to explore.

I buckle my shoe

Rain or Shine, when it is time, I buckle my shoe,
Gentle caress of speed, daub my countenance on the move.

Butterflies of freedom, flutter from shackles of incarceration,
Winding paths, unveil symbols locked in mystic diction.

Blessings from paradise beyond, laden with ecstasy,
Crimson rays sneak, conveying messages heavenly.

Whispers of silence, hymn magical chants of joy,
Songs of divinity, reverberate, in all senses - I deploy.

Rain or Shine, when it is time, I buckle my shoe,
Beads of exhilaration daub my countenance on the move.

Mumbai Diaries - Part 3(Pune Diaries)

As I meandered towards the dusk of my Mumbai chapter – I embarked upon a new section – Pune Diaries. My first stop entailed a journey through a village in the outskirts of Pune and an enriching experience through the agricultural revolution in the area. Amongst the farmer community, I stumbled upon my long lost buddy Praveen and his wife Arathi. In anticipation of yours truly’s arrival Arathi had admonished all the farmer folks to produce the best of their wares. The result was ambrosia which would have even had Goddess Edesia craving for more. Avial; which apparently is not her speciality, oozed of such exemplary taste that led my palate in to state of euphoria.

After having bolted enough to last me two winters, my next rendezvous led me to Mickey Mouse aka Nilesh. Here I must inform the readers of the perils that underlie when Mickey Mouse offers to pick you up from a meeting point. This extremely hazardous offer necessitates you to pillion on his Enfield Bullet, which gets hammered down on any road at 300 miles per hour( On that note Mickey Mouse stays very close to an airstrip – which sees constant take off of Sukhois). I survived this ordeal and also managed dinner(despite my stomach still reeling from extreme shock), with Mickey & Minnie Mouse as well as Amol. A late night tapri chai topped with a meetha paan brought back senses to my being.

After sometime, I do not know how long afterwards, I was piloting a Sukhoi- which thundered voraciously over the landscape below – and before I could crash, I woke up in shock. Sukhoi was not the shocking part, the fact that I slipped up in calling Her Highness of Pune aka Pooh was all the more quivering. After the initial ‘bash up the rat(myself)’ session, Pooh gracefully announced of her intentions of picking me up at Swaargate.

Pooh managed to pick up her waiting subject, not before being subjugated to the torture of an ignorant Hawaldar(The hawaldar was perhaps unaware of the traffic rules that apply to Her Highness). Soon, Pooh & Myself were ensconced in our seats (with atleast two rows of police protection) awaiting King Khan to start his latest boast(My Name is Khan). The movie started off well with flashes of mature handling of a sensitive topic of autism (though I would not completely agree with all aspects being portrayed as autism in the movie). However as the movie ambled on, it embroiled itself in to two complex topics – autism and Islamic fundamentalism and in the process managed to completely hash it up. My only take away however was – Kajol still rocks.

I was still reeling till my epiglottis; Pooh decided to embark on a shopping spree to overcome the shock and in the process managed to daub a mehendi on her palm. In the mean time, in came a whiff of smile smeared all over a familiar countenance of Amey aka Jet accompanied by his better half – Sayali. Next stop – Little Italy where the troop decided to dine a sumptuous meal which was punctuated poor to horrible service by the staff.

In the mean time, there was another world which was reeling from horror of mindless acts of terror. As India remains subjected to such radical acts of cowardice(German Bakery this time), my heart prays for the innocent victims.

As the last pages draw to a close on this somber note – I did manage to catch up with Sush(just in the nick of time) as well as old engineering mates(Prasanna & Sawant). Jhansi,ever so sweetly, stopped by, laden with a month’s ration of grapes. And soon the SQ421 beckoned. Till next time.

Mumbai Diaries - Part 2(Kala Ghoda aur Jhansi)

I had immersed myself completely in to ecstatic depths of Mumbai’s warm caress and it was just about right time to meet Jhansi – my cousin extraordinaire. To meet Jhansi however, is a mammoth task – for it entails her time off – from her students, her lecturing & her sojourn(through the city) – which trust me – requires large scale pre-planning and preparation(on her part).

Blessed as I am – Jhansi decided to bear with my presence and ensured my yearly Mumbai visit would be enriched with the blissful sights of Victorian Architecture. As I met my tall cousin, she has an extraordinary talent of adjusting her height – depending on the audience – just like my tripod, at CST station and proceeded forth in to warmth of Mumbai – I was disappointed. BMC had planned its renovation drive to match with my stay and extraordinarily – decided to revamp all the domes on all the Victorian Monuments that Mumbai has to offer and all at the same time. My head exhibited extreme springiness as it hung at its edge but perched up again at the prospect of Kala Ghoda 2010.

Presence and company of an artistic cousin(Jhansi) ensures vivid pleasures and Khala Ghoda offered unrivalled visual treats including the 3D- Horse and a mini Eiffel Tower (which lights up on solar power). Of course , some of the other ‘attractions’ including a weaver bird nest made of metallic wires were a bit too esoteric for the wrinkles in my brain to process.(We visited Eiffel Tower later in the evening only to meet the person who designed it boasting all the way to glory).Jhansi , however, ensured that I do use some of those wrinkles by planning a NCPA sojourn for the Mumbai International Film Festival 2010.

I have to confess – documentaries always have sounded scary, and I soon discovered, this fear was unfounded. ‘Children of Pyre’ depicts an astonishing saga of real life heroes – angels of death – little kids enforced with the responsibility of ensuring the consummation of the process of body to ashes. It’s a travesty – which portrays innocence lost to death, honesty perishing over the flames of life and a bizarre industry of ‘kafan’ being recycled. I was overwhelmed.

I scaled zeniths of peace after this overwhelming experience as winds laden with love from the Arabian sea and the setting sun daubed my countenance. However the sun like the domes played tricks and was lost in the maze of smog that progress has presented Mumbai. Jhansi ensured I do not depart her august company before buying a shirt.

My sojourn also ensured that I catch up with Ganesh(my ex roommate),Rashmi and their lovely daughter Adwaita. And soon it was the glorious day – the day when the sun shines ever so brightly, butterflies flap ever so loudly, the flowers bloom ever so sprightly and repeated reminders from Parakeet,Jhansi et al about the ‘BIG 3’ did not deter this fable or so I thought.

8 AM – 8th Feb 2010 and I woke up with a cramping feeling in stomach and my entire being was ensnared in a spiral of gloom. I was however determined to fight it and so after the initial grumble and feeling of utmost hopelessness , myself and parents headed for the Mumbai pilgrimage. No camera episodes this time(for I was not carrying it) and no lost shoes(this version of Nike shoes remains with me) and the day ended in peace. Though I could not savour Kela Bhajji at Ram Ashraya@ Matunga this time – some wishes remain unfulfilled – next time perhaps.

More in next.

Mumbai Diaries - Part 1(Seeking Mr Ho)

It was not fear, nor, was it exasperation at the realization that Singapore Airlines changes its movie menu only once a month – it was rather extreme relief for being 30,000 feet in the air and heading towards Mumbai.

6:15 AM(Jan 31,2010) and I was extremely glad to see façade of Changi Airport(and I know its façade pretty well!!) till the point I touched my butt. Oh no I am fine – my butt was fine, but a layer of leather that would otherwise have felt my touch was missing. I pirouette not as gracefully as a ballet dancer I would imagine – for my countenance would have expressed an unusually contorted look. Perhaps the back pocket of my Levi’s Jeans was not yet awakened from slumber when I dropped my wallet to its rightful place after having disbursed the fare for the cab ride.

I pour sweat over my immaculately white HTC Magic as I scramble for ideas, and eventually manage to contact Comfort Cab call center. After uttering gibberish for perhaps an extended period – my mind hears the voice at the other end beseech ‘ What was the name of the cab driver?’ At this point I realized that in our daily humdrum we overlook some basic civilities – but fortunately I remembered having glanced at the driving license and recalled ‘Ho’ written somewhere. I conveyed this very vague description with utmost clarity.

The time that followed was spent, incessantly, tiring my legs as my parents watched on worried. My immediate aim was Mumbai and SQ422 but the hurdle was my missing wallet which held the key – my Singapore Identity. The façade was not pleasing anymore, the butterflies of happiness were not fluttering anymore and the horizon was not bright anymore (with the benefit of thorough reflection I now realize that the sun had not risen yet).

At this moment of despair, the silence of gloom is suddenly broken by ABBA in full throttle ‘Mama Mia’, which I realize after a few moments of hopelessness to be my ring tone. And lo it was Mama Mia indeed for my key would be delivered. My heart and my being reverberated, in unison, ‘Thank You Mr Ho’.
But relief at 30,000 feet in the air did not mean that I had let my mind to rest. I split my lenses from camera (in to separate bags – mine & dads) to avoid the customs bribery net as soon as I landed, but this was not necessary owing to a Japanese girl who had learned to say ‘Namaste’ and in the process hogged the limelight amongst drooling custom officials.

The next few days I sunk my soul in to the breath of Mumbai. My first social interaction was enabled through Sameer aka Garfield’s wedding – which entailed winding down the Ghodbunder Road at 1000 bumps per second. Garfield seemed to have remained faithful to his version of lasagnas while Rachno was chirpy as ever. Jigar and Nidhi would have assured Garfield or any jittery dulha of the possibility of bliss afterwards. The economics prof aka Ritesh just about managed to congratulate Garfield & Arlene as family and friends were almost convinced that no one else would turn up.

Breath of Mumbai warm & fragrant and it had just about begun. More in next.

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.