Hope hovers, unsure if she is welcome,
I hold her at once close and yet far,
Stay! I tell her, don't go!
But let no dreams turn false today,
In fact, I tell her,
Better it is that I don't dream at all.
But dreams do come, wishes and desires multiply,
And I dream of soaring in the sky,
But then the demons of fear dance and shout,
They yell, "Ha! Ha! Ha! You'll fall to the ground!"
And then I look at Hope,
With pleading, beseeching eyes
Begging her, "Tell me, I won't!"
But she won't.
All she offers is an embrace,
An empty one I feel, with no assurances,
And therefore I reject.
But when she turns to leave,
I ask her to stay.
And she stays, at once near and at once far,
Her arms still open and empty,
Waiting for me should I ask for help.
And at the time of reckoning,
When the demons shout louder, willing me to fall,
Hope embraces me,
And in that instant, I am Hope, and Hope is me,
The demonic voices grow smaller and the dancing stops,
I take wings and soar freely in clear skies.
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Faded Beauty, Wider Smiles
Her beauty faded away,
Is compensated with wider smiles,
Smiles that do not reach the eyes,
Smiles that only accentuate,
The harsh reality of absent beauty.
Hands held on the hips,
Her walk is jauntier
Than the younger ones,
Hoping to attract somebody.
They come and they see,
The walk they admire, the hips too,
Then they see the face
And turn away with disgust.
The smile becomes smaller and vanishes,
Lips tremble and the tears come,
They glimmer before being hurriedly wiped away.
She knows that lack of beauty would repel many,
Tears would repel all.
But the eyes, those damn eyes,
They show her desperation
And as she turns them skyward,
Her lips whisper a silent prayer,
'Dear God, I do not want to be hungry tonight,
Lust, I can handle, poverty I can,
The jeers of all the world is manageable,
But... hunger isn't'
She waits for a sign,
A sign of being heard,
A sign that all will be well,
But the clouded sky gives nothing away.
Down the street,
She hears drunken laughter,
And she sees the unsteady walk,
She senses wandering eyes that ask,
"Is pleasure on sale tonight?"
Her beauty faded away
Is compensated by wider smiles,
Smiles that do not reach the eyes,
Smiles that only accentuate,
The harsh reality of absent beauty…
Is compensated with wider smiles,
Smiles that do not reach the eyes,
Smiles that only accentuate,
The harsh reality of absent beauty.
Hands held on the hips,
Her walk is jauntier
Than the younger ones,
Hoping to attract somebody.
They come and they see,
The walk they admire, the hips too,
Then they see the face
And turn away with disgust.
The smile becomes smaller and vanishes,
Lips tremble and the tears come,
They glimmer before being hurriedly wiped away.
She knows that lack of beauty would repel many,
Tears would repel all.
But the eyes, those damn eyes,
They show her desperation
And as she turns them skyward,
Her lips whisper a silent prayer,
'Dear God, I do not want to be hungry tonight,
Lust, I can handle, poverty I can,
The jeers of all the world is manageable,
But... hunger isn't'
She waits for a sign,
A sign of being heard,
A sign that all will be well,
But the clouded sky gives nothing away.
Down the street,
She hears drunken laughter,
And she sees the unsteady walk,
She senses wandering eyes that ask,
"Is pleasure on sale tonight?"
Her beauty faded away
Is compensated by wider smiles,
Smiles that do not reach the eyes,
Smiles that only accentuate,
The harsh reality of absent beauty…
Thursday, January 14, 2010
A requiem for What Matters Most Part 1
Some time back, I had posted an entry on what matters most.
It seems that my thought processes are not unique. Most Indians think like me.
Attached is the proof:
1) google.co.in screenshots for most popular searches with the term 'removing'
2) what does the world think? well lets try the same search on google.com
Need I say more?
It seems that my thought processes are not unique. Most Indians think like me.
Attached is the proof:
1) google.co.in screenshots for most popular searches with the term 'removing'
2) what does the world think? well lets try the same search on google.com
Need I say more?
Saturday, November 28, 2009
The Great Indian War
India is at war. And you wouldn't know it even if you see it.
You see, it is a war of attitudes. Indian vs the rest of the developed world. Or so I think.
Every night, Airplanes from all major airports in Europe sneak into Indian cities. A couple of days back, I was on one of them. As always, the plane gracefully swayed and sashayed into Mumbai, giving me one of the best views of Marine drive, even though I was not sitting at the window seat this time.
The landing was bumpy and the taxiing was brief. We had stopped. And then began the great Indian thrust - to be the first to disembark. A huge force propelled us to rise as one and open the overhead babbage bins and we began pulling out our stuff. Um.
The parry: 'All passengers are please requested to be seated TILL WE ARRIVE AT THE GATE. WE HAVE NOT REACHED OUR GATE YET. SIR. SIR, PLEASE PUT THAT BACK . . .'
The air hostess was at her wits end as to how to handle it. In Europe, we were all such well behaved gents and ladies. We waited our turn, were polite even as we were asked who had packed our stuff. Yes, Ma'am. I packed my own bags. No. No one gave me anything. Yes, we had battery operated devices. Cell phones, cameras and laptops. Yes Ma'am. Thank you Ma'am. And we flashed our Colgate smiles with our twinkling teeth.
And the moment we landed in India, the desi air seeped through the pressurized cabin and we geared up for what worked in India. To compete in India, to be the best, we needed to take advantage of every opportunity. Even the opportunity to get off the plane first.
I guess, it shows in the way we talk, the way we act and the way we drive. If there is an opportunity to get an advantage by jumping a queue, I will take it please. Yes, I am Indian. A proud one at that.
Yes, in your world, I will politely wait my turn to be serviced, and wear that smile on my face. But that is not who I am. Very briefly does the mask slip in your world. But the landing terminal is one such place.
I make no judgements, just tell it like it is. You may think I am rude. I am not. I am just the water. I take the shape of the bowl I am placed in. And that is adaptability.
The signal is about to turn green. There are still ten seconds left. I switch on my engine. and I creep forward. . . when I am half way down the crossing, it does turn green. and . . .Yes! I have crossed first.
PS: Re, the thrust and parry, there is a saying that goes thus: He who deplanes first, waits longest for his baggage to arrive. Touché?
PPS: Oh Alright! I made it up.
Till next time
You see, it is a war of attitudes. Indian vs the rest of the developed world. Or so I think.
Every night, Airplanes from all major airports in Europe sneak into Indian cities. A couple of days back, I was on one of them. As always, the plane gracefully swayed and sashayed into Mumbai, giving me one of the best views of Marine drive, even though I was not sitting at the window seat this time.
The landing was bumpy and the taxiing was brief. We had stopped. And then began the great Indian thrust - to be the first to disembark. A huge force propelled us to rise as one and open the overhead babbage bins and we began pulling out our stuff. Um.
The parry: 'All passengers are please requested to be seated TILL WE ARRIVE AT THE GATE. WE HAVE NOT REACHED OUR GATE YET. SIR. SIR, PLEASE PUT THAT BACK . . .'
The air hostess was at her wits end as to how to handle it. In Europe, we were all such well behaved gents and ladies. We waited our turn, were polite even as we were asked who had packed our stuff. Yes, Ma'am. I packed my own bags. No. No one gave me anything. Yes, we had battery operated devices. Cell phones, cameras and laptops. Yes Ma'am. Thank you Ma'am. And we flashed our Colgate smiles with our twinkling teeth.
And the moment we landed in India, the desi air seeped through the pressurized cabin and we geared up for what worked in India. To compete in India, to be the best, we needed to take advantage of every opportunity. Even the opportunity to get off the plane first.
I guess, it shows in the way we talk, the way we act and the way we drive. If there is an opportunity to get an advantage by jumping a queue, I will take it please. Yes, I am Indian. A proud one at that.
Yes, in your world, I will politely wait my turn to be serviced, and wear that smile on my face. But that is not who I am. Very briefly does the mask slip in your world. But the landing terminal is one such place.
I make no judgements, just tell it like it is. You may think I am rude. I am not. I am just the water. I take the shape of the bowl I am placed in. And that is adaptability.
The signal is about to turn green. There are still ten seconds left. I switch on my engine. and I creep forward. . . when I am half way down the crossing, it does turn green. and . . .Yes! I have crossed first.
PS: Re, the thrust and parry, there is a saying that goes thus: He who deplanes first, waits longest for his baggage to arrive. Touché?
PPS: Oh Alright! I made it up.
Till next time
Saturday, October 24, 2009
How does a building get a life
We moved into a new building in June. It was incomplete. Bamboo sticks had still not been removed, especially from the elaborate structure at the lobby.
The lifts were covered with wooden planks and the final coat of paint still needed to be given in the staircase area. It was not a home, just an unfinished building. And we were the only occupants.
Every day, as I returned from work, I noticed the lights on only in one flat - ours. The building had not yet come to life.
As time went by, I got used to the single light. Busy Workdays and exhausting all-nighters were beginning to take over my life. It was then that the miracle happened.
Just before Diwali, as I came in after yet another late night, I glanced out of the rickshaw that dropped me home. Our light was switched on as usual. BUT there were many more!!!
In the ensuing months, the bamboo sticks had been removed, the paint had come on, and people had moved in. Our building had a pulse.
By glorious coincidence, the late nighters reduced and I started coming home on time. I saw people coming in, chatted with them and even got an occasional ride from them. Come Diwali, the building, my building came alive to the sound and lights of fireworks.
I don't stay in a building anymore. I stay in a home now. And I love it.
The lifts were covered with wooden planks and the final coat of paint still needed to be given in the staircase area. It was not a home, just an unfinished building. And we were the only occupants.
Every day, as I returned from work, I noticed the lights on only in one flat - ours. The building had not yet come to life.
As time went by, I got used to the single light. Busy Workdays and exhausting all-nighters were beginning to take over my life. It was then that the miracle happened.
Just before Diwali, as I came in after yet another late night, I glanced out of the rickshaw that dropped me home. Our light was switched on as usual. BUT there were many more!!!
In the ensuing months, the bamboo sticks had been removed, the paint had come on, and people had moved in. Our building had a pulse.
By glorious coincidence, the late nighters reduced and I started coming home on time. I saw people coming in, chatted with them and even got an occasional ride from them. Come Diwali, the building, my building came alive to the sound and lights of fireworks.
I don't stay in a building anymore. I stay in a home now. And I love it.
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Who I Am
A Traveler since birth,
Seeking where laughter lurked
Traveled through hills and valley,
But not once realized his folly.
Till one day, he tiredly stopped,
By the lake side up on some rock,
He gazed at himself and quietly smiled,
He knew that he’d at last arrived.
No more did he have to keep on lookin’,
He now knew that it lurked within.
So he let it out, one hearty laugh
Burying thus, his demons past.
Seeking where laughter lurked
Traveled through hills and valley,
But not once realized his folly.
Till one day, he tiredly stopped,
By the lake side up on some rock,
He gazed at himself and quietly smiled,
He knew that he’d at last arrived.
No more did he have to keep on lookin’,
He now knew that it lurked within.
So he let it out, one hearty laugh
Burying thus, his demons past.
Saturday, September 5, 2009
What matters most - Part 2
Apologies for the delayed update. I wish I could say that there was some urgent business that kept me from this blog; but really there wasn't. I simply did not reflect to any substantial degree till now.
But back to the topic.
In our quest to uncover what matters , we had very tantalizingly stopped at the point of coitus . . . and we continue from there.
So if we were assume that what really matters most is the passing of fluids, er, genes from one generation to another, what next? Shouldn't our life span be a maximum of 30 years? (15 if you are in Britain, considering their problems with early pregnancy)
Or perhaps 60 years. 30 years to produce our own kin, and 30 to raise them up?
But I believe what matters most should be something greater than the sum of one and one's kids. Why then would we have invented the myriad things we did? and why pursue anything at all? Why indeed search for the meaning of anything?
It was at this stage that I stumbled upon this extract from a John Gardner speech:
Interesting, no?
But back to the topic.
In our quest to uncover what matters , we had very tantalizingly stopped at the point of coitus . . . and we continue from there.
So if we were assume that what really matters most is the passing of fluids, er, genes from one generation to another, what next? Shouldn't our life span be a maximum of 30 years? (15 if you are in Britain, considering their problems with early pregnancy)
Or perhaps 60 years. 30 years to produce our own kin, and 30 to raise them up?
But I believe what matters most should be something greater than the sum of one and one's kids. Why then would we have invented the myriad things we did? and why pursue anything at all? Why indeed search for the meaning of anything?
It was at this stage that I stumbled upon this extract from a John Gardner speech:
Meaning is not something you stumble across, like the answer to a riddle or the prize in a treasure hunt. Meaning is something you build into your life. You build it out of your own past, out of your affections and loyalties, out of the experience of humankind as it is passed on to you, out of your own talent and understanding, out of the things you believe in, out of the things and people you love, out of the values for which you are willing to sacrifice something. The ingredients are there. You are the only one who can put them together into that unique pattern that will be your life. Let it be a life that has dignity and meaning for you. If it does, then the particular balance of success or failure is of less account.
Interesting, no?
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