Ramayan

Suvarna mrig ki pukar hai.
Dashrath ka vaada nibhana hai;
Maine bhi Shravan ko maara tha kabhi
Viyog ka dukh uthana hai.
Laxman ki rekha ko kitni bar
Maine laangha hai undekha kar,
Kabhi bhiksha dene ke liye
To kabhi Ravan bankar.
Kaikeyi ka kaan diya Bhagwan tune
Isse to surpanakha ki naak deta
Mantra ke irsha se behtar main,
Prem mein ghayal hota

Isiliye, 

Gum na kar khaanaabdosh,
Jo haath na aaya tere mrig.
Pakad bhi leta to milti,
Bas mareech ki cheekh.

Even rocks can scar

Smoke in the air

A hungover festival

Jumbled mind-space

Rock-solid heart

Overhanging cliffs

Endless roads

Carved by machines

Scarred rock-faces

The claws of mankind

Against God's hands

Sudden realisation

Rocks can be scarred

On the surface

And beneath too

Janaaza

Aaj bahut dino baad ek iccha jagi hai,

Is choukhat ke bahar jaane ka mouka hua hai.

Woh resham ka kurta khoob jachega aaj;

Wahi jiska bhoora rang tumhari aankhon se milta tha.

Bahut din baad yeh ghadi pehni hai to aaya yaad

Kitne arse beet gaye hai tumse milke aaj.

Kaapte haathon se baalon ko savaara hai phir,

Man-mouji, mastane; tumhara sehalana yaad hai unhe.

Bas ek aur cheez karna baki hai ab -

Us teepay par rakhi ek sheeshi mein tumhari khushboo hai.

Use thoda chidakh loo, mehekti ek aakhri saans loo.

Phir aankhen band kar loon kuch pal, aur tumse milne nikloo.

Kyonki aaj is choukhat ke bahar jaane ka mouka hua hai,

Apne janaaze mein mujhe rone ki wajah nahi hai.

Some friends are so close that we do not see

Some people are so far away that we can't see 
The shadows of our existence 
Some friends are so close that we do not see 
That the directions of our paths differ 
Till we reach those places where 
The morning sun sets alone and the morning bird 
Flies against the songs in our hearts 
And the lyrics are different and maybe the melody too
But the memories, yours and mine are morphed together 
The lonely tree in the garden is ignorant
That when the jukebox plays, I smile and think of you

The politics of hope

There has been a wave in Indian politics that the cyber generation has dubbed the tsuNaMo. All eyes are on the man and his 56 inch chest and although every realist realises that there can be no miracles the atmosphere is pregnant with hope. One of the major reasons I think is because of some brilliant PR management especially in the social media. Like people elsewhere have made sobriquets like 'king' , 'badshaah' and 'bhai' a staple through effective PR so has the rhetoric this election been.

To top it off this country has an entire generation if not two that has never seen a majority government. For the last 30 years it's been coalition politics as a rule and so for most people up into their 40s this is a first - no doubt a commendable first. Riding on two giant waves of massive fan following and anti-incumbency Mr. Modi has managed to move away from Hindutva to development. It is refreshing not to be told how to be a Hindu but I hope that the agenda of inclusive growth actually does better what had been a phenomenal start to the new millennium. 

I'm sure that many object to my reference to PR machinery and social media while pointing to popularity on the same media as proof against. Yes the man's party has won an overwhelming mandate but only around 30% of the votes, thereby making it a large majority of people that do not quite see him in the same light as the mandate. Of course they will be all quiet now, social media is designed to be conformist and biased to power. There are others who'd point to the alternatives to Mr. Modi as being weak or even outright hilarious but the greatness of a person should not be relative.

All that said, the showman of the year has proven his mettle and as the prime minister of my country he will have my full support in the years to come. Full but not blind, mind you, for democracy allows me to question my ministers. For the sake of this country and more importantly for purely selfish reasons I hope that Mr. Modi delivers over the next few years. If he does then maybe 5 years from now my posts might not sound skeptical and maybe I'll even be one of the 31%. So here's toasting democracy, and the future and the hope placed in one 

I may seem distant at times!

I may seem distant at times
And my gaze may not hold you long
Yet when it does, I may turn my back
And not hold your hand when we walk alone,
I may not sing my favorite song
Or listen to the nightingale call our name.

Because

Sometimes if I get too close, I cannot tell us apart
And when I gaze too long, the world loses its charm
And I see not beyond your eyes
And no song is mine, they are all ours
So I may seem distant at times,  because if I get too close
I risk my soul should merge with yours
And then I could not bear to part,
But I have long tracks to follow
And a thousand worldly things to do.
So I'll hold your hand when I won't have to let go.
Till then the mornings will be silent conversations
And freshly made tea!

Old Monks

Served chilled in sparkling glasses
Questions, answers and impasses
Time stands still, runs backwards awhile
Where friends speak a word, walk a mile
Drown out the noise, the pride
Make sense of a journey, at the crossroads decide.
Drink the poison, roll the dice
Memories linger beyond the clinks of ice.
When the darkness ends
The dreamy fabric rends
Drudgery, once more it mounts
The old monk's confession no longer counts.

Tracks!

Wrote it sometime in 2004 while waiting for someone/something at a dhaba! I think it was during a bus journey! just saw all these tracks in the sand and with the final semester coming up in college I guess it reminded me of so many lives in college and hostel that meet, merge and leave!

1/3/2004

Dust and sand befallen

Settled in passive motion

Marks of time giving its

Monotone an expression

Tyre tracks bear witness

To vagaries of time

Emoting a story

In inanimate mime.

They meet, they leave

They merge to be one

A uniqueness highlighted

Other identities hidden

Hidden but not lost

A distinction felt, not seen.

The present really is

A freeze frame of what has been.

I move along then

To see what the future was

As they headed out to

Freedom bound by laws.

Some left united

Some stayed back to wait

Some tracks were lost to

Quirks of time and fate.

My eyes couldn’t see

Beyond the horizon;

The mind too confined

Within the limits of imagination.

The united may separate

The separated may again meet

Or the future may tap dance

To a completely new beat.

But tracks they were in dust

Their origins weren’t there

Nor was their end but

Their marks will always bear.  

Broken poems

Broken poems, scattered verses,
Bleeding quills and drying ink.
Dripping, streaking your eyes
I dream again, I see,
Eyes closed against the light.
Hearing, squinting, grunting,
The wave rises again.
Desire struggles, bonds break.
The darkness has always been.
Its morning, I can hear the sun.
The wind blows, feathers ruffle,
We take flight again.
Broken poems and scattered verses under our wings!

The ship of 'Hope'

There is a tide in the affairs of men.

Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune;

Omitted, all the voyage of their life

Is bound in shallows and in miseries.

On such a full sea are we now afloat,

And we must take the current when it serves,

Or lose our ventures.

Julius Caesar Act 4, scene 3, 218–224

Such was the tide, that led me here.

But no voyage can be started

Nor unknown waters be charted

Until you find a ship to trust                                                                                        

And a captain, brave and just                                                                                      

So my sights I set afar

Guided by a sky and its leading star.                                                                           

The wind in my sails ebbed and soared                                                                      

But my trusted compass kept me assured                                                                   

The rudder was still holding its line                                                                             

And the wheel kept me moving just fine.                                                                    

The beacon atop the lighthouse beckoned                                                                 

And its brightness lit the future I reckoned.

Has the journey come to an end?

Or is it just another bend?

When other tides and seas I seek

What I do and what I speak,

How I fight and how I cope

I learnt aboard my ship of ‘Hope’

The ship mentioned here represents Asha Hsopital, Hyderabad and the poem is dedicated to my teachers there on the occasion of teacher's day.