she stood there still
serene calm of defeat
on a young-old face
a shriveled hand through the grill
she stood there still.
no cause for modesty had she
no coy glance at a handsome face
to do that was a weakness
in her state she could ill afford.
large sunken eye gored me deep
blaming me for the cause
of a hungry stomach and lost youth
one irreparable the other irrecoverable
she stood there still.
her anguish flowed into me
and i brooded over existence
and philosophized over life
and cursed the generation
that had ravaged her utterly
and the train filled - started to roll
while she stood there still.
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
With one eye bandaged signifying the end of an innocent stye and looking like an Indianised version of the pirate Long John Silver, I entered the bank amidst glances of ire, fear, and resignation.
The chief teller came towards me almost bending double and said - I know who you are and what you've come here for. I grinned widely at this unexpected welcome. You've picked a very inopportune moment to do what you've come to do - he continued. Not exactly - I replied. I think I'll be able to stash away a lot of cash doing this. We'll go out of our way to stay out of the way - he said ironically. Don't do that - I retorted; I've come only minimally armed - thinking of the ballpen I carried and if a pencil was required, it would necessiate taking the assistance of this kindly soul.
The air was quiet for a while.
We have taken the liberty - after arrival naturally - of switching off the burglar alarm in case you become - he made an elaborate gesture which I interpreted as nervousness. Yes - I retorted - a man's got to conduct business without these small nuisances interrupting his concentration. Naturally - he said. In fact, at this very moment, the staff is busy opening the vaults for your convenience - he said. Oh! I muttered not wanting to express that small twinge of displeasure I felt at this unexpected delay.
Did you ....er....conduct this....er....operation in Delhi in the recent past - asked my friend hesitatingly. Oh yes - said I confidently, though if the truth be told, my sales figures so deep in the red had the effect of reflecting that exact color on my boss' apoplectic face.
By now everyone had both their arms high up in the air and overwhelmed by emotion at this show of solidarity, I raised a fist in silent acknowledgement and prayed that the management concedes their union's unreasonable demands whatever they were.
There was a long silence all around before the man ventured to murmur - you can start what you came here to do - all the while dumping bundles of thousand buck notes into my reluctant arms. No thanks - I replied removing the Gandhi from my pocket - all I came here to do was open an SB account with your bank.
As I left I wondered why the man looked so relieved.
The chief teller came towards me almost bending double and said - I know who you are and what you've come here for. I grinned widely at this unexpected welcome. You've picked a very inopportune moment to do what you've come to do - he continued. Not exactly - I replied. I think I'll be able to stash away a lot of cash doing this. We'll go out of our way to stay out of the way - he said ironically. Don't do that - I retorted; I've come only minimally armed - thinking of the ballpen I carried and if a pencil was required, it would necessiate taking the assistance of this kindly soul.
The air was quiet for a while.
We have taken the liberty - after arrival naturally - of switching off the burglar alarm in case you become - he made an elaborate gesture which I interpreted as nervousness. Yes - I retorted - a man's got to conduct business without these small nuisances interrupting his concentration. Naturally - he said. In fact, at this very moment, the staff is busy opening the vaults for your convenience - he said. Oh! I muttered not wanting to express that small twinge of displeasure I felt at this unexpected delay.
Did you ....er....conduct this....er....operation in Delhi in the recent past - asked my friend hesitatingly. Oh yes - said I confidently, though if the truth be told, my sales figures so deep in the red had the effect of reflecting that exact color on my boss' apoplectic face.
By now everyone had both their arms high up in the air and overwhelmed by emotion at this show of solidarity, I raised a fist in silent acknowledgement and prayed that the management concedes their union's unreasonable demands whatever they were.
There was a long silence all around before the man ventured to murmur - you can start what you came here to do - all the while dumping bundles of thousand buck notes into my reluctant arms. No thanks - I replied removing the Gandhi from my pocket - all I came here to do was open an SB account with your bank.
As I left I wondered why the man looked so relieved.
Saturday, July 4, 2009
residing problems
where in the world shall i dwell
in memories of the past bygone
among foolish endeavours and stifled pride
overflowing ponds and scorched riverbeds
fragrant roses and gloomy carnations
lofty ideals and crumbling reality.
where in the world shall i dwell
in the omnipresent halo of the now
among civil urbans or gregarious peasants
chicken paneer or dried up crusts
necessary enemies or unwanted friends
a roof over my head or a starry umbrella.
where in the world shall i dwell
in utopian dreams of the future to come
among oceans preluding a dipping horizon
or deserts reflecting a midnoon mirage
stepping on a cowherd's beaten trail
on hanging on a tail of a passing comet
walking among stars by deeds performed
or performing a performance for wilting laurels
where in Hell shall i dwell?
in memories of the past bygone
among foolish endeavours and stifled pride
overflowing ponds and scorched riverbeds
fragrant roses and gloomy carnations
lofty ideals and crumbling reality.
where in the world shall i dwell
in the omnipresent halo of the now
among civil urbans or gregarious peasants
chicken paneer or dried up crusts
necessary enemies or unwanted friends
a roof over my head or a starry umbrella.
where in the world shall i dwell
in utopian dreams of the future to come
among oceans preluding a dipping horizon
or deserts reflecting a midnoon mirage
stepping on a cowherd's beaten trail
on hanging on a tail of a passing comet
walking among stars by deeds performed
or performing a performance for wilting laurels
where in Hell shall i dwell?
Lucky's Bar
the old shuffling steps have heard them all
tinkling wares and creaking chairs
whirring fan and blaring radio
regulars troopings and strangers treadings
going down straight or on the rocks
cooling ale and heated tempers
heated tempers otherwise subdued
fiery tongues otherwise dumb
memories nourished by courage brought.
the old shuffling steps have seen them all
smoking rooms and cramped feelings
young man John by the corner
draining his sorrows of a shattered romance
sharped witted Bill with some friends
celebrating a little just for fun
where people on the brink come to think
with a bottle of gin all left to drink
and everyone gains thats for sure
the losers their sorrows and winners their pleasure
the honest their sufferings and crooks their rewards
and most of all during earl morning hours
he behind the door counting his cash
proprietor of the Dream House called Lucky's Bar - cheers!
tinkling wares and creaking chairs
whirring fan and blaring radio
regulars troopings and strangers treadings
going down straight or on the rocks
cooling ale and heated tempers
heated tempers otherwise subdued
fiery tongues otherwise dumb
memories nourished by courage brought.
the old shuffling steps have seen them all
smoking rooms and cramped feelings
young man John by the corner
draining his sorrows of a shattered romance
sharped witted Bill with some friends
celebrating a little just for fun
where people on the brink come to think
with a bottle of gin all left to drink
and everyone gains thats for sure
the losers their sorrows and winners their pleasure
the honest their sufferings and crooks their rewards
and most of all during earl morning hours
he behind the door counting his cash
proprietor of the Dream House called Lucky's Bar - cheers!
rest in peace.......
this piece was scribbled in 1988 in justifiable anger (mine). Those were the days of being at the mercy of Doordarshan.
twenty-fifth January ninteen eighty eight...
The sad demise of Indian sports. Indian sports which was ailing for quite some time, died a natural death on this day. Even as we bow our collective heads and try hard preventing our eyes from blurring, there is also a monstrous public sigh at something which should have had come to pass ages ago. The obituary to be written of that fateful day runs as follows.
Trivandrum. Final one-day match of the seven match series. Bald pitch (sign of old age). Srikanth, who should have been out first ball, goes on to score a career saving century, after which he promptly hangs his gloves. Commentators, those creatures with no knowledge of contemporary cricket and an abundance of memories of the past decade, (verbally indisputable because of low public memory) praise him as if his presence heralds the coming of the second messiah - cut.
The cameraman is in a dreamy cloud of inebriation, which explains why the camera zooms off to long leg while the ball is resting contentedly in the keeper's gloves. Again, showing a replay of a superb catch taken, whilst the one having done so is in a high state of euphoria, the catch having had been taken 10 seconds earlier - sob.
Siliguri. The land of football crazy people whose players are the cream of this land. Their opponents, the Bulgarians, are playing a football match while our not-so-young youngsters are watching. The Jawaharlal Nehru Cup For Communist Countires being played at Siliguri is a fitting cremation ground for the land of half-baked footballers - sad.
The alter ego for this highly regaling match is provided by the Door-dadkhan transmission which in a fit of nervious tension blanks out every time the players approach either D - sick.
Thus, the Jawaharlal Nehru Cup For Communist Countries and the Caribbean whitewash have provided an added impetus in hastening the sad but necessary demise of Indian sports, Amol Dutta's "chodna math" and Rajiv Gandhi's blah blah notwithstanding - amen.
twenty-fifth January ninteen eighty eight...
The sad demise of Indian sports. Indian sports which was ailing for quite some time, died a natural death on this day. Even as we bow our collective heads and try hard preventing our eyes from blurring, there is also a monstrous public sigh at something which should have had come to pass ages ago. The obituary to be written of that fateful day runs as follows.
Trivandrum. Final one-day match of the seven match series. Bald pitch (sign of old age). Srikanth, who should have been out first ball, goes on to score a career saving century, after which he promptly hangs his gloves. Commentators, those creatures with no knowledge of contemporary cricket and an abundance of memories of the past decade, (verbally indisputable because of low public memory) praise him as if his presence heralds the coming of the second messiah - cut.
The cameraman is in a dreamy cloud of inebriation, which explains why the camera zooms off to long leg while the ball is resting contentedly in the keeper's gloves. Again, showing a replay of a superb catch taken, whilst the one having done so is in a high state of euphoria, the catch having had been taken 10 seconds earlier - sob.
Siliguri. The land of football crazy people whose players are the cream of this land. Their opponents, the Bulgarians, are playing a football match while our not-so-young youngsters are watching. The Jawaharlal Nehru Cup For Communist Countires being played at Siliguri is a fitting cremation ground for the land of half-baked footballers - sad.
The alter ego for this highly regaling match is provided by the Door-dadkhan transmission which in a fit of nervious tension blanks out every time the players approach either D - sick.
Thus, the Jawaharlal Nehru Cup For Communist Countries and the Caribbean whitewash have provided an added impetus in hastening the sad but necessary demise of Indian sports, Amol Dutta's "chodna math" and Rajiv Gandhi's blah blah notwithstanding - amen.
Friday, July 3, 2009
solitude
where to wake up is a pleasure
without the presence of time
nor the shadow of trouble
where the air smells fresh
and the birds sound happy
the universe their playground.
where the afternoon naps a must
and the evening tea is a habit
strolling down the lakeside
crystal clear waters reflecting a kite
the heaven its zenith.
where the crackling sound of burning logs
turn glowing embers into stars
and the stillness of the grayish night
overlaps the dark horizon
a black hole looming large.
without the presence of time
nor the shadow of trouble
where the air smells fresh
and the birds sound happy
the universe their playground.
where the afternoon naps a must
and the evening tea is a habit
strolling down the lakeside
crystal clear waters reflecting a kite
the heaven its zenith.
where the crackling sound of burning logs
turn glowing embers into stars
and the stillness of the grayish night
overlaps the dark horizon
a black hole looming large.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)