Wednesday, January 26, 2005

Un - Focus


Pale light plays script to shadow,
likeness for moods in many a mind,
as folks come out to the sun,
adoring the green carpet of grass,
and many shimmers of butterflies,
patters of little feet,
jingles of infectious laughter,
creaseless foreheads work at play,
lost smiles found on beautiful faces,
nature’s garden of rain and sun,
bring out the fun in you,
as we focus onwards in our lives,
it is clearer to un-focus for awhile.

Limericks

Caferati had this exercise on writing limericks and i submitted quite a few and i'd thought i'd save these somewhere and hence posting this on my blog. Enjoy


In our circles of fun
play with all kinds of pun
rhyme your words with grime
fetch your pen and indulge in crime
But please, please don’t edit it by the ton.


Heavy and heartful sins of love
eclectic bonds form in a grove
through spasms of body and mind
tender touches scream, rewind
to that dangerous path we drove.


One day peter griffin
who writes for his morning tiffin
shouted as he got up
said, “Limericks ! that’s what we’ll throw up”
having all of us now, huffin’ and puffin’.


All idiot boxes have cable
yet in Chennai, CAS makes it unable
for us poor bored chennaivasis
hot city and not even an oasis
Soon, very soon, we are going unstable.


Peter Griffin and Sunil Nair
Oh, they make, what a pair
like chanceless light in our window
hope! for us scribblers they bestow
Thank God, we now, don’t despair.


Caferati is on the Ryze,
Scripting into us in a trice,
Each writing our own piece
Flaunting for that golden fleece
Elusive, will it be ? that Pulitzer prize.


There was a being called Harish
All he wrote was some gibberish,
Pictures many tried he, to paint
All he made, was readers to faint,
and he thought he was being stylish.

Friday, January 21, 2005

Circuits of Life


Severe diaspora encircles man,
as eclectic choices bargain our personage,
through a sea of unpurposed chance,
gracing our every iota of existence,
blameful fingers, pointing,
visceral selves gasp, emoting;
scouring amongst moors of homo sapiens
breathe fresher tidings to every touch,
like warm sunshine on cold skin
stretch hands into the secret unknown,
expect foreknown reaction
in anticipation lies ecstatic delight
of discovery, within external stimuli,
neoteric elation with a nodding acquaintance
plunge deeper to safe realms,
within circuit of intimate spirits.

Friday, January 14, 2005

Dreams


Like rainbow colours, they fill
a mind full of eccentric life
with infinite ceilings to reach
dances with light and vivid images
inert body, and in myriad places already
ideas, fantasies, fears, strengths, love
come at every forty winks.
Circular expectations chance our mind
reflect our soul, our deep dreams
chancing us with life’s many curves
like night’s many stars they emerge
leave traces like droplets on a misty morning
vanish on the hint of a waking sun.
Dream
of beacons to shine on
into the blackness of our night.

Tuesday, January 11, 2005

Inquest



Man’s mirror is the conscience which reflects the wrinkles he’s tried to iron out. An image is portrayed within the blackness of your mind accounting for every path you have taken, betraying successes, failures and the balance you have chosen. On many a occasion we have come up a cliff of such magnitude where we feel dwarfed, small by how much each of us can move this scaling wall of a really hard and high place.

Surprisingly, like all beautiful things God has made, so is his version of Checks and Balances. Such failures react to ourselves and make each of us wiser, if not better.


A figure cuts through air
disturbing waves as the path wounds
over life’s many roads
hauling our weighing souls,
somewhere our soul hits a rut
but always love and care fill us hope
to carry on, with not so weary a shoulder.

Many a probability have kissed us
but we neigh respond to all
of all chances forgone
and mistaken paths trodden
the biggest one and costly by far
has been my timidity to declare
the love and admiration to all
those who are dearest
but like a puppy anxious to please
devouring, I will, this trait right now
like a neophyte with love
this I promise for eternity,

Lost love, like a knife of betrayal
may have diced us
questions we ask our mirror
tearing our soul
was I in the wrong ?
years have passed and yet silence
as I stand before myself
never will this deep wound heal
but yet scarred, live on I will.
stronger, scared but with hope
that time will bring more smiles.

Like champions we fought
family, flanking the other with strength
there was pain, more of it
with every passing day
testing, tearing, heart-stopping
we will never be the same
mom, we love you
nothing will fill this void
for that glimpse of your sparkly eyes
for that gentle voice which hums
a smile for every person
for that stern voice
you are the iron in our diet
every pain you endured
with many tears and more laughs
I wish I did say all this to you
hear me, as you do everyday
and I would die
for that one glimpse of you.


Every moment in my life and for the rest of it, I have promised myself the task of keeping what my mother stood for, alive and kicking. The strength that she possessed, the love that she received, the poise she showed, humour at pain and what pain that must have been. Her life was halted by cancer, painfully but I think she gave something back at cancer with strength, lots of it.

There was this instance in my life I found very funny, or atleast my mother found it that way. It was in her last few days, admitted in a hospital but without any hope from the medical profession. It was during my post graduation days and this one afternoon on the 14th of August, three years before the turn of the century. A balmy Bangalore afternoon saw me going to the local bus stand to pick up a friend visiting from Coorg for a couple of days. My house normally has a lot of friends visiting, all the time. Once I had picked him, I wanted to drop in to the hospital as I did for the last few days before I went home to change and make dinner. My friend wanted to visit too.
As I entered the hospital room, I found the bed empty. I rushed outside and asked one of the many nurses who had befriended us during those days, “Where’s Mrs. Vittal? The elderly matron replied sadly, “They took her home a little while back” and she came over and patted my back.
I feared the worst, speechless; I rushed out and did not even speak to my friend for the hours on the bike, it felt like hours. I reached home, thinking back now, in less than 10 minutes.
At home, I knew my cousin and my uncle were at home as their car stood outside. They were always a pillar of support for my family through. My uncle was also married to another iron lady with the regality of Margaret Thatcher. This lady was my mother’s elder sister, another source of immense strength. I still carry a picture of these sisters in my wallet. They are etched into my fibre and have such a big influence in all of us at home.
We reached and my friend was still silent, obviously empathetic to my plight.
As I stepped in, I saw my mom sitting there on the diwan, using a few pillows for support. I can never describe what I felt at that time. My friend silently went into my room after greeting my parents. I quietly removed my shoes, washed up. My dad and everybody else was quiet. The last few years have been testing times and many tears have been shed. I stole into the puja room and lit a lamp. I was just too burdened with a huge lump in my throat and heavy eyes. My mother sensed something and asked for me. She lost her eyesight because of the numerous radiation and chemotherapy she had undergone over the years. She still looked beautiful. And her mind was as sharp as ever. My father pointed out that I was in the puja room lighting a lamp.
I am not a too religious person in terms of actually praying in the puja room. A complete opposite in this regard, from the rest of my family. I firmly believe that I don’t need to go to a temple or a church or any other place of worship to pray. I can pray anytime, and it always prayer time. But not that I prayed too often, just as the same where I haven’t told that I care and love to people around who matter most to me.
My mom laughed. It was a long time since she had laughed. With a glee in her voice of tormenting me, she said, “He thought I had died” in tamil, and only then did everyone else realize my behaviour. I silently cried, without shedding a tear.
That was the last time we all heard her laugh, and i am glad i was the reason for it. She passed away in my father’s and my arms. It was 10:55 on the 14th. It was in the same month later that she had the company of two women she had admired most, Mother Teresa and Princess Diane. I hope it was painless as much as it was painful for us.



Wednesday, January 05, 2005

Why ??

Why ??

Why! Did God bother us with a stomach,
and the first pair lead us to this path
a path of bother, lies, impurity,
mindless games, political correctness;
to live a arduous life impregnating
this beautiful world with hate, bigotry,
living each of our lives, striving;
to an end goal, meaningful, and in memory
of those who matter and, more who don’t
leaving marks inimitably
and on those we love,
some of it bad, others good and many unintentional
circling that truth we seek
on who we are
and Why ?
this burden we carry on our feet
our souls searching, questioning
our very purpose and organism.




I wrote this today out of irritation and patience fast running out. It was one of those days where you feel a ton of insurmountable odds. It was nuts. A little background here on the 'stomach' line - My sis always used to comment saying that God, its this stomach which is the cause of all the perenial problems of mankind. In a way, she's right. Anyway, the irritation persists but was a good letting off of steam.

Tuesday, January 04, 2005

To be Resolute . . .

A purposeful, steadfast stare
give to those few days in our paths
promises made, broken and kept
do we need a new epoch for avowal,
circling our own lives with a new fence
keep out or gather in, like friends
on the shoulder of our character
spirit within, vowing compliance
time has an answer to our prodding,
will we be resolute, strengthen our will,
but a question remains, answerable
but yet remains asking
the made promises, laid ourselves
are they what we want
need not promise on the dawn of an era
but on every dawn that needs change
as resolute as resolute can be
so does it warrant our every soul
for truthful adjustment to our living.