Happy to be alive in this era, this time when India won its second World Cup on 2 April 2011 in Mumbai's Wankhede Stadium. What a wonderful World Cup it has been. So many highs and lows, overcoming strong teams such as Australia, Sri Lanka and of course, the arch rivals Pakistan, but it is a dream come true for 1.2 billion people (census reports were released a few days ago), for Sachin who has been awaiting this moment for over 2 decades of his career. Why should God Of Cricket not get this honor which only a few players have got till now, he is on the verge of century of centuries in the international cricket.
Now, where were we, at this historic moment, at the time of lofty six that Dhoni blasted straight over the ropes. In Kulta's room, witnessing the moment on his 21 inch LCD screens, fitting tight each other with Chikla occasionally meddling with the person lying along with him :P . It was fun watching along with bc-gang, lolmax comments on each advertisement, mine occasional verbal assault on Kulta and Bucha. We enjoyed watching the matches in company of Kachua (Bhatia), Chikla-&-Goyal, Fodu (who meddled with buchi time and again), Shanks, Sikkim (for filling in the url of the proxy sites enabling fast streaming), gubbaara-&-Ashok. We saw India's semi-final match against Pakistan in the adjoining stadium no the giant screens, but had come back after Sachin was out. It was much better when watched in room, at least we could see what the score was.
When Dhoni hit the ultimate six, we went mad, berserk, buchi jumping madly as if somebody had put two drops of vodka into his mouth. We went on walk, bakchodi walk in the college campus with unfulfilled aim of teasing any couple we may meet in our way (too much isn't it?), just jokin'. We sat in Cafeteria as usual for some time before sitting at the circle near Library (how big is it??). We will remember that it was in our times, that we had witnessed such fine game of cricket that at one stage seemed, that it had slipped out of the hands of India before Dhoni and Gambhir played memorable innings to award the cup to the thoroughly deserving team, our India, mother India.
#BowsToMyMotherIndia
Sunday, April 3, 2011
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
The Usual Night
For him, Diwali may not be as happy an occasion, as it is for us. Wrote this poem while I was returning from home after celebrating Diwali there.Here it goes.....
It's her habit now,
The Goddess forgets our colony,
our conditions, our hearths,
our births and our agony.
One feet in the drain,
the other on the less-visited road,
I watch the train,
as it jostles through our slums on its troll.
The uplift-ers came yesterday,
to click some photographs, and
show-off to the world.
They, all, take credits and
take our hopes,
their festival of lights today,
daily does the light of our lantern elope.
I passed through the market,
well-lit, the fervor well-knit,
happy to see the "happiness",
forgetting the grief I've got to tell you,
the larks will brighten the skies,
bring smiles on your faces,
and silence our usual cries.
I hear your laughter across the streets,
colors, crackers, lights all there they meet,
then here's our road, and not the street,
colorless, ominous, dark, no life, no treat.
You'll visit each other, gifting the gifts,
to the undeserved, to the already flourishing,
the gifts that could have given us the reason to smiles.
You enjoy all night long,
the Goddess visits your homes all night long,
the brumal floor wrecks me all night long.
Tomorrow I set out, the usual schedule,
to pick up rags, no study, no school,
to walk your streets,
laden with crackers and joys of last night,
the night that makes your life bright,
but, for me, it's the usual night.
It's her habit now,
The Goddess forgets our colony,
our conditions, our hearths,
our births and our agony.
One feet in the drain,
the other on the less-visited road,
I watch the train,
as it jostles through our slums on its troll.
The uplift-ers came yesterday,
to click some photographs, and
show-off to the world.
They, all, take credits and
take our hopes,
their festival of lights today,
daily does the light of our lantern elope.
I passed through the market,
well-lit, the fervor well-knit,
happy to see the "happiness",
forgetting the grief I've got to tell you,
the larks will brighten the skies,
bring smiles on your faces,
and silence our usual cries.
I hear your laughter across the streets,
colors, crackers, lights all there they meet,
then here's our road, and not the street,
colorless, ominous, dark, no life, no treat.
You'll visit each other, gifting the gifts,
to the undeserved, to the already flourishing,
the gifts that could have given us the reason to smiles.
You enjoy all night long,
the Goddess visits your homes all night long,
the brumal floor wrecks me all night long.
Tomorrow I set out, the usual schedule,
to pick up rags, no study, no school,
to walk your streets,
laden with crackers and joys of last night,
the night that makes your life bright,
but, for me, it's the usual night.
Friday, October 1, 2010
The Ending is not always Happy...
What pleases us the most is a movie with the happy ending, howsoever, unreal it maybe with respect to the actual life. We prefer an ending with all smiles. We doubt the message, a sad ending could convey. But we go wrong there. The sentiment conveyed by an unhappy ending, could be really lasting. We are used to life with a bed of roses. But what tests your mettle are not "happy moments", but they are those which have led you to the happier times, i.e. the hardships.
You see a movie with a sad ending, feel that it was merely a waste of time. But what about the message it carried, it was probably not to idolize the type of characters of the reel life, in the real life. I believe, we should to learn bit by bit from anything we come across. Life would be too monotonous if all is well all time. Water seems life-giving only when we are thirsty. The pleasure we get after our thirst is quenched, it's indescribable. No doubt, happy endings give us a ray of hope, but we need not ignore the unfavorable results we may come across. Because they will guide us into that zone from which all the troubles emanate, and help us find the epicentre of our sufferings and shortcomings.
You see a movie with a sad ending, feel that it was merely a waste of time. But what about the message it carried, it was probably not to idolize the type of characters of the reel life, in the real life. I believe, we should to learn bit by bit from anything we come across. Life would be too monotonous if all is well all time. Water seems life-giving only when we are thirsty. The pleasure we get after our thirst is quenched, it's indescribable. No doubt, happy endings give us a ray of hope, but we need not ignore the unfavorable results we may come across. Because they will guide us into that zone from which all the troubles emanate, and help us find the epicentre of our sufferings and shortcomings.
Saturday, September 11, 2010
Happiness does not add up, It multiplies.....
Passing through happy roads of Hyderabad, I gleefully adore the petals of festivities delicately protecting the seed called "faith". On left side of the road, you find a tent that encloses the colorful idol of Lord Ganesha, with priest enchanting the religious hymns. You go a bit further, and you see, the ever "green" mosque, wondrously lit with the bulbs dotting its sacred structure, and namaaz sessions in full swing. People looking happy, fervorous and shopping with an eagerness, that has quietly crept into them on account of a highlighted day in the calender and belief in the creator of this lovely world. Like the sun never sets, the night brings hope for the next day full of religious thoughts, the happiness that had prevailed the previous day. People are united, with tolerance power. This one thing I see in India, though, I am packed in an auto on one of those packed lanes, I become a part of them indirectly, as happy as them. The happiness multiplies...
Saturday, August 28, 2010
The Gypsy
the joy of living free, as free as a bird......
Here it goes....
I pass the paths, only broken so far,
lost somewhere in the speedy, destined cars.
As free as the rag-pickers, I recite my song,
expectant of little courtesy, only pennies do throng.
A little bread from here and there,
some smile, while others do glare.
Have begged everything, but smiles, from all,
not settled like homes, my life does not crawl.
No belongings, no property, no greed, no lust,
no longings, no woes, no ageing, no rust.
Orphaned, young, the rules of a home were devoid,
i have roamed since then, witnessing sorrows, joys in life's ellipsoid.
Oblivious of what goes on, in the world,
I search for the joy, where they search for the gold.
The boulevards, lonely and curved,
beg me to settle, have my family and raise some cattle.
But then, the spirit shall be lost,
surprises and adventures gone with responsibilities' frost.
I shall continue my un-aimed tourney,
unfettered, unscathed, unfazed by temptations,
to bring about the smiles on faces that see me.
Here it goes....
I pass the paths, only broken so far,
lost somewhere in the speedy, destined cars.
As free as the rag-pickers, I recite my song,
expectant of little courtesy, only pennies do throng.
A little bread from here and there,
some smile, while others do glare.
Have begged everything, but smiles, from all,
not settled like homes, my life does not crawl.
No belongings, no property, no greed, no lust,
no longings, no woes, no ageing, no rust.
Orphaned, young, the rules of a home were devoid,
i have roamed since then, witnessing sorrows, joys in life's ellipsoid.
Oblivious of what goes on, in the world,
I search for the joy, where they search for the gold.
The boulevards, lonely and curved,
beg me to settle, have my family and raise some cattle.
But then, the spirit shall be lost,
surprises and adventures gone with responsibilities' frost.
I shall continue my un-aimed tourney,
unfettered, unscathed, unfazed by temptations,
to bring about the smiles on faces that see me.
Thursday, August 19, 2010
I lost my way
Fifth Sem begins so begin the boring classes. Wrote this in one of them...
Overwhelmed with the rousing applause,
smiling, hoping were the expectant brows.
The boy will cross the woods, they smilingly said,
terrains, slopes and the thickness, he will tread.
A sword was conferred, that would guard my back,
out in the wild, the sick food I was to stack.
Stunned, I was, by the ecstatic aura,
the brooks, the ponds, the fauna and flora.
The vigour, the bigger it got,
as, towards the wild, I began my trot.
Beauty overpowers the transient fears,
so beautiful seems the life, no tortures, no tears.
But, finally, I had it enough,
there the smooth home, but here it was rough.
Homesickness, that drowsy feeling, erupted,
tears trickled, as the determined mind corrupted.
Sighed I was, as I sighted a thorpe,
low in spirits, I decided to stop.
They encouraged, strengthened me to
continue the search,
to explore the unknown, and
to discover the paths.
I passed through the villages,
people helping me on the way,
extending all the inspirations,
allowing me for the one-night stays.
I saw her working in the fields,
her muddy hands, the sweating glands,
the traditional dress; the heavenly bliss.
Spent a few days at hers', we laughed, we giggled,
and the journey I undertook was, so forgotten.
But I woke up, broke up and continued the foray,
lost, I am, among distractions around, where my path is lay.
Overwhelmed with the rousing applause,
smiling, hoping were the expectant brows.
The boy will cross the woods, they smilingly said,
terrains, slopes and the thickness, he will tread.
A sword was conferred, that would guard my back,
out in the wild, the sick food I was to stack.
Stunned, I was, by the ecstatic aura,
the brooks, the ponds, the fauna and flora.
The vigour, the bigger it got,
as, towards the wild, I began my trot.
Beauty overpowers the transient fears,
so beautiful seems the life, no tortures, no tears.
But, finally, I had it enough,
there the smooth home, but here it was rough.
Homesickness, that drowsy feeling, erupted,
tears trickled, as the determined mind corrupted.
Sighed I was, as I sighted a thorpe,
low in spirits, I decided to stop.
They encouraged, strengthened me to
continue the search,
to explore the unknown, and
to discover the paths.
I passed through the villages,
people helping me on the way,
extending all the inspirations,
allowing me for the one-night stays.
I saw her working in the fields,
her muddy hands, the sweating glands,
the traditional dress; the heavenly bliss.
Spent a few days at hers', we laughed, we giggled,
and the journey I undertook was, so forgotten.
But I woke up, broke up and continued the foray,
lost, I am, among distractions around, where my path is lay.
Thursday, August 5, 2010
The Ash
Wrote this poem at the end of last semester(fourth)... probably in some of the classes.
As lifeless as the body which nowadays,
rising in the wind, do the ashes play,
the wind of transition has taken its toll,
in terms of a life that was perfectly on a roll.
Beholded had his eyes,time and a pain,
the job at the grave was solely to blame,
so into the life and so near the death,
regular were the people who taken their last breath.
Down-to-earth is a man,
who witnesses deaths in the human clan,
in the hue and cry of 'limited time',
his exploits, his evils, does he ban.
His daughter had excelled at educational levels,
as if in the dark night, a knight unravels,
But eclipsed has this knight unravelled,
the poverty line, through their bellies, travelled.
The pennies, the alms he got from the crying souls,
barely drove the house that stood on rickety wooden poles.
Never he prayed for the people to die,
though in those hues and cries, did his money lie.
Persistent smoke, suffocated his lungs now,
frail health, penny wealth, frowned his brows.
The bright future called upon his daughter,
the education, the knowledge that still eluded their lineage.
All to a day, when utensils rusted,
the cot trembled, and the tolerance tested,
the decision had to be taken,
no longer did he go to the grave,
for now the spirit was gone,and
broken were expectations from the fate,
that had once, made his feet stiff and brave.
Deaths became paltry in those days,
the cruel fate sometimes no bait,
somebody had to be rituatlised,
his lovely daughter needed the help,
a candle newly lit, the wick demanded,
the thread to the top.
"Me", trickeled down from his thirsty lips,
as thundrously, to life, the death pips.
Her face grew pale, the permission was negative,
how could she see him dying, just for the money,
that the neighborhood would give,
but he won't understand, the urge to do good for his blood,
the little angel, who, taking his motherly finger had, always tread,
how could she let him, the God she had known.
To him, his body seemed as a dilapidated log,
but direly wanted his spirit, to give her,
the furniture even if it was out of a mite-d wood.
Secretly he kissed the princess, while she was asleep,
the pills he took, he knew, would make her weep,
but the money the people would pay as the tribute,
would make her life easily en route.
All happened as he had thought, and
she still carries his ash,
calm, helping as he always was,
his face, always in front of her eyes,
today, as she nestles on the top.
As lifeless as the body which nowadays,
rising in the wind, do the ashes play,
the wind of transition has taken its toll,
in terms of a life that was perfectly on a roll.
Beholded had his eyes,time and a pain,
the job at the grave was solely to blame,
so into the life and so near the death,
regular were the people who taken their last breath.
Down-to-earth is a man,
who witnesses deaths in the human clan,
in the hue and cry of 'limited time',
his exploits, his evils, does he ban.
His daughter had excelled at educational levels,
as if in the dark night, a knight unravels,
But eclipsed has this knight unravelled,
the poverty line, through their bellies, travelled.
The pennies, the alms he got from the crying souls,
barely drove the house that stood on rickety wooden poles.
Never he prayed for the people to die,
though in those hues and cries, did his money lie.
Persistent smoke, suffocated his lungs now,
frail health, penny wealth, frowned his brows.
The bright future called upon his daughter,
the education, the knowledge that still eluded their lineage.
All to a day, when utensils rusted,
the cot trembled, and the tolerance tested,
the decision had to be taken,
no longer did he go to the grave,
for now the spirit was gone,and
broken were expectations from the fate,
that had once, made his feet stiff and brave.
Deaths became paltry in those days,
the cruel fate sometimes no bait,
somebody had to be rituatlised,
his lovely daughter needed the help,
a candle newly lit, the wick demanded,
the thread to the top.
"Me", trickeled down from his thirsty lips,
as thundrously, to life, the death pips.
Her face grew pale, the permission was negative,
how could she see him dying, just for the money,
that the neighborhood would give,
but he won't understand, the urge to do good for his blood,
the little angel, who, taking his motherly finger had, always tread,
how could she let him, the God she had known.
To him, his body seemed as a dilapidated log,
but direly wanted his spirit, to give her,
the furniture even if it was out of a mite-d wood.
Secretly he kissed the princess, while she was asleep,
the pills he took, he knew, would make her weep,
but the money the people would pay as the tribute,
would make her life easily en route.
All happened as he had thought, and
she still carries his ash,
calm, helping as he always was,
his face, always in front of her eyes,
today, as she nestles on the top.
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