Balloons

There was a time when we were fascinated by colorful balloons, those were days of our innocence and purity. Going down the memory lane....

A frail hand,
a smooth string, and
the colourful worlds,
they scintillate my screen,
when I rewind.
Events flash,
when he would come selling,
he colourful, the hued bubbles,
uneasy, colliding, waiting,
to be free.
His dusty skin, expectant eyes,
shone when we appeared,
ours too, on seeing him.
The desperation, to get one
of those worlds,
to run along with them,
to fly with them,
to the worlds they go alone.
No such desperation, no such wait,
no such merry times,
what's it now ??
Heaven was there,
hell's here.

Mother

I can confirm the existence of God in the form of a single word called 'mother'. This poem describes how a boy living in some slum watches his mother working hard to make their both ends meet and has some wishes to make. Ode to Mom :)

Quietly, she runs the house,
she bears the smoke from the burning wood,
that sickens her lungs,
but asks us to stay away from
the smoke.
She tries to ignite the dying fire,
to cook what all we've got,
the scarcity, the poverty prevails.
She bears the heat, but all smiles for
me.
She feeds me well, bite by bite,
and sets my shabby hair right.
This affection, this care,
and she's the angel.
So much, you know, as big as this room,
she does for me,
that I shall do something great one day,
for her,
to care for,
all the care I've been blessed with.
She'll face no problem no more,
a big house, we'll get
and a big car to take her to
the places she wishes for.
There shall be no smoke no more,
and my mother will cook,
with hopes and smiles, that
she has today, right now.

Wallpaper-ing

I've been trying some art work with photoshop CS5. Seems the best software to me, you need not wait to see the output :P, other softwares are real shit. Made these Linkin Park wallpapers. Your feedback shall be inspiring :)

Knowing Her

Through this poem I try to recollect an old lady, she was my aunt's grandmother. Once in summer holidays of school days, me and my brother had gone to my aunt's maternal. Living with the oldies, shows how they're treating life and how life is treating them.

The bags of hanging skin,
studded with wrinkles of age,
locks of vintage hair,
thick glasses,
quite dusty,
blocking the already dim light,
an old suit, that loosely
fits her frail physique,
the overgrown nails on
the bony feet.
Pitiable, isn't she ?
But she lives inside,
not out.
“Thanks” on her lips,
blessings in her eyes,
even if I just bring her
a glass of water.
They confide in us young ones,
when their elder ones
misbehave.
She tries hard to read
the scriptures,
to undo the sins committed,
if any I think so,
through the lenses,
of her experience,
that she has amassed
till now.

The Aftermath

Wrote this poem sometime during the last (6th) semester. Had taken a creative writing course under Rebecca ma'am. It was fun exploring different aspects of poetry under her, hope that affects my poems in a positive manner.

In this time,
the gravest of all,
lie the leg and the rod,
still and stern.
A hand turns out,
from the rubble;
some grasping breaths.
The eyes hopeful,
of finding someone alive.
Some albums,
the celebrations,
lie trampled in furniture,
Some toys swept away
by the waves,
of loot, of loss,
of disaster.
But those days,
will return,
bustling streets will emerge
amongst the
still rubble,
and homes resound,
with the laughs,
that will defeat,
the silence
that prevails today.

We witnessed it... India's World Cup Triumph 2011

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

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.