Tuesday, June 10, 2008

A PHRASY-TALE


Once upon a time, lived two beautiful dames,
Truth and Falsity were their names.
They shared everything, from a cake to a dream,
Vowing to be forever, friends supreme.

Alas! Promises are mostly made to be broken,
Falsity befriended unscrupulous men.
Under their tutelage very soon degraded,
Her love for Truth turning into hatred.

She became jealous of Truth, hating her pulchritude,
Her attire of compassion and graceful attitude.
Her scheming mind hatched a dishonest plot,
She’d abandon Truth in a lonesome island to rot.

‘Let’s go for a picnic on the yonder island,
just the two of us, it’d be lovely and grand.’
On the island, shedding their clothes and inhibition,
They swam naked in the ocean, shrieking in fun.

Challenging Truth to race her under water,
Falsity returned, collecting all she could gather.
Not sparing a thread, she left on the boat,
Ignoring Truth’s cry, pleading to take her aboard.

Bereft of clothing, naked Truth roams alone,
Waiting in eternity for her friend to come along.
Since then, men are wary of ‘naked truth’,
Avoiding it like an oozing fester uncouth.

Now, Falsity was abashed, struck by humility,
She could no longer face the world with dignity.
She draped a long hood and hid her face,

‘Naked Truth’ and ‘Falsehood’ never again met I guess!

(inspired by poet Kedar Bhaduri)

Saturday, June 7, 2008

INFLATION


Try to get taller sonny
By hanging from the railing,
‘Complan’ has gotten dearer
Inflation has touched the ceiling.

Dust and clean the car dear
Appreciating it from afar,
Won’t be able to drive anymore
‘Cause the cost of petrol is a bar.

Clean and scrub the stove dear
Please don’t ignite the flame,
Bread and butter in every meal
Fifty rupees hike is to blame.

Let’s buy us a couple o cycles dear
And visit relatives in mass,
It’ll be a blessing in disguise
Slimming without a gym class.

I’m collecting all coins dear
To keep us through the end,
Notes are bound to disappear
Before we cross the bend.

Thursday, May 22, 2008

Assemblage of treasure


I am a conscientious collector
Hunting for treasure bright,
From dawn to eventide
Forever searching with fervor.

Softness of a baby pink dawn,
Fluffy cotton candies floating in leisure,
Coy sunrise blushing in pleasure,
Calisthenics of birds airborne.

Dewdrops forming a semblance
Pearl necklace on a solitary leaf,
Perfume of Jasmine, a sudden whiff,
Squirrels waltzing in perfect balance.

First raindrop on earth’s parched lip,
Storm showcasing psychedelic lightening
With thunder’s staccato drumming,
Graceful rain twirling on toe tip.

Sensuous kiss of a honeysuckle,
Kaleidoscopic flirtation of a butterfly,
Precise discipline the marching ants comply,
Sting of an angry bee on my poor knuckle.

Purple folds of velvet sunset,
Arena bathed in full moon floodlight,
Dark sky etched with diamonds bright,
Headlights peeping from an owl’s nest.

I store them all in a box of ivory tone
Combination carved in my heart for reference.
When there is no memory or coherence,

Inseparable shadows of the twilight zone

I'll dive into my precious booty,
Chuckling like a toothless child.

Monday, May 5, 2008

elixir of life


A slender ray of light
desparately struggling,
trying to permeate
the dark dense ominous clouds.

It slashed and it tore--
perseverence paid.

A gate of hope
A cottage of happiness
A hearth of love

stands illuminated!


This elixir of life,
hold on to it tight.

Sunday, April 20, 2008

A BONGLISH NONSENSE



A whisper ran from ear to ear
Gyan sir his wife, very much fear.

Month end he went to market
Find Padma- hilsa very cheap rate.

Greed not control, he buy fish
Come home swinging big fat Ilish.

Low voice say, wife! fish very grand!
Not elebele but Padma river brand.

Wife very angry spitting out paan
Shout, you know how family I run?

Month end wasting money on fish
Not small puNTi but costly Ilish!

Do you think paisa hang from tree?
Or have Mint, whose you have key?

Go , return Hilsa immediately,
Gyan sir head down, from there flee.

Wednesday, April 16, 2008

HAIKU IKEBANA


The red horizon
beckoning a long dark night,
abused and alone.


A soft pink sunrise
glows on the mother's tired eyes,
as the new born cries.


A catterpillar sleeps,
bathing in 'vibgyor' hues,
a butterfly peeps.

VIBGYOR LIFE


Tiny Violet lay curled
Mother's womb her world,
Careless and secure
Growing life so pure.

Little Indigo was born
One early summer morn,
A lovely little dame
As precious as a gem.

Blue, a fair maiden
Wooed by men in dozen,
Loved a poor scholar
And married amidst jeer.

Green, a loving home-maker
Poverty, not a bother,
Laughter echoed in her cottage
No meanness, no outrage.

Yellow, struck by fate
Tragically lost her mate,
Young, pretty and hapless
Object of lust and disgrace.

Orange, a determined fighter
Her strength proving mightier,
She worked, fed, survived
With dignity, couldn’t be bribed.

Red flames licked the pyre
Struggle smoothed by fire,
Beauty and strength of a woman
Depicted by rainbow bedizen.

ANGEL



The other day
As I was walking my pet Labrador,
I met Mrs.Ray,
Holding on to leashes not one, but four.
We greeted and smiled,
I couldn’t help but notice, the dogs did lack;
Rocky was blind,
Jenny had a deep burn right across her back.
Minu and May,
One with a deep gash, other, a severed tail.
Here were they,
A bunch of pitiable mutilated mongrel.
Their tails wagged
As she whistled ,calling out each by name.
Ugly and mangled
Yet happily frisking about, ready for a game.
My shock she read
And narrated tales of heinous torment;
Some men well-bred
Poured boiling water on pups as punishment,
They beat them
With sticks, till their legs were a mangled mass;
What a shame!
firecrackers tied on to tails, uncouth and crass.
Thoughtless act,
Executed by none other than a human;
A hard fact,
Torturing casually for the sake of fun.
She rescued them,
Brought them home, nursed them to health,
Though blind and lame,
Her world revolved around her precious wealth.
A few Mrs. Rays
Give us renewed hope for a harmonious world.
They are angels,
Making the devilish works of mankind annulled.
I salute to you all
For your untiring selfless and honorable deed!
I am too small,
My kindness and love confined to my pedigree breed.

THE JUDGEMENT



Let me tell you all a story
Of a little girl, whose memory
In my heart lies deeply imprinted!

She was pretty she was smart,
God’s precious work of art-
A more adorable child I hadn’t met!

She kept praying for a sister,
Her parents she would pester,
“Oh! get me one” she’d say in earnest!

Then one fine summer day,
She heard her momma say,
“Baby! Soon you’ll have a playmate”.

Her father clapped out loud,
“A son would make me proud!
Another girl is not welcome, it ain’t.”

A female it was tested,
And mercilessly aborted,
She couldn’t fathom what it meant!

She sobbed and she cried,
“You lied! Oh you lied!”
Why to heaven was my sister sent?

Act so barbaric and gross
Was repeated, sans remorse,
God’s own rule these mortals would amend.

They bought a brand new car,
And for a long drive went afar,
Failing brakes causing an accident!

Parents were left unscathed,
But the little angel lay dead;
Perhaps this was God’s Judgment!

A Divine voice seemed to say,
“For your sins you’ll have to pay,
You surely do not deserve my present!”






A WINTER TALE



On A freezing winter night,
Hot soup with fries to bite;
Wrapped up in worsted,
Family, with a dog well fed.
Fire dancing in the hearth,
Laughter resounding in mirth;
Howling wind knocking on the pane,
Trying to reach the conscience in vain;


On a freezing winter night,
For a square of shelter they fight;
Threadbare coats and sock less feet,
Huddled up bodies seeking heat;
Luke warm tea, a piece of bread,
Newspaper blankets hastily made;
Howling wind knocking on their bones,
Longing eyes on the distant cozy homes!

CANDLE IN THE DARK


Curled up inside the womb, incomplete and tiny,
She resisted the push, instinct warning it wasn’t the time;
“Complete bed rest ma’am” she heard the doctor say,
“With a little prayer, the baby I’m sure will be fine”.
Mother lay still as a mouse for the remaining months
Praying fervently to God not to forsake her.
The baby was born healthy, apple of her parent’s eyes,
God said,” Child! What I do I do for better!!”

As a young girl she met with an automobile accident,
Femur crushed, she lay on the hospital bed in severe pain;
Missing school for six months, her future looked bleak,
Bone fixed with a rod, trying to walk on crutches in vain.
With a lot of courage and determination she took each step,
Praying fervently to God not to forsake her,
She hobbled, she walked, she ran, and she danced,
God said,” Child! What I do, I do for better!!”

The dreamy teenager fell in love with the handsome neighbour,
This handsome hero took the silly girl for a ride;
Her tender heart broke and scattered into fragments,
When she discovered her love, her trust had left her side.
Her marriage was fixed, she thought she’d never love again
Praying fervently to God not to forsake her,
She discovered a mine of love in her caring husband,
God said,” Child! What I do, I do for better!!”

She had a couple of miscarriages, and then she failed to conceive,
Receiving best of treatments, undergoing harrowing tests;
Her world filled with colour when she was tested positive,
But it was short lived, as this child too was put to rest.
Her spirit was crushed; she couldn’t look into her husband’s eyes
Praying fervently to God not to forsake her,
She is now a proud mother of two healthy grown ups,
God said,” Child! What I do, I do for better!”

THE CHALLENGE


Mother! What is my fault?
Neither did I choose my gender,
Nor could I halt
My growth, healthy yet tender!
If I could, I would perish
And let my brother live,
But I was the one to nourish
feeding on all that you had to give.
Your dream of mothering twin boys
Perished with our birth,
While the son lay still with a silent voice
The daughter cried out in mirth.
You refused to look at me
Calling me a witch,
Devouring your precious sonny
Destined to make you rich!
Mouth puckered, I smelled the milk,
And reached out for the breast,
It flowed abundantly sweet and thick
But not a drop could I taste.
Mother! I promise I will survive,
Drinking my saline tear,
On your hatred I shall thrive
Gaining strength from fear.
When you are old and sick O mother!
On my shoulders you will lean,
I’ll care for you more than the son
And be the mother you’ve never been.....

A TALE OF DEVASTATION TOLD SUNNY SIDE UP


As the boat moved through the choppy river, I clung desperately to the edge, heart thumping with terror. Whoooosh!! A rough wave slammed against it and I was thrown out into the water like a hapless rag doll. I clung desperately to the floating branch of a nameless tree and managed to reach the bank.
Shipwrecked though I was, it was strange that I was dry all over. Except around my nose. And it grew wetter by the minute! Must have caught a cold I thought and searched in vain for a handkerchief to blow my nose, but all I discovered in the dense darkness was a slimy object slithering up and down my arm and neck.
I shrieked in fear and a vaguely familiar noise was what I heard in response. More correctly, it was something closer to a moaning appeal, followed by a humble, subdued bark. It implored me to open my groggy eyes, which I did and realized with immense relief that I had just emerged from a nightmare and that my loving canine had used up its last reserve of saliva polishing up my nose to help me wake up.
Pushing Rocky away from me, I tried to steal a few more winks. But he had now found success and was no longer prepared for compromises. The stubborn mutt licked me harder reminding me that 6 AM was the time he went for his walk and there would be no exception today.
A brisk walk in the crisp, cold, beautiful morning of 26th January revived me further and I looked forward to a day to cook something special, catch up on some reading and probably go for a long drive in the evening. My husband accompanied my daughter to her school to attend the Republic Day function and I slipped once more into my shabby but soft, blue nightgown, the sight of which never failed to infuriate my husband.
The cuckoo cooed eight times from its nest in the clock and folding the newspapers neatly, I entered the kitchen to fix my son and myself some breakfast.
Brows puckered with concentration, I was pouring the contents of an egg into the frying pan, when the windowpanes rattled violently. The house shuddered for a second and was still again. My son, who had been waiting for his breakfast at the dining table, cried out, "Maa....!!" There was a distinct note of alarm in his voice, but I mistook the urgency for impatience and gently chided him back from the kitchen, "Can't you wait for just a minute more?" But no, he couldn't wait and this time he yelled, "Maaaaaa ..., get the hell out of the kitchen, please! We have an earthquake ...".
I was still unconcerned. I would not be dragged back into one more imagined nightmare today. So, with a lopsided smile the know-all mother replied, "Naa, no earthquake, just a sonic boom inside your hungry stomach. A fried egg and hot buttered toasts are the antidotes you need to take care of your squeamish stomach."
The words had hardly left their source when pandemonium broke loose. The house swayed dangerously. BAAAANG!! CRRRAAASHHHHH!! The steel utensils fell and scattered, and the china smashed into a thousand pieces. The only question that rushed through my mind with the speed of light was whether my son was safe. I rushed back to the dining room to find him in an equally dazed condition, waiting to see if his mother would ever reappear from the kitchen.
The dining table and chairs had slid from one end of the room to the other and we found it hard to balance ourselves on our two legs. Rocky in the meantime started to bark and run as if possessed. The glass fish bowl with its two goldfishes swayed precariously and was about to fall, when my son caught it and placed it on the floor, saving the poor fishes' lives.
And then, paralysed with fear, we held on to one another and stood transfixed for a long moment, unable to move.

But people all around the neighbourhood were screaming in panic. Aaaaaaaaaaaaah!! Aaaaaaaaaaaaaah!!! No words, but merely the reaction of vocal chords to a cosmic catastrophe. We were still unsure about the best course of action, when, with a deafening thud, the overhead water tank of my next-door neighbour collapsed and came crashing down on our backyard.
This noise finally brought us back to our senses. Picking up Rocky, I pushed my son out of the front door shouting,"Quick! Get down the stairs; let's get the hell out of the building!" But this was easier said than done. How could we descend the stairs? The staircase itself was oscillating like a pendulum gone wild. It rocked with such unimaginable force that each time we tried to take a step down, we retracted back terror.
Finally, summoning up the last bit of courage I possessed, I began to climb down encouraging my son to follow close behind. And indeed, stumbling, shrieking and shaking all over, and then to our utter disbelief, we succeeded in getting out of the building. By then the ground had stopped to quake. The rumbling roar of the demon chained deep inside the bowels of the earth had ceased and peace had returned. But devastation surrounded us and the crowd herded together in grim silence.
The earthquake lasted for about two minutes, but it had an intensity that could have easily flattened the whole town. (Remember Bhuj?)
Safely out on the street, an immense sense of relief swept over me and I suddenly became conscious of my attire...yes, that shabby old nightdress. But who cared? Certainly not my neighbours, who had now finally found back human speech, each trying to outdo the other's horrifying experience. The faces around me were contorted with terror, surely a reflection of my own, I realized ...
With the panic subsiding a little, we returned home. But as soon as we moved in, a burning smell greeted our nostrils. An electric cable perhaps? With great caution, we tip toed around the apartment but found no trace of smoke in any of the rooms. The smell persisted however and the trail led us finally to the kitchen. We entered it slowly, warily watching the ceiling for cracks. The entire room was in a mess with the utensils scattered all across the place in wild abandon. But in the middle of it all was the frying pan perched safely on the gas stove, the only piece of equipment in the kitchen that had managed to defy the pull of gravity. And on the pan lay an egg, burning slowly to extinction along with the vessel that sheltered it.
Clearly, in my haste to depart, I had forgotten to switch off the gas. My son I and stared at the burning egg, then at each other and then back again at the egg. A timid smile broke out on our lips, which changed to grins, then to giggles and finally to hysteria.
The damage we realized had been limited to an overcooked egg alone. We had survived, quite uncooked, and so had the Indian republic. Not to speak of the goldfishes.

A TRYST WITH THE WASPS


Singing at the pitch of a soprano, I dusted the knick knacks decorating the bureau in the living room. Although a daunting task, I did it with an ease and the expertise of a professional. I was exceptionally high in spirits, nimble on my feet and swift in my action.

I had hoards of odd jobs to complete, for, my part time assistant, true to her unpredictable conduct, had failed to keep up with her appointment. Normal human behaviour called for a cursing of fate and the lady responsible for it. Yet, here I was, singing and trying out ballet steps while sweeping the floor.

The reason for my unusual ecstatic mood was due to a prediction made by the Tarot cards in today’s newspaper. It predicted an excellent day for all fellow Aquarians, with good news pouring in from all directions. It would be a day to cry out loud with happiness. The absence of my maid early in the morning, failed to weaken my die hard belief in the power of astrology.

I sat down with a cup of steaming coffee, trying to replenish my fast ebbing spirits, while mentally checking out the series of jobs remaining to be done. First of all, the piled up unwashed dishes would have to be seized and tackled with a valour matching that of a soldier. Secondly, the chopping of the vegetables and the grinding of the spices required an artistic precision. Finally, my expertise at the day’s cuisine had to be proved beyond doubt.

Before embarking into the kitchen with a battle-whoop, I decided to hang out the washed linen in the balcony.

Lyra, my Labrador, had been watching my experimentation with ballet warily. She lay down on the floor with a sigh of relief, when she saw her mistress repose with her coffee. As I carried the bucket of linen out to the balcony, she stood up, shook herself vigorously, and followed me. Suddenly she looked up and whined. I squeezed out the excess water from the sheet and said, “Be quiet Lyra! I’m busy, can’t play with you now.” She reciprocated with a louder whine followed by a deep throated growl.

Alluring thoughts of good luck which the tarot cards promised (a new sari? candlelight dinner perhaps? Or maybe, the magical appearance of my assistant?) induced the humming of a popular tune and I paid no heed to Lyra’s warning growl.

As I flung the sheet across the line, its edge hit a wasp hive, which the army was on the process of building, and all hell broke loose.

The enraged force, with their war cry drone reaching a crescendo, charged at me in a full throttle, their yellow and brown uniforms dazzling in brilliance. Even in that moment of fear, I could not but admire the polychromatic hue of the advancing terror. They stung with a vengeance at every inch of my exposed skin. Some of them ventured to the extremity of piercing my eyes and blinding me temporarily.

My happy humming was replaced by a long painful cry. Lyra jumped, pawed and growled, trying bravely to shield me from the winged attackers. She too howled out in surprise, when some of them showed the audacity to penetrate her thick skin with their sting.


The drone of the wasps, the wail of the human and the howl of the canine, succeeded in creating a cacophony, which could put the hard-core acid rock enthusiasts to shame. My nimble feet no longer repeated the morning’s ballet steps, but took on the African Samba instead.

I stumbled towards the room, trying to brush off the unmerciful predators. After what seemed to be an eternity, I reached inside with Lyra on my heels and succeeded in banging the door shut. An agonizing pain shot through my body, especially my face, neck and arms.

“Ouch! Woof! Ouch! Woof!” the duet, not only livened up the usually quiet and serene atmosphere of my apartment, but also permeated to my neighbour’s house.

Continuing with my acrobatic rendition, I opened the front door to let my neighbour in. She rushed in, and taking me to the faucet, splashed cold water on my face and arms, trying to soothe my burning skin and perhaps literally drown my shrill cries.

The combination of the cold water and her sympathetic cooing eventually eased the pain and calmed me down a bit, and my gaze fell on the mirror above the sink.

I shrieked out in silence, “mirror mirror on the wall, which’s the ugliest of us all!” A gargoyle stared back, whose tear streaked face was covered by a mass of peanut sized angry red swellings. The gargoyle grimaced, smiled, grinned and finally broke down into hysterical laughter.

My friend was convinced that the pain had made me lose my equilibrium. Clucking like a mother hen, she led me to the bed room and made me lie down.

Just then, the telephone bells chimed, heralding my husband’s voice. “Listen! A meeting has been called at 7, and so I won’t be back till late.” “Eureka! Good news! There seems to be no dearth in my good luck today! Exactly as the cards predicted!” Perhaps my husband failed to detect the sarcasm in my voice, for the silence that greeted me in return was a puzzled one. I dispelled his bewilderment by narrating in details of my tryst with the wasps, and promising that I would never ever again glance at” today’s prediction” in the newspaper, let alone believe in it.

THE BLESSING


A group of five eunuchs danced in total unison,
Navel rings and scarlet lips, betraying the illusion;
The desperate attempt to camouflage as a woman,
Proclaimed with intensity of their emasculation.
Baritone voices with sonorous clapping oscillating;
Holding my baby with gentleness, overwhelming!
Chuckling in glee, her toothless smile angelic,
Shifting from lap to lap, thrown and caught in frolic;
Masculine physique, feminine tenderness not belying-
Watching, my belief in natures equilibrium fortifying.
This third sex, the Almighty omniscient representing,
Balancing Yin and Yang with their profound blessing!

WOMAN



Each of us represents God’s greatest creation,
Whom He designed with immaculate perfection.
Equipping her with both power and sensitivity,
Attributes, enabling her to face any adversity.
From bearing a child to leading men in battle,
Feeding the household, and rearing the cattle.
She can be amply sensuous, coy and docile,
Yet wield the sword and on her feet be agile.
She bestows her selfless love to those near and dear,
Dishonour her, and face her wrath with a disquieting fear.

BUTTERFLY WHISPER


I stood still on the railings of the bridge, dark clouds of emotions covering the last semblance of rationality I possessed.

The strong winds which blew my hair, seemed to rush inside my wracked mind, it’s sinister hissing voice urging me to jump into the swirling angry river below, and attain the final BLISS called DEATH….an end to all those countless days of physical and mental abuse, meted out to me by the man who had taken the solemn oath to take care of me “till death do us apart”. What could the poor man do, when his entire family goaded him and applauded in silence, when his hand left its impression on my cheeks or his sandals on my back

I am the only child of a lower middle- class parents. My father, who doted on me, spent the major portion of his meager income on my convent education, stretching beyond his means. I was a very sensitive child, and right from the start I poured my heart and soul in every little detail that my teachers taught me. I soon became a pet of most of the teachers, but my talent lay in the Queens language. As I grew older, my skills in this language strengthened, often fetching me laurels in various competitions.

My inadequate but secure world crashed into pieces, when my father suddenly died of stroke. I was in my 2nd year college pursuing English. With the only bread earner gone, my mother was left with no choice but to marry me off to the first offer of matrimony, the 12th failed son of a distant acquaintance, who agreed to do so with the minimum of dowry. But alas did she know that this “minimum dowry” would start to haunt her daughter for each of her waking hour.

The physical pain which they inflicted upon me was eclipsed by the shameful thought that being an educated woman, I was helpless to retaliate, as I had no money to support me. Day in and day out he tortured me while the others watched, but I wore a mask of happiness on the few occasions my mother visited me.

Tonight, after finishing all the work my family expected me to perform; I took out my favourite book of poems and sat down to read it. Reading always helped me to calm and soothe the constant pain and humiliation I felt. Suddenly my husband barged into the room in a foul temper and snatching the book from my hand, tore it up to pieces, uttering oaths and kicking me all the while.

Something in me snapped. Pushing away my husband with all the strength I could muster, I stormed out of the house, determined to put an end to this pitiable existence.

Heart thumping, fists clenched, I shut my eyes tight, and just as I was about to take the deep plunge, when, with a soft flutter, a dainty creature landed on my right shoulder.

The creature, with its rhythmic caress seemed to urge me to open my eyes and behold it. The thumping of my heart eased a bit as I turned my head and stood transfixed by the sheer beauty which greeted me.

An enchanting butterfly, with its wings so exotically coloured, that whenever it moved them rhythmically, all the hues of a rainbow seemed to dazzle and glitter. Mother Earth must have been in her most generous mood while selecting colors for this exquisite creature.

The sheer brilliance of its beauty slowly dispelled the dark sinister clouds clogging my mind, replacing it with feelings of such hope and peace, the existence of which I was totally ignorant of till now.

With a soft smile hovering on my lips, I whispered, “Dear butterfly, as you have emerged from an ugly caterpillar, breaking free of the cocoon, to take on this enchanting form and be a part of this beautiful world, I too shall break free of the shackles of torture, and transform myself into a respectable human being. I shall complete my education and making use of my dormant talent,- I shall wield the pen and thereby dazzle the world with the beauty and the brilliance of my writing.”

With these words I stepped down and retracted my steps towards my real home, as the butterfly flew higher and higher, as high as its dainty but strong wings would take it.