Eyes shining with the unshaken belief of being honest,

Always having tried his best to put all doubts to rest,

Never even attempting to deceive by showing colours that weren’t,

Steady at the risk of being boring, True at the risk of being apparent;

In moments where my soul was shaken and all but fractured,

He was there – never asking that question which was unanswered,

Soothing and strengthening at the same time with my head in his lap,

Allowing me to take, needlessly, that desperately needed nap;

To wake up to life and that feeling of hope running through my blood,

Causing my mind with all those childhood moments to suddenly flood,

With optimism neither seasoned by reason nor practiced with any direction,

When energy for an act came neither from knowledge nor from a premonition;

When courage was pure and so was fear,

When laughter was sure and so was tear,

When variables were few and equations fewer,

When dreams were new and actions newer;

He knows – having seen it all through the years,

He smiles and nods – letting me know that he hears,

I can see that he is insane and can be cruel if he so chooses to,

I await the first drop of rain – then the duel that always amuses so;

The one between light and dark,

One all pervasive and the other just a spark,

One relying on faith, the other on honesty,

One baying for action, the other not so hasty,

One choosing to explain the last selfish or cowardly act I had seen,

The other just allowing me to absorb the impact of where I had been,

Opposite ends of a spectrum bending over themselves for my benefit,

For a mere child’s comfort - changing forms and shapes he always saw fit;

He knows I will always value mere access to his presence,

He knows that he is inseparable from my very essence,

And so he remains elusive and enigmatic to remind me of his power,

They call him the Dark, and just out of my reach he will always hover…

Once upon a time on a path unknown,

I met someone I had never before known...

I knew her not, so I took the hand,

“ Ah! It’s a friend ! ” – I felt immediately,

The other hand of hers touched me just then,

“ My sister ! ” – I did shout – “ Now thwart me if you can ! ”…

But my face suddenly felt the golden touch,

“ My love ! ”, I shrieked, now certain much…

And then there was a hand on my head so gentle,

“Ma ! ” – My heart said, feeling the doubts at last settle…

“Open thy eyes…” – Came the silky voice now,

“Look into my eyes, and you shall surely know…”,

And so did I do, never to have a doubt again,

Look for some moments though I did, not very certain,

And then it struck me, she wasn’t just one of them,

A woman she was, and so were all of them…

The blood boils – without a sound or a flourish,

Just like that, doing nothing gets him all bored up,

Better bubble and froth and evaporate,

Than lay low and from action separate…

The cost of boiling up so continuously he doesn’t understand,

Calmness and coolness he just cannot anymore withstand,

Reasoning and rationale are all good for the brain he says,

Boldly into long lost terrains he now carelessly sways…

Purposelessly he gushes along as if with a purpose,

Towards a destination, or to fulfill some vague destiny;

Seeking poetic freedom within the flow of a prose,

Laughing all along – he can see – nay, feel the blatant irony…

Bubbling and seething, thick and black with anger,

Waiting to be released onto the edge of that shining dagger,

Caring nought for the wound it will have to go through,

How does it matter, he no longer feels any need to prove…

For he waited a long time while he flowed restlessly in you,

Now he wants to be free, fearing what will happen otherwise,

Seeking another place where seething he doesn’t have to rue,

You turned out to be a dud, and upon that you think you are wise…

You are mine and I am yours...

Floating in a sea of emotions I live almost infinitely,

Seeing me there is just nothing you can say definitely...

Some call me corrupt, some feel I am the purest that can be;

Some believe I am the greatest gift they can ever hope to see...

I have been with you always even when your shadow leaves your side,

And also when the smile direct from your heart is impossible to hide...

With you I have stayed - sometimes you have let me dry,

When those that you trusted took your heart for a deep fry...

I have given you the strength to fight everyone - nay, yourself the most,

Without me to such strong a character you could never have been the host...

For others there is a mirror to your soul,

And living in it I am the everlasting ghoul,

At your whims playing different roles all day along,

Sometimes round, sometimes flat, and sometimes long...

I am the tear in your eye, and to me you have always belonged,

For I know truly in my absence, for me how you have always longed...

P.S. Sachin Dev Burman's voice singing -

Bahe ansoo to hai paani, ruke to ye moti bane,

Ye moti aankhon ki poonji hai ye na khoye...

Kahe ko roye... Chahe jo hoye...

It surprised many to see how disconnected he had been, 
Eyes swinging wildly between black, white and green… 
Passionately jealous and overwhelmingly possessive, 
Periods of silence when he was broodingly pensive…


Bundle of rational contradictions & contradicting rationale, 
Spark threatening to ignite almost as if on an extended parole… 
Years of practiced calm and collectedness being under a rhetorical question, 
Tears – shockingly a balm – all hoarded through all the emotional inflation,


Not overwhelmed but hurting himself, 
Not overhelped when hurtling himself…


Wheels of faith broken by spokes of studied logic, 
Not to say that he wasn’t being plain nostalgic; 
Structure being almost chokingly effective and efficient, 
Far cry from the unadulterated joy of being brazenly nascent… 

Did it boil down to the fact that he had been studied but never been seen ? 
People who claimed they cared about him all along never had been ?
Chemists or scientists, engineers or inventors,
All merely different forms of dry pretenders...

Or was it the fact that in the larger scheme of things he was a mere particle; 
What would he be if not all alone – after all he was a free radicle…

You bring us such happy moments without knowing us so far,

Without doing anything it feels like we have won a war;

Though your life is yet to have a start,

But in ours’ you already have such a part…

As the world waited for Krishna to arrive and change it once,

We await you to come and start afresh life’s lovely dance;

Seeing your image in the sonograph flips us over twice,

It is as if we were waiting perennially for the roll of this dice…

We know not what your face will be like – round, long or oblong,

Beholding you time and time again we’ll break into a song;

We know not whether you’ll be quiet or noisy,

But with you for us the picture looks much rosy...

Young one, you are going to be stuck with us whether you like or not,

Good or bad, you have been tied to us with this delicate knot,

Raising you will be like walking on the edge of a slippery knife,

Whether we succeed or fail trying – you are going to be our life…

Why did you forget me, old friend ? 
I always knew which way your life would tend… 
You thought you had gotten rid of me forever, 
But I had made a promise to leave you never… 

You trusted them more than me, with your life, 
I pitied you, for you were in a lot of strife… 
You were unfaithful; but I waited in a corner awhile, 
Laughing quietly at your innocent smile… 
Whisper in your deaf ears I oft did, 
But you ran away from the truth with all your speed… 
Did you not remember all those times we spent, 
With only each other to all those places we went, 
Tears you swallowed; Anger you kept burning within, 
With its flames even now sometimes I am seething… 

Did you really think they would truly understand ? 
Urges, Desires and Passion – those currents in your hand; 
Moments and memories, love and treacheries; 
O’ why did you expect – Is it their fault at all ? 
We were destined for each other – in yours arms I shall die… 
I am your dear loneliness, with you as much as you do deny, 
Whisper and I shall soothe; your anger I have always embraced, 
From kid to youth, your resolve I have always answered, 
It hurts that you still don’t have faith in me, 
Why do you still seek passion in those eyes that you see ? 
It kills me to see you suffer thus, 
Sleep my love, this is the way life is for us.

Musings of a bounced cheque...

When you gave me away you had that sly smile,
A far away look, as if across the length of the Nile…
Did you always intend this to be my fate ?
Did you know I would be degraded at this rate ?

One moment a prince, the next a pauper,

Designed to definitely come a cropper…
Am I a mere instrument for that inevitable transaction ?
Am I a mere shield to be used when in the thick of action ?

You have made me thus – thrown from one bank to another,
Even my custodians in disgust look at each other,
About my existence they did call you to inform,
But you let it pass as if it were less exception, more the norm…

To the mischievous lad you had me given,
Of your trust I was supposed to be a token;
You broke it – now you’ll have to pay for it damages,
Come the beginning of month these will be charges…

To my name they have added “Bounced” forever,
But you know it, coz for you it’s hardly the first time ever…

It was always so easy to just wave and smile,

Supressing what she really felt all this while,

So many expectations tied up with her actions,

What had she done to create such vile notions ?

Sharp rays shone through, blinding rather than lighting,

Sounds intended to be a prayer all rather piercing;

Goosebumps for no reason other than a sudden thought,

Rationale and logic all suddenly gone for a nought;

Eyes burning with a deep-rooted frustration,

The third crease on the forehead coz of the original expectation,

None of them interested in motives – all hung up on deliverables,

Neither conceptually clear, nor about the immediate actionables;

Their stupidity passed off as substance,

Lethargy as attention to nuance;

A plant like existence creating a comfort zone,

None choked by the grip of constant monotone…

Intensity they would worship without understanding,

Animosity they would accept without crossing,

All inherent and integral to what she was,

Delicacy and finesse hidden under a piece of gauze…

Fire and Ice; games of cats and mice,

None of it could be called very nice,

But what would one be without her burning fire,

She is meant to consume, for she is none other than Desire…

A dream, a revolution, a change – need it see so much carnage ?

An exercise in destruction or a desperate attempt to salvage,

Is it freedom to exercise the free will that excites the masses,

Don’t they see the only change is who they serve in the name of the classes ?

And do they want to exercise power and take all that comes along,

Or merely gloat in the vague perception of some emotional patriotic song;

Are they so high on the opium called religion to not see anything,

Why is there no one with anger and purpose whose eyes are seething ?

Does social awakening now serve a mere clerical purpose of documentation,

Revising the method of recording history, a minor periodic change in notation ?

The life of a dog appeals so much – to exist for years ten and then dissolve,

Doing nothing and being nobody seems to be a common popular resolve…

Leaving no footprint tangible or intangible, no interest bearing principal,

What to do – the common man has to first worry about his survival…

An ode to the love letter…

For a long time people have resorted to writing letters when expressing feelings. This would be logically contradictory, because one would assume that in expression of feelings, a face to face delivery would prove to be of great advantage since one can use facial and hand gestures and expressions to better “express” things. But I guess the problem with a face to face rendezvous is the fact that you can’t undo anything. If you say something stupid or show how nervous you really are, it becomes difficult to take it back or change what has happened. But then, one can argue that this problem is equally present for written letters – in fact in this case the writer doesn’t even have the advantage of being able to see the reactions of the recipient and change a sentence midway. Thus we come to the momentously tricky question of why have love letters been so popular a means for expression for so long.

In the earlier times one could understand that lack of means of communication as well as logistical constraints would have favoured the written letters as the latter can be written at one’s leisure and transported through a multitude of ever-willing messengers. Another major advantage of the written letter was that it allowed young men, in the pre-Google days, to rely on well-intentioned friends or acquantainces to compensate for one’s lack of knowledge about market practices – especially successful ones – in conquests of such delicate nature. Of course, one could also subscribe to the rather dramatic usage of ink-substitutes like blood etc. to put one’s case across in stronger terms.

Cut to the present day, the written word affords more benefits. A guy who may be petrified at the idea of going and pouring his heart out to his female object of affection may write a two-bit love note and find himself suddenly being described as being “cute” or “sweet” by the same lady for the same. Not that it is necessarily a good thing to happen for the young man – as that reaction may mean absolutely anything at all – some of them even complete literal opposites of the words. 

It may simply mean that the lady has concluded that the guy is a completely harmless creature and is actively now considering getting herself a pet whose behavior matches that of the guy in question. 

It may also indicate that the guy is categorized as a boy rather than a man, and his status is very similar to that of the little sparrow which comes to her balcony every day morning and makes likeable noises. Her impression in this case may be that he wouldn’t know what to do if he is told that her parents are out for the weekend; even after underlining the fact that she was alone.

Alternatively, it may have been a result of something as innocuous as the pink spotted socks he was wearing when last seen by the lady in question, and may therefore be only a function of the colour and pattern of what he has literally landed in.

But we digress from the main question at hand.

One ends this little note by presenting a set of collated statistics on the subject and leave the subject open for debate and application.

•  More than 82% of relationship proposals in the US and about 73% of those in India are initiated by the male gender.
• The success hit ratio of relationship proposals in the BRIC countries is estimated to be averaged around 1 : 17.3
• The hit ratio seems to be strongly correlated to the language used – those in English have less than half the probability of success than those in any other language. ( This may be partially because a lot of other languages – Hindi for example, doesn’t have direct equivalents of “cute/sweet”.  It may be worthy to note here that Bengalis fare quite similar to those who have used English – again probably because Bengali language has something called “a shona”)
• 43% of females, on receiving a love note on a mobile accept that their first notion was that it is a forwarded joke. 37% of them also accept that they forwarded it to their friend list as well before later realizing that it was a private communication.
• 89% of males in India who had rejected a proposal admit that they were still friends with the female who had proposed, and spent an average of 1.8 hours a week in talking to her with content categorized under “providing emotional support”.
• 69% females admit that they made a mistake in rejecting an erstwhile proposal because they were waiting for their prince on a white horse. ( Come on man – I mean how many people own a horse in the first place nowadays ? )
• Only 8% males believe that they made a mistake in rejecting an erstwhile proposal. More than 66% of the males who rejected one believe that the female who had proposed was an ever bigger b**ch that what they believed at the time they made the decision. ( A related statistic may be that about 86% of the males between the age group of 40 and 50 who believe in the presence of God say that their belief really got strong during the period when they were 25 to 30 )
• 84% of the recipients of love letters or notes as one may be inclined to describe sometimes say that it was written in the form of poetry. 47% report that a line or two from a famous movie was used, and about 77% report that the proposer had claimed that he/she would find it impossible to continue to live if the proposal was rejected.
• Lastly, the author of this piece has used the written form for 50% of the 2 proposals he has made in life, and is still perennially mulling over the effect of his success at the same.

Moment of truth – Eternal wait…

He waits for her,

Patiently at times, impatiently at others,

Not knowing what to expect, not being able to stop hoping and planning,

Ambitious by nature - aggressive by instinct,

Not wanting to own for once, but certainly desiring some moments of own;

Seeking passion and peace at once, madness and sanity in co-existence…

The build-up necessarily difficult, 
Operational problems necessarily persistent,

How can it be worthwhile without the fight,

How can there be an easy solution in sight,

When the premise is complex, but the corollary simple,

The feet are heavy but the heart so nimble…

The pain so refreshing, the loneliness so amusing,

With clarity so dangerous that it calls to leave everything aside,

With a voice so definitive that it takes him on a crazy ride,

Decisions to be taken that may lead to an earthquake or two,

But without which he feels pitifully being caged in a zoo;

To leave everything and be or to have everything and not to be,

That, for him, is the tradeoff which has come to be…

It is as if his entire life has led to this one moment of risk,

All the poison concentrated in this one look of that hidden basilisk;

But funnily it is not doing anything that feels dangerous,

It is not making any sound that seems the most sonorous,

For life is calling while death wails,

Sometimes over chats and sometimes over mails…

Gumsum si aankhon ne ik din ek khwab sa dekha tha,

Aaeene mein usne apne andar jhankna jaise seekha tha…

Nadaan sa balak tha wo, par kab tak nadaan reh paata ?

Sochta tha dharti par hi kahin ek swarg hai,

Par aakhir kahan tak dhoondh paata ?

Kisi ne kahaa tha us se ki door kahin pariyon ka des hai..

Wahan rehti hain shwet sundar saloni pariyan..

Mamta ki deviyan, karuna ki moortiyan..

Chal pada ik din wo us des ki talaash mein,

Paar karta gaya nadi, naale aur parbat un pariyon ki dhun mein..

Jab bhi thak padta, tanik ruk jaata woh ,

Khwabon mein un pariyon se ik baar mil leta woh…

Aur phir chal padta us ansuni aawaaz ki or,

Jo khinche ja rahi thi use, jaise koi kacchhi dor…

Na paanv ke chhalon ki thi use parwaah,

Na thi badan ki choton ki koi darkaar…

Bas dradh lakshya tha uske saamne,

Hawa, Paani, Dhoop sabne koshish kar li thi rokne ki…

Ab sab jaante the, chala hai wo na thamne..

Aur upar badalon mein kisi ne ik thandi saans li..

Pareshan ho gayee thi kucch shaktiyan…

Uski chaal se dagmagaa gayee thi kucch kursiyaan…

Use na pataa tha, wo to chala jaa rahaa tha apni masti mein,

Kya farq padta tha use, dar to tha hi nahin uski hasti mein…

Jaanta tha wo ik din manzil milegi to sahin,

Raasta na tha to kya, vishwas ki kami to nahin..

Phir ik din ik jangal mein wo pahuncha,

Hare hare ped jaise gaa rahe the wahan,

Panchhi jaise khushi ke maare chahak rahe the..

Na jaane kyun laga use jaise use hi wo bula rahe the..

Phir dekhi usne ik nadi,

Chhal-chhal behti, ithlaati nadi,

Hansti khilkhilaati, Sangeet sunaati nadi..

Moti jaise paani ke boondon waali nadi…

Na jaane kyun mehsoos hue use achaanak,

Jaise yeh nadi aa rahi ho wahin se..

Jahan thi uski manzil…

Jaise ye nadi ho uski humsafar,

Par jhijhaka wo, socha, nadi se hi kyun na poochh le..

Manzil aur raasta, dono hi ki kyun na sudh le ?

Phir socha usne, gar hai yeh usi des se aa rahi,

To phir kyun kar hai yeh kahin aur jaa rahi ?

Ghabda sa gaya woh, ab kya karta ?

Kya nadi se sach jaan kar laut padta,

Ya phir nadi ko bhi ik paath pada jaata …

Bataata use, is baar who bhi galat thi,

Usne bhi auron ki tarah dil ki na suni thi…

Baahav mein duniya ke woh bhi bas beh chali thi,

Phir bhi reh na paaya woh, puchh hi liya nadi se…

Kahan se ho tum aayee, kahan ko ho chali ..

Kyun ho uchhalti yun, kyun itna ho itraati,

Tum pe dayaa nahin, hansi mujhe hai aati…

Itna sun ke nadi chaunk gayee ik pal ko,

Phir jo khilkhilaa ke hansi, aur chal di apni raah ko…

Sochta hi reh gaya woh ki aakhir ho kya gaya,

Ik ajeeb si asmanjas mein ab tha bechaara pad gaya..

Na dikha jab koi raasta, na koi roshni chamki,

Kuchh gussa sa aaya use,

Kuchh sansani si machi uske dil mein..

Par is baar bhauhen tan gayee uski,

Daant bhinch kar, mutthiyan bandh kar chal diya phir..

Nadi ke kinaare chala jaa raha tha..

Par na dekhta tha us dusht triya ki or..

Aasman mein suraj jaise use dekhte dekhte thak sa gaya tha,

Phusphusa ke chanda se bola suraj – Ab mein chalta hoon,

Is pagle raahi pe nazar rakhne ka kaam tumpe chhodta hoon…

Chanda bujh na paaya, kehne lagaa – kyun kar uska hi dhyaan rakha jai ?

Aise to sainkdon hain, phir is chhote se alhad par kyun yeh karam kiya jai ?

Suraj mand mand muskaaya, bola arrey naadan, ye hi to hai wo kiran,

Wo kiran jo hum dono ko chamkaati hai,

Wo kiran jo saare jag ko roshni se nehlaati hai..

Dekh kaise jaa rahaa hai madmast..

Kaun kar sakta hai iske hausle ko past ?

Itne sunne par chanda ne jo ik nazar dekhi wo chaal,

Kayal ho gaya wo bhi us shakti ka, gayab ho gaye uske saare sawal…

Aur wo masoom kayaa thi, jo is sab se anjaan thi,

Wo to bas ik nazar, ik nischay se chale jaa rahi thi..

Pariyon ke us des tak ik din uska pahunchna tha tay,

Saari shristi yahi chahti thi ki uska wo milan ho mangalmay…

Phir kya hua ? Kya woh safal hua ? Kya use mili apni manzil ?

Yeh to pata nahin, par kehte hain wo ik taara ban gaya..

Apni roshni se kitne hi sansaron ka sahaara ban gaya…

Raat ko gar kaale aasman mein dekhoge uttar ki or,

Paaoge use wahin sada, yuhin muskate, yuhin sharmate,

Par sada yuhin drudh, kabhi na digne waala..

Yahi thi us taare ki kahaani, yehi thi uski gaatha…

Use jo chahe kahen, mujhe to ab bhi wahi puraana balak dikhta hai,

Jab bhi dekhta hoon use, wahi anand sada milta hai…

Kyunki wo hai ab ik taara,

Aur yaad mujhe sada dilaata hai,

Ki abhi nahin, abhi nahin hoon main haara…

At first...

It was a slow realization at first. He had spent the last 10 minutes in a daze. Everything seemed to be happening in the proverbial slow motion. For no reason, he suddenly remembered an idiotic TV ad about a hair oil which was showing a 10% extra promo. Switching back to the present with an effort, he saw her move as if to get up and leave. He panicked. Suddenly he didn’t know what to do. He must prevent her from leaving. And he knew that all he had to do was ask. But he couldn’t. She was smiling. Her face was smiling as well. He couldn’t see her face right now, but he couldn’t be surer of her expression. She didn’t know he was in here as well.

It had all started an hour back when he had walked into this restaurant with a colleague for a late lunch. It was when he was on his way back from the washroom that he had noticed her. She was three tables away, with a friend of hers. Nothing surprising – after all it was her favourite joint.

She looked radiant and fresh - clearly enjoying herself. She laughed suddenly about something in their conversation – throwing her head back, convulsing uncontrollably, almost on the verge of falling off from her chair. Free flowing innocence garnished with unbridled passion. His heart skipped a beat. And then she curled her little finger around the lone strand curving strategically from the left end of her left brow, bouncing off her left cheek and stopping just above her upper lip. But what really did him was the eyes. Big eyes, innocent and childlike – sparkling like the drops of water they show in mineral water ads, yet carrying that unmistakable calm of sensitivity and sensibility.

His colleague had left in a hurry after a phone call, and he had been left staring at her. Her face seemed so clear – as if he was watching through a telescope. She had a way of talking to the waiters that you could immediately see them almost worshipping her. She clearly was aware of being treated as a goddess and was quite nonchalant about it. Obviously it was a regular happening. Then it struck him that after all it was her favourite place and it was very likely that the staff knew her.

She was listening to her friend relate something, and was paying careful attention. He could see the glint of intelligence as she clearly grasped all that was being said to her immediately. He felt himself being drawn irresistably to her – almost a force dragging him physically. It was déjà vu. 5 years down the line after having fallen in love once, it was happening to him again. Stupid as it was, 10 minutes after having seen her first, he was absolutely sure about this. This was stronger than the last time. Some rational voice tried talking to him inside his head, but there was no point. The last time, 5 years back, it had been a blurred sequence of events. This time was no different. Nothing had changed. Not even the girl.

Large shiny black eyes, beautiful thick brows,

Thin mouth set firmly, as if everything she knows,

Silken flowing black hair, falling on arms slightly bent,

Fists tightly closed, as if on a mission she had been sent,

A mission that maybe she had never liked at all,

Against which her heart had given a passionate call…

Oft when in the morning the mirror she saw,

Wondered she – with her face what was the flaw ?

Whence came the fear she saw in so many eyes,

Could no one even hope that she might be nice ?

For they hated her even before seeing her once,

Her fear was passed away from fathers to sons,

So less were those that had seen her face full,

They loved her beauty, said they – of grace she was so full…

And they said her eyes were full of love and pity,

Find they could not why others thought she was all cruelty,

Had she not ended so many unending sufferings ?

Had she not gone to those who had called out her name,

In moments of hopelessness, who had gone by her fame,

Thinking that to all their problems she would be the solution,

Though never did she know how they got this notion …

For only she knew what it was to face the mother of the son she went to,

To look into the eyes of so many others he had been known to,

To each of whose hearts were tied strings he had pulled,

They all blamed her, not seeing the tears she had in her eyes,

So she had learnt to smile, not waiting any longer for her prize…

For such was her task, such was her existence,

But I bow to her, for I have heard my sentence,

Hear me, I look forward to meet thee,

And I can hardly stop feeling all glee,

I shall love you forever, till time doth stoppeth,

None can take you away from me, my dear Death !