The magician has left town......

god of small things

small things,

those that one can easily choose to overlook,

those little things that make up a day,

doing them to copper is what i miss the most,

they were done tenderly, yet with an occupied air,

those that he loved, he gleefully showed,

those few that he didn't he eventually chose to love,

and in those small things he lived, i lived and we shared our bond,

the memories of these small things were once so fleeting,

now they stand still, etched, permanent.....

The Fizzy and The Still

she sits on the low veranda,
the night her only companion,
crickets lustily cheer her silence,
and the moon valiantly struggles through the leaves,
covering her in pebbled light,
making a chessboard of her cascading black hair,
her thoughts are distant and random,
of fleeting memories,
snatched conversations,
of the bitter and the sweet,
her mind as if browsing in a book store,
fleeting about,
easily bored, easily distracted,
both fizzy as well as still.....

Weather the Bride

the first little signs,
wish the dohar was thicker,
the morning cup a hot chocolate,
my baddy tshirt warmer,
the very first signs,
the grass crunchier under my feet,
the air nipper,
the early sun, welcome on my face,
these are the very first signs,
signs that winter is upon us,
how my heart yearns to sing,
my feet to gig,
for the weather is a bride again......

Blinding Light's Blindness

its a clear full moon night,
and silver is streaming into my room,
like a lord the moon dominates the sky,
lighting it up and bathing it in its shimmer,
alone and aloof, yet mesmerisingly  beautiful,
its benign presence, soothing and calming.

soon the dawn shall arise,
and the moon's aura shall fade,
its existence obliterated in the blinding light,
but though none can match the sun's power,
does the sun know what it feels,
for two longing eyes to rest on it,
watch it for hours and feel peaceful within.

Dawn

it was early when my sleep seem to fade,
in darkness to the balcony I shuffled,
sat eyes closed and heard a hundred birds wake,
as each of those birds flapped its wings and rose,
so did my heart quicken and my energy soar,
and together we lifted the veil off the night.

Rain

its pouring,
a grey blanket of water,
washing away the blues,
the dust,
the grime,
the trees and the leaves,
the bylanes,
of my city,
of my mind,
washing away my sins,
my regrets,
cleansing my soul,
my thoughts,
each raindrop,
a potent key to my freedom,
so I walk in this pouring rain,
drenched, yet on the path to bliss.

Being a Friend

a friend,

for listening, or refusing to listen,

for pushing me on, or pulling me back,

for watching me fly, or keep me grounded,

for making sure i win, or learn if i don't,

for being there, or letting me be,

for letting me cry, even crying with me,

for watching me grow and growing with me.

Touch of Grey

is the world more tolerant,
or i, more patient,
is everybody in a bigger hurry,
or i, slowing down,
is there more inequity all around,
or i, finally seeing.
my joys are more subtle now,
that fleeting side glance,
that shy half smile,
the way the morning sun lights up a new leaf,
the distant call of a peacock, seeking love,
or how the dew soaked grass crunches beneath.
i wonder is everything changing,
or is it i.
i guess the world is still the same,
so its just i, touched by a little grey

On Holding Hands

By holding hands we
Talk
Tell
Share
Quell
Beg
Seek
Be strong
Be meek
Seduce
Sigh
Laugh
Cry
We keep a distance
Or narrow the gap,
And sometimes we hold hands for no reason at all,
Just like that for the fun of it all.

The Flight

Sunbeams fuel its awakening,
morning dew bathes,
noisy crickets promise to nourish.
It gazes at the new dawn,
wondering what it will hold.
Like a spring it snaps tight,
leaping into the void,
its feathery wings kissing the wind.
It soars, it leaps, it swerves and dives,
a tiny bird, leaving its nest
has taken on the mighty skies.

Pursuit of hapiness

it flashed, and in a blink, was gone,
but its essence hung in the air, floating, wafting,
like a wave washing the shores on my mind,
its sweetness, its purity, its calmness,
soaking the barren sands,
awakening in me a new life.
i feel a sense of peace, of well being,
i long for its to linger, or appear again,
your magic smile
a glimpse deep into your soul.

Distant Connects

Travelling for work can be a very lonely experience, locked in a cocoon of unfamiliarity, strange people, strange places, strange food, strange everything......
So one ends up making friends with the smaller joys that are otherwise overlooked.
Sitting on my hotel's window ledge I see the rain fall, pigeons flutter, freshly washed leaves sway under overcast shies....
These small small things are always familiar, always there, waiting patiently to catch your attention and remind you of home.
All one has to do is throw open the curtains and let them in.... 

Money Matters

Money does grow on trees. In a way. And those that wish money grew on trees would do a lot better if they learned a thing or two about growing trees. Growing a tree is just like managing an investment. A lot depends on what one does at the very beginning. It's all in the basics. First up, one needs to make up one's mind what fruit one wants from the tree. Some trees bear fruits earlier than others, so one needs to be clear if you need the fruit in the very next season or you are okay waiting a few seasons or in fact you are looking at leaving the fruits for your next generation to enjoy. Ain't no good planting a mango tree and hoping for oranges.

Once the fruit is nailed down and you know which tree you have to plant then comes the next set of basics. One has to look for the right kind of soil, the right season and the right time of the day. When this all makes sense then one plants the sapling or the seed, waters it, puts a little fence around it and then walks away. No farmer worth his salt will sit and stare at his 'investment'. He will just let it be and find other things to do. Maybe after a month or so he may look in, check the soil, prune a few things,water it and then again walk away. He knows that if his initial decisions about the soil and the season and  the time of the day were good then the seed is doing its job and there is nothing he now needs to do.

If at all he has a role, its when something out of the ordinary has happened. If it has rained too much or hasn't rained enough, or there was a hailstorm or a heatwave or it has been exceedingly cold. He will then rush to his tree and do what he has to do. Yes, it is very likely that the severe weather took its toll on the tree and there is nothing he can do but its more likely that all is not lost yet. So he may water it or merely till the soil a bit or prune the branches or in fact, if need be, do nothing at all. There maybe times when after a severe shock, the tree looks quite dead. It has shed all its leaves and the branches are bone dry and bare. Many a person would be forgiven to just rue his luck and hack the tree down. But a good farmer would do nothing of that sort. In fact he may put in more effort, till the soil, fertilize it, pour in water. For he know that what matters in adverse conditions is how deep the roots are. If the roots are okay the tree is okay.

That is the essence of growing a tree and if all of the above has come to pass, then when the time is right the tree will bear its fruits. Not a day early, not a day late. Right on the dot. 

Unequal Equality

All men are equal in the eyes of god. But then some men think they are gods and that makes them above others. Gurgaon is full of men who think they are gods. Being god comes easy here. You need just one of the three 'p's, 'paisa', 'patronage' or 'pagalpan'.
With land being sold like it is, paisa is flowing like a river and flooding bank accounts, especially of those that never bothered to evolve and still think that honour killing is a sign of civilisation. Little wonder that these nouveau rich baboons strut around thinking they are gods.
Patronage, a hydra headed beast at best, takes on many forms. All you need is the remotest link to a politician, the police or a bureaucrat, past or present, and that gives you the license to be more than 'men', especially when it comes to any kind of rule.
And if you are one of those that neither has paisa or patronage and you still wanna be god then you can always fall back on the one thing that is natural to this region, the good ole 'aisi ki taisi' sort of 'pagalpan'. This path to being god is the preferred choice of the down and out BPO cabbies and the more down and out construction vehicle drivers.....

I have none of the three, certainly not in any measure that would make me feel like a god. And that makes me firmly a lesser man and if ever I forget my unequal equality, all I have to do is get into a car and step out on the streets. Nowhere else is the god-man divide wider than on the divider-less roads of Gurgaon. The divide stares at you, daring you, every inch of the chaotic maelstrom that passes for traffic in this city. The other day I couldn't brake in time for a rick that suddenly decided to take a left turn, right bang in the middle of my path. The traffic cop roundly dusted my knuckles. So what it was his mistake, he is a poor fellow and I should know better than to argue whose mistake it was. I ended up paying for the rick's repairs and also had to pay some 'chai pani' for the cop. A few weeks later I was patiently waiting for the lights to turn green when this massive SUV rear-ended me out of the blue. I was immediately reminded of that cop's 'rick' logic. Surely I am the 'poor' man here. So I frantically waved to the cop assured that I will get justice. The cop took one look at the Beemer, promptly saluted the unseen behind those black tints and asked me for my license !!!!!!!
Talk about unequal equality. You can never win on the streets of Gurgaon.

So now, every time I step out on these gods filled roads I take a deep breath and pray that my path is clear of all the gods and their brethren. Doesn't work all the time, but thats life.