You stand at the line with the rest
The stance which is almost perfect
In your mind you know this is no test
All fingers on ground, knee bent down
You know this is what you do best.
You know how this works,
On the count of 3 you run.
Looks easy isn’t it?
Let me tell you its not.
Not when you put feelings into it.
When the gun shot fires
You wait no second
You chase your desires
Looking no where but the finish line
To get the start lead your heart aspires
What you do every second
Now becomes a skill
Your breathing is burdened
You get that rush when you run,
You try not to look frightened
You huff and puff with the 1 second lead,
20 meters so far so long,
You know this is it,
And from the corner of your eye
You spot that maybe it’s not
One moment of diversion
And you very well know
What you want won’t happen
That is the moment
The one wherein you take the leap
And that moment is forever yours to keep
Its hard to explain in such a small space
The joy and kill of winning a 100 meter race
Sunday, July 24, 2011
Friday, July 22, 2011
Two lives
Across the table, he sat with the most curious eyes ever. He kept looking at me. The innocent stare oblivious of what I was about to tell him was pricking me inside. Love and responsibility are two very different things.. Oh no.. that’s not how I want to start the conversation.
Eagerness showed and I gave in. I had to tell him. He was a part of it. Part of that starry night and all that was beautiful until I realized the repercussions later. Life teaches you so many lessons and how. Well, it was too late for me to undo what was done. As much as this was mine it was his too. Then why did I fear telling him? Did I sense a lack of maturity or plain disowning of what had happened?
I slid my hand from across my hair to my stomach and crossed my fingers. Eyes shut, deep breath and I told him. Told him flat and clear. I expected a reaction and who doesn’t? But I got none. All I got was a line “You may do what you want to do with it. I’m not going to be a part of this anymore”
Well, little did he realize that he already was a part of me. In such a way that every second it was growing and I could not let it go. But what could have I done? I was 17, a minor. I was at such crossroads in my life that one wrong decision would be a disaster for me. I could very well comprehend the gravity of the situation but there was hardly I could anything about it. My innocence was gone and in more ways than one I was responsible for it. It’s a different feeling when you don’t just think about yourself. There is a life dependent on you. On your very breath.
I clearly remember the walk down the stairs of the place where I gave her to them. She was beautiful. She was so tiny and so little. But according to my parents, so was I. I had to make them a promise that I would not try to see her again. Nor contact the parents who adopted her, who were to give her a good life. And I was asked to live one too. That night I kept thinking about her. Imprinting her face in my memory. She had my nose and those little dark eyes. I remember holding her for only a brief moment. The rest of that time I was blank. And now it was all coming back.
Today, 10 years later when I’m sitting across the table with my husband, I see her. The nose. It’s impossible that I would not recognize her. She stood tall in front of her parents and from the reaction I could infer that she was wanting to ask for something. Something that she feared she would not get. She slid her hands across her hair and crossed her fingers. And she spoke. The rest I do not remember. But I realized one thing, as much as she lives in me, I live in her too.
Eagerness showed and I gave in. I had to tell him. He was a part of it. Part of that starry night and all that was beautiful until I realized the repercussions later. Life teaches you so many lessons and how. Well, it was too late for me to undo what was done. As much as this was mine it was his too. Then why did I fear telling him? Did I sense a lack of maturity or plain disowning of what had happened?
I slid my hand from across my hair to my stomach and crossed my fingers. Eyes shut, deep breath and I told him. Told him flat and clear. I expected a reaction and who doesn’t? But I got none. All I got was a line “You may do what you want to do with it. I’m not going to be a part of this anymore”
Well, little did he realize that he already was a part of me. In such a way that every second it was growing and I could not let it go. But what could have I done? I was 17, a minor. I was at such crossroads in my life that one wrong decision would be a disaster for me. I could very well comprehend the gravity of the situation but there was hardly I could anything about it. My innocence was gone and in more ways than one I was responsible for it. It’s a different feeling when you don’t just think about yourself. There is a life dependent on you. On your very breath.
I clearly remember the walk down the stairs of the place where I gave her to them. She was beautiful. She was so tiny and so little. But according to my parents, so was I. I had to make them a promise that I would not try to see her again. Nor contact the parents who adopted her, who were to give her a good life. And I was asked to live one too. That night I kept thinking about her. Imprinting her face in my memory. She had my nose and those little dark eyes. I remember holding her for only a brief moment. The rest of that time I was blank. And now it was all coming back.
Today, 10 years later when I’m sitting across the table with my husband, I see her. The nose. It’s impossible that I would not recognize her. She stood tall in front of her parents and from the reaction I could infer that she was wanting to ask for something. Something that she feared she would not get. She slid her hands across her hair and crossed her fingers. And she spoke. The rest I do not remember. But I realized one thing, as much as she lives in me, I live in her too.
Friday, July 8, 2011
A place called Home
It’s a weird feeling when you go back to the place where you have lived for nearly 20 years of your life and find your house all abandoned. None to take care of it either. That’s the screw up of living in staff quarters.
To give you a brief description of the place where I grew up I begin by telling you a little story. I had invited a few friends over for lunch. When they reached the station where the board read ‘Mankhurd’, a quiet suburban area right before where New Bombay begins, some guy asked them where platform number 3 was. From where they were standing they could only see 2 platforms. They just gave him that ‘we don’t know’ expression and left and later made fun of me all day that Mankhurd was such a small place.
My only counter argument to that teasing was that- Atleast the place is ‘Green’.
Well, my parents worked for an institution called ‘Children’s Aid Society’, a social welfare organization which is affiliated with the Govt of India. This place housed about 1000 destitute children in a lush green campus. The children were aged from 1 to 20. They had all the facilities from schools, huge playgrounds, hobbies classes and of course a home where they lived. This institution is basically divided into 5 main parts where the children are kept according to age groups and sex. My mother and father both headed different institutions.
So, till the age of around 14 the only friends I knew were these kids. My evenings were spent playing games with girls my age and if someone asked me what has been the best part of your life, I would definitely say the stay here. It’s a different thing altogether to play kho-kho, lagori, kabbadi, langadi with a 100 girls all fit and strong. And in the post game chat sessions I used get a daily dose of how fortunate I was to be born in a house where I had a Mother, a Father and a Brother. These relations were quite unknown to these girls or rather hadn’t been as smooth as it is for us.
I have heard stories of how they were sold off to some stranger in exchange of a few thousands. And later how they were rescued and brought here. The kind of stories you read in the news papers of street children, beggars etc. Well, these were the lives of my friends.
Going back to where I started, I was standing in front of my locked house 2.5 years later after leaving from here and memories kept flooding back.
Suddenly I hear a familiar voice calling out ‘Pinky, Pinky…’
I turn around to find ‘Sultan’ standing right in front of me flashing one of the biggest smiles I have ever witnessed. Sultan is a boy from the MDCH.
In the latter part of my mom’s work life here she headed an institution called Mentally Deficient Children’s Home(MDCH). So you get the idea. In 20 years I have never found anybody as lovable as the kids here. Hell, they are mentally deficient. They are the smartest I have seen. Even after nearly 3 years the kid recognizes me and calls out to me. He has this habit of calling every other girl he knows as Pinky in our campus. Makes life easier for him and we used to like it too.
That one call out was enough for me to be nostalgic for days and here I am venting it out. The place, Mankhurd, is just beautiful. And the concept of housing where I lived was just lovely. We had row houses there with big gardens in front of every house. And each house for some reason had pet cats. Mine was called ‘manu’ and to describe her would require an altogether different post. And I choose to leave that for later.
When I was about to leave I took one last look at the house and for a second, I felt abandoned. It was the place where I spent 20 years of my life but I did not hold the key to the now changed lock.
To give you a brief description of the place where I grew up I begin by telling you a little story. I had invited a few friends over for lunch. When they reached the station where the board read ‘Mankhurd’, a quiet suburban area right before where New Bombay begins, some guy asked them where platform number 3 was. From where they were standing they could only see 2 platforms. They just gave him that ‘we don’t know’ expression and left and later made fun of me all day that Mankhurd was such a small place.
My only counter argument to that teasing was that- Atleast the place is ‘Green’.
Well, my parents worked for an institution called ‘Children’s Aid Society’, a social welfare organization which is affiliated with the Govt of India. This place housed about 1000 destitute children in a lush green campus. The children were aged from 1 to 20. They had all the facilities from schools, huge playgrounds, hobbies classes and of course a home where they lived. This institution is basically divided into 5 main parts where the children are kept according to age groups and sex. My mother and father both headed different institutions.
So, till the age of around 14 the only friends I knew were these kids. My evenings were spent playing games with girls my age and if someone asked me what has been the best part of your life, I would definitely say the stay here. It’s a different thing altogether to play kho-kho, lagori, kabbadi, langadi with a 100 girls all fit and strong. And in the post game chat sessions I used get a daily dose of how fortunate I was to be born in a house where I had a Mother, a Father and a Brother. These relations were quite unknown to these girls or rather hadn’t been as smooth as it is for us.
I have heard stories of how they were sold off to some stranger in exchange of a few thousands. And later how they were rescued and brought here. The kind of stories you read in the news papers of street children, beggars etc. Well, these were the lives of my friends.
Going back to where I started, I was standing in front of my locked house 2.5 years later after leaving from here and memories kept flooding back.
Suddenly I hear a familiar voice calling out ‘Pinky, Pinky…’
I turn around to find ‘Sultan’ standing right in front of me flashing one of the biggest smiles I have ever witnessed. Sultan is a boy from the MDCH.
In the latter part of my mom’s work life here she headed an institution called Mentally Deficient Children’s Home(MDCH). So you get the idea. In 20 years I have never found anybody as lovable as the kids here. Hell, they are mentally deficient. They are the smartest I have seen. Even after nearly 3 years the kid recognizes me and calls out to me. He has this habit of calling every other girl he knows as Pinky in our campus. Makes life easier for him and we used to like it too.
That one call out was enough for me to be nostalgic for days and here I am venting it out. The place, Mankhurd, is just beautiful. And the concept of housing where I lived was just lovely. We had row houses there with big gardens in front of every house. And each house for some reason had pet cats. Mine was called ‘manu’ and to describe her would require an altogether different post. And I choose to leave that for later.
When I was about to leave I took one last look at the house and for a second, I felt abandoned. It was the place where I spent 20 years of my life but I did not hold the key to the now changed lock.
Thursday, September 2, 2010
?
What makes a difference
What leads to a change
Dialectic in the mind
Commonness is entirely unforeseen
Moving about the self made ideals
His own shadow is his company
Challenged, tested and untested
His is not a borrowed brain
The one who walks
On the untrodden path
The thinking inbuilt or developed
Is to set him apart
Hoodwinking the illusions
A sense of difference sways
Is a genius born or is he made?
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Besieged love
The sound of the gusty wind, the drizzle of the rain, that of anguish, guilt and redemption, all echoed through her ears emancipating her from the pain. Clouds hovered over the sky, still and dark not unlike her mind, innocently they lay above her. Drop by drop descending on the planet, the rain cleaned out all the impure blood. Blood that she considered impure. Blood that she thought was the mark of a traitor. Blood that besieged her.
She had now made her decision.
My kingdom of thought I reign secure
Not a part of it is close to being impure
To seize it from me you try hard
Once given but now I stand guard
The blood now was washed off. All with the feelings, with the remorse.
The raindrops seemed to be piercing her. They were too pure for her now. The blood trickled down her feet. The same feet which he caught to beg her pardon. Apologized a thousand times for his betrayal. Tried hard to convince her. But it was all in vain. He was too late. She was wounded. So deep that it couldn’t be healed. Not by his tall promises which didn’t seem to soothe her. He clutched her hand in his. Locked her eyes with his. Pulled her close. She knew this was for the one last time.
Reminiscing about the bygone days, she closed her eyes. Her entire past running before her eyes, too fast for her to catch the details. Memories flew back making her nostalgic. She was reminded of the days of their courtship. They were on the same bridge the first time they met. This handsome young man in front of her had done everything to get her love. But a little more than everything that made her hate him so much now. With bated breath she looked up at the sky, the wisps of dark clouds made her realize and brought her back to reality. All she wanted was justice.
Taking the lead, leading my mind to its grave
Now that its shattered but once used to be brave
I follow you but later I stray
To my God that I religiously pray
The lifeless diluted blood joined the puddles of mud next to his cold body. Not knowing what to do next she kept walking away from him. Away from everything. The ‘him’ had now taken form of an ‘it’. She bore no resentment in mind for what she had done. The dreams that she had seen for them would never be real. Never in her life she thought that they would get shattered, that too in this way. Surpassing all these emotions she kept walking. With this night her entire life would change. To see the morning sun she did not desire. She could not face its brightness, it shone too bright for her like the raindrops too pure. A cool breeze blew across her face, with the smell of nothingness in it. It brushed across her face leaving her life to a standstill.
Defeated or victorious was she?
You seem to know the secret door
Or am I weak and let you go
The mind you killed, heart died on its own
Thousand reasons I have about to moan
All she felt was numbness. There was no one to turn for an answer. Would God forgive her for this inhumane act? Silencing her conscience, a scream trapped in her throat. Even if she did let it out whom would she be yelling at. She was scared plenty at this immortal truth. Every twitch and flicker that appeared across her face had asked for justice. There was no turning back now.
To destroy me there comes the killer again
I wont let you, not this time again
Unlocking the door she stepped inside. The house once chaotic with their laughter and love now remained silent. Unaware and unmoved by what had happened today the house looked the same except for the missing liveliness that they brought in. The windows flapped open and shut again as if signaling to her something. The rose sapling at the window looked at her, they knew nothing of her poignant situation. Neither about the sadness she experienced. It had been the most beautiful day for her when he gifted the rose sapling to her. Oh! What a lovely day it was! She couldn’t hold herself back any more.
I yell, I shout, I scream
I like, I love, I feel
All this in zero words
Two tears out and gone, flew like a bird
She smiled back at the roses.
They were her only ray of hope. Only way of recovery and his last living sign.
She had now made her decision.
My kingdom of thought I reign secure
Not a part of it is close to being impure
To seize it from me you try hard
Once given but now I stand guard
The blood now was washed off. All with the feelings, with the remorse.
The raindrops seemed to be piercing her. They were too pure for her now. The blood trickled down her feet. The same feet which he caught to beg her pardon. Apologized a thousand times for his betrayal. Tried hard to convince her. But it was all in vain. He was too late. She was wounded. So deep that it couldn’t be healed. Not by his tall promises which didn’t seem to soothe her. He clutched her hand in his. Locked her eyes with his. Pulled her close. She knew this was for the one last time.
Reminiscing about the bygone days, she closed her eyes. Her entire past running before her eyes, too fast for her to catch the details. Memories flew back making her nostalgic. She was reminded of the days of their courtship. They were on the same bridge the first time they met. This handsome young man in front of her had done everything to get her love. But a little more than everything that made her hate him so much now. With bated breath she looked up at the sky, the wisps of dark clouds made her realize and brought her back to reality. All she wanted was justice.
Taking the lead, leading my mind to its grave
Now that its shattered but once used to be brave
I follow you but later I stray
To my God that I religiously pray
The lifeless diluted blood joined the puddles of mud next to his cold body. Not knowing what to do next she kept walking away from him. Away from everything. The ‘him’ had now taken form of an ‘it’. She bore no resentment in mind for what she had done. The dreams that she had seen for them would never be real. Never in her life she thought that they would get shattered, that too in this way. Surpassing all these emotions she kept walking. With this night her entire life would change. To see the morning sun she did not desire. She could not face its brightness, it shone too bright for her like the raindrops too pure. A cool breeze blew across her face, with the smell of nothingness in it. It brushed across her face leaving her life to a standstill.
Defeated or victorious was she?
You seem to know the secret door
Or am I weak and let you go
The mind you killed, heart died on its own
Thousand reasons I have about to moan
All she felt was numbness. There was no one to turn for an answer. Would God forgive her for this inhumane act? Silencing her conscience, a scream trapped in her throat. Even if she did let it out whom would she be yelling at. She was scared plenty at this immortal truth. Every twitch and flicker that appeared across her face had asked for justice. There was no turning back now.
To destroy me there comes the killer again
I wont let you, not this time again
Unlocking the door she stepped inside. The house once chaotic with their laughter and love now remained silent. Unaware and unmoved by what had happened today the house looked the same except for the missing liveliness that they brought in. The windows flapped open and shut again as if signaling to her something. The rose sapling at the window looked at her, they knew nothing of her poignant situation. Neither about the sadness she experienced. It had been the most beautiful day for her when he gifted the rose sapling to her. Oh! What a lovely day it was! She couldn’t hold herself back any more.
I yell, I shout, I scream
I like, I love, I feel
All this in zero words
Two tears out and gone, flew like a bird
She smiled back at the roses.
They were her only ray of hope. Only way of recovery and his last living sign.
Saturday, June 5, 2010
Untitled
Wisps of clouds floated in the air,
Its reflection clear in the lake.
Amidst the forest a disturbing silence swayed,
Unperturbed by it, with the wind the leaves played.
Fallen leaves rustled,
Around the corner of the bush,
It ran for its life,
To not be someone else' food.
The stealthy legs carried its body,
Running in a manner brisk and smooth.
The distance lessened, the catch was near.
A leap forward and the victory was clear.
With thumping heart and bated breath,
A last attempt for survival was made,
But now escape was a wishful thinking,
Its body would be meat in a blinking.
The tiger got the deer,
the man, the tiger.
Defying nature and its say,
Man portrays irony in his own way.
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Trapped
Seated unwillingly with the window near,
Nothing around me to make me cheer.
Chirpy, merry and bright it was outside,
But dark, tearful and gloomy on the inside.
Of only one thing I truly desire,
Grant me something I so aspire.
I yearn for freedom, I long for liberty,
Why am I treated so indifferently?
This bondage ties me down,
The captivity of it makes me frown.
A reason, a bright side to it I fail to see,
All I want to do is merely break free.
This provides me no solace,
Because of it I have lost my grace.
Being held in clutches is something I don't need,
It solely makes my heart bleed.
Descending from above the rains are here,
Straight from heaven comes the treasure.
The enslavement that I cant take anymore,
Determined to shine forth, I head towards the door.
Its claws held me tight, I was still in its clasp,
Tried my best to get past its grasp.
Flung my wheel chair into the air
Right towards the sky I stare.
Drops of purity fall on my face,
I feel you God, I feel your grace.
Nothing around me to make me cheer.
Chirpy, merry and bright it was outside,
But dark, tearful and gloomy on the inside.
Of only one thing I truly desire,
Grant me something I so aspire.
I yearn for freedom, I long for liberty,
Why am I treated so indifferently?
This bondage ties me down,
The captivity of it makes me frown.
A reason, a bright side to it I fail to see,
All I want to do is merely break free.
This provides me no solace,
Because of it I have lost my grace.
Being held in clutches is something I don't need,
It solely makes my heart bleed.
Descending from above the rains are here,
Straight from heaven comes the treasure.
The enslavement that I cant take anymore,
Determined to shine forth, I head towards the door.
Its claws held me tight, I was still in its clasp,
Tried my best to get past its grasp.
Flung my wheel chair into the air
Right towards the sky I stare.
Drops of purity fall on my face,
I feel you God, I feel your grace.
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