Musings on thoughts..

She chatters,
The rain drops pitter patter,
My mind wants to get off the clutter,
And I stutter.
Stumbling to keep my focus
On her ecstatic face .

She talks of her plot,
A mystery of undiscovered treasures,
Or a humorous saga of a ghost
Coming of age,
She wants me to choose and guide,
But hardly does she know,
That I am lost , amidst
The cooing of the pigeons
And the meows of the stray cat.

The whistle of the pressure cooker,
Rattles me awake,
Is it past lunch time ,
Did I lose sense of time.

I see her lost in a vibrant stupor,
Gazing into the distant,
I know not what she thinks,
Should I steal myself into her thoughts,
Just to eavesdrop,
May be I would know her better that way,
Or should I refrain,
Leaving the virginity of her thoughts at peace.

I choose to let her be.
To regale in her impish childishness,
To have her own leap of faith,
To find her own place in
The magic of adolescence.

A Smoky Question


The smoke wafts through the crowded streets
Lingering on ,
Moving sheepishly across the lampposts and the traffic lights,
Wintry shadows lurk along the zebra crossings,
The smoke slithers on in neon hues,
Diwali is past, Halloween is around.
The smoke still smells familiar.

Would it be any different,
The smoke ?
if it shifts places,
To a more rustic rural setting,
Will the twigs and fall leaves crackle differently,
Or would the smoke be more bland
in its appearance,
Without the mask of the neon lights.
Will it take on a new life,
Greyer against the dark backdrop,
Or lonelier with only the silhouettes
Of thorny bushes and swaying rickety branches ,
As the sole companion….


Aimless Traveller


Almost gypsy like they travel,
Just enough time to relax the fatigued joints
And sooth the cries of the churning stomach,
They rest awhile
To start again.

Beaming through the night,
The headlights tearing the darkness,
Flashes and flickers of a sleepy hamlet
Nestled amongst the undulating hills,
The sole witness to their march,
The whirring wheels seldom.screech to a halt.

The clamour of their voices,
The childish fights of the newly weds,
Their only companion.
They wave goodbye to
The solitary farmer, caressing his first produce,
The goatherd struggling to chastise his flock,
The lone buffalo sunbathing,
The troop of monkeys running amock .

Day and night jostle to
Attract their attention,
Yet they zoom ahead in gay abandon,
Unaware and unconcerned
Creating their own rhythm
Weaving stories as they move..


The Conflict…


I savour the scenery,
The seemingly placid lake,
The interplay of sunbeams on bluish green surface,
An occasional ripple,
As the breeze passes over surreptitiously,
My eyes straining to scan,
What lies underneath,
I skip the rythm of a heartbeat,
Is it a mirage or a vision,
Something lurking beneath,
A magar ( crocodile )?
Venturing beyond the adjoining sanctuary,
Or is it ?
Just a water snake,
Harmless without it’s venom.

My eyes wander ,
To the bank,
Little bare bodies diving with glee,
Splashing in gay abandon,
Do they not know the perils,
Of Trespassing into the unknown,
Carefree and oblivious,
They soak the summer sun,
Just the wizened skin , shielding their throbbing hearts,
or, are they aware
Of the imminent danger,
Yet, are
Ready to confront the stealthy pace,
Of the primordial reptile,
Probably reconciled to ,
The perennial question of
Life and Death,
They gamble with risk.


I try with bated breath,
To savour again,
The scenic beauty,.
The beauty of life overpowering,
the jaws of fear..


Inspired by a photo feature on man reptile conflict in the waters of Parbati, a tributary of Chambal .. featured in The Hindu, Oct 8th 2017..    



Dussehra 2017…the day after


When the glittering lights fade,
And the drums go silent,
The sonorous laughters no longer reverberate,
The eateries are not thronged,
Its traffic as usual
The police man stands lone on his pedestal,
The tapestries are off
And the shaminanas dismantled,
The trinket sellers wrap their wares ,
And the entourage has receded,

That’s the moment of truth,
Its back to the mundane,
The festivities were momentary, ?

No, says the heart,
It’s just a cycle .
The seasons are fluid,
They shall pass ,
Autumn will return
The fervour is constant,
She will return ,
To grace the deserted grounds,
And transform the routine to
An adventure.
Yet again ,
The festivities will rekindle
The life..


त्रिशंकु हे…


त्रिशंकु हैं हर इक इंसान,
कोई झूलता हे,
अनगिनत आकांक्ष्यों के बीच
और कुुुछ गोतेे खाते रहते हैं ,
धुप छाव के पारावार में।

इस उधेड़बुन में,
खो जाती है अपनी ही परछाई,
कि सांझ का साथ हे ज्यादा प्यारी
या सुबह की हलकी सर्दी सुहावनी।

रंगीन सपनों का
इंतज़ार रहती हे, उलझी हुई आँखों को,
और सपनों को भी,रहती है आस
नींन्द न खुले , न हो सुबह
सुकून से वह भी
सो सके कुछ देर और
पलकों को सहलाकर।

जागृत और सुप्त
ऐसी है आस,
डोलती है जीवन,
त्रिशंकु सी,
आशा और निराशा
के बीच।

Elina’s Application…for entry into DMS92


Why should I be let in ….

I was ordained to write
A note, rather an application,
To get inducted,
To be let in.,
Into the gates of Friendship,
Into the fraternity of a glorious childhood
Which was lost.
A lost opportunity
Compete and fight,
Have been loved,
Have held hands of friends,
And walked to school,
Have endless chats on
Crushes and first loves,
Have been punished for
Harmless pranks,
Have made the school proud,
Of my quaint achievements,
Have engaged in intense Debates..
And the list seems endless..
I seldom seek approval,
But today I seek,
Your permission to
Celebrate with you
The Joy of Friendship.
I deserve an entry,
For though I have been away,
I have always dreamt and
Hung on to a.Hope
Meeting and sharing those lost moments,
For I have dreamt countless times
the parakeets on the Kara manga Tree,
The rocky terrain surrounding the hallowed walls,
The library where I read my first Enid Blyton,
The school annual functions,
The white and maroon uniform,
As I have a second chance today
To live it all,
I will not be left.behind.
Hence I write , the only way I know
The poetic mode,
Asking You, O the Monitor,,
To Let me In…..

.. Elina…..