The Little Spaces in Void

Forgive my lack of exactness but it seems like a couple of years ago that the chord which tied me to this cherished space snapped.

Two years is a long time. Many things can happen in the period. It was during this time that I lost my doting grandfather to everlasting sleep, turned a few pages in travelling, met some amazing persons in the journey yet back home friends walked out of my life.  I dreamt for things that are nearly impossible to accomplish. I made more and more mistakes than ever. It's hard to say whether that made me a better or worse person. Incidents which would forever etch their marks on my soul came to occur and pass. In the hardest possible way I was taught by providence that there is something unalterable about the shape which has been cast for the course of our lives no matter how hard we try or how cleverly we may attempt to recast it or elude it. And finally I saw time’s malleability through experiences that sped and slowed it. 

Whatever happened took forever a part of me while leaving, one I won’t ever get back. I reckon it was because of those circumstances that I found it hard to gather the requisite will to write something worthy of anyone's time. 

While the design of destiny was unfolding per its prefixed scheme a part of me missed being here, missed all of you. Your presence, cynical or constructive, sweet or sarcastic, was a symbol of a life which I adored regardless of its virtual existence. It sort of gave an unmatched sense of self even in the midst of all kind of clutter and chaos. Just like a safe haven. Therefore all this time that I was away I felt what being away from home must make you feel. I have always cherished this one place, this tiny window inside my desktop, this minuscule web space where I often found expression for my thoughts which you my friends have always embraced and considered with nothing but encouragement. This vibrant medium which reflects the beauty of its dwellers with serenity and fortitude as it gives recognition to whosoever aspires and works for it. That alone makes it a home like no other.

Maybe all what I have seen and felt during my time away is likely to reflect in my words. If it is much of a pain or embarrassment guide me as you always have. If I tend to amble into darkness be kind and remind me of the beauty of light. If I manage to summon whatever part of me it was which wrote once, the one that you guys wholeheartedly adored then tell me that I still have it in me to keep going, that there is something worthy of salvaging about the whole endeavor. It may be a little selfish of me, I concede, to hold these expectations. But we’re all artists and dreamers who sketch with words and I trust that you will agree life is never easy for dreamers. This is my way of holding out my hand to hold yours, so that our shared journey of expressions becomes a little less arduous and increasingly meaningful.

I do not know if I can ever infuse in my words qualities which I had once managed to imbibe in them, most of which art I learnt from amazing writers I came across here. I do not know if my words will ever evoke what they once did. Regardless I intend to apply myself to the task. Because it is a way of liberation. These very moments that our words conjure seemingly beyond the prefixed, mundane and unchangeable twenty four hours, words which earn for us the little yet beautiful and immortal spaces in void.  

Much Love,

Anupam

Have you ever allowed yourself to be convinced by nature?

When I was much younger, like many in that age, I went through a major disappointment following a certain incident. Knowing not what else to do other than lie aimlessly on my bed for hours, I agreed to a prefixed schedule of going to my village. I never used to visit my village since I believed I had all that I needed here in the city I lived in. Nothing attracted me elsewhere. So my decision came as a matter of delight for my parents particularly my father who always encouraged me to stay connected with the place my ancestors had built and lived in for decades. I went the same day. 

The next morning my cousin forced me out of bed at five and dragged me to the fields. But he didn't have to pull me for much long. Once I reached the dense fields something amazing caught hold of my will. It was in the lap of nature that I found something remarkably life saving. Believe me. I was feeling so hopeless that I had begun to show symptoms of rejecting life itself in that early age. But once I walked the fields on my bare feet and and reached its heart, I forgot everything. I saw the mist soaked sun which filled my spirit with unparalleled tenderness and I was pampered by the breeze of 'Baitarani' and the mud under my feet permeated some medicinal magic into my system. I plucked a wild marigold and held it close to my face, vicariously absorbing all its wisdom. I randomly gathered leaves and rubbed them turning my palm green and earthen. The birds had a strangely high state of courage for they alighted so near to me that I felt like I had always been a part of that greenery, their undiluted habitat. I was touched by their instant approval of me. I felt belonged. The haunting sense of abandonment went away amidst the thousands of leaves and hundreds of butterflies and birds and tiny innocent insects which nibbled at the soft dirt for food.

Something revived in me. Something which never seemed to have even existed before. A throbbing sense of faith and contentment. Even when I closed my eyes I could see brightness all around. Maybe I could see that brightness because of what had illuminated within me by that experience. Everything felt in place. Including me. Everything made sense. The moment felt nothing short of divine.

Nature has this thing. It can caress you and while so doing it can cleverly plant a sense of resilience. It can prepare us to face the most difficult times like nothing can. Isn't it sort of a dependable scheme that the troubles of life be taken care of by nature itself. Its lasting effects can delight us with what every man is entitled to enjoy by virtue of his existence in this world. We often tend to forget that. Maybe because we have given ourselves up to our concrete confinements. We have perhaps forgotten where we really come from in our madness to reach places reaching where may not necessarily matter.

I woke up early today after months and saw that softer sun and those birds and insects and walked bare feet on my garden. I resigned myself from anything contrary. And I found myself after a long long time. I saw myself. Like no mirror can show. I breathed life itself.

A moment like this can turn things around in ways we cannot imagine. Take my word for that.

Song Of Dusk

The mellow mood returns
Brings along many lore
The winged ones teeming
Velvet heavens fling their door

A planter breaks the lull
An ode he joyously cries
His swinging face & palm
Painted in earthen dyes

The mangrove in the backyard
Lively with chirps galore
When the world refolds tired
All their words come to fore

My neighbor paddles homeward
He hides sundry candies
He schemes to daze his son
So that a crushing hug he can earn

The distant mill lets off
The last siren; For the day is up
And the haggard milieu 
Is dotted with walking figures  

The local playground is deserted
One by one all its heroes fade
Into the darkness it goes
Embracing glimpses close

The conch rythms and hymns 
A homage to Maker of things
Echo from under roofs one and all
Sprinkled with prayers big & small 

Away from the roads and human sound
In the meandering clay, home bound
A gaggle of wavy figures 
All waists stacked with pitchers 

The retreating sun drives
Asunder the stronghold of clouds
Smearing its best about
As it leaves for a fresh bout

My grand old father strolls out
The health of nature makes him stout
He comforts himself on mahogany husk
And hums his cherished songs of dusk

It's the peacemaker
It's the twilight
It's that thread that binds
A passing day and a charging night

Homecoming

Work required Kabir to travel to the city of his birth where he had lived for twenty five years of his life. He was piqued over the strange lack of proclivity in him, for revisiting the city where he was born and raised. He found it annoyingly odd to not sense the quintessential joy, normally felt at the first sight of such opportunity.  So when Jayanth, his office mate, exclaimed that Kabir was a lucky man who is getting a chance to revisit a cherished place that too at the expense of the office, and remarked that it is natural to be very excited about it, Kabir was cautious to not spill his disturbing lack of zeal regarding this whole affair. He concealed that oddity and thought better than sharing it with anyone. Instead he pretentiously shot back at Jayanth "Excited ? Are you kidding me ? I'm dying for tomorrow to come. Ahh. It's been so long." The whole night Kabir kept loathing himself for his insensitivity. Or may be, he thought to himself,  a part of him had not forgotten what he had suffered at that place.

When Kabir and his family had left the city almost five years ago, it was sort of an escape from a land where they had endured perpetual humiliation and dejection. His father's enterprise after enterprise, each falling flat, for distinct reasons. His insurmountable debt and his unrelenting creditors, their intimidating visits to their house and all the threats and abuses that followed made the memory of his home not one to be cherised. He remembered the inescapable embarrassment of having to walk out of his house into the insensate stares of his neighbours who would've zealously witnessed tumultuous drama which unfolded at his doors almost every day. He could almost feel the suffocation and the  frustration which he had experienced then upon overhearing shameless gossip about his abject distress. He reminisced vividly, how his home would slip into chaos when time came to fulfill basic financial obligations like his tuition fees or rent. He recalled those repetitively hopeless mornings and evenings wherein he saw his whole family reduced to a gloomy bunch of faces. Wherever he went he was either received with pity or with slanderous remarks. It had to be the only plausible explanation for such a startling erosion of his affection for his birthplace. An ominous sensation, a looming fear that came intertwined with its biggest symbol. To such depths had the pain of his sordid past penetrated, that a characteristic anxiety and dry mouthedness came to torment him at the mere mention of his hometown's name.  Even sad was the fact that before the miseries had begun to unfold in those days of Kabir's life and also for quite a substantial duration thereafter, while multiple distresses were being perpetrated by the powers that be, he had lived the most memorable moments of his life there. It occurred to him then that his consistent focus on his shadow had kept him bereft of relishing the sunshine As he was on the verge of slipping into the tranquil embrace of sleep, he shuddered thinking about the coming day and of possible encounters with faces he deeply despised. 

Kabir was lost in the loop of indiscriminate contemplation inside the office vehicle en route to his home town, when a series of five speed breaking road humps jolted him out of his trance and he noticed that he was on the last bridge before the southern perimeter of the city. He rolled down the window panes despite past experience of headache and sinus attacks. The gusts of wind born of the river flanking the city, unmistakably persuaded him to reminisce the good old days of his life. He effortlessly forgot all the darkness which he feared would surround him under broad daylight. As the vehicle entered the city, it's velocity was forced to drastic reduction by the debilitating traffic, and there he found his first cheerful memory. He recalled how his father used to presage that he would never truly learn driving as long as he didn't face the infamous thick traffic of the city during the peak hour of the day. What Kabir felt thereafter opened a window to a long shut space within him. He guided the chauffeur with directions to the location of his school. He got down the vehicle and stood right before the forty year old facade, instantly recalling the twelve years of his life there. The playground area brought back memories of the countless prayers he had offered there in chorus and those zillion sermons he had heard, delivered by his persistent teachers. He didn't fail to notice the nearby medical college, whose best memories remained etched in the form of heart numbing glimpses of truly 'beautiful' doctors. During the age of raging hormones his school could be a very difficult place to spend nearly eight hours everyday, he thought to himself. Since every other lady he saw coming out of the adjacent medical college, took his breathe away. But the tragedy was that most of those majestic and mesmerizing women had already made their choices in the matter and for the rest he could simply never summon his teen courage to tell any of them how sick he had become in their love. These musings left Kabir embarrassed and shy as he giggled to himself over his foolish childhood cravings.

 Kabir's engineering college wasn't far away. He  finished his engineering studies in a college which stood just near the abode of his high school sweetheart. Though by then they had broken up and she had discovered truer love elsewhere. Kabir  saw her house. He'd seen it so many times, under the scorching sun and blinding rain just to catch a glimpse of her vague moving silhouette beyond the curtains of her room. It had taken him a few painful glimpses of her and another man in various intimate indulgences to finally move over his feelings which he once nurtured for her. Unlike his school, this one neither brought smile nor sorrow. Nothing stirred inside Kabir when he moved his focus to her house and the same fluttering window curtain. Such void only reassured him that he has indeed moved on. He saw the roads, the traffic islands, the hang out joints, the cinema halls where he recalled  falling in love, again and again. Not only with some unforgettable people but with places, moments & indulgences to the point of addiction. There was this place where he and his friends hung out. He reminisced braving gales and torrents and chilly winters to make it there in time. Kabir had made some wonderful friends here. Friends who would go far away later in life leaving deep etched memories in his solitary guardianship . It was the place where he learnt to ride his grandfather's bicycle and his father's scooter. When he fell, people who he never knew came to pick him up and gave him smart tips to drive better. The best part was that the next time when they ran into each other, both would pause momentarily, thinking whether the other remembers the last meeting, before finally smiling away. The fast food joint, at Kabir's college gate, presented before him the revered image of it's humble owner who never thought twice before letting him and his friends feast away on credit. They were showered with his elderly affection in shape of liberty to pay as and when they liked. He remembered  how, when one of his friends made it big in college placement, he did not forget to touch the man's feet who too reciprocated with his sincere blessings. 

It was the place where Kabir had been showered with unconditional love and deep hatred alike. He'd been adored and whistled at by pals all along the street from his home to his college in consistent display of camaraderie. It is also the place where he had been in stupid, regretful fist fights and had been hounded by armed hooligans. He'd earned here, the fortunate company of friends who did not budge anywhere without him and others who got up and walked away at the very mention of his name. The city had given him souls by whom he had been been adored & respected, looked down upon, betrayed and back stabbed in the days he spent here. Kabir had bagged his maiden professional engagement and earned his first salary here. Here, he'd been called 'worthless' by his teachers and had been graced with  an "EXCELLENT - AA" remark by his the then boss for his splendid contribution in a construction project. In this city Kabir wrote his first love letter, his first prize winning essay and his worst answer papers ever. In one of its oldest galleries he fought his fear of public speaking and indulged in his first ever overt oratory. He learnt to smoke and gulped his first mug of beer here. He ran every year to the river barrage near his  house to see it's brim and the crowd swelling together. He experienced his maiden kiss and the agonizing sweet numbness of first love in its serene winter.

When Kabir finally drifted to his forlorn old house, he was saddened to see that it had lost much of its familiar identity. But the moment he peeped into the backyard and saw the old trees and the overgrown grass surrounding them, a rainbow of memories filled him with glorious images of his life's long departed days. He felt melancholy slowly creeping into his heart . Something snapped inside him, but he held himself together. He didn't want to embarrass himself by being moist eyed and all, before strangers. Though he doubted that they missed his urge. So many afternoons of his childhood, he'd spent under the shade of those twin trees. They weren't just trees anymore. They  had blended into human form looking at him through tears, fraught with age. As if poignantly conveying to Kabir how he had betrayed them by abandoning them in their last days. All Kabir could do was gently move his hands over their weary trunks to reassure them how he yearned, to relinquish all his ties and obligations and return to an unfinished game of hide and seek under their shades. The saplings that a young Kabir's father had made him plant then, now stared at him as handsome young trunks decorated with formidable branches and enviable lush leaves. He felt a parent like contentment upon what he witnessed of the trees in whose dedicated care he'd entrusted his days a decade back.. Finally as tired birds returned to their abodes nested in the bosom of his towering friends, he felt glad that his trees are not lonely after all. When it was time to go, he encountered a terrible reluctance to turn his steps away from the place, to come where he'd dreaded a few hours ago. He had to go. While leaving he could not help encountering a dampening realization, that he was enslaved to his urges, his obligations and his promises made to important people in his world, which prevented him from following his heart and staying back till it was content with experiences of ageless love.

On his way back through the clustered lanes of his old whereabouts Kabir saw the temple, from where penetrating conch shell reverberations used to wake him up early every morning, its purity demystifying the anxieties of the by gone night and where God's deity alone knew his deepest yearnings all through out his adolescence. Kabir returned with the tide of dusk brimming with a palpable disillusionment that he hasn't got over and probably never will get over his love for his hometown. It's where he was born and became the man that he is today.

                                                                                                                  **********

("Homecoming" is a work of fiction and any resemblance in it, to any person, incident or place is purely co - incidental)

Desired Things For Life

                                                                                                  

Almost five years ago when I was interning with a prestigious law firm at Churchgate, Mumbai, beside feeling the thrill of being on my own in a far off land I was also undergoing an inevitable disillusionment about my desire for leaving my hometown and settling down in Mumbai. I had led myself to believe that I was the proverbial 'small town' boy succumbing to the lure of etching a name for myself. But I eventually discovered that the engraving would be on a wall where so many names were already shining. And there was a mad race for owning up whatever space is left therein. I wasn't ready and probably amn't yet ready for that mad race. This wasn't what I exactly wanted when I'd said that I wanted to go out and do something on my own. Years and a few layers of maturity later, I would owe up the blame. It was my novice perception, my mistaking of a glorified arena for an utopia that had led to the heartbreak.

Strolling down the by lanes of the bustling city and meekly confronting the seasoned vendors and hawkers over the price of stuffs I wanted to buy, I stumbled upon a regularly styled piece of a wall hanging with absolutely extraordinary verses of inspirational ideas written on it. It was legendary. By the time I finished reading it, I had already begun experiencing arousal of a subsiding zeal, to go face the world despite being naive and ordinary, to stand in the arena despite being weak and inexperienced, to believe in myself despite a recurring realization that there is nothing special about me, to believe that I did not selflessly love for nothing and that there is hope for good despite palpable bad all around. It inspired faith. 

The author's name was missing. I purchased it without wasting a word over bargaining it's price. I had made up my mind that it was priceless. Five years have passed since. Not a day goes by when I don't thank the schemer of things, for having brought us two together. Not a single line of it has yet lost it's relevance. It never will. I feel like a fool for not having shared these lines through my blog. It's worth a hundred times over than anything else that I've shared. But that's not the only reason why I'm blogging about it today. The real reason why I'm blogging about it today is because today I have not only discovered it's author but I have also found out that the timeless piece has a name too. It's called Desiderata and it's written by an American author named Max Ehrmann. 

My heart felt thanks to Manreet Sodhi Someshwar (a name which saves me from the labour of rendering it an introduction or endorsement, especially when stalwarts like Khushwant Singh ji and Gulzaar Saab have already spoken greatly about her.) She blogs at The Long Walk Home. 
Had Manreet not blogged about Desiderata, I would have probably remained in dark about it's author. So Thank You Manreet for sharing your inspiring memories with Desiderata. Now the great thing is that even she has narrated life experiences which only echo what millions others must have felt by reading Desiderata. By the way Desiderata means "Desired Things" and it immortally reads as thus :-

Go placidly amidst the noise and haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence. 

As far as possible without surrender be on good terms with all persons. 

Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even the dull and the ignorant; they too have their story. 

Avoid loud and aggressive persons, they are vexatious to the spirit. 

If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain or bitter; for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself. 

Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans. Keep interested in your own career, however humble; it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time. 

Exercise caution in your business affairs; for the world is full of trickery. But let this not blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals; and everywhere life is full of heroism. 

Be yourself. Especially, do not feign affection. Neither be cynical about love; for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment it is as perennial as the grass. 

Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth. Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings. 

Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness. 

Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself. You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here. 

And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should. 

Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be, and whatever your labours and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul. 

With all its shams, drudgery, and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be cheerful.

Strive to be Happy.

My most favourite lines -

"Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth. Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune."

&

"With all its shams, drudgery, and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world"

Insatiable

They sat by the unruly window panes, conscious of the twenty apartments between them and the teeming boulevard that stretched beneath their curling toes. They weren't afraid of the elevation, nor of becoming a treat for voyeurs. They barely felt anything other than the inescapable rhythm of their heart beats now intertwined after their fervent love making. Aware of a clandestine stir growing within and wrapped only in tired yet eager arms besides a satin sheet that served their mutual regard for residual introversion, both stared at the distant rumbling of the heavy heavens. She started drawing skeletons of a momentary fascination on the condensing insides of the panes while his calmer breaths crashed on her naked shoulder in a pattern resembling contentment. The rain sprayed itself on the facade of the building, at times stealing its ways onto their skin. It had a will of its own as if mindful of the wishful yearnings of lovers. It had begun to fall as soon as the two had discovered paradise parceled in passionate kisses and an unyielding will to explore the farthest ends of passion. They had savored a pleasure inimitable, lured by ecstasy, yet encountered a craving insatiable as they had gone tossing and turning countless times, not letting go of each other, their faces alternately positioning themselves about the other, responding to the fire that burned at someplace else, where spawned the needs most untranquilling and unspeakable. He began to glide his index tip over the small of her back, she trembled & succumbed to the invite of surrender, calmly drowning in the bliss which his indulgence offered. It rekindled seemingly doused flames, obedient like stringed puppets. He was quick to notice for she was unabashedely forthcoming. It didn't take long for a zealous repetition of moments lived minutes ago.


They left the windows, pulled each other down to the tiled floor, faintly aware of the vague reflections in it, of their obsessive longings. He buried his face in her neck shouting muted pleas to let him flow, travelling bit by bit, by his lips, his hands searching urgently for a spot to cusp. She could connect to his virgin pining, an indescribable yet throbbing urge that he painfully veiled at all times. The realization turned her on, far beyond her own power. She knew not from where she drew the strength to pin him down, and settle on him. He was stunned with pleasure, born of the unadmitted masculine joy of giving in to his consort's domination. They had long lost the satin sheet. The distant flashes of Zeus's bolt, tantalizingly revealed their contours, the knowledge of which only their lips and fingers had relished. He zealously braved himself deep into the mystic ends of her guarded cavern, unvisited, undared and unknown to anyone. He cherished the passing of seconds & she the minutes. She was not ready yet, to leave him. She whispered in his ears the maiden promise of being with him in happiness & sadness alike. She wasn't going to let him visit alone the corridors of ecstasy. He obliged her wishes by clinging tightly, breaking barriers, confines and meaningless frontiers as he did what she loved, again and again, till what seemed as an eternity. She pulled him closer exhibiting an ostensible urgency, wanting him to fill her more & more, gesturing a desire of indivisibly melting into each other, but there was only so much that he could occupy, those undefined limits of invasion by invitation. She smelt like orchids, the edges of her body dimly illuminated by the dark. He murmured her name and how much he yearned for her in every moment of his life & she sighed back timeless pledges of devotion. She dug her fingers in his toiling back, the pain failing to penetrate beyond his skin. His body was now a phantom's garb, ready to fade in the bliss that consumed his soul.

Then in an immortal instance arrived at, in those exact seconds by both, they attained what they had wanted. Their bodies rising and falling in unison and souls intertwined inseparably, they kept their promise of being by each other in times of joy. He stared at her soul, gleaming in the moist of her eyes. She touched his chest caging his racing heart. Nothing existed nowhere. She cusped her hands around his ears steadying his panting face and planted her lips on his. He slowly receded from her remarkable softness and rested his head on her chest. Neither moved an inch, letting intimacies stay the way they were. He closed his eyes to the lullaby of her steady heartbeats, his breathing transforming gradually into a more definitive intake of air. He was in need of it. She moved her fingers on his head, caressing him and reminding herself of how much she needed him. The restless skies had, it seemed, moved closer to their window. Incessant lightning followed the torrent that lashed against the transparent glasses. She glared at the far away endless string of street lamps that sincerely lighted up the desolate freeway, musing over nothing in particular, just the figments of bygone moments, persuading a fancy of the future. Hours later, he woke up to the faint beep of his watch. Not wanting to leave, he began treading out of the apartment, while she watched helplessly pretending to be dreaming.

Village

The evening throbs as if a surge                                          
Of unspoken feelings on their verge
The satin night crawls far & wide
Melting everything hitherto in sight                         

The bamboo vines whispering lullabies
In chorus, sound like gentle seas
Mortal forms vanishing into nothing
Their footsteps & signs sans lingering

As I toss & turn on the cot
My head chases a single thought
Born of the faceless jingle
That do their job & hastily mingle

My sleepless eyes stumble upon
The starry pond where fireflies spawn
The million glints from their burning
Provoking an unearthly craving

Crew of crickets join for a supper choir
Their tunes tearing from beneath every layer
Melodious than the greatest known tune
Into every note rhapsody strewn 

The tender breeze rising from the banks
Of the distant river breaking ranks
Reassuring my sand ridden hair
Infusing a delight so delicate & rare

I'm captive of a perfumed whiff
Born of some mystic leaf
The many hued flora kneading
Charismatic musk seething

I forget I was born in the lights
I forget all the pointless fights
I forget every mirage to which I clung
I forget my need of a city, far flung

I move over the worthless addictions
I find refuge from haunting afflictions
I feel strain forsake my nerve
I feel the return of humane verve

I sleep on my back
Looking at the soulful dark
Watching countless questions at sight
That I dodged in the bright

Then, like the ardour of lovers,
Like the embrace of mothers,
Like the ageless sage,
Begins to etch in heart, my village


                 

                                                

My Grandfather's Bicycle

(This poem is a tribute to my grandfather's  bicycle which I always rode when I was a kid. But as I grew up, I could not find any use for it, hence it stood  "leaning on the wall", in our backyard for many long years before it was finally sold to a junk dealer. I regret not having cared for that one thing which was a source of great joy to me during my childhood. 

It depicts my lament with an undertone as to how man usually forgets long treasured things upon meeting new found indulgence.)


There it stands leaning on the wall,
On a simple touch it shouts a call,
Be not deceived for on days sunny and in the rain,
It carried me through throngs thick and plain

I stole it from under its master's eyes,
And rode it all right after a dozen tries,
It never let me use my feet,
Carried me to distant meadows and friends in need;

The neighbourhood brats always on a chase,
But it'd fly with me and top every race
Though many came and challenged to win,
We always rode ahead and clean

I was never nervous in a race,
For I knew it'd surely top every chase,
It got me rid of the school bully,
And I held on to it so dearly

It risked all and let me have my way,
It smiled through pains and bumps I gave it night & day,
Cried and complained it never
It rolled over wounds and seemed to go on forever;

My lures changed and I moved on,
To newer rides with flashy horn
Never looked back on that thing so slow
So what!, if once I begged for it bendin' low;

It had left its master & to me it clung close,
It went on, no matter what I chose,
Only to see that one day I'd leave it
To stand alone and get covered with dirt

My heart's in a race all the time
Seeking bliss and pleasures sublime
But the one who gave me those tastes first
Now wears a coat made of rust

It has no hopes I can hold,
Yet it dreads the day when it'd be sold
It has no illusions any more,
I've achieved to make it feel unwanted to its core

No one bothers anymore to recall,
How once it stood by us in our chores big and small
'T's okay if it's forgotten by its people,
After all it's just my grandfather's bicycle.


                                                                                     - Anupam

The View from My Window

(For no apparent reason I am reminded of a dear friend's by gone misery. It was an accident which caused him to remain bed ridden for about a a week. I paid him a visit every day till he was up on his feet again. He would convey to me his deepest urges during my visits. I write this poem trying to narrate how he must have felt and what thoughts must have crowded his head during those seven days of confinement to his bed. )




The View From My Window


I see a sun rise beyond the far leaves
To watch it come down I have to turn around
The ceiling fadin' and dripping like a ragged hound
To stand a barrier its forever bound


Then I see a sparrow alight near me
Hopping on the window free
Yet its far away
Reminds me of how helpless I lay


Then comes the breeze along
Its a traveller with a song
Never rests for a moment
But lives forever in its earthen scent


Followed by the deluge of the neighbourhood brats,
As they race crashing in to the nearby park
The west is now beginning to glow red
Trying to catch the view I raise my head


But neither I succeed nor fail,
I see only heads on their playful trail,
Bobbing and vanishing in the near,
Its impossible to even look that far


Then comes the rain
The view is enough for my pain
But I long to catch the drops
And watch 'em find their spots


I remember not always to mark
When the red becomes dark,
All I hear now is the owl's call,
And the loud mouthed Johnny tryin' to describe "A Fall"


The moon is different,
Its not always there
But when it comes in its moods
Its a beauty beneath every layer


My supper is laid
And I am summoned
By urges so primal
Gratification is minimal


I am sucked into a land where
I am not confined to a lair
I run and run
Every desire I burn


Everything I had missed
I held and kissed
I don't want to be in 'Tomorrow'
And feel nothing else than sorrow


I know not how my mind held
But I feel the sun's rays warm my head
I wake up into a life so slow
Where I have only the view from my window


                                                                           -Anupam