Victor's Song

The bells ring and the trumpets blow
Into agonized hearts triumphs flow
Mates march into the laden vessels
Hollers of victory engulf the heavens


Chests chocked with riches foreign
Forgotten guilt of hundreds slain
The shores wash the red on their hands
Unbiased waters of hostile lands


They bid adieu to the plundered homes
To the ravaged fields and shattered domes
They leave behind wandering souls
Muted audience to their beloveds' calls


I couldn't give my friends company
Couldn't revel to a champion's destiny
They sail back to awaiting eyes
I lie here with earth ridden dyes


Many foes this hand too silenced
Many blows this body too dealt
I wasn't meant to bask in glory's zone
I wasn't meant though to hug my son


I wasn't meant to honour my promise
I made to my lover as we parted with kiss
I wasn't meant to comfort her sorrows manifold
With her, I wasn't meant, to grow old


I pass my love to the ones I belong,
I convey my loss in a victor's song
We came and conquered but they went alone
I am left to witness the misery we've shown


They'll run to the care of their homes
I'll stand here till infinity comes
They'll forget their pain under a warm hand
And also the victor who died in a vanquished land




                                                                                     - Anupam

The Life and Death of Afreen

Today, at 11 A.M., Afreen finally succumbed to the bites, blows and burns caused by her father. The report said that she suffered multiple convulsions and ultimately died of cardiac arrest.  Three months was the duration of the life she lived or let's say suffered. She was brought to the hospital three days ago with burn marks and multiple dislocations in her neck. I'm looking at an old clip which shows her delicate and small structure tubed all over, her chest rapidly rising and falling, while she is unconscious, lying on a hospital bed about twenty times her size. Her mother has put her head near her daughter's legs. She hasn't left. I had almost begun to pray for her recovery, when I realized that the clip is from yesterday. I pull myself back to reality,  to today, where she is dead.

 I don't want to see it. Its so painful. Yet I see it. "Baby Afreen is no more". The headline goes on & on & on... I feel a hole growing inside my guts. I helplessly fight my brain,  and try not to imagine scenes of her and her father.  She was his daughter. An incarnation of his, maybe a female, but his continuation nevertheless. 

I am angry , I am helpless, I am burning & I'm welling up. Fictitious visions of a beautiful life that Afreen could have lived, torment me beyond tolerance.

Hello world, my name was Afreen,

I was born to love and hatred akin

I did not know pain, 

But then I was bit and beaten

I did not know smile

I could never do it for a while

Life started and ended before I breathed

Like some numbness it prevailed

Faint voices of my mother

Crying to fight my torture

The man who brought me here 

Was the same who banished me forever

I was created by him

Somehow I never got to see him

His hands were all so unkind

How could he kill his daughter's body & mind

They hated me from the day I cried

They hated me for the body I carried

I could not even know why I was born

Some evil in some past I must've done

I was greeted with frowns,

They thought I would let them drown,

Never gave me a chance

Never wanted me to keep balance

I could not know your Earth

Its green and its past

I could not make friends

I wasn't afforded that much sense

I will know not what is a hug

A pleasure I was supposed to get a lot

I will know not the birds, the seas, the skies,

My world started and ended with cries

I could not kiss my mother

My lips were shut forever

Before my hair could learn to curl

They were dragged to satiate some call

Teeth were sunk in

When kisses were to be left on my skin

I was welcomed by pain

Unfair ! I underwent it in vain

It all became too much

One day to a ward I was rushed

Tubes galore were slided

Though silently I chided

My mother sat there looking & praying

She often stopped to fancy me playing

I knew my mother's pain

She too swallowed it in vain

I did't even know how to pray,

The hands that hated me night and day ,

Were the ones that ought to have taught ,

A beam of mercy desperately I sought

My mother, I worried what would happen to her

I knew I was nearing to say 'adieu' & come back never 

Ever believing, ever hoping to revive and take me back

I'm so sorry ! I wish we could have run more than this small track

I had to go, the angels could wait no more,

I wish I could tell my mother, its a better place that I'm travelling for

God must know what he does and what he says,

I've heard He works in mysterious ways

My body was broken in places

A new life, Yet counted were my days

But my heart broke then

When the healers rushed in

They must have noticed I was leaving

Broke mid way my mother's praying

She howled and held and kissed and prayed

She begged, I know not who, but onto her prayers she held

I was growing cold, she must have known

She held me close with her tears rolling down

Those arms where up I had woken

Now held me again when I was being taken

Then...it snapped, that chord that tied

Me and her, My life was over, in her arms I died.

                                                                              -  Afreen

The Waiter's Son

Sourav and Alok decided to go and have lunch one afternoon in  "Lajjat", a popular restaurant of their city. Earlier that morning, Sourav had spotted an advertisement of that restaurant in a local daily which read "Come & Enjoy the 'Pakhala' Festival. Before any further is written about this story, its imperative to know that the 'Pakhala' is a local cuisine of the state of Odisha and very popular too, especially in summer. Its humble constituents are rice submerged in water. However the assortment of dishes that are picked with 'Pakhala' make it quite an unputdownable delicacy. A quintessential serving of 'Pakhala' can give its consumer an ultimate satisfaction, both in his tummy and taste. Sourav and Alok shared their appetite for 'Pakhala', for which it barely took any persuasion on the part of Sourav to convince his otherwise home food loving pal for a satiating treat of their favourite dish not prepared by his mother. Maybe the urge to eat "Pakhala" in the dehydrating summer heat had also some role to play in it.

At around fifteen past one in the afternoon, Sourav honked his bike horn impatiently at Alok's residence. Alok rushed down and soon they hit the road to "Lajjat" the ever crowded, ever sought after eatery situated at the heart of Bhubaneswar. When they reached there, they found, to their sheer frustration, half a dozen guests in the lounge area, already in the queue. Alok threw himself at the door and opened it slightly just to take a peep and he was greeted by the hustle and bustle of pervasive chatting at the crowded tables, incessant clinking of the spoons and forks as they were being eagerly glided over ceramic dishes with some faint familiar music humming in the background. The scrumptious mixed aroma stole its way into his nostrils further stirring the already ecstatic hunger enzymes inside him. He just left the door to shut by its own and walked back to his friend who from the look on his face guessed that 'Pakhala' had just been wiped off their fates. The grand wall clock adorning the plastic painted walls of the lounge area read two and by all means when their turn would come "Pakhala" would be out of stock. He remembered the advertsisment from the local daily and recalled those tiny words after an asterisk sign which had warned that guests would be served only on "First Come First Serve Basis". A dismayed Sourav sighed "May be tomorrow."

As both stood gaping at the abstract design of the restaurant's name inscribed on the building, they heard someone whisper "Sir" from their behind and instantaneously turned around. They saw a man, in about his mid fifties, short in stature but stout, with an uncapped pen stacked behind his right ear earnestly looking at both of them. He wore an uniform of white shirt, bow and black trousers. His shirt's collars and cuffs were starched yellow indicating relentless use of it due to lack of choices in his wardrobe. His stubble was in the process of greying and from his disheveled hair it could be discerned that he was past the age where eagerness to appear presentable and smart mattered supremely, unless of course other factors of life dictated otherwise to one. He easily stood out among the staff of his fellow waiters who appeared invariably below thirty years of age and much better suited up to the occasion. He was an oddity in that flashy restaurant. The communist in Sourav was glad that this poor man had not been sacked for being a mismatch in the pristine display of the restaurant. 'Experience surely has some value'  Sourav reassured himself. "Yes ?" asked Alok. The man informed both the friends, in a perfected mannerism unique to the workforce in the hospitality business, that he could arrange a seat for them to enjoy their "Pakhala". Sourav instinctively enquired "How do you know that we are here for "Pakhala" ? The man gently replied in a calm tone that he had noticed Alok keenly investigating the banner which displayed the tariffs of dishes served in the "Pakhala Festival". The three of them smiled and Alok expressed his gratitude on both their behalf and thanked the man. He courteously asked him his name and the man said 'Naba'. 

They were led by Naba to the table No. 14 as they grinned at each other. It was a table for two at the farthest corner inside the restaurant . The cool air flowing out of the air conditioning machines soothed their crying skins. At the table, Naba pulled one of the chairs and Sourav alighted on it. Sparkling clean water was poured into their glasses for which they thanked Naba. After a brief discussion on the supplementing dishes to be purchased besides their common order, a final list was scribbled down by Naba. He melted away into the crowd, promising to be back within ten minutes. Sourav was marvelling at the ritzy interiors of the restaurant when Alok began to grimace in realization of the fact that they had been lured into a very well laid trap. He went ahead and notified Sourav that he should be now ready to fork out extra cash to return Naba's favour. He did not discount to add his knowledge about rapacious servers in such sprawling eateries, who are on the hunt for unsuspecting foodies, with the sole aim of grossing that 'little extra' in lieu of smartly staged favours. Not happy with such unwarranted cynical expression, Sourav seethed "A modicum of gratitude would do you no harm brother, habit of profiling would." "How do you know that he has 'staged' his help ?', he continued with emphasis. 'Wait and watch' shot back Alok. Sourav chose better than arguing with his friend.

The food arrived in exactly ten minutes. It was indeed very sincere of the restaurant to stick to the printed commitment made by it on every menu card which read "Please bear with us for at least ten minutes to serve you your Order." Now, the restaurant could easily choose to hide behind the term "at least" which had been cleverly placed in the statement. Rather it had chosen to be earnest in its effort or so it seemed. Naba and his colleague placed the small dishes of the assortments surrounding the main attraction. It looked like an arc with the bulgy 'Pakhala' bowl in the middle surrounded by the tiny dishes  in a picture perfect style. Alok had already begun devouring his lunch, even before Naba had left to attend other customers, making all kind of sounds which one is not expected to make while eating, least of all, while eating at restaurants. Naba flashed a warm smile at Sourav and said "Sir, I'll be at that corner" pointing at the billing counter, "Just wave if there's anything you need" and walked away. Sourav began with his food. He started to take small pinches from each dish and put them to his tongue, a habit sheltered since his childhood. He smiled approvingly and submerged himself in the delicious depths of "Pakhala". He kept consuming continuously for a considerable stretch without even raising his head. Exhausted with the marathon gulping,  he began throwing random glances at adjoining tables and their occupants. All of a sudden he caught a glimpse of Naba, who appeared to be caught in a heated communication with the manager. Sourav immediately waved at him pretending to be in urgent need of  his services, with a latent motive to rescue him. Naba came rushing to their table and gasped 'Yes Sir'. Sourav delicately began to inquire about the matter and came to be informed by him that a complain has been made before the Manager that he had been inattentive to requests which had been placed much prior to that of Table No. 14's. Enraged at the blatant display of disregard a couple of customers had decided to walk out but not before formally complaining to the manager. A surprised Sourav immediately verified the truth of the allegations to which Naba confessed that he had indeed ignored their requests in order to accord preference to the servings at table No. 14. It was hard for Sourav to not let perplexity creep into his expression. He  gently asked "Why ?". "Better prospects I guess" Alok mumbled mockingly taking time out of mashing the potatoes inside his mouth. When Sourav looked back at Naba after frowning at Alok he had already retired to his usual spot.

Trying to figure out the motives of Naba, Sourav continued eating. Just about the time when they were finished and ready to leave. They heard a commotion outside, in the lounge area. Naba was also not standing at his usual spot. Done quickly with the payment for their lunch, both Alok and Sourav rushed outside. They saw two men clad in flashy attire raining down on Naba and the manager. 'Now what ?', Sourav though to himself and walked forward. He heard one of them yelling "What kind of pathetic restaurant is this, where you don't honour the table reservation made by customers ?..." Alok stole away a staff who was witnessing the stand off and asked him what has happened. He informed Alok and Sourav that Naba had given them the exact table which was reserved for these two gentlemen, who are regulars to this place. Naba was quietly standing there swallowing all the fire. But given the circumstances, the man was not without fault. The manager intervened and said "Sir, please come inside. Your table is now available." indicating that the trespassers had left. As soon as they entered inside the restaurant, Naba joined Sourav and Alok and offered to see them off to their vehicles. As they were crossing the street Sourav was quickly making an assessment of an adequate compensation for all the trouble the poor man had tolerated for accommodating them. Alok continued to nod his head sarcastically. 

When they reached near their bike, Sourav forked out two hundred rupee notes and shoved them into Naba's hand hoping he'd not be expecting more. Naba unfolded the crispy notes and put them back into Sourav's shirt pocket, blessed both of them and walked back to earn his livelihood, probably praying that he does not get sacked over the incidents of the day. Sourav stood speechless trying to fathom the last half an hour of his life as Alok put on his helmet and inserted the keys into the ignition slot. At this time, Sourav saw another waiter walking out to unwind as he pulled out a cigarette from his pocket and placed it between his lips. Wasting no time, Sourav rushed to him and after narrating the whole string of events, requested him for an explanation . With a wry smile the waiter spoke "Sahib, Naba has been working here since its inauguration day, sincere and loyal barely complaining about anything. Naba's son came here once to meet him at the restaurant over some urgent matter. I remember seeing him happy after they sat down and discussed whatever it was. He also introduced his son to all of us. His name was Baldev and he was a Junior Engineer, recently employed by the State Govt. He was so proud of his son., it glittered in his eyes. He also treated him, that day, to his favourite dishes. When Baldev took our leave and both of them walked out, we followed them to see him off. He pleaded with his father to return back to his work and promised to take care of himself and started to cross the road." Pausing for a moment the man continued "The next thing we see is that Baldev is crushed to his death by a speeding lorry. The rogue didn't even stop to look back on what he did. Naba's twenty four year old son breathed his last at the spot, right before his eyes. Not a day passes when Naba doesn't regret working at this place. But Sahib, what choice a poor husband has. He has no chance of an alternate employment at his age and his present employment pays for his wife's medical bills.". He paused again, a little longer this time and continued "On that fateful day, Baldev had come to inform his father that the Govt. has approved his loan application for two lakh rupees for his mother's operation." Sourav had no strength left to query about the woman's exact ailment. The waiter's mate summoned him to attend to the swelling crowd of guests inside. He took Sourav's leave and started walking back. Mid way he stopped, turned back and exclaimed softly "Sahib, the whole staff is talking about how similar you look to Baldev, just like his mirror image !!"

Sourav saw two lads mounted on a bike, fly past him, screaming their wits out and the rider driving without holding the handles of the bike. He let his gaze follow them till they became ants caught in the shimmering summer air far away. The last words of the waiter hung in his mind just like the obstinate winter mist of the hills.

                                                              ************

("The Waiter's Son" is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person (alive or dead), place or incident is only coincidental.)

A SPARROW SONG

(This is the story of the family of four sparrows that lived outside my room's window, when i was a kid. I saw them everyday. They were a part of my life. I had seen them in joy and sadness alike.  One day I found that one of them fell down and died. I was a little shocked thinking why it didn't try to fly when it fell. But it took me years to understand that there was something else, something man made that killed it. It was supported by the fact that the rest had flown away too. It was unbearable for me to see their deserted nest. But no one else seemed to notice.)

Just couldn't get that thought out of my head, hence here's a song I wrote for the Sparrow:-

Before I could go to sleep again, it chirped and chirped,
Now I sat wide awake on my bed so disturbed;
Threw the pillow, pushed the quilt with a frown
Rushed to the window and looked up and down


When I looked to my left
I saw a cozy nest
Was I fuming seconds ago ?
My face was now a beaming logo


There it stood , it jumped & hopped,
All around the place 
It was so difficult to catch its face
Then came another and a twig it dropped;


I watched them talk
I watched them dance
To the tunes of their folk
Oblivious I was there, they moved in trance


They blinked so fast
They chirped so quick
So sure so pristine 
They went on adding


And then they flew
Far from it
Knowing they'll return
To my chores I moved on


In days ahead there came two more
This time they were too small
To even climb out of the wall
Their mother guarded them from a fall


In the best of days and worse too
I'll come to them
I ll exchange my joy and 
Speak to them of my pain


I grew up and so did the Sparrows
Till one day I found one on the narrows
Fearing it'll fall 
I sped through the hall


But fall it did
And chirped its last
It was gone too soon
Where it could breathe at last


The rest too had vanished
There lay but the nest so famished - 
For joys and warmth
That the Sparrows gave it


Years have gone
Many moons and suns too
I hold on to the memory 
And I feel so sorry


I know not what happened
But the birds' elation was easily sacrificed 
Was it so great a burden
On a choice so mundane
                                                                                                  Anupam P.

Friends,

Did you know that "World Sparrows Day" was observed on March 20th. To watch a sparrow's chirpy and quick movement is a source of tremendous joy. I just read an article which says that sparrows are rapidly declining in number due to loss of their habitat owing to swift urnbanization. In China they even consider the bird as a pest. Unbelievable !!





                                                                                                       Anupam

The Conversation - I

Avinash asked me

 "Define Love"

 We were at the Puri sea beach and I was marveling at the frothy waves that adorned it.

I replied

" Love is a feeling akin to what the waves have for the shore. They know the "twain shall never meet and stay together, but they keep coming for it nevertheless. Tirelessly, unconditionally, eternally.
Destiny commands them to never hold the shore, yet they come again and again and again for nothing but to hold on to it."

(An excerpt from a long stirring conversation between me and my friend Avinash (name changed) while we were at the Puri sea beach on a Saturday evening.)