Soulmate

Dare I read something more
into this friendship of ours?
Or is it asking too much
of an alliance of six hours?

I realise it's much too soon;
such matters usually take days.
Yet, since you came like a long-chased boon,
my life has changed in subtle ways.

I've suffered a lot in the past,
I've cried my tears, I've done my pleading;
I've stumbled and faltered, and often slipped,
and was always left sore and bleeding...

But now, my gait has an easy pace,
there's a spring in my step, a smile on my face.
You taught me how to forget, at last,
the faithless cruelties of my past.

I've never had anyone like you,
encouraging me to test my feet,
nor have I had the confidence myself
that I could ever outrun defeat.

Yet, today in your softness
I forget my pain...
In the tenderness of your caress,
I revel and live again.

I thank my fate,
it brought us together,
and thought me worthy
of such a blessed treasure.

I promise, I'll love you true.
I promise, I'll care for you.
I'll polish you before every use...
my new, black, soft-leather shoes!

I hate school

I hate school
from the depth of my heart.
It's so dull and boring
from the very start.

I hate the crowded classroom -
it resembles an age-old attic;
highly unimaginative,
it is stuffy and static.

The atmosphere is bad,
the teachers are no better;
their dull, uninterested attitudes
make me mad as a hatter.

The huge papaerwork and the deadlines -
it's routine mechanism, a living hell.
Tension keeps rising throughout the day
I wait for the final bell.

On top of this the boys -
they don't like me at all.
They greet me with wolf-whistles,
at times a cat-call.

They make fun of me
and snicker behind my back.
I've tried to be friendly
but I just don't have the knack.

Their whispering is louder
than the loudest shout;
and the adjectives they use for me...
can never be repeated aloud.

The boys hate me.
I do the same.
I hate the teaching staff.
They reciprocate without shame.

But despite all this,
one has to follow the rule:
willingly or not,
the Principal has to go to school!

Happiness

It's strange to see
that right from birth,
every creature
that walks this earth
thinks of doing little else
than procuring happiness.

They taste it once,
become an addict
and the rest of the story
is easy to predict.
Besotted to its wantonness,
the siren that is happiness.

But when it's woo'd
hard and long
it can defeat sorrow
no matter how strong.
Zealously guarding like a fortress,
the strength that is happiness.

At times, when the search
turns out in vain
leaving man suffer
and wallow on pain,
remember, the heart is the address
of the vagabond that is happiness.

Yet, when man relentlessly strives
and puts in endless hours of toil,
suffers much and truly aspires,
nothing can his success spoil.
He gets life's rewarding caress
in the form of happiness.

Once charmed,
it becomes a slave -
one that is faithful,
dedicated and brave.
Time and again, prove its prowess
the knight that is happiness.

It justly goes
to one who deserves,
about caste and class
holds no reserves.
Believes in equality, no more, no less -
the democrat that is happiness.

It turns life into
a meaningful game
with struggle as the rule
and fulfilment, the aim.
The essence of life it does compress
the sportsman that is happiness.

And yet, man,
the fool he is,
will search far and wide
and still miss
to espy happiness
in his own heart's recess.
Ignorant and unaware,
foreign skies does he scan,
the hyperopic that is man!

Rain Pain

Rains seem to inspire
poems by the dozen
But I, for one,
fail to see the reason.

A season that brings mosquitoes,
scorpions and ugly toads,,
how can such a weather ever
inspire such heavenly odes?

Rains are more of a nuisance,
unpredictable, and full of stinks.
But, then, poets always write
of the most useless things!

Each menacing black cloud,
every thunderclap so loud,
leaves me in no doubt
of what a show-off nature is
but, I refuse to be impressed by this!
(Clouds that thunder, do not rain
and those that do are such a pain!)

Its presence necessitates, at least,
an umbrella or a raincoat
that doesn't really keep one dry
but surely adds to the load!

Water, water everywhere
on the land and in the air.
the entire surrounding terrain
seems to acknowledge rain's reign.
the puddles and the ditches
are rain's victory niches.

Every splash from the puddled roads,
every mud-stain on the clothes
every rotting apple and bean
is a point in favour of the monsoon team.

The summer-parched trees
in need of rain...?
Ask them how they like
to be drowned in the same!

O Rain, please abdicate
I will not hear your dictate
You may be important,
necessary too,
but that doesn't mean
I have to like you!

I don't find you all that strong,
and correct me if I am wrong -
wetting the driveway
and drenching each plant,
what can the rains do
that my hose-pipe can't?!

On the flip side

A lovely weather prevails outdoors,
but we, like typical scholarly bores,
sit with books upon our knees,
resisting the call of the beckoning trees
and that of the swaying flowers and leaves
dancing to the tune of the monsoon breeze.

We can't be a part of any of these;
We are to concentrate on studies...
In the class, we study literature
and discuss Wordsworth's love for nature!

Numero Uno

Day in and day out
I see people rushing about
with a dogged sense of duty,
and a fervor that I pity.

They have a goal, they have an aim,
Working hard to acquire fame.
They are busy with this or that
They have no time for friendly chat...

They are rude, they are curt
Mindless of whom they hurt
in their bid to race ahead
wanting to lead than be led.

Their faces are marred with frowns.
They've lost all their natural bounce.
They don't laugh or smile these days,
they spend time in productive ways.

I thank God for relieving me
of the burden which they carry.
Happily, I'm through all this -
one of few to have acquired bliss.

I wave my hand, I graciously smile
They don't even care to stop,
but give me hostile look instead -
it sure is lonely at the top!

Game Over!

(On the Tsunami tragedy, 26th December, 2004)

Once in a while my ego wields the rod,
And awakens in me the urge to play god.
In need of a prey, I look around
and see a file of ants on the ground,
busily going about their business
unaware of my looming menace.
I’m amused at the havoc and scare
I wreak on them by a puff of air.
They come together, I blow again -
Now enjoying this power game.
It makes me feel so strong and grand
The Mighty Me and the tiny ant.

Holiday over, lives continue
when some god blows on my world too.
Lying scattered, hurt and stunned
Unbelieving, unfair, unjust, undone
Tormented souls and shaken faiths cry,
Why? Dear God in heaven, why?
Standing among the ruins of my crumbling faith,
I frantically seek shelter, relief.
Searching in the traditional places
I respond to age-old solaces.

All of a sudden, I slide back into
the hopelessness I’d left behind -
when a certain incident of ants
flashes across my mind.
A horrible thought occurs,
my fear grows out of hand,
By some perverse reversal of power
Had the man in God taken command…?

…?

When I’m happy, when I’m sad,
When I’ve had it really bad
Its fiery colour revives me.
Its concentric graceful folds
Never fail to lure me…
A waft of its fragrance
has the ability to assure me.
It drives away the worries
And brings a smile to my face;
It restores in my mind, the beauty of life,
With its freshness and sheer grace.
It makes my eyes shine
It makes my world fine
Its very thought inspires art.
It has the power to touch my heart
And it’s cheap – just fifteen rupees
For a kilo of my favourite jalebees!