Soul mate...

You are a name wound within my fist
I carry your destiny, your very soul
A prism of glass, where colors twist
And quiver, evolve to transparent gold

You're a force I reckon with, as I must
To hold your storm, and steer your flight
So your path is strewn with pretty stardust
So your hands will cup their full delight

You are a sliver of underwater, new
I lay down pebbles, and watch your swifts
You wash the wind, drink of grass's dew
I swallow the rain, the earth, I shift

You are a mountain goat that wants to play
I teach you to yearn after faraway moors
The sky is a knife, its blade of grey
I turn it to red, of evening lure

You are my wind-chased daffodil
I hasten to lift your sun-smile brow
I weep when you cradle my heart, until
We bury each other in the valley below

A Children's Day Lesson

I spent the whole of yesterday in the company of little people who somehow managed to make me feel small.

Being Children's day, I was invited to be a guest at a grand competition for kids from all across India and the neighboring countries. Contrary to my usual practice of turning such things down, I agreed, and I'm glad I did.

Are kids just getting smarter with each passing decade? How can that be? The world is getting to be a worse place to live in, what with the global warming, and the holes in the sky, and excessive pollution, and the harmful pesticides in crops and blah blah blah...well, that should result in dumb, lethargic children who are doomed to fail or die early.

But happily, that is as far from the truth as is possible. Those kids were 'out there' to say the least. I remember myself at the age of 15- bashful, an introvert, terribly lacking in confidence despite the fact that I had some accomplishments in music and I was a very good student. Still, I could never bring myself to announce those facts to an audience of strangers. But oh, those kids seemed to have no such qualms.

'They are very confident, aren't they? Some of them, too confident even!' Thus spoke the judge on my left. I had to nod my head in agreement. Thankfully, there were a couple of bashful kids as well, who turned out to be extremely talented and smart, and that provided some comfort to my 15 yr old self's bruised ego.

Talent aside, what made some of them really special was their level of awareness and empathy. The work that some of them had done was truly amazing- raising funds for cancer, working with HIV+ children, sponsoring the education of Dalit girls in a remote Nepali tribe... The passion, the drive, the belief that they could, in their own way, change the world, all that seemed remotely familiar to me. And then I realized, with a pang of guilt, that all my awareness and empathy had dissipated with age.

Why is it that most of us morph into such self-obsessed adults? Why does the need to do something entirely unselfish for someone else gradually diminish as we grow older? Is it because we 'grow up' and realize that the world would only exploit such kindness? Or is it because we have failed to 'grow up' at all?

As I watched those kids strut their stuff, I suddenly grew anxious. I wanted to tell them, don't let the world get to you! It's a cold, hard, cynical place, but don't let that change you! People you love will hurt you, friends you trust will desert you, money will evade you when you most need it, courage will be inaccessible when you most require it... but don't let that kill your beautiful spirit!

Then I remembered, that kind of thing happened to me all the time. And I used to be so scornful of those preachy adults, who tried to teach me about the world. Because in my mind, I could do no wrong, the world was mine for the taking. I had everything on my side- youth, ambition, dreams, talent. How could I possibly fail at anything that I set my mind on doing?

I hadn't counted on the fact that maybe those adults weren't just preaching after all. I hadn't counted on the fact that being good at what you do and having a good heart, is nowhere near good enough. I hadn't counted on the fact that the world doesn't give a damn about good intentions. And I hadn't counted on the fact that the world really doesn't give a damn about anyone, including me.

But how can you say all that to a child, bright-eyed and glowing with success after having won the competition?

The rain that falls...

The world has been scrubbed clean today. Everything green stands out in defiance to the blanket of gray-dominated sky.

There is still the after-math to deal with - over-flowing potholes, flooded lanes, rain-sodden clothes that couldn't be saved in time, the occasional accidental electrocution, tell-tale mud splatters, spells of darkness, televisions blanking out, roofs that cave in, doors that can't keep the water out, mosquito colonies reinstating their supreme power, spineless umbrellas, truant school-kids sailing their ill-fated paper boats while determinedly dodging their over-worked mothers' repeated calls to come in...

It's poignant somehow, this ritual of rain. The way it falls, regardless of who or what it might be drenching, as oblivious to the spurts of joie de vivre as to the desecration of things, places, people...

It makes us fall in love, it makes us long for comfort in cocoa, it turns us into children again, it erodes our sense of permanence...

And it always, always makes me yearn... for what, I don't yet know.

When Time stands still

It's amazing how heavy one feels when one has a lot of time on one's hands. As if Time itself were a physical burden to bear, like a large, uncomfortable stack of iron rods, poking and protruding and generally causing one a great state of distress.

Alright. I'll quit being deliberately obtuse about it and grudgingly admit that the 'one' in question is none other than yours truly.

I hate it. I absolutely hate it. Either I've suddenly been possessed by an alien form of maniac energy, or I simply have too many hours to do too little. And if that weren't bad enough, I'm also turning into a borderline insomniac.

If anyone out there is taking the effort to be concerned, don't be. It's just one of my many phases, like the waxing and waning of the moon. I must be 'this' in order to also be 'that' at some later point in time.

So then, if I know all of this already, why am I so perturbed? Because it's typical of me. Any other saner person would find pleasurable activities to occupy themselves with. But no, I couldn't possibly do that. It's probably a remnant of some homework-related guilt-complex I've been harboring since my childhood.

Sigh...And I'm supposed to be having the time of my life, since I'm an unattached twenty-something and what not. Whatever.

Moral of the story- when Time stands still, don't try to keep up with it.

In search of quiet

Last evening, I made the effort of trudging up the stairs to my terrace, with Cuddles and Pooch hot on my heels in pursuit. I wandered around aimlessly, while they lounged in contentment, sniffing occasionally at whichever scents the night breeze carried in its wake.

The world was lit up in a haze of neon signs, humble tube lights and the glow of a half-moon. Alas, there was no silence. The hum of distant traffic made it clear that however hard I tried to escape the reality of my city-bred life, it was, in effect, impossible.

We stayed there a while, the three of us, each contemplative, lost in thought, they, with their tongues moist and lolling, I, with my heart hanging out.

It was nice while it lasted.

Man from Galilee

Wisdom is its own enemy
Courage has much to fear
And I, helpless stranger
Grope along my way

A pose of self-righteousness
Never did become me
I watch the buds of my flaws
Flourish in their flower-bed

There is much to be ashamed of
So little time to repent
I wish I had a melting heart
To carry me away

There are aliens in silence
Whispers in mist and dew
And yet, so very few
That know my name

Call to me now, I beg you
Shroud my face, and how
Will you count the silver
When I’m gone?

There is strength in weakness
And so I fall, again
If only to show you
I’m human too.

A Tale of two Doggies

The past week has been a bit of a scare. Pooch and cuddles, the most adorable members of our admittedly dysfunctional nuclear family took ill all of a sudden and spent the better half of Tuesday night throwing up.

Wednesday morning saw us glancing anxiously at the clock in the hall, waiting for it to announce the arrival of 10 a.m. the magical hour when our family vet opened her doors to the canine world. A half hour later, our driver returned with dogs in tow. They had been diagnosed with a fever, and a part of the blame was laid on the pest-control guy who'd turned up the previous day and exorcised our house. Unfortunately, the exorcism seemed to have greatly affected the canine spirits happily in residence, despite the fact that they were stowed away safely.

Pooch spent the day in misery, whimpering and restless, while Cuddles watched on, her tail thumping haplessly every now and then. I played nurse and hand-fed them a few marie biscuits mashed up in cold water which they dutifully licked off my fingers and duly brought up ten minutes later.

When evening came, I was sure that another visit to the vet was in order. The dogs were packed into an auto(our only car having gone to the service station), accompanied by the driver and myself. We patiently waited our turn, while Cuddles and Pooch, sickness or no sickness, felt the need to bark at dogs triple their size. The owners of the dogs whiled away the waiting period by discussing various dietary habits and ailments. A large labrador retriever was at the vet on account of him having eaten a large portion of biriyani. The owner of a sad-looking german shepherd tut-tutted away at this admission, and chided the owner. Biriyani, he said, should only be given in minute quantities, just for the 'smell'. I thought it best to refrain from participating too deeply in the conversation, and luckily, our turn came up next.

Cuddles, little manipulator that she is, managed to wriggle out of her collar nad leash and waddled off in the opposite direction. She has a phobia of needles, and is generally a very nervous little darling. Visits to the vet are second on her list of things to be terrified of, topped only by diwali crackers.

We managed to grab, collar and leash her, this time, a bit more tightly. She walked to the door with an air of resignation akin to the sentiments of those walking to the gallows. Pooch seemed glad to see the vet. She, at least, understood his pain. I stood around, and at an opportune moment, pointed out to her that he kept crying and licking his uh, organ of manhood. I suggested that his pain might not be entirely due to the fever and the pest-control man.

The vet, a woman(thankfully), sighed, and called me around to show me poor Pooch's obviously sore organ. It looked as though he had tried to mate with a bramble bush. She then rubbed him down with an ointment, administered an injection for pain relief, and all too soon, it was Cuddles' turn.

Cuddles made one last halfhearted attempt to escape the clutches of the vet, but she was no match for the 3 of us. In one swift movement, she was on the table, and the vet was marveling yet again that a nervous dog such as she could have given birth to, and nursed not 2 or 3, but 9 pups, and manage to survive the ordeal. I had to agree with her, while I patted my poor darling's spotted ears, and tried to distract her as the vet sneaked an injection in.

It was with much relief that the dogs and I departed. We decided to walk back home. Cuddles was trotting along so fast, poor Pooch could hardly keep up with her. Thankfully, they spent the night in recovery, and I'm happy to say they were a pair of healthy and voraciously hungry dogs the next morning.

This morning though, Pooch was missing at breakfast. Like every member of the male species, he has failed to learn his lesson, and has gone back to his philandering ways, sore organ notwithstanding. I shudder to think of what might be in store next.