Bhavishwani

Knuckles turn white, as I twist my wrists
Squeezing the drops from my wet,wet skin
I go berserk on this rainy day
And enter the warm, hut of clay

Pundit Maharaj, deep in his thoughts
Chanting away his magic glory
Cross-legged into a yoga pose
With fingers forming a perfect ‘O’

Entering his thick aura of meditation
I cough lightly at his repeatedly 'Ohm'
I break the chant of Pundit Maharaj
With wet finger, I dig into my bag
To remove my faded 'janam patri'
Hoping he can find me a sunshine or smiley
behind my grey, and very cloudy dream.

The thunder and the lightening are taking their toll
He turns my ‘janam patri’ 360 degrees around
Upside down, left and right, then looks straight
at me with a friendly smile, scratches his head,
blinking his eye, he says " Who are you, beti?
Are you stupid, emotional fool,I see war brewing,
and you look so cool."

“I am a dreamer,Maharaj, Look! My ink-stained hands.”
I show him my wet sling bag, bleeding notes,paper and pen

‘Nothing can be done for you, beti’ he says sadly,
Rahu, Ketu have gone to sleep
“bhavish hai bekar act immediately,change your profession,
all time writing se kabi nahi hoga duur tension"

“Maharaj bachoa! Uppay batao” I plead to him
to untangle my confused mind
I believe if he changes his posture
The lines in my janam patri will move
with his pressure


Alas! He is cruel! He can tell only the truth
I do not want to believe him when he says clearly,
"tera kuch nahi hoga, future is bad, don’t cry,
be brave, no need to feel sad"

I leave his wet, hut of clay, holding the drops
of falling rain, Foolish Pundit Maharaj of fame
I will never show him my janam patri again

How do I change my old, old ways
If I prefer to write every day?