Shanti Kunj

My family home, not mere house of stones
Warmth and love fills its bones
fragrant smiles greets me at doors
Seeping through my skinny pores

Fragrance that was brewed from days
When I was young and of tender age
I would pack my valise every holidays
With mom and family I would tag always

I’d spend few days with cousins dear
Who greeted always with pleasant cheers
We would tease and laugh and roll with joy
All day, all night, we would enjoy

Laughter’s, fun frolic, sway-
Foodstuff cooked and brewed all day
Vibes and chats of every rank
Found a place in memory bank

Presently, it’s still a loving den
Our family laughter echoes there
Big sister now, reigns the throne
She greets us there with love adorned

Food and jokes are still alive
Dotted now, with spiritual rhymes
We reach there stealing cozy times
Exchanging golden, funny lines

Nano car muse

Morning is the time, when I sit on my special chair in the corner of the room, by the window. It is the time of the day, when I read a newspaper or watch the news on TV. This is my favorite space which has good vibes and it helps me recall the feeling of peace. It is a spot where the energy works for me and I can feel the tension release, until, I hear my wife say “Good Morning!”

Things are never the same, thereafter.

It is the silly matters that distract me from her. She will enter the bathroom and scream when she finds that the napkins in the bathroom have not been placed back on the hook, or how I had squeezed the toothpaste that was not as per her instructions, or why the soap dish is not kept in a particular position. Silly me, I keep forgetting her instruction all the time.

But, even on the days when I am very careful, there will be some issues that I can never handle.

Like, today morning, my wife says that she wants to buy 'Tata Nano' for our maid.

“Why does a maid need a car?” I protest

“Because she is always late to work.” And then she tells me how difficult it is for her, to do all the work, when there are bus strikes.

The conversation then shifts to Nano’s price, which is very attractive and affordable. As she goes about, doing all the odd jobs in the house and going to and fro, from kitchen to bedroom, from preparing breakfast to putting things away and dusting all the rooms, she talks about people who own entry-level cars, who are now thinking of going in for either one Nano or maybe two, which will cost the same as their existing car. So, there would be one car for the head of the family and another for the family.

Nano car has been one of the hottest topics in every home. Few days ago, my friend was mentioning about the great discussion he was having in his family, with his neighbors, with lift man and even, sometimes with his dog! Everyone is excited about this new car.

I leave my special chair, my meditative space by the window and start to dress up for the office. I shave, bathe, dress and keep nodding my head as she tells me about the taxi driver, who wants to replace his car with Nano, because he is confident that he can easily cover the lakh that he will need to invest in. She talks about a new range of auto repair shops and accessories that might spawn at every street corner, she mentions the local milkman who has started thinking of holders on the side of his car for his milk cans, about the curbside Chinese joint, who is thinking of turning mobile via the Nano.

Where does she find so much energy to talk so much, early in the morning? The day had not begun. I wished somebody would invent a remote control with a volume control to turn off the volume of the conversation that we don’t wish to hear. New technology is discovering all kinds of things to make our life comfortable. I was beginning to feel that somebody out there must surely be working on this too. What fun would that be? I would use the remote to hear the conversation of my neighbor’s wife. Selective hearing, isn’t that what it is called? Channel one…flat number one, channel two, flat number two, channel three……..

“Hello, are you listening?” she says as she emerges from the kitchen and smiles as me.

“I particularly liked the steel Grey Nano. It has a style of its own. It’s affordable and looks quite comfortable. It’s good for a small family. I am keen to know when bookings will kick off,” she says as she sets the breakfast plates on the table.

“It’s an affordable car, no doubt. But I would rather wait a year before buying it, just to see what the experience is like,” I say, as I chomp on a sandwich.

“What do you mean? Do you want me to look like a fool in front of my kitty party friends?” She says, wide-eyed, glaring at me.

The sound of the door bell breaks the spell as her favorite maid reports to work.

I am still a little girl

Don’t patronize me
Don’t buy my wares
I don’t wish to work
On this long, long road.

I need to learn
To play with words
And earn bright future
In this bleak, damp world

If you buy my wares
I might learn that
There is no greed to study
To earn a bread

Ignorant I will be
With no phrases to delight
How can you empower me,
If I can’t spell it right?

Don’t encourage me to work
Help me see the light,
I am just a little girl
Please save me from this plight.

Give me a role to play.

All the world is a stage
We are but the actors doing our part
Oops! I have got all mixed up
But, where are my reel lines?
I have forgotten my branded script
I am uttering all the used words

The character that I was to play
Didn’t demand this awful day
It is all so confusing
These dialogues cannot be mine
Help I don’t wish to do this
I really cannot mime.

Context defines the roles I play
It clearly defines my relationship
Best sailing will be those
Which I can maneuver it to precision
This role cannot be mine
Help! I don’t wish to mime

I wish to be aware of a situation
Acting the role as context demands
I cannot be the same person everywhere
Cannot be the same in every location

I want to choose my roles wisely
I want to wear the robes of perfection
I need a garb of a great actor
In this soap opera of love and affection

All the world is stage
Help me seek my part that is wise
I don’t wish to be mixed up
I need to reach a goal of salvation.

This gibberish, muttering rhymes
Help! I don’t really wish to do this.

Mom.......Taare Zameen par...lyrics

I have told you not that I am afraid of dark
I can express it not, but I care for you Mom
You know everything, isn’t it Mom?

Leave me not like this in the crowd
That I cannot return home Mom
Send me not so far away
That you cannot recall me Mom

Am I so bad Mom?
Am I so bad?

When dad swings me hard on the swing
I look for you Mom,
Thinking that you will come
And hold me Mom
I tell him this not
But I get too nervous Mom
I show it not on my face
But in my heart I am too afraid Mom

You know everything
isn’t it Mom?

lyrics in Hindi....


Main Kabhi Batlata Nahin
Par Andhere Se Darta Hoon Main Maa
Yun To Main,Dikhlata Nahin
Teri Parwaah Karta Hoon Main Maa
Tujhe Sab Hain Pata, Hain Na Maa
Tujhe Sab Hain Pata,,Meri Maa

Bheed Mein Yun Na Chhoro Mujhe
Ghar Laut Ke Bhi Aa Naa Paoon Maa
Bhej Na Itna Door Mujkko Tu
Yaad Bhi Tujhko Aa Naa Paoon Maa
Kya Itna Bura Hoon Main Maa
Kya Itna Bura Meri Maa

Jab Bhi Kabhi Papa Mujhe
Jo Zor Se Jhoola Jhulate Hain Maa
Meri Nazar Dhoondhe Tujhe
Sochu Yahi Tu Aa Ke Thaamegi Maa
Unse Main Yeh Kehta Nahin
Par Main Seham Jaata Hoon Maa
Chehre Pe Aana Deta Nahin
Dil Hi Dil Mein Ghabraata Hoon Maa
Tujhe Sab Hai Pata Hai Naa Maa
Tujhe Sab Hai Pata Meri Maa

Main Kabhi Batlata Nahin
Par Andhere Se Darta Hoon Main Maa
Yun To Main,Dikhlata Nahin
Teri Parwaah Karta Hoon Main Maa
Tujhe Sab Hain Pata, Hain Na Maa
Tujhe Sab Hain Pata,,Meri Maa

Smile

Love sees nothing beyond your smile,
Closes its eyes and dreams in your chariot
It lingers around your cozy smile
Drinking its warmth of care and faith

Unruly hair, soiled clothes
Not washed for days and many nights
Blocked behind your sweetest smile that
That glows and shimmers of joy, so bright

A ride through dew drops, dazzling sunshine
With aura of love like a crown,
Drives through beauty smile of innocence
Filling the heart sans a frown

Reserve your smile just for me, I am dazed
I need not to look beyond your face.

Delete

What are friends for?

What to cook? When you have no clue
And your helper is on holiday because of flu
Fridge is full, but you know not what to do
Take-away services, you don’t like it too

Just invite you best friend for some tea
And pretend to clean some green fresh bean
Your friend, I am sure, after her casual chat
May help you with cooking while you relax

You can call more friends, if you please
A party can follow with a smile and ease
You can have more fun with delicious chat
But don’t forget to ask your friends to help

For long after your best friends are gone
Those piled and soiled dishes might make a frown.

Benazir Bhutto Assassinated

The world is sobbing
Oh! Such a disgrace
They end the life of a
Woman of grace
In exile she lived
For many years
She returned to give back
The freedom to her world
But blood thirsty, cruel
Senseless gents
Knew not how to handle her verse
They slit her throat
And now are cursed.
Will they be able to celebrate this awful bloodshed?
Or will they escape with another cover-up?

Is it right? Should we fight?
I feel miserable as I write.

I wish to be free

I would like to compress my dreams
To match my needs
My dreams are too large to fit
On my shelf of reality
Their enormous size overflows my budget
Larger than life, they fill the space,
Clutter my emotions in an unfulfilled stakes
Bury me under their heavy weight
Stamping me down
With wild expectations
Leaving me shattered
With disappointments
I cannot cash
The desires of my dreams


I wish to be free
From expectations,
From disappointments,
From illusions
I wish to compress my dreams
to just to match my needs
I wish to be free.

Street Urchin

No!
My heart does not move
Not any more!

Not even when I see a street urchin,
His hands, soiled, outstretched
Beneath my neck,
His eyes meeting mine
Imploring for help for one more time

Will he hobble and cross the street to
buy a bread that are sold for a dime?
Or will he stagger across the road,
to his boss, who owns him now
Who had chopped off his feet
Clipped off his wings
and send him here to beg?.

No!
My heart does not move!
Not any more!

How can it move?
It is stoned and lifeless,
peeled off its feel.

Dedicated to my cousin, Baby,(Alias Meena)

Sixty today, should I call you by your name‘Baby’?
But believe me you are NO ole baby

Wrapped with a heart of gold
Your words are soft but still quite bold

Untouched by world’s cruel life style
Living always with a big broad smile

Having touched many weak, low minds
You helped them bloom in flowers upright

How do you curse, those abusive verse?
That is still coated with buttery words?

Your laughter is heard across the ocean
It rings with love and true affection

At sixty, hope you will grow more bold
Remember, you are not that old

Your inspiration is contagious, maybe
Although you are still called ‘Baby’

Facebook Poetry Competition number 1

The rules were simple: we had to post a poem no more than 8 lines, and must begin with the word "Face" and end with the word "book".

My take: six entries

Take 1:Face the truth

I am good
Starched are my collars
Now part with your dollars
‘Eight lines’ was the size
I deserve a prize
You collected enough clichés, look,
Now you can publish a book

Take2:

“Face it”,
You had said many times
Holding on to my trembling thighs
On those cold, clattering nights
Your precious words, a soothing balm
Could always mend my fissured heart
But now, look at you, a wrecked fool
I see you crumpled behind that book

take3:

Face above sand
caught in a blizzard
unprotected, helpless
trapped like a lizard
A joke turned sour
his friends, all gone
if by miracle ,he survives
he may write a book

Take 4:

Face of a baby, soft to a touch
Touch on a delicate petals of a rose
Rose, its fragrance hide the pain of the hurt
Hurt from a spike of a thorn beneath its bud
Bud, unfolded mystery, overlapping layer by layer
Layers hidden in the labyrinth of words
Words that come alive and dance on being off the hook
Hooked and trapped, they were, between the pages of a book

Take5:

Face the fact
Fact is no fiction that can be churned
Into a whirlpool of thoughts and feelings,
Fact is a simple truth
A virgin truth that cannot be altered
Not even in a book

Take6:

Face is potholed by too many pokes
Of friends and families in every nook
Vampires fights, somersaulting werewolf
Frightening shadows of their crazy look

Playing Scrabulous, and other virtual games,
Enjoying cold coffee by the brook
Many summers ago, on a rainy day like this
All I would do, was to just gape at a book


But the winners were with much better verses and the dollars went to
Facebook Poetry Competion 1.0

Here are the winners:

#1 Tolu Ogunlesi (Nigeria)

Instructions

Face the future.
Pick the moon off

the dark, cold floor
of night. Slot it gently
into the earth, and wait.

Nothing might happen.
Just like in an empty book.


#2 Janet Vickers (Vancouver, BC)

Face: what do you mean?
That nose gets larger each time
I see it. What can it smell?
Those lids become heavier
over bloodshot eyes and the mouth
droops so naturally. Your image
is intimate and your language foreign.
You are a heavy book.



#3 Dominic O’Rourke (London)

Face left the A Team
Around the end of the Eighties
having had enough
of Hannibal's cigars
and Mr T's golden chains
and Murdock being Murdock
He retired to a cabin,
in the woods and wrote a book

Recipe for friendship

On the fire of warm passion
Heat a spoonful of love
Add in a pinch of compassion
And let your friendship grow

Stir it with emotions of love
Mix it in glassful of imagination
Simmer a while for cooking
A friendship of long duration

Strain out the hatred and disillusion
Churn out the degrees of suspicions
Grind the molecules of corruption
Pound away cloves of rough commotion

The emotions, pure and true, can be
Served with a salad of cheer
On those days of celebrations
When you feeling blue, my dear

Just say it

Not a shirt, on your back
On your knee like that
Know not what, do I do for you?

But darling I love you,
My roses for you are not blue
Don’t you see my profound feeling for you?

Oh, look around this place
All in suits and full of grace
None are bare backed and tanned like you

Don’t you worry, my Dear
I am crouched down here
Just soaking under sweet glances of you

Shoo! Go away right now
You will embarrass me, in this town
I think not, that I have ever spoken to you

You know me, my dear
You reside in my heart, up here
You may hear my love ballet for you

Not now, barebacked
Go home, I mean that
Or you will see, this big car, crush you

Crush me, sweet love
Crush me tight, with your words
But just say that you do, love me too.

World is Round

World is huge but still is round
Your smile can never meet a frown
Post-tiring day, its worth, you will see
Your love and care, always come around.

So pick your neck above the sand
And breathe the fragrance of love abound
Share your wealth of word and song
Let ego, hatred, filth be drowned

Walk with pride through streets of fame
Uplift souls that are weak or lame
Expect not a grain of thanks
Just do your bit and move along

Fruits of smile one day will reap
The flowers will bloom in your happy mind
World is huge but still you will see
Your compassion sure will come around.

-Pushpa

The Keh-Mukarni

The "Say-and-Deny" Riddles

Keh (say) Mukarni (denial) is an interesting genre of riddles played between two people, where one of them describes something in a way that it is mistaken by the other as a reference to the first one's beloved, but which finally turns out to be something completely different.

For what it's worth, here's my keh-Mukarni,

Shaft is bent, hands so sweaty
Whacked like a sucker, I can hardly walk
To be desired, a follow-through leaves a lot
Hold on, I need to wash my balls
Ahhh! That lovely game of Golf

My Silence

I wrap my silence around me like a scarf
Concealing my emotions beneath its flap
For if I speak , I might explode
Shattering my silence in bits and shreds.

-Pushpa

A kitchen (English Ghazal)

Clutching my sweaty hands, he plugs me inside my kitchen
Lost I am, flabbergast, I look at wall around this hi-fi kitchen

Glossy cabinets clothe surrounding walls, under
My bare feet, a soft carpet feels good in this dry kitchen

News scream from walls, cool air floods this room, there is
Even an attached wash room close by kitchen

I cannot squat down and serve, I am confused, how
do I cook? I keep standing on my toes in this high kitchen.

The families serve their own meals, emptying big tumblers of food
Village home is better, Munni wish she could say “goodbye kitchen”

Party at Village Fair

Sun had set, but none arrived
Those party veterans, always late
The troopers practiced again and again
With same beat and rhythm to excel in game
With drums, trumpets, music of trinklets
All dipped in exhausions and in pains.

First guest entered, it was past mid-night
The dancers gyrated with a slower gait.
Music was slow, Ah! Such a bore!
None were interested in any folk lore

They plugged the wires to the boxes
The stereo resonated, vibrating the air,
Soon the fields were filled with crowd
All dancing, twisting to the beat
Of rock music, disco and retro
While ethnic music went to sleep.

Who am I?

Who am I? It matters not
Just a piece of clay with a soul
Feeling, thinking, reason, thought
Attributed it to make a mold

Could dance on a toe upright
When smile was woven under light
Hurt by a simple poke of
Restlessness of my fickle mind

Squirming, wriggling in a fight
Like a decayed robot with a tool
Attaching ‘I’ to the game
I had become just an another fool

Sleeping, dreaming, walking-on
Divinity I could attain not
Walking hand-in hand with soul
Might help me discover who I am