Friday.....

This Friday
I flag down a bus
To travel some forty miles
Away from e-city
Winding
Through polluted streets
Honking alleys
Crowded lanes
Through market place
A bakery
A butcher shop
A curvy road
And finally
My comfort zone
Where I stretch out
My tired feet
And sip in
Aroma
Of my cozy
Retreat

Waiting.....

Much Ado over a Cup of Coffee

Hot sweet aroma of coffee
Mingled with fragrance of flowers
Together
We watch at seashore
Time and life brew
Angry waves lash at black sands
Undecidedly, they retreat back into the sea

I sip
I wait
I sip
I wait
Sip, sip, sip
Wait, wait, wait
Big sip
Still wait
Final sip, cup down
Caffeine laced words sing a tune, but
Your silence rules

It is almost dusk
What are you thinking?

Laloo Prasad Under William Wordsworth's Shade

After hearing Laloo Prasad’s speech at railway budget in February 2009, where he translated his Hindi poetry in English saying

“Everybody is apprresayting, ki I have done a tremeedous wark. Each and every year, I have earned crores and crores every day.

“And they are saying, Laloo Yadav has phlanted a foot tree, and every year, it is dooty of my, to grow foot tree,”

I was quite impressed and I applied for membership to his fan club. The criteria for enrolling were to offer him an invitation for some free lunch and a glass of milk.

I invited him for a read-meet to share his brilliant work with my pals at our Oooty resort.

Surprisingly, he accepted my invitation and even read some of his poems!

This is his poem which I loved it so much……..

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw from train
A host, who was a black buffalo king
Beside the lake, beneath the trees
All ready with a bucket of milk

Continuous as the stars that shine
Couldn’t resist that taste divine
On next station I immediately alight
With 9 girls and 2 sons of mine
The crowd at station saw I at a glance
Ask me of new railways budget, I frown.

They all happy with crores I make
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee
Laloo (that’s me) had never been that gay
The euphoria that I experienced that day
I speak and speak-but little thought
What wealth the new budget brought!

For oft, when on 2-tier sleeper I lay
In vacant or in pensive mood
They don’t appreciate the English I say
in first class language of NRI today
I gulp down last glass of milk
making new plans, will ask them to chill.

Writer's Block?

Writer's block?
fear not
keep writing
words will arrive
they are like our best friends
unhappy, sulky or annoyed
but only for a brief time
they always come around

Wings of Fate (55-er)

Indians in Madrid envied everything about Mister Anand, his Mercedes, his huge bungalow, five retail outlets, two carat diamond ring on his middle finger and his friendship with Bank director, Pedro.

One Sunday Morning, the Newspaper headlines screamed of Pedro’s transfer to Barcelona.

Mister Anand, took indirect flight, early morning at 3am, back to India.

photo source: photobucket

A Memorable Moment

And then she smiled, one more time
Through her broken teeth
Wrinkles deepening on her face
She glanced at me
Then tilted her head
Happy and assured that this one shot
Would be preserved forever
In the lens
Of my memory lane

She stretched her palm
Bony and withered with age
To hold the camera
And see the image
Of her beautiful face

She sat on a bed
Unable to move
Feet curled under her lap
Her eyes searching me
Focusing for recognition
Of a forgotten face

Still uncertain
Asked me
Whether she looked good
Or was she better
In good ole days
When she was young
Had creaseless smile
And could even walk
Without a cane

Go To Hell!!!!!

Pink, not Red, is color
I shall wear
As a pub-going, loose woman,
You say, that I am

In the biggest democracy
Around the world
Will you still infringe
on my private land?

Go to Hell! Go to Hell!
You bully, old man
You can’t roughen me
I am tough,
Don’t you dare!

Whisky, Rum
I share with my friends
I clap for boozers
Who dare to bare

I'll hold his hand
And peck his neck
I will call my Valentine
In the backyard of your tent

It is the day
For you
To hide your skin
If you peep
from your window
You will face
pepper can

You will see your troops
On their knees, they beg
I bought some ‘Rakhis’
to tie on their legs

Go to Hell! Go to Hell!
You bully, old man
Don’t make silly rules
Grow up, old man

*There were many contests held during the Kala Ghoda Arts Festival in Mumbai in February 2009,. During that time, we all were frustrated by threats imposed by Muthalik for Valentine day, and in that frustration I had written this lyric and posted for the contest on 'Lyric writing'.*

Star Bugs

Many years ago, during my formative years, I would tag along with my granny to a Gurudwara for morning prayers and patiently sit through the discourse and hymns, its not that I fully understood any of the hymns that were sung by people inside the Gurudwara, or enjoyed accompanying my granny everyday, actually, my purpose was solely to eat the sweet Prasad that was served at the end of the discourse.

During those years, my granny taught me the importance and power of prayers. “Prayers alone can give us strength to cross any hurdles of life” she would say, “and if we pray hard enough and ask God to fulfill our desires, God shall never disappoint us. But,” she had added, “you must never ask for the impossible or you shall be sorry.”

Therefore, initially my simple prayers included chocolates and hugs and simple things as such which were granted easily, and that stimulated a faith in me. I became more and more greedy, and soon, my desires graduated from possible to impossible, until one day, I prayed for a groom who was a film star.

During those days, Rajesh Khanna (a Bollywood star) was the man I desired and I had tough competition. All the girls, who traveled with me in the school bus, also raved about him and I hated them all. I was holding out for deep romantic love and had a fantasy that this level of passionate intensity would make me happier. I had no clue as to how I could meet him personally and express my desire to marry him. Prayers were my only solace. I prayed to Lord Shiva, starved on Mondays, visited temples and poured one liter of milk on black oval stone and I even kept a special fast called ‘Karva Chauwd’ (that was common with the women, double my age.) Nothing extraordinary about that, every woman I knew-no matter how successful and ambitious, how financially and emotionally secure-would feel panic, occasionally with desperation if she found herself unmarried beyond the marriageable age. Higher the age, the more frequent were the fasts, sometimes forcing them to add extra days to try their luck with other deities as well. So my prayer for a groom was neither extraordinary nor impossible.

My desire for Rajesh Khanna had clouded my vision and I could not focus my attention on anything else. I saw all his movies, some of them multiple times I imagined his romantic songs sung just for me. I raged inside them and lived a double emotional life (half real girl, half inhabitant of a distant world). I bought his pictures, from roadside side-stores and stuck them on the last page of my school diary, in my text books, on my room doors. In my diary, below his picture, I had scrawled in neat script ‘My heart belongs to YOU’ and drew two red lips in a pretty hand made sign just below the message. Sometimes, something stirred inside me so much that I would be embarrassed by it. I was in worse academic shape and couldn’t concentrate on any school subjects although many trusted friends had assured me that I’d have a bright future, provided I passed that damn course. And I prayed every hour, every day, in most inventive yoga poses.

But, God had different plans for me, or maybe he was residing on another planet and was unable to hear the loud chimes of the temple bells. Red-eyed, I read the headlines in the local newspaper, one Sunday morning, screaming that Dimple Kapadia had stolen my show. I lingered on his dialogue “Pushpaaaa, I hate tears!” that had graduated from being mere dialogues to evergreen iconic statements! Did he really hate tears? Fresh tears of self-pity had rolled down my smooth skin!

Hahahaahahahaa and Ha! On a second thought….

Was God to answer my prayers that year, I wonder, if I would be related to Akshay Kumar today? Eeeeeeeeeeeeks!!!!

In case you didn’t know, *Rajesh Khanna was the Bollywood super star of early seventies and Akshay kumar is an actor, married to his daughter, Twinkle Khanna*

Change Ho!!!

Jumping into a pool of shit
Scavenging through garbage to seek gold
Licking out morsels through rich men’s plate
Spooning off eyeballs to get some dough

World sings ‘Jai ho’ around this globe
While the poor man sits outside a gate
Wearing garb of poverty
His tattered crown bringing fame and show

From rags to riches, the world rejoice
While we tread through those narrow lanes
Seeing hollow eyes, bloated tummy
Can we be proud of our helpless folks?

SMS poem- Murder

I sat 2 string d rays of d sun
2 garland d yellow half moon at night
It startled d waves that leaped from d sea n
Murdered d silence within me

Valentine Jinga-la-la

While all of Mumbai is busy discussing the safest way to celebrate the V-Day and there are cartons of ‘Pink Chaddis’ packed for this special day, my live-in maid, who is just twenty two years old, is unaware of such a campaign. She has no idea about our ministers’ threat to young couples or the extremity of anger from various nodes on the network. Her day activities are just cleaning my house, cooking meals for me or sit by my bedside and watch TV with me. Off late, I am aware that she has a boyfriend who is a security guard in some building, which is on the other side of Mumbai, and my suspicions have been confirmed on many occasions, when she has burnt my chapattis and fed the crows, or cooked the onion, too browned, during her long, long conversations on her mobile.

This morning, on Saturday, the 14th, when I return from my early morning jog, she announces that she is going out to celebrate the Valentine’s Day. She is a young girl and a cupid arrow has stung her and her hormones as well, I am not sure if I would like to ask her as to what ‘Sex’ means in her dictionary, nor is it my business to probe into her personal life. The fact is that I cannot grant her a leave today because I am expecting a guest for lunch.

She pouts, rolls her eyes and walks swiftly out of my room. I follow her to her room, towards the back of the kitchen and I see her jeans and ironed blouse, with frilly collar, spread across her bed.

I am feeling terribly guilty of offending her.

“Try to understand,” I plead, “Who will do the cooking and help me with work, if you go away?”

“I have an idea” she says and a smile returns to her face

“I will cook fast and finish all the work before going, I promise.” She says

I contemplate on an idea of taking my guest out for lunch, although I would still prefer to eat home-cooked food.

“I am planning to go after lunch,” she continues, “So I will cook enough for both of us and also for your guest.”

“Oh! Your boyfriend is not taking you out for lunch?” I say

“No, He is taking me for an afternoon show ‘Billu Babar’ and then for a Pani puri and chaat at Juhu beach.” She says

Well, if she has planned to cook for herself, then it will not be an extra effort for her to cook for me too, and since she will go after lunch I think I could manage without her help, on the contrary, I might even enjoy some privacy with my guest.

“See that you finish all the work before you go.” I warn her and return back to my bedroom to check my e-mail.

After an hour, I hear the door bell ring.

“Maam! Can you please answer the door?” she says

“No! You answer the door! I am busy, can’t you see that?” I say, irritated by her interruptions. My score graph on ‘Lexulous game’ at ‘Facebook’ is dipping and I am trying hard to concentrate on a seven letter word to revive my score board.

“Please Maam! Please, I am feeling shy to answer the door like this” she says as she stands at the entrance of my room.

I look away from my computer screen and turn to face her, I am shocked, to see her face grey and chapped. She has a face-mask!

“Please Maam, Your driver is at the door, he wants to ask your permission to drop me to the nearest train station.” She says

“My driver will not leave you to the station.” I say, raising my first finger and pointing at her, “You must take a bus.”

“Please Maam, let him drop me, it is just few minutes away, I will be delayed if I take a bus.”

Forcibly, I steer away from my computer and answer the door and permit my driver to reach my maid at the local train station.

Phew!

I head back to my game on the net.

My guest arrives at one O’clock. My maid offers him orange juice and peanuts and I wait for her for another fifteen minutes, hoping that she will bring some snack for my guest, but, none arrive.

I go to the kitchen to see what she has prepared for lunch.

There is only yellow Jeera rice in the rice-cooker; vegetable curry and a salad.

“Maam, I don’t think I will have time for lunch, I am running late, I will eat Batawada-Pav at the railway station, can I go, please?” she says

I glare at her from top to bottom. I look with displeasure at her straight and shiny, blow-dried hair; thick black belt around her mid rib, separating her tuck-in blouse and jeans, white sandals, unmatched purse and a strong smell of a cheap perfume.

I don’t want my guest to see her like this. If I had a magic wand, I would swirl it around to make her disappear immediately.

“Go soon before I change my mind.” I snap at her.

I am back in the living room with an apologetic expression.

My guest and I go out for lunch and then head towards the nearest PVR and watch the evening show of a film ’Billu Barber’

An Expensive Valentine

The Law says that ‘Valentine Day’ is a foreign concept and it is illegal to celebrate it in India

I call up Sunil early morning on 14th February to cancel my appointment with him.

“Why?” He says, “I have already booked a table at Sheraton, we have to close the deal today.”

“Oh! I am sorry, but I cannot meet you today because it is Valentine Day and we might get arrested if we are seen together.” I say

“But I am not your lover!! I am just a business consultant of my company in Bangkok” He protested

“Yeah, that’s true,” I say, “But how do I explain this to those cops who are patrolling the city, hunting for cupid arrows?”

“Look, be reasonable. I really have no day to waste, we have to meet today.” He argued

My mind reels back to different avenues in my area where it would be safe to meet. 5 star-Coffee shop?…no,Not safe at all! …Udipi?…nah!..can’t eat too many dosas…... Batatawala stall?….Nah!...unhygenic!..Juhu Beach?….hmmn…messy!...Local train?...too crowded!....Jogger’s Park?.. can’t jog while talking….My house?....Cannot!…neighbors are peeping!.....Where?. Where?, Where? ..It is important to meet him today, I know that too, but where the hell is the safest place to meet?….I cannot afford a ticket to Bangkok, just to attend this meet today!

We decide to meet at a fast food restaurant across the street.

At 1pm I enter the restaurant and request for a table for two.

“Sorry Maam” says the waiter, “We have no tables for two.”

I look around to take in the interior of the restaurant, the ambience is good, there is a sweet fragrance of food, beautiful pictures adorn the walls, all the tables in the restaurant have a clean, light blue table cloth with a small flower vase holding one stem of Orchid but each table has only one chair.

The waiter looks at me apologetically, shrugging his shoulder.

“Can you please join two tables so that I have two chairs to seat me and my friend?” I say.

“Sorry Maam” he says, “Cannot do that today, it is against the law.”

Sunil is surprised when he sees me sitting alone at the table and no chair for him

“I am afraid you will have to sit at your own table, over there, at the far end of the room” I smile

“And how do we discuss the deal?” he frowns his forehead

“Unworry. We have mobiles, we can discuss it on SMS’es” I say and turn my gaze to the menu card.

And so, for next two hours, while we enjoy the meals at our own single tables, we discussed the pros and the cons of the business deal by exchanging 325 SMS’es, nods and smiles between us..

Sunil insists on paying the bill for me.

Court hearing to our case is scheduled for the next week.

Unbridled desires

If you break my skull and peep inside my brain with a book-light you will see those ‘three ungoverned words’ lurking inside the fissures of my grey box. They creep inside, like some worms, crawling in and out, creating confusion in my mind and sometimes creating trouble for me. Those three words “What happened next?” keep my antenna up for information and the results that follow are sometimes good and many times bad.

This phrase ‘What happens next’ hijacks my activities many times. Sometimes I miss my train, when there is a bitter argument at the railway platforms. I seriously want to know who the final winner is in an argument, will there be some karate demonstrations, or police interventions, I want to know about how and when does juggling of the muscles end. The facial expressions and the loud decibels of the participants amuse me a lot. I know, it doesn’t concern me and I should learn to mind my own business but I want to check if the reality is any different from what they show on Bollywood films. A free show is always appreciated and I feel good if I am convinced that I am not wasting my money watching those foolish stunts in films, it gives me surety that those scenes are actually lifted from reality.

And that is the reason why I like to watch reality shows and read thick novels till the last page. The “what happens next’ makes me come back to TV to see the progress in a story.

There is one show (presently) on TV that I think. I cannot do without. It starts at 10pm from Mondays to Thursdays. (No, it is not Saas bhi.. or any of those serial sagas of K…nor those ‘Desperate housewives’ or ‘Brothers and Sister’…etc, etc...those are outdated and nobody seems to be watching it anymore). Anyways, I wait for 10 pm, adjusting my dinner time to coincide with this show, canceling my late evening appointments (if I can) and cursing the traffic if I cannot make it on time.

The other day I was invited to attend the spiritual lecture on Vedanta which was to take place from 6:30pm to 8pm. Since it was ending two hours earlier than my show time, I agreed to attend. But my friends had other plans. After the lecture, they want to go for dinner and that too in some other restaurant further away from my home. (After the spiritual lecture, they should go home and contemplate on the points that were discussed, isn’t it?) I looked at my watch. They had already wasted twenty minutes discussing the venue. I suggested that we dine somewhere close by, fibbing I had to plan for next day and getting home late would delay me (I could not tell them about my obsession for that particular TV program and my real reasons behind my fuss). My friends were in no hurry to go back home and although they agreed to my suggested venue at a fast food cubicle, they had too many topics to discuss. They ate slowly, munching each morsel, discussing the topics (which would have interested me if I was not distracted by the red dials of my wrist watch) and they even ate desserts.

It was 9:45pm when I raised my hand to say a quick good bye. I hired an auto, cursed the traffic and the signals and reached my building compound at 10pm. I didn’t want to waste a minute more by climbing up the stairs. I was glad that my watchman has TV. I stood outside his ‘4ft by 5ft’ room and asked him to switch on the TV to that channel, quite pleased that I was not too late. He offered me chair, at the doorway and I craned my neck inside the room, halfway, watching the first quarter of the show in black and white.

And during promos, I climbed up the two storeys, 2-3 steps at a time, ringing my door-bell eight times, rushing in and jumping into my big soft sofa, in front of my TV, to see the rest of the program.

I have to satisfy my urge of “What happens next”.

Selfless charity

Trees and plants sees not the color of the skin
Nor the caste or creed
Selflessly it gives the peace
Under the scaffold of its shade

Holiday Home

After ten long months Mr. Ghosh entered his house in Mumbai and this time he was alone.

Every three months (since last five years) Mr. and Mrs. Ghosh would come from Bangkok to spend two weeks in their house in Mumbai. This was their holiday home, away from their own family and friends, where they would come regularly to spend a quality time with each other. In Mumbai, Mrs. Ghosh never kept any maid nor rented a car. Such luxuries were reserved for enjoying in their home in Bangkok with their family. In Mumbai appointing a maid for just fifteen days was pointless. For fifteen days, they would pass their time, eating in restaurants, watching Bollywood films, visiting relatives and shop for Indian clothes to take back home for their children. They spend most of their free time at home, helping each other in cleaning and cooking, and in nagging each other.

“Did you dust the furniture?”

“Did you change the bed sheet?”

“Why can you throw away these useless things?”

“There is too much clutter here.”

“Remove the cobwebs”

“Bath room tap is leaking”

‘Fridge is stinking”

“There is too much work, I am not cooking today”

Both of them did their bit of work and at the end of the day, they compared notes and boasted about their own neatness at work.

At the end of fifteen day, the house looked clean and shiny and they would return to Bangkok to stay there for next three months.

But this time, after ten long months Mr. Ghosh enters his house in Mumbai and he has come alone.

He spends the first few hours sitting by the window, staring at the traffic. Slowly he gets up, removes the keys from his pocket to unpack his suitcase. He puts away his clothes in his wardrobe and then opens his wife’s cupboard.

“What should I do with all these sarees? I need to give it all away in the charity” he mumbles as he removes her sarees and her other clothes from the wardrobe, and spreads them on the bed. He opens the safe and checks the jewelry and the bank accounts. A photo album slipped out from the heap of clothes and falls on the floor beside his feet. He sits, squatting down on the floor and stares at her pictures.

Mrs. Ghosh is laughing

She is standing in front of Taj Mahal in Agra

She is adjusting her head scarf

She has no hair and is looking very thin and feeble

Tears blind his vision as he turns each page. He keeps the album on the bed and walks to the kitchen.

“Fridge is stinking”

“I need some help in sweeping and swabbing of the floors”

“There are too many cob webs on the wall”

He picks up the intercom hand phone to speak to the security guard in the lobby down stairs

“Listen, I need a maid for next fifteen days.” He says into the phone and then sits down by the window to stare at the noisy street below.

My internet friends

Many faces
Not seen, except
On the internet
A cyber space, that has
Just a virtual image
And a deep voice
A virtual hug
With emotion
An unposted thought
Sent across
Sending vibes
That touches the heart
Building relationships
That extends and seeps
Through this virtual space
And they are my friends
Whom I meet everyday
Through this
Unfeeling bright window
I stretch my hand
To grope for that touch
Of those meaningful words
That sounds so real
and I feel bliss and comfort
In having
My Internet friends.

An unsuspecting terrorist

A mad, mad scientist
My privileged guest

I gave him a soft bed
With frilly covers
In a cozy room
Where he would be
Comfortable
I even
Cooked for him
His favorite meals
Bhindi, Paratha, Biryanis.
Kulfis and Falooda

Little did I know
He was conducting
His stupid experiments
In his hush-hush room
Adjacent to mine,Until

Boom!

I heard a loud blast
Of his first
Successful research
Through my charred door

Wah! Taj?

One Taj built as an icon of love
Other Taj destroyed by hate and rage
Taj, the crown of pride
Will gild my skull some day
When I learn to shoot the sleaze
And bend the spine of the crime

You can rot in Hell!

You keep a gun on weak shoulders
And shoot
Do you gloat when you see the innocent blood?
I know not what you accomplish
By spreading your hate
You think you have brains
To mastermind a perfect plot
But, you are a total failure
A waste product
You could have used your brain, instead
To upgrade the prosperity of your men
Hate for hate
Eye for an eye
Has made you blind
To see or feel the real compassion
You are drowned in deep abyss of annihilation
There is no hope for you
Alas! You will never know a real love
Nor the sparkles of happiness
How can you?
Soiled is your soul
In muck of dark violence
It is guilt that will haunt you
And you will never understand the true
Joys of smile
Never ever!