Cricket

Much can be watched
Over a cup of coffee

The sports men
Highly tanned
Running across the field
Chasing a tiny ball
Behind the wickets
Sweat dripping down their cheeks
Soaking and damping their spirit
Failing to prevent
Their opponent from
Scoring one more run
Once again

Much can be watched
Over a cup of coffee

Scrabble

I secretly swapped
letter ‘I’ with letter ‘S’
during our game
Of Scrabble

Your score
was too high
and my letter-rack was
odd and unscrambled

Forgive me

I have dusted
The shelf
Of my furniture
To place the
Winning trophy

Cat has Nine lives

They say
Cat has nine lives
What karma is that?

To be re-born
As a cat
nine times in a row
again and again
before you can reach
Salvation?

All I want is for my friend to smile

All I want is for my friend to smile
To greet me
And extend her rhyme

She had been cold for too long
Not spoken a word
Nor shared a song

All day long she sits by the window

Is she
Admiring the clouds
Talking to the birds
Listening to the waves of the breeze?

I see her
Empty eyes
Crossed arms
Grim expression

Cannot read what she is thinking

I want her to spot me
Touch me
And walk beside me for a while.

All I want is for my friend to smile

During beach party

During the beach party
I disappeared briefly
To show my swimming costume
to your boss

What can I say?

He had liked
the blue bikini that
he had bought it
especially for me and
wanted to see
if it fit me right.

Forgive me

He said you wouldn’t mind
since you knew
that he was hundred percent
Gay

Fortunately he was not……

55-er story.......

Read the book ‘Snow White and Seven Dwarfs’ and went to sleep, pretending to be dead, expecting a kiss to break the spell.

I heard him enter my room, approach my bed, bend down, put his fingers closer, then, snatch my soft pillow from under my head

He truly deserved a whack for his prank.

April Haiku

Showers knock again
Droplets on my window pane
It’s April rain

April breeze on trees
Yellow carpet spread on streets
Fragrance coat cars

Petals cry all day
April is the cruelest month
Tear drops splash in pools

Farms tend rabbi crop
Night sky fills with Lohri song
April once again

April heat kiss air
The weights of thirst bend the trees
Birds and Bees resign

Want No Routine Job

Fresh new day
Want to do something new
Don’t want to cook
Or wash or clean
Nor check my list of e-posts or mails
Don’t want to go shopping for wares
Nor see the kids pass across my lane
Make no plans
For a smooth Passover
Nor walk in the evening
On those warm cobbled street
Don’t want to watch those endless
Soap or opera queens
Nor spend this day
Like a daily routine.

My Painting....in oils

White canvas with a stroke of blue
Dotted with some circles of red
Shades of pink, yellow, green
A flower blooming into a stream

I wipe my brush with apron string
And stand few meters from easel
Contemplating on some more lines
To make my painting beauty and divine

In solitude, this hobby I chase
It helps me as if to meditate
With colors, hues and shades of white
Keeping me awake till late, late nights

Leave my canvas
Let it dry
I will sent it for exhibits
On new stands

Do you remember?

Memory still fresh
On those summer afternoons
With our tiny feet
We would ride
Behind those horse carriages
One foot on metal rod
Other foot dangling
Over the edge
Hitting the muddy ground
We would spread a spray of pebbles
Under our feet
Ready and alert
And quick to run
To escape the lash
Of the horseman
Wishing he would
Concentrate on road ahead
And happily ride on
Oblivion to our noise
And we laughed at our prank of
Having cheated him
For a free ride
To the end of the street

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?