Favourite song

You clear your throat,

Ready to hum your favourite tune.

Give it all away to laughter,

You haven't decided which one that must be.

You travel lands to find it behind sunsets;

Or sit with your headphones on,

Scrolling through the albums.

A single white hair glistening on your forehead among all black,

As your laptop gathers dust.

Your blocked nose makes you breathe heavily,

I love listening to that tune.

Your hand strumming the guitar;

You ask me my favourite song,

Unaware that you are it.

You've always been.

So I just smile.

I smile at you. 

I'll find you

In the vapours rising from the hot cup of tea,

And the ring it leaves behind on the table,

I'll find you.

In the smokes arising from the vehicles,

And in the long wait at traffic signals on a sultry summer day,

I'll find you.

In the colourful jars of pickle laid out in the afternoon sun,

And in the laughter of children from stolen joy,

I'll find you.

In the mingled call of the cuckoo at dawn,

And the red lit sky of my dusk,

I'll find you.

In the unfinished books of tales untold,

And inbetween monotony of daily chores,

I'll find you.

In the thunder of the French revolution,

And in the raindrops falling on the warzone countries,

I'll find you.

In the grocery list of daily needs,

And the unsend letters hidden under the mattresses,

I'll find you.

I'll find you, I'll find you,

In the years to come with every greying hair,

And poetry left unfinished for the lack of muse,

And children that I have to take to school.

But tell me, in all your broken dreams

And dusty corners,

Do you find me too?

Do I?

Neon lights outline your collarbone on strange nights,
Marking the map of the city I love the most.
Do you still walk along the shoreline,
With the sand and shells jingling in your pockets,
And the wind in your hair?
Was it the dusk or dawn that we watched together,
I cannot remember well...
Is it all far gone?
Do I still play in the strings of your violin
Or in the sonnets you say you love?
Stole kisses like we stole pickels,
Laid out in jars in winter afternoon sun.
Fantasies paved the road,
But for our bare feet it was a long way.
Grey and old, turned to dust
We'll meet another day,
Maybe some constellations away.
Till then, tell me,
Do I reside in your poetry,

As you do in mine every single day?

'Peace comes from within. Do not seek it without.'

The remnants of love

The remnants of love remained
Like the colour-washed streets of Holi,
Subtly fading each day.
Will crossroads that made us choose different ways,

Serve as souvenirs still?

White hair glistening and matching white waves.
What if you cut your feet on broken sea-shells

Will you remember me then?

Walking side by side through crowded streets,
The cacophony serves as Karaoke still.
The city smells of old love and lost melody,

Colours, Colours that fade away...

Sunlight falls on broken glass pieces,
A show of light decorates your dark room.
Come find me among wilted flowers in broken vases,

And dusty book ends when your memory fades.

On being average and middle class.

At times it is a matter of personal pride to have been born in a middle class family – blame the authors who have idealized the social setup – showing us that the only power at our disposal is Ray’s ‘Mogojashtra’. You grow up hearing some golden advice, that only education can bring about a change in social status and much glory. Hence charge ahead in that direction! But hey, are you a girl? Wait then, we need to catch up on the current scenario...

Now, if you happen to be past twenty, marriage proposals coming your way seems inevitable. No matter how old the groom is, the younger the bride the better. Whenever you visit a social gathering, you are constantly under scanner eyes of someone trying to fix you up with a possible match. No, we’re not talking about the Victorian era (And people still question me why I don’t like visiting social gatherings!). Though a different attitude may be noted regarding their approach to the males and the females. If you happen to be a male, it is of utmost importance that you complete your education, get a job and only then think about marriage. For females, education or jobs are important but comes only after marriage. Oh no, they won’t put a stop to your educational process, but sure they would keep nagging you to get married -- whether you like it or not, whether you want it or not doesn’t matter. I repeat, DOES NOT MATTER. But the words won’t be put before you so plainly, but rather camouflaged and interspersed with wise words such as – ‘you won’t get a better groom than this’ or ‘ ...time’s running. Who would like to marry an old lady?’ or ‘there is a right age for everything’!

I have heard my grandmother say that her daughters were given the minimum education (read graduate) so as to qualify them in the marriage market. She claims times have now changed for us, the current generation. Has it? If so, I wonder how. Well maybe yes, you now need to be a post- graduate in order to qualify in the marriage market, as graduates are all too common these days! While any problem regarding the ‘love-lives’ of my male cousins would simply be shunned with the wonderful suggestion of better focusing on studies than whiling away time in such stupid matters. But with that of the female ones, their behaviour would undergo a sea change – education is important but comes only after marriage-- you don’t want to die an old maid, do you? The same bunch of parents that once advised her to study hard, often drawing examples of other girls or boys of her age who were doing better, now wants her to think otherwise. What they don’t realize is that once you’ve made her taste the fruit of knowledge, she cannot regain her former state of innocence and ignorance. Call her Satan’s companion if you will, but why has choosing to lead your life according to your own terms got to be such a hard concept for the society to accept without being prejudiced?

While being brought up in between the ebb and tide of such people, corroding your coast-line daily and inflicting pain with broken shells that hit you with the waves, sometimes you are lucky to find an island of solace in some – your own personal ‘Sidhu jetha’. The duality amazes you as you sit there with your cup of black tea and one of your favourite novels in hand, while your mind constantly tosses between Milton’s ‘heaven’ and ‘hell’.

Estranged

You are not flesh of my flesh, and this no paradise

Love's far supreme.

Memories stir the fire in my heart,

And a ripple of light breaks from the disturbed coal

How to escape the light?

First gasp of air I breathed were you,

Saved from drowning in daily mediocre life.

Images flood like moonlit sky

You can count the stars in it.

The blind man sits at the corner of the busy road,

His violin still plays your favourite tune

While you take your children to school.

Feelings that grew on shadowy orchards, fled through the dusty window panes.

I can see the future in dark chimney smokes

Rising up again.

Will only death in the order of Dionysus

Help Orpheus reunite with his Eurydice again?