Why does everything so dear
Like living in memories?
A moment’s slack, and it’s no more here
Reachable, you might argue,
Perhaps more than it ever was
But I’d rather have the real one, thank you.
You’re letting me stay for now
But you’ll push me there one day
Maybe then I’ll get to know
What it’s like to live in a memory
Or wait, may be you’re already doing it
All those friends from KG and nursery …
What choice do I have
Except to let you go on?
Shoving away the best of my life
Hoping it won’t be forgotten …..
We are time's subjects, and time bids be gone.
William Shakespeare
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Saturday, August 15, 2009
Happy Birthday/Independence Day
WHEEE!!!
I am celebrating ONE year of blogging!
(And I just discovered MS Word 2003 does not know the word. It gave me a red squiggle below ‘blogging’! What nerve!)
Many people would wonder why I’m making such a fuss. Well, let me explain. This is one of the few, rather very few things I’ve started doing of my own violation and stuck to for this long. Let’s hope it doesn’t suffer the same fate as my diary, salsa, soft board……… (All of which I still hope to resume someday)
One person who has played an undeniably vital role in getting me to blog, and is also my steadfast critic needs to be thanked. Even without disclosing your identity online, I think I’ve made myself only too clear. (You’re probably the only person who’s going to read this anyway!)
¡Muchos Gracias Señorita!
Since it IS our 62nd Independence Day (swine flu notwithstanding), I feel obliged to say something on the subject. Reading Ayn Ryand’s Fountainhead the other day, I came across an odd thought – Compulsion is a form of freedom. For instance if schooling is made compulsory, you are actually ensuring people freedom from illiteracy.
This is, of course, a highly debatable thought. In fact, it’s the only definite thing about it.
But returning to the more conventional usage of the term, I wish everyone who is reading this post a Happy Independence (from the Brits) Day!
I am celebrating ONE year of blogging!
(And I just discovered MS Word 2003 does not know the word. It gave me a red squiggle below ‘blogging’! What nerve!)
Many people would wonder why I’m making such a fuss. Well, let me explain. This is one of the few, rather very few things I’ve started doing of my own violation and stuck to for this long. Let’s hope it doesn’t suffer the same fate as my diary, salsa, soft board……… (All of which I still hope to resume someday)
One person who has played an undeniably vital role in getting me to blog, and is also my steadfast critic needs to be thanked. Even without disclosing your identity online, I think I’ve made myself only too clear. (You’re probably the only person who’s going to read this anyway!)
¡Muchos Gracias Señorita!
Since it IS our 62nd Independence Day (swine flu notwithstanding), I feel obliged to say something on the subject. Reading Ayn Ryand’s Fountainhead the other day, I came across an odd thought – Compulsion is a form of freedom. For instance if schooling is made compulsory, you are actually ensuring people freedom from illiteracy.
This is, of course, a highly debatable thought. In fact, it’s the only definite thing about it.
But returning to the more conventional usage of the term, I wish everyone who is reading this post a Happy Independence (from the Brits) Day!
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
can't think of a title
So much for poems, for now.
Sitting in the movie hall of a recently opened multiplex near my house, I was chatting with my brother before the movie started (Star Trek, in case you were wondering).We were interrupted by a, ummm… for lack of a better word steward who asked us if we wanted to place any popcorn/drink orders.
Remarking mentally on aggressive selling strategies, I replied that we didn’t want to. He nodded, as if expecting it and turned quickly to the family up ahead along the aisle and repeated the act. As he did that I happened to look up. I started as his expression struck through my frivolous mood. It led me to wonder what circumstances must have made this young man so dejected. It was a strange sorrow, a despondency.
He waited, after one round of collecting orders, along with a co-worker, no doubt hoping for the kids’ success in bullying their parents into placing more orders.
Then, as the national anthem started, he quietly slipped away.
Maybe he was well educated; maybe he had lost a good job during the recent slowdown. Maybe he had been forced to take this up in financial desperation.
Whatever the cause, I couldn’t help sympathizing with him. To bring refreshments day after day, night after night, to people who are probably irritated at your presence anyway, to watch people have a ball with their friends and family while being on duty oneself, to be a nameless faceless utility for their entertainment and comfort is not exactly a dream job. He may have been one of the thousands of kids who say” I wanna be a pilot when I grow up” every time they see a plane in the sky. Or the next Amitabh Bachchan . . .
It’s just one of those things that help me realize how lucky I am to be able to expect dignity and affection from the people I work/study with.
Come to think of it, maybe his girlfriend had ditched him that day!
Sitting in the movie hall of a recently opened multiplex near my house, I was chatting with my brother before the movie started (Star Trek, in case you were wondering).We were interrupted by a, ummm… for lack of a better word steward who asked us if we wanted to place any popcorn/drink orders.
Remarking mentally on aggressive selling strategies, I replied that we didn’t want to. He nodded, as if expecting it and turned quickly to the family up ahead along the aisle and repeated the act. As he did that I happened to look up. I started as his expression struck through my frivolous mood. It led me to wonder what circumstances must have made this young man so dejected. It was a strange sorrow, a despondency.
He waited, after one round of collecting orders, along with a co-worker, no doubt hoping for the kids’ success in bullying their parents into placing more orders.
Then, as the national anthem started, he quietly slipped away.
Maybe he was well educated; maybe he had lost a good job during the recent slowdown. Maybe he had been forced to take this up in financial desperation.
Whatever the cause, I couldn’t help sympathizing with him. To bring refreshments day after day, night after night, to people who are probably irritated at your presence anyway, to watch people have a ball with their friends and family while being on duty oneself, to be a nameless faceless utility for their entertainment and comfort is not exactly a dream job. He may have been one of the thousands of kids who say” I wanna be a pilot when I grow up” every time they see a plane in the sky. Or the next Amitabh Bachchan . . .
It’s just one of those things that help me realize how lucky I am to be able to expect dignity and affection from the people I work/study with.
Come to think of it, maybe his girlfriend had ditched him that day!
Monday, May 25, 2009
Her Glorious Past
This is the first time in years that i've written a poem. And a symbolic one, never before.
Hope u like it! Please comment and let me know your suggestions.
She’d never stepped out
Of her glorious past
Never dreamed that it wouldn’t last
She’d never stepped out
Of Rolls and silk
Diamonds, rubies and their ilk
She glided about
Her lovely doe eyes
Sweeping unseeing glances
Across chandeliers, manicured lawns,
Vales and clear skies
Blind to the sea of weeds
Blind to the splendor long gone
Leaving only pity in its wake
Not a single soul
Could she call her own
Fools they were
Those that called her a crone
Oh! What did they know?
Of the secrets she’d known?
The times gone by
Have left their scars unhealed
Scars? Or are they
Or are they relics
Of a past to be cherished?
Hope u like it! Please comment and let me know your suggestions.
She’d never stepped out
Of her glorious past
Never dreamed that it wouldn’t last
She’d never stepped out
Of Rolls and silk
Diamonds, rubies and their ilk
She glided about
Her lovely doe eyes
Sweeping unseeing glances
Across chandeliers, manicured lawns,
Vales and clear skies
Blind to the sea of weeds
Blind to the splendor long gone
Leaving only pity in its wake
Not a single soul
Could she call her own
Fools they were
Those that called her a crone
Oh! What did they know?
Of the secrets she’d known?
The times gone by
Have left their scars unhealed
Scars? Or are they
Or are they relics
Of a past to be cherished?
Friday, March 27, 2009
of balika vadhus and nagasaki
“ Saans leti hain jo katputliyaan
Unki bhi aati hain koi doliyaan
Aansuon mein bheegi hain khamoshiyan”
Wow! Javed Akhtar has managed, very skillfully, to capture, the imagery of an Indian wedding. These lines never fail to give me goose pimples every time i listen.
Suddenly, I find that a horde of women centric series have mushroomed on the television. Not that they weren’t always that way, but the ones I refer to right now are typically set in some village (obviously in Rajasthan), and churn out episode after episode of glycerine and suffer agonies that Hercules could not have endured.
Which used to make me wonder, why? Is there such a dearth of topics?
And, the other day, I was answered. As a part of the show, one of these sob factories displayed a shocking piece of data. It said that in the recent years, the female population in five states in India has fallen to nearly 800 females per 1000 males.
Living in a metropolis and being born into a well educated family has ensured that such news items remain’ news items’ for me and, thankfully, nothing more. But being an ardent fan of science in general it deeply saddens me that people do have not learnt to appreciate it in its true magnificence.
Knowledge, for its own sake alone, alas, has always been the ‘cake’of a few.
Driven by commercial or social prejudices, humanity is no stranger to its gross misuse. One needs only to look back at two days in a certain August to know what I’m referring to.
I sometimes feel that all those venerable men and women of science were born too early. Decency, compassion and infinite respect for Life should have had more chance to take root.
Like Spiderman said, “With great power comes great responsibility.” And it’s no use having power if you don’t realize this.
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