The Poetic Meanders

The Poetic Meanders
The Teesta River - captured by Parth Adhikari

Thursday, 24 October 2013

Friends, Friends’ Friends and their Friends (Part I)

Friends, Friends’ Friends and their Friends

(Part I)

(For Ms. A, Ms. A and of course Mr. A)

He: Hello! Have you arrived here
Back in Delhi? Let’s meet somewhere!
I: Oh yes! I’m back. How are you?
He: I am fine, how do you do?
I: Similarly. What about
The coming Sunday to go out?
He: Sure. Would you meet Ms. A too?
I have an inkling that you two
Would get along very nicely,
More so if you behaved wisely.
I: You said she is important,
Fine, I will try some improvement
In my conduct towards strangers
And avoid possible dangers
To your thriving relationship
That makes your relentless heart skip
A beat on regular basis;
Oh! I’ve seen many such cases.
He: Greater Kailash, one p.m.
Sharp; someplace around we’ll meet them….
I: ‘Them’? How many…wait...who will
Host the meeting? (Read – pay the bill?)
He: Don’t worry you miser. A
Might come with a friend; I will pay.
I (to myself): Settled then that,
A little food, some chit-chat,
Will suffice; So I will agree.
I (to Him): Next Sunday? I’ll see.

 (To be Concluded...)

Friday, 6 September 2013

A Fork In The Road

A Fork In The Road

For all those who have parted ways,
but will remain with me always.

Our travels together, today,
End not at our destination
But at a fork somewhere midway
And I can sense hesitation
In your silence. (Can you in mine?)
Are you too searching for words, which
Will assuage this pain, make things fine-
Wipe the tears I shall shed, and stitch
The wounds that this farewell has brought.
Are there some words that can console
My ailing heart, or is there not
Any way for us to cajole
Destiny into fulfilling
Our desire to not separate?
Can we not delay this parting-
Defy circumstance and make fate
Wait some more; lest this be the last
Time we see each other closely?
Can we not change the bygone past-
The moment because of which we
Might be standing at a crossroads?
We look at the distance ahead,
I am uncertain what it bodes.
I am sure we have been misled,
By Time that made us both believe
The conceit of Eternity.
We see now that Time can deceive
People escaping reality.
You look at me, I look at you;
Between us, there appears to grow
incertitude-what must we do
Before our indecisions slow
Us down and predicaments start
To weaken our resolution?
Let us go our own ways and part,
That is the only solution.
Perhaps in your own silent way
you have accepted this instance-
This divergence that we today
Can't choose to offer resistance.
If this be our shared destiny,
Then so be it. Let us move on
Different roads that might not see
a convergence that we'll dwell 'pon
In our false hopes and promises
(I will, but you don't I will pray).
Let us, with our goodbyes, end this
Misery that leaves nothing to say.
I know not what our futures hold
As we bid each other adieu,
And even as our paths unfold
I know I'll never forget you.

To you all.

Sunday, 4 August 2013

The Waiting Wanderer

The Waiting Wanderer

The embers will die but the ashes will remain.

This night (no one’s in sight),
I roam this city’s streets
To seek solace; I’m weak.
This infidel heart beats

For you. Indeed, I too
Ask why it should be so.
Voices inside – noises
I subdued long ago

Return; Make me discern
Your parting words that said
Nothing of anything;
Yet left nothing unsaid.

I sense a void. This dense
Mist is much deceptive;
It clouds reason and shrouds
Me, holding me captive

Inside a bleak and wide
Cellar, suffocating
My blind heart and blind mind
With blackness. I’m screaming

For help. Nearby, dogs yelp.
Feeling weak in my knees,
I fall. That will be all
The distance. I will cease

To walk. To search. To stalk
The night for redemption.
Still far you are. You are
Still an apparition.

Your name will still bring blame
Whose pain shall not abate.
My stride shall be my guide
But I’ll, forever, Wait.

Wait. And leave it to fate.

Saturday, 20 July 2013

The Native Call

The Native Call

To the land that will always be my homeland.

My dying grandfather calls me now and again,
Asking me to visit my native village.
He wishes to talk to me before his death
Knowing about his slowly declining age.

My paternal grounds call me now and again,
Asking me to shed my sweat and my blood,
To grow gold on my fertile inheritance
By soiling my shirts with a priceless mud.

Those forgotten hills call me now and again,
Asking me to travel on their turns once more,
Which lead to my roots - my village,
With numerous milestones lying before.

My native soil calls me now and again,
Asking me to kiss it with my forehead –
A peace much greater than a mother’s lap
Our forefathers, our ancestors have said.

Those noisy children call me now and again,
Asking me to play with marbles pure green,
Reminding me of the times I skipped school
To play some championships - away, unseen.

The local juggler calls me now and again,
Asking me to watch his evening street show
Where he tossed some stones and balls together
And we all gaped at his surprising flow.

The soft cool breeze calls me now and again,
Asking me to feel the pleasure it fetched
When I stood in the swaying mustard fields,
With my body loose and arms outstretched.

Those open grounds call me now and again,
Asking me to follow the falling kites
Which glided in the boundary less space
With their strings floating high above our heights.

My home Ranikhet calls me now and again,
Asking me to return its son to its earth.
I am indebted to my village – my soil
Which many years ago gave me birth.

Return to your soil you will.

Tuesday, 16 July 2013

To Father

To Father

To my father. On his 51st birthday. 

You gave her butter chicken at the time
she was pregnant with me, you understood
Her desires, her needs, her mood swings and yes! 
Her palate's cravings like no on else would.
Thus I, second in line, was born, you raised
Me up; and with mother, looked after me,
You gave me ablutions, changed my soiled clothes,
Cradled me; long after that I turned three
And you started filling up forms for schools,
Stood there in queues long and competitive,
Yet remained patient even when I failed
To intone the alphabet or to give
Proper answers (that you had taught) to prying
Teachers who sat there to judge whether I
Was good enough for their reputed school.
My failures made mother worry and cry
(And I know I must have been unperturbed),
But you were there for me, uncomplaining.
You made me learn cursive calligraphy
And made me give up my lefty writing.
I grew up, I rose and many times did fall,
You drew me out of dilemmas I thought
Were impossible to deal with; failures
Came; but it was you who I always sought
For counsel on what decisions to make.
School ended, my life of freedom should have
Started, but my freedom you did control,
Asking I come back from college in time,
Asking I refrain from the Rock and Roll.
Then one year after, I went far away
To build my future. I walked one year back
To build my future. I went far away,
But you and mother never left me slack.
A little time has passed since I moved places,
It dawns on me that you were always right,
You were possessive, but importantly,
Wished that I scale an independent height.
Your austerity, care and philosophy
Have paved my road ahead. I will follow
Milestones you have dreamt, on my chosen path,
I'll try to keep the count of mistakes low,
But I will learn, as you always advise,
From the few I make. I'll make some for sure.
Your teachings will be there in steps I walk,
And truth and righteousness I will ensure.
If, God asked would I want to change my life?
I'd say, "Nah! I would have the same rather."
For you some-fifty-odd-years-old, good man,
I'm lucky to have you as my father.