Will . . ?

Will the coming year
wipe every tear
alleviate all fear
bring bonhomie
peace and harmony
some hope, some cheer ?

Will there be time
when it’s not yours and mine
and hearts become benign
when mounting toll
sorrowed soul
reduce not life to a dime ?

Will those wounds ever heal
as we learn not to kneel
but to firmly deal
with faith gone astray
sanity run away
with honest resolve and zeal ?

Will some men stop to hate
stop to go on killing spate
will it not abate
cracked community
humbled humanity
longs for peace, how long to wait ?

Blind Vision

Blind Vision

There are no colours
no clear contours
no night or day
no long and tedious plans
no great aspirations
no hurry no real worry
it’s a world of serenity
of placid calm
it’s the world of the blind.
What they can't see still exists for them
surely they have their own images
they live by the hour at most by the day
forever together in twos or threes
hand in hand, arm in arm
complementing faulted faculty.
Their pure laughter moved me no end
singing songs poking fun
they came in
sat together and ate their meal
while I relished their appetite.

I came back thoughtful
into the world of vision
only to realise
what we - the able-visioned
severely lack is the blind vision.

I wrote these lines when I visited the home for the blind the first time ever. My late wife’s mother had planned to take cooked food for the inmates of the home on the occasion of her first death anniversary. The entire experience was not only humbling and purifying, one could even feel something spiritual about it. Or else, how did the visual impairment of these hundred odd boys not dampen their zest for life, their ability to laugh and enjoy their meal? What stood out clearly was that you didn’t have to be bodily complete to live a full life. They had energy beyond the normal which was manifest in their ability to turn their handicap into a meaningful existence. Perhaps the absence of visual faculty is perceived as a handicap by us, the so called normal people. Their world may not have real images but some images are surely there. What they cannot see still exists for them and they go on with their lives happily. Within the precincts of their `blind vision’ they have evolved a world through their imaginative sense of application. I asked a blind boy the time of the day. He lifted the lid of his special wrist watch, touched the hands on the dial and announced seven twenty. Another boy repeated the drill and said, “ Sir, you want the correct time ? It's seven twenty two!” He was dead right.

It was not the the skill of reading the brail watch or the accuracy of time that touched me. It was his will to excel and announce the right time that gave me glimpse of the extraordinary !

Doing Good Anyway

On a severe winter evening, a pack of monkeys shivered with cold as the breeze began to blow by dusk.They gathered under a tree for refuge and started collecting twigs of dry wood for fire to keep them warm.Unfortunately they could not manage to find some starting fire.One clever fellow caught a firefly and placed it under the pile of wood and the entire pack bagan to fan it, hoping it will light up !
Well ensconced in their cosy nests, hanging from branches of the tree, the weaver birds watched the miserable monkeys fail repeatedly.These birds are known for their skill of weaving beautiful nests that suspend from trees.Seeing the plight of poor monkeys the birds came out of their nests to tell them what mistake they were making.The monkeys went wild on learning how silly they were.They destroyed their nests, broke their eggs and made them homeless.
Such is life. Doing good to others at times can be misconstrued.
Should the birds have kept quiet ? Why did they invite the wrath of the monkeys ? Why not let a fool be a fool ? . . . . . . . . No. Goodness does not stop from being good,no matter what odds, for, it's essence lies in doing good.
Most of us are weak in our will to speak the truth.We think it's impolite to point out the wrong.Ordinary men think as a multitude, those of substance, fear not to go alone.

What Matters ?

It's a winter morning
here in the city of Bombay
there's a delicious warmth in the rising sun
I decide to go for a stroll
to get whiff of the first morning air.

I get onto the road
and find a beeline of small children
in whites and blues
with bags of books
hanging from their tiny shoulders.
There's an innocent intimacy
between boys and girls
talking incessently
laughing for ever
excited about the day ahead.
They all appear from humble homes
headed for the municipal school
with hope in their hearts
dream in their eyes.

How proud I am  I say to myself
to see not-so-lucky children
waking up to the dawn of knowledge
from years of ignorance
from centuries of darkness
for there was no big opportunity then
to even reach the gates of a school.

Then I look down at their feet
a chance look indeed
not all have a footwear !
Perhaps the burden of books
and of uniform
has made shoes a lesser priority
the poor cloth they wear
makes the uniform an apology anyway.

My eye sheds an involuntary tear
not for I am sorry for them
to see tender bare feet
walk upon the harsh road
it's a tear of joy instead
to see their enthusiasm
not lessened for the want of a shoe
infact has multiplied
as they look happy
sure of themselves
and keen to go to school.
They seem to convey -
shoes don't matter
paper and pencil do !

Ode to Sarkozy and Bruni

I love the way Sarkozy and Bruni love each other !
it shows in every picture, every moment
an amorous convergence
in full public eye
even the black lace of her inner wear
shows above her low-waisted jeans !
it's love afterall
not hatred , the world is so familiar with.

The two are the stuff
Hollywood gods are made of
they together exude something sublime
however ephemeral
and what is not shortlived in this life ?
But why is the world going crazy
about they being together ?
why is the green-eyed monster
spewing silly expletives ?

Hey guys ! just let them be
this crescendo will die soon
in it's own dissonance
this acrimony will fade out
against the melody of their love.
I have an idea !
let's invite them to the Taj, Agra
for, what could be better
than two beautiful people
to come together
in a tribute
to the monument of immortal love ?!

Dealing With An Evil Giant

In my childhood, I had heard a story of an evil giant who would ransack homes of people living in the nearby village, eat all their food and take their belongings away, even toys of children. The 'toys' bit must have been added by a clever parent to make us do our homework! The villagers were petrified of the giant’s wrath and thought of devising methods to protect themselves. My mind also worked day and night in support of the villagers. I hated the giant and went around asking friends if anyone had a gun bigger than mine. A boyish romance with even a toy-gun seemed realistic then. At times I was tempted to befriend the giant for the simple reason that he would by now have a truckload of toys!

A hoary headed villager suggested a wise plan - make homes on top of tall trees and around them make a huge ditch covered with thorny bushes, with a secret path to come and go. Everyone hailed the plan and found merit in it. I don’t know whether the giant ever came or was ever captured. Time passed by and almost five decades later today, I still feel the presence of the giant. Metaphorically, our desires and insecurities about life, belongings, position, power and relationships are collectively the evil giant.

Living atop the tall tree suggests rising above the worldly desires and distractions. Creating a ditch around us signifies keeping ourself safe from the ills of pleasures. The secret path to come and go is symbolic of the fact that as long as we live in this world we cannot completely cut ourselves off from it. We do need a to and fro passage between attachment and detachment. You cannot remain stagnant at one end of the spectrum; it’s all about getting the right mantra that works for each one of us. Attachment upon breaking causes sorrow and detachment alone cannot run the affairs of the world. The right balance lies somewhere between the two.

An old fable has conjured up a fine recipe for a more meaningful life. I don’t know how to thank the wise old man.

Two Minds Two Islands

On two islands we dwell
shut in the confines of our shell
we step out with trepidation
and soon retract to our hybernation
but each exercise is not worthless
it leaves us wiser, however fruitless.

No matter how big a feat
no matter how humbling a defeat
we may find what we want someday
as we walk between joy and dismay
love will always triumph indeed
over cast , colour and creed.