But something ere the end... Some work of noble note may yet be done

Mirik, 2011

May 22, 2011 Leave a comment

Riding through white streams
Through these mountains of lore
Where the heart is without fear
And the mind full of uproar
Of pealing laughter and rejoice
Of triumph in every voice
A jarred inkling every way
That bids you forever to stay.

Where the Sun raises its head first
To the welcome of chirping birds
Where the mist catches your breath
As you jog in the morning and stretch
And every ounce of life that greets
Brings a smile with every meet
Where all the shadows you pass tell
A merry story, a fantasy so well.

And as the shadows grow with day
The fog disappears in the middle of May
To leave a brook where horse ruts were
And every hoof carves a small pond
The silent prayers fills the town
The quiet monks led in procession
And bird and bee flock everywhere
In nature’s own lap, in Her care.

And as the day begins to fade
The beating of crickets sets in late
A white blanket covers the lake
And peace and silence once again sets
To dissolve all that revolution has made
To what had been here before long ages
Men, brethren, animals all set to sleep
Such is the beauty of Mirik.



April 10, 2011 Leave a comment

Before something close to leaving, if I could

Just wanted to try something special and good

So tried to be benevolent to friends

And very regular in attendance

Tried to give a few proxies in class

And also tried to keep a fast

And stood by a friend in need

A thousand rupees that he spent on weed

Tried to build a project all on my own

From the program to hardware all alone

Belittling obstacles, went all along

Tried to raise my voice against what’s wrong

Tried my best to stay close to friends

To effect every criticism to make amends

Changed my bloody life to suit their way

Making the best out of every day

And there’s nothing that I now repent

But still could not effect that change.

I realized, I should stay the same person crude

In that alone lies all the good.

Flights of Fantasy

April 9, 2011 6 comments

Three blocks away the Sun stood still
Still gazing at the little girl on the sill
Who waited all day long
She waited for hawkers calling out
Monkeys mimic at their masters’ shouts
She watched everyone that passed along.

And asked her mother what it would be
The link between fact and fantasy
That looked so much the same
Albeit no flying mats or talisman
No singing wolves or UFOs in the barn
But treading the same lane.

The creations that God has made
Makes me bow in awe in circumspect
At everything I hear or see
For the hues we have, the sands, the blues,
The contours that keeps me glued
This could only be a fantasy.

The mother rose her dim-lit face
And twitched her cheeks – a smile no less
And sunk back into the oily dish
That saw the extravagance of the previous night
Thrown by the master, unaware of her plight
To buy a little oil and a little fish.

For although rice is cheap, pulses dear
And she could not afford it for fear
Of tough times lying ahead
If her drunk husband were to come back
And gather deceit and once again attack
Her miseries would be well-paid.

She twitched her cheeks to show a smile
Making sure not to curl them awhile
To show the marks inflicted the other night
A small scuffle between the man and wife
That challenged, mortified a mortal life
And that had developed into this fight.

For she could bear the visible pain
But not the sympathy of her children
Two lovely girls were they
Whose fate now bound to her own
That had no meaning, no life or tone
In such a complete dismay.

And although she could bear one more child
To protect herself from her husband wild
What good would that ever do
With no belongings to dispossess
A son would ameliorate her troubles no less
Or make assurances for her future too.

One more hand would need more feed
Better to stay off the seed
The two daughters were quite good
And to get them married in good houses
Some savings, some compromises
No less than asking for more food.

And to save herself the wrath of her man
A household she single-handedly ran
She would have to let go of her job
That had come by in difficult times
With no guarantor to bet a poor woman’s crimes
And with two children coming to work.

She could not ask for a good sum
Working for shillings without a hum
Keeping her children close to her
The thatch was scary, the husband more
To leave the children, she could not be assured
Bringing them settled her fear.

The husband had never been this bad
A good job lost and fortunes collapsed
As in most fairy tales
But no resurrection or saviour came
The miseries only grew to make him insane
Now biting nervously on his nails.

He drank all fortunes and vented on her
Taking off on his wife, his full temper
The tempest did not pass
No work to do, no where to go
Falling down on fruits he did not sow
Never coming back alas.

The child wondered at the beauties of life
Still ignorant of all this strife
Which in time, she would know
She’s thrilled with fiction minus friction
Unaware of diction or its addiction
A free spirit with nowhere to go.

What if her life would throttle to a nomad
Directionless, vague and sad
Chasing mirages in the sands
But that’s only if she survives it all
The times swallow the glories and the gall
Even if you clutch on it with either hands.

She rocks the little girl in the casket
Who’s yet to open her eyes to the wonders around
To scream at the beautiful sights and sounds
The innocence shining vividly on her face
A mother fighting the odd ways of the world
To protect and prevent from mishaps to befall.

Those hands are now soft and tender
Tending the hard look upon the mother’s face
That looks up a little through disgrace
To push her children into uncharted water
Of which the outcome would not be worth to see
Or something completely out of fantasy.


April 7, 2011 Leave a comment

The Cup is here to be, But just before the victory

April 3, 2011 1 comment

Cricket is fun when Sachin is in form

When Viru starts to fire, Malinga goes haywire

When Gambhir gets a start, the ball disappears all over the mart

And when UV has a day, it’s a bowlers’ dismay

And putting runs on the board, shed half of the load

When Zaheer paces it up, Dilshan miscues it over the top

Sri Lanka is in a fix, having run short of a proper mix

Bhajji turns on the heat, for Sri Lanka’s defeat.


Cricket is fun when Sanga gets a ton

When Munaf gets slashed hard all over the park

When Jayawardhene strikes, he reaches new heights

A huge target to chase, and a formidable one no less

And Sachin replies with a knock driving Sri Lanka in shock

Sehwag takes the charge to expose the letharge

Murali turns the ball well to reduce the rest to the tail

But still his efforts go in vain, as Lanka fails once again.


Cricket is fun with the kind of atmosphere around

With the unison of its kind that one rarely finds

With the voices running down from California to Japan

With the spirit of fight with little display of might

With the sportsmanship we admire and the hopes pinned higher

With the cheer that sports brings and billions of dreams

With a billion fans all praying and a billion hearts all saying

That the cup is here to be, and that we shall see.

A Sonnet

April 3, 2011 Leave a comment

Heard ye, but I’m not yet hurt, although you might be gone

I would not still repent as yet the void of things you’ve undone.

Bid my greetings well once more, I may not see you here again

Or rejoice at your balmy voice or hear the peals of your chain.

And let poets sing a sassy tale of friends who’ve parted ways

But throw not those tantrums here; I would not bear that bitter face.

Just don’t turn back to show those muffled sobs, Lit with a fire within

That might just bring a thunderstorm upon this solemn inn.

They remind me of that warm day, upon the marketplace

Where driving pensively on the road, reflecting upon your taste

And singing a solemn song within, I drove right down the hill

And woke up to the pleasant smell of chagrin near the sill.

And you were seated right there then to comfort me of my pain

That will no longer be, and hence remind me not again.

Go to Hell

April 3, 2011 Leave a comment

Five years of impulse that drove me insane

Pumped every beat in my heart and vein

Mutating a machine into something humane

Spurred me powerfully in every rein


Transfixed in a moment of insanity and cower

Undoing everything through sun and shower

Like beheading in gall a blooming flower

Bending and changing my will and power


That too for no fault of my own

And now I’m once again left alone

To fight myself against my will

But I would fight mercilessly still.


And I will forget thee from my heart

Like a piece of trash in filth and discard

And I will trouble you not any more

In prayer, pleading or pledge or lore


But I still thank you for this life

For bringing me out of your strife

That is now bound in misery

I’m so sorry you’re not me.

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