2 year old Lara at the NGO i interned at in Dec 2008...
Somethings grow on you... the dogs did...

24th April 2009....2300 hours outside Wilson...Macchican Hall.. Mumbai...
The city does not sleep.. My cellphone camera again..

Long time ago i happened to read about the displacement of a village in Gujrat due to the Narmada dam construction and how people who have stayed there for years are moving away after dismantling their dreams and their domes altogether. Following are a few lines that i penned thinking about what it would be like to leave all that you have ever had for the bleak unknown. I think it would be imperative that someone in that situation would only yearn to go back and that is what i have tried to summarise in the few lines that i have written here.....

करवटों से सिली हुइ सपनों की जहाँ चादर थी ,
बारिशों में पली बड़ी बूंदों की जहाँ साजिश थी,
बादलों सा बहता हुआ आशाओं का था जहाँ तराना,
लौटा दो वो गाँव मेरा जहाँ था मेरा सिराहना।
लौटा दो वो गाँव मेरा जहाँ था मेरा सिराहना।

धुप में खिलती थी जहा बचपन की वोह मेरी बातें,
अमिया के पेड़ तले ठंडी ठंडी सी रातें,
कच्चे पक्के से रास्तों पे से जहाँ था मेरा आना जाना,
लौटा दो वोह गाँव था जहाँ मेरा सिराहना।
लौटा दो वोह गाँव जहाँ था मेरा सिराहना।

The massacre of innocent lives in Mumbai had millions of stories. Fortunately, most of those killed were not children. Unfortunately, several of those orphaned still.
The following lines are dedicated to all the children who shall have a void in their life forever. Those who lost their dad, mom or even both. These lines are also written for the wives who shall never see their husbands again, for husbands who shall never see their wives. In short, to all those who lost a loved one. For those who lost years in those hours, as well as to those who gained some, only to realise the vagaries of life.

(Above) The tall and mighty Taj a while after the incident... Took it from my cell camera on a bike ride with a friend...

With eyes so blue in a face so grim,
Songs of sorrow stored deep within,
Her heart growing weaker with growing pain,
Heart break as cold as winter rain.

She stalk midnight like shadows at noon,
And waits but knows he won’t be here soon,
Lights shine out at a distant scene,
Her mind lingers to places she has never been.

Her fingers and her gentle touch,
Will never speak about her past much,
From deep within she lets out a sigh,
With a sense of relief she wonders why,
And then the feeling sinks within,
As silence tears the roaring din.

With eyes so blue in a face so grim,
Songs of sorrow stored deep within,
She wonders what is with this that is right,
Her eyes close and thoughts take flight.

She will remember him by the words he said,
Times of yore when rhymes he read,
Her distant dream to hear his voice,
Any pain on earth it would suffice.

With eyes so blue in a face so grim,
Songs of sorrow stored deep within,
Her heart grows warm with faith that’s new,
For she knows she is one of few,
Who held his hand ever so close,
And it is she alone who only knows,
That he loved her like no one else,
As though she was a part of him, himself.

I often wonder what drives young men to take to arms. I realise they are driven towards a wrong cause by some men who were misled too. In the following lines I try to depict the scene of terrorist who is embarking on his task, in the hope that men do not take recourse by such measures for there are people as well as a power that awaits to make amends.

Cowed down by ways of his life in a corner he sits scared,
With folded hands and open palms, head bowed down in prayer,
Misled by his virtues, his future on the floor,
A voice inside that’s telling him, to settle all his scores.

For tragedies yet to happen, all miseries he must stall,
Rise for the common cause, answer Allah’s call,
What he won’t know is that his heart is cold and still,
And all that he plans about, is against Allah’s will.

Misery in his bloodshot eyes, his lips spell out a curse,
Misunderstood, oft repeated a common holy verse,
Deep in prayer with beads of sweat upon his brow, he summons his men miss bred,
Heaven has been promised says he, our generations will be in debt.

Deep inside the valley reach the rays of early morn,
Cleanse the heart of those who trust in him, roses amongst the thorns,
Calls to god magnify the splendour of first light,
As men prepare to launch assault at the end of dark and ugly night.

Wailing wolves echo in the distance and shiver the cities dim lit streets,
A curfew holds all things still, and silence is replete,
Mourning sirens scream, the truth into the night,
It’s all over then end is here, the forces won the fight.

Cowed down by ways of his life, on the floor he lies,
With dusk passed away, a sordid chapter of his life,
Misery and misdeeds, his weapons by his side,
All is over now; it’s only the truth that does reside.

Misled by his virtues, his future on the floor,
It happened as almighty willed, settled were all scores.

Its funny at a media institute people tell one to be care full with what he or she writes or speaks, especially when its the truth and a glaring one at that. So this next piece of writing is dedicated to those -who wish they were mute when questions are asked, blind when events unfold, to those who fold their hands and pray that they are deaf when the truth is told.

When god gave me hands to write on what i could not see.
He gave me ears, so i could hear,what was not meant to be.
So when i was asked to be aware of what i speak and write ,
I told that voice in my head, i wont go down without fight.
What do they know, who do advise of how things are meant to be,
for all they do is close their eyes and wish they can not see.
So forgive me those who in my words do not and will not trust,
for this is the way i live my life and my mind i must.
My pen will move powered on by valiant might and skill,
Indomitable is my spirit, unquestionable will be my will.

Its quite often that we ignore the plight of those who taught us how to think. Quite easily we tend to forget the sacrifices they made for us, the nights they were awake and they were there with those warm comforting hands. Quite easily, their inocent ways of looking at life and concern that can be seen in their eyes when all's not well. The fact that they dont sleep well,when miles away we (or atleast i) are not at rest.

Some of us do realise their worth but those who dont do so end up rendering them in the twilight of their life to sad avenues like old age homes. So, i for a change put myself in the shoes of those who are less fortunate and came up with the following lines. Its a small attempt to look at the misery and pain that might be felt by them.


I know I am going to be alone now,
Coz no ones going to be home now,
But then this is how always, my daily story ends.
Bills adorn my walls now,
But surprisingly somehow,
Busy in all my ways I am-is how I pretend.

Walls around me smirk at my face,
An old calendar, an empty plate,
Those who were mine I have set free, among pleasures are where they roam.
Unkempt and forgotten amongst thoughts sweet and rotten
Memories are all that I have for company in this old age home.