Mind Frame

A day before Diwali, in New Delhi...Saw her on the other side of the car window... Sadistic the winter air beats across her bones, Open palms,watery eyes & rags for what she calls clothes, Blisters on her knuckles and a smile upon her lips, A three year old by her side,a younger one on the hips. Gods name she calls for alms to help her by, Shadowed is her future as lights light up the sky, Diwali is what she asks me for, gives blessings in return, Her frail hands near the fire, shreds of wood they burn. My hands search my pockets for remnants of her hope, They too are empty, but at least am warm in the biting cold.

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, He...

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...

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.