Sunday, October 16, 2011

The Emancipated Woman

I am grateful I have a choice
I am grateful to the shoulders I stand on..
I am grateful that I don't have to be grateful..
All the time!

I choose education, I choose liberation
I choose doing exactly what I want
In exactly the way I like..
I choose flippant romances when I am bored
I turn down men, and they accept it
Without batting an eyelid..
I go out with my girlfriends in dark little by lanes
With overcrowded nightclubs
I wake up not entirely aware of what happened
The night before..
I choose this all and I seldom regret anything..

But sometimes, when I want to choose
What my instinct nudges me to choose..
A lifetime built on cooperation, perhaps compromises even
A long lasting friendship, with more of us to it
Than all of me. Of the gaps between milestones and achievements
That are not as pleasant as the medals that come at the end
Stretches of time that can be folded away
Only with a lot of patience
Of that latent strength that can only be active
When it is obviously passive
Knowing that sometimes, to win, in a true sense
You have to lose little battles and quietly dismantle your ego..
With all of these, I find myself oddly without choice..

Had I not been given the choice,
I would have probably learned to deal with it..
But the fact that I have a choice, throws me into a strange dilemma
Then sometimes, unknowingly, I wear those shiny stilettoes
And make my way to the busiest nightclub..
For an entirely new, yet sufficiently overacted iteration

It is one of those great ironies of life
When your freedom ties you down..

Thursday, October 13, 2011


I have walked this path before
I can see myself here, my very first time..
How I took the wrong turn and had to walk back
And start, all over again
That stub of a tree by that curve -- I used it as a chair
And wept, thinking I will never make it
I sat by the lake and forgot where I was going
Only to be rushed by the urgency of my goal
Sometimes, in moments of utter embitterment,
I swore that I would never come back here
But by the time it all ended, my feelings of hate and love did too..
I don't know if that is good or bad, but that is how it is!

Now that I walk again, with you, I feel a bit concerned
A bit constrained to be honest, with this iteration
But it is so refreshing to know that it ends
The crunching of maple leaves under our footsteps..
I want to hug you when you want to give up
I want to tell you that I have been there
Exactly on that stub of a tree of a chair!
I can see where you could make mistakes, well..
I prefer just to see it and smile, not stop you from it
For however painful it is now, I know you will own it next time
You will be eager to walk; for the familiarity and nostalgia
You will be confident, cautious and eager to teach..
And I don't want to rob you of that beautiful Retrace.

Thursday, September 29, 2011

Grumpy Grandpa

My anger is getting old now
He is not as sharp as he used to be..
Sometimes, he spends too much time thinking
Whether he is really needed..
And before he crosses that shaky bridge, the waters recede..
Sometimes he knows he needs to speak up
But is unsure whether it would be welcome..
Sometimes he is renewed with a new vigour
To act against the Unfair..
But he chooses beer over another futility
He doesn't like to go out and get noticed
And he is rather grumpy about having too many visitors
He would just prefer avoiding all the provocation
Fights tire him now and Patience is getting too good at it.
He doesn't mind the calmness, he doesn't miss the restlessness..
My Anger, is certainly an old man now.

Sunday, August 7, 2011

In my kitchen

In my kitchen, no two coffee mugs
Would look alike..
Earthy ceramics, shiny metal and pretty polka dots
Would grace the shelves hand in hand, side by side.
Just like the people in my life.

No two plates would carry the burden of staying together
Until an exhausted late night crash makes them part
They would all come in a group that is together
Because each one of them is unique and beautiful..
Not because they have to maintain the harmony
Of  subtly dictated artistic uniformity.

Between cups of chai, green tea
And awful American coffee,
And bites of tikka masala, apple pie,
Pumpkin soup and spaghetti
My kitchen would quietly celebrate
My life and its diversity.

The doorbell will ring; the oven will sing
The yellow lights shall stay on till late,
And despite the fragility of too much diversity,
In my kitchen, no one will fret over a broken plate.

Monday, March 7, 2011

Victims of Gravity

The roots of the giant Banyan tree
How they turn from uncertain shoots
Unaware of any purpose or direction;
Unaware of the larger scheme, the bigger theme..
Unaware of the existence of so many others
Who began as an aimless sprout..
And turned into the old, magnificent
Grandpa of a tree..
Wise, calm and full of sympathy
For impatience, haste and the fear of uncertainty..

Or the neatly queued Pines on a cold, crunchy slope,
Hiding cones and squirrels,
Bestowing their host with added dignity..
The meandering roads through Eucalypti
Making up with fragrance for their lack of destiny..
Perms of twisted, young tendrils
Bending gracefully with a fat Pumpkin..
Unaware perhaps hence perfectly able..
Of such prolific agility..

Should we then group them all
As fortunate victims of Gravity?

Saturday, February 5, 2011

Change and Exercise

Change is an exercise for the mind..
The alarm keeps going off
The mind keeps snoozing it
And with every snooze it deludes itself.

I am fine the way I look now
I am only doing this because I have issues,
With my self-image.
Perhaps I should just accept that I am here.
After all, changing this will bring its own challenges.
I would have to get new clothes..
And I would have to work harder
To stay where I get after this effort.

I know it will get better, but you never know
It could get worse.
Perhaps it is safer here. I feel peaceful,
On this pillow of contentment.

The sun comes up then, and the contentment
Evaporates like the dew drops at dawn.
Change, is just fitness for the mind.

Tuesday, January 4, 2011

Sea Saw

It is just another shore for some,
Another expanse of golden sand
Facing another volume of limitless water..
Their moments spent between the two
Have nothing to do with either the wisdom of waves
Or the patience of the sand..
For them, the ocean is an assumption.

Some know the moods of their ocean
By the dead creatures it spits on the beach..
Victims of the wrath of Poseidon perhaps..
Strewn about in beautiful, helpless designs on the sand..
They would admire the sparkling waves
For their infinity, their ability of making you insignificant..
For them, the ocean is power.

And then there are some, who are caught between
The shore and the sea, like the martyr jellyfish..
Observing the snake skins that the sunlight sheds
Between water and land; and how nothing is certain
But everything gets its say, its voice, its dance,
On the shimmering, dusky, seductive sand.
For them, the ocean is equilibrium.