GUJARAT BURNS

A child in bandages, on a hospital bed
Confusion in his pain-filled eyes
Wondering why?

A man weeping, hands folded
Begging for help
That never came

Mother and child burnt alive
While the umbilical cord
Still bound them together

A brave young girl
Trying to smile
Through hard-to-control tears

Homes burning in flames of hatred
Terror walking the streets
With home-made swords

And as Hindus and Muslims
Fight over a Temple and a Mosque
Humanity is maimed, humanity is murdered
Humanity will never walk this land again.

(The pictures above, which appeared in Times of India during the Gujarat riots of 2002, and an interview I saw of Dr Bandukwala and his daughter, were the 'inspiration' if you can call it that, for this poem. I strongly believe that violence and terrorism should be unequivocally condemned - whether it is Islamic terrorism or Hindu militancy. When I used to read about Hitler's pogrom against the Jews, I used wonder how could the world let this happen. It's a frightening thought that such things can happen again and again, only the perpetrators change, the victims change, the spectators change... I pray that there may be no more Gujarats, no more Bombay Blasts, no more WTC bombings)

A CHILD'S WORLD

“Tell me child of the world you see
It surely is different from the world I see.
Is everybody beautiful in your world my child?
Is everybody pleasant-tempered and mild?
Is your world coloured in pastel shades?
Is it filled with hills and valleys and glades?
Is your world free of vices and sins?
Is your world a world where everybody wins?
Tell me child of the world you see
It surely is different from the world I see”.

The child answers:

“My world, it is such a beautiful place
I can see it reflected, in my mother’s face
Safe in her arms, my world I find
Free from all horrors – to sorrows blind
In my world are blue, blue skies
Rainbows and laughter and songs and smiles
The grass is so green, the roses so red
No child in my world goes hungry to bed
Everybody has a home to call their own
Nobody in my world walks alone
My world is nature’s exclusive domain
Free of hurts and aches and pains
In my world are no walls that divide
No fights, no riots, no secrets to hide
No barriers of language, caste or creed
In the name of religion, my people do not bleed
So pure and so clean is my world, my friend
My world is a world of love, my friend”.

(One of those few poems of mine that are not sad, I guess!!!)

THE BOOK EXHIBITION IS ON IN BANGALORE!

Had been to the Book Exhibition at Palace Grounds on Saturday, with Anu. It was wonderful! And what made me really happy were the crowds. (No, I don’t love crowds, in fact I hate them… but it was good to see that there are many, many serious readers out there).

We splurged on the books…Anu had her list of “must-buys” and I picked up several books that I had been reading about, like “Sacred Games” by Vikram Chandra, “Shantanu”, “The Inheritance of Loss”, by Kiran Desai (for which she won the Booker Prize), two books by Paul Coelho (author of The Alchemist), a book on Brand Building – “One Land, One Billion Minds” (by Ramunjam Sridhar… incidentally Sunil worked with him at RK Swamy-BBDO) and “The Black Book” by Orhan Pamuk, the Turkish writer who won the Nobel Prize in Literature, 2006 “who in the quest for the melancholic soul of his native city has discovered new symbols for the clash and interlacing of cultures". Have started reading the last book and am really impressed by this writer’s style and the very evocative images that he paints. All the other books must wait… I am just waiting to read them. Also picked up “The Inscrutable Indian” by Anurag Mathur. Have read it before and remember how much I had enjoyed it… truly, truly hilarious – from the very first page!

Talking about books, would love to one day fulfill my childhood ambition of becoming an “author”. Only wonder if I have the self-discipline for it!

A MOMENT

Stop, my Love
Let me capture this moment
In the palm of my hand
Hold it tight
And let it not pass
For this moment is ours
And ours alone

Let me frame it
In my eyes
Store it
In my mind
Hide it
In my heart

Feel it. Relive it,
Treasure and cherish it
For this moment is ours
And ours alone

A TRIBUTE TO MY DAD

In the stillness of my silences
In the middle of a crowd
In the quiet of the night
In the midst of a rushed work-day
It suddenly strikes me like a searing pain
That I will never ever see you again.

You will never walk down my office stairs
With all the news you want to share
You will never again show off your brand new car
With the glowing pride of a brand new dad

You will never again call me every Sunday
Or laugh when I wish you a Happy Father’s Day
You will never again bring me childhood relics
My school notes. Some tattered photos. My old diaries

You will never again give me a loving smile
Or look over your specs with a twinkle in your eye
Never again will you try to build bridges between others and me
Mend my broken heart or strengthen relationships.

How heart-wrenchingly final are the words “Never Again”
Filled with regret. Filled with pain.
How I wish I could have you back!
How I wish I had made more of the time we had!
I wish I had told you how much you meant to me
How knowing you’re there, made me feel…

Time, they say, will heal the wound, erase the pain
But I wonder if I’ll stop missing you ever again.

(This poem was written just a few days after my dad passed away. A perceptive friend remarked that she could actually feel the tears in the poem...)

CRY RAIN, CRY

Cry Rain
Cry for me
For all that was
And never will be

For all my hopes
And all my dreams
Filled with magic
And moonbeams
Cry Rain
Cry for me

For feelings that have
No expression
That know no creed
Nor religion

For the beauty within
And the beauty without
For a hundred hopes
And a hundred doubts

For the joy that begs
To be free again
For the love that I’ll lose
And the love that I’ll gain
Cry Rain, cry again

For all that was said
And all that was done
For all that was lost
And all that was won
For the restlessness
That just won’t let me be
Cry Rain
Cry for me

And cry Rain cry,
For all whose dreams had to die
For empty stomachs and tear-filled eyes
For forced smiles and sorrowful sighs
For all the unhappiness that in this world lies
Cry. Cry. Cry Rain, cry

THE BANQUET IS OVER

So carefully we decorate our Life
With colourful dreams
Festoon it with hidden hopes
Secret desires and secret longings
For more enchantment –
Bejewel it with illusions
Adorn it with Ambition
Sprinkle it with bouquets of Laughter

Until…. Destiny enters
In her hand – the Sword of Death
The banquet is over
It’s time to go home