Saw the color of pain on the one side
It shone brightly with its own angst
Visible with all its brazenness
Piercing like jagged lines of glass
And tearing apart
The timelines of present reality

On the other end of the spectrum
Was the color of joy
Shy in its own modest way
Reveling in the shadows
And in being secretive
Visible only to the innards of space

In between the two
Was the color of the beloved
Alternating between the two
Taking turns
At providing joy and angst
Speaking a language of its own

A language meant to be understood
Only by two
The rose and the nightingale
The seeker and the sought
The temple goer and the diety

For the language and the words
Were soaked in the color of the beloved
They spoke of her when they were spoken
They wrote of her when they were written
They smelled of her whey they were thought
They were thought itself in her colors
In the vibrant yellow of the summer sun
They were painted in her hues
As they were meant to be
The words were nothing else
But soaked
Soaked in the colors of the beloved.

P.s : The author of the poem is an odd-ball, doing odds job at odd times. An engineer by qualification, he does everything other than related to the field of engineering.  He, which basically means I as the I am in the habit of referring to myself as some other person, runs a vocabulary gig by the name of www.wordpandit.com and is free enough to take up workshops across North India.

That etches my soul

One bit at a time

On the canvas of life

I am strewn across

As a muddled mass of blood and bone

On the mattress of guilt

I lay bare

To the naked eyes of the world

Exposed of my innards

I seek shelter

In the arms of my beloved

Arms that broke as soon as they were cast

Cast in the smell of longing

In the dust and heat of the summer

I am etched

By not love or lust

But by pain

One bit at a time

One piece at a time

As I lay in wait to be completed

I seek neither my love nor my mistress

For I am owned and owned

Alone by my pain

That etches me.

P.s : The author of the poem is an odd-ball, doing odds job at odd times. An engineer by qualification, he does everything other than related to the field of engineering.  He, which basically means I as the I am in the habit of referring to myself as some other person, runs a vocabulary gig by the name of www.wordpandit.com and is free enough to take up workshops across North India.

The streets of everyday life
Filled with commotion
And banalities that take you edge

Everyday life with its simplicity
Plays with you

The reprieve from the inane
Seems to reside in eyes of the beloved
In the mischief they hold
As if they hold some secret to life

In the dark corners of loneliness
Reside the echoes of her voice
Ones that resonate not in the ear
But in the soul

With every syllable
They carry not the contour of her voice
But of her skin
They visit the fragments of existence
Often missed by the conscious mind

The breathe in exile
Is exhaled
Only to inhale
Her memories
And her touch
For in Molly
Resides the mythical being
The being of existence
That merges within itself.

P.s 1: Note: This poem is an extension of the first one in this series, the first one that was written for Molly. The meanings and contexts will be clear to for whom this is intended. For the rest, it is just another attempt at blabbering.

P.s 2: The author of the poem is an odd-ball, doing odds job at odd times. An engineer by qualification, he does everything other than related to the field of engineering.  He, which basically means I as the I am in the habit of referring to myself as some other person, runs a vocabulary gig by the name of www.wordpandit.com and is free enough to take up workshops across North India.

Wrote this in 2011.
One of my all time favorite poems.

P.s: The author of the poem is an odd-ball, doing odds job at odd times. An engineer by qualification, he does everything other than related to the field of engineering.  He, which basically means I as the I am in the habit of referring to myself as some other person, runs a vocabulary gig by the name of www.wordpandit.com and is free enough to take up workshops across North India.

This poem is from that era.

We Were

We were sailing,
I was sailing,
She was sailing,
We were sailing together,
I was sailing alone,
She was sailing alone…

We were riding,
I was riding,
She was riding,
We were riding together,
I was riding alone,
She was riding alone…

We were walking,
I was walking,
She was walking,
We were walking together,
I was walking alone,
She was walking alone…

We sailed,
Till the wind allowed us to do so…

We rode,
Till we had the strength to do so…

We walked,
Till our legs did not give away…

Those sails,
Waited for us to sail again…

Those cycles,
Waited for us to ride again…

Those paths,
Waited for us to walk again…

But we were done,
With our sailing, riding and walking,
At least for this life time, that is…!!!

P.s 1: Now that you have endured this poem, you can have a mighty laugh…:)

P.s 2: The author of the poem is an odd-ball, doing odds job at odd times. An engineer by qualification, he does everything other than related to the field of engineering.  He, which basically means I as the I am in the habit of referring to myself as some other person, runs a vocabulary gig by the name of www.wordpandit.com and is free enough to take up workshops across North India.

An exercise in worship
Turned into a celebration of bodies
An ode to longing
Coalesced into the sweat of passion
The temple of memories
Turned into the cries of ecstasy

What merged into one
Were not only the bodies of two
But the past they had carried within them
What was left of them
Were not the spent ashes of passion
But the future they had given birth to

The lust in nature had spoken for itself
And from the throes of pulsating moments
Emerged words seldom expressed
Words which talked of bodies
But were meant to be taken for the soul all along

I sat down to write the verse of lust
What I wrote instead was the verse of love.

P.s: The author of the poem is an odd-ball, doing odds job at odd times. An engineer by qualification, he does everything other than related to the field of engineering.  He, which basically means I as the I am in the habit of referring to myself as some other person, runs a vocabulary gig by the name of www.wordpandit.com and is free enough to take up workshops across North India.

I was an artisan
Who used to carve flutes for others
She turned me into a musician
Who used to play tunes of love for her

I was a carpenter
Who used to saw wood for others
She made me a sculptor
Who carved her form on wood of desire

I was a manual laborer
Who used to paint walls of others
She made me a painter
Who painted her on the canvas of love

I was but an expression of gibberish
Who was forced to write the verse of love
For her voice rang in my ears for far too long to neglect
And her presence sank deep into my conscious
As the vehicle that carried my life
Soon became a form craving for completion.

Note: This poem, as all can make out, is an expression of love. The title here is the name of a loved one, one dear to my heart.
But the poem is not in fact an expression of love for her, but of her love.
In fact they say of poets that the best poetry is often produced when one talks of unrequited love. Enough has been said here for today i guess.

I don’t beg for money,
I don’t beg for sympathy,
I don’t beg for clothes,
I don’t beg for mercy.

But I only beg for the next meal.

I go to sleep,
After having begged for my last meal of the day,
I too have the right to sleep,
For I have done like every other man,
His day’s work.

I wake up in the morning,
My task being simple,
Too beg for my first meal,
And only for my first meal.

For I am not like a normal man now,
I don’t beg for the other meal,
I don’t beg for the next day,
I don’t beg for the month,
I don’t beg for the year,
I don’t beg for the rest of my life.

I am a beggar,
But not a beggar for the rest of life.
Rather I am beggar made of life.

These words really do not come from the best of authorise on democracy, but really it begs one very important question of us: does democracy exist in real or it is just a book of fiction sold to the gullible citizen. Does a just, free and fair society exist in nations which are supposedly under the democratic rule? Or are we just living under the constant allusion that we are living in a democratic state?

Let’s take both sides of the coin of democracy, one by one and clarify the confusion we find ourselves in.

First the pro-democracy stance. We have the right to vote and that to at different levels of the political process. There are elections for panchayats, municipalities and corporations, state assemblies and then at last the parliament. We get a natural right to exercise this right, endowed to us by the constitution by virtue of our being born in this nation that which we all refer to as India. Now in comparison to some of the other states, all over the world, our elections are also conducted in a fairly free manner. We have numerous candidates, belonging to all and sundry classes to chose from. So in comparison to a Russia, China or a Pakistan, we are fairly well of. But is being fairly well of good enough?

And add to this the number of parties that there are adds to the number of choices one has.

And then there is a comprehensive, with respect to its extent and functioning, judicial system available to us. The arms of judiciary are spread far and wide.
And to the levels of judiciary available, if we add the bureaucratic machinery in India, then one is truly amazed at the extent of the systems that prevails in this country.

Along with these we have the very active national human rights commission. And numerous other Ngo’s working in the field of emancipation of the needy.

Add to this the economic progress we have made over the last 15 years, which just could not be possible without the political will of our democratic bosses.

Well these positives of our democratic system make us a functioning democracy, and that’s how best it can be described. Nothing more can be attributed to it but the tag of functionality. Yes, it’s also the largest democracy in the world, with the quantum of population we have. But are we a successful democracy?

The answers can be reached by just having a look at some of the other facets of India.

Let’s first take up the political system of this country and the choices available to us.

Yes we have loads of politicians and party’s to choose from, but what about their quality? Either they are criminals boosting of such records that I believe they shouldn’t be allowed even on the streets but instead they find themselves sitting merrily on the chairs of power, warming their corrupt asses.
Then the other variety of politicians we have are the one which were not delivered on the hospital tables but literally on the chairs, benches and table of theirs power wielding politician parents. These are the lucky few who are born with one extra fundamental right than any of others like us are: the right to contest elections. And to the last category of the contesting clowns belong the ones who are the actual clowns in the whole show. These are ordinary residents like you and me, who with the spirit of bringing a change field themselves in an election, but the end result is disastrous. Even their securities are forfeited, for they did not feed the thirsty with bottles of liquor, did not fill the stomachs of those hungry with wads of notes and last but not the least, and did not silence the dissenting voices by the butt of their guns.
When one has such a choice of admirable candidates to choose from, it’s not surprising that a vast number of the educated classes choose to abstain from voting and more importantly the political process. For it is easy to keep oneself away from the mess of politics than it is to work in such a system.

Now the second very prominent aspects of politics in India: claims to secularity, by each and every party that exists in this country. And this is when the actual status of these parties is to the contrary. A look at their past puts to rest all these claims , for these parties react differently, very differently from their secular status when they are put under the gun and they have a situation to draw mileage from. A look at the chequered history of the parties would put to rest this point for once and for all:
BJP: the party described the most un-secular of all, had a very prominent hand in the 1992 riots in the Bombay of then, brought about primarily by the shenanigans they carried out in Ayodhya. Then who can forget 2002: Godhra and Narendra Modi, Praveen Togadia and their Muslim thrashing company of sorts.
Congress: the party whose claims to secularity are as ancient as the party itself, had a more than prominent hand in the Delhi, 1984 Sikh riots. And the apology came after 20 years, from the current PM. It’s a good system, cut and butcher people and then say: I am sorry, my head hangs in shame and I am sorry from the deepest of depths of my hearts but life has to move on, especially for those like us who are saddled with the saddles of power!
Akalis: what to say really! The whole period of insurgency in the 80’s and early 90’s in Punjab stands as testament to their acumen in the field of religious and political bigotry!
DMK/PMK: we wish for a separate state! We are independents! We are Tamils! We are not part of the sovereign state of India! A prime minister was blown to bits, in front of the whole world just to prove their point.
Communist: yes, the ones who adopt socialist causes and secularity as their own children are bigots too! The comrades are a power wielding group of thugs. The principal of equality they preach is principally flawed. There can be no equality between individuals; the principle is against the principles of nature, whose basic premise is the difference between different individuals. The difference is inherent. And in any ways, these comrades don’t act equal anyways. The only equals are outside of them, the ones who they rule. And their secular claims can be put to rest by words such as Nandigram, minority appeasement etc.
And who so ever is left is as good as the above only, for the pot all these guys are cooked in is the same only and so is the recipe of their formulation.

Let’s come to the economic aspect of the democracy in India. It’s the most important aspect at this point of time, for we are one of the fastest growing economies in the world. Yes, we are doing so on the basis of our merit. That cannot be defied neither can be the entrepreneurial skill exhibited by some extraordinary individuals. Naming them won’t make a difference so not naming any name here. But there is flip side to this economic progress. This progress is principally skewed, towards a few and towards the urban economy. And out of those a principal chunk of them are strangely politicians. As a normal middle class household battles to earn a decent living, a decent place to live in and a decent life, the politicians are merrily making a life, a large hallowed life for themselves. Actually the modern politician is more a property dealer than anything else. There is no deal that can go through without his prior approval. If the deal is of a lower scale, there would be a corresponding property dealer, oops actually a politician available to do the needful. And as the value goes up, so does the level of politician involved, from a councillor to a MLA, that is.
And there is still a better description for these modern politicians: they are commission agents. Yea that’s what they are, facilitating every type of a deal, from power broking to industries to social welfare, all for a petty little commission.
And old Gandhian principles are passé; the new age politician is a globalised one, having multiple accounts in multiple nations, for it is a global village, isn’t it?

Now to the second part of talk on economic growth: the concentration of wealth in the hands of few. Let’s look at a few innocent happenings of this country to have a greater understanding. We have reached a stage today when nearly 25% of the districts of this country are under the influence of the Naxalites.
And more importantly the number is rising as is the growing disillusion with the systems of the country in rural India. One really doesn’t need to go and have a look at things in the villages. Reading about them in the newspapers is gut wrenching in itself.
And what needs to be understood about the Naxals is that these people are not some gun brandishing terrorists, but in fact they are people who have been driven to the brink of extinction. We have tribals picking up arms, for they have been displaced of their traditional hunting ways of life and now they are left with no other choice but that of arms. And there are numerous cases of people being displaced from their native lands in the name of some godforsaken development. Similar is the case of farmers, whose anguish is such that even though they feed the rest of the nation, they have hardly enough for themselves. There are registers being maintained in the villages of Maharashtra, where they make entries with regard to the number of farmers who have committed suicide in a particular crop season. This is what we have for those who work their asses of in order to feed the vast population of this country.

As far as the human rights or the right of humans is concerned, have a look at the mess in Kashmir and we would realize, how in the name of the nation, the valleys once inhabited by god have been left sullied with blood to the extent that the expression on its face is almost non decipherable. And then there is the North East, which is as bad. Even though it doesn’t manage to garner the same kind of publicity that Kashmir does. And talking of rights, another point that needs to be kept in mind is how creative artists are treated whenever they try to criticize the system. The right to free expression is something which can be suspect even in this country, which is supposedly a democracy.

Now let’s have a look at the hallowed precincts of judiciary. Just a single day spent in the courts, fighting a single case, (right or wrong is purely subject to the amount of money you can dole out to lubricate the system) would explain the status of an institution which on paper is the last vestige for the poor and the wronged to go and prove their truth. As it stands at the moment, irrespective of how so many judgements the Supreme Court may pass against the executive, our system of justice is rotting. Not only is it delayed but in most cases denied as well. And to say more on this might make me guilty of contempt of the courts prestige, so would stop here only.

This is just about it with regard to description of the various facets of our democracy, there are many that I have missed out but then if this is how they are , its better that they be left alone only.

Now coming back to the start: is really our democracy for donkeys? Are we really dumb asses carrying the weight of the country’s existence on our individual shoulders, whereas in actual fact it should be carried by the political classes of this country?
No, to name all individuals and systems as corrupt, malfunctioning pieces of scrap yard equipment would be an overstatement. But then the systems of this country are overflowing with excesses. They are. The freedom of being able to lead a life which is not sullied form corruption and malaise at the grassroots levels does not exist. And the major point of concern is that we are heading for the worse. As the value of money increases, so is its appetite.

And we, the educated classes are being reduced, and more importantly allowing a few to reduce to us to mere spectators, who are watching a brutal game being played out by a few politicians in the arena of corruption. Time’s as good as any to blow the whistle, show them the red card and dispose them of the field.

Their flight was uninhibited. Dire straits was playing in my ears. The sun was just around the horizon. The water was still, yet restless. As if it was part of an audience , waiting anxiously for the play to begin but in this case the play was not be performed. But to be plucked from the visuals in the sky.

They were flying in a group. Little black birds dotting the sky with little spots, which spewed and sprayed all around.

And then appeared my two little innocent playmates for the morning. My Romeo and Juliet.

Laying everybody low..
With a Love song that he made..

They were petite. They could both fit into my hand. They could fit into any hand. They had different shades of black, brown, and white strewn across their bodies.

They started to approach each other. As they came closer so did come the kind of silence which comes when two unknown, absolute strangers acknowledge the presence of one another, probably in some equally unknown, strange corner of some square.

Finds a streetlight..
Steps out of the shade..

They met in the sky for the sky for the first time. Their feathers started to flutter a little harder. The strain of the date in the skies was visible. Each movement counted in this process of seeking the other out of its inhibitions.

What struck me was that my Romeo and Juliet were in the process unaware of the whole process as it is was. So much like me. So much like her.

Says something like..
You and me baby..
How about it..

They flew together, in perfect harmony of each others presence, in perfect synchronization of each other’s movement, in perfect existence of each others bodies.

We flew together to. In perfect harmony, synchronization, existence for the time and way it was meant to be.

We found the same joy, as did Romeo and Juliet in their flight.

Juliet..
The dice was loaded from the start..
And I bet..
You exploded into my heart..

They came closer and closer to each other. As close as if they were making love in the skies.
We were close too. Close to make something out of nothing.

I cant do everything..
But I can do anything for you..
I cant do anything..
Except be in love with you..

Then as soon as they were within touching distance of one another, they started to separate. As if there was some hand at work, guiding each to its own fare in life.
They were no longer together, both headed to where they came from.

All I do is miss you..
And the way we used to be..

They came from nowhere. They met. They flew together for the time it was meant to be. And they parted for their separate ways when it was meant to be.

We came. We met. We parted. When it was all meant to be.

Love struck romeo……..