Monday, July 14, 2014

The Foreign Trip

The wails of her younger sister wake up Anju. ‘Don’t sleep like a buffalo, get up and attend to your sister’ screamed her grandmother, in between her bouts of cough, caused by the oven than burns damp firewood. Anju got up, rolled her mat, picked up her younger sister and soothed her. She had a couple of hours before she goes to Rathi madam’s house to wash clothes and clean vessels. Today, madam had asked her to come early. Her son, daughter in law and grand children have come from New York. She is planning a special lunch. Anju always liked the family, as they are nice generous people. Anju knew that she will get some money, chocolates and so she was looking forward to her work today. 

There was a lot of work to be done, the now Americanized daughter in law of Rathi madam felt guilty about how people were treated in our country. She gave Anju 100 rupees as bonus! Anju thought she should buy some trinkets for her and medicines for grandmother. The rest she has to give to grandmother without appa knowing, else he will snatch and squander it on liquor.

When in the market she saw a parrot astrologer and as sixteen year old, full of dreams, wanted to know what is in store for her, in the future. The astrologer, being an astrologer, told her how a prince charming would come and make her happy. He also said that a foreign trip was on cards for her and it was up to her to take it or not. Anju was on cloud nine, if she could go she can solve all her family’s problems. She has seen how Rathi madam’s living changed after her son went to America.  When an opportunity comes I should be ready she said to herself. She made a list of things she would need for the travel, she already knew how to get the first thing it was easy. Next day she asked Rathi, if she can get the old worn out trolley back that anna had brought back from America. Anju finally got it, and took it to her home. Then the long wait for the opportunity, began!


It did come one day, after months or may be years, she didn’t count. Her dad came running into the house and said Muniappa was enrolling people to work in a sheikh's house in Dubai. Anju couldn't believe her ears and rushed to Muni with whom her appa, negotiated commercials, but she was too excited to notice. A deal was stuck & the day of departure arrived. Anju boarded the bus with others; with less luggage and a huge baggage. As soon as the bus started, Muni made a call and informed someone that he has sent the next batch and asked him to snatch the passports as soon as they arrive, as he handed over a wad of notes to Anju’s father.

Tuesday, June 17, 2014

The Dream

Something is pulling my soul from me
Like how my amma pulls a small ball of dough from a bigger one,
Like how the earth was pulled from the sun,
Or the moon was pulled from the earth.
Every night, the sky searches for me, to whisper a thrilling plan
If only, I come out of my house.
Millions of rain drops wait to fall on my cheeks,
If only, I peep out of my umbrella.
Thousand blades of grass wait to kiss my feet
If only, I step out of my shoes.
The paper boats I made and let sail as a child,
Have reached the streams of my future and are waiting for me to board.
I will cross the seven seas and conquer lands beyond,

If only, I Wake up.

Monday, June 3, 2013

Bubble wrap dreams!



The colours on the canvas fade slowly

As the winds of life erode the surface

Of my our imaginary worlds

Those worlds that are made and destroyed

By wills and fancies – ironically not mine!

For solace we can fall back on Karma,

Honestly where will civilizations be 

if not for these philosophies?

Well, for some, dreams are like bubble wrap,

Meant less for nurturing, more for bursting

Either for the pleasure of others

Or for ourselves, as we have nothing better to do!

But thanks to those fancies we beggars can ride once in a while.

Saturday, January 26, 2013

The drunkard’s babel



Don’t call me a drunkard; I drink to be honest

The world kills the candid men; you either lie or die

Spirits make us blurt out the harshest of the bitter truths

Hence listen, sober fools

Often the protagonist and the hero of a tale are different

The protagonist is destined to be, but to be a hero is a matter of choice

The protagonist shoulders the responsibility because the hero bears the burden

The protagonist was because the heroes rose

Sadly, the heroes are forgotten as the legends are propagated

No one knows which is inherent and which you absorbed over the years

Tales are a grotesque mixture of innocence and vile astuteness

They now spread rigor mortis slowly into inspiration

Should I fight or should I love the death of the spirit

The answer glows as the warmth spreads

Leave the coils and be a free soul eternally

And hence I drink and strive to peel off the layers to reveal the reality

Don’t call me drunkard; I drink to understand humanity

Sunday, September 30, 2012

Last Drop

It is overcast but it would never rain like the trepidation will go unspoken

Pieces of broken glass stick together like in one of those unbreakable glasses

I grind my teeth and try to scatter them but come back with bruised fingers

Its always about others.... or for them, themselves

The best words are never said, they are the worst too


I walked miles only to discover that it was a circular path

Living in desolation would at least keep me grounded

The last drop to fill the cup shall never fall

Don't even bother

what difference does nudity make when no one is around!

Wednesday, August 22, 2012

Madras through the Six Senses

As the eclectic smells waft through the air
Of salt, sweat and the Cooum river
And if the smells of the sea and Jasmine win
Yes Machan; it is Madras you are in!

The roaring of machines & blaring of trains
With a splash of kollywood and music it rains
And if notes of Carnatic rise above the din
Yes Machan; it is Madras you are in!

Fluffy soft idlis or hot molaga bajji
With piping hot, strong, degree filter coffee 
If that’s what the world is having for tiffin
Yes Machan; it is Madras you are in!

 Residential flats, Glass Towers, pristine
And temples of yore share the sky line
If it is Medley of old and new herein  
Yes Machan; it is Madras you are in!

Hot, hotter, hottest are the three seasons
Blame the humidity and various other reasons
If the same warmth is in air and also its men
Yes Machan; it is Madras you are in!

No matter where you come here from
If you feel at home and always welcome
If the city grows on you like the taste of Gin
Yes Machan; it is Madras you are in!

Friday, August 3, 2012

Gandhian Concept of Democracy in Power Distribution


The largest black out in human history, which India faced shall remain the largest for quite some time to come as it is quite impossible to replicate the same anywhere else, unless China also fails in an equal miserable way (the chances of which aren’t remote as China’s demand for power is also more that its capacity to generate). This blackout had left millions stranded in the dark for a long time, there were miner trapped, hospitals disabled. Those who could afford ran their back up systems and could maintain the status quo but what about those who are dependent solely on the power supplied by the government? They had no choice but to suffer silently.
 
In a typical reactive mode our government is now talking of reforms in the power sector. But one needs to ask what kind of reforms? Privatization? Even if the UPA government gathers enough courage to usher in such changes, at best it would benefit a few large corporates who will walk away filling their coffers at the cost of the common man. Do we have an alternative one may ask? This is where we can think of replicating what Mahatma said about Democracy, in power sector.