Scars

Scars they are,

Scars that are left behind.

Scars of victory,

Scars of love,

Scars of pain,

Scars of guilt,

Scars that remind you of a time,

that can never come back,

of time that has tested everything,

the love that bloomed and faded,

the glory that was earned and lost,

the gain that was laced with pain

and healed with time.

the rain that poured heavily and dampened the spirits,

the sun that rose and set to rise again,

the birds that left at every dusk

and the solitude you made peace with,

the people who came into your life,

for a purpose, for a lesson, for whatever

and chose to leave sooner or later.

Scars they are,

that remind you of good and evil,

loss and attainment,

life and death,

Scars that stay whether or not you want them to,

Scars that refuse to fade away with time,

Scars that keep reminding you what you are,

and make you ponder what you will be,

Scars that have become a part of life,

whether you want them to be or not,

Scars that we have accepted and surrendered to,

just like an alter soul that cannot be detached in a lifetime or more.

For more poems please find my book "Here" 

Please like my page on facebook "Click Here" 

Heart Breaks

Yes I have endured heart breaks too,

Every time I see an orphaned child picking up

rags on the road,

My heart breaks a little

Every time I visit the old lady next door,

Waiting for years now for her son to arrive,

While hoping against hope,

My heart breaks a little

Every time I drop a coin into the bowl of a crippled man,

Who sits near the temple in all weathers,

My heart breaks a little

Every time I pass a dog lying dead on the road,

Having been crushed by a vehicle, Just like another thing

My heart breaks a little

Every time I order high priced food in a café,

And leave some part of it untouched,

Even when I know there are people dying of hunger

My heart breaks a little

Every time I read about the crimes in the city,

while having my morning coffee,

and close the paper with a heavy sigh,

My heart breaks a little

Every time I set aside enough fortune to grant,

But instead spend most of it on unworthy lavishness,

My heart breaks a little

Every time I turn blind and stolid to my surroundings,

Every time I make and break promises to do my bit for this world,

Every time I am impassive to the sufferings of others,

Every time I indulge myself with extra comfort and elegance,

Every time I turn selfish and cruel with no regards for others,

My heart breaks a little,

It breaks a little more,

And it will keep breaking down,

Until it is shattered to its demise.

For more poems please find my book "Here" 

Please like my page on facebook "Click Here" 

Hidden

She sits there with a half-smile,

Listening to him or pretending to listen.

Wonder what she is trying to conceal.

Would that smile fade away from there,

Or bloom into a wider curve.

I could never say, and I will never guess.

Her eyes looking at him,

While not looking at all.

Wonder what that stare hides,

Will it rise to pray or look down upon rejection?

I would never attempt to comprehend.

I see no anger in them, nor any trace of sadness.

The moment has paused there,

And I don’t know if its love,

Or a striving desire to belie.

She looks neither old, nor young.

The charm lingers every now and then,

Before deserting and pervading the face again.

She speaks, and I can’t hear what it is,

Because life goes on, the world doesn’t pause ever.

The restaurant is buzzing with people, walking past us,

And each table has a story to tell.

Stories that eyes tell eyes.

Stories that can be read on faces.

Stories that make you ponder.

Stories that create memories to retain.

Stories that kill the passing time.

And stories that remind me of you,

While I sit here alone.

Because you never came,

And I know, you never will.

For more poems please find my book "Here" 
Please like my page on facebook "Click Here" 

When a year passes by

When a year passes by it leaves behind lot of reminiscences

I have an unfinished book and I don’t know if Veronica dies

I couldn’t complete a season and I still don’t know

the 13^th reason of 13 reasons why

Winter has not yet come for me in the Game of Thrones

as I find it rather too engaging and sometimes gross

I have a half-written poem and words just refuse to flow

I also have a blog page untouched since a month

I have a dairy with ten ways to cook chicken

and have tried only the first two

I follow a website that states the most scenic places

to travel

I have a travel bag and even a travel kit,

but still waiting to go on a long vacation

I had huge plans that didn’t materialize

I had many dreams that didn’t transpire

However, I have nothing to be flustered about

As this is how life presents itself

unfinished, undone and unacquired

This is what is living in the world like

Having a little, doing a little and giving a little

Perfection is rather boring and so is being complete

And here I am at the dawn of a new year

Wanting a little, dreaming a little and

most importantly living my unimportant life

When a year passes by, I realise that this is all

that is left in this beautiful life

The simple pleasures, the unfinished joys,

some old abandoned stuff and yet something new to dive

For more poems please find my book "Here" 

Please like my page on facebook "Click Here" 

Silence

Where did the blissful silence go?

Silence that made me think slowly.

Silence that opened a world of dreams.

Silence that made me speak to myself.

The tiny rain drops that were loud and clear,

In an evening of the blissful silence.

The cricket that sang and could still be heard,

The oil and spices that sizzled through the kitchen doors,

The kitten that would mew in the courtyard,

And the frog that made a noise on the stairs,

The bangles that made me feel granny’s presence,

The sound of water flowing while she cleaned the dishes

and wiped them dry.

That made me feel secure and happy at home.

That silence would make me lie down lazily,

Without caring for the world outside,

Without caring about the chaos of life,

That was the pleasure of being young,

When you still believed in promises,

When you still hoped for a fairy tale to come true,

When you still had a smile on seeing a box of candies,

When happiness was a cycle ride in the woods,

When a pocket full of coins made you feel rich,

When climbing a tree was the most amazing part of the day,

When falling from it would still not hurt,

When you lined up to hear the same story again and again,

When you still listened to your heart,

When the silence of your mind was not crowded

with reason, outcomes, targets and plans.

For more poems please find my book "Here" 

Please like my page on facebook "Click Here" 

To Winter

Oh winter your chillness can’t take the warmth of my mind

For it draws inspiration from the stories I discover

Stories in the fragments of my unsettled life

Stories in the innocence of smiles and depth of tears

Stories in the white lies and specks of hope

Stories in exasperation and reconciliation

For it draws comfort in the still words and long lines

The untold verses and dreams so divine 

The act of kindness and faculty of forgiveness

The charm of imagination and power of enlightenment

The grip of hands and caress of love

The colours of tomorrow and memories of yesterday

Please like my page on facebook "Click Here" 

Form of Art

To find beauty in plain,
To find romance in routine,
To find warmth in shades,
Is an art.

I think when mundane things become charming, when you find beauty where you thought it would never exist and the most routine job starts cheering you up, perhaps somewhere down the line you have found the underlying meaning. That you feel happy when you wish to be and that you see beauty where you want to see it. Perhaps this realization alone brings in the form of art. 


Please like my page on facebook "Click Here"  

New Dawn

Hold on the wave of tears
Settle down the roar of fears
Move on as if there is no turning back
March ahead as there is nothing you lack
Life is meant to go on
And there is always a new dawn ..

True Love

Every word I speak
Every line I write
Every time I breathe
I know I love you

#To love that is forever ...

Colours

The azure sky,
The blue sea,
The grey clouds,
The green trees,
The green lakes,
The golden sun,
The yellow flowers,
The brown lane,
The white pebbles,
It's a divine gift to see colours,
Why waste it on judging skin colours.

Please like my page on facebook "Click Here" 

Dead Poet

When I was alive, little did you know
that my heart endured so much pain
When I smiled cheerfully, 
little did you know my curved lips 
fought stream of tears oozing out of my sad eyes
When I sang a song with the best of my voice, 
little did you hear the melancholy wail
When I now sing from my grave, 
little do you know that I find solace only in my death

Please like my page on facebook "Click Here" 

Broken Hearts

"Our hearts were broken in the same places"
John Green

I know you can feel my pain,
because it is just the same.
Our hearts are broken,
in the exact same places,
with the fallen traces,
that can not be undone,
as we cling to the bygone,
But to have a partner in pain,
is the most precious gain. 

Please like my page on facebook "Click Here" 

Goes on

The wind will keep blowing,
The sun will keep shining,
Life will go on,
You come or go, I will exist,
Winter will come, spring would go by,
The birds would fly away,
The dust will linger in the air,
And life will go on and on ...

Please like my page on facebook "Click Here" 

It goes on

"In three words I can sum up everything I have learned about life: it goes on"

Robert Frost

People come into our life, stay and then move on, things happen, things change, things that existed no longer do and amidst all this, life just goes on. I have always revered my grandfather and he was a great inspiration. However he never liked gifts so when I got my first salary in 2007 I could not quite reckon what to gift him. Not that I had to gift him but I wanted to. Then I thought of his library where he has collection of books starting from encyclopedias,  to books on science and mathematics, also novels because being a Professor of Physics he also liked literature. So, I gifted him the third book of Stephen Hawkins, 'Black Hole and Baby Universes' because he had the first two. However for a long time I was not quite sure if he read it, until his death in 2013 when his desk and bookshelf was being cleaned. I found he had read till the last page of the book because he had underlined some sentences till the end, that he probably thought was important. I then moved to the first page where years back I had written, 

'Dear Aja (Grandpa), 

I owe you a lot, 

Yours lovingly,
 Miki'

It doesn't feel like he will never be around again and it was difficult to accept his sudden death, I spent my entire childhood in my grandparents' house after all. But his death taught me how to face death and how to go on with life, just like Robert Frost says, 'it goes on'. 

Please like my page on facebook "Click Here" 

Alone

"Alone, all alone
Nobody, but nobody
Can make it out here alone."

Maya Angelou

Can anybody be all alone and survive alone? I think what Maya Angelou wanted to say was that everybody needs the human touch. It may not be a spouse but your parents, may not be children to take care of you but may be a friend to lend a shoulder, or may be your cousins or siblings who were your partner in crime. Life is so difficult to be lived without having some one to talk to, they may not even be physically present but even an internet chat would be enough. I have one such school buddy and we keep exchanging the quotes that we read over whatsapp. A healthy discussion follows afterwards, it feels really good to have someone of the same mental wavelength or the way she says we are soul sisters. Strange that our souls connect even if we are miles apart. She lives in Singapore by the way, but our conversation is more real than anything else. Then there is another friend whom I meet mostly in the weekends or week days if we find time to sneak out of office and pouring out my heart to her feels oh so relaxing! Office colleagues with whom I go for lunch are a true inspiration for my work. When we discuss our bosses, a meeting that over shoot its duration or a presentation that didn't go too well it feels so easy to relate to each other's life and half of the grief is resolved. I think no matter how difficult it is life will go on. A little human touch will make it easier though, that's why Maya Angelou says, "nobody can make it out here alone". 

Please like my page on facebook "Click Here" 

Write

When a memory wants to speak to you, write
When a dream wants to be unveiled, write
When your childhood wants to be relived, write
When adulthood takes its toll, find sometime to write
When the fear in you wants to explode, write
When the anger suppressed refuses to dwindle, write
When the love inside you mumbles, write
When hatred spreads its venom, write
When everything with in and around you finds words, write, just write ...

Please like my page on facebook "Click Here"

When I Hid My Caste

When I Hid My Caste is more than a book, it is a saga of dreadful and disgraceful experiences of the Dalits. It revolves around the Maharashtra of 1950s and covers the life of Mahars, one of the many Dalit castes in India. It is a collection of ten stories which depicts the distress and humiliation of the Mahar characters.

The first story Prisoner of Darkness is about a Mahar woman Bano who and her only son are ruthlessly attacked by a mob after her husband’s death. While she is mournful the village holds her responsible for her own husband’s death. They see her as a witch who is manipulative and harmful. Their rage fails them to understand that she is nothing but a helpless and innocent woman.

Bohada is the only story with a happy ending. Mahars in those days weren’t allowed to play lead roles in the Bohada where the dancers painted themselves as characters from the Ramayana and Mahabharata. But in that Bohada a Mahar tries to steal away one such important role with his revolt and cunningness.

Streetwalker is the story of a sex worker who goes to any extent to meet her dying child. Even if she tries to work hard all her hope dissipates after she is robbed and finds out that her son is already dead.

Dassehra Sacrifice as the name suggests is about how a Patil proudly sacrifices a buffalo for Dassehra, while mercilessly attacking it. Mahars of the village fight with all their strength to keep the beast in control. The story depicts the fake courage of a Patil hiding his timidness while the four well-built Mahars heroically fight with the buffalo even risking their lives. It also shows the superstition of callous killing of an innocent beast for the Goddess.

Few lines in the last story When I Hid My Caste got me thoroughly shaken. Here it is ‘in this luck-forsaken country, human beings should not be born as Dalits. If and when they are they must bear such sorrow and such disrespect as would make death seem an easier option, making a cup of poison a Dalit’s best friend.’ It is strange how people’s conduct change when they discover you are of a low caste even if they were kind to you before. In this story the protagonist is beaten up by the same man who once considered him his Guru when the former had hidden his caste.

In this book Baburao Bagul has surfaced the sufferings of the Dalits comprehensibly and made us question the age-old beliefs. The way even educated Dalits were treated was pitiful. I don’t think much has changed even now, do you? People still ask your surname, people still want to know your caste.

Please like my page on facebook "Click Here" 

The heavens don't listen anymore

They asked for the fulfillment of rain,
But all they got was scorching sun.
They asked for small moments of zest,
But all they got was agony of loss.
They wished to see a silver lining,
But all they found was an agitated soul.
They wished to find a widening smile,
But all they found were tears of pain.

Perhaps the heavens don't listen anymore,
And have artfully closed the blessings' door.
I tried to knock at it, but out came no answer.
I am still holding myself at the threshold,
Who knows, perhaps the heavens may listen once more ....

Please like my page on facebook "Click Here" 

An innocent bystander

(An extract from my poetry)

Can I be an innocent bystander?
A guiltless viewer of victim
In a world that changes with lightning speed,
Where the mountains gradually crumble down,
Like ugly buildings shattering to dust,
Where the deserts grow wider and lakes disappear,
Where flowers wither away and stink,
The leaves breathe out dust and smoke,
Where children lose their charm and innocence,
And choose the glamour of gadgets over books,
Where we tend to lose our identity,
And follow an unknown and absurd culture,
Where we turn emotionless and
no longer judge with our hearts,
Where the brain is rotten and stagnant,
Sees nothing beyond what is dull or artificial,
And I cannot be an onlooker doing nothing,
Neither can be you
For a viewer of crime is a criminal too.

Please like my page on facebook "Click Here" 

I would send a message to space

I would send a message to space
That we live in this part of universe
We breathe our first and last here
We build houses on every bit of land
Covering the lakes, breaking the mountains,
cutting down the lush green trees
We build roads on hills, amidst the forests
We have bridges, skyscrapers, motor boats, ships,
automobiles, airplanes and even space shuttles
We are trying to connect,
But our icebergs are melting, 
rivers polluting and air stinking
Soon we will no longer love,
No longer listen to music or sing,
No longer dance merrily in the rain,
No longer speak words of wisdom,
No longer whisper sweet affection,
We are losing our souls and soon we will perish,
before we even realize.
So, when you receive my message floating through space,
Save us if you can.
Some last hope still remains before its extreme and
we are all gone like dust in the air ...

Please like my page on facebook "Click Here"