The Poetry of Lives

I tell her, “Amma, poetry is magic”
The voice of OUR souls.
Recite a few verses of the Bhagwadgita
And listen to your heart
It is our chat under the banyan tree
When nightfall silences the village
It is the baby’s full-throttled cry
Out of a mothers’ womb
It is the first rain that falls to the cracked earth
Breaking the long spell of summer
It is the river that sings of
Wars and heroes, glory and tradition
I say to Amma, life may take your heart
But it can never steal your soul
Speak your mind, my mother
That will be your poem.

Barbie

Through rose tinted glasses
She has seen the world
She is a plastic piece,
Nothing penetrates the surface
Aqua-emotions escape her
In fleeting moments of boisterous show
The spectacle of materialism
Barbie

Kids Have The Last Laugh!

WHY CAESAR WAS A GEEZER

Caesar was Rome’s greatest king,
Yet he was quite a geezer.
For his dad was Crassus Idioticus,
And his mum was Stupida.


KNICKERS

Nick has lost his knickers
And he's looking rather flushed
Just watch him as he bickers
The poor young dude is crushed
It puzzles me, befuddles me
And Nick is really ticked
Perhaps it's possible that
Nick's knickers have been knicked!


WHERE HAVE U BEEN ?

Where have U been?
I've been looking for U
I looked everywhere
Didn't know what to do
I looked in the backyard
I looked in your room
Just where U were hiding
I couldn't assume
And just when I wanted
To throw a big fit
I found U after T
In the alphabet!

Untitled

Hunted down by wolves,
They stalk in the cold wintry bed
Of my dreams; they mystify the placid moon,
To enact her final ruin.
Across the seven seas of thought,
Meditation weaves its magic;
The cats howl, the ravens make a mockery of thought
The second life cycle begins.

I'll Pay You For Your Pimples

I’ll pay you for your pimples
Just give them all to me
Ripe and plump and juicy ones
I’ll squeeze them all with glee
I will befriend your pimples
I don’t think they’re a disgrace
And soon a pimple garden
Will be blooming on my face
I’ll gladly welcome grime and dirt
In every open pore
For pimples only blossom
When nourished with manure
I’ll pop them so that they explode
I’ll burst them all with glee
I’ll pay you for your pimples
Just give them all to me!


NOTE: Thought I'd gross you out before I go back to college (day after tom.) Most likely I'll now only be able to blog once a week with limited internet access and more importantly, a heavy schedule. So, in the meanwhile......you can puke your guts out on my comments page! :P

Happiness in Freezing Winter Wonderland

(This piece is purely fictional.....unfortunately)

Here I am holding on for dear life, as the bus hurtles along the busy streets of Mumbai. I have just been yelled with the choicest of Hindi abuses, because I selfishly refused to share the last inch of space on the bus step where I managed to squeeze my fat foot.

If life isn’t complicated enough already, we have to keep up with the Jaffrey’s (who by the way have sent their children to Canada “in search of greener pastures”). I use the in-born linguist in me to retaliate, “The grass is always greener on the other side”. Think about it, the Jaffrey kids are probably knee deep in snow and hardly even see grass!

If the fact that we are struggling to survive in this chaotic metropolis city isn’t bad enough, Mrs. Jaffrey spares no effort to boast about the multitude of extra curricular activities her children are pursuing. “Karan is learning skiing, rugby, ice-hockey and flying. And my daughter is president of the Cultural Society. It is important for the overall personality development hai na? Now, they are very happy.”

Driving her kids to Canada, she didn’t stop there. Her husband was the next poor victim. Harassed enough by a resolute wife, they too had applied for immigration to the land of “opportunity”. Ever since, there has been a cold war between our families and mother is forever defeated in her meek attempts to defend her “izzat”. Yet, we are not easily beaten :)

“We are not less, we will show them”, my mother says. This is translated as, “I will give that woman more mental torture, than she has ever known in her life”. How does she accomplish this delicious strike of revenge. It is quite simple really. She very tastefully brings up the conversation of the nightmare - the "firang bahu". The devil in disguise who will break all family ties forever. And more importantly, "who will cook those hot hot chapattis and sabzi for beta Karan?" Or even more nightmarish, “Nowadays, these young people live together before shaadi”, she adds in a devilish whisper. They become strangers to their own kind……foreigners to their parents. Mrs. Jaffreys face takes on a pale hue as mother looks on, smug as a bug and pleased as punch. Her victory is complete.

You don’t have to go to Canada to be happy. Just torment the lot of people who have decided to move on. That my dear, is sweet, sweet happiness.

Noses and Feet

Some peoples noses and feet
I find are built in reverse
Their feet smell, their noses run
Now what in the world could be worse?

Frankie The Fantastic Fowl

(The Animal Hero)

Frankie was a bird so scared,
As I have never seen.
His feathers were always ruffled,
Though he tried to keep them preened.
And all the chickens in the coop,
They gave him quite a lickin',
The cocks around all chuckled
Saying, "Frankie's such a CHICKEN"
When they played at chicken race,
They cackled, fought and howled.
And when old Frankie won a game,
The chickens shouted "FOWL".
Yet though poor Frankie thought by now,
He wasn't worth a CLUCK,
We must confess that he was blessed
With a grand leg of luck!
For when the chicks heard "KFC",
They almost nearly died,
As Frankie fled, the chicken shed,
The rest of them were fried!

The Divide

Beyond the border
We cannot see into the lives of men,
Lay down your armour,
The world bleeds.
The sword, it steals
The whisper of a heartbeat;
Shield not yourself, but the children,
They fight the inner battle.
In the cold wintry bed of dreams,
The boom of cannons roar,
The air is rife with fear,
Voices prophesying war.
Chained to the idealism of democracy,
It cannot work, it will not work,
If I sit high up on the shelf,
A spectator to savage brutality.
Miles upon miles of land separate us,
Yet beyond this physical divide,
My soul knows of an inner stirring;
We are a greater Indian,
We are humanity,
Your brother
Is only a heartbeat away.