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Waah re Acche Din

Small and medium industry decimated Then the bottom fell out of farming Finally, Big Industry is keeling. When Biscuit ji cracked The response: How can glucose survive When India is sugar-free? Bitter tidings in the Land of Rasas.

From my Bedroom Window 2

Oftentimes waking up is accompanied by a sickening realization: That some sleep time was devoted to a new painless suicide method.  This morning the window net went up to peer down,  checking for a clear fall down so many floors to die? Ghastly answer: NO.  Pairs of window shades at every level created enough brakes to ensure numerous broken bones,  but death was doubtful.   One more fail-safe method gone Phoos. Ducking in,  an intriguing sight caught my eye. Two scantily clad tall trees stand out in the dense copse below the window, bearing scattered yellow blooms. Close to top of a tall tree sat a baby monkey, surrounded by a gaggle of pigeons determinedly making its life miserable.   Perhaps having been chased from feeding grounds by Baby's seniors, methinks. For good ten-odd minutes, the pigeons taunted it,  pecking at his back,  tweaking the long hanging tail. Baby swatted with all his energy. At some stage wisdom,  or perhaps mama's inaudible call reminded him th…

From my Bedroom Window

Through my bedroom window, I look down on a giant bedroom. It sleeps 23 odd scattered around, singles, doubles, triples and quartets. Dark nights offer no glimpse that I rush to catch at daylight. My eyes first seek out the horizon, shuttered by rising skyscrapers Monster steel and glass development symbols that slurp resources To spew out fake humans with fake emotions that change with every audience, Ultra right / left, ultra-modern / old fashioned, liberal / conservative, 50 / 50 Fulsome praise to your face, vicious criticisms behind your back. Ahead of the skyscrapers are swathes of variegated greens, the trees swaying majestically in the early morning breeze. Easy to pick out those with a new coat, in fresh new shades of glistening green standing out from the mature shades around. Then the eyes reach closer home, the terrace immediately below my eerie. There, just below my window, is an old thick-set man on his solitary string bed with two pillows. Occasionally he is joined by a…

Poem Stories: A Hair Story

July 2019 Once upon a time She loved her hair Oiled n washed n brushed Burnished with mehendi Au de naturelle In times of hybrid. It flowed down her back Awaiting The Touch Of a Love’s fingers Stroking sensuously Through glossy bouncing tresses.
Buns n upturned beehives Or a chignon at the nape Adorned with a rose C’urtsy genial g’dner To send off next post Recalcitrant Lover Abhorred flowers, Ignored nurtured glory. Left, right or Center parting sans sindoor Marital symbol No man wears.
Awaiting The Touch, Tired of battles with dyes She slashed it short Glorying in freedom From a vain old dream.




Two Old Women

Two old women The old woman who lived in a high heeled shoe Had several rooms for the slaves she drove. When they itched to run away She warned: Had Cindr’lla returned She wouldn’t be a Princess So they stayed and slogged.
Her old and smiling friend didn’t live in a shoe She had strange antennae, longer than any butterfly Rooted in her heart. Wherever she went They sniffed air to tell her Peace or Acrimony, Love or Rancor Quarrel or kisses, whatever in between That would upset her very much Till a fairy told her You were not sent to take trouble to heart Ruminate, but not absorb, Say what should be said Issues resolve themselves You were sent to smile Hug and spread cheer only.

Poem Stories

Be Not Proud
A long life was lived, adventures, events Births, marriages, failures, triumphs Family and professional. The Life Test slipped by, you never took it. The Test of Loss, Death in the face, Holding it in your arms watching Life turn lifeless Succour a survivor at the moment breath left. Nay? Missed the Rites of passage To test Humanhood? Be not proud. -------------------

A Unique Couple They made a unique couple, a policewoman and a journalist She so glamorous, he so stodgy Lugging her bag and paraphernalia. She of the large round face, the ready smile Obvious makeup, that glitzy sari! He sober in corporate shirt and a bulgy belly.
Actually, it should have been the opposite Her hail-fellow-well-met persona ideal to niggle out Juicy bits from unwary tongues. While the stodgy gent so lent itself To the seniority of a Babu! ----------

A Hair Story
Once upon a time, she loved her hair Oiled and washed and brushed, burnished with mehndi Au de naturelle, in times of hybrids only. It flowed down her back, awai…
A portion of a Rig Veda Hymn of Creation, a describing the beginnings, as then believed: (From "The Return of the Aryans", by Dr. Bhagwan S Gidwani)
“Then nothingness was not, nor existence then, Nor air nor depths, nor heavens beyond their ken, What covered it? Where was it? In whose keeping? In unfathomed folds, was it cosmic water seeping? Then there was no life, no birth, no death Neither night nor day, not wind not breath, At last, One sighed – aself-sustained Mother,
There was that One then – and none, none other. Then there was darkness wrapped in darkness’ Was this unlit water, unseen, dry, wetless? That One which came to be, enclosed in naught, Arose, who knows how, from the power of what!
But after all, who knows and who can say Who, how, why, whence began creation’s day? Gods came after creation; did they not? So who knows truly, whence it was wrought!
Does the First Mother herself know, now? Did She create, or was She created somehow; She, who surveys from heavens, above us all, She …