The torrent

 

An untimely torrent leaks

Like a tip toe foe at night

It spoils an innocent slumber

A helpless flutter in the nest

When the dreams had basked

A hopeful eye on their hatching

Has woven many a happy chirp

Now these swarming grey clouds

The peril of thundering tempest

Eager to  capsize  the rocking  cradle

How to desert the impregnated dreams

And how to fly away in the storm

How to stay in  the vacillating nest

Only to await the demise of hope

This untimely torrent is an ambush

Of an overpowering adversary

An opportunity to prove the grit

When it is easier  to surrender

Enduring with no choice at disposal

 Till either the rain or we last.

 

On flight to Mumbai

13.24 hrs

20.6.24

2158

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The transplantation

 

 

Where the soil is familiar to the sap

The sun moves on known walls in the day

And breeze blows similar tunes to the dangling ear

The bark stands tall and overpowering

With lush arms spread in resplendence

The dexterity to bend in ambushing tempest

And stoutness to deflect the slipping hail

 For he has built this shelter from the seed

The convenience to the young sapling

Beneath the shield of the able branch

Stunts , limits, corrodes and stifles

Dispersion is the seed of all strength

The vehement knock on the laboring walls

When the land is adverse and unknown

Opens not just doors but it sprouts new horizons.

 

Delhi

2157

20.17 hrs

12.6.24

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The story of Stag Ram

 

Ram prasad landed from his village to a nearby city and was over awed by the picturesque locations, malls , markets of the place . He had no company and got addicted to pubs . He visited all pubs so frequently that he was fondly called “ Stag Ram “. He would be busy clicking his pics inside and posting them on social media.

So whenever he was inside any pub clicking his pics mindlessly,  this phenomenon was called “In Stag Ram “ and such a country was called “Stag Nation “

The pass code

 

 

It had been long  Kritika and Rohan  had been married after falling in love during their college days .  It was a long battle against parents on either side,  to some extent the revolt of young blood had united them more than the love. Eventually , the parents gave up and this was a victory to the couple . The trophy was finally in the showcase .

However , the spark of fresh love gradually got doused by daily chores and maintaining life work balance. The trophy was covered by dust of negligence and taking the other one for granted. Then the fights started, where the involvement of the spouse started causing irritation rather than affection.Slowly but surely the trophy had  moved from shelf to the catacomb. What a pity !

But the world around them was oblivious of discord.  We often mould public opinion by showing them what ought to be rather than what actually is . It is a dangerous platform to twist emotion , time, complexion , form, opulence and the like. A lonely and gloomy evening is masked by the most convincing smile on social media. A dear one can be conjured up  by blending his past images on the photograph clicked in the present. One can morph and alter images to appear better looking or muscular or slender . Some pauper can appear to be draped in the most expensive branded garments.  It is obvious that we can easily befool the world , though eventually there is a mirror that reflects inwards to show who is being tricked. It is like window shopping  with a shoe string budget. You generally end up regretting for not being able to buy so many items  rather than feel happy on what you could eventually afford to. The glamour of striking a perfect pose with only thirty two clicks available in a camera will always turn these unlimited options available  bland.

So, coming back to Kritika and Rohan , their friends and relatives would not know what was simmering beneath the surface. It was only social reputation that made the couple tolerate each other. As a mutual convenience they minimized interaction and started living in their respective cocoons .

When the lava does not erupt, there is  increased risk of an earthquake.  The stifled emotion and loneliness made them start looking for solace outside the marriage.  In fact they starting exploring options in an event of divorce . Both starting developing friends they shouldn’t have done and started spending time where they found more relief than the cobwebs at home. They would chat with these friends for hours together even at home to fill the emptiness.  Rohan and Kritika had in a a shortwhile established a justification of a parallel life , beyond the monotony of matrimony . Their phones that were used interchangeably during courtship were now secured by pass codes  even as they sensed mutual insecurity.  This pass code was applied more in their demeanor where they stopped trying to solve the complex algorithm and explore each other again.Time flew in this morbid equilibrium, the volcano was now a passive one. There was sheer callousness where even the cactus had dried up. The secret disloyalty of spouse had convinced each one more to retaliate in an equal measure.

One day, Rohit met with a terrible accident. His car had rammed into a truck moving in the opposite direction.  He was rushed to a hospital , crushed in his car and shards of glass puncturing all over his body. Some passerby had called Kritika and she came rushing to the hospital.  The doctors tried their level best to delay the inevitable . Rohan and Kritika knew these were a final few moments together. The hospital staff left them alone realizing it. They looked each other in the eye, words were failing and tears were overflowing.  Rohan folded his hands seeking forgiveness and Kritika knew not whether to forgive or to repent. Rohan finally heaved his last breath and mustered strength to utter his last words. Kritika was inconsolable. Rohan said “100520” . He wanted to die with a clear conscience.  Kritika realized this was the date they had first met. Incidentally this was the passcode of her phone. She was devastated . Incidentally she knew this was also the passcode of Rohan’s phone. What Rohan knew will always remain a secret . About the secret.

 

7.6.24

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Reins

 

 

The canter in the sprinkle of dust

Spirals into a gallop of sooty clouds

The precipitation of the soil echoes

Reciprocating the thudding ascent

Saddled , I advance blindfoldedly

Deeper into the horizons of me

But the sky and the land fail to mingle

Amidst the mirage in a  summer noon

When the hot wind leaves my muzzle

My hoof is burnt in the wilderness

That I somehow find lost  in a maze

A frenzy to outpace myself often

Oh ! There was never a horse below

The spurs had pierced the bubbles

The waves had whipped the soul

While the burning breeze cast his reins

On what I had so far  believed to be me

Even when the waters failed to return

The footsteps dissolved in the day

And the sigh smothered in the dusk

When I picked a for long deserted mask

It was somehow what used to be me

I continue to rush beyond and further

Flogged by the reign of surrendered  reins.

 

Delhi

23.32 hrs

4.6.24

2156

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The wings

 

 

These entangled mesh of thoughts

That clot our flowing resolve

Cause stagnation of progress

They retard our openness

Where  belief must till to sow hope

The darkness corrodes the soil

And sprays locusts to spoil the harvest

When the last instant of hope defies

In his residual breath there is a sigh

For when the battle is almost lost

There is one speck still to defeat

This splinter refuses to bend or break

And ignites a torch to char the night

Which was always black to begin with

There is nothing more fearful than fear

When we struggle to trudge with tied feet

Our wings spread to lift us to the skies

To propel us into wider orbits of life

If only we hold to the last twig of hope.

 

Delhi

2155

18.46 hrs

2.6.24