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Showing posts from March, 2013

Being Justice Choudhury Oops..Justice Katju and Sanjay Dutt

Once upon a time,I was very young. Yes, I was, believe you me. At that time a spate of movies, originating from the land of larger than life politicians with great sunglasses, huge fan followings and more than average number of wives, a great many films hit the screen. The movies helped the young grow very fast, encouraging today, after many year for people to reduce the age of consent. One such movie was 'Justice Choudhury'. I have given this explanation to let you know that this piece has no reference to Justice Iftekhar Choudhury of Pakistan, thus prompting their parliament to pass resolution against the post, thereby prompting Indian government to pass a counter resolution and so on and so forth.
So for record, I refer to Justice Choudhury of Jitender Starrer, and I refer to it at this point of time, because Justice ( should I say ex, just like Ex Army Chief whose security cover was taken off, coincidentally at the time he was charged with instigating a riot) Katju to my mi…

A Portrait- District Park in Spring

The sun is out in its glory. It's bright but not unkind and unloving. Light plays patterns on the ground, filtered through the trees. The cluster of tall trees, right next to the lake stand together like village elders discussing some thing, in the sun.
An expat with his son is out to enjoy the Sun. The man should be in his thirties, well built and handsome, and the kid very tiny. The boy wears a blue shirt with shorts of same colour and a cap, which becomes him very much. He wanders around collecting sticks fallen on the ground from the trees from between the fallen leaves, as the father walks with the stroller. Dad must be athletic, wearing Adidas from the top to bottom, the white Tee, blue shorts and shoes. Breeze is calm and refreshing, almost caressing and comforting with its touch. I hope to lose migraine soon, merely by the blessings of this kind weather. A couple settles down in the bench next to me and they laugh, shout and indulge in playful banter.

Flowers are in full …

The Solitude of an Only Child

She is kind
And soft and pink
Like the Cinderella, she adores.
Though unlike her
Glass slippers,
She wears a heart of glass,
A transparent, shining
But brittle heart.

The sun spreads out
On the terrace
With slothful arrogance,
As trees
With barren branches
Watch across the window
in melancholy.

I suddenly wake up
From the siesta,
To find her riding
Her bicycle on the terrace,
In circles
On a journey which
Takes her nowhere.

She rides in circles
And talks in riddles,
To herself,
Sometimes pretending to be
A teacher, sometimes a student
Like the princess
In the fable of sleeping princess
Doomed to the sixteen years
Of lonely growing up
In a forlorn fortress,
Albeit without even
The company of three
Loving fairies.

With an confounding
Feeling of affection and gloom
I watch her
As I recollect
The broken glass pieces
Spread randomly
Across the innards
Of my being,
A heart broken
Across the years of my own
Merciless, solitary childhood,
Which I have long since
Pretended never to h…

Arrival of The Summer of 2013

The Sun
is loosing the kind touch
like a young romance
struggling the middle age.
Winter, like an old friend
whose visited stretched for months
sometime even causing minor annoyances
on hurried mornings,
when washrooms are needed
is now packing the luggage.
A melancholy hangs
on the tired roofs,
like a spider's web.
The breeze is heavy
and slow with sadness
A sleepy sun
wistfully looks at the world
which it is soon going
to be angry with (and it knows)
It will be coming up at the dawn
sore in mood and
will not find any dew
on the grass to wash its face with
and will spend the day, sullen.
I look at the winter
with longing of a childhood friend
anticipating the loneliness
which his departure will bring about.
I can not bear to be separated
from him
but I can not dare to ask him stay
for my rudeness is afraid
of his calm and nobility
as he reminds me of what I was once.
He packs the hard suitecase
an old design, a cheap
bag of faux leather,
and I turn away
looking out of the window
as the shadows on the street
ge…

Marta Moran Bishop-Author, Poet- An Interview


Author's Bio:
Marta is a prolific author and a great human being, both her two defining attributes mentioned here, leaning over one another, to further their impact and ambit. Marta has four published books thus far on Amazon, Dinky: The Nurse Mare's Foal, Wee Three: A Child's World (This first came in as Wee Three: A Mother's love in Verse and is adored by my daughter); The Between Times; A Poet's Journey. She lives in with her Husband, cats and horses. I came across Marta, accidentally on the Internet, and she has been a friend and a mentor since. Her range and scope of writing is fairly intimidating, and her adeptness in different genre is confounding. It is not so easy to have written a kid's book like Wee Three, with vivid imagery and colors, so charming for the kids and at the same time to have written something like The Between Times (My Review), which is near philosophical in the feel, with equal ease and eloquence. So with some trepidation, I approach…

Acrobat

Some days are tentative.
They hang in
The uncertain world
Of anticipation.
Between happiness
And despair,
Between hope
And resignation,
Between light and darkness
They stretch like a wide
Trampoline,
Over the expanse of which
I move from
One corner to the other,
Like an amateur acrobat
Not knowing
Which corner
Will my soul loose
A scared grip over the bamboo
And where I will
Fall by the end of the show,
Will it be a happy corner of love
Or dark, solitary corner
Of scorn, to which I will descend
As the applause rises
And the breath stops
Right there
Just for a second..
It is the final fall that I can bear,
It is the tentative anticipation
That kills me.

Women at Work- On Women's Day

Today is the International Women's Day, just as we had the Father's Day some time back and Friend's day before the day. The marketing machines are in overdrive and the rare days in the year without any significant tag attached to them must be feeling lonely and embarrassed with themselves, Ye Jeena bhi koi Jeena hai, lalloo?

I admit the thought when a man initiated the idea of dedicating a day to a cause or person must have had noble reasons. But that was before, before the marketing guys across the world noticed the happy fun in this exercise, you are dedicating something that does not belong to you and costs you nothing, at the same time which presents money making opportunity. What more can a marketing man (or woman) ask for, when he runs out of idea and has no place to run away from menacingly approaching deadline.

Anyways, I am old and boring enough to be motivated by screaming headlines. This post is not because of Women's day, and not because I wanted to align …

Why I Write (or Blog)?

There was a time when I was a very young man, with idealism intact and big ideas to change the world. I was formally attempting to be an Engineer, trying to "use the knowledge of basic sciences for the good of the society" as it said on a plaque at my college, but I was not at peace with the world which I was supposed to contribute towards. It was a society, which was living with decaying laws, and did not have courage to embrace what was true and bright and honest. I was not a happy young man as they say, but I was rather a troubled soul with more questions than answers. I was sad, aghast and disgusted with the world and I knew it.
A lot many things around me did not make sense, and I had a point of view, a defined opinion about those things which troubled me. Those were the things which were totally incongruous to my idea of a right world. The world which lived inside me was built around the ideas like love, trust, honour and truth. The world around, the real world everyda…