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Once on a plant rose a bud of flower
In no time the spring turned it into a flower
The flower fell in love with the breeze
As it used to carry its scent far away through the trees

Many a times did the breeze ask the flower
To accompany it to a place where it would receive some honour
But the plant advised it not to go
And only enjoy swinging to and fro

But one night the flower sat on the back of the breeze
And the breeze promised that their journey would never cease
But when a small hill came in their way
Their journey came to a stay

The flower lay helplessly crying on the foothill
Remembering the swings of the spring
Now for the autumn it was waiting
As for it, a nightmare was the spring

(written~ 1996-97)

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It’s just over a year since I left the school
But most of the memories have dried up from the pool
How very untrue was it said
‘We won’t forget the school till we are dead’

But the memories must be somewhere
Either deep in the heart or in the surrounding air
And this, my brain fails to understand
And thinks he has forgotten that land

But my heart even today can hear
The school bell ringing in the ear
And in the lungs somewhere
Is stored some of the school’s air

Below the wounds that have healed
Some dust of that playground lies sealed
And the eyes have preserved the photographs
Of the teaching and non-teaching staff

If the presence of these things the brain cannot mark
I don’t think it is his fault
Because such things always rest
Not in brain but in the heart

(written ~ 1996-97)

Monsoon – A Season To Watch The Grass Grow

People often say monsoon brings life – in a number of ways too. Life sprouts from a seed that had started believing that it was a mere grain of sand like thousands around it. Monsoon gives life to the hopes of a farmer who was contemplating suicide. It’s the breeding season for most animals. It’s also said that rains inspire many a poets and artists.
However, I am neither of the above. I am a common man who doesn’t like undue challenges in his day-to-day life. I don’t like the challenge of wading my bicycle through 1 foot of clogged water. Neither do I like the prospect of getting drenched while reaching office on my non-motored 2-wheeler. I hate it when I have to be extra cautious to avoid getting hit by other motorists who randomly cut lanes in order to avoid the puddles. Of course, the concept of lane discipline is foreign to us; it is something that is followed in foreign countries.
Since I don’t stay in Mumbai, I don’t have the option of relying on public transport. Auto-rickshaws cannot be counted as public transport. The only option left is walking. I don’t mind that too. When it wasn’t raining and when my bicycle was still to be moved to Pune, I used to walk to office rather than depend on PMT (public transport) buses here. But the state of roads and puddles at every step cut out that option too during the rainy season.
The second reason I don’t like monsoon is the host of diseases that it brings along. I wouldn’t have mind letting a few viruses reside in my body. But viruses are like human beings; they can’t live in harmony with their environment. They multiple and spread until they exhaust all the resources and in general cause a lot of harm to the environment they live in. The comparison is adapted from the movie ‘Matrix’ wherein the comparison is the other way round. The rains generally bring infections of the respiratory and digestive track.
Thirdly the rains interfere with my love life. No, it’s not about loving a person but about pursuing things that you love in life, namely my outdoor activities. Outdoor activities hadn’t really started for me here in Pune. Only two days ago I had started going to a gym and today, the 3rd of July, I had to miss my gym since it was raining heavily. Even in Bangalore, I had faced similar situations with my cricket nets or tennis sessions getting cancelled on account of rains.
I guess the monsoons are good for people who have nothing to do in life. Like the seed idling away in the soil or poets blankly staring in the void or the animals for whom procreation is the best form of recreation. People who have something more worthwhile to do in life have to bear the agony of having to watch the grass grow as they are put under house arrest by the downpour.

(written - 3rd July' 06)