Journeys

Journeys are not only journeys

The distances stretching and shortening
Or the terrains shifting,
Because they enter you,
The smoke rising from behind the palms and coconuts, and the gulmohurs in full bloom,
The unending river with its stomach dry at places, boats stagnant or floating
In clouds of white and blue.

The chatters stop at times suddenly
And you dive into other recesses
Inside you, without purpose, and
Come again,
Refreshed, bathed, before going back to
The crowd of monotonous voices
And bee lives.

The Woman in You

There is a woman in you,
Who does not feel anymore,
Neither ecstasy not pain,
When the night lights fall on water
And set fire to it, 
She only looks on
blandly, mute to the happenings and mishaps.

Why the other woman in the
front seat cries,
Wiping the defiant tears
flowing ceaseless,
What the phone tells her just before three
minutes, of a insensitive spouse,
or the news of a sick father?
She cries and sends her silent sobs
to the darkness outside
and to an invisible God.

The woman in you
Sits like an idol
Watching her
Reminded of the many similar pains
That hounded her in many
Past lives.

The journey comes to finish.

GROWING UP

It is not the black and white innocence anymore,
You get pushed in,
Without zeal and intention
Into a realm where the people
Change into strangers without words
And move in and move out of shadows
Sometimes familiar faces turn into
Nine-coloured rainbows
And vanish
And you see them walking in the
Same old sweat- shirts
With the same familiar smiles.

Growing up
Saves a lot of pain
And reminiscing.

It is Still the Showers

Rain came
Lashing at the trees and the houses
Displaces the soil here and there,
But did not enter the rooms
The air inside which
Smouldered with gloom.

In earlier showers,
Front yard to the heart' s intimate chambers
Cooled down,
The joy was sheerly our own,
Without reason,
Except for sky's unpolluted tears of  in torrents
Being the only thrilling aerial incident,
That warmed up the interiors
Of the earth and the spirit.

It still rains,
The pitter patter of the drops
Falling on the leaves,
Serenity passes by the window
Its face indistinct
It' s pace hurried,
As if houses are grooves
For eternally parched beings,
Who do not seek peace anymore.

Summer Encounters

                  -1-                                                                      
 I was returning and I noticed him carrying a bundle of cabbage leaves on a bicycle. The bundle was huge enough to attract attention. People collect such discarded items for their cattle...I thought and pushed forward. The heat was too much. After turning the corner that leads to my house, I noticed the same man again. This time he was trying to hang the huge bundle from the cycle handle with little success. He was old. May be nearing sixty. The labour caused his shoulder and back muscles to pull and tear at places. He was making hard effort. Suddenly I was reminded of the way I walk every weekend carrying heavy bags on both sides. It hurts and there is nobody to share the burden.

I could not have gone and helped him.  The idea looked odd somehow .He was in a lungi and crumpled shirt . I only stood at the gate and watched, until he had been able to complete his task. He went away satisfied. I came away satisfied that I lent my spirit to him during the process of lifting. 

                                    -2-

Travelling by bus in summer can be both pleasant and unpleasant. With foolishly romantic people like me, the hot air entering through the gaping windows of an ordinary bus opens up pages from the long lost years, childhood, some villages and mad escapades with neighbourhood friends and the seeming discomfort turns into a strange comfort which is inexplicable. 

The bus I got into was fifteen minutes due to leave for my hometown. The vehicle was rather empty except back seat passengers. A little later a thin fair girl with a sharp yet pleasant face entered. "Is it already time for the bus to leave?" , she asked. I nodded in affirmative and wanted to know if she wanted something. She wanted to get down and buy cold drinks but chose otherwise when the driver appeared in his seat. I took out my water bottle and offered her which she returned after almost emptying. Just then a lady, probably in her fifties, entered and stood near us. We were comfortably seated and the window seat was vacant. She made no effort to reach that seat and kept looking at us. She had a fair and pretty face. "Will you push to that side a little?" She asked. "I have to get down on the way."I said. I had no intention of getting up from that seat. First of all, I enjoyed sitting close to the entrance with the plenty of light and the breeze getting in. Besides, I had to get down half way through the route of the bus and I knew how uncomfortable it was to push past passengers and come out when the stoppage was reached. The lady was quite healthy and she had no reason to expect our seat wnd salhen she had arrived late. She looked confused and unhappy and looked at the thin girl. " Move a little",she told her in a rueful voice. The girl looked at her for a while and got up to the window seat. The lady looked more disappointed and pushed by my side to settle down. She was clutching at her bag and polythene. 

"Shall I put your bag in the overhead luggage space? You will feel comfortable. " I asked sensing her discomfort. " No, no, I am okay, you sit comfortably. " she told in an angry voice. I understood that she had wanted to take my seat. I fell silent. Three miles into the outskirts of the city, vendors entered the bus when it stopped to pick up stray passengers. I bought peeled and spiced cucumbers. Four were there in the polythene. Whenever I buy such things, I offer to fellow passengers as I cannot eat four of them alone. When I offered the lady one, she furiously protested and refused. When I offered the girl one, she readily took the smallest one and went back to the song playing in her smartphone. I offered the lady a second time. This time, she hesitated for a moment and picked up one. I  finished mine while watching them eat from the corner of my eye and sat back relieved. The lady looked calm now. 

The conductor stretched his hand to take the empty polythene and offered me water to wash my hands. I sat back and closed my eyes.

Love is the solution to all sorts of discontentment. The warm wind whispered beating against my face . I hated myself  for feeling self-satisfied. When will I learn to be purely selfless and modest? I reprimanded myself. All was well with the world while the sun burned with its innate fury outside.

PK and Other Such Stories

Happened to watch Amir Khan's latest fil PK at home. The movie is different. Intelligently written, it tried to expose the hypocrisy behind using religion as a tool to exploit god-fearing Indian mass.The film is not only enjoyable but also comes with a strong message. 

Films like Happy New Year, Action Jackson and Happy ending etc entertain the mass without having any touch with reality and logic. Intelligent thinking takes a back seat. Mindless stories and melodrama are the highlights with sex and violence thrown in according to requirement. They carry the young mass to a world of fantasy and often misguide them.

Amir khan films are way apart in screenplay and treatment.  Watch Tare Zameen Per. It propels you to think and keeps haunting the mind for a good number of days. Not only that, it finds a way to deal with a problem or an issue that affects the mass. A film replete with sex, violence, music and dance may humour people for a few hours, but a film addressing a real problem is a path-breaker. 
The directors, the producers and the actors who join hands to churn out such a product that makes us sit and think, stirs our hearts and brings tears to our eyes is a service to mankind. God bless such daredevil souls who take a risk and stand for a cause.