It Rains!

 It rains, the Earth

Sighs in relief

 It has been parched

Beyond belief.

It rains, the trees sway

With the breeze

I watch the drops

Leap off the leaves.

It rains, the sky

Is all aglow

With fireflies'

Fluorescent flow.

It rains, I hear

The koel call

Nocturnal notes 

That rise and fall.

Faultless notes

That flit and dart

They echo deep

Within my heart.

It rains and brings

A peace so deep

My heart is full

I fall asleep.

Thoughts In A Pandemic

Oh can you bring for me

Spray from the salty sea?

The sight of shifting dunes

Eight to ten midnight moons?

Oh can you bring to me

Creaks from the ancient trees?

Four songs the swallows sing

Flutters from new found wings?

Where does the silence lie

In me, or in the sky?

All things I long to see

Spring from old memory…

Thoughts On Earth Hour

I sat and watched the sea and sky
A tide within me rose up high.

My heart echoed an ancient beat
I spoke to strangers in the street.

"I've cut the lights, blocked out the sounds
I've let my roots deep in the ground.

When I look up and gaze afar
I will be searching for my star."

Happy Earth Hour!

Baby Blues

(A song in be flat)

Oh my baby's got the blues
And I watch him, and I sigh
I just don't know what to do
I wait and hope as time goes by.

Sometimes he lies and smiles at me
As if he needed nothing more.
But he's as blue as blue can be
Just 'coz of the baby store.

All I see there is pink or blue
Apparently that's all they sell.
Everything looks nice and new,
But the colors aren't that swell.

So my baby's swathed in blue,
And it's blowing out my mind
But I don't know what to do,
No other colours can I find.

No sunset peach, no grassy green,
No earthy shade, no gentle hue
No weave, no texture and no sheen -
Just a flat landscape of blue.

So my baby's got the blues
Though he doesn't seem to care.
He's fancy free and he's footloose
His world is far away, elsewhere.

Do Yogis Dream Of Lycric Shorts?

This poem emerges after myriad experiences - reading the April 2012 issue of Vanity Fair (which describes new American yoga empires being set up in the name of famous Indian gurus), watching new yoga schools, styles and stores mushrooming in our neighbourhood and pondering over Patanjali's ancient Yoga Sutras.

This poem was written on the eve of the festival of lights and I wish all my blog readers a happy Deepavali (Diwali).  Interestingly, the word guru means 'one who leads you from darkness to light' (gu - darkness, ru - light).

The title of the poem is inspired by Philip K. Dick's novel "Do Androids Dream Of Electric Sheep?"

Do Yogis Dream Of Lycric Shorts?

I read a hand-me-down issue
Of Vanity Fair, two-oh-one-two
Of Yoga schools, apparel new
From Texas down to Timbuktoo
And in my mind arose these thoughts,
"Do Yogis dream of lycric shorts?"

The Brand Ambassadors look so strong
Well tanned, with their hair rather long
"Try our Yoga," they all proclaim,
"Be part of our new branded name."
As I read this, my mind retorts,
"Do Yogis dream of lycric shorts?"

Neon signboards that glow next door
Announce a brand-new Yoga store
Urge you to stop and give a thought
To Yogic gifts that must be bought.
(The things that Yogis really sought
Did they include new lycric shorts?)

I took a journey in my mind
To try and see what I might find,
Dredged up a Yogi I had met
Asked him if he would like to get
A brand new pair of lycric shorts
He smiled at me and said, "Why not?"

"Really," I asked, "What would you do?
If I got a pair for you?"
"I'd give them to a needy soul,
This world is hard and takes its toll.
Creates the haves and the have-nots
Invents Yogis and lycric shorts."

A twinkle in his eye appeared
He stroked a non-existent beard
Said, "Dreams in dreams - they matter not
We aren't Yogis - and these aren't shorts.
We can but try and still the mind
Not hurt others and just be kind.

In our dreams or our wakened state
Hope that our thoughts may soon abate.
Our actions, guided by our souls,
Do not conform to chosen roles.
And when the mind is free of thoughts
There is no I, there are no shorts."

My Garden's Gifts

A sprig growing askew, of thyme

A perfect little yellow lime

Is all I need to make my day

To keep the damp and grey at bay.

A bulb of lemon grass that flew

Into my arms from where it grew

As I bent down to rake and weed

And give my plants the space they need.

A sprig of mint to complement

Basil, that must be heaven sent

Grown of its own, its tendrils strong

Sweet smelling, wild and very long.

These gifts my garden thrusts at me

As I work 'midst the bug and bee.

One Enchanted Evening

Giant dewdrops gaze up and curl
Biding their time, slowly unfurl

Unwrapping gently, newly born
Fragile, they last from dusk to dawn

White as fresh snow lit by a beam
 In the dark night they glow and gleam

And smiling with a tender ease
Hand out their fragrance to the breeze

Time stands still, beholds the sight
Enchantment swells and fills the night

Don't be in haste, to dump nuclear waste

Recently there's been a spate
Of unearthing radioactive waste
In the most unlikely space
People are in a stew.

Everyone's doling out advice
Some of it not very nice
I guess we have to pay the price
So let me add mine too-

Never sell cobalt as scrap
You may have to take the rap
If it turns up, after a gap
(It's really worse than flu).

Don't mix D2O in the pool
Though it makes the water cool
That sturdy swimmer is no fool
And he'll come after you.

Don't drop arsenic in the well
The water won't be all that swell
Besides, there is the lingering smell
Of bodies turning to goo.

A word on uranium-233
It's place is really not the sea
And fish, if asked, would rather be
In water not black, but blue.

And listen, do you have a plan
For that ol' restive thorium can?
Big Brother'll soon impose a ban
Unless he gets some too.

Baby Names (Not for Dames)

Names in India are a big deal. Names often describe the region you come from, your family and possibly your caste. There are various rituals associated with naming. Sometimes astrologers or spiritual gurus are asked to suggest the first letter of the name or the entire name. At times babies are given real names, pet names (nick names) and secret names. This is to ensure an auspicious beginning to a young life. In some regions, traditional names have two versions - the Indian and the Anglicized thus leading to different spellings of the same family name.

In accordance with changing trends, babies may now be given mixed (international) names, old names with new spellings and neo classic names (obtained by poring over Sanskrit dictionaries for nouns that can be suitably transformed). In addition, an unexpected dimension has been added by numerologists and some names have multiple repetitions of the same letter to ensure numerological benefits in life. In light of this is set the poem:

Baby Names

(Not For Dames)

or

The Ballad of Prithviraj Ddutt

Preludia : The Lament of Prithviraj in A flat

My parents chose my name but

Fate ascertained I be Dutt

Although Dutta was once my name

As my school certificate proclaims.

O fate! What is this cruel curse

That I be called Datta, or worse-

Ddutt, Datt or plain PD

Is there no justice left for me?

(Interlude with a sob)

My parents say they’re not to blame

A Dutt by any other name

Smelleth

pretty much the same.

I take these noble words to heart

And when asked, say with a start

The first name that takes my fancy

Basavaraj, Lingaraj- Nixon or Nancy

(Interlude with a soft (though audible) sigh)

‘Lest no fellow

Share my curse

I now pen down

This little verse

Of Baby Names

That’r

Not for Dames.

Major operandi : Approved names for D minor :

There’s Dhanraj, Dhanwantri, Dharmendra (or Dharmender)

Dayanand, Darshan, Devendra (or Devender)

Devaraj, Dushyant and Dhirendra (or Dhirender)

Dasaprakash, Doraiswamy, Dhaniram or Dhurinder.

Nothing beats Dhruv, Dinanath and Deva

Dharana, Dhyana, Dhir are in favour.

Deepak, Deeptiman or just plain Deep

Dhiraj, Dhairyavan, Dinesh and Dileep.

.

Greco-Roman’s quite the rage

(So let’s ignore Dara, Dharam and Desh)

Instead, there’s - Dictostelium, Discoidium, Dionysius, Darius

Dimou, Dmitrious, Damocles - but that’s precarious.

There’s glamorous hero and valorous villain-

Dhananjay, Dhritarashtra and even Divyadarshan.

Dronacharya, Dashrath, Drupad, Devatman

Perhaps not Durvasa, Dushasan, Duryodhan.

Good Bong names like Delta and Dinku

Debashish, Debdutt, Diponkar, Debu

Debabrata, Daya, Debanjan, Dablu (or W)

Dibakar, Dhruba, Doipayan and Dambushu.

D’s are the only ones

Of which news has come to Delhi.

There may be many others,

You can get them on the telly.

Small Dreams of a Scientist or The Cosmic Dance

(Sorry if it’s gory)

The polyp cluster of the sea
Raised its limbs up high
Ensnaring me effortlessly
As I fell from the sky.

While I thrashed within the fronds
Zooplankton did a dance
Bony fish swayed, devolved to form
Ancient elasmobranch.

And holding me were basking sharks
I could’nt drift away
My eyes burst into little sparks
As I hit a manta ray.

Missed my jugular by an inch
(.4 to be exact)
The stinging blow made me flinch
And then I heard a crack-

A dislocated humerus
-and mine! A cosmic joke..
As I struggled with a diagonal truss
My glenoidal labrum broke.

I watched my cartilage drift away
Form a gradient in steps
Spurred by this act, the manta ray
Began dissection more complex.

As it lashed out I felt twelve bursts
Ribs ground to an osseo-crumb
Eleven and twelve gave way first
Being unattached to my sternum.

In the emerald bay, red pools abound
Blood streams and I cease my action
Meanwhile the water that surrounds
Changes its coefficients of refraction.

Suddenly out flowed the tide
And flung me to the sky
Waiting for vertigo to subside
I was swooped on by a fly.

As I made eye contact with it,
I was outstared by its glance
Against those numerous ommatids
I really had no chance.

Trapped by a giant mutant fly!
A white minus Drosophila
I found, on looking above its eye
‘Twas also Antennapedia.

Flying with steady, practised flaps
We hit a cloud of smoke
I felt my alveoli collapse
As I began to choke.

Much before I saw the anthrax leer
I felt the deadly toxin
In vain the fly’s attempts to veer
We needed Ciprofloxacin.

The fly succumbed, let go of me
I fell through ozone holes
And landed in a magma sea
Of spewing, suffering souls.

I smelt the smoke and heard the hiss
And felt the thermophiles
Slithering up my epiglottis
Like globulets of bile.

As they sucked, they grew in sheen
I felt my fluids drain
Selectively they chose my spleen
But left untouched my brain..

My brain, afloat ‘midst fiery dunes
Swam at a rapid pace
So fast it spun that it was soon
Hurled into outer space.

Whizzing through horizons bright
Felt wild and young and free
And suddenly, distinctly light
As I changed to energy.

Then there it loomed – a giant hole
I guessed (I couldn't see)
Its emptiness outstretched my goal
Vacuity engulfed me.

Then just as sudden it collapsed
Of dirth there was a dirth
Before any more time elapsed
I targeted the Earth.

The polyp cluster of the sea
Raised its limbs up high
Ensnaring me effortlessly
As I fell from the sky.

One Morning

I woke up one morning
To find that my forest had gone

The deer had all scuttled
Before the break of the dawn

Lions that lay by me
Looked utterly weary and worn

The men that came last night
They sang as they cut along

They tore down the forest
Dammed up the river and all

The elephants upstream
Are trapped by a concrete wall

We walked side by side by
The stream that slowly dried

Without food and water, we dropped
And we soundlessly died

We heard they swooped on us
Sold our teeth, also our skin

They couldn’t sell our dreams and
All that was left within

We gathered our souls though we
Couldn’t gather our hides

Took what remained of our spirit
And all that was left of our pride

The dead elephants called us
The deer shrieked and the birds cried

We silently moved till we
Crossed the threshold of pain

To the land where trees stretch
Forever and over again

New Moon!

New moon!

You change the sky to a whole
A sleepy blanket of peace
A promise of wondrous dreams

New moon!

I stand in silence and wait
Till the darkness creeps through
And turns to a midnight blue

New moon!

I feel the darkness you bring
Pick out the stars in my soul
A glimmering of my own

New moon!

Drawn by the spell that you cast
Turning star-filled eyes to you
I feel the quiet seep through

New moon!

Yeshwanthpur Blues

The President flags off a fancy train
On the other side of the open drain
I hear the fishermen’s refrain
The fishes’ eyes are glazed in pain.
I stand there, soakin’ in the rain
Wonderin’ if they’ll come alive again.
But they’re jus’ being cut for curries and stews-
Oh, I got those ol’ Yeshwanthpur blues.

The Taj sets up a swanky shop
They’re going to pull out all the stops
On the roads littered with brooms and mops
Made from remains of slashed tree tops.
Those trees ain’t alive now- they’re just props
For shacks selling balm and our cough drops.
But they can’t stall the pain that begins to ooze-
Oh, I got those ol’ Yeshwanthpur blues.

The Institute raises its gate
And hangs out a fancy chrome plate
Announcing to all the execution date
Of trees, who in their silence wait.
The birds- they have no case to state
Flutter till the lorry sounds abate.
This ain’t the home that they would choose-
Oh, I got those ol’ Yeshwanthpur blues.

The Institute again is in the news
The revered scientist has blown a fuse
He’s hurling chemical abuse
Because he did not get his dues.
That shattered room once held his Muse
She’s fled, leaving behind her shoes.
She looked erudite but was just confused-
Oh, I got those ol’ Yeshwanthpur blues.