Hazar rahe mudke dekhi kahi se koi sada na aayi

There was sunshine, waves and the deliciously salty humid heat; there was wind like there is nothing but that and sands that gleamed like diamonds under the cloudless sky.There was fragrance whose colour was white and a person whose name was love, friend, guru and God.

There were jasmines and music, tropical forests under the moon of August. There was the aura of home and smells of eons begone. There were tears of passion and tempests of gloom - all of which would dissolve in the embrace of one person who was love, friend, guru and God.

There was poetry in words, in a touch and a smile or even a mere glance. Majestic operas in a fleeting caress;the mystery of birth and the glory of death reveled through each moment spent with love, friend, guru and God.

And there were lies, betrayal, hurt and mockery. There was death in the name of life and no life beyond that death. There was no element that was not afire; no ounce of mind, body or soul that did not yearn to disappear in the all encompassing flame of desire. There were the torrents of monsoons and the fires that threatend to destroy the world.

A wild flower; a Mango plucked from a treetop in a thicket; fear of snakes and the thrill of sheer abandon. There was worship, there was peace. And there was life in the company of love, friend, guru and God.

One day, God was pleased with my worship. Saying "No more cycle of births and deaths for you my beloved because you have arrived at the very heart of this creation", He broke the charm of life.

Now there is silence - all encompassing. And of feelings, who can say?

Another shot

This is yet another shot at capturing the mood of my favorite city. Mid day in May.

Hyderabad Blues!

This not-so-perfect photograph of a not-so-perfect-yet-the-best-place-on-earth is my favorite.

Does racism exist?

Long long ago, in a beautiful city of castles, rivers, universities and foreign army camps, there lived a student- alone, struggling to survive in the land of an alien tongue, in quest of her niche in the big bad world of logical abstractions (go figure that out). One day, she surprised herself and another of her loner friends with an Indian meal she packed for lunch. Here's the scene:
Gorgeous sunlight pouring in from the windows. The views outside?
Wisps of white in the azure sky,
Swans fidgeting with pieces of bread in the nearby river,
Students walking with cold coffee and ice creams in their blissfully warm hands,
Two ladies sitting at the table in the pantry;
One of them - an Indian and the other was from eastern part of Europe (never mind the nitty gritty - just need to know that eastern Europeans are somehow not European enough in some people's view).

Enter, the boss.

"Hm.. the whole pantry smells spicy!"

(Me..Gloating inside!..)

"Hey....don’t eat the rice, you will turn brown you know?!"

(Me...Still giggling. in sheer shock)

Aeons later, when I think of this scene, I still smart. Not that I feel humiliated or feel the need to have got back to him with an appropriate answer at that point. No it is not about not having retaliated. It is about the paradigm that still holds true. You can say whatever you want to the Indians. They won’t make a fuss about it.

When I read the controversy about an Indian "racially abusing" someone, I must say I was laughing. Not to say that Indians are not "race conscious" - how many of us know our compatriots who would bend backwards to appease those of the fairer skin? But please, give us a break will you? We can’t think of racism sir (we do think a whole lot of other things though)- after all, we Indians come in all kinds of shapes, sizes and colors.

Oh, and you can’t say everything you want to an Indian. Not anymore.

A snow covered mountain

I am the mountain that is forever capped with snow.
No sunshine can ever melt my coat of ice
No wind can blow these whisps of white away
nor can any storm ever wash off this aura
From summer through the howling tempests of the autum,
I remain untouched and aloof.
..Watching from high above,
the mean hearts of men.
Laughing at their prodigality-
Laughing at their platitudes-
Laughing at every scene that occurs in human lives
which I had seen being repeated..over and again
through the ages;
Laughter and tears;
anger and fear
how long have they been playing
this very act again and again?
Will they never tire?
I am the mountain, a mere block of stone.
Life from here looks absurd in this repetitiousness.
How do you feel ay man?
Do you feel at all?
or does my snow cover your memory too?

(P.S: all these "poems" were written in my teens when life was at its best and so was existential angst.- for whatever they are worth, I decided to put them up here)