The Greater Good

Men in suits, holding positions,

Who see themselves larger than they are,

Or rather, others as smaller than they are,

Taking decisions of state, looking at the larger picture,

Those powers, the pay - it is indeed for this,

For them to think beyond themselves,

To forget family and individuals,

And to see the country as one single body,

And while we elect them to do us good,

They are forced to think of a country - a name to place their love in,

A name through which benefit does reach us,

But in rare cases, something that matters more than our lives,

These men are to overlook smaller things, yes,

But are they to sacrifice the small for the big?

To overlook morals and values and the 'right',

While their heartless decisions affect man, woman and child,

Oh, in what way are these men better than terrorists?

Ready to indulge in heinous crimes,

Well, they have hearts, unlike those men who have a choice,

Hearts which they are trained to lose,

Perhaps they are indeed unlike their fellow people,

Both greater and lesser but never equals,

But then again, is it not due to the brains of such men,

That we all get to live in peace?

The greater good, that's what they call it,

And it's seen at all levels,

Not merely country or a governing body,

Do you see the father toiling away,

Or the mother losing her sleep?

Man's goal is happiness, they all say,

But is it his own, or that of another?

Conceived while watching Person of Interest, on 31st May, 2016, and written at 4:11pm

When in Pain

It could be a mere irritation,
A throb or a serious affliction,
That settles in gradually,
Or arrives suddenly,
But when it does, you attention shifts,
And it wards of any intention to live,
Convinced that your ache is the worst one ever,
You struggle to fast forward to a time when it vanishes forever,
Regretting not having used your healthy time well,
You vow to do things that you'd shelved,
Braving the agony, you move forth and live life,
Be it alone, or in the company of parent, sibling or wife,
And, one day, perhaps soon, perhaps later,
The pain goes, leaving you better.

Written on 31st May, 2016 at B001, H13 IIT Bombay

On the Partition

One single land it was, and had always been,

A woman raped by many a monster, seen and unseen,

A home invaded and plundered by thieves many,

And yet, she welcomed all, sheltering friend and enemy,

Embraced them as her own progeny,

A land, rich in resource, culture and tranquillity,

Each creed blending into her, joining the countless others,

Eventually becoming loving, tolerant brothers.

She bore the anguish, yet remained fertile,

But now I wonder if it was all futile,

For the last clan who came,

Was human only by name,

A new clique, the first of its kind,

That did not see India as its own land,

Merely an asset, a farm at the most,

To cultivate money, resource and labour at low cost,

They didn't rule India, they enslaved her every subject,

Heartless men who conquered, brainwashed and burnt,

Claiming to help us, the backstabbing tyrants,

Plundered our riches, with no shame or guilt,

They governed us pitilessly, watching our people bleed,

Drinking or blood like parasites or weeds,

And even when the time came for them to leave,

Sans remorse, they pulled more tricks from their sleeve,

Their filthy rage made them plan another blow,

Never had one ever sunk so low,

Modifying their old trick of divide and rule,

They chose to employ the method of divide and leave,

Who were these men, wretched souls,

To decide the fate of a land from which they merely stole?

Containing its progress, to earn bloodstained bread,

Milking its udders until they bled,

And now they picked authority's knife,

Slicing India into two, twice,

Leaving behind three pieces that chose to fight,

A treacherous motive in plain sight,

Yet the world listened and so did we agree to split our soil,

We answered to wealthy men, whose richness came from our toil,

Venting our rage at brothers till till that day,

Thinking not twice, before raising swords to slay,

Smearing the two nations in a bloody bath,

Murdering civilians for hatred that existed not,

No pain, no slavery taught us that which was plain,

That by fighting ourselves, nothing did we gain,

One land became two, which later became three,

We call it independence but till today we aren't free,

The wounds are yet to heal, it still doesn't feel right,

To see that two people with a common past, are at each other's throat.

*Conceived and written on 30th May, 2016 at 6:26pm at B001, H13, IIT Bombay

The Face

Truly original,
Like none ever before,
Crafted so beautifully,
Unique yet unanimous,
With the same organs at the same places,
It unites and distinguishes,
The very identity of a human,
Better than a fingerprint or other pattern,
So singular it defines a person,
Housing the eye, the most alive part,
Displaying complex emotions
As simple expressions,
Sitting on the 'face' of the seer,
Entirely descriptive but indescribable,
Etched in the memory of the one who sees,
But unplottable even be the one who sees it,
It is nearly one with the person it defines.
Perhaps the greatest miracle by Nature,
Born to humans but undesignable,
Creation of a new one humanly impossible,
It is the surest proof,
Of a power greater than man.

Conceived and spontaneously written n 27th May, 2016 at 2:48am (B001, H13, IIT Bombay)

The America That Was

Gone are the good old days,

When going abroad meant the US,

An image of a heaven to us all, young and old,

A mental picture of paradise on earth,

The home of our favourite characters,

Of Disney, of Hollywood,

Of Superman and Batman,

Whose products brought big smiles to our faces,

Be it stationery, a peculiar machine,

Cereal or movie merchandise,

Its dwellers seemed to us seasonal relatives

Who came out of nowhere,

Consuming only 'mineral water'

At a time when it was hardly known,

Fussing profusely over hygiene and discipline,
'Enlightening' us about right and wrong,

Merely since they live in a more developed land,

Making short trips once or twice a decade,

Before disappearing for eternity once again,

Only to talk over phone or chat,

Once a week or even less,

We laughed at them, and we still do,

But the land has always seemed a place for awe,

Perhaps a bloody history but a flourishing now,

It commands respect, turning heads,

With the likes of Google and other such wonders,

And a few lucky ones among us,

Getting to go on a trip,

For a few months, if not more,

With others teary, waving at them,

As they walked past those guards,

Past those counters at the airport,

To return changed, smiling, in a cool jacket,

Laden with goodies.

But over the years, with many moving there,

That land seems to have lost its lustre and respect,

Merely a land where we dump our brains,

Gone are the days when only the best of us went,

Today it's the average, perhaps even less,

Students who flee from India's system,

Chasing after another, only to get trapped there,

A world of liquor, of credit cards,

Of large, dull schools and no home,

Lost to their family, but for a trip or two,

Smiling for pictures but living in gloom,

There is life there, who am I to talk?

They talk of experience, of research,

And a term called 'exposure',

Much like other jargons used to mask truth.

The whole world's getting crowded,

Why blame just one land?

Well, this is just what I've heard,

I've seen, known. and feel,

Oh how I wish I'd gone there when it was still nice,

On an airline I've heard called Lufthansa,

Too bad, I'm old now, and I no longer want to,

It's a boring old land now,

With nothing there that I don't have here,

But despite all, my memories,

And dislike for it,

America will always

Have a special place in my heart.

Conceived and written on 27th May 2015 at 2:08am, spontaneously at B001, H13, IIT Bombay.

On Independence

A nurse upon his birth,

A mother for nourishment,

A parent for food and study,

A doctor for health,

A farmer for crops,

A barber for style,

A ruler for order,

An engineer for a roof,

For comfort and travel

Hundreds of thousands of faceless people,

Helping him in ways he knows not,

Receiving all this, he does his part as well.

Someone to depend on from birth to death,

And still he claims independence.

Written at 6:26am on 20.5.16

The Fear of Death

It comes from nowhere, gripping you in an instant,
With you staring like a kid into the darkness,
In a fixed gaze into the cold eyes of inevitability,
The state lasts for not a moment,
Fleeting, agile, transient,
It comes, traps and leaves,
Leaving no trace of having ever come

*Written weeks back. Improved and published on 16th May, 2016 at 6:50am, at Placement Office, IIT Bombay

Sharing a meal

I have often wondered as to what can be the greatest bonding between two people. To my pessimistic - or perhaps, highly opinionated eyes, no person is selfless, and any activity - well, most of them at least - that they may involve in, seems either pretentious or one that caters to the selfishness of one or both parties.

A meet - particularly one between two leaders which signifies a link being forged between the groups each represents - should at least be honest, if not entirely selfless. The selfishness, while being minimised to the requisite amount, should be admitted openly - and I feel that no better activity than sharing a meal achieves this.

Eating signifies not only the mortality and, to an extent, the vulnerability of each candidate - it also signifies an honest catering to hunger, that one innate feeling all organisms have, thereby instilling humility in them and subtly urging them to consider the well being of fellow organisms in their decisions. I'm sugar coating it here - some such meetings could result in even terrible decisions like (just picking some extreme examples to defend my claim insensitively) waging wars or killing someone - but there is almost always an element of compassion, however  narrow the leaders may be - compassion for their countrymen, soldiers, or for other terrorists in their organisation, for instance.

Another advantage of having discussions over meals is what I like to call satisfaction spillage. Several of our decisions, much like our tone, and, as my father often points out, even our writing, are influenced by seemingly irrelevant factors, one of the most influential one being hunger. The satisfaction accompanying a sumptuous meal is quite overwhelming even to the most heartless of people, and is one that can 'spill' into the purpose of the meet and help mellow down several outbursts, particularly words, and sometimes even major decisions to much less cruel ones. Agreement and settlement of disputes is relatively easier when accompanied by food. Who'd want to go through the trouble to argue with a mouthful of food?

Discussions carried out alongside eating reach the heart, chaperoned by the food that enters the stomach. Further, an inadvertent connection is forged between the people who eat it, and cook who prepares the food. A connection is also established with the land on which and the roof under which, it is eaten, thereby capturing the heart of the visitor(s) among the two (or more), making it a sacred bond that will prevail for all eternity.

Pushed out of sleep

A sudden push out of blissful oblivion,
And an irreversible one at that,

A steel shield forming within you,
Sealing the soul, preventing it from entering itself,

Knowing that sleep is inadequate, having time, or heavy eyes do nothing,

But reinforce the helplessness that grips you,

Necking you ruthlessly, headfirst into a no man's land,

Leaving you there, stranded,

Staring into the darkness for hours that seemingly stretch to years,

Leaving you there, half awake, half struggling to get back to sleep,

With the sound of the clock ticking in your ears,

Up until dawn dusks upon you, with tired eyes and a weak body,

Sans energy, sans courage, sans any motivation to live.

*Written on 14th May, 2016 at Placement Office, IIT Bombay at 6:40am (a poem not written on my phone/laptop and not published from my laptop for the first time)

Unwinding

After a hectic day or week,
Perhaps on a day that just seems bleak,

A part of a routine,
Or perhaps just to try something new,

One chooses to take off one's mind,
And let go of all sense just to unwind,

It could be a vacation,
Or just a visit to a relation*

Perhaps a change of activity,
Or just spending a little time with family,

More popular ways include intoxication,
By drink, by sexual means or other creative modes of recreation,

Be it any method, it involves a suspension of worry and thought,
Proving the inadequacy of logic and intellect,

Letting one's actions be run by feelings,
And satisfying those little fancies,

In any case, man's needs well cross the realms of materialism,
And such activity proves the existence of emotional needs,

It extends to speak of man's innate desire to be intoxicated,
To be crazy, to let his hair down and to slump,

Sometimes one deserves do laze,
While for others, it is an excuse, an addictive craze,

That which varies is when and where they do it,
In fact, what defines one as a person, is when he find this fit.

*I dislike the use of the term 'relation' - I always prefer relative, by the rhyme demanded it here.

Written on the night of 10th May, 2016 (spilled over to 11th) at B001, H13, IIT Bombay

Seeking a Source

No, this isn't a philosophical article. And I hope the image doesn't make you think this is comic book fan talk either. Do bear with me and read on.

Gone are the times when man's basic needs were merely food clothing and shelter. In fact, there were times when I wondered why clothing had to be mentioned as a need, but now there is no room for such debates - with extravagance "evolving" into comfort and comfort into necessity, the aforementioned list has grown from merely three items to several. As one wonders which of these needs to be mentioned at the top, one's eyes involuntarily look around, scanning for an unoccupied plug point.

Man invented machines to simplify life - to reduce effort - and to eventually become independent, but today, man has become pathetically dependent - a parasite, greedily looking for electricity. Ironically, this pursuit for power, in addition to mocking man's desire for 'power', points to the fact that technology has turned humans into emotionless robots that feed on electricity. We have films that explore the dangers that can be brought about by the advancement of technology but hardly anyone stops to see the detrimental effect that it has already had.

Machines have gone far from being helpful little tools that simplify our lives - they have become little goblins that drain our attention, our energy and - well, our electricity. It is disheartening to see people in shopping malls, airports and, well, pretty much anywhere, hunting around for a plug point to connect their devices to. Battery backups and power banks are rampant, but they seem to only make things worse. The care we once had regarding packing for trip has now reduced to merely charging our devices. Of course, is an advantage that our tickets, among  several other documents can be carried by electronic media, but the attention our devices demand is much more than that which our paper documents did. Smiles and other expressions are fast being replaced by emoticons that seem to me, to merely mock true emotions, and people seem to have forgotten to emote.

I thought it would stop, but the transition from bad to worse - or rather, the unending race towards the worst, is only accelerating. Texts have replaced phone calls, and expression of affection to mere sending of images, and it doesn't seem long before humans forget to see each other's faces. I wouldn't be surprised to see newer disease names coming up in the near future, further complicating the already complicated human life.

Change is needed badly. People should want to see people's faces, hear friends' voices. Our interaction should be with living, breathing people, not with devices that heat up.

And now, clicking the publish button, I am shutting my devide down to go out for a nice walk.

Dreams of Clean Hands

How hard is it for one,
To keep one's hands clean in today's world?
A world filled with corruption and greed,
With misery connecting to every deed,
A time when people are all connected by money,
That inevitable entity, in the form of cash or electronic stash,
Which passes through many hands, some pure, some filthy,
In a world where some crooks are caught red handed,
While good men's hands turn red for no fault of theirs?
Alas, is there no way one can stay safe,
Untouched by the dirt of sin?
Is there man or woman who is truly pure and free from grime,
On this planet rampant in crime?
Is there a place one can run away to,
To save oneself from this ocean of filth?
Nay, even death does nothing, for even the graveyard isn't pure,
Such is the omniscience of sin on earth.

The Author

She felt powerful as she seated herself. It wasn't the instrument she held in her hand, that was merely a tool, only useful to the one with experience. Or, creativity at least. She felt the energy flowing through her, as she seated herself comfortably at the 'cockpit' as she liked to call it. An entire world waited to be created by her. A world which thousands were willing to dive into, to wet themselves in and stay in forever. It was interesting to see how a full universe with infinite dimensions could be fit completely into two dimensional paper. Perhaps it was the reader's heart.

The Airplane

She stops not for for an instant,
Ignoring the pressure inside her trying to tear her apart,
The heavy organs on her bosom toiling away,
Her arms spread open, balancing her body,
Air screeching over them at a terrible pace,
Her nose braving against it, deserving praise,
Her bones bend in response to all that she bears,
Flexing in unison instead of succumbing to the force,
You sit in her belly, her womb,
Which, if not for her mercy, can become your tomb,
Casually eating, reading or sleeping,
Ignorant of the dangers your journey could be holding,
She holds you in her tummy, shielding you from the heat,
Displaying not an iota of the pain she feels, to achieve such a feat,
The daughter of human creators - of Wrights, Lilienthal and Cayley,
Conceived also by the likes of Valmiki and Subbaraya,
A true beauty applying simple physics in a manner that is incredible,
With rigorous calculation going into every particle,
She is a marvel, a monument to look at in awe,
The airplane, the mother of atmospheric flight.

Written on the plane (from Bangalore to Mumbai on 5.5.2016, edited just before publishing now.

Pulled Out of Sleep

I don't know how and when I got there,
Or even what the place was,
A palace of sorts,
A realm of bliss,
A Universe whose lord I was,
An arena of contentment,
Sometimes it was blank nothingness pervaded by peace,
Sometimes a dream about an unfulfilled wish,
I was settled there, firm and nice,
With absolutely no want in life,
When I heard hushed voices, an alarm or some noise,
Sound that was rammed into ears that existed not,
It penetrated a membrane, creating my physical self,
Pushing me back into this miserable existence,
Right from that instant of disturbance I longed to go back,
Into that state I was dragged away from,
That very dream or that very silence, I don't know,

I rolled over and tossed about in protest,
But no darkness, no position, no silence could do the trick,

I knew it was futile but still continued to try,
That even if I slept it would be a new world, certainly not the same,

Hating the world for bringing me back here,
What had I done wrong that I be wronged this way,
By ungrateful mates, who had ruthlessly destroyed my day,
When all plans fail as one struggles to rest,
That, I'm sure, is life's toughest test,
Inability to sleep proves the power of fate,
Destroying man's faith that he can reach any height,
I roll back and shut my eyes, hoping to get there in vain,
And finally give up, and go live my day

Typed on my phone on 1.5.2016 between 1:00am and 1:15am when Ashit Gupta, Prasad Halimani and Upendra Yadav's voices woke me up after a four hour sleep (after several sleepless nights) at 12:53am and I couldn't get back to sleep