On Music

Playing in the mind within,
Or on an instrument without,
It stirs one's soul like nothing else can,
Be it a tune, a hum or a melodious shout,

It sinks into one and reverberates there,
Broad and deep, it starts chiming from within,
Filling the emptiness behind closed eyes,
And pulling the strings of the heart as it does..

Soothing one in inexplicable ways,
Bringing tears to ones eyes, harmonising thoughts,
It  saddens, elevates, inspires and elates,
A real key to control emotions.

On Old Age

A life of dignity, of honour,
Filled with mementos of respect,
And anecdotes of valour,
A person feared and respected by all,
Approached for advice and justice,
And revered by several,
Is brought down to a feeble creature,
Unable to fend for itself,
Toothless, wrinkled,
Curled up in a bed,
Pitiable and dependent,
Until reduced to a heap of ash,
Is it time? Or that which they call fate?
Oh what do words matter?
When the person is dead and gone?

On the night of 29th august 2016 at Aero structures lab

On Mumbai

Sown together from seven islands,
My new found love,
Glimmers by the light of its own soul,
And is reflected by the sea full of vigour,
A city that never sleeps,
Alive, not merely awake every moment,
Busy, yet patient,
Wealthy yet simple,
Its rainwashed buildings stand as monuments,
Of tireless yet humble effort,
Adding to the beauty of this utterly magnificent land,
Its banks filled with righteous wealth,
Its people flourishing with the grace of the Mother,
A melting pot of cultures,
A mirror to India,
No wonder a delight to residents and visitors alike,
The epitome of simplicity,
She shines forth,
On the map and in our hearts,
The true capital of Bharata.

Written on 24th August, 2016 (23rd night?) on a drive along Worli Sea Link

Fear When Alone

Solitude is the true test of one's might,

And that too, at an unfamiliar place at night,

When the mind rises after an activity,

It sees one's ambience and charges up its creativity,

Conjuring images at a distance or on long hallways,

Perhaps only sometimes, not always,

Ideas from that book one read,

Or a movie of someone rising from the dead,

Plot ideas fill one's mind,

Paralysing one with a fear of a unique kind,

That ghost in a film one probably laughed at,

Now flashes stark or seems to watch from one's back,

Oh, the anticipation of danger,

Seems far worse, there is nothing stranger,

The heart beats fast,

As long as the panic lasts,

Perhaps until one finds a familiar lane,

Or a friend or a cane,

The fear that sprouts, it awakens one,

Bringing springs of life that are indeed fun,

The fear might stay on for a few seconds or maybe longer,

But the jerk it gives is a jolt that will linger.

Written on 16th Aug 2016 at 2:38am at Aero structures lab

The Lady of the House

She comes from nowhere, enters a household,
All to bear burdens,
Of new parents, of her man,
Of a child, yet to be born,
She gives herself, holding nothing back,
Yielding to his wield as he holds her in his embrace,
Bearing immense pain, yet giving him strength,
His pain becomes hers, his joy too,
His parents hers, she gets a name new,

A lifetime in the kitchen, she transforms -

From a woman to a daughter in law,

Then a mother for life-
With a heart as supple as her bones,

And as resilient too,

She lives her life, giving and toiling,

Her dreams locked away,

In a corner of her large heart,

A life, nothing short of penance -

Penance that consecrates her house,

And yet she bows down,

In front of husband sibling, even offspring,

Truly deserving to be,

The head of the house,

*Started on 21st June (possibly B001), completed on 22nd July, 2016 (C504) IIT Bombay

A House

A product of engineering,
A roof for humans,
A shelter - an umbrella of security,
Against unfriendly people and weather,
But is it merely a structure of bricks and mortar?

Housing people of several generations,
Its walls are stained with sentiment,
Its floors with memories, every room etched

With the feelings of its inhabitants, even visitors,
Perhaps it is something to do with hearts beating for a long time-
They induce life into even lifeless bricks -

Life of the immortal kind,

Turning the structure into a body,
That lives on for centuries-
An old person perhaps,

One who even emotes to those who listen,

In a strange, ghost-like way.

Written on 19.6.2016 at 4:30am, at B001, H13, IIT Bombay

The Bed

A home within a home,

A flat piece of heaven,

Be it soft or hard,
A cushion, for body and heart,
The most wanted comfort zone,
A source of peace to reach out for,
In times of distress, heartbreak or fear,
A lap for you to sleep on,
A shoulder to lean on,
To dream when lost, or to mull over things,
A refuge when sick,
Nothing short of a mother,
Ever available, but hardly thought of,
Clothed in a bedsheet of your choice,
It awaits you, night after night,
Drenched in your tears of yesterday,
Wrenched dry when you jump on it in joy or play,
Giving your body rest and your spirit hope,
To go out there, and live another day.

Written on 19th June, 2016 at 4:17am, at B001, H13, IIT Bombay (lying on my bed)

On Inspiration

It is purpose that propels life forward.

Purposelessness breeds stagnation - a state over which death would be preferable.

                                                                                                                            - A thought

At times when the human sees only void,
When one lacks purpose, that fuel of life,
Something comes to one's aid,
A source that inspires one,
In a manner that is straight or tangential,
Often subtly, for that is how one accepts,
It could be words, an example,
A thing of memory or a person,
A life account, narrated or read,
Sometimes a mere signal from naught,
It could even be an unrelated sight, or hurtful words,
That plunge one into into action.

In many cases, the inspirer knows not,
Sometimes even deserves naught,
It could merely be one's image of something or someone,
A mental projection induced by one's heart,
Perhaps by a narrator or book,
But such power it releases,
From a source the human known not,
Somewhere within the chest (heart) I feel,
Unleashing such strength,
Stirring one in to action,
Perhaps generating art -
That marvel that the world celebrates,
A wonder that amazes even the artist,
Or perhaps an achievement that turns heads,
Making this person an inspirer.
It matters not whether the inspirer deserves this title,
Or if credit is given,
For the human life is divided between
Displaying and living life,

It is that power that one must marvel at.

It could last for years until death,
Or perhaps just for an instant,
Producing genius, or perhaps nothing at all,
The true surprise is not the result,
But that spark that shakes one off,
The spark of life.

Written on 7.6.2016 10:36pm (conceived at 10:00pm at mess, written now at B001, H13, IIT Bombay)

A Glimpse of Life

A story only too common,
Lived and relived by countless humans,
The bawl, the struggle to crawl,
And later learning the scrawl,
The completion of education,
The pursuit of an occupation,
The marriage, the progeny,
The struggle for money,
The investments, the banking,
The holidays and camping,
The retirement, bereavements,
Death, then inheritance.

A path tread on by nearly the entire swarm,
So much that its every thorn is known,
Problems only too mundane,
That they can be plotted for each woman or man,
Cycles more precise than the best ever clock,
Studded with events to which friends flock,
Some moments, precious to close kin,
And others, known only to two or one,
Be it fun, work, love or even hate,
It all fits into one big template,
The thrill, the pain, the emotions,
It all feels new to the one who lives,
Strange indeed is the human's life,
For no one looks for where the difference lies,
The difference between what is seen by hotel staff,
And that by of the newlyweds, waiting to start off,

Perhaps that's where the difference dwells,
Between living one's own life and watching another's,

The difference between the emotional subjective,
And the logical, observant objective.

And while it all sounds great, I wonder,
If it'd be a terrible blunder,
To expend my life walking the old, ridiculous road,
Taking the trouble of carrying such load,
But such thought is snapped in an eye's blink,
And before I even stop to even think,
I am pushed into the eternal wheel of gloom,
By forces of hunger and fate, where I lie 'til I face my doom.

Written on 5th June, 2016 at B001, Hostel 13, IIT Bombay

The "Bigger" Picture?

I visited a country,

A so called enemy nation,

I saw roads and streets and people,

All like in mine,

I saw lives that went on like ours,

People who knew my land, people who didn't,

People who hates us, and those who didn't,

But people all the same,

So same, in appearance, character and heart,

That I could barely spot them as different from my own,

The grassroot is the truth,

People are the country,

And if such be the picture,

What can be bigger than that?

And if so be the case, who wages wars?

Written on 2/6/2016 at 7:30am at B001, IIT Bombay after reading some answer on Quora

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