Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
A simple poem for a brother who, however old he grows, will always be a newborn for me.
When mother’s tummy started bloating at the rate of an air balloon
That’s when I asked my Grandfather for a trishool.
Odd one might say with the religious ignorance I show these days
But young and innocent I was (sort of)
Wished for another bloke, another goon.
I started a penance
I made a demand
I don’t want to fight with someone with pink ribbons on her head
No, blue will be the colour instead
Of our room
A brother I asked for, a desperate plea
Not a she, not a she, I want a HE!!
So came the 14th of October
And out popped a brother
The most precious gift ever
He had my face, and he seemed pretty clever.
God oh God how soft he was
Like a dew drop on an early morning rose
Like a pillow you fear just might
Tear open if you held on it too tight.
I used to go near him
Lovingly torment him
Until one day he got his revenge
And without warning bit
It is a moment is cherish
Of him losing his wit.
I wanted him to talk
When was he going to walk?
He grew up well and I for that I give my testimony
But then he changed his mind, thought it would be nice to throw toys from the balcony.
And later poop in the same place
Only for his brother to make a face
And clean up all the messy trace.
I would never ever have let him become someone else
You might call is selfish, I call it selflessness
There are some rules…and younger brothers should always play by them
To complicate matters less.
“You will play the game I teach you to”
“You will support the team I do”
“You will make Maggi and popcorn if I ask you”
Some things you cannot put behind you
Times when we played WWE-WWE and broke the bed
When we tried peeing on each other on a Sunday bath
When I smashed a watermelon on his head
When I stuck a chewing gum in his hair which led to him losing them
And the innumerable times when we disrupted the peace and harmony
Because that is what two crazy brothers are supposed to be known for in the society.
After a lot of tears, bruises and cuts I can still vision the happiness
After the last push on his cycle, seeing him whizz away towards independence
To forcing his finger off the swimming pool railing and throw him into the water
To push him off my floating body and see him falter
Watch with bated breath fearing he would drown
But still not dive in, let him go down
And then the elation to see the waters part
Today he can save someone, because I didn’t save him.
From the Rosarite who wore a Lal Chaddi
To the boy who always copied my hairstyle
And now the smart young man in the flaming green Vidyani blazer.
It has been a transition worth watching, worth never forgetting
Moments I was always recording, without him knowing.
Today when he scores a goal, its as if I kicked the ball
When he wears his council badge, its as if I’m pinning it on myself
When he can’t solve math, its as if I miscalculated
And when he finishes a book, its as if I read it again.
As he turns 16, I am proud
Proud he can sleep alone in a big house
Proud to see him keep his cool
Which I never could.
Proud he can ride a vehicle
Proud to see him excelling in accounts
Proud to see him look handsome
After all, its my face ;)
There are a thousand things to say
But this is a poem, not an essay.
All I can say is he today
And as he makes a foray
Has his own identity
With his unnerving quality
Garnished with some of my traits
Sprinkled with my language
But still standing out as himself.
I shall then hold my head high
In adding some touches to a final master-piece
When I will be known as ‘Your Brother’
And through that I will earn my right to call him my wish
My dear brother Prithvish.
जनम हुआ हमारा पेड़ों के शहर बरोडा में
आज वहाँ पेड़ कम, इमाराते ज़्यादा है.
इस वजह से आज हम बैठे हैं Sheffield की सबसे उँची पहाड़ी पे
हमारे साथ एक डायरी और पार्कर की कलम है.
लोग कहते है की हमें सिर्फ़ Engligh फाड़ने आती है
इस वजह से आज हम प्रयत्न कर रहे हैं मातृभाषा में कुछ लफ्ज़ लिखने
ताकि जब दो साल बाद देश लोटेंगे, आक्सेंट में बात करेंगे
और लोग हमें शाना बोलेंगे, तो उन्हे कुछ तो सुना पाएँगे!
काफ़ी गुस्सा आया आज सुबह
जब Nescafe के डब्बे पे पढ़ा "Makes over 100 cups".
पंद्रह दिन में ख़तम, कमिने टोपी पहनाने में नंबर वन है!
इस वजह से हम कॉफ़ी से रूठ कर, पिए बिना ही चढ़ गये
फिर साला याद आया, हम कप में नही, Full-size Mug में पीते है!
अब तक तो पता चल ही गया होगा की हम हिन्दी में काफ़ी Amateur हैं,
दुआ करता हूँ अगली बार मेरी पेशकश इससे ज़्यादा सुहानी रहे.
इस वजह से हम आगे बस और चार लाइन लिखेंगे
उमीद है की वो चार लाइन आपके दिल को छू दे.
लोग सोचते हैं की हम क्यों इतनी उँचाई पे बैठके लिखते है
ऐसा भी कहते होंगे की साला समझता खुदको प्रेमचंद है.
इस वजह से नही लिखता की हमें तुम्हारी तालियों की गूँज सुननी है,
लिखना तो सिर्फ़ एक बहाना है, इतनी उँचाई पे हम तो बस 'मेघ' को महसूस करने आते हैं!
Harbouring feelings is not an easy task
You cannot hide them behind a mask
Depression, remorse, nostalgia and pain
Can all make you stand in front of a rushing train.
When the skies do not open for years
The water accumulates as a farmer’s tears
‘No harvest oh God!’ He cries…'please let loose the rain!'
Not a drop….that is pain.
The yearn for a child
Soon after the bond of marriage
The fall from the steps
‘Sorry ma’m, it is a miscarriage’
9 months of ecstasy turns to pain.
The Russian summer of 1991
At the bottle of vodka everyone gets a turn
One day it snows out of season
The fall of communism
No more money, cash or shares
Alas, no more grain
‘Sorry son, no bread today’
Thought the father….that is pain!
The killer brown hair
Made them stare
The curvaceous waist
Took the form of haste
How could they refrain?
‘Rape, rape!’ she cried……that is pain.
Wife in waiting
She prepared his favourite dish,
Lemon rice and honey-glazed fish.
They saw it go over the Atlantic....
Carried 300 people
In man’s greatest invention
‘I love you’ was his last mention
Twins of New York killed…devastation
The food went cold
Life mercilessly slain
Terrorism….that is pain!
Billie Jean, Smooth Criminal, Thriller and Earth
Your laughter and your innocent mirth
The gloved hand and silver jacket
All now adorned in a golden casket.
No familiar ‘God Bless You’
Gone is the voice with the beautiful strain
Rest in Peace MJ….now that is pain!
When I saw the lion in all its glory
I didn’t want this story
But someone reached earlier
Blood, bones and paws but no grizzly mane
The King is poached….jungle silent
That….that is pain!
From the tears of a farmer
To the cry of a mother
The fall of communism
The end of the King of Pop but not his rhythm,
Poaching and terrorism
To virginity shattered in a single scream across the quiet lane.
Forgive me for documenting all this in words
I hope you will not let your feelings for me wane
Because that….that would also be Pain.
We have to understand
That as the most advanced race
We were bound to differ
And thus the contrast between male and female face.
A bag full of self-esteem
According to him, his thoughts never stale
Alone in his world he wants to gleam.
The suppressed female,
Giving in to demands of the Alpha
Leaves behind a luscious trail
Whether naked or from behind a burqa.
The problem arises in its ultimate stage
When one or the other traits mix
And in a fit of rage
You explode into life’s perennial fix!
I will not deter from what I here say
That the succulent female body
Cannot house the Adam’s ego
Just like the whites could never accommodate the negro.
Similarly today’s dominant male
Or yesterday’s commanding chains
Confused as to who holds the reins
Knowing that a single female trait he cannot contain.
Unless the fairer sex will not give in
The relentless male will continue to dig in
Eat away the selfless female soul
Continue to make mountains out of the mole.
I say rise o rise, you beautiful maid
Fight the tyranny, don’t let him raid
Bring the alpha down to Beta grade
Don’t think the male can never fade.
But don’t try to house it o lovely
The male ego can be deadly
Avoid its sting
Its endless whim
I know the doom it can bring….
Because I, I am HIM!!
To Veeral on his 20th:
When I first saw him,
Slim, trim, glasses with a plastic rim.
Eleven we were,
In that camp during summer.
When we parted, it was brief
We would rejoin in school mischief.
When I then saw him,
Not much of a change,
Silence, less talk
Not overly confident, but not a dork.
This was just the beginning
Of a companionship so thrilling.
Excuse me, but I’m going to talk about myself
In glowing lines which brings out my best.
Short compared to the tall,
Talkative compared to the listener,
Impatient compared to the patient.
Interested to the not-so.
They say two must compliment each other
For a lifetime these memories will suffice,
I hope you liked the first few lines of Fire and Ice.
I write, he reads
I speak, he heeds
I fight, he only might
I always told him to stand up, speak up
But he never really reacted much!
Then so be it I said,
Dropped the idea, that everyone is made
Like me, for me
There are some who are there just so
As I come to this world and go
I always wondered, why do we never fight?
When was it last?
I’m sure it was quite in the past
How many times?
Once, no maybe twice
How could we? I was fire, and he ice.
I hope he learnt how to crackle like the fire,
Cause I tried to gather like ice.
I hope he learnt how to be noticed from distance
Cause I try to keep myself from resistance
I hope he learnt how to face the world
Cause I try to stay calm, not to let the anger unfurl
I hope he learnt to manage
Because I try to envisage
I hope he received some of my linguistics
I must admit, I never got his mathematics.
I hope the world he does entice
I hope we always remain like Fire and Ice.
There are times when I think
What if it would end…this link.
I know we’ll try our best
To beat time’s test.
I know we will
After eighty more years still
Be friends until all our wishes we fulfill
And the dawn no more we wish to see and this world we want to flee
All our virtues intact, and forgotten vice,
And we shall depart as Fire and Ice.