Back when we were young

Love was when we were young,
You were seventeen and I, sixteen.
That one moment of the first sight
And the denial in every minute that followed

Evading the looks and shutting my ears to your laugh
I told myself day in and out to get a grip
Until my sleepy eyes would open with your face in them
Washed up on the shores of a sea of dreams

Spring had descended upon me to stay
An irrepressible blush playing on unknowing cheeks
And butterflies flitted in the shadows of silky black strands
That waved when memories came in the scented air

A golden vein of frozen words had come to life
Flowing onto every stray scrap and classroom bench
The love gilded my books with poems
And the songs rung in every pal’s ears

On that rainy dusk years ago, on my long walk home
When we were joyous in the festival of lights
Soft lights had lighted up my way and it was then
I still remember, the air had quivered with your invisible presence

Our paths though had to part forever
And the day came when, under the cherry tree we bade goodbye
My blistered heart thirsted for solace and in vain
I traced your footsteps to catch at least a glimpse.

Years have passed by and we have grown in age and apart
No more do I pine for a comeback, now hopeless
I wish we never cross paths again, for it may be sadder still
If we stand yet again eyes locked, and the rose petals don’t shower

Because my pain, my love
The wide eyed girl and a shy smiling boy are lost forever
And all the love was back then, when we were young,
You were seventeen and I, sixteen.

THE DESERT

It’s not just the sun that’s burning my skin

The solar flares blind my eyes causing tears to stream,

It’s not just the undulating dunes of sand

Waves of dust blow at my face making me choke,

At times it’s not even the cloudless sky

It’s all the hopelessness that’s parched my soul.

In my aimless wander , the eyes search

For a fellow traveler to curse the heat with,

As an egotist of a mind looks on

Feigning nonchalance all the same,

And finding not even a shadow of a soul

Says my mind, “You’re better off alone!”

And then the night falls and cold embraces

The solitary traveler, beneath the palm,

Sits down and waits for daybreak

With watchful eyes and wistful dreams,

Listening to the rising howls of the coyotes

Under the night sky, to the pack or a mate.

Another day, a new dawn of the desert

May bring cooler breeze and gentler sun

The unknown path may even lead to an oasis

Where pebbles adorn crystal blue waters

The mind nudges me in its reverie

And says,” The journey may be well worth it! ”

The mind shows the direction and I set off

Following the song of the wind and the flight of the eagle

Over treacherous knolls and past the cacti

To escape where the doomsayers cannot reach

And let the wounded soul heave in peace

Across the desert, I flee to my freedom.

PS: I crossed 50 with my last post.A miracle given my inconsistency!

The Rustic Charm of Ruskin Bond

Writing comes more easily to me when I have music in the background. Or is it that I lose myself in the music, get into the mood and write whatever captures the mood? If there’s any flow at all that’s there in my writing, it is due to the music. It’s also why most of the stuff here are just dreamy. If I were given one topic and then asked to write about it, I would find it boring - the eternal drifter that I am. Drifting brings me to what is holding me in sway these days - Ruskin Bond. My Orkut status already says so.

Ruskin Bond is one author I hadn’t had the chance to read much till now. He is also not whom I would pick, had I much of a choice of selection. Not mush reason for that except ignorance and negligible exposure to his works .I do remember though the short story of the blind girl the author meets in the train to Dehra Dun, that was part of our school syllabus. Though its titled ‘The Eyes Have It’ , in the book I’m hooked to right now – ‘The Best of Ruskin Bond’ - a collection of his stories , poems ,essays and what not ;I am certain the English Reader text had a different name for the story . It’s a love story – the story of a short, sweet romance. Couldn’t suppress a smile when I thought back about those school days when I was ‘taught’ this story .It never did strike me as a love story then. Not at all …. I read it now, and it’s a discovery that the author meant it as a love story. I was probably too young to recognize the faint scent of a tender romance that was the mood of the story. Or was it that the repetitious explanation from the teacher had killed the spirit of the story? A poem or a story cannot be ruined further than by explaining it. When you take a poem , read two lines and explain the meaning , take down the new words and their meanings ,delve deep into the metaphors and the similes ,you are actually dissecting it –literally opening its tummy and looking inside before even seeing the creature in its entire beauty and form . Should not! Not before you give it a full reading at least once, feel the flow and the mood, and lose some time in thinking about it. I guess you wouldn’t get the whole picture otherwise.

Take the story in question – the girl is going to Saharanpur and the author,all the way, to Dehra .So where is the girl going ,children ?? Saharanpur …we bellow .. and the that’s what gets the emphasis ,and that’s what stays in our mind .Tsk tsk .. Totally needless details get the spotlight and poor li’l romance is sidelined. But then, we were children and not to be spoilt with discourses on how the author’s heart went out to the girl .

I digress.

Back to Ruskin Bond.The office library is nothing much to write home about, holding in its general reading section, nothing much other than the how-to guides: the quintessential loser’s guide. Need I say more? I detest self-help literature .Period! So it was a relief to spot ‘The Best of Ruskin Bond’ among such wastage of precious paper like the afore mentioned genre of books. Grabbed it ,started reading and was hooked .The very first story ,’The eyes have it ’, was like the ‘hi there ,remember me ’ from a long lost friend .RB writes candid and simple prose that is heavily nostalgic about his boyhood days in Dehra dun and Mussorie . Most of it reads like first hand accounts of his life, as the ones that are shared among friends over a cup of tea, reminiscing the good old days. He describes his growing up years in the naturally bountiful hill station ,where he had all the time to wonder and be fascinated by nature , the many plants and trees and animals that he talks about with great familiarity, making the reader pine to go back to their own childhoods and relive it once again .As I have said here time and again , I am perpetually infatuated with childhood .For me ,its the best part of one’s life ,and I was always reluctant to grow up .I remember how sad I was to grow up and leave school ,and then later on ,college . It’s a tragedy that we cannot stop the years , live as much as we want is in our favorite age , and then continue with life when we are up for it .

He talks just as easily and eloquently about all the stages of life, from boyhood, to his late teens in London and after .There are also simple, lovely poems that can be enjoyed in one read, like a deep lungful breath of sweet fragrance. Would sign off recommending Ruskin Bond for company for the times when you feel wistfully nostalgic and want to go back in time. On that slow dusk watching the sun wave good bye , sipping sweet black tea , get on that hammock and stretch out with a copy of ‘The Best Of Ruskin Bond’ .

BGM

Track - I am born again.

Album – Oceans of Fantasy

Band - BoneyM

Verse Ofcourse !


A curse on my uninviting mailbox
Looks like it's under a hoax
For there's nothing new or fun in there
To make me smile even once in a while!

Cross I am with all those blogs
I regularly visit and turn back disappointed
Cos no new posts have they for me either
To make me think and ponder awhile.

A bolt of lightning on the idiot box
For all the boring shows and thousand channels
Bloodier are the reruns
Of anything nice they might once have had!

Cannot even turn to my all time love
In good stead they have stood me so long
My dearest pals ,my good old books
For I'm recovering from a Coelho overdose.

And so I take a path I've trodden so less
That of verse and rhyming words
As a last resort or escape
This here is what came out as a result.

Hoping someone would read it atleast
And that one wouldn't hate it too much
Mayn't be good but what the heck
That's the best and all that there is for now !!

Can I have my childhood back?

I still have mountains to climb,

And creeks to swim in .

I wanted to play some more in the rain ,

And kick in the slush muddier.

I missed to make friends with some of ‘em I met on the way,

I forgot to pick some more fights with those I played with .

There are fantasies yet to be shared with wide eyed mates,

And some more adventures to plan during lazy afternoons.

Should have fallen and broken my skin some more,

So there could be more scars to show off from childhood games.

There are still more rainbows to follow with eyes lost to the skies,

Umpteen butterflies to mumble to, as they twittered uncaringly,

Some more flowers to gaze wide upon with admiration

Some more curious fishes in the pond I am yet to touch.

Tantrums and sulks a few more for my hunger for attention

I know some more stuff to show off to the younger kids

Walls yet to be etched with crude pencil and chalks

Stones to be flung farther off into the muddy pond

There are still tiny lotus blooms in there

To be worn around the neck, with their long stalks

Stories from my granny to listen to

There sure must be more tales of the kings and their battles.

Treasure troves of good things still hidden from me

Too precious, all of them, to let go

Can I have my childhood back please?

For I still have mountains to climb

And some more creeks to swim in …

I Wish..

I only wanted to leave my mark

Upon the pages of history.

I only wanted to find that path

Upon which thousands would follow me.

I only wanted to make my friends.

Party through the night and into the day.

I only played the naughty pranks

To make friends laugh, but do no harm.

Last year ,the night before the valentines' day

I only wanted to waltz with you.

And every time that you looked at me

I only wanted to tell you that.

Sometimes I wanted to swim in the creek.

Soar and sing in the sky like a lark.

And when the wind blew on my face

I only wanted to let my hair loose and smile.

I only wanted to believe in angels

And that there was one in everyone.

Just that some people let it show

And some covered it up for no reason at all.

Sometimes I wished for the prince on the horse

Who would kiss me awake and fight for me.

Then I realized they were no more

And learned to fight my battles on my own.

Sometimes I wanted to stand in the rain

Let the water wash away all the pain.

How I wish I could laugh out aloud

And have nobody stare at me!

At times I hoped to speak my mind

Before it was too late and all was lost.

I wish I had the courage then

And not have to mourn later on.

I only wanted to reach the sky.

Touch the stars and walk on the moon.

I only want to be as free as a bird!

I only want to break my chains!

But my biggest wish of all

Is to have ten thousand more wishes!

Cos the hope and cheer in a wish

Is in itself worth a wish!