And It Broke Again!


And it broke again,
My little heart of glass,
Being played with wasn’t enough as if,
That it needed to be shattered with class!

And it broke again,
I never doubted it would,
Toughened by fate, hardened by luck,
It still bore all that it could.

And it broke again,
The moment the sand slipped off,
‘Twas beyond the shores yet far from the seas,
Finding the yacht it always spoke of.

And it broke again,
Still hoping it weren’t true,
Still thinking of the good fuller days,
Still dreaming of the skies blue!


The Lost Friend

The lost Friend

I had a friend once,
When heads were high and hearts, huge.
We’d roll on grass and ride horses of love,
Come what may, hand in hand we’d trudge.

I lost that friend then,
I lost him in the tempest,
Tried my best to get him back,
But couldn’t, there was no one to assist.

Today I walk alone searching for him,
Searching for a friend who’s nowhere to be seen.
All the while I wish it were plain old hide and seek,
And that now he’d come out and tell me where he’d been.

I know he will be back, now or later,
We had a pact he’s bound to remember.
A pact to love, care and share forever,
A pact that will wake us both from this deep dark slumber.

Every day I wish it’s the day I find him at my door,
To hit me, hug me and call me insane,
We’d then go form “you” and “me” to “us” and “ours”,
And live happily ever after again!

The Drunken Skunk


He came unexpected last night,
Held my hand and hugged me tight.
Said an “I love you” with a pursed smile,
And took my heart away all the while.

I knew from the start that he was drunk,
He swayed to and fro and smelled like a skunk.
But with that smile and those eyes,
I could forgive anything, let alone the bottle-ties.

I was happy, not for he loved me,
But for I adored him, finally that I could see.
I don’t know what love is,
But cupid could cry with joy if he saw that kiss.

Too awed, I stood there as he vanished,
The skies poured and all misery was banished.
Drenched in rain and love I went back home,
Thinking of me, him and Rome!

My Daddy Strongest!

My daddy strongest

I remember the time you were with us,
There was peace in the day and light in the dusk.
I was a child, they say, I wouldn’t know,
But these are things the heart understands but never shows.
My father was dead, people told me,
I remember my mother breaking the news, in my eyes she couldn’t see.
You were gone, no trace behind,
Even if I wished, you are impossible to find.
I see you though, often that too,
I see you in the stars, I see you in the hills and the waters blue.
I see you in beauty, I see you in life,
I see you everywhere happiness is rife.
Call me crazy, call me daft,
But I know you are near, through me your love does waft.
You’ve endured it all with me,
There’s nothing I know that you did not see.
Stay with me forever, I plead,
Be there to nurse my wounds whenever I bleed.
Stay when it’s cold, stay when it’s hot,
Stay when I’m gay, stay when I’m not.
With you near ill fight every tempest,
I’ll come out alive, because my daddy strongest!


That’s when I fall in love with you



When the breeze brushes past your hair,

or when you flash your pursed smile so true,

when with you there’s joy in the air,

that’s when I fall in love with you.


When you pretend you don’t bother,

Or when you don’t show you are blue,

When you trouble like a child but care like a father,

That’s when I fall in love with you.


When you hold my hand and walk close,

Or when your antics make my head hot as stew,

When I think of those brown eyes or that cute nose,

That’s when I fall in love with you.


When you blush over your closed eyes,

Or when you hit me without a clue,

When you still linger in my mind after goodbyes,

That’s when I fall in love with you!


The Little Girl

The little girl.




There was a little girl, wee and dumb,

Trusted by all and hated by none.

Being the spoilt princess, her choice,

She was moody, yes, but never vice.

Living in her castle of glass she dreamt,

Of all things beautiful, straight or bent.

Everyone was allowed in her heart,

It had room for the world, however tart.

But people didn’t get her right and clear,

They left her alone in hurt and fear.

Crushed her self-esteem and her morals,

One moment she was in the skies, the next deep in the corals.

Shaken and confused she stood alone,

Awake, yet asleep as the sun shone.

Her castle was in pieces, broken to the ground,

She quit the game of trying; she couldn’t play one more round.

Naked, bruised and tattered, she moves through the mire,

That which could possibly burn her now, there wasn’t such a fire.

She’d seen it all, been through it and came up alive,

She herself was with her, she needed no other life.

Trust no one, that’s what she’d learnt,

However brutal, but that’s what happens when you are burnt.

She’s still breathing, she suddenly realized,

Body aching, hopes paralysed,

She will still have to stand up tall,

Put up a brave front and defeat ‘em all.

Come out with glory and pride,

‘cuz her mum raised her to ride all tides.

Her castle will stand again, the winds will guide her raft,

She will be strong and brave, not lean and daft.

Friends and family to add to the fun,

There’ll also be a prince charming waiting to ride in the sun!

The village expedition



“You seriously haven’t seen a village in your life? Who are you, some foreigner?” The girl on the bus stood looking at me with big, bulging eyes. Her reaction somehow made me feel like an accused that had lied at the witness stand. Apparently just like the habit of asking for free coriander after buying veggies, having a ‘Gaon’ was a pre-requisite for an Indian.  Since I didn’t have one, I was the wolf in her flock of sheep. After 10 minutes of nonsense blabber the conversation ended, but the thought stuck. I had been raised in Mumbai and Nagpur; all the relatives I knew of were from cities too. Few of the relatives of the relatives did live in villages but in all these 18 years I’ve been alive, we never went there. So, in a way, I was “Gaon-less”. I suddenly felt incomplete.  In a bid to make all wrongs right, I sent out feelers in every possible direction and two months later, was on a train to a friend’s place, Indore.

A four hour bumpy bus ride from Indore followed by an hour and a half triple-seated on a bike took us to our destination- a small, by small I mean really small; a kilometer radius at most, village. The whole way I surprisingly felt an uncanny resemblance to the lead character of the movie Swades. This, though it made me chuckle, was shameful. I, in ways unknown, had committed an infidelity towards my nation and was here to make things right, I felt. The village was perfectly out of a book, word to word. Around fifteen dung coated wood framed houses huddled together, the smell of dung in the air, cattle loitering around ruminating, half naked kids with runny noses running around barefoot, everyone watching you like you are from Jupiter, and absolutely no mobile network. I sighed as I tossed my cell phone aside and entered my friend’s house. As she told her extended family in the native language who I was, I looked around the house. It was petite- a cot, a ‘chulha’, Gods unheard of adorning the walls, plastic bags and jute sacks dumped in a corner, a utensils stand and no electricity. I took a tour through the house yard, saw all that was to be seen. It was all too new to grasp. It was as if I was in Neverland- I knew the place entirely from books, but still knew nothing about it. Forty minutes down, I was back and we had lunch. Drenched in their hospitality and sweet words which I didn’t understand, I never noticed the streams of sweat running down my forehead or my constant sneezes. Then started the city-bashing. I had apparently in my glee of seeing the village life, missed a few links of the village versus city discussion in which the entire folk there rooted in for the village. “This is reality. What you have there is all fake.” said one. “Yes, see this is what watermelons look like. There it is all poisoned.” joined in another. “You city folk live in peace while we toil in the sun. All you do is laugh at us and go back to your high rise buildings.”  I tried to reason but soon realized that they all were too convinced to take any contradictions in. I thought of the city. What if we people start bashing the villages to while our time too? We wouldn’t have much to say, or would we? Actually we wouldn’t have the time to do it. Our busy lives make us forget who our neighbors are, who cares about what the village folks are like? Whiling away time in the empty fields- no rainfall meant no sowing, and trying to talk to the children there took up most of my remaining time and soon it was time to leave.

Apart from the red nose and muddy clothes, I did get something worthwhile out of this visit. I got contentment. There were a couple of minutes in there when I did get bored of the cattle and dung and hay; but I didn’t for a moment wished to leave. Bidding adieu to the people I’d met for the first time was never this difficult. Maybe they were right. Maybe THIS was the real life. But then I could never live that way, not because I’m too able, but because I’m weak.  This nowhere means that after this enlightenment I’ll underrate my city or any other. Just like I wouldn’t be able to live the village life, a girl from the village won’t be able to cope up in my city. Everything, hence, is balanced, I realized. It is better to be left this way. As for my trip, it was a success. I’m not ‘Gaon-less’ anymore!