Bare-Feet

To new beginnings and the everlasting road…

“The road for ever goes on and on

Down from the door where it began.

Now far ahead the Road has gone,

And I must follow, if I can.”

- J.R.R.Tolkien

May be her story is a lot more louder than mine, or may be it just has much more drama, more events, more occurrences, just much more… extrinsically… while mine just meanders within my own head.

And along with those random meanderings was a strangely loud knock of heels. It is eerie how soft worn out soles can make that much sound over soft aired mud. Then again, it is easy to juxtapose it to her story… heard a million times, talked about in another million locales and e-locales, rounded off and sanded by those many a pair of hands and heads… and still, it was the loudest story that we heard.

It’s not her, she never voiced it out loud and I never voiced out loud either, except for those very few, it was all very mellow communication. And I still walked the same path, same soft soil, moist at times so it stuck to my ungrooved sole… and still… no mush, no slush, just the knock of heel after heel, like a tap dance on hard wood floor.

I’ve walked this path so many times, the soil has started to smell of me, but it reeks of everyone else as well; Everyone who tread this path. Everyday at the end of this route (also, its start) I realized, I am going in circles and I heard my footsteps no matter how nimble of foot. Just like how her story I heard, in circles and spirals and loud as ever.

And just as my footsteps grew heavier on one side and were preceded by a circular mark of a cane, the path spoke to me… the soil rose and it reeked of me, but told her story…

And then, after a pause, a quaint silence, and the words of the road…

“You’ve searched in me your own self, your story, your stench… And yet, for you I never was quite as rounded, as circular… Yours was a far straighter path moving towards a blind spot… If only you’d have shown faith in me, I would have yelled your story to the world, If only you would have tread me BARE-FEET.”

अधूरे...

एक ख्याल कुछ अपरिपक्व सा...

एक भोर का सपना धुंधला सा...

उस अज़ान या भजन के संगीत में

वो साज़ कुछ पहचाना सा, कुछ अपना सा...

वो गलियाँ जानी पहचानी पर विषम

और उनमे छूटा हुआ एक किस्सा कुछ भूला सा...

मटमैले से कागज़ पर अधूरा एक चित्र...

और रेखाओं से झांकता वो अधूरा एक पत्र...

और उस पन्ने से उठती नमकीन सी गंध...

पर यादें उस पत्र की कुछ अस्पष्ट सी,

अस्पष्ट यादों को मिटाने का एक प्रयास, अधूरा सा

वो चित्र, और उसकी भी यादें धब्बेदार

कारण कुछ नमकीन कुछ नम सा...

अधूरी एक कहानी का हिस्सा बन के देखो...

शायद तुम्हारे बिना वो कुछ और अधूरी होती...

जानता हूँ अधूरी, जुदा दस्तानों को मिलाकर एक पूरी कहानी नहीं बनती...

पर अगर हर दास्ताँ में मेरा एक अंश है...

तो ये अधूरी कहानियां, शायद मुझे पूरा कर दें...

पंक्ति के अंत पर पड़े उन् तीन बिन्दुओं का मतलब समझ लो...

शायद अर्थ कुछ स्पष्ट हो जाए !

What is left of me...

Deeply personal,

A diary of notes.

Archived and etched,

Some friendly anecdotes.

A shelf full of books,

Count of a few hundred.

And most of them,

Regrettably unread.

From when I was young,

Some artistic scrawls.

When crayons were paint,

And canvas the walls.

Also a lot of paper,

About the wealth I've amassed.

And some scraps, that mention,

The degrees I've passed.

A picture of two, the proof,

That I’m a married man.

And to be passed further as heirloom,

A rusty old table fan.

Tonics and balms and bottled drugs,

The markers of my age.

That’s what is left of me,

My life, stage by stage.

It saddens me of course, for,

That's all that is left of me…

Meager, momentous, and truthfully,

That’s all that is left of me...

And Now…

Over to the right side of the room!

Sunny side up!

I've seen it a million times,

Stark and dark, flared and mellow...

I've seen it in every way,

Bright or dull, red, orange and yellow...

I've been through its ups and downs,

Borne its wrath, sorrow or glee...

And whether it is warm, sprightly or aglow,

I've always seen it as a part of me...

To it my faith, my religion, my love is bound.

It seems what revolves round it, is this world of mine...

It is its center, its tither, its soul, its shrine...

And though it is beyond my reach and greatly unbound,

It still is close, for it, to me, is divine...

And to it, myself, I do entwine...

Call it a ball of gas,

Or the life giver,

The blanket of warmth,

Or my lucifer.

It is young,

It is bright,

It sets,

Yet it brings me light...

I say it is my whim,

Others call it a fact...

I worship it in silences,

And pull a non-believer's act...

They call it an emotion,

I call it my one...

Riddle me a thing,

Is it my love, or,

Is it the sun?

Whimsical Reminders

4 pawns and a die,

And that playful hustle-bustle.

6 jumpy players,

And that impish tussle.

2 sulky and 4 happy dice rolling tykes,

A game of chance, yet no gambling vice.

A 100 squares bestrewn with ladders,

A 100 squares bestrewn with adders,

Reminders of the present life,

And the race of humanoid mice.

4 in the evening, ashore,

And that tranquil emotion.

4 naked fishermen kids,

And their freedom in motion.

4 sets of age-old toys of whim and fancy,

That bamboo stick and a rubber wheel.

4 circles on a wearisome move,

All 4 withered in every groove,

Reminders of age of innocence,

Eroded peel by peel.

T.. P..

For once I’d write, about a place to dwell,
It is phonetically funny, so I might as well,
It seems American Indians lived in it,
It is just about a conical animal skin shell!

What sounds funny is it is called a Tepee,
If you plan to have one, have it on the lee,
For it most definitely is a single room,
Whether you use it to cook or to Pee,

Then again, from what I hear

It also is nice to have a warm cup of Tea
Not that in that space one can do much TP,
By TP I mean time pass, and I clarify
Because to Indians it may well mean "tea pi?"*

Aah, so many 'phoney' tricks, and yet some more to come…

For an inverted Tepee may well look like a Tee,
And its frankly is a space so Petty,
Every morn when the family files out of it,
The Tepee looks like a pod for many a Pea.

Now now, before you sigh in exasperation,

I know most after reading this bit about a Petty Tepee,
Would take a break for a leak, or as we say Pee,
But for those who find it more than mere TP,
Give those little Tepees a thought before you flee!

*("Chai piya?" - Again Pun Intended)

This on goes out to a very special Kid who got me thinking about this bit of wordplay! :)

Futility Complex

Over a night unslept

When thoughts run amok

As soft as wax, yet,

You turn as cold as a rock…

Realise…

‘Tis Futile!

Driving it away

Till you could no more,

Differ for the same person

Adore and Abhor…

Realise…

‘Tis Futile!

Handing the pain

To someone else

Albeit, kept the wounds

Within yourself…

Realise…

‘Tis Futile!

Listening always to the voices

Unheard, Unshown

Seldom finding them

To be your own…

Realise…

‘Tis Futile!

As you let your mind

Slip into a tender dream…

And soaked in the feeling

Of letting out the steam…

Nothing left restless

Silence nor scream…

But this time,

Realise…

‘Twas Futile!