Clouds in the valley...

  Do you recall that single frame, In the lofty mountains high? When you were stunned, in insanity So happy you had to cry It’s in that moment, one turns wise, The vagrant finds his peace, For the mountains overwhelm even life, (Or that it is on lease) I had that spark one winter morn, When life had beat the odds - And I had chanced upon that dawn, An assembly of the gods Trishul thundered to the west, As if, Rudra in penance, While to the extreme eastern edge, Chaukhamba peeked a glance In between, other celestials Hummed with the morning light, Nanda Devi, above all -  Bedazzling in her white The plumes of snow had started still Their prayers to the skies - Enchanted spells that broke the edge Of earthly truth and lies And all along, I sat and watched The wisdom of the peaks, In the timeless magic of the hills, What more the mortal  seeks? Every yogi  wakes up thus, To everyone his song, But it always starts upon those hills, To where we all belong What of you? Do ...

  There’s Annapurna in the air today, Blue skies a mountain boon, Crisp the smell of crushed pine leaves, But I, a faraway afternoon. That white outline is a blessing, you see Not many can feel its pull, While fewer turn to pilgrims still, The altar’s seen by a mere handful. And those who see, are forever lost, In a divine world, their own, When close, you live a thousand lives, When far, you breathe a secret mourn. But even in that melancholy, You are never really far, You close your eyes and see Her stand Shining down a thousand star Made more divine than a mortal soul, That journey made you pure, Don’t you see it broke all bonds? That you don’t need, at all a cure? And thus it is for all the shrines, Annapurna or Trishul, Kailash, Nilkanth, the Nanda peaks -  The eyes a sacred teary pool A smile returns, the truth it dawns And the pilgrim finds his way, You can be far, but you always see - Annapurna in the air today… 16th October, 2020

  The painter came to his empty room, His studio made him sad -  The hues had dried from long ago, The dyes had all gone bad Hi studio now seemed all of white His murals blanched and dead  All around his paintings stood Bleached and left to fade The painter rushed to daub a sheet  But the canvas cracked away, No oil or water could he find, The brushes were all fray. It is over, he told himself A truth he always knew, He looked around at his studio dead -  It was the final cue And as he turned around to quit, He said a mournful bye, After many a day, he felt the damp, That of a teary eye What wonder then, for in that drop, His world changed in a while, The hues came back to his studio room, The murals woke to smile…

Will you then run,  When the nor'wester comes? Will you not brave the skies with me? So what of ruddy eyes? That petrichor will dissolve All your shades of melancholy Turn around then, Face the nip, the brooding skies  For winds and hearts, we are all the same - Once in a while,  We yearn to sketch memories, The indelible ones best untamed The rains appear -  The singed earth hums As summer flirts in a rained disguise Knowing well, The love all ends in a single way -  An evening wise with teary eyes… 4th October, 2020  

The pressure inside the client room seemed insanely intense. Sweaty palms, nervous voices, scratchy heads filled the room. Which was obvious - five years, millions of dollars later, the core banking system of the client was in an absolute mess, the future bleak, with even a good chance of the regulator snatching away its licence. What was not obvious was, why I felt so oblivious and far removed from all this hullabaloo. I knew why - and I turned my head to look outside at that muse of mine, standing far away on the hilly horizons - wind in her hair, she was looking up into the clear blue skies peacefully, while dancing slowly to the windy whistle of Wellington. On her own, she conquered all of the eastern skies and kept reminding me I should have been outside on the jade green hills with her, instead of being jaded inside with the ennui of costs and bills.  Muse indeed, for the white windmill seemed to move timelessly in a slow-motion haze, drifting me to a different universe - In ...

  I The kas blooms sway, The winds stirs,  And always, it is the heart that sighs... There I was, standing on the sandy banks of the Gomti river - classes and kebabs all taken a backseat - brooding with a tinge of melancholy as I stared silently at the swaying kas flowers that grew in abundance by the riverside, welcoming autumn. A semester crammed with exams, projects and submissions had passed by in a jiffy in Lucknow, and it was not until that moment that I realised that soon, it would be Durga Puja time back home in Bengal. It was my first year ever, outside home - obvious then, that I was being washed with waves of nostalgia and homesickness. But more than the melancholy that day, there was a sense of familiarity - here in this faraway land, there seemed an invisible thread that connected me to my homeland through the kas cornucopia that thrived on the river. It was a strange kind of love that can only be explained when you are so desiccated that you are happy to grasp at...

All the songs you never wrote Fill a raindrop in the eye, What you wrote, rises like a n’orwester  A smile upon a summer sky For your works are sealed in golden words That even time cannot forget, The notes transcend these mortal souls Beyond banal love and hate But more than all the moving words, A grander gift you’ve sown You have inspired souls with that urge to write - Each now, an artist on his own That melancholy in subtle grace Has countered endless tears, In the darkest night, your verses strong Has helped conquer those fears And many have picked, in that wake The quill of written dreams Wrapping griefs and joys of life In countless paper reams  An autumn line has sparked a book, A single word - a song, That ‘small rivulet’ has turned a sea, That legacy is so strong And even those who ink not words, On your rostrum works, they stand Creating Gora, a Postmaster Lost in a dreamy land The n’orwester rains here everyday, These summers are not dry, For you’ve ensured there’...