Clouds in the valley...

  Another Lucknow passes by, But no, not the green one you may know, That, despite the hot baking summer’s breath Has grown for years by the Gomti’s flow No, not the one where the winter mists Weaves dreams despite the shivering cold, Where the tales resonate for aeons and on And yet, those that never grow old   This one is a younger born, laced in ores of gold In red earth and dust, far away from home Uncovered only when you decide one day There’s so much left to vagrant roam Differences now can there be more? One, a drop of life, beyond the mountains Blue The other throbs with a sea of hearts A memory of all that once was true   Somewhere between, walks an author lone Who can flip from one book to the other, He who waits to read those broken lines That others won’t even stop to bother There’s more in his bookshelf, he smiles – A Malabar here, a Coromandel there All bookmarked with the leaves of fall - Pages left behind w...

There was age Written all over the basalt hill, Who would have known millennia ran Through the summer songs - The cicada’s trill   Caves of lore From the Silk Route days Nestled here, in this corner where The bustling city doesn’t know The backyard where it plays   The giant Buddha Takes my breath away – And the monastic cells, the chaitya halls Frozen in stone from long ago - Upon the sangha’s way   I think I hear Where streams of time converge, The tapping sounds, the chiselling hands Nirvana for the saffron souls Where all our sins can purge   Then bit by bit, The pliant plateau fills with caves, An ancient centre sprawls with lives A little Ellora wakes anew Upon the Arabian waves And I the artist, I have come here too Yes, I too have filled these rocks with life A Yaksha here, a Buddha there I come full circle in my view   Kanheri thrives Upon the Salsette of the seas, And I – have ...

At 2 in the night, The city looks fresh to the tired eyes – Dark as it may seem, The streetlights bring forth magical gold The fumes, the horn, the sea of multitude Looks like a story forgotten old   One single thread links the two worlds new The old chai-wallah – With his cycle, kettle and one hot brew Waits for moths like me, Who flit through time, And live and die as they pass through   H ot elaichi tea, thick, sweet As if a reward for staying up late, For a vigilante, when The criminal city has gone to sleep But who holds the dream, As the magical night turns golden deep   The chai wallah smiles I am here again, at 2 in the night He doesn’t know He sets the city in my fairy-tale free Perhaps he knows that I don’t know I come for dreams in a cup of tea…  

            For three nights now, the pirates trailed           The ship in Kalinga Sea,           There was word, it held a prize           From the rich Tampralipi             Kanalal, the pirate lord,           Couldn’t wait to lay on it, his hands           He wondered though what were the gems           Being sent to the Lankan lands             The most precious gift it was,           To Anuradhapura and its king,           What was it, the pirate thought,           Sceptre, crown or ring             The slaves rowed fast, and very soon,  ...

  The world has started growing old, in this cycle maze, Sunlight wafts with orange now, though shorter are the days And somewhere lies an emptiness, with which the heart, it grieves The smell of darkness everywhere, save for the ruddy leaves And yet, the winds assure you, though crisp and cold and dry (The world, the wind or perhaps me – one of us a lie) But I go back to my autumn gaze, the leaves drop one by one When winter lies inside the eyes, summer’s not the sun   And yet, the winds bring mirth again, like the refrain of a song Lighter feels the shadows now - with me you lift along She speaks with autumn in her eyes, you have to cheer them all, The chain of life is a bonded gift, don’t single spring or fall And unless you sing with all of them, the seasons will not flow - For then the sun will always shine, the clouds will come and go…  

The battery of my phone was nearly over – 1% of the charge would definitely not be enough for the last 10% of my journey given it was a new route I was exploring. I stopped cycling immediately and tried to take in the directions displayed on my phone so that I would have some indication of where to turn next. But it was too much to take in, with too many turns, twists and traffic lights. I tried hard to memorise, but the phone conked off and I was left stranded. Two thoughts immediately came to minds: the second one - let me narrate that first – was that we have become too dependant on technology; instead of trying to look for naturally-existing signs and honing the directional knowledge in the compass of our minds, we have too easily surrendered to Google Maps. In a different way, even without Judgement Day, the machines seem to have taken over. Let me now build a bit more on the first thought that came to mind: even after 11 years now, I told myself, with a sigh: woh saala Nishant ho...

The traffic lights turn red, And I, the busy man I pretend to be Look beyond my excel sheet On the taxi driver in front of me   A dark-skinned man, he had a smile, A kind of glow on his happy face, That kind of glow not met by needs, But by the peacefulness of the everydays   And yet, beneath, the veneer of smile, Melancholy floated in forlorn eyes, Time aside, that watery depth That comes with pain, that makes us wise   A chit chat here - my laptop shuts (The glow he had also boomed in his voice) ‘Where are you from?’ I had to ask ‘Sudan,’ he replied, ‘War, sir, I had no choice’   That familiar tale that doesn’t change No matter how much time is wound up past – The wounds will heal, the clots will dry But the scars and pain will us, outlast ‘Khartoum?’ I ask – he’s lit with a grin (It was the only city my geography knew) But here, his past drew empty looks, And he had respect for the informed few   It se...