Wednesday, February 16, 2011

A memory.

A poem by someone, found by my dear friend Sridhar, folded away in an old book. Would have been someone’s fond memory.

At the finest level of my being, you are still with me.
We still look at each other, at a level beyond sight.
We talk and laugh, in a place beyond words.
We still touch each other, on a level beyond touch.
We share time together in a place where time stands still.
We are still together, on a level called love.
But I cry for you alone, in a place called reality.

P.S: Sree, I have posted it.

Monday, February 14, 2011

Happy Valentine's!

Dedicating my 100th post, to my Valentine.

To all those souls,
Who have loved and lost -
To those who held one,
And those who moved on -

To those who still look out,
To those who have stopped -
To those held in marriage,
And to those who are not -

May he - the Saint of Valentine,
Be with you in your pain -
May he take away your stress,
May he take away your strain!

Please thank him for that day begone -
For that one chance you had got,
To know what love is all about -
To have been in love or to have lost!

When I hadn't moved on -
When life had come to a halt
When though alive, I'd always felt
That I was stuck in a vault.

When I was lonely and lost,
Though I was widely sought.
With care, I kept away myself -
From love and all that sorts!

It was then that life brought me a light
That sad and lonely night -
He wasn't a hero nor a great knight
And his armour was not shimmering bright.

Though, a war - he had never fought
For he did not have the might,
His very sight had made me smile -
And I knew for me, he was right!

He walked right in through the door -
I had slammed, crying no more!
He never promised - stars far above
Nor held my bleeding soul.

He sang for me, songs sweet -
As I kept weeping out my grief.
And he tightened his softest grip -
The more I tried to break free.

He gave me a reason -
He became my breeze!
He set me free -
And helped me chase my dreams!

Today, he is the wind,
Beneath my tired wings.
And the sole reason why,
My laughter still rings!

Smiles and cheer,
Without fail he brings,
To my sulking face,
Every mundane morning!

I am thankful to you -
For the love you bestowed.
I am grateful for the goodwill,
And I am obliged to give you more!

The only thing now,
I'd like to ask the Lord
Is not for a splendid marriage
Nor for the vows!

I'd pray, with his eternal love -
He'd guard you from hurt and harm.
I'd ask him to make you smile,
And keep you a happy man!

Wednesday, February 9, 2011

How do they manage?!?

2 more days to go for the weekend.

What date is it again?
Just the 9th.
Another 20 more days to go before salary gets credited.

What time is it?
1 pm.
Another 5 hours to get done with, before I can get home.
But wait…
Its lunch time!
Break for now…

I walked towards the regular lunch eat-out, with my head bowed down and my mind pre-occupied with the 5 new jobs and their deadline on my job list, the upcoming client meeting at 3 pm, the one-on-one to be done with a few focus groups, when to organize the brainstorming session to come up with new brand strategy ideas, the con-call to be made with the bosses in the evening and ….
The biker was rather angry with me for not noticing his highness come towards me. I felt the same. I mean, how on earth could he miss me?!! After exchanging angry glares and a couple of unspoken ‘swear’ words, we went our ways. The typical way of living of the urban crowd.
I imagined the same episode being re-telecast in a different backdrop, say a village. A village girl walking with her head bowed down and a cyclist braking hardly a feet away from her. The girl would have started crying. The guy would have seemed lost and worried. The entire village would have stood divided with sickles in the hands, arguing over who was at fault, eagerly waiting to shed blood. I could even hear the ruckus. Almost.
Well, not my fault. Working in a creative agency, you are trained to think out of the box and come up with the weirdest of ideas, which sometimes some clients misconstrue as fantastic, fabulous and out-of-the-world. Agreed, the vice-versa happens too.
Anyways! The whole screech-bike-village-cycle episode did not bring about a change in my mood. I walked into the hotel with my eyebrows still frowning and head bowed. What a life!
I placed my order for The South Indian meal. The smell of Sambhar on hot rice with some spicy mango pickle should make my tummy happy, and in turn pep me up.
An ant.
A small red one.
Or maybe drowned to death.
In the curd.
You know, a red spot on white is quite visible. No wonder I noted it despite my myopia.

It’s ok. Just eat it. Ants are good for Myopia.” said my mind.

As I tried to break apart the doom made of rice, I saw another moving red spot. And this was alive. The rice was cooooold. It at least kept the moving red ant, from burning to death. Maybe it would freeze to death soon.

Don’t eat it. It is alive.” said my mind.

I was in no mood to fight with the waiter.
First, loads of work.
Second, the screech.
Third, dead and alive ants in my lunch.
What a sad day!
I finished my food as fast as I could. Maybe I should not tip them today. As I sat waiting for my bill, a young boy of hardly 16, came out from the kitchen. He wore a faded grey shirt and trouser which had gone black from the smoke and dust in the kitchen. There was a hole on the shirt through which I could see his ribs.
Signs of poverty.
Through the tear in his trouser, his old torn jockeys could also be seen. The trouser was fastened with something like a twine. I could not bear to be prying at someone’s ‘private parts’ for long. Hence I had to look away.
He came towards me. I tried not to look.
He took away the plate and then pulled out a dirty cloth from his pocket and started wiping the table. I did not notice that the table actually got dirtier with each swipe. But what I could not but help noticing was that he was humming a song as he did that. He finished my table, did not wait to be tipped. Walked over to the next table and repeated. Only to sing again, smiling to himself.

How does he manage that?” I asked my mind.
Maybe he is having a good day. Maybe he came from a worse background and this keeps him happy. But, you are having a bad day. Oh! Come on, it is alright to sulk.” it said.
Fine. So much for consolation.

As I headed towards the exit, I noticed a man, walk out of the entrance carrying another man, who was handicapped. The one being carried was paralyzed from the hip below. His legs dropped down like dry thin twigs, swaying as he was being carried out.
I was curious to see how far his friend would carry him. So I followed them, and what I saw amazed me. They went towards a car. His friend put him into the driving seat and closed the door. Then, he and other friends got into the back of the car. The ‘differently-abled’ gentleman started the car engine and drove away.
I looked on, to see if I could read fear from the facial expressions of his friends. They, however, were engaged in a light conversation and laughing, not once looking at the road.
How could they be so confident about the driving skills of someone, who could not even walk?

"Now what? He has a bad day every day. How does he manage?”, I asked again.
No reply.

Today’s was an enlightening lunch. But I would really like to get enlightened further.
I mean, really “How do they manage?!?”
Any answers?

When love blooms...

The birds keep chirping
As I'm awakened by a breeze...
I can still feel that dream -
Where I was holding hands with thee!

There's nothing more I long for
Than to belong in your arms
For, the world - I can keep waiting;
But I can't, for your warmth.