Tag Archives: thoughts

The Great Democrat

He always has a smile ready
Has that son of a gun –
And has a tear or two to spare
For the funerals.
He loves his people
And all that belongs to them –
He is their father and teacher
Rolled into one.
He is the greatest democrat
He has never lost an election –
Why, when people want to vote
He lets them give him two.
His wisdom is unsurpassed
All respect his legal mind –
And when the law fails to serve
He helps the lady blind.
A protector, a defender, a nationalist
He is the scourge of the enemy –
And the way he is a-going
In an year there won’t be any.
His name will be writ in history
(To that the History Department will see – )
He will set right the ancient wrongs
And set the country truly free.
The papers are full of his praise
As they should, for he does no wrong –
And the schoolchildren are glad to study
His autobiography.
And that his good work may not go waste
He teaches and prepares –
His wife and sons and daughters
With due care.

An Ode to Greed

We want more,
And more, and more…
How would this poem sound
If I added, “and more”
A few hundred times more?
Never mind;
The fact remains
We want more,
And more, and more…



rumiLife is fire,
And hatred
And passion,
And desperation-
Life is not lived
With calm reasonableness.
The stillness of mind
Reason and balance
The shadowy peace
Of the quiet lake
Hides death, or,
Maybe, something else.
Let Rumi talk of love
And peace
And of miracles
Of faith – 
We shall ask Rumi of all that
When we die.


A long wait

In the death clutch of life
Hating love with all tenderness
Defying reason with passion
I live on.
Imprisoned within my ‘self’,
But free from loyalty or location
Driven, greedy, insecure,
I live on.
Waiting for the ‘sign’
And doubting reality
With the devotion of a fanatic,
I live on.
Never letting a moment
To linger long in memory; filling
The void with phantasms
I live on.
Brutally banishing beauty
And rain and rainbows;
Embracing the scorching desert sand
I live on.
All dawns are the same
All nights imposters –
Waiting for the true morn,
I live on.

The house that moved in

I was surprised to notice
That the old wall that used to stare at me
– When depressed –
Has moved into my new home
In my new city.
But then, it is just not the wall
That has moved in.
The entire house
– the house that I left behind –
Has crept in. Surreptitiously.
I notice that the corner,
Where I used to put my long chair
To read, has now occupied
The best part of the drawing room
And sits there, calm and confident.
The old shoe rack and the bookshelf,
And the grim portraits
Of unknown ancestors,
And all the other useless relics
Seems to have been dragged in by the old storeroom.
This storeroom, of my old house,
Has quite a personality. It collects
Memories, like cranky grandmothers do.
It used to accuse me, I remember,
Of ignoring it – which I did.
The storeroom has now moved into
The big, sunny guest-room;
I do not know if it feels itself
To be a guest in this new house
Or just wants more importance.
The happy, creaky door
That doesn’t shut properly,
And the windows that don’t open easily,
And the tap that loves music,
And the garden-hose that lies coiled
Like a serpent in the sun,
And the small red bicycle
That is cheerfully waiting for me
To turn young and ride it again,
Oh, the entire old house
Has moved in quietly, unbidden, uninvited,
And with a confidence that says –
“I will not leave you
Till you die
Whether you like it,
Or not.”

May Day Rally

smoking chimney
The sullen faces
with red flags
and red shirts
totter slowly
towards the park
for the may day rally.
Thousands of sullen faces
some with children
on their shoulders
trudge along,
braving the sun
and thirst.
The call is given
to shed fear and unite
and be free; promises
are given and taken
to make the world
a paradise.
The sullen, tired faces
totter back to their shacks
for tomorrow is not
a holiday; the huge iron gates
and the smoky chimneys
look glum, waiting for them.
And they all wait for the day
when the promises
will be kept
and the children grow
and not be fearful
and for the elusive paradise.

An incident in the park

imagination____by_punktlosThe child, about six years old, sitting on the park bench was looking curiously at me. It broke my reverie, and as an opening gambit, I smiled, but he continued to stare.

“What’s up young man?” I asked.

“What are you doing?” he asked, point blank.

That un-nerved me a little, for you never know what the kid was thinking. I played safe, “Just imagining things,” I said.

“What things?” he asked.

“All sorts of things,” I said, not really getting the hang of the conversation.

“Why?” he said.

Now there is little you can do when a young person asks you why. So I deflected the question, “My imagination saw your imagination there,” I said, pointing towards the sky.

That hooked him. We were on familiar territory now, in the world of imaginations.

“Where,” he asked. Perhaps he wanted to know the exact location of our imaginations.

“There, above the clouds,” I said, “Where lots of imaginations live.”

“Imaginations live above clouds?” he asked, curious.

“Not all,” I said, “but the better ones like to live above the clouds.”

“How do you know?” he asked.

“I have been studying imaginations all my life. I am an expert on them. My imagination meets the imaginations of so many people. That is what I was doing. ‘I was connecting’,” I explained.

The expression on his face turned to respect. It takes one to know one.

“Your imagination tells you everything?” he asked.

“Imagination can tell anything. Many things that even the scientists do not know,” I said.

“And they don’t lie?” asked the kid, for he wanted to be on sure grounds before proceeding further into the world of imaginations.

“Imaginations can tell you anything, it is up to you to believe them or not. They are not very particular about truth, but they are powerful none the less. They know the truth, which is sometimes difficult to find,” I said.

“But truth is easy to see. They are like facts,” the kid remarked.

“Not so. Most of the times truth is hidden behind layers of feelings. But imagination knows truth, for truth is sweet and imagination is powerful. I will give you an example. There are many poor children who have not seen the inside of a normal home. They imagine how it may be and are happy.”

“They can go anywhere they can imagine,” he asked.

“Yes of course, like you can go on an adventure, or on a spaceship, or fly with superman or fight the aliens. My imagination once saw a beggar child imagination what it would be to go around the city in a car. I decided to take him along with me in my car. And I did. At the end of the ride I asked him how he liked it, and he said, it was good, but he had been around earlier also. I asked him when, and he said, in his imagination. So, you see, imaginations can be pretty accurate.”

“Wonderful!” he exclaimed.

“No, but remember, not everyone is blessed with such great imaginations,” I cautioned, for I knew that he would feel that the world doesn’t need anything more than imagination. “Moreover, the soul needs imagination, but the body needs more worldly solid things.”

He was disappointed, for he seemed to detect a fly in the ointment. “My dad was saying it is all fool’s paradise,” he said.

“Not so. Newton to Einstein, Aristotle to Marx, Leaonardo da Vinci to Picasso – all the great men have had great imaginations, ones they believed in.”

“What was my imagination doing?” asked the boy.

“I don’t know. Did not talk to it. It seemed busy,” I said.

“Yes, it was. It was catching snakes. Huge snakes,” he nodded and said.

“Ah, that explains it. Your imagination was looking very preoccupied,” I said.

“How did you recognize it was my imagination?” he suddenly asked.

“It looked like you,” I said simply.

“Oh,” he said, “there must be millions and billions and gillions of imaginations up there?” he said.

“Not so. Only few imaginations soar so high. Mostly those of kids. Only few adult imaginations go there. Most adult imaginations can not even cross the clouds, let alone reach space. But the one that can go into space can go anywhere in the universe. No, even beyond the universe, but that needs more power,” I explained.

“What’s beyond universe?” he asked.

“Don’t know yet. Have not been able to go there. Imaginations of saints and really good people are so powerful as to break out of universe. But I have talked to some of those who have been beyond, and they say it is wonderful, for there it is without rules and limitations and free,” I said.

We were silent for a while, as we tried to imagine beyond universe. The little boy’s sigh told me that this time he had failed. And that is the danger of growing up. “Boy, never give up imagination even though at times it will not be able to take you where you want. The imagination of the adults becomes feeble only because they stop believing in them. They start believing too much in the real world, which, I am sure you know, is also imaginary,” I concluded with a smile, and decided to let his imagination figure out the rest.


 ((Pic courtesy: punktlos from the net))

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