The moving finger writes.............

It stretches out As far as I can see, Leading to the horizon Where I must be. The dust beneath my feet, Adorns the road That I call life. People,places, sights, sounds, Memories- happy and sad. HE had never promised me The road would be easy To walk upon. Life changes Through the kaleidoscope of time, Familiar sights and sounds Blur and dissolve on the horizon. This is the road That I was meant to walk upon, Mine alone To enjoy or endure.

Here, beneath the mango tree, The summer wind blows, Warm and dusty; Laughter comes from the distance, Tinkling of cow-bells. There was a time, Not so long ago, When we hid as children, In the branches of the mango tree. The first adolescent kiss Under the mango tree, Breath wild, Heart palpitating, At the risk of being found. The branches of this mango tree Have hidden my dreams Far away from the harsh glare of this world, Much like a mother, Protecting her young. The boughs sway, Succulent mangoes, Hang in the air, Objects of desire. I have come back To reclaim my dreams At the altar of the mango tree. We all have dreams, We all face this turmoil, We all come back to Where we started from… Here, beneath the ancient mango tree, The summer wind blows, And I bow down To be happy once again.

Summer holidays are all about “fun and laughter”, recalling the song by Cliff Richards with which we grew up in our childhood. And so when the Pune Book Readers’ Club proposed a trip to Panchgani , in the month of April, I readily agreed. It was truly time for some fun, after months and months of hard work. The trip promised to be a deluge, with 17 probable members at one time. But gradually, as D-day arrived, and we assembled in front of E-Square on a cool Saturday morning, there were 9 of us left. We loaded our bags on to the bus, and set off .A lot of chatter, a bit of banter, and here we were- on the way to Panchgani, 120 km away from Pune.The road lay out clearly before us, and before we knew it , we were at our first stop, Shiroor ,  for some quick snacks before we set out again. The Vada Pav at Shiroor was tastier than the usual variety found elsewhere in Pune. The road to Panchgani and Mahabaleshwar, two of the most popular hill-stations in Mahara...

It stretched down from the heavens, Moonlit night against the canopy of stars. The shining full-moon globe Lit up the dark sky. And the Orion stood guard Just like the Warrior who fought his battles In some distant prehistoric past, As we wage our battles with life Day and night. The moon is a symbol Of our hopes, aspirations, desperation, A symbol of love and longing, A talisman of life’s little pleasures, A companion of madness, melancholy, A relic of hope that never dies. There are those who have embraced insanity In the light of the moon. The cold wind blew From the edge of the plateau, Caressing the skin. The sound of the solitary bell Rang from the temple; And then wafted down To the distant, silent valley. Lights in the valley below Reminded me of the fleeting fireflies I used to chase as a child. Forest fires punctuated the distant landscape, Here, in life’s own cauldron The fires rage day and night. Laug...

A pool of water, Mirage in the haze; Shining- fleeting image.