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

I have been following the Rajat Gupta trial rather closely, over the past few days. What shocked me was not the fact that a widely respected business head was convicted of insider trading, but the fact that a person who had everything going for him, and had everything he could ask for, chose to chuck it all up, in return for dubious  business benefits . I mean, this gentleman had everything he could ask for. An IIT – Harvard education, the NRI dream, managing partnership of McKinsey (the first non- American born to be so), a financially secure life that many people in the US and India would die for.  He was on the UN advisory panel, and connected to the powers- that-be. Then, why this greed? Two key words in the newspaper report gave it away. Envy. Greed. He was envious of younger people earning more than him , during his stint on the Goldman Sachs board, and in the words of Raj Rajaratnam, his associate in crime ( who was similarly convicted  last year), he “ wanted

The cool wind blows, The white globe lights up The night-sky. The distant hills are silent; Lights on the hill-tops. The air is quiet With expectation. Moonlight shines through The silhouettes of trees. On nights such as these, I would lie on the terrace And just be; Was that really so long ago? The dark outlines of the hills Carve out the horizon In shades of black and grey. The wind that caresses my hair Touches me deep inside, And also heals. I feel at peace With myself and this world. Amongst these dark distant hills, Punctuated by specks of sky- light , And bathed in the moonlight, I find myself Once again.

Last night was a full-moon night.  The full moon means many things to different people. It is presumed to bring on the poetic spirit in some, cause insanity in others, and instigate both in still others. Some believe it can herald vampires and werewolves. One of Bengal’s most distinguished poets, Kabi Sukanta, compared the full moon to a “full-cooked roti”, symbolizing the state of hunger and deprivation that the State was going through, in the pre-independence era.  The poet , P.B.Shelley, had depicted it as a picture of solitude, “Wandering companionless, among the stars that have a different birth”. Well, to each person his own depiction. It is beyond 11 pm, and having had dinner, accompanied by some excellent Chardonnay wine, with a few friends, it seems like the ideal night to take a ride on my bike. The weather seems ideal, and though it is quite late, the comforting fact of a leave on the coming day makes me stick to my plan. The city streets look different, s

I fear the tempest, It threatens to unleash itself Every solitary morning Like a beast waiting to be released. Every morning when the sun comes up And the skies are grey, The tempest hovers around the horizon, Like unseen clouds Which can unleash their torrential wrath. Voices from near and far- Fleeting images, Flicker and pass by. The skies were blue And the fields were green Not so long ago. Late at night, Before dreams invade, The tempest is still around the horizon, Beyond the flash of the neon lights, Far beyond the reach Of redemption. It goes to sleep, And so do I, Till the  coming dawn.