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

 It’s been four months now since I landed at Chennai, armed with the usual apprehensions that people moving here from other parts of the country, harbor while coming here, no doubt aided by solicitious but well-meaning friends who warned me I wouldn’t last long . The weather, they said- as in hot, hotter and hottest. Language. Culture shock. Food.   It wasn’t easy in the beginning, especially attenuated by the fact that I belong to a stressful occupation which multiplied the shock effect , but thankfully, the concerns have decreased over the months . At times, I still feel like throwing in the towel and drifting away to cooler and kinder climes, where inspiration would not necessarily need perspiration.  I find myself dreaming of Pune and its salubrious climate, or remembering the cool Kolkata winters. Dreaming of enjoying the food in Hyderabad- Hyderabadi Biriyani, Chicken 65  et al.  And  on a visit to Delhi, I did marvel at the...

I finally left Pune last week. What a journey it has been since the last two years, when I landed here in 2010 with my family, including my small kid, in tow. Coming from Delhi, Pune seemed like a peaceful, laidback and decent place. Since then, life has moved a full circle and this city has seen me mature to a more worldly-wise, hopefully accomplished individual. What should I pick from my memories? Monsoon drives to Lavasa? Ganesh Chaturthi   festival? Long drives on the Bombay highway ? The Kala Ghoda festival in neighbouring Bombay? My beloved book club and our multifarious activities such as the wine-tasting festival, Shakespearean plays and trips to Panchgani? Full moon nights on the hills around Hinjewadi ? Climbing up the Sinhagad fort? The Karla & Bhaja caves?   Or the majestic hills around Pune and the memories associated with them which will remain in my mind forever? On the professional front, I have memories of ABMH, AFMC, teaching at Sancheti, ...

Thoughts…..they roam about, Bouncing off from the walls Of this room Which houses my hopes, fears and tears. Alphabets turn to words, Thence to sentences, Then on to paragraphs; Like a rapidly lengthening cavalcade Of emotions. A long-lost tune Appears back on the canvas of the mind, Wriggles into words, Occupies the paper And comes out as verse.

Four walls, Empty, vacant  echoes.                                                                                                      Dull sound of the oven Cooking its solitary meal. Emptiness and disharmony Are but step-sisters, One out-doing the other, And following the other. Just across the walls, The wind blows cold, Enters my room, Rustles across the bed, Brushes across my skin And numbs my heart. Throughout the night it haunts me- ...

The clock strikes eight; Ready-time, Eating bathing dressing running time. Rush hour, Driving talking breathing cussing hour. Days go by, The silent spite of distressed souls; Madness punctuated by Moments of sanity. Fires inside the heart and outside, And the endless screams From silent minds. Verse is my anaesthetic That somehow dulls the pain.

Dark skies, drizzling rain, The stillness of the morning. The rainswept greens Laugh at the grey skies. One depicts hope; the other, despair. It was not so long back That I had opened my bags and my mind In search of some solace; It was not so long back That I had to lock them once again. Rainswept days are  comforting; They bring back blissful memories Of  careless days When life meant more than rituals That have to be performed. Memories  work both ways; They heal  you inside, But at the same time, Sear the mind Which is still in search of that elusive dream. The river beside my house is full, The banks overflowing; I have seen this river in a dry summer spate, Just like our lives Switching  between loss and redemption. There are monsoon  journeys that are made; Fantastic  hopes, lofty dreams, Journeys of life are often in the mind, That elate you And leave you longing...

Another independence day goes by, with speeches, parades and flag hoisting. School children blurt out patriotic songs, cars (including mine) start sporting tricolours, the new president addresses the nation, the Baba Ramdev fiasco goes on. And for the first time in my life, I get late for a flag-hoisting ceremony. Ironically, in the 65 th year of independence, we see increased violence against North-easterners, violence in Assam and Mumbai, bomb-blasts in Pune, yet another attack on personal liberty by the West Bengal government, another car-rape in Delhi, female foeticides and an overall increase in social, political and domestic violence. Are we really free? Kabiguru Rabindranath Tagore had the following vision for the country: “ Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high Where knowledge is free Where the world has not been broken up into fragments By narrow domestic walls Where words come out from the depth of truth Where tireless striving stretch...