O Bangalore

Missies, pretty and well-endowed,
hunks, rugged and macho.
Wrap defiant attitudes in urban attires,
and prefer to live life in the fast lane.
Feel conveniently secure in,
dim-lit bars and noisy pubs.
Blow smoke rings between,
leisurely sips and tasty tidbits.
Zoom around in a drunken haze,
careless and carefree, they are.
Life begins through thy veins,
O Bangalore, even the metro!

Women, engrossed and trussed,
men, bored and seeking.
Wrap frustration in branded outfits,
and prefer to live a life of pretence.
Feel comfortably secure in,
ashrams and holistic retreats.
Take deep breaths between,
chanting mantras and yoga poses.
Walk around in a hallowed haze,
confused and piqued, they are.
Life moves through thy veins,
O Bangalore, even the metro!

Grannies, frail and wise,
grandpas, mellowed and patient.
Wrap loneliness in altered garments,
and want to live every moment.
Feel conveniently secure in,
old-age homes or with reluctant off-springs.
Stifles a sniffle between,
every step and flashes of reminiscence.
Wobble around in a submissive haze,
perturbed and glum, they are.
Life ebbs through thy veins,
O Bangalore, even the metro!

Woman

Beautiful among his creations,
blooms when nurtured in freedom.
So have fun and let her be; for change
is a part of her chemistry,
and of life itself.

The death knell?

People I knew left, one after the other
euphoria does not last forever.
One quit, as a nuptial favour;
had to happen someday or the other.
The Star-Spangled Banner took another;
opportunity and talent walk close together.
Soon followed, the only mentor,
interference had doused the fervour.
Another got the wader;
warped instincts lead to failure.

Hisses are getting louder and closer;
intent is clear, it’s all for power.
Indus bonds with Hoogly and Bellandur;
sounds surreal, it's the truth however.
Claps aplenty for all things mediocre;
mired in apathy lies the stickler.
Works are fiddled, just to bother;
zeal is lost, no creative fire.
Got caught, in a state of stupor;
road ahead looks rocky and obscure.

Curtains for some... close shaves for a few

Just recently...
an uncle, a cousin,
and a chum, shed
their mortal forms and
crossed over to the netherworld.

Another two buddies,
almost caught a glimpse,
of the pearly gates,
but a twist of fate,
brought them back.

Now, the departed...
are they reliving,
their earthly days,
with good old St. Pete,
over beers and cigarettes?

Or, are they getting
ready for another stint,
in a new guise,
on good old earth,
to savour life, yet again?

Now, the survivors...
are they thankful,
for the second chance,
the lord gave them,
to sip from the cup of life?

Or, do they remain
oblivious to the close call,
preferring to live life,
with a bit of virtue and ,
a lot of vice or vice-versa?

Tenors of a Tenner

How did it go, all these years?
What did it give, the decade gone by?
Was it Bouquets, all along?
Or, were there brickbats too?

Didn’t you meet many, all these years?
How did they fare, bonds of the decade gone by?
Did they turn out to be enduring ones?
Or, were they like meteors on a starry night?

Yet, you did have your bit, didn't you?
To be proud of the decade gone by.
For it made you a sound professional,
a fine wife, and a loving mother too!

This was written for my colleague, Meena, who completed 10 years at our organisation on the 31st of May, 2011.

Chutki

The title of grandpa is not something that one looks forward to at the age of 44, especially if it’s thrust on you. But I had no choice as the newborn was the daughter of my wife’s niece. The baby’s birth was an expected one, as my wife had lost a sister to cancer last year. And, the family believed that that she would come back to them. The niece's (the deceased woman's daughter) marriage and pregnancy cemented their belief; the delivery confirmed it. The poem captures the post-delivery mood in my in-laws'place. And, it is also my gift to the little one. Hope, she’ll grow up into a good human being. God Bless.

Only time will tell!

The quiet house sprung to life,
There’s clamour and chaos too.
People come from far and near,
Some leave after a chat and tea.
Others stay a day and a few more,
Wow, it’s a welcome change,
In the midst of a great loss.
Now, how did it happen?
Oh! It’s the birth of a bonny girl.
Fair of face and full of grace!

“Tis my mother,” says the mom as she,
playfully pinches her infant’s cheeks.
“Tis my daughter,” says the great granny,
As tears of joy trickle down her weathered face.
The old man has a vacant look and keeps mum,
Doesn’t believe in miracles anymore.
“Tis our sis!” says two of her kin,
“We knew she’ll be back,” they say.
But one kept quiet and did,
What had to be done!

“I knew it would be a girl,”
Says the eldest uncle.
“Give her a bath or I won’t hold her,”
Says the youngest one.
Her only brother who is miles away,
Bonds with his sis over the digital sphere.
Now, I’ve often gazed at her as she slept;
The pink face flaunts many emotions.
What is she thinking?
And who is she? I wonder!

Only time will tell!

Sound Vibes

There is a home appliances showroom a few blocks from my office. Last Friday, as I waited in front of it to cross the road on my way home, I found a rick parked in front of it without a driver. A white SUV came up behind it and started to honk. The pedestrians (includes me too) gestured and tried to tell the driver of the SUV that there was no driver in the rick. But the blind punk behind the wheel was oblivious to our efforts. The bumper-to-bumper traffic, chaos, and the noise drove us crazy. Some hurled the choicest of obscenities at the SUV's driver, who chose to ignore it and the others... I don’t know what went on in their minds. As for me, I went ahead and composed a verse and sang it all the way home to vent my frustration.

Honk, honk, and honk you punk
Honk with all your soul... (Sing)
Arsehole... (Shout)
It won’t make a fuckin’ difference
Coz there’s no driver in the rick... (Sing)
You prick... (Shout)
(Sing it to the rhythm of the old rhyme, “Row, row, row a boat...”)