The dilemma of a migratory bird

I was very young back then. Everyone in my neighbourhood had done it at least once and they had stories to tell. I loved hearing their tales. I always wanted to fly far and wide. See everything that I had not seen and only heard about. But I was apprehensive, at times afraid. Listening to their stories, I knew, it could be tough and ruthless out there. As beautiful as this unseen world was, there were troubles and things could get tough out there. I had a choice to make tonight. Should I fly this season or wait for another snow?

If I did not fly, I will loose another year while everyone else enjoyed tropics. I will be left alone, braving this winter with my best friends’ old grandparents while him and everyone else will be seeing that beautiful world out there. But if I did fly, it will not be easy. It will be tiring. Finding those worms to eat, those trees to rest on and avoiding being hunted down - all of this will require lots of work. Constantly and consistently. Then there was no guarantee. I did not know what was in store for me out there? For all I know, I might not be able to make it across the ocean. I was really confused. I did not know what to do. Time was running out. Everyone else was leaving next morning. Very early morning. Even before sun comes out and while it is still dark. Earlier than what granny calls ‘twilight’.

Thoughts of granny reminded me of days when I had no doubts in my mind. No dilemmas, no decisions to make. But she had told me one more thing which I never forgot. She said, “There will come a day when you will have to fly. Like everyone else does. Far from here. Far from snow. You will be afraid and you will have doubts. You will worry about things. But at end of it all, you will fly. Because that is your destiny. Our destiny. But always remember no one leaves forever. You will come back. To the same place. But things would have changed when you come back. Snow will be gone and so will be many other things. Being replaced by all things new. You can not stop the change. You have to adapt to it and you have to learn - to live, to fly and to come back to where you belong.”

I thought about what she told me. She was usually right so I decided to fly. Next morning, even before the twilight, I was ready to fly. And we all took off. I looked back. It was all white and my big home seemed such a small place. The trees looked like shrubs, shrubs looked like leaves and leaves looked like dots. Things had started to change already. I turned my head away and I saw distant lands. Places and things, hitherto, unseen. Here was this new world in front of me. Until I came back, this was my home.

Morphosis

Born, not so long ago, was a simple human being

wandering vast unowned wilds, belonging to nothing.

No race, no caste, no colour, no religion, no creed.

No touch of envy,no upmanship, he did not know greed.

Then was born, not so long ago, within him a sign-

of belonging, of owning, of following, of distancing.

Now he had a name. He lived by a limping blind faith.

Wanting everyone and everything to be like him,to be his.

Forgetting all the colours and laughters he was born with.

Letting go of simple melodies,shying away from happinesses.

Morphed into a ghost.Dead. No love left within nor any dread.

He wandered again. Leaving behind him a thick trail of red.

The Ephemeral

By the mirror she stands, her profile ever so bright

streaming through a curtain, the early morning light;

dancing on her smiling face, romancing her sleepy eyes

I look at her, she slowly turns around, the clock stops.

This silence,her beauty- overlasting the everlasting.

Tic-toc, tic-toc; clock in the corner comes back to life.

The silence fades,light birghtens; filling up the room;

she turns, mirror simmers - ready to engulf her beauty.

I look at her face, she looks back - i am falling in love.

And then, from nowhere, the darkness creeps in slowly

The Light is gone and gone are the dance and romance;

her engulfed beauty was ephemeral, mirror had no chance.

The light, everything bright; nothing lasted except change.

Before it sleeps again; life always wakes up from the trance.

A wet drop and dry sky

Always a shadow near by me from since then,
Never knew who & why; an amazing endless joy.
She always was there, I always looked for her
Then in came travelling she, from nowhere known
All I ever wanted - bringing me peace & trance.
Touching, talking, whispering and flying high
She came, she stayed - a wet drop on a dry sky.

Taste of Life

I ate bittergourds today. Thought of you while I was eating. I still remember how you forced me into eating bittergourds everyday. Trying to tell me how good it was for me and for my spirit. The child that I was, I would get convinced and try it. But throw it all out very next moment. Did not I use to tell you so often I had a sweet tongue. That I liked sweets. But no! you wont ever listen. Not that it made any difference. I would keep on eating sweets, you would keep on chasing me. I always thought you ate all the sweets yourself and left over bittergourd was meant for me.

Long time since I tasted any of that. Was lucky to find some yesterday. I ordered it made specially. Got it made precisely the way you would have liked it. Ate a plate full. I was surprised. It was sweet in taste. Sweeter then all the sweets you used to hide from me. Sweeter than all the sweets I thought you kept for yourself and ate it when I was not around. They tell me I cant eat sweets anymore. I see it all around. I have enough money to buy it. I do not even need to steal. I earn now. But they tell me I cant eat sweets now. Not good for me and my spirit, they say. I can hear you cry today. Hear myself always ignoring your chides.But don’t cry. I don’t miss eating sweets. These bittergourds taste so good. I wonder why I did not like them years ago? When I had it served and ready everytime. I would throw them and keep on thinking about all the sweets you kept for yourself to eat. Now I doubt if you ever kept those sweets for yourself.

What a fool I was. You liked gourds more than sweets and it took me 20 years to realise this. Today, when they tell me I cant eat sweets, I understand what you meant back then. You were right. There are other things sweeter than sweets. When I come back next summer, will you cook for me again? This time you wont need to convince me. I will eat whatever you cook. Even if it does not taste sweet. Why don’t you let me know when you are cooking again? Make it before summer. Post summer, I will be gone again. For a long time. Traceless in my self created humdrums and labyrinths. Let me taste life once more, before I loose it all again.

Beauty

Today, when you are like a thousand symphonies playing in moonlight
Like an early morning sunshine, shining on a dewdrop so bright.
Each one of them want you today, when you are like a distant dream-
A drunken God's own sonnet, which he wrote for his first theme.

Gone will be the cascading melody, dimmed the lights which were bright.
Gods waking up from their drunken dreams, creating another one like you.
They will now want her. She will sway,like you did once, in her own right.
You'll look back once, to all that was yours, then fade away forever in a slide.

The Verdict

'All Rise' - announced the sentry standing on main door;

"Your'onor" took his place, besides her, and began my sentence.

All this while she tried to even her disbalanced scale

And he scribbled one sentence- sentencing me for a lifetime.

She remained motionless;still trying to balance her scale.

Dance of Spring

When I thought she would never dance again

In came spring, lifting her depressed dark soul

She no longer felt old; no more drew nothing on

Her spirits lifted, soaring high, she was on a song.

Resurrection

One streak of flickering fading light held by dark night
reflecting itself often on a rippling quiet faroff lagoon.
A loud bark of a dog killing an otherwise errie silence;
unseen wanderers trailing their own unsure lost steps.
Nothing seems sure when it will be as it was before.

But dark is fading,drowning the silence it lived in.
Brightness leading thousand footsteps on a hopeful trail;
Sound growing on its own silence, turning into music.
With a spring in steps & hope in every breathing spirit.
A canvass of colorful light streams out from forlorn,
forever taking away the dark silence that never lived on.

Circa then untill now

Not a long while When I used to sit there laughing;

Feeling summer's warm loo & dusty chips off the pave

Drawing winter's warmth from last lit lantern's wick

Brushin dragonflies touchin my soarin sweaty dreams.

Not a short while ago when I sat here trying to laugh

Feeling the chill of very cold breeze I flew off with

Pegged to a wooden stool, Gorki in my thoughts beneath

With a cappuchino in my hands,once in a while,I smile.

The Big Issue

'You wont find any beggars there!', quipped someone even while I was collecting my boarding pass at Mumbai airport for a Sydney outbound. Over the time I forgot what that person said to me.Untill one fateful day. Untill one flicker of a moment. A true moment of revelation. I will try leading you on to what it led me to. That was a fine monday morning. Clear and azure winter sky. No drizzles, no hair ruffles. While crossing over Darling harbour bridge I was cheked in my stride. By a man who would not be more than 35 years.



" Excuse me brother! Would you want a copy of The Big Issue? This comes free to you and you get a further subscription discount."
I was getting late for my work and politely refused him. He started looking out for someone else and I carried on.



Just other day, while out on my lunch, I met this guy. His name is Sky. Actually Yun Wong. Also known as Sky. A wonderful violin player, I have seen him playing at Martin Place on many afternoons. He plays and people drop coins in his case. I am sure he makes atleast 20 bucks a day. There are others. These two I had a chance to talk to and I know their names. Others are just nameless faces to me. One school guy playing flute, another homeless shoeshine man, a group of hip hop artists trying to collect money for an LA trip and on and on and on. List is endless. And I see them everyday. Same place, same time, doing the same thing. Unaffected by the changing world around them.



Back to what we were talking about. So, one weekend when I was cleaning my room I saw my boarding pass. The sight of it brought on the moment. You wont find any beggars there. It echoed through my senses. And reality struck. How do we define beggars? Who are they? Non entities or existing? Faceless or clueless? Real or dream? I could not find a suitable answer. Because untill today even I knew the wrong meaning of this word. Actually, they are none. They dont exist. We have taken great pains to conjure up this word and its meaning. And through generations it has found examples amongst us. It is just a vent to one of our inferior sides. We want to be superior and placed higher. We want to be better than the best. Looks like we have taken to our heart Darwin's 'Survival of the fittest'. We all need some help, some support or some anchor in our lives. Be it in any form. But most of us dont get obvious. Yet there are a few who are visible to our naked eyes. Because they are not fittest. They are not privileged. Either by their birth, abilities, opportunities or luck. So they come out in open. To ask others for a helping hand. We chose to call them beggars. Most of us dont ask for help because we can survive without being obvious. Some cant. And we draw advantage of our status. A needless pleasure and some self reclaim. We call them beggars, throw alms and get going.



I dont know what this means. I am also clueless. But one thing I know. We are in a symbiotic existence. We need this system and system needs us. Being needy is no shame and being advantaged is no achievement. There is a bigger issue here. The man with copies of Big Issue in his hands is no issue at all. This idea of self deceit is an issue. The complacency, that we are self suffcient, is an issue. Are we capable of deceiving this feeling of self deceit? We need to be equal givers and equal beggars. 'Can we do it?' is the issue.

Rip and Rap

Rip and Rap were born on same date in different parts of the same town. Rip on a rag inside a rain washed clay cottage and Rap was wrapped in a muslin within a sanitation zone.I dont know either of them. Nor do they know each other. But they have so many things in common which always amazes me. When Rip opened his eyes for the first time, he could smell raw tar still being cooked for laying fresh roads. Rap also had a fragrance around him. Jasmine on the boiling water and an ever running temperature controlled cabin. That would never let the jasmine's smell die. Not that smell around Rip died. In fact it got stronger as more roads were laid. They both had their share of fragrance. Rip's strengthened by an ever increasing need for growth and Rap's strengthened by an ever increasing desire for perfection and luxury.

They both grew up. In their own ways but in the same town. Rip went to a school so did Rap to another. Rip used a notebook which Rap's father had donated to the govt. school he went to. Then came the moment of realisation for both of them. Accidentally, that too was the same day. Both of them wanted to be and wanted to become. To achieve and be big. They had this never ending desire that started culminating into a resolve. which they has inherited from their past. Both of them longed to get rid of that label. And they started working hard towards achieving their own goals. Did i tell you their goals? What they dreamt of? Rip dreamt of a big mansion, bigger bank balance and much better life. He wanted to be larger than the life itself. He never wanted to smell that burning tar again when he slept. Rap thought of giving it back to the humanity. To become and elixir that will take away all pains of this world. He was willing to bear all the hardship that came in his way. But he was determined to alleviate those he thought were not so privileged as he had been.

The day came. Their redemption. It all happened again on the same day. Rip was now what he had always wanted to be. He had a big house right adjacent to Rap's father. It smelled of Jasmine when his wife delivered a baby boy. Rap had also done it. He worked for some humanities mission in a far off place. He did not have proper food to eat and proper place to sleep in. It was a cramped clay house with smell of tar burnt in african sun. But he was happy. He was what he wanted to be.Nothing had changed through out their evolution. There still was one Rip and there still was one Rap in this big world.