Sonnet III: Should simple things be done sans reflection

Should simple things be done sans reflection,
or poured on 'til they appear crumpled.
Should vexed matters be left in dejection,
or done hurriedly in a state o' rumpled.

Months pass sans matter, Matter passes too,
soon forgotten in the gyre of memory.
till an idle Tuesday night brings it anew,
The musings of mind vanquish the drudgery.

The eternal spring looses upon the mind,
It baths itself in ancient words and new.
Thus poetry is blessed upon man-kind,
The words spread like rays and debut.

For tis true ,no poetry springs from a moment,

but collects itself in a natural catchment.

A Pen resting upon paper

Conversation 2117

Yes dear,
I am talking to you.
Look at the skies outside, aren't they beautiful.
Yes dear,
they are white, in night.
The sun is bright, in night. 
How you ask?
Well, don't you remember, love?
The Great Hunt?
The Grand Explore?
of the Earth's last ore?
It was when times were hard,
Dickens would've loved it, wouldn't he?
The Earth, devoid of any fuel,
any coal, any gas, natural ones.
Ha! Nature. A thing of past. 
A reminiscence. 
See those trees, those flowers.
Well, they are plastic.
Isn't that fantastic?
No more leaves around, my love, no more.

Oh whose sound is this?
That's a bird dear.
A real one?
No, don't be silly. This is the upgrade,
by the fake curtilage.
Birds are long gone too. 
Where would've they stayed honey?
No trees.
No rivers.
No forest.
No nothing.
Well, look at the bright side.
The Human species survived. 
Though the oceans rised,
The humans improvised,
and everyone else died.

Are you hungry dear?
Would you like some Ashberries?
They are a treat.
Spawned from the volcanic ash.
1 for a 1000 dollars, cash.
Aren't they cheap?

You liked our dresses, dear?
They are the latest fashion.
The height of human invention.
Yours made from swans,
mine from fur of devil Tasmanian.
Well they do keep us cool,
in the high temperatures of yule. 

Well, aren't you happy dear?
Aren't you?

Ladybug

One fine evening, strolling through grass,
Sweaty and tired my feet, I paused to rest.
Stretching my legs upon grass,
I looked up horizon,
to the swarms of birds,
to the train whistling in distance,
to the cars honking,
to the kids playing,
lonely people, walking, with earplugs,
calming, soothing, stirring.

Suddenly, my hand crept.
A creepy crawler was the guest.
Small and oval
and red with black polka dots.
My mind raced back to years, when I had her.

Was her first day of college, I was sophomore.
Shy, yet radiant;
Calm, yet curious.
Notes were exchanged, so were the eyes.
Sitting long hours in park was our time.

One day, she lifted a ladybug, from the grass.
and put it on my skin, I crept,startled.
She was laughing, I was embarrassed.

Days,weeks,months, flew away and away.
Just like the little ladybug.

It was my last day, in college,
and in my hands, tickets were flapping
to a far off university.
I had to go.
Leave her, here.
The park,the college,the ladybug.
She was ears, 
She was tears.
Me standing, holding silence in my eyes.
I left without saying anything.

Suddenly a gentle tap on the shoulder
brought me back to the present.
'Hey, you found a ladybug. Aren't they cute?'
'Yes, they are. Now lets go home,
Millie will be waiting.'
She is still radiant. 

Dear Diary#2 History Tour- Seeing Delhi in Rainbow

11th March was the day chosen for the 'History Tour', organized by none other than Dr. Manish Karmwar Sir (History Dept.). I was just passing by the notice board, when my eyes caught the notice of the trip. I contacted sir as soon as I could. And then the day arrived.

We were to report in college by 8:30 A.M, and after collecting in the bus, we were briefed by Sir, as what this trip is going to be about. A 

journey through various heritage sites, preserving within them years of history and architectural marvels. And so, everyone was quite excited about what the day was about to unfold in front of us. The first stop was the famed Shanti Van.

The landscape was identical to the Windows XP wallpaper, and the ambiance was too calm to easily get mesmerized. A walk to the inner part was all too exciting. Various Engraved stones, informing us about the complex and its constituents and their history. A further expedition brought us to a lake, where a family of swans was baking in the sun. After chasing them down to quite further, we returned to the gate, but not before sir told us to observe the swans, and how swimmers use the techniques of these birds for better swimming. Sure we have to observe nature on a history trip. Thus ended the first step of our journey.

Next stop was the Kotla Firoz Shah (not the stadium!!!). The Feroz Shah Kotla was a fortress built by Sultan Feroz Shah Tughlaq to house his version of Delhi city called Ferozabad. A pristine polished sandstone pillar from the 3rd. century B.C. rises from the palace's crumbling remains. This Mughal structure, spread in a vast area was no less of a marvel, albeit less popular. Most of the structure was in ruins. Only 2 structures were still in a healthy shape, a mosque, and the sky-high inscribed Ashoka Pillar, brought from Punjab and installed here. Several small rooms underneath and surrounding it is used for worshiping spirits.

Next in line was again a garden. But not just any garden, something having bearing royal footsteps. So there we were, standing inside Lodhi Garden! 

Lodhi Gardens is a city park situated in New Delhi, India. Spread over 90 acres it contains, Mohammed Shah's Tomb, Tomb of Sikandar Lodi, Shisha Gumbad and Bara Gumbad, architectural works of the 15th century by Lodhis. 

The inner chamber of these domes was engraved, but contains lots of empty pockets. Sir explained how there were used to be gems, but was looted by the following dynasties. The garden was quite dense; having lot of corners where one would advise you not to go. The garden too had a lake, but unfortunately without any bird, as the water was much dirty. 

By this time, everyone was quite tired, but everyone rejoiced when the name of last landmark was announced. We were about to see one of Delhi's most renowned historical structure- The Humayun's Tomb. 

As the name suggests, it contains the tomb of Mughal king Humanyun, and various others. It was the first garden-tomb on the Indian subcontinent. It was also the first structure to use red sandstone at such a scale. The grand door leading to the pathway to the main tomb was quite a marvel. But the main tomb was something far greater. The grand structure was breath-taking. Various minarets surrounding it, the dome-shaped top and giant doorways, all lead to the magnificence of the structure. The inside chamber of the tomb was designed with white marble, and was painted with fine handmanship. And the reader will be further pleased when I will add the detail, that at this time, a drizzle began. To see the tomb in the rain was to experience the beauty and sanctity of the tomb in another dimension altogether. 

When we were on the premises, a question was well raised by one of the fellow student, that the structures we visited today, especially the tomb, was built by people who wanted to be remembered. But weren't these a big waste of money, and land and labor, when we can build something useful for the common masses? To these, the sir replied-

"You are correct in one way. But the way I see it, all of these are necessary. What is a country without history, and what is history? The record of the cultural transformation of a country. And this culture is what depicted in these monuments. Today, after hundreds of year we stand here, we cannot help but feel what it was like in those dynasties, those times. They give us identity, a national one. They complete our emotional need to escape into the history, and relive it. And thus they are important."

And this ended our journey. On our way back, when the rain stopped, and the sun shone through clouds, far on the horizon was a rainbow. It felt like the rainbow was smiling upon us for this day, spent in the different era, and we couldn't help but sharing that smile on our faces as well. 

30 Minutes at Village

“The engine’s gone, sir. Nothing can be done now.”- The driver had declared.“Nothing!  Are you sure, Mohan”-I shouted from the car.

“Yes Sir! Now we are dumbstruck.”                                                                      

“Well, that’s nice; as hell, isn’t it?” I grinned, “Now tell me what is to be done next?”- I asked.

“Well, that’s obvious. There is a bus stop, not very far from here. Let’s say 50 minutes on foot. If the luck shines, we can expect a bus before dusk.”

“The hitch-hiking won’t do well, I suppose.” I can rely on Mohan for that kind of information. He had travelled a lot. Wonder, why did he get into this job?

“If you want to die a merciless death; sure, why not”

“Don’t mock me. I am your employer”- I used the last arrow.

“Whatever, the thing is, you go. I have to stay here to wait for a mechanic or something. You go hire bus for the nearest town i.e. Gangapur. I’ll contact you as soon as the matter settles. Leave the luggage behind. It will be fine with me.”

“As you say, boss”- I mocked him back and started my so-called ‘short journey’ which was not short. You will soon know why.

I was walking through a rather jungle area. The trees were silent and still. Well, they are supposed to be so, but yet…………., I know I think too much. Maybe that ‘merciless death’ thing had an effect on my mind.

Anyways, I was on my way to the bus stand. Suddenly I saw a man, half naked, in dhoti, carrying an axe and lots of woods on his shoulder. He was sweating heavily. Suddenly, he hit a stone and lost his balance and fell.  Woods were all scattered on the road. I rushed to him and helped him to collect his woods. He smiled to me. Suddenly, his bleeding foot caught my eye. He noticed it too and wound his turban-cloth on it,

“Let me help you to carry this. Are you going this way?”

“Yes. Where are you going, sahib.”

“I’m on my way to the bus stop”

“Oh! That’s not far. Probably 10 minutes.”- He said

“That’s great”- I thought. “I’ve been walking for 20 minutes, on a road of 50 minutes (according to Mohan). I was left with 30 minutes, and now he says 10 minutes; good lord. But then, he is a local resident, used to of these roads. His walking speed is thrice of mine. That settles everything. I suppose.”

“What’s your name?” I asked formally.

“Lakkad ram, Sahib”, he replied.

“Of course, how silly of me.”, I thought.

We resumed our journey. Lakkad ram carried the bundle of woods again. I offered help, but he politely refused, saying it might have slivers. But to satisfy me, allowed me to carry his axe, so that he can use his both hands. I carried the axe like a warrior, on my shoulder.

“Where do you live, Lakkad ram?” I asked out of boredom.

“Nearby village, sahib”

“What is it called?” I asked. “No name, just village”. And we talked on. Every now and then, I was left behind and Lakkad ram politely waits for me.

“City guys are soft on their feet, aren’t they?” he commented. “Well, many are; many aren’t. Not me, of course.” I was advocating the city people in front of a village dweller.

“Here comes my village.” Lakkad ram pointed to a settlement of mud houses. “And there’s the bust stop.” He pointed to a sign that said ‘BUS STOP’ with few rocks to sit upon.

“Well, what time do you expect the bus to come?” I enquired.

“No fixed time, and what is time for us? We wake at dawn, go to work, return with dusk and sleep with moon”

“So, what now, I think I should wait there.”

“Oh! Don’t worry. Come to my house. You are our guest, sahib. Don’t worry about bus. The driver stops here for a tea break. The passengers too have something.  You should come and have a cup of tea too. It is real good”

We headed to the tea stall and I ordered two cups. “No sahib, no tea for me. The food will be ready at home.” Lakkad ram said. “O.K., make it one” I ordered the tea shop owner. He stared at me for a while, I don’t know why. There was some amusement in his eyes when he saw me heading towards village.

Anyways, after tea, we headed towards village and towards Lakkad ram’s house. It was small, yet beautifully made. There, I met his mother, wife and a daughter of five years. The Lakkad ram’s wife, Kamala told her to go and play outside. Kamala lit the fire to cook. It was very strange fire. I had never seen such a fire from mere woods. The fire was rather strong.

Anyways, the food was prepared and served. Really, it was the best ‘Dal-Bhati Churma’ I have ever eaten. I appreciated the cook. Well, that’s my work. I am a famous food critic and an amateur cook.

Then, we took a stroll in the village, well, less for the purpose to explore, more for the purpose for digestion.

It was evening so everyone had returned from their work. The children were playing the childhood games. The lame walks, marbles, drawing in sand, hide and seek. It was such refreshing and rejuvenating scenery. The women were preparing food, fetching water from the nearby lake, with strong hands and such delicacy. The men were sitting outside on ‘charpais’ smoking ‘hukkas’. Stray dogs were wandering and begging with their eyes for something to eat on every house. The cool breeze was carrying the essence of the trees, coolness of mud, touching the lake and crashing on my face. I was lost in thoughts. It was so peaceful there, so calm, so serene. I thought of the fast paced city life. On one hand, I run every day from home to work and return home. How much time has passed since I spend a holiday with family? My works leads to almost every corner of world, yet I have no time to rest. I go there, taste the food, and give my comment and leave. I was there only because my childhood friend was getting married. I was returning from the marriage when all this happened.

On the other hand, there was this village, where the words ‘family and relations’ make sense. No worries, no tension. They were happy in their own way, I always thought of the villages as a place of rubbish, damp smell and pig living. Well, it was not that much different, but still, it was good, it was better, it was best. If this is what they call a ‘village’ and that a ‘city’, I will be glad to settle here. But who am I kidding. I can’t, I just can’t. That’s a very sweet-sour irony.

Anyways, the bus arrived and they did stop at the tea stall. As the bus was partly filled, it departed soon. I bid the Lakkad ram and his family goodbye, and thanked them for letting a city man to just taste a little bit of their life. I was never going to be able to forget them. The tea stall owner was still sharing me. I wondered why? Anyways, the bus reached Gangapur.

After five hours, I was with Mohan. The car was now perfect. We headed to home sweet home.

“Mohan, you did tell me about bus stop, but didn’t tell me that there was a village there too.”  I asked. “What village you are talking about? There is no village there.”- Mohan replied. “The villages, on the opposite side of the road, with a tea stall and mud houses.”- I said. “There is a tea stall there, I know it. But there is not a village there, at least not in my lifetime”- Mohan replied confidently. “That’s weird”- I thought.

As soon as I reached home, I took help of my most trusted friend, Google. What I came to know was thunderclap. The village did exist there, but some 20 years ago, till it became a victim of a major fire accident. Everyone and everything was burnt to ground, nothing was left. Suddenly, all the images of the village circled in my mind. It didn’t take me much time to realize that I have just returned from a “Ghost Village”. That’s amazing. No wonder why tea stall owner stared me. I mean, how many people do you see that come to your shop, order two teas, and then talk in air and make it one, then go to a burnt ground, sit there, again talk in air, pretend to eat, stand up, take a stroll, and then leave on bus, still taking in air.

The images of Lakkad ram still haunts me, inviting me to the village again. Really, now I can’t forget him, literary, neither him, nor my 30 minutes at village, most beautiful and most scary one. Oh Gosh!!!

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