Year: 2008

A few more hours to go…and the moments are ticking out!

A few more hours to spend before the Church Bells start rattling!

A few more hours to pass before the dark sky flashes with the light…the multicoloured dazzle of the cracking fireworks!

A few more hours to roll on before the ‘old order changes yielding place to new’!

A New Start! A New Beginning! A New Era! A New Year!

With New Resolutions…New Activities…New Achievements…New Dreams…New Hopes!

Never to ‘pine for what is not’…Never to hanker after dried emotions…Never to cry for shattered dreams…Never to sigh for blown out hopes…Never to let the world rule over us!

Never to look back in anger—the Past is happy enough to fill the heart to brim; and the Future be surely more beautiful!

Through out the Year, about to merge in Time, surely had we enough to cherish; and the one about to come forth, will be as equal!

May we have peace of mind—smile on the face—love at heart…forever and eternal!

May God bless all of us!

Wish a very happy and prosperous New Year to everyone, known and unknown, who have ever sighed over Some Poetic Thoughts and felt the inner turmoil of a poetic heart!

Flight Over The Roofs

All day and all nights long the flights keep flying over the roofs of the slums far below.

On broad daylight the windows of the huge flying machines could be seen; and during the dark hours the blinking lights at the corner of the stretched wings and tails.

They keep moving over the roofs all day and all nights long.

The little kid, half naked and malnourished, runs out of the one-roomed-hut each time he hears the groaning sound of the airplane. He runs out to point his curious eyes at the mammoth jumbos all day and all nights long till his nerves are all steady and awake.

He looks at them till they disappear behind the skyscrapers around. Only then he sighs and turns his kiddy steps back. Sometimes he pauses and glances at the sky from where the plane has disappeared.

He returns to his cottage each time only with an increased determination to fly away with such one when he should reach his age…

In his vision he enters the cockpit, turns the switches on…a sweetly groaning sound of machines rolling and then…huuushhh!!!

Within a fraction of second he leaves the touch of the ground and plays with the clouds high above…

…he eagerly waits to reach the age…for sure…!

The Dying Moment…

You grabbed my hand for once
You kissed my lips
My forehead felt
The coldest touch
You to offer
Faint but awake
I lie
Your lap soft and cozy
I felt immediate at Home
No pains stung my heart
Be for sure no pains…

Oh then
You left me desolate
My carcass
Stiff and heavy
Turned to stumble again
In my lonesome world
Panicked I shriek
Pleaded to take me with
You moved unmoved
Only a gentle polite smile…

I die a one moment’s death
I arise to live an eternal life…

Love...Through The Ruins…

“Maa, ekbar edike eso…ekta jinis dekhe jaao…”

“…Mother, come over here please…have a look at this…” the feminize-boy called his Mom in a tone almost childish that hardly match his age or height. I became more embarrassed. He had been standing just in front of me, as close that he almost stepped on my feet and I could easily feel his minty breath right through my gray hairs.

He had been standing there nearly for fifteen minutes, reading something on the pamphlet board on the wall just above my head.

I felt more embarrassed…so far it was only he, now he was inviting his mother to join the show!

I glanced at his mother—sitting at the other corner of the waiting hall—a mid aged lady, somewhat weird looking on a very loose salwaar kaamiz with uncombed hairs about the length of her neck. She must have been exhausted; I clearly remembered how she staggered her legs into the room resting on the shoulder of her son with the right hand.

All of us were sitting in the patients’ lobby waiting for the Neurologist to arrive and our turns to come. I was thinking about my CT Scan Report of the Brain and about the headache that I often end the day with.

Meanwhile all these embarrassing ‘close encounter’ and most unwilling ‘invitation’ to gather more crowds around me!

I only sighed while the woman once again staggered her steps through the hall and drew near me.

The boy pointed at the bulletin board above and uttered in a very soft touchy tone:

“Here is a report on Epilepsy mom—indeed some unknown facts about the disease—it says, even Isaac Newton, Napoleon, Louis Carroll, Charles Dickens, Socrates, Joan of Arc, Van Gogh were life long patients of Epilepsy”…

…then suddenly his voice changed into the most sympathetic whisper—“you see Mom, there is nothing to lose heart…you can still lead a normal life with it…like all those”!

I was startled and looked up straight into his eyes—

his mother must have thought all her dreams and normality ruined as she came across the crude reality of suffering from Epilepsy—but she is fortunate enough to have a son like him to love her and lead her a way out right through the ruins of her shattered hopes.

I looked into his face—and this time he didn’t look childish, rather a grown-up—enough to bring her loving Mother out of the depressions of life.

Five Point Someone

I always considered myself to be a “Classical” sort of reader with my own choice of books—mostly coming from the classical pens of the time-trusted classical writers and always turned a high nose towards anything written in prose or poetic form in English language that was not atleast a century old!

No credit offered to you guys for guessing the big upliftment of my eyebrows and the frown at the edge of my mouth when I heard Ani—a long and time-trusted ‘Classical’ friend—mentioning a Novel “worth reading” (that is merely three years old) written by a never-heard-his-name author!

Certainly Ani was not aware of my peculiar taste and disdain I choosing the books that I read, thus he repeatedly pock me during telephone conversations to read that book advocating its various aspects.

I am glad that Ani was unaware. I was a bit carried away by his supposedly selfless propaganda and finally managed to tame my hostile heart and agreed on giving it a try.

I searched the local bookshops for a copy but unsuccessful were my ventures—nobody seemed to, as I guessed, even have heard the name, either of the book or the very author. I only chuckled and patted my own shoulder.

Finally I got it at Kharagpur Railway Station on one of my regular rides back home from a long tiring day at school. I discovered to my horror that The Novel lays blush fully at one mobile book vendor’s amidst some half and full nude porno mags. I immediately hated my own decision of even considering the book to offer a try. “How could on earth you man”…. I rebuked myself, “consider such a book worth reading”….I was limitlessly hostile indeed, “that has a resting place behind all those nasty looking porno-models?’’

Any way, I gave out 100 bucks flat for one paperback printout!

The cover read: “five point someone” as title; followed by a sub-one: “What not to do at IIT!”. At one corner lied the name of the author on bold: “Chetan Bhagat”!

During the 45 minutes train ride back home I casually turned the pages, not reading actually, but glancing here and there; and felt somewhat amused while my eyes caught some lines of the ‘Acknowledgement’ section—beside some others Mr. Bhagat had thanked Mr. Bill Gates and Microsoft Corporation for creating MS WORD—that he had used typing the pages out! “Interesting” I said to myself.

That was all. I came back home, took the book out of my fat daily passengers’ bag, stack it into the pile of ‘classical’ books of my possession and forgot all about it.

Chetan Bhagat, with his national best seller novel rested peacefully there inside that book shelf for six more months before I pull him out of the coffin to offer him a glance during my long trip to Chennai by train. Actually all I wanted was a light book (both by weight and content) to get slip inside my over weight travel bag easily without bothering my shoulder much (and not to mention, brain off course)! And Mr. Bhagat seemed a perfect fit there considering the situation at hand, as the ‘Classical’ authors of my collection just refused to smug there in both by size and subject matter!

The train left in the afternoon and soon I had to reach out for the book as the night outside window became darker.

I went to the upper berth, stretched myself comfortably and started going through the pages…. and the saga began!

I started off in the most casual fashion, but soon the three friends in Delhi IIT Campus completely enfolded my attention. I started to laugh their way and cry with them.

The narrative had enough pace to remain my nerves busy all the time; and the incidents only became more and more interesting. It was purely intoxicating.

I was bound to spend the night sleepless only to finish the book. Indeed I felt it to be unputdownable.

Finally it was all over. I turned the last page, slammed the book and took out my cell phone to send Ani a message of “Thanks”!

I sighed, some what a sigh of relief—now going back home I wont feel ashamed to offer Mr. Chetan Bhagat and his “Five Point Someone” a place in my book shelf along with all other “Classics” of my possession!

Thanks Ani—thanks for advocating!