Silence

Words let loose, suspended crowd
A fog of words, clamoring loud
Jostling, jiving, inching pace
Pressing, pushing at my face.

Bind them tight and overboard
Spear them with a silent sword
Muffle them in soundless sign
Bury them in wordless line.

Silence, Silence, silver, light
Silence worn in gentle white
Silence lying on my skin
Silence...Silence....sigh....

Sri

It’s quite simple really. I am in love. In love with a man named Sri.

Perhaps I fell in love when he forgot my birthday and looked devastated at the realization. Or perhaps it was when he e-mailed me nonsensical rhymes in the middle of the night. Or was it the first time he surprised me with a home-cooked dinner of rassam and rice and sang ‘wish you were here’ completely off-key, on his guitar.
I cannot seem to be rid of him now. He has grown into me -- till I am unsure where I end and where he begins. I love him for not flinching at the sight of me rolling out of bed early in the morning hair standing on end, eyes puffy with sleep. I love the gentle drumming of his fingers on my ankles as I rest my feet on his lap watching TV. I love the look of delight in his eyes when I make him a cup of filter coffee. And what woman can withstand a man who voluntary fetches her a glass of cold water in the middle of a hot summer night?
And then I love him some more, because I respect him. I respect him for his integrity and his honesty. I respect him for the love and loyalty with which he cares for his parents. I respect him utterly for never disrespecting me, no matter how great the intimacy between us.
So I married him. He is my husband. I love him now just the teeniest bit extra just for that… for being my husband. Of course with kids underfoot I hardly get to spend much time with him. But we still hold hands when we go to sleep, over our slumbering children- and I love him then so deeply, for completing that circle of love.

The Quest

Dear Reader

For some time now I have been in search of a mysterious Observer. Time and again this discerning reporter has noted ordinary happenings of everyday life and relayed them with such inspired words that we will remember them for years. I am also much intrigued buy the fact that he has preserved his anonymity with remarkable humility.

Yet, his actions also beg some level of condemnation. Many a times was he not a passive participant when acts of atrocity were being committed? Was it not his duty to interfere when justice, life, liberty were at stake? This then raises the question, did this reporter remain anonymous simply to protect himself? Or even worse, could he have been involved in the perpetration of these crimes?

Perhaps my dear reader is now losing interest and wondering if the writer of this piece is talking through the proverbial hat. Let me then develop my case by using concrete examples.

I start with the case of The Three Blind Mice. Not many would find time to observe the hapless lives of this handicapped minority, let alone spend precious time describing their overtures to a farmer's wife. However, once things turned macabre with the unwilling wife brandishing a knife, should not this observer have intervened? At least a quick call to the farmer should have been made. Who knows what evil was wraught on the farmer once his aroused wife was done with the mice?

Similarly, this reporter displayed abominable behavior in the case of Bo Peep and the Lost Sheep. Once again, while not many reporters would have the courage to relay news on such non-political matters, what kind of an insensitive brute would tell Bo Peep to 'leave them alone' and that 'they would come home.' As a reader I was always left wondering what happened to Bo Peep? Why were these false assurances being fed to her?


And then of course there was the supreme tragedy of the atheist. When Goosey Gander was dragging him down the stairs, he must have looked expectantly at this reporter, hoping for a miraculous rescue. But we know the Goose wandered unhindered-- his extraordinary strength even escaped comment (steroids??). And so many questions left unanswered! Why the left leg? Why was the old man refusing to say his prayers? And what was he doing in a lady's chamber? I fear there has been cover-up of a sex scandal or a communal conflict.

And so I can go on. Citing case after case. The unfortunate duo going up the hill, the cat in the well (what was so ding-dong about it anyway?), the monkey brothers caught jumping on the bed etc. etc.

I hope I have provoked some thought in you by now. Preserve this missive. In case anything ever happens to me, do ensure it reaches appropriate authorities.

Time to stop lazing on this wall and spring into action

Humpty Dumpty

Invitation

I'm sorry I missed you
Dear guest oh so gay!
I was working you see
I was building all day


Do come by again
Dear guest oh so kind!
I'm done now with building
A better frame of mind.

Just 'Cause

I'm forgetting
I know
I know it's true
'Cause I sit here
Spent
Spent forgetting you.


I need you
No more
No, more I must be
‘Cause it never was
You
You were no more than me


Believe me
You will
You will it be true
‘Cause you need me
No more
No more to love you.

A Child's Sunrise

Good Morning, Good morning, Mr. Sun
I was asleep but now I'm done
You left the shore at six half past
So glad to see your shining mast
Wonder while I closed my eyes
What has come and passed me by?
Did my baby bird take flight?
That bug become a winged delight?
Ah! Look! A spider web
Must keep it safe from water’s ebb
It makes me laugh this windowsill
That lazy lizard lying still
Ready? Spying glass in hand
To look through every bit of sand
I have to gather splendid news
For a friendly poet’s muse.

Dinner is served...

Swollen air, full of thoughts
Zealous heat, boiling pot
Unkempt spices sigh and swoon
Fevered pan, sweating spoon
Wanton tiles, lying bare
Sticky touch, wounded pear
Served tonight, on white pristine
Dinner cooked with stifled dreams.

The Perfect Afternoon

Sunbeams dapple thru
Silken jade
Caught in pools of
Luminous shade
Filigree prints
That shift and sway
With brazen wind
In sensuous play
Cradled within
This magical nook
I dreamily read
A poetry book.

I spy you...Death

Unexpected voice
In a restful night
Faint on my ears
Almost unrecognized
Heralding news of the final breath
Drawn gasping upon a lonely tile
Shoulders sagging
Under a lifetime of guilt
Fingers unclenched
Letting go of all holds
Perhaps it was apt
That he should be naked

The smoking pyre
Blunting my memories
Blurring them
With soot-filled pain
The fire like warm rain
Soaking my face
I sit waiting
Waiting for him to rise
Waiting for this scene to end
Can we go to the next act please?

I spy you Death
Hiding under chairs
Lurking behind doors
Marring every inch
Of my peaceful home
You have hammered my heart
Chiseled my brain
Till I am sculpted proof
Of your unforgiving workmanship
I know once we are pulled
Into your embrace
We cannot step back
Cannot break free
Opiate in your stifling caress
We let go
Of all we were
Of all we could have become
We turn to stone
Silent statues in your home
Smiling photos in ours.

A mother's confession

There is no joy comparable to the pleasure of watching your children reach out to each other.

The past 5 months I have watched my two-year old grow from being the pampered baby of the house to a responsible anna who authoratatively tells me to feed the baby on time. It amazes me how much this little child learned in such a short time! How quickly he let go of his jealousy -- how easily it transformed into unconditional acceptance and affection. How large is his heart I wonder. If there is one thing I pray for fervently its that he retains this capacity to give -- or that I should not be alive to see him lose it. It would be more than I could bear.

And my younger one? He has eyes for no one other than his anna. He starts cooing and drools bubbles the minute anna comes from school. I have so often watched this baby smiling adoringly, just quietly watching as the older one chatters non-stop. And then, the most beautiful moment-- that rare second when the two calm down enough to connect. Anna gently holds up a toy for the baby to grab and the two laugh aloud in some secret joke.

In that moment I know they will be ok. When I am gone and I cannot watch over them, they will be there for each other. Each my half watching over the other half.

Where did they learn they are brothers? Did my womb teach them something even while I slept through the nights? The umblical cord that we threw away was an illusion. Its still there. Between these two. Holding them together, holding them safe. Advait and Vedant- brothers- my sons.

Good Morning Iraq

A miracle could happen
At the stroke of midnight
Just like it did
For my land
Guns could turn ito
Merry young flutes
With the touch of
A magic hand.

A miraculous dawn for Iraq
Will have come
A miraculous dawn at last!

Soldiers will smile
As they start their fire
At enemy lines
So worn.
Each volley of shots
Throwing music to winds
Waltzing away
In the morn.


A miraculous dawn for Iraq
Will have come
A miraculous dawn at last!

Oh can it not happen?
Is it just a dream?
Can no one bring peace
To that soil?
Perhaps if God signs
A pact with Allah
And dries up
All the oil.

A miraculous dawn for Iraq
Will have come
A miraculous dawn at last!

Hybrid

A weeping willow wed
A happy wisteria
And burst forth with blooms
Of purple hysteria.

Breaking News

Sudden cloudburst
Floods
Letter from home.

News

The stock market
Crumbling
On my breakfast table

Nostalgia

Diving head over heels
Into a pool of reflections

My family

Sri
A bowl full of promise
Waiting for me
In the spacious dawn of my kitchen sink

Yamu
An elusive reply
To my unspoken question

Advait
My breath caught by hands
Stirring liquid pots of mischief

Vedant
My smile in the morning
My sigh at mid-night

Mom
A perpendicular red
In a page full of horizontals

Personally Defined

Peace:
A naughty dollop
Of double chocolate dare
Peacefully melting
In my hot mouth.


Respite:
A moment of quiet
So I can think a full thought
Without you spilling milk all over it.


Planning:
Lets plan to talk
When we can hear each other.


Sin:
An afternoon hidden
Laden with two hours of stolen sleep.

Love:
Your small brown button mouth
Caked with forgotten yoghurt
Waiting for a kiss.


Holding Pattern:
A pattern on my handekerchief
I trace again and again
With my eyes.


Salad
A handful of definitions
Tossed and served with a slice of life.