Tuesday, December 28, 2010

The Play

I am a character in a play, you said.
I am fighting with myself, you said.
One character
Is fighting with another...

A play within a play?

You filled a void.
You left a void.
I filled my void,
I created my void.

What is this place?
Your presence
Makes the heart lonelier…

Our connection-

Thursday, July 22, 2010

I with You

I am a name
a face
a smile
a glow
to you.

To me
you are
a dot
in the dark
that you weave around

The dot
I refuse

Tuesday, March 23, 2010

Jam Baby

She would be called a Jam Baby or perhaps Baby Jam. Or perhaps Zardari Jam. No, they wouldn’t want to associate her with Z . Lets call her Jam Baby.
Lucky, isn’t she? That she is born. Even if it is in a Jam. Isn't it better to become a Jam Baby instead of having been preserved in a Jam Jar? Zardari should not be upset about her for She and her mother are stronger than those babies and mothers who are forced to suffer the glorious practice of saving female fetuses from the trouble of being born. We women should honor and applaud them both. Even Zardari should be honoured for providing the baby an opportunity to show her strength.
Talking about a different sample of woman power, I have always been somewhat doubtful about the abilities and the merits of our own President, Madam Pratibha (Who??) Devisingh Patil. When I compare her to APJ Abdul Kalam, I often wonder what merit did she have to succeed a man of Kalam’s temperament. Just the accident of birth! Not that I am against her becoming the President. She has raised my own ambitions to the sky. Everytime I see her on television and everytime I see her talking about the imaginary babas that visit her in her dreams, I console myself, “Mampi, tera number bhi ayega.” I would also, inshallah, be the President of India one day. If SHE can, anyone can. And I am not that bad, am I?
Now, I was on a prominent Delhi road, waiting for my bus one day when the President Pratibha (Who??) was to pass by. The security personnel on duty (poor chaps) were requesting the people rather forcefully to go behind a barricade. Everyone moved behind the bus stop screen. Why they did, I failed to understand and I didn’t go behind the screen. I had to work hard to stop myself from laughing. I, however, moved back a little. The Delhi Police Jawan was not happy with the way people hid behind the screen. I wasn’t either, but I didn’t matter and the policeman did, obviously. He asked the people to move further back.
"Where?" The people wanted to know.
"There." He gestured. So the people moved behind the road on a link road.
"Further back," he demanded. I refused to budge. "Why should I go hide when my President moves on the road?"
"Orders from above, Madam." He was trying to be humble.
"But she is our president." I was adamant.
"Whatever. You got to go behind that barricade." He meant business.
"But you are also a danger to her, what with your gun and all. And, for all that you know, I can throw a bomb at her from that afar also, hee hee hee." I teased him. He was stunned.
"Chaliye chaliye, madam."
And I dragged my feet. Though I wanted to spring on the road militant style and tell Madam Pratibha Who?? that she had no business disturbing our life like that. But then, she is not at fault. After all, she does not know that she is causing this kind of inconvenience to people. Hell, she does not know many things. Poor lady didn't even know that she was to become the president of this country when she did.
I know, you Dilli walas/walis would say, "Mampi madam you suffered it one day and we are suffering it everyday." I would say, "Well that is part of the fun of choosing to live in the capital city."
Thank God I was not pregnant and due when Pratibha Who?? passed by.
Otherwise I would have been nursing a Jam Baby too.

Tuesday, March 09, 2010

...And On this 9th March

You went
I crumbled away.
then I gathered the bits again
and built myself
limb by limb

Some days
the pasting was
just a bit harder
then life came along
to give me a wall
to lean against.

why am I scared
of forgetting you?


Some days you do not have the luxury to cry. On those days, you do not have the compulsion to laugh either. You go back, and again try to balance all your equations. And you suddenly find that life was not fair to you. That life took from you what you desperately needed. And then you suddenly realise that another side to balancing the equations is to start counting your blessings. You had realised that three was not four and five was not six; but you recall that you have had some threes that plussed with one to make a four, and some plussed with two to make five.

Life gave you the cards that you could deal in your own way. It were your hands that mattered. But some hands are just not lucky with cards.

Like clay. It destroyed a pot, then you picked up the bits and pieces, and kneaded it again and wet your hands again and then you put it again on the wheel. It took another shape to give you one complete whole.

You are scared, lest this new vessel should break too. So you cover it, so you protect it-at all costs. At your cost. And then you set it free.

I know the story is not complete. It can never be completed. Not by me...

Thursday, March 04, 2010

Love La

Congratulations !
You failed
my borsalino test
when I said

I built my bridges
did not cross them
over to you.

all that remains
lingering around in
at dusty covers
faded loves.

Wednesday, February 24, 2010


The sign at the Metro Station


“The Train Ends Here”

“Yatra Samapat”

... I walk on...

Tuesday, January 05, 2010

Wake Up ! Mampi

I have been away from this mad mad blog world. Reason is Yoga. Yes, I have become one of those who would sit on their aasan in that ultimate yoga pose and chant OMMMM, and laugh pointlessly when the rest of the class does that, and clap like mad when the instructor tells them to clap. Right in the middle of the clapping session do I realise that I am such a fool and that if one of my students were to be brave enough to pass by this garden while I sit in the front row clapping my brain away, he would go and report in the class and they would all end up sniggering.
Going to yoga class at 5 .15 am since October has had its own advantage. I have suddenly found that over the years I have become stiff as a log of wood. And that I cannot do the SarvangAsan anymore. That of course hurts. By god, it is actually devastating. I mean I could never do a headstand but then SarvangAsan culminating in a Halasan was the best alternative for that. Add to that the fact that I cannot twist my arms at my back and in an attempt to sit in a Gomukh aasan, I tend to sway and finally fall like a broken statue. So I have found a way out. I pretend to sit in the Gomukh aasan and support myself with my hands while all the grey haired men and women around me perfect themselves in the art of twisting their bodies wonderfully and looking at me with a what-a-lazy-bum-she-has-been-till-she-came-here look.
So, day after day, I go to the Rose Garden to learn and enjoy yoga. To be able to reach the yoga class at 5 a.m., I got to get up at 4:30 a.m. Yes it IS an UNEARTHLY hour to wake up. But I have been braving the urge to have another 10 minutes of snooze. Not only that. So conscientious have I been in waking up early that you would be amazed at me. I myself have been.
The other morning, I woke up, suddenly panicked that I was late for my yoga class. Without switching the lights on, I looked at the wall clock opposite my bed (from the lights streaming in from outside). I rushed to the washroom and quickly bushed my teeth, freshened myself up and ran back to the room. Changed from the night dress and then loked at the cellphone to see the time. And boy, it was 2.30 a.m. Wow. What a big fool ! And without switching the lights off I fell like a chopped tree on the bed-laughing hysterically and alone, hit myself on the head and got into my blanket again. Then the alarm went off at 4:30 a.m. as usual and Mampi woke up pretending nothing had happened in the night.

Hota Hai, Hota Hai !

P.S. This post was written sometime in November 2008. Now that the conductor has taken some time off work, she thought of posting it.
P.P.S.- Happy New Year 2010. I would read blogs regularly and try to post regularly. No, it is not a New Year Resolution. It is just a resolution.