Fear

I tore a page

I shed a tear

I bit my lip

I showed my fear

My eyes hurried

My brow flickered

I wondered if this was me

Was it I who wondered?

He was gone

I grew up strong

I believed that lie.

But he never really left me

After he left.

He lingered on

Under my skin

Grew with me

Or didn’t let me grow?

Now I want to know

Is it him?

Or is it me?

Think, think

24 hours. A long time to ideate. And sometimes, too short to hold even a single thought. Three months of domestic life and I am already struggling to stay afloat fighting the deluge of thoughts. All kinds of thoughts. Of my yesterdays that were filled with an actionable idea a day, sometimes two. Today I am living on an hourly basis. Feeding hour, sleeping hour, eating hour and feeding hour again. Its difficult to call it a day, there is no definite end to one and the beginning of the next. So thoughts have very little shelf life. A random one might stay longer than another, but it may not be deserving of my precious little mindspace. Just good timing can get it attention. So I consider myself incapable of rational judgement, for the time being.
But most important are future thoughts. And thoughts of the future. As a TV journalist I am used to advance planning. The kind that is always accompanied by the caveat of uncertainty. Plans often get shelved in the hurry of breaking news (or someone else’s plans, not necessasarily better). But those are story plans. Insignificant things that matter for 90 seconds. It’s funny how you can give something all you have, and then find it insignificant from an armchair view. Life is longer than 90 seconds. Plans have to be definite. Certain. Clear. Life cannot depend on breaking news. Rather, it better not. So what will tomorrow be like? What’s my day plan, MIS? Any ideas?

Baby to be

Your jelly feet
my wobbling tummy
your tiny turns
its a call for mummy

I can see you in the ultrasound
hip-hopping
sleepily knocking

Open up, let me out....

Wait tiny nose
hold that little pout

Wait a little more
you growing embryo
let the heartbeat steady
let the world be ready
for your tiny hands
and the promiss in them
for your closed eyes
and the light in them

Baby,
wait to give me life
as I wait
to give you birth.

-Mama to be

Small mind Big mouth

Dear Jaya aunty,
What were you thinking ?
So Raj Thackray used your family's name as a shortcut to fame. And you happily walked into the trap and decided he even deserved a reply.
Then you do nothing to shut your party collegue Abu Asim Azmi up who it seems has taken an oath of fanning every possible divisive sentiment humans are capable of feeling.
And now this completely uncalled for controversy? When matters seemed to have settled for the time being.

I am sure you know what I am talking about aunty. For those who are not glued to the tele 24*7, let me explain.
It was a regular bollywood do. Film launch, everybody praising everybody else, saying how this was the best thing that could happen to them etc. Nothing out of the ordinary (the Bachchan's presence too is ordinary these days given their visibility of late).

And then comes that bolt from the blue.
"Kyoki hum UP se hai, hum Hindi mein bolenge. Maharashtra ke log hume maaf kar de"(laugh)
No we have not lost our sense of humor. But yes we have not lost our sense and sensitivity either.

There are a few things we must keep in mind when we analyse what seems like a light hearted dying-to-be-cheeky one liner.
First. This is an MP speaking at a public forum poking fun at an issue that is sensitive.

Second.Suddenly Hindi is a regional language spoken by people who come from UP.
Since when did that happen? I thought we all spoke the National Language. The one that seeks to be the unifying thread running through a diverse fabric we call Nation.

Third. She apologised to 'maharashtra ke log' (for either speaking in Hindi or belonging to UP. I guess both). And that drives home a vital point. She, in one irresponsible sweep, equated Raj Thackray's bigoted views to a sentiment shared by all Maharashtrians. Thats tragic. If this is how all 'Maharashtra ke log' thought she and her family would not be in business.

My suspicion is this may not have been a momentary laspe of reason, a spur of the moment joke. Raj Thackray is gaged till the end of this month by a police order. Aunty knew this is the best time to attack. So why not take a chance. Be brave while you can.

But aunty you hurt me. I loved your movies even though they were in Hindi. And I dont think the entire film industry or anybody for that matter should be apologetic about speaking in Hindi in Maharashtra. 'Maharashtra ke log' do not accept your apology. So save your sorries for later. Infact I feel sorry for you.

Love (though a little sour)
Prachi


You said tit
I said tat
you said this
and I that
oh! what a gentleman's game we played
my concience the ball
your soul the bat
-the struggling poet

Awakening

When I opened my eyes I saw a mosque
green
serene
cold.
The marble was white
it seemed to invite
my feet shifted in hesitation.

I moved to the fountain that never seemed to dry
I looked into the pond and saw a reflection
It stared back at me with a smirk
Why are you here it asked
faith?
But I'm not muslim
curiosity?
Do I really want to know?
doubt?
Who could I question?
the walls?
the marble?
the water?

I heard a blast
I heard a scream
I saw a man enter in pain.
I dipped my hands into my reflection
It smiled and vanished into waves
I poured the water in man's bloody mouth
He took your name
Allah! he said and died.
I saw the waves overflow the pond
They washed the blood from the cold white marble.

I gave him a bit of myself
but he did not live
Why?
And then I saw a gun in his dead hands.

I came a doubter and left faithful
He came infidel. Died infidel.
I had no questions
He had no answers.

- The struggling poet