My Literary Indulgences...

“I sit environed by walls blue and crumbling… Yond a lone flower’s lilting, a small brook bumbling…” Imageries both powerful, yet worlds apart… Conveying who knows what, this is abstraction in art… The connoisseur says – the bard’s world is torn, And broken is his spirit as he sits in the ruins, forlorn… But the shattered remains still cling on to light, As he gazes upon the joyous flower, brook willing him to fight… The nonchalant naïve, well need I say more? He takes it at face value, nothing less, nothing more… That the bard is just reposing in an old room, And penning down what he sees – nothing more to exhume… What if for once, the naivete proves right? The bard, just relaxing – no sorrows and no fights? Yes, the quintessential abstraction has no role to play, Tired of talking in riddles, in plain words he writes and says? Grew up on classics, where lines go layers deep, Hours fly deciphering the mood, letting the emotions seep… A ques...

Blessed with supreme intellect, sentient beings us all, Joke's surely on us, 'cause often its the cause of our fall... Brooding on the past and future leaving our spirits jaded, Living life a lost lifestyle now, thinking about things overrated... What's the universal language, the energy linking us all? Why, it's music of course! Be it a symphony of joy or gall... And so I keep humming a tune, sing songs new or long faded, An essential release for my soul, which thinks silence is overrated... Home is where my heart lies, and it revels in mischief, Teasing my brother, pestering my mom beyond all relief... The child in me quite the poltergeist, is hardly ever sated, And so bickering, and scuffles abound, 'cause tranquility is overrated... Realism is my way in life, immature optimism long past, Saving everyone a pickle - cape so small, problems too vast... So I help the nearest child, devoting time where most needed, Not to save the world, but for th...

The entire cosmos, a transient being, awaiting an imminent doom... Mortal creatures us all, with temporary tenures, some in happiness, some gloom... As Shakespeare said, a man in his life is not once but twice puerile... But no passing is as prolonged, no departing as riling, as of a smartphone turned senile... Long past are it's hay days, when the lissome figure drew many swoons and fawns... Now, cracked, bent, broken, it shakes and weeps of those days from dusk to dawn... Once the pride of the creator, pampered with bug fixes, security and firmware updates... Now crashes at the slightest unbalance, the least provocation, becomes impossible to resuscitate... Once a decathlon runner, hopping hurdles was as easy as eating apple pie... An excellent juggler of the multitude of tasks thrown, it did a great job to satisfy... Now tottering even with support is asking too much, energy sapping to null in a blink... Multitasking a trait long rusted, handling even the most basic jo...

Life is naught, but the sum of choices we make… Of the trails left untrodden, of the paths we take… Decisions scarcely are easy, every resolution is a tough start… Even if light shines ahead, walking those last few paces in the dark is the hardest part… Principles may feed one’s conscience, but an empty stomach still rumbles… With every diversion from one’s code, self-esteem little by little crumbles… For one may loathe the rat race and fly curses to Corporates that smart… But choosing to live for greater good with a cold hearth and empty belly is the hardest part… To err is human, and to be opinionated about everything is absolute crime… Imposing one’s prejudice disguised as advice – truly the greatest sin of all time… Though making someone they care for live their tried and tested way is in everyone’s heart… But choosing to let him stumble, fall, bruise, get up, brush off and learn is the hardest part… Time and again it has been said, friendship is your...

The brouhaha from the ‘Lovebird’ affair took its own leisurely time to quiet down. And, finally things were peaceful again in college. But he was not. His dark urges having been fed, greedily asked for more. Our lone wolf strained his ears in the morning for baying of sheep and at night sat combing through the multitude of confessions for some signs of prey. It was not long before his wishes were granted and he picked up a scent. Election time – campaigns, speeches and promises; mudslinging, back alley brawling and backstabbing – a golden time indeed. The chaos which preceded a vote used to be good enough for him but this time it wasn't to be. For the first time in university history, the boys had rallied behind a single candidate. Though marginal protests existed, there wasn't a shred of doubt in anyone’s mind as to who the Student Council Head would be – Naren. And the dream team which made this possible – Naren, the affable leader, Adrivit, the key strategist, Aryan, t...

I suffered through it once, but they fed it to me twice, I am not one for third helpings, so sorry for being nice… Stuck with a problem, soon enough the damsel is in distress… You stop by, calm her with a smile and sort out the mess… But if you go the extra mile and drop some helping advice… Contemptuous stares with icy regards is your reward for being nice… But surely not every one of them is a thankless twit… In some cases this helping out brings friendship as a gift… You talk, share, laugh, and sometimes become good friends… But that’s far as the fairy tale goes, the good days soon enough, end... Down with heartache over love with a jerk, they come to you… Cry out their sorrows, and clueless as always, ask for you to sort this out too… “You are a guy, you should know”, their words to coax out some advice… Give them the logical solution, and it’s as if you are the definition of malice… But again, surely not every one of them is bereft of wit… I...

Notwithstanding the silver spoon or the aluminium cup with which we are born, Nature is our great common wealth, priceless with gems like a cool summer morn… And ‘tis a rare beauty that I behold, as I take a stroll down the streets… Broken pavement stones feeling cool beneath the soles, sprouting grass caressing the feet… A small breeze ruffles my hair, sweet and cool like a lover’s sigh… Among the clouds the sun is no furious lord, but a maiden shy… As I turn at the bend, I see some kids frolic, jump and laugh and sing… Dry, beaten bodies, who have known terrible heat, enjoy a burst pipe’s spring… A retired sour magistrate looks on from his balcony and just for a while… Where all his power, wealth does naught to cheer, this merry sight carves a smile… Yon a servant waters her master’s lawns and humming a tune of hope… For once free from sorrows, unmindful of the welts where her drunken husband had groped… Soon I cross the old, almost ancient sweet seller...