WHEN I FELL IN LOVE WITH HER!



I was drawn to her frequent innocent smiles,
Like a butterfly to a fragrant flower.
Her smiles were more enchanting and engrossing,
Each smile more overwhelming and prevailing upon my fragile mind.

Amidst the multitude, she would interrogate,
And when I would laugh at her innocent intrigues,
She would smile back in a flowering bloom,
Her blooms were more engulfing,
With my heart swelling in aspirations.


I don’t know when did I realized,
That I was in LOVE!
For now I could feel her presence,
And then I could feel her absence.
Her presence more maddening,
And her absence more saddening!

I began to dream of my future unfolding,
And our Union overflowing with moonlit trips
And new moon nights and the little ones,
And how they would grow up!

One day, I gave her a souvenir,
And it was sighted by his vaulted eyes.
He asked her for the souvenir.
She said she would not part with it but another one.
He showed me the other one and her name inscribed.
I felt for a while on top of the world,
With happiness brimming in my face,
Made no secret of my feelings!

My friend walking to my next,
Asked me to unveil the cause of my happiness.
And I told him in words veiled,
And he said that she was already owned and chained.





I was dumbfounded and drowned,
And my spirits began to ebb and moan.
My friend to my next talked his way to our nest
But I was walking quietly in funeral silence.
Oblivious of his walk and talk all along the way.

I went to bed with empty belly,
And I cried through a sleepless and blighted night,
For I was thrown down from the pinnacle of love,
Into the abysmal oceanic depths of agony, dismay and desolation.

The next day, all along, I wished if that was not true.
I resolved several times to confirm
But my resolve remained infirm
To devolve me into the agonies of loss and grief.
And to seek relief for the day, I went for a musical brief.

In the evening when I saw her, I called her and asked, “If that was true?”
She paused for a while and spoke in chilling words drearier than darkness
“That his name is …….”
Her words struck me like a thunderbolt and wrecked me asunder.

The day next, I repaired to the Fort, my favorite retreat for a decade and more.
I reached a spot hitherto unexplored and took asylum under a banyan tree.
I sat there and looked around in dismay and desolation.
I could only see her in countless number all around.
And soon went fast asleep to be woken up by three policemen in civilian fatigues,
Counseling me to leave the stills
And seek refuge amongst the people milling around the hill.

I took their counsel but found the people troubling my soul.
I went for a movie and reached home early in the night
And went to bed on a empty belly with the night blighted by slights,
With my heart dithering in agonizing and painful plight.

I believed Time was the greatest curator and the best natural prescription.
The next evening, she came up with the book that I gave her before
And asked me: “Why did you ask me so the day before yesterday?”
I told her in words veiled and she talked to me for unusual stretch of time.
Her comforting and curing presence gave wings to my agonized being,
And my faith in Time was altered for she proved herself
As a better curator than Time!






Krishnan

When Love Soars Like a Skylark!

WHEN LOVE SOARS LIKE A SKYLARK!


She wired me the place and time,
In words more rhythmic than rhyme!
I took her rhyme in hymn,
To reach the appointed place in time.

I walked the way in mirthful gay,
Toward the lovers’ lovely comely bay,
To be at stay in the fading day,
When Cupid decided to put us away!

But love soared over love and hovered,
Hurtling me to my beloved’s bower.
I pressed the call and she attended appalled,
At my un-thoughtful and untimely befall.

I said, “If that is so let me go,
Before I bear witness to your Mama’s woe”.
Replied she, “Now that you have come,
Why don’t you hum in comely plum?
And inspire my Mama to beat our drum,
Notes of which would lead our union trump”!

I took my bird’s words,
And girded as the third.
Her Mama putting on mask
In pre-meditated flash,
Sat before me to dash,
The comely misgivings of her lass.
I gave my ears and eyes in piercing pears
Inviting her wanton jeers,
Now frothing behind her guarded layers.
After her prattle ended with a cheerful clatter,
Came her man to continue the raucous rattle,
Who trotted forward in expected parry,
Only to chatter and prattle,
In the glory of his plan and clan.
Now I began to meditate over the glen
Of my blend and my blighted élan.





But I was sure of my beloved’s heart,
Of her courage to part,
And trot the subterranean path.
Though her soil was made
Of the spoils of their toil,
I was sure that her spirit was evolved
By an exotic devolve, a silver foil,
Coiled around her soul in pilgrim oil!
The next day twixt dawn and dusk
She coyly affirmed her solemn resolve,
And dwelt over Hymen’s vaulted joys!

Krishnan.

Kya Upar Vale Ko Insaan Ne Banaya Hai?

KYA UPAR VALE KO INSAAN NE BANAYA THA?


Kya Allah ko musalmano ne banaya tha?
Agar aisa hai, to kya Allah musalmaan hai?
Agar aisa nahee hai,
To Allah sirf Musalmano ka hee kaise ho sakta hai?

Kya bhagwaan ko hinduo ne banaya tha?
Agar aisa hai, to kya Bhagwaan hindu hai?
Agar aisa nahee hai,
To Bhagwaan sirf hinduo ka hee kaise ho sakta hai?

Kya Rab ko Sikkhone aur God ko Isayeeone banaya hai?
Agar aisa hai, to kya Rab sikh aur God isayee hai?
Agar aisa nahee hai,
To Rab sirf sikkhon ka aur God isayeeon ka kaise ho sakta hai?

Hindu, Muslim, Sikh, Isayeen,
Aapas me hai bhai bhai aur behan behan.
Upar vale ki den hai aap,
Nahee hai upar vala aap ki den.

Aap kit tu-tu-main-main aur len-den me,
Kho dee upar vale ne chain.
Ab agar upper vala aap ke samne rub-a-ru ho jaye,
To bhee nahee pahchanoge use aap.

Aap dhund rahe ho use is tu-tu-main-main ke rain me,
Aur doob rahe ho un andhero me,
Jaha kuch bhee nahee dikhayee deta
Aur dikhayee kuch deta hai, to sirf gehra andhera
Jo ant tak nirantar hai.

Oon andhero ko chod kar aao is ujale me,
Aur dekho insaan ki nazar se,
Kaise damak raha hai noor
Upar vale ke falak par.

Uske noor me nahaon,
To voh bhee khush ho jayega,
Aur fakra karega insaano par!

Krishnan.

Culture is One; Expressions Many.

CULTURE IS ONE, EXPRESSIONS MANY



Earth is one and countries many,
Human beings are one and races many,
Life’s pathway is one and religions many,
Communication is one and languages many,
Procreation is one and relations many,
Love is one and intensities many.

Roots are common and branches many,
Distinctions many for distances many,
Between branches, leaves, flowers and fruits.

Diversity is the nature of nature,
It is the essence of nature.
Let’s not quarrel and strife,
Let’s be prudent and be wiser
And co-operate to unearth uniformity
In all spheres of human activity,
For co-existence and prosperity!

Are They In Communion with Nature?

ARE THEY IN COMMUNION WITH NATURE?

The gutter flowing from a point unknown,
Carrying through its course filth and silt.
Perhaps filtering down the bosom,
Of the remnants of the rocks,
Reminiscent of the rocky seven islands,
That was Mumbai, decades ago in the past.
And converging into a tiny water fall,
Where the urban homeless finds it as their
Bathing, relieving and attiring place.

One down the lane is relieving himself,
The other enjoying a sprinkle right under the fall,
And she is attiring herself after her colorful bath,
And yet another woman is basking under the sun.

As I was watching this thought provoking scene
A little ahead of the Sand Hurst Road railway station,
I lapsed into meditation to enquire myself.
Are they in communion with nature?
For they saw no distinction made by culture
And civilization between men and women,
And the rightful places for relieving, bathing and attiring.
Or have they crowned the pinnacle of wisdom,
To see no man made differences?

Krishnan.

The Heroes and Villains of India's Partition.

One nation's hero is another nation's villain. If you are a violent freedom fighter or take up violence to fight a cause, you will be known as a terrorist. If you go down fighting for a cause that is widely held by a mass of people, you will be known as a Martyr. Therefore, heroes, villains, martyrs, renegades and terrorists - all fighting and working for a cause needs to be looked at with an objective perspective. Bhagat Singh is a martyr to all Indians but was a terrorist for the Government of British India. Subhash Chandra Bose was the most wanted man for British India but is a hero for independent India. Deification and demonisation is a matter of political convenience. However, political convenience cannot prove the test of objectivity. Historians and students of history needs to look at historical figures with objectivity and hence they must be free from any kind of bias.

Jinnah and Nehru were very ambitious men and both were equally tall until they fell apart. There is at least one incident which can throw light on the long term evolving cause of partition. Mr. Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi, the father of Indian nation had conferred with both Nehru and Patel in the presence of Mr. Jinnah that Jinnah may be made by the Prime Minister of independent India. While Nehru stood silent with a sign of disapproval written all over his face at the suggestion given by the Mahatma, Sardar Patel was categorical in talking about the consequences of such a decision in a Hindu majority India. The idea of a secular but Hindu majority India did not go well with Mr. Jinnah who himself was a modern WOG (Western Oriented Gentleman). One only needs to imagine as to what would have happened if Jinnah was the first prime minister of independent India? As fate would have it, Jinnah survived only a few years after the partition of India. If Jinnah was made the first prime minister of India, Nehru could have followed him as the next prime minister and India could have remained united. What could have been the problems of an Undivided India? The answer lies only in the realm of wild speculation. But an objective answer could be like this. The problems of undivided India would be the sum total of problems of India and Pakistan. Both India and Pakistan are tackling their problems in their own way. Undivided India would have tackled the problems in her own way. The RSS dreams of an Undivided India and vilification of Jinnah does not augur well for such a dream.

Dreaming of an undivided India is a political chimera. The two nations are hopelessly divided and the umbilical chord is long broken. They cannot become one either politically or socially. Both nations should learn to live in peace and accept each other's heroes as heroes as a matter of political expediency or convenience. Who partitioned India? This is a historical question which is best left to historians and people with unbiased minds. Let this question be decided in the cool comforts of academic discourse and be therefore kept away from the heat and dust of competitive and virulent politics.

The Lost Indian.

THE LOST INDIAN

The country finds itself in a political vacuum
Of principled political leadership
The vacuum has been there for quite sometime
In philosophy, futorology and statesmanship.

Yesterday, her forefathers preached and practiced humanitarianism,
With the world as one home, a la Vasudeokutumbakam!
Today there is none to cruise her to national integration.
But many to rent her asunder into dis-integration.

A North Indian, a South Indian, an East Indian and a West Indian,
From the East and West of North and from the East and West of South,
A Central Indian and from the north and south and east and west of the Center.
The SC/ST/SBC/OBC/NT/VJNT/OPEN and the peripherals.

The Bhaiyyas, the Madrasis, the Bengalees, the Nepalese,
The Ghatees, the Konkanees, the Goans and the Malayalees,
The Kannadigas, the Vokkaligas, the Lingayats,
The Vaishnavites and the Shaivites, the Pulayans and the Parayans.

The Buddhists, the Jains, the Muslims, the Christians and the Hindus,
The Sindhis and the Hindees, the Uttarkhandees, the Jharkhandees
And the Bundelkhandees, the MP wallahs and the Delhi wallahs,
The Parsees, the Sikhs and the Jews
And more and more Indians to chew, brew and phew.

The Indian is lost amongst so many Indians,
Indians and Indians and many more Indians.
So much so that you may need to invite an Explorer,
A Christopher Columbus or a Vespucci
To the shores of our land to rediscover
The lost Indian amongst so many Indians.

Me thought that the local identities will dissolve
In the regional, that the regional will dissolve
In the national and in eternity, the national will dissolve
In the international to become global.

And my folks will evolve to embrace the philosophy
Of our forefathers and foremothers:
Vasudeokutumbakam; the world is our home,
Vasudeokutumbakam; the world is our tomb.

Alas, my folks are taking us to our doom,
And the Indian amongst Indians is in gloom,
When every day a new narrow identity is found
And expounded to expel others and pound.

Where a xenophile is confronted by a xenophobe
Where ethnocentrism is unashamedly celebrated
Within the narrow walls of carefully calibrated communities
Where the lost Indian is fallen by the wayside,
Agonized for having lost his ride and pride.



Date: 19th August, 2009 Krishnan Nandela