Living On The Edge-2 (Saga of Estancia)

Emerald green the trees sway,
to the sweet lull of the winds.
Flowers of all hues and shades,
brings a smile to our lips.
It's sheer delight to live here,
far from the maddening crowd,
where like- minded people dwell, and every joy abounds.
Gaiety and colour spreads like wildfire, with a perpetual hint of festivity in the air.

But alas, differences do creep and threaten the unity that binds;
It is a question of awakening to the call,
that duty demands.
The external beauty, stands a chance; only if beauty within is preserved,
and tis time to perceive, its not always about oneself,
but the larger good of the whole.

Mounds of garbage and filth emanate even from the most beautiful homes;
And dumping it without a care, is the easiest way around.
But, is it all about self preservation?
The time is ripe for contemplation!!
'What you sow, so you reap', is rightly said of the earth;
the more callous we get, the lesser the earth begets.

All that it takes, is to segregate the waste in three,
Green, the colour of life:
food and plant waste, goes back to the earth's womb;
to help spawn new life,
from whence it once bloomed.

White, the colour of peace:
plastic and man made waste goes back to be recycled over;
the lesser we use it,
the more peace we make with nature.

Red, the colour of inherent danger:
the most deadly, the reject waste;
is to be curtailed and pruned,
incessantly eating up the earth's guts; making her barren, as she pants for breath.

Quite a simple task, to give mother earth a fighting chance at life;
if you really care, to give future generations, a planet to survive.
So segregation at source, is the path we espouse,
as we owe it to nature, to conserve.

A Naive Understanding of Spirituality

Watching kids play a game of hide and seek,
I wonder where those days went;
as I don't play any more games,
am just a pawn in the bigger scheme of occurrence.

Mere puppets are we, whose strings are at the mercy of the sisters wyrd.
And off we go on a mindless chase of fame and fortune, constantly cheered.
Raring to have the world at our feet,
we let the ground sink underneath.

None of it can curb the growing restlessness we feel;
It turns out to be the unasked for gift,
that follows our aspirations, hard on our heels.
Until in sheer exhaustion, we in our tracks abruptly cease.

All the pursued passions, meaningless they seem;
like the empty shells on the beach, bereft of being.
Still glittering with a multitude of colours on the outside;
Tempting us to pick anew with wonder seeking eyes,
searching for the one that might be, the harbinger of eternal delight.

As life flows unceasingly by,the mirage slowly ebbs;
only to find ourselves tossed upon the stormy sea of unrest.
numbness descends, as no more is pleasure derived;
from all the inanimate objects gathered around,
as we stare objectless, beyond.

When the outside world is devoid of anymore joy for our hearts,
or pleasure filled sights for our eyes;
A new journey starts, inwards,
searching the depths of the soul,
to know if we're mere creatures of our    
senses,
or there lie something more.
A journey with promise and hope,
matched only with liberation, at the end of the road.

Homecoming

I see the sky darkening, like an angry lover,
Who has been kept away too long, from his paramour.
Unlike human lovers they can never meet in form,
The sky and earth, only dream of meeting on the horizon.

Heart heavy with desire, the sky flashes his clenched teeth and thunders in anger;
People run amok, in search of shelter from the irate lover.
Down come the first droplets,the tears of yearning,
as the earth looks up to the sky, with desire, smouldering.

Seeing his love reciprocated, the sky goes into a frenzied downpour;
All his suppressed love, he sends forth for his amour.
The parched earth, turns fertile with love.
Shoots and saplings spring up all-around,
the wait is over, it's a time for change profound.

Kids jump into muddy puddles,and float paper boats.
Lovers stroll, sheltered discreetly under umbrellas on side walks.
The smell of hot oil wafts from kitchens;
as preparations have begun,
to celebrate the homecoming of the monsoon season.

KARNA

A wretched infant in a casket,
floating along a mighty river,
radiant like the sun, glowed his face;
his armour and earrings would leave one agape.

Even the divine doth face the wrath of karma, alas!
beautiful child abandoned by a mother, who was yet a lass.
Saved by a couple, of humble birth, 
brought up with all the love abounding this vast earth.

Grew up to be a youth of might, and divine bearing,
heartwrenchingly handsome and manner imposing.
Kindness of heart he possessed, to go with a generous mien.

Entered a grand arena of valiant youth did he, to prove his might;
splendorous and invincible in his armour bright.
For his humble origins, he was slighted and shamed;
stood frozen with his head bent, in utter disdain.

The widowed queen Kunti, swooned at his sight,
as realization dawned that he was her once helpless mite.
Whom she had floated adrift in a casket,
with a hardened heart, utterly helpless.

As he stood humiliated, by self righteous men;
stepped in the impudent Duryodhana, to save the distraught stripling.
Crowned him King of Anga, and silenced the hordes,
proving that even the most evil can possess a heart of gold.

The new king of Anga, pledged his allegiance,
to the one man who showed him exceeding kindness.
Stood with him, through thick and thin, 
and became an accomplice, in his wrong doings.

He went to Panchala, in search of a bride; 
only to be snubbed by the beautiful Draupadi, who hurt his pride.
Low born, she called him as he cringed in mortal pain;
humiliation, by now was his second name.

He lived a life of magnanimity,
gave away all he had in charity.
Even the armour that clung like skin to his form,
He mindlessly parted with scant regard to life, thereupon.

Abandoned by his mother, cursed by his teacher,
this hero fought a battle valiant, for his mentor.
Manipulated by gods and men, 
he was left vulnerable to destruction.

With his chariot wheel mired in soil,
this godlike mortal fell a victim; to the arrows of his very sibling.
Running came Kunti, to lament her dead first born,
whom she in her youth was forced to abandon.

Never acknowledged in life, Karna, the ill-fated one,
Was forever destiny's child, woebegone.
In death, he became the epitome of selflessness and loyalty;
immortalized for all eternity.

Living On The Edge

Mesmerized by the beauty of the dawn;

I stood watching, from high above into the lawn.

It descended like a tiny parachute, 
settling on the head of my neighbour's Shih Tzu;

like an olive wreath on its tiny skull,

the deadly green plastic bag, befell.

Running hither and thither in fear, the poor creature,

entangled it's head into the pouch.

Timely help, not withstanding,

it became a lesson, to be mentioned in passing.

Once from an errand as I returned,

saw a scrawny bovine; 

a blue plastic bag  she munched,

right in the middle of the street,

grabbing an early afternoon treat.

Everywhere you see, blue, green, black and white;

Plastic comes in all shapes and colours bright.

Bottles and shopping bags, all for the consumers ease,

Leaves behind footprints of carbon, impossible to delete.

High in the mountains, left by insensitive trekkers,

you'll find mounds of plastic, a complete nature wrecker.

It's found its way, deep into the sea;

dead whales, with more than a score of plastic bags in their belly. 

Alike to the monster created by Frankenstein;

Recreated by blissful ignorance, once again.

Will not degrade, as all things must and will,

but, stay afresh for a million years, still.

Try destroying it, by fire, will emit toxic fumes in ire.

These will prove to harmful be, for the depleting ozone layer.

To eliminate completely, might not be a possibility,

But, minimize its use, would be an act of great sagacity.

It would prove a boon for future generations,

One small attempt at moderation.

Tender we must, this apology

In the interests of our ecology.

PURPLE

On her father's shoulder, safely perched;

oblivious to the dangers that lurked,

she sat contentedly with a smile,

the darling of her mother's eyes.

Prancing around the house like a lively fawn;

wins every dare set for her, as her parents look on.

She is the sunlight, that lights up the world,

also the firelight that warms the hearth.

The nurturer of life and hope is she;

looked upon as the embodiment of nobility.
Every battle she wins with elan;

but looses the one, that cruel and mindless men inflict upon.

The pride of her father, the delight of her mother;

is reduced to a rag doll, abused and tortured.

Tearing apart her body and soul into smithereens;

the perpetrators escape unchecked, by wicked means.

Aruna, Nirbhaya, Asifa, and the girl from Unnao;

Have exposed, the brutality of the beasts.

Be it adulthood, youth or infancy, 

she lives forever, a victim of depravity.

Beware the World! with every spirit we break, 

into a void of ignominy, we thrust ourselves.

A shame which neither power nor wealth can wipe, 

but will taint history with Purple bright.

Unless the protection of women, will of concern be;

hurtle back thousands of years into evolution, will we.

To live a life, on all fours, we would condemned be;

Accursed by beastly reality.

Reflections

School 
Every morn, the unkind sun;
would wake us up, and send us on a run.
The bags on our back, weighed us down,
doomed to school, we trudged along.

Friends made us forget, the miseries of our life;
the unfinished homework and the projects to compile.
The eager opening of the lunch boxes,
and a clamour to share; all of us, had something to spare. 

And in the after lunch hour, as we chose to doze;
the teacher singled us out, for a question to  pose. 
With a multitude of eyes staring at every lost face;
we wished, to instantly disappear into space.

At last, when the much awaited closing bell sounded;
after being for hours hounded,
we would from the classes flee,
unabashed with childish glee.

Life was so simple, it's hard to believe;
no worldly woes, no targets to achieve.
We fail to value the moments, until we chance to loose,
is rightly said, of our days at school. 

Wind

Blowing tenderly upon my face,

like sweet kisses from an innocent babe. 

Much alike a naughty lad you blow, tongue in cheek;
making my hair and skirt go astray, in mischief. 

Sand and dust into my eyes, you send forth;

akin to a sullen juvenile, who has lost his mirth. 

From the womb of the sea, sometimes you rise;
possessed Poseidon, all out to wreck chaos. 

To thee, we owe our very breath;

blessed with which, is our beloved earth. 

Ganges 
Rippling along the hills you flow, like a songstress on an encore;
meandering through the forest plains, you remind me of a virgin bride's, satin train.

The pebbles in your shallows gleam,
like a jeweled veil, over the brow of a queen. 

The hunter and the hunted throng to you, to quench their thirst;
like nursing infants to their mother's bosom.

Longing lovers gaze, lost in your misty maze.
O' eternal witness to birth, love and demise; you smilingly, comply.

Accepting the holy oblations, and the filth thrown at you, with equal grace;
choked by human sins, you make your way to meet your fate. 

Wavering like, in drunken stupor; eager to end your soiled life,

and perpetually escape into the oceans from this perpetrated vice.

LIFE ...

Futility

As fleeting, as a rainbow,
as bright as a fire that's about to die;
This physical self, is so transient,
yet we revel in its existence.

We pamper it with oils and perfumes,
the best of food and wine;
Not a single grey upon our head,is left unattended;
and a hint of a wrinkle will make us pine.

We clothe it in silken splendor;
With gold and diamonds to spare.
But, this all consuming self,
withers in front of our very sight;
the once handsome face, 
replaced with sunken cheeks and hollow eyes.

Yet, the neglected spirit will shine through,
the parchment like, shriveled skin;
through the body, ravaged by nature.

Cos the spirit alone survives,
as the vain body, gets ready to meet the dust;
Where alas! it must rest.


Hope

Brimming with hope, we traverse through life;
Leaping over, every precipice.

It's love of life;
which makes the deepest gorge,
look like a resting place,
From where we emerge time and again unscathed,
untarnished to begin again.

It's the everyday challenge that keeps us going;
but for which we are mere forlorn beings.

In this race of life, hurdles encountered;
sum up the deepest meaning, which makes us unfettered.

The attachments made;
some endure the test of time and tide,
while others fall by the wayside.

A life well lived, is a measure of self worth;
A source of perpetual pleasure that comes forth.

To be remembered, when we have departed,
Would be a lesson from life, well imparted.


Triumph

Why the melancholy, the self inflicted pain??
When the whole world is for you, to claim.

When it is for you to exult, in the joy of creation;
and not to cry in vain, for long lost notions.

There are mountains to climb and rivers to cross;
suddenly you seem, at a loss.

Wake up, it's time, the world is waiting;
to adorn you, with all its blessings.

We live each day, as a gift from the almighty;
Not to be squandered in fear or self-pity.

It's now time for you, to brandish your shield and sword;
And annihilate the fear, that you behold.

Glass Ceilings

Another Women's Day is on its way, and we can expect a whole lot of oratory and idolatry of women, as the nurturers of the Universe. Paeans are sung, of her inner strength, and how the whole world is indebted to her. After reading a few of that mushy stuff in newspapers and social media and the usual interviews with prominent and successful women, year after year, it almost gets boring.

It is all, such a cliché. Is this what Women's day all about??

Nowadays, the celebration is all about the educated class, and the upwardly mobile. There are posh clubs hosting Women's Day parties, corporate get-together etc. It is almost akin to a festival, and those who celebrate Women's Day are considered as the socially conscious, torch bearers for women's rights.

Surprisingly, the earliest Women's Day is associated with daily wage labourers from the garment industry in New York, who participated in strikes, for equal pay and suffrage, more than a 100 years ago. They must have been strong women, uneducated, mired in poverty. They worked as unskilled labour, trying to keep the wolf from the door, along with bearing and rearing children. The Socialism of the day, did help them in their endeavours, to a certain extent. By the end of the first world war, European nations like Germany, Poland, Denmark had started recognizing a women's right to vote, the Russian Revolution gave the Russian women their right to vote. Around 1918, Britain allowed propertied women above 30, to vote.

Big Daddy America, gave it's women, suffrage as late as 1920, after the ratification of the 19th amendment of its constitution. So, it all started in 1909, in a humble manner, the agitations, the protests and it took almost a decade to materialize into something concrete. It must have been a massive endeavour, to be recognized as a 'human being' capable of making decisions, of choosing their future leaders and their destiny. Those women must have thought of it as the end of an era, only to realize, it was just the beginning.

Women started venturing into unchartered territory, dominated by men, made their presence felt in the field of science and technology, medicine, management and politics. But, it has been an arduous journey, with hurdles at every step, constantly fighting a misogynistic society.

Most of us consider that women have got their due, but the truth is still a far cry. In pursuit of equality, the basic essence has been lost. Women need to learn to be more inclusive. It's not only about the successful high flier, but about every individual, right from the house-help to the women who cook and clean for us, the daily wage earners, to those involved in small scale industries.... aren't these the women, who are the true embodiment of womanhood, trying to give their children a better future? Fighting every odd, they tread forward, burdened by the disadvantage of poverty, hopeless living conditions and in some cases an alcoholic husband.

Years ago, I had a house-help, called Padma, she was more of a friend. Sometime back her daughter landed a job in an MNC, as a software engineer. Something, that sounds pretty mundane by today's standards, was a giant leap for Padma and her family. This single achievement, would redefine the future of the entire family. This is not some fantasy, this is as true, as truth gets. My only contribution was, to ask her to stand up against her husband and in-laws, when they wanted to get her daughter married off. The girl had managed to secure a decent rank, in her entrance and with the help of her eligible quota, she managed to get a seat and also some financial assistance from the government... the rest is history.

One needn't be a Madame Curie, a Indira Gandhi or a Kalpana Chawla to be celebrated. The common woman of today, faces more challenges in her every day life, than any of them did. Sexual harassment and rape are more of a reality than ever before, bad enough, to be a deterrent to any progress. It is also the responsibility of the modern woman, to mould the character of her sons, so that people of her own ilk, get a fighting chance at life.

Understanding and empathetic men have also  contributed a great deal to the progress of women, but as every man is not a Arunachalam Muruganantham, many women have to fight their own battles. So, in passing I would  want to dedicate this Women's Day, and many more to come, to the common Indian woman. As she bears her cross silently and alone, she is in most cases oblivious to something called as 'Women's Day', as she happens to live on a day to day basis, circumnavigating overflowing drains, crisscrossing the city in public buses, at ration stores, in water queues, and everywhere else, where we fail to look. She has little access to education, decent habitation or hygiene. But she keeps the fight alive, all in the name of hope, and a better future for the next generation.

Though rendered with utmost sincerity, what I say, also happens to be a cliché!