Stranger in the Mirror!

For one
the view is blurred,
Through watery eyes
and a heart heavily stirred;

You, Stranger in the mirror
have we ever met?
Socially, or in passing
on my being, or in my head;

I don’t have 
a recollection
I don’t recognize you,
Lost in an 
achy time zone
you are no longer me
that’s true;

My thoughts are 
in a tizzy
my memory 
struggles and fails,
Did we ever 
know each other?
or are they just fancy tales;

The spunk, the spirit
that once put a spring 
in my stride,
Have drowned in a 
sea of sorrow
swept into an 
ocean I cried;

The smile is crooked
it’s more of a charade,
I crumble deep within
and outside 
put up a façade;

There was a time
when I rode the 
crest of fortune,
Now I look up to the sky
and catch my beloved’s 
face in the moon;

You, in the mirror
I don’t see you laugh
or with mirth 
and joviality cackle,
I see you steeped 
in anguish
and the cross you bear
is heavy enough to tackle;

Your life seems stricken
tormented by misery 
weakened by pain,
Once you 
romanticized the clouds
now you cry in the rain;

You are of me
likeness of a reflection,
I could have loved you
but you are filled with
angst and abjection;

I approach you
with worry and concern,
I know it’s difficult 
to keep up appearances
when you would rather 
break and burn;

I see you drop your shoulders
and your head hung low,
I rush to extend a hand
but the glass of grief
hits back a blow;

Often times
my heart feels for you, 
I wish those weren’t tears
but glistening on a petal
the hope-filled morning dew;

Your eyes, 
those vacuous pools
are deep caverns,
They shut close
to faith and light
when once
they were a 
gateway to heavens;

Your arms fall empty
in listlessness
 by your side,
The company you miss
the embrace you crave
is long lost and died;

You stranger in the mirror
there’s nothing that matches
yet, you look like me,
A burst of belief glimmers
a hint of wish shines through
with promise to set a soul free!

*****

Have you lived my life?

Have you had sorrow
strike across your face,
Leaving an indelible mark
a burden so difficult to brace;

Have you breathed in the same air
the same cubic-centimeter
that I inhale,
The poison of self-pity
the toxin of self-doubt
that turn me pale;

Have you stepped into
the darkest room in your heart,
Where reside death and despair
anger and anguish
where hope and happiness
their ways part;

Have you ever been
trapped inside your mind,
With a maze of paths forgotten
and no road ahead to find;

Have you stared blankly
into a faraway horizon,
And been held back 
by gripping fear
shackled by a sense 
of self-derision;

Have you peered into
the eyes of grief,
Where deep longing rides
on the shoulder of loss
and tears bring no reprieve;

Have you walked on
the same piece of land,
Stumbling on desire, falling into 
an abyss of hopelessness
with not even Almighty 
to lend a hand;

Have you been in a crowd
and felt lonely and desolate,
With abjection, aimlessness
indifference and ennui
sealing your pitiable fate;

Have you wished to let go
but been forced to trudge on,
With days filled with emptiness
leading a life 
wretched and forlorn.

People I like

I like people

with sunshine

wiping shadows from their faces,

People

whose heart is aflutter

with a million dreams it chases

I like people

with clean hands

and no blood on their fingers,

People

on whose mind

thoughtfulness always lingers

I like people

who’ve walked the earth

yet boast cleaner shoes,

Their lives lived well

with no lies

but a hundred truths

I like people

with fine fragrance

those who always smell good,

Of humanity and virtue

and all the values

alongside they stood

I like people

who express and emote,

For; they dive in

and swim out

refusing to simply

on the surface float

I like people

who have a long sight,

People who see

beyond themselves

and for others

pick up a fight

I like people

with childlike innocence

People who are curious,

And for injustice to the underdog

or harm to the weak

they are always furious

I like People

who, with their kindness

and generosity

live in others’ hearts,

People, who like Noah

carry others big or small

with skin or fur or feather

to redemption

and for whom, like Moses

The Red sea parts

I like People

who feel the pain

that shatters other lives,

People who are bound

to man and animal

and nature alike

with love and compassion

and respect and gratitude

as the main ties

I like People

who tread upon this earth

with purpose and meaning,

With lifelong lessons

and tales of zeal and passion

and fascinating folklore upon leaving!

                                                                  25.1.17 

Picture 1 - Rokeby Manor, Landour, Mussoorie, Uttarakhand, India

Picture 2 - Mukhteshwar Temple, Mukhteshwar, Uttarakhand, India

Take me!

The last year and a half

has been tough,

Peace of mind

has been shredded

The road trod upon

has been rough;

The heart has been torn

into a million pieces,

The forehead has wrinkled

with worry and woefulness

into a hundred creases;

Back about eighteen months

and a few laboured heartbeats,

I lost the biggest part of me

despite all care

and myriad medical feats;

The precious fur daughter

went away in a whisper,

Leaving me a

painfully long lifetime

to pine for her, to miss her;

Since then I trundle along

through the passage of life,

The world’s hurting becomes mine

It rips through my heart

with the sharpest of knife;

I cry a monsoon

for a stranger’s loss,

Every hurt, every tragedy, every pain

felt by someone, anyone

to bleed my weakened heart

is enough of a cause;

In this time gone by

each time a beloved

bid adieu,

I cried hoarsely, wait

it should have been me

Not you;

 A young friend

lost her partner

well before his time,

I argued with God

told Him blankly

He’d committed a sin

He’d done a crime;

Each time a young one dies

or somebody

kicks off midway,

I tell Him to take me instead

I kneel, I bow my head, I pray;

A neighbor to whom

one hardly spoke,

Took away his own life

as his grip slipped

on all his faith and hope;

I looked at

who all he had left behind,

I again lashed at God

asking about the error in His calling

when taking me

would have been more kind;

Every time I read obits

and hear of a passing on,

I urge Him

to get me to His side

before a new soul is born;

Take me, I tell Him

bring me to Your fold,

Give me peace, bring me respite

allow me the time

when my loved ones lost

I once again behold.

4.1.2017

Isn't this what are true love and companionship all about?

A friend wrote about staying up the night to take care of his recuperating furry child, post surgery.

It has been well over a year now; that both my husband and I, and our Man Friday, have not slept for full nights. On a good night, we might catch about four and a half hours. On a bad night, we manage to get about two. In between, there are nights when we get up every hour to see whether he wants to relieve himself or has that urge to walk in circles. He, in this equation, is our precious fur son who has lit up our lives for the last decade and a half.

You see; our 15 and a half-year-old Labrador Son suffers from an acute case of Cognitive Dysfunction Disorder. The complications of this Syndrome force him to circle and pace and pant and stay restless most of his waking hours; which are now increasing more than the sleep time. The Syndrome also becomes severe during the night; but we also have been noticing that with each passing day, it is taking over even the day time.

And then, like in the case of elderly loved ones, our baby's motions are erratic. There are a million Piku moments in the course of the day - yes, the film that had constipation and its tentacled impact on normal living as the central character. We clap and rejoice at each smooth passing of both bodily secretions that tell us that the aging body is still performing to its optimal best.

Our Man Friday hand feeds our Son. The Husband still brushes him each morning, even if it is with the baby lying down on the bed. The periodic baths happen too. I make sure that his eyes, ears, mouth and rear are clean. I brush his teeth every Sunday. I am, forever, on the lookout for lumps, sores, slow-healing wounds. My babies, mercifully, have never had an issue with ticks and worms.

What has stopped are walks in the park or around the house. But we make sure that every time a guest visits us; our child is greeted with as much enthusiasm as he was given to greet everybody. A Labrador’s wild, tail-wagging, smiley face greeting is a joy to behold, as any pet parent will tell you.

Slowly the treats are either not being enjoyed as they were (difficulty in chewing, handling bones and other chewies fast becoming major concerns) or are changing form. We now bring miniature chicken biscuits for our Son who could grate and sharpen his teeth on biggest bones in his younger days.

It is said that the older you get, the more you go back to your childhood ways. So it is with Pasha Baba. Since he has always slept with us on the master bed, we and he will have it no other way even now. Our bonny Master sleeps on Macintosh sheets made warm with a fluffy towel. He gets to use his baby blue, extra soft blankets that we had got especially for him from the Hills. We have become pros at inventing the use of Pampers for pet children, thanks to our Son's immediate and erratic needs.

We wipe his mouth, every time he eats or drinks water. These days water trickles down the sides of his mouth, wetting his lower jaw and leading to skin infections in the area. So we pat it dry after every drink with his own velvety face towels and apply a skin ointment each time I see the silky golden-white hair give way to black patches. We clean his paws with soft cloths and his "Tutu" or “tush” if you please, with cotton. You know, he could do all this with utmost ease when he was young. But now, when he finds it a task to lick clean the difficult to reach areas, he has us - his parents - to take care of him.

There was a time, not so long back when the thought of getting back home from the office or anywhere else was filled with the joy and anticipation of being welcomed by our over-enthusiastic fur babies. Today, he may not jump and prance and express his joy in a physical expression, but his eyes speak volumes, as does the curling up of his mouth in half a smile and the way he rests his badly fibrillating head against my chest.

In his younger days, our fur son looked after us, watching over his house with utmost attention. He didn’t like strangers crossing the front gate. He, with his own devices, would not let harm come our way. He guarded us, played away stress that we experienced, was the perfect walking companion and boy, did he bring in such extended moments of merriment into the house with his antics and adorable actions. Today, there has been a role reversal of sorts. I shoo away any fear he may feel of the inexplicable symptoms by clinching him in a tight, warm embrace. I brush off the fly even before he begins to flap his ear. We joke with him and talk to him and sing him a familiar song (there were several compositions we had created for our babies, remakes of known ditties that we would sing to them) to assure him that all is well with his fast disappearing world.

Fifteen and a half is a very unkind age for a pet child; just as a 95 or a 100 is to a human. Regardless of how good a life you may have had and however healthy you might have been, the ravages of time and the toll it would have taken on your body and mind begin to come to the fore in the most ungainly fashion. The walk becomes a limp before arthritis takes over any form of stable movement. You drop more food than you manage to gulp in. Even chewing seems like an onerous task. The daily ablutions and the need to pass out excretions is a whole together different mountain that you are wary of but must laboriously climb day after day after day.

We have always been very particular of the food we fed to our babies. Nothing but the best passed our litmus test. Now, we need to be all the more mindful; so it is a special Renal Diet that is imported into the country by Royal Canin from France mixed with a home-cooked meal of Chicken breast mince, porridge  and rotis. Upset tummy and flatulence is something that we have to frequently contend with. And yes, the mini meal of medicines that needs to be fed to him on a daily basis, four times a day to ensure as pain and discomfort free life as we possibly can.

Still, his presence in our lives, the big bag of past memories and current experiences, his positivity and unconditional love for us more than makes up for anything we may endeavour to do, to make his twilight years just that bit better.

Till the time we have together, here’s to many more of sleepless nights, missing of heartbeats each time something goes awry with him and a million prayers shot up to seek a trouble free end of time for our beautiful Son.

May we continue to share each life with you as a familyfamily; if there are six more births to come back in! And may we meet you over the Rainbow Bridge to play and bound around the heavenly grounds beyond the pearly gates.    

A Verse for 2017!

May your sky

Be bright and clear

May your heart

Be brave and

never fear

May your sea

Be calm and blue

May you stay

To yourself true

May the Sun

Always shine

on your parade

May your goodness

Never fade

May you ride

Your favourite Star

May your dreams

Take you far

May you

in yourself believe

May all your goals

You charge out

and achieve

May your heart

Be always kind

May your true purpose

You strive and find

May happiness

Always hold you

in its arms

May life besot you

With all its temptations

and charms

 May you find promise

Even in your darkest hour

May you learn rich lessons

From every hurt and every scar

May through all of

life’s tumble

And roller-coaster ride

You face it with

faith and conviction

Showcasing your

brightest, bravest side

May you fill your cup

With aims,

ambition and hope

May you always be able

And strong enough to cope

May you always lend a hand

And add sparkle to

someone’s tomorrow

May you always raise it

To smooth out even

a strange forehead’s furrow

May you find your wings

May you fly away and soar

Still, may you have roots

That tie down your very core

May love be your music

Passion your playmate

May your life remain promising

Keeping you on

the right side of fate

May the divinity in you

Rise above and shine

May you lead a wholesome life

And stay a soul always so fine! 

Note 1 - Top Picture - Mukhteshwar, Uttarakhand, India

Note 2 - Bottom Picture - Half-Moon, Landour, Uttarakhand, India 

Last Christmas - Rest in Peace George!

It, indeed, is Last Christmas of sorts, in a heart-wrenching way. George Michael was the Rock star lover boy who made our heartbeats race with his silky, smooth voice and Greek God good looks. His irresistibly attractive swag (shades better than Andrew, though the latter was no less good looking) always made us swoon and sweat.

Friends, who know me since the 80s, would recall my unabashed love for George and my tribute to him through the way I wore my hair for years. My shaggy, messy-top hairstyle was a collective homage to my Pop idols of that time - George Michael, Cyndi Lauper and Janet Jackson.

Besides grabbing a huge chunk of space in our hearts, George Michael helped us feel, emote and express the teenage and early 20s love we wore on our sleeves. I remember being pulled in for a New Year's Eve dance by one of the most sexilicious of Doon boys at that time, the hunk a lot of us girls crushed over. With a pounding heart and the white fear that he would listen to the loud sound my heart was making over louder music, I crumbled into the luscious dude's arms as we danced cheek to cheek in dimmed lights on "Careless Whisper."

During one of my longest infatuation periods, George's mellifluously sung Love Ballads kept me company as I teared up at the thought of unrequited love. In the absence of a real boyfriend and engulfed in the mushily imagined phase of romance, I cried copiously into the pillow with the strains of "Last Christmas" causing the right effect on my weak nerves.

Back in the day, fed on the "boy chases girl" diet of Bollywood flirtations, I often looked out the window into the Farmhouse Orchard to imagine George Michael tease and tempt me with his "Edge of Heaven."

With his golden voice belting out tempting lyrics in the background, I would time and again sit by my bedroom window and either watch the rain falling on the garden swing or count dew drops on the summer grape vine or look at frosticles on the edges of the fir tree leaves. The seasons would change but what would stay constant was my love and intense admiration for this blonde bombshell.

In my late teens, early twenties, without the experience of a real-life boyfriend, George filled the gap admirably. My fertile imagination was all I had to reach into to have a rollicking affair in my mind with the hottest Pop star; the deep sense and craving for passion making me go to places I did not know existed within me and feel such sensations that brought only pure joy. Song after song, from "Father Figure" to "A Different Corner" to "I Can't Make you Love Me" he made me relish the gamut of amorous feelings that every girl or boy should; and more importantly, he made me feel those without the baggage of guilt, secrecy, hurt and heartbreak.

For a large part of my life, dance has been a big segment of my exercise routine. More than walking and cycling, what I have really enjoyed is an hour long dancercise to pulsating music in the cozy confines of my house. Whenever I have done that, Wake me up before you go-go, Club Tropicana, Young Guns, Come On and Bad Boys have always been on the playlist.

Even today, at my heaviest, sedentary worst, it is Faith that makes me get up and wear my blue Suede shoes!

Well the thing is; first loves never disappear, reappearing in some corner of the heart with the slightest nudge from nostalgia. They, like an autumn rash, flare up at the faintest teasing of the memory, coming alive as if they never went into a deep recess buried in the life that existed in another time. And great musicians never really die. They are as immortal as the music they have created; rising up in our consciousness with just a turn of the knob.

George Michael, you were an essential part of my youth. That stage of life that one never lets go of, even when one advances in age. So, as long as I am young at heart, you will always reside in my mind.

I love you George! I will always miss you for all the music you could still have made, George Michael.

For now, go and do the jitterbug with God!

Picture courtesy - Joost Hogervorst

The ‘uniquely’ Indian Olympics!

The Honourable Sports Minister of India, upon his return from the recently held Olympic Games 2016, has taken stock of the remarkable infrastructure, facilities, opportunities, fund allocation (for players and not personal betterment of those involved in the chain of funds disbursement) and collective Government and bureaucratic apathy towards Indians who may have even the slightest interest in sports.

After intense dialogue, discussions and discernment of what is and what should be, Minister GOAL has listed out the following list of Games for official Indian entry –

1.     Wrestling – more the Freestyle kind that a lot of Indians indulge in while mounting and alighting metros, buses, trains, planes. Also seen at malls, halls and bazaars.

2.     Archery – for chucking garbage into designated and non-designated places. Special events for those who excel in aiming from moving vehicles.

3.     Athletics – with rising cases in chain, wallet, laptop, mobiles snatching, the sporty-spirits engaged in such activities must have world class training.

4.     Badminton – barring isolated genius of a Nehwal here and a Sindhu there, we as a species excel in putting the ball (or cock; pun intended) in the other court.

5.     Swimming (with special attention to breast stroke) – with a collective male interest in any skin showing by Indian or Foreign women and the pronounced Indian male interest in the woman breast. As a female of the species, get into a crowded transport or area and personally experience how adept Indian men are at breaststroke.

6.     Steeplechase – A common man’s delight, each time he has to get to work on time, get an emergency patient past the hospital gate to the OT, or take a pregnant wife to the OB-GYN just as a VIP cavalcade is passing by.

7.     Shooting – This one has a special significance for the Subcontinent. Getting away from the traditional game, we in India and the subcontinent practice this fine game by spitting into potholes, wall corners and lamp posts. Also Indian men, at large, seem to need more practice in shooting their own piss into the man piss pot (as men themselves admit) and on trees and boundary walls (barring those with Hindu Gods’ tiles plastered on them).

8.     Rhythmic Gymnastics – while dancing, stooping, bending backwards to the tune of our modern day lords and masters.

9.     Boxing – God alone knows if we need anything less to wriggle our way out of packed-like-sardines public transport.

10.  Cycling – not just to get away from being / becoming the World Diabetic Capital but also because very soon the roads will be / have been taken over by potholes and Venice like canals on main roads and highways.

11.  Water Polo – As the Monsoon of 2016 (and many monsoons before this) has depicted, our main roads in several cities are naturally ready to host this grand sport, as a special shout back to our royal past.

12.  Rowing – We are perpetually in a ‘row’ with neighbours, the system, the policy implementers, our own family, the other religion, other man’s politics and their life. What’s more! Cross-border real or fabricated rows keep all our political parties busy without much else to accomplish.

13.  Relay race – for all the multitude of hands the money (or palm grease, if you will) and favours change, all in a day’s life.

14.   Fencing – this refers to only figurative poking of people around with the sharp edge of the fence and actually involves one’s personal fenced area to encroach upon the other man’s (or the public / government) land.

15.   Handball – I almost didn’t write about it; but it is such a rampant practice that I just had to include it in. Seen prolifically in public areas, on buses, behind office desks and practiced solely by men on their own body part.

16.   Surfing – While Sweden is cutting down its work day to six sharp hours and prohibiting any kind of social media surfing during work hours, we on the other hand, in India, are increasingly spending more hours in office, but half of them surfing the Net for personal entertainment. What’s worse, we have taken the nasty habit into our Parliament too, and there in its haloed precincts for primal pleasures.

17.   Basque pelota – the Minister, in a rare expression of empathy, calls for a revival of this game played officially only in the 1900 Olympics. Given the number of times we ourselves and our documents are tossed against the bureaucratic wall, we seem to have a natural predilection towards the sport.

18.   Tug of War – between our general demands and the crippled supply; between our expectations and the lack of deliverables from those who ought to deliver; between what is and what should be; between the haves and have-nots; between the public and the politicians; between our rights and duties; between the fact of life and our faiths; between life and the difficult cost of living. We definitely would be medal winners here.

19.   Rappelling – While Climbing is, apparently, coming up in Summer Olympics of 2020; we back home have been excelling at our homegrown version of Rappelling for years – each time we

take an onerous, uphill task and then attempt to make it easy by kissing the ass of the guy on top and kicking the head of one at the bottom.

While we, the general India and our ruling bunch of voted pack of some-deserving but mostly undeserving political fiefdom, engage in this abysmal juggernaut, may the truly meritorious and zealous continue to dream, train, perform and win; in spite of all of us!!!

Note 1 - This article may not be reproduced without the permission of the author.

Note 2 - This article has appeared on Faking News (http://my.fakingnews.firstpost.com/sports/uniquely-indian-olympics-27578) and 

on Unboxed Writers 

(http://unboxedwriters.com/the-national-sports-we-already-excel-in/#.WCcF4NJ961s)