Head on Pillow

To not look at time
And run a mile
To not have to decide
Between the car and bike

To be able to walk
Talk, hear a tale
And not worry
That I might be late

For the head
To touch the pillow
And let the dream
Smoothly flow

No to-do list
Keeping me awake
No plans, no answers
Inspiring in mid sleep

To just sleep
With no cares
And wake up
To uneventful days

I wish for this
And yet, do I?
For even as I write
Boredom seems the plight!

Ripple in Routine

A call last week had me completely floored. The secretary of the sabha where I performed on Feb 19 called me to inform me that I was one of the dancers selected for receiving their 'Best Performer' certification for this year. It was as if all the hard work I had put in for my Feb 19 program was vindicated.

For this program especially, I had put in more effort than in recent years - it was a point I had to prove to myself. And when my performance flowed smoothly, when I looked slimmer than last year, when I was able to sustain my energy throughout... I felt vindicated. This award was like a crowning glory - though it is a small and probably routine affair for the sabha, it was unexpected and the first time for me. And that is what made this moment sweeter.

But strangely, what brought tears to my eyes was when I stepped off the stage after a group photo, my father who had accompanied me, asked me affectionately, "Why were you hidden behind and not in the front for the photo?" I felt like a child again. It was hard to respond to my children like a mother on reaching home.

But I must add here another honour I had received last year. A leading sabha has a wing that brings dancers together for them to take the art form to the poor. After a performance for that wing in the regular forum, I was called. I was flattered at being identified as one of the potential dancers who could be trusted to do this. Though my group of four  have not done anything since then, I am hoping that we will soon resume our endeavour to do this - yet another excuse to dance, what else!

Being Born as a Woman

Being born a woman
Born of a woman
Having borne a woman
Can she be a woe!

Educate her
Treat her well
Respect her
She will respect others

Cherish the woman
Nourish her body
Nurture her mind
And you create wealth

This simple equation
Lost in translation
The only consideration
The dowry calculation

A child bearing machine
To carry only men
An unpaid worker
Her role only in the kitchen

Locked up in the house
How will she then show
What she is capable of
If you don't let her grow!

Open your minds
See the world around
Woman is in space
But she has no place!

In your heart
In your hearth
At your feet
You trample ruthlessly!

You are not cursed
Because you have a girl
She is the one
Cursed to be born to you!

Fallen Leaves

Aged, dried,
Unable to cling on
Discarded leaves
Their life gone

They had been green too
Once upon a time
Providing others shade
And the tree some food

Yellowing and useless
They fall in the light breeze
To be crushed under
Hurriedly walking feet

Raked up and bundled
Shoved to a corner
To be burnt brutally
And then forgotten forever

But the ones that escape
Have a purpose to fulfill
Making the dry ground
Like soft bedding.

In Two

Strange is the heart
Split into two halves

Elated on one hand
Hurt for another part

Celebrating, one moment
Then turning sour!

I wonder when
The thought crept in

Is it worth it, I ask
It replies, not at all

And yet it clings
To that which singes

Breathe in deep
Meditate on good

Let the joy wash over
Dip in deep and swim

Distractions galore
And yet that thorn

Tears the little heart
Into two equal halves.

Sane Advice

I went for an unexpected meeting with a government department on some prospective work. Two senior doctors walked in as this was a health department. I was introduced as a journalist.

I like to make myself scarce at such times. My instinct was the same this time too, and though the person I went to meet tried to clarify this, the doctor didn't choose to hear.

He told me, "Please don't highlight only the negatives. There are many good things happening in the country, but they get hidden away in small paras. By writing only about the negative things, we give the impression as if there is nothing good about this country."

I smiled. "What is good about this country?" was the first question that came to my mind. But then I thought - wait. That's what the papers tell me. And yet, the man I came to meet was telling me passionately about one of the schemes that had taken sweat and toil to implement. He sounded passionate and proud of the achievement. Maybe, writing about it will not be breaking news. But yes, no one will get to know that there are people who are working too! There is no sensation in that! Only scams give us something to talk about.

The doctor went on to explain, "I can make money by doing anything as a doctor. But I must take care. A journalist's job is just as important. Don't write only to make money."

Well, doctor...that's a thought.

Imitating the Waves

The moon was golden as it rose from the Bay of Bengal. The waves, green and blue and white, foaming as they touched the brown sand. The breeze blew pleasantly, neither cold not warm... Just perfect to soothe.

A small stage, two dancers, ready to show their mettle to a select guest of a leading IT company.

The guests were delayed, but the moon climbed, not waiting for anyone. The reflection in the waters danced and the sea rippled gently, not in a hurry either, but not resting either.

The lights came on, and a sitar player took the stage, mellifluously building the mood for a half hour of cultural showcasing.

Then came the two dancers, their costume pleats ballooning in the breeze like a sail.

There is nothing to match the joy of dancing in the open, on the seashore, under the sky, the moon and the stars... With the cosmos as the witness, a million stars for audience, do a handful of mortals matter?