Paradise Lost and Some Thoughts

Paradise Lost and Some Thoughts

A week long holiday. The college is almost empty.

Books in hand, I step out

To enjoy the last smiling breezes of spring

Before it is cruelly extinguished

By the summer sun.

 

Under the cafe tree I sit,

My head trying to concentrate

On Satan’s seduction of Eve in Paradise Lost.

But the debate of good and evil

Seemed so hard to believe 

In a world coloured with

Different, brilliant shades of grey.

 

I close my book.

The question of Free Will

Seemed distant as I watch

Dry leaves being tossed around

By the wind.

 

Adam and Eve’s folly seems distant,

Yet their loss familiar. 

Could I trace back my mistakes

To the day Eve’s hand reached for that fruit?

Or was it just in me, to be so imperfect?

 

I close my eyes,

And the questions suddenly stop.

Everything becomes clear suddenly:

I am here, this moment is mine,

I feel happy, it may not last, but it exists now.

I will enjoy this moment, I can cry tomorrow. 

This Night

We lay on the moist grass

A soft wind blew. The cold

Had taken leave, summer

Had not yet stomped in.

It was the beautiful in-between season

When tiny flowers unabashedly coloured

And the nights were cloaked in a cooling hug.

 

The black trees swayed gently above us

The stars seemed so close and the sky so near

That it seemed they’d fall on us any moment.

 

But all I could see was your tender smile

And the shadows of leaves softly touching your face

As the sky shone softly in your eyes,

I realized I could always see this night

In you. 

The Street Light

The street was empty, dark and desolate

Its quietness whispered something only I could hear,

And spellbound, I soaked in the colour of the night. 

 

The cold light from the ATM in the corner

And the occasional blinking car speeding by

Reminds me where I am, and my fear

Takes the colour of the street light:

A dull yellow, used to shining every night.

 

Yet, my legs refuse to move faster.

I pause for a moment, and shut my eyes,

Feeling the November cold brushing my ears. 

I block out the lights, the cars, until I feel

The magical perfection of the night,

In a way I can never feel when my eyes are open,

When my fear shines dully, like the street light.

 

 

Beneath the Coconut Trees

Beneath the Coconut Trees

When you’re away from home, what person, thing, or place do you miss the most?

The sunlight striking the water rushing towards me

The slender leaves of the neem tree swaying lightly

The breeze whispering gently about spectacular sunsets

The ugly white house in the middle of all this beauty.

 

In the water always flowing gently to meet me,

I lost myself again and again, in every wave.

With the blue sky peering behind the coconuts,

I gaze up, my mind neither happy nor sad

Just alive, just there, just at home. 

 

Today it Rained

Today it Rained

For many of us the seasons are changing, bouncing unpredictably between cold and warm. Are you glad to be moving into a new season, or wishing for one more week of the old?

 

I woke up to the sound of pouring rain

And thunder, announcing news I’d been

Anticipating for weeks now: winter’s here.

 

I sip a cup of hot coffee, and look outside

The rain slowly stops. I watch as the last 

Raindrop slide reluctantly off a leaf, and

The whole earth stands fresh, waiting. 

 

Winter’s coming, days of ruthless heat

Are finally over. Soon, pretty flowers will

Shyly peek out, a cloudy fog will set in,

And Delhi will be clothed in the garments

That suits it the best. 

 

I watch the change with a smile

Winter has a way of warming my heart

In a way that the summer sun never can.

Before the Train Comes

Before the Train Comes

Sipping a burning cup of coffee,

I watch as the rain lazily drips

From the roof on to the tracks.

People stay huddled together

In the platform, waiting to leave

But still, dreading to move.

As the next train reaches the platform,

The mad rush to climb in

Tears me away from my thoughts.

 

But the time which stretches proudly

After a train leaves and before another comes

Seems endless, and dauntingly full of possibilities.

As I wait, watching the hurry people are in,

Scampering with luggage and children,

Frustration marring their faces, 

I wonder why they were in such a hurry

That they missed out the thrill of waiting;

When you’re suspended between two worlds:

The one you will leave behind when your train comes.

 

I sit and wait, knowing my train was never going to arrive

And yet, sensing the tracks vibrating in anticipation of the next train,

I look up, desperately hoping it would take me away from this place.

A Rainy Night

Days of fatigue, nights of sweat

Struggling to move day by day

The parched earth, the bare sky

Lethargy enveloping every being

My heart as black as the sun.

 

For days, I’ve been feeling dry

Like a riverbed sucked of its life

My head forced down by the dizziness

Of looking up into a merciless sky

Even my tears seemed reluctant to flow

So that sorrow ended up choking me inside.

 

But tonight, a cool breeze knocked at my window

Surprising me, stirring me from my numbness

I watched as it brushed the trees, and

Playfully tugged the corners of my mouth

I let the tears flow freely, as I smiled to see

How God made it rain for me.

 

Chandni Chowk in the Rain

Chandni Chowk. Famous for its Mughal architecture, for its crowded streets, for hot tandoori chicken, mutton kebabs and sweets, for the Red Fort and Jama Masjid, for the sheer intensity of the people you bump into…Chandni Chowk was where we decided to spend a free Friday morning and afternoon. We travelled by the metro, but being snobbish English students, we decided that asking for directions or visiting the Red Fort would be too touristy on our parts, when we were, we like to believe, Delhiites by now. So, instead of asking an experienced rickshaw driver to take us somewhere, we decided to walk in some random direction. We were confident that it was an impossibility to be truly lost in the midst of such a crowd.

Our efforts led us to Sis Ganj Sahib Gurudwara. Having never been to a gurudwara. we were excited to get in. We had vague notions that entry required us to cover our heads and remove our shoes, but for the most part, we were lost. We looked around us, and watched many devoted Sikhs walking with their eyes fixed to the steps leading to the gurudwara. Finally, we found a counter to drop our shoes, and climbed up the stairs, A man standing on the side with a basket of glittering scarfs offered us one each to cover our heads. Once we were in, the sound of Punjabi music filled the air. None of us could figure out the words. but the devotion it carried sounded so alluring that we stayed silent the entire time we were inside,  We sat on the carpeted floor, and looked around at the imposing pillars, the intricately designed ceiling, the unblinking singers and a golden structure in front of us. We had no idea what anything was called, nor what to do other than gape foolishly. Around us, people were flocking in in large numbers, bowing on the ground, praying fervently, meditating close-eyed, and singing along softly. We felt left out, as if they knew some divine secret we didn’t, as if the songs that were being sung conveyed some magic we couldn’t understand, as if their faith made them look beyond the sheer beauty of the gurudwara into a place which transcended worldly beauty, as if they could comprehend the voice of God and we were deaf to it. We were awestruck by the magnanimity of the faith of those around us. As we descended the stairs and returned the scarfs, the man smiled at us gratefully, as if we’d made his day by visiting the gurudwara. When we went to collect our shoes, the lady who gave it to us reverently touched it with her forehead, making us feel almost ashamed for our absolute inability to understand the godly purpose of the actions of everyone around us.

By the time we left, it was raining. As a Keralite, I regard Delhi rains with contemptuous disregard, or at the most, with suspicious disdain. How these Delhiites call a few drops of water which are randomly sprinkled on to the earth ‘rain’ is much beyond me. For me, rain had to be accompanied by thunder and lightning, heavy winds and continuous shower to earn its title. But today, even I had to concede that it was raining and wasn’t just drizzling like usual. We didn’t have umbrellas, so we decided to face the rain with just our whining voices as protection. Whatever Chandni Chowk may be otherwise, in the rain. there’s just one word to define it: “messy”. The streets get flooded, ugly puddles form right in the most unlikely places, ruthless rickshaw drivers race one another to splash waters on defenseless pedestrians and you just end up getting really slimy.

Still unrelenting to visit the Red Fort, we conceded that the Jama Masjid was worth our time, since it was, technically, a mosque, and not a tourist spot. Technically. jama Masjid was a place I loved to visit, for the simple exhilaration I get when I realize how tiny I am. The massive, dull red structure takes my breath away every single time. We walked in barefoot, to find the place flooded till our ankles. We waded through, exploring every corner, remarking how beautiful Indian architecture used to be, and feeling the coolness of the stones with our feet and palms. We also got a peek at a manuscript of the Quran which was 1,400 years old and a footprint of the Prophet etched in stone before the old man closed displaying these closed up his tiny cubicle and went for lunch.

We roamed around the streets after we came out. Careful not to step on cow dung, we watched with fascinated revulsion as meat vendors sold lamb brain, thick slabs of fat, wet, live hens and even a lamb’s head on the sideways. The smell of freshly baked rusk, the heat of the oil used to fry jalebis, the softness of the milk sweets, the white thickness of freshly made lassi, the mouth watering scent of tandoori chicken; all combined with our cold selves and wet shoes soon made us hungry. Sooner than we thought, we turned around and rushed into a restaurant.

Finally, we ended up going to the Red Fort too, admitting that a trip to Chandni Chowk wouldn’t be complete without that. By the time we got back- wet, muddy and happy- we were already in love with Old Delhi; even the most hideous parts of it: the dirty streets, the perennial crowd and the unceasing, dirty rain. We felt like we belonged, lost in the middle of it all.

Daybreak

How old she was, or who her family was, she didn’t know. All she remembered was living under the bridge with a lot of other people, and always working in the brick factory a few kilometers away from the bridge.

Though she was only a child, her eyes contained enough sorrow to fill the entire Ganges with water. She had always had a bad backache, and sometimes, violent coughing fits.There was no one whom she could call her own, Though there were many families living under the bridge, she was alone from when she could remember.

Everyday, she woke up at daybreak, when the faintest ray of light had penetrated into the inky blue night sky. She got dressed, making sure no prying eyes were on her naked body, and then, set out for work. She walked all of the seven kilometers to the brick factory. She walked fast, because being late meant a cut in the wages. On the way, she saw smiling children with their faces washed, hair combed and clothes pressed, in buses, going to school. She heard their laughter even after the bus had sped off and wondered why only the rich knew how to smile.

At the factory, she worked endlessly, carrying bricks to and fro, ignoring the pain behind her neck, ignoring the pleas of her aching heart. For lunch, she usually had a glass of tea and a slice of roti. If money was scarce, she manged with just the tea. After lunch, she worked again until the cruel sun finally rested for the day.On her way back, she would stop at a noisy shop, filled with drunk men, and ate whatever she could with what little she had. Some days, she didn’t have anything at all.

Then she returned, exhausted, and lay down, ignoring the violent nightly fights between the husband and wife near her. Sleep was her only solace. She slept undisturbed, She slept like the dead. Every night before she slept, she prayed never to wake up again. Every night, a cold wind blew to fondle this girl who was alone in the world. Every night, frost held her in its icy hug as she trembled. And every night, she slept, dreading another daybreak, dreading the cruel sun.

She hadn’t eaten for three days now. Her salary had been cut because she was continuously arriving late. Today, she had woken up earlier than usual, but her head was throbbing so much that she just couldn’t walk fast. She trudged on, hoping fervently that she wouldn’t be late.The sound of the school bus and the children’s laughter seemed distant to her. When she looked up from the ground to stare at the happy children, they seemed blurry and far away.

When she got to work, she was late again. Her manager screamed at her, “Useless scum! Get out! We don’t want lazy beggars like you here!”

She begged, pleaded and finally fell at his feet. He kicked her away, and she knew that there was no point pleading now.

She walked back slowly, She didn’t see or hear anything. All she could feel was her stomach growling for food, and her mouth crying for water. The cruel sun burned her back mercilessly.

She trudged on. Not a single tear could she shed.

When she finally reached back, the sun had rested once again. She heard the familiar fighting nearby. Her head felt too heavy and she sank to the ground. she lay down, and her body shook convulsively. Yet she couldn’t cry. Her eyes closed, but her lips moved in prayer. She prayed to no one in particular. She prayed in the universal language of the wear soul: she prayed for pure, undisturbed sleep. She never wanted to see another daybreak. She never wanted to face the taunts of the cruel sun.

That night, the kind arms of Death gently wrapped the girl who was all alone in the world. She finally got the sweet, undisturbed sleep she wanted. When she would wake up, the sun would be pleasant and warm. There would be soft grass at her feet. She won’t be hungry. Her body won’t hurt. She will be laughing like the children in the school bus. And she would never have to dread another daybreak ever again.

Hello Summer!

NaPoWriMo Day#17: Write a poem of greeting

 

You came in without warning

Just barged in into my life in all

Your blazing glory. I tried to be

Composed when you entered just like that,

Completely unannounced, as if you belonged here.

But it was difficult for me to welcome you

With an unguarded smile and pen arms.

You see, I don’t exactly like you, and your 

Tendency to burn everything on your path.

But I will tolerate you, wear scarfs,

And step out less during the day,

As long as you promise

Not to shine so brightly on me.