I Love You O Woman

Breathing in the warm interiors of your womb,
Was my first confrontation with the bewitching thing called life.
My miniature tiny feet kicked for the first time,
You erupted in joy rather than scream in pain.
Carrying in the arms, when you first smiled at me,
I knew where I can turn to when I am devastated in life.
I was not brilliant among my fellows,
But for you, I was the brightest star in the sky.
Sitting by your grave, I often thing about the fact,
There was so much to tell you when you were alive.


I walked to the school, holding your hand,
So responsibility was a norm which I learned from you.
Carrying my secrets always in your heart,
You often saved me from our furious Dad.
The soaring kites in the clear blue sky,
The paddling in the rain water pits,
Sneaking into the neighbour’s garden,
And fighting over the stolen fruits,
We were partners of crime in our nostalgic childhood.
I was weeping on the threshold of our garden house,
When you walked out of that door with the anchor of your life.


Standing alone on the crossroads of my life,
No purpose to live and no one to share my life.
Then I felt your presence by my side,
Motivating my conscious to scale those heights.
Soaked in perspiration, when you were locked in my arms,
I explored the tranquillity in boundless love.
My house was in disarray and so was my life,
You stepped in like the Merlin and rejuvenated them alike.
The life comes all around, I realized that,
When you honoured me with the feeling of being a father.
Walking with me till the end of the horizon,
You stood with me in my highs and my lows.


I stumbled on your door steps with liquor in my mouth,
Which I had swallowed to dissolve the miseries of my life.
While being caressed between the grasp of your legs,
I reached the serenity which a skilful courtesan emulates.
Your scent still entices me, every time I walk that lane,
You fulfil my desire to escape from this life.

No questions you ask, no answers you demand,
With care and affection you manage my other home.
No cries of children and no discussions about life,
Far away from the maddening worries, I get the environment I need.
Satisfied me like a woman and accompanied me like a friend,
Lame are those people who don’t understand a mistress.

My heart weeps when I see the injustice doomed on you,
Spineless are those men who dishonoured you.
If the world is a flower then its fragrance is you,
I love you O Woman, because you complete me.

I cannot cry

Proud we feel, being the guardians of our race,

From who are we guarding, remains a mystery to our brains.

Protecting the boundaries, we sacrifice our lives,

Wrong were those people, who sketched these lines.

Seasons change and life evolves,

We dont budge an inch and expose our ground.

In the merciless heat of the enraged sun,

I miss the roof of my village home.

Tired and exhausted, when I used to return at dusk,

Her love and caring would always wipe away my pain.

She used to feed me with her hands, every ounce of a meal,

Her face would light up, when I asked for some more.

Sleeping in her lap, I felt relieved of problems,

Now in severe misery, I often shout her name,

My confidence sinks when I dont find her around.

In the spring, when I see kids playing in the park,

I visualize my angels whom I have seen growing in pictures.

I search for some puerility after an arduous day at work,

Only then I understand why couples germinate a child.

A thought passes my mind, when I look at my hands soaked in blood,

Will my angle recognize me, when I smile and lift her in my arms?

When the howling winds challenges might of the mightiest,

When the Earth is covered with the carpet of snow.

When the sunshine wears the mask of Judas,

And the darkness mocks behind the clouds.

The colourful days will be small and lonely nights will now be long.

I shiver in the ruthless nights and long for the touch of my love,

In the bizarre need of her body, my hand often searches the other side of bed.

Coiled up in the blanket, I sleep with the thought,

She would be reeling for my presence in her lonely nights.

Suddenly my eyes open, when I think, what if...

The departure of autumn leaves, evokes the memories of those gone,

My brothers and my friends who died in my arms.

The drinks we had and the laughs we shared,

were dwindled away in their untimely death.

Carrying their blood soaked bodies; I saved the life of few,

Their dependent condition, now questions my virtue.

Shiver runs through my bones, when I see their paralysed body,

Wrong are those people, who think we are not afraid of death.

Sitting alone in the corner of a room, when I am looking at the pouring raindrops,

And dawdling with the ice cubes in the whisky glass,

I realize while soldiers drink so much and laugh about life.

I should have busted in tears in arms of loves ones long back,

My soul would have lightened and the pain would have eased.

But we had pledged to never bow, no matter what comes our way,

Since, I am a soldier and I cannot cry.

Lust or Love

Drenched in sweat, you were sleeping in my arms,

The next moment you walked away leaving me alarmed.

Stranded and hurt, I am waiting for my recuperation,

So dont heat up your bed, my nights are still lonely.

Marks of our passion are still fresh on my body,

Nostalgia pinches me when I visualize how they were formed.

Your whispering in my ears still tickles me in my dreams,

Poor pillows have now started to complain

Lingering on the thin thread of hopeless hope, I might knock at your door,

Just allow to me to come in, I promise I won’t talk.

I made sure that we never cross our paths,

But the world is harsh on broken hearts,

Tormented and tortured I felt when I saw you blossoming in other’s arms,

How quickly you forgot the times when we used to be desperate to reach our home.

Eating alone in a cafeteria troubles me a lot,

But curled up in the blanket is when I need you the most.

Confused I feel, because I only think about your body,

Was it lust or love? Or they are synonyms of the same.

Ah! That Painting

I am desperately waiting for Friday to arrive,

No Purpose I have to grow my acumen.

There is no FIFA, no IPL to indulge my senses,

Even celebrities have retreated to an episodic isolation.

The emptiness in my head, is arousing my lunacy,

I should find a subject, to vent my frustration.

An article was published about a controversial painting,

On the canvas there was a portrait of a nude goddess bathing.

The subject was spicy and it captured my attention,

My colleagues were drawn into the heat of criticism.

The subject became a supplement with the hot cup of coffee,

And the time now elapsed like the trace of humanity.

Ah! That painting, that useless little painting.

I work for a medium which transmits awareness,

We construct a bridge which elevates the knowledge.

I was searching for a headline, and then I glanced at the portrait,

An idea sprouted when I learned the name of artist.

I prepared an insulting review, because that’s what people like,

Curse is a sentiment, we humans oblige.

I understand the painting and salute its class,

But the fourth estate has to consider the intellect of mass.

I earned fame by defacing a true artist,

Ah! That painting, that unfortunate little painting.

I have grown up in the age of Social Networking,

Facebook is my identity and Twitter defies my intellect.

I respect the Hindu mythology which is engraved in my conscious,

Draupadi was trapped in an Island by a Monster and five husbands had lost Sita in Gamble.

The humor on God is horrendously shameful,

I created a community and then the topic I tweeted …

Ah! That Painting, that dreadful little painting.

Votes, seats and issues are my life,

I earn my living by arousing emotional fools.

I won my people’s heart when I condemned that artist,

They applauded my decision when I banned that painting.

I don’t care about the religion people follow,

I am glad that I was first to ignite the heat of opportunity.

Ah! That painting, that controversial little Painting.

I visualized the scene when a human is born,

Naked by the body, in its purest form,

A white rob would have been Jesus, an orange would have been Ram,

A long cloak would be Allah, and a turban will be the Guru Gobind Maharaja.

I created a portrait which appealed to my senses,

I combined the divineness and the unification of Almighty.

I was stoned to death,

for painting my adorable, precious little muse.

Ah! That Painting, that lovely little painting.

My Life as an Artist

On 15th June 2001, when half of the nation was stirringly booking seats for Aamir Khan's pastoral Lagaan and remaining chunk was going bizarre for Sunny Deol's Potboiler Gaddar, a teenage boy was impulsively striding in a parking lot of an apartment. He verified the time, which increased his heart rate and his pace of walking. He wiped the sweat of his temple and started taking giant deep breaths. He folded his hands, looked up at the sky and started murmuring something. The shining stars and a clear view of the moon in the polluted skies of Delhi, brought an enlivening, innocent smile on the face of the teenager. He went to the washroom and changed into the Kurta-Pyjama. He looked into the mirror and found that his white cheeks had turned red, like a cashmere apple. Holding his pyjama tightly he went up to his mother. She adjusted the elastic and asked him to calm down. He replied, ‘I cannot, it is my first performance.’
The chap was participating in a ten-minute abridged play. He was playing the role of a disturbed husband (a story of every home I guess), it was a comedy and some laughs were expected. There was only one laugh though, which mellowed for 600 seconds. His bliss found no extremities, when he saw the security guard of the other society standing on the divider and laughing. He performed again after six months. This time he played a double role, one of a villager and other of the epic goddess Sita. People loved it, but girls suspected his orientation, however, he replied, ‘an artist is an artist’.

Thereafter, he joined an engineering college and remained secluded from these endeavours for the next couple of years. His vitality had bridled in the mechanical world of vernier callipers, electrodes, capacitors, resistors and the god’s forsaken exams.
During the third year, the wheel of fortune turned. There was a freakish C ++ professor, whom he always imitated in the Hostel. During a personality development workshop, his friends asked him to imitate someone. He stepped on the podium and lorded over the spectators by his performance. They flattered him by commenting that only difference between him and the professor was the professor’s French beard.
He then started imitating actors and TV personalities on stage. He participated in a personality contest and came third. He lost the contest, but garnered everyone’s praise. He participated in the same contest next year and lost again. He was disheartened after the loss and refrained from participating in the final year. However, his father consoled him and asked him to give a last try. During his last performance, there was a hustle in the campus. The students had populated not only the amphitheatre, but also the corridors outside the classroom. His batch mates were chanting his name, but when he came on stage, everyone became quiet. He looked around, observed everyone’s expressions and felt proud and immensely satisfied with what he had achieved in the previous two years. He performed and won the competition in the last year of the college.



He joined a software company and kept the passion burning. He performed in his company’s cultural event. He also shared the stage with euphoria group during the annual prize distribution ceremony. During the second cultural event, the organiser hugged him and said, ‘you have secured my prestige’. None of his friends had come that day, for their own personal reasons. He sat in the front of the mirror in the changing room and read their apology messages. He looked into the mirror, smiled and clapped for the artist, wiping the few tears on his face. He often looks at those pictures and especially those in which the audience is laughing and having a good time.
He moved on and decided to leave mimicry, forever. He gave auditions in his organisation and cleared all rounds. However, on the day of casting, he came to know that the drama was in the regional language and he did not stand a chance. The irony, his company won the first prize. He flung his bag on the bed, sank his face in the pillow and cried.
He started searching for other theatre groups in the city and then he found a group, which could satisfy his hunger for art. He started doing English plays, which changed his outlook towards acting. He improved his walk, speech and expressions. He met people, whose way of thinking compared with that of a genius or an insane. I believe both go hand in hand.




Therefore, you can call me an insane or a genius, but I have decided this is the path for me and I am destined to walk on it. Someday I might be able to break the shackles of this mechanical software world. I have taken the first step, and for the rest of my journey I need your support.