Words and Worlds...

Darkness looms at large outside
eager to trap me...

The road I shall choose
is deserted, barren, rough...

My music will be banned
my words will be veiled...

The world will turn a deaf ear
men will turn away...

But I have a long way to go
countless things to do...
When there is despair around
You shall give me hope...


When there is no one beside
I'll have your hand to hold...
When tunes are lost from life...
you'll be my harmony...
and we'll walk miles
together...

My city

This is my city.
Birds on telephone wires...
A hungry dog waiting,
Patiently near a food stall for his daily crumbs...
This is my city.

A four year old with his little sister,
Balancing along the railway tracks.
Ragged clothes, disheveled hair
Browned by dust...
Illuminating smiles, strengthened with hope...
This is my city.

Narrow lanes, half lighted.
Craftsmen, tired with the day's work...
Hungry and fatigued
Painting the Goddess's eyes...
This is my city.

A little tea stall...
Broken benches and clay cups.
Chatter of life and family...
and the tea maker's collected stories...
This is my city.

The setting sun.
A young group of school goers trotting,
Laughing, talking, tireless...
Full of dreams, high on life.
This is my city.

My city gives me strength.
It gives me courage...
To dream.
It gives me reason...
To love.
This is my city.

Remember me...

Would you remember me as the day gets over?
Slowly, as night ponders whether to take a stroll....
As the tired, defeated cart puller trudges along.

Would you remember me when the kaalbaishaakhi barges in ?
Dust everywhere...adamantly refusing to calm down.
Swaying mango tree, the leaves in their jubilant mood.
A newly wedded girl, sindoor still fresh, drenched sari clasping her
desperately searching for shelter...

Would you remember me in summer afternoons ?
When the cuckoo refuses to stop complaining.
Faint sound of the sitar floats in...
Just used utensils talk in harmony and the young maid
looks out of the window, impatient.
waiting eagerly, for the rendezvous.

I do not need monuments.
Let me live in a little speck in some corner of your life,
overlooked, unseen.
Just remember me as an insignificant beat
an out of tune rhythm,
a flawed taal
among countless such unnoticed things.