The Djembe's** Invite

I thud and thunder
In a rhythmic dance
When skin meets skin
In a spiritual trance

Open your arms
In warm embrace
And I promise magic
By divine grace

Music will stir
Music will churn
In creative joy
Your soul shall burn

With a little time
And a little space
An alive heart
Will have a glowing face

But, you need to be bold
Show some passion
Life is wholesome
Why do you ration?

The choice is yours
If the spirits drop
This African goblet
Is but a house-hold prop



**Djembe is a percussion instrument of African origin

Koi apna sa

Gham - tu apna sa lagta hai
Saaya jo bana phirta hai sang-sang!
Pal bhar teri nazron se ojhal nahin main
Teri mohabbat se kabhi mehroom nahin main
Mujhe dil se chipkaye-simtaye rakhta hai
Tu bada apna sa lagta hai

Par ye Indrajal kaisa? Ye paheli kyun?
Wajah-bewajah ye sar-parasti kyun?
Rulate, kabhi hansate dekha hai tujhe maine
Dard, kabhi dawa bante dekha hai tujhe maine
Naqab-posh hai tu! Phir bhi kahin
Tu jana-pehchana sa lagta hai

Sadak ke us paar Khushi mili thi us roz
Suna hai teri banti nahin usse? Kyun bhala?
Badi hansmukh, chulbuli si hai wo!
Masti lutati, gudgudati si hai wo!
Mera-uska aana-jaana hai - mehmaanon ki tarah
Par tere-mere beech khoon ka rishta lagta hai

Hamaare rishtey se jaltein hain log
Tujhe "Shraap! Bimaari!" kehte hain log
Kehte hain "Gham kisika saga nahin hota"
"Tere zeher ka koi tod nahin hota"
Maana mujhe bhi teri lat si hai lekin
Tu mae se badhkar nashila lagta hai

Sach to ye hai ki meri hi paidaish hai tu
Dil ki mitti ko man ke sanche mein dhaalkar bana hai tu
Chahatein zarooraton ke tarazu mein tulin hain jab jab
Sapnon ka haqiqaton se samjhauta hua hai jab jab
Zindagi ke safar main jab manzil hai gumshuda
Ek tu hi hai jo humsafar sa lagta hai
Gham - tu apna sa lagta hai

Part B: Past Recollections - Timeless eyes**

**I intially wrote this as a present to a couple madly in love. I later changed the theme slightly, inspired by a real-life event.

78 years spent
He woke up one day
In bed by his side
She motionless lay

The face had wrinkled
With hair turned grey
The frame was feeble
Time's waiting prey

Her face was pale
Emotions robbed
The golden heart
No longer throbbed?

He cried out loud
At life's cruel bend
She won the race
He lost in the end

Then his gaze fell
On her open eyes
The same old gleam
The youthful spice

The pristine white
The turquoise prism
What magic charm!
Old magnetism

Unscathed, untouched
By Time's motion
Brimming with Love
Her secret potion

A quick flashback
Evoked emotions holy
As he shakily moved
To close her eyelids, slowly

Part A: Past Recollections - Nazar dhundli si hai**

**I wrote this for a very special friend. I could not attend her wedding. I recorded this in my voice and and this became my wedding gift to her.

Nazar dhundli si hai - saaf dikh nahin raha.
Tagde kuch rishtey aaj adh-pake lag rahe hain.
Aangan ki mitti, pairon ke tale se dheere-dheere khisak rahi hai.
Nazar dhundli si hai - saaf dikh nahin raha.

Duur khada ek aadmi, kuch jaana pehchaana sa lagta hai, kuch apna sa lagta hai.
Uske kandhe shaayad kabhi mera bojh ddhote they.
Haan, wo ungli usi ki thi, jo kabhi mere dagmagate kadmon ko disha detin thi.
Iske dil se main acchi tarah waqif huun - lohe ki tarah sakht hai.
Par usi lohe ko meri choti-choti shararton se, mom ki tarah pighalte dekha hai maine.
Lekin aaj, uske baal safed aur kandhe jhuke se lag rahe hain.
Nazar dhundli si hai - saaf dikh nahin raha.

Is aurat ka itne intezaam mein bhi dil nahin lag raha?
Itni sajavat, itni roushni, itne mehmaan?
Arre, kahin ye wohi to nahin jiski maine tabaah ki hai anginat raatein?
Rote-bilakte-chillaate, use tab tak sone nahin diya jab tak mujhe khud neend nahin aa gayi.
Mujhe sulaate-sulaate uske haath ka thap-thapaana, abhi tak mere peeth pe taaza hai.
Lekin aaj, uske haath kaanp kyun rahe hain? ye chudiyaan itna shor kyun kar rahi hain?
Nazar dhundli si hai - saaf dikh nahin raha.

Waqt ka ghoda belagaam ho chala hai, ek arsa usne aaj ek hi shaam mein daud liya.
Mera safar lamba hai - duuri zyaada nahin - par faasla kaafi hoga.
Chalo samaan baandh lein - wo kamra, wo bachpan ke khilone, wo bistar.
Wo khidki jisne sujhaaye na jaane kitne mausam,
Wo sambhaal ke rakhe hue mere kapde,
Wo school-bag, wo kitaabein, wo aaeena, wo gali ka baansuri-waala,
Wo park, wo ice-cream ki dukaan, ye galiyaan, wo raaste aur wo chauraahe ka bhikhari.
Mujhe wo sab chahiye jinke bagair main "main" nahin. Safar lamba hai.

Aaj meri vidai hai. Man kuch bhaari sa hai.
Ankhon me nami hai, aur nazar dhundhli si hai.
Yaadon ke is kohre mein, ek dost bhi yaad aata hai - dhundhla sa.
Tha ek anadi - waise dubla-patla, par akl moti.
Uske saath maine apne kuch lamhein bitaaye hain - kabhi hanste, kabhi gaate.
Wo kahin nazar nahin aa raha - shaayad pahunch nahin paya hai.

Nazar dhundli si hai - saaf dikh nahin raha.

The future of hate

Premise..

Came to my ears, just yesterday
It could not see, the light of day
A promising start, a fresh new life
Clinically cut short, through culture's knife

The man she loved, was Muslim
The Hindu girl, knew chances were slim
Under deep-rooted, centuries of hate
Swallowing tears, she accepted her fate

The history of hate..

In a quake of sorts, the Arabian deserts shook
Blood-thirsty tribes, recieved a new outlook
Peace had yawned, on a people savage
A prophet had promised, a golden age

A commune formed, with ideas revolutionary
Evangelist zeal, formed a well-oiled machinery
It unified people, under a tight regiment
But at the cost of tolerance, some lament

They were right, and only they
There was but, only one way
War cries boomed, at high decibels
The faithful, versus the infidels

As savageness peaked, frenzy caught on
With dogmatic might, the juggernaut rolled on
Crushing people, that came in the way
Destroying cultures, that had something to say

Then one day, they reached our land
A motley people, a mystic band
An artist's canvas, colors aplenty
Spiritual treasures and riches in plenty

Plunder followed. Carnage! Conversion!
Pray what rationale, for such subversion?
Why transform, a splendid rainbow
To a monochrome, by a show of crossbow?

Imposition attempts, went on for years
But it still didn't ring, in the tyrants' ears
That religions can grow, by the force of sword
But in coerced hearts, can there be love of the Lord?

In the present..

The scars of hostility, are yet to heal
But the land stands firm, with a progressive will
Regression sulks, in an isolated cage
Facing relegation, to a history page

Future of hate..

We must though, continue
To look at all, from a liberal view
Uphold our diversity, and tolerance
With a broad mind, not a narrow lens

Each of us, must have the right to choose
Faith is a necklace, surely not a noose
Abundant sunshine, water, fresh air
And freedom to grow, is a sapling's best care

----------------------------------------------------------------------
**Premise based on the Rizwanur Rehman murder case.
Additional reference on the 'History of hate' @ http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Persecution_of_hindus

Compromise

Splat! It missed my feet by inches - a colorful concoction of beetlenut-leaf juice and human saliva.
This sudden external stimulus was akin to a viper spitting venom. The momentary defensive response gave way to volcanic aggression. Anger, disgust and rush of blood joined hands to become choicest Hindi expletives!
Bh@#%^&#, ch#$&*#, teri *&^ *@!
All in vain. The anonymous enemy had disappeared into the motley crowd of passengers, visitors, taxi drivers, policemen, beggars and stray dogs. Could there have been a better welcome outside the Mumbai internatioal airport?

A few deep breaths later, I had time to reflect on my behavior. The queue for taxi-booking was proverbially a mile long. "Was your outburst commensurate with your image? An MNC manager returning from US - does 'Bh@#%^&#' sound nice emanating from you? Relax! Control yaar!" I told myself sarcastically.
"Hold on, just a dozen more heads before your turn comes..hold on!" I reassured myself. Hot and humid evening, a crowd of sweaty smelly people and the mountain of luggage I was lugging along formed a potent combination of irritants. But the destination was visible now. After almost half an hour of jostling, the paan-stained glass-shattered taxi booking counter was finally visible.
Not so soon.
In walked from the passenger exit, a big-burly figure wearing a spotless white pathan suit. The area upwards of his forehead was as infertile as the Thar desert. All vegetation had moved to the face it seemed. His thick, dark beard made him look
ferocious. "Surely a Jaat from Haryana" I thought. I hated the very look on his face.
He walked towards us assuredly and calmly turned straight towards the counter. I was infuriated. I summed up my courage and raised my voice.
"Boss, humlog ek ghante se line mein khade hain. Aap line mein kyun nahin aate?"
I then looked behind, ahead and sideways for support. None came my way.
The only thing that did - was that big-burly figure. He said in an unperturbed deep-baritone voice, "Aapko koi taqleef?".
After a brief pause, I wiped the sweat off my forehead, took a gulp, looked 'up' at the looming figure and replied nervously -
"Umm..aaa..Nahin Sir, taqleef kis baat ki. Aaa..Aap ko jaldi hogi. Koi baat nahin Sir!"
"Bh@#%^&#, ch#$&(#, teri *&^ *%" came out yet again as the Jaat turned his back. Only that the decibel level was much lower.

I had paid Rs. 300 for an old dilapidated yellow-black taxi for a 7 km distance - a princely amount by Indian standards. This was my chance to relax a bit after the 16 hour air-travel. More than a 'bit' actually - it generally takes an hour to cover 7 Kms in Mumbai.
I tossed some luggage into the back-seat and settled in the front. I had just about closed my heavy eyelids when the vehicle came to a screeching halt. As I opened my eyes, a woman and her kid smoothly crossed the road - barely inches ahead
of us! Despite being so close to a fatality, nobody seemed to have been alarmed!
Was I the only one that felt the goose bumps?
I realized I was done in by six months of conditioning - driving in the US. The next half an hour was a nightmare to say the least. Aggressive lane cutting, absence of traffic signals at important crossings, pedestrians jumping in impulsively - whuff! Price tag on human life seemed so cheap. Pedestrians put their life at risk, so did drivers and so did the general public that inhaled the deadly polluted air. My pulse rate raced. So much for wanting to relax a bit.

In the last leg of my 7 Km journey, a thousand comparisons between US and India flooded my mind. I had lived a regal life back in Atlanta - a huge apartment with a swimming pool and tennis court, an awesome car and terrific clean roads to drive on. There were systems and processes setup for everything and more importantly, everyone adhered to them.
Comparedly - India, like before, seemed so unruly. Everyone had to fend for themselves in the daily struggle for survival. And in that struggle, people seemed to have adapted to anarchy. Indians seemed to have resigned to Jungle Raj, and I would have to fall in line too, in due course.
"You chose to!" I reminded myself. I could have extended my assignment, but had felt home-sick, and decided to return.
"Was it the right decision?" I contemplated seriously.

I rang the door-bell. I was exhausted from the ordeal of the last 24 hours, and perhaps a little bitter.
Ma opened the door. It had been six months since having seen this expressive face. Expectancy in her eyes turned into childish joy. It warmed my heart.
Shveta came out of hiding from behind Ma. She had been a perfect wife - a source of dependable support for the family in Mumbai and also for me from so far away. Her smile said it all. She was relieved to have me back.
Dad and younger brother were more conservative in their welcome. The familiar smell of the small yet cosy 2-BHK apartment felt nice. My fatigue melted away effortlessly.

At the dining table, over my first helping of favorite home cooked food, only three things stayed with me. Ma's expectant eyes, Shveta's relieved smile and the sweet smell of what I knew as home. I somehow knew instantaneously that this ecosystem could not be replicated at or exported to any other place. I realized how critical these factors were to what makes me as a person. I would not say that in that one moment, my inferences were all rational. But one thing is for sure - there was absolute clarity.
I was convinced that I could not give this up for anything in this world - not for the daily conveniences, not for the quality of life.

I had afterall made the right decision. Paan spits and the great Indian anarchy were compromises I could live with :)

Some days back

The MARTA train chugged along to North Springs.
As I got into my car, you leapt at me.
That familiar smiling face, the warm embrace.
Some days back, you were for real.

Driving down GA-400 was directionless.
In a desperate want of destination.
But then, Exit 11 was home, wasn't it?
Some days back, my house was home.

I opened my mailbox.
The usual ad pamphlets - dustbin fodder.
This time though, I put them in my pocket.
Some days back, you'd found them of use.

At a slight detour from the mailroom.
The swing - crafted of wood, amidst a nice green patch.
I swung under the bright afternoon Sun.
Some days back, it was freezing cold.

I unlocked the door. Entered my apartment.
Was it you - lying on the couch?
Was it you – the little girl running around?
Some days back, these were sights to behold.

The kitchen looked aghast at its loss.
You had brought it the respect it deserved.
Cooking for just a single soul now, feels a burden.
Some days back, even doing dishes had its charms.

Politics on TV - invites scolds no more.
Netflix movies have lost their spice.
The comfy bed is but solitary confinement.
Some days back, I had your lap for pillows.

Your absence is bluntly unaffordable now.
A soul-less career takes a price too high.
Those few days are now worth in gold.
Some days back, I had made my millions.