The Happy Wanderer

Strong girls are turbulent rivers Turbulent, tenacious Self-controlled, forceful, Brazen  Streams  That surge- surge ahead Propelled by Dreams And compelled by  Fear  Of contamination and  By the  Turn of the tide. Strength must foster more strength. And every dream must merit Proof of concept.  To keep the river together Through adhesion and cohesion  The river must bear   ....The river flows in me.. To be continued..

"I began to realize how important it is to be an enthusiast in life.  White hot and passionate is the only thing to be."                                   -Roald Dahl  Confetti on the Tree  The confetti on the tree Well, that calls to me! Ribbons, strings, paper bonnets  They call to me. Roots remain rooted, None uprooted Stems stay steeped No sap has seeped Yet the confetti on the tree The Christmas-y blitz and glitz And glamour- shimmering and glimmering Rising into an uprising- It gives me a faint, Yet quaint, call.  The ribbons on the mighty tree Beckon me to run up to them Admire them Then ruffle them up a bit And give them the friendly old pat For making the tree beautiful. Woe be me- says the tree- the confetti- The fluff on the head- for it to soothe the shoots And calm the roots And keep the tree in one piece- It'd have to be less glitzy And more... ...

We are all threads of one fabric- The fabric of the human experience. Embroidered by effort, dampened by tears, Emblazoned by ambition, creased by anger- We are all threads of the same single fabric- Which is the fabric of our human emotion. Emotions that flow, those that can't Those that sneak away, waiting to be discovered- And those that comfort us In times of distress. We are drawn by our emotions like puppets tied To a string- becoming caricatures in the live play Which is our every day life. And yet, it is  These emotions that define us. You, me , everybody- Tied together by shared experiences that are Composed of shared sentiment. And yet, pangs of doubt refuse to depart- Is that which I'm feeling, justified? Is it alright? I say to you- I think every feeling has a place. Yours, mine, theirs, everyone's. It's got a role to play. So don't hold it back, pin it down or push it away- There's a definite reason that it's here for you today. Differences defi...

  Sforzando (in music, Italian): played with a prominent stress or accent- used as a direction in music “I am not the languid legato- Played swiftly and in ballet-like grace- I am not the crisp, aloof staccato- The tangent cut against the circle of a tune, Sharp, patent, chivvying the other notes To be bolder- I am not the stern tenuto- Making appearances at the end of musical phrases- I am not the wistful tremolo- nor the bristling trill- Each blending into the magic of the tune With unparalleled subtlety- innocuous, smooth, Blending into every fiber with poise… I may be an outsider; who would say that I belong- An outsider, imposter, traitor, and rebel- yes, I am All of these things- I arrive with a bang Depart with a smash- I hoodwink you I play you… you may call me vindictive, Un-abiding and a transgressor. I don’t conform, I don’t submit, I exist, I am, I shine, I disregard The other entities that precede, And follow me- my fellow musica...

Golden halos graze lavender breezes Fresh marigold blooms caress verdant tresses.. Rose-sprays engulf cherry-blossoms Soothing lilts in familiar tones traipse in traces.. The ground shakes, crumbles, folds, And peels into seams barricading  Heaven from the Underworld. The skies from the undergrowth. The ventured from the unknown. I feel anticipation throb against my chest- Pain pelting my heart, horror seizing my mind- The charm of the face, the charisma of the gait, Lend the atmosphere an uncanny poignancy... Ripe yodels seize the air, elegant tunes rent the breeze Warmth embraces me amidst a chill storm Like sun dappling in unseen corners on hidden  Mosses, lichen, mistletoe. My eyes are rapt My gaze intrepid, unwavering, dazed. Violas and banjos, guitars and cellos,  Pluck at my heart-strings, rattle my bones, Only to tune them to their synchronous frequency. I clasp the nearest object, I am now enamored. Multiple motifs creep stealthily into unwatched corners Of my be...

 Let me start by saying that I'm not sure why I chose to write this. It may have been because I was too overwhelmed for the past 28 months to elucidate my feelings as anything coherent. Or it may, equivalently, be because I hold so much against the entire class that I felt that I just had to give vent to all of it before saying 'Adios, Sayonara, Au Revoir.' Well, you know I'm kidding about that last one. :)  "The years gone by." They have been two long years, haven't they? Rhetorical question. I know they have. Time usually flies like an ISRO Rocket diving upwards into space to launch the Mars Orbiter Mission when I'm in school. Now it just simpered through the space like a feeble paper-plane. It was exhausting, to say the least. Yet, in many ways, I'm thankful that these two years happened this way. I couldn't have imagined them any differently, because COVID had killed my imagination. I'm being honest about this, one hundred per cent. The...

  Let what is, be what is seen... Don't force me to clean the white-board, my doodles, my imagination, My math, my trepidation, My haiku, my not-haiku-  Don't urge me to rub these off...  For, even if it leaves marker-smudges or deep imprints, I won't. I won't wipe the white-board clean, If I hadn't intended to today, before you said you'd drop in. I won't wipe the white-board clean, Because it was never on my plan, anyway... I won't do it, just because you're calling on me today. I don't want to show you the spic-and-span, I don't want to show you an empty land, I want you to see what I've been seeing, What I've been doing, and not doing, And saying, and not saying- I want you, To be allowed, to decide, whether you want To read my white-board or not... I want to give you that fair choice. For caricatures are all fine, but not with good friends, And not with good people. I'll leave the easel threadbare, The canvas en forme pleine,...

  Dedicated to my youngest nephew (as of now), Rishabh Iyer, a.k.a. Rishi... :) N ÉE  Edmonton, Canada.. The temperature was minus-something degrees Celsius, Freezing, chittering cold clipping at bones and shaking teeth, When a young lad, hale and healthy, arrived to grace a household, Which, like every other, was plagued by a pestering pandemic. He was little, sweet, and playful- eyes like tiny stars twinkling into the snow, Hands like tiny shovels, ready to scoop all the fractals of ice off the driveway, A smile ready to ring in merriment in the form of shrill squeals and gurgling laughter.. An easy manner, a mild temper, an impatient presence, a sweet shyness- Everything a blessing, heralding warmth in a land where one was chilled to the marrow. They called him Rishi- short for Rishabh. I liked the name- I took a liking to it instantly, Yet, Rishi preferred to be led along the house and garden through a series of gestures, Rather than by the call of his name. It made everyt...

  The tree says Hi! My balcony was briefly an arboretum. Windswept leaves splayed over the floor  Like champion specimens -parts of a fine species- Careening into a welcoming sanctum That is otherwise empty- save for clothes on stands Or people on feet. When this tree paid its timely visit Luckily, there was nothing, no-one. It probably seized A rare chance- when it was out of anchor, fit and fine, In form- and the tiled floor bare. No sign of occupation. It bore its way past the metal rails that serve to Prevent our falls, but here cushioned the tree's. It rested its somber branches easily on the rail, Which is mighty strong and sturdy, as I can now discern. It snooped its slender branches threateningly over A cauldron of leaves. Green cauldron, green sorcerer. When I woke, there it was, unshakeable, unmovable. Oh, it was mobile alright. It'd have moved of its own will. It was merely enjoying its soiree in a forbidden land, Like we all do. But it just stared at me, with compo...

 My Journey with Basketball that has been as much of a roller-coaster as Sooley's, though in an entirely different way. Samuel Sooleyman. A South Sudanese teenager for whom basketball is life. It's what he does on the dirt-caked streets for the most of his day that he has to himself, with love, devotion and of course, tenacity. Aparna Iyer. An Indian teenager who feels proud just to say she can shoot a couple of baskets, no more, no less committed. And loves to hear the slapping sound of the ball against the board as it delicately curves inside the net. Not much of a resemblance, you'd say. Samuel towers over the rest, bracing the basket at a solid 6 feet 4 inches. And growing. Aparna cowers to the hoop at a modest 5 feet 3 inches. This itself could speak for the play, but let's say, size is misleading. Even then, maybe the common thread, for starters, is merely that both 'Sooley', as he has been nicknamed, and Aparna, love basketball from the bottom of their he...

A landscape of feathers The smoothest natural canvas, For Nature's painter- Alighting while parading its beauty Before retreating  Into a well-worn easel. Soot-black, rust-grey, brown like tinsel, Folding up and pulling down the covers Over grace, beauty and space, Compounded with distance, Rendering known unknowns, beautiful art. Now mingled with unknown knowns, Streaks of color paint the marauded canvas Differently. Camouflage seems eminent, Unimportance, inadvertent. The marvels Of the aerial world, beget stupor as  They transform into the pedestrian In the realm which is terrestrial. The miracle of flight now a bane, As for food they must forage  With feet, not fly with feathers. I don't want to startle them. It is silence that beckons them to the ground. Startlement stirs them upwards, into the skies, Simpering, whimpering, not soaring and diving- Trespassers on a land where they are weak, Vulnerable- they know they can't win. Aviation is a weapon futile against...

  "When I was a little boy, my mom used to say, 'Son, the most powerful, the most dangerous creature on this whole Earth is a woman who knows how to think.' "       - Richard Williams, father of the Williams sisters (Venus Williams and Serena Williams) After a long sojourn from watching movies in the theatre, I finally paid a visit to the big screen last week. :) I cannot express my elation at entering the Multiplex Theatre. Absence truly had made the heart grow fonder! If you find me tripping to the movies more often now onwards than before, once the restrictions are uplifted, of course, these two years will have been responsible for it.  The choice of movie was fortuitous. However, there's no denying that I am a tennis lover, which means that the tale of the legendary Williams sisters had always been on my 'To-Watch' list. So we booked two seats for 'King Richard', a biopic of sorts tailored around the pivotal role played by Richard Williams in l...

Sometimes we wait too long, To speak our minds. We let lingering truths linger, We let sporadic clocks, chime.. We allow patient seams to fritter away Like a sparrow does with the timber of the tune That she was shrouded by; shrill words tearing  Ears, each word she utters, careful, today. While the first day it was a free reign, until Some unctuous winds carried to her, criticism. Just the same way as copper utensils in a house Of steel, are anyone's delight, until bronzed,  With wear and use, both are the victims Of sundry needs and glances. Just the same way, some things, Are stowed away in careful pockets Because they have borne a lot of perusing When kept in the open.  Like love. Like hurt. Like envy. Like silence. Trust and truth are two things I can list, That are given, that are l'habitude. I tell the truth because it is, it exists, It is what I perceive, it is what I've lived.. And I keep your trust, because I've learnt That it'll help you keep mine, it wil...

Just the other day, I was thinking, whether, you know, there is such a thing as a 'right'. Now, I'm not referring to the direction, which I know you would certainly have put out of the question, or the Constitutional Principle- that which allows me, forthwith, to express freely here -or the moral doctrine that goes a long way in dictating most of our actions. Nah. What I want to tell you about is much simpler, because it's colloquial. And if we can get someplace else with the meaning of the word, starting from here, I can bet you that it'll be a worthwhile journey. What I've been hinting at (which is easier to guess if you say the word 'right' five times than with a thesaurus at hand), is that it's sometimes alright, oxymoronic as this may sound, for there not to be a right. For there not to be an 'accurate'. For there not to be... accuracy, correctitude, pointedness, unblemished-ness. (Pardon me the coinage of the last one.) There is a funda...