Skip to main content

I Won't Wipe the White-Board Clean

 


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, the markers in status-quo,
Because that's how things were, and will be once you've gone.
I need you to know that I won't change for you,
And nor will the appearance of my creations.
For that matter, neither will change for anyone.
And change, if it occurs, will be documented truly,
In its gradual progression, not as an abrupt transformation-
These are things I want you to know-
I want you to see my journey from Eidelweiss to Indi-Pop,
Or from Enid Blyton to Jeffrey Archer- with all the rungs
In-between- the soft Hindi music as well as the Agatha Christies.
So, as tempting as it is, when you're about to arrive,
I won't, shan't- wipe my whiteboard clean. 

Image Courtesy: https://in.pinterest.com/pin/317714948685377095/

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

What the New Year Means to Me

 What does the new year mean to me? I don't know.  I think it just means that I can give myself another chance to try, fail, succeed.   I think it means that I can spend time with family, differently this time. I think it means that I can connect with people and with myself, in new ways.  I also think that it gives me a chance to see things with a different lens. The kaleidoscope becomes a periscope. I don't know what else. Every year, I put on a new pair of goggles. Every year, I grow, whether I try, or not. Some things may work as I had expected them to, some may not. But who knows?  I will allow myself to be Novak Djokovic in my arena, who hears his name when the crowd cheers for Nadal or Federer. I will allow myself to be Rafael Nadal, who always has a plan, no matter how bleak or bright things may seem, and sticks to it. I will allow myself to be Roger Federer, who glides in, serves, plays and walks out, all in grace and style. I will allow myself to b...
1 comment
Read more

Fact and Fantasy

How much is fact, and how much is fantasy? Winter mornings are dewdrops. They settle like the treble in a song, only to fade away like echoes.  I can hold them on my fingertips, but the next instant they are gone. Elusive. Just like peace. Just like people you don't really know. Come to think of it, I realize that everything in this world is transient. The barking of the dogs in the neighborhood. The incessant crying of a baby. The footsteps of the milkman. The steady, tremulous tone of someone making a point over the phone. The chatter of neighbors. Yet, only a few moments have passed before I can remind myself that transience is, after all, a tricky business. Everything appears temporary because it is warped by time and spaced into a fragment of its entirety. What appears to be a puzzle, is actually just one piece.  I am wearing the most concrete example of this irony of interconnectedness. Of permanence. Of durability. It wraps your hands and skin in the warmth of several i...
Post a Comment
Read more

Nut and Shell

 Coconut Tender as a coconut. Hard as a coconut. Light as a coconut. Heavy as a coconut. I wish I was a coconut Today... A double-shelled, strange coconut. They call those people coconuts Whom they cannot understand, Like tapping on hard rock but not getting hurt- Like knocking against the hollow And shaking a bowl of jingling water That is cushioned by tender walls. Well, maybe people could be coconuts They could have hard shells and tender interiors, A hard crunch but a sweet essence- I would like to believe so. I want to know why I'm fascinated by the coconut. It can't be solely because of its duality. It can't be its beguiling double facedness. What is it, then? I feel like maybe a shaft of light A hollow for each hard tap- Tears through the hard door. An intriguing belt of  adventurous light Wriggles out from apparent darkness. Mystery, mystery. That's what it is. The mysterious coconut.  It has a shell But it has a soul- Shell protects soul, Soul preserves shell I...
Post a Comment
Read more