Mother River

My eyes are wide open
never observed you from this height
View is scary, at times delight
Inside is beauty to feel
Seen from outside, and, here
I see you have been hiding the fact
Swift you are- aggression level highest
Rocks standing there know you more than me
Lame they are in front of you, as if you
Dislike disturbance even the slightest



You never let me know the frothing white,
Tigress grabbing cub, color has been blue
So soothing, caring, assuring and true.
Far, one of those banks, I see,
I see myself getting dirty a hundred times,
You sanitizing me hundred and a one times


For hiding best pebbles in places I knew,
For holding me up when I was drowning,
For taking my share of tears and inflating my joys,
For being cool in summers and warm in winters,
For teasing intimacy by sprinkles, whenever I was with her,
For making me feel special when you have many others

I am short of words, you know short of worth.



I tell you the world outside are dry.
Hunger, health, love, despise,
Money, faith, expectations
Whatever and any how they just cry.
No one out there to listen, no one live enough to feel.


Thank you for teaching me how to be alive and float,
For making me realize time is best when present,
Enabling me think the way living ones are ought to.


Noon is scorching, bright is even brighter
When I know this is the last light.
Angry with you-
You never taught, I never realized,
People see papers, not persons
Love sees fame, not eternity
Friends seek competition, not sacrifice
Growth sees opportunity, not patience
Success sees force, not passion
Money seen by everyone, itself is blind

Manhunt moreover, extinction of mankind

Before your splendor push me away from the sight
I, your son, protest and request my right
To be in continuum, as you are
And make my self free, you are!



I am not here to struggle, mother, it has been a lot
Soft bed of grains and shells, I deserve some slot




I know there will be pains; it was there when I was born
We about to share the pain second, last time
I assure you there will be joys; it was there when I was born
Again I will be safely cuddling in the womb
My soul being free, with a promise-
To sleep, sleep and sleep
Giggling, as when, you like teasing

An ode to my teachers

Through out my school I do not remember any single day where I demanded not to go to school. Preparations started as soon as the night before itself, I found immense satisfaction in polishing my as well as my father's shoes to mirror.I even bunked my school bus back to home when I was in UKG once, just to get more ride of my favourite toy horse. And I was in big trouble because my school was in between Raebareli and Lucknow. In my childhood I was troubled by bullies and as they say, evolution, I grew faster than peers so all things were stable soon.because other were not sure what this tall chap can do as I did nothing to hurt.

If someone asks me what were your building blocks I will say 3 teachers, several books and my own ability to question things as well as to take things at face value itself, in decreasing order of priority.

The first teacher was an old white woman, mother of our principal, Mrs. Rodrigues. She wore single piece with flowers all over and always threatened to break the knuckles with stick. And such was her influence that we were writing essays by the time we were in class 2!.But after class 3, some other teacher started coming, she was young, beautiful and charming but she was not Mrs. Rodrigues.
We got a chance, we were told that today ma'am will not teach, and we were so happy that we did not listen to what the old lady was saying sweetly and calmly. Next thing I remember is visiting graveyard.

The second teacher is Mrs.Sinha, I call her Manorama ma'am.
Hindi teacher, so nothing relates to academics.But I still do not know what made her believe that I as a silent backbencher was fake.She made me into full fledged artist, sportsman, monitor of class and finally house captain.Though introducing to dramatics is credited to the 3rd teacher.and they fought for me because I was as good as english general fighting jhasi ki rani as shouting blood as in tatya tope.The last time I remember Manaroma ma'am, she was shouting at me, for being a bad finisher. I miss her a lot, she is in no contact after that and I just wish that someday she comes to know that I still remember her, her words and my strive against my natural self.

The Third teacher is Mrs. Namita Aiyer.
She came into my life when I was in class 8.
And this time I found a person who has done homework.She started spilling beans, calling me "split personality".
At that time I could not Imagine more beautiful living being. And when imparting knowledge, she always gave extra which will continue to help and guide.

Lessons learnt in hard way, I still talk to her, she is in Ahmedabad, though stopped teaching.She is my oldest friend, others are there, but we never appreciate hibernation mode.