ONE AND ONLY MR. BOOTS

KAALU THE VAGABOND

HANGING GARDEN OF BABYLONE

ON THE WAY TO JAIPUR - A HURRICANE TOUR

A LONE VISITOR

MORE PICS OF THE GREEN VEIL

THE VEIL THAT MY ABODE SHROUDS

The green veil that shrouds my abode. I nurture them like new borns and as they grow young and strong I feel mother's pride. They give me solace in trying times of stress and angst; a basket full of joy and jubilance when a tiny bud smilingly peeps out of the foliage defying the heat and dust of peak summer. A black and blue twittering shiny bird comes every morning and sashays its tail against the velvet green. It pecks the brown stems as though kissing a hullo and flitters away as the day breaks in. The sun plays hide and seek with the playful clouds and the shadows dance on the leaves. When rain lashes down during monsoons, pearly droplets slither down the slender strips of green and yellow of the hanging plants one by one on the puddle below creating a splutter of dancing acqua angels as though lifting their delicate feet up and down and swirling their skirts of pure white on the waterbed in intricate swerves and stances; ....pok.....pok....pok their tapping feet echoe on the trapped pool. Sometimes I open my eyes to a cluster of dewdrops snugly nestling on the palm fronds. All dreams come true when the breeze blows and an intoxicating fragrance of freshly blossomed jasmine filters in. Sometimes the bees croon a song and once in a while a butterfly with its transient wings of fire flies in. A squirrel has befriended me and scampers in boldly almost upto the entrance door poking its nose here and there as though in search of something or perhaps checking out a new found domain suddenly stumbled upon in his daily schedule of busy bustle. A cacophony of screeches and squeaks pours in from somewhere up. I look up to find a horde of parrots swinging their long green tail on the cable wire and robustly quarreling with one another. Just now a pair of sparrows rushed in and tried to perch on the window pane, in vain, incessantly chirping at the same time. A black crow and a few swallows are also part of the family. Kaalu the vagabond is a permanent fixture lazily stretched near the balcony door (there's a space in between which is open and unfenced), sometimes mud splurged, impish, snuggling upto the softness of the green and mischievously stealing a bite of the young, green stem or the leaves. I find peace here , happiness and loads of tranquil dreams take shape in the motley of colours, hues, shadows, twitters, scampers, yelps and chirps that follow a somwhat daily routine. I did not want to fence the green but the vagabond made it imperative as her favourite past time was to nibble away the leaves, chew away the moss grasses and peel off the barks of the trees with the aim to have stronger teeth. Now she is fenced out and hovers around with a questioning look and sometimes in a fit of protest gives a shake to the iron barrier with little paws stuck in between the mesh which shakes with mirth but stands still.

There is a smirge of red and mauve in between which flame as the sun blazes hot and small orange and yellow flowers on the pomegranade tree sway slightly with a knowing gleem as I water its stems. I know not the name of a little plant with deep purple cluster of petals; it throws off a heady fragrance as soon as the droplets of water touch the leaves. The China Roses are pink and white. The flaming red ones are outside in the park. The Jasmine has turned into a clumsy bush. Contrary to nature, the bottlebrush like a puritan dame stands erect in an aristocratic pose. The Christmas trees sturdy and old. The Marigolds have just begun sprouting but the Pappaya has risen to height already with a burst of green with yellow striped star shaped leaves. The Chameli is temperamental and blooms now and then when she feels like. The Champa was marauded once by the labourers working on the top floor. But I saw clumps of green cushioning again its spiky stems. The Palm fronds have really struck a chord with the others and have unfurled in huge bold strips. Its a pleasure to see them uncoil from curly closed strips of nascent green to supine velvety plumes. The tender stalks of many a plant look promising now. I hope it rains this afternoon so that I can gather more moments of green and translucent drops of crystals sequinning the beds with sheen. Buno comes once in a while, docile, submissive, shy. I pat her head and she sits with her head down quietly. Oh and yes Mr. Boots! the guardian of the house, takes stalk of things, erect afoot on the spiky balcony walls. He barks loudly at times to the rain bird who comes especially to meet him. The rain bird with the orange beak and white body tells stories of faraway lands to Boots. He listens with interest, his ears quaintly picked up and a deep frown on the forehead as he fails to image pairs of flying wings soaring amidst willowy cottony clouds. The water lilies laugh at him from their high perch. The brown cat lurks with a stealthy gait in the front park. Kaalu chases him while Boot ignores. Kaane has become old and philosophical and does not mind Boots' grumbles and growls anymore. He comes sometimes to quench his thirst from the earthen pot left outside.
This is my world and I love it so and will not like to change and go. When I retire from the bustle of a demanding job I shall sit amidst these green fronds and day dream of some fairy land of angels, elves, dwarfs and dawns of beautiful splurge of colours and songs. I shall await till then every morn to hear the dawn of melodious songs.

RANDOM

Infinity is not a number
But a concept
A symbol denoting human incapacity
To imagine beyond a certain numerical limit.

EKALAVYA

He sits and broods.
In the midst of a bottle-green forest of thick foliage and rising mist!
He lies still and thinks.
He castigates his own weaknesses with a remorse-laden whip.
He remonstrates himself and
Demonstrates
No softness in admonishment.
He repents his own foolhardiness
And laments his kith and kin
Why is he so directionless in his acumen and skill?
Why can he not unbridle his passion
With the bow and the arrow
And show the world
His prowess and win
The unadulterated encouragement
Of his Master
Whom he worships in the solitude
Of the Jungle
But knows not how to
Approach him
As he bears the burden
Of blood and sin
Of belonging to a
Lowly kin


He has seen the Master
Day after day
Guide the others
The Royal Kin
The privileged and the
Powerful
The willful and the
Sinful
He has seen them all
In their every stance
And knows they
Stand not a single chance
If he strings the bow
And pierces the arrow
Through the
Humming wind
Oh! If only he could
Belong to a Higher,
Nobler kin!

He shakes up from his reverie
And picks up the bow at last
He closes his eyes
In deep concentration
And shoots the arrow
Which blasts
Through the breeze
In fiery speed
Racing against Time
And so fast!
That it is almost
Unseen
And Unmarked
Hark! It lashes
Through the green
A swish of baton
That springs
Unaware
On the chosen beast
Aghast!!!
He knows that his
Diligence has
Paid at last
He is ready to face the
Master
Whose footsteps
He has followed
Quietly but steadily
In the depth of the
Dark green
And sure his Master
Will be proud of Him
What is the fear and shame?
Even if he belongs to a
Lowly kin


Here he stands
In front of Him
With his heart
In his mouth
The devout
And the Master
He says it aloud
“I have followed
You Oh Master!
In my dreams &
Days of toil
Unheard, unseen
Un ushered
Into your fold
Of plebian discipline
But I have followed you
Oh Master
In quiet submission
And respect
Like a disciple
Following his Lord
Through thick and thin
I have followed you Master
And guided I have been
By your preaching
And tutored I have been
By your words and actions
In hiding, Of course
Since
I belong not to
A Noble kin
I could not seek your blessings
In open and bring
Glory to you thee Master
By my offerings”

The Master stands still
For a while
And then picks up the bow
“Show me your skill”
Says he, “Let me see how well
You have learnt me son!”
The boy bows down to the Master’s feet
And kisses the earth on which rests he
Picks up the bow and the arrow
With great reverence
He closes his eyes and sees inward
His Masters image in his heart
He strums the bow like a piece
Of Chord
And places the arrow with
Skilful accord
And shoots the dart in the air
Which springs to life
Like a rare
Piece of music
And cuts the air
With crisp precision and spears
Ahead
As the others watch with bated breath
The arrow pierces
The chosen victim
With stunning accuracy.

The Master rises and claps his hands
In utter astonishment and joy
Says he, “My boy!
You have done me honour
By choosing me as your
Master”
The boy melts away in shame
To hear his Master claim
Him to be his best pupil.
A reward that he deserves
The most
And the cheers
That fill the air
Of the gathered spectators.
The boy bows down again
To the Master with
Sheer reverence
As he gets up to go and
Stand with the rest
Of the royal kin
He thinks
The time has come
When he will not be barred
Because his lowly kin

The Master speaks
There’s a chill in his voice
“Son! You have learnt me well
But have not paid my return
As I have taught you all
That I could not even teach
The rest”
The boy stands his ground
Tall and proud
But not vain
Says he, “Oh Master!
Tell me what can be a fitting
Tribute to you that I give,
Tell me now and I shall
Do my level best to
Get the same
Whatever you name”

The Master smiles with a
Glint of vice
Extends his right hand
With the thumb held aloft
“I want this, your right thumb
My boy, a fitting tribute to my teachings
And crib not while giving it away
As this is it that will show the way
To the rest of your likes
Who try to match the skill
And fancies of the superior kin”

A hush falls in the gathered audience
A silence that speaks volumes
A stillness of awe
And stunned apprehension
A speechlessness that assumes
Words
The boy quietly comes forward
And speaks he strong and clear
“Oh Master Dear!
Your word is Law
I give you here
My right thumb so dear
To me
I know hereafter
I will never be able to
Pick up the bow and the arrow
But I hope my offering
Will not deter
Anyone who wish to
Rear a dream so rare
To perfect a craft
Which he is not born to learn
I pray that day comes soon
When a pupil gets the boon
To get what he seeks
And not fear
Punishment for nurturing a
Dream
Just so coz’ he does not
Belong to the perfect kin”

So speaks the boy and cuts his thumb
Looks not he back again
Whilst the others watch mute and dumb
The Master vents a sigh of relief
Now there is no one at least
To challenge his favourite
The Chosen One
He shall reign supreme
At the cost of a broken heart and hand
Of a downtrodden, the dusty one
Fit to die in silence and sin
The cheek of the lowly kin!
Wants to rub shoulders with the royal kin!!!
However, skillful may be he
Reverent and keen
Can you erase the glaring fact?
That he carries the burden
Of bad blood
And the stench of a lowly kin?
So thinks the Master in deep satisfaction
As though he has done the right thing
Nipped a bud before bloom
And trampled a flower in full spring
Murdered a wish before fulfill
Oh what a colossal sin!
Rulers have ruled us thus
With cruel designs and ruthless hearts
And they call it a massive win
Forgive them Oh Lord!
As they blind with power& lust
Tread and trample many an innocent
Heart and dream
Forgive them Oh my Lord!
As they know not how they sin

ANONIMITY THY NAME IS FREEDOM

This is my space
My own personal, intimate zone,
Where I excavate through
Layers and layers of thought soil,
To scoop out the crux of
“What was” and
Bask in the glory of the “Now”
Sometimes fumble through a hyper-imagined
“Tomorrow”

This is where letters, words,
Alphabets, phrases, sentences
Tumble out of the closet of my
Cerebrum and play
Tricks with my emotions
Laugh at my “greenness”
Or cudgel up the dread
Which have been “coffined”
In remote location

Here I tickle and smile
And make mischief
Also, let the unshed tears
Surface at times
Here the grey cells regurgitate
And heart cud-chews
Whatever’s left of the
Fossilized feelings

Here I am because
I am free
To think, to emote
To ventilate and
To see
My own novice
Dreams which were
Doused by the pain
Of hard hitting reality
And strain
Of mundane life

Here I am
Hear me out
And if you ever
Traverse the periphery
Of my “own” being
Come in &
Tread on to know more
And my most precious
“Mine” things
But hey just don’t go away
Without leaving
Your footprints
Etched on the sands of time
And thoughts immortal

Here I am
Hear me out…………..

DISTURBIA

Scientists shoot electro-magnetic signals into space to ensure that human sovereignty remains unchallenged and unquestioned by alien intelligence. Some thoughts admit a plausibility of alien supremacy to leash the satanic encroachments of human aberration. Man considers himself to be the best creation of God. Yet, he is insecure and fearful of his own status in his microcosm of reality. He wants to conquer, control, command and consolidate the cosmos in a bid to be concomitant with the Supreme that be it. An extended expression of his own inferiority!

He puts up barbed fences, demarcates LOCs, divides hearts in water-tight compartments of caste, creed, religion, region, language, colour of the skin and so on and so forth. He takes pride in his power of precision measured by the exactness of the throw, range and magnitude of devastation brought about by his own creation - deadly missiles. He keeps his neighbours on toe by threats of nuclear superiority. He preaches the others what he never practices himself.

As an ode to the aftermath, he sits in insulated auditoria and has endless debates and discussions on how to counter the ill consequences of his misdemeanour - global warming and carcinogenic emissions. The mad man down the lane shakes his head in amused amazement and mumbles “Wrath of God, this is” under his breath. People laugh at him. I discern glimpses of ageless wisdom in his muffled mutterings.

Man has failed and failed miserably! He has vitiated God’s plan of Eternity and as poetic justice to his misdeeds he shall pay the price one day by his own extinction.

Till then he waits with bated breath for the final blow of the hammer to strike on the sill. The tilting of the balance in the hand of the blindfolded lady in his disfavour! The finite possibility of an infinite end!

HYPNOTICA

As a child I had this huge hypnotic connect to the inky blue night sky, its twinkling stars and the gloating moon. I spent sleepless hours in endless sky-gazing. An irresistible desire surged through my veins to zoom into space and touch those frozen dollops of crystal shimmer, peel a little of their whiteness, place the scooped bits on the tip of my tongue and feel a perhaps peppermint like cool tingle down through the sensory organs to every nook and cranny of my limbs.. My only concern was how these silver balls remained stuck in the void and why they didn’t just pop down into the crook of my palms. It’d save such a lot of journey through light years!!!!! I was told the magic lay in centrifugal force or some such Laws of Nature which were proven, established facts, changeless and irrefutable. When I grew up I learnt to keep aside these scientific jargons.

My juvenile naivety failed to perceive the preordained arrangement of infinite love strewn here and there by unknown hands. Youth bestows a certain careless arrogance to human rationale and truth plays hide and seek with the self-centered “I know all” perspective of middle age. It is only when you approach the sun-set of life that your perceptions become clear with age, failure and experience. You tend to impute values in myriad mundane things and be surprised by your own realizations and perhaps have a common tag-line of “why I never thought of that earlier” to your introspections.

Einstein, the giant thinker once remarked, “The most incomprehensible thing about the Universe is that it is comprehensible.” It takes more than cerebral acumen to comprehend the “incomprehensibility” of the Universe – a mere plaything in the hands of we-don’t-know-who. Perhaps it is pure and sundry imagination when the Poet visualizes an invisible bond of divine love and ecstasy coursing through the cosmic vastness. An eternal frenzy, a mad infatuation of attraction and detraction which on one hand prevents colossal collusion and collapse and at the same time compels the celeste to diligently follow an orbital motion without digress or deviation (and that is why the stars and the moon just don’t pop off the sky and drop into my hands!!!). Narcissus would have been too pleased to see his own endless personification. The enormity of it absolutely unimaginable! The Creator must be too much in love with Himself and his Creation to let it go just like that. That is why most probably decay, doom and destruction always give way to a new beginning. And thus perpetuates the cyclic order without an end or a clue when it began. A game of concentric movement and head swinging spin!!!


But the intellect scoffs at such romantic presumptions and that is the reason why, most probably, the eternal question “why is it so if that is so “still remains unanswered, the quests still cueless and the queries still insatiable. That is why I still look up to the sky, in the dead of the night and wonder why these glittering specks of light just don’t drop through the ether filled vacuum onto the neatly manicured lawn if not in the crook of my palms joined together in upward stance in prayerful submission.