Penned down

# Remember the time we had hashtag # cassettes ? We just had to listen to all the songs before reaching our favorite tune. Well, we did have the FF option, but were scared to use it frequently as it would end up spoiling our rather fragile tape. Sometimes I ended up liking a song more as I listened to it, much more than our initial favorite. The process of discovery seems lost in the hashtag # Alexa generation. Travel in second class compartments to Pilani. The joy of looking out at lights when the whole world has gone to sleep. The greenery of MP, the oranges of Nagpur, train food. The smile of being with friends, and yet finding a small nook for yourself. The journey was as fun as the destination itself. A random thought that refuses to go since morning... Are we rushing through life without discovering ourselves?

Wrote this is 2005, and it lay in the archive. Right time to post this ode. Dare you question angels! They exist without doubt. Not one but a pair, Everyday, they help us out. We have become so oblivious And take them for granted. Seamlessly they have merged In our lives; leaving us enchanted. Cant think of one? Look down hard - and you shall see, Helping angels, beneath thy fingers, Called control-c and control-v

An extra hard-worker - I have in my mind. To  overthink the situation What joy do you find? you love, you hate Just calm you can't be. You hold every argument You fight against me I am never truly alone, with This voice inside my head It has made me smile and frown With things it has said I love you, and hate you I wish you remain quiet Yet I know you are waiting To stir up another riot.

I once had a boat. My only friend and solace. It gently rocked me to sleep Cool breeze on my face. I shared with it my best days And so many evenings alone. I never did row, stay put. Many ways it felt home. The boat wanted to leave shore Adventure was its call. Float in the deep blue ocean Or watching waves crash tall. When another sailor came by It set out for the seas. With a heavy heart, I bade goodbye The anchors I did release. It is never coming back, I know. It will never be my home again. Yet I gaze at the horizon wondering; Why the heart hopes in vain!

I stood at a crossroad; Both the roads were oft taken, What should I do? I pondered. My rational thinker did awaken. Listed down the pros and cons- Unemotionally weighed them well. Chose the one that was better for me, Or the one the data did tell. I know it is silly to miss it- After years of losing the other. I still often wonder what if, I still often wonder whether.

Poems often do not have the readership that they deserve. Stories always do. Many a times, I have often skipped on poems just because they were not "my type". Why is it that poems are loved, yet hated equally. Lets face it, Poems are difficult to comprehend It is easier to read "She looked at him, her eyes brimming with tears"; than "With flooded eyes, and a lost gaze; She tried to decipher his stoic face" Why do poets write that? Because a poem is not communication, it is transportation. You can never feel the intensity in prose, as much as you do in poetry. 2. Verbose, and low attention span I declare that I have always hated longer poems. Anything running beyond 20 lines is surely going unread by me. Brevity is the soul of a verse. But is that just me? Let me know in the comments.

It isn't love, if it makes you carefree. It isn't love, if it makes you wild. Love is when your heart fills with concern, Yet, you don't smother him like a child. It isn't love, when he promises to bring the moon It isn't love, when you talk day and night. Love is when he works hard to see you content And you share, to make his burden light. It isn't love, if I can capture it in a verse. It isn't love, if a template it needs to match Each love is unique in its own sweet way; Omnipresent dream, elusive to catch. PS: Okie. Offtrack, midnight impromptu poem. Quite atypical of me to stay up so late. Even more atypical of me to write so flowery fluffy stuff. Nevertheless, hope it resonates.

The flower He was walking along the sad, gentle breeze in his hair. Oblivious to the roaring sea, he was lost in thoughts Thoughts that brought a tear to his eyes. He scrambed to the main road, contemplating whether to kill himself. Just then a beautiful tiny little flower caught his eye Shaking in the wind, fragile, but still fresh and holding on He gently touched the flower. They were her favorite. It brought him joy, made him smile momentarily like her He knew that like the flower, with her, he just had to move on They had brought joy, but alas, were not his to be.

I thought I was God's gift to you I loved before I knew what love was I had dreams and hopes Even before my eyes could open. In your womb, dear mother I thought the world was great! Why did you break the notion, Without even giving me a chance? A chance to look at your face A chance to be held in your arms A chance to smile at my first love A chance to be why I came here - your child! Dedicated to all the little girls, who lose their lives before it starts

There was a time when the newspaper was an integral part of daily life. Every morning, my grandfather, like every TamBhram used to be the first one to pick up the crispy hot paper - The Hindu and rigorously read through all the sections. Easy chair and a cup of coffee with Hindu used to be grandpas regular routine. For me it was always the page 1-3 and the magazine. Later it slowly developed into the business sections as well. But forever favorite would be Metro plus and Young world that I still love. Technology came and changed it all. Google news and all the TV channels give us breaking news, before the dear old newspaper could edit, plan and publish it. Many houses have inf act stopped buying any hard copies of the newspaper. We still buy the newspaper, but there is no one to cherish the beauty of the articles. I read the magazines when I get time, even though the main paper is glanced at like a routine every day. The primary reason for getting newspapers for me ri...

There is one question a blogger would never like to hear- "You seem to be blogging. You dont have much work at office, is it?" For the women the question is further more compounded as to whether she is now a housewife! As per them, it is possible for every other hobby to coexist with our daily routines - photography, travelling, reading, sleeping.... Anything but writing. Writing has always been perceived as a tasks that occupies time, but adds no value to our day to day work. This is especially the case when the blog site is an intra office blog site. (Thinking of infyblogs. RIP). God forbid if the poor soul's manager gets to see the blog, he shall immediately jump to the conclusion that the blogger is 'jobless' or 'vetti' and dump them with more work. Not stopping with that, snide comments shall be made during project meetings and even during appraisals! The fact that the enthusiastic blogger has taken some personal time to actually compose the blo...

As a child we have always wanted something special. A toy, a pencil box or a new school bag depending on what was the rage among the other children. And most of the times the new stuff would come only after days of pleading and pleasing. Sometimes we would know better than to ask for stuff we knew our parents would not buy. Media, ads and overall exposure for children has changed the scenario now. Television, internet and mobile media has so much reach among children that they know the new products, the cost and its benefits even before we could realize the ad is for a new product. Going by the recent trend of positioning everything from detergents to cars with children audience in mind, it is going to be tough to wean off kids from the ad addiction. And cutting down on TV, internet and tablet time raises a question in my mind - Am I applying discretion or resorting to deprivation? My son was watching TV around 1 hour a day in the evening. The quintessential programme of ...

It is always a nightmare for children when parents add them as friends on FB. Not that we have anything to worry, but still... parents and friends are supposed to be two separate entities, never mixed up. Only the really really close ones are allowed into that circuit of family friends. Nevertheless, my mothers interest in FB started when she met a couple of her friends. A casual remark, triggered a conversation on their FB accounts and inquiring why my mom was not on FB. She hadn't thought on the same till now, but suddenly the idea was seeded in her head. Peer pressure strikes at all ages, i presume. And yours truly was the called to create mommy's FB account. "Everyone is on FB. Can you create one for me?"  Like all parents, my mom's password are known to all except her. Apart from remember my 1000 odd passwords for my office, client, yahoo, gmail, wifi router and other bank accounts, our dulling memory is utilized in remembering the same for our par...

Where am I? I dance to a melody unheard I smile to a word unsaid Surreal my world is, Albeit it is in my head. For that is where I can be Myself without any fear. For there my mind is free Judgmental no one near. Where a smile is not inferred Where a glance is not judged Where words are from the heart Where virtue is not smudged I live in a world far away, Beyond where mortal eyes see. It is world made of love Where the mind is free.

A woman- the mother is perhaps the first association of any being with the world. The toil of motherhood, coupled with balancing all the worldly expectations is what makes all poets and writers laud the so called fairer sex. Yet it is this same woman whose existence is questioned the very moment she takes her first breath. Read an article about a 4 day old girl child being found abandoned in the dustbin of Mumbai. Dear Mom... I thought I was God's gift to you I loved before I knew what love was I had dreams and hopes Even before my eyes could open. In your womb, dear mother I thought the world was great! Why did you break the notion, Without even giving me a chance? A chance to look at your face A chance to be held in your arms A chance to smile at my first love A chance to be why I came here - your child!

A poem that I had written a few days back ... What the heart wants The rose looked up to the moon. Shining in splendid glory And thought "I wish I could be you, I wish I could have a story. Instead of being stuck up here- Obscurity, with a day to live How beautiful you look, ye moon How many hearts, hopes you give" The lover bee came buzzing along, Seeing the beautiful rose bloom Circled the flower, hoping that It will notice him, amidst her gloom. Another young man saw the rose, Upon him came unparalleled joy. He plucked the rose for his beloved So lovable, the dame- fair and coy. The man proposed, the dame accepted The rose brought the love story. Yet the rose unaware looked up the sky- Wondering if it could have some glory.

Nothing from personal experience... Just mulled over a thought and insta-posted a poem on it. Some thing like a rapid fire poem. :) Its solitude that I yearned, Far from the maddening crowd. Where it was me and my thoughts alone; And silence all around! I found a cozy , lonely place Where I could shut out the world. Where time took a confortable pace. Utopia - Was this it, I thought. Bored, soon I began to brood. Solitude, silence, loneliness, like all dreamy things is good Only for a short time, I guess But by then the world had forgotten me, And shunned me, like I did to them This fickle mind now yearns for company To hear the sweet noise of mayhem

A poem sans rhyme! Yet... Unheard melodies! Keats version of melody rings in my ears. The sweeter one, I mean. To love something that you can perceive is easy. To appreciate the unperceived is easier. For you cant find a flaw with them. They are perfect through their obscurity. Refreshingly new each time. Alas, they last only until they choose.

I feel like a drop of water, My true dimensions distorted by pressure Falling, along side all my friends. Clueless about our future. Shall I bring joy to a child's face? Or the torrent that drowns many? Shall I be guarded by an oyster, or Lose my identity, as if I now have any. I know not, but I do my command. Whizzing past my life with such speed. When we would realise our calling, It would be too long to heed.

Deepak tagged me about 6 weird things about me. These are the 6 weirdest things that I could think right away. Six weird things about me: 1. The one thing that can drive me to the edge of fear is dogs... I never walk anywhere near a dog. Moreso, i stop visiting friends who have dogs in their house :) 2. I always sing when I feel no one is listening. If anyone is around, I stop it. Or that is what I think. But my friends say that their listening has been hampered by my singing in the hostel :) 3. I have tried my hands at painting so much that it would put King Bruce to shame. But still my efforts have yeilded no results. I did not take bio for my diagrams end as fiascos. 4. All my creations, poems or short stories have been written well within 10 minutes. If it takes more than that I get all confused with what I wanted to say. 5. When ever I read a book, I keep thinking that people around me are one or the other char. Sometimes I get confused between truth and fiction, if I am too muc...