Tuesday, December 05, 2006

A Prayer

Here, I came, young and teared,
She took me in her arms.
That warded tear and fear
For I was in thy arms.

I stalked path of thorn and stone
Million moments of life.
I knew I wouldn't fall
For thou backed up my strife.

I pray to thee, night and day,
My hope, friend and peer.
Confession, expression finds thy way
All seasons a year.

Thou art, Almighty, one of
The nine reasons I live.
The other eight, unimportant,
Those I'd rather leave.

Words fail, as I behold
The good I got in alms.
And if death call, I'd embrace
For I'd still be in thy arms.

Saturday, September 02, 2006

The wait

For aeons I wait,
At the mark that writes
Dawn from dusk,
Hope from dark,
Glee from tear,
Thee from me.

Too long a day
My love, I wait,
Bring soon the meet
Almighty I pray.

Fire, flood all around,
In panic, folks rush.
Yet, my love, I still stand,
For thee, I still wait..

Sunday, August 20, 2006

Twinhood

How do I tell you what you mean to me?

Words fail me as I see darkness combine with its twin to form light. In your presence, I refind myself. I get from you my dose of strength and inspiration, solely due to which I write this, as I close my eyes and recollect those sleepless nights I spend wondering if I hold a place in your world..in your heart. Those days, those nights..

Again, I fear I seek too much from Christ, for a place in your world is too much to ask for.

Wouldn't you like the care you offer, concern you display to be reciprocated? Give me a chance, to God I pray..

Irate, I dwell
Within these walls of stone,
Silent,I live, silent I die.
An epitome of hope,
You are to me,
My strength, my weakness,
Nay, I do not lie.


At the end of it all, I still cannot tell you what you mean to me. Well, its your fault you are perfect. Just work out what I try to express..

Disclamier : All characters and emotions involved in the article are purely ficticious.

Wednesday, August 02, 2006

More than words..

To me, you mean every dimension...

Yet your silence scares me.

I fear your silence not because it exists but because of what it may mean. You may , silently, be forming an opinion, an image of me unguided by myself. Or it may mean you are worried, occupied with something that bothers, hurts or both. My concern extended may sound to you an undeserved sympathy, a feeling inferior to any other I have known. That, I fear.

But silence can also mean you appreciate the fact that you are you and I am me. This silence just affirms that we are already together as one, yet differently so. If words could mean I seek you as a friend, silence would just mean I accept your already being one. It is more than a relationship that binds us..an illusion ever changing.

To me, you still mean every dimension.

And your silence, I still fear..

Saturday, July 08, 2006

Get off the bench

Once, I was pointed at. My version of a theory was put away without sufficient proof. I was told I was wrong. My sole defence:

I am wrong does not mean I am wrong. It implies you do not see what I see. It means you are not seeing everything there is to be seen. I'm wrong doesn't necessarily mean I'm wrong. I am just incapable of putting the scrambled bits of truth together, to give the already found measure a new definition. There's nothing wrong with me. To prove that, I will get off the bench.

The next day, I gave the subject a deeper thought. I arrived at the conclusion that I have not done a mistake in making a mistake, in living upto being a human. Wouldn't I grow by listening to the mistake? I then realised I have earned two kinds of wisdom. One is the knowledge from experience which will make no difference to the existing world. The other is the same experience with which I can change the world. To do that, I shall get off the bench.

A second ago, I realised I am no wiser than the others around me. Did this very thought make me better?

To verify, I need to get off the bench.

Tuesday, June 20, 2006

Appointment with love

The following is a piece from the 'Chicken Soup for the Soul' series. This one just moved me. It made me feel love almost exists. Read on..

Appointment With Love


Six minutes to six, said the clock over the information booth in New York's Grand Central Station. The tall young Army officer lifted his sunburned face and narrowed his eyes to note the exact time. His heart was pounding with a beat that choked him. In six minutes he would see the woman who had filled such a special place in his life for the past 18 months,the woman he had never seen yet whose words had sustained him unfailingly.


Lt. Blandford remembered one day in particular, the worst of the fighting, when his plane had been caught in the midst of a pack of enemy planes. In one of those letters, he had confessed to her that often he felt fear, and only a few days before this battle, he had received her answer: "Of course you fear...all brave men do." Next time you doubt yourself, I want you to hear my voice reciting to you: 'Yeah, though I walk through the valley of Death, I shall fear no evil, for thou art with me.'.... He had remembered that and it renewed his strength.


He was going to hear her voice now. Four minutes to six. A girl passed closer to him, and Lt.Blandford started. She was wearing a flower, but it wasnot the little red rose they had agreed upon. Besides, this girl was only about 18, and Hollis Maynel had told him she was 30. "What of it?" he had answered, "I'm 32." He was 29. His mind went back to that book he had read in the training camp. "Of Human Bondage" it was and throughout the book were notes in a woman's handwriting. He had never believed that a woman could see into a man's heart so tenderly, so understandingly. Her name was on the bookplate: Hollis Maynell. He got a hold of a New York City telephone book and found her address. He had written , she had answered. Next day he had been shipped out, but they had gone on writing.


For thirteen months she had faithfully replied. When his letters did not arrive, she wrote anyway, and now he believed he loved her, and she loved him. But she had refused all his pleas to send him her photograph. She had explained: "If your feeling for me had no reality, what I look like won't matter. Suppose I am beautiful. I'd always be haunted that you had been taking a chance on just that, and that kind of love would disgust me. Suppose that I'm plain, (and you must admit that this is more likely), then I'd always fear that you were only going on writing because you were lonely and had no one else. No, don't ask for my picture. When you come to New York, you shall see me and then you shall make your own decision."


One minute to six... He flipped the pages of the book he held. Then Lt. Blandford's heart lept. A young woman was coming toward him. Her figure was long and slim; her blond hair lay back in curls from delicate ears. Her eyes were blue as flowers, her lips and chin had a gentle firmness. In her pale-green suit, she was like springtime come alive. He started toward her, forgetting to notice that she was wearing no rose, and as he moved, a small, provacative smile curved her lips. "Going my way, soldier?" she murmured.


He made one step closer to her. Then he saw Hollis Maynell. She was standing almost directly behind the girl, a woman well past 40, her graying hair tucked under a worn hat. She was more than plump. Her thick-ankled feet were thrust into low-heeled shoes. But she wore a red rose on her crumpled coat. The girl in the green suit was walking quickly away. Blandford felt as though he were being split in two, so keen was his desire to follow the girl, yet so deep was his longing for the woman whose spirit had truly companioned and upheld his own, and there she stood.


He could see her pale face was gentle and sensible; her gray eyes had a warm twinkle. Lt. Blandford did not hesitate. His fingers gripped the worn copy of "Of Human Bondage" which was to identify him to her. This would not be love, but it would be something special, a friendship for which he had been and must be ever grateful... He squared his shoulders, saluted, and held the book out toward the woman, although even while he spoke he felt the bitterness of his disappointment.


"I'm Lt. Blandford, and you're Miss Maynell. I'm so glad you could meet me. "May, may I take you to dinner?" The woman's face broadened in a tolerant smile. "I don't know what this is all about, son," she answered. "That young lady in the greensuit, she begged me to wear this rose on my coat. And she said that if you asked me to go out with you, I should tell you she's waiting for you in that restaurant across the street. She said it was some kind of test."



- S.I. Kishor

Tuesday, June 06, 2006

Her Grace

She cared for me all my life,
Gave me love no matter what.
Her grace, an arabesque,
Her warmth..arcane..

The deluge of tear, she dried,
With many a loving gesture.
Her heart, she instilled,
Backed me up and made me tall.

A mystery by herself,
She is extortionate.
Perfection incarnated,
She is Christ in a woman.

Never got round to reciprocate
Everything she offered.
The affection, the caress,
My life, I owe her.

Here I lie now, uncared and unloved,
Heart bleeding, gasping for breath.
Few seconds I might live,
Mother, where are you?

Few moments we can share,
Before I'm hauled away.
Here is my chance
To tell you I love you.

Why the tear? Who's departing?
For I'd still dwell within you.
From the skies, I'd look down,
Your angel will love you.

Monday, May 01, 2006

Fly away

Fly away to the land of no return.
Sink to the sea-bed, never turn,
Leave the world behind, care no less,
It offered no warmth, no caress.

Relationships de-bond from within,
Religion fails to justify life's life,
Nature disowns the heart that loved her,
The future overcast with stormy dreams.

All else is lost, life is spiked;
Nothing to live and none to care for
You might as well die.

Remember the last sunrise,
Remember the last drizzle
Before you get the call and drift away.

The gates of life close behind.

Monday, April 03, 2006

The vision

A day like any other day of summer. The blazing sun burning my back as I prune a shrub in the small green patch - a favourite part of home. A bad gardener by birth, I work slower than usual, blame it on the sun or the rusting pair of 'garden scissors' (I still don't know what that scrap of a thing is called). Then, an errand. To fetch a pack of tea leaves from a shop not far away. A 50 rupee note pressed into my hand. I quickly tie up my hair and strut away to the store, marvelling at the neighbour's hibiscus shrub flaunting several red flowers, a feat the one back home never accomplished.

I walk straight, take a right and soon another right. A bunch of kids playing with a frisbee. A smile appears on my face as I recollect my exploitation of the summer vacation as a kid, vandalising the house, chopping Barbie's hair and smearing the doll with Mother's make-up. I smile again as a particularly chubby kid manages a difficult catch. There's something about that little boy that draws me towards him. He returns my smile, which makes me, if possible, more elated. I try to shake away the feeling, proceed to the shop and emerge a minute later, clutching a bag of lea leaves and the change.

A sudden increase in my heartbeat and a momentary gasp. I hear tyres screech to a halt and a piercing cry. A kid's voice. The kid's voice.

I go over, half running to the place i found the kids playing. The kids are chattering as though nothing has happened. It takes a moment for me to register the little boy jumping with joy. He has won a point for his team. What was it I heard then? Was the sun playing tricks on me? I take slow steps towards home. Slow but deliberate.

A minute later, I hear tyres screech to a halt. A thud. A pircing cry. A kid's voice. The kid's voice.

An utter state of shock and helplessness. I am immobilized. I do not have the courage to turn back. The sound of a car door being opened.

"You are not hurt, are you?". A shrill, worried voice. "You shouldn't play on the road like this. You could have got hurt". The same voice.

I turn back to see the boy standing still. There is a two-inch gap between a car and the boy. A lady gets into the car and zooms away. The boy picks up the frisbee and the game goes on, unaffected by the incident that just shook me.

The screech, the kid, the cry.

The vision.

As I reach home lost in thought, it would be just like my mother to point out that I had bought the wrong brand of tea leaves.

Monday, March 20, 2006

The chapel

Math exam. As I gather sheets with hastily scribbled formulae for a last minute cram, gulit overpowers me. Guilt. I start to panic. Funny, isn't it? A mere exam does that to me. Guilt. It's all my mistake..

Give it an hour.

I am at perfect peace with the world. Silence prevails. I place my bag on the bench and kneel on the wooden plank below. The room, I observe, has two other girls doing the same. With a glimpse of the cross before me, I close my eyes.What a pleasant feeling! I am drifting away. Where, I know not. I see nothing but the cross..Christ nailed to the cross. I dare not look at him. I do not have the right to ask a favour. It was my mistake. A whole year spent in frolic. Guilty again.

With a sudden rush of understanding, I take my bag and walk away, stopping only for a sprinkle of the Holy Water placed in a corner, a sheet of formulae crumpled in my fist. Christ had given me a message. Guilt cannot be washed away in the church.

I know what I have to do to get rid of the guilt before my next exam. Alas, as I walk towards the exam room, I can only hope that the one night stand with my textbook will fetch me a neat little 60.

Moral : Never visit the chapel on the day of your exam.

Remember me

Another day. I wake up with the sun and utter a small prayer. Then the usual brush,wash and rush. I miss the 8 am bus. Been missing it as long as I can remember. Alas, if only I had known I would miss it even today, these few minutes could be spent for a decent breakfast than waiting for the next bus. I move over to the bus stop. Three schoolgirls and a middle aged lady seated on one of the three slabs, engaged in conversation.Without warning, my cellphone starts buzzing. I take out the damn thing from my bag..'damn' because the vibration makes my hand numb, as I sit on a slab clutching tight my jacket. A cold day. Oh, the alarm buzzing. November 15, 2005. Today. Why did I mark this day on my calendar? The image changes.

I see a teenager bending over something,her fingers on her temples,frowning..concentrating. An old man sits before her. He is as calm as the girl is tensed. I should've guessed. It's a game of chess they are playing. Minutes pass in silence. Two moves from both sides and a quick third move by the old man. I see the White Queen being taken out.

"Oh no. One chance, Grandpa. Just one more chance. I didn't see the queen there."
"No Chinu. I already gave you a chance. How else would you learn?"
"Yeah OK..but stop calling me that. You know I don't like that name. Call me by my name."

For a moment, their eyes meet. One moment. Eternity.

"Your name...your.."

The man goes blank.


Two months later, he was diagnosed with Alzheimer's disease. Gradual loss of memory. A silent assasin.


I see the old man again, this time on the bed. His eyes lie unfocused on the ceiling. A dull clunk of a glass of something being placed on the table. His eyes shift to the girl beside him, now hastily smoothening the sheets on his bed. He continues to look at her with a slight frown, as if trying to remember something. She seeks a smile on his face. A smile..that sign of recognition.

Did she get one, I do not know.


A thump on my back. "Hey, what are you thinking?"
Huh? Where am I? How did I get here? The man..the girl..where are they?

The schoolgirls must have gone. I don't see the lady either. I look at the person on my right. The sudden smile on my face must have alarmed her.

"Happy birthday", I say, trying hard not to sound breathless.
Her face lights up. "Oh! You remember. How nice!"


Yes..I remember..I remember..

The temptress

Moonlight calls,
Waves slap the rocks,
A cool breeze sweeps away my tresses.
Midnight blue sky,
Stars wink at me,
A seeming temptress, the sea..the sea..

Ah! The pleasure of solitude,
Waves scurry back, back and forth.
The surf tickles my toes.
A game of hide and seek,
Moon with the clouds.
And a drizzle to perfect
This date with the temptress.

The drizzle turns to rain
Yet I stand still,
A part of me sanguine
To merge with the rising tide,
To be carried away
To the land of no return.