A whole generation grew up in the 60s, 70s and 80s, dreaming of owning it. Bajaj scooters, one of the aspirations of the Indian middle class for decades, will soon be a part of history.
After selling scooters for over 50 years, Bajaj Auto, the company which developed a scooter market with its popular Hamara Bajaj campaign invoking trust and reliability, announced sometime back that it is phasing out scooter production, keeping the focus on motorcycles.
This piece of news took me back to an era that seems so distant now. The good ol' days of Doordarshan and Vividh Bharati. The days when the only thing you saw on the roads were cycles, Luna, Bajaj scooter (Hamara Bajaj) Vespa scooters and TVS/ Avanti/ Suvega mopeds and cars like Maruti 800, Premier Padmini, Fiat, Contessa and Ambassador were owned by 'lakhpatis'. The same ol' days of frequent power-cuts and hence candlelight family dinners and then going up on the terrace and spending quality time together. When summer vacations were spent visiting your grandparents, watching rented movies on VCR, reading Enid Blyton/Tinkle/Champak and sending postcards to your cousins. Nostalgia :)
This one is another old poem and the difference in the writing style is painfully obvious with the efforts at rhyming. But I'm extremely attached to this poem because whenever I read this poem, I get fleeting images of my childhood. I'm sure anyone who has spent some part of his childhood in the late eighties or early nineties in India would be able to relate to this.
Come my friend and
take my hand,
We will travel back in time
to a distant land.
When we were young
and not so restless,
To the time when
we actually lived a life, Oh yes!
When we had time to meet
with friends.
When we were not worried
about fashions and trends.
When we used to look forward
to Sundays, so that Spiderman we could catch.
Or to wait for Thursdays and "Byomkesh Bakshi"
we could watch.
When we had courtyards and backyards,
and trees on which we could swing.
Songs with simple clean lyrics,
Songs we could sing.
When we used to play cricket under the midday sun.
The neighbourhood orchard we used to raid.
Carrying our school bag and bottle
waiting for the bus in the tree’s shade.
When the jokes, even if silly,
were simple and clean.
When we played with people
and not with machine.
When we knew our neighbours
and we actually took time to meet.
When eating out was not a way of life
but a special Sunday treat.
When there were no phones to call
friends and ask them if they were free.
We could drop by unannounced
without feeling guilty.
When we could ride our bicycles
on the road without worrying about the traffic.
When we believed in a falling star.
And the fairy tales and their world of magic.
When we looked up to our elders
and treated them with respect.
How far we have come from the life
that, though not easy, but yet was perfect.
I want to go back in time
to the good old days…
Do you want to come with me
to that glorious phase?
Weathered staff, muddy boots, broken time-piece, rugged coat, fiddle, pencil stub, yellowed pages, old photograph, parched wine-skin, coffee beans & dry flowers...scribblings of a wandering gypsy. Yes, this is the place where I scribble all my thoughts in the form of poetry.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Friday, December 11, 2009
Love story of Sand and Sea..
Liquid sapphire married the cerulean sky,
Bond awesome, yet longingly she cried for me.
Far away I lay down sprawled across the beach,
Shore they call me- A poet lost in sad sleep.
All day long wailing from horizon’s abode,
Wave’s frothy kisses drench me, in her love white.
Brimming love when I etch, as poems on wet sands,
Splashing she washes, tearfully scared of sky’s might.
Sky darkened, clouds thunder as he knew our love,
Whips of lightning strikes my beloved’s brow.
Anger raging, my love lashes herself on cliffs,
Tried to kill herself; but thought of me then quit.
Crimson dusk seeping; tired now sky sleeps.
Yearning, gentle with love her tides on me softly creep.
Simmering in warmth of passion, as we made out,
Subtle moans echoed- my lips inscribed poems on her.
Morning smiled; arose the clear blue sky,
Dissolving, longing yet another day of wait.
Seagulls flying, cooing in tune to our nights song,
I’ll be here; coarse sands basked- fast dear come tonight!
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