Ti amo tesoro mio...

Sweetheart,
I somehow didn't want to write a typical 'I can't live without you', 'You mean the world' kind of stuff 'cos you already know very well what the two of us share and I didn't want to trivialise our bond by stating the obvious and acting mushy about it in a letter. This is just a thank-you note on this Valentine's from my side. Thanks for putting that smile on my face by cracking a joke just when I would be tensed and worried about something. Thanks for laughing at all those silly jokes of mine. Thanks for patiently listening to me when I would just go on blabbering about my own little problems. Thanks for calling me up again the next day even after I would go off to sleep over the phone while you tried sharing your little problems with me. Thank you for always taking the initiative to set things straight between us after a fight, knowing very well that I'm too stubborn and stuck-up to take the first step. Thanks for somehow not letting the physical distance between us affect what we share. Thanks for making me feel important and loved. Thanks for just making me feel complete. Thanks for being so understanding and caring. In short, thanks for just being there. :) You might think that I do not notice and appreciate these small things because I never mention it but these things do mean a lot to me and you're indeed special and I do love you a lot. Just remain the way you are :)

I've written a poem for you as well. Somehow the poem doesn't do justice to what I feel for you but this is the best I could come up with right now....



At times like these…

When I am feeling
down and out.
When my dreams have gone dumb,
but my nightmares shout.

At times like these…

When my picture perfect
life seems shattered.
When I don’t have the strength
to pick the pieces that lay scattered.

At times like these…

When my ship is caught
in a sea that’s unruly.
When my shore looms afar
and my guiding star I can’t see.

At times like these…

When there is no sinew left
to take one more step.
When my spirit is bereaved of
all the verve and pep.

At times like these…

When this world is mocking me
and I feel withered.
When my today is insipid
and my tomorrow is blurred.

At times like these…

I close my eyes
and picture thee.
I am rekindled and enflamed
by the warmth surrounding me.

At times like very these…

I search my soul
and feel your presence.
I submit to you.
I surrender to your essence.


Ti amo tesoro mio :)

Freedom was never free...

I had actually written this poem a few years back. I was going through my old diary entries today and came across it which was quite a sweet coincidence considering that tomorrow is Republic Day. So I thought I'll post it :) Btw Happy Republic Day to all fellow Indians :)




A broken heart
Devoid of hope.

Crying eyes,
With no will to cope.

A battered spirit
Forced to move on.

A worn out soul
Shorn of a chimera of a peaceful dawn.

A hand robbed of pen
And given a gun instead.

An artist stripped of colour
And made to play with blood.

A poet deprived of his thoughts
And forced to say what men in power want.

A composer deprived of peaceful melody
And coerced to compose a song of war that haunts.

A child wizened before his time
To fend for his family when his father is at the front.

A wife living a hell everyday
Hiding from the truth that she cannot confront.

Will they ever come back?
Will we see them again?

Will their sacrifice be justified?
Will it help the peace to reign?

As you and I sleep on our beds
Blissfully ignorant of the price someone paid.

For letting us have the freedom,
In the murky waters of politics, to wade.

When will we wake up from this slumber?
When will we realise and when will we see?

That the fabricated liberty that we enjoy
Is a sham, that our freedom was never free…

We were told we were fighting terrorists.. the real terrorist was me, and the real terrorism was this occupation.

I just thought I should share this speech that a US soldier Mike Prysner gave which describes a mission he took part in; where his unit forced Iraqis out of half a dozen homes, with no compassion or compensation, so the US military could use them. I won't add anything else to this speech. The speech says it all :)



" I tried hard to be proud of my service, but all I could feel was shame. Racism could no longer mask the reality of the occupation. These were people, these were human beings. I've since been plagued by guilt, any time I see an elderly man, like the one who couldn't walk, who we rolled onto a stretcher, and told the Iraqi police to take him away. I feel guilt any time I see a mother with her childen, like the one who cried hysterically, and screamed that we're worse than Saddam, as we forced her from her home. I feel guilt any time I see a young girl, like the one I grabbed by the arm, and dragged into the street.

We were told we were fighting terrorists.. the real terrorist was me, and the real terrorism was this occupation. Racism within the military has long been an important tool to justify the destruction and occupation of another country, it has long been used to justify the killing, subjugation and torture of another people. Racism is a vital weapon employed by this government; it is a more important weapon than a rifle, a tank, a bomber, or a battleship; it is more destructive than an artillery shell, or a bunker buster, or tomahawk missile.

While all those weapons are created and owned by this government, they are harmless without people willing to use them. Those who send us to war, do not have to pull the trigger, or lob a mortar round; they do not have to fight the war, they merely have to sell the war. They need a public who's willing to send their soldiers into harm's way. They need soldiers who are willing to kill and be killed, without question.

They can spend millions on a single bomb, but that bomb only becomes a weapon, when the ranks of the military are willing to follow orders to use it. They can send every last soldier anywhere on Earth, but there will only be a war, if soldiers are willing to fight.. And the ruling class, the billionaires who profit from human suffering, care only about expanding their wealth, controlling the world economy.

Understand that their power lies only in their ability to convince us that war, oppression, and exploitation is in our interest. They understand that their wealth is dependent on their ability to convince the working class to die, to control the market of another country, and convincing us to kill and die, is based on their ability to make us think that we are somehow superior.

Soldiers, sailors, marines, airmen, have nothing to gain from this occupation. The vast majority of people living in the U.S. have nothing to gain from this occupation. In fact, not only do we have nothing to gain, but we suffer more because of it. We lose limbs, endure trauma, and give our lives. Our families have to watch flag-draped coffins lowered into the earth.

Millions in this country without health care, jobs, or access to education, have watched this government squander over FOUR-HUNDRED AND FIFTY MILLION DOLLARS A DAY ON THIS OCCUPATION. [IRAQ]

Poor and working people in this country, are send to kill poor and working people in another country, to make the rich richer; and without racism, soldiers would realize that they have more in common with the Iraqi people, than they do with the billionaires who send us to war.

I threw families onto the street in Iraq, only to come home and find families thrown onto the street in this country, and it's a tragic, and unnecessary foreclosure crisis.

We need to wake up and realize that our real enemies are not in some distant land, they're not people whose names we don't know, and cultures we don't understand. The enemy is people we know very well, and people we can identify. The enemy is a system that wages war when it's profitable. The enemy is the CEO's who lay us off from our jobs when it's profitable; it's the insurance companies who deny us health care when it's profitable; it's the banks who take away our homes when it's profitable.

Our enemy is not five thousand miles away, they are right here at home. When we organize, and fight with our sisters and brothers, we can stop this war, we can stop this government, and we can create a better world."

~Mike Prysner

Hamara Bajaj!!!

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?

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!