I MAKE A BETTER ME

Said ‘I’ to ‘me’
How are you dear friend?
Now isn’t talking to yourself
A great new trend?

Said ‘me’ to ‘I’
It can be good sometime
But most of the times to be involved
I wouldn’t spare a dime

Said ‘I’ to ‘me’
Oops! Is that a slight I see coming
I better warn you on provocation
My eyes see red my ears start drumming

Said ‘me’ to ‘I’
That won’t scare me in the slightest
I have a chance to impart home truths
This is an opportunity at its best

Said ‘I’ to ‘me’
What possible can you have to say
Have I ever hurt you
Unknowingly in any way?

Said ‘me’ to ‘I’
Oh! You, bubbly you, you spoil my persona
Oh! You, carefree you
You send me in a coma

Said ‘I’ to ‘me’
It’s time my dear self
That you learn to live life
Or else during old age
In your heart loneliness would drive a knife

Said ‘me’ to ‘I’
Why do you have to be so glowing?
I prefer to sit and think
And your energy seems to be flowing?

Said ‘I’ to ‘me’
I give happiness all around
My actions and escapades
Creates your thoughts’ ground

Said ‘me’ to ‘I’
You are more loved and cherished
Nobody seems to know me
Before I can begin I am finished


Said ‘I’ to ‘me’
Oh! My stupid self
How can you think so silly thoughts
When you are my protective self?

When I go out of control
You pull back to line
Some think I am a bubbly girl
Others think I am a lady so fine

You and I are inseparable
You give myself a shine
For such a controlled personality
Everywhere everybody pine

But we both will be much better
If we hold together our hands
We will live life to the fullest
Even in dearest sands.

‘Me’ can be made better
When ‘I’ and ‘me’ have a talk
Can you be made better too?
Try and find and you’ll get a shock

You will improve day by day
As towards yourself you walk
So hey! Friends tell me
Did ‘you’ and ‘you’ have a talk?

THE IMPORTANCE OF BOOKS IN LIFE

Books. Books are very important in our life. Since early childhood the books we read become a part of our identity. It is amazing that most of the things we think or believe in are more than once stated in books that we have been reading. We may not believe this, but it is true. Our beliefs, principles, thoughts are more or less part of the books that we have read. So naturally, books are very essential in a growing child´s life. But not the text books. Very few children read their text books before the chapters are taught in schools. Moreover they read it to mug up, not to extract philosophy.
I know this certainly sounds illogical that a five year old kid might extract philosophy from a book. But it is a fact that all they read and all they understand and learn from the books get stored in their subconscious minds. Eventually as they grow up they may forget the story but they would never forget the extract that they recieved from the book because it has been used as the foundation of their mental set up.
There is another important reason for reading books. To enhance imagination in the kids. Not just to fantasize about fairy tales and Harry Potter and other fictions of the same kind but to set the goal that a person needs to move on. When we see someone and say we want to be like them, we end up imagining ourselves in that place.
Personality and imagination. The two essential attributes of a person are acquired by reading books. Hence books make our lives. So it is really necessary that every individual is encouraged to read books. Books help individuals grow up to be not only an academically brilliant person but also as a person with imagination and insight. That eventually will eventually help our country to emerge in a much improved state. We are the future of the society and it is our duty to work for ourselves, for our society as well as for our country.

HISTORY

As I saw those three houses, standing in succession, silent and still, on the verge of decay, my heart swelled with a satisfaction that was most incomprehensible .I could not fathom what really were my feelings I rapidly clicked photos to catch the objects of interest, but my heart was wandering elsewhere. My experienced hands adjusted the focus, but the memory that had been firmly planted in the subconscious mind, through a narration of my father, started gushing in. The exhilaration that had been threatening to surmount me since I had laid my eyes on that crumbling palace, coursed through my veins. The memory was old, but I wanted to travel to my past and I hurriedly jumped into the rented car to be taken to the palace of Kushanganj. My roots were there and I wanted to a part of it.
The three hours that I had to wait before I could step into the palace, had seen me fidgeting about, unable to sit still, unable to control the excitement and unable to focus on the passing breathtaking sceneries that would have had me scrambling for my camera at some other time. My passport was enough to convince the caretaker that I was trustworthy. He let me in assuring me that I could take my time and take photos. As he walked away I entered into the ‘durbar’. My feet had slowed down on their own. I found myself walking cautiously as if one heavy footstep would set the palace collapsing. Then suddenly I heard a footstep. As I stood motionless a series of footsteps could be heard rushing past. Then came voices. As I stared at the empty room bewildered, my susceptible imagination suddenly hurled me into the past.
Yes! It was certainly a time of celebration. The ‘dasi’s were scuttling from one part of the palace to the other, putting some fresh flowers into a vase or polishing the ornaments that were to be adorned by their Rani Rashmoni. It was certainly a happy time for her. As the palace was getting ready for the grand ceremony of the evening, Raja Kushan Singh entered the ‘Antar Mahal’ with a proud smile on his face and a huge box in his hands. The Rani first looked at him and then at the box in his hands. The Raja himself answered the question in her eyes. “A gift in return for the gift you are giving me. My Rani has to look her best in the best day of her life. Doesn’t she?” The Rani, overcome with emotion opened the box and gazed wonderingly at the sparkling diamond set in her hands. But before she could voice her joy and wonderment a terrified dasi came running in. She breathlessly said “Oh! Raja. You must hurry. The kingdom has been attacked by the neighbouring army.” Rani Rashmoni’s gasp of pain was drowned under Raja’s swearing voice. “You take care of Chhoto Rani. I will be back soon.” Without even turning towards the Rani he strode away. His footsteps were punctuated by the sound of the cannon. It was the dasi who saw Rani doubled up with pain. Another shower of bullets were heard. As Rani’s elder two sons came rushing into her apartment, the dasi pulled the unyielding Rani from the floor. “Barasaheb help me hold your mother. We must get her out of the palace.” She said. The youngest boy, frightened by the deafening sounds of the guns clung to his elder brother. Together they slowly took Rani away from the palace through the secret tunnel. They emerged into the farmhouse of the Raja. As the Raja fought valiantly against the enemies, the Rani fought to bring a new life into the world. As a rain of bullets brought Raja’s lifeless body to the ground, the first cry of his youngest son was heard.
It has been six months now. The Rani on her way back from the pond stared at the three huge houses that were being built on the hilltop. She had built a house for her children herself a little way from the farmhouse. It had just one room where the Rani and her three sons lived. She had successfully hidden her identity. If the enemies knew that the Raja still had his wife and now his three sons alive they would have killed all of them. But the Rani was safe now. The news was spread that the two elder sons were already dead and the Rani had died while giving birth to her third child. The day was etched on her mind when she had taken her child in her arms and had realized that the small boy would never know who his father was. She also remembered her wild impulse to end her life too. But the thought of her three sons had stopped her. Now as she stared at the three houses that were being built she cursed them. Her heart cried out “the way my home remains erect but empty, in the future your houses will also be in this state. It will stand there still and silent with no one to make it a home.” She turned away and walked slowly back to her home.

………………………………………………………………………………


Eleven passed by. Rudrakumar, the eldest son of the Rani took charge of the household. He was old enough to get married. His best friend Ramdev was trying to persuade him to come meet his sister. These two were very good friends. But even he didn’t know Rudra’s past. But the prince himself remembered everything. The night the neighbouring army had attacked their palace, his father’s death, the birth of his youngest brother and his mother’s slow transformation from a Queen to a sufferer. Rudra was highly intelligent. He knew that Ramdev’s father was very powerful. So he decided to go meet him.
Ramdev’s father Ishwarchandra was an eminent bourgeoisie. He always wanted to marry off his daughter to Rudra. He believed him to be very intelligent. That day when he came to meet him, Ishwarchandra welcomed him into the house, gave him refreshments to eat and slowly broached the topic of marriage. At this Rudra said he was willing to marry her but there was a condition. Intrigued, Ishwarchandra asked him to go on. Taking a deep breath, Rudra began his story.
Twenty minutes later, Ishwarchandra’s respect for him had increased by twofold. He agreed to Rudra’s proposal that he would help him to get back at least some of his property. He also promised to impart education to him. So Rudra began to study. Through sheer hard work and determination, he got admitted into a law college and soon became a successful advocate. In the meantime, his father in law had sent his army of followers and had managed to get back some of the property. Rudra built three other rooms near his own home. Though Rudra got back some of his property, he didn’t get back his title of ‘Barasaheb’.
Rudra’s wife died eleven years after their wedding. She was an ailing lady. Whenever she used to go to live with her in laws, she would be attacked by a bout of malaria. Her father would bring her back home, but her firm mother would send her back the next day saying that married ladies always lived with their husbands. Her failing health at last took her away from her husband and here three sons. Their ‘mama’, and grandfather looked after these three motherless orphans. After their mother’s death they all shifted to a place a little away from their present home, Ranipur. Their house was built on the bank of the River Krishnakali. The middle son Devrup was the most intelligent and hard working among the three of them. He had all the good qualities of his father. He was an obedient son, a serious learner and a hard worker. All these characteristics made him more endearing to others. He studied with great eagerness and like his father got a chance to study in a good college far from home.
When he attained the marriageable age, a proposal came from an eminent Zamindar of Kushanganj, Rajballav. He wanted him to get married to his eldest daughter, his favourite among seven. She was a well-known beauty. Her name was Krishnakali. The proposal was agreed to and the preparations of marriage began to take place.
Krishnakali did not stay for many days in her in laws’ house. Her husband had found a transferable job and so she had to shift from one place to another. They at last settled in Calcutta. They had two sons and a daughter. The middle son was my father.
This was the story of my ancestors. When I was bedridden with a bout of influenza, he had told me this gripping tale. I had pushed it to the back of my mind and as I grew up, it never disturbed my peace. But when my photographer’s job brought me to Kushanganj, my memory was jogged and I remembered this thrilling tale. My susceptible imagination relived this tale in this palace. As I got into the car to go back, I looked back in acknowledgment of the palace of Kushanganj, my palace of Kushanganj.

THE FOLK STORY( from a russian fairy tale)

After repeated entreaties did Bholu’s mother decide to tell him a story. She pleaded excuse saying that it was already very late and she had to get up early tomorrow and even he had school. But Bholu was not at all enthusiastic about school. His father had recently shifted to this village and naturally Bholu did not have any friends. He was a very shy and couldn’t make friends easily. His mother understood his lonely state and could feel that he was missing his old friends and village. So she at last gave in. taking bholu in her lap she began a folk tale. She had earlier told him many stories. Some she had herself made up and some she had heard from her mother. But once story she had never told him. It was a deeply engrossing tale that had kept her in an illusion for many days together. Looking down at her son’s forlorn face she decided it was time he was told this intriguing tale that would keep him in a world of fantasy until he made friends. As Bholu snuggled in comfortably in her mother’s lap she began the story.
‘Once upon a time the king of a distant land had a beautiful daughter. Her loveliness was praised far and wide. This had made her arrogant. She was so proud of her flawless looks that she thought she could be rude to everybody without any rebuke. She would behave rudely with her father, mother, the ministers, and the helping hands of the palace and yet everybody would go into raptures over her exquisiteness.
One day a saint came to visit the king. He was greatly learned and had many other good qualities. But there was a great flaw in his character. He had an ungovernable temper. However, he was kindly received by the king and was given chambers in the guest quarter. One fine morning when the princess was strolling in the garden she saw a stranger kneeling in prayer in the guest chambers, which was very much visible from the garden. The princess did not know of the existence of the saint. So she went up to him boldly and rudely asked him to leave the palace right away. The saint, disturbed in his prayer instantly lost his temper and cursed the princess. He turned the princess into a frog and told her that she would forever remain like a frog. When the king heard of this mishap he fell to his knees and asked for forgiveness on behalf of his daughter. The saint was reminded of the king’s generosity and he changed his curse. He said that she would be able to retain her own body every night and would be able to get back her own body permanently if her frog skin was burnt by somebody who was unaware of the curse.
Since then on the princess was trapped in the body of the frog all day. The news of the curse on her had spread far and wide. Many people tried to burn the frog skin at nighttime but could not. The princess, ashamed of her condition left her kingdom and travelled to far lands where she could find somebody who, unaware of her plight would be able to give her freedom. They say she is still out there somewhere waiting to be freed of her curse.’
The next day when Bholu’s mother sent him o bring some water from the tube well he got out to go without any tantrum. What earlier was an odious task now seemed to be deeply desirable. This was so because Bholu’s house was a long way off from the tube well. The walk would give him sufficient time to think about the story he had heard last night. He didn’t remember when he fell asleep for he didn’t remember his mother putting him down on the bed. Yet he remembered each and every detail of the story. He shivered with excitement at the thought that maybe the princess was still out there waiting to be freed. He absent-mindedly reached the tube well and started filling water in his bucket. Suddenly the croak of a frog broke him out of his reverie. He hadn’t noticed the frog coming. He stared at the frog and felt thrilled to see that the frog steadily stared back. It was as if the frog was not a frog but a human being trying to send a message across with her eyes. Suddenly realizing that he was being tricked by his wayward imagination, he averted his gaze and started to fill the bucket. After he had filled it and turned. What he saw nearly made him drop the bucket. In place of the frog a girl, whose angelic face reminded him of the princess, was standing. All practical thoughts out of his mind he asked, “When did you change?” The bewildered girl stared back at him. “I thought you could change into your original self only at night.” A light of understanding flickered in the eyes of the girl and her lips twitched. Then smoothing out every emotion from her face she said in a quiet voice “I have to fill my bucket. My mother is waiting for the water. Please let me fill my bucket. The boy wordlessly shifted aside and continued to stare at her. The girl filled up the bucket and without a backward glance slowly walked away. On her way back home her face broke into a smile. The boy was much younger than her. He seemed about twelve years old. It was in that age that she had heard the story of the princess. She remembered the way she would roam about in the canals waiting for the frogs that she spotted to change into princesses. But that was four years ago. Now she was more mature and practical. The boy would be too. But until then he would enjoy his search for the lost princess.

MY FIRST LOVE

The small, sweet girl
With those huge black eyes
Her endearing chuckles
Her lovable cries
Every moment with her
Brings a priceless prize
The small, sweet girl
With those huge black eyes.

Fifteen years I spent
When she did not exist
But in two years
She has my heart in her fist
I am joined tightly
In one of those unbreakable ties
The small, sweet girl
With those huge black eyes

My silent nights long
For those shrieking cries
When she was all excited
Sleep eluded her eyes
When she wet my dress
And laughed at my surprise
The small, sweet girl
With those huge black eyes.

As I will watch along
She will grow up like me
And when I tell her my memoires
How embarrassed she will be
Then she will have the feelings too
That in my heart lies
For a small, sweet girl
With those huge black eyes.

When I have a bundle like the one
My aunt had in her arms
She will wound me round her fingers
With her innocent charms
Then I will tell her stories
To lessen her cries
Of the small, sweet girl
With those huge black eyes.

COMPANION

Dear God I am at the end of life
And now as I look back behind
I see to my astonishment that
You have been very kind.

As we had decided in the beginning
That you would always be with me
When I look back at the sands of time
And saw you were there, where you promised to be

Yet, Dear God, I was grieved to see
That during the tough times in the long run
Instead of the two sets of footprints as all along
I could find only one

You were not there, oh God!
When I needed you by my side
You were not there oh God!
During my life’s high tide.

“My child”, God replied “during the greatest difficulties in your life
I didn’t desert you at all
All the while I was carrying you
So that you wouldn’t fall.”

Never distrust me again, my child
I would never inflict on you unnecessary pain
Believe this always, my precious child
That promises are to be kept, not broken.

[Theme given to me by my Grandfather from a religious text]

JOURNEY

I have journeyed long enough
With and without people who are dear
And now I see
That the horizon has come so near.

When I had moved on in my journey
I used to pick those colourful pebbles
The pebbles that would remind me
Of all my childhood fables.

But as I had taken in the surroundings
The more attractive I found them to be
The pebbles in my hand slipped unknowingly
And I did not even see.

As the journey moved on and on
I picked up whatever attracted me
And basked in the pleasure
That I was moving towards what I wanted to be.

God was with me all the time
And whatever I wanted was mine
He had decided that on me
His good grace would always shine

I left my dreams, my thoughts, my hopes
For life was giving me something new
Those things that everybody wanted
But was given only a few.
My struggles had at last paid off
My journey was smooth and without fear
So I happily walked on
As the horizon came near.

As the horizon gets nearer and nearer
I look beck at all that I left behind
My eyes then went back to the things I held
The things I had always wanted to find

Suddenly the blinding light of sunset
Blazed around me
Then slowly my eyes again focused
And with clarity I began to see.

What a cruel joke God had played
When he gave whatever was wanted by me
And in my delight and greed
I had allowed him to decide
What I wanted to be

What I thought I had wanted all my life
Were all held close to me
Yet whatever I had become
Was not what I wanted to be

So at the end of life
I wearily changed my way
For even though the horizon was near
My destination was a long way.

Not A Typical Teenager, But A Seventeen Year Old

To become what I am not
Is a difficult job indeed
But this is what is
The ‘Society’s’ need.

I don’t like to date
I don’t like to travel in a car
My fellow beings snort and say
“Grapes are surely sour”

I don’t like to wear short skirts
I don’t like to show skin
My fellow beings exclaim
But this is what is ‘in’.

What I describe as skeletal
They describe as thin
What they describe as a party
I describe as din.

I don’t like what they do
Yet I do them anyway
I think they are shallow
Yet I listen to all they say

When they look at the sky
To admire a flower on a tree
I agree with them blindly
For right then I am pleading to be free

Man is born free
But is everywhere in chains
That is why I do things
That, in my heart pains.

But one day when I can
I will fight with all my might
And give these in people
A new insight.

I will shout so loud
That it will reach farther and farther
That Society is the son of man
Not the father.

MANKIND

Between nature and man
Once a fight ensued
Ego was the cause
Of this feud.
Man said, “Nature has a power
That we cannot have
They have the power to take lives
That we do not have
Tuberculosis, malaria and
Diseases as such
Takes so many lives
Which is too much.”

To fight the problem
Man started making medical researches
To fight these fatal diseases
They started making searches.

Yet this step was
Just not enough
All the men declared
In a huff.
So they deduced another method
To be in the competition
They decided to double nature destruction.
They created wars between man and man
So that the power of nature
Would slowly wan
Wars between countries
Families and friends
Destruction was now known by these new trends.
At the end of the day when man sat to compare
In spite of everything
They fell into despair
So with vigour
They started anew
And started thinking of others
That will fill the due.
Accidents began to happen
Murders were added to the list
And soon man had the power
In their fist
Nature gave up the race
To be the supreme
Until they were pushed and
Pushed towards the extreme.
Almighty looked down
And was astonished to find
That the people he had created
Were of a different kind.
What they took ages to
Create and build
In a need of power
They quickly killed
To build a civilization
They had worked and fought
But its destruction to smithereens
Took only one shot.

THE POETESS

The world praises me with words
Tributes, flowers and open arms
The world lifts me
To the very height of its charms
“We have a powerful poet
Sitting amongst us”- they always say
And people get to know my name
Day by day
“What did you feel when you created this poem”
People ask me whenever we meet
And without waiting for my answer
They again praise my feat.

Yet I don’t get heady
With pride and with pleasure
For when I sit down
On my couch in leisure
I know that these poems
Can never be mine
It is the light in me
That on my feelings shine
Everyday somebody is wanting
To say what I pen down
Their lack of words gives them anonymity
While I get Fame’s Golden Crown.
It is the world that urges me on
To write what it wants to
And when I form the words
They consider me a genius too

S when in parties I get praise
It fills me with surprise
For these people don’t understand
That I am their messenger in disguise.

THE WOES OF BEING A TEENAGER

The woes of being a teenager
At this point you are a poor manager
Your feelings, moods, clothes and hair
Nobody but you only care.
Your problems you have nobody to share
And life at this time is just not fair.

Which top to wear, which colour will suit
Which eyeliner to apply, nobody cares a hoot
Your nails are not long, not polished, not filed
How can anybody regard it as petty, as mild.
Which place to go, where not to go
A film is better than a discovery show
You dance to the cool, fast, wild tune
But droning songs always ruin
The idea of games and fun
But nobody listens, nothing can be done.

You always are misunderstood by all
They expect you to be at their beck and call
But you are busy thinking of their latest crush
Which changes frequently as if in a rush.
“He is sweet”; “So is he”,
you just can’t decide who the leader ought to be
you tell your parents, they laugh at you
they just don’t understand, now what to do.

This movie to go, that movie to go
For this reason you have a big row
You snap at everybody in front of your sight
You are up, set and about for your own rights
You want to grow up but when you do
You feel miserable and just want to
Go back to these seven long years
The memory brings, in your eyes, tears
Twenty years gone and you cast your mind
To the thoughts of yesterday which is one of a kind
How lovely it was to be a teenager
How good you were as a manager.

THE IMAGINATIONS OF A TINY BOY

Woodie was a young boy
He loved to play ball
He was three inches wide
And twelve inches tall
Woodsie was his friend
She was a pretty one
Woodie was in love with her
But his attentions she would shun
Once when she was prancing around
She fell inside the forest lake
And Woodie saved her life
Keeping his life at stake
Woodsie cried and cried
Large tears fell down from her cheeks
Pitter-patter pitter-patter
They were enough to fill creeks
When suddenly like a brave knight
I entered in the tragic place
I saved Woodie in a moment
I dabbed at the tears on Woodie’s face
Woodie and Woodsie lived happily ever after
But I was the hero of the day
For this is my puppet show
And the story always goes my way

THE HOSTAGE

I have waited and waited for this day
And now it has come like the Sun’s bright ray
But now I am scared through and through
For this freedom is too good to be true.

My friends are waiting across the road
They look as if someone has lifted the load
They had been carrying on their backs day after day
They look relieved, happy, bright and gay.

I have craved and craved to see their faces
I have suffered and yet lived and left traces
For them to know that I am alive
For them to live because I am alive.

But now when I have the chance to go to them
My heart feels leaden and my legs feel lame
Can I handle the change that I will see?
Can they handle the change that has occurred in me?

But when bright light falls and I shield my eye
For the first time I feel relieved that I did not die.
For nothing has changed towards worse or better
For the Sun still rises and sets down later
And love is there to conquer all fear
And the support is there of your near and dear.
And with me a lesson that will trail along
All my remaining life long.

When freedom is there you don’t feel free
But when it comes after oppression to a hostage like me
How scaring it is through and through
For freedom is too good to be true.

FLOWERS DOWN THE LOC

The flowers had bloomed and swayed and bloomed
On the other side of the line, or be doomed
But the wind with his masterful hand
Had done God’s important errand.
The flowers had been forced to go to the other side
Fighting and resisting the windy ride.
They had been forced to call the truce,
Their egos had suffered a huge bruise.
The flowers on the other side had raised their arrogant heads
The leader of them, the tallest one, to all of them said
“They have offered to come to this side but that won’t be allowed,
The rule made by us, our own God must always be followed.”
God had smiled and changed ‘His’ rule
The wind had started as a breeze cool
And swept them away towards the line
The force was surprising of the breeze so fine.
The flowers had met but argued still
Argued and argued all day till
Their exhausted bodies had sank to the floor
And waited for the end that was in store.
God had sighed and realized at last
No matter, the wind blew how fast
The head had to bow, the heart give inOr else no one would be forgiven for their sins.

THE DREADED AIRPLANE

I shut my eyes and my hands grip the seat
And rhythm comes from my erratic heartbeat
And only one mantra, in my head, I repeat
‘Flying is so simple, not at all a feat.’
The whirr of the engine sets my heart racing
My eyes refuse to peer down the window casing
I urge my heart to look at the beautiful sight
The heart retorts, “It would look better from a lesser height.”
As the plane rises my heart lurches with fear
I left my stomach way down there.
The air hostesses walk about and I stare
How can they walk around with so little care?
As the flight continues my ears leave me too
I grab for it but the seat belts stop me and there is nothing I can do.
A well-meaning air hostess thrusts food under my nose
“My stomach’s not with me” so saying my eyes close.
My eyes next open when blood rushes into my ears
We are going down! I feel like bursting into tears.
As I emerge from the airport, I say, “Flying is no pain”
My heart whispers, “I wouldn’t want to do it again.”

THE CHILD

The girl was cradled in her father’s arms
Her body he shook with her head in his palms
He shook and shook till she slept sound
So sound, so as not to ever come around.
The girl had flitted from her father’s hand
And floated over to her mother to land
But her face had stopped her right there
For she was not the person for her pain to share
She was cursing her luck for giving birth to a girl
The ruthlessness of her mother made her shiver and curl
She had resigned to her fate and gone back home
Paradise, where God, with His children would roam.
She asked God, “you gave man brains and women, birth power,
But whom did you give a heart for love to shower”
God had smiled His tender smile
“All the baby girls spread all over the miles
If they are not grown to love and cherish
The human race, one day, would have to perish.”

THE CHERRY TREE( theme taken from Ruskin Bond short story)

The day when I found the cherry tree
An adventure it seemed to me
So instead of throwing it in the waste bin
I took it to my Grandma to see.

She exclaimed at my find
And told me how lucky I was
For cherry seeds brought good luck
It brought happiness without a pause.
“I will always keep it in my pocket”
I exclaimed in childish delight.
“But that wont bring you good luck”
Grandma gave me a new insight
“Nothing can be lucky
Unless you put it to use
Why don’t you plant it at the backyard”
What is there to lose?

I planted it when I was nine
And watched it grow everyday
It coiled up like a climber
In its own wayward way

Eight years have gone by
And now as I see the cherry tree
The thought fills my heart
That I have set a soul free
As the winds blow
And the trees’ leaves doff and nod
I silently leave a question in the void
Is this what it is like to be God?

MY BIRTHDAY GIRL

The face glows a bit more, the dimples flash too often

The eyes sparkle all the time; frequently the mouth is seen to soften

There is a spring in her step, laughter in her tone

The fidgety hands reach out, a bit more, towards the phone

The sophistication is gone, the little tyke is seen to unfurl

For she is ours, once in a year, sweet little birthday girl.

SUNLIGHT

In summer, in the morning, my play was to
Catch the sunlight
For the rays of the sun glowed on the floor
With gay colour and bright
I grew up sitting there with a cloth
To weave the rays into it
And when wind blew, I saw it dance
As is to its beat.
As I grew up I viewed the world
With eyes
Which had learnt to spot the difference
Between truth and lies.
The world was filled
With treachery and deceit
Even the helpless of all, people were trying to cheat
I wished to be like Rapunzel
Locked in a tower
And to alight in the world
In a better hour
At this time came
A friend out of the dark
And set me about
As happy as a lark
When I need to get away
From this world’s trend
The sun takes the place of my mentor,
My friend.

SUN AND THE MOON

Farewell, the Sun sang as it whisked away
Down and down behind the mountains it lay
Waiting for the moon to come and stay
And for people to realize that night had come, gone was the day.
The moon came in wearing a pretty white gown
Her hair was set like that of a crown
The Sun before leaving embraced her and ‘lo’
She seemed to be wrapped in a fiery glow.
He travelled and travelled till a place he reached
Where just animals growled and bats screeched
There he alighted and settled for the day
And the country changed when it was touched by the Sun’s ray.
The Sun waited and waited for the inevitable to follow
And just at time the moon appeared, not a moment slow.
The Sun laughed and said as he took her hands
You will always follow me as I travel through the lands.
The moon just smiled and whispered to the sky
The Sun will never know what game I’m playing on the sly
He reaches the places where I light up for him to see
And before he notices I always flee
However much independent, however smug he be
He will never settle in a place without help from me.

SNOWFLAKE

I had been out for an early walk
To admire the snow filled park
When I felt a snowflake on my nose
A speck of light in this country of dark.
I looked up in the sky
And opened my hands to grope for more falling snow
The little girls in the park ran home
With their nannies in tow.
I stood there savouring the feel
A touch of snow on my face
I thanked the lord for this moment of peace
It had helped me step away from the world’s hectic pace.

LIBRARY

To survive we need food to eat, air to breathe and water to drink
But what does imagination need to thrive, do we ever think?
It also needs water, food and air
Like us it grows well under care.
In this school you children spend hours and hours
Hence your imagination’s responsibility is also ours.
Imagination is necessary for your personality to build
Then you will find yourselves topping your field.
So this library was our creation
To help thrive your imagination.
Get set and start reading as much as could fit
But never neglect your studies, better mind it.
While you prepare hard to be world classThe surety of your success; just leave it to us.

FAIRY TALES

Once in Fairyland there lived a fairy
She always sat and wrote story after story.
She thought ''all these stories with someone I must share
I will go to my best friend who would really care.''
She read all the stories and after hearing
Her fairy friend suggested something.
She said '' all the stories are worth hearing
Go and tell these to the King.''
She went to the king and all the stories she read
Hearing the stories the king was very impressed.
The king said '' what reward do you want my fairy dear?''
The fairy answered '' I want to live in the earth with children very near''
''With ordinary mortals'' cried the surprised king
''Yes, Your Highness!'' answered the fairy bowing.
''I want to tell the children the stories that I have written during my leisure
And watch their face glow with happiness and pleasure''
'' But how can we let you go?'' Cried the king ''you own the fairy crown here
And to me you are very very dear.''
The fairy ''Oh! Please Your Highness let me go
Or else another way please do show.''
''There is a way'' said the king after much thought.
''Let the most trustable mortal from the earth be brought.
You dictate the stories and it will be written down
And even you won’t have to lose your fairy crown.
The stories will be spread in every city, place and town
Now what is the matter? Why do you frown?''
Your highness! We have not given a name to my tales!''
The king said, '' that is not a problem. We’ll call it the fairy tales.''

POEM

Oh! Writing is such a pleasure
It soothes my mind a very good measure
It is lovely to sit there and make the words rhyme
Thinking hard and wasting a lot of time.
For some days I had abandoned writing
But my parents never leave persisting
They nag and nag till I am dead
But my poem earns praise that makes me blush red.
But I say to me praise and fame doesn’t matter
Hearing that my parents’ dreams are about to shatter.
One day when I see the advantage at last
A plan emerges and my heart beats fast
I will never stop writing I promise myself
My parents think that I am trying to change myself.
In my action my determination shows
My parents wonder where the san had earlier rose.
Now a days writing is a real pleasure
It helps me shirk studies a very good measure.

LOVE IS A CRUEL DEED

In a far away land, once upon a time
When there was no violence, no fear, no crime
This had occurred at that time
This was a love story, an unearthly crime.

He was a painter poor but strong
His mouth a firm line, his nose so long
He didn’t have a home, he lived on the road
All night he painted, from dawn he carried load.

One morning he was resting after carrying a huge case
When his eyes alighted on his queenly face
Her eyes were deep blue, her face sincere
He could see her eyelashes though she was nowhere near.

As she turned her eyes on him
His whole surrounding suddenly appeared dim
Her back towards the Sun, her hair shielding her face
Her whole self was alighted in a glaze.

For him it was an emotion so deep
Which even her oceanic blue eyes couldn’t seep.

She was alone, sitting in her chariot of gold
With no one with her, only the driver old.
He stepped up to her and bowed low
His walk a jaunty step, his eyes aglow.

His arrival she acknowledged in a short while
And bestowed on him her beautiful smile.
But something he noticed which he had not seen earlier
Her eyes were cloudy on her face so clear.
Before they could speak, she was whisked away
But her head was turned, on him her eyes lay.

He thought he would never see her again
But God had bestowed him his love there and then
He was invited to paint the daughter of a duke so wealthy
For which he was offered a sum very healthy.

He reached the palace and was shown into the hall
Where the duke was standing, his figure lean and tall.
The Duke’s harsh face broke into a smile
He remembered the smile but could not place it for a while.

He was taken to a room, and he opened the door
She was there, he saw and felt his eyes soar
As soon as they were alone, he caught her hand in his
And without hesitation he bent on his knees
He delivered his speech, his lips sang his feeling
And he noticed that the pain in her eyes was healing
It was replaced by a determination strong
That he knew, his love was not wrong.

She knelt beside him and her quiet voice spoke
She began her story and then her icy calm broke
She whispered between sobs that her father was cruel
She was deprived of everything, every day was a duel
She wanted to get away and she needed his support
She asked him to come at night and meet her at the port.

He painted her picture and took the money given
And walked out of the palace, thinking about his remaining life in heaven.

Night came and he waited with an eager heart
But his heart was broken by a cruel dart
She didn’t come, not even a message was sent
His life had received a permanent dent.

He left the place, his heart bitter and leaden
He did not even give her a chance to explain
He walked and walked till he knew not where
His journey, his hurt he had no one to share.

…………….


A month later and there was no sign of him
She lay on her bed, her face pale and grim.
Her father had overheard their heartrending confession
And immediately denied both of them any relation
She was locked in a room, desperate and in tears
On her cruel fate and her father’s behaviour


Now a month was gone and her father was in deathbed
But there was not a person with him not a tear was shed.
But when his demise was announced ahoy
She had wept and wept tears of joy.

She was free to find what God had given
She was free to find her love, her path to heaven.
She searched high and low, in different countries and states
But she met only tightly closed gates.

After a week when she was frantic with worry
Her pageboy appeared in a real hurry
He had heard of an exhibition in a town very near
He might be the one, her love, her dear.
With her heart full of joy, she had arranged to go
To beg him for forgiveness and to the whole world show
How she loved him, how special he was
Leaving him ever, there was no cause.
But reaching there she was received with a chill
Every painting seemed disillusioned but her heart went still
When she reached the painting kept on a bigger wall
It was herself standing, beautiful and tall
But it was not she, some other woman
Her face was filled with malice, which she herself had none.

Then suddenly she realized and her heart was in pain
Another man, like her father, had betrayed her again.
Not wanting to reason, not waiting to know
He painted her as he thought and put her in show
Her beauty was marred by his prejudiced thought
His hatred, his bitterness, her picture had caught.
She walked blindly away right into the sea
To be at last happy, to be at last free.

………….


A few days later while walking by the shore
His eyes met a sight chilling his heart to the core
Her lifeless body lay battered against the caves
But her face was clear as if washed by the waves
Her face explained what her voice could never
Her innocence was proved; his eyes did not waver
He knew that ahead a long life was in store
As punishment; for he, on himself, had closed the door
He knew there wouldn’t be a moment when he wouldn’t be in pain
For his only love, he himself, with his own hands, had slain.

LOVE

Love is the touch of the rain,
Love is the smell of the flowers
Love is a pleasurable pain
Love is there on all to shower.
Love is when you remember every teardrop
And wish the amount to remain so
Love is when you want the smile not to stop
And urge it to grow and grow
Love is to give support when needed
Love is to wish for the best
Love is when the heart not head is heeded
Love is never put to test
Love is like the rain
Cleansing your mind and soul
Love is something that has lain
In the feeling that makes you whole
Love is when your heart swells
With the volume of a mountain
“The person is here,” your heart tells
And it erupts like a fountain
Love is not what is between us
It engulfs us in its core
Love is not ever clear to us
It is the horizon we are the shore
Love is what gives birth to romance
Love can end never
Love is something that you get by chance
And stays there forever.

HOLIDAYS

Holidays! What an inviting word that is
This is one opportunity I never cease to seize.
At this time we roam about
Sometimes in hills and sometimes in plains
At this time I get
Scorched in the sunshine and wet in rains
I am hot tempered all the time
But a holiday is enough to please
For this is an opportunity I have never
And will never cease to seize.

TIME

Once upon a time, there was a man called ‘Time’
He was the greatest of thieves of his time.
He won’t steal your jewellery or your treasure
But he would steal something, which is beyond measure,
He would steal all your health and all your leisure
And as you slog on he would watch with great pleasure.
You will find nobody as cruel as he
A little lenient he would never be,
Be on your guard; it is the only way to stay out of his lure
Let down your guard and you are gone for sure.
He is still there waiting to catch you on the sly
With your precious possessions he would quickly fly
Better be cautious or you will never know
When will come and when he will go.

TO FLY

Locked in a cocoon, I want to fly high
The silver chains sometimes make me cry
I want everything good, happy and sound
Away from the wicked death’s hound.
Locked in a cocoon I want to fly free
Across the sky, flitting from tree to tree
I rather go hungry for a day or two
Then maintain the routine that others always do.
Locked in a cocoon, I want to fly high
Till the end, until the days of freedom die
I will take back the routine with a bowed head
Not a tear will I then ever shed.
Locked in a cocoon I want to fly free
Out in the world for a happy spree
But my feet are tied with a silver bow tie
Dreams are not true, they always lie.
To fly high, to fly free
Amidst the sky, that’s where I want to be
Please, I plead with you, Almighty High
Allow me to fly across the sky.

WHAT TO WRITE, WHAT TO WRITE

I have been thinking all night
What to write, what to write?
My mother has tears in her eyes
My father is seeing red
But I sit there with no writings
Only tears to shed
In the morning my father said
“In the evening both of us will sit”
Hearing that my head went hot
And my mother nearly had a fit.
Mom became ill at once
My mind was filled with fear
For I didn’t have a single thing
For my father to hear.
My dear father returned home
To read my original talent
But all he found was trash
Nothing to give him contentment.
So he started bashing me
The way people beat cream
Suddenly I fell down from the bed
And realized it was all a dream.
I have many writings to show many poems to be liked
Thank God it was only a dream I said and sighed.

WRITE A POEM

I had been sitting here for an hour; my neck is stiff with pain
I am trying with all my might but in vain.

My forehead is creased in concentration
My teeth are pressed together in frustration.

I am so tired you could knock me down with a feather
Try as I might I cannot string two words together.

What’s the magic trick I wonder?
I sit chewing my pen and ponder.

The words don’t seem to come to my mind
There is not a single rhyme that I can find.

Can you help me so that I can show themThat I know how to write a poem?

PUJAS

September has set in. soon enough we are going to step into October. October-the month of celebration. Or, is it so? The Bengalis are famous as a race that celebrates one occasion or the other all year around. So what’s so special about October? Only one answer comes to me. It is the time of the ‘Durga Puja’. It is the time when Goddess Durga visits us. We being the Generation Next ought to imagine ‘Ma Durga’ in jeans and a kurta, ‘Saraswati and Lakshmi’ with streaked hair and our dear ‘Karthik and Ganesh’ with mobile phones and spikes in the hair. But do we? No we don’t. We still imagine ‘Ma Durga’ as the lady in red with a huge red ‘bindi’ on her forehead, and the parting in her hair smeared with ‘sindoor’; eyes glittering like sapphires and a strange energy emanating from her smile. She decides the right and wrong in the world. Her all seeing eye-her third eye-bestows blessings on the people around her. And that’s how probably Indians of all age groups view her as.
But before we come to the actual ceremony of the Pujas, we will just rewind back to the month before. Just like October is the month of celebration, September is the month of preparation. Preparation for the Pujas. That includes shopping, shopping and more shopping. September finds people swarming about in good looking clothes, going from one shop to another and getting caught in immense traffic jams in the process. It seems as if the preparation for the oncoming festival is a cause for celebration itself. I, being a schoolgirl know exactly what teenagers feel. School, which earlier was an exciting prospect, now becomes a mere ritual. All they think and talk about are the clothes that they have bought for the pujas, where they would go for the holidays and planning about how they will get together during the pujas. It’s as if they cannot wait for the pujas to come. And when it comes they don’t want to let it go. This year only there is going to be only three days of pujas. You should see my friends. The amount of moaning and groaning and grumbling!
Another telltale sign of the fact that people are in the Puja mode is the amount of traffic that are found in the roads. Even at two ‘o’ clock in the afternoon in a working day it is difficult to have a peaceful time shopping. Several people complain about the impossible circumstances that get created but to be entirely truthful, people enjoy even this kind of disorganized situation of the traffic.But sometimes I wonder: is this what “Durga Puja” is all about? Shopping, wearing new clothes, roaming around different pandals, standing in a line to eat in a restaurant? Or is it the atmosphere that only a privileged few enjoy? The environment of the houses of the families who perform “Durga Puja”. Where the ladies of the house dress up in red and white sarees on Shoptomi, where dancers come for the “Dhunuchi Naach” on Oshtomi, where “vidaai” is given to “Maa Durga” on Doshomi itself. The truth is that like two sides of a coin these two views are the different perspectives of the Pujas. And if I be foolish to ask the question “which one is better?” a heated argument will ensue leading to a circumstance that even “Maa Durga” won’t be able to handle. So I won’t ask the question. Because the perspective doesn’t matter. Though people may get divided in their opinions regarding this issue but the anticipation, excitement and the happiness that floods each of our beings will bind us together into one. And in the end this is what “Durga Puja” is all about. The integration of the people living individual lives in one place during a time, which would wash away all the depression, jealousy and feelings of inadequacies in us and replace them with purity and love.

TIME

Once upon a time in a faraway land, a thief had earned great name because of his clever and quick ways of stealing. He was popularly known as Mr. Time. He would mark a place, bide his time and the moment the occupants go in for their afternoon siesta, he would attack. One moment and all the valuable possessions of the house would be lost. But fortunately he never attacked at night. The king, tired of the complaints about Mr. Time and of the failures of his officers in nabbing him, issued an order saying that afternoon siesta was banned. That was the only way to keep these increasing thefts at bay. Since then on the afternoon found the inhabitants working in their fields or in their houses. Thus the economic condition of the country improved and people led an active and prosperous life and Mr. Time was from then on remembered only as history.

This is just a story my mother used to tell me when I was a kid. But now as I have grown up I have suddenly found this uncanny similarity between the thief and time. The story goes to show how Mr. Time was your friend when you were hardworking and your enemy when you were lazy. It is true in real life too. For example, a student who studies uniformly day after day has no problem in revising before exams. But time plays a wicked trick on those who laze around thinking they have ample time for studying. One moment you think there is loads of time left and the next moment you suddenly realize that you don’t have enough time to learn, let alone revise your subjects. Time has a brisk and strict personality. It has no mercy on people who don’t respect it. It has no patience for people who don’t have a grip on themselves and are of a nervous type. For example, when you are just about to give an exam and have become very nervous, then you should just check your watch. Instead of moving slowly to calm you down it runs in double speed sending your blood pressure soaring high. If you manage to compose yourself and start solving the question paper you are saved but if not, then you are heading for a half finished paper and consequently a heart attack. On a more serious note, I would like to say that it is time that has created history. The reason we are in this age of technology is because people have learnt from the various mistakes committed in the past. Thus we can say that these comfortable days are also dedicated to time.
My dad is a greatly punctual man. If you have an appointment with him and you turn up even a minute late, he gets real huffy. He says, your dedication in maintaining time shows your dedication for other things too. In fact his most favourite saying is “If you maintain time, there are good times ahead. But if you think time is waiting, then it’s your watch, and not time which has stopped. Time is a bit naughty too. When you are having a good time it races along and each minute feels like only a second. But when you are having a boring time, then each minute passes as if an hour.

Time is much more than what has been stated above. Time revolves around life and life revolves around time. So respect and maintain it. For

‘Time And Tide Wait For None’

EYES

I have never been thankful to God for anything. Until I saw the aerial view of the Himalayas. That was the day I had sincerely thanked God. For crafting such a view and for giving me an opportunity to appreciate it.
I had always been a carefree girl. I had no insight about a life of deprivation. But my disposition was gradually altered by two incidents. At the age of eight, while floating about in the harmless waters of the sea, I had been smothered by an enormous wave. For several seconds life had seemed suspended. I could not breathe, move, but most of all, I could not see. I had emerged at last after what had felt to be a lifetime. I was overflowing with a billowing joy because I could see.
I was only eight when I had first experienced such fear. The incident has been forgotten but the fear has stayed with me. I still feel horrified by the thought that I would not be able to see the objects of my love. To see my room, to read my books, to admire nature. I would only hear the voices of my parents; only feel the facial contours of my darling sister. I would be lost forever in the abyss of darkness. I wonder if I will be able to bear it. I might just quit living such a dispossessed life.
After that incident I had learnt not to take my eyes for granted. But respect had come later. When I had read the heart-rending account of a blind, deaf lady, Helen Keller. Her autobiography was the real turning point of my life. I saw her leading a beautiful flawed life. Then I learnt to value the beautiful ideal life that I had. I was never grateful for my eyesight but I knew that I would be terrified without it. I think that is why God took away her eyesight and not mine. Because she was courageous whereas I am not.
When we want to admire the beauty of a person’s face, we foremost admire the eyes. Dark eyes are mysterious, light eyes are mischevious. Eyes change the personality of a person. We might see a plain girl sitting with her head bowed and find her insignificant but her eyes might dispel the first impression. Their warmth, their light, their vibrancy would make her the centre of attention. Eyes are the most delightful conception of God. The have the power to conquer, to addict. One look from them can make you feel bereft, happy, restless, at peace. They can touch the heart like nothing else.
It is said that eyes are the mirrors of the soul. Eyes speak. They emote. Without this medium of expression life becomes empty. So today I thank Almighty for everything, specially the world to see and my eyes to see it through.

ADULTHOOD

I am now in the brink of the proverbial womanhood. Though I know I shall have to move on I am still uncertain, hesitant, reluctant. Looking back at the seventeen deliriously happy years that I have spent, I feel them slipping away from my hands. As my years advance, my memories recede. Life is taking me to the place where I shall be the master of my own self, I shall take my own decisions, make my own life, but do I really want that? I don’t remember my mom taking me in her arms when I was born, I don’t remember my relatives fussing over me, I don’t remember my father coo-cooing to me. But I know all this had happened. And I don’t want to lose them. Like a scared rabbit I feel like running, hiding in the dark burrow from the perilous journey of adulthood. But moving on is life and move on I will. I don’t know what I am trying to say. I am just pouring down my feelings hoping they would make sense, hoping they would give me the strength to fight this insane fear, hoping they would give me courage to face the coming years. And I am reminiscing. My eyes are witness to my tears but they are also witness to the smile that is taking the sad tilt of my lips upwards. Being a kid was a cheerful time for me. Instead of flying at the speed of lightning, they had passed like a boat taken out for a day of relaxation, floating on the water and swaying gently to the breeze that surrounded it. That is why I am scared. Now my days shall fly. They shall take me further and further away from my childhood, those fun days that I struggle to hold on to, the days that I refuse to let go. But as I said, life has to move on and so shall I. But before I plunge into this darkness I shall shed all my fears, anxieties and pre conceived notions. I shall shed them like the skin of my older self and move on bravely, courage written all over my countenance, so confident that no one, not one I would believe that I was petrified at the change in my life. But I was. And nobody need know. Just you and me.