Poetry: Toonda hai baadal
December 9, 2023
Toonda hai baadal abhi
Garaj raha hai, bhaag raha hai
Kaala hai, par poora nahi
Iss chhor se uss chhor
Bas bhaag raha hai
Ek aur aasmaan ki taraf
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Toonda hai baadal abhi
Garaj raha hai, bhaag raha hai
Kaala hai, par poora nahi
Iss chhor se uss chhor
Bas bhaag raha hai
Ek aur aasmaan ki taraf
Don’t call me to say you miss me
For I too may say that
Please don’t come into my life again
It’s over means it’s over
My mind is playing visual charades. Not a single visual I remember, such is the haste of the chaos. I want to pause the chaos, slow it down, let it linger in my mind so that I can savor those visuals, because somewhere deep I know, that those visuals are mine. Each is full of craving, guilt, angst, love, passion, dreams, longing, revenge, ego, past, smiles, hesitance, and regret.
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This was a humble try to write poetry in English & Hindi, without each language becoming a translation. Having a penchant for writing verses in both Hindi & English, this came quite naturally, and I was delighted with the flow. Written in circa 2010s.
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This was written about 16 years back (2006) for a newspaper competition whose theme was – I Love Delhi. I had always been infatuated with Delhi – its history, culture, architecture, hidden gems, people, the diversity, underbelly, food and the confluence of many worlds that resided inside.
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The night is ripe. The love between us is ripe. We are consumed by love. Wasted. Consumed. Wasted. We are heading towards neverland. We are discovering our own world. Paradise. Neverland. Paradise.
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This was my first article published in Platform Magazine in November 2006. This poetry was written on a trip to Manali in Fall 2006 with a group of friends. As we reached the hotel after a 15 hour drive, everyone went to take a nap, while I took a walk around the garden area of the resort and sat beside the rushing river Beas at a beautiful nook. That foggy evening was perfect setting for me to write this in one go, probably in an hour. Later my friends named this nook – Writers Point.
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Aasmaan tab syahi jaisa hi tha
Puhkraj sa kuch khul raha tha ek kone mein
Aisi sard si subah thi kuch
Jab haathon mein tera haath tha.
Pushkar is an ancient town that grows on you, layer by layer. An archaic book that unfolds a new fable, leaf by leaf. The holiest of the pilgrimage sites that warrant salvation of the soul, prayer by prayer.
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The solemn air still carries the sweet music that came from Lord Krishna’s flute, the chirping of birds is resonant of hymns from Sama Veda, the sand on the blissful ground bear the hues of love and peace, the meditating groves are abloom with spirituality, while reverent water bodies are brimming with nectar and lotuses. Truly, this could only be Lord Krishna’s abode.
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The only refuge for her was praying to the Almighty. She knew if nothing would work, at least her prayers would. Someone will answer her prayers someday. There must be a guiding light, a voice that will tell her that what she’s seeking is just around the corner. That hardship is over, happiness & contentment will be a way of life.
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Yeh makaan kiraye ka hai
Isme na bhar aur yaadein
Ghar hota to alag boat hoti
Eento main bhi jagah bana lete
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A Coffee-table Book on Hyderabad written in 2012 by myself. Over 4,000 words written for the book, it was released by the then Chief Minister of Hyderabad N Kiran Kumar Reddy.
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In those days of joyous abandon, the craft was not the focus, but the feelings were. Poetry to me is about moments, it should evoke feelings and memories. And this poetry sums up that.
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Being a writer, isolation is second nature to me. Writers are known to living in a dreamy world they’ve created with no distractions, just words floating around like atoms.
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To understand the food of Katra, one must understand the concept of Sattvik. We all know that Sattvik is pure vegetarian food, just as is Vaishnav food. But there is more to Sattvik than just the pleasant sounding name. It stems from Ayurdeva
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There is something endearing about Taj Mahal. Maybe it’s the name itself, which has come to symbolize craftsmanship of the finest level. Or it’s the grand scale on which it is built. Or it’s the conspicuous status of being one of the wonders of the world.
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This was in mid 2000s, when Indian advertising wasn’t orgasm-ing on overtly emotional routes of ‘Khushiyan, Rishtey, Garmahat’ etc. This hoarding ad was just a fancy painting, to say the least. Yet, for someone it was a piece of art, which spoke to him in ways he hadn’t expected.
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