Discrete Diwali

A careful combination
of the ingredients
fell into hands
that crafted with
elegance,

Stuffed
.
.
.
Rolled
.
.
.
Sealed
.
.
And finished
with a topping.

Thousands of them
they made,
For making these
crackers,
they were paid.

Finally the moment
arrived,
with the allowance
in hand
they took to their heels
For this was to be a
day with three meals.

Crackers are made in a Tamil city called Sivakasi. A sad yet true fact is that this industry hosts the greatest number of child laborers in Tamilnadu who earn a meager amount by rolling the gunpowder into crackers and the only part on the year they are paid well is during Diwali.

Fairy in Disguise

On
Yet another
rainy night
I walked through
muddy streets
sans light

Thunder lord
sent his brigade
Then, you were
my sole comrade

And the wind blew
with all its might
Afraid,
I held you tight

You stopped the
rains from drenching
my torso
And stood
by my side wherso

For me,
you were the
fairy from Cinderella
But people say
you are just
an umbrella

Skilled yet killed

Standing by the
side of the road
I was awe struck
at the way you rode

Handling the throttle,
break and lights
with indomitable
elegance and might

Wondering at the
skills you stage
My routine has
seldom changed

But yoou pass me by
considering me a menace
Always with a
grin of ignorance

Look out!
.
.
.
Smash!
.
.
.
.
Thud!
.
.

Oh my dear!
Perhaps you should
have read me,
the sign board,
I was no menace
but was your hoard,
For this was what i bore

Drinking kills
Driving skills

Be it a bacardi blast
or a tequila shot
The sign holds still!

Dad's boot

One, tip toed
into the corridor
and lifted,
while the other
had inherited.

One glad with
the achievement
The other sobbing
over the pavement

One tumbling to walk
with the new loot
The other in
an inevitable mute
Both,
too young for
dad's boots

One tried out of
curiosity
The other
on account of
food scarcity!

Dedicated to all young foots inside their respective dads' boots, instead of their own.

Replica

I watched
helplessly,
something
penetrating deep
into my body

It sucked all the
gore. I cried in pain
After a while
it sent the gore
back into the vein

I was told
it would make me
feel better
But
With blood
absorbed and imbued
I probe it bitter

A REPLICA of a
creation of
the Almighty's
And they call
it,
A dialysis

Comrade with a difference

Right from the moment
I arrived in, I had
set my eyes on him
He was perfect,
stayed near the window
neat and prim

He was only a
few yards away
and only an old lady
was in between
I wondered how long
she was to stay

At the next station
she left
raising her eyebrow
I was tickled at the
very thought that
he was all mine now

A few stations
had passed
and mine was next
bidding adieu
so much gloomy
that I almost wept

Still I had to go
since SITTING
beyond my station
in a suburban train
will lead to nothing
but mere frustration

By now,
someone would have
taken him, it rather
HE is a seat near
the window, about
whom, only I bother



For all the "My dear window seat" maniacs

Of open temples and unseen idols

They invited
at least a hundred
stares
for their
striking skin tone
and blond hair

Their eyes gleaming
with awe
at the sculptures
and the magnificent
Indian architecture.

The hearts filled
with joy to see
the legendary goddess
came to a stand still
at the thought of
the long awaited moment
now becoming abyss

Since a note
mounted on the wall
read
"Only Hindus
are allowed beyond
this level"

Racism with
a difference?
Or perhaps
revenge for the
unforgettable arrogance?



I happened to see the temple authorities at the Madurai Meenakshi Temple denying darshan to a group of foreigners (of course whites as they prefer calling them) since only Hindus were allowed the darshan of the chief god and goddess.I strongly believe such an act is to be condemned at any cost. How ever they were allowed to see the other parts of the temple. "Unforgettable arrogance" here means the English reign in India.