LOVE AND PANTYHOSE

St valentines messenger
Cupid-I saw him
Shooting a few arrows
They struck, did their bit
And love happened..
How times changed
Time was when I fell in love...
Not that I don't now
But then it was private
And personal
As we exchanged notes
In the hallway or even
Crowded corridors
Time was when a mere glance
And a smile did the trick
Time is now when
You need newspapers to
Profess your love for all
To see
No privacy
No delicate-ness that is love
Thump your chest times these
And oh yes
Cupids arrows found their mark
And in return Cupid got
Sticks stones and bombs
And I daresay
A few pink panties ...

Seeking Education or My Attempt at an Epic...

He entered the house
it looked like it had
all those years
that he grew up
in it...

the furniture looked
untouched and calm
covered in white
just as he liked...

in the rays of
the sun
that came through
the crevice in the roof
he saw speckles of dust
come through
toward him
and then it all came back to him...


he saw a child
running through
those rays
with a pretty lady
in tow...
Mother...

Father sat in the corner
reading the Bhagwad
as he loved to do..
life's lessons he would
tell the child
as he grew up
among all those riches
learning those values
that the holy book
laid out...

life was good in
the largesse that he
grew up in..
as he was
wont to
the child grew fond
of the estate that
he grew up in...

now a young man
questioning the charities
of life that his
father indulged in...
the questions turned
to defiance and
the Mother watched
helplessly her two
men agreeing to disagree..

and died she did
as silently as she watched..
at the funeral
the youth
motionless as he was
woke up when
he heard his mother
owned the estate..

gritting his teeth
he asked of him
'How dare you
throw it all away
when it wasnt even yours'...

later that night
the frail by now man
walked into
his room and
extending the Bhagwad said
'Take this...
for it is yours..'

the young man
looked at his
shriveled hands and off
he went forever
leaving the old man
to fend for himself..

the old man-no
God wasnt kind to him
he lived broken hearted
minus his son
and soul till he died..
with but a cat by his side
and an old faithful
who didnt speak

But he called...
the son
answered and instead
of no sound that
he usually heard
he heard tapping
on the other end...
'Something's happened
to the old man'...

Now as the dust settled
in the rays
he felt an uneasy calm
the cat by a picture
the rooms ajar
and no soul
that had left many
moons ago...


He clasped the old faithful
and nodded but in disdain...
he stood by his Mother's
picture till his
eyes went moist...
by the soft
natural light that
made her look
even softer


and his eyes
pried on the
Bhagwad...
Holding it in his hands
for the first time
as an adult
those harsh memories
steeped into
the corners of his mind
till he realised what his
hands held...


and he shook
it as though
demanding answers from
his dead father...
and then he noticed
it...

a deed
that had his Mother's
sign that was
tatooed in his heart..
'My son needs
to learn from you
my dear that life
is about giving
and forgiving..
teach him kindness
the way your father
brought up
an orphan like me..
teach him compassion
like i saw in your eyes
when we first met...
teach him to
be generous and
large hearted
as you were
when you bequeathed
our estate to
your old faithful...
teach him loyalty
as our faithful
just as he willed this estate
to our son for all
he has is him
long after we are gone...

for i wont live long
as he has left us
and nor will you
moping as you will
after i am done...'


his heart sank as
he read this note
attached to
a neatly folded
lawyers deed...
He slowly turned around
to face his Mother's
countenance as he
fell to his knees...

and as his knees touched
the cold damp floor
in the corner
of the glass framed
picture he saw
his Father's face
shine forward reflecting
as though
standing behind him
still...
despite the pain
the hurt
the wounds...


He looked
behind him and saw
the old faithful..
he wept clutching him
like a child
crying his heart
aloud looking heavenward.. .


his life ahead
was now measured
he had to pay...

for his education

Musings on a Saturday morning-inspired by Let it be …

Whenever I find myself in times of trouble
Mother Mary comes to me
speaking words of wisdom
Let it be...

So goes this Song-let it be
And in this hour of darkness
she is standing right in front of me
speaking words of wisdom
Let it be...

Just how many times
have we all looked for
our own Mother Mary
Our conscience
our inner voice...
that tells us to
Let it be...Oh let it be…



Sometimes I have felt that
the best words of wisdom
come from us within...

Sometimes my thoughts
though mine I know have come
from my mind and its chagrin

We all have an inner voice
that tells us what to do
Question-does it know what is wrong and right?

We all do what our voice tells us to
and then live to see another day
Question-does it many a doubt ignite?

Werent they all made as children
Werent they all cute and adorable
And didnt their parents have hopes on them?

Didnt they go through the stages that all do
Didnt they have their fights and squabbles too
Then why did they do that we did them condemn


What went wrong
How did their paths change
Didn’t they realize that they were in the wrong game?

What did they do
How did they alter their course
And oh God what good was this unholy fame?

What do they think they’ll achieve
When all they see are innocents dead
Cant they see it in their eyes cant they hear their plea?

Where is their Mother Mary-is their conscience dead
Have they lost their inner voice, did they their souls bury?
Why didn’t they hear the words Let it be, Oh let it be?

Reminiscing The Years Gone By...

Prologue

In all these years my better half Neha has kind of complained that I haven't written much for her...
I want to set the record straight on our 17th Anniversary by saying "You, Neha have been the inspiration for making me what I am-you have been the inspiration for my life...period"


Here's something that I wrote for you on the eve of our 17th Anniversary as I was stuck in the traffic jams on the way back home

Thank God for the jams in Mumbai
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Stuck in a jam
As I am
I decide I must ponder
And write about the years abounder...


'twas 20 years no less
The time I met you life somewhat a mess
I set my eyes on you
Nothing told me that
Moments wouldn't be few...


Remember the deptts you did?
Times when my emotions from you I hid
For I made sure you didn't go too far
Didn't want you away and my destiny to mar...


You hid them cigarettes
Oh and I remember many more bits
When I thought you wanted my attention
Only to find oft that it was my minds detention ...


Days to weeks amd weeks to months
Not seeing interest from you I opened other fronts
Thought that would make you jealous
But you surprised me God bless ...


Damn..I thought you were giving me a pass
But that my love was your class
If you love someone set him free
That's what you'd done for all to see...


Each time I found you there
Rock steady and always fair
Giving me a patient ear
Why oh why did you do that my dear...


So you had fun at my expense
By keeping me in so much suspense
Friends we had grown into by now
Bloody good ones and how...


So much that all around us
Did us discuss
We were unaware and vain
Damn they made a story like us after so much pain...


Talking about which makes me think
Lifes been going on in many a quick blink
That I question why isn't this also part
And hope that the traffic moves for a start


Strange are my moments of inspiration
The sea, maidens, people and perspiration
All a big play of this slice of life
But this ones dedicated to you my wife...


My life is dedicated to you I feel
You made me what I am for real
Our stars that grow every day
They do brighten up our lives I say...


I am an incurable romantic
That has no clue of the symantic
I look at life through colored glasses
And by my side its you with your long tresses...


You do feel i'm not don't you
I haven't expressed it you'll say but that isn't true
Haven't I you'll say taken you for granted
Maybe yes and maybe i'd planned it...


I do know one thing and that's for certain
Love is this some soothin' some hurtin'
And I do believe I did something good
That I got you like I always knew I should...


Perhaps i'm not perfect perhaps i'm not ideal
But you got saddled with me-not such a bad deal?
I wanted to grow old with you by side
Always so young and coy like you were when a bride...


The jam is clearing I can see
Our journey goes on ever so free
Glad I am that I tried my hand at this rhyme
With you by my side life I know will be just fine...


Its only year number seventeen
Gosh our girl's already a teen
Don't you love it you have two to call you mother and boy do I have a bother
When someone calls you my daughter??

Hari Kirtan, Slumdog and Pandit Jasraj or How I managed the Half Marathon

18th January 2009

Last night started early

8pm was when I called in

My greatest fear isn't about the run

As much as it is about waking up

And that I manage...

The walk to the start is a warm up

In itself given the fair distance

As a result the take off is

delayed by 3.48 minutes..

Nobody seems to mind

The gathering is humungous

Less than 8 weeks after 26.XI

This is a terrors delight.. I think

As we run past Flora Fountain

My mind relaxes-let them come

And this time they won't need

A court..for lynched they will be

By humanity…

The thrill of running on the road

With no traffic is my first high

The second is going past Oberoi

My story began here…

The staff handsomely attired are out

And I wave them with gratitude

As they inspire me on...

The sea on my left gleams in motivation…

"The Oberoi Turn" reads the board

In the same graphics style..

that's branding for you..

The Ambassador roof top majestically beckons me

And from a distance I hear it call me closer

Passing the Rock-On lookalike group

I switch on the first concert I have lined up-

Hari Kirtan on my ipod stuck to my arm

The Lord spurs me on as I pass some run-walkers while some run past me…

Its the flyover on Marine drive

There are TV crew on it as are numerous other Mumbaikars..

Chowpatty approaches albeit slowly

I shall resist walking I tell myself…

The fun starts now as I follow the group onto Peddar road

My pace slows as I ready my calves for the climb..

Suddenly Peddar doesn't look all that appealing..

Why oh why did I do this the demons laugh..

To see the numbers on Peddar is

An athletes delight as that is how I feel..

I start the fight within..

I'm sure to lose I hear a voice over the other voice in my head eulogising the Almighty…

perhaps my way of having him by my side..

The early runners have begun walking…

I enjoy the downhill run down to Cadbury and then Haji Ali…

The juice centre should be open…

Hopes dash as some water on my self I splash…

And that fortunately will be my only attempt to rhyme..

Purely unintentional..

The sea appears again..

The cool air is a blessing..

The Mela turn is fast approaching…

Haji Ali ends..Worli begins..I spy Atria..

My first hurrah ..I haven't stopped my jog yet…

The 2nd hurrah soon as I turn and cross onto Atria

and the full thon runners come abounding…

Like black gazelles…they are sight to behold

Yipee I've beaten them…paisa vasool

Onto slumdog soundtrack now…

Boy am I charged

I flay my arms at ARR's magnificent composition

My hand brushes something matty..

Holy shit..I yelp..

Two enormous sheep and my petrified discovery of them

Raises a few laughs around…

A few cops chase them off the road…talk about sense of humor..

Back on Peddar-thank God no flyover...yet…

I support thee Lata ji…

But WTH ...the climb is there nonetheless

I realize is my real experience that ..

The skin is successful in keeping all my organs in..

Still no stop…

Petite hands hand out glucose biscuits…

God bless them all…

I wolf them down as

A deprived fourth world inhabitant…

And hey how much water have I had…

Chowpatty again…the sun on me

The cap feels heavy

If I survive no cap next year..

Jai ho..says Rahman as if intended…

Jai ho… I echo

The music pounds my drums

I'm desperate

My demons will win-No I scream..

Top gear now-I flick my pod

Its Om by guru Jasraj..

The power that is Om I learn quick

The adrenalin slowly creeps back in

I remember Avis' short note

Ruk jana nahin tu kahin haar ke..

Thanks Avis..nahin kabhi nahin..

3kms to go..I look at OM left

30 mins more

A quick calculation tells me I need

9mins per km to help OM help me cool off as well post the finish..

The demons lose the battle with my head

They're all over my legs and shoulders

Cheaters..

2kms...

Then One…

Over OM I lip read the furios shouts of "come on" from the bystanders..

500 metres...I m making it

I see a placard

“Well done Dad..”

Someone else’s kids

But I know back home that's what mine are saying…

My demons ..ha ha..they're off my back

Flung on the way side

Writhing on the road

Begging to be taken back.

Crying in pain..

As I take that final surge ahead

Cross the line

For Mumbai..

For humanity..

For the power

That I saw by my side as I won my battle today...

A post from a friends blog

Thanks to my good friend Avis for allowing me to use this fabulous self experience that he had...God bless you !

www.sixsigmaforthesoul.blogspot.com

Only a life lived for others is a life worthwhile – Albert Einstein

Spice Jet is not exactly our favorite airline. But lack of options forced us to take their flight from Vizag to Hyderabad on November 11, 2008.

We had seats in the front row. And as soon as we entered the plane, across the aisle, in the front row again, was a man, may be in his 60s, looking sick and scruffy__unkempt hair, a salt and pepper stubble, old-fashioned black shell frame for his glasses, bare-footed and, most shocking of all, wearing a lungi (not a dhoti). The first reaction was to silently blame low-cost air-travel for such ‘poor quality’ of fellow travelers. Sitting next to this man in the middle seat was a younger man, about 30, who, we soon surmised, was his son. The son was wearing trousers and a shirt__dressed appropriately, we concluded with relief.

But as we settled down and flight safety announcements began, it became clear that the older man in the lungi across the aisle was not normal. His son helped him on with his seat belt. He even patiently translated the announcements in the local language (Telugu) for his father__who, it was evident, was taking his first flight and was curious as only children would be. At one point, when the son physically lifted his father’s right leg and hand, one by one, and laid them in more comfortable positions, it dawned on us that the older man’s right side was completely paralyzed.

The feeling of guilt in having branded the man as an unworthy travel companion was beginning to gnaw from within.

We were airborne shortly and when the seat belt sign went off, the younger man, jumped up and went to confer with the flight attendants. A nod of approval soon followed from the senior steward. The younger man, returned to his seat and brought down a carry bag from the overhead bin. He pulled out a white plastic container that looked like the sort they use in hospitals to help immobile patients relieve themselves without having to visit the toilet. Without any embarrassment, completely non-plussed and calm, the son lifted his father’s lungi, shoved the container inside, held it there for what seemed like several minutes, and helped his father to relieve himself. Drawing the container out, he headed to the toilet, washed it all up and returned. He must have been aware of curious eyes following his every action. But he was too immersed in what he was doing to even worry about what people thought. He then fed his father some wafers, literally held a bottle of water to his mouth, helping him wash it down, and wiped his face with a paper towel. The father was cared for and served like a baby (perhaps, in the same way he may have cared for the son, when he was an infant!).

At the end of this very rare, but touching display of genuine, undiluted affection and pristine service, the learning did not escape us. Forget caring for humanity, how often do we care for people we know? Just people at home__parents, brothers, sisters, grandparents….How many of us would have been able to do what the son did for his father? Serve, with equanimity, with grace. In a selfless, non-complaining manner.

The Learning:

We spend a lot of our life wanting to amass, accumulate and acquire for ourselves. Service, even to our own, if at all, seems to form part of our life, only when we are compelled by circumstance.

This season, we can make an effort to change all that. May this simple-yet-moving story of this glorious son and his extremely lucky parent, awaken and rekindle your spirit to serve__just as it did to ours. Let us realize and appreciate that the purpose of our creation is to be of service. As you embrace 2009, ask yourself: Who are you serving this New Year?

The 6th P

I had the opportunity of addressing a congregation of MBA students in Bby yesterday-10th Jan, as part of a panel discussion I was on regarding BRAND-INDIA..

Someone asked What is Brand India..

An expert on the panel-this is not about him-gave a very passionate speech on what he felt was brand India..
That passion swayed toward feelings stemming from what happened on 26.XI..

When I spoke I said Brand India included the slums one sees when the plane is landing in Mumbai airport, the people that dot the train tracks when the train moves into any city station in the country particularly Mumbai, the crime rates in our cities, the garbage that we see on the roads, the poop all around..who contributes to it? ..WE THE PEOPLE..
The blame lay on us I said..

Interestingly a student picked up on the poop bit that I mentioned and said if it becomes a law then people would follow..Aha.. how many laws are followed by US PEOPLE, I asked?
And of course the similarity that if we dont stop the garbage, then we will have outsiders like the ones who came on 26.XI coming and throwing all their dump on our own country, followed...

And that my friends leads me to profess and confess that post 26.XI, I have not littered anywhere, I have contributed to the bins and above all, one of the groups I am in, pledged we would not bribe anyone..and I am happy we all have stuck by it..even at the cost of waiting in queues and actually imploring a traffic cop when hauled for breaking a rule that he should take the fine and give us a receipt ! (The look on his face and the admiration on his senior's face was worth treasuring for life !)

I also discussed Brand India in theory and classified the 4 P's and added a 5th one PARTICIPATION..but again this piece is not about Marketing..

In the Q&A following the panel discussion one of the questions asked was "Which of the 5 P's" did I "think as the most important for Brand India"..I replied almost instantaneously PEOPLE! The 6th P...a discovery arising out of Jingoism? Perhaps...

This morning as I ran on Marine Drive to prepare myself for the Mumbai Marathon, I saw a seemingly well educated and bred South Mumbai lady actually picking up after their pet dog and using one of the several garbage bins that dot the Marine Drive..
This despite the fact that several months ago there was this socialite who protested heavily against this very BMC rule..
As I jogged past, I clapped my hands and said "Thank you Maam"..
On my way back she smiled, waved past and I knew India connected...

There is hope when I see this around us...lets not wait to see what the Govt does for us..let us see what we can do for the Country..I know these arent original words, but I do hope they work..

In hope we all shall live and promise that we dont die in despair...a hope is awakened as I write this, as simultaneously I am watching Somdev Devvarman playing the Tie break in the Chennai Open Tennis Tournament Final..yes an Indian in an ATP tour event and I have progressively seen the Chennai Open getting bigger year on year...

Here's to a great 2009..Together we can ....