8 year old Tara found them drenched to the skin in the rain,
Crouched silently on the wet soil, fragile and meek, their eyes reflecting hunger and pain –
But, little did she know, as she carried them home, that she would never again have to be alone,
Little did she know, she finally had found the family she could call her own,
Little did she know they would soon become an irrevocable piece of her heart,
Little did she know that her furry four-legged friends would stick to her, until death did them apart!
There are potholes splayed open, there’s dung of animals splattered across, there’s garbage spewed in abundance, in every micron of space you find,
There are barricades drawn on every side, troughs ploughed out for projects that have been left far behind,
There are sidewalks (detours now, to motorists in traffic) that don’t have space anymore for pedestrians to walk,
There are share-autos drivers who find every traffic signal imperative to balk,
Phew! You really don’t have a choice, do you, but to watch your step as you go,
Because, with the Indian roads, clearly, you just never know!
They don’t demand, they don’t complain,
You find yourself turning to them for solace, for answers, when you’re in pain,
Good, bad or ugly, they stay with you for everything you are,
They help you heal your every wound, your every scar,
Bitch about, bicker with or betray, they’d never let you go, you’ll always find them by your side,
Books – they truly are your best friends; with them, there are no conditions applied!
I wake up each day – To the lilt of your laughter, to your glints of mischief, to meticulously yank at your hair,
To plot with you, to party with you, to have your back even when the world doesn’t care,
For, side by side or miles apart, you are who
For eternity, I’d willingly tie myself to,
It is you that stands by me in sickness, in health, in misery, in pain,
In joy, in success, in every happiness of mine,
I hear my name in your every prayer, I see myself in the arch of your eyebrows –
YOU make my world go round, it is to you that I’d raise my every toast!
To her, freedom didn’t mean the right to raise her voice,
It didn’t mean the privilege to wear her choice,
It didn’t mean traveling around the world – living in, its every corner and nook,
All it only ever meant, was snuggling in, to her book –
For, it gave her what the rest of the world couldn’t – it brought her alive, it set her imagination on fire,
It gave her heart all the contentment it would ever desire,
By the window sill she sits, undisturbed, unscathed,
From the rest of the world, willingly detached,
Breathing in its scent, its story,
Relishing every plot it cooks, to glory.
Yesterday evening, when I waited for my bus, at the bus stand,
I saw a lady walk to the litter bin nearby, with a lunch box in her hand,
She emptied its contents into a clear polythene bag, and threw it into the bin,
Where it lay, among the trash, tucked in.
Then, a few moments after, a rag picker stopped by,
He began to fish earnestly for food in the bin, when this bag caught his eye –
He happily tore it open, and bit by bit,
He finished every last morsel in it.
Talk about irony – on the one hand there’s everything in plenty, there’s abundance,
While on the other, even the left overs make a huge difference.
Aren’t we all just passengers, figuring out our way,
With the superpower above governing our stay,
We plan all we want to,
But what eventually happens is what’s destined to,
So enjoy the ride while you can,
For as long as your life is meant to pan!