Author: meenas17

It is rain, rain, all day,
 like to shout in a cry
” Rain, rain go away
come again another day.”

Stubborn she is in her play
childlike in her display.
she comes down the whole day
creating an untold dismay.

My open courtyard is logged
Helpless I watch the clogged  
 outlets clear the backlogs
water escapes like a dissembling fog.

Putting my feet back and fore
a game I indulged never before
 I enjoyed forcing an encore.
Rain continues to fall with a roar.

In a place where electricity plays truant.

with a few minutes brilliance

the next ten minutes dim, the light 

slowly dies down.

Power generation is wherever it be 

 turns fickle and undependable, say for example 

 the political scenario Charges, could be either, price

and prize go up calling for an emergency.

 Mosquitoes pin me to a corner, suck my blood,

I find big goosebumps, eyes swell, lips turn blood shot,

My caricature resembles a bloated President

of a Nation which boasts of Democracy,

Mani cries, guava, papaya,

jackfruit, all neatly sliced 

His dad, sits besides, a heap 

of tender coconuts lie in front,

slashes the coconut with 

a sizzle, takes out a tiny bark

delivers with a sweet talk,

a gesture expressing familiarity. 

Rajamma and her husband kali

sweat while preparing fried rice,

mutton soup and omelets, masala 

smell permeates.

Ramani’s Tea stall, has name 

people from neighbouring

areas gather to sip the frothy

spicy tea.

The famed Jigarthanda, local delicacy 

an admixture of milk, almond, sugar, 

and sea grass, goes down the gullet with a swish.

Dinesh sports a dashing trend.

Watching their transactions,

executed with precision, keeping

time and quality, drive me to question.

Did they go to Harvard or Oxford?

The Indian freedom movement, 

 saw Tilak, an extremist

the father of the Indian freedom

another noted one M. K, Gandhi, 

who came from South Africa, 

advocated Ahimsa, a Satvik way 

of fighting, inducing millions of followers.

One such being Narayanan, 

son of a British supporter,

 in his early twenties and the other

is Saraswathi, daughter of a nationalist. 

Both having decided individually

 to remain unmarried.  “Gain Freedom”

is their ultimate aim.

Driven by patriotism, they write letters 

to Gandhi, to intervene and stop the alliance,

 Their high placed fathers indulge to make both tie the knot.

 Gandh, respecting the stature of the seniors., keeps 

quiet.

Narayanan and Saraswathi, unable to defy 

their powerful fathers, marry on 22/Aug/1947, 

a week after the Indian independence.

They, who were reluctant, fall headlong

into marital bliss, raise a family, a big one rather,

a brood of six, I am one of them.

 .

Taj Mahal is astounding, 

breathtaking, lovely,

shouts the world.

 A wonder. one of the seven 

in the world, the only one in India–

 hyperbolic in respects.

Closer to me there are temples

 built and formed out of caves,

 eliciting the finest architecture,

12 Gopurams, 33000 sculptures,

1000 pillared hall, some produce 

musical notes, an architectural

marvel, called as Meenakshi Temple

stands enrichingly humble, massively small, 

wonderfully submissive, far from this exaggerated 

 

design, in the Southern part of India. 

not very much known to the world

breathing pride and exuding divinity.

Ashtami and Navami

 being the forbidden days

 in the Hindu calendar,

every fifteenth day 

they knock the door,

the most unwelcomed ones.

They count

eighth and ninth days 

from Full and New Moons.

A belief, that seems unbelievable. 

says they are days which land 

one in grief.

This is mere superstition,

 I tell my friends, just ignore

 and go ahead.

 It is between you and me, so to say 

I fear Ashtami and keep away 

from Navami. 

A noise free evening

 being a Sunday. I watch

 the lane, emptiness 

abides.

The vacuum before me

 triggers a nostalgic feel.

 a communion with infinity 

an interaction hitherto not felt.

Trees stand still

 Leaves keep quiet

 Even the grass stays stiff.

My ears turn inert.

Tuning them I hear  

a palpable sound, silence 

activates rhythmic notations

similar to the song of a brook.

A sweet song permeates

a gentle up, a shallow down

goes the melody, The red ball 

diffuses into an orangish hue.     

Bemused to see make up women

with lipstick, mascara, foundation 

concealer, compact.

Looking at the way they carry themselves 

turns an entertainment. Blouses with 

intricate embroidery, deep low-cut necklines,

expose the skin, the underneath fleshes

 bulge and project. Provokes  

and detracts.

Not that I am averse to fashion

 I expect a modest, decent 

 and respectable outfits.

The ones that raise the stature

 that reflect your culture

 that command dignity.

 I am in two minds

 to do or not to do

 an Hamletian one.

I call, listen, read, hear,

as faculties turn sharp.

my heart disallows.

What to do? How to go?

 I cannot afford to be rash

 nor become a sponge.

I remain helpless 

like a boat struggling 

in the violent current.

The fever subsides,

 I decide to traverse 

the path least approved.

Hamlet within me 

escapes fast, knowing 

I am strong. 

 I receive a purchase order

 the writing is a scribble.

Forward the same to the vendor

whose reply is a scrawl.

 I hold both for a minute 

 scratch my head for an hour,

Wonder how did both make out?

 decide to test my eyes.