Conditional Love

He broke me

Slowly killed me as I sat

When he confessed his love to me,

Albeit with a caveat

Oh! you are the sweet one

The one whom I fancy.

You are the prejudiced Elizabeth 

To my proud Mr. Darcy

You are never the stunner

Who can turn a man's head

You do however pique the interest 

Of a man's mind instead

You almost always speak well

Are thoughtful and articulate

But never the bombshell with whom

The male glance can relate

There, there, you aren't pretty.

Are not a work of art.

But when you open your mouth

You prove that you are smart

If you waddle into a bar one day

And have nothing at all to say

Trust me no one will spare

A second glance your way

But the moment you decide to speak

You more than hold your ground,

Most men (me included)

Are inexplicably drawn to that sound.

You are warm and gracious.

You know how to pull people close.

But then you know not to distinguish 

A prickly thorn from a rose

And while I may love you,

And fall for your homely charms.

But there are many others beside me

Wishing you were in their arms

So I do love you, my darling

Your sweetness draws me in

But I can find no warmth for you

Not a care for you within

I will let you go on my darling,

To be the soft, kindred soul

While you may be able to love me,

But I can never make you whole.

And that's how he broke me.

Slowly killed me as I sat.

He finally did confess his love

But it came with a caveat.

Creeper

Near my home is a building 

Unfinished. 

Slowly rotting , ruined.

An ugly sight, a reminder of dreams

Promised

Unhonoured. Never fulfilled.

We have covered it up with sheets

Neat. Perfect

Hidden from the eyes

We go about our lives. Leaving it

Unseen. Unloved.

Not caring that it grows wild

There is a creeper growing.

Zesty. Strong. 

It fears not for life or love

It keeps twisting around the ruin

Feeding. Growing

A beautiful messy wild shrub

The creeper is healthy, strong. 

Climbing

Wrapped over the ruins and more

It's climbing slow and steady 

With stealth

Towards chaos, furore

It's peeking over the covers now

Curious. Naughty

A life grown from the dead

Tired of being a part of the ruin

Hidden. Forgotten.

It's ready to be loved instead

Remembering Ms. Puri

When I was in grade 6, I was blessed to get Ms. Puri as my english teacher. The very first day Puri ma'am was horrified that my h and n and b and d and p and and q all had same tiny length of the standing line !!! Oh my ! How upset she was. I remember her threatening me with a 'lappad' if I did not make those standing lines longer and uniform. She was relentless in her pursuit to improve my English handwriting. Surprisingly, I didn't resent this meddling, in fact I started working towards improving my letters. She used to sit in the ground floor staff room beside the headmistress' room. Everytime I would visit the staffroom to drop some notebooks or pick up some, she would make it a point to ask me 'Piyu, how is the handwriting practice going?' She took individual interest in my mental health and well-being at a time when these words were not fancy social media terms.

In 1997, just about to pass out of school, one of my poems ' My dear old Lady Irwin' got published in the school magazine. That afternoon during break, I was on duty to send the middle schoolers back into their classrooms. As I was running around middle school, rounding up the kids, Ms. Puri came walking towards me with the copy of the school magazine open to the page with my poem. 

'Piyu, how are you my child ?' She had bent a little with age. I was taller than her now. ' I am doing fine ma'am' I replied with a smile. (I was still in awe of her.) 'So , how is the handwriting practice going?' She asked with a smile. ' Fine ma'am. Thanks to you'. 'You wrote a beautiful poem Piyu. I am so proud of you!' She said with her eyes moist. I touched her feet to say thanks. My eyes teared up too. 

That's the last time I met and spoke to Ms. Puri. Life got busy after school and I regret that I never took time out to meet ma'am. I have had a neat and beautiful handwriting ever since Ms Puri made me practice. Everytime I am praised for my lettering, I send out a thank you to the universe for bringing Ms. Puri into my life.

The Mood Algorithm

 The watch on my wrist

measures the heartrate

and stress. 

It calculates my mood

algorithmically.

The dial glows green today.

A smiley emoji,

'Low stress' it says.

It's a Monday

A new week dawns with

new possibilities.

The brain refuses the score.

Am I fine ? It asks

Where is the worry then?

and the whine ?

The constants have become

a part of normal score?

The heart smiles

This happy emoji, this low stress score

It's a fool's paradise.

But paradise none the less !

The Laughter Show

People are waiting for the laughter show to start

Edgy, impatient 

Looking at the closed doors of the auditorium

People are out here to laugh

Snort, Shake

Silently let out all anxieties in the funny forum

Yet they wait with eyes glued to screens

Frowning, silent

Waiting for a release which can come to them with ease

Wish people would look up and around

Smile, Slow down

It's easy as easy can be, to replace the frown :) 

That Afternoon

 

* Butterflies and bees buzzing somewhere.

* Faking the calm with nonchalance.

* Colours, and the audacity to carry them with style.

* Eyes disappearing with smiles.

* Long fingers which fold over the upper lip.

* Eyes poring, right into the soul

* A glass of water sipped slowly.

* Humour laced with depth

* Or sarcasm laced with humour.

* Words spoken and unspoken.

* Thoughts going deeper than surface.

* Knowing more than showing.

* A simple ‘I know’

* Afternoons warm yet chilly.

* Wanting to leave and wanting to stay.

* Block and unblock.

* Hold it in and then say it all.

* The helplessness, the hopefulness.

* The dejection, the anger, the gratitude, the heartbreak.

* Overwhelming guilt. Yours. Mine. 

* The pull, and sheer loss of control.

* Desperation on things out of control.

* Normal, going back to routine.

* A whirlpool hidden under thin ice.

 

Just one afternoon……….. a timeline full of emotions.

The nights have been freezing ever since *****

In Love with Love

I am in love with the idea of love

With all it's fuzz and mush

In love with your dreamy eyes

Staring without a rush

Of hands which touch so tender

And melt my heart within

Of kisses that curl my toes

And leave me with a grin

I am in love with pearly dreams

That becon me at daybreak

Lacing my half closed eyes 

With a fuzzy dreamy drape

The smile which plays on my lips

While twirling tendrils of hair

Darkening the tiny mole beside

My kohl softened stare

I am in love with the flitter-flutter

Of my skipped heartbeat

The softeness of lacy napkins

Left on-purpose by your seat

That zingy feel of skin on skin

When our fingers entwine

Steadying my deliberate stumble

With your hands holding mine

The soft sound of caught breath

Disguised quickly as a cough

The dance of sensual eyes

Hidden behind a shaky laugh

Oh, I am in love with the idea of love!

Poor you won't stand a chance

Unless you dream my dreams

And drown in my rosy romance !

Broken

You left me broken

Bent out of shape

Perfect demeanor 

Disturbed. Agape

You left me in pieces

all over the place

Sculpted life gone

Without a trace

Tortured thoughts 

hit rough and hard

We are way better

Far far apart

Why then, why ?

I long for you again

To be broken once more,

doused in pain.

The pull of memories,

Your eyes on me

That tender smile,

for me to see

I scour the crowd

Searching your face

Every line, every sinew

Fanning my craze

I pray for a life

Out of sight

I pray for death

The only respite

Of Yellow Shirts in Coffee Shops

I hate yellow shirts

and black coffee

with soggy paper straws

The swirly red stripes

on the soggy straw,

A reflection of my mind

Going around in circles

spewing nonsensical words...

Awkward. Awkward.

Mind is cotton wool

not a thread connects

to my tongue

My eyes refuse to rise

and meet yours

I twirl the straw

It's been years since

I saw you

Felt your eyes on me

The hug is lopsided

soft and tender.

Awkward. Awkward.

It's time to go

I say goodbye

my heart torn

'Will say this' and 'will do that'

stands Unsaid, Undone

The tender hug is back

I feel lost

I feel spent

I wasted time, wasted words

I hate yellow shirts

and black coffee

with soggy paper straws

दो पल मिले

Wallet साफ़ करते हुए 
कान का एक बूंदा मिला 
कभी जल्द बाज़ी में डाल दिया होगा 
उस pocket में जो कभी खुलता नहीं 

तुम ने पहना था वो बूंदा 
कान में चुभा था 
घर जाते हुए, उतार के दे दिया था मुझे 

उसी बंद pocket में 
हमारे रिश्ते के दो पल ...बंद पड़े थे जाने कब से 

आज यूँ ही सफाई करते हुए...
वही दो पल मिले.....

- पीयू 

Flash

Over a cup of tea, on a day trudging along

with a few muddled thoughts and vestiges of a song,

I rush rush rush, just about getting by,

when out of nowhere in my minds eye,

flashes the face of a friend long lost.

A forgotten name, thoughts not crossed

for many many years. Hidden, gathering dust

like the crevices of a marble bust

sitting in a library of memories, 

full of yellowing leaves of bookish trees.

The face is warm like my cup'o'tea

the smile roguish, winking at me

The day of rush, power charged

Stops, smiles, and warms the heart.

Battle Scars

The mind wins

The battle as old as life

The scars unseen

The voice is steady

The smile in place

As bright as it's been

Work gets done

Life goes on

Just as always 

People just see

What's shown to them

On that smiling face

The eyes gleam

Tears hardened

To a shining spark

Crowd turns to look

As she walks on

Life's chosen path

‐------------------------------------

The heart beaks

Into a million pieces

Without a sound

Not a scar to be seen

Not a scream

Not a single frown

The mind wins

The eyes dry

No tears cried

The heart dies

Loveless

Slowly inside.....

Your Face

It's just in your head

You often said

Get out and see

The reality instead

It's not real, these

stories you weave

You are viewing the world

Through a rosy sieve

Reality is cruel

It's harsh, it's hard

What's there in your head

Is miles apart

Don't hold on to stuff

Let the past go

Life is running by

While you are going slow

Move on move on move on

It's all in your head

Just wring the heart dry

Let go of regret

------------------------------------------------

I listen to you and

Breathe in my sighs

I search for reality

Behind closed eyes

Stories in my head,

roll down my cheek.

Reality chokes the voice,

my feelings seek

I try to shake it away

Erase every trace,

But behind my closed eyes

It is still your face....

मैंने तुम्हें माफ़ किया.....

इक उम्र गुज़ारी है मैंने 

तुम्हारे बिना तुम्हारे इन्तेज़ार में 

सौ दर्द जमा किए हैं 

टूटे हुए दिल-ए-बेज़ार में 

उन अनगिनत बातों के लिए 

जो तुमने मुझसे कही ही नहीं 

उन प्यार भरे लम्हों के लिए 

जो हमने साथ जी ही नहीं 

कल जो वादा किया है तुमने 

पल भर साथ निभाने का 

उस वादे के दायरे में,

कल आऊंगा कहकर भी 

ना आने के लिए,

जाओ आज से ही 

मैंने तुम्हें माफ़ किया.....

Reunion

And just like that

The heart beats faster

The pulse is racing

The lips smile

And just like that

Clouds of memories

Remind of things 

Forgotten for a while

And just like that

The eyes are wet

And lids are heavy

With 'what ifs' and 'whys'

And just like that

The thoughts are restless

Difficult to rein in

Inspite of  tries

O' Devil O' Devil

Why did you come

To mess my mind,

To tug my heart

O' Devil O' Devil

How could you stay

So many miles away

So long apart.....

Faith

There is a man on a bike

holding a big mirror.

In a traffic that rushes ahead,

He sees just himself.

Vehicles rush to him

Overtaking him , never touching.

He keeps looking at himself 

In the sea of vehicles.

His purpose is defined

to hold his reflection steady,

as the road vibrates

with the weight of the evening rush

His world is limited to his reflection 

blocking the driver

out of his sight.

Moving just on faith

Much like my faith.

All I see is my reflection 

which I hold steady, oblivious

to the universe driving me.

Tea with Friends

Sitting with my friends 

O'er a cup of tea

We stirred our hearts

And opened up to see

Not a pretty sight

Those hearts of hush

With scars and scabs

And mulch and mush

I saw some tears

Some grit, some stone

Some struggles and fear

Of fighting it  alone

Then I saw some red

Of passion and love

I saw how it smoothed

All things rough

I saw the love snuff out

The fires of fears

I saw the love heal

The scars and tears

Wonderful thing it is,

My steaming cup of tea

Showed me all the love

I needed to see 

Mulberry Kiss

Purple fruits hang low on the mulberry tree

Some lush, some slowly hardening 

Round tiny beads shining on a thin stem

Glistening like beads of sweat

Purple fruits have fallen from the tree

Ripe on the soggy ground

To be picked and plucked

And savoured by the swirling tongue

Purple fruits lie crushed and curled

Smeared in their own juice

Slowly oozing drops of nectar

Purple is the colour of satiation today.

- Piyu

Yeh Dilli hai mere yaar ; bas ishq mohabbat pyaar

Delhi. The city is embedded in my DNA. My family has been here for generations and generations. Delhi is Home. 

Growing up, friends used to pack up every summer to visit their 'home town'. My dad used to get a hometown visit allowance which would go waste since we stayed in Delhi and Delhi was Home. 

Every morning my school bus drove me through the now fabled  'South Delhi' roads, through 'Lutyen's Delhi' to my school nestled right in the heart of the city. Those roads saw me swinging to 90's bollywood songs with my friends , cheering young soldiers practicing for the Republic Day parade at Rajpath in the chilled January mornings. Those roads saw me anxiously discuss friendships and new loves with friends over hot chocolate at Nirulas , while diplomats ran world politics behind embassy doors of Shanti Path. Shanti Path, Neeti marg, Ashoka hotel, Chanakya Puri, Race course, Jor Bagh, Lodhi Road, Prithviraj Road, Tughlak road, Ashoka road, the Claridges, the Taj Mansingh, India Gate, Rajpath, Le meridian, Janpath, Feroz Shah road.... Day after day, year after year, every morning , every afternoon, I travelled these roads. Never did they inspire awe or wonderment. 110001 was school, 110021 was home. Delhi was Home.

Evenings and weekends were casually spent at Chanakya theatre, Vasant Vihar, Connaught Place, South extension.... Nehru park in Chanakya puri was the weekend picnic destination. Holidays meant Qutub Minar , Red fort, Dolls museum and Nehru planetarium at Teen Murti. 'Cultural stuff' with parents meant theatres and performances at Mandi house, Sri fort auditorium, India habitat centre. Book fairs and trade fairs at Pragati Maidan with the adjoining Appu ghar were biannual affairs.  India gate was the late night ice cream outing. Driving down Raisinha hill with the Rashtapati Bhavan at the back , looking towards India gate lit by the Amar Jawan jyoti, was routine. Delhi was Home. 

Youth brought more travel, to the south and north campuses of Delhi University. To the mazes of roads in Old Delhi. Darya Ganj, Jama Masjid, Nai Sadak, Balli maran, chawri bazaar....what charm, what fun, the young heart experienced. New found independence and unsupervised discovery of the city deepened the roots Delhi had in me. Delhi was Home

I wore the 'born and brought up in Delhi' badge with honour. The city is the Capital of the country. It is known all over the world. It is the seat of political power, it is the home of bureaucracy. Delhi was pride. Delhi was home.

It's been many years since I have moved to the suburbs. I no longer need to visit Delhi, unless I am meeting a relative or driving through for official work. Reduced wants has killed the need to visit the markets of my childhood. Delhi is changing, constantly.  The empty lanes around Talkatora stadium which my father walked in his childhood for playing cricket and football are now high security zones with police patrolling. My mom's college outings to Paras cinema, no longer looks the same. Now my parents and I settle to dine closer home rather than driving hours in traffic to our favourite Pandara road eateries. Delhi is the wonder and awe of people who have travelled cities to finally come and settle down here. It's funny now to hear about new places, new experiences in a city which I could navigate with my eyes closed. 

The city is lost to me, no longer mine. I am also no longer the person who I was. Yet, Delhi is the city of my heart. Like I said, it is in my genes, my DNA. I will happily stay within touching distance forever. 

Delhi is comfort. Delhi is Home.