Spring-time Rains

"And when it rains as thus in the Spring, the bountiful boughs, in gratitude, shower their flowers and the moistening earth, in joy, exudes petrichor!"

The Campus looks enlivened again today! It is the season of Spring and the flowering trees have been holding beautiful inflorescence, like an adornment embellishing their curvy branches and bark. Until yesterday, the flowers reigned bright and ebullient, bathed by the ample sunlight and constantly pecked by the overjoyed songbirds of the Spring. The abundance of the flower laden trees and the joyous Spring-time displays mellowed the harshness of the heat. The floral aroma of different kinds mixed in the sultry hot air of March and April and made a campus walk enjoyable even on a hot afternoon.

The one thing missing was the coolness of the campus air. And the Spring-time rains came down and brought with them all that coolness and a lot more

*********

Spring-time rains, in the campus lanes
Tap a little tune, on my window panes

They gather some grey, on a dusky day
And cast a cuddly cheer, on my curling way

The flowers on show, on the big burly bough
Fall and float with glee, down as they go

Sieving through the leaves, the frivolous weaves
A spell of jaunty love, of the smitten and the thieves

This flirty stealing breeze, swirls with lovely ease
To kiss and pluck the flowers, and sway them in its seize

Such flowers of Spring, sheathe with zesty zing
The soil with hues and nectar, as the passerines sing
  
The gushing gust, girdles with lust
The girth of the trunk, that catches it first

Feathery floating pods, with wings or curly cords
Swing in tizzy turns, when the wind so wily prods

Drops skim the cheeks, when the canopy leafy leaks
Swinging with the singing gale, the eager branch now creaks 

Twigs tiny tumble, bigger branches bumble,
Dancing on the roof, slump down and they crumble

Misty air settles, Midst the freshly bathed petals
Joy flows in crazy musings, and steaming hot kettles

Spring-time rainy days, of fragrance and lovely haze
Of songs and silly laughter, and walks on campus ways


Vindy
12 April 2015

Lost Times

For this single straying second I shed a single tear
In the deepest depths of my thoughts,
Which have stayed still and sad
These thoughts of all the lost times, that I can still see so clear
And wish I had harnessed them better,
When those times were there to be had


I look at the broken twig
That looks like a lost bit of wood
And lies in the rain splattered mud
Like a forlorn figure, no good

I look at the faded buff of tea
That lays all cold and blunt
On the corner of the veranda's teapoy
As it bears all the downpour's brunt

I look at the torn tarpaulin
That says of the times bygone
Of busy flitting times that bustled
And fizzled since the ताता had gone

I look at the smoke-stained stone
That has borne the brunt of the soot
And now shows a dull fading face
Even as the culprits hoot

I look at the weed strewn fields
That reek of an orphaning neglect
Of their fertility wasted in folly
Of the poor father and his hapless regret


For this single straying second I still look at those times lost
In the deepest depths of my thoughts,
Which have stayed still and sad
I shed a single tear for the brimming moments I tossed
And let them go all adrift,
When they were all there to be had


Vindy

What Evening!

What evening hast thou given to me?
Where the evening doesn't seem to know, what it means to be an evening endearing
What now, after all, does it stay to be?
What evening here, hast thou given to me?

Where the sun strangely slips through, without a single sign
Whence I have not an inkling, that this bare would be this evening sky
With the hues all having hidden and neither a silver shine
The sun strangely slips through, without a single sign

Why would there be a silver shine? Since these clouds don't know a thing!
As they cluster all clumsily, in clumps of light grey whims
Whence would there be a wetting of drop, if these clumps hold damn nothing!
Alas! There's not a silver shine, for the clouds don't know a thing!

And what now have the winds garnered, on this gust-less evening so still?
For not a wing rides them, rest alone a flock feathered
Such bereaved twilight bringeth the bereft evening, with not a nest to fill!
Watch this, what have the winds garnered, on this gust-less evening so still!

And how does this evening stutter now, and coughs as the engine spews!
With curtains of ghastly gases, covering even this suffering
The earthly waft's stopped rising now, filth and a frown is all that it gives
See! The way this evening stutters now, and coughs as the engine spews!

What cheer then, do thou bring to me now, with this evening so long and lonely?
Listless and drab, it drags along with such dull dreariness
Where there's none to share a thought, wherefore my humble hut doesn't feel so homely
Tell me what cheer do thou bring to me now, with this evening so long and lonely?

What evening hast thou given to me pray?
What else now, does it stay to be? Say!


Instead give me that evening, that evening like before
On that hump of earth overlooking, the sylvan river shore

When the sun tinkered a while longer, as he clung to the last line
In a farewell bid of gratitude on his descent of last incline

And spill did he all his grandeur, in countless crimson colours
To embellish the blushing vastness, enchanting all others

What pining must have brewed there, in that glance of the parting moment
For climb would I the tallest boulder, to keep watching even as he went

Lines of home bound feathers would garland the bridal sky
As if to thank HIS benevolence for the day just gone by

And float would the lithely flock across the greying blue
To their nest of honest twigs with new little lives a few

On the rustic riverbed, the water would shimmer and glow
First gold then the cooling silver, would pour on the steady flow

Likewise would flow the stream, of thoughts all old and good
Of happily flitting times and times that happily stood

Give me that very evening, of the simple, humble ease
When the river-breeze came in whooshes, whistling through the trees

And cooled all the brows and cheeks, wet by the toil and joy
And settled in the happy smile of the silly simple boy

-Vindy

The Silent Night

Silence seeps through this stilling night

In a sunken silent stupor, with a slow silent drift
In this heavy laden air, that refuses to lift
Silence thus settles, in the combs of a hive
Of time that trickles, and gathers slow to thrive

Silence seeps through this stilling night

On the cold curling gravel, where the trodden path rests
That soaks the stamps that were, of thousands of quests
And now exudes a content gleam from the dew wetted splatter
Under the ascetic lamppost that infuses the tranquil scatter

Silence seeps through this stilling night

In the veins of the leaves that murmur in the hush
Flirted by the chill that swishes by in a rush
Or in the wrinkles of the bark that try to hold the shadows
Of this lilting love of leaves and the lusty breeze of meadows

Silence seeps through this stilling night

In the rustic lunar sheen that pauses in its pace
And drips a sliver of silver on the onlooker's face
As well in the trail of vapour that wets the languid moon
Passing like a passing thought, so stark and yet so soon

Silence seeps through this stilling night

Filling those long drawn blanks, between the squeaks and hoots
Fading in the darkened foliage or burrowed beyond the roots
In the garb of the ghostly spirit that pervades the empty space
In the mind of the wary wanderer who watches the blurry face

Silence seeps through this stilling night

In the humming drone of the dumb who churn some silly code
Of some seeking steadfast minds, who dare the steady load
In my steady heave and fall, as I climb the dragging slope
Of a content silent slumber, as I garner my humble hope

Silence seeps through this stilling night

Vindy

(This poetry describes the surroundings on campus when I was returning back from my lab vary late into the night and how I felt while slowly walking back with my cycle. It can be, however, generalized to any silent night, if you will)

कल का बादल

कल का बादल पागल था ॥

जो राह फिसलकर फैला था

वो, कल का बादल, पागल था ॥

न पछिम दिसा का था वो छेहरा,

न रंग था भूरा, नीला गहरा ।

छाया था हलके पंख पसारे,

उतरा था जिनपर रंग सुनहरा ।

फिर जाने क्या सोचकर बरसा था!

कल का बादल पागल था ॥

कलियाँ शाखोँ पर रुकी हैं सारी,

मदन बसंत की राह निहारी ।

यह आम्रतरु पर पुष्प देख री,

लाल और पीले, हरित, केसरी ।

इनमें नन्हे नवस्वप्न संजोए,

हैं बीज धरे, पर अभी न बोए ।

और कल का बादल अंजान बावरा,

जगा गया, जो अभी थे सोए ।

क्या दिन हैं, और क्या मौसम है, क्या उसको ये मालूम न था?

कल का बादल पागल था ॥

छाँव में घास पे हम थे लेटे,

मध्यान्ह की मंदी, सुस्ती को लपेटे ।

बार्बेट की खूंटि दूर निरंतर,

बिल्ली थी सोई खुद को समेटे ।

डोरी पर कपड़े बस सूखे ही थे,

हल से खुले बैल बस बैठे ही थे ।

बाज़ार में वार के, लेने तरकारी,

भैया भी, बस यूँ, निकले ही थे ।

तब आया बादल बिना बताकर,

धो गया वो सबको लड़ी लुटाकर ।

न चमका था, न गरजा था, बस बूँदोँ में वो टपका था

कल का बादल पागल था ॥

अब बरसा है, तब भूलेगा,

जून की मास में मन तोलेगा ।

'अब आएगा? कब आएगा?'

नभ में अटका दिल बोलेगा ।

फिर आएगा वो, जल से मन हरने,

इन खेतोँ पर कुछ मास ठहरने ।

सच पूछो तो, मृद्गंध उठाता, कल का बादल भी भाया था

एक प्रीतलहर बरसाता यूँ ही, कल का बादल पागल था ॥

कल का बादल पागल था ॥

- विन्डी

एक विश्व!

परवा गौरव आणि सम्पन्नशी बोलतांना एका जुन्या रचनेची आठवण झाली. IISc , CEDTत असतांना बरेच nightouts व्हायचे. तशाच एका nightout नंतर मजा म्हणून काही ओळी लिहिल्या होत्या. आज घरी शोधल्यावर एका वहीत ती रचना लिहिलेली सापडली. एक timepass आठवण म्हणून इथे post करतो. :D 

एक विश्व!

Lab च्या एका खुर्चीवर, दमून थकून बसतांना
समोरच्या लाकडी कुशीवर, डोकं माझं तेकावतांना
सकाळचे, किमान ४-५ तरी, वाजले असतात जेव्हा 
निर्जीव सारे जिवंत, lab मध्ये होतात तेव्हा.


का नावडतो तुला तो transistor ?
तीन पायांवर एक छोटासा घर!
त्या घरात राहतात लोक अनेक
current लागल्यावर पळतात सगले, न दोन न एक!
धमाल उड़ते सगल्यांची तेव्हा, चांगलीच!
कामी येतो transistor, असो amplifier किंवा switch
पण त्यात पण त्यांचे प्रकार किती! बाप रे बाप!
लक्षात ठेवतांना वाटतं, 'डोक्याला नुसता ताप!'
"काय करायचे रे दादा?", विचारतात ते मलाच 
circuit चालायला लागल्यावर, प्रत्येक transistor वाटतो अगदी आपलाच!
त्या transistorच्या आत सुद्धा आहेत बरेच fundae ,
काम न धंदे, कुठून येतात असले बन्दे!


आधी वाटायचं ...
काही railway stations अच् फ़क्त, junctions असतात
हे ऐकून transistorच्या आतले, रहिवाशी हसतात 
ते म्हणतात,
"आमच्यात पण junctions p-n म्हणून असतात,
ज्या दारांमुले, घरातल्या खोलीत लोक अडकतात.
मग voltage दादा आल्यावर हे दार उघडतात
हसत, खेळत, एका खोलीतनं दूसर्या खोलीत,
लोक नव्या जोमाने फिरतात..."


मला तर वाटतं,
junctionच्या दोन बाजुला शेत आहेत दोन
जणू एका boundaryच्या प्रत्येक बाजूला, एक वेगलाच zone 
एका शेतात सूर्यफुले उगवली आहेत,
तर काल्पनिक चंद्रफुले आहेत दूसर्या बागेत
दोन्ही कढची फुलं, इकडे तिकडे बघत असतात
आतुरतेने सूर्याची व चंद्राची वाट पाहत असतात
जेव्हा सूर्य नी चन्द्र, पलिकडच्या शेतावर उगवतात 
सगळी फुलं त्या त्या दिशेला फिरून,
वेड्यासारखी पलायला लागतात!
डोळ्यांसमोर हे दृश्य जेव्हा मी बघत बसतो,
मनातल्या मनात मी, मजेत मस्त हसतो!

ह्या एक-एका घराने बनतात, 
अनेक societies, colonies आणि शहर 
ICs मध्ये तर ह्यांच्या संख्येचा होतो नुसता कहर
मग development boards सारे civilizations सारखे दिसतात 
पार आकाशातून काढलेल्या, satellite images सारखे भासतात 
मग त्या शहरात सुद्धा असतीलच की, आपल्या सारखे institutes ! 
तेथे पण मुलांना मिळत असतील, असंख्य assignments आणि tuts !
memories मध्ये तयार होऊन मुलं बसत असतील
आपली संधि कधी येते, ह्याची वाट पाहत असतील
processor मग बोलावणार प्रत्येकाला अधून मधून 
"मला job लागला रे लागला!", सांगत असतील ते नाचून!
Buses असतील शहरात, इकडून तिकडे जायला 
त्यांत पण solid गर्दी, होत असेल, चमायला!
आणि जातांना कोणाचा धक्का लागलाच जर चुकून,
की म्हणत असतील, "मेल्या! का येतोस मरायला!"
processor आणि memory सवाल fastest !
आणि रस्ते सुद्धा रुंद, सरळ आणि BEST !
Controllers असतील अनेक तिथल्या सरकारच्या under  
एकही बंद पडला, की समझा झालाच blunder 
आत बाहेर करायला, असतील ports चारीकडे
मग जहाजातन जातील लोक peripheralsकडे
ह्या शरात सुद्धा असतील mafias and thugs !
ज्यांना लोक म्हणत असतील viruses and bugs  
Debugger ने त्यांना काढल्यावर मग
आपली पूजा करत असेल, तिथला सारा जग!


आपलं पण जग, देवाला असच दिसत असेल
जेव्हा आपल्यासारखा nightout तो पण मारत असेल...


-Vindy

(व्याकरण चुकल्यास आणि typos बद्दल क्षमस्व :) )

Bayas

Not far from my home is an open field...

where grass grows without any care, where a pond shivers under misty layers, where lotuses meditate on slender stalks, where damsels and dragons hover as if lost, where shrikes perch on the trees veined, where robins and kingies feel just like a friend, where lapwings walk in the waving meadow, where bayas weave for the want of love...

to linger, to wonder, in every little glace, where I lose myself to this rhythm and trance...

When your senses yeild to the nature, its every form may spawn poetry. Every stroke of the landscape and its elements and their various stimuli seem to convey art, an unspoken art that just sinks in and wets the inner being. I realize that I am breathing and with every breath I feel a wrap of contentment drawing upon me. I have had and keep having many such moments here, in Talegaon, when I have felt like inhaling, in a single sweep, all the good air that descends from over the mountains and carries a maddening scent of purity. I wonder if my words do any passable justice to the effect, but I shall settle for this shortcoming.  After all, there's a language beyond words and logic, that can only be felt!

Of the multitude of things that have endeared me at Talegaon, one has been the varied clan of the winged beings here. Over time, due to a constant barrage of an urban scenario, my mind had reached a concious conclusion, nay submission, that all birds could be broadly classified into two simple categories – the 'Crows' and the 'Non-Crows'. I was tempted, often, to make space for another one for the 'Sparrows'. But the innocent, almost apolegetic, expressions that they seem to carry, kept me from leaving them alone in a family of their own and instead made me club them with the others to make up the non-crows. The crows, of course, stood by themselves in lofty numbers to earn an exclusive family for themself. Such is the abundance of the black bird in the cities and the towns that after some time my faculties had become indolent to any other bird form. Not that I was very interested, and perhaps that's the real reason, but I had stopped noticing the other birds altogether. Then, in IISc, due to the campus there and some of my friends I realized that there is more to the bird family than I ever thought. And when I landed in Talegaon, I had all the time and a new grown interest to watch the birds. And so, I do. I see many, try to photograph a few and read about some of them.

In the open field that I mention in the opening lines, there used to be a noticeable flock of Baya Weavers. Last monsoon, when I first went there, I was fascinated by the place and especially the flock of the Bayas. Bayas are the expert weaving birds, weavers like no other! Inverted retort shaped nests made out of grass strings and straw hung down from the branches overlooking the calm pond beneath. I and Appaji marvelled at the expertise of weaving the nest and also at how wisely the location was selected. It was such that no predator could reach it easily. Over the next few days I gathered some interesting information about the habits of this bird. As it turns out, the male Bayas weave nests and the whole purpose, seemingly, is to earn a mate. A male Baya tries to build his nest so as to woo females, who are prospective mates. Half completed nests are completed only when a female selects them, turning them into chambers of love and safe havens for the offsprings. It was really interesting to read on the research that has gone into undertstanding the nest-building tradition and the sexual selection process in these birds. One belief is that the woven nests help the female to compare and select genetically superior males, improving the chances of superior inheritance for their progeny. Seems reasonable, but I couldn't fathom the connotations of this to a satisfactory level. An alternate proposal, that I came across in a doctoral dissertation by S. Quader, suggests that the location of nest and its subsequent safety play a prime role in selection matters. A nest that is stable and protected from strong winds and predators seems to be preferred by the female Baya, since it lends that much convenience to the raising of the offsprings. This felt pretty convincing to me. Besides, some of the tendencies of the Male nest-builder seem to indicate an effort in this direction. The nestling chambers have been observed to be plastered by mud in many cases. Perhaps this lends some strength and balance to the nest. Every male Baya starts building multiple nests to ensure a good chance of finding a mate. It completes only those that are accepted so that no unnecessary efforts are wasted. The male Baya, thus, may land around 2-5 mates at a time. The raising of the young ones is majorly done by the female. Once, the responsibilities are over, the female may opt for another progeny with a new selection of a nest and the associated male. The importance of the expertly woven nests is more than evident from this critical cycle of reproduction. What might, however, be equally interesting is the role played by a Baya outside its mating cycle. I guess, from the way the flocks evolve and move and locate themselves strategically, there has to be some structure or tradition in the flock that directs such efforts. While thinking about all this, that I had gathered, I could not help feeling that the interactions in a flock seem to suggest a more involved societal structure and habits in the Bayas. Or perhaps, they just know!

Some snaps:

The pond

The Weaver colony 

Baya Weaver (male)

The weaver nest

-Vindy

The April Spring

I behold the nature's palette,
And my heart so yearns to write
It's this spring that blots my mind,
And drapes me in delight!

With its gifts of hues enchanting,
That the petals wear and beam
And in sprightly waves they shimmer,
Like my silly eyes would dream
It's those happy hundred hues,
That fill me and my sight
It's this spring of swinging colours,
That drapes me in delight!

The warm air seethes with passion,
To pluck the naked petals
Their fragrance wets the shadow,
Where the floral sheath now settles
I feel the silken layer,
With steps so soft and light
It's this spring of tender carpets,
That drapes me in delight!

The rays embrace the country,
Enthusing life and mirth
And lend all warmth and verve,
To the fertile rufous earth
Our plains and lofty mountains,
Bask in the sunshine bright
It's this spring of sprouting hope,
That drapes me in delight!

The restless birds of plumage
Call for their love to mate
And flit through cups of nectar,
With not a while to wait
On the wings of gleeful sunbirds,
My heart too takes a flight
It's this spring of love and laughter,
That drapes me in delight!

Clouds are too sparse and scattered
Their caravan's yet too far
And so the sky so blue and smooth,
Sails sans a single scar
The sun saunters and splashes,
Shades of orange at twilight
It's this spring that sings in silence
That drapes me in delight!

Then the night of moonlight murmurs,
As we sit on the easy chair
And we watch all the moonlit silence,
And sigh at the pleasant air
Upon two eyes so grateful,
Maidens of sleep alight
It's this April spring tonight,
That drapes me in delight!

-Vindy :)

Some Spring snaps from IISc taken last year...

A Joy Forever

My eyes pray and pry at that swerve on the way
Where, when and why did its wings take away,
From the forlorn catenary,
Shorn off its lovely cherry
My lovely kingfisher that made my lovely day!

Or the damsel in those auburn, swinging in the breeze
Spilling forms of beauty, with the twitch of every crease
In that smitten gallery,
In my 7:53
Was her maddening spell of beauty, that would never ever cease

That monsoon of our life, when we all set out together
Midst the wafting scent of spices, blending in the weather
And lo! The clouds did a shutter,
And flung us in a flutter
That wraps me still in smiles, as the clouds stay to gather

Before the shrine of stone, when I bathed under the skies
And my joy sang in tears, from the corners of my eyes
By two little stones of hail,
My heart was in a sail,
Shower from HIS eden, all HIS bundles of surprise!

Such moments filled with honey, of an old sweet flavour
That lingers on the mind and leaves you never ever
From the bounty of the nature,
A person or a creature,
All HIS things of beauty! All a joy forever!

-Vindy :)

John Keats was spot on when he said, 'A thing of beauty is a joy forever'. Recently, on my daily route to my office, I saw a beautiful kingfisher perched nicely on a transmission line at one of the turns. The sight was so unexpected and such lovely that it astonished me and ever so pleasantly. The kingfisher is now so firmly etched in my mind that I look out for it at the same turn everytime I pass from there; and the smile on my face is unmistakable.

This took me back to all such things of beauty which have struck me out of the blue and stayed with me, for me to experience them again and again, whenever I think of them. This poem is a culmination and a collection of a few of such experiences and a celebration of the fact that the small things of beauty that the Providence has bestowed upon us are indeed a joy forever.

The first stanza talks about the kingfisher. The second is about a beautiful girl I had once seen in my daily local train, during my engineering days. 7:53, as some of you must have guessed, is the timing of the local train at my station, which also doubles, as an unwritten rule/convention, as an alias for it. This sighting is much celebrated in our circles, much due to the nature of description I had provided to my friends. That face is still vivid in my mind and yes, she was beautiful!

In the third stanza I recollect, with great fondness, the surreal experience in Madikere in that June of 2007. Me and my friends had gone to this place, in the western ghats and were enjoying a zingy, rainy evening in the 'Raja's Seat'. Looking down the valley, we saw only the moving white mass of clouds. And all of a sudden, the clouds cleared for a brief few seconds, as if opening a shutter, showing a clear, breathtaking sight of the valley below. We were exhilarated and had jumped and shouted like small kids, out of glee.

The fourth stanza speaks about IISc and the main building there, which I call the shrine of stone. On one of the evenings on the campus, when it was raining mad, I decided to go to the main building and enjoy a drench myself. It rained as if it was raining for me and I felt the whole existence around me was singing and jiving with me. Then, out of nowhere (actually down the sky, I know), came two little hailstones, one after the other and fell on the stone portico under Tata's statue. I instantly picked each and popped them cold and happy. The rains, hailstones, thee feelings running inside and everything around was amazing. It is one of my best experiences, when I had cried out of sheer jubilation and the overwhelming enormity of the place, time and the environment around me.

I realise that whenever I visit any temple, say like Tirupati which I visited recently, the brief sight of the Lord's form gives a similar immense sense of joy and satisfaction. In fact, this might be the feeling that has taught me the essence of joy. In a world of rationals, the small things that don't find their reasons and results give us some pleasure to treasure for long and forever.

Heeeehaaaaaaa

Heeeeehaaaaaaaa...I am back! Back to blogging! And back with a renewed soul in me for having hauled myselves over the few months of redemption, reconciliation, of some serious work to do justice to my degree...and yes I feel like screaming my throats out...heeeeeeehaaaaaaaaaaa!!!

Okay, it is not as if I have worked and only worked over the last 3-4 months. I have just restrained myself from posting stuffs on my blog to avoid the formatting hassles and the post-blogpost (haaa...nice term! :-) ) curiosity to know the reactions.

Anyway, so of the numerous crazy things I have done over the past few months, one was to compose a bandish (if I may call it so :P) myself!! (God Damn-it!) And since I realize, after some research, that audio files can be added to a post, I wish to post about it. So here goes the tale....

One fine day, I heard that our mess was going to be kept closed for a day. That was the next day. So come the next morning, I did not feel like getting out of my bed since there was no incentive to do so. I ignored all the alarms and kept myselves buried under wraps for as long as I could. When, finally, my eyes could no more ignore the glaring sunlight outside and my eyelids started begging to be released open, I crawled lazily out of my bed. I switched on my laptop and let it play the soothing notes of tanpura. With the notes melting nicely into the sunlit room, I naturally felt like whetting my singing skills by having a session of hindustani classical jamming. I don't remember which raaga I picked on and for how long, but, the point of importance is that the musical mood carried over from that short session to my bathroom. So there I was, having a lazy, hour long bath and exploring all the singing possibilities within my capability. The restroom exhaust fan was providing a constant drone to give me the reference scale and a good support for my vocals. I started drifting into some known raga and started weaving words around it to depict the ongoing mood. The bandish that resulted is scripted below, followed by the audio file. To call it a bandish is purely a personal convenience [:P] although it may technically be nowhere near a bandish. Whether the bandish is in Raaga Vachaspati, or Raaga Jaijaiwanti, or any other or none in particular is left to the decision of the experts on this topic. For others like me, I hope this composition brings many a laughs and fun to you.

The Bandish:

aaj mess band
kuch nahi milega khane ko

fal aaj khaaun madhuban ke
piya sang mein rijhaaun mein gaaun
fulban mein chaaun raspaan mei mein madhuup
mess ke bina mein dar dar jaaun

The audio file:



http://www.mediafire.com/?n2bw1m0mxbn

Mirage

Cauldrons of calm belly the notion
A fiasco may seep sans raging commotion

The feather clouds deceive, the sun's here to stay
The sweltering heat derides the poor peasant's pray

The speck lifts in vain, in the forlorn air of lane
Settle it shall back, to heave and lift again

The curtains ruffle for nay reason, flutter won't they long
Ushers the wind evanescent, the fading bird's song

The chimes tinkle steady, and the metal gleams in guile
The wood sways delusive, and the sultry roads beguile

The lithesome egrets descend, and I smile a silent sigh
The water's still elusive, and the hose still runs dry

The bicycle sprints elated, denying the grinding creaks
But the easy slope would be uphill, know the backward peeks

This day is a rank misnomer, and my freedom a faint refuge
As my mind still gropes unwary, in a dreadful dark deluge

-Vindy

This might be of some help:
Cauldron : 1. A large vessel, such as a kettle or vat, used for boiling.
2. A state or situation of great distress or unrest felt to resemble a boiling kettle or vat
Here used as 'a container' in general...Cauldron of calm implies a time span which contains and brews calmness and provides a lot of hope, which however turns out to be false. Hence, a mirage :P
Belly : (Here used as a verb) to bulge or bring forward, i.e. accentuates the notion
Fiasco : catastrophe, disaster
sans : without
sweltering : uncomfortably hot
deride : ridicule
peasant : a farmer
forlorn : pitifully sad and lonely, signifies a deserted lane here
Evanescent : short-lived, temporary
delusive : giving a false impression, deceptive
sultry : hot and humid
beguile : trick, fool
lithesome : supple, graceful
egrets : heron like birds
misnomer : inaccurate or misleading as a name
deluge : flood, a great quantity of something (here darkness)

A Dawn at the Beach

The coastline is calm and the morning so silky
The waves are just reaching, in lines so milky
The blue is just spreading, dragging white with it
The haze stays thick and the lights are still lit

I muster my senses and breathe the sea fresh
As I walk through the close knit of coconut trees
The dawn comes and melts and peeks through the mesh
And the ochre dust of sand greets me with the breeze

The murmur of the breakers hushes in the quietness
The salty smell of mist joins in the harness
Blue, green and white mix and paint the sea
The mild touch of cold comes and clings to me

The wet bed of sand due to the receding tide
Gets dented only slightly and absorbs every stride
I tread along arrested, by a ceaseless sense of freedom
With my pal on my side, to savour this kingdom

The hillock on a side, with a mansion atop
Stares the Arabian, that threatens to chop
And far into the waters, the fort indomitable
Rises with glory, singing its own fable

A flock of few feathers now frequents the shore
Pecking with their beaks, picking prey from the floor
Unmoved and unruffled, perched on their feet
Like perfoming a penance, without a single tweet

Debris from the sea, see shallow waters at last
After ages spent in turbulence, of waters so vast
Chiselled and shaped or just simply made wet
Gaze as much as you like, pick as much as you get

Eyes drink in pleasure with bountiful of treasure
Eloping with delight, flung with no measure
No phrases are spoken, when I smile and look behind
Glances are enough, to speak through the mind

The rays are now plenty and plenty in hues
Enlightening all beings, as we continue to muse
The sea and we and the, now, twittering birds
We all sum it up in the following words
'The warm rays of aurum spread on the sand
Ushering through the coconuts, to kiss this land
The eager sea's beside, with its reverberating dim,
As our eyes traverse overjoyed, with sights of HIM!'

-Vindy


(This poem has been written describing the dawn of 1 January 2009 that we, I and my friend Gaurav, spent on the beach of Murud in Konkan)

Me, my tree, our coconut and we

The coconut falls
from the tree without a notice...

Quiet and peaceful, it was everywhere
With not an inkling of wind or storm
The coolness of the shadow rented the air
Under the coconut, on that noon so warm

I rested with no worries, plaguing my mind
With my head resting easy, on my palms behind
Dreams all nice and sundry, each of happy kind
My heart melting in gratitude for the tree so kind

And that's when this occured,
The coconut fell
from the tree without a notice...

I was caught unawares, unable to duck
Bewildered and stunned, cursing my luck
It hit me with a thud, then dented the mud
And left me in a daze, looking like a dud

The content smile, now replaced by a grimace
Plays on my mind and stays on my face
It never happened before, never felt so sore
Never was so heavy, never hurt more

And then, how and why,
the coconut fell
from the tree without a notice?

I grew with this very coconut tree
Or should say, it's the tree, that grew with me
I was not me, he was not he,
In fact all along, all was about 'we'

I have rested by it's side on all the days
Through the rains in the Junes or the sun in the Mays
However sparse the shadow, however wet the bed
And even hit by coconuts, naughty in their ways

Why now, then, do I realise,
The coconut falls
from the tree without a notice?

But, then it used to be different
The coconuts used to be small
And every one that was sent
Would be used as a ball
Not bothered as it went
As long as I recall
Infact, with one spent
Waited for another to fall

Even then, I realise,
The coconuts fell
from the tree without a notice...

The tree's taller and it's coconuts bigger
Which one would fall, is not easy to figure
I keep looking above, waiting for one to come
Keeping my hands ready, to try to catch some

I can rest no more, on the pillow of my palms
And see no more, across the coconuts and palms
And then, the coconut comes down without a notice
When I happen to waver and I happen to miss

You see,
The coconut falls
from the tree without a notice...

Peace is now estranged, and sleep's not like of old
Old times seem untrue, those times that were of gold
I shudder without reason, huddle out of fear
And cuddle up to myself with no one else near

No breeze rustles me nor the comb of leaves
The shadow doesn't soothe, as my stricken heart heaves
Everything's still and still the stillness doesn't stay
It's the fear, I say, that's taken the calm away

You never know, I tell you,
The coconut falls
from the tree without a notice...

But it's my coconut tree, mine so much
You see, I just can't stop loving it
I still caress it and fondle with my touch
I say, "I won't cry, even if you hit!"

I know, it knows my pining for it
And hence fills the coconuts with nectar for me
"You must try, and have the coconut, split,
And then you would see my love for thee!"

"As for the coconut", it continues,
"It shall continue to fall
from me without a notice!"

Yes, it does, it really does,
The coconut falls
from the tree without a notice...

-Vindy