Was that a dream,

Or was it a trance..

The babble of a brook

And flowers that dance

A touch of a breeze

That tousles your hair

A hint of fragrance

Is it really there?

The green, the red

The violet and blue

Colours that only

An artist can brew

But you have painted

A canvas so real

Dewdrops on the grass

Or are they pearls?

And nature beckons

At its pristine best

To lie on your back

And view god’s own nest

A sky full of stars

The night strums a tune

Hark! It’s a melody

The song of the moon

I still don’t know

If that was a dream

Or my mind played a trick

And I’ll wake up down stream..

Can you tell me if that

Was a dream or a trance

The babble of a brook

And flowers that dance..

How should I greet you

My friend on this day?

How should I wish you

A happy birthday?

Should I tell the sun to

Shine brighter for you

Or colour the flowers

With a radiant hue?

Should I turn the sky

To a palette of gold

Tell the birds to sing songs

So you never feel old?

Should I make the stars

Shine through the haze

Of clouds that should weave you

A shimmering maze?

Should I get the earth

To marry the rain

To fall on you gently

And ease all your pain?

Tell me my friend

How to wish you today

Make it glorious for you

And then let it stay!

I have seen death

Dance in a macabre form

I have seen it in the eyes

Of all those forlorn mortals who fear it

But death is only

When you are not

And you are only when death is not

So why fear what is when you are not…

I have seen death

Dance a macabre form

I have seen it in the eyes

Of all those forlorn

Mortals who fear it.

20-11-04

Forty five years ago on the twenty-second of November, two hours before mid-night a star was born in the city of Delhi.

It spread its light to all those who were in its orbit and beyond.

In the same city one being had been waiting for several years, unaware that her wait would stretch for half-a-century more before that magic would envelope her because their meeting had been planned by their souls in some other lifetime.

When they did meet she was blown to smithereens and the pieces were scattered for miles around lost to all.

The young star picked them up one by one with his beautiful hands, put them together, tied them up with a rainbow, to give them back to her; but she doesn’t want them back because those pieces are his foreva..

For her that wait was worth far more than all the treasures in the chests of the roman

emperors because this radiant star had finally lit up the depths of her dark eyes.

A very happy birthday to you my beauteous one!

May you see 44,000 more.

The Walker between the Flowers and Sunshine

Fifty nine is no age to die. Not for the handsome, youthful, and spirited Surender Singh whose religion was fitness and vigour. Not for the one who had mocked at the natural ageing process and had defied his body clock.

No fifty nine was no age for Surender Singh to die.

But death came to him swift and sure when his chopper nose-dived into a field near Saharanpur on a grim Thursday morning in the last week of March, leaving a nation in shock and his family and friends inconsolable.

Surender Singh was a permanent fixture in Lodhi gardens where you could find him in the latest branded t-shirts and top of the line sports shoes whenever he was in Delhi, which was at least 20 days a month. His fresh wit, which all his associates and most Lodhi-walkers frequently sampled, is immortal.

An early riser, frugal eater, vegetarian and teetotaler Surender Singh lived life on a high, driving his spanking new jeep between Delhi and his home town, Bhiwani, where a huge constituency of supporters had elected him to parliament and the assembly twice over. He was a tough fighter and a survivor and most viewed him as the dashing future chief minister of Haryana, a legacy that his father Bansi lal was gladly bequeathing to him. A keen cricketer and astute politician, he had an image of being untiring and timeless.

No fifty nine was no age for him to die.

But death be not proud, for he has outwitted you.

Surrender Singh lives on.

He lives in the blades of grass, the trees, the flowers, the birds, the bushes, the stones, and every nook and cranny of his favorite Lodhi Gardens. He lives in the minds and souls of all those who knew and loved him; in the hearts of scores of walkers whom he whizzed past and those who often saw him sitting on the parapet at the entrance with his unending stock of crisp one liners that had become his signature stamp.

We mourn you my friend. Lodhi gardens will never be the same without you.

Death be not proud…

For Surender Singh shall live on.

Death is nothing at all….it does not count. I have only slipped away into the next room. Nothing has happened. Everything remains exactly as it was. I am I and you are you and the old life we lived so fondly together is untouched, unchanged.

Whatever we were to each other, we still are. Call me by my old familiar name. Speak of me in the easy way which you always used. Put no difference in your tone. Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow. Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes we enjoyed together. Play, smile, think of me, and pray for me.

Let my name be the household word that it always was. Let it be spoken without effort, without the ghost of a shadow on it. Life means all that it ever meant; it is the same as it ever was; there is absolute and unbroken continuity.

What is this death but a negligible accident? Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight? I am but waiting for you, for an interval, somewhere very near, just around the corner. All is well. Nothing lost. One brief moment and all will be as it was before—only better; infinitely happier and forever.

How can I wish you

My child on this day

How can I wish you

A happy birthday

Let the sun rise

To a radiant new life

Let there be joy

No pain no strife

Let the birds chirp

For you on this day

Let the stars sing to you

Happy birthday

The sky shower gold dust

And honey and dew

Let each pore inside you

Turn over anew

Let a light bathe you

In a bright golden glow

Let all the flowers bloom

And love inside you grow..

Happy birthday pretty rainbow!

When I was ecstatic you were there to share my ecstasy

In my sorrows you stood by to console me.

When I was lost, you were there to show me the way

And in distress you reminded me to trust my abilities.

When I was jealous you were there to caution me

And my pain you simply took away.

You taught me that anger could kill and destroyed it

Before it destroyed me.

When I got to love, you were there to love and when

I hated you showed me that you still loved me.

When I was tired you filled me with energy

And when charged up you gave me courage to conquer.

You taught me to be graceful in my victory

And protected me in my hour of defeat.

When I fell down you were there to pull me up

And when I flew high you reminded me of the ground beneath.

You are my philosopher and guide and bosom friend who

Always comes back when I need you

I know you will stay by me forever and ever…

Who are you?

My mother

-

It’s that time of the year again

Angels beckon to God’s own den

-

Once again I walked

In the Garden of Eden

-

To breathe the air

That only angels breathe in

-

They led me to into

The land of flowers

-

That sang and danced

The colours they showered..

-

The leaves gushed on

Looking up to the moon

And the trees swayed to

A celestial tune

-

The babbling sound

Of the water near by

It was winding down with

A sweet lullaby

-

Dahlias and roses

Bogain villas too

On a rainbow palette

Of another worldly hue

-

A warm pink blush

With a hint of gold

There’s no place like this

Outside God’s own abode

-

God’s footsteps I saw

On the dew drenched grass

Not a moment of sadness

Can come to pass

-

I drank the nectar

Of this land divine

It’s a gift from heaven

It’s headier than wine

-

It breaks my heart

To leave that den

But one part of my self

I’ve left there again..!

-

Should I celebrate

The end of love

Should I revel

In the feeling

-

That I am alive

I can speak hear and cry

I can move like before

Am I healing

-

Should I rejoice

And hire a hall

Should I dance to the tunes

Of the sky

-

I can breathe I can sing

I can feel I can laugh

I can feast and get stoned

On this high

-

Should I rummage

Through the drawers of my past

And scrap all the memoirs

Of pain

-

Should I shred to bits

All those tokens of love

And write odes to myself

Once again

-

The end of romance

Is a glorious event

It’s the end of

A weary old strife

-

Should I re-incarnate

Once again as a child

And begin yet

Another new life

-

Somewhere someone is waiting for me

To rouse my passions within

I shall never believe in this adage of love

And be hanged for the cardinal sin

-

Yes the end of romance

Is a glorious event

It calls for a big celebration

I shall sing I shall dance

I shall feast I shall drink

I shall go on an endless vacation

-

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