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A Traveler's Saga

Photo taken at Plitvice National Park, Croatia by Vibhor Dhote Oh! What are these days I have found myself in! The bagpacks I carry n...

Thursday, July 26, 2012

I wait...






I know not what I lack,

I know not why I cry,

Since the day you are gone

Everyday I die.

Passing through a dark phase,

I do not know if it will end.

Telling my bleeding heart

In this phase I must blend.

“Saying sorry will not do”,

That is what you told,

But to endure your absence

My heart is not that bold.

I have nothing that

Money cannot buy,

But now these words

Seem so wry,

For I can not have you,

Standing by my side,

I begged you that day

But you did go away,

My faults did not give

You a reason to stay,

I should have stopped you,

I can not bear this pain,

Yes, I need you

To be in my life again,

I put my hand on my chest,

And claim today,

I will wait for you

Till my death day,

In heaven we will meet,

This promise I will keep.

Please, come back to me

How long will we weep?

Forgiveness I ask for,

Before you, my soul stands,

My head is down and

I am with folded hands.

Restless I am not,

I state this with faith,

From today till forever

For you I will wait...


Tuesday, July 24, 2012

What Do You Know Of Love?



















You claim to know all
Of love and of her..
You claim her love ain’t true..
So today I ask you..




 What do you know of love?
When you have never had a dream of her?

What do you know of her?
When you have never longed for her love?

Oh, What do you know of love?
When your heart don’t ache
When she cries her heart out?

What do you know of her?
When you notice her smile
But not the drop of tear in her eye?

What do you know of love?
When your heart ain’t worthy enough to be loving?

What do you know of her?
When you could never feel the pain she’s been hiding?

You claim to know all
Of love and of her..
You claim her love aint true..

Maybe coz she’s not like you..






Monday, July 16, 2012

Tears of blood


[The poem is written as a tribute and encouragement to the unfortunate rape victims of the society who are fighting every day to live with dignity. This poem is published in Read In Park]

Never had known pain,
As I do now…
Never knew what grief is,
But I do now…

When the morning sun knocks on my window,
I weep silently recalling that loathsome night,
When the rays fall on my wet pillow,
I wail in self pity ending another sleepless night.

Every morning I look into the mirror
To see the detested face,
Robbed, touched, raped,
I now loathe my every single trace.

I had begged for help,
Had cried for mercy,
But no one took a single step,
That night to rescue me

  
They jeered at my pain,
Laughed at my plight,
“Men” they called themselves
Those beasts of that night

The fear that arouse in me,
I fear it may bring my death
Growing day by day,
It questions my each breath

The bruises on my face will heal,
But the trauma evoked
The scars on my heart
Might take forever to be cured

I refuse to touch myself now,
I fear to go out,
I deny myself food and clothes
I wail my heart out

To forget whatever happened,
 I try each day
But the memories enliven
And I fail every single day

I wonder if I get to live
A normal life like the others
Without questions or doubts
Nor sympathy from others

Withal, I fight back my tears,
And hold my head high
As the one who should be ashamed
Are those beasts  of that night.






Saturday, July 14, 2012

The Fire within …

This poem of mine is published in an International Anthology titled "A World Rediscovered" edited by Jean LeBlanc.. My first published anthology :)






Wounding me,

Ripping me,

Here it...

Read more at A World Rediscovered .

Thursday, July 12, 2012

Better than Your X, is she?



Just turned on channel VH1 yesterday and saw this single by VJ Anusha. The song is in my lips ever since.

 A great lyricist it must be, because the lyrics is awesome and makes total sense. A nice video is put up to match with the tempo.

Well, a part of the video seemed a bit clich├ęd – yes, I am talking about the part where Anusha and the back dancers wear a uniform like teen school going girls. This reminds me of the biggest hit yet debut by Britney- Hit me baby one more time. A school girl in uniform dancing and singing for a guy can never be warded off. Thus, the thought comes to my mind if the same mantra is used here in “Better than your X” to make it a hit.

 Traces of Avril’s influence can also be found in the lyrics too.
Well, it won’t be wrong to say that Anusha is the new Indian popstar going International.
Wish she stood out in the video whereas at some parts of the song her make-up and clothing did not differ at all from the back-dancers making her look not-so-important and tired. But at other parts of the song she is looking absolutely fabulous like she always does.

The “Loot Gaye” girl seems all set to loot an audience of millions. A perfect song for youngsters and teenagers with the perfect diva for the song, ‘’Better than your X” seems like a hit. And while I write this, there may be thousands singing – I am better than your ex, better than your next girlfriend. 

Wednesday, July 11, 2012

The Whiskey Lullaby

This story was published in an e-magazine Word Splash in its issue of July 2012,http://www.wordsplash.in/the-whiskey-lullaby-2/


We watched him drink his pain away,
A little at a time,
But he never could get drunk enough,
To get her off his mind …

Pain or love wasn’t the reason why Prakash was the town drunk. “It’s my passion,” he would quote while listening to the Whiskey Lullaby,” It depicts my freedom.”
*
  It was two years ago, in Swindon during his working years, when Prakash was first introduced to liquor. He became a lover ever since. Gin was the drink he chose as his first love, Tequila came second. His decision of never marrying or rather being away from women was well-known by all his chums. He would recite it every time someone asks him to settle down and get married.

 A year went by quite peacefully with his “principles”- be drunk, spend all the money, come home after midnight, and never tie the knot. It was a call from the City Hospital, Dehradun which changed his way of living. His mother’s health was withering each day and he had to come back to her. A month’s stay changed into a year’s and at long last, resignation from his job in Swindon. 35-year old Prakash had no one but his mother in Dehradun. His father left the family when he was only eight, to remarry. Prakash became a disbeliever in marriage or love ever since. His childhood friend and neighbour Rajiv, a thin, square-faced bespectacled young man, was the second reason why Prakash would call Dehradun his home. It was Rajiv who took his mother to the Hospital when she had her devastating heart stroke. Prakash went directly to the hospital after landing, only to find that Rajiv had already taken his mother home.  He rushed home while his paralyzed mother waited for her son on her bed. Rajiv was the one who had to break the news to Prakash that the heart stroke cost his mother’s motility.

*
“Turning 36, are we?” Rajiv asked Prakash who was now sipping the last drops of vodka on his glass.

“Yeah, more drinks?” Prakash made a move to ask the bartender for more.

After spending a year in India, Prakash had now become accustomed to drinking vodka, Rajiv’s favourite.

His drinking habits were costing him a lot in his unemployed days in the country. A “compromise” is what he would call it whenever he had to settle for a beer.

“I hate to break it to you, but I’m getting married this year.”

Prakash dropped his jaw in disbelief as those words came out of Rajiv’s mouth.

“I thought we had a pact?” Prakash brooded while the pub played the Tequila Sunrise.

“I know, but the fact is that life can not be spent all alone, or at least I can’t.” Rajiv explained while the bartender poured more vodka in his glass.

“Losers, all of you.” Prakash kicked his chair and headed out of the pub, shoving the poor bartender out of his way.

*

“Stop being a child Prakash and go and attend your best friend’s wedding.” his mother shouted at Prakash while he prepared the night’s dinner. He turned on the TV aloud while the Pandit chanted the mantras at Rajiv’s wedding.

As obstinate as over, Prakash chose to spend the night with his beloved Tequila rather than attending his neighbor’s marriage ceremony. He did not even know the bride’s name or rather he never cared to ask.

*

Two days later it was a big day for Prakash: his first call of employment in Dehradun after being rejected by two and rejecting one where he had to work offshores. Rajiv was the first one to wish him luck in the morning and offer him a ride for his first day at work. Reluctantly Prakash accepted his offer.

There was already a woman, a beautiful one, sitting on the front seat of the car so Prakash went for the back seat.

 “Watch your head.” Rajiv warned as Prakash ducked to sit in the Nano car.

“Bhabiji, is she?” Prakash asked Rajiv pointing at the woman who was now powdering her nose while looking at a small circular mirror she took out from her purse.

Rajiv broke into a laugh while the woman looked at Prakash in disbelief with her large brown eyes.

Rajiv broke the ice, “Meet your colleague and Shweta’s sister- Riya, Senior Manager in the same department as you.”

*

Riya and Prakash got along quite well from the very first day they met. Prakash would keep wooing her with his humour and charm. They would go out for casual dates. Rajiv suspected this would happen from the very first day he introduced them to each other. After all Riya was everything a guy could ask for- beautiful, smart, working, caring yet insouciant. What he did not suspect was the way Prakash left his first love – drinking, within days of meeting Riya.

“One passion at a time, please.” Prakash would quote facetiously whenever Rajiv would tease him about replacing Tequila with Riya.

*

Prakash’s mother was recovering day by day as she now had three people to take care of her – her son, Rajiv and Riya. Riya would sometimes visit her in the evening, bring fruits and sweets, chat for an hour or two and then leave with Prakash for a night out.

Prakash’s mother had no reason to disapprove the marriage of Prakash and Riya, as proposed by Rajiv. A pundit was called and a wedding date was fixed. Prakash did not create any fuss this time.

*

Only a week was left before the marriage when it was disclosed to Shweta that Riya was pregnant.  A nonplussed Shweta approached Rajiv immediately to tell the news.

 It would not have been a problem if the baby were of Prakash.

“But we never had …” Prakash was shocked when Riya told him.

“You were drunk.” Riya reasoned.

“I don’t remember even touching any booze after we met.”

It was crystal clear that Riya was lying when the following night she fled with another guy of their office.

***

“One Martini.” Prakash, in a drunken state, ordered the bartender.

The bartender hesitantly pulled out a glass of martini while the pub played the Tequila Sunrise.

Every night when the sun goes down
Just another lonely boy in town
And she's out running around

Prakash slammed the glass hard on the table while the bartender stepped back in fear.

“I asked for a bottle of silver Tequila and this is what you give me?” Prakash shouted.

Bartender attended to his order without any hesitation as this was usual, episodic at that pub by the town drunk Prakash .

Sometimes Prakash would meet a well-wisher or two in the pub who would make him sit and understand that he should change his ways.

“It depicts my freedom, my passion, not some stupid lost love or anything.” he would reason while listening to the Whiskey Lullaby in his cell-phone, “Losers, all of you”.

We watched him drink his pain away,
A little at a time,
But he never could get drunk enough,
To get her off his mind …


Tuesday, July 10, 2012

The Ailing Abode

This story was published in an e-magazine Fried Eye 15th July 2012 https://www.friedeye.com/2012/07/the-ailing-abode.html




The green fields growing tea plants look so dull today without you around. I wonder where you might be these days. It’s been a month that I last saw you. And when I returned today you are nowhere to be seen.

Our last meeting was the day I left for Mumbai. That day, I could see the tears wetting the face of my mother. I could see the pain in my father’s eyes. I could see my sister crying near the Banyan Tree, hiding from me. What I could not see was the anxiety in your eyes, the upcoming peril you were about to face as I leave.

I cared not of what the neighbors would say, or what my father’s fellow factory workers would say. I cared not of what my mother’s fellow tea plant workers would think, nor of what my sister’s to-be spouse would think. Nor did I care about you whose life, I knew not, was only a day more since I left.

With bones of legs half broken and fingers snapped, my sister today kneels in front of me. Her refusal to talk to me screams in my head that I was wrong.
A woman half burnt, with face smudged with terrible scars, claims to be my mother. Her state of agony cries in my head that I was wrong.
Sleeping on the arms of the woods, a cold father waits to be burnt. His each dead cell yells in my head that I was wrong.

I looked for you, but you could not be seen, not on the land where you used to be.

I met all today- questioning eyes, betrayed hearts, ashamed faces, disdaining looks, troubled minds, lost souls, poverty, helplessness, pain, misery.

Somewhere in this land I hear you, blaming me, cursing me, with a voice trembling and weak.
A month ago, in the same land, what I could not hear was the same voice begging me.

When I looked at myself, a month ago, I saw myself breaking shackles, freeing freedom, flying high, flying away to be free, to find love.
But today, when I look back, I see myself ditching my own family, putting my needs before theirs, spurning their love aside, throwing them in fire, to be a free man’s whore.

Wooed by the money in the man’s pocket, blandished by the luxuries promised, I fled with the man agreeing to be his kept.
With a swollen eye, a fractured arm and a few bruises as I return today, each wound of mine tells me I was wrong.
I return to you today, only to realize you are long gone. All that remains of you today is nothing but ashes.

Your memories all lost, seeing the burnt face of mother today. Your felicity all lost, seeing the worn out face of my sister today.

The villagers’ belligerence of that unfortunate day, appears today on the face of a mother who was burned alive. Apathy of the neighbours appears on the face of a father who was beaten to death. The to-be in-laws’ wrath, appears on the face of a sister who was denied marriage. The brutal ways of live appear on the face of the land that once carried you.

I searched, but in vain, to find even a trace of you. Befuddled, I rummaged everywhere in the realm. Mother, as always, knew what question my eyes hold. She points towards the direction where the answer to my question unfolds.

I looked at you, of whom only ashes remained. Seeing you today, the tears in my eyes, I retained.
The ashes of you, lying on the barren land, yells at me that I was wrong.

I kneel today before your ashes. I realize I was wrong. I beg for forgiveness but no answer comes. Your ashes silently look at me as I wail my heart out. Mother stands near me, showing me that my family is obliged to live on the road, as no longer we have you- My Home, to whom I returned.

The villagers burnt you, with my mother inside. Mother survived while you burned down, leaving us no place to hide. I weep today, I cry. But nothing I do can bring back that day gone by.  Because of me, my family suffered. We lost father and you- our home.  

The sleepless night I spend today reminds me of yester years spent with you- playing in the tea gardens, returning to you for a nap, all sitting in your balcony to discuss the day’s events in the eve, and sleeping on your lap at night.

I put aside those memories; I fight back my tears and look for a new morning as I go in rummage for a new you- a new Home.  To bring back all that’s lost, I pray, but in vain, as any place we ever were happy was you- my Home.




Sunday, July 1, 2012

The Plait Problem- the story of my journey from Hair Hassles to Trendy Tresses



               It was two weeks ago when I and two of my friends had planned to spend a night at Betty’s house. It was never in my comfort zone to stay away from home- partly because I am a shy person and do not talk much with anyone except Lisa, but mostly because of my diffident nature. It was my hair problems that stole my positivity away when I turned 20 and interposed diffidence in me.

It was my sophomore year when the problems began, and when my fellow mates were looking their very best I had to lose a million hair strands each day due to travelling to and fro college which was almost 11kms away from my home.  I had been avoiding people ever since.

One day Lisa bought a hair straightener and suggested me to use it. Indeed it worked its magic and I looked good, for a change, but only for a few hours. I liked the way I looked after straightening my hair and decided to do this every day. This went on for a week until one morning my Mom pointed out that my hair had lost its lustre too. I panicked and ran for the mirror. I was aghast to see that really my hair had become listless. I touched it only to find that it was now rough, and its unsmoothness I could compare only with a broom. I was dismayed like never before. I lost all confidence that had arisen and I hated my hair even more. I thought I was destined to have the worst hair of the world until last week.

After having a nice dinner at Betty’s place the four of us headed to sleep in Betty’s room. Betty had our beds made while Lisa and Debra sorted out movies to watch that night. I was in the bathroom washing my face when I was astonished to find that Betty’s combs had not a single strand of hair tangled to the bristles. No doubt Betty had beautiful hair that unfortunate people like me could only dream of, but I never thought that her hair was strong too apart from being silky and shiny. Indeed she was the Rapunzel of our college. The thought broke my heart since as a child I had always admired Rapunzel and her hair and dreamt of being her one day. Ironic!

With a tear rolling down my left cheek I came out of the bathroom and declared that I was not feeling well, called it a day and went to sleep.

 I woke up early the next day and was searching for my toothbrush in my bag when Betty woke up who had slept just next to me last night. She was surprised to see so many hair strands on my pillow. Just saying “we need to talk” she pulled my arm and took me to the balcony. That day we, for the first time, had a long talk about my hair problems. I told her all my hair issues while she sat and listened. After listening to every small and big hair issue of my hair she said, “couldn’t you tell me all this before?”

“It’s too late now, right? There is not a single solution?” I asked being worried.

She laughed and said, “It’s not too late, dear, never with the products I use. Come on in, I will tell you my secret today”.

We went in and she opened her wardrobe to reveal a treasure- a basket filled with Dove products. She showed me each and every product she uses. She explained to me that there are different products for different kinds of hair. She added that Dove Damage Therapy is specially reinforced for damaged hair like mine. She said, “After listening to your problems I suggest you should use Dove Nourishing Oil Care
  products. It has whatever your hair needs and you will find that your hair is rejuvenated within a week. It will start showing positive effects right from the first day of usage. The new line of Hair Careproducts by Dove Damage Therapy includes  Dove Intensive Repair Shampoo and Conditioner System, Dove Daily Treatment Conditioner, and the Dove Damage Therapy System. I have used them all and I love the way they have put an end to the problem of split ends I had last year. Since you have a problem of hair fall you should try the new Hair Fall Rescue shampoo and conditioner introduced by Dove Damage Therapy too.

I doubted her promise and wondered if she was making a fool out of me. I asked myself, “Can there be a product, so effective? I don’t think so.”

That evening the first thing I did after going home was to open my laptop and search the net to learn more about Dove. I found the Dove Hair-Aware App in facebook athttps://www.facebook.com/dove/app_127320750626819 and joined it. I looked at the different types of shampoo, conditioner and serum that Dove offers.

 I got so excited that I immediately started the engine of my scooter to go to the nearest mart and buy Dove Damage Therapy Hair Fall Rescue shampoo which has micro-moisture serum and also Dove Damage Therapy Oil Nourishing conditioner.

The very next day I applied the products on my hair. I was appalled when I felt my hair which was smooth and shiny after what seemed like ages.

 To my surprise, at college everyone was noticing and complementing my hair. It was a completely new and different experience for me. Since then I decided that Dove Damage Therapy is what I am going to use from now onward.

It has been one week now since I last used Dove and my hair is strong and silky like never before. My comb no longer has hair strands attached to its bristles. And when I wake up I never have to find fallen hairs on my pillow. The volume of my hair has increased and so has the number of my friends. I am a totally new person now- confident, beautiful and self-loving. I love my hair like never before. All thanks goes to Betty and her little secret weapon- Dove Damage Therapy. That was the beginning of the new me and that was the end of my hair problems!

Just today I have been proposed by the best looking guy of our class to go out with him. I am reading the card he gave me today and it says,

 “Dear Sharon!


Will you be my princess, My Rapunzel?”





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