TRIBUTE

Eyes that swallow 

thy beauty   

O'lake,

magnificent and serene,

deep contemplation pouring 

out beneath those lashes.

Swans dancing around 

those kohled eyes              

throwing sparks of

shimmering lights

and a million 

unrevealed truths.

3 paintings for that teacher

Even though these 3 paintings are not even close to work of an artist but they are a tribute to my childhood memories. Memories of that teacher who gave me a chocolate <alpenlibe> for every perfect drawing that i made. Earlier in the morning, mom was narrating stories about my childhood. She recollected the memories of those days when i took drawing lessons. The teacher who taught me how to draw lines and then make mountains and a lake was was MRS. CHAUDHARY, i still remember her face. She had a double chin, a round face with cheeks clinging to her wrinkled skin and she was fair. She had a peculiar voice with a very sigh soprano. She was always clad in crisp saris and sleeveless blouses. She used to make me sit on her dining table and instruct me to draw birds and whatever came to my mind. 

She let me dream and conjure up images in my mind which i could reproduce on paper. She pushed me forward to dream big and dream 

Artistic. I could never think of anything beyond four snow clad mountains, a lake that flowed till the bottom of the white paper dividing the paper into two and a hut with birds soaring over its head.

She forced me to think out of the box. Think of new possibilities and new ways to draw the same things but in a different manner. Later one 

day i showed her a picture which contained the 4 mountains, only this time they were on the left hand side corner. the four of them crumpled 

together bearing each others weight and a small lake that could hold the glacial waters just below it. A boat sailed through the lake waters. And the hut was right on top adjacent to the mountains. right below this were birds flying everywhere. I made green grass and a tree with apple and orange clinging its branches and the picture was complete. Only this time i had the same thought but a different way of putting it on sheet. For teaching me those butterflies, those pigeons and my favorite dinosaurs, these paintings would be my token of thanks to you ma'am.

Thank you. 

BIRD TALES

It is 15 past 6 ' 0 clock in the evening. I sit by my window sill with random thoughts flicking through my mind and staring at the unusually round sun which is ready to retire for the day. 

Long gone are those days  when i marveled over the beauty of parrots and pigeons sitting on those crooked brown branches of apple trees, tweeting and chirping gaily. 

Seems like the trees are no more their crash zone for they seem to have taken a fancy to the wires connecting the two tall buildings together more.

 As the skies turn from yellow to faintish orange to purple and finally dissolve into indigo, the birds retreat back home flying past horizons.

An eagle soars through the sky with its wings beating rapidly across its body. The eagle scoops up a dead pigeon and reaches the tree. The chaos then begins. A million birds departing for their nests fly back to visualize the bloody scene. 

Some of them candidly cling to the wires unperturbed by the pandemonium. They perform acrobatics in the sky.They all have condolences to pay for their dead comrade. They are cawing , tweeting, chirping and cooing to sympathize with the deceased.


A BOOM in the atmosphere causes a panic attack. The birds flutter at each other and seek for the sky. In the midst of all this commotion, the eagle rises again after enjoying a scrumptious meal. Sensing all this mayhem, the eagle circles around the flock of birds choosing its prey. 

White mischief

When the sun goes down

and the skies turn indigo,

they flap their wings restlessly,

a hark a hoot a coon,

a soft musical melody in the evening air,

somewhere in the deep far woods 

They come in flocks

dressed in white,

quickly taking refuge 

in the isolated banyan tree.

Disappearing into the

ghastly branches,

I search for the white

but in vain

as they have already 

blended and camouflaged.

They fly away distantly 

before long i realize 

that the brown speck

was the white dove.