Let the feeling sink!

Let the feeling sink in! This is what I say to myself each day after I wake up, and after I have spent a decent amount of money in preparations to go to US for my Masters. The feeling is ineffable, wholly and truly. It is sad to realize that I will be leaving my parents, my siblings, my nieces, my friends and some other people I would tend to miss. At the same time, I am happy to know that I will meet and become part of a multi-cultural student fraternity. I will be meeting people from different continents and countries. I would love to know more about their motherlands. At the same time, I also feel bad about missing food that I get in India. By and large, these two forms of emotions are the perpetrators that make me think all time during the day and night. Anyway, what I am most concerned about is my time to come back to India. I should not get settled in US and would just be there for studies and some work experience. It shouldn’t be much difficult to do that, God willing. I wish and pray to Almighty, and in the feet of my motherland, that I remain firm in my thoughts, that I remain confident on my stand, that I never forget my roots and move ahead successfully in life and in my career, on the new land.

-G Singh, 19 August 2006.

Individual's heart to the World!

When there is truth inside, and you speak your heart
There is goodness in character.

When there is goodness in each character,
There is happiness in family.

When there is happiness in each family
There is prosperity in society.

When there is prosperity in the society
There is progress in the nation.

When there is progress in each nation,
There is peace in the World.


-Gursharan Singh, 29th July, 2006.

Read it ANYWAY...

Though falsehood may prevail for a small time, truth is immortal. Trying to gather some more thoughts on similar lines, I was just trying to write something on the co-existing forms of life, some lead it with truth, some in falsehood, and some with both with the motive of defining everything as it suits them. It is not that I am shooting spearheads on humanity, I am no less and may be worser than anybody. Though I try to be a truth follower, I am too human to always remain one. Life plays smartly, never letting you know that it made you do your chance – and you can’t do a look ahead. Amidst all this slurry of thoughts, I can recall Mother Teresa writing beautiful principles of life. If we try to circumscribe our living within these simple facts, it appears that we win over life. Else, line of fire always passes from between your toes. As some say “Larger than life”, these principles teach us to be ignorant about certain things and happenings and the power of the word “Anyway”. Here goes the fragrant bouquet of couplets -

People are unreasonable, illogical and self centered, love them Anyway.

If you do good, people may accuse you of selfish ulterior motives, do good Anyway.

If you get success, you win false friends and true enemies, succeed Anyway.

The good you do today may be forgotten tomorrow, do good Anyway.

Honesty and transparency make you vulnerable, be honest and transparent Anyway.

What you spend years building may be destroyed overnight, build Anyway.

Give the world the best you have and you may get hurt, give the world the best you have Anyway.

My frail minded extension:

People favor underdogs, but follow only topdogs, fight some underdogs Anyway.

If you try to be honest, chances are that you will be exploited, but be honest Anyway.

If you do good, you will be kicked in teeth, do good Anyway.

If you speak truth, you may be regarded a blunt and straight shooter, speak truth Anyway.

If you express your true self, you will often be misunderstood, speak your heart Anyway.

If you fail, it may be difficult to proceed, but spin back with more force Anyway.

If you fall, rise and again fall, rise again Anyway.

Success, failures and happiness are too small metrics to measure life, be confident, cheerful and live life ANYWAY.


-G 29th July, 2006.

Life goes on....

To start, allow me to use the metaphor “war”. My enemy is my thought. It’s so painful to be misunderstood and then toiling hard in the hope that things will be fine, believe me, they do not. They never will. The same old one liner – “God helps those who help themselves” strikes again and bangs right into my face. At times, you feel so energetic that you feel you can move anything that comes in front, but pity, not your own heart. Feelings and thoughts that have hung for long, these rascals just won’t quit. You try hating what you loved, just to forget it, but it spins back, harder. Just when you decide on something, you realize you have experienced a pitfall camouflaged by your dreams and the endless quest to chase them. Bah, humbug! Then where flew the principles? You behaved vociferously with them, lacking discipline in thought?

People who have loved me for what I am, people who always stood behind me, people who I know will miss me (and me will miss them too), when they encourage me, I just fall short of crying. I also feel like missing them - I have lived with them for long, for the life that is said to be lived by me till today.  And some who were into my life for not so long, but left their footprints for me to cherish, with a belief that I will remain happy in ignorance and falsehood in the guise of a satisfied human being. I am sorry, I can’t be like that. I would request you to make me understand how should I? Lighting up a candle and expecting it doesn’t melt surely is a sign of living in falsehood. I don’t have anymore words on this.

May I dare say that I love the darker side of life? Yes, I do. But I feel its truth. Atleast I am sure to myself for accepting it? Or not? At times I am so bogged down and pessimistic that if someone got me the Kohinoor, I would throw it away feeling its thickness encloses a bomb. But then the posterity that follows in thought, the kindred spirits that I feel enchanted with, everything seems so beautiful, but sadly, short lived. I tend to over-analyze things, and often end up with word-beatings from friends and family, but I feel happy about the way I think and take decisions. Over the past few months, I have felt so confident professionally, taking extreme and bold decisions. At the same time, I have felt so weak emotionally. It seemed that I had a general stock of confidence that could be castled into confidence in profession and the confidence in thoughts & emotions. I overused it on the former one, and now facing lurking dangers because of the latter.

I love saying this “ I am feeling so numb”. I wrote it earlier and I write it again – “I love life for the numbness that it gave, taking the hits feeling that I am brave”. There are a plenty of things that pester me day and night. Where am I heading, what is going to happen in future, what about making it big, how big? What about losing someone in the time, no looking back, can I live without that someone, do I really need to think on it, or is it really too early, or, or, or? Seems I have been a false believer in the almighty, but nevertheless, in the end, I understand in sound state of mind that it’s all up to Thee. No matter how smart I try to be, the grey cells in quantity I invest, things that will finally happen, it’s all going to be in His will. It has to happen; I have to be a part of it, grown up me if I can enjoy it or childish me if I crib over it.

I feel so good after writing. I feel it’s the best way to vent ones feelings without letting them explode. But I do not expect it to be interpreted in my favor, always. It’s just a piece writing, a wanderer’s thoughts, but its neither too unrevealing. And I live in the hope, that I will understand myself one day, before anyone else does so.

-G    

Inspiration-e-Ghalib

Saurabh writes a beautiful four liner with inspiration from Ghalib. While roving through that post, I felt like extrapolating the feeling he tries to make effable. So without his permission :P,  here it goes:

Saurabh:

muddat baad hi sahi, aap humein milne to aaye.
kaayal hum bhi hain mehmaan-nawaazi ke,
par is kabr mein se,
paani bhi poochein to kaise poochein...


Gursharan:


kabr mein hain to zarra mat samajhna,
aftab banne ki to chaah hi na ki,
aapne agar aakar awaz di hoti,
to khuda kasam, khuda ko khaak kar ke palkein bichaate.

eh khuda muafi tujhse maangenge nahin,
tune gar kabr mein jaan di hoti,
us zindagi ki to chaah hi na karte,
agar is bani-raun pal khwahishe-deedar hote.

bani-raun : that happens, existing in time.

Even I burst into laughter after writing words like palkein bichaate, khwahishe-deedar but this is the way Ghalib wrote. Each word he used to use would carry the meaning of a whole sentence that another poet will write. I remember him using some really complex vocabulary that made me leave the book ‘Urdu-i-Muallah’ mid way ( but I am gathering confidence again to start it).

Cheers!

-G

Bi-selfness

I read on someone’s orkut profile that she believes she has two selves. I was so happy and delighted to find someone who has the same thought I have been trying to live from a good time now. The two selves in talk are within everyone, a fact verified from the writings of Asimov. One self is ourselves, that we call “me”, that is trying to be good to the world, trying to wallow in all luxuries of life, that makes sure you are loved by all and you love all. The other self is just what we are supposed to be, the reflection of our “true” mind and soul. The one self that talks to “me”, to always teach me something is never wrong. That’s what the soul is. That’s what we have been made to become and follow. So, dedicated to this human thought, that can help allay anything that hurts, below are some lines.


Me, Myself : The “Me” everyone knows, first self
Soul: The true “Me”, the second self.



Do you see what I see
Why do we live like this?
Is it because it is true
That ignorance is bliss?

Why am I so numb?
And life suddenly is fermenting in stum.
Is it that I take life too vapidly?
Nothing like I have to live, live happily.

Why do I live two selves?
Each mocking on the other on lost helves.
Why are the thoughts being whipped?
How did everything whisked?

Why can’t I let it go?
Please make me understand why is it so?
Everything I loved all way,
Someone steals them on fro of the sway*.

Clock of life is wound but once,
Can it be stopped, can I get this bunce**?
Want to live life as it spells,
Only wax, this dunce was never made to melt.

Back in that page of life,
Chirpy, bubbly with sparkling eyes,
Who was He? How was He?
That wasn’t I, coz sparkling can’t be without glee.

Looking back at time,
I think I never really got it right,
I only messed up some things,
The culprit me, sweating in the springs.

Confused in the twilight,
Never understood its going to be a day or night.
I need an antidote of light,
Waiting for it to come and make me bright***.

Let me give myself a blow,
A blow that takes me to the soul,
The soul has nothing to perfect,
May be that fits in my intellect?

I would then want to return,
Without anything that caused the burn,
Is it really going to be tough?
Do I need to curse myself and handle it rough?

Gursharan Singh, 9th July 2006, New Delhi.

Tidbits:
*as if it is swinging and in the “fro” of to- and- fro, someone takes it off
**good fortune, can I get lucky
*** bright here means closer to soul, reality, often a biting truth.

Murder of Milk

Shiv Kumar Batalvi, a renowned poet from Punjab, wrote his agony on the division of the country during the partition days. Titled as “Dhudh Da Katal” or the Murder of Milk” which signifies the murder of milk of his  mother, mother Punjab who was murdered by division at that time. The English translation goes as :

I still remember it today
And you must remember it too
When together we murdered our mother
They killed my childhood they killed my mother
And a cold corpse was left at my place to rot.

I have a longing to die young
To go to realm of youth
After my demise.

I sing to conceal my agonies
Under the guise of lyrics
Sweet and serene the curses
Miserable and doleful verses.

I have been occupied
With burning the lamps
Of my own existence , fears
Feeding it with flowing oils
From my own saline tears.

Help me to remember Thee

First quarter of the day was that*,
abandoning the nocturnal tryst, experiencing the lat,
I laid on the mattress with that wildness and exploring thoughts,
did I ever think of Thee, is this from me what He sought?

Thankless, unappreciative, selfish and ungrateful - my soul abused me,
wanting to hide my face in the darkness that surrounded, crying for a re,
forgot that darkness is the truth, light its façade,
for light was never termed to be, if darkness not made to wade.

They say, when the cursing dusks, blessings dawn,
the ecstasy was ineffable like air, flower and the mystic spawn*.
The human so small and poor, to thank, appreciation seemed to be the only way,
devising ways to do it in sleep, the omen feeling started getting allay.

Started with “it” being in air, water and the fire,
the Sun showing “its” ruddy face, the moon so cold albeit able to light every poet’s pyre.
only Sun, moon, air, water and fire? “It” wasn’t so small,
said the kindred spirit, make it fast son,  life will be short to think of all.

Rivers, seas, oceans, the flora and fauna, everything abundant, nothing in dearth,
the amazing attraction between the fly-aways of big bang, and a discovered life on earth.
Food for everyone, liquid, peace in nature He assured,
distributing wealth evenly as oil ’n’coal, never was it meant to be a selfish procure!

The calmness and love of a mother, carries the breeze,
the land and soil, saying nothing beneath your feet,
the soil, Oh my, is even so great, why boast of a glaive,
Sayeth wise, below my feet when I am alive, taking in its lap when I am in grave.

Twice semidiurnal is too less to call of You, calling only for a cure?
being One is the only worship I know, and forgetting you is not possible anymore.
With nature in Me, and I in nature, Your only form,
help me settle between Me and I, and fight this storm.

You are illimitable, infinite, sempiternal; I have no faculty to estimate your span,
I can only beg of knowing more of You, hold me, You are my can.
He, She, I and they have failed to understand Me, and Me failed with all imperceptible attempts,
take me in your lap, hold me in your arms my Sea,
save the falling, drying river, bestow me with “The” thoughts, O’ My Thee.


Gursharan Singh, 2nd July 2006, New Delhi.

Tidbits:
*First quarter of the day : 00:00 to 06:00 hours
**air, flower and the mystic spawn : refers to the fragrance that’s spawned when the air(wind) touches the flower and fills the atmosphere.

    

Sarfaroshi ki Tamanna

Monday is a lazy day, I took off from work and the Sports Complex is also closed for the day. Muscles were sort of crinkled, trying to stretch out at home, came flying a suggestion from mom, “Go to the nearby park for a walk”.  The tone complained of my being lazy throughout the day and  couldn’t help, but to escape from the taunts that would have come in the remaining day, I started from home to the park. The scene is generally very serene, birds chirping, aged people talking, children playing, everything was perfect. The small children, varying in age from 7–10 years, fell to the ground after sweating with the frizzling games they play. I found the scene very interesting, children talking to each other so calmly. Suddenly they started playing the game of songs. It was a delight to watch them playing that when suddenly, they started singing the song “Sarfaroshi ki tamanna ab hamare man mein hai”, and I couldn’t help and the “thing” resuscitated. Co-incidences don’t fall into my lap that often, but this one was really on time, when reaching back home I switched on the TV to see Rang De Basanti on prime time. I was in awe of those children by that time and Ramprasad Bismil sahib who penned those vibrant lyrics. The timeline in the movie was on the same song and I tried to write it along. It goes as –

Hai liye hathiyaar dushman taak mein baitha udharaur hum taiyyaar hain seena liye apna idhar,

khoon se khelenge holi gar vatan muskhil mein haisarfaroshi ki tamanna ab hamaare dil mein hai.

haath jin mein ho junoon katt te nahi talvaar se,sar jo uth jaate hain voh jhukte nahi lalkaar se.

aur bhadkega jo shola-sa humaare dil mein haisarfaroshi ki tamanna ab hamaare dil mein hai.

hum to ghar se nikle hi the baandhkar sar pe qafan,chaahatein liin bhar liye lo bhar chale hain ye qadam.

zindagi to apni mehmaan maut ki mehfil mein hai,sarfaroshi ki tamanna ab hamaare dil mein hai.

dil mein tuufaanon ki toli aur nason mein inquilaabhosh dushman ke udaa denge humein roko na aaj,duur reh paaye jo humse dam kahaan manzil mein haisarfaroshi ki tamanna ab hamaare dil mein hai.



The lines I savor the most are italicisized above. Bismil sahib, hats off to you.
    

Harry, you are great, with words atleast ;)

Harpreet aka Harry Singh, a young and a smart doctor living in the US has been looking for a wife for quiet long. It seems Harry, you believe in the concept of selecting a wife for yourself and that too within the US! And to top all of it, he is in need of a Sikh lady, a true Sikh, by soul and by heart. But, he couldn’t find a sikhni in the US who seem to respect his respect for sikh women. He met a girl, named C, and then they had a breakover. But, the way Harry narrates his experiences from life, its truly awesome, I bow before him. C came to his place one day and Harry expected her to make a move for good but she never turned back while leaving. I am sorry I am writing all this Harry, but I had to write this background to let people acknowledge the words that you wrote. They are truly mind boggling. Here they are –

“ I stood at the door watching her walk away. Every step that she took, I prayed that she would stop. I prayed that she would atleast turn around and exchange a final look, the look that would tell me some sort of indication that she still felt anything for me. The look, by which I would be able to spend the rest of my life with. "woh nazar jiske sahare mein baki ki jindagi goojar doonga".

But she didn't. She kept walking (some would say, briskly) and kept walking. And then she turned the corner and with that last step, she walked out of my sight and I am afraid, out of my life. The passage was brightly lit with pretty lights, the air was still and musty and I stood there wondering how things could change so fast. No answers came to mind. Like they say, American appliances don't work in Europe and I guess, Indian men don't work in America. You know, it is all about the "connection".

As I started to turn around and drag myself in, I noticed something on the floor. I bent down to take a closer look. It seemed familiar. "I'll be damned", I told myself. It was my darn heart. God bless my soul. The poor bugger was badly mangled but it was still beating. The rascal just won't quit. C had very skillfully dropped it on the ground as she was leaving, severing the final ties and sealing the deal. I picked it up and put in the refrigerator where it would lay healing, only for the next angel to come and break it. “ — Harry

Harry you are a great philosopher. Your sense of observation for things that happen inside cannot be put into words. Awesome is the only word that comes out time and again.

The racket and the Sympathy!

Last week, I broke my squash racket and today,  I was all game to enter the most crowded place in Delhi to buy a good one, the Sadar Bazaar. It is supposedly the place that pumps the economy and accelerates the cash flow in goods trade in New Delhi. You can get almost everything there, sports equipment, lab equipment, household stuff, raw cloth, bag, umbrellas, spices, you name anything, it will be on one of the ‘gali’ or the so– named “XYZmal” road there (e.g. Munnamal road). You cant get parking there, park the car 2 kilometers away and take a cyclerickshaw to the gali of your needs or if you fall into the class that feels its inhuman to have someone drive you with his legs ( unfortunately I belong to this secta), you can only bravely walk on your own feet( with handkerchief incessantly sticking to your nose to help you preserve your nostrils from rotting away by the open nullahs). The way people work there – labourers, wholesalers, “Laalas”, its simply amazing. At such a place where you can’t even afford to breath suently just to help your heart beat only 72 times per minute, people spent their whole lives in the legacy trades.

Among these arduous spokes of the wheel of trade, the ones that rotate the most are the freigth pullers. Neither the cyclerickshaw, nor the horse cart, they are a human cart. They have given horses a run for their money and have substituted them. They would carry anything from anywhere to everywhere. Just give them the money and they will even take a nuclear bomb unknowingly. A simple description of a puller would be –  thin, boney, some muscles spurting out, wearing a lungi/some short and yelling nothing but “ Dekh ke Dekh ke” making sure nobody is hurt from their cart when they move like a serpent from those 5 feet narrow(or wide?) pot holed tracks. Oh and yes, they are BARE FOOT.

I couldn’t stand my thoughts about them and spilled it out. I asked one of the not-so-busy pullers, “ Aap agar chappal pehen ke chalo ya fir cycle wala ricksha chalao, to kya aamdani mein kuch farak padega”. He looked at me as if a part of some space shuttle chipped off and fell in front of him – yeah me. I felt like I committed a sin. The way he looked around caressing his thin stomach, the satisfaction that I don’t even show after gulping a gatorade, shining bright on his face after taking his own saliva in (visible through some crawling in his throat and then through a small drop of sweat on his bare chest that was displaced by the motion that just happened in the feeble body), the fibbrilation that throngs my heart when I fail to put emotions into words was just something that was reflected in his eyes, just the failure had a different genre here, to earn enough bread for his family, for the day. In a sulky voice, he replied “ Jab kisi ka bhoja dhote hain na, to yehi nange pair (feet) kaam aate hain, bhoja dhone mein nahin, unse mehnat ke paise aasani se lene mein aur jab kisi ko taras aa jaye, woh 2 paise zyaada bhi de deta hai”. What he meant was that his pulling the cart barefoot helps him get some sympathy from the Laala who is going to pay him at the destination and if he is lucky, he will get some extra bucks to make his day. The people who pay him for pulling the freight are new everyday, the retailers coming to the wholesalers from across India.The duologue ended there. I couldnt reciprocate on what he said, just said a “hmmmm” and moved ahead.

I left myself for the 2 kilometers I was supposed to travel on feet. I don’t know how I reached the car, what I saw on the way, what was happening in the way, but I reached the place, somehow, safely. Even the feeling of having a live left ventricular appendage abandoned me. I don’t know if I felt sad for the state of the physical labourer in my country, but yes, I felt like crying, crying for God, crying to God who plays with the world on his will. Even if I cried all day long, the millileters he perspired everyday would by and large outweigh my attempt from the organ that scientifically can regenerate water in the body most quickly(eyes). The drop of sweat that I saw going down  from his forehead down his missing cheek acted as an emboli choking all the red liquid gushing inside. It was not that I saw such “mehanati” people for the first time, but I just devoted some thought over how they work and survive, for the first time. 

The physical labourers in the US and the gulf are a respected lot,  earning anything from $20–30 an hour. Why in India is such a situation of pity spitting on the so-called equality for all barking constitution? If he couldn’t go to school, why is he made to ruin? Whatever the reason may be, unemployment, over-population, humans riding on human weaknesses, whatever, but why so much discrimination and disrespect for someone (the puller) and why so much respect and dignity in speech and behaviour for the other one (The Laala). I am sure many would vow for the education that the carter missed. Please do not delve into that discussion, it would be meaningless here. The Laala is as illiterate as the cart puller. This just shows that the flow of power and revenue in India is very much unbalanced. Albeit it may sound too childish to think of revenue balance between the two ‘types’ of spokes in the trade, acually it is not, try looking at the bigger picture.

Though I wish that all wallow in the luxuries of life that have been dreamt, your dreams be graced, your needs fulfilled at the blink of an eye, but is it really too early to rove a look around, or is it too late? I can’t think of what I can do, what I WILL do. But I pray to the almighty, just give me enough strength, enough determination, enough motivation and just enough sensibility to do what I should do.That I take this stance in life with a pious heart, with a selfless feeling, to do something, to work for something, to die for something, that does not reap me anything.

Amen!

The Fall of me ...

Theres a pain that sleeps inside,
that sleeps just one eyed,
and awakens the moment you are near,
feels nothing is inside, but a fear.

Theres a pain that sleeps inside,
that never lets me feel that I am 'one',
that only crunches the soul,
soul screaming inside that I am none.

Theres a pain that sleeps inside,
that has frozen the blood of mine,
the veins feel like tunnels of sorrow,
and I am blue like someone poisoned my marrow.

Theres a pain that sleeps inside,
that always heightens the inner tide,
someone is always around,
and I am feeling caught, forever bound.

Theres a pain that sleeps inside,
that will never leave me kind,
and I wish I were a stone,
standing rock but never feeling alone.

Hey life, why did you open my eyes,
the pain that slept inside,
I loved it for the numbness that it gave,
the hits that I survived, feeling that I am brave.

The pain is no more inside,
and I am loving life,
but I doubt if I am better,
'coz something still makes me fetter.

O Lord, can you come and make it disappear,
make it disappear and we can stay !

 

Thanks to Hoobastank for giving a start...

Gursharan, 16th June, 2006, New Delhi.

This time, I talk about another loving friend - Espresso Coffee.

Before rendering my thoughts in words for it, lemme explain what espresso coffee is (ok if you know it, you still need to read it) and what it does.

Coffee connoisseurs call it the purest form of coffee, since its advent in 1435 (known as 'quawah'). It was able to defeat the other hit in the coffee arena, named on the robes of monks of the Capuchin order - Cappuccino.

What gives coffee its kick? Caffeine, of course. Caffeine is trimethylxanthine (C8H10N4O2). It's an addictive stimulant that operates in the brain the same way amphetamones, cocaine and heroin do (although caffeine is much milder than those drugs). Caffeine occurs naturally in a number of plants, including coffee beans. Your average 6-ounce cup of drip-brewed coffee contains 100 mg of caffeine.

If anyone of you visits a Starbucks some day, just try espresso italiano with cardamom. The heaven would be down there !

Please visit back for the poetic dose of coffee....I assure, it would be more kicking.

Meet my friend - Mansi

Mansi has been a class mate and a good friend  all four years. It would have been foolish of me not to introduce her to you, so here goes the intoduction -

First day in college was that
Every student wore the introduction hat,
standing in each class, they revealed their names,
Heard Mansi's intro, felt she is not meant for ordinary games.

What should I tell about her,
she's an intellect tank,
I agree anything I write about her would be too less,
and I submit before all readers, for a spank.

Though she's a nice and loving friend,
but keeps on pulling my leg without fear,
and its my turn now to reveal,
how things went with her over the past 4 years, year by year.

First year was about boring subjects,
Mansi seemed to be all a girl who used the pages of books to make paper jets,
but I was proved wrong once again,
when I found her to be a Mathematics power brain.

First year and the months passed by,
we bid 2 sets of professors a very good bye,
but instead of professors being in talks on air, it was her fancy,
her name was written ahead of me, as Gupta Mansi.

By the second year her exuberance was well known,
her giggly laugh and a smile like the first leaf of a plant freshly sown,
the aura she exuded is worth a mention,
she always lived her life to the max, believing life gave no pension.

Friends give gifts, she gave me a name,
all through the four years I have been known as Guchu,
smartness donated by her highness, hence I never afforded to be lame.

The third year dawned like a long career fair,
she was firm on her take, wanting to roll a Business chair,
making sure she had nothing in future for sadness to dye,
she started her entrance preps, it would be too less to term them as a mere try.

She has come out with flying colors,
has put on the IIM Bangalore Business rollers,
An Engineer by God's grace, she will also be now known,
after umpteen number of early show ends during exams, she has shown.

All said and done,
she is among the only ones,
those who are honest to themselves,
those who manage to get good grades, without messing much with bookshelves.

She is smart, she is beautiful,
her sense of humor adorable, never near being dull,
she's fast, always on a ferrari,
takes challenges as they come, never worrying about them apriori.
.
I am going to miss a precious friend,
specially when having true ones is out of trend,
Mansi, I assure you,
forgetting you would be a personal loss to 'Mou',
Lord, give her success in all walks of life, happiness in all times,
may she exemplify successful women, and becomes the soul of hundred such rhymes.

Catcha: ‘Mou’ is the latin for ‘Me’.

 

Gursharan, 14th June, 2006, New Delhi. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Life Demystified

Following is an excerpt from a talk between my mind and soul. Whenever these two talk, philosophy is spilled out. Here it is!

 

Its like water in the palm,

left open feels cool and calm,

childish of me to try to posess it forever,

tried to close the fist, forgetting it will seep and will stay there never.

 

Its like the beauty of the flower,

beauty filled in the air trying to defeat the beauty in the color, to get higher,

infantile of me, plucked it, desired to keep it with me,

it spread its fragrance only with its roots, as crafted by its Saviour – Thee .

 

Its like the play of a child,

described by innocence and steps that go wild,

childish of me to confine it in the discipline defined by emotion,

forgot that though small and frail , the child is an impression of  His execution.

 

Its like the river that flows swiftly,

supported by the mountains, holding them tightly,

infantile of me to ride on religion to take Ganges in a container,

for it was Ganges only with the stream and I remained as always, a mere complainer.

 

Life has always been beautiful,

only the emotion tank has been at times empty, half or full,

childish of me to measure life in terms of happiness and satisfaction it gave,

for it was meant to be cherished let free, allowed for its own ways to pave.

 

O Lord, Life seems to be Demystified,

the mist has cleared and nothing feels like sacrificed,

I have grown up to reality now,

childish was I, help me improve, make me undersand how?

 

Gursharan, 10th June, 2006.

 

 

 

Is it necessary?

Those who leave the ground, touch the sky,

to have ground beneath your feet, ask yourself, is it necessary ?

 

Flower beds blossom in wet and soft mud

 to stand like a Mountain, ask yourself, is it necessary?

 

Flowing waters make the future of land and soil fertile

to remain stagnant for nothing, ask yourself, is it necessary?

 

The mind and soul look beautiful in synch and rythm

but I seek a reason to rapture, asking myself, is it necessary?

 

I feared all my life for the thing that never happened

and when heart sails in the sea of emotions, even the moon frees those tides from its whip ,

but then I realized I was in the middle of the ocean, asking myself, was it necessary?

 

Who says everyone dies and so will I,

I am a flowing river, O’ Lord my sea, I shall mix and enter into You.

 

Gursharan, 9th June, 2006.

 

 

 

 

Thank you Thee

Life is fun, I realized it,

When on my way to Amritsar, the tyre got punctured,

and missing in the car was the toolkit.

 

The road was dark, the place secluded,

What I could only say was,

I am in a fix, six others included.

 

I waved to the few passing by

the situation was serious and futile was my try,

when suddenly an old man came,

and things were never the same.

 

In the blink of an eye,

he himself replaced the tire,

and in another moment,

vanished away like oil in fire.

 

I have been wondering since then,

who was “He”,

to help me reach His place safely,

was it THEE?

 

Gursharan, 6th June, 6:30 PM, on way to Amritsar from Ludhiana.

 

 

 

About me !

This is an “about me” I wrote at orkut. Enjoy!

 A lonely meteor in the sky,
in search of a sea to enter and pacify,
heard that 76% of earth is water,
still fearing to get the 24% of the dry.

Found a sea in one of those eyes,
happily changed the way in life and my flies,
thought that things would change for good,
but those eyes now seem to shoot me from the hood.

The pearls I termed them to be,
help me, I can't remember how I did it Thee,
leave apart the pearls, I can't breathe that air anymore,
but still I crave for the "thing" to come in galore.

This is about me that you should know,
meet me and let me have something to show,
a clean heart and wishes to the sky
and hey, please don't be another one coming in front, and time and again passing by.

Gursharan, 30th May 2006.

Thank you fans!

After my last two creations (wow that sounds like GOD, but I am not even a zarra), I have received so many messages about the goodness of those. I assure you I am still writing, but I can’t post all of them here, somehow, I don’t know why. It isn’t that I am into writing obscene content, those are also as pure, but, theres a but that I cant cut. Sorry mates. But I will make sure that I write more of open ones. Thanks.

Afraid of World?

Beauty is a bliss,

please understand dear miss,

you wouldn’t get serious admirers,

hold on, dont shoot so many firers.

 

When I look at you,

the heart even forgets to sink,

and if you give me a wink,

ahh…the world for me is just pints.

 

Appreciate and embrace the feeling,

please don’t do a silent killing,

or Thee shall punish you,

but that will again hurt ‘Mou’!

 

Oh C’mon dear,

they say, life goes on and it never ends,

eyes of stone observe the trends,

but I know from deep inside,

that theres also some light kindled at your side.

 

If its a toll to say,

remember, you must only park at your heart’s bay,

for life is too uncertain for even a minute to stay,

but in my heart, even after life, will be your say.

 

Discover your own self,

forget the left and right and those otherly uprights,

look into your own eyes, or for that matter mine,

and seize the Rythm Divine.

 

World has never understood the emotions,

who do you care for, have some might,

If you are afraid of the damn world,

tell me, I will be your knight.

 

Catcha: ‘Mou’ is the latin for “me”.

 Gursharan, 30 May, 2006, New Delhi.