Starlit Nights

Maiden Over

2008-06-24T22:30:00.007+05:30

“Dot ball. Ponting realising the danger of nicking the ball and not offering a shot. Good bowling by this lad, he’s proving that he can be as good as Irfan at the other end.”

Irfan. Irfan. Irfan. Irfan was the darling of the media, while he was always the step-son. Though he was arguably a better bowler than Irfan, he could never reach out to the masses as Irfan did. He could never sign as many autographs or make the crowd chant his name. In the dressing room, his voice never had as much weight as Irfan’s. He was, at best, the guy at the other end of Irfan. Deep down below, this irked his conscience, but the mature person he was, he did not utter a word. He brought this simmering rage into his bowling. If Irfan gave four, he would give two. If Irfan gave a wide, he would give none.

“Oh, this is a quicker one, taking Ponting by surprise and landing into the gloves of the keeper. This is very good bowling.”

He and Irfan had spent a good part of the last season with Wasim bhai. He was their mentor, the most celebrated exponent of the reverse-swing. He tuned their run-ups, supervised their action. Like a cruel taskmaster, Wasim bhai drove them to run in from either end of the pitch getting them to perfect their actions. He would hammer five stumps into the pitch and ask them to bowl on the sixth stump. As they began to stick to their line, the number of stumps decreased. By the end of three weeks, they could uproot a lone stump with clinical accuracy, bowling from either end of the wicket.

“This is clever cricket. He’s pitched it in line and taken it away from the right hander. A little nick and Ponting would have been walking.”

He derived a strange pleasure in this cat and mouse game. Like a criminal he plotted their downfall, creating a ploy and doggedly pushing the batsman to take the bait. Sometimes he would go for boundaries, but he would come back to his line and tempt again. He had enormous patience and an unsurpassed tenacity to perform. As he walked to his marker, he shined the ball with renewed vigour.

"This is an absolute beauty, He’s given it some room, but Ponting unable to decide whether to drive it or cut it. He’s begun to lose his cool now."

His last four deliveries had gone untouched into the hands of the wicketkeeper, each one veering a little towards the slip than the previous. He could sense the batsman slowly inching across his guard, tempted to drive, but backing away at the last moment. He savoured this moment. This was his most lethal quality and he prided himself on being able to exploit it with more success than anyone else in the country. Together with Irfan Pathan, he formed a formidable pace battery, two more deliveries without runs and this would be their sixth maiden over in a row this afternoon.

“Excellent delivery. This is tight bowling. India really turning on the heat now.”

He had pitched it up a bit short of good length, causing the ball to rise a bit so that the batsman had to bend back and fall in line across which he had moved to play the ball. One more, one more, he muttered to himself as he focused on what to choose next from his arsenal. He felt a drop of perspiration making its way down his spine, tickling him as reached his waist. He pressed his shirt to his body, to absorb the wetness and spat out the gum he was chewing. He loved the electric feeling of the final ball. There was a pregnant expectation as the crowd fell silent. A quick glance around the field, the slip cordon was ready, his captain and few others outside the circle were on their toes, slowly moving into position. Like a hunter homing in on his kill, he ran towards the pitch.

As he nursed his broken tooth, he vowed for the umpteenth time not to dream on a treadmill.

Khuda...

2007-02-21T04:08:00.000+05:30

... aur kismat ko hai kisne dekha?
Khuda aur kismat ko hai kisne dekha?
Humne paseene se mitayi hai apni haathon ki rekha.

Wealth

2006-09-05T19:49:00.000+05:30

Walking along the memory lane,
delving and ducking into its deep alleys,
I realise how the world has changed,
and I can't help smiling and feeling avenged.

Long back -
When my small feet trudged on others' paths,
they rebuked me good and fine.
And I thought they were right,
cos I had none to be known of as mine.

When I begged the beggar, for a morsel of food,
he called me names and slapped me more than once.
And I thought he was right,
cos I was always 'the fool' or 'the dunce'.

When I stole some bread at the baker's,
they became ruthless, and locked me with the horses and hay.
I still thought I was wrong,
and started off on my way.

I flew on to reach new heights, to places
from where the world looked fun.

Now -
The baker wants my name on his bread
and those of them come and pat my back,
who had never cared to set me right
when I had trod the wrong track.

Love is now being proffered on a platter,
tongues wag, and eyes are green with envy.
Today, I seem to have everyone,
and everyone wants me.

They're now sorry for their rebukes,
they say their hands ache from the slap.
And should I utter a word now,
the same hands shall shamelesly clap.

They try to disguise their contempt in wide smiles
and I am suddenly very happy.
I bear no hatred, their fate shall doom them,
the scars they have left on me shall surely ruin them.

Ah, Wealth!!! Thou art miraculous.

18XI00

Spilt Milk

2006-09-01T19:55:00.000+05:30

The sun peeps over the horizon
reluctant to awaken the world
this winter morning.
My sun has already set,
and drowned, deep into the oceans.

The cool breeze ruffles my hair
and sends shivers down my spine,
rekindling past memories;
when similar winds
had dug up long buried questions.

The dust has long settled on the floor.
I'm aware, and yet I don't dare sweep it.
For, the cords have frayed,
and the beams are rusty
and will not bear, if the dust rises again.

Sparrows chirp around my bare house,
exploring quiet rooms and eerie hallways.
Dawn to dusk, this arboreal cacophony
echoed by the barrenness,
is my only company.

The orange red evening sun makes his entry
spreading golden light
across the cobwebs of my house,
and that of my heart,
and slides down, laughing at the irony.

27XI00

Raindrops and Summer Springs

2006-08-29T15:21:00.000+05:30

Songs of raindrops and summer springs,
the squeal of little fledglings,
the beauty of the rising sun,
the joys of quiet, little fun.
The mesmerising dewdrops on the grass
shining away in their own unique class;
To see the small birds collectively fly
across the wide vast blue sky.

The lonely canter of a horse,
the cry of wild pigs across the moors.
The sight of a village girl milking a cow,
and the slow pace of the farmer's plough.
The sprightly dance of the daffodils,
and the half-naked boy gathering quills.
The deer and its ever-cute doe
and the ripe fruits hanging from the bough.

The silent rustle of the leaves,
and the swish of kitchen sieves,
the frogs, croaking in the rainy dusk,
the enchanting fragrance of musk.
The splash of the waves on the shore
and the waters hugging the oar.
The cry of a newborn baby
and the mother's sweet lullaby.

The presence of the shells in the sea
and the bliss of soliloquy.
The lone whistle of the watchman at night
now here, now there, but out of sight.
A rickety old bullock cart, creaking on its way,
a rooster on the sill, heralding a new day.
These are life's little overlooked joys,
but who cares to wait...and who enjoys?

09I00

Dreamgirl

2006-07-14T20:25:00.000+05:30

Where has my peace of mind gone?
Where was this restlessness born?
Who is giving me sleepless nights,
illuminating my heart with lovely lights.

Whose is the face that comes to my mind,
and why is she so hard to find?
Whose is the voice I long to hear,
who is so far, and yet so near.

Whose is the presence encompassing me,
who has robbed me of my soliloquy?
Whose is the perfume drifting in the breeze,
whose thought subconsciously puts me at ease?

Whose is the name, the stars seem to tell?
Whose are the anklets, ringing like a bell?
Who is this beauty with jet-black hair,
in front of whose face, the moon isn't fair.

Who is the lady, who comes in my dream,
and why does she have the mischievous gleam?
Why does she come and throw a sweet smile,
only to vanish after a while.

Where do her slim fingers beckon?
Who'll help me, with whom do I reckon?
Who is calling out my name? Who is it now?
Who is the pretty angel, with whom I'm in love?

27XI00

Winds of Change

2006-07-14T19:55:00.000+05:30

I've always believed that you would be there for me.
I've always felt that you'd never let me down.
But its only now, oh my lovely, that I'm feeling
the winds of change in you...

I've never had the notion
that you could hide your emotion...
that you'd leave me all alone...

...to walk in the shade of the trees,
which swayed to our footsteps.
...to listen to the rustle
of the leaves which echoed our laughter.
...to smell the flowers which smiled on seeing your face.

Look at the stars in the sky, can't you hear what they say?
Come back to me, oh my lovely, have you forgotten your way?

I've always believed that I was the only one for you.
I've always felt that you knew me through and through.
Now, can you see my heart, my lovely, broken -
by the winds of change in you.

27XI02

Anxious Heartbeats

2006-06-28T21:51:00.000+05:30

The night was dark and the clouds hid the moon.
The maidservant looked out, and was about to swoon.
The wind blew hard, and the tiles clattered,
and the duke heard the gallop -
the distant gallop...
as if above the noise of the wind, his ears had shattered.

He frowned, he scowled and he gnashed his teeth.
In the dead of the night, his sword came out of its sheath.
He put on and buckled his coat of leather,
and then he heard the gallop -
the ominous gallop...
Who was it now, in this unearthly weather?

He opened his window and called his guard.
The panes shook wildly, he fastened their cord.
Down in the sheep-pen he heard a nervous bleat,
and he heard the gallop -
the continuous gallop...
and his heart began to skip a beat.

He bolted from his tower, securing his lace.
His guard came behind him, wiping rain from his face.
The duke stood in the doorway, and scratched his toe,
again he heard the gallop -
the restless gallop...
and he outstretched his sword to face his foe.

The gallop slowed to a canter and then to a trot.
Then there were some footsteps, and then there were not.
All of a sudden, the duke dismissed his guard,
he'd recognised the gallop -
the familiar gallop...
and sent back into the sheath, his sword.

A moment later, the door came crashing in.
He was covered in doe-skin, from the toe till the chin.
He stood there, and brushed his golden mane,
he had come by the gallop -
a black stallion's gallop...
the duke's long lost friend, drenched in the rain.

29VIII00

Loneliness

2006-06-26T18:14:00.000+05:30

I stand here, on the edge of the cliff, watching the sea below.
The tides crash into the shore, as if in rage,
then they caress it, as though they were one.
Time has flown and how?
'Tis but true that they wait for none.

I was here yesterday, watching the horizon,
as the sun woke up from his slumber;
wanting to take a step ahead into my dreams,
and as the sun rose, we walked together.

Matching steps, and missing them; missing them, and then matching them.
Together we walked and walked and walked...

Never realised when she went her way.
Never even felt that she was away.
Never got to know when she slipped my clasp,
Never heard a goodbye, a sigh or a gasp.

Here I am now, all alone
Searching for her, high and low.
Each time I seek her, Each time I call,
I get an echo, I see my own shadow.

I am here again today, watching the horizon,
as the sun goes down into the sea;
wanting to take a step ahead into the emptiness,
from where it all began.

29V04

The Lass of Lovedale

2006-06-20T16:40:00.000+05:30

Silver lined couds form a cluster,
veiling the moon, sans its lustre.
The cool breeze has a chilling tinge.
Dying embers smoulder and singe.

Owls hoot around, and a lone mongrel barks,
the black, one-eyed cat silently stalks.
The mist casts its shadow, here and there,
the eerie darkness is a bloody nightmare.

On nights like these, in the old birch trees,
the leaves rustle wildly, and the branches wheeze.
And there is a sudden shriek of fright,
which echoes shrilly through the silent night.

She was a lissome maiden, with a face - oh, so fair
matched with awesome locks of golden yellow hair.
Birds would sing in joy, and snails would barely crawl,
when this lass of Lovedale was out for a stroll.

It was then she saw the young man, mounting his steed,
only to gallop away, at a chivalrous speed.
For the lovely maiden, it was love at first sight.
She turned her head, only to see the dust of his flight.

Soon their love blossomed, like trees in the spring.
She gave him, for their love, her only diamond ring.
She told him the truth, she loved him more than life,
and he said he would take her for his wife.

Her father got the news, and seethed with rage,
he threw an ugly tantrum, and called for his page.
He roared, "Tonight, before I go to bed,
I want on a platter, his bones and his blood".

"Why?", she asked her father, but to no avail.
The servants and the butler, wouldn't tell the tale.
Through her loyal maid, she later got to know -
The knight was the only son, of her father's sworn foe.

In the dank dungeon, she had a restless sleep,
she had drained them all, no more tears to weep.
She ran into the woods, puffy cheeks and eyes red,
and near the birch trees, she found him dead.

She sat all day, right there amidst the trees,
shivering and chattering in the freezing winter breeze;
Then she fell dead, after a last shriek of fright,
which echoes, even today, through the silent night.

12I03

The Triumph

2006-06-16T20:21:00.001+05:30

He sat there under the tree, his cheeks hot. His father's angry shouts were still ringing in his ears. He could almost sense the smarting of his cheeks, to slap which, his father had raised his hand. Yet, he did not cry. He was a determined fellow.

The sun began to go down behind the hills. Darkness enveloped the earth. The night air had a deathly eerie smell to it. A freezing cold breeze gently began to sway the branches of the trees. The frogs were croaking in the moist land near the lake. There was faint rustling of leaves, and an owl hooted weirdly in the distance.

He was thinking of death. Of what would happen to his body. His heart would stop beating. Would he sense that? Would he sense the numbness which his mind would acquire? Would he get over the unconsciousness? He realised that he would not. He would not hear his father's shouts. He would not hear his mother's lamentations. Neither the moo of the cow nor the vedic chants. Nothing...

His mind would be blank. Then his body would be consigned to flames. But he would not feel the heat. He had learnt the art of seeing through his mind, but his mind would be numb, and his eyes would be burnt. How would he see? Everything seemed to be going into oblivion.

A sudden fear crept up his spine. Drops of sweat formed on his forehead and slowly trickled down. The water in the lake seemed stagnant. He could not hear the croaking of the frogs. The leaves were not rustling anymore. He suddenly felt very hot. He could not move a muscle. He tried to shout, but he could not. He felt strangled, choked. He tried to open his eyes, but his eyelids would not open. They were heavy and cold...deathly cold.

He was experiencing death. His body was, probably, dead to the world, but he was alive. Deep inside, he tried to kindle back the embers of his surviving soul. With superhuman effort, he pulled himself into the cross-legged position.

Lightning split the dark sky into two. Violent thunderclaps rent the air. Heaven and Earth shook like leaves in a storm. Rain came down in all its splendour and cooled his hot body. He started his penance. This boy of 12 years had met...and conquered death.

He was Nachiketa.

Nachiketa is not a strange name to us. This young boy is a mythological hero in his own sense. His father, after performing a yajna, gave away everything he had in charity to brahmanas. Upon repeatedly asked by Nachiketa, his father gets angry and says Nachiketa has been given to Yama, the God of death. Later he regretted his decision, and that is another story.

The above is my own version of how Nachiketa might have felt, when he went in search of Yama. After rigorous meditation, Yama appears and gives him three boons. Two Nachiketa asks, keeping his father's welfare in mind, and the third, he asks Yama to reveal the secret of death - What happens to the soul after the body dies.

After much persuasion, Yama reveals them to Nachiketa and takes him to the land of Gods and Immortality.

Fatal Chemistry

2006-06-06T14:03:00.000+05:30

They were on the beach the whole day. Early in the morning, they had left their room, to catch the first light. And as the sun rose, they walked, hand in hand, into the water. Splashing water on each other, they played all morning, until the salty air made them aware of the pangs of hunger.

In dry clothes, they sat in their balcony, overlooking the waves crashing into the shore. They nursed the small cuts on their feet as they lunched together under the canopy. There was just enough breeze to ruffle their hair, and he smiled as he watched her push the strands back behind her ears as she ate.

“What?” she asked.
“Nothing, baby.”
“No, there’s something. Why are you smiling?” she persisted, “Does it remind you of someone?” she teased.
He shook his head and smiled.

She came over and kissed his neck, as he was reclining himself on the bed. He ruffled her hair, damp from the shower. She took his hand into hers and started playing with his fingers, the fingers of the first man she was truly in love with. Yes, she loved Mike. Before, it was just about sex.

* * *

She wasn’t one to sleep around, but there was one before, she reminisced. Being in a boarding school all her life, college was like a new world to her. Like the girls in the Mills and Boons stories she and her girl-friends had read stealthily in the hostel, she searched out her own hero among the guys.

She was what you could call a perfect tomboy. Always in jeans or cargos, always hanging out with the guys, she would make no bones about trying a cigarette or a drink with them. No wonder, she was such a hit with the guys. It was around that time, a guy close to her, proposed her. Sitting on the college steps, he had popped the question at her. She was surprised, to say the least. Because, she had had a different idea of a proposal.

She had tried to talk to Mike about it. After all, Mike and she were friends. From childhood. Though he had never come to meet her, he would write loving letters to her. All her adolescence, he was the only one she discussed everything with. Her crushes, her first cigarette, her first drink, her periods, her bra size…everything. But Mike was out of the country on some assignment.

Though she had not agreed to the proposal, it was understood that they were a pair, because of the fact that they spent most of their waking time together. And then, one day, she had stayed back in his apartment, while returning from a party. She remembered it like yesterday. He had sneaked up on her while she was changing, and she just froze, caught unawares. He came up to her and drew her close. She shuddered at the foreign hand exploring the length of her back. She wanted to say something, but her mouth was dry. Unable to do anything, she had just closed her eyes, when he brought his mouth on hers. The rest of the night went like a dream. Each thing he did was a new sensation, each touch of his was magic, and she just let her body surrender to his whims and fancies.

But it was only that once she enjoyed. Later, it was all about himself. They made love on many occasions, but she always ended up feeling used. This became a weak point in their relationship, if it was one, and they had broken up soon. In any case college was coming to an end, and everyone was excited about their jobs.

She returned to her hometown, and to Mike. Mike, the man she loved. Mike, the first man who made her feel like a lady. Mike, for whom she wore gowns, skirts and dresses. Clothes which she wouldn’t touch in college. Mike, who treated her like a goddess in bed. Mike, who was holding her close now. She snuggled deeper into his wrap, and slept.

* * *

Mike could not forget that evening. It was the week she had come home from college. For two days, seeing her clad in unisex attire, he had given her a piece of his mind. He gave her all that he could think of about girls of marriageable age, lady-like behavior and feminine finesse. Strangely, she lapped up whatever he dished out. Her affection for him was such. Had anyone else said the same things, she would have jumped like a cat, but if Mike said it, it was law.

That Friday, he saw her dressed in a gown for the party. It was her first party in the town, which she had left as a child. Now, after boarding school and college, all memories had gone bleak, and there was hardly anyone she knew personally, let alone in her age-group. So when he saw her feet tapping to the music, Mike asked her for a dance, and she readily agreed.

And what a dance it was. As the speakers churned out the latino, Mike had to bring out all the steps in his repertoire to match her every move. Her grip was tender and delicate, and he let her twirl all around him. And as he bent her down for the crescendo, the hall burst into a roaring applause.

That night, at his home, she asked him for one more dance. And it was the best dance he had ever had. Better than the one at the party. He remembered how he was taken aback when she had ended the dance with a long kiss. It was sudden, and before he could think, he was responding.

Later that night, he had stayed awake in his bed, thinking on his actions, and had kept distance from her, citing official reasons. But he could not forget the kiss. And when she saw through his game of avoidance, he had to admit that he had had feelings for her.

Feelings. That was when it all began. He discovered a new person in her. He had known her for so long, and knew every little thing about her, but this was a revelation. Each time she batted her eyelids or pouted, he felt his heart go weak.

All restraints broke loose when she followed him, when he went to the Capital for a tour. The more time they spent together, the closer they were drawn, and one night, high on drinks, they kissed each other goodnight. The kiss ended after the night did. All night long, they romped. And in the morning, all they could find on their bodies was a graffiti of teeth and nail marks.

* * *

Mike remembered the unforgiving guilt had embraced him that day in the shower. The same feeling began to envelope him now, and he disentangled himself from her. He walked onto the beach, into the sunset, and lay down on the beach, looking at the orange-red sun go down.

This was his favourite place in his beach villa. No one to disturb. No one to help even if he called out at the top of his voice. It gave him a eerie sense of loneliness, and solitude. He dozed off watching the sun dissolve into the sea.

He awoke when he felt her straddling him. The reddish sun, shining weak in the dark twilight, gave her supple body an inexplicable radiance. As she began massaging his temples, he let her touch reign supreme. They made passionate love under the starry night. And when they rolled off each other a long time later, Mike started to say something he always said.

She put her index finger on his lips, and quietened him. “Sssh”, she said, “I know, Dad. Mom will never hear about this.”

Dawn

2006-03-29T14:28:00.000+05:30

Early mornings are lovely mornings,

when the sky is still so grey.

The night doesn't want to lose its hold,

but the sun wants his way.

The air is cool, the chirping sweet,

and there is moisture on my bare feet

as I walk through the grass to my home...my home - the temple of love and joy.

Early mornings are lonely mornings

and the sky is Oh! So gray!!

May the night never lose its hold,

and may it never be day.

There's eerie silence, and the air is still

as the oil lamp flickers on the window sill,

and I lie on the grass in front of my house...my house - the altar of melancholy.

Forever

2006-03-27T19:35:00.000+05:30

Walking away is so easy,
like you walked away, yesterday.
Where does that now leave me,
Can you even hear what I say?

I ran across the road, calling out to you,
but you never turned back.
And when you did turn around
I was lying on my back.

A thousand times I told you, to control your temper...
Not to walk away, when I'm still talking to you...

I saw you last from the hospital bed -
Listless eyes, red from crying,
Hair dishevelled, face white from fear,
and hands nervously twirling the ring.

I remember you at the funeral,
Alone among other family members,
Wiping away tears with the back of your hand,
and wishing I'd come back from the dying embers.

A thousand times I told you, to be strong...
Not to break down under the pressure life puts on you...

It has been a long time,
All have moved on with their lives.
Yet, why do you thrust into my heart,
A thousand chilling knives.

Dont tell me you dont miss me,
Dont tell me you dont feel the ache.
Your tear-stained pillow tells me
the pangs of the first heart break.

A thousand times I told you, to keep moving ahead...
Not to slow down in life, just because I'm not with you...

But you never listened, did you?

Now I'm dead and gone, from the face of the earth.
I lived my life and how !!!
But my heart still pains when I think of you,
It takes forever to heal the wounds of love.