India!

(The outcome of a homesick first week in the USA)

India!

Out of my window I gaze, at landscapes unseen,

At golden night lights, glitter and sheen,

And ask myself to find fascination in such,

And miss not my people and my past so much,

My heart replies, ‘I wish you had earlier known,

That beauty is useless when enjoyed alone!’

Oh sweet India, how I miss you so!

Where a hundred thousand mud lamps glow,

Land of hearty chaos and maddening melee,

Divine music, and enchanting philosophy,

Pray, become beautiful again, and pull me slowly,

Back to where, I know my heart will always be.

And all things unclean, stagnant and rotten,

About my homeland so easily forgotten,

Leaving behind only whiteness so pure,

Emotion tender to the touch, soft and demure,

And when of her I dream, and her love I remember,

It is as if a little child calls out, longing for its mother.

And a fluttering sanity, about itself is held,

By seams unsteady, and weakening thread.

Homesick the soul and turbulent the mind,

In morose poetry, a fraction of peace I find!

After reaching

Atlanta. The capital of Georgia, and the city I shall grow to call my home for the next many months to come.

After many a painful farewell, it has finally sunk in that I am going to be on my own. With that hard fact digested, I have begun to get settled down in this place. Still, I miss my parents. My dad's stoic ways, and my doting mother. I miss my brother too, and all the good times I've had with him growing up, which seem like a distant dream now. I miss the one I love, and feel incomplete even amidst beauty. I miss my home, with all its unique little nuances, that I know inside out. I miss the way I felt at home there. I miss my friends, without whom life would be monotony.

But, new circumstances and new challenges beckon, and what man of him who doth not leave his all behind, to go after unseen horizons?

This is my first post from America. A lot more to come. No more personal diary type blogging though. Back to regular posts now.

Yours,

Bharath

Before Leaving

I've made sure over these years that this blog doesn't become a personal diary. Although I do intend it to be a window into my life, a kaleidoscopic feel to it is what I have tried to achieve. Hence, there are little or no direct references to my personal life, and certainly no "yesterday it rained a lot" or "one movie I liked recently" type posts.

But let me just break the trend a bit. My life is at its biggest turning point now. Tomorrow I leave for Atlanta, where I'll be studying in GeorgiaTech. It promises to be a life altering experience, and I know on some level or the other, deny it though I might, things will never be the same again.

This is my last post from India. Next from the US.

Yours,
Bharath

Not apart at all

Not apart at all

On pristine summer mornings that glisten with dew,

On clear spring nights mysterious, dark and blue,

On pale winter evenings, with sunshine scant and few,

With budding incompleteness, I can only think of you.

But all things in this world that threaten to crush a heart,

Life’s long lonely journeys, that oft end where they start,

Appear meaningless and inane, when at the heavens I glance,

At the stars that glimmer with the secrets of fate and chance,

I know you look at them now too, at this very same shine,

And somehow, somehow, it is like your eyes met mine!

I lean out of my window, savoring the gentle evening breeze,

That brings me your scent from afar, to tantalize and tease,

And as heavenly shades of dusk, like gentle drapes begin to fall,

I realize we’re thousands of miles away, but not apart at all.

The season of lasts

The season of lasts

Soft footfalls echoing through aisles long vacant,

Laughter in peals, unexplained and pleasant,

Shreds of conversation, merry and inane,

A mere touch of love, to forever things change,

And dollops of friendship, over the years to remain,

In memories such the mind abounds,

Reveling in an empty theatre of sounds.

Pensive is the moment, melancholy the air,

As illusions of permanency, now lie threadbare,

And the weather changes on a whim, drastically,

As the season of lasts dawns for all to see.

The summer sun also shall not last for long,

It will give in too, to farewells and swansongs.

Someday ages and ages from today,

We shall forget the pangs of going away,

And maybe meet again, like the times of old,

And regale each other with tales banal and untold,

But my friend now, as the time of parting nears,

Good cheer gives way to nostalgia and fears.

And as blustering storm clouds yonder catch the eyes,

All that remain are the first rains, and the last goodbyes.

On Happiness

What is happiness?

It is,

In rousing music and simple food,

The pristine joys of life to find.

In solitude to find hidden bliss,

And that elusive peace of mind.

To others, merely to do what they always do,

And not what to them they want done to.

To enjoy true company, in joy as well as pain,

To joke and be joked of, in equal forgiving vein.

To be not too careless of friend, or too wary of foe,

And judge a man by effort, not what circumstances bestow.

To be hungry enough each day, to go out, work and earn,

And be loved enough at home, longingly to return.

Money, in just the right regard to hold,

To have enough of it, but not so much to hoard.

To squander not a penny, and spend with utmost care,

And yet for the deprived, always have a little to spare.

To ponder over love, and nurse a bruised heart,

But always to love again, and go over to the start.

To hold love over lust, and yourself above it all,

To hold pride over success, and virtue above all.

To lend yourself, only to causes true,

And promise not in jest, lest a liar of you.

To lose neither heart in defeat, nor modesty in victory,

And be simple in your word, but lofty only in deed.

To excel at sport, to shoot, ride and aim,

And shrug it all away, saying ‘twas just a game.

In hard work all day long, satisfaction to obtain,

And sleep tired at night, without regrets to restrain.

PUB CULTURE

The next time you hang out with a bunch of guys and girls at a mall or a club or some such place that is quintessentially ‘Modern’, beware. The protectors of Indian culture might just beat the living crap out of you, and for good measure, molest all the females present there. The price you pay for doing something that is not termed ‘Indian culture’ is horrifying. They call it ‘Pub Culture’, and I guess it’s one of the blackest sins conceivable.

If ‘Pub culture’ is so bad, why do the sons and daughters of the MPs who are up in arms against it themselves go to nightclubs etc.? Rahul Gandhi partied all night just a few days after 26/11. Sachin Pilot, Jyotiraditya Scindia, and all these scions are frequent visitors on the night club circuit.

But forget that. Why should it even become an issue? Why should ‘Indian culture’ be thrust on you? Why is so much attention given to such trivialiaties when larger security threats and economic crises abound?

That’s India for you. The land of a glorious past and an asinine present. And a future that vacillates in between.