My Poems

 

On Covid

People, people, people

The covid virus can stifle

So chin up, tone down and staple

The first vaccine shot’s a monster

It can cause fever and ulcer

To oldies its much kinder

With a minor hiccup or flounder

The second injection is a boon

For all who are ready to swoon

In the arms of animal spirits

Lets party , travel and mix again soon!

 

On Mind

Mind is one thing I never could understand

It leaves me puzzled, oftentimes blank!

When I should be in the present

Working hard on my current assignment

It scurries into the corridors of the past

To ferret out nuggets of memories lost

Leaves me in a reverie from which I drag myself out reluctantly

To confront my supervisor staring at me accusingly

Often it leaps to the future

Laying out dreams of wealth and riches enticingly

Wretched creature it is!

Just when I am assured its not all a dream,

It prods me awake with nudge and a wink!

 

On water

What a wonderful thing is water

One drop has the same formula as a quarter

Its only htwoO but it packs a punch

As if it were uranium

When it does not rain, sleet or snow

We wonder where did it all go

When there is a downpour

The frogs croak and snakes go slow

It’s a wonderful feeling

When we are a bathing

The soapy suds and scented soaps

Under the shower or in the tub

Cleansed of all the muck

That’s what water does for us

What would we do without you?

Share my lipstick, son

Sangeeta pursed her lips in contemplation as she stared at her wardrobe – full of rows and rows of expensive sarees, dresses and kurtas. She ran her fingers down the rich folds of kanjeevaram silk, tussar and brocade and gave a sigh of regret. Unfortunately with her advancing years, it would soon be not seemly for her to be seen in such vibrant colours. She would have to opt for softer shades. Her regret was that she did not have a daughter to whom she could pass on her exquisite collection. She opened the drawer of her dressing table to peep into her cosmetic box. Her collection of lipsticks was renowned in the family. There was not a shade which was not in there. Maroon, violet, black, gold and all shades of the rainbow! How she loved to spend her time decked up in all her finery. Her love for clothes and cosmetics was only second to her love for the theatre and cinema. She had been a fine actress during her college days, starring in all the lead roles of her college and university plays. She had even had a chance, a rare opportunity to study drama at the London School of drama at one time. But sadly her conservative family had not agreed to this  at the time, and she was too timid to protest about it. Just after her graduation she had been married off- a respectable match with her husband chosen by her family. Nowdays she still waited for the festivals when plays would be staged where she could once again show off her histrionic skills.
       “ Hi, Ma,” Shravan, Sangeeta’s college going son came into the room with a melancholy expression on his face, nursing his left arm which was encased in bandage and clearly injured.
“What happened Shravan? How did you get injured”, Sangeeta said, with a horrified expression on her face. “Weren’t you supposed to be in the tryouts of the basketball competition at your college?”
“Yes, Ma, that’s where it happened-the accident-I fell down”. Now no more athletics for a month now!” said Shravan with a glum expression. “Now God knows how I will make the extracurricular grades to get into the US University”, I was banking on playing in the finals of the badminton championships to get a certificate!” . He looked at his mother morosely.
Sangeeta thought about this for a while wondering how to lift him out of his gloomy mood. Her son Shravan was extremely fond of all sports and had also set his heart on going to US in the fall on a scholarship.  “Now that basketball is ruled out, why don’t you take up some dramatics activities in your college? Extracurricular activities can involve theatre and drama as well, right?”, she asked him, “ if you get selected for the main role in the college play, you can make the grade as well, can’t you? “ she asked him.
“Oh no, that I can’t, “ said Shravan with a disgusted expression on his face.
“As you know our college is males only. Still they are doing the mythological play –Mahabharat where a lot of female characters are pivotal as well. All the male roles in the play are already selected, only some female parts are still to be finalised,” he said, “ and surely you don’t expect me to try for those, Ma!”he said sounding shocked.
“Why, not?” said Sangeeta. “ Acting as a female will not make you one. It’s there in your genes- I used to do drama in school and college. I am sure I could give you some pointers if you are selected for a part. There is no harm in doing a female part. In fact a good actor should be able to play the part of any character convincingly- whether male or female. And in Shakespeare’s time the best actors got the female roles you know!” she said enthusiastically trying to convince him. Sangeeta was thinking that here was her opportunity to mentor her son. Through his growing years it was mainly his father whom Shravan had turned to for advice on his studies, sports and hobbies. Although he loved her dearly she had a feeling that he looked down upon her for feminine love of finery, cosmetics and jewellery. Now would be her chance to tutor him, teach him that art was not something to scoff at. It required brains and intelligence to become a good actor just as sports required discipline and rigour. In fact she was happy that a hidden facet of her son’s character would be come out of this adversity.
Shravan stared at her angrily and said, “there you go again about your song and drama! I don’t have any interest in these things and I never will” he shouted . “I think drama is stupid, dressing up is stupid and even your lipsticks are stupid! “, he stormed taking out all his anger and frustration on his mother.
Well, then forget about getting a US scholarship Shravan”, said Sangeeta, with rising anger, “as clearly you don’t deserve it”.
Shravan walked out of the room in an angry huff leaving Sangeeta perplexed and sorry for him at once. He had taken totally after his dad- interested only in masculine activities like sports and athletics scoffing at anything remotely feminine or emotional. It was impossible to convince him. How she missed having a daughter! She missed talking about clothes, cosmetics and spicy gossip. All they ever discussed as a family were cricket scores and football.
Shravan’s anger had not died down as yet.  In fact it had only increased when he thought about how close he had been to getting that US scholarship. How stupid of him to get hurt at this time. He was feeling angry with his mother because she had taunted him about not getting the scholarship. How stupid of her to suggest that he play a female role. He imagined his friends laughing at him decked out in his mother’s saree, wearing her lipstick and became angrier. He decided to teach her a lesson. He went into her bedroom after peeping into the drawing room to ensure she was still there. He opened her dressing table drawer and took all her prized lipsticks and put them in a black garbage bag. “Serve her right for being so fond of these stupid things”, he thought to himself. He then went stealthily to his room and hid the bag in his cupboard. “I’ll just wait to see the fun when she screams and shouts on not finding them,” he thought to himself. “Then, I’ll give them back to her”.

Next morning there was a hue and cry when Sangeeta discovered all her lipsticks gone from her dresser. Shravan, who had spent the night and most of the morning in deep slumber from his injuries woke up rubbing his eyes and feeling guilty as well as foolish for his stupid act. He immediately went to his cupboard, but to his horror he found that the black garbage bag had vanished. He ran helter skelter to the kitchen asking the maid Janakamma there “Did you clean my cupboard?”. Yes, said the maid righteously, “ I found a lot of garbage which I threw out, “ she said. “Oh NO ! said Shravan”, clutching his head in misery. “Now what will I do when Ma, finds out?”
And find out she did. Shravan was very severely chastised by both his parents when they found out about his misdeeds. Sangeeta even stopped talking to him. Shravan was most upset at this because of course he had never expected this to happen. All the troubles in the world seemed to have found him at once. He started to think deeply about the idea given to him by Sangeeta. She had only suggested it to help him get into a good college, have a good career. She was the one person who gave him good advice and had his best interests at heart. It seemed unfair to him that he might miss out on a good scholarship only because he didn’t like drama. So what if his stupid friends laughed at him a little! He would have the last laugh when he was sitting on the plane to US where they had the best facilities for sports. How jealous they would be of him.  What was the harm in trying out for a part? He might not get chosen after all! In this frame of mind he appeared for the auditions of the college play.
His mother walked into the room  just as he was about to apply her new lipstick. She was startled. “What are you doing with my lipstick? It’s new.... I haven’t used it so far. Couldn’t you have waited?” He smiled and handed it back to her. “I forgot to tell you.... I am playing Draupadi in our college production.....rehearsals start this evening.”

Stone Soup

One day, a traveler was passing through a village. Times were hard, and people were not particularly warm or hospitable to strangers, or to each other for that matter. Hardly anyone responded to the traveler’s hearty greeting or to his cheery attitude. Unfazed by the lukewarm reception, he sat down in a corner and got busy. He took out a large iron pot, whistling a merry tune as he did so. He proceeded to light a fire. He filled the pot with water. While waiting for the water to boil, he made a big to-do about taking a knife, a soup ladle, and a polished stone, whistling all the while. All this activity attracted the attention of passersby.
“What are you cooking?” asked a curious onlooker.
“Stone soup, ” was the cheerful reply.
“Stone soup! I’ve never heard of such a thing,” said another.
“Stick around and have some when it’s done,” was the warm response.
A crowd was starting to gather around the traveler, curious about the so-called stone soup. He continued to whistle away as he dropped the stone into the huge pot of water.
Finally, the water started to boil. The traveler took his ladle and took a sip of the soup.
“How does it taste?” asked a voice from the crowd.
“It tastes good,” said the traveler, ” but it would taste even better if it had a couple of potatoes,” he added wistfully.
“I have some potatoes,” volunteered an elderly lady. She came forward and handed them over to the traveler. He peeled and chopped them expertly, and added them to the soup. Then he took another sip.
He declared it the best stone soup ever, but conceded that it would taste even better if it had carrots in it.
“I think I have some carrots somewhere ” said a man who was watching the whole thing. He ran home and quickly came back with a handful, which he handed over to the traveler.
The traveler continued to stir his concoction. Every time he would taste the soup, he would smack his lips and declare it the best ever, but would add that it would taste better if only it had this ingredient or that. Cries of “I have leftover meat,” or “I have some onions,” “salt,” “pepper,” etc, rang through the crowd.
People offered all kinds of stuff from their garden or pantry in the hope that the soup would taste better.

In the meantime, the waiting crowd sat down, exchanged pleasantries and even played music. Everyone agreed that it was the most fun they’ve had in a long time. Pretty soon, the soup was starting to smell really good. The traveler took another sip of the soup and declared it done. He ladled generous servings of it into bowls and handed them around.

Everyone thanked the traveler for the marvelous stone soup and asked him for the secret. The traveler revealed to them that it was not the stone that made the soup taste good, but all the other ingredients that everyone contributed. He added that in life, as in the case of the soup, if everyone pitched in a little something, a  wondrous thing will come out of such an undertaking. The villagers  thanked the traveler again for his words of wisdom. From that time on, the villagers became kinder and more helpful to one another. So the traveler, satisfied,  went on his merry way, determined more than ever to share the secret of his stone soup to anyone who cared to listen

A Fish Story

Once upon a time in India there was a very rich and prosperous king who ruled over the land south of the Vindhyas. The king was very fond of food. His requirement from his chief kitchen chef was that at every meal he should be served something that was not only succulent and delicious but also new and novel. If the dish served to him was not satisfactory then the chef soon found himself thrown out of the kitchen or worse in the kindom’s jail. In this way many chefs entered and then after a few months service left the king’s service, no longer being able to satisfy the king’s insatiable appetite for new and novel dishes. No meat, vegetable or fruit could be served to him a second time. Once he had tasted something he remembered it and no matter how differently the cook tried to make it, how much ever masalas he put in it, the king would remember the taste of the main ingredient and refuse to touch any more. The poor cook would be cast in chains, taken to the kingdom’s boundary by the king’s guards, and told to leave the kingdom and never come back. In this manner the king had exhausted the services of a score of chefs, all excellent cooks, who could no longer satisfy the king’s lust for novelty in his food. Apart from this aberration, the king had an excellent nature. He was a good ruler, a brave warrior and an able administrator and the people were prosperous and happy under his rule.
    It so happened that the latest of the king’s chef, a talented cook had cooked his last novel dish the previous day and was now at his wits end as to what to cook for the king’s lunch that day. He had already been told that the king was expecting some special guests at lunch that day and so the dishes served should be not only delicious but also novel and eye catching. The poor cook was at his wit’s end. He had already kept his bags packed the previous night and decided that if he did not get any new ideas in the morning, he would try to escape from the king’s kitchen and go back to his village. The thought of returning back to his family as a failure, depressed him further. Looking through the window he saw a mancoming toward him. He had a bag with him in which he was carrying something. He saluted the cook and said “Good Morning to you, good sir. I understand you are looking for a dish to serve the king for lunch. I have something for you.” The cook expressed his interest to see the novel dish, “what is it and what is it called?” he asked.
“It is called fish, and I caught it in the waters of the lake nearby” replied the fisherman.
“But, how do you cook it, ” asked the cook, “I have never seen nor cooked such a thing before”.  “That is easy,” replied the fisherman. “First you have to remove the scales, then clean it and cut it, smother it in masalas and fry it. After that you only have to garnish it with coriander leaves, mint leaves and serve it with a salad. The cook was quite pleased with the fisherman’s idea and decided to buy the fish from him. So he quickly set to work as per the fisherman’s instructions and soon the dish was ready for the king’s lunch. He and the other cooks had already prepared many other favourite dishes of the king .
     When lunchtime came the cook and his assistants assembled in the dining hall where the sumptuous lunch was to be served to the king, queen and their guests. The dishes were served in silver platters on a enormous gold plated dining table. The cutlery was of the finest bone china. As soon as the gong announcing the king’s arrival sounded, a shiver of apprehension ran down the spine of the cook and his staff. They were scared of what the king would say. The doors of the dining area opened and the king and his entourage entered the dining hall. The king’s eyes darted here and there looking over the dishes assembled on the dining table. The cook was watching the king anxiously. “What is new today, what is it you have cooked for me heh?” he asked the cook. “Sire, it is an absolutely new thing - called fish.”  the cook said , pointing at the largest silver platter where he had laid out the fried fish and garnished and decorated just as the fisherman had instructed him. “ I will taste it” declared the king. So he took one piece on his plate and started to taste it. He finished it all. “How was it, your majesty?” asked the cook. “Humph, I could’nt tell. I must taste another piece,” replied the king. He took another and then another and again another till all the fish on the platter was gone. “It is a good dish, ” he said, “what is it called? ” he asked. The cook was delighted. This was the first time that the king had asked him the name of any dish. “Fish, sir, it is called fish,” he replied. “You must make it again tomorrow” , said the king. From that day onwards all the cooks problems were solved. The king required that he be served fish everyday. The cook was happy that he did not have to think of cooking new things everyday. The fisherman was happy as he now sold his catch at the palace at a good price. The king was very happy as he now liked to eat fish every day.