Persuasion

The bugles sounded, trumpets blown, the War had been won

The brave young sailors bound ashore, their calls of duty done.

Scars and stars so bravely worn, their pride was in the prime

And then I saw you come at last, my heart stepped back in time.

Eight long years dear time had spun, since you and I’d met last

The meeting seemed but just the same, but warmth a thing of past.

I could not talk, you would not talk, our reasons seemed too strong

You had been wronged too much back then, and I was much too wrong.

Nineteen was a funny age, how can I testify

The role that persuasion played, I cannot justify.

There was a time when I was the cynosure of your eyes

Now comes a time when even my reflection you despise.

I do recall the vows of trust, the promises you’d made

I can’t forget the tender time, my conviction was swayed.

The lack of trust that shrouds your gaze, I infer with regret

You’ve not at all forgiven me, neither did you forget.

Back then, a fleeting thought of me and I’d see a smile adorn

Your words once full of longing, they now just brim with scorn.

The time when seven seas were but a trivial distance cast

Now you sit across the table, but the distance is so vast.

                                                               

But in your hurting anger, did you once just care to see

My mind may have agreed to part , my heart did disagree.

Eight years have flown, Dear Captain and they went before they came

I may have left that naivety back, I still carry my maiden name.

There were young suitors who approached, with style and status high

Society ranks, the wealth and works, the influence did apply.

Gentlemen of honour, approved by kith and kin

I but refused each one of them, you must know why within.

Amidst the sea of mistakes, though, I must exert to say

My choices may have been too harsh, my feelings in a fray.

I know you may not listen, but I know I have to tell

My heart was only yours back then, its just yours now as well.

If you can but rise from the past and shun that frigid clime

Without a doubt I’d tell you that I’d not be persuaded this time.

To refuse those precious words of love, as I did so in the past

But tell me once, can your old love, be persuaded at last?

The Chosen Road

                                  

Sitting on the couch one silent night, my mind began a stroll

It rambled down the memory lanes where past had played a role

I recalled the years that had flown past by, memories a dozen a dime

And silently wondered if I cared or dared to step back again in time.

There were times that I but sincerely wished I’d put up a better show

Been a little less foolish, a little less naïve and had allowed things to go with the flow

Embarrassing moments that made me cringe and the memories flushed my cheeks

Mistakes that I dearly spent repenting, each moment, for several weeks.

The horrors of the mocking that I had faced, for certain paths I chose

The paths that had led to stations where, my life had touched all-time lows

Decisions in life that I had made which, I then was so sure, were right

Life had so courteously answered back, with a slap that just shook me outright

I had trodden on paths with slippers that, were not recommended for that road

I had borne the blisters that adorned my feet from the thorns that I had but sowed

I had tested the waters at foolish times when a storm had raged the sea

I had struggled to keep my boat afloat, my darkest fears set free

Countless times when life had simply brought me to my knees

Silently, I had waited for the pain and hurt to cease

Those fateful times when I had simply gambled much at stake

And borne the mortifying loss and watched those dreams just break

The times I had given my instinct the edge, I had chosen to take the plunge

The losses so high, the lessons so hard, memories I wished to expunge

The moments when I had allowed my hopes to rise to newfound heights

And watched them fall but miserably, like rocks that caused fresh smites.

And then I remembered all the nights when I dearly wished to  God

How I’d screamed and pleaded and cried out loud, to make amends where I had flawed

I’d wished for better outcomes and I’d wished for larger gains

From all those foolish mistakes I but wished just lesser pains.

I wished that I’d been wiser and I wished that I’d known more

I wished the wounds inflicted then, were not so very sore

I wished the times were smoother, I wished the pace was slowed

BUT NEVER ONCE DID I WISH IN DREAMS I'D CHOSEN ANOTHER ROAD.

You Just Have To Believe

Inspired by Kung Fu Panda

The Heavens were calm, the Valley at peace

The winds resonated with a pleasing caprice

The scent of the spring and the mirth of the stream

The beauty of nature akin to a dream

At the cusp of the brook and the ancient old Ford

A Warrior stood waiting, his hand on his sword

His Master descended, the Wisest of Wise

His visage was calm, his robe oversize

He turned to the warrior, enquired in a low voice

What brings you to these parts, your chance or your choice?

The Warrior then bowed and said in concise,

“I come here, Oh Master to seek your advice”

“Twenty long years have I spent in pursuit

Of that art which so many consider astute

I have learnt how to fight, but not how to win

I know the end goal, but where to begin?

I woo satisfaction, not a life full of rancour

I do seek victory, but also to conquer

Conquer all power and conquer the world

My fame should be so very liberally unfurled

Pray  grant me the wisdom that flows through your mind

And lead me to procure the answer I find

Help me Oh Master, pray do not deny

You will not find a pupil as grateful as I.”

The Master then smiled and he slowly did say ,

“I agree Brave Warrior, to show you the way

Come walk with me upto the River of Bliss

The Answer lies out there, your doubts will dismiss.”

The warrior consented, they walked down the road

And stopped at the banks of the River that flowed

The waters pure emerald, they sparkled in light

They served as a mirror, for sight and insight

“Your mind must you open, your eyes must you close

And picture your enemy who puts you in throes”

The pupil complied and thought in earnest

Of a long list of persons he did so detest

The Master and pupil, together they knelt

And gazed in the waters to see what they dealt

They saw but two persons, one young and one old

The Master then spoke up, “Brave Warrior, behold

The young man that in these green waters you see

Is your dearest friend and your worst enemy”

The Warrior looked up and he said with a cry

“Oh Master, that man in these waters is I”

The Master then nodded and said “Yes, indeed

The face in those waters is the man that you need

If you conquer that man, your answer you find

Before this great world, you first conquer your mind

Conquer your greed and shed off your distress

Befriend the calm, let your anger regress

Conquer your ego, let go of your pains

The past may be bitter, but your present now reigns

While you aspire to reach a new height

Plan with the mind and then work with the might

Brave Warrior this secret that you so pursue

This secret is faith that lies somewhere in you

Remember, Brave Warrior, this truth all the way

Remember the wise words of Master Oogway

Live what he said, and learn to perceive

There’s no secret ingredient, you just have to believe.

GULMOHARS

We walked along the dusty lanes that seemed to lead us back in time

Memories that were fast asleep, awoke again, a dozen a dime

Gulmohar trees that bloomed at large, swayed gently at this peaceful hour

A gust of wind then did blow past, the flowers fell down in a raining shower

You’d caught my hand and asked of me, if I recalled a time long past

We’d walked along this same old road,  we had nothing, our dreams were vast

Yes, indeed, I do recall, that day and the wishes I had made

I’d wished for strings of rubies that, would be encrusted in chains of jade

You’d then picked up a Gulmohar flower, and handing it over to me in jest

You'd said one day I’d have that gift, for now a Gulmohar seemed the best

Today, yet again, as we walk along, that memory comes right to the fore

My fingers play with the necklace that, you gifted me the day before

The rubies glitter, the jade is smooth, you've kept the promise of many a year

The dreams that we had seen together, then far away and now so near

But there is something I now know, as I walk down this memory lane

Hand in hand with you once more, we see that past alive again

Today, if you picked a red Gulmohar, and gifted it to me in jest

After all these years, I’d like say, to me, a Gulmohar is still the best

Listen To Your Heart

Listen to your heart, the voice that whispers low

To walk barefoot in muddy paths, to lie beneath a screen of stars

To run your hands in waters cold and watch the Sun turn crimson gold

Listen to your heart, the wishes made in jest

The wishes that are pressed quite down, beneath your sea of doubts they drown

A dream to travel the world carefree, what’s there to dream, your dreams are free

Listen to your heart, the times when it is touched

To watch a sparrow build a nest, to hear someone who speaks with zest

To smell the warmth of summer air, to watch young children learn to share

Listen to your heart, the words it wants to say

You may not lead the life you want, but live the life you lead

And watch the ordinary life you have, turn extraordinary

Live moments in a fashion that, in future reveries

That list of wishes you’d made yourself are a list of memories

The Singer On The Train

The dews in the morning, the scent of a rose

The tinkling of silver, a pleasure overdose

The charm of the moonlight, a musical turn

The warmth of the summer, the flowers of a fern

A whiff of vanilla, the laugh of a rush

The stretch of a rainbow, the youth of a blush

The Lord must have thought of so many a thing.

When He made the fair voice that could so beautifully sing.

2006

The indigo twilight had given way to the night studded with stars. The young traveller gazed silently into the night as the train wound its way through the tiresome journey.  For a man who led an incredibly dynamic routine, the monotony of the journey was a prosaic compulsion. His thoughts wandered aimlessly even as his heart yearned for the next two days to race by so that he could finally catch a glimpse of Mumbai— the city of dreams where he wished to find his fortune.

A group of travellers in the neighbouring compartment had started singing a folk song, and though he couldn’t quite catch the words because of the local dialect and accent, he soon found himself humming the tune even as his fingers tapped the seat lightly.  Somewhere in the middle of the song, before he even realised that the verse had changed, a new voice had participated in the group. He had abruptly stopped humming as the voice continued the song from where the chorus had stopped.

Despite the rattling of the train, the spitting of the engine, the occasional incongruous chorus, the voice reached his ears clearly. He involuntarily inclined his head, but since the beautiful singer was in the compartment behind his, he could not catch a glimpse of her. He lightly guessed that she wore glass bangles as everytime she raised her pitch in the song, it was followed by a characteristic clinking of the bangles when she probably raised her hand in beat with the music. He smiled as he shut his eyes and listened as she sang into the night, he listened spellbound, as the melody, the rhythm, the sweetness and the sheer texture of that voice fell on his ears and strangely touched his heart.

He didn’t know when a deep slumber kissed his eyes. The next morning when he awoke, the train had come to a halt at the next station and as he strolled upto the door in order to get off the train to stretch his limbs, he noticed that the singing troupe in the next compartment had left. He paused awhile, then smiled ruefully and got off the train into the dappling sunlight, humming a tune that had long since strung his heart. It was the very essence of the Raag Bhairavi.

2013

“I think you didn’t read the notice outside honey. This is a singing competition, not a crowing contest.”

Abhimanyu and Veer cast a sideways glance at each other as Ruhaali Rajput squawked at the poor contestant cowering on stage. The shoot was supposed to have been wrapped up two hours earlier but because of their co-judge’s melodramatic digressions, they had been been stuck in the studio drumming the table while she complained about the  “blaaaand coffee”, “jaaaaaarrring singing” and “wanna-be-singgongs-wastin-mai-taaaaiiim”. 

The production house had been bearing up with her starry tantrums solely because these carefully directed outbursts were garnering a flood of TRPs and at the end of the day, it was an undeniable fact that she was an incredibly gifted singer. Veer Khanna was one of the most celebrated music composers that Bollywood could boast of currently, with a flair for music that touched the ethos of classical tones and brushed with the essence of pop. Abhimanyu Singh was the young singer from Ranchi who was slowly being immortalised in the industry for a voice that had “showered in magic” as the young crowd put it.

“Babe, I think that’s enough” murmured Veer and Ruhaali synchronously lowered her pitch allowing the contestant to scurry away as the crew signalled a shot break.

“How many more left?” asked Abhimanyu  sprawling in his seat running his hands through his hair. “One” grinned Veer and the duo high fived behind Ruhaali as she applied oodles of gloss.

“This is such a tiring profession” she said leaning back against her seat and fluttering her fake eyelashes at the ceiling.

“Why don’t we call the next person in and finish this off?” asked Abhimanyu, glancing at his watch and winking at Veer.

The other two reluctantly assented and the shot resumed. A young woman, probably in her mid-twenties entered the room. Though her hair had been clipped into a fashionably messy bun, one could guess that they definitely reached her waist when she left them free. She had worn a westernised kurti with one of those flashy traditional jackets that Abhimanyu had gotten used to seeing when he had first come to Mumbai. Her left hand was adorned with a stack of jade bangles and he noticed that her right one held the mic comfortably and confidently. Her skin tight jeans hugged her tapering legs and she wore stunning flats which blended with her attire.

“Hiii” said Ruhaali in her tinkling voice and looking ostensibly into the sheet before she said, “So you are Geetanjali Bannerjee.”

“Yes” answered the woman. Veer smiled encouragingly, while Abhimanyu who had been going through the report sheet looked up when he heard her speak.

“Where are you from?” asked Veer fiddling with the pencil.

“Ranchi.”

“Your gaon sweetheart!” chattered Ruhaali looking at Abhimanyu who continued looking at the girl.

“What can you sing for us?” he asked her quietly.

The girl smiled when he spoke and gushed out, “I’m a huge fan of yours, so I chose your song Awaaz Jaadoo Sa from Jawaan Dil actually.”

Before he could reply, Veer said, “Haan, haan of course, please start!”

She sang undeniably well. Ruhaali, for a change, decided to let a contestant finish a song. Abhimanyu could already see Veer marking a huge tick against her name. As he leaned back, he smiled as he noticed her left hand moving with the beat, the bangles clinking rhythmically, though they didn’t quite produce the same sound he’d heard so many years ago. By the time she had stopped singing, he was so mesmerised that he almost forgot to clap till Ruhaali did.

 “That was really good” said Veer thoughtfully, “you sing beautifully.”

“AaawwwmiGaawwd that was so beautiful Geetanjali. After hearing all those toadies sing, I so loved your voice, honey. You couldn’t have sung more beautifully" said Ruhaali.  Geetanjali smiled happily and then expectantly turned to look at Abhimanyu.

He looked at her for a while and then turned to Ruhaali and said, “If you think she couldn’t have sung more beautifully, then you haven’t heard her sing  to the beat of a handful of glass bangles on a chugging train from Ranchi to Mumbai seven years ago.”

He smiled at the stunned woman on the stage and said, “Sakhi Ri Mohe in Raag Bhairavi, wasn’t it?”

Looking at her overwhelmed face, he told her quietly, “I have never forgotten that journey, the voice, nor the song. I hope you get to sing it in the finals one day.”

The night sky was velvet which the stars did adorn

She sang so blissfully, a magic was born