Child

Unkempt was the child.
Face was dirty. Come, the child was dirty.
Scratches on his arms and legs,
with blotches on his face.

Walked with a slow gait,
almost lazy one would say.
Hands moved as through water
and the head was bowed.

The plumpy cop on the beat
waved at the child.
"You! Make a hasty retreat!!"

And the look of the child was anger
Red as fire and hot as blood.
"No mercy!" screamed the look,
A smile his mouth took.

You could say that it was a child no more,
one who could smile at sorrow so bold.

Then, the child,
Walked with a slow gait,
almost lazy one would say.
Hands moved as through water,
But, the head was up.

Rage

A time of anger
A time of rage
When the world of assumptions
comes a-crashing

What does a soldier do
For the nation he saved
For the nation he loved
For the nation he lived for
For the nation that abandoned him to tender mercies of his enemies?

Quite commiserations yield zilch

In the end,
Betrayal leads to Rage!

But share not the anger
show not the rage
let your actions
show your outrage

The New

I crossed that bridge of long ago,
with shouts of Joy and pomp and show;
Holding hands with my angel of gold,
and Yes, that angel knows to glow.

She plays with my life as one who knows,
And lifts me away as one who flows.
I float, I fly, I rule the world,
With she who rules my dreams aloud.

Please, O please, Stop the time,
And please O please, speed the time.
And so confounded here I am;
Miles & Smiles here I come!!

— with Lalitha Sekar.

Cross_Road-

At once I reazile,
its time to prioritize.
But, here I stray
past known forays
Please hear me,
I cant graze...

Clear out clear out;
have to move junk out
Ha, but I have no clout.

Focus

Tyme to focus, no mere joke,
lifes a rocker, me on the prowl.
Sleeps a joker, keeps me slow,
and works a cracker, its time to plough...

My way, Today

In a land far-off,
with time to spare,
I make my way back alone;
With thoughts of home,
thoughts of friends,
and thoughts of love unhad.

In this place of wholesome grace,
I see happy strangers.
But try I may,
the best parley,
they remain strangers.

And comes a time, when all is work,
and work is all there is.
Ah that time when I could whine,
and get my way within.

A hint of spice, a smell of home
and thoughts of days begone
And I count my days
a million ways
to keep my smiles awake.

Through the day, I make my way,
I make my way alone.

Light, not Bright

Born amongst flowers,
cared for and cuddled.
Neither sadness nor pain
knew your name.

Then dawns the day,
when expectations are born.
Not aware are you
that a child grown is a child not.

And as small pleasures remain small,
nothing excites, nothing pains.
For all is old, not new.
The thrill of discovery
whips a poor lash
and time drags by.

You no longer care
for what you do
as do you
for what you are.

Grand Dreams

The drum that called ,
the dance that lured,
the smell that sought,
to blind me.

I march the tune,
happy and more
with clear thoughts and
grand dreams.

Who knew of laundry to wash
or food to cook?

So I see the dream
as it calls what is not.
Yet I dream, yet I hope,
for all is never lost;

Though grand dreams seem too far
too grand they are,
to stray afar.

I stray my path,
to stay my path
and dream on
to stay my path.

Free

A word of joy
benign would it be
No memory of callousness
And still begets mayhem

Cannot dream anymore
for times fly.
rules rule society
and more rules still

comes a time
when alls' wrong that ends wrong
yet the happy do smile

abide not,
but in my heart.

Mirage

Days always stretch when you have nothing to do. On one such day when all the things to be done were too difficult to be done, or too arduous, and all the fun things were already done and not so fun anymore, I decided to take my bike for a ride.
Well, you will always argue that a bike ride is a fun thing and so my previous statement is not true. True. But then there are always exceptions.
So the day was hot as a Chennai day can be. The day being sunday, the roads were fairly free. So the biker (me) is happy.
The nearest free biking zone is ECR and i take it. The miles stretch out in front of me and I know not where I am or where I go. The breeze is warm and the road is free.
I see a lone figure staring at a smoking bike in a lonely stretch of road. Thats how I met the damsel in distress and my armour was definitely shining ....
Ha. Dream on Lazy boy!!

Dodge That

An absolute art form that is often overlooked is traffic dodging.
The art emnates from busy and often cranky roads where nobody follows any rules. Nobody. The most sane member of the traffic community at this juncture would be the biker. Here the car drivers believe they are cyclists and the cyclists believe they are flying microlights in pursuit of a seagull. The drivers higher up in the er, well, noise chain such as truck drivers, think they can follow the circus and believe they are diving maruti 800s....
We have ofcourse forgotten the venerable auto rickshaw drivers. Well, too much has already been written about the auto rickshaw drivers. What can they do? they are not to be held responsible for the folly of forgetting their large er, backsides and thinking that they are as slim from behind as they are from the front.
Hence, the biker in his infinite wisdom will have to continuously find new methods and often find new roads, yes roads, to deal with his dimwitted neighbours on the road.
Imagine for a moment, you are driving peacefully through a less crowded road busily thinking about the day ahead. You are careful to respect the big buses and warily overtake them from the wrong side. But suddenly you feel your hair rise as you are sandwiched between an auto and a car, both of whom want to win the Le Manns series and are practising. What can you do under this situation. Your answer as will any one's will be to fall back and let the ferraris be. But you forget that the great Mr.Bus is right behind you and is quite angry that you have out witted him using such foul tactics.
Now the biker is in his element. The royal escort often falls short of this scale. So thinking, he starts whistling again, goes down one gear and lets beasts eat dust.....

Melody

A song I heard, just beyond the waves.
No voice though.
Just song.

That sound could not be anything alse,
but that cant be a voice, can it?

Through melodies of old,
it flows,
taking my mind with it.

Thoughts beyond dreams,
dreams beyond thoughts.
Ah! Can I dare dream
to find the master of that voice?

Ennui

Sat on the beach with nothing to do.
the waves were a monotony,
the breeze was hot,
the sand was dirty.

Called my friend,
he was busy.
called another,
and so was he.

My plans for the day
never included
making plans for the day.

Then realized,
you wanted to speak.
thoughts spread wings,
and I flew.

But you were busy.

Beyond consolation

I am dripping.
That hope of moving through the ripe fields is gone.
Gone like the hopes of valour, hopes of pride.
There is no other purpose for me now.
I am greatful to the fires that made me strong.
But do not mistake it for fondness.
Yes, I was useful in the end, but then it was the end.
End of an age, end of Innocense.
I had asked for this when I made my move.
An eternity in guilt, an eternity of curse.
Murder is never forgiven, never condoled;
yet I am not to blame.
I am not to blame though I cried for blood.
The blame lies
on the hand that failed to control me,
failed to smother that beast awakened.
Now that the blood has flown,
and the deed is done,
I realize that the fields were only a dream.
A dream of a dream.
Made for the purpose,
trained for the purpose,
used for the purpose.
But who listens to a crying,
drying,
sword?

Muckraker's Guide to the OM Road

You can never guess when your dreams will be fulfilled. I had given in to the sedentary life of a software engineer, coming to office in the company bus, sitting and working for eight hours and then going back home to eat and sleep.

As things happen, my dad bought a new bike. The old bike had grown older and the engine was as good as dead. But that was the bike that I had coveted all along. So I took it to the mechanic and arranged for it to be given a new lease of life (he was going to rebore it).

And so I had a twelve-year-old Kinetic Honda, which was technically dead. No, my dream was not the bike. My dream was to take the bike on a long hazardous terrain, testing my skills as a biker. My dream was to participate in motocross competitions and see if I could take huge ditches and steep slopes. Of course, where is the fun if there is no mud?

It was a rainy day and I was driving cautiously along LB road towards the Old Mahabalipuram Road. Time was 8:45 AM and I was getting late. It was obvious that the straight road into the OM road was completely gone and everybody had to take the deviation along the Velachery road. But as I approached the Velachery road, the traffic was impenetrable.

Rain and traffic make a fine combination if you are on a two-wheeler. I could see a sea of noxious smoke rising in the wet morning from puddles more colourful than the rainbow - the slick oil spills. No it was not my type of a road. I saw one fellow shake his head and go back the way he had come.

It was getting late and I had to take the only alternate route available - the OM road. And so I began the journey. The road was not too bad, I could go at up to 25 Km/hr. But I had to be careful. The road was about to give way to the great lake. The colour of the water was a deep orange leading to black. You could see the rainwater splashing on the surface. But you could not say if the road had survived the mugging or had given in to the forces of lorries, trucks and Mother Nature. Of course, the knowledge that the road was under the care of Chennai PWD was very heartening. So the plunge into the unknown had to be taken.

The great thing about taking a plunge into the unknown is that you are ready for anything. It was an unforgettable experience. The front wheel was rising on a mound and I braced myself. The suspension took a bit of the rise and the next instant the front wheel was going down into the water-covered ditch and at the same time the back wheel was rising. I had to stand up and move my weight forward in order to balance. And before the rear wheel reached the bottom, the front wheel began to rise.

That was only the beginning. The road beyond the lake was not a road. It was muck. I cannot give it any other name. The ground was very rich, rich enough to plant rice. I have never seen a finer combination of sand, dust, water, oil and grease. Beneath all these was the asphalt laid down to provide a very smooth ride.
When I raised the accelerator to make the bike move, I understood what was slip.
The engine slipped in the clutch as the tire slipped in on the road.
It was brilliant.
The bike was standing still with both my feet on the bike.
The engine was roaring and the tire was screaming and I was going nowhere.

It was then that I realized that I was living my dream and no, it was not a nightmare.

The Push and the Pop!

I was returning home after an arduous day at work, pushing a labouring bike to take me at speeds greater than permissible. Traffic snarls, indecently fast vehicles (Vis-a-vis pulsars and their kin), monstrously large trucks and bullocks were trying their best to impede my steady progress towards home.

Such was the case when i was suddenly overtaken at close (5 mm ?) range by a dude in an old tvs suzuki. Yes i knew that i was out matched here, his being a splendid 2 stroke..... hmm.... what could i do.... i had nothing else to do..... So i did the only insensible thing; i pursued him....
he was 4 m ahead by then, driving with a panache rarely seen on road. this guy knew his stuff. I was going a steady (and paltry) 55 kmph in the 4th gear. my first action was to reduce my gear to the 3rd. Ha! the bliss of pushing a bike.... :-) A roar that would make an RX100 proud ensued from my platina. the throttle was at max. but i wasnt mad (not yet) so i cudnt keep it up for long.

my intentions were conveyed loud and clear with that challenge. The gauntlet was thrown and acknowledged with a corresponding roar from that real! 2 stroke.

but traffic, that ever present viscosity on our roads kept the contest out of the racing pages while we still managed to enter the league of mad drivers. there was no dearth of angry horns as the pursuit continued.

his acceleration was better, much better than mine. but i had one advantage. i was attuned to the traffic, knew its nuances. so where he swerved wide of overtaking cars, i drove right in between, squeezed in between close riding bikes, drove over mush, cactus and the occasional pothole.

And then as the race heated up, up came the porur signal, that web of un surpassable tarffic block. we lost sight of each other.
just as i cleared my way to the head of the waiting traffic (u can think of the feat as akin to driving over car roofs) my adversary was just ahead.

Something caught my eye.
it was red and written in his number plate above his numbers.
it was in tamil.
i edged closer to read it.

and then it was over.
i had to switch off my bike and take a break.
this guy was a genius.
i had to admit it.

what i saw above his number plate was .....

" MAMA BISCOTHU"