Saturday, May 23

An Open Letter to Manmohan Singh

Dear Mr. Singh, at the outset,
We still believe you.
Across party lines.
Despite your spine
Despite your embarrassing awe,
At the G20, that we saw.
Despite the dismay, you lack,
At Mumbai’s terror attack.

But now, you have returned
With majority.
And you are people’s choice,
There’s clarity.

Votes have stung the wasp
Democracy is out of Laloo’s clasp
Out of Parliament’s crust
Left is biting the dust
We have rejected them all
Brokers, dealers, whores
Their pride has had a fall

But Mr. Singh, its time to
Go for the kill,
Coz people have
Voted for political will

Going forth we will watch
The old loyalist, the young Turks.
Though, we are critical, we know
In India, dynastic politics works.

But we want you to guard
The nation from this facade.
(I am personally embarrassed
With your party’s singing
Rahulji is our prince in waiting)
We want you to stake claim,
Our rightful role in global game.

To our neighbors, some hard
Messages are long overdue.
We deserve a terror free milieu.
From, you, we need reforms
We need the growth rate,
And we kept out the worms.

Mr. Singh, simple it may seem
But we want to live the new India Dream!!

Sunday, May 17

Women in 30s - I

A woman of thirty
Is at once, so many,
Things. But mainly
She is content with
Who she is.
Her body that defied
so far, learns
the law of gravity.
And the slither of silver
In her hair, is actually
A marked punctuality.
Her bills and taxes are paid
Her friends are measured,
Her plans are drawn
She is set in her ways
Music, food, movies.
She dresses her age
And yet she may leave all for a whim
Or a whim for all.
For one, she is done
With loving wrong men.
She knows Wickham for Wickham
And Darcy for Darcy
When, she re-reads her Jane Austen
She is so many people at once.
The prodigal daughter,
Indulgent,to her mom’s misgivings
After a decade of rebellion
And, the mother, that she is now
Her cup full of motherly longings
The partner, the friend
Who walks with her, an imperfect man
Sweat soaked man, with worry line
Its his calluses, she finds her own
His imperfection she finds divine
Over her intuition, she trusts no one
She basks in her belief, her belief
Takes her to places, others shun!!!
And, its her relationship with herself
That she wakes up to,
That she cherishes the most
She’s buried the hatchet,
Confronted old ghosts.
She is done with proving things
Done with critics and detractors
It’s a tenuous thread that gnaws within
A journey with herself that she begins.

I know this is like rough but I have another 7 -8 years to write on the subject, so no hurries and no worries

Saturday, May 9

Strawberry Cheese Cake













I made fresh
Strawberry cheese cake.
Easy and nice to bake.

Coz, I did not
Give you a piece
Here’s the recipe
If, you please.

Take a bit
Of margarine.
Break few
Cookies into shards.
Mix them well
With the lard.

Throw in,
Castor sugar.
And of course,
While at it,
Lick your finger.

To make the crust,
Press this flat
In the bake tin.
Meanwhile
Pour yourself
A gin.

And as you get
Giddy,
In a mixer
Make the cheese
Go dizzy.

Beat two eggs
And sugar,
Into the cheese.
You’re almost there
Rest is a breeze.

Pour this gently,
Over the crust.
Put in an oven
Bake till it turns,
The color of rust.

And, with the gin,
Things are a bit airy!
But now comes,
The real thing.
The strawberry.

Take the luscious
Red fruit,
Cut the ends,
and keep aside,
Sluice the cake
With fresh cream.
And stud the berries
On this dream.

Your cake’s done,
Its real cool.
What, you snoozed?
Who’ll eat this?
You drunk fool!