The Beauty and The Homeless!

It was a Monday morning just like any other,

Peeking through the hole in his quilt cover

Bright sun causing squint to his eyes

Woke up to a day that beheld surprise

Last night was rough and had an ugly fight

With someone, she called the love of her life

Hustling through the chores, glancing at the time

She knew she was late to earn the daily dime

Coming up with an excuse won't be smooth

Cursed the day for ruining her blooming youth

He pulled himself up to start the day

Against the wall of a skyscraper's facade

Beneath the tattered blanket was a placard that read,

'May God bless you for sharing your bread!'

She stormed out of the parking, into the streets

Adjusting her muffler, scrolling through tweets 

She grabbed a coffee and paid the extra tips

Beating the chill with vigorous hot sips

He adjusted his back to avoid his bedsore

As he pulled out his lackluster Saxophone

Wiping the dust off his humble assets

A feeling of pride with no regrets

She squinted at the placard but paid no heed

For she won't get a dollar for a good deed

He watched her rush into the skyscraper beside

Those modest eyes gazed at her affluent stride

He moved to the fountain on the crossroad bay

To fill his leaking bottle with water for the day

Freshened up in the plush mall around the corner

Evading the eyes of security and the odd onlooker

She made up an excuse that none could question

Went back to her tasks without motivation

The frowning boss stared at her reckless feat

Irked and dejected, she felt like a cheat

Soaked in her work, five hours went in a jiffy

For him, each hour seemed like an eternity

She headed outside to break her fatigue

He lifted himself with a new intrigue

She rushed out of the skyscraper's glass door

He moved to the cheapest diner on the road

In haste, she banged into him with a thud

Without a pardon, to the corner, she swirled

For her, the rest of the day was a rote

Full of anguish from the starting note

Thence came the end to pack her bag

Drained and crippled by the daily snag

She escaped for home like a poultry hen

Stopped in tracks by a gathering of men

A distant sound of a saxophone played

Causing the mob to joyfully persuade

She entered the mob to witness the cause

An uncanny, loathful figure that he was

Lost in the symphony of a Beethoven

It felt like he was on the doors to heaven

The song came to a satiating conclusion

Hinting at his feeling of ecstatic elation

Opened his damp eyes to an applauding crowd

Few did throw some cents on his shroud

And then he saw that familiar face

Dangling locks harnessed with golden lace

Without looking at the accumulated wealth

He reached out into the pocket in his belt

As he headed towards that familiar face

Alarmed at this strange act by a disgrace

She stepped back to avoid the embarrassment

That was when he let out his dirty hand

The hand that belonged to a homeless creep

The hand that longed for a hold in grief

The hand that blessed everybody's curse

The hand that held her shining PURSE!

'Please check if all is neat and intact'

His first words to anyone in years in fact

She checked her bag and the purse was nowhere

Awestruck, she matched his benevolent glare

She then gazed at the unattended shroud

Blemished with few pennies on the ground

But the purse that had hundreds was untouched

A miserable hungry hand had it clutched

She thanked him for this act so great

A word she knew could not commensurate

Walking away, she equated her life to his

Despite everything, something was amiss

The thing that did not add up in the equation

- the lack of contentment that led to frustration

But there he was with nothing to spare

And he was content sleeping under the chilling air

She stopped and vowed to learn from this homeless

To be able to be content and share happiness

She traced her steps back to his stinking abode

Mustering courage and strength as she strode

She dug her fingers into her bag

Pulled out her purse and a tag

She handed him all the dollar bills she had

And gently gave him the tag that said:

'You are the reason behind my smile'

The homeless could only sigh for a while!

The Sentinel

He wakes when the world is dead
His own world awaits whom he left behind
With only the hollow darkness ahead
Just to feed his family on his mind

Neither plead nor commit a crime
He resorts to a profession taxing on him
Sleepless nights and rare family time
Night leaving its color on his eyes' brim

Safety for self or a safe haven for us
A dilemma that may cost his entire life
Chilling moonlight or amidst gushing dust
Anxious for me more than his own wife

Listens to my crib while I miss his salute
A daily offering he pays without a blink
With concern for his child but no refute,
What I give in return, makes me think

He gets much 'more' than a scanty wage
A blind eye to his war with last night's rage
An ignored heroism while I was fast asleep
A onerous battle with fear, given no heed

A usual suspect for a crime in vicinity

Beating around the bush while disposing his duty

All this just to feed his hungry clan behind
With a modest wish to see his baby shine
To elate those anticipating eyes of his wife
When he brings home few pennies worthwhile

He doesn't speak but his eyes do demand
Just a bit of respect rather than reprimand
A dignified life is all he aspires
Not a lavish life till he retires

Today when I'll see that wrinkled face
In the evening upon reaching my base
That ripped uniform, that dangling lace

Preparing himself for another darkness

I vow to greet him before he does
Every morning and during dusk
It's just a gesture that will help him boast
A man denied dignity will haunt me the most

The Portable World

I was bought for dollars, the master spent
Wrapped in pricey sheets and urban scent
Adorned the wall with pride and joy
Others on the wall went quiet and coy

Folks from far flocked around like sheep
In dazzling jewels and pockets deep
Flashes and glitters to welcome me on-board
Thence began a tale of solitude untold

Like a pampered child, I was lauded by all
An object of shimmering glory on the rustic wall
Gazed at my peers with the look of a snob
Among the rotten canvases, felt like heartthrob

I heard them giggle as I turned my gaze away
Unfazed by this act of sardonic display
Boasting of vibrant colours on the face
Divine prints festooned with golden lace

The taut canvas face was wiped everyday
Every speck of dust, was firmly swept away
Days passed away hence many a week
From lauds to gratitude, gaze to a peek

A couple that bragged of immortal love
Kids like those of the angels above
Battled and bayed on petty topics
From choice of car to ‘who carries the bricks’

But, the one that went right through the heart
Was the ‘dollars spent on the trade of my art’
Layer over layer, the dust piled upon
Every day was dusk and nowhere the dawn

Through the astral view I beheld my fall
The cruel peers grinned from the adjacent wall
Weeks into months and months into years
A beauty that once was, now in shambles and tears

The hinge on the left, has left its scars
In this tilted state, I face towards the stars
A brooch that once adorned the wall
My taut canvas sags alone in the empty hall

Master’s kids have grown into men much wiser
Master has grown into a lump much miser
My sagging canvas echoes his receding health
His sons’ wives eye his will and wealth

I learn that this house will come to mortgage
A new master would then light up this cave
I hope of coming out from this dusty grave
It’s a portable world if you see through my eye
Self is most vital for the mortal thy
Just a dangling piece of art if I am
What good to each other are you Oh man!

An Unconventional Rendezvous

I didn’t know them and neither were they peculiar enough to be written about. Rather, there was nothing distinctive about them which any of my co-passengers in that General bogey of Lucknow-Bhopal Express would want to remember. But still, I would like to mention about them here for myself, and for all the similar sophisticated folk who feel that life is about achieving a high societal status or fat bank accounts.

It was the month of December and travelling in a general compartment of a train in U.P. for the first time makes your journey all the more doleful. Not just because of the hard cushion-less bench pressing against your bottom mercilessly for hours, but because of a plethora of aspects – shattering and thundering of double pane windows persistently threatening they might crash upon you anytime and none of the 2 layers being able to stop the freezing wind from coming in; inimitable characters flocking all around gossiping on topics ranging from the scanty dress of a B-grade actress to petty property disputes back home, from Sachin Tendulkar’s retirement to that kid he bashed up back in his village; clamour of the beggars to those torturous and deafening ringtones of the mobile phones to shouting over the phone at the top of their lungs; the cocktail of smells originating from different sources like the spittle of paan, the open lavatories, the garbage dump at the railway lines near the platforms and that odd obnoxious smell from the sugar mills outside in the fields as the train crosses by.

I could have sat there unperturbed, engrossed in The Tipping Point by Malcolm Gladwell had it not been for a surge of curiosity when I asked him “which station just passed by?”

He must have been in his late 40s and wore thick glasses which resembled the bases of 2 coke bottles; a woollen cap and a sweater to avoid the chilling wind through the windows; the muffler covering the lower half of his nose and the dropped neck resulting in intermittent snoring; a thin strip of moustache that ran neatly along the boundary of his upper lip hanging tightly from the peeking nasal hair. A big round belly floated beneath his laid back torso followed by a crumbled beige trouser dressed with black spots. The tattered shoes with worn out stitching clearly reflecting the number of miles they had done so far. He took the window seat with a huge jute bag in his lap precariously clutched between his left arm and the gigantic belly.

It was too late to realize that my question shook him out of his modest dreams. He searched for the source of the question before he replied back to the person sitting next to me “Kalpi just went by”. I was about to say to him ‘it was I who asked you the question’, but this time I was quick enough to realize the terrible squint in his eyes.

She must have been in her early 40s and sat adjacent to him vehemently coughing and sneezing. Her right hand was resting on his knee. She had an equal ratio of grey and black hair divided in the centre by a red crease of sindoor. She wore a pale yellow woollen cardigan and a maroon shawl covering up to her nose just like her husband’s muffler. Her eyes were looking down to the floor like a slave until I presented them with that shrill question. Her eyes looked pale and the grids of wrinkles neatly decorated the dark circles around her eyes.

But, there was an unknown keen tinkle of happiness in her eyes and face, something that made her say “These trains are … (cough) … such a pleasure … (cough) … to travel. Oops! … I hope … (cough) … I didn’t hurt you”. After a careful observation I realized she was pressing her husband’s fingers as if to infuse some sort of sensation into his hand.

“No no!” he said in an apologetic tone so as to cure the woman of her guilt of accidently waking up her husband. “Kalpi it was! Jhansi would be another 2 hours from here” he said in a dominating voice.
She looked at me with a discounted smile and again dropped her sight towards the floor. It seemed to me she was somehow not coughing while her head was down and chin touching her breast. She felt comfortable that way.

“Do you belong to Bhopal or Lucknow?” It had been almost 6 hours I had talked to anyone so I triggered off a conversation with him.

“We belong to Jhansi, but our son had been working in Lucknow” he replied.

“Oh cool! Then you must be a very frequent visitor to Lucknow.” I spoke with a lot of vigour and enthusiasm as I was also working in Lucknow. “Where is he working by the way?”

The man looked at the woman as I asked this question. She gave him a stern look as if controlling herself from coughing another time.

He shook his head in response and his vision dropped towards the floor again. The woman, with her stare fixed at her husband, replied to my question “He is no more now”. And she started coughing her lungs out as she completed the sentence.

I could not even blink my eyes for 2 minutes. I gazed at their faces trying to figure out how it may have felt to be in the shoes of those modest brave-hearts.

“Arre bhai! One packet of masala peanuts please?” He ordered the vendor who had been shouting at the top of his voice just to sell the 2 rupee packets of cashew, peanuts and walnuts.

The man offered me the packet. Both of us gently pulled out few pieces from it. The woman clearly looked tempted by the packet but her throat was too bad to handle masala peanuts; neither did the man offer her any.

I wished to go back to The Tipping Point but somehow my mind didn’t. My eyes were sunk into the book but I kept on glancing at the mannerisms of the couple. I was unable to digest the fact that they had lost a son and still they found this train pleasing.

It was around 3:30 pm and most of the noise-makers had resorted to keep their mouths shut. Most of the passengers including the woman had gone off to sleep. There was a perfect synchronization between the dangling handle hooks on the ceiling and the sleeping passengers on the berth as the train caught up speed. The only noise was that of the fans, the shattering windows and the speeding train itself.
“It’s been almost a year now when his bike was overrun by a drunken truck driver”, he somehow sensed that there were questions waiting to erupt from inside me.
“It’s really unfortunate!” I tried to reciprocate with empathy. “So what was your purpose of visit to Lucknow”? I asked.
“We had to collect his Provident Fund and gratuity settlements from his employer. My wife’s brother also stays in Lucknow, so we both went together.”
“It’s tragic really!” I said in a fatigued tone. “Which company was he working for?”
“Tata Motors! Do you know this company?”
“Oh God! I am also working at Tata Motors. What was his name?”
“Ajit Pandey!”
“Whoa! You are Ajit Pandey’s father? Sir, it’s an honour to meet you! I could never meet him in person but I have heard some great things about him. He was a great human being and an asset par excellence to the company.”
“Yes! He was good”, he said in a modest tone again.
“Sir, did you know that our company has an award named after him?” I said in an exuberant tone.
“Oh is it? Not that I am aware of.”
“Sir, it’s called ‘The Ajit Pandey Memorial Trophy’, given to the employee who exhibits the values, brilliance and the acumen that Amit possessed.”
He did not say a word. I could literally hear him swallow a lump of saliva and yet again his eyes went down towards the floor.
I realized that I acted more enthusiastically than required on such a sensitive issue so I didn’t utter any word further.
The woman lifted her head up. This time her eyes were red and damp. She had heard the entire conversation. I could not take my eyes off those deep eyes that had absorbed grief as big as this. The dark circles around her eyes beginning to get deeper and darker. I knew that another word from me would mean the liquid heart will overflow off its brim. I had already spoken a lot.

Another hour went by just trying to pull my concentration into The Tipping Point. All in vain! I could not stop thinking.

“We will get down here!” He spoke as the train halted at the Jhansi station. “All the very best young man!” he said gathering the lost sparkle in his eyes. “These shabby trains aren’t that bad. They have given me some really good friends in the past. Today also it didn’t disappoint me.” I could not even respond to his wish properly.

The woman let go of her husband’s right hand as they left their seats. His hand recoiled back to his stomach as he pulled himself up. I did not even want to think about the extent of his paralysis, but he did have limp in his right leg too.
The elderly couple stepped outside the train; the man, still clutching the jute bag tightly with his left hand and the woman still holding onto her husband’s right arm.

They looked happy that way.

My gaze followed the duo till they disappeared among the station crowd. All of a sudden, I realized, the cocktail of obnoxious smells didn’t feel disturbing anymore. The cacophony of the crowd started to seem pleasant. The noises from the fans became a symphony to my ears. I took off my shoes and socks and put my bare feet on the dirty floor. I caressed my palm over the tainted glass window. The loud gossips of the co-passengers started to make sense. The disgust towards the people sleeping on the floor turned into pity and sympathy.

Meanwhile, the train moved ahead. The crowd at the platform had settled down. I saw the couple again, sipping into small tea cups and sharing a laugh. Their heads turned towards the train and their gaze met mine through the window. Their lips stretched apart in a smile. A tinkle shone in their deep eyes. He raised his left hand holding the tea cup as a toast to this unconventional rendezvous.

I pressed my head against the window grill, still gaping at the strength of their love for each other. A bond, so strong, that even the wrath of their son’s death could not snatch away the smiles from their faces. A bond, so strong, even the mightiest of storms cannot do them apart.

I felt so little!

I pulled myself up and ran towards the door of my bogey bare feet, stumbling upon the people lying on the floor, rubbing against the crowd ignoring the abuses as I knocked off few cell phones on my way. I reached the edge of the door so that I was the only person visible to the people outside the train.

The couple looked astonished at this weird act of mine.

I smiled at them for a second and then raised my palm to the forehead.

“Salute!”

The dying sun rays reflected from her cheek as the tinkle rolled down from her eye.

Employee Suggestions - The Seeds of Change

A seed of change, sown in the brain
Shoots from the soil of knowledge
A fledgling steers through the rain
To challenge monotony's courage

All these seeds from all directions
Form a wise and fecund stream
To achieve those arduous perfections
Compiled under a suggestion scheme

Firms then flourish with Glory and awards
Those fertile brains honoured with rewards
Mammoth tasks accomplished at minimal cost
Doubt, agony that once was - is now lost.

-       Ankit Singh

The Rickshaw-Puller

By Ankit Singh

Fresh morning dew - dripping from the leaves

Piercing the thin eyelids - dawn's focus beams

Raise the alarm to wake up for the grind

My muscle is my money, to feed the clan behind

A checkup on the strength, a hunt for rust

Few pats on the cushion swept away the dust

For minutes I gazed at its rustic charm

My old eyes felt the first monsoon of a farm

Trembling, I gripped the handlebar with pride

My muscle is my money, the city is my stride

Maiden halt at the mansion that rose to the skies

Like the ones in dreams from open eyes

A little princess emerged chirping like a dove

Dangling locks harnessed with hair-band above

Little did I know of the contents of her gear

My muscle is my money, hunger my prime fear

On the jute cushion she cuddled herself up

Waved at her mother who sipped her tea cup

Fair as an angel as honest as a mirror

Gentle as a feather was her playful leer

She broke the ice to catch me unaware

My muscle is my money, I may have acted queer

Naively she remarked at my ripped pant

I could barely look at her neat scant

She gazed for long at my tattered shirt

My shirt grudged at her wrinkle-free skirt

I pedalled my envy through the morning breeze

My muscle is my money, despair needs to cease

With only pedals to her school to spare

My heart panted with passion none could dare

Eyes in the freckled face glimmered with cheer

The child-like joy in riding the load clear

A halt in the shade, to set up on another

My muscle is my money, I'm just a Rickshaw-Puller

Introspection

If I wish, I can break the rules
To alter the monotony, I need no tools
If I determine, I can leap over the stars
To crush that that's beyond my powers

If I wish I can kill the evil in me
And let not relationships laugh at me
If I determine, I can diverge the storm
To let my soul take its form

But wish is a wish that I can only wish
Determination will not be served in a dish
Wish that my determination shall not falter
Determined I am to live a glorious life after