The Magician - V

The Magician -V 

This is a poem spread across multiple pages. Please read in order. Please click on links below to read the earlier passages from the poem.

The Fool - I.
The Fool - II.
The Fool - III.
The Fool - IV.
The Fool - V.
The Fool - VI.
The Fool - VII.
The Fool - VIII.
The Fool - IX.
The Fool - X.
The Fool - XI. 
The Fool-XII. 
The Magician-I.  
The Magician -II 
The Magician -III
The Magician -IV



The Magician pushes the Fool to take charge,
highlighting the glory that is writ large,
on the one who brings the Grail to the King,
and once and for all an end to the war bring.
Conjuring visions of drinking from the Grail,
the Magician hopes to move further along the tale
the lure of eternal life enough in his view
to make the Fool pine for the quest - only few
who were fool enough could trade this life for eternity,
and this fool was ready to risk his one life- what temerity. 
If the reward of an eternal life was not enough to move the fool
The Magician had another trick up his sleeve-  another tool
If he could stitch the fool together and make him whole again,
if not firmly on his side, he could also inflict some pain.

Threatening to take him back to that initial state,
The Magician played on his fears, his certain fate
of getting injured critically while attempting the second leap
and never finding out how strong was his conviction deep.
If abandoning the quest, the deserters have to face censure
that the Fool understood this much, the Magician made sure.
If his words could heal and make the Fool stand back on his feet,
the same words could scorch and bite and probably bleed
Bleed to death as the Fool lies helpless and alone,
paying appropriately for a sin he did not atone.
The sin of not toeing the Magician’s line,
having a deserter label was a hideous crime.
Caught in a bind between the eternal life and infamy
The Fool has taken more than he can chew- a double whammy.

And yet he is foolish enough, not to be lured by riches or threats,
this quest he is on, is more than blood and sweats,
If he moves ahead its because of the visions that haunt him,
a world that is suffering, that is desolate and grim
and can become better if the Grail is found
and everyone can drink, with joy abound.
These used to move him, now that dream is a bit shaken
and playing on his insecurities, the Magician has taken,
a much more prominent role in his life
he is a mentor, a motivator, a friend, a guide.
The Fool now ventures forth to please the master,
that he may keep his head high, and fly faster,
and reach this pinnacles that others only dream of
he is no longer an original- he’s the Magician’s spin-off

The Magician has spun a yarn for the fool,
a story where he is nothing more than a tool
in the service of the king- finding Grail his duty,
and if he fails in the quest, he better face fury
not of the King, nor the Magician’s wrath,
but be buried under the weight of the wreath
placed on his soul, as he dies by shame and guilt,
that he couldn’t end the war,  that he wasn’t built
strong enough to bear the weight of the quest
preferring instead to while his days away and rest.
The Magician’ magic has worked, he doesn’t need
to taunt the fool anymore, the fool doesn’t heed
what is being said overtly, he now can hear a small voice within
that doesn’t want to let down others and instead wants to win.

Oh, the trickster, he thought his job was finally done
But if there was a doubting Thomas, our fool was one
Not fully convinced by this narrative of duty or pride
The fool kept vacillating, knowing this was no joyride
A quest such as this would be tiresome at best,
meaningless, futile, mission accomplished, what next?
To move him beyond doubts, the Magician simply said,
you have a choice whether to be on the side of good or bad
The end of quest is good, the Holy Grail an enabler of life
the continuation of quest is bad, a situation filled with strife
by ending this quest and bringing heaven on earth
you will be instrumental in abolishing any scarcity and dearth.
There is no pressure, no coercion, just make up your mind
make an informed choice, don’t keep acting blind.

The fool was taken aback, it was time to acknowledge the facts
not all of him, but a large part of him was already on the quest,
The magician need not push him, not verbally, nor from the cliff
he was already looking forward to the fall, the neck stiff,
Not for the king, not for the trickster, Not for glory, nor infamy,
neither for riches, nor eternal life, nor for wiping the blot of guilty
his only drive currently seemed to be how he was on the side of the good
ending the war, getting the grail, letting everyone drink- a modern Robinhood.
How this quest was what defined what he was,
how he could now face himself in either mirror or glass
Going on quests is what fools choose to do
if its upto me- count me in too.
I no longer need the Magician, I am ready to fly
I have made my choice and I know why. 

Mithya XI: Choghadiya’s Magical Moment

In this third 'chapter' from my almost autobiographical (life) story, I return to poetry to make alive a particular moment from my life.

The tale (part 1)

Player III : Choghadiya’s Magical Moment

Firmly placing my foot on the ground,
I defend every ball aimed at the stumps,
In this Test for some time I have been around,
it's time I claim my place from the dumps.[1]

I have staying power, I am silent and strong
the great Wall of Kumbhlagarh, not easy to scale
many have come and many have gone,
but I have become an integral part of the tale. [2]

I am Angad, the monkey,  my father no saint,
to outlast his legacy is all I aim,
I use cuss words- not good for the faint
I am a master at this game.[3]

They say I waste too many balls,
defend a lot, not striking on all,
I am picky and choosy and in these venerated halls
With one strike I can win, and settle it all.[4]

I get A’s in the courses that I love,
and fail spectacularly in those I hate
I am a hawk, and not a dove
yet on that day I was a bit late. [5]

He was the one who understand why,
my CGPA oscillated in violent rhythms,
quirky like me, in mini-p just getting by,
and getting an A in algorithms[6]

Spurned by the same girl, we found solace
in poetry or sports as per our whims,
we traded votes, our efforts did coalesce
both becoming hostel officials and COPMINS.[7]

And then that happened, he was shaken to core,
I was leading the team that gheraoed the dean.
There and then, I should have settled the score,
slapped the dean tight, or punched him like a bean.[8]

‘Ragging’ my foot, he was just interacting with the kids,
trying to help them, making them brave and strong,
and able to understand the innuendos used in the skits,
if acclimatising is a crime, then I guess he was wrong. [9]

For it was the freshers who indeed played such parts,
saying dialogues like ‘the boys stole our milk’,
and ‘girls ate our bananas’ -aiming these darts
-goaded by some seniors and their ilk.[10]

We even played Mahabharata based scripts,
in which some fresher Bhishm proudly squeaks,
'My hand my lord’ -this being a part of the skits,
Shouldn’t these freshers know what that means?[11]

By interacting with them, we got them educated,
preparing them for the world, the good, the bad, the ugly,
their minds need to be opened, need to be liberated,
oh my lord have I just defending ragging, I ask smugly.[12]

When you give it a name - as stigmatising as ragging,
you prevent even good interactions to bloom,
what He did was no ragging, but his punishment was staggering
and the whole hostel drowned in misery and gloom.[13]

Later that week, when we gathered to strategise
the hostel warden came and disrupted the meet,
I told him clearly and with overt malice
what fate him and the dean might greet.[14]

‘Great men sometimes by turn of fate,
are oppressed and tormented or struck from behind,
and we can look at history of events of late,
and learn from those lessons, to prevent rewind.’[15]

‘Even Lala Lajpat Rai when he was lathi charged by Brits,
and succumbed to his injuries, after some time,
yet don’t forget the fate of his tormentors the dumb wits,
they were all killed systematically for their respective crime.’[16]

This warning to Warden and indirectly to dean,
was the anger bursting forth from the depth of my heart,
hope the message works by itself, for I really mean,
to take the battle to its last tragic part.[17]

I was the messenger, this part I gladly played,
many were angry, but not many with balls of steel,
This was my moment, this memory has stayed,
a movement was building that much I could feel. [18]

Messenger not of Him, but of the seething masses,
my courage was contagious, my anger gave them voice,
and in a jiffy we had decided, to boycott the classes,
or wear a black band - let not the signal die in the noise.  [19]

A signal clear and loud, that we can’t be taken for granted,
his dignity meant a lot and his honour was worth fighting,
we don’t endorse violence, but to shame the dean we wanted,
like our gods - in one hand we have lotus, in other a bolt of lightening. [20]

He wasn’t there in that meeting, it wasn’t to placate him,
my rhetoric and drama was not in the service of Ram,
It was to shake up Ravana, his army, their fate grim,
that was numbered now on the fingers of one palm. [21]

My position so established, they can’t make me budge,
an inch from my standing, I have the troop as my back,
threats of expulsion, or rewards, a gentle nudge -
Will all fall on deaf ears, we are now one like a pack. [22]

Come Warden, come Dean, let all try their might,
till they apologise, we will all wear black-
Once in a lifetime we get to do what is right
let's fight without worrying about drawing flak . [23]

Why the warden was threatened, you may rightly ask,
he was doing his duty, earning his daily bread,
for trying to disrupt our meet, I will take him to task.
by aligning with the dean, he was as good as dead.[24]

I guess we won the battle, at least the first round,
TTK told Him, about my solemn oath,
of firmly placing my foot in the hostel’s ground,
and holding firm, till justice was brought.[25]

Many came and many went,
yet not many took the stand I took,
I guess this would be his constant lament
why didn’t the wanars the Insti shook. [26]

I cajoled Sugriva to continue to bridge,
the distance between north and south
This was a war, no time to play bridge,
but to hurl choicest abuses from my mouth.[27]

Just when the dean was falling on feet,
with an apology that was phoney - it sounded forced,
I lifted my feet and retracted to greet,
my friend who was broken and totally scorched.[28]

The Protest had been called off, an accord made,
I missed my moment, of settling the score,
of wrapping the dean in a blanket- a record made,
of hitting anonymously - becoming part of the lore.[29]

But alas, He would not approve of such tactics,
if willing he was strong enough to himself punish,
He teaches forgiveness to his students
some take that lesson to heart- oh rubbish.[30]

I guess he forgave, the dean and that fresher,
although it took him, some time to recover,
but how can I get over my failure to usher
a fearless time for Him and His brother.[31]

I stood like a wall,
between Him and the world
could not prevent the fall
or His descent to the underworld.[32]

After many years of struggling the vengefulness
he has finally come to terms, warts and all,
Got released from the prison, by granting forgiveness,
and realising that perhaps he played a role in his fall.[33]

What hope remains for me oh lord,
I am the strongest and yet so small,
a peripheral character in the tale of god,
by virtue of my foot, I’ll be standing tall.[34]

My magical moment came and went,
On this Diwali I will light for Him a diya,
and by writing this I could finally vent,
I am the servant of lord, Vishal Choghadiya. [35]

Standing like a wall, always for the team,
I have batted for some time, now let me rest,
include me in the tale- if you worthy deem,
and let the new team be made of the best. [36]

Let the legacy of Hanuman and Angad live long,
Let the head be held high, and the mind be without fear,
let us just serve the lord and let this make us strong,
Let us hold on to this hour and everything dear.[37]

To have played for Mithya XI, is an honour in itself
To have survived against odds is a miracle to boot,
To have flourished later achieving power and pelf,
is the icing on cake - now to get rid of the soot.[38]

Neither I failed nor Kavindra, we played our natural game,
the spirit of sports says,  give others a chance,
why proclaim from top, I conquered, I saw, I came,
let the glory fall on others- if only perchance.[39]

Hadn’t he got inscribed on the wall?,
‘the world thus follows us’,
as do wise men so do all,
did we collectively miss the bus? [40]

The great opportunity to stamp our names,
on the annals of history, pre-history of lore,
of emerging victorious in the deadly games,
and becoming parts of legends of yore. [41]

I am happy with my role, my cards, my deal,
deliberately missed my moment as I stand by my pledge,
the limelight from Him, I dare not steal,
my foot staying firmly on the edge. [42]

There is earthly ground beneath my feet,
I am not deluded, not about me,
If I could not protect His fleet,
I am sorry, let it be.[43]

In another eon and time,
I will be the Wanar of remarkable note,
- the tale will be exclusively mine,
He will escape by a mile and I will get his vote. [44] 

I have enough demons of mine to fight
buried in the forests, fearsome in the night
but to think of myself doesn’t seem right
I want to serve Him with all my might.[45]

This tale is His, I play a minor part,
to deliver His message strong and clear
to sing His glory, is my role from the start,
and that’s why He thinks of me as dear.[46]

What if the roles were reversed, I the victim, he friend,
with demons threatening me, he a spectator of sorts,
would like me he go all out, lend a helping hand,
and rise to the occasion, a servant of lords?[47]

My purpose in the tale is to project bravery and valour,
a hope that people with conviction exist
By the virtue of my feet I gave a performance stellar,
and rightly I have made to this list.[48]

Many will come and many will go,
Some may even take the stand I took,
-yet not be the hero- they may forego
their magical moment to better look. [49]

Sans all pretenses, I am clear in my heart,
- the role entrusted to Choghadiya Vishal -
I went on a limb to play that part.
My stamp’s on the tale- I am a star. [50]

Mithya XI: TTK's Classical Defence

This is the second 'chapter' of my almost autobiographical composition. This is in the form of prose, but its not regular prose. Hope you like it.

The tale (part 1)

 

Player II: TTK's Classical defence

Can you please keep this short? You should have taken a prior appointment; besides I am watching a match; can I do dome multitasking please? I know that means I have a monkey-mind, but so be it.

Thanks for understanding. Yes I know this is not a trial, just an interview and I will do my best to answer to the best of my abilities; wow wasn’t that a brilliant Googly?

Yes, my name is TTK Sudarshan and I did play for Mithya XI. And I do pledge to speak the truth and nothing else but the truth.

Of course, I remember that Test. I hadn’t played as well as you guys expected, but I believe I put up a good fight, right?

What do you mean by Match Fixing? How can you even insinuate such a thing? We were all playing for Mithya and we cant even think of that in our dreams. Oooh, that ball had some pace, it was nearing 150.

Yes, I am speaking for myself, and others too.

Umm, you can call him my best friend, yes we were very close. Almost like besties. That was a slower one, right? He’s mixing and playing with the batsman’s mind.

Well, he was good with the bat, a bit quirky though. 

No, we never opened together. I guess we both wanted to, and as locker-mates we had come pretty close. Whenever, I sing of the song ‘Chanda Re’ I think of him. He seemed lost up in the air- a bit philosophical and I did try to drill some practical common sense in him whenever possible. We had a lot of philosophical discussions. Nice long drive.


Yes, he had political ambitions. As a matter of fact he used to say that the reason he had chosen IITD over other IITs was because of the fact that Delhi being the capital had a vibrant political environment. He was quite ‘serious’ about this. Oh, what a knock!

Yes, in the context of the hostel too; after all he did fight and win the election for the Cultural Secretary of the hostel.

Yes. I too had political ambitions. But I have been practical about it. I want to work in the peak of my career, make up tons of moolah and finally settle down in a village, adopt it and oversee its development and functioning. You know I plan to lead a spiritual life.  To be a MONK who has the KEY. That’s my long term vision but for now let me prepare for CAT and become a management consultant so that I can fund my dream. 

No, our political ambitions never collided. As I mentioned before we were best of friends and I was truly happy when he became cultural secretary. As a matter of fact I was instrumental in trading votes for him so that someone from our wing could win- he was apparently not too naive himself- but as I said we batted for the same side.

No, he didn’t talk much, and still he did use to disclose a lot about himself. Rather he said he was an open book- though I strongly doubted that. Well he also used to quote, ‘don’t ask and you will be told no lies’. I don’t know why you are asking me so many questions! That was the second bouncer of the over and so close to hitting the helmet.

Any quirks you ask? Well, like Bozo the clown become one example, I guess he tried to become another example in quirkiness. Who else would openly claim that his aim in life is to prevent the third world war from happening. I warned him that even professors were making fun of that. One of the profs had said that people who say things like these actually cause world wars and clash of civilisations. Holy shit, how did he miss the line of the ball? There was such a big gap between his bat and the pad? What was he smoking? Did you see that wicket fall?

Ok, sorry, Coming back to the point, I wont say he was that popular; but yes the width of his popularity became apparent when the Protest happened and even the usually reserved and above approach Kailashites supported him whole heartedly. I used to make eclair trips to  Kailash and was genuinely surprised by the support and indignation of the Kaileshites. I conveyed the same to him and maybe in those dark hours that was the only thing that restored his self esteem (and faith in humanity)  a bit! Talk about having a silver lining!! What would I not do to garner such sympathies!!

Yes, that brings us to that day. The reason you are bugging me. The day our top order collapsed and the tail followed suit leading to the lowest all time total for Mithya XI.

You ask what happened on that day, but perhaps we need to start a bit early. If we have to place the blame shouldn’t we start with the selection committee? How do you end up with a squad so poor? Who was to blame for the no. 4 goof up? Why did we not choose the right team in the first place? Anyway as things would have it, in the second semester he had just been elected the Cultural secretary of the hostel and became part of the select club. 


Oh, he didn’t remain the CultSec for long, so it's hard to recall his achievements. He was good with the bat but the pressure of captaincy took a toll, I believe. He did organise a very successful Hostel day. The theme was traditional and I having classical tastes was really enamoured by that. He wanted to reverse the brain drain and make India palatable; this traditional themed hostel day was a step in that direction. I was fascinated and so looking forward and eager. Oh no, commentator’s curse again, I just wish someone will ban this commentator from praising our team so often; we just lost a wicket. He was playing so good!


Ok, coming back. Well, in the next semester, he got bowled out on the first ball.

Yes, I would elaborate.  Being CultSec he was made a member of COPMIN (Committee for Prevention and Monitoring of INteraction with freshers- who remembers such names, except perhaps the one who has been burnt by such things!) - a body whose function was to prevent ragging. He, along with a few others, came a few days earlier than rest of the seniors, to interact with freshers and make them strong to resist ragging.

Ragging to me is like taking a new batsman into ones wings and teaching him how to play well by handling pressure situations.

Yes, I am coming to that. He was quirky and as part of his ragging inoculation and prevention attempts, he started by himself interacting with freshers in a good and acceptable way. He would ask them their AIR , ask them to do small tasks, and generally addressed them instructing them to cooperate with seniors as far as interactions went smooth and to resist the ‘ragging’ whenever they felt uncomfortable. 

yes, all noble and good. So where did he err? For one,  he was a person who had no use for either excuses or cowardice and hence told the students that if not comfortable they should straight forwardly deny doing anything, but not make silly excuses. Be brave and hit a six or lose your wicket and get out. Don't make excuses like the pitch was not a batting pitch.

Of course, to be more specific, he asked the freshers that if a senior asks you to shave your moustaches, don’t give lame excuses like I don’t have a razor etc ; if needed buy a new razor or borrow from him, but either confront the senior and he’ll be there to support the fresher; or else do whatever you think is reasonably demanded by the senior. Now asking freshers to shave was a normal initiation rite in IIT’s those days. Personally I find nothing wrong with that. One could always refuse. Why is he playing so aggressively, there is no place for good defence in todays world!

Well, what happened then was truly sad and deplorable. A fresher was asked by a senior to shave moustaches, he went to him for borrowing a razor and my friend obliged. Was’t that an easy catch at silly point. He handed his wicket on a platter.

Yes, we have heard it that that fresher was a relative of the dean, but we didn’t knew it then. Hold on a minute, the action replay shows that there were not enough players inside the circle, this was a no ball. The batsman is claiming as such.

What happened next was that Dean came storming into the hostel looking for the cultural secretary, gathered all the freshers,  accused my friend of ragging and when he touched the feet to clear any misunderstanding and placate him, as he was always reverent to teachers, the Dean took that as a sign of weakness and literally pushed him down the stairs and asked him to vacate the hostel before the night was over and intimated him that he had been terminated from the prestigious institute on account of ragging. Phew, will we take a DRS or not, time is ticking?

Yes, it was shock for him; he was pretty strong so he didn’t cry but he was definitely taken aback.

What happened next was unprecedented, The students of the hostel, the wanar sena , of which I was leading as Sugriva, gheraoed the dean and demanded that he take back his proclamations. YES! DRS taken and successfully too!

Outnumbered and outwitted, the dean had no option but to give in to public demand and assured us that no action would be taken. We thought the issue had been settled.

Not so fast! Well, the issue was not settled because he demanded an apology from the dean; he had been falsely accused of ragging, and worse assaulted for the same and subjected to trauma, and his demand for an apology seemed reasonable to me. Well, that spun too fast, this pitch does have turn.

Why did the Protest happen? well it was because things didn’t return to normal in the next few days. Having lost his face, he justified not going to classes and said he was boycotting classes and college till the dean apologised/ resigned. Isn’t the new batsman taking too much time to settle down. We seem to have lost all momentum.

He did gather courage to venture towards class on the third day. I was having breakfast with him. He was in a better mood and looking forward to the day. Finally a boundary after 35 minutes.


So what happened, well, his eyes caught glance of a headline on the front page in the daily newspaper ‘Errant student let off after deal with authorities’. He had finally made it to the front page of a newspaper though not exactly in the way he would have wanted. Isn’t it cool to be famous. I love when people ask for my autographs; so glad to be part of Mityha XI.

No, we didn’t go after the newspaper. He went after the dean and we followed suit. A written apology from dean was required to absolve him of his tarnished image. His protest continued. This partnership can really save the day for us. It has been building beautifully over some time, exactly what was needed, but let me shut up, lest commentators curse take hold.

Not really. Not everyone was behind him fully. Some were afraid that if a DISCO (disciplinary committee) was set up following this incident, maybe he will go scot-free but they, who had actually indulged in the nefarious acts of actual ragging, would be prosecuted.

My role in the whole thing? well, I had friends on both sides. He and his supporters were my best friends, but so were some of those who were putting forth the theory of DISCO and questions in parliament. A parliament session was going on and it was not unheard of that questions related to ragging in IITs, directly tied to that incident, could be raised and many students face suspension/ termination. So I was ambivalent. I could see merit on both sides. The DISCO/ parliament session combo was a fast one even for me. I could merely duck!

What did I do? What do you do when bouncers keep hitting you on helmet? I gently convinced him that it was not worth going after dean’s resignation; an apology should suffice. A movement was building up- he was not going to classes and monkey see-monkey do, some of us had decided to wear black ribbons as a mark protest ourselves if this continued for some more time; Even some teachers in humanities department had voiced concerns and things were getting chaotic. Numerous Lion Kings were emerging. Being the Monkey King, I tried to restore order to things.

Yes, I succeeded. Dean apologised in writing and in person. He didn’t resign though. He resigned though. Dispirited he resigned from the post of cultural secretary, never to venture in that territory again. He started attending classes again. The situation was diffused.

Why did I do it?  Well, I never did rag, so I was not afraid for myself. I never even had that much of sympathy for those who had actually ragged and might have been impacted if situation continued to snowball. What I was afraid was for him- the more the situation continued the more he was losing - a bit of his former self day by day and that I could not bear. I did it for him.

My regret or lament?  Yes I do have one.  Why wasn't another article published in that same newspaper:  ‘Errant Dean let off after deal with students’.

Mithya XI: Nishchal's Fiery Opening

Mithya XI

Today I will start sharing my almost autobiographical composition Mithya XI with you which is part prose and part poetry, mostly fact and a little fiction.  Some things will make sense, some will need to be decoded. Please find below the first meaningful 'chapter' from my life story. A usual disclaimer: any resemblance to a living or dead person is in good faith, sometimes for humorous purpose,  and not to malign anyone.

The tale (part 1)

 

Player I: Nischal's Fiery Opening

Injured and bleeding, I lay sprawled on the ground,
carried on a stretcher, I can feel my broken crown,
rushed into the ICU, away from the madding crowd,
but the noises do not subside, they barely drown. [1]

The voices in my head are struggling to grasp,
where did I err, how did I land up in a cast
Had my attention wavered, or the ball was too fast
- a bodyline against The Don- my Karma, my past. [2]

How did he set me up, first some in swingers then out,
he was on the opposite team, and still I let off my guard,
if I had scored the century, it would be his dismal rout
so with a preemptive bouncer he aimed for my ward. [3]

My ward that I wished to get elected from and serve,
My ward at the root of this Test, vulnerable yet strong.
- Helping the weak, providing protection they deserve-
My heart beating for the underdog- was my only wrong? [4]

He came to see me, I was broken in spirit and flesh,
He made a silent promise to epitomise me in a paean,
all that had transpired, all that was unsaid, but fresh,
forever in my mind as we both nurtured that pain. [5]

In the city square, where I used to wield my mace,
I was brutally assaulted- by the police themselves,
all in an attempt to make me lose my face,
hundreds lay over me and took the lathi on selves.[6]

I barely survived, thankful to the human shield,
the scores who traded their bones for mine,
and yet I lament why He wasn’t on the field,
even if not present, did His heart pine? [7]

He has never really thanked me, even once for my act,
I’ll rather see it in action - just carry the legacy ahead,
There is a whole match to be played- that remains a fact
I know my time is up, but He must try to keep His head. [8]

He had a dream, and a right,
to get into the IITs, a future bright
and He had the guts, and the fight
to take on His tenants - no matter light. [9]

They were four of them, dangerous and Bhai type
He only had me and a feeling that its alright
if things came to a violent turn, as they sometimes might,
He would face the consequences, He didn’t hide.[10]

To vacate the premises, I often scared their daylights,
and yet couldn’t go the whole mile, as the reaction was strong,
He was small, outnumbered, not made for fights
I lived under fear that things could go wrong.[11]]

I could have got it vacated, just like the powerful Hanuman,
could have brought home Sita and preempted the war,
but then Ramayana wouldn’t have existed, none would have heard of Ram
Let the glory fall on Him, let me be the servant of the clan.[12]

I was so powerful, that even the gods punished me,
for His neighbourhood Sun, got eclipsed in my mouth,
His living in that neighbourhood was akin to be,
Like a tongue caught between the teeth of the mouth.[13]

And yet He survived, and ultimately flourished,
What happened to me is a different story,
My tail got burnt and my face got sooted,
Took me a while to adjust to these events gory.[14]

The black on my face that I helped vacate a joint
at the same time campaigning for the slum dwellers’ stay
that apparent contradiction a justification for assault,
and a murderous attempt to get a rival out of the way.[15]

Why did he stoop so low, is politics really for dogs,
I’m no saint, but why did he hit on the groin?
face me on the ballot field, accept me as one of gods,
defeat me on my turf, I  will prove who is the Loin.[16]

SP my friend, thanks for selecting me in this squad,
our friendship is old, and if you were still in the game,
You would have made for a handsome lad,
you retired- and it has made you somewhat tame.[17]

You wanted a movement of sorts, on the day of that crime,
I request you in earnest, select an A team to fight,
Play it forward, do it now, don’t just bide your time,
and never let it fade, the memories of that night.[18]

I know for finding players you have a prodigious ear,
Make every player of Mithya XI as strong as Him,
We have to get the world cup at least this year
consider this my wish, my command, my whim.[19]

Be their Physio, their healer, their coach, their guide,
Let them achieve the dreams we had dreamt in our youth,
Let them know how to play, how to defend, how to strike,
and when they get broken and dispirited- be there to soothe.[20]

I have opened well, I have set the ground,
for younger players to come and show their style,
I played aggressively- does that astound?
I have hit a few strokes, alas no sixes in a while.[21]

I played for the city, if not for the state.
becoming the vice captain, throwing around my weight,
but that almost fatal injury had sealed my fate,
My party was in power, but to the party I was late. [22]

A few days before the JEE, I gave the ultimatum,
the court case was dragging, so I made it simple,
they ran out of fear, locking behind the sanctorum
for 14 years without prayer did lie the temple [23]

The good part - sans nuisance- He could finally study well,
the results were astounding, He did top in the town,
With time we won the case, though it took some time, oh hell!
now He rarely comes to see me, isn’t our team one down?[24]

I should have retired hurt, after that bouncer on my neck,
but I continued to play, contorting in pain,
Always eager to serve on His call and beck,
I know what I lost, but the team did gain. [25]

I was limping my way in life, chewing tobacco and drinking,
trying to forget that ‘day’, shying from the memories that would flood,
With each passing day in a depression I was sinking,
trying to figure out why it happened, who was after my blood? [26]

Outwardly strong, even batting like a pro,
inside I was dying, I felt cheated and in a rut,
what malady affected me - SP my bro
you should have known it coming, and nipped it in the bud. [27]

I feared no one, and definitely not death,
yet life became too heavy after that fateful day,
you helped me recover my balance, but forthwith,
I submit to my fate - so that other hands play.[28]

I retire now from this game of life,
No Paean’s written yet, no world cups to boot,
no ticket to assembly, no personal life,
I’m burning inside- except for that cold cold soot. [29]

I can die with a light heart knowing I stood for right,
I traded my options knowingly, I did not shy
from sacrificing my body parts, in that gruesome night,
now I’m at peace, I can say goodbye [30]

He is busy in His world, I am still waiting for His call,
He preaches gratitude as a means to be happy
He has grown in this world, shoulders back and standing tall,
pursuing his passions, leaving jobs that were crappy. [31]

I somehow fantasise, in one of His classes,
when He asks the students to share a gratitude letter,
He will lead by example, clear his glasses,
and finally call to thank me- it will make Him feel better. [32]

For indebted as He is, He now avoids my company,
and feels guilty at not being able to make to my team,
He wasn’t good with the bat, but his talents are many,
maybe he will pick up bowling and use some seam.[33]

I am sure my efforts have not gone in vain,
it wasn’t about getting a home vacated from goons,
it wasn’t about the JEE - let me make it plain,
It was about setting an example- for many coming moons. [34]


And in that we succeeded, we will live in tales,
of how that opening partnership, of a super fast ton,
set the grounds for a high score, besides which pales,
all historical records, our mission is now done. [35]

My journey is over, now pass the baton down the line,
No one man needs to bear the cross-we can all pitch in
Let me retire like my friend SP who’s doing just fine,
and preparing to narrate the rest of tale- let him begin. [36]

I am said to be immortal, one of eight,
Always serving Him, and His clan,
Writing poetry is my passion and chosen fate,
being remembered in His memoirs is my plan. [37]

I died today from an alcohol overdose,
some say it was to avoid facing cancer of throat,
orating this story has already taken a toll
on my funeral, I didn’t even got a good pose. [38]

He is busy in his world, I am still waiting for His obituary,
He gets students to write their eulogies, it sounds so cute,
He is tending to his garden, He doesn’t look in a hurry,
Will Rome continue to burn, while He is playing flute? [39]

I somehow fantasise when His tale will be told,
It will open with gratitude towards a Kavindra ‘Nishchal’
and as He clears His glasses, and if His eyes be bold,
they will be moist and tender and thank me full. [40]

The Magician - IV

The Magician - IV

This is a poem spread across multiple pages. Please read in order. Please click on links below to read the earlier passages from the poem.

The Fool - I.
The Fool - II.
The Fool - III.
The Fool - IV.
The Fool - V.
The Fool - VI.
The Fool - VII.
The Fool - VIII.
The Fool - IX.
The Fool - X.
The Fool - XI. 
The Fool-XII. 
The Magician-I.  
The Magician -II 
The Magician -III


The Magician’s plan is simple, elegant and strong,
He’s so full of himself- he can’t be obviously wrong;
to transfer his confidence to the shaken fool asap,
no need to teach flying- or how to fall on one's back.
these things don’t matter, what counts is the faith,
just believe that you can fly- is what the Magician say’th.
Should we remind the Magician that when the Fool first leapt,
he did believe in flying, and in promises kept.
He believed with his heart that he could fly if need be
and to keep his promise, he paid a big fee.
Knowing that he may die, he still took the leap,
and broke his neck as he fell down deep.
Did we just say he knew, he could die while jumping ,
Oh he had doubt, he didn’t believe, the Magicians winging.

This time with the help of Magician’s spell,
he will truly believe in flying, of enduring hell,
but continuing on his path, as if made of feathers,
or becoming a man of steel, that all storm weathers,
gently drifting in the wind, or taking off like a plane,
he will defy gravity and continue flying in the lane.
This time would be different , he’ll leverage the power of belief
and taking a cue from Magician, hurl himself down a cliff steep.
If the Magician can create a illusion that is sufficiently strong,
That he himself has flown in past and that too wide and long,
and maybe make the fool believe that learning flying is a song
That its Ok to jump from hills - risking life is nothing wrong,
Then we know our Fool enough so as to rightly predict
that instead of the recuperation he needs, he’ll go for the kick.

For the Fool is impatient, though lost and shaken too,
he knows he needs rest and healing, but isn’t he driven to
strive for the Holy Grail - even if it makes his life a living hell,
to serve the king and the knights in arms, till he hears his death knell,
is a mission he has chosen for himself, and the Magician approves with glee,
once he has brought the Grail to the King, he can rot in hell, he is free.
For now he must get his act together, and take care of his broken neck,
if only in the service of the quest, he is thinking about himself - oh heck!
For a change he wants to make himself strong, and focus first on the self,
he wants to heal and be able to heal and like Magician have some power and pelf.
Power to end the quest and money to keep fighting,
he needs to pull all stops, he can see on the wall the writing,
If he has to jump again, and about this we can be doubly sure,
he now gets it totally- that not everything works if intentions are pure.

You need cunning and vile to just survive,
and if you want to make a mark, remain alive,
you have to wring some facts, make some fiction real,
like a broken neck can be fixed in a jiffy dear.
But that is what the Magician managed to do,
breathed life into the fool - reignited his bravado.
Making him believe, this time would be different,
was not an easy task, the Fool was a bit diffident,
he wasn’t sure this time he was ready or capable
and wanted to jump with the safety of a cable.
But the Magician made him think about his glory
sitting atop the hill, how powerful was his story,
and how wonderful it will feel finally being able to fly
how he’ll be the first one- about this he didn’t lie.

For the Magician has flown, but only a sprint,
a marathon flying will be the Fool’s sole province,
To fly till moon and back and then some more,
is the Magician’s promise - his offering core.
There are things one can do and there are things one can teach,
there are things one must endure- chose your cross well each.
Only the Fool can fly all hog - if the Magician could, he would,
The Fool will enjoy the glory, forgetting the Magician who stood
in his time of need and made him dream beyond what was possible
martyr, Messiah or god- the fool has to look beyond the gospel,
and chose for himself a role that could successfully end the quest
if the story needs a hero, step up, else on the sidelines be a guest.
The Magician will take care well of this guest, and endure this lonely night
and wait for the morning some fool agrees, to jump and fly with all his might.

The Once Close

The Once Close


I wonder when the night falls, where went my lucky star,
I couldn't cherish when nearby, so she has gone afar.
Oh how I miss the twinkling light- and the chirpy, birdy song,
Neither dusk nor dawn is here to stay- only a night that's long.

Sometimes she likes to surface, and the day starts getting bright,
Words flow forth like water, and the rhyming just gets right.
And I forget and put behind me, the 364 no moon's night,
The heavy heart flutters, as she says- let there be light!

A demi-god, mythical and pure, she's beyond approach or reproach,
I thank my stars, for the annual 'darshan', beyond that I can't encroach.
She needs her space, I heed my time - and respect that now she'll be gone.
And I'll be back to writing poems of love- hopeful and alone.

Pining for a single glance, lie I won't!
Do you know her asks Facebook, Of course I don't!





 

Reverberations

Reverberations

Silent and still, disturbed a bit, ripples spreading wide,
Throw down a line, to hang on to, to carry through the tide.
Be clam again, get re-centered, advice that's pretty sound,
Suppress that drive, put checks on it, lest turbulence be loud.

The tiniest flicker of the flame, that its end may be nigh,
Pour more oil in, move up the wick, that it may never die.
The wavering light, the shifting shadows, the dark dance of the night,
Move up the glass, hold up the wind, and burn with all your might.  

Some pressure here, a firm goad there, its finally getting to form,
the furnace's fury, or the care of the wheel, the potter is equally torn.
A tiny window, when it can be shaped, post that it becomes brittle,
An untimely blow, its back to pieces, cold water poured a little.

Go breach the speed, aim for the moons, with precision aim high,
Detach a bit, do a course correction, and let there be debris in the sky.