Wabi Sabi

Subdued austere beauty, wrapped in a rustic patina,

A single asymmetric fin, makes you shine like a sardina. 

Imperfection gives you value, wrinkles add to your face,

You get better like a wine, as you age by God's grace.

Another year has flown by, another project remains half baked,

Another poem's unfinished, by a heart that throughout ached.

The desire for a master piece, makes you lose sight of the truth,

Nothing in this world is perfect, neither golden years nor youth.

There is beauty in simplicity, in owning flaws, in celebrating decay, 

In writing Tankas and Haikus, that let your imagination play.

If you spell out all perfectly, you can't read between the lines, 

You need to draw the reader in- not push him to sidelines.

2023 wasn't perfect, didn't last, isn't done and dusted yet, 

As you start enjoying the passage of time, the moments will last, forever, I bet.

The God Without

He resides in the temple, He resides in my heart,

He resides in my words - He graces my art. 

There are many who would say, just seek Him within,

That I stop serving Him outside - chances are thin.

I am like His servant Hanuman, can't rest till I've finished His work,

I write daily, perform duties He gave, feel His presence, as an added perk.

I regret I wasn't there when His abode, was razed, by a barbarian jerk, 

I don't use euphemisms for invaders, whether they be Mughal or Turk.  

 

What's past is past, let's look ahead, we restored the glory back,  

That a structure had to be demolished first- is part of process, not a day black. 

Now that the temple is ready in a way, and the idol will be revitalized with Ram,

Let's celebrate by emulating Him in every way- by becoming noble, serene and clam.  

Its easy to say, evolve spiritually, be modern, get rid of religions and God,  

Sorry to disappoint, but I wear on my sleeves, the Ram Nami, of my Lord.

The Giving Back Pledge

That institute received an endowment, that was staggeringly well financed,  

We should exceed, beat our previous batches, is an idea we romanced. 

We set a target for ourselves, and some started driving others hard, 

To fuel competition amongst ourselves, a leaderboard was on the card.

From each according to his stature, how well he has done in life,

For what purpose the funds are to be used, has led to an inevitable strife. 

Those who lead by dollars, putting their money where their mouth is, 

Will decide how to use this money, guaranteeing efficiency like in a biz. 

The no-strings-attached donation, is a thing of the past now, 

If you really care about the insti, you should call the shots- and how!

What 25 years of earning gap could not, 2 days of reunion did, 

WA group split on basis of who pays, so that of leeches we can get rid. 

 

When I ponder what I can give back, its neither money nor distinguished alumni fame, 

Its just that I be worthy of this institution, that it feels pride, when on it, I lay my claim.

Daily Exam

Writing consistently is hard, it should be spontaneous and fun,  

If you can make peace with the process, the battle is half won. 

The daily gruel of staring, at a mocking blank page, 

Laying yourself bare, making your nakedness a rage.

You can afford to be open and vulnerable, only once in a blue moon,

When you play with emotions day and night, you may be interned soon,

Either in a mental asylum, as a depressed poet is a probability high,  

Or in the heart of your fans and art lovers, where along the poems you snugly lie. 

It takes discipline to write daily, time is of the least concern,

What you fear is an imperfect poem, that astute readers will discern.

You write because you have to, a poet you chose to be,

The poem's an outcome of who you are, like honey from the bee.

I write for you, I write for her, I write foremost for who I am,

To be sensitive, on a daily schedule, to be true to myself- is a daily exam.

Sometimes

Sometimes you choose to be an outcast, sometimes on you that's thrust, 

Sometimes all you covet is solitude, at other times, isolation, becomes a must. 

Sometimes you break out of the ranks, sometimes they simply charge ahead,

Sometimes you easily loose your cool, at other times, they make you see red.

Sometimes the world whizzes by, sometimes you do a slow dance, 

Sometimes your sonnets reek of love, at other times you hide behind romance. 

Sometimes you don't want to fit in the box, sometimes they make it too small,

Sometimes you want your voice to echo, at other times, it reverberates because of the hall.

Sometimes you try to appease them, sometimes the pressure gets to you, 

Sometimes you create a sombre mood, at other times, you succumb to all that is blue. 

Sometimes you can't see in the mirror, sometimes what you notice is the prominent background,

Sometimes you want to jut and stick out, at other times, you are stuck in a hole that's round. 

Sometimes you write for catharsis, sometimes you let out a Freudian slip, 

Sometimes you try hard to forget her, at other times, she disappears in a blip.

Welcome Mail

Welcome to Psychological Musings, its good to have you here,

Expect some deep reflections, and posts that are crafted with care. 

Thoroughly researched substacks, for which I read a lot,  

Distilling the info into wisdom, putting in a lot of thought. 

You may wish that I write daily; perhaps, once in a month, I'll write!

But I will track my subject thoroughly, analyze and sources cite.

Just not to lose our connect, I'll write shorter pieces too, 

A weekly update, curating stuff, from a quirky point of view. 

3 articles that I am reading, 2 books summarized in bytes, 

1 poem accompanying - filled with psychological insights.

The poem would be 14 lines, my signature imprint, 

I hope to wow and dazzle you, and eventually mint. 

I aspire to be a full time writer, penning poems and psychological musings, 

If you don't pledge support, I'll still invest my time- I don't mind the losings. 

 

 

PS: Psychological Musings is my substack newsletter that I am reviving and on which I will be posting deeper psychological reflections as well as weekly curated content. If you have even a slight interest in psychology I strongly encourage you to subscribe to it.

Being a Centenarian

You don't really die of old age, but from disease of heart and soul, 

Cholesterol starts accumulating, and loneliness takes its toll. 

Accidental deaths are minimal, more die from diseases like Alzheimer's, 

If you have lived a 100 years you've learned, the art of slowing body timers.  

How can I become an inhabitant, of the Blue Zones you ask, 

The short answer - eat plant based meal, and in longevity glory bask. 

5 servings of fruits and vegetables, instead of processed eat grain that is whole, 

Large portions of beans and nuts, put seeds in your breakfast bowl. 

Avoid meat and dairy products, don't eat fish, or, smoke cigar, 

Eliminate eggs and slash sugar, water is the best beverage by far.   

The biggest criminal though, is neither animal nor plant based,

Salt is the reason one's heart becomes weak- we succumb to the taste.

 

The plant based diet has many advantages, its nutritious and a decision wise,  

But the forever reason, you die from animal food, you can't digest, their damning cries. 

PS: Before my non vegetarian friends take offense, let me link to the article (and research) on which this poem is based.  

On Having No Choice

A girl in scant clothing, triggered his brain that was still part ape,

Finding her alone in a secluded place, made him land with a case of rape.

If his wife had cuddled the night before, he would be drenched in Oxytocin hormone,

Would have let the girl go, when she said 'No', but alas his capacity to care was gone.

 

Further back in time, in months past, the OTT and web had exposed him to porn,

The brain-part controlling his appetite atrophied - this was surely, not the way he was born.  

If you go back to his unfortunate adolescence, when his crucial identity did form, 

The constant rejections from the girls he coveted, made for him, sex without love, a norm.  

You can dig into his past, when he was a poor child, you'll find a history of neglect and abuse,

The adverse childhood experiences, that shaped him then, are now being put to real good use.

He inherited genes that predispose to lust, he's a male after all, why on him put blame, 

That he should be held responsible, for his acts - is a perpetrator, not a victim - is an argument lame. 

Constrained from birth, as you grow on all fronts, you start gaining, ever more free will, 

To argue against choice, and moral responsibility, in the garb of science, reeks of pure evil. 

 

 

PS: Written in response to this article by Robert Sapolsky on his new book Determined. I respect him as a scientist, but would strongly advise people like him to refrain from entering the moral domain. 

Samudra Manthan

The churning of ocean, the quest for 14 jewels, 

An uneven distribution, leads to heavens and hells.

Only a few taste elixir, drinking straight from the pot,

An eternal battle ensues, between the haves and have-nots.   

 

Lakshmi and Alakshmi, two sides of the coin,

Devas and Asuras, more like twins conjoin.

One usurps the nectar, and the wish fulfilling tree,

Becomes immortal, wins war, and rewrites history.    

Tricked into cooperation, by a scheming Vishnu, 

Asuras were left fuming, as Vasuki venom spew. 

Devas by their nature, are altruistic and strong, 

Why does tricking the selfish, seem morally wrong? 

All this hullabaloo about Dhanvantari, and his immortal pot, 

He who could accept both the moon and the poison, is my true God.

Kintsugi

Broken, repaired,

Beautiful, because I dared. 

Shattered when I fell, through the abysmal hole, 

Someone cared enough- so she made me whole. 

Pieces picked warily, I could have hurt her,

My edges were sharp - that didn't deter.

She gently applied, a healing balm, 

Mixing gold with lacquer- without qualm. 

 

Can an earthen being, deserve such grace,

Have I lost my identity- with gold on my face? 

The scars and fissures, I could have worn with pride,

I've traded for her art-  I have nowhere to hide. 

Thanks for putting me back again, I'm as fragile as ever, 

I might have become more charming, but I have lost my innocence forever.

 

 

Buy Now, Pay Later

Buy now, pay later, purchase a mobile or own a house,

When EMI's start accumulating, with lenders play cat and mouse.

Status drives you to take loans, money drives them to lend,

When installment stop materializing, they need to recovery agents send.

 

When the merchant offers a loan, they tap into an unsaid need, 

Of how much you need to splurge- more than your neighbor, indeed! 

If his kid goes to United States, yours should go to Canada,   

If your daughters wedding is not in millions, you are society's anathema.  

Sometimes you also borrow, from a genuine place of need,

To start your enterprise, to scale, to sustain your farm by buying seed.

But there are hardly any donors, who don't give out of greed,  

And when the chips are down, they squeeze every ounce- as you bleed. 

I bought a lot of dreams upfront, I'm now paying for it with my life,

Now all I can borrow is my therapists time- to remain sane and not die by suicide. 

Daily Cleansing Ritual

Neglect the home, it starts gathering dust,

Cobwebs start appearing, filling you with disgust.  

Occasional spring cleaning, on Diwali or the New Year,

Can't replace the daily need, to remove stains, remain clear.

Neglect the body, it starts smelling foul, 

As the morning dawns, you pull the towel,

Daily you bathe, daily you change clothes, 

You keep up appearances, through highs and lows.

Neglect the mind, its starts acting wild, 

Meditating daily, keeps it anchored and mild.

A few deep breaths, at night counting sheep, 

To be alert and focused, you prioritize daily sleep.  

Neglect the poem, at the end of the day,

The soul sullied permanently - to wash, just pray!

Work Drudgery

Exhausted, and numb, 

From work, that is dumb, 

Numbers abound, creativity lost, 

A lot is accomplished, but at what cost. 

I'm all presentation, I don't excel, 

Complex formulae, don't ring a bell,

My whole day wasted, checking values in a cell,

It could have been done, with automation as well.

Work like this, sucks your soul,

None should endure, my lofty goal,

So I end up doing, odd jobs like this,

Drudgery is mine, so that you have bliss. 

Like all good things, with roses come thorns,

As I love my work, I take the bull by the horns.

My Pursuit

Writing sonnets, an idle pursuit,

Crafting narratives, to my persona suit.  

Weaving emotions, from boredom's yarn,

If I keep rolling, I'll be a pretty good liar, darn!

Writing sonnets, an idle pastime,

Creating moments, that transcend time. 

Conjuring images, out of thin air,

To make love out of nothing - is a daily dare. 

Writing sonnets, an idle promise,

Of baring myself - naked, as is.

Stuck in a loop, as I woo you in my mind,   

I love 'you' or the muse, I'm in a perpetual bind. 

As I do my shenanigans in 14 lines, you play dumb and mute,

That's why you are, and will always remain - my ideal pursuit.

A Billionaire Mindset

Walk on coals, or run a triathlon,  

Just do the impossible - you won't look back, for one.

With a string of positive outcomes, you'll be set on fire, 

Just wish for it dearly, with your whole heart's desire. 

I know the tricks of the trade, how to make you tick,

Instant inspiration and a push, that gives you results quick. 

Endure the process, give it all you have got, 

Failure is not an option, it's victory you sought.

If I put my mind to it, I can be the greatest coach, 

A motivator par excellence, an achiever beyond reproach.

I'll help you reach your goals, grant you success in your pursuits, 

I'll help you toil, when you plant the seeds, and relax and enjoy, when it bears fruits. 

But alas, I choose not to use my tools, for all that you seem to care,

Are not goals that are poetic or sublime, but to become a billionaire!  

Letting Go

Eighteenth birthday, dawns a bittersweet truth,  

That your child has turned, into an independent youth. 

Now he can make his own decisions, doesn't need your advice, 

Can choose for himself, what is virtue, what's vice. 

 

You should be happy, he has grown, he can now fly alone, 

All you're worried is what you'll do, when he is no longer home. 

He has set his sails high, wants to explore wide and far, 

As he gets sucked in the rat race, you hope he'll still play guitar. 

 

Now its free-for-all, age is no longer a bar, 

He can be left to fend for himself, in this cut-throat bazaar,

That may be true of western world, I'm still an Indian dad, 

I'll keep hovering over him, although this makes him feel bad. 

Eighteen years is a long preparation, from the time you were a child, 

Readying myself to be strong and resilient, as I let you out into the wild. 

Becoming a Centenarian

Smoking, drinking, sedentary lifestyle, 

All increase mortality, are vices vile.

Refrain from them, and you'll add to your life,

Remove the cancerous tissues, with a surgical knife.  

 

Breathing polluted air, ups the dying odds,

If you're obese and not lean- can't leave to gods.

Indulge in some activity- like doing brisk walk,

Become part of a group - that's more laughter and talk. 

 

Then walking won't be a chore, but become a pleasurable norm,

You'll get help when you need it- be it rain or storm. 

You'll feel protected and cared, not lonely or in despair, 

Connections breathe new life, is a statement fair.   

When woven in the social fabric, your odds jump by one and half,

For a long life you don't need much - with your friends daily laugh.

Just a Poem Away

A quarter century, a milestone crossed,

Missing the reunion, an opportunity lost,

To meet in person, the ghosts of youth-

The poems of pain and the songs to soothe.

Faded memories and withered face,

Will I remember all, be able to place,

Indeed that's now, a theoretical concern,

To make up for my loss- I'll write poem one.

To miss the gathering, seems like a crime,

Its I who'll be sore- I'm sure you'll be fine,

Though absent in body, my heart will be there,

Can a poem make up for me, is a question fair. 

 

I hope when you'll meet, you'll spare a thought for us,

The ones who couldn't make it- those who missed the bus!

 

 

PS: This poem is written with some inspiration/ help from Bard. 

Brief Encounters of the Third Kind

A brief encounter, in the therapy room,

A ray of hope, amidst all round gloom.

Dazzled by the charisma, of therapist at large,

I've become dependent, giving up charge. 

He stirs up memories, and conflicts of past,

Our sessions are limited, they won't forever last, 

The painful realization- this too shall pass,

I'll emerge stronger, but would be alone - alas!

The meeting was potent, he could see through me,

His touch was healing - letting me just be!

He cast on me, almost a magical spell,

My problems disappeared, but on him I dwell. 

A moment in time, that got imprinted on my mind, 

We have to see if the effects last, as the sessions wind.