Coffee With Buddha

A coffee mug is given, attachment kicks in,

Parting from it now, seems almost a sin.

Clinging to gains is natural, and so is aversion to loss,

The more mugs you covet, the more life goes for a toss.

 

You take a sip from the mug, your joy knows no bound,

Pleasure is inevitable, don't let it into mania compound.

A slight slip and the mug breaks, this hurt too shall pass,

You can perhaps apply gold, and make it a whole new class.

 

You dazzle your friends with your Kintsugi art, don't let praise get to your head,

 If they blamed you for the accident instead, would you rather be dead?

Over time the repaired mugs on your shelf, seal your fate as an artist of note,

 But that you broke the mugs in the first place, people censure and you careless vote.

 

Don't let the eight worldly winds blow you offtrack, remain centered and calm,

Loosen your grip on the mugs, just let them float with ease balanced on a drunkard's palm.

The Saloon (Madhushala) [21-30]

Continuing my ambitious project to translate Madhushala in English for the benefit of those whose first language is not Hindi. You can read the original poem in Hindi here.  

Madhushala has always fascinated me and this is my way of paying homage to Late Shri Harivansh Rai Bachchan.  

The Saloon (Madhushala) [1-10] 

The Saloon (Madhushala) [11-20]  

What follows are the next 10 quatrains [21-30] 

  

Big lineages can wither or go bust, with no one to cry and mourn,

Palaces can degenerate into ruins, where once dancing courtiers were born.

Let kingdoms be overthrown, the fortune of monarchs sleep under the moon,

But the drunkards will not budge an inch, and wide awake will be the saloon. [21]

 

All will turn to ashes; what remains is the cupbearer and the dance of death,

All beauty will be drained of sustenance; only the wine and the poison will have breath.

All places of merriment and gaiety will become places of silence and doom,

Wide awake will be the busy graveyard, and wide awake will be the saloon. [22]  

 

The dashing, tipsy goblet in this world, will but be labelled a fool,

The dandy server a connoisseur of joy, on which the quirky drinker does drool.

Can the world and wine coexist in harmony- I guess, oh, not so soon,

The world deteriorates every day, while like a newly-wed the saloon.[23]

 

If you condemn the saloon without taking a sip, you’re but a drunken fool,

If you take a sip, you’ll be lip-locked and silenced forever like a buffoon.

The victory is of the cup and the wine; both slaves and rebels are fools,

Like Napoleon, to conquer the world, has arrived my saloon [24]

 

The world may go through the harshest winter; it’s always spring in the tavern,

It always burns with the fire of Holika, while the world bleeds in Muharram.

It doesn’t know sorrow and grief; it has descended on earth as heaven’s boon,

While the world recites dirges and elegies, Id is celebrated by the saloon. [25]

 

Once in a year, and only one time, the fire of Holi burns bright,

Once a year you gamble all you have, the diyas light up the night.

O people of the world, I dare you to visit any day the saloon,

In the day Holi, and in the night Diwali, daily celebrates my saloon. [26]

 

Not sure which human came first, pretending to be the nectar seeker,

Who didn’t nurse on the cupbearer's breast-definitely not this speaker,

Drinking life, they remain drunk, whether human or baboon,

That's why they first discovered, on encountering the world, the saloon. [27]

 

Let the delicate vine of grapes flourish, from which is made the wine,

Let the soil enrich and prosper, which is used to make the earthen cup shine,

Let the thirst of alcohol deepen; let it not be satiated so soon,

Let the drinkers thrive and sustain; let it remain open, this saloon [28]

 

Consider myself safe and sound, if the cupbearer feels so,

The difference between good and bad, the rowdy doesn't know.

Don’t ask whether I’m fine, but do ask how is the saloon?

Don’t greet me with a ‘Hail Mary’; if you care, greet as ‘Hail Saloon’. [29]

 

The sun is the merchant of nectar, sea the bearer, water wine,

The clouds are the cup bearer, and the earth a cup so fine.

A torrent of wine flows down, pitter patter in the monsoon,

Let me absorb it like grass and creepers; like the rainy season, be the saloon. [30]

Being Resilient

Facing reality, is grueling work,

You can't close eyes, or behind hope lurk.

My venture is faltering, there are limited clients,

I'm as doomed, as a David amongst giants.

 

I have trained to survive, before the fact,

I'm bleeding profusely, can drop the act.

I need to find meaning, in my suffering, my trial,

That elusive companion, I need for another mile.  

 

I value this field so much, I'll gladly embrace the cross,

Turn my pain into poems, about the misery I don't gloss.

I merged programming and psych, though it was a failed marriage,

Now poetry and psychology, maybe this will be a better bricolage? 

 

I'm tinkering with my life, but I'm also absolutely clear-eyed,

I'll be a winner in the end, though in the process I might've died.

Mindful, Of What?

The sudden drilling in an adjacent flat, the constant hum of the construction noise,

If mindfulness is a panacea, attending to them should help me maintain my poise.

The question looms large should I attend to the din, live in the here and now?

Be present and curious about my neighborhood sounds, be mindful, holy cow! 

 

It's good to be mindful and present, when birds are chirping nearby,

When you're drenched in the silence of nature, and time doesn't seem to fly.

But you're sometimes stuck in a cacophony, that's not entirely your fault,

Do you need to soundproof your room then, and go deep down in your vault?

 

The procession will in time pass away, the sound will eventually stop,

Do I need to attend and wallow in now, or brush them aside with a mop?

Either do not let me notice them, or if noticing let me clean,

How can I keep wallowing in them, thoughts that are ugly and mean?

 

Should I attend to my environment or my body, I'm totally confused,

There's little hope for me to be mindful, as long as with my thoughts I am fused.

The Saloon (Madhushala) [11-20]

Continuing my ambitious project to translate Madhushala in English for the benefit of those whose first language is not Hindi. You can read the original poem in Hindi here.  

Madhushala has always fascinated me and this is my way of paying homage to Late Shri Harivansh Rai Bachchan.  

The Saloon (Madhushala) [1-10] 

What follows are the next 10 quatrains [11-20] 

 

The sound of jaltarang manifests, as a glass kisses another glass,

Strings of a veena resonate, when walks the girl belonging to the dancing class.

The beats are provided by the haggling, of the barkeeper who shouts, does not croon,

The melody of the orchestra is sweetened further, by the wine of the saloon. [11]

 

The tender hands holding the ruby cup, are in mehndi color draped,

The bartender is of a golden hue, but by the grape-coloured veil is caped.

Wearing violet turbans, indigo suits, steadfast are the drinking goon,

It puts to shame the rainbow, today my colorful saloon. [12]

 

Before coming to your eager hands, the glass will but tease,

It will torment with its charm, before the wine your lips appease.

The bargirl will say no a million times, won’t come near so soon,

Don’t fret, my dear traveller, it’ll but welcome you, the saloon. [13]

 

The flame of the wine is red, don’t mistake it for the fire of hell,

The bubbles and froth of the wine, are but not the blisters that in one’s heart dwell.

The hangover of this wine is agony, the cupbearer the memory’s tight cocoon,

Only those who thrive in misery and pain, dare enter my saloon. [14]

 

Like the wine of the world, O traveller, mine doesn’t placate or soothe,

My cup burns and seethes with fire; the world’s cup is cold and sans use.

Burning wine in a scorching cup, this poem is the ignited heart’s dune,

The one who doesn’t mind incineration, dare enter my saloon. [15

 

You’ve seen the flowing wine ofttimes; now see the one that rises as a flame,

When it burns as soon as it touches your lips, don’t you dare the cup’s potency blame.

“To drink 2 sips, we’ll immolate gladly, like the chatak pining for the monsoon,’

Such madmen possessed by the wine, to them calls today my saloon. [16]

 

The one whose inner flame has engulfed, all religious scriptures and books,

The one who has broken the shackles, of temples as well as mosques,

The one who has risen above, the church as well as the commune,

Only such a madman can be today, welcomed in my saloon. [17]

 

The one who hasn’t coveted, with eager lips the wine,

With trembling hands hasn’t touched the cup, how can he be fine?

The one who didn’t pull the bargirl near, who to her charm is immune,

He has wasted life and left high and dry, his whole life’s sweet saloon. [18]

 

Let the bargirl be the priest of love, and the wine pure Gangajal,

Let me turn the rosary beads of cups, never have a moment dull,

‘Take some more, drink some more’, this mantra let me chant and croon,

Let me become the statue of Shiva, and the temple this saloon [19]

 

The bells didn’t ring in the temples, the statue remains ungarlanded,

He is sitting in his house, the maulvi, on the mosque a lock he slid.

The billionaires are brought to ruin, the fortress is vanquished and will fall soon,

But let the drunkards be blessed and provided; let it remain open, this saloon. [20]

Being Mindful

As we live on the sidelines, life moves on,

By the time we bring in focus, the moment is gone.

Our gaze fixed on the road ahead, distracted by the rear view,

We could notice the roses too, who fathomed, who knew?

 

To live life in the present, we don't need to slow down,

Only be curious about the moment, and on observing not frown.

Thoughts are but cars on the freeway, some move fast, some slow,

Will you yield to your road rage, or continue to drive in flow?

 

Can you be curious about the passengers, traveling by your side,

And by connecting with them on a deeper level, make this a joyride?

To enjoy a perfect ride, you don't need to empty the streets,

Mindfulness is actually where, curiosity with presence meets.

 

When you live in the present, you're more aware of the context,  

To enjoy a poem or a novel, listen to the pauses between the text. 

Will You Share, Please

Sharing is caring, what will you share?

Will you share the abyss, into which you daily stare?

Or will you share the sun, present a bright facade,

Instead of the hidden devil, project glimpses of God?

 

For there are parts of you, that others fear and dread,

That you are bipolar since youth, and still need to take med, 

That knowledge has to be qualified, with your success at work,

Lest a failure set off, the devils that within lurk.  

 

You can boast of your success, but that will be mostly hollow,

To cover for your illness, does success necessarily have to follow?

What if you took a risk with your career, what if you did not hold a job,

Would you be reduced to your illness, will this stigma ever stop? 

 

Sharing is caring, to break stigma one needs to share,

Will you share your struggles too, is my #WorldMentalHealth day dare.

 

PS: Written on the occasion of The World Mental Health day 2026.