A Schizophrenic’s Love Poem

I whip up two coffees

One with an extra spoon of sugar for you

I set it on the table and peer out

Through the cold glass of the window

Pulling the muffler tighter

Almost choking, I loosen it again

I see a figure striding down the driveway

I smile; it has got to be you

Though I see you clearly, I deny your existence

For they say, I see things that cannot be

I get back to my room’s dark reality

I see two coffees getting cold

I sit alone with the two cups

Waiting, waiting for you

I run my fingers along

The patterned silk of the tablecloth

You didn’t like the silk one

I change it to the white laced cover

Though I hear the creaks clearly

I deny your existence

For they say, I hear things that cannot be

I focus on the chair’s broken arm

You don’t like sitting on that one

I switch my chair for yours

I still wait with the two cups

I can’t take in its aroma now

I hear you climbing up the stairs

It won’t be long before you enter

To have a coffee gone cold waiting for you

Though I hear the squeaks of your Nike clearly

I deny your existence

For they say, I hear things that cannot be

I look at myself in the mirror

I still wear the apron with the burn mark

I remove it, lest you should feel it’s dirty

I see you enter my room

You give me that sunny smile

And as you bend down for a peck

I shut my eyes tightly

I spill the coffee

I break the mugs

And I deny your existence

For now I know, I see things that cannot be

Sounds of Silence

This poem has been written for my best friend's little autistic brother Pushkar.

Sitting in a place where silence echoes

And the painting on the wall looms large

Where even the air seems to be making noise

With the little boy in my lap

I try to understand him

Yet, for some reason, I can not

I watch him sit calmly, soundlessly

Mourning the stillness

That speaks of some unknown displeasure

I stare at the mute Casio in his hand

Half expecting it to spring to life

I curse myself for not being able

To give words to his tunes of silence

I look at him again

Into those eyes gazing at some distant land

Not looking into mine

Yet, expecting me to understand

I listen to the muteness that surrounds us

And that stillness tells me that I know him

And I nod; he laughs

And his laughter echoes with the sounds of silence.

I’m still that little girl

Today as I woke up in the morning, my eyes fell on a portrait of Pt. Jawaharlal Nehru in the newspaper that my mother had just placed on my bed. I sat up and read the lines written below it. “Commemorating the 125^th birth anniversary of Pt. Jawaharlal Nehru” I called out to my mum “You didn't wish us mama, today is children’s day.” “Is it 14^th?” she asked returning with a cup. “Oh, then Happy children’s day.” My mother’s casual wish made me smile. I realized that I’m no longer that little girl wearing frilled frocks who would have been given a warm hug and lots of chocolates on this day. I am a seventeen year old now who ought to be content with a casual “Happy Children’s day.”And I was reminded of some of the teachers in school who now need to be told “Sir/Ma’am, It is children’s day today!”

Today as I sit reflecting on those years spent munching wafers and enjoying tangy toffees, I wonder where’s that little girl who would run with Dad around the house if the weather wasn't good enough to play outside? Where’s that girl who would throw a tantrum if asked to wear that red frock. Where’s the girl who would catch as many toffees (chocolaty melody, to be specific) as she could when Dad would throw some into the air asking both of us (me an’ my sis) to catch them (even helping himself to some)? Where’s that girl who would count the number of stars in her notebook? Where’s the girl who would reach school early in order to sit on the flower shaped chair? Where’s that girl who would run around telling everyone that it is children’s day and children really deserve something special on the day?

The little girl inside me today, urges me to be that little girl yet again. I hear her say softly to me “You are still a little girl. Just that you have given in to the norms of the society to behave like a sensible teen. Don’t you want to have those tangy toffees again? Don’t you want to wear those frocks yet again? Don’t you want a treat on children’s day?” And I realize that my taste buds still tingle for that tangy taste (Alas! Those toffees aren't available anymore), I still want to catch toffees thrown in air (I can catch more now; I've got bigger hands, wink. . .) I still want to play stupid games in the rain. I still want to celebrate children’s day with the same gusto. I still want to be that little girl again. And today, I pledge, for this one day, I will be that little girl yet again because I still am the little girl I once was...

A Virtual Image

You are just like my image

Standing in the same stone corridor

With the same depth in those eyes.

Whispering the secrets

I revealed to you long back

And repeat them even now

Loudly sometimes, in my sleep

When I dream of you.

You wear the same dress as I do

Holding a same sized, melting candle in your left.

When I move forward

You come closer too.

Yet, when I try to reach you

My fingers feel cold

Even in the candle light warmth.

I cannot touch you

For there’s a mirror in between.

You are but a deception, a virtual image.

A creepy night

It was a pleasant night. I was sitting in the comforting arms of the sofa by the living room window. The cool breeze was scraping over my face and blowing my hair in all possible directions. The whole house was in a deathly silence. I was alone, reading ‘The Shining’ (Stephen King). The setting was perfect. The distant barking of the stray dogs provided the necessary background sound. Fear had gripped every inch of my body. The book was giving me the creeps! Suddenly, breaking the silent lull of the house and startling me, the doorbell rang. I bookmarked page number 89 and ran to open the door thinking my parents had returned. But, I was wrong! The open front doors revealed a little girl, I had never seen. “Your parents are calling you to that place” She gestured towards some far off house, partially hidden by the huge Banyan tree. “Could you lead me please” I was curious as well as nervous. After fidgeting with the keys for some time, I left with her in a jiffy. The place was dark. “Perhaps the street light is not functional….Common in this street” I said to the girl barely visible in the dark. “Yeah…so, here.” Unexpectedly, she pushed me into the house which I realized was famously known as “The haunted mansion” by the children of the colony. I heard the lock click but my eyes failed me in the dark (a mistake for which I have still not forgiven them and have burdened them with specs!). I mustered the little courage I had and dared to step ahead through what I guessed was the hallway. Somewhere a guitar string was plucked and the vibrating sound after ricocheting off the walls was ringing in my ears. I increased my pace, throwing my arms wildly in all direction to avoid being hit square in the face by some wall. My hand suddenly touched something. I clutched the thing and felt it. Being a biology student I whacked my brain and came to the conclusion that it felt like a bone! I had no interest in knowing whether it was the femur or a broken part of the rib cage and so, I shrieked and dropped it. My heart was beating hard against my chest and I was drenched to the bones in sweat! And then it all unfolded like the plot of a horror film…those strange, eerie sounds made their way to my ears. I started running so fast that I could have won India a gold had I been in the Olympics! The heavy sound of footsteps told me that someone was chasing me. I looked back to make my hair stand on its ends…it was a skeleton. I shouted and ran…getting hit every now and then by a bone flung at me or getting soaked by the blood being splashed (that’s at least what I thought!) I then found the staircase and tried climbing it but wicked witches and skeletons looked down at me with glaring, fiery eyes! I ran for the door, but as expected, it was locked! I turned around to witness death closing its jaws on me! All the skeletons and witches were closing down on me! The sound of the wails and howls pierced my ear drums…but it was gradually dying down…the scene was becoming hazy….I was about to faint and fall when the chorus of “It’s us!” gave me the strength to sit down instead of lying flat on the floor! The lights were flicked on and the skeletons had removed their masks to reveal my parents and friends! We all sat laughing till with my dad’s gesture, the creepy sounds died away and silence enveloped the house once again as we left. I hesitantly looked over my shoulders and saw a skeleton bidding me goodbye. I clutched my dad tighter and smiled to myself as he looked down at me…

Haider: Watching Kashmir Through a Broken Lens

The legendary Shammi Kapoor rendering the famous “Tareef karun kya uski” sung by another legend- Md. Rafi, the beautiful Sharmila Tagore clad in a phirin against the backdrop of a serene and heavenly place (From the movie Kashmir Ki Kali). That was my first and lasting impression of Kashmir. The many Bollywood movies churned one after another with scenes of a sparkling Jhelum, the calm Dal Lake and a singing valley glorified that impression to an even greater extent. That was. . . That was until recently, when I happened to watch the movie Haider by Vishal Bharadwaj, an adaptation of Shakespeare’s Hamlet set against the backdrop of a 1995 conflict- ridden Kashmir. Written by Basharat Peer, the movie captures the intense human emotions and conflicts within along with the external conflicts.

The Sparkling Jhelum I had seen suddenly turned into a stinking, watery death; the songs of the valley that reverberated in my mind turned into screams of innocent people being held prisoners and tortured; the beautiful women were suddenly ‘half widows’, even the snow laden peaks that seemed so inviting loomed like an impending catastrophe.

The movie is so powerful, it can make anyone with a heart cry. The characters have been sketched so well, the scenes are so captivating and the performances just blend in with the characters.

For the first time, the Indian Cinema has shown us the real picture of the state hidden behind its alluring persona and it is a painful one. That Kashmir which is often called ‘paradise on earth’ has come to this is a very hurtful thought and I wish it was just a movie. Sadly, I came to know through the media that this is the bitter truth and Kashmir still lives in fear, its flowers still are afraid to bloom, its water still stinks of death, its songs still are the bombs that are dropped every now and then and its women still those ‘half widows’.

I wonder when will Kashmir be that Kashmir again and when will we watch “Tareef Karun kya uski” with the genuine feeling of “wow, this is the real Kashmir” against the backdrop of a sparkling Jhelum and a colorful valley with laughing dimpled girls yet again?? 

A Lesson Learnt After Falling Ill

“A friend in need is a friend indeed”I've always known this quote as a cliche that I forever wanted to avoid. But today, being discharged from the hospital after four longest days, I can really feel the truth of these words weighing in on me. Being diagnosed with “severe iron deficiency anemia”, I needed blood transfusion (as well as scary process of investigations as to why Hemoglobin is so low). As known to everyone, if you take blood from the blood bank, you've got to give back. My dad, being diabetic and my mum an’ sis anemic, none of them could donate blood. I had no option other than sending out an SOS to all my contacts. But that day, I cried... I cried my heart out, for, the people I’d expected would reply with at least a “What happened? All fine?” did not.
Here I would like to mention Priya Dash, my bestest buddy who has always been there for me and whose parents offered to donate blood for me. She has been calling me every day since I took ill and although, she isn't physically present all the time, she never ever lets me feel the same.
I would also like to thank my teachers +Anees Ahmad sir and Pushpa chauhan ma’am who offered their full support and acted as pillars of strength, helping me to tide over earlier than it would have taken me.Also Rohini ma’am, +Gursimran Kaur ma’am and Bindoo Gupta ma’am were great sources of help who didn't forget that their student was in need of some light in her dark days.
Special mention to Afreen Khusru as well, who assured me that her Dad could help, if need be and offered her good wishes.Last but definitely not the least, thanks to Saba, Sara, Sana and Yashi, who despite being a bit late, called nevertheless to inquire and give their “Get Well Soon” message.
But yes, being ill taught me to never expect things from anyone and always be gratuitous to the ones who are “friends indeed”And yeah, this quote seems to fit.

A Daughter’s Lament

When I wake up from my dreams

I don’t want to see the ceiling and the fan

But you, oh mother!

I want to breathe in that scent of yours

I want to hear the thump of your heart

I want to feel your sighing breath

Waking up from a deep slumber

Time and again when I realize

That it’s not your soft lap but my bed

On which I closed my eyes and dreamt of you

Oh mother! Can you understand my pain and agony

Of growing up to an age whence

I can no longer fit into your lap

How nice were those good ol’ days

When you would pat me to sleep singing a lullaby

When you would run after me so that I don’t fall

When you held my hand and made me write my first alphabet

When you would pull back my hair into a little ponytail

People fantasize of growing up and big

But Oh mother! My fantasy is to lie

In your lap and close my eyes

Never to grow up again in my life

Rise

In the wake of dawn

When the sun throws

Its balmy light upon the soil

Wet with the morning dew

And the leaf bows down

With the weight of a drop

When the moon no longer

Smiles in the bluest lake

And the first bird

Takes its flight

In the still golden sky

With vestiges of an orange tinge

When in the vast ocean

With water that knows no bounds

In the sea of tranquility

The lonely sailor

Sings of homecoming

In his deep baritone

Then is the time

The time to rise

And touch the skies. . .

United We Stand

 I will sit in a chapel with stillness looming large

And take in the aroma of scented candles melting

Made by women of some foreign lands

And listen to the Hebrew chant of psalms

Soft as coils of silken thread

With its notes rising and falling in ancient tunes

Until my feet start singing perfectly in sync

Narrate to me and I’ll listen to your ancestral links

Of caravans in deserts blown away

Leaving behind the perfectly embroidered fabric

And tiny heirlooms in silk lined boxes

A traditional turban, a studded brooch

Tucked away in an embellished pouch

Tell me about your soldiers, your heroes

Who line the walls in black and white

 In frames of dry Rosewood and Mahogany

Take me to their graves, I’ll lay the wreath

Show me the paintings you’ve treasured since ages

With the sketching curious and strokes indefinable

Reveal to me your secrets in whispers

That can haunt me well for over a lifetime

Tell me about the mysteries that have never been solved

In a language, yet to the world, unknown

Tell me about your culture, your traditions

Customs buried deep under the dust of time

Labeled as ‘strange ones’ by the rest of the world

I’ll sit and listen for long

Till I’m sung a lullaby in verses unfathomable

And cover myself up in a patched quilt

Each piece contributed by a different nation

I’ll listen to the tales of your land and tell you about mine

So that your land becomes mine and my land yours

And we’ll join hands to form an endless chain

For, it’s unity that keeps us as one and makes us stand

Her Mistake

This poem is dedicated to all those women who have been victims of assaults. And also to all those who have stood up against such crimes.

Oh well. . . She shouted and she cried

To drive him off, everything she tried

She shouldn't have done that for her own sake

That was, that was her mistake

Oh! She was so alluring

They said reassuring

“It won’t happen isn't just a promise I make

It happened to her as that was her mistake”

She seemed so hot

And her dress was a tad too short

The risk, she herself did take

So that was her mistake

Oh! This nonsense has reached its height

She was a girl who put up a tough fight

She didn't fear him, she didn't shake

Yes, that was, that was her ONLY mistake!

Silent Celebrations

Whole town revels in a festive fervor
And the excitement refuses to die down
The tinkling bells, the soft glowing bulbs
The fresh holly hocks, the satin ribbons
All adore the numerous bustling shops

Kids cry for a yet another balloon
A young couple look for more bulbs
To deck up their Christmas tree laden with things.
Falling under the burgeoning weight of gifts
A girl goes tapping her heels

The ladies look for an embroidered gown
To be worn at the ball tonight
The men go from shop to shop
Looking for the most exotic flowers
To be put in the empty vases back home

Midst all the chaos and the colors
Deep down the alley where darkness creeps
In a house lit by a single lamp
Sit an old couple, wrinkled and pale
Celebrating silence, wanting nothing

They sit holding hands
Sans a fire crackling in the room
The woman's fragile hands into his bony ones
Deep inside, down there
They gaze and gaze
Looking for warmth in each other's eyes

In a derelict Building

A glass phial to treasure my tears

A haunted setting to uproot my fears

A butterfly net to trap my happiness

An old broom to clear the mess

A wonderful toy to ease my stress

A little doll’s comb to smooth my tress

A magic wand to cease my pain

A lot of knowledge for me to gain

Soothing music to free me from agony

Absolute stillness to let me live in harmony

A punching bag to vent my anger

A fruit bowl to satisfy my hunger

A pair of scissors to cut off sad parts

A beautiful guitar to please a million hearts

A box of paint to add some hue

Blank pages and pen to write life anew

I found all this and much more

In a derelict building’s store!

A Mother's Loss

I sent him proudly to that faraway land

To the land where

Death cruelly awaited him.

He was a soldier

He had to go for that war

The war that claimed his life

And made him the nation’s pride

But Oh! Who saw the heart of a mother bleed

As I put up a fake smile

He was my son, my only son

As I wiped the vermillion off his widow’s parted hair

Who saw my hand quiver and shake

They all said I was a brave woman

As they never saw me weep near his grave

But, who saw the tears on my pillow

As I hung it to dry every morning

They said I was so courageous

As I did not wail at his mention

But, who saw me spending sleepless nights

Thinking of him, of his smile

Of how he had promised to return soon

To put his head lovingly on my lap

They said I was a wise woman

As I consoled his child well

But, who heard my silenced cries

As I told his little one

That his Dad would return soon

With his unfulfilled promise of getting him a car

As I stepped on the stage to receive a medal

A medal of his martyrdom, of his bravery

They all hailed him as the pride of the nation

But, Oh! Who saw it as a mother’s greatest loss

The loss of her son, her only son

Who was sent to that faraway land

The land where

Death cruelly awaited him.

The Promise of a Dawn

When the moon sings a lullaby

And thousands of twinkling stars adorn

The endless veil of the heaven

And the little sparrow

Hushes its baby to sleep

In its comfy nest of dried sun hemp

When the crickets’ harsh cries

Make the baby, asleep in the cradle

Wail for his sleeping mother

Lost in her just fantasized dream

Of wonderland and winged white horses

Taking her child to the Isle of Joy

When the frail fingers of the old widow

Touch the corners of her prayer rug

And she spreads it out to kneel before the lord

And moves her lips in a silent prayer

With each word drifting like a leaf

Drifting up to settle in God’s tree

Then, I can see the promise of a new dawn

As the warm rays of the sun hunt down

A leaf at a time, bush by bush

The soil of ground inch by inch

House by house, every surface

Till everything gets engulfed 

In a mystical orange glow. . .