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Futile fluttering of tired textbooks!Music to my ears!

Thursday 15 March 2012

The Windy Canyon

The Windy Canyon


The world seems different,
From this tiny nook,
Nested in a tall cliff,
Above a babbling brook,

White, foamy cataracts
Of gurgling water gush,
As dark slabs of mica
Jut out to brush,

In a howling gust, 
Pine trees sway,
The crowning glory,
Of a flawless sunny day,

A deer stares back,
From atop a hill,
Coercing my soul,
To unlock and spill,

I thank the deer,
For all it did,
To calm the heart,
And the turmoil that lay amid,

When an eagle screeches,
Soaring way up high,
Reassuring the naked trees,
Spring is nigh!
-Hardik Kothare






Sunday 25 September 2011

Nothing Like You


Nothing Like You

The skies are clear,
And the day was bright,
Seated at the pier,
In the dimming daylight,

I brave the chill,
And the nippy breeze,
A few moments until,
I begin to freeze,

The mass of water,
Is a constant reminder,
Of distances that separate,
And the bonds that matter,

The ball of fire begins to set,
Only to rise over my native land,
Witnessed by the fisherman's net,
And the golden glistening sand,

He tries to hide a joyful tear,
And smiles from the heavens blue,
And whispers in my motherland's ear,
"The world is beautiful but there's nothing like you...."
-Hardik Kothare




Friday 15 July 2011

The Entire Story of a Tired Nation

      We are tired of evenings that start with frantic phone calls from anxious relatives and friends. We are tired of turning on our television sets and drowning ourselves in a sea of shock, horror and fury. We are tired of being numbed by what we see. We are tired of keeping a track of rising death tolls. We are tired of news channels stoking passions and spreading rumours.We are tired of being clay pigeons at a shooting range. We are tired of being transformed from human beings to mangled pieces of blood and flesh.

      We are tired of being vulnerable.We are tired of knowing that we are vulnerable. We are tired of being reminded that we are vulnerable. We are tired of knowing that we will remain vulnerable. We don't want to be widowed wives and orphaned children. We are tired of knowing that our lives are no longer precious. We are tired of knowing that there is nobody who can protect us. We are tired of knowing that we are not being protected by those who must protect us. We are tired of seeing gory images in newspapers. We are tired of watching news reporters asking questions like, "Kaisa lag raha hai?" and "Kaisa mahsoos hua?". We are pained to watch grieving relatives being tortured by everyone. We are tired of Shobhaa De and Rahul Bose representing Mumbaikars in times of adversity. We are tired of immature politicians making insensitive statements. We are tired of being assured that 'the perpetrators shall be punished'. Tell this to the little boy who lost his mother...tell this to the elderly father who still waits for his son to return.....define JUSTICE.

      We are tired of being shepherded like sheep. We are tired of being shepherded by inefficient shepherds. We have the right to govern ourselves. We are yet to find the right way to govern ourselves. We are tired of emergency meetings and probationary committees. We are tired of ministers who play musical chairs. We are tired of being reminded that we are turning into a banana republic (or are we there already?). We are tired of people who plan candle marches and wear white to show 'solidarity'.  We are tired of knowing the fact that most of these candle light marchers have never voted. We are tired of the terms 'Spirit of Mumbai' and 'Resilience'. Arre ghanta resilience! Do we have an option? Who'll feed our families? In a city that runs to survive, do you expect people to show up at work to 'teach the terrorists a lesson'? We are tired of terrorism. We are tired of the word 'terrorism'. We are tired of realising that it could have been you, me, your loved ones, anyone you know...... We shudder at the thought of that possibility. We are tired of shuddering.

      We are tired of being assumed as morons. We are tired of intelligence failure. We wonder who is more intelligent then......

      We are tired of ranting. We are tired of ranting like this: http://hardikkothare.blogspot.com/2008/11/tolerance-limit-has-been-crossed.html

      We know that we would have to rant again. We are tired of being a soft state. We are tired of being tolerant. We are tired of knowing that being intolerant is considered 'anti-national' and 'anti-father-of-the-nation'. We are tired of anachronistic concepts like 'ahimsa' when it comes to retaliation. We are tired of paying taxes to ensure maximum comfort for convicted murderers who waged war against our nation. We are tired of knowing that the dead shall not be avenged because we are too 'non-violent' to seek revenge. We are tired of offering our second cheek. We are tired of porous borders. We are tired of watching metal detectors being used as toys. We are tired of a fattu foreign policy which is as amorphous and abstract as anything can be.

      We are tired of 2 post-blast weeks of inconclusive debates. We are tired of knowing that nobody would care a damn after 2 weeks. We are tired of being tired. I am tired to know that this is not the end. And I would be required to rant again.....I am tired of not knowing when....And I am proud to say that although the nation is tired of asking questions which do not have answers, the nation will never get tired of itself....we are tired of consoling ourselves but we are not tired of saying JAI HIND....and I find comfort in this fact.

(In memory of every single person who had the honour of dying for our motherland....especially those who lost their lives in the serial train blasts that ripped Mumbai 5 years ago on this day of Guru Pournima....)
     

Tuesday 5 July 2011

Solace

Solace

When the wait turns long,
And right appears wrong,
I seek solace in words,

When hope seems hopeless,
And time seems seamless,
I seek solace in words,

When spirits aren't high,
And the unwanted is nigh,
I seek solace in words,

When I want her to know,
That it is indeed so,
I seek solace in words,

When eyes aren't dry,
And it's time to say goodbye,
I seek solace in words. 

When dreams come true,
And things are no longer blue,
I know I am seeking solace in words.
-Hardik Kothare

Wednesday 29 June 2011

The Sole Warrior

The Sole Warrior

Stranded alone,
On a lonely isle,
When fate decides,
To beguile,

Phantom allies,
By my side,
Nowhere to run,
No place to hide,

Because it is my battle to fight,
And my battle to win!

A rusty sword,
Lies by my feet,
Which craves for victory,
And vengeance sweet,

The clock is ticking,
And I'm pushed to the wall,
I won't surrender myself,
To my enemy's gall,

Because it is MY battle to fight,
And MY battle to win!
-Hardik Kothare


Monday 13 June 2011

To take a 'Dig' at...Redefined

          There are times when you ought to speak out. There are times when silence saves your skin. But there are some who believe that the ability to voice a distasteful and inconsiderate opinion (even when nobody cares for their opinion) is a virtue. Diggy Loose Cannon is one such believer and he was more than ready to talk to us.

Me: Thanks for talking to us!

Diggy: Always a pleasure to use my cannon....

Me: Er....

Diggy: I know...I know....Let's hunt for a better word....Ah! Yes! Rainwater drain? Words gush out of my           mouth because there are just too many words that I know. And they need to go somewhere, don't they?

Me: Right! Do you have an explanation for why the media gives so much importance to your comments?

Diggy: Everybody follows the Hunk!

Me:?

Diggy: That's my Twitter handle.

Me: Oh! That's a royal handle. Suits your royal lineage, your majesty!

Diggy: I don't like to talk about my royal blood. And don't call me 'your majesty'. My loyalty lies with 'Her Majesty' and I am always ready to serve Her and the Prince. *Burp* Talking of serving, the leftovers they served at 10 Janpath this morning were delicious. We all line up for our daily ration of leftover breakfast. Although I have to say that the breakfast was a bit salty. But I am quite sure that it is all an RSS conspiracy. Someone from the RSS has planted a cook, who is an agent of the BJP too. It must be his doing.

Me: And why would the RSS do that?

Diggy: It is an old habit. They love to add more salt to people's breakfasts and promote anarchy in the nation.

Me: Sir, your outspokenness has not only made you notorious but has also made you the butt of several jokes. What do you have to say about it?

Diggy: I consider it to be my honour. It is always great to get a chance to follow the footsteps of Arjun Singh. I intend to be like him...to be hated by people who don't matter and to be under the impression that I am being loved by some people for being hated by some people. There are two ways to achieve political immortality. Being hated for eternity is the easiest way.

Me: What are your short term political goals?

Diggy: To be a well established mentor. Mentors hold the real keys to power. Arjun (the original one) could not have fought without Lord Krishna as his mentor cum chauffeur ( I must remember to flagellate myself for thinking of the Mahabharata....looks like the VHP has secretly started to brainwash me), Chandragupta Maurya became the Emperor but Chanakya attained greater satisfaction....

Me: But who entrusted you with this responsibility.

Diggy: Responsibility? There's nothing responsible in coaching others to start making irresponsible statements. It is an art. And I am ready to fight those who oppose this form of art.

Me: So why do you oppose the art of dancing?

Diggy: I don't like people who dance to the tunes of patriotic songs. Dancing to Italian pop music is a different issue. Anyone who dances to Her Majesty's tune deserves applause. The rest deserve criticism. And moreover Rajghat is the private property of the Congress party. Others shouldn't hold protests at Rajghat.

Me: Not even Anna Hazare?

Diggy: It is all an RSS conspiracy.

Me: Hmm. So you think corruption is a non-issue?

Diggy: Of course. Nothing of that sort exists. It is an RSS conspiracy.

Me: And what about the black money stashed abroad?

Diggy: How racist of you! 'Black' money? Why black? Why is black always bad? Moreover, our currency carries the image of Mahatma Gandhi who was the inspiration behind the global fight against apartheid. Stop calling it Black Money. It is an RSS conspiracy to call it black.

Me: Why are you so obsessed with the RSS?

Diggy: To tell you the truth, I hate their khaki half pants.

Me: And?

Diggy: Half-pants are so obscene! What moral right do they have to talk of morality? By the way, could you please wrap up the interview. I have a Doctor's appointment.

Me: Oh I am so sorry! Are you not feeling well?

Diggy: Nothing serious. Just a bout of verbal diarrhoea which has been exacerbated by the arrival of the monsoon.

Me: Did you talk to Baba Ramdev? He might suggest some Asanas to help improve your immunity.

Diggy: I don't talk to thugs.

Me: Neither do I. But today is an exception.

Diggy: Hmm. But he is a fraud. His tamasha is not at all convincing. Also, he is behind the saffronisation of medicine. It is an RSS conspiracy. And he owns an island in Scotland!

Me: So?

Diggy: Men wear skirts in Scotland!

Me: They are called kilts, sir.

Diggy: Whatever! They are skirts. And it is all obscene. More obscene than the language I use. It is an RSS conspiracy. They wear half-pants and make others wear skirts! Even this Baba thingy escaped wearing clothes meant for females!

Me: Ever heard of incoherence?

Diggy: Obviously. I suffer from 'verbal' diarrhoea.

Me: Hmm. I am seeing the symptoms.

Diggy: Symptoms? What symptoms? Are you a doctor? A spy? RSS agent! Yes, you are an RSS Agent. Get out of my house!

Me: Sir?

Diggy: It is a conspiracy! I should call Her Majesty.

Me: Calm down! I am not an agent.

Diggy: And why should I trust you?

Me: I must take your leave. Thanks for the interview.

Diggy: Hmm. About time. Rahul Baba would be arriving any time now. Why is he late? It is all an RSS conspiracy!   

Tuesday 31 May 2011

Conferred Epithet

      We were born to categorise...we were born to classify....we were born to stereotype. Not just the cackle of gossip-mongering females at an Indian wedding, we all love to fit people and places in mental containers labelled with epithets that best describe their qualities. Languages have Transferred Epithets. Real life has Conferred Epithets.

      We all have our own set of containers. A person who searches for the map of Ireland while gazing at passing clouds would be a 'dreamy thinker' for you; but the same person would be 'screw dheela' for someone else. A 'dhaapnya' could either be a lifetime member of the 'bookworm' category or the Honorary Chairman of the 'socially awkward' group. Some containers can even be subsets. A 'khadoos' could also be a 'bhookad' at the same time (as demonstrated by Stanley ka Dabba).

      I, for one, love to coin elaborate epithets. I can identify people who are proud of their photographs in which they are 'pinching' the tip of Taj Mahal's dome. I have seen people who love to mimic the clickety click and rattling of railway rakes. I know people who survive on the bland Hindi movies from the 1990s. I can distinguish between houses that smell of cumin seeds and those that smell of baby powder. We all have 'boring' days and 'exciting' days. The colour of the setting sun, the temperature at noon, the cloud cover and other factors make it possible for us to categorise days into millions of categories. For instance, today is a 'lazy but full of expectations' day for me.

     I have always associated people with flora and fauna. Hence, my childhood was rife with 'bulky brinjals', 'cashewnuts', 'coffee beans', 'lanky storks' and 'tiny ants' (not to mention an entire battalion of meek mice). I have been on the receiving end of this method of classification. A friend called me a 'bottle gourd' in college and I haven't stopped imagining why.

     These epithets help us plan our approach towards others. You cannot offend a 'brainless bull' and failure is imminent if you try to woo a 'haughty princess'. You cannot be friends with a 'vain peacock' and you shouldn't be friends with a 'loyal dog'. Stereotyping is considered to be inappropriate but only 'blatant deniers' would believe in its non-existence. Like everything else, the act of classifying falls into multiple classes; fun, meaningless and irreplaceable.