Category Archives: Poetry

Holi- A Festival Lost in Colours

I was asked by few of my colleagues to write and recite a poem on the occasion of Holi. I am sharing with you the poem I wrote. I did realize that a lot of people didn’t understand Hindi in my office and also did an english poem translation. The translation is added below the original poetry.

Holi Hindi Poem

My friend when you put the colours of the Holi on my face, I relived the times of my childhood

The sense of being carefree, the essence of friendship were all conveyed only as those colours could.

Those colors narrated stories of growing up around my home and those quaint by-lanes,

The sweetness of those little gujhiyas made by my mom in that gulal refuses to faint .

In this era where the country is struggling with the Saffron and Green.

The memories of Holi schooled me on the importance of the Red, Yellow, Orange and Cream.

My friend when you put the colours of the Holi on my face, I relived the times of my childhood

The sense of being carefree, the essence of friendship were all conveyed only as those colours could.


Today on this festival of Holi I find myself in a fix and bind,

No colours around, only the Instagram filters I find.

The fun and the quest of long lasting colors which were almost contraband,

Lasting twenty four hours Holi on such Snapchat messages is what I fail to understand.

The evil in Holika which got charred, the divine in Prahlad did survive,

Such deep sentiments from “Sefie with Holi Fire” on social media I fail to derive.

The holy pyre which is meant to burn away all the animosity, evil, jealousy and greed,

I fail to understand that with five thousand friends on facebook, but no one to speak to indeed.

I don’t know if this is the trance of the Holi, or the slight winds of Phalgun in the woods,

But my friend when you put the colours of the Holi on my face, I relived the times of my childhood.


The Warriors of the Purple Hue

We had our management consulting offsite last weekend, where practically close to 200 people were stuffed in a resort, trust me for once we all felt like Karnataka MLAs as venue being the same as it was for Yeddy’s men. Coming back to the event which was a lot of fun, we all were divided into teams with a set of activities which we had to participate in starting from creating baloon towers, group skipping, flying kites etc. One of the activities was to write a team poem which should have the team name (mine was Purple Team) and should have the basic principle which team agreed upon (We had chosen Winning, Never Giving Up, Being Ethical); I was trusted with the task of creating a poem in 15 minutes of time, and this was what I came up with.

The Warriors of Purple Hue

At the behest of the cries of war,
When the armies gather from near and far,
We are a band of warriors fighting amidst iron & dust,
Fighting for a cause righteous and Just.

For a single victory many battles we fight & hop,
Never letting go until we spend the last drop,
Our desire to win brought us together to far,
Yet enjoying every moment of togetherness & the war.

The exhaustion of war & satisfaction at heart,
Together we perfect the battle and it’s art,
Finding the purpose in wounds & midnight dew,
We are the warriors radiating in our Purple Hue

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The Big Banyan Tree

Standing on the crossroads, no real path to go
No road less travelled where I could tread and show,
My destiny lies in standing upright and facing the storm,
Be battered, beaten but still expected to stand strong.

Amidst my widespread hands the birds of season find their home,
Why is it that I am still at the crossroads when the birds are long gone,
When under my firmly grounded legs thou could find the divine light,
Then why the destiny limits me to protect mortals from the sun so bright?

When I watch the entire world going places and being the sport,
Why is it that I am the one who stands still holding the fort,
When the world is talking about freedom of movement and speech,
My destiny forces me to wear the silence on my lips and shackles on my feet.

In this exciting stage of the world where one is destined for a role,
All that the universe wanted me to be was a square peg in a round hole,
In these times of morbid souls and diminishing human camaraderie,
Perhaps it is my destiny to be at the crossroads, and be “The Big Banyan Tree”.

I am writing a poetry after a very long time, would love to read your comments on this one.

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RashmiRathi by Ramdhari Singh Dinkar

Author: Ramdhari Singh Dinkar


Publisher: Lokbharti Paperbacks

Price: 95/-

Though I have labeled this post in the category of reviews, I don’t think it is a review.  Why? For a simple reason that I don’t think I am eligible enough to review work of the great author. But the post is being featured here just to make sure all my book loving readers know about this one and the reasons why I think they should read this book.

So basically the author of this book is not your normal author, he is a winner of Sahitya Academy Award, Padma Bhushan, and also the central hall of the Indian parliament adorns his portrait as a mark of respect. Coming back to Rashmirathi, as a composition it has two things which have caught imagination, my fantasy and my delight the first being poetry and the second being the epic tale of the Mahabharata.

The elegance or the uniqueness of the poem lies the way the old tale of Mahabharata has been captured. In most of the illustrations, the Mahabharata always gives the perception through a third person’s eye or the victors’ (Pandavas) eyes. Rashmirathi provides an insight into the battle through the eyes of Karna, one of the most influential yet ignored and unlucky character in the tale.

The literary value of Rashmirathi is simply brilliant, the poetry never ceases catching your attention and delves you inside the mind of Karana and presents his side of things and his view of the Dharma. However, in the current age where Hindi as a literary language has taken a lot of backseat readers might find understanding of some words difficult use of a hind dictionary or internet might be required.

Summary: Overall a brilliant read, totally mind boggling and makes you think and capture multiple perspectives and the ethics of right and wrong. However, if a long Hindi poetry which spans across 176 pages is not your forte then this might not be the book for you.

Rating: 5 / 5

Ps. I have tried my hands on translating some poems of Ramdhari Singh Dinkar’s Rashmirathi here and here. Should make a good impression on what the book has in store for you.


Rashmirathi – Day2



Source: Geeta Kavita

I have been a great fan of Mahabharata. This poem is describing a moment where Kunti tells Karna about his real parents and asks him to join the war from the Pandava’s side. At that point Karana’s views on the war and his approach towards it is reflected in poem. The poem is a literary master piece, I have tried my hands on the translation, have not been able to do entire justice with the piece but I hope this appeals to you.

When I see, I see Kurukshetra the land of war,
I see the dance of death on humanity, not so far,
The earth soaked and drenched in sweats and blood stains,
Still unstoppable Parth’s Chariot remains.

Lord Krishna himself is fading the darkness of the evil,
The destiny changing its course at Arjun’s will,
A million wasteful traps when the enemy plays,
But every time victorious does he stays.

I know mother what would happen tomorrow,
This epic war would only end in sorrow,
All the consequences do not scare me in my mind,
Rather double the enthusiasm in myself I find.

The times are scary, and the death is impending,
Invitations of death for list of people is unending,
All men of the world would face the wrath of the war,
The face of the earth would be left with a scar.

Nothing would be left towards the end,
No joys would victory bring with itself to spend,
The path on which Kurus would meet their destiny,
Would it be different from what would be Pandava’s epiphany.

There is only one way no matter you win or lose,
In the end it’s the country of death one has to choose,
The end would not change irrespective of any excuse,
Whether you killed the enemy or suffered the deadly bruise.

So meaningless is this war of the inflated egos,
Equally meaningless are mine and Parth’s vows,
Even then we find ourselves, impossible to stop,
And gradually on the path set by the death we hop.

The rivers of life has its unusual speed,
Beyond the human understanding are its deeds,
The brute force which engulfs everything in its way,
To finally lose itself when it reaches the oceans’ fray.

The waves, the flow all goes and quietly it sails,
All that remains in history is its tale,
In the end all of it merges into one,
Like a statue to clay with shape left in is none.

Same is the destiny of Kurkshetra that would survive,
Where the statues of this land, with each other would collide,
The end would be the same as the destiny of this land,
The warriors amidst this war will meet their end.

But this worry and concern of the end, I have to let it go,
However it is, let the sun of tomorrow rise and grow,
All around its difficult to see a small ray of light,
The darkest it seems to be is the passing night.

When the sun and the moon blend in darkness,
The lovers of light hope for some rays to be blessed,
Then the brighter comet cometh this way,
And light on the graveyard it does sprays.

An Ode to IPL Season 3

An Ode to IPL Season 3

An Ode to IPL Season 3

Once in the land called India in recent time,
Elite fun was limited to one part tequila and two parts lime,
A man decided to rise through richness, glamour and fame,
All through means which can be called just a stupid game.
Getting sick and tired of the reality in MTV Roadies,
An idea struck in mind of our dear Lalit Kumar Modi,
He formed a cricketing league called I-Pee-Yell,
From players to stadium chairs everything to sell.
Truckloads of money pouring in without a sigh,
Everybody wanted the darn piece of the pie,
Season one and two saw all the glamour and the rise,
Shooting up all the fame, money and the price.
“Mere five percents for my girlfriend, that too for free,
And mentoring to me, everything so honky dory and glee”
This song brought the murk into the moor,
All orchestrated by Shashi Tharoor.
The affairs of the external affairs’ minister got out too far,
Left no mentoring for him or any equity for his push-car,
The issue was settled with Tharoor getting an axe,
While Modi got the raids from the Income-Tax.
Betting, fixing, and black money, they pulled plugs,
With involvement of everyone including Tycoons & thugs,
So our dear Lalit Modi had a great fall,
Finally BCCI pushed him to a wall.
He too got the suspension, irritatingly bore the axe,
Realizing his spat with Tharoor was the biggest faux pas,
The season of inquiry and raids for the government to put up a face,
Arranging black money for IPL Season 4, as people forget this phase.
The tournament ended, the roar of scandals would subside,
Both Tharoor & Modi will get certificates of conduct so Bonafide,
End of a season where parties lasted from dusk till dawn,
As a viewer I am just happy that the F**King MRF Blimp is gone.

Happy Diwali

Last year I wrote a post on Diwali which is one of my favorites, you can read it here. But somehow this year I could not come up with something as meaningful as last year so this time its an odd limerick coming your way for Diwali wishes instead.

I woke up this morning and the festivities were on my mind,
The sounds of celebrations, never hard to find,
Diwali wishes for everyone was the order of the day,
and I was unable to produce any rhyme to my own dismay.

Nothing to write, and no new idea anywhere in near vision,
All I am going to do is a past & present’s comparison.
Diwali from the memories and the look into the past,
Diwali today and wondering how long will the traditions last

Times have past and all the world is so different,
Festivities of Diwali stood the test of time, retained it’s scent,
The legend of yesteryears, and the festivity today,
The reasons have changed but the spirit does stay.

The prince on exile coming back to his people and Kingdom,
Now is the return of the lights, fireworks and Bombs,
The era of washing, painting and getting away with stuff too old,
Only to be survived by the glitters, dry fruits, and Gold.

A Time for being together, pray eat and set the crackers on fire,
This time its the recession in the backyards and prices just going higher,
Diwali Wishes everywhere for friends, family and everyone dear & sweets,
Hiked SMS tariffs this Diwali, I guess it’s gonna be only 140 Character Tweets.

Recession, Price Hikes and a million other problems bray,
The festivities of Diwali together the country Prays,
The reasons have changed but the spirit still stays,
The Zing to shout “Happy Diwali” never does faze.

Happy Diwali

Happy Diwali

Wishing a very happy and prosperous Diwali to all my readers.


I have always respected Gulzaar as one of the best poets ever happened to Hindi language. His poems are so simple with so easy to use language and oceans of emotions and wisdom underlying those words. You listen the song once again you understand the depth of the words a level under.

This song written by Gulzaar sahab is a gem, so common place words and together they form so amazing depth. A commonly use semi-abusive hindi word and simply used to explore the realities of the word. This song from the movie Kaminey is continously playing around me over and over and simultaneously in my head too. I just wish to meet Gulzaar sahab once and ask him how he can create such beauty and deep down I know, as a matter of fact I can see him in my imagination, simply smiling.

Sometimes I feel lucky to be alive and living in the times of a great poet like him.

(Kya kare zindagi isko hum jo mile,
Iski jaan kha gaye raat din ke gile) – (2)

Raat din gile, meri aarzoo kamini, mere khwab bhi kaminey,
Ek dil se dosti thi, yeh huzur bhi kaminey
kya kare zindagi isko hum jo mile
Iski jaan kha gaye raat din ke gile

(Kabhi zindagi se maanga pinjare mein chaand la do,
Kabhi laalten deke kaha aasmaan pe taango) – (2)

Jine ke sab kariney the hamesha se kaminey
Kaminey, kaminey, kaminey, kaminey
Meri daastaan kamini, mere raaste kaminey
Ek dil se dosti thi yeh hujur bhi kaminey

Jisaka bhi chehara chhila andar se aur nikala,
Maasoom sa kabutar nachaa toh more niakala.
Kabhi hum kaminey nikale kabhi dusare kaminey,
Kaminey, kaminey, kaminey, kaminey
Meri dosti kamini, mere yaar bhi kaminey.
Ek dil se dosti thi ki hujur bhi kaminey

If you haven’t heard this song yet, you can hear it here on youtube.

On a completely different note, me and my friends were discussing the exact meaning/translation of the word ‘Kaminey’. Cunning was the closest we got but again Cunning is not derogatory which Kaminey is. Any suggestions???

You & I

Now this one is for a competition being organized by my friend. I had self-doubt if I should participate but then I thought I might as well give it a try. So the rules of the contests are as following-

As many poems as possible on uniquely different themes, each beginning with the lines:
‘If you were young, and I, beautiful,
And we chanced to meet on a lonely road’
Characteristics of poems:
– No more than 20 lines
– Not more than one poem on a single theme
– Grammar & usage should be correct (some degree of poetic license allowed- my friend’s discretion)
– Spellings should be correct (some degree of poetic license allowed- my discretion)

I chose the theme as a robbery gone wrong and my entry is as following-

If you were young and I, beautiful
And we chance to meet on a lonely road,
You walking all alone with a bag so full
With me following close to rob your load.

The road stretch was dark and the moment apt
Lonely road, a young woman with a full bag; what a catch,
Lurched into the motion and towards you I leapt,
My hands on your bag and boy I snatched.

Rest of the story doesn’t go as I had planned
My exit idea to snatch run did actually fail,
When I realized my throat and your hand
A sharp push and a jerk I gave for me to bail.

So here was beautiful me who went for the kill
My life, my throat and my chain of real gold,
hanging on a thin thread of your whims and will
saved by a whisker or to the devil my soul was sold.

I ran like no tomorrow leaving behind the bag that was full
And also leaving the gold in my neck; with your grip it flowed,
Then I wonder why you were young and I, beautiful
And why do we chance to meet on a lonely road.

Ps. This is after a long time I am trying a poem with an abab rhyming scheme. Would love to hear your feedback if it actually sounded good and rhymed properly.

An Amorous Antithesis

I got a forwarded mail regarding a competition which appeared in Washington Post, the competition asked for a two-line rhyme with the most romantic first line, but the least romantic second line.

I am not sure if this competition is genuine but it was a good challenge. So I thought it would be a great idea to try something like this.

This is the poem I came up with-

My darling when I saw you, I fell in love for the first time,
On retrospect that is till date my most horrendous crime.

The beautiful twinkle of your eyes and the tinge of light blue,
The bill of those contacts on my credit card are still due.

Your lovely walk, inviting a thousand glances and riveting stares,
Why do I see walking them going only towards shopping malls & fairs.

Your lovely voice my dear, speaks to my mind and music to my ears,
I am watching cricket, so just be quite and stay clear.

The immense love and special chemistry between us we share,
For heaven’s sake stop scaring me in the nightmares.

Darling you are so beautiful, sensuous, amazing and hot,
I just hope my lies never get caught.

Your face beautiful like moon, body with curves like crescent,
Why you want these sexy dresses, instead try wearing a tent.

We are meant to be together, your love is my life and luck,
Is this my destiny my lord!! What the F**K!!

Are you wondering that how I managed to make this poem rhyme,
Plain joblessness, my sinister self with a lie told in every second line.


An Amorous Antithesis

An Amorous Antithesis

Update: This post was selected as Blog Adda’s Spicy Saturday Picks