She came, she saw and she conquered
'What'? -- Did you ask?

Curiosity and purpose writ large on her face

Ambling, enabling and enquiring –

Picking on that, probing on this…she swooped down at the hint of a slightest cue

She chewed, she churned and she digested – leaving little to the imagination!

Often gnawing at things as she went along; yet so stately and regal -- like that Falcon on the royal sceptre!


I study, I read, and I overfeed

Judging, and often Adjudging -- artless mortals who have no defences

A forlorn glance – or a tap of the finger, a lazy yawn – or a shrug of the shoulder

…all chewed, churned and digested

And Sincere words thrashed, like chaff from grain


She came, she saw and she conquered

‘What’? – Did you ask?

…Not the Heart which had so much to say

On the railroads...

Travelling by train on India’s chequered railroads is an invaluable revelation of sorts – it’s a fascinating lesson in history, culture and demographics. Each traveller has a story to tell, an interesting sensibility to reveal, or a riveting experience to share. In little less than 24-hours, I have been exposed to an array of people, from different parts of the country, all chambered in an air-conditioned cell, often conversing and a lot of times reading the other. The journey is a witness to new friendships, heated arguments and often tearful adieus. The physical destination is the same, but dreams different; goals diverse, and beliefs various -- yet what brings people together is the urge to share and express, and to seal new relationships. In the cubicle, was a small time entrepreneur, travelling to Delhi for an urgent medical treatment. Another disparate group of people vociferously voicing their support for a yoga guru’s battle against corruption, and anxious to join their leader’s clarion call; or a French couple oblivious of everything around, enveloped in each other’s embrace. These are such dissimilar aspects of life; just as multifaceted as the scenes outside – from the very lush green farmlands of Bengal, to the rugged brown hills of Bihar, or the sprawling sugarcane fields of UP – the window offers a kaleidoscope of images, of India’s effervescent and ever-changing landscapes. Somewhere in the distance was a lone house topped with dish antennae, standing amid green farm fields, where cattle grazed peacefully. Or an insignificant lake with droves of white and brown ducks, they seemed like school children queuing for some special morning ritual. Elsewhere an abandoned storehouse, standing unkempt near the rail tracks – it’s worn out pillars, a reminder of the British era, a time, probably long forgotten by this nondescript village and its people. Such is the beauty of a train travel in India – no matter which area you traverse, the glimpses are always as diverse as much as they are captivating.

"Simply the thing that I am shall make me live" - Shakespeare ...

She walked into the prayer-hall meaningfully; the back stiff, holding her craning head firm, so that she could get a clear view of the hall. Seated on the floor were mortals of different colours and delineations; and she grudgingly worried if this is where she would be required to sit, as a ‘significant other’. Her scanning eyes did finally trace a not-so-crowded area; here she could snugly fit in with her largish Chanel tote, she thought. She raced towards her goal, and plonked herself definitively, keeping her fashionable tote cautiously right next to her. Still unsure, she acquainted her fidgety eyes to her surroundings – an elegant bangle here, or a refined silk there. The sparkling diamond ring on someone’s hand, or a smartphone gracing someone’s palm; minute cues, which gave her significant assurance, that she was after all surrounded by some who were distinctly in her league; though plenty in that hall, who still represented an unobtrusive category, just like the haggard lady and her teenage daughter, sitting behind her, draped in their diaphanous bright clothes.

The puja was yet to begin, and crowds were still milling into the prayer-hall, filling up the empty spaces like a game of musical-chairs in progress -- except that, the music which set the rhythm to this morning ambience was the lilting Suprabhaatam by M.S Subbulakshmi. Peace was evident on most faces; they tried to immerse themselves in the purity of the morning…with eyes closed. And then trudged along a pedestrian, a dusky lady, probably in her fifties, carrying a paltry bunch of four red-roses and a palm-sized pouch, a cheap velvet concoction in purple, it bore the name of the jeweller in white, which the lady gladly used as her purse. Having noticed the stylish tote from a distance, she made her way, to the area. She picked up the bright Chanel matter-of-factly, and sat down, then warmly handed over the pricey item to its owner next to her. Was it time for all hell to break loose – how could a petty pair of hands touch a Chanel, and one that has been kept so gingerly on the floor...the tote owner just failed to undertsand. Appalled, she firmly demanded an explanation as to why her pretty bag was removed. “Madam, your bag looks so expensive, you should be more careful about it and keep it close to you, lest it gets stolen!” replied the lady prosaically. Least expecting that unadorned answer, the tote owner bellowed angrily, “it’s heavy; I can’t keep it on my lap, for the entire ceremony.” “Madam you have come here to be part of a puja ceremony, to unload yourself of your worries…why have you brought along another headache?” came another unpretentious reaction from the very modest woman. Stunned at that plain-speaking from an ordinary woman, the over-bearing tote owner felt a sharp sting inside her heart that unsettled her to the core; and yet in that instant a realisation dawned inside her. Through the rest of the morning while the purifying Vedic chants rented the air, the tote owner spied glances at her humble neighbour, who was sitting there pleasantly, immersed in the prayers; while she argued the merits of her day’s experience inside her head – the effect of which was jolting, and its lesson taking time to percolate her being. Yet somewhere inside her that message had found roots, and it would only be a matter of time before she herself would espouse that very belief.