Speck One

An open stage.

Bigger than the Colosseum,

Longer than the Nile.

More colourful than a rainbow,

Boundaries far aside.

Innumerable dancers,

All lined up in between;

As stars in a galaxy

As atoms in a being,

As the spot on a bald head-

Donning brown and green.

Around them, land-

Some with stairs, chairs or sand-

To house a billion onlookers;

Like children on a trance,

Like losers with a chance

Like a handicap on a prance:

Most cleaned, others left alone.

Just one speck though.

The sole audience to a ticketless play-

Watching the ladies in brown and green sway

Alternatively in direction-

Mesmerized.

On that expanse of sand.

At that open stage.

Every single day.

Defining Independence

At the stroke of midnight hour 70 years ago,

The rich Indian soil awoke to Independence.

And as we revisit this word many decades hence,

Its vastness speaks wonders:

To the poor man lying at the corner of his hut-

And his little child feeding upon the biscuit he chanced upon

Freedom meant a walk with a high head.

On the parallel, at the unwillingly rich’s home

Freedom meant just a casual walk in the park.

To the woman sitting by the fire

Cooking her people their daily meal,

Independence was just being herself, and not others’ reflections.

While to the man burning the midnight oil,

Freedom was just one peaceful day off.

To the voiceless creatures fluttering in the sky

Freedom was the freest flight.

And to those below,

One harmless night.

To the union of all these-

To the country that then woke up for the first time,

Independence just meant being free.

And fast forward to seven decades later,
Independence is now a cluster of universal glee.

The Marks Card

Marks.
The moment I hear that word,
My heart always skips a beat.
But why wouldn’t it?
Is that because of how they portray it
Or is it because of the sinisterness of the monstrous word?
Think about it. Every time
You walk out of your house for an exam-
The only thing that pops up- “MARKS PLEASE”
And I agree, it is important.

Very, VERY important.
But take a second and wonder-
Is your second name Mark?
Cuz’, I don’t think so.
But I’m starting to doubt that.

You see, whenever you’re supposed to flutter and frolic,
I see you with your books.
Whenever you’re at the dinner table,
You bring your books along.

Whenever you’re supposed to be doing nothing,

Your hands hold a big fat textbook.
It’s become a routine-
When you have to meet friends, you study.
When you can sleep in, you study.
When you’re invited for a lifetime opportunity,
Hey! You can skip that! You must study!
(Believe me, the last one feels HORRIBLE)
But HEY! NEWS FLASH! Your books aren’t more important than you!
I won’t complain if you study when you have to.
Cuz’ I know marks are important. ESPECIALLY in this country.
But I find you cheating for your score.
Marks- are they more important than your rest?
Are they more important than your zest?
Are your marks more important than YOU?
The answer is, NO, my friend, NO!
Your marks don’t define who you are!
Your marks are just a number
That fetches you admissions- or jobs- AFTER your personality.
Your marks are just a combination of digits-
Be it one, two or three.
They’re only your marks.
They don’t define your entire self.
They’re only your marks.
Makeup to any ugly soul.
They’re only your marks.
A necessary frenemy.
They’re only your marks.
So, relax.