Echoes of existance

 Echoes of existence: A meditation on Life 

The sun had not yet peeped over the horizon.

Was it undecided about starting another day? 

While the fluffy white ‘cotton balls’ 

Pretended they had a plan of their own!

They tangoed across the sky's vast blue,

Painting stories, in shapes old and new.

And whilst I sat sipping my ‘chai’

I did ponder and I did sigh.

To tell you the truth

I don’t even know why!

 From whence did I come?

 Who am I inside?

 Why am I here, in this limitless expanse?

 How should I tread this intricate dance?

Where am I going, on this winding road?

 What's the meaning of life, in this cosmic abode? 

Is this world ‘Purgatory’, & that too- man-made?  

 Or a stage set for souls, where destinies are laid?

Is there a heaven, beyond the azure sky?

 Where souls find solace, and loved ones lie? 

Or is it all but a dream, a fleeting sensation?

 A figment of our minds, in endless rotation?

What follows life's journey when the curtains are drawn? 

What becomes of the soul when the flesh is gone?

So many queries, like stars in the night, 

Seeking pointed answers, in the dim morning light.

Yet amidst the chaos, one truth gleams bright,

 In the tapestry of existence, amidst the flight,

 What truly matters, on that final bend, 

Is the love that we share, 

And the hearts that we mend.

For in the end,

When the journey is through,

It's not the wealth amassed, nor the accolades due, 

But the kindness shown, and the bonds we've sown, 

That echo through eternity, in a world unknown.

So, let us live, our lives.

With compassion, and grace,

Cherishing each moment, in this transient space, 

For in the end, as the mysteries unravel, 

Love is the answer to all that we travel.

Music in Allahabad

 Thoughts at 4.40 am! 

Way back in the 70’s, 80’s and 90’s 

In the heart of Allahabad's bustling streets, 

 Where the Ganges whispered tales of ancient lore,

 A vibrant scene of music took its seat,

 In melodies that begged to be explored.

There, amid the sunshine and the shadows 

In bell bottoms and long hair for style

Bands of young musicians found their place, 

Their instruments were a symphony amassed, 

In tunes that often set the night's wild pace.

At the famous Bandhwa Club, where history breathed

 And in the Army messes that stood tall,

 The echoes of their music bedazzled all 

 With Rock and Roll's infectious call.

Within the Fort's ancient walls 

 And weddings where the joyous masses swarmed, 

Their melodies spread like grains of sand, 

Igniting passions in the calmest of storms.

The crowds, they cheered for more, 

With every chord that rang out loud. 

The music reigned supreme,

And the dancing never seemed to end. 

The energy infectious

More so on a weekend. 

But now, alas I hear

 The scene has lost its gleam, 

The once vibrant pulse has begun to fade, 

No longer do the melodies redeem,

 The city’s spirit-  dulled and decayed.

Yet memories linger, of nights so bright, 

When music was the heartbeat of the town,

 When every note ignited pure delight, 

And dreams took flight with every sound.

For in Allahabad, where music once thrived,

 Talented musicians found their fame, 

The legacy of those nights still survives, 

In whispers of a melody's sweet refrain.

Gone but never forgotten

 While in  his warm embrace,

 Her spirit took its final  flight,

As death's cold hand stole her breath

Leaving  him numb.

He held her tight, bereft of words or might,

Her silent form was now still,

Her swansong now strummed.

Their love, a tale inscribed in stars above,

Now fades to whispered echoes in the night.

He clings to memories, his anchor, his love,

In shadows deep, where dreams take flight.

Though parted now, their souls forever bound,

In heart's embrace, they dance in realms unseen.

He finds her presence in each sight and sound,

In every fleeting moment, still serene.

Though she departed, 

never to return,

Her essence in his arms will ever burn.

He knows she's near,

 though gone from mortal sight,

In heart's embrace, their souls forever twine.

Through darkness, she remains his guiding light,

In every moment, love's pure essence shines.

It's all about the bard

 

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Michael Guzder

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It's all about the Bard

They were the hallowed classrooms of The Bishop's School

Where Shakespeare’s plays came alive

"As You Like It," where banished souls did strive.

"Julius Caesar" with its Roman might,

"The Merchant of Venice," was fraught with plight.

Each page that you did turn

Became a journey of exploration

As Shakespeare’s verses were read in awe.

For his sonnets and his verses

There was pure admiration

English language & Literature held the key,

Unlocking umpteen worlds of possibility.

In classrooms filled with laughter and with jest,

The boys faced the Bard's challenges with zest.

Those boys, now men, with mischief in their gaze,

In youthful antics, they would often blaze.

But even they, in Shakespeare's world, did find,

A mirror to reflect their thoughts refined.

Wouldst thee go back to your days of youthful prime,

To relive those moments, just one more time?

With Shakespeare's words, your hearts were truly inspired.

In The Bishops School, where your education was acquired.

Though past tense now, those days forever shine,

In minds and hearts, a treasure to enshrine.

For in the tapestry of days gone by,

Shakespeare's legacy will never die.

Good old Allahabad

 

In good old Allahabad

Prayagraj now

Where history breathes in every stone,

A city adorned with legacies, grand and well known.

Amidst the ancient whispers, Prime Ministers tread,

Actors, cricketers, politicians,

Their stories spread.

In Allahabad

Civil Lines, Chowk, Katra,

Bustling markets' sway,

Where echoes of commerce blend with prayers

In temples, mosques and churches each day.

Within these bustling streets,

A tapestry of cultures merge,

In Allahabad's embrace, diversity takes surge.

Oh, Allahabad!

Where amazing schools thrive in their might,

And the famed university- always a beacon of light.

From its hallowed halls, knowledge unfurls wide,

In the shadows of learning, dreams abide.

Amidst your myriad lanes,

And tree lined streets

Where churches stand tall,

Their spires piercing the heavens, a divine call.

Each brick, each stained glass window,

Whispers of grace,

In Allahabad's embrace,

Sanctity finds its place.

Nostalgia's gentle breeze,

A longing to roam,

Through the lanes, the alleys and roads

A city I once called home.

To witness the sunset by the Yamuna's flow,

In Allahabad's embrace,

Memories aglow.

So, to Allahabad, where history and dreams intertwine,

Where every corner holds tales,

both old and fine.

In the heart's quiet chamber, a yearning persists,

To revisit the city,

Where nostalgia exists.

Good Friday

 

On Good Friday,

A solemn hush descends,

As poignant hearts reflect on the sacrifice divine,

Across religions, creeds and sects,

Love and mercy blend,

In forgiveness, humanity's design.

Today

In Mosques & Temples,

Gurdwaras & Churches

Monasteries and Synagogues near and far,

The faithful bow with reverence profound,

For on this day, beneath the evening star,

Redemption's grace in every faith is found.

For all the world, a plea for peace we raise,

To heal the wounds

That time has yet to mend,

In unity, we seek the gentle ways

That lead us to a world

Where suffering , war & strife shall end.

May Good Fridays' message ever endure,

In every heart, forgiveness to ensure.

VEDIKA

 ( Trying something different for a change - a piece of simple fiction) 

Part one 

  

Vedika was an orphan, barely twenty, but as ambitious as a hawk. Not a plain Jane, but not beautiful either. However, if you passed her on the street, you would probably give her a second look, because there was an earthly charm about her and oodles of personality. Although money was far from aplenty, she had the confidence of a honey badger and hence stood out in the crowd.

And when she sang informally, as she often did at parties, get-togethers, and whenever the opportunity presented itself, her voice danced like a gentle breeze, weaving tales of love and longing with every note.

Intelligent, with a fierce determination to succeed, she was a go-getter, who had decided as a young teen, that she would not endure the poverty and suffering she had seen her parents go through before they both tragically passed away- a month apart, from Covid.

She topped the final board exam in the government school in her town and was ready to take on the world. Her name in the newspapers did not come as a surprise, as she was known to be someone who navigated complexities effortlessly, her intellect illuminating paths others scarcely perceived.

College in the US had been on her mind, and she was intent on pursuing a degree in science and finally studying medicine – the exorbitant fees did not deter her. She filled in innumerable application forms, knocked on countless doors, applied for a multitude of scholarships, appealed on social media, and waited. 

She kept saying to herself that things would somehow work out as they always had in the past. Then out of the blue, she received an unexpected call late one evening. 

He called himself an Indian philanthropist from Delhi and said that her story had moved him. Then, after a brief conversation, which was just myriad questions strung together, he offered to sponsor her. She convinced herself that the few innuendos at the close were just her overactive imagination. 

The first tranche of money was in her account a week later and she busied herself shopping for necessities and packing.  Simultaneously a myriad of thoughts was plaguing her mind. 

Would she like it there?

Would she make it there? 

Isn’t four years a long time? 

And then would she continue till it was eight? 

Would the money suffice?

Would she manage to secure part-time employment?

Would she have the coveted Dr title before her name? 

How often would she manage to come back to see her old and crippled grandmother – the only relative she had left in the world- only time would tell? 

And at the back of her mind – What type of man was her benefactor? In reality, she knew nothing about him.

 Part two

The flight was scary and exciting all at once, and she took umpteen selfies on her old mobile phone with its partially cracked screen- a hand-me-down from a school pal.

And then all at once she was in college – selecting courses, settling into the dormitory, making friends, sightseeing on weekends, attending classes, and visiting the library where she spent hours pouring over manuscripts, journals, and computers.

The first eight semesters flew by in the blink of an eye, and the studies began to get more serious. She was often exhausted at the end of the day, but she was a dynamite in a small package and slacking was for the weak. 

Two years were over – she was doing fantastically well, and she missed home but there was very little time to pine.

 Assignments began to pour in, and she busied herself in the laboratories, till late at night, conducting experiments along with classmates, investigating, researching, and meticulously following established protocols, while recording data with precision. This was all new and oh-so-exciting.

Collaborating with eager and highly intelligent fellow students from various corners of the globe, she analyzed results and identified trends. She also contributed to literature reviews, synthesizing current research to contextualize findings. Additionally, she presented progress papers at meetings, fostering constructive discussions and receiving feedback for further refinement.

With relentless dedication and an insatiable thirst for knowledge, she was ascending to the summit of academic achievement, consistently outshining her peers. Her single-minded & meticulous approach to learning, coupled with a passion for excellence, propelled her to the forefront of her classes, earning admiration and respect from professors and classmates alike. Her bubbly nature endeared her to all and becoming the ‘class representative’ was an added and welcome bonus. 

 So, this was what university was all about.

 She would usually return to her room close to midnight, then rustle up a quick meal, devour the same, and crash into her bed. The intensity was, at times, a trifle overbearing and she would tear up, but a sound sleep would drive away all such emotions, and come morning, she would be raring to go once again.

She received one or two letters from her sponsor, but they were cold and impersonal. He acknowledged that she was doing well and no more. He asked her to send him photos of herself and her university and she obliged willingly, almost every month.  He confirmed that the money for her fees would continue to come in tranches as agreed with the university. 

Part three

Year three began on a sad note. A brief call from a neighbour in India reduced her to tears- her grandmother was no more.  Wrapped in sorrow's embrace, she mourned her grandmother's passing, her heart heavy with loss. Memories flooded her mind, each cherished moment a bittersweet reminder of a love now gone. The only solace was in the echo of her grandmother's wisdom. Suddenly, she felt alone and extremely vulnerable.

And then an email from her sponsor, which for some unknown reason caused her to shudder. He was arriving at the end of the month and said he was looking forward to meeting her- and there was more ……..  

She read the letter repeatedly - each word seemed to hold weight, causing her heart to race with apprehension. With each line, a sense of unease crept over her, causing her to breathe heavily. 

‘Not able to concentrate on anything during the next few days’ was putting it mildly. Suddenly she was a bag of nerves. Anxiety clawed at her chest, its grip tightening with each passing moment, and sparking unease in every corner of her mind. There was no one to talk to and friends wouldn’t understand how defenseless and unprotected she felt.

……………………………she walked out of the hotel apartment after meeting him, feeling used, shattered, and hollow- the world suddenly felt cold & unfamiliar. 

Trust shattered; scars unseen, etched into her soul forever. She wore a cloak of shame she didn't choose, and it was heavy – sadly, far too heavy for her fragile shoulders. She didn’t mention a word to anyone.

She didn’t make the journey from victim to survivor that we often read about.

She couldn't bear the shame.  

They forced her door open when she didn’t respond the following morning and she lay motionless. It was over. 

The college held a touching memorial a few days later. Her friends and a few professors were there in large numbers as she was popular and well-loved.

“Gone but not forgotten, a life stolen by vicious, cruel hands.

In your absence, our hearts ache with the pain of loss.

 Rest peacefully, dear Vedika, your spirit forever cherished in our memories."

Unfortunately, not everyone gets saved. Not everyone survives the darkness.