Author Archives: Devaki Purohit

A-every-season-lover…

Wouldn’t it be proper?
To have a-every-season-lover
A monsoon heart
Ready for adventure
And art
A wild spirit
Ready to climb hills
And travel places on a one way ticket

Wouldn’t it be proper?
To have a-every-season-lover
A warm heart
To keep the winter apart
To snuggle and dream
Next to a crackling bonfire gleam
To be happy beside a hearth
Spinning tales of the skies and the earth

Wouldn’t it be proper?
To have a-every-season-lover
A restless heart
For the approaching fall
Like the shedding of autumn leaves
Take on newer threads to weave
Of life and love
And future which shines like a pair of purple doves

Wouldn’t it be proper? To have a-every-season-lover
A serene heart
For the summer part
To soothe your mind
With a plan to unwind
To explore the city nooks
Or venture out in search of lost brooks
Writing a new chapter everyday
And charting our own special way

Wouldn’t it be proper?
To have a-every-season-lover…

Wanderlust

I want to get lost in the by lanes of a strange town
Discover tucked away places and people
People with their stories of the yore
And places which are alive with scents, secrets ‘n’ more

A dimly lit alley which surprises you with trinkets
An old frail gentleman who enthralls with past glories and doomed amulets

A shop around the corner
Alluring you into its depth
With adventures bound in yellow crinkled pages
Also tales of wisdom waiting to be read and retold

A rickety shack with its delicious tidbits
Served only with the chatter of the equally rickety owner
She’s only too happy to coax you to eat more
Narrating incidents of the cities woes

A gentle stream along the town road
Has been and will be witness to all that unfolds
The childhood of young boys spent along its banks
The crackle of young women engaged in chores
And the occasional drifter (like me) from a foreign land ‘n’ search of some lore

A strong urge to belong to such a place
From ones routine to escape
And perhaps in a serendipitous moment meet a stranger with a book and a hat
Whose eyes and soul not unlike my own
Together we would travel
And weave tales of our wander…

Sometimes I wonder whether it all matters

Sometimes I wonder whether it all matters
The efforts, the suffering,
The hopeful eyes;
The prayers, the pleads
All asking for better deals
When all it takes for the privileged few
Is a flick of a finger or the click of a call.
Life is unfair they mercilessly say
Yes, ‘they’ are the ones who have it all
And the ones on the other side just wait and watch
Not all are silent though
Discontent brews through and through
Challenging situations and status quo
Organizing, agitating and questioning the power flow
Being the eternal pessimist that I am
I revert to my earlier question whether it matters at all
Structures and misgivings are so deeply entrenched
Easier it is may be, even mountains to be moved
Beyond social action, revolution, subaltern theories and all such paradigms
Lies a higher emotion which has been furthered by many a wise man
My humble attempt is to repeat it here
Not to copy, ‘plagiarize’ or claim authority mere
It is of love, love for humanity, love for each other
Look beyond social constructions which are but external
Do we recognize it, do we realize it… we are all of the same flesh
Are we willing then to keep aside our egos, our ‘positions?’
And come together by the virtue of our very being.

Money makes the world go round

Money makes the world go round
What am I searching for, what have I found?
An absolute truth is there any
Perspectives and opinions are so many
Positions, stands and histories
What is real and what are stories
Where the self, where is the public?
What does one choose and live by it
Theories over action or action over theories
Either choice will make you seem myopic
Living simply has become so difficult
Or is it our over thinking that makes it so unattainable
Is anything real or everything just an illusion?
Will life just go on?
Or will these vexations find some form…

Weather Blues II

Tis is the weather for lovers
Of surreptitious glances
Hasty meetings
And secret dreams

Tis the weather for hot corn by the roadside
Of shared tea and much more
Two pairs of happy eyes dancing in the rain

Tis the weather for lovebirds
Hands lingering, lips quivering
Hearts leaping, dreaming of heaven on earth

Tis the weather for monsoon love
Drenched clothes and treacherous umbrellas
But not more than the pounding heart –
Drenched in mad passion and sinful desires

Tis the weather for togetherness
Of wild spirits and unconditional love
Of promises made and trust kindled

Tis indeed the weather to all the hues in a mundane day
To seek meaning where none exists
To be kinder than kindness itself
To be engulfed in the warmth and spread it further
And to finally be at home with someone!

You

When I come home to you,
I keep my worries behind
You help me keep my masks aside
The daily struggles of life melt away with you by my side
Your smile, your reassuring hug is all it takes to aid my way through the day
Your presence is my oxygen and your touch is elixir
What would I be without you in life oh what would I be without you by my side
I come home to you my dear I come home to paradise…

Losing a Friend

Don’t be alarmed
I haven’t ‘lost’ a friend
At least not in the ‘literal’ sense
No, something much worse
Much more unexplainable
I have lost a friend, many friends
To the cacophony around
My piece here is rhetorical and cynical, some might say
I do not disagree
But my grievance is real
I have lost friendships as they used to be
Don’t be alarmed
I still have friends
But the warmth is perhaps a little colder
The smiles and hugs – intentional and artificial
For posterity perhaps – as if reminding oneself that one had a good life
The get-togethers a bit fabricated – with perfect settings
Bottleful of imported wines but empty, shrill conversations
Invisible barriers of affluence – of not just wealth but of thought everywhere
Make us inaccessible physically and emotionally
‘Not fitting in’ has been extolled so much
Someone ‘not fitting’ into this category is, paradoxically, labeled
Yes labels – there are too many of them today –
All clearly defining what’s wrong with our society
But categories that rob the complexity of us humans
Relegating all to neat cardboard boxes with satin ribbons
Friends are relations you chose – built on not just commonality of thought
But shared experiences and moments
Moments that are lived – not just a participant of
Experiences today are more for how others would perceive it
So the clinking of glasses has to be just perfect – the light juts right
And yes pearly smiles abound
I see my younger generation – ‘making friends’ but not lasting friendships
A lot more shared experiences – of travel and the works
But it’s too gleamy and postcardesque
Too virtual than personal
And much too loud and out there
Bellying perhaps the depth and strength of it all
Or may be I am just a cynic not unlike the tattered old paperback
Whose time is to retire from a world which makes little less sense
A world which is far too connected but less together
Much more enlightened but even more lost
Don’t be alarmed
Because I know I am not the only one!

Weather Blues

The weather is just right
Overcast clouds, windy weather
Approaching rains
And the smell! Ah the smell
But you are not here
You’ve never been here
Like a Chatak waits every year
Waits in patience for the rains to quench its thirst
I too wait
With eagerness but patience running out
A lot many monsoons, neigh too many seasons have passed
I haven’t got my place in the rains and under the Banyan tree
I haven’t got my winters with the warmth of your embrace
The summers are more arid with your absence
I haven’t got a my piece of earth – to be called rightfully mine
But I wait
I have hope
Hope not involving a shining armor
Neither of riches or laurels
But of an open mind, simple heart and an adventurous spirit
A spirit to align with mine
Not to overwhelm me but travel with me
On a journey to nowhere and everywhere
I hope
I hope you too are wandering through life like me
Waiting for a serendipitous moment
Waiting for me
To dance in the rain
And sing with the wind
We wait
We hope
For each other

Free Flowing

Walking down a winding mud path
A stone here and a stumble there
A virgin forest beckons me;
Beyond the meandering brook
Away from the city nooks
A people and their untouched forest
Beckons me;
Layers of trees, a rainbow of greens
A dash of butterfly wings
A forest deity, the people and their legends
All entice me;
The wilderness and the ‘Wild’ welcome me–
Unconditional and unreserved
Would my shiny world do the same, I wonder
My own thought mocking me, questioning me.
I trudge along the mud path;
Feeling like an intruder in a pristine world
I cannot give back what I receive, what I take…
Knowing also that I will never belong.
I halt at this thought.
Retrace my steps – back to my high rising world
Leaving with memories and a sense of loss
Loss of something I never had
Loss of something that never will be.
The virgin forest still beckons me
I make do with virtual view now;
Dreaming of another life
Where there would be no boundaries
No guilt of stealth, of intrusion
A life where I could flow like the meandering brook–
Unobstructed and free flowing!