Victorious

Often a flip between virtue and vice.

Forever at loggerheads,

apt to show their sides.

The ills seem fair in an inebriated state.

But the evil trembles with fear

when the malt evaporates,

and the good becomes clear.

The Link

Giri was an ordinary boy. But one fine day, out of the blue, he began chanting Buddhist sutras in Magadhi, the ancient Buddhist language which he was never taught nor he had read anywhere. None of his parents was Buddhist. Giri was five years old then. Tracking down Giri's family tree, a Buddhist monk was found, some five hundred years ago, to be his only Buddhist ancestor. He was a scholar in Buddhist literature. His name was Raghu.
 
The Buddhist literature which Raghu knew and had memorized, somehow got stored in a particular cell of Raghu's brain. Raghu had a son but Raghu died before he could teach his son any of these Buddhist sutras. This brain cell of Raghu's, passed down generations but remained dormant. But since it was a powerful cell, even after five hundred years it came to life when it was passed on to Giri.

One powerful brain cell of Giri's, ignited and activated Raghu's dormant brain cell. Like a man waking up from coma after many years, Giri began reciting Buddhist sutras from Raghu's memory cell. But Giri couldn't understand a thing he was chanting since the language Magadhi was alien to him.


At the age of seven Giri took classes in Buddhism and learned Magadhi. Soon he could translate the sutras which flowed from Raghu's cell. A constant communication between Raghu's memory cell and Giri's brain cell, Giri began reciting  not only Buddhist sutras but also various little things like where Raghu lived, the name of his village, his family and few friends, the Buddhist temple where Raghu prayed regularly. And also few abstract things like a small pond outside Raghu's house where Raghu fed the ducks. Giri wrote all this down. He decided to visit Raghu's village when he grew up. Probably his ancestors were still living there.

 Giri wanted to go to this village where Raghu once lived and see if Raghu's memory cell connected any of the things it saw, which in turn might help and activate few more of Giri's ancestor's cells. 

Dream?

Night falls with weighty silence.

Mind rests, dreams arise

and the thoughts run.

But somewhere in this haze I’m awake.

A red scarf floats

before my overcast eyes-

from the mist you approach.

Metamorphosis

At times you are dared,

and placed in crossroads

to choose an unknown thread

or drown in known discomfort of fear and distrust.

The Nature’s vie-

wagon of ideas hoard.

Soon a caterpillar flies.

Aqua (Dublin)

On a shore the sea bounces on rocks-

there lies a pub called ‘Aqua’.

Huge glass windows enclose the top floor,

display a beach stretched to miles afar.

The yachts sway lazily in a harbour

as seagulls come kissing the window where I sit.

They wait in mid-air, feathers flutter,

momentarily suspended by the gushing wind.

It’s late eve, crowd flows into Aqua bar

for the sun shines and the barrels roll.

Time ticks but I don’t realize the hour,

and a sail sets for a leisurely stroll.

The seagulls turn, rev, dive into the sea,

while a cold, dark Guinness beer soaks me.

Sheep (Tanka)

Counting to slumber

she grazes in winding trails

short tail, woolly coat-

then one climbs over the bridge

others flock instinctively.

Sanskar Jyot Reunion

A sure hand led us

when we were baffled by the studies.

Strict, severe in appearance

but soft and unhurried.

Now, as each master speaks

with unmatched clarity in thoughts-

their actions we can predict,

the styles so imbibed in us.

Time goes back and forth-

old school mates meet.

''Who are you? how are you?'', questions galore.

Memories flow - sour and sweet.

Then, as children, we stood height-wise.

And now, as adults, we click width-wise.