Him/He

 Always him but not him. 

He stands, he bends, he walks

He smiles, he holds, he talks.

He lives his life for them

He celebrates their smiles

He takes the pride for any extra mile. 

A taunt? A remark? A condemnation?

A reprimand? A doubt? A confirmation?

"Never mind, this too shall pass", he shrugs.

A trickle from the edge yet not a tear

A boulder on the shoulders yet no fear.

A man he is. A knight he is. 

For his people, a miracle man.

A king he is, for his princess 

A man otherwise, for the home. 

For himself? Perhaps, a no one. 

One for them, none for self. 

Summer of 2026

 Sun to start with

It burns like a furnace though

And ends in a cooler. 

The ride.

 Riding a bike while it rained, I was reminded of days when she hugged me from behind and kissed my neck. 

Unlike others, I was caught between rain and a storm.  While the rain made me feel colder, she, as a pillion rider, did the opposite. 

"Spare me dear!"

"Must I? In this weather?"

"Yes, baksh darling, baksh or else, skid karenge dono!"

Closing in further, she kissed one more time on the ear and holding me tighter,  she whispered,  "ab bhi?"

I slowed a little,clutched her hand and squeezed it. "Could have done this elsewhere.  Let the test continue!"

The ride continued.

The rain seemed to have had an impact on her. Like the river on a rise, she stayed aroused.

A slower and a careful ride, a beautiful girl to accompany and in the rain, with seduction in progress,  balancing the ride was more than challenging. 

Maneuvering all the hurdles and palpitations, we reached home drenched and dirty.

The door unlocked and slammed, with us in, everything started getting slammed. I kept the bike keys on the keyholder and letting the door stay ajar, I sank onto the bean bag, wet and soaked but, alone.

Looking at her frame on the wall, I questioned Him as always but the answers never came.

The rain teased and so did the hot tears which rolled down and tapped the wailing heart.

A few bonds stay strong yet untouched. Forever. 

The cab wala

 A majority of the auto and cab walahs anywhere, are the same. 

On my tours to Mumbai,  whenever I hire a fiat black and yellow cab to my destination, I sit to listen. Not to the songs but to the stories from the old drivers and young while I see the tall towers kissing the morning clouds or the rays, pass by. The driver in all these years must have seen the city develop, stay the same, submerge, move on... but must not have skipped his duty kyu k "gareeb k sapne nae hote, mehnat hi hoti h."

Given the size of the city in which he lives, drives and survives challenges everyday, it can be said that he holds the steering with the same conviction as the captain of a ship on a rough sea may be holding the wheel. Not easy. 

As a tourist while I enjoyed my stay, made memories and carried a few back home I wonder what does he carry with him every night?

The sheet beckons!

 Been days that I put my pen to work-

Unused, the ink yearns a touch and a scribble

On a sheet as pure as white yet dark.

Thoughts overflowing as a river flooded

I grip it's rubber and fiddle it slow,

Mulling on where to start from and with.

A bolt in the thoughts and a phrase set

I gently roughed that on the refined bark

Worth the glee of a child and an artist!

Scribbled, struck, scratched, wrote... 

Too many  strikes for it to bear 

Must it stay or go for a tear?

The sheet said none and none did I- 

Just let the flow and kept an eye

On the emotions and the sheet so scarred

The boy became a man

 From a kid with a bat and slippers on

He walked his way across the town

As a lion, as an elephant with a crown

He walked with ease and none to frown. 

Books, friends, fun and stress

Sun and breeze, months and years- 

they paused nowhere to freeze a frame

of childhood and life so young.

Onset the summers of a man so soon

A little too grown for the cocoon

Of merry walks and a walk for a game!

A little less comfortable,  a little to blame.

He now walks the streets with no ease

Neither an elephant with a crown.

He is now a man who guards his thoughts.

He is now a man who guards her crown.

He shuns the bat and picks a bag

He shuns his friends for his family. 

He shuns the world to work for them

He smiles for the world. His family.

A boy once, a man now.

The line of control and tolerance

 Till a few years ago when today was the future, life was uncertainly beautiful in retrospective sense. We enjoyed the Sun and the sea alike, we were having differences but unlike in the present, they were limited to a few instances which instigated reaction. Not that there were no grudges but the fact that they too were limited to a few boundaries cant be ruled out. 

As of now, there are all but blurred lines with maximum inflicts for reasons which are known but none of them seem to be a potential threat which can decimate a population. However, whatever has ignited the flame of insurgence and resistance will definitely test the line of control and tolerance levels before allowing the wildfire to wrap its ugly flames around the otherwise delicate fabric of democracy.