The Lost Toy
For years and years, oh endless years,
You gather wealth through sweat and tears.
But tell me true, in all this ploy,
Have you found your grandson’s toy?
You’ve tasted dishes from lands afar,
But sipped the broth where village hearths are?
China discovered, and the British unfurled,
Have you sipped ‘strong-sweet-tea’ of Kathiawad?
In Sorath’s heart, where affectation flow,
A simple meal, yet a soulful glow,
Neither silver spoons, nor lavish art,
Just food that warms the wandering heart.
‘Tango’ and ‘Salsa’ earn wide acclaim,
Have you seen Sorath’s ‘Dandiya’ flame?
Many remember the Lord in prayer,
But who invites, “Be my guest, Oh Dear”?
For years and years, oh endless years,
You’ve hoarded wealth beyond your peers.
But tell me true, in all this joy,
Have you found your grandson’s toy?
*******
Forgive and Forget
Forgiveness is a quality of the minds, serene,
It spells the beginning of bliss and peace.
Buddha preached the attribute of kindliness,
For compassion enables building forgiveness.
Jains celebrate the ten-day-festival of ‘Paryushan’,
Ask each other’s forgiveness, for any faulty action.
“Father, forgive them, they know not what they do.”
Jesus said from the holy cross, don’t we all know?
Vaishnavas believe that forgiveness is honour,
It is certainly purity and penance, for sure.
It’s a positive emotion and a conscious act,
Forgiveness helps us overcome resentment.
It lessens the feeling of insult and hurt,
Other’s weaknesses, it enables us to forget.
Hatred and violence get multiplied in retaliation,
And these would create a swirl of destruction.
‘An eye for an eye’ would leave the world blind,
Revenge is a virus that eats the vitality of mind.
Vengeance poisons a person’s entire being,
Whether physical, mental, or spiritual being.
Resentment, a recurring fever, burns energetic mind,
It’s a form of moral sickness that stops being kind.
Forgiveness at both personal and social levels,
It has been practiced for centuries by our sages.
Persons with a forgiving nature enjoy good health,
While anger or resentment, linked with poor health.
Forgiveness, the sound ethic, surely safeguards,
Our physical & mental health grows leaps & bounds.
*******
We’re Sanatani (A Ballard)
The conqueror, a king of old,
Mahmud, who came with fire and steel,
Seventeen times, the tales are told,
He brought a wrath that none could heal.
Yet in his court, a poet stood,
Alberuni, was a scholar grand,
Who wrote of India’s life and good,
“Love is life,” he wrote, “in this land.”
Then came a man with laws and might,
Macaulay, with a cold, clear mind,
He saw a land without the light,
A culture left so far behind.
And still today, a truth so strange,
Some praise his view with words so fine,
They laud the ones, who made the change,
And sought to break this ancient line.
For some called it a land of serpentarius,
A simple, mystic, backward place,
But Max Müller’s words, for goodness sakes,
He gave ‘Vedanta’ a scholar’s grace.
Our history’s not just wars and crowns,
Not just the Briton or the Mughal,
We’ve lived for eight millennia ’round,
Before their flags were on the wall.
Some ask for proof of Ram and Krishna,
A date, a place, a worldly sign,
But who demands a truth be given,
For ancestors of their own line?
The love of ‘Radha,’ an endless stream,
And ‘Sita,’ ‘Pritha’ is her name,
Our music lives in every dream,
It’s Hindustani, radiant flame.
We call the names of God a host,
A thousand ways for one to pray,
And of our truths, we often boast,
For ‘pluralism’ guides our way.
They call us Indian, with a nod,
But we are ‘Sanatani’ in our soul,
The many paths to find our God,
Our faith has made our being whole.
*******
An Evening at the Beach
They sell on the colorful sea beach;
myriad things, from artefact to vestige.
Toys and LEDs that attract children;
plastic rifle, or serpentine balloon.
Attired in the most modest manner;
clothes they drape in, are plainly sober.
At times, chat with fellow sellers;
they are there, to earn for others.
Two square meals for all members;
the menfolk toil in hotels and resorts.
In search of frolic, tourists thronged,
‘Kulfis’ are the best in hot and humid.
‘Sundaris’ reach the beach, by March;
Till September end, with pushcarts, they march.
Visitors, on the beach, look for those carts;
to cool their bodies and perched throats.
Cold drinks, luscious fruits, and lime juice;
some ‘dry ice’ to preserve all these.
Lazy afternoons roll into sombre evenings;
beach buffs gather to spend their earnings.
The salty sea breeze, tourists and gushing waves;
all those, are lost with Sunset in crimson hues.
*******
Gujarat (Gurjar Bhumi)
On a Western edge of the Arabian Sea,
‘Gurjars’ ruled here in the 8th century.
Plains, forests, deserts, many contrasts,
This province is truly, a hub of commerce.
Peninsula, gulf, creek, hills and coasts,
Even in Stone Age, boasts settlements.
Beloved ‘Uma Ma’, becomes ‘Umia’ here,
Nanda, Maurya, Gupta, Satavahana ruled here.
Ecstatic ‘Garba’ dance, a celebration unique,
In eighteen countries their language thrives.
Three main rivers ‘Narmada, Tapi, & Sabarmati’,
Also, there’re ‘Mahi, Mochchu, Aji & Saraswati’.
‘Lothal’, ‘Dholavira’ of Indus Valley culture,
Among the first in the world their seaports are.
In Gir forest, Asia’s only lion roams.
Asian wild asses gallop in groups,
If you haven’t seen ‘Kutch’, you’ve seen nothing,
Have a feel on Moon’s surface, it’s a weird thing.
*******
