Right Write

                     When I first came to this strange world And desperately cried to wriggle out, You held me hugging to your heart; I love you. When as a child, I played mischiefs And everyone mistook them for notoriety, You bore them with merciful smile; I thank you. When in school, I had volumes to toil on my table And the pressure just grew unbearable, You sat by me night after night tending my nerves; I respect you. When for days I was down with illness And the blinding pain wreaked dire despair, You were the soothing balm; I prostrate you. When as an adult, I tossed on cross-roads Unable to decide and direct my course, You stood steady to steer me through; I revere you. When I grew responsible and old And, at your expense, engrossed with family, You still held my hand like a child; I admire you. When Time beckoned from far beyond And on the final journey, you set out your sail, Your smile still serene and blis

As I walk down the path of life, Make me, O Lord, feel The wild thorns that grow along, Make me struggle and stumble, Make me, O Lord, bleed. That I may lend a helping hand, A word of love, a smile To help a staggering soul along Cross a weary mile. That I may live to love And cause the sun to shine Everywhere I go. That I may smile off Every heart’s gloom, Rob the thorns of pain And cause the roses to bloom. As I walk down the path of life, Bless me, O Lord, With ennobling sufferings That I may serve Thee more.

Alone, alone, all alone, Alone in the wide, wide world, Alone in the din, Alone in the bustling crowd, Alone all abound. Let the cavalcade pass by Loaded with fun and frolic, Roars of laughter, Peels of revelry, As on the side lines I stand stark and stoic. Should I then be lonely?... Deep down the abyss, The ripples of emptiness, Let me, o Lord, hear Thee. Let me feel Thy ineffable presence. In my vivacious void, In ecstasy of exuberant yearning, Let me love Thy gracious glory. Alone but not lonely, Aloud in endless quietude Let me then pray Thee And one with Thyself be.                                                                                       11/2017

                                                11 August 2016. I was then Additional Commissioner, ESI Corporation at its Hqrs Office, New Delhi. I had gone to Dwarka with the Director General in connection with a meeting. At 4.00 pm evening, we checked in to Hotel Dwarkadheesh on the sea beach where the meeting was scheduled the next day. My room was commanding a wonderful view of the sea. Post tea, with two local officers I set out on a stroll that led us to the famed Dwarkadheesh temple. Legend has it that after the Mahabharata war Lord Krishna had spent his later life at Dwarka, a fact testamented by this temple. On return from temple, as we were just entering the hotel gate, my cell phone rang. It was from my brother at Bhubaneswar. In an alarming tone he said “Mother is serious. She needs be taken to hospital immediately. Could you arrange something through ESI?” I spoke to my colleagues at the Bhubaneswar office and asked my brother to consult them and get her admitte

                                         One remembers the powerful reminiscence of her romantic youth by Mrs. Rose played by Kate Winslet with the help of a sapphire locket in the film ‘Titanic’. The locket helps her retrace her love life beset in the back-drop of an epical ship wreck. I have no memorabilia to fall back upon. My memory thrives on its own strength. It was a hot summer afternoon. The university had closed for the vacation. So I ventured out with my girl- friend to a nearby village. About three kilometres from the campus, through undulating verdant pastures, nestled in a dense mangrove at the foothill of Barpahar, Mahua was an ideal picnic spot. As we reached the outskirts of the village we were greeted by heavily laden mango trees, their branches swaying in gentle breeze while warbling cuckoos set music in the air. At the head of the sleepy hamlet, which apparently had a cluster of about twenty cottages, was a humble little thatched house. I knocked at its doo

                                         “Hello…”I waited for reply. No response. After some painful seconds, I shouted into the mouthpiece, “It is me, Kalyan”. The silence lingered. I grew restless. As the agonising moments ticked by, several questions crowded my mind. Would she or wouldn’t she approve of my obtaining the phone number from Swapna,  held the number a well-guarded secret. On many occasions earlier she had never heeded to my pleadings to part with Enee’s number. Until yesterday…I can’t reason out why. Thirty long years…My mind drifted back again. After doing schooling from two different places, destiny drew us together as Enee and I joined Science College at Rourkela for our Inter Science and as luck would have it, we were not only front door neighbours but also got into the same group for lab practicals.  From the window glances at home to cycling together to college to practical lab sessions, our closeness grew. So much so, our separation during graduation, a

                                       He found me the infallible cure of all illness, the panacea against all evils, the absolute answer to all myths and mysteries of life, the Truth of all Truths called Sai. He is our Guruji, Shri CB Satpathy. For quite some time Guruji had been advising me to visit Shirdi and seek Baba’s blessings. And the opportunities came as I set out for the cherished destination with my wife and six years old daughter on 10 th March 1994. After visiting a relative at Mumbai, when we reached Shirdi next morning by bus, I couldn’t believe a small town as this could occupy such prominent place in the tourist map of India. As we got down the bus, we saw an old man about sixty with white beards straightaway came to us and said, “Welcome sir; give me  the luggage and I will take you to the best lodge near the temple. Instantly the porter appealed to us and I asked him to take us to the Sai Sansthan. As we quietly followed him, my wife whispered, “Does not

                                 Far from home, Away from wife and son, When I look at friends and others, I feel alone. Off from office, When time hangs heavy and still, And I find it hard to kill, I feel alone. Out in the market, Teeming with hectic crowd, When language lets me down, I feel alone. In the city streets, Amidst overflowing drains and dirty linens, When I look for solace, I feel alone. In political overdrive, When banners and posters dominate cityscape, Deafening sloganeering adding the din In publicity overtaken by propaganda, I feel alone. When things are not in favour, And circumstances conspire, When solutions look bleak, afar I feel alone.                        ---------

                          A gust of cold wind. A stir. And I am awake…to the Kumbh consciousness, as lying awake a little longer in the makeshift camp of Noida Sai Sansthan I tried to connect to various sounds wafting from numerous camps set up at the Mahakumbh 2001 at Allahabad. A few yards away, from the camp of Shirdi Sai Sansthan was the refrain “Om Shri Sai Nathaya Namah”. Opposite our camp. from Shri Ram Sharanam Sansthan was the chorus from ‘Amrit Vani’. From another camp rose the bhajan “Kabhi Ram banke”. A little away, a camp was resounding with “Kabir Dohe”. From a far distance, perhaps an Akhara was resonating with ‘Omkar’ mantra. And dominating all these and many other muffled overtones was the nonstop announcements from the Bhoole Bhatke camp on the Triveni Ghat. I turned. Through the crack on the corner of the roof, I peered out at the night sky. The crescent moon, in an assortment of twinkling stars, was smiling down. Instantaneously I remembered it was Vasant

                                         23 rd February 1976. 2.00 AM at room no. 35, East Hostel, Ravenshaw College, Cuttack. All these details have earned much more eminence than my birth day and are thus ever green in my mind. It was the last day for submission of entries for the college short story competition and the dead line was to expire at 5.00 PM. The college notice board had set my mind ablaze with a crazy desire to compete for the contest. I gave up evening walks and gossip sessions. The steaming aroma of dosa and upma in the college square South Indian Café no more held any attraction. The call of Herman Hess’ ‘Siddharth’ running houseful weeks at the nearby Grand Talkie was turned down. Every day, every evening, I sat alone at the window in my hostel room, eyes quietly grazing the distant skyline, mind upset in frenzied search for some idea. Fifteen days thus passed in sheer torture. Yet nothing came my way. And then, when I had almost abandoned in dire despair

                                                                                                          The day breaks                         Just like another day.                        Dancing streaks of sunshine                        On the grilled balcony wall                        Cast patterns soft, silky, playful.                        Birds fly past in many hue, many colours                        Chirping, chattering, twiddling.                        In gay abandon blows                        The cool morning breeze;                        The fluffy white clouds sail idly by.                        The lush green herbal park                        Below the balcony, stretches;                        The tall tree tufts gently sway,                        Tossing leaves swishing away.                        The call stirs, my stupor torn,                        In fluttering heart my mind flips                        The day

                                           “Lo”,  Went an abrupt chorus, “The lights of Dhaulakuan”. And I jerked, my stupor shattered To see the jaundiced eyes In cold greetings. And far away lay my forlorn dream: The majestic grandeur of the abode of kings, The legend of love, The lore of loyalty, Of sizzling chivalry, Of supreme sacrifice, All in ruins In the silence of colossal wreck, Amid lone level stretches of sand. The palaces, the lakes, The temples, the forts, Silhouette against iridescent stars, The silver moon shimmering in marbles, The jingling camels, The screeching peacocks, Weird like Arabian Nights! Amber still reflects The old glory of Man Singh In the Chamber of Mirrors. Ajmer keeps buzzing with pilgrims In the qawalis of Khwaja Chisti’s Dargah, In the hymns at Pushkar. Jaipur celebrates the epic victory, Still smiling in pink, proud with past, Hawa Mahal whispering the tales to eternity. Chitto

                                                             Writing is a connection Between idea and expression You look for the Idea Godot; The elusive elf And hide and seek it goes.                                             Half clad, it sometimes comes, Sometimes half revealed, Sometimes presents the full-blown Idea Seeking self- expression. When the Godot does not show up You go after it, Godot yourself. Day in and day out In hot pursuit You look inward, You look outward, You look point blank Only to go blank. You bleed your heart out; At the Idea’s altar, You die a thousand deaths. But if luck is on your side Resurrection lurks within sight And from nowhere the Idea emerges, The expression falling in place All on its own, effortless, painless As though an enlightenment. ------------