Bailey in Love

I sit alone in my carton smelling of cardboard and alcohol. The smell is tolerable but the hurt stems from the loneliness. Alcohol bottles as you can imagine keep quite to themselves. It’s part of our packaging as you know. I am a rare breed of alcohol; I come from a long Irish lineage of alcoholic creams. You may say I’m a ‘crème-De-la-crème’. After years of processing, purifying, blending and mixing I was corked into this claustrophobic bottle and branded Bailey’s Fine Irish Cream. But that was all in the past.

I have been repackaged since then so many times I’ve forgotten my ‘Birthday’. The only date, the only memory etched in my olive green mind is the day I fell Base over Cork in love.

It was a sunny morning when I was uncorked to be used for the first time. It was then that I saw her, with her beautiful white cap, her demure soft curves and crumply crackly freshness. It was “love at first sight” for good old me. I rocked as far forward as I could and just managed to catch a glimpse of her name – Bailley’s Mineral Water.

She was picked up and poured into a bowl and that was when my heart stopped for a second time. Her contents, sparkly, babbled pure bubbled out filling my heart with a desire I had never felt before. Her contents were boiled and concocted into a brew. It was then that I was added to this brew as a topping.

I remember nothing more of the rest of the day; or the rest of my contents for that matter. All I thought of was her; her look, her feel, her touch. I hoped and prayed fervently to see her again but alas that was not to be. I never saw her again.

It has been many labels since (You see, that is the only way I keep time) and each day I pray to the Bottle Gods to grant me a chance to be with her in “BottleLana” (Our heaven where bottles are always full and caps always open).

And here I am, stuck again amidst my alcoholic horde as I wait and wait to be Bailey in Love again.

Vivek

A Plea Unheard

She stood silent,
Bruises bleeding blue,
She stood alone,
Wounds spilling red

Around her,
Coats white unmindful
Only a glance, stole
At her sad sorry state

She pleaded, begged,
Her pain fervent, but
Her pleas, on
Deaf ears they fell

Alone amongst help,
Unaided amidst aid,
Her cries weaker got,
Unheeded sounded her call,

Money was her flaw,
Of that she had none,
Help, aid within reach,
Lay rupees out of her grasp

Doctors thus are made,
In today's world and time,
Great is their need,
Greater their greed....

Vivek

Lights in the Distance

He stood silent,

Emptiness filling him,

Blue, azure

Endless as the sky

The void endless,

Grew as he gazed,

Into the abyss

Clouds swirling wild

His eyes roved,

Raving madly

Roaming, Searching

Craving for a sign

In vain, Lonely

skies ,unmoved

Whistled by,

No cry, no voice

Broke the wind's song

No world stopped

Paused a second long

His chest heaved

Desperate, greedy

But it never could

Satiate his need

His bare feet cold,

Gripped the parapet

Talons, clawing

Footholds in life

With a deep breath

Against every instinct

Forward he stepped

Into skies, brilliant

The world fell away,

Speedily, alone

And all the while

Beckoning lights below aglow

And all the while,

In the distance,

Flickering lights below

Burnt, danced ecstatic

Unaware, ignoring

Life's evil blow,

Life's cruelty and more......

Vivek

Chosen

Flowers blossom bough to bough,
Pollen unseen cloud fields
Strapped to bees knees, gold;
Fruits unripe cradle seed
To ripen, succulent and gleam
With winds of change, the sands of time,
A clock within ticks and chimes


Waters run, babbling gay,
Wooded creeks and streams,
Running the lengths of land, flow
To join rivers and seas,
Cycling through sky and earth,
Showering down as rain
With winds of change, the sands of time
The clock within ticks and chimes


Creatures all, great and small,
Run free amidst the land,
Bound free, by invisible will,
In law, order and peace
All work by a rhythm divine,
With winds of change, the sands of time,
As the clock ticks on and chimes


Man alone, proud and feared,
Stands exempt to the chime,
Free to sin, cheat and lie,
And to repent, plead and cry
Through the winds of change, the sands of time
He stands alone bent, withered,
His back broken, forever he bows,
By Choices he Chose.....




Vivek

My Mommy Strongest....

I realised just today that in the 21 years of my life, I had probably seen my mother brush her teeth very few times, so few that I wouldn’t run out of molars.

This got me thinking about how the day starts for them. Breakfast in bed and husbands who rise before them stay a distant televised dream. By and large their mornings are thankless with grunts from an “On Snooze” husband, and complaints from a lazy child and a seasonally variant maid.

Padded in Bata’s finest rubber they flap their way downstairs at the unholy hour of 4 or 5 am to heat the milk, draw geometrical designs at outside the gate and periodically resonate a shout that reverberates in snoozing ears.

Coffee, Bournvita, breakfast and lunch packed and parcelled follows much like a mini branch of the Dabbahwallas. The geyser is put on with the cooperation of the electricity board which if in a bad mood can unforgivingly kill the power. This leads to new complications of heating water in voluminous containers and routinely emptying them into buckets. In the middle of all this the better half rises, and lion-hearted, offers to help; but fool that he is often makes things worse. A little slip of the tongue, a fool-hardy comment results in a verbal lashing that reduces him to the cowardly lion (of Oz fame) silently sipping his tea hoping fervently that it contains sprinklings of the proverbial courage.

Depending on the little half’s age or ages added complications emerge adding the host of other responsibilities of uniforms, timetables and homework. After all this and more the mother pads upstairs only to realise her day of work has just begun.

She dresses hurriedly, while an impatient, ungrateful horde await, honking horns and tapping feet. She sprints through the bathroom, runs through dressing and flies by the mirror on her way down, her makeup and hair left for the road. As she slams the house door clicking her way to the car she sinks into the seat thanking God for traffic’s respite.

As I sat my alarm clock and muse about how I often go to college unbathed, I doze off wondering if my mom saved time by not brushing her teeth....

Vivek