Lovesong

The ruins on the hilltop from a fairytale
Will carry the dark fragrance of your innocence
When the first snow of the season
Settles softly on my fluttering eyelashes.

It is then that I will step into the pages
Of the book lying open on that old table
To clutch your clanking fingers tight into mine.

The snow will then drop down like sparking diamonds
And my blood embedded into each flake, like rubies.

(Sir Rushdie, a simile is from your Midnight's Children. Pardon me!)

Chak De? Forget it!

Don't be misled by the title of this piece. I will write about the movie some other time.


I saw the first day, second show of Chak De India at Cineworld, Sheffield. The show was nearly houseful. About 95 per cent of the audience looked like Indians to me.

Chak De India had moments when I couldn't sit put.

I exclaimed not-so-softly, "This is the statement of the year", when Mary and Molly remarked about being called guests in their own country. I counted 15 nasty glares.

I swooned loudly when Shah Rukh jogged with the girls in that black track suit. Again, some 20 heads turned.

My arms were up in the air at the beats of Sukhwinder Singh's rendition of 'Chal De India'. Two elbows poked my waist from either sides. Even my friends were irritated now.

But when Jana Gana Mana played before the World Cup final, even the seat couldn't pull me down. I stood up. The peanuts and popcorn that lay carelessly on me fell with muffled tick-tacks. My purse dropped on the floor with a clink. My friend grit her teeth, "Kya kar rahi hai?"

Countless head turned, eyes looked, faces smirked.

I was standing, all alone.

"Shayad hamara National Anthem tha," I was loud as I picked my purse and sat down. I knew I had attracted attention even then.

I was wondering how loud my Chak De! is for my India.

When the straight road bent

It looked like a straight road.
The only thing leading the way
Was the tip of the nose.

The walk seemed simple.
The road looked like a waterfall
Promising to sweep everything along with it.

The wind smelt of wild flowers.
It engulfed everything into it
And left its traces in the hair.

Only this scent remained entangled.
When the road took a turn
And there was nothing but the nose to misguide.