Forgiveness

The query: “At Auschwitz, tell me, where was God?”

And the answer: “Where was man?”
― William Styron, Sophie’s Choice

aushwitz_3559929b

I have lived my life haunted by

The demons of the past, that dark sky

Of Auschwitz- those whistles at the crack of dawn

Mournful, menacing, trying to warn

Each one of us alive that we could be

The next ones to be bailed out of misery..

Since I was spared from the gas chamber

I have lived my life seething with anger

At all of you- perpetrators of those crimes

Where was your conscience at that time?

 

Were you not an ordinary human being like me?

What made you participate in such a monstrosity?

Oh I know you were supposed to be hypnotized

By your “charismatic” leader, but did you realize

Your role in the widespread carnage then-

There were massacred six million women and men..

 

I wonder how you wake up every day

And face yourself, how on earth do you pray

To your God- do you also see what I see

In my nightmares, albeit differently?

Do gas chamber for “G” and Zyklon for “Z”

Come to your mind automatically?

Have you contemplated your role 

In those crimes, all the innocent souls

Put to rest prematurely while you still live

I wonder if you have an apology to give..

 

I was quite certain I would not forgive

You, enemies of humanity, as long as I would live

But, as death knocks on my door, I am inclined

To drive away the anger from my mind-

Also with time the understanding has come to me

That while I wake up each day grateful to be

Alive- I know I bypassed death narrowly

You are denied that privilege obviously

A raging insomniac probably you are

Tormented by memories of the world war

And your being complicit in murders of masses

At the end of the day, we both have losses

In another world we both could have been

Ordinary, well-adjusted people, and never seen

Or participated in such heinous deeds

I have scars, but you have guilt indeed

I forgive you finally, no longer do I resent

You, your guilt is a punishment sufficient..

 

(I have been profoundly moved by the Holocaust and descriptions of the Auschwitz concentration camps. Therefore this poem about a Holocaust survivor who forgives the Nazis on her death-bed.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

What do they sell?

startup.

“There’s lots of bad reasons to start a company. But there’s only one good, legitimate reason, and I think you know what it is: it’s to change the world.” -Phil Libin, Evernote CEO

Not long ago when people started a business

There was a tangible product to sell for success

There would be brick and mortar buildings too

To assemble products and display them to you

By selling objects appreciated for high quality

Have entrepreneurs made fortunes over centuries

To get people to part with their hard-earned dough

A physical object to them one needed to show

 

Not so anymore- successful businesses in today’s age

Are only to be found on a webpage

Or in the form of an “app” downloaded on your phone-

The days of brick and mortar buildings are gone

Start-ups are created by people with ideas new

Promising to change your life and the world too

By downloading an app that can provide

Organization in your life, be your guide

In navigating your way through the vagaries

Of modern living with consummate ease

The finished product is an idea, intangible

Yet its lure is quite irresistible..

 

This is the brave new world of ideas galore

Where an app can bring everything to your door!

(Image source:erenkocyigit.com)

 

 

 

 

 

A poetic tradition

“Family traditions counter alienation and confusion. They help us define who we are; they provide something steady, reliable and safe in a confusing world.”- Susan Lieberman

DSC_0696.JPG

So my six year old was given an assignment

A poem about September he had to invent

Nothing complicated, but it was great fun

To put together rhyming lines one by one

For both him and me, and when we were done

He proclaimed we would do this for each month

 

I had been reading a post about family traditions

On my social media page, thinking about which ones

Our family had, when I realized this could be

The start of  “create a poem” tradition undoubtedly

I let my imagination run wild and pictured

My son, in verse, penning down his words

Somewhere in the future, the way I try to do

(In my dream, he was a successful poet too!) 

 

Fantasy aside, I was soon lost in reverie

Thinking about how the best childhood memories

Are centered around family traditions

These traditions give us a sense of connection

To our past; for the future, impart values

Give us some lessons that we can use-

I’ve been trying to create some for my son

Most center around travel and outdoor fun

Therefore I was thrilled to find one that could be

A tradition for a day that was rainy, or gloomy

I get excited again fantasizing about my son

And I writing verses together for fun..

 

 

 

 

Decluttered happiness

“Three Rules of Work: Out of clutter find simplicity; From discord find harmony; In the middle of difficulty lies opportunity.” – Albert Einstein

DSC_0889.JPG

Towards a goal of happiness I tried to evaluate what I did need

The answer came to in the form of an epiphany indeed

One day as I was trying to go through my overflowing closet

Ugly and cluttered, I suddenly felt my priorities I needed to reset-

Instead of material acquisitions that were failing miserably

To make even a temporary dent on my emotional stability

I realized I needed to downsize, simplify, minimize

Letting go of mountains of stuff suddenly seemed wise

**

Parting with goods that you have worked hard to acquire

Is incredibly difficult- there is an inbuilt desire

To save every object for its “sentimental value”

Emotions tend to stick to inanimate things too

So despite my well-intentioned decluttering campaign

I found myself losing resolve again and again

**

Being the compulsive Googler that I happen to be

I went quietly on a search spree

Found articles on various decluttering techniques

Tried to follow them with some minor tweaks

Nothing seemed to work because my heart

Was unwilling to allow me to part

With objects I had collected over the years

With (often) juicy stories behind them for eager ears..

**

I parted with less than a tenth of my possessions

And I never expected to make this confession

That decluttering even a little was exhilarating

Having less stuff felt so liberating

The endorphins brought on by owning less

Made me feel happy, the feeling was priceless..

** 

Neither a hoarder nor a minimalist am I

And even though I continue to try

To downsize every week, it is still tough

But then, the path to happiness is always rough..

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Motivational Speaker

DSC_0212

Growing up in a world competitive

Not enough slack she ever did give

Herself, because her mantra throughout

Was that patting herself on the back she could do without

So she achieved new targets, never stopped to rest

Reaching for a goal higher instead

**

As time went by without realizing she

Developed what appeared to be perpetual anxiety

Because she constantly hungered to achieve

More, satisfaction she could not receive

She constantly felt she was not doing enough

Of herself she was a judge tough

**

Life never fails to give us opportunities

To understand, and rectify our follies

This had to happen to her sooner or later

It happened when she became a mother

Initially she was, as expected, quite anxious

With her perfectionist attitude, she tended to fuss

More than the average mother would do

But as she in her role as a mother grew

She had to revise her expectations too

Balancing her home and career together

Constantly trying to achieve more would never

Work- that she realized as time went by

Her expectations dropped down from the sky

As she became more comfortable in her skin

She felt much better, her anxiety caved in

**

You might wonder if this attitude was sustained

Yes it was, her understanding of life did not go in vain

She has actually become a motivational speaker

(Public speaking had always come naturally to her)

She helps people leave self-criticism behind

And acquire a happier state of mind.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

That day, before sunrise

DSC_0103

He got out of bed, that day before sunrise

Sleep had evaded him, that was not a surprise

He felt anxious and excited in equal measure

Those very last moments he would always treasure

He was leaving home today, his flight was soon due

To travel to a foreign land, explore vistas new

As the sun made its appearance over the horizon

His plane took off, while tears clouded his vision..

**

Few years later he awoke, that day before sunrise

Now settled in the new land, to its ways wise

Again to catch a flight, this time homeward bound

To get married, a suitable bride had been found

Again anxious and eager, he knew not what was in store

The only difference being in the confidence he now wore

The sanguine sunrise that appeared as his plane took flight

Lifted his spirits, he felt his future would be bright.

**

Few years went by, and that day before sunrise

He woke up to his wife’s panicked cries

Her water had broken, and in a rush they drove

To the hospital; by sunrise they were in love

With the most perfect little bundle of joy 

Together they celebrated the birth of their little boy

**

Decades went by,  that day before sunrise

He and his wife woke up, and with misty eyes

Prepared to say goodbye, a final one

To the land that had given them a warm welcome

Had let them thrive, raise a family, prosper

Yet the thought had come to them in a whisper

Now that their son had settled and they had retired

It was time to attend to their souls’ desires

So they boarded the flight back to motherland

When the sun rose up in sky, they sat holding hands

As the flight took off, their memories they gathered

Of all the joyous moments, all the storms they had weathered

 

Suddenly he was reminded of that day before sunrise

When he had woken up with the stars in his eyes

To start a journey into the unknown that had at last

Come full circle- he thought, staring at the sky vast

He had planted stems here, but his roots were there

His weary soul needed home after being everywhere..

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Our assumptions

DSC05376

“Assumptions are the termites of relationships.”- Henry Winkler

You meet each other after a while

Greet each other with enthusiastic smiles

You exchange usual pleasantries

At the same time this opportunity you seize

To appraise each other, to estimate

What the other person has had on their plate

While you were out of touch- more often than not

Some versions of the following are your thoughts-

“She looks so skinny, I bet she has been

Working hard on her fitness regime”

Or “She is dressed in expensive (designer) attire

Must have come into money, she can buy what she desires”

Or “How attentive her husband is to her

She has everything that life can offer!”

Most women make such assumptions superlative

Get envious of the perfect life the other one lives-

While the reality may be quite different

Misfortune on first glance may not be apparent-

She is skinny because quite sick she has been

Business is bad but she does not want to be seen

Dressed shabbily, therefore she is attired

In her only presentable outfit; and she is tired

Of daily fights with her spouse, their marriage is ending

The world does not know yet, so they are pretending

To be extra nice to each other before you-

But of course this reality is not in your view

Meanwhile her assumptions about you are

Off the mark too, just about as far

From the truth as yours- the envy is similar too

Your interaction is skewed by assumptions untrue

 

I may not know what you are going through

You may not know my struggles, too

In making assumptions, let us not be quick

Then in futile envy make ourselves sick

Or worse, make an insensitive remark casually

Hurting the other person quite badly

Let us take time to observe, listen, learn

As friends, who can, in distress, to each other turn..

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Why verse?

cave

I write in verse, and often question

Myself on this literary format selection

Why is it that I find myself unwilling

To write in prose, why is poetry more thrilling?

 

Maybe the answer to this question is embedded

In my Indian heritage- intricate  concepts were threaded

In short verses (shlokas) in ancient Indian texts

Listening to the Gita probably had lasting effects..

 

Maybe I was influenced in some way

By the use of  verse in Shakespeare’s plays

His blank verses and rhyming couplets

Brought his plays alive on minimalist stage sets

The imagery in his verses left an impression

Quite lasting, I say in full confession

 

In writing, the value of brevity

Has often been impressed upon me

Important as it is in scientific discourse

What initially appeared to have been forced

Upon me now comes naturally to me-

Poetry compared to prose begs more brevity

Language must be more effectively deployed

In writing poetry- thus this is the medium I enjoy

 

Here is the final thought- let me confess

This is not original, nevertheless

 

Let me tell you how poetry and prose affect the mind-

The relationship between  reader and writer is intertwined

In a novel- it is a dialogue between the two

While a poem is for self-expression, what it tends to do

Is help the poet process his conflicts internal

Oblivious of the effect on the world external

Since I was looking to resolve my internal conflicts

Poetry happened to be the medium I picked…

 

Here I end my verse hoping I shall be

Writing verses into eternity..

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The sedentary dreamer

Garfield-Speaks-the-Truth-imagination-9595471-800-600

Nothing in the world arouses the envy 

Of a competitive soul like me

Than seeing people running along the way

While I drive to and from work every day

I ogle at their calves, beautifully sinewed

And the feeling of discontent is renewed

Within me- at my apparent inability

To run- or exercise, despite lack of debility

Oh yes, I have tried many times in the past

But alas, my tenacity does not seem to last

This is unlike me in sedentary ventures

There each challenge I treat like a new adventure

And bring each project to completion

Yet my goals in exercise never reach fruition..

My conscience continues to nag at me

I know prolonged sitting is not heart-healthy

The grim prospect of future disease of the heart

Scares me enough at times to give a jumpstart

To my exercise routine, but in a few days

Sore joints and muscles send me back to my old ways

Reading a book curled up in bed is to me

Infinitely more pleasurable an activity

I daydream that one day I shall acquire

The toned look that in runners I admire….

 

Maybe after writing this verse I shall be 

Inspired tomorrow to hit the gym early!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Where do they pray?

They prayed in churches

They prayed in mosques

They prayed in temples

They prayed in synagogues

 

They identified their God

They took their pick

They  carved separate faiths

To which they would stick

 

They segregated themselves

Condemned those different

Had fights in the name of religion

That God Himself could not prevent

 

As they continued to fight

Over things largely inconsequential

Fate threw them a challenge

Threatening their survival

 

Torrential floods ravaged their town

Damaging life and property 

Those alive feared they would go down

So they prayed to their God fervently

 

The floods washed away differences

Of religion, temporarily at least

The storm had no preferences

In devastation it was a secular beast

 

Stripped down to necessities bare

What emerged was pure humanity

People helped each other everywhere

Rebuilding after the calamity

 

The flood waters receded, the town

Was rebuilt after months several

Once all the inhabitants settled down

They went back to their old squabbles

 

Churches, mosques, temples, synangogues

All were restored to their former glory

Different groups found their own demagogues

To give a religious angle to this story

 

Similar scenarios have played out

Over centuries, again and again

Disasters unite human beings devout

But united they never seem to remain..

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Travel bans

DSC_0739.JPG

My six year old and I sat one afternoon

Reading about deserts and sand dunes

My son, a keen learner of geography

Expressed interest in traveling with me

To some countries where sand dunes could be found

To which I replied we could travel all around

The world, and go to any country we fancied-

Seeing deserts and dunes and much more indeed

 

My son shook his head, quite gravely for a six year old

“No we cannot go to some countries,” he told

Me- and then proceeded to enumerate all nations

That are not completely open to visitation

By citizens of our country, due to ongoing strife

Or diplomatic skirmishes, or danger to life-

 

That set me thinking, this is an unfortunate reality we face

That despite the world shrinking into a smaller place

Barriers exist to prevent free movement of men

Largely due to differences among our brethren

Based on differences minor in the grand scheme

Of humanity- in an era when we have realized our dream

Of traveling to the moon, the least we can do

Is to have fewer restrictions on travel across boundaries too

As a traveler full of wanderlust, I keep hoping there are no

Borders remaining in the near future, and so

All of us can enjoy the sights the world has to offer

At the hands of arbitrary rules, travelers should not suffer…

 

Scars

“Without my wounds, who was I? my scars were my face, my past was my life.”

-Janet Fitch

 image

They  said time heals
Gradually you cease to feel
Negative emotions with the same intensity
The scars fade, your exterior again looks pretty…

She latched on to these words when despair
Clouded her life- everything seemed unfair
She waited for time to work its magic, patiently
Until her scars she herself could not see
They never disappeared, only she forgot
What she looked like before the scars she got

The wheels of life kept turning, until one day
Someone from her past crossed her way
Now her scars were exposed, the contrast was clear
Between her then and now, she was filled with fear
That the wounds that like a volcano dormant
Would erupt to the surface, with boiling resentment

So it happened, waves of anger ravaged her
Anger and pain together made her suffer
While weathering this tempest she realized
The demons of her past she had not exorcised
This time around she let the fires burn
Until nothing but ashes were left, then she turned
Back to find the ghosts of her past gone
She had found salvation, there was nothing else to mourn.