The Power of Eloquence

He that undermines the power of Eloquence,
What do we call him, a coke without effervescence?
Flat and base as it might seem to be,
Yet isn’t that a proper analogy?

One might say, But what is a Bubble?
A mere drop of water escaping from trouble.
But lo! Do you dare forget Mr. Shakespeare?
We are all mere bubbles on this sphere.

Eloquence is like that bubble which when
Introduced to the Wine forms the Champagne.
The Wine undoubtedly is the real cause,
But doesn’t the Champagne add a gloss?

A propounder of Eloquence will tell you its need,
The Power of Eloquence to propel a deed.
A Deed in itself is a mere act,
Until the masses acknowledge the fact.

Such is the Power of Eloquence today,
That to succeed it is the only way.
Name, Fame, Glory and all,
Eloquence brings all in all.

Note: Written long long back... one of my first few poems.
Written in admiration for a certain man who was so good in talking... that you could listen to him for hours together in all genuineness and enjoy it. The man had other qualities too, but this was his most striking one, his way of expression. :-)

Why am I posting this today? Because I have nothing else to say... ;-)

Update...

Ok so here I am with an update on my 8 day long Delhi trip. I had already told you what I was looking forward to in the trip and what happened was very much in line with it. Work went well, met some old friends, missed some others and met some new friends. Enjoyed a lot and I finally did see The India Gate. :-) And yeah I did a lot of shopping for myself and for everyone at home. But besides all that what made this trip significant is a feeling.

I got this feeling today… that I am very lucky. I am lucky because I am loved. I always took everything in a stride in life, even the feeling that I was never important enough to make a difference to someone’s life. My existence I always thought was (ummmm how do I put it?) Superfluous? I lived because I did not know what else to do with life… My family always loved me, but I never felt indispensable. I mean that feeling of being wanted… being missed in your absence.

This trip made me feel all that from the people I love the most. My sister missed me in the office, at home….. missed the chatter and fights we used to have… missed the bike rides everyday to and fro in the mornings and evenings, though I have almost broken her leg once and she keeps complaining about my rash driving. She missed me on her walks… at the dinner table… our fights over the bed that we share. My Aunt missed me… she didn’t take her medicines for three nights in my absence. The day I came back and I massaged her legs, like I do every night, she told me how much she missed it that week. My Bhabhi missed my creative ideas on my niece’s birthday. Every year we used to throw a party on her birthday with a unique theme… everything right from the party invitation card to the menu, theme and games used to be unique… all done by us. This year they missed me while making the arrangements. When I entered home after a week, my niece hugged me and told me how much she loved me. I feel loved… I feel important… I feel wanted. :-)

Abhi ke liye bas itna hi… Khuda hafiz :-)

Oh! its nothing... bas yunhi... :-)

I usually don't talk straight of what I feel, what I think. I hide behind the characters of my stories and poems, and pour out my emotions as words pour out of their mouth. But today is different. I feel elated... I feel happy... on top of the world. I got an appreciation from a client, work seems to be going good... I am traveling to Delhi tomorrow for a week. Visiting the capital city after 10 years... I have been visiting Mumbai and Chennai on and off on client events... but somehow none of the client work took me to Delhi... strange it is...

I may visit my childhood friends there who are lost in the corporate world like me. Probably we will share some moments of fun... think about those days when we used hop around the class, in school canteens, on trips... talk about those grades... "mere itne marks hain aur tere?" kind of conversations... teacher's cane strokes, one on each handlike prasad of some goddess... everything...

They would have changed in all these years... and I am changed too... I don't know how we would react to each other... will we even recognize each other? Its been 10 yrs... 10 long years. I am excited... Will tell you all about my trip after I come back... it might take a week or 10 days. Till then be well and have fun. :-)

Cheers!
Meenakshi

United by Life

The colour changed once again, ascertaining a fact, she found almost impossible to believe… or perhaps she was living the moment like a dream? It was not before the tears started streaming down her eyes, that she realized it was, but true. The tears trickling down her cheeks and neck tickled her and made her shiver… or was it the thought, the anticipation, which had that effect? She couldn’t say. She did not know how to react... She just sank down on the floor of the bathroom, weeping and smiling at once… tears of joy, tears of fear, tears of anticipation, tears of tenderness… and an all pervading smile. Then as if waking up from a deep slumber, she gathered herself and walked to the mirror. Staring at her own reflection in the mirror, she smiled… now a smile of pure joy, of heavenly bliss. She could see a strange glow on her face, was it the beaming joy, or the radiance of another life within her… she mused to herself. Her eyes softened further… the brown pupils becoming lighter and then all became hazy like drawing a transparent curtain.

That evening she waited eagerly for the sound of her husband’s car, for the screeching of the elevator as it came to a halt on their floor, for his footsteps, for the unique sound that the door-bell produced only at his touch… the touch of its master. It was 8.00 p.m. and she was expecting him anytime now. She tried to imagine how she would break the news to him… how she would word it… Standing in front of the mirror, she tried different lines, different expressions… rehearsed them several times. But everything sounded so clichéd that she laughed out aloud at the very thought of saying it, ultimately leaving it to impulse. Probably it would just come out when she actually faced him… perhaps he would just read it in her expressions and she would not even have to utter a word… perhaps he too would notice the glow on her face… She just wanted him to come home now…. Immediately. In the wink of an eye, she just wanted him to be standing next to her.

The clock struck 10.00 and she was getting impatient. Every minute passed like an hour as she sat watching the high-dose of melodrama in one of those daily soaps. Every few minutes, she would run upto the balcony and peep down looking for his car… but there was no trace of him. His cell phone like many other occasions was switched off, the battery would have died down as usual, she muttered. Close to 10.30, she finally heard his car pull-up the entrance drive-way. She rushed to the dressing table, to give a final touch-up. She had dressed-up for the occasion, clad in a pretty red saree with bandani print. She let her hair lose, just the way he liked it. And when the door–bell finally rang, she almost broke into a run, in her eagerness to open the door. He looked famished. It was a busy day with back-to-back meetings on the new project. Being almost year-end, he was putting in extra efforts to make sure it made that desired impact on his appraisal. Tired, hungry, sleepy, as he was, he just collapsed on the laz-y-boy, but not before complementing her on how ravishing she looked that evening. She hurried to serve his dinner. Dinner was a quite affair in front of the television, as had been the custom ever since the world-cup started. She cleared the plates and utensils and came back prepared to share with him the big news, only to realize that he was already snoring on the bed. She laid down by his side, a little disappointed. But she understood. It was a tiring day and the morrow would give her a still better opportunity. A new day for a new beginning… And thinking about the exciting promise that the sunrise held for them, she dozed off.

Dawn broke, beautiful as ever, with the chirping of the birds and sounds of hymns and bells at the nearby temple. He was still fast asleep and looked peacefully content in his slumber. She got up and wound the curtains to let some fresh sunlight enter the room. Then she walked up to his side of the bed and gently ruffled his hair and whispered his name. He just lazily tossed and slept over. She then sat beside his pillow and took his hands tenderly in her own and placed it over her tummy… gently stroking it, feeling the life within her womb through his touch… as if hearing the heart-beat of the new life breathing in her… as if feeling the rhythm of its breath. He turned over to look at her, a little surprised at her gesture… and what he saw then, at that moment was probably the sight he would never forget in his entire life. There she sat next to him, tears rolling down her cheeks, a gentle smile on her lips, and an expression that was indescribably tender… an expression he had never seen… an expression that made him forget the world and just want to pull her close to himself… so close that she could enter his soul… so close that she could be a part of him… so close that they could never be parted again. At that moment, he wanted their existence to merge… their breathing to be united, their heartbeats to melt into each other… and their souls reveling in this union. As they cuddled together, they felt of a strange bonding between them, a unison that was way beyond any intimacy that they had ever shared… as if united by a miraculous force of life, not to be parted until death and thereafter…

Creating Nirjhira- part 1

It was a bright starlit night.
The queen of the sky, in her crescent chariot, bedecked in the grandeur of white brilliance, presided over the revelry of the night. She smiled graciously at the performance of her ardent admirers, the prim and prop, well dressed, knights of the night, who well portrayed their skills at the art of chivalry, to amuse the queen.

While this act was brewing up in the heavens, on the surface of earth sat a solitary soul by his window… romancing with the cool breeze, wearing a smile indicative of his lost countenance… a silent spectator to the night’s frolics. The very image of a man, freshly struck by Cupid’s arrows… gazing at the moon, possibly summoning in his mind, lines from love sonnets of Sidney and Spenser… comparing his beloved with the moon. By his window he sat, lost in recollecting every moment of that evening when he had met her. And like all those romantic, passionate hearts that believe in “Love at first sight”, our dear young friend, lost his heart to this beautiful maiden at the party. Just like the hero of all classic love stories, every night, he stares at the moon, like it was a mirror reflecting his thoughts in images, and in that image, he sees his beloved’s face. Thus the queen of the sky once again became the patron of yet another pair of lovers.

Today, in an especially gracious disposition, she dismisses her court early and sits in solitude with the lover, both admiring in verbal abundance, the object of his passionate love. But our hero is still a rational lover… now does that sound like an oxymoron? Can love and rationale go together? Well I say so, because this gentleman, our hero, warrants moderation in praise for his lady. See what he tells the moon…

No… not so high…
Let her be firmly grounded,
for she fears to fly.

No… not so deep…
Let her be seen as shallow,
than plunge in fair conceit.

Oh! not even so fair…
She’s but the colour of dusk,
Dark nights form her hair.
Her eyes are not coral blue,
But a dark brown affair.

Her temperance?
How do I tell you what it be,
Sometimes, a dormant volcano,
Sometimes, a tempestuous sea.

If coquetry be a maid’s weapon,
She has brandished none,
And yet against her natural charms,
All men and deities summon.

If women feign innocence,
To win the hearts of men,
She feigns a fake cunning,
I know not to what gain?

Timidity, fragility and subservience
Are traits to her unknown.
She possesses a tender heart,
With a mind of her own.

She is not a noted beauty,
Nor has any craft conjured…
In her strength and vulnerability
I find my heart conquered.