The Universal Donor

[Blood of the enemy ... forcibly taken ... you will ... resurrect your foe!] 

"Doctor! He needs blood!

urgently!"

I heard the nurse say

faintly,

fervently, as I lay

motionless on the bed;

only my stirring eyes

betrayed I wasn't dead.

I tried to cling onto every word,

I tried

not to cease to live,

but I was failing:

"And we have run out of stock

of O-negative."

"Well, then, his blood group, check

and give him what you can,

and Nurse, do make it quick!

for his life is in your hands."

"It's my responsibility,"

said the nurse,

"That this man here should live.

I checked his blood, but

Doctor it's..."

"It is?" "O-negative."

_

"O-negative - the noblest

of all bloods, the most

selfless, benevolent;

O-negative, yet

the universal donor,

is a poor recipient:

It gives à tout le monde

whether O, A, B

or AB, whether

rhesus positive or negative;

but O-negative is the blood

without which you cannot live.

For if you were to get knocked down,

if you were to bleed,

you can take the blood of only

someone from your breed."

_

Déjà vu

overwhelmed me,

took me to

the charity of my blood.

Déjà vu reminded me

of the rarity of my blood.

"How much does he need?" "About

half a litre, Doctor.

Else, we'll lose all touch

with him. Where, oh Doctor, where

are we to get that much?"

"Yes, this is a terrible time,

I'll call up Xavier's College.

I hardly think they'll have the blood

in this day and age,

when blood donors, they are a-dwindling,

they're becoming less and less."

And that was the last I heard before

losing consciousness.

_

I woke up, got off

off the train

and was walking along to work,

when I saw a bunch of students

gathered on the curb

outside Xavier's College-

encouraging,

urging people

to donate blood:

'SPARE FIFTEEN MINUTES OF YOUR LIFE,

AND SAVE ANOTHER LIFE.'

I looked at my watch.

Five-to-nine.

If I were a minute late,

I would in trouble land

with my boss, who did me hate.

I felt a paper in my hand:

Form to be filled

before blood-donating

held by a boy, who

before me stood waiting-

very young, he could have

barely been sixteen;

but most of all-

cherubic face

as I had never seen.

"Sir, would you please donate your blood?

I would have, but

I'm underage.

Sir, if you would just fill this page?"

"I'm sorry son,

I have to hurry;

To my office, have to scurry."

Saying this, I, on my way proceeded.

"That's alright, Sir, but Sir, someday,

someone close to you might need it."

The teenager went out of sight,

but he was still in mind;

his innocent voice pricked like conscience,

and made me look behind

to see the queue of would-be donors.

The hour-hand came to nine.

I could not see the angel face

as I stood in line.

_

Just a little pinprick;

Just five minutes and it was over,

they really made it quick.

The blood, it did come gushing in

it came

rushing through my veins;

it mixed with my own, my own

life-giver

like the pouring rain

that rises from the river, and

falls to it again.

_

The pouch

was nearly full, it held

how much it could hold;

The doctor pulled

the needle out

slowly as he told

me, "Do you know

how special you are?

How much it is an honour?

to be able to call yourself

the universal donor.

You happen to have

O-negative, the noblest

of all bloods, the most

selfless, benevolent-

You possess a power bestowed

on only seven percent

of the world's population,

who can donate to anyone

regardless of creed.

Your blood can be given

in an emergency

without paying heed

to- nor wasting time in checking

the blood group of those in need.

It is indeed a miracle

there exists such a blood,

the ultimate life-giver,

given to you by God."

My watch showed half past nine, when

towards my work, I walked;

'A doctor who believes in miracles!' my

agnostic laughter mocked.

_

26/11.

I was at CST

boarding the train back home

leaving in three

minutes, when I heard

the gunshots fired:

people running helter-skelter

people searching for some shelter.

I turned around. A bullet

hit me; I fell down to the ground

in an instant.

Everything was blacking out;

the last thing that I heard

was a distant shout-

a moan

seething with pain

I recognised as my own.

Until:

"Doctor! He needs blood!

urgently!"

The gunmen would have done better...

"About half a litre, Doctor."

...to kill me...

"...think they'll have the blood..."

...than to give me so much...

"...becoming less and less."

...pain, and here

I passed out yet again.

_

Life came rushing in,

it came gushing through my veins;

I felt as full of life as a

peacock in the rains.

Though I had been battling death

only yesterday,

now the suffering and the misery

seemed so far away!

I got up, thanked

the Doctor, Nurse

for keeping me alive;

The doctor told me I was very

lucky to survive:

"We called up Xavier's College,

they'd had

a blood donation drive.

It was a miracle,"

the doctor said,

"This would you believe?

Just a single person, yesterday

gave O-negative.

The half-litre they had collected

did only just suffice

for you, else we would have been

spectators to your demise!"

_

I walked through the door

and then I sprinted

across the corridor

past the green-tinted

windows of the hospital

wards, past nurses carrying vials, past

a man on a stretcher and a boy in a plaster;

I ran fast

but what ran faster

was the conversation, last,

I’d had with the nurse,

running through my mind;

and then I remembered the angel-face

and my thoughts began to grind..

"Donate your blood..," the boy had said,

"...someone close to you might need it."

"Donate your blood,"

said the voice in my head,

which somehow I had heeded.

"Only one person donated O-negative

yesterday..

Where are you going?”

"Nurse, I’m going to meet Him

and my gratitude pay."

"But how will you know who he

is? You do not know his name,

nor have you seen his face.

He could be anywhere in this city.

How do you plan to trace

such an entity?" said the nurse.

"We just look within, for He is

inside all of us."

The One who gives to everyone

regardless of creed.

The One who always helps you out

in your hour of need.

The One who is the noblest, the most

selfless, benevolent.

I ran, I ran, and then to an

open space I went.

I looked up, saw the sky, it was

a magnificent colour;

I closed my eyes in reverence to

the Universal Donor.

_

[The Universal Donor was published in the annual magazine of Grant Medical College, 2011]

wake up k!d

[A haiku on waking up and taking stock.]

Procrastination:
makes you want to let loose, while it's
tightening your noose.

Hey You!

[Yours Absolutely is outraged. Pissed off at how people always play to the gallery. At how they project only that part of themselves, they want others to see. I had a mind not to post this rant, but then, wouldn't I be as guilty of what I'm accusing others of doing?]

you fill your iPod with all kinds of stuff
do you listen to it?
or keep it just to show off
your ‘impeccable’ taste in music?
random noises they call melodic?
and what happened to your acne
on your display pic?
was it also Photoshopped?
like the ones in your album
with the ugly parts cropped?
and how come your tweets are so happy and humorous?
how come your failures never feature on your status?
and why do you wear photochromatic lenses?
to see better
or look better?
it’s all pretenses
like the clothes you wear- unmindful
of your frivolous expenses-
uncomfortable, loud;
not to stand apart,
but to gel in with the crowd.

you hide a part of yourself
behind a veil- a curtain
like smoke from the hookah
you don’t really want to smoke
but you do, lest they poke fun
brand you a lukkha
so you suck it through your mouth
and then pay through your nose.
and why do you say you didn’t study last night?
why? O why do you lie outright?
is it because that if you speak
the truth, they would refuse
to hang out with you, you seek
to seek refuge in subterfuge?

oh, but the subterfuge won’t last!
you come back home when the day has passed
the first thing you do is take off your mask
then throw off your fancy clothes
and your iPod too, with the songs you loathe;
you then put on some Kishore Kumar
you can finally be what you really are-
you are a lukkha, you are a nerd,
now that all the smoke has cleared,
(and so have the pimples from your face;
but you won’t tweet about it,
‘cause you didn’t have them to begin with
in the first place.)

When you live in a world, this full of pretense,
You aren’t what you are when you’re with friends;
You aren’t what you are when you’re Facebooking-
You are what you are when nobody’s looking.

Telepathy

[That's when you know you've found somebody really special...when you finish each other's ... :]

I wish to forget you every morning,
You forget to wish me each day;
It's been so long since you last did ring-
Since you threw my ring away.

And then, I sense your message come through
On channel telepathy:
"If the phone rings, someone's remembering you-
If it doesn't, must be me."

The Lotus Sutra

[I quote: "You cannot make someone fall in love with you. All you can do is be a really good friend; and it's upto them to realise your worth."
I was trying an Onegin stanza, but try as I might, I just couldn't get the last couplet right. So here it is, minus the couplet ]:

The raindrop loved the lotus pink,
It fell on the flower's petal;
But lest the drop, the lotus sink,
It wasn't allowed to settle.

Nothing did the drop's love lack,
Yet 'twas thrown off the petal's back;
And just another drop in the pond,
The lotus's lover itself found.

Still it kept on with its strife:
This drop did beat the rest of them,
Entered the lotus through its stem,
And now became its life.

The Coming of Age

[A haiku on turning twenty.]

You said, I followed:
You fed, I swallowed..of yore.
Ah! not any more!

The Last Few Leaves

[Somewhere in this vast city of Bombay, lies a street- running parallel to the railway track near Grant Road station. It is a quiet, peace-loving neighbourhood, away from the dirt and grime of vehicular traffic.
Towards the Tardeo end of the street, almost hidden from view, is a tree: a drumstick tree that's truly magical..]

When I wake up every morning,
The first things that I see
Are the leaves- the lush green leaves
Of a drumstick tree.

It has been there at that same spot,
Ever since I’ve known;
Under each other’s watchful eyes,
We both up have grown.

The tree was there, I remember, when
I first, my bike, did ride;
And every game of hide-and-seek,
Behind the tree, I’d hide.

The tree, it served as a football post,
When the leaves, they turned to chrome;
Below it, we would sit and chat,
‘Til ‘twas time to go back home.

The tree, it has been privy to many a
Childhood conspiracy;
And though we went and told the others,
It maintained its secrecy.

The drumstick tree, it knew it when I
Had my very first crush;
And during the heat of that first kiss, it
Blew down a cooling gush!

The drumstick tree was always there, when I wanted
Company to study,
To collect my thoughts, or read a book,
Or write my poetry.
_

I could not see the drumstick tree, when I
Woke up on this day:
The tree’s still there- it’s not been chopped-
It’s me who’s moved away.

The trees outside my house now have
Such colourful flowers and fruits;
Yet, I think of the drumstick tree,
For that’s where lie my roots.

Between the Lines

[Of all Russian reversals, the one that rings truest is: You do not consume alcohol; alcohol consumes you.]

The door fell open.
He stepped in.
He stumbled.
With four others.
Alone.
With an air of apprehension.

Silence greeted him.
Dancing lights hit him.
Darkness engulfed him.
And music, deafeningly loud.

He looked around for her.
He surveyed the scene.
He couldn’t find her anywhere.
The same sight everywhere.

He called out her name.
Greetings were made.
She still did not come.
The party had started.

He felt hungry.
He felt angry.
Since he hadn’t eaten since noon.
Since he saw glasses being emptied.

He went into the bedroom.
He walked into a corner.
Where she lay asleep.
Away from it all.

She slept there with her son.
They drew nearer.
They were jolted awake.
They jostled towards him.

The young boy stood up.
They now encircled him.
He knew what would happen.
He didn’t want it to happen.

“Where’s the food?”
“The drinks are good!”
The man demanded.
In an agitative voice.

“I haven’t made any for you.”
“I didn’t come for this.”
“And why may I know is that?”
“I just came to wish him.”

“I’m fed up your habit.”
“At least try it once!”
“Don’t compel me to beat you.”
“Please don’t force me to.”

She stood firm tonight.
He stood resolute.
“Well, you asked for it.”
“You think we’d let you go?”

The man removed his belt.
He tried to run away.
The young boy fled the room.
They didn’t allow him to escape.

He raised it o’er his head.
They caught hold of his hands.
And brought it down in a flash.
He tried to wriggle free.

The scream was curdling.
Someone was pouring it in.
He went to go again.
The bile-like bitterness.

Blood was spat out.
He spat it all out.
The chain of belting recurred.
Some more, in, was poured.

She held her screeching back.
Maniacal laughter.
Unbearable pain.
Too much alcohol in their blood system.
Too little blood in his alcohol system.
He didn’t let it down his throat.

The gun-shot was sudden.
He felt the grip slacken.
The body doubled over.
He dashed away to freedom.

The little boy held the gun.
He ran all the way home.
Cleaned it of finger-prints.
Clean of any pints.

He fell on his mother’s feet,
And saw the scars still on her shins;
Her bittersweet tears fell on him
And cleansed him of his sins.

Rise! Above Them All!

[I have always wondered how nirvana is attained, and how many people have attained it without our knowing it. Why do those who have attained that state not come down from their plane of existence and enlighten others?
...My first genuine attempt at taking my poetry to the next level.]

Rise above guns and missiles and war-
Countries against, and the countries for.

Rise above the ones headlining non-news-
And above the ones bickering on non-issues.

Rise, my friends, above votebank politics-
They can form a full blood-bank, oh these bloody ticks!

Rise above these petty things and small-
You need to rise above them all.

Rise above the culture of casual dating-
The flirting, upskirting, and then the hating.

Rise above cigarettes, drugs and drinking-
You're making a hole in your own boat and sinking!

Rise above relations with ulterior motives-
Who suck the flower dry, so long as it gives.

Rise above these petty things and small-
You need to rise above them all.

Rise above jealousy, greed and gluttony-
Rise above slaughter for meat and muttony.

Rise above your working for only paychecks-
It feels like you're having passionless sex!

Unshackle yourself from mediocrity,
Rise! and tackle problems right at the nitty-gritty.

Rise above these petty things and small-
You need to rise above them all.

Rise yourself, and others raise,
Above them all, for one of these days,
So high above, you will have risen,
You'll laugh at the ones still in this prison.

The Black Cat

[Inspired (now that's a bad word to use here:) by the attacks Down Under, and the movie American History X. If you like this poem, make sure you give the film a watch. It'll set your heart racing.]

"Black cats are unlucky,"
His grandmother said
To Derek, who sat listening
On his grandmother's bed;
"Nothing good comes about them." "But
That's just superstition," he told
Her. He was quite smart
For a nine year old.

"Black cats are unlucky,"
His teacher warned,
"They're a menace to society."
'Lil Derek scorned
Her warning, and to himself thought:
'That is a misconception.'
He wasn't ready to believe all her
Words without question.

"Black cats are unlucky,"
His friends advised,
"They're bound to bring harm."
And Derek surmised
They were saying this because
They were trained to say this,
By their biased parents
Blinded by prejudice.

On his way back from school,
Derek saw a black cat-
Alone- with such innocence
In his eyes that
They could have been friends
On any other day;
But what happened next
Wouldn't make it that way:

Around the cat, a dozen
Odd people gathered,
Showered him with blows- with
Sticks and kicks smothered;
The cat got beaten even
After he died
For the crowd stayed on
Till all were satisfied.

Derek wanted to run,
But on a whim,
He looked at his hands
And knew they wouldn't hurt him.
He also knew what they'd been
Saying was right:
"The black cat was unlucky." He'd got
Killed for not being white.

Below: The Poverty Lines

© Keegan Crasto

[Rape is a heinous crime. But what is more horrendous is the thought that for every rape case coming to light, there might be nine others going unreported. Which just goes to tell, what a vile world this is, with vilest worms to dwell.]

She came hobbling,

Toward me,

In a crowded train compartment;

Baby in a sling,

And poverty

Clung to her. She went

About asking for alms.

They looked to the side,

And spurned-

Her empty pleading palms,

And a rupee denied,

Though they in thousands earned.

Which made me wonder if her outstretchéd

Arms were, or the world more wretched.

I looked across the aisle

At the boy;

His happy eyes, unblinking,

Made me smile.

But his joy

Also set me thinking:

Why beggars have babies at all?

They don't deserve it-

Sleeping on a station,

After a 'meal' at a stall,

After a day of begging for it.

She drew near; I asked her this question-

"When your own stomach, by poverty, is torn,

Don't you think the baby was better left unborn??"

She spoke in such a voice

At this,

As I'd never heard before,

"I don't know who the boy's

Father is,

Of those fucking four,

Who performed this beastly deed.

Lost have I all faith

In this vile world, and still,

I beg, I plead

Till I'm out of breath,

So my son can have his fill."

Saying this, she moved away from me, and then the baby cried;

My purse-strings remained taut, and yet my heartstrings flew untied.

Strange Love

[Have a lover who lives yonder?
Tell me if your heart grew fonder.]

It's a strange love we share, my dear:
I sleep through your days, and you through mine;
And yet when I think of the times we were near,
I spend your days in reposeless recline.

It's a strange love we share - so strange
That when I call you to set things right
On such days, the elements arrange
For you to be asleep after a restless night.

The Religion of Success

[I do not practise religion as most others do. Not that I'm an atheist..I just believe in a different God.]

A match 'tween Australia and India,
Of cricket was being played;
I joined my hands- along with me a
Billion others prayed.

Australia, a nation of 20 million,
Mouthed lesser prayers:
But on that day, the Australians-
They were the better players.

Requiem for a Dream

[I penned this after watching an exceptionally brilliant PAF at IIT Bombay. I have always been averse to vers libre; however, I wrote this as the words came to me, and there was no other way I could write it.
Dedicated to Anirudh Rao, an IITB 2008 silver medallist ~ my elder brother. Only he knows how much he misses his alma mater.]

I miss IIT.

I miss waking up at 8:15 for an 8:30 lecture; and that too, after my door is nearly brought down by a wing-mate continually banging on it, and screaming my name- my early morning wake-up call, without snooze.

I miss opening my closet, putting on whatever smells fine, stuffing my books in a satchel, scurrying to the mess, grabbing a couple bananas, a glass of milk, and hitching a bicycle ride to the main building- with 5 minutes to spare.

I miss the professors.
I miss the lectures, and miss missing them.
The courses, the labs, assignments, deadlines.
And yeah, I miss missing the deadlines too!

I miss competing with the 9-pointer muggoos.
I miss competing with the 5-pointer huggoos.

I miss studying alone, in groups; the end-sem stress busters, night tea; the night-outs- last ditch efforts to save semesters.
I miss the oddly-timed exams: In the afty, at twilight, Sunday morning, midnight: No bad time for a bad paper.

I miss the results, which very shockingly were announced the very next day.
I miss scoring AB’s in subjects I loved.
I miss scoring BC’s in subjects I didn’t.

Oh! How I miss the acads at IIT!

I miss the PAF’s.
I miss the acting- the emoting; the cheering, the jeering- the anti-cheering.
The plots, the prod, the music, the lights, voice-overs.

I miss Mood Indigo.
The events, the pro-nites, the after-nites.
I miss organising it, and learning more about management than an MBA could.

TechFest, e-cell and Zephyr as well.
I miss InsIghT. I miss reading it, heeding it, contributing to it. I miss the Valfis!

I miss the Inter-IIT badminton matches. Basketball. Cricket, and tennis too.
I miss swimming about the Insti pool, and jogging about the Insti campus. I miss the campus!
The main building, the lawn; trekking up Sameer and watching the dawn.
Main gate, market gate, YP gate, the grounds.
Infinite corridor, semi-; seminar hall, convo.

And how can I forget the ubiquitous lingo?
The enthu, the fundoo, the fart, the fight?
Dayaa, junta, God, give-up?
Arbit, breaker, nbd, pain?
The pondy. The scope. The sorry rahega dost !

Oh! I miss-max the lingo at IIT!

I miss my room- my home away from home.
The mess in my room.
I miss the mess, the food; the TV, TT.

I miss my wing, and everything
about it: Wingies, anti-wingies, with their under-thingies, hung out to dry.
Bathrooms with banners- propaganda for posts. Gen Secy,
Hostel, Soc, Lit, Sports,
Canteen, Maint, Mess.

And yes,
Nine different rooms playing nine different songs.
Nine different people trying to sing along.
And yet when a wingie plays his guitar,
They all gather ‘round him, enthralled as they are.

DC++, the LAN, the LAN-ban.
All the wing,
in an all-night
movie-viewing.
Naruto. Downloads. CS.

The kick-ass
Birthdays, when you get your greets
From your friends’ feet. The wing treats
At Shera’s, Domino’s, BTC, Smokin’ Joes.
Goldflakes, Marlboros, smoking away the woes.
Whiskey, vodka, beer, talli.
Oh! I miss the chaddi-phaad holi!

Standing outside H10, looking at my watch;
A daily dose of coffee and sometimes butterscotch;
Canteen, shack, juice centre- Bhawani;
Huma, Kanjur, Hiranandani.

Oh! How I miss the life at IIT!

I see Padma reading this over my shoulder,
I see, in her eyes, some feelings do smoulder.
She reads it again, and when she hath read,
She tells me- bewildered, and shaking her head:
“But you weren’t in IIT- now just wait a minute.”
I nod my head, “And that’s why I miss it.”

They roll down my cheeks, they are her tears;
Of all that I’ve missed, I miss those four years.

I should have known

[ah! but how could i!]

I should have known, I should have known,
From the start - oh! from the start:
You have a stone, you have a stone
For a heart - oh! for your heart!

..and Verse are all I have..

[..to take your heart away.]

Like the musical rhythm of the ebbing waves,
Sweeter than nectar, is your voice to my ear;
I wish the world became quiet as the caves,
So that it'd be the only sound I could hear.

Like two solitary stars twinkling bright,
Nothing seem more stunning than your eyes to me;
I wish the sky became dark as the night,
So that they'd be the only sights I could see.

Like the cool breeze blowing in the autumn,
Your lovely tresses send me head over heel;
I wish, to every other sense, my body became numb,
So that it'd be the only thing I could feel.

Like the brilliant sunrise, o'er the distant hill,
I melt inside, when I see your dazzling smile;
I wish the whole world came to a standstill,
So that I could think of you all the while.

Like smooth, silken yarn, more precious than gold,
Are your feminine arms, with those delicate fingers;
I wish, I could, but once, in my hands, hold,
So that for a lifetime, the sensation would linger.

Like an angel descending down from Heaven's door,
You walked into my life, and drove me crazy;
I've ne'er felt this way about a girl before,
I can't study nor sleep - What's happening to me?!

Like the miracles of God - indescribable,
For your beauty, I have words few;
No matter how much I try, I am not able,
To say that I love you.

I Sit by the Window..

[Never write poetry with a fountain pen. The tears smear the ink. Unless, of course, it's a Cartier. That stuff dries quicker than one cries.]

When you said it was all over,
You shattered my heart;
If it was willed by our fate
That we should fall apart,
Then tell me, in the first place,
Why did I love you at all?
I just can't forgive myself for it:
It's entirely my fault.
Now my eyes are in tears,
My heart is in pain-
So I sit by the window,
And gaze at the rain,
And wonder if I will
Ever see you again.

The times we spent in the movies,
The evenings on the seashore:
My visits to these places
Won't be enjoyable any more.
How I used to love
Chatting with you on the phone;
Whom should I call now
When I'm feeling alone?
The days we were together,
I wish I could regain-
Now I sit by the window,
And gaze at the rain,
And wonder if I will
Ever see you again.

I don't get sleep in the nights,
I lie awake in my bed;
I can't stop thinking about you,
Your voice rings in my head.
I recall caressing your tresses,
Of which I was so fond;
To see your eyes light up
With a smile is all I want.
My memories of you are
Driving me insane-
So I sit by the window,
And gaze at the rain,
And wonder if I will
Ever see you again.

Please come back, my love,
I've turned over a new leaf;
Since you left me, my life
Has become an ocean of grief.
My life is not worth living
If I've to live it without you;
Forgive me, my love
And let us begin anew.
Give me a last chance-
Please come back to my lane;
Now I sit by the window,
And gaze at the rain
With the hope that you'll surely
Come back to me again.

I Wonder..

[..if there's any truth to the belief that there's one person in this world who's made just for you. And if it's true, I wonder where she'd be and what she would be doing at this moment..]

I wake up at the crack of dawn,
To the sound of pattering raindrops;
I look up at the sky to see the morning star-
And I wonder where you'd be.
I think about you all day long,
Till night falls and the rain stops,
And I wonder- wherever you are-
If you're thinking about me.

If we were to meet...

[What do you do when you come across your ex somewhere, after a nasty break-up?]

If we were to meet,
Someday on some street:
I'd stop and I'd say 'Hi'.
Would you too stop and greet
Me, oh gamine sweet!
Or simply pass me by?

Career Advice

[The second in the series of nonsensical rhymes, this was written in the eighth grade (so please forgive me the lack of meter in this one!) A tribute of sorts to Lewis Carroll, one of the greatest poets to have ever lived..The man who brought me to poetry.]

One day I went with my Grandfather, a doctor,
To check his clinic out;
I was admiring the way he works, when I
Suddenly had a doubt-

I thought ‘twas best to clarify it,
So I put forth, to him, this question:
“I wonder, Grandpa, why humans have pinnae;
Pray tell me, what is their function?”

“My dear grandson,” he replied, “Every
Part of the body has a need;
If you didn’t have pinnae, you couldn’t wear your specs,
To this, have you paid any heed?!”

“Ah, that had eluded my notice!” I said,
“I realised it only now;
But I fail to grasp- what is the need
For humans to have eyebrows?”

“My dear grandson,” he replied once again,
“Sometimes when you exert too much,
Your pearls of perspiration are absorbed by your brow,
Preventing injury to your eyes as such.”

“I agree Grandpa,” but querulous I asked,
“The utility of our fingers, everyone knows;
But I don’t think even you are aware about
The use of our ten little toes!”

“My dear grandson,” he replied yet again, “The toes
Help you maintain a good stance;
And if it weren’t for your minuscule ‘tensome’,
You would keep losing your balance!”

“Grandpa, I believe, all of my previous questions
Were too easy for you to answer;
Now, please enlighten me upon the need of an appendix.”
And this one made him ponder..

“The appendix, my grandson, has no use whatsoever,”
He said with a feeling of lament;
“I’m convinced that not everything need be useful,
Therefore I take back my statement!”

That day my Grandfather said to me,
“Don’t become a doctor, my dear.
Considering your questioning ability,
Law should be your career!!”

The Night I Fell...

[..on the dance floor, was the night i fell for her.]

The way you look at it,
I'm incapable of dance;
For when i danced with you that night,
I clumsily lost balance.
The way you look at it,
I just can't do it right;
My lack of dancing aptitude
Caused me to fall that night.

The way i look at it,
I'm capable of dance;
But when i looked into your eyes,
I was sent into a trance.
The way you looked when we two danced-
You were such a pretty sight;
I felt so weak in the knees that i
Fell for you that night.

Future Perfect Tens

[Woe to you oh relative grading, who assigns GPA in wrath. Let him who hath understanding reckon the number of my least (CPI). For it is a human number; its number is six point six six.]

I start off each semester
With dreams of cracking a ten;
But that is just the beginning, let me
Say what happens then:

The mid-sems come too early,
They don't go off very fine;
So after the halfway mark,
My hopes go down to nine.

My vivas are plain pathetic,
And for term-work, I am late;
So after submissions week,
My hopes go down to eight.

The end-sems come, I study like
I've never studied before:
I'm studying in a single week,
What I should have in four!

The semester is now over,
And I'm hoping for a seven;
I deserve at least that, I think
When I'm looking up to heaven.

Then results are finally out,
And I am in a fix:
Inspite of my prayer and effort,
I end up with a six.

I laugh, I kid, I joke, I jeer
After each disaster,
That to score a perfect ten,
There is always the next semester.!

The Cunning Cobbler

[Mood Indigo '08 was a rocking affair, but what made it even more special for me was my winning 'Twas Brillig, the creative writing contest! Contestants were required to broadly interpret and write on the topic 'Ho ho ho!' (given on the spot). Entries were to have 55 words or less. Here's the prize-bagging entry:-]

A frail ol' fella,
Sitting under his leaking roof,
Mended my leaking umbrella-
And made it leakproof.

"It's good as new,"
Said I, digging out two rupees;
"How much do I owe you,
My man, as your fees??"

At this grinned the cobbler:
"Two rupees won't do.
A 'new' umbrella, sir,
Costs hundred times two..!"

Unrequited, is Un-required.

[What do you do if you like the girlfriend of a guy you dislike? You feel jealous of him, you lament over your luck, and you think she certainly deserves better, right? Wrong! It is you who deserves someone better than her. Here’s why..]

Pray tell me what it is,
In him, that you see?
What quality does he have,
That you will not find in me?

What should I do,
So you would put me above him?
For I’m still confused
As to why you love him:

Is it because he is sickly fair,
And I’m not?
For others, he is without a care,
And I’m not?
Is it because he lavishly spends,
And I don’t?
He hesitates, a helping hand to lend,
And I don’t?
Is it because he fails in studies,
And I don’t?
Or because he gets drunk in parties,
And I don’t?
Or is it because he smokes,
And I don’t?
He cracks filthy jokes,
And I don’t?

Is it because he is rude to elders,
And I’m not?
To working hard, he is averse,
And I’m not?
Too highly, of himself, he thinks,
And I don’t?
In everyone’s character, finds kinks,
And I don’t?
Is it because, the truth, he twists,
And I don’t?
For trivial matters, gets down to fists,
And I don’t?
He keeps bad company,
And I don’t?
Is it because he has vices so many,
And I don’t?

I’m still confused,
As to why you love him;
Why you succumb,
To his every whim?

When I slowly begin
To realize:
You like the qualities
That most despise.

And now- after having
Your preference understood,
I no longer feel sad,
But in fact, feel good

That you are with him,
Rather than with me;
For I do not have those vices;
With me, you would be unhappy.
So I just sit back,
And let things be.