The Tryst

This one is very close to my heart. The poem is dedicated to the countless who are miles apart and are yet so near!

How I longed for (those) eyes so bright.
How I craved that hug so tight.
Traces of tresses, the moon within,
Am I in heaven, (or) was it the grin.

They say its spring, the trees too concur,
Why is that feeling? Is it the shiver??
Don't touch me now, do touch me now.
Heads says I die, Tails says I die. 

The day will come, come what may,

Mountains and sunshine, we'll trot away.
Mountains and sunshine; and lakes so blue,
Hold on to your breath, and to mine too.

Nest on a tree, chandelier is dew,

Green is the carpet, roof is The blue.

Crimson, and Golden, and Crimson, and Silver,
Mother (Nature) for the garden, Mother (Nature) for the mirror!

Don't say it dear, (your) eyes say it all,
Back to the darkness, back to the real.
I promise those eyes, my promise to you too,
Hold on to your breath, and to mine too.

Dear Malala,

When I first saw your childish 11 year old face, the first thought that came to my mind was to watch Tom & Jerry with you with a bowl full of ice cream. That is what kids love to do, don't they? But then I realized that I googled your name in the first place because I had come across the news that a girl was shot by Taliban. Reason - she wanted to go to school. Reality set in.

Before I go any further, I wanted to share with you a little piece of my childhood that I have not shared with anyone; not even my parents or my wife. It is one of those small incidents that unknowingly become a part of your being and do not resurface unless the covering layers have been peeled off by a sudden thrust.

I was around 9 / 10 years old, loved playing more than studies and used to play with friends before school, during recess and after school. Games were mostly played with a small ball made of rubber. There was a small settlement of slum dwellers right next to the school wall on the east side. We never knew they existed because our paths never crossed. One fine evening, after school, we were busy playing. All of a sudden, some boys ran into the ground and got hold of the ball. From the look of it, it looked like a three member gang with a really big boy as its leader. Naturally, we looked at the strongest guy in our group to face the leader of the opposite pack. He knew better, he backed off. When a lot of us pressed to get the ball back with more looks and less talk and least action, the leader climbed the school wall, royally relieved himself in front of us and walked off to the slums, the ball safely tucked in.
Naturally, I was angry the whole night. I kept on thinking what I could have done, what I would do the next time. The situation repeated itself some days later and I could not do anything again. Then I realized that more than I was angry, I was afraid. I was afraid that I could get hurt. That helpless feeling of being afraid has stayed on. I have been afraid since.

Why did I share the above incident? There I was, all of 10 years old, afraid of being hurt by a bully. And here you were, all of 11 years old, telling the Taliban that you wanted to go to school. I do not know much about Taliban, but I have read A Thousand Splendid Suns by Khaled Hosseini. I can say that I can understand what Afghan people, and especially Afghan women go through when they think about Taliban. And then to think about you staring into the camera and declaring that you have right to education; you are the bravest of the brave I have known. May God be with you at this time; May God bless you; May you be a beacon of hope for humanity for times to come.

Lastly, I know you are 15 now, and you might like to be a Gul Makai than to be a Tom or a Jerry. But if you ever read this, you are always welcome. I know your bhabhi will be as excited as I am to host you. And we promise we will talk only about Tom & Jerry and ice cream..

P.S. This piece was intended to celebrate light, not dissect darkness. It will help if we can stay away from comments regarding any faith or interpretation thereof.