नक्षत्रनिर्मिताणि

विश्वावृताणि मात्राणि

तारकस्फुटनेन हि |

लोके सर्वाणि भूतानि

नक्षत्रनिर्मिताणि वै ||

A fond smile of recognition

It was impossible not to cry. Tears that had filled until the brim, threatening to overflow, flowed gently down my cheeks. I couldn’t quite say if I was happy or sad. Retrospectively though, I know that I was both happy and sad.

About a year and a half ago, I had undergone a rather minor laser eye surgery to stop the fluid inside my eye from overflowing through a cut which had developed when a football had struck my right eye from close range. I had frequent eye checkups since then at the same hospital, a hospital which was close to my house. A fifteen minute walk would suffice to cover the distance.

After one of my check-ups on one sunny afternoon, walking back home through one of the quieter cross roads, I saw a bunch of kids near a construction site. They were children of the workers there, clothed by dusty, ill-fitting clothes. There were about five or six of them, all playing around, running and hopping. The eldest was a girl, no older than six or seven and the rest were all younger than her by at least a couple of years. The youngest of the lot was the one held by the girl on her hip and he was barely two. Like most kids their age, they looked like a happy lot, with no responsibilities and indeed even without an understanding of what responsibility might mean.

These kids, I thought, will never have a childhood like most. Their childhood will be filled with extreme sacrifices made by their parents to just earn a day’s meal. And being in an environment where most of their wants possibly will not be satisfied, they might also outgrow their innocence soon. The sight of these children playing, having fun, oblivious to what life had dealt them, put me in a pensive state of mind. I made up my mind to make just one of their days special in a small way and walked over to one of the elders in the group. I asked if I could take them to a nearby bakery and buy them what they asked for. The man agreed without any hesitation and called out to the girl and explained that she was to accompany me to the bakery.

I asked her to tell the other kids that she would bring all the stuff for them and that they were to stay put in her absence. She did so, and came along with me, still holding the boy at her hip. As we walked to the bakery, I made conversation with her, asking her name and the place they were from (neither of which I can remember now). I held her hand and crossed the main road, across which was the bakery. At the bakery, I told her that she was free to order anything she liked and also to keep in mind what the kids we left behind would like. She took a few minutes to think of everything they’d want and once done, all her orders cost me lesser than Rs.200. I held the plastic bag with all the snacks in one hand, her hand in the other, as we crossed the road again and went back to the construction site.

She took the cover from me once we reached and thanked me for the snacks. That was one of the moments where I profoundly felt how unfair life was. For her, these snacks worth 200 were a luxury, while for me, I wouldn’t think twice about paying Rs.100 just to play football for an hour. And what I had done was in no way going to bridge this gap between me and her. However, I hoped that my small gesture would make her feel like life was being unfair in her favour, for a small while at least. These thoughts predominantly occupied my mind as I made my way home.

Many weeks later, I had another consultation and was walking home via the same route. I saw some of those children from that day, again playing on the street. I had almost reached the end of the road, where I’d turn, when I spotted that big girl in the group. Her face lit up in an instant when she saw me and waved her hand wildly at me. Glee was written on her face; her wide smile the letters. Those were smiles and waves of a happy recollection, of recognition.

Her happiness moved me in a way quite unlike anything else. I had gone from another passerby on the road to someone whom she remembered and someone who made her smile. I too smiled and gave back a hearty wave as I tried to prevent my eyes from moistening. I passed by her and made the turn, as I realised how I’d look back on this day with fondness, for years to come. I couldn’t hold the tears in any longer. It was impossible not to cry…

Gravitational Waves!

Billion years ago were two orbiting black holes

Closer they drew; they collided and merged through

Space-time fabric was warped; still it folds and unfolds

The colossal collision set off these gravitational waves

Stacking crest after trough, endlessly propagating, until time stays.

I wrote this poem to celebrate the historic day on which mankind first observed the gravitational waves directly! This poem - an acrostic - has more than the word formed by first line first letter, second line second letter and so forth. There’s another word in it. Can you find what that is?

Also, for reigniting my interest in astronomy and black holes in particular, many thanks to Usha Keshav!

Song for Life

Strung together are myriad notes

Often words too, to go along

Now the listening of the composition

Gives birth in us to emotions strong.

Souls are touched, we find respite

Or comfort in grief, or ecstasy in joy

Numerous meanings in different life phases

Gifts of music are for everyone to enjoy.

Similarly I hope to be a song

Of lyrics meaningful and melodies soulful

Now my existence I will deem successful

Given I make at least one life purposeful.

Sure the song will not last forever

One day my last note will be played

Notable, let my song be called, if it is

Given at least just one more replay.

An acrostic written and published (take that, you government!) in China.

Just Another Day at Work

Tired as he was, he grinned from ear to ear when he saw it.

3 hours. 14 minutes, 15 seconds. That was how much time Homicide Detective James Hardy had spent in the interrogation room. He’d just come out of the room with every inch covered in sweat, exhausted mentally and physically drained. The prime suspect in his latest assignment of the Todd double murder case was unyielding. He had gone inside the interrogation room convinced of the guilt of the suspect. A very methodical man, Hardy, had left no hair unnoticed during the investigation and after 9 nearly sleepless days and nights of relentless efforts, during which he had worked under the scrutiny of the media lenses employing his acute observation and reasoning skills, he was finally convinced of the sequence of the events. A confession from the prime suspect would seal everything up. Now at 2 in the morning, the tense situation notwithstanding, he was smiling at the picture that he had just received on WhatsApp.

Despite his firm conviction of the event sequence he had carefully and craftily reconstructed, the interrogation at some point had made him question himself. Hardy would never forgive himself if he was in any way responsible for a false conviction. He thought about how he would normally discuss every detail of the case with his partner-in-crime-detection Irene Lawrence. This case did not give him time for that. Nor did it give him Irene, because she was on her holiday, which was already put off three times. But he still had painstakingly gone over smallest of details the case presented (like the small stain of blood on the second floor window and the seemingly watertight alibi of the neighbour) at least thrice before arriving at his conclusions. During the doubtful junctures in the interrogation, he had gone over the copious details again in his head and had realized how his theory was indeed right. It had taken enormous concentration and character on his part to not just process the information the suspect was giving, but also to find a way to trap him. Having stepped out of the room after successfully extracting a confession, the weary detective continued to grin at his phone.

All he wanted now was some strong Sumatran coffee, brewed freshly from the coffee beans which were at his table, the bag still unopened. But this was only his second choice. What he truly longed for was on the rocks scotch and a night of peaceful sleep. It was a longing which started taking shape just after the confession. However, the just received picture had killed that longing in an instant. He hadn’t a choice but to settle for the second best now. Second best though it was, it didn’t make Hardy feel bad. And maybe, he thought, that was the effect of the picture he had just received.

The picture was just madness, really. Talk to any civilian about it, she’d feel disturbed at the very least. But that’s what, he figured, jobs like his drove people to. He felt more certain that without a degree of madness, one couldn’t do all the work, which involved looking at bodies over and over and at each part with total attention, looking for bodies in places where you are least likely to find them, coming up with theories about how the bodies came to be in that state, came to be where they did, then looking at the area around the body, talking to people who could in any way be related to the bodies, find those relations too on many occasions, and finally finding the somebody - people or a group of people - who was responsible for the body being there. And they invariably worked with a strict deadline. The picture was one epitome of the madness.

How the Todd double murder case alone hadn’t driven him to madness, Hardy didn’t know. High publicity and Irene’s absence had made it more difficult than it could’ve been. But more madness awaited him now. The picture had been Irene’s selfie. No, it wasn’t a selfie from her holiday trip; it was her customary selfie with the new murder victim. She was called back to work and the game was afoot again. Yet, for one last time, he smiled at the picture.

The longest walk… to ruin or fame!

He forced a smile on his face. It was imperative for him to keep his calm; to keep his nerve. Faltering was not an option. It never was. But especially not now.

His time had come. He started the walk, still trying to force a smile on his face. He wasn’t so sure about how fast he was walking, but he felt like a snail could beat him for pace now. He was tired, yes. The past couple of hours were draining. He had very little energy left in him, because he had given more than he ever had. Mentally too, it was a tough two hours. These, though, weren’t the reasons why he was walking slowly.

Every passing second would one day go down in history, and it took him closer to being a part of history himself. No matter what happens, he will be etched into history books. It was this knowledge that made him slow.

“Not just the books, even documentaries I’m sure!”

That thought in his head actually made him smile. For a fraction, he felt confidence surge in him. But it only lasted that long.

He felt a hundred thousand pairs of eyes on him. Some rooting for him, some willing against him. The people around him were screaming their lungs out. If there ever was a situation where one could feel the weight of 100kgs on him, though he was carrying nothing, this was it. Expectation weighed on him. He was also aware of a million other eyes across the globe that were fixated on him. Again, some rooting for him, some willing against him. He continued to walk, at the same unknown pace.

His opponents would have studied him in all detail. He wasn’t going to do anything new. It was something he had practiced before and done effectively over the years. But if that was an advantage at all, he didn’t think so now. He wondered if it would play against him.

His walk had carried him to his destination, but that wasn’t the end of it. He had done only the easiest part right. Now came the defining moment. A moment that would make a celebrated hero whose name would be sung in praise or the villain of an entire nation who would always be known as the man who let them down when it really mattered. His heart was hammering against his ribcage. His mind was still racing with thoughts of the aftermath. What would happen now?

He stood with his arms on his hips, legs apart. Suddenly, he felt adrenaline rushing inside him. He knew what he should do. And to do that, he threw the thoughts of the consequences out of his head. The screams of the people, though loud as ever, were reduced to a mere whisper. He had one quick glance at the opponent in front of him. He focused his mind and picked his target. His face held an expression that wasn’t quite decipherable, but it decidedly was what a confident man would wear.

From the edge of the area, he took measured steps towards the penalty area and struck the ball firmly to the bottom right corner of the goal. Even before the ball was halfway through to the goal, he was aware of the keeper diving to his right. He had managed to deceive the keeper, it was only a matter of the shot being on target! Before he could finish thinking this, the ball had found the bottom corner it was aimed at. He had just struck the winning penalty! Falling to his knees, he felt a massive emotion take him over, as emotion that’s felt when your nation has just won the world cup!

Rock the Cradle on

‘Ma, he looks cuter than my Sophie!’

Arya’s little brother was just nine days old. Wrapped up in warm tiny cloths, he was a picture of serene, sleeping in his mother’s arms. Five year old Arya, who had come bounding back home from her Montessori, had gone straight to her mother’s room. To Arya, her doll Sophie was the most beautiful person in the world. But now she put into words what she had felt ever since she saw her little brother: that he was the most beautiful person in the world.

Her little brother had just drifted off to sleep, only moments before Arya’s arrival. Arya’s screamed exclamation could have woken him, but it didn’t. Had there been anyone else in the room apart from her mother, she would’ve had to deal with an earful on how to behave with a baby around. But her mother, valuing the intent more than the act to convey the intent, instead smiled, and said, “He also looks so calm, doesn’t he? And he has just fallen asleep; you don’t want to wake your little brother make him and cry, do you sweetie?”

Realising what she had done, Arya’s dark eyes widened, her smile dropped to a small frown and she put her tiny index finger to her lips, hoping she hadn’t disturbed her brother. Moved by the look of guilt on her face, the mother put her son in the crib and drew Arya close to her.

“It’s ok, Arya, he’s still sleeping,” she said consolingly.

Arya hadn’t taken her eyes off her brother. She had always had a lot of questions and questions about him were on top of her list. She had in fact tried to count the number of unanswered questions about him, but had lost track of her count. The first of her questions was how he ever managed to get into their mother’s stomach. Was she also there, when she was a baby? Nobody could quite explain it to her. Just then, though, she was fascinated by how tiny he was. His tiny fingers, trying to clutch on to the blanket, his tiny bent legs that were kicking around, his tiny eyes closed in sleep, and his tiny mouth, that seemed to be curled into a faint, barely-there smile.

She had many times felt the urge to hold him like her mother did. But she was also scared that she might do some harm to him. Arya felt the he also was fragile, as much as he was tiny. She didn’t like it even if Sophie fell from her arms. She just couldn’t risk doing anything to the precious little kid. She also wondered when he would be big enough for her to include him in her games. She would be the teacher and he the student, she’d be a mother and he her child, she’d be the queen and he her subject. She would also teach him to crawl, to walk and to run, to hop, to skip and to jump and to read, to draw, and to colour.

And until he grew up, she, the big sister, would take care of him in all ways she could. And just then, she wanted him to sleep well. Suddenly, she remembered what her mother did when she wanted him to sleep. Arya went forward to the crib and gently started rocking it. And taking on the softest voice she could, she sang, “Hush little baby don’t you cry…”

The mother, looking at her children, felt delighted in a divine way that only a mother feels. Arya gently rocked the cradle on.