In the land of a million gods, celebrating the greatest festival that this land knows of !
Some joys spill love loads
on a love lorn world
Touch us in ways unknown
to rekindle our soul
When lights, glows & wicks
Lap the lands , over
Moments which one wished
stay on for ever
Endless stars and sparkles,
dazzle in the night sky
Big bangs rent the air
to million eager claps
Sweets and smiles
Winding lines to the mall
It is Diwali time folks
the entire nation is
on a ball
Sameer Bhat
Friday, October 29, 2004
Monday, September 20, 2004
Sunday, September 19, 2004
Friday, September 17, 2004
Saturday, August 07, 2004
When I am dead
When I am dead, my dearest
sing no sad songs for me
As my souls flees away
dig no crosses for me
When I am lowered, my dearest
hold no hands for me
As my echoes wear out
read no praises for me
When the lights go off, my dearest
lit no candles for me
As my casket shows no more
drop no tears for me
When the gusts go strong, my dearest
breathe no gasps for me
As my being blurs away
leave no sighs for me
When the spring breaks again, my dearest
Watch me in the cowslips, by my grave
Sameer Bhat
Saturday, May 15, 2004
Elections 2004
A surprise results bring back Congress to power and stuns a complacent BJP
Congress 220. BJP 189. Politics is a dicey business. No one could have foreseen this outcome. No TV or newspaper exit poll came close. The election results of 2004 in India, surprised all and sundry. As it stunned the joyous BJP and astonished a weary Congress, proving all pollsters horribly wrong, India awoke to a pleasant surprise. The temple-squadders lay badly crushed under the full steam bull dozer of a resurgent Congress with Sonia Gandhi firmly in the drivers seat and a jolly Laloo shouting 'Peep' from the conductors pew. An even pleased comrade Surjeet, the grand old Marxist, worked the red flag from atop the juggernaut. Little birds chripped along the tracks. Kapil sibal, roared in the TV studios occassionaly grinning at the enfeebled BJP also rans.
Congress is at the cusp of history. Ready to mingle with the communists to form the next government. I was a trifle surprised at the rather unexpected results but amused nonetheless. I never believed the India Shining crap. Inspite of the government cronies cheering from the pages of newspapers informing us that the GDP growth rate is phenomenal, unprecedented. That shops are overflowing with consumer goods, government storehouses are overflowing with grain. As a fact just outside this circle of feel-good, the past five years have seen the most violent increase in rural-urban income inequalities since independence. Farmers steeped in debt are committing suicide in hundreds, 40% of the rural population in India has the same foodgrain absorption level as sub-Saharan Arica, and 47% of Indian children under three suffer from malnutrition.
Then there was that dreaded POTA under which you cannot get bail unless you can prove that you are innocent - of a crime that you have not been formally charged with. It would be naive to imagine that Pota is being "misused". It is being used for precisely the reasons it was enacted. This year in the UN, 181 countries voted for increased protection of human rights. Even the US voted in favor. India abstained.
I'm glad that we'll have no more of those stupid yatras, no more saffornization of our texts, no more interference with our top educational institutes, no more state-sponsored pogroms and riots, no more blowing of tax payers money on useless propaganda and no more wait for an eternity to hear a word from the PM.
Wish the darkness is passe'.
Sameer may 14,2004.
Congress 220. BJP 189. Politics is a dicey business. No one could have foreseen this outcome. No TV or newspaper exit poll came close. The election results of 2004 in India, surprised all and sundry. As it stunned the joyous BJP and astonished a weary Congress, proving all pollsters horribly wrong, India awoke to a pleasant surprise. The temple-squadders lay badly crushed under the full steam bull dozer of a resurgent Congress with Sonia Gandhi firmly in the drivers seat and a jolly Laloo shouting 'Peep' from the conductors pew. An even pleased comrade Surjeet, the grand old Marxist, worked the red flag from atop the juggernaut. Little birds chripped along the tracks. Kapil sibal, roared in the TV studios occassionaly grinning at the enfeebled BJP also rans.
Congress is at the cusp of history. Ready to mingle with the communists to form the next government. I was a trifle surprised at the rather unexpected results but amused nonetheless. I never believed the India Shining crap. Inspite of the government cronies cheering from the pages of newspapers informing us that the GDP growth rate is phenomenal, unprecedented. That shops are overflowing with consumer goods, government storehouses are overflowing with grain. As a fact just outside this circle of feel-good, the past five years have seen the most violent increase in rural-urban income inequalities since independence. Farmers steeped in debt are committing suicide in hundreds, 40% of the rural population in India has the same foodgrain absorption level as sub-Saharan Arica, and 47% of Indian children under three suffer from malnutrition.
Then there was that dreaded POTA under which you cannot get bail unless you can prove that you are innocent - of a crime that you have not been formally charged with. It would be naive to imagine that Pota is being "misused". It is being used for precisely the reasons it was enacted. This year in the UN, 181 countries voted for increased protection of human rights. Even the US voted in favor. India abstained.
I'm glad that we'll have no more of those stupid yatras, no more saffornization of our texts, no more interference with our top educational institutes, no more state-sponsored pogroms and riots, no more blowing of tax payers money on useless propaganda and no more wait for an eternity to hear a word from the PM.
Wish the darkness is passe'.
Sameer may 14,2004.
Thursday, March 25, 2004
A Jamshedpur detour
Of all the big business names in India TATA's is inarguably the most famous. From Tea to IT they own well over 150 companies and have a vast empire spanning an entire landscape. It is marked by more than a century of leadership, loyalty & legacy. The nerve center of TATA estates lies somewhere in a dusty town of south Bihar-- Jamshedpur to be precise.
I visited the TATA football academy in Jamshedpur this fall. The vastness of the place struck me. It smells of steel & sweat of a thousand working hands. The air holds still & almost draws you in by its aura. This township exudes work culture for ages now. The football academy has grassed side walks & trees that lead you to the stands. Early morning, I watched the boys in their maroons, a whole lot of them . They practiced in the lush greens with a hurried pace. The players were youthful, perhaps culled from all over the state, possibly employees with the TATAs . God knows All of them toiled hard at the ball, as if it were a prized possession, a king's emerald. One watched in amusement as they pulled & tugged at each other . The nets went on deep inside the morning till they perspired & wetted their shirts. All through, a middle-aged man with long flowing locks yelled & shouted at them. Coach, someone whispered. His incessant mutterings gave him an air of seniority . A long whistle. Pause followed.
Breakfast time. They retire to the 'academy mess' and instantly perch themselves on the furniture laid. Fruit juice , toasts, milk and jam. They eat but with an immaculate ease. Though tired they look vivacious. Talking rolls on entertainingly, jokes burst and pranks are Boys, I muse. The team bathes itself. A series of showers, all orderly done, makes a unique bathroom. It is an extended one, long and airy. Spick &span, it smells of new soap. The guys are all naked and enjoy their shower, all in a series, all once. A team isn't cumbered, it is free from inhibitions, I guess. A daze of freshness spills over & readies them for a hot day.
I approached and met with the academy management. They are warm and cordial .Very steady in their dealings, the officials go about their work, taking notes, planning schedules. Trophies & feathers won by the TATA team adorn the glassed racks. A pump office bearer was cleaning the panes hard. He shoos away a fly resting on one frame. They fly takes off, circles , returns & settles. The management informs me that their club is the defending champion of almost very major tournament in north India. They speak with a distinct pride that swells their chests. I can notice a commitment writ large on their faces. The feeling is learning as I leave the office. Discipline is our punch line, reads a little card on the exit. It shakes in my mind like a reed in the wind. Only if this were the tenor of our establishment, our society. Yet we cannot live our daily lives in a realm of pure ideas, I know.
I hang around the place. Everything is well managed. Each bar painted, every door numbered. Things get real in this part of the country, no doubt. I understand the reason why TATAs are fabled.
Evening session starts at half past five. The team is divided in two. Whites & yellows. I am told this fosters in - depth bounds. Many a supporters have turned up. There is howling & booing. The entire field gets electrifying. The boys run, skip, & sledge-all in the game. They side the football and toss it like a plumage. The yellows win 1-0. All hug in the end, no hard feelings, all friends. They pack their little bags. Ready for a real game, slated next week. Eager to take over. A legacy to carry forward, they translate inspiration into sheer determination. Specks or innocence mingled with the right touch of confidence.
I return with found memories of the place, the academy and the club. It sits in the corner of my mind. They win the game, I doodle!
Sameer
I visited the TATA football academy in Jamshedpur this fall. The vastness of the place struck me. It smells of steel & sweat of a thousand working hands. The air holds still & almost draws you in by its aura. This township exudes work culture for ages now. The football academy has grassed side walks & trees that lead you to the stands. Early morning, I watched the boys in their maroons, a whole lot of them . They practiced in the lush greens with a hurried pace. The players were youthful, perhaps culled from all over the state, possibly employees with the TATAs . God knows All of them toiled hard at the ball, as if it were a prized possession, a king's emerald. One watched in amusement as they pulled & tugged at each other . The nets went on deep inside the morning till they perspired & wetted their shirts. All through, a middle-aged man with long flowing locks yelled & shouted at them. Coach, someone whispered. His incessant mutterings gave him an air of seniority . A long whistle. Pause followed.
Breakfast time. They retire to the 'academy mess' and instantly perch themselves on the furniture laid. Fruit juice , toasts, milk and jam. They eat but with an immaculate ease. Though tired they look vivacious. Talking rolls on entertainingly, jokes burst and pranks are Boys, I muse. The team bathes itself. A series of showers, all orderly done, makes a unique bathroom. It is an extended one, long and airy. Spick &span, it smells of new soap. The guys are all naked and enjoy their shower, all in a series, all once. A team isn't cumbered, it is free from inhibitions, I guess. A daze of freshness spills over & readies them for a hot day.
I approached and met with the academy management. They are warm and cordial .Very steady in their dealings, the officials go about their work, taking notes, planning schedules. Trophies & feathers won by the TATA team adorn the glassed racks. A pump office bearer was cleaning the panes hard. He shoos away a fly resting on one frame. They fly takes off, circles , returns & settles. The management informs me that their club is the defending champion of almost very major tournament in north India. They speak with a distinct pride that swells their chests. I can notice a commitment writ large on their faces. The feeling is learning as I leave the office. Discipline is our punch line, reads a little card on the exit. It shakes in my mind like a reed in the wind. Only if this were the tenor of our establishment, our society. Yet we cannot live our daily lives in a realm of pure ideas, I know.
I hang around the place. Everything is well managed. Each bar painted, every door numbered. Things get real in this part of the country, no doubt. I understand the reason why TATAs are fabled.
Evening session starts at half past five. The team is divided in two. Whites & yellows. I am told this fosters in - depth bounds. Many a supporters have turned up. There is howling & booing. The entire field gets electrifying. The boys run, skip, & sledge-all in the game. They side the football and toss it like a plumage. The yellows win 1-0. All hug in the end, no hard feelings, all friends. They pack their little bags. Ready for a real game, slated next week. Eager to take over. A legacy to carry forward, they translate inspiration into sheer determination. Specks or innocence mingled with the right touch of confidence.
I return with found memories of the place, the academy and the club. It sits in the corner of my mind. They win the game, I doodle!
Sameer
Thursday, January 01, 2004
2 thousand 4
2004. New year came to us beautifully. In an upmarket shopping mall, in a maddening crowd of young revelers. The ambience was surreal. Guys and gals swaying to melodious tunes, confetti raining from the far heavens, crackers adorning the night skies and a lot of laughter. I havn't seen so many nice faces together for a long time. DNKY's, Nike's and Swaroski's blended in an amazing sea of party-hoppers. Bewildered cars blew horns continually struggled for parking space in vain. All on a bitterly cold winter night in a city of ten million souls. All mirthful, all ready to embrace the comming year, forgetful of the little trouble that life is!
Once inside the multiplexes, lights in may varied hues hit us, me and my pals, all over. The crowd was ecstatic. After a protract spell, we shook our legs. The girls too dropped hair. Umpteen number of coffee mugs and countless jokes. I was laughing out loud in the dying moments of 2003. As the countdown for the new year began, a thousand hearts throbbed in unison. The air reeked of a festive spirit and loud cries of joy rented it as the newborn arrived at the stroke of midnite. With aplomb.
Looking back at the last year as it limped into wilderness, I had a few thoughts, I have found and lost hopes . Got some good friends and lost a few silly beliefs . Old bonds grew fonder. Around me... An immoral war, an unjust victory. Scams, deaths and conviction. A strong economy, some just acquittals and peace initiatives. Bush, Saddam and Musharaf haunted better part of the calendar that lies in trash-bin now.
Hope the tousled, ragged images of fallen kings would be spared in the times to come. Hope the economy gallops further. Hope some sense comes to our politicians. Hope we have more of KHNH's. Hope peace basks us for an eternity . Hope love blesses us! No resolutions, only heartfelt wishes.
Welcome Crica 2004
Sameer
Once inside the multiplexes, lights in may varied hues hit us, me and my pals, all over. The crowd was ecstatic. After a protract spell, we shook our legs. The girls too dropped hair. Umpteen number of coffee mugs and countless jokes. I was laughing out loud in the dying moments of 2003. As the countdown for the new year began, a thousand hearts throbbed in unison. The air reeked of a festive spirit and loud cries of joy rented it as the newborn arrived at the stroke of midnite. With aplomb.
Looking back at the last year as it limped into wilderness, I had a few thoughts, I have found and lost hopes . Got some good friends and lost a few silly beliefs . Old bonds grew fonder. Around me... An immoral war, an unjust victory. Scams, deaths and conviction. A strong economy, some just acquittals and peace initiatives. Bush, Saddam and Musharaf haunted better part of the calendar that lies in trash-bin now.
Hope the tousled, ragged images of fallen kings would be spared in the times to come. Hope the economy gallops further. Hope some sense comes to our politicians. Hope we have more of KHNH's. Hope peace basks us for an eternity . Hope love blesses us! No resolutions, only heartfelt wishes.
Welcome Crica 2004
Sameer
Monday, May 12, 2003
Knowledge of Learning
As an ancient civilization, India knew sciences & under stood art eons ago. It could boast of some of the earliest universities and education system, unknown to mankind till that time when much of the world lived in bushes. Some of the finest minds and an array of exceptionally gifted litterateurs were distinctly Indians. Alas! Not now. In the race to a more scientific, learned & logical age, India stood still, moving by small steps when the world at large galloped like spotted gazelles, never to look back. India was left behind in something very cardinal ~ Education.
Motley of factors compound to reason this fallacy. Fundamentally, flaws exist in our school education, our higher education & the way we actually impart education. Government & bureaucracy are equally hand - in - glove.
The super-structure of a great nation is laid on its school benches. The state of Government schools in India, where most of the nation is educated, is simply put abysmal. A paltry pass, percent age of 26. Mere 100 teaching days in a year, poorly trained teachers, overcrowded .classes or classes with no benches at all (to lay foundation of a nation on). These are real stats. The dropout rate is quite high. In India, the schooling levels can get alarmingly low. Parents are dissuaded in sending their wards to school because schools go up to a certain grade & are often run-down. Although elementary education is largely free, hidden costs are many. Students abhor schools because there is no demarcation between punishment & discipline. No matter 35 million children in the age-group 6-10 are not in schools.
Apart from keeping the fees stagnant at 50 cents a month for close to fifty year, Govts in near succession have lacked a clear national educational policy. Red tape is too involved (incidentally their own children study in public schools or aboard & often cites poverty as a hurdle to illiteracy. Not with standing the fact that even the poorest of parents are keen to have their children educated. It is another matter that various barriers keep them at bay. The rot lies in the administrative inefficiency & indifference. For a change, why not grant some efficient professionals a space in our education vast lands. A degree of accountability & hard work coupled with greater results is expected of them.
A recent survey revealed that north Indian parents spend an average of little over 318 Rs/year on education expenses such as fees, basic books, slates et al to send a child to a govt. primary school. This is a major financial burden, especially for poor families with several children of school-going age. The government of land would do its inhabitants a great peace of favor by increasing the level of expenditure on education from approximately 3% of GNP to 8% of GNP. More than the PM's annual musings, India needs concrete steps on the all important education front.
Another problem area is language. The constitution of India recognizes, 15 national languages but there are 227 recognized mother tongues plus dialectical variations. Regional and national language apart, the introduction of English as sort of a neutral national language is need of the hour. We can well expect an increased number of students willing to pursue higher education, as they will be well conversant with the language of science & technology. English long ceased to smack of colonialism; it is a global language now. It merits to be taught from class 1 in government schools.
A major obstacle is the allocation of funds that are available. In the past, institutions of higher learning have been supported, at the expense of primary schools, with the intention of developing homegrown talent. In effect, other countries like US, the UK etc siphon off computer software writers & engineers, leaving India to foot the education bills. Meanwhile primary schools are left wanting & those village schools, which exist, are especially handicapped with infrastructure. It never occurs to the establishment to end the subsidies to the universities, privatize higher education & let the Govt schools flourish, let the tiny classrooms have chalks & benches. Let a great nation be raised.
Sameer Bhat
Motley of factors compound to reason this fallacy. Fundamentally, flaws exist in our school education, our higher education & the way we actually impart education. Government & bureaucracy are equally hand - in - glove.
The super-structure of a great nation is laid on its school benches. The state of Government schools in India, where most of the nation is educated, is simply put abysmal. A paltry pass, percent age of 26. Mere 100 teaching days in a year, poorly trained teachers, overcrowded .classes or classes with no benches at all (to lay foundation of a nation on). These are real stats. The dropout rate is quite high. In India, the schooling levels can get alarmingly low. Parents are dissuaded in sending their wards to school because schools go up to a certain grade & are often run-down. Although elementary education is largely free, hidden costs are many. Students abhor schools because there is no demarcation between punishment & discipline. No matter 35 million children in the age-group 6-10 are not in schools.
Apart from keeping the fees stagnant at 50 cents a month for close to fifty year, Govts in near succession have lacked a clear national educational policy. Red tape is too involved (incidentally their own children study in public schools or aboard & often cites poverty as a hurdle to illiteracy. Not with standing the fact that even the poorest of parents are keen to have their children educated. It is another matter that various barriers keep them at bay. The rot lies in the administrative inefficiency & indifference. For a change, why not grant some efficient professionals a space in our education vast lands. A degree of accountability & hard work coupled with greater results is expected of them.
A recent survey revealed that north Indian parents spend an average of little over 318 Rs/year on education expenses such as fees, basic books, slates et al to send a child to a govt. primary school. This is a major financial burden, especially for poor families with several children of school-going age. The government of land would do its inhabitants a great peace of favor by increasing the level of expenditure on education from approximately 3% of GNP to 8% of GNP. More than the PM's annual musings, India needs concrete steps on the all important education front.
Another problem area is language. The constitution of India recognizes, 15 national languages but there are 227 recognized mother tongues plus dialectical variations. Regional and national language apart, the introduction of English as sort of a neutral national language is need of the hour. We can well expect an increased number of students willing to pursue higher education, as they will be well conversant with the language of science & technology. English long ceased to smack of colonialism; it is a global language now. It merits to be taught from class 1 in government schools.
A major obstacle is the allocation of funds that are available. In the past, institutions of higher learning have been supported, at the expense of primary schools, with the intention of developing homegrown talent. In effect, other countries like US, the UK etc siphon off computer software writers & engineers, leaving India to foot the education bills. Meanwhile primary schools are left wanting & those village schools, which exist, are especially handicapped with infrastructure. It never occurs to the establishment to end the subsidies to the universities, privatize higher education & let the Govt schools flourish, let the tiny classrooms have chalks & benches. Let a great nation be raised.
Sameer Bhat
Tuesday, April 22, 2003
Hindus and Muslims: The reality!
When the words sound similar
and expressions are familiar
When our food is the same
and we love the identical game
When the air is very akin
and so is the color of our skin
When people always live side by side
and our laughter is so allied
When we share the same fears
and there is no difference in our tears
When our culture is cognate
and celebrations get too ornate
When we are taught the same books
and possess indistinguishable looks
When the hearts beat in unison
and the lips move without reason
It gets difficult for a while
when Shahrukh and Amitab smile
to tell their cognomen
Hey blokes...Love thy countrymen!
sameer
and expressions are familiar
When our food is the same
and we love the identical game
When the air is very akin
and so is the color of our skin
When people always live side by side
and our laughter is so allied
When we share the same fears
and there is no difference in our tears
When our culture is cognate
and celebrations get too ornate
When we are taught the same books
and possess indistinguishable looks
When the hearts beat in unison
and the lips move without reason
It gets difficult for a while
when Shahrukh and Amitab smile
to tell their cognomen
Hey blokes...Love thy countrymen!
sameer
Monday, February 17, 2003
A Snow for Peace
The winter of 2003 sprang its first major snowfall in the picturesque vale of Kashmir today on Feb 17. The shows, a welcome respite from a protract dry spell clung fast onto the dells, so wide. This was in all probability the most awaited of the downpours and albeit it came late, people loved every bit of it. Lovely flakes of snow in their varied shaped danced all the way from the heavens & made their drop all over the beautiful landscape of Kashmir. It snowed almost incessantly & beautifully across the silent mountains, rafted roofs, forlorn pastures and the parched souls of Kashmir. One almost stood enchanted for a while in this incredible confetti of white. I cannot but marvel at the confusing maze of willow branches & wires in the bylanes hugged by barbecues of snow.
The orchards & sods present a most exquisite sight as almost every thing is painted a thick white. Although shivering cold , the spunks are high, one can warm by .
In these extra-ordinary times when everything eludes the Kashmiris, at least the good 'ol snows don't fail them. However in a place where nothing can get right at a given time, a major electricity cut has begun since the clouds opened up & I jot my musings in pitch darkness by my the slender flame of my candle, listening to BBC London on a lone transistor, talking war mongering , courtesy America.
All this while it snows silently outside and in the United states.
Perhaps God 's own way of calling us to have peace upon his Lands ... White signfies peace , as they say!
The whitest of them all
and the softest of the falls
snow, snow beautiful snow.
many flakes & bits of it
Drench the twigs & buds
falls on hands & heads
Rooftops, tree tops & topless rills;
on highways & lowlands
upon the pen & a little nest;
over these mighty mountains
and the tiny eggs in the nestling;
Snows stick to black umbrellas
and the aquiline noses of my people;
Pilling on the moulds & trusses
splashing many faces & tresses
Snow, God has a treasure-trove
Give us more of this love
Sameer Bhat
The orchards & sods present a most exquisite sight as almost every thing is painted a thick white. Although shivering cold , the spunks are high, one can warm by .
In these extra-ordinary times when everything eludes the Kashmiris, at least the good 'ol snows don't fail them. However in a place where nothing can get right at a given time, a major electricity cut has begun since the clouds opened up & I jot my musings in pitch darkness by my the slender flame of my candle, listening to BBC London on a lone transistor, talking war mongering , courtesy America.
All this while it snows silently outside and in the United states.
Perhaps God 's own way of calling us to have peace upon his Lands ... White signfies peace , as they say!
The whitest of them all
and the softest of the falls
snow, snow beautiful snow.
many flakes & bits of it
Drench the twigs & buds
falls on hands & heads
Rooftops, tree tops & topless rills;
on highways & lowlands
upon the pen & a little nest;
over these mighty mountains
and the tiny eggs in the nestling;
Snows stick to black umbrellas
and the aquiline noses of my people;
Pilling on the moulds & trusses
splashing many faces & tresses
Snow, God has a treasure-trove
Give us more of this love
Sameer Bhat
Monday, July 01, 2002
A war for Kashmir
Amidst a heightened threat of a war betwixt India and Pakistan
A comely piece of earth once grew
Golden maids sang and flung
Elixir were the heavenly wafts
Myraid, its glinting crafts
Alas! evil cast a ghastly spell
that rang the deadmen's knell
Gaints twain locked their horns
Petals blew and left out thorns
Clouds of gloom loom so large
Mirths flee and trolls barge
One hollers, the other haggles
And an army lividly struggles
Bowels and blood, I do puke
Tell me, mate, who do they nuke
Is this a fight for peace
Or a battle for a forbidden land
why do our greys cease
After all, killing ain't that grand!
Sameer shaban
A comely piece of earth once grew
Apples, honey and love it brew
spotted gazelles hopped and sprungGolden maids sang and flung
Elixir were the heavenly wafts
Myraid, its glinting crafts
Alas! evil cast a ghastly spell
that rang the deadmen's knell
Gaints twain locked their horns
Petals blew and left out thorns
Clouds of gloom loom so large
Mirths flee and trolls barge
One hollers, the other haggles
And an army lividly struggles
Bowels and blood, I do puke
Tell me, mate, who do they nuke
Is this a fight for peace
Or a battle for a forbidden land
why do our greys cease
After all, killing ain't that grand!
Sameer shaban
Wednesday, June 05, 2002
Nukes in a paradise!
God Almighty shall ask one of His many angels to sound the trumpet. Time the fourth dimension, will stand still. Moments later everything would be destroyed, each form to the finest of smithereens. The yonder sun will fell down to an arm's stretch. Waters shall bubble, concrete’s melt and airs flee. Winds of the hell will blow to announce in every cleft that the day of judgement has come. That would be an end of the world. Dooms day!
This is what the religious scriptures have to say about the ultimate fate of our globe, universe per se. Wait!
We have all this horror in the making. Fillip the mirror the other side around. Imagine for a heartbeat’s span.
India, the land of antiquity, tolerance and much more, decides that its patience is at the end of its tether, apparently because of continued terrorism on its soil. In the same vein it refuses to acknowledge that Kashmir, the cause of this entire ruckus, is a dispute, rebuffs it is a problem even. Albeit, contrary to Indian claims, some sixty thousand people have perished in the God’s paradise over the last one decade. Wherein football grounds are graveyards now, a couple of thousand little orphans greet you, tears welled up in their innocent eyes. An infringing stick grenade readies to cripple yet another teenager. All this is certainly not normal; it merits to be called a problem, at least.
Pakistan, the ineluctably naughty neighbor capitalizes on all this, all the while with their political, diplomatic and moral support. Actually it has been more, which is an open secret. President Musharraf, the eloquent smart thing perhaps fancies a little nap off the sheen blue waters of the Dal, in the cool zephyrs of emperor Jehangir’s ‘firdose’, but for the knights on the prowl. They don’t let him, ergo his capers!
Bloated with rage, India attacks Pakistan, one fine day. Pakistan holds back for a while and ardently defends its sovereignty. Given the conventional advantage India enjoys, it makes progressive strides. Jingoism swells. A furious Pakistan retaliates with a 30-kiloton nuclear bomb, one of the many in their insouciant stockpile! What then, Doomsday fast-forward!
The temperatures will touch to ten lakh degrees or equivalent to that in the Sun. A giant mushroom of death. Everything will get blown, our intransigence too, to the oblivion. There shall be confetti of nuclear radiation on the reddened sods, blackened souls and the charred remains. Then it would be a big commingle of gloom.
India would answer in the same coin. Pakistan would be strewn with arms, legs, blood a lot of their arrogance. A trillion decibels of destruction. Sock it to unless it is no more, Jinnah’s dream cut short.
God Almighty must already be feeling terribly complexed. Messieurs Musharraf and Vajpayee doing their dirty rehearsals. Stretching and strafing His wonderful creation. All this dehumanization for a small paradise, down here, that once subsisted. We, if you’ll excuse me the expression, India and Pakistan, haggle about it like the two monkeys for a cake of cheese in those nursery rhymes. We have mowed its backwoods, transgressed its virginity, poisoned its rills and yes…murdered both its innocence and innocents. Last shot dead a sane soul called Lone. A heaven that is now a haven for carbinieries and musketeers. Uniformed and masked. It isn’t a vast minuet now; it long ceased to be one.
One billion and hundred forty million of the mankind across the divide do not want to be blackmailed into a calamitous war. There are a myriad ways to sort out differences. No daisy cutters, only daises and daffodils here, please.
India and Pakistan, we, if you will again excuse me the expression, understand one language, share the same waters, breathe the same airs. One taste, one flavor, the same likes and dislikes, a similar passion. After all we have been one people, surely we don’t need to kill each other.
The suave General said yesternight that he wouldn’t nuke India. Indian premier Vajpayee followed suit, said war is not a priority. Let this tenor prevail! God, we can wait for the judgement day.
I invoke Cicero…
I prefer the most unfair peace to the most righteous war.
Sameer
This is what the religious scriptures have to say about the ultimate fate of our globe, universe per se. Wait!
We have all this horror in the making. Fillip the mirror the other side around. Imagine for a heartbeat’s span.
India, the land of antiquity, tolerance and much more, decides that its patience is at the end of its tether, apparently because of continued terrorism on its soil. In the same vein it refuses to acknowledge that Kashmir, the cause of this entire ruckus, is a dispute, rebuffs it is a problem even. Albeit, contrary to Indian claims, some sixty thousand people have perished in the God’s paradise over the last one decade. Wherein football grounds are graveyards now, a couple of thousand little orphans greet you, tears welled up in their innocent eyes. An infringing stick grenade readies to cripple yet another teenager. All this is certainly not normal; it merits to be called a problem, at least.
Pakistan, the ineluctably naughty neighbor capitalizes on all this, all the while with their political, diplomatic and moral support. Actually it has been more, which is an open secret. President Musharraf, the eloquent smart thing perhaps fancies a little nap off the sheen blue waters of the Dal, in the cool zephyrs of emperor Jehangir’s ‘firdose’, but for the knights on the prowl. They don’t let him, ergo his capers!
Bloated with rage, India attacks Pakistan, one fine day. Pakistan holds back for a while and ardently defends its sovereignty. Given the conventional advantage India enjoys, it makes progressive strides. Jingoism swells. A furious Pakistan retaliates with a 30-kiloton nuclear bomb, one of the many in their insouciant stockpile! What then, Doomsday fast-forward!
The temperatures will touch to ten lakh degrees or equivalent to that in the Sun. A giant mushroom of death. Everything will get blown, our intransigence too, to the oblivion. There shall be confetti of nuclear radiation on the reddened sods, blackened souls and the charred remains. Then it would be a big commingle of gloom.
India would answer in the same coin. Pakistan would be strewn with arms, legs, blood a lot of their arrogance. A trillion decibels of destruction. Sock it to unless it is no more, Jinnah’s dream cut short.
God Almighty must already be feeling terribly complexed. Messieurs Musharraf and Vajpayee doing their dirty rehearsals. Stretching and strafing His wonderful creation. All this dehumanization for a small paradise, down here, that once subsisted. We, if you’ll excuse me the expression, India and Pakistan, haggle about it like the two monkeys for a cake of cheese in those nursery rhymes. We have mowed its backwoods, transgressed its virginity, poisoned its rills and yes…murdered both its innocence and innocents. Last shot dead a sane soul called Lone. A heaven that is now a haven for carbinieries and musketeers. Uniformed and masked. It isn’t a vast minuet now; it long ceased to be one.
One billion and hundred forty million of the mankind across the divide do not want to be blackmailed into a calamitous war. There are a myriad ways to sort out differences. No daisy cutters, only daises and daffodils here, please.
India and Pakistan, we, if you will again excuse me the expression, understand one language, share the same waters, breathe the same airs. One taste, one flavor, the same likes and dislikes, a similar passion. After all we have been one people, surely we don’t need to kill each other.
The suave General said yesternight that he wouldn’t nuke India. Indian premier Vajpayee followed suit, said war is not a priority. Let this tenor prevail! God, we can wait for the judgement day.
I invoke Cicero…
I prefer the most unfair peace to the most righteous war.
Sameer
Thursday, August 23, 2001
Lovely rains
On a beautiful rainy August day
The Summer's simmered aggrandize
And the plants withered in size
As the mercury refused to slip
Life longed for a long dip
The sun smiled its way
And the airs lost their day
Then ...God's finger touched a white
Water's poured by His might
It rained a beautiful rain
On the mountains, forests & my lane
An airy feeling crossed us all
The orchads and fruits had had a ball
Spunks warmed and the sods sang
I could smell the earthly tang
Far away...A petite lil gal drenched her mane
Hopping along the hills, somewhere in that rain.
Sameer Bhat Aug 23, 2001
The Summer's simmered aggrandize
And the plants withered in size
As the mercury refused to slip
Life longed for a long dip
The sun smiled its way
And the airs lost their day
Then ...God's finger touched a white
Water's poured by His might
It rained a beautiful rain
On the mountains, forests & my lane
An airy feeling crossed us all
The orchads and fruits had had a ball
Spunks warmed and the sods sang
I could smell the earthly tang
Far away...A petite lil gal drenched her mane
Hopping along the hills, somewhere in that rain.
Sameer Bhat Aug 23, 2001
Friday, July 06, 2001
My friend
Think of me sometimes
As the oceans and mountains part us
Hold on to my rhymes
As the flowers hold the truss
You are there and I lay here
Dabbling all alone
Ye are far, yet so near
Mingled in my tune
Had I wings, I would fly
Hover in the land of kings
for you, on the sly
I can hear ye speak with that charm
The affection that keeps hearts so warm ...
Come back now you affable lil swain
But for you, it won't snow and it won't rain.
SAMEER BHAT June 5,2001
As the oceans and mountains part us
Hold on to my rhymes
As the flowers hold the truss
You are there and I lay here
Dabbling all alone
Ye are far, yet so near
Mingled in my tune
Had I wings, I would fly
Hover in the land of kings
for you, on the sly
I can hear ye speak with that charm
The affection that keeps hearts so warm ...
Come back now you affable lil swain
But for you, it won't snow and it won't rain.
SAMEER BHAT June 5,2001
Sunday, June 24, 2001
My good old chum
An voice came and touched me fine
A loving chum came on the line
Heard him after a long while
Felt the flowers and waters smile
His knock stirred some divine streak
I remembered our 'hide and seek'
I missed the loving times.
Those dulcet school rhymes
The oddity, that love, those paths
I recollected our impish baths
My friend... the same he
Despite his pelf
The same countenance
That real self
My beats flutter, his do throb
Thy sweet memories make me sob
You'll be there, in my thoughts
I pine for the love you exude in lots.
Sameer Bhat
A loving chum came on the line
Heard him after a long while
Felt the flowers and waters smile
His knock stirred some divine streak
I remembered our 'hide and seek'
I missed the loving times.
Those dulcet school rhymes
The oddity, that love, those paths
I recollected our impish baths
My friend... the same he
Despite his pelf
The same countenance
That real self
My beats flutter, his do throb
Thy sweet memories make me sob
You'll be there, in my thoughts
I pine for the love you exude in lots.
Sameer Bhat
Friday, June 22, 2001
Tryst in the Air
A sweet rendevous, that never materialized
I was all jovial
I don't know why
Someone kept me merry
Don't ask me who
A ferment held me high
Won't tell ye which
A tryst was in the air
Don't enquire where
A slick feeling touched me soft
Cannot explain what
The light didn't reach me
I don't know why
Sameer Bhat Jun 22, 2001
I was all jovial
I don't know why
Someone kept me merry
Don't ask me who
A ferment held me high
Won't tell ye which
A tryst was in the air
Don't enquire where
A slick feeling touched me soft
Cannot explain what
The light didn't reach me
I don't know why
Sameer Bhat Jun 22, 2001
Sunday, June 10, 2001
Kashmir....my vale!
My loving vale, what makes you cry
Why do your airs sigh
What ails thee mountains
What cessates ye fountains
How did the blossoms cease
And where is that morning breeze
Who set thy shrines aglow
And why doesn't your Jhelum flow
Aren't my pines lank.
And why did my devotion sank
None of those holidaying crows
And none of the bracing snows
Those joyful sweet songs
Are they replaced by our wrongs
That edifying birdie's chirping
Shadowed by the red's dripping
Our warm nuptial surges
Mellowed by the painful dirges
Shall cool zephyrs kiss ye again
Will groovy buds adorn ye again
Sameer Bhat
Tuesday, December 28, 1999
Kashmir, Circa 1999
The life of a Kashmiri in the guns and booms of the difficult militancy years
The last time around when it snowed in this part of the world, we faced a power outage for some twenty odd days. At a stetch. More than six million people, young and old shivered alike in the dead cold. We must indeed be a poor lot, I told myself. Despite having some surreal power projects, every alternate night -- for good part of the Gregorian calendar -- the compatriots of this beautiful land do not get to see the twentieth century marvel called electricity. In the life of an average Kashmiri, this is only normal.
Forlorn faces, failed aspirations, bloodied egos, knave images... this is a Kashmiri for you. Deprived of every thing by a political system that is too shady to be called corrupt. We stand on a crossroad where there is a carbine on the left and cartridge on the right. The future is foggy. This place has ceased to be a paradise.
Damned by indifferent times
that created dastards out of the bravest,
by violence that has painted the woods red,
by grotesque killings
that chill your spine
by deafening booms
which mellow the birds' chirping
Yesterday, in the sweet hours of the morning, still in my bed, I heard a distant announcement. I soon learnt that it is a crackdown (military search operation), an inseparable part of Kashmiri vocabulary now. It is a dreaded cordon & search operation by the army. It means hurry or you'll be bashed. It is winters -- ice and snow. Everyone is flocked like sheep. There is an emotional bitterness about the same, which a non-Kashmiri may find hard to understand. I feel bad for the old & sick. There are no concessions, everyone has to come out and assemble!
You can be picked up for any or no reason at all. Many languish in temporary prisons for no offense. Just on an officer’s whim. Most of the victims however are innocent. The army follows a standard procedure, I am told. I think they do so at the jagged altar of human inconvenience.
Kashmir has lost its sheen. The Kashmiryat one could boast of has long gone. Those lovely edifying words and warm looks have given to the ogling of the evil. The turbulent times have taught people many things. They die thousand times a day and for each day of the year. Souls are bruised. It baffles me to see people being slaughtered. How can one manage to smirk when death beans are pumped in a fellow human's heart? That too in a paradise!
The Indians blame the separatists for this rancor. The separatist leaders accuse India. Journalists are listless. I think an average Kashmiri has a gut feeling that the Indian security agencies are terribly illiterate to handle the situation. The militants are without doubt a provoked lot . Brain-washed, terror-machines. No one tunes in to either the Indian or Pakistani state media. There are only truths garnished with half truths. Eyewitnesses are made to believe something that never really happens.
Each passing day for the past many years I saw numerous people getting injured, scores getting handicapped for a life time. An average twelve people get killed every day. Some score full of mothers weep & weep bitterly after every gun fire , some shy sisters run barefoot after coffins’, some best friends get separated forever, some good people get to carry their neighbors to graveyards everyday. The year is 1999. I am still in my teens and wonder how many more wails will fill our airs?
Everyone seems to crave for the illusive peace. In the heart of the hearts every Kashmiri nourishes a dream, a dream for a better future, for economic viability, a veracious concern that comes from deep within about our forgotten culture and the pleasant time that was. All the people --- children, young and old want peace to return to their lives.
Grandparents tarry for the day when there will be tintinnabulation of the Hindu temples. They believe they can run in the snows, between the glades and gazelles of this beauteous place with their departed pals. They remember the times when Hindu fathers selected the trousseau for Muslim daughters, when Muslims would pray in the mosques for some sick Hindu. They still believe that people are really good at heart.
I wish the boulevards to bloom again, nightingales to sing again, brooks to dance on the cobbles once more. But will the din cease? Will beams of peace ever bask us?
Right now, all this seems a little yonder.
Sameer Shaban
Winter 1999
sameershaban20@yahoo.com
The last time around when it snowed in this part of the world, we faced a power outage for some twenty odd days. At a stetch. More than six million people, young and old shivered alike in the dead cold. We must indeed be a poor lot, I told myself. Despite having some surreal power projects, every alternate night -- for good part of the Gregorian calendar -- the compatriots of this beautiful land do not get to see the twentieth century marvel called electricity. In the life of an average Kashmiri, this is only normal.
Forlorn faces, failed aspirations, bloodied egos, knave images... this is a Kashmiri for you. Deprived of every thing by a political system that is too shady to be called corrupt. We stand on a crossroad where there is a carbine on the left and cartridge on the right. The future is foggy. This place has ceased to be a paradise.
Damned by indifferent times
that created dastards out of the bravest,
by violence that has painted the woods red,
by grotesque killings
that chill your spine
by deafening booms
which mellow the birds' chirping
Yesterday, in the sweet hours of the morning, still in my bed, I heard a distant announcement. I soon learnt that it is a crackdown (military search operation), an inseparable part of Kashmiri vocabulary now. It is a dreaded cordon & search operation by the army. It means hurry or you'll be bashed. It is winters -- ice and snow. Everyone is flocked like sheep. There is an emotional bitterness about the same, which a non-Kashmiri may find hard to understand. I feel bad for the old & sick. There are no concessions, everyone has to come out and assemble!
You can be picked up for any or no reason at all. Many languish in temporary prisons for no offense. Just on an officer’s whim. Most of the victims however are innocent. The army follows a standard procedure, I am told. I think they do so at the jagged altar of human inconvenience.
Kashmir has lost its sheen. The Kashmiryat one could boast of has long gone. Those lovely edifying words and warm looks have given to the ogling of the evil. The turbulent times have taught people many things. They die thousand times a day and for each day of the year. Souls are bruised. It baffles me to see people being slaughtered. How can one manage to smirk when death beans are pumped in a fellow human's heart? That too in a paradise!
The Indians blame the separatists for this rancor. The separatist leaders accuse India. Journalists are listless. I think an average Kashmiri has a gut feeling that the Indian security agencies are terribly illiterate to handle the situation. The militants are without doubt a provoked lot . Brain-washed, terror-machines. No one tunes in to either the Indian or Pakistani state media. There are only truths garnished with half truths. Eyewitnesses are made to believe something that never really happens.
Each passing day for the past many years I saw numerous people getting injured, scores getting handicapped for a life time. An average twelve people get killed every day. Some score full of mothers weep & weep bitterly after every gun fire , some shy sisters run barefoot after coffins’, some best friends get separated forever, some good people get to carry their neighbors to graveyards everyday. The year is 1999. I am still in my teens and wonder how many more wails will fill our airs?
Everyone seems to crave for the illusive peace. In the heart of the hearts every Kashmiri nourishes a dream, a dream for a better future, for economic viability, a veracious concern that comes from deep within about our forgotten culture and the pleasant time that was. All the people --- children, young and old want peace to return to their lives.
Grandparents tarry for the day when there will be tintinnabulation of the Hindu temples. They believe they can run in the snows, between the glades and gazelles of this beauteous place with their departed pals. They remember the times when Hindu fathers selected the trousseau for Muslim daughters, when Muslims would pray in the mosques for some sick Hindu. They still believe that people are really good at heart.
I wish the boulevards to bloom again, nightingales to sing again, brooks to dance on the cobbles once more. But will the din cease? Will beams of peace ever bask us?
Right now, all this seems a little yonder.
Sameer Shaban
Winter 1999
sameershaban20@yahoo.com
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