Tuesday, September 20, 2016

Rain Messenger's Diary 19...Letter to Annie 7

Dear Annie,

It has been ages since I last wrote to you. Every day when I look around, there seems to be so many things to speak of or discuss but the daily grind drains the wish out of me by the time I manage to get some time to do so.

Nevertheless, I have managed to shed my lethargy and finally write to you as I have been deeply disturbed over the past few weeks (months?). Every day when I glance through the newspaper while sipping on my morning cup of Darjeeling, I get depressed. Kashmir and more recently the Uri incidents have left me feeling really empty. You know some random rioter in a so-called urban posh Indian city actually felt he was better than “some random Kashmiri stone-pelter” because he unlike the Kashmiri was “Indian”.  Anyway, sorry I digress.

As usual, I wanted to offload my burden to you as who else would have the patience to hear my ramble. The heightened rhetoric of patriotism is really scary. We have alienated a large section of the populace in Kashmir and now with the Uri incident the so-called enlightened internet warriors are baying for blood. Cries for war and bombing our neighbouring state fills my news feed and the posts are full of vitriol. Reading these leave me cold every time.

Annie, do we realise that this is not that simple or desirable or in any way sensible? What do we really want – the death of hundreds / thousands of sons, daughters, brothers, husbands or wives guarding our borders to avenge the 17? Am damn well sure none of the people who spew hatred from the comfort of their homes using their top-notch smartphones / laptops will go to sacrifice their precious lives. So we are happy to let others die for us while we claim the baton of patriotism. How exactly are we better than those who send suicide bombers in that case??

I know, by now you must be itching to interrupt my rant to tell me, so what do we do? Do we not avenge those who were killed? Do we not make them pay? The answer unfortunately is also yes. It is high time that we do take a tough stance but that stance is not through direct confrontation with a nation that has highly unstable and unscrupulous government with access to nuclear weapons. The modern warfare is perhaps won via economics and not guns. Let us be prudent and let us be strong and let us try to prevent more deaths rather than inciting for more. The government seems to have reacted on these lines only which is heartening and I sincerely hope we find it in ourselves to truly be strong and stop this cycle of hatred via the internet – YOU ARE NOT HELPING.

I will stop now and hope once again you find it in you to be patient enough to calm my agitated mind. When I write again maybe I will be more positive

With all my best wishes,

Rain Messenger

Sunday, August 17, 2014

Shadows and Memories

When the pain is old and the pen rusty…
The skies overcast…and a rhythmic rain…
I look for my forgotten friend…
In the attics of time

I look for that feeling…
But, the pen is rusty and the scar hidden
And, the relentless call of life…
And the burden of happily ever after…

The curse of finding what you are looking for
And letting it go…because you can’t stop
In the rain…the smoke of cigarette all around
I search and not find…

Yet, I search…
My redemption in the rusty pen…
Coaxing words…when all is quiet

For silence is my sword….silence my eternal sleep

Tuesday, July 16, 2013

Insanity and Us

The clouds roll in…
Steady…Calm…Dark…
And, we burn
Like the world around us…

Bringing insanity to the fore…
Indulging in the dance of madness…
As, we embrace…
The mad rush…in the flow of life…

We seek each other…
To create…to think…to say…
So much that needs to be said
But, remains ensconced in silence…

And, we scream
Loud…Uninhibited…Unafraid…
Pushing boundaries…to find our place
To accept the fire…we are rushing towards

Yet, you and I feel safe
Left alone…
We find solace…as the world burns…
We helplessly watch…waiting for our turn

Sunday, June 2, 2013

The Dreamer and his Memories

You came from the shadows…
Unencumbered…free…
You dreamed…you spoke…
And, showed us pictures…that seeped deep within

You refused the road oft taken
Fought, bloody wars…
And, then danced in the rapture of creation…
Because, only you could

Each frame a story…
Each idea a rebellion…
You carried difference with elegance
And, now you’re gone

So here’s to the lonely verandah…
Here’s to the untouched coffee & half-burnt cigarettes
You were a dreamer…

But, you were not alone…

Monday, December 24, 2012

For Nirbhaya & Those Who Languish in Darkness

Her cries were drowned in laughter…
Her pain was buried in lust…
As, animals tore her apart
We watched.

We have been silent…
We will always be…scared…hiding…
And, she will continue to be brutalized
As, we watch

She fights…they laugh…
We sermonize…
We react…safe in the anonymity of the numbers
We actually enjoy…

Animals, we are…
Watching them tear her apart…
Slowly…painfully
And, still we choose to watch

Let’s stand up…once…together
And, make them afraid.
For once…for what is right…unafraid & free

And, then maybe my sister will find peace.

Tuesday, December 18, 2012

The Awakening of the Pen


As, the night sky rumbles…
And, winter draws near
I huddle in the cold…
Filled with a new fervor

Sometimes, the cobwebs need dusting…
Sometimes, a weary soul needs a smile
Or, maybe just a coffee, a cigarette
A short acknowledgement that you are mine…

But, it’s ok…all is well…
As, it rains
Cold…dreary…December rain
And, all pain is frozen

While, my pen awakens
Perhaps, in desperate search…
Search for an answer
Or…A desperate attempt to cling on to its identity

Monday, October 1, 2012

Of Flying Kites and Freedom


Of all things silent…
Of friends and forgotten stairways...
Of flying kites and being free
And, standing still

The lonely piece of sky…from the lonely window
Sighs, as she clings to the railing
The last of the tears…
Have dried in her throat

She searches…
For a kite…for a colourful spark…
In the grey heavens…
Something else from what is…

Her shackles have fallen silent…
Her battered soul numb
Seeking not freedom…but assurance…
That not everything is a lonely body in the lonely streets

Yet, the sky is empty…
The music silent…the guitar unstrung…
She turns back to darkness
The grey sky stays quiet.