Republic of Children....

The metro station on a Monday morning is usually crowded, but I didn’t expect the crowd today. Republic day hai.. who will be out anyway? I thought... smug in my belief that not too many people will have gotten passes to the parade like I did. Journalistic superiority you know,…
A river of humanity flowed out from the train at 8 a.m on a Monday morning at Rajiv Chowk metro station. But unlike other Mondays, everyone was moving towards a single exit- the one leading to Janpath and onwards to the Republic Day parade at India Gate. Green DTC buses waited outside for a select few, as thousands of people walked the distance from CP to the India gate lawns to watch the proud celebration of 60 years of India as a Republic. Armed policemen direct the flow, as the roads branching from the main route confuse some. At Le Meridian hotel, the river divides into two streams, headed to different sides of Rajpath, different enclosures. Suited officials and various defence service personnel add to the melee of security men, with the Delhi police still the clear majority as the surging crowd tries to hurry... It is almost 9 a.m, and the seating enclosures are still 10 minutes away. A smart alec in the crowd comments, “pehle yahan hamari parade ho rahi hai aur ye dekh rahe hain phir Rajpath pe hum parade dekhenge.”

I am directed towards the national Archives of India, as my pass allows me seating at a specific enclosure and no other. At the archives, the crowd parts again, thw two streams heading towards their destination finally, but through painfully thin , regulated lines. Wooden logs act as barricades. People have to show their passes before they are allowed through. The crowd swells, impatient, a few go through before a burly policeman places himself as a bulwark to stop the flow. “arre sab ke passes check karo. Ek eke kar ke hi jaane dena kabbhi pata chala koi terrorist ghus aye,” he shouts to his colleagues. Hearing the dreaded ‘T’ word, the crowd understands that they need to cooperate. Anxiety to reach the venue battles with insecurity and people patiently show their passes before ducking under the policeman’s arms to the other side. A long walk still lies ahead, along with a gauntlet of security. Show your pass, identity card, get scanned by the handheld metal detectors, enter the little tent specified for a body check as a surly and obviously harried lady constable checks your pockets and runs her hand across your body to ensure there is nothing hidden under your clothes. As uncomfortable it is, you cannot decline because this is the last way to ensure nothing untoward goes in. young boys and men hurry in the opposite direction clutching their wives’ bags and mobile phones to put them back in the cars as they too are not allowed inside. A growing pile of full water bottles and food packets indicates that yet again, we didn’t look at the printed instructions on our passes and newspapers that said clearly that nothing will be allowed inside. The wife of a highly decorated retired soldier tries to talk the security personnel into allowing her bag inside. Refused, she gives it to her son to return to the car.

Finally we are in after yet another pass and body search at the entrance to the enclosure. This time, the presence of a pen and a notepad causes consternation to the lady constable till I show her my press card to push the fact that the items are essential to my presence at the august occasion. As a journalist, I cannot be expected NOT to record the events.
Excited faces surround me. Children run about in the fashion of childhood as the adults take to the chairs. Animated conversations can be heard everywhere. This is the enclosure for the press, and defence personnel, and anyone with contacts in either world. I finally see my colleagues who had decided to drive down instead of braving public transport. I fall into a seat next to them, a three year old boy on my neighboring chair. He isn’t too impressed by the flags flying on poles all over Rajpath, or the flowers bedecking the presidential enclosure right across, his cap, for the moment fascinates him more. I smile at the child, “do you know what is happening here?” I ask. He nods his head hesitantly at first, maybe deciding whether my face was friendly enough for an answer. His mother prompts him. “I came to see the lions, and there will be elephants and giraffes” he says. “Lions?” I ask. “Yes” he says emphatically. “There are lions and elephants and giraffes in the parade”. His mother smiles indulgently. “I brought him here last year too, but he slept through almost all of the parade. I told him about the brave children who will come on elephants though. That seems to have stuck to his mind.” “See Sukrit, there are two lions right behind us” I say, pointing to the Sarnath pillar emblem that is erected right beside our enclosure. He twists in his seat to look at the pillar, and dismisses it. “No didi, there will be real lions.”

The announcers begin to talk about the wreath laying ceremony at the Amar jawan Jyoti, and I turn to my colleagues. One, recently returned from the US, has never seen the parade even on TV. The sounds of the bugles playing ‘the last post' startle `her. As all fall silent with the signal for two minutes of respect, she asks, “yeh kya ho raha hai?” I press a finger to my lips and hold up two fingers of the other hand. “oh”.. is the only response as the bugles announce the end and our third colleague, the senior defence reporter joins us. “It’s about to start!” I squeal, causing my young neighbour and a few children sitting in front of us to stare rather uncomprehendingly at me. My age apparently makes it ineligible for me to act that way at the Republic Day parade.

“Wait till you see the president’s bodyguards. All the men and horses look like a wave coming at you” I tell my colleague (henceforth referred to as C) in a high state of excitement. “See there are horses, now a lion will also come” says little sukrit, firm in his belief that the parade would indeed have all the animals he desires. He points at the horses, and asks his mother when the other animals will come. The president is escorted to her dais, the gallantry awards are given out.
C, the senior reporter (M) and I discuss the award ceremony and the merits/demerits of the awardees. We also try and gauge the level of applause for each. “MC sharma should get a lot of applause from Delhiites” says M, but it is Sandeep Unnikrishnan who wins this contest.. “He was so good looking!” says C, at the picture of the deceased major in the RD Parade booklet we’ve got.

By the middle of the award ceremony, my little neighbour realizes that he is hungry, and bored. A three year old’s squeals add to the announcer’s voice. “Mamma mujhe kuch khana chahiye.”

The beginning of the parade silences him. The first is the three Mig helicopters that spray flowers on the assembled crowd… “If ure lucky u’ll get one..” says M,. and I laugh as a rose petal comes right in my lap.
My little neighbour also lets go of his tantrum once the parade begins. He watches in fascination as all tanks roll by… and shouts at the missiles. “dekho flight!!!” he yells, as the brahmos missile comes by. The marching contingents and the floats draw similar responses from the assembled adults; including me... we clap with the beat as the bands go by.
The marching contingents bring out the childish fascination of the adults and they break out in applause for the marchers.
By now, two more children sitting right in front of me have noticed our enthusiasm. “dekho didi, camels aa gaye” they yell as the BSF camel contingent comes into view. The camel contingent animates Sukrit again, but while the adults applaud the beauty and precision of the contingent, he wants to ride the camel and take one home.

I point to the rhino in the Assam float. “look sukrit, there’s an elephant.” He corrects my mistake. “That’s not an elephant”.. Mea culpa... I thought I could fool a 3 year old.. and then HE points to the actual elephant model right behind the towering rhino.. “see.. That is an elephant.. par yeh chota elephant kyun hai?”

Its finally the fly past that elicits a universal response from the audience... “woah look at that!!!” “Those copters look DEADLY!”(this from M, who otherwise claims to be totally blasé about aircraft.. “ive flown in a lot of them coz of work.”) “Did u see how the refueller went?” “god! The sukhoi looked like it was falling down right after it went vertical”(this from a finally excited C).

Flypast over, we part ways. I stay a bit to talk to various people, including the two boys I had talked to earlier. Aged 12 and 7, Ashish and sagar have seen some 7 parades between them, but they’re still fascinated. Ashish Joshi, who claims to be indifferent since he has seen the parade ‘five times’ says that it is the motorcyclists that really excite him. His younger brother on the other hand, prefers the planes. “What is the parade for, sagar?” I ask. “It’s a parade… the soldiers come...” he hesitates. Then... “I will tell you when I grow up” he says.
Outside, there is chaos. Harried policemen direct people and cars. I stop to talk to the Bihar regiment band that played the National Anthem for today’s parade. The band members react with pleasure. “We don’t really interact with people outside the RPD camp. We have been here a month and will leave after the beating retreat” they say, and invite me to hear their performance at Vijay Chowk tomorrow evening. “Different bands play every evening madam. Aap aiye apko achcha lagega.”

I start the long walk back to the metro station.. a rather broken and sluggish crowd around me this time. The concentration, the hurry is gone. People stroll in leisure, papad wallahs and chaiwallahs make a killing. I buy papad from a man in his early 20s.. Introducing myself as a journalist, I ask him a few questions. “Sorry madam main baat nahin kar sakta… abhi toh kamai ka time hai” he runs off.

Ahead of me I see a old- looking man bowing to the soldiers standing guard. “ram ram bhai, ram ram” he yells, waves and walks past them. The soldiers smile back at him. And I run up to catch him. “suniye uncleji.. aap soldiers ko ramram kyun kar rahe they?”
His smile tells me that I’m dealing with someone not very intellingent. But his answer floors me. “We only see them at this time, and they help us so much. It feels good to greet them this way” he says, bowing to an NSG commando across the road, who smiles back.

I stop again to chat with two young boys who talk nineteen to a dozen about how they sneaked in with the crowd and saw the parade. Semi educated, they proudly said that they had full right to see the parade. “ham bhi to india ke hain. Ticket nahi liya toh kya, bachchon ko kaun police rokti hai”, says the older of the two. All of 14, he talks like a seasoned man of the streets. “aap nahi janti didi. Aise hi kitne log chale jate hain.” They go off to enjoy their day of freedom, and I trudge on to the metro station.….

Hundreds of women and children sit around at the station. And huge lines have formed at the ticket counters.. mostly men.. “have you all just come from the parade auntyji?” I ask a lady cradling two kids. “haan ji. Wahin se aa rahein hain.” She replies laconically.. her daughter on the other hand pipes up.. “apne dekhi didi.. kitni sundar thi na?? Who jhanki dekhi thi aapne.. itni sundar thi…mere papa ticket lene gaye hain” her mother shushes her.. I throw her a smile and walk to the platform..
teh metro is full again.. the chattering crowd relaxes, discusses what they saw, what they were going to do.. "lunch kahan karna ha yaar?" just about sums up the day..

the epitaph on Bahadurshah zafar's grave...

लगता नहीं है जी मेरा उजड़े दयार
मेंकिसकी बनी है आलमे-ना-पायदार

मेंबुलबुल को बाग़बां से न सय्याद से
गिलाक़िस्मत में क़ैद थी लिखी फ़स्ले-बहार

मेंकहदो इन हसरतों से कहीं और जा बसें

इतनी जगह कहां है दिले दाग़दार में
एक शाख़े-गुल पे बैठ के बुलबुल है शादमा
कांटे बिछा दिए हैं दिले-लालज़ार में
उम्रें -दराज़ मांग के लाए थे चार दिन
दो आरज़ू में कट गए दो इंतिज़ार में
दिन ज़िंदगी के ख़त्म हुए शाम हो गई
फैला के पांव सोएंगे कुंजे मज़ार में
कितना है बदनसीब ज़फ़र दफ़्न के लिए
दो गज़ ज़मीं भी मिल न सकी कूए-यार में

Invictus

Invictus
by William Ernest Henley; 1849-1903

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find me, unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate;
I am the captain of my soul.

insomnia.....

“I lost my baby!!! My baby!!!!” my cry seemed unnaturally loud to me in the confines of my little room. The cold of the night seems to suffocate me... and I’m too broken to crawl under the warmth of the blanket lying on the other side of the floor. I feel this numbness, this darkness... emptiness inside me... where there was life just a few short days ago...
My baby…
Flesh of my flesh... blood of my blood…
My love
The only remaining symbol of the fairytale life I’d once hoped to have…


I’m a widow... my husband died in a battle that I was never allowed to learn anything about, and all I have left of our romance is a few letters, pictures... and my memories...
He died and I couldn’t save him…

They told me it was impossible for him to live. The war he faced would eventually take him. They WARNED me not to marry him. “His life is far too dangerous anu... You never know when he has to go.” But I held on. To the hope that my love would come home to me... to the belief that this mail order romance will one day turn into the fairytale I had always wanted. I danced with joy when he called from wherever he was that last month... Spent days preparing for the short while he had stayed home...

He wasn’t on my side when I found out about our baby...
It was days after he had left that I came out of my stupor long enough to notice the dates on the calendar… that the nausea was no longer an impact of the mutilated bodies i had been forced to examine to find my love...
I wept long into that night... for the father who would never know his child... for the baby who would only see his father in a frame on my bedside…

That’s when I decided to ensure that my baby met his father… I love him as much as he does… but I knew he would want to hold his baby... he would want to play with our child as much as I did.
So I told my baby to go to his father...
The last token of my love for him...

Flesh of my flesh… blood of my blood…


And now the padded walls of this room are my only solace... they enclose the darkness that is my existence now...

And I have my memories….
My love... with that smile I could never resist… you will teach our son to smile that way won’t you….?

another one of tinni's poems..

dont know why i'm putting these up.. she certainly didnt giv me permission to... but i just came across these in an old file... and they mean as much now as they ever have...
the dreams of a 'perfect' romance.. of the happily ever afters... of "the one" that we used to believe in as children...

I AM WAITING FOR YOU!
Standing at the window side,
I gazed at the moonlit sky,
A slow breeze blew along,
Caressing my face as it passed on.
My heart danced with joy,
and was filled with an inexplicable delight.
My thoughts carried me far away,
Far away from the real world.
And then i thought about you,
I wondered if it is really true,
that someone, somewhere is made for you.
then why have not i met you yet,

But, it's true, that in my dreams i have created,
Someone who might be like you,
Someone whom i am so eagerly waiting to meet,
Who would carry this dreamy teenager off her feet,
Someone who would accept me as the way I am,
and to my life who would add a new meaning.
It's true that i have never met you before,
But often I have felt your presence near me.

In the early dawn,when the first rays of the sun, brightens up the sky,
when the first song of the koel,
sitting in the vicinity,so beautifully breaks Nature's serenity,
my heart, with delight, soars high,
and i can feel you close by!

When i dance in the rain,
and feel the sprinkle of rain drops on my face,
and when the winds whistle past my ear,
i cannot help feeling, that you were here.

When i walk down the lane, in the evening,
and faraway at the horizon,i see the sun setting,
when the moon starts peeping,from behing the faint reddish glow of the sky,
i find your thoughts encircling,me, from all sides,
making me, oblivious of my surroundings.
Often i have tried searching for you around me,
and felt, i had found you in somebody,
Was it truly you , i wonder,
or is it because, i feel so strongly for you,
that my emotions have overwhelmed me............

A sudden gust of cool breeze,
pulled me back from my thoughts,
i hugged myself tightly,and smiled softly at the stars,

Till, someone above,
feels,that we are destined to meet,
I will wait for you , i certainly will.

sreyashi wrote this poem.. years ago

her writing has Always inspired me... love ya tinni.

WAITING FOR A NEW DAWN…………..
The fierce sea currents lashed at it, with all their might,
They came rushing forward like galloping horses, rose to a height, A
nd struck it hard, like a python does,
with its deadly fangs.
But it stood firmly at its place- the big, old rock.
Braving relentlessly, the fury of the sea.
A lightning thundered ominously close by,
And the dark clouds, scattered in the sky,
Slowly came together and merged with one another.
It seemed that they all stood together to mock,
At the plight of the rock..
The gusty gale made the sea rumble violently.
It looked as though the waves were saying with a scorn,
Oh, great rock, standing there all alone and forlorn!
No matter, how much you try and valiantly endure,
We will shatter you to pieces, that’s for sure.

Even as this war waged, the rock stood there, resolute,
It knew it had to fight, It could not allow itself to be subdued..
It remembered the tranquil days of the ocean.
When it basked under the warm sun,
And the gently flowing water caressed its feet.
When the seagulls and a myriad of other birds,
flocked together and perched on it.
When the frolicking waves, and the pleasant breeze
Gave rise to lilting melodies.
Even as these thoughts carried its mind far away,
A huge and ferocious wave crashed at the place where it lay.
It made the flame of hope, in its heart, flicker….
But not for long…
The rock kept gazing wistfully at the faraway horizon,
Yearning to see,
in the darkness, a beam of light,
Which would give way to a new dawn, beautiful and bright.