A PRIVATE BATTLE

(Written in response to the number of deaths in war-torn Afghanistan, this poem is "designed" as a missile. Unfortunately, blogspot, does not allow me to centre align the same.)

The war is long past…
But the scars remain
Itching and hurting
Every day.

The war is long past…

But the nightmares haunt
Tormenting and terrifying
Every night.

The war is long past…

But the shrapnel tears
Burning and fragmenting
Every movement I make.

The war is long past…

But the gunfire resounds
Exploding and shelling
Every thought I take

The war is long gone…

But the wounds are fresh
Bursting and bleeding
Every day.

The war is long gone…

But the darkness is dank
Stifling and suffocating
Every night.


The war is long gone…

But the muscles are tired
Cramping and shackling
Every movement I make.

The war is long gone…

But the smoke is dense
Clouding and darkening
Every thought I take.

The war is long gone, for ages past
But its dark memories will always last
For however much I try to take pride
My tears of hurt and anguish I cannot hide

For which parent cannot, for a son he proudly sent
Pay for that piece of hatred with which a young life was spent?

Yes, the war is long past, into oblivion it has since gone
But, for me - a parent - a private battle begins each morn.

SOME TIMEWORN DAY

A Tribute to a Very Special Lady - Mum Mum

I sit on the verandah and slowly sip my tea
Remebering things that were and what they came to be
I can hear trains trundling down the railway track
And I picture those “chuggers” from few decades back

I look out of the trellis as I rock on my chair
As into the past I fondly, dearly stare
My hands hold a picture sent from Australia with love
But my eyes stare at one on the wall up above

My tea has run cold, but to me it matters not
For, in the warmth of my memories I am now caught
And in the loneliness of this hurried cup of char
I smell delicious spreads once rolled out by Ayah

With a sigh, I rise and walk to the window
As the sun tints the sky with a reddish glow
And as the evening cold makes me reach for my coat
It’s with the heat of an ancient engine that I now gloat

Smiling, I walk away, now ready to prepare
Some hastily made, but hopefully nourishing fare
And while into my sandwich I take a small bite
It’s the taste of chatty-cooked fish that’s on my tongue tonight

I am in the present, but my senses revel in the past
The memories they bring fill hours like the last
For, with some daughters and sons now so far away
Each moment for me is some timeworn day

In which the past seems to be much more alive
Than the next moment which is about to arrive
For as I look back at how things have come to be
I remember those young days on a bustling railway colony.

The Anglo-Indian Legacy

(A celebration of the Anglo-Indian's contribution to modern India, it is hoped that this poem makes every Anglo-Indian feel proud of our history and legacy.)

Five summers have I, now, in Zambia spent
Time in which I continually try to explain my descent
To people who consider me quite an interesting mystery
For they have heard little or nothing of Anglo-Indian history

In conversations with students, colleagues and friends
I repeatedly strive to make huge amends
For the paucity of knowledge of my people, my race
And in the context of Indian accord us our place

In classroom debates, my “Indianess” I strongly claim
To which students retort, “You can’t be, with your English name.”
And when I reply, “I am Anglo-Indian, don’t you know?”
That’s when their curiosity just begins to grow.

“What’s your native language?” is another that does arise
Smiling, I say “English” and there is that jolt of surprise
But the answer that now has them in quite a trance
Is my reply to, “Where did you learn ballroom dance?”

These questions in India were hardly ever posed
So my culture, my identity I naturally supposed
Was something that I could easily take for granted
Until now, of course, when with these queries I am haunted

India is diverse and its many cultures I respect
But now, when upon my personal identity I reflect
I would like the Anglo-Indian to be accorded his worth
In the annals of India, the country of his birth.

An Indian education is sound, its teachers it would seem
Are in Zambia, held in rather high esteem
So, in this verse, I’d like to place on record
The Anglo-Indian teacher whom I duly accord

The merit of pioneering Indian railway and convent schools
In days when the blackboard and chalk were her only tools
And with pride I swell when a successful manager does pay tribute
To the Anglo-Indian teacher whose achievements I now salute.

Trains span India, its entire breadth and its length
The reason for its ever-growing economic strength
And when I recall tales I was told as a little boy
The chest once again heaves with pride and joy

For if anything typifies the Anglo-Indian legacy
It’s the railway driver and the steamer he drove with glee
And if the Indian railways is the giant it is today
It’s to those pioneering loco-men to whom quiet tribute I pay

Communications, today, make this world go round
And without our mobile phones we’re hardly ever found
But in an era when a new nation was slowly taking form
Getting connected by telegraph was much the norm.

And here again the Anglo-Indian played his part
In helping a huge network with a little start
As he punched in code on the telegraph
Proud member of India’s pioneering postal staff

Of its global reach, sport can now lay claim
And even here did the Anglo-Indian make his name
Bringing to field hockey such vim and passion
As he wielded the stick with guile and fashion

And powered his country to eight medals of gold
As he tackled opponents within the Olympic fold
And with regal panache, did firmly hold fort
As he shaped field hockey into India’s national sport

To Anglo-Indians now scattered, in corners far and wide
This is your legacy; and in it, take immense pride
Your forefathers and mothers helped lay the foundation
For what is now a large, diverse and successful nation

We are not a footnote in the annals of history
But a community with a rich, proud and acclaimed legacy
One which we should proclaim with a passion dear
As the community that helped carve modern India.