Poems, Prayers and Promises

The firsts ones are for Abhinav Bindra. For making me dizzy, goosebumped, lumped-throat and oblivious of my own personal defeats and tribulations. Wish I could pen odes of gratitude and resurrection and self-salvatory bliss to this man. No words are enough to describe the kick of the adrenaline of senseless patriotism that he injected in me. For killing that pessimistic doomsaying bastard in me. And to make me believe that WE as a country, CAN. We can move mountains and plumb oceans and fertilize deserts. Thanks. MY COUNTRY is not devoid of CHAMPIONS. Not anymore. We can look into the eyes of the world. And make them blink.

The second ones are for Saina Nehwal. I so hope that this kid wins another match. Just now I read an article on her. It said that this girl never partied, movied or ate out for the last seven years. Apparently because of financial constraints. I so want her to be stinking rich, drop-dead gorgeous (more than what she is) and a kick in the testicles of that perverted Indian male populace of rapists, oglers, molesters, wife-burners, foetus-killers. I so want this lady to shine on. I so want to pray for her.

The third ones are for me, my parents, my family, my microcosms of the olfactory, optical and tactile conscious, subconscious and the dreams. For the boy who never goes to school and instead serves tea in the roadside stall. For the countless impoverished in Orissa whom I have seen withering away for 8 months. For the mothers and fathers and aunts and uncles who we abandon into spheres of decrepitude, oblivion and nonchalance. For the kids with yellow clothes outside CP who sniff gums. For the countless confused twenty-somethings like me who have touched Che, a whiff of Bob Dylan, Allen Ginsburg, and still got no way to go. Our days of grandeur will come. Our demons wil be slayed. Our country will sleep unfettered, fed, read, lit, clothed, shod. Someday. Someday soon. Even as I dream away, I know that one day we will.

Happy Independence Day. A bit early, you might say. Wrong, I will snap back. It's been 61 years. We just did not realize this enough. Have happy dreams. Happier realities.


Peace.

A nation's wardrobe malfunctions

As 4 billion of the world's population watched, our athletes dressed improperly. As the world traded in golds and silvers and at least bronzes, we traded the 29th and the 42nd places. As the world hulas into the five rings, we tap-danced indifferent resignation. As the world keeps his hands on hearts and weeps into national anthems, we remain seated. As the world celebrates we dig deeper into our defeats. As the world gets age-defying solutions, we are shrivelling at 61. As the world expects us to do something, we prefer to seat on the sidelines and let the show go on. As the world leaps, we get pulled back. As the world masters, we train the slaves in us. As the world procreates, we give birth to dead foetuses, and a generation of no-getters. As the world climbs the podium, we clasp our hands in jealous claps. As my nation swirls into nothingness, I watch on blindly. As my Indianity gasps for breath, I choose euthanasia.