Life in a Metro
I live in an apartment on the first floor,
With my name engraved on a brass plate on the door.
Since I am most of the time alone,
The only time I see a soul
Is when I step on the terrace,
Above my garage.
I see some watchmen playing cards,
And maids walking their wards.
It seems people prefer to stay indoors,
I wonder whether they get bored.
It’s the month of May and beads of perspiration
Cover my face and I wonder why I had this aspiration,
To live in a metro while I was growing up
In a small city, I really feel stumped.
You are on a nodding relationship with your neighbors,
And hesitate to ask them for a favor.
People are always fighting for parking space
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poem by Mamta Agarwal
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Am putting in my papers! ! ! ! ! ! !
While filling the form for a credit card
Against occupation I wrote, am a bard.
The clerk said Madam, your real occupation.
I blurted, heading a small organization.
Very challenging, have to multi task
It’s actually, I think, too much to ask.
Am in charge of child development,
Accounts, house keeping and management.
Mouth open and ball pen frozen in mid air,
He gaped at me from his ergonomic chair.
Wow, you must so much power wield.
It’s a 24/ 7 job in lab and the fields.
Have to juggle like a clown in a circus,
Many hats…one plus, it’s not monotonous.
You know a real challenge to my ingenuity.
He looked at me with awe and incredulity.
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poem by Mamta Agarwal
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Sitting by bonfire! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
Sitting by bonfire…
Sitting on a December night by the bonfire
Glanced up and saw stars sparkle like sapphires.
Sparks were rising up like glow worms; why
At that moment flashed across my mind’s eye
Vincent Van Gogh’s famous painting ‘Starry Night’.
How restless he felt about getting it somehow right.
Silently contemplating nature with a painter’s eye,
He felt compelled and determined to give it a try.
The thought for long haunted and preoccupied his mind.
To the mystery and essence of night, in spirit aligned.
Finally he decided to paint it on the spot by the river at night.
Excited to paint under the moon, stars, a little artificial light.
Lo, what you see is a painting of night not dark or black.
Done with beautiful blue, violet, and green to illuminate.
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poem by Mamta Agarwal
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You are one of a Kind, my Daughter
The moment you were born, you announced
Your arrival in our family, screaming out loud
Now that I am here, attention is my birth right.
Of course, we catered to you day and night.
No sooner had the nurse brought you
And put you in my arms, I knew
As you looked at me from your yellow
Bonnet, you were going to be a handful.
Once you brought the roof down
At midnight, and just to drown
Your screams, your dad put on rock music
To our surprise you slept looking cherubic.
That morning thoughtfully, I dispensed with
DR Spock and other self help books, I think.
As I realised that night, you were unique
Divine guidance I will have to seek.
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poem by Mamta Agarwal
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A Child Widowed at Eight
As I crossed
The threshold
Of my new home,
As a bride
My eyes fell
On a woman draped
In white…
Standing against
The sunlight,
Highlighting
Deep furrows
On her brow…
I felt embarrassed,
And overdressed.
Later asked my spouse,
'Who is that woman,
Why didn’t she take
Part in the celebrations? '
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poem by Mamta Agarwal
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A question that begged for Answers...! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
Is it worth bringing a child into the world, mother?
Terror has taken over our lives, lamented my daughter…
Her question haunted me, and I pondered a while.
Life is so precious, yet so ephemeral and fragile.
Are you going to just watch and give in to despair?
Or face with hope, courage, grit and prayer.
All is not lost, though we still in darkness grope,
Didn’t you see the euphoria over the coronation of hope?
As history is rewritten in the U.S elections,
The world watches with disbelief and fascination.
People of all faiths have joined the celebrations
So dear, don’t fret and take part in the jubilations.
World is willing to look beyond narrow concerns,
Lessons from history are slowly being learned.
One’s who had been for long marginalised,
Will not endure disdain, is finally realised.
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A Warm Welcome to Incredible India
Waiting at the harbour with a paging board in my hand,
With names of guests from Australia, about to land.
It was my first assignment as a tourist guide,
And my heart was beating fast, filled with pride.
My Incredible India, dismissed as a land of contradictions
Snake charmers, beggars and full of superstitions.
As a good will ambassador, it’s my chance to bust the myth,
Feeling somewhat nervous and excited I could hardly breathe…
I saw a couple in their 40’s wave vigorously at me,
I could see they couldn’t wait to begin their journey…
After perfunctory formalities and introductions
I said one request, please suspend preconceived notions,
For sometime, and tell me what is on your itinerary.
We want a complete experience of your country.
Wonderful, I exclaimed, India is a complete destination.
You won’t be disappointed, I will like to mention.
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poem by Mamta Agarwal
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Slowly Winter sets in...
It’s the onset of long awaited winter,
There is a slight nip in the air.
I hear the sound of bird’s twitter
Flitting about the trees without a care.
You can let your French windows open,
And draw your drapes apart.
And let the bright rays of the Sun
Stream in and warm your heart.
I feel cosy as I pull my Jaipuri quilt,
And quietly soak in the magical morn
I don’t feel any pangs of guilt,
And take an off with a yawn.
Today I am going to skip all the news,
I decide as I sip my chamomile tea.
And leisurely just enjoy a few
Of the things that make me, me.
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poem by Mamta Agarwal
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Finally got my just dues! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
Heaving a sigh
Of great relief;
With reverence
I tied my manuscript
And wistfully
Smiled to myself.
Took it to a publisher,
Who had promised,
He will have a look.
As I knocked,
He peered, eyebrows raised
From his glasses resting
On his nose.
Cast a cursory
Glance, Hm… poetry,
This won’t sell.
I gaped
Incredulously,
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poem by Mamta Agarwal
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An evening in the company of a Sufi...! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
The café was packed-event,
Book release and reading of excerpts
From ‘love and Longing’
A compilation of letters
Exchanged between
Imroz and Amrita
Over a time span
Of five decades.
Imroz took the dais,
Simply dressed in white
A pair of spectacles
Resting on his nose.
Began to shyly share
Sufi poems and
Anecdotes
On a reminiscent note…
Love shone in his limpid eyes,
In the delicate curve of his smile,
Reverence in his mellifluous voice,
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poem by Mamta Agarwal
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