happy2fight

Born into an alien land
he made it his home.
Grew up playing his way
through and out of confines.
His skin glowed and admiration followed.
But his head didn't turn, though held high.
He kept his head and used it wisely
to home in impossible winners.
Adoration grew to make him
into some kind of magician.
He knew who he was - human,
attracting love, fear and jealousy.
When he failed, he did not fall
to the hue and cry around.
He is fading, they said
and why can't he just bow out.
But they couldn't do without him.
Insults and humiliation
to him a part of the game.
He came back and played
like he always had with
that touch of class his own.
The magic still intact.
The magic of being human
utterly and totally.

-in honour of Zinedine Zidane

Summer mornings break early
and summon me to the balcony
for the morning breeze.
Old men, mid-age women
in clean clothes march in
and around the park
to a pink fitness.
Water bottles in hand
platoons of construction
workers march to
the public toilets
to begin another day
of construction for
clean bodies to dwell.

Gurgaon June 06.

Tiny leaves green
shade steelbars grey
from the sun blazing hot
Birds chirp in the breeze

(In Delhi, you come across boys trying to sell all kinds of books when cars stop at the Traffic Signal)

The boy sits
on the side of the road
in the shade
books on lap
drooping head
about to doze off.
Just then a car honks by -
in the scorching heat
the prospect of a sale
long awaited?
A forlorn look
the boy gives
and does not move.

Delhi, May 06