A Pet Dog

He brings into his house a little pup,

Buying it as an item for sale,

A creature to love,

Or a creature to be loved by?

In no time the latter,

Fills his life and those of others,

A creature to love,

Or a creature to be loved by?

He becomes its life,

The centre of its universe,

A creature to love,

Or a creature to be loved by?

Licks and cuddles, baths and walks,

And hours of time together,

A creature to love,

Or a creature to be loved by?

The mutual love is sometimes admirable,

The affection seems two-sided, but is it truly so?

A creature to love,

Or a creature to be loved by?

He pours out decisions and love,

While it shows only love, for only that it can,

A creature to love,

Or a creature to be loved by?

Called a member of the family, and certainly considered so,

Sometimes taken on trips, sometimes left behind,

A creature to love,

Or a creature to be loved by?

A family member with no say in anything,

But just to have around and be loved by,

A creature to love,

Or a creature to be loved by?

Nothing changes its love, except increasing it,

Not anger, not insult, not enforcement,

A creature to love,

Or a creature to be loved by?

All it does is wag its tail,

Serving as an underpaid guard,

A creature to love,

Or a creature to be loved by?

Vaccinated, drugged bathed

Sometimes scathed,

A creature to love,

Or a creature to be loved by?

It accepts it all,

Giving back only love,

A creature to love,

Or a creature to be loved by?

Protecting its "owner",

Nothing short of a soldier,

A creature to love,

Or a creature to be loved by?

Barking at other dogs for no reason at all,

Yet remaining bound by his word,

A creature to love,

Or a creature to be loved by?

All it wants is his time, but demands none,

Does it have no desires?

A creature to love,

Or a creature to be loved by?

Attached, yet detached,

Nothing short of a saint,

A creature to love,

Or a creature to be loved by?

All this for a decade or less,

Sometimes more,

A creature to love,

Or a creature to be loved by?

A lifetime spent with creatures of another species,

Loves, yes, but also used, abused and chided,

A creature to love,

Or a creature to be loved by?

Syringes, baths and drugs foisted on it,

While it forgives all, returning only a caress or lick,

A creature to love,

Or a creature to be loved by?

He brought it in, desiring its love,

His ego longing for recognition and masterhood,

Not a creature to love,

But a creature to be worshipped by,

He ran its entire life, and as if that wasn't enough,

Decides its death, wanting to "put it down",

On the pretext of saving it from pain,

Gives a verdict that he thinks is right,

And yet, in its last moments, it smiles at him,

Innocently, but does it not know?

A creature that loves him to its grave,

More forgiving than his mother, but certainly not naive,

He looks back at it pitilessly,

With false tears rolling down profusely,

Who let him decide, the dog or God?

He watches it go, still reckoning himself its superior,

Is man so wretched, so wicked?

That he spends his life controlling and deciding?

It was other men before, now it's a per,

A creature he calls family but which is really a slave,

With no trace of empathy, and just cold thought,

His insolent pride blinding his heart,

His desire to rule and to control shall reduce to naught,

When Fate raises His mighty sword, and puts him in his place.

Written on 29.3.2016 at Central Library, IIT Bombay (upstairs) between 12:00 noon and 1:27pm
Vicarious again

The Dark Side of Love/Marriage

My (lost) (female) Friend

He came out of nowhere,
Tall, dark and handsome,
A man beyond her wildest dreams,
He stole her heart in no time,
All she could think of was him,
And talked about him for hours on end,
I couldn't have been happier,
And listened intently to every word of praise,
Helping her with him as she has always done for me,
With words of advice and succour,
All this went on for months, with her opening her heart more than ever,
Pouring out to me, but hardly letting me in,
I could never blame her, she was all I had-
My best friend, but nothing less that that.
It was all fine till one day they spoke,
Expressing the love that they mutually had,
The last time we spoke was when she told me about this,
And there it severed the bond between us,
They would spend hours with each other,
Sunset after sunset, park after park,
With me on a lonely bench, sad and lost,
With a heart full of things to say but no one to talk to,
A void filled only by tears of sorrow,
And a drooping head with no shoulder to lean onto,
I pined for her like a child for its mother,
With every attempt ending in vain,
We would talk, but once in a blue moon,
A distance had set in like between pavements in a flood,
With sharing reduced to pleasantries,
And laughs to smiles,
Our talk had sunk from discussing deepest secrets,
To awkward conversations like those about weather,
I could hate none, blame none,
Perhaps this was merely a trick of fate,
Perhaps as you grow old, you can only love a few,
With your heart shrinking from infinite to a tiny tube,
Is wedding the only way to always be with a woman?
Is friendship too hard a cross for her to bear?
Is wanting to be her friend inappropriate?
Or does possessiveness only mean love?
I do love her, but only as a friend,
And all I crave is that the world understands that,
Can love be the only bond between a man and a woman?
Should I have pretended to have fallen for her, just to stay by her?
They say love changes a person - I don't know if it did her,
But it changed my life, by snatching my friend away.

An attempt at vicarious poetry, conceived during the evening on 23.3.2016 on the terrace of H13 B wing (7th floor), and written thereafter.

The dull after a storm*

The heart is wrenched dry,

Not unlike a piece of cloth,

Filled with gloom,

And false signs of impending doom,

When did I get so attached,

To people I hardly knew?

A void is all there is now,

A feeling that could well be mistaken for love,

I miss it - the waits,

The dissent, the laughs-

A song we heard,

A laugh we shared,

The inception of interest,

The birth of trust,

The mutual admiration,

The perspiration,

The tension, the fear,

Until it all became clear,

A team that was far too dynamic,

That towards the end it caused quite some panic,

It most certainly felt like a boon,

Too bad it all ended too soon,

The end of a holiday,

The morning of a Monday,

And yet, as they all say,

This memory is here to stay,

We may all drift away,

But I shall remember each and every single day.

Written on 14th March, 2016

This poem is an expression of how much I miss my drama team - the ones who co-wrote and performed "Flashes" written by me, at IIT Bombay's PC Saxena Auditorium (on 11.3.2016). The title is a pun on a dialogue I had written (lull before a storm)

On "love"

A chauvenist's take on love

My insides squirm,

My heart is scooped up into a cup,

Squeezed and stretched,

I am gripped with an excitement that I think is pleasure

Thought of sex and the like evaporate, deserting me in an instant,

Leaving behind a sensation that engulfs me,

I stand like an angel in a trance,

Bereft of corruption, virgin and pure

Pangs of like and dislike,

Of attraction and repulsion,

Pulsate -

Not unlike the pain of a woman in labour

The heart beats so fast that I think it is missing beats

Looking upon her as an angel, a goddess

Painting my image of her with qualities that I desire

Some from my mother and from others I admire

She is but another person,

Perhaps very different from what I want her to be

Don't I know that?

I choose not to believe it

With random heartbeat,

Lurches in my stomach,

And pulsations of like and dislike in phase with them,

I choose to stay drunk and be swayed by these waves

I delude myself into thinking that this is a great feeling,

More pathetic than a dog tasting its own blood,

Than an insect succumbing to light,

Or a beast caught in a swamp,

I burn her image into my head,

Let my heart leap at every sight,

Jumping in joy at every gesture,

Cherishing every smile and talk,

In solitude and in dreams I am haunted,

With images of romantic moments,

Of being with her, of talking to her,

With that one song ringing in my head throughout,

Why does everything sanctify this? This love?

It is no great feat,

A mere competition - with ten such men trying to win her heart,

Being judged by a person of less worth,

It is unfair, unfortunate,

That men of such calibre should fall so low,

And quite surprising to see where desire leads a man,

Standing strong against swords but being swept off by a smile.

Aren't there worthy women too?

Does such talk objectify her?

Oh yes, but in this field it is they who choose to be objects,

Wasting words of poetry, stories and colours of art

There are countless varieties, but are all clichéd,

The damsel in distress, the dominatrix,

The childhood friend, the one they all seek,

The cute charmer, or that old familiar face,

I turn a blind eye to all that I don't want in her,

Accepting every word,

Chained, bound,

By the fear of losing her

In the presence of this love,

Every emotion intensifies,

Be it happiness, depression, passion or disgust,

Like a chemical reaction with a catalyst

Possessing undeserved glory,

For centuries if not more,

Even its name stands, in truth, for something greater,

Now reduced to imply this cheap, crude desire,

Praised as a soft edge to a brave man,

Unduly compared with the likeness of boldness and chivalry,

Would I blame her for it?

The woman who has been my mother, sister, friend or wife?

That would be a lie, for she didn't start it,

It was always me - my weak mind, my weak heart.

Written on 14th March, 2016 (between afternoon and night)