Thursday, 26 December 2013



Cruel is the world
No substitute for mercy
Moon is paying for its deeds
To sleep only with fading stars
The universe is not made of moon alone
Planets gather to conspire
To keep the sun always in good humour
Bright is eclipsed too, forget not
Caste, creed, sex, notions always matter
Statutes are burned by insiders
White and black painting the town red
In born nature of a man coming out in open
Progressive and regressive thoughts fight it out
For the supremacy.
All rights reserved/Tribhawan Kaul

Saturday, 21 December 2013

OLDIES- a short story

OLDIES – a short story
Browny, the dog in the Sharma’s household was constantly barking in pain. Their neighbourer Shuklas were cursing the day when Sharmas shifted into the flat opposite theirs with their old ailing dog.
Rajnarain Shukla tossing in his bed shouted as if to try to make his voice reach to Sharmas,“what the hell ? I come back from office to have peace and look I am not allowed even that privilege in our own home. I don’t know, why people keep pets if they cannot get them treated. Our life has been made miserable by this dog ever since they shifted in our vicinity.” Sheela, wife of Rajnarain also made her displeasure known making noises in the kitchen.
“I shall be talking to Sharma first thing tomorrow morning and also to the secretary of the society.”
“Sure, you should. How long are we going to suffer like this? Let them shoot the dog to alleviate it from its sufferings.”
In the adjacent room, aged father of Rajnarain who was suffering from severe bronchitis had started coughing.
Raj’s father tried to reach to cough syrup also calling Raj in the process. Rajnarain first thought to ignore his call but getting irritated by his father’s constant coughing, he charged into his father’s room.
“Kya Baba, what happened now. Why can’t you take the medicines yourself ?  Neither that dog nor you allow us some peace after a day’s hectic schedule”, Rajnarain said in the tone which was short of admonition.
Panting, his father could only show the empty bottle of the cough syrup and mutter, “ Raj, I told you yesterday…khow..khow…khow….”
“Don’t remind me what I have to do and what I have not. I shall ask Sheela to make kadha*( an ayurvedic medicinal preparation) for you. Take that ayurvedic medicine  till I bring a new one. Do you know how much these allopathic medicines cost?” Saying so, he left the room.
Bow…..bow……, the dog’s barking on the other side was getting little subdued as if the dog had no strength to bark.
It was 11 pm and half of the families in the society were in the process of getting into sleep mode when Rajnarain heard the door bell. He asked his wife to open the door who showed her reluctance by tying her head with a cloth. He had no option but to get up and open the door. At the door, he found Sharma’s daughter with a glass.
“What is it now ?” he asked disgustingly as if dog’s barking was not enough that she had now come to disturb him personally.
“Uncle, Browny is very sick. It has to be given medicine with milk. The milk is finished in our house. If some milk can be spared….,” before she could finish the sentence, Sheela shouted from inside,
“no, there is no  milk. Why don’t you people push that old dog out of the house ? Why don’t you call municipality to take away that dog and kill him.”
“ No, no…aunti. Please don’t say that….please don’t give the milk but don’t say that…” sharma’s daughter ran back to her flat bursting into tears.
Rajnarain’s father staggered out of his room. Seeing his father Rajnarain got hyper, “kya Baba, why can’t you sit inside the room. Did you take the kadha?”
His father was still coughing intermittently and trying to speak, “you know….Raj….kadha does not suit me, Raj….khow..khow…khow….can you contact my friend ,Doctor Siridharan tomorrow morning .”
“No baba no, I don’t have time tomorrow morning. Take the kadha and sleep.” He replied and gestured Sheela to make the medicine who was least interested in doing so. Baba started gasping for breath. Sheela made no attempt to make her father-in-law  to sit on the chair. She went inside her room beckoning her husband to follow. However Raj caught hold his father and helping him to his bed asked him curtly to sleep and went to his room. Rajnarain’s father drank a glass of hot water from the thermos which soothed her cough a little.
Bow….bow….bow..boooooooo. Browney, the dog again…….
“Do something about that dog,” Sheela asked her husband.
“Yes, I will. Tomorrow morning I shall be going to my friend in Municipality and ask him to take action.” Rajnarain made her wife comfortable before going to sleep. For him complaining to the municipality regarding Browny -the dog was more important than procuring medical aid for his ailing father from Dr. Sridharan.
Next day in the morning, Rajnarain opened the door and was surprised to find some people gathered outside Sharma’s flat. Someone informed him that Browny had died during the night. He sighed a relief feeling unburdened of some calamity but could not understand why people were so sad and mournful. He was about to turn back into his flat when he saw Sharmas coming out of his flat, holding the  garlanded corpse of Browny in a white cloth followed by his family members including her daughter who had come to ask for the milk yesterday. The respect and reverence with which Browny was carried to his grave could not be digested by Sheela and Rajnarain. They laughed and made fun of Sharmas when some one informed them the real story behind Sharmas love for Browny.

Browny had been with Sharmas since it was a puppy. It was bred and treated nicely. Time and again it proved a saviour for the Sharma family before they had shifted to their new location, the present flat. Once it had saved Sharma household getting robbed when no one was at home. Another day it had alerted Sharmas of possible drowning of their daughter and she was saved in time.  It  had remained glued to Mrs. Sharma’s bed when she fell seriously sick as if praying for her well being without taking any food and water for days together. Everyone thought that because of Browny’s prayers, Mrs. Sharma got well. Sharmas never forgot its contribution even when Browny was growing old and getting older thus unable to render any help. They tended it as best as they could giving it all possible care and treatment even from the best veterinary doctors available in India.
Rajnarain was rendered speechless. He was thinking of his old father. Sharmas’ love & care for their old dog and his own indifference towards his old father made him to  sweat and tremble with unknown guilt. He thought himself to be the murderer of the dog having refused the milk demanded by that little Sharma girl and now he was going to commit another murder, that of his own father. He felt ashamed and Sheela could not meet his eyes too. The mirror images flashed before his eyes of the days when Baba used to bathe him, take him to school, play with him in the garden, spend hours at his bed to watch him recover from illness, take loans for his education and training and always praying for his well being. Rajnarain felt reeling under the enormous lack of moral and worldly obligations. He saw no place to hide. He wanted to repent and repent fast. He immediately rushed out of his house, kicked his scooter and raced to Dr. Siridharan’s house. He wanted to atone for his omissions and commissions.
Tribhawan Kaul

Monday, 16 December 2013

निर्भया/ Nirbhya

Remembering Nirbhya, a brutalised rape victim on 16th December 2012 in Delhi/India. This poem in hindi is also a part of coming anthology ‘Safeena’ bring brought out by Delhi Poetree  (Poet+tree)

Chatna shoony maansikta ko
Jagrit kar
Mashaal jala
Vileen ho gayi
Panchtavt mein
Anant shoony mein
Jakjor kar anterman ko
Safutit kar nav chetna ko
Chod diya hum sab ko
Chintan aur manthan karne ko
Ek karz laad
chali gayi
kaise utaaren
is soch mein karodon ko duba gayi.
चेतना शून्य मानसिकता को
जागृत कर
मशाल जला
विलीन हो गयी
पंचतत्व में
अन्नंत शून्य में
झकझोर कर अंतर्मन को
स्फुटित कर नव चेतना को
छोड़ दिया हम सब को
चिंतन और मंथन करने को
एक क़र्ज़ लाद
चली गयी
कैसे उतारें
इस सोच में करोड़ों को डूबा गयी.
सर्वाधिकार सुरक्षित/त्रिभवन कौल

Saturday, 14 December 2013

Madiba, an angel of peace

Madiba, an angel of peace.

The Sun sets always to herald a new dawn
A dove freed from cage, flew relentlessly
Setting those perceptions right, gone awfully wrong
After 27 years of quarantine
Oh, the dove is now no more.
Long live Madiba, an angel of peace.

Set free from silence with unbroken spirit
Metamorphosing into human strength
Wielding courage
To challenge brute force and injustice
Oh, the dove is now no more.
Long live Madiba, an angel of peace.

Sufferings in privation
Taking bull by its own horns
Symbol of people’s struggle and aspirations
Lighting candle of peace, love and compassion
Oh, the dove is now no more.
Long live Madiba, an angel of peace.

Those limestone shine on your calloused hands
Shaping the castle of hope for millions
To build a society sans raciest and discriminatory thoughts
Shepherded the flock to ultimate freedom
Oh, the dove is now no more.
Long live Madiba, an angel of peace.

Basking in sunshine, rainbow nation rejoice
Absorbing rays to burn thoughts of the dark
Emerging multi culturalism raising hopes 
Inspiring life, a lesson written in golden ink
Oh, the dove is now no more.
Long live Madiba, an angel of peace.

Pray your soul be always at peace
Yet it is not the end
The world owes to your masterly investment skills
Let the world pay you back now the rich dividend
Oh, the dove is now no more.
Long live Madiba, an angel of peace.
All rights reserved/Tribhawan Kaul

Monday, 9 December 2013

Case of a missing razor.

Case of a missing razor.

I shave on Sundays and it was the Sunday 07th March 210 and I was in Delhi. Sunday was one of the four days when I used to shave my pineapple face, other three days being Monday, Wednesday and Friday. Remaining three day i.e Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday according to our holy pundits, were inauspicious for removing any hair of the body. Intriguing. When I was in service, I had to perforce shave daily except on Sundays. No one objected. I wondered when all our days are dedicated to some deity or a planet, how could one be auspicious and another not? The Pundits could never satisfy me with the precise answer. You know they despise those who dare question them. Fearing being cursed, I never prodded them.

After retirement I had to adhere to my soul mate’s dictates, percolated through my mother’s notions, and had to observe three days as non-shaving days. Perhaps I also found it more convenient for my purse since I was to live on 50% income compared to what I was getting prior to my retirement.(actually it works out to be 40% of the last gross salary drawn) “Getting adjusted immediately to adverse financial circumstances is always the cause of one’s happiness”. This lesson I had learnt during financial ups and downs experienced by my father and his meticulous planning of his available finances at that particular time. Sorry folks, before I lose the track of my subject, I have to start afresh. The age, as it matures, plays numbers of tracks simultaneously in our omnipotent mind.

It being a Sunday I wanted to shave but could not find the razor at its designated place in the bathroom cupboard. I was annoyed. My face was etching to have a clean sweep. Keeping my blood pressure under control, I barged in every room asking for my razor.  Everyone showed his/her ignorance. I there and then decided to be a Sherlock Homes. I interviewed everyone present in home.  Everyone took my investigation seriously as for the first time an important item of body accessories was missing. Razor being an integral part of morning routine had to be given a place of pride in our scheme of life. It was a case of missing razor, an inseparable companion of a man. No one answered to my satisfaction. My wife batting her eyelids disapproved the idea of making fuss on a small razor. She was about to upbraid me but I had the common sense to respect her sensibilities and quit the place as a box office dud quits the theatre.  After all she was a woman. How can a woman tolerate even a non-living object to be anywhere near the face of her husband every day?  So as soon as I showed my back, they started laughing. It is always easy to make food than to ask somebody to eat that. I was reduced to Watson instead of Sherlock Homes, so searched every nook and corner of the house like a specialist surgeon cutting through a body with his scalp with clinical precision.  I was bent upon finding my razor and made hell of rooms which soon looked like a banghar wala/garbage shop/kabbadi wala shop. My effort soon bore fruit.  While searching that small razor, I found a small worn out brief case neatly stashed away in the corner of an old wooden almirah.

Opening it I felt as if I had retrieved a treasure which I had almost forgotten and written off from my memory. I found following items which had brought joy and happiness in my life.
a) An old diary containing my first poem & a story.
b) A pair of silver cufflinks.( first gift from my wife)
c) An old black and white photo album igniting the memories of my childhood and youth.
d) Some commendation certificates and medals.
e) My first quazi-permanancy letter of appointment and
g) Some black & white photographs of my wife(1969-70), which were shown to me before our marriage.
( at that time we were allowed to court our respective would be only through our photographs giving our imagination a long handle to steer through the visuals)

  I had found a treasure trove as all my good memories, associated with most memorable memorabilia unintentionally set aside, came alive in a flash and kept me engrossed one by one for whole week allowing me to live again those very moments of life which had produced immense pleasure once upon a time.  I thanked the lost razor for its going missing and I had no intention to go after it any more.

 My pineapple face soon transformed into a dried haired coconut , taunting me whenever I used to look into the mirror but I cared two hoots for the lost razor. Nostalgia for me was more refreshing than a smooth shave.

ps: Till date I have not found that lost rezor. May be its appearance some day may mark another memorable day in my residual  life.
Tribhawan Kaul

Sunday, 1 December 2013

I am not a poet ?

I am not a poet ?

I am not a poet, mutated in womb
I am not a poet, born with a silver spoon
I am not a poet, left with poetic legacy
I am not a poet, boasting of a dynasty
I am not a poet, honed in workshops
I am not a poet, lined up in bookshops
I am not a poet, dissected in seminars
I am not a poet, enjoy backing of poetic czars.

I write poems, as I feel like expressing
in verses,
my emotions and my feelings
rhythmical or free, I worry not
to the poesy tenets, I stick not
my fault,
being sensitive to ongoing happenings
forth comes creativity in my writings.

Whenever and whatever touches my heart
words take shape in rainbow arch
with different colours and different shades
the form of poetry begins to shake
poetfriends  always encourage me a lot
reading my poetry ,not so hot,
don’t want to be the judge, so let it be
this is so far my poetic journey

copyright/Children of Lost Gods/2013/Tribhawan Kaul