"Will you wait for me?" He asked
Hesitantly, she: "How long?"
Hope and doubt intense, he: "for 60 years",
"Don't be a stupid, no one wait for anyone, that long": She
"But you said we are the soul mates,
The only key that fitted the lock"
She was long gone; into a dot,
Midst the temple lamps, round the sanctum

***

Hurried, she sent the message of the night and switched off the phone
"Love you; Miss you, my battery dying; Will text you tomorrow"
Amar replied "Me too darling, missing you and love you crazily"
Akbar replied "Hug me close and sleep tight honey, dream only me"
Adil replied "Take care my love, good night and sweet dreams"
Antony was angry, "Why don't you keep the phone charged?  Good night"; he was the hubby!
And the stupid opened the door, hugged her in
And whispered "come in, my soul mate
The only key that fitted the lock"

*

"Take me for a ride; I want to be a carefree pillion today,
Floating away with you..."
Holding him tight, legs across, she let her hair loose
“Fly the bumps, I want to fall all over you” she held him tightly
From the pillion of the bike, she longed to see all spectrums of life
"Faster you stupid, I don't want to spend a lifetime as a pillion"
Then one day, she climbed the hills, for good.
He wandered the plains for long
Within their own, they kept a grudge to themselves
For, not letting the lock and key to know
They only fitted each other

**

“I take you to be my wedded wife
For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer”
“I take you to be my wedded husband
For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer”
Until the God sets us apart
Honey turned the first leaf on- ‘Money!’
“My money is my money, and
Your Money is our money, Stupid!”
Then it was all about I, me and mine
Lock never knew there was a Key
And the Key went from the fights to flights and a final freeze

Cottonwood falling,
A snow in July,
Filling the air with fluffy flakes
And covering the world with
White fuzziness.
We're riding,
Just as fast as we can,
Racing,
Stirring up the drifts
While the wind blows the avalanche closer.
I feel warm,
Being so close to you and the sun.
A warm snow--
Don't you think that's ironic?
I love the snow,
I love your heat.
My heart is going as fast as we are,
Fifty, Sixty, Seventy miles an hour.
I embrace you closer,
This thrill of a panicking soul,
It's magic.
Keep me in this illusion of a
Peaceful time.
Lift me sky high,
Let me fall in warmth like this
Snow in July.
I feel so free,
So young and bright eyed,
A naive star
In a Hollywood movie.
Let's get out of this small town,
Let's make new memories together.
I want to see the world,
I want to see the highlight,
With our song,
The one where we sing along.
Tonight,
Our love is a song,
A soundtrack to
A snow in July.
We can see the world
Together.
No need for others to ruin our
Loving silence.

On 2nd Dec 1984
Occurred
World’s worst industrial disaster,
“The Bhopal gas tragedy”
Leaving thousands dead,
Children orphaned and many people with disabilities for life.

Following day,
Cries of help were heard
Amongst the dead,
Lay few children alive
Shone bright, a ray of hope,
Miraculously the deadly effects
Of the gas they could cope.

Taken under the caring wings of an NGO,
With Medical aid administered
And the vital  support to grow.

Amongst the children
There was a girl named Ganga
And a boy named Ravi,
together with other such children,
they grew up,
Finding solace in each other’s
Company.

When reached teenage,
the girls had to be moved in a women’s hostel.
Distanced made them closer to each other,
And, the love grew stronger.

Ganga always dreamt of riding pillion on a bike with Ravi .
Ravi, the crazy boy,
sold his house (compensation by govt.)
And fulfilled her desire,
Often they went for long rides.

In the following years,
The love bloomed,
And
With blessings and love,
their marriage was solemnised
By the NGO.

All the women from the hostel
Joined the wedding ceremony,
Bollywood songs were played loudly,
The Haldi, Sangeet and Mehendi
ceremony made it more lively

On the wedding day,
Ganga attired in traditional weaves
And bridal make up,
A beautiful bride she looked
The hostel warden and her spouse
did her “Kanyadan”.

Fortunate was I to bear
the testimony of the union,
As I stayed in the working women’s hostel then.
Ganga moved in to her house
with Ravi to welcome a life anew.

Each time he slows bike,
spring blossoms, succulent fruits—
her coy, joyous hug!

Come, we have a story, said the Old Man. Come, sit and I shall tell you all a little tale of a donkey, a boy and his father…and of strangers too…and many a busybody…
And the children sat round the campfire and the Old Man began his tale…*



One day
(and this is many, many
uncountable days ago)
Father called Son
and he said:
‘Son
you are grown now
into a fine young lad
and you must learn
how to buy and sell
and make a profit


‘So, come let us go
you and I
to the market to see
what silver coins we can get
for this old donkey
in our shed’



2

And so Son and Dad
set out for the town market
across the sandy and rocky miles
and some way off
Dad grew tired and he said:


‘Ah, Son
this walk tires me and so
I shall ride the donkey
while you walk by the side;
so, come let us go
you and I
to the market to see
what silver coins we can get
for this old donkey
that I shall ride’







3

‘**, **!
What do we have here?’
came a voice
as the Dad sat riding the donkey
while the Son walked by the side
‘A cruel father you are,’
said the Family Standards Officer
‘Get down, you grown man
and let the child ride!’

And the Father was ashamed
and so he let the Son ride the donkey
and he walked beside

And the Family Standards Officer
was extremely pleased
and he filled up his forms
and he bade the Father and Son safe journey:
‘Ah, this is another
success story
of the Family Welfare Dept
where conscience has won the day
and the Son rides the donkey
and the Father walks beside’








4
And the Father and Son are gone but a mile, a mile - when another interruption came their way, heading straight their way….


‘What do we have here?’
came a scream
and the Mandarin of the
State Morals Education
stopped the trio
and the Mandarin glared disapprovingly
at the boy riding the donkey and he said:
‘Where is your filial piety?
Know you not the son must do his duty
by the father?
Get off the donkey -
you young donkey!
and allow your father to ride
while you walk with reverence
and duty beside!’


And so now we have the
Father on the donkey
and the Son walking beside
all three slowly on and on
Father and son
to the market to see
what silver coins
they might get
for this old donkey
that they have taken turns to ride




5

Then comes an old woman
and she mutters to herself as she passes by:
‘Ah, what’s come of life
that a father should ride and
allow the young to walk.’

And so the Father bids his Son
be a pillion rider with him on the donkey
and so they ride
merrily, merrily
on to the market
to see
what silver coins they can get
for this old donkey
that they both ride





5

But no sooner have they covered
but a mile, just a mile
with the respectable Father
and the filial Son
(both on the hapless donkey)
when a voice thunders out from the bush
and the Animal Rights Activist stands out
and he screams:
‘Oh, you cruel people
that you should ride a helpless donkey !
Shame on you!
Much better that you both
carried the creature!’


And of course
the Son and Father
so reasonable and
always with an open mind
they jump off the donkey
and they carry
the donkey all the way
all the way
just four more miles
just four more miles
and they soon come into the market
carrying the donkey
and shouting:
‘Donkey for sale!
Donkey for sale!’




6

And the buyers
at the markets
they see
this Father and Son
carrying the donkey
and screaming:
‘Donkey f or sale!
Donkey for sale!’


And the buyers they say:
‘But it appears, Sirs,
there are
three donkeys for sale
three donkeys for sale!
In declaring
“Donkey for Sale!”
when there are clearly three
are you offering three
for the price of one?’

To live life vicariously
is to be a shadow
riding pillion
on someone else's bike

Salvador Dali
Rode a Harley-Davidson
All the way from Bali
To Abu Dhabi
With Charley the Cat
Riding pillion.

Said Charley to Dali
All weathered and gnarly

I get quite incensed
By children's lack of road sense.
When I get back to Britain
I think I'll start
A Road Safety Campaign.

Good idea
Said Dali
To Charley
Who replied
Thanks a million.

She just could not believe that she had come
To this

                                        Again

He had  said – Come on – you used to like this
Just for me – and us – it might be good.

- Try
- Please

For me.

Yes – for him.
                                            Again.

So on this chilly day:
Awkward helmet boots and fumbly gloves.
Cold and fear and knees near ears
(The pillion's lot on sports machines.
...and he wouldn't buy the chop...)

They were off, and now she hoped that was not a pun.
She did her best not to wobble and resisted the temptation to put her feet down when they stopped. Ungainly awful Stop Wait, Jerky Action.
An old film forced to watch.  
Miserable claustrophobia in  traffic queues, between a fuel tanker and a hearse.
Hot foul breath of diesel smoke.
  
She felt sick.  
She wanted out.

[The World convulsed, dissolved reformed
Things changed for her for once
For all]



The slipstream coming off the curved bubble above the glowing clocks buffeted her head with a roaring chaos that added to wild riot.  She hooked the next gear and opened the throttle wider.   The determined act of twisting the grip brought her body lower to lie on the tank, and her heart closer to the heart of the engine's breathing fiery centre.   A green high-sided truck disappeared over her shoulder into into her past: into non-existence.  And in front she knew - a climbing curve left and a stiff side wind.   She relished the anticipation of the change, getting ready to shift her weight, her eyes burning up the road - fixing the aiming point at the apex of the bend. Now! - the bike eased off the vertical, and healed into the challenge of a new world order of curve and cross winds.    
An alliance of forces at the Edge:  United,
Poised, and aimed by thought and skill -  the creation and flex of a true sword.    

And the noise!  

The noise was an overwhelming but understood cacophony – the packed high-RPM music of the Engine - loud and hard.  
The blaring exhaust and the tyre roar and the wind...
Coming at her from the left now.  She bucked and weaved a little with road bumps and sideways forces - a muscular fish in a torrent - but these were trivial disturbances.  
Together they were the embodiment of an Act of Will and Purpose -
THIS course THIS speed.  
She wanted more.  

More power, more speed - so more lean to hold it
With now a less than perfect gear change in the mix.  
A sudden bump absorbed by the suspension, and the left hand wing mirror blazes with a shower of sparks from the grounded footpeg arcing back into the dusk.  The rear tyre briefly spins in mid air – the engine screaming to the rev limiter - and returns to tarmac with a zwip.    A rictus of mortality  and terror shudder the bike -
A whiff of Death that lets her live.
This time.

They were through the moment.  

And she had kept the throttle wide.


Courage.  

No substitute. And its sometime close friend -

Instinct.

You live by them together or not at all.  

This curve was ending, and the speed extreme
Almost – Supernatural.

Difficult to hold her head forward against
The flat of the wind's hand held up in her way:
“An end to your defiance!”  

But she was not to be turned aside.   The landscape could only be seen clearly about a mile ahead - All else was pulsing blur:  
An unwinding ribbon of dark green and blue and orange - like a star field at jump to light speed.  But the moment held forever visceral –  remembered forever.       She thought her heart would burst with the joy of being alive on this edge -  
At this time  
Of all time.  

She knew -

There would be more curves and cross-winds
But Now - she was Up Front, In Charge
and,  BY GOD she shouted with the wind
SHE WAS GOING FOR IT!