Author: Trilok Rangan

Hunger

~ Trilok Rangan ~ 1 Comment

Faces lit up with weary smiles amidst their gnawing pain,
As the men walked hurriedly in the crowded refugee lane.
Hunger cried softly in a broken melody,
Of frail wails from a newborn’s malady.
Repressed moans of a dried breast,
Or the suppressed appeals of a weak chest.
This strange noise unheard before,
Rumbled in the Man’s body unsure.
Like rats clawing on the inside He felt
When on empty stomach they whimpered heartfelt.
Babus* of the center gyrated the enfeebled figures,
Like vultures waiting for the bad news to augur.
Twenty six rupees* shouted the white shirted Man,
Phased out twenty five pennies* He was gifted in a milk can.
Hunger, Hunger, the hungry shout;
The voice fails for the weak singer now mute.
No more noise when the lives fall but a buzz
Of scavengers and cannibals shooing the swarms of flies with a sizz.
A pair of hands brought His moving legs to a stop,
One was the insect fingers of a dying hand’s hope,
And the other that of a long forgotten conscience
Whose soul wept in a language that tried to make no sentence.
His tears crowded in the aisles of the constricted eyelids,
The trembling hands opened the lid of His water-can filled.
Their eyes twinkled as if salvation arrived,
In the jar of water His hands promisingly held.
Drops of nectar a spoon of water should have tasted,
As on the loaves of the shared bread the famished love gestated.
What is life?, wondered the Man as his hands funneled the nectar,
To the parched throat of the fellow human spectre.

This has reference to the setting of income limit for the poor and hungry in India, phasing out of 25 paise coins and the ever hungry masses in this country. The Man – He is a bureaucrat but with a soul who goes to the poor people to announce the income limit set by the government along with other government officials (Babus*). He is touched by the sight he sees, offers them water from his bottle and in the end wonders about life philosophically.

~ Trilok R. ~

Rise and Fall

~ Trilok Rangan ~ Leave a comment

A lyric (yet to be tuned) that speaks about coming to terms with your bad phases or losses in life and rising up again.

Rise and fall, fall and rise
Rise and fall and fall and rise
And the game goes on,
On and on…On ‘n on…

Wake up… cheer up,
Lift your head up.
Sorrows are not going to last,
Good time is coming around the corner fast.

Is there a little more of love left
A pain lingering in your chest?
Forget that bitter truth,
There is more to this life than the withered wreath.

This is another one of your bad dreams,
Don’t pop the pill.
It won’t shut you from those screams,
‘Cause you need to live on still, Live on..n live on still..

~Trilok~

Wild Flowers

~ Trilok Rangan ~ Leave a comment

Your favourite flowers I planted,
From the lotus to blue lily; disenchanted.
A few bloomed – bright and fragrant,
But they all withered on your idol silent.

I know the flowers in nature they bloom,
Smell like an open bottle of perfume.
Worldly flowers those but later fade and drop down,
Like the mortal life we seem to own!

But now wild flowers in my garden,
Raise their heads all of a sudden,
Where they came from
Tell me Hey Lord of this asylum?

Where can I find
Eight blossoms of an unknown kind?
Its colour I have seen never,
Nor the odour smelt prior.

Those strange flowers of your creation never wither
When I gather them in my heart like peacock feather
From then on, in tranquil blue waters I float,
With my senses under control like a hermit’s boat.

My tolerant eyes now drink unceasing compassion
My hands fold in truthful confession.
My mind drifts in divine meditation,
When the soul melts in peaceful salvation!

~Trilok~

This poem talks about the eight flowers to be offered to God described in Bhagavatham. They are (1) Ahimsa (Non-violence), (2) Indhriya Nigraha (Control of senses), (3) Sarvabhootha Dhaya (Compassion towards all beings), (4) Sathyam (Truth), (5) Dhyaanam (Meditation), (6) Shanti (Peace), (7) Vinaya (Humility), (8) Bhakthi (Devotion) and we thought the flowers to be offered were the ones from your earthly garden.

The Knock on the Door

~ Trilok Rangan ~ 3 Comments

Knock knock knock
Someone’s knocking on the door with a rock.
1 A.M. chimed the grandfather clock,
Who’s opening the lock?

We are all drunk,
With a bottle of Old Monk.
In this sinister hour of midnight,
Our hands will fail us in a fight.

What if it is a robber outside our flat?
Bring the kitchen knife and the cricket bat.
Dial the Police fast,
Let’s fight till we last.

What if it is the stone throwing psychopath?
Five men already mauled sleeping on the footpath.
The bell that rings is his weakness, they tell,
Let’s ring the buzzer and yell!

What if it is the white lady with a lamp?
Remember the girl who jumped off our ramp?
Keep in hand the holy cross,
Before her spirits we run across.

What if it is the woman of the street?
Whose skin blends like wheat.
Shoo away the seductive vamp,
Before the siren drowns you in to a swamp.

What if it was another drunk man?
High in Spirits clutching the beer-can.
Drive him out of the house,
For he might think I am his waiting spouse.

What if it is the Patrol-Police?
Let’s all be nice.
Promise them never to booze again,
Alcohol we will forever refrain.

What if it is our angry neighbour?
Screaming “Who cried here in labour?”
Tell him – it’s the dumb Television,
Showing a surgical incision.

What if it is just a innocuous stranger lost?
Searching for an address in this sleepy coast.
Gift him the map of this down-town
Where guns do the count down!

What if it is the God on a walk?
Let’s impress him with our sweet-talk.
Pray him to unlock our chest of desire,
To fly in the world of dreams we aspire.

Let’s open the door with a fright,
Let the prayers cover us with light.
Slow and steady we swing open the door,
Empty night welcomes us with only a cat roar.

Not a single soul outside,
Where is the man who’d knocked like Jekyll and Hyde?
Winter winds colored our faces white
Now who let the door keys on the lock this twelfth night?

A blast of gale rushes past us,
Rocking the trees and the keys in distress.
“Knock Knock Knock” – once more that knock
A tap on the door – Oh! It’s the stupid key-chain with a heart-shaped-rock!!!

~Trilok~

A real life funny incident inspired me to write this one!!! A drunk n lost not so gentle man knocked at around 1 A.M. a wintery Friday night. Thanks to him I came up with this new piece. My first attempt @ writing a funny poem.

The Sacred Threads Of Madness

~ Trilok Rangan ~ Leave a comment

Trapped in a sacred thread,
His kites failed to rise above the head.
Empty soul chanted rhythmic mantras,
When he performed those meaningless tantras.

Fire never purged his sin bowl,
Blessed water couldn’t cleanse his crooked soul.
Sandalwood marks on his body smelt foul,
Life remained untouched by the mistaken ghoul.

Religion never let him pray,
Words never let him say,
Light forgot to shed a ray,
His life lost in divine disarray.

Deserted dreams returned to haunt this puppet king,
As he danced loose on tangled string.
Cosmic currents suckled his eternal swing
When madness brought religion a wedding ring.

The Annoying Phone Call

~ Trilok Rangan ~ 8 Comments

Lights flickered to life inside the 9.30 p.m. express from Velachery MRTS Terminus to Beach. Two young men boarded the empty compartment; their shoulder weighed down by the laptop bags; their faces were dreary and exhausted; Economic Times and The Hindu peeped out of the outside pockets of the bags; their office tags like loose dog collars hung from the sweat-stained collars; they sat down on the seat closest to the exit like school kids hoping to jump off the bus even before it reached the destination. Their office ID cards had a big logo of System Tech International and a grim-looking official picture, which reminded you of the felony convicts under life sentence. Near to that, in a customized font were their names printed in black, “Vikram Kumar Software Consultant’’ and ‘’Rahul Krishnan Software Engineer”.

“Vikram, usually you are pretty lively once on the train. What’s the matter today? Anything wrong?”

“Oh, nothing, Rahul.” Blame it on our regular day job, my manager and that pestering phone call.” Vikram sighed. He took a long, deep breath until his lungs could hold no more. He liked the smell of fresh paint; its peculiar odour soothed him a bit. The renovated coach looked bright in the light of the newly fitted fluorescent lamps.

Seats filled in pretty fast. Bored engineers, tired workers, withered fruit and flower vendors, and ever-energetic beggars made their way into the suburban rail. A few I.T. and B.P.O. folks squeezed their oversized asses on to the seat much to Vikram’s and Rahul’s displeasure.

“A Phone call?”

“Dude, don’t ask.  A credit card girl, one Chitra called me up today morning, just ten minutes before my presentation to the team. Remember the one I was talking about the other day – the quarterly presentation on strategy for our new business. I was doing the last-minute check on the strategy slide and she…” “How could she spoil my entire day?” Vikram’s voice rose in anger and helplessness as the train blew its deafening horn and picked up speed.

“Yeah. I had asked her to give me a ring later sometime. But who in the world had imagined that she would end up calling me at the worst possible time of the day.”

“And, what happened?” Rahul pushed him to tell hoping Vikram’s mood would improve if he shared it with someone.

* — * 10 hours back * — *

The phone rang. An irritated Vikram picked it up after eight painful rings. An uncaring hello escaped his mouth. His eyes remained fixated on the data on the slide. Microsoft Outlook popped up a meeting reminder. He had only 10 more minutes for the meeting, which meant only 5 more minutes to adjust the software delivery projections and complete future strategy slide. Another 5 to rush to the booked room.

A bubbly lady’s voice played a rehearsed line on the receiver, “Sir, I am Chitra calling on behalf of IDIDI Bank. As you are an esteemed customer of our bank you have been selected for a pre-approved personal loan of 5 lakhs. Could you please confirm and give me your details so that I can process it further?”

“When did I ask you for a personal loan? Who told you to approve the loan? Who gave you my number?” screamed a furious Vikram at the defenceless voice as punishment for disturbing him smack in the middle of his work.

“But sir, you only no asked me to call today!” Her voice stuttered.

“Is it? You have all my details, right? Why didn’t you process it yourself?”

“But, Sir, you will have to confirm it for us to proceed ahead.”

“Well, here take down the details. I am a manual labourer. I earn Rs.100 per day. I do not own any property and I may or may not repay the loan. O.K.?”

“Sir, why are you trying to fool me? Our records say that you work for System Tech as a consultant and you also have an F.D. in our bank.”

“Now you will tell me my wife’s nickname, my ex-girlfriend’s address and what not! What else do you know about me? Tell me what is that you do not know about me! I guess, you will even know what I had for my breakfast also!”

“No….Sir!” Her words broke and began sounding heavy.

“If you know all of my details then why are you bothering me, Miss… whatever yeah…”

“Chitra, Sir”

“Why don’t you just send me the cash? Remember, the next time I get a sales call from your bank I am going to file a complaint in the consumer court.”

Vikram had completely lost his temper by then. He banged the phone almost breaking the receiver. The coffee cup near the phone got disturbed in the process and a drop or two spilt on his painfully jotted notes. He was running five minutes late and his work of two days was undone. He cursed the credit card girl. Using his MBA skills, he quickly cooked up some good-looking numbers and ran to the meeting room with his laptop. He entered the meeting room hurriedly with the smudged notes decorated with coffee brown stains. The entire team with his impatient manager, Ashish was waiting for him.

The presentation was projected on the big screen and the numbers fleshed out. A veteran of Excel sheets and PowerPoint presentations himself, Ashish was left unsatisfied with some of Vikram’s ingenious yet impossible numbers. He asked Vikram to work on it again and give a new projection by E.O.D. (End of Day).

A frustrated Vikram got back to his cubicle and sank in his chair, glaring at the phone furiously. His eyes wandered to the table calendar. 25th January was circled with a red marker. The footnote read –“Wedding Anniversary – Movie – Book tickets”. He had promised his wife that he would be early enough to catch a late night movie at City Centre Mall. He rang up home and pacified his disappointed wife. Looking up from his phone, he saw a nearly deserted office. Returning to the messed up slides, he started making fresh calculations all the while murmuring, “That stupid phone call and the wasted minutes! I will kill her if I ever meet her.”

* — *Mobile Buzzed – A Screech sound* — *

Brakes were applied. “Screech……” The slowing train neared Thiruvanmiyur Station.

“That was a really rough day, Vikram!!!” Rahul tried to sympathize with Vikram, “Take Care”.

Vikram suspired, “That one phone call screwed up my entire day!!!” Balancing the laptop bag on his left shoulder, Vikram took a few steps towards the exit.

“Sorry, Sir…” suddenly came a shockingly familiar voice. Vikram, with dazed face, turned around to notice the chocolate coloured, pinkish salwar-clad lady, who was sitting right opposite to them all the while, silently listening to their conversation. “I too had a phone call that screwed up my day!!!” Her office identity card dangled from the neck. It read – “Chitra – Cambridge Solutions, Business Process Outsourcing, Velachery.”

Before Vikram could respond, he was sucked in to the determined crowd moving to the exit, like a purposeful escalator, throwing him to the platform. By the time he steadied himself and moved to the window of the compartment, the train had started moving. For a second or a little more, his eyes met those of Chitra’s staring through the window. Vikram looked on as the train left the platform and its red tail light dissolved into the night. Inside him remained the weight of an unoffered apology.

 

~Trilok~

 

Dedicated to the B.P.O Folks – those telemarketing calls, the voices and the real people on the other end of the phone calls!

Velachery – a place in Chennai, India

MRTS – Elevated suburban train system in Chennai (Mass Rapid Transit System)