On Guru Purnima!!!

Today on Guru Purnima I am again reminded of a friend who I wished a happy birthday and Lo he tells me it’s wrong and actual is May 1st.He explains 6 boys in his school were ‘given’ this day as their birthday by a kind-hearted teacher for their Matriculation exams since the Academic Year in UP started on 8th July and when it came to retirement none of the teachers could be retired in the second half of the year till the academic year was over. Teachers wanted then their pupils to be teachers and aspire for this vocation.

Shaking like a sweet-sixteen...ready to abate!!!

(Errors may be due to formatting)

Rajbir Deswal's book reivew of Dr Balbir Singh's The Chaotic Age in The Tribune:

(Omega Publications. Pages 90. Rs 150)
The present anthology of poems laments the travails, turmoils and tribulations of present times, woven into a frilled treatise, embroidered with pangs and pains, flowing from the pen of the author, and breaking free only to allow some nostalgia of the eras gone by, and wilfully forgotten. Balbir Singh celebrates life sans lifelessness, in a kind of chaos and crisis—of faith, honesty, righteousness, beauty, trust, aesthetics, compassion and social and humanistic concerns.
"The collection has enough range in its kitty: recounting the fate of, as innocuous a thing as an earthworm, a hare, a mermaid or even a creeper; harping on extinction, priorities, evil, freedom, loving and longing; and delineating in detail the fate of shepherds, factory workers, haves and have-nots. There is a certain exploration explicit in Balbir’s works when he delves into ‘darkness’; sends a message from his ‘cocoon’ or even when he bids ‘good bye’.
This reviewer finds the author giving best treatment to his sinking in various shades of darkness and all things relating to murky, gloomy and seamy side of, not largely the human beings’ mindset but the predicaments they are placed in.`A0The author is merely a commentator and does not sit in judgement or being on the counselling spree even of a type of voyeurism.
The first poem, Power and Boundaries, in four parts spells the grammar out for the rest to follow, in meaning business of life.`A0But the power of "Rapt bodies grapple in ecstasy" and "Faces breathing against flushed faces/red cheeks, quivering lips`85!"`A0The power of "Burning fire for mad revenge" and "Power grabbed for more might".`A0
The poet also laments the "Psyche of a race hurt beyond repair ..." and "There is not such thing on earth as unbridled liberty`85!" But the poet hastens to add, "Even the Maker is bounded in holy plan/by the sacred laws of Heaven", when he completes his thought process and clinches the issue, almost with a feisty blow of his pen-power, in all its subtler and sterner nuances.
He observes all through, and makes his punches unobtrusively manifest which are mostly one- and two-liners.`A0Sample some: (i) All must return to dust. (ii) Everything does not depend on the refinement of the decoration (iii) `85only life ends, (iv) O’ for a club of crude power, (v) What will humanity mean then?`A0What does it mean now, anyway?`A0`A0(vi) `85 the powerful stub of my fancy, (vii) let us mark our place, (viii)`A0Evil is dressed in the guise of good/like a concubine in bridal attire (ix) Life spent only in labour, for others, (x) What a life we lived, (xi) `85 parts hidden to expose more/infusing blood in naked desires.
This reviewer’s favourite remains, however, Embracing Nature when standing under a lush green flexible plant, he exclaims, "... drooping flowers/shaking like a sweet-sixteen/bent shyly with its own beauty/dangling its earrings/ then raining them on me/ so profusely, liberally/ like the benedictions of a noble saint/ready to abate/ the pains of ailing humanity." Here he comes fairly close to Walt Whitman in his delineation of the claims, counter claims and ultimate blending, binding, assimilation and oneness of body and soul.
Being a teacher of English, the author allows impressions and influences from various poets in his style when the stamping is abundantly apparent in his works, but he is all through aware of native sensibility.

इन्हें आप से कोई काम है

ये रोज़ रोज़ क़ि मिन्नतें
ये आप , जनाब ये जुस्तजू
ये खुशामदें बे- गरज नहीं
इन्हें आप से कोई काम है

His Master’s Choice

His Master’s Choice

by Rajbir Deswal
PALAT, palat, palat!" He barked from behind. I turned my back and was surprised to see a dog on my trail. "Bhai Sahab, can you make me understand what is the fault of a dog, if he wags his tail if someone whistles?" "No fault. But how do you know I can talk with you?" "Come on sir, do you not have canine teeth? So you should have canine tongue too!" He could not have been more candid.
"I have some clarifications to seek, regarding the predicament of the Labrador, who is in the news for being claimed by different people, and the matter is in the Hon’ble Court!" And he kept barking with me, taking the canine-cause one by one.
"Is it not a dilemma of sorts, if you have to choose your master, be it a townsman, a bureaucrat or an army man? And why should they prove it, by inciting our instinctive wagging of the tail? Sometimes I feel doing it, when the pressure cooker whistles!" I smiled and waited for his next sal(i)vo.
"Will they obtain the consent of my buddy before implanting a chip in him; or before taking his sample for DNA? What about our rights to privacy and against intrusions? Ye pulis-kachehri ke chakkar kaun katega Bhai Sahab aur kaun jhelega tareekh pe tareekh!" He went on being a little filmy.
"A media-trial is already on, but will they not show in pics, Marshall, or Leo, sitting on his haunches , salivating with his lolling tongue, watching the trial, waiting him to be declared "His Matser’s Choice! We have only known to ‘cross’, but not to be cross-examined. O’ destiny!" He lamented.
"We love our masters, or our ‘owners’ — he chuckled a bit at this ownership — but those of us who are always on a high, in straying here and there, are not considered even for an adoption! Our taut tail not straightened permanently, doesn’t mean that we don’t take even straight and sagacious counsel. Why have we to now engage counsel, sir!" He was going beyond his brief but I kept mum.
"Well, Bhai Sahab, call me mad but we have been known to be loyal to only one master, and not two, or too many. Till the time the verdict will be announced, our faithfulness will remain in a state of suspended anima(l)ation, almost akin to impeachment of credit and character we are known for. Can you tell us an early solution? Canines are impatient and cannot wait like humans, you see."
I heard someone taking a dig at me then, saying, "Kutton ke munh nahin lagte!" and I decided to beat a hasty retreat advising our best friend of the species: "File an application of early hearing!" He was not as unworthy and discourteous as me. He wagged his tail and winked before finally parting ways. But I could hear him brood still, "To be owned or not to be, that is the question...!" Thereafter I could not hear his voice.

या फिर काम से ?

आओ जी कैसे आये ? बताइए अब इसका क्या जवाब हो ? बस से, रेल से, पैदल, साइकिल से, जहाज़ से, लिफ्ट से, सीढ़ियों से, पानी से, हवा से, वैसे ही । या फिर काम से ?

His Masters' Choice

His Masters’ Choice
By: Rajbir Deswal
The ongoing fight over the ownership of a dog in Panchkula has interesting goingson to watch. The issue being sub judice, I wouldn’t comment but I can’t help sharing what a dog soliloquised during my evening stroll yesterday:
To be owned, or not to be,
by Armymen or bureaucrats,
is the question.
Whether it’s canine,
to be loyal to one,
face, court-n-cops,
DNA and micro chips,
be high on media hype,
or to spread out c-laws,
and raise the voice,
be cross-examined,
tuck the tail in hinds,
sit on haunches thru trial,
and wait with salivating tongue,
to be declared,
His Master’s Choice.
O’ to regain my straying here-n-there!
Everywhere. And rule the lanes.
Unlike those fatty sleep O’ nites,
With pats, bones n bites,
Who shall on leash remain.
O’ my tail, though taut n curling,
Thou hast always known,
Straightness of sagacious counsel.
What is in a name?
That which they call a Leo,
Might sound as unpredictable,
Or—a Marshall, as lowly,
If love not be there,
And instinctive friendliness,
My calling will be the same.
Otherwise O’ wisemen listen,
I miss my day when on couch I lay,
Brooding over my intent,
Put to test and question,
feeling shamed at my predicament,
Of a joy claimed not by one,
And not the only one, but two.
Though the world knows,
And all beings there to,
That we are known,
As the Watch-dogs,
And not to be watched,
With museum interest, or zoo!

" How sweet!"

गवर्नर के जाते ही सब लोग आमों पर टूट पड़े --एक खबर ! मैं होता तो मैं भी ऐसे ही करता !
Now say, " How sweet!"

Ugly too, turns good!

The perennially stinking and slothful drain ‘flowing’ past my backyard is full of muddy water from the Shivalik Hills and looks to me a rivulet of reformed rhyme.

M signing along—

Ugly too, turns good

N gets a chance, to be so

N let it come as it should

Full and fuller, of flow!