Tag Archives: childhood


Sitting at my desk, the wind carries with it the humdrum of life outside. 

The chaotic little shrieks of children playing just after school hours reminds me of my happy childhood where I played for long hours outside, till my mother came calling for dinner.

The incessant blaring horns signal a traffic jam somewhere in the lanes behind home, leading me to imagine the frustrated looks and words exchanged by those caught in its midst.

This week late at night, as I sat at my desk furiously working the laptop while the energy outside started to mellow down, the slow chirp of crickets filtered in through my window transporting me to another time.

I have always wondered what made their sounds grow louder and louder and then fall way low, before they began the ritual again?  Often finding myself mimic their chorus or try and break their rhythm.

The chirp of crickets reminds me of late nights in the outdoors, camping under the stars, surrounded by darkness, with only their sound for company.

But what it reminds me of the most is this tree that lay on the road that led to my art classes. It was a massive tree that I think housed hundreds of them or so I imagined back then.

The sound of crickets terrified me then, so much so, that this memory lies etched in mind from 30 years ago.

You see, I was convinced that when I walked under that tree, these loud, invisible creatures would all at once sweep down and attack me. So there I was, all of 8, standing at the edge where its branches started, holding  my breath, gritting my teeth, clenching my fist, ready to make a dash to the other side where the tree ended.  


Looking back, I am sure the crickets wondered why this little human increased her pace so furiously when walking under that tree.

This continued for the entire summer till art classes thankfully concluded and I no longer had to make that all too stressful walk under the tree.

What does their sound remind you of? Do you have memory associated with it?

Or any memory that gets ignited by a particular sound?

Do share if you do.

This week’s s poem by Gulzar again, about that tree…..his tree. Like so many trees, either lost to development or time.


Mod pe dekha hai?

By Gulzar

Mod pe dekha hai wo boodha-sa ek ped kabhi ?
Mera waqif hai, bahut salon se mein use jaanata hoon

Jab mein chhota tha to ik aam udaane ke liye
Parli deewar se kandhon pe chadha tha uske
Jaane dukhti huee kis shaakh se jaa paanv lagaa
Dhaad se phenk diya tha muje neeche usne
Meine khunnas main bahut phenke the pathar us par

Meri shaadi pe mujhe yaad hai shaakhein dekar
Meri vedi ka hawan garm kiya tha usne
Aur jab haamla thi ‘Biba’ to dopahar main har din
Meri biwi ki taraf kairiyan phenki thi isi ne
Waqt ke saath sabhi phool, sabhi patti gaye

Tab bhi jal jaata tha jab Munne se kehti ‘Biba’
‘Haan,usi ped se aaya hai tu, Ped ka phal hai’
Ab bhi jal jaata hoon. jab mod se gujarte mein kabhi
Khaanskar kehta hai, ‘Kyo, Sar ke sabhi baal gaye?’

‘Subah se kaat rahe hain woh Kameti wale
Mod tak jaane ki himmat nahin hoti mujhko’

The Tree at The Corner

Translation by Pavan K Verma

Have you seen at the corner that ageing tree?
It is an acquaintance I have known for years.

When I was small, I had climbed on to its shoulders
From the adjacent wall to steal a mango
My feet touched on of its branches that was hurting
It threw me down with a thud
Angry, I threw many stones at it.

At my wedding I remember it gave its branches
To warm the fire of the havan
And when Biba was pregnant, it threw every afternoon
its raw mangoes at my wife
With time all its leaves and flowers disappeared
I would be jealous when Biba told the baby:
“You have come from that tree, you are his fruit”
Even today I feel angry when, as I pass the turning, he coughs
And says, ” Have you lost your hair”

Today since morning, the municipal authorities are cutting it to pieces
I do not have the courage to go up to the corner.

Bikhre Lavz now has a page on Facebook. Do like to get updates and more poetry related stuff!



Dushmani jam kar karo lekin ye gunjaaish rahe
jab kabhi ham dost ho jaaen to sharminda na hon

These two lines come from Bashir Badr on friendship but start with dushmani or hostility.

Friendships have been the crux of many a folklore, movies and books.

Characters and their bond of friendship is etched in our minds, whether  it was Veeru and Jai in Sholay, or Mowgli and Balu in Jungle Book or Pi and Richard Parker, the tiger in the life of Pi. This unique relationship with its strong and complex nuances has been part of our lives from time immemorial.

I remember my childhood friendship with a boy no older than I was in our apartment complex. We were surrounded by kids all older than us, which meant that we weren’t included in the ‘older’ games. We spent hours on the balconies of our homes, playing games and making up stories.

As we grew older and my family moved away from the apartment complex, a whole new gang of friends appeared in my life.  Yes, we were a gang, and a feisty one at that. My mind space was occupied with stories of Sherlock Holmes and Watson, Astrix and Obelisk, the Secret Seven as well as Hardy Boys. And we lived these stories on the streets around our homes.


Imagine nearly a dozen kids taking over our neighborhood, using every bylane for a game of Lagori, cricket or simply running like the ghost was ready to swallow us. Summer meant that the gang took over the roof of the biggest house, to enact. plays, perform different kinds of dances and even have a fancy dress competition.

Supporting us in this was the sweetest neighborhood family of brother and sister, who allowed us the use of their house and the adjoining roof. He was in retrospect my first confidante, mentor and friend, although a good 20 years older than most of us.

But these memories are interspersed with episodes of bickering, tantrums and bossiness(that was intended for me). There was sibling rivalry being played out as well as budding romances and the usual suspect called jealousy. Thank fully the adults stayed out this and were told to manage our own affairs.

These were my teenage years and today I remember them fondly, including the first red rose and Archies card I received.

Now, I find my self surrounded by very few people who I call friends, not as large as the gang that I was part of in the past. Friendship today means being someone’s sounding board, talking, sharing a cathartic moment without the fear of judgement or prejudice. It also means listening to excerpts from their past, a story they haven’t recited in a long time. Talking about anxieties, ambitions or the food we dislike.  Appreciating, encouraging, cautioning and sometimes cajoling .

Of course, laughter and humor are a big part now. I often say, that when I start sharing situational humor with someone, we have reached the threshold of  friendship.

These relationships transcend age, time and status. Like a moth driven towards the light, individuals find themselves at the threshold of each others friendship, getting linked in a bond that can’t be justified or explained.

After these nice rosy words, I want to talk about the nemesis of friendship. Resentment, envy and jealousy.

In the Mafia world, there is a code called the Omertà, it refers to maintaining absolute silence when questioned by law enforcement on the subject of alleged illegal activities by other members of the mafia. This can result in one member “taking the fall” for others, or even taking sole responsibility for a crime that others committed.

This code of silence, total commitment and clannish behavior exists in many friendships. A sense of moral protection from the nemesis lurking around. It serves friendships it times of strife, and in many ways stops the lousy cycle of back biting and gossip. It is unspoken and understood by every one entering the gang, that we protect, defend and shield our own.

We may bicker and disagree, we may have arguments and have varied opionions, but that is among us, a sense of Omertà.

In the words of Javed Akhtar this week.

Jidhar Jate Hai By Javed Akhtar

Followed by the Translation

Jidhar jaate hain sab udhar jaana achchha nahin lagta,
mujhe puraane raaston ka safar achchha nahin lagta.

Where everyone goes, there I don’t like going,
Traveling on old roads I don’t seem to like.

Ghalat baaton ko khamoshi se sunNa haami bhar lena,
bahut hain faayde iss mein magar achchha nahin lagta.

Listening to false words in silence, agreeing to them,
there are many benefits to this, but I don’t seem to like it.

Mujhe dushman se bhi khuddari ki ummeed rehti hai,
kisi ka bhi ho sar kadmon mein achchha nahin lagta.

I have expectations of self respect even from my foes,
Seeing the forehead of any individual on my feet, I don’t like.

Bulandi par unhe mitti ki khusboo tak nahin aati,
ye woh shaakhen hain jin ko ab shajar achchha nahin lagta.

At the pinnacle, the smell of the earth doesn’t seem to reach them,
These are the branches who don’t seem to like even the tree anymore.

Ye kyon baaki rahe aatish-zano ye bhi jala daalo,
ki sab beghar hon aur mera ho ghar achchha nahin lagta.

Why leave these matchsticks, burn them too,
They all are homeless, and I have a home, I don’t like it.

The ghazal rendered by:

I want to end this post with an iconic friendship from the silver screen: that of Andy and Red. So many powerful moments within the movie have earned  Shawshank Redemption the cult movie status it today enjoys. But mine has to be when Red finds that money waiting for him underneath the stone.

Would he find something left by his old friend? What would that be? Will be feel abandoned or will Andy lead him towards….all these thoughts cross your mind as we see Red making the journey.

For all those based in Bangalore, here is an event that might interest you, a dastangoi recitation.

Dastangoi by Ankit Chadha – Bangalore – EventsHigh