Sreeram Srinivasan

O! How we all yearn for this meet, Counting each minute and second, Some come for banter, while others for peace of mind that beckoned . When a old flame comes in sight, Will the same sparks fly in the forum, Or will we respect life' choices, we all made and maintain decorum . A second coming always the hope, But let us enjoy the one that is, Two scores of years in making, A lifetime to remember and relish. . So many of ours that are overseas, Unable to make it to the festivities, They will miss what we shall cherish, The return to home of the Mighties.

In the dark night, birth of a girl child, A mother's feelings mixed and mild, A coming rightly to have been hailed, But only worry of moneys to be piled.   Thus begins life for this tiny pearl, A cute angel that is daddy's little girl, Home full of gaiety she helps unfurl, Till the coming of the rightful Earl.   What changed for this little miss, No one for her to cuddle and kiss, Her absences none seem to miss, Is she just another brat gone amiss. .   Growing pains of a girl's early youth, Boys speak less but look in stealth, The mother's anguish a test of faith, Makes her desire nothing but death,   Great hopes now fill this lovely li'l maiden, Education the door to gardens of Eden, To Cupid's arrows her heart's now laden, Why does one desire what's forbidden?   Feeling of pride, a mum's first reaction, Her little one's love, a reason for elation, Then fear, after a late bout of gumption, For a girl child, eras pass with no salv

(With due apologies to John Keats for the title) . My heart pines for one that flew away, . Life's sweet melodies meant to stay, Songs it sang made times fade away, To take the weary traveller far away, My heart pines for one that flew away, . There was something with this ingenue, As she held listeners to her trancic cue, A mystical spell that bound all but a few, Voice that still rings refusing to bid adieu. . Unspoken love of an adolescent youth, Too shy to say by word of the mouth, In actions would have been so uncouth, So silence the way to cut love's tooth . Is it a cuckoo from the garden of eden, Or tranquility descended from heaven, Or is the soft touch of a gentle maiden, For the woebegone, a blissfull haven. . Like a head after a long drunken night, Like a body after a belaboured fight, A long journey with no end in sight, Mind aches after this songbird's flight. . My heart pines for one that flew away, My heart pines for one that flew away.

Blessed r those who see for the blind, And for the dumb, their voices they lend, Tis for others, the poet writes his odes, So unspaken love may find words to tend....

I have been thinking of about the happenings of the past month when I was "found" by my classmates, introduced back to the group and accepted back into this wonderful club. To cherish and reminisce on the good old times has been un-filtered joy for me and has energised me like nothing else ever has since I left school in 1980. However, I am starting to feel a bit worried and uneasy about the long-term. Let me explain what I mean. As i have watched me or newer members of our old alumnus initiated back in, I couldn't help notice people going through distinct phases that I call DCBA (ABCD in reverse, if you will) for lack of a better terminology. Let me explain....... Clearly, the first phase starts with... Discovery - the phase when one is "found" by his/her classmate(s) and re-introduced to the group. Both the person discovered and the group get a momentary high and it is a joyous reunion a la a Manmohan Desai flick. This phase passes quickly to the next which is

Rays of amber sun on a sky so blue, Bubbly white surf on the golden sand, Miles of azure hope that is so true, Arise, awaken n soar, my Mighty land. . We were all children in so many a hue, Tunes we played that of the band, Not always in sync as I ever fondly rue, Arise, awaken n soar, my Mighty land. . Memories carried are not just a few, Ever reinforcing this Mighty brand, Visions aplenty but mission's still due, Arise, awaken n soar, my Mighty land. . Do some good is the simplest glue, An enduring refrain that would stand, Help the needy in ways anew, Arise, awaken n soar, my Mighty land. . Educate n empower, a constant view, Support an all encompassing stand, Forget not the soft skills for this crew, Arise, awaken n soar, my Mighty land. . Noble aspirations that are so truly blue, And plans for long-term so very grand, To build a strong Gen Next all anew, Arise, awaken n soar, my Mighty land.

Bharat Darshan in a Day . By the daybreak's first rays of light, Grand temple of Ranga comes into sight, Hope for those were of the night wary, Behold, a river under the bridge, kaveri. . As the mists lift on a surreal scenery, Rolling hills of wilderness that's Sringeri, Strains this morning of an early Singer, Behold, a river under the bridge, Tunga. . A city where the harsh Sun beats down, Rajahs, Mantris in this dusty little town, Life flows calm, seemingly in no hurry, Behold, a river under the bridge, Godavari. . A quiet early afternoon free of rigor, Tranquility broken by roar of the tiger, Treasure of marble rocks for the armada, Behold, a river under the bridge, Narmada. . Buzz of the evening traffic grow louder, This Capital city keeps getting prouder, Lands across the water once a serena, Behold, a river under the bridge, Yamuna. . In twilight, silhouttes of great mountains, These dangerous rapids are no fountains, These Himachalis are of a different class, Behold, a

A poem I wrote, from an original one my classmate Ahana wrote, standing at a private Beach near Pondy this morning. (she wrote >90% of it) . Rays of amber sun on a sky so blue, Rolling white surf on the golden sand I see azure for all that is true, Arise, awaken, my mighty land.

Red in the poem below is a metaphor for anything nice or any pleasant thought one would have, or a memory that makes u feel good.... (go figure :-) ) else check out the Key at the end... . . The World so full of hustle and greed, Can we have Red to break this speed, And stop for those who wish, freed, I dream of red, I dream of red, . When the sun's 'bout to rise, When darkness sheds its guise, When stars disappear in surprise, I dream of red, I dream of red, . When early birds have gone faraway, When the morning dew melts away, When bustle again begins for the day, I dream of red, I dream of red, . What pain and joy this day may hold, What odd novelties we may behold, What new people may join our fold, I dream of red, I dream of red, . What succour will we bring the poor, What pills for the needy for cure, What skills we need impart for sure, I dream of red, I dream of red, . Where there is lucre and a good mind, Where concern for people is the bind, Where destitutes find peop

Limericks I wrote for my classmates.... (syllable counts may be a bit off) There was this little girl named Ahana, Knew everything from Peru to Ghana For KV-MAA, a founding mum, A strict moral police for some, . . There was this li'l girl called puppy, Made every young heart go Yippee! Lived this life in her own way, Keeping her struggles at bay, Her words always kind and crispy. . . Wonder at this whizkid, we all wanna. . . There was this little girl named Shampa, In her day, cd hv bn queen of the rampa, Years' given her a sense of duty, Mind's become a thing of beauty, Leads her pupils like a lady with the lampa . . There was this girl they called Bari, who even the cuckoos sang glory, Angels paused for her song, A melody for who men long, Is this the poet's sweet memory? . . There was this li'l kid named Jayanta, Naughtiness known as far as Atlanta, Much mellowed with age, Oh! so kind as would a sage, Generosity would shame even Santa. . . There was this brother

"Eco..... Eco...... Eco (the third time would be in his trademark crackling and mocking voice)..... Hmmm......don't think I do not know the name all of you have given me", he said suddenly one day in the middle of the class, almost innocently. (An adverb that I never thought I would ever use it for Mallayya Sir). Sir went on to explain, there was this girl, 3 years our senior, who was passing a piece of paper to her friend across the aisle in my class. He saw it and she dropped the paper on the floor. He went over to pick it up and took a look at what she had written - "Eco, your voice is Echoeing". We did not know if he wanted us to laugh for this apparent joke or keep quiet. The consequences for either would be disaster. In that one moment of truth, I guess we all learnt a lifetime of diplomacy and to keep a straight poker face that I still use during negotiations. Sitting in the first row, as I was for most of my 9 and 10 standards, and facing Mallaya Sir for

Roy Abraham – my classmate and raconteur nonpareil Krsssh!!! Dijgeeyaon..... Dijgeeyaon..... Dijgeeyaon.... maraa wo...... (in slight malayaali accent). If u heard these words in our class in 1976/77/78, it would most likely be a Friday and the protagonist would be none other than Roy Abraham.... One could unfailingly catch him recounting the story of the previous night's movie in Nausena Bagh open air theatre. Roy loved to tell us stories from the movies he saw the previous night. It gave him undiluted pleasure and made us feel as if he would watch the movie only to narrate it the next day to us. Every frame, every movement, every flicker of an expression would be captured by him and recounted vividly and often graphically with sound effects to boot. Roy was a nice person at heart and also a great looking guy: fair with fine golden downy hair on his face and handsome features almost like a Greek sculpture. His boyish looks, a nice straight jaw-line and if memory serves right,