How Fortunate Am I

How fortunate am I

To have a family

How fortunate am I

To have friends 

Who take my loneliness away

And love me 

How fortunate am I 

To be literate

Unlike many in this world 

How fortunate am I

To not have to beg, borrow or steal

To make my daily bread 

Let this poem be a gentle reminder

That despite problems 

We are fortunate

We are the world within a world 

Cocooned in our security

With roofs o'er our heads

While somewhere in the wide world 

A ten year old is hungry

How fortunate are we

That when we were ten

All we had to worry about was when

We could buy the next computer game

The Bilge Master

Wilderness

I'm a nomad wandering the sands 

I have seen pain

And felt the harsh sun on my bare back

Without a shirt on it

How can I return home

You were far from me 

A wild thing 

With untamed tresses 

And fire in your eyes 

The eternal gypsy with an opium pipe 

And bewitchment coursing through your veins

You were not scared of the stranger banging on your doors

Seeking shelter from the storm in his breast

You kept him safe 

And he kept you wild 

And maybe one day

You will go your seperate ways 

And this friendship will be kept alive 

Through the alphabet used to express sentiment 

Maybe I will remember you 

As the violence in the rain

And maybe you will remember me as the tranquility in a lake 

Maybe your favorite time of day

Is a time when it is dark

When weary with smiling 

You rest at last

Maybe you will still know me 

As the stranger who drank water at your door 

And maybe I will remember your eyes 

In which there is an inferno

The Bilge Master 

Poster credit Sudeshna Roy

Strangers We Know Very Well, Despite Never Having Met Them

An evening of music, proclaims the banner. It's got a picture of rock stars with big guitars and bigger names. Some names you know, others are unknown. They let you in. It's a darkened stage, with a Fender Stratocaster on it. Suddenly all the lights go out and you see a shape running at something. A few seconds later, the Voice growls "YEEEEAHHHH!!!" into a microphone. Just like that, you're on your feet, on your chair, screaming back.

It's amazing what a stranger can do to you with his or her voice or instrument. Think about it. Do you really know the lead singer of the band that's become your favorite go to when you're sad and in need of some love? No.

But...

In a way you do. You've heard them sing. You've heard them play. And you've become friends with them, even though you have never met, and probably never will. You have memorabilia. You have signed photos and perhaps a really old, dog eared photo. Memories of times spent with total strangers, who gave you the power to hang on, the power to wake up and get out of bed.

How many times have you heard them? The same voices, the same chords? How many times have you gone over to a friend's place to hear him play your songs on his electric guitar? You don't remember do you? 

I don't either.

I just know that when that song comes on, I'm gonna dance! And the world will join me.

That's what music does to you. It unifies better than world leaders and political figures. It expresses emotions. It fills up the empty pockets in your soul. 

What would we do without these musicians in our lives? 

The Bilge Master

Somewhere in Between

This poem is inspired from the Lifehouse song Somewhere in Between

Somewhere in between school and work

Somewhere in between the book and the movie

Somewhere in between soda and alcohol

Somewhere in between virginity and having children

Somewhere in between bedtime stories and biographies

Somewhere in between rock music and the Hemen raaga

Somewhere in between being driven around the city and driving at 90

Somewhere in between yesterday and tomorrow 

We all grew up

The Bilge Master

If the World Was Ending...

Spotify wants me to go Premium. I tolerate the ads. Tonight however, a song is stuck in my head. This song is so apt given the fact that perhaps the world as we know it has changed.

They say change is the only constant and also that some things never change. They say that people do stupid things for people they love. They say conversation happens over coffee or maybe tea or just hanging one handed on a metro train headed back from work.

Tonight it happened over soda and Bollywood. It got me thinking. What if this was the last one I ever had? Would I have said more? Would I have said less? Would we have covered Country Roads by Denver together in our out of tune voices, desperate to nail the high key?

Lacuna Coil said we should realize that sometimes words are very unnecessary. I disagree. Words are necessary. Sometimes words make more sense than staying silent. They lodge a protest. They remind our enemies that we are alive and kicking. 

Bit by bit, the evening went from musical discussions to the birth of a soundtrack which will remind me of this moment forever. It was just us, with a couple of old songs and soda. Cigarette smoke hung in the air and age faded away as the generation gap melted. Sometime during the evening, one of us started singing. 

Nobody stopped her. And a soundtrack was born. A wheel whirred. A memory got saved.

If the world ended tomorrow, I would be happy knowing this evening happened. I would not change a thing. 

The Bilge Master

Free

I know a girl

I love her 

Shortest love story ever 

The thing is 

She sets me free 

Makes me think 

Takes my rudeness 

And forgives me 

Even when I screw up

She's special 

A tad unique 

This poem is for her 

Pray she likes it 

Hope she won't get mad

That it took me so long to

Get around to putting

Pen on paper 

She's electric 

Somewhat eccentric

A good chef 

Trying baking 

Wants a tin which she needs 

So she drives at 80

Down deserted streets 

Smoking like a chimney

Loving like a gypsy

I know her family

They're swell

I hope they like me 

Of late I'm a tough guy to like 

And Chris Martin tells me 

I shouldn't lose her 

I hope I don't 

Thank you for reading about us 

There really is a lot more to say

But I don't have words to say it yet

Watch this space

The Bilge Master

The Lake

My summer holidays had just begun. It was the last summer holiday before the HS exam and college. I'd gone for a walk to Dhakuria lake. After having exerted myself, I purchased a small glass of chai and headed off to sit on  a bench beside the lake. It had rained. I sidestepped a few puddles, careful to not spill any tea on myself and sat down.

The sky was overcast, with smatters of light gray, black and patches of blue peeking through, somewhat defiantly. The mosaic of colour in the sky was reflected on the surface of the lake. I could smell the wet grass and the slightly pungent smell of wet earth. I'd finished my chai. As if on cue, it started to rain again. This time I was drenched. But the rain stopped after a little while and I tried to use my handkerchief to dry my thick hair off.

The sun had started to shine and the lake's surface had turned to liquid gold. I watched, mesmerized as there were ripples forming on the lake surface and I could hear birds call out to each other- a cry seeking an answer..all in the wake of a little rain. The surface of the lake was on fire- little spots of red and violet amidst an epicentre of pure gold. The colours changed with every turn of my head, refracting off my spectacles, adding to their mystery. I wondered if the lake was trying to tell me something. It seemed almost ritualistic- birds in the trees singing, smells of various kinds and a kind of kaleidoscope of colours in front of my eyes.

My reverie was interrupted by a voice. I turned around and I saw a beautiful girl, with an oval face, raven hair and ruby lips. I was thrown off for a second and stammered

"Who are you?"

"You don't recognize me? I live in your locality! I'm three houses down from you.", she replied.

"I'm sorry, I can't seem to place you just now.", I replied.

"Anyway, I was saying that you're all drenched. You'll catch your death."

"I will be okay. Would you like some tea? Let's have a cup."

"Okay, go get some."

That is how it all started my dears. To this day, your mother reminds me of John Denver's Country Roads and to this day, I love having chai on a bench with her at Dhakuria lake. It's been almost 30 years. She drives me mad sometimes. Her sense of direction is appalling and she always misreads the directions and cannot drive to save her life.

But every day, I am taken back to that moment we met. It had just stopped raining and the clouds had parted. The sun was shining and your mother was smiling at me. I could ask for no sweeter memory.

The Bilge Master