How I, India, Came To Be Named

I will not begin with

there existed once upon a time

a country because I exist even now; what I am not exactly sure of though is when did I actually start existing. If Nehru is to be believed, I came into being sometime during the Post-Vedic period when the Aryan settlers decided they had enough of the present day Afghanistan and Pakistan and decided to move further south-east into the fertile Gangetic lands. This is the point where my confusion starts, as documented history entangles itself with mythology into terrible knots till the point where you cease to know which is which. I will explain to you how.

People tell me that one of my several names that include India, Hindostan, Jambudwip etc. is Bharatavarsha. And why am I being named Bharatavarsha which is quite a big name and makes people stare at you? It’s because in the annals of history, (or is it mythology) around this time there existed a great king on my lands by the name of Bharat, the son of king Dushyanta and lady Shakuntala. This Bharat is not to be confused with another Bharat, who is mentioned in Ramayana as the younger sibling of Rama. This Bharat is supposed to have conquered all of the known world at the time, and the land he conquered was named Bharatavarsha after him; etymologically that would mean land of Bharat (dear me, but to me it almost smacks of the arrogance of those Britishers who coined the phrase the sun never sets on the British Empire; fancy just me being the whole world, I am flattered). Anyway, that was Bharat and that was me, and then there are in this world a set of people called Jains too, who would promptly disagree with you. They would tell you a similar story, but with a small twist. According to them, I am not named after this Bharat, but rather after that Bharat. That Bharat was the oldest son of lord Ridabha, and in the later part of his life he retired as a monk and attained Nirvana, holy me! Since he became a siddha or the knowledgeable one, he was occasionally worshipped and I was named after him. Apparently most of the Puranas support the Jains, and let me tell you, that’s a heavyweight combination.

The name game doesn’t end here, for Bharat in Sanskrit means the cherished one and so some tell I am not named after anybody, but that my name simply means in Sanskrit, the cherished land. Tell you what, this makes a lot of sense to me – people should say: I know about and respect the whole world, but I also cherish the land where I was born whichever it may be. And so I like being Bharatavarsha, and I would have put a smiley post stating that, except that smileys are sadly forbidden in formal language, and equally sadly this is a formal assignment for which a young man who lives on me is supposed to get some credits. So I will refrain from putting a smiley and instead tell you the reason why I most like being named Bharatavarsha: Bha in Sanskrit means knowledge or light and rat is a verb for doing. So Bharat therefore means one in search of knowledge and Bharatavarsha means the land of people in search of knowledge. Isn’t that a really sexy name as the young man for who I am writing this would imprudently exclaim if he were here? Unfortunately nowadays, I don’t think working for pursuit of knowledge is held in high regard within my boundaries, but that’s another story; and I won’t crib about it now, I have limited space. For the same reason I wouldn’t tell you the etymology of my other names though even those stories are equally interesting. I will now move back to Nehru and my confusion about when the hell did I come into existence.

So if I then drop the two Bharats from my story, and stick to my favorite in pursuit of knowledge theory, answering that question is not so difficult. I don’t have to enter mythological dilemmas and it can be safely said that sometime during those hallowed times when the society here held plain pursuit of knowledge in high regard, when intelligent people spent years sitting beneath trees and pondering silently over existential questions and it was actually hip to do so, when great books such as the Vedas, the Upanishads and the Mahabharata were written and the concepts of Moksha and Nirvana were discovered, some idealist fellow decided it was the precise road which the people of his land should walk on always, and henceforth the land should be known as Bharatavarsha. You see, I don’t think my name came to be about just one fine morning like when Bharat was crowned the king of the whole world, supposedly me; it was a tapashya of centuries if you would allow me to use that word. So I started being Bharatavarsha anytime during those few centuries, and that way I wouldn’t mind even the whole world being called by that name. Continuing in that vein, is it correct to call me Bharatavarsha even now? I have my doubts.

The Poor Princess

There was a princess, lovely and fair
Who got stuck in a dragon's lair
She had a cell from Hutch
So got rescued as such
But the dragon followed her everywhere

Me Don't Want Babes

me don't want babes
lotsa trouble that saves
the grapes are sour
and they get worse every hour
for them no more i crave

so me will become a sage
show arbit-rage
talk funny
and make some money
by putting junta in a haze

or i will be a young teacher
of abstinence i will be a preacher
my target segment i will bore
till they are sore to the core
and look like pitiful creatures

before death sweeps me off
i will become a grouchy prof
babes will be scared
of the courses i chaired
and i will have a hearty laugh

Then the river goddess will hav mercy
on the poor kids all in a frenzy
she will sweep me right off my feet
my end shall then be short and sweet

Before An Exam

oh dear! tis not a time to lark bout monsters
when you have been but right out of your bed
or haven't you slept all of the night
preparing for the one that beckons two days ahead

coz there is not one but two fifty of them
as far as the victims are concerned
so get back to your tomes as soon as you can
fun is all over, the crackers are all burnt

and if I may say so, O! seeker of depth and truth
your poetry will have Wordsworth stamping his feet (refer the last two lines)
so for that day of being permanently yourself
better practice in advance for being foot of fleet

Sidin vs.Me

The Ballad of the Sceptical Schoolboy (By Sidin)

Why do I have no beanstalk to climb
and no ogres wife to make my own
And alas I have roamed in every park
And yet found no sword embedded in stone
I used up every day of my summer break
looking for a hole in the little town dam
Not one little scratch not even a pinhole
which I can use my little finger to jam
Last July I went with Pa to the beach
and rubbed every bottle lying on the sand
Not one genie popped out in clouds of smoke
Not even a wish (not even fair Lucille's hand...)

I even made cousin Tom catch me a frog
and I kissed it when noone was looking
I should get a princess I thought to myself
Frog stayed put, and mom gave me a royal licking
Then last Sunday noon I hopped over to Lucille's
And I peeped through her bedroom pane
There she lay on her eiderdown bed, quite, still and ashen
The scene awoke the hero within and I leapt (the memory is pain...)

Alas she was not poisoned by an evil stepmother
Nor had she eaten poisoned fruit
Yet I kissed her full on her crimson lips
And as I did, in her room her father set foot.

He whipped my ass for a good half hour
and then he called my dad
Dad took me home and told me she was with fever
And he whipped me too, and dad whips bad

So I think, Sir, that these stories are all make-believe
there are no kings and princes, or goblins or gold,
I spent so long trying to make them true
But I know better now, I am ten years old!!!

So Sir, will you please read this letter of mine
And give me a light sabre sword this year
I have been good you know, (except for the kiss)
And my mom always says I am a son most dear

So I will wake up tomorrow morning early and bright
and hope you had forgotten my flaws
I will run down the stairs two at a time,
so do leave me a sword Santa Claus.




The Reply Of An Equally Sceptical Manager (My Reply)

You say you had no ogre’s wife to make your own
Lamenting your poor fortune you have cried
(‘twas forty lines I say)
Well sir, if what you wish you had really done
Surely you would now be seeking a place to hide

For I have heard the ogres were big (and cruel too)
With fearsome fangs and eyes like burning fires
And though Hollywood might choose to disagree
I doubt they ever spoke as cutely as Mike Myers

So be thankful you have no beanstalks to climb
Let the imaginary hero do that cumbersome duty
For those who keep frequenting the fairy tale world
Often find reality contains only beasts, hardly any beauty

Then again I read you roamed countless parks
In search of a certain sword embedded in a stone
Dear me, you should be doing better things at your age (I assume you are in your teens)
Like buying valentine cards, or even better, eating a McCone

Did you say you used up every day of your summer break
Looking for a hole in your little town dam!
Holy Jesus! Don’t you have any competitive exams to give
No grammar to make sense of, no algebra to cram!

And next time you go with your pa to the beach
Don’t just rub those bottles lying on the sand
Be environment sensitive for god’s sake, and pick them up
Give our mother earth a chance, peace a hand

And if you are not up to date, dear fellow (let me make you so)
Nowadays genies don’t pop out in clouds of smoke
They only come as scantily clad nubile dames
That too in serials on Star Plus, sponsored by Coke

So be merry, eat burghers and drink colas
Then there’s a chance of your wishes fulfillment
And for heaven’s sake don’t go kissing young girls in bed
If you want a princess, buy an Axe deo with hundred cent

For it promises you magic that beats all fairy tales
Not only Snow White or Cindrella, but all desirable females
And no, it’s not make-believe for I make them all
And your trust in me is my road to a street called Wall

Remember my stories have no kings, no princes, no goblins or gold
And they are only for people young like you, not weak or old
You don’t have to spend time trying to make them true
Just spend some dough honey, and get whatever you want in lieu

Vrishti

vrishti hai un geeton ki
srot na jinka megh hai
ye bas man ka udweg hai
jo swar ke kundan feeton se
shrishti karti hai wah dhara
Apratim jiska weg hai

twarit kanth ki vani se
sneh ke nirmal pani se
yeh harti hai har hriday kalush
phir bharke usme sangeet pratyush
ud jati hai wihgon ke sang
nabh ki anth-heen dishaon mein
phailake harson indradhanushi rang
tab sun kar suron ka ye sangam
ho uthta hai pulkit ang ang

Tin Drum

Beating my rage
On a tin drum
Saying my thoughts aloud
Or keeping mum
Why is pain like this
Or am I just numb

Will this torment
Ever end
Will this tear
Ever mend
Or is my heart
Forever rend(ed)

By someone I thought I knew
A gem among a chosen few
Who had sung once in my ears
An enchanting poetry of pearls and dew
A tall steeple in a panoramic view
Of a girl silhoutted by colored panes
Dressed in white in a church pew

The bride was beautiful, by her side
Fiddling with her lace
Was I standing with a ring in my hand
With ecstasy on my face
With kisses in my mouth
With love in my heart
Swimming upon waves
In a sea beset with roaring tides
Of wishes and dreams
While streamed through the colored panes
Lighting her face
Yellow sunbeams

But well
All that was poetry
An unfulfilled yen
Closed are my eyes
They were dreaming you know
And when they open
After you have counted to ten
They will find
Reality is hell

Why did she hide the truth
Or was it all a fault of mine
I should have known love is so small, so wavering
It can tear itself through the eyes of a needle
Can never stay on a single line
You know not, and it has drunk
From the lips of another
A new wine
And finds words that mean in a thousand ways
Go away
And I will be fine.

The Wind

The wind that silently watches you over every night
Is but an ember to kindle within you a dream
It floats you over a hundred seas; Lazuline as they glow
In golden rain; and twirls you over mountains slow
Covered in a silken sheet of silvery snow

Yes, the wind has life
And though for now it may seem
That with it all that flows
Are pieces of a depressing tapestry
Tis but a passing time, an evanescent misery

For within these city walls
You have forgotten how to dream; tear through the sky
How to burn, how to fly
To hear the bells of ecstasy that chime
Within you; when you hear verses in rhyme

But hope is not left, and all that you need
To feel the wind on your face
Is to leave the mindless race, and climb the jagged walls
Though your feet may ache, your hands may bleed
And it be called a foolish deed
In imposing rooms, in stately halls

Then maybe you will find on those maddening heights
The depressing tapestry has changed to colors bright
The sights and sounds you had forgotten you ever heard
Have rushed back to you like music from a bird
And floating on the wind has come a visitor, an old forgotten friend
A fellow called life
And presto! Your misery will end