The bell curve of life

Little stories tucked under my pillow, seldom told.
Our memories, faded yet vibrant, gathering mold, growing old.
Eminence of forty,
a little naughty,
a little spotty.
Bell curves and learning,
life turning,
a candle burning.
Mere mortals we are,
life close, life far.
Clinging to our memories and sometimes evading reality,
meaningless relations, shallow cordiality,
Losing steam yet clinging to vitality.
Silently the wheels are turning,
the bell curve of learning, a candle burning.

Masters of sweet nothings

Promises made, quietly forgotten
Sweet exterior, insides rotten,

We dreamt a dream, you dreamt alone,
Quietly I leave, sad, forlorn.

Now I know what to call you,
Masters of sweet nothings.

A promise here, an assurance elsewhere,
Over the years, reality came bare.

The commitment of time, promises thrown out,
The futility of change, the cementing of doubt.

Simple souls, lost in materiality,
Each sweet nothing, a myth not reality.

The hunger in their eyes, is it for knowledge or money?
Little masters of tact, misled by promises, ironic or funny?

Like putty in our hands, so easy to convert,
With lies and deceit, so easy to subvert.

Time to move on, time to build,
Loyal souls, members of a guild.

No we will not negotiate with those that are ours,
Even to others, send chocolates and flowers.

I came to build and not to destroy,
I leave you my all, go ahead, enjoy.

Walk through my garden, with each step be gentle
Be soft and yet be firm,
You are free to decide, pulpit or mantle?

I know now to call you, the masters of sweet nothings.

Ten Questions by Rainmaker

10 Questions
Dheeraj Malhotra
Dheeraj Malhotra is a Delhi-based partner with Desai & Diwanji specializing in Project Finance, Private Equity and Capital Markets.
Read more.

Shimmering lights, twinkling bulbs
crackling crackers, glittering sparklers
starbursts of multiple colors.

The return of a victorious king,
Triumphant and Joyous.
Centuries old, still revered.

Our lives, beliefs, fortune
an eternal circle, joy sorrow, love, relationships.
We evolve, the world revolves, the circle endures.


With love in our hearts we wish you
a very Happy and Joyous Diwali
and
a Prosperous New Year

Chaitanya, Nitaai, Nandika,
Mehr and Dheeraj Malhotra

Yes I know

Yes I know .
Years ago we met as children, grew, matured and started aging, separate paths, unaware. Then we met again, per chance and without designs. At least not designs that we created. Perhaps our meeting was a conspiracy between our fates, which were intertwined but of which we were ignorant.
We share thoughts now and sometimes our mornings , but always far apart. I visualize your day sometimes and you perhaps mine. We mean more to each other than we know, the tragedy is we think we know it all. The nice part is we know, it doesnt matter how much.
So, I know I mean something, still learning though how much I mean to you. I have yet to see your family, but if i know you from the time we spent together long ago or from your writings, there is a lot of love and sensitivity there. Your achievements make me proud vicariously and your words add a strange fragrance to that pride. What you wrote is beautiful, I wonder how much more beautiful is the inspiration.

Mixed Feelings

Came back from Mumbai on Friday evening and was happily greated by Chaitanya, Nitaai and Nandika shouting "Papa". Chaitanya rushing towards me at full speed Nitaai and Nandika carried by their respective caretakers. We headed homeward with a brief stopover intended at Ashwini Bhaiya's. He had recently been raided by the Directorate of Revenue Investigation and in right earnest, as his trusted lawyer brother/son, I was dutybound to swing by. We landed up at their home.

A little pekingese missile of hair called Whistly merrily hurled itself at my children, who promptly esconced themselves on the higherst reaches of the neares pieces of furniture, precariousl balanced as the canine apparently challenged. Slowly fmiliarity built up and I could ahve a conversation with Bhaiya. Oh, I forgot to mention that Nandika, the little one was the first to make friends with Whistly, I guess we all know the lesson to be learnt from that fact.

We sat and dscussed the horrors that had been meted out by the custodians of revenue and the enforcers of our tax laws. It took me back to my readings on dungeons and the demands of heartless monarchs and the miseries of the commoners. For once, it didnt seem that we lived in a free country. Visiting those feelings again. Thank you Narendra Modi, you made our dreams (nightmares) come true.

Mountains - in response to a friends thoughts

The rumble of burning engines, a distant sound;
gentle moist drizzle, trickling down my face;
silent monoliths invite my uncaring feet;
pure and gentle mistrals greet my countenance;
blades of grass, millions forming a gentle sheet;
feathery brush, berries still green.
Bottlebrush coyly gazing at its own reflection,
swaying in abandon at its own direction;
lavender and peach canopied trees;
mooing cows, crowing roosters, cackling geese;
all carried by the gentle breeze.
The words are there, not cast asunder;
I lack the time, not literary thunder.
The rumble of burning engines, a distant sound,
paradise lost, paradise found.