वो रेलवे की बंद क्रासिंग...

वक़्त कब थम जाता है पता चलता है कभी? 

वक़्त थमते देखा है कभी? 

इस भाग दौड़ वाली दनिया में शान्ति फिर कैसी होती है, महसूस किया है क्या कभी? 

कभी उस रेलवे की बंद क्रासिंग पे रुको तो महसूस कर लेना ये सब...

रोज़मर्रा की ज़िन्दगी की भाग दौड़ का ठहराव है यह सब...

एक अनजानी दौड़ का अल्पविराम, कुछ देर सुस्ताने का इशारा...

वो रेलवे की बंद क्रासिंग जो कुछ देर के लिए ही सही मगर उस शोर से निजाद दिलाती है जिसे आम ज़िन्दगी का हिस्सा मान चुके है |

Of Holding On and Letting Go!

And just like that, we feel broken,
When all we should do is surrender,
But we choose to feel shaken,
Lying still in emotions that are tender.

Kya Khoob Keh Gya Tha Wo...

Kya khoob keh gya tha wo,
Zamane se alag tha wo.
Aasaan toh kbhi tha hi nhi ye safar,
Magar ulajh gyi hai ab har dagar.

Kya khoob keh gya tha wo,
Meri zindagi ban gya tha wo.
Umaar bhar ka saath nhi bhi toh,
Kuch pal toh theher gya tha wo.

Kya khoob keh gya tha wo,
Meri rooh ko chu gya tha wo.
Hawayon mei khusboo sa,
Wo tha kuch pal ka bharosa.

Kya khoob keh gya tha wo,
Zamane se alag tha wo.
Kaaton bhari zindagi mei tha,
Wo mere daftar-e-gul sa.

© Ila Garg

Mother

I know I haven’t been an easy child, 

There is no way I could be tamed or be mild.
At times, I need to scream and be apart,
But your tender touch is always there to ease my heart.

I get frightened when you are not in my sight,
You are the wall; the force to test my strength,
The chain I hammer at with all my might,
And yet you keep increasing its length.

It’s tough, I know, to be so calm and not be mad,
To at once play both good and bad,
Your care and faith never cease to come along.
The love against all odds still stays strong.

© Ila Garg

Memories :(

Laced with memories, grandma's kitchen called out to me,
As I stepped in, I recalled how it was once filled with the smell of ghee.
She would prepare steaming hot aloo parathas in the shape of triangles,
And tell us stories about the fairies and also the big bad wolves of the jungles.

Each time we visited her, we had so much to look forward to,
Sometimes, she would make us sit on her lap and read to us too.
She would tell us how good always triumphed over the evil,
And then sing a lullaby for us with a touch so gentle.

On the cold nights, grandma used to give us her famous hot chocolate to drink,
It was her secret recipe; even the thought of it now makes my heart sink.
Once upon a time, my grandma's kitchen was full of smiles and spark,
In her absence, now the 'kitchen' feels so lonely and stark.

© Ila Garg

My voice talks to me!

When I sit alone in my room,

And my voice talks to me,

And says that I have lost you before I could even get you,

It hurts me to see you fading away from my life each day.

And he says everything that is right!

And he says everything that is right.

I just keep on going wrong.

But trust me, please do.

I didn't do anything bad, since I met him.

Past haunts, and it ruined my present and future too.
He loved me more than anything, but not any more.
And I don't blame him for this change.
Am somehow dealing with this fact.
Hah! No more options! No more solutions!

I lose it all...

I cry, I smile, I rise, I fall,

And then slowly, I lose it all.

I feel sadness around me,

Engulfing me, I don't feel free.

A Promise...

I loved, I cared, I adhered,
And yes, I tried my best;
to make it work against all the odds.
But now I am all tired and lost.

Silent Night

Born to marry you...

I remember your eyes staring,
Right into mine, without blinking.
I remember the cute smile on your face,
It keeps me going through the lonely days.

A Part Of Me!

With you by my side,
I took a deep stride.
With you gone now,
I don’t feel alive somehow.

Poetry: To My Love, From Me...

She would never have been angry…

Maybe, she just wanted things,

And not merely the trings.

Perhaps he was doing his bit,

He never let her quit.

She had questions,

She wished to see reciprocations

But, all she got was a set of accusations!

It was her DAY,

It was her BIRTHDAY.

She wanted him, his time,

A gift laced with smiles,

An expression in his rhyme,

And not just to travel miles.

They did spend an evening,

Together, they had a great evening.

He did it all with love and care,

Perhaps,

Loving her was his flair!

***

Okay, they do love each other,

Of course, they are meant to be together!

What would he miss if she goes?

Restlessly, a question she throws.

Wishing to strengthen the rope,

For an answer that would rekindle hope.

His minimalism in love irks her at times,

She wonders if he could just surprise her sometimes.

***

He inspires her in a million ways,

Adding phrase after phrase.

But, her NEVERLAND dreams…

They are beyond limits,

They are full of craze!

His actions are mysterious, if she is upfront,

His smile is still her REJOICE,

Even when he fails to let ‘them’ have an IDENTITY.

They fight and she says, ‘Let’s BREAK UP’,

They hug and he says, ‘Let’s MAKE UP’.

Oh, all she has to do is STAY.

The words that they often say,

The smiles, hugs and kisses in the café,

Keep getting etched for the DOOMSDAY!

‘We have no FUTURE’, she says.

‘But, we have a PRESENT’, he says.

And in a moment, they are angry again.

Look how the smile fades away,

But LOVE?

Yes, Love continues to stay.

Love binds their FAIRYTALE,

Ohh…

But careful, it’s still frail.

She wants overt romance, he keeps it subtle,

She winks, and he writes an ODE TO HIS ANGEL.

Sunday Surprise!

It was an unusual, rather lazy Sunday,
Everyone labelled it as the Mother’s Day.
I pondered on what to gift her,
Cards and flowers, I didn’t prefer.

I wanted to do something exceptional,
For my mother is so incredible.
In good spirits, I entered the kitchen,
And put on an apron; ready for the mission.

I took half a cup of cocoa and two cups of flour,
Then, kept looking for baking soda for another hour.
At last, I found it and took a teaspoon with great vigour.
Next, I added a pinch of salt and lots and lots of sugar.

I pulled out the recipe and read it on repeat,
Carefully, I switched on the oven to let it preheat.
After greasing the pan, I sprinkled some flour,
Cooking seems to be one of my mother’s superpower!

I sighed and poured a cup of milk, some melted butter,
And a tablespoon each of vanilla extract and vinegar.
Could you guess what I was busy making?
Yes, it was a chocolate cake in baking.

With a twinkle in my eye, I gave the batter a gentle mix,
And precisely added a little more milk as a quick fix.
Content with the results, I transferred the batter
to the greased pan; careful not to spatter.

Soon, the aroma enveloped the air and I heard a beep.
Quickly and excitedly, I reached my gloves in a leap.
The oven was hot so I called my elder brother,
Putting on the gloves, we placed the pan inside together.

That was followed by a long dreadful wait,
From a distance, I peeped to check the state.
With one final beep, the cake was done.
I took a whiff. Oh, I had so much fun!

At last, I spread some melted chocolate on the cake,
And put some red round raspberries for decoration sake.
I placed the cake before my mother’s eyes,

And then ecstatically yelled, ‘Surprise!’

© Ila Garg

In your arms...

I love the feeling of being in your arms,
I feel safe in your embrace, in your warmth.
The way you look at me is special, it disarms,
Your lips on mine are gentle, soft, and irresistible.

Something in me breaks every time;
you go silent, I can cry oceans but then;
I close my eyes, only to find you there in my rhyme,
And then I crave to hear that soothing voice of yours!

I love to see 'us' as one and not fragmented,
Yet I call off each time only to hurt myself more than you.
And for all this pain, I apologize. You keep me grounded,
away from harm when all I want is to be 'me'.

I don't wish to give up on 'us', and I won't,
I will continue to see the dream that I once shunned.
Because your alluring eyes continue to haunt,
And your voice is still resounding in my ears.

Many a times, your feelings you have unfurled,
You left me craving for more when you put down the pen.
And yes, we can be two people for the world,
But in the moment we kissed, our souls united as 'one'!

Tonight I feel...

Tonight, I feel hollow inside, 
Like something has broken beyond repair. 
Darkness has taken over the light, 
As I feel trapped in an endless tunnel. 
They say that at the end of the tunnel, 
You shall find the light that you seek. 
But I seem to have lost direction, 
As I keep coming back to where it all began! 
I hear faint voices, but no one hears me. 
I bleed but no one is there to heal me.
So I choose to use my blood as ink, 
To give vent to the pain flooding inside me. 
I cry endlessly, but it is all in vain, 
I want to be hugged so tight; 
That the pain in my heart subdues. 
I want to be rescued tonight, 
So that my heart can beat again. 
And then my heartbeats can mingle, 
And create a symphony with my beholder. 
No promises, no strings attached! 
As they only cause pain and hurt. 
Tonight I choose to bear it all, 
Only in hope of a better tomorrow...

I am Siachen…

How am I ever gonna say all that is there in my mind, I wonder! Earlier, I tried to give you a glimpse of a retired soldier's journey when I posted I am coming home - a poem very close to my heart. 

Now, this is the least I could do as my mind took me the cold, wild, harsh fronts of Siachen. A land that is silent and violent at the same time. I am Siachen... is therefore an attempt to bring you face to face with the toughest battlefield in the world. Compared to LOC, this place has remained forgotten and not been an active part of the "news". However, this place is no less than a hell for the soldiers who serve there. It is strategically important for keeping a hold on Ladakh and Kashmir too. Therefore, in spite of the hardships and the harsh weather conditions, soldiers consider it their pride to serve a tenure of 90 days here.

Siachen is known for the legendary soldiers like Capt. Bana Singh (PVC) who went against all odds to capture the Quaid Post in 1987 (now named Bana Top) and regained control of this place. I and my partner in crime, Shwetabh Mathur dedicate this poem to the dare devilries like these and we salute the utmost commitment of every soldier who has dared or will dare to serve under the extreme weather conditions of Siachen.

So up, close, and personal - Here's Siachen for you - the most unforgiving battlefield of the world! Come walk with us as we march through this cold, numb, bone-chilling land. My friends, my lovers, my companions - Let us all go hand in hand...

"I am Siachen..."

I am Siachen… the land of wild roses.

I am the highest, coldest battlefield of the world, the bone of contention between two countries.

Life is anything here… but rosy.

At 21000 feet above sea level and temperature as low as -65° C, I can be a cold hell; sometimes even worse than the arctic.

Yet those guarding me go about their job in the bone-chilling climate which freezes weapons and makes walking a mammoth task.

I cover an area of 700 kms… for I am Siachen.

The more “active” of my counterpart extends till here – the LOC.

The world treats me as a demonic place where angels fear to tread and death seems to be something which lurks at every corner for the soldiers.

But believe me, it’s not me who takes their lives, it’s my climate which is too extreme for their bodies.

The melting glaciers and avalanches aren’t my fault too, yet I am seen as a brat.

I am Siachen…the land of wild roses.

I have seen wars fought for my control; such heroic sagas are embedded in my history.

I have witnessed Operation Meghdoot in 84 and then Rajiv in 87.

I have seen sweat turn to ice, fingers and limbs lost to frostbite more than hostile fire.

Where kerosene stoves are used just to keep weapons warm, the green parkas becomes black, food comes from cans and oranges become hard as cricket balls.

Where hunger and appetite take a backseat at these heights and food is eaten just to keep the body energized.

Where choppers behave like oversized bumblebees.

Where artillery guns have opened up in support of the soldiers whenever needed.

I have seen Lt. Rajeev and others sacrifice themselves in the capture of Quaid post.

I have seen Bana Singh defy elements to capture the same post with just 4 men.

With a fury of a wounded tiger he avenged the death of his comrades and captured the post.

I have seen the dying light and soldiers raging against all odds and elements.

I have seen them climb near vertical walls of ice without second thoughts, for this is what the Siachen battle school trains them to do - where only the fittest are sent to serve.

I am Siachen…

I share the jubilation of the troops at the bada khaana when they return to base camp after 3 months tenure.

They go as soldiers, return as veterans.

I share their gratitude to OP Baba for keeping them safe all throughout.

The faith in him so strong that soldiers vow to keep away from alcohol and tobacco during their tenure.

Ceasefire or not, soldiering continues, if not for surveillance, just to tread on trodden tracks so that the trail does not disappear in the snow.

There are angels here too, they are called as the Air Force and Army Aviators who make sure to keep the posts supplied all the year round in their choppers, in conditions which test both men and machines to their absolute limits.

Leave no men behind is their aim as they help bring casualties back irrespective of the weather.

In spite of all this, I am worried about the ecology of my own area.

Bio-degradable waste generated is a threat to me and I am highly affected pertaining to that.

I can be peaceful and tranquil to the human eye, but my wrath comes to the fore when I am exposed to such treatment.

My glaciers melt away causing avalanches, crevices which can open up suddenly to nearly 100 feet. I die out daily because of the imbalance that is created here.

It causes me pain and sorrow; pain because of my disturbed ecology, sorrow for the ‘purple’ bloodshed.

Soldiers are not born every day, they are special and thus it tears me apart when I see their blood being ‘purple’, so rare, being shed.

What’s the use of all this? Crores being spent on me just to maintain control and vigil on me.

Even then, we share a love and hate relation; they need me and yet tend to go carefree.

For now, I sit here as every year more brave-hearts come to prove their mettle as I pose challenges in front of them, to protect me and then be proud that they searched at Siachen.

For I am… the land of wild roses. I am Siachen…

 

“Quartered in snow, silent to remain… When the bugle calls, they shall rise and march again.

To every man upon the earth death cometh soon or late. And how can a man die better, than facing fearful odds, for the ashes of his fathers, and the temples of his gods”.

- Scroll of honour at Siachen War Memorial.    

 Post Script: This poem is written in collaboration with Shwetabh Mathur

"I am coming home!"

So of late, I have started reading and writing about martyrs a lot. This poem is kind of an after-effect of the same. Also, because I always wanted to bring out the pain that these brave soldiers hide in their hearts. Go on, give it a read. A poem about the home-coming of a retired soldier, who has served the nation for long. He is now retired, and is deemed to lead a different life altogether. It is inspired by Skylar Grey's song lyrics 'I am coming home'.

"I am coming home"

I am coming home
To the mustard fields, through the lanes to my village, to my beloved home.

Leaving behind the icy mountains of Siachen, the deserts of Rajasthan, the jungles of the North-east.

I lived my passion, I served my country till the last bit of courage in me - battling terrorists, extremists, and the enemy.

I have stood guard 24*7, forgone my sleep to make sure the countrymen sleep in peace.
I gave my all for that piece of tricolor fluttering in the wind, dancing in joy.

 I have seen civilians treat us like angels when we saved their lives, when we were victorious in the war. But let me remain a soldier for I don't want to be treated as God.

I have seen tears in their eyes, tears of being saved and of gratitude, I have also seen emotions which could only be conveyed through eyes.

I am a soldier - on land, water, and even air.

Always at service for establishment of peace - whether for the nation or for international peace treaties. I have braved extreme weather conditions too.

I have made life-long friends, life-time bonds with my comrades... moments to cherish and live forever, for as long long as I live.


I express my gratitude to those who prayed for my safety during the wars. They made me realize that I am watched over by Gods even during battles.

I need not fear anything now, I have never been afraid before. I am sure more steps would follow to continue saving the nation from intruders.

I have shed tears over losing my comrades, I am human too... Now as I leave the army, my eyes are filled with tears again.

I am coming home.

Sitting in an arm chair in the comfort of my home, I remember the wars I fought with great tenacity. I feel nostalgic at the thought of my comrades who lived to tell the tale and those who left their stories unfulfilled. They had a smile on their face as they bid adieu to this world.

And then there are those who went missing and haven't been heard of till now, those who are locked up in prisons in nations far and wide. I doubt if I will ever see them alive, though I keep them safe in my heart.

I have survived gunshot wounds, explosions, and heavy enemy fire. I wonder how will I survive this void now!

I will miss the camaraderie I shared with my comrades as I sit at the porch in evening, sipping the tea prepared by my wife.

Now I can listen to her endless complaints of being away from her for so long. I would love to hear her talk now and gorge on the delicious dishes that are filled with her love for me.

I am the same, my spirit is unchanged too... but my world has turned upside down suddenly. I miss the borders that I had guarded for so long.


It is tough to retire from something that you grow used to but then, I have to. My heart is filled with many emotions - leaving my comrades behind isn't easy.

I am coming home to my family now - people who have sacrificed a lot for me.

My wife who battled long periods of separation without complaints for she knew that I was fulfilling my oath to protect the nation.

My siblings who missed me at every celebration when the family gathered together.

My parents who only wanted their son to return home safe and sound, only to hug me tight and say that how much happy they are to have me back.

My children who used to miss me at their school gatherings and yet say proudly - "My dad is a soldier" when asked why I wasn't there.

Now it's time for me to do another duty - be near all those who matter to me.

I watch the sun set in the distant horizon and feel how aptly it reflects my life, setting down to rise again the next day.

In a few years, I would be a veteran to speak with the medals on my uniform narrating an untold saga, voicing the unspoken words.

I don't know if I would ever be able to express myself again...

Memories keep haunting me... All of a sudden, everything seems to be lost.

Something feels hollow deep inside me as the guns are now replaced with tea cups, newspapers, and sometimes, a pen.

I am coming home, I am coming home at last.

It's like I am reborn, but I would always remain a soldier at heart.

I begin a second life now, now that I am home.

- A soldier who has retired but hasn't stopped dreaming of the fronts.

Post Script: This poem is written in collaboration with Shwetabh Mathur