I carry my world on my shoulders

It is only sunrise when she opens her eyes,
The moment she does, I stare into paradise.
I know that it’s day when she begins to play,
Even the clock wishes each moment would stay.

One day she’ll grow and this moment will be over,
Where I put my worries down and carry my world on my shoulders.

No earthly sound is preferred over the music of her laughter,
It could play on loop all day and it wouldn’t even matter.
I have no fear of gloomy days, I have no fear of the dark,
She is my ray of sunshine, she is my divine spark.

One day she’ll grow and the days will become colder,
For now I bask in this sunshine as I carry my world on my shoulders.

The only rivers that matter are the ones that flow down her face.
Each drop a calling for her father’s embrace.
I know the day is over when she chooses to close her eyes,
Her tiny little breath sings to me like a lullaby.

One day she’ll grow and that day comes closer,
Until then I rock her to sleep and carry my world on my shoulders.

Why is India’s population so high: A different angle

There are two types of India. One what the world perceives and the other, a rather harsh reality. To an average foreigner, India is the land of endless forests, bustling market places, snake charmers and Bollywood. It is common to see these stereotypes on popular media. Take for example a Hollywood movie that talks about a mass alien invasion; when the movies comes to the end and the entire world is celebrating the defeat of the aliens, Indians are shown, confused, in the exact same stereotype as mentioned above. This may seem trivial in the larger scheme of things but the fact is that India is a whole other country on the inside.

Now, let’s move on to a problem that Indians wished were only a stereotype – The population. With nearly 1.3 billion people competing for a very limited space, it is amazing how the majority are able to survive. The Government has tried it’s very best to keep the population down; this is ironic as only a century ago, India was considered under populated. But the real question to ask is – Why is India’s population so high? Do we really have so much sex?

To answer this question, we have to understand the dynamics of sex in India. To start off, sex is borderline taboo. It is considered rude to talk or discuss about it all. In fact, it is possible that both partners are unaware about what makes the other happy in bed for a lifetime. Ritual and culture makes sure that the situation remains the way it is. It is sad that we can choose who can rule our country but have no power in choosing a life partner in India.

Media plays an important role in educating the public. In the western world, thoughts about love and sex are embraced and therefore we see its various representations on the big screen. In India, everything works on symbolism. Censorship ensures that the public gains nothing more than a few new dance steps from the media. Since the parents don’t talk about it, media doesn’t allow it and friends barely discuss it, sex in India has not evolved at all in centuries.

If sex is considered nothing but trivial, then why is India’s population so high?

Here is one theory. Although India boasts of a large population, I believe that Indians do not have too much sex. Reserved for special occasions or baby making, sex is not the primary bonding exercise between partners. Society, joint family systems, limited alone time and a stressful environment all work as a perpetual turn off. But our bodies don’t see it that way.
The limited sex has given our subconscious mind and body the signal that this is a rare affair. So, each time we have sex (although causally), our body goes into baby making mode because it is not sure when the next sex is going to happen again. Since, India is the country that waits longest to have sex (average age to lose virginity is 22), our body clocks are anyway sharper than rest of the world in matters of sex. So basically, even though our minds are thinking of having fun, our bodies are thinking about babies.

So, how do we keep India’s population under control? That’s easy. Have more sex. Switzerland, Spain and Italy are the countries that have the most sex and are doing pretty well all-round. The people of the country and the media must not shy away from the topic but rather embrace it until it becomes a ‘normal’ thing.

Sometimes excess of a something can lead to the de-prioritization and normalcy of it.

One day I looked up and saw a blue moon

One day I looked up and saw a blue moon,
The time had come and not a minute too soon.
I picked up some flowers and her favorite chocolate,
I scampered along; today I just couldn’t wait.


Walking passed her window, I caught her eye,
They were swollen with tears, poorly hiding behind a smile.
Her father looked at me and signaled that I should to go,
He was giving her away; she would be mine no more.


What could I say, I had nothing much to show,
I resigned to my fate and watched her slowly go.
When is love enough and honesty adequate,
When is money enough and greed replete?


Her warm embrace will belong to someone else,
Everything I was sure of – now makes no sense.
I looked up again and there was no moon,
The time had gone, a minute too soon.

God listens in the time between two prayers

A change of filter, a routine Facebook post,
Reduced to a Twitter trend; a background ghost.
In time of peace you tear me to pieces,
I’m just a drunken debate but my hangover never ceases.
To every front page and teary news reader,
God listens in the time between two prayers.


We bow down as many but rise up only as few,
My ways startle, my language frightens you.
Our story cannot be told in just a tweet,
There are lyrics hidden in the lines on my feet.
To every like, comment and share,
God listens in the time between two prayers.


I recite every verse, I know them by heart,
I yell it every night when another one departs.
I bet we’ve met through a WhatsApp forward,
I stare through the screen as you call me a coward.
To my lost youth – you passed by every year,
God listens in the time between two prayers.


Take your anger and throw it at me,
I’ll soothe it with the sand and set it free.
When you Snapchat next, think of my words,
It too disappears in a day like a flutter of the birds.
To every brother and sister, pray and bear,
For God listens in the time between two prayers.

I’ll meet you again at the gardens of paradise

I’ll meet you again at the gardens of paradise,
We’ll continue this story and again roll the dice.
Till then let me mourn and wait for the day,
When I can hold you again and like that we can stay.


These worldly matters entertain me no more,
The jester’s moves seem no more than a chore.
You left me hollow and with nothing left to do,
But stare at this monument I built just for you.


For no one I dress and for no one I sing,
For no one I wake and for no one I dream.
I am the emperor and I have a country to rule,
I would trade it all in a second for just glimpse of you.

As every day passes, I am one day closer to you,
I will dress in my finest on the day that I am due.
I’ll meet you again at the gardens of paradise,
Warm in your embrace, immortal as the sunrise.

He sat beneath a Banyan tree

He sat beneath a Banyan tree; absolutely mum,
Closing his eyes to this grim reality, his penance is done.
Up on his feet, he begins his lonely walk home,
It’s been 40 years; this landscape to him is rather unknown.


He notices that every house is clean but roads outside – foul,
No sound of laughter anywhere but on every face – a frown.
They must carry birds in their pockets, for he can hear them tweet,
Mouths never seem to close but no one ever says anything sweet.


They stare into mirrors and make faces that surprise,
Nothing is valuable here but everything has a price.
Inviting temples on every corner but there’s no one inside praying,
Everyone nods and listens but with only the intention of saying.


He decides to turn back, there’s nothing here he needs,
Too much effort is required here in order to buy peace.
Back under the Banyan tree, he sits down to pray,
Maybe in another 40 years, he will try again.

Is this the same nation that I grew up in?

If I fell asleep in the 90’s and woke up today,
I wouldn’t know where to start or what to say.
Back then they called me funny but now I’m called offensive,
Even if I say – I’m Fine, they tell me I’m being passive aggressive.


Damn, things have changed; the margins have thinned,
Is this the same nation that I grew up in?


Back then having an opinion was considered being smart,
Now I’m being labeled a rebellion – a disgruntled upstart.
I didn’t know we had to get high each time we were low,
Now I’m not even invited to a party if I don’t smoke!


Gosh things are weird; my head’s up in a spin,
Is this the same nation that I grew up in?


Talking Politics was boring back then; no one had a clue,
Now that’s all that people do, they’d prefer it over you.
Sport was just a physical game, there was not much being said.
Now I’m in bar fight because I like some team in red!


Be careful what you say or they’ll throw you in the bin,
Jeez, Is this the same nation that I grew up in?

Just one chair on this table meant for two

You once stared into my eyes like you now stare into your phone,
We would love, share and comment; but now you can do that alone.
I remember waiting hours for a corner table and now anything will do,
It seems like there’s just one chair on this table meant for two.

Our arch nemesis – the waiter, was always seen as an interruption,
Today he waltzes by and serves us a welcome distraction.
When did your Instagram replace me with pictures of gyrating food?
How long have I been sitting here on this table meant for two?

You once called me your mystery novel but I feel more like this menu card,
Exciting me with slight indulgence – only to be quickly discard.
So, here we wait in a sit down restaurant for our fast food meal to cook,
How we wish there was just one chair on this table meant for two.

As our cutlery speak, we silently wait for this tryst to be over,
Out comes the cheque, and I read the price of being alone and sober.
My love is like this candle light, at some point it will be through,
Stains of neglected wax will grace this table – that was once meant for two.

When you’re not here

A dusty front camera, so bored – it’s sick,

It has no use, no purpose – for my eyes can click.

I scroll through my mind’s eye and admire every picture,

You probably miss the best of me when you’re not here.

The Master pets me for he knows I’ve been a good boy,

I stare up at Him expectantly as he dangles a new toy.

He asks me to chase and play but I don’t even go near,

I can live without temptation when you’re not here.

I walk down the red carpet and revise the speech in my head,

My decisions warrant an award; with praise I should be fed.

I won’t survive long if this audience fills me with regret and fear,

Alone in this burning spotlight I stand – when you’re not here.

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