Born an only child,
To government servants,
I grew up in a nuclear family.
I felt very lonely until eight,
Because that was my age,
When I started reading.

Father bought me Champak,
Mother bought me ******,
I got interested in novels.
I remember the first novel,
It was Goosebumps #4,
"Say Cheese and Die!"

I was impressed with it,
So was I paranoid too,
Cameras scared me.
RL Stine hypnotised me,
Not just for a day or two,
Even now I think about it.

Robert robbed me,
With his words,
He stumped me.
Such simple stories,
But me they flummoxed,
Me they stunned.

I thank my parents for everything,
For introducing me to the habit of reading.

O stone-hearted beauty!
To forget you,
I'm trying lackadaisically.
To overcome your memories,
I'm not trying sincerely.
To love someone else,
I'm trying half-heartedly.

O cold-blooded beauty!
To love you,
I tried everything in the dictionary.
To change your prejudice,
I tried my best.
To convince you,
I didn't get my chance.

O unfeeling beauty!
To miss you,
Has become a habit.
To feel you,
Has become an addiction.
To want you,
Is an undying passion.

The fantastic witch,
The second-in-command,
She's dead.

She was 89,
And though she wasn’t mine,
I feel a teacher died.

The date was April 3, 2000.
A cool zephyr blew and
I forgot every morning blue,
Right when I saw the angel,
She was so beautiful,
As if a princess, or a fairy,
I was 9 at that time.

She had come down from the hills,
From the Himachali town of Solan,
And she had just come to our school.

I looked at her, and I was dumbstruck.

Her sideways glance,
It was so fascinating,
As if a fairy came down,
From the mountains, I mean,
I can never forget her,
Neither her name,
Nor her harmonious voice.

She became the class monitor,
And I intentionally made a noise,
To get her often talking to me,
Oh I remember everything clearly,
"Atul–Keep quiet!" she'd shout,
And I'd laugh silently, but laugh anyway,
And her nostrils would flare red.

In 2001, I drowned in the infatuation,
Deeper than the Mariana Trench,
Sitting on my school bench.

In 2002, her father expired,
And she was traumatised,
Seeing her sad, I was shocked too,
And she stopped talking to us,
But she always scored well,
Yes, she did score nicely,
And I was inspired.

In 2003, I changed schools,
But in 2005, I met her again,
She gave me her number,
I often used to call her,
Not once did she,
Because she didn't have my number,
Not that her caller ID didn't show it,
But our EPABX number always varied.

In 2007, I confessed to her on a call,
I told her, "I have always loved you,"
And she scolded me without waiting,
"Atul! I never expected this from you."
She continued, "Never call me again!"
I was crestfallen, disappointed, and sad.
I'd have sung my original song had she accepted.

That song I composed for her,
Had come out of my heart.
It was a lyric of my desperation.
And a tune of my romance.
It was a hope of my loneliness.
And a promise of my love.
But she rejected my proposal.

I never called her again, out of respect.
Anyway, I credit her for making me a poet.
I credit her for making me a singer & artist.
But I still love her so deeply, and
So truly that I look for her everywhere,
In every prospective match,
In every passing batch.

These days she's in Chandigarh.

The sun doesn't revolve around us,
And it was known to the ancient Hindus.

How they estimated precise distances,
It's still an exclusive paradigm of sorts.

This poem is not a nursery rhyme,
For it discusses what went wrong.

Wrong with the history of Hindus,
And with the tapestry of the world.

Hanging down the global gazebos,
Is a wonderful story of lost wisdom.

I was young and naughty,
Like all other kids I was.

Of the school Matador,
The minibus,
I was a commuter.

Nirmal Public School,
Was all but a
Normal Public School.

For it was a strung off
From the highway
And was my first school.

In the Matador,
The last window was
Ajar.

It was already dangling,
My friend joked,
"You can't break it."

His comment,
Me it motivated,
I sought to prove I can.

I pushed it intentionally,
And the last nuts,
They became undone.

The window went thrashing down,
And the driver-conductor duo,
Me they punished.

It was overcast that afternoon,
And they made me crouch akin to a ****,
It started raining down.

Then the math teacher came,
And she vouched for my innocence,
"It was already dangling."

The bus crew,
They argued,
"But it was still there."

I was young,
Just 7 years,
And cute too.

The bus crew,
They softened up,
And let me go.

Ma'am, do you now remember me?
You travelled by the same bus,
For you lived in the same campus.

The National Dairy Research Institute,
Its residential campus we both called home,
I miss those days when I was young.

She had introduced me,
To Hello Poetry.

'Twas a day like none other,
I reached Amritsar for her.

Accompanying me that day,
Was my kind physiotherapist.

Yes, the very same physiotherapist,
Who I dubbed physio the ******,
For the pain used to be unbearable.

But no,
'Twas necessary for my betterment.

Coming back to Amritsar,
She was pleasantly surprised.

For she thought I'd play a prank,
Just like she had played one on me.

Giving me a false hope that she'll come,
Anyway, I went to her home.

I wished her on her birthday,
My physiotherapist went away.

I tuned her guitar as E A D G B E,
Eddy Ate Dynamite, Good Bye Eddy.

They laughed, her friends.
For who eats a Dynamite!

Well, that's the standard tuning,
Now I played a few songs.

Her friends were impressed,
Of me, she was proud.

I presented her a pen drive,
A Gaņesha adorned drive.

She loved it,
And thanked me.

After the party, she insisted that I stay,
I slept beside her father.

She shook me awake, and I was like,
"Who are you," she put her hand.

"Shh, it's me," she whispered,
I understood and relaxed.

She kissed me again at 3:30 a.m. on 24th,
This time I was awake and gave her my warmth.

Later, before sunrise, I went to the Station,
I had united with my Physio The ******.

I hugged her for one last time,
And we climbed on the train back.

Now nothing remains but memories,
Bitter ones to be more precise.

She cheated on me in 2015-16,
When I couldn't go to Amritsar.

My former best friend capitalised,
The ******* induced the breakup.

But that girl, who got so easily seduced,
She Wasn't Sad — Droņa Wept Like Kids.

And the immortal Droņa died,
Unable to trust anyone again.