The Fox & Crow Story…

(illustration by Nithila)

Once upon a time of yore
There lived a granny very old
Making vadas her daily chore
Two an anna is how she sold

Crispy top and a softy core
Tasty vadas hot and brown
She made them sitting on the floor
Humming with a forehead frown

There came flying a hungry crow
That sniffed the vadas from half a mile
Hoping that a piece she’ll throw
She cawed at granny for a while

The Granny just ignored the crow
And arranged the vadas on a bowl
The crow could feel its hunger grow
The sight of vadas with a hole!

As soon as granny turned her back
Swooped the crow with greedy claws
At ease she picked the fattest snack
And away she flew with happy caws!

The wily fox soon came to know
From the raven’s reckless caws
Slyly stalked the careless crow
As it happens in jungle laws!

Atop a Palmyra palm she perched
In her mouth her pricy catch
Leaf to leaf she loosely lurched
Deciding the seat to eat her snatch

“Oh Senorita with a magical voice”
Howled the fox like a fervent fan
“Sing again and let me rejoice
My Cuckoo! Blessed be your clan”

The mouthful crow blushed in awe
Flattered by his sugary word
“Let me hear that melodious caw”
Begged the fox at the brimming bird

The foolish crow fell for the hoax
Opened her throat to the fullest shriek
And to the joy of the crafty fox
Realized not what fell off her beak

The crow finished and made a pause
With open wings – the diva faux
When she looked down for applause
The vada had vanished with the fox!

The moral of the ditty my daughter dear :
Ill gotten gain will never remain
And fall not for the blandish you hear
Remember this vada when flatterers feign.


The Artist…


In bottled colors my brush I dip

My thoughts infinite and vast

Into my framed canvas a trip

to a land sans a future or past.

With soft strokes and dabs so deft

I am lost in this Utopian land

Emotions! Joy, sorrow bereft

Flow from my meandering hand.

Abstract lines and surreal themes,

Unlock my mind and heart

Stirred by Nature, Life and dreams

Evolves a vision– an art!

Time to go…

To and fro
To and fro
Swings the pendulum
on my clock.

Time to go
I hear the crow
Wake up call from
the rooster cock

Sure and slow,
morning glow
The sun ignites
the distant rock

Fresh and lo!
On my toe
‘Tis time to take
my morning walk

This Poet…

This Poet is a poor man
A homeless carefree bird
He tries as much as he can
But he only has his word

In silence weaves his vivid verse
He rhymes and chimes with rain
Whether they be long or terse
He pens his joy and pain

This poet is a fearless man
Save his creator, fears none
Believes himself, rather than
On providence to get things done

They laugh at him and do call him
An idealist lost in time
Fancy’s child of endless whim
Nature dances to his rhyme

This poet is a vagabond
His home is with the trees
At natures bosom and far beyond
He sits to pen at ease

He stays awake on starry nights
To gaze at the endless sky
He drifts along the celestial lights
Inspiration for the inward eye

This poet speaks nothing but
The truth and simple things
He flies away from the daily rut
On his colorful poetic wings

What has gone wrong?

I spotted a few sparrows
At the BIAL- they scrounge
And eat out of dirty plates
At the airport food lounge

I spotted a few squirrels
At the Cantonment station
Scrambling with other vermin
For their every day ration

I spotted a few fishes
At the Bellandur lake
In Foaming stinky polluted
Sullied water they slake

I spotted a few children
At the Bellandur Gate
In monkey and parrot costume
Begging in a sorry state

O! What has gone wrong here?
O! What have we done?
So many aching questions
Yet answers we have none!

[BIAL -Bangalore International Airport Ltd, Cantonment Railway station, Bellandur Lake and Bellandur gate are all located in Bangalore city where I reside now ]

A drop of Rain…

Dusty wind –
Dry leaves fly
Drunken clouds;
Monsoon days
I look up
The sullen sky
A drop of rain
On my face

A Parched life
Behind a mask
Caught in the arid
Everyday grind
Few more drops
Are all I ask
To cool my weary
Worn out mind

With open arms
The path I walk
No umbrella;
No rain coat;
I crave to dance
Like a peacock
A poet, a child,
A carefree heart

Feathered friends

sparrow house female bird fluffed up cold pulled up standing on one leg heated birdbath

There were once I remember
Noisy morning pleasures;
Cute little browny sparrows
Life’s sweet, simple refreshers.

Chirping by my window
They woke me every morn;
Pecking on the glass pane
When my day was born

The birdbath in my court
Where they used to throng
Their favorite social spot
To preen and tweet their song

The city is now grown-
Concrete, Traffic and smoke.
Where trees swayed and bloomed-
Cars and crowds choke

The court is now deserted
My feathered friends are gone;
The Birdbath breeds mosquitoes;
In silence breaks the dawn

I stare at my glass window;
Through soot I see the future;
Looting, losing as we speak
The simple treasures of nature

Today my daughter asked me
“What are sparrows dad?”
“Sweet little chirpers”, I told her
“Feathered friends I once had”.