Love in the city of Tipu Sultan
In these enchanting and beautiful moments
Your remembrance has taken the form of a mountain
like your anger at times towards me
it’s now an old saying that
Life should be as beautiful as poetry
Now it must be
Lovely and beautiful
Like your memories.
In this far off land
Where we have come, lived or been, together
Why your remembrance blaze
And douse the earth in your existence
Either I choose or not
Love is a revelation
Revelation is the love
and the distance between time and space is thus enlightening my love?
Tipu didn’t call me
he didn’t call me alone
nor did he call you
And your absence
in not being here
Was Tipu’s part relevant after three centuries?
The great warrior died fighting with British army
He couldn’t be a phantom
But could form into a deity
By calling us together here in this land.
(For my first history-teacher Rajendra Dhoopar)
Now I hardly ever read history
And teaching history is itself a past
I am also spared becoming a history myself
But history is still in my veins
History of the world
History of India
History of my family
History of my school
And a short history of myself too
History of my past love
devoid of love
But my beloved is somewhere, teaching history.
There is a proverb that
History never spares anyone
I won’t be spared either
nor my exile would be forgiven
My exile for livelihood and dreams
Exile from my soil
Exile from my mother tongue
Exile from my own natives
But, would the history of self exile be a pride?
Glorious history won’t transform
our present and past in to something better,
or an honorable state.