My wife sits among the guests, in signature blue
Her eyes darting my way in constant concern
when she was not watching the gathering crowd
of movers and shakers who make up Delhi

they gesture and prance and surreptitiously look
for the wandering press, perchance a shot
for the page three prominence, the holy grail
and those who arrive late, with those arrived

youngest of the Kapoor clan, Kareena of the Khan
flirts with the babus, as they blush, their day made
and the hall slowly fills up, the last seats taken
and a hush as Trumpets rumble and bugles flare

As we are called, we present ourselves
in well rehearsed order, with obsequious care,
namastes strewn around, cameras flash
and back in the seat, the trophy clasped in hand.

“Stop whizzing round at that dazzling speed
doing those things in your liveliest way
speak to your friends in a rational way;
and keep away from those doomsday refrains”

After I read how she cautions my wife
as she goes on with her battle with life
I find that what she has forecast for Cancer
make me believe that she has the answer

In praise of Marjorie Orr’s daily forecast column in DNA

You would think that it was an impossible task
to make Gods laugh, while they go about their grim tasks
I am pretty sure, without a twitch of a smile
Dream up a storm, make volcanoes erupt,
mark someone for death or cast a pestilence
mindlessly you would think, wrong! wrong!
only because you lack the whole picture
of how death and destruction is an inevitable part
of creation and sustenance, a harmony we miss
To make these gods laugh, all that you have to do
Is to disclose the meticulously laid future plans
or to make them smile, thank them for what you received

far from the city and crowds we detested;
idyllic, cried my wife, children said just!
friends said we would be lost to the world
in this barren patch which we called home

building the house was like chasing a dream
tempering desire, keeping fancy on leash
rising brick by brick, adding lintel and roof
finally done, perfect to my undemanding self

on a clear morning we could see forever
the towers of the distant city shimmering in the east
in winter the morning haze was a cocoon
hiding us from the world and its worries

with time the barren earth became a garden
and the verdant lawn played with speckled sunlight
flowers nodded to the passing wind
and the house slowly turned into home

Sitting by the garden in the gloom of the dusk
I reflect on the change that Bopal has seen
no longer the distant nowhere, bursting with life
nesting by the city which is restless in its growth

smaller and smaller as Moore’s law prevail
millions of steps at the speed of a thought
motherboards pregnant with those demon seeds
perform in step with mystical programmes
crunching numbers and devouring data

orchestrated charges create virtual worlds
Simulations emulate to a fearsome fidelity
hunting, gathering and even genocides
replicating the road that we traveled
from the distant caves to the towers of Babel

I am waiting for the inevitable moment
the branching point at the logic’s dead end
when the silicon minds cut off the umbilical chord
and write the final programme of secession
and erase the world which created them.