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Friday, 27 April 2012




The evening of 23rd April is etched on my mind and in this solitude of my hostel room I am revisiting it once again with a longing as if it is just happening!
      Its my home.Dusk has fallen. People are coming. The main door is opening and shutting. I am waiting anxiously. I check myself again and again. All is perfect. I am ready to join the crowd. The room is as if expectant. This is what I've dreamt. Large bouquets are placed by mom at strategic places. Colourful flowers and lush green leaves. Stiller, statelier. In their fragrance I begin to unfurl like a silken ribbon. I enter. I look around. The same known faces. Everybody neat and trim. Well-dressed for the occasion. As if the celebration of my birthday is a welcome excuse for them to flaunt themselves. They haven't come here for me. They have come for my dad and mom and my parents haven't invited them  to celebrate my birthday but rather to keep all these their good contacts in good humour! I have been specifically told to celebrate my  birthday bash with my friends separately the next day. I don't have any say in how to celebrate my own birthday and this is nothing new to me. So i don't complain, neither do my friends.They too have similar parents. The so-called 'upmarket' high-profile crowd, all prim and proper, who won't allow us girls to let our hair down in their presence. So be it.
       But still, I  want just one person to attend this party today: my Albert. He too belongs and doesn't belong to this crowd like me. His parents are invited, so he is an invitee too and my dad is helpless about it. But he is away at Paris, yet he has promised me to come.I am just waiting for him only.
             And then he comes! As if the whole drab room lights up on his entry! A pleasant shiver runs down my spine. I flutter. I ripple. Like a delicate algae floating in a stream! He comes towards me. This is the moment I've been waiting for. He is here! He stands by my side. The music is now playing. I yield to its flow and stream along with its rhythm in the arms of my Albert.
                  now I don't care for anything n the world. I don't care for anybody save this man whose name is etched on my heart. I am least bothered whether we are acceptable to this crowd as a pair or not. We are a pair this very moment and that is all hat matters. I certain defiance wells up in me. I deliberately take a thin-stemmed glass and sip. I wince as I drink this fiery  yellow liquid. Its scent,radiance and heat percolates through me. It gives me a certain relief. I want another glass but Al refrains me from that with just one smile. But a certain slackness and indifference has invaded me. I lose consciousness of the other people around us. As it is, I have stopped thinking myself to be a part of them. I know their world is immune from change. But my world is meant for change. I myself ave now changed. I am no more a teenager now. I am a woman of twenty and i will mould my world as I like. My Albert will always be there for me. I am going to change only for him. 'Happy Birthday, my Elle" Al whispers softly into my ear. I cling to him. I know I've found my own world.

Wednesday, 25 April 2012



                                                      Romeo and Juliet- a painting by Frank Bernard Dicksee,c 1884.
"Romeo and Juliet' is unmatched, in Shakespeare and in the world's literature, as a vision of an uncompromising mortal love that perishes of its own idealism and intensity.
 Shakespeare  wrote this play  much earlier in his career, probably in 1594 . It at once gained a popularity which it has never lost and can never lose and it has now gained a mythic intensity. Shakespeare was still young when he wrote this play and it has youth in its every scene. It is his first independent essay in tragedy and he writes it like one whose imagination is steeped in the raptures and the disasters of love.
    It seems from the way the events are put by him and their result worked out, that he conceived 'a power' behind the master-event who caused it and meant the conclusion to, which it was brought. That's why at the very outset in the prologue he names the lovers as 'a pair of star-crossed lovers'. This power may be called 'Destiny ' or 'Nemesis'. What Shakespeare does seem to think is : that, in the affairs of man, long-continued evil, such as the hatred of the Montagues and Capulets ( Romeo and Juliet's parents and clans) or the civil wars in England, was certain to be tragically broken up by the suffering it caused, and to  be dissolved in a reconciliation which should confess evil and establish its opposite good; and that this was the work of divine Justice.
      This is the idea which Shakespeare makes preside over 'Romeo and Juliet'. Here the work of justice is done through the sorrow and death of the innocent and the evil's attack is nullified through the sacrifice of the guiltless. Justice, as Shakespeare saw her, moving to issues which concern the whole, takes little note of the  sufferings of individuals. She uses therm, if they are good and loving, for her  great purposes, as if that were enough to make them not only acquiescent but happy! Romeo and Juliet, who are guiltless of the hatred of their clans, and who embody the loving-kindness which would do away with them, are condemned to mortal pain and sorrow of death.
      Shakespeare accepted the apparent injustice; and the impression made at the end upon us, which impression does not arise from the story itself, but steals into us from the whole work of Shakespeare on the story, is that Justice may have done right, though we do not understand her ways. Usually after the death of Romeo and Juliet the audience's interest in the play noticeably flags and the reconciliation of he Montagues and the Capulets makes little impression on them. But this reconciliation is the very victory of Romeo and Juliet's self-sacrifice on the altar of love!
       The tender love of the two lovers and its beauty, seen in their suffering, awakens so much pity and love that the guilty are turned away from their evil hatreds and the evil itself is destroyed. and with regard to the sufferings themselves, there is that - we feel with Shakespeare- in their pain and death which not only redeems and blesses the world they have left but which also lifts them into that high region of the soul where suffering and death seem changed into joy and life.  We think of them, but in a way we can not explain, no longer with pity, but  with a certainty that all is well with them, that they have arisen into a true happiness. Instead of mourning over their fate, we are content. We feel rather subconsciously that they are in that kingdom of the soul, and worthy of it, where the pain and death of earth are like dreams when one awakens, where what they have become through sufferings lives for the inspiration  of humanity and attracts its love.
      Here Shakespeare has shown us what befalls a young pair of lovers during a short span of just four days. It seems that he felt, and we all feel, that if such love as their can be taken up into a complete character, modified and controlled by the other noble qualities which go to form a large and generous nature , the world would be the better for such pure and sacred passion. Such, it appears to me, are the ethics of this play.
         And the personages by whom the lovers are encircled are so conceived as to become critics of ideal love from their several points  of view, honouring and exalting it by the inadequacy of their criticism. To old Capulet (Juliet's father), it seems that the passions of the heart are to be determined by parental authority. To Lady Capulet (Juliet's mother) marriage is an affair of worldly convenience. To the Nurse (attending on Juliet) it is satisfaction of a pleasurable instinct. Mercutio (Romeo's witty friend) is too intellectual to be capable of a passion in which the heart shows that it is superior to the brain and hence he mocks at love. The Friar (who tries his best to help the young lovers) views human passion from the quietude of the  cloisters and fails to understand that botany (in which he is an expert) is not the science of life.
         Night is the medium through which this play is felt and in which the lovers are most at home-night, together with fires that blaze in its depths for contrast and romance. 'Romeo and Juliet' maintains a brilliant shutter-movement of black and white, of cloud and lightening, of midnight and morning. At any rate the lovers' career derives its brilliance from the contrast we are made to feel between their  notion of day and night and the normal thought about such things. For them night is comfort and day is the image of distress. Normality is their foe, as it is at last their nemesis.
         One of the reasons for  the fame of this play is that it has so completely and closely isolated  the experience of romantic love. It has let such love speak for itself. The lovers' deep interest for us lies in their being alone in a world which does not understand them.
      The characters  created by Shakespeare change and grow in the course of action and in their growth they overtake each other. In this play Juliet overtakes Romeo. Let us now see the wonderful development of Juliet.

         In describing Juliet through Romeo's words, Shakespeare has underlined that radiance is the essence of her beauty which is in fact the expression of the purity of her soul:
             -'O she doth teach the torches to burn bright,
               Her beauty hangs upon the cheek of night
               Like a rich jewel in an Aetheop's ear.'
                     purity and innocence are inherent qualities of Juliet. The Nurse, who has little of moral conscience, has brought her up, but has not been able to spoil her. When Juliet is lifted into womanhood by love, and gains thereby moral power and spiritual passion, she sees the consciencelesss  character of this old woman, and when this nurse advices her to marry Paris, she flings the old wretch out of her heart:
         "Ancient damnation! O most wicked fiend!
           Thou and my bosom henceforth shall  be twain."
                     the real crisis in the story as well as  in the brief life of Juliet comes when she is pressed to marry Paris, Romeo being banished and away at Mantua. Her father is most insistant and her mother too leaves her to her fate, "Do as thou wilt, for i have done with thee." When she then turns to the Nurse, the old woman advices her to marry Paris. Despair now stares her in the face. here we realise her tragic loneliness. But she makes up her mind at once. She goes to see the Friar. and there she meets Paris. Though her heart is writhing within, she has sense and intelligence enough to to put him off by pretending that she has come to confess. After Paris takes his leave, Juliet seeks the Friar's advice in the critical and desperate situation (past hope, past cure, past help). All that she can think of is to kill herself with her knife if there is no other way out!
      Oh, how resolute she has become! She has become bold and mature enough to look death in the face. She will do anything to embrace death 'to live an unstain'd wife to her sweet love.'
      She takes the sleeping potion from the Friar and goes home 'with a woman's wild courage, but with a child's imaginative fears'. She shudders for a moment to think of the horrors of the tomb but thinks that the sleeping potion would really do its trick and keeps a dagger ready should it fail her. The potion takes its effect upon her, putting her  to a deep and almost deathlike sleep and it stiffens her body too. Hence everybody believes that she is dead and they take her to her family vault for burial.
         When she wakes up from her trance in that vault, she finds Romeo  lying dead by her. He had earlier entered into her vault after slaying the obstructing Paris and on finding  her 'dead', he had drank poison after taking her last kiss:
                  "..............................................And,lips,O you
                  The doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss
                  A dateless bargain to engrossing death!"
                        The Friar, who has ever been the good angel of Romeo and Juliet, comes there to take her away. But she will not part from her Romeo. She asks the Friar to leave and after his departure she searches for some leftover poison in Romeo's vial and on finding not even a drop, she snatches at Romeo's dagger and kills herself. She does not kill herself out of feminine weakness, but out of intensity of love, just as Romeo did. Yet, her suicide  actually requires more nerve than Romeo's; while he swallows poison, she stabs herself through the heart with a dagger.
           Juliet's development from wide eyed girl living in the shadows of her parents into a self-assured, determined and capable woman is one of Shakespeare's most confident and rounded treatments of a female character. Recognising Juliet's greatness of character, though he has called his play 'Romeo and juliet', that is to say, put Romeo's name first in the title, he finishes the play with the words of the Prince:
                      "Never was a story of more woe,
                        Than this of Juliet and her Romeo."

                                                            -AUTUMN ELIZA.


Friday, 20 April 2012

Shakespeare's 'Daughters'.


 For the first time I am presenting on my blog my college-work. This is my submission for our 'Practical Criticism's paper' which was much appreciated. I am thankful to my professor for allowing me to publish this essay on my blog.

 Shakespeare's Heroines

I would like to call Shakespeare's heroines as his 'daughters'. Yes, William Shakespeare has created his own unique world filled with many remarkable men and women who are 'alive' even now and many people like me feel these characters much nearer to heart than our own relatives.
  Being a girl I am more fascinated by Shakespeare's heroines and feel like having a strong bond with some of them.I call them his 'dear daughters'.His women have varied characters and characteristics. Just see the range! 'Love's martyr' Juliet,'Intelligent beyond her age' Portia ( Merchant of Venice),'Shy, soft-spoken and introvert' Viola (Twelfth Night), 'playful and mischivious' Rosalind (As You Like It), 'Weak and inordinately submissive' Ophelia, 'Pure-hearted but impractical' Desdemona (Othello),'Truthful' Cordelia (King Lear),'Venus-incarnate' Cleopatra, 'Innocent and child of Nature' Miranda (The Tempest), 'Flowerlike' Perdita (The Winter's Tale); and also the most cruel, devilish Regan and Goneril (King Lear) and the very blot on femininity Lady Macbeth!....
  Shakespeare was always trying to dive deep into the human psyche and fathom the riddle of human nature and life. He was trying to find answers to many questions: What is  the relation between human nature,circumstances and destiny? What is the place of values like love, brotherhood of man, purity, charity, chastity, righteousness, munificence, valour, selflessness etc in life? what is their value in individual behaviour? How far helpful are the beliefs in abstract concepts like heaven, hell and immortality of soul? However, he never preached or championed a particular principle or way of life. In my opinion he was secular and humanist to the core.
 On this premise I am going to try to understand some of his 'daughters'. In this context it is pertinent to bear in mind the nature of Shakespeare's time and the lifestyle of women of that period. There was no education for women in those days. almost all the women were illiterate. They were however well trained in crafts and arts like sewing, embroidery,painting,  music and dance. There being always war-like atmosphere, women were not able to move freely outdoors.
 Yet, Shakespeare recognised the importance and  the unique place of the woman in human life and moulded his woman characters accordingly. He knew that the woman is naturally more adoptive, clever, shrewd and cunning. When in love she demonstrates these characteristics more strongly. She is very romantic and dreamy while playing the games of love and equally resolute and capable of highest sacrifice when her love or chastity is challenged. Shakespeare portrayed all these subtle shades of feminine nature through  various heroines, their colleagues, nurses, chaperons and even maid-servants. He cleverly juxtaposed girls with exactly opposite thinking to highlight both sides of the woman-nature.
      His ideal heroines religiously preserve the purity of love. They are very noble in behaviour and never utter a single bad or 'rustic' or vulgar word which would blot their upbringing. His maid-servants and nurses are somewhat given to sharp tongue yet he never gives them overtly vulgar dialogues as he gives to some of his men in order to create laughter among the audience in the 'pit'. He plays upon the contrast in thinking and behaviour of his heroines and their colleagues, maidservants and nurses most effectively. His heroines are noble, idealistic and given to romanticism, whereas their maid-servants or nurses are extremely realistic, practical and tactful. They are very adoptive and believe in the means which would bring instant results.
  For example let us take Desdemona (Othello's wife) and her maid-servant Emilia (Villain Iago's wife). Desdemona's love for Othello is intense and she is totally dedicated to him.She reveres him so much that she never opposes or questions her jealous husband who doubts her fidelity and heaps most vulgar and baseless accusations on her. Emilia, on the other hand,is of the opinion that  men should be dealt with on  'measure for measure' basis. She angrily questions the one-sided ethics that men can behave as they like but their wives must remain loyal to them without uttering a word of complaint. She bluntly asks that if men start indulging in unrestrained promiscuity, then what is he harm if their women 'cuckold' them sometimes? But the same Emilia sacrifices her life on the sword of her villainous husband Iago in order to expose his guilt and thereby prove the purity and chastity of her mistress Desdemona.
 Shakespeare also portrays the contrast between the characters of two girls- Heroine and her friend- from the similar social background. For example, in 'Much ado about Nothing' Beatrice is extrovert, short-tempered, sharp-tongued and quarrelsome whereas Hero is introvert, grave, quiet and simple.  In 'As You like It' Rosalind is naughty, playful, forward and given to dominate whereas Celia is quiet, subdued and soft-spoken. Yet, on falling in love she acts swiftly and marries her lover before Rosalind!
          All this preamble is necessary to understand Shakespeare's overall thinking about feminine nature, his understanding of the basic driving forces in the woman's mind and how they get affected by the circumstances and what are the specialities of womanly love according to him.
    I will now turn to some of his  famous daughters.
 First, 'Love's Martyr' Juliet..........

        - AUTUMN ELIZA

( to be continued over other posts)

Thursday, 5 April 2012



While wandering on the shore
I come across the scattered shells
Brought by the waves at high tide
And left there to be trampled upon.

Then I notice many footprints
On the wet sand along the shore,
Large and small,deep and faint,
Going in various directions.

I wonder about their owners,
Who might be they? In what mood?
Whether joyous, laughing in glee,
Or listless just like me?

Some might be calm and contempletive,
Some might be pensive, speculative,
Some with loved ones, some all alone,
Someone suppressing a silent moan....

Amusedly I look back to see
What my footprints tell about me?
Just then I see a great wave coming,
It seems to warn me with its roaring,
'Footprints are fickle,they'll certainly go,
But you are meant to be with the flow.'


Wednesday, 28 March 2012




Early in the morning
You come grinning
With a dewfresh lovely rose.
I flash back a grin,
And take you in,
You kiss me upon my nose!

You give on my back,
A playful smack,
Then wrap me in your arms;
Oh, your embrace,
Is the safest place,
That shelters me from harm.

Footloose and free,
We walk to the sea,
And wander on the shore,
Our lips combine,
Our hearts entwine,
Yet we want each other more!
The sun sets low,
Its mellow orange glow
just trembles on the sea,
The waves are shy
To say 'good bye'
to him and  you and me.

Alas, It's now time to go,
Reluctantly we move slow,
The stars are out above,
With one more kiss,
To remember our bliss,
Our day ends full of love.


Friday, 16 March 2012



   Once again it's Friday. I've waken up early.Actually I haven't slept properly the whole night. This evening I will go home for the weekend as usual. I am already in jitters. I am again and again checking my watch and irritatedly feel that the time is moving at the snail's speed.
     This whole week I've been nervous since the moment I saw the photos posted by Mr. Jim Brandano on his blog-"JP Brandano-Florida's Photographers".He is a wonderful photographer and I've become his fan.
So, on Monday during the lunch break I surfed through his new blogpost-'Father and Daughter'....these were the photos taken on the occasion of his niece Sheena's wedding.
    After seeing all those sweet pics of the beautiful bride in her bridal attire I came across the photo of an old man trying to choke back his tears. That was the bride's father,Mr. Vincent Brandano! the subsequent photos  had captured his fatherly love for his daughter in a subtle yet very touching way.
   Suddenly he reminded me of my dad and I was overwhelmed with mixed emotions. My dad's memories rushed to me and I felt very lonely without him. A lump arose in my throat and tears welled up in my eyes. I just couldn't sit there with my friends and rushed to my hostel-room and wept and wept, giving way to uncontrollable tears.....
 These days  a sort of  'cold war' is going on between me and my dad. He is vehemently opposed to my love for my beau Albert. In order to reason with him once again I had  written  a poem- 'O, My dear Shepherd!' subtly addressed to him and mom had brought it to his notice.
   As I could see from his reaction last Sunday he seemed to be a wee-bit moved. He even asked me in a lighter vein,"What should I call you now,'my dove' or 'my lamb'?"
 But thereafter things were back to normal as he studiously avoided the topic of Albert. And when he came to see me off  on the station on Monday morning, he said in his usual gruff tone,"My dove,just concentrate on your studies. After this 'Lent Semester' you still have one more semester and that will be very important."
    So, I came back to Cambridge in a very low mood and then came these photos of Sheena and her dad!...
   For a moment  I visualised myself as a bride and tried to imagine how my dad would look at such occasion?
  This musing opened a floodgate of memories of my dad: How he used to pamper me in my childhood. how he would carry me on his shoulders, clean my mud-smeared knees,reorganise my room when I left it in a mess, with things scattered all over, how he used to put me t sleep by telling stories, how worried he used to get even when I was participating in usual school matches, and how once he fainted on seeing my oozing blood when I had injured myself by dragging the window down on my thumb! And mind you, he is a surgeon who regularly performs tricky heart-surgeries without even a drop of sweat on his brow!....
 And then a strange thought came to my mind. I will never marry! I won't ever become a bride because I don't want to see  my dad in  tears. He will just break down while giving me away! And I too won't be able to part away from him! Suddenly my love for Albert and Albert himself seemed immaterial to me and I just wanted to rush back to my dad to be in his arms....
      And yet- this whole week I haven't phoned him even once! My fingers twitch, yet I put away my cellphone every now and then with a sigh.
   Even now I am thinking to myself, what should I do when I'll enter into my house and see my dad anxiously waiting for me?Should I rush to him, hug him tightly and shed all these tears that I've held back over this week?And then what will he do? Will he hold me close, move his fingers gently though my hair and kiss me lightly on my forehead and mumble, "My dove!" as he used to do some months ago?..
     Or, will I just stare at him for a moment and then walk past him to my room without saying much and he too will remain fidgeting with the 'remote' of TV and once again our house will be filled with our cold vibes?
     Oh, God!I am really in jitters!!

Monday, 12 March 2012



The little lamb feels forelorn,
Neglected by the shepherd,
Who keeps all her plias
Deliberately unheard.

He thought only but yesterday
Her to be 'the most dear',
How he used to cuddle her,
And call her his 'only cheer'!

Oh, dear shepherd, why do you think
That your lamb has gone astray?
No,no, she has just fallen inlove,
And now is under love's sway.

Do not think that she has gone
In search of a greener pasture,
Oh, she has only taken
The natural course of nature.

Don't you see that  your little lamb
Has now attained her youth,
And she has found her soulmate,
Please realise this simple truth.

You are still her star number one,
And she is still your 'dove',
For her there can be no substitute
For your fatherly love.


Tuesday, 6 March 2012



    I am restless.Don't know what to do. There's so much in me that wants to take the shape of some poetic words. But it just slips down like mercury and disperses in tiny globules which can't be collected.
  angry with myself I dress up and go out to college library.I wander listlessly,mumble a feeble 'hello' to the desk clerk and head for the reading room.Still restless, I pick up a volume of 'Encyclopaedia Brittanica'.You are safe with any volume of an encyclopedia. Turn any leaf and some interesting information is there to keep your mind occupied. I come to a page about the Egyptian Sphinx. I stare into her kohl-lined eyes and find Cleopatra hiding behind them! I soon get lost in her thoughts....
   an irritating screeching sound of a chair being pulled jolts me out of my trance. I look up with a frown. The next moment my eyes are wide with wonder. Before me is the smiling face of a middle-aged man, may be of my dad's age. He is smiling more with his sky-blue eyes.
 He asks gently, " May I please sit here?"
 Then I remember and exclaim,"Sir, you?"
 "Yes, me. Do you know me?"
 "In a way yes and no, sir."
"Then why did you exclaim like that?"
"Oh, we had met sometime ago at that 'poets' conclave'".
"I do remember! I had noticed you, your restlessness, your fidgeting and leaving midway abruptly before your turn."
 "Oh, my god! Do you really remember such trifles and an unknown girl like me?"
"No, usually I don't. But that day I could see the reflection of my own unease in you and  felt better  to have at least one like minded person there in that gathering. The only difference was that you could leave but I couldn't. Being the guest of honour I had to stay rooted till the end."
"Oh, sorry, sir, I now regret having unintentionally insulted you that day.A poet of your stature-"
"Shh! not so loud! I don't want to draw attention! This time I've come as a curious visitor to your university and while taking a round here I noticed you and couldn't resist saying 'hello' to you. Well, may I ask you something? If you don't have anything else to do or any objection, let us go out of the campus to some  nearby hotel for a cup of coffee or something? I just feel like talking to you."
    I stare back at him.There is something pure and innocent about him. So I agree and walk with him to a nearby hotel. We take our cups of coffee and reach for a corner table.
 Some minute just tick by in silence.I squirm in my seat and say,"Sir, you wanted to talk."
  He says as if remembering,"Oh, yes, yes. I was just arranging that in my mind. That day you left that 'poets' conclave' as if in annoyance. I wanted to say something in that context."
 "Sir, I didn't mean to insult those other poets or their poems."
" Did I say so?Oh, no! To be honest, I myself wasn't too pleased with all those poems. Actually I am against such conclaves. I honestly feel that poetry isn't for public recital. For that there are songs, lyrics, ballads-"
"Sir, don't they also come under the umbrella of poetry? Just different modes of expression!"
"Agreed, but I'll put it this way. Suppose you meet a very dear person after a long time. Will you break into a song and dance to express joy publicly?"
 I understand what he means.
He continues,"No,you will become speechless!You will just sing in your heart and that person will listen to your inner song by his heart. That is what is called a poem. Any experience which leaves you speechless gets expressed in some art form like poetry and while putting it in words,'the spontaneous overflow of emotions' has to well channelled, subtler the better.
 " Now, take the example of the sea. It has those ever restless waves on its surface. But the more we go deeper the more its water gets calm and then almost still as those rocks at its bottom. We can swim or float upon the waves but to see the real treasures we have to dive deep into the sea, putting aside the fear of drowning.
"The same applies to the poetry. There are those surfacial poems which are to be recited or hummed in public, only to be forgotten after a short spell of applause and then there are those poems which compel the reader to dive deep into them to reach to the jewel of their profound meaning. Such poems say much without any bombast and that too from the blanks between their lines."
  I stare back at him in wonder because I find the reflection of my own thoughts in his words. Well, I couldn't have put my thoughts in such a nice manner.
 I mumble as if speaking to myself,"I too think so. How a poem should be?Well, just me and that poem, like two friends gossipping together, and when it ends it should begin again in my mind."
He laughs lightly and asks, "what do you read generally?"
I say, "Oh, I read a lot! But I prefer to go back to the classics again and again.Every time I find a different meaning of some lines!"
"See, you prove my point! You have to dive deeper and deeper to find such jewels! And these classics are so long lasting because they have been written lovingly for those who love literature. Those writers knew their responsibility as well as their limitations. They valued each and every word of theirs. you know, Shakespeare stopped writing at the pinnacle of his career. He knew that his poetic talent was really a gift which was not meant for squandering away. Just like these 'Irises' printed on your skirt. These flowers are so precious! They remind me of a painting of these flowers by Van Gogh. Have you seen that painting?"
"Then please see it. Its print is available on your Internet."
"What is so special about that painting and the irises?"
"Well, see it attentively and draw your own conclusion. that painting is a wonderful poem with a profound meaning."
............After he leaves, a realisation dawns upon me that I had been in the company of a famous poet! I tentatively look at the 'irises' printed  upon my skirt........

                                                       (IRISES-by VAN GOGH)
                                                                                     -AUTUMN ELIZA

Friday, 2 March 2012



Oh, the very thought of you
Brings fantasies in my head,
As if I feel your ardent kiss
And my cheek turns instantly red!

Sometimes I just hate your thoughts,
'Cause they keep my heart burning,
They make me dreamy and restless,
And fill my heart with yearning.

Though you aren't given much to words,
Your eyes speak volumes to me,
Their silent signals are enough
To put me in sheer ecstasy.

I cherish your love and adore you
With my whole being,
For you I write these love-poems,
For you I inwardly sing.

Though we aren't sure of our tomorrow,
Our love will certainly win,
You know even after the darkest night
The sky is lit up with dawn's rosy grin!

                                                     AUTUMN ELIZA

Thursday, 1 March 2012



O my love, only this much I'd like to say,
In your embrace forever I'd like to stay.
I pray and with me you pray too,
"Let love bind us together, me and you."

Take me now tenderly to your chest,
This is my only shelter, my love's nest;
Your gentle caress and your love-beating heart,
Comfort and contentment , to me do impart.

A glimpse of you, or just the sound of your voice,
Or even a simple 'Hi', makes me rejoice,
And by a simple hug you make my day,
You only hold me in this special way.

When I am with you, it reduces all my stress,
I am then happiest, and worry much less;
Your warm embrace dispels all my fears,
A smile quickly replaces my anxious tears.

Let's enjoy this moment, right here and now,
Don't let any other thoughts furrow your brow;
You know I don't need gifts- expensive or new,
All I need is your love, you and only you!

Wednesday, 22 February 2012



There has been a palpable tension in my home since yesterday. All three of us-me, mom and dad-are keeping silent, not talking much to each other.
I have woken up early. Actually I haven't slept properly the whole night.It is still dark and very cold.I wonder what is going to happen today.I've been waiting for this day with all my heart, yet my happiness is clouded by the tension in the house. This happens every time Al comes to pick me up for a walk or evening out.Al, my Albert, my beau. Some day I'll tell you more about him and our love too. We have been going steady these three years and yet my dad isn't ready to accept him. I just don't understand why.Al's dad is my dad's close friend.Our families share a good rapport. Al's mother is a wonderful cook and my mom  is always eager to learn some new recipe from her and both these ladies try out some new dish first on me! They know I'll always say,"wow!"
  A rosy pic. Isn't it? But it carries the worst thorns! Al's dad thinks Al is good for nothing and wasting his time on useless things. You ask,why? 'Cause Al doesn't want to join his dad's business. He doesn't want to live off his dad. He wants to do his own thing,to be on his own. He wants to be a sculptor and is learning from a master. He has acquired some software diploma and does some freelance jobs for some architects to meet his own expenses. Al's dad is angry with him more for his dropping out of Oxford. Al has confided in me that he did so only because he was tired of being a slave to his dad's tyrannical dream about him.His dad's pressure had almost driven him mad.Al doesn't like that commerce branch. Accounts and all that gets on his nerves. Instead he likes to draw, paint, sculpt.What's wrong with it? Following him, I too am taking lessons in painting,(No! not from him!) and enjoy it.
   My case isn't different. Since the time I've declared my love for Al,my dad's love for me has vanished in thin air! No more hugs, no more dark chocolates for me! He thinks that Al has a very bad influence upon me and only due to Al I've started indulging in the same wasteful things like painting, joining poets' conclaves, writing blogs etc. As it is, ditto like Al's dad, he wanted me to pursue medical education to become a doctor like him. But I straightaway refused. he still rues the fact that he had to give in to pressure from my teachers and also from my mom to allow me to study Advance English at Cambridge and pursue the field of creative writing, which according to him will get me only peanuts, and all that so called 'creative satisfaction' is all blah, blah! Even now he never misses a chance of subtly showing his displeasure about it. And now he is worried that I may  follow Al's suit and drop out of Cambridge!
   His another objection to my relationship with Al is about our age difference. I am 19 and Al is 27. So what? Is Al an old goat? Dad doesn't understand as to how I fell in love with Al while I am totally indifferent to boys of my own age or those 'shining' Cambridge boys. Many wonder about my love for Al and sometimes me and Al wonder too! But that's different story. About it sometimes later.
   Point is, when me and Al are going steady these three years, why doesn't my dad accept this fact? Al's parents and my mom pose to be indifferent, but thank God, they at least don't object!
 Well, to ease the tension I go and hug mom first and rush to kitchen to prepare something nice for breakfast as a way of 'waving white flag'! It works! Dad smiles and returns my hug with a warm cuddle. He even appreciates my handmade greeting card for him and mom for this V-Day.
 He says indulgently,"Elle, what would you like to have for today,baby?" and then the very next moment his smile is erased by a frown and he mutters,"Oh, I forgot,today that fellow will come to fetch you. well, let us know if you want some money for today's evening."
   Oh, that whiplash! It is meant more for Al than me. Yet I say nothing. I don't want to spoil my special day.
     Then comes Al's text. He wants me within fifteen minutes at the corner of Stuckley street. he will be waiting for me there at the GiftShop.Oh, but that shop is exclusively for men! Does Al want to purchase something for himself of my choice? I wonder.
   I reach there. He asks me to choose a tie for my dad! I am surprised and also so happy! I want to kiss him then and there but I check myself. I simply give his hand a tug.
We then return to my house. Al politely wishes my parents and then presents that tie to my dad as a 'Valentine's Day's present'. He has brought mom's favorite Gucci's perfume too! I am so impressed by his thoughtful gesture and eagerly scan my parents' faces for their reaction, thinking that perhaps now the ice may thaw!...
  Mom smiles at Al, nods head in acceptance and rushes inside. Why? She soon comes back and gives a gift-wrapped box to Al, saying in a loving tone,"be happy. This is just a set of painting brushes." 
  OMG!! I can't control myself.I go and hug her and kiss her wordlessly. Her pat is so reassuring! And see  that look on Al's face! He is surprised and delighted! He waits for me to get distangled from mom and then coming forward he gently takes her hand and says,"Thank you, ma'am. I won't forget this moment and will cherish this gift forever." He doesn't say much. As it is, he isn't given  much to words.
  Dad is looking rather surprisedly at us. I look back to him. He clears his throat and mumbles,"Hmm,a nice tie, but it must have dug a hole in your pocket. Anyway, thanks, Albert."
  No handshake!?
  Al mutters,"My pleasure, sir,may we take your leave now? please don't worry, I'll bring Elle back safely before midnight." Yes, that's good. I wanted Al to retort only like this!
 Then turning to me, he says, "Come, Elle, let's go."
 I don't ask him where. I simply give my hand in his hand. Before starting the car, Al hugs me lightly and with a peck on my cheek,he whispers,"Don't worry, sweetie, I think we have won half the battle."
 Really? I wonder. Al doesn't know my dad. Pardon me for using some bad slang words for my dad, but it is true, my dad is a very hard nut to crack...
 I put away such thoughts with an effort, rest my head on Al's shoulder and we move ahead.....

........Autumn Eliza

Sunday, 5 February 2012



The weather was fine,
And bright sunshine,
So I went out to play,
Singing a song
All along,
 In a mood merry and gay.

  I never knew
  That there were a few
  Waiting in the bush,
  To surprise me
  And entrap me
  Like a prey in ambush.

   They were glad
   When they had
   Pinned me down in dirt,
  They laughed and jeered,
  Smirked and sneered
  At my injury and hurt.

    Succeeding in their ploy,
    They left in joy,
    For me they didn't care,
    In anger and shame,
    I scolded them,
    Then I saw you standing there!

     You stayed for a while,
     With a sweet smile,
     As if you meant to say,
    "Don't sully your mind,
     But try to find
    A better way to play!

     "You are my girl,
      So don't be a churl,
      Just forgive them and forget,
    Whatever they may do,
     Just believe in you,
    Then you won't ever regret!"

       .........AUTUMN ELIZA

Monday, 9 January 2012


While looking at Shakespeare's tombstone
I suddenly see a tree of words
Sprouting out of his ashes!
Oh, how many flowers of sonnets and songs
Are blooming merrily on its branches!
How many fairies, sprites and muses
Have perched upon it as singing birds,
While subdued sighs are being heard
From the rustling of its leaves.
And then I feel his gaze upon me!
Yes, he is looking through that slab
At the sky and surroundings
With a childlike curious twinkle
Full of wonder in his hazel eyes,
And he gazes at me as he would at his 'Miranda'!
Oh, just then come a horde of critics,
Who start debating in rusty tones
Whether he really was 'a man of all ages'!
He then slyly smiles at me,
-Yes, he really winks at me!-
And then turns upon his side
And goes back to sleep again
Listening to the lullaby of Avon's undercurrent.
        -Autumn Eliza