Whose Decision is it, Anyway?

It’s that time of the year again.
When we rally to celebrate our independence.

The hoisted flag flutters high
Inducing in all countryfolk a feeling of pride.

The national anthem is heard everywhere,
And patriotic songs reverberate in the air.

Children and grownups, with golden words, speak
Of freedom fighters who set our country free.

But, while freedom has been bequeathed,
In today’s times, who decides if I am free?

Surely, if the freedom fighters sacrificed,
And, for freedom, gave up their lives,
Then it must be they who decided.

Or then, there is the government
That leads the country from up front.
So surely, it is decided by them.

But then, there are also the influencers –
The intellectuals and opinion makers.
This decision must surely be theirs.

What about the super-rich businessmen?
The economy thrives because of them.
They must be the ones to decide, then.

How can I not consider the preachers,
Spiritual guides and faith leaders?
Yes, they must be the ones, for sure.

So, under all this glorious confusion
Lies buried the question of my freedom.

And as I ponder over this,
A few more questions come to me.

While freedom has been bequeathed,
Isn’t it I who is free to decide …

Who will lead me?
What will influence me?
Where I will spend my money?
And which path I will take towards the Almighty?

Isn’t it I who is free to decide …

What I can do to contribute
To the growth of my country and people?

Eighty years ago, on this day,
A nation emerged from the darkness of tyranny,
And its people saw the light from freedom’s rays.

So, now, isn’t it I who is free to decide
How to keep progressing towards this light?

And, however miniscule this decision may be,
It is mine, for it is I who decides that I am free.

The Monster

There’s a monster that, believe me, lurks in the house
Who looks as innocent as it can be!
Oh, it’s a demon with an unending grouse,
And in disguise, it attacks covertly!

It’ll steal the moments from your day and night
And replace them with senseless thoughts!
Suddenly, the clock seems to run out of time
For the things you loved doing, and you’re fraught!

Now, you’re mesmerized by its hypnotic stare.
Addicted, you start craving for more.
Even through all this suffering, you just don’t care,
And everything else gets thrown out the door!

The size of your waist starts increasing,
But you’re glued to your seat on the couch!
Your eyes complain, and your sight starts diminishing,
But that monster’s something you can’t do without!

It’s time you picked up the cudgels
And fight yourself out of its hold!
My friends, be brave! Don’t falter, don’t bungle!
Turn off that TV and destroy its remote!

The Taste of Summer

Summer tastes like mangoes
Sour raw mango pieces drying on the rooftop
Waiting to mingle with oil and other spices in pickles.
Their sharp aroma would fill the house
And make its way into conversations.

Summer tastes like mangoes
Ripe golden Alphonso pulp blended with sugar and cardamom powder
And served as Aamras with meals.
Its intensely sweet and luxuriously creamy flavor
Made each mouthful feel like a royal treat.

Summer tastes like mangoes
With an extra salty zing from sweaty palms
Because they were stolen from the trees in the neighbor’s orchard
With friends, on lazy afternoons.
Each bite was worth the mad dash to the fence to escape.

Summer tastes like mangoes
In my grandmother’s pickles, mother’s Aamras, and those shared with friends.
Summer always tastes of love and memories.