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Favourite Hindi Poem ~ "Pratiksha" by Harivansh Rai Bachchan

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"Pratiksha" (Waiting/Expecting) by Harivansh Rai Bachchan Whenever I think of this beautiful poem, my mind wanders off to that one evening when I had to give the oral test for my Hindi Diploma. Being my favourite poem which I knew by heart, I wanted to recite this poem as part of the test, when they would ask us to recite or sing something of our choice. I was eagerly waiting till the white-haired Indian examiner asked me to do the same, so that I can impress him with my passion for such beaitiful verses penned by Harivansh Rai Bachchan Ji. However, in the anticlimax of reality, he was at best nonchalant, staring at me coolly, while I rambled on with a horribly out of pitch recitation of these expressive words. On a lighter note, I did pass the exam, and this poem remained my favourite.  And how I got to know of the existence of this wonderful poem is not through a textbook, or a poetry compilation of the poet, but weirdly from a Kathak dance recital of Sharvar...
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Third Time's a Charm

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'Because I could not stop for Death –  He kindly stopped for me – ' Emily Dickinson On the second or the third day of being in dengue hemorrhagic state, I woke up abruptly from a very uncomfortable snooze (the urine catheter and all the tubes and IV lines preventing any sort of movement). I found him sitting on the side of my bed. You must know that Death really doesn't look scary. He stroked my hair and said, "you must be tired." I indeed was, even to nod. He took my right hand with the bloody canula and asked, "how much more blood will they draw", then took my left, connected to a blood bag, slowly administering deep scarlet drops into my veins and asked, "how much more blood will they give." Everything was silent. The ECG beeped in reply, "more, more, more." He came closer to me and gently touched the blood pressure cuff that was cutting into my skin. I winced. 'Hurts, doesn't it?" he asked sympathetica...
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What is it like to be in Heaven..

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I hold on to his shoulder. He puts his fingers through the fingers of my right hand. We straighten our bodies to the correct postures and he softly places his free hand on my waist. And we are all ready to start the dance. He dances so swiftly, never missing a beat. If I ever keep the wrong foot forward, he adjusts his footwork to match mine. It was almost involuntary, dancing with each other. He knows the beat inside my heart and I know his and we dance to that. We go on swirling, swaying, spinning, laughing, dancing till the crac k of dawn, till our shoes are quite worn and it leaves us out of breath. Once our tired feet are relieved from the shoes and soothed by the light breeze, I gently rest my head against his warm, beating chest and listen to its song of pure love. He puts his arms around me. I put mine around him. He kisses the top of my head. We hold on to each other for long. Then we pick up our shoes and walk on our naked soles down the star-lit country road in its glo...
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