The Unadorned

My literary blog to keep track of my creative mood swings with poems n short stories, book reviews n humorous prose, travelogues n photography, reflections n translations, both in English n Hindi.

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I'm a peace-loving married Indian male on the right side of '50 with college-going children, and presently employed under government. Educationally I've a master's degree in History, and another in Computer Application. Besides, I've a post graduate diploma in Management. My published works are:- (1)"In Harness", ISBN 81-8157-183-5, a poetry collections and (2) "The Remix of Orchid", ISBN 978-81-7525-729-0, a short story collections with a foreword by Mr. Ruskin Bond, (3) "Virasat", ISBN 978-81-7525-982-9, again a short story collection but in Hindi, (4) "Ek Saal Baad," ISBN 978-81-906496-8-1, my second Story Collection in Hindi.

Sunday, December 27, 2009


Remembering Tsunami is traumatic; one would always try to forget that. But how does one do that? Especially for those who have seen the beauty ravaged. Campbell Bay is no more the same island I saw then; The Pygmallion Point is now submerged. It is a place I had to pedal my way up to, ignoring the leaking sky and the rivulets in spate, the scree hurdles and the sea walls treacherously eroded, and at the end of the day when I could make it, it was an experience to recount. The same island is now lost much of its beauty. I'd love to revisit the island for the third time in my life.

W here cuckoos sing in November
Between thin spells of tickling drizzle,
The sky bends to whisper
Her endless sweet gossips,
The hungry waves rush in columns
To lick and relish the sparkling pebbles,
The shadow saunters by in lazy lull
Playing peek-a-boo with one and all,

There, the cool emerald island
Sings and sways
Just under the charcoal sky,
Call her just Campbell Bay.
She loves to be in close embrace
Of everyone that really matters—
The naughty surf and goody sand
The sylvan errand on leafy bed;
The moon hides her powdered face
Shy, behind the cloud blankets;
The moist smell wanders aimless
Building moods of delightful languor,

There, the enchanting island
Keeps humming the mellifluous tunes
In moments of ever contentment,
Call her just Campbell Bay.
The vast playground of fun and frolic
Where turtles rush for baby-sitting,
Building a sand castle in dexterous mould
Where megapode awaits her cheery offspring,
Banishing anxiety from worldly trifles
Where dolphins somersault playfully smiling,
Hopping crazily from branch to branch
Where primates rule the surroundings,
There, the enthralling island of the Bay
Lives on and on since the prehistoric days
Afloat on the ageless waves
Call her just Campbell Bay.

Away from darling home

A thousand of miles behind,
Hungry poor sells his sweat
For a bowlful of smelly rice,
Saves through his untiring years
A score of hundreds pies together,
His longing eyes fail to fathom
The length of waiting- endless forever,
There, the enigmatic island
Sobs for ages —every day
Singing songs of inspiring melancholy
Call her just Campbell Bay.
Here God gracious lives in jungle
On tumultuous surface of the Bay of Bengal,
In the sweat and tear of a toiling soul
Who had left Jharkhand before years a score,
Still slogging for a thousand bucks
Content with his Handi* a Rupee a mug,
A day would soon dawn in his life
He would foot the bill for his homecoming,
Here lies the Emerald Island
A little beyond the scary channel
Braving wave after wave
Call her just Campbell Bay.


27 / 11 / 1996
A. N. Nanda

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Blogger A_N_Nanda said...

What an inane comment it is, my dear Anonymous! Are you up to promoting your biz this way? Anyway, I thought I should allow the comment to stay a while...until you come back and read the caveat:please spare me the tricks.

10:44 PM  

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