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With Scindia To Delhi

More than a hundred years ago, in a great battle fought near Delhi,
an Indian Prince rode fifty miles after the day was lost
with a beggar-girl, who had loved him and followed him in all his camps,
on his saddle-bow. He lost the girl when almost within sight of safety.
A Maratta trooper tells the story: --


The wreath of banquet overnight lay withered on the neck,
Our hands and scarfs were saffron-dyed for signal of despair,
When we went forth to Paniput to battle with the ~Mlech~, --
Ere we came back from Paniput and left a kingdom there.

Thrice thirty thousand men were we to force the Jumna fords --
The hawk-winged horse of Damajee, mailed squadrons of the Bhao,
Stark levies of the southern hills, the Deccan's sharpest swords,
And he the harlot's traitor son the goatherd Mulhar Rao!

Thrice thirty thousand men were we before the mists had cleared,
The low white mists of morning heard the war-conch scream and bray;
We called upon Bhowani and we gripped them by the beard,

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poem by Rudyard Kipling
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The Valiant Maharana Pratap Singh (Rajasthan)

Never he was a vassal to the Moghul,
Who led a Turkish mob to plunder
And annexe the Princely States of Bharat.
'God alone is my suzerain and not a Turk',
He thundered and kept his word till his end.
His gallant steed Chetak matched his prowess
And vied for glory with his master Rana.
When the subdued kings lost their queens
or wedded to the Sultan their daughters,
Rana Pratap, Mewar's Rajput Chief
Proved a lion to show the pride of his race,
By bowing not his head to Delhi.
Those who bent their knees at the Court of Moghuls
Couldn't sit, chat and dine with him.
This insult rankled in the mind of Man Singh
Who led the army of Akbar, The Great,
And he hinted for a war with Delhi.
Missions sent to bend Rana's heart
Failed to make any dent, and crumbled.

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poem by Rajendran Muthiah
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philosophy Of Give And Take!

PHILOSOPHY OF GIVE AND
TAKE!

It is very often said, that Delhi culture is one
of ‘give and take’!
If you give with one hand, with the other
you must take!
But why alone blame Delhi, for this kind
of philosophy? !
Has not this culture now slowly spread? !
I read your poems only, after mine are
also read? !
Friends, in these lines I have merely recalled, -
What a lady poet of Delhi told me once, -
over the phone!
So now I leave it to the readers of poem-
hunter.com, -
To prove her right, or to prove her wrong!

-Raj Nandy

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poem by Raj Nandy
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The Downfall of Delhi

'Twas in the year of 1857 and on the 14th of September
That the Sepoy rebels at Delhi were forced to surrender;
The attack was first to be made by Brigadier Nicholson,
And he was ordered to attack the Cashmere Bastion.

The British were entirely in command.
Of Major-General Reid, assisted by Brigadier-Generals Wilson and Burnand;
After a long march, fighting through a hostile country,
And the brave heroes took up a position before the city.

Delhi gates were encircled with a fringe of fire,
But the British resolved to die rather than retire;
And the brave fellows rushed, towards the gate
Carrying the powder bags that were to seal the Sepoys' fate.

Here their progress was checked, for the drawbridge was destroyed,
But the British felt very little annoyed,
Because a few planks were across the chasm thrown,
Then a match was applied to the powder bags, and into atoms the gate was blown.

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poem by William Topaz McGonagall
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The Zenana

WHAT is there that the world hath not
Gathered in yon enchanted spot?
Where, pale, and with a languid eye,
The fair Sultana listlessly
Leans on her silken couch, and dreams
Of mountain airs, and mountain streams.
Sweet though the music float around,
It wants the old familiar sound;

And fragrant though the flowers are breathing,
From far and near together wreathing,
They are not those she used to wear,
Upon the midnight of her hair.—

She's very young, and childhood's days
With all their old remembered ways,
The empire of her heart contest
With love, that is so new a guest;
When blushing with her Murad near,
Half timid bliss, half sweetest fear,

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poem by Letitia Elizabeth Landon
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Joy Of Seasons

At an informal get together,
When you find yourself
In the midst of strangers,
You invariably talk about the weather.

Oh yes, Delhi has extremes,
In unison all exclaim.
We are forever trying to acclimatise
It’s just too much, they proclaim.

Well I won’t live anywhere but in the plains of north,
Nature’s bounty all the year round.
Mangoes, juicy melons and amrood,
Keenu, raspberries and shehtoot,
Tickle the taste buds with their distinct flavour,
And the variety in colours and flowers,
I find too enchanting for words.

Cool chiffons, crisp cottons, and sensuous silks,
Help me reinvent a new me every few weeks.

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poem by Mamta Agarwal
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Mirza Ghalib

Through you the secret was revealed to the human intellect
That innumerable enigmas are solved by human intellect

You were the complete soul, literary assembly was your body
You adorned as well as remained veiled from the assembly

Your eye is longing to witness that veiled Beauty
Which is veiled in everything as the pathos of life

The assemblage of existence is rich with your harp
As mountain's silence by the brook's melodious harp

The garden of your imagination bestows glory on the universe
From the field of your thought worlds grow like meadows

Life is concealed in the humor of your verse
Picture's lips move with your command of language

Speech is very proud of the elegance of your miraculous lips
Thurayyah is astonished at your style's elegance

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poem by Allama Muhammad Iqbal
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You forgot Gandhi too

"You forgot Mahatma Gandhi too"
"I never believed it might be ever true"
These were worlds spoken by frontier Gandhi * Abdul Gafar Khan
He descended at Palam Airport to address audience at down

I was raw airmen just passed out from Air force centre
New Delhi was capital and main point to enter
As Delhi remained central stage for freedom struggle
It had witnessed lots of struggle and invited troubles

We were questioned by security staff a airport terminal
We had gone there to witness movement of aircrafts and their arrival
We saw an old man descending from special plane
He had only one old bag hidden under arms

He waved hand at little gathering
He was unhappy and lots of things were bothering
He was sore at being dumped by the Indian friends
He never imagined such down grade performance at the end

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poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Mother and I wept

Here is the incidence, very true of its kind and, has taken place in my life. In one place mother wept for me and in the second place I wept.Both has no bearing on each other but since it was between mother and son, I thought of it putting it to a general public for view.

I joined Indian Air Force much to the dislike of whole family. My brother was living just 120 km. away from my native place and I was just informed to report to the recruiting office for medical check up and tests. When I reached office, and much to my dismay, it was very brief and we were given clearance and instructed to report to the training centre at Bangalore.

After completion of training at Bangalore, I got posting at capital city of India, New Delhi. After brief stay at Delhi, I was given first leave to visit home town. Mother was so happy to see me alive as if I was never coming back alive to the village. But as days drew nearer and I was to go back to my unit, mother became restless and all the times she used to shed tears in the corner. One I was sleeping in the after noon and suddenly I felt that some wet thing was falling on my forehead. I got up to see that mother was whipping, and when asked, she replied that how I will be doing in the defense set up since no body had gone from our family so far. I too became emotional but still regained the composure and counseled mother. Such was deep love from mother to a son.

Mother died while I was in service. I couldn’t remain present at the funeral ceremony because it almost took 24 hours to reach home and it was custom that dead body was not to be kept beyond certain hours. She was cremated but had unfulfilled desire in her mind. So in the night, she appeared in the dream and asked promise from me not to do at least one thing in whole life. I asked 'why, mom, you want such promise' from me. She replied that as such I was not smoking in my life, so you take vow not to smoke throughout life. Even at the end of the days also, mother remembered that I was non-smoker. I wept continuously and there was no body to wipe my tears.

Both the incidences have no bearing on each other but certain things you realize when person is no more with you. It is pure love and affection that bonds you to gather and you never miss those moments when get time and memory cross your mind.

In today’s time, such warmth and feeling has disappeared altogether. We live in the changed scenario but in my belief still there may be similar cases taking place but not coming to the light.

“Mom, I love you” can only be my tributary words

poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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A Mam Walks The Streets

That old man near the traffic light
Was expelled from home at midnight.
He walked away steady on his feet.
And made his home on Delhi streets.

My driver whispered in a resigned tone.
I looked up putting down my mobile phone.
He carried on his shoulder a jute bag,
And in his hand a clean yellow rag.

As the traffic light blushed red,
The driver to stop compelled.
The old man near the traffic light,
Asked the driver –may I wipe?

He had a gentle voice and even stride,
Erect back and manner polite and mild.
Now this was his new means of livelihood,
He hoped to be paid to pay for some food.

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poem by Mamta Agarwal
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