by Ruskin Bond
RUSKIN BOND
Hip-Hop Nature Boy and Other Poems
PUFFIN BOOKS
Contents
About the Author
Dedication
Introduction
Hip-Hop Nature Boy
Look for the Colours of Life
All is Life
A Plea for Bowlers
To Live in Magic
We Must Love Someone
This Land is Mine
Raindrop
Love’s Sad Song
A Little Night Music
The Demon Driver
Summer Fruit
Dandelion
Love is a Law
Firefly in My Room
Rain
If Mice Could Roar
So Beautiful the Night
What Can We Give Our Children?
A Frog Screams
The Cat Has Something to Say
Lone Fox Dancing
Self-Portrait
Granny’s Tree-Climbing
Do You Believe in Ghosts?
Portents
In Praise of the Sausage
Don’t Be Afraid of the Dark
Walk Tall
Silent Birth
Listen!
Cherry Tree
View from the Window
Boy in a Blue Pullover
Little One Don’t Be Afraid
October
The Owl
The Trees
Tigers Forever
The Snail
The Snake
Once You Have Lived with Mountains
Butterfly Time
Slum Children at Play
The Whistling Schoolboy
For Silence
These Simple Things
Granny’s Proverbs
We Are the Babus
In a Strange Cafe
Remember the Old Road
A Song for Lost Friends
The Wind and the Rain
In This Workaday World
To the Indian Foresters
We Rode All the Way to Delhi
We Who Love Books
My Best Friend
Dare to Dream
And as We Part
Copyright Page
PUFFIN BOOKS
HIP-HOP NATURE BOY AND OTHER POEMS
Born in Kasauli, Himachal Pradesh, in 1934, Ruskin Bond grew up in Jamnagar, Dehradun, New Delhi and Simla. As a young man he spent four years in the Channel Islands and London. His first novel The Room on the Roof, written when he was seventeen, received the John Llewellyn Rhys Memorial Prize. He has written over five hundred short stories, essays and novellas (some included in the collections Dust on the Mountain and Classic Ruskin Bond) and more than forty books for children.
He has lived in Mussoorie for over forty years, writing from the small cottage which he shares with his growing adopted family.
For
Siddharth,
who listened patiently while
I read these poems to him,
and laughed in all the right places.
Introduction
Nearly all my life I have been writing stories and novels, but now and then I burst into song—that is, I write a poem.
This usually happens when I am feeling very happy, although it can also happen when I am feeling rather morose or melancholy. So, most of my poems have been happy poems. But there have been a few sad ones too.
Sometimes I feel like singing. But I’m an out-of-tune singer; I can never hit the right note. People who are near me don’t like to hear me singing, because odd things happen. If I’m in a car, singing, it goes off the road. Birds fall silent. Cows and other animals make a dash for safety. Schoolteachers go into shock. People do everything they can to prevent me from singing.
So now, when I feel like singing, I write a poem. I put my song down on paper, and dance a little jig in my room. Like that, no one can stop me.
My poems are silent songs. I make them up in my head, but they come from the heart.
These poems were written at different periods during my long writing life, although the title poem and a few others were written especially for this collection. Sohini, my Puffin editor (she’s actually a girl, not a puffin), selected poems that we thought would appeal to young readers.
I like the funny ones best. But we have mixed them all up, which means you can open the book anywhere and see if you can find something that you like. You can even read the book backwards. In a book of poems it makes no difference.
Ruskin Bond
Landour, Bangalore,
Puri, Mussoorie
(I started this introduction at the beginning of a journey, and finished it when I was back home in Mussoorie.)
Hip-Hop Nature Boy
When I was seven,
And climbing trees,
I stepped into a hive of bees.
Badly stung and mad with pain,
I danced the hip-hop in the rain.
Hip-hop, I’m a nature boy,
Mother Nature’s pride and joy!
When I was twelve,
Still climbing trees,
I fell instead—
And landed on my head.
Feeling lighter,
I thought I might become a writer.
Hip-hop, dancing in the rain,
A nature-writer I became!
With Nature being my natural bent,
At twenty I took out my tent,
And spent the night beside a Nadi,
Wearing only vest and chuddee.
At crack of drawn I woke to find
A crocodile was close behind,
And smiling broadly!
In times of crises at my best,
I did not trouble to get dressed,
But fled towards the Gulf of Kutch,
With fond salaams to muggermuch!
Mother Nature once again
Found me dancing on the plain,
Nanga-panga in the rain!
Growing older, even bolder,
Took a winding mountain trail,
Up a hill and down a dale,
All to see a mountain-quail.
The quail was extinct, long expired,
I was limping, very tired;
Thought I saw a comfy cot
In the corner of a hut.
Feeling grateful, I sank down
Upon a blanket soft as down.
Blanket rose up all at once,
Gave a shudder, then a pounce.
Stumbling in the darkness there,
I’d disturbed a big brown bear!
I did not stop to say goodnight,
But fled into the open night.
Hip-hop in the rain,
Dancing to that old refrain.
Growing old, I thought it safer
In my tryst with Mother Nature,
To grow flowers—
Roses, dahlias,
Poppies, sweet peas, rare azaleas,
Candy tuft and tiny tansies,
Violets sweet and naughty pansies …
A lovely garden I’d constructed,
Birds and bees were soon inducted.
Bees! Did I say bees?
They were buzzing all around me—
Angry, diving down upon me;
For where their hive had been suspended,
By accident it lay upended!
Dear Reader, if you must
In Nature put your trust,
Stay away from swarms of bees
And strange crocs lurking under trees,
Or else, like me, you’ll dance with pain
While doing the hip-hop in the rain.
Look for the Colours of Life
Colou
rs are everywhere,
Bright blue the sky,
Dark green the forest
And light the fresh grass;
Bright yellow the lights
From a train sweeping past,
The Flame trees glow
At this time of year,
The mangoes burn bright
As the monsoon draws near.
A favourite colour of mine
Is the pink of the candyfloss man
As he comes down the dusty road,
Calling his wares;
And the balloon-man soon follows,
Selling his floating bright colours.
It’s early summer
And the roses blush
In the dew-drenched dawn,
And poppies sway red and white
In the invisible breeze.
Only the wind has no colour:
But if you look carefully
You will see it teasing
The colour out of the leaves.
And the rain has no colour
But it turns the bronzed grass
To emerald green,
And gives a golden sheen
To the drenched sunflower.
Look for the colours of life—
They are everywhere,
Even in your dreams.
All is Life
Whether by accident or design,
We are here.
Let’s make the most of it, my friend.
Make happiness our pursuit,
Spread a little sunshine here and there.
Enjoy the flowers, the breeze,
Rivers, sea, and sky,
Mountains and tall waving trees.
Greet the children passing by,
Talk to the old folk. Be kind, my friend.
Hold on, in times of pain and strife:
Until death comes, all is life.
A Plea for Bowlers
Cricket never will be fair
Till bowlers get their rightful share
For toiling in the midday sun.
What should be done?
It’s simple—
Make those wickets broader, taller!
That should make it much more fun
For the poor perspiring bowler.
P.S. And in the interests of the game
The size of the bat remains the same.
To Live in Magic
What more perfect friend
than the friend you have given me, Lord;
What more perfect song than the
whistling-thrush at dawn’s first light;
What lovelier thing than the ladybird
opening its wings on the rose-petal;
What greater gift than this moment in time,
this heartbeat in the night?
We Must Love Someone
We must love someone
If we are to justify
Our presence on this earth.
We must keep loving all our days,
Someone, anyone, anywhere
Outside our selves;
For even the sarus crane
Will grieve over its lost companion,
And the seal its mate.
Somewhere in life
There must be someone
To take your hand
And share the torrid day.
Without the touch of love
There is no life, and we must fade away.
This Land is Mine
This land is mine
Although I do not own it,
This land is mine
Because I grew upon it.
This dust, this grass,
This tender leaf
And weathered bark
All in my heart are finely blended
Until my time on earth is ended.
Raindrop
This leaf, so complete in itself,
Is only part of a tree.
And this tree, so complete in itself,
Is only part of the mountain.
And the mountain runs down to the sea.
And the sea, so complete in itself,
Rests like a raindrop
On the hand of God.
Love’s Sad Song
There’s a sweet little girl lives down the lane,
And she’s so pretty and I’m so plain,
She’s clever and smart and all things good,
And I’m the bad boy of the neighbourhood.
But I’d be her best friend forever and a day
If only she’d smile and look my way.
A Little Night Music
Open the window
Let in the Night
All that is lovely
Comes at this hour
Moonlight and moonbeam
And fragrance of flower
Blossoming Champa
And Queen of the Night—
And sometimes a field mouse
Drops in for a bite.
High in the treetops
An owl strikes a note
And the frogs in their pond
Sing out as they float
Along on their lily pads …
The brainfever bird
Is calling on high
‘Brain fever, brain fever!’—
Its monotonous cry.
The nightjar plays trombone
The crickets join in
An out-of-tune orchestra
Making a din!
I lie awake listening
To the wild duck in flight
As they fly to the north
For their annual respite;
And a star in the heavens
Sweeps past as it falls,
A leopard’s out hunting—
The swamp deer calls.
A breeze has sprung up,
It hums in the trees
The window is rattling
And I must cease
From my Nocturne
And shut out the Night.
Goodnight, birds
Goodnight, frogs
Goodnight, stars
Goodnight sweet Night.
The Demon Driver
At driving a car I’ve never been good—
I batter the bumper and damage the hood—
‘Get off the road!’ the traffic cops shout,
‘You’re supposed to go round that roundabout!’
‘I thought it was quicker to drive straight through.’
‘Give us your license — it’s time to renew.’
I took their advice and handed a fee
To a Babu who looked on this windfall with glee.
‘No problem,’ he said, ‘Your license now pukka,
You may drive all the way from here to Kolkata.’
So away I drove, at a feverish pitch,
Advancing someway down an unseen ditch.
Once back on the highway, I soon joined the fray
Of hundreds of drivers who wouldn’t give way:
I skimmed past a truck and revolved round a van
(Good drivers can do anything that they can)
Then offered a lift to a man with a load—
‘Just a little way down to the end of this road.’
As I pressed on the pedal, the car gave a shudder:
He’d got in at one door, got out at the other.
‘God help you!’ he said, as he hurried away,
‘I’ll come for a drive another fine day!’
I came to that roundabout, round it I sped
Eager to get to my dinner and bed.
Round it I went, and round it once more
‘Get off the road!’ That cop was a bore.
I swung to the left and went clean through a wall,
My neighbour stood there—he looked
menacing, tall—
‘This will cost you three thousand,’ he quietly said,
‘And send me your cheque before you’re in bed!’
Alas! my new car was sent for repair,
But my friends gathered round and sa
id, never despair!
‘We are all going to help you to make a fresh start.’
And next day they gave me a nice bullock-cart.
Summer Fruit
Summer is here, and mangoes too
And fruit of every taste and hue;
And given a choice of juice or berry,
I’ll settle for the humble cherry.
I know your favourite on this planet
Is the red and rosy pomegranate;
But that’s a winter fruit, my child,
So wait until the weather’s mild.
But if you like a simple khana,
There’s nothing like a good banana.
No? Something more exotic?
Maybe some lichis in your pockets.
Or would you like a large tarbuj—
It’s sweeter than a good kharbuj—
Tarbuj, kharbuja — oh, what’s the difference?
Tell me, children, and your preference.
Dandelion
I think it’s an insult
To Nature’s generosity
That many call this cheerful flower
A ‘common weed’.
How dare they so degrade
A flower divinely made!
Sublimely does it bloom and seed
In sunshine or in shade,
Thriving in wind and rain,
On stony soil
On walls or steps
On strips of waste;
Tough and resilient,
Giving delight
When other flowers are out of sight.
And when its puff-ball comes to fruit
You make a wish and blow it clean away:
‘Please make my wish come true,’ you say.
And if you’re kind and pure of heart,
Who knows? This magic flower might just respond
And help you on your way.
Good dandelion,
Be mine today.
Love is a Law
Who shall set a law to lovers?
Love is a law unto itself
Love gained is often lost
And love that’s lost is found again
It’s love that makes the world go round
Love that keeps us closely bound
Take this power to love away
We would be just beasts of prey
If Love should lose its hold on us
Discord would rule the Universe.
Firefly in My Room
