Hip-Hop Nature Boy and Other Poems

  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