I have long been a foot soldier.
My feet have taken me places
where I left my footprints
though  not on the pages of
history.
Because foot soldiers do not merit
even a foot note in history books.
                  
                     
 
I left my footprints on the sands 
of hot deserts and beaches,
and on the rain soaked soft ground.
But those stayed just till the soldier 
behind me stepped on them 
or heavy rains washed 
or winds blew them away 
I hang my boots today to go home 
butI do not want to talk about the 
battles I fought and won 
nor those I lost and where I was 
left wounded.
Nor shall I remember running 
through the maze of incessantly 
firing weapons around me 
that I thought, was of the kind that 
Abhimanyu did not come out of 
but I did.
Because I have seen far bigger 
and more fierce battles fought 
on the streets of cities every day, 
battles that must be won.
My battles were too small and 
no more than a child’s play
when many children resiliently
fought daily battles of adults.
 
At just twelve years – 
the eldest of the orphans, 
their home under the fly-over,
hawks at traffic light so that 
he could buy food for his siblings.
He hopes to send his brother 
and sisters to school one day.
The frail ‘Kaamwali’ barely out of
childhood turns up for her 
daily drudgery, at times with eyes 
blood shot with fever.
she cannot afford to lose her job.
She must send her son 
to an ‘Angreji’ school.
The boy on the crutch
who lost his limbs in an accident
pours over the alphabets 
on the cold floor of January morning 
at the Municipality school.
He must make himself worthy 
of a government job.
Their battles too, do not make it
to the pages of history.
But I shall always think of them.
These are battles of hope and grit.
I will live my life happily being on their ringside. 
(Note: I scribbled these lines on the day I retired in 2014)
