Back to Home

Dr. Ram M. Mehta
(Gujarat)


Dr. Ram M. Mehta, born in  Dwarka, had been a professor  and Head, Department of English, N.A. Arts College, V.Vidyanagar, Gujarat, India.  After his retirement in  1994,  his time splits between India and North America.  He visited France on a cultural mission in 1989 and presented a scene Of  Moliere's La tartuffe in Paris. He also visited UK, Scotland and Ireland. He is a life member of the World Academy of Arts & Culture  and attended its convention at IASI, Romania in October, 2002 and 25th World of Congress at Los Angeles in August, 2005. He also attended 4th Encuentro Internacional Literario at Montevideo, Uruguay in April, 2003. He has been awarded the honorary degree  of  Litt.D -by The World Academy of Arts and culture at Los Angeles (USA), in 2005 (Unesco sponsored)
Books published in English: (i) The Essays (April 1966), (ii) Poems of Ram Mehta   (May 2001), (iii) Poems of Ram Mehta   (May 2003) & (iv) The Roamings (April 2004)
Address : "Gomul", Ambawadi, B/h College of Music & Dance, Vallabh Vidyanagar-380120. (Gujarat) India
 Phone : 02692-236890. e-mail: raammehta@yahoo.co.in

 Selected Poems by Dr. Ram M. Mehta
 

An elegy on a mattress maker
 
By trade he was a mattress maker,
Living with parents and two toddlers.
With debris under the rickety shelter,
The toddlers lay motionless covers with flies.
The third did not see the light of the day,
Journey made from mother’s womb
To that of the earth,
Amalgamating from dust to dust,
As his wife eight months pregnant
Died when the house collapsed.
 
Standing now on the roadside,
People throwing food at him from trucks,
The mattress maker without a mattress!
Brooding over the rigmaroles of the politicians,
Remembering armed gangs with choppers,
Cutting the fingers of the dead for a gold ring.
 
Feeling the tremors and shocks of the quake,
Cries, cracks, quacks fresh in his mind still.
 
An Ode to earthquake
 
What a day you chose, Grandma Mine!
To quake, to move, to shiver, to shake
Thereby to ravage, to savage, to shatter,
The celebrations of Mother India Republic Day.
A female snake eating her own children!
What bad karma those school children had done?
What configurations of the planets took place
In the natal charts of those thousand killed?
 
Million years ago you jolted and rocked,
Opening up the Atlantic & creating Indian Ocean,
Delinking India from Africa and Sri Lanka.
Those oceans are widening & the Pacific shrinking.
Will North America & Asia
drift into each other?
The twelve plates mate and hate each other,
Caribbean to Cocos & Indian to Eurasian.
Your wanton ways to be taken as blessing in disguise?
Your natural acts as great levelers? Or
HE made the world to fit best to create & destroy.
 
Sonnet written in Optimist Park
 
 
I met a pessimist walker in Optimist Park,
She walked with a walker and a co-walker
Swaying on either side, not in her mark.
Crippled, stressed, depressed, a fatuous talker.
Troubled by blood sucking winged insects.
‘mosi-ki-toss’ many, many, ‘mosi-ki-toss’
Shouted she in her Serbian accents,
Waving her palm to drive away foes & woes.
 
 
Immigrants of different nations & cultures,
Come in search of shades of optimism,
Culminating in the Old Testament adage,
‘HE hath made all things good in their times’
Indulging in the mirage of meliorism,
Things are bad but can be of better advantage.
 

IRIS
 
Prized for perfumes and medicines,
Rainbow personified & God’s messenger,
Resting the souls of dead women,
Decorum of the graves,
Delight of the ancient artists.
 
Blooming on Minoan Walls,
Sculptured in stone at Karnak.
Living memories of the French revolution.
Clovis put you on his banner
And won over Germanic tribe.
Louis VII adopted you as device,
‘Fleur-de-lis’ the symbol of France.
Germany suspended you in beer barrels,
And France to enrich the wine,
England to give flavour to brandies,
And Russia flavoured a soft drink.
 
Then, plucked in a state of chastity,
Now, relegated to flavour toothpaste.
 


 


I want to confess….
 
 
I want to confess as I have committed a sin,
Sitting idly in my emotional incapacities
Conscious that this is only television screen.
 
I see people being butchered like flies therein
Women being gang-raped in large degrees
I want to confess as I have committed a sin.
 
The school kids getting burnt alive within,
Due to the negligence causing short circuits,
Conscious that this is only television screen.
 
With mere curiosity I watch each of the scene,
I want to cry, get angry but can’t, my apologies!
I want to confess as I have committed a sin
 
I am taught not to dwell long on any scene,
As I can view next day’s batch of goodies
Conscious that this is only television screen.
 
All of my emotions whirled into the screen
Getting a call for hangout from my buddies.
I want to confess as I have committed a sin
Conscious that this is only television screen.
 
 


Back to Home