Father

Those hands were strong and muscular, 
With a golden tan and the veins etched out. 
With palms wider than my waist 
Which held me close to his face 
As I buried my head in his shoulders. 
I remember the surge of strength 
When they delicately held mine. 

They locked me in embrace. 
They cut and filed my tiny nails. 
Tied my shoelaces and even mended my shoes. 
Lugged my satchel and tinkered my bicycle. 
They deftly bound my books and notebooks; 
Turned cardboard into doll-houses; 
Held out colorful boxes of firecrackers; 
Soothed my feverish forehead; 
And walked me across roads. 
They beckoned me outstretched, 
When I sulked over meaningless things, 
They wielded heavy bags while I ambled by his side. 
Into them, I slid my petty shopping lists 
Of candies, sketch-pens and cellophane. 
They tautly held onto the handles of the scooter 
As we rode to my school and markets. 
And each day, we kept riding 
Through my childhood, through his youth. 

I hold those same hands now 
Protectively while crossing roads. 
I grab them before we step on the escalator. 
And as they melt and submit to my grip, 
As I feel them palpitate within my palms, 
I clutch them even harder 
Hoping to pass on in my touch
A little bit of their former strength. 

(This poem first appeared in the book Po'try)

Considerations and use case for massive IoT

IoT is touted as one of the next big things in the wireless technology industry.

IoT devices are in general characterized by low power consumption and bandwidth requirements. They may need to transmit only a few bytes of information sporadically either in case of certain events or to keep alive. The battery life requirements correspondingly can protract to years and even decades.These devices could be embedded in the appliances of day-to-day use or be planted standalone along with sensors,etc.

Following are a few current wireless technologies that can be used for such IoT requirements. Each of them is designed for operation only in specific licensed or unlicensed frequency bands. The range of operation of these technologies depends on the frequency of operation as well as other design choices that impact the link budget.

Perseverance

Sadness is not an enemy. 
It is the goad and fuel to the fire. 
Which fortitude cups its hands around 
To countervail the dark running amok 
Eager to stomp out light with its shadows. 
The fire shines on the silver lining 
Crouching underneath even the gloomiest of clouds; 
And allows the unflinching vision 
Past the knotted lashes and mangy hope 
Into the colors of the rainbow. 
The fire is waiting for a whiff of wind 
For it to flare up and illuminate 
The face seared by tears. 
Sadness is not an enemy. 
It is the goad and fuel to the fire 
Which smolders silently and persistently 
To warm and soothe the night. 
That fire will eventually turn into the day. 

.

(This poem first appeared in Wax Poetry Art)

It is late and dark

I had loved the sunshine.
When it had trickled down pleasantly
Caressing and glowing,
Enlivening, kindling.
It soon got too arrogant for my liking.
It would go its way unaffected by my love or need.
It would hide in clouds at its will.
Then, when I had given up waiting,
It would emerge suddenly, beaming.
I thought I would pay it back in indifference,
So I looked the other way while it showed off.
I ignored its charm, warmth and refulgence
Its pride,
And dallied with the shadows and shades.
I looked back much later but only to see
The sunshine aging, waning, cooling and descending.
As the Sun slipped down the sky
Dragging its outstretched arms along the Earth
I tried pulling it back by one of its last rays.
But that sleek, slippery, shiny ray escaped
And fell off the horizon;
The day was extinguished
This was the time to embrace the dark
And it was all eager to embrace me.
I encase the dark, now, and the dark encases me
I guard the dark, the dark guards me.
I have come to love the dark, and the dark loves me.
So, must you insist on lighting the lamp?
.

(This poem first appeared in Reading Hour)

Cinderella

 

Here you come,
Looking for Cinderella-
The abject doll in distress
Who you must rescue and reinstate;
Transport from one prison to another;
From one prisoner to another;
Driven by mice in a pumpkin cage;
Wrapped in a glitzy dress,
And fitted with squeaky shoes.

 But you are lost and mistaken!
Cinderella is no more here.
She wound up her chores yesterday
And in self-pity, went to sleep,
Crying into her tattered dress,
And praying to the good fairies
For a strong and handsome prince
To look after and pamper her.

 However,
Cinderella got much better
Than what she had asked for
She died when asleep.
She woke up as a lioness
Who fed on her wounds
Prided herself on her might.
Who tore apart hurdles,
To conquer, eloped into the wild.

(This poem first appeared in The Yellow Chair Review)

Wild Flower

 

So you stumbled upon
That wild unruly flower,
Borne out of mystery
And the mysterious forest,
Not heard of and not seen,
Not smelt and not kissed,
Not admired and not loved,
Inebriated with its own fragrance
Which heady and strong for you
Is fragrance nonetheless,
Unaware of its own beauty
Which singular and blinding for you
Is beauty nonetheless.

You found it odd and intriguing
That it did not stare at you
Prudishly from a flower vase,
Vacuously from a picture book,
Obscenely from a bouquet,
Expectantly from a flower bed,
Or sullenly from a wreath;
That it refused your patronage
Or to owe much to you;
That it insisted on openness
To the Sun and the rain.

But you were resolute,
To maneuver and to conquer.
To turn the wild prim and proper,
Fit for your garden of subjects
Not wild and not free,
Not unkempt and not unruly.

And so you brought home
To tame the wild flower
Which you planted sans its wilderness
Hoping to keep only what you like.

But now it runs amok
Ramifying into that same jungle
Bringing down your kingdom.
You rush to hack it before it kills
Your sweet roses and lilies. 

(This poem first appeared in  The Rain, Party & Disaster Society)

About Me

I am Sindhu Verma. I live in Bangalore, India and work in a multinational semiconductor company as a wireless systems engineer. I graduated in electrical engineering from IIT Kharagpur, India. My detailed technical profile can be found here on Linkedin

I love working on technology and have a keen interest in literature and fashion. I write poems and design clothes outside my working hours. 

I created this blog to be able to document and share my poetry, thoughts and artwork concerning things that interest and move me. 

My email ID is sindhu.verma@gmail.com
My Instagram link is https://www.instagram.com/sindhuverma_rs/

Disparity

 

Hello there!
I stare at your pretty clean scrubbed face
Smeared with fragrant oils and cream,
Resplendent with complacency,
Smoothed for lack of struggle.
Won't you stare at mine?
It is caked and caulked with dust and hardship,
My features hidden beneath layers of meekness
My teeth still white but too shy to be bared by a smile.
Nice and immaculately pressed is the skirt you wear.
There is lace on your skirt.
There are embroidered roses on your skirt.
There are buttons on your skirt.
I am wearing a mangy skirt as a skirt,
A mangy skirt tightened around my neck as a shirt,
And a mangy skirt as a headdress
So I don't get too dizzy in the Sun.
What do you have on your fingers?
Precious stones- colored and scintillating.
See how my fingers have hardened into stone.
But of course, they are not at all precious.
How beautiful are the tassels you wear on your hair!
My hair is tangled into dry dirty tassels.
And you wear shiny heeled shoes.
Well, I don't need any for myself
For the soles of my feet are cauterized to numbness
From walking the burning roads, the thorns, the slush.
What do you carry in your large embellished purse?
Sheaves of notes - crisp and unmutilated?
Are they tens or hundreds?
Do you even have notes of a thousand?
And what are you going to buy with them?
More clothes, more shoes, more stones, more lace?
Ice-creams, chocolates, prettier hair and prettier face?
I too have coins, their jingle means hope for today.
I have them in a plastic bag I picked from the trash.
Just a few more coins from the philanthropic, the divine
And I will have earned a stale loaf of bread
Which I will gorge to the last crumb
And then douse with some infected water.
Oh, I see you looking at me too.
But what is the expression on your face?
You are wincing and grimacing.
Why do I repel you so?
You should know I don't like you either.
If I ever get a chance,
I will gouge out the fake flesh from your face.
I will drag you by your beautiful hair out of your beautiful cage.
I will strip you of your pretty clothing, pretty shoes and pretty purse.
And leave you to dry and shrink;
To feel and taste the scorching Sun;
To feel and taste the desertion;
While I will run far far away with my plunder.
But then I know, copiousness will find you again
Through the police and the newspapers and the televisions;
Through the love and the doting and the fretting.
The flood will trickle in and engulf you again.
And you'll be placed in the glass aquarium again.
To be fed and fattened and sated.
Because you are entitled to it.
As for me, even with your clothing and purse and shoes,
I will not taste respect and wholesomeness.
I will be exposed yet again, unclothed, unfed and shriveled.
And so you who grimaces looking at me ,
You who is you without deserving to be you,
I hope you drown in the surfeit
While I perish in the dearth whose child I am. 

(This poem first appeared in Verse-Virtual )

Sport

Let us both play a game today.

Let us each be a sport today.
It need not at all be rational,
Let us just brace ourselves.

Let us both harden our hearts.

Let us both cloud our senses.

We will play with pointed daggers

With which we will etch lines

Dark, serpentine and crooked

Like our morbid tangled thoughts.

We will play with sharp swords

With which along the built barriers

We will cut up lands, rivers and seas

Into pieces we will call mine and yours.

We will then assume positions

Rigid, offensive and unchangeable.

We will hate and clash and fight.

And then with assumed victories and defeats,

We will walk back and farther apart;

Widen lines; etch them ruddier and deeper;

Raise barriers, make them higher and stronger.

Like many games, this will fetch us accolades.

(This poem first appeared in Verse-Virtual )