Time (II)

What is god?
Too many forms, some bygone?
An invisible intolerant world code
gone horribly wrong?
They asked.

I thought in time,
of time -
time that runs
time that stops
time that screams
time that gleams
time that climbs
time that times
time that simply refuses to flow
time that eventually lets go
time that talks
time that sings
time that seals
time that steals
time like the moving joy of love
time like the tearing grief of pain
time like a flurry of hope
time when you desperately cling to scope
time that holds
time that rolls
time that stabs
time that wraps
time that drills
and time that kills
time that kneels
and time that heals.

Like time,
I said,
that exists,

somewhere...everywhere!

(PS - Works best when read aloud!)

Summary!

Take
------sugar
and taste it,
------some spice
and swallow it,
------a pinch of salt, quietly,
and polish the mouth,
------some freshly cut chillies
and lay them on your tongue;

when someone stares with weight,
for a quick summary and no time to wait,
dont think, dont look around, mate,
simply shrug, recapitulate and state,
"Oh! I just ate, ate, ate and ate!"

PS - I guess the problem with getting to the point is that you kinda miss several 'pointless' points that might very well be the real points! :P

Time (I)...

is a walkie talkie
between points of age
and like invisible threads of soft connection,

it transmits
transports
transcends
bouts of you
about you
in orbits that are
shapeless,
seamless,
shadeless,
speedless,

silently, soundlessly, sheepishly seeking the timeless!

PS -
aani jaani, hai kahaani, bulbuley si zindgani, banti kabhi bigadti, tez hawa se ladti bhidti...

When...

"when does it happen,
that the you and me phenomenon
that always sat discretely on the couch,
separate backsides backing each other
like blooming flowers stemming from a vertex,
transforms itself into a we form?"

i thought of my posture
right there,
looked around between
air and airlessness,
breath and breathlessness,

"when smells smell each other and start seeing each other!"

Cleaning up!

"Pack your things, get them off my side," he said. "And yeah, please dispose off what's not needed...dont allow me the privilege of doing the honours."

She scoffed.

Discussions around sensitive topics, often have insensitive repercussions. Havent we seen that before? Talks on relativity...not sensitive. Talks on relative importance...sensitive. Talks on relative importance of someone else over you...uber-sensitive. Death of talk post that...insensitive! Most things fade away at the point of insensitivity.

"I need them all," she muttered. "I'll pack them though....by myself...its not like I've never done that before anyways!"

"Hmmm!" he pretended to think hard. "Sorry...cant remember when you ever did!" He began cleaning his shelf. Space....ah! thats one good word!

She ignored him. Paper bags. Five layers of books. How many more to fetch? Transporting them...uff! thats another task! She surely did not need the yellow paper back course material. She packed them in one bag. And then, there were the final level prep books; those wouldnt be of much use either. She put them aside separately in another bag. Several more bags were stacked together. She was still left with some...those that she had bought in her teens or when she was younger. She opened them one by one...smelled them...read those one-liners that several friends had written. Nostalgia! Smiles!

And he had seen her read them earlier...as a child. Girly books! Why cant women be real?

She looked around for another bag.

"Use this shelf," he looked around matter-of-factly. "Should I arrange all of them, here?"

She smiled to herself and then wiped it off consciously. She looked up, with forced sternness. "Hmmm...not like I've never managed in the past though....by myself." she said, handing him the paperbacks, one by one!

Time Zones!

Strong winds blew that night as gushes of air built themselves up over each other like flames of fire.
Some thoughts came by too.

She picked them up gently, as if they were light feathers, too frail to be touched yet too strong to be crushed. She let them only into some parts of her brain, disjoining them on purpose, so that they couldnt take over completely. How could he do that? She didnt care anymore, though.

He caught some winds too, by the window. The racing bus killed anything that wasnt strong. Basic physics right? Time. Speed. Distance. She couldnt have done that! He knew she knew something.

They gazed at the clock that ticked tirelessly.

5.15. She sighed.
10.30. He blinked.

Lies!

Will you
or will I
when you will
then will I
when I lie
will you lie
that you know not the lie
and then will I
lie down
to know if your lie
is
my lie
after me
or my lie
is your lie
after you?
 

Stills...

a yapping television
some trickling water droplets
clean plates on the side table
and newspapers lying hapless

sing songs of yellow fever
play games of scarlet checks
dance around in rhythmic motion
chop fine kung fu wrecks

while
the air
circulates
around all commotion,
circumvents
plastic drapes
kills rhyme in deep rest

and the mind
sits
splits
into half
and then half of half
and so on
separating
like wings under a shredder

that become
feathers ambulating in stillness...

Too many...

poly was a good word;

it was supposed to be a good word.

coz it stood for abundance,
multiplicity,
a movement of now to a new now,
several blobs of what could be
swaying in shimmering delight.

And then you came in,
with a prolific smile,
procedurally,
promiscuously,
parabolically,
a proverbial middle eastern 'poly',

and
I died of a tumour!

Two Sides!

I sat on the backseat of the three-wheeler
and it stared at me,
that photo ID
of who sat ahead
in khaki pants and a clairvoyant shirt,
some two streets away from where I stay
“Nagashettihalli”…
Same height, same width, same sight,
I thought,
when the smell of the other side
wiped wind around me aside
and I looked down at my phone
at time that needed to pass…

Focus!

"I'm okay with everything," he shook his head, "its quite natural to forget or misplace things. I understand. But jus that you could be a lil more careful...generally, you know." He drove watchfully.

"Hmmm," she said. She hated herself when she made a mistake. She hated herself more when she made a mistake and he didnt get angry. "I know!"

"But come on...don be over-critical," he said. "It takes time," he held her hand. "It took me time to remember to take the papers, to watch when I drive, to keep a tab on directions, to remember each cross-road to take like..."

"...like the one you just missed?" she smiled, twinkles in the eye overpowering dimples in the cheek. "Reverse maadi!"

Viewing points!

"'Rome wasn't built in one day' is a saying in English," she said loudly, pronouncing each word with emphatic nonchalance. "It means that it takes a lotttttt of patience, persistence, determination..." she paused for words, "...focus...conviction...to achieve something...you should give things, time".

"Mama, Rome is the capital of Italy na?" she quizzed. Images supercede imagination. Concepts, afterall, are products of logical imagination accepted by all. So it is thinking thats commonplace. But images are static descriptions that can be viewed differently. Sky, for example. You see it blue, light, tinted, pleasant, bright in the morning. I see it dark, black, but beautiful in its shining, starry, sparkling self. Sky, between night and day. Image, between you and me.

"Correct, darling," she answered, delighted. Memory during tender ages is a pleasant thing.

"So there are wooden tables there na Mama...by the streets...clean and sparkling...yellow flowers...fresh greens..." she quipped, eyes wide open. "And people dress up really nicely in Italy."

She was surprised. Perhaps, more curious than surprised. Television! Must Be! That's fine. "What else do they do?" she smiled, cleaning remains of food from her mouth.

"They talk fast fast Mama. Many many girls and boys. They don't stay apart like in school. They sit together like besttttt friends holding hands.  All happy happy." She sat straight. "When your happy and you know clap your hands...clap clap clap...I like going to Rome...its my favvvvvvourite place."

Hallucinations? Images supercede imagination?

"We're in India, kan, you havent gone to Rome, sweetheart..."

"We went there last Sunday, I played with the cheese plate..."

Huh?

"I dipped onions in red chutney...and you had wine..."

She picked her up and washed her tiny palms. "Little Italy" she smiled, as she carried her into the room.
"But those are biiiiiiiig girls and boys ok. They have finished school...and finished college...like Mama and Papa no...." she  began, as voices disappeared between time and space...and age!

PS - Main keh raha hoon kya, tu sun rahi hai kya, tu sun rahi hai kya, main keh raha hoon kya!

We know!

Why find meaning
in anything
- discuss, debate, deliberate - 
when
all you know
and all I know
is all the meaning there can be!

What will he think...

I thought,

as he saw me sitting there,
cushy as a princess,
pampered, treasured, adored,
with nothing more to ask for;

until I saw
that he couldnt think
when he saw, in sight, fixated,
just me and me alone!

PS - Ho na ho sab raazi...dil raazi, rab raazi! :)

Dirt!

...on the road sticks onto u,
like a leech in the forest
but is gender-less.

It covers your body and pretends to be a protector,
it greases you slowly, carefully when you’re not looking
and disfigures you.

Then,
like an outsider, it laughs at the new ugly ‘you’
and
secretly
and moves onto the next body, the next catch…

Next time, these creatures come back,
tell them –
not anymore, there’s nothing left to ruin anyways,
let them go chirp with other ‘dust’
and then settle down with half-hearted chocolate lip balms,

while you take a bath with your protector
who will wipe you clean of such filth/muck.

But its still scary, you know,
that a piece of crap can fool you,
and its even more frightening to see
that its out on the loose!

Pimple...

a pimple is an irritating wrinkle,
a bulging cod-liver-oil tab, soft-gentle,
I wanna pop it off with a prick neat-simple,
and make it look like a smiling reverse dimple! :)

Stone!

There was a stone that shone
in light that caught the gaze of sight.

Whenever someone looked into it,
it gleamed in glory
and reflected back at him, bit by bit,
his true character's story.

"You're just a body healer", it shone at the doctor,
"and you, can only tell life's tale, O astrologer!
and what a shame, dear thief,
you cant run away with a single 'meaningful' leaf!"

Each passing day, several came,
stood stong like emperors, dropped down like slaves,
vanquished by a mere thing,
they dug up land, lay down dead in graves.

Untill one day, there came a man,
who stared for long and smiled,
"Okay I'm a nobody, but so are so you,
why do you choose to sit here denied?

If you were all that great and wonderful,
wouldnt you be elevated and celebrated?
Would people loathe you, despise you,
call you a killer of souls, whose killings you perpetrated?"

The stone lay unmoved, unchewed.
"Man's ego, mister Einstein, one will not forgo,
I speak the truth, I show you "you", bare and uncouth,
but you will not thank me, rank me as your top friend,
you will deny, modify, codify or even defy own life
you will stay put, not take note, move on or change vote,

and this is the story of every honest storey,
the glamorous are gold-faced, need soft beds
the simple are fainthearted, need euphemisms
the nobody's are rebels, need reason.

I am a stone, lay alone, stone hearted, soul parted,
I say you all seek the imperfect, deflect, I reflect what you reflect!"

Paint Brush!

the smell of paint

caught me by my nasal buds
and watched - all eyes -
itself
sliding down my RBCs
in the wires of my veins.

And I walked, clean and fresh,
past the new, white door
painted to opacity
yet reflecting mirrors of my insides
that just had a white wash! :)

Sacrifice!

gloomy rise gloomy fall
gloomy day standing tall
seeking eyes watching noise
summer scents with all its poise

when your solemn withering heart
dies each time its asked to part
killing normalcy shredding pride
slicing your insides cutting it wide

and despite that you reach one edifice
to let it be, ease the other's size
and when you smile, accept slow demise,
what do they call it? sacrifice?

Fine tuning!

"Doesnt work," she sighed, hassled. "The damn thing doesnt start!" Zara zara phoolon pe jhadne laga dil mera, it had last said, before going blank!

It was impossible that he drove and she didnt sing with the music player. She knew each song folder that had been loaded onto that thumb drive and she would make her choice basis the moods in the car. And there were the modified tunes. Tunes, that could be sung differently to sound differently. Tunes, that could sound different to suit thoughts that were different. Sounds of laughter, frustration, pain, fury...sometimes sounds of silence...smiling silence, blushing silence, angry silence, restless silence, teary silence.  But, there had to be some sound. So this, was an impossible situation. Well! Almost!

"Should I nudge the connecting wire," she asked. "It wouldnt just stop, without reason." If only she knew that reason. Ayyo, ayyo, ayyo. Sudden feeling of helplessness. Why couldnt the damn thing be set right. And why wasnt he answering. She looked at him with gloomy eyes.

He smiled before shifting gears, not looking at her.

"Main pareshan pareshan pareshan pareshan, aatishen wo kahaan, main pareshan pareshan pareshan pareshan ranjishen hai dhuaan....haaaaaaaaaan haaan haan..."...he began.

He knew every tune of the song. And all its lyrics too. She had played it way too many times! :)

Three Sixty Degrees!

She woke up with a sudden jolt.

The night had set in a few hours ago and she had very quickly fallen asleep. Her eyes had been steadily drowsy and she had decided not to fight them. There are better battles around, more engaging ones. Besides, a long day had its benefits. At least, it kept away insomnia. It kept away nightmares. It sealed the line between dawn and dusk effortlessly.

But that night, she woke up with a sudden jolt.

Something around her was not right. Was it the window? Maybe it should be left open...slightly. Fresh air could be a welcome guest. She looked around. The brown paper bag on her table was torn and its contents were partially visible. A blue shawl, peeped out, carefully concealing a white piece of paper. Bright white, almost distorting peaceful sleep. It struck her eyelids, forced them to open!

And she woke up with a sudden jolt, startled.

He had asked her to leave it with him...so that he could feel her all the time...with him...when in fact she couldnt be...and she had heeded! Now, suddenly she had it back with her. Returned. How? Mistake? Moving On? Priorities? New stories?

From her answer-less sleep, she had woken up, staring at her blue-shawl-self, suddenly, with a jolt!

Peace...

is a slow moving ant on the little cement block outside the house;
and its not silence, you see,
it can exist in the depth of screaming sounds,
of several moving ants,
strutting about with different agendas.
But this one,
steps one leg after one leg,
its chirpy-ness,
thinning down spurts of outbursts
into lines of normal air;

amid much miscellany,
peace is jus being,
an ant's single, favourite tune!

Mind-Lenses!

I sit in the moving cage, amid several other cages,
on the road
and watch each sound as I would, words from a dear one's mouth;
this is motion
this is commotion
delusion...seclusion of some isolated notion...life erosion?

then,
he buys some bubbles,
he watches the stars,
he stops and gazes at the signal's pure red and holds that reflection in his eye
till it turns green,
each colour on the road's grey - white,yellow, green, blue, red, black -
is a 'still-sign' - hope, grief, joy, indifference, rage, injury -

then,
I am motion
I am commotion
subsumed by wired caution
or just a magic potion called illusion!

The Story!

It grows like fire on kerosene,
-----------------------------------------------the straight line of tally bars
collecting identically, one against another,
knocking off
----------------fives
----------------------in
-------------------------diagonal
-----------------------------------clashes

------------------------------------------------------------where
-----------------------------------------------'number' is a cluster of lines,
------------------------------------------------tying together, in bundles,
---------------------------------------------life's trivialities and imperatives,
-----------------------------------------in somewhat manageable cohesiveness!


PS
200th post this one (:)).
This space has been a life sustainer, quietly absorbing smaller stories of me and fusing them into something like a unified whole. Sentimental as it might sound, its been a lot about self discovery through a plethora of emotions - Obscurity Perplexity Absurdity Formidability Tenacity Complexity Juvenility Insecurity Passivity Circularity Eventuality and a range of inspirations. I can almost re-live each incident that happened to me as I re-read each post :).

So 200, I think propels some responsible conduct. Think I will have to organise the older posts now; will probably revisit each post and do the honours. Jogging down the memory lane maybe! :) :)

Finally, from something like two readers, we've seen quite a few visitors, some that started as regulars and drifted away, several who tested their patience and left (:)) and few who stayed and liked or criticised or looked around just for the heck of it :D...I've consulted, understood, sometimes given up on several...but, from my heart, thank you for sticking around, bearing with all the nonsense and witnessing my personal journey (or parts of it)!

PS - Jus happy! Cheers! :)

Contradictions!

My mind is an amalgam of round dots sticking
constantly,
constantly
moving around each other in cluster-less identities.

They swarm together making a flower,
at times,
at times,
they disintegrate into long lines.

They grow into strong conches,
largely,
largely
also, they shrink into tiny triangles.

They form overwhelming shapes
defiantly,
defiantly,
they bounce off too as lonely stars.

They are standing, right now, in rows, separately to
question,
question
marks, like millions of sickles, deep as thought, waiting to cut or to sharpen…or both, in unknown order!

PS - I waited till I saw the sun...dont know why I didnt come!

Suffering...

is also clawed.
And it has got pretty strong fists.

And these fists come down when
pain exceeds anger
sorrow exceeds fury
sickness exceeds wrath and
trials exceed verdicts;

so it circles about deathly hollows
over territories that witness sudden massacre
causing slow death,
like an eagle that is waiting to come down
to release it
....relieve it
off its beaten life!

PS - Are you lonesome tonight, do u miss me tonight!

Treachery

Perched on top of a withering tree branch,
it crows
whimsically,
discordantly,
...................as if hurling dark swear words
impudently,
...................with every sound it makes,
ironically,
...................onto those who’ve given it its shelter
...................and fostered its babies
...................with care and caution
...................as if it were their own;
...................it flies around chalking its own course of survival
...................pretending to be dark faced and silver hearted,
...................actually dark faced ‘darker’ hearted,
...................chanting mantras of righteousness and morality
...................which crows like it, buy and sell and celebrate, huddled in togetherness.

Their crafty-ness is a neat craft alright;
the problem is that it isolates and eliminates any form of melody that might have existed.

Selflessness...

"I need to walk around the park tonight...like a fairy watching the moonlight," she smiled, "with you, of course." She held out her hand.
He looked up at the sky, glanced down at the grass before finally fixing his line of sight, straight at her. "Okay!" he smiled...

Selfishness...

a misunderstood phenomenon-
wide eyes, yet blink-less,
straight gait, yet unsteady,
strong blue, yet overwhelmingly pale,
mercilessly killing, yet hungry,
charming persona, yet repulsive-

......selfishness
swarms onto character,
............like
........a...t...h...e
..........e.........r
.............f...s
- spreading over sight's farthest range -

of a peacock - harshly overpowering, haughtily overbearing,
yet utterly backless!

PS - This town is a love u town and a shove u town and a push u around town!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NxSRxwx581k

Trick...

Trickle Trickle
little star
I wonder how you’re what you are,
up above transactions sly
like a voiceless, soulless lie!

Charity!

I sat coyly feet together
on the back seat of the auto,
victorious,
having fought with the driver
to run by the fixed fare meter
unwilling to pay any extra…

‘You'll get what you’re allowed’, I had said,
‘Why’re you trying to cheat me instead?’

He had frowned at my language and agreed to my words.

As we approached the signal light,
beggars swarmed, holding the auto tight,
at a familiar clogged Bangalore road,
I was caught by eyes concealing stories untold.
I picked a bunch of coins from my bag
and pressing it on wet palms I said, ‘Go, don’t tag’

As they began retreating to their next window,
a young one came holding wet open palms from a pit,
I witnessed charity then, in real meaning and go,
when the autodriver, placed a Rs. 10 note, “Take it”!

Between the lines!

‘It’s just that things happen at the same time randomly,’ he said. 'I think you have a tendency to attach more meaning to things than there is. Shhhhh! Listen to the storm! It might carry “your” message?’ He ridiculed.

‘You don get it,' she said. ‘Look at anything around you. Say, this tea cup. Now tel me. Is there any reason why its here and not on say, that shelf? It’s part of a set of 6 cups, right? Why is THIS cup here?’ She shifted seats next to him and held him by the collar. ‘I know what you’ll say. “Randomness”.’ She let go as he blinked. ‘But every little object is then randomness. Why could it not be say, a ghost’s whims? Maybe this ghost is just picking its favourite cup and placing it here!’

‘Ah, now we have a new character!’ He exclaimed. ‘A ghost…well, perhaps, that’s wots gotten to u. A psychiatrist…is what u need, maybeeee!’

A gush of air entered the room. The storm had begun to tighten up. She picked up the broom to clean the place. Leaves were flowing in through the window. Dust too. Some random paper. Wait! Some random paper?

‘What is that!’ he looked. An empty piece of paper lay light on the floor. He picked it up and read aloud. ‘I am ink. This is me. You are the ink reader. This is you. Am I reading myself or are you reading me?’

‘Wow’ she exclaimed. ‘That’s some random response to randomness, alright...’ she prodded. ‘Hey, look,’ she screamed. Another piece of paper hung on the rope near the cupboard. He ran to grab it. ‘Read me aloud, for I think I need some rest.’

‘Are they interconnected?’ she asked. ‘And what’s that in your shirt pocket?' He opened another sheet of paper, shocked. ‘I’m ink on your paper. I’m reading you now. You say I’m scary. I say I’m just silent. Worry me not, Hurry me not. I know when to leave. :)’

He stared at her in utter disbelief. She turned away and laughed uncontrollably, albeit silently.

PS - Aashiko mey jiska title TITANIC! :D

Herds...

I saw
the silent particles floating in wind’s periphery,
and asked in questioning awe,
“What becomes of them when they find territory?”

They answered individually,
a million answers echoing on,
before Breeze blew out a brash blimey
“they’ll simply stick to what comes along!”

At the gates...

He sat on his throne-like seat -
toes of one leg meeting the thigh of another
and the thigh of the other resting on the cushion of its own falling calves -
listening to every one of them...

magicians in line, showing him tricks of appearance,
alongside
academicians, theorizing on every happening He created;
those in service, who said what they felt like, different things at different times,
businessmen, entrepreneurs, priests, writers, singers,
astronauts, astrologers and all such
vying for His hand,
struggling to impress,
with style, sound, signs and some kinda splendour.
He spoke suddenly after witnessing all offerings,
one palm signalling 'Stop',

................'Don't you know by now, having lived your lives, in such elation,
.................I know exactly what you can do,
.................I need no big efforts or any of this elaboration,
.................Its rather simple, this business of winning and woo,

.................run through the past, its known, its linked,
.................I'm a humourist', said he,
.................paused, sat back and winked -
.................'Just humour me!'

Trailing oneself...

They stroll about
familiar paths in the colourful garden
like lovers hand in hand,
oblivious of suspicious onlookers;
and then
they walk back stripped off their plain-ness,
in the direction of familiar trails of the wayward wind,
like feather-winged butterflies
shedding off
parts of the past
lined in shells of black skin
on
slow-moving caterpillars
racing against
their own future manifestations!

PS:
What am I to u? tell me darling true,
to me you are the sea, vast as you can be, deep the shade of blueeeeee!

Reading between radium!

What would one expect from the story of a despondent, ill-fated soldier ridiculed by his Captain, derided by his doctor and cheated on by his wife? A familiar, conventional interplay of emotions, one would imagine…

And then, the characters appear, disappear, arrange and re-arrange themselves with menacing speed and swiftness. In their black clothing and painted faces, they split, cut, assemble and spin their only prop namely, chairs, into a myriad forms - the radium-laden chair is a jigsaw of deadly weapons, a well set cage, an operating table, a tower and a window that daunting faces look out of – leaving the audience awestruck, overwhelmed and in complete disbelief!

Sadari Movement Laboratory's Korean adaptation of the play, Woyseck, was menacingly magical, placidly perfect and by a long distance, beyond the ordinary! No dialogues needed, no voiceovers required…this is theatre that’s truly international! Bravo!

PS -
First time - publishing of any form of writing, mine...:)
http://www.thehindu.com/todays-paper/tp-features/tp-metroplus/article3818504.ece

Stars...

Stars, walk down one by one, find themselves amid us and greet us in conversations;

they align themselves to five points
and ten points of view
like vertices and sides respectively,
respectfully,
they shimmer in spaces of sublimity
and shudder at saintly superficiality,
there's chatter and pitter-patter,
blinking and withdrawing in commotion,
soaked in idleness, a fundamental life constituent
and futility, a rejoicable commodity.

Stars descend onto earthly surfaces, in conversations that are delightfully pointless! :)

The Corner Stone!

The corner stone was white-tiled. The shape was a perfect ‘L’; of half a rectangle - length, a tad bit longer than twice the breadth. Dimensions are quite like that, queerly quaint or quaintly queer. They belie stories that would be, could be, succinctly, yet gracefully and embrace extensions, as effortlessly as they do, abrupt cuts. And then, there are the protrusions that pop up in the middle of their middles in strange shapes. The corner stone had none of that in its perfect white-tiled ‘L’.

Its imperfections manifested in arty yet artless splashes. Splashes that colored themselves a tad bit, just right. Slight beige. Slight amber. Slight jade. A mélange of sorts. And the corner stone was an unbiased canvas. It stood still in its lined pedestal watching its acknowledgements. It allowed everything. And it allowed everyone without protest - the auto rickshaw wala who smirked without reason, the university student who always looked at the sky, the adjoining theater watchman who was forever in haste, the sunglass-ed bike rider who either sang or hummed a tune, the car wala who always loosened his tie and the gay-ish steady walker who drew his breath a minute before he began.

But it did scrape off small chips of itself at night, powdering itself into heaps of inconsequentials - each time it saw the street beggar bring in his collections, each time it witnessed his meal around its pungent self, and, each time it looked on as he spread his wet blanket a few yards away to rest in the sleeplessness of the night.

Nonetheless, the corner stone stood straight, ah, that same perfect white-tiled ‘L’, slowly scraping off, by the night, those parts that some colors would manage to hide, the next day.

PS - In protest against urinating in public!

Stains on the seat...

hear me out-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
call me in-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
ask me once before you take charge,---------------------------------------------------------------------
will you?-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

-------------------------------------------sign up for something--------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------line in for kneeding----------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------cleanse you, cleanse me slowly,---------------------------------
-------------------------------------------will you?--------------------------------------------------------


-------------tie long threads of red------------------------------------------------------------------------
-------------try layers of crimson & maroon---------------------------------------------------------
-------------settle down neatly in the sheath below,-------------------------------------------------------
-------------will you?-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

---------------------------------------------------------------------watch your space, whats allowed-----
---------------------------------------------------------------------wire your explosives, just winnow,----
---------------------------------------------------------------------bleed not like a directionless stream,---
---------------------------------------------------------------------will you?------------------------------

----------------------------limit your horizons, grease your traction---------------------------------------
----------------------------just stay within linear dimentions,----------------------------------------------
----------------------------make atonement for your monthly sins,----------------------------------------
----------------------------stain me not, anymore, will you?----------------------------------------------

PS - Dil-e-nadaan tujhe hua kya hai? Aakhir iss dard ki dawa kya hai?

Two sides!

Six years each, on either side of tinted car glasses,
I saw
a pink frocked grey eyed on the other side of a grey frocked pink eyed
at the Indiranagar traffic signal today;
fastidious seater, fastened seatbelt,
peeked curiously at the 'India-flag' bearer, seller,
as we peak in the glory of independence!

PS:
Apologies on sounding thisss negative...despite the clutches of our capitalistic (largely) set up, we have come a long long way since 1947 setting some unbelievable benchmarks...fundamentals of 'freedom', I guess we've been legally guaranteed...humbly acknowledge that!

Throwing up!

I stepped on the line-like pedestal,
foot in my mouth,
and asked, my question collossal,
disturbed, looking south.

"What is right to do
is what is right, sometimes right?
for he is who
oscillates, together, sees black, sees light!

Like perfection, he strings together
concepts hither-tither,
fantasy-like, unattainable,
I cant talk, he's undisputable."

They answered in many a tune,
Made me seem like a goner, a lune-

"Seek purpose, but not too loud, maybe in silence,
Try logic, try focus, hey, be humble, not that intense,"
"It maybe price", they said, "but careful, it may not be penny",
and I heard them all, fully, their words very many.

Confused, I walked into the kitchen,
common cold notwithstanding,
I washed and scrubbed vessels, with precision,
amid clashes, tangles and all the tinkering.

Yes, there came a time when it felt
like i wouldnt survive,
you know, the skin withers, smiles melt,
fingers shrink from 10 to 8 to 5,

and then I chalked out the master plan,
peeled out disturbance like a layer-sun-tan,
I plugged in earphones, in my ears two,
and blew out the irritants in my nostrils, "Aachhhhhooooo!"

PS - Excuse me! :)

Magic River!

is that water body,
mirror-like but wavy, that
reflects
your real image
when you peek into it.

It takes an x-ray of your system
and displays each detail
that was,
that is,
that will be -

tongue to toe,
head to heel,
veins to knuckles-
and engulfs into its waterly-ness

rolling pearls that would, otherwise, gather more dust!

PS -
Tu apne dil ke jawaa dhadkano ko gin ke bata
Teri tarah mera dil, beqarar hai ki nahi!

7

...rounds I take
of the installed You,
and with each circle,
you strip off patches of mirth
stuck around my body
in circuitous layers
gathered over the 7 days of the week,
weakening knees
slyly shaking from seeping fatigue;
and you wrap around me
7 layers of bandage
that you will take off
next Saturday!

PS -
arziyaan saari main, chehre pe likh ke laaya hoon
tumse kya maangu main, tum khud hi samjah lo...

The Name Plate!

He awaited the name plate. For 2 months now. And he would peek at the blank surface that hung low at her desk.

She spoke to no one. And no one spoke to her. She followed a fixed path every single day. The office entrance to her seat, in the morning, two three visits to the boss’s cabin, the stout Bengali Mr. Das, then, back again at the seat of namelessness. He never saw her move otherwise. She never seemed to eat, perhaps never visited anybody and never needed a coffee break. Almost impossible. Yeah, she was that. As impossible as the red rose she wore, pinned on the braids of her hair. That was the only ugly side of her.

He saw her submerged in her files. 20th century’s only office, this one, where paperlessness was still a long shot. But that did not seem to bother her. Technology is a complicated thing, sometimes. It conceals layers of information at times and brings to fore, several concealable substances. It enlightens, embarrasses, expands and encroaches, and manages to juxtapose each feature erroneously, with ease.

So it was okay to be in a techno-less space. He had reconciled. It was okay to not be able to check her coordinates online. It was okay to wait for that vendor who had taken down ‘the name to print’, a few days back. It was all okay.

What was not okay was that she wasn’t seen at work in the last one week. Some intrigue that caused. Legitimate. But that could be because this was vacation season. Das was also on vacation. Maybe that’s why! He wanted to ask somebody.

Who would know? Miss Dixit? She would have the list of names. But how should I ask? Would I have to make up some reason? Lemme wait for another day…or should I…

He walked to the pantry. Some coffee would help. He poured something into his glass. 2012 Olympics played on the television. Romanian gymnast. Slender, swift, flexible, very difficult feats, perfect landing. But oh! not the best score. Why not? He wondered as he gulped down the dark concoction. The jury is always biased! He threw the empty paper glass and returned.

“Ashish Sharma”. The nameplate stared at him.

He walked fast to Miss Dixit. “Ma’am, the name-board at workstation 22…there…there seems to be some error…'Ashish Sharma' it reads…and the girl is on leave…you should probably notify the vendor.”

“Workstation 22. Yeah, we have a new hire, Ashish Sharma.” Miss Dixit was irritated. “What girl are you talking about?”

“Arey, madam, woh Mr. Das ke saath kaam karti thi na? White face…brown eyes…roz badi badi files ke saath baitthi thi…”

“Mr. Das?” she suddenly stood up. “Hello, who toh 2 mahine se nahi hai yahaan…kya Mazak hai ye?”

“Achcha? Haan ho sakta hai. He must be at the site. I haven’t seen him either.”

Miss Dixit was vexed now. “Das passed away 2 months back…Is this some kind of a joke? Please leave.” She sat firmly back on the chair and turned away from him.

He walked back numb. Absolute nothingness, feelinglessness. Past the cubicle. Past the heap of files. Past the red rose that lay on her desk.

Past the new, complete, nameplate.

Blowing Bubbles!

It was pouring that evening.

Small droplets seemed to run into each other every now and then quite unconsciously to make bigger water-balls. Just like him and her. They saw each other almost every day, at the bus stop. Past the sun, past the clouds, past showers of rain, past storms of wind and breeze.

He stood on one side facing her and she stood on the other hiding from 'facing' him. As always. And there were the bubble vendors, the soap bubble vendors who filled the air between them, the road between them with their bubbles.

But that evening was a little different. She wasn’t on the other side, really.

She was crossing the road, step by step, dodging drop by drop, spurts of moist mud from vehicles that flung past her, somewhat unsurely. He looked on, startled, puzzled, confused, all at once trying to shift attention from the uncontrollably expanding grin on his face to the hurriedly advancing pink umbrella.

“Pink?” he thought. “Is that even a color?"

He looked right, he looked left, he looked down and he looked straight again.
Pace differential…some feeling of suspension!
He thought. He tried to. He felt he couldn’t. He tried nonetheless. Relentless.

Vehicle speeds
collided
with walking pace
and chided
air
flapping around
trapped in rain bubbles!

She dodged those bubbles with small steps and traversed the moving car-bodies with steady patience.

And she ran past every missile, bullet and war cartilage to reach the shore. Her gaze, firmed up to the blue Santro parked a few meters away from him. And she followed her gaze, walking past him, not shifting away even briefly until she reached the door.

She clasped the handle…and then suddenly, unclasped her hand.

She turned back. And she walked towards him. For the first time, she saw him as he saw her. For once, under that pink shelter. He looked away. Something had caught him by the throat and he needed to fight that beast in peace.

“Excuse me”, she called out not allowing him anymore silence . “Kodai venuma?” she dished out the umbrella. “For today?”


*Tamil: kodai = umbrella,  venuma = want

Disgust

...is a pig's skin covered in the filth of the road
smelling like a ball of rotten, spoilt perishables
flapping around shamelessly, remorselessly,
littering every single clean spot on its way.

...is gait, small steps, speed, earnestness,
fake in the the circuitous air,
that spins out shit and spins in normalcy for a long time
till deception dies of old age...

Yeah...disgust is that pig's real, bare, unwashed self!

Dizzy...

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz...
something's calling from somewhere;
in that land, with those folks,
is that a song i wonder,
jus a simple buzz of a tune,
a flat intonation that
doesnt need to dive into your lungs,
it can simply walk a pedestrian walk...

hmmm...
some songs are sung like that
zzzzzzzzzzzzzz...

Silent Whispers!

It was always a tidy place. Yet, she would go about with her cleaning every single Sunday. She would fold his clothes, neatly, mindful of their already acquired creases and keep them back in the same place, same position before he woke up.

“So you’re busy again”, he yawned. “Ho gaya sab kuch, aaj ke liye?”

She smiled without an answer. Some words dilute themselves in the warmth of the saliva; some others extend themselves to restless tongues and get dissolved; she liked them receding back earlier, from the throat itself, back into the place they began. Words could churn themselves again and come back with a better offering, right?

“Breakfast mey kya khaoon?” he brooded. “I know what you’ll say…Toast sandwich…Bombay style”, he chuckled. “But it’s not fair, you know…I can’t make khana everyday yaar he got up from the bed and walked to her. “Bahut bore hota hoon”.

She always found most of what he said amusing…and very endearing...especially his articulation of serious things. She laughed and winked, resting her elbows on the edges of the cupboard planks and resting one side of her head on her knuckles looking straight at him.

“Very difficult ok all this”, he went on. “Main abhi bol raha hoon, I can manage this for a few days, theek hai, just a few days ok…and its not like I deserve to do it either no…I dont think anyone has any complaints with me…tujhe bhi toh itna tang nahi kiya hai…haan, a lil bit, yes, but by and large, not really right?” he stopped. "Definitely not tumhare jitna".

She didn’t stop smiling. She couldn't. Standing at the washroom door now, she signaled towards the lonesome toothbrush. It stood alone alongside some toothpaste. “Uff” he sighed and picked it up. He brushed his teeth as she looked on.

He knew she secretly checked if he was brushing alright. He knew she secretly timed him. He knew she secretly watched him. He knew she secretly kissed him every night after he fell asleep. He knew she secretly mothered their child. He knew she secretly wished for a lifetime together. He knew she secretly loved him to pieces. He knew she secretly yelped that night before she was rushed to the hospital. He knew she secretly knew she would be gone.

He knew now everything she secretly did.

“Men are suckers no?” he asked as he washed his mouth and showed her his teeth. She smiled the smile that had never ceased. He wiped his face dry. “They just can’t cook well enough!”

Settle...

"I look like an eraser",
bubble gum said,
"harmless warrior, sitting right there,
fightlessly defeated,
Why would you not simply let me be
leave me on the table with cup and tea?

Why take me inside you,
your strange contours of first intimacy
tasting walls of saliva-condue
with convincing simile?"

"Thats just a prelude, dear u", they replied,
"You gotta figure out your dimensions, go long and wide,
We temper our temper, alright,
through you we offload our spite!"

"I'm lucky", it said, "I'll cleanse you slow,
You get me fast, you get me neat, you get me low,
I'll learn, mould my contours, for when I'm alone and subdued,
You'll spit me out, when there's food you cant refuse,

Thats when I'll find my way,
even in my being, diffused,
I'll stick to my new surface forever,
no fears anymore, I cant be reused!"

Vacuum-ing!

Spluttering droplets
squeeze themselves off cotton clouds
and splash across bare surfaces
collecting together in strange shaped puddles
on loaded bodies of human existance;

some land on the crevices of the head dissolving in salinity,
some trickle down the forehead in uncharted trajectories
taking along straining thoughts,
down the nose,
past your cheeks,
denting necks,
cracking chests,
splitting intestines,
scraping ovaries,
meandering down strangely long legs
throwing themselves off your toes -

cleansing...you...free...of...yourself

 - strangely,
in rain,
I found the washerman!

Who...

...are you,
I ask.

Are you
what you say you are
who you say you are
what you do you say you do
or do you do just what
he does
she does
they do
I do...

when i cut things of mine and shed them off
you pick them up and wrap them around you
you take my skin, i take yours,
chips unknown, unwanted, undefined...

...are you, just me?
...am I, just you?

The 'Bajji' Seller!

She takes each vegetable to be cut,
as keenly as words 'for order' from hungry customers,
behind the glass laden push-cart
on a narrow footpath in some narrow by-lane,
and lists quickly,
an iterinary of items to bill,
in the mini-cells of her excel-sheet-less mind
that wanders between its calculations,

onto faces of
women like her
who -
walk down the street
clad in uneventful mind-clothing,
staring questioningly at their 'friends',
yelping in pain and anger or
howling in happiness and laughter -

blaring voices in glaring flames of individuality and independence,
unlike her
and her error prone but mandated-error-less math,

standing next to her husband's brown palms, a few inches away from the piping hot oil,
that takes each vegetable she cuts
as keenly as she does words for order from hungry customers!

Loops...

5 circles
10 spins
100 directions
1000 dimentions
10000 thought dispositions

discrete, distinct, divergent

1 magic wand
1 magic mantra
circles in circles
olympic ring-ish

1 loop
...and...loopy! :)

Washerman!

When
the smell 'on' the clothes I wore today
sticks its neck out,
unscrubb-able by my palms, uncleanse-able by the strength of my arms,
and transcends
the transient lobes of air that otherwise recycle themselves every 8 seconds,
I seek
the washerman!

streetlightless

softlinestreadingdimentionlessspace.fuellingthoughtsfromdarknesss.
somewhere.withinsomethingthatisyou.
growingdimentionlesslyvigourouslyparallelly.unplannedundecidedundone.
youswayyouwadeyousearchyoubendyoulook.
youcovermoreareawhenyoutaketheroadthatisstreetlightless.

Universal Algorithms!

“I haven’t seen such a phenomenon before…EVER…” he bawled.
They walked past the waiting bay en route to the 11th floor and stood waiting for the lift. “I mean…mood swings like an ever oscillating pendulum…which, by the way, has no fixed trajectory…or timing…or direction…absolute, complete unpredictability and you don’t know when it’s gonna all come down on you without reason…though ‘apparently’ its meant to have some method somewhere…!”
He pressed the ‘Up’ button again in anguish. “You stand waiting and waiting…” he went on, “and she shows up with her own rules…have you heard of any such thing before?...I mean in this life or the last? Ever???” he was wailing now.
She looked collectedly at his unkempt, frizzy hair, lowering her glance onto his forehead, trying to see through its calm dimensions.
“I guess I have”, she said thoughtfully, pointing her palms at the wall before them, “Elevator Mechanics!” she chuckled causing him to chuckle back! :)

Touch...

...breeze...
cheeks sticking out,
from lowered panes of the locomotive,
intense background score playing,
sucking in life,
absorbing each ounce of breath,
in each shakespearean ounce of flesh,
from you and me
and
scattering it all around like stars from cinematic magic wands
that appear
then disappear
between u and me
and me and you...

...boundary-less-ness...
engulfing all the day's fatigue,
from air that comes into air that goes
as we appear
then disappear
between earth and dream,
touch and feel...

...being...
in mere gazes
in lowered eyelids
in gleamy smiles
and simple steady levitating silence! :)

PS:
Kahin se kahin ko bhi aao bewajah chale,
Poochhe bina kisi se, hum milen,
Bandishen na rahi, koi baaki, tum ho...
Tum ho paas mere, saath mere ho
Tum yoooooon... :)

An interview...

I run on wheels,
I claimed, cheerfully,
running thoughts in my head running faster than ever

but they looked at my 10-toed feet and seemed disappointed!

Togetherness?

I touch you like I would touch water,
sitting calm on hardened sand,
and you slither away
from me in expanding ripples, one after one after one...

you engulf me
quietly, into you,
silently retreating from yourself,
and I become you, retreating
away
with you!

Whoosh!

I whisked past the starry night
a whimsical cat, I was
scurrying watchfully, eyes wide open,
all jaws and claws,
I made music outa whine,
an endless song from whistle,
my voice sprung up and sizzled,
whipping peaceful air into
a whirlpool of wobbly words that stuck to each other so firm,
they lost term,

they became vegetation -
whistling weeds -
from trance they came into trance they went

whisking me along,
silently, carefully, closed eyes, closed palms,
praying in the silence of my whistle, so long...

I swayed, I chiselled
Wide winged in winglessness, I sprung,

Weesh, Washhh, Whoosh -
I think I wish-elled!

Gravity!

It’s a small world,
I was taught.
I took that thought
and filled each crack in my muscles –
those breaks from
Tall buildings
Tall claims
Tall charges
Tall order –
so small in call,
jump off to fall

through seamless space
down from the very same lofty heights
in the same old tiny transparent world

driven by gravity!

Sound...

Trickling drops of rain,
from roofless identities
dropping like chunky fruits,
onto roofs above intense conversations,
make sound.

Wailings of four legged animals
on poor human roads
through poor inhuman actions
resonating like echoes around deep valleys,
make sound.

Smiles across faces,
when eyes reach eyes, catch, drop and swing again,
amid crowds of high pitched talk,
shaving noise from human faces,
make sound.

Lectures around
what should be
destroying
what could be,
lining onto thought like growing cracks in glass,
make sound.

Anticipation of days ahead,
juggle thoughts like Richard Feynmann's 'jiggling atoms',
whipping batters of thick concentration
before meeting the heat of the pan,
makes sound.

Death,
that makes news,
and condenses past rounds of serious music,
synopsizing a lifetime into few songs
of fame and shame,
kills sound!

PS - Resounding lines:
apne jazbaat mein naghmaat rachaane ke liye
maine dhadkan ki tarah dil mein basaaya hai tujhe
main tasavvur bhi judaai ka bhala kaise karoon
maine kismat ki lakeeron se churaaya hai tujhe!

Small talk!

The watch flashed "9 pm" as she wiggled past intercepted lines of men staring at her. She assumed the obvious but they found intrigue in her haste. Hurriedly, she climbed into the rugged bus that stood lazily in the corner with its eyes closed.

He found her entry inside very very noisy. From seat number 2, he looked back swiftly, then turned to his immediate right. That was the only empty seat of the bus.

She parked herself there, very carefully, leaving some two inches of space between him and her, struggling with getting her whole somewhat fully inside. He shifted and made more space for her to come in, adjusted his bag, placed his ware on it and continued with what he was doing.

He read and she read.

She examined the book he had on his lap; there were math equations, some blanks hungry for completion and some smudged white spaces angry with tough scribbling. He looked at her palms. They housed an 18th century novel from where words travelled in linear paths through her spectacles, through those brown tinted, blinking eyes into shapeless veins that stretched and strained, throbbing rhythmically.

What are you studying so intently? The right slant in the letters you've scribbled, does that show the neatness of your thoughts? Why do those letters cling on to one another? Those nails, a gentle shade of yellow - why have you cut them so deep, so angrily? Isn't the shaky bus disturbing your concentration? Do you need more space to sit comfortably? Did I unnecessarily disturb you?

Why were you in such a rush when you came in? Where are you travelling to? Isnt it too late to travel alone? Are you comfortably seated? How easy is it reading font that size? How do you manage that speed, 2 pages per minute? Seems like an engaging book, how is it?

Vrooom vroom, the bus was speeding now; clock! The lights were suddenly turned off!

He shut the book angrily, whimpered in his seat, annoyed, and looked straight at the driver as if waiting for some action. Through the edge of his eye he saw her look away, out of the window, as gentle breeze forced her eyes abruptly shut. He sank back into his area and closed his eyes. She waited for a minute to confirm absolute inaction, slipped the book back into her bag and brought out a plastic bag that housed an aloo bun.

She opened it gently and ate softly.

Restlessness...

grows deformed
from mirthless sharp gazes
to
errands of unpredictable blinks
as if waiting secretly
like a bear for prey
to unsettle
perplexity in a harmless man.

Restlessness rests quietly in some remote pit of the tummy
but jumps in mutiny when you've swallowed too much too soon
without chewing hard enough!

Music & Lyrics!

"Five", she shrieked, her eyebrows swiftly raised as if to clear even traces of any obstructions the eyes might encounter in flashing their light bulb like presence.
"Just?" he smirked. "You jest?"
"No-o", she sang in some melody-tone. Her voice was his favourite music and its up-down intonations - not always in perfect sur but always appealing in its unique imperfect throw - were a manifestation of some clamber that perfectly planted strings in her, made. They were loose when she was lazy, tight when she was high-spirited, rugged when she expressed frustration and sharp enough to cut when she was angry.
"Five's a good number na...it gives you two, gives me two and gives us both the room to fight over the last one", she sang again, this time more convincingly than her usual times; victoriously, coz she managed to voice some logic despite possessing zilch reasoning capabilities.
He was stronger at thinking, or so he thought. "Well", he looked up at the empty ceiling conjuring up thoughts of how it might be if the roof was the floor and the floor was the roof. Would we be lying down next to a fan? Maybe yearning for the bed above? He abandoned the thought murkily. "Why not three?" he asked "That would give us one each and one for everything else!"
"Nah...too much time to spare", she sang again, all low notes this time around. "We've got what, another 30 years? Thats like 30/3...10 years per unit?...Too much micro-management ho jayega...Five, I like."
"Arre, count in my time too...I'll take away enough of it..." he ran his fingers over her thick, black hair "you've gotta factor me in no?...no choice" he smiled.
"Hmmm...okay...", she turned around and faced him, her palms, one over the other on his chest and her chin resting on the little hillock, the joints of her fingers made. " But still...I like five" she stopped reasoning. Why say why when you know and I know?
"Lets change the topic no...you've lost your wit abhi", he quipped lazily. "Chalo, actually lets take a nap."
Something agitated her. "Nahi, five kids...thats it", she sat up, looked around and got outa the bed. "I don like you", she resorted to her usual last resort.
"Hmmmmmmm!"
She walked around to the other side of the bed.
He strained his arm, caught her by her wrist - that tiny bone of a thing that she never managed to unlock from his clasp. She fought harder this time and reached the valleys of his armpit. "Ouch", he yelped and let go as she walked towards the door.
"Ayeeee", he found his tune this time and held on till she turned around. He persisted under the very same breath, in the same concoction of air that lingered around melodiously; he turned around to face her in his straight, sharp, unidirectional gaze and quaintly added the much-needed lyrics -
"Are you sure?" he winked impishly!

May Be...

This is a world of yellow pages.

Wandering souls wade across wandering thoughts in wandering lands
wondering
where they could stay in peace
forever.

Strong willed identifiables place bets on where what could move
like
-how what might grow and to what
-what troups could win in world's matches and when
-when the undefeatables would crash and where
-where wandering souls could stay in peace
  forever.

For ever
is actually a may Be,
Almost like a contrl+F and Replace function
(where letter 'case' matters)
in this world of yellow pages
where wandering souls could stay in peace
maybe?
where wandering souls
may Be!

Solitude...

yawns in the calm of the night's whisky like blanket,
gentle yet brisk,
steady yet wavy
like the curve of the crescent moon,
a smiley,
with rough edges and benign stature...

it swims at times,
actionlessly,
as meaninglessly as in sincerity,
as distinctly as in 'situation's' perplexing dichotomy,
as pristinely as in hurried devotion,
as eerily as in thought's piercing gaze...

like a white swan in some waterland,
where movement is stillness in motion...

The Midnight and The Masala!

I made a silly pitch, seriously this night,
when Mary Midnight came to me and picked a fight,
"Oh, useless!" she yelled, "where's the regular jazz and jive?"
"Whats this silly powerpoint? you really need a life!"
I sat like a lost, hopeless creature and made a face,
"I need two square meals, no? Sigh, I rest my case!"

"Oh yes you do!" she mocked and scoffed,
"Do you eat them well at least? go detox!"
"From a crazy foodie (at least oily food!) and a mad food craver,
today, you think of work and only beaver,
get some health, eat some fresh fruit,
vent your misery, make it a conduit."

"Alright" I sighed and tip toed here and there,
half dreamy, half dead, finding pace but ill prepared,
But I came and sat with twinking eyes,
and opened the bag of chips, all calm and wise;
for 5min I chomped away with Masala as good company,
and ignored Mary Midnight's yelling and noisy cacophony.

"Stop", I said finally, and broke open a tender coconut,
emptied its contents and resisted all "but, but, but",
"Midnight, my dear, I'm done for the day,
Its time for you to rest, so pl will you go away?
I'm an obedient lass, and as you insisted, I did jive,
Be happy no, I also jus managed to get some life!

Sit back and lets assess all stocks,
that was some ayyo, some cheek, some oily food and tender coconut on the rocks,
a good recipe, a great piece of writing,
with a finish, this nail biting?
I think I hit the nail right on the head,
by making each reader scream and want me beheaded,
But in my defense, all neat, strong and perfect,
Reader Madam and Sir, its 2.20 am! What did u expect???!!!"

PS - Dont kill me pl...kinda needed my quota of cheap thrills for the day...err night...err  past-night....tata and good night!!!

Like the good, olden days! :)

So it was back to watching tv at home after a long long time this weekend and I cant help but blog about the shows that kept me completely entertained and how (I was a pure, shudh couch potato for 2 days!):

1. DID Little Masters - we're back to talking about kids...now the moot question is - exactly what do i say???!!! Those dance moves, that flexibility, those unbelievable expressions and the sheer cheek in the answers...I mean wot're they made of...I always told u - the kids of today are crazy crazy smart...(sigh!) (scared!)...But the show's brilliant and an absolute treat for sore eyes! :)

2. Jo jeeta wohi superstar - this is like a music (singing) show where I think winners from the old reality music shows compete. But the episodes I watched had like (a) some'raaga' based theme and (b) a devotional special theme...very very nice...reconnected with some old tracks (satyam shivam sundaram) and relived some new age numbers (kun faya kun) all brilliantly sung.

3. Gadget Guru - I'm not a gadget freak n all but I like this show coz it talks simple, basic stuff that even I can understand. Add to it, the fact that I'm kinda a big fan of Mr. Chandra (think I was tongue tied and overawed the first time I saw him live...yesss I did see him live...like onceee :)), I really liked this episode on ultra books n all...not that I'll buy one but well thats just the illogical/ignorant consumer in me; I generally don buy stuff thats got anything to do with technology, I leverage my connections, what're they for !

4. Highway on my plate - one of the few things thats being talked about on this blog for the second time. Rocky and Mayur, these guys are simply simply awesome! The show covered eateries in Pune this time and I, as usual, was left hungry :(...but watching my favourite channel of all time and my fav fav show again after sooooo long - wow - that was a goooood feeling!

All in all, fantastic stuff...ate a lot...lazed around a lot...did lotsa other nonsense also...so happy happy and content with the weekend that was! Hope you guys had fun too! :)

Love!

Is a firefly in the garden and its pitch dark.

It treads the uneven path and glows in undreamy parts.
It connects what you can see with what you cant and fixes what you want from what you have.
It wades around with tenacity and strength with fears none and dears all.

With that small stream of light, it discovers,
its world
within the world
and makes a small home in some dark, cozy corner.

Yes...love is that firefly in that garden where its pitch dark!

PS -
Hulchul hui, zara shor hua, dil chor hua, teri orr hua,
Aisi chale jab hawa, ishq hua re hua!

The Temple Bell!

Up some twenty steps,
a humble pause, I take,
and there,
before the centripetal force,

O bell, you dawn,

standing like a robust curvature,
secreting within you millions and millions of chords -

ailing patients' near-n-dear ones,
cupid-struck-lost-eyed dejects,
strong-willed-meditators,
the meek-surenderrers,
thieves-who-share, theives-who-confess,
the happy celebrators,
the frustrated rejects,
the aimless for the sheer experience of being there,
conformists as part of their routine,
rebels out of contempt,
dreamers with serious hope;

misters, sirs, bosses, mesdames, mistresses, nobodys and un-namables -

you hear them all alike, take their sounds, wrap them around you and beat yourself to a homogeneous dong...dongs...millions of dongs...swallowing each individual song...one by one...

we hang in there too, just like you do!

Madness...

is a furious bull let loose into the arena
where bull fights are excitedly witnessed.

Its a scene for the masses,
a passtime for the aristocratic
and plain shame for the bourgeois.

Sometimes,
there are those peculiar ones
- in some intersection, right above -
that soak/seep into the psyche of this style,
looking closely through the lumbering lion-like lines,
riding and revelling in each of its riveting 'rage' repulses,
burning and blistering in the breathlessness of each offensive bout.

Madness, to some, is life's fiery bull and to some others, just serious bull!

Anxiety...

like a swarm of mosquitos,
in groups of ten somethings
in ugly tempo travellers stuck
in un-retreat-able traffic jams
on rainy evenings,

perches gently onto the valleys/crescents of your body
and tests blood as the nearby doctor would with his syringe,
sucking in thin lines
the liquids sustaining your insides;

and as you frantically try saving yourself,
it spirals its way collectively around to
some other side of you,
oblivious to you,

enters your skull
and sits around it like Damien Hirst's diamonds
before powdering the crust,
making heaps of pure dust
that struggle for space, settle and accumulate
slowly overgrowing the environs of a tiny cerebrum!

Anger...

Screams like a widowed animal,
crying for a second chance;
driving spurts of sudden blood
up
__the spine,
d
o
w
n
the navel,
across each curve of the intestine,
as if tonnes and tonnes of explosives
in a ventless enclosure
have suddenly caught fire
and are tearing down
each particle around their persistent vicinity,
ruthlessly,
mercilessly,
remorselessly,
one by one, two by two, hundreds by hundreds,
with each passing moment,
fast, steady, focussed, cogent,
in pain, worry, hunger, betrayal, embarrassment, shame, distress,

crushing

the cravical bone, its thereabouts
strongly, firmly, gruffly,

as hands shiver, feet paddle and body runs completely dry.

Fury is nokia's snake (game) that kills prey, grows big and eats itself!

Question...

the obvious and question the obvious question.

Coz that question may be a question
mark
that marks
a whole clean form
and
beginnings of a new era
unpleasant viscera
cautious opera...

highs and lows
from notes of pain and pure pleasure
pure pain and pleasure
pressure

question
the thought that questions... 

Sty...

Around flickering layers of coarse skin,
sleepy eylashes blink,
meeting their counterparts from across the shore
containing between their union,
a world of what is seen and what is not in what is real and what is not,
from a dream that could be what it could be or what it could not.

This night,
I gotta sty
on my right eye
that leaves me dry
from questions - how and why
as I adjust and lie
to strictly defy
for passers by
that its you and I, you and I, just you and I!

Familiarity...

Is a by-lane in Basavanagudi

and it flows like a silent river touching many many surfaces of hard cushions
like one long white sari
taking its many many colours from activity during the day.

It jogs, emits light, exudes fragrance, dances and performs jigs
bare bodied
under
bare skies

where once there was
a doddaganesha temple, a thindi beedhi,
the perrenial fragrance of camphor and mallige hoovu,
saturday evenings at shanimahatma temple and yellu offerings into the fire,
the church and white candles,
a less visited classroom, unfamiliar lectures, exam tension,

Vidhyarthibhavan, Subbamma stores and chatni pudi,
Pobbathi, saree cheeti, pink frocks, later, 'ready-made' blouses,

a silver activa, a red 'Identity' jacket, dripping rain on the helmet's glass

and some girl,
dreamy eyed,
apprehensive,
going with the flow,
with a prayer,
blindly trusting life's directions,
following the same road back home every single day.

Familiarity...
breeds connect!

Splits...

Signages on the windowpane
read a little louder, at times.

The glass on my window's got a clear background;
there're boxes of apartments
where
I can see together
- as if one were playing 10 channels at once on the television at once -
all discrete activity that goes on.

Flip flop to the mind's eye
and we're all in several discrete box-stories,
all at once,
playing different roles
as if each were
a full life.

And in each box of me,
there's someone like me

with his/her own boxes,
worlds which evolve,
adapt,
arrange and re-arrange as one would,
priority,
in one's multifarious existance

and i know
I'm just a box somewhere too,
on a slow southward-moving conveyer belt!

Retro...

I've grown up with retro Hindi tracks and as much as I enjoy English music today, the old melodies occupy a special place in some part of me.

The best thing about this music is its simplicity. From lyrics to tune to intonations, its all very pleasing, hassle free with zero complications; and so, it hits the gut directly without any brain filters!

Some of my favourite songs of all time include the following (specifically note the directness and simplicity of love/expression of love):

15. Bekarar karke hame yoon na jaayiye, aapko humari kasam laut aayiye...(pl don go...jus stay!)

14. Suhaani raat dhal chuki, na jaane tum kab aaoge...hawa bhi rukh badal chukiiiiiii, na jaane tum kab aaoge (doesnt it always seem like this? :P )

13. Dukhi mann mere, sunn mera kehna...jahaan nahi chaina, wahaan nahin rehna...(kinda difficult to implement though...)

12. Khoya khoya chaand, khula aasmaan...aankhon mey saari raat jayegi...tumko bhi kaise neend aayegi...( :) )

11. Saamne ye kaun aaya, dil mey hui hulchul, dekhke bas ek hi jhalak ho gaye hum paagal (havent come across a more honest depiction of a crush)

10. Aane wala pal, jaane wala hai, ho sake toh isme zindagi bitado, pal jo ye jaane wala hai (Love this movie as well; Golmaal....and its rich humour with zero slapstick and cheezy stuff...cant remember anything like this today)

9. Tum bin, jau kahaan, ke duniya mey aake, kuch na phir chaaha kabhi, tumko chaaha ke (How do I live without u? Simple, bare verse :))

8. Pal pal dil ke paas, tum rehti ho (I like the tune better than the lyrics...)

7. Roop tera mastana, pyaar mera deewana, bhool koi humse na ho jaaye (lol...candid confessions with some strong reasoning...esp when it continues with raat nasheeli mast sama hai, aaj nashe mey saara jahaan hai...)

6. Wo hai zara khafa khafa toh nain yoon churaye hai...(I love this one actually...the tune reminds me of Elvis' "Fever", but the fact that its a making-up-after-a-fight song kinda makes it super endearing)

5. Bade achche lagte hain, ye dharti, ye nadiyaan, ye raina...aur tum...(All's good when you're around...and in love...whatay simple thought)

4. Pyaar hua ikraar hua hai, pyaar se phir kyun darta hai dil....kehta hai dil rasta mushkil maloom nahi hai kahaan manzil...(it happens dono how dono where it would lead to...right?)

3. Tere mere sapne, ab ek rang hai...ho jahaan bhi le jaaye rahe, hum sangg hai (through thick and thin...especially through the thin...:) )

2. Pyaar maanga hai tumhi sey, na inkaar karo...paas baitho zara toh ikraar karo...(soooo simple "come, sit next to me"...awesome...:) )

1. Tum aa gaye ho, noor aa gaya hai...nahin toh charaagon se lau jaa rahi thi (my fav fav song...jeene ki tum se wajah mil gayi hai, badi bewajah zindagiiiii ja rahi thi...the reason for existance...)

Loved re-connecting with loads of these songs today...thank god for youtube :)

PS - Cant skip mentioning some other v v special songs...personal incidents associated here...:
a. Pukaarta chala hoon main (Can remember dad singing this when i was a kid :)...sang brilliantly :))
b. Hai apna dil, toh aawara, na jaane kis pe aayega (Very special song... the first song i sang on stage...second standard i think...a guy song by a girl...was funny :D )
c. Laaga chunri mey daag, chupaoon kaise (Granpa's favourite...ask me about this when you talk to me next :) )
d. Tujhse naaraz nahin zindagi hairan hoon main (Shekhar Kapur...Maasoom...think i cried when i heard this first...and yeah, with Masoom, I kinda found the special - Shekhar Kapur :P )
e. Rangeela Re, tere rang mey yoon ranga hai, mera mann (My dad's always hated this song i dono why and he hates MY singing this even more...so I like it...cheap thrills :D)

Good things...

are like a mirage...

they stare back at you
as you near them.

Sometimes,
they're like elephant traps
that exploit your stupidity
and watch as you fall into a bottomless pit.

Thank god for death,
there's hope for some escape!

She...

squats on her knees,
folds her legs at times
on the passenger crossing ‘sky-walk’
near Manipal Hospital
which I take to cross the road on busy mornings.

And as I crib to myself for the day -
full of silly number matching and nonsensical calls on how to split the very same silly numbers -
that God gives me,

she sits there every single morning,
her white hair strewn all over her forehead, ears and neck,
with moist eyes,
a shapeless mouth that she uses to speak to herself
and
ears awaiting the sound of each dong that little coins would make on contact with the floor before her.

I saw her weeping today, her grandson sitting next to her, consoling her,
as she grabbed the six little coins that I slipped into her coarse palms;
she looked at me, tears in her eyes,
trying as hard as she could
to stretch her shapeless lips to a U, that they could never attain…

I froze,
stopped,
looked away
and
ran,
trying as hard as I could
to un-stretch the inverted U that streams from my eyes found easy to flow through…

Miscible!

"What's a soliloquy?" she asked, her eyes wide open like the mouth of a goldfish, hungry and restless.

"Its a talk, baby!" he reclined on the red sofa, "one that goes on and on, without any room for conversation". He sipped his coffee, "Can you imagine? One person...one voice...one topic...on and on and on...a looooong story...some hurried characters, jumping in and out...huh?"

"I wanna be in one of those, Gooodooo," she quipped. "And I want you to be next to me, in each little story in that story; we'll have a little house by the river, a small garden around it where I'll grow my roses - white, yellow, pink...red...I'll look at their leaves and learn to love them...You keep the flowers and I'll keep the stalks...in any case, we're inseparable," she smiled!

"Inseparable?" he took his spectacles off. "One handsome boy will come riding on the horse, look you in your eye and hold you by your hand before mounting you on his new-age vehicle and taking you away".

His eyebrows twitched, "Will you give him your roses then? You should..." he said, "if you wont, then I sure will," he smiled, "coz he'll feel its fragrance right through his lungs, deep in his soul."

"So," he paused, "are we inseparable, my baby?" he leaned forward.

She thought for a second, "Daddy Goodooo" she screamed, "Whats my name?"

"Huh?" he shrugged.

"I am AG...you're the G in me," she nodded, "on a horse...or with him...or in my new garden...in this city...on the rooftop...in outerspace...I will always be a G no daddyyyy?..." she cleared her throat.

"Sooooooooo...its a never ending soliloquy..." she stood up, walked upto him and kissed him on his forehead, "we ARE inseparable...coz...i am you...understood?"

Dyslexia...

noun.  brain-based type of learning disability that specifically impairs a person's ability to read...occurs after a brain   injury or in the context of dementia

Crowds of processors
Clouds of speed smoke
Mornings of rushed hushes from A to B to C to...

to gray uptown patches in the roots of the scalp
where there's a land between all the hair,
roads with a white surface
shining after the shampoo like clean sand dry after showers of rain...

to somewhere inside, into the root of the root,
some brain cells mixing into some abnormal flesh,
juggling nonsense
perfectly normally
as if it were
from whipping a whole lot of sense

scents
sent
cents

scant

scarce
scare
scar

me
you
him
her
they

all
dyslexic!

PS - "One of these mornings you're gonna rise up singing...so hush little baby, dont you cry!"
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xJOtaWyEzaI&feature=related

Battle with Fire...

Tall
like your wind pipe if straightened and planted in the soil,
they flare up from somewhere inside
and in asymmetrical up-down movements,
they reach you –

like a snake’s fork-tongue
for a whisker touch,
a brush,
that can spread venom like tumour with light’s velocity…

heat ignites,
argues, screams, points its index finger, slaps,
                touches, kills, separates
reignites –
                   you and yours –
                                                 just firefighting…

Battles in Wind...

He came in the sharp cold and brought with him speed that uprooted trees
making each particle of miscellaneous matter dance in a spiral of togetherness
as if
some rakshasa was bellowing in deep sleep
and exhaling all negativity from the pit of his large stomach.

He shook each little soul standing in the market today including
clouds
below heaven
which succumbed to the unremorseful screaming of breath's fury
before being sqeezed of their contents.

In the AC's soundless breathing,
I woke up with my eyes wide open
and felt like a rakshasi
next to a snoring invisible rakshasa...

Battles in Rain...

Like a single strand of thread
and a single line of thought
the fragrance of geeli mitti -
copious yet sparse,
abounding yet invisible -
caught me unguarded
and tied itself tightly around me;

and like quicksand,
it engulfed me into a wonderland
as the red volvo, my war vehicle,
swung to Rahman and echoed in Swades' music.

I smiled, respired, resigned
in the single stroke of breath,
in that single journey from work,
to fate
that brought me home to myself!

PS - Bangalore rains, though not in full swing yet, connect those single isolated dots, like fluid from straw, to seamlessly complete the picture cald me! :)

Vous c'est Moi...

I think of the best things about me sometimes and I can attribute all of those special parts of me individually, one by one, to appa or amma or both. I mean, there's nothing that I am from what I've done/felt/wanted by myself. So its like that physics principle of 'Energy can neither be created nor destroyed' but the difference is that here, its like a reality check - of how totally insignificant I am and how there's nothing I've done really in 27 years...

But then, putting some more thought, I think, on my own, I've embraced my pointlessness :)...like conveniently...n in a lot of ignorance, I'm thoroughly at peace and totally blissful :)...and I now have another reason to say I'm very selfish...coz amma appa I think its so easy to love you coz loving you is like loving myself...

And in this totally pointless discovery of the pointless me, I've managed to create the most pointless post...(sigh)!

Crucibles

Trinkle trankle trumple trample
crucibles of thought,
dash against each other
like atoms in motion

and like metal containers
they make music from unknown friction.

Cling clang ding dong
the heart bell rings -
Open the door, let them in...

In you in me in us is them that will be through you and me and thought and action in life its traction our passion reaction between laughter tears fatigue prayers before me's and he's transform into we's in seas of dreams in moving clouds of night's skies as you and I ride steer fly swim between atoms in trinkled trankled trumpled trampled crucibles of thought...

Blank-ened!

What do I say
about nothingness
when what there is to it is what is not there.

Its like this.
There's a you
and there's a me
and there's the breath
that transforms air and its chemistry into life.
From nothingness.

When eye meets eye
and hand meets hand,
there're those miniscule droplets of tears and sweat
that contain tiny transparent bubbles, like little, self sufficient worlds.
In nothingness.

As your heart melts in moments of peace, bliss, anguish or pain,
fathom the depth of its hollowness,
in the vacuum of your existence,
you'll know all you wanted to -

from nothingness to nothingness!

Thought

When eyes yearn for the voluntary blink
and gaze meets the dot-particle,
there's a blur that appears,
then disappears,
behind the round world
that sways in its untrackable orbit
throbbing in musical rhythm.

Thought is nothingness that soul's magic transforms into heartbeat...

Fireworks...

Blobs of golden shimmering lights
alighting
from the volcanic altitudes of a baking fire
charring
the charcoal like haze that smoke can create
pealing
layers of morning, one by one.

As coffee beckoned me in Kamat today,
amid the darkness of the evening,
I saw sparkling lights
and fireworks
from a tandoor!

English!

flows from the gut to the cut
like feelings from one heart facing another,
as if making an inverted 'U' in the
----ec----
---j--t---
--a---o--
-r------r-
t--------y
of their bodies' lungs...

English...
transmits a fluid of emotions
in what otherwise seems like a dry, dusty lane!