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...