bandaid

Me and band aid

band aid and me

We have a long standing partnership,

perpetually stuck together.....

i use it because i run,

and its runs because i use it....

two a toe,

one a knee, apiece, the elbow

Sometimes the stairs join our company and make it all the more easier.

everything works in harmony,

If nothing else, the steady floor is just about enough.

my foot and a half !!!

turns out i overestimated my existence after all
the four years romantic bullshit,
it doesnt even fill the goddamn two by three box!!!
shucks!!!
ahh, i humour myself.......

four years in a half filled carton, my whole world...
and all that crap....
time for a reality check,
and an update for the bullshit detector.

kneedled knotty knee

squishy squashy sloppery
kneedled knotty weak knee
goose bumpy me

sometimes, sounds can express more than vocabular words,
sometimes, im in such a squeeezy hoppety blippety mishleezy mood
nothing seems to be good enough to express it,
except probably the most abridged expression in the world
a hug.....

after a point u get sick of holding on
change is inevitable,
forced or invited,
eitherways.

Cartons that make your head flat

How in the hell do you pack four years of existence?
and walk away,
from corridors ringing with laughter and juvenile name calling,
from the nights of fights and loving embrace

How in the hell do you decide what to keep and what to discard?
and walk away,
from tattered friendships, and new born ones,
from an eternity of togetherness and solitary thoughts?

How in the hell do you pack four years of existence
in a two by three carton?

the unwound watch on your table

besides the unwound watch on your table,
there is nothing of mine that you keep,
there is nothing that in a cool winters night,
remembers me while going to sleep.

All you who sleep tonight
Far from the ones you love,
No hand to left or right
And emptiness above -

Know that you aren't alone
The whole world shares your tears,
Some for two nights or one,
And some for all their years.

- Vikram Seth

the orange t shirt, the backpack et al

I'm walking,
i see you, my spirits lift up,
the orange t shirt, the backpack et al,
i call out,
you cant hear me i think,
i tell someone to call you,
i notice the change in your speed, i notice you've paced up,
i notice that the corner in nearing,
you turn back, wave, and turn away,
you've fulfilled your obligation,
I'm calling for you to wait,
you keep walking,
i know you can hear me.
you have turned the corner and disappeared out of sight.
i can almost hear you sigh with relief
the others are asking what i did to you,
i dont know, tears sprout, i also long to turn the corner, to disappear, to evaporate.
i message you,
i don't think i can ever understand you.
'happy go lucky', i've heard them call you.

to sleep is to escape
to escape is to sleep
mind if i just lie down for a bit???

will coffee help??

i open the door
i find you home,
all my fatigue, dissolves in a cup of
freshly made coffee..
i lean on you, and sob,
talk, your muffles of whispers turn my sobs,
into giggles in no time,
its a pity you're stuffed with cotton,
hysterical helpless giggles,
find even cotton, too intimidating
to cry real tears.
its a pity you are lifeless,
its a pity you are sown together by my dreams,
and stuffed with real hand picked cotton,
cotton of the softest kind,
the softest cotton, too hard to talk to.

how do i know you?
how do i know that i know you?
when im oblivious to most functionings of my head.
how do i claim to know you?
when i dont know who i am?
there is this inconsistency, a certain unsoundness that is inpalpable
i think i know you as much as myself.
but that again is not much.
how do i trust you?
if i dont trust myself?

the moon

every evening as the sun leaves,
it takes along some of me,
leaving the bitter taking the better,
moon, oh how much i yearn for it,

theres a moon on my table,
and one with me all the time,
theres one which causes lunacy
and another hopeless romance

theres the one that loves me dearly
its the one that causes doubt.

lonesome moonings,
brisk walks,
loathsome ruminations
and a crisp NO
pleading requests,
happy questions,
honest expectations
and a crisp NO

the room

its the room that slowly,
unleashes darkness within me
the room where my mother doesnt clutter,
the room where my father doesnt watch the news

its the room that flows through,
and leaves in me unheld waters
the room where my sister doesnt twit about busily
the room where she doesnt sleep with her face in her book.

its the room that with silent melancholy
reminisces all the nights i spent within its walls
shut away from the rest of the world
shut away from myself.

its the room that protected my dignity when
with much desolation,
i muffled my pain, in my quilt.
the room that has seen it all. known it all,
and yet remained bitterly cold.

to fate.

somethings are better left unsaid.
or so you think.
not always favour favours you.
not always does luck run out either.
somethings are better expressed.
or so you think.
not always does the world revolve around you.
not always are you invisible either.
somethings are better left....
to fate.

Leave,

Leave, for what you may see,
may not necessarily be pretty;
before all the fragments of your lingering dream,
crumple and fall under your feet.

Leave, for what you know,
may not be the whole truth;
before the fabric of your everyday,
falls victim and succumbs to the pressures of practicality.

Leave, for this dream that you hold,
may not come alive or breathe ever at all;
before the halo of the moon that you see,
gets completely covered with midnight clouds.

Ever tried asking?

Ever tried asking? scared you might just find out?
Ever tried speaking? scared you might just blurt out?
Ever tried dreaming? scared you might just scream out?
Ever tried living?
Scared you might just burn out?

A Dream of Trees

There is a thing in me that dreamed of trees,
A quiet house, some green and modest acres
A little way from every troubling town,
A little way from factories, schools, laments.
I would have time, I thought, and time to spare,
With only streams and birds for company.
To build out of my life a few wild stanzas.
And then it came to me, that so was death,
A little way away from everywhere.

There is a thing in me still dreams of trees,
But let it go. Homesick for moderation,
Half the world’s artists shrink or fall away.
If any find solution, let him tell it.
Meanwhile I bend my heart toward lamentation
Where, as the times implore our true involvement,
The blades of every crisis point the way.

I would it were not so, but so it is.
Who ever made music of a mild day?

- Mary Oliver

im not in high spirits,

afraid ill pull urs down

blue ochre doors

Bewitching blue ochre doors,

beg to be spoken to,

alluring wooden doors,

laugh and gleam in the sunlight,

echoes of log past laughter held within,

reverberating with cherished childhood memories,

and bickering slammings,

rattling with the want to share its once glorious past,

thirsting for a knock,

adorned by some unfaithful scum.

Dazzling golden locks.

how is it that abstinence remains?

how is it that there is nothing to write?
is it that silences extend a warmer welcome?
how is it that there are a hundred thoughts for a single greeting word ?
is it that words find too much resistance
how is it that there is nothing to tell?
or is it that i find myself too tired of the effort
is it that my verse has dried up,
or is it that my parched ears taste seldom a sound?
how is it that i seek much more from these delusions?
how is it that abstinence remains?
how is it that dreams falter?
is it that figment that was never meant to be?
how is it that, this figment homes in me?

a hundred years

a hundred years of moondust,
a hundred years of doubt
a hundred years of hope,
a hundred years without
each moment like a year,
stretching, frozen, like moondust falling on a winter night,
yet moving, each year like a moment
whizzing by, with moments of memories,
each moment like a year.
a hundred ramblings, and not a word said,
not a word said, and million things understood,
hundred years gone by, of me and you
a hundred years in waiting, of a hundred more thing to do.
a hundred more things to do with you,
a hundred more memories, of things gone by,
a hundred more reminders of futures that die
even if i try, to be with you.
even if if i try to be without.
a hundred years of moondust,
a hundred years of doubt

every other second

I never realised what a persistent person i was
i guess it takes certain situations to highlight certain characteristics in you, but the surprising part is, i used to think exactly the opposite, being that i give up too easily.
One gives up on things, which he doesn't mind living without,
and persistence comes not from the realisation of the fact that you cannot live without it,
cause there isn't any such thing u cant live without, Darwin proved that, you always find a way to survive, to live, to thrive, we are after all the most developed of natures forms,
but from the knowledge of the fact that you just don't want a point in your life without the thing in question. As simple as that.
And thats when you can put everything you have in that.
Just for that one moment of perfection, to live on for the rest of your life.
What fun, if that one moment stretches onto to the rest of your life.
Where every second if worth living for, and every other second is really worth dying for.

A love song

Let me sing u a song,
of perpetuity and evanescence
of persistence that is nurturing,
and of stubbornness that emerges out of lack of hope
let me whirl into this song,
break my heels.
Whirl i will,
still,
even if on my knees.

An itch, a Scratch, a scribble, a dash,
sometimes to relieve, sometimes to enjoy,
sometimes for the joy of beauty,
sometimes for the darkness of the morbid,
for the innocent joy of creation.

Underneath the delusion

Maintaining appearances is now more of a hassle than ever before, now that, selfishness or convictions have begun to take over botheration. Its almost as if, every time, instant visions in the act, flood, with ariel view of fakeocity.
Sacrilegious, self defence, the instant smile, the moment,
an uncomfortable thought punctures
the otherwise unerring mind.
The smile plasters itself, smothering with laughter.
Choking, uncontrollable giggles, shrill, repulsive giggles,
and the saddest part is,
no one can ever see though.
Beyond the ringing
behind the tinkles of laughter,
Underneath the delusion,
ensconced within.

empty, noisy, void

"you know what, sana...
there might never be the perfection that we all look for."
the words, hit seep in sinking to the bottom, dispelling wot was ther before.
hope.
but this thicksinned, peevish character, refuses to give up.
but only sometimes, it fades, only for a break, to let the air through,
the air of reality, or depression, whatever you may call it,
but the truth is,
without our hopes and dreams, wishes and ambitions,
we will remain, nothing but empty vessals,
empty, noisy, voids.
because it is only our dreams that let us do things,
we can not in real life,
things that we want so despeately and yet...
because, it is only our dreams that stop us
from actually going through the real experience
of those very things.
because it is only our dreams, that have been and always will be our realities.

rooting from, flowing to

this and all that,
festive, newness, solitary, emerging
from the darkness,
rooting from, flowing to.
flowing to, but nonetheless, rooted there.
harsh, thick stubborn roots.

i do not love you

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way
than this:
where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.
-Pablo Neruda

tomorrow and yesterday

some questions have no answers,
sadly they happen to be the ones our whole existence is based on,
there was theorems, hypotheses, but never a solid result or conclusion.
like the buzz of the most annoying mosquito,
pestering, haunting.
the more you try to get rid of them , the more they irritate.
is it better to let them sit, and suck the blood, leave once and for all?
some questions have no answers.
and in the desperation of solutions, we assume
assumption, the biggest enemy of reality.
more reliable though, and so much more easy,
so much more alluring.
and we always do look for the easy way dont we,
unless we are ready to take whatever comes in the way of finding those solutions out for ourselves,
even if the way is laden with boulders,
hurt, reaching steady.
dont know where,
if we knew, what would be the difference between tomorrow,
and yesterday.

एक मुर्दा सितारा

स्याही, सहमी, दिन की आहट
वो मुर्दा सितारे
जो अपने ही खौफ में जिए
कब गुज़रे कौन जाने
न कभी किसीने कोशिश की
न कोई जान पाया
किस मुकाम पे अब रुकेगी हवा
किस आसमान, कौन से सितारों पे
एक खफा, खोया सा सितारा
मेरा एक मुर्दा सितारा.

if & when

if and when i learn to pray
let wishes come swiftly
if only i wish for that day,
let me make this secret hopeful surmise
construct it with love, with my own hands
and the wet mud in the making,
of hope
may just
speak out my wish,
and grant it in waiting,
if only i do
in honesty, make it to that day.

packaged dew drops

packaged dew drops,
a single plucked ray of golden sun,
how i wish i could show
this that i wish to keep,
and give sown into the fabric
of one affectionate affliction.
just to remember me by.

the quicker the better.

Its eight o clock, she has been trying to get up since an hour now,
but the damn quilt is wreaking havoc...
She muffles her face one last time the soft velvety ebony brown, beast of a quilt. She cant postpone this any longer, hopping on the cold marble floor she reaches for her slippers. Its too late now, the slippers are on, no turning back, next is the shower, the shower runs, one finger in, one hand, one arm, aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa the head.
The clock chimes nine. Shes late again.
Shivering she picks up the first thing she can think of, that doesnt need ironing, a matching stole is a must, in a rush, she catches a glimpse of herself in the wardrobe mirror, its too obvious to miss, she puts some rousche, desperately pats on some caked concealer on her face, throws a lump of her hair on her face, in the hope of it being disguised as a style. Her hair is the only thing she knows can never give her a hard day. She loves it for that. Just out of the door and she remembers, she hasnt fed her only friend, she rushed in , hopping on one foot while trying to put the other shoe properly; fills a jug of freezing water, puts in the microwave, just a tad luke,
and feeds it to the little plant she befriended a fortnight back, it seems to be saying thank you for the warm water. She puts it in, the house is warm. Waking from the reverie, she realises she is beyond late. She rushes to her office, sets her hair outside the door, tries to sneak in unnoticed, but ...
The moment she rushes in everyone starts staring, she looks down to see if she forgot to wear pants, just like her recurring dream.... but they are right where they are supposed to be, even the zip is up.....
Then what is the matter, why is everyone so amused?
Suddenly every one breaks into a song, and she realises its her farewell.
"zindagi ek safar hai suhana... yahan kal kya ho kisne jaana..."
Its dificult to hold back the tears, she cant believe she has to leave, this city, these people,
even though she never became friends with anyone, she didnt want to,
its too difficult to let go then, but unfortunately she finds herself in the same spot, which she had been trying to avoid since the time she joined, this is her third job in two years.
she wants to stay, but long ago she promised herself, never to let anyone or anyplace become familiar, never to let them grow on her. this had to be done,
she didnt want this party,
she wanted it quick, peel it off, itll hurt once and then itll be fine,
the quicker the better.

fingers

touch your hand
build this wall,
while i pound mine
trying to smash it.
break the putrid, ugly, facade
touch your hand and rebuild it
yet again
carve you initials,
and a cross on it
so that no another,
may dare to dream
to reach out
to love.

i see the dead, and i dont lie,
in molten wax, yes i do,
i see the moon , and do i spy?
i sit there, in a glittering cloud, sieve like, thick.
you pass by, i try.
thoughts turn to words, try to
call out, stop, oh wait...
look up, nothingness holds out a caress
i defy, i die,
i see the dead, and i dont lie.

The intellectual is constantly betrayed by his vanity. Godlike he blandly assumes that he can express everything in words; whereas the things one loves, lives, and dies for are not, in the last analysis completely expressible in words.
Anne Morrow lindbergh

simultane..

once again, im pulled back to my thoughts, every few days in a month,
my hormones go topsy turvy,
i curse, i laugh, i scream,
i love, i cry, i dream.
with all the intensity of my being.
one second im giggling with reverbrating puddles of laughter and the other i just shut up.
i feel overwhelmed by the sheer number of thoughts that flit across,
loosing my train of thought uncountable times.
i feel, absorb more, than i would like, or i think i would like.
my memory does not fail me ever. sometimes i wish it would.
i record everything, every little thing.
and the playback is as tormenting as it is enjoyable.
in one second i am at so many different points in my life simultaeously,
handling them all is becoming increasingly difficult.
tiresome, to remember things all the time, every detail.
things others dont remember, i feel like i live in a make believe universe where remeber things, others cant ever recollect.
everything, every person , every object, starts a domino action.
toppling off many memories i want toppled, revisited
as well as some memories that i have with difficuty made to stand.
i admire people who are able to move on, leave each memory, just where it is supposed to be.
in it place, in its right time.
every memory for me exists every time.
i am 18, 21, 16, 20,19,17.... all at the same moment.
all of a sudden i find myself living my life, in different time zones.
i curse, i laugh, i scream,
i love, i cry, i dream.
with all the intensity of my being.

aporia

aporia suspends the most of existence.
dotted lines ready to be torn, punctured, punched at regular intervals.
the lines of bristles of the brush in the whitewash of my wall,
the holes, where cement peeks, ready to be, savoured.
the drip of water down my neck.
the beautiful patterns underwater that reflection makes, and the want to see beauty while trying to live on one gasp of breath.
kohl just on the outline, sharp,
sometimes there is a lot in the mind of a writer, a lot more than never can be interpreted through words, a lot more that needs touch, and still leaves much to absorb, much porosity.
and sometimes there in not as much as one would like to imagine.

sights, smells.

the realisation of my romantic nature came from a completely unthinkable place.

sometimes, beauty unfolds from the most unexpected drab outlets.

and leaves you panting, wanting for more, living in a dream.

in the realisation of the overwhelming capacity of our senses to capture such misty thoughts, sights, smells.

the ground underneath

how easy it is to take things for granted.
how easy it is to never once look back and acknowledge.
imagine waking up in the morning,
sans the bed that you take for granted,
you put your feet down and you realise,
you feet dont touch the ground,
there is no ground, the ground that you take for granted. ...

everyday i go to swim, im learning,
and everyday for an hour, i hope and wish with the purest heart, for my feet to find ground.
i know it sounds trivial, compared to the things that i started to talk about, but after all it only takes a spliter of a match to make a fire..
that feeling, indescribable feeling of not knowing if i will be able to stand back the next time i try to float, is mindboggling, the feeling of not knowing if anyone will come for my help in case i cant stand. and yet everyday, i get in shivering, trusting only the human need and desperation for survival.
and yet in that fear, i try to find peace.
i try to look at the blue when im underwater, and find beauty.
but that silence that comes with it, the depressive realisation that no matter how much you try, how many friends you have, and how much your family loves you, in the end its only with yourself that you have to live.
its only sana who can save me.
and its only her who can drown.

har fikr ko dhuen mein....

" Guilt is a good thing....
it is the price you have to pay for having an honest mind."
- Anonyomus

underwater

the taste of sweet in my mouth, delectable,
swift to melt, swift to bemoan.
the bitter sour taste left behind.
remnants of that once which was enjoyed thoroughly,
but is now nothing but bad breath.
hot air, relieving dead cells, dead thoughts, dead people.
dead souls in my stomach, in my veins.
leeching on my food, my love, my juice.
bewildered particles, left, lost,
desperately trying to find a comfortable hiding spot.
under my tongue.
i hold them, afraid of the vomit, lock jawed.
the nausea overpowering.
dunk me underwater,
relieve me of the sounds of these souls.
relieve me of reality.

खोने की देर है

इतनी करो न हमसे बेरुखी,
ये जान बस निकलने की देर है;
यूं भीनी खुशबू आंखों में समेटे, चले थे हम सभी को अपना बनाने,
अब तो ये आसमाँ बस छलकने की देर है;
इन सपनों के खुले दामन से, तारे चुनते थे हम मुशक्कत से,
उस दामन के अधूरे हिस्सों से अब आँसू टपकने की देर है;
कुम्हलाते हुए लिफाफों में रखे अल्फाज़ गुनगुनाते थे,
हमको अपना राजदार मिल गया था,
उन्हीं झिझकते अल्फाज़ों के अब सिसकने की देर है;
रूह तक छुआ था जिन उन्गलिओं ने,
उनमे बहने, खोने की देर है,
उनके खोने की देर है, ख़मोश होने की देर है......

white nights....

"And was it his destined part
Only one moment in his life
To be close to your heart?
Or was he fated from then
to live for just one fleeting instant,
within the purlieus of your heart."
by Ivan Turgenev

the shade of I

at home, one is never an individual. its always, us, a group of dwellings, a family. its the group dynamics, group well being, that everyone (together) strives for. at home, i was never an individual. always a non entity for myself.
so now, in recoil i indulge in my Individuality (note the capital)
as much as i can, infact even more....
narcissict adopted me as his throne bearer a few weeks back.
i try to understand as much as i can of the person that i am, that i have become, and the one that i want to be, a desperation, which is almost soul as well as sense consuming.
i am the centre of this world, my world, and everthing is judged and measured according to the effect it has on me, or otherwise.
in this process... i have given everything that affects me a much bigger status than it deserves.
while in a conversation i told a friend yesterday...
i absolutely loathe the concept of romanticising everything
but im such a hopeless romantic.... its almost like a disease....

and today on the road, i am looking at my feet, admiring (my) new shoes,
i look up.
and i see so many people. some in cars, some in buses, some walking, some mad, some sane, more mad than sane....
each one, dragging their worlds, their universes.
each one the centre of their cosmos.
after all im only the most ordinary shade of normal.

for public scrutiny

everyone of us. all of us.
have some things you have closed out of your life.
some incidents which after a long time of struggle, you have managed to erase from your memory,
maybe not erase, but at least tuck them in some, ignored corner of your subconscious,
to the extent where, every mention of a certain word, certain name, or certain time may or MAY NOT conjure up an image, or a series of images, so disturbing, that it may whiplash the feeling out of your fingers in a matter of milliseconds.
i repeat... MAY NOT
so now, years have passed.
you are sitting at a perfectly innocent gathering, a small one if you may please,
family or non family, you make the permutations.
out of nowhere, a very close person, the only one or one of the few who may have witnessed, or have known about this incident, rattles it out,
as if the story is meant to satiate their perverse need of having apt amount of attention in a gathering,
or to be the sole entertainer, or just to take credit for something.....
to feel good about themselves.... for a mere moment....
for a mere moment.... the thing you have tried to shove, throw , push so away, that you never have to know, or acknowledge the happening of it, is out, right at the center table with the rest of the gleaming crystal center pieces... opened out of all its folds and knots.. for public scrutiny.
to decide,
whether or not they can get ample entertainment from the story.
stunned.... is merely an understatement.

i give up.
give up this pursuit.

think it over

A poet who reads his verse in public may have other nasty habits.
-Robert Heinlein

if the window was open.

found this image somewhere on the net. so soothing... calming.
nature, as i am increasingly getting convinced is the most effective antidote to any sort of restlessness, or any thought remotely negative.
the warmth of the sun, suddenly appearing out of the november sky,
the sudden burst of cold wind when a vehicle zooms by,
the touch of the first sprinkle of a much awaited rain,
the mud puddles, that i wasnt and am still not allowed to go in, but always manage to sneak in.
the slight chill, that leaves my feet always cold.
the moonlight, that ever elusive, silver blue in the night.
the blow of artificial cigarette smoke, on foggy mornings.
the golden dust particles, that become visible only when a ray of light enters my dark room,
the ray of light that falls pat on my face, just in the morning,
the moon that i can see directly above me from the window, when i lie in my bed at night,
falling asleep, trying to find shapes in the moon that looks wet with dew.
its a pity, that i say this looking out of a shut window, which looks out onto a maze of concrete... thousands of flats. just like mine. thousands of people, with their windows shut, oblivious to any
breeze that caresses,
that would have caressed my skin, if my window was open.....

music and lyrics

music and lyrics
hugs and kisses
the night sky, the stars
the ultimate romantic.
the ultimate pessimist.
utterly confused
sentimetal fool
iron filing in a world made of magnet.
bathroom singer, heels in the cabinet.
aspiring writer, dissolving reader.
a box full of laughter and tears.
a night full of colours.
eyes of molten light.

on my way home

on my birthday.. i recieved a book from a friend.
due to certain misunderstandings.a fight was on the prowl.
i saw the book. said the obvious. and left it at that.
i am going home now. for a break.
we have almost stopped talking to each other.
distance has creeped in... slowly... slimely...
i need a book to read on the flight back.
out of the lack of another choice i carry this one.
its called the bookseller of kabul.
i have checked in. i sit at the airport.
i open the book.
and find a note... a note written then...
a note i didnt know was inside.
to tinkles of laughter, and volumes of joy
to heartfelt happiness, to a completeness of being..
to the warmth you emanate.. to the softness i find.
to the immense friendship you brought into my life..
i love you my sweetheart... with all my soul. she says....
now,i wish i had woken her up. said goodbye.
told her what i had felt. and not kept it within.
i wish i had let her know how much i will miss her.
this feeling... of being loved...
is indescribable....
ill be back in a week ... and then.. i will tell her.
not keep anything hidden.
i told her to express, somehow i forgot to.
or perhaps didnt feel the need to.
thought she'd know.
now things seem out of hand.
too much bitterness, i have allowed to home in me.
but i will be back in a week. it will be all better then. i know..
im warm now... the airport air conditioning was killing me.

from beyond

i wish i understood what goes on in that head of yours.
i wish i understood what goes on in this head of mine.
i wish you understood what goes on in this head of mine.
i wish you understood what goes on in that head of yours.
if we understood... there would be no need to tell.
no need to talk.
no need to know.
no pressing need to spend time.
on this vain matter.
theres always something or the other, how is it possible that there isnt.
if it isnt the case for you. you dont belong to this planet. maybe not even this universe.
youve come from beyond. just for me.
just to help me know me.
just to help me understand.
i wish i understood what goes on in this head of mine.

my wisdom teeth

im not the person i want to be.
and im only beginning to see wot it is.
yet i linger.
having found a piece of earth, just for myself.
what if it dissolves if i move.
what if i fall, in nothingness....
with no ground to bounce back from.
with no space, no earth to call my own.
my wants and needs and accessories are within my hands reach.
will they move with me.
will have to build a whole new world.
will i be sure then..... of it being mine.
will i live like a nomad.
hunting, finding new homes, new universes, new bodies.... new souls.
my wisdom teeth are not hurting yet.
maybe then they will.
maybe then, ill have a piece of earth, and a whole person... exclusively mine.

strings...

from the summit of exhilaration to the deepest pit of helplessness.
the distance was covered in precisely 43 seconds.
holding on to the slope, digging my claws, i try to crawl my way up again,
but the rain doesnt stop.
my hands slip. its too dark, i cant see where i am.
there are two ways, up to the summit, again... but its difficult to hold on.
or give my tired body and broken fingernails, the rest they deserve.
i decide abruptly to leave, just let go. but only after one last haul,
i heave all my strength, trying to make sense out of shadows in the inky night.
through, the thick layer of water that has now somehow collected in my eyes,
blurring even those shadows
and i push my body... deliver one last kiss of hope.
there is no response... just the deadly deafening roar of silence and withdrawl.
i decide to leave, this time, not so abruptly.
but with intention.
in the void of darkness, i feel an overpowering force,
am i flying, or falling
only time will tell....
i give myself to the darkness.
swallow it hungrily...
in search of the end of it all.
this time not so abruptly.
but with an intention.

the quest for nectar

sometimes judgements fail me.
realising that the last time, i fall into it yet again.
the belief that i carry the burden of.... the belief of the eternal goodness of the human soul....
is what makes me commit the biggest of mistakes and blunders, and the most beautiful ones too.
every time the compulsive need to meet new people, know new cultures, new ways of thinking, is almost too much of a temptation for me to resist.
im a slave of habit. and habit is the most floundering thing i possess.
like an extremely restless butterfly. meandering, frivilous.
But equally alluring with rainbow wings.
and only at these times do i realise, that whatever i may believe, i still have a lot to learn,
in order to be falterless in my decisions and my choices.
a lot many years before i can say that, the decision i have taken is the only one i should have taken.
and only at these times, i know that my parents are not wrong when they say, you are but only a child.
the child in me looks for the parent, finding a slight resemblance, the butterfly settles, but it takes only a few moments to realise that, this is all i can get here, and it flies again.
fluttering about aimlessly, charaterlessly.
but i forget... butterflies dont give away their heart and soul to every flower they settle on.
they know only one thing.
the undying incessant quest for nectar.

says Orhan Pamuk and me

As you know, the question we writers are asked most often, the favourite question, is;
why do you write? I write because I have an innate need to write! I write because I can't do normal work like other people. I write because I want to read books like the ones I write.
I write because I am angry at all of you, angry at everyone. I write because I love sitting in a room all day writing. I write because I can only partake in real life by changing it. I write because I want others, all of us, the whole world, to know what sort of life we lived, and continue to live, in Istanbul, in Turkey. I write because I love the smell of paper, pen, and ink. I write because I believe in literature, in the art of the novel, more than I believe in anything else. I write because it is a habit, a passion. I write because I am afraid of being forgotten. I write because I like the glory and interest that writing brings. I write to be alone. Perhaps I write because I hope to understand why I am so very, very angry at all of you, so very, very angry at everyone. I write because I like to be read. I write because once I have begun a novel, an essay, a page, I want to finish it. I write because everyone expects me to write. I write because I have a childish belief in the immortality of libraries, and in the way my books sit on the shelf. I write because it is exciting to turn all of life's beauties and riches into words. I write not to tell a story, but to compose a story. I write because I wish to escape from the foreboding that there is a place I must go but – just as in a dream – I can't quite get there. I write because I have never managed to be happy. I write to be happy.

my extended family

there is such beauty is friendship...
be it as fresh and new as the coming of winters... or as old and crass as my grandmothers pillow, the contours of which i know like the back of my hand.
i had heard somewhere that families need not be biological... and i laughed and poo pooed the treacherous lumps of mankind that believed in this.
over the years of staying away from the only 3 people i knew to be my family, my world... being on my own...
has made me (no matter however much i try to deny it, with contemptuous disbelief) very dependent on certain people.
and dependant not in a life sucking loathsome manner, but in a very unconditional, pleasantly tingling manner, which makes me shudder with disbelief at my good luck.
it started with one person who came to be so important that, without realising that person had become an integral and uningnorable part of my world, my family.
and my roomates, who unconditionally took me to be a part of their worlds too.
not immediately.. but slowly ... progressively.
and the joy one feels when,
a friend finally confides in you walking on a road with you, after listening patiently to so may of your stories. and you cant believe why they would trust you with something so intimate.
a friend telling you how much they care for you... next only to their lover.
a friend telling me that they want to hold me till i feel ok again.
a friend guiding on the road as if their life depended on it not mine..
a friend keeping track of my pms knowing how nasty i become during that time, and still waiting for my mood swing to turn the other way.
a friend i want to meet everyday.. even though they are two continents away.

and to think.. i was immature enough to think.. that only 3 people are my family, my world...
sounds as blasphemous as silly.
cheers to this undoubtedly precious form of expanding your family, your world, your love.

i let go

there are times in everyones lives.
when all the things taught to us when we were small, become immaterial.
all the times when channels were changed. all the times when conversations ended abruptly.
all the times. when you accepted the norms without questioning.
they all have no importance.
perhaps because you discover another way of thinking.
a way that is your own, that you have built on your own.
that is not borrowed.
a way that you are free to question, dismantle, and rebuild. in faith.
and you let yourself disregard all that you had learnt to believe as the truth.
and let your new found thinking take over.

through all my doubts.
i let go
never to be innocent agian.
regret is too far away. blurry.

faith returns with a vengeance.
the same faith that i had disowned.
making me feel dirty more than violated.
dirty to the depths of my soul and my being.
phenyl flowing in the bloodstream would not be able to clean it.

regret is now a part of me.
and sometimes, i wish i didnt question so much.
i wish i had stopped myself.
i wish i hadnt let go.

with malice towards one and all

there is this dirty incestuous desire .
to possess malice.
something i could never own.
something i long to hold onto. but it always slips away.
something i desperately try to invite, every time i try...
try to be mean.
to push away.
to bitch.
to repulse.
to possess.
to be sarcastic.
try too hard perhaps.
bordering on obsession.
i dont know when or how it came to be so important.
but i know why it did.
to build a wall of bitterness around me.
so that none of it from anyone else may effect me.
but no matter how much i try.
my dilapidated attempts at the construction of the wall are diluted with the lack of improper upbringing, but strengthened by improper schooling.
the first one prevails.
and unfailingly. the wall gets punctured.... in its nascent stages.
exposing to the world... the me that i thought was well protected.
and im caught unawares.
and thats when it hits the hardest.
bullet fast.
and unwarranted, unexpected.

15th october

fuck the guy who invented the roman calender and the concept of birthdays.
calculative sadist of a man.
single handedly playing with and mindfucking so many people....
since time immemorial.
why the hell can birthdays not be like normal days?
why the hulaaballo?
why the cake and the song?
utterly fake wishes
and even more fake hugs.
i say intelligent parents should hide their childrens birthdays.
and not involve them in this bufoonery that exists in such a mindnumbing size all over the word.
what is more surprising is that even after so many years of civilised living... no one has been able to do anything about it.
no one has ever realised the agenda behind archies greetings.
or even if they have they choose to indulge in it anyways.
i boycott birthdays.
till
the first birthday of my baby...

respect

if you keep respect the basis of every relationship.
it will never go wrong.
it is the one thing.. that makes everything else immaterial.
and if its there... every relationship,
the most strongest ones can be built on it.
and if at any moment you realise that has gone missing,
or god forbid was never there to start with...
its never too late....
just walk off...
dont even think twice...
and if a relationship there is immense mutual respect....
sometimes... thats enough....
and even if it isnt... it will take off from there...
invest.

stay away anyway

out of nowhere, splinters dig into my skin.
splinters, shards...
shards of piercing insensitivity.
of words that come out never to be taken back again.
words that shatter and form splinters.... minute and massive
burning eyes.
prickly words.
no amount of astringent will work once they scrach, prick, enter my bloodstream.
nothing and no one can ever alter that.
because besides the ones that pierce....
there are many more suspended... floating.
like fog, blurring my vision.
forcing me to walk blind folded.
and keep one arms distance.
detect danger. stay away.
if you are unable to detect it. stay away anyway.

apt

came across this in a movie which i saw right now.... found it quite relevant to my life...
or for that matter anyone elses....
"There should be adventure in life, otherwise its just a bunch of thursdays strung together."
so apt..... funny how apt is such a small word that conveys so much.
i think ive been getting kicks since a few days out of words and their construction...
and i guess everyone will just have to bear with any further lines in future which start with.. "funny how this word is...."

hey... dont judge me.. not just yet.

brobdingnagian

i dont know why most people dont understand how easy it is to make someone happy.
and how much meaning it gives you to actually watch someone react when you do something small, that you know counts.
small thoughts. small actions. actions that show you care.
actions that take hardly any effort, make a difference so huge...
so huge that huge is hardly big enough a word to describe it.
brobdingnagian is more like it...

ps. that is actually a word...honest...it means huge plus sounds so much more like the meaning... haha...

when you walk with someone... you dont walk behind them, or in front of them... you walk beside them, with them, next to them.

the science of sleep

sleep is the strangest phenomina.
the subcomscious taking over the conscious or the conscious taking over the subconscious?
we will never know.
to what occurance can we then label things like sleep walking, talking in sleep , doing things that you would not do consciously.
now what do you do when someone is saying something in front of you while they are sleeping, or doing something to you?
do you move away, and in the process wake them up..... let thme wake up in the situation, embarrased?
or let them go ahead whateve they are doing?
do you believe that they are sleeping?
are people unaware of what they do while they sleep? or they just use it as an excuse?... because well lets face it.. sleep is one of the mysteries of the human mind that no one can say they have deciphered. do you trust your heart or your brain or the other person? and let yourself be violated, be revealed secrets to, be talked to, be sung to, be laughed with... there are a billion questions, that need answers. and i have not the slightest idea why im posting them here. hoping from an answer from a lifeless screen? or from myself.
i have not the slightest idea.
what is deja vu all about?
is it that our whole life is pre planned... and comes to us while we are sleeping... and sometimes when we go through the incidents that we saw.. we realise we have gone through them before....
is it that we know what our destiny is?
is it that in the end... no matter how many questions we ask we now what is going to happen in the end?
i have not the slightest idea.

experience, observe, internalise

this violent appetite for experience drives me mad.
of noting every small detail.
analysing, over analysing every situation,
every conversation, makes me draw such unearthly conclusions,
about myself about other people, about what i mean to other people.... the works.
i want to be able to express without being commented upon.
upon the way, i think, they way i talk, the way i look, the way i exaggerate... even when i dont.
i want to be able to not take every piece of verbal bullcrap diguised as the alphabet which is hurled at me from sometimes the most unexpected places, and sometimes from the most obvious.
i want to be able to be free in my mind and soul and my environment of categories.
of the urge and the need that the human mind has to compartmentalise human behaviour, generalise it to the extent that there ceases to be an entity called the individual.
i want to listen, to persuade, to interrupt, to help, to talk, to laugh, to be a confidante, to love, to be loved, to be fed with warmth, to feed warmth, to cleanse, to pray, to kiss, to loathe, to walk, to see, to make love, to draw, to sculpt, to massage, to soothe, to be the agony aunt, to cry, to sob vehemently, and yet to feel the tears on my burning skin travel down and wet my neck.
to experience.
oh how it drives me mad...

fatia

i declare in written ( so that i may not go back on it)
that i will write a book so moving
and a book so intense that no human being will ever be the same after reading it.
tall claim though it may seem.
yet it is a claim, perfectly innocent and striving.
and i have a right to be heard, to be waited for
till i can no longer distinguish between a desk from a human being.
maybe not even then.
not even when all i want to do is die without being dependant on anyone.
not even when im so busy making money that the reminiscent of this thought is so deep inside, that i might have to take a holiday to clean up my brain, and maybe come across it on some afternoon, sifting through old garbage.
all that
just because
i want to claim. and i have dared to claim.
and that claim to remain...
even after all that is left of me is a fatia on my kabr.

buoyancy

i think it is going ...
but i can never be too sure...
its like a termite....
keeps coming back...
eating away all the juicy stuff...
leaving skeletons...
and finely powdered hope
crushed in my hand... white shimmer...
like tar in the moonlight. sand in the sun
the more u want to hold it the more it slips.
and falls on the ground, scatters away to unknown lands.
frangments to individual unrecognisable grains.
trampled upon by prostitutes and beggars.
and pimps of reviere.

trust

i dont feel proud when i say i dont trust anyone.
i have learnt by trial and error, that this and only this can be the truth of my being.
there was a time when i did not know what discretion meant.
and there was a time, when i didnt know what gumption meant.
there was a time when i didnt know the bad either.
when words like betrayal, jealousy, illness, sadness were just words to me.
there was a time when i lived without being conscious of it.
there was a time when i didnt know what "I" meant
which is better i cannot say.
but that time has gone and given way to mistrust
mistrust for anything or anyone.
i will not say that i have suffered.. for i know.. there is worse to come.. and that there is much worse in the world than can ever happen to me in this lifetime.
but i have withered in my own right.
i will not say that it has made me happier or that it was necessary for the new improved me.
but i have withered in my own right.
the parts which regenerate will....no matter how withered i have become.
but those few parts that remain, unnoticably withered...
will suck the moisture from the fresh rest.
only sometimes, that will happen.
and you will have to bear with that.
you who i learnt to trust amongst all the doubts.
and you who it will still take many years to trust completely.

all she cared for was the father.

a baby boy died in mud,
and all she cared for was the father,
the boy died in my arms,
i thought she was a goddess,
ephemeral, delicate.
please dont be mysterious, there isnt the time....
and i rose, to be frank and beautiful.
my life and i must be where i live...
i had not the slightest clue that all she cared for was the father.
if he had asked she would have given herself.... body and soul.
and i was the confidante... the only one she could speak about it all to...
if she didnt she would die....
and then my life would be seperate from me.
my life and i must be were i live...
and all she cared for was the father.

ashen

twinkling eyes.
melting touch.
postive spaces fill my negative.
in every way.
looking up to stop the tears.
setting hair to pull away from my hand.
a reassuring pat.
a friend indeed
but not always there in need.
and yet
a dry dry tongue.
ashen dry.
crushing me to pieces.
ashen dry.

On the wing - Christina Rossetti

Once in a dream (for once i dreamed of you)
we stood together in an open field
above our heads two swift winged creatures wheeled
sporting at ease and courting full in view
when loftier still a broadening darkness flew
down swooping and a ravenous hawk revealed
too weak to fight to fond to fly they yield
so farewell life and love and pleasures new
then as thier plumes fell fluttering to the ground
their snow white plumage flecked with crimson drops
i wept and thought i turned towards you to weep
but you were gone while rustling hedgerow tops
bent in the wind which bore to me a sound
of far off piteous bleat of lambs and sheep

better to have pain than paralysis - Florence Nightingale

iris

"this twisted toxic thing is over
and ive got a life to start living" says iris
there is a time in everyones lives, we want something so bad...
that it hurts to even imagine life without it.
we know that the only way we can be happy is by achieving that.
and the course of pursuing happiness we forget ourselves. and how much unhappiness we are causing for ourselves. and we waste years before we miraculously realise this.
somethign that causes so much bitterness and tears can logically can never be as great as you
think it will be.
we the cursed ones, live in day after day of hating ourselves, trying to figure out whats wrong?
of finding faults in us. waking up every day, year after year to this terrible feeling of incompletetion, incompetancy.
we say we cant go on like this, but dare we move away from the comfortable zone of knowing what we want. even if it gives you nothing but pain.
indecision, and inconsistency is what every one likes to avoid.
but in that fervour we forget to screen our decisions or rather we are scared to.
to weigh them and to realise that that all the investment emotional, mental, physical and sometimes monetary... has gone to waste would be pure blasphemy!!!
so we live.. in our comfort zone.. right in the centre with the question marks floating in the pool of our agony.. self induced, self created agony.
let go... because theres beauty in breakdown.
as iris says in holiday...
"i understand feeling as small and insignificant as humanly possible.
and how it can actually ache in places you didnt know existed inside you
and no matter how many haircuts you get,
or how many gyms you join,
or how many glasses of champagne you have with your girlfirends
you still end up going over all the details of what went wrong,
or how you could have misunderstood,
and how in the world for that brief moment you could think that oyu were that happy
and after all that, however long all that may be, youll go somewhere new,
and youll meet people wholl make you feel worthwhile again,
and little pieces of your soul, will finally come back together,
and all that fuzzy stuff...
all the years of your life that you have wasted,
that will eventually fade."

you cannot solder an Abyss
with Air

why do i write the way i write ?

why do i write the way i write?
full of vindiction and spite?
all the horrors of this world, unthinkably cunning designs
to lead me in a cave, where i have no choice but to walk without any respite.
words crumpled with anger and thrown in waste basket,
picked up, polished and sprinkled with layers of fine, powdery language.
i guess by now everyone knows why i write the way i write
and not this way
i can see people tear their hair out and run far away.

ha ha ha ha!
now that thats out of my system...
i promise ill resume writing the way i write.
that may be not the best, but it sure is better than this crap..which i even have the audacity to post on a public space!!! ( i must have some nerve!)

dementia in a golden hand mirror

dementia sets in
not knowing what day of the week, day of the month, month, or even what year it is,
dementia that demands for a bribe... of your innocence rather than sanity.
for it knows that sanity can do worse things.
sanity as we know it today. the mother of all essentials.
lo and behold! the mother arrives...
and passes by me.. a strong whiff of her perfume makes me choke my bodily fuids out.
but just only passes by.
and then leaves me with unpleasently strong musky smell and a bad taste in my mouth.
the kinds you get after eating something too sweet.
i need a mint.. and a jug of cold water.
to wash down the bad taste and regain the innocence lost.
is it possible to hold something massively more heavier than your being?
to lift it and drag the weight of it around till your death. something so gigantic that it is invisible to the naked eye. the way we hold our thoughts.. the ones that squeeze all your life juices and leave you with nothing but bruises on your back.
unhealing invisible bruises.
and yet in your mind they heal only partially. leaving ugly scars...unmistakeable permanent reminders of your mistakes and naive optimism.
in the mirror they show up on your face.. liquify in your eyes, molten thoughts, scorching you to the depths of your soul. freezing your blood midway in your veins...
hence causing dementia.

Romance and moonlit dust

"He thought of her no longer, he was anxious for himself: he feared that Romance might die.
Romance only dies with life. No pair of pincers will ever pull it out of us.
But there is a spurious sentiment which cannot resist the unexpected and
the incongruous and the grotesque. A touch will loosen it, and sooner it goes from us the better.
It was going from him now, and therefore he gave the cry of pain.

She did not call anymore, for she felt very ill, and fainted; and when she revived,
she was lying on the road, with dust in her eyes, and dust in her mouth, and dust down her ears.
There is something very terrible in dust at night-time."

the aunty in me

it really makes me smile to see the aunties in all of us... creeping out ....slowly...
infesting our mannerisms... the auties that we eventually will be....
and the aunties that our mothers eventually came to be...

the scheme of things

a friend told me a few days ago, whenever you are in doubt think of your life as a 100mts race.
and you will see everything clearer. what is the real goal and what is a distraction.

and i tried to visualise myself on a track. with my goal at the other end.
only i didnt know what it was.
which made me think.. can you really work towards something not knowing what it is actually that you are working for.. or rather running for?
running so hard that all you see are blurred colours merging into each other forming neutrals and white.
peripheral vision is useless when the head doesnt want to use it.
so i decided.
i'd rather skip about without a care, observing everything all around, looking,
feeling the rays of the sun on my face.. even if i end up coming last..
i will feel, i have lived a life worth much more than those few second of a mad dash..
leading me away from all the things i love the most in the world.

"Dear Sana,
i'm so glad to have found in you a person who's as mad as the one inside me.
Love,
A
we'll leave it at that"

well... im glad i qualify.
the madness to leave all worldly cares and ruin your best clothes, just to get wet in the rain... with someone who inspires me more than anyone i have met so far.

amidst all the doubt.. of bleeding color, and questioning, demeaning looks, i ran...
with my skirt in my hands.. fanned out on either sides...
in hope of the onset of an eventual flight...
i ran.. away from self doubting, and accusing thoughts that flit across,
making me feel guilty about not working....
i ran
and something from below the concrete road caught hold of my feet... made me stand at a spot.. an invisible life force that made me stay.... and i did...
i stood in a pool of golden yellow leaves... scattered.. lying far away from their branches..
just for me..
and i looked up.. shimmering raindrops punctuated with golden freckles of leaves falling right over me, just in my radius... from the roof of green wet neem leaves and the vast skies skies only peeking from behind.. for once letting the trees play a role of more importance...
and a few steps away a friend who stood looking up too.. thinking of probably the samething...
nature has a way of making each of us feel special...
and suddenly the beauty of it all hit me, and left me breathless..

there are certain moments that reaffirm your faith in the eternal goodnes of being... and pump fuel in our shrunken, dehydrated vision.

things like,
someone waking you up at 8.15 for a nine of clock class when you have an alarm of your own.
things like,
a reflex of groping for someones hand while crossing a road, and always finding one.
things like,
an extra mattress reserved for someone who probably will never visit again,
things like,
an equally clueless friend giving you advice...
and pretending that they know what they are saying in order to make you feel better.
things like,
someone ignoring you on purpose, to let you grow up and deal with things on your own,
even though all they want to do is run and hold you in an embrace so warm that it would make all your troubles scurry away with shame...
things like...

the realisation of it all... the whole scheme of things while hugging someone in a cold rainy night... when your eyes travel and stop at the patterns that light and water make together.

shut up

anger controls your words, twists them and shakes them of their clothes,
naked, they hurt.
no cushioning.
there are some conversations that you can never forget, because of these very bare naked words, stripped of their ghosts of grammer and language.
pure rage.
does it mean something.
even if you try to tel yourself it was anger, once those words are out there in the world, naked for everyone to see and mock and notice with vulgar glances, the respect can never be regained.
which is why i keep shut.
the doors sometimes lock so tight that no amount of knocking and banging can get the sound across.
the peep holes are taped.
dont think its you...
its me.
it always was.

remember

remember me for the pendulumn that i carry within me,
for the bubbles that errupt out of it
involuntary, soapy, soupy bubbles.
reflecting rainbow light.
touch them and they burst,
left alone they travel, with the wind floating
the heart still skips a beat, its scary to even try to understand why
the musty smell which used to suffocate, now is a constant companion.
air laden with moisture and salt, someday the cloud will be more full than it can hold.
and then light will travel faster than sound, sound that will scare little girls in thier beds,
sound that will bring many people closer, and take away many more from thier loved.
intricate etchings leave beautiful patterns,
leave the acid longer and the holding fabric burns away.
a perpetual itch.
nothing to soothe.
only water and love.

faith

permanence is a myth.

something that everyone likes to believe.

some say change is the the driver for life. if everythings permanent then our life will stagnate.

i beg to differ.

everything need not be permanent, but somethings if are not permanent cause discomfort and considerable distress which in turn hampers the productive working of our mind.

security is what every human being works for at the end of the day.

having these few things permanent in our lives will give us the security and the support to get on with more productive things than worrying about these things changing.

We cross so many things, so many people in our lives, we leave behind so many, and are left behind by many more with nothing but question marks.
It is difficult to point out one thing that you would ask for.

If i had a wish, i wont even have to think twice to ask for one thing. i know exactly what.

come to think of it why do i have to wait for a wish?
it is said that if you ask for something in faith you will get it..
well im holding onto my faith so tight, im sure its having difficulty breathing.

im dreaming with my eyes open, sleeping without shutting my eyelids.
i need a jug of freezing water. and some sleep
the normal kinds.

i'll try

always in the search of something as elusive and slippery as sand, we forget to live our normal lives.
that object varies from person to person.
belief in things like hope, destiny, love, faith, god, stops us from doing the real work... of living.
romanticising the mundane.
wrapping up words with layers of shimmer.
i seem to have gotten really good at it.
at pretending that there is something beter, right across the corner,
only when i get there its always the next corner.
why does desire still persist.
interpreting reality in the way you like it, sugar coating it till its so sweet , it makes you sick.
salt water leaks.
it has to drain out.
it will take years, decades... what i initiate now.
it will leave me incomplete, for the rest of my life....
For now i start dropping off pieces of me, pieces i once treasured, loved.. that have come to be part of me as easily as salt in water, with just a little bit of stirring.
its difficult to remove the salt once its mixed.
i'll try.
pieces of me that do nothing but burn, and hurt.

my buddy

i assume it is the perfect day when i get up every morning...
somtimes my assumtions are true.. keeping my faith in the goodness in the skies...
and more than sometimes they dont.. i mope, i curse, swear on the one in those very skies.. never to have faith.
and yet everyday.. i assume.
i assume becuase i have no other choice.
because most of me lives in the skies.. right next door to the one who makes all the decisions.
we used to be best buddies.. sometime along the way.. he got busy with his other creations...
and i got busy doing he only knows wot...
and gradually, we lost touch.
to a point where we even started doubting each others existence in our lives...
i had moved out.. moved on... to a better place, with more friendly neighbours....
unpacking my luggage, i found an old leather album,
mould green, putrid smeeling, vomit colored memories.
i put it out in the sun..
for all the moisture and seepages to evaporate...
early morning...
the album, i remembered... had some very old forgotten emotions packed, framed inside.. laminated.. blocked....
more dust flew off with every movement of the cloth,
filling it with more memories than one person can have in a lifetime... collected over the years....
there in all the pictures, was my buddy, my best friend
who i didnt even remember the surname of.
my senses came slapping like cold chilling wind.
and i ran...
to my old place, my house, my neighbour next door. the one who still made all my decions, without me realising it.. from up in those skies... right where i left him...
i opened his door...
he was sitting cross legged like a baby.. right on the other side of the door...
waiting, growing old... waiting..
for me,
to return. to let go.

my other neighbours.. still write ... asking me to return...

let me

my days pass in a blur.
unfocused foggy.
too fast or too slow?
its hard to make out..
every moment seems like an eternity..
yet at the end of the day it seems like a mere moment.
unproductive nights and even more lethargic mornings....
time like a termite gnawing at my insides...
eating away..
infested ..
shake me,
take away my earth,
my ground.
let me fall face down..
let my nose bleed...
bleed till the floor is red.
dont touch me..
dont pick me up.
let me come to my senses,
wipe my blood,
on my own
and start a fresh
heal.....

my bag

Heaving a bag of memories,
i walk on...
Someone opens my bag... and they fly..
If i knew, i'd jump, run, catch them
and stuff them back in my bag.
Shut it tight, where they belong, they must stay..

to the person who is reading my blog right now

sometimes it becomes really hard tell a close friend what you feel..
maybe because of something they said or something you did...
distance sets in. leaving behind all the moments you have shared.
unknowingly, without warning, it slides in and before you realise it starts building a comfortable spot for itself.. growing, expanding...
and nothing ever can reverse the procees..
it leaves holes ... big massive voids... wherever it moves...
vaccum expanding.
defying gravity
leaving footprints on the past.
caked mud.

chaddar

as a child each and every one of us have a favourite chaddar that we have to have to have with us when our mommies tuck us in bed.
its our constant companion ( in some cases there might be a stuff toy in instead)
when we sleep, when we get up, and if in case its not there how much we make a fuss over wrong timings for laundry...
bestest buddy.. specially when we need to bury our faces in it and sob and sob and sob our lungs out, complaining about how unfair life is.....

we sob into its shoulders, tell it our life stories..... and then... leave it on our bed and go to our daily routine... leaving it unfolded to come back to in the night.

as we grow up, this chaddar gets relaced by other things, computers, another chaddar,
and sometimes other people.

these people are left unfolded behind, wanting, wasted.
without realising that you are also someones chaddar too.. equally wanting and wasted..
slightly wet from their lives, stories seeping secretly in our folds ...

unfolded unkempt creases.

thursday morning

dreaming a dream for one whole night can be quite exhausting.. especially when its not to your liking..
its so much better when the dream is unrealistically scary...
cause its scarier when its so possible that you cant get over the vividness of it.
you dont want to get up because you want to see what happens next.. but you dont wanna sleep more cause your not particulary likong whats happening...
you know what i mean by exhausting now...

so strange how a dream can make you come back to reality. and stop dreaming...

and its so comforting to have the luxury of being able to go next door and find a sleepy friend ready to hug you and console you even though all she can think of is sleep.
and in the warm sleepy embrace you finally find the comfort to let your tears flow...

learning to say no is the most difficult lesson of ones life
especially if you have to say it to someone you love...
you just let yourself go along with everythign
giving the person your benefit of doubt.
without realising that bit by bit you are loosing your worth in your own eyes.
it may feel comfortable to say yes... to assume that everything is just as you want it to be...
but in reality you have to learn to say no in order to retain your dignity.
because without dignity... you are nothing but an animal...

Remember.... by Christina Rossetti

Remember me when I am gone away,
Gone far away into the silent land;
When you can no more hold me by the hand,
Nor I half turn to go, yet turning stay.
Remember me when no more day by day
You tell me of our future that you plann'd:
Only remember me; you understand
It will be late to counsel then or pray.
Yet if you should forget me for a while
And afterwards remember, do not grieve:
For if the darkness and corruption leave
A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,
Better by far you should forget and smile
Than that you should remember and be sad.

geoffrey

once upon a time, ther was a tiny kitten, discovered by a bunch of kids...
and named geofrrey,
it soon became a dear friend.
one of the little girls, felt specially close it.
she had never liked cats before.. innfact despised them....
but there was something inthe eyes of this little one, which drew her to it...
and they made friends..
she would tell the kitten about her life, every otherday
and the kitten inturn would come and comfort her by lickign her , curling up with love in her cozy lap...
both of them felt bliss at that momet.. peace.
but the little girl went on her summer vacations with her parents.. and when she returned.. geofrrey wasnt so little anymore...
she wouldnt even come to her...
or show any signs of recognition... she wouldnt see it for days together.
geffrey had grown up.. or rather rown apart.. forgotten all the loving moments, and stories they had shared. the time they had grown together...
and the litlle girl kept thinking it would recognise her
one day the little girl went to geofrrey and finaly it seemed to recognise her.. she was so happy.. it was trying to get in her lap. but suddenly it started clawing her.. poor girl bled.. and was hurt.
she didnt know wot to do.
didnt know what had gotten into geoffrey.
all she knew that she felt sad.
she had lost a friend.

love someone and you get scratched.

thank you

in te last few years, i have compensated for the tears of the earlier 18 years of my life.
and the the rest of mine too, hopefully.
a friend recently asked me what stopped it.
well heres the answer..
the pursuit of happiness.
when you reach a point when you want to be happy as much as you want oxygen thats when you dont even have to try.
automatically you train you mind to seek happiness, to turn every small moment of pleasue into lasting happiness.
happiness in is the small mercies of life.
the big ones come later.

it all started with the same friend telling me something onc that i will never forget...
it was about a year ago..
when i asked her why does happiness keep evading me, why do i not get what i want
and she said...
sana, we are like chess pieces being moved by someone above....
someimes we can see that if the person above just moves us one square we could kill the other persons pawn... and he isnt moving us.. and we keep wondering why, we curse him, we shout at him, but to no avail...
we can just see that one move and the glory and happiness it would give us
what we dont see
is what he does,
if he moves us that one sqare, there is another pawn who would kill us, and then chek mate..
so sometimes when you want things real bad and they are not happening,
keep patience... there is a reason...
and i swear i couldnt have put it better.
all i want to say to this person is thanks...
and i wish i could help her...
i will be there, just like she was...

fighting a lost battle

at what point trying to achieve something do you realise you have lost the battle...
do you keep going on hoping that some miracle will happen, when you know in your heart it probably wont, keep your self happy on that slight sparkle of hope.. or stop and turn back never daring to move ahead and see maybe there is another way, call yourself a loser and tell yourself to deal with it.
fighting a lost battle is not easy.
i dont knw if its foolhardiness, or optimism.
whatever it is i prefer hoping
i knw it finally slaps hard when that tiny sparkle of hope also goes.. but atleast you have that much more time for happiness .. the pursuit of it...
and who knows maybe there is another way waiting for you along the road.

just keep going.

i must

"I must write it all out, at any cost. Writing is thinking. It is more than living, for it is being conscious of living."
Ann Morrow Lindbergh quotes

10

viscosity

A strange thought crossed my head.
Viscosity
perfect word to describe this state.
Imaginary bubbles of air and water… relief.
Back to charcoal black thick viscous.
Dense and swift.
A fall and a suspension.
An embrace is what it needs
A warm simmer… to set the charcoal flowing.
A chance is all that is requested.
And never granted.
Is it so hard.
Or is it not my destiny.
Is there a destiny?
Days of the week all jumbled up… boiling hot…
Time burns.
blisters from the past..

A 100 degrees.

i have a cool friend and she has me too :)

have you ever noticed... how when you are with certain people( say A) you seem to be laughing more...
and when you are with certain other ones (say B) ... you seem to be whining more.. inturn depressing them.
does that mean you are closer to those in front of whom you laugh or those in front of whom you cant help but take out all your agonies and myseries.
not in my case.. still havent figured out why though.
maybe in front B you are not afraid to cry or be yourself and maybe you dont have to think before saying anything and put on a face in front of them and pretend everything is fine.. when its not.
maybe you get such happy vibes from A that you cant help mirror them.
maybe B doesnt realise they are doing the same thing to you.
or maybe im nowhere near to any thing remotely close to the real reason.

ahh the mysteries of human behaviour.

well today i was with one person who belong to the category A for me.
you know sometimes you feel you cant do something or you are scared you have forgotten how to..
well sculpture is one of those things for me..
and sometimes.. when you actually get to doing it...
it just comes back.. everything... the last three years of not sculpting dont seem too big after all in comparison to the 8 yrs of doing.

maybe you should actually go ahead and do it, instead of assuming for three years that you cant.
i made something entirely from memory today...
a hand, a hand that i knew the contours of, with my eyes closed.
and turns out... at least MY memory didnt fail me.
and im so happy that i went ahead and made it.
thank you anjali :)

extraordinary emotions

sometimes...
on a normal day, a normal night.
u witness extraordinary emotions.
they come out of nowhere... no certain cause.
just appear and engulf you in an amazing sense of bliss.
in the course of a normal conversation, one of the many everyday ones
this feeling wafts out lifting your hand and gently placing it on someones head.
and there is nothing more that you want to do at that moment than pray to god that all of this persons wishes are fulfilled , that nothing ever makes them sad. just blessign them without any expectations, without any other feelign except the one that u could easily die for this person.
when our mothers place thier hands on our heads they go through a similar feeling... many friends do too.
but how many of us actually feel the warmth that that hand gives us.
if u listen closely enough ,one can actually hear the sounds of beautiful wishes travelling to you.

i had never thought that a human being can feel this way... so beautiful yet so scaringly overwhelming.
the feeling of loving someone... be it your parents, siblings, friends.. so selflessly, is very rare.

and yet when you feel it, you cannot help feel so good inside that it aches from the want to show other people what it means.

this is to hoping that every human being gets to feel this way atleast once in their lifetime.
because.... really.. there is nothing better to experience.

my happy

the pursuit of happiness
can be very painful.
pushing down bubbles that are ready to explode.. creates nothing but empty spaces... vaccum rounded to perfection..
with no sharp edges ...
pleasing and harmless from the outside;
nauseatingly empty and dizzy from within.

surface tension is not just a scientific word.
collecting within, it crams my insides..
forming a bundle.. of claustrophobic feelings dying to be given an identity,
to atleast be given seperate names,
a whilpool of thoughts reside in that bubble. reaching every moment the burstin point.
yet they exist in the bubble..
ready to be pushed in , the very next time the urge to get some air beckons it.

miles to go before i sleep

distance makes the heart grow fonder...
or so the saying goes.
distance.
physical distance can be overcome, technology helps us..
the magic of a touch is worth dying for.

but what happens when the distance is not physical.

sigh..

koi mausam ka jhaunka tha
jo is deewar pe latki tasveer tirchi kar gaya hai,
gaye saawan mein ye deewarin yun seeli nahi thi..
na jaane kyun is dafa in mein seelan aa gayi hai,
dararein pad gayi hai....
aur seelan is tarah badti hai jaise,
khushq rukhsaron pe geele aanso chalte hain.
ye baarish gungunati thi
isi chat ki munderon par
ye ghar ki khidkiyon ke kaanch par ungli se likh jaati thi sandese
girti rahti hai baithi hui ab band roshandano ke peeche.
dupehrein aisi lagti hain,
bina muhron ke khaali khaane rakhein hain
na koi khelne waala hai baazi
aur na koi chaal chalta hai
na din hota hai ab na raat hoti hai sabhi kuch ruk gaya hai
wo kya mausam ka jhonka tha jo is deewar par latki hui tasweer tirchi kar gaya hai....

an excerpt from piya tora kaisa abhimaan by Gulzar

sand in my shoes.. dido

Two weeks away it feels like the world should've changed
But I'm home now
And things still look the same
I think I'll leave it to tomorrow to unpack
Try to forget for one more night That I'm back in my flat
on the road Where the cars never stop going through the night
To a life where I can't watch sunset I don't have time I don't have time
I've still got sand in my shoes
And I can't shake the thought of you I shake it all, forget you Why, why would I want to
I know we said goodbye Anything else would've been confused but I wanna see you again Tomorrow's back to walking down to sanitation,
run a bath and clear up the mess i made before I left here
Try to remind myself that i was happy here
Before I knew that I could get on the plane and fly away
From the road where the cars never stop going through the night
To a life where I can watch sunset
And take my time Take all our time

words

words are like sand,
they slip
unless u have brain strong and experienced enough to hold the sand and make it into a masterpiece,
it flies
never can you gather it again,
they travel in the atmosphere,
depositing as dust on someone;
in someones eye, discomfort it causes,
in shoes as memory, an unpleasant memory

careful where it may fall or fly
cause what all it causes you have no idea,
whos heart it scratches you dont know,
unless you want that,
keep the sand, firmly in your fist
or better, pour it in an hour glass,
invest it in time, for your friendship.
if you dont the time runs away pretty soon,
and again you wont know,
cause ull be too busy blowing sand in someones eye.

hurt lasts
blessings last.

to my sweetheart poodle

time goes by even before you enter it.

people walk by even before you see them.

moments go by even before you experience them.

you think you have forever ... you dont.

a birthday as i have grown up to believe has lost its meaning thanks to a certain someone. with the "whats the big deal." philosophy, nothing is ever inportant enough;

no one is ever important enough; no one moment defines happiness. sometimes, i wonder what really is the big deal....

in making someone happy, remembering them, making them feel special for just one day ?

there maybe many more, but why not one more, excusively thiers. to wish the best for someone you care for more than you thought you could care .. ever.

to just wish that god blesses them with all he has and you have.... all you want is fr them to be happy...

how difficult is to recive such a blessing?

and how easy is it to reject it by saying whats the big deal?

hurt lasts

blessings last

its a decision ... to choose either.

this is to one friend who i have learned more from than anyone else perhaps.

who has been there when i didnt need her and also when i did. to have lived together is a different thing. to have grown up together... makes the best of friends. seen thorugh the best and worst.. and yet many to come. some one who will never be forgotten no matter if she lives in austrailia or scandanavia or pluto for all i care. god bless you prachi.

today

man is a strange being, the desire of something more, something better in the future always persisits.
in ahmedabad, milan persists and in milan, ahmedabad persisits,
memories persist, people persist and the urge to be with them persists.
where does that leave today,
lived onto borrowing from yesterday and in the shadow of tomorrow?
today ....the most precious gift that god has given us.
yet it doesnt persist, perhaps in the future it will.... when it becomes yesterday.

home away from home