To write and not to write

when i begin a post, i know exactly what the first sentence is going to be,
it just occurs to me in an occupied state and then i know i have to pour it out,
well, today
i want to write ,
but i don't know what this post will consist,
but I'm still writing it,
whats more, you are still reading it.....
that's just a sorry state of affairs,
the fact
that you are still reading it,
hoping to find some shred of anything that remotely makes sense......
well
this is
too depressing for my weak heart.
ill write something worthwhile to make you feel better,


have a good day.

Splendid luck

What flush of splendid luck
spate of undeniable unquestionable good favor
of glorious meetings with no eyes, no ears and no mouths.
only thoughts of unmatched frequencies,
and unanswered telepathy.

The day i left

recently i visited nid,

and the slight change creeping in secretly left a shooting pain,

but the want to make most of these few days with the only people i could care to be with,

made me feel that this now in pune is a break from being where i belong,

and the quality of these days has way overpowered the quantity,

these four days were so jampacked with experiences, emotions, that i wanted to grab and snatch,

the it feels like a fortnight.

and yet again, i thanked my sheer good luck to have found such people, such soulmates.

leaving, i split myself in two, left one the one with bones made out of nostalgia,

right there, in the spaces, with the person who suddenly feels lonely the day i leave.

of favors and doorbells

Do me a favor, dont knock
if you knew better you'd just barge in
if i knew better, i'd just turn away.


But, what fate
that we are stuck in this unending stagnancy
of us on either sides of the door,
with these locked latches
and sealed door peeps.

do we make our own dissapointments
by carefully watering our expectations

see weeds

sinking feeling

floating seeweeds

sprinkled with dust, of years of abandonment

and disinterest

brown earth coloured see weed

parasites of the unbound vast,

closed spaces

matted with tangled roots of free doom,

and octopuses and mollusks of a different kind.

I'd rather have everything i want right with me
than to wake up and realise i was only dreaming.

But just then

When you come home to a place where lying alone in the night,

you can hear the street sounds clearer than your own thoughts

your appetite for life just gets lost in those very streets

commented on by perverse juvenile boyfaced men.

and finally when those thoughts do seem to manage to get you to notice

they have become so loud,

that you would give anything to listen to those street sounds

just one more time,

but just then,

the whole world goes to sleep.

why i write..... part 2

If you would not be forgotten,

as soon as you are dead and rotten,

either write things worth reading,

or do the things worth the writing.

BENJAMIN FRANKLIN

Amidst the grain of sandust

I pass by the same place that the sealed envelope came from
the same address beckons me to relive those memories
of jumping from one balcony to another, secretly
waking up early, even though there could be nothing more
that i loved than sleep,
just to be able to wake you up,
to look at you sleep for hours,
funny, how two days can become your entire lifetime of memories
funny, how those memories
have rusted this solitary place forever.
the place that gave me more to hope for than i could imagine
amidst the grains of sandust
in teddybear pajamas.

The defogging

A long and steady road, just beginning to defog
i was consistent, walking linear, curious
waiting for the road to end any minute,
now that the fog has cleared
the only thing in sight
is the road
omnipotent
the urge and hope has defogged too
clarity can sometimes be worse than doubt.

in time

Sometimes, when you leave a place, there are certain images, certain memories that remain forever embedded to that place that journey or that trip,and those faint rememberances put a smile on your face everytime you think about it
and years later when you happen to visit that place, that moment, that person, that song,
there is nothing of the thing that you always cherished
there is nothign left in the person,i n the bricks,
places and people exist only in the dimension of time,
and the sooner we accept that the better,
because going back to your most deeply felt and cherished moments,
and finding them abominally different and unfamiliar, can be one of the most painful things to your present.
because reality can never match up.

the oak tree

what do i gain from a thousand hopes, and a thousand wildred names,

what do i find in a thousand oaks, but a thousand different names,

etched in the bark, scraped in brutally,

so far, that the rings of years, are exposed,

so far that the only thing left concealed,

is a nestling of a hopeful sparrow in my bosom

so far that the tiny sparrow is only within an inch

of the very blade

that you wield.

A Split Second

I thought i saw something move,
back in those spaces,
hidden from my view,
the spaces that time does not permit me to see,
i turn around i see you
dash out
i will forever remember that expression on your face
that i caught the glimpse of for a split second
that split second, will haunt me for the rest of my nights.

A split second in an eternity
An eternity in a split second

A mistletoe

Once upon, a mistletoe,
had a fit and went to Rome;

That summer was called the season of doom,
left, right and centre everyone crashed,
into love, there was no choice, no respite;

Many hearts broke afresh,
to see thier loved one's undying quest;
they found love anew,
and bid thier past adieu;

The mistletoe came to its sense
lay in bed all night, extremely tense;
decided to stay back in Rome,
one city is enough harm done.

My friend Darwin

i know that because of what i am about to write i maybe interpreted by some cynical practical people as the ideal case of bipolar mood disorder.( it is an actual disorder!)
i believe that things have a way of working out.
as cliched as that my sound,
i believe that when something is meant to happen, the whole universe( yes all of it! and im not exhaggerating) comes together to make it happen,
and all the instances in your measly life even bad, happen for a reason...
may not always be for a good reason, but nonetheless it is...
here again i go back to Darwins theory,
adaptation, my friend is the key....
i thought i was rigid and evaded any change even if it meant a change of bathroom slippers!!!!
but im surprised at how easily a human being ( read me ) can adapt when there really is no way out...
so here i am, truly dedicated to Darwin,
happy and Darwinised...
and Lemonised if i may add... ;)

why do wishes come true?

a serious dearth of happenings,
leads me to believe,
or hope rather,
something of a bigger stature,
arrives in a parcel, sooner than later.
some people just dpnt know what to wish for...
and why oh why, do wishes come true....

i come home to it, and travel away to work to it
and come back to it yet again,
ever pervasive, all permanent solitary

Alone in a city full of strangers
i think i belong

Serendipity laughs n my face....
4th Feb 10:55 am
The same sunlight sparkles, the same cool breeze,
the warm winter sun and a cup of chai
and ofcourse my notebook.
The uncanny thread that binds in such deceptively smiliar fashion,
a begining and an end,
melts away all my doubts and leaves only blissful solitude...

Chai Gate

I am now on my way to Pune, and somehow there is one recollection that refuses to let go of me, it breings a smile on my face everytime i think about it.

On my last day in Nid, i had to take care of a few last moment things, meetigns with faculty , officalt letters eetc. I was in a desperate hurry and to add to my dismay my faculty was not in his cabin. In the wait i decided to have one last hot cup of chai at the 'chai gate'. The chai gate is the melting pot of all creative and non creative interation, people sit for hours at this place sipping on endless cups of tea and munching on endless plates of bhajiya, ( the gravity and the value of this place is easier understood if you are an NIdian) and endless discussions ensue on all kinds of imaginable and unimaginable topics possible.

On this particular morning i happened to be the first visitor to this holy place.

I ordered my chai took out a notebook and wrote a few lines, as i sipped the recurring thought that this may never happen again kept flashing.
But that feeling of a warm winter sun, a hot cup of chai, a clean sheet of paper and my fvourite place in the world, made me realise that this really is the end, and i couldnt help but smile despite that.

sometimes, well mostly when i read what i have written,
i have no recollection of what i might have been thinking,
infact whats scarier is the fact that its hard for me to even
accept that all that came out of my head.

even from far away

Firewood, hay, brittle, vulnerable
needs but one splinter, to wreck it.
One match, even touching from a distance is enough
solution : keep it dipped in water.
Make a pickle, and eat the goddamn trouble maker.

Away

Away from you
i have nothing to write,
nothign to feel, no rhyme,
No urge for purpose or prose,
no book to close.
Away from the place i belong,
No urge to read,
no words to withold.
Not really anything to touch and feel at all.

I am the bark,
the brown, hard,
thick eyesore, of the
luscious green tree that you pluck the fruit of.
quick.

Silt

If ever you seek me out,
remember to shout,
clairvoyance is not my strength
my throat is sore,
but i dont want this to end
not just yet
so my friend
remember to bellow
my name that is etched
on the golden silt that remains
in a morsel of time, savored.

Missing Notice

Missing music
of innocent,
young, hopeful
juvenile love.
If found
please contact
the undersigned.
With Love
The Undersigned

The image is a poster by an artist called Peter Snelling

Air

Air,
Please dont start a conversation
it might go on forever
I dont have time for small talk
Theres a lot more that i need
to clench in my fist,
on my last night

The B hostel staircase, waiting for the night to start,
8:45 pm

the city of dust

i lived in the city of dust,
for a few and a half years,

i captured every moment
lest it may gather dust.

blink blink blush

The shining

Here, now, this, today
incomplete in every way;
This endless chatter, drowning
the endless scream snubbed

Here, now, gone away
flown away in orbs of mindless laughter;
But a few left tinkling,
between my fingers
shining moments of glee.

- in the night mess, Nid, 23 January 1am

The Wind

The first bite

I like the glory that pioneering brings
the exhilaration of doing something for the first time,
being the first one to do it, that's something else
The glory but is only dragged in with effort
laziness is my travelling companion, shrug it off,
its stuck in my person,
but so is the want to do something with my life,
and not let it pass by everyday....
what remains to be seen is which aspect is more overpowering,
that itself will determine the entire outcome of my being,
and my many many decisions, besides of course, chance.

prediposters

For me done by Vaidehi


For Vaidehi done by me and Anita

and instructions for dancing

Frustrating dozens

Its not always that you can be ingenious, only rarely....

That perfect idea, is mostly elusive,

what about those days when it just doesn't happen?

do you sit around looking at the cursor?

keep thinking, even if it has been a long long while?

when do you move on, to more things to think about?

Can you ever satisfy everyone?

is it possible to have an idea, just perfect, every time, within the time limit?

only rarely, does the chord strike,

what makes those days that is happens so much more precious,

are these days when it doesn't.

these ones that come by the dozen,

followed by another couple dozens.

Go Ahead, i say,

Stop, i say,

think, go.

Silenced by sleep

A smiling horizon, orange beams,
silenced by sleep,
the dark likes sleep,
to gnaw its way through thought,
glittery stars, midnight blue,
silenced by sleep.
The dreams, fragments of those sections
which have yet remained unlived
expanding in the ever spreading darkness,
the darkness within me
which refuses to
be silenced by sleep.

Lamenting haste

Will this lament last,
this trajectory of inconceivable misunderstanding,
if only i hadn't kept a record, of hurts, and more hurts,
this etching seeps down further every day,
if only acceptance wasn't so difficult to accept,
this road to further days,
leaves everything behind,
but footprints
still carry on,
beside me, invisible marks
in the wet freshly setting concrete
tar.

The last week

The last one week has been probably one on the most eventful ones in my life, all the last four years of my design education, has been put up for public scrutiny. as a stoke of serendipity the person who was supposed to put up their work backed out, and, and well it was now or never,
so the next day, i was up at the display area, all ready to put it up, little did i realise, what all was to come in the next days, at first it seem so easy, you pick your work, and put it up.
but its unbelievable how many difficulties can come in the span of these two sentences.

So the whole process started, with me walking all over my bloated ego and asking people to come help me, my ego was ripping apart to tell you the truth....
a dear friend then took pity, left all his work, and helped me with the first step...
sorting what to put up from four years of work....
and slowly people started dropping in, to help,
absolutely nothing to gain out of it, only to lose time,
and the past four years kept flashing by in milliseconds,
leaving me ask myself what good deeds i must have done in my past lives to deserve such selfless unconditional friendships,
some unexpected, came to lend their help, at least offered to...
some expected didn't even bother to show their faces,
everything kind of balances itself in the end.
i made a friend, someone i couldn't have imagined being able to tolerate,
and surprisingly, I'm becoming increasingly fond of this person, much to my dismay.

Bouts of laughter and depression are a commonality to the pre diploma syndrome,
and suddenly in the middle of it all,
i stand up and start thinking about how futile this all is, and im told to shut up and get back to work, i have slogged my ass off, so much that its been the third day since its up and the pain in legs is still not letting me walk properly.
but then again i had something to prove to myself.

Worst ever boards, crumpled paper, screwed display, lovely headers, and ever lovelier friends.
all is up, and well, and i am going mad with laughter. ( a pre requisite to a bad day ahead, more on this in another post )

I leave this place in a few days, after the most rewarding four years of my life
and all i wish is, i could split in parts, and leave myself in places i long to be in..... my past, present and future, be with all the people i want to be with at the same time, without having to compromise because of geography or non physical distances.
A whirlpool of emotions, where people have emerged out of beyond oblivion to help me, to make me feel better when i needed it most, like angels, my guardian angels.
if this isn't life.... what is....

heads or tails?

Heads or tails,
nuts or nails??

Decision making is such a bore,
a big load of goat manure....
thats wot it is you know,
a big big load of goat manure.
and if you try to overcome,
me truly says, theres nowhere to run,
so this is what you have to make sure,
put truck loads of sugar in the manure....

and down it with the best of faith,
panic, derange, and leave it to fate.

songs that capture time

songs that capture time,
that capture the space, the smells, the exhilarations and the fears....
the trumpet, the baritone, the pulsing nerves,

bheegi hui koi shaam ho,
mehka hua koi naam ho,
bin baat hi hoti hai neelam wo,
mashhoor hai phir bhi badnaam wo,
jaane.... hua hai aaj kya hame, na hum jaane,
kyun humko yaad aae wo,

ab is tarah main usko sochta hun,
guzre hue wo pal rokta hun
wo pal kahi kho gae the jo apne,
aur saath bhi ho gae the jo sapne
jaane.....

wo roshni wo aag hai
ya phir koi charg haijise dheere dheere hai jalna
jise is tarah hi hai chlnaisi mod pe wo aaj bhi kandeel si chalegi,
shehar ki dhoop si bewaqt hi dhalegi....
jaane....
hua hai aaj kya hame nahum jaane....


-a song from chameli and a hot cup of badly made coffee, a chocolate brown couch, and the drone of the heater..... and a scared silent night....
trumpet!!!!!!
im in love..... yet again.....

a silent humming

little mercies of life,
on a lonely walk in the night,
i hear something on the road,
faint, barely audible over the trucks roaring by,
dark streets,
way past bedtime,
a cursory look,
up on a cozily lit balcony,
a swing, the silent noise of the creek punctuating,
the humming,
the warmth of the lullaby of this
mother, with her world wrapped in arms,
singing,
about fairylands, and prince charming,
about sleep walking in wearing anklets,
this selfless warmth,
hardly what i was expecting, looking for
yet exactly what i want.
a yellow light, a warm room,
and the vast expanse of love.

thedaybefore

toomanythoughtstoolittetimetomeetbeforeileavetotellthathowmuchitkillsmetotellyouabouttheimaginatioofthetimewhenihavetomissyouwhenallofuswillnotbearoundeachothereverydaywhenthepostsherewillnotbeaboutyouorthisplaceorthisroomthethoughtsdontseemtostopforonceicantunderstnadwhatsgoingoninmyheadcauseittoooverwhelmingforonceidontwanttorevelinthisstateforonceiwantogiveupextencialismandescapetoatimewhereallwillbefineagainfineandfamiliarwhereyouwillbearoundeverydayformetoholdtotalktoknowtokeepsothisisitithasjustsunkinthatthisreallyisittheendofsomethingineverthoughtwillfinishbuthereitisstaringtmyfaceallpackedupandrolledmylifedividedintwowhereiwantobeandwhereihavetobeandthisihowthissitutionleavesmefeeling....

forfeit.

no can do,
not another year,
not another record,

not where i want to be,
not what i am,
not how i want to either,

no can do misissy,
this is not my game anymore,
i quit, i quit, i quit,
not what i want forever,
not how i want to live either.

i quit, for i, now, thus
forfeit.

oh, clever words, on new year's eve

Oh, how clever words are, swift to your tongue,
swift as an arrow,
clever as clever can be.

Oh, how numb sensations are, passing by your heart,
numb as thoughtless can be,
passing by as they have nothing to do with you.

Oh, how joyous is this meeting, on the new year's eve
joyous as joyous can be,
a perfect new year,

ruthless and time consuming as this wish can be.

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.