Justified absurdity

Sometimes "now"..

2010-04-28T09:24:00.005+05:30

My dreamy eyes stay fixed
At the joy island
Up in the sky
As the restless waves
Sweep over my feet,
Calling for indulgence.
They have Mercury
Dancing all over them
To seduce me today,
If only my eyes do stray.

For Swami Nithyananda's motley group of supporters

2010-03-20T19:24:00.005+05:30

I very much agree that it is ridiculous to drag someone caught having sex to court just because he was a 'sanyasi'. I think on the same lines of some virtual people here supporting nithyananda's cause.

I regard nityananda's followers as a cult group, rather than a hindu religious group. Going by the articles I have read, he had regarded himself as God and I see his followers, or rather disciples, as a cult sect, who like nityananda's teachings and techniques ( whatever they might be, well, even the name makes me think of sex, lol!).

There were cases of 20 something men and women leaving their families and careers and settling down in the ashram. There could be a lot involved here. Like drugs and sex, as was the case with kalki ashram. And I can see a big room for exploitation. This guy nityananda is usually seen in the videos giving sermons with women massaging his legs. It is said that these women were doing that thinking they were serving God. We Indians are still vulnerable in the matters of God and no wonder these women trusted him and subjected themselves to exploitation. Wasn't there a mention of an unexplained death in his ashram too? Why does words like blackmail and forcible detention pop up in my mind? Well, I am thinking too much. I am mad. Come gag me now!

In a similar way, I strongly support the biggies demanding the struggling actors for a couch test after a screen test, well, who cares to think of the exploitation here, when all we care to think of is the privacy of a man calling the shots because he is able to! Fair or unfair, all is fair after three shots of objectivism. If one has to fuck a boss to get oneself established (off bed), why should we court marshall the boss?? I love my boss. I should love my boss!

I want the privacy of that poor guy to be cared for. I don't care if he is God Himself or just a faker. One dud I came across questioned the very definition of God, which he regarded to be subjective (isn't the answer lying in the very question of his? I thought am the only proudly ignorant new age twink!) If I regard something as God, it would be the degree of trust on it based on what it appears to be. If He chooses to take advantage of me, then it is my fault to be such a dumbo and not drag him to court for his ethical incompetencies.

This would apply to all other crime scenarios. If the victims had used their brains, there would have been no crimes. Cheating is an acquired evolutionary trait, isn't it obvious?? Some people have progressed to such an extent that they live by exploiting the less evolutionarily advanced, and it is stupid to punish such superior traits. And now, it is an individual's right to privacy that blinds me and why should I strain my grey cells to look at what doesn't show up to my naked eye?? He hasn't lead the exemplary life that he has portrayed. Whats the big thing? Well, he has screwed a few disciples of his, obviously taking advantage of his Godly status. But that is his intelligence. Should he be guillotined because he is intelligent?

Sorry, I only have this much capability to think. I was declared mentally retarded, by the old world medical standards, when I was born.

So why do they still trouble kids like me with those stupid laws and punishments? Can't we do away with the whole thing called a government and set the whole human race free? Can't wait to see the spectacular scenes that I only get to see in the African jungles on Discovery, here in the open, in India!

Change of Seasons

2009-12-17T16:19:00.008+05:30

The skies pour down in torrents
While I return home in the morning;
School-going kids
Hasten to me for cover under my umbrella
Mumbling half forgotten lessons;
I raise my collar hiding my hickeys,
Smiling a wicked one.. :)

The day after..

2009-09-14T14:59:00.004+05:30

After sunset blossoms,
All flashy and alluring,
Enshrouded in gloom thats friendly.

Damn! they have to wake up,
To a dawn thats inconsiderate,
With their stalks that now rot.

One night shows,
Done with all excesses
For motives utter bleak:
Enough reasons
For depressive introspections
The day after.

Living a lie

2009-07-27T23:22:00.004+05:30

I reach for my window pane,
Craning my neck
For a generous view
Of a civilised show,
Muted of its sincere cries.
What I see?
Shiny lips,
Rouged cheeks;
Fake eye-lashes,
For an eye that is genuine,
A wannabe hairdo:
An alien staring at me,
From glass that also reflects:
Glimpses of reality.

The Rain 'Goddess'

2009-07-25T12:28:00.003+05:30

The superior gets liberal
Showering pent up blessings,
Blessings of an unknown form:
Unfriendly, the apt countenance.
From heaven, she comes galloping,
The whip wielding, bindi’ed maiden,
Plucking away ripe yellow leaves as she lands,
Convincing the roots to undo themselves
With her persuasive postiche locks.

Piercing, he exclaims:
First droplets, on his armour,
The wind, his friend?
Benumbing him,
Or modulating her?

She, the powerful:
Her chillness percolates him,
No mercy! The wind snaps away.
Darkness enshrouding him,
Gloom all around.

Steps traced inattentively,
As his heart races nonchalantly
To the ancient fortresses
Of his life that is dead,
Speeding up, and slowing down:
Her dictations, her fluctuations.
Soft susurrations,
Loud weepy wails;
Leafy rustlings,
Bacchanalian random drum beats.

His head bent low, then, and now;
Muddy shoes on his feet, then, and now.
Enshrouded in an ocean of similarity,
A friendly anonymity,
He starts seeing a mother in her,
Like a child that cries:
Mother’s arms, and the unfailing comfort.
The assumed mother, disrobes herself in a flash,
Exposing the vulnerable;
Impertinent flashes:
Her debauched camera snaps!

An eager friend
An innocent believer
A hopeless lover
A promising son
A timid school boy.
His first motorcycle ride
His first day in college
His first crush
His mom’s illness
His first break up
Caught the camera!

Multitudes of water dripping down his boots,
Foot raised with multiple questions,
In a direction, favoured by a destination?
Wayside adornments – unspeakable oddities:
Domestic dirt, liberated, and abandoned,
Now stinking, the rain long gone,
And the air, clear, but heavy!

That sticky messy thing..

2009-07-19T20:58:00.004+05:30

From lands unknown to this side of the sea,
I come flying,
Fluttering with the indulgent breeze.
Two souls in unison,
Lit and exposed in the light of the moon,
Lie unaware of this new visitor,
Playing my pampering hosts.
This foreign thing,
Certain to visit select couples,
Certain this time.

I grow thorns then,
Clinging myself to both,
Or rather, sticking the two.
My slumbering hosts,
Sensitive to my furry thorns,
Wake up with red spots,
Taking off their tops in defense,
Only to get absorbed in themselves,
While I lie on the sand,
Open to the vagaries of the wind,
Expecting them,
To start relishing the pain.

And the cycles go on,
The sea cycles I refer,
While my spot stays untouched,
Waiting for them,
To come for their tops.

Everyday irony

2009-07-08T22:00:00.004+05:30

With the morning train roaring above,
And sleep deprived people running
And gasping for breath,
In the piss laden subway air,
One wayside beggar smiles in his sleep.

The Vulnerable

2009-07-08T21:56:00.003+05:30

Hiding from the facts,
Camouflaging with the uninterested,
The concerned still haunt me
Like a miniscule colour mismatch,
Turning me the centre of attraction
While I had intended to be invisible.

The maid on hold

2009-07-06T20:06:00.004+05:30

The closing of the gates was so sudden that she couldn’t prevent her feet from being crushed with its unconcern. There were things that she had wanted to do on the other side, but the gate was in no mood to hear her pleadings nor did that open in the other way, to let her witness the things that could have been desired by the trespasser. Not that she had put up a board asking the trespassers to mind their own way, but that he just didn’t digress from his way, whatever that could be. It’s a pleasure to be partial to one trespasser, and let him feel welcomed, though not deliberately. But that one trespasser seemed to be very much concerned about the rules and didn't seem to be capable enough of taking hints.

Only her windows were open, not that she had no power on the gate but that might make her a whore, and she stood watching him violating the rules, or maybe he was just stunned, at some gates of whose she was not aware of, making her wonder if one of them was his own or something that caught his fancy recently. She expected him to turn towards hers with an explanatory look, but then there was none and he was gone already. And then he comes the next day, hurling insults at the newly formed vents on her gate, some of which were caused by the hollow glance he gave the day before.

Vanity, and no complaints!

2009-06-24T21:09:00.004+05:30

And the flowers started fading as usual, a muted purgation of their vanity, the bees no longer the anxious lovers serenading nonstop, enchanted by the fragrant fresh colours. Embittered by the unaccustomed loneliness, the decay picks up speed, or rather, the flowers die a fast death, too vain to hobnob with mediocrity! Time dries up the life juices, the superficial pollen long blown away, the hood then forgets its purpose, shrinking and smothering the life that might still remain.

But the flirting continues: the new blooms quiver proudly, and the bees sway to their whims. The proud ex’s camouflage themselves with the dirt, sparing them from being pitied upon. No warnings for the new comers, credits to the pride of the dying, or even their good naturedness in letting the present of the young untasted by the woollen tongues of future. The bees act blind, parading with their spotless wings, choosing new lovers, with no time to legitimize the now dried up autochthonic honey-wells.

Day breaks, with the first local upsetting the blithe somnolence, waking up the once erect stalks from their droopy reveries, while the stalked ‘adornations’ still slumber in the gloom. The ephemeral beaus of some wayward hymenopter, defaced beyond recognition, their fragrance now intense, reeking of a liquid they were supposed to contain, appear to be lip synching to a sad romantic ballad, wafting in complaining susurrations, while the young learn unfurling.

Life begins in nearby shanties, pronounced by the increased flow in the courseless runnels that originate from them. The still existent moon refuses to go down and shows up as mercury dots on these runnels which are by then speckled with the dead, while the newly bloomed realign their petals with the aid of their reflections, all set to charm the diurnal beings.

Chennai's open arms for the 'criminals in love'

2009-06-24T20:37:00.003+05:30

Yearnings have been the cause of ruins of all awful extents from times immemorial and they hold their legacy even now. The paperboy early in the morning greets us with his anxious eyes as we rub our slumbering ones, to earn that extra buck while that late night news reader wraps up the day with his good night (with a perceptibly missing yawn), a desperate call for a break that is needed. In the middle are we, stirred in emotions, I mean, longings, living our day, planned or unplanned, on a balancing gesture, stretching and un-stretching ourselves to meet their demands.

Blinded by the vapoury yearnings, which descend on us with vengeance for demands unfulfilled, rarely are we permitted to desire a breather from an abundance of air, purified of its stagnant redundancy. Such is life, we yell, giving names like commitments and responsibilities for things driven by an inner desire, with exceptions when one still has the shallow and pretentious selflessness to fight with. Violent would the attempts to disrupt this routine be, as the fight is with oneself, for the same one, when both his selves speak for their parts, proving just. And mine were less crazy in no particular way one can ever come up with!

Night times are my cathartic moments, especially on the roads, when the lights on those ambitious billboards flicker in vivid hues (with the maddening vehicular traffic already asleep), the only signs of life after a busy day. These billboards, no longer the advertisers, now speak of mysterious, flamboyant dreams, giving direction to my aimless walks, with my eyes upturned, catching their flicker and missing nothing, making out images not being seen. The small town boy that I was, Chennai was a network of such streets, unexplored, when I had to relocate here for my under graduation. Let conservative, chicken-hearted, closed circuited (one of my favourites), etc., be the tag words glued to Chennai, but my night trips never had anything to do with these boring modifiers.

It was on one such night did my stress worn feet drag me to the Marina beach, to that gays’ corridor, squeezed in between the historic government buildings and the polluted sea waters beyond a massive expanse of heavily littered sand, with one most remembered chief minister resting peacefully at its side. It’s a cruisers’ spot in all aspects, religiously revered as ‘The sanctuary for Chennai gays’ by one petty artist I came across. With the air saturated with stench caused by the wayside urinators, boldly misguided by the ‘men only’ ambience, I was quite uncomfortable but then I was partly pleased as this place was the closest actualization I could ever achieve of those parks in movies that men frequent, more in night.

A shady place as it is, why beatify myself by making me the cold researcher, for I was no less a hooker than them, hooking up with the unknown, with no less wants. Everything is decided by a stare over here, and I did know the tricks to avoid being misunderstood as encouraging. Those lusty stares from beefy hunks, enquiring ones from the middle aged (watch out for the pan in their mouths!), timid downwardly stares from the grey haired oldies and to top it all, the winners were those desperate, deadly stares, determined to devour you even without a touch! By winners, I mean the most memorable ones and not the actual winning of their pursuit, which is an altogether different story governed not by the magnitude of the stare. Shiny costumes donned by a few, (sex workers, as I heard), add colour to the ageing night, and of course to the wearer.” He is a she! No, but she may not be a she! “, so go the comments as a gang of dandies pass by, followed by one figure draped in a sari, in an ultramodern way, rouged cheeks and wet lips! Cars follow them with an unusually slow speed, suggesting an imminent halt with any sign from the group. A few get picked up, while a few refuse to, returning with their hands busy, setting their hair in place. A few smoke, out of anxiety? Or maybe, just boredom.

Then came a khakhied guy, and then the hushes and the inactivity, danger, as I smelt! Then the normalcy! One of those dandies spotted me and came to me asking, “Time enna?” (What’s the time?). I could see from his watch that it was 1030. After the regular exchanges of nom de guerres, and our fictitious jobs, he then talked about his mansion nearby, hinting his readiness to host me. I didn’t want to just lose him for he sounded quite decent and suggested my wish to be here for a few more minutes for which he obliged. Waving at the passersby, he seemed quite well known to most of the well dressed guys there. It was then that I came to know about his part time job that helped to fill the hole his mansion rent made on his tiny pocket.

The elusive male sex workers, non-existent to Indian cinema, with not much citation in articles on prostitution in magazines, were just in front of me. These poor young men, obviously leading a double life by choice, seemed to have arrived at a better solution to lead their less lucky lives. And if it’s a question of whether being ‘pleasure-driven or money-driven’, it has something to do with pleasure, for the guy I talked to, made no mention of my paying him. He was in fact starting to yarn a tale of his love for me, taking my interest as an encouragement! Easy hopes for a simple man, and there, a sign of aspiration! Then were my enquiries about safe sex, and pat came his approval for letting me do him with no rubber. Some people are still into trusting others, no wonder we still have innocent in our dictionary. Maybe, ignorant is the right word! Not that he was ever told, for he did mention about a few people supplying condoms and a meeting stressing the need for safe sex. The change did happen in his thinking, but not in his way of perceiving things. A 17yr old getting buggered for money, teens fellating stinky old men, gay lovers in the flesh trade together, married men trying to earn some extra money and the list went on, of which my ears could hear no more of! Should the blame be on the unjust dancing of money or on the choice of living of a few? And why should there be any blaming, for they are as proud as any other moneymaker, with regrets attributable to the professions of even you and me? Yearning is the common catalyst here (and of course in every other place), the primitive wheel of its own will, with the protagonists stuck to its spokes!

I got an auto back home from the bus stop nearby, shooing away the desperate bikers, who took me for one soliciting sex! Guilty I did feel, for breaking the heart of that overtly romantic young man, and satisfied was me as I got my share of flattery I was so desperate for!

The awakening..

2008-09-15T07:38:00.003+05:30

I sat by the banks of a river frequented by many, one evening, with my mates, armed with earplugs against the cacophony of the supposedly ‘normal’ people, bathing in the waters of their prenotions, emerging unwashed, and ready for scrambling forward through the crowd waiting for their turn. I waited, or rather stayed idle, as the earplugs, which masked not just the sounds, produced a mystic symphony, and I passed out.

I woke up, must have been a little later, to find me all alone in a place bearing a slight similarity to those banks where I was before. The waters were crystal clear, and appeared still, boasting of its fertile tributaries which had shaped up the reckless, shabby stream into a mobile example of clarity, gushing ahead or rather making a slow procession, in contrast with its parallel railings of instability, with a grace of self realisation, for the flow seemed sure of its destination though it has to endure a sinuous course ahead.

The yellowish tinted moon, which appeared swollen, conveniently with my opalescent memories, made the waters shimmering with a spirit of rebellion, beckoning me, as I stood up, envisaging my purpose, and I decided to bear the real music, giving away my ear plugs to my future brothers who would not be brave enough. And then I felt a hand, a warm one, on my shoulders, ensuring me of support. I turned around, and it was him…

The decorators of my cesspit..

2008-05-30T00:47:00.008+05:30

I noted the monotony in my recent posts and was thinking of bringing a change.. And then Saheli tagged me to do a post on Five people I hate and here goes my bitching, which after all was my old domain..

1.Conceited jokers
I have come across fools who have this powerful attitude to dominate, discouraging real talents to doubt themselves.. My personal experience laughs at this guy who used to wear this ‘I-rule’ smile, possessing a cheapo cranium built by stealing ideas, mine one among them. This breed has a dangerous cousin who give a jerk to your senses with their proclaimed ‘rational’ read irrational views supported by their empowering attitude, characteristic of them. I seriously give a damn to their dogma or dog shit whatever they are masters of..

2.Pretentious fools
And then there is this breed who mask themselves in spotless white and go ranting on your slackness.. There was this guy who happened to be surviving in the place where I had to live, singing some Gandhigiri ideals when the other guys chanced in a situation that pricked their patience.. And one day I caught him drooling, watching porn and then there were no airs!!

3.Nether worshippers
I was blessed to live with one loser who used to make me feel low with his questions fired by his desire to chuck my confidence.. These underdogs learn for the sake of ruining others and die to make others feel low.. Obviously they are obsessed with their inferiority complex..

4.Humour gone haywire
This breed considers sadism as humour and goes masquerading, and laugh themselves when what they invite would be hot glares of disgust at the re-enactment of atavism. Deeper inside these people would be those shying away from their deformities (of whatever uglier deformity of their already ugly forms) which they try to hide by pointing at others..

5.Animal instincts
Trapped in a human body, their true selfs show up without help as nose picking, bad table manners, bad breaths, scratching more often, musical ‘delights’ by patting themselves or some other objects, bad dress sense, awkward movements when locomoting and in many ways.. The animal or whatever I had to live with used to remain in a nauseating nearly undressed state more often, with this musical delight thingy, with some occasional unwanted gyrations blaming the heat and thus ruined my appetite.. Probably a not so mentionable, if not boastful, upbringing..

6.Crappy worm (w)hol®es
These slimy wormholes suck your juice and chuck you as they find something more attractive.. Typical of the people we find as majority, they surely will make two or three days of your life messy as you come to terms with their sin and start hating them.. Many flirts, flatterers, bitches and ‘well wishers’ belong to this category..

I broke the rule by bringing the number to 6, which still is not enough.. And am now tagging
Aham
Saad
Arjun
Tunafish
Tina

in revenge with the bugs freed to bite you to glory….

When I walked with my eyes closed...

2008-05-20T00:37:00.006+05:30

The July sun seemed quite ambitious that day in creating an unenclosed oven all around me, as he was in his final hours of the day. The blank state which reigned me, body and soul, only got into a state of irritation as fresh beads of perspiration gave me a sensation of being under a shower gushing out a rather not so clean liquid which felt like water. The stone which must have lost its aim had me with rancour then, with a sense of achievement, as I felt my head now sweating even more, but with pain, as I got stirred from my reverie. I was walking, nearly running as it must have looked like, dreaming as always but with nothing to remember, for I didn’t care to, as I came across some sort of landmark, which as it looked like, must be a meeting place for non political groups. The group there seemed just like any other group I have seen before many a time with no interest.

This day bloomed differently for me, but got exposed further in an uneventful fashion, and now this group. The grouping and factioning,” not my kind”, as I would pass by without a second glace, got into my eyes in a perniciously attractive way then. There was some confusion, as it was evident to anyone who was there. It made some sense as I realised it to be some sort of fight between two groups or followers. I couldn’t find the reason for the grouping or the clash. It was apparent that I would have made no success if I had proceeded to find the reasons. Also I wouldn’t have cared if it was so apparent. The confusion was drawing me to it unfailingly as I now thought of giving a try in being a part of one of the groups. Which group should I get into?? What were they fighting for??

I saw my dad in one of the groups as I was choosing the one I must get into. The cause which was driving them from their stable states didn’t bother me much as I would have happily joined a group which looked worth checking out even if it was supporting anything, even the one whom Jug Suraiya calls, the ex CM of Idlipom. I joined my dad’s group, no not ‘his’ group literally as he was not the head or anything. My dad acknowledged me with a formal smile as he seemed to be quite active in their mission which was driving me crazy then. I thought of asking them, but gave up that as I found many confused ones which showed itself, though they were trying to be active. And the known ones cared a trifle to make their motives clear. The slogans they shouted and the cacophony of the repetition by the half active ones uttered more with a sense of fun than devotion made me attempt the same. And then I started my ritual of stopping my sense of reasoning.

As I continued my work which would deserve even my sleep to get spoilt only to the half, I made an analysis of the other group. I must have been bored with this continuum which needed only my passive form, as I was going through the other group which now attracted me with the same quotient as the group I am in did before. I thought of switching the groups, but dreaded my dad’s hatred and being tagged as a weak minded. The attraction now became a realisation in me as I strongly felt this is not my group. I had a sense of belonging to that group, though honestly their cause didn’t reveal itself to me in any way. I got over these thoughts as a shower of stones brought me back to my assigned work as before. May be the stones had their right target this time for I felt being slowed down out of my will. I was confused more then, confused of this confusion and siding with the faction which resonated with me in the slightest possible way.

I saw my dad retiring then. I thought of stopping with him, but the void boredom which would follow made me go ahead with this group activity. I searched my group for nothing and saw my dad’s friends with their cheerful faces trying to be serious as I was shouting some slogan of theirs. The stone showerers then made me look at them with their usual shower of stones. They looked even more attractive now, and i was free of any encumbrance to decide then for I cared the least for the hatred of any.

My new group was indeed interesting in the beginning as I found many confused ones like me. And this one was not as organized as the previous one and the fact was that, many here were just for some fun, and I had a share of it by making the internecine battles springing unexpectedly into a contagion. And then it started boring me as this group was short of a show that could keep me hooked for long, as the flight of a flock of flamingos in the red orange sky seeking a new home caught my attention and made me dream of the days when I was still a kid, exploring things but with a sense of reasoning not so strong. I wasn’t allowed to stay appreciating my past further as something sinister, that was happening around me, and related to me in some way, caught my attention.

I saw a man chasing someone, someone who resembled someone I knew.. someone who commanded my respect in my past and the one I regarded as my Mentor. The chaser had a murderous aura around him and I wondered why the one being chased didn’t stop and face him and fight. It must not be him I thought and not for him I declared and got into the wild goose chase for I kept losing them though they were running very close to me. I was sure I wasn’t losing the direction and continued chasing them, caring about nothing and none.

They kept running and I ran behind them as I realized I have run a long distance for there were not those usual homes with an unwelcoming entrance I am used to find in the roads I travel most often. It was nearly dark then as our chase continued and there was nothing which can hide them from me, for we were running on a place which seemed to be cleared for something which was going to be undertaken later. And then I realized I was proceeding in the wrong direction as it was gravity which was pulling me as I sensed the absence of a base. I was tired of the sudden increase in speed and the rest happened as it had to, and I refused to witness that for I was too tired for that and I slept..

I must have slept long for my eyes were paining as I made an effort to keep them open. I wondered when I changed my clothes for I was in radiant white, which would never have been my choice, yet I felt I must have tried this before for white is not that bad after all. I was in a place, which I had dreamed before, the pond with lotuses yet to bloom, and people around, some inspiring, some forgettable.. I found my Mentor at the other end of the pond, and he was in radiant white. He was meditating it seemed for he didn’t appear to be involved with the people there. I thought of saying a hi to him, but reaching him was not a good idea as it involved a route from where came whines and wails implying the worst. My adventurous self won this time as I was by then nearing that section of the route. It was a testing phase as I reached that section which was like a cloister with rooms on either side. And I found the real odd people there, the people whom I found odd in my life, the ones I hated the most, the cheaters who stabbed me not just once, now cheerful and full of life, and now with their teeth flaunting their shining glory peering at me from their rooms.. I left them to grow up long time ago, and today will be their second chance I thought as I got into a trance as I embraced my desire to control and stop giving up to my impulsive thoughts and proceeded..

And then it was Him.. my Baba.. my Mentor.. He didn’t seem like he was expecting me.. but He received me well with his usual mockery, “It didn’t take you very long then?”.. and then there was this lady, quite loud, on a call.. and my Baba joked, “I wonder if she has the network still intact!!”

“Of course it didn’t take long” shouted Shanno as she woke me up and it was our station.. and I had slept again in a local!!…

Autumn tales...

2008-04-13T02:26:00.003+05:30

Those golden yellow leaves
And the almost barren trees,
Crushed and uncrushed they lay
Welcoming, and unwelcoming.

She seemed down to earth
For enigmatic was her worth,
As she stepped on the leafy carpet,
Woven by time, to be unwoven by will.

Her unresolved path,
Concealing her wrath,
As she made a zigzag pattern,
Distracting, and attracting.

Her chimerical speed raised and stopped
As her gasping occasionally dropped.
She must have been sought after it seemed,
For she seemed to be in a hurry.

Her small sharp eyes gleamed,
As her radiant face beamed,
For she looked up only now,
To reveal her pernicious beauty.

The leaves were excited,
Though they were already dead,
And gossiped and gyrated,
As they chuckled as she rode.

The cackling of the leaves
With her occasional peeves
As she got propelled, resonated
Though not for his ears.

The newly fallen leaves waited,
For she was so much gaited,
As they proceeded to their grave,
Guessing the ominous spectacle.

Then interrupted the wind
To report its find,
Though futile were its attempts
In whirling and swerving.

For he was in his prime,
Lost in his melancholy chime,
Unnoticing the miasma,
That was swallowing him.

She saw in him a deserving target,
As now unwoven was the carpet
By the twist she made in haste,
Aspiring a better chance to strike.

Autumn did his supposed part,
In welcoming his would be heart.
For he didn’t care to expect her,
Forgetting eternity, hiding behind time.

The lady now so resolute,
Though the boy still desolate,
Then reached him, and
Presented her shiny beauty.

Stunned was the hero as expected,
And fast was she in striking him
For she expected a brave one,
And then waited for his heroism.

He was fast in giving up,
And she was so cheated up,
For he was blue in love
To be flattered very soon.

She then left unnoticed,
For she came unnoticed,
And our hero lies all alone,
To be found later.

And then,
“It must be a nocuous viper”,
Were the proven speculations.

Polka dotted dreams....

2008-04-05T00:13:00.004+05:30

I woke up unknowingly, only to sleep again,
As I turned lethargically in my caring terrain.
My mom must have started her day now,
But why should I bother?

A spoilt guest I am with no work,
And nothing but dreaming round the clock,
And the temporary place I am in now,
Proving to be more than friendly.

With strawberry flavoured dreams
And more than fluorescent gleams
I would fill my now void life
And be a bohemian rhapsody.

My half open eyes would listen
As my muffled ears would listen
When my young brother kisses me,
With insecurity ambling his heart.

There would be stars above my head,
Adorned with flowers so red,
And with an apple green bonnet,
For I would be nothing less than a fairy.

A better cook I would be,
My mom’s rival I would prove to be,
With saffron flavoured kababs for dinner,
And almond flavoured desserts to relish.

A dad’s daughter as I would end up,
Pampered in all ways, inducing a hiccup.
Popular I would be with my temper of mimosa,
And my rantings at the insensibles.

Being clichéd won’t be my choice,
As individuality would be my rejoice.
I would be eyed with a vengeance
When I would prove to be poised.

I was waiting in the shadow of light
Hoping my now shaking future to be bright.
My then mom must have been tired
When I got miscarried.

With rancour I was then seeking Him,
Guided by the tunnelling lights getting dim.
“What are you upto, oh dear?”, I heard
“When you have moms in waiting.”

Enigmatic You..

2008-03-27T02:14:00.009+05:30

I wandered through the nebulous forests of oblivion
Seeking that light which was once mine,
The light which may give me my fancied envision
And deliver me from this veiled dark film.

Long I buzzed with my strong wings now twined
Through the leafless trees which no longer bear fruits
And across the deviating river which was once in its prime
Deaf muted though with the blares of whining souls.

Hope, an alien to this purgatory of mavericks,
Was only increasing in my worn, tenacious temperament
As the fallen heroes still lived like there is no morrow
But with a rough whimsical philosophy in their thumbprints.

Shades changed then as I sped over a stream upstream
To the one the sky boasts of when it is almost twilight.
The trees now sported inchoate foliage though no proceeds.
My eyes very primitive, then got blurred with a penetrating mist.

I soared northward, blinded, but guided by some intuition,
The intuition that there lies my destiny hidden in this mist.
Dramatic was the change in my environmental situation,
With life finally popping by with its contented gist.

Over the nocturnal predators I annoyingly flapped my wings
And no, I didn’t stop by the brook to rest nor did I halt tired,
For my change lies beyond these changes which now sings
In an alien language, a language of hissing and hitting.

My animated wings then became static as my eyes sensed
A gargantuan source of brilliance just ahead and stayed closed.
My desperately yearning self now thought of You as its lost sheen
And merged into You, only to be burnt without an ash..

The stargazers..

2008-03-19T03:29:00.000+05:30

One short week is over in our long, enduring journey towards our destiny, again uneventful, minus the forgettable yet hyped tech symposium of our department. The week was really demanding I must say and shopping at the Citi Centre with Tannu was even more testing. We stopped by the Marina beach at the park there where many old, independent men sit gazing at their puzzling, unknown future.

Tannu was tired than me, obviously because of the mental stress she undergoes in choosing things and suggested a Cornetto at one of the shops there. With renewed vigour, she smacked her lips in a sinister fashion making me guessing and wondering. Oh! Its going to be her routine again and this time, man, I would be dead for my involvement in the symposium.. I was just making myself comfortable on the not so comfortable wooden bench when she started her rendering and I was sighing at the ebbs and flows of her dare-to-interrupt tone.

With ether doing the listening part, I, as usual, started dreaming, or gazing I must say, at the stars arriving, some to stay and some to fall, just in time to lighten up the park which was becoming not so bright. This beach has the reputation of attracting an ensemble of people and it’s not very difficult to spot a pervert, that too in this park. I made a précis of the people at the park and spotted the usual repulsive lot, involved in their usual, unascertained routine of drawing attention. There were also a score of lost, chimerical people, staring at whoever knows whatever may exist, in bliss.

Now entered the man, I guess must be around 60, and sat at the bench just opposite to us. He was not one of those shivery shaky old men with a sagging, drooping figure. He seemed to be of those inspiring, self contained lot we usually find in novels but fail to identify in real. My further unexplainable intrusive curiosity found that this man bore not a slight expression in his face, even when a dog made a nauseating landing at the food thrown at that by whoever wishes the worst for the parkette. My opinion-making on that 60 year old young man halted when a peanut vending boy entered the scene with his endeavour to make some money for his poor, dysfunctional family. When it was the boy’s turn at my subject, the once successful, tenacious business man, turned a failure even for a glance. Oh! My subject was actually staring at us..

I must say, we were only on the straight, boundless path his eyes were on to seek something am not so sure of. His eyes were looking beyond us at the vast infinitum that usually doesn’t make sense for amateur young people like me. My small, inchoate eyes were drawn into those large, defined eyes which seemed serene but not inviting. I looked deep into those eyes which had a tint of moisture despite the air being dry at the beach. Those eyes, experienced eyes which must have possibly seen whatever that may amuse man, were the port-keys for my dreamy, wavery self. I didn’t see death approaching nor a gruesome end on those eyes which usually happens to our assuming minds.. I was being transported into a world of learnings and yearnings, a world, where everything appeared clear and experienced, a world, where falsity is exposed in an unappealing manner and nothing stays hidden. There was an unexpected, sudden call from the other end of the glaucoma inspired vision I acquired by this uninvited exploration. They say, the vision of the fishes is limited to a cone. Yes, I was a fish then, heading into the innards of a man, leading the life of a hermit.

I could see my enigmatic future staring back at me on those circles of knowledge as I was being dragged by Tannu. She must have noticed that man staring at us I think, as she was reproaching herself for making it very late as we headed for our hostels.

Destination Neverland!!

2008-03-13T05:22:00.001+05:30

Lassitude was gripping its lethargic, slow hold on my pallid, weak neck which had its cranium poisoned by the prolonged examination orgy. Emily Jane White was singing in her slow, soothing voice with her legato notes. I logged into ym finally after repeated attempts with my snail driven internet connection only to find my most boring net friend, pinging me with his dull, formal enquiries, driving me into a premature log off.

Bored of my aloofness, I finally got out of my room, with no plans but only an intention to do something out of the blue to chuck off my doldrums. My self programmed legs, now started walking, though they were a tad tired. Huge is my college campus and there is a lot to be explored here. The road I took was the usual one I take everyday. But this time, it had a strange, seemingly inviting appearance. I was a somnambulist, walking by the command of some psychic powers, it seemed. That usually busy road was unused today. Wait, I don’t think it was really unused. Sensing a long trip ahead, I bought a Tropicana pack at the shop on the way. The next stop was our college bus stop and I had no idea about my destination. There was not much traffic that day and buses seemed less occupied. I got into a bus bound for Besant Nagar.

I found a seat at the backside, unoccupied and welcoming as none of the adjacent seats was occupied. I then settled comfortably and started with the bus, but in my dreams, sipping the juice. My eyes were fixed on the unusually unused road and the unusually present trees which popped by more often. The passersby in gray on the road looked unusual and seemed to be staring into me. Might be I must have appeared lost for them or they didn’t see anything in my place. Just then there was a young boy occupying the seat adjacent to mine. He didn’t bother to say a hi and his eyes looked through me at the spectacle outside the bus on the road. It was Johnny Cash’s Hurt playing in my mobile and I got lost in that song into my dead old past.

The bus was taking a turn when I opened my eyes. I now found an old lady asking for alms near me. I must have been woken up by her I presume. Anger which was beginning to erupt was subdued by the miserable appearance of that poor old creature. Usually when I get to see old people, the thing that comes into my mind is fear of watching my skin wrinkle and my hair fall like autumn leaves, coughing away all the health we gathered in our youth into disturbing placidity. But this lady didn’t frighten me, but rather made me empathize and nearly moved me with her helplessness. Damn her family who have abandoned her. Her shaking hands and the tears on her eyes though may not be real, made me uncomfortable to sit still. I was checking my wallet to see what I can do for her when the bus conductor nearly threw her down the bus.

The bus went on and I unintentionally changed my track. Memories came flashing in my mind reminding me of all the good old times in my life. Glimpses of my grandma kissing me when I was a toddler switched into one of my middle school friends teasing me for fun. Now I experienced what a flash memory could be..

I was only half way through my school farewell day, and UC was nowhere in sight then when the bus came to a sudden, noisy, unpleasant halt, characteristic of MTC buses, at Besant Nagar depot. I got down from the bus,dreamy-eyed, only being surprised to see UC in real standing at the depot and we then headed to the Barista there with lots of plans for the evening.

Midnight ramblings..

2008-02-27T01:28:00.000+05:30

Its 2 am and still m waiting for sleep to visit ma eyes..
Tired I am wit a day f non stop lectures and king size assignments,
But wit no mercies from the side f sleep...
Settled comfortably on ma bed not so big,
My mind rambles in uncomfortable times..
My extraordinarily gifted eyes now visualise
Broken trust and lies breathing peacefully and dancing relaxedly...

to hell without a ticket!!

2008-02-21T21:44:00.000+05:30

The scene outside was not interesting anymore for it was the same old route and the train also was not very fast. Wuthering heights started to bore me in its third serving though I continued it with no other option. My fellow passengers are better off not mentioned here to prevent a written testimony of their lowliness. My opposite berth mate brought some movement to the boring spectacle as he dropped his cup of tea, making me jump for my trolley as the hot liquid was quite ambitious of making it there. The culprit smiled slovenly only to invite hot, tired glares from the rest.

After making my mind to close the novel, I hooked myself to my iPod with a watchful eye and intentionally stretched myself on my berth to prevent intruders. The real problem started when a family of three chose my berth to settle themselves. There were two burly women in veils. Contrary to the Muslim women I was used to in Khalid Hosseini’s novels these women deserved a hearty thrashing for they seemed very keen in establishing their claim on my berth. I didn’t give up very soon making them go vulgar by seating themselves comfortably on my feet. This intrusion turned more ghastly with their blaring chatters and their bigger than hell appetite making their big sickening mouths give appalling gyrations.

I was plastered by their venture to say a hi to me. My hi back was nothing short of a retort cutting their hopes of introducing themselves to me. How can they even dream of having a nice chat with a person who was denied sleep on his own berth? The ticket examiner was calculating his steps it seemed for he left the intruders without asking for their tickets..

After making the place a mess with their leftovers, the ticketless family got down with grace at the station just before mine, handing over the berth to their owners. Indian railways has to go a long way in making the journey of passengers with tickets a pleasant than rather than making the ticketless journeys a success.. The ticket examiner’s attitude made me feel like a fool in owning a ticket for a berth.

Mosquitoes!! watch out!

2008-02-10T21:17:00.000+05:30

I was turning the pages of A thousand splendid suns tiredly wit droopin hands and the birds outside seemed to sing with a low tone to complete the lazy scene with a melodramatic background score. The novel seemed to go slow with the characters seemin to me like singin whn they spoke. I tossed the book away and had a walk outside but found my legs less capable of doin that..

I was down with fever again after six months and with the same set of rules I follow: no tablets, no food and lots f water. This time I had the same terrible headache but with different dreams running into ma head which was being tortured by a brand new virus. I suspect the mosquitoes which bit me heartily outside our block when I was not myself with a cup of tea by Kanhaiyalal.

The fever lasted for a day, as usual, to the horror of ma block mates who usually court such viruses for atleast a week. And I was smelling like shit wit a hoarse throat and blocked ears. When I was speakin, I felt like doin that from down under a tunnel. And the main prob was in keeping awake. I slept the whole day wit those odd dreams which had some disturbin action.

And am free now frm the fever which did nothing, but made me stay without a bath for two days. Hope I may do that tomoro..

jus say it..

2008-02-06T20:05:00.000+05:30

It was 9 pm n stil I was not half way through the portion for the next day’s exam. Though the magnetic field explained in the book was mentioned as a strong one, there seemed to be no attraction from my side. It cant b strong in repellin cos I never thought f closing the book, prepared for anything to come.

Out of nowhere I saw X on my side minus his tongue in its appropriate place for the sound from him established the very thing that dogs do more often. I helloed him n signed off to ma magnetic field. Then he broke it in an appalling way that he was in need f ma sneakers the next day. He got his expected answer f no n he was gone in a flash, swearin n hissin..

Outta the many things one ought to learn when one is residin in a hostel, I think I have mastered the biggest art which I feel makes one more pragmatic. Either u say that r worry bout dat later. Many times I felt I was a stupid in doin favours for one who doesn’t even kno the art of sayin thanks. I never gave way for regret in refusing certain favours as I feel I deserve more than them.If u think this is mean, its a new topic n it needs a different perspective.

The worst ever thing one could ever face is whn one has got a chance f achieving something like for example a scholarship n the rival is ur frnd with ur chances f winnin outnumberin his. The so called ‘frnd’ wil be doin the same thing which X was not ashamed f doin jus to convince u to give up. This is wut is a do r die situation. Either u say it r live a life, fit more for the award winning characters in some tearjerkers.

There r some ‘personalities’ who make u feel low with their condescending n make u believe that u don deserve it thus makin u give up. This is a different breed, n the tactful thing to be done is bein conceited n showy to them thus putting the right things in the right gutter. There is one another breed which goes on to decide wut u need n coax u into forcibly parting wit some f ur spare utilities. For instance, I was more often made to trust on one pen with ma spare pen servin till it bleeds its last drop to some ‘ I know mores’.

I don think there wil b a decline in the population f such breeds in the near future.. but then I hope there sure wil b an increase in the ones who don give a damn to say no..

ma current date..

2007-12-14T15:44:00.001+05:30

Its exam time again and again a load of resolutions even this time.. I belong to that class of students who beat around the bush time and again and manage to get satisfying grades though our parents may be ambitious about our grades..

Last time I gave my hope and I swore more often than any formula for ruining my life with such a boring course. I even went to such an extent that I prepared myself for clearing the course next time. The results made me free of a second attempt. I started the next semester with the resolution of keeping track of this life ruining course from the beginning.

Oh exams again…honestly I still cant remember what happened to the rest of this semester.. all I remember was me entering the class on the first day of our 3rd semester ten minutes before the scheduled start of the first hour.. and now am here with a fresh Xeroxed material for my Electrical machines exam tomorrow..

Resolutions get loaded into my mind and unmentionable curses on the subject roll on my tongue which got twisted along with my brain, which I hope will find its way out of the maze of problems which promise no solutions.. Lecturers give a knowing smile with a tint of mischief if I call them up for clearing my doubts.. “Pull out some resolutions from your little cranium and try a serving of the 3rd chapter with a topping of 4th chapter” snaps one of my friends who is more of an agony aunt.. “Complain less and sleep more” advises the cool guy of our college.. “Times like this bring out the best management capabilities in you” laughs our elderly watchman.. Seems we get cool one liners on the night before our exams..

Here I am again on an ONS with a complete stranger which I expect to be bitter than the one I had last sem..