THE JINXED BOHEMIAN

noreply@blogger.com (the basu) — Mon, 07 Feb 2011 10:04:49 PST

Beauty is to be cherished, but then it can engulf and strangle. And it has an acutely merciless way of showing one his indigence. And worser still, it leaves a trail in it's wake which dictates sudden, gratuitous cravings. It's ubiquitous, they say, but only if one has the key to clear the mist and the vision to look beneath trivialities. I, for once, am in agreement.

noreply@blogger.com (the basu) — Mon, 07 Feb 2011 09:48:19 PST

Let this be a tiny little scratch on an ocean of white- smithereens of many preceding attempts at recommencing this dormant journal. The night is long, the unrest never-ending, the imaginarium a blighted ruin urging restoration. The rigmarole of justifying the rationale of a substantial existence has withered me of any trace of vitality perhaps. The soul accuses the mind of calculated oppression while the mind sites detachment and sagacious indifference in it's defense. As hard to comprehend as it may seem, there are actually two if not three of me, us. My destiny and hence, my fight is to unite them in their purpose.

Obituary

noreply@blogger.com (the basu) — Wed, 14 Apr 2010 05:41:35 PDT

It rained today. Long overdue, eagerly awaited. The slightest drizzle. gratifying at it's periphery, cleansing at it's core. The skies are bluish gray. Utterly exposed and thankful. Relieved from the debt of a conceited promise. Today there isn't any scope for apologies or craving. Relief and loathing win. The worst is over. You farewell, and you too.

noreply@blogger.com (the basu) — Sat, 05 Dec 2009 03:25:07 PST

The sun sets behind a bridge,
black railings against the scarlet sky
adorned with silhouettes of crows.
There is a sound of water.

Streetlights fade into visibility
among bare and unpruned branches
over buckling sidewalks. Grass grows
in the middle of the street.

Downtown, broken glass facades
streaked with rust and pigeon droppings
blink away the last gleams of sundown.
Full moon and fog fill the empty city.

noreply@blogger.com (the basu) — Mon, 20 Jul 2009 14:40:11 PDT

Yet a sweet pain, stitched and mended seams of heart

where the rips began. There you touch

now, delicate fingered, clean scrubbed,

where you tore and prodded

before: sharp, with cruel and reckless abandon,

that blood vein that would weaken me most, drop me

to my knees, shoulders sagging, scooped

empty of pulp. You plug that vein shut

with the soft pad of your thumb,

distracting me with your winning smile.

Hurt still? you start to ask, trying hard,

chastised with the knowledge of heedless wrong,

but the fear of reply puts a fist to your mouth.

You want to know without asking,

without suffering the whip

of words, their bloody slash,

drip, and splatter

on your neatly polished floor.

Messes disturb you.

I hand you the mop;

I’ll hold the bucket.

We need the words, the slash exposing raw pink

flesh to bandages, precision stitches pulled taut,

cut places stronger now than uncut.

noreply@blogger.com (the basu) — Wed, 06 May 2009 15:43:00 PDT

The rattle of bones, the mad march of skeletons,

skulls rounded and milky white, eyes vacant

with the loss of memory—life is that and nothing else—now only

these locked and bolted doors, the slight rain pelting

the windows, the membrane of yesterday

a shimmering gauze across the summon

of future gone past

too soon, too sleek and slippery in the hand

to hold, or even caress, even grasp its solid curve,

its chill, its hollow egg fragile with potential,

for one moment, one full and ripened moment,

begging only to arrest, hold, linger, fathom,

taste on the tongue

tip, and honeyed taste on the lips,

a mango sweet, dipped and rolled and set

to flame. Only one. No matter.

Time flings itself in reckless abandon.

Thrashes against the closet doors, shatters the windowpane,

has its nervous breakdown and curls into a fetal coil

in the darkest corner of the room, whining and whimpering.

This room. One life.

And time a colder thing even than apathy—

this dizzying speed ushering in a visage

of empty desert, a golden and infinite nothing.

IN MEMO

noreply@blogger.com (the basu) — Wed, 29 Apr 2009 00:55:46 PDT

What causes a woman to quit without pondering over the results? What would cause her to pull
the trigger and cause her own death? Grudgingly,I guess I know what kind of moment leads near and
around that moment,wishing I didn’t.When the pain of taking the next breath becomes so
bone-shattering,all your mind knows is : stop, stop, STOP.The pain.

And there is nothing else.No more thought of the guy who'd swear by every word you utter, of the smudgepaint and the candyfloss for which there'd always be whining about.No more thought of the simper of pleasure, the curling up of the lower lip,which seemed to share a certain gesture with you, a certain glint in the 'blue' eyes, the repeated arcing of the hand in the air above you to describe a word most precise. Perhaps they fade.

There is only the pain. That must stop.
To live. How'd I know any of that pain, you'd argue. We, the “we” that once lived perfect, seems to be so very long ago now..I steal a glimpse at a picture of yours searching your features for that previous self, keen to not let that previous bit leave me. Then, you were fearless and innocent, immune but oblivious- blissfully ignorant. Your eyes bore into mine urging me to believe that you are the same. Only influenced by the world.. Are you there? Wondering?But of course I see you- messy hair, in all likeness untied, cheeks flushed-fresh from a fight wid P2 possibly worrying yourself crazy over that misplaced plectrum; and in desperate need of some fondling yeah? Did you know that all this charmed me? You do. The way you 'd swear at me, the way you bit your lips everytime you thought you'd crossed the line, the smile when you knew that you'd gotten away with..

Those days when we sat by the lakeside, cooled by the slight breeze, shoulders pressed together, you strumming gently, me humming along-your tresses tickling my face, heart thumping in my chest, assured by the warmth of your touch. We'd have these strangest of mythical fantasies and contemplate our neverland and how we'd paint it all blue and golden. And then all of a sudden you'd have this brilliant strain of inspiration
and play while I listened, holding my breath. Listened, until you were finished and leaned over me,
demanding to know if it was the best piece I'd ever heard and in the same breath adding that there was
a prize if it was and a death sentence if it wasn't. It wasn't but it sure felt like..
That millisecond before you decided to pull the trigger, I wish I could have whispered into your ear: I'd never had a better prize. None so satisfying. I see you standing below the trees, waiting for me to catch up. Looking at me as if I were everything.I was safe in your eyes. I was always secure with you.In that millisecond, I wish I could have whispered in your ear: I will never be that secure again. You've had to part fearing the worst maybe. But you're so young, so naive. I hope we'd not have to pay for this later, when all we can do is regret...

I see the fabulous aurora lighting up the horizon-the field of daffodils parting like a gentle fire before us, slapping against the little flaming red Volkzwagon, the two of us roaring with laughter, jumping in our seats, a hand of mine holding yours in the air between us, the other on the steering wheel, and the owner of that field shouting on the edge of it, his arms waving in the rear view mirror- our ultimate fantasy! Shouting, shouting, I know not what, but we were as incapable of stopping as were you …
… in that millisecond, did your memories rush through you? The grief of letting go sunk into a moment of relief when you do? Do you know, my dearest, that I remember every moment in the lead up? Not once a raised voice, not once a flash of anger. You've decided to fade away in silence. I don't know if I am to hold you in contempt or respect you for that. But I believe you..I think the depth of your grief is the same as mine...And that you made your own decision, end of the day-whatever the reason may be, you have. So I need to live my own life, one in which I, too, will have to learn to fade away in my own silent grief, one marked by mystery and lined with obstacles I presume. But overcome, we shall.

Now and then, thinking of you, those breezy afternoons, how you'd press your head against my chest, snuggling; pretending to count my heartbeats to find out whether they matched yours. I try and visualize. hearts not beating. Wait …

noreply@blogger.com (the basu) — Thu, 09 Apr 2009 12:40:57 PDT

A fresh soap bubble is iridescent, many-colored, vivid. Then it fades. If you watch it closely as the membrane thins, patches of dark transparency appear in the moment before the bubble pops.

That’s how the world was. God blew it into existence fully colored and bright with every possible hue. But as time went on, well it didn’t exactly fade but i guess the colors were used up.

It was something like a physical law, say entropy. Every expenditure of energy used up color. Some creatures actually fed on color energy to live.haha.. The world gradually swung relentlessly towards black and white.

Don’t think it was a grey, drab, place, though. Brilliant whites and hard-edged shadows filled the world as the softening colors drained away. Outlines were uncompromising. People appeared as crisp silhouettes. There was nothing vague about the colorless world.

As the world aged, the people began to converge and consolidate. By now, they were all either black or white. But not like black people you’ve seen, who are really brown; not like white people you’ve seen either, who are really pinkish/reddish brown. These people were as black as ink and as white as paper. They looked very much alike, and this made it easier for separate individuals to merge into one.

The men merged into Kings. The women merged into Queens.

The world's been reduced to a black and white checkerboard. And on it, the last few neutrals wait in rows, sullen-faced for the chess game to start.

noreply@blogger.com (the basu) — Wed, 25 Mar 2009 01:22:37 PDT

Abnegation is the back of a mirror
held before the face

Abnegation is black gloves and a coat
is a hole in a winter landscape
with snow and bare trees

Abnegation is a window or a door
instead of a wall
is opening
is absence

and if you see your reflection
you've missed the point

noreply@blogger.com (the basu) — Fri, 20 Mar 2009 12:31:05 PDT

No judgment
no regrets
just a lingering pain
a tiny thorn
pierced in my heart;

Life, you said
is made of moments
some we create
some create us.

Love, you said
is not, forever
some we lose
some lose us.

Bonds, I say
will last, forever
some we bind
some bind us.

I remain a stamp on sand
you on sandstone.

noreply@blogger.com (the basu) — Sat, 07 Mar 2009 12:19:04 PST

I observe you creating the drama of your life
Playing people as though they were instruments
Instinctively knowing the keys to their rhythms
Examining each key hypnotically
Studying how each key responds to your touch
Philosophically reporting your observations & thoughts
I get caught up in watching myself watching the I & I
You stroke each note lyrically, responsively
Using that special touch while making me keeper of your rhythms
Your memories and words become stories
Tales to be told about the before and after we became I & I
Like a poem waiting to be written challenging the one already read
I watch You play the blues leaving the You I know behind
I wonder where You are going and who You will be
You’re playing the game of living
Tuning the world to the rhythms of your life
Each chess move counters another chess move
Am I a pawn in Your life or someone else’s
I don’t have time to analyze this
You fine-tune the guitar chords exhorting beats from my heart
Ecstasy runs through my veins with each melody your hands produce
I watch the world through your eyes
Isn’t that what poets,philosophers & all artists do
Translate words,images and ideas into thunder
Mimic & play with our world gone asunder
Turn ideas into screenplays, turn words into books
Turn words into hypotheses in our attempts to produce & create
A safer more productive world for humanity.

noreply@blogger.com (the basu) — Thu, 26 Feb 2009 04:19:59 PST

Seaside eyes and the stirring contents of oceans they create at will.My kiss imparted to the air we share; it blows on breezes to a distant land to capture and caress your fragile hand.A fragmentary earth, a sphere once whole. Until it broke in pieces like our soul.These tears don't dry for days together, and I hear of a golden arrow that is love. It flies and falls and lands most randomly. Or, seemingly.Like the memories of blood, and veins that pump lineage old and worn and strangely mysterious. A familiarity and timelessness inherent even amid intangibility. No cheek to touch or song to absorb,nor even a flickering eyelid to behold and understand. Just understanding, wherever told, untold. Or misunderstood, but known.

It will always be, beyond this day, as it was beyond the unwound full and unfilled moons of so many thousand yesterdays. These stains and strains mark the blueprints of two fragmentary souls, which join again today, tomorrow... So many tomorrows into forevermore.

image courtesy: deviantart. com

noreply@blogger.com (the basu) — Thu, 09 Apr 2009 12:14:37 PDT

I can't find any respite from the demons within. Its tough to be crazy and act like normal. Sometimes the shields just give in and I'm exposed. Busted!

"We knew you were a little shaky..like always on the edge you know, like you'd harm yourself or everyone around yourself."

"but ..."

"why are you silent? why dont you say something?!"

"i want to.i dont know if I should..."

"you have so much talent. dont waste it like you are wasting. why dont you LIKE these stuff; take interest in them. why can't you love your work- it's been soo long now. adapt goddamit!!"

..i want to. I try. i fail.

"you know what..screw you."

"fuck you too..leave me alone."

noreply@blogger.com (the basu) — Tue, 24 Feb 2009 00:11:09 PST

There is charm about the breeze that flatters the curtains before me, letting them dance and billow and reflect a sun that tells me the day is drawing to a close, that a murky darkness is setting in- that the sky is drawing its own curtain and concealing itself slowly while it lets these little reminders tease my mind, just as these little breezes tease my curtain. Someone sneers, deep inside. 'It's not an omen, it's anything but' I retort, fanatically.

But then, I wonder if the sky is an overtly sentimental man or a conniving woman, like you - whether it's touch would keep or kill. The curtains waft into the room softly without response, the touch of a setting sun warming them into animation.

Still and liquid, my curtain becomes a grasp that cannot reach me, compelled by the wind of a closing day to bring some joy, some vivacity to my quiet, quiet room. The music blares on, meanwhile. I'm sad.

noreply@blogger.com (the basu) — Thu, 12 Feb 2009 12:31:36 PST

Freddie threw her across the room. Luckily Pam didn’t get too busted up. It just made a racket as she knocked over a small table with some 'family' photos of the couple and their friends. She was uncannily lucky that way. Rarely ever got hurt. The impact surprised and shocked her at first, but then felt kind of good, tingly all over. She felt like she’d just awakened from a dream.

Her whole life she’d gotten what she wanted, Pam had. She'd done what she wanted, gotten away with almost anything she did. For a few seconds now, she felt she’d arrived at the station, actually stopped in the middle of the room, instead of passing by on the train, while others had to stay behind and live their lives slowly and deliberately.

She was good at almost anything, and popular as well. Since she improved any situation with her presence, most people thought she was there just for them. And that was true. She liked pleasing people, but it wasn’t really her. Alone, she was lost. She needed something to match, something to adorn, in order to be something herself.

She took this jolt from Freddie to be a sign. Someone had been watching, and now she was in for it. But that didn’t happen. Freddie apologized profusely, and Pam had the upper hand again.

Just like always.

They had quarreled before, but only when things got too strained for Freddie to remain physically passive, which was work for him. He was a man of raw emotion, not a lot of detail. That’s why Pam loved him, because Freddie was exactly in her opposite terrain. Pam had complex emotions, but she hid behind the detailed analysis game, picking apart an event, looking at things objectively, until she convinced himself, and almost anyone else, that she was right.

“It’s tough being a chameleon” she thought. “No one understands you because they can never really know you. And even you can only guess what your next move will be.” Pam used to have a dream where she was in a play and forgot her lines. We’ve all had that dream. But she’d learned to make them up as she went, and pretty soon, just flowed into any situation as if she created it.

While Freddie retreated, Pam sat there on the floor, thinking. She could just keep going with the flow, the usual, and use the new power she had over Freddie to get more out of him, or she could try something new. She opted for newness, which didn’t surprise her actually. Pam thrived on chaos. It’s so pregnant with possibility.

After a pleasant night out for the magical Don Quixote and the dinner, they had bickered about her tendency to forget Freddie's birthday, or any other important day for him. She tried to remember, but couldn’t see why it was such a big deal. This time she got defensive. She told him he’d have to get used to it, to anything she did, without recourse. After a venomous exchange, Freddie’s animal temper flared, and he picked her up, and sent her flying.

In a strange, masochistic way, Pam hoped for another pounding. The first one woke her up, so the second might enlighten her. What happened next blindsided her.

She went into Freddie’s room. They sleep in separate rooms, to keep things more exciting when they fooled around. He was reading a magazine on antique cars, his passionate past time. Freddie is a gentle giant, a brute with a heart of a kitten, just Pam’s type, masculine but malleable, a macho votary.

He’s sprawled across the bed on his stomach, clad in only brown plaid boxers and a white, ribbed T-shirt. He’s no model to look at, but his strong, modest body emits animal vibes. Pam couldn’t help but be aroused by his innocent power. And she wanted to be taken now, to be shown who’s the boss.

Her plan was to tell him she wanted out, to leave him high and dry. Pam paid for most of what they had and most of the rent, so she figured Freddie would do whatever she wanted.

“Hey Freddie, I really need to talk to you.”

“OK…”, a little too naturally.

“I’m sorry about our fight. I don’t’ know who’s fault it was. I don’t think I got too hurt, by the way. But…I’ve been thinking… maybe it’s best for us to, you know, split for awhile….”

“OK.”

“?”

Pam stood there, like someone who can’t remember her lines.

“Uh, OK Freddie. I guess you agree with me.”

Silence. Deafening silence. He’s just looking at Pam, patiently. But there’s no anger, no hidden confusion, nothing readable. It’s eerie. The silence tells her to leave.

Pam is stunned. “He’s never done this before. Usually he sees my reasoning and we talk things out, with me doing most of the talking. Usually it leads to making love. What do I do now?”

At this point she couldn’t lose her pride and tell Freddie it was just a ruse to get him in further emotional debt. The only choice was to follow her own twisted plan and move out. Change to fit whatever scene you see yourself in. On to the next scene.

(weeks later)

Pam calls Freddie every day. One thing about her is her stubbornness. If she can figure someone out, she’s over them. If not, she persists until she knows what makes them tick. Freddie answers the phone most of the time. If not, he answers when Pam calls back. He listens, saying little. Pam talks. She talks about how strange it is for her, being so skilled at fitting in, how easy it is to get lost in that. She tells him about her struggle with intimacy, how important freedom is to her. Freddie listens. But he never invites Pam back.

This continues for months. They speak regularly. Freddie is always polite, and listens. Pam fills the space with her words. He’s barely aware of all she says, since he floats through most words and situations with little memory, just filling up space.

Pam begins to feel different. She’s never done anything so regularly before. But it comes easily, naturally. Calling Freddie is her structure, her meditation. The rest of her day drapes around those 30-some minutes daily talking to Freddie. At times, her own circular talking begins to bore her. But her stubborn nature persists in calling. Pam wants her way. She sees no other option. The scenery shifts through these days, but she feels like she’s standing still.

At the same time, she notices changes in how others around her behave. Her co-workers seem to smile more, open up to her. Her family tells her she sounds and looks happy, centered, engaged. She begins to see peoples faces as she bustles along busy sidewalks in the drizzly morning rain on her way to work. She sees lots of eyes meet her's, unusual for a big city. They aren’t always friendly, but they contact him, pass messages on, maps to treasures, their hidden secrets no one else knows of. One man, who could have been Pam’s twin, tall and thin, stared passively into her, searching, reading something there, until they passed each other. There was a faint, knowing smile behind his mask.

She begins to wonder if everyone else knows something she doesn’t. It’s as if they are showing her patience and compassion in her vulnerable state. But she hasn’t talked to anyone about it, except Freddie of course.

It's somewhat like that patient who wakes up after a major surgery to reconstruct her supposedly hideous face, and finds the whole world peopled by hideous faces, while the failed surgery on her 'normal' one is considered hideous by them, she feels. So they pity her and it drives her insane. Pam wonders if they are all laughing at him. She feels naked and vulnerable, but keeps blending in. Yet she’s unsure what to blend with.

Freddie keeps listening, daily, patiently. Pam has new respect for him. It seems he’s more of a 'chameleon' than Pam thought. He changed to fit her situation, to balance Pam’s manipulative style. He blended into the background just when Pam thought she had him pinned.

It dawns on Pam that most people are chameleons, constantly adjusting to those who are presumptuous enough to think they know it all, absorbing their hubris without reflecting it back at them. They smile when they’re sad or lonely, they work hard when they’re tired, they care for loved ones when they’re stressed or depressed, who stay positive when the chips are down. Most people shift identities all the time. Waves of molecules, like the pigments on a butterfly’s wing, adjusting to what’s around them, trying to reflect a brighter light.

Pam always thought she was the only one. She feels her heart beating as she opens the door to a gray windy day and steps out onto the dusty, mottled sidewalk..

noreply@blogger.com (the basu) — Sat, 07 Feb 2009 12:31:51 PST

I have to admit I've completely gone bonkers! I'm out of my mind and I must see some psychiatrist! I absolutely set the bookfair ablaze today, stole the show...only it was the one at maidan!!!! To think that I dragged an innocent thing half the way. sheesh! and there will be more of my faux pas', I'm sure!

noreply@blogger.com (the basu) — Fri, 06 Feb 2009 11:44:04 PST

The future's fluid, but the past is set
in stone. You wonder why some people find
it bitter-sweet to wallow in regret

instead of making changes that would let
things turn out better next time. Undefined,
the future's fluid, but the past is set

like hard cement, an unforgiven debt
the present time has failed to leave behind.
It's bitter-sweet. To wallow in regret

may not be useful, but it's a sucker-bet
that folks will clear those memories from their mind.
The future's fluid, but the past is set

like stucco sloughing. People do forget
in self-defense. Amnesia is kind
though bitter-sweet. To wallow in regret

is difficult for lovers newly met
whom every sunrise serves but to remind:
their future's fluid, though their pasts are set
and they've no need to wallow in regret.

noreply@blogger.com (the basu) — Mon, 02 Feb 2009 09:10:43 PST

I hit the books, I set the alarm, I still wake up late, I charm friends when I don't want to, I miss you like hell, I start over again.

I want to explode, dance in the middle of night, let out all the fury. I want to make you laugh until your face hurts, create a life where I could be light, we could be light, energetic and in control of what we want.

This isn't really living at all.

I know I have a life ahead with possibilities but where is the freedom? Where is my time to do what I want? To get to where I'd want to see myself ten years down the line? to at least spend some time with you?

You had said: ' no matter whatever comes'. But then you had also said: ' It better be worth it '.
What is the "it"? I want "it" to go away, leave me alone. I've been chasing "it" for years together..at different levels, with different meanings attached, in different situations with regard to different things and I feel like there's just no peace. none whatsoever.

I want lightness of being, I want lightness of us. I want to stay up all night writing, or making music maybe- I hate to be mechanical. I have forgotten how the sun looks at dawn, do you remember?Or do you remember how it feels to be surrounded by your favorite people? I don't. Where are they? Where am I? I laugh at myself now, thinking of the time when I had control, when I thought the world was mine to transform. Where am I going? Where am I taking you to?

We have a voice but we don't use it. My hands are full with impending deadlines and my shoulders are burdened and what takes the cake is my heart is heavy with the feeling that I'm the one responsible, with all the wrong decisions. So what am I looking for? yes compromises, thank you very much. And look at you. There's dust on the keys and the strings are out of tune. That's a real crime. If we neglect our dreams any longer we'll forget them and that will be the end of it all.

Leave with me. Leave with me right now. We don't have money, we don't need money - we have talent, we have love and enough wonder to convince them all. At least ourselves. But will we? Can we?

noreply@blogger.com (the basu) — Mon, 26 Jan 2009 09:20:56 PST

According to Indian mythology, a person dies 17 deaths in his lifetime which are just as excruciating as the actual ultimate one and possibly more demeaning. Ridiculous!! was my reaction. With due respect to death, think I understand now where they were coming from. It already feels like almost half way down the lane depending on what life has in store but probably the rate would slow down and things will even out. What really astounds me is the hopelessness of it all. It's almost as if it appears at the horizon, stalks you, waves at you, plays with you at will and all this while you are rooted at the same bloody spot, transfixed, waiting for it to drain life out of you, bit by bit. It paralyzes, and it is the inaction, the helplessness which kills. As they say, you can't put it off, can't ever cheat it. And you can't possibly share it with anybody. And it has a transforming effect. It scars, you are never the same person again. The catch is that it's almost never palpable. Sometimes not even to the self. As it is, the way of the world is to highlight the shortcomings, the changes in people without ever trying to understand the incidents responsible for or the circumstances leading to. All this makes life difficult, at times unbearable but the key is to never let life be reduced to a terrible wait and to make the most of the happy times. It mightn't visit you for years, and it might feel like you're dying twice, thrice in a matter of hours. It is in those few hours that you feel the existence, the presence of G- your sole refuge in such times. I found myself cursing my belief in Him and still praying with all my heart almost simultaneously. It's always His light which shows you the way up from the nadir. Or you might interpret it as the belief in your heart. Don't think there's much, if any difference. Even a year back, I'd have put the proximity of it down to luck, but now Karma seems so much more logical and perhaps a tad satisfying too. As for luck I'd take my share of greater bad luck any day over no luck whatsoever that many people complain about. Perhaps I'm at the dawn of my spirituality having encountered my intricate needs, my inner self in the last few hours. Fortunate that I'm to be loved, it seems rather trivial now. May be because I'd never be able to trust again.
BTW, I can provide no explanations for the words so readers, please don't bother.

noreply@blogger.com (the basu) — Fri, 23 Jan 2009 08:05:28 PST

There! The sun shines on the green wall.
Wall of the forest facade.
I see just the first bank of trees
in leaf, showy and bright.
But vision is not just of this-
Penetrating, I see.
I’ve been there before,
beyond the facade;
I’ve walked through the layer of bright-lit green,
I’ve walked through the light.
Away from song and dance of everyday.
Into the past, the future;
and into the silence of now.
Even the rustle and twitching of unseen events
adds to the silence of a softer hue.
Sings of a cool summer shade
and touches the glade of memory:
Your first breath in my ear.
The word before I knew
your name...

I walk. I sit.
I dream and fly.
And we are together-
beyond the facade and the song.
Till the sun’s angle changes everything.
And there is but one peace.
And love.

noreply@blogger.com (the basu) — Sun, 18 Jan 2009 22:42:16 PST

Dunno why, but the powers-that-be up there seem to be extremely affectionate of the JB. How else does one describe such a unique new year gift! She decided to wrap me in bubblepaper or bubbleblanket or whatever, like a plaything and you couldn't even burst 'em but pray n wait for more of her 'doya'!!( the God in question is feminine- cuz the gift is called 'mayer doya')If you still are in the dark, I have chickenpox and it is plain disgusting. But I'm not here to discuss the extent of my misery. I'm gonna share with you one of the many weird dreams that I've had since, which was quite entertaining- with the promise of exaggerating in plenty. So let us board our chariots of fantasy and take a ride four years into the future...

It's a splendid night. The sky is cloudless, the canopy of stars eagerly awaiting the divine union. Yes, this is the wedding night of Putlirani and Mamadude!!! For B and friends who had been planning this since what seemed like forever, the wait is finally over. B had been deemed to be a ladkiwala, of the bride's contingent, and had some responsibility to address...So cantered along B, late as ever, towards the lobby of THE ODESSEY- which is all gloss and bright chandeliers and which, complete with sprawling lawns is providing a magnificent setting for the event. The DJ is checking his jukebox in front of the open-air dance floor while the buffet is being set at another end of the lawns. ' The guys must all be inside' thinks B to himself and moves in. Inside is teeming with people, so much so that it is rather difficult to make out a face from another. Seems like half the city is invited! B suddenly gets a bear-hug from somebody who turns out to be Maddy- in a suit, looking suave. He's full of enthusiasm as always and seemingly out of breath-
'are yaar! itna late aaya.mein akela aur inna sara kaam!'says Maddy with a wide grin.
poor lad.but akela?with these many around!
'sorry' says B.' abhi bata kya kaam hai n just see me go.'
'are bhar me gaya..tu bhi na!! man look around..I'm single for today. what girls yaar!I talked a few up, but shaadi ka mahol- akela awkward lagta hai thora..Arnie ne bhi dhoka diya-ladkawala ban gaya, but now you're here.. let's go man,lets go..'
'he he..achha achha! but where are the others? mil lete hai sabse fir kaam pe lagenge'
'are waah! kalti marta hai..dagabaaz- jaldi ja, udhar milegi. I'll look around meanwhile. hehe' and he pointed his finger southwards and bounds off.

And there sat Putlirani, resplendent. She'd always been graceful and stylish, but today, ornamented and groomed, she is looking absolutely stunning..a girl always looks the most beautiful on her wedding day, possibly because it's the happiest day of her life.And she has this spark, the glow of a beautiful soul, too..God save Mamadude, thought B.
'B!! now you come!I'm not talking to you.hunh!' Up she comes, trying to sound miffed.
'I'm awfully sorry, dear. Stuck in the traffic, you see. But why, you look gorgeous!'
'maska lagata hai! hunh!' She smiled inspite of herself.
'nahi re, sachh! Mamadude'll be swept off.he'll be flying. swear!!
'okok.wo dekhenge.hihi. see na Maddy aaya aur gayab bhi ho gaya- God knows who's he running after..mein idhar akeli baithi hun, kisiko khayal hi nahi.hunh.' there were atleast 30 people in attendence where she sat.
'are nahi re. guests receive kar raha hai wo. But pray, are all these people figments of my imagination?!'
'shut up.hihi. are these are family.I'm always with them toh. sare doston ko bhi rehna chahiye na!you say!'
'hmm.tantrum queen.loveya.hehe. where are Rosebud and Proyiti?'
'are puch maat. Seems like it's their marriage..taiyaar hone gayi hai.teesri baar. And see what Rosebud did to my dress' she complained.
The dress was somewhere between a sari and a lehenga. It appeared to have set out to be a gown but failed. Rosebud's fetish for designing was well-known among her friends. She hadn't even spared her sister.It was unconventional but not a disaster, really.
'I empathise with you, dear. but you wouldn't be wearing it if you didn't like it eh?'
'hunh! who's side are you in?'
'the bride's, undoubtedly.' smiled B.
'yayyy!! here they come.'

It was Rosebud and proyiti indeed. Both of them were dressed alike in heavily embroidered outfits, probably Rosebud's designs..a tad gaudy but gorgeous. something that suited a wedding. worthy brideswomen, dressed to kill-thought B to himself.
'hey B..itna late kahe?' say they,in unison.
'heyy gals! done with your stuff?' says B, tired of the late stuff.
'yes, atleast for the time being.' again in unison
'actually they have resolved to act and to talk in unison for the day, as far as possible. customary dhyashtamo. hihi' explains Putlirani.
B suggested some possibilities whereby this treaty can come up a cropper which results in him getting pounded by the two.
'But today is special B. So we can't possibly be regular!' Proyiti sounds destroyed.
'yes, disgusting boy, suggest something.' vintage Rosebud.
'ok. well, act as if you are normal,sane people for a change! not difficult is it?'
'come on. not so dumb!' says Proyiti.
'well then, maybe you could make faces at people, Proyiti. what's life without surprises, eh? and Rosebud, being mad is such a natural at that! heh heh heh!'
'shut up..' Rosebud's interrupted by a phone call which is greeted by a collective hmmmmm from the Ps. Rosebud blushes and heads for a corner. Must be honeyman! (no, he has got nothing to do with meds. he's just sweet!) They all flash knowing smiles. For a second, B goes into musing mode, thinking of Puchki..

'are man,what are you doing here?oh!' It's Maddy.
'where've you been?'demands Putlirani, ' you idiot. sit here and talk to us.'
'puhleeze! I did talk dear. tha to idhari mein ab tak. teri shaadi me bhi masti nahi karne degi kya..the DJ's rocking. mast dance ho raha hai. let's go yaar.'
'cool. chal proyiti. but Putlirani can't. uski to shaadi hai. tu baith-Mamadude aata hi hoga!' B sniggers.
'no-no.how can we leave little baby?'
'are chal na Proyiti. let's enjoy. abhi baraat aata hi hoga.ye rahe dekhegi aur ahe bharegi tab tak. aur mast partner mili hai. she's waiting. bhag na jaye kahi.' winks Maddy.
'whatt!!partner..Maddy mere shaadi mein kisi aurke sath nachega?!not possible. I'm coming.
'but elders might get cranky..'starts B.
'nahi nahi mein nachungi mein nachungi..'
'now that's my girl. are remember how we danced 12th ke fest mein?'
'yaya.mein nachungi.chalnaa'

And so they make their way to the dance floor. Maddy, Putlirani, Proyiti and B. Rosebud gesticulates to say she'll join in.The bride gets a huge cheer as she steps into the floor. But she's ill at ease with her outfit, so she steps out. B and Proyiti join her as Maddy starts with his waiting partner. Putlirani looks grudgingly.
'I can't. I'll get messed up. I can't go through that ordeal again.'
Meanwhile, Rosebud comes up with a sheepish look on her face.
'looking for shutterbugs to strike a pose or two dear?'asks B.
'you wish. What are you doing here?'she asks Putlirani.
'came to see people dance. can't you see? seems like your ears are still ringing! Putlirani is irked.
Sounds of a typical band-party rises above the DJ's music. Mamadude and gang have arrived.
'ei Proyiti come with me, and B go receive Mamadude and company.Quick!

'ok.' says B and leaves the blushing Putlirani(already jumping for cover) and goes to receive the troupe.Which turns out to be bigger than expected. B immediately recognizes Arnie dancing away to glory right in front of the group accompanied by Chotamama . Mamadude's riding a pony further back.His workplace being in the Hindi heartland, most of his friends come from there. The band, seemingly, was playing a Bhojpuri number and the air was thick with cries of 'kamal babua!' and 'arre gajaab!' The womenfolk who are there for the traditional reception are a bit startled, confused as to what to do. B catches hold of Arnie and drags him aside.

'dude, what are you guys upto? any plans to stop? These people are waiting.'
'I'm riding high man.We are. bhaang n vodka. deadly. Why else did you think I agreed to be a ladkawala eh? I'd have preferred scotch by the way but Mamadude the miser refused to pay!'
'wow! fekta hai saala..chal nautanki bandh kar abhi..show us Mamadude.'
'noonono. We're the ladkawalas. We decide when to stop. We'll dance for an hour now. It's our party now. Take us to the dance floor.'

Nothing doing. The bridegroom and his men are led to the dance floor. The DJ stops and the brass band(that's what the band-party called themselves) takes over. Mamadude's men led by Arnie dance like there's no tomorrow. The DJ bangs his head as the ladkiwalas gape in rapt attention. Putlirani stands among them, full of curiosity- half-hiding behind ghunghat, beside Maddy(fatefully) trying to spot Mamadude.

Mamadude, in a sequined white sherwani is literally glowing, looking like a million bucks.But he is absolutely mad at being pushed around on the pony. First it was Dida who had stood in the path of Putlirani. But Mamadude put forward a strong case expressing his undying love for Putlirani. The fact that he hadn't ever demanded anything, not even a laptop but only wanted Putlirani, the key of happiness for his happily-ever-after as his wife, had finally melted Dida's heart. Well, Dida reportedly had nightmares regularly where she had opened her laptop only for Mamadude to show up in it,wailing uncontrollably- before she'd decided to meet Putlirani and fell in love with immediately. Putlirani's parents were always supportive. So that was that. This, however was different. These idiots had forced him to take bhaang and were now doing a freak show further prolonging his wait. Deciding that he'd have to assume control over things, Mamadude looks around and sees Putlirani standing in the crowd alongside Maddy. The occasion coupled with the long wait and the bhaang conspire to add fuel to the fire of a long-standing(albeit void) suspicion. Mamadude jumps off the pony, taking centerstage as the brass band starts with a critically relevant number-emotional atyachar!!! He grooves to it in his own inimitable manner, shaking his head vigorously-widely grinning all the while, with a few devsaab n dharampaji-esque moves thrown in; much to the amusement of the onlookers. Then, fatally, he decides to exercise his vocal chords..
ye dil biglake saans banalun dharkanko awaz bana lun smoking smoking nikle re dhuaannnnnnnnnnn!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
seene me jalti hai armano ki aardhi aree what to tell you darling kya huaaannnnnn....
tnauba tera jalwa tnauba tera pyaar tera emosional attyachaaaar!!!!...

There was K.L.Saigal and then there is Mamadude. His nasal tonal quality literally tugs at the heartstrings in a way even one Himesbhai's couldn't. Everybody is actually spellbound as the spectacle continues. Arnie has had a fit in the meantime and is dragged away by his feet by some people. Putlirani is bemused at Mamadude's outburst and is growing angrier by the minute. Arnie has recovered and returns to the dance floor, unfazed, and starts dancing like a man possessed. B, meanwhile, has joined the 'gajaab' clan for a closer look at what surely is a once-in-a-lifetime experience. He has got his handycam out now. Arnie collapses, perhaps having another fit; but jumps to life as B tries to drag him shouting ' aye haramzade!! I had only slipped'!!! But three men jump at him and pin him down when he tries to resume his exercise saying they can hardly afford health issues in a wedding night. Arnie struggles in vain. Mamadude continues to sing his lungs out, overjoyed at the adulation showered by the ladkiwalas as they, truly overwhelmed by what they assume to be the expression of pain of a bachelor getting married, cheer their Dulha. Putlirani, however seeing the sinister side of it, looks for Maddy to complain. But Maddy has given her the slip and is doing a jig with that partner of his. Which infuriates her all the more. And she has to keep half her face behind the goddamned ghunghat to avoid looking at Mamadude. Well, atleast for the world. The presence of the dhanno-esque pony and crucially, the complete lack of attention rolls back the years as she assumes her basantee-avataar( for the uninitiated, Putlirani had immortalised basantee on stage some years back. well, something to that effect!) and yells 'NAHIIII'!!! with all the finesse and perfection that comes from years of practise. And it hits. Mamadude stops his act and seems to be back in his senses. The brass band is still playing but all eyes are on Putlirani now who, hurt, seems to be ready for an act herself. But alas! In comes Rosebud to steal her thunder. Proyiti follows her.
'are bohut ho gaya naach-gana! I've a surprise for you all. For this grand evening I've penned down a poem which I dedicate to Putlirani and Mamadude. Here goes..'
All of a sudden there is a rush among the ladkawalas(including Mamadude) to start with the wedding ceremony. They seemingly haven't a second to loose and they blast off towards the entrance of the wedding hall risking a stampede. The ladkiwalas follow suit. Proyiti, being the intelligent girl she is, grabs hold of a cursing Putlirani and guides her inside. Rosebud finishes with her poem to find only Arnie, Maddy and B in attendence. But she is unbelievably calm. Possibly used to such treatment, thinks B, a true poet. Poets seldom get the respect they deserve, poetry hardly has any takers. sighs!
'So guys how was it?'
'absolutely wonderful Princess!!the best ever.' gushes Arnie.
'nice. good. great.' fumbles B.
'I never understood these stuff, dear. But I'm sure you'd be inspired and write better if you did it in my garden. It's beautiful- gardened to appeal to the imagination I say..' Maddy gets carried away as B, Arnie and Rosebud roll their eyes.
'are see na everybody's complaining that I don't give them enough time. And I don't get how I spend all my time! By the by, I have to tell honeyman about the reaction of people to my poem. aur 30 minutes ho gaye baat kiye hue. 30 MINUTES!! mera balance khatam ho gaya. I.S.D hai na. Maddy phone dega?'
'are I've a very important call to make. ekdum bhul gaya tha!' says Maddy, sounding apologetic and hurriedly walks off.
'my network doesn't allow I.S.Ds.' says B, trying to get away cheap.
'take mine, Princess!! Pageboy's always at your service. here you go. it's such a pleasure seeing you all so happy.' Arnie looks as if he's gonna cry. A rather emotional night for him. The bhaang n vodka didn't help either.
'oh Thanxx Arnie! you're a sweetheart.'
At this moment a group of people come tumbling in, cameras in hand. Rosebud looses her bearings and Arnie's phone as she jumps at their sight. Arnie dives to catch it. A quick 'ohIamsosorry' and off she goes snatching a camera from one of them. The others follow her seemingly for instructions. These are the JUPC(JU photographic club) guys-intimate friends of Putlirani and Rosebud.
'Arnie you sure you are alright and not sick?' asks a concerned B.
'why a**h***? what makes you feel I'm sick you g****!' Arnie's infuriated.
'oh never mind. I'm sure you're perfectly in order. hehe' fumbles B. Maddy suggests that they take a feel of the continental cuisine. Arnie readily agrees but B says he'd rather go in to take a look at how Mamadude's shaping up. Maddy says they'll grab a quick bite and catch up with B in no time. B goes inside the wedding hall.
Inside, the shamianas and the 'homkund' have been suitably set atop a little platform where the rituals are being performed. It's right at the center of the hall. The pandit is busy chanting mantras with Putlirani's daddy at the moment. B spots Putlirani and Proyiti sitting with the womenfolk having a grand time. They wave. B smiles. Mamadude is sitting with some elders in exactly the opposite direction, with their backs to them, looking distinctly uncomfortable. B walks up to him.
'hey everything alright?'
'hey B glad you are here.'starts Mamadude, 'would you please excuse me gentlemen? I'll be right back.' this to the people around, and Mamadude and B walk towards the lavatory. The women giggle. Mamadude swears under his breath. B never understood why girls find this so funny!
'B, I'm very nervous..Dad isn't here yet and these idiots who came with me have deserted me too .khane bhag gaye sab ke sab. Arnie bhi dikhai nahi de raha. Chotamama is here but he is chota after all. I'm feeling helpless.' Mamadude is putting on his famous grumpy expression as he does the needful.
'Don't you worry, main hoon na!' says B, trying to sound important and authoritative.
'but I can't believe meri shaadi ho raha hai! like am I up for it? do I even deserve it? and I antagonised Putlirani too now. ab mera kya hoga!' he is on the verge of breaking down.
'are yaar! of course you deserve it! this was your dream remember? our dream. You've fought the world and won man!..'
'but Putlirani! she must be mad at me now..Gawd! how I wish I had some chullu to settle my nerves. could you get me some B?' asks Mamadude, fighting away tears. The goddamned bhaang, thinks B. and lack of communication with Putlirani, too.
'NO chullu Mamadude!! COME ON!! Putlirani's in love with you for god's sake! It's YOUR marriage. gussa momentary hoga..sab theek hai..tereko itni pari hai to ek sms bhej de chal..' chides B. Chullu, by the way, is a toxic local drink which Mamadude has immense knowledge about, but has had only in his dreams, suspects B.
'ok..'says Mamadude, pleased at the suggestion. Chullu can go out of the window. Mamadude fiddles with his phone as B, shameless that he is, tries to sneak a look at what he types. i luv u.. muah muah is all that he can see. B suppresses a smile as they make their way out of the lavatory; the girls giggle again,perhaps it's the sms this time. Mamadude seems to be feeling better as he fills the seat he'd vacated. Arnie and Maddy are back too. They make gestures of reassurance. Mamadude is relieved.
'khana to mast bana hai bhai! Atleast thrice for me today.' gushes Arnie.
'haan yaar. count in us too.' says Maddy, looking across to B, who nods.
Mamadude, meanwhile has been called in by the pandit as the rituals continue. His father and other elders of his family have arrived and a pleasing show of camaradrie is on between the two families. Chotamama seems to be sizing up someone, smiling to himself.
'guys, can you believe this is actually happening? I mean I'd often scare myself to death thinking something might go wrong and stuff. I'm just soo glad..' says Arnie.
'Better believe it, bhai mere! This just had to happen man..mujhe Putliranipe yakeen tha hamesha se lekin Mamadude se thora darr tha lekin wo to mast bahadur nikla!' Maddy's been just this chilled-out dude since forever. They love him for that.
'sahi baat. he's the real hero man. How we used to speculate about their future haan Arnie? Junior Mamadude and such crazy stuff. It's not really Ambani-like but we are living our dream right now dude.' says B, trying to be dramatic.
'Noo..I dreamt of them marrying in a white castle on a hilltop. But I'll take this. This is the happiest day of my life..' declares Arnie, voice cracking- which turns some heads.
Maddy offers Arnie some tissues while B reminisces. Someone is heard whispering that mysterious creatures are cropping up outside- some from treetops, some from under the buffet tables and the like which has caused a considerable amount of unrest. Stupid rumours, they decide definitively. Putlirani, in the meantime has been called for the 'shubhadrishti' and is now perched on the 'pidhi', steadily going red. Proyiti joins the guys, smiling brightly.
'How beautiful they both look na?' she says.They nod in agreement. Arnie sobs mildly. Proyiti looks towards him, worried.
'tears of happiness. hehe' assures Maddy.
The pandit chants mantras and conchshells are blown as Putlirani'a 'pidhi' is lifted up by her relatives. All of a sudden Putlirani goes 'EEEEEEEEKKKKK!!!!' and they very nearly drop her; there is a loud thud almost simultaneously.
'There was someone on top of the shamiana, peeping...hanging from the pole maybe.' says she, as an excuse for the bloodcurdling, breathtaking shriek as people try to regain control over their senses. Yes, Putlirani's shriek has that effect; it's lethal. She was right though, as a guy comes hobbling ,camera in hand- obviously sore from his fall. Rosebud appears from nowhere explaining that the guy was a friend from JUPC who she'd assigned this position..to take perfectly natural photographs as he'd go unnoticed and catch people unaware. The young are amused and have a good laugh. The elders glare. Rosebud gets a good thrashing from her mother for her efforts, starts crying and then thinks better of it and rejoins the gang, smug n smiling. All in 2 minutes. Rosebud really is crazy. But she does have a real good little heart and hence is loved by all. Sometimes, it's cool to be mad. Anyway, this explains the mysterious creature part too. sighs. Quite tame in the end, thinks B to himself.

Shubhodrishti is completed and Mamadude is currently the butt of all jokes for trying to whisper something to Putlirani at the first opportunity. Rosebud and Proyiti decide to take up the challenge of making faces and choose a little boy as their prey. Curiously though, the boy bursts into laughter instead of getting afraid, dampening their spirits; they return. Arnie, Rosebud, Proyiti, Maddy and B among several others circle around the couple as they take their collective vows and a lot of smoke too. Putlirani's babuji is performing the Kanyadan now with a gloomy face. Rosebud is all ready to cry but is perhaps restraining herself for the sake of her make-up. Proyiti is still smiling but has tears in her eyes now. Suddenly in comes Kalokhoka and pulls at B's arm.
'Aye!! where is my treat eh? where is it?' Kalokhoka has this habit of asking for treats anytime and anywhere.
'What for?!oh, man why are you asking me? It's not my day to give treats.' B smiles.
'Right. where is Mamadude?' and Kalokhoka sees Mamadude, who seems to be an integral member of the ongoing ceremony. Kalokhoka moves swiftly across, bends to take a proper look at Mamadude and is taken aback by his expression- thinks whether it would be prudent to make the demand now, gets nervous and wonders out aloud ' where is my treat?'Girls giggle, others stare, surprised. Mamadude gives him a red-eyed look and mumbles silently. Kalokhoka lip-reads and fully understanding Mamadude's emotions, says 'achha, ashi, nomoskar!!' and returns to the gang, thoroughly disappointed.
'ever the miser. not giving treat even today!'
'He will. day after tomorrow. Come have something to pacify your appetite for now.' smiles Rosebud and takes him out.' Kalokhoka departs, satisfied.
'simplest guy on the face of this planet.' says Arnie.
' yeah, absolutely.' agrees B.
It's the saat-phere time now as the ceremony reaches it's climax. Putlirani and Mamadude circle around the fire lending permanence to their bond. Or perhaps sealing a divine recognition.
'My best friends are now partners for life!' exclaims Proyiti, overjoyed. She has been wearing that same smile on her face for over three hours now; how lovely! thinks B to himself.
'It feels like my sister is marrying a kid brother. Strange isn't it? but Mamadude's been like a brother to me. Oh I am soo happy!' jumps Rosebud and crashlands with a stilletto on Arnie's toe, stumbles, but somehow keeps her balance. Arnie grimaces and tonks Rosebud on her head. Rosebud makes a babyface saying ' choii!!!!i didn't do it on purpose.' Arnie grumbles, B and Maddy rejoice.
'but whatever yaar, when we used to plot their hitch-up on our way back from bio tutions did we ever think they'll actually come this far?' says Maddy.
'Yes! yes I always knew they would! happiest day of my life, yes, the happiest!..' Arnie bursts into tears once again. B and Maddy hug him. They have tears in their eyes too. Rosebud and Proyiti hold hands, and stare blankly. The people around look sympathetically, and discuss how the present generation are in dire need of counsellors and psychologists. The ceremony draws to a close as people flock to congratulate the couple who, quite exhausted, are in dire need of some fresh air. and food too.
' hey guys! why not make it doubly special! let's celebrate our friendship today..'starts B.
'aren't we already? but what have you on your mind?' Rosebud inquires.
'lets do a first. lets take the pheres together. all seven of us. It's crazy but very acceptable innit? saat doston ke saat phere.. it'd be wonderful. ' B is visibly excited.
'awesome man! lets do it lets do it.'says Arnie, game as ever. Maddy pats B on the back, says he was thinking of something on these lines.
'What if they object? we shouldn't tinker with these sacred rituals should we?' says Rosebud. Proyiti looks circumspect, too.
'come on yaar! who's tinkering? achha hi hai na- Mamadude aur Putliranika doosra hoga ye, their marriage would be doubly strong.' argues B.
'tune to bas bak diya. manana toh mujhe hi parega..' Rosebud goes to mom-dad to put forward their plea. Meanwhile, the couple join them and are intimated with the plan. Mamadude panics.
'what if something goes wrong? no need no need..'
'nothing will..ap bekar me ghabrate ho..let's go ahead.' says Putlirani. The wife is the boss now, so Mamadude agrees reluctantly. Rosebud returns victorious as the elders give consent to what they tout as absolutely crazy but quite harmless. The seven make their way up the platform and put their arms around each other. Putlirani, Mamadude, Proyiti, Rosebud, Arnie, Maddy and B hop round the almost-extinguished fire making funny noises and feeling like kings and queens, like they rule the world. It's almost as if they have been set free, like birds on their first flight. For those few moments, nothing touches them..nobody counts the pheres and after a couple of minutes or so they stop, panting. The few people remaining in the wedding hall shake their heads in disbelief and curse the presentday 'freaks'. The seven hug each other now, extremely satisfied. In those few minutes, their friendship seems to have been immortalised. They feel closer, more than ever, if that's possible.
'ashche bochor abar hobe!!!' yells Arnie, somewhat cryptic in his manner. Proyiti and Rosebud go red in the face; their marriages being scheduled for the next year.
'guys please! I'm starving. Could we go eat now?' pleads Mamadude. They laugh and head outside. What a night! One to hold onto. For a lifetime and possibly beyond.

and that is that..couldn't possibly stretch it longer although wanted to; never wanted to stop, did I. And well, the characters are real, if it needs saying. A word of advice- it'd be nice if readers actually try to visualize certain situations. :) And yes, HAPPY NEW YEAR to my readers. be wary of viruses. stay healthy. keep smiling.

noreply@blogger.com (the basu) — Thu, 01 Jan 2009 10:26:35 PST

Today, Aisha woke up like any other day; she reached for her phone, turned off her alarm, rolled up the shade and placed her feet gently on the carpet floor. But what she didn't know, was that this was a day that would resist routine. A day when our Aisha had the power to change the world around her and make it a season of her very own. After a year of endless hours confined to the library, equations that rolled across pages and tears that flowed across oceans, now was the time to place her foot firmly outside to make the heavens remember that she was really alive.

On the other side of the world, a boy sings songs out of his window and into the street in hopes of her catching a note or two on her way to class. He doesn't know it yet, but her ear is tuned to his song and her journey begins.

So with a hop in her step and a breeze in her hair, nothing could stop this blazing brunette miracle from turning her surroundings into a tornado of merriment and glee. This little Aisha had the energy of a thousand armies and was set on changing the world.

So she crosses the street she smiles at passing strangers who are lit up by the incandescence of her twinkling face as she steps on through the park gate. The trees open up and she feels safe under their grand bridge of leaves that looked over her since the Fall. She walks faster now, each step more sure than the last as her aura grows into a shielded rainbow that blossoms flowers and ripples ponds as she passes by.

The boy sings louder too, his hand strumming the guitar like a passionate hammer. His voice piercing the clouds above and riding up and down the waves of the ocean, twisting his spirit in and out of the melody.

Fueled by his song she begins to run, exiting the park and blasting back onto the street - weaving her stride in and out of the passing cars and hurried bicycles - the sun caresses her face - her head pointing up towards the horizon form where the music derives. It gets louder and louder and her head fills with memories: laughter, cleadles, mornings under the covers - their elegant fate makes her legs feel like feathers and she slices the sky....

Sukh hai alag aur chain alag hai
Par ye jo dekhe wo nain alag hai
Chain to apna sukh hai paraaye

Sapno se bhare naina To neend hai na chaina

says SHAMA.how very true!

noreply@blogger.com (the basu) — Sat, 27 Dec 2008 12:10:01 PST

Singing, serenading,
Mesmerizing, and regaling-

you draw my self and more into you
with those curiously menacing eyes,

Enchanting, enthralling,
entangling.. and haunting.

As you whisper a lullaby
in that honey-toned voice-

Submitting, surrendering,
succumbing and subsuming;

So, I fall love-sick, beholden
to my heart's one desire,

Drowning, desiring,
smoldering, and aspiring..

and I die a million deaths(and live to die more)
just from the wanting of you.

a week. in wilderness. of longing. of frolic and weary enjoyment. of coldness :(. of switch-offs. of realisations. of suppressed vows. of anticipation. IS PAST. now is when we make up for.ummm..feels warm already :)

noreply@blogger.com (the basu) — Thu, 18 Dec 2008 22:23:45 PST

On the last day of December, I went out in the fog
with Sorrow as my companion.
The River serene, was greener than tears-
the timid woods were bare
and the hemlocks were black in the fog..

High in the hills the fog broke up.
Tatters burned silver by the inland valleys
under a low sun and a cerulean sky.
We drove through winter-gold pastures
drunk on primrose-flavored air..

"Sorrow, why do you follow me?"said I,
He said, "Because you forget
everything that is dear to you.
It passes into my keeping
and I remind you when the time is right..

"Some day when summer hangs green in all the trees
you will sell me your heart for a handful of winter-gold
or a coin-sized slice of silver fog
and you'll call it a good bargain."

In a high place where mountains peered over the rim of the world
and the cloud-shadows were so vast they had no shape
I turned to him in the booming wind and said,
"Old friend -oh old friend o' mine
remind me once again?"

Sorrow placed his hand on my shoulder
and in my ear he whispered
the Name...

noreply@blogger.com (the basu) — Sun, 07 Dec 2008 12:48:26 PST

do you love me?

your eyes stare softly into mine
with no idea of how much I yearn for them
and all that is attached -

touch me -

your fingertips stroke my cheek
soaking up the fears untold, like sponges-
wiping away my old self, bit by bit,
mopping up the mess -

tell me -

your eyes lick your shoelaces
as your lips form a line that
would impress a drill seargeant -
you can't say it -

show me -

you pull me into your chest
our hearts touch
and for one-hundredth of a milli-second
i know i hear -

"Yes."

If everything that has impacted me over the past year is weighed in terms of importance, THE JINXED BOHEMIAN will come a close second. He's been a dear friend, a saviour at times. 66 posts including 23 incomplete drafts later comes his first birthday.I wish you'll hit half a century atleast and be my silent,undemanding impersonation ;) that you've been thus far. What better than this at the happy hour? Pardon me dear bloggie if the celebration or whatever is unworthy or subdued; am sure you understand the frame of my mind. HAPPY BIRTHDAY! :)

image courtesy: deviantart.com