The Kon-Tiki blog

2006-08-01T08:42:00.000-07:00

Thank you

For being every moment in my life
For being every life I could have lived
For being every sigh that I could have breathed
For being every dream that I could have seen

Today I'm grateful for so many things
So many things that could have been shattered
So many things that could’ve been mended
So many things that we could‘ve talked about

Let me love you ..let me love you
Over and over again .. in many ways
Like the rainbow.. they say its 7 colors
Let me love you.. in every hue

Let me in.. let me in..to your heart
In to your darkest secrets .. into
Your deepest thoughts...into
Your lowest moments

And in those moments.. let me draw you
A rainbow.. a rainbow that is for you and
For you only.. in manifold colors
One each for the three creases on your neck

One each for the eyebrow that says ..you dare ?
One each for that eye that says ..you may ..
One each for the smile that chides
One each for the smile that hides

One more night.. one more night
Give me one more night of loving
One more perfect night and we would play games
Of who would blink first saying “ I love you”

pehchaan ...

2006-06-01T06:14:00.000-07:00

Pehchaan
-------------------------

Apni kai ,apni mehbooba
Apni aashiqi apna wajood
Apna tohfa,apna kafan
Apna desh, apna watan

Oodhni mein ek bacche ki maut
Oodhni mein ik shaadi ka khauff
Oodhni mein ek wajood ki maut
Oodhni mein … meri maut

Jhaank kar dekho ek jhalki
Khwabon ka ek surkh jhoola
Goliyon se rangeen…. Laal
Ek do teen .. chunte huye

Goliyan chunti hui
Aur unki afsos ka kya
Kahan tak jayengi
Agar koi nahin mila to

Rangeen galiyon ka hijaab
Ki tehelte hue lamho ka hisaab
Ek do teen keh kar ,nikal kar
Khamoshi ka hisaab pooch kar

Goliyaan cheer kar kehti hai
Poochti hai kya yeh jaan hai
Ki agar khoon ka hisaab hai
To jaanch kar lo, jaanch kar lo

Khoon dekh lo, mera khoon dekh lo
Laal hai ,agar nahin hai to mussalman hoga
Agar nahin hai to hindu hoga
Magar jo bhi hai Laal hoga

Behta hua sarphiron ke sar se
Ik akhshar banata hua
Om hoga ? mera naam hoga ?
Junoon hoga ? mera desh hoga?

turning 30...

2006-05-26T04:44:00.000-07:00

There are different theories about getting old. One is that you start accepting things for what they are .. as in grey hair and wrinkles around. Just yesterday I was young.. And believe me… in thought !
And then I gave up..
I was at this friend’s place in Georgia and we were having a couple of beers and a discussion
A policeman walks in and is almost apologetic as he watches us… we don’t have guns…we don’t have dope…we just have a couple of beers. We are enjoying john fogerty’s “have you ever seen the rain? “ This guy almost requests me to hold my hands behind my head and wraps them up with tie wrap …the funniest thought resonates through my head as he ties orange colored fiber optic cables with a snap … I’m an orange fiber optic cable… if we are not the world that we define…or is defined to us .. What are we? I start to think what would life be if I were an orange cable?
Of course that is stupid and I cannot say it aloud cos it can only be construed as dope induced hallucination… cannot 1984 my thoughts now, though can I?

Of course that is stupid and I cannot say it aloud cos it can only be construed as dope induced hallucination… cannot 1984 my thoughts now, though can I?

I was talking about getting old now wasn’t I?
Decided to throw a stone “as far as we could get to ..types” …just to measure some semblance of strength in these aching bones.
I build up a mask … I want to go party
Lights on and off… in different colors… the great thing about parties …especially dark ones is that you only glimpse eyes
.. I mean minus the scantily clad bodies of course… the eyes…they shine through… like a thousand cats … and a thousand bulbs. It’s a party all right! Sometimes I wish Picasso had painted that …a thousand shining eyes in a party and had called it party… I would have paid for a pirated copy (Unto a 100 bucks …yes I have taste!) .. just for a lot of green lit bulbs  and nine lives for each … Oh what a web we weave , when we first try to deceive ..

So all of this was not in prison… some of it had been brewing for some time now … I decided I had reached a mid-life crisis when I decided to get a tattoo … there is a finality abt these things … like getting a tattoo … there’s not much you can do abt a decision like that except say “NO don’t do it, its permanent “.and that’s just reinforcement of why im doing it in the first place… So decisions can be funny except when you’re traveling. They take on different contexts.

You can tell I’m running away…cant you?
For rehab they showed us a movie marathon… born on the fourth of July and I saw that and I wanted to tell the stories that I knew… born on the 28th of august … born on the 21st of May …everyday a different battle .. not for a nation .. dulce et decorum est … but for me …selfishly enough for me

They showed us American history X for black history month… sometimes the angst is as great as the pain… and today I react with equanimity when yesterday it would have been all abt organizing pals and folks and get says and views and points of them and post them in scarlet and look for an anthem

There’s a subtle difference between the mega flood and the slow erosion…and it’s not just about the time … its about the sensitivity that’s associated with the act of bringing abt the change …
There’s a premium on human leadership …. Happiness in evolution is extinct, and to bring to it definition and method, is a challenging take … just cos of the mere fact that tomorrow I would want to remembered as a “” ( choice here)

There’s something special about turning thirty

There’s something special in the sense that you want to talk to everybody in your past
You exhume ghosts if you have to … you truly want to move on.
Yet you want to brush with the same toothbrush… in a sane world there are rare moments of insanity and let this be mine
Worn toothbrush with colors faded to medium and low.
Somebody asks me “Am I happy?”
And I truly cannot answer that … cos im confused
I do not know if im happy or im sad… these are the thirties moments when im trying to say grand things
And in all honesty ive never been as lost as im now
There are solid moments though when I won the drawing competition in school … there are moments of inspiration
There are moments of hope
The 30s are as confused as can be
There is an urge to listen to ballads/ to exercise/ to reduce cholsesterol/ to listen to baba ramdev / to do yoga
There are so many struggles in an empty home… and then there the M word 

I’m searching for a word for the past hour …
Yes its exquisite … the pain is exquisite
There is no other word to describe it …sometimes there is happiness in just describing pain …aimless pain… just dull
You know pointless dull pain… Exquisite is the word …

It’s been a loud day … getting arrested for no reason at all told me why life was beautiful … ESP when its free …when im free to make my own mistakes
To own them to adopt them to nurture them through the course of my life … like my own children … these are my mistakes.. There is some honor in repentance …when you give it a chance …when you give it a second life which answers “What if ?” And maybe all we look for is finality at 30 ..and resurrection
Like how could it be different ?
For the next 30 or so ?

Then there was the yoga guru or as I called him the the “Faker”
The Faker
The truth is that divinity will simply test your exhaustion. there has got to be another expln of sumfin w.r.t the whole
There is truth or in our modern times there is math … intuition well and truly is substituted by probability !
And there is finally a way to model uncertainity ~
Its called To be continued 

and hope … well!
“So long and thanks for all the fish!”

Mac wonders!

2006-04-08T06:09:00.000-07:00

Mac-kenna’s GaWW-ld-yawn headlines

How abt this for a “daily-cuppa-conspi-racy-theory” ?

“the “AlQ” have sponsored the recent Judas studies and the Dan Brown Myths .. “ …

You know who AlQ is of curse?
The alQ ..
The alQqwot?
The alQwhen?
And the alQhoe ? ( 40 of them !)

The access of eveel according to Mac expostulating on the theories of the unbound
The deveel had a new name in kolkatta …for you see the city had been Hyd (Haiyed…in suddern enuff contexts) … in ways more than one

Reee-Sir-vashya-yawn ( deja BOO!) … Mac found herself in “Dire straits” and gyrating to a pirated copy too …
Gosh this was too much… the Mac din’t stand a chawnce …even in sexy Scottish half –skirts ( accentuate the letter that u want)

Sir Sir ,,, it please-ded

50% istoo muchos duncha think ? ..
Aaargh …here we go again ..the national ins-tit-toot of the yeah-man-cippayshun

Mac thought that this sort of language was totally uncalled for and proceeded to
Talk to the ex-el-capitan seated next to her … for now you see … in the protocol of the
Celebs unknown .. the one “Later” is the celeb …and thus the Mac by sheer virtue of UN-punctuality
Deserved what she did … which is to say a sermon .. from the celeb called “Unknown”

“First.. things you need to know abt me “
Do you feel lucky .. ppp ,
And “Mr President , (twist and turn) .. !! ( ok ..exclamation!)

Conclusion being that Harrison ford was probably a “Supersizeme” Clint! … err

The Mac is finally home …she can see the meaning of dubbulspit letters where they are in-tern-ded.

….Billy Plays the piano like a carnival”

She can kill with a smile and she can wound
With her eyes ,
and she can ruin yer faith
with Her casual lies
And she only reveals
What she wants you to see
She Hides like a child
But she’s always THE woman to me….

This was the sound anthem of the carpet making industry that the Mac was witnessing and then the endless expanse that greeted her eyes … to “proverbially” roll and plunder … for the chicken had really GOT to cross the “whatever” …whatever the “whatever” was made of ! ..sigh…and armed with the CGTTs the answers suddenly became clear ….

First off Mac needed a haircut and a saffron overhaul… which is to say we were planning on being televised… televised and protesting …
/* deja-BOO --- also known as affectionate feelings for the “DCE…err of E”
As in the “Delhi college of E … err Engg” … for like most of us .. and Mac I presume in saying so … the sordid saga of having it “made”…, really ended with the entrance exam .. Mac distinctly remembers our Princi ( PeeBeySharma) mouthing something in Sanskrit ( just to drive in the fact that mebbe 15 mins more wasn’t sucha bad deal ) ..how abt "Loser schols" ? " */

And then Something inside of me snapped and the Mac said well “U chose it “ … and the Mac thot if it was a fair statement… and I think of the remainder of the song

She takes care of herself
She can wait if she wants
She’s ahead of her times
Awww she never gives out and
She never gives in
She JUST changes her mind …..

The Mac is still dealing with uncertainties …what if ? what if ???

http://kon-tiki.blogspot.com/2005/01/ouch-baby-very-ouch.html
http://kon-tiki.blogspot.com/2005/04/return-of-mac.html
http://kon-tiki.blogspot.com/2005/04/mac-and-catterpillahs.html
http://kon-tiki.blogspot.com/2005/05/mac-and-parallel-universes.html

ps --- prev edi-shuns! @

Who is this woman really ?

2006-03-17T04:54:00.000-08:00

nothing to say abt the confidence level in publishing this ... insecurities persist ... because so many ppl i know read this blog..

Who is this woman really ?
---------------------------------------
“I don’t know her” , “She’s just a headline, it’s a sad story , but I don’t know her… I feel sorry for her though”
“Wow strange things happen in (place X) …Are they really that primitive? ,They burnt the bride…” ( a shake of the head, a minute or two of pondering as to what can be done in “That place” to educate people ), female infanticide (simple …just ban the gender determination process).., “yaar,middle class values don’t even allow you the luxury of talking to a girl , let alone tease .. or rather eve-tease her..HAHAHAHA “ , a different reality , a different place , a different time , these things don’t happen to me or to people “important “ to me, in fact pull some semantic jugglery laced with psycho terms on me and you might even convince me that these things were horrendous statistics that happened in “Amrika” where society was decadent and “westernized”.. I’m insulated, I’m the “successful” professional with an extremely proud mother, a happily married sister, a proud father.

Or rather was …. That was my reality till a week back.

My reality today is a mother who refuses to talk to me about this topic.

My reality today is a sister who teaches in a school and tells me sympathetically “ Tujhe yaad hai us time jab maine bob cut chor kar decide kiya ki mujhe long hair chahiye aur main do chotiyan rakhungi? Tuhje pata hai , college final year tak maine birthday pe mummy se ek suit ka kapda maanga hai aur ek jean … mere paas KV ( she now teaches in kendriya vidyalaya) se pehle tak teen jean they jo fit hote they ..Woh na main ghar pe pehenti thi aur dilli haat jaane ke liye suit pehenti thi… ” … a question, which furiously invades my blood with anger asking “Kaun haramzaada tha?” … she does not reply…and I know who the blame falls upon.. my adrenalin surge is exhausted as she recounts incident after incident…

My reality today is a bunch of close friends who hate me for asking these questions.. for my seeming ignorance… for in my subconscious (excuse the psychological term) .. I always knew … and why did I not know ? I don’t know .. and today on the basis of that ignorance I’m guilty…

She says , “You ask me today , why am I cold suddenly , why I am stiff ?”
“Maybe I know” , I reply .. maybe now I know …
“no you don’t and you never will, no you will never know what it is to create your own little prison and hope that nobody steps inside it … no , you will never know what it means to close the doors , you’ll never know…
Some scars you know never go away ”
And maybe I never will understand … that is my reality today.

An analogy…
I’m 8 years old (this was on April fool’s day ..so I guess this makes me running 9 ) and I’m extremely thirsty ( We’ve watched a gumnaam/mahal marathon ) and I have to walk the long dark corridor all alone and I'm scared shitless so I start singing some song out aloud, real loud .. the echoes of my own voice keeping me company through the long journey through the corridors, such that in spite of me and my fears, the sound of the water gushing through the tap was a welcome respite… I carry the bottle back with me .. tossing it and playing with it all along till the journey back to the bed was complete… when I carelessly toss the bottle aside …

now play those fears up and imagine you’re the bottle… somebody invades the veil of darkness you’ve shrouded yourself with…

Who is this woman I ask ??
Who is She ?

I was 29 ( after having waited for 6 years for your father to come back) ,
We settled in nanakpura,south delhi
Your papa said everything was good in terms of location.. good… good!
They used to play cricket in the square (dilli term = sker) … college going boys … tor monot aase jimmy ? (do you remember jimmy?) …and I say
“Yes!”..
although I don’t .. most of what follows and I curse..
She’s angry now….
“aamar ghoror khidki-e kele bhangise baare bare?”
( Why are they breaking our flat-windows again and again?” )
“Prothomote tok kele matisile khelibole? Toi tu ekdum shoru lora aasili…
( Why would they call you first to play …you were too young to play ) …
She’s crying now
“Eta holi-te shehenti koi sile je eskeror function organize korise …aru moi bhoyote tok pothiyaye dilu mithai loi tor hathot ..aru shehenti tok ekdum dhulai di pelai pothiyayese..jeneke moi aasilu”
On one holi they organised a holi function.. and I was scared so I sent you with sweets in your hands.. and they just drenched you mercilessly .. like it was me”, it was my fault
the post script said. …
“Moi aru tor papa tok lobole goisu ..toi hathot gujiyar plate tu loi ghuri aahiso,ekdom bhiga bhiga “
I and your dad went to get you back ..you came back with the gujiya plate in your hand, ekdom bhiga bhiga…

Honestly I don’t remember.. but I think I can fathom what she went through.. blaming herself for everything. This is the woman… talking after all…

blanknoiseproject.blogspot.com

She's talking after all ..
To ME ...

Hisaab!

2006-03-11T04:49:00.000-08:00

meri mehnat! :)
--------------

Neher ek gandi si ,leherti hui
Phir bhi saans leti hui
Behekti hui, ki zeher hai ragon mein
Roti hui , apne hi ghum ko ikattha karti hui
Ek din , ek din achanak
Apne aap se mukarti hui

Ek fakira bola sun, sun ek bar phir
Ek ,do phir teen ghum ka hisaab
Apne hi ghum mein , sharmaatey
Apne naseeb ka hijaab...

PS - atrakasya ..still working on the devanagri script sw ..would be glad to get some hints ..
PPS -- writing in hindi is fun .... :)

Kuch Pal

2006-03-07T04:08:00.000-08:00

Kuch pal
--------------

Kuch khamosh se tanhai ke pal
Kuch achambhe mein dekhte huye pal
Kuch shor mein khoe huye pal
Kuch rag mein dukhte huye pal

Yaadon ke daiyron mein, poochte
Sharmaate huye kuch pal
Kahin door se, Phir achanak!
Darwaze par khatkhatate huye pal

Oonchaiyon se chaundhiyate huye kuch pal
Aasmaan ko choomte huye kuch pal
Kuch pal mehekte hue shabnam se
Kuch pal chamakte hue aansuwon se

Ek unkahi dastaan ke kuch pal
Kuch jaagte kuch sote huye pal
Kuch suljhaate kuch ithlaate huye pal
Teri meri kahani ke yeh pal

Yeh pal kuch takraate kuch behekte
Kuch todte kuch jodte huye yeh pal
Shrinkhalaon ki kadi yeh pal
Sambhav asambhav kehte huye yeh pal

Sachai ke, kuch abhinay ke pal
jharnon se, nadiyon se kuch pal
pathar si zindagi se takra kar
sagar mein bikharte huye kuch pal

My maiden attempt at hindi poetry! :) inspired by my fellow poets at
www.dudseascrawls.com

Do dissect ..for one i know it sounds too lyrical ! :(

Poetry in Hindi movies

2006-03-01T04:54:00.000-08:00

ladies and gentlemen! presumptious though it might be..
presenting Neeraj -- amazing poetry tuned to some great music

the popular choice

"Aaj madhosh hua jaye re"
"Kaise kahen hum"
"Khilte hain gul yahan"
"Megha chhaaye aadhi raat"
"Mera man tera pyaasa"
"Phoolon ke rang se"
"Rangeela re"

for convenience ... do whet your appetite at
http://www.musicindiaonline.com/l/17/s/lyrics.209/

Humm trumm

2006-01-16T11:08:00.000-08:00

Silence engulfed everything
I wanted to say, unkempt
Somethings I couldn’t file away
During the annual catharsis

Fish… assailing my senses
The scales ripped away ,the onions chopped
The garlic and the ginger
Laid away, neatly stood witness

Only once I looked back
“Objects in the rear view mirror”
Greeted me
And I said take me there again

I loved your hair
Black … like the darkest thunder
Falling over your face delicately
Like the morning dew drop that
Caressed, that ventured unto
That delicate landscape

I loved your eyes.. two black buttons
And yet you saw things out on a chilly fog
Shadows and ghosts that make you shiver
And I said “Oh no its just weariness”!

Like a schoolboy …spouting words of
Romance and equanimity ,one to impress you
And the rest for my friends.
Shall I water the stone ?

That spout I drink of today
I say ahem and hello
To my love and her hindsights
I say 20/20 you knew it all

I know this too .. you liked being sung to
Sleepy .. fairy tales of gremlins and goblins
And I sang that lullaby and wrestled those ghosts
I know love now... through these blind eyes

Thank you thank you
For being a part of me
And taking away some
My angel, Quo vadis ?

Vision

2005-12-28T05:04:00.000-08:00

Once, twice its beauty unfolds
The dark moment that chooses to live
Between my foul breath,eschews all laughter
Five virgins lay inwards

Each a parable, stoned and clad in stone
Marbled and cast in marble
Costly, yet desire seems to break free
Until desire has no price

Served in dual portions for contrast
Her life is black and white
A baby born and a child forfeited
One taken care of, one dreaming her life
For her

Living life inwards and inside out
Hair disheveled, and unkempt
A rolling head gathers no
Moss

Silent gravy .twirls in taste
Groans in the bedevilment of the soup
This is not the soul!
Protest, salty with the tears ..
Loses character

Detached like organs from my body
My lung breathes in tandem , searches for the other
my stomach groans for more ..greedy audience
The heart, that loads one breast more with the opus
Of the symphony its trying to sing

Sigh beautiful sigh your eyes!
Like algae growing on the wall
Like the lotus, that’s appreciated and devoured
One more day.. lived through the eyes of my,

Bete noire

PS- inspired by "jaanemann jaanemann tere do nayan" ...credit where its due :)

Kamayani

2005-12-14T12:45:00.000-08:00

Kamayani

Twice unfolded my life agape
Stared at the might of the
Conqueror who had yet to
Brush her teeth

Sighed in unison did her Fridays
In joyous reclamation of the week past
When,my love did you seek ?
a compromise for things that last ?

Vague!

2005-12-14T12:16:00.000-08:00

To each unto his own
There are times when I get tired of the schedule.. a green cactus to keep me company
I water it diligently thinking, too much of a good thing can’t be “that’ bad ..
There is a slight breeze flowing unknown to me ..it churns time , it churns the clouds in various colors, Im staring at the cactus …
Smoke drifts up and forms rings of its own volition. Each an existence beckons, teases and then disappears, no grand requiem , just a gentle floater ..wisps that are still playing mischief with the rays of the sun that are attempting to shine on the bright bright day I was promised.

“Verbal diarrhea “ , she grandly proclaimed, a flick of golden brown hair falling across the brow , and though the thought was nothing short of ..well .. the flick, it was imperious
As if to command and demand obeisance.
“I hear you’ve adopted a cactus” , she jeered
I said “….” Yes
“That’s fascinating , a cactus always reminds me of things bleary and dark , sort of like the low points in life “
It was implied of course and I drifted ..away from the spring,
for the dreary should not see too much of the spring .. it echoes ambition and that is intolerable in present circumstances.

Silence
Another day another night ..luminescent in the glow of reflected glory .. I have been at a book signing , and had my book signed..

Studied, measured indignance
Oh these people , when they smile at me its as if years of training are coming to the fore .. “smile child smile ..for it’s the shortest word that has a mile “  (for good measure)
The dew has settled on the thorns of the cactus. My little experiment has been successful.
Dew drops have formed on the harshest of all creatures .. on the thorns of a cactus ..

“I feel like doing something silly”, a call out of the blue
“now that is not advisable!”
“Do you always talk like this ? “ , she asked
“ No!”
“weeelll then lets have coffee” ,she said
“isn’t that silly ?”
“OF course with you it is “ ,she chirped

The higher intelligence
Today she permeates every being. Every thought echoes a ring ..today ..damnnit every cloud has a silver lining. The cactus is nervous , I can tell. The thorns are bristling.
Today the cactus has feet and is asserting her own
She wants out today and it has to be the same restaurant.
I cancel my appointment with her and humor the thornbird
Deliberately the mischiefs peer out of the circus of my life and shine ..Oh jesus they shine

Two timing bassy
My compulsions I cannot explain. It is perhaps not enough to have one after all ..simply said. There are times when you wonder “what if?”
I tried to live those and much to my dismay I did succeed sometimes. The cactus felt jealous and scratched me so as to leave permanent marks .. .this worked.. for scratches are the ultimate sign and cannot be overthrown by words ..even Shakespeare bowed to them .. scratches ..sigh
The cactus is turning red these days..slowly, shyly and bloodied, every drop a penance

The uncomfortable beverage

A sip .. luscious red lips caressing the edge of the coffee cup and swallowing every drop of the “elixir” that poured fortwith , “She does not drink coffee” , I thought , and now she is
Busy busy busy , irrigating herself with the concoction that is heady and fulfilling and liberating.
“Oh I just wanted to meet you “, the cactus turned white , with the tiniest shade of blue , I imagined,
“ oh yes it was good meeting you too ! “

The widowmaker
The left hand started throbbing . it was dull at first and then life threatening . I knew it at once . the clog that was the widowmaker .. and I felt strangely elated
“Tu mujhe jaan se bhi pyaara hai” remixed and deadened beyond words and music.
Im trying to fit in the trance mood..really ..I’m trying
But did I mention I wear my heart on my sleeve.. What a voice ? gosh already in love ?
The widowmaker has a taker …”hahahahahaha”
“an undertaker , you mean!”
The dull throbbing echoed a strange rhythm.. one of life ..pulsing slowly..how gauche!
And the pain …well ..Something’s are better left unsaid

The registered letter
The pension has proved to be an elusive beast. Something that Mr. raji cannot fix inspite of being in the service. He says ,”Doctor lots of people have grudges against you !”
The man of the moment, the messenger , and if there was an apt moment ever to shoot him, it was this and I did .. a crime of passion , a crime of incomprehensible cruelty. I shot the postman!

Singers/Songwriters link

2005-09-26T03:51:00.000-07:00

Here is an excellent post i came across
Some of my favorite singers/songwriters...
although some are conspicuous by their absence
Neil diamond/Roger waters/bernie taupin/John fogerty et all
However some good reading about the singers songwriters can be found at
Singers/Songwriters!

The above site I came across while i was going through
My friend's site
For movie/literature buffs and for math buffs the link above is a very pleasant site to visit :)

Foreplay !

2005-09-26T03:49:00.000-07:00

The naughty face, in entirety
Shy brown eyes, entreaty!
Judge me lightly not
Ask and then retreat... in mystery

Let me be the morning dawn
Let me be the morning sunshine
Through the calligraphy that stains
Your face, your morn

In stealth and in the myriad hues
That I see you through
Clinks and then falls into place
In pain and in the moment blue

My life paints you in many colors
A photograph, a salvation
A lacerated sacrilege...carefully kept
In shame and in honor

The leaves of the book that breathe
With the leaf that was carefully smothered
In drops of dew, in drops of rain
It chose to live, it chose to dread

Ghosts are but playful except
Playful, Oh let it pass
The ones in the present, mirthful
Grab, touch and then trespass

Lightly the hair falls over the ears
A weak man requests thus, Do not
Look at me like this, for mishap
Has but resulted in untimely fashion!!

The game

2005-09-26T03:45:00.000-07:00

Baseball throws it back
In ways that spit that spew
The league in all your merry
Many many returns of the cherry

Honest to the point of absolution
One point seeks my definition
That One , you did not allow me
For in the mayhem there was dilution

One part truth another part louvre
One clinical another debonair
One geometric another scaled
One harnessed another baled

Comparison

2005-09-03T05:36:00.000-07:00

In the days gone I say
Harmansukh bellowed and bled
For the love of his life with two
Cham chams and a simla sled

The mall was forever pretty
The mall was forever shorn
The mall was forever red
And the mall was forever torn

Between brothers whose blood
Was green and still blushed
In colors unknown and hushed
A metallic conversation thus

A smoking revolver and a shining gun
Which is the better is the thought
When you have the riches and when I have naught
Its all fair and so its all fun

Harmansukh harmansukh cried fraught
In times strain and in times distraught
What was to be the plight of “he”
Spoke thus the powers that be

Crossed betwixt brothers cross
Frayed till that which tied them
Came to naught
And yet dominated thoughts
Of gasoline, of food and of water
Of profit and of loss

Harmansukh my brother
A humble pardon for this
Tyranny I offer and the sky
Is shamed..ahh fraternity

All sins are forgiven and all wounds
Forgotten. The night gives way..
The blood still spews and hunger
gawks and spits out ulcers

The two halves

2005-09-03T05:35:00.000-07:00

The one that I live in
The one that I dream in
The one that I live for
The one that I dream of

The one that shows and titillates
The one that taunts and abdicates
The one that knows and dictates
The one that prowls and taunts

The one that speaks in slow verses
The one that shouts in loud monologues
The one that stutters and reverses
The one that destroys all demagogues.

REVENGE

2005-08-24T04:13:00.000-07:00

The lone streetlamp cast a long shadow onto the street as if trying to bridge across to the other side of the road. The individual, whose projection was so laid out, that cars ran over it and unknowing passer-bys walked over it, with little contrition, stood with his collar folded up and breathed out little wisps of warm breath, undecided.

At length, however he seemed to make up his mind and walked purposefully across the street to the door that had been left partially open. He strode through it and took the flight of stairs to the house numbered H 161. Having crossed the threshold, rashly, as an afterthought, the moment was frivolous, almost, considering the deep perturbation of a minute ago, he stood there, undecided.

It was strange, he was feeling liberated, somehow. The door almost had an inviting look but animated voices from inside made him stop. He fidgeted around in his overcoat pocket, adjusted the revolver and gave in to the hesitation. He looked above at the corridor lamp and saw that it needed replacing. He smiled to himself.

“He just smiled, man! That man has guts... if any are left”, the blackguard sniggered.

“Of course! You think seventeen years in prison won’t do that to a man”, the bartender chided him.
“They gutted him and left him to die, the warden waited for him to bleed to death. He just would not go... little, caked spots of blood were drying on his shirt and the large pool growing ever larger when they picked him up”
“Kismet yaar! Jaako raakhe saiiyan mar sake na koi, I’m telling you”, the blackguard swigged his last drop.

They did not realize of course that they were talking about him, hunched over his pint of beer, sitting alone on a table. He smiled to himself, thinking “He wasn’t even there”, feeling the scar along his abdomen...

“Chaukaaa!! Yaaaay!” ”What a shot!" “What happened what happened? Did somebody get out? ” “You shut up!” Inadvertently, almost he found himself with an ear on the door, straining to catch every word spoken inside the house, listening for that one voice.
He checked himself, took the revolver out, released the catch, released the magazine, made sure it was empty and replaced it in one long deliberate motion, to remind himself...

He began chopping down the wood in a series of long swooping motions. The tree was failing...it had failed... there were no more secrets in its hollow… the idea had seemed romantic to her at first , exchanging messages ,notes in the little hollow that only the two of them knew about ..And then it grew into this obsession. Throwing all care to the wind they would come to the tree a half an hour apart and then read each other’s messages for the day … until the day there was the message that signaled a finality no amount of entreaty could overcome.. He got an axe and chopped away at it, till it fell...

He raised the revolver... looked through the trigger hairs and pointed at the blank wall...tried to focus on a point on the wall... his mind automatically focusing him onto a point that was the target...he rubbed his eyes…did not see a point... he saw a white wall... he looked franctically for a point, for a target, he could not find one. So he decided to kill them all. “Dhichkiyaun dhichkiyaun”...is this the sound the revolver actually makes in slow motion or it would be more like “Dhish-udh”...he thought carefully about this, for he did not actually shoot … “arre shit! Out ho gaya, LBW” silence ...”What shit man … they can’t do it “, “Youre always like this man!” “ Kya matlab ?? ” “Matlab tu Saale hamesha se aisa hi hai!” “What do you mean? ” “ abbey abhi support karne ka time hai , tujhe sutta marna hai to mar le .. But excuse marke mat ja..chor!” , “Tu chor ! yaar”
“kitta score hua ?” , His revolver has dropped and is pointing at the ground , no longer at the wall anymore.. he strains to listen...

“You referred him ! and this is the biggest chit fund project that we have ever defaulted on. They are baying for somebody’s blood and it better be yours “ , the manager said
“Sir he did not do anything wrong, I am sure”
“You did then and I am not paying for that” , he said
“you should keep your love affairs out of this office ..considering that now you have a kid also.. I don’t know how you could ask your lover to come and work in this office” , the blackguard said
He stood outside , unsure , at a safe distance to make sure he was not eavesdropping as he heard… anger, frustration and then strangely enough …guilt.
Guilt ..for him ..for something he had not done.. what was it he felt ?
Love …
Frustration …
Loyalty
Guilt…yes ..guilt ..for something he had not done. He walked away.
He was arrested soon after. The offense ,considering the weak nature of their case made a strident plea ,for the maximum possible sentence , showing pictures of lives he had not seen or touched ,except that of his fame, making them rich on fabricated stories..., Ahh the irony!. There were no tearful dissensions from her … there was .. in fact nothing ..she was busy building a life..
A cloud appeared on the horizon, colored purple and with vibrant dashes of gold, reminding him of the flower that was not to be touched, for it was poisonous. The colors were but an allure , a temptation ..for it would kill him to touch that flower…. He chose .. He chose to walk into that horizon.. into the dark
And then emerge seventeen years later …

“arreee saala too much yaar fifty two runs off 48 deliveries”, “At least they are in it !” “Papa can we change the channel ,please?” “Nahin you go off and sleep , you have your GK quiz tomorrow, papa will we watch the match to the end? ” ”I’m going home man! .nahin sahi mein I got work tomorrow. I think they will lose anyways”
“ accha theek hai , I will see you tomorrow”

He was shaken out of his reverie. The hair on his back bristled and small drops of perspiration were shaken out of his hair as he pretended to stand outside the door of H 162 very deliberately and as if waiting for a response to his doorbell ring.. The door opened nonchalantly and goodbyes spoken and closed with equal nonchalance. He knew however that he would look through the peephole as to who the stranger was. He pretended to ring the doorbell again and waited until the renewed noises from across the door seemed to echo distance.. just in case however he made the elaborate motion of walking away from the adjoining door and pretend to walk downstairs. After a suitable pause, He crept unto the door and stood with his ears pressed against it, sure that they were watching television. He strained and heard that twenty two runs were required off 15 balls .. no 16 balls ..the last one was a no ball.. he thought about that .. for a second and felt sure that they would win .. almost against despair the revolver wiggled and made its presence felt .. he ignored it .. and pressed his ears against the door …straining to hear every word that was spoken out of the idiot box and he heard “out “ ”nahin six” ”maybe””yaaaaaaY””six”

He heard faint echoes … amongst the news that now only two runs were needed of five balls ..he was hopeful again ..he wiped the perspiration of his brow and looked up at the corridor lamp …suddenly everything was brighter! .. Over ! ….

He will not survive … well he has so far hasn’t he ? ..we need blood .. urgently !
Thank God ! she knows him too! what chance!
Faces ..scared and hopeful drifted past him and still he recognized one .. one that lay next to him with a drip in her hand .. he did recognize her..a lifegiver

“Rukawat ke liye khed hai!”
“Sorry for the interruption”
“We regret to inform that a particularly dangerous criminal has escaped from a transfer vehicle. He may be armed and dangerous. We recommend that citizens observe adequate precautions and close their doors and windows and inform the police at the slightest hint of suspicious activity”
For that inescapable moment the door seemed to disappear and he felt like he had just stepped out of the television screen. There was silence for a moment. And then …
The voice he had been listening for.. “Come have food …dinner is ready !” and then silence again …

He wanted revenge … long and steady and painful ..no excuses.. he wanted revenge..
He waited until the thrill of having won for the moment had passed and an hour later he heard muffled voices and sobs..

“ I turned him into this monster “ she sobbed,
“you paid back” , he said sternly
“I bet you will not recognize my photo after seventeen years” , he cribbed
She did not say anything ..just silence ..
“Waah they actually won! “ the news bar just read it “ , ecstatic he said

He heaved a sense of relief .. his boundaries seemed to be defined again .. he smiled to himself.. “They won!, Wow!”
“Okay ! let me put the kachra outside!” , she said
“Replay” , he heard and without thinking ,he put his eye to the peephole so that he could look at the winning shot on television.
“its dark”, she thought “and the corridor light is dim, let me look out of the peephole”
He fidgeted , he pummeled , and he looked for his revolver .. nowhere to be found and so .. this was the primal moment !!

Love at first sight…again
REVENGE…pure and simple ..
he smiled to himself and drifted..

She thought she had seen a ghost.. a familiar ghost
and she strained to listen and look
The shadows along the street seemed to grow longer and the streetlamp shut down on the retreating figure.

Ponder

2005-08-11T02:15:00.000-07:00

Ponder

Exempt said the wheels of time
Master I beg for salvation
Tied up in ropes unknown
Hence forth called tradition

The soul looks inwards
In between the throbbing veins
And the sulking emotion
Pretends and then thwarts

Any attempt to hold it responsible
For the present state of the cactus
Arid, dry and yet bountiful
Walking walking on dry sand

Scorched tormented Om shanti Om
Hallowed be thine Nome
Look if you must at this
Shining spectacle of bliss

For the meek shall inherit
The earth and its bountiful spread
And then what... will we live
Happily ever after??

Swabhimaan

2005-07-23T08:40:00.000-07:00

She made her presence felt today
Along the crack that threatens
Arangetram, the moss comes out
Does her first dance today

Footsteps that come out of the dark
Silent, purposeful only to walk away
The anticipation or the farewell
Kept me awake many a night today

In a blink the wall is all green
A mural, a silent testimony
To the years that have passed
In toil, in pain and in slumber

I sit in the dark, ruminating over what I have just seen. I decide to (write a) blog. It’s not going to be pleasant. I’ve seen a very disturbing movie... I’ve seen Matrubhoomi...

I’m really quick at fixing responsibilities... usually...
For an hour and a half I’m unable to write anything...Im even unable to decide the structure of the “review” I’m going to write. This sort of a movie leaves you so unsettled that you question the very basis of “life”
Was I by choice or was I coerced into existence?
I’ll never know…
As the years that have passed have changed the equation forever... forever rendering the potency of a man to the status of a screwdriver or a tool that is needed to get the job done or more fearfully so into one of blighted force … instead of co-op
The kaleidoscope is displaying its myriad hues as I turn around for the battle …..
I settle for a smoke and by the light of the screen as the smoke is conveniently dispatched to the corners of the room a question forms itself.
What did Manish Jha REALLY want to talk about?

The honest (and easiest) answer is I don’t know. However I did watch the movie intensely, and at different stages I formed different opinions and when I pressed “off “on the remote I was confused ...was that perhaps the original idea?

First the structure of the movie... a story it is not... a description of a society… it very well might be
And if parallels really insist upon testimony, then “Nishant” was a story.
For those who have watched the movie it is an intense statement on the society of its times... more scathing than any statement about a “yet to be born” society aided by a “2URDE4CE” (tour-de-force) performance by Shabana Azmi... (I really had to interpret that no. plate)
Lest I trivialize, there are two scenes that stand out in my mind... in nishant I mean

Shabana azmi lies on the ground, having been physically overpowered by three men , in a yellow sari , and the moment is one of extreme poignancy , one where when the mind capitulates under repeated assaults, and a few frames later, she calls out to the domestic help as if the house were her own.. She asks, even nags for a kitchen of her own... sanity in an insane world

And the other, where the villagers commune under one rash action by the village-teacher to give the zamindars the boot... Naseeruddin shah looks for Shabana azmi “first” and then Smita Patil...the moment of death and the choice of the place is weird though …Sham Bengal chose a staid rock under whose backdrop the two lovers choose to die... not a rock for their love/affection/infatuation was anything but …

Contrast matrubhoomi --- where the subject is female infanticide... remotely related to the movie I am talking about... however it is definitely about redefinition... of one world into another.
And the vehicle that the author chooses is not one of subtlety where the idea haunts the viewer...instead the weak cast seeks subterfuge in repetition... until a concept is ( for the lack of a better word) hammered in …she is raped …she is raped …she is raped …multiple times..(Thank god for redundancy)
Here in my mind is a perfect example of a “can/can’t do “being sacrificed for the greater cause... For Mr. Jha when you depict a scene like that for public viewing, you cannot run away ...” I cannot be caught up in the details” cannot be an excuse…for no matter how uncomforting it is...each violation, EVERYTIME ,has a different connotation for the victim. Though her frightened eyes ask the same question every time...you cannot hide behind the same answer … namely circumstance.

Matrubhoomi fails in making you think about why… instead it succeeds in making you think about what if ?.. No matter how rhetorical the question might seem
For however logical the movie might seem, it fails in its primary purpose…
It assumes that man is beyond redemption... it fails the simple test of causality
It fails the viewer...
It seeks to burden him/her with a share of the guilt that is not adequately shared. Though I am one for noble ambition, am not one for perjury.

And maybe my limited knowledge obfuscates me

Maybe it blinds me to the many truths that women face everyday and the multitude blurs the face that spurs me to action, my mother my sister my lover

It does not blind me from the sense of judgment that I am pronounced to... my responsibility …and therein I hope Im one of MANY
And to that end I say

Hope while we missed it
Instead of the lines in green
Envy/ravage you say?
Beauty/damage I say

In damnation I find true blue
The colors that seek and
The colors that flew
I seek my colors true
And I for one refuse to give up on that.

.wither??? Said the “war of the words”?

PS - Tulip joshi is a gutsy woman(IMHO) for having agreed in the first place... for that , kudos.. if she has any sensitivity that I credit women with ..she took it out of a sense of responsibility over everything else..
and That demands commendation and every measure of international acclaim that the movie is receiving.
PPS - being the anarchist that I am i do hope the movie reaches your shores and does Disturb you ..it antagonises you, it insults you ..and maybe then..
there is hope for a common consensus

Breasts

2005-07-17T07:26:00.000-07:00

I’ve always been fixated on breasts .. And breasts onto me ..Symbiosis has been a rather large part of my life.
“Be careful” , screamed a rather innocent looking headline
Sender – Srinivas road pulipati
Recipient – Doha
I wish i could italicise the thousand emotions ...
and speak the thousand lives this woman was in one
Happens to all of us ..Especially me
Honestly the “ Everything you wanted to know about sex but were always afraid to ask” -
The theme should have been explored in the Indian context. Would have been a classic case of
“JUST WHEN I THOUGHT I HAD ANSWERED ALL THE QUESTIONS THEY CHANGED THE QUESTION PAPER “
However I digress .. By profession I am a trumpeter , a blow-Horner , a man with a mouth, full of gas if you will … many adjectives have been associated with me
I do the most solemn duty of all ..Blow it when it needs to be blown .. Not many people would exchange places with me ..And THAT I think makes me rather special ..

Nayna the cradle snatcher
It happened many moons ago .. I was comfortably perched atop my feathery, cloudy bed trying to take the whole wide world in one giant stare when another pair of eyes locked mine
From experience I could gather she was at least 42 hours older however she had me in a trance
Staring at me from the adjacent cradle ..asking me if there was another ? “Noo” , I helplessly stammered , She had me ..Then and there.. A complacent grin stroked her cheeks as she looked upwards and breathed peacefully.
She bawled her head off when they tried to pull her out of the cradle and they did.. And for three days she would not stop crying … the nurse had a bright idea .. Let’s take her amongst the other kids … I had not been adopted yet .. She immediately calmed down.
She knew me.. A tryst with destiny ..
And until they adopted me for the helper’s family, she would not budge from the nursing room
Both of us stared at each other wide eyed .. Each nursing a breast and content ..The predator and the preyed.
I have to be fair to them of course, they gave me all that could be asked for .. A fine education.. Even pretence of jealousy when I would top her.. In the exams ..The excuse being .. “Oh she did not really study “ …would drive me mad for almost weeks when she would just come upto me and parrot the same thing over and over again.. I remember what getting mad at her was like

Nayna Nayna Nayna Nayna
Who’s the taller bol na ?
Ahh yes the helper and his wife, in whose home I was fostered … every night a dream would come and haunt me …after I had shared the meager meal …after I had watched them go hungry for an illusion ..a son they’d never have.. I would be haunted by a dream too.. of nayna, asleep peacefully in her mansion and us in her outhouse and I would dream… of riches and of bright lights and fireworks..
Coincidence or whatever ..the day I was appointed to get the morning newspaper from the gate on the bicycle I saw that Nayna had breasts. A little mound on the dress ..maybe it was the morning sun or my headiness on a bicycle as I flew past on it and turned to look back and her arms waving frantically at me, pointing forward …. Lost and bruised.. as I picked myself up from the ground and mounted the atlas once again, I felt like I could wade through a thousand brambles if only they would serve as an excuse for me to look back. The first ride is the loneliest one …after that the mobility is just an excuse…
Not only did she have breasts.. she was taller .. This was unacceptable, of course. Especially when she and I went to different schools and walked back for 1/4th of the way, from where our buses/rickshaws would drop us off. I was walking beside her ..and then not.. I would pretend to tie my shoelaces every time we would pass a bus stop. She kept saying “ I’m going to ask dadu to get you new shoelaces” …she never did ..
Her breasts however kept growing until one day they stopped and this was miraculous…she would stop growing now and I could compete …

Nayna nayna nayna nayna
Who’s the taller bol na ?
Was my constant refrain
I outgrew her by almost a foot …

Gangly, my thinness became subject of ridicule.. New questions to answer.. Every time I would catch up she would be there ..With a new book , with a new role for me to play ..Never a word as to how I had done so far..

Nayna the ..
Just nayna ..the bubblegum

I would take the atlas everyday and fetch the milk from the front gate ..the milkman drifting away as the gates closed was a morose sight to start the day with …however I always used to think of what he left behind
They did not send me to college and nayna . she went ..
“It’s always good to have a social service project at home , isn’t it ?” , I said
“I never thought of you like that , you know that” , nayna said
“ Why the fuck are you crying ?
Why the fuck are you crying …
They just convince me even more that
You took me to be a project” “that’s all”
She was still in control…
“ I just wanted to show you the new dress”
And why, WHY did you want to show me that? , just to make me feel bloody shitty and that in spite of a bachelor’s degree I can’t get a job , feed my parents? , is that why you decided to show me the new dress .. To show me what your world is and what mine is ? “
After all the day’s vitriol had been poured
“No I just wanted to show it to somebody ..Somebody who wouldn’t say how short it was”

“ITS SHORT AND ITS crass and you’re dressed up like a bloody whore!” “Is that what you wanted to hear?”

The bubblegum burst ..For the first time I saw beneath her breasts..

Nayna the woman
You know she died today.. Nayna I mean .. And I don’t want to comment on anything else except on how young she was and how unfair it all is. And I find myself unable to comment on both.
Her breasts are still. The heart that once beat within is still and I am weaned ..Once and truly of the
Fascination that was nayna .

Nayna the Ghost

“Oh did I mention the fact that “ , what a desk way of saying things , well at least what sprung to my mind and “whatever” is in order !

“Did I mention?”
That she killed herself

Srinivas Rao pulipati had this email ,all figured out …he had this woman, out to be a whore , he had her out to be, Miss Ranch , he had her out to be ,poisoned …poisoned with something “he could not figure out” …somebody all of us fight with …as the seductress, as the girlfriend, as the wife.
Nayna cackled , she laughed “Oh you men”
She cackled and burned bright tonight as she spewed and hummed
“Nights in white satin “
“Never reaching the end “
“Letter I had written “
Never meaning to send
Bright and sure …even as morning rears its head

WELL ..
Here’s to the ghosts of another day!
I did say I was the trumpeter…and I did blow … on her funeral day ….after all …a man’s got to do what a mans' got to do !?”

To nayna the whatever …
!!!

Women are from bras and men are from ...well !

2005-07-10T02:29:00.000-07:00

A repost of my first ever post!

“Next time I produce a movie, I'll make sure you get a part,” she said and winked, naughtily, if I may add.

“And may I be impertinent enough to ask what that part might be?” I said with an overdose of sarcasm.

“A dead body!” she said.

Gosh, I thought to myself, I can't believe I fell for that again!

But that's the way it is, me the uninteresting bloke and she is… (explain said the guidelines, so the tense is present in case you thought the species was extinct) the effervescent spirit.

(Psst… what's that I hear? Hmm, you want to know the name!)

Well then, on popular demand:

“The name is ….(oops the ellipse is rather prolonged in its axis!)”

“Women are from bras and men are from Penus.”

“Hawr, Hawr” (No, it is in fact a female of the boo-hooman race, and yes, they can sometimes surprise you with the sound of what they call 'laughter'.)

“r”

“H”

“E”

“A”

And in case, gentle reader, you're lost, that's the name -- she always wrote it like that.

“Will you marry me?” she asked.

No, I thought to myself, I'm not falling for that again.

“Will you marry me?” she asked again.

(Enter JhunJhunwala, The sad music man)

When the day is small a lot smaller…than the night
And all you have is the darkness
Like the summer that never was to be
Watching the stars that twinkle from afar
Unlike the twinkle in your eyes
As the dreams drop by
Carrying a piece of your heart every time

“Sa'ab, mem saab ko bolo ki joke is no longer joke for you,” JhunJhunwala says.

Another swig of the famous preparation and I crush JhunJhunwala out of my head.

I smile and say, “For the two years that I've known you, I've asked you that and you have always asked me to go look for my Siamese twin. Then why this suddenly?”

“I don't know… I just felt like Romeo today instead of Juliet,” she said.

“Well, as long as it's a day-long affliction!”

“No, seriously. You haven't seen me, don't know what I look like, haven't ever met me, blah blah blah…” she said.

“Would you still marry me?” she asked.

(In case this sounds like one of those oh-so-famous chat transcripts… your worst fears have indeed come true, just a tad more animated.)

(Ting Ting Ting)

Boy, she's persistent, I thought.

“I don't know. No one's ever said that to me before,” I said.

“Oh, c'mon. If you don't come up with something more original than that…” she says

“Nah, really!”

(Ting Ting Ting)

Man, you're such a sucker, you fall for that every time… after all this time! I think to myself.

“You're such a gorgeous woman. Why would you want to be with such a normal bloke like me?” I ask.

“Normal. Hello?? That's why!” she said.

Oh-So-Good.

Just as I'm levitating…

(Enter Mr. Reality)

Dude, she's using you.
She faking love
Just like them others
Who wants you ooooo
For your money
Trrgh trrgh crrrgh Stop Stop It doesn't even rhyme

(Exit Mr. Reality -- you gotta get beat, dude! And I'm broke.)

(Ting Ting Ting)

“Hey, are you there?” she asks.

I wake myself out of my reverie and say, “Yes.”

“So, then?” she asks, “Will you marry me?”

Ask her and say it… it's for the best! Someone tells me.

“So what about that guy you said was interesting (and really cute) and you went out to lunch with a gazillion times!”

(Oh-by-the-long-lost-way I'm not good at role-playing)

(Mr. jealousy makes an entrance and a quiet not-so-musical exit here)

“Oh, that guy,” she says.

(At least that's how I hear it!)

“Yeah, that guy,” I say.

Brace yourself for the worst, I think to myself.

“Hmmm, now you're acting like you really know me!” she says.

I can't stand this role-playing (Ting Ting Ting) any longer.

“Of course I know you. Of course, you're my wife of two years. God knows it's been a great journey so far, and all I think of now is that maybe it's not been the same for you!” I burst out.

“That's so sweet. You're jealous!!” she said.

“Grrrrrr.”

(Ting Ting Ting Ting Ting Ting)

“Nahin, jaan (No, my dear) this ain't working out now, is it?!” she says.

“No, I guess it isn't,” I say.

How can you expect it to when I'm chatting with my wife sitting in the next room! That counselor must have been crazy (or brilliant… whatever.)

“You know I love you?” she says.

I don't utter a word.

“So will you marry me?”

(A great Danish pause)

What the heck, it's the season all over again!

“Yes, I'll marry you,” I say. “I will, I will over and over again even if I have to undergo this a thousand times.”

So gentle reader, if it may please you, pass not this chronicle of domestic unrest to others; and as a species, remember it is not even important what Mr. Perfect's name is… we just want to be cuddled…(I wish i could change this PAPA BEAR sentence..but then NO! artistic integrity :) ) and yes, if you want that shrink's address, e-mail me.

(Ting Ting Ting Ting Ting Ting) (Ringing furiously here!)

Can't stand it any longer!

I get up, open the door and let Love and rHEA make their entrance… (Yet again) and we silently renew our marriage vows and let Mr. Love do the talking.

(Shhh… Thanks again, but I don't really need a song here.)

Durga!

2005-07-03T05:31:00.000-07:00

The windows are down. The wind is streaking my hair with grey as it urges a thought past every hair and splits time into two... what if? What if? Tricky business this...

The sky had churned itself into a very dark grey...almost black but not quite. The clouds were all trying to merge into shapes that I had not quite seen...frightful yet friendly
This was catharsis at its best and I felt a mirror being held unto my face
This purgatory was in fact my only salvation. How many times had I questioned this thought before? Today however I had to face my demons

This was not an evening to be driving with the top down. It might rain any minute. I knew that the moment I had set out of the house. As I walked down the driveway I looked back for a second at the house. That interminable second would not cease as I looked at the brick and mortar that encased my existence. The paint was flaking, I noticed. The water seepage was showing. Algae were trickling along the line that defined the water seepage. Funny how the destruction of a thing gives life to another. The roof still retained its proud definition... a shadow that sets with the sun every day and rose with it too... punctual... everybody has two lives... one that is constant, unmoved by nature, just giving into decay...and the other that is born and dies everyday.

“Why did you not return my calls today?” Ranjani asks enraged. “Today was bad...”. “Tell me something new”, she said, sarcasm dripping off every word.
“Not today”, I whispered.
What did you say, she asked. “Nothing “. “It’s always nothing with you”

It began two months ago when I had started seeing Aparajita.
Names have always held a fascination for me. It reminds me of the final chapter that is the toughest to write. For having created something so beautiful out of a piece of wood the sculptor agonizes over what to call it.

My grandmother used to tell me this story of this simpleton in a village who was very gifted with his hands. He used to make wooden statues for the village festivals... statues which would be immersed into the river at the end of the festival period. The simpleton was allowed to choose his wood, his look. No one was allowed to take a look at the statue until it was unveiled at the first day of the festival. Every statue that he made would signify the mood of the moment. If the villagers were afraid of some impending tax or sarkari takeover. He would make a statue that would look sad. On the rare occasions that the villagers were happy he would apply an extra coat of vermillion on the forehead of the statue. Every day of the year he would have food to eat, for he was blessed. Until the year he refused to part with the statue…
The villagers screamed and stood with fire torches outside his hut, demanding to see the statue, their festival goddess. The bhaktas deserve a darshan, they shouted. He did not budge, stood there mute, before his veiled statue. Some of the elders tried to reason with him, trying to dissuade him with food, playthings, even promising the dhol they had taken away from him.
They showed him visions of plague, of rotten deaths, and of bloody carnage. In the end they simply asked him why he did not want to give the veiled statue to them.
He replied “I am married to her” “She is my most beautiful creation”
They laughed out aloud, “Oh what a simpleton! “, they cried.
They restrained him in chains and took the statue. They heard a last wailing cry from him…”Please don’t unveil her, have her as the statue but don’t unveil her”. The villagers agreed to this pitiful cry and had the festival for the first time with a veiled statue. Then came the day of the immersion... and the simpleton had been released three days earlier for he was too weak to cause any mischief.
They decided to immerse her, veiled as she was. The clouds had gathered to form a dark backdrop on the horizon. The villagers were as terrified of the clouds waiting to unleash their anger as of the village priest’s warning that the veil should not be lifted as the statue was drowned.
They chose the simpleton to carry out the task of pushing her out to sea. He would be no great loss to the village, they argued. To their surprise no force was required and the simpleton agreed to carry out the task of pushing her out to sea. He stepped out dandily dressed, grabbed the plank with both his hands, his sinewy arms strained, pushing away from this desecration of his beloved every second. He lost his footing however and slipped and fell. The sands and the water engulfed him and took him down as a mother grabbing her lost child. The statue slowly floated away and a gentle breeze rose from the west, and...Lifted her veil for just a second. At that very instant a thunderbolt split into two the curtain of the clouds.
For the villagers who were gazing, petrified at this spectacle, they were blinded for many moments at the brilliant flash that had dazed them. For many minutes they were stunned and then sight returned, for most of them.

The sea before them was covered with wooden statues, floating, each purposeful, vigilant
The body of the simpleton was never found. Never floated up to the surface. The statues drifted away… the villagers never celebrated the festival again. They were afraid their conscience would take another form to haunt them...

And today I fight my demons…
Aparajita was not my “type”, she would challenge every thought, every rationale I had for every action. She would challenge my authority every second. She was trying to change me into something, and I gauged that she liked the resistance, as I did too. It was a game that had no losers. The days she wanted to make love she would place the cactus plant on her balcony. She would have it no other way. This I always questioned... why not a phone call?? Why not a simple phone call? There was no reasoning with her though... and there I was looking up to her balcony afternoon… I knew she was watching...I always knew that and that she especially enjoyed seeing that look of disappointment on my face when I would leave the sidewalk... I knew that because she would call me up in office in the evening to tell me “I love you inspite of everything... a cactus does not necessarily mean that you are stranded in a desert” …
Ah what a simpleton and what a predator! But which was which?

“Ah you were just a conquest!”
“What about our love for each other?” I screamed
“This decision is mine. Don’t try to blackmail me with some love laden innuendo, you know as well as I do that we both were just objects and bodies... That is all ... this however.”
“But “, I interjected.
“Let me complete”, she said
“I want to have this child and without you. I don’t want you to be any part of this child’s life... she is mine and mine alone... She will not have a father and not even his name, she will only have me...and she will be happy, I have decided to call her...Suverna”

I showed her vistas of society which would barb her; give her and her child names, names that would stick to her through her life. She would not share, would not let me be a part of something so beautiful. She had her strength and I had my promises. But what good are promises to somebody who doesn’t want anything except to want me away.

I immersed her, drove the very thought of her away and returned home.
The one question that remained with me was “Why?”
Was it because she was selfless enough to let me off the hook with an excuse and a reason
Or was she genuinely selfish?

Women always know. Especially the ones that know you. Ranjani was in a bad mood, almost every day of those two months.
I wanted to bring matters to a head so I left some photographs of app and me lying on my desk.
There was no reference to them at the dinner table and it was a calm quiet dinner.
“What’s her name?” ranjani asked
Aparajita, I said
Nice name and then silence
“Well she’s going to have to fight like hell if she wants to steal my husband away from me”
I did not say anything and walked out of the house

I face my demons now... I stare out at the ridge that overlooks the valley swathed in white bandages. As if moonlight was balming the wounds of the day for the houses that smoked from within
My face peered back at me from the valley, unrecognizable and contorted and ugly
And then I felt a touch on my shoulder

I looked around to see ranjani,
She was beautiful, by the moonlight; every feature was chiseled as in granite

“I am going to have our child, and from this day forward expect loyalty and nothing else
Expect loyalty and nothing more”

As she said that the moonlight did a strange dance and her features floated away into the misty silence.
Immersed in a sea of white...
Indistinguishable from the white
That had sprung to her defence...

Contentment

2005-07-01T05:07:00.000-07:00

Contentment is my excuse , for feeling
Happy without a sense of failure
Venture as it does without refrain
The honesty that jeers, unrelenting

Names I conjure between now and then
Stare at me with passion
Sing our requiem , a proper burial
Demand the voices, stentorian

Every dream that lies stretched
At the altar of practicality, signals
Questions that beg to be asked
Echoes that refuse to be bequeathed

Every door I open now ,no escape
A mirror faces me at every wall ,showing
Me a thousand lives I might have led
Slowly they fade, they bled

Until I look at myself , passive
And then I look around
Content I am and happiness abounds
Everywhere ,except …..

Catharsis

2005-07-01T04:36:00.000-07:00

Catharsis

Once again I see
Things I was not meant to
Through the hazy pane
That shields, your world

Lips that tasted like dew
Settling slowly ,smouldering
Conquering and yielding
Born again and new

Give me the hemlock I desire
Doubts that cloaked words,unspoken
When I walked that thin wire
Of deceit and promises broken

The birthday gift that made no sense
A wooden frame with a calligraphy grill
That would swathe your face with sundrops
That every morn I woke up to see

And what if it is cloudy , you asked
It is cloudy today I wrote ,
And I feel like the jew
Whose cheek, the pound of flesh, smote