Dry Eyes

My phone refuses to recognise my fingers. It is steadfast in its complaint. "Not Recognized." I have been washing my hands too frequently, like somebody's life depends on it. Literally. I try and peer at my thumb. The ridges look faint. Like other small details. My eyes are refusing to register detail. A visit to the eye doctor is due.

Is the loss of identity a matter of perception or has it been sandpapered out of me?

Phir gaeche koto, boba tunnel-er gola cheere aalo
Icchera chute chole.
Sara ta din jude, tumi aana-gona korecho sei sure 
Taar rong lege aache.
Obujher pencil.

My bones feel tired. My sinews, slack. Movement is painful. Deliberate, dazed and difficult. I have been tripping on my own feet, like my legs do not want me to go anywhere. I try and inspect my legs every time this happens. They look out of breath.

Is the loss of mobility contingent on intention or have I aged into the inanimate.

Bhalobasha baaki aache tomaro aamar kache
Ja cheycho dite aami paarina.
Aamaro somoye daale phuriye eseche paata
Eto prem kaache eshe, elona.

My brain feels jumbled. Grey matter, white matter, whatever matters - it all seems mixed up. I have not been talking to myself. The conversation feels strained. It is too quiet inside. I look at myself in the mirror. Parts of me are missing. Parts lost to friendship. Parts lost to new life.

Is silence a consequence of severed connections or is the language lost to me.

Jodi kono din tumi,
du haat diye jhinook kodao. Nei aami,
shei olpo bhaanga golpo guloye. Kaar shaathe,
bolo shobdo chunde firbo baadi, maajh raate.
Aami tomar kotha bolbo kaake.

All I want to do is lie my head down on a lap, and cry for a while. There is no lap. There are no tears.

Of course, I have dry eyes. Diagnosis is simple. The fix is simpler. Eye drops will fix it all.

Boba Tunnel is a song written and sung by Anupam Roy, for the film Chotushkone.

I Hold You Close

Oh my! The last day of the year. A year of emptiness for the blog - not a single post made it through. Let us see if we can fix that by rustling up some verbal potpourri.

There. In the distance.

The far past, the recently concluded.

The unborn steps of the next moment.

In what may never come again, or

may never come at all.

Amidst all that distance, I hold you close.

Here. In the blink of an eye.

The right now of your kiss, between

the shiver of my skin to your fleeting touch that follows.

In what will ceaselessly urgent, or

of languorous calm born.

Amidst all that is this moment, I hold you close.

Where. In the miasma astray thoughts.

The loss of love and the beloved,

and the families of despair they hold dear.

In what cannot be ever found, or

that which is never meant to be.

Amidst all that is forgotten, I hold you close.

Happy New Year, dear reader and everyone out there.

Let there be words, for years to come.

Morning Run

I went for a run again today morning.

My feet beat on the asphalt

in tandem

birds chirped, 

the morning crept in,

without care or nary a halt.

I was sweaty after the run

and breathless

The air felt cool

and breathed of hope

on rays of the birthing sun.

It was not the same though

The run from a day before

was headier

It took me somewhere,

where I am now forbidden to go. 

Run as I may, I cannot outpace

my splintered mind

that wants to find

a rainbow

among stars burning in space.

I went again for a run today morning.

Someone came back,

Who, I am yet to find.

Kalle Kalle

I am just another
of your many women,
Another bundle of letters,
a post for your blog,
A deadend,
a spanner in your cog.

Lut gaya
    karaar tu,
Haan chhal gaya
    is baar tu.
Baajo tere
    ha jee vi lu,
Jindadi da main
    par kya karu?

Just a connection
a break from reality,
I cannot be just this.
I need to be more,
to be everything.
Not a wave, crashing on your shore.

So this is goodbye,
Let me go please.
I don't want to be hurt.
You don't want me
hurt, you will find
others, you will see.


---

i stand, still,
and watch you go.

Kalle Kalle.

so many words,
yes, asyousay, just words.
my words, your words.
my worlds, your worlds.

vanish.

Everything you said is true
you deserve more.

Ye hanjuan di dhaar
ajj chale chale.

what broke? dare I say
what, I don't.
why should I do this
(to myself) I won't.

the words, the unnamed worlds
will stop.

Gehraiyaan

Tera mera, dono ka dil besabar
Besabar, besabar,
Sham-o-seher dono ka dil bekhabar.
Bekhabar, bekhabar,
Yun kashtiyaan hamaari, yun takra gaayin.
Lehar, lehar,
dono ka dil besafar.
Besafar, besafar,
Haan doobey, haan doobey
Ik dooje mein yahan...

Besabri me doob gaye
saansen nilaam ho gayi.
Manzilen tum me dhundla gayin
bina chale hi shaam ho gayi.
Hum ko tum khaas lagi bohot
pyaas fir kyun aam ho gayi.
Kashtiyon ko to toofan ne behkaya
hamari hidayat badnaam ho gayi.

Ya to barbaad kar do,
ya phir aabaad kar do.
Woh galat tha, ye sahi hai
Jhut ye aaj keh do...

Keh to main dun tumhe
kehne me na koi harz hai.
Par barbaad hoke bhi
kahan ilaaj hoga uska
Jism me chupa jo marz hai.

Itna bhi dur mat jaao, ke paas aana mushkil ho
Itna bhi paas mat aao, ke door jaana mushkil ho
Jaane bhi do, kaha maano mera
Aisa laga badan chuke tera, koi chingaari chuli...

Dimaag keh raha hai kaam par dhyaan do
Baki jism kisi aur raah chal raha.
Barbaad kar jayegi ye kheencha-tani hamen
Fir bhi dil teri shayari pe machal raha.
Bina dekhe, sune ye haal hai
(chu liya to jal jal marenge dono)
Tu abhi maar de, agar na ye kal raha.

The lyrics for the songs Aabaad, Barbaad (from the film Ludo), Doobey (from the film Gehraiyaan) and Bhul Gaya Sab Kuch (from the film Julie) are creations of their respective lyricists. The songs are inspirations and counters to my pedestrian utterances.

Am I In Love?

How will I know?

Does your skin burn 

                when you think of her?

Does your heart burn

                when someone else thinks of her?

Can you let it burn, and yet

                not want her singed by your flames?

 

 

How can I be sure? 

Try not breathing,

                then try not thinking about her

Which is harder,

                 and which is easier?

Look at the relentless march of time,

                and then watch it freeze in her footsteps.

 

 

Will it hurt?

As surely as you will bleed,

             if you cut yourself open

Pain as crystal as diamond

            as ancient as arctic ice

Open yourself to this pain

            and you will live beyond your age.

 

 

Will I survive?

You will wither away 

            like the sakura in winter.

But for those few moments of spring

           you will bloom like never before.

You will give life 

            in the only way a man can.

Once Upon a Time

Today I rang up some old memories,

Flames and words, kindled from dead ashes,

Resurrected some dead friends,

And gave them, a bear hug.

 

What a strange feeling,

Meeting strange old acquaintances anew,

Feeling a little hope, a little trepidation,

As a cold mug of coffee sighs of silence, on my desk.

Her, lying in my arms, in an unknown hotel bed,

Wandering down a dark alley with salvation,

A blue strappy dress over a stolen dinner,

Pinpricks of light, in a muddled past.

Today, when meeting, in person, in life,

Is a thing of unreal memory,

It is fun to reminisce with them, and ask,

Do you remember, when we burned down together?

Lust

It oozes out of my skin these days.
Pure.
Unadulterated.
Tempered by age, forged by years
of suppression.

It lives and breathes on the tip of my tongue.
Sweet.
Salacious.
Tangy in anticipation, bitterness churned
out of its core.

It undresses, feeding my voyeuristic gaze.
Tempting.
Toe-curling.
Wanton in want, hunger stoked on fumes
rising off naked flesh.

It is devilish, it is sinful in my heart.
Angelic.
Pleasurable.
Blessed in bliss, and blinded by a force
of ancient kin.

It is falls, hardens, it rises in my self.
Unsheathed.
Vulgar.
Uncontrolled in words, unconquered
in death.

Hallucinations

She walked up to me
looking dissatisfied,
Hair impeccebaly held straight
A gait, tested and tried.

She wanted to say something
and not appear rude,
My greys bristled with my black
when she didn't begin with, 'dude.'

Her skirt didn't know where to end
White on black, her cropped top did,
Eyes that laughed, lips not so
Smiles or sarcasm, all under a lid.

Before I knew, she had turned around
Pirouette, and a wavy hand,
A curvy back walked away
Taking my gaze, from where I stand.

Recap

Last year was dismal for my writing.  On the blog.

For everything else, it was quite nice.

Let's see...

I learned a martial art. And I have not dropped out yet

I travelled. To eight states and two different countries.

I met, talked to and befriended some amazing women.

I stayed financially solvent.

I got myself more work than I can handle.

I tried to not get angry. Did not always suceed. Still trying.

I am a five year old father now. Amazing.

I had great sex.

I  started and finished the Wheel of Time - all 15 books! Robert Jordan - incredible.

I bought more books than I can read. I bought more graphic novels.

I sketched.

I ran. 10km. More than once!

I swam. And now I can do a respectable freestyle.

I saw Spiderman - Into the Spider-verse.

I wrote impromptu poetry. And prose. Not much of it has made it here. That should change.

I discovered Sarah Kay and spoken word poetry.

I am sure I have forgotten some stuff, but that's ok too, isn't it.

And here we are again, luv.

Here's to a fascinating year ahead.

I am not writing to you anymore

I am not writing to you anymore

I wrote in words, in verse
however terse,
or out of shape, I opened up.

I gave us names, in hope
let my ideas elope,
into fantastical lands afar.

I painted hues, in time
borrowed, a crime,
from others who demanded more.

I dressed up, crossed cities,
booked a bloody restaurant too,
just an okay, so few?
what gives you the right!

to be miserly with words.

I am not writing to you anymore.

--

I breathe a sigh, heavy air
sit on a rickety chair,
look up and look kind.

I want say, slow and less
is a caress
of a different paintbrush.

I did not write, or fly 
a solitary, mundane, hi
I agree, is a weak stand-in.

Though in thought, and in mind
of an uncountable kind
you have lingered 
like clouds on the Kanchenjunga.

seen from valleys of Darjeeling.

I wish you do not write to me anymore.

You make me write, for you, instead.

Gaaner Opare

Dandiye aacho tumi amaar, 
gaaner opare.

Words.
A sea of shame,
A prayer gone awry,
Silences, shouting, the same.

Amaar shur guli paaye choron,
Aami payini tomare.

Distance.
A path across time,
Hesitation. Doubt. Dust.
Stories told in mime.

Batash bohe mori mori,
Aar bendhe rekhona tori,
Esho, Esho paar hoye mor,
hridoye majhaare.

Time.
Born to her timeless touch,
Old. Soft. Incessant.
Indulgent, sometimes too much.

Tomar shaathe gaaner khaela
durer khaela je
bedona te baanshi bajaye
shokol bela je.

Love.
Elusive, yet incandescent,
Alien in my reality,
Threaded, mending my every dent.

Kobe niye aamar baanshi
bajabe ko aapni aashi
aonondomoye nirob raate
nibid aandhare.

Silence.
A bridge across my heart,
lined in bloody thorns,
every day, prior art.


Note: The Bangla verses are by Tagore. The dry English is mine. Nothing more is to be said on the subject.

तो बेशर्मी होगी

अगर छुपी बैठी हो
शर्म की चादर लपेट कर ।

और झिझक रही हो यह सोच कर
बात करोगी
तो बेशर्मी होगी ।

अलफ़ाज़ जो बह गए
उम्मीद के इंतज़ार मे

उनको सन्नाटों में
डूबने से न बचाया
तो बेशर्मी होगी ।

नज़रें जो उठी नहीं
इशारों के बहकाने से

उनको आगोश में
ना सुलाया
तो बेशर्मी होगी ।

हाथ जो कांपते हैं
छूने की याद में तन्हा

उनको तन्हाई मे
गले ना लगाया
तो बेशर्मी होगी ।

Murky

the sky sings in drops
of dripping pain,
come, get wet with me
in this boisterous rain.

the ground coughs in fits
of squelching mud,
come, get murky with me
in desire's sultry crud.

the skin murmurs in fatigue
of ceaseless want,
come, get in with me
for a dark, lusty jaunt.

the mind mad in quiet
of revolting cries,
come, get down with me
in a valley of muffled sighs.

Consume

Hurried glances, a passing touch
Eyes that look away and say
so much.

Palpable tension in a shared space
Condensed lust packed
in a suitcase.

A stolen kiss, a picture bait
Tingling skin, restless
to satiate.

Private rooms abet a stormy thresh
Broken beds, and sweaty
flesh.

Tender goodbyes, lives resume
Till it again gives in,
to consume.

Reaction

I broke
me,
And I broke
us,
When you broke
free of
us.

The shards still
rankle,
and bleed the nimble feet
of my memory of
us.

We are together now
in body and spirit
and child,
Ghosts of your great love
haunt
every jaunt we
inhabit, as
us.

I write this, smiling
at the rain that
pours and lines
my skin
as you exist in you lover's
thoughts and lust
and in real life, in
us.

Tu kisi rail si

Sarmistha coughed with abandon. After all what were a few more germs in this smog filled city. Propriety be damned. She was covered with grime and dirt, that accompanied a visit to the local supermarket these past few weeks. The supermarket premises were undergoing some sort of bridal renovation in anticipation of Diwali. It involved much concrete breaking apart and old bricks being taken out to make way for new ones.

"Typical," thought Sarmistha. "Celebration preceded by breaking, followed by a bevy of bills."

The walkway leading up to the supermarket had parted to reveal the precariously dangling electric mains, just beside the leaking pipe mains, waiting to come together in a very municipal blaze of glory. Sarmistha had managed to walk around this dystopian ditch with two bags laden with groceries.

Just as the bout of coughing ended, an auto-rickshaw pulled over beside her. She haggled and got the fare down to its usual rate - 20 rupees more than it actually cost. The auto started off with fervour, only to be held hostage by the traffic cop's outstretched hand.

"Damn, I am going to be late again."

Tu kisi rail si guzarti hai,
Mai kisi pul saa... thartharata hoon.

----

"Yahan pe cigarette peena mana hai... "

The six foot two giant glared at him. "I am going to get punched. Again," thought Vidyut. As his hands instinctively went up to protect his face, the man stubbed out the cigarette, threw it on the floor and walked away. Vidyut picked the stub up and looked at it. It was yellow, bent and warm. "A measure of personal rebellion or a glamourized suicide note? Maybe both. After all, rebellion is often suicidal."

Vidyut threw the stub away and checked the time. The bus was no where to be seen. The chaotic jumble of people at the bus stand was pulsating with mundane life. The enveloping cacophony of car horns, rumbling engines, hawker calls, cell phone conversations were all its bastard offsprings - begot without thinking and  cast off the next moment. 

Vidyut elbowed his way into the crowd of people waiting to board the bus, as it appeared at the horizon. The mad rush for that first foothold on the bus steps left him panting. At least, he had boarded.  He checked his cellphone again.

"Late by 30 minutes. Still no message."

Tu kisi rail si guzarti hai,
Mai kisi pul saa... thartharata hoon.

----

... to be continued ...

Kano megh aashe

Moner janala dhore oonki diye gaeche
Jaar chok taake aar mone pode na,
Chey chey koto raat din kete gaeche
Aar kono mookh tobu mone dhore na.

I saw you once, just that time
bathed in the simple light
singing what madenning tune,
my heart, mad, in flight
dancing to your soulful rhyme.


Baatash bohe mori mori
Aar bedhe rekhona tori
Esho esho paar hoye mor 
hridoy maajhaare,
Dnadiye aacho, tumi aamar, 
gaaner opare.

The lilting song, that mesmer
of your parting gaze
lifts and are you still
present
in my synchronous daze?


Jaro laage phiri aeka aeka,
Aankhi pipashito nahi dekha.
Taari baanshi, ogo taari banshi,
Taari banshi baaje hiya bhori,
Jaagorane jaaye bibhabori.

Now you haunt my blood,
flit in my sighs and form
my desire to love more
your bequeathed, flood,
in rebellion to the norm.


Thak thak nijo mone doore te
Aami shudhu baanshoriro shoore te
Porosho koribo or prano mon, okaron,
Mayabono biharini.

Distances dwell in space, you
are sewn into the ether.
Strung in my wordy whims,
are your memories, so new.


I touch those memories on days like this.

You give me rain

You give me
rain
in the raging calm
of my dry heart.

You give me
shivers
in the sweaty lines
meandering on my palm.

You give me
dimples
in the sunk haggard
recess of my skeleton jaw.

You give me
kisses
in the curt, edgy creases
wasting on my shirtless self.

You give me
breath
in gasping crimson veins
pulsing around my choking throat

You give me
ideas
in the curled, gooey folds
of my jagged simmering heart.

You give me
fears
in the lively, playful sins
dripping from distant dreams.

You give me
time
to wait in dark aisles
circling shadows of lust.

You give me
rain
in the dry heart
of my raging calm.

Teri Galiyaan

I am writing this to the void. I am writing this to you. You are the void.

Yenhi doobe din mere 

Yenhi hote hai savere

Yenhi marna aur jeena

Yenhi mandir aur madina

Teri Galiyaan.

Shored up somewhere deep inside is a very naive me who is getting a breather as I type this. What is this? Nothing that makes any particular sense. Between taking care of so many people - you, him and her, and him, and me, taking care that it all makes sense is quite secondary.

What is it about intense melancholy that can spur words? It is a family trait, you say, this strain of melancholic euphoria. It got me writing, and it got me to you. Pretty useful trait, if you ask me, even if it is self-deprecating.

There is much to say, and there is so little lost in translation. Yet, you and me hanker for that little. The part of you I do not get, and the part of me you do not need. 

Bhalobasha baaki aache tomaro aamar kaache

Ja cheycho deete aami parina

Aamaro shomoye daale phooriye esheche paata

Aeto prem kaache eshe, elona.

Jodi kono din toomi, 
Du haath diye jhinook kodao nei aami, 
shei olpo bhaanga golpo guloye, kaar shaathe, 

bolo shobdo choode phirbo baadi maajh raate

Aami tomar kotha bolbo kaake.

There was once an urgency to be understood, a dire need to convey the music of words that sang to me. I find that urgency in me fading. Suddenly, as if, it does not matter if one is understood or not. Why?

I find a tiring cynicism replacing a ceaseless wonder of things, filling up realms of possibility with reams of mundane.

Even as I see wonder take birth before my eyes, every day.