Say tich!

Whatever you do, I'll do it too
Show me everything and tell me how
It all means something
And yet nothing to me

A hundred minutes at twenty-four frames per second. Hundred minutes of sheer wonder. A wonder, which takes birth in a desert of deathly white. Upside down, awkward and blissfully happy.

Hands slide onto hands. Fingers yield and fingers hold. Soft, childlike fingers. Pudgy, warm fingers. Slip on layers cold sweat and fall down. Onto and into.

Every gesture, every move that she makes
Makes me feel like never before
Why do I have
This growing need to be beside her

A gift of rhythm. A heart of gold. Love. Oooh! That thing you do, baby... Primal needs nurtured by songs of instinct. Moving illusions. Magic in motion. Draws me on. Draws me in. Renewed faith in a dream.

A gift of touch. woolly arms quiver. Tingles born on fingertips run amok. Ecstasy arrives in a nascent land. Snuggled charms. Smuggled moments. Draws me on. Draws me in. Renewed faith in reality.

Ooo, these emotions I never knew
Of some other world far beyond this place
Beyond the trees, above the clouds
I see before me a new horizon

The heart reveals its own secrets when it feels like it. Accidentally cool. Chicas looking for boom. Fitting friends. Misfit family. I am going to find out. Follow your heart. The world follows. Lost?

Imperfect and useless. Strands of satin softness rest on shoulders. Comfortable in their lazy touch. Is this happening to me? It's all my fault! Follow my heart. Lost?

Come with me now to see my world
Where there's beauty beyond your dreams
Can you feel the things I feel
Right now, with you
Take my hand
There's a world I need to know....

Lyrics from Strangers Like Me by Phil Collins, original soundtrack Tarzan (Walt Disney Pictures). (C) Edgar Rice Burroughs, Inc. and Walt Disney Music Company.

Bon Voyage

Distances seemed so innocuous before. In the past two months, distances have embedded their own reality in my being. Distances, which separate me. Into parts inside and across miles outside.

Journeys made across borders. On land. Inside minds. It is true that I have travelled. I would like to follow that up by saying, "I've arrived" and maybe it will sound regal and pompous. But it would also be hideously untrue. Truth is very important here, and almost as overrated as love. And without either I am equally lost.

What has my world come to and what is it now. Let me try to put it in words. It all began with a search for dreams. Dreams which define a life. My life. The building blocks of this search involved a lot of wandering, and I being the starry eyed wanderer I am, embarked on the voyage with a missionary zeal.

Soon the coast faded away, and the light from the lighthouse dwindled in the distance. Almost as soon, a new coast appeared to take its place. A place of magic, of painterly picturesque allure and of quiet. A quiet so enveloping that it drowned me within. Almost. A boat navigating the rapids gets dealt its share of blows. It is lucky though, to be afloat. Somewhere, Someone smiles.

New authority, and a new time. My world got remodeled without my consent. I was not only helpless to say no, I was also supposed to like the new decor. I did. I learned to bend. Over, under and inside out. The mind flitted back to familiar coasts, oscillating between the chosen dream and the forsaken reality.

Want. Unceasing bouts of emotion. My perceptions changed faster than the world around me. There were no ground truths, no basis for measurements, no frames of reference. Only the quiet inside, and outside. Decisions made in split seconds of reason pockmarked the face of my teen aged existential angst. The contrast was burning, like a Van Gogh canvas. It scorched its mark deep.

Voices sailed across. From afar. Simple voices. Those that I was born to. Voices that sang my life to tunes that I have composed, but those that I cannot sing. The quiet receded like a wave shying away from the shore. With an unspoken promise of returning soon.

What one journey takes away, can another return? Are all journeys across distances, or are some simply across time? Take the two together, and its like asking can one travel back into the past? Can I meet myself, and if I do, can I break out of this recursion?

Faces loved since the birth of time light up with unbridled joy. A journey purpose served. The quiet stands, hidden in the shadows. Watching. Waiting. As voices from afar seep through its cold walls and gush out nearby. The flow whets the parched clay. Forms take shape in memory's misty lanes. The form of chosen dreams.

Dreams, which call anew across distances. Is it wise to embark again? Uncertain love and undefined truth. Still I dare. Why? Because, without either I'll forever be lost. Stranded across distances I cannot fathom.

So I step. Step out, and step in. One step a lifetime.

After all, I can die only once.

It falls...

A drop of water
Just one truant drop
flows down
down her neck

A crowd of hundreds
Babel!
Eyes look in question
in approving disapproval

Flows, hesitant
Drunk with her smell
Skidding over soft satin
Tickling, tripping over

Untouched air, naked trees
Festive cheer rising
calm inside
outsides draining of colour

Rolls over the raised
tumbling into the deep
valley meandering over
shy suppleness, Ecstasy!

Lost smiles evaporate
in novel cold, longing
fill empty nooks
of a creaking old heart

Silent distilled moans
beckon to continue
curves quiver to life,
the wet touch plays on

Dry lips, parched love
dark clouds shower
stinging rain flows
over ruins and facades

It falls. A shallow
button tingles and
overflows over
It falls.

Tired footfalls trip
on jutting stones
Peeled knees bleed
It falls.

Shame

Like a spray of water,
Spewing.

from a broken air-conditioner.
In an uncontrolled burst of...
Gay abandon.

It came.

Silently enveloped my twisted being,
Shame.

Oh so penetrating it was, so
Pervasive.

Intrusive, not adhering to the bounds
of my privacy.

Passive in a cold calm
Laden with transparent guilt,

It stayed the same.

causing me to squirm and shift
Within walls of crumbling repute.
Shame.

Born of unbridled affection
Wild horses run.
Amok

Shot down!
Crippled and beaten.
Abandoned by gaiety, and rescued
by Mistrust.

Lame.

It hinders my judgment,
freezes my Innocence over,
inwardly Incandescent...
Shame

Blinds drawn

Cut

by shards of darkness, alone

in freezing, cold nights

Waiting

for life to take its destined turn

As endless time meanders

through the deep, dark

valleys of fear,

Illusions

of happiness shatter on

hardened anvils of the real

Colours mix into an ashen gray

Dreary

tracts of the never taken path

beckon with sarcastic glee

sapping at the root of all

Energy

withering away, the last remnants

of what once was

nurtured with much hope

Questioning

the very essence of my being

its existence in doubt

of itself.

Realms and Beings

A room with walls of air.

Set apart from reality by my life.

Nailed to fantasy by these words.

I know you can hear it once again.
That familiar scratching of pen on paper.
Why do you look at me so? You cannot see it. I know you can't.

You look through me. Why? See here... See this!

Wings! A bus passes by. A crowd dwindles. A phone vibrates. With those eyes, my bonny lad, you'll never see anything.

Cliques of coincidence.

A presence haunts. Mute. Always mute. Say it... Why don't you say it!
Is this your defiance? Or your surrender.

Doesn't the deafening silence hurt you yet? Embrace me once again. Tear me down.

Click! A second of eternity. Vitrified exuberance. Distilled charm. Don't you know it is bad manners to stare. Worse still to stare back.

Synaptic rites of passion.

A touch! Did you... An encore of nays. Please. Abuse my senses again.

Why are you so distant tonight? Why are you letting go. Disappear this instant!

Red! Damned flows. Lakes of conscience. Unchained lust. What business of mine is the future?

Engage in life.

I cannot help it. Smiling. Fascinating, isn't it? I know you see it. You can.

Stay. Just this once. Other castles can wait. My room cannot.

Unnecessary

In my eyes,
Another's eye, through and through,
As I, melt slowly without any ado,
How do I see past?

In my hands,
Sheer magic takes shape,
As I continue to gape,
How do I control this?

In my mind,
Incandescent dreams light up,
As I fall behind the gallop,
How do I keep pace?

In my touch,
Tingles of ecstasy abound,
As I, deafened with roaring sound,
How do I numb my senses?

In my heart,
An otherworldly alien peace,
As I, hooked to the enchanted tease,
How do I listen inside?

In my life,
So much talk, of now and then,
A guillotine of an unanswered when,
How do I bide my time?

Days of frenzy

Sard sard saansen aaj tujhe kuch keh rahi, suno zara
Dheemey dheemey, dheerey dheerey dhadkane badh rahi, ab kare to kya

Dabe dabe, ruke ruke kadmo se aa raha, koi nasha
Zara zara, thama thama seene main hai pal raha, ek dard saa.

Jaane, yeh hamen, kya hone lagaa.
Jaane, yeh hamen, kya hone lagaa.

Kya pata.

It's so hard to write right now. Not because I have any dearth of things to write about. Neither because I cannot find the words to write it down. But because my mind is not staying still. It is somewhere else, lost in streets of comic passion where I cannot tread because I am uncertain of what lies ahead.

The past week was grand! It was this mad, mad mix of delicious food, cousin brothers and sisters, and grandma, everything pujo, the telegraph, enmeshed with flavours of shared silences. It was fast and slow at the same time. Time playing truant, with nothing to do all day except laze around like the kittens which sprawl over my cousin's bed, slipping through my fingers like the touch of satin soft skin. Cats are majestic and seductive at the same time - is that what one calls "feline?" Species of fish which tempt the gastronomic gods to play havoc inside my stomach, and sweets which silently add to my abundant layers of flab.

The Ganges on a moonlit night which flows slow and wide, with tiny fishing boats riding it with aplomb and abandon. Rain! Drizzling, slow, rippling down in caressing rivulets on my parched dry skin. Wild, unchained, washing me in wanton passionate wet fire poured from above. Rain. Rain falling on water - the river, the sea; on land - the field, the road. It's like making love with something that is everywhere at the same time, all at once, outside and inside.

Dune. A book which filled my days with fantasy lands of spice deserts and enigmas. Hints of longing. Places I've known in childhood. An earlier life? Somebody stays here. I do not remember. I do not want to remember. I forget. I do not want to forget. A language which flows with the life of elegant poetry and decorated prose.

Trains. Filled with masses of humanity, moving across in paused hurry. Brownian motion along straight lines. Stations. Goodbyes. Tears. New lands? Leaving behind... finding anew. Be back soon. So much changes when I turn around. A world dies. And another lives again. It'll never be exactly the same again. Isn't that sad? Am I scared.

Questions? Home, far away from home. Alone. So alone. Just me, between endless sky and limitless green. Hold me. Cuddle me. Envelope me. Engulf me. Smother me. Suffocate me.

On return, another journey awaits. To more distant, more alien lands. Stay with me, silent and together. Stay with me. Stay.

For the curious, the song is from the movie Bas Ek Pal.

Figure this

I am thinking about
how
to answer this later
and not now.

I said
to myself as usual,
I know the answer...
Be casual!

I refuse
to be taken in,
and give up on
my chocolate sin.

I want to
make love,
and not give way when,
push comes to shove.

I wish
on every star
burn up, and light
every near and far.

I hear
you.
Find that surprising?
That's your cue.

I wonder
what I do
day and night
with so much ado.

I regret
Do i?
All my questions gone!
Can I have one more why?

I am
me, ofcourse,
unless you discount my other self,
then it's just me, off course.

I dance
slow
because it takes time
to follow you, so!

I sing
sweet.
True and tuned-in notes,
beat for beat.

I cry
precious much
everytime I remember
times past, such.

I am not always
on an obscure slant
but I never said
I can't.

I make with my hands
your dreams
because mine burst apart
at the seams.

I write
gibberish verse.
You read it!
No, that's not worse.

I confuse
almost all
when I explain the reasons
for the apple's fall.

I need
a hug
and chocolates -
a bar, ice-cream, and hot
in a jug.

Jab aadat ho chali thi (Reprise)...

Jab aadat ho chali thi,

tab...



Khamosh raaton mein
anjaan hansi kaano se takrati hai,

Sunsan kamron me
khilti chandni bikhri jaati hai,

Anjaan bheed mein
benaam nigahein uth kar milti hain,

Goonjti galiyon mein
muskurate hue khwab umad aaten hai,

Kisi ke naye aansu
purane zakhm dho dalte hain,

Ankahi baatein samajahne
koi parchayi aati hai,

Bayaar mein phir se khushboo
luka-chuppi khelti hai,

Zindagi mein koi ansuni
awaaz mishri si ghulti hai,

Koi pari apne nanhe
haathon se thaki palkein selhlati hai,

Berang safedi se wohi
satrangi zindagi umadti hai,

Masoom agwah hansi mein zindagi
phir se lehrati hai,



Ab aadaten badalne par majboor hain,

ab?

The poem on the previous post, which I left incomplete, is completed here by my friend Chaos.

Jab aadat ho chali thi...

Jab aadat ho chali thi...

Jagi jagi raaton me
sisakti aahaton ki,

Sunsan kamre me
dari parchayi ki,

Anjaan bheed me
thami chuppi ki,

Khoyi galiyon me
goonjte kadmon ki,

Purane zakhmon me
sookhe aansuon ki,

Lal hoton me
unkahi baaton ki,

Khuli hawa me
quaid khushboo ki,

Band darwaze me
chupi zindagi ki,

Pariyon ki kahani me
gumshuda jadoo ki,

Do aur do ki ginti me
hamesha chaar aane ki,

Satrangi dhanak me
berang safedi ki,

Benakab chehre me
simte hue sharm ki,

Massom zindagi me
agwah hansi ki,

Jab aadat ho chali thi,


tab...

Manufacturing Love

There are so many ideas swimming inside my head and there is so much going on in life that it has become almost impossible to pin down one thought and write a post on it. So what follows is a mish-mash, a jumbled pile of abstractions.

It is liberating, is it not, when one can trust someone implicitly. I have suddenly... no, not suddenly actually, but I have opened up, considerably. I find that there exist things or persons which bring about this change in me quite effortlessly. Perhaps it is only that I have learned to read such signs, or perhaps its just plain luck. But it is a whole lot easier if one can honestly speak things on one's mind without undue processing about being politically correct all the time.

A simple promise
Of being true,
Fills me up with
Freedom through n through.

The week in movies, was very interesting. I watched Trainspotting, Catch 22 and To Sir with Love. A psychotic drug movie about choosing death over life (and to think someone asked me just a week back why are drugs harmful!). A most amusing portrayal of the absurd contradiction that is life, and the even more (irrational?) effort to fight those with more contradictions of one's own. The last of course is an old favourite of mine. I'll become one someday - a teacher, I mean. Be under no illusions, it is one of the hardest and most demanding professions of all times. I know because I've seen it from very, very close quarters. Ah! But that's the dreamy eyed idealist in me speaking. One that will probably send me to the grave penniless and alone.

I guess I can't pin down any more abstractions today, but I do have this little idea tugging the corner of my shirt, so I'll lift it up into my arms and show it to you.

What nonsense!
To even think
About such a thing.

Why not I ask,
When all this... chaos,
Is all it's doing!

Bah! It is not a rubber tyre
or a sheet of toughened steel,
To be drawn and quartered.

But it is, into all shapes
and sizes till fits a fist
or is in public, slaughtered.

But what of trade?
Who will pay for it,
Only a fool's folly!

Can you imagine?
The only thing they said
can't be bought. Golly!

It's disaster from
the word go.
I'll play in it no part.

Packaged love,
Just put a "From" and "To"
Ask your heart!

Will there be discounts
on bulk orders, and
on a festive holiday?

Why not! Maybe flavours too.
Even 20% extra if you
order ahead in May!

Ok, then. Calculate the
costs and set up the plant.
Let's do business!

I knew you would come around,
After all who can resist
money, even if it creates a mess.

I met a Smile

A sweat lined day,
Melts and flows by,
On a slow evening,
A journey begins.

On foot, and a mile,
Roads filled with sounds,
Of a city turning back,
A bus meanders.

As a phone calls,
Unknown face of a voice,
One wonders, and walks,
An auto agrees.

A few minutes more,
Of hesitant talk,
Symmetry in red stone,
A head turns.

Steps which draw close,
Hands meet to shake,
Twinkling eyes, mischief?
A coffee brews.

A cool room with people,
Red chairs for two,
Tall glasses condense air,
A smile breaks.

Talk, as never spoken to,
Weave with words,
A person, within,
The smile stays.

Silent storms beckon,
Drops of first rain,
To fall, and break free,
The journey renews.

Shortcuts to insanity

I got this idea in the middle of a sticky, sweaty journey home on a DTC bus. Since then I've been twisting and turning it inside my head thinking, "Should I write this or not?" "What will people think of me?" Yes, I'll admit this thought does cross my mind every so often. Then I see a movie like Iris and the answer becomes so obviously clear that I cannot help but laugh at myself. So here's my little idea, and here's to life.

_______________________________________________________



In that special world, which lives and thrives in my head, you are still as alive as yesterday. And always will be. I write these words to remind myself that I have talked with you all my life, and there is still a lifetime of talking left to do. I cannot, for the life of me, do it alone.

Do you remember that day, of the clear spring sky and of the lush vines of purple Bougainvillea, when I first saw you skipping across the road, talking to yourself. Your ferocious red hair was the first thing that caught my eye, and has never let it go since. It was time for the rains before I was to see you again. A dark, gloomy day filled with rumbling thunder and frequent streaks of golden light parting the skies. I was waltzing down the garden path, drenched to my skin, when you appeared with the next clap of thunder. It was the first time you saw me, and laughed. I must have looked funny that day.

I remember that laugh. Peals of it. As overflowing with life as the sky was with rain. I should have known that day, that you were too good to be true. I should have run away while my head was still mine. While it was spotless. Instead I said, "Hi." Innocuous sounding word, isn't it? Yet no appearance was ever more deceptive.

I, who was and still is, quite weak of opinion and mostly at a loss for words, was washed away in the heady gush of ideas you let out on me. Everything mattered suddenly, because it mattered to you. Everything from the height of the heel on your new platforms to the advantages of a welfare state. Suddenly I was discussing socialism and Ayn Rand, interspersed with the ringings of the cute golden bell on Noddy's hat.

I was frightened to say the least. Frightened that I would lose myself, amidst all that made up your world. I was an alien, a misfit and yet... There you were, the only person I felt I knew. In what way I was not sure. I just did. You felt like a cozy, warm quilt on a chilly winter night. I felt so snug, and so safe... it was like a dream.

A dream of flying highs and diving lows. A dream of ice-creams and chocolates and chocolate face-packs! In fact, The only emotion of mine that can match yours in intensity is honesty. Yours is brutal, mine is benevolent, but both are truthful. I think that is what holds us together.

"I don't know any of your friends. I am lost in your world."
"You know more about me than anyone else. You ARE my world."

You have seeped into me like the dampness in a rain-bashed wall of brick and mortar. Mixed with the smoke of cigarettes that you smoke, you have become my breath and left me gasping for air. You are unashamed to live and unapologetic that you like to live. Being with you is like no novel ever written or no film ever made. It is like... living.

You love that bicycle ride down the hill, don't you? The unrestrained speed. The mad rush of air that sweeps past the skin. Screams of ecstasy echoing through the country side. I always fall behind, forever unable to catch up to your pace. I never could see beyond you. I didn't that day either. If I could, I would have warned you about that truck.




_______________________________________________________


I so don't fit the mould. Not anybody's. Is that too bad?

Gift

I got a gift of tears,
Tears that don't flow,
Well up and dry inside,
Isn't that enough though?

A truant drop escapes,
Over cheeks made raw,
With repeated wipes,
Is it too late to withdraw?

A palette of dreams,
Spilled over with care,
Mix with the tears,
Paint now, do I dare?

Smiles and words adorn,
Solid walls worn down,
By a core of seeping damp,
Still want a house in this town?

Wisps of vapour, leftovers,
Of the splendid gift,
Rust shackles I made,
To be harboured, or cut adrift?

When everything is gone,
To dust and times of yore,
The gift renews itself,
To be forgotten, or remembered ever more?

I got a gift of tears,
Tears that will flow,
Free from guilt or shame,
Is that enough though?

Jigar ma badi aag hai

Laakad jalke koyla hoye jaaye,
Koyla hoye jaaye khaakh.
Jiya jale to kuch na hoye re
Na dhuan, na raakh.

Jiya na jalayio re.^*

Thus spake the song in Omkara. The words translate to:

Burning wood turns into coal,
Coal burns to a dusty mishmash.
Nothing remains of a burning heart,
Neither smoke, nor ash.

Do not burn the heart.

I came back and wrote to a friend who is going through a rough patch herself, "I am such a sentimental idiot, and I keep telling you not to do such things. How hypocritical of me!" I guess you are wondering what, on heaven or earth, is the relation between between my idiocy and Vishal Bharadwaj's adaptation of Othello. The answer is Jealousy.

Oh yes! The green eyed monster has been a chum of mine in the past. And he (or should I say she?) is very possessive of his friends. Somebody asked me whether I think what the hero does in the film is justified. Now, I am the most unsuitable person to argue over Shakespeare! Justified or not, I do know it is quite possible. Rage can blind people to reason, just like love can.

Chat par aakar gidh baithe,
Aur barnalo se khoon bahe,
Are kaun gira hai, kaun kata hai,
Kis mah dum hai kaun kahe.

Chakke choot gaye dushman ke,
Dharti maange chutkara.

Omkara...^*

It is not that I even remotely identify with the ruthless, cold-blooded protagonist of this story but the movie brought back feelings I thought I had murdered and buried deep inside. It seems so ridiculous now that I should have these inside me, but friend Jealousy obviously scorched his mark deeper than I thought. Ah well! I guess it'll die its own death, in its own time.

Well, don't waste your time reading up about my jumbled up state of being! Have a blast watching the movie, instead. It's a visual treat at times, and at other times you have aural treats like:

Na gilaaf,
Na lihaaf,
Thandi hawa bhi khilaaf, sasooorri!
Itni sardi hai kisi ka lihaaf layile
Ja padosi ke chulhe se aag layile.

Beedi jalayile jigar se piyaaa,
Jigar ma badi aag hai.^*

* All the lyrics are written by Gulzar, and are from the movie Omkara, directed by Vishal Bharadwaj

Who's Weird? It's just me!

Who says I am weird?
Not at all, no siree,
Maybe a little rough at the edges,
But I am just plain ol' me.

I like to talk,
When there is no one around,
Echoes alive inside my head,
Just for the want of coherent sound.

Maybe sneak in a dream or two,
Between chatting with them and you,
Extrapolations of my reality,
Moments of an imagined life, too less, too few.

When Simba's father died in a stampede,
I cried,
Also, when the boy finally got the girl,
I didn't. But at least I tried.

Do you know words paint pictures?
And that colours scream and speak and sing?
I sing too, though nobody cares
to appreciate my very musical zing!

I find Angelina as gorgeous
as the falling skies of certain Gaulish fame
and the curved pleats of spacetime,
Pardon me! But I just forgot your name.

Always check a lock twice,
Except when I forget the key,
Never remember a face the first time,
Except when enchanted I'd rather be.

So it is, with all in me,
A bit knocked about heres and theres,
I'd discuss this more,
But I have run out of chocolate eclairs.

Excerpts from a month

A 'header' in football, will never be the same again after last night. Scrambling to V's home at 10pm to catch the world-cup finals was worth every drop of sweat shed for the purpose. Of course there was the little question of dinner at her place, which was just as essential for my still-recovering stomach. The cup went to the Italians and while I am sure there will be long celebrations in every Italian home, here I am, back to work at 7:30 in the morning. For my month of complete chaos still has some time to go, before I lift my very own trophy of solid gold.

However, that tale is for later date, as are two travel posts which I must write because I have some gorgeous photos to share. This rainy morning is perfect for only one thing - a cup of hot tea and a plate of pakoras. Since I am writing this while munching glucose biscuits for breakfast, the taste can only linger in my head and not be savoured by my tongue. While I suffer these gastronomic delusions which seem have taken hold of me, let me recount the some things which have happened over the last month or so.

• I was returning home from work on a weekend, lost in the thoughts of how well the week has been and of the two days of bliss which lay ahead. At the end of the narrow lane was a low-hanging chain barrier to keep cars from entering into the lane. I saw the chain, about 2 feet in height, and decided to jump over. I had a backpack on my shoulders. The jump was quick, and the sandal on my right foot got stuck in the chain even quicker. I am sure I would have learned how to fly if I could have missed the ground. Alas, Newton's law brought me down. Hard on my knees and elbows, with the backpack landing on my head. It hurt so bad, that I just lay there for about a minute. Then I got up and groggily wandered back home and passed out on my bed.
  
  
• The travel to the Deccan was for A's marriage. The pre-trip lecture from Mom about where my direction-less life is headed vis-a-vis the obviously more favourable turn that A's life was going to take marked the beginning of this eventful trip. The trip deserves a post of its own. What I want to talk about here is the baraat or rather the dance of the baraatees. For those who have never attended an Indian marriage, the baraat is a gathering of the groom's family and friends, i.e., the baraatees, along with the groom. For a typical North Indian wedding the groom usually rides on horse back. A spared the poor horse some agony, and decided to arrive in a horse-drawn carriage. It is traditional for the friends of the groom to dance as the baraat snakes its way though along various roads, lanes and by-lanes of the city, to the bride's house. On such occasions the city traffic graciously halts to let the pious gathering pass. And what a dance we did!! I am sure we proved ourselves to be true blue-blooded descendants of Nataraja. B was at a complete loss for words when he tried to describe the emulation of Aishwarya Rai I did for the Kajrare song, all with a Sony CyberShot held in my right hand!
  
  
• M has a deadline to meet. He has to get married before next summer. His younger brother eagerly waits in the queue. The hunt for a bride for M has begun. M has been informed of a prospective bride in Delhi, whom he can meet if he wants. Poor chap decided to ask us for advice! Big mistake! Everybody told him different things before converging an hour later on the same suggestion that he should go and at least meet the girl before doing anything else. Of course I had this brilliant suggestion about falling in love and what not, when M came with this outrageous theory that once one is past twenty-five, love is a myth. I almost screamed at him for this, and barely managed to check my over-enthusiastic self from spilling the beans about things I'd rather not tell.
  
  
• I recently realized that if one has a person in his life whom one wants to forget and also wants to remember, then one is going to be forever split into two. This problem only gets worse if there exists more than one such person. I also realized that I am particularly weak of spirit when I am weak of constitution. Living in might-have-beens is always hazardous. It is more so, when in such a condition of weakened spirit. Other than this I also learned how to swim, and how to make upma.
  
  
• A friend made over a cup of coffee,
  Lives spilt over shared pain,
  A hand held out in earnest help,
  Washed anew in yesterday's rain.
  

Food poisoning

A stomach growls in hunger
After sinuous travels through the Deccan
Hot and weary, the train's AC coach
Seems to envelope me in a magical quilt

Piping hot, aaaah! Food after twelve hours
Satiated, for home draws near
Familiar sounds fill the humid air
Walk down a deserted road, to the very edge

Of a comforting bed, lies, giving of warmth
On a night riddled with power cuts
Plunged into tired sleep, I pass out
Only to find my legs gone the next morning

Cannot stand. Cannot sit. Cannot eat
Pangs of hurt clutch my insides
Punctuated by answers to nature's call
Slow fever creeps all over, shivering

Nervous. As I call the boss. No work today
Ochre coloured tablets, punched out of plastic
Administer a cure, as the legs slowly wander back
Reminded of the gears, which will not turn

Without me. After many attempts, here I am
Away from home again, fine tuning machinery
Thinking and weak, from my travels
and the travails of poisoned food

Don't envy me

Are you surprised, dear friend?
To find me standing still,
When all but the last leaf has fallen,
To be blown away over yonder hill.

He should be gone by now, you think,
Washed away by the drying rain,
Into rivulets of virgin streams,
Soaked dry amidst the rolling plain.

Ah! But don't envy me, my kindred friend,
As I flirt with the truant winter squall,
Allow a withering birch another arrogant ring,
Witness to times stolen from a bygone fall.

From orient lands where you now dwell,
Rises the sun which on me once shone,
'Tis now only a relentless foe,
Spring madness I must bear alone.

O friend of my youthful past,
Soon must be the dictates of age obeyed,
'N though my ashes be lost in summer dust,
Memories, brimming with nigh magical shade.