Play Me
Play me like the air entwined
between the fingers prancing
on a slender flute
Play with me like feline paws spanking
a ball of wool unrolling
on a deserted floor
Play on me like vin rouge flowing
through parted lips drowning
in the warm deep inside
Play beside me like strands curling
in a genetic rhythm reforming
me in a new birth
Play without me like the mind dreaming
ecstatic in its creation wanting
something more to be complete
Play before me like flames devouring
parched wood in intense rising
heat and hungry desire
Play against me like the master teaching
an eager student firmly
disciplined with ruthless care
Play within me like ink spreading
dry from a spill absorbed
furiously in fibrous paper
Oh Play Me
Wednesday, January 31, 2007
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
Irresistible... aka Me
Imagine Johnny Bravo saying, "I can't help it, I am just too sexy," and then imagine Daffy Duck saying the same, and then, after a pause of about 30 seconds and after drinking a gulp of cold water, imagine me! Still standing? Yes? Now that, is entirely unbelievable, for by now you should be doubling up on the floor, laughing your guts out.
There comes a time in a man's (boy's?) life ... errr... pardon me for being existentially confused about the boy/man thing. I would have said man-boy but that makes it seems like a rip-off from Kipling's description of Mowgli. Now where were we... Ah yes... There comes a time in a man's life when he must impress a woman. He must! The necessity of the matter is unquestionable. Even if the man remotely considers the option of mating, he must appear desirable to the woman. Or rather he has to make himself desirable. Or even more pitiable is the fact that he has to try.
Now for those built in the image of Adonis, with those sculpted six packs and rippling biceps, the question may be of things deeper inside. But for common folk like me - or wait - for common well-padded folk like me, the question is of things or rather layers of things on the outside. Ah but I must not jump the gun here. Let's analyze my situation with some finesse.
The body then, first. Mine evokes no desire. Simple. Unless you take my narcissistic love for myself into account, no woman (for that matter no man, either) will burn with lust the moment they set their eyes on me. They won't cringe, perhaps. But sadly, that does not count.
The body language, next. The human body can be a source of a lot of grace. Its movements speak a language so replete in enchanting richness. And then there is me. Me, who always spills, on his very visible mid-riff bulge, any food which passes between my lips. My body language does not flow, it moves in fixed quanta and revels in its inherent awkwardness. So "being smooth" is an alien concept to me.
Then comes the voice. A voice can melt hearts. My vocal chords, however, are a voice onto themselves. They temp me into believing they are producing some note, while they churn out something that is completely in another octave. The effect on the person I am trying to melt, is akin to finding salt in tea, in place of sugar. Oh and I like to sing. I believe it sounds like a hacksaw cutting through a creaking wooden plank. Yes, I like to sing.
My smile. Outlined by my chapped lips. The only quality of note it perhaps has, is that it is unassuming. Unashamed of its simplicity, it adorns my bewildered face too readily, accompanied by equally deviant gargling laughter. On top of that, I have it on good authority, that I giggle. A giggly man! What can be more sexy!
My style statement is the full stop where all statements stop. Stop abruptly, at that. A crumpled shirt will happily accompany old (not torn) jeans till they functionally cease to act like clothes. White sneakers, and a belt buckle, which is forever out of alignment would complete the picture. I feel the same comfort that paint blobs feel when randomly splashed on a canvas feel while they mishmash together at ease - the person who sees me feels the corresponding emotion of the horrified and confused, nouveau art admirer.
My game is that there is no game. I am not a player. Not by a long shot. My eyes neither look innocent and startled at exactly the right moments nor do they drip with lust when so called for in urgency. I cannot charm my way around or into anything or anybody. I'll most often speak what is on my head. That is either too shocking or not sufficiently so. In either case, by the end of the first coffee, the probability of getting that phone number is beyond redemption.
Oh and last of all, I am not a millionaire.
So, that's my sex appeal portrayed in film noir. Perhaps by now it should be clear that my chances of being sexy are rivalled only by my chances of getting laid. Don't pity me, please. Remember what they say about everything and everybody existing for a reason.
My reason is... to be me, of course! And not Casanova.
--------------
Ha! Touche!
There comes a time in a man's (boy's?) life ... errr... pardon me for being existentially confused about the boy/man thing. I would have said man-boy but that makes it seems like a rip-off from Kipling's description of Mowgli. Now where were we... Ah yes... There comes a time in a man's life when he must impress a woman. He must! The necessity of the matter is unquestionable. Even if the man remotely considers the option of mating, he must appear desirable to the woman. Or rather he has to make himself desirable. Or even more pitiable is the fact that he has to try.
Now for those built in the image of Adonis, with those sculpted six packs and rippling biceps, the question may be of things deeper inside. But for common folk like me - or wait - for common well-padded folk like me, the question is of things or rather layers of things on the outside. Ah but I must not jump the gun here. Let's analyze my situation with some finesse.
The body then, first. Mine evokes no desire. Simple. Unless you take my narcissistic love for myself into account, no woman (for that matter no man, either) will burn with lust the moment they set their eyes on me. They won't cringe, perhaps. But sadly, that does not count.
The body language, next. The human body can be a source of a lot of grace. Its movements speak a language so replete in enchanting richness. And then there is me. Me, who always spills, on his very visible mid-riff bulge, any food which passes between my lips. My body language does not flow, it moves in fixed quanta and revels in its inherent awkwardness. So "being smooth" is an alien concept to me.
Then comes the voice. A voice can melt hearts. My vocal chords, however, are a voice onto themselves. They temp me into believing they are producing some note, while they churn out something that is completely in another octave. The effect on the person I am trying to melt, is akin to finding salt in tea, in place of sugar. Oh and I like to sing. I believe it sounds like a hacksaw cutting through a creaking wooden plank. Yes, I like to sing.
My smile. Outlined by my chapped lips. The only quality of note it perhaps has, is that it is unassuming. Unashamed of its simplicity, it adorns my bewildered face too readily, accompanied by equally deviant gargling laughter. On top of that, I have it on good authority, that I giggle. A giggly man! What can be more sexy!
My style statement is the full stop where all statements stop. Stop abruptly, at that. A crumpled shirt will happily accompany old (not torn) jeans till they functionally cease to act like clothes. White sneakers, and a belt buckle, which is forever out of alignment would complete the picture. I feel the same comfort that paint blobs feel when randomly splashed on a canvas feel while they mishmash together at ease - the person who sees me feels the corresponding emotion of the horrified and confused, nouveau art admirer.
My game is that there is no game. I am not a player. Not by a long shot. My eyes neither look innocent and startled at exactly the right moments nor do they drip with lust when so called for in urgency. I cannot charm my way around or into anything or anybody. I'll most often speak what is on my head. That is either too shocking or not sufficiently so. In either case, by the end of the first coffee, the probability of getting that phone number is beyond redemption.
Oh and last of all, I am not a millionaire.
So, that's my sex appeal portrayed in film noir. Perhaps by now it should be clear that my chances of being sexy are rivalled only by my chances of getting laid. Don't pity me, please. Remember what they say about everything and everybody existing for a reason.
My reason is... to be me, of course! And not Casanova.
--------------
Ha! Touche!
Sunday, January 14, 2007
She knew
The dot of red sindoor on her forehead was visible behind the drunk lines of her wet hair. Red. Blazing red. Such was the wanton force manifest in that small circle, that he felt singed even from a distance. She lifted her eyes and let them rest on him.
"What? What are you looking at like that?"
Her words had a mesmeric effect on his senses. Senses, which were overflowing right now.
"Me? I look like a wet puppy right now."
Right now. How did she know what he was thinking. She repeated words he wanted to say. And then she laughed. Laughter that invited and pushed away at the same time.
He kept looking at her. He wanted his gaze to scorch. To turn each drop of water on her wet skin to steam. He could see she knew what he was doing. She knew.
"Will you just look at me all night, or do you dare do something else?"
Dare he? His hands clenched into a fist, as his uncut nails cut into his own skin. She knew. His mind was running in a thousand directions. Trying to find a way to everywhere else, except her.
The amber light from the flickering candle danced with the shadows across her curves, beckoning. Yet the red dot arrested his gaze with such intensity, that it heeded no call. Transfixed, he was paralyzed.
He felt a rising anger in himself. At himself. Desire wrenched strongly at the restraining chains. Had he ever wanted someone more. She knew.
His mute lips quivered with words trying to force their way out, and giving up in disdain.
"If you don't do anything, I'll go and put my time to better use. You are not the only lover I have, you know..."
He knew. He knew what will happen next. He had known it all his life. He had never been one to play the game. The game, however, had never ceased to play him.
Just like she played him right now. All the right strings, twanged to life at the precise pulls of the opera. Every string moved a part of him. Parts, which he could not move himself. She knew.
"What? What are you looking at like that?"
Her words had a mesmeric effect on his senses. Senses, which were overflowing right now.
"Me? I look like a wet puppy right now."
Right now. How did she know what he was thinking. She repeated words he wanted to say. And then she laughed. Laughter that invited and pushed away at the same time.
He kept looking at her. He wanted his gaze to scorch. To turn each drop of water on her wet skin to steam. He could see she knew what he was doing. She knew.
"Will you just look at me all night, or do you dare do something else?"
Dare he? His hands clenched into a fist, as his uncut nails cut into his own skin. She knew. His mind was running in a thousand directions. Trying to find a way to everywhere else, except her.
The amber light from the flickering candle danced with the shadows across her curves, beckoning. Yet the red dot arrested his gaze with such intensity, that it heeded no call. Transfixed, he was paralyzed.
He felt a rising anger in himself. At himself. Desire wrenched strongly at the restraining chains. Had he ever wanted someone more. She knew.
His mute lips quivered with words trying to force their way out, and giving up in disdain.
"If you don't do anything, I'll go and put my time to better use. You are not the only lover I have, you know..."
He knew. He knew what will happen next. He had known it all his life. He had never been one to play the game. The game, however, had never ceased to play him.
Just like she played him right now. All the right strings, twanged to life at the precise pulls of the opera. Every string moved a part of him. Parts, which he could not move himself. She knew.
Monday, January 08, 2007
There comes a time
There comes a time in one's life when...
When the world around explodes
When the mind refuses to let go
When all the heart can feel is misery
When the only hope in life is love
When decisions are out of pain borne
When all choices to be made are hard
When everything is out of control
When memories are the only things intact
When only distances seem large
When a countdown is a life saver
When slavery is a form of respite
When a voice is the only calm
When I live from second to second
When I learn to fight my own demons
When I have fallen so far and for so long
That I no longer fear falling for you, again.
When the world around explodes
When the mind refuses to let go
When all the heart can feel is misery
When the only hope in life is love
When decisions are out of pain borne
When all choices to be made are hard
When everything is out of control
When memories are the only things intact
When only distances seem large
When a countdown is a life saver
When slavery is a form of respite
When a voice is the only calm
When I live from second to second
When I learn to fight my own demons
When I have fallen so far and for so long
That I no longer fear falling for you, again.
Friday, December 29, 2006
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.
Monday, December 25, 2006
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.
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.
Saturday, December 09, 2006
It falls...
A drop of water
Just one truant drop
flows down
down her neck
Just one truant drop
flows down
down her neck
A crowd of hundreds
Babel!
Eyes look in question
in approving disapproval
Babel!
Eyes look in question
in approving disapproval
Flows, hesitant
Drunk with her smell
Skidding over soft satin
Tickling, tripping over
Drunk with her smell
Skidding over soft satin
Tickling, tripping over
Untouched air, naked trees
Festive cheer rising
calm inside
outsides draining of colour
Festive cheer rising
calm inside
outsides draining of colour
Rolls over the raised
tumbling into the deep
valley meandering over
shy suppleness, Ecstasy!
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
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
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
dark clouds shower
stinging rain flows
over ruins and facades
It falls. A shallow
button tingles and
overflows over
It falls.
button tingles and
overflows over
It falls.
Tired footfalls trip
on jutting stones
Peeled knees bleed
It falls.
on jutting stones
Peeled knees bleed
It falls.
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
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
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
Saturday, November 11, 2006
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.
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.
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
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.
Sunday, October 08, 2006
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?
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?
Wednesday, October 04, 2006
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.
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.
Wednesday, September 20, 2006
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.
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.
Saturday, September 16, 2006
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?
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.
Friday, September 08, 2006
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...
Monday, September 04, 2006
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.
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.
Sunday, August 27, 2006
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.
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.
Saturday, August 12, 2006
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?
_______________________________________________________
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?
Wednesday, August 02, 2006
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?
Monday, July 31, 2006
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
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
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