Misgivings...

And I wonder where Life’s headed…
A blank question I often exchange
With my soul
That nearly chokes itself
At the sound of those tainted songs…

What else will matter
Here on…?
When it all blew away steadily
And the carcasses of memory
Now stand as dead paperweights?

How do others smile?
All the time?
Heal and hurt by turns
And still survive?

How does one empty
The obstinate mind?
How does one relieve
The burdened soul?
When Life questions you each day…
When barrenness greets each breath
Like never before.

They stand now….darkly…
Those happy, belated days
Like the blueprints of what crumbled
And died…
Were we always weak?
Or were they unreal days?

Let me pretend to live on…
Let me pull up the curtains
And bring in the light…
But I see the sorrows hanging
All over the walls…

They speak of the unalterable
Unchangeable defects in my Life…

Senti...Sigh...Sigh...

I have been like a pensive, wandering bird these days... simply breathing in the air, letting my wings spread...too numb to think of those I bade goodbye to...of things I had folded up and locked in my nest...

Your call made my day! Your voice took me back to my old skin...those days...the bustling city of colorful buses, the campus, the bridge, the green grass, the umbrellas, the corridors...I could smell the air of the canteen again...our trips and misadventures...tales of sorrows, jealousies, misunderstandings and heart-breaks...old love and old wounds :)

When will I be back? The only thing you wanted to know...so do I...

I feel the way you feel...I feel the pull of our happy bond...the days of vanilla skies and fresh dreams...the happy happy group of dreamy souls...the maddening urge to pour my heart to you all...and to listen to your little/not-so-little stories, tales, joys, anxities...

This is for you my bestest, caring friends...and my dear Alahomora...I see we are in the canteen again...or lets say...City Center? ;)

Do I need to say how I miss... all the time?

Love...

Ponder:

"Quietism is the attitude of people who say, “let others do what I cannot do.” The doctrine I am presenting before you is precisely the opposite of this, since it declares that there is no reality except in action. It goes further, indeed, and adds, “Man is nothing else but what he purposes, he exists only in so far as he realises himself, he is therefore nothing else but the sum of his actions, nothing else but what his life is.” Hence we can well understand why some people are horrified by our teaching. For many have but one resource to sustain them in their misery, and that is to think, “Circumstances have been against me, I was worthy to be something much better than I have been. I admit I have never had a great love or a great friendship; but that is because I never met a man or a woman who were worthy of it; if I have not written any very good books, it is because I had not the leisure to do so; or, if I have had no children to whom I could devote myself it is because I did not find the man I could have lived with. So there remains within me a wide range of abilities, inclinations and potentialities, unused but perfectly viable, which endow me with a worthiness that could never be inferred from the mere history of my actions.” But in reality and for the existentialist, there is no love apart from the deeds of love; no potentiality of love other than that which is manifested in loving; there is no genius other than that which is expressed in works of art. The genius of Proust is the totality of the works of Proust; the genius of Racine is the series of his tragedies, outside of which there is nothing. Why should we attribute to Racine the capacity to write yet another tragedy when that is precisely what he did not write? In life, a man commits himself, draws his own portrait and there is nothing but that portrait. No doubt this thought may seem comfortless to one who has not made a success of his life. On the other hand, it puts everyone in a position to understand that reality alone is reliable; that dreams, expectations and hopes serve to define a man only as deceptive dreams, abortive hopes, expectations unfulfilled; that is to say, they define him negatively, not positively. Nevertheless, when one says, “You are nothing else but what you live,” it does not imply that an artist is to be judged solely by his works of art, for a thousand other things contribute no less to his definition as a man. What we mean to say is that a man is no other than a series of undertakings, that he is the sum, the organisation, the set of relations that constitute these undertakings..."

- Jean-Paul Sartre (1946)

Red and Yellow

I dreamt of the fountain today.
The fountain we were watching...
Red and Yellow,
Red and Yellow....
Were they symbolic?
The Lights?
Did they show me your colour and mine?
Red and Yellow
Washed down the fountain,
Or was it up and away that things went?
Things that buried our yesterdays,
Tainted the tomorrows.
I sat alone by the fountain today...
Clean and healthy it stood
Dancing at me,
Mocking at me,
Laughing at me,
The white of its calmness in tact...
The water safe in its furrow.
I know, I know
We took with us the Red and the Yellow,
The today, the tomorrow,
Burnt, scathed, scarred
Aplenty,
I now hoard the orange sorrow.

Here...

That which was there yesterday has changed...

You can ask me, but can I tell...

May be its just the new,yellow air, or the unfamiliar smell of eucalyptus.

May be its my heart again, or the senses feeling a little perplexed.

The faces, the rooms, the lanes and the noise...

They add up to something I cannot call mine.

Only your words remain, your voice and your name

To take things along...things I need to call

My Life.

I follow you Ashar! ;)

But I'm afraid the picture isn't very nice! :(

Adrift...

The audacity of your weak attempt,

The feebleness of the YOU in you…

I can clap hands, I can shout, I can walk out, I can laugh aloud,

At you...

And at myself.

My boat is adrift.

Thanks to the radio silence you supplied

On that weak weak day…

(Your patent analogy of Pearl Harbor mocks me.)

The dark signal that broke something….

That anchor for sure, and a lot of other things I presume...

A heart or half was also dashed I think….

The perversity of circumstances we say,

Or, lets call it of character.

The equivocator in you, the fool in me?

The generous waves call out

Time to abandon that shabby cloak

The stained abode

And drift away from agony…

To a sadder, clearer shore…

MOvie-thon!

The last five days...I have seen about a dozen movies...like a woman possessed...after work, at night, on weekly offf, all through Sunday....whenever I could....! God knows when will I get a T.V. and a dvd player again!! Here's a precious peep... ;)

99- first time

Sliding Doors- first again

27 Dresses- first time

The Secret Window- second…

Notting Hill- (second...I think so…Hugh Grant….rest don’t’ quite rem…)

Hitch- second

Forrest Gump- (200th)

Monalisa Smile- err…third…

Oceans Eleven- 2nd

Jerry Maguire- 5th time I guess

The Departed- 2nd..don’t know why I saw though!

Alex and Emma (200th show!)


P.S. - My deepest prayers…may I always have movies around me!! :)

Beginning...

I can do miracles I know,
I need not run with others
I can make it being slow.

I can count on myself
All the time
There’s no balm
That my own hands cannot provide.

No joy, no pleasures,
No hopes that need to be denied
Only some milestones waiting
Till Life is again on my side.

I prepare again to dream
I will not trudge
I wish to fly this time.

I will tell tyrant Time…
The decisions I make now.
Epiphanies I provide…

I can hear them calling aloud
My Happiness of yore…
Desires that are there again
Winds of change waiting to blow…

Just this night to pass
Just this narrow road
And then the wide wide path
Of a new Sun, new morrow.

I will join you Life,
I will embrace you too…
I call out to you World…
I will build my home anew….

Rescued?

A ride in a big, white, Whiteliner through the bypass has always done wonders to me. Somehow, I had always half-feared, half-wanted, to fall asleep in these buses and be driven to a far-off tourist spot…Digha or Ranchi or anywhere…I boarded one that day...feeling low…and soon began enjoying the ride through the rain-washed stretches of the V. I. P. Road…I felt that the rain, clouds, trees, bus and even the driver were being extra kind to me…So perfect and refreshing it all felt… Staring out of the bleary window…I felt a pair of eyes glued to me. A well-dressed, middle-aged man sitting on an adjacent seat was looking at me…Nothing out-of-the-world about it I thought. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the numbness of the chilling, uncontrollable air-conditioner….I could still sense his attention in my direction…half-an-hour…and I was in snooze-land, when I felt someone standing right in front of me. It was the same, sturdy, somber-looking man with thick glasses. Before I could expect anything, he placed a laminated piece of post-card on my bag and got down from the bus.

Still bleary-eyed, I saw him outside the window, waving a bye to me…What for? I turned to the post-card. Three Gurus lined-up…one after another…in sacred...pass-port size photos…Swami Vivekananda, Sri Ram Chandra Paramhans, and Baba Lokenath…or so I later identified these bearded/unbearded,/turbaned men to be…

I did not know what symbolic meaning lay ahead of me…what journey…what revelation…the whole day I kept waiting for something strange…bizarre…new….to happen to me… in the market, on the road, in the bus, at work, in the library, home, kitchen….anywhere!...and bed-time came too!...Nothing happened…


And I am still waiting….;-)

Heart of the Matter

I can’t emote in the same manner for everyone. I am not always ready with a set intonation in my voice. It varies from a smile to a laughter, from a neutral ‘hi’ to a warm ‘hello’. I don’t have the same set lines for all. That is how I am programmed. I am frequently short of the right phrases. No striking lines, sighs, winsome sentimentalism. Sometimes, I can be downright boring and extremely plain.

Perhaps the sweetness of renaming people into pet-versions is also missing in me. I take you as ‘YOU’. I do not want your meek, weak, fragile version. Nor do I give you mine to carry. May be that does not provide the right amount of angst. It might even dangerously bring in some happiness that is so unsettling to that nature. A happiness that is ever so plain, non-euphoric. Yet it remains unpalatable, uncomfortable. It’s the vague, irresponsible, ‘pain game’ that should prevail…

Of course, I have always cherished being there. I can love in my own way. Through the seasons of pain. However, I do not want fragility and gloom as conditions for giving my affection and support. I will give them always. Just like that. They have always been there. Without the right lines. Without the histrionics. And perhaps that makes them invisible, unnoticed, unacknowledged, insignificant. It is not gift-wrapped. It cannot be…like the Sunshine that just intruded in your room- unnoticed, unasked and unwanted.

Dear friend, you say people bring about painful circumstances for people…uncaring and slightly self-centred perhaps…so you pay…No. I chose, wanted, shared, went through…My judgment, my choices, my foresight or the lack of it….Self-critique, Accountability, Lessons. Yes, they will do the work for me. Always.

Even the empowering ink couldn't make the finger taller!:(

Alone...

After a failed stint with a pet gold fish and our coup that liberated their birds, our neighbors brought in two rabbits. Sweet, round and self-indulgent. They were placed strategically in a sty-cum-kennel-cum-house-cum-rabbit-inn…that was kept in the common passage of the fourth floor. I noticed them…obviously. One thin, a bit quiet and calmer fellow…the other healthier, chirpier, more agile. I grabbed the opportunity and got familiar with them….No prizes for guessing that the healthier one and I got along….birds (?) of the same feather etcetera… etcetera….

Not that my life began to revolve around them…but they became an integral part of the scene outside my flat. So while climbing the stairs, I would imagine them jumping across their shelter with ears standing up…and I would tap my shoes and see them go round and round in a tizzy….a fond ceremony it became….I could feel they anticipated my antics each time I was around….

But more than me, they were busy with each other….the fatter one burnt his calories by chasing the thinner one…I sometimes felt it mumbled to the other about each passer-by….Didn’t they get bored in there…of each other…of chasing round-and-round…of talking?...What garrulous…lost…busy souls! They went on and on and on in each other’s company….Phew!


And one day, as I came up…there was just the thin one there….sleeping, I thought. May be, the other one was hiding behind…may be it was freshening up somewhere…may be it was eating out…may be it was snoozing...may be. But, I soon came to know it was dead. And a closer look at the thin one made me realize it was shell-shocked. I tapped my feet…clapped unceasingly…made a dozen faces…antics… all that I could think of… it just didn’t move.

I came home…I will not say my life was shattered….but I felt a strange discomfort …an unrest…a heaviness…time and again I would put myself in the shoes of that lonely rabbit and try feeling the difference in its life. I couldn’t even do that…I didn’t want to be in its shoes. It was too scary. It was overwhelmingly sad. What will it do now? Where will it go? Whom will it talk to? There were too many bad, empty, painful questions. So, I let it be.

We have an understanding again…I don’t tap...it doesn’t respond.

The Right Card....

I feel like the most important person in the country presently. Yes, elections are precisely the reason…no...not a party ticket…I got my voter’s ID Card done! And getting it made was no less an ordeal than campaigning for any big-shot, small-shot party-warty or neta.

One sultry afternoon I landed at a dingy sarkari make-shift office in far-flung part of Calcutta. Even as I approached some Babus enjoying a bidi-adda session in their chairs, I could see their expressions change. It was the most heinous crime I could have committed, arriving at three when they were supposed to call it a day at five! “Heavy late!..heavy late!”…two of them mumbled….

“Ei Baba!...Photo nei?” one of the five officers gasped…looking at my Id form….The job of putting the photo there was optional, I tried to explain… "So Bhat?”- another replied, if they don’t see my face, how would they locate me in the area list? But wasn’t I in front of them already?...I exclaimed, exasperated. Surely I was being logical??

It had been some 7-8 minutes already in that dingy, hot den…and I could feel the drop of sweat tricking down my cheek, as the portable fans were turned exclusively in the direction of the babus. No more formalities. I pulled a chair and sat down. And soon paid the price. They handed me down about 10 sets of voter lists of separate blocks of the municipality, and asked me to hunt my name out…written obviously in chaste Bangla! Me poor soul….having bid Banlga bye-bye in the 8th standard…tried conjuring mental images of the bangla alphabets that would form my name and began my mad hunt through those maddening papers….ten…fifteen….twenty…thirty minutes and I saw my name written in all glory!

“Here”. I stood up, handing the paper, trying to sound as pissed, miffed, caustic, sullen as possible… "where?” one of them accosted me as I tried leaving….Oh yes…I was forgetting to get my photo clicked for the card. There stood a reed-thin photographer in a pink shirt with the saddest looking digital camera in the world!...Already out of patience, I wanted him to simply go through the motions…but, but, but…. “Your hair…madam…” he pointed out to the few misguided strands…”your complexion”…he pointed to the drops on my forehead…trying to do a Mona Lisa… “its perfect!”- I almost stamped my feet…and then the blinding flash came down…and I left….

I saw my ghost finally when my card was handed out a fortnight later. But, but, but…I got it done people!

Truth

Being great is easy, being generous is easy, being scapegoat-ish is easy, and being a martyr is easiest….It saves a lot. A lot of truth, a lot of pain, a lot of bitterness. But being honest is becoming increasingly difficult. Why don’t people open up and walk the road I wonder? Me included. Me even more so. Shedding the burden is not easy you see. One gets used to the acting. One cannot give it up. It’s the other skin, the role, the mould, the part, the other identity. One lives it out each day hoping someone will notice the blood that oozes, the sweat that screams out, the anguish that pricks. No one does. And you keep dragging it- inside out….outside in….and the days are passing by.

Farther Away...

One loses to a number of causes….one ages for different reasons…one dies through multiple symptoms. You wake up one morning and realize you have lost those cells that carried those few drops of love in your system…

How weird it sounds…unreal, ‘out-of-the-world’ kind… Yes it does. But I promise you its true. You can look into the mirror and see those fine wrinkles, those dark patches under your gray eyes, a witness to the toil you do…a toil you no more have a reason for… that’s death. Silent and growing.

The dreams have abandoned your sleepy brain as you simply notice the dirty sheet you wake up on and that clock that pushes you towards oblivion. The scariest part is to lose those important words. They are naked now…barren…single-colored…eliciting no response. He doesn’t clap, doesn’t laugh, doesn’t notice. And you move just an inch closer to death.

It all passes by you each day. You begin to wonder how you lived in those belated days, when the breath came easy and the smile reappeared often. It makes you bitter. The falsity of the effort grows. The purpose of the talk fades away. And you clutch that finality. The finality of standing on the nadir. You can clap.

Weekly Off!

Initially, the idea of getting a weekly off pained me. No Happy Saturdays for me then? Sulk…sulk…sigh…sigh….life seemed bleak and miserable…Sunday is not a fun-day actually…one just oils the machinery for the grind that follows through the week…what bad luck, what misfortune! How it tortured me to see people waking up late on Saturdays, enjoying a lazy meal and catching up a flick or two…and then I had my revenge! ;)

Suddenly on a hot Tuesday morning, they would spot me snug and happy in bed till ten!...I would stroll deliberately in front of them with a cup of lazy tea. “My chutti you see…” and they would give me red, hostile looks and move on…the peace, the contentment that I felt….to see them rush out of home in a mad dizzy, crib about the heat and dust outside and return late tired. And then I would narrate my grand account of merriment on a comfortable day. The books I read, the movies I saw, the impromptu meal I rustled up, the unplanned, multiple naps I caught…blah and blah and blah…it of coursed irritated them, some even threatened to kill me…but there was no taking away my sense of victory! How I look forward to my weekly offs now…just hold my temper and work on bleary Saturdays…and wait for the manna dew that lands in my plate on a Windy Wednesday, Tangy Thursday or Filmy Friday! :)

Holiday home…its a battlefield! ;)

Passing By...

At Dawn...

Her eyes opened to the patter of raindrops outside the window. The room was unnaturally dark for that hour…one of those Calcutta days when the dawn imitates the dusk. She couldn’t bring herself to leave the bed. The clean white blanket won her heart all over again and she hid her face deep into it. It was indeed the hour of contemplation; the early morning breeze, dampened by the rain outside, invited reflection. The calm of the violet dawn and the twitter of unprepared birds moved her soul.

Staring at the ceiling, her mind traveled back to the events of the last week. She could now think of it as a whirlwind that had culminated in the storm last night. And now this placid morn. How far they had traveled from each other, in a matter of days. Years had crumbled into nothing. Simply nothing. One of those swaying, powerful stretches of time that take away memories and emotions, feelings and sentiments, foresight and forgiveness. It was a battlefield all the way. They had turned themselves into brainless warriors feeding on false pride and reasons. Nothing could hold them back then. They had geared up to carry it far…just a little behind the Greeks and Trojans. She sighed deeply, closed her eyes and murmured to her battered soul-“it would be fine; she was right”…and then the soul betrayed her. Her pillow was briskly dampened by those heavy drops that gushed down from her eyes. She felt bitter. Not with the world, not with him, not with them. It was simply a heavy, self-critical heart. And she despised her tears. To come out that early! At dawn…

She got up and walked to the balcony. It stood deserted and dark. She had abandoned it these days. There was no need to hide in its corner and scribble. Letters weren’t needed anymore, songs never sung. It had been weeks since she had peeped into the nest it its roof, or been in company of the lazy cat. Its all gone. She told herself. The best and the sweetest part of my life. I have cut it off. If only she could say these without the watery response from her eyes, without that sinking feeling in her heart. She knew she would be fine then. That was indeed the sign. Pitying her melodramatic soul, she tried to scrub the sentiments out of her face. The mirror stood over the washbasin. And for once, she couldn’t smile.

“I will be back.” - She said to it and sat down to write.

I would give anything to live an untroubled life. No decision, no confrontations, no ripples, no breaks, no shudders, no waves. To simply say a friendly ‘hello’ to the atoms of life that pass by me each day. Indecision would then be my mate. Inaction my shelter. They would not allow me translate thoughts into moves. And I would be spared of the rod of pain and accountability.

But why should I fear the rod? Why should I get it anyway? Am I that weak? That helpless? That cowardly? I suddenly feel moved and firm. Time to decide then? Well, yes. How does one do that? One who can bunch the same number of pros and cons? I know the loss I know the gain. And I am never prepared for the pain. So why budge, why change, why choose, why decide? Why not let those atoms just touch you mildly and pass by, into the unknown future. Swim on…day to day…will you meek soul?

No. Because, sometimes, the random, berserk atoms hit you hard, catch you off-guard, break your bones and scratch your muscles too. They bend you down, tie you up, blind your view. The omnipresent salt is rubbed in too, as you try swimming across the sea of life and agony. Poor, inconsolable you.

Spare yourself, love yourself, stay afloat, challenge the sea. Drink in the salt; pour it out. Wipe your eyes, face the Sun. But do decide. Decide to live life in your own, stubborn, gritty way. Tame the vicissitudes.

Relief...

I have begun cleaning up…

I am wiping it then….

I know it…

I can see the algae surrounding me…

All the green, oozing wilderness….I created

My achievement, my wealth…

They don’t let me breathe and dream.

The other day I woke up

When my dreams were suffocated

I caught the dampness in my palms….

My achievement, my wealth…

My web, my illusion…

Its not a call for help…

Its not a sigh of loneliness…

Its not the white flag…

My achievement, my wealth…

The treacherous greenness

Worse than the simplicity of death…

Keep away, stay apart…

The cowardice of the blind day…

Inhale…problems, greasy smoke, stares, remarks, mistakes, errors, jealousy, spite, competition, frustration, failure…
Exhale…sigh, bitterness, words, inhibition, tears, complaints, noise, crash, soot, smirk, gasp, venom…
Desire to hide…I need an ostrich neck…
Clipped wings…dry legs…dry eyes…
Sometimes the ridiculous isn’t ridiculous enough…
And you aren’t dead till you die…

I am sure I am learning each day...

-

-

-

I am not sure it helps...

-

-

-

I am sure I will carry on.

Folding Up...

Each day Time teaches me an old lesson
Withered and unclear on the white paper
Of the diary…

Will my moonstruck talk please?
I ask you…
Let no answer drop from your lips…

There are gestures of pain
Woven into our life and love
That tell me to take heed…

They say take your heart too.
The one that is stale and hardened now
Hide it in your small fist…

But do not move your soul more than an inch.
Warm it near the logs one more time
Its the needle touch of the iceberg tip…

There are these thoughts...there are these sentiments...and there are these steady set of feelings...some coloured hopes and some sepia-toned expectations. 'Tantalizing' is not the term, 'unfulfilled' sounds too strong..."unhappy" is inappropriate and "unsure" is not quite that too...Its this wierd sense of hesitancy,numbness, apprehension...like that ticklish sensation in your tummy...that stops you right at the last tumbling minute...depriving you of the adventure-ride...that you so dearly want...a warming of those thin ears and that mild restlessness of the soft-beating heart... you know you act really dumb!

"When you have once seen the glow of happiness on the face of a beloved person, you know that a man can have no vocation but to awaken that light on the faces surrounding him. In the depth of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer."

- Albert Camus (1913-1960)

Shadows...

There are voices standing outside my dilapidated door,
Abuzz with those same million sooty questions.

They chase me through the labyrinthine ways
Of my own dreams, demanding those hidden cloistered answers.

The last time that I had seen that face near the brown broken wall
I had promised it those answers I left folded in your trunk.

Now come back to me with them and save me from their eerie shadows
Those that have taken their abode under my weak window.

The damp walls of my rooms cannot parch their thirsty throats.
They want those names- mine and yours.

Shrewd promises of last summer prop their mutilated heads again,
And Spring comes lamely with its bag of false yellow hopes.

Come and tell them, it wasn’t my plan to mislead-
It was the wicked woman Destiny that led us on the wrong road…

Help me unpack my heavy bags of bricks and memories
Let us give them back to the hungry red river of yore.

Save me from surrendering on this rusty dead journey
The shadows are indeed dark and wise; you leave me again…stranded on the road.

Midas had a touch that turned everything into gold. I have a touch that disappears the thing. I say this and you will not believe. But I know...know it too well. It will vanish, the moment I touch it, call it mine. Its called the "Vanishing Touch".

Essay on My Family :) :

My name is ... I have one elder sister and one younger brother. My father is a teacher and my mother is a housewife. I love my parents very much. I also love my siblings. My sister and I love to read storybooks, while my brother and I often play cricket, badminton and football. My brother has often broken windowpanes, showpieces and cricket bats. My sister only breaks my head, eats it actually. My brother loves to eat and my sister loves to sleep. I love to talk. My dad loves to teach and my mom loves to cook. Every year we go out for summer vacations. We meet our cousins and often have picnics. My family also celebrates different festivals like Diwali and Holi. Diwali means rangoli and clothes to me, holidays to my sister and more food to my brother. It means a lot of expenditure to my father. My brother studies in a big school. He is always late and never finds his tie. My father also goes to his school but never wears a tie. My sister makes tasty parathas but eats a lot of them too. I don’t eat much, not food. I love to be with my sister in a joint in College Street. We often eat dosas there and discuss our future plans. We also go for movies, without informing people at home. My brother often finds out and goes about spreading it. My mother knows we do not go for buying books there, but she never complains. I also like her for the way she makes her bun. I always try doing my hair that way, but it will have to grow longer. I like the tea I get after coming home and love to stuff my pockets with dry fruits from my brother’s tiffin-box. My brother often pretends to sleep and overhears us sister talk. We then shut him out and he sulks around the house. But, my Mother knows how to cheer him up and comes with a plate of fried potato.

My sister has been away for three years now; my brother will be out to a new city too. I cannot miss them enough here, so I will go away too.

TIME

Everything heals...with time. Which is good or bad? Good, becuase you have to live...bad, because you thought you would hold on longer. Does that surprise you? Startle I mean? No...it only makes me restless for sometime and then I lie back and accept the blatant truth...that they mutter all the time...till it reeks from books, pages, mouths and so many channels...Time is the GREATEST healer...To TIME I give it!

A Meeting.

There was more to the effervescent smile that afternoon, as they settled in their typically unsettled manner at the coffee table. She smiled more warmly than ever. He was amused like never before. That’s why he called her an interesting specimen.

She was nervous, darkly intelligent and mildly sullen. Yes, that was the flavor of her temper, well almost. Pauses and perfunctory questions took their usual place as the two wearied each other out. The coffee, the TV. set, the boisterous moms, the noisy children, something should have rescued them.

Was there anything else to put on the table? Who wanted? Who cared?

She fidgeted a little more than she had…six...right…six months back. The ears turned scarlet for sure and the poised smile stuck. Her hair of course had grown longer…So what? He knew better….

Probably, she was meeting his glances more frequently this time, making him expectant of some unexpected adventure, the thrill he sought everywhere. He was still to decide on what to wear…his familiar chuckle or the grin.

“Okay…I need to this time around….”
“Hmm…yeah...sure…what?” He waited intelligently.

Her cup was empty, her eyes full with their decided whiteness…big and unwavering. He knew she would not be inhibited for once. The small hands threw the dark hair back, making way for her words:

“I choose to breathe easy….”
“I choose to walk away…”

The skirt swept the chair like a dream. She was out of his sight…yes…forever.

I hope its a *NEW* year!

Meaninglessness...

Here is to writing...or to not writing...its stuck somewhere, the wheel, the mud won't let it go. There is a clear moment before us, when the truth is out! Of action, inaction, hopelessness and hoping anew...Who started it? And who will end?And who shall live out in the interim this drama of living?The question unrolls like a red carpet...red it is this time...the blood-soaked one!Hands raised, eyes wide, mouths agape...the act has taken place. Let each stand up now and answer to his ownself...does death carrying a meaning now or, will the living add a meaning to this grotesque place called our world...

Birthday

It begins with those heavy hugs at midnight

The pleasant good mornings'

Turning into an afternoon of good wishes and greetings

Followed by an evening of happy giggles, familiar cakes, dwarfish candles and claps

What remains though is a ponderous soul at night,

And the taste of the pungent cherry... gone stale...

Moment...

We are wasting the moment…
In decisions…indecisions?
In spotting the desire that quickly hides again
Under the tables and chairs…
The crackle of voices behind, the feeble music,
Waiting for us to talk…
And we wait…
To choose that easy moment
When our voices will shed their
Robes of silence for once.
The tinkle of glasses and coffee mugs,
Uncertain and infrequent as our glances;
Unsure, evanescent but warm
Filled with million questions…
Will it be laid out this time on the table?
The bundle of knotted confusions?
But we let it pass…
To be together in the moment…
Undisturbed, unheeded…
Our nervous, numbed, overwhelmed souls…
Bathed in unsettling happiness
The unchanging, unsure, eternal companions…

Little things that I could change:

Taste of an apple…


Deep Yellow!


Our librarian…


Dry leaves…


My pet name…


The road near my house…


My fingers…


Himesh…(little?)


The smell of eggs.


My bad poems…


Hair-dryers

Colour of mud…


Impulsiveness…


British Council’s unnerving security…


Height...mine again…


You!

Why hate…? I ask...
I mean, it does require some effort after all.
Because… it’s the next best option...

There are some things that occupy a silent, unacknowledged space in our mental landscapes...yet we take their sight, smell, feel and colour for granted ... there is an old Gulmohar tree near my apartment... Old beacuse I choose to make it old, so that I can travel with it back in time...as months roll down in the course of a year and foggy mornings stand with greetings at daybreak, I make a note of a certain whiff near the balcony. It will remain my companion each morn till spring decides to pack its bag...I love this damp, mild, elusive smell of the orange Gulmohar tree, as it reminds me of Diwali evenings, Birthday mornings and New Year dawns...My Old sweet, special Gulmohar ...that will remain in the landscapes of my happy times with its frail, unforgettable, dizzy fragrance...

Ganguly!

Me and Saurav...yes, yes, Ganguly...have always shared a love-hate relationship.Not that Ganguly knew about it!...I liked him sometimes and disliked him at other times...but obviously I followed his game!But damn!He is calling it a day!A golden handshake after all!...And the saddest part...there is pressure on the Wall now...my dear, sweet, sad Dravid!:)

Burp!

Some things please you...just by the look of it...like a well-spread meal...you might not eat a lot(I for one don't...i swear!)...but then it made me verrrry happy to see the lavish table...it just completed the picture of a happy, memorable day...and the scent of the satisfying meal hung on to the finger-tips and napkins for a long, long time...

Some people know no middles...mediums...middle-grounds...

Just up and down...

Highs and Lows...

Hyper-Highs and little-hyper lows...

Grow up...!

The tendency of time
To pass and not look back
Reminds me of you.
The atrocity of the sun
To warm and burn me too
Reminds me of you.
The audacity of the wind
To assume my wearied presence
Reminds me of you.
The ambiguity of the clouds
To wrap me in darkness
Reminds me of you.
The generosity of the rain
To drown me and still go on
Reminds me of you.
The tenacity of the rays
To somehow find me out
Reminds me of you…

It's the green grass singing...

It’s the green grass singing…
Calling out to you…
To come and dance a while,
As you look at the view…
Come and touch its green vein
As she waits for the happy-sad rain…
Make her wishes come true…
With promises dry and few.
It’s the green grass singing…
Calling out to you…
Come and be its friend
Help her beat the mad wind…
Fill her in your mind and air
Angry old winter will soon be there…
It’s the green grass singing…
Calling out to you…
You who never came…
After promising the light rain.
You who walked away proud
Taking sides with the moody cloud…
It’s the green grass singing…
Calling out to you…
Come and ruffle her hair
Don’t stand in and stare!
Come out of your cruel retreat
It wishes to be trampled by your dirty feet…

The countdown has begun…and there is this continuous whiff of bamboos in the air. One wakes up on sunny mornings to the sight of half-made pujo pandals, carrying promises of a new season of festivity. From here on, nothing can go wrong. Here comes the best time of the year, when all goes well! Yes it does! A weird, unknown chemistry has set in, signaling a collective wait for sessions of serious dressing up, pandal-hopping, addictive gossip, photo-sessions, vibes and vibes, interesting scenes and sights, this and that, and grandmas and grand-dads, and cabs and phuchkas and jewelry and restaurants, and class mates and boyfriends, and old love and new love, and Maddox square and Bag bazaar, and you name it! This mad, dizzy, sweeping, buzz that overwhelms all! I love the smell of roll and cutlet and biriyani and phuchka and all blended into one…and the meaningless giggles and deliberate strolls in company of known faces…so many moments of colorful existence and collective merriment…so many lanes of expectations and memories…to be lived and cherished year after year…Calcutta I will never leave you! :)

How many times do you generally repeat a mistake? On an average, I repeat mine at least seven times. Not a lot, considering one is tempted to improve things each moment…

More Trash...

HUMOR is just the balm to soothe all pain and dispel attention from the problem inside….LOVE is just the word to defeat boredom and usher curiosity for a while…FAITH is the perfect push you need for falling off the edge, in case you cannot decide…

No matter what Descartes said...This and that…god and human will…and human choice and goodness… I Don’t Trust Myself!

Meandering mind...

To find is to lose…
To lose is to retain…forever.
To dream is to miss out…
To miss out is not to have dreamt.
To ask is to never get…
To never get is for never having asked.
To wait is to wait eternally…
To move on is to never meet again.
To talk is to listen…
To never talk is to listen…all the time.
To want is to know…
To know what you never wanted to know.
To run is to hide…
To hide is only meeting the other self.
To be is to think…
To think how you cannot be yourself…

The bestest feeling in this world is to talk and talk and talk to someone you have loved for ages and met after a lifetime... :)

HAPPY...

I know not why, but I feel happy. Arre kyon yaar? Who knows?…for sure that is…May be its this or may be its that…may be its my salary approaching, or may be it’s the new season of the English Premier League…may be its being back with friends (the most probable one I guess…), or may be it’s the new bag! Who knows…for sure that is…but I want this feeling to last forever…so much like the stupid me! well, is anything meant to last forever?…may be yes !who knows...for sure that is! :)

Be yourself….


Be yourself…..


Be yourself…..

Be yourself....

Okay, wait!

Uncertain, moody embers
Like uncertain truths and promises…
Waiting to ascertain their tired lights,
A tame hope of a new-born future
Wrapped in hazy dreams...
Still unraveling, sorting knotted sorrows
Following all those gray, cloud-borne roads
Leading to your shrouded, sad abode…

Cold mornings and colder dawns,
Meeting and melting before the Sun,
Arriving…with the smell of the eucalyptus.
The first glance of the day
Wrapping you with warm assurance,
A cup of brown, deep coffee,
Carrying sweet silent promises for the day…
Half words and half questions…
Silently shared and shifted under the bed…
And the happy blanket drawn again
Adieu Reality!
Of a paralyzed, gray love…

There are these bad days…when you wake up with a bad taste in your mouth…irrespective of what you ate/ did not eat the previous night…and it tells you there is a seedy day ahead…a day when you feel high-strung, tired, impatient, and very self-critical…when you cannot pat yourself for the advice you imparted to your friend, but rather question your own conscience…whatever it is and wherever it hides…where do you stand? What do you do? Which truth are you following?...and a similar set of philosophical luggage that you suddenly discover lying in one corner of your mind…sigh…and a deeper sigh…a long stare in the mirror…and you give up!
And then you blog to universalize your angst!

We step once more into the vacuum of time
And trace the cunning noise.
A witness,
To our footsteps…
Companion…clock…critic…
Tap, tap, tap….mine and yours.
Towards infinity,
Hand in hand…
A word or two.
Perfunctory, empty, bare…
Floating in the air,
Catch and fold them…hide them in your pockets…
Wide-open eyes…drinking the white…
The white of the vacuum…
Sip, sip, sip…
And then rest on the shoulders of time,
A minute or two…at the station,
To catch the four o’ clock train,
The left-hand pocket of your overcoat
Carrying in it
Our tickets to eternity…
My creaky gray umbrella and yours…?
Here we go…
The whistling engine
Staring breathless and blank’
In the cold, white rain…
Tap, tap, tap…

Let them walk out of the room,
Lest they count,
One, two, and three…
The number of times I gasped
Wanting more of the air.
Let me close the book;
The words might catch an eye,
And speak aloud the story
They never wrote…
Let me not talk to you anymore,
Else it might shatter hopes,’
Dispersing vapors,
As before…?
Let me draw the curtains once more
And bathe in the darkness
Of tales untold,
The words and worlds that are mine,
And live out this life…
Unnoticed on the murky shores of time.

I CAN wade grief,
Whole pools of it,-
I’m used to that.
But the least push of joy
Breaks up my feet,
And I tip-drunken.
Let no pebble smile,
T’was the new liquor-,
That was all!

Power is only pain, stranded through discipline,
Till weights will hang.
Give balm to giants
Wilt, like men.
Give Himmaleh,-
They’ll carry him!

-Emily Dickinson.

The rains are a big help…they make you abandon the hibernating holes underground and look into the eyes of the Sun…

Life...

The rays break upon the windowpane…
Trembling and vanishing into the room…
The sinewy hand attempts to tie a bun,
Hiding the grays and blacks of life within it.
A dry face recognizes itself in the light of the faded sun,
The watch assures the presence of time and a world.
How long? How long? The heart beats again and wonders…
The pace of nothingness grows anew.
The door stands dumbly, the dirty walls look on.
And life in a cold room shamelessly hangs on…

Placid...

There is a strange contentment in leaving things as they are…teaching your brain not to think…to let the moment pass…read a book...type a post…talk to your friend…make a new dish…listen to the radio…learn with your soul…switch off the phone…fold old clothes…take up the crossword…write on a fresh white page…smile in the mirror…and quarrel with your bro…and it shall pass…leaving you to yourself…a happy soul!

Exchange...

Question- (asked with a napkin like straight face)“What kind of men turn you off?
Answer- (uttered with deep-shut eyes and breath-exhaling firmness) “Unintelligent, Uninteresting, Unfaithful!”
Reaction- (Stupefied dumbness) “Ma’am! Wah! Kya answer hai!”

blabber...

No, I don’t like melodrama! I really don’t!...Even you don’t I am sure…
Well…I do like it…I confess…but only when I am its centre of lament!

Again...

And you knew it would come…
Rolling down…threads of your life loosening themselves
Without your permission…
The moment drops into oblivion like the sigh from your tired soul…
You thought you had better control…
Control?
Like the traffic man at the signal…
You stretch your hands and the wind escapes you…
Damn! Not even the wind!
Lets take a walk tomorrow
Far and far…wide?
No! It takes me to your house…
I shall walk only far…
Far…far…far…
Will you come along?
You have seen the threads fall out…will you weave them now…
Weave and tie…tie me to you? Will you?
No…I shall walk…the rain comes now…I don’t need you…
I can weep.

Nothing!

Sometimes, it doesn’t satisfy you to be a simple, stupid, soul…you want to go further…and further than that…full length…touch the zenith…or is it the nadir?...never mind…its a weirdly engrossing journey to see yourself be duped, stand back and contemplate, shut your eyes, let things be, and then exhale deeply and proclaim-“Damn! I have been a fool!” :)

And it really turned metaphysical…I swear it did! I find no proper imprint of it in the camera of my mind…only a faint smell of food, fading memories of some awkward pauses…blurred essence of time and place…mixed voices behind…the damp breeze and a wide road…and the rolling of a couple of hours like a gusty wind!...it passed…and it remains…coming and going with the smell of the air-conditioner, warm coffee and my new white dress.

And to write...

Some people can write…write well, admirably…. touching things in a unique way.
You had thought of it, your brain had conveyed you the impression. But, you could never articulate it correctly enough. And then you read those lines and feel..bingo!..precisely what I wanted to say….not written in black and white, but put in a shade of appealing and touching gray…And you turn and tell the writer-“Great job! Bravo!...the writing is indeed beautiful!” But what of the writer? Does he/she talk equally magically for himself? Or, is there a semi-paralysis that the writer suffers from? Can he talk on his own? When does he do that? Probably, when he is talking through his characters…? Or, do his characters say more than he agrees to…? Can he articulate “his” feelings? Does he end up borrowing a line from his character’s agony to express his own love?...may be it was “him” all the time…Or was he pretending in one of those mellifluous passages of expression? What is it that surely belongs to him? Who can say…? May be the writer….Or will his characters doing the talking…?

BLOT!

The dark ink knew…
The sheet was done for.
It had blotted it alright…
BLOT BLOT BLOT
Spreading itself thick and dark…
Touching the very atoms,
Or do they call it the heart?
BLOT BLOT BLOT
The present, the future,
And the unerasable past
Once and for All
BLOT BLOT BLOT
Dumb, defeated sheet,
Hide in my tattered diary fast…
I know you not…no, not with this
BLOT BLOT BLOT.

Survive...

Quick…it will envelop you...!
Overcoming you… in an embrace...
A plunge…a slip…a dark eternity…
Led into a lull…a hush…a forbidden place…
I admit…you have been deceived,
You are there…suffocated yet alive…
See...The world has found you out…
Now breathe…breed…kill...and survive…

TYPES...

People are essentially scared of people...has someone said this before?...may be...well, you can read it one more time...so the strategy is to read as much of each others' character at one go...so that one carries an advantage at the next interaction...a common ploy is to typecast each other into particular frames...intellectual, loud, happy-go-lucky,snobbish, bore, "amma" type in girls, "ghochu" for boys...but the scariest are those you cannot put into frame...they just lurk around you, with a dangerously undefinable character,judging, observing, chuckling knowingly, cracking a joke when you least expect them to, reserved, yet so helpful, strategists and yet charmingly easy...BEWARE OF THESE....I have got a frame to put them in...someone told me, they are MY TYPE!!:)

Menu...

Some people went to a restaurant few days back...okay, me, Sohini and Rashmi...
we ordered some stuff...ate...anyhow, somehow...gulped it down with each others' support...time to pay the bill...the bill came...
V.POLIO- Rs. 70/-
CHI-MEN- Rs 50/-
SEND-WITCHES-Rs. 70/-
Implying...vegetable pulao, chow mein, sandwitches! ;)

Crack...

A crack in the earth,
Blank...
Dark...
Dumb...
Parched...
Misshapen and Wide,
Alone...
Dirty...
Dilapidated...
It stares at You.
Or,
Is it you...
Blank...
Dark...
Dumb...
Parched...
Staring at It?

It happened one day...

It happened one day, they played a trick again...
I tried very heard...searched all corners of my brain...
Here...there...not just the mind but also the soul,
Where did they go...a half, if not a whole?
I had felt them lurking sometime ago...
But the tongue did not have them, the heart did not know.
So I cried, abandoned, alone...a long time,
Someone knocked, and I saw...the words had finally arrived...

So here I am...in the middle way,
Trying to learn to use words,
And every attempt is a new start,
And a different kind of failure...
- T.S.Eliot

Crookedness...

I am a nice girl...I really, actually, confidently believe this...
You cannot contradict this...sounds dictatorial?...okay, may be...
But the fact remains...that I am nice...and most people will agree...
You don't...and it makes me sad...but...I say it again that I try being nice always...
So where is the crookedness that you see in me?...it doesn't make you sound nice...
And all those who agree with me are also NICE...actually,really,confidently...
You still don't?... ;-)

The Road...

One day, I will set out with a bag
And traverse that dark blank road, outside...
The road that stretches its uncouth body like a lazy giant,
Waiting between my house and yours.
I will walk upon it one afternoon, slowly with careful steps,
And pick up those trampled dreams, those broken moments,
A couple of half-mumbled promises, some unsent letters,
A few unheard lines, few muted songs,
Those fast-fading memories and my naive poems…
All of which, the road keeps in its belly.
They are mine. I shall collect them,
And lay them all, where they rightly belong…
In that freshly-dug grave,
Right in the bosom of my beautiful garden...

you girls...!

We had all met in the ‘Eng Lit’ class of 2002…2002! Gosh! The amazement is still lurking as I type this…Is it a coincidence that we all chose to study Literature…? and how apprehensive…a little lost…dazed we were during the first few days in that awe-inspiring university… :)…no …I don’t want to make this a ‘Jab We Met’…this comes purely as the impulse of a couple of hours, when I am feeling pretty nostalgic…not a tear-jerking attempt mind you…just the simple feeling of lazy and vacant nostalgia…the five of us…how different, how happy, how irritated at times, how easy with each other…blissful!…there was sometimes, a sense a tension, miscommunication, coldness, misunderstanding, competition and the bunch…but then one smile, one heart-to-heart, one meeting, one class-lecture together, some scribbling on the back-page, one session in the canteen…and it was all back on track!
We do crib…to each other…. at times about each other…childish…we know yaar!
We want more of each other’s life…of each other’s ambitions, plans, happiness et cetera…but it will never change…the feeling of wanting each other around…being part of each other’s life…it will never go… ansa, sohini, rashu, deba…and yes…dear me!…now no tears you ladies!!;)

The Calendar...

It’s marked in the new calendar hanging on your wall.
The new white calendar, carrying in its belly, smell of the old printing machine,
Commanding you to get into the solid black boundaries
Of its multiple boxes…
It has planned it all for you…a day to cry, a day to laugh, a day to feast,
A day to pray, a day to remember a friend, a day to slice a cake, a day to fight, a day to meet, a day to pretend.
It’s all planned…
You too can enjoy the game…
Pretend to plan, pretend to arrange, pretend being your own master, pretend to change.
You move on from place to place, searching for the right box to rest…
It just hangs there…blinking from the wall…
The chequered body smiling at you,
It watches you in the trap…your box…my box…it has got us all…

an attempt...

Its too clichéd a thing to even talk about I guess… but each day brings its pangs to me anew…well pang is too strong a term may be, with its ‘-anngg!’ resounding a little too much! But let me talk about it nonetheless…about being misunderstood through my words…particularly when their text forms the mode of transmitting my ideas…and emotions, if there are any which ever reach out through them…its surprising how despite knowing the language for years, having used its words, read them, almost grown up with them, one is misunderstood…misquoted…even by people who know you since eternity…! Okay, we have read in books, the views of Saussure and Derrida, of how Signifier and Signified are arbitrary etcetera…and the ‘lag’ that remains in conveying the meaning…but then, if to write…to talk…to communicate…to express…to share in totality…are essential to your life, what do you do!…And yet I write…hoping my text will miraculously and completely connect the Signifier and the Signified!…phew!some mess it is!

Eating up a Storm...!

In that little fragment of living which passes under the name of college life, our gang found itself constantly haunting eateries…No, we were not the type to survive on fagging and boozing (you may add “only”)…good food beckoned us constantly and bad waiters beckoned us out! Of course there were the typical college\university canteens to hang around, but self-proclaimed connoisseurs like us couldn’t resist trying the greener/not-so-greener pastures. From aloof waiters to stinky food, from cash-crunches to candle-lit lunches (yes, you got it right! there was a power-cut)…we have seen it all!! And of course taken it all in our stride, there wasn’t much choice you see…While in the historic College Street Coffee House we encountered intimidating waiters in white, swooping in upon us like Satan’s fiery troop of rebel angels, demanding their share of a fat tip, in Jadavpur we constantly haunted an eatery which in turn was haunted by bad instrumental (almost weeping) melody and frequent power-cuts! I thought we were their special customers till time and experience taught me better…neglected orders, aloof waiters, constant queries of-“Arr kichu lagbe?”(“Anything else”), perpetual stare… it all had only one sentiment in disguise…which went something like-“ what the hell are these lazy, miserly, critically-analyzing, boisterous, quick-eating, late-leaving, no-tip-paying set of female gluttons doing here?” Sounds grand to me even today! On the greater/graver occasions, which included frequent but no-nonsense window-shopping, birthdays, post-class-test lunches, sessions on heart-aches\heart-breaks etc, we shifted base to the more lavish eateries in Golpark and Gariahat. No, we didn’t at all mind putting up with preposterous lovers, sinking and floating by turns in to each other’s eyes, or bloated mammas stuffing their untiringly yelling kids…They only strengthened our bond with the world and its miseries…we had other challenges up our sleeves…such as mustering the courage to gobble the hopeless new recipe we ordered for our connoisseur tongues and counting pennies to pay the unexpectedly high bill we frequently incurred! Of course we were also fond of promptly moving out, that is, before the waiter could discover he had been paid no tip…What little but strategic triumphs! I wonder whether they remember us! Whether they had nightmares the day we visited their joint. No…It wasn’t that bad! Of course they won’t recognize us! But I am sure the day they have an adamant set of noisy and miserly customers to attend…they will suffer from a sense of déjà vu!!

It's not a word...

How do you know?
How do you know it’s that?
Who told you it's eternal?
And should I claim the eternal?
No…it’s not a word…
It never can be.
The word is too little…inconsiderate…blind and shrewd…
My feelings are my own nest
No word shall hold them ever
And put us all to rest.
It’s a collage I tell you
You…me…your thoughts and
Mine…
Holding all each others hands
We do the all-fall-down…
Laughing and crying together
Till the magic fades
Tomorrow.
And hands change hands…
I see yours in other's…
A sound...like something breaks...
The little girl is full of sorrow.

Escape...

What do you say?
Wouldn’t it be wonderful to run away?
Run away from the flux and battle?
Escaping into the arms of ambiguity and timelessness…
Away from the memories and nightmares…
Walking into a script of one’s own?
Away from your subtlety? Your judgments?
Shedding the burden of love…of livelihood…
Away from you? From your face too?
Into my world?

The Wedding...

I tell you…it wasn’t me. The surroundings…they were actually amusing! Tell me, how would you react when you see a bulky-bodied dame of thirty, attempting to stroll with fairy-steps on her terrace, all decked-up in a blinding red-saree? The aanchal too, mind you, was stretched out in true Bollywood style for the breeze to fill in…that is, if the breeze could find any space, anywhere…My poor soul! How could I stop it from smiling the moment I glanced at the bride across the lane, from my balcony? Not that it was my first brush with the Big Fat Indian Wedding…but somehow I am amused, shocked, bamboozled anew, each time.
“ Look at that!” I turned to Ma…“who does she think she is? And what is that bloke up to? Why does she have to make a sad-looking fairy out of herself for the photographer?”
“Shut up!” pat came the response from Ma! “ You think they have all lost it…like you?”
“Lost it?” I chuckled in amusement.
Ma couldn’t take it anymore… “Yes! Your head, your common-sense…not everyone in the world wants to have her vidai in an auto-rickshaw!” she blabbered, wrenching water from the clothes she was attempting to hang in the balcony…but couldn’t… too distracted by activities across the lane you see!
“Ma, that’s really called getting hyper and going overboard! I never said that! Just because I like traveling in an auto all the time…” Yes people…it was true. I loved auto-rickshaws…the thud of those cheap stereos, the glitter of the wallpapers, the badly-printed posters of Bollywood divas and the over-all thrill of being in the world’s cheapest roller-coaster…simply too-much! Besides I had to board one to get to college everyday…never mind…
As the afternoon passed, guests started pouring in to the lane. The scent of old and new perfumes, the sweat from bulky bodies, the cloistered smell of old benarsi sarees and silk kurtas…it all climbed up to my flat. Ma came in with her lunch-“ not cooking anything for the evening…surely we are all going to the wedding?” I caught the question as smoothly as it was leg-glanced towards me-
“ I don’t think I am going…can’t say about Dad…”. Ma had stopped eating “go on…go on finding faults with half the world…and the other half won’t care about you…your friends happen to be the only worthy creatures available I think…”
“ Why bring them in this issue Ma? Don’t you know it’s my final sem? Have got a dozen assignments to wrap up…besides…” I added in a jovial tone… “I have already checked out all the hunks pouring in…they aren’t worth it…All in over-sized kurtas…excess of deos and hair-gels…obsessed with their handy-cams…all in all, highly un-interesting!”
“And what about your great institution? No gem worthy of you there too, it seems…” Ma added sarcastically. She always came back to this…not that she would have appreciated if I landed home one day with a missile by me...err…a guy …but it was a handy thing to say none the less. True it was in a way…I hadn’t ‘fallen’ or ‘got up’ for anyone in my five years of hanging around in the campus. Was I a men-basher? Don’t think so…I could bash women too…I mean criticize…and more so because I couldn’t stand the kind of antics Tutu was indulging in on her terrace! Besides I had my close pals who were in relationships…and I never had issues…lets move on…
As evening set in, Ma became restless with my placidity.
“How have things changed…” she began lamenting… “Forget about obeying elders, girls won’t even listen to them anymore…”
“It’s okay Ma…I knew you would resort to this…” I sighed shutting my book… “Get ready, I will help you…”
“Help? And what about you? Are you bent upon acting headstrong? Can’t you just stroll across the lane and stay for a few minutes?” she was exasperated…I knew what would follow…a session of painting, coloring, bleaching etcetera…all for people who see you sweating it out marketing, washing, cleaning…everyday.

We joined the wedding-party at night…the lane was packed with cars. Tutu’s dad had booked some extra cars…plush air-conditioned ones…to be placed on the mouth of the lane, just to add to the ambience of excess and luxury. No sooner did we enter the house, than I met up with a few other girls of the locality. I had seen these bland creatures all my life…they had never giggled this incessantly before, all of course in honor of the young men present there. They are all young creatures…I told myself…simply chill…and let them be! But…what was I?… Never mind…
The wedding ceremony had begun. The groom’s feet were duly washed…a lot if suit pieces, gold, wristwatches and even utensils were being donated by the perpetually-stooping father of the bride
“Ma…”I couldn’t help it… “Is he a bhikhari?”
“Shut-up!” was the expected reply…
A young man approached my friend, as we girls were sharing a light moment… “I too will take my fairy away in a doli someday…” He told her excitedly, breezing pass us…truly Hrithik!
“ But don’t forget to buy some utensils for your home!” I quipped in, as we all broke into laughter…

“Can we leave now by your kind permission?” I asked Ma, an hour later, in part- pleading, part-humoring manner…
“ Stay here…look around…we shall soon have your sister’s wedding…don’t you have any sense of duty?” Why hyperboles hitting me all the time? I wondered and said…
“ I am glad you have two daughters Ma…do all your gala arrangements for Di…and spare me…I shall simply ask my fellow to come to the temple…call my friends…marry and leave…and yes! In an auto…!” there was nothing left in my kitty to irritate her further…

The night passed… I stood back to observe. To call the place over-crowded was an understatement… Sharma Aunty spent all evening comparing her saree with other’s, Ma kept on making mental notes about the Dos and Don’ts of wedding arrangements, the bride’s parents must have pained their jaws smiling to their guests and counterparts…stooping in hospitality…guys couldn’t have enough of capturing gorgeous maidens through their lenses…guess it all formed part and parcel of a gala wedding…but where was the ease and beauty of a lovely gathering with near and dear ones? I wondered…
And then, from nowhere, rose a wild roar of laughter…a young and fast voice caught my attention. It was the cynosure of a discussion, going on, in another part of the lawn. The peels of laughter it was generating, made me curious.
“ So buddies, personally I would not like to be fed and washed and worshipped like a lamb before sacrifice! Show me a temple…that is if my girl believes in one…I shall walk in, marry her in a simple, economy and environment friendly ceremony, and off I go…! Not in a hired Mercedes my fellows…could one of you get an…auto-rickshaw?” Hahaha…the crowd cheered!
“Hey!”…Did I hear correctly? … “Who are you fellow?” I told my excited self, walking across the lawn, towards the thrilled gathering…

With the Sun...

Something went down with the Sun yesterday…and never came back…
It was time.
Though you keep your windows closed,
My voice will surely meander into your room…
And you will hear…hear incessantly.
I had spoken…
Words do come back...to haunt…
They get along well with the Sun.
But I won’t…
I am the companion of time…
And time left you behind…behind me…
You can stand up now alone…pretending to frown with the Sun…
But I know…know you well!
So be with the Sun…proud and strong in its glory…
I shall discover you anew…when you cry alone
At nightfall…

Bouquet...

Days…evenings…dreams…reveries…words,
Gathered into a bouquet over umpteen hours…
Tied together with a new, red ribbon…
Kept in a corner of the room…a witness to all the love…
Till a day...when it’s picked up and flushed…swoosh it goes…
Into the drain…lost into the ever-swelling sea.
The sea of lost love…

A poem...

A happy dip in cold, placid water,
A joke coaxing sad faces into laughter…
A warm hug from an old friend,
A caring hand from a tie that’s uncertain…
A smile lighting up a wrinkled face,
A loved voice…heard after many days…
A memory sheltering you on a cold night,
A guiding word when the path has no light…
A song cheering tired souls,
A story weaved by a gentle voice, wrapping you in folds…
A word of praise from a grave voice,
A right move made…without making a choice…
A timely help from a not-so-good friend,
A lovely gift that your neighbor sent…
A good luck wish from an untiring mother,
A lazy, long stroll in lovely weather…
A help you gave and promptly forgot,
A memorable lesson that a stranger taught…
A home warm and bustling with all your loved ones,
A life of contentment…lived on your own terms…
A heart willing to live…not merely survive,
A soul that not only exists…but knows…it’s alive!

Words...

I tell you…words are powerful.
The power of words!
The power of ‘power’ itself!
Have a look around you…
The air is full of them.
There they are…on the roads, on the walls, on your table…and in your head!
You walk, you eat, you dream, you shout…
All in a pool of words…
My closet too is full of them…
They tumble upon me as I open it…
Oh no…I don’t like them all…only the heavy ones…
I too am a connoisseur you know…
Justice, rationality, equality and right!
They are my favorites…
Well-chosen you say? Indeed…
Multi-purpose, multi-dimensional…well-fitting altogether…
But I use them sparingly…keeping them safely in a clean wooden drawer…
There are many who are after them!
‘Justice’ has a noble sound to it…
‘Rationality’ stands out on the page!
‘Equality’ has a pacifying effect…irons out the creases on foreheads…
And ‘Right’?…gives you a sense of your might?
You are right!
And even as I talk and talk…spilling them unheedingly…their price shoots up!
So let me check my drawer again…may be someone’s after them…
Justice, rationality, equality and might…
Who will possibly buy them for me again?
Oh no one…!
Words are powerful…so here I go!
Seeking ‘power’ in a pool of words…
Inside my clean, wooden drawer…

A Wait...

I waited for quite sometime you see…
It had been raining all day…
So I stood at my washed white window
Waiting to collect them in my hands…
And then pour them out,
Slowly, with a steady hand,
One by one into my life,
Drip, drip, drip…
I could see myself happy…
Colored in shades of a new life…
Waiting to live each moment…life after life…
And so it rained, and rained, pouring all day…
And I fell asleep…at last…empty-handed…
Deceived by it…again!
Yes…the rainbow…it never arrived with its bag of colours.