I am sure I am learning each day...

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I am not sure it helps...

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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...!