Besotted still ....

The silence of mahogany bothers me some time
unnecessarily, not but for reasons undefined
my eyes open wide for your surreptitious glance
as my candle burns all night long ........

The echoing cricket, sings your tune
in staccato muteness I listen, endued
your pretentious hide behind curtains white
as my candle burns all in sight ........

The taste of past, not sour any more
watered the tears, for gardens that grew
your frisking laughter still cast their spells
as my candle burns through the morning bells .......

You walked past me in carousal stupor
your scent smelt of rain, beautiful uproar
come back and let me proclaim, for one last time
as my candle burns all that is thine .......

Dawn ......

His physical organic structure was still asleep but lay like a carcass. The ravens had not dared to come close to him though they were there in sight far off. He woke up in a disquieted state perplexed by the sudden rush of anxiety running through his veins. He could still feel himself running on wet grass, miles without tiring but with sweats of fear clearly dropping on his creased forehead. He could feel the sun coming out from a distance and he wanted to leap across the barbed fence to reach it like a phoenix for its ultimate glory. He could still feel the grass, the wet soil and the rain. He got up like a sudden storm without any purpose. His heart was running at 110 beats. He sat quiet for a moment. It was still dark outside.

He reached for the bed lamp. The uncomfortableness of the obscured artificial light made him switch it off again. The sky by now had started to transform itself into a murkish blue and he could feel himself relaxed for a moment. He got up, still in his shorts. He searched for the packet of cigarettes that he did not remember where he had last kept the night before. He finally managed to find it on the book shelf in the far corner of the room.

Sam lighted his cigarette with one stroke of an efficient hand that required no training, and stood in his old balcony looking blankly at the sky. The sky was a distinct blue now. Light like a parasite had started spreading uncontrollably. It’s just that all parasites do not come with vices, he thought. Trees upon trees were now visible over the mountain peak that he could see from his balcony. He was midway through his cigarette. He waited patiently as the buildings across the city started showing up. There was still a serene calmness surrounding the air. He could still feel the wet air. Perhaps it had rained the night before. He could now see the wet grass with dews bundled on each strip waiting for the winds to blow them away. It indeed had rained the night before.

He could see the sun peep a little over the mountains. There now was a tinkle of golden tinge across the horizon celebrating their liberation from the black cloaked frosty night. Slowly it gained a trenchant orange texture and then scattered across the sky-line like fire. The day had begun ……….. Sam felt relieved ...... he could feel blood running through his arteries again as he lighted another cigarette .......

…………… dawn had finally arrived to cover up his scars of the night.

Finger prints !

Tapered in paints
brushed …
with colours in vain;

Was it conceited …..
I hardly thought so
colours of red… no violet
no it was pink,
or just ……
scions of scintillated preen;

Tacit understanding
on the realms ......
of silhouetted dreams,
phantoms of confluence
it was indeed …..
of greater sheen;

Aberrant enigma ….
let me borrow, for a while …..
if not more,
a piece of your skin
embedded deep ….
to let me feel ....
your fingerprints.

Ephemeral ....

His mind wandered a little looking at the megalomaniac moon. Transient in the dark, existing and living only for night; dying every time for a new day and yet so adamant to show up every time the sun shied away. The clouds were fleeting by in the moonlit night, distance covered and yet miles left. No one knew where they were heading for. Perhaps they themselves also did not know; for had they thought of the journey, it would have been wasted for its purpose.

Silence of his self was only broken by the distant honking of the cars on the road. The mind is funny …. yes it is so funny he thought, always at wars with everything that is illogical, a realm that is so different and distinct but the grey cells would simply not listen or even wish to listen and beaten …… beaten badly and brutally …. almost always by feelings ….. feelings that are so ephemeral.

Peace of mind is all that Raks was looking for. Peace that he realised was so ephemeral.

Randomness ....

Uncharacteristic of a livid state

freakish and capricious, esoteric sometimes

inhumed in the crevices of my brain, somewhere

rested not in peace, somewhat

unfathomed and deep, ill-defined perhaps

silent like deceased ants, unclear and eccentric

are thoughts beyond comprehension.

Ssshhhhhhh……..

An inferno of restless battlefield
crime and suffering of transcended disease
a felony of uncultured tavern, a street down
shut out by a curfew in the town;

Isn’t it larceny of my own,
a house and life beyond self control,
put off the light, it is dark again …. for,
ember of night with its felony has regained;

Veracious silence precedes the town hall
of deaden community where no humans crawl
sleep well …. sleep tight for there’s no sound anymore
beyond those walls of fallen hearts and some soul.

Survival .....

She fell down to the sly glare of the onlookers looking onto her. She heard a stern, almost military crisped words flowing into her ears. Mrs. Nair was screaming from a distant, “What is the matter girls?” Astha burst out laughing. She fell again. Majhil had an apologetic look in her eyes. It wasn’t shame. Just plain apology. She was cursing herself a hundredth time …… thousandth time ……. a millionth time …… the trillionth time till she lost count of all her mathematical numbers and figures. Her heart was racing like an A320 airbus that had lost control of its balance in a thunderstorm, none of the wonderful gadgets that it was equipped with, coming to its rescue and it was heading straight to the mountains for a disaster.

Mrs. Nair came forcing on herself, breaking the group that had gathered itself almost like a band of witches ready for conjuring the fallen prey, calling on their dark lords and offering them their reverence. Mrs. Nair shouted at the girls, “let me look..” Majhil lay as if ready to be swallowed by the universe but could just manage a small burp, quiet inaudible but to her it seemed as if they were chains of atom exploding, somewhere within her. She needed to be rescued. She needed to be rescued immediately. Mrs. Nair plainly added,”let me see your posture girl”. She stood up, a little shaken as the leaves of autumn trying to cling on to their existence just for a moment more. She stood with her arms over head, rising to the sky …. Her palm clasped together reverently … standing on her small two feet ready to be inspected and dissected like small frogs in an undergraduate pathology lab. She could hear Mrs. Nair distinctly now, “hmmm .. I see, the sole of your left leg is not in line with arch with your right … that’s a minor problem girl …. ok lets see …” as she grabbed Majhil’s sole and tried to set it in the correct position with the precision of a car mechanic, going on with his job with full understanding, confidence and exactness. She continued, “move ur left leg first and your right leg should just follow it.”

Mrs. Nair continued for sometime, as she instructed the music to come on. Majhil followed the beat, ardently following the manner that was just taught. Mrs. Nair slowly moved back as Majhil's body was blending with the flow of the music. She had gathered some pace now. She had quickly forgotten Mrs. Nair, Astha and her onlookers. Suddenly nothing seemed to be in between. No fear, no shame, no regret and no sweat. She had forgotten them as quickly as they had entered her life, not bits by bits or piece by piece but by a single shrug of self belief. She just turned and jumped with her left leg folding at ninety degrees and her right leg following it in opposite direction like a straight line on a piece of paper. There were no creases on her face …….. a sublime look in her eyes …….. and peace on her lips as she closed her eyes and came floating down ......

Another page turned ...

It’s another week that has gone by in a constantly unfolding chapter of each one of ours lives. For some of us it has been busy, feverish and vigorous; for some of us it has been full of opportunities, possibilities and search for new hunting grounds; for some of us it has been rediscovering our ownselves … beyond occasions, dark rooms and a general hysteria; and for some of us it has been of poignant recollections.

The characteristic of history is that it is already woven and laid out for us and others to see, follow and believe. It’s like experience, we can only decide to learn and unlearn from it … the choice is ours. And the characteristic of future is its uncertainty and disbelief. It’s laden with hopes, passion and desire. That is what we live and are living for at this moment in present.

The week is over and another one is knocking on our doors (time to say P.T.O) and in between, there lies an open gallery of Saturday and Sunday for all of us to just breathe, unwind and recoil. It’s the time when we let ourselves do just what we want to, without pressures, peers and hegemony.

So guys gear up, spread yourselves or pack your bags for the plains or mountains or any of your favorite palaces (even if that’s 7/11) and enjoy your weekend. Take care …

Snow

Cold gusty winds laden with snow
white and armory with a tinkle glow
fallen leaves covered beneath
buried and rusted without a tree;

Showering sleets of cold creep
uncovered twigs falling asleep
as it touches your feet, hidden aside
unheeded it comes filled with desire;

Dark and blustery it seems outside
melting sun behind your pride
autumn is past … the winter is here
brings you closer without surmise;

Let it snow …. Let it snow …. Let it snow
breathe in the thin cold air, and sit low
warmth all around the fireplace, growing …
laced in my arms … my love … sleeping.

Love .........

The sun was beginning to set, armoured by setting dusk of a golden tinge, dusted and beautiful but somewhere flagrant in mythic legends of a dark setting. He could only see water as far as he could see – tons and tons, gallons and gallons of water. Water that brought him a sense of calm and serenity …… water that was his source of living and running away, both personified in a single form of societal demonstration. Water, which for him had no meaning …… no meaning at all …… for things that you can feel never have meanings attached to them

His eyes were searching for something. Perhaps a log, a small wooden log, no perhaps a bigger log; he needed to sit. His limbs had started to give up, heinously he thought. His own limbs were betraying him, whom he had cared so much for, whom he had given the strength through continuous runs to sustain adversity. His own limbs were betraying him. His mind wandered a little, yes he was looking for a log …….

George loved sea. Born in a small village near the western coast of Goa, he had seen, desired, admired, loved and fantasized water for so long that he didn’t remember. Everything that mattered to him belonged there, engulfed and engrossed. He had one dream ….. and only one .... to be with water. Today he had just ventured out in the deep, ignoring the calls made by the local government of expecting a rough sea. For George it did not matter. He knew his waters too well. He loved them too much to be hurt. He had sailed far. Far off in his little boat randomly without much direction on a day that had carried winds on its lap. George’s little boat had lumbered on, somewhat telling him of what lay ahead. George had no ears to listen, the boat's pleading bore no heed.

It wasn’t till evening that the wind had castled its devilish spells of destruction. It had brought with it an army that was powerful beyond human imagination. It had power that could kill with one force, power that had no respect or appreciation for life, power that only knew annihilation. George saw it coming from a distant. He didn’t bother. He had no fear. He knew he would be sheltered. He rode over the first impact, never bothered even for a second. It was just a big jolt. He had felt them many times in his life. And as he looked aside he was hit again by a force as monstrous as a dozen of them before. George knew not what it was.

George was taken down by running streams of high pressured flow, deep down the sea level. He held his breath down living on his lungs that had sucked air for as long as he could remember, there was a sense of respect that said you too need a rest, defying nature and task that nature had allotted. The surface seemed relatively calm now and George was gasping for little breath of fresh air. He had lost all sense of time. He didn’t know how long he was there ……. Now he just let himself go as if released from hundreds and thousands of chain borne upon him. He sailed onto the surface. It was as calm and as serene as he had known it all his life. There was a sense of love in its eyes. Love that was pure, that was so pristine, that it desired nothing. George felt relieved for a moment.

He searched for some broken raft. He couldn’t find any. He thought perhaps it had been blown away. He lay still floating in the water like a bubble which just came out filled with air but no substance. He stood there embracing his love as if it was eternity blown into a single moment.

He felt tired now. He cursed every bone, every muscle, every feeling within him ….. never a feeling that water can engulf him ….. that was something he had bargained for all through his life.

He swam a little helped by the deserted blowing wind, stripped of all its vices. He stood and sailed …… and stood and sailed …… and stood and sailed for it was nearly dark now. Only a crimson in the blue horizon was left, barred and unattended. He could still see nothing but his love and suddenly there were green. Like a blot on the sea ….. spreading across. He felt a little tinge of jealousy that they could embrace her more than he could and he kept floating …. No desire, no hope but only trust sailing him through …..

A blood less red

Was it hiding behind the curtains

ambushed with stain and ruptured

shuddering trees of grey wound

past three quarters a day

limbs akimbo of dead grudge

and assiduous pain, throbbing;

her blood a lesser red

diluted and suffered ...........

The question is ....

Would I have lived it differently
had the pen blotted un-relinquished,
A little more thought in the
spindrift slugging mind …..
and a sailor’s parafelia.

Attached with a rigging ship mast; in
the perihelion of unsophisticated sea
Exercised in snake-black night
of little but obscured sullen cilata …..
and leftover chasm of un-fulfillment.

Would I have lived it differently
had the pen blotted un-relinquished
In the smoke of known past
still black, untidy and ugly ….
but with psalms of cerebral proclivity.

Punctuated life ......

Can you imagine a world without punctuations? Say for instance, if suddenly we decided not to use punctuation from this moment on. How would our life look like ….

Bosses would be happy with staffs working their arse off. Parents would be delighted with their kids giving all the time to their study since they will be studying, studying and studying. But would it really be such a rosy picture. Think of it buddy ...... think hard ….

For the couples who would be making love as I write this… They will never stop, nor even slow down (remember a comma (,) is a punctuation as well). God help them who are really driving it hard … I can’t even imagine the scene (well not truly, I infact can ...)

Rita and Mita would go on with their usual chit chat. Can you think of what all they would be gossiping when they would run out on all the juicy stuff.

Michael would have just hit the soccer ball (just wanted to be explicit), would he be tired? Give him a break he needs water atleast …..

Sam has just entered the office. Alas! He will never return home and his oh! So faithful wife would never cease to wait for him (she can’t even get into an extra marital affair)

The operas would be unending, the concerts would run dry, there would be no vacations and no breaks, there would be too much pleasures leading to pain …

And God save the place which has been just hit by the terrorists ……..

Everything in life has its meaning and importance. Nothing that has been found or discovered is meaningless or not-apt. Within the abysmal there is something that is right. Punctuations are important in our life in the same manner that constant energy source and work is ……. We all need a break whether from work or from pleasure ….

So all you guys who have slogged your arse off this whole week have a gr8 weekend …. and for my sluggish lazy buddies ... it's time to wake up and get going .... happy weekend to you as well ..... chow ...

The freaking 13 ........

Call it superstition, disbelief (or rather strong belief) ludicrous thinking or anything…… but the number 13 freaks me out ……. Am I scared of demons, hell no! but I am scared of the number 13 … everything around the number is inauspicious to me …. spells omen and black magic at the back of my empty brain and brings ill-luck where there exists none … And most of the times all things that go wrong seems to go wrong only when I am around 13 ….

As much as I try to run away from the number it seems to come back and haunt me. And more often than not I put the blame squarely on 13 … the only real, unsympathetic and destructive enemy that I have ….. Today was another 13 in my life. All 13s are generally bad but today it was damn pathetic …

Umpteen mistakes on the presentation that I was working on ….. silly, ridiculous and I as much as I kept rectifying them, it seemed never to cease .. every time I took a print out (so called final print) and checked it (for the final time) and there I go …. Why didn’t I see it the last time was all I could think off …

Mama (my mom) got sick out of the blue and countless call back home didn’t seem to bring her colours black … Was it becoz 13 is black … Nah! people fall sick all the time … yes true but out of blue? I think it is a conspiracy …. a cursed controversy against me and I am simply not able to reverse it …..

Well the movie that I planned got cancelled … the customary Friday drink got cancelled ….. was sitting late in office (can u believe it, late in office on a Friday evening) and the day overall was generally bad …… co-incidentally now I remember I even wore a black shirt to work today ….

I can’t seem to avoid the number …. everytime I look at the watch it’s the 13th minute …. I log on to my comp and eureka it is the 13th minute ….. I get out of my house and bingo it is the 13th minute and as I come back for a peaceful nice little Friday night, I enter the house on the 13th minute ……

Will it ever stop stalking me …… or will I live to see 14 jump out of 12

And I wonder ...

Dark grey sky … far-far away

melancholic moon, hiding .... shying away

and I wonder …..

far off in the blue

a search for life with memory

a little rain and some pain ......

peaking … growing ….. dying away

somethings never change;and I wonder ….

Sun … sunny sun; and

bright moon filling the sky

rains and grass ….

smilling green peaks

hands in hands as we walked

a little tight; close by;

promising, looking ahead as we stood ...

Will those days ever come back; and I wonder

Do I know you ....

Half a mile sometimes, someplace

I walk along or runaway

thousands feet follow me

anywhere and everywhere ……

Unknown and unrecognized

some look like me

some look like him; as I see them

anywhere and everywhere ……

Do you feel the same that I do

lonely and unknown in those known ways ….

people like me but so unlike

anywhere and everywhere ……

Four meals a day?

Mired in black wooden box
unfitting shoes laces ….. unfastened and untangled
coloured, stationed, patience unhidden ……
black inhibited smile
sharp focus unaltered demeanor ……
with a shoe brush tucked in a corner.

Greasy little palmed fingers
blackish clothing dirty riddance …
borrowed smile with promising eyes ….
tool box and a multi errand
howling ears …… eviscerated bowl
three quarters a meal a penny can roll.

I see him running in your house
calling him names for delayed chores ….
his mother calls on the weekend
you listen on the other line … with some vengeance
he serves you day and night ….. faithful and diligence
and a prayer ….. thanking for food and pittance.

Matter of convinience

In the new arrival section of a book store that I visited recently, I saw compilations of Shakespear and Elliot. The authors' sections also had similar volumes. In the Jane Austen's section I found five books written by her costing HK $ 80 a piece and then there was a compilation of all the five novels costing HK $ 299. Needless to say one would buy a compilation rather than those individual books.

I distinctly remember the hundreds of book stalls in college street in Calcutta that I frequently used to visit during my university days. I used to pick up books randomly. My decision used to be based on the impression that I bought from the cover. Authors mattered only when I wanted to read one written by them. And on most of the occassions .... all that mattered was what I felt about the book by what was written at the back cover. I am not as voracious a reader as I used to be ....... but I haven't changed the impression of picking up a book when I happen to visit a store.

What makes a book ...... It's not only what's printed inside. To me the cover, the pictures ..... the author's dedication, his/ her introduction, the preface .... the back cover .... the copyright inscriptions, the publisher's trademark ....... all contributes to an experience that's called a book. And thorugh many emotions that a book carries itself to the end, I live a different life, till such time that the book's last page is turned over. The next book is always a new life ... a new experience. Ofcourse compilations are matters of convinience. Ofcourse it's a modern day thing. Ofcourse it reduces the cost of printing and hence makes books more affordable. Ofcourse ...... Ofcourse .....

Indian Govt! fails to honour

What's the price tag for a farmer's life. Well if he has committed suicide he is worth Rs. 10,000 ($250). That's all that his life is worth for. And what the value of the cheque of Rs. 10,000. Well none because Indian Govt. has no money left to even pay a paltry Rs. 10,000/-.

26 yrs old Vandana Shende's husband had committed suicide in utter disgust and shame for a life and society which could not provide four meals a day to his family. She got a cheque from the Govt. of the above value as price for the life of her husband. And the cheque bounced - the Govt. of India's cheque drawn out of Prime Minister's relief fund bounced.

I am becoming religious. Only God can help us now.

Wah Taj!

Frenzied voting and surreal persuasion. Vote for Taj. Well we have finally managed to regain the status of “The Seven Wonders of the world”.

Guys we have all contributed to the one particular cause. We ensured Taj gets it rightful place. Well it did. Its finally in the list ……….

The new seven wonders of the world are now:
Taj Mahal , India
The Great Wall of China
Petra, Jordan
Christ the Redeemer (statue), Brazil
Machu Picchu, Peru
Chichen Itza, Mexico
Colosseum, Italy
Pyramid of Giza, Eqypt (Declared an honorary candidate)

Faceless .........

She stood by the mirror looking at herself. She touched her face. She looked beautiful. Her face radiated under the fluorescent glow of the mechanical light. Her eyes inhibited no fear, perhaps because the fear was lost in the realms of so many human emotions that there were no fears. Her eyes looked beautiful beyond those realms …… for human emotions cannot touch a vacuum. Vacuum is sanctimonious; they are not to be touched. She lifted her face slowly without any effort like it was a leaf borne out of the wind …. moving from place to place with the alacrity of a vicious current.

She was lost in her books for so long she didn’t remember. She did not remember the time today. Time didn’t matter. She had kept her receiver down. She hadn’t heard the phone ring today. She owned her ….. she owned it atleast for today. That’s all that she had hoped to earn and it was hers. Nobody could take it away ……. No body simply could……….

It was evening when she finally got up. The sun had gone down and the brightness of the moon had yet not struck. There was still light in the air against the sluggish moving cloud. Vagabond. She thought of them as stupid just like herself. They had no direction. No sense but still they were moving. They had no purpose. Ridiculous she thought. How can something exists without their being; without knowing their own existence, their own purpose. The thought seemed to tire her for no necessary reasons. Reason, for they were not sufficient, they never were. As she moved to wash her face she looked herself in the mirror again. She saw somebody else. She had seen somebody else before as well. She looked closely as if she was reading a manuscript and was trying to fathom out the abyss. She didn’t look herself. She didn’t know how she looked. She had never known since the day that someone had looked in her eyes. She didn’t remember his face. She didn’t remember his existence ….. she remembered his eyes. There were no feeling today for she had lost all sense of feeling that there could be.

She looked at herself again. She found malice and unsightliness. She couldn’t bare to look at herself anymore for it was not her that she saw. She faintly remembered. The phone had not rung today. Nobody came …. There was no demand, the demand of hers for some means of living. Nobody had touched her today but she could still feel ……. all those touches which were like screaming howls of ugly pigeons being brutalized, being tortured for nothing but for the material means of existence ……………. She hurried to take a bath