Words

Death of a Consultant

2012-01-17T21:33:00.002+05:30

I am a dying consultant. Well, I'm not really dying, but my career as a consultant is pretty much over. I'm 35, recently diagnosed with a condition called something in which any hypothesis that leaves my vocal chords hurts me, and the more far-fetched the hypothesis, the more the pain. And not only that, I literally spew blood and my voice gets reduced to sharp squeaks when my statements get inaccurate. The last meeting I had with a client, things got so out of hand that the whole group was sitting with blood on their faces and their hands on their ears. My bullshitting days were over, and I got fired.

But enough about me. Let me tell you about her. She was the sunshine in our otherwise gloomy office. She could not only play the clients, but everyone inside of our office too. This is the story about how she played me that one time. Today she is married to some guy in some ministry and has two kids, and remembering their lovely faces, I'd keep the raunchier details of our relationship and her real name out of this story. I'll just call her Layla.

It was a rushed beginning of the day in office while the cool Bangalore morning lay wasted outside. She came to my cubicle all worked up. She told me she had to fly to Mumbai that evening for an early morning meeting the next day at the customer support of a bank. She had to present a report to some big-shot there and had nothing at all. I was pleasantly surprised that she had came to me until she told me I was to go with her and make the presentation. She told me that since she had nothing and I had nothing, I might as well present. And take this - I stalled my work and agreed. It was Layla.

Did I love her? In a way. It was the kind of love you feel whenever you walk past a certain cubicle and then don't feel it again for the rest of day, until you pass by it again. There was only one such cubicle for me, and it was Layla's. On our way to the airport she told me the client's problem. They wanted to 'increase efficiency' across their floor. Increase efficiency, I thought, you couldn't be more vague. But I was happy with this, if they're vague, we can be vague. So this was the problem I'd have to keep at the back of my mind while I'm courting her tonight. Now don't get me wrong. In my interactions with women I'm never a wolf, I stick to my species.

I needed to get something else cleared up too. While waiting at the airport I casually asked her, if she didn't mind, how things were going for her outside of the office. "You know how it is, I hardly get time for anything outside of the office." That is good, I thought, she is single. I was amazed, and even a little embarrassed at how different things were now from school or college. I always started out sincere then. And today, I needed to go through an entire awkward routine before I allow myself to start getting sincere.

She went to sleep as soon as we took off. I was a bit sleepy myself, but there was no way I could sleep - I had two major projects in the next 24 hours. The lights were switched off and soon most people dozed off. In a while a child's whimpering turned into loud yelps. I was surprised that it woke no one up except its mother. The mother took out a box and tried to feed the child out of it. She seemed to be having a hard time so I walked up to her seat and held the box for her. There was candy, biscuits and the like inside. She was pretty calm and started chatting. I told her I could check with the attendants for some dinner for the child. "No, not necessary, I have what I call his Anytime Breakfast Box with me. Kids don't follow our meal timings. They just wake up anytime, take a few bites, and go back to sleep. Something sweet, something salty, a little sip of something, and it's done. It's the solution to everything." Great, I thought. The solution to everything. And this started a chain of thought that would lead to my suggesting the Anytime Breakfast Box to the client as the solution to his efficiency problem.

I walked back to my seat. Layla was sleeping like an angel but I had to wake her up. I told her about the Anytime Breakfast Box.

"You're kidding."

"I'm serious. See how I do it tomorrow."

"Fine, it's your project now. Do it the way you want."

I soon realized that I had gotten carried away, The thought crossed my mind that if this fails, it would be last project in the company. But I had told Layla, and now I couldn't back-off.

My presentation slides were all pictures. Three categories, titled - Sugar somethings, Salt somethings, Fluid. It was pretty easy to prepare. Candy, granola, chips, oats, biscuits, lemonade, soda - I put everything in there. I give you here the proceedings of the meeting -

"Gentlemen, we have performed an extremely detailed study of your processes, and have narrowed down your problems to one fact - a definitive, though short-term decrease in the effective IQ of your employees that takes place while they work. Any person doing repetitive work faces a decrease in effective IQ which lasts only a few hours. To recover the lost IQ, the employee, against his will, engages in activities which the low IQ dictates him to, such as idle chatter, blank staring at walls, mumbling and fumbling, cracking poor jokes, drooling, excessive urination and facebooking. This is the root cause of all inefficiency."

I made a pause, letting it sink in.

"But as always, we have a solution. And as always, it's cheap and effective. The philosophy behind our solution is a continuous supply of energy to the employees, continuously replenishing their effective IQ. Gentlemen, I present to you - The Anytime Breakfast Box."

As I ran through the slides, I couldn't tell if the contortions in their faces were disbelief or anger. Layla had closed her eyes, awaiting the storm. "You are shitting us," was the verdict. The big-shot asked his man, the guy who had hired us, "Were you in on this charade?" He said no.

I sank. My head spun. I lost speech. It was a total black-out. I realized the absurdity. I had gone insane. I could check myself into an asylum. The only thought that passed my head was the disbelief with which they would fire me back at my company. I was sinking deeper and deeper when I looked at Layla. Nothing happened. I kept on sinking. My eyes must have closed because the letters CONSULTANT flashed before me. They were lit in neon. I saw that I was standing on a busy crossing and all the shops around me had these letters flashing blinking marqueeing on them. I realized at that moment that it was by hands like mine that civilization is built. I am the consultant in this room. I'm the one to be listened to. I shot back like a rocket, my blast radiating the room.

"Gentlemen, I understand your thoughts. I felt the same way when the thought first came to me. But think about it, your processes are dictated by your business. You can't do much about them. You can't do much about distractions - people walking in, change of weather, telephone calls. There are others who'll tell you the solutions that never work. I'm telling you something that'll work. You can choose to implement it, or you can repent five years later when the Anytime Breakfast Box is the industry standard. Every new idea seems ridiculous at first. Think about how simple it is - give one of these boxes to every employee every day, and see your profits rise. So tell me gentlemen, do you have the stomach for change? Of course, if you want the stale security of old solutions, I can work one of those out for you in a couple of hours."

I saw that shadow pass over their faces, which tells you it has worked. They were nodding. The consultant mojo had prevailed. Layla could see it too. She was beaming. My heart was barely within my chest. I had nailed both my projects.

The client agreed to the solution. I don't know about Layla but I walked out of there nothing but stunned. I wanted to run, as if I had picked their pockets and it was only a matter of time before they discovered that and chased me down. It was then that Layla lay the bomb on me.

"I'm so excited, I can't wait to tell my boyfriend."

"Boyfriend?"

"Yes, he works for Rahul Gandhi."

I stopped dead. I stopped dead in the middle of the road. The traffic stopped too. I was looking into the eyes of every driver in every vehicle, seeing the anger in their eyes that had risen in sympathy with me. She had tricked me. I thanked them and assuring them I could handle myself, I crossed the road.

After that day, I went on a mad spree, a death spiral where I didn't care what happened to me. I wanted to get hurt. Badly. Fired, destitute, starving, stoned. In this insanity I sold to dozens of organizations the Anytime Breakfast Box idea, and others I invented, crazier, such as the Midnight Anthem Recital, the Corpse Perspective Parade and the Dog-Bitch Laydown. Amazingly, I grew and grew. The ideas which were certain to get me fired were the best accepted ones. I gave up, and just basked in the glory until, as I told you earlier, I got this condition. I guess I abused my gift. Now I spew blood whenever I speak, or rather, squeak.

I have lost any sense of the truth. I mean it's one thing to lie, it's another thing to not even know what truth is. But then, here I am. Of course, it's not the end of the world, because I've taken to writing. Writing fiction. Finally channeling my bullshit in the right direction.

Love poem

2012-01-14T01:18:00.002+05:30

When you and I get together
we can while away a lot of time
just walking up and down the street
walking up and down the street
walking up and down the fucking street
hand in hand
as if we were fourteen.
Forgetfulness comes easy
when you and I get together.

For this year

2012-01-13T00:42:00.000+05:30

Last year I learnt to hear
the silence that exists within music.
I learnt to slow down enough
to feel the grains of time
roughing up my fingertips.
Slow enough, to even sometimes
be the centre of the universe
and see whirling around me
unstoppable mad circles of lives.
Slow enough to see the twists and shakes
of shooting stars,
to make mortal legends.
This year, I wish it all
to regain the right rhythm.

May I present...

2011-12-02T22:54:00.000+05:30

I don't want you to read this poem -
just pass it by as if you were
on the road in a vehicle
with time only for a glance,
and wonder what it might have said,
wonder how it came to be at all
today, from a different era.

Does this look appealing?
Without even having reading it?
Is the shape of this
more appealing, than say, an advertisment?
A newspaper article? A status message?
Has stuff written in this shape,
ever said anything, meant anything,
added anything to you?

Well then, it would not be a complete
waste of your time
to read some of these.
Not this one, but better and beautiful,
written by those who, the only thing they did
was write these.

A lifetime of errors

2011-11-05T00:38:00.001+05:30

You need to keep creating gods,
as the old ones cease to exist.
Need to keep things that are beyond your reach,
in your vicinity.

Overtaking everything, enjoying nothing,
Hopping too quick, leaving large gaps.
More worked up in your moments of rest,
you're biting off more than you can chew.

Things might seem fine, and then explode,
Sheep, though exceptional, may still herd to doom,
The old cannot see the future,
and what they know no longer exists.

Your moments of beauty will be snatched away
by the ugliness you've systematically ignored.
The collected force of a lifetime of errors
would visit you when you can least take it.
As the rug is pulled out from under your mind,
you will topple into insanity as you helplessly watch
the world still going around, taking it for granted.

मेरी यार के नए यार के लिये

2011-09-15T02:24:00.000+05:30

जो सोच के बैठा हो की बच के निकल लेगा बे
भूल जा साले, तेरी अर्थी को मेरा कन्धा जल्दी मिलेगा बे |

वो जान थी मेरी पिछ्ले पूरे एक साल
कल बात भी नही करने दी, तू साला बना है दारोगा बे |

केहता है गलती से भी देख मत लेना उसे अब
मेरी पलकों के पीछे वो बनी है, उसका क्या कर लेगा बे |

मेरी आँखें बाँध की दीवारें बन चुकी हैं
पर तुझे रुलाये बिना मेरा एक कतरा नहीं बहेगा बे |

पर बहुत दिनों के बाद उसको हँसते हुए देखा तेरे साथ
लगा कि ये एक काम ऐसा है जो मुझसे बेहतर तू ही करेगा बे |

उसको भी और कोई नहीं मिला तुझ कमीने के इलावा
पर अब तेरे साथ है, तो मरेगा जो ख्याल नहीं रखेगा बे |

गलती मेरी भी थी, शान घट जाती जो बात मान लेता विभव
जा माफ किया, शायद तेरा साथ ही उसके लिये अच्छा रहेगा बे |

Red light

2011-09-13T23:28:00.000+05:30

I was waiting at the red at a crossing,
and in that brief period of rest -
no going forward or back
but just looking at life rushing across -
I felt a stillness,
a moment of complete stop,
like in a painting.

I knew there was a poem there,
though it turned green before I wrote it down.

(I got started here - http://rendezvous-with-gulzar.blogspot.com/2011/09/rendezvous-with-gulzar-11.html)

Changing the World

2011-08-24T22:03:00.001+05:30

For those who don't roll like Anna Hazare -

When I was a young man, I wanted to change the world. I found it was difficult to change the world, so I tried to change my nation. When I found I couldn't change the nation, I began to focus on my town. I couldn't change the town and as an older man, I tried to change my family.

Now, as an old man, I realize the only thing I can change is myself, and suddenly I realize that if long ago I had changed myself, I could have made an impact on my family. My family and I could have made an impact on our town. Their impact could have changed the nation and I could indeed have changed the world.

-Somebody long back.

Buried, restless

2011-08-24T04:37:00.000+05:30

After six hours of struggle
with sleep and waking,
it dawns on me
that there is no fulfillment,
and the only sustainable hope is
for a ceaseless struggle
against something or the other,
preferably one that I lose ceaselessly.

I can see about twenty closed windows,
each with lives just like mine
and nothing like mine
lives to which I will never connect,
and if I do,
it'll be useless.
Things will not work
and it'll not make me sad,
and if they do
it'll not make me happy.

There will be days and nights,
there will be work and fun,
people will leave and come to stay
things will take up all of my time,
and yet there will be plenty of doing nothing.

There will remain
a part sensitive and eager
but buried, untouched, except grazed once in a while
by a sleepless night
and buried again.

That part when touched will withdraw,
will want but not accept,
will resist but give in,
will do everything to keep me alive,
and away from other lives.

Abundance Romance

2011-08-18T22:10:00.004+05:30

Started by Divesh's wanting to see if the abundance of time, money, or love is anywhere close to being as romantic as their scarcity. I've tried to say yes (or no).

Time

I raise my eyes from the newspaper
to your face, engrossed in your book.
It is changed, and I haven't kept track
for a number of years now,
but I don't expect to be surprised,
by anything,
except maybe the fact that we're having coffee
at a shop, for some reason,
instead of our dining table, or somewhere around.

People around us seem to be moving
incredibly faster.
I sit and wonder, if change for us
is worth it, or even possible.

Our days have chafed against one another
in the past,
but have smoothed until
one gives to way to
an indistinguishable another.
What we leave off today,
we can continue tomorrow, or never.

If only someone was dying.

Money

I happened to take a walk in a street -
pretty, elegant and serene,
trees drooping over houses, soft-lit and in need
of no additions or repair,
with enough roofed and open space
for a person to live out
all his good times and bad.

I was surprised
because I belong in one of those houses,
actually it belongs to me,
and I could hear a noise somewhere,
that I couldn't trace to any of those,
which in fact appeared uninhabited
except for the soft lights and the immaculate repair.

I walked for a long while,
saw nothing unusual
and felt prohibited myself from doing anything so.
That evening my street
felt pretty, elegant and serene,
and I couldn't help thinking -
so does a graveyard.

Love

I remember when we started out,
I used to try hard
and sleep at the end of each day
happy and drained.

And when I slipped once,
you said it was okay.
I never rose above that level
once you accepted me there.
And then I slipped some more,
and it was okay again,
and again, and again.

I fell, and fell, and fell
with nothing to stop or support me.
I found your love undiminished,
and continued to fall
until I was at the bottom,
feeling the incredible pressure,
unable to see or breathe anything else.

I had no choice but to leave
the endless ocean of your love.

Bottom Line

2011-08-06T23:32:00.001+05:30

When you stepped out a moment ago,
caught by the silent flight of a bat across clouds,
or that other time
by the heaving shadow of leaves on a wall
or that yet another time
by the labourer calmly carrying bricks across your window -
nothing else happened.

There were a couple of updates, few messages,
somebody made a million,
you lost a couple hundred,
a newsflash came and went,
somebody got their fifteen minutes -
nothing that couldn't be missed.

You got to know how it feels, or more importantly that it feels something
to see a bat fly across a cloud,
a tree make a shadow on a wall,
to watch someone go about their work -
feelings inconsequential, but staple of the heart,
and hard to construct with words or bytes.

While you were disconnected,
you were connected.

Just around the corner

2011-08-01T01:37:00.000+05:30

Either I went too fast or slowed down too much,
or just lost my way,
but I can't see words now,
though I can always hear them just around the corner.
I've been defying odds to keep taking the wrong turn
for so long.
I guess I did something
to disturb the delicate balance.

A beginning, a middle and an end

2011-05-16T09:00:00.002+05:30

Take the next turn

2011-05-13T00:25:00.000+05:30

I've become the guy that wonders
Why do people,
chafing each other,
stay together?
Why is it worth
writing about?
Why don't I merge,
and disappear?

If I keep going onward,
I'll become the guy
who, never understanding,
set me on this road.

Urges

2011-04-14T00:03:00.000+05:30

Sitting in the quiet of her room
safely assuming her day to be over,
she gets a sudden, intense and inexplicable urge

to go out, to see people, to be seen,
to bare herself, to connect
to cousins, friends, old acquaintances,
with time fallen apart
and acquired the charm of strangers,
she fantasizes
but holds herself back,
afraid of name-callers.
Does she think there's another life?

She limits herself to the internet,
where shadows communicate
with shadows,
and pass by each other, too bad
that shadows don't touch, let alone make love.
Silence is a better expression,
than that ghost-communication,
what is she saving herself for?
does she think there's a god that keeps score?

She's not a joke,
things she feels are not a joke,
though she may pretend them to be
to pop them out of existence.
They pile up,
and give her sudden, intense and inexplicable urges
which she ignores,
to make my days and nights miserable.

At the center of my universe

2011-04-13T00:24:00.001+05:30

My disorientation, I guess
is that things
keep taking my place
at the center of my own universe.

The things then look at me,
as if I were an eyesore, out of place
not fitting in my own universe.

Growing up wouldn't be that bad,
if I could just retain that place of mine
in my own universe.

World Cup 2011

2011-04-05T09:22:00.000+05:30

Sunsets at 24

2011-03-03T23:28:00.004+05:30

Watching the sunset standing on the terrace of a house located in the city, with all its activity around me is...does it do me more harm than...it confuses me, brings contradictory thoughts...reminds me of things...remembrance was not the primary thing in my thoughts only a few years back, rather, it was a curiosity for the future, mixed with some kind of hope, if only unreasonable, but the hope saw me through a lot of things, things that I can better handle now, not because I've become more...but because I'm better able to foresee and avoid them.

I'm too young to have memories, what do you do with memories? With the feeling constantly at the back of your mind that there's a place that you could go back to, or that there are lost things you could have kept if you had...or if things had turned out a bit...I didn't realize that the unrestrained drunkenness of childhood would be so exactly matched by this unrelenting hangover of this adult...how long would it last? Is there a cure? Is that the right analogy? Is it right to understand things in terms of analogies? Do things happen unrelated...is life really a story? What if you don't try to understand your life as a continuous narrative? Is there a danger of...does it keep you...what really happens when people lose grip of...can you become so uncertain of everything that you don't even feel like writing a complete...because it gives an illusion of...as if things had a closure?

Does free will include the privilege to turn it off once in a while? Is it a privilege or a forced...is it implemented in humans by making everything so brutally random that it would appear to them that they had a part to play in their...in what happens...in what...a randomness so complete...or so incomplete...that one could choose to see things any way one wanted to?

Innocent things like sunsets have become loaded with a lot of other...sunset is not even a thing, but it has become a thing and it takes a moment to step back and realize this. It is almost impossible to see it as a natural...as something with nothing to do with your...how long a sleep would it take to get back...the tide of life today seems to be so hurried that it takes you to a new...before you've had the time to...as if it were motion for motion's sake, speed for speed's sake...a race to greedily check off as many things as possible in the span of...regardless of how well you...each of those individual things. How long would it take me merely to pose the problem properly, let alone find an answer?

Injury

2011-02-07T21:50:00.001+05:30

At times when I feel comfortable with the world,
organic, as if I had grown from its elements
and not imposed upon the face of it,
there’s only one thing pulling me back -
apathy, for its and mine fate,
which grew in place of the hope you and I killed.
If I knew the part of my brain where your memories reside, now decaying,
I would dig my nails into that rotten flesh
and rip it out and crush it within my hands
and watch and rejoice as it drips down red,
gone drop by drop, moment by moment,
remembrance by hurtful remembrance.
I would risk that injury, and insanity -
at times I want my freshness back so bad.

Divorce

2011-01-31T15:19:00.000+05:30

I have a feeling,
that if I weren't me,
I wouldn't so much as look at me.
It is just this unfortunate co-incidence
of being me
that has kept me forever occupied
with thoughts of me
and even the most beautiful thing I see
is important to me
only as far as it affects me.
I think I need to give me a break,
or move on for good.

Strong Urges

2010-11-29T00:29:00.001+05:30

Is Facebook updates the preferred mode of expression for us today? Blogging already seems the old thing before it really became the new thing. I have these days when I feel a strong urge to write a long piece the way I used to be able to before, an urge similar to the one you feel at times to make contact with the people you have broken up with, but can't do anything about, because if you could, you'd have most likely done it long before. Not one to lose sleep over anything, but certainly one to wake up feeling horrible about the lost opportunities of last night, now and then I'm able to force myself to string together three or four thoughts, and that is all you need, knowing how thought leads on to thought, to write a long post. It's great though how my vulnerability to feelings of fear and anxiety decreases during the course of the day. I'm at my strongest just before going to sleep, I have it all figured out, but after the enjoyment of what I think was a nice night of sleep when I wake up, I find myself suddenly trapped by unseen aspects of last night's problems, as if they could only be seen once the sun's rays fell on them, and I become aware of a greasy stream of despair running in my veins, which I have realized could also be the result of oily and spicy food after a day of minimal physical activity. It's also great to digress. And to write long sentences. Fuck you, twitter.

But I'm serious. Like always. There's no fun in not being serious. There's no pure fun. Fun needs strong foundations of something serious at its base. Otherwise it's just an attempt at fun. A photo-copy of fun. "Oh, we were just having fun." No you were not! You need something pulling you away from having fun. A resisting force, that you continuously oppose to keep on dancing, or laughing, or wisecracking. The only reason serious stuff was created in life was so that we could have fun. There was no need to, before that. I might have gone a little overboard with that last one.

But I understand. Facebook isn't bad. I'm sure there's a correct way to use it. The next generation would laugh at the way we use it. "You mean you actually, like, sat in front of a real computer for, like, hours, facebooking? Isn't it something you do, like, on the go?" I have faith in kids. Look toward them to understand the correct ways to use this new stuff. Honestly.

Growing up doesn't feel that bad anymore. It's growing on me. I'm developing a taste for it. And it's kind of justified, because as they say, it's somebody else's turn to be a kid. You can't remain a child, and let the real kids be kids. I feel it'd be nice to have a child of my own, but to have to endure a spouse seems like too much of a price to pay. I've heard people are increasingly deciding not to have kids or at least delay it as much as possible. It's good, except why would somebody even want to get married then? I mean, it sounds to me like taking up the burden without the benefits. The argument in favor of marriage cites children as a point. Exactly. So, till the time you decide to have children, marriage itself could be, let's say, postponed, right? I understand we swim in a sea of society, but talking of the young independent couple that prides itself on planning children on it's own isn't priding itself on much in my eyes if it decides to get married during the while. I guess that was harsh. Parents, right? Society, yes I know them. Sorry about that. I've felt that inexorable force, in other circumstances, and succumbed. Who hasn't? But independence should include emotional independence. It's possible to live by yourself on financial independence. But it's delicious to live by yourself on emotional independence. Retain that, even if you're in a relationship. It provides that resisting force, the strong foundation I was talking about earlier, that keeps the fun alive. Love means the freedom to say "Fuck off!" once in a while.

I guess why I'm a little annoyed here with marriage is because a lot of people around me are getting married. Everything is running fine, and suddenly somebody comes along and announces, without apology, and in fact as if it were something to be happy about, that he's getting married. Not "Sorry guys, but I got to get married", not "I hope you don't mind but I'm afraid I'd be marrying next month", not "May I get married next month?", but just an entrance, and an announcement, "Hey! I'm getting married", with twinkle in the eye, and expectation of congratulations in his voice. And people play along. And sometimes, not even that. Just a change of status from 'Single' or 'Committed' to 'Engaged'. Or slightly better, a mass email containing a wedding invitation. Subtle bastards. :) Maybe someday I'd be writing in favor of marriage. Who knows?

Children are good. Spending time with children makes you notice things. What would be considered unnecessary distractions in your work-life, or even in your social-life hold real pleasures. Children know, unknowingly, that life is about finding an odd-shaped pebble, holding on to it, and then throwing it away. About running after nothings, embracing trouble at all costs. About pestering people who care about you in way that they get addicted to it, crying if they don't, running away without a damn if they do.

Children live lives of constant attraction. Before they've had time for one thing, they find another which snatches their attention. Their day is made up of chasing attraction after attraction till they go to sleep tired and happy. We live lives of constant distraction. Before we've done one thing properly, we get bored of it, and start looking for a distraction. Our day is made up of seeking distraction after distraction till we go to sleep tired of it all and often unhappy. Children - can't live without them, can't live without them.

The center of attraction

2010-11-23T23:35:00.001+05:30

There is a center,
somewhere in a sparkling room
full of people,
in a city, in an year,
where you're the attraction.

People are gathered around you,
you're their source of light,
some only aspire to come near,
and some who do, are burnt like moths,
and yet eager to touch again,
while other, gentler flames
sit alone in corners.

You know everyone, and can keep them interested
for any amount of time, throughout the night,
you know what drives each of them,
and can be all those different things at the same time.

I don't know how you feel now,
when all that is past,
a flame can only burn so long.
I wish I knew what you feel now,
but I can't help feeling,
that in all that knowing,
the only person you failed to figure out,
was you.

The fault

2010-10-31T16:11:00.003+05:30

I’ve felt to be a house of cards,
that I collapsed
if even a friend knocked at my door,

felt to be wet sand,
that I crumbled
if a friend's grasp was a little firm,

felt to be a candle’s flame,
that I went out,
if a friend breathed too close,

to be silence
that I broke
if somebody merely spoke.

Felt that for all the helpless damage done,
the fault was entirely mine.

A difficult evening

2010-10-26T00:14:00.000+05:30

It's difficult to picture a fountain as lifeless,
or even a river.
In fact, all of nature is so easily personified,
that a belief in god is,
sometimes, a helpless spontaneity.

Eyes

2010-10-21T22:41:00.000+05:30

There was a tribe in times gone by
that had reached a state of civilization
where they felt they had pretty much seen it all.
New things sure happened all the time,
surprised them, filled them with a moment's wonder,
but there was so much discovery, novelty taking place,
that beyond a certain depth,
they remained untouched.

And one of them rose one day and said -
"We are given eyes that can see so much,
but are also a kind of curtain,
that blinds us to everything else there is."

For once everyone listened and agreed.
Over the next few days,
people poked their eyes or gouged them out
blinding themselves

and for a few days seeing the world as fresh,
before dying out as a whole,
out of purely practical, immaterial reasons.

Such a civilization truly existed,
why wouldn't it?

When I feel I don't want anything -

2010-10-08T22:16:00.000+05:30

- maybe I do not know what I want, or I only know what I don't want - and that is most of the things in my current life.

Or, unattainability is making me forget some of my desires.

Or, I am scared of where my desires will lead me.

Or, I want things which cannot exist together.

Or, I am constantly distracted from what I want by the urgency that has entered my life. I find myself attending to every flare that erupts around me, when most will just die out if I ignore them.

Or, the effort required to fulfill those desires scares me.

Or, the knowledge that my desires are not unique makes them less personal, and less appealing.

Or, the knowledge that those desires are too personal, unshared, almost eccentric, tells me that I'll be alone at their fulfillment, with no one to share my happiness at their realization.

Or, I am uncomfortable with the realization, that while there are so many wrongs in the world I could desire to correct, my desires are only personal, and for the purpose of the world, useless.

Or, the fear that other desires will take their place once I've fulfilled them, makes me just let them be.

Or, the fear that when I get what I desire, it may end up making me feel look like a fool.

Maybe the barriers are too high, maybe I've gotten too used to my present life and the desires would require big changes.

Maybe I'm embarrassed at my desires, they're too small or too big, too romantic, or too flat. Maybe I'm scared of losing desires if they come true.

Maybe I am not without desires. Maybe they're hidden deep within this mess.

Want to do make fire

2010-09-09T01:38:00.000+05:30

I had had a hard day,
rushing from room to room,
talking, listening, being a part of discussions,
never feeling any communication,
doing work I didn't understand,
where every task felt like a cigarette
smoked not for pleasure, but
only for another hour's sustenance,
the result only smoke and ashes.

Came back home burnt,
only smoke in my breath,
and soot in my blood,
every organ aching.

Had heard that talking helps,
sat down to talk with a friend,
who at my first words
looked elsewhere,
got up and walked away,
found a matchbox
that I should have
but hadn't kept out of his reach.

He picked it up,
then made me pick him up,
and said "Want to do make fire"
I was about to refuse,
when he pointed his little finger
toward the door to the terrace.
We went out, I put him down,
lit the matchsticks one by one,
and threw them in a mug of water.
He watched every single one of them
his eyes lighting up brighter than each.
And then walked away again.

Opened a tap and wet his feet
on that cold Bangalore night,
making me pick him again, despite my exhaustion,
take him in a warm room,
change his socks, and shoes,
and before I was done,
he ran away again.

This time to an electric wire,
and before I could haul myself,
entangled himself, and pulled it off.
I put him out of it,
as he watched patiently,
before being off again.

Picked up a crayon off the ground,
and made me run just in time
to prevent him from making a snack of it.

In the next hour,
he broke two strings of the guitar,
a CD, tore a newspaper like I never knew
they could be torn, and scattered half of his dinner
evenly across the house.

When it was time for bed,
it wasn't time for bed yet,
and in that another hour,
he made me imagine and tell him about,
what the cats and dogs had been up to today,
how the moon had rolled down to the earth,
and how a cheetah had gatecrashed his birthday party that day.
How he had avoided mosquitoes, ants and spiders,
and seen the alphabet raining that day.

I sang in a headache of talking trains,
playful buses, mischievous clowns,
and footloose flamingos,
ten times each
before, safe in these fantasies,
he went to sleep.

I lay him on the bed, and sitting beside him,
as my own thought returned to me,
realized I couldn't think of my problems of the day now
if I tried to recall them.
People try to help by talking,
when they can't do better.
My little friend showed me instead,
what all there is,
when I had spent my day
trying to fit myself and live
in merely the real world,
out of all possible ones.

That song

2010-09-06T22:41:00.002+05:30

She lies down in darkness
listening to that song
that reminds her of she and him.

She knows she won't want him long,
she longs not for him
but for the longing for him,
but ignoring that
she lies,
crying, and wishing for the feeling
that the song talks about.

And then they wake her up
and send her away,
and resisting she relents,
and lives happily ever after,
as the blame for lovelessness lies elsewhere.

Brief

2010-08-28T00:12:00.000+05:30

Love is brief
and the child that you love today
will grow into an adult tomorrow,
cracking your love open
like a chicken cracks the shell of an egg
to separate itself out,
and be gone.

202*

2010-08-21T01:06:00.004+05:30

Here's my 202nd post on this blog. This was supposed to be a celebrated 200th, but two posts stole their way before it and I couldn't say no to them.

It's been almost 5 years since my first post on this blog, a time which is nearly a fifth of my life. I no longer have the 'eyes of a child', but I'll let the URL remain.

I want to talk about the last year, which I've spent almost exclusively with my little nephew, who grew from being a one year old to two years old during that time. Nobody is a stranger to the pleasures of seeing a child grow. But I want to write about something which was a special pleasure to me - watching him develop language.

I remember when he hardly spoke an year back. His communication largely involved crying, laughing, and facial expressions. When we adults talked, I saw him watching our hands instead of our faces, because our hands did most of the moving. I wondered if he thought the sound was coming from our hands. Then, I watched him learning sounds. One of the first sounds I remember is, when he would point toward something he wanted to go to, and say - tdo, dto, a sort of combination of do and to.

There was a long phase, where he would look intently at our lips when we spoke, to repeat the sounds himself. When I told him the word for something, he would look toward the thing, and immediately look at my mouth, and try repeating it. For a long time he referred to things with single sounds - a ball a boy, the sky ki, the moon moo and so on.

It was hard at first to know how to teach him more than that. He took his time, and then, within a few months, he came to an age where he started surprising me with the speed at which he was learning. In a span of about six months, he went from sounds to words to simple sentences to complex sentences. When I'd stop him from touching something, he would say - "Not ours", I hadn't expected that, I couldn't believe he had taken that leap so soon. He would point his little finger toward a thing and go "Gothere, gothere, gothere." It was amazing. I couldn't refuse anywhere.

When he started recognizing things by names, it was an explosion of vocabulary. I can hardly say we taught him anything. He was probably just waiting for the right time. Within a few weeks he went from knowing about ten things by name, to hundreds. Oter-menon (Watermelon) was the most heartwarming. Probably his first long combination word.

"Thank You" was easy, "Sorry" a little difficult, and "sokay" (It's ok) was just surprising. He would say it to himself while crying, trying to pacify himself.
Once when asked what he was doing while he was crying, he managed to say between sobs - "kying".

And then came the poems - "Hawa wanda watu are" (How I wonder what you are), Yankee Doodee yent to town, Wheeso bus (Wheels on the bus). It felt great when he started playing with language. He soon saw the humor in "We'll see wheel." And in the sound of the word "Yellow". It's a tongue twister, believe me. Once on the terrace, without my prompting, he looked at the stars and said - "See, see, tars." And after a short pause, still looking at them - "Hawa wanda watu are". You can imagine my heart at this his first literary allusion.

I'm constantly amazed at how much he enjoys it. During intense moments, such as a visit to the doctor, he seems to remember everything the more. To distract him from his vaccination, I pointed to him that the doctor was writing on a paper with a pen, something that fascinates him. And later I asked him, and he replied -

"Did we go to the doctor today? The doctor was writing on the paper with a...?"
"Pem"
"The doctor was writing with a pen on the...?"
"Paypa"
"Who was writing on the paper with a pen?"
"Dauter"
"What was the doctor doing on the paper with a pen"
(After a few tries)"Writin"

It was awesome.

And then, the complex sentences. After an interesting trip, he would say - "Mamu, did you see lake that day?" "Did we go to park that day?"
And - "Want to do something intet-ting (interesting)". "Want to do sing Cheetah story."
The 'do' before every verb is his own quirk, and I must say, it's very catchy. (Want to do read it, Want to do go there, Want to do say sorry to Mummy, Want to do make hanky ball). I feel like talking like this all the time.
After a mischief, before we can say anything, he would say to himself - "Why did you break it?" "Why did you pill (spill) it?"
Now he's learning slightly more complicated ideas like 'already', 'mostly', 'yesterday', 'tomorrow'.

Before going to sleep, he has started listening to stories. And since he can't follow 'The Hare and the Tortoise' yet, stories for him are adapted from his own daily routines, set probably in a park, at a birthday party, or in the rain, where he's usually one of the characters.

When I see him lying down listening to stories, and participating in building them, I look at him and try to dream how it must be to discover stories for the first time, to discover language for the first time. The 'eyes of a child' here, are now his.

Words - where would I be without you?

2010-08-12T02:02:00.001+05:30

Isn't it true, that if I had everything I want,
if I was sleeping on a bed of satisfaction,
I would have no use for the books by my bedside,
for the poetry hovering in the air above me,
for these words that I write here?

And isn't it true, that then
I would destroy something willfully,
lose things deliberately,
only to pick up the books
and hold on to them through the night
looking for support,
to catch hold of the poetry
to keep myself from getting lost,
to write words here,
to lose myself in the great feeling
of words taking birth in your mind and through your hands,
appearing on a screen.

Words - where would I be without you?

Why obtain something, why possess something,
when you can spend a life with words
lamenting its absence, crying its loss?

These people

2010-08-12T01:14:00.002+05:30

You have seen people you can barely believe
dream when they sleep.
But they had once been in love,
and once their now clenched hands were spread out,
now to let in another hand, now in prayer.

People you'd think don't know the rain
is just water.
But they had once ran out to every rain
and longed, ached for another body
to share their wetness.

People you barely believe
can hear music with closed eyes.
But they had once lain in a dark room
till the time of night
when their heartbeat couldn't be told apart
from the song
that had just played for the fifteenth time.

People who seem too correct to ever have fought.
But they had once taken wounds, and given worse
and had cried for the ones they had given.

These people who had once dwelt in imaginary homes,
and had dreamt of formidable happiness
unable to think what could possibly go wrong,
now live over translucent children born in loveless marriages,
who receive caresses from unsure hands
that barely trust their existence
like that of their own past lives.

These people would be us,
in some time.

2010-08-06T00:19:00.001+05:30

Tonight I rise,
and look at life from an elevation, a distance
where it appears all love and poetry.

Want freedom, to lose.

Freedom, to say I loved but
it ended, and be understood.

Freedom, from ambition.

Freedom, to grow old, rot and die.
To cook my own food,
live in imagined worlds.

Freedom. From where I was born.
The time, the place, the home.

Munnu tells his parents his choice of career

2010-07-27T18:18:00.005+05:30

I don’t believe it’s the only way,
because I’ve been told,
that once, ages and ages ago,
two roads had diverged.

You took one,
and as way led on to another way,
I think you forgot about the other.

You can’t see them now,
but I still stand before them,
looking at each,
and at you.

Let me take the one you didn’t,
Please.

Carrying on

2010-05-31T17:49:00.000+05:30

At times I pass by mathematical theorems
as I would a flourishing field
while on a peripheral road.

I admire their sight
keeping away the feeling
to get involved.

An occasion or two come to mind
when I had potted a plant, or read a proof
and had become absorbed
in that completeness.

I imagine a farmer, or a mathematician
ploughing, tending, solving,
intent, unseen, immersed.

I think about backaches and headaches,
dirtying of hands,
sweaty days and waking nights.

And without stopping
to take in a whiff
I carry on
on the solid, hard, certain road.

Questions

2010-05-08T03:11:00.000+05:30

Imagine yourself to be the earth after rain,
and your skin its surface.
There are insects crawling out in multitudes,
Some crawling over you, some half-in half-out
and some still inside, throbbing.

My head feels that way tonight,
the insects questions.
Some that I have asked, some I am yet forming,
some that I know would show up.

You could kill them, but they're infinite
and breeding.
I am amazed the mind can still hold up
their weight.

I am so lost among them, that
if god was to come down and say
"Ask that one question, child,
that you would like answered tonight?" -
risking impudence, I would have to ask
"Just what is that one question, god,
that I would like answered tonight?"

Innocence

2010-05-03T16:42:00.000+05:30

I laughed out,
but he looked on with wide eyes, intent,
I thought maybe innocence is taking jokes seriously,
but his emotion appeared purer than mine,
and I thought maybe loss of innocence
is taking serious things lightly.

Is it that God created life as a joke,
and we suffer when we often take it seriously?
Or did he create it in the earnest,
and we suffer when we see it as fun and games?

Proposal for an Arranged Marriage

2010-05-02T02:39:00.000+05:30

"Don't talk to strangers",
has finally been repealed by my parents.
In fact they've given me leave,
to marry one.

Let's get arranged married, dear. (may I call you that?)
A ceremony, a hundred happy people,
lights, music, gold and silver,
let's wake up every morning for the rest of our lives,
to the hangover of our wedding night.

A house, with numerous framed pictures of ours,
on the walls, smiling, looking happy,
and the buzz of approving relatives,
would create a love-like feeling.

We may make love before we hold hands,
a little mix-up here and there in the natural course of love,
but in time,
we would have performed every gesture of love.

We would visit a number of places,
and take pictures in backgrounds of romance,
leaves, rocks, water and such,
so that should love take a while to sprout,
in the pictures, and people's remarks on them,
we would at least have created a memory of love.

We would not confront each other,
with worries except for the harmless ones,
this being our elders' arrangement
handed out to us,
is wiser than both of us,
and its smooth sustenance, our obligation.

For the first five years,
let's bottle up the troubles,
and by then, we'll both have enough explosives,
to deter each of us
from letting even a firecracker out.

We'll give our children,
a most peaceful upbringing,
they would never witness conflict out in the open,
they would see love as a smooth sail,
a matter for the adults,
perfect in appearances.
And should they fall in it before the right time,
the conflict, the fury, the helplessness,
would assure them their feeling cannot be love,
it's not what they've seen at home,
and they would collect themselves back,
to become, a few years later,
a part of an arrangement like ours,
perpetuating the cycle.

Dear Child

2010-04-23T00:15:00.001+05:30

The Monsoon doesn't speak of its arrival
to the crop, telling it that it's time.
It comes and works a change in the world,
in the air and the soil,
and the crop seeing the world,
grows and bears fruit.

I haven't told you I love you,
and I don't intend to.
But I would stay long enough
and do enough
so that your life,
would shift, curve, turn and mould itself,
into an unmistakable expression of my love.

Diffuse

2010-04-07T21:03:00.003+05:30

Remember the good old days of college when we used to write diffuse blog posts like this one, which were a random ride taken through the gullies, roads and highways of the mind, and remember how they made up for absence of company, sense and sympathy and remember how thankful we used to be for the instinct of language, for words, and for the quiet of the night in which images and ideas flowed easily in the form of words, when we didn't feel like ending sentences, when after a long day of exhaustion trying to find the perfect word, you gave it up and just wrote. What happened that made us lose those good old days? Facebook, IPL, Reality shows etc etc. I am not even going to talk about them. I'll just say - A family that watches TV together, stays separate. And I'll just say - It must be a lot of money which makes you ruin the form of cricket that you grew up with, which makes you give up on the brutal suspense of middle overs, that slow period from, say the 20th to the 40th over, when a revolution was stealthily prepared, when a slow path towards a final onslaught was laboriously laid out. Tell you what, just give me those 20 overs. Anyway, we have dwelt too long on a single thought. Whatever destroyed those good old days, those days are gone. Where are those blog entries today where a person, even while talking about the weather, talked about it such a manner that it told you less about the weather, but more about the person? And we humans like to know about people. If you're writing, I may or may not be reading. But if you're not writing, well, I am certainly not reading. So take a chance. Dwell on it. Respect yourself. You or your life are not a collection of status updates. I don't care what you're doing. I want to know what's on the periphery. Is life best described in an itinerary? Are the days of life stapled together? Is life a long webpage to be scrolled all the way down? Nope. I want to know what's on the periphery of the status updates. In a status update, by the time you get to the details, it's over. We often don't write because we think nobody will read. But tell you what, once you've written, and written to your heart's content, you are still better off even if nobody reads. So, just write it out. Works like therapy. Makes you feel easy. Saves a moment for the future. Lets you befriend yourself. Don't be stingy.

Your mind wants to sneeze, your mind wants to puke, your mind wants to pee, your mind wants to poo, let it, in the form of words. Let the breeze blow from paper to mind during the day, and from mind to paper during the night. Or whatever. Look who's talking.

The world today looks very different from the world I grew up in. The first twenty years don't compare to today and the prospects of the next twenty years. But more on that later. Maybe seventeen years later. Do check.

Do not marry just because you're tired of wandering, just because you think some domestication would be nice, just because you want a reliable routine, and just because you're scared of empty moments. Why are people already marrying? Wasn't there some unwritten promise about hanging out till late, whiling away the whole night, and sleeping only near the morning. Friends, it is merely the 10pm of our lives, stay, we will have a good time, do not rush back home. Unless I am very wrong. As I was saying, if you want domestication, buy curtains. Buy curtains, put them on the windows and see if the feeling of marriage goes away. Buy some show pieces, decorate your house, hang a picture - a waterfall or something, buy a couple more bedsheets, buy a book rack, learn to cook, feel domesticated. Start waking up early, sleep on time, exercise, go shopping, marriage isn't necessary for a regular routine. And after all this, if you still want to marry, then you must. But try everything else first. Love doesn't have to end in marriage. It can end before it, and you'll be better off in that case not having married. But then, I do not understand everything about marriage. Life is tough. So marry if you want to. It's better to have loved and lost, than to have loved and reached a deal.

April is the cruellest month.

The perfect word

2010-03-29T00:23:00.000+05:30

To describe this sewer of a life
in which I lie rotting with helpless hatred,
If I could find the perfect word
to lodge it as a bullet in your imaginary heart
to make you fall face down on the ground
to give you a moment of infinite pain,
I would sleep in peace tonight.

Happiness on the plate

2010-03-15T23:48:00.000+05:30

You will agree
that there are people in the world
who haven't known the feeling of a full stomach,
and when they look, perhaps through a window,
they must wonder
at how we can often get up, with food still on the plate,
to be washed down the drain,
while it is the most natural things to do for us,
when our stomachs are full.

And so there must be people,
who wonder
at how people often leave happiness on their plates,
to go waste.
But it might be the most natural thing for them to do,
when they have enough.

All good things

2010-03-14T01:27:00.000+05:30

And we were fifteen, sitting late amongst friends,
floating ahead of clouds, against pop beats,
feeding on appearances alone,
our fabrics untied, unbound,
we had faith, and gods one for each,
and discovered new ones everyday,
there was gonna be a day, when...for everything.

We got tossed high, and words didn't scare us,
thoughts did not embarrass us,
the world could still surprise us,
interest us.

Words shook us, images spurred us,
we were sold much, and we imagined the rest,
and we thought we'd live those handful photographs alone.
24ness of hours did not strike us.

Our generation was supposed to change stuff, but
now we see us falling, one by one,
fitting one legacy or another,
dying to believe in what we hear,
quietened, reduced to small talk, or status updates,
lost in repetitive excesses, or conveniently paired off,
counting, following, advising, presenting, concluding.
Everyone must know a thousand fifteen year olds extinguished.
We got fucked bad.

When the World Sleeps

2010-02-18T09:23:00.000+05:30

Chotu, wobbling on an upside down tin can, was frantically slapping up posters on the partially lit stadium wall. He should have completed this job by the afternoon and it was useless to do it now with only a few minutes to the concert, except that Chotu's wages for the day, important to him today, depended upon it. He was lucky to finish just before his supervisor showed up.

"Chotu." the supervisor exhaled beedi smoke on him. "Still here?"
"Yes. I am waiting for my money."
"Come tomorrow, with everyone else."
"Can I get it now? I need it."

The supervisor did not reply, he was looking at the posters.

"Damned, why are the posters all upside down?"
"Uh?"
"Why is the singer hanging upside down? Did I ask you to put up posters for a circus?"
"I don't know. The man is standing in a weird way. I can hardly tell his legs from his hands. And I can't read. I don't go to school."

'I don't go to school', as Chotu had discovered over time, was a phrase that softened people when they heard it, helping him out of situations. The supervisor stood staring for some time.

"Here."
"You said fifty earlier."
"For posters put up right."
"I didn't know."
"Didn't know? Twenty is charity. I should hang you upside down too, like Mr. Rock Star here. If they notice it, I'll lose my job. Get lost."

The supervisor walked away. Chotu felt hot cheeks. He might have muttered an abuse or two as he turned to walk towards what looked like clothes wrapped up in a blanket lying on the pavement. As he lifted the baggage up with effort, he saw a huge poster, like the ones he had been putting up, swaying against the outer wall of the stadium, and this one wasn't upside down. He chuckled and said, "Stupid." The baggage made him tired within seconds and he put it down. The problem of where to sleep tonight, which had been at the back of his mind since the afternoon, as he had left home today, became urgent. He knew this problem, he had left home a number of times before, and it was exactly the problem that had made him go back thinking he will leave another day after planning, but there had been no time to plan and there was no way he could stay at that place after today.

He wondered if the concert would last all night, like some of the weddings he had worked at, so that he could loiter around till he found a corner to sleep. He picked up his baggage again and nearly half-circled the stadium to reach the exit stairs. He dropped his baggage at the bottom step and taking the stairs managed to find a door which led him to the control rooms and offices. The overworked workers did not notice him as he walked along a corridor. He reached and stopped near a glass window through which he could see a bright stage below to one side, and a dark, rippling crowd to the other. Music was faint. Colored light danced, piercing here and there the smoke surrounding the stage. Everyone seemed to be participating in a grand ritual. The scene appeared to be from another world. Chotu pulled away from the window. He had an instinct to go back home, but shook it off.

He walked back and was peeping inside a storage room when a security guard noticed him.

"What are you doing?"
"Cleaning up."
"With your bare hands? Efficient."
"I was just starting."
"Well then, start in that other direction and don't look back."

Chotu did not see any place to sleep here anyway, so without saying anything else, he walked in the direction of the guard's finger. He climbed down the stairs and sat down on his baggage, thinking of where to go. He knew that the thought of returning home was hovering at the periphery of his mind. He tried hard to avoid it. He thought of how disgusted he had been in the afternoon after the row with his mother, how crushing it would be to change his mind merely because of a little discomfort, and he thought of the wonderful life he is missing every day that he stays in that place. "I'll find a place to sleep", he said to himself, "how difficult can it be?" He picked up his baggage and walked out onto the road.

The night surprised him by expanding into a vast view so quickly, in a way assuring him. It was cool and his blanket would serve him just right. He decided to walk a little before worrying about lying down. It would kill some time of the night if nothing else.

Orange road lights and periodic traffic lights extended forever. Traffic wasn't heavy anymore, but vehicles frequently passed him. He watched his shadow play around him on the ground in this pattern of lights. He realized he liked walking like this, without going anywhere, on the side of the road at night. The city was a game and a playground. People built roads and bridges and then drove cars on them. They built houses and offices and then played out their routines around them. They went to restaurants, concerts, monuments and picnics such that everyday, with remarkable balance, there were the same number of people at these places. Chotu could not see how the game worked, and what its aim was when nothing seemed to change, but it looked complete and fulfilled in itself. It was if they all belonged together in this game, and Chotu wanted to belong with them too.

He stopped at a bridge over a railway line and looked down to see the tracks through the heavy wiring. The wind was pleasant and he wished he was in a train, or even on top of one. He imagined himself at the railway station where he could sneak into a train to get off at any city he liked. He tried to imagine what kind of a city that would be, but nothing that was different from where he was came to mind. A blast startled him. He realized a motorcycle had appeared and disappeared on the road behind him, laying almost a bomb, and he shouted out "Son of a bitch thinks he's flying an aeroplane or what!" He felt annoyed at being startled and again at saying these words. "Sorry, I shouldn't be filthy. But this one asked for it." He started walking again.

He left the road for a housing colony and saw that the lanes were empty and lights dim in front of the houses. He looked at the houses as he passed them. They were quiet and their windows were softly lit. He smelt wet grass in front of one of the houses, and seeing or hearing nobody, he decided to peep inside and walked towards the outer gate. An unseen dog suddenly barked at him. He was startled once again and had an impulse to pick up a stone and throw it in the direction of the bark. He felt like breaking a window. But he moved on fast scared if the dog should be loose. He crossed the street onto the main road again without looking back.

He was crossing the road when a bright yellow car turned sharply from somewhere and caught him in the middle. He fumbled back and forth in the sharp screech of the brakes and was almost run down before he blindly ran ahead to the other side. The car did not stop. The windows were down and he saw four or five men inside. He heard their hoarse shouts and a can flew out of the car at him. Loud noisy music was playing inside the car and it gave everything a beastly feeling for a few seconds.

He tried to calm down and picked up the can and shook it to hear some liquid still inside. He smelt it. Then took a sip. It was bitter, but he didn't want not to like it. He squinted and in a gulp emptied the can. He stood still for a while, and then moved his head a little. Then he threw the can to a side and started walking with unsteady steps. He stopped, stood still for a while, but when nothing extraordinary happened, he felt silly about the whole business and started walking normal as earlier. "Huh", he said to himself.

He sat down at the next bus stop, wrapped the blanket around him and made an effort to think. Home was out of question. He had to show them that he wasn't taking it anymore. He couldn't return now, anyway. He was quite far, and his money wasn't going to a bus conductor tonight. The blanket was making him drowsy, and he thought of lying down. But he immediately shook his head, a bus stop was no decent place to sleep. He did not leave home to become the bus stop dweller type. He tried to hum a tune to distract himself. It was irritating since he could not sing as he had never understood the lyrics. He heard someone coming and turned to see two women walking on the pavement. They seemed surprised seeing him and one of them said without stopping, "Wanna take a ride?" They laughed and passed. Chotu heard the other woman say, "Just a kid", and the first woman replied, "The rascals know everything these days." Then they laughed again.

Chotu didn't like the way the woman called him just a kid. They were barely out of sight when a man came walking and stopped near him. He was about to say something when he stopped, chortled a little and let his arm hit Chotu's back and then started following the women again. Chotu was intrigued by this little incident, but couldn't think about it much longer as it was getting cold again and he had started getting a little bored of it all and really wanted a place to sleep.

He saw a row of buses parked on the roadside. He went around to the rear gate of one. The door was open but no one appeared to be inside. He climbed onto the bus and tried to see if there was anyone near the driver's seat, but it was dark. He felt intense sleep and went to the big seat at the back and spread out his blanket. The prospect itself of sleep was relaxing. He sat and began to lay down when the seat gave out a heartless squeak. Chotu heard movement at the front of the bus and froze. He heard someone get up and walk on the bus floor, and then saw a large sleepy man coming out of the darkness, squinting his sleepy eyes.

"What are you doing?"
"Nothing. Just sitting."
"Well, just get the hell out."
"I'm just resting, I was tired. I'm traveling."
"I know the likes of you and your travels. Would you get out or not?"
'You bastard. What the hell do you mean likes of me?' Chotu thought to himself.

Chotu just sat there, and saw the man getting furious. He was getting scared but did not move. The man grabbed his arm and started dragging him to the gate. Chotu swung his other arm as hard as he could and hit the man on the chest. The man clenched his teeth and with a jerk threw Chotu out of the bus. His baggage followed. The man then closed the door. Chotu lay there frozen for a while. He couldn't hold back crying. The more he tried to hold it back, the more helplessly he cried. The door opened again, and the man stepped down till the last step of the gate. Chotu turned his face away and tried to wipe his tears.

"Where do you live?"
Chotu kept his face turned away and didn't reply.
"I said, where do you live?"
Chotu was trying to decide between asking for a place in the bus to sleep and shouting the meanest swear word he knew when he heard the door close. He turned and saw dark windows and heard the sound of the man settling down.

He got up and walked. He reached a crossing and was wondering which way to go when he heard a shout. He turned and saw a head calling him out of a police jeep. He had an instinct to run away, but thinking it might be futile, slowly walked towards the jeep.

"What are you doing here?"
"Nothing, I was just going home."
"What have you stolen?"
"I'm not a thief, I was working at the stadium, I'm going home now."
"Want me to search you?"
"It's the truth."
"Come on, get inside."
"I'm going home."
"We'll drop you home."

Chotu got inside the van wondering what trouble was in store for him this time. But the policemen just smoked for a long time, paying no attention to Chotu. Two of them were standing outside, one was on the driver seat and one sitting beside Chotu, cramping him into a corner. One of them had left his revolver lying on the seat opposite to Chotu. It appeared larger than he had imagined revolvers to be, and much heavier. Chotu wondered if he could hold up all of them and escape. His running into policemen had never been pleasant and this was the first time he had to handle them all by himself. Looking at the revolver, Chotu knew it'd take him years to muster the courage to pick it up. He wondered if it'd be good or bad to kill all these policemen. Certainly, it'll make him a criminal, but all he had ever known from the police was trouble. Would he kill them if they really accused him of theft? If they were taking him to jail? If they took away his twenty rupees? Who would believe him later? Chotu wondered if there are people in jail just because nobody would believe them. His thought was broken by the policemen getting into the jeep. The jeep started and it was as if nobody noticed him.

They had slowed down at a red-light when they saw a car crossing them. Chotu saw that it was the same yellow with the probably the same men sitting inside, only not shouting this time. He almost expected to see another can thrown out. He was startled by a policeman shouting to the driver to chase them. The driver turned the jeep sharply and Chotu saw the policemen eagerly sticking their necks out to look at the car. The yellow car took another sharp turn and all of them almost shouted at the driver to turn. Chotu was thrown to one side and almost smothered by the burly policeman. He also tried to look at the car, but couldn't and all of a sudden shouted in panic, "Hey, where are you taking me!" but no one seemed to listen. He shouted again, "Please! Let me go, I'll go myself from here, I don't know where you are taking me." but nobody was listening. He tugged at the hand of the man sitting by his side but was shaken off violently.

After much shouting and panic, he quietly sat down wondering where he'll be dropped. Finally, forgetting about finding a place to sleep, he got involved in the cops' car-chase. But the yellow car soon gained a lot of distance, and the police car was unable to catch up. He saw their desperate faces, and wanting them to go on, said "They're drunk too." The man by his right seemed to hear him after a while.

"What?"
"I said they're drunk."
"I am sure. And how do you know?"
"It looks like."
"And what were you doing at this of time night anyway? I can swear you're hiding jewels. I'll search you once we're done with this. Beware."

Chotu didn't say anything more, and he saw the cops were letting up now. One of them said, "That could have been 500 easily. And more as even this Mr. Know All is right. Chotu was worrying they might take away his twenty rupees when they search him for jewels.

He was half-relieved that when the chase was over, but worried, unsure of location, and with the same problem of where to sleep.

"Drop this Mr. Know All off on the next bus stop."
"But this is even farther from my home."
"Well you'll get a bus."
"But I have no money..."
"Well I'm sure you can steal some. Now get out."

They stopped near a bus-stop and Chotu got off. The thought of taking a bus back home came to his mind again. He wasn't sure where he was. He couldn't identify the name on the bus stop. There was hardly any traffic there. He looked around.

He saw faint lights in tents pitched a little off the road some distance away. Must be the homes of laborers, he thought. You could find something being constructed almost everywhere in the city these days. Roads, tracks, buildings. The whole city was in a relentless construction phase, and it had gone on for so long that it was now a part of the city. It was good since there was always work. Even if it was very little on some days and you would hardly get paid, but there were always little tasks like carrying lunches or tools.

He started walking in the direction of the light. He saw a bulb lit inside the tent. Outside, there was a cot prepared for somebody's sleep, with a sheet and pillow. Chotu sat down on it. Before he knew he was lying on it, looking at the stars. He feared somebody might come out but he couldn't get himself to move. He just lumped his blanket on top of himself. He recognized a star pattern in the sky - three stars lined like stones they used as stumps while playing cricket. He heard somebody moving and unwilling to have another confrontation tonight, jumped out for the road again.

He found himself on the bridge over the river, when the stink from below rose to him. Still he climbed the pavement close to the railing and looked below. It was ghostly dark and awful. He stopped there for a while and looked around. He could see bright building skeletons far away by the side of the highway, surrounded by heavy construction machinery, and on the other side he saw the malls - huge and garnished golden with sparkling lights. In the middle of these two, around him, lay the dark river and the vast dark empty land. He felt the strangeness of his being present there with not another human in sight, the evil river below him hardly flowing, and the huge admirable but suspicious structures in the distance. He wondered what would happen if the river decided someday to rise and take over. He imagined it happening and pictured the lights stained with filth and the half-constructed flyover and buildings brought down to debris. He half wished it would happen.

But he soon collected himself out of his fantasy and noticed how quiet it had become when he stopped walking. The river hardly made a sound. He tapped his feet. Standing there, he felt it was right to leave home. It was a mess there. He didn't want to be like them. Nobody could help him. He had to leave.

He walked on without worrying about shelter now. Even with the stink, the air around the river seemed to have an energy that it passed on to Chotu as he crossed it. He walked the long way from the bridge to the highway and saw the huge billboards at its entrance. He saw on them the same face as on the posters from earlier in the night. He walked under them onto the highway. He wondered how long ago it had been since he was putting up posters. He remembered the throbbing crowd inside the smoky stadium but in the lonely space around him that image appeared too distant and unreal to trouble him. He thought about the policemen and chuckled. Policemen are funny when they aren't bothering you, he thought. He thought about being thrown from the bus and crying.

The highway was different from the roads in the city. It wasn't punctuated by traffic lights or intersections. After a while he realized he couldn't tell how long he'd been walking on it, it might have been hours or it might have been fifteen minutes. It seemed there would be no sleeping tonight. The road had no end. It looked like a chance to see the last of the hateful city. He was the only human he could see. There were only fields on either side of the highway, and the night sky above. Looking back, he could still see lights of the city, but they were hazy and blurring out of sight.

But the highway was sure to lead to something, a new city perhaps, where nobody knew him, and opportunities awaited him same as everyone else. The prospect led him on, he walked tirelessly, even with enthusiasm. He had a pang of hunger when he saw a dhaba and smelt food.

He went toward the dhaba, a little off from the road, and looked at the menu. The cheapest items were for Rs. 5, 10, 15, though he couldn't tell what they were. He went up to the owner.

"What is the thing for Rs. 5?"
"Roti"
"With?"
"With nothing, curry separate."
"What is that for Rs 10?"
"Omelet. Half"
"What is that for Rs 15?"
"It's full omelet. What do you want?"
"Why is it only half for Rs. 10? It should be more than that."
"Prices are fixed. If you want discount, take a full. And what are you doing here at this time of night? Do you have any money?"
"I have money. Give me half omelet."
"Pay first."

Chotu gave the owner 10 rupees and the owner shouted 'half omelet' to the cook. Chotu had a hard time waiting when the air was full of the smell of food. The omelet wouldn't satisfy him but it'd be enough for the night. The cook handed him his meal. Chotu wanted to hog it up in one go, but he looked for a place to sit. He sat down on stone slabs lying nearby and thought he would make the omelet last as long as possible. He started eating, and the omelet was disappearing fast when a dog came at his feet and stood looking up at him. He tried to ignore it and finish his meal fast. But he started getting irritated and tried to shoo it away. He was in no mood to share his little meal. The dog kept standing there. Chotu lowered him half of the portion left, but this gave him a pang of irritation. The dog ate it readily and looked for more, but by now chotu had finished it. He still felt painfully hungry. He felt like kicking the dog, but he just stroked his head. Then he looked again towards the dhaba. He really wanted to have another but this time there was the added agony of having been a fool at not buying a double omelet in the first place. He looked at a truck driver taking a huge plate and after a while got up and said, "Hell, I'll have another one."

He went to the vendor hoping he wouldn't pay attention to his stupidity and asked for another half omelet. The vendor looked at him with a little smirk and quietly got on with it. Chotu stood embarrassed but thought "What the heck, I'll enjoy it." The vendor handed him the second plate and a five-rupee coin, "Boys your age should go to school and learn something." Chotu felt relieved and smiled at the vendor but couldn't think of anything to say, he just nodded and went back to the slabs. The dog looked at him again with expectation and stood near him looking up as he sat down on the slab. Chotu gave it a piece. This time Chotu ate relaxed and enjoyed the feeling of his stomach getting filled.

He looked around and saw the night had almost passed. It looked as if day would break anytime. "Maybe I won't need to sleep at all." He thought of all that had happened tonight. He finished his food and looked around and found a little bucket of water near the shop. He was washing his hands when he heard the truck driver talking to the vendor.

"Home's for others, brother. We live on the road. I don't know where I'd sleep next. And with whom."
"It's only good, believe me. Where are you headed tonight?"
"Well, you could say right now I am headed to Raspur."
"Haha! perfect! That's the place to be."

They both laughed. Chotu thought the driver looked rather happy. Raspur sounded like a good place. He wondered if he'd ever visit it. He started walking down towards the highway again, wondering if he could stay without sleep. He passed near the truck and stopped. He looked in the direction of the dhaba. The truck driver was still talking to the vendor and though the truck was plain in his sight, he appeared too engrossed in his conversation and meal. Chotu thought he would take a look inside the truck. He climbed on a rod on the side and drew aside the plastic sheet covering the truck's carrier. He saw metal sheets inside stacked on top of each other. He climbed down.

He started walking again but then stopped. "How must Raspur be? I think it's certainly a good place and there has to be some work." He felt nervous. Yet undecided, he walked back towards the truck and lifted the sheet again. There was only a little space on the edges and he would have to sit cramped in there. "That's no problem" And if the sheets should move and stab him while the truck moves? "I'll put the blanket at my back and I'll sit leaning on the stack." He shot a glance towards the dhaba and quickly climbed into the carrier.

It was tighter than he had expected. He was in an awkward position, almost stuck. He jiggled out of there and decided to lie down, it wasn't possible to keep sitting. He wondered if he could stay in that position for long. But he lay still, afraid to make noise. He wished the driver wouldn't look in the carrier before driving. It had been a while and he was thinking of looking for a better position when he heard the driver coming. His became still. He was almost waiting for the sheet to be turned aside when he felt the truck shake. The driver had probably climbed into the cabin and was starting his truck. He was relieved as he felt the jerk, heard the roar and felt the vibrations under and on all sides.

It was hard to believe he'd really be going to Raspur, leaving this city for good. He wondered how they'll react at home when he returns a rich man. "I'll take them all to Raspur if they would want to come. I'd be ok with it then. Maybe they haven't even heard of Raspur. But I'd show them." He almost laughed out.

He tried to imagine his life ahead. The driver had put on a song and Chotu couldn't hear it clearly in all the rattle but he didn't care. The truck was racing away and the sheet was fluttering. The wind came to him in gusts and brought a whiff of the coming morning. He could see glimpses of tree tops rushing behind, and now and then he could see beyond them. He was drifting into sleep. The sky was the light blue of early morning but the stars were still visible.

Life whispers

2009-11-13T22:59:00.001+05:30

Life talks ceaselessly in low whispers
and in every moment of noise, unrest
you miss out on what it says
I know at times you don't want to hear it
but I don't think those brief escapes
are worth missing out the
small, inconsequential, apathetic truths.

I watch them all together

2009-09-20T23:29:00.000+05:30

My unknown ancestors from houses of mud,
and infants, still shrinking from daylight,

dying people, from halfway across the world,
and young kids elsewhere indulged in dreadful fantasies,

magicians living on impossible stunts,
and musicians voicing rage,

Writers, mechanics, monster-creators,
teachers, playmates, old neighbors,

some of them long forgotten, some only imagined,
some liked, some despised, some who have me surprised,

all share a common hall, and talk in a common tongue,
chat about contemporary things, and things that do not change,
share wisdom, superstitions, unburdened chats,
quarrel over their unbridgeable gaps,
and laugh in disbelief at their differences,

while I watch them all together
under a common sun,
at a common hour,

at night, in my dreams.

"Moo...Moo"

2009-08-07T17:09:00.000+05:30

I was holding my one year old nephew on the terrace, pointing out the sky and clouds, lights and the moon to him and drawling out these words for him to learn their sounds. For the moon he repeated "moo...moo" and spread out his hand towards it and looked at me the way he does for things, specially lights on the wall or the roof, that he can't reach, when he wants somebody to lift him and reach him out to them. He wanted to touch the moon. He sincerely thought he could touch it. That moment is my little joy forever.

Place in India for a love

2009-05-14T17:25:00.000+05:30

There's no place in India for a love that,
does not flow out from Gangotri,
does not debouch at Haridwar,
does not meet Yamuna at Sangam,

that does not feed everyone on its course,
does not purify the ashes of your dead,
does not free you from sin,
does not treat your diseases,

that does not engender temples on its banks,
does not spawn legends across lands,
does not make promises of eternity,
does not empty itself into the Bay of Bengal.

Even where this love turns to trash,
or ceases to exist.

A little less tonight

2009-05-06T13:32:00.001+05:30

On your rooftop after a difficult and locked-up Sunday, a working day,
as you see lightning snap its fingers at the sky over palm tree tops,
You can't tell if you're thirty or seventeen.

But the wind seems as willed as you are uncertain
as it blows to wrap around you
You have to touch to make sure all your ache nerves are still there.

A lone raindrop falls on your face, though it's not raining,
tells you it's raining somewhere, and spilling over,
Spilling over to spoil your neat night arrangements.

For all the rain and wind, you flicker a little less tonight.
After days of silent violence,
You start talking peace with the world again.

The Need to Tell

2009-04-25T23:51:00.000+05:30

What were they writing about?
What did they care?
Who were they talking to?
Who was there?

Once they knew it,
What was the need to tell?
Profession, Philanthropy?
Or did they really think they won't fail?

Was it different then?
Who sucked words dry?
Sellers? Lovers? Rulers? Did I?
Was it always just a play?

Hate words tonight

2009-04-21T01:43:00.002+05:30

Met him again, long time
No questions, some questions, no response.
Didn't want to look, lots of words.
You become what you hate,
reason you hated it.
Hate words tonight,
words are best friends,
wish to use no words,
words will help.
No connection. No connection. No connection.
Lots of words, but I'm afraid the wrong ones will come out.
I'm afraid the right ones will come out.

The Idea of Life

2009-03-18T23:36:00.001+05:30

खोया किसने नहीं है यार, रात भर
नींद चाहती आँखों को डुबाए रखने का बर्ताव समझ नहीं आता

उसपर एक खोये को
कई बार रोने का हिसाब समझ नहीं आता

देख चुका है सच का चेहरा, फिर भी
फ़रेब चाहने वाला दिमाग समझ नहीं आता

भला चाहते हो सबका, ख्याल की कद्र है मुझे पर
खूबसूरत ख़ुशी जैसी हसरत में भी हर इंसान को किया बंद नहीं जाता,
दुनिया में ऐसे लोग भी तो नामुमकिन नहीं जिन्हें
ख़्याल-ए-ज़िन्दगी ही ख़ास पसंद नहीं आता

Nahi banta

2009-03-15T18:30:00.001+05:30

- Kerala Tourism Advertisment

...

- From Travel Guidelines on Kerala Tourism Website

Little things that piss me off - A Tag

2009-02-24T01:48:00.002+05:30

A lot of things have malfunctioned in the last 24 hours. Machines - there's no living with them, and no living without them. It reminded me of all that is irritating in the world. And then, nobody is writing blogs these days. So here is this tag, where you write about things that piss you off, and the reason in brief. No rants, they only make you more miserable. This will let you let it out in a civilized manner. And please, not things like terrorism, politics, poverty or moral policing - spare me those. Write about small, mainly personal things, things that you directly and often come across during the day. Remember, your blog is about you. And make sure no individual human beings are disrespected during the activity. If the need is felt, they'll be disrespected in a separate tag. So,

Things that piss me off -

1. Political correctness - Irritating, right? Why only politically correct? Why not just correct? Being only politically correct is doubly wrong, because you end up deluding yourself too, into believing that you're ok, when you're not. It's vicious. Example - heard somewhere - "These days it's not us, but the scheduled cast people who are casteist." Political correctness gives you lighter sounding words which are as prejudiced, but which you use without reluctance.

2. Judging by comparing with the extreme - Let's say there's a movie X, not the greatest, and not the worst. I could make it look good by saying - "You know, X is not one of those cheap dramas where people just run around trees. It's deep." And I could make it look bad by saying - "You know, they should watch Pulp Fiction to learn what good dialog is." In both cases I am comparing an innocent little movie with the extremes, either the worst or the best, to support what I've already made up my mind to say. Goes for things other than movies. Uncool. Tell me what something is worth in itself, as much as possible.

3. The god debate - For god's sake, haven't we had enough of it? If you want to believe, believe, and if not, don't. How does it help to persuade others to do the same, when both believing and not believing helps people, and both believing and not believing has made people do bad things to each other? This debate becomes dirty when we claim god to be the warlord of our own religion. Anyway, I think most of us believe in god on a need-to-believe basis, so why not relax?

4. Notwithstanding the aforementioned - WTF is that? Tempting as this might be, I'm sure there are better ways of putting the idea. Jargon pisses me off. The only time I can forgive it is when it's in a report or a paper, when you know nobody will suffer it, nobody that matters anyway, or when it's used for humor. In humor, it can really come out well. Jargon is somewhat like political correctness, tiresome, and often dangerous when used to hide dark ideas.

5. Learn to read at 1000 words per minute! - Well, why read at all, why not just wait for the movie? Seriously, why would you want to read something which you can read at 1000 wpm and still understand? Maybe they don't really mean "read", or maybe it's just that I'm a specially slow reader.

6. That I'm not supposed to criticize - I've done or tried all the things I've written above. And that's a big reason why they piss me off. If I'd been untouched by them, I wouldn't have bothered. I've never been irritated, for example, by some people's obsessive desire to decorate themselves, not to point out any particular gender, because I've rarely felt like doing it myself. And then it hasn't been much use when I've done it so anyway, the point is, I can and will criticize something only when there's at least some of it in myself. So asking me not criticize something because I'm not above it is a little ironical. So "you're no different, you know" is not a perfect answer to criticism.

I sure feel lighter! Now your turn to get back at those pesky things. I tag -

These are the chosen few who I think could do with a little letting out. Of course, anyone who wants can take it up.

Don't care to belong to a club...

2009-02-23T03:30:00.001+05:30

She enters like Her Majesty,
walking aware but indifferent,
takes...well, assumes a place close to the stage,
and we give up immediately, too long a shot.

But then she turns back, looking for someone,
her face transcending nationality
the band fades, dampens.
While others call on our courtesy,
she calls on our instinct.

She chatters, we discount it
she giggles, we suspend perception for a while,
she fidgets, we look away,
when hearts are taken, illusions stand.

She sways regardless of the music,
we stop listening for the while,
she tips the band, superfluous entirely,
she wavers then, is aware, gives it away,
we decide we're boors, our fault.

But then she does it,
gets up, comes back, stands nearby,
flickers, aah...
and it's over for me.
When they could hold it,
or at least could hold the pretense
these poems used to get decency and time later on.

Chotu keeps on dancing

2009-02-19T01:39:00.001+05:30

Chotu had a bad day at school,
lots of mind wreck, lots of homework,
and the teacher just calls out anyone to answer,
but Chotu just feels like dancing.

Chotu watched some TV, Discovery,
Chotu went out with friends,
Chotu didn't do his homework, now it's 12,
but Chotu is still dancing.

Chotu is locked up in the bathroom,
and Mommy has put out the lights,
it's dark and scary, then lonely and dull,
but Chotu just can't stop dancing.

Chotu does not feel light though,
Chotu has homework still on his mind,
the next day at school is going to be tough,
but Chotu doesn't want to stop dancing.

Chotu's run out of steps and rhythms,
his body hurts, and he's falling with sleep,
it's been hours, and neither cheery nor bored,
Chotu just has to keep dancing.

Nobody's seen him, nobody's joined him
but it's so scary to stop dancing,
Chotu's is a bad dancer, and is about to cry,
but Chotu keeps on dancing.

Per qualche dollaro in più

2009-02-05T10:07:00.000+05:30

मन मन में कितनी गालियाँ दी होंगी उसने,
मू पर देती तो मजाही आ जाता
I'd've been impressed, instant दोस्ती होती, at least from me,
और complaints दूर कर देता उसकी,
but she chose to sulk and indicate, बंदी behavior, don't mind me saying,
if god had wanted us to swear under our breath,
he wouldn't have given us a tongue and a throat,
I love hearing those words in higher pitches,
so why the restraint? Damn.

Words shed the skin of meaning

2009-01-27T03:55:00.001+05:30

From behind the ice, from a white body,
a pair of black eyes looks,
catches my attention,
and relieves me of a few seconds.

...

Eyes amaze, two little switches,
smoothly sliding,
to alternate between worlds.

...

Against a background veiled out of focus,
close to the rough, ominous road,
invisible to any traveler,
a little green fella dances.

...

In some lands far away, it snows,
and people play in it,
and if it hadn't,
they wouldn't have.

...

Few words personally addressed
by somebody unknown,
triggered humor in a spent man,
and laughing, he went on to the next chore.

...

Words shed the skin of meaning, periodically,
and till it regrows
one is kept invisibly busy.

It's the law

2008-12-09T00:24:00.002+05:30

:D. Thank you Supreme Court!

The Kid, the Moon and the Telescope

2008-12-07T18:42:00.004+05:30

A little story about a kid. This kid had lately been learning about the solar system in his science class. The teacher was dedicated and had the ability to communicate the wonder of heavenly bodies while remaining scientifically accurate. Our kid was getting interested in these other-worldly things and spent a lot of time trying to picture what he learnt - colorful planets revolving around the sun, a white glowing spotty moon, a solar surface full of flames. He personified the planets and imagined himself meeting them, introducing himself, shaking hands. Pluto was the friendliest one, Jupiter and Saturn were adults and Neptune and Uranus were reserved and remained more or less strangers. Mercury was always hurried and he didn't want to disturb it. Venus and Mars though, remained hard to imagine as people and he could visualise them only as planets.

He got a strange pleasure out of roaming on his terrace at night and looking at the sky - the night sky intrigued him endlessly. His parents weren't too happy about this tendency of aloofness but our kid managed to steal time for himself everyday, looking at the sky, not talking even to himself, not thinking, just standing and watching. He had some recurring images he used to play in his mind. He saw the planets attached to the sun with a taut string, and the sun pulling them around with it. The string analogy his teacher had given them had stuck. Then there was a picture of the rotating earth, half in darkness and half in light, which he had seen in his textbook and had extrapolated into a running picture where he saw the earth actually rotating and making day and night. He tried to figure out god's position in the whole arrangement. He remembered the stories about god being in everything but couldn't get rid of the notion that god was somewhere high up there, levitating around. Then there was a problem of proportion, he just couldn't get his head around the size of planets and the distances involved. One moment the planets were like little specks only faintly visible even in his thoughts, and the next they were like huge spheres spinning towards him covering the whole sky.

It's amazing how involved he had become with the sky. It was like he had discovered a new world to live in. It's a great thing about the mind - you can live anywhere in your thoughts. Kids always have some place where they go and hide to spend some quiet time by themselves when the transcendental stupidity or the incessant nose-poking of adults becomes too much to take, meaning no disrespect. Our kid had found quite some hiding place for himself - the outer space. There's just nobody there. At times, he smiled and got fits of ecstasy looking at the sky. At times, he felt sad about not being able to share the joy of this discovery with anyone. He knew his parents would never roam around like him on the terrace, just looking at the sky with the same curiosity. In fact, it would be difficult to keep them just quiet for a while, for god's sake. And his sister was too young. And again, he could never take a piece of the sky inside the house. He would never find one of the stars, for example, dining with him and his parents and his little sister. But this feeling stayed only for a short time, usually while descending the stairs to go back to the house to sleep.

He was becoming a quiet child which worried his parents and teachers. But it was for none of the far-fetched reasons they came up with. There was just nothing to say in his second world. There were these stars hanging there, occasionally the moon and sometimes the clouds - everything moving slowly under a deep, vast sky. Nobody looked like they were getting bored, or had any need for chit-chat. They just existed together in silence, and made a beautiful picture. Where was the need to talk? If his experience of conversations in his first life was any reference, the conversations in his second life should have been something like the stars telling the moon about various beauty creams available to remove its spots, and the stars themselves getting reprimanded by the parental sky for their whimsical twinkling. The sky itself would have been called a big bore for just hanging there, and by god, our kid didn't want to have any of that. In his second life, it was as if everyone knew everything, and a lot of meaning just hung in the air, without any need for words. He had carried this quietness into his first world. He spoke only when it was necessary, but liked to hear others talk.

So, a certain Monday the science teacher told the class that they'll get to watch the moon through a telescope. It was scheduled for Friday night. A strange thing happened. Our kid felt confused and upset on hearing this. He immediately pictured a vast, rugged, lonely lunar surface, thrown suddenly into close-up for him until it was all he could see. The picture was violent for him, and he surprised himself by getting scared of it. He had been observing the moon carefully, whenever it was visible, for sometime now. The prospect of seeing it in a different, a much closer, more imposing view made him nervous. Probably he had become rather familiar and comfortable with the sky and its inhabitants as he saw them. What if he saw something terrible on the moon's surface? Something scary? But he also knew that there was no way he could back out of this and stay home while everyone was there looking closely at the sky's wonders. He just wanted the event to get delayed. He wasn't ready for such closeness yet. He wasn't done with looking at the sky at normal distance. It was still mysterious to him, and his time in his second world was the best time of his day. He didn't want anything to change. But he knew there was no way this could happen. Nobody believes in stopping. With all the frantic emphasis on continuous and lifelong learning, specially on completing the syllabus that teachers put, there was no way a kid could be allowed to pause and wonder about what he had learnt, things which were wonderful in so many ways - in how they could ever exist, how people over the centuries have discovered them, how people around him and before him have had the same thoughts as he, and how could a mind ever understand anything. What is it, really? Our kid was also confused about what he should feel for the moon - was it proper for him to peep and intrude through a telescope when they had been existing together peacefully for so long, and at the same time, would the moon feel bad if he didn't turn up when he had the chance to see it close? There were no answers and while the confusion stayed till the end, our kid decided to go.

Now it was Friday night and though our kid was still unsure, he didn't show it. He dressed up in casuals and went to the school with his parents after dinner. It was different to be in school so late at night. They went to the terrace and saw the teacher and the other students with their parents. The atmosphere was noisy and exciting and our kid caught the beat. He joined a group of friends while his parents stood around the teacher looking at the telescope's set-up. He managed to put all his doubts away for a while and stood chatting. The teachers then announced that things were ready and gave a short lecture about lenses and some other technical details. The telescope was directed at the moon, and the kids were lined up in front of it, looking at it one by one. The parents were all grouped up behind the kids. Our kid was standing somewhere near the end of the line. The teachers were re-adjusting the telescope a little every other minute to account for the moon's motion in the sky. The kids who had already seen through were grouped behind the telescope and were chattering excitedly. Our kid was just awaiting his turn. Even though he hadn't been worried tonight, seeing the excited kids assured him that there was nothing scary, and he laughed to himself.

It was his turn now. He looked in and was surprised to see everything turn white all of a sudden. He had been imagining it all along but actually seeing it was a completely different feeling. The areas which were clear were milky white, and the spotted areas were gray, but not as dull as he had imagined. He raised his head to look at the actual moon, and then lowered it back into the telescope. He whispered "Hi, moon" in his mind and then walked away towards his excited friends.

On reaching back home, when everyone was asleep, he went up to the terrace for a while. He looked at the moon, and it was the same as it had been. He didn't see it any different. It seemed as if it was a different thing you saw through the telescope than what you saw for real. He looked around himself on the earth - houses, trees, electric poles and wires. It was all quiet. He looked up again at the sky and just stood there for a while.

...

Our kid would retain a memory of what he felt those days. It would sometimes make him happy by giving him belief, and would sometimes make him miserable by not letting him complain against the world. But he would always know that there's some meaning somewhere. The thing of beauty he once saw would be his joy forever.

Days that never ended

2008-11-14T22:45:00.001+05:30

There were mornings that never ended
when we sat with books
and instigated fights
as excuse for distraction
and wrote repeatedly
for handwriting
filling pages very much in the present
racing year after year till

the afternoons that never ended
when sleep got everyone
and we roamed like afternoon phantoms
in dark rooms
tiptoeing around, behind doors, walls
and shouting and hush-hushing
and gathering under the stairs
and under the bed
getting high on secrecy and discovery alike till

the evenings that never ended
when it was time for outside
and the excitement and
we used to delay the real game
and make friends and enemies
harmless harmless clean and innocent
and we chased and fought and ripped off
and drank and quenched like we are never quenched now
and went to bed with helpless laughter
and slept like there was only tomorrow.

Cake and ice-cream too

2008-10-31T01:06:00.001+05:30

You sound miserable
your face is sad

You're about to cry
and the mess you just told me you're in
is scary
and irritating

You still live, I wonder why
You should die

You don't.
Deep down, deeper than that deep sadness
at the deepest, unaware,
you must be really happy.
See, you were a child once yourself.

If this truth is hard to believe,
then, for now, I've got some lies for you
and cake and ice-cream too!
Please feel better, and don't doubt me now,
with no strings, this one is for you.

Evil and good

2008-10-28T10:57:00.000+05:30

The noisier it is outside
the calmer it is inside
nothing as good as sound for a noisy mind
the frequencies buzz in the ear
and fly away, for good.

And in the eternal interplay
it's good over evil
for a day
We believe it
it's about faith
shown
with blinding lights
and deafening sounds
to hide and silence
to make them go away
I love the lights and sounds,
they make us feel like good people.

It's a time to hate evil or evil people, whatever
they're all dark and our homes are bright tonight
and they'll all be out of sight.

There's children making crackers for their families
and children bursting crackers with their families
All is not perfect
but all's okay
let's not let reality ruin our lives
nothing real beyond a certain digit anyway
Happy Deepavali
let's forget and celebrate the day.

Item number

2008-10-19T02:45:00.001+05:30

Say, is this blog too grim?
Am I too worked up?
Should I take it easy?
Are some actresses pretty?
Do we love the 'ollywoods?

Twinkle twinkle Monica Bellucci,
as sure a beauty as you ever did see.
Now let's keep this post here clean,
for her full epic, drop by when you're free.

Twinkle twinkle Liv Tyler,
was royally and immortally mesmerized by her
when I first beheld her in the Lord of the Rings,
the memory of that first sight never does blur.

Twinkle twinkle Madhubala,
Makes me heart go ooh-la-la.
Panghat pe nand-lal ne jab ghoongat uthwaya,
andaaz ne inke mujhe personally maar dala.

Twinkle twinkle Angelina Jolie
commands sighs at every move by golly.
Even better as an actor she comes,
it sure prepares a combo deadly.

Twinkle twinkle Parveen Babi,
where she came from is a mystery.
Still way ahead of all of them
can't forget the look for the life of me.

And there are more,
but a man doth not live by praising women alone...Alas!

Futuristic Reporting

2008-10-17T14:30:00.000+05:30

The Times of India, Bangalore

We have reached a time in human history when today's newspaper contains today's news.

1. It reads as if they pulled out the report of a previous concert and published it changed to the future tense.

And I wouldn't be surprised if the same article comes tomorrow with just the tense changed to the past.

2. The "always" is probably believable the first time, the second time it is ignorable and the third time it almost reads like "never."

And this is for the most innocent of events. I wish this was an exception. I hope you can understand why I am being such a self-righteous prick if any day you've found yourself wondering if there's one honest and plain news report in the newspaper.

Summary -
1. How do you know what will happen with such vividness?
2. Can I get to know what happened yesterday in the world in the plainest language possible?

Before I sleep

2008-10-03T01:49:00.003+05:30

Sleep is knocking on my door -
an unwanted visitor.
There are a few things I want to do,
before letting her in -

write a drifting poem,
think up a soothing story,
solve a cryptic puzzle,
before she grips my mind,

play an enchanting melody,
call up a dear friend,
listen to a charging song,
before she hushes all sounds,

read a fresh book
watch a crazy movie
sketch a fantasy sketch
before she douses all lights

breathe in a remindful breeze
stroll on the cool marble floor
sprinkle droplets on a creased face
before she suspends all sensation.

All this
I couldn't do during the day,
now sleep forces its way in
she comes quick and strong,
something or the other kept me -
I missed out on all the good things.

Co-bane

2008-09-22T04:02:00.004+05:30

She looked sidelong
tilted head
unsure and unnecessarily decorated
by someone for a pretty picture
and suffocated
she would get out of the prettiness
at first opportunity

...

The sky collected orange
over the city
the ancients were there
passing by
temples and brothels alike
sweeping
and in a while
it was clear blue again

...

If we ever turned paradise into hell
we did it here, we did it here, we did it here

...

in the name of god

...

A forest gobbled up the city
and a whale gobbled up the ship

...

The picture was so complete
couldn't do anything
quickly moved on to the next
Ain't here just to look

...

She hasn't been here long
and she picked up a brush this day
and discovered colors
feasting her senses
she began creating things

.........

Sources:

1. http://www.flickr.com/photos/omarrun/406030648/in/photostream/

2. http://www.flickr.com/photos/flyingpanther/530724829/in/photostream/

3. http://www.flickr.com/photos/11832768@N04/2786544008/sizes/o/

4. http://www.flickr.com/photos/stuckincustoms/953669278/

5. http://www.flickr.com/photos/leecullivan/211760925/in/set-1829719/

6. http://www.flickr.com/photos/shahbasharat/sets/72157606821782127/

7. http://www.flickr.com/photos/26575320@N05/2689010794/

Can you match?

The Flexible Tag

2008-09-17T00:30:00.000+05:30

I admit it has been stretched too far now even for a flexible tag. So Vik tagged me with A tag with flexibility where you pick ten interesting or common phrases (five from the post that tagged you) and write the lyrics they remind you of. Everything is flexible.

1. "Pen, paper and piles of trash"
Kisi zabaan mein bhi, woh lafz hi nahin,
ki zinme tum ho kya tumhe bataa sakoon...

2. "She came. She knocked. I said 'Shit!' "
Maiyaa mori, main nahi maakhan khaayo...

3. "Actions. Not words.”
Your lips move,
but I can't hear what you're saying...

4. "Come on, say it!"
Baat dil ki kahoon
hindustani jo hoon
jab jee chaahe to aa jaana ji
kabhi aana tu meri gali

5. "Oh my god! I've lost my laundry bill!"
Meri laundry ka ek bill,
ek aadhi padhi novel,
ek ladki ka phone number,
mere kaam ka ek paper...

(:P Ok, just wanted to include this song!)

6. "Wine, Women and Song"
I'm on a highway to hell
on the highway to hell
highway to hell
I'm on the highway to hell

7. "Far from the madding crowds"
Main kheton mein, bani pagdandiyon par,
tumhara haath thaame, chal raha hoon,
hai pighla shaam ke, sooraj ka sona,
magar mein sirf tumko dekhta hoon...

8. "n bomb blasts rocked city-X today"
Yes, 'n how many years can some people exist
Before they're allowed to be free?
Yes, 'n' how many times can a man turn his head,
And pretend that he just doesn't see?

The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind,
The answer is blowin' in the wind.

9. "Vibhavsingh"
Singh is king! Singh is king!
:D

10. "Relax!"
'Cause I got a peaceful easy feeling
And I know you won't let me down
'Cause I'm already standing on the ground

Now ask not to whom the tag passes, for if thou art in my blogroll, it passes unto thee.

If you've already done it, new songs have come since you did it, so you may do it again!

Stairway to Heaven

2008-08-30T20:36:00.010+05:30

"The more I look at her pretty hair, the more I fall in love with her hair-stylist."

Nimish pointed to a girl on another table in the restaurant, and said this to his friends after having been distracted and dreamy for the last half an hour. His friends had noticed him looking at her before, but had turned their attention to discussing movie ratings instead. This statement of Nimish's silenced the table for a moment, and then four heads turned towards the girl, with the heads of the girls in the group turning the fastest. The pretty-haired girl noticed, pretended not to have noticed, and became more animated in her chat with the guy, perhaps her brother, sitting with her.

Back at the table, the four friends made low hooting sounds and one of them said - "This is weird, why her hair-stylist? What's wrong with her?"
"Nothing wrong with her, I just don't like her, but her hair, there's something about it, and it doesn't look like it's her, so the magic has to be in her hair-stylist."
"Wake up dude, maybe the hair-stylist is male."
"Oh shut up", said one of the girls in the group, "I know it, right? It's the parlour beside the Wawdafawn office. They're all girls there, and that is where all these weird hairstyles come from. Yak!"
"I am going to ask her", Nimish said, got up, and walked up to the girl's table. His friends rushed behind him, few of them to save him from the trouble he was getting into, others to enjoy it.
"Excuse me, but can I know who your hair-stylist is?"
At this, the guy sitting with her, perhaps her brother, got agitated and said, "Mr,. I know who your hair-stylist is about to be, and what's more, I can see what your hair-style is about to be in a few minutes."
Nimish realized the situation hadn't turned out too well. "Hehe, sir, just a little slip of tongue, as my father used to say, why so serious? Excuse me please."

Everyone settled down.

Nimish's friend spoke again - "I am telling you, it's that very parlour, the girls there are like, just so lousy. I mean I went there this one time, and god! what a mess they made out of my hair, I can't tell you, I had to stay home for, like, a whole month, god! I couldn't bear to be seen. But anyway, life goes on and I moved on to other hair-stylists."
"Ok, then" said Nimish, "I'll find out who she is. She is it."

....................................

The very next day Nimish went near the parlour and looked inside. It was big with glass walls and he saw two girls in two different corners dressing customers' hair. One of them had shoulder length hair and the other had her hair cut very short. He instantly liked the short-haired girl. She had a round face and a dark complexion. She wasn't too tall or too short, and moderately built. She wore a black T-shirt and a black skirt, perhaps a uniform. She was working intently on the woman's hair. Nimish told himself that she had to be the hair-stylist he was looking for. "That's why she has short hair. I mean, a hair-stylist like her, who styles hair so nicely, would she ever be satisfied by any other stylist's work on her own hair? That's why she keeps it short. She is it." It looked like she was done with it. The customer got up and after tweaking her appearance a little, came out. Nimish kept on looking at her hair all the time. She walked off fast. "This is it. This was as pretty a hair as I've ever seen. She is the one. I shouldn't call her a hair-stylist anymore. Boy, she is a hair-artist. She has taken hair-styling to the level of art." And he looked inside again. The girl was now walking around arranging things. Nimish decided he would sit on the steps a little away from the entrance of the parlour and see more of her and her work. As soon as he sat down, it felt a little silly. There was no reason for him to be sitting on a slab outside a ladies beauty parlour except the one which will be readily apparent to those with ordinary understanding of the matter. He got up at once, thought for a while, then waved his hand and said to himself, "Oh, I've done sillier stuff", and with this assurance he sat down again.

The second customer came out, the one who the other girl had been working on, and Nimish didn't find her hair as pretty, and it was confirmed that his guess was correct. After a while, both the girls sat on a sofa. Nimish kept on looking inside. They noticed. Meduim build, medium height guy sitting on a slab outside.

"Who's that guy sitting there?", asked the shoulder-length haired girl.

"I don't know. Maybe waiting for someone."

"He's been looking inside for a while. I guess at you."

"There's so many psychos, they just sit outside and watch, but that's for the customers."

"But they leave as soon as the ladies go, nobody's in here, he has to be looking at us. And I know it's you."

"Oh god I haven't even seen him before, I don't know him. It couldn't be."

"Ok, you get up, walk to that table and pick up a magazine and come back. Let's see who he's looking at.

See, I saw he's looking at you."

"Oh it has to be someone I owe money, only I don't remember anyone, or probably I look like someone he knows, only I don't think it could be so. Maybe he's just a psycho. Hey, why are we even talking about him?"

"He's been there for quite a while. And he doesn't look bad, I mean, looks decent and sensible."

"Sensible! Ok, then you go and talk to him. Marry him. Have kids with him."

"Oh shut up Prakrithi. You're so..."

"Ok, kidding. He must be watching TV. And then he found me more of a character."

"Hmm"

"Maybe he is wondering if I am a boy and if we style for them."

"Alright!"

...

As this went on for a lot of days, Prakrithi's friend kept on getting more and more excited and Prakrithi herself got curious. The days when Nimish didn't come, she looked for him. And at times she went outside when he was sitting and walked past him to take a closer look. It was mysterious to her where this guy had suddenly dropped from.

"I don't know what to do about him. Sometimes it totally freaks me out. I mean, I feel like I am being watched."

"You are, Prakrithi."

"I guess I'll go and ask him what's the matter."

"He likes you, that's what the matter is."

"Is it? I am sure he doesn't even know my name. He appears one day outside the bench, sits like a statue and he likes me? Is he dumb or what? Why doesn't he say anything? I'll go and ask him what it is."

"Yes, go, but be nice."

"Why?"

"Because Prakrithi, people are nice to people when they meet them for the first time."

"What do you mean? I am not nice to people?"

"I'm just saying be nice to him."

"You're so mean. Of course I'll be nice, I know basic etiquette."

"Hmm"

When Nimish appeared in the afternoon that day, Prakrithi picked up her stuff and walked out. She walked slow and reached the slab where Nimish had been sitting. He was sipping a soda-drink and pretended to look away. She sat down beside him on the bench. She could see he was startled. She smiled and said "Hi". He gulped down the drink and replied "Hi". They sat looking at each other for about two seconds and then Nimish as if involuntarily offered his drink to Prakrithi. She took it and had a sip.

"Wow, it's so sweet and cold.", she said.

Nimish smiled, then said, "It's almost finished, why don't I buy you another one".

"O no, I'm fine. But that's so nice of you."

"Can I see your book?" he said after a while.

Prakrithi had a scrapbook in her hand, she held it out to him and said, "Sure, but I don't know if there's anything interesting there. Just some new hair-styles I'm sketching. I'll show them to the customers and if they like one of these, they can have that kind of a cut. Normally I do standard stuff, that's what they all want. But I like to keep designing new things, just to try out."

"They're real good, very tasteful, elegant, too cool.", said Nimish flipping through the book.

"Thanks. You're so appreciative." Prakrithi smiled.

"Show me your book. What do you do?" she said.

"Oh, it's nothing good, just a folder of the project I'm working on. I write code. Nothing exciting at all."

Prakrithi took the folder and flipped through pages of printed-out code. Nimish looked at her. She had heavy eyelashes which appeared to weigh down her eyelids making her eyes look half-closed. This made her look dreamy or drunk, and surprisingly pretty.

"Wow, you're so object-oriented in your approach." she said, flipping through Nimish's folder.

"What? You know Java?"

"No, not really, but I was born and brought up here in Bangalore itself, so just picked it up a bit."

"Oh."

"Oh my god, I should be running already, got to meet a friend of mine. She must be waiting."

"Alright. Nice meeting you."

"Yea. Sure! You're nice. Tell you what, why not meet again?"

"Ok, here itself, tomorrow. Cool?"

"Cool. Bbye!"

"Bye!"

Prakrithi crossed the road, took an auto, and immediately called up her friend.

"Hey! guess what? I talked to that guy!"

"Yes, I know, I was looking, right? My god, you're so lost. Anyway, what's he like? Don't tell me he's just a psycho!"

"Oh shut up, he's all right. I don't know, he's working here, software, of course what else, but behavior-wise he looked the sensible types."

"Hmmm!"

"What hmmm? And know what? He offered me his drink also! Just like that!"

"Drink? I didn't see that, he actually had a drink with him?"

"Oh no stupid, not that drink, he was having banta, and he just offered it to me!"

"Did you take it?"

"Yes!"

"No, you didn't!"

"I did!"

"Oh my god! That's like, amazing! I am so happy for you Prakrithi!"

"Oh shut up, what happy? I mean, hello! I've talked to him for like, what, 3 minutes?"

"Prakrithi, I know you, if you take a drink from a guy, it's means something."

"Drink? Don't call it a drink, god's sake! It was banta, he so innocently offered it to me, could I have said no?."

"You are gone, Praki, trust me. Take care dear."

"Ok, see you when you're back in your senses."

"See you. Bye!"

"Bye!"

....................................

Over the next three weeks, they met almost daily. They used to have lunch together, and spent a few hours together in the evenings. And one day -

"I like those clouds above that crane. Somehow I always like to see half-constructed buildings. Huge buildings. I like them in the evenings, when the workers all go home and the building just lies by itself. I can't go near it though, there is just too much dust. But, I don't know, I like this scene with the clouds coming over the big vacant incomplete structure sort of a thing."

"Yes, it's nice Prakrithi."

Prakrithi looked at Nimish looking at the buildings in the distance. Hair fell all over his chubby face. He looked lovely.

"Ah...Nimish, I feel so relaxed today. Amazing. I feel so fine I could play boxing."

"O my god, don't hit me. My nose bleeds very fast."

"Oh shut up Nimish. I won't. Actually I feel rather calm, but energetic too. I feel like running around in circles. Only I don't want to get up."

"You really sound different today Prakrithi."

"Really? actually I am rather nervous."

"Nervous, why?"

"I don't know...

I thought about something last night."

"What?"

"I love you."

"I love you too."

"Tell you what Nimish, let's have dinner together tonight."

"Ok."

"You feel a little weird Nimish?"

"No"

"I do. Let's roll on the ground. Let's chew our nails off."

"You are mad Prakrithi."

"I really am!"

....

About two hours later, for dinner -

Prakrithi: Wow, I am so so hungry, and I love this place, I've been here once before, three months back I guess..no..yes..anyway and I loved it! I'm going to have their Special Chicken Curry today.

Nimish: Oh. Ok..wow..

Prakrithi: What?

Nimish: Nothing, I like the place, I like the ambiance.

Prakrithi: What? You don't..oh my god! How could I not think of this, you're a vegetarian, oh I am so so sorry. Ok we'll just have their Special Green Salad, that also must be good.

Nimish: Oh no no, just have what you want, it's ok, I'll just take something else, it doesn't matter, go ahead with the chicken curry.

Prakrithi: No, how can I do that, we can't have different things, it's ok we'll have the green salad. We could have it with curd. It'll be good.

Nimish: Oho, it's ok. In fact, I've been thinking of trying out something myself. What say, I also have the curry today? Would one be enough for both?

Prakrithi: No no no Nimish, what about your religion and all? It's wrong for you, right? No no you don't.

Nimish: Oh, not really, I mean, I could have it. I mean, it's different these days. They are not so strict anymore.

Prakrithi: Who, your parents?

Nimish: No, I mean the religion guys. You know it right? The Hindu Swamis and everyone, they allow things these days. I mean come on, it's globalization and everything, secularism and stuff, India Shining. Let's have the Special Chicken Curry.

Prakrithi: Ok, I'll say, let's have the Full Special Chicken Piece then. I've heard it's good. We'll share it.

Nimish: The Full Special Chicken Piece?

Prakrithi: Yes, believe me, you'll love it, and now you've got permission and all, so just devour it!

Nimish: Uh...

Prakrithi: Oho, sorry! I forgot, it's the first time you're having it right? Hey Nimish, you sure you want to have it? It's ok, not a problem, I'll have the curry alone, doesn't matter, you look scared!

Nimish: Yes, I guess, I'll just have Special Green Salad. Anyway, I am sure they have other good veg dishes too. Let's look at the menu.

---Five minutes later.---

Prakrithi: (to the waiter) Ok, one special chicken curry and six tandoori rotis for me please.

Nimish: (to the waiter) One Special Green Salad please. And bring them together.

---Twenty minutes pass. Nimish and Prakrithi have been drifting closer every minute.---

Prakrithi: Uff, why don't they bring the thing?

Nimish: I guess the salad is taking time.

Prakrithi: Aw, you don't have to be so sweet bo..wait a sec, was that sarcastic? Nimish I tell you -

Nimish: Hey hey, that wasn't sarcastic, that was not at all sarcastic. I may be wrong at times, but I am never sarcastic. I love you sweet, I'll never be sarcastic with you I promise.

Prakrithi: Ok ok...I was just joking, I know my love can never be sarcastic with me. Never, ever.

---30 seconds. They keep looking into each other's eyes.---

Nimish: (Loud, to the waiter) Excuse me, what happened to the order?

Waiter: The Special Chicken Curry sir? Yes, it's under preparation.

Nimish: How much more time?

Waiter: I'll say sir, about twenty minutes.

Nimish: Twenty minutes? Ok, do something, make it a full chicken piece instead.

Waiter: That, I'm afraid sir, is no longer possible. You see, it's already in the cooking pot in pieces.

Nimish: Oh no, I meant -

Prakrithi: (interrupting) It's ok Nimish, let it be. You retain your religion. (to the waiter) It's ok, we'll wait. (to Nimish) You tell me, weren't you looking at that girl just now?

Nimish: No, I was just looking at her hair. It looked good, it looked like you had styled it.

Prakrithi: Oh, I see, now you've got that as an excuse to look at other girls!

Nimish: No Prakrithi, in fact, because of you I've learned to look at other women and admire them without desire.

Prakrithi: Oh la la, someone is getting so poetic!

They smiled at each other very wide with twinkling eyes. The smiles and looks just keep on getting more and more intimate.

After dinner -

Prakrithi: Holy god! Do I feel full! Nimish why did you let me eat so much. You're so stupid. I can barely walk.

Nimish: I am sorry.

Prakrithi: Ok, sure, be sarcastic now. You're so bad. Just now you said you'll never be sarcastic and look at you. You're very bad.

Nimish: What do I say?

Prakrithi: Oi yo, baby. I am kidding!

She laughs. Nimish joins in. Then they walk silently for a while.

Prakrithi: A happy day.

Nimish: Very happy.

Prakrithi: Then let's go to Stairway to Heaven.

Stairway to Heaven was a pub lying in the heart of the city, with entrance from four sides. The building had tall surrounding walls, and a ceiling which covered only part of the interior closer to the walls, and left the central part of the pub open to the sky. In this open area lay the Stairway. The Stairway was a huge and curvy structure, about three stories high, and in the form of an irregular loop. It had steps that ascended and descended and curved at places in such a way that if you kept walking on the steps you finally reached the point where you had started. Steps at the bottom were larger such that a larger group of people could sit there and were smaller as you went higher, with space for only two people at the topmost step and again became larger as you descended. People took their drinks from the bar which was adjacent to a wall and came and sat down on the steps of the Stairway to drink, leaning on the railings. Larger groups chatted and laughed on the lower steps and smaller groups sat higher.

"Wow! I love it every time I come here. Bombaat idea man, just look at it Nimish!"

"Yea, I know, it's good, too cool."

"Come on let's go around the stairway once. I always do this."

"Ok."

They started to climb the stairway. There were people sitting on almost all the steps with some walking space in the center. A climber was spread on the bottommost steps, and was lit by white light, making the step appear green all over. It felt like a garden as you sat on it. On climbing a few steps, the lighting turned fantastic with gentle red and yellow and light-green bulbs lighting the steps. Still higher, the steps were draped with white sheets lit with white lights which made them glow.

"Ok, so the top step is taken. We'll sit just below it and grab it soon as it's vacant, what say?"

"Cool idea Prakrithi!"

"Oh man, it's groovy, literally, I am losing sense of direction. This is so so disorienting! And the breeze, whoo! Love ya Bangalore, ok, now let's take something, and something hard today!

They bought a good volume of alcohol and settled down on the topmost step available. It was glowing white with space for four people, and there was already a couple sitting on one side of it. They sat on the other side, leaving walking space in the center. Prakrithi prepared their drinks and they started. The music slowly gained strength, and the other sounds became indistinct. Prakrithi quietened down and Nimish started talking more. After they had finishing two rounds, the top step became vacant and they quickly moved up to it. They were now at the highest point in the pub. Unlike the lower steps, the topmost step was bare iron. It felt cold and the wind was biting. Prakrithi shifted closer to Nimish and put her arm across his and leaned on him. They continued to sip their drinks. Prakrithi looked different and beautiful and Nimish let her be, saying only a few things now and then. After a while, both of them were quiet. The whole pub was filled with smoke and bright colored lights were turned on, which gave the whole place a dreamy look. Prakrithi looked at Nimish and quietly pointed towards the sky. Against the hazy smoke, they could see clouds in some parts of the sky, lit by the moon behind them, and stars were faintly visible at other places. Prakrithi sighed and closed her eyes and pressed her face against Nimish's shoulder, putting all her weight on him. Then she sat up and and just sat looking straight for a long time. Nimish felt uneasy, he thought he saw sadness on her face. He put his arm across her impulsively and she tucked in closer, but she kept on staring straight with the same expression on her face. Looking at her, Nimish felt as if she would disappear any minute leaving his arms empty, or as if she would turn out to be just a painting of Prakrithi, or as if she would travel time and disappear. He felt his head spinning, and he told himself it was alcohol doing this to him and he tightened his arms around Prakrithi. After a while, Prakrithi sat up again, and looked at Nimish and laughed out a little.

"Boy, am I weird! I am very very weird Nimish, you'll have a tough time with me. I am so weird!"

"No, you're alright. What happened to you anyway?"

"What happened?"

"I thought something happened."

"Oh boi, look at the sky, it's rotating, man! have you ever seen the sky rotating, it's rotating, I guess this'll be my last drink!"

"Yes, mine too. There isn't any left anyway."

"Cool."

They finished their drink and soon it was closing time. They descended the stairway and it appeared even more imposing to Nimish now. When they were at the exit he looked up again at the vacant top step where they'd been sitting. It looked strange and it was hard to believe they'd sat there for maybe the last one hour.

"It's a rotten country Nimish. I guess let's go to our places now."

"Yes, I guess. I'll see you off to your place."

"It's ok sweet, I'll go. You just be careful. You don't look fine. I'll not let you drink so much the next time. You sure you alright?"

"Yes."

"See you then, tomorrow itself! Thanks for the good time."

"Oh shut up."

...

Nimish woke up with a sick feeling in his stomach and ran to the wash-basin just in time to throw up. He washed it down and looked up at the mirror. His head hurt and rang, and he could barely stand up. It was the fourth time it was happening tonight, he had nothing left in his stomach to throw up, and still his bowels kept on contorting. The only thing that came out was hoarse cries. He felt as if he'll pass out and spend the rest of the night, whatever was left of it, on the floor of the bathroom. The loopy Stairway was revolving in his mind. It felt as if his internal organs would come out of his mouth into the basin. It felt as if he had no control left over his body. Tears came into his eyes, and he thought of Prakrithi. He wished she was there, and he decided he will ask her tomorrow to marry him. It was time to take things seriously now.

...

"My god Nimish, last night was so trippy. I can't believe it happened in this life. Feels like it happened way back. That Stairway is something. Takes you out of the world."

"Really."

"So, did you sleep well?"

"Yes. What about you?"

"What about me? Mister, you kept me awake the whole night. I missed you so much. Tell you what, let's get married, there is no other way."

"What? No other way? I mean, really? Are you really asking me to marry you?"

"Yes. Now don't make me say it again."

"I don't believe this."

"O don't act like a girl now. You were supposed to say it. I said it, alright, but no blushing please."

"I am not blushing. And anyway, I was about to say it too."

"Yea yea."

"No, really!"

"Nimish! Ok fine, you were. Now?"

"Now what? You've already said it."

"So? Yes or no?"

"Obviously yes. See if I was also going to ask you, it itself means it's a yes, doesn't it? Because then only I was..."

"Oh god! Ok, I get the logic you nerd. But just say a simple yes once."

"Yes."

They calmed down and then smiled and then laughed and then hugged.

.........................................................................

Nimish's apartment. The phone rings.

Nimish: (waking up) Hello?

Nimish's Mother: Beta, what is this you are about to do? What has Bangalore done to you? Have you no regard left for our tradition and for the members of our extended family? Haye ram, I should never have let you go there, I was telling him, but when does he listen to me? Now take it, talk to him.

Nimish's father: (to Nimish's Mother): No, you only talk to him, I don't think there's anything left to say or hear now.

Nimish's mother: (to Nimish's Father): Oh, do it na, he needs a crude voice to tell him a few things, and he'll be exorcised of her.

Nimish's father: What do you mean crude voice? Do I have a -

Nimish's mother: Offo, you na, ok, let me talk to him then. (to Nimish) Did you see beta? Your father is so tensed, I am not even able to look at him. See, how he appears! Haye bhagwaan! Beta, have you no regard left for us?

Nimish: (really waking up now and remembering that he had sent an email with Prakrithi's high-resolution picture to his parents last night.) Ma, didn't you like her? She's beautiful, she's cultured, and she knows how to handle everything at home, she's been living by herself for years now.

Nimish's mother: What? Living by herself? You mean, alone?

Nimish: I mean, yes, with roommates and all.

Nimish's mother: Haye bhagwan, Nimish, beta, what has happened to you? What happened to the twenty-three years of our upbringing, did you lose that within one year in Bangalore? Haye ram, the city, the weather, (to the father) I was telling you ji, such weather is not natural, it's bewitching, and look what's happened. Our child has gone romantic. God stop me from opening my mouth anymore. She doesn't even have hair. Prakrithi? Parkatee is more like it. What kind of a girl must she be to fall in love with a complete stranger? Beta, she'll do you in before you can learn to correctly pronounce femme fatale. I know such girls. And she isn't even pretty!

Nimish: Ma, what's wrong? Why are you talking like this? You haven't seen her for real. She perfectly cultured, perfectly built, and...with perfect adaas, she's the definitive South-Indian beauty.

Nimish's mother: (to the father) Haye raam, may god seal my mouth and ears off right now. He's talking of adaas ji, just think, talking of that girly's adaas to his mother. It's the city, I told you before, but when do you listen to me? Even you've never talked of adaas ever, and we're married.

Nimish's father: What do you mean? You want me to talk of adaas now?

Nimish's mother: (lowering the voice a little) No, I mean, when you notice something, it's not bad to say it, say, once in a while.

Nimish's father: God's sake Nimish's mother! Look at your age!

Nimish's mother: Don't you talk about my age now, you aren't getting any younger either. Anyway, you didn't say anything even when we were young.

Nimish's father: Nimish's mother, is this the time to talk about these things? Is the Bangalore weather bewitching you through the telephone now? By god, it's bad. Talk to him, tell him we're coming. Tell him to check and tell us the ticket prices.

Nimish's mother: (to Nimish) Ok, beta, enough of everything. Find out the ticket prices and call and tell us. Only one way tickets. No idea how long we'll have to stay. That girly, she's something!

Nimish: (really getting up now) What? You're coming? Oh, ok, well, I'll check the price and tell you within five minutes.

...

Phone rings. Swamiji picks it up.

Swamiji: Hare raam, hello?

Nimish: Swamiji pranam! Nimish here.

Swamiji: Arre Nimish beta!

Nimish: Swamiji, ma and papa are coming here. Please can you do something? Long story short, I don't want them here!

Swamiji: Beta, can't do it. Gods also get angry, can't take too many liberties with them.

Nimish: Swamiji, please, for old time's sake!

Swamiji: Long story short, gods need offerings.

Nimish: Not a problem Swamiji, tell me how much and god will get it.

Swamiji: 10,000.

Nimish: Holy -

Swamiji: That's enough, not another word. Soon as I receive the money, your parents will be called and stalled. Hare Raam.

...

Phone rings. Nimish's mother picks it up.

Nimish's mother: Yes, beta, how much is it?

Nimish: Ma, 15,000.

Nimish's mother: (the the father) It's 15,000, send it.

Nimish's father: Hmm, ok, for son's sake. Tell him I'm transferring it.

---2 minutes---

Nimish: Got it ma, thanks, I'll book the tickets.

---5 minutes later---

Phone rings. Nimish's mother picks it up.

Nimish's mother: Hello?

Swamiji: Hare raam. Namaste deviji, Swamiji is speaking.

Nimish's mother: Oh, Pranam swamiji.

Swamiji: Deviji, things have taken a bad shape. Ravana has moved up and his shadow has reached South India from Lanka. The four southern states are suffering his dark breath. Please to refrain from making any trips towards that side.

Nimish's mother: Oh no, Swamiji we were about to visit our son. He's in Bangalore, now what to do?

Swamiji: God is great! Jai Ho! Jai Ho! Now you see, He made me call you just in time. Good people, you're saved!

Nimish's mother: Ok...thanks Swamiji, we'll pay you a visit to thank you personally very soon. God is great!

---1 minute later---

Phone rings. Nimish picks it up.

Nimish: Yes ma, I booked the tickets. You can come day after tomorrow, wow, it'll be great to see you after this long time.

Nimish's mother: Beta, we can't come. Swamiji told us Ravana is looking over Bangalore. I knew it. I knew it was the work of dark powers. Beta, just take care of yourself. What can I say. And yes, cancel the tickets.

Nimish: Ma, can't cancel them now, they won't give back the whole money.

Nimish's mother: Ok, just transfer back what they'll refund.

Nimish: Let me check. Um...they're refunding 5,000 only.

Nimish's mother: What? 10,000 gone! No surprise. It's all Ravana's doing. Just keep it. And don't spend it on that girly. Get some sweets for yourself. Ok?

...................................................................

"Prakrithi, my parents don't approve of you."

"What? Why?"

"I don't know, they called me yesterday, and they were just, like, not approving."

"Are you saying all this as some sort of a final statement?"

"No no, not at all yaar, I didn't mean to sound like that, I was just telling you there's a problem."

"And what's the reason?"

"They'd prefer someone who belongs to our community and, like, I don't know, someone a little, sort of, homely. I mean, not like a house-wife or anything, she could be working and everything, but still homely."

"And how to be homely while working?"

"I don't know, it's just that, you know, there's this feel you get when you see a woman, that she's homely, even in a most formal business attire."

"And you don't get this feel with me. Exactly what do you need Nimish, I don't understand, what gives you that feel?"

"I don't know, ok, that's not a big thing. Doesn't matter."

"No. I want to know!"

"Can't really say yaar, it's just that when you see a woman, you know if she could be in a home or not."

"What do you mean really, Nimish? I could be in a home better than you could be. Is that look and feel so important to you?"

"I mean, my parents would want that, and it's like, you know, I mean it's true, there has to be that...and you could easily be like that."

"Unbelievable. I just don't believe this. You're making me mad Nimish."

"Hey relax, I am talking about something important. Anyway that's not the main point. Tell me, what's your surname?"

"What's my surname?"

"Yes, surname, caste, whatever, tell me everything."

"That never mattered to you till now."

"Prakrithi, please try to understand. These things are hardly important. Only that they'll matter for a while, then it's all settled and fine. When we want to get serious about things, like if we want to marry, these things are important. Come on, my parents need to know."

"How does it matter? My god, this is so suffocating, why is this suddenly becoming so important?"

"Prakrithi, we believe in these things. We are brahmins."

"Big fucking deal."

"Why are you being so disrespectful?"

"Disrespectful? I am being disrespectful? What do you mean by asking all these questions? Either you want us to marry, or you don't. Just tell me what you want. And if all this is important, then I won't tell you at all. I can't bear to have these as deciding factors. Maybe I was born a brahmin too, maybe I wasn't. Now, just tell you parents, Prakrithi has no caste, Prakrithi has no religion and Prakrithi is not bound by any culture. And while you're at it, tell them she isn't homely at all, in fact, she's very streetly. And this is the person that their son chose to love."

"Calm down yaar, why do you say such things? My parents believe in these things, and I love them, and they brought me up to believe in these things. And it's very reasonable, if you think about it."

"Very reasonable. Maybe they brought you up to ogle at girls and then fall in love with their hair-stylists too? What a cool love story, isn't it? Wow! What a bombaat start! And then very reasonable to want a fair, good-looking, slim brahmin girl, professionally qualified, traditional values, modern outlook, for their keyboard-tapping 6 figure earning handsome son. Should be working but should look homely even in a formal business attire, should accompany him to bars in a very homely manner, should fuck him in a very homely manner, and then should make food when the relatives come in a very very homely manner. Boy, could I puke! Nimish let's keep this for another day. I am sick. I have a terrible headache in fact."

"Really you have no respect for my parents. Nor for me. I don't care what you think or what your ideas are about all this. But can't just you show a little respect? That has nothing to do with castes and cultures. I am just asking you to respect my family. And that is reasonable."

"I am sorry. Didn't mean to be so blunt. Nimish, what is all this? So many things all of a sudden? Now I am honestly starting to get a headache. Do something yaar, handle it. I don't think I can help anything. Just tell you parents you want to marry. And I can live perfectly well in a home dear. I can bring up kids, I love the little devils!"

"I know yaar, even I am sorry. We'll work something out. And you don't be so stubborn please. You're perfectly alright for me. I love you. But my parents care about some things and whether I or you like it or not, I can't just disobey them. But I am sure we can do something if we try. We'll try yaar, we'll work it out."

"Yes."

"So smile."

"No"

"Come on, please.."

"No"

"Hey Prakrithi hans de hans de hans de hans de
hans de tu zara,
nahi to bas thoda thoda thoda thoda
thoda muskura.."

"Alright! Muskura is right", she smiled, "and thanks for the song. I like it."

..............................................

Nimish's friend: Dude, it's unreal, it's freaking fantastic. Undone. You see a random girl in a cafe, you don't know where she comes from, don't know where she goes, and you like her hair, and, no, you don't fall in love with her, you fall in love with her hair-stylist. That sounds reasonable behavior to you?

Nimish: The way you put it is extreme. I met her later, right? I know her now. However it started, now it's pretty calm and settled and strong.

Nimish's friend: You're getting too serious with it. If it were normal, I'd be happy for you. Let me tell you, she's not the right person for you.

Nimish: What's wrong with her?

Nimish's friend: Nothing wrong with her, nothing wrong with you. I just feel you two don't go together.

Nimish: You're talking just like my parents. And I came to you for help with this fix I am in.

Nimish's friend: Look my friend, seriously, practically it doesn't matter to me at all. Only reason I'm talking to you is you're my friend. If I see something going wrong, I feel like telling you. Your parents have their reasons. Their own thing going on. Me, I don't care. I'm just looking at the two of you. You, I know well. Her, I know somewhat. You guys are different, you want different things out of life. And you know it, so accept it.

Nimish: How do you know what we want? And we'll change once we're in together. All we want is to be with each other. We'll shape the rest of our lives around it. We can do it. We want it. I know we're different. Ok, you're right. Maybe we want different things. But there's nothing called perfect. You'll never find anyone just right. You need to shape it as you go along. That's what's life is all about. We are ready to do this.

Nimish's friend: Sometimes the shaping is too difficult dost. And when you know it, why do you want to get into it. Why are you lying to yourself? All the big words that you're using will come to nothing. You won't know what the fuck happened. And it'll be done. Words will remain where they are. Things move too fast in life for words to help. Your problem is, you're getting too serious. You're stuck. You're looking at it too closely. Step back and take a look at it. Granted, you two have something good going on. I respect it. But it's like a beautiful wave, it'll soon be lost. It's transient and shit. Don't you realize?

Nimish: You're are a pessimist. Nobody said it was going to be easy. We're serious and we'll work it out.

Nimish's friend: That's my point, why are you so serious? When you know the problems, why do you pretend it's going to work? The future does not exist. And you're talking about a lifetime! Take it easy. It's amazing how you guys came together. Just don't stretch the little pretty canvas to cover the whole area of your life. It'll fade, it'll tear off. It'll leave a bad taste in your mouth for life. Don't get so serious. It'll spoil your life. Tell you what, in life, whenever you're down, or when you find your mind fucking with you, do this - remember a good moment of your life, an honest good moment, and ask yourself, is what I am doing right now going to give me any more such moments? Does it really have that thing? Is it worth spending the precious moments of my life for? In other words, will it add something meaningful to the millions of moments of life yet to come? You'll find your answer my friend.

Nimish: While we're being honest, let me tell you a few things. Yours too are just words. Big words, they stir you, but they're just words. What matters is the real thing. What I have with Prakrithi is real. And you, my friend, to be honest for your own good, have nothing. You keep to yourself, you talk big, but all this philosophy and shit means nothing. You don't believe in it. It's just a way for you to turn the problems of your life into pretty shapes and admire them. In reality, they are poison. Why don't you go and get a few good moments for yourself?

Nimish's friend: I've tried talking to you, and I'm done with it. It was for your own benefit. I don't need to answer you. As it is, I am a man of few words.

Nimish: I see.

.........................................................................

Prakrithi's flatmate had gone out of city for a week. She didn't feel like doing anything. She went out and stood in the balcony. It was dark and she could see lights behind closed windows in the buildings, and now and then a person would quietly walk down the street. The atmosphere felt heavy. She could see three people standing in their balconies, all talking on the phone. She started looking through the contacts on her own phone, looking for people she could call to feel better. She realized she hadn't talked to many people for long, and she had to make an effort to remember who some of the names belonged to. She came across her own landline number among her contacts and laughed imagining what it'll be like to call herself up. She came across Nimish's name, and it made her skip a beat, but she passed it by. She had gone from A to Z and it felt like she went through a thousand numbers, but she didn't feel like calling any of them. After looking through all the numbers, she searched for her landline number again and called it. It rang too loud. She quickly came inside the house and picked it up, putting the receiver on one ear and her cellphone on the other. She softly said "hello", and laughed out a little at hearing her own voice coming from both the phones.

"Hi Prakrithi"
"Hi"
"Hi"
"Hi"

She played around a little with the phones. She would hear her own voice when she spoke and immediately she would hear her voice in both the phones. It was confusing to understand how it was working. She stopped thinking about it. She spoke slowly and low, with a lot of pauses.

"How are you Prakrithi?"

"Not fine. Not fine at all."

"I know."

"I feel lonely. There's no one."

"Same here."

It was embarrassing, but comforting at the same time to hear her own voice talking to her. Tears came into her eyes.

"I guess it's just I, me and myself. I guess that's the way it has to be. I bet there isn't one person in that whole list I could have called and when they asked me how I am, told them that I am lonely. They'd all be freaked out those fucking freaks, stupid fucks. But I don't care, I am here, and I'm alright."

It felt stupid. But it was soothing. She felt sad. She started crying and slumped down on the floor. She could barely hold the phones. She sat quiet for a long time.

"I'm alright. I should be. I'm not a kid anymore. I've got things I can do. I don't need anyone and they don't need me. I'm alright, it'll be alright. Prakrithi, are you stupid? You'll be alright, why don't you understand. God! why don't I see it, why don't I understand, it's nothing. It just some ghosts that have taken over me. I'm totally totally fine. Life is good Prakrithi, or whatever it is, it's alright, believe me, it'll be fine."

"They're no one. They don't mean anything. God! Even Nimish doesn't come close to it. He just keeps on knocking at the door. It's fucking open, but he won't see it. He's just too fucking scared to enter the dark room. He can't do anything about it. I'm messed up. I am messed up. It's me, yes, so what, that's what I am, and you're alright Prakrithi, you're alright, haven't you seen other people? Aren't they just so messed up? They're the real filth. I'm alright with myself. Don't want to mix up with them. I shouldn't let them tell me how to feel. They can't tell me to feel lonely. Fuck them."

She thought of her phone's balance.

"I don't care, I make so many useless calls. This is the best call I ever made. Guess I'll make more such calls from now on."

"Just remember Prakrithi, remember this call, and the way to live is, if you find yourself in shit, just fucking come out of it. Now questions, no doubts, leave whatever you need to leave behind, but just fuck's sake come out of it.

Talk to you later."

"Love."

She hung up and sat quiet for a while. Then she smiled and stood up, and kept standing there. After a while, she made an expression as if she thought how silly the whole thing had been and shook her head and went to the kitchen to have something.

................................................................................

"Why don't you do something else? Are you going to cut hair all your life?"

"Look at you, and that's what you said you liked about me. I knew it was freaky. And what about you? Are you going to tap-tappy-tap on the keyboard all your life? You nerd! Sitting in front of a machine nine hours in a day! My, what a life!"

"It is useful, it helps people, not just a cosmetic thing."

"Shut up. Just shut up, nobody will ever like you for writing code, and people have fallen in love with me because of my hair-styling."

They became quiet, then smiles slowly broke and they shared a hearty laugh for a while, remembering things.

"Prakrithi, yaar, what do we do? I really sincerely want us to be together."

"I know, me too. Tell you what, why don't we just do it. Let's see what happens."

"You mean, run away?"

"Oh stupid, where will we run away, we already live away from our parents. What say we go to a temple and get married, like in the movies, let's give them a chance, maybe they're not as silly as we thought they were."

"Are you mad? Of all the people, you talking of such things! I thought we were being sensible about it all."

"Ok, don't sweat, I was just kidding. But why can't we do it? We won't do it, but why can't we? I want to know this Nimish. Don't you love me now?"

"Are you out of your mind? Prakrithi I just don't get you, you're so impulsive."

"Impulsive! well I don't fall in love with a coder when I use a software. At least I am not that impulsive."

"You keep bringing that up. It was just how it started, it doesn't matter. I loved you only when I got to know you more. It's easy for you to say all this. I am in a fix, so make fun of me. You think you're the more loving one or what?"

"I am sorry."

"Don't be. In fact, I am sorry."

Prakrithi took Nimish's hand. "No big deal. You just relax. Don't let anyone spoil your life. Ever. Even me." She kissed his cheek.

For a moment it seemed as if they were just imagining all the problems they had been talking about.

"I don't know any way out. Even surname doesn't matter. There are a lot of problems yaar."

"Like?"

"I don't know. Many. No use talking about them. Can't do anything."

"Ok."

"Listen. Just make up a surname. I'll tell you which is best."

"How silly is that Nimish? I have a family name, I just never use it. And is it really that important? Will that solve everything? Just now you said it didn't matter."

"I don't know. We just need to try things. Also, I need to tell you, if you grow your hair, it'll help."

"Nimish, what's wrong? I don't believe it. You've gone mad. All this is getting really really...I don't know what."

"I know. I'm bad. I don't know what to do."

"You're not bad. Don't say that. But you're strange today. Guess I am stranger. Ok, enough for today I guess. We'll do something tomorrow. Relax, god! look at you. Hey, why so serious?"

"I don't know how to be anymore."

"Oi yo, boy! Somebody is so serious. So so serious. This ain't exactly the kind of poetry conventionally quoted to one's girlfriend, mister. Ok, bad one. But hey, cheer up. Whatever. Live in the moment and all. Let's have a banta, what say?"

They bought one banta each, and sat sipping it, feeling strong and carefree now. This was one of those moments when sitting together, they believed each one of them was feeling the same thing, and it felt real good.

"We'll think of something. You know Nimish, I have a feeling the solution to all this is just around the corner somewhere and we just don't know it's there, or we don't want to see it."

"I hope there is a solution."

"Whatever happens, it'll get better. It doesn't have to be so difficult as we're making it."

"I hope."

"Just stay happy Nimish, whatever happens."

.........................................................

Nimish's mother: I've been thinking, I think we made a mistake. Now we can't go there and they both are there. I don't trust that girly, I'm sure she'll try something funny.

Nimish's father: Yes, I also realized this later. I keep dreading the phone would ring any moment and we'll come to know that our son is gone to her. You can't trust children these days. We'll have no answer if something like that happens.

Nimish's mother: I can hardly think.

Nimish's father: Listen, you call him and tell him it's ok, we're fine with it. Ask him to just wait till we can come there, and we'll arrange everything. Once he knows we've accepted it, he'll wait. We'll manage things later on.

Nimish's mother: Are you sure? I have a very bad feeling about this. This is not right.

Nimish's father: Just do it. For the sake of our son. Our intentions are good, a little lie doesn't matter.

Nimish's mother: Ok, if you say so.

Nimish's mother: Hello, Nimish beta, how are you?

Nimish: Fine ma, how's everything there?

Nimish's mother: Good. Ok, listen, we're ok with it. With you and the girl. So as soon as we can come there, we'll make the arrangements. It won't be long we hope.

Nimish: What? You ok with Prakrithi?

Nimish's mother: Yes.

Nimish: I don't believe this. How did this happen?

Nimish's mother: She's ok.

Nimish: Ok.

Ma, doesn't seem like you're happy. You're just giving in.

Nimish's mother: No, we're ok. We'll come there soon.

Nimish: Thanks ma, I hope you're happy.

Nimish's mother: We are. Ok, take care.

(They hung up)

Nimish: I feel strange.

Nimish's mother: I feel sick.

Nimish looked at his phone and wondered why he wasn't calling Prakrithi to tell her about it. He felt sad somehow. After some time, he called her.

"Hi, Prakrithi."

"Hi."

"My parents have agreed."

"Agreed?"

"Yes."

"Good."

"Let's meet in the evening."

"Ok."

.............................................................

"Hi"

"Hi"

"How's your day been?"

"Nothing much. Very few customers. All regular styles. Yours?"

"Same old. Finished the necessary hours."

"Hmm. Good.

So your parents agreed?"

"Yes."

"Nice.

How come? All of a sudden?"

"No idea.

You alright?"

"Yes. You?"

"I'm fine.

Prakrithi..."

"Nimish...

I've been thinking. I think...

let's not see each other anymore."

"Yes, I think."

"Sure?"

"Sure."

"Cool?"

"Cool."

"Bbye."

"Goodbye"

But they kept sitting there for a long time.

Friday morning blues

2008-08-29T07:36:00.003+05:30

"Doctor, help me! I am ill, my whole body hurts!"

"Here, please lie down, let me check."

...

"Does it hurt?"

"No"

"Does it hurt?"

"No"

"Does it hurt?"

"No"

"Does it hurt?"

"No"

"Now sit up please. Touch this table. Does it hurt?"

"Yes! yelps!"

"Touch that machine there."

"Hurts"

"Now sir, when I touched your head, stomach, arms, legs, they didn't hurt. And when you touched even things which are non-living, and in any case not parts of your body, and as such, couldn't possibly hurt, they hurt you. Everything in the world is completely fine I assure you - tables, chairs, machines. Even you are almost fine sir. The only problem is, you've broken your finger. Now with this narrowed-down diagnosis, let's try to treat your finger first. It should not be too difficult."

Haalaat

2008-08-21T00:12:00.002+05:30

तेरा मुझसे कोई नाता नहीं
फिर भी तू सपनों में आती
मेरे मन को भाती
मेरे चेहरे पर मुस्कुराहट लाती
धड़कने बढ़ाती, आहें भरवाती
सिर्फ इसलिए, क्यूंकि तू मुझे किसी और की याद दिलाती।

दुनिया भर की comedy साली,
मेरे सर पे ही क्यूँ tragedy बनके आती?

:)

2008-07-31T18:24:00.001+05:30

In tongues and tunes and words and songs

2008-07-29T12:50:00.000+05:30

She spoke sonorous Hindi
and sibilant English,
often, in a slaphappy Punjabi accent
and would've tried, Kannada stuttering
I fantasize...

When sleepy her voice
was like a gargling guitar,
and when she flowed
it was a stirring sitar...

Her words of love,
when happy, were perfect as a nursery rhyme,
and when sad, hollowing, like a sonic boom...

When angry she was a cloudburst
splattering and slapping me on and on
with scary little drops of rain...

She smelled like teen spirit in her stubborn insistence
Bought stairways to heaven in her fantasies
and often made love at whim out of nothing at all...

In tongues and tunes and words and songs,
as the memory of her voice fades, it echoes....

The lady who's sure

2008-07-20T00:11:00.002+05:30

It exists, without telling me,
and as the music gains strength
and every other voice drowns
it comes up.
And they fight
for my attention.

My hands are wrapped around her
and as my mouth meets her
she unravels me
like no one does
no one wants to
they're all just interested in my interest in them

And she unravels me
and I want her to
though I know she's killsome
but I want her to
and she does.

She reaches
and she touches
and she doesn't chick-chick
and takes me as I am.

A lady

2008-07-18T07:07:00.005+05:30

She's beautiful and she's strange
and I've avoided her for long
and now somehow
I find myself sitting with her
unable to take my eyes off
of her freshness, her gentleness
her calming presence.

I don't know what to talk to her
now that I'm with her again
I used to dislike her as a child
but now she looks different.

She's Early Morning
and she'll please accept
these really really broken lines
which are all I can write right now
Because I'm short on time
as I always am whenever she's around.

Just want to say
I've seen now
that she's no less of a princess
than her sister Late Night
and I no longer dislike her
and from now I plan to start my days
from where I used to end them some time back.

(Aside, best thing about these princesses is -
they never, never mind)

But not quite

2008-07-15T00:48:00.000+05:30

A fine day's night
but not quite.
Things feel right
but not quite.
Hours stack evenly together,
days wrap properly around.
Feels a lot like life
but not quite.

Claim the day!

2008-07-04T00:38:00.002+05:30

In the midst of my work-hours,
which have lately been replacing my word-hours,
I've found this little time,

in which I claim:

A day to refresh my spirits, the day comprising,

a fresh morning,
the morning starting pleasantly in a melody,
the melody coming from a happy bird,
the bird delighted by a cool breeze,
the breeze smelling of a rain,
the rain - the rain's always imminent here in Bangalore;

a quiet afternoon,
the afternoon putting me to a soothing sleep,
the sleep bringing me a pleasant dream,
the dream waking up to a warm peace,
the peace brought on by a gentle sun,
the sun - the sun's always gentle here in Bangalore; and

a lovely evening,
the evening bringing me a pleasant thought,
the thought calling me to write a poem,
the poem present here before your eyes,
the eyes needing a rest and a treat,
the rest and the treat present right outside!

So get up and enjoy the evening -
Evenings are always meant to be enjoyed here in Bangalore!

One

2008-06-15T23:44:00.000+05:30

Only you
understand
the poem
in these lines

A medical history of the recent past

2008-06-07T00:19:00.002+05:30

15 weak minutes then - the start,
and then the strong years,
and then the filth,
and the sickness,
and these recurring weak minutes again.

Quicklets

2008-05-27T01:27:00.000+05:30

What's gray
but black and white
seen with a blurred vision;
and what are black and white
but gray
seen with a blurred mind.

...

There are situations
where you can't
but believe
in god
and those
where you can't
but not believe.

...

Tears bring happiness
to a world
gone numb.

...

I have uncountable laughs
and uncountable weepings
in me.
What I don't have is
opportunities, to let them out.

Trying to connect...

2008-05-24T03:14:00.002+05:30

We so often talk to ourselves. I'm trying to make a connection with some people tonight by trying to imagine what is it that they're saying to themselves.

Photo by MikeWebkist

We will open my umirella
and then rain will fall
and we will walk under my umirella
so we won't get wet
when we get 'ome
we will keep my umirella
and mommy will say come 'ave a bath
and we will bath
and we will say mommy my 'ot chokate
and we will have my 'ot chokate
and it is very good :)

Photo by una cierta mirada

Sigh...It's been a long time,
wish those days had never gone,
wish I could go back for just one day,
but I know I can't.
I must look forward
life goes on,
harsh, I know,
but that's the way it is,
I can make it good yet,
I should look forward,
God! why?
It was just one simple thing,
and I wouldn't be standing alone here today.
But it happened.
Anyway, life's still good. It's beautiful.
I still have my days and nights.

Photo by abmiller99

hmm...sittin' in the morning sun,
I'll be sittin' when the evening comes,
watching the ships roll in,
And I'll watch them roll away again..hmmm
What fascination I wonder
people have for the sea
I'd love a life on the land,
secure and firm,
I guess everyone wants something different
than what he already has.
But to think of it,
I couldn't leave the sea permanently,
I'd keep coming back.
I guess everyone wants something different
to fulfill fantasies,
home can't be changed.

Photo by kopb

Yeah baby, come on...
Oh man! stretching till the horizon
and this is all you can collect?
come on send me a bigger wave
Am I standing here getting my butt photographed
for this teeny-weeny sprinkling?
Send me all you got next time!

Photo by atsushi.nishio

What's coming over me?
I've got to go
I always knew I will have to
I knew it from day one
what is this stuffy feeling
and I was happy about it
till yesterday night.
Is that it then?
Will I really never be here again
Can I really live elsewhere
God! what stupidity,
what's happening,
think ahead..think ahead
It's gone...I'm happy.

Photo by freefotouk

I'm your beach at sunset,
the sand the sky the water the setting-sun
beautiful
but dead.
In fact, I never was alive.
I've never known how
the little girl with the umbrella
sprinkles her hours with little expectations
every moment.
I've never had the evening clouds
bring me memories
like the man
and I never grappled with myself
to retain the present.
I've never sat idle with my feet hanging
like the boatman
never hummed songs
never had any epiphanies
in my free time.
I've never contested with the boy
though he seems to think I do
or maybe not
but seems to enjoys it
I've never known how
I've never left anywhere like the young man
nor arrived anywhere
never had pangs of nostalgia
or an overwhelming homecoming
anyone who speaks of me
or to me
has to imagine what it is
because I never speak
just like now.
you might be able to imagine my lifelessness
but I'll never imagine your life
because I don't know such a thing exists
and I can't know.
Yet if I were to know it for a while
I'd give up all I have
for one lifespan.

Trenches

2008-05-23T01:50:00.000+05:30

My mind is ever under the siege of alien thoughts,
their raging bullets rush, their fiery missiles fly.
And terrified, I dig dark trenches, wherein,
my mummified beliefs ever protected lie.

Hum Ek Doosre ke Padosi Thay

2008-05-21T00:17:00.008+05:30

...because he/she may just be the boy/girl next door!

Prakriti was cooking potatoes when through the window she saw somebody fall. She went to look and in the dark she could make out a man lying prostrate on the ground before what looked like a child, and shouting "Jai Ho! Jai Ho!” It was only when the thing barked and ran away did she realize it was a dog. And only when the man got up and walked did she realize it was the neighbour Devakar. Staggering and still shouting "Jai ho! Jai ho!” he managed to reach the door of his house where he collapsed and was pulled inside. And now she smelled something burning and ran back to jet-black potatoes smoking furiously with the shouts of "Parkirtee! Aaloo! Parkirtee! Aaloo!" coming from one of the rooms. She yelled back - "Can nobody in the whole damned world pronounce my name properly!"

---Ten-tenennn---

Starring:

Gulab Janum,
Kamal Parinda,
Navel Nanda, and
Phool Sikudi

in

Hum Ek Doosre ke Padosi Thay
...because he/she may just be the boy/girl next door!

Camera: Vauyar Saila

Screenplay: Kanikarini Khwaba

Background Music: Dhunivar Taana

Art Director: Nazuk Kamarwala

Director: (ahem ahem) Vibhav, Draam-e-baaz.

----------

A dulhan had arrived in the neighbourhood and Prakriti had to go for the mu-dikhai as a result of which her brother Jograj was supposed to milk their buffalo today. "Please bhaiya be gentle with it and use my purple dupatta if you need to", she said to him. "Yeah yeah...don't worry" was the reply. When she left, Jograj walked to the buffalo-shed. He stood there for a while, then came back inside the house muttering. Then he ran back to the shed, his head and torso covered with his sister's purple dupatta. Once inside the shed he looked outside, of himself only the face visible, and making sure nobody had seen him, settled down to milk the buffalo. "Damn animal. Wouldn't respond to anyone but her. So here I am. Here's your own Parkirtee, O bhains-mata, in her own purple dupatta. Looking pretty and familiar, am I not? Now please, pour down your five litres for me", he said under his breath, not speaking loud, cautious should the animal see through the guise and refuse to be milked. It is traditional wisdom in the villages of India that an animal who'll allow only a regular to milk it can sometimes be fooled by a simple clothing disguise and Prakriti and Jograj used this method pretty often, causing in Jograj a permanent dread of impending embarrassment.

And it would seem the day for that embarrassment was today, but with intensity more severe than he could have imagined. He had milked about three good litres and could feel at least two more in the buffalo when he heard Devakar clearing his throat behind him. He had an impulse to run away, but froze, and waited. Devakar said after a while, in such a gentle voice Jograj would never have thought him capable of - "Parkirtee?" Jograj didn't reply, now thinking of how to get out of this situation with the least embarrassment. The result was that both of them were still for a while, because Devakar was now lost in his own memories, while the buffalo stood troubled by the two-litres left unmilked in her, after she had resigned the whole of her full-cream for yet another day.

Devakar was remembering that playful day of 15th August when he had seen Prakriti on her terrace, flying a kite. Her silver nose-ring had shone bright on her dark face tilted up towards the sky, looking like an early crescent moon casually hanging about the evening sky. The setting sun's rays had fell on it for a moment and reflected directly into his eyes, reaching his heart through them, and filling it with a longing for her as pungent as the glare. That day, he had realized for the first time that life could be as complete and smooth as a circle, and known at the same time that his life won't be so unless a part of that circle bound, and became inextricably linked to hers, just as her nose-ring was to her nose.

He had decided he would marry her and had already thought as his next thought about how odd it would be for his baaraat to travel only till the next house.

He returned to the present, and said to a sweating Jograj in a voice that had suddenly acquired an almost royal nature while retaining its gentleness - "Parkirtee, I have wanted to tell you something for a long, long time now. I believe the day has come, and I can no longer stay quiet. Even fate is on our side today, that I have found you alone here. And yet, I do not find it an appropriate situation to tell you a truth that has the potential to change both of our lives, not with you in the midst of milking a buffalo. But if you could kindly sneak out of your house tonight, and meet me behind the old temple, I should be, and I have reason to believe, you yourself would be extremely grateful later in life. You can be sure of the purity of my intentions since I have called you to meet me right behind God's house, instead of Thakur Jor Pratap's, the old haveli, which was also one of the possible options."

Jograj had never been more confused about the state of his mind, as he was now after Devakar left. He told himself he ought to be relieved to not have been discovered, and yet it was good that it was he and not his sister who was present here today. He also ought to be outraged, he thought, for somebody to have made such a proposition to his sister! But he could not have refused the purity argument given by Devakar in the end, which, admittedly Jograj had also once used with Sitara of Noorpur last year. This argument was also an old tradition passed on from one male generation to another and was sincerely believed in, and Jograj couldn't refuse that he did feel a certain bonhomie towards Devakar for having understood it better than had all the girls across generations who ever heard it. And then (for it couldn't be about anything else), marriage to Devakar wouldn't be such a bad thing for his sister, who was already seventeen. What a lucky girl, he thought, just getting out of school, and comes a groom to her home, ready to take her away. He laughed at his initial confusion, and now waited for his sister to return. He was eager to break the happiest news of her life to her.

...

"But they are good people Parkirtee, you'll be very happy in that family", a somewhat surprised Jograj said to his sister when she was appalled at the idea of marrying Devakar.
"They are big carpenters, it is heard that their grandfathers made furniture for English collectors", he pressed on.
"Well that's nothing to be proud of", she replied.
"Well what do you know of class. What does it matter if he prefers a drink in the evening?"
"He is a drunkard. And a bloody dog-worshipper if you don't know."
"A dog-worshipper?"
"Yes I've seen him many times hailing a street-dog at night. Jai-Ho! Jai-Ho!"
"It isn't decent of you to talk like that for your future husband. Talk to me next when you get back your mind."
"Future husband!"
"Yes, he is."
"No! he isn't!"

Jograj didn't say anything more to his sister but narrated the whole incident to their mother when she returned from a distant-cousin visit the next day.

...

"But Ma, I'm still in school."

"Yes, and much good it's doing you, every passing year it's making you less and less suitable a match."

"Ma! You know, our principal is ready to pay my whole fees if I go to college in the city. He says I am more intelligent than even the boys."

"Oh-ho! Smart you are indeed. Smart you are. And you'll stay smart and unmarried. So it's your principal who's been filling your head with all the rubbish in the world."

"But Ma, this is exactly what Papa would've wanted. He would have been very happy if he'd heard I could get a scholarship."

The mother didn't seem softened by the reference to the deceased father, but was certainly quietened for a while. And then -

"Beta, your father is in a different world now. And he wasn't much in this one ever. He always had ideas from I don't know where. Sending you to school was his idea, and see what it has made of you. You don't know, but I've been trying to get a good match for about two years now. And the mention of your being in school in such an obscenely high class always breaks it. I never asked you to leave only because of your father's wishes. But if that means I'm going to have to give up a groom who has come walking right to our door, I'm taking it no more."

"But Ma, I could get somebody educated, like Papa. There are enough well-educated men in this world."

The mother sighed and after the quiet of a few minutes -

"To tell you the truth, your father wasn't much of a husband."

"Ma! For you to be saying this after he's in heaven!"

"What else can I say? At the fields working among the women I had no stories of his manliness to tell them. He never beat anybody, was always gentle everywhere, and he didn't beat even me! And what all I did to invite him! I hadn't even one story to tell them."

"But Ma, he was a different kind of a person. Think of the things he did, the things he gave us."

"What did he give us? What did he give you? A name from I don't know what old language that nobody understands? And if he were alive he would have brought you up to be just as impossible and nobody would have understood anything about you. Already I can't understand your interest in college. Haven't your read enough books already? And to think of you talking about your own marriage! And arguing about it! Aren't you ashamed to even think of it? When I first heard of my marriage I couldn't speak for days I was so embarrassed.

Beta, try to understand, what a girl needs is a husband. And you're getting one in your neighborhood. Think of all the savings! It's not easy for me to arrange everything on my own. A groom in neighborhood is just what your mother needs. Think of it, after college, you still have to marry. Why lose so many years? And who will marry you then? Once a girl crosses twenty, she as good as an old maid. I've lived my life practically without a husband, whether he was dead or alive, and I know how it feels. Is it only your father that's important to you? Doesn't your mother think of your good. I am telling you all this with a woman's experience. Your father wanted to make you a boy. He didn't understand the way a woman has to be. Do you understand?"

"Ma, but not Devakar at least! He's not what I would...and then he's a drunkard!"

"Now it's time you stopped calling him by name. And these little things are there in every man. Where will you find a perfect man? At least the habit is manly. Once you get married to him, you can change him. He's not a stone like your father I can tell you."

"Ma, he goes mad when he's drunk, I've seen him worship a dog!"

"Now I'll not have anything more from you, be glad I've tried to make you understand, girls with proper fathers never get to say a word!"

...

"Parkirtee..."

Prakriti was stopped one afternoon as someone called her name while she was returning from school.

"Parkirtee, you never came to meet me that night, perhaps you weren't convinced by my purity argument, but what you did was right for a girl, and I find myself even more in love with you. I only want to tell you that I have never dreamed of being with any girl but you and I love you from the bottom of my heart. When you become my wife, you'll be the happiest woman in the whole wide world. I'll see you when our families meet tomorrow, and after that when I come to your home with my baaraat to make you forever, forever mine."

Nobody had even spoken anything like that to Prakriti. With everything that everyone had been saying all these days, she had relented a little even in her mind and now hearing such romantic things from Devakar she thought that it might after all be only good for her, something her father, being a man, had not perhaps understood.

...

"Arre beta, have some more laddoo, don't be shy, consider this your own home now", Prakriti's mother said to Devakar in an excessively sweet voice when his family visited them the next afternoon. Prakriti found it absurd to dress up so gaudily when they had already seen her a thousand times; and when she came to know that they had come to her house from the next house in Devakar's city-uncle's car, she had such a nauseating feeling that she wanted to put this all off for another day. But she held herself. Now decked up, she entered the room holding a tray with cups of tea, walking slow with her head down as she had been instructed by her mother, never matching anyone's eye. She just wanted all these ceremonies to be over, and get to the days of marital bliss that everyone had promised lay ahead for her, and which she now had herself started looking forward to.

But one doubt remained in her mind, and she asked her mother to stealthily inquire somebody if there was more to the dog-worship than drunkenness. Now that she had made up her mind to marry Devakar, the only worry she had was if the family was involved with some sort of black-magic. Just as she was saying this to her mother, Devakar's father overheard it. He too had seen Devakar worship a dog many a time when drunk. The black-magic thing, he knew was perhaps the only thing that could break this marriage. For a moment he thought he should just attribute it to Devakar's drunkenness, but finding it inappropriate for the ocassion, he raced his mind around far in space and time and said -

"Arre beta...hahaha! You totally misunderstood it..hohooho...I'll tell you. We are a family of carpenters as you know, and big carpenters, our grandfathers made furniture for English collectors and Zamindars alike. Now have you ever seen a carpenter work? In olden days without machines, it was very difficult to cut and tear a piece of wood. One day as my great-great grandfather was walking around just outside the village, he saw a dog digging the ground. He stood looking and after a while the dog brought out a bone from inside the hole. When it started tearing at the bone, my grandfather was stuck by a great idea. He sat down where he was, mimicking the pose of the dog, and picked up a log of wood that lay nearby and worked on it in the exact way the dog's limbs worked on the bone, and learned that it became very convenient to tear wood this way. This gave us a tremendous competitive advantage and made us the best carpenters in the village. Now of course it's traditional knowledge but since then, Parkirtee beta, we have been worshipping dogs in our family. And a teacher is never small or big. Anyone who teaches you anything is worshippable across generations. What you have seen is Devakar's devotion to tradition."

Prakriti and everyone present in the room felt extreme satisfaction on hearing this account and Devakar, on realizing that this notion had been present in his blood so much that without his knowledge he had been worshipping dogs all along, felt such a joy come over him that he wanted to marry Prakriti right there and then.

...

Prakriti is sitting on her wedding bed waiting for Devakar with an unrest she has never felt before. Although somewhere inside she knows what's best for her now is a long, long sleep, but that would be very inappropriate if anybody ever heard of it, and then perhaps this is the greatest night of her life. Devakar enters, gently closes the door, walks over, sits on the bed and says - "Parkirtee, from today we are each other's forever." And as they draw closer to each other, a shrubbery of red flowers covers them.

THE END

A Bollywood101 (Creative) Studios Production.

Waking in a dream

2008-05-19T00:30:00.002+05:30

I wake up startled and dry-mouthed,
feel around for a bottle of water,
and am putting it to my mouth,
when I wake up again,

sit up and once more reach for the bottle,
and just as I feel it in my hands,
I wake up yet again,
startled, and dry-mouthed.

I sit coughing a few seconds,
having water, coming back, wondering
Was I stuck in a dream loop,
dreaming within a dream,
within a dream?
or am I imagining it?

Or did I imagine in a dream,
that I had another dream?

I saw sadness on her face

2008-05-16T11:51:00.000+05:30

I saw sadness on her face
a shadow the dark could not hide,
and the sunlight that her lips and teeth feigned,
too could not pierce her cloudy eyes.

Her body seemed tucked safe in space,
but her eyes looked far away.
It seemed she could disappear,
as if she were painted on air,
or were a time traveler.

I've known she speaks to the night,
with words gentle as water drops,
which seethe as violently,
when they fall on the heated sphere of silence,
enveloping and insulating her,
from love.

And in my own nights,
I am drawn into her eyes,
where floating I lie,
fearing, if they're sad because she's beautiful,
wondering, if she's beautiful because they're sad.

Goodbye IITD

2008-05-14T00:01:00.005+05:30

I want to write about my four years in college, just gone behind; only, I haven't yet been able to write about my years of schooling. These are difficult experiences to write about for a single person, they form collective memories, the kind you will talk about if a group of friends meets after many years. By myself, it is too overwhelming to write about the whole time. But since time never stops, and some things will fade, I will write down whatever I can.

Four years, eight semesters is a deceptive time scale. When I look back at it, I don't see time neatly divided into days, weeks, semesters or years. It appears instead that I am looking through a distorting lens, which makes time appear to have followed a large number of different scales. Some days appear distant and blurred while some are magically brought near into clear vision, regardless of their chronological order. It makes me feel at times that the whole period has been too short, and at times that it's been too long. Time has passed too slow on the scale of academics, and I have to make an effort to recall my first-year courses and teachers. I know I used to be more serious about them, but I've forgotten why or how. Then there is a time-scale of friendship, on which time has passed fast. I feel I haven't known my friends enough to say goodbye already. I want more time with them, but can't get it. And then there is an opposing desire to move on.

Some inactive days, weeks are totally wiped out, but of some I have retained a video memory. In a brief break during the first MEL120 workshop, we came out and stood in front of the workshop's entrance. From there, the roof of Convo-hall soaring up towards the sky against MS standing huge behind it is a breathtaking sight when you see it for the first time. Later on unfortunately, the knowledge of the machinery operating inside the buildings made it less pleasing to look at. The "relationship" hasn't been without ample hatred and resentment at times. But whether it was good or bad, whether you loved it or hated it, when you spend four years of your life at some place, specially the time when you are 17, 18, 19, 20 and 21, in a way, the place becomes "yours" and it is difficult to ignore it, or to have unmixed feelings for it.

People have been the best part of the experience. After knowing them for a while, it was surprising how similar we are, and again how different each one of us is. Most people outside IIT can't help stereotyping us, but I have found that IITians are at their best and most interesting when they fail those stereotypes than when they are able to successfully follow them. I've also found that it's not IITians who find it difficult to mingle outside, as the common belief is, but it's mostly the outsiders who find it difficult to mingle with us. It's too difficult mostly to talk to an outsider if he knows you're an IITian, since it'll be brought up in every bit of the conversation. Most people will either hail IITians or damn them, they won't treat us as normal. Anyway, it makes us more close-knit. We have our own lingo, our own intra-stereotyping, our own stories, our own set of moral-codes to pass on and our own survival fundas. We therefore have all the elements of a mini-culture, and being a part of that culture turns out to be more important than being a part of the institute. The culture includes some controversial elements too - poltu, inertia, fraud, and on the side of the administration, the primitive attendance superstition, leading to one of the biggest problems called attendance-fight. It has in fact messed things up in the last few days for many of us; it was arbitrary in most cases and that made it worse.

But thankfully, after a long disappointment with teachers, I did find one I'll miss. I took a course by Rukmini Bhaya Nair in the 7th semester, initially, admittedly, due to slot-convenience. But the next semester, I barely read the name of her course before registering for it. Her classes are full of discussion, insights, ideas, and fun. She hardly keeps an attendance record and yet I don't remember missing any of her classes this semester. 100% attendance - unFbelievable. It's surprising how a good teacher by herself makes one a good student. We all probably have our examples of teachers we admire and wish for all teachers to be that kind, of teachers who allow us to stand on their shoulders and see far depending on our own height, as opposed to the ones who stand instead on our shoulders with all their academic bulk and wonder why we can't see what they can see so easily. I once went with a friend to show her a draft of a presentation, feeling a little guilty to take her time for our minor concerns and expecting to take just about fifteen minutes. But she herself gave us one hour, tried to understand all points of our presentation, pulled out books from her shelf and read out related portions, opened her own presentations on her computer and copied related slides for us. Seeing the way she treated our work, by the end I felt that it was important as a "work" we were doing and not just as a course requirement to be met. It was quite a refreshing thing for me to have felt this way for my work, I never felt like this even for my BTP which I was involved with for a whole year. She elegantly negates the notion that good researchers aren't good teachers.

Among places, there's Sip 'n' Byte, Nescafe, Holistic, CSC, Library, places where an attaché inevitably finds himself spending a lot of time. I spent enough time in hostels to get to know about that life and to wish I were a hosteler too, but not quite enough to actually know that life inside out. And I feel a little bad about that. There are many other moments, I don't know what I can write about them, sometimes it was just a shared mood which made us celebrate nothing in particular, sometimes it was a running joke that climaxed, sometimes a treat for something happy that found its way into our lives after all!

Now it appears that all of a sudden I am by myself, and there is a need to think about my own life. There used to be a few minutes daily when I was rushing for the morning class, already late, and the road leading to MS looked good with trees on both sides and occasional flowers, the kind of surrounding you'd love to take a slow walk in. But I always had to rush and it made me think every day about the important question - whether to stop and rest in the lovely, dark and deep woods, or to go the miles for the promises I need to keep. This question and others like this will come up at every stage in life, and I don't know the answers yet but I think they lie embedded somewhere in the experiences I've had and the changes I've undergone in the last four years of my life.

The cool 28-questions tag

2008-05-13T02:26:00.003+05:30

Tagged by Tapasya

1. Last movie you saw in a theater?
Long back...It was either Taare Zameen Par or Welcome.

2. What book are you reading?
Light in August - about to be done.

3. Favorite board game?
Snakes and Ladders!

4. Favorite magazine?
Who needs them when we got the internet? Not me.

5. Favorite smell?
Clinic Plus I guess, I am not sure...never asked.

6. Favorite sound?
Long time since I heard it.

7. Worst feeling in the world?
Guilt.

8. What is the first thing you think of when you wake up?
WTF!

9. Favorite fast food place?
Does it matter where the junk comes from?

10. Future child’s name?
Can't say I haven't thought of them. Boy - Satye, girl - Rhythm.

11. Finish this statement. “If I had lot of money I’d...?”
be proof that it can't buy certain things.

12. Do you sleep with a stuffed animal?
Mr. Darcy, this is most singularly outrageous of you to be inquiring about my sleeping company. You certainly are no gentleman, sir.

13. Storms - cool or scary?
Scary so cool.

14. Favorite drink?
Does it matter what else is dissolved in it?

15. Finish this statement, “If I had the time I would...”?
lose the soul of wit.

16. Do you eat the stems on broccoli?
Yes, but I don't like them much.

17. If you could dye your hair any color, what would be your choice?
Silver, say?

18. Name all the different cities/towns you’ve lived in?
New Delhi (21 years), Noida (~3 months cumulatively approx.), Perth(2 months)

19. Favorite sports to watch?
A good AOE game.

20. One nice thing about the person who sent this to you?
Writes good emotional poems.

21. What’s under your bed?
None can tell.

22. Would you like to be born as yourself again?
I can tell you this only when I am dying.

23. Morning person, or night owl?
Flexible.

24. Over easy, or sunny side up?
Is this metaphorical? How can you have a choice in every damned little thing?

25. Favorite place to relax?
Sea-side. Rare access, unfortunately.

26. Favorite pie?
The English they left away, the Englishness they left here, eh? I'll convert it into a "favorite mithai" question.
It is Gulab-Jamun.

27. Favorite ice cream flavor?
These things you really shouldn't ask about unless you can be ready with them once I answer.

28. Of all the people you tagged this to, who’s most likely to respond first?
I am weak in "Probability".

I tag -

Do it if you like it, when you're free, when you're in the mood!

Aaj phir...

2008-05-12T01:09:00.002+05:30

Old wounds don't heal,
they just become numb,
and accumulate with age.
They sting if you're careless
and brush them against things while moving around,
or when casual raindrops wet them,
when in the heat the sweat damps them,
when dusty winds soil them,
or on some mornings after wild dreams,
or when a new wound hits the same place,
or a place close.
Pain starts like an echo,
resonates for a while,
then fades away,
like a five-minute sad song.
It is soothing while it lasts.

Defeating Time

2008-05-11T02:46:00.000+05:30

I woke up on the floor
and saw the world come to life
slow
windows first of all, lit from behind - lovely.
Nobody noticed, I stood up.

I woke up on the floor again,
And again the world came to life, a little shifted,
this time starting with a bulb,
windows a little distant.
I had cut a little time from life
and crushed it.

It had started with the world turning off,
slow
uncontrollable, violent sleep.
I have an idea how death comes.

It will cut off some of my time,
but at times I love to defeat time.

Dreams and Reality

2008-05-05T00:40:00.002+05:30

I thought dreams and reality were adversaries,
but they turned out to be accomplices last night,
when the windows and doors securely locked,
and the blanket tightly wrapped,
to keep reality out
were brushed casually away
by the dreamy storm that visited uninvited.

It sprayed reality all over me,
when I was asleep and couldn't
but watch it do so.

I woke up with the grainy dust of reality,
stinging my eyes whenever they opened,
and choking me at every breath,
biting my face,
but with a taste familiar after all.

2008-05-03T02:07:00.000+05:30

The broth is bubbling
and helplessly rising
at the top bursting
at the bottom burning
in the middle unsure

Points of View

2008-05-02T02:28:00.000+05:30

We had sat by the window, looking
at the moving scenery outside.
You faced the direction of motion
of the train and I sat backwards.

You saw all that was coming towards us,
I, all that was going away.

You could see things I couldn't yet see,
I could see them long after you couldn't.

You saw how things look when they're coming,
I, when they're going.

And we talked and told each other,
what each of us saw.

When the accident happened,
I had seen your eyes widen,
but before I had time to turn,
all scenery was gone.

I never saw what came towards us,
and you never could tell me.
My last sight
was of all that had gone before.

and I am left wondering,
what could ever hit something that had been so good all the time?

We have different last scenes,
I don't know yours and you don't know mine,
but they were both there

and all we know about the end
comes through scenes that
each one of us alone saw and couldn't share.
We'll never know what the other's end looked like.

Something good to begin the month with

2008-05-01T02:38:00.001+05:30

There are people who make their photographs available for everyone to use with varying permission. I thought I'd look at those photos and write the first things that come to my mind. It was good. I wasn't really "writing", it was less restrained than that. I chose the photos by some topics and then wrote about every photo for a few minutes and when some of the first things it brought into my mind had finished, I moved on to the next. All the while I was listening to Streets of Philadelphia. I am not in the best of my spirits these days so on another day, what I write might be quite different. Anyway, I feel lighter. :)

Photo by Sir Mervs

We went for a picnic and it's time to return now. It was fun but I am a little sad. We're waiting for people who're still on the giant wheel, taking a last ride. The teachers are being the most impatient of all. They're forcing us into buses but it's so sweaty that I feel sick. I love seeing things against the setting sun.

Photo by ganessas

Femininity in a woman attracts me. More so, when it is not cliched, like in this photograph. I like to watch a woman go about a work. I guess I try to find out what is different, what are the unique things about a woman, and when I find one, it is very attractive. Without femininity, there is no masculinity and vice versa and we all lose traits which are not wrong in themselves, though it often appears so.

Photo by sandman_kk

Reminds me of that day in Barista. A lot happened that day but finally we went and sat there for a while, and I knew all that had happened was slowly turning into memories. That was one of the days which remain. It wasn't crowdy and no places seemed vacant, it was just full. When we came out, I knew it was a rare feeling I was feeling. There was a tree there just like this.

Photo by net_efekt

The worst crimes are crimes against innocence. I think of Afghanistan when I see this pic. And most likely she's in trouble she didn't ask for in any way. She doesn't even know what's going on, but it shows up on her face. She is cute against the backdrop of some of the worst things going on in the world. I feel human life-span is too big. People get bad.

Photo by david owen

It brings a place into my mind where there will be just one person from every culture. Something like Noah's Ark, but instead of species, one of each culture will remain after some disaster. And every one will feel special, and will feel responsible for his or her own culture. And fundamentalists will die of isolation and everyone will be unique but will mingle with everyone else or won't be able to live. They'll roam around in a common marketplace like this and get to know each other, and each other's whole thousand-year histories. Language interpretations will be fun.

Photo by LivinTheDream

I feel like know these children standing there like this. There is an unimaginable number of children in India. It's almost scary to see them smiling because it instantly reminds of huge huge things waiting for them, even that little one with a stick in her hand looking up at something. She doesn't know into what kind of a world her parents have brought her. Love their innocence, children make me cry.

Photo by DeusXFlorida

I can almost hear the sploshes and see the glitter of this. Reminds me of the sound of sea. The sea is always talking to you. Sea can make you less lonely. And it's always telling you something, you don't know what, but when you're lying near the sea, you're being educated about life. And it's soothing. I faintly feel I am in water.

Photo by tizzle

I love to see tall well-lit buildings in the distance. I don't like it much when I am in the middle of it, not all the time, but I could stand near this fencing and watch the lights flickering and bright for long. It works as good as the night sky for me. A city is a creature in itself, a kind of a species.

The Unlit Universe

2008-04-30T03:02:00.000+05:30

My hands flutter uncertain in light,
sparkling laughter bounces off my ears.

I slip but only a little slide away,
I stop and sit up and find
the lights and sounds weakened.

I see a struggle in one corner -
the dark detaining the light,
and the quiet gobbling the noise,
I ignore them and look to the other side.

I see loops and eddies, shadowy shards of glass,
slippery cobweb strands and the remains of a house.
Some parts disordered, some parts untouched,
as if reality just rushed by
with clumsy flapping hands.

I try to put things in proper place,
but they're too hard to move,
and there are also some which prove
transparent to my touch.
I can perhaps no longer change anything here,
because reality now must be elsewhere.
And it walks so fast I can't chase it.
So I just stay and look,
and I can see
some even darker turns.

Taking them,
for yet another night,
I walk among bursting surprises,
in the unlit universe of my mind.

In the head

2008-04-29T03:16:00.001+05:30

There are stinging hot plates in my head,
on which droplets fall slow and random,
and splatter noisily purposelessly violently.
And below the steaming noise, I hear my heartbeat in my head.

If I poke a needle in the skull,
it'll squeak like a pressure-cooker,
and the exhaust fountain will wet the walls.

My memories just exploded in the April heat.
It's all slippery around me.
I'm scared of waking up different in a different place,
no longer able to draw a straight line.

Romantic tonight

2008-04-26T03:07:00.000+05:30

Hello blog my friend, I've come to talk with you again. Let's get romantic tonight. What's wrong with getting romantic? Why is there a certain guilty feeling when you want to get romantic? Is it because a person when he's romantic cannot tell real from non-real? I guess it's because we people have misused and abused this condition of being romantic a lot. Just like we've abused ideas like god and religion, and love, and stuff. I mean seven billion people pulling and pushing at a thing, even at something shapeless like an idea, will certainly distort it a bit. Anyway, so I'll talk about home.

There's one home where you live, but there's one feeling of a home, where if you're present, all is fine in the world, there in no need for any other concern. It may be just an idea, just a feeling, and there might never be a "real" thing or a place to go with it, but obviously that doesn't take anything away from it. So I'll write my idea of this kind of a home. I have an image in my mind, for years now, probably my best picture, as in favorite. It's evening, and I am on a terrace with my cousins, who are all older than me. It's the terrace of my Naniji's place. They're all sort of collected on one corner of the terrace, I can't tell how many they are, maybe 5 or 6, and they're all looking at something in the sky and are excited. Maybe it's a kite, or balloons, I can't tell, it's just something little to get excited about for a little while. I am looking at the same thing, but I am some distance away from every one, sort of closer to the opposite corner of the terrace, but not in the corner exactly, closer to the center of the terrace. On one side of the terrace is a wall of another house, and on a second adjacent side is a tree, it's not tall enough to obstruct anything though. So I am looking at the sky too, and they're all there, I can tell by their voices and I have this feeling that it's just perfect. I don't know how to describe it, I can't. It's just that I am there, my head is raised and the sky is in the center of the picture, there are poles and wires crossing it, there's a tree towards the lower part of the picture, and towards the corner are my cousins, and things like the railings, and the other buildings and everything. It's evening, it's summer, and it's mostly gray and that little bluish-gray color of the evening sky. I'm feeling perfect to be there. The whole scene, I guess that's what peace means, and satisfaction and happiness. :) It's nothing extraordinary, nothing I would've imagined if it weren't there in my mind already. Just me, on a terrace, looking up, my cousins gathered nearby, and I'm not even in my own "home", but it's perfect. And there's nothing to do with even childhood, I am totally quiet, just looking, no amusement or humor, just looking. My benchmark scene for "home".

I don't know where this scene came from, I don't remember. Was there actually ever such a situation, or did I dream it, or did I just join scenes together and imagined it, I don't know what I did. But it's been there for very very long, maybe 10 years, maybe 15, maybe more. And it's no definite feeling, it's very very faint. It's not a scene that can cheer me up when I need it, or anything. It's just there. There's just one word I can describe it with and that is home. I feel "home" when I imagine it. A feeling of belonging. Like there's a place in the world for me, and it is in that scene. I wasn't just dumped in the world to roll here and there, but a place was made for me, and it was in that picture. It was momentary, and maybe it never really happened but surprisingly it doesn't seem to matter to me.

It's the first time I've tried to describe it in words. Of course I haven't been really able to, but I was thinking about it all the time I was writing about it, and it was good to do it. Now I didn't do anything special to get that picture in my mind, so my hope is that once more in my life, I'll get a feeling like that. I guess what I have to do is, to not keep avoiding it.

How would it feel

2008-04-25T21:22:00.000+05:30

How would it feel
if the lines on your palm
were to wash off
one morning with water

And how would it feel
if the color of your skin
were to fade
while you bath

And how would it feel
if your words
were to just...
tr..a...
...i..l...
a...w...
....a....y
like this
when you asked help

And how would it feel
if you woke up in outer space
in vacuum and absolute darkness
with your five senses useless

Why do I feel
that all of this
wouldn't be too surprising.

The headache day

2008-04-23T02:15:00.004+05:30

I'm wondering if I should write today, I have nothing particular to say, and no energy for broken lines, and I am not sure if this is going to be completed. I am not sure at what sentence this post might end, and for what reason, and I don't have any plan inside my head for what the next sentence is going to be about. And now I am stuck. Because I talked about the next sentence before I had ended the ongoing one. You heard the story about the centipede? I'll tell you anyway. So a frog just for fun asked him how he manages to co-ordinate all this 100 feet while walking. And the centipede says "I don't know, never thought of it, I just do it." And now the centipede started thinking about it and was never able to walk again, he couldn't co-ordinate his legs consciously, something he did perfectly sub-consciously. Now I'm wondering what use is introspection to humans and how far should it be allowed to go. Could you end up something like the centipede, too busy co-ordinating legs with his active mind and unable to move? I don't know and I am not thinking about it tonight. So when I talked about the next sentence in the ongoing sentence earlier I sort of got confused. But anyway the story came to my mind. So...what else...the reason I don't want to think and find something to say and I don't have energy is because I had a little headache in the evening. Now headaches are not so frequent for me and I got a little too worked up because of it. And then I made it my sole purpose to get rid of it. I slept for I don't know how long, I guess 1-2 hours, but it didn't help any, sleep isn't what it used to be. Then I woke up and tried relaxing my mind because there was a lot going on there, simply because I had a headache. Now there's one thing, when you have a headache, you don't want to think, but you are very vulnerable to thoughts. And you get tensed about having a headache, which feeds back the headache, and then you get more tensed..and so on. What I think I'll do the next time I have it is, I'll think - but I'll take my thoughts through a very simple route, I'll drive them, I won't let them be free, I'll think linear, normal, neutral. Anyway, so I had a bath for about 45 minutes and I sort of got rid of it. And I didn't waste water I should note because I had it real slow. I wanted to make myself feel cold, and I actually got chattering teeth, and it helped. So now I don't have it, but I'm in no mood for letting my mind do tricks of its own so I am keeping it busy with good old linear thinking. Not dancing around tonight, not flying, just a simple walk on a roadside. Sometimes I wonder how can a single mind have so many contradictions inside it. I mean it's just one isn't it? One life, one mind, one thought at a time? No, it's at least 10 and 5 vs 5. Contradictory. With equal conviction and supporting arguments. Issues starting from biggies like life and death to simple issues like what to eat. Alright, so I'll tell you something - I can't order. I am talking about food. I go to a place to eat, any kind, and I can't order food. I don't know what-ly challenged it makes me, but ordering food is beyond me. I always look at the menu or the board whatever it is, but I know it's no use. I finally do ask for something, but I am never satisfied. I know something else would be better. Now I am normally a very satisfied kind of a person, but there I just don't know what I want. Some things I can totally cross out, and I am very happy to do that, but there's always a lot of things to get stuck on, finally I do it randomly, have it, and forget all about it. I can't order. I identified with Oliver in Little Miss Sunshine. She had a problem with ordering food for a while, and during that scene in the movie, it might be a very ignorable forgettable scene, and specially her having difficulties with ordering during it, but during that part, I knew I connected with that little girl. I had an idea of how she felt. At that point, it was me there on the screen. Anyway, so...don't stay quiet...keep on talking... linear... linear...contradictory thoughts....movies...ok so it appears it's the marriage season and my attendance is 33% right now because this week there's already been three and I attended one and when I went there, I didn't know a single person. Not one familiar face in sight. Hell, I didn't recognize the song that was playing. I felt acutely out of place. Anyway, so known people started materializing and it was back to normal. That brings cricket to my mind. Ladies and Gentlemen, cricket has gone beyond my understanding. I don't know how teams are organized and who plays against who and who is to be supported. I guess I'm going low on current affairs these days, I know only three letters - IPL, and that something big and new is going on and I don't know about it yet. I wanted to be a cricketer once, around class 7. Talking of wanting-to- become, I wanted to be an astronaut once, those were the days! Ok, now let me not start pointing this chain of thoughts towards the future, because I know that's what's going on my mind, about what would I actually be, but that has to be cut right off. That would not be linear, right now I want to be totally linear. I love the way I see words appear on the screen. You have your fingers in your peripheral vision hopping on the keyboard like a spider, and you see the words seemingly independently appearing on the screen. It's beautiful. It doesn't happen in most posts because there I am writing very slow, actually typing is a very small part of the process, but in a post like this, typing-dominated, it draws attention to itself. My head is rather relieved now, writing is a healing process too, real-time. Not just long-term, making-sense kind of a thing. It cures. Now I didn't take a pill, because you could say I have a certain kind of a fear, or some resentment. I am too worried about the side-effects. I mean I see them like little bullets. Such a small thing claiming to do so much, well, I can't get around to trusting them. I'd prefer time to heal me. Or sleep, or a bath, or a walk, or writing, something where I somewhat know what's going on. When I can't help it anymore, I do take pills, but I don't trust them much. So I was in a lift today and there was a power-cut, it got stuck, it was full, and it went all dark, but the main problem was the fan stopped and then I realized maybe I also have mild claustrophobia. I can tell you, it was unpleasant. Thankfully it lasted only a few seconds, but I guess I also have a mild fear of suffocation. And guess what, the city is getting more and more suffocating everyday day. Happy life. I don't want to stop writing, and I don't know what to write about. Silence is pleasant between two people. By yourself, you'd rather talk. I guess people don't want to be alone for silence, but to be able to talk to themselves. Linearly, neutrally. When you're with somebody, only then you can actually be quiet. You can then place all your baggage in that space between the two. Anyway, it's a small issue. I feel most problems with the world are not because they are real problems with the world, but because the stories we were told as children gave us very different expectations. And it's not just about the world being not so good as we were told, it's just different sometimes. I mean, it's not wrong that people have mixed qualities. If people had only one constant quality, how boring would that "happily ever after" be. Nobody ever told us what happens in the "ever after" and maybe we aren't going to tell our children what happens there. We won't even try. Why not? Do we really think that children can understand "good" and "bad" and "moral" and "immoral" but not the fact that qualities are present in a mixture in all people? Why not tell the truth? It's not a sad truth, or too difficult to tell. It's the way it is. Tell them that Pandavas were after all monarchs too and to the people it probably wouldn't have mattered whether they or Kauravas came to power, but it was just that...I mean just give kids a balanced thing...that way Mahabharat would remain a reference text for them, otherwise by the time we are teenagers, Ramayan and Mahabharat have lost meaning for us for being fairy tales. Anyway, maybe adults are scared themselves to face the fucking truth. We will never be totally good. But we do have things like restraint and help and forgiveness etc. for when we need them. Underrated things, but I guess more important than good and bad. Morality is passed to kids in the form of a chewing gum. As soon as they put it in their mouths, its strength is gone, the rigidity was deceptive, and after some time the sweetness is gone, it's tasteless and you don't feel like throwing it nor specially want to continue chewing it, all it does is exercise your jaws, much like the real world moral debates that go on. I guess I'll tell my kids some balanced stories if they want to hear some, and if I turn out to be wrong, the results can't be worse than what actually happens right now to people when they grow up. If it turns out right, reality wouldn't be a shock to them, but a place where they live.

Ok, I am hungry now. Things got a little passionate there in the last few lines, but I guess I should fill my stomach a little before anything else. Good night, balanced people, believe me, I love you all for being so complicated and complex and for growing up with a mixture of qualities despite the fact that you were told misleading propaganda stories in your childhood. Stay balanced. :)

Time of my life

2008-04-22T00:28:00.002+05:30

These days I am doing at least two things at any given time:

1. Thinking how silly was something I did or said a few hours back.
2. Doing or saying something which I'll find very silly a few hours later.

Reading today

2008-04-19T14:13:00.002+05:30

The reasons for pessimism [about the culture of reading these days] can be expressed in two words of which one is Dan and the other is Brown.

-Salman Rushdie