THANK YOU

Life that you breathed into me when I came at your door.

Maybe on lonely nights.

Maybe on endless days.

That which you gave to me, though I never asked you.

Your's that I took from you.

Why do I forget that I owe the same elsewhere, that I owe it myself.

October afternoon

bucket full of clothes,

I'll sing till I turn deaf.

The blue polythene is stuck on the tree,

the cow might chase you till you go crazy.

Till you jump into the lake,

and then maybe you'd turn into a frog and live in peace,

forever and ever.

Remind of this really cheesy thing I really believed in years ago "Dreams that you dare dream sometimes do come true".

Now when I have the time. Now that I can. Now when I want to more than any other time.

Tell me to make it happen.

Someone is spending birthday with someone special. There's this boy playing cards tonight. Two old pals from school meet tonight. Someone is sitting cosy at home with a cold, home in Bombay, Aaah. Sisters spend tonight like every night, perfect.

This perfect world wish never ends for you.

Me so blue. All blue, even dressed in blue.

Fix me up. I'm twenty two. Running out of time. Fix me up. I beg.

What he said didn't break her heart, she just sat and smiled, amused.
She's out of her mind.
It was more beautiful than anything she'd ever imagined, he did something more than what music does to her.
Liar! Liar! she does'nt believe in anything that is not her imagination. You know her.
He sat there clueless of what she was thinking. She couldn't see him, it was getting dark.
Aaah, that's how she's always liked it.
Why did he look so beautiful to her, it was so dark.
I bet she didn't stop smiling.
You bet, he did something more than what music does to her you see.

If I could write this poem.

And then if I could sing it to you, dancing.

And then you'd see how happy I was.

And if you understood why,

then I'd be happier than how happy I am.

Pink?

You like pink?
It makes you like nice.
Colours your mood right.
It sure seduces the mirror and makes you smile.
You like pink?
I don't.

How is your hair so grey. So, so grey. I like what you wear.

Where did you learn that it was sin to sleep in peace? I learnt too. But I wonder where you learnt it from? Where did you learn that it was sin to sleep in peace?

You grey haired man can't you see, I'm in love with you.

La la la lalala la

What do you think the weather in Oslo is like?

Last night was big night. Big big real big night. I told Noori what I thought of their music and what it meant in my life. And yea they heard. They read my message on their brand new blog. Imagine that. And and and Ali Noor replied!!! Imagine they know that of the things I have to do before I die, watching them live is in the top league.

What do you think the weather in Oslo is like? Noori is playing. Ali noor is singing.

The world was full of a zillion things. And I was perfect. Perfect. But then, just then, I wish now time would freeze then. So I could have enough.

Bravo!

I didn't know that colour. Didn't know the name. Had never seen that shade. But I just knew that I had to have it on my wall. Why should my wall miss that colour, any colour. Fearless I shall always be. No colour could make my wall ugly. My wall is a beautiful sight, it'd make you cry, that beautiful.

How happy can you be? No tell me how happy can you be? I've been racing to there. My heart beating wild. And I'm there, almost there.

Happy Independence Day

To the glory that was ours, to the glory that will be.
For freedom forever and ever.

Jai Hind.

because i want to go flying and be what i want to be

On the middle of the road a promise made long time ago.
Will have to be fulfilled.
Life always has a strange way of turning prophecies into reality.

I wasted my clothes
all the while you were out of sight.
What if I didn't see you for a hundred years
and so what if it rained all the while.

Random, random.

An observation by someone who has read a few books. No claims of it being an expert opinion.

The best of books aren't that well written towards the end. The story might end perfectly, the book may have been beautifully written throughout, the writer may be a magician of words, but some how most of them don't leave the best of words for the end. This is not to suggest that a book should peak at the last page, in fact most of my favourties did'nt have a last few lines that left me breathless.

There's this one book whose last line left me swearing (that's what I do when overwhelmed by beauty) - Train to Pakistan by Khushwant Singh.

Not that you can't predict what's going to happen at the end, just that to me the last sentence is magical. It's the most perfect last line of all the books I've ever read - " The train went over him and went on to Pakistan".

because i want to write. because i want to sleep in peace. because i want to wake up and stare at nothing and think nothing. because i want to stare at beautiful men. because i want to droole over beauty no end. because i want to scream and sing in a locked room. because i want to dance. because i want to talk to my friend. because i want to see my friend. because i want to do my wall. because i want to read that book, and that book, and that book. because i want to be wise. because i want to get back in touch with so many people that i've left behind, waiting for the right time to get in touch. because i want to love that boy. because i want to go for a loooong walk. because i want to invest some money. because i want to watch cricket. because i want to watch ' राधा की बेटियाँ कुछ कर दिखाएंगी '. because i want to ponder over my countries troubles. because i want to learn that song. because i want to be a muscle woman. because i want new running shoes. because i want to eat momos. because i want to eat chilly chicken. because i want my hair to grow real long. because i want to be a good friend. because i don't want to be scared anymore. because i want to wear the prettiest dress ever made. because i want to see a favourite actor in a new movie, soon. because i want noori to come out with a new album soon. because i want to hear from my little charming friend. because i want to know the girl next door. because i want that neighbours music. because i want to study. because i want to stare at men dammit. because i want my peace. because i want to be free. damn free.

Prithvi, Juhu, Bombay

It was the way he held her and looked at her. You'd think they were lovers, or if not lovers that he loved her. He played the uncle and she the neice. But still the way he held her said something else. The scene was about an old man trying to convince his neice, holding her and shaking her, trying to drive his sense into her, but all I could think was that this man had to be in love with her. And how was I to be wrong they were husband and wife in real life.

Half cup of lemon juice,

sheets of paper,

you,

my freedom.

Just what I deserve.

You took off for a while and all I did was stare into space. Waiting, hoping that you would come and we would together dance in that crazy corner of my head, I waited hoping that you would want to come in and then we'd play that silly game again. But you didn't want to come. And I was unhappy today.

Standing tall?

Breathe slow. Acidity in the esophagus, the young doc in the beach town had said. Don't scratch, let the mosquitoes bite. New beautiful hole to live in, you'll get used to the mosquitoes.

So happy and soooo screwed. Both at twenty two. Just kiss the wind and the new curtains, you'll be just fine. Talk to Mommy like you've never been better, you'll be just fine.

Pretty boys. Pretty you. Whoever thought you'd find yourself in a heap of clothes. But you did. La la la la. The supermodel of your own life. Whatever you wear you'll look like queen tomorrow.

Proud so proud. Looks that the only thing that can kill you is your chest bursting open. That proud. So what're you going to do? Stand that tall if the bulldozer runs over you?

I'm a hundred years old, now. Tired very tired. Been on the hold for long, very long, waiting. Yea, yea I know life doesn't stop and bla bla, but I just feel a hundred years old. Forgotten to play happy games. Can't do that thing right now. I'm too tired.

Don't tease, don't mock. I'm no good right now. Life's not a happy time for me right now.

All that I did was write harmless senseless ugly poetry. Don't tease, don't mock. Not now.

flattery by a seduced mortal soul

from sometime ago

Roses are red
violets are blue
stuck in my mind with glue
that last glimpse of you.

Roses are red
violets are blue
at twenty two all I can do
is write for you.

?

What do you do when the most beautiful thing in your life is your own hair?
What the #### do you do?

There's this man, he makes movies. I'll meet him some day. He'll look at me from behind his glasses. Not more than a glance, meaningless for all the life that he has seen. He'd have to look nevertheless. Hear my story. Imagine it in his mind, while reading it. All the while smirking at me, for the life that he has seen and knows. Because he can't but see it so well in his mind, he'll take my story. All the movies that he's ever made end in a particular way. But my movie does not end in that way, but it doesn't end in a way that he wouldn't like either. For once he'd make a movie not for himself. He'd make it for me. My story, different from his. But he'd make it, through my eyes.He will.

(Sigh)

Somewhere beyond where black and white meet to become grey. Somewhere beyond where green flows beyond control. Somewhere beyond where red paints life. Somewhere beyond where yellow colours seasons. Somewhere beyond where purple tricks shades. Somewhere beyond that nameless angry colour. There. Millions miles away, but there.

Thank You

Love. Hurt. Lust. Four years. Dissolved in alcohol. Touch one. Kiss another. Hold yet another. Alcohol. Do what your sanity would'nt allow. How you pretended to be in love with one while yearned for another for so long. But today alchohol would set you free. You wait till alcohol tricks your loved one to fall in love with you. You could have who you wanted, the spirit burned the walls. You could confess to whom you admired. You could be brave, very brave and do what you've always wanted to.

A prayer on behalf of you - May God bless alcohol.

****************************************************************************

Undrunk, so undrunk. Not a sip. No thoughts of tricking that drunk boy. You sure can wait till another day, and let someone else have the chance today. How about the other one. You sure are braver than the drunk, so just go. You think he'll think you're drunk? No he won't, tell him that. Tell him of the perpetual madness in your sanity. No? You think there's no need? Because that's the truth of your existence? Because no one can change that, not even him?

A prayer for you - May God cure your madness.

A burnt flower market.

My favourite hymn in the church.

Your face in the morning - the life in my head.

I could hear the rumble. Far but loud. From down below the earth. I could feel the life in me, I heard the passion in me screaming out loud. I thought I was going to explode. I just sat still waiting for my time.

For all the beauty that you wanted,

waited for,

beauty you shall create.

My dream I wish to turn into a grain of sand and put in your eye. To float and swim there. Nowhere else does it seem more beautiful, least in my mind. It would'nt hurt I promise. It would come to life. And I would live forever.

The earth is going round the sun.

Ask me what love and loyalty is when I'm forty.

I don't even wish to look at you.

Just come close, I'll put a gold coin in your pocket.

ICICI, project finance, syndicate financing, securitisation of assets, asset reconstruction.

Whoever said there is no beauty left in this world.

To Be

Model and Ms. Priti - the most creative genius of my times, hair stylist, costume and make up artist

For a day you're dressed up, like you were made to look like that forever. For a day your painted face would reveal the truth. For a day you'd feel like a star.

And you'll know what Mr. Shahrukh Khan means when he says " My Grandmother used to tell me, 'ज्यादा फोटो मत खीचो। हर फोटो के साथ तीन सेकंड लाइफ के कम हो जाते हैं।' (Don't have too many pictures taken. Each photograph robs you of three seconds of your life.). I want so many cameras taking so many pictures of me at the same time that I only live for a moment. The cameras go khachak! And somebody asks, 'what happened?' And they say, 'He got photographed to death. He got shot.' I think that would be the nicest way to go."

P.S. -Big day on blogosphere, I quote Mr. Shahrukh Khan.

Cheers

Kohl

Gloss

Beautiful Face

Cheer.

Mask

Stick

Dance

Cheer.

Dust

Game

Glory

Cheer.

Cross Country

Glory

Pride

Cheer.

Music

Stage

Half Dreams

Cheer.

Love distorted by anger, desire and cinema.

Dreams and the little bit of ambition disappear.

I watch myself becoming bigger than my dreams.

Maybe I'll crash into the earth and burst into flames.

Maybe I'll just fly past, untouched.

Blue jeans, yellow tee shirt.

Quiet, very quite.

Searching eyes, waited and waited.

Magic

"जादू है मेरी हाथों में"

There is magic in my hands, I swear. This is what I've been saying since I was young. But there is magic in my hands, I swear. I swear. I can fix broken things. Touch of my hands and a computer thats not been working for months starts working. Come to my house on christmas, I do the house beautifully. I wash my clothes, better than any washing machine. I ride my cycle like a dream. I make good pav bhaji. These are just material things but hand on my heart if I were a surgeon/doctor I'd never let anyone who came to me die. That kind of magic I believe, that kind of power, that kind of faith. Some corner of my heart I'm convinced I was born to be a surgeon. I never tried being one, I'm just convinced now. Reminds me of an old man saw my fingers when I was young and said I was going to be a surgeon.

There was this boy I loved once. I could still fight the world for him, run the earth two times over, take him flying with my wings around him over the violent cruel sea and keep him safe, I have that kind of power. I don't love him romantically now, but I love him. I always believed that if I touched his face just once, with the tip of my fingers, it would work magic. He wouldn't even have to know that I touched his face, maybe if I could just touch it while he was asleep. His troubles would come to an end, it would have nothing to do with me, just that my hands would work magic. That kind of power, that kind of faith.

There is magic in my hands, I swear.

As I Please

I'll use you to write my poem.
I'll use you to write my story.
I'll use you to keep me alive.
I'll use you to feel pretty at times even.
I'll love you when I want to.
I'll forget you for a while even.
And when I fancy another boy
I'll fall in love with him too.
Love him.
Really love him.
I'll droole over that face of yours.
I'll laugh when I see you smile.
I'll envy your hair.
Each time I write, I'll write for you.
I'll walk past you when I'm happy.
I'll walk past you when I'm sad.
I'll sing to you even.
I'll use you.
And I'll use you.
And I'll use you.
What are you going to do about it???

Pineapple Pastry

Cold cold morning. In her city. She isn't going to meet me on time. So I go watch a movie. She'll be ten minutes. So I walk the lanes of the market, two times over. I haven't eaten since morning so I go eat a pineapple pastry. She tells me she's just reaching. I throw the paper plate in the dustbin and go meet her.

It was time, to sin again.

Apologies

big words
random day
fleeting glances.

no words
no madness
for you to smile.

जय हिंद

"देश मेरे
देश मेरे
मेरी जान है तू।
देश मेरे
देश मेरे
मेरी शान है तू"

जय हिंद।

Happy Birthday Mommy.

I ran. I ran staring at the sky, I didn't wish to "paint it red" I liked it blue so I looked straight again and ran. I stopped, talked and laughed, that makes me very happy. Then I ran again. Happy. I was outside my house. I went inside and sat beside my mother, I put my head on her shoulder, she touched my face, and I cried out of love for her. Then I left home and ran through my town, crying, still failing to understand why I loved it so much.

Then I ran to the city I've always wanted to go to. It was just what I'd always thought it to be. I stopped panting for breath. Marvelling at what I saw. Then I ran again, the city didn't end at the sea. So I ran till I reached the sea. I stood on the sand, panting, with my hands on my waist. Satisfied with how far I'd come. There was a man selling ice candy. Strange. I've never seen ice candy near the sea. I didn't buy any, I don't like pink candy.

Then I ran east. To this country where my father lived for a few years when he was young. I've never fancied going there, but that was what was there to the east. So I reached this country. I was a little tired so I decided to stay for sometime. At the centre of this town, was a place where they taught how to dance. So I stayed and learnt how to dance. It was magical.

Then I ran back. I ran towards this friends house, she met me half the way. We hugged. She took me home. She cooked for me, gave me her soap, her clothes to wear. We talked. She fed me dinner with her little cousins. Then we went up to her room and slept together under what she calls her warm magic blanket. We slept till noon. Then it was time to leave. I stood at the door in her clothes. And I said goodbye hoping to meet the most loving person I know again.

Then I just ran. Thinking random thoughts. I just kept running. I knew the dead end. I knew it. I knew I had to run to you. My life I had put in a little box and given to you. And you wouldn't even tell me where you kept it. You wouldn't even tell me if you tossed it into the sea, and dreamt your dreams happily in the night, unaware of my existence. While I lived happily in the box I gave you. It doesn't break my heart, I've never cried wanting you to love me. I just gave it all to you beacuse I wanted you to konw the secret I put in the box. And I wouldn't care if the world didn't know I was dead. I knew I wanted to give it you.

I gave it all to you. Yes you.

कुम्बक कू कुम्बक कू

घोडे की पूँछ
झरने के नीचे
नानी के घर के पीछे ।

पूँछ का आधा तुम्हारे लिए
पूँछ का आधा मेरे लिए ।

Fool

True lies

Fool

Crazy love

Fool

Silent prayer

Fool

Hope

Fool

The Ash Wind

She was happy, very happy. The wind as always took her right places. She felt divine. Then from out of nowhere came the ash wind. And then she lost control of herself, her senses, her heart, her mind and her body. She was sick, very sick. Maybe not really sick, but sick. She lost control of her mind.Eighteen days since the ash wind came, now she sits and cries. Her bones hurt, she hasn't really eaten since then. She wants you to listen. She loves you. She thinks you're the magic in her life, the thought of you, the things she does because of you, the sight of you "makes her come alive". She thinks life is joy, and a lot of it comes because of you. She thinks telling you this will cure her. She thinks loving you will cure her.

They loved her. She cried, they understood. They fed her, made her sleep, took care of her, just like family. They bloody loved her. She loves them too.

But she'd lost control of her senses. There was fear, just fear. She couldn't sleep, with her heart beating wild with fear. People call it anxiety, hypochondria, stress, how did it matter to her, for her it was just fear. She tried to paint it with colours in the day - blue, yellow, red, she prayed in the night finally. She couldn't really share it, they made her sleep close by, but the fear was hers and hers alone, in the dead of the night, the sounds of her body, the tremor of a nerve, the beat of a vein terrified her.

She wanted to love you. But she couldn't, not as much as she wanted to. Not in her sickness.

She was just scared. Very scared.

She loves you.

And I let the music play. I let it take me to you. I let it make me what I am. And I see myself standing before you. And you can see it all. My truth through your eyes. And I sense no need to speak a word. Theres this way that my heart beats to music. I see that I can see that rhythm in your eyes. And then I know what I've always known.

And then I know that I can make music. For you and you alone, my truth, my muse.

It's the music.
It is.
You get carried away.
It isn't the truth.
Think again.
But then why do
you think that
what the music brings
is not the truth.

His face.
His smile.
Damn.
Him.
Your Muse.

You think it's the music?

Scraps of poetry stuck in the head.
Between the fungus growing in there.
I wish I could write.
Iwish I could write.

Month of October
no joy
no pain
a fathers daughter
just a missing tooth
and hair growing wild
floating in nothingness
love or something like it
i beg.

Star Struck

I have always had fantasies of meeting my heroes. Actors, actresses, sports people. I dream of craziest possibilities like ending up in my favourite celebritys home, being family with them, talking and talking.

WELL something just came true. I saw the entire Aussie and the Indian cricket team except for Yuvraj Singh. I saw them at the airport. No it was not just a fleeting glance. I saw them real close. I was taking a plane that day too, so brushed shoulders at the security check.

Yea that's Dravid n RP Singh at the back

When you see him you only see him everyone else is invisible.

Yea that close.

Cute or what.

Apna Zaheer.

हमारा Pathan.

I died he's just that cute and more.

Missed pictures of the magic man Hayden. Missed the boy from my town and no I didn't get anywhere close to my hero - Sachin.

He got on the bus. I turned to the door, our eyes met. He must be a little wet I imagine. It was raining. I saw him holding a pink and blue plastic bag. He must be twenty five years old. It was the way he looked, the way he looked at me, the way he spoke, what he talked. No, no none of it, I won't lie, it was just his white cape and the plastic bag. I froze. I was scared.

He stood on the stairs. I stood still pretending to be calm and turned my head towards the window, looking at him from the corner of my eye. Out of the corner of my eye I concentrated on the blue pink plastic bag, on every move he made, I heard every word he spoke. He was off early from work because of ramzaan. He was fasting. He seemed to be talking too loudly, like he wanted people to hear. I stood still, my heart beating differently. Ashamed now, I wonder if anyone else on the bus thought or felt the same. Because of that white cape.

He put the platic bag under a seat. My heart beating faster then. He stood right at the door of the bus. The bus stopped some place. I turned and saw he wasn't there. I looked under the seat, the plastic bag still lying there. Half a second before I would have screamed and gottten the plastic bag in my hand I saw him get back on the bus. I realised he had gotten off to make way for others to get down. But that didn't calm me down still, it left me worse. Now the bus was more crowded and I no longer had a clear view of him or the plastic bag. I stood frozen, I could feel the physical strain of the effort I made to concentrate on him. He kept looking at his watch, and I was sure it was going to happen. Not thinking once that he was looking at his watch because of his fast.

Then he got off the bus at some stop and left with his blue pink plastic bag.

Relief? No. I was angry, so mad at what had happened, ashamed of myself. All it took was that white cape. So mad I wanted to scream, cry.

Forgive me.

Three months to christmas -
she gets me a reindeer
from the biggest store in London.

Month of September
he looks like a mouse
I could bite off his ear.

मेरी बकरी पुल के पार
तुम्हारे घर।
प्यार से रखना।
दिन में तीन बार
घांस खिलाना।
नदी पर रोज़
मिलने लाना।

I'll stick my tongue out at the stars.
And I'll laugh at the moon.
And you'll see my eyes shine.
Unadulterated joy, no sarcasm.
It's that feeling that I feel
when I think of my mother
a friend
a loved one.
I set you free.
And I set me free.

Love and Prayer.
Thank you.

मेरी बकरी, तुम्हारा चूहा।
ब्याह करा दें?
क्या ख़याल है?

नदी पर लाना अपना चूहा,
ब्याह करेगी मेरी बकरी।

"About a Boy"

Been due for long.

This one is about a boy. No, not just any boy. It's about "a" boy. It's about a girl that looks like a boy they say. They didn't always say so, they've been saying so since she got her hair cut. Strange men touch her, pat her back, thinking she's a boy, a little boy. And it's like being sexually molested, the worst kind in her entire life, and she can't do anything about it because nobody is really doing anything to her, they just think she's a boy, her flat chest strongly affirming that faith.
So she finally decided to think for herself what it would be to be a boy. That apart this is imagining a life that will never be but one she would have like to live.
For starters she does not know what she would look like, but at some point of time she would like to have long hair. And if she were a boy she would probably grow up to be someone who made railway engines or cars or roads or bridges, not that this is what she thinks men should do, this is what she suddenly wishes to do. But before any of this she would get India an Olympic bronze for 400 mts. two times three times as many times ever. She would be the most body beautiful athelete ever. Ever. They would in fact let her hold the national flag at the march and lead the team. She would be the athelete, strongest of them all, but she just never wanted the gold.
She would walk the ramp like them all and smile that smile. Then one fine day they would make her an actor. In a war movie she would play the super patriot fighter, the absolutely fearless that would make the world cry. She would teach them to be a patriot. She would teach them of the virtue of fearlessness. And yes she would win the Oscar.
She would fall in love with someone she has known all her life. Childhood friend or something, they're almost the best kind of love stories. Or she would fall in love with a movie maker or someone who would write a book for her. The love story would not involve any revealing of feelings, there would be no need, it would be like taking something like it belonged to you (like the way Roark goes to the woman after he has just seen the woman for the first time, Ayan Rand-The Fountainhead)
She would set the economy of the world right. She would free Tibet. She would save the forests. The ice caps would never melt. Alright alright enough.
And yes they would give her the nobel for literature.

Find him for me.
Say I want to see him.
Tell me that I want to write.
Tell me that I love him.
Say I'm in love.
I wish to hear.

Grrr Grrrrr

If I walked around the planet stabbing every lion I saw, kicking every elephant and poking it in the eye. Dumped dirt into every river. Put soil in the ocean and tried to dry it up. Stabbed the barks of trees and tried to burn green leaves. If I scraped off the tarred road. Blew up the buildings. Tore every single book ever written. Blew up every computer. Shoved every single human into a sack and tossed them all to another planet. Stopped the rivers from flowing. Killed every sinlge crow. Killed the thing called sound.

And then sat by myself on the rocks. Hit my hands on the rocks. Till they bled and bled. Till the bones cracked. Hit my hands as hard as I could. As hard as I could. Still angry. Still no tears. That angry. And then if I died, would you call me a martyr, martyred in search of good life.

The Object of His Amusement

Wednesday evening
the rock star
passes her by.

Mud in the Rain

Have you seen ash grey mud. It's a strange colour. Have you seen ash grey mud sogged in the rain. That's the colour of my hands when the sky is all dark, and the rain is waiting to fall impatiently. Seeing my hands that colour, overwhelms me for some reason. It's a strange feeling. Makes me feel like some beloved of mine wanted my hands to be that colour. The coulor of ash grey mud in the rain.

*****

And I shall write, if only of the colour of my hands. Because a writer writes. A writer just writes.

Bliss

And I don't comb my hair for a month.
I feel young, probably younger than when I was young.
Laughter comes almost like it had never left.
Cycling in the rain.
Cycling in the wind.
Chasing the sun.
On top of the world.
Nobody told me it would be like this.
Nobody told me what it was to be young.
Nobody told me I'd live like this.

Saturday evening
a bag lying still.
Thoughts of stealing it.
Thoughts of running
away with it.
Thoughts.
And thoughts.

twenty fifth june
a boy
across the oceans
far away
begins to work.

Wish every joy for you.

Round like the Sun. Not the one we see, but from another galaxy. Beautiful. So hard to look at, that beautiful. Nothing to say, that beautiful.

****

जादू की तरह,
उसकी आंखों की तरह।
जादू की तरह,
उसकी हंसी की तरह।
जादू की तरह,
बारिश की तरह।
जादू की तरह,
आंधी की तरह।
जादू की तरह,
उसकी तरह।

Free

She cut her hair like the ends of the rainbow.
They were growing.
She loved the feel of them on her back, she loved it.
She loved them so much.
Just when she loved them the most, she got them cut.
Like the ends of the rainbow.
And she was free.
Free from the unwanted desire.
Free from herself.

Why

When you write because you're free.
When you write because you love.
When you write because you hope
someone is listening.
When you write to seduce someones
heart and your own.

ला ला ला ला

वाह वाह!!!!
मज्जा आ गया !!!
ही ही ही .....हम बहत खुश हैं ......
ही ही ही....
ला ला ला ला ला
ला ला ला ....

Home

The Gulmohur tree outside my house blooms. I see it bloom for the first time. They say it is blooming for the first time. Theres barely a trace of summer in this crazy little town of mine. No trace of summer in my mothers garden.

The idiot box has been struck by lightning, its the best that could've happened. I read all day long. I stretch and yawn, stretch and yawn and smile and grin. Its perfect.

Oh boy I'm happy, really really happy. And it rains vey often too. And this crazy little town of mine is perfect in the rains. I'm just happy. Oh damn. Very happy. And maybe I'd learn to swim, at twenty one.

A Day

"The Sun said it won't shine too harsh for us, the clouds have said they won't pour for us, the wind said it would blow all day long for us. Beautiful day, isn't it. The whole village is going uphill to pray in the jwanka temple, pray to our ancestors. Do you want to stay back, it'll be just the two of us in the whole valley. Nobody just us. We'll go running all day long. All over the valley." she looks at him and says.
He looks at her suspiciously.
She keeps looking back, not pleadingly, she just keeps looking.
He tells her he would meet her near the village well soon after sunrise as soon as the people have left for the hill.
She leaves quietly, unlike she had always thought, no sign of joy and no sign of thrill.
She looks for the yellow dress, the one she hasn't worn in years. It's an ankle length dress, it has yellow flowers with green leaves, there's some lace on the sleeves and it has pearl buttons from top to bottom on the front. There is nothing so special about it, it's just that she loves the way how it so long and so light.
She goes to the well and she finds him standing there. They start walking out of the village. The village is all empty, the street is all empty except for the few stray dogs. As they reach the end of the village they start running. Slowly first and then with each breath as the heart starts beating fast and as the soul is filled with this sense of freedom, that divine feeling they began running fast.

To be Continued...........

wrote this months ago

Grrrr

And suddenly my quest for academic mediocrity, the bare essential for the life I want to live, seems endless.

?

The writer stops writing. For reasons beyond reason. It rained, again and again, but not a word written. Not a word about the trip to wonderland. Not a word about the three week trip to madness, the trip to death imagined.

The writer just stops writing. Stops writing, because there are strange feelings, feelings from sometime ago which seem alien, feelings that are unwanted, feelings that have been forgotten. The head refuses to live in this strang void.

The writer stops writing.

Madness, endless

Write. Just write, maybe some wisdom...na...just write you fiool. Like it rains in the evenings and snows at night . The rain would stop but the snow won't stop cause you've gone insane. For the last time though. Like the words scribbled along. Like hunger always there. Like the sun too strong. Like mangoes to come. Maybe you should shut up. Na....Don't you know there's blood inside of you. The head's still working. Like a yellow flower you never saw. Like the home far away. Like that stranger talking there.

Oh boy this is beginning to be fun. C'mon just go on, just like that. No, no just don't stop. Not now, not now atleast. The pencil is real smooth. How can vodka last for a week. You're in trouble boy. You do realise that don't you. It's hotter now. No, don't stop to tie your hair. No, just don't stop. His hair, damn! his hair. Chop it off. No it's too beautiful.

Oh you forgot the orange right here. You're a liar. You're a bloody liar. Your life!! Ha ha ha!!!

You're stopping. You have nothing to say? C'mon. Kerala maybe. Next time sweetheart it will. Run your hands through your hair. You're floating. Can't be vodka still, can it. Could be, but like you care. Maybe it would rain. Ofcourse it would. Just the grass. The sun. Maybe you'll go mad. Maybe you already have. Damn you. You're screwed. Now and forever. Damn you, you don't even know what you're writing. Maybe you'll understand some day when you're in your senses. Ha ha ha. Red. Red. Damn. The vodka night. Damn! You're doomed. You have so much work to do. Damn, you're damned. Food. Maybe Food would work.

Try a little more, maybe the lines of your genius on the way, right here right now. Maybe the fourth sentence you write from now. C'mon just don't stop. Just play along. If I could swim in his eyes. Maybe if I could drink from them. Damn don't tell anyone you're mad. Just stop. Stop. Damn you, just STOP.

Maybe Just Vodka

She calls herself a writer, a lover and a traveller. Not necessarily in that order. She'd love to call herself a lawyer someday.

Those are the three things that make her come alive, that's when she's happy, that's when she is free. She's been trying to put down the thoughts in her head. She loves her men loyally, each of them. Travelling is what she plans to do all her life.

But she just found out something new. She's the happiest on Vodka. She's happiest when she's drunk. And it's not because she forgets things then, because she doesn't forget anything, it's because she laughs her best and craziest then, and she falls in love with everyone person around while drinking, she even cries but she just doesn't stop laughing. Vodka brings out the best in her, for sure. That is how she wants to be even when sober.

travellers feet

Ahoy

Off again.
The sea ofcourse.
Its the Arabian Sea this time.
The west coast, finally.
The sunset finally.
The road again, finally.

Deaf

Can't you hear her, she's screaming. You, up there. She's screaming. You never listen. First she cried and cried and you never heard. You still won't hear.

You made her the special one. The special one. You taught her to fly to the moon. You taught her to run faster than the wind. You gave her everything. Everything, but the power to set him free. She loves him. You don't have to be told. She loves him. Do something. Set him free. She loves him.

She loves him, not because she wants him to be her man, not because she wants to be his woman. She loves him.

He's her soul. She is him. She lives his life. Everyday. Every single day.

She has no sorrow of her own, you blessed her, but she's kissed his to be her own. She loves him. She bears the burden every single day, without sharing the load. You didn't give her the power to set him free. He didn't either, maybe she never asked him. She blames herself, blames herself for not asking maybe.

She doesn't wish to hold him in her arms. He's not her dream, he's her life. Maybe she'd just like to touch his face with the tip of her fingers, once.

You spoilt her, you made her the special one. Now you won't listen. Set him free. Give him what he wants. Set him free. You spoilt her. Now give her what she wants. You hear that. She's the special one. You will have to listen. Set him free. She loves him.

Secret

They say she flies to the moon. They say she sits by the craters and sings to herself. And then she dives from the top of the moon to the bottom of the sea. She does it every single day they say. When she jumps off the moon she cries and then she starts laughing as she's close to the earth, she's happiest when she reaches the sea. They hear her every single day. She comes down at her own speed, full control of herself, defying the law of gravity, defying every law of the universe. They say that's all they know about her. But I know something more. I'll tell you, but promise you won't tell anyone - She's mad.

Somewhat inspired from Ben Okris' Famished Road. The first sentence is dittoo from their. The rest of it my own.

C'mon

Sense of loss. Sense of loss. You're not the same any more. Not the same crazy silly headed idiot. And even worse, when you try be the same others won't play along.

It's about the big-headed-hairy beautiful sweetheart now. The one who always broke into a smile at the sight of you and played along crazy and fun with you. Not that you ever fancied him but he's just so bloody cute. The two of you thrilled and amazed. It was so much fun. You never fancied him. You never wanted anything. Then why the hell would he just forget you. He does look, but he just won't smile. Damn.

Not like you wanted to sit on his lap all day. Not like you would swallow him alive. You were'nt jealous of his girl. You'd be thrilled to see him anywhere, with her too. It wasn't about anything more, it was just fun. He's so bloody cute.

Whatever be his reasons - You being considered as an immoral being, sudden feelings of "loyalty" to his girl. Whatever. There was more to it c'mon.

Why would he just forget you. When everyone wants him to shut up, you make sense of every word. And while everyone irks at the hair on his skin, you could kiss the hair on his feet, strand by strand.

Why the hell would he just forget you.

The Meeting

She met him. The man up there. He has long hair, brown and red in colour. His eyes are black just like hers. He didn't talk much, just like her. He was much older. He always smiled.

She was told to wait for him in the woods. He would come sometime in the afternoon. She waited. Her eyes looked sad. He found her walking by herslef.

He showed her around the woods, told her about the trees. She listened. Her eyes still looked sad. He told her what he had been doing these days. He spoke of the rivers. He spoke of summer, and why it won't rain. He spoke of people she knew. She listened. Her eyes still looked sad.

It was eveining, it was time for him to leave, he had to go meet somebody else. He said goodbye, he told her she was beautiful and left. She stood there alone. Her eyes still looked sad.

Food from the Mouth

Ay, ay, time for a new silly game you've come up with. You're sick, very sick. Identifying bits of chewed food, as coming out of whose mouth. You go wash your hands and rinse your mouth, but refuse to leave, because suddenly you have the urge to see what this complete stranger is going to spit out of his mouth. And you wait for the bits of food from his mouth to land on the sink and float with the water towards the sink beneath your tap. Pleasure. Strange.

story of my life
misery of a little boy
glimpses of another beautiful boy

month of march
hungry eyes
searching waiting

month of march
a lonely me
high on haiku

sunday morning
on the first floor
in a place where trees are forced to grow

***

the crazy woman
sits alone in the night
cursing her head

the crazy woman
sits alone in the night
loving her men

Strange

Looks like a stranger
acts like a stranger
why won't you believe he's a stranger

She came alive

She sat with her brown hands resting on the bus window, her elbow sticking out of the bus. At times the sun shining on her brown arm, at times the street lights. On the last night, the moon shone on her all along the three hundred kilometres. She thought she'd die, then and there, it was so beautiful. That feeling of the road, that feeling on the wheels, the breeze. It was so beautiful, it almost killed her. The darkness outside is most beautiful from on the wheels.

She told her lies, and she was there, finally, on her own. Made her way up the Sahyadris, remembering that time when she drew these mountains on maps for her most favourite lessons in school. She sat on the last seat, thrilled to be alive. There was no need for music even. Sugarcane fields passed by, strawberry fields passed by. Trees with jet black barks passed by. At times she wished they'd drive faster. She felt like she were running on her own feet. She wanted to cry, it was so beautiful. She knew there was nothing better than this feeling on the wheels.
Five hundred kilometres back and forth. But she's hungry for more. The road waits. She waits.

Aapki Muskaan

Aapko dekha to socha
kya sochoon.
Woh Ishq wali mohabbat
toh hamein aap se
hai nahin.
Woh to sirf ek
dafa hua tha, unse.
Dobara nahin hoga.
Is liye nahin ki
woh nahin,
Is liye, ki mohabbat
ke maaine badal
gaye hain.
Shukriya unka
ki woh samjhe nahin.
Aur ji, yeh angur
khate hone ka kissa
nahin; hum un
mein se nahin.

Na woh Ishq hai.
Na woh Chah hai aapki.
Jo bhi hai,
shayad sab jhooth hai.
Par agar jhooth itna
khoobsurat hai,
toh jhooth hi sahi
Bas aap ho.
Aur khuda kasam, aapki
woh muskaan.
Aapko akele muskurate
dekh, hum hans dete hain.
Kisi ke saath muskurate
dekh, jalan hoti hai,
thodi si.
Par kya karein aap ki
muskaan aise hai,
ki hum bas hans dete hain

Aur haan meri jaan,
hum jhooth bahut
bolte hain.
Maaf kar dijiyega.

Again

Maybe it would rain. It's been too long now. Two months. Why won't it rain. It should rain.
Maybe the rain would remind you of things. Passion, youth, dreams, desires, love. Ay, Ay, maybe that's too much to ask of the rain. It would remind you of your smile atleast.
Boy but you do smile. You do. And your smile has always been so bloody beautiful. You've always been told so, and you always remember when all, you're so vain.
But you still smile, but it's because you have to smile. You don't really smile. At times you smile to remind yourself ther's wonder, hidden but there. At times you smile to play that game with people, that game of trying to make someone jealous, jealous for not knowing the reason of your joy, jealous for not being part of your life. It's a funny silly game that humans play. But maybe if we didn't play that game, we wouldn't smile at all.
But you were always the blessed one. Whatever happened to your smile. Not like it was hit by lightning. It just went away, quitely. Without a warning. Had you known it was leaving, I'm sure you would have fought, I'm sure you'd never let it go, because there is no life without it and you've always known that. And boy you may be teary eyed, but you're a bloody fighter. You'd never let it go, I know.
Now you fight. So hard. So tough. Trying to find ways to get it back. Trying so hard. Trying so hard. You yearn.
Pray it rains.

Chup

Chup ho ja meri jaan.
Bas chup ho ja.
Thodi der ke liye.
Jaan legi kya.
Bas chup ho ja.
Chup.

Since forever

Maybe you were born with it. No that can't be. Nobody is ever born with anything. Maybe it was just crawling like a caterpillar on your brown skin all these years. Made a cut sometime, very small, and just slipped in. Now it moves inside, slowly, quitely. Quite, but always there. You can here it moving sometimes. Nobody else can. You alone can here it, for it moves only for you. The sound is so soft, almost sacred. Can only be heard in silence, like the sound of your eyelashes on the sheet while you're lying down.

The Musician

I had a dream last night. I dreamt that I could make music. I dreamt that I knew how to make music. I dreamt that tunes hit the head just like words do. I dreamt that tunes swam in the head just like words always do. I dreamt that I was a musician. For real.

Ouch... The desire hurts.

I dreamt that I made music with my most favourite men: Noori ofcourse. I dreamt we played every single day. I dreamt we played every single hour of the day. I dreamt I sang all day. Music was salvation. Music was life. It was all. It was all.
I dreamt we sang on stage. And when we did we were flame and fire. We were free. And that was all. That was how we sang. When you sing like that every desire is complete.

This one is fake, it's fraud. I had no such dream last night. I've never had such a dream. Just a piece of ma desire.

Fool

On your way?
Ha ha ha.
Like an ant treading along
a heap of cow dung.
An extra large heap of cow dung.
Very fresh.
Not hardened a bit.
Very, Very fresh.
Pretending that the
heap is everest.
Happily treading along.
Bearing the foul smell,
and humming along.
For the peak of the everest
is worth any price.
Wake up my love.
Cow dung my love,
cow dung it is.

By the river

Roll up your pants.
Walk down the river.
Roll on the sand.
Blow the hair off your face.
And dream.
And live.

The Calm

There was storm. There was thunder and lightning. The sea water screamed and shrieked in fear. There was fear. There was pain. The kind that you can feel in the chest, raw. Storms bring with them the unexpected. Storms bring with them that which is destined. This one led to the discovery of the end of the soul. It led to the discovery of everything there is.

The storm ended and then came the calm. The sea danced in rhythm again. With white sand beneath it. Danced in rhythm under the sun. Danced in rhythm as rain fell. There was magic in existence. There was. Magic, in mere existence.

***

There was storm. There was thunder and lightning. The sea water screamed and shrieked in fear. There was fear. There was pain. The kind that you can feel in the chest, raw. Storms bring with them the unexpected. Storms bring with them that which is destined. This one led to the discovery of the end of the soul. It led to the discovery of everything there is.

The storm ended and then came the calm. The sea danced in rhythm again. With white sand beneath it. Danced in rhythm under the sun. Danced in rhythm as rain fell. There was magic in existence. There was. Magic, in mere existence. But was it really magic or was it the desire for magic, the faith in magic, the passion of living, that made it all seem like magic.

This style of saying things twice differently is a direct adoption of a fellow bloggers style: english-august.

The Whore

There lives a whore. Very pretty. She loves being a whore. For she feeds on beauty, and there is no beauty quite like that of being a whore. You'd see her somewhere, in the crowd or by herself and you'd know that it's her.
She's the prettiest whore in town, easiest to trade with. You never have to say a word, you just have to look at her. Maybe she'd look back at you, maybe she wouldn't. But she'd be yours. Till she wants. When she wants.