adult?

It's time almost to move to that city(dilli meri jaan). Pay my rent. Feed myself. Clothe myself. Look out for parents, friends. To answer every call. To call people each night. To work honestly. To live up to myself. When the fuck did I get this old. How the fuck did I get here so soon.

Amen.

Celebration time...

The Crow has won a fiction writing competition - second place - a ten thousand rupees!!!
Cheers to the organizers, the crow shall ever be grateful.

It's crazy. The last time that I ever won anything was back in school (years ago now) - my medals at long distance running and 400 m. That was the only thing I'd ever been "good" at. That was the only time when I pushed myself to get better. That was the only time I ever wanted to be good at something. Since then yes I want to write better, teach myself.

I've always told my friends that the only thing I wish to achieve in law school is to win some writing competition - legal or otherwise. And this comes just when needed most - when I've been thinking of how law school has been a waste - how I didn't push myself to make something out of me - how I didn't try to see my space in this world, I didn't even realise that was the purpose of life - how I'd never make the same mistake again - and how from now my life was going to be bigger than me.

Oh and yes I dared to read my "award winning entry" again, I think it sucks, could have been much much better. Can't wait to sound the way I want to sound

The crow shall live a mighty big life, however long. There's work to do. It is time, finally.

Yellow Flowers

In the summertime there will be joy.

In the summertime you'll learn to be a friend again.

In the summertime you'll learn to love again.

In the summertime you'll never be angry again.

In the summertime you'll unlearn that damn feeling called envy.

In the summertime you'll be the same again.

Amen.

Love

He'll talk of how tall you were.
He'll talk of how you woke up at five each morning and got him dressed for work.
He'll talk of the fruits he bought for you to feed the monkeys and the pigeons.
He'll tell of how much liked open spaces.
He'll talk of how strong you were.
He'll talk of how happy you made him.
He'll talk of what you liked to watch on TV.
He'll talk of how you liked the books.
He'll show things you chose to buy at shops.
He'll show pictures of you for all to see how beautiful you are and how proud he is.
He'll talk of how his only wish was to send you to school.
They lived for you, you taught them to.
You did them proud and happy.
Proud and happy they shall always be.
Amen.

To be a woman?

There is a lake near my college. During the rains it enters campus, that close. The entire area surrounding it is a rocky open space with hillocks, all desolate except for the recent settlement that's coming up. I've spent several evenings by the lake and one morning. It's mostly after I'v cycled the two kilometre stretch from college to the main road and back that I cycle to the lake and my friend who goes for a jog joins me later. Or I go their with friends for a stroll. We sit and just stare, it's the thing that the sea, the river does to you, the breeze. There are plenty of different kinds of birds too. I'm not nature loving kind of person and I didn't know a thing about birds before this. There are also ducks these days. Spending the evening there is my idea of a good evening in college.

The place is also a hangout area for lovers and those getting to know each other. Like I said I go there with my friends. However I have DARED to go there alone few times. Dared, I'm a woman you see. The first time I went alone was because from a distance I could see couples from my college sitting there so I knew I'd be safe. And so I went and sat at a place which wouldn't bother them. Each time I'm alone cycling and there's no friend out for a stroll or a jog I look out hopefully to see people from my college. Mostly they're there and SO I get to do what I want. Once there was nobody and I cycled along searching, hoping and returned upset. Today the same happened however I'd experienced too well my feelings from that day, so I decided to go. There were few men near the temple on the way but I still went. When I reached the lakeside I didn't sit first I kept standing with my back to the lake looking to see what the men near the temple were doing. Then I thought it was a stupid thing to be so scared and that I should just sit and if somebody did try to mess with me I would FUCKING KILL, KILL.

I sat there today staring at the lake cursing. I could fucking shoot every man who has ever made a woman feel less just because she's a woman.

PS - In the passing I also hate men for the foul smell they create, apart from the ever present body odour (No and it's not about using a deodrant, village men smell, village women don't). "dammit stop spraying the walls and the roadside of every city with your piss, it fucking stinks, Loser!" I say. Every looked forward visit to the city is welcomed by the stench at the bus stop. AWESOME.

"The Enemy"

Surprise surprise I read something sensible on the current terror issues between India and Pakistan. The Hindu Editorial, Pakistan: need for smart diplomacy, Amitabh Mattoo & Happymon Jacob.

The two of them are of the opinion that Indian action or response towards Pakistan has never taken into concern the various complexities of Pakistan. Our response has always been to an enemy so to say and the same is never going to help create a Pakistan that is at peace with itself and in harmony with the region.

Then they talk of the four likely possibilities of Pakistan's future, the last being Friendly Pakistan. And how even not supporting such a view on grounds of bias, prejudice is going to cost us a big deal. And thus based on just practicality or ideals our duty should be to act only and only in a way to promote understanding.

"Finally and ulikely as it seems today, there still exists a possibility of a Friendly Pakistan. It would be rooted in Mohammed Ali Jinnah's original design for the State: Muslim, Moderate and Modern. It is this Pakistan that an Indian grand strategy must systematically work towards constructing."

Sigh.

"Kaala Bandar" - "काला बन्दर"

The evil in her she saw in others. Now the only way to get rid of all the evil was to throw it all in the wishing pond and pray..

वीरानी हालत

'नवाबी हिन्दी' में तुम्हे एक कहानी लिख दूँ?
ख़ुद को कैसे खुश कर लूँ?
खुश हो लूँ बस।
हालत बड़ी बेकार है।

PS - the title is copied from Atif Aslam's album called "हंगामी हालत"

Neurotic and happy to be

Dear Z has diagnosed me to be neurotic.

Merriam Webster: Neurosis : A mental and emotional disorder that affects only part of the personality, is accompanied by a less distorted perception of reality than in psychosis, does not result in disturbance of the use of language, and is accompanied by various physical, physiological and mental disturbances (as visceral symptoms, anxieties, or phobias)

Psychosis : fundamental derangement of the mind (as in schizophrenia) characterized by defective or lost contact with reality especially as evidenced by delusions, hallucinations, and disorganized speech and behaviour.

बुलंद बिसमिल खामोश...

Grrr Grrrrrr (Clenched Teeth)

Do Dil - Noori playing/blaring (rare noori mediocre work)
Irritation in the throat
Frequent Sneezes
Want to fuck myself over, more than how fucked I am or have ever been.

Got to think of the biggest public health crisis of the country tonight but how the fuck do I get myself to do the research when all I ever seem to want to do is read Amitabh Bachchan's blog, Hamza's blog, Ali Noor's blog, Fonzy's blog and hope that Anumita , Prat, English August have written something. "God bless the internet" but it's fucked my life over. I have turned stalker, MIND I stalk like crazy. Celebrity's, lovers, friends even my mother. Damn the internet. And all this mindless shit I tell myself is research for the fancy books I shall write someday, I say I need to read all and as much as I can, and so what if I turn blind staring at my computer.

Crazy woman who writes for nobody. LoSeR!!

Who the Fuck is Alice?

My Principal (Headmistress) at school was a very unlikely nun of sorts. Her name you needn't guess. I must confess before I proceed any further that I am shit scared writing this post, shit scared. Most of my life and going good still I've always been scared of people who have been bestowed of the divine duty of educating me and making me a fine woman. I fear them all from my favourites, the ones I truly respect to those I completely detest. I change my path, I look away, I might even run, I do it all.

This piece is not about some deep influence she's had on my life. She never really taught me at school, a little catechism maybe and the singing in the choir, nor was she the friendly sweet nun. The entire school was petrified of her, I hate to say this but most kids didn't like her, my friends didn't. Strange but I don't particularly remember how I felt about her then. But if you asked me now to name one awesome gorgeous woman I know I'd say, her. In fact I'd say she's more charming than any goddamn actress.

On a glance she might seem very ordinary looking, but if you looked longer maybe you'd see what I see and maybe understand why I'm so gaga over her. I'm not too good with guessing peoples age, I'd say she's forty two. The only piece of clothing you'll ever see her in is an off white saree or a grey saree, nun remember. She dyes her hair, she pull it back in an elongated clip or holds it up in a bun. No don't get the idea that wish to talk of good looks here. Yea I absolutely droole over hot creatures, men and women. I use the word hot not less than twenty times a day. But you can even trust a loser writer on this one that you can't write of hotness, it's so uncool. No offence meant but I can never imagine myself to be a fashion writer as much as I like that stuff.

She is to me almost a synonym of joy. When I think of her I can see her easy smile and how you could always see that she'll always be nothing but happy. Not like she smiled around at school all the time, she mostly frowned, it was her job I guess.

Now I think she was so different from everybody around her. The other nuns were jaded and bitter, thought weirdly, they were humans of another kind. We were too young. The teachers were mostly married and life for them was family alone. The younger teachers were pretty brainless. She was different from us all. She lived in a room of which I have no clue. She seemed so content all the time. She seemed to like reading a lot, I don't what she read though. She covered her books and we happily spread rumours that she was reading porn of sorts (I'm sure that's not the word we used then). She loved to sing and she sang beautifully in the choir. Unfortunately the conclusion that I've drawn from most older people I've seen is that their discontent at life increases as they grow older. But she wasn't like that. She was too happy, too perfect, too free for her time and place.

When we finished school at sixteen, all my friends and me howled and cried like crazy. We believed that leaving school was a tragedy forced on us, it would sooner or later break the bonds, we thought it was the end of our lives together, we thought separation would come in the way of us being family. We were so wrong you can never leave school can you. None of us have I know for a fact. We're the best of friends, we know we're family that will never leave.

Back then I never thought I'd run into my Principal ever again. Well I did. I first ran into her last winter in Delhi's big church. I saw her and before I could put my thoughts together she waved. I walked to her and next I was holding her hand and talking. The usual updates etc. I was so thrilled to meet her. After that I ran into her a couple of times more and she told me too that she was really happy to see me around so often.

There's this feast called "Christ the King". It's a really big sunday for the Delhi church. On that Sunday Christians from all Delhi from all smaller churches come to the big church. That day I saw her in the front in the choir just like in school. How I wished I was in the choir too. There was this kinda hot priest/brother who was leading the choir and I found myself thinking "I bet he has a crush on her/ they have a thing for each other" just like we'd anticipate in school whom she liked, and how many lovers she might have (Sinners!)

I saw her again at Christ the King this winter, in the choir and stared at her in awe. She was still the same, so fucking perfect.

*********

Ours was a superkool school, we had over twelve hours of disco music in the auditorioum on weekends. Our seniors played the song real loud if she happened to be nearby. And we oooh aahhed, we were scandalised.

I really like the song by the way. It's about the best kind of love. When you're so happy loving even if it's totally fucked. When you love even when there's no chance of being loved in return and it's the only thing that can make you happy.

And the happy tune could be the background to a video of her happy face.

God Bless

Curly haired, brown hair. Wears big earrings. Giggles a lot and turns red. Buys a pair of socks almost everyday. Dreams and lives up to them. Vegetarian. Likes those colourful chic beads and clothes. Can deal with and love men. Makes me fuck happy and proud.

Off to live dreams, film school dreams, bollywood dreams, movie dreams... first night at film school. Halleluiah...

आलाप
If I ever saw an orange firefly
I would send it to kiss your feet...

Birthday baby

Wait o wait o wait. I wish time would slow down a little today. I am twenty three years old today. Happy yes. Too calm though. I wish I could cry like I used to. But I don't want to cry, I just wish I could. I wish I could want something that bad. But then maybe I have all I want and because I am so happy racing through life that there is no need to cry. Maybe I'll never cry again. No I haven't turned numb and s###. I'll just never cry now.

Lame. Twenty three years old. Happy as ever. But wishes to cry. Somebody explain. Likes to dress up. Loves the right way. Laughs just right. Not scared. Dances like crazy. "Awesome". "Awesome". There's no end to the awesomeness. In love with boy beautiful.

Yea yea I'm a WOMAN who's found her way in life, maybe. Oh no but life hasn't begun yet.

What do I say for the twenty three years but thank you.

: ) Sigh.

BrAvO!

Heres to every run you've hit. To your glory and the 'glory of sports'.

Bravo!

My friend forever. How are you so beautiful to me. How can you be enough for it all. How can it take just the two of us to make it so right. And damn the men you and I ever loved. Damn every curse. How can you fix it for me so good. And if I were to die tonight, I'll know that you loved me and so what if you had a brother to love as well. I had none, I had you and them. I'll know I love you more than any dream I've ever had and that my life was complete.

I said hello

He sings it just right.

The lake is a mirror tonight

You're too simple.

You'll be happy.

Forever.

Colour it red.

Colour it pink.

Do what you want.

A sin is a sin.

There are these lines on the front of my hand, my palm. They say, they say something. Look and tell me what I am. Tell me what I wish to be. Tell me what I'll be. Tell me what I live for. Tell me what I'll live for. I know, you tell me?

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.