Monday, June 24, 2013

the new poem


A is for apple, not angst A crow is kaka, a biidd, Not the protagonist celebrated by Hughes, Iggle piggle loves his blanket And Baby Jake is cool, cos he dances In diapers and shoots to the moon Theres no such thing as me time, To eat is passe, to feed is success Theres magic in bubbles and balloons, See how they fly, see how high, Kish Momma kish, never knew How a kiss can make your day Especially when you are too tired To smile, too stretched to dream, Too busy to rhythm and ryhme But never too jaded, never too cool, Never too hungry, never lost, For the purpose ye existentialists Is revealed. Its love, it was always love Now so more. Theres nothing more. No deep long lines. No. Khoya khoya tickle tiikle aiya aiya Boo, ooo, choo, too Finito.

Thursday, May 17, 2012

तुम - मैं



Written by me, sung by my husband and starring our son Raine  :)

Thursday, January 19, 2012

The New Love




Yes, I wasn't prepared,
I'll admit I still ain't,
but the surprise was the best,
like teenage love,
hitting me hard, falling
down without knowing,
your presence fills me now,
as if this is what it
was always meant to be,
waking up to your moving,
your heaving and your
unruly demands that tire me
out, yet silently I
sparkle, secretly I nod,
I will do whatever you want,
I will be your master and slave,
I will love you selflessly,
endlessly, even if I'm flogged,
even if you win each time,
and I'm victorious in my defeat,
just to see you smile,
just to hold you, just once
shamelessly for you to look at me,
ignoring my home, my domesticated life,
my husband who doesn't know he's not
the one on my mind these days,
it's you now, it's all you,
I'm not the same,
you made me weak, you made me strong,
Let me endure what you bring,
my hands will always cup your face,
I will die, and you will remain,
that's how it's always meant to be.

(For L/R)

Friday, September 23, 2011

Feather




The old man had no memory,
he had lived a life so full,
he had many loves so deep,
but somewhere in his sagas
of suffering and triumph,
the worlds merged together,
and the happiness
and sorrow became one

"Once I was a story teller,
they came from my own life,
there's a story about
the boy who ran too much,
about the girl who danced like a swan,
the lovers who lived in a dream,
and once they woke up,
they didn't recognize the other,
about the couple who died
for their country,
the artist who went mad,
the child who smiled all the time,
the old man who forgot who he was..."

These stories were his,
but he didn't remember any more
than his words, maybe
his words became his stories,
coming to life as soon as
they were released, torrential rain
into a parched existence
Maybe his stories became his words,
fantastical incantations,
tightly wound up like time.

I don't know what's real anymore,
maybe it all is,
what we live and what we dream,
what we know and what we don't
the old man is me,
or I'm him,
our worlds merged
in stories and words,
which is the story,
and which the word,
I just don't know anymore....

Friday, June 24, 2011

Transit




How does it feel to sit
and watch it happen?
Slowly, steadily, calmly,
your life rolling out,
like the scrolls of the ancient,
the long mystery revealed.
Yes, it isn't as dramatic as you thought,
but it's more beautiful than you could think,
this wisdom is yours to keep,
sit in your chair, read it,
live it, sing it.

Once you were running away,
moving so fast
you couldn't see your feet,
your shadow grew longer,following
you like a sceptre,
and you kicked
and you shrieked
It caught up and became you,
but right now it's below your seat
The evening lamp brings solitude,
the night starry mist dreams,
the years ahead will show you
what you left behind for others,
what you could have possibly been.

It doesn't matter though,
you're here, silent,
sitting in your chair, sitting in between,
watching yourself and your shadow,
Day, Night, Night, Day,
then, now, now, then
Time collapsed into nothing,
Eternity collected in a second.

Tuesday, April 12, 2011

Half




A half moon
in the half lit sky
half of it dark,
the other bright
Half of you,
and half of me
Half of my heart
in the city by the sea,
half here with you
sipping the half glass
of red wine
Half of us wants
to stall and sleep
half making lists
of weekend needs
and bills left
for the other half
we can not save
even if we wanted to
Half of the spaghetti
is tangy, the other
so bland, so motionless
so colourless, like
half of the building
that sleeps
Half of my hand in yours
the other
picking dirt from the floor
Half of the house
is old, the other
something I can't relate to
Half of this existence is real,
the other half living a dream
Half of my life is over,
the other half I'm hoping
I don't look too much older
Half of your lips I kiss,
the other I'm too lazy to
approach, maybe later
Half of my gaze is for you,
the other half
for the half moon
I pretend I didn't see

Friday, March 11, 2011

The lament of the lucky




The pain of the world is seldom seen
the joy and the smiles all around
When you have everything,
suffering seems far away
the worms and the filth
are shunned deep into the ground

The woman crawling on the street,
on dusty fours; oblivious to many
till the eye catches and fear strikes
what if our good luck runs out,
the cup emptied someday?
Must make amends to keep pain at bay
So you hand her a quarter and
heave a sigh of relief,
there, you helped the helpless
would this avert tragedy, the fall?

And when your luck does change,
you curse the world for ignoring your pain
you were good to others, you say,
you never did bad to anyone at all
Did she maybe? Or is it all random,
a turn of the dice, a card game of fate
Maybe your turn will come?
Maybe it won't after all.

Whatever will be will be,
but you still don't see pain at all.
Maybe feel it for a split second,
then gone as if banished in thought,
the cactus fence keeping your garden safe,
what's outside can't come in,
at least for the time being

Thursday, January 13, 2011

You & Me





Your place is a quiet meadow,
a silent green near a calm river,
where you sit and ponder,
dream and wonder,
sulk and hide,
embrace blessed graces
soft music plays
while you strum
and lay down watching clouds,
a lost boy in a strong man

My place is an industrial zone,
a kitchen with schedules and machines
where five different me's
perform and complete tasks
I sit in the chaos and feel proud
of all that I manage to do in a day
this is where I live,
in the middle of noise and celebration,
where I watch and pray
in a sense of daily achievement

When I get tired, I walk over to your meadow
where you soothe and calm me,
and often, I ask you to help me
in my kitchen where the work never ends
We live in our zones,
day and night melting for an hour
glowing in the twilight of our lives

Thursday, September 30, 2010

Nori’s Fear





Nori pulled away the curtain to peep outside. What started off as a dry and humid day was transformed into God’s grand evening laser show. The streaks of electricity tore the sky apart, like razor cuts on skin. It wasn’t raining yet, but the claps of thunder were getting frequent.

The wind coolly blew the curtain towards her face. What could it take to battle this abnormal fear of lightning? Ever since she could remember, Nori was scared of it. As a child, she hid under the bed on nights such as these, praying for it to subside. As an adult, she preferred to stay indoors, never taking out her car when there was friction in the sky. Today, luckily for her, she had finished work and was back at home.

Some fears are unknown. Lightning never did anything to hurt anyone she knew. But yet she feared it was after her life, for some sort of karmic revenge, that it would catch up with her and burn her to the ground.

Nori wasn’t really a fearful person. She was brave and independent. She had battled enough personal tragedies, right from the death of her parents, to a divorce to an aborted kidney. She wasn’t afraid of darkness, or ghosts, or death, or reptiles, or heights, or people or God. But she was scared of lightning.

She put a saucepan of water to boil and opened a packet of tomato soup. As if lightning and tomato soup were soul mates, promising never to hurt one another, always walking hand in hand for solace. There was no explanation. Tomato soup comforted her.

Going outside was out of the question. So Nori decided to watch a movie. Once again it was ‘Singing in the Rain’. As soon as the movie started, there was a knock on the door.

She peeped through the keyhole. It was a young man with dried leaves in his hair. That was all she could see. She opened the door and a strong, gusty wind pushed the door hitting her in the shin. ‘Aow’ she yelped.

He was tall and young, maybe 20, with a box of pizza in his hands. She hadn’t ordered pizza. Maybe he lost his way.

“Yes, may I help you?” she asked.

He ruffled his hair and she noticed he had a scar on his hand, as if someone had decided to dismember his hand but then changed their mind.

“Ma’am, may I use your phone please? My bike broke down and I can’t make my delivery.”

She looked at him suspiciously.

“Don’t you have a cell phone as an employee?”

“I do, but I left it back at the centre.”

She let him in. “I guess you can use my cell phone.”

As he walked in, the smell of pepperoni pizza filled up the room.

“Wow, that pizza smells great!”

He handed the box to her. “You can have it, now that I can’t deliver it.”

She smiled at him. It was a thoughtful gesture.

“Thanks. I think I will.” She handed him the phone. After that she went to the stove and turned it off. No tomato soup today. In a way, she was glad he was around. She felt less scared.

He stepped outside to make the call. He spoke in hushed tones. She couldn’t make out what he said but she did catch the words, ‘waiting here for you’.

She dug into a slice of the pizza. It was heavenly. He was still outside. There was something odd about his blue uniform. She knew the employees of this pizza company wore blue, but somehow this blue seemed different.

He came back. “My boss is sending someone to pick me up. Thanks so much for your help.”

“That’s okay. How much for the pizza?”

“Nothing. After all you helped me. Luckily, I found your house. Say you really are cut off from the rest of the neighborhood, aren’t you?”

“Yeah. I know. I love the peace and quiet.”

“Aren’t you afraid of the desolation?”

“Nah. I’m not afraid usually. Just nights like these.”

“It’s going to rain I believe, Miss…?”

“…Nori”

“Nori? Is that a Japanese name?”

“Yeah. My dad was stationed in Japan. He liked the name. It’s a type of seaweed. Edible.”

He laughed.

The wind roared, this time bringing with it rain. She shut the door.
As soon as she turned back, she realized he had grabbed her by the waist.

“You’re very beautiful Nori,” he whispered.

She felt her knees caving in. She tried to break free, but he was very strong. She screamed as loudly as she could. He still had her cell phone. There was nothing she could do.

“Let me go! What the hell do you want?”

He covered her mouth with his hand. She could smell the cardboard mixed with cheese.
She bit his hand and he cried in pain. As soon as her mouth was free, she screamed again this time, as loud as she could for help.

From the window she saw the lights of a police van approaching. He saw it too. He panicked and pushed her down to the floor. Before she could realize what was happening, he had opened the door and fled.

She ran to the door to signal to the police van. A loud noise and a light blinded her. A few meters from her house, something was burning. The smell of human flesh filled the air. He fell to the ground, as if someone had smashed him with a hot iron. His hair stood up like toothbrush bristles, his face dark and charred.

In his burnt hand was her cell phone, someone still on the line. The police van stopped at the gate.

She looked up at the sky, this time without fear.

Tuesday, August 31, 2010

Today




I want to cover my knees in chocolate mud,
playing football in the rain
A quiet walk on a wayside cliff, listening
to seagulls as they make mischief,
travel to places forgotten and unknown,
make magic under the stars,
cover my head with snow
But today is not that day

I want to pray for not being selfish,
wish health and joy to others,
hold hands with crying strangers
and walk an old lady with grocery home
But today is not that day

I want to make a difference
in this torrid, tormented world
Be an artiste and say, ‘I shall live
on fire and dreams alone,
I shall not care for being rich or known’
But today is not that day

This time I want to stall,
live in a parallel universe,
where another me never grows old,
walk deserts alone and
know that no matter what,
I’m doing what I can

Today is that day for trying
what we can do best,
to live a moment in heart’s content,
to write down thoughts
and know what you need
to do before the winged warrior
calls you home to fly away too soon
Today is that day

Tuesday, July 27, 2010

Ways to Fly




I saw the balloons, pink, white and red,
tied up to the clean floor, shivering, restless,
and looked in awe at their airy mind
My hands itched to set them loose,
waiting to watch them fade away
in a far beyond that no one knows

These days I'm learning to fly,
sometimes I use my hands, sometimes my feet,
sometimes old brooms, and sometimes
easy things like magical balloons

Using your feet is difficult,
they are taught to be grounded,
to never lose a beat,
the hands require force,
but the flight is fast,
and you end up higher as you go,
a broom is most efficient,
but requires great skill,
like a motorbike you kick,
and like a swimmer,
you push it all behind

But magical balloons are
like bubbles that shine
they take you to places
you'd never attempt to go,
places unseen, of vast mysteries
and like a child you soar,
far away from the sky,
far away from the trees,
into the stars,
into a beautiful dream

I believe we can do anything
we imagine, and flying
doesn't require a degree
All it takes is a good night's sleep
and sometimes watching
pink, white and red balloons
will very well do the trick.

Wednesday, May 12, 2010

A Conversation with Lady Nicotine





"I think I need to go away. I don't love you anymore."

"But you couldn't do without me for even a day!"

"I could. I chose not to. It's only because I'm used to you. I start my mornings with you, I begin my sleep with you. It's comforting."

"Really? Then why did you let me come back? Surely, you're lying."

"I'm not. I admit it was love at first sight with you, but yesterday, when I saw your heart of fire burning softly for me and then dying away, I felt free. I said to myself, I can do without you. It's not that difficult anymore. Even coming back to you in the night doesn't feel the same somehow. I have changed."

"Don't you remember those lonely days when you had no one but me?"

"I do. And I will always remember you for that. You were there when there was no one. I will never forget you. But, now I have someone I love. More than you."

"You're breaking my heart! Tell me it isn't so. Tell me you still love me."

"I'm sorry. I don't feel what I did."

"So how much time do I really have?"

"A year at the most. I will have my own family by then. I won't have time for you."

"I understand. But when you need a secret lover on cold, moonlit nights, promise me you'll come back."

"I can't promise anything. But I have to tell you today that you're truly irresistible. I have never met anyone like you."

"Thank you."

"Feel at home for a while. But read the signs. You will see me get more and more detached. I'm hanging on, that's all. Without the passion or intensity."

"Why are you hanging on? Go away today, if you like."

"Life's short. Who knows when I'll ever see you again?"

"That's sweet. Do you still find me attractive?"

"Yes. Very. But like a mistress. I can't commit to you."

"I can be your mistress. I'm not asking for commitment. I don't mind."

"My wife will. I mean my future wife."

"It can be our little secret. Tell me what you really like about me."

"I like the part where I'm so close to you that you and I seem like one. It's an amazing feeling."

"Don't go. Please."

"You'll kill me like this."

"I can't promise I won't. I think you still love me."

"I don't know."

"Stay then."

"Just for a while. Only a while."

"As long as you want baby. As long as you want."

Wednesday, April 21, 2010

Tomato Sauce and Tomato Ketchup








The Federation wanted to honor him. Besides, it was high time anyways for the biggest award. For 25 years, he had been building microchips, once started from his garage, now one of the largest companies in the world. From nerd to business entrepreneur, it had been a long journey, professionally and personally.

“I hope they don’t serve oysters tonight. I don’t understand how anyone can enjoy that shit.”

The Federation had gone glam recently with the amount of socialite parties thrown in the name of technology. Young models flocked to hook the 50 something head honchos with big bank accounts. That’s how he had met Seine. The sex was great, but apart from that, he didn’t feel a thing.

“Lifetime achievement award. Does it mean I’m gonna die soon? That my life’s work is over?”

Hi company was worth billions of dollars, he was the fourteenth richest man in the country, but his dream was to open a ski resort with camping and fishing, a place where he could retire peacefully. Yet a place for the uber rich, something no one had ever seen before.

“Yes darling, I know nothing about technology. It’s all wires and lights anyways, right?”

He recognized the voice, that flower petal tone. It was Irene, and she was lying. She did know a lot about technology. After all, she had to.

After all these years and the messy public divorce with the alimony proceedings, he still felt a surge of sickly love rise up inside him.
She looked stunning in her ivory gown with crystals. Maybe it was Botox. Maybe not. She was still a star. Her last Best Actress award was two years back for playing a refugee caught in a post war world.
She turned around and smiled. He went up to her with a glass of champagne.

“Ah my love, my foe,” he said coldly.

She fluttered her hand in the air to disregard him.
“Still being sarcastic D? Aren’t you getting an award tonight?”

“You always bring out the best in me Irene.”

“I heard you’re going around with that skinny sunscreen model?”

“She’s better than the underwear model who you slept with Irene, while we were married. The one you packed in from Berlin.”

“Darling, unlike you, Ralphe at least had a reason to wear underwear!”

“Tch tch, Irene, one must never wash their dirty laundry in public.”

“Come on D, I’m happily married now. For 5 years. Can we stop pulling each other down?”

It had always been like this between them. Two people too alike. They were stubborn, vain, ambitious, intelligent and popular. They thought they had a lot in common. They were right. But that was precisely the problem, apart from the fact that they wanted different things in spite of being similar people. He wanted to rule the world, and she wanted to be his world.

“Who would match up to my wit Irene, if not you? I miss that sometimes.”

“I’m not your punching bag any more honey.”

“Punching bag? The only punches you took were at others, especially younger, aspiring actresses who wanted to learn something from you.”

“There’s no business like show business. But D, I’m not going to do this now. I can’t believe I loved you once upon a time.”

“Love? Sweetheart, you only loved me because I reminded you of yourself.”

“Are you trying to say that we are the same, you and I?”

“No. On the outside we may be. Actually sometimes we may be, sometimes we could be different things. At least that’s what people believed, that we were alike, but people don’t know shit! People think tomato sauce and tomato ketchup are the same thing.”

“Aren’t they?”

“Honey, you never knew anything about food except tell the waiter at a restaurant that it tasted awful…”

“So what is the difference?”

“Well, tomato sauce is what you put on your pasta, basically a puree, but ketchup is the bottled version with vinegar and preservatives, basically what you eat with your fries. But in some countries they are the same thing. Can I have some tomato sauce, or can I have some tomato ketchup? But fundamentally they are different.”

“So, am I the sauce or the ketchup?”

“You’re the sauce honey. All natural. I’m the fucked up artificially flavored version!”

“You’re being sarcastic again, aren’t you D?”

“I duno Irene, I duno. I don’t know which is which or if we are the same, or if people think we are the same and we’re not. I duno. I just know that we’re both made of tomatoes.”

Irene played with her ring. It was a big solitaire. Then she looked at him like a puppy dog with big brown melting eyes.

“Do you think that people cross paths for a reason?”

“Of course Irene. I have heard of strangers meeting and becoming friends, becoming lovers, saving lives, changing lives, taking lives; of people living together for years and discovering strangers. Sometimes a stranger can be the best thing to happen to you. Just that we are not strangers, or are we?

She kept quiet, chewing on an asparagus stick.

He said softly, “I did love you. Tell me what I did wrong. I need to know.”

“D, sometimes there are no answers, no right or wrong. Sometimes we hurt only so that our scars make us better people. We were both wrong, and we were both right.”

“Do you love him Irene?”

“Yes D. He’s not a tomato. He’s my spaghetti. We go together.”

“I’m glad to know you’re happy Irene.”

“Aren’t you happy? You always wanted to be rich and famous, and now you are.”

“No. That’s not what I always wanted. I just didn’t know what I really wanted.”

“I won’t judge you D. I won’t anymore.”

“Thanks Irene. I’m glad we can be friends after all.”

“I’m glad too. It’s funny how it’s easier to talk to a stranger. I’m not saying you are one. Just that, that’s how it feels.”

“I know why we met today.”

“Why D?”

“I can finally forgive myself today. It doesn’t matter if you do or don’t. I can.”

“Good to know.”

“I have to go now. The journalists are waiting.”

“See you around D.”

“See ya Irene. My lil’ tomato.”

He walked away, took the side entrance into the kitchen lobby, and called his lawyer.

“Yeah, I’m ready to sell. It’s time.”




(My book of short stories is now available on Lulu.com. Please buy and spread the word as well :)

http://www.lulu.com/product/ebook/tomato-sauce-and-tomato-ketchup---short-stories/6561767

Wednesday, March 31, 2010

Definition


I think, you should know
I lied.
I'm not the seductress in red,
or the intellectual with poses,
no, not the girl next door in
flower printed dresses,
or the alpha woman,
flaunting her muscles
to the guy in the corner,
with the bike under his thighs

I think you should know
I lied.
I'm not the mother of your children,
or the cooking master of brews
Or the someday famous writer
the one you'll say you knew
I'm not going to please your mother,
by telling her I can't dare
I'm not going to get flowers for your sister,
you see, I really don't care.

I've seen more than you ever can,
I know much more than you'll ever know
I'm the old lady who laughs at misery,
I'm the hag who cackles and crows
I'll sit here weather beaten, I'll watch
the sun and the rain and the snow
As the years pass, I'll grow older and glow
You'll never be able to catch me,
you'll never know how to make me happy,
No, you'll never know

But now, I think you should know,
I lied.
Someday I'm going to die,
But you'll never know,
That I lied.

Saturday, March 06, 2010

No One's Watching


The curtain is raised, and the elephant walks in,
with the hat lady who slaps his leg, and tickles his trunk,
while he performs tricks for the audience, who's drunk
She smiles and bows, tonight she's proud,
she'll drink and forget about retiring and dancing
with wild horses in a barn in town, in a field
full of daisies, when the sun goes down,
she won't sleep again as usual, tonight she'll frown

The clown wants you to laugh, he looks at the kids
throwing orange peels on his nose, he loves them still,
his job he adores, he's a lover of beauty, but believes in perfection,
day after day, he toils and does his jigs in succession
As he wipes off the paint, his face falls down,
and he doesn't know who he is anymore,
maybe he's still just a clown

The tarot lady sits at the stall, and asks you to believe
in yourself, 'see, that way you'll never fall'
Her lover has a mistress, she knows, but she won't recall,
'Your card is the king of wands,' she says,
but what it means she can't explain, she wants to run away,
she wants to dissolve; the carnival is leaving town,
but she must follow them, her own future she can't predict,
so for the fate of others she must call

The salad seller has made a sale, but no one's willing to try
his mousse cake, maybe it's better to give up than fail
He eyes the fruit lady, but her apples are too stale,
so he sticks to cutting cabbages that will make for
rat food, and when the people have all left, he sits
with his leftovers and admires the beautiful designs
on his plate, maybe it's still not too late, to leave this
job and travel to Spain, where the buffalo meat is fresh,
the afternoons are long, and there is experience to gain

The banjo man plays hard, he loves himself deeply,
he's the king of his guard, he wants to leave this mess,
walk straight into the sea, but the banjo is old
and so are his deeds; so he plays for the disgruntled crowd,
who long for something mod, he loathes their mediocrity,
he hates being needed, he believes in no one's God.

The acrobat is pretty, but her dress was torn tonight,
so she tried to wear some pants, but she was booed out of sight,
she yearns respect and demands it, but no one loves her you see,
her stunts are old and jaded, her sequins are too tacky
She wishes she were smarter and braver, she wishes she was sexy,
but she's still a small town girl in pants, she'll never be a tease

The monkeys dance, the horses clap and the magician waves his wand,
The show's a disaster and the people don't give a damn
All the actors are fake, and the watchers are all dead
No one cares for the circus anymore, they all want video games instead

Friday, March 05, 2010

Days of Bumming and Living

It's been 4 months since I last worked. Most people think I'm wasting my life away. Some others think I have a secret inheritance, or else how would I be paying my huge EMIs with no salary? I have to admit some help has come from my family, but mostly when I was working, I saved. And now that I'm not, I'm travelling, eating, buying, doing everything to make up for my lack of ambition.


I've worked since I was 19, that's much earlier than most people. I was working in the highest selling daily in the country while studying journalism, and then stuck to them the minute I completed my course. That's 10 years in a stretch, not counting the 6 months I took off to prepare for my GRE and to pursue greener pastures doing Literature. That life, of course, never happened. I've been hard working and dedicated most of my life, so why can't I take time off?

I didn't join salsa or driving classes, as I planned; neither did I lose weight. What I did instead was live and love completely. You never realise how much effort it takes to fall in love again if you are the non committal, non trusting types. Yes, I've been loving, and living now, something I forgot to do in those 10 years. I've also been cooking like crazy, baking dishes, creating recipes, something I always wanted to do.




When I look back on this time later in my life, I won't regret it. I'll cherish every moment of it. Yes, I'm lost and don't know what I want to do with my life work wise, but better that than to pretend you do know. My dad says I didn't really know when I was 20. I guess I won't know even when I'm 40.

But I do know who I am. I guess that's what really matters, doesn't it?
I should have been oozing creative juices and writing on my sabbatical, but I have been so peaceful and happy that words aren't really my game right now.
I do want to be productive, I do want the world to recognise my talent, but till they do, I'll be busy enjoying my days. It does feel as if I'm 17 again and have the whole world to conquer.
A little bit of rest never hurt anyone, especially a bum like me :)

Friday, February 12, 2010

The Solitary Peacock...



...loves himself more than he loves you,
yes, he needs you for the gasp,
the admiration of his armour,
dazzling colours aplenty,
and the grace of the moment,
when your eyes cling to his beauty.

Carefully, he taps his dainty feet,
swirling around, letting you believe,
you are part of this show,
the father of this spectacular vision,
then it all its glory of being,
it becomes larger than itself,
larger than you; shinning and shaking
its grand cover, watching you slyly,
as you watch it, and you believe that
you witnessed something so magnificent...

...so does the pea hen,
believes that he calls out to her,
dancing for her approval, her lust,
and her heart of sand flies to him,
sitting on his bead blue grass green eyes

Others believe that he is ecstatic
for the dark clouds, the smell of
torrid wet earth, joyous in nature,
caller of waters, bearer of seasons.

They don't know he dances
because he's solitary,
because he loves his sinewy body,
the body that gives him company,
when he's too bored to flash his fan,
the only one he loves, it is not
a dance of sorrow or nostalgia,
it is a dance of belonging,
breaking all desire of social seeking,
delving into acceptance of the self.

He doesn't need you, or anyone,
except the folds of every inch of
his thought and time, that remind him
that being solitary is as natural as
the pole star, as natural as being alive.

Tuesday, December 22, 2009

On her 31st brithday



So, I turned 31. Year after year, I've written on my blog on my birthday. This year I felt lazy to, but as I went back and read my old posts, I realise I've changed a lot each time. Maybe it's only fair that I track my progress or vice versa here.
There are some things 31 has taught me that 28 didn't:

1. Life is really short and the years go by quickly, so it's wiser to count them.
2. I wasted a lot of my time by being practical and responsible, thinking from the head. No use. Now, I've decided I'm going to be reckless again.
3. Quitting your job can be difficult, but nothing beats the thrill of it if you don't really like what you're doing anymore. Forget being best friends with your co-workers or the attachment/nostalgia you feel for a place.
4. Do nothing for 2 months. Absolutely nothing. Don't join a dance class, don't party, don't find another job. You'll feel your youth returning as you idle your hours away, just like you did during your school vacations.
5. Don't marry because it's time. Don't have sex if you don't feel like it. Don't be afraid to see things changing. Every recognition is a boon, even if it means losing out on a lot.
6. Make peace with your ex bfs and estranged friends. There's nothing more liberating than not having anyone you don't want to see or talk to.
7. Remember your last birthday. Recall the year that passed. Take stock of the good and the bad.
8. Bring in 12 midnight alone with a glass of wine and music. Dance in the morning.
9. Thank your parents for copulating. Thank the world for copulating. Don't deny that you still need raunchy sex.
10. Live 31 as if you were 21. Be silly, be reckless, get drunk without fearing loss of face.

Happy birthday to me. May this year teach me how to remember and chase my dreams. And how to stop playing grown up, grown up :) Cheers.

Thursday, December 03, 2009

An Analogy



'Are you happy?' you ask me,
I question your meaning of happiness.

I'd rather be calm,
like the soft sea breeze
on a May afternoon.
Gently touching your skin,
with the passion of far away lands.

Occasionally, I could be languid,
the dry air in a parched village
where nothing living grows.
where no one speaks,
where no one knows.

And on my blue days, I could
carry drops of wet rain across
green paddy fields, be the
relief on the farmer's face
as he lifts it to the dark sky.

I can be the storm, the sudden chaos
in a whirling wind, that seeks to avenge
and destroy.
Paper, dust, rattling in a dance.
Hitting your eyes, slashing your face.

Or the scented draught that carries
the smells of cooking onto the street.
Warm noses looking out for
where I begin or end.
Eager tongues tingling
in torrid desire for someone else's feast.

I can be happy if you want me to,
if that's what you would like me to say.

My nature is to change.
My nature is not mine at all.
I exist for you
even though you can't see me.
But mostly, I don't exist at all.

Monday, October 26, 2009

The Circle



Take me back,
to where I knew you, to where
we were, where we stayed,
longing for an eternity in
a one bedroom apartment,
with words dancing every night,
and the sounds of a mouth organ
putting us to sleep.

Let me forget
about the red bearded goblin
that threatened to take you away,
let's go back, much before the circle began
before the radius took shape,
before the circumfrence made us dizzy
from going round and round.
Let me open the door once again,
seeing a stranger I knew centuries ago,
the step away from the stair,
breaking my young heart into pieces,
the first letter, the first kiss, the first dream,
the smell of your skin as I breathe it in,
I'll wear my butterfly silk dress, you can
wear your cologne and let the pocket watch
not remind you of how time is flying.
Let me forget the fights, the breaking of glass
as your hand comes down upon it in a rage,
let me not watch you dissolve and fade away,
not bear the pain of losing you again,
or watch you walk away as you fail to
remember who I am.

Let me open the door once again,
let me remind you, that feeling of deja vu,
as you turn back to recall if you know me from
somewhere before, ask me if we've met before,
and I shall feign ignorance over it,
let me draw another circle,
holding onto it, till we
fall, till we fall,
till we fall,
into a straight line....

Tuesday, October 06, 2009

Laws of Lightning


Lightning never strikes in the same place,
twice, thrice, and yet again,
but lightning can follow you around,
like the unknown explanation in
a stranger's eyes; sitting at the bar,
fiercely asking you if you want to, want to,
take a chance; mess up your perfectly
planned life that you're so afraid to analyse.


Lightning always approaches before thunder,
or so that's what you would think if you don't know
your physics well. But if you did, you would
excel at expecting them as part of the torrid deal
the flash of surprise and fear, followed by the sinking
of the harmony you so carefully laid across
in your quiet humdrum meditative peace.


Lightning is followed by rain, usually;
so if you think that you can forget those eyes,
beckoning and daring you, you could be wrong;
rain is always messy, but it's also fertility
for a dulled, disguised mind that's expected
to be moral, sowing the seeds of commitment
and posterity; look around again,


the storm is here, the sounds of its explosion
will scare and disturb your midnight sleep,
and even as you hide under your bed,
the splashes of rain may have already
covered your doorway with water
that brought along the mud you didn't expect
from a distant thunder and a bit of white light.

Wednesday, September 23, 2009

Fear of Flying


When he was born, his mother shoved him deeper into the hole and pecked at the sticky broken shell. Of course, he didn't remember that. He did remember sharing the hole with smells and noises like him . Days were blurry for a long, long time.

His first recollection of anything was the darkness and the suffocation, weighing down on him. Why did she do that? There was nothing more scary than that. But as the days passed by, the same presence and heaviness became his safety.

Things were changing slowly. His body was changing, even though he didn't understand it then. But he started remembering things, he started poking his head out of the hole to see what lay outside. But he wasn't ready.

Then the trouble started. The monster noticed them in her house. She started poking them with a long thing, which now when he remembers, was like a tree branch. Their strategy was to shift around and flatter their baby wings in order to avoid getting hurt. But the branch did poke into their skin many times, leaving bruises and pain behind.
After that it just grew worse. The monster took a certain pleasure in screaming at them and poking them. His brother was getting stronger and one day, just disappeared, from the ledge of the deep cavern into nowhere. Mother knew there was trouble, and was scared to leave him alone now, but the monster was persistent and kept laughing at his misery.

Then one day the monster managed to get him out of the hole by poking him. When he cried and tried to go back, he realised that the monster had closed the hole.

Night came, and he sat in a corner shivering away, scared all alone. All he wanted then was his mother's warmth. In the morning, the monster cooed to him and tried to push him to the edge. She wanted to kill him. Why not just do it by sitting on him? Why push him again and again to the deep cavern?

His mother and brother would come often with food. He couldn't understand why everyone was trying to push him down. He hated his brother now. Even his mother kept trying to peck him and get him moving there. He was fed up. He wished he could die.

Many more days passed by. He grew weaker and sadder. The more the monster flapped her hands, the more scared he got. The more they tried, the more he hated them. Every time he saw the edge of the cavern, he wished he was never born. The whole place was now filled with his excreta. A dull silence was all that remained, broken by the monster's screams and attempts.

Then one day, another monster came towards him with another branch that she used on the floor. This one didn't say a word. She was older and bigger. She lifted him in her hands, in spite of his fluttering and threw him off the edge.

His eyes were closed as he saw the end coming near. He fell into a much bigger hole that was cold. Then from nowhere his mother lifted him up, and he saw what she was doing with her wings, so he did it too. And the cavern wasn't a cavern anymore. It became the world.

He always went back to the monster, but she never recognised him. She still screamed, though.

Tuesday, September 15, 2009

The Search

My words are dying,
my words are lying,
where are my words so lost?
Swirling, curling, magnificent,
dynamos of volt attacks,
positioned in the darkened, dazzling
outburst of passion,
in the slates of unrequited love,
sliding down the debris of despair,
hopeful of change, capable of relief,
disguised under the quilts of art,
sneaking away in the high night of
many a flagging centuries,
captured by the metre soldiers,
tied to the corrupt
concept tree, slapped, tortured,
escaping and howling away
near the river, and plunging
towards the fall, the end, the pun
of the lashing waterfall,
the birth of the current,
lighting the many forgotten corners
of rooms and places unseen.

Where then are my words
in this blindness I could see before?

Tuesday, August 11, 2009

Advice from Two Men

I

You tear my face aside like a non descript curtain,
and look out and say, the rain hasn’t really stopped,
the scenery is pretty poor from here, look at
all the grey cement and the lack of sunlight,

the room stinks of failure, the food stale,
I feel bad for you, don’t you want to live somewhere
better, or are you too used to this gloomy life of yours?

I sit quietly, as the skin from my cheeks falls on the floor,
And the smile that was once hidden by my lips,
Tumbles to the grey floor of my grey life.


II

You look at the dark clouds hovering over
the dull market, the pigeons jostled in
the cramped by lanes of the dead city.
“How do I look, do you think I’ve changed?”
I ask, hoping to hear the story of where
I lost my smile, and the clues that lead me
back to when you used to touch
the roses in my cheeks, when the green
of my eyes shone all over the grey walls,
the birth of the Emerald City,
where you found your home.
But now, your eyes are fixed on the crowd
That is pulling off the stones of this fallen city
Straight from the walls that made it magical,
You smile at the revolution outside,
And stop breathing the air of the room.

I pick up my smile, and walk out of the room,
out of the city of my ruins, out of the broken green gates,
Into the forest of none, where not a creature lives,
where the trees don't sing their fruit tales,
but where the dark breeze
pastes my skin and my smile back on my desolate face.

Tuesday, August 04, 2009

The Bubble from Here to There


I'm there again,
all of 15, confused, scared,
like any other teenager,
it's a cloudy Sunday morning,
and Papa is watching Nat Geo,
there are smells of holiday brunch,
coming in, tide like from the kitchen
a sleepy, pleasant awakening,
nudging your sister, in her bed,
and fighting over who woke the other first,
arguing over who's supposed to make the bed.
Then sitting on our study tables,
and worrying about how much we would score;


This is the memory I woke up to today,
with a smile, and a desire to be there,
in that place, with those people,
I woke up alone, but I didn't feel alone,
And this is not even a poem,
why are my lines flowing in free verse?
why am I scared again?
why do I wish I had conjunctivitis again,
so that my father would clean my sticky eyes,
that my mother would hold me again,
and tell me that I'm not alone, that I'll be
all right soon, that I'm a strong girl,
that my grandma would pat my head
on her lap, and say words that would be wise
and cliched; that my grandpa would call me
his firecracker again, 'you're my lil' firecracker',
that my sister would tickle and scratch me,
calling me a moron, that my dog
would hold my hand in his mouth
and nibble on it without ever biting,

and this is not even a poem,
and I've come so far from everything,
that I knew was me, drifted off the coast,
did I know at 15 that the fear of failure
would make me lose the most promising
part of myself - not my words,
not dreams of success, not a boy,
but courage in my heart,
and the everlasting hope
of happiness...

They say, all is lost,
when you lose hope,
but this not a poem,
I say it again and again,
this is not a poem,
this is not what
really becomes of me

Thursday, July 09, 2009

The Broken Coin

I told old man saint to leave her,
she was no good for him.
I told young boy brat to go back to her,
she was the one who taught him to love.
Before old man saint could leave her, she left him,
she didn't think she was any good for him.
Young boy brat didn't go back,
He said she taught him to hate.
Old man saint sunk deeper into sadness,
once more he had to search again.
Young boy brat shunned the sadness,
and looked to the future with bright eyes.
Old man saint wants to be happy and sad,
but he always wants others to be more happy.
Young boy brat wants to be happy,
and he will leave those like dirt that make him sad.
I love old man saint for what he is, but I wish
that he loved himself first.
I have loved young boy brat, hard wind in the pines,
but he only knew how to love himself.
What will become of the two?
Old man saint will continue loving others,
Young boy brat will always love himself first.
Unless situations change,
and like broken sides of the same coin,
the two come face to face with the worst
that their alter egos can bring.
Maybe then the coin will melt,
and form a better wholesome man
who knows that to love is to respect
and to respect is to love,
for the coin's essence
and the owner of its kindness
in possessing it,
and lovingly passing it on.

Thursday, June 11, 2009

White & Blue

I dreamt of snow last night,
and then I dreamt of you,
Caught in the blizzard of silence,
you ached to be heard, you screamed
The white suffocation and blue limbs,
hid you away from air,
and you were all alone in the cold.

That was the first one.
I also dreamt of me,
there was water all around,
dripping from rooftops,
rising on dry, parched ground,
swirling like foamy milk.
There were others like me,
struggling to drift afloat,
drenched and tired,
waiting for the tide to change,
in the dreary evening of blue.

I wondered what it meant,
I wondered if you were sinking
and I was frozen, something my dream
couldn't catch correctly.
We could be one element
in two forms; kindreds with
a formidable generation gap
I stopped thinking of you,
then the blue twilight slyly,
brought back the inner voices of many,
and stayed with me, chattering away,
till the white sleep changed the mind vision
and all was silent,
and all was gone.

Thursday, May 21, 2009

Holiday, Celebrate (Help!)

I've been wanting to take a proper vacation for the last one year or so. Work has left me with no time for myself, and seriously it's just plain annoying and getting on my nerves now. And since I've been a workaholic in the past, this not wanting to get out of bed and going to work feeling is not something I appreciate too much. Couple that with questions about what I really want to do in life, who I really want to be, where I really want to be, and you have an explosive, on the brink of insanity situation.
I need a vacation to a beautiful place. The problem is I just can't decide where to go, because I want to go everywhere, and that's not possible with the 15 days I plan to take off.
There are some other major fusses for me at this point:

1. I want to go to a place that's naturally beautiful and green. So all big bad cities and only drinking in pubs or shopping is something I should avoid.

2. I don't want to go in group/escorted tours where 15-20 people, including chattering Gujjus speak in Gujju, eat only Indian food, and do typical touristy things like seeing Paris in one day and Rome in the next. I rather go to one place and explore it well, and understand its people and culture mainly, as I find that fascinating. It doesn't matter if this is just one city for 15 days.

3. I don't want to go alone where I don't know anyone. This is something I can compromise on if I have to really go, but since I've been taking vacations alone for years now, I'm kinda fed up of it, and would like to 'hang out' with somebody. Don't ask me to define somebody. I don't know.

4. I don't want to do all the Visa and airticket shit by myself. I don't have the time really. I'll have to figure this out.

5. I don't mind putting up with someone nice, and would love to return the favour for them by letting them stay at my house in India. This is not house swapping, just house hosting.

6. I would like to go to a place that's not hot, since I've taken 4 months of bad Indian summer here, and am now too tanned and fed up of the sun.

So, if there's anyone reading this blog, anyone who has any suggestions, anyone who would like to travel with me, or put up with me here for some time in return, please let me know. This is the reason why I have gathered the courage to put this up here.
I had initially planned to go to Britain with my friend M, and to visit my cousin brother, but that plan fell apart, and even though I have all the documents ready to be processed, I'm deciding against it. I don't think I can bear being amidst stuck up in the sky clouds, cold assed, errr...weather. We Indians are accustomed to way too much hotness. Sorry, bro, I'll make it there some other time. And the place is way fucking expensive for nothing.
I'm sure Ireland has much better and warmer, err, weather, and I would love to go there someday for it, and finally learn Gaelic, something I've wanted to do for 6 years now.
So please, blogland, help. I would love to see your country, and listen to your suggestions.
I'm all eyes with my bags packed. Send me your words.

Tuesday, April 21, 2009

Game Over?

Image copyright: Maggie Taylor 'Fading Away'


I don't know if this is mid life crisis. All I know is I'm questioning everything that I am so far, my job, my emotional and spiritual being, my concepts of love, my home and homelessness, my roots and rootlessness.

A good way to start would be I'm lost. I'm also feeling utterly nihilistic. I want to break down everything I've created so far and start from nothing. Everything I've achieved so far seems futile, every emotion I've felt wasted, every dream I've dreamt ridiculous. It's time to dream new dreams. I can't be the monk who sold his Ferrari because I don't have one. I have a house, right now only a house, not a home. It's my shelter from the world, where I hide and pretend that I'm safe from myself.

I haven't felt this way in the last 8 or 9 years. This recklessness, this impatience, this wanting to break free. It could mean losing everything I've achieved so far. But it's a risk I'm willing to take. For me, for life.

Sometimes I think we lack the courage to follow our dreams. Sometimes, we have just forgotten how to dream. It takes long, sleepless nights to bring back the ability to dream again. And luckily for me, I've had enough of those.


I'm on the brink,
I'm at the end,
of the journey I started,
My score is decent,
but my satisfaction low,
Should I Restart the game,
or would that mean I'm a quitter?
Is it okay to quit when you know,
you can do better at another game?
Or is it easier to switch off,
and watch the world go by?
I will join the world later
Right now, just let me watch
it go by.

Wednesday, April 08, 2009

This week I...

1. Learnt how to love again.
2. Realised that everyone has masks, just that some of us are better at pulling them off.
3. Felt the joy of meeting old friends and how we never change, how much ever we think we have.
4. Noticed that I always have a dog for company when I cry. So, I'm never really ever alone.
5. Went back to writing on paper napkins - the kindest way to unknot.
6. Felt the piercing pain in the heart. I thought I was cured of it years ago.
7. Realised that the more you want, the lesser you get. Sometimes it's better to shut up than shut out.
8. Slept with my arms wide open.
9. Admitted foolishly that I would always have Dylan to go back to, if not anyone else.
10. Looked into eyes that made me understand why eyes are truly the windows to the soul, irrespective of what our words may be.
11. Understood that we are all afraid, that fear always clouds our judgement and brings forth anger and hatred.
12. Learnt that a single moment can stretch to an eternity.
13. Decided to get out of my ivory tower and embrace the world.
14. Realised that I have way too much love to give, and I should to everyone I can, and not just one person.
15. Hugged a friend I had fought with, unexpectedly, without wanting one back.
16. Decided to travel more and be as impulsive as I used to be.
17. Felt the power of a kiss on the head and how it makes you stronger.
18. Bathed with cold water for a change.
19. Appreciated my friend F who is always there for me in spite of the grief I've put him through. Thank you F.
20. Looked forward to next week.

Monday, March 30, 2009

Heartbroken Reality

Breaking illusions
is easy,
A snap of the heart
is all it takes.

Thursday, March 19, 2009

The Golden Hip Hoppers


I have often cribbed about my lifestyle; not having time to do the things I want to, working so hard that my eyes pop out by the end of the day, putting on weight because I have no time to exercise since I'm superwoman - cooking, working, cleaning, partying, paying bills, buying insurance..blah blah blah

Last weekend I went through another one of my low phases, another mid life breakdown. Sister had to be called in an emergency because I was breaking down and howling away like a baby. I have no life, I have no love, I have no future doing what I want to do, I've changed and I hate myself....basically the crappy depressive shit that makes one only feel worse. I felt fatigued and tired all the time. The low phase was handled by lots of alcohol, shoved under the rug again...

Then I went home to meet my parents. And for once, I felt truly ashamed of myself. My mom was jumping around like a little kid, chattering away and showing us photos of her in some fashion show, and displaying the catwalk for us, giggling away. She looked gorgeous.

I looked at her. It couldn't be possible she was 60. Where did she get all this zest for life? She basically had nothing that great to look forward to in her life. She had taken voluntary retirement and now spends all her time organising blood/eye camps, donating wheelchairs, attending district meetings for her club, watching TV, or shopping or spending shitloads of money at the gym/parlour/spa.

I looked like shit in front of her. Her friends were right. Her daughters could never match up to her beauty.

Then I listened to my Dad. I tried to give him some obscure lecture on how he should just retire now and learn to delegate more work. This man works 6 days a week, 12 hours a day, running his own business on high tech pollution control instruments. He wishes his kids would take over from him. But that's not possible because one of his daughters is an IT geek, and the other a Jack of all trades, who's jumped 'n' number of ambitions and jobs, still not getting to the writer tag she so badly wants. Who wants to get into scientific instruments?

But he doesn't crib. He works his ass off, and still finds time for his family on Sundays. And now, he has hit upon a brilliant plan. His retired scientist friends are joining his company, because they are all tired of sitting at home doing nothing. This is the 60 plus club, the mecca of all highly qualified people that no one would want to hire. Not only do they work together, they are friends for the last 40 odd years, so they have fun as well. One of them is an avid blogger/poet, and my Dad wants me to have a look at his blog and share my views.

And what about me with my shit fake friends who will go partying with me, but will not come when I say I have a terrible fever and restricted to the bed.
The answer to who has a better life and a stronger mind is pretty evident here. They do deserve it. They've raised their children, lived in lower middle class conditions and homes with peeling walls. These are not their twilight years, these are their golden years.

Someday, I'll be half of what they are. At least, a speck of silver.

Sunday, March 08, 2009

From a Marriage


I watched 'Revolutionary Road' last night and it brought back so many memories. Good ones, bad ones, ones I don't share with anyone, not even myself anymore. I could see R and I, having the same fights, fights over individuality, fights over change, fights over wanting to be different, and lead a life 'less than normal'. Maybe we didn't exactly pack our bags and decide to go to Paris. If Kate and Leo had in the movie, I know exactly how that story would have ended. Kate would have supported Leo's 'hopeless emptines', working day after day, cooking, cleaning, trying to redefine herself for love, while Leo would have realised that he didn't want a marriage after all. Maybe the artists of Paris would have been his new haven.

Yes, I know exactly how that story ends. Funny part is, I had a long discussion about this with my sister post the movie. I used to believe then that love was unconditional, free and forever. I still believe the 'forever' part, but I'm not too sure about the unconditonal and free.
R and me wanted to live like that. Differently. We ensured our lives were not stagnated by routine, or the dearth of learning. We didn't care if we had no new clothes to wear. We ensured we bought 50 books every month, watched world cinema, attended shows, cooked together, learnt together. We were so hungry to grow that we forgot to love. And that pulled us apart.

I also believe now that even though people say that it's better to argue and fight, and let it out, it's not wise to display anger. Watching him break mirrors, throw utensils and punch walls, somewhere I picked up on that anger, not wanting to be left out. And before you realise it, you've changed. The anger consumes you and guilts you into not respecting the other person.

What's the secret of a strong marriage? I wouldn't say passion, love, sex or friendship. I would say the key word is 'respect'. That's what I've learnt from my failure. And the ability to accept change, to know that the person you fell in love with is not always going to be the same person. Also, the day you start numbing yourself and reach the point where nothing matters, just as Kate tells Leo in the film, "I don't care who you fuck", that's already the end there. Anything beyond that will only be a compromise.

I wish I knew all this 7 years back. Not that my trying would have changed anything. R had changed, and not even love can stop change. From being the golden couple that everyone envied, we went to being unknown to each other. I know you read my blog R. I think this is the first time I'm talking about us so openly. You would still say it was all your fault. You're the bad man, I'm the angel who put up with your shit. I would still agree. But somewhere I know that it wasn't your fault. It wasn't anyone's fault.

It's all good now. It's all good. That's the thing with love. There are never any enemies there, only lost friends.

"Wake up naked drinking coffee
Making plans to change the world
While the world is changing us
It was good good love"

Wednesday, February 25, 2009

An Abandoned Suitcase

It happened accidentally, again.
First, the damned thing didn't close,
so I sat on it, as I always do,
jumping up and down,
and just when I thought
the lock had clicked
and dragged it upright,
the overstuffed luggage
swam out.


It covered the floor,
and created a flood.
Mango leave smells
in summer,
grandmother hands,
the glass cutting
through small feet,
spattering red
on the playground green,
warm tongue plays
in love's cold windows,
yellow moon, solitary stars
on the mountain top,
God under the pillow
at night with
ghosts of tumbling hair,
a father's bath lemon
scent; tv in the darkened room,
the swing, the black,
the snow, the melting,
...
then the snow again,
and the flooded room
all around.
I didnot close the suitcase,
I sat and watched the
swirling and whirling
in the water,
as it reached my knees,
It didn't matter today
if I missed the train.
It didn't matter at all,
It was time to rest,
and recollect how far
I had already travelled.
It didn't matter
what I needed to have,
than what I already did.

Tuesday, February 24, 2009

Song for the day - maybe even a decade


Song to a Seagull

Fly silly seabird
No dreams can possess you
No voices can blame you
For sun on your wings
My gentle relations
Have names they must call me
For loving the freedom
Of all flying things
My dreams with the seagulls fly
Out of reach out of cry

I came to the city
And lived like old Crusoe
On an island of noise
In a cobblestone sea
And the beaches were concrete
And the stars paid a light bill
And the blossoms hung false
On their store window trees
My dreams with the seagulls fly
Out of reach out of cry

Out of the city
And down to the seaside
To sun on my shoulders
And wind in my hair
But sandcastles crumble
And hunger is human
And humans are hungry
For worlds they can't share
My dreams with the seagulls fly
Out of reach out of cry
I call to a seagull
Who dives to the waters
And catches his silver-fine
Dinner alone
Crying where are the footprints
That danced on these beaches
And the hands that cast wishes
That sunk like a stone
My dreams with the seagulls fly
Out of reach
Out of cry
- Joni Mitchell

Wednesday, February 11, 2009

Female Feline For Fun


The cat is in the bag,
the cat is on the street,
the cat wants the cream
that you refuse to eat.

She'll scratch your hand,
she'll purr at your leg,
looking up at you with eyes,
scary and enticing.
Do you feel mesmerised?
Do you see the emptiness
behind the green grey light?

Do you want to pet her?
Do you want to lock her up?
Does she confuse you,
because you want to touch her,
but you still don't trust her?

The cat is always alone,
climbing walls, searching for prey.
The cat is in your house,
tied to your loyalty,
tied to your tamed ribbons,
tied to her seasonal litter,
kitties fed by her suffocated breasts.

The cat is always free,
dreaming of long gone
forest fire days,
when noone judged her,
when noone asked her who she was,
when the pleading of death
in their eyes
was all she ever saw
before she devoured
and cherished them,
lovingly, hopefully...

Friday, February 06, 2009

Jo main nahin kar paon


Maine kabhi kaha nahin,
na keh paaongi,
bahut bar dekhi hai haar,
is bar samjhaute ki sharam
nahin seh paaongi main.

Kehte hain log rakho sabr,
karo intezaar,
us intezaar ka raaz samajhti hoon main,
par phir pighal kar
apni barf ho simtan nahin paaongi main.

Ek bar pehle pyaar kiya tha maine,
bhool kar aapne aap ko jiya tha maine,
tum kehte ho kitne saboot pangti hoon main,
sabooton ka inkar chah kar bhi nahin kar paaongi main.

Chalo man liya tum kuch nahin de sakte,
man lo ki main bech kar bhi khali haath nahin hoon,
Aaj bas aakar do shabd hi keh do,
tumhare shabdon ki methi kathas
main hi main jo nahin kar sakti,
sab bhool jaana chahungi main.

(Translation)

What I may not be able to do

I have never told you,
and I may never be able to,
I've seen failure many times before,
but I may not be able to
suffer the humiliation of compromises any more.

People ask me to be patient,
wait some more my dear,
I understand the suspense of waiting,
but I may not be able to
melt and harness my snow with bare hands again.

I have fallen in love once before,
I have forgotten myself
and lived my life once before,
you question my demands for the evidences I seek,
I may not be able to
accept your refusal of evidences
even if I wanted to.

Fine, let me believe that you can't give me anything,
You can believe that my hands are full
even after selling myself,
But today, if you only come to me
with a few words,
I may be able to
forget everything I can't do,
even if the words you spew are sweet bitter.

Saturday, January 31, 2009

Please Her

Image copyright: Harunobu's Bath by Paul Binnie

Mona moaned in ecstacy as she switched off the porn and watched herself come. She thought of Tom, and realised she was falling in love with him. Why else would she think of him now? But this had nothing to do with love. Tom was her catalyst, the one she could build romantic fantasies around. At this point, it wouldn't have mattered who it was. She thought of B, but dismissed his thought. He had a small ..... After all these years, she needed someone to break that jinx for her.

After she had washed her hands and was taking a hot bath, she thought, "Why have I hid the animal in me for so long? What's so wrong in gaining pleasure if you don't love somebody?"

She was tired of the way she had become. Something inside her was stifled. Maybe it was her own false morality that had done this, maybe it was fear of being hurt by falling for someone you sleep with. Apparently you left a part of your soul behind each time you had intercourse with someone. She didn't believe that. Certainly not with the jerks she had been with.


As she soaped herself, she imagined no one. It was as if she were getting turned on by the thought of herself. Her hands wandered and slipped. Maybe the ones living below heard her. Her first boyfriend used to call her Moaning Mona. Every time they made love, he had to cover her mouth with his hand. Once, the neighbours knocked at 3 in the night, wanting to call the police because they heard a woman screaming. Was there a rule that a woman who enjoyed pleasure was a bad one?

As she looked into the mirror covered with steam, she found herself beautiful. The strands of wet hair were clinging to her breasts. They had surely grown in recent years. What would she do now, she needed to feel free, to let her body go without any conditions. She decided to let go of her inhibitions now, even if it meant losing out a serious relationship. She looked at the poster on the wall outside and thought of the actor in that movie.

After an hour, her skin was calloused and she was tired. She lay in bed, perfumed and wearing her satin pyjamas and top.

Tom called, "What are you doing darling?"

She moved over to her side, "I have been thinking about you..."

Friday, January 16, 2009

Two Can...


I may be blowing conch shells,
writing your name with mine,
choosing the place
where we would get married.
I may write words of flattery,
create swords of despair,
wipe away continents of diagrams,
as I smile from ear to ear,
walk on toe to toe, as you lift me up
with one finger,
and you watch how I imagine
flying my days into a starry future.
I also listen to words never said,
I know the vanity and the mischief
in playing that game where you always win
I understand that game very well,
So I'll let you believe you're winning.
I feel the boredom of the finger
that plays a new theme every day.
I smile at your followers,
each trying to open the rigid, rusty box,
the one without a key, only a hidden button
I'll build that dream for you,
and before you shatter mine,
I'll remind you that yours
is just as real as the water crashing
on your window sill every time,
the puddles seeping and building through
latches promised to be trustfully airtight.

Friday, January 09, 2009

Surrender


There's a slow wind moving,
the warm air from the island,
drops of pearls melting from the ice,
and I feel, yes, I feel again.

You can call me silly,
love doesn't happen
between strangers, you'll say.
Love does happen between strangers,
and it doesn't matter what I call it,
the words are irreversible, can be mounted
on a clammy shelf, or hurled into the deepest seas.

You can break my heart into little pieces,
you can excuse yourself from past pain,
I could fall in your arms like coloured cake.
I could hide and never show what isn't real.
It doesn't matter if there's spring or rain.
All I know is I feel again.

It could be dooomed,
my love affairs mostly are,
but I've hid long enough,
I've covered my tracks well,
hoping I wouldn't be spotted.
But you didn't.
And so I'll show myself,
be gentle on me,
my leg's broken
and so is your gun.
I see as you shove it under the covers.
Will I be accepted or killed,
but it doesn't matter,
no, it doesn't matter.
Because I want to be hunted,
I want to see your eyes,
yes, I want to see your eyes.
because I feel again.
Only because I feel again.

Sunday, January 04, 2009

Song for the day

Image copyright: Mel Williams



Morning Song

Let the phone ring, let's go back to sleep
Let the world spin outside our door, you're the only one that I wanna see
Tell your boss you're sick, hurry, get back in I'm getting cold
Get over here and warm my hands up, boy, it's you they love to hold
And stop thinking about what your sister said
Stop worrying about it, the cat's already been fed
Come on darlin', let's go back to bed

CHROUS: Put the phone machine on hold
Leave the dishes in the sink
Do not answer the door
It's you that I adore -I'm gonna give you some more

We'll sit on the front porch, the sun can warm my feet
You can drink your coffee with sugar and cream
I'll drink my decaf herbal tea
Pretend we're perfect strangers and that we never met...
My how you remind me of a man I used to sleep with
that's a face I'd never forget
You can be Henry Miller and I'll be Anais Nin
Except this time it'll be even better,We'll stay together in the end
Come on darlin', let's go back to bed

- Jewel

Thursday, December 25, 2008

A Decade Later


Then

Now

It's finally over, my turbulent 20s. I don't think anyone would be so happy to turn 30, but I am. Finally! It's amazing how everyone believes that the teenage years are the most difficult. They are not. It's the 20s, that time of uncertainty and changes, that is. No one warns you about it, and most people just go around questioning their identities, their goals and their feelings during this time, and getting depressed or drugged out over it.
Luckily for me, my sister, three years ahead of me, put down the warning sign. 'It's going to be very difficult, but after 27-28, it'll get easier." I have some young friends who are in that group now, and I try to be patient with them, tell them it's okay to feel confused, it's okay to not know what you want...
It was difficult. I don't know how many times I have redefined who I was in the last ten years. I went from being a virgin to a wife to a divorcee by 25; and from a student to a journalist to a jobless loser to a wanabe GRE scorer to a corporate yuppie by 30; from skinny and anorexic to landing up in hospital for bad eating habits to eating green food and being 'plump' (sic) now.
Thirty may be just another number, but it feels like the lazy shores of a sun kissed beach after wading through a tumultous mid ocean whirlpool.
I welcomed it well, with my closest friends. There was no getting pissed drunk, or hiding in the house not meeting people, or getting the birthday blues over some jerk not calling you. It was cool, sassy and confident. Some laughter, some nostalgia, some dreams, some dancing, some food, lots of hugs and lots of optimism.
From Retro and hip hop at the Shack to a close shave lovely post midnight dinner at Out of the Blue, I think this turned out to be just perfect. Did I add that I received some wonderful gifts? Archie, your flowers made my morning, and Neo, if you're reading this, your thoughtful gestures from continents away always keep me astonished. This was the first time I got cake smashed on my face as well. Funnily, it felt liberating.
As for the future, it will be wonderful. There's a certain promise in the air. Or maybe it's the smell of wisdom. Either way, it feels great...and I only have experience to thank for it.

Saturday, December 20, 2008

Trigger Happy

Image: Andy Warhol

Who are you to judge,
who are you to call me a murderer?
I don't regret the blood splattering,
as my bullet hits that perfect spot,
I love the sounds it makes,
it's the buzz and rhyme of my life,
the sound that keeps my breath going.
I load my power, give it a pull
and let it flow beautifully into life.

Have you ever looked into
a dying man's eyes?
Do you know the innocence
in that last miniute,
the complete surrender to
destiny and the vision of God?
My gun's all I got.
I don't want your morals,
your decisions, your attempts
to make me hate myself
as his child and wife
cry their eyes out
and call me a monster.

Man has been killing man
for centuries.
Why single me out
for those moments of pure joy?
Don't you kill roaches,
watch them tremble their
destroyed limbs, waiting till
they are still forever?
Don't you take lives everyday?
I don't consume my victims,
I don't preserve them,
I don't label them,
I only liberate them.
You can't understand me,
don't think your physical torture
will affect the way I think or feel.
It won't.

Give me back my gun,
give me back my magic wand,
give me back my essence,
and watch me blow your brains out,
boom, boom, boom,
the sound of the universe,
destroying and rebuilding itself.