A Warm Goodbye

We're not on 

Good terms.

I know.

The longing

Is gone.

Glittery fantasies

Are worn off.

There's just

Indifference.

Haughty sarcastic

Taunts and

Lot of blame.

The castle

We had built,

Is grounded.

And

Brick by brick.

We have 

Managed to

Find a place

In its ruins. 

But can I ask

You something?

Beg for a 

Favour?

Can we love

Properly for

Another week?

Can we relive

Some moments,

Again?...

Just for the 

Sake of it.

Let's giggle

And cry.

Take the 

Mountains to

Breath and sigh. 

Allow me to

Smell you.

Play with your

Hair and

Just for a night,

Let's become

Vulnerable and

Drown in each 

Other. 

Take me to

Your favourite

Temple.

I'll believe in

God for a day

And pray.

Let the fresh

Smell of coffee

Pass past our

Senses.

And an elated 

State make us

Compulsive.

Darling...

Let's not fade

Away like

Strangers.

Let the parting

Not stink with

Apathy.

Let's undo

This properly.

On a weekend,

Let's sit around.

Layer by layer.

Let's wear this off.

When we've

Enough memories

To fuel 

A campfire.

Rather than

Letting our

Bare souls,

Forget each other

Out of cold

Indifference.

My love..

Let's hate.

Let's fight.

Let's get dirty..

And kiss a

Good bye..

On a

Warm note.

A wait. A hope.

Waiting for you.

It's been so long.

That,

All the perception

Is gone and

Torn bits of what

You felt like 

Remains.

I try to recall

Your name but

I can't. And

Each time I fail,

I come up with

New ones. 

Sometimes,

Starts with D

And ends with I.

Or it lingers 

Between S and A.

I don't know. 

Doesn't matter

Matter I guess.

Like,

A lazy evening.

A mellow sunrise.

A fading melody,

A fleeting cloud.

I remember you,

Like I've forgotten

You forever.

I feel you like,

A steady peck

On my neck. 

Slow brush on

My hair.

A comforting

Caress and

Maybe lots of

Hugs.

And sometimes,

It feels like

You aren't really 

Gone.

Lurking secretly,

You're there always.

But I pass that

Thought.

There's a pleasure

In giving you 

Names.

Wrapping you in

Metaphors.

Slice you, bite you,

And totally savour

Every side of you.

It's like the 

Transience has

Faded and you've

Become an 

Immortal idea.

A fantasy.

A memory.

A worthy wait.

Reflective Guilt

Stood in front

Of a mirror.

Didn't like 

What I saw.

Put on a smile.

Screamed, 

And cried.

Wore colours,

And a new hat.

Blood throbbed

The same.

Moments passed

In vain.

Mundane is

My thing.

Pretnse stuck

Like side wings.

To start over.

I used an eraser

To rub off my 

Story written in pen.

Mistakes undone.

Mirrors stare,

For the story

That's gone.

For the papers

I have torn.

Still Moments

The day has faded into the dusk. Bit of drizzle has absolved the sweaty-sticky disgust of the summer. 

The rubble in the backyard is moist and half burnt. The vent off smoke has scented the freshness around. Smells like childhood.

The crickets chirp. Through the haze, birds flutter. A half-read story from the past crosses my mind. I just smile and let it go.

Life's still. Nothing to look out for or to be bothered about. I just sit. Observe. Smell and feel the evening. Life in slow motion.

Something strikes me. An overused couplet of Rumi. I can't help but relate to it. Maybe this is what he meant when he said about that place beyond right and wrong.

Then I hold on. Pass that thought and come back to blankness. To feel. To smell and to just breath away the moments. 

RomCom

Good looking girl,

With a sad face.

Can hook you

To a song.

Her dirty mind,

And sharp eyes.

Can butcher 

Your heart.

Sleep free,

Euphoric nights.

Long lost

Obvious days.

You'll be infected

With that smile.

Life'll seem to be

Defined in her arms.

Muse with 

Dim-lights.

Rom-coms and

Movie nights.

Cuddles, 

Hangovers,

Long drives and

Lazy walks.

Oops. Reality 

Off the track,

Again.

Lemme end this.

Story. Too ideal 

For life.

Emptiness

A word sown 

Has failed to

Grow into a 

Sentence.

A poem,

Full of bloom,

Been grounded

By despair.

Clear skies are

Pain.

Nimbus laden,

A bland hope.

For a craving 

To go athirst-

The water

You served,

Has re-enforced

This emptiness.

Hurt

Poems written

In the night.

Are dead by dawn.

And the ride on

Unicorn is a

Myth again.

For a moment

She was there..

Then gone.

Itching flashbacks.

Her traces 

Everywhere.

Reality and utopia

Intertwined.

Hope and despair-

All hurt the same.

 

I'm the Bitch

One day..

I'll be lonely enough.

All my insecurities

Will rush.

The summer heat

Will eat my sleep.

And my thoughts

Will screech helplessly.

Maybe then 

I'll remember you.

To be saved,

Probably, I'll call you.

But then, I realize

You'd be far away.

The way I'd pushed,

You're long gone. 

I'll try to swallow,

Everything again.

Karma isn't a bitch,

But you know who is.

I know who is.

Killed Poetry. Poet died.

Last night. 

Maybe be before that. 

My poetry died. 

Or did I kill her? 

I don't know. 

I don't care much now.

She choked on me 

Or I gagged her. 

What can I say?

I couldn't stand her. 

She couldn't stand me. 

Asphyxiation I guess.

Thoughts in head 

Found no words. 

Emotions didn't flow 

Blood turned thick. 

Skin, too smothering

And lapse of purpose.

A good kind of 

Claustrophobia? 

Possible. Yeah.

Died or killed? 

Doesn't matter. 

She's just not there.

Turned to dust,

Ashes or memories?

Who knows.

Then the poet?

You may ask.

I guess..just.. 

Flesh and bones.

He shouldn't matter. 

Romance

As the wintry night 

Sets in and the 

Cold seeps in,

To Invade our warmth.

We'll get naked and 

Wear each other,

My love.

Under the refuge

Of love and

Longing of lust.

Let's explore

The universe that

Glows between the

Friction of our skin.

Moving on

The song on loop

Can't hurt me.

A stale thought,

Doesn't dare to

Become a poem.

Evenings affect

Me no more, nor

The long nights

That brooded

Over my sleep.

Ain't no taker of

Melancholia.

Pain is just a 

Perception.

Feelings, a pinch

Of euphoria.

Stark reality has

Take over me.

Looks like, 

Everything fits in 

A bracket now.

Black and white.

Right and wrong. 

And to hell with

What's in-between. 

The Forgotten

On a lonely road
Of bland hopes.
I have taken a job
Of painting the
Forgotten memories.

Well, what can I say.
Hardly, there are
Bright colours.
No dark strokes or
Embellished illustrations.

Shades, Shadows.
Pale colors.
Broken moons.
Fading shines.
And some
Dying stars and
Helpless storms.

Some appreciate
The painting.
Some just make
A smirky face.
Some look for
My comments,

And all I can say is-
I’m a forgotten too.
Remember me.

Purposeless

Scars don't itch.

No fresh wounds 

To lookout for.

Looks like I've 

Forgotten it all.

I'm all healed and

Life's never been

This purposeless. 

I would rather be a Sad Song

When you left me. After that evening. I've wasted myself on god knows how many sad songs. And the unceremonious goodbye butchered days that came after.

It's funny how the dusk I loved was eaten away by the dark. And there wasn't a single reason left to conjure some light. Cool breeze doesn't matter. Rain is a stab wound now.

I deleted the old playlist you know. The Linkin Park, Breaking Benjamin, and Radiohead are all gone. Even I've started writing inspirations poems. No fun there though.  

But yeah, this war I've waged on myself is gonna end soon. All these wounds will heal and I'll endure all this pain to rejuvenate my rage.

A new Radiohead album is around the corner soon and will pen down a poem that flies off my mind. 

Till then, this is me. With a mask and a pretentious playlist.

Thank you tea

It's lockdown and you're home. No worries. No hurry. Everything is just slow and lazy. Life's so cozy that the worst thing that can happen to you is a bad cup of tea.

You just have a tight lunch. You give your life to the couch. There's sweat and heat, just like the shade of sadness in your life. Yet a happy nap conquers the world for you.

Then it rains in the evening. Your drowsy senses are elated and looks like there's nothing more to ask from life. And then your mom brings you a cup of tea.

You take a sip and it's just perfect. You breath out few moments like time's your slave. Then you silently thank Chinese for finding tea. Maybe for Corona too. 

Claustrophobia

An year has passed

Without the rains.

And to these stray

Thoughts of mine-

I Haven't been able to 

Find any words.

Voicelessly smothered,

I feel entrapped.

Dr. Freud, is this 

Claustrophobia? 

Pain

Sometimes,

Wanna hurt myself.

Feel the pain,

For the sake of it.

It's like,

Too much of light.

And all you want is

Some gloom 

For a hide out. 

Ignoring

The text I've sent her

Has been marked blue.

It's been quite a while,

I don't think she has 

Gone to the loo...

The Emojis in the chats

Have been fading too.

Clearly she's ignoring.

I don't know what to do. 

You must be a fool to think

She's busy these days.

Bro! It's all about priorities.

Says my friend Poo.

I keep wondering,

About the shit like

To be or not be. And if

Thats how fate wants to woe,

I'll accept that too.

Again!

A mundane thought

Has stretched itself

Into a poem.

A part of me has

Grown wings and

Has set itself aflight.

To settle myself

With a sad song.

The clock has reset.

And 

She's all over.

Again! 

Shadows

I feel exposed

In the light.

Threatened by

The dark.

So I lurk in

The shade,

Cast by the

Moonlight. 

Rhythmic Lust

Wrap me in 

Your legs,

Clasp me in 

Your thighs.

Layer by layer 

Conquer me and

Cut me loose 

In your wildness.

Overpower me

With your

Rhythmic lust.

And make me feel-

Insignificant. 

Hopelessness

I'm blinded

By the light,

That's no boon. 

And 

The darkness

I was seeking,

Has been 

Plundered

By the moon.

Our Insignificance

The stars burst.

Oceans dry.

Mighty demons

Can die and 

Even the gods are

Forgotten.

Oblivious is time.

And here we're

With the pomp

Of our significance. 

Lonely Together

What will 

We do?

When,

Out of words,

Out of signs.

When,

Silence pokes

Around and

Awkwardness

Hang upon?

What will we do,

When,

Lonely together.

Bored and bald. 

Transient Love

Her face,

Melts away,

Like she was

A dream from

Last night.

Can love only

Be something

That's permanent

And long?

The transience

Isn't supposed

To hold enough 

Of heart?

Fighting Oneself

I've stopped

Fighting others.

It's fun to 

Crawl down

My throat and

Poke the intestine.

Just last night,

I had a fight

With my shadow. 

How does it matter

If the other won?

I didn't lose,

And I feel better

Even more.

Tell Me

Tell me,

Do you still

Feed on-

Slashed hearts,

Chopped smiles

And worn out

Lives?

Tell me,

I've all those.

My love,

I am all those. 

Horizon

Waiting,

I've smoked time,

Like, it's a 

Petty cigarette. 

As all I

Wanted was 

A ride back

Home with you.

But now,

It looks like,

The home is

Overrated.

I'm addicted

To the idea that

You're that 

Boundless horizon

In the west.

Lonely Moon

The Moon is 

Lonely too.

He confessed,

The other night.

Earth has 

Engaged the sun.

The stars are 

Far away and-

The girls who

Fantasized him 

Are taken away

By the boys. 

Rage of Your Eyes

In the clasp of
Your hands,
I've seen your
Dripping love,
That goes down
Like freshly
Scored weed.

The enigmatic
Smile, your
Passionate blush.
Man! you're,
Such a rush.

But, God!
That rage!
That rage locked
In your eyes-

My ground
Breaks,
Veins bulge.
The dread
It spreads,
Cries havoc.

I'm sure,
One day, it can-

Obliterate moons.
Subsume stars,
Eat away light
And feed
This universe,
A bondage of
Dark.

Burn

Let's burn the

Music.

Let's burn the

Songs.

If that's what

It takes to love.

Let's burn 

Each other and

Set the world

On fire. 

Sarcastic World

They said,

The world is beautiful.

So I removed 

My goggles.

The roses were

Red.

The violets were

Blue.

And the rest was

Sarcastic too.

Stranger

When the night

Was set and 

The cold seeped in.

The lonely me

Fluttered eyes and 

The ceiling held me.

A stranger 

Talked to me.

He was like me.

He was me. 

Dream

Everyday,

I Dream about you.

And after

Every dream,

I feel closer to you.

And how I wish,

How I wish...

The day 

I feel closest,

Be a wide awake

Reality. 

Awe

I was so hooked to

The mundane,

The mediocre and

The obvious. That..

Anything just above 

Ordinary would have

Held me in surprise.

And you were a 

Rain laden cloud

Around my dry land.

An yearning had to 

Come up. Poetry

Had to take birth.

And it did. 

It Shouldn't

Today the sun has

Come up in the west.

Someone has 

Intoxicated the air 

And the peeps are

High on weed and

On top of the world.

Here, 

I roll on my couch,

Complaining about

The heat, choking

On mediocre poetry and 

Hating myself more.

Tomorrow all the same,

He'll set in the west.

Peeps dry and dumb

And world yellow again.

Same couch,

Same poems and with 

Same kind of hate,

I conduct myself here.

The peeps, the world 

Mean nothing to me.

In fact. It shouldn't.

Tonight

Turn off the lights.

Let's duel with 

Our breaths tonight.

I wanna break all

Boundaries and

Let my vulnerability,

Choke between your

Thighs tonight.

My tongue has 

Spoken enough and 

My fingers have 

Written enough.

Let me taste you.

The touch of your skin,

Let it cleanse my 

Soul tonight.

I want our lips to

Vent fire and

Incinerate all my

Insecurities.

In your curves and 

Crevices I want 

To be consumed

And be broke tonight.

Tonight my love,

I'm not afraid of

These wounds or

The glow of my scars.

However teary,

However bloody,

I'll just surrender.

I wanna be lost in,

Your bosom tonight.

Elections

Lefts blamed the right,

Rights blamed the rest.

Those in the middle

Were no different.

Fake promises were 

Made.

Rich dreams were 

Shown.

The hungry toiled

In the fields and

Women waited for

Permission to breath.

The Bigots' 

Spread hate and 

The woke remained

Indifferent.

Some demanded 

Crores, but

Most were bought

With hundreds.

While centuries long

Movement of suffrage,

Died like it was

Really a bad joke.

Between the votes

Those were cast and

Castes that were voted.

The Game of Democracy 

Was successfully lost.

Childhood

When laughing was 

Actually laughing

And weeping was

Really weeping. 

Remember the days when

Everything was simple?

Hate was just a day 

Of not talking and 

Friendship,

A toffee away.

Unmasked smiles,

Un-adulterated tears.

The moon wasn't just

A celestial rock and

Granny had taken refuge 

In the brightest star.

Will Remember You

On a summer night,

When my lonesome heart

Will be filled and heavy.

And when there will be 

Too many stray thoughts 

To just ignore and bury.

I'll remember you...

I will remember you..

Like the early monsoon rain.

Departure

We shouldn't have 

Left each olike this.

Your bare smile

Could have been

Bit more wild and 

Our parting eyes

Bit more lit.

I wish the journey

Was not this short.

And the story that 

Was brewing, 

A bit more long.

There were things

Yet to be found.

Roads to be taken,

And few verses 

Penned down together.

But departures are 

Supposed to be 

Like this I guess.

A poker face,

Smirk in the eyes,

An adrift yearning,

And a disguised

Indifference.

Despair

For about a moment,

It felt like someone

Gave us those

Two little feathery things.

One to the left and 

One, to the right.

I was happy and 

You were too, I guess.

Then we dreamt of

Nothing less than the skies.

The long nights,

Stars in the day and

Moony conversations.

It was like we travelled 

Beyond fate and 

Challenged the obvious.

And all of a sudden,

Looked like, it was over.

A subtle force made us

Forget how to flap.

First the hope and

Then a disability.

What a despair.

She, Me and My Will

Sometimes, I'm 

As light as a feather 

And all I wish is, 

The wind from east 

To just blow me away.

Also, there are 

Other times-

Days too long

To pass by.

The moon too lazy 

To come up. 

And I'm all assed up

Like a big rock.

Just to put myself

To test, against-

The mighty forces. 

Then there's she,

To keep my feathery

Heart grounded.

And the resolute 

Mind afloat.

Dreaming

Till,

A poem from 

Distant lands,

A story from

Inner depths and 

A melody from 

I don't know where-

Finds me..

I've to 

Keep breathing. 

Keep living. 

Disguise

She thinks I'm a 

Thick skinned perv.

Two inch thick fat 

Under my dermis with 

An inch of apathy.

But I'm sensitive,

You know.

A tiny needle can 

Easily puncture me.

Few sharp words 

Can tear apart.

And all the same,

A sign from her

Can melt me down.

But you see,

A warm disguise 

Is good sometimes.

Needles, words 

And smiles

Can be really cold.

Shadows

The light has conspired 

With the darkness.

The day has been hijacked,

Nignt, been enchained.

The shadows of betrayal

Around. 

What's dream, what's a

Reality. I don't know.

It's like all the hate is gone.

All the love ripped apart.

And all I think I know is the 

Meaning the word apathy.

Ma Mind

My mind ponders 

Over things.

Climbs mountains,

Dives into the seas.

Grows wings sometimes, 

And then, knowingly

Falls right into traps,

To strangulate itself.

Finds quantum theories 

On empty walls. 

Also, slaps a void 

Onto purpose of my life.

Shows dreams, 

Builds castles and then

 Shatters them down,

Just to show that

I've a life. 

Momentary Refuge

The night welcomes me

With empty songs.

Laden with stooping thoughts,

Caught off guard,

I just gaze at the not so

Colorful past and a

Not so promising future.

Looks like breathing is

My only purpose.

I want to believe it.

Right now, only that 

seems to make sense.

And that's how I've taken 

A refuge in this moment.

Her Approval

A story I was 

Brewing for you,

Is hot and ready.

I suppose it's not

Overcooked or spicy.

And the salt is right.

And I hope you like it, 

With closed eyes and

A pretentious sigh.

Do it, even if you

Don't like the taste.

I'd love the expression.

And how about a

Poem as dessert? 

Or rather some

Witty sarcasm?

Wishful Dream

I wish,

The day 

Were my bed,

Night, 

A blanket.

Life, 

A blissful sleep.

And you,

A wishful dream. 

Unread Poem

Adrift thoughts 

Were surrounded.

Beat, bullied, tied up. 

Locked them up in words.

With an ink-thirst spear,

Imprisoned on a sheet.

They,

Sougth some attention.

Over and again. Distraught,

Cried for little help.

And finally, when a lover's

Eyes caught them.

Had them linger on lips.

Redeemed they were.

Freedom of Speech

These words
Crawling under
My skin.

Before they burst
Open my veins
And write a revolution.

Give me my pen.

Brain Harvest

Lingering words,
Unsettled thoughts.

Incomplete lines and
A cut loose desire.

Off my cloudy mind
It just might rain.

Time to harvest some
Words into a verses.

Vibgyor

Borrowed the green

From the trees.

The blue from the sky.

Red from myself

And some yellow

From the flowers.

Orange was reserved.

The violet was blue.

Didn't know what’s

A Indigo hue.

My painting was 

A personified ruin.

Yet, she accepted it,

Her love is pure.

Rainbow wasn’t just

In the palette.

It was in her eyes too.

Some realizations

Are bit late,

Even for the sky

And the moon.

Light Year

I've waited for years
And just an
Hour has passed.

You're gone
For a second
And this yearning-

This yearning seems
Like its
Three-lakh-kilometers
Long.

Singer of Your Song

One day it'll rain. So bad that
You'll get drenched and
Everything will be washed away.

All the pain and melancholia
Down the drain. Dark corners of
The mind cleansed with colors.

Done and dusted thoughts will be
Given wings and the gloomy face
Will be etched with a smile.

The dead insides will be stabbed
With life and you'll see a new
Horizon like a fool with no plan.

And then that person in the
Mirror will write you a song and
You'll be a singer of your own song.

Ice and Fire

She's a dew-drop
Wrapped in
Raw innocence.

I am a wild-fire,
Contained in
Crude arrogance.

Yet, we fell-

For the calm she
Felt around me.
She says.

For the storm
I saw in you.
I smile.

Spontaneity

Sometimes
It's too much.

Legs given up,
Mind suspended.
Ache in the heart.
And crazy intestine.

Shutting your own-self
From yourself.
You just lie dead
On your empty mind.

Yet, a thought,
Pokes out of
Your rigid walls.
Fires-up itself,
Takes a ride with
The crazy wind.

Soaks in night,
Grows wings to fly high.
Basks in the starlight
And when it's back-

Walls down,
Infected with a verse,
You're all filled up.

Really!
Too much for a day.

Warmth

Let me hold you
And show
How love is felt.

How the warmth
Of my thoughts
Down your creases..

Can make you melt.

Fine Like Wine

Shall wrap your
Ailing heart and plant
Love that's wild.

Will water it with
Fire and nurse
It like a child.

Then, together
We'll grow old...
Fine like wine.

Not Lonely

Heart shattered.
Mind choked.
To be sad,
Reasons,
Thousand more.

With the
Gloom around.
Learn to live alone.
To be happy,
You'll need

Light no more.

Just be

Wanna drink
Your lips
And be drown 
In your bosom.

Backpacking
Across Europe
And all is cool.

But for now,
Just wanna
Take a refuge
In you and wait
For the moon.

The Poem I Am

An unfinished poem
Is a hungry,
Restless beast,
On a hunting spree,
For right words.

The finished one
Is a calm
Composed bird.
The one that makes
Heart as light as
A humble feather.

I wonder if I am
Either. Neither.
Or both.

Too Elegant

I dreamed of
A moon who
Dreamt of you.

And like
The same,
Stars would do.

You're a
Dream within
A dream.

A sweet surprise
Beneath layers
Of reality.

Too elegant
To be true.

It's okay

It's okay to be
Little confused
And little lost.

What will you do
With all that clarity
And straight intent?

Give up tea and
Advise others how
Sugar is a poison?

Womb to Tomb

Somewhere there is
A wide open grave,
Awaiting for us

And the labyrinth
We're pushed into..

One way or other,
Will lead us there.

Dawn, through dusk,
Has to end up
In the dark.

The Play

Play is on.

Dreams are
Being shown.
Promises,
Being made.

Old wounds,
Getting healed,
And some
In making.

For what it's
Worth, I think,
Loving and
Unloving is

An Inevitability.
One has to,
Breath out
To breath in.

Dream within a Dream

Along the mountains,
Beside a lake.
Where sun is mellow
And trees are free.
The moon is meek
And grass, still green.

We'll hitchhike there
With the wind and
Peg a tent of our desires.

You bake some music,
I'll cook some lyrics.
We'll feed them birds
The songs of our muse.

And when the starlight
Spreads to call it a day.
We'll kiss each other
To sleep, to wake up
In another dream.

Suspended Animation

Opening the lock, Mithali rushed in her room. She didn't look happy. Keeping her bag aside, she just threw herself on her bed. While her lonely mind traveled as far as it could, the stare of her eyes stopped at the ceiling. The thoughts of the future past intertwined, a drop of tear rolled down. She felt drained and dead over the thoughts of her setbacks. 

Her father, mother, and two younger sisters crossed her mind. She felt the age-old faint cut marks on her wrists and a kind of insecurity gripped her. The silence in the room was sinking in her and she restlessly eyed around her room. Her conscious suspended, she wasn't observant. The old photos on the wall, books, and pen on the table were as dead as her. Even the lizard on the ceiling looked lifeless and fear of which didn't seem to matter now. 

The curtains across the window held her attention for a while. The purple flowers running through the intricate vines looked beautiful. She thought the patters are as messed up as her life. As the thoughts around the curtain were picking up, her gaze stopped at the ceiling fan. She found it cryptic. Can I put my hands into the blades and make it stop, she thought. What if I put my head? Will it chop me off? Myriads of thoughts.

She even thought about suspending herself from there. Will it bear my weight? What if it falls down when I hang myself. Will the curtain be a good grip around my neck? Can it choke me? Can I knot it tight enough to hold my weight? And as the thoughts agitated in her mind, a resultant push from within made her walk to the window. She unhooked the curtain and took it off. She twisted and rolled it and tried to knot it. Took a couple of attempts to make a firm knot but when she did, she put that around her neck.

From that point of this inanimate state, with the death around her neck, she stared at her life that seemed to rotate with the fan. She was in the flow of the moment and the phone rang. The sound of it was like a slap on her face. She had come to her senses and it was Sid, her best friend on the other side. He said hello...but her response got shrunk in her throat and all she could do was sob. The phone slipped from the hand and she just sat on the floor gasping and crying all teary. 

Sid kept on saying, hello Mithu...what happened...Mithu.. which just faded away with the rattle of the fan.

K for Kalavathi

Late February or early March of 2005, I suppose. Ninga came to my bench and stood to extend his left hand. He said, "carve a K". There was a reason he had come to me. And I knew exactly what he wanted. I just took out my brand new radium cutter and without thinking, gave three cuts above his wrist. The 'K' bled red, which turned me weary. I begged him to hide it and not to tell anyone about my craftsmanship. He assured to keep the secret with a bond of mother promise.

While I sat comfortably upon the bond of his mother promise, Saturn was making his place strong through the periods. Right when he decided to act, Sudha madam entered the class. And when she started to check homework and when it was Ninga's turn. He went to her table poking his full-fledged entirety. And the obvious happened.

For a teacher who's day job was a hardcore investigation, the capital K was an easy feast. And she had to feed on the entire food chain which contained me the end. Upon asking, what's K? He told madam that it's his sister's name, Kalavathi. And this nigga didn't even make an attempt to dodge my name. He just gave it away. One thing I realized that day that only JP took mother promises seriously.

The moment Ninga gave away my name, there was a serious interrogation. First by Sudha madam and then art sir, whose name will eat a lot of my space here. He seized my brand new blade and he was damn serious because he was close to Ninga's parents. Let me tell you how serious he was. He said the blade should be taken to a lab of a department in the university. Then test I for contamination. He used some complex names. It took years for me to realize that he was talking about the Criminology department of Karnataka University for forensic tests.

The case though ended up in the principal's chamber that wasn't the end. He just asked us to have our parents talk to him on parents day. Then I had some not so serious talk with Ninga with a word of advice. Told him to hide it like me by wearing a full-sleeve sweater. 

Next day, seems Bharati madam was interested in taking a look at the specimen. After assembly, while I paced towards the classroom, Sudha madam called me with the intention to summon Ninga. Before that could happen, Bharati madam took me for Ninga and pulled up the left sleeve of my sweater. Five letters carved above my wrist. This craftwork, of which Ninga was the first and last customer, gave Sudha madam a heart attack. And then I don't know why she didn't make a ruckus out of it. Maybe because it was a boy's name. And don't judge me, I'm straight.

Fast forward 2011 September when we had become alumni of the school. Bunch of us went to school to cherish it's the glory. While we sat in Rama Madam's house talking and laughing about things, at a moment there was silence. To break the awkwardness madam suddenly asked Ninga, How's Kalavathi? 

Roof shattering laughter and for Ninga, what a face-palm.

Butterfly Effect

The sky coughed
A roar.
Frightened clouds
Cried rains.
And the plants
Giggled a bloom.

The birds to
Sing a joyous song,
The son of a man
Surprised himself
With a poem.

Love

Just like that
You fall for
Someone.

And everything is
A walk on water.
Sail through the wind.

The world is defined
In music and you're
A poem in making.

Lost

Molten by
Her caress.
Consumed in
Her arms.
I'm lost.

Not able to
Find myself.
Maybe I
Don't want to.

I like this.
It hits right.
This feeling
Is Infinite.

Tourists

Some people
Are just tourists.
They come up,
From, somewhere far

Some moments,
Photographs.
Free rides,
Some hitchhike 
With your thoughts.

And before
Something real
Can happen,
Trashing the place.
They're long gone.

Make Me Feel

Bring a chisel and
Stab my frozen heart.
Poke it in the eye, or
Maybe pull out my intestine.

I'm numb.
Can't feel a thing.

Wanna tear it out,
And cry it all away.
Can you break me out
And make me feel?

Redeemer

And just with
A touch, she
Nursed my
Hard frozen heart.

And there is a
Melt down.
Rains, rivers and
What not.

I might be a
Ocean of drops.
But she's a
Ocean in each drop.

And redeemers
Are like that.

Choking Hilarious

The Kannada teacher, Mahesh Kumar, and our batch had a special kind of rapport. The thing was he joined JNV Dharwad when we joined the school. He was also a newbie and the fact that he was a bit easy-going made us take the liberty of teasing him. We used to mimic him. The way he patted the side of his thigh while he talked was funny and I used to mimic that. Guys were so bold sometimes that they used to intentionally attract his attention. A-section was meek but B-section was a bombardment.

So we go to one of the noons of late 2004. To dwell in an incident that took place in Sixth 'B'. Pulled out by a great legend called Ramesh Gayakwad aka Ryampak. The citizen of Ittigatti realm exiled to Shivalik house. He was crazy mindfuck and always pulled a stunt though he suffered the aftermath. The founding member of "SSS" which is the basic form which extended as "Sididedda Shivalika Sangha"  which according to situations took as many Ss it wanted. Like four-five Ss. For example, Sixth-class Sididedda Shivalika Sangha. He was one of the main reasons for craziest things that happened in the class. Check his Facebook pics to understand his swag.

The third character of the show was the famous Lohit Kumar aka Laput. The kind of a guy who claims to have read nothing pretends he'll fail after the exam and yet makes it in the list. He was a pretentious bitch. He still is. Looked asthmatic, acted like one and I don't know if he was. And If I ever travel back in time to 2004, I would never miss the incident when he sang in M.P hall. Closing his eyes and spraying everything that was in mouth he had changed the weather for a while there. And to help you with your judgment let me tell you, he was from Aravali. Aravali guys are in general junior and god! A sixth class Aravali kid...do the math.

So, that afternoon, Laput did something that irritated Mahesh Kumar sir. He was so enraged that he simply grabbed Laput by the neck and thumped his back with his fists. That was like, director saying action. And as the camera rolled, Laput coughed his intestines out and started choking. He acted as if the atmosphere around pitied itself for having only 21% of oxygen. And right when the momentum was set, guess who shouted "Yappo, Lohyan kondra sir" meaning sir killed Lohit.

That shook Mahesh Kumar Sir and he started blabbering in tension. Thinking the gravity of the situation was not enough, again Rampyak was like "Someone goes to principal". Sir, order everyone not to move and asked the first bench guy to close the door. Then requested someone to go bring some water while he calmed the megastar. After giving him water and making sure he was alright, he pleaded like he wanted mercy for his death sentence. He asked everyone to not to talk about the situation. But that's not how it works. As there is nothing as contagious as laughter in the world. Isn't it?

Bare Walk

When the coating of
These superlatives
Strips down and

The curiosity
About each other
Is no more a thing..

Will we be able to
Live with the
Routine-bare-emotions?

With the usual talk
And occasional silence,
Will we  be able to

Walk down the aisle?

The Dark

When thoughts
Screech in the middle
Of the night.
You should see how
Vulnerable I become.

Washed away by even
The faintest of ideas,
All little and low.
Cornered,
Seeking support.

Daunted by the dark,
Even death hasn't
Turned up for my rescue.

Are you afraid of
The dark too?

If you aren't. Come,
Help me.

Fall

Just like that
You fall for someone.

And everything is
A walk on water.
Sail through the wind.

The world is defined
In music and you're
A poem in making.

Revelations

The starlight is
Less appealing.
And the sky
Is a bore tonight.

The revelations
Realized in your arms,

Has made my
World insignificant
And the cosmos
Smaller tonight.

What good is love?

What good is love
If it doesn’t-
Breath fire,
Dance in the wild.

Not taunt the moon
And the lonely sky?
..
What good is love
If you don’t wanna-
Drown and die,
Choke and sigh.

Not bear the pain to
Let your insides fry?
..
And what good is
Love, If it isn’t-
Euphoric high,
Yet, sanity intact.

At the obvious,
Not giggle and wry?
..
Stuck in a drapes,
Cold and shy,
What good is love?
If we don’t give it
A try?

Open your arms,
Darling,
Let’s fly high.
..

Crashed planes. Capsized boats.

Not so sad, not so happy, yet with a smile Ruchi entered her room that day. Only one thought was in her mind, "I'll write diary today". It had been long since she had written something. Even she wasn't properly remembering where she had kept the diary. She searched for it and it took a while before she could find it in the shelf. Stacked between old books it was there. Wiping the brown cushiony cover of it, she gave couple of pats to take the dust off. From between the pages, a leaf fell down. The dried up leaf of banyan tree with faint trails of ink. She knew what it was and she didn't have to read it to know what was written.

The faded smile echoed in her mind saying "and we'll build a plane of dreams and a boat of desire...". With the flashbacks, she felt heavy in her chest. The etching of those words was more conspicuous on her heart than that of leaf. Though tears poised in her eyelids, she didn't cry. If this were the case two months back she would have laid in bed crying for couple days. But now she has moved on. She thinks she has. But what now has poised in her eyes is just rage. "Should have burnt this too that day" she said to herself. And even then, she wasn't able to just crumple it and throw away.

Summoning all strength, she gathered herself to write something. Kept aside the leaf, gripped her pen between her fingers and held it on a page of diary. Blank mind, no thoughts to drive the pen through the page. That day when he had slipped that leaf in her book came to life in her mind. First year of college, on a college day-out to the nearby river bank. While the awkward social interaction between each other was a thing among others, somehow Prateek had managed to break the ice with Ruchi. And within no time she had fallen for him. That day, he had surprised her with a dairy milk fruit and nuts chocolate. The leaf was there with it and she was so happy reading it.

Her red face, still determined to write something was holding her together. Her hand was still firm holding the pen. While she battled with her blank mind, again the thoughts hit her. She remembered how Prateek changed through the period the two years of college and dumped her finally. And it almost took an year to become normal. 

It hurts when she realizes how lonely she has become and what it took to stand for herself all these days. That melt her this time. Tears making their trail on the cheeks set the pen in motion. Her mind still blank, she scribbled, 

" The plane of our dreams to crash in your apathetic lands. 
The boat of desire has capsized in my teary eyes". 

She felt exhausted and vulnerable. She crumpled the leaf and threw away the diary. Then the tears rolled rapidly and the rest only the pillow knew, like every other night.

It's Ok

It's okay to be little sad
And little lost.
And it's okay to not have
All blasting happiness.

Beer is cool. But the
Evening tea is life. Love.
And I think that's where
We perfectly belong.

Little hot, little sweet.
Perfect sometimes,
More adrak other times.
But overall, living it.

Sipping it,
Making through.

Kargil-Kid-Kite

The summer of 1999, my 1st standard was completed. Though I was in a primary school of a village, my mom was serious about my studies and I had to go to school every day. And before the freedom of two months of holidays could pass by my cheeks, Kargil war got set in. The milieu in my home turned grave as my father was in the army. He had to go back before the completion of his holidays. Mom would cry and I could just watch. 

Though I knew what was going on, I couldn't understand the gravity of it. Home had become dull than before and that's why I got immersed in the cheap thrills of the gully. Of all the things that went around me, flying a kite was a fancy that was pending for a long while. I didn't know how to make a kite and definitely didn't know how to make one fly. Setting it in a flight was like a magic to me. I would think how something as mortal as that can fly just by a thread. And I always wanted to feel that excitement. 

In the retail stores, though the ready-made kites were available for a rupee. That time, a rupee in a kid's hand was worth more than an iPhone now. And even if I had managed to get a rupee, I was supposed to spend it with prior permission of my mom. She would think if she let's me spend money I'll be addicted to the eatables in the shops.

But you know, despite everything magic happens sometimes. The universe listens to those silent prayers and makes them true. As one random noon when I was sitting in the school ground waiting for my usual friends. An adrift kite was wriggling in air to make a landing. I ran towards it to get hold of it. It was beautiful. Green background, filled with a crescent moon and a star, in small boxes all over it. Of all the kites made out of newspaper, this one looked more elegant. Before someone came looking for it, I secretly went to some other place to play with it.

A piece of thread that was still left with it and I would run around to make it fly. It flied when I ran, then again it was down when I would stop. After repeated attempts to make it fly, I decided it might need more thread and I decided to ask for it from mom. Late in the evening when I went home, I told mom what I was blessed with in all excitement. Then I showed it to her in the kitchen. The moment she laid eyes on it she turned red and snatched it from me. In an angry tone she said, "Bloody crescents and stars" and crumbled it. Throwing it in a corner, she slapped me saying, "Your father is fighting there and you bring these nasty things". She was in tears and I started wailing.

In tears, looking at the crumpled ball of green that poked the sticks out of it I wondered, "the crescent moon is the same and the stars, what our ancestors had become". Why would mom do that…and I wailed.

Home

Hands clasped.
Fingers intertwined.
Head on shoulder.

You've warped time
To hold me
In this moment.

And right now,
I'm not a refugee.
My exile has ended.

I've found a home.

The Addiction

The horizon lost
In the west has
Reappeared in the east.
And again nothing
Has changed.

The coffee cup
Still unwashed,
Scars unfaded,
The summer goes again
Assuring no warmth,
Rains without a lush.

And like a
Psychedelic song
Fashbacks in a loop,
Here I sit turning
Days into weeks,
Months into years.

Addicted to waiting,
Sadness is now
A habit.

Void

One day,
You'll go away my love.
Tomorrow or day after.

The clouds will no longer

Come up to usher rains 

But to just spread gloom.

A part will be ripped off.
Songs will be unsung.
Stories will be unwritten.

And there will be
A void left. That can
Only be filled by you.

That will always
Await for you.

Dead Door Nail

Night's fantasy
Blown away by
The bright daylight.

Her winter's embrace,
Threatened by
A warm sunshine.

A dead door nail,
I'm in her life.

Transient me,
A transient life.

Unsaid. Unheard.

I've questions
I don't wanna ask.
Answers she might
Not wanna know.

So I sit here locking
Things in metaphors.
Knitting wings to
My words.

So that they can
Linger around and
Can never be
Unsaid or unheard.

See You There

If you see beyond
Your pompous 'I'.

Before the horizon
Of your ego.
There's a place that
Holds your attitude.

To the left
Make a diversion.

Don't take the bend
Beside the prejudice.
Or the one that's
Opposite to gratitude.

That one leads to an
Island of arrogance.

Take the one that's
Left of hate and to
The right of envy.
And just beside love-

If you find yourself
At a place called 'us'
Let me know.
I'll see you there.

Apocalypse

Sealed the mouths.
Pens snatched.
Papers seized.
All the poets were
Surrounded and
Burnt to death.

A metaphor was
Born out of the
Ashes.
It radiated poems.
Like it was a
Radioactive decay.

Gags removed,
Chains melted.
Free thoughts
Survived.
The rest couldn't
Breath the clean air.
It was too toxic.

Porn Mania 2

Eleventh class in Navodaya, during our times was just a long struggle from class to computer lab. "You owe yourself lots of computer lab"  that was the philosophy. And on a lighter note it was acceptable by everyone, even teachers. At that age of wide awakened adolescence, only hormones lead one's way through the computer.

The year was 2009 and by then internet was a thing. Though the connection was not profuse in the campus, it had made its presence to the extent that its absence was felt. And this absence was rampant in computer lab. Fortunately the Vice Principal's chamber had a good connection. But that place had become point of everyone's aspirations. From teachers to students, everyone wanted poke their nose in there. And at any given time a teacher was present, specially the then PGT chemistry Mr. Pulin Nath.

Amidst this silent fray of students and teachers, it was one such morning which wanted to give chance to teenagers. At that right stroke of the clock, two guys got that opportunity. Or should I say they grabbed it. Somya and Satya when they found out VP's son Aravind was sitting in front of the computer, Somya knew what to do. Well, any other guy wouldn't have dared but he was a good bully. He knew how get at the nerves of people. And it was nothing of an effort for him to sway a sixth class kid like Aravind back to the classroom.

Tech support Satya caught hold of the computer and the muscle power monitored for the potential human threat that might enter the VP room. Satya browsed through some videos. Hit the download, selected the autoplay option and waited for the process to get over. But well, well, well, guess who kicked a surprise. Pulin Nath sir made an royal entry and took a seat as if he was rightful heir of the throne.

The damned autoplay option while downloading had put both of our guys into a life and death situation. Thanking the slow internet for buying some time, Somya rushed to the classroom and explained the gravity of the situation. Then, few guys who understood chemistry and few audience like me who had no interest in chemistry made our presence in VP room. 

The plan was to ask doubts and divert attention of the teacher. Satya would ambush from the other side and cancel the download. So this went on for a while. Guys would poke doubts one after one. Sir hesitantly would look at them and say something then on to his business. He wouldn't give up the mouse. This happened over and over his bloody right hand was all attached to the mouse. Right at that moment someone came up with a problem that involved some calculations and formula. Well, this time he had to. He looked at it, seems he also found it intriguing. Right hand made it's move, took a pen and Satya cancelled it.

Seemed like the doubts of the whole class for then whole year were cleared at once. Just another day, another mess up and another escape. All hail eleventh class.

Verbal Carnage

Through the darkness,
I stare at the ceiling.
It can't get any emptier.
And the silence spreads.
Smothers my mind
With a blank paper.
A blinding white.

A lonely echo from
Around the corner says,
Darling, you don't need
A pen to carve
Your words tonight.
I'll just make you bleed.

And this carnage
Goes on very night.
And you my friend,
If you ever fall short
Of words, come. Collect.
There's enough
Bloodshed.

Sail Away

You fix my wings,
I will fix yours.
And one day,
We will fly away.
Just like that, we'll
Go away my love.

Somewhere far.
Beyond the horizon.
Beyond the clouds.
Beyond the
Shackes of logic.
Beyond the
Ironclad morals of
Right and wrong.
Let's fly away.

And we'll ride a
Shooting star to
A place in eternity.
We'll camp there.
Let's bleed pain,
Let's drink love.
And smoke time
To breed
Some memories.

We will fly away
My love.
One day
We will fly away
And live.

The Summer Companion

By the time summer was set in Delhi, in 2016. I was in a bad shape. Because of the isolation, I was lonely and to some extent home sick. But the goal was to keep aside everything and concentrate on the classes and the exams. And as the days rolled by the condition worsened.

My emotional state was bad, that was one thing, upon that Delhi's scorching heat was really getting on my nerves. Imagine, riding a bicycle in 40-42 degree celsius, make it through the traffic. You come to the room, go to the bathroom, let the tap run and quench your feet. And the water is killing hot. The amount of irksome that shoots up your spine is god level. 

But that was not the worst. The nights were a torture. Besides the heat, the mosquitoes joined the fray. Though fan was a relief, it also vent hot air. The irony was I had to lay half naked, can't switch off the fan, can't pull over a sheet. Heat and mosquitoes teamed up, it was a real onslaught. The only companion by my side was the ceiling fan. There was a cooler but that damn thing used to increase humidity and it was another kind of torture. Few hours of successful sleep was the only win I wanted out of that mess. And most of the times, I used to have some sleep.

One of the nights, past midnight, I was about get sleep and suddenly there was power cut. The forever presence of the squeaky sound of the fan was gone. That made me aware of my surroundings for the first in a while. The buzz of mosquitoes, sweat off my brow and the sound of vehicles from a far away road. In one word it was a vacuum. I was helpless, left alone in the fray and I roamed around restlessly to save myself from the mosquitoes. 

The ceiling fan that was present round the clock had made it's absence felt. The little thing that was always a button away went unnoticed almost every day. Maybe that was the loneliest I have ever felt. Suspended in my thoughts, then I lay dead on my bed. Then a faint light from the window reached me, there was relief. The squeaking of the fan filled the vacuum. There was peace.

The next day morning, the forever old companion was not just an equipment. I looked at it, the way Pi would have looked at his fierce companion Richard Parker. I helped myself with a chair, took a cloth and wiped the fan clean. Why not a small gesture of gratitude.

Wish We Were Real

I wish we were real.
Not the two,
Behind the screens,
Thanking and whining
And listening to each
Other's lamentations.

I wish, the thing
Between us, was not
As sublime as the
Words consumed by
The backspace.
Emotions contained in
Characters and
Expressions thrust
In emojis.

I wish, there was more.
Shade of your anger,
An elegant blush.
A comfortable silence.
A talk over tea, fight
Over breakfast, then
A traveling spree maybe.

Drown in dreams and
Consumed by each other.
I wish you were here and
We had some rough
And raw moments.

I wish we were real.
I wish we had a life.

A Walk Through Books

I've developed this habit. On Sundays, I wake up and go to some place around. Usually I go sit in a quite place, write whatever comes to mind in my diary. This time had Daryaganj Sunday book market in my mind. So by 9 in the morning I found myself in Karol Bagh metro, changed to yellow line from Rajive chowk and got down at Chauri Bazar metro station. Chauri Bazar is beside Chandani chawk where Jama Masjid is located. From metro stations I usually don't take auto to reach anyplace. One reason is, to save money. Other thing is, I love walking. It's exciting to get lost in a crowd as stranger. Behaving has innocent as possible while enquiring about a place and as matured as I can while bargaining for something. Adding ''Arre bhai main toh roz ata hoon. Yahi ka hoon'' to for a effective bargain.

Daryaganj is in old Delhi. Generally Delhi's streets are not much crowded on Sundays. But old Delhi is an exception. It's narrow streets invited me with huge crowd. Didn't miss to devour  delicious ''Das ke do Samosa'', as again old Delhi is know for it's street food. Overall it took about half an hour walk from metro and couple of innocent '' Daryaganj kaha?'' (broken, incomplete sentences portray your innocence)  sentences to reach the book market.

I reached a junction. Right side of it there were book vendors displaying books on footpaths in front of closed shops. Some still were brining huge bag of books and searching for place for display, some already had their first sales. All old editions, most of them English. Books of all genres arranged in all possible symmetry with a fine coat of dust settled on them. The vendors didn't hesitate to walk on books. It was usual for them. Since they stood amidst books, to reach other end they couldn't help but walked on books. 'No sentiments, it's business' I said to myself.

Starting from a corner I slowly  examined for the names of books and authors I had in mind after all these years of learning. I badly wanted to buy 'One Hundred Years of Solitude' by Gabriel Garcia Marquez. So, that was on top of my mind. As I was scanning through a lot, my eyes caught  'Oliver Twist'. I readily grabbed it. It was like finding an old friend among strangers. While my scanning continued further, I paused by 'The Kite Runner' by Khaled Hossani. Yeah! Seems someone had recommended it to me, so got it. Also got O Henry's story collection. Couldn't resist to leave one by Thomas Hardy and another by Mark Twain. So five books for 200/-.Raising my eye brows in pride I slowly paced towards the next street. Then I walked for 2km besides the footpath filled with books, books and books.

While passing by, for my surprise I saw a board, "Any Book for 10/-". That can be the worst sarcasm on books. But didn't found any interesting book in that lot. Then moved ahead. I was kind of mad now. I wanted to buy every book I came across. Dan Brown, Tagore, Rowling, Paulo Coehlo and other classics by Dickens, Hardy, Jane Eyre. I know money was the problem. I thought enough and thought of walking away and came other side of the footpath, moving ahead, gazing the books at the other end. Suddenly a word caught my eye 'Gabriel'. I paused, took breath and cast my eyes for a moment. Aghast!, 'Gabriel Garcia Marquez', I rushed swiftly. But the book was 'Love in the time of cholera',  what a despair? I can read that I thought, lifted it cursing the dust. Beneath, there it was, ''One Hundred Years of Solitude''. But was not lucky enough. The old man, the vendor didn't gave up his claim of 150/- for it. When there were so many items available for same price there was something within telling me, 'may be next time'. It was difficult to let it go. But next time, I said and distanced myself from the never ending row of books. Yet again, casting my eyes on the books I paced ahead towards the metro station.

11th May 2016

Ode to Crush

I saw her on a
Winter day.
Tying her bun,
She stood there.
How elegant!

Sight of her, sets
A throb in my heart.
The shine of
Her eyes. Gleam
On her face.

And that incisor
That pops out
When she smiles.
I'm a big fan.

A wink, a smile
Or even a smirk,
Might give me
Wings one day.

God! she knows,
Laws of buoyancy.
She makes me
Float.

Dichotomy

Too ashamed
To hold back,
Too afraid to let go.
Here I stand on
The cliff of
My setbacks.

Right foot poised,
Left aback.
I find myself,
Astride fate's
Invisible line.

Just a matter
Of courage.
A little push or
A look back.
There's a
Second chance.

But I guess
I'm a coward.
Too afraid to let go.
Too ashamed
To hold back.