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.
These words
Crawling under
My skin.
Before they burst
Open my veins
And write a revolution.
Give me my pen.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Let me hold you
And show
How love is felt.
How the warmth
Of my thoughts
Down your creases..
Can make you melt.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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 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?
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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?
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.
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?
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?
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.
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.
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
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.
..
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 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.
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.
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 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.