The Lofty Twenty Thousand

Twenty thousand. The death comes demanding a lofty price.

Those words ricocheting in his head, Mr. Nagappa returned home from the funeral of his childhood friend. The sight of the burial had reminded him of his own old age. Until now, he had never thought of it. For a while, he had stood aloof; like death was staring right through him. He imagined about the crowd around his house. Will there be enough crowd? What about my wife and children? Will they contain that burden?

But more than anything, he was boggled with the words of a peer.

At the funeral, while he got involved in a random talk with his peer group. Someone said, five years back when his father was dead, he had to spend nearly sixteen thousand rupees. The amount elevates because no one wants to come around to help if there’s no alcohol, said another in the group.

Looking at the son of the dead, another said, look at that poor fellow; he doesn’t even have the freedom to express his grief. Given his economic challenges, I wonder how he’ll manage the expense. These days, man is not free even after death. The death comes demanding a lofty price.

After the funeral, all Mr. Nagappa had in mind was the Twenty thousand. Not that he didn’t know about the rough estimates previously. It’s just; he had never really paid any attention to that. Now that he is relating himself to the situation, he’s too concerned. How will my son manage after my demise? The question had turned him weary.

By the time he reached home, it was dinner time. He took a quick bath before entering his home; ate some food mechanically. Without bothering to talk to his wife, he spread a mat in the kitchen and laid down his aching body. The death comes demanding a lofty price. Twenty thousand said the glow of incandescent bulb.

After his wife went to the backyard to wash the utensils, he surreptitiously, sneaked in the hall; opened his old sanduk (metal box). Found his way down to some notes he had stashed. He started counted them. Some new, some old, some crumpled and some worn out. Then he reached for his banyan pocket for few more notes, shuffled them all to count. In the dim light, diving through the quietude…the rustle of currency paper preceded a meek voice,.. one.. two.. three.. four.. five…

Nostalgia

Doesn't this
Lavish lush of
the greens and
The gentle gush
Of the winds...

Tickle some old
Melodious memories?

The monsoons,
Dancing on the roof,
And the birds
Rolling heads
And chirping...

Invoke the forgotten?
Scratch some scars?

While a cup of tea is
Coloring this evening.
Nostalgia is riding it.
Few sweet. Few salty.
Some mixed vibes.

Insomnia

The days are not
Like days anymore.
The nights are not
Like nights anymore.

I'm just,
Differently awake.
Differently asleep.

Thinking of the days
I was alive,
Waking up in the
Worst nightmares.

Most of the times,
I'm more dead
Than alive.

Me Freaking Myself

In my cranium,
There's a den;
Full of beasts.
Some are hungry.
Some athirst.

They feed on,
My emotions
And grow.

The one that
Thrives on
My silence
Is too noisy.

The one
Feeding on
My loneliness
Is most violent.

The one
Brooding over
My insecurities
Making me inferior.

And the one
Trying to control
All of them is
Freaking me out.

Transience

Love, longing,
Letting go.
Why is life this
Obliviously rude?

Why this limerence,
All little emotions,
Were meant to
Fade away one day?

Beyond our emotions,
What are we?
Just stacks of bones,
Sacked in rags of skin?

Tables Turn

A good, a bad.
A strong, a weak.
A demon, an angel.

It doesn't matter,
At what end of
The gun you're.

In the end you will
Also be a good hunt,
For a better hunter.

Predator to a prey.
A matter of time.
In between lies life.

Withering to Sleep

I wage wars on
The ceiling of
My room.

Write theories
On walls with
The flutter of my eyes.

I wrestle with
My pillow from
Left, right to wrong.

My bed knows it all,
About the
Bloodshed in my mind.

I don't fall asleep
Just like that.

Caught up in the
Whirlpool of
Over-thinking.

Fighting the
Leech-like
Thoughts of mine.

Dreaming,
Drowning,
Hoping, Choking.

I wither to sleep.

Answers

Went to the
Mountains
To find
Some peace.

Hit the bottom
Of the river,
In search of
A purpose.

Slept under
The night sky,
An attempt
To find myself.

And then
I found you.

The reflection
I was keen about;
The depths
I wanted to drown in;
And a place
I wanted to belong;

Your gaze
Contained it all.
A world.
A home.

Night- Bike- Chills.

My job involves conducting farmers meetings occasionally. Usually, we conduct meetings in the evening. Yesterday, the meeting got a formal start around 8 pm and was stretched up to 10 pm. And I started my return journey on my bike by 10.30pm. Winter night, cloudy sky, empty roads, slow ride and upon it I sat shivering. Counting down the kilometers covered, all I had in my mind was to reach home without getting robbed.

My home was some fifteen kilometers away I suppose; when I spotted a man standing his hands extended. Giving someone a drop at that hour, I was skeptical. As I approached him, he almost tried to block me. So, I had to stop by. He was a well-built adult; in his 30s I suppose. Looked like a farmer. Tough I was averse, I couldn’t deny him the ride. Then the usual conversation began. He said why he was stranded there. Where he was heading. What he does. Then about his family.

He said he will get down at Neginahal, which is five kilometers before my village. As I talked with him and became familiar, I was relaxed. Yet, in some corner, I had some sort of suspicion. Our conversation took a different turn when he said, sir don’t travel late in the night in this route.

Me: Yes, I have heard of thefts. But my job demands this sometimes.

He: Thefts are okay sir. But there are spirits too.

Me: Oh! Come on man. People just tell stories. Tell me if you yourself have seen any.

He: (In an assertive tone) I have not sir. But a couple of days back one of my closest friends did encounter one.

Me: (In a denial tone) Oh like that. (I knew he would tell the story in which I had no interest at all)

He: He was on his bike late in the night; coming back from Bailhongal.

Me: Was he drunk?

He: Yes he was but that’s not the point.

Me: (sarcastically) So, he was on his bike late in the night and he was stopped by someone asking for a drop?

He: That’s what he said.

Me: (Cliché) go ahead...

He: While the stranger sat on his bike and both were deeply involved in the conversation. Suddenly the stranger stopped talking. And there was grave silence all of a sudden.

Me: (sarcastically) Must have fallen down on the way.

Then, he didn’t reply readily. I waited for his reply for a while. His village was another kilometer away and I was waiting to get rid of him. But there was no reply from him. I thought he got offended by the way I talked to him. Then to break the ice, I said, Annara(bro!). Yet, there was no sound.

His village was hardly a minute away when I asked him if he has to be dropped in first bus stand or second one. There was no response. Calling him a couple more times, I said to myself what’s wrong with this man.
I made a decision to stop by the first bus stand. There was no one there. Supposing he is upset with me, I was imagining his knotted face that would bid me adieu. Expecting the same, I looked back. There was no one. I searched around there was no one.

Head full of rushing thoughts. Confusion, anxiety, chills down my spine and I could feel my heated up ears and churning insides. The bike in the first gear roared. I raced the accelerator.

His words were ringing in my head. Late nights... Spirits... Empty roads... Grave silence.

The Kidney Thief of Neelgiri

Kanakappa entered the school when we were in the eighth class. He was from a really poor family. He way of social interaction depicted that. The questions he asked, the answers he gave; his ignorance and innocence incited lots of laughter.

He belonged to Neelgiri house. Back then, Neelgiri house was a refuge for the peons on the night duty. They would sneak into the house to take power naps in the night. Given their familiarity with all, they used to often get involved in random fun talks and pranks.

One of the popular pranks they used to was removing the pants of sixth class kids when they were asleep. The waking them up to laugh on their face.

One night. Past midnight, they were trying the prank on a kid. Unfortunately Kanakappa- who was oblivious to this sort of things- was shocked when he saw it. As he was a later entry guy, he didn’t have much knowledge of how things work around. If it were another kid in his place, things would have been too normal and mundane. But here we are.

The sight of someone gigantic in winter wear trying to remove someone’s pants; seems his childhood nightmares knocked down his sanity. And all he did was screaming as loud as he can. Calling for help from his seniors in a whiny tone, he screamed, “Yappa, ellaru eddelro yaro kidney kadyak bandar”. Meaning, Wake up ye’all, someone is trying to steal kidneys.

It was loud and shocking that the peons were petrified. They feared being reported that to the principal. But then first Kanakappa was consoled by other inmates. Then he was convinced to not to report with the housemasters or any other teachers.

Sure the guy had pulled the peons’ inside out.

Pretense

I suit up a
New kind of conduct.
Make up myself with
New masks daily.

There's an office
Attire and
A different kind of
Smile in home.

Content expressions
Socially and
Bitter ones
Within the walls.

I've been pretending
For so long that,
Even in a mirror,
I don't see myself.

Hid beneath layers of
Unfamiliar skin,
Seems I've become
A visitor in my own mind.

Let's Walk and Talk

One day.
One random, ordinary day.
I'll steal you from yourself,
And surrender me to you.

Then, we'll go on a walk.
A walk that's not contained
By the shackles of time.
A walk that's not pre-destined.

We'll talk from
Our mouths to hearts.
The moon to the stars.
About the myths of the gods
And glow of our scars.

About how butterflies,
Set themselves in flight.
And fantasies in the
Mysterious nights.

I'll sketch some moments,
You fill the colors.
I'll read the clouds and
You sing to the birds.

And that's how my dear,
We will stash our memories.
In a journey that's deep.
In a life that's bitter-sweet.

You're a Redeemer

It was monsoon. Again.
There was rain,
There was hope.
And in front of me,
There was you.

And there was me,
Seeing you,
Awed and confused.
Clenching my frozen heart,
Afraid and consumed.

Seems you were
A redeemer.
Hammered,
My stupefied heart to
Set the bird inside free.

Now,
There are symphonies.
A hauling storm,
Ricocheting rhymes,
And sheer harmony.

Warts, lots of them.

Where,
There should
Have been
Colorful stains of
Our taunts and fights
And
Souvenirs of our
Cute little mistakes-

There,
Now are just warts.
The kind of drab
Sensations when
Something as
Beautiful as you
Walks away with
No promises of
Returning.

Long Nights

Some nights become,
Sleepless deserts.
Cold thoughts,
Heated up discontent.
All curled up,
I lie dead in the dark.

Old scars light up.
Some regrets and
A lot of guilt.
Bored, lonely and beaten up,
I feel the time that
Passes by my cheeks.

And like an ailing bird,
I flip around searching
For an oasis of sleep.
A sleep that might quench
The emptiness and help me
Through nights.

Smelly Cat Doesn't Share Food..

She had become considerably close. Often meeting her, having food and tea in random places was not a surprising thing by then.

That day in the cafe, while I ordered just tea. She ordered a cup cake along with a masala tea. When the waiter brought the cup cake and kept it on our table, I grabbed it.

She gave that look. The not angry but not again kind of look. I pretended to eat it but before her heart fell out, I slowly slipped it towards her romantically and said,

Will you be my backup?

Gleaming at me she said... Like she already had a ready answer..

"Only if you'll be my Joey"

Then giving myself away to her I wore a ear to ear grin and said...

As long as you're my Phoebe, I'm you're Joey baby..

And then she giggled and extended her hand to take the cup cake.. and before she even realized I snapped and took a bite, shrugged, closed my eyes and nodding my head....said..

Joey doesn't share food.

Starry Dreams

To let you sleep on the bed of
The starry dreams you deserve.
I shall conspire with the sun.
To keep the night hung forever.

To let the world know
How special you're,
I'll embellish some metaphors
With your elegance and
Surrender all of my verses for you.

And I'm ready to walk beside you,
To the end of the any tunnel;
Through any shade of darkness,
To find the luminance that
Can bind us in a forever.

Kiss me or Kill me..

For the stars
You had promised,
I've still preserved some
Darkness in me.

For the rains
You had assured,
I've still kept some
Thirst unquenched.

And for the rainbows,
My bleached heart,
Still waits like a canvas,
In its whitish glory.

Paint me or taint me.
Bruises or some blemishes.
Just don't leave me
Stabbed with apathy.

Not the violence of silence,
Don't want this emptiness again.
Pain or some peace,
I just want to feel . Again.

Wordy Vector

On the long lonely,
Sleepless nights...
You come to
Infect me with verses.

I'm vulnerable,
You're contagious.

And like that
I'm a victim of
This epidemic
Called poetry.

The Forever..

You be yourself.
I'll be myself.
Let there be peace.
Let's not hurt ourselves
With our pretense.

Have your today,
Have some tomorrows.
I'll too have mine.

Then again..
If we meet somewhere,
We'll try to design,
Some beautiful yesterdays
That are forever.

The First Flight

Have you ever tried to set a kite in a flight? Have you ever let your heart feel that redemption seeing something of your creation flying high in the sky? And have you had that feeling of a stab in your gut when the thread was cut and wriggling in the distant sky, a part of you faded away? Also, that adrenaline shot up chase to catch the cut loose kite and the relief that followed after you caught it. Or the despair that remained for days after you had lost one.

Those feelings are age-old. Of the times when old newspapers were uncommon in the home and something as insignificant as a roll of thread needed years of commitment for saving and preserving till the next season. This also involved lots of quarreling with siblings and cousins. But it was all worth it. All worth to see our hearts fly in the sky.

The first time I had seen a kite was in our primary school playground. A couple of guys standing there like wizards. Running around to catch the direction of the wind to set it in flight. That day, then a couple more, all I did was, sit there to watch the magic that unraveled. That surprised face of mine reminds of Pink Floyd’s Learning to fly- Tongue-tied and twisted, just an earth-bound misfit, I.

See, making a kite is easy. Just two slender, flexible, dry mid-ribs of coconut leaf. A paper in the square shape of around one square feet area and some gum. Attach one mid-rib straight, diagonally. Other in a bow shape aligned across the other two corners of the paper. That’s all. The kite is ready. But the most important thing is the sutra, the knot that balances the weight of the kite. It decides the stability of the kite.

As I said earlier, in the era when paper and thread possessed some economic value, without a wailful cry in the home, buying them was difficult. Well, crying is a super-power of a kid, ain’t it? So I used it to make the ends meet. Then I found a guy in my locality who could help me in making the kite. He was a pro. Before noon that day he had pulled off the magic.

In the school playground, he stood holding the kite at one end. I stood at another. As he had instructed, I ran clutching the thread in one hand upon his signal. It took few tries but finally, it was a pleasure seeing it fly while I unrolled the thread from the roll. A few meters up in the sky seeing it fly in the blue background; thinking, what if it entered the cloud or a bird hit it or myriads of such anxious questions spinning in the head. The heat, the cold didn’t matter. Only the flow, standing there giving the thread a slight jerk to maintain the stability mattered.

It is one of such experience that always reminds me of a quote by the legend, Leonardo da Vinci, “Once you have tasted flight, you will forever walk the earth with your eyes with your eyes turned skyward. For there you have been, and there you will always long to learn.” Ain’t it right?

A Beyond Feel..

You might be,
An epitome of boredom in
Someone else's story.
But in mine,
You're;
An unparalleled poetic feel.

A painting that's
Beyond the strokes of colours
And the shades of words.

Doesn't matter if,
Venus is just a planet.
When the light is out,
And gloom is set.
Like a lit up metaphor,
You're my evening star.

The Dog Rescue Squad

That was the last monsoon of our school days. The 2010 one. The encumbrance of the class twelfth was not yet on shoulders and we always had our crazy stuff that was worth remembering a tons of time.

So, on one of such nights, after dinner, it was drizzling and there was no electricity, (a night without electricity was always a great pastime). While we had some chit chat in our house, a junior came running and said, Anna, its Pallavi akka this time. God! Not even the sturdy one, I said and rushed to the Udaygiri house. Sacchya, Wasya and others along with some juniors who held the same concerns were already there. The crowd was a bit big than usual.

It was decided to bury her near the pump house that was near the boys' water tank. Someone carried her and we all walked behind in silence. Digging a pit with a rod was easy as the ground was moist. After the burial, for a brief period of time, we stood there in silence to offer our condolences. The death of this sturdy puppy had ended the dog rescue mission that was undertaken by Sacchya.

Let’s talk about what’s going on. Who’s Pallavi? Why a burial?

See, Sacchya loved puppies. One rainy night he found out some five newborn puppies near the pool that’s by the boys' ground. Without any shelter, seeing them all shriveled and shivering, he was moved. He thought he could do something for those poor souls. So he, along with his squad assured them a shelter under the staircase of Udaygiri house. The waste gunny bags and some clothes provided the necessary warmth. Some daily doses of milk smuggled from mess assured some great nutrition. At least that’s what we thought.

And men will be men. After two-three days, according to the appearance of the puppies, they were named after our class girls. The one that was white was Ganga. The one that was a bit white but frail was Paru. There was one, well built and with a dark complexion, someone called it Renuka. Don’t really remember why the fourth one was called Trisha as it didn’t really resemble her. The last one was Pallavi, very akin to how she looked.

It was fun for some days. Then all of a sudden, Paru died. It was sad. She was buried. Then again, in a succession, they all started to pass. Pallavi had held it for some time but that night she too had given it up. Though it is a funny memory now, it sure was bit emotional then.

Akash Chavan

As a part of the curriculum in the final year of B.Sc Agriculture; the graduates, in my time, were placed in a rural setting for a period of time. The motto behind this placement was to enable students to interact with the farmers and become aware of the practical issues involved in farming. My batch was placed in Akkialur, which is in Haveri district. We chose to settle down in Hangal as the accommodation and the food was promising there.

We took food in a khanavali run by this guy whom we called as Shivu Anna. He was just a few years older to us. It was easy to get along with him and it didn't take long to become close to him. Late in the evening, his place became a routine hangout place. Sometimes we talked at lengths or watched TV. Usually, pro kabaddi had our interests held. Even we played kabaddi for a brief period of time.

Sahana, his cute little daughter was around four years old. A talkative, naughty kid whom we teased always. She went to a nearby nursery school. Daily his father would take her to school in the morning and pick her in the noon. Upon Anna's request, once in a while, someone among us picked her up at the lunch hour as that the time he handled customers. As days rolled by and he became bit more close, we started picking her up regularly. Sometimes we would even go to drop her to school.

I loved talking to her. So, I went regularly to school to drop her or pick her up. Sometimes alone, sometimes with one of our guys. Her class teacher had become familiar with two three faces. One day as most of us were away, Akash Chavan- who usually didn't go to pick her up- had to go that noon. Here, I should describe his appearance. He was of average height with a dark complexion. His uncombed shabby hair, unshaven face and clothing style projected a vague sense of suspicion in anyone's mind. Especially when it involves a kid, no one can blame the person at the other end.

The next day noon I went to school. I entered the classroom. I saw her sitting there with a serious face as her shoe was missing. Her teacher was busy finding it. After the shoe was found, she helped Sahana to wear the shoe and before sending her with me she said, "Anna, dina neeva barri. Hosabra yarara bandra kalsaka hedarki. Adragu ninne bandarva jodi kalsod kasta agittu. Sahana avaranna gotta hidididdakka kalasidvi", meaning please you only come to pick her up. It's difficult to send her with an unfamiliar person. Especially the one who came yesterday arouse an element of suspicion. I only sent her with him as Sahana recognized him.

Well, that was not a surprise at all.

When thug life chose Ravi anna

The second period was over and the third period was about to kick in. Suddenly art mastar, Chandrashekharayya rushed to Sixth 'A', stood at the door with a grave look. The kind of look a predator wears in search of its prey. Then he rushed to the third row and grabbed Ravi. Another teacher whose face was familiar, yet unknown to a sixth class kid was behind him. Though his dark complexion was terrifying, his conduct projected his sympathy towards what was about to happen.

The whole class had its eyes fixed on the prey which was in the grasp of the beast. After a few slaps and thumps on his back, the interrogation started. Art mastar would ask, “Wasn’t that you in the Dharwad bus stand yesterday?” for which Ravi would reply in his terrified trembling voice, “It wasn’t me.”

No matter how brutal art mastar was, Ravi was equally firm with his denial over whatever mastar accused him of. Though he had to go through few more blows, he was finally saved by the teacher who had come with art mastar. He pacified him and made him walk away from that hunt.

From whatever had happened, everyone had a rough clue that it was related to Ravi’s act of absconding the previous day. He was brought to the school by his mama that morning. When the actual story got unraveled slowly, sure all were awed by the stunt Ravi had pulled off. No wonder why art mastar was furious.

That day when Ravi had become Andy Dufresne, he was caught by art mastar in Dharwad bus stand. While Ravi waited for the bus and art mastar had made Ravi realize his worst of the nightmares, Ravi chose his thug life and faced him. When art mastar asked him if he was from navodaya school, he said, ”Ye niv yaar namag gottillari pa. Na namma amman jodi bandeni. Aki ille hogyal” meaning he doesn’t recognize him and he has come with his granny who has left him there while she ran an errand around.

And art mastar had bought it. In a state of confusion and deep contemplation, he had left the place. And that morning when he saw Ravi around the principal’s office, he had realized how he was played by the little brat.

Infinite Love

Mountains are
The love letters,
Written by the ocean
To the sky.

Rain is a reply
From the sky.

And that's how the
Highs and the vast depths,
Make it possible to create
Something infinite....

Something infinite....
Like LIFE.

Life. A sarcasm of time.

Deafening silence,
Strangling thoughts.
A playlist full of
Empty songs.

Played by this
Sarcasm of time,
Adrift like a
Cut loose rhyme.
Where do I belong?

I'm up on a zenith.
Still climbing.
Though hit a bottom.
I'm still falling.

You Noisy Predator

You're anything but quite.
Leading a rampage in my head,
You're an unwavering agitation.

A den of unwanted questions,
Also an abode of utopian answers.
You're, the loudest conversation there is.

Tearing, tying, twisting,
And playing with what's left of me.
You're, my emotions' claustrophobia.

Why are you called silence?
When you're anything but quiet.
You smothering noisy predator.

ಅವಳು

ಅವಳು,
ಈ ಖಾಲಿ ಮನಸ್ಸು
ಹೊರಲಾರದ 

ದೈತ್ಯ ಹೊರೆ.

ಮಾಸಿದ ಗಾಯಗಳ 

ಮೇಲೆ
ತಂಗಾಳಿಯ ಬರೆ.

ಕಣ್ಣಲ್ಲಿ ಕಣ್ಣಿಟ್ಟು,
ತಿಳಿ ನಗೆಯೊಂದ ಬೀರಿ
ಕನಸಿನ ಚಂದಿರನ 

ತೋರಿಸಿ,
ಅಮಾವಾಸ್ಯೆಯ

ಕತ್ತಲನ್ನು ಕೈಗೆ
ಕೊಟ್ಟು ಮರೆಯಾದವಳು, 

ಅವಳು.

ನೆನಪುಗಳು 

ತರಗೆಲೆಗಳ ಗುಡಿಸಿ,

ಮರೆವಿನ 

ಗುಂಡಿಯಲೆಸೆದರೂ,

ಇವತ್ತಿಗೂ ಸಹ, 

ನನ್ನ ಸಪ್ಪೆ ಮುಖವ ನಾಚಿ 

ನೀರಾಗಿಸುವ
ಒಲವಿನ ಅಲೆ, 

ಅವಳು.

A Nightmare Dressed like a Daydream

Climbing up the
Stairway of fantasy,
I was fast asleep.
The daylight hit so hard
That I'd to wake up. Again.
In the same Nightmare.

Now, there's nothing more,
Than my cold bones and
Rags of skin covering it up.

A few questions for which,
I don't have any answers.
A gloom around and
A screen staring at me like
I'm her subject.
Which I'm.

Insignificant Man

I'm a trumpet,
without a voice.
Sitting here,
My wings dead,
Voice shrunk,
Thoughts at siege,
And heart ablaze.

Baked by the sun,
Damned by prejudices.
Containing my simmering ire,
Here I sit cold and calm.

With the stagnant
Tides of time,
I'm walking alone,
To find an end.
I'm a trumpet
Without a voice,
What's spoken in noise.

SHE

She's the pompous
Thunderstorm,
Hauling high
In the sky.

I'm just a meek
Rustle of a leaf,
Lying by
A creek.

How should I conjure
Her mighty attention?
I'm just a muggle,
Knowing no incantations.

I can only beseech
For a sign from her.
Maybe; a glance.
A smile. That can

Ward off this
Dreary longing and
Spread a steady
Gleam on my face.

The Wall

I've seen you, lying dead.
On the grave of your thoughts.
Facing your insecurities,
Torn out. Dumb and dry.

Admiring your own reflection,
Beaming narcissistically,
I've seen you bloat. Full of life.
In all pomp. Jovial and high.

On any other day, 
I've seen you, changing masks.
Distraught over other's opinion,
Too concerned. Pale and shy.

From your apologetic cry,
To a regretful sigh. 
From your simmering ire to 
A guilt stricken wry. I've seen it all.

I've observed you long enough.
I've studied your shades like forever.
I've known you, better than yourself.
And my friend your secrets are safe.

The Intrusion

You're the vector for
My lonely nights.
The breeder of my
Empty thoughts.

You're a tight slap,
When I'm fast asleep.
A choking silence,
When wide awake.

On a hopefully,
Colorful evening;
You're the cloudy intrusion,
That ruined the elegance.

Hermosa

Upon your cue,
On the way down.
My words quiver
To fall into right places.

I'm just the means.
You're the poetry.

These broken lines are,
Just the Interpretations,
And the misinterpretations,
Of the unfathomable
Mystery you're.

A Rainbow that's due

The the day is warm,
My feelings are ripe.
I'm high on her,
I know she's my type.

A reader's ocean.
A writer's mountain.

She's the reds
With bluish hues.
A tickle that has left in me;
A rainbow due.

The Biryani and Aftermath...

It's a special evening and you decide to have biryani for dinner.

You eat it with all excitement and devour it's taste with the best company in the world.

But wait,

Somewhere while you were relishing it, a piece of meat is stuck in your tooth.

It didn't bother you much until you finished your food.

After the dinner, the game starts.

Your tongue on one side, the piece of meat in your decayed tooth on the other. You reach it, you feel it. You rub your tongue against it, it moves, slides a bit but too adamant to come out. You talk, you smile, you walk and laugh with others but yet you're busy in the same game.

Even after an hour, it's stuck. You reach home, sit at study table. You open a book, read, write and do all stuff. Still, the game in the mouth is still on.

Now you're in bed. The game is still on and you can't give up since it's not letting you sleep. Now you even feel mild bruises on your tongue, yet you're on it.

And finally after 3 hours of struggle. There it is, from the corner of the cracked tooth, ready to give up.

And right at one moment, it's out.

Peace!!

The Returned Summer

Sid, the six year old jovial kid was feeling awfully bereaved that summer morning. It had been two days since he hadn’t been able to find his tyre wheel. He had already searched in all possible places he would have kept it. Usually he kept it behind the front door of his house or sometimes in the barn hidden beneath the paddy hay. If he was late and he had sneak into the house without notice of his father. It wasn't the first time it had disappeared. Sometimes his father would hide it to teach the audacious kid some manners but Sid would find it in no time.

Wearing same knotted face as before, he was ransacking the house. Today morning his mother got enraged about the mess he was creating. She caught hold of him, clutching his neck, she bent him. Fisting her left hand, she blew a hard thump on his back. Weeping his stomach out, yelling at his mother he ran away without having any food. The disappearance of his tyre wheel was the real reason for the wailing cry otherwise, getting reprimanded by the elderly in home was a usual thing for him.

The tyre wheel of the bike Hero Honda CD-100 had become his indispensable companion since two months. He had brought it from his uncle’s home. Watching other kids in the streets running around with their tyres, rolling them with a stick, he had always fantasized about having one for himself. The last time he was in his uncle’s home he couldn’t contain himself after finding the tyre wheel in the backyard. His biggest dream of the times had come true and all he did was run around the street with his excitement all day long. The next day, to convince his averse mother to carry the tyre wheel his home, what all he didn’t do? From not eating breakfast to rolling all over the backyard with a noisy cry, his adamant sullen face, which usually gets things done had played its role. By evening he was with his valuable possession in the bus to his home.

The tyre wheel of a motor cycle was point of his pomp among all the bicycle tyre wheels his friends had. This was fast, robust and a thing other kids looked up to. Every evening after school, his pack of six to seven friends went running around. The hunger, the heat or whatever other adult reason we find and blame would not worry them. They went racing along the stretch of fields eating whatever they found in the trees. For that reason, summer was the time they always looked forward to. The holidays and fruit laden trees was unlimited freedom. The mango, sapota, guava and cashew trees were rampant in the region. If not along the road, sneaking into someone’s farm was a routine summer thing. Of course the farm owners did confront them seriously if caught but freedom is not free, isn't it?

That summer was already set. The holidays were declared. Myriads of exciting things that were in the kid’s mind were yet to be unraveled and the tyre wheel was now missing. After leaving home in tears, the kid, though joined his pack but the day wasn’t the same.  He was a shriveled soul looking at his other friends running around competing each other as he ran along them without his chariot. He felt like an outcast.

He wondered if his father has thrown it away or hidden it somewhere. Also he thought about the possibility of its theft, but who would do that? Suspended in his own thoughts he moved mechanically with his friends. The little gang found a temporary refuge near the outskirts of the village where there were good number of fruit trees. Sun was overhead and no one had any lunch plans.  Some climbed the small trees, some enjoyed the fruits fallen on the ground. Sid too enjoyed the cashews and the guava, but he didn't climb any trees; he was not in the mood.

He didn't wanted to go home as he was angry with his mother. But he had to before his father returned home. With hesitation, surreptitiously he sneaked into the barn. Tip toeing through the backdoor he reached the kitchen. His worried mother was relieved at the sight of him. She was still angry but she could understand his pain of having lost his tyre wheel. She didn't wanted to upset him further. So she just chose to offer him some tea and go outside.

She had kept the tyre there. In the noon the neighboring woman had returned it saying her kid had stolen it. These kind of conflicts between both the kids was common but this time it was a step further. While he sipped his tea mechanically, his mother called him in a cheering tone. Seeing the tyre wheel in her had, he summoned all his strength and jumped all at once to grab it. He was happy. His dull face was filled with radiance now. All he wanted was to pass the night and the sun to rise to unravel the day ahead. His summer was back.

I'm a Refugee

Without any;
Twist and turn.
Devoid of any;
Warmth or cold.
My days roll by aimlessly.

Like a refugee
From the past.
To seek an asylum
In the future.
I'm in exile presently.

While time dictates
My expatriation.
I've nowhere to belong.

My Paper Boat

For a promising sail,
For a better,
safe ship,
My paper boat was killed.

Now I'm sitting here,
Wondering about,
The otherwise horizons,
I was destined.

A Forever Feel She is...

A little me,
Is still hooked to her.
Swings whenever it rains.

Yeah!!
She's a strong hinge.
Out there,
Still lingering on the,
Tip of my pen.

A poem I couldn't complete,
A song I couldn't sing.
A forever feel, I couldn't let go.

Moving on

And somewhere down the
Dump of guilt and regret...
I drained my longing for you.

I had to fight the monster,
You had become in my head,
To break the prison that was 'hope',

On a bitterly cold winter night,
I burned our memories to warm me up. 
I'd to move on.

The Way Back to School.....

The last day of the holidays folded all the month long of homely fun. The very reminder of going back to school incited a gut clenching feel. The home that day would turn into a gloomy ghetto filled with only talks of pressing dresses, packing the eatables, taking measures to protect the project works and bearing all the morality talks from the elders in the home. After all the cozy comforts of home, going back to school was a nightmare. The way back sure was a heck of a struggle, battled by almost all Navodayans I suppose.

From waiting in the bus stop in the village to entering the dormitories in the school, there was a choking, uncomfortable feeling. It was like the ‘butterflies fluttering’ feeling when one's hungry. The heart beat fast and the tips of ears used to be warmer than usual. Also, all along the journey, the incomplete assignments reminded the knotted faces of subject teachers and made the experience still haunting.

This anxious feeling had it's stages. It shot up progressively as I got closer to the school. From home to Dharwad bus stop, it was like the silence before the storm. The blabbermounth in me would not talk to anyone more than necessary. After reaching Dharwad old bus stop, seeing the other dull faces like me invoked bit of variations in the anxiety. For example, meeting a topper guy of my class would make me more uncomfortable as it reminded me of the assignments and that guy would have completed single one of them. Again, there were guys like me, whom I met like my own alibi.

Then there was the bus journey from there to school. Maybe the Kyarakoppa buses knew all our extreme emotions. From someone's ecstatic moment when leaving school to the nauseating tread while entering the school. The bus full of navodayans with different shades of paleness carried emotions of its own. From the more petrified sixth standard kid to the ‘holding their shit together’ seniors, all had their own fears of entering the gate.

The final stage of this anxiety began once the bus crossed the pedha factory. There was this room for the peons beside the gate, on which ‘Jawahar Navodaya Vidyalaya, Dharwad’ was etched in bold blue fonts. It was visible from around the distance of some 200 meters. After covering some distance from pedha factory, it was visible. The sight of that churned my stomach every single time till I completed school. My insides quivered and I think that was peak of it.

Once inside the gate, the anxiety faded slowly. The long road, the old faces with some new stories along with the evening roll call by the teachers reminded us our place. The house cleaning, preparing the bed, going to dinner rotating the plate, the prayer and the food laid some ground for the day ahead. Some peaceful sleep and irksome whistle in the morning pulled it out of us to dissolve us in the routine again.

A Black Magic

Am I a fool to try 

to fathom this depth?

Or deluded enough

to think, I cannot?

Or I'm intoxicated,

by the look itself?

I'm drown and dreaming 

about it now.

I know it's not the gravity 

that's making me feel held,

Otherwise why would I be 

this buyoant?

And now i know, why, 

Some magic is black. 

Black, White and Fifty Shades of Grey

The days of black and white,
Are long past gone.
These are the testing times of
Fifty shades of grey.

Speak the truth, you're ruthless.
If you lie, you're shameless.
Just spill right shades of both,
You're a righteous person.

Sometimes, you need to say
What others want to hear.
Ignore the things ,
You don't want to listen.

Trying to convince is a futile effort,
People hear what they want to hear.
You need to wear a mask or shed one
To move on and live contently.

Bound Freedom

Ae azaadi bhi,
Kati patang jaise hai...

Manjhe se chutkara
pane ki khusi toh hai jaroor..

Lekin hawa ke isharo pe
nachne ka khayal,
hamesha chubta rahta hai..

Translation-
 

“This freedom is like a cut loose kite.

Sure there's happinesses of getting rid of the thread.

But the thought of dancing to the commands of the wind keeps on pricking me”.

The Phenomenal Woman

After having a great dinner, I, Sanjya and Satish Anna started to walk down the main road of Mahalingpur. Cracking some random jokes, judging and trolling people,we walked along laughing. An old lady was coming our way carrying a huge basket. She was in her rags  and by the look of her, anyone could have mistaken her for a vagrant, like we did. When she was near us, Satish anna approached her extending his hands with some coins. In a humble tone she said, "I'm a vegetable vendor and on my way to my home. I don't take money". It was awkward to have done to that. Anna asked her sorry and pulled out a short conversation with her.

After the brief chat that followed, we learnt that, she lives alone in the outskirts and daily comes to the market early in the morning with a load of vegetables. She seemed to be in her late 60s. She has no family. Her marriage was a wreck and though she was from a good family, she never thought of going back thinking about her family reputation. The place she lived was around 2 to 2.5 kilometers away from the market and she carried a weight of 25 to 30 kg daily. Though we felt sorry for her, her resolute attitude had left us awestruck. Hers was one such face you can't easily forget.

Briefly after the above incident, we started cooking in our room as we got a gas connection. Our ‘cooking’ involved mostly preparing pulav. Dal rice and egg rice were brought into action occasionally to break the monotony. The cooking demanded a new task of visiting the market regularly for vegetables. Usually Sanjya and me went to the market. During the errands to fetch vegetables we encountered the old lady many times. We deliberately went to her to buy lemons and coriander thinking some extra money from us would help her. Sometimes we used to insist her to take the extra money, but she used to deny it whatsoever. Even if she had no change, she forced us to take a bunch of coriander or the lemon.

Our little trade would never settle without a random chat. It involved usual personal stuff about our natives, about the crops, climate and home. She told us how much the other traders are biased and have prejudices against her. How the Mahalingpur town changed and about some random politics involved in the town.

One evening she became too curious about our cooking adventure. She asked what items we prepare, what ingredients we use and whether we have a gas connection. I don't know if it slipped out of her tongue or she said it jokingly. She said, if possible bring me pulav, let me have a taste of your food. In the flow I and Sanjya agreed. We promised her to bring her pulav, the next day noon. She told that she would be sitting in the same spot everyday till evening and we can come there anytime.

Next day noon around 2 o'clock, cursing the the scorching heat, I and Sanjya walked to the market. The old lady was not there at her usual place. We searched for her for sometime then enquired with others. No one had a clear clue. Then we found someone sleeping near a closed shop who looked like the old lady. There was a basket of vegetables. We were hesitant to approach her initially as she was sleeping facing the shutters of the shop and her face was covered with her saree. Sanjya took the initiative to break the awkwardness and approached her. He shook her and woke her up. He talked to her and gave her the tiffin box and a bottle of water. See welcomed it with a wide smile. We took a leave saying we would come in the evening.

In the evening we went to her to collect the tiffin box. She was thankful and happy. Also she didn't let us go empty handed, she insisted to take the carry bag in which she had packed something. There was a packet of Parle-G biscuits and some churmuri (puffed rice). It was such a magnanimous gesture. We were overwhelmed.

I don't want to call her economic state a misery but somehow I feel she is way too much virtuous and deserves better than a lonely life. She reminds me of that quote by the greatest unfortunate artist of all time, Vince van Gogh. “Though I am often in the depths of misery, there is still calmness, pure harmony and music inside me".

(Title is borrowed from Maya Angelo's literary work. Maybe the old lady matches the frequency of Maya Angelo.)

Rejuvenation

Some loneliness.
Some euphoria.
A drizzly feel along,
Some flavor of tea.

Seems like,
A sign of rejuvenation.

It's like an itch,
On the fading wounds.
Yet, a soothing sweep,
on the deserted heart.

Had a craving for the monsoons,
And you gushed like a waterfall.

ದೃಷ್ಟಿಕೋನ

ಕೇಳಿ ಕೇಳಿ 

ಕಿವುಡನಾದೆ,
ಮಾತನಾಡಿ 

ಮೂಕನಾದೆ.

ನೋಡಿ ನೋಡಿ 

ಅಂಧನಾದೇನೆಂದೆನಿಸಲು,
ದೃಷ್ಟಿಕೋನ 

ಬದಲಿಸಿದೆ.

ಓಹೋ! 

ಈಗ ಎಲ್ಲೆಡೆ,
ಗಿಡ ಮರ ಗುಡ್ಡಗಳು.
ಹಕ್ಕಿ ಹಾಡುಗಳು.

ಮತ್ತೆ ಚಿಗುರಿದ 

ಆಸೆಗಳು.
ಕಳೆದು ಹೋಗಿದ್ದ,
ಮಧುರ 

ಪಿಸುಮಾತುಗಳು.

Obliterated by the Oblivion

You were the wick,
I was the wax.
I used to melt,
When you were lit.

We were a
Candle like fantasy.

Before the
Flames consumed;
And the darkness
Grounded us.

We had a story,
That was light.

ದೆಹಲಿ ಹುಡುಗಿಯರು

ಸುತ್ತಲೂ 

ಬಣ್ಣ ಬಣ್ಣದ 

ಕೆನ್ನೆಗಳು,
ಬಳುಕು ನಡುಗೆಗಳು,
ಮಾದಕ ನೋಟಗಳು,
ಎದೆ ಪುಳಕಿಸುವ 

ಮೃದು ನಗೆಗಳು.

ಯಾರಾದರೂ 

ಹಾಕಬಾರದಿತ್ತೆ,
ಸೂಚನಾ 

ಫಲಕನೊಂದನು;

ಎಷ್ಟು ಹುಡುಗರನು 

ಬೀಳಿಸಿವೆಯೋ!
ಈ ತಗ್ಗು ದಿನ್ನೆಗಳು..

Paragon, the once luxury wear.

The earliest memory of me going to a footwear shop was to buy a pair Paragon chappals in Bidi, my mama's native. That was almost twenty years ago. Unlike today, it was not a casual, bathroom wear. The blue and white, rubber made footwear was a dreamy luxury. And there were rarely any other variants of the brand. It was so widely used that, Paragon was a synonymous for chappals.

Then, buying anything that's not a basic need of life was not easy. No one gave away money like that. There wasn't anything like pocket money and all. Only 90’s kids will understand the pain of desperate expectations money from the relatives who came home. That was the time when 25 paise and 50 paise had the potential to light up a kid's life. So, buying brand new chappals costing 60 rupees was a distant dream. But when you're in a place like Bidi to enjoy your summer holidays, anything is possible.

Bidi is a place that's almost at the periphery of Western ghats. Its landscape has the touch of hilly tracts making it a hub of variety of fruit trees. Every summer was a perfect time to devour all splendors the place provided. All other fruits like mango, guava, sapota, jamun, jackfruit etc satisfied the belly but the cashew nuts assured some real good money. A kilo of cashew nuts would fetch forty to fifty rupees. The nuts  were even accepted in  the shops directly to buy things. So literally cashew nuts were our currency during the summers.

Collecting two to three kilos of cashew was sure a challenge. We had to earn them. Earn? What's that? We simply stole them. Me along with my two cousins riding our Tyre wheels on our random expeditions used to sneak into the farms. Had been chased by the farm owner many of the times. Very rarely there were serious confrontations by them but dealing with family elders over such issues was way too difficult. Though we had our own trees in the farm, we could only be able to take the nuts if we worked in the farm that mostly involved helping my grandpa with random work. That surely was not an attractive option, though couple of times that option was accessed too.

That summer at the end of the season, besides all other expenses like toffees, papadi, marbles to play, the chakki, roasted chickpeas and rasagulla, I'd saved nearly two kilos of nuts. The two kilos fetched nearly hundred rupees. That was a fortune. The first on my list was buying Paragon chappals. My mama took me to the footwear shop to buy the chappals. Sixty rupees a pair, it was written on them and I was the proud owner of them. After coming home, my mama carved an 'A' on the sole, making my ownership legitimate. The chappals surely were point of my pomp at that time.

After some four five years another variant of the chappals was released. This one had a bit broad, well designed straps on it. It was way too attractive and people with bit of fashion sense started to wear it. When I was sixth class, a senior wore one of those. I thought they were way too costly and never demanded to have them bought for me. After school when I was fed up with the stink of sandals, I wanted a new alternative to my smelly feet. Like that again I had to be content with the Paragon. Bought the broad strap variant of chappals while pursuing graduation. Hence realizing the little childhood dream.

The Reflection

Sometimes by
My wide awake eyes.
Sometimes by a deep
Dissolved contemplation.
I see myself change.

Through the day.
Through the night.
From the person I want to be,
To the one I don't want to be,
I change; from what I've become.

From tearing up my soul
To building up my mind.
Through my body or the brain.
From wearing a mask
To shedding one.

I see myself change.
Sometimes by
My wide awake eyes.
Sometimes by a deep
Dissolved contemplation.

How am I?

How are you? She asked;
With an ear to ear grin.
Like nothing ever happened.

I'd to walk through,
The cacti infested;
Barren lonely mind of mine.
Cross the treacherous
Shadows of my insecurities;
To mask some awkward instincts.

From the ruthless snare
Of my obsessive thoughts,
I pulled out a smile.
The ear to ear one;
And said, "I'm fine".
Like nothing ever happened.

Khoye hue hai..

Soye hue hai.
Khwabo ke bistar pe,
Khoye hue hai.

Daudate, kuchalate,
Naachte aur jhoomte,
Khayalo ke patang ko
Door udte dekte....

Khoye hue hai.
Khwabo ke bistar pe,
Soye hue hai.

Translation-

I'm alseep.
On a dreamy bed,
I lay dead and  lost.

Running, jumping,
Dancing and swinging,
Watching the kite of
My thoughts fly in the distance.

I lay dead and lost,
On the dreamy bed of mine,
I'm fast asleep.

Melancholic Cascade

Give me a refuge in
Your comforting arms.
And sing me a lullaby
that can wake me up
in a dreamy warmth.

This mountainous tread
Between birth and death is
A melancholic cascade.
Buoy me with your caress and
Infect me with some life.

A Footprint that's too musical to be washed away....

I sat there reading in the library. Hanging out with my own thoughts, flicking my cello gripper pen and turning the pages. The climate was bit cloudy, the room was dim and I was drowsy. Yawning and scaring the shit out of the flies around, I looked around now and then. In the big hall with thirty plus chairs and tables, I was the lone soul, sitting around the right side corner and consuming all the oxygen there was.

After an hour of my greenhouse gas contribution in the room, someone really colourful entered the room and sat some five six tables away, facing me. She was oblivious to my presence in the room. She had her earphones on, may be she was a music freak. In all the elegance of her yellow and orange dress - I don't know what that particular dress is called - she looked beautiful in it. She sat tight, gently nodding her head and tapping her feet. She wasn't too fair. How should I explain about the radiance of her face? I don't know. Anyway, I know it's cliche but it was like a full moon in all it's pomp. Just bit tanned. But sure she was a person with some irresistible grasp.

In the deafening silence that sinks to different levels in an empty library, sure she was a melody that was dodging the resolute wisdom of the books there. My mind was noisy too. It pulled up my head around and rolled my eyes, casting them on the gleam that was in front of me. I loved the way she enjoyed herself. On the gloomy evening she was a usual evening subtlety of Dharwad. Bit more lit like Mirchi and Chai with lot of laughter on a long lazy walk.

After some twenty minutes of eye rolling and jaw dropping over her, she sensed my presence. She caught me looking at her and it was difficult to look at her all the time. Anyway I didn't miss any random chances. Once, our eyes met. Then again and again. I don't know why I smiled at her. I'm not that bold to do that. But it happened, I smiled. Well, that didn't go well. Seems she turned uncomfortable by that. She stopped looking at me.

As I said, she indeed was an irresistible grasp. I was still looking. Now at her serious face that was buried in the book. After sometime, she caught me again. Before she was too uncomfortable, she closed the book, removed the earphones and stood up to change her place. All was going smooth until she smiled at me. It was an instant. Like a flash. Before I could even react, she was gone. Didn't stop, didn't turn or look back. The smile like moonlight was lost again in the dusk of unwavering boredom of the books.

She was the girl in James Blunt’s “You're beautiful” song. And the moment she left, the song was ringing in the head….

“You're beautiful, it's true
I saw your face in a crowded place
And I don't know what to do
'Cause I'll never be with you…..”

The Liberator

You're a soothing melody
That absolved me from
The tenacity of choking silence.

A luminance that dived into
The darkest corners stashed in
My devil's workshop.

From the stagnant state of disguise
You pulled me out and gave
A reason to move on and live.

Otherwise, I would have sat there,
In the corner of my own mind,
Contemplating and collecting dust.

A Painting of Words

I churn my insides
Tie and twist it.
Squeeze and crumble,
Some random thoughts.

Collect and pile some
Stacks of emotional setbacks,
And pack tight some of
My own shattered pieces.

And I paint them with words,
When I play with my emptiness.

Don't mind the shades; they're,
Meant to be, incomplete and obscure.

Intoxication

You consume me
With your eyes,
And behold me
With your lips.

You wink with your
Smile sometimes;
Give me hope and
Stab me with apathy.

Caught up in this abyss,
I'm adrift.

On the barren lonely nights,
Stop climbing on
My mountain of loneliness,
And make me bleed words.

Give me reasons.
Set me free.

The Evening Subtleties

Of all the shiny,
wide awake days;
And the embellished
starry nights;
You're the subtleties of
the of the evening.

Not a distant dream
Or a drab sullen reality.

Of all the things I flaunt,
You my dear are,
An unending array
Pleasant, unnoticeable;
Sweet disposition,
That's always around.

The Karadi Joke

Banavasi was the last place of our visit on a three day trip that monsoon. The whole journey was full of fun. The journey, most of it, involved revisiting school memories and laughing over the funny incidents. On the way back when the lazy, cloudy noon was spreading the blanket of drowsiness, someone out of the blue just uttered "Karadi Joke". All started laughing just by hearing the name; me too. All except two guys, who didn't have any idea of whatever was going on. As they had left the school after completing 10th class, Sunil and Gavi had missed a huge chunk of Navodaya life including some awefucking humor, of which this joke was a part.

The Karadi (bear) joke was told to us by our seniors. Since then, it has been told, retold, to all sorts of male adults. And it sure becomes popular readily among any normal adult crowd. Unlike other jokes, this one proceeds like a story involving the group actively. The joke is a real fun when told it for a group. With an element of curiosity and an abrupt twist it leaves one victim. Yeah! Victim is the right word. You’ll know why.

So, someone had uttered the name and though everyone was laughing nobody wanted to be the subject of the joke; but not Sunil and Gavi. They were so held up in the hype created around it that they were willing to be the subjects just to hear the bloody joke. Even upon such an insistence nobody was ready to tell the joke. There were talks about the stories around the joke and the laughter that followed, which didn't stop until Sanjeev declared his willingness to tell the joke. And he held everyone's apt attention. For a moment everyone was serious, as everyone was a potential victim until Sanjya chose his subject. Without beating around the bush, he continued his narration......

On the way back from the town, while walking through the forest, Manja and Sidda encountered a Karadi; he said. (A relieving laughter on everyone's face with eyes set on Manjya and Sidda, who were now caught up in the joke with their fate in Sanjya's hand now).

Shocked at the sight of the Karadi, Sidda climbed the tree, as he believed it wouldn't climb the tree. Manjya didn't know how to climb, so he lied down on the ground holding his breath to deceive the Karadi; betting on a defensive action he had heard in a childhood fairy tale.

The desperate Karadi came around. Stared at Sidda, a victim it couldn't help but ignore. It took a good look at Manjya, who was lying on ground. Went to him, smelt him and felt good about the aroma. Seems he smelt like a pheromone. Didn't matter he was dead or alive, it was horny and it banged his ass. (Everyone in the vehicle except two knew where it was heading and laughing there asses out upon Manjya, yet, waiting for the mystery to be unraveled in a good flow.)

Well that wasn't the end of the story. Sanjya started narrating the second part of the story....

After few days, both found themselves down the same road. Manjya being humiliated last time, had serious thought over the incident and sought help with Sidda. In fact, to tackle such emergencies, he had practiced climbing; though he was not good at it yet. And the Karadi appeared en route. Sidda climbed a tree again. Manjya tried to climb the same tree but couldn't as he was too anxious. Again, he had to disguise himself as a dead body which didn't go well this time too. The Karadi approached him and banged his ass again.
(Everyone laughed for a while and turned to Sanjya as final part of the story was yet to be told.)

This time Manjya practiced well. He never wanted to face such a humiliation again. Also he was angry on Sidda for making fun of him. Given a chance, Manjya wanted to put Sidda in a situation where he could laugh at his face. The opportunity he was craving for came right away when they both took a journey down the same route through the forest.

The Karadi came, wasn't a surprise. Sidda was looking for a tree, Manjya too. Sidda was halfway up a tree when Manjya reached him, pulled him down and made the climb. Sidda was on the tree and Karadi approached him. He couldn't help but hold his breath and lie idle. The Karadi had been through this twice, ain't it? It smelled him browsing his entire body. Sidda was shit scared and he knew what was coming. Sanjya continued....

Even after a good inspection the Karadi was holding itself back. There was a moral awakening. It thought, "Why it has to be the guy on the ground always?" it took a leap of faith, climbed the tree and banged Manjya's poor ass again.

And the crowd burst into laughter. Sunya and Gavya realized, in what kind of havoc they were into. Many confessed their anxiousness of being a subject before Sanjya chose them. Funny thing was most of us had forgotten the joke- at least part of it- and pretended to have known it all along.

A Book with a Bad Cover

The silver jubilee celebration that had gathered hundreds of alumni was over that evening. The nostalgic aura that was all over the place for two days was now a victim of the Sunday evening that was paving its way to the rigid Monday morning. Some had to attend college, others their jobs. Some had to catch a train to Bangalore, others, a bus to elsewhere. I was in the league of the guys headed to Bangalore in a train to attend my college.

It had been a year since I had joined college and my looks were nowhere close to a college guy. Also, it was not the first time I had encountered a situation that had put me in an awkward scenario- like the one I’m going to narrate- about which I don’t really complain.

I was in my usual rags. A knapsack, earphones tucked in I boarded the Channamma Express. As I was searching for my berth, my eyes caught a familiar face. As I approached him, I thought he must be Hanumanthgouda Patil, a senior four years older to me. I paused my music, removed my earphones and said- Hi anna, I suppose you’re from navodaya. Hanumanthgouda anna right?

He- Yes. Indeed. I remember you from yesterday. You’re from which batch?

Me- 18th batch. Ashok sir’s son’s batch mate. Four years junior to you.

He- Oh! Nikhil’s batch. Which college?

Me- (with pride) MSRIT.

He- (in a suspicious tone) Rammaiyaa? Bangalore?

Me- (bit surprised) yeah.

He- studying diploma there?

Me- No. Engineering. Mechanical branch.

He- (suspiciously) management seat?

Me- got it through CET (Common Entrance Test).

He- (surprised) what was your CET ranking?

Me- 1578

He- Good ranking.

Me- thanks anna.

He- (relaxed) who was your batch topper?

Me- me.

He- (with a convinced look) what did you say your name was?

Me- Anna, Warsimakram.

He- (grinning) so you’re the guy on the board.

After another brief conversation about some random stuff, I bid him adieu. The TC had allotted me an AC berth, seems I was lucky.

Again, the earphones in, volumes up, I went on to search my berth.


(Don't be too much inspired. Warsimakram is my good old friend who hangs with me. He is also unemployed. Yo!)

Bleeding Words

The ticking of the clock,
Pierce through my sleep.

My prone mind slips,
Into the routine obsessions and
I restlessly open and close my eyes.

Breaking the tenacity of my will
My thoughts capture me,
Torture me to bleed words.

The Bhang Experience

Two years back I enjoyed Holi in Delhi. I was attending coaching classes for civil service examination in Sriram's, in old Rajinder Nagar (ORN). I had found refuge in IARI, PUSA campus. The reason being, it was near ORN, I'd few friends and food in the campus was great. As the college campus has good number of students from different states, the food arrangements are made made accordingly. I was in Andhra mess since the Kaveri mess was occupied to the fullest capacity. The 'Kaveri mess' where food was served to students from Karnataka, served delicious food. Occasionally I had food there too as I'd few friends there.

I had some vague idea about the Holi celebration in Northern India. Specially the Bhang factor in the celebration held my curiosity the most. As Holi was approaching, I was inquiring more about things related to bhang with my friends and seniors. Many said bhang will be served in the mess itself. I never knew what I wanted was available without an ounce of an effort. I wanted to have at least some bhang on holi and I was badly waiting for it.

On the day of holi in the breakfast itself bhang was served. It was mixed in banana shake and served. I'd two glasses of it at about 8.30 in the morning. There wasn't any difference. Now that was unexpected. There wasn't any kick even after an hour of running around applying colors and dancing. I was disappointed. My mess served very dilute version of bhang I thought. I asked my friend if there's bhang in Kaveri mess and I couldn't wait until he took me to his mess. This time I took a bottle of 1000ml capacity to fill it up as a backup. Besides having the bottle filled, I'd two glasses of it and said, chal 'Rock Kardenge'.

Again after an hour or so nothing seemed to kick in. Even my friend became furious about it. I obviously didn't had any idea how bhang works, neither did he. Then he said, let's finish the bottle. The tables had turned, I was desperate, both gulped the bottle. Seems there wasn't any grace of god on us and this time too nothing surprised me.

Holi celebration in the campus became standstill around 10.30 am. Still there was unused colour and the beast inside me wanted to dance to some DJ badly. Upon all of this, bangh was not doing it's work and campus milieu seemed bit lackadaisical. It was long since I'd done something crazy. So, to let loose myself, I decided to go to ORN. On the way, I went to a friend's room to pull him in the crowd. We both slowly got dissolved in different crowds on our way. While going through the streets people threw water balloons from the top floors of buildings, in distance there was crowd and sound of a DJ, seems that was the day's calling. It was a splendor.

It didn't take long for us to dance to the beats along with a mad crowd. Mingling with small factions, sometimes boys, sometimes girls, the show went on. After dancing for an hour or so a kind of restlessness started to take over me. After a while my consciousness started blinking. Still, I was perfectly normal and dancing. Seems it was time and crowd started to disperse. Me and my friend started our return journey by walk. After walking for a while I felt dizzy and couldn't walk properly. My sight was blurry, I could grasp glimpses of what's going around. He took my hand around his shoulder to keep me moving. I was like a patient, a sack with little life left.

He made me sleep in his room. Covered in colorful filth, I was dead asleep for two hours. After that I woke up cursing the bhang with the same blinking consciousness, which was manageable. Since i was not having cellphone, I'd to go to my room otherwise my roommate have gone nuts over my disappearance. After having some food I felt alright to walk to my room. I walked 2 kilometers with no money in the pocket. After a while the dizziness started maybe due to tiredness. However, with a difficult walk I reached home by 6 pm. The next morning when I was awake, it was 6 in the evening. Can't forget the wtf expression on my face. There were tens of missed calls and sms. I was still a bit dizzy and hungry. Nothing else mattered except some more sleep. Again, I buried my face in my pillow.

ಯಾಕೋ ಮಮ್ಮಾಟ್ಯಾ?

ಪಿಂಟ್ಯಾ ನಮ್ಮತ್ತಿ ಮಗಾ. ಅವನ ಸಾಲ್ಯಾನ ಹೆಸರ್ ಅದೃಶ್, ಆದ್ರ ಅದ ಮಾಸ್ತರನ ಬಾಯಾಗ ಅಷ್ಟ ಚಲೊ ಕೇಳಸ್ತೇತಿ. ಮಸ್ತ ಹುಡ್ಗ, ಆದ್ರ ಬಾಳ್ ಉಡಾಳ. ಎಲ್ಲಾರು ಜೋಡಿ ಯಾವಾಗ ನೋಡಿದ್ರೂ ಮಷ್ಕಿರಿ ಮಾಡ್ಕೊಂತ ಅಡ್ಯಾಡೊ ಮನ್ಷ್ಯಾ. ‌‌ಸಣ್ಣಾವ ಇದ್ದಾಗಿಂದ ಹೈಸ್ಕೂಲ್ ಮುಗ್ಯೋತನಾ ನಮ್ ಮನ್ಯಾಗ ಇದ್ದಾ. ಒಂದ ಜಗ್ದಾಗ್ ಕುಂಡ್ರೊ ಮಗಾ ಅಲ್ಲ ಅವಾ. ಒಟ್ಟ್ ಏನಾರಾ ಕಿತಬಿ ಮಾಡಿ ಯಾವಾಗೂ ಸುದ್ಯಾಗ ಇರಾವ. ಅದ್ಕ ನಮ್ಮ ಓಣ್ಯಾಗ್ ದೊಡ್ಡಾವ್ರ ಜೋಡಿನೂ ನೆಚ್ಚರ್ಕಿ ಮಾಡ್ಕೋಂತ, ಬಾಳ್ ಸಲಗಿಲೆ ಇದ್ದಾ.

ಆ ವರ್ಷ, ನಾ ಕ್ರಿಸ್ಮಸ್ ಸೂಟಿಗ ಮನಿಗೆ ಬಂದಿದ್ನಿ. ಬಾಜು ಹೊಳಿ ಇದ್ದದ್ದಕ್ ಊರಾಗ ಥಂಡಿ ಬಾಳ. ಥಂಡ್ಯಾಗ ಒಂದ ಮಜಾ ಏನ್ ಅಂದ್ರ, ಹರ್ಯಾಗ್ ಎದ್ದ್, ಓಣ್ಯಾಗ್ ಬೆಂಕಿಹಚ್ಚಿ ಮೈ ಕಾಸ್ಕೋಂತ ನಿಲ್ಲೋದು. ಒಟ್ಟ್ ದಿನಾ ಯಾರ್ದಾರಾ ಮನಿ ಮುಂದ ಬೆಂಕಿ ಇರೋದ. ಬೆಂಕಿ ಇದ್ದಲ್ಲಿ ಹರ್ಟಿ ಹೋಡ್ಕೊಂತ್ ನಿಲ್ಲೋದ. ಅವತ್ತ್ ಬ್ಯಾರೆದವ್ರ ಯಾರೂ ಬೆಂಕಿ ಹಚ್ಚಿರ್ಲಿಲ್ ಅನಸ್ತೇತಿ, ನಮ್ ಹುಡ್ಗೋರ ಮನಿ ಬಾಜುಕಿನ ಲೈಟ್ ಕಂಬದ ಬಾಜು, ನಮ್ಮಜ್ಜಗ ಗೊತ್ತಾಗ್ದಂಗ, ಅಲ್ಲಲ್ಲಿದ ಕಬ್ಬಿನ ರೌಂದಿ, ಜ್ವಾಳದ ದಂಟ್ ಮತ್ತ್ ಹುಳ್ಳಿ ಹೊಟ್ಟ್ ತಂದ, ಕಸದ್ ಜೋಡಿ ಬೆಂಕಿ ಹಚ್ಚಿದ್ರ. ಪಿಂಟ್ಯಾ ನನ್ನೂ "ಏ ಮಾವ್, ಎದ್ದ್ ಬಾರೋ ಮಾರಾಯಾ" ಅನ್ಕೋಂತ ಎಬಿಸ್ಕೋಂಡ ಬಂದಾ. "ನಾವ್ ಮಾಡಿ ಬಿಟ್ಟಿದ್ದ ನೀವ್ ಮಾಡಾತೇರಿ ಬಿಡ್ರಿಲೇ" ಅನ್ಕೋಂತ ವಲ್ಲದ್ ಮನಸ್ಲೆ ಕಣ್ಣ್ ತಿಕ್ಕೋಂತ ನಾನೂ ಹೊರಗ್ ಬಂದ್ನಿ.

ಒಂದ್ ನಾಕ್ ಓಣ್ಯಾನ‌ ಹುಡ್ಗೋರು, ಮುಂದಿನ ಮನಿ ಅಜ್ಜಾ ಮತ್ತ್ ನಮ್ಮ್ ಹುಡ್ಗೋರು ನಕ್ಕೋಂತ ಸುತ್ತ ನಿಂತಿದ್ರು. "ಏನೊ ಯಜ್ಜಾ ಅರಾಮಾ?" ಅನ್ಕೊಂತ ಅವ್ರ್ ಗುಂಪನ್ಯಾಗ ಸೇರಿ, ಊರ್ ಸುದ್ದಿ ಕೇಳ್ಕೋಂತ, ನಕ್ಕೋಂತ ನಾನೂ ನಿಂತಬಿಟ್ನಿ. ಮುಂದಿನ ಮನಿ ಅಜ್ಜಾ ಯಾವಾಗೂ ಹುಡ್ಗೋರ್ ಜೊಡಿ ಹುಡ್ಗಾಟಾ ಮಾಡ್ಕೋಂತ‌ ಇರ್ತಿದ್ದಾ. ಅತ್ರಾಗೂ ಪಿಂಟ್ಯಾಂದು ಅಜ್ಜಾಂದು ಸ್ವಲ್ಪ ಜೋರ್ ದೋಸ್ತಿ.

ಎಳೆ ಆಗಿತ್ತು, ಬೆಂಕಿನೂ ನುಂದಾತಿತ್ತು. ಇನ್ನೇನ ಮನಿ ಒಳಗ ಹೊಂಟಿದ್ದು, ಅಷ್ಟೊತ್ತಿಗೆ ಅಜ್ಜಾ "ಯಾಕೋ ಮಮ್ಮಾಟ್ಯಾ, ಮುಕುಳಿ ಸಣ್ಣಗ ಕಡ್ಯಾತೇತಿ ಏನಾ, ನಮ್ಮ ಮನಿ ಹಂತೇಕ ಉಚ್ಚಿ ಹೋಯ್ಯಾತಿ" ಅಂತ‌ ಅಂದ. ಎಲ್ಲಾರು ಪಿಂಟ್ಯಾಗ ಅಸಹ್ಯ ಮಾಡ್ಕೋಂತ, ಅಜ್ಜಾನ ಜೋಡಿ ರಾಗಾ ಎಳ್ಯಾತಿದ್ದು, ಅಷ್ಟೊತ್ತಿಗೆ ಚಡ್ಡಿ ಉಡ್ದಾರ್ದಾಗ್ ಸಿಗಿಸ್ಕೋಂತ ಪಿಂಟ್ಯಾ ಅಂದಾ..."ಯಜ್ಜ್, ಯಾಕೋ ಗೊತ್ತಾಗವಾತ್ತ್, ಸ್ವಲ್ಪ ಕಿವಿ ಹಚ್ಚಿ ಕೇಳಿ ನೀನ ಹೇಳ್ಬಾಲಾ." ಅವ್ನೌನ್ ಏನ್ ಉತ್ತ್ರ ಪಾ ಅದು. ಎಲ್ಲಾರೂ ಕ್ಯಾಕಿ ಹೊಡ್ಕೋಂತ ನಕ್ರ. ಅಜ್ಜಗ ಸಿಟ್ಟ ಬಂದ್ರೂ ಅವ್ನು ನಗಾತಿದ್ದಾ. ಆದ್ರ ಪಿಂಟ್ಯಾ ಹಿತ್ತಲ್ಕ ಓಡಿದ್ದಾ. ಹುಡ್ಗೋರ್ ನಕ್ಕೋಂತ ಒಳಗ್‌ ನಡದ್ರು, ಅವ್ರ್ಗೊಂದ ನಗಾಕ ಹೊಸಾ ಕತಿ ಸಿಕ್ಕಿತ್ತ್. ಅಜ್ಜಾನೂ ಒಳಗ್ ನಡ್ದಾ, ಆವ ನಿಲ್ಲೊವಂಗಾ ಇರ್ಲಿಲ್ಲಾ.

The Horrors of that Exam Hall

"ಟೈಮ್ ಎಂಟ್ ಆತ ಏಳೋಲೆ"
(Man! Wake up. It's already 8 am)
My roommate said it like a punch in my face.

Anxiety rushed through my veins. Gosh! Exam is in another hour....damn this alarm.

Without any second thought I caught hold of the xerox papers my roommate had left after he had revised them. Didn't even had time to complain, I'd more than half of the notes to go through. This subject, Agronomy was point of worry since the start of the semester. My first test was not good. Mid term exam pushed the boundaries to today's desperation. The real point of worry was the professor. He was ruthless like dragons of Dany and I don't know why I compare him to that.

The time is running fast, I'm on a hot pan and bloody Arjit Singh is having a concert in my head. Aaaarg!

Slapping some paste on my teeth, washing my face-which didn't really have mattered- heads down, notes in my hand I hurried. Another fifteen minutes left, there is lot to read and without a second glance over the notes I know I will do horribly. Cursing the 'A' in my name I entered the examination hall. Just beside the front row stood the professor with his razor sharp eyes all around. Before I took my seat, my eyes met Nagya's. Even his normal smile looked wicked as he was the topper.

I sat there directly under the nose of the professor who was waiting for a moment to shower his frustration over anyone for the smallest mistakes. It was almost time, question paper now came on the table like death warrant. The first question- multiple choice- stared at me and said "Dude! I got you. You skipped the part I was hiding in". I could hear it's laughter. I thought it's a bad omen and started from the last question. Fortunately I knew the answer. To contain further possible nervousness, I started writing the answer. While I wrote the answer baam!! Arjit again. There were other questions to which I comfortably wrote answers and within an hour I was done with the paper.

I counted my attempted questions and reckoned, without answering a few more, I have no hope at all. I looked around. All the heads around were down. Damn! Looks like everyone has read. There was a churning like feel in my stomach, heart was pounding fast and I was sweating. Also there was a feeling about nature's call.

This was the time I made my moves to socialize the milieu. Peeking through the silence of the room, I prayed for some angel bird - couple of marks and I would pass, give me a sign- to notice my gaze. There was one, fortunately! Firoj in the next row responded to my gesture. While he poised to tell me the answer to the third question, another angel bird noticed my desperate need for help. The help came as a tight slap. There was darkness, I was breathless. Looked like I was lying under a ceiling fan all sweaty. My hands crawled around in search of the time piece. Now there was a relief, finally peace. I was awake half an hour before the alarm.

ಪಗಡೆಯಾಟ

ಕರ್ಣನಾದರೇನು, 

ಅರ್ಜುನನಾದರೇನು?

ಕೃಷ್ಣ ಶಕುನಿಯ 

ಆಟದಲಿ, ನೀನು 

ಭೀಷ್ಮನಾದರೇನು?

ಪಗಡೆಯಾಟದ 

ಪ್ರವಾಹದಲಿ, ನೀನು 

ಈಜಿ ಜಯಿಸಿದರೂ,

ಬೇರೆಲ್ಲವನ್ನು 

ಕಳೆದುಕೊಂಡ 

ನೆರೆ ಸಂತ್ರಸ್ತ.

Tongue tied and twisted

How do we call our friends? Surely not by the "formal" birth names. Over a period of time it fits into a friendly tone. If not dirty, it at least gets a touch of a pitch that's easy to pronounce. In North Karnataka, the general formula to generate the mean versions of the real names is by adding these suffixes. If the name is masculine, replace the last syllable with 'ya'. That turns the names such as Ramesh, into 'Ramya'. The names like Sanjeev, as 'Sanjya'. Likewise for the faminine names the last syllable is replaced with 'ii'. Making the name such as Kavita, 'Kavvii' and Savita, 'Savvi'.

Given the background, let me jump the story I really want to narrate. This happened roughly a year ago after the posters of "Pirates of the Carrabbiaen: Dead men tell no tales" were released. As many were fans of the movie, I posted the poster in my school what's app group. Like it usually happens, there were fans who were commenting on it like 'aye mate'. Some typed 'Jack Sparrow' over it someone said 'Captain Jack Sparrow'. In the group Shri said, the teaser has been released too. As many were in the flow of the slang of the movie, I replied- Is that so. Savvy?

After a brief time, when I was back online, there was text from an unknown number. Before I was too curious, I learnt that she's Savita. (If you got me where I'm going, don't laugh yet) She's my schoolmate, existing in the same what's app group. As she wasn't that familiar, I had not saved her contact. The text was bit unusual but not surprising. It read, "Why did you mention my name in the group?"

Me: (totally confused) No. I'm sure I didn't take your name.

She: Yes you did. Cross check the group chat once. You said "savvy"?

Me: (tongue tied and twisted) oh!....oops that...

She: Yes. That. I didn't get in what context you referred me. So didn't know what to reply in the group.

Me: Actually savvy is a word that's been used often by the lead character in the movie Pirates of the Carrabbiaen. It was no reference to you.

She: Is that so? what does it mean?

Me: Google it or check in a dictionary. (Guess what? I too didn't know the meaning. I'd thought it's an expression of Jack Sparrow.)

She: I'm not getting the proper meaning.

Me: (after checking the meaning) It generally refers to an understanding ability of someone. When someone says savvy, it generally means "Do you understand?"

Savvy?

She: Thanks. Now I got it.

Thank god she didn't ask too many questions like in what context I used the word in the group and how it fits there. Otherwise she would have laughed at me for not knowing the meaning. Well, I couldn't complain much. The conversation had made my day.