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.