A Ravi Day

"Get down at the first bus stand and ask for Toranagatti sir's home. Anyone will point you my home" said Sacchya. Ravi hung the phone, took a tempo. Extending a ten rupees note to the conductor, he said "One Neginahal" and had himself seated in a back seat. Both had been friends since a very long time but had never been to each other’s home. It was some kind of a ceremony in Sacchya's home and Ravi was in no position to deny his insistence. It was hardly half an hour journey. When Ravi got off at the bus stand, the day was approaching 1200hrs. There were shops around, a flag pole in the middle. Few people stood talking in the shade. A man, bright and shine, stood to wait for a bus near the flag pole. Around 40, brown, the white attire of his was quite an impression amidst the usual setting of the place. Ravi thought of asking him for the address. As he approached him, he could see a golden chain around the neck, that was clearly showcased to poke the eyes of people. The pomp of his patriotism was visible on his shirt pocket in the form of a tiny tricolor badge. Clear attributes of a landlord Ravi thought. In a decent tone, Ravi asked the person, "Sir, where's Toranagatti sir's home?" He took a good look at Ravi. Re-adjusted his buccal cavity; to gather some space for words amidst his beetle juice. "Just beside the overhead tank," he said pointing at a faint trail of a road. Ravi took the road. After he walked down for a short while, he saw Sacchya standing in front of a house. Sacchya took him inside saying 'no one is in the home’; everyone has gone to the temple. "Such a big house! What are you a landlord..? Must be having quite an acreage of land too?" Said Ravi in a funny yet awed tone. With a faint smile, Sacchya said "Some twenty-five to thirty acres I suppose". Rolling his eyes with a sigh, Ravi asked, ”All on the lease ?" As he knew Sacchya's father is a teacher. "My uncle used to manage it all. Now that he passed away last month...will have to see.." Sacchya said, looking at the front wall.... Following his gaze, Ravi was asking him about what happened to the uncle when Sacchya got up saying, "Wait, I'll bring tea..." Ravi was no more paying attention to Sacchya. His eyes were fixated on the wall. Specifically on a photo frame. There was a Garland around it. The gold chain....the tricolor badge... the white dress...the man.. Ravi had a stroke like an ache in his heart. He looked around, Sacchya was coming with a cup of tea. Instinctively, Ravi's gaze searched for Sacchya's feet..."Did he have six fingers all these times?" He said to himself. But that wasn’t the concern… he was feeling the presence of a third person.

Masterpiece

Somewhere. Somehow.
There's a story that
Wants to be found.

A poem that wants
To fall suitably,
Into your words.

A painting,
That's awaiting to
Fit into your shades.

And no matter,
How stupid; how boring.
In all your subtleties-

You; in yourself are 
A piece of work.
Yet, unveiled, unfolded.

Grace of Rain

Is this the warmth
After freezing cold or
The calm after
The scorching heat?
It's serene.

It's the rains.

An escaped grace
From among the
Curses of the
Wrecked sailors
And the prayers of
The poor farmers.

Psalm of a Week

Monday is
Melancholy.

Tuesday,
A total trash.

Wednesday, oops!
Tomorrow's Thursday.

Thursday,
What the fuck is this.

Friday is...
Oh yeah!

Saturday...
Hurray!!!

And there's Sunday,
It's Rewind time.

Bomb in Udaygiri

(Koli is a popular form of punishment. Aka murghi in Hindi. It's a position where one has to bend, pass one's hands from behind the knees and hold the ears. Guess the pressure points...)

Shri-BTW must have welcomed that Sunday saying, Aaj kuch toofani karte hain. These sorts of incidents were nothing new to him. They’ve happened to prior to this one. They’ve happened after. But this one from 2009 gets the top slot. The story looks so dramatic and perfect that; many might think I have created it. In fact, it actually happened like it was scripted.

Though Akash Gupta, the migrated boy, was the real victim. The incident was so appealing that Shri-BTW had to be a victim too.

So, that Sunday noon; in the mess. Over a silly argument with our migrated boy, Shri-BTW had to summon him to his house; the mighty Udaygiri. And Akash Gupta, the cute-little-skinny-childish guy was every senior’s favorite. He was always bullied and was asked to recite shayari.

Shri-BTW’s Hindi was horrible. Maybe because of that Akash Gupta didn’t easily couch for his commands. Otherwise too, Shri-BTW was a very easy going guy. Even in the house that day, no one took Shri-BTW seriously. Otherwise, someone like Akash Gupta
in the den of 11th guys would have been ripped apart to tears. On the contrary, others were enjoying Shri-BTW’s Hindi.

As I said, he wasn’t couching well for Shri-BTW’s commands. In broken sentences, Shri-BTW would say, ’Shayari.’ He would say, “Bhaiyya it’s urgent. I’ve to go to the toilet”. Infuriated, Shri-BTW would search for Hindi words and say, “Shayari otherwise, (what’s the word….?) koli.” Akash Gupta would retort, “Bhaiyya it’s urgent. I’ll come after going to the toilet.”

Shri-BTW, took it as a usual excuse and thought he was lying. Also, see, he was getting offended as he was under observation. So, Shri-BTW had to insist; as his reputation was at stake. And he said, “First Koli, then Shayari”. Guptaji had to; as there was no escape. The pressure was building up, everyone had their eyes on the tough guy and the tough guy had a pompous smile that sounded like, “Who’s the daddy now?”

Guptaji wanted to give away what was demanded to escape from there. And from the database,he selected a perfect shayari and threw it away on Shri-BTW’s face. While he was still in the not so comfortable koli position, he summoned good energy in his vocals, and said,“Patthar se na maro mere diwane ko. Bamb ka jamana hai. Udado saale ko”. (Shayari referring to a song from the movie Prem Rog.)

The gush of the wind that followed the last word of the shayari literally created a stampede. The eyes that were cast on the scene were poking away their noses. The atmosphere in the house was scented. There was a grave silence that contained two victims. The one who had the bomb and the one who had detonated it.

Your Gallows of Apathy

I've become
A prisoner of
Your unsaid words.

Before you choke me
In the gallows of
Your of apathy.

Grant me;
My last wish.
Speak to me.

Quench this
Craving and
Absolve me.

Time Heals?

Sometimes,
Time is not enough,
To heal the wounds.

You need to
Shed masks or
Wear new ones-

To move on.

PaperCut

Between the
Unsaid words and
The un-spilled colors.

With our ego.
We carved our ways,
Out of a blank paper.

Guess,
Of all the paintings,
We could have been-

We were destined,
Only till the
Blinding white.

Here and Now

Right now,
I could be; anyone.
Anywhere.

The good. The bad.
Something better,
Or maybe worse.

But I'm here.
At this moment;
I'm just me.

And it has taken,
A lifetime;
To be here. To be me.

A Free Breath

Mind's on the
Wrecked past.
Eyes; cast away.
A bleak future.

Sitting with
A cup of tea.

And,
Sip by sip;
Breathing away,
This moment.