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.

A conversation with a kid.....

I was reading my old diary and found an interesting piece of conversation I had with my niece two years back.

Then Gunjan must be around three years old. That evening I took my three nieces to the nearby children's park. Gunjan being the youngest, she was not included in the groups by the elder two in their games. Looking her standing aloof, I approached her promising I'll show her something interesting.

(The conversation was in Marathi...)

Me: I'll tell you how the sun will set across the horizon.

She: Where is he going?

Me: He's returning home after his school like you do everyday.

She: Where is his home?

Me: In the sky. Far away from here.

She: Is it too far?

Me: Yes. It's too far away.

She: like beyond, beyond, beyond, beyond and beyond?

Me: Yes far away like beyond, beyond and beyond.

She: (Referring the clouds) what's that haze in front of the sun? My mam makes me draw such shapes

I tried to explain her but seems she thought the clouds are boring stuff and didn't ask any explanation even after not getting convinced.

I stood there with her amidst the mountains Pithoragarh in Uttarakhand, watching the mesmarising sunset. The silence of the last minutes was broken when she yelled at the fading sun, 'Goodbye Sun'...

I too said 'Goodbye Sun'.......The kid had surprised me. I was smiling over her innocence....now too while typing this.

To the Stunning Mystery

Hi le,
Don't be surprised by the tone of the sentences that you're about to read. I'm still your friend with the weird smile. In case you feel any awkwardness, you're welcome to punch me. So let's start.....

It's been three years since we became part of this crowd which now holds tons of nostalgia. These were the fastest, yet intense three years of my life. Full of joy and new experiences. You, specially are a big reason for lot of worth treasuring moments. I suppose it's been more than a year after we became good friends. As I always told you, you surely are not a typical girl. From listening to variety of songs to seizing mesmerizing experiences, I've always felt you're much of my alter ego.

The best part you is your attitude. You know when to care and when not give a damn. Sure you're not 'depressing' like me  and you know I'm fan of your sarcasm. Most captivating part is the way you listen to everybody. And mostly that part has made you many fans. No wonder I'm one of them.

Somewhere amidst those random long walks and unending talks, I was opening up to new fantasies. I myself didn't know until those fantasies started to get vented as poems. You've read most of them and teased me over the lines but it was difficult to convey you about the same. Don't know when the rhymes of the songs caught up with the wind and you became a sunshine. There was a flow, I was buyoant and you were the spell I got jinxed to.

It's been quite a while I've been caught up in thoughts of you. Suddenly everything about you has become my fantasy. I feel like talking to you, write about you, listen to you all the time. I also tried to convince me the contrary of all this and hide my feelings. Sure I failed, the supression doesn't seem to sustain long. So here I'm blabbering about my silly, dreamy feelings. I may be wrong but I suppose somewhere along this journey you might have felt a little about me that way. Hoping for a positive reply, I'll remain imprisoned to the tethers of your unspoken words.

Yours
Unsung Seagull

Meeting School Friends

Like a river I flowed.
Creeping through the cracks,
Peeking up from the burrows,
Cutting through the mountains,
I rallied ahead.

Took a few plunges,
Tussling with the stones,
Meandering in the planes,
Met the depth of the sea.
Where, my friends were already waiting.

ಸತ್ಯ

ನೀ ನೋಡಿದ್ದು,

ನೀ ಕೇಳಿದ್ದು, 

ಮೂಸಿದ್ದು-

ನಿನ್ನ 

ಬೇಧ ಭಾವಗಳ
ರಾಡಿಯಲ್ಲಿ 

ಒದ್ದೆಯಾಗದೆ,

ನಿನ್ನ ಸೀಳು 

ವಿಚಾರಗಳ ನಡುವೆ
ಹಿಂಡಿ ಹಿಪ್ಪೆಯಾಗದೆ,

ನಿನ್ನ ಕೆಂಡದಂತ 

ಸೊಕ್ಕಿನಿಂದ
ಬೆಂದು ಬೆಂಡಾಗದೆ-

ಸಂದರ್ಭದ ಲಾಭ 

ಪಡೆಯದೇ
ಹೊರಬಂದರೆ....

ಅದು "ಸತ್ಯ".

ಅರುಣ

ಸುಖ, 

ಮಂದರ ಪರ್ವತವಾದರೆ,
ದುಃಖ 

ವಿಷ್ಣುವಿನ 

ವಾಸುಕಿ ನಾಗ.

ಕಷ್ಟ ಸುಖಗಳ 

ಮಂಥನವೇ ಜೀವನ.
ನೀನು ಮಂಥನದ 

ಆಧಾರ, ಕೂರ್ಮ.

ಪಡೆದ ವಿಷವ 

ಶಿವನಿಗೆ ಬಿಡು.
ಅಮೃತವನ್ನು 

ದಾನವನಿಗೆರೆವೆಯೊ,
ನಿನ್ನಲ್ಲಿನ ದೈವಕ್ಕೆರೆವೆಯೊ 

ನಿನಗೆ ಬಿಟ್ಟದ್ದು.

ನೀನೆ ನಿನ್ನ 

ಸೂರ್ಯೋದಯದ

ಅರುಣ.

Liberation

Between Truth and Lie,
I would choose Sarcasm.

Between God and Satan,
I would choose Joker.

Between Success and Failure,
I would choose sleep.

Between Love and Hate,
I would choose Apathy.

Between Left or Right,
I would choose Satire.

Between Me and You,
I would choose a Dog.

If you want me to take Sides,
I would choose a better one-
The redicule of both.

Arrival vs Aravali

The residential school I hail from has has four houses, just like Hogwarts. They go by the name Aravali, Nilgiri, Shivalik and Udaygiri. Each house has a house master who looks after the activities of the students of their particular house. Besides the house master, the  office of second house master too is a prestigious post. The person concerned to this narration was the second house master of Nilgiri house, who was be our physical education teacher too.

Indeed, we Navodayan folks are known for trolling the physical education teachers (PET). Among the Homo Sapiens they're differently evolved creatures. I know some are normal, but that just might be because of mutations. Our weirdo too never failed to surprise us all. Apart from his other hilarious acts, this was the one I involved directly. It happened right in front of me, well I'm a survivor in most obvious ways.

It was a day when everyone was returning back from home after Diwali holidays. I was in 9th standard. I was at PET's as my parents wanted to meet him before they went home. We went to his home and seems that day the he was in charge of Nilgiri house as the first house master was away. The only thing he had to do that day was updating the registry. So, he sent me to call a senior from Nilgiri house to assign him process of registration of those who returned from home. A senior, Sunil Chini came with me. After he came, the PET started explaining him about the columns that are to be included in the registration book. Of course he did it by referring to previous entries. 

He said to him..

“Draw few columns to enter Name, Name of Parent, Aravali time, departure time and signature". He couldn't pronounce the word 'departure' that's a different thing.

Right at the moment I was looking at the senior. He too was looking at me with a crooked smile. We had a story for the evening.

Sir, he's not Sharanabassappa, he's Sunil Hanasi.

It was June of 2007 and I’d just entered ninth class. According to the convention, it was time our batch moved from the junior house to the senior house. A month had passed and the anxiety of being under the same haunted seniors was yet unsettled. The royal command we had in junior houses was no more. The days of giving commands were over and days of nodding heads to the commands had begun. In the classroom too the ordeal of new teachers was unprecedented. Like earlier, now there were very little chances of fooling the teachers and escaping from the assignments.

Besides this uncomfortable servitude experience in new waters, the announcement of school inspection created some more ripples. So, prior to a week our preparations for the showtime started. From cleaning the dormitories to updating our class assignments, it surely was a real kick in the gut. Not only students, teachers too were preparing themselves for the judgement day. For the house masters of course it was a double task. More than the classroom their house was their point of worry, as they knew, even after taking care of everything still there could be surprises waiting till the right moment.

Now let's come to the real story. Then, the house master of Neelgiri house was Mr S. T. Maithri. He surely was not a routine personality you would meet. He was funny by his actions but had a very grave temper. He spoke more with his gestures than words, that’s what made him unpredictable. Sometimes his gestures seemed funny but one never knew if the gestures meant other way too. Anyway, from his past experiences he knew that when the inspection panel pays a visit to a particular house, a member of the panel would randomly point at a student and ask for his name from the house master. See, that was a matter of concern to Mr. STM. He was a kind of personality who cared little to remember names. Now he had to do something about it. So to avoid any possible embarrassment, he came up with a plan. He held a meeting with students of his house and told them to simply nod their head for whatever name he utters in such a situation.

Such a well thought plan right? Easy too. But wait, I didn't mention about the existence of a second house master. Mr.M. Y. Kurugund, the physical education teacher was the second house master of Neelgiri house. I think he needs no introduction as he’s like any other PET. He would never miss an opportunity of flattery in such events. So he was there with the panel everywhere, though his presence was not at all necessary. 

That evening the inspection panel visited Neelgiri house. After some random walk through the house the panel started an informal interaction with the students. A panel member- who didn’t forget the convention- pointed at a student and asked Mr STM for his name. With a most friendly, confident grin Mr. STM said, he is "Sharanabassappa". The student too in a humble manner nodded to the response with a smile. Well, before everything was okay, a 'noise' from the background said, "Sir, he's not Sharanabassappa, he's Sunil Hanasi” Any guess who was that noise? Well that's why I introduced Mr MYK, the PET. Didn’t I? Only the PET didn't knew what was happening and before he could realize, the panel chairman sarcastically said "I think the second house master is dynamic than the  first house master" and went out.

Who's R.N.Ta-Go-Re?

I hail from Jawahar Navodaya Vidyalaya Dharwad. A residential school in every district of the country. Established to identify rural talents and nurture them with good education. Among the other routines, morning assembly was one that held utmost importance. The irregularities in the assembly were seriously confronted by the principal. Be it on the stage or off the stage. In the morning assembly we were expected to present ourselves in rotation - supposedly meant to overcome stage fear and imbibe etiquette of formal proceedings. Quiz was one of proceeding among others. The convention was, the person on the stage asked some 6 to 8 questions and whoever among the audience knew the answers, could answer to the question.

It was not an unusual day, but not for our guy Jnaneshwar. Compared to the things he did his name looked more like an oxymoron. He was popularly branded as 'Madda' after few of his idiotic acts. That day the proceedings were supposed to be on Kannada. And when it comes to Kannada, Madda had an unusual accent given his Marathi background. Seems the guy who had quiz that day had some issues at the last minute and requested Madda to present on his behalf. Madda was ready on stage with book which already had questions picked by the other guy. Of course Madda was not good with even basic general knowledge. If he was any good, the incident which lead to this narration would have been not recorded in this space- time continuum.

So, our guy stands there on the stage. Confident, with a commanding, unusual Kannada accent. Everything went smoothly until he asked this question- "Who's the first Asian to be awarded Nobel for literature?" You know the answer. Easy right? But wait. Following the question, many from the crowd answered "Rabindranath Tagore". To that, Madda plainly replied, "Your answer is wrong. The correct answer is R. N. Ta-Go-Re." Pronouncing "Tagore" unusually, he said it so confidently that many who realized what had happened were baffled. Seems the answer was written in English in the book. He pronounced the last syllable '-re' as it's pronounced in 'Red'. After he said "R. N. Ta-Go-Re", the principal was infuriated enough that, he grabbed him by collar and slapped him hard. Yeah! The principal used to do that and sure, he was not the only victim on that stage.

It is one the funniest memory from school that is cherished by everyone. Even now, he is teased with the same incident. It's been almost 7 to 8 years after the incident and now  "The Jnaneshwar Kammar" is serving in Indian Navy.

The Angry Professor

We had this very strict, sincere and ill-tempered professor. If anyone was late for his class, he freaked out and sent them back. He had a conservative attitude. Though he was a good teacher, he had poor command over English language.

However strict a teacher may be, always there will be some guys who- despite any type of consequences that follow- don't give a damn about anyone. While this professor was busy teaching that day, a friend of mine in the back row was talking to other guy. The professor caught him. He was enraged and suddenly lost his temper. With all his rage, he yelled, "stand up." Our guy stood up looking at the professor.

My friend stood stiff, anxious and embarrassed. The professor was staring at him. There was a awkward silence and as a vacuum was developing in the classroom, the professor was searching for words. While his angry face was turning anxious, he suddenly said "Follow me." No one understood what's going on. Our poor guy followed him like a sheep to be butchered. The professor went out of the classroom and stood there until our guy went out and stood beside him. Then the professor yelled, "stand here." Then the professor came back to the class and closed the door.

Guess what?
The professor was so angry that, he forgot the English words "Get out". The anxiety that followed left him blank completely and he couldn't make anything other than "follow me."

It took some time for us to figure out what exactly happened there. But this was the most convincing explanation as his command over English was not that good.

Delivery or Delivery?

This happened after my fifth semester. I was at home after completing my state tour. While I was in college, I had placed an order for a hard disk as my friend wanted to buy one. The delivery was supposed to be in my name and the delivery guy called me when I was at home. After I talked to him, I called my friend to to tell him the same.

I was talking to him on the phone standing in the backyard of my home. My grandma was nearby washing some clothes. My tone is bit high and I talk like I'm yelling at somebody.  I told him - Le delivery bandeti. Avang call madi harddisk tagond ba - the delivery has come, go and collect it. I saw my grandma becoming alert as I said that on the phone. She stood up and rushed towards my father. With a concerned tone she was telling my father - Yappa, ninna maga ghata madida. Mani kimmat kalada. Iga yardo delivery ga hontan nod- your son has committed a blunder. He has ruined the family name. He's going to someone's delivery.

My father and mother came out laughing at me. I too was laughing out loud. My grandma was perplexed at our gesture. We altogether explained her what was the context and what 'delivery' meant in different context.

When Crush Kicked a Surprise...

My home is some 50 km away from Dharwad. Which is where I've been studying for exams. On some random occasion, I'd been to my home and was returning. While I was traveling to my room in a city bus, I was sunk in the music that was being played at best possible volumes via my new earphones. The only time I'd removed my earphones was while the conductor gave me ticket.

As the bus approached my destined terminal, I was ready with my bags to readily get out of the bus. When it stopped, a really good looking lady entered the bus. She wore decent chudi and looked pleasant. After I crossed her, wearing wtf smile I started pacing towards my room.

I was hardly 10 meters away from the bus when someone patted my shoulder. Guess what? It was the same lady that had left a momentary impression on me. Before she gave me a real shock, a lot of reckoning went through my mind within that second - " Do I know her. Is she from school? Did I drop something? I'll have a cute story to tell after all. But why's she serious?"

As I removed my earphones, I could hear now. She was scolding me. Before I could pick my confused senses, she asked me to show my ticket. I didn't get her in the first instance. With a serious grudge she said  "Show the god damn ticket. I'm a ticket checker." After I showed her the ticket, she looked at it, stared at me disgustingly and went away.

I wish, I'd told her, "You look beautiful when you are angry." I mean, how rare it is to encounter a ticket checker without a thick skin?  Of course she too, seemed to be of thick skin, though behaviourally.

Sing Me To Sleep

And you ignore me.
These unfulfilled fantasies,
Strangle me mentally
And like a catastrophe,
Cascade down deep.

Where are you?
Come, emancipate me.
Decipher this silence and
Sing me to sleep.

The Ordinary Man

Who am I?
The good me? The bad me?
I'm both. I'm either.
Also, I'm neither of the two.

A victim of time,
Picking up myself,
Crawling, aging,
But still, standing,
To make a living.

Drowning, crumbling'
In this sweep.
Yet, in a momentary lapse,
Cheating the mighty time,
To nail some moments.

I'm me, wondering who's me?
Through the sweep of time;
Fighting, flying and sighing,
I'm a warrior, a survivor.
I'm, the usual, ordinary man.

Heart. You bitch.

With broken promises
you were tied.
Even when you already knew the truth,
With convinced lies
you got twisted.
You were battered, betrayed
and laughed at.

Away from vulnerability,
Though I locked you up.
Yet, when you got that sign.
Heard that silly song.
Breaking all the tethers,
You were afloat. Again.

- Unsung Seagull

Unwilling Wishes

Some footprints are
Too poetic to be washed away.

Such things.
A bulwark against my reasons-
Enticed in me by the grasp of memories,
Bolstered by these unending longings,
Carried forward by songs and
Reminded by the caress of winds.

Sometimes I wish for
An adamant surge come along,
Give some reasons and
Wash all this limerence away.

Yet!
A part of me that's used to them,
keeps asking me,
Still,
You don't wanna miss the poetry.
Do you?

Now She's Gone

Some words and instruments
Are making noise.
Now she's gone,
The music, that's all it is.

Wind just seems like
Ageographic disturbance,
The buoyancy in me,
I've lost.

Sun rise and the sun set,
They behold it's nostalgia.
Seems earth is simply rotating like me.
All for nothing.

Now they stink. The memories.
They're but a decayed past.
Their flamboyance is corroded.
I'm blind.

She was like rain.
Now she's gone, I blurt.
Poems are athirst,
And craving for a sign.

Smile that Snared

It was only a smile,
That got launched from your gentle lips.
I'm afloat.

Took a heavenly ride already.
Taunted the moon, smirked at the sun.
And didn't gave damn for the stars.

Gosh! that smile!
In which abyss you've pushed me?
My heart is astir.
Mind is swirling amidst toneless rhymes.
I'm lost and out of words.

Your smile!
It asks me a poem to set me free.
I'm afraid. If I do, it can get cast in strongly.
As it has now, already!