On a lonely road
Of bland hopes.
I have taken a job
Of painting the
Forgotten memories.
Well, what can I say.
Hardly, there are
Bright colours.
No dark strokes or
Embellished illustrations.
Shades, Shadows.
Pale colors.
Broken moons.
Fading shines.
And some
Dying stars and
Helpless storms.
Some appreciate
The painting.
Some just make
A smirky face.
Some look for
My comments,
And all I can say is-
I’m a forgotten too.
Remember me.
These words
Crawling under
My skin.
Before they burst
Open my veins
And write a revolution.
Give me my pen.
Lingering words,
Unsettled thoughts.
Incomplete lines and
A cut loose desire.
Off my cloudy mind
It just might rain.
Time to harvest some
Words into a verses.
I've waited for years
And just an
Hour has passed.
You're gone
For a second
And this yearning-
This yearning seems
Like its
Three-lakh-kilometers
Long.
One day it'll rain. So bad that
You'll get drenched and
Everything will be washed away.
All the pain and melancholia
Down the drain. Dark corners of
The mind cleansed with colors.
Done and dusted thoughts will be
Given wings and the gloomy face
Will be etched with a smile.
The dead insides will be stabbed
With life and you'll see a new
Horizon like a fool with no plan.
And then that person in the
Mirror will write you a song and
You'll be a singer of your own song.
She's a dew-drop
Wrapped in
Raw innocence.
I am a wild-fire,
Contained in
Crude arrogance.
Yet, we fell-
For the calm she
Felt around me.
She says.
For the storm
I saw in you.
I smile.
Sometimes
It's too much.
Legs given up,
Mind suspended.
Ache in the heart.
And crazy intestine.
Shutting your own-self
From yourself.
You just lie dead
On your empty mind.
Yet, a thought,
Pokes out of
Your rigid walls.
Fires-up itself,
Takes a ride with
The crazy wind.
Soaks in night,
Grows wings to fly high.
Basks in the starlight
And when it's back-
Walls down,
Infected with a verse,
You're all filled up.
Really!
Too much for a day.
Let me hold you
And show
How love is felt.
How the warmth
Of my thoughts
Down your creases..
Can make you melt.
Shall wrap your
Ailing heart and plant
Love that's wild.
Will water it with
Fire and nurse
It like a child.
Then, together
We'll grow old...
Fine like wine.
Heart shattered.
Mind choked.
To be sad,
Reasons,
Thousand more.
With the
Gloom around.
Learn to live alone.
To be happy,
You'll need
Light no more.
Wanna drink
Your lips
And be drown
In your bosom.
Backpacking
Across Europe
And all is cool.
But for now,
Just wanna
Take a refuge
In you and wait
For the moon.
An unfinished poem
Is a hungry,
Restless beast,
On a hunting spree,
For right words.
The finished one
Is a calm
Composed bird.
The one that makes
Heart as light as
A humble feather.
I wonder if I am
Either. Neither.
Or both.
I dreamed of
A moon who
Dreamt of you.
And like
The same,
Stars would do.
You're a
Dream within
A dream.
A sweet surprise
Beneath layers
Of reality.
Too elegant
To be true.
It's okay to be
Little confused
And little lost.
What will you do
With all that clarity
And straight intent?
Give up tea and
Advise others how
Sugar is a poison?
Somewhere there is
A wide open grave,
Awaiting for us
And the labyrinth
We're pushed into..
One way or other,
Will lead us there.
Dawn, through dusk,
Has to end up
In the dark.
Play is on.
Dreams are
Being shown.
Promises,
Being made.
Old wounds,
Getting healed,
And some
In making.
For what it's
Worth, I think,
Loving and
Unloving is
An Inevitability.
One has to,
Breath out
To breath in.
Along the mountains,
Beside a lake.
Where sun is mellow
And trees are free.
The moon is meek
And grass, still green.
We'll hitchhike there
With the wind and
Peg a tent of our desires.
You bake some music,
I'll cook some lyrics.
We'll feed them birds
The songs of our muse.
And when the starlight
Spreads to call it a day.
We'll kiss each other
To sleep, to wake up
In another dream.
Opening the lock, Mithali rushed in her room. She didn't look happy. Keeping her bag aside, she just threw herself on her bed. While her lonely mind traveled as far as it could, the stare of her eyes stopped at the ceiling. The thoughts of the future past intertwined, a drop of tear rolled down. She felt drained and dead over the thoughts of her setbacks.
Her father, mother, and two younger sisters crossed her mind. She felt the age-old faint cut marks on her wrists and a kind of insecurity gripped her. The silence in the room was sinking in her and she restlessly eyed around her room. Her conscious suspended, she wasn't observant. The old photos on the wall, books, and pen on the table were as dead as her. Even the lizard on the ceiling looked lifeless and fear of which didn't seem to matter now.
The curtains across the window held her attention for a while. The purple flowers running through the intricate vines looked beautiful. She thought the patters are as messed up as her life. As the thoughts around the curtain were picking up, her gaze stopped at the ceiling fan. She found it cryptic. Can I put my hands into the blades and make it stop, she thought. What if I put my head? Will it chop me off? Myriads of thoughts.
She even thought about suspending herself from there. Will it bear my weight? What if it falls down when I hang myself. Will the curtain be a good grip around my neck? Can it choke me? Can I knot it tight enough to hold my weight? And as the thoughts agitated in her mind, a resultant push from within made her walk to the window. She unhooked the curtain and took it off. She twisted and rolled it and tried to knot it. Took a couple of attempts to make a firm knot but when she did, she put that around her neck.
From that point of this inanimate state, with the death around her neck, she stared at her life that seemed to rotate with the fan. She was in the flow of the moment and the phone rang. The sound of it was like a slap on her face. She had come to her senses and it was Sid, her best friend on the other side. He said hello...but her response got shrunk in her throat and all she could do was sob. The phone slipped from the hand and she just sat on the floor gasping and crying all teary.
Sid kept on saying, hello Mithu...what happened...Mithu.. which just faded away with the rattle of the fan.
Late February or early March of 2005, I suppose. Ninga came to my bench and stood to extend his left hand. He said, "carve a K". There was a reason he had come to me. And I knew exactly what he wanted. I just took out my brand new radium cutter and without thinking, gave three cuts above his wrist. The 'K' bled red, which turned me weary. I begged him to hide it and not to tell anyone about my craftsmanship. He assured to keep the secret with a bond of mother promise.
While I sat comfortably upon the bond of his mother promise, Saturn was making his place strong through the periods. Right when he decided to act, Sudha madam entered the class. And when she started to check homework and when it was Ninga's turn. He went to her table poking his full-fledged entirety. And the obvious happened.
For a teacher who's day job was a hardcore investigation, the capital K was an easy feast. And she had to feed on the entire food chain which contained me the end. Upon asking, what's K? He told madam that it's his sister's name, Kalavathi. And this nigga didn't even make an attempt to dodge my name. He just gave it away. One thing I realized that day that only JP took mother promises seriously.
The moment Ninga gave away my name, there was a serious interrogation. First by Sudha madam and then art sir, whose name will eat a lot of my space here. He seized my brand new blade and he was damn serious because he was close to Ninga's parents. Let me tell you how serious he was. He said the blade should be taken to a lab of a department in the university. Then test I for contamination. He used some complex names. It took years for me to realize that he was talking about the Criminology department of Karnataka University for forensic tests.
The case though ended up in the principal's chamber that wasn't the end. He just asked us to have our parents talk to him on parents day. Then I had some not so serious talk with Ninga with a word of advice. Told him to hide it like me by wearing a full-sleeve sweater.
Next day, seems Bharati madam was interested in taking a look at the specimen. After assembly, while I paced towards the classroom, Sudha madam called me with the intention to summon Ninga. Before that could happen, Bharati madam took me for Ninga and pulled up the left sleeve of my sweater. Five letters carved above my wrist. This craftwork, of which Ninga was the first and last customer, gave Sudha madam a heart attack. And then I don't know why she didn't make a ruckus out of it. Maybe because it was a boy's name. And don't judge me, I'm straight.
Fast forward 2011 September when we had become alumni of the school. Bunch of us went to school to cherish it's the glory. While we sat in Rama Madam's house talking and laughing about things, at a moment there was silence. To break the awkwardness madam suddenly asked Ninga, How's Kalavathi?
Roof shattering laughter and for Ninga, what a face-palm.
The sky coughed
A roar.
Frightened clouds
Cried rains.
And the plants
Giggled a bloom.
The birds to
Sing a joyous song,
The son of a man
Surprised himself
With a poem.
Just like that
You fall for
Someone.
And everything is
A walk on water.
Sail through the wind.
The world is defined
In music and you're
A poem in making.
Molten by
Her caress.
Consumed in
Her arms.
I'm lost.
Not able to
Find myself.
Maybe I
Don't want to.
I like this.
It hits right.
This feeling
Is Infinite.
Some people
Are just tourists.
They come up,
From, somewhere far
Some moments,
Photographs.
Free rides,
Some hitchhike
With your thoughts.
And before
Something real
Can happen,
Trashing the place.
They're long gone.
Bring a chisel and
Stab my frozen heart.
Poke it in the eye, or
Maybe pull out my intestine.
I'm numb.
Can't feel a thing.
Wanna tear it out,
And cry it all away.
Can you break me out
And make me feel?
And just with
A touch, she
Nursed my
Hard frozen heart.
And there is a
Melt down.
Rains, rivers and
What not.
I might be a
Ocean of drops.
But she's a
Ocean in each drop.
And redeemers
Are like that.
The Kannada teacher, Mahesh Kumar, and our batch had a special kind of rapport. The thing was he joined JNV Dharwad when we joined the school. He was also a newbie and the fact that he was a bit easy-going made us take the liberty of teasing him. We used to mimic him. The way he patted the side of his thigh while he talked was funny and I used to mimic that. Guys were so bold sometimes that they used to intentionally attract his attention. A-section was meek but B-section was a bombardment.
So we go to one of the noons of late 2004. To dwell in an incident that took place in Sixth 'B'. Pulled out by a great legend called Ramesh Gayakwad aka Ryampak. The citizen of Ittigatti realm exiled to Shivalik house. He was crazy mindfuck and always pulled a stunt though he suffered the aftermath. The founding member of "SSS" which is the basic form which extended as "Sididedda Shivalika Sangha" which according to situations took as many Ss it wanted. Like four-five Ss. For example, Sixth-class Sididedda Shivalika Sangha. He was one of the main reasons for craziest things that happened in the class. Check his Facebook pics to understand his swag.
The third character of the show was the famous Lohit Kumar aka Laput. The kind of a guy who claims to have read nothing pretends he'll fail after the exam and yet makes it in the list. He was a pretentious bitch. He still is. Looked asthmatic, acted like one and I don't know if he was. And If I ever travel back in time to 2004, I would never miss the incident when he sang in M.P hall. Closing his eyes and spraying everything that was in mouth he had changed the weather for a while there. And to help you with your judgment let me tell you, he was from Aravali. Aravali guys are in general junior and god! A sixth class Aravali kid...do the math.
So, that afternoon, Laput did something that irritated Mahesh Kumar sir. He was so enraged that he simply grabbed Laput by the neck and thumped his back with his fists. That was like, director saying action. And as the camera rolled, Laput coughed his intestines out and started choking. He acted as if the atmosphere around pitied itself for having only 21% of oxygen. And right when the momentum was set, guess who shouted "Yappo, Lohyan kondra sir" meaning sir killed Lohit.
That shook Mahesh Kumar Sir and he started blabbering in tension. Thinking the gravity of the situation was not enough, again Rampyak was like "Someone goes to principal". Sir, order everyone not to move and asked the first bench guy to close the door. Then requested someone to go bring some water while he calmed the megastar. After giving him water and making sure he was alright, he pleaded like he wanted mercy for his death sentence. He asked everyone to not to talk about the situation. But that's not how it works. As there is nothing as contagious as laughter in the world. Isn't it?
When the coating of
These superlatives
Strips down and
The curiosity
About each other
Is no more a thing..
Will we be able to
Live with the
Routine-bare-emotions?
With the usual talk
And occasional silence,
Will we be able to
Walk down the aisle?
When thoughts
Screech in the middle
Of the night.
You should see how
Vulnerable I become.
Washed away by even
The faintest of ideas,
All little and low.
Cornered,
Seeking support.
Daunted by the dark,
Even death hasn't
Turned up for my rescue.
Are you afraid of
The dark too?
If you aren't. Come,
Help me.
Just like that
You fall for someone.
And everything is
A walk on water.
Sail through the wind.
The world is defined
In music and you're
A poem in making.
The starlight is
Less appealing.
And the sky
Is a bore tonight.
The revelations
Realized in your arms,
Has made my
World insignificant
And the cosmos
Smaller tonight.
What good is love
If it doesn’t-
Breath fire,
Dance in the wild.
Not taunt the moon
And the lonely sky?
..
What good is love
If you don’t wanna-
Drown and die,
Choke and sigh.
Not bear the pain to
Let your insides fry?
..
And what good is
Love, If it isn’t-
Euphoric high,
Yet, sanity intact.
At the obvious,
Not giggle and wry?
..
Stuck in a drapes,
Cold and shy,
What good is love?
If we don’t give it
A try?
Open your arms,
Darling,
Let’s fly high.
..
Not so sad, not so happy, yet with a smile Ruchi entered her room that day. Only one thought was in her mind, "I'll write diary today". It had been long since she had written something. Even she wasn't properly remembering where she had kept the diary. She searched for it and it took a while before she could find it in the shelf. Stacked between old books it was there. Wiping the brown cushiony cover of it, she gave couple of pats to take the dust off. From between the pages, a leaf fell down. The dried up leaf of banyan tree with faint trails of ink. She knew what it was and she didn't have to read it to know what was written.
The faded smile echoed in her mind saying "and we'll build a plane of dreams and a boat of desire...". With the flashbacks, she felt heavy in her chest. The etching of those words was more conspicuous on her heart than that of leaf. Though tears poised in her eyelids, she didn't cry. If this were the case two months back she would have laid in bed crying for couple days. But now she has moved on. She thinks she has. But what now has poised in her eyes is just rage. "Should have burnt this too that day" she said to herself. And even then, she wasn't able to just crumple it and throw away.
Summoning all strength, she gathered herself to write something. Kept aside the leaf, gripped her pen between her fingers and held it on a page of diary. Blank mind, no thoughts to drive the pen through the page. That day when he had slipped that leaf in her book came to life in her mind. First year of college, on a college day-out to the nearby river bank. While the awkward social interaction between each other was a thing among others, somehow Prateek had managed to break the ice with Ruchi. And within no time she had fallen for him. That day, he had surprised her with a dairy milk fruit and nuts chocolate. The leaf was there with it and she was so happy reading it.
Her red face, still determined to write something was holding her together. Her hand was still firm holding the pen. While she battled with her blank mind, again the thoughts hit her. She remembered how Prateek changed through the period the two years of college and dumped her finally. And it almost took an year to become normal.
It hurts when she realizes how lonely she has become and what it took to stand for herself all these days. That melt her this time. Tears making their trail on the cheeks set the pen in motion. Her mind still blank, she scribbled,
" The plane of our dreams to crash in your apathetic lands.
The boat of desire has capsized in my teary eyes".
She felt exhausted and vulnerable. She crumpled the leaf and threw away the diary. Then the tears rolled rapidly and the rest only the pillow knew, like every other night.
It's okay to be little sad
And little lost.
And it's okay to not have
All blasting happiness.
Beer is cool. But the
Evening tea is life. Love.
And I think that's where
We perfectly belong.
Little hot, little sweet.
Perfect sometimes,
More adrak other times.
But overall, living it.
Sipping it,
Making through.
The summer of 1999, my 1st standard was completed. Though I was in a primary school of a village, my mom was serious about my studies and I had to go to school every day. And before the freedom of two months of holidays could pass by my cheeks, Kargil war got set in. The milieu in my home turned grave as my father was in the army. He had to go back before the completion of his holidays. Mom would cry and I could just watch.
Though I knew what was going on, I couldn't understand the gravity of it. Home had become dull than before and that's why I got immersed in the cheap thrills of the gully. Of all the things that went around me, flying a kite was a fancy that was pending for a long while. I didn't know how to make a kite and definitely didn't know how to make one fly. Setting it in a flight was like a magic to me. I would think how something as mortal as that can fly just by a thread. And I always wanted to feel that excitement.
In the retail stores, though the ready-made kites were available for a rupee. That time, a rupee in a kid's hand was worth more than an iPhone now. And even if I had managed to get a rupee, I was supposed to spend it with prior permission of my mom. She would think if she let's me spend money I'll be addicted to the eatables in the shops.
But you know, despite everything magic happens sometimes. The universe listens to those silent prayers and makes them true. As one random noon when I was sitting in the school ground waiting for my usual friends. An adrift kite was wriggling in air to make a landing. I ran towards it to get hold of it. It was beautiful. Green background, filled with a crescent moon and a star, in small boxes all over it. Of all the kites made out of newspaper, this one looked more elegant. Before someone came looking for it, I secretly went to some other place to play with it.
A piece of thread that was still left with it and I would run around to make it fly. It flied when I ran, then again it was down when I would stop. After repeated attempts to make it fly, I decided it might need more thread and I decided to ask for it from mom. Late in the evening when I went home, I told mom what I was blessed with in all excitement. Then I showed it to her in the kitchen. The moment she laid eyes on it she turned red and snatched it from me. In an angry tone she said, "Bloody crescents and stars" and crumbled it. Throwing it in a corner, she slapped me saying, "Your father is fighting there and you bring these nasty things". She was in tears and I started wailing.
In tears, looking at the crumpled ball of green that poked the sticks out of it I wondered, "the crescent moon is the same and the stars, what our ancestors had become". Why would mom do that…and I wailed.
Hands clasped.
Fingers intertwined.
Head on shoulder.
You've warped time
To hold me
In this moment.
And right now,
I'm not a refugee.
My exile has ended.
I've found a home.
The horizon lost
In the west has
Reappeared in the east.
And again nothing
Has changed.
The coffee cup
Still unwashed,
Scars unfaded,
The summer goes again
Assuring no warmth,
Rains without a lush.
And like a
Psychedelic song
Fashbacks in a loop,
Here I sit turning
Days into weeks,
Months into years.
Addicted to waiting,
Sadness is now
A habit.
One day,
You'll go away my love.
Tomorrow or day after.
The clouds will no longer
Come up to usher rains
But to just spread gloom.
A part will be ripped off.
Songs will be unsung.
Stories will be unwritten.
And there will be
A void left. That can
Only be filled by you.
That will always
Await for you.
Night's fantasy
Blown away by
The bright daylight.
Her winter's embrace,
Threatened by
A warm sunshine.
A dead door nail,
I'm in her life.
Transient me,
A transient life.
I've questions
I don't wanna ask.
Answers she might
Not wanna know.
So I sit here locking
Things in metaphors.
Knitting wings to
My words.
So that they can
Linger around and
Can never be
Unsaid or unheard.
If you see beyond
Your pompous 'I'.
Before the horizon
Of your ego.
There's a place that
Holds your attitude.
To the left
Make a diversion.
Don't take the bend
Beside the prejudice.
Or the one that's
Opposite to gratitude.
That one leads to an
Island of arrogance.
Take the one that's
Left of hate and to
The right of envy.
And just beside love-
If you find yourself
At a place called 'us'
Let me know.
I'll see you there.
Sealed the mouths.
Pens snatched.
Papers seized.
All the poets were
Surrounded and
Burnt to death.
A metaphor was
Born out of the
Ashes.
It radiated poems.
Like it was a
Radioactive decay.
Gags removed,
Chains melted.
Free thoughts
Survived.
The rest couldn't
Breath the clean air.
It was too toxic.
Eleventh class in Navodaya, during our times was just a long struggle from class to computer lab. "You owe yourself lots of computer lab" that was the philosophy. And on a lighter note it was acceptable by everyone, even teachers. At that age of wide awakened adolescence, only hormones lead one's way through the computer.
The year was 2009 and by then internet was a thing. Though the connection was not profuse in the campus, it had made its presence to the extent that its absence was felt. And this absence was rampant in computer lab. Fortunately the Vice Principal's chamber had a good connection. But that place had become point of everyone's aspirations. From teachers to students, everyone wanted poke their nose in there. And at any given time a teacher was present, specially the then PGT chemistry Mr. Pulin Nath.
Amidst this silent fray of students and teachers, it was one such morning which wanted to give chance to teenagers. At that right stroke of the clock, two guys got that opportunity. Or should I say they grabbed it. Somya and Satya when they found out VP's son Aravind was sitting in front of the computer, Somya knew what to do. Well, any other guy wouldn't have dared but he was a good bully. He knew how get at the nerves of people. And it was nothing of an effort for him to sway a sixth class kid like Aravind back to the classroom.
Tech support Satya caught hold of the computer and the muscle power monitored for the potential human threat that might enter the VP room. Satya browsed through some videos. Hit the download, selected the autoplay option and waited for the process to get over. But well, well, well, guess who kicked a surprise. Pulin Nath sir made an royal entry and took a seat as if he was rightful heir of the throne.
The damned autoplay option while downloading had put both of our guys into a life and death situation. Thanking the slow internet for buying some time, Somya rushed to the classroom and explained the gravity of the situation. Then, few guys who understood chemistry and few audience like me who had no interest in chemistry made our presence in VP room.
The plan was to ask doubts and divert attention of the teacher. Satya would ambush from the other side and cancel the download. So this went on for a while. Guys would poke doubts one after one. Sir hesitantly would look at them and say something then on to his business. He wouldn't give up the mouse. This happened over and over his bloody right hand was all attached to the mouse. Right at that moment someone came up with a problem that involved some calculations and formula. Well, this time he had to. He looked at it, seems he also found it intriguing. Right hand made it's move, took a pen and Satya cancelled it.
Seemed like the doubts of the whole class for then whole year were cleared at once. Just another day, another mess up and another escape. All hail eleventh class.
Through the darkness,
I stare at the ceiling.
It can't get any emptier.
And the silence spreads.
Smothers my mind
With a blank paper.
A blinding white.
A lonely echo from
Around the corner says,
Darling, you don't need
A pen to carve
Your words tonight.
I'll just make you bleed.
And this carnage
Goes on very night.
And you my friend,
If you ever fall short
Of words, come. Collect.
There's enough
Bloodshed.
You fix my wings,
I will fix yours.
And one day,
We will fly away.
Just like that, we'll
Go away my love.
Somewhere far.
Beyond the horizon.
Beyond the clouds.
Beyond the
Shackes of logic.
Beyond the
Ironclad morals of
Right and wrong.
Let's fly away.
And we'll ride a
Shooting star to
A place in eternity.
We'll camp there.
Let's bleed pain,
Let's drink love.
And smoke time
To breed
Some memories.
We will fly away
My love.
One day
We will fly away
And live.
By the time summer was set in Delhi, in 2016. I was in a bad shape. Because of the isolation, I was lonely and to some extent home sick. But the goal was to keep aside everything and concentrate on the classes and the exams. And as the days rolled by the condition worsened.
My emotional state was bad, that was one thing, upon that Delhi's scorching heat was really getting on my nerves. Imagine, riding a bicycle in 40-42 degree celsius, make it through the traffic. You come to the room, go to the bathroom, let the tap run and quench your feet. And the water is killing hot. The amount of irksome that shoots up your spine is god level.
But that was not the worst. The nights were a torture. Besides the heat, the mosquitoes joined the fray. Though fan was a relief, it also vent hot air. The irony was I had to lay half naked, can't switch off the fan, can't pull over a sheet. Heat and mosquitoes teamed up, it was a real onslaught. The only companion by my side was the ceiling fan. There was a cooler but that damn thing used to increase humidity and it was another kind of torture. Few hours of successful sleep was the only win I wanted out of that mess. And most of the times, I used to have some sleep.
One of the nights, past midnight, I was about get sleep and suddenly there was power cut. The forever presence of the squeaky sound of the fan was gone. That made me aware of my surroundings for the first in a while. The buzz of mosquitoes, sweat off my brow and the sound of vehicles from a far away road. In one word it was a vacuum. I was helpless, left alone in the fray and I roamed around restlessly to save myself from the mosquitoes.
The ceiling fan that was present round the clock had made it's absence felt. The little thing that was always a button away went unnoticed almost every day. Maybe that was the loneliest I have ever felt. Suspended in my thoughts, then I lay dead on my bed. Then a faint light from the window reached me, there was relief. The squeaking of the fan filled the vacuum. There was peace.
The next day morning, the forever old companion was not just an equipment. I looked at it, the way Pi would have looked at his fierce companion Richard Parker. I helped myself with a chair, took a cloth and wiped the fan clean. Why not a small gesture of gratitude.
I wish we were real.
Not the two,
Behind the screens,
Thanking and whining
And listening to each
Other's lamentations.
I wish, the thing
Between us, was not
As sublime as the
Words consumed by
The backspace.
Emotions contained in
Characters and
Expressions thrust
In emojis.
I wish, there was more.
Shade of your anger,
An elegant blush.
A comfortable silence.
A talk over tea, fight
Over breakfast, then
A traveling spree maybe.
Drown in dreams and
Consumed by each other.
I wish you were here and
We had some rough
And raw moments.
I wish we were real.
I wish we had a life.
I've developed this habit. On Sundays, I wake up and go to some place around. Usually I go sit in a quite place, write whatever comes to mind in my diary. This time had Daryaganj Sunday book market in my mind. So by 9 in the morning I found myself in Karol Bagh metro, changed to yellow line from Rajive chowk and got down at Chauri Bazar metro station. Chauri Bazar is beside Chandani chawk where Jama Masjid is located. From metro stations I usually don't take auto to reach anyplace. One reason is, to save money. Other thing is, I love walking. It's exciting to get lost in a crowd as stranger. Behaving has innocent as possible while enquiring about a place and as matured as I can while bargaining for something. Adding ''Arre bhai main toh roz ata hoon. Yahi ka hoon'' to for a effective bargain.
Daryaganj is in old Delhi. Generally Delhi's streets are not much crowded on Sundays. But old Delhi is an exception. It's narrow streets invited me with huge crowd. Didn't miss to devour delicious ''Das ke do Samosa'', as again old Delhi is know for it's street food. Overall it took about half an hour walk from metro and couple of innocent '' Daryaganj kaha?'' (broken, incomplete sentences portray your innocence) sentences to reach the book market.
I reached a junction. Right side of it there were book vendors displaying books on footpaths in front of closed shops. Some still were brining huge bag of books and searching for place for display, some already had their first sales. All old editions, most of them English. Books of all genres arranged in all possible symmetry with a fine coat of dust settled on them. The vendors didn't hesitate to walk on books. It was usual for them. Since they stood amidst books, to reach other end they couldn't help but walked on books. 'No sentiments, it's business' I said to myself.
Starting from a corner I slowly examined for the names of books and authors I had in mind after all these years of learning. I badly wanted to buy 'One Hundred Years of Solitude' by Gabriel Garcia Marquez. So, that was on top of my mind. As I was scanning through a lot, my eyes caught 'Oliver Twist'. I readily grabbed it. It was like finding an old friend among strangers. While my scanning continued further, I paused by 'The Kite Runner' by Khaled Hossani. Yeah! Seems someone had recommended it to me, so got it. Also got O Henry's story collection. Couldn't resist to leave one by Thomas Hardy and another by Mark Twain. So five books for 200/-.Raising my eye brows in pride I slowly paced towards the next street. Then I walked for 2km besides the footpath filled with books, books and books.
While passing by, for my surprise I saw a board, "Any Book for 10/-". That can be the worst sarcasm on books. But didn't found any interesting book in that lot. Then moved ahead. I was kind of mad now. I wanted to buy every book I came across. Dan Brown, Tagore, Rowling, Paulo Coehlo and other classics by Dickens, Hardy, Jane Eyre. I know money was the problem. I thought enough and thought of walking away and came other side of the footpath, moving ahead, gazing the books at the other end. Suddenly a word caught my eye 'Gabriel'. I paused, took breath and cast my eyes for a moment. Aghast!, 'Gabriel Garcia Marquez', I rushed swiftly. But the book was 'Love in the time of cholera', what a despair? I can read that I thought, lifted it cursing the dust. Beneath, there it was, ''One Hundred Years of Solitude''. But was not lucky enough. The old man, the vendor didn't gave up his claim of 150/- for it. When there were so many items available for same price there was something within telling me, 'may be next time'. It was difficult to let it go. But next time, I said and distanced myself from the never ending row of books. Yet again, casting my eyes on the books I paced ahead towards the metro station.
11th May 2016
I saw her on a
Winter day.
Tying her bun,
She stood there.
How elegant!
Sight of her, sets
A throb in my heart.
The shine of
Her eyes. Gleam
On her face.
And that incisor
That pops out
When she smiles.
I'm a big fan.
A wink, a smile
Or even a smirk,
Might give me
Wings one day.
God! she knows,
Laws of buoyancy.
She makes me
Float.
Too ashamed
To hold back,
Too afraid to let go.
Here I stand on
The cliff of
My setbacks.
Right foot poised,
Left aback.
I find myself,
Astride fate's
Invisible line.
Just a matter
Of courage.
A little push or
A look back.
There's a
Second chance.
But I guess
I'm a coward.
Too afraid to let go.
Too ashamed
To hold back.
You're the winters.
I'm the monsoons.
But I know,
For both, the thirst of the
Summer within is same.
Why not quench
Each other?
You get drenched,
I can use some cool.
Global warming is a thing.
And only together,
We can make it through.
Reading our chats,
I've been lying idle.
And smiling like a fool.
I wonder about love.
About life.
And imagine your
Cute cryptic smile.
I know we agreed
To depart. But
Are you really gone?
Won't you ever ring the
Notification bell and
Peep on my screen?
Saying "There? I'm waiting."
Our story is being
Eaten away by oblivion.
Doesn't it ache?
And now, don't say,
It's destiny. 🙄
A nightmare woke up Jay. It was so intense that he had a restless feeling in his chest for the rest of the day. He was not able to remember any details except, a faint whisper, "Have you ever tasted blood?" The sound of it made his veins quiver. And that feeling remained with him for a while.
Jay is a guy who has hardly seen blood. He knows it's red because of RBCs and all. But he has never been in real life situation which involved blood. He had heard tales from his friends about how some people faint by the sight of it. He even remembers his grandpa's hilarious tale of Bhimshi. That, once Bhimshi seeking revenge, put a sickle to Ramappa's neck. And by the sight of the overflow of blood, fainted on the site. Though Ramappa died, Bhimshi was caught in a terrible state.
The trivial memories like this kept haunting Jay now and then. Deep inside even he had a gut feeling that, by the sight of anything like that, he would faint readily. But seldom expectations and experience go hand in hand.
That evening, the usual quarrel between his father and mother took a different tone. By the tone of his father, Jay got agitated and put himself into the argument defending his mother. His drunken father, who had a glass in hand, turned so furious by the intrusion of Jay that, he broke the glass with the hand. Blood started to ooze out of hand and his helpless mother quickly got up to stop the bleeding. There was too much of blood and his mother couldn't stand it. Jay, though hesitant, had to go and hold his father's hand to stop bleeding. Meanwhile his uncle too rushed in the kitchen hearing the noise.
By the time his uncle came along, Jay's hands were all bloody. Readily, they rushed to the hospital which was five minutes away. While treatment was going on, Jay came out to wash his hands. Twitching the viscous red, he was thinking why didn't he faint by the sight of it. Suspended in his thoughts, he took a good look at his hands. It was more than just a look. He felt that blood. And before he could realize, his bloody forefinger reached his tongue. Suddenly a feel of disgust hit him and he repeatedly washed his hands. Whatever it was going inside him was overwhelming and beyond his understanding.
Mind boggled, he sat on the bench, waiting for his uncle and pretentious father. After a while when they came out, he accompanied them. After reaching home, he didn't feel like having dinner. He went upstairs to sleep. While he spread the bedsheets, he saw a broken piece of mirror in the corner. Though it wasn't supposed to be, he had an unusual spike of emotions for it. He reached for it and grabbed it with the right hand. It was handful. He held it tight and looked at it. Stared at his own reflection like he's meeting a stranger. Looking in the eye of his reflection, he said, "Ashy metallic taste".
Up on this peak,
Mountains are asleep.
And the sky is
Wide awake. So am I.
The moonlight is
Melting me down.
Streams of memories,
Your face among the stars.
I miss you.
I wish you were here.
To fill my light-years
Deep longing.
Stranded in
Our own thoughts.
We always end up
In ourselves.
The places we go,
The people we meet,
In search of a refuge,
The feelings we breed-
Are just excuses.
Means to an escape.
Let your lonely self,
Speak to the lone you.
Solitary days ahead.
Get used to it.
I wish, I could
Walk down the
Aisle of your mind,
And hug the
Little bunny
You've Been hiding.
Just to reassure her,
That everything is alright
And say, 'we'll make it'
No matter what.
I wish it could have
Been easier. Like-
Buy her an ice cream.
Make her comfortable.
Then pat on her back
And make her sleep on
My shoulder.
Just to give her
Some warmth she needs.
To make it through
The cold and lonely.
Even if it is for only
One night.
It's scorching.
I'm done with Sun.
I'm frozen.
There's emptiness around.
I but pray for some rain.
Crave for some love.
To find myself stroll
On a drenched road.
Maybe to laugh on myself
And kick a stone.
Let the moon sigh
And wink at me,
Let the safe crowd
Under roof smirk.
I don't care.
Just wish to walk
And walk and walk,
Kicking, singing, jumping,
Dancing and screaming-
'Let there be rain'.
'Let there be life'.
Somethings,
Remain incomplete.
Some don't
Have answers.
For some, answers
Can't be found.
Some are answered
By wrong person.
Some right-answers,
Come in a wrong time.
Some just remain
With a question mark.
Most of the time,
They're meant to be
Incomplete maybe.
And they're beautiful
Incomplete. The,
Stunning mysteries,
They behold us.
I'm an
Indebted poet.
And you're my
Greatest lender.
Right?
For the words I've
Borrowed and the
Metaphoric loans
You've availed-
The stories I make
And the poems I write.
Are just the
Interest payments.
It's not sweet, salty.
Sour or bitter.
It isn't even tasteless.
Thing is,
It's simply not there.
A pure indifference.
Consuming the light,
Like the big-black-void
Of outer space-
Of all love and hate
In the world,
Apathy hurts the most.
