Tuesday, December 22, 2009

wanting to be found....

You're BeautifulImage via Wikipedia
You seem so beautiful
When you walk in
Hair trailing in the wind
Storm follows the wind
Eyes blazing forth darkness
Smiles piercing them
With lightning whiteness
Till the rain pours out
Tremulous in your laughter
Clinking, clanking as it pours
Over tin sheds and cement rooftops;
All the while a shadow trails you,
Following you
Everywhere under the sun
One you can’t see
And yet feel it following you
Trying to grab at the edge of your swishing dress
And just when you think
Vanishing into an obscure angle;
For that moment it sees
In your eyes a want,
A search for something lost
And smiles
For it knows that it is the lost one
It is an amazing feeling
To be lost and be wanted for;
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Tuesday, December 15, 2009

Consigliere

MY family has become more like a United Nations summit. Every time I have to make a visit, I have to take care that I do not disrupt relations between myself and other nations. If I visit one, I have to visit the other. Regardless of how much time I have, also make a mental calculation that I spend equal time in both places. That’s what I did yesterday. I don’t know why I remembered it. I wanted to forget it all night. It took me 12 hours. Now I’ll think of it for 12 hours.

I hate it when I have to attend family gatherings prepared like a diplomat in a Pakistani embassy. You are given a run through. Briefed and told what to do, how to behave what to say. Stick to the plan, is always the quote. Yes. It might get messy back home if you blurt something. And don’t forget to smile. You have such a grumpy face, would it kill you to smile? Actually, it would. Considering that expression would be stuck on my face for the rest of the evening. I’d rather be killed. That ain’t even the worst part. It peaks when they sit you down. The entire consigliore with you. And across the table you watch as they make you an offer you can’t refuse. The second gulp of the air within your thorax is stuck not knowing where to go. Up or down, sir? You just smile and nod your head. Your opinion is dumb. You ain’t even grown up. Act responsibly. How? Listen to us!!

You escape from one place to another. The frying pan to the hell hole. You then walk across the street to the next gang. They stare you up and down. You try to ignore the reception, but the chill is unmistakable. They know where you been, kid. Play cool. Soon the talk veers to its fated destination. What’s your plan? Let me make a suggestion…. Words you just don’t wanna hear. Times you question the ‘evolutionary’ intelligence of having ears without doors to block out the unwanted. The plan comes out rushing and tumbling. Before you know, the budget is sorted out, halls are being earmarked. You breathe in to catch up like an out of shape sprinter in a marathon. The wind hits you in the stomach and knocks you out. The next few moments are a blur as you nod an acceptance to everything. You walk out of the door, with a sense of fear, guilt and a terror of the double cross that this will cost you. This must be what james bond feels like in Dr NO’s den.

Families are complicated. They make you feel the most comfortable before throwing you down the cliff. They push you to the wall, stick a gun up your nose and ask you to breathe . Families are the mafia of the middleclass. They are everywhere, they know everything and will have a say. Even if you don’t. But they have a way of doing it. Till the end, I felt like I was the one planning my father’s 60th birthday.

Sunday, December 06, 2009

A Thing Of Beauty

Beauty is forever.Image via Wikipedia



I don’t know her, though I wish I did. It would have made me a little more accustomed to the silence which greets me. It is not that cold silence that strangers offer you on an empty dark street. It is warm, sunny and almost overbearing in its shine. It is anything but cold. But then, I am not used to silent greetings.


I guess that is the way she is. Beautiful, graceful, silent. It adds a lot to her mysterious attraction. I am not the only one to notice it. The entire class does that. She blushes, still silent. No proud knowledge flashes on her face. Vanity does leave a few angels alone, I guess. Thank god it does. Imagine a world where everyone is conscious of his/her prowess. You remember the last time you saw something and wished it would remain the same. I see it everyday. She sits. Oblivious of the entire class. In her own world where she has to answer no one.


She is not pretty. So say my friends. But there is something interesting about her. And since when has prettiness been the defining factor in interest. She wears the oddest clothes with the utmost carelessness. It’s beautiful. The way she lets her uncombed hair down, not caring if it’s broken at the ends or oddly curled up. What perfection could offer this beauty! I’ll probably never tell her how I feel. It doesn’t matter. There are some things where the experience is purpose enough. There is nothing to accomplish. Moreover I have a fear of destroying the entire essence of the poetry. I’d much rather watch from a safe distance than destroy the entire thing.


I should not even have said that. Like my friend told me, ‘you fall in love once a week.’ Maybe.But to live is to love and to love; live .I am not saying this is love. I am not saying this is not. I don’t know what it feels like. I’ve had illusions of it. Its like I’ve seen the shadows, but never stood close enough to the real thing to feel it. All I am saying is she is pretty, in a mysterious sort of a way. She is one of those people you begin admiring from afar, then adore, then like. Soon even though you yourself deny it, everybody else knows it. And you keep wondering about the next step

.

WINE comes in at the mouth
And love comes in at the eye;
That’s all we shall know for truth
Before we grow old and die.
I lift the glass to my mouth,
I look at you, and I sigh.

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