Sunday, November 20, 2011


I am a sick man. I am a spiteful man. I wake and sleep in fitful nights of half dreams. My life is now a meaningless math problem. One that has no point in your later life. It all feels like a lie. I put on faces to meet the faces I meet. Something seems to be missing. Something so big, that everything else feels empty without it. Silence has become the only companion I trust these days. And yet, I deal in the business of words. Every second, every hour I speak more to myself; voices screaming within. Its like living with a coke fuelled imaginary friend. My mother thinks I might go mad like this. My father has already suggested a psychiatrist. But till then, I continue to wake up in the morning, dress up and go to work.

Friends at work think I am fine. I keep smiling, making jokes, laugh a little. Its funny how funny you can get, when you are burning up inside. Everything inside me feels like everything I hate. Something has to give. Sometime now, anytime now. I don’t know when. I just don’t.

I have tried to change it. I tell you, I have tried. Eat well, exercise. I have run alone in winter mornings, hoping the rush of blood would do my brain some good. All I get is tired. Each run is weaker than the last one. I have gotten back on the sticks. At least, it stops the feeling eating me inside.

 I wake up with an unspoken rage. I want to kill, maim. I want to throw everything out the window. I want to feel pain; to scream like no one will hear me. I want to destroy something beautiful. Or I want something to destroy myself with. 

Friday, November 11, 2011


Scream!! Talk!! Shout out.. Say it.. spell it.. Now is your chance.. I have heard you speak for ages and ages without end. I have tolerated your grumbling voice of dissent. Everytime I slipped into the silence of crowds, I could hear your voice follow me down. Chasing me like dogs down an empty street early in the morning. Every syllable haunting, every thought crowding in on my senses.

You… You intolerable bastard, dog of my conscience, inglorious bastard.. Speak now. This is your chance. How long have I tolerated you? How many times have I pleaded you to shut up? Did you? Did you ever listen to me? NO!! Now speak. Speak till your lungs cry for air and the words dry up on your tongue. You have made me wander streets muttering words to myself like a lunatic. I remember days when I ran around, looking for a pen like an addict. And all the time, I could hear your voice screaming within my heads. Pushing against the walls of my skull, bursting out… Speak now. Why so silent?

I am tired now. I am more alone than I ever was. I hate to say this, but your voice, your pathetic, crowing complaining voice, is what I miss. At times, when the world seems too much with itself; I need someone to grumble within. I need that spark of fire to rail against the universe, to fight, desperately. Something to stir me on. So speak.. No, Scream, till your lungs fall out.
 What is with the silence? Why do I hear no more cries? No more mutterings, or insanely genius verses of poetry?

My muse, My vision, My sight, My voice… My conscience…. Why hast thou forsaken me now? 

Thursday, August 18, 2011

Looking Back

NostalgiaImage by patrmach via Flickr

There once was a time when a treat meant 50 paise Pepsis from the local store. There was a time for games in the summer sun and football in the rains. There were games for every season and no reason. There once was a time when thought and action were the same. There was a time when dads were feared and young. A time when art was drawing with crayons and school was cheap. There was a time when guidebooks had answers to every question and exams were enough to cause fevers and loose motions. A time when laying your head in your mom’s lap could make you vanish into a safer world. That was a time.

There was a time when shorts were short and chosen by mom. There was a time when 10 Rs was big money. A time when friendships were based on understanding and unspoken trust. A time when no friend demanded phone calls to prove your faith or understanding. They just knew. When cricket games were not about teams but about area. There was a time when blood was spilt on cement pitches and abuses hurled with stumps over an argument of 2 runs. There was a time when the train journey was better than the picnic. A time when jumping up and down the sleeper class bunks was the trip of a lifetime. There was a time when A/C sleeper classes were a dream.

There was a time when you played WWE at home with chairs around for ring posts. There was a time when most of your conversations revolved around cricket and not girls. That still has a time. But less than more. There was a time when jeans were loose and t shirts were in bright colours. You just wore what you found in your closet. There was a time when shirt collars were always up, ties undone and shoe laces tied round your feet. There once was a time when Rahul Dravid and Saurav Ganguly were the upcoming stars of Indian Cricket and Leander Paes still young.   

There was a time when cigarettes were borrowed. A time for teasing, flirting spent on staircases. There was a time when the chalk piece missile sounded real cool. There was a time when everything stunning was jhakaas or fataang, not awesome. There was a time when friends were made without being formal or pleasing. There once was a time when movies were a luxury, like auto rides. A time when travelling ticketless on the train was a sign of derring do.

 There was a time when cousins, friends and people around you were unmarried. A time when drinks were easy to come by. A time when style, ambience and location of a place did not matter. All you did was walk in and drink anyways. There was a time when revolutions were chapters in history books and not happening on your street. There once was a time when it was easier to wake up in the morning and easier to sleep in the night. That was a time.  
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Wednesday, August 03, 2011

My Muse

She did not see me. I wish she did. But it made no difference. Things would still have gone on in the same way.  I would not wish it any other way. I turned again to glance at her face through the wafting cigarette smoke. Calm, smiling and playful like a child. There was something about her in that bustling street that stood out. Her hands kept returning to that pooch dawdling by her side. I couldn’t help but smile at that innocence.

The tapri was busy with people coming and going. Everyone warming their wet noses with the steam from the ginger tea. Others like me savoring the silent smoke that wafted beside. I had just returned from a wet ride through the streets. My head was aching and my nose running. Then I spotted this stream of sunlight in the middle of the street.

She was kneeling down on the street playing with her dog. At least, I thought it was her dog. The pooch was just as happy as she was. They were a pretty sight in the corner of a street with rotten garbage smelling close by. Her face was not exceptionally beautiful. Nor was I in one of my poetic moods. In fact, I had lost that a long time ago. It is hard to come by good poetry without a muse. Then I heard this laughter. Pilfering through the horns and screeching hawkers, negotiating traffic and skipping puddles formed on sticky residue on sidewalks. It touched my ears, and I saw her.

No this is not love, I am too logical for that. This was not a crush. I never fall for that. This was something else. Something that called to me within. I stared and stared till my tea went cold and the ashes fell from my fingers. Then I saw her turn. I froze, half hoping she did not see me, half wishing she did. But she stood up straight and looked past me. Or so I thought. Her cane made a splotch on the puddle in front and the dog walked away as she held out her hand to a friend.

For nature to rob such a vision of sight. Oh does nature treasure its beauties with wrath. I wondered if she knew her own face. If she ever sought to see. But there was she, my muse walking, seeing with her fingers what I would never see. Evry skin traced, every raindrop filtered through those fingertips and emotions translated through handshakes. And there I was inane to every change in nature, cocooned in my own version of reality. While my muse sent me a message through her laughter. 

Bas yahi soch kar tujhse mohabbat karta hu main Faraz
Mera to koi nahi par tera to koi ho....

Friday, July 08, 2011

You live... Still..

It is a familiar face. A known voice. Wandering in the shadows. Till someone someday reminds you of it and its comes up. Rushing upwards like uncontrolled bile crashing against your lungs and choking you. And right then, you might be facing your colleagues cracking the funniest joke of the day. You smile. You smile, because you live. Still.

I have lived with my pains. I have lived with my joys. Many unshared, stored within the private recesses of my heart like the locked notes on my blog. I dig them deep and bury them in spaces where words do not invade memories. And memories do not disturb thoughts. Yet, some part of my heart knows. She is there. A silent word. An unspoken goodbye. The unbroken part of a disintegrating bond. Something pulls me back. And yet I keep piling new memories on top of it. In the hope that someday, it might lose faith in life and die. Within me, buried forever.

But that does not happen. Some day the rains come. Roaring and crashing down on you. The first shower washes away the piled mound and the greens peak put. Again it takes root. Again it takes birth. And the pain shoots. And you smile. You smile, because you live. Still.

Memories are fragments of your life. The essence of your story. No matter where you go, how much distance you put between yourself and them, they will catch up. And again, someday you will find yourself staring into that ever familiar face and wondering if you are not dreaming. You wake up and stare into the wall hoping it would show the way. But it stares back at you. You look into your parents’ worried eyes and smile. You smile, because you live. Still.

You walk out the door. Mingle into the traffic. Drown the noises in the din of the crowd and rattling tin trains. Your inner conversations move into a deeper dimension while you make jokes with friends. Your mind is split between the past, the present and an interminable future which keeps melting into both. The line keeps disappearing and you keep running to stay in the present. Things happen. People walk into the room. People walk out. You smile. You smile, because you live. Still. 

Sunday, June 26, 2011

Emptiness All Around

Days blend into hours blend into days blend into minutes blend into seconds and vanish beyond the rounded corners of the mind. I stare emptily into the spaces vacated by people, still bearing traces of their presence. Somehow life has changed all around me. Surprised? No. I am not. But I feel like a new kid to school. I do not like it, but I cannot change it. My job is good. I have no complaints. People are good. No complaints. Home feels like home. NO Complaints. Then what is it that bothers me? What is that sense of emptiness that clouds my brain? Why do I feel like screaming my lungs out where no one can listen to? Something is missing. I don’t know what.

My days begin in sleep and end in unpleasant wakefulness. I roll around in my covers waiting for the sun to come up. My eyes are getting sorer by the day. Hunger creeps into my brain when it has exhausted all other sources of feeling. And yet, every feeling is somewhat incomplete. My friends think I am weird. Heck, I think I am weird. Who wouldn’t? A single guy with a habit of  loneliness. Its like I am Rip Van Winkle. The world has changed around me and I am ill equipped to handle it.

People say I worry too much about myself. True. I worry that someday I might not be who I could be. Someday I would stare at the mirror and find another underachiever. I have a fear of anonymity. And yet I hate fame. My father fights me for his pride. My mother nags that I am lazy. My friends mock that I am morose. I, myself, have no idea what I am. Confusing, is it? welcome to my world.

That’s ok. Don’t sympathise with me. I hate that. I’d rather walk alone on an empty road when the whole world around me sleeps in oblivion. Or climb a mountain and stare at the empty skies around me. Their huge white void seeping into eternity. And hope that something out there gives me an answer to my life. Till then, I walk. 

Tuesday, May 17, 2011

The Knotty Days are Here Again

South Indian couple to be wed holding a fruit,...Image via Wikipedia

So the day I dread has finally arrived. And my generation stands on the cusp of marital woes...I mean whoas. Iceman, the coolest among us cousins has decided to take the plunge. I am, as always in awe of people who decide to take each other in sickness, psychotic frenzies and even PMS moods. I know I could never do it, and I am glad that they can. But marriages are a big time. There are family gatherings, discussions on clothes, food, and location, location, location. Bookings are made in advance, RSVPs sent out and apparels put together in hurried fashion. Of course, this is a occasion for the special couple. But who gives a damn about them! They are gonna be so exhausted smiling. The cameras need to focus on the guests. Yours truly had once said that families are the mafia of the middle class and I stand by it. So I am gonna take some time to tell you what I dislike (hate) about marriages.

For Elders(Anyone over 40..yeah.. the limit fell)

The worst thing people do in a marriage is pass comments about the quality of food, decorations make up or even the air conditioning. Don’t do it. You did not pay for it. Be grateful that you were invited.

Give the groom a break! Poor guy is already up to his neck with worry. As an elder, do not take this opportunity to subject him to the same torture and boss over him like your elders did. So Not Cool.

Do not crowd the stage during the final moments of the marriage. I would like to see the expression of the couple and not your bare back. And throw the bloody rice on the couple... Not on everybody in the front row. Please.

Do not…I repeat…DO NOT point to a girl and try to fix me up. I have been to the ball park and struck out more times than you bought a ticket… Wait… that didn’t come out right.. I mean, I’ll let you know when I am ready. So back off!

Do not let me know what you did in your age. We know what to do, and seriously, imagining you running behind girls can be a little weird.. and we got a better use for our imaginations.

Please let me enjoy the wedding and not recount it in albums. I would appreciate it if you did not send me on chores that are already completed or easily done by someone else.

If you are really hungry, hit the lunch line before. Do not wait for the last moment and then try to get into my line. I won’t allow that. And Ramu don’t share food!!

To the Groom

Dude, you know you are gonna be shirtless for the day in a southie wedding. So hit the gym… and shave.. Please… you will be thanked for sparing our eyes the sight…

Smile. We understand people can be a little embarrassing and the veshti is tough to handle. Be Cool.

Try to do whatever the priest asks you to do and get it right on the first try. Please, we got to get to the lunch line before they run out of jangris.

Don’t ask me what do I do when someone ‘tells’ you to do something. I don’t know. Haven’t been there, not done that.

To the bride

Please smile. Your parents would like to know that they are making the right decision. It is reassuring. Believe me.

Go easy on the bridal makeup. You are gonna be sitting in front of the fire anyway. I’ve seen brides who look like they were caked with powder.

Do not give the groom grimacing looks. Poor guy is embarrassed already.

Well, what do I say… it was your call. So take it on the chin and bear it.

Delegate. You cannot be everywhere all the time. If there are people pushing your buttons, you are within your rights to tell them ‘Go fish’ (other unacceptable words included)

Do not judge family loyalty based on people attending the wedding. This is a family, not the mafia (which is also a family, anyway).

We understand, these are pressure filled days. Try kickboxing, Tai chi or yoga. Do not use me as the transferred epithet.

Do not play politics. Do not take centre stage. The kids need to take over this time. ;)

Other than this, I am fine with weddings as long as it is not mine. Iceman, you my brother and I am happy that you are making this step. Have a good one dude.. Hope I get to enjoy it more than you do.. J

All opinions expressed in this blog are solely mine. If you find them offensive or disturbing.. Heck! Like I give a damn! :P

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Friday, April 22, 2011

Come let us talk..

A typical Deutsche Bahn railway station clockImage via Wikipedia
Come let us talk, 
In evenings spread above
Crowded railway stations
And impatient waiting people.
Let us talk,
About lost friends
Slowly vanishing in the crowds, 
Connected online disconnected in reality, 
Waiting for a blinking phone. 
Come sit by me, 
Come sit down
At the edge of the hallowed ground, 
Now old and weary and tired, 
Like us, and talk about old memories. 
I have been meaning to call you;
But never quite did. 
Don't think i have forgotten you,
When days were tiring and long, 
When nothing made any sense,
When i was bored to death,
And yet, death seemed better, 
than the life i lead;
When i was tired to the bone, 
I'd remember your voice, 
Your annoying jokes and weird noise, 
Your face felt familiar than my own,
But lets not waste time reminiscing, 
Come let us talk
Over a cup of coffee,
Or the classic milds
This one's on me, friend!
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Sunday, April 10, 2011

Know ye not that Ye are Gods...

answers are somewhere hidden within ourselves,...Image by Yves. via Flickr

Know ye not that ye are gods.

Everything moves so fast. The day rises, the night is past. Stillness is unresolved and time stilled. I watch the cricket match, and eat to my fill. The match is still on and I drift to sleep. The hand I feel on my head is warm. I know it is mom. She tucks me in and switches off the TV. I turn quietly and watch her go back to work. Wonder what she has to cook for now. She won’t ask me to help. Even if she needs it. It is my day of rest. And yet, there is something that bothers me. Her sacrifice is unnerving.
Know ye not that ye are gods.

He bows down and lays flat on the ground. His nose touching the granite floor. The ceiling dances in light, decorated with ornate sculptures and manmade creations of angels in the sky. The corridor is lined with statues of gods with more than four arms. Yet, all of them have human faces. Except the last one. He has that of a monkey. Somewhat apt, I think. Darwin would be pleased. I look up and the main deity stands 12 feet tall, with every part of his body, except the face decked in ornaments. Prosperity and power are necessary criteria for gods. I, cynical, ask him why he prays. Knows he not that he is god. He smiles and tells me no. Till the time I realize, I need to pray. I give up.

Know ye not that ye are gods.

One of the kids tugs at my pants. I look down at his sad face. He plays charade with me. 2rs. Hungry. Food. I am good at this game.  I nod. No. I point to the vada pav stand at the station. He follows me. I order two. One for you, one for me. I look down. He’s multiplied somehow. There are now four kids beside me. I laugh to myself and order three more. They walk off without a thank you. I got 4 bucks in my pocket. Will miss my cig today. Anyways, I am trying to quit.

Know ye not that ye are gods.

I am crossing the street. The cars are screaming past the group of wary passersby huddled together. I stand in the middle, bursting to go. I spot a gap in the coming vehicle flow. This is my chance. I step up. The car is green and fast. Someone tugs at my shirt. I fall back and let the vehicle pass. Life within inches. Death within inches. I look back at the sixty something frowning at me. I cannot decide if I need to say sorry or thank you. I thank him. He walks off with the rest. My life restored to me. Without asking.

Know ye not, then that ye are gods. 
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Tuesday, March 29, 2011

The necessity of pain.

 Pain. The first emotion every human experiences. The last thing they feel before they crumble to dust. In this awfully long journey pain remains the only constant companion remaining with us in the end. A life devoid of pain can only be death. It is the nagging housewife, who, however irritating she might be, is the person you come home to after the day. Every human undergoes pain. Every single hour, minute, day we either suffer or inflict suffering. 

If this is true,I find it very strange that mandoes not look upon death as an peaceful end,rather than the terror he perceives it to be.As though life,being an clever and cunning businessman sells his sugar coatedpoison to us at relatively cheaper rates than death,who sells it in its unadulterated and bitterest form.It is a question philosophers have argued and fools like me pondered over,for centuries.Why does man enslave himself to undergo the ardous tasks of life than accept the peaceful regime of death?

I don't know the answer.I might never know it.At the most,I can guess that we,human beings dislike peacetry as we may,we cannot bear tranquility as the order of the day.It is the troublesome process of obtaining salvation that fires our excitement than the object of salvation itself.Maybe it is the constant flow of blood in our veins,or the unstoppable pitter patter of our hearts that leads us to beleive that complete calm is the stagnation of mind,body andsoul.Put in simpler terms,the only way we can obtain peace is by embracing death.This might explain why a lot of philosophers have chosen to immerse themselves in the melancholic pain of everyday life instead of searching bliss.

Pain is the essence of life.It is what keeps us alive.There are a million ways to define pain,but not one is appropriate enough as the feeling itself.Pain is that burning sensation that runs through your body,when your father canes you .It is that uncontrollable emotion that overcomes the heart of a young wife,when she wheels her husband into the emergency ward.Pain is all this and more.

Pain is a catalyst.It is that hearth of fire upon which the glass of your life is molted and shaped.Too much heat,and the glass is destroyed.Too less,and it is wasted.It is the subject upon which we decide the course of our actions.To escape the pain of hunger,we suffer abuse and slave on at work.To escape the sting of a merciless society,we go through days and nights of unwavering fidelity towards our education.We suffer.Anyways and always.Except,we reduce the degree of torture we inflict upon ourselves.

Jeremy Bentham,rightly put pain and pleasure as the two masters of human nature.Undoubtedly,pain is the stronger of the two.I doubt if we would strive as hard to acheive something for ourselves,than to escape the pain of something else.Pain is universally powerful.It can make philosophers out of fools like me,and fools out of kings and warriors.Life does not cause pain,pain causes life. My father once told me,"Pain is the only way you can find out if you are still alive."

Monday, March 28, 2011

A poem written when i was in FYBA

One classroom of Philippine Science High Schoo...Image via Wikipedia
Came across an old poem of mine in my FYBA book... I had skill.... and i hated to sit in a classroom... Read on...

The empty whir of a fan, 
In an emptier classroom,
28 dreaming eyes 
In a literary tomb;

The notebook flips a page, 
Trying to make me read
Like a bird in a cage
repeating a dead creed

I see trees waving at me,
And the wind rushing by,
But all i can do is see
and maybe, let out a sigh.....
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Tuesday, February 15, 2011

Lovers and gentlemen

happy valentine's dayImage by mugley via Flickr
Ladies, Lovers and gentlemen, 
Lend me your ears, 
I come not to praise love 
But to bury it; 
The damages that relationships cause
Live long after the heartbreak
And the good they do
is oft buried under the heartache, 
And under leave of you do i come
To have my say on this valentine's day.
Mine is a love that has been hurt
Undeservedly thrown down and burned, 
It is the love of the killer mantis
But you tell me love is gentle 
And you are all romantics; 
Whenever has a heart loved
Has it suffered,
Every lover has a pain to hide
A hidden history to abide
 love should be made of gentler stuff,
But you tell me love is gentle,
And you are all romantics.
No i do not speak to disprove
or aginst you wisdom show,
i only say what i know
I have lived, loved and suffered
For a broken heart do i have to offer,
Yet if you promise me heaven for my hell
Then pray tell,
where such a love dwells?

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Monday, February 14, 2011

Awara by majaz

An ignored ghazal by one of my favorite poets in urdu... and since i only read transliterated urdu.. here goes a work which touched my hearts

By Asrar-Ul-Haq-Majaz

Shaher ki raat aur main naashaad-o-nakaraa phiru
Jagmagaati jaagati sadakon pe avaara phiru
Gair ki basti hai kab tak dar badar mara phiru
Ai Gam-e-dil kyaa karu, Ai vehshat-e-dil kyaa karu.

Jhilmilate qumqumon ki raah mein zanjeer si
Raat ke haathon mein din ki mohani tasveer si
Mere seene par magar chalati hui shamasheer si
Ai Gam-e-dil kyaa karu, Ai vahashat-e-dil kyaa karu

Ye rupahali chhaaon ye aakaash par taaron ka jaal
Jaise sufi ka tasavvur jaise aashiq ka Khayaal
Aah lekin kaun jaane kaun samajhe ji kaa haal
Ai Gam-e-dil kyaa karu, Ai vehshat-e-dil kyaa karu

Phir vo Toota ik sitara phir vo chuyi phuljhadi
Jaane kis ki god mein aaye ye moti ki ladi
Hounk si seene mein uthi chot si dil par padi
Ai Gam-e-dil kyaa karu, Ai vehshat-e-dil kyaa karu

Raat hans hans kar ye kehti hai ke maikhane mein chal
Phir kisi shahnaaz-e-laalaarukh ke kaashaane mein chal
ye nahin mumkin to phir ai dost viraane mein chal
Ai Gam-e-dil kyaa karu, Ai vehshat-e-dil kyaa karu

Har taraf bikhri hui rangeeniya ranaiya
Har qadam par isharaten leti hui angdaiyan
Badh rahi hai god phailaaye hui rusavaiyan
Ai Gam-e-dil kyaa karu, Ai vehshat-e-dil kyaa karu

Raaste mein ruk ke dam le lun meri aadat nahi
LauT kar vaapas chalaa jaau meri fitrat nahi
Aur koi hamnava mil jaaye ye qismat nahin
Ai Gam-e-dil kyaa karu, Ai vehshat-e-dil kyaa karu

Muntazir hai ek tufaan-e-bala mere liye
Ab bhi jaane kitne darvaaze hai vaha mere liye
Par musibat hai mera ahed-e-vafa mere liye
Ai Gam-e-dil kyaa karu, Ai vehshat-e-dil kyaa karu

Ji mein aata hai ki ab ahed-e-vafa bhi tod du
Un ko pa sakta hu main ye aasara bhi chod du
Haan munasib hai ye zanjeer-e-hava bhi tod du
Ai Gam-e-dil kyaa karu, Ai vehshat-e-dil kyaa karu

Ek mahal ki aaa se nikala vo pila mahtaab
Jaise mullah ka amamaa jaise baniye ki kitaab
Jaise muflis ki javani jaise bevaa ka shabaab
Ai Gam-e-dil kyaa karu, Ai vehshat-e-dil kyaa karu

Dil me ek shola bhadak uthaa hai aakhir kya karu
Meraa paimana chalak uthaa hai aakhir kya karu
Zakhm seene ka mahek uthaa hai aakhir kya karu
Ai Gam-e-dil kyaa karu, Ai vehshat-e-dil kyaa karu

Muflisi aur ye mazahir hain nazar ke saamane
Saikdon changez-o-naadir hain nazar ke saamane
saikdon sultan jabar hain nazar ke saamane
Ai Gam-e-dil kyaa karu, Ai vehshat-e-dil kyaa karu

Le ke ek changez ke haathon se khanjar tod du
Taaj par us ke damakata hai jo patthar tod du
Koi tode ya na tode main hi badhkar tod duu
Ai Gam-e-dil kyaa karu, Ai vehshat-e-dil kyaa karu

Badh ke is indar-sabhaa kaa saaz-o-saamaan phunk du
Is ka gulshan phunk du, us ka shabistan phuk du
Takht-e-sultan kya, main saaraa qasr-e-sultan phunk du
Ai Gam-e-dil kyaa karu, Ai vehshat-e-dil kyaa karu

Ji mein aataa hai ye murdaa chaand-taare noch lu
Is kinaare noch lun aur us kinaare noch lu
Ek do ka zikr kya, saare ke saare noch lu
Ai Gam-e-dil kyaa karu, Ai vehshat-e-dil kyaa karu

Thursday, January 27, 2011

Pakda pakdi

Child beggarImage by Julien Lagarde via Flickr

The night waited stilly on me. It was an old habit of an old friend. I watched the mail trains speed past breathlessly across the tracks. The digital indicator ticked slowly second by painful second. I sucked on the last embers of my smoke stick and waited. My mind had not yet awoken, my heart was not yet asleep.

It was an old habit which had lost touch with me. These late night walks were my source of mental exercise. My thoughts just can’t refuse at the sight of an empty street. They start running at breakneck speed, but in a more clear and organized way. Like runners In a parade. I sat there watching trains run across parallel tracks snaking into the dark neverland. The station was dotted by a couple of beggars, who had dragged their tatters over their head to fight the night cold. The only other noise which punctured the chilling air was the squeals of a couple of kids running around the platform.  These little tykes ran around the cement seats making noises enough to make the sleeping constable grumble. I smiled. There is something liberating about childhood.

One of the kids walked up to me and stood near my seat. I looked up from the smoke and smiled at him. He looked like he had a question to ask, but just smiled. He would have been 6-7 years old. His ragged half pant was green, but had begun to turn into an imperceptible colour. The hair was black fading to brown. He was missing two teeth in the front, and the stains of his last vada pav were still visible on them. He smiled again. ‘Kya chahiye be?’ ‘Ap yaha kya kar rae ho?’ he asked.  ‘aise hi…Tu kya kar raha hai?’ ‘hum log khel rahe hain’ By now the remaining kids had gathered round.  They were playing pakda pakdi. I remembered the last time I had played the game. I was 10 and the smallest kid in the building. I never managed to catch anyone, so I gave up on playing.

I trundled out of the station by 1. The kids were running around on full steam. They didn’t look like they sepnt a day on 3 vada paavs and a cutting. They were smiling, laughing, cursing. I looked at them living their childhood. Free. Free from studies and tuitions. Free from school. Free from thoughts about a career. Free from parents looking to mould them into future investments. Free from fear. But then I looked at them again. Perhaps, this is the only freedom they have. As children. Soon they too will grow up. And the chains will rattle again. life will again chase them, hunt them when thy hide and vanish when they look for it.... Pakda pakdi
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Tuesday, January 18, 2011


I am a million thoughts
Bound by unborn expressions
Woven without a seam.
The undignified youth 
With a corrupted dream;
 Uncouth, vague, undefined;
Volatile, dull, unrefined.
The last of the best
The best of the worst,
The blessed sinner, the gentleman accursed

I am
Empty thoughts traveling on rattling trains
Getting up and down at crowded stations;
Whatever is, will be and has been
the sight beyond, the unseen.

I am
The surprising birth, the unexplained death
The beating heart, the fatigued breath.
Love lost, found and lost again
The broken heart stitched together in pain.

I am
The answer to a million mysteries
Never found never looked for
The questions raised by years of history,
Plague, sickness and war

I am
A million people speaking together at once
Gathering at crowded malls and marathon runs
I was and always will be
I am and forever will be.

Thursday, January 06, 2011

A lot like Love.

Heartbreak in StereoImage via Wikipedia

A simple conversation with a friend got me thinking about myself. The conversation was about relationships, more specifically the eternally complicated concept of love. Now, I am not the most expert orator on this thing, but it did get me thinking about my past, my relationships and people I have lost over time. Strange thing is I never thought I would remember them. Every time these memories come along, they bring with them a familiar pain. Numbing, dull and one that takes the wind out of your lungs. Nothing you do, will help you get over it. Get over it – familiar term. Reminds me of every one of those moments when my friends say ‘You’ll get over her.’  And I nod. Stupidly.

Can you ever get over someone? Can you just walk around forgetting a crush, heartache or a relationship? I don’t think so. These are memories. Not photographs; to burn and throw down the toilet bowl to flush. These are tattoos across your soul. You can’t remove them without causing permanent damage to yourself. I know. I have been there and been unsuccessful. Very. The pain is often unbearable. Sometimes it feels like you can’t breathe and every gasp of air feels like flames entering your lungs. Everything dulls in front of your eyes and the world seems fading away. But you don’t die. You live the pain again. For as long as you can; till you forget what life without the pain was like.

But pain is good sometimes. It tells you if what you lost was worth having.  If all those moments that you filled your life with were worth their little pleasures?  And they are. Like pleasant accidents you never plan. All you can do is experience them. I laugh at people who plan so much to fall in love, but try to ‘get over as soon as they are hurt. They forget ‘being in love’ is more pleasing than ‘falling’ in love. Yes, it hurts. Like the first ciggie. Like the first gulp of whiskey on an empty stomach. It burns. It fills your lungs with hot air. But you wouldn’t give that pain away for anything. Addicts are not invulnerable to hangovers and the pain of the substance. They are aware of it, but they do it for that one singular moment of incomparable pleasure. Where nothing else matters. I know this is a bad example, but you get it.

Call me a fool, a romantic or just a deranged drunk babbling; but I am in love. And I will always be. It is the most beautiful feeling you can experience. In fact that is the only way you can exist. All you can do is go through life sharing that love and hoping to god, someone does the same with you. That is all there is to it. If it hurts, let it. Wasn’t I born of pain, and shall I not die of it? i wouldn’t give up those memories for pleasure or comfort. And that is why I love, and live. J

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Sunday, January 02, 2011

11 for 2011!

I was planning on not having any resolutions this year, but I hate to live life without something to look forward to. So I gave it a thought. After three cups of coffee to cure the hangover, and a run throough my last writings, I jotted down a list of things I would like to do this year. So here are things I look forward to in 2011

1.Gain Weight
There once was a time when I was fat. Unbelievable but true! Now I could star in one of those ads against anorexia. So I want to gain weight again. It would be nice if I could actually take off my shirt and not have my pants fall off! :P

2. Get a tattoo
Now this has been a lifelong dream. I still haven’t decided on the design I want, but I really want it at the back of my head (which I am gonna shave). At 24, its now or never!!

3. Mend relations with dad.
I was thinking of putting this on the top of my list, but then I would be lying to myself. And putting this below no2, creates a conflict of irony as always.. So lets see if I manage both..

4. Start Investing (Take Responsibility)
This has been my bane. I cannot handle money, nor do I care about it. But all evidence points that I need to move in the opposite direction. I have started reading on certain investments and really have begin to believe in the role of aliens in the shaping of our civilization. Who the f@#k understands these things?

5. Call everyone who doesn’t remember me
Everyone has a bad habit. Well, I got them all. But losing touch with them takes away the fun. So this year, I am going to start calling everyone who hates me. It might take me the whole year, but I just miss those awkward conversations

6. Stay sober more often
I know I know…. I am on it... The lesser said about it the better.

7. Spend lesser time on FB
I am beginning to get annoyed by this trend of social networking. I intend to start using my phone on a more regular basis. Hopefully! Damn you Zucker- berg!!

8. Get my ass on the road!
 Trust me, I have been on my share of trips(hic), but a road trip is the least immoral, unethical and uncomplicated of the lot. Remains my dream and something I hope to accomplish this year. Hopefully to the Himalayas.

9. Get back to ABC…
One target for this year, remains getting my MA degree. There is nothing more important and necessary for me and needs to be taken care of ASAP.  Let me start by putting it on this list (at least I’ll have mentioned it! :P )

10.Spend more time at home
Something I have not done enough last year.  Can I hear an aww cho chweet? ;)

11.Start writing more often
Going with the 2011 theme, my 11th thing to accomplish this year would be to write my blog more often. This is difficult, being that I spend my whole day writing. But I really miss those creative exercises and hope I start writing shit like I used to. Nothing makes me feel better in the morning like the smell of pissed on paper :D

So have fun reading, cos I gotta get working on the list.. ciao.