He opens his eye
to see nothing;
No blue sky, no yellow sun.
His days are black
And nights long.
The world melts away
In white blank eyes
Into a sea of darkness
filled with
sounds.Faceless sounds
Of unknown origin,
resonating in that empty void.
Till sound becomes sight;
morphing tones into words
Words into meanings
That swirl around
In the vacant mist of the emptiness
Echoing with absolute silence
And the music of rainbows.
Its been a while now. Since the calls stopped coming. Precisely two days. I have waited every call with an expectant almost pregnant impulse within my heart. No, I know there is nothing to be worried about. Its just that I have never been in such a state. Ever before.OH shit!! This is why I never blog during the day. I just burnt my lunch. God, when will I marry. I need someone to really help me out with things like these. But then, if a girlfriend is willing to move in with me, its heaven! No, Wait. I think I’ll have to get a place of my own first. Yeah, that’d be better. Where was I? Before my aloos were fried deeper than deep fried? Yeah, the calls. I have a cell phone. But it’s useless. It never seems to be the appropriate receiving instrument for such a call. Its far too trivial a mechanism. It does not provide you with the formality for such an occasion. Imagine, you call somebody about a date. You never know where she/he is. For all that you think, she/he might be out snogging your best friend. Sorry, I have this bad habit of getting carried away. It has been nerve wracking for me. I am under tremendous pressure. It started with a casual question. Always the casual question. So deceptive in its appearance. On the back bench, with the silence of an empty classroom and in the company of friendly strangers. It always happens like that. What was that question?? Oh, it was of the deadliest sort...
“Do you like me?”
Now this is a very ordinary sentence structure. Sorry, not even a sentence ( I am a literature student, for chrissakes!!! ) the tone is simple and casual. But the occasion always highly formal. What do you say when a girl you know you like, asks you such a question? Ask any boy, he won’t know the answer.. I swear to god, he won’t. You say,’ I like you’ – The predicative being ‘LIKE’. It puts your relationship under question. You just like ‘like’ me. No, I meant I really like you. Ooookk.. That long Ok is a sign of a lot of things. You try not answering and you’ll be nagged for the rest of your life. It’s always so with girls. They ask for the truth, but they want to hear something else. You never know what they want to hear, unless you spoke the truth. And after doing that, the conversation gets unpleasant. Trust me.
Speak a word about love, and you are a ‘ladies man’. You know to answer things, don’t you? Smooth talker. Casanova. What the F… You asked a question. Do you or do you not want the answer. Why can’t you take words for the literal value of it? No, it has to be emotive. It has to come from the heart. Oh yeah!! How’d you know where it came from. The tone says it all. Perfect. If you know all these things, how come you don’t help me out in intonation studies in grammar?? Forget it.. I don’t remember it. Ok.Ok. I have had this conversation before. So I know how it goes. But the constant repetition of the question baffles me. What importance does this question hold in women’s life?
What’d I answer? I knew you would love to ask that.I mean, seriously, who can hold his horses when the narrator is speaking of his suffering. People love to hear that. They’ll go‘ Aw man, Tough luck! Fat chance! Bad one! Deep shit!” but they’ll be thinking “Wait till I get this story around”. At least somebody else’s foolishness gets their idiocy out of the spotlight. At least it is like this in colleges. But then, I’ve had my share of infamy. So, I might as well tell you. I spoke the truth. As plainly as I could.
“Shit!!! How time flies.. Sorry, have a lecture to catch. See you”
She looked at me With eyes still and deep Like waters that ran In distant and ancient Pools in faraway islands, They misted and swirled Shrouding her pretty face In broad daylight. The sun warmed up to her As she flitted between Thought and action, There was a question Waiting behind the mist That parted through her lips "Will you kiss me?",she asked "Yes." I smiled. And i bent towards her My head slanted in the light Inching towards her Quivering lips. "No", she said And walked away.
This is a world of rules. Rules you and me have to follow, regardless of our likes or dislikes of them. My dad brought me up on this motto, or at least tried to. He considers himself a failure at the job. I do not know why, I still am a rule follower. I might skip and skim over a few here and there, but most of the time I stand steadfast to my rules. Well, rule. There is only one rule: There are no rules.
I have always hated the thought of being guided to somewhere or something. I am not a very smart guy, but if you are told this is it and this is how you do it, there is nothing exciting in doing it. I’d like to fall and bruise myself before getting it done. Call me a fool, but that is my sense of adventure. These ideas and their likes have led me to be labeled an idiot, the most consummate one at that. WTF! Wasn’t this what they call freedom?
I am a complicated guy, with problems bigger than anybody else. From my childhood till today, I’ve tried to understand with open mind this world that I’ve grown up in. Seriously, I’ve done that. And I am nowhere closer to knowing. It is all a huge paradox. They tell you to do something and then do something else. Hear this: My parents, like all parents, stressed on me the importance of telling the truth. SO in keeping with the rule, I walked up to an old aunt of my dad and asked her when she was leaving for her heavenly abode. Well, forgive me if my 3rd standard education had not given me a good grasp of civilized language. My parents gave me a smacking, and I never cared for TRUTH since then. Similarly, that time when my teacher was speaking a grammatically wrong sentence. My correction had given me a ‘stand up on the bench’ for acting smart.
What is normal? Somebody please explain. Is there some kind of standardized way of behaving in society? And who sets the rules? And why are they to be followed? Gimme a reason why I should not grow my hair long. All right, forget that. Give me a reason to give up on a career aim of being a journalist? No, bad pay and risks do not count. I know I was born in a middle class family; you don’t have to remind me of that. I know my dad is growing older by the day. Yes, I have to take up responsibilities being the only son. Let me do it my way. Don’t tell me this is how you should do it and how you must do it. I hate that. If you wanted obedient, servile and quick results producing beings; get a robot.
Sorry, if I sound self obsessed. I try not to be, but that is difficult in a world that asks you to focus on the ‘self’.
A problem of being born in an orthodox south Indian Brahmin family is that you have ‘standards’ that you have to follow. At least for the sake of ‘society’. Just because a few unknown people will walk up to you at the temple and spot the bearded me next to you, I am not going to shave. I’ll shave when I like. Ask them to change perspectives or walk away. If your relatives are going to be bothered by the cross hanging around my neck, don’t invite me. I am not going to change because you want to. I am not going to get better marks because your relatives get gold medals in their examinations. I do not want to run this rat race.
The scale of my problems has just grown after my teenage. Maybe I am growing old, or maybe I don’t wanna grow. I don’t know which one it is. Sometimes I just feel like getting on a bike and just go. Go far, far and far away. Where the streets have no name.
Then there comes a voice that says, you can’t possibly do that…you do love me don’t you? Girls are much worse than the whole world put together. They want you to be around them. You hang around your friends, they’ll complain. You hang around alone, they’ll crib. You wear a shirt you like; they’ll turn up their noses like they just smelt ammonia. If you are polite and humorous; you are a flirt. IF you ignore them, you are haughty; a snob. You might tell them your problems, but then you are a whiner, or gay. To hell with them. On the other hand, without them sounds better.
Somehow, the source of the problem seems above man. He cannot create such great and ordered chaos. It has to be the work of the creator. He must have got bored with his magnificent work and introduced all these small imperfections to make it interesting. And man following him, must have made all these laws. Like Al pacino says in ‘The Devil’s Advocate’ :
“# Let me give you a little inside information about God. God likes to watch. He's a prankster. Think about it. He gives man instincts. He gives you this extraordinary gift, and then what does He do, I swear for His own amusement, his own private, cosmic gag reel, He sets the rules in opposition. It's the goof of all time. Look but don't touch. Touch, but don't taste. Taste, don't swallow. Ahaha. And while you're jumpin' from one foot to the next, what is he doing? He's laughin' His sick, fuckin' ass off. He's a tight-ass. He's a sadist. He's an absentee landlord. Worship that? Never.”
So I’ll leave it to him to fix it.Till then, the rebellion shall continue.
She stared at me with wide open eyes The fire burning before her Within which charred remains of a darkened world Destroyed,Being Created? The reverberations that echoed through my mortal remains Coursing through my veins Finally breaking its silence On my tongue.....
Each man's death diminishes me, for I am involved in mankind. Therefore, send not to know for whom the bell tolls, it tolls for thee. --------- John Donne
I slept that night, In peace as white As the sheet drawn Over my head. I dared not breathe to disturb the winds That passed through my lungs
As sky breathed so slow,so low
And the earth opened Her green heart to cradle me In a loving embrace Where time stopped and fear died,forever It died with my heart that had stopped Its nervous pitterpatter and was still, As still as the colour black And yet,i moved.
I rose up through the wind, parting the dark skies and walked past stars that shined on; They did not mind a stranger. They knew as i came I shall be gone.
I rose as far as my mind could go Till i reached a point where light no longer passed through my eyes Nor did the wind blow Where everything was As white as the snow and as cold.
I smelt every sound and heard every colour and tasted every emotion that I could feel And i felt nothing and learnt nothing.
I turned back through the gates And fell with a star fiery and fast I fell forever and reached the pathways of man Again
Awake, arise, or be forever fallen! ----------- John Milton
I stand beneath the entrance.The huge facade sprawls over me,its paint chipped and dusty near the top.The watchman smiles at me and asks,"konasaathi thaambla aahes?"I nod and walk to the seating space.He knows me for the last 3 years.Every single one of my graduation years.I sit down on the pavement and continue waiting.A lot of known faces walk out from their lectures,as braindead as they went in.They walk up to me,talking.They blab about what happened and what did not.They talk about movies,girls,cricket and the obvious boy talk.I listen silently, uninterested in any of their conversations.They are not the purpose of my wait.They know it and joke around.
Tanha Tanha
Dil apna
The sun goes up into the sky,grinning as brightly as it could.The cold id dying slowly,as slowly as it could.I look around at students busily immersed in pursuing careers.The sounds are beginning to grow louder.Of friends joking,of silent love screaming at the top of its lungsto be heard.And yet it dies out before anybody can hear it.The birds fly around their houses,disturbed at this intrusion into their peace.I wait,still.Sitting as a statue,dusty and forgotten.On the street pavement,except the cup of tea in my hand gives me away.One that my profs did notice.They come up to me and speak.I listen as they go on about my talent and laziness.I am a combination of potential and arrogance.How strange,that these characteristics often go hand in hand.I ask them about my projects.It has finally been accepted.I smile.They walk away with a grin hiding behind their their thin,cold lips. I take my place.A book would have been good to read.It is hard to keep speaking to oneself for a long time.
Aur door kahin
Roshan hua
Ek chehra
The wind changes directions.It cajoles me with its slow pats on my cheeks.Ruslting up leaves on its path,playing around with them.Like a sister trying to cheer up her little brother.I bid it leave.The place is desolate and growing silent.The pangs of hunger have eked the strength out of young hearts.They will soon have to learn how to deal with it.I am starving too.I wait for hope.And she arrived.Walking down the stairs almost reluctantly,looking around for a familiar face.I watched as her feet nimbly skipped stairs making her hair bounce on her shoulders.I stood up and waved.
Under a fading light That bent in a slant As it entered empty halls I walked the road with her 'Do me a favour', said she 'Say not a word'. And so i spoke in silence And listened As she spoke in the voices of angels That were long lost in the skies, now black as her eyes; No,her hair,her long black tresses That flowed down her back In wayward curls, Curls that flowed back and forth In the wind Like the ebbing sea. She parted her lips But no sound came out The wind carried her voice Far away from me into the deep woods where a black myna sang her praise. An hour past,or was it a day when she stood up silently And went her way. As the night gathered its followers and rented the air with hollow chants I walked away My back towards her way No voice called,nor a step heard.
The sun shrinks slowly behind the tree on the college campus.It is a burning afternoon and i,once again,am in a poetic mood.It is not unusual.Though the fact that I am not entirely in my senses is.The images of people swim before my eyes,as the wind feels like water.....
We walked in pretty high already in the morning.It was my friend's birthday.So we stray dogs knew that someone was gonna feed us today.That is one thing about staying in the college the whole day.Make sure you have somebody to feed you.After all,you can't pay for everything everyday.Infact,we never pay for anything anyday....Good thing,I study in a gujju majority college...MAy they prosper and progress.
The plan was decided.NObody tells me anything these days.We were gonna fill it up and go bottoms up.My friends were a little free-spirited considering that they had just made presentations of their projects(the work on which i had done).Christmas was on the way,and New Year waits impatiently.I,on the other hand,was pending for both my projects.My profs were getting crankier by the day,and girlfriends bossier.
"You better meet me in the Library by 12 today,H".MY professor.A short,stocky,grey haired lady frowned at me.She was one of those who remind you of somebody in your family.I nodded solemnly.Langston Hughes.A poet,I've never read.And that is my project.Forget the other one where I've a choice between scriptwriting and copywriting.Somebody tell me how they do any of these....
I walked down to our regular meeting place.A bench opposite to the cricket ground,right where a lot of girls walk past to the canteen.The plan was announced in a very cheery fashion.I was dazed.Apologies and rejections never matter when you are in a minority of 1 to 6.I was half dragged to the place.TO save my remaining integrity,which was soon to be lost,i walked in to the ninth circle of hell.
The glasses were plain,simple,and tall.I watched as the beer fizzed up to the brim.I faked a cheer.And then after the first glass,there was none....I meant the hesitation.We soon were singing 'Yeh dosti" and "Happy Birthday to you" in chorus at Royal Albert Hall,London.
The watchmen spied me suspiciously as i walked past them.My pant was a little lower than usual.I was quieter as i missed more than a couple of hellos and hi's..I walked right to our seat.The revolutions of planet earth made themselves clear to me..I had reached a point where as Yeats said "Language ceases to be the mode of expression for your emotions"...It was half past eleven.And i did not even know it for sure.
The loo felt as warm as the quilt on a wintry night.I sighed and pissed with a sense of relief.The five cups of coffee were working,or at least i hoped they were."This is the limit ,H",she screamed.The fist of bangles shook as it hit the table.I barfed.I could see blood rise to the excesively powdered face.I stayed as calm as i could."You are going into the library right now,and getting as much work as possible done.You have a week to submit your projects"..."And get a hold of yourself"..I staggered out of the cabin.Steady,H,eaaasy now...
The library was a respite.I propped up my book and went to sleep.Langston hughes be damned by milton.I love Wordsworth....
I wandered lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales and hills, When all at once I saw a crowd, A host of golden daffodils; Beside the lake, beneath the trees, Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Freedom!! A word so casually used nowadays....The price of which is far too great for one who has lost it. Which leads us to the question, who owns it today? Is there any man out there in this forlorn planet who can claim himself to be free? We are all bound by something. Ideas, Customs, Prejudices or Passion. But most of us can proclaim ourselves to be free. At least act on our own will....in some place we can call our own. Our homes, for instance.
Friends and allies, I send you this SOS today to announce that my turf has been invaded upon with no logical reason. I am under siege in my own house. This happened exactly 45 days ago.Seems like such a long time now…..
HE was..is a Software Engineer from Bengaluru(where else).He came to my house as he had nowhere else to go to in Mumbai.How does he know me? He is the friend of the son of an uncle whom I have’nt seen in 15 years. H wanted a place to stay in for 3 days before his company allotted him a place. That sounded okay.Yeah…whats wrong with helping out a guy in need.But I knew better. I read history ,Dude!! Foreign guests coming over for a friendly trade staying over for ages ,sounds familiar???
When the week ended, I asked dad if the ‘guest’ had found a place to stay.Dad frowned at me.Labelled me unsocial,hostile freak.First blood drawn.I can take that from my dad,been doing it for 21 years now.I don’t mind if somebody shows me in bad light to my parents,does’nt take too much effort to do that.But I hate it when I am asked to act as a chauffeur to people my age.I hate that!!Why on earth would a 25 year old along with a couple of his friends need a chauffeur for??? HE can’t move around a city on his own??
You know what I hate about guests? No.I can tolerate their habits,their needs and requests.What pisses me off is their judgements,and the fear of the hosts about their judgements.Since the arrival of this visitor,my parents have me on barracks restrictions. No littering,no eating junk food,no late night tv,no surfing on the net after 11,no calling over my friends and the worst of all…Visit the temple every Saturday.Why? Because HE does!!!!
I hve always been the ‘other’ I my own house.So what if I am the rightful heir of my father’s property.He is a good boy,because he has a job,a salary of 30ks and never speaks against my parents.He goes to the temple,follows rituals and has friends who do the same(so he says)…I asked him as I was chauffering him past the Marine Drive ( 2 weeks before 26/11). “Want a ciggie?”. “No,I do not smoke.Bad for the lungs.”…a few minutes later again “ What do you plan to do on New year’s Eve? Hang out with your friends at a pub? Load on a few pegs more than usual?”..”No.I do not drink.Bad for the liver.”
I thought for a while and muttered to myself. ” I bet you do not think either.Bad for the brain…son of a *$#@X!!!!!”
Its been 45 days…I have waited patiently this long,for nature to take its own course.I mean no ill to this man,but he has intruded on my territory so long,that it feels alien to me.He sits on my computer whenever he wants,watches his programs on MY Television, He has lived after he told me arts is a very easy course to take.For fools and philosophers.That was the most pathetically rude jke I’ve ever heard.If he is still alive,its because I am a believer in the kinder nature of human character.But that was that!!!
I stand upon the threshold of a war beginning…upon invasion of privacy.The time has come when a man’s gotta do what he gotta do.I have been oppressed,humiliated,enslaved.
Gone is a time when I would have asked him to know his limits. That has passed with the last bend on the road.Now I want him outta here.POORNA SWARAJYA!!!And I swear upon Lucifer, I’ll see it happen.
The flame rises Past dark corridors and black ceilings To skies unknown The smoke moans out of windows To be carried On the backs of a raging storm Across a lulled sea The gulls fight over their fish cawing and clawing As the rest of the fish watch from the bottom. The clouds hide the red sky While the sanguine sun sinks itself . Its bloody robes leaving a mark on the background A lone eye loiters Intently capturing the moment Till the portrait becomes a part of it A tear rolls out Out of its fortress,stubbornly it takes form White,spotless,pure Every atom of its existence carrying a pain Deep,obtuse and hidden The pain struggles to be contained And rushes past Careful hands that seek to hold it Crashing to earth And shattering to a million fragments Each a million more Emitting a radiance so bright That cannot be seen Unless a million more eyes wake And take in that sight Of an immortal struggle of light against darkness Till the sea itself washed ashore And took with it every light that eye could discern And the world was dark Dark beyond darkness A darkness that neither sound nor light could pierce And out of that darkness Rose a flame,its yellow tongues licking the pitch black air Till the air caught fire And every being was enveloped in it The fire was all The universe was in it And the eye that held it,saw everything. The vision saw what it created And created anew as it saw.
Bright yellow festoons,tied onto electric wires.. fluttering carelessly in the breeze.Bangles - Gold,green and glass ones .Glittering like a thousand suns.Happy, boisterous voices booming through the house.Sweets passing through greedy hands.sticky fingers dipping for a second helping
There were a thousand deaths before this.
Thin white muslin sheets.Spread from head to toe.No face,No name, No religion.Be they burned, buried or left alone.Frozen air wafting through the morgue.Even tears are frozen cold,...and dead.Sound does not exist.Nothing moves or asks to be moved.Naked in their passivity.\
I existed.
Everything slows down.Almost to a stop.You can watch the first ripple form on the water.Almost perfectly.The single feather on the crows back shimmers in the sun light, as it waits to take flight.The smile that changes instantly to a frown and changes back just the same.The father,the son and the ghost walk hand in hand.Life beside death,Good beside Bad,and Form beside None.
I walked through empty cradles and full cemetaries.Through windy deserts and airless seas.I watch you laugh and cry,Speak and shut up.I watch.This body feels like a cage.Holding a cosmic force within.A nuclear energy,that is waiting to explode.It rattles against the walls.Unable to speak, act and move.It is
Shape without form,shade without colour, Paralysed force,gesture without motion;
Who am I? What am I? Nameless, Formless and aimless.I cannnot do what i want,neither what i don't want.I cannot die happily,nor live forever in despair.Is this life? This does not feel like death.I see my face everywhere and yet there is nothing within me.I exist.I exist.
I am a million,million people Talking all at once,with voices Raised in a clamour,like maids At village wells.
I am a million,million deaths Pox clustered,each a drying seed someday to be shed, to grow for Someone else, a memory.
I am a million,million births Flushed with triumphant blood,each a growing Thing that thrusts its long nailed hands To scar the hollow air.
I am a million, million silences strung like crystal beads Onto someone else's Song. ------------- kamala das
"What is the truth?" Pontius Pilate reportedly asked the Christ.Buddha went in search of it.Krishna delivered a sermon to a desperate arjuna in the middle of a gory war about it.The Prophet Mohammed found it.But what is it?
Truth,as they say, is a very complicated word.I read this somewhere,'Everything you say,is true.But the opposite is too'.Funny,i thought.But is it? You walk around this strangely small,unique yet immensely vast planet of ours everyday.You watch your cohabitants and judge them.You learn a lot everyday.You observe and implement.But do you really learn? How do you make out what is right and what is wrong?A simple way to guess would be that you do what you are taught.A child's mind is tabula rasa - Liquid tablet.Anything you put in there would be absorbed and used in action.Which is one reason why your mother told you stories about brave,kind righteous and dutiful men and women.She warned you to speak the truth.Always.You beleived her.You believed that truth.
Then,You grew up.You wandered through this planet.You realised the truth.Nobody is holy.Nothing is either.You became cynical,pessimistic.You realise the futility of speaking the truth and the dangers of it too.I remember watching my father once lie to my mom about the price of something he bought.I went up to him later and asked him innocently,"Why did you lie?" .He laughed and said wisely,"Son,The truth is always the right thing to say,but not always the best thing."
But how do you recognise the truth?Actually,you don't.You just accept it.And most of the time you are right.Just like a broken clock is right,at least two times in a day.The truth is relative,as the popular theory goes.It is what you want it to be.Which is what makes it all the more complicated.To each what he seeks.The truth though always has two versions.The kauravas were arjuna's enemies - True.The kauravas were arjuna's cousins - True.So which one is it that is right? Remember the old proverb of having to make the right choices.Yup.Your character is defined by the choice you make.
Now,that is the kicker.Your choices will depend on your priorities,and the priorities on your experiences.George bush is a true son of a gun when he declares that he is hunting osama down.That Osama is in a planet he has no clue about is another truth.This world is full of such complicated,two faced truths.Each one of us lives in his own planet of truths.'Samsara', was what the Buddha termed it.It is when two distinctly differrent planets collide that confusion arises.People fight,kill and behave like animals.To protect the 'truth' that they beleive in.
What is the truth? I do not know. which is why i am still human.
She cuts through the crowd Like a river through the rocks Her sharp eyes searching Fingers running through the vegetables Turning,twisting and checking she will only use the best Green,Yellow,Red and some orange too Packed in a huge cloth bag
She first lights the Fire The primary element,the purifier Then,she uses water which bubbles and hisses upon the fire She sits down with her weapons cutting,chopping and mincing things As she deems fit Till you can see no difference in one From the other
Her brow is sweaty,hair messy She whirls like a dervish in her small universe Everything assembled together she stirs them with her ladle Like a sorcerer,muttering incantations Dancing to the crackles of Fire The Dance of Shakti Till things reach a frenzy. The liquid thickens To a semisolid state and a sweet aroma travels in the air,serene and calm And suddenly,she extinguishes the fire
Silence overcomes all,Nothingness Just a deep reverberation The aftershocks of a frenzy Till you can hear nothing but the word The seed of creation
She calmly places it before me. Her labor,her fruit and art And stands before me.An artist Creator and Mother. "How does it taste?"
White paper with Blue ink Black in some places, I think. scribbled words in a straight line A thought that is solely mine.
formless thoughts without a shape Written neatly on a foolscap Away from margins, within the line The words shape up just fine.
Seamless thoughts unknowingly altered Grammar and English diction faltered Sentences ended eternally with a dot. Was this what i had thought?
words, They have an identity of their own, You only read what is shown. You'll never be able to read my mind, Unless,you see the world these words hide behind.
Image by fabbriciuse via Flickr
