>> Wednesday, December 5, 2007


Do not exhort me
to get on with
what you call -
my fucking life
I am sick of
just about
except existing.

I wasn’t
a safe harbor
or allegiance
all I wanted -
was your simple


Playing hopscotch
at death’s door
sniffing back
old miseries -
I go on waiting
for those
caverns of
comatose sleep.

In the very spasm
like misfired
it seems to be
coming continually
though indubitably -
never comes.



>> Thursday, November 29, 2007

Like the sky, pale as linen
I wish to hang low over horizon
and meet the blackened earth,
or like the setting sun
I want to dip lower and lower,
turning the western sky copper and gold
as shadows lengthen across the ground
creeping out, like grotesque monsters.

I’m looking out for that first person,
who wouldn’t notice my bruises and contusions,
and won’t appear the least bit tempted
to inquire after my puffy lip.

I’ll be the sparkling blend, of fortified beer and wine,
to be enjoyed in measured sips, and when you say
you want only a taste, you would have just that; in fact.

Risk is a wonderful stimulus
you can cruise around me,
this tender picture in it’s petrified frame
and have a kind of grip on it,
visually anyway, for if you trip
it is too complicated.

Expecting something within me
to break or bloom, I feel so holy.
This is how; reality punishes you for innocence
it turned me into, a crustacean.



>> Thursday, November 15, 2007

A thousand muffled voices within
had bid you begone,
the night when you’d disappeared
that last bend in the road.

As the old ennui sets in again,
let me thank
the brief flare of
your presence
which emphasized
this darkness about me

Emanating from a cavern wherein
discords wail,
it jeers and sings
mournful notes
devoid of hope
though it meets
my mood.

There is no despondency
when I sleep every night

for the only stranger
I wake up beside,
is me.


Permanent Pause..

>> Tuesday, November 6, 2007

A so-called ‘well-wisher’ had sent dozens of emails through Sulekha and Rediff with links of certain bloggers who are recycling my poetrics into their own. One lady had copied a poem word by word . .and when confronted she apologized, saying that she had merely 'cited' my poem as it was the only ‘nice’ poem on my otherwise crappy blog but she’d lost my web address so she couldn’t link to me. Fine . .could be .. she removed my poem from her blog so the matter as far as she is concerned is closed ..
But there are couple more .. one person has twisted one of my poems .. it is all so funny ..
Yesterday I was bugged and fuming .. but do I really have the time or inclination to carry a tirade against these kinds? No I don’t. And in any case so called poetries are nothing but crap .. so why should I bother .. ? Ohh yeah I’m possessive about everything .. about relationships .. and my writings . .but then it does boil down to some sensibility, sooner or later.
I have given up .. the way I give up everything else … I’m giving up this space ..

To all those unknown people who were kind enough to copy me . .thank you very much. They say imitation is flattery too. Please be my guest and feel free to copy, twist, toss, tamper, turn all the shit that I’d posted here. I don’t give a flying fuck .. An added info for you – I’m a technical fool so I don’t follow the intricacies of catching someone through an IP address and all drat! Besides, I’m a recluse and I don’t have a single friend in the whole damn world who would give a fuck to all this nonsense ..
My well-wishers thanks to you too .. but please refer to everything that I’ve said above and kindly do not send me emails from here there or anywhere. I don’t wish to catch anyone.

And lastly .. a handful of blogging pals who once visited me .. encouraged me to write or improve. I may or may not post here again but I’ll remember all of you. I’ll not thank you coz on a post like this.. even that would sound sarcastic ..

Anyway, I have exhausted myself completely and I have nothing more to write. I don’t want to write a melodramatic good bye post coz I may feel like posting again, someday… if I’m upto it . .I’ll be back but all this copying crap has doused my creative fire, if any spark was left, that is.
All the best to you all ..
For the time being …
Au Revoir


Obnoxious ...

There is no dearth of jerks on net. Or is it? My poem "Death" .. just underneath

was the last post on this blog for a long time, which was posted on 28th and to prove that I even got comments on the same day .. and there is a woman who has copied my poem word by word and posted it on her blog on 31 st August .. has given it a new fancy title .. and a comment says that she has been recommended for blog day or some such shit ..

Now how obnoxious is that? I'm fuming . .I'm literally fuming ..



>> Tuesday, October 16, 2007

Each day proves apocalyptic for some dreams
ruins a relationship, shatters few illusions.
Ever-fucked situations repeat themselves too regularly
to be a mental aberration, unless I am mentally aberrant
and unreality is going to worsen as life becomes unendurable.

Given my penchant for impetuosity, I do not grieve
those mocking look in your eyes, sometimes grinding, or a roar
which crackled without exuding genuine admiration
since there seems only an unsnarling existence left for me
whose waywardness constitutes its only authority
and provides its primary diversion.


Duh! wailing the wail that authenticates
the final act of a classical tragedy, I know
It wasn’t an ecstatic union, though I must be taught to renounce
the great narcissistic illusion of rapture
for I always am in love with
a shilly-shallying, namby-pamby,
fence-stranding, vacillating drifter.

Dash it- my nebulous nirvana,
you’ve got a mind, don’t you?
I hate the mosaic it makes, ergo
drunken eroticism is the only passionate life I choose
and shall reap my lonely harvest.
Yes, I’m more than ‘disappointed’
but you were so full with insinuations
and had other preferences anyway ..



>> Tuesday, August 28, 2007

I’d lain on a weedy slope, tattered at creases,
and the taste of life, still sour on my lips ..
It wasn’t life I ached for, but the aftermath -
A languid surrender, which might pass for
vague contentment or something like peace…

He stood defined, silhouetted against pallid sky
looking down at me sans censure or approbation
slipping in slowly, a figure without shadow -
I sank deeply with no impulse for resistance
he led me into regions, of fabulous delight.

I felt being porous and the last that was left of
the whole concoction, which had once been
‘a self’ was running out then, drop by drop….
bleeding down into a creek, feeding a river
which sparkled gaily, in the monsoon rain…

Loudly and robustly, he’d joined me there
filling his lungs, as he soaked in the view -
"Beautiful sight, isn’t it?"
I remember thinking that, yes,
It was a beautiful sight…

I'd tried to smile, to breathe and stand
without clinging onto the stone wall
Now I’m prone to think
it was the velocity in life, which had undid me
the Old Testament decisiveness, of it all.

Beyond the trivial importunities of being
with him at last, was novel transformation

to function without appeal and evaluation
terrible swift words or reconsideration -
dreamily radiant, where all questions
are answered, and all riddles solved …

Note : Inspired by - this



>> Wednesday, August 22, 2007


I waited with precious little in the way of trepidation
piled reveries into the back of my grip,
and embarked upon a destination
as if I knew where it was.

A gloomy limbo had spread murkiness
in the tiny iridescent circuit, where
life had accomplished its esthetic efflorescence
though I was soothed by the notion
that beyond the squalid clutter of my heart
there were emerald pastures with rust eaten fender wells.

A sort of thing I'd occasionally indulged in
to look for a place on this earth, where it was possible still
to lead a life unilluminated by obsolete memories
unserenaded by familiar amorous songs, orchestrations
and uncatered by crude diets of vanity.


By sheer happenstance,
I wandered through you on an evening
with an uncanny knack for soaring
Reasonably certain of a point in an empyrean
I'd hinged open my mouth to speak
just when I lost both my gumption and my bearings.

On my trail back
all its length, the streets said nothing
though I could envision in a gap across the way
beyond the rusting downspout,
the bare limbs of a plane tree.

It seemed you and me, like ghostly lovers
had perpetually pursued, never clasped
and I saw myself forever fated into
repeating same gestures, proverbial words
as outside my shrouded sentience
life rolled away,
like a vast blackness blighted by lights
beyond the windows of a moving truck ..



>> Sunday, August 19, 2007

The lawn was basking in last evening rays, which gave everything a warm glow. The speaker was largely unaffected but when she arrived, almost an hour late, there was a minor stir in the small gathering. She was bright and statuesque, all flashing in a shimmering pink sari, and she was alone. She seated herself so nimbly that the wooden chair emitted hardly a creek. However, she lost interest in the speech soon and looked around. The smallish garden sheltered from the sun, tended meticulously, was flowering, though outside the leaves were wilting and falling.

He was observing her with a twinge of desire, from a distance where she appeared unattainable. Scarcely, one is able to see that precise moment when fact becomes faith and people start to bend their finest loyalties to make themselves bemused custodians of the grave. He saw that moment now, in the profile of that woman, and he knew there was no time to lose. Her restless pupils, after a quick survey of the place, rested on him. They were suffused with such an ineffable sorrow at the unbridgeable chasm between them, that he looked away. He struggled with his impulses for a while but when he gathered the courage to hold her gaze she had shifted her attention to a young man, who was conversing with her solemnly. It was in her nature to be in love with someone, she had once described it as a disease. He was annoyed for being jealous and evaded her eyes.

Tardily, the torturous speech ended, they started serving refreshments and the group dispersed in scattered clutters. She was talking to the same man when he walked towards her and offered a faint hello. She turned and yet again he was crawling into a quagmire. Her black eyes reflected mockery and abnegation of one who had broken with everything and everybody. He could not leave without a last confession of his sins and prepared himself to face her. Her companion bid good-bye and joined other people who were promenading in the garden. He proposed a walk and she assented with the sweet serenity, which never failed her. It was useless to hide behind pleasantries and he decided to hit the spot, instantly.

They walked side by side as if they might have been accepted in the ark.
"I came here, only because I knew you would come." He was speaking out of a deepening despair, floundering. She wasn’t surprised, or if she was, she skillfully concealed it. All the wrong, hurt years of her affliction were proof against the miracle that she construed.

"I didn’t know you’ll be here. In fact, I wasn’t even thinking about you." She replied flatly with a curious air of pride. Sad thoughts, yearning and longings had taken a flight but somewhere there was a spot too sore to bear even the lightest touch.

He was convinced that there was a wall clear as glass between them and if they should fling themselves through it, it would smash and let them through. They had been hurtling past each other and he had made up his mind to exert the final blow.
"I'd thought if I ever saw you again, you’ll have a lot to say. That is why, I wanted to see you.. at least once." He murmured with no trace of shock in his sonorous voice and an intense look of interest in his usually dreamy eyes.

She considered that for some time. Once, she did intend to say a lot but without his angry looks and caustic comments he seemed less interesting and she was a tad disappointed. No man had ever attracted her at first. She always undertook a slow process with them, of erasing the first impression, or at least overcoming and correcting it. Behind the outer façade there was another façade which she usually liked. The man who stood before her now had shed both façades and she tried to hasten her evaluation, to strip away with all layers and catch a glimpse of his current motive.

"I’m sorry, but there will be no crying out, no vain appeal to the past, if that is what you had been expecting." She said quickly and the words lashed him with their irony, things staring at him vacantly from the depths of their mutual past.

"Why do you say that? I owe an apology though I assure you I never forgot you, not even for a day.. a moment.." He stammered and she sensed a rush of moisture in her lashes, a familiar wave of weakness in her heart. Popular sentiment had it that relationships ought to be between equals, but she had never known an equal in love. It was always somebody feeling more than the other, somebody protecting, somebody requiring safe harbor or permission or simple compliance.

"Assure? Did I seek assurance?" She said and simultaneously made a gesture to leave.

"Wait, don’t misunderstand me. I meant to come back, you know that. Why did you stop writing me?" They had exchanged notes regularly, passionately first but slowly their correspondence had become impersonal like news articles. He’d continued to write, perhaps to minimize his dull sense of guilt. He was secretly thankful that she had ceased replying his perfunctory letters, written with indifference.

"This is ridiculous. You had gone away and do you remember seven years have passed since then and I kept hearing about your relationships." Luminous drops of tears fell from her eyes, as she talked. Under the fluorescent lights, he thought, they magnified her eyes into immense pearls. She had dropped the mask of her light-hearted courage. It seemed that she had preserved with dogged, indomitable resolution and little hope. His eyes lit up in the radiance of fresh anticipation. The fact that he had never heard about ‘her’ relationships fluttered his dazed imaginations.

He could see she had changed but she was one of the women in whom altering years show what they had imparted and not what they had taken away. A closer look revealed that what they had assumed must have been estimable of its kind. Yes, indeed seven years had passed and he had had his share of adventure but each time he had returned to her memories, chagrined and grateful, surrendering to them, acknowledging their absolute. Those episodes had merely sullied the surface, never reached his heart and he wanted her to know that he was back, rededicated and more certain.

"Everyone learns sooner or later about loss. The absence of a presence can crush the strongest people." He drawled, sanguine deep down, that the whole creation had ground and wound itself down through the vistas of eternity to bring the two of them face to face for reconciliation.

She stood still for a moment; incredulity and hurt written all over face. There was something intensely personal and moving about her loss and the pathos of her suffering seemed to come from deep inside her slender body.
"When you love, you entrust to that person your sense of worth and if that person throws you aside, you believe profoundly that it is because you are worthless. That is a kind of death." Her words stripped him of every defense and once again he descended to the very pit of his sorrow.

There was a rustle of leaves under their feet and the smell of them, all sad, autumn-like but a scythe of moon was just appearing over the trees. The palpitations of her heart were unknowable finally, they would remain forever mysterious. He drew in the evening with a sigh and implored .. "Only if you’ll let me explain…"

Something in his voice suggested a blend of fresh grief and psychosis, which reminded her of that year when she had fallen in love with the comfort of their togetherness. A permanent relationship and same vague gush of adjectives. They contained a shred of truth, though wrapped round on impenetrable lies. His name had hung about her like a chord that continues to vibrate. All romantic moments are associated willy-nilly even if some are long dead.

"You don’t need to explain. I understand…" Her contralto voice had a rich thrill into it as she paused for few seconds. She knew that when with him, it would always be 'the past' that would occupy them. It would always be there, huge, obstructing, constrictive, and more plethoric than anything the future could ever conjure up. She wondered if beyond what they had already discovered lay more spectacular regions, waiting to be explored.

"No mater how great a love may be there comes a crisis that is just as much an enigma as love itself. You still love each other, but you have to part, or a new person comes along and introduces a new approach." She completed the sentence without any emotion, shrugged, and walked away.



>> Tuesday, August 7, 2007

Embedded amid layers of
dusty twaddle, I’d found
another belief for life
that need not be reconciled
into our demeanor.

It was then I’d discovered
that profanity too had its purpose
what stayed was the knowledge
of leading a double life
one sealed from the other.

A halve fantasized love,
wallowed in complexities,
relished deceptions,
then a brouhaha followed
which chose you and failure.

A separate fraction idealized
glorious adventures,
sublime joys, delicious stupor
that wishes naught
resents none but sinks deeper.

Between body and soul’s
relentless funeral
I’d wished to grab
that swinish material
an otherworldly pleasure.

Former was the premise
and latter a pretext, though
I can engage no more
in futile perspectives
and possible allures.

I’m always tired, never sure
if I'd prefer to conclude
this treacherous encounter
as my luckiest moments
are in quest of failures.


frayed flame

>> Friday, July 27, 2007

I’ve studied your love
as a diagnosis
and prescription-
watched it cascade
and break
in crested waves.

This raw concoction
fits more snugly
in the current tincture
of my moral spectrum.

Having been through
the most memorable

banal smut once,
I’m in that mood

which tempts to sin,
even the best of us.

I won’t be a prisoner
though I accept your offer
and from these bundles
of negations I’ll fashion
a love that’ll temporise
the fresh dissolution.


Random Re-encounters

>> Thursday, July 19, 2007

By Punds orders, I’m posting another tag of 8 random things about me. It perhaps is a shortened version of 20 random things tag, which was making rounds, long ago. I’d called it Pandora's box then, but since then I’ve mellowed down miraculously. I need not warn anyone as there isn’t anything evil or sinful in these ‘facts’ which I sometimes wonder were fiction.

1) I was a darn naughty kid and kept my mother perpetually on her toes. Till class 4th or 5th I’d to be dragged for school and was famous even there for my notoriety. I could thrash any girl or boys double my size. Ma was summoned regularly by my teachers and principals to discuss a list of complaints. As my parents worked in different locations and that part of life were spent with Ma, we saw Pa only during vacations, poor mother could only convey my misdemeanors to him over the telephone or in letters wherein she consistently referred to me as a "problem child." Its funny that things that appeared so serious then, are now amusing, for both of us.

2) The best part about going to school was running away. I can write a book on ‘how to run away from school’. The best memories are from where I’d passed senior secondary.
On one such adventure, four of us, (three other girls, besides yours truly) had planned to watch a movie at Connaught place (strategically located, close by). We discovered that one gate was unattended, apparently, the gatekeeper was taking a pee break (or tea break). Our mantra was walk casually, confidently to avoid getting noticed. As soon as we stepped out, we heard someone hollering "hey hey hey .." we turned back and saw the watchman sprinting in our direction. He couldn’t have caught me even in his dreams, I was a pretty fast runner. I fled along with another girl. However, the two slow runners were caught and presented to the principal. Despite persistent interrogation, they refused to reveal the names of other miscreants (that’s called comradeship).

3) The then fast runner now needs painkillers to walk. I’ve screwed my health to that extent, which continues to fail. Probably, I’m still capable of keeping people on their toes with my mind-games. At least that is what my ex used to say. I’ve vowed not to mention him again ergo I’ll quote ‘somebody’ who had commented. "I fuck his brains out". In a way, its quite nice coz I'll rather fuck some brains than anything else .. as I’m sure I’ve turned frigid.

4) I refurnished my room, last month. I disposed my double bed and got a new single bed. I’m confident of sleeping alone(without a human company, of course) all my life so its one positive step, in that direction. The only problem is, Don(my German Shepherd) considers my bed as his own. He occupies a huge corner and I’ve to squeeze myself in another. Sometimes I find him sleeping soundly with his head on my pillow, and then I just sit on a chair, facing him and keep on looking, blissfully. I’m bewitched.

5) I’ve two pimples on my right cheek & another one on my forehead. I never had pimples as teenager and was so proud of my blemish-free skin. I tried almost everything and nothing worked. A couple of days back, I landed in a Shahnaz Husain store and hurray.. when I returned home I realized, I’d spent almost 10 thousand bucks for three pimples! Man she is expensive .. and for three pimples she makes you buy three hundred different stuff ..

6) I tried doing many things but I’ve this bad habit of abandoning them, halfway. I learned .. Kathak – 2 years, Guitar – 2 years, German – 1 year, French – 8 months, Persian – 6 months and it is all wiped away immaculately from my memory. It would be redundant to say, I can’t differentiate between Kathak and Kathakali, Hawaiian from Spanish (leave aside playing a single chord), German, French and Persian all sound, Greek. I regret not pursuing them, seriously as I’m too old to start it all over again and then I’ve this uncanny feeling I wont live long, the priority now is just one book that I hope to get published. At least one .. that’s my solitary dream.

8) My solitude is complete. I got rid of my so-called friends, well-wishers and this and that. I don't go anywhere and my cell phone seldom rings. To achieve this, I'd to get my seven year old number changed, which was divulged to no one. I don't wish to talk to any of them & I'm convinced the feeling is mutual. Its better this way and I’m enjoying my wonderful privacy. I hate bumping onto former acquaintances and greeting them all with the same lie "you haven’t changed" when both parties know the truth at least once for a ‘change.’ I like spending my evenings, with booze, shades down, dim lights and ghazals, all by myself. I’m in love with the voice of Munni Begum. Though anything and everything can make me cry, she is the best company for tears.

There was no need to write these Eight random things. One word describes me perfectly – "loser’ :D

The tag requires to be passed but no one cares for my effing tags. This would be the first time, I’m not tagging anyone.. I completed it sooner than the previous tags (if that's some consolation) ..I hope I’m forgiven.



>> Saturday, July 14, 2007


I had stopped you then..

The driving torrent, last night
that plummeted the awning,
like hailstorms -
could pause over me, like mist
and I would trust their shelter

I could float in thunderclap
with the leisure of a dream
hearing it, in all variations
as if they were leitmotif
from a symphony,
cosmic yet intimate

In the persistent murmur
of water, however
I only heard
your fine concluding high note
that had been sent afloat
to fade.

And then,
An enormous bolt,
lit up the sky
It became for an instant
sunset or sunrise?


I let you go now...

I can see all hurt years
washed clean
the life I’d thought
forever closed, spreading out
its pictorial vista, with sheen.

I can look up
at countless raindrops
sense a touch of piety
as they fall over me
in their midnight gaiety

I can explore
an infinite space
amid myriad of galaxies
between two eternities -
one caught and held
yet already past
and the other,
still to come?

Or perhaps,
nothing is past
what was, will be
is waxing unbearably
and it is all -
one vast scroll.


au revoir

>> Monday, July 9, 2007

It is all a puzzle -
falling in love
sensual bloom
alienation evolved
the years that passed
sans intimacies
and the present finale –
when silence seems obtuse
speech derisive
verbal good-byes linger
obscurely concluded
and the muted adieu leads
to shallow pool of speculation.

We can neither drift afar
from words already spoken
nor plunge deep through
into this silence forsaken -
but we can get domesticated
with the horror of our ghosts
accept its perpetual presence
and that will be the beginning
of a premature ending
after which there will be -
No going back.



>> Saturday, June 30, 2007

It rains off and on and I don’t have much to complain. When the clouds gather, full of thunder, and hang low over the city, the view shines out in a clear golden light, an enamored domain, free of the storm and darkness of night. Only that when it rains, the asphalt full of ditches and pavements with puddles of water reflect pieces of my own self. In a myriad of reflection – a myriad of mirrors. The remains of the carnival called life, is a heap of rubbish but for me it is still a holiday – the private holiday of a hedonist. The way I live, makes me feel, I’m slowly committing suicide. You may not ask for death but sometimes deep within yourself, you long for an end. We keep existing in time, building and rebuilding on its ruins, but for how long can one afford persistent abandonings? I’ve commenced to imagine that there is a sweet smell of decay in my room. Even when all lights burn, my room remains in an unremitting shadow. I can only endeavor to resemble outside it, an imperfect copy of what I’ve already lost somewhere. I stand pure in this decay because our emotions are the rulers. They assail us like robbers, they mock all our resolutions. I’d rather say, I sense deficiency of a land, of a sure terrain, of a sort of permanent landscape of the heart. I'm trapped in my own complex feelings.

Day before when it drizzled, I peered out of my balcony into the coherent and unbroken vastness from horizon to horizon and detected only a void into which I hunted for distance and relief from the mirage of mountains that quivered around me with visible heat. It seemed that the shadowed passes around me could not lead out to those remote and sunlit azure hills but only look down on them as if on fabled kingdoms, across the barrier of possibility. The wind that breathed past me and moved the banal wind chimes hanging everywhere in my living room brought phantasmal sound of bells, and expired again, tired as life. In the patter of rain I could listen sober tenor of expectations reduced, desires blunted, hopes deferred, chances lost, defeats accepted and griefs borne. The progression of sound going from lyrical to even quaint to even harsher. I’ve armed myself with patience and resignation, which is always there in me ready to immunize my failures and curb any desire. Beneath all this is a passive, unmoved repose, the will underlying all personal emotions, my inheritance.

What lingers in some of us, in me is a child but without any childish joy- a pampered, angry little girl, ready to pout if something interferes with my whims. Blandishments and promises will not lure me. I'll sit down expecting the worst. What is worst, is beyond me, but I bet life can devise something. I can not tell whether my reticence expresses coolness of feeling or suppresses happiness that probably I’ve just discovered. In posterity, 'the past', which only scratched old wounds on a tranquil morning, is now, ‘a present’ healing itself and pursuing me into innumerable depleting dreams. The worst injury, the worst betrayal is the knowledge of it. I betray myself, everyday.

So many incredible things have happened that I have become completely blasé. I’m no heroine of a romantic novel and it never was my ideal to die of romance but I try to delve into the worst of suffering, convincing myself, it is pleasure. Every morning I wait for the twilight when the sky turns deep blue with a wide purple channel through it for the night to come flowing in. I hear memory – voices quarrelling. And the talk too is nearly the same. The kind of things said before, repeated now; chewed swallowed. At times, I strain my name in the clamor, the spirit of the abyss calling me to join them in their nocturnal dance. I hate myself for being back again, from where I’d fled with a bruised forehead, all purple and gold. Those pages are yellow from age, spotted with droppings of ashes and traces of tears. I keep coming back because I’ve held those memories as a beloved locket; inside which is preserved a tiny distorted image of happiness. Perhaps, I need a deeper melancholy, a renovating anguish, an intolerable pain, a dark cave where sensation is drowned in the enormous, which wangles to rouse me, from the approaching langour of death. I might be buried but I’m fiercely alive and so I require a stroboscopic image pulsing to reassure me by subliminal tricks that though I’m nowhere, I’m home.

I keep pouring, not knowing whether I’m thirsty or to buoy my spirits.. I might be immersed in the vainest of passions but I’m only drunk with emotions.. I want to fall asleep quickly, into a place beyond sleep, deep and silent... grappling in the vague gray that transforms into a hollow blackness inside my head. Hmm .. I’ve had one drink too many, but I’m only a little exuberant, not drunk.


Some scattered thoughts

>> Wednesday, June 27, 2007

I’m recurrently the last to respond to a tag. I don’t mind doing it once a while especially when I’m stuck in a writer’s block, at the same time I know, lot of us don’t enjoy this. The last time I was tagged I’d made up my mind that I won’t tag anybody in the future but this is different. I need to pick five bloggers for the ‘thinking blogger award’ and they are expected to do the same. I’ll like to clarify that the ones I’ve picked mean a lot to me personally, it’s my personal acknowledgment and if they don’t want to carry it forward, it isn’t an obligation.

Coming back to the point,
Ano picked me in her list of ‘five’. Getting praised by a versatile writer, in full possession of her art and craft means much! I thank her again for the high praise and also for having me alongside Asuph ! I venerate him .. ahem and I won’t say more coz … never mind .. :D
So here is my list ..

Vi– A reflecting muser! It will be apt to bestow thinking blogger award on someone, who has named her blog – Still thinking! There's an easy charm in her writing. Her regular posts are terse and precise wherein she can open lives, explore ordinary relationships and still manage to penetrate deeper and reveal pulsation of love, emotions, friendship with absolute authenticity. Sadly she rarely posts her stories, poems etc and when she does, after few days, she deletes them. Her novella, Vishal that she’d posted on Sulekha was exemplary.
She is my dearest blogger-friend, one of the most wonderful person I came across over the net and I really mean it. I hope to meet her in person, someday.

Zofo - He has a magnificent love affair with nature. An avid traveler, the photographs he posts uncover some delightful pleasures and dangers of the natural world. The easiest way to head to the wilderness is, visiting his blog! He combines those images with the poet’s sensibility and the effect is uniquely compelling. His poems are passionate, erotic and usually with sorrowful and chaotic undercurrents. While reading him, I’ve often felt I was reading my own words.

Aakash– Another writer with a broad range of talent! He has three diverse blogs, all of a separate genre. His prose is spacious in scope, his poems are rhythmical, his writing in general, is rich in language. He is in command of an array of feelings. For a long time, I wasn’t aware of his poetry blog and marveled at his intriguing and lyrical tales. Quite recently I stumbled on his poetry page and was dazzled by his linguistic exuberance and technical flair.

Inkblot - She seems to me an intrepid explorer of the unseen & invisible because she is sensitive to many changes of colors unnoticed by an average eye. She primarily posts poetry and you can find whole fistfuls of masterpieces on her blog. There are abstruse allusions, casual, even cheeky tones, delightful wordplays, subtle exploration of loss, shapes of varied emotions… I can go on and on. Her occasional prose pieces are equally luminous.

Equivocationalist – I adore his style. His manner is playful and he is both funny and sophisticated. He selects words with a poet's precision and arranges them artfully which conjures up a vivid image. His vocabulary never dwindles to insensitivity. Those who think, I use ‘big’ words should visit him. I unfailingly learn a word or two in every trip. His sense of humor makes these ‘exercises’ quite enjoyable.

Phew! I'm done but taking a cue from
Punds , I’ll like to mention some other bloggers, I admire ..

Cheti – His posts are sporadic but of high quality.
IW – He is again, irregular but viscerally funny.
Merryweather – A tender poetess. She makes me ‘wonder’.
Dooka – I miss her dearly. I hope she comes back.

Basically, all who grace me with their visit are special to me so if I haven’t mentioned someone.. forgive me :(

This award was started

You have to award five others whose blog you think deserve this award.
Should you choose to participate, please make sure you pass this list of rules to the blogs you are tagging.
Write a post with links to 5 blogs that make you think.
Link to this post so that people can easily find the exact origin of the meme.
Optional: Proudly display the ‘Thinking Blogger Award’ with a link to the post that you wrote.
Please, remember to tag blogs with real merits, i.e. relative content, and above all — blogs that really get you thinking!

It took me a while to figure out html links. Thanks Vi for the help you’d provided long back. Thankfully the new blogger has made things easier for a dumbo like me. I hope these links work.
I'm not sure if I merited but the event of acquiring the coveted thinking blogger award almost coincides with my second blogging anniversary. In two years, I’ve posted about sixty write-ups, which isn’t remarkable in terms of quantity. However, as a yearly ritual, I read some old posts and felt, from a
wild kid I’m beginning to sound something like a woman. I sense a perceptible improvement in myself, which is heartening.
I read a 55-word story on Asuph’s blog today and thought of writing my own story in that many words on this ‘grand’ occasion.

Thoughts, sometimes they are wide and practical, sometimes potholed and well used, sometimes deep and silent, sometimes mysterious. At times, indigo and burnt sienna, periodically an apocalyptic vision with mixtures of dark and gray. They change color as they rise and fall, they are never all one thing. Consequently, she decided to be herself.

It was on off-handed try. I promise to get better ;)


Retrograding Glances

>> Wednesday, June 20, 2007

It is my story. Or perhaps, a part of it, is my neighbor’s. Forgive me, what took place forty-fifty years ago is clear to me like yesterday but what happened yesterday seems far away. It’s exacting to face the mirror. My face transformed into a stringed network of wrinkles while it waited for the joys of pubescence. That young girl, who stayed next door, was a replica of my youth. I read my own desires into her slender figure because as an erring mortal I could not be dispassionate. I solemnized my seventy-sixth birthday last month but even at this age, my life is not without it’s moment of unexpected excitement. To understand how completely the dead may survive, one had to meet me. I lived through her, in the outside world..

I occupied a four-bedroom dwelling alone, in perpetual darkness. During the day, intermittently, I fell into light sleep and dreamt I was falling into depths that were darker and tighter. Each time, it seemed I’d reached the bottom, the foundation collapsed under me and I began to sink again with greater speed. In the night, I sat on my terrace smelling the unknown past that had infiltrated the stale air. I looked at the neighborhood I’d grown up in through the tree leaves that had always trembled between my visions. In those times my adolescence came back to me with a sickening poignancy. I’d conceived that being the youngest meant, being the luckiest. Little did I know then, that this so-called luck came with a curse. You watch them all go one after the other and they never return. I comprehended myself to be no different from anything there that the wind was blowing on, my happiness of no relevance, in the dark torrent of nature.

The only ray reached my isolated dump when she came back from work, a few minutes. . preceding the sunset. She had left her parents and small town to chase her dreams; she said and had rented a flat in a house adjacent to mine. I don’t remember how we augmented fondness for each other and cultivated a queer friendship. I was her gray-haired friend and she dropped by everyday, prior to retiring in her own lonely chambers. . The light outside seemed brighter when she arrived and the rectangular patterns of sunlight wavered on the peeling wall, swirling, as though they mirrored the rushing waves of her young heart. Those days, she flashed with prismatic fires as she had found what she’d been looking for. Her man, who was: ‘half saint, half demon, half air, half shade horned like a buck winged like a bat, with the mind of a scholar and heart of a highwayman.’ These were her words or my own, I’m not sure because I’d known a man like that. But that part can wait..

All was well in our world, Rekha’s and mine. Yes, Rekha was her name, till my childhood friend, Shikha, returned. The very same day, Rekha behaved erratically. She kept clenching and unclenching her hands and when she spoke her words were slurred. She enunciated that she could not stand this prosaic city with its noise, hurry, dirt and greed for money. Then she stated something about her wretched love. The entire romantic claptrap wasn’t worth a penny so another philosophy followed. Those ‘romantic loves’ that our poets laud with such lofty phrases actually ruin lives. We were bubbles of the same ocean, moss from the same swap. If we could not love everybody, one should not love anybody. Finally she broke down and all this boiled down to one plain and simple cliché that the man she was so earnestly in love with was presently dating her best friend.

I'd grasped that much of the love of our time is sheer betrayal. It is often hatred too but I did not know how to console her. It had put me back to an epoch, which I had thought of already belonging to an eternity. My own feeling was that the greatest virtue would be to abandon the body and all its iniquities. I wondered if the fight for survival could opiate her as loneliness had opiated me or she still dreamed of glorious adventures. She retreated and I was contemplating her case, when Shikha called unexpectedly. I had to accede though I did not wish to see her. She’d married and moved to Australia almost fifty years back. Her residence close by had been locked for past twenty years since her parents passed away. She was their only child and visited them occasionally. Though she had lost her husband long ago, I’d cerebrated she would never return. She had been implicated in one of the most painful experiences of my life. The embers of our friendship had turned into ashes, now cold, and blowing on them would neither revive nor extinguish anything.

I waited for her, pondering, what scared me more. The prospect of her being as old and wrinkled like me, or the fear that she would still be the beauty, she once was. She was a few months older and we’d grown together. I was vivacious, a lovely leaping gazelle and she was the lilting incomparable serene beauty. Together we could set any place on fire. The delicious irony was, we fell in love with the same man, Neel. It started as a joke. We’d met him through a common friend in a dingy theater, where he played Shakespearean characters. His pep, his oozing passion, his diligence and effectiveness had cast a deepening spell on young girls, who imagined themselves as Miranda or Rosalind and since then he figured amongst our favorite evening topics. We discussed his aquiline features and fantasized about his muscular body. In that dewy age, he wasn’t any less than an indolent starlet from motion pictures. I’d stealthily started meeting him and we’d even tossed ardent protestations of love at each other. I pretended to not care but I was afraid of losing him. Amidst this Shikha confided in a delirious tone that Neel had proposed to marry her. I noticed that she had flowered into writhing sheaves of blossom, which left me whimpering. I felt cheated and gave her an exaggerated account of my rendezvous with Neel. She listened quietly while tears glistened in her large eyes. We never mentioned him again.

Shortly after, she settled for a marriage arranged by her parents and left the country. We drifted for a long time, down the languid current of reminiscence. I sat unmoved though she tried many times to push her way back through the overgrown channels of past. I cruelly and willfully smashed up the charmed world of love and admiration around me with my incessant cynicism. I’d lost interest in Neel and never cared to inquire his whereabouts. But he remained with me, a word, a name, a guilt in my conscious. There wasn’t enough of me to die then but so I wished. ‘I want to die!’ how often do we say flippantly? Now I don’t need to say that. It is in the proximity.. I can sniff it.. and I’m petrified. How do we know what happens after death? I really hope that death is the end of all our nonsense. Ten years ago, someone apprised me, Neel expired mysteriously.
It was really late when Shikha came and enclosed me into a tight but chilly embrace. She appeared an image of despair. She was now a tall wrinkled bony woman, another version of my stout and furrowed form. She smelled of rosewater and carnations and smiled the smile of those who had long since discovered the vanity of all human endeavors. She oscillated between outbursts of light-chatter and periods of taciturnity when she seemed lost in her own thoughts. We discussed almost everyone. Her parents and mine, my brothers and her favorite cousin, their children, our common friends, carefully avoiding the topic of Neel. A sentimental apology toward a memory already classic was vacuous.

The breaking down of the barricade of reticence between us had discharged buried emotions. She exited but beside her, my private injuries paled. What was the difference between us after so many years? I had lost my vivaciousness, she had lost her beauty and we had both lost our youth. What had the years given us in return of what they had taken away? Some relationships take decades to develop subtle glow. It seemed we were close.

Meanwhile Rekha had transformed into a perfect specimen of lady talkers who vex you with no ideas and try to protect you even with one moment of silence. I’d believed that the present generation would’ve developed new attitudes between sexes. They would no longer demand faithfulness and would be putting an end to jealousy. It disappointed me. What was there left to preach her? nothing but silence. While with Shikha, our eyes met in a lonely simple way such as had never happened before. Tardily, it became my daily routine. A couple of hours after Rekha’s departure, Shikha breezed in and we plunged into reveries of childhood. We dined together and took after-dinner strolls. At times we passed a crematorium which waited for us and our ambitions & illusions.

Our favorite spot was a neighborhood park. On one such night we sat there mutely on a bench. That night had an aura of cosmic change and a hope that I’d never forsaken arose in me. Suddenly I discerned that the ground heaved up and the streetlights intertwined, elongated and foggy. The park began to circle like a carousel. We spotted our proverbial man but his cheeks were sunken and a sickly pallor lay on his face. He looked as if he was on the verge of sleep, his eyes were those of basset hound and his silver eyebrows grew in fat tufts. Soon, the difference began to disappear, as if some hidden power were quickly retouching his face to the image, which remained in my memory. We sat and observed, gripping each other’s hand, waiting for that moment to pass. I perceived a morbid and uncontrollable fear of death stating out in the form of a pair of dreadfully familiar ghosts, one clutching my hand and the other playing spiteful tricks and filling my nostrils with insidious dust. We were frozen for hours.

Finally the sun rose, like a coal glowing on the heap of ashes, casting a light, scarlet as the fire of hell. Shikha silently nodded to me and walked toward her own building & I dragged myself home. I felt drowsy and comforted just as I experienced after any kind of misfortune. It was, as if I’d been delaying the funeral of a death that had occurred long ago. The burial was over and now the process of grieving for my lost years could begin. I was ready to abandon the daily drudgeries, the joys and catastrophes of fools. I dozed off and my eyes would blink open, stunned by a dream I instantly forgot. Gradually, things stopped bothering me. I fell into a stupor for hours and was awakened by a thunderous pounding on the door. There stood Abhinav, my nephew with a small suitcase. I had so much adrenaline in me that I sensed no emotion.

I steered him in and looked at him questioningly. We exchanged few words when I heard another knock. Now Rekha popped in with couple of my neighbors. I felt so addled that I forgot to be surprised by that invasion. Rekha vanished for a brief moment to fetch snacks and drinks from her apartment while others asked aberrant questions about my health and well-being. I retained the impression of nocturnal horrors and answered in a daze. One of my neighbors, enjoined that he’d telephoned Abhinav after discussing with Rekha that in my interest I should be admitted to a ‘home’, as I needed help and round the clock vigilance. I was informed that I wandered in the night at odd hours and had spent the last night alone on the bench in the park. When I protested that I was with Shikha, Abhinav asked, who Shikha was. I reminded him of Aunt Shikha, about whom he had heard from family friends and had perhaps seen her too. He frowned and held my hand gently. He uttered it wasn’t possible and then divulged something that I already knew. Six months ago, in a distant country, Shikha had passed away, in an old age home.



>> Sunday, June 10, 2007

It is not the season
to lie beneath a mughal boulder
with your eyes on the sky
letting the cosmic harmonies rush through you
Nor the time to seek effectual solace
of whiskey and soda
and evoke a memory
to dig details of a crumpled past
beyond which there seems
no present hope of penetrating

It is time to remember
those moments spent with you
as a cruise almost chromolithographic
in vitality of reflection
an epoch in my growth
a verse that gains in perfection
in magnitude
in meaning
as one brings to its interpretation
more experience of life
a finer emotional sense

I’ll remember you
as merely one more grain of frankincense
in the altar of my insatiable passion
as one more testimony to life’s strenuous renewals
of natures secret to draw fragrance from corruption.

I’ll remember your kisses
their crisp and homely flavor
as a native dish -
one of the domestic fusions
for which the exile palate is supposed to yearn

I’ll remember you
quite simply
for I loved you
and it was the last bitterest price
I'd paid to learn
that love has a price
that it is worth so much
and no more

I’ll remember you
but on a long day
when the rain will plunge us both
Into our own separate dreams
I’ll nod and turn away

with that refusal of intelligence
which perpetually asks for more
which makes no contract
with the self of yesterday
which is enticed from its old purpose
by the guiles of the next best thing
it is a poignant case, but a common one
and the next best thing
usually wins............



>> Friday, June 8, 2007

Do you sleep that sleep
of conjugal indifference
as you were drawn toward
that luminous intemperance
where life is a peaceful act
spent in the close-packed
shelter of matrimony?

Are you content
In this austere beauty
In these primal sensations
of colorless well-being
as you’ve swallowed
the last noxious draught
of what they had termed
a filial responsibility?

Or you still retain
in its ineffable hue
A background azure
of intenser memories
the grotesque visions
from love-affair absolved
of marital contingency?

For wisdom my friend
though you pretend
can no further extend
than this first heaven
and from there on
everything is lust -
masquerading as divinity.

I can solely offer
my bare self
for here at least
life beats, as it is –
not brave and garlanded
but naked and grovelling
diseased and dragging
yet lifting its head
to whiff infinity.


A Garish Bustle

>> Thursday, May 31, 2007


The world stands strongly exposed
casting its appropriate shadow
A year again in magical transition
and it does not even register.
Here before me, drenched in sunlight
Is a summer melancholy
Some quality in this season liberates
As everything is clear and visible
yet nothing seems withheld.

When a distant brown-stone spire
Seems melting in fluid yellow
That bygone summer wakes up again
like a person coming out of trance
I lose myself in vague memories
from trip to eternity made years ago
now debased to pale phantasmagoria
of bleary peaks and dreamy skies.


By dissolving sentimental partnership
seldom do both associates withdraw
you stood for the venture on which
I had irretrievably staked my all
When you made room for yourself
inhabited the space you’d cleared
it was natural for you to believe
I had refurnished in same manner.

In my wasteland is delicate harvest
A planned hedonism of wine and wit
I’ve planted some trees and blossoms
filled those shallow inlets along the shores
Decorated edges with fringe & tassels
but fatigue of the desert remains -
No loud music can dispel it
And no garishness can erase it.


I’ve loved you now for many years
with that tranquil tenderness
which gathers depth and volume
when it covers route to denial.
In the lucidity of retrospection
every trifle has copious meaning
You’ll not cross my path ever again
this certitude is an added pang.

There is nothing on earth
that keeps its promise
But from every uncertainty
to meet your eyes
is still my refuge.

I buried autumn
its famous meanings
So here is this long hot summer
heavy and teeming
more real than life
And there was that other summer,
pure as gold
as real as hope.

Pour comprendre il faut aimer

PS - I wont exactly call it a poem. I scribbled it.. about a month back. Had nothing else to post .. so this is just to prove that I'm back! :)


The final confusion...

>> Saturday, March 24, 2007

All endearments, the whole game
and procedure of love has passed
but I can not fall asleep.
Those feelings ashamed, lost, spent
have stepped back into that hiding place
where emotions can stay for years -
without any sound.

Reposed, on this consecrated ground
awaiting, the final confusion
and everything around me,
each grain of sand, each pebble
still breathing, glowing, lusting
I’m no longer matter, yet not spirit,
this slanting pillar of dust,
was once my body, which vibrated
and reflected rainbow hues.

The life I led, or longed to live
could not all have been a fantasy
Eerie, incomprehensible, ridiculous,
the visitation was nonetheless real
containing details and odd incidents
that only life itself could device.

Its waves and bubbles dancing in universal cauldron
seething with change
following the unbroken chain of causes and effects
And you my dear,
with your unavoidable fate, are a part of this -
the shadow of the same albatross,
just a different part.

When you are free at last, to enter with abandon
the land of mourning and shadows and memory
Take a bow
For I already am there, without you
In what we'd both tried to make together
for us, and for each other –
A better world…


Maudlin Monologue

>> Sunday, March 18, 2007

In a rare moment of simple dispassionate clarity toward my end, me said to I.
"You win some and you lose ; you lose and you lose and you lose .. "
"Some choice!" answered I.


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