Deprived

What is it like to watch the waves gently caress your feet and retreat...
And not walk towards it?

What is it like to know that the wind has its fingers in your hair...
And not extend your hands towards it it?

What is it like to hear the drops of rain...
And not be able to see it?

What is it like to want to feel...
And not be able to see, touch or walk towards that feeling?

What is it like to be able to see and touch and show...
And be too unaware to feel it?

Is there a feeling more deprived than it?

Some things we will never know

Does the moon have a heartbreak when overshadowed by clouds...
Or is it an embrace in disguise

Does the earth feel abused when hit by the rain...
Or is it a tender expression in disguise

Does a love feel scorned when distanced...
Or is it a crescendo in disguise

The Pretender

Press Ctrl Commnd

Incoherent Mutterings With A Stranger - Incident 3

I did not know it then, when I woke up in the morning, brushed my teeth, made myself a strong cup of tea, enjoyed every sip of it standing by my window, taking in the scenes. Well, to be honest, there isn't a "scene" to be viewed from my window. A number of homes (huts) are sprawled across a land which seemed smaller with each passing day. But, it did not bother me too much today. Today I was happy. Enthused. I had a job interview to face, to top, and to start getting paid from the following month (Pardon me for jumping the gun with those last two statements. But I was that confident. And c'mon you can't blame a guy for being confident now, can you?) So today I was not going to curse the municipality for never doing their duty just because the land comprised homes (huts) that were not very 'uptown' or the residents of the land for not understanding basic things like a level of hygiene was possible to maintain without help from the authorities. The boy being beaten by his father, the naked kid sitting right next to the gutters brimming with excreta, the flies feasting on food at a few road side food stalls did not upset me too much today. Strange isn't it, that when you are in buoyant spirits, the world's problems seem irrelevant, self inflicted even? Anyways, today even the rising crescendo which was a music mix right from hell with people yelling (actually they were just talking, but somehow we as a nation have developed a notion that raising our volume is the only way to convey that what we are trying to say holds weight. Who can blame us for developing this habit? We have a government and state authorities and the entire circus of bureaucrats !!! Enough said?!), the sounds of metal clanking from home bound industries, the sound of people walking and bargaining with vegetable vendors or the poultry guy, the sound of shopkeepers lifting their shutters mingled with the quaint sound of a bell tinkling in a bid to appease the God that meant business for steady business that day...everyday, the constant pleading of stray cattle, the occasional vendor introducing himself to this musical masterpiece with his unique, innovative sales pitch jingle, selling ready made eatables, cheap hosiery, plastic toys and even herbal medicines approved by themselves. Nothing. Nothing could bring me down today. I was soaring high, out of reach from the dirty, vermin infested claws of this land that surrounded me, even its smells and stench could not stick to my clothes today or get in my nostrils and pollute the air full of zest that I was breathing today.

I did not know it then, that when this day, today would end, all would be inconsequential.

So I was all ready to face the day. Dressed in my sharp, smart shirt and trousers with a tie that 'brought out the colour of my eyes (bluish green, they are bluish green, in case you are wondering what the colour of my eyes are). I had it planned almost 20 days in advance, when I received a call followed by an e-mail about me making it through to the final round of the interview, what I was going to wear. The colours, the fabric was not some random decision that I had taken. It was done considering the time I would be travelling (I wanted a fabric that would 'breathe' so that I don't turn up with ugly stinking patches of sweat under my arms), the rush in the local trains, which colour would best hide the stains that I was sure to get on them while travelling in a local. I had thought of everything. I was prepared.

The journey from my place, taking an auto-rickshaw, taking the local, getting down...all of this was like a blur in slow motion. I did not realize how the hour had passed, because I was busy framing possible questions in my mind and preparing the best possible answers to them. I was planning my entry into the room and how to impress those 4-5 people in that room, with my first greeting and smile, those 4-5 people who would congratulate me at the end of the meeting and say "we are fortunate to have found you and we are sure that your capabilities would help us a great deal." I had rehearsed my opening line well. After all I had 20 days to practice.

The blur in slow motion evaporated and re-emerged as one clear picture, the loud sounds of traffic outside the train station breaking the trance. I looked around for an auto-rickshaw, my ride for the day. I had decided that I would be generous today and give the auto-wallah a little extra. I was even thinking of asking him to wait for me till the interview got over, ofcourse, I would ask him to take the waiting charges. I was planning to go back home in the same auto-rickshaw. Yeah sure it would cost me nothing less than Rs. 200, but my days of keeping a record, miserly saving every and any penny that I could would be a thing of the past as soon as I walked out of that meeting room. My life was about to change, for the better today and I have to, at the risk of sounding brazen, admit that I felt like God and that I had the power to make this auto-wallah's day better by giving him money over and above the fare. I calculated quickly in my mind, "200 + something for the fare, an hours waiting charges, should be another say 70 - 80, lets round it up and keep it at hundred. That plus the 100 may be 150 that I would give him as a little extra. Oh! what the hell I would give him a 500 hundred note! Why be miserly. The poor thing could use that kind of money, I am sure!"

I had figured all this out in a matter of not more than 10 minutes while I stood there, looking, choosing whose day I was going to make better, who would be the one that I decide would have a 'lucky day'. Just then I spotted this old man. His auto was 'spit and polish' (or should that be spat and polished?)Anyways, you get the picture, right?

I got back to my mental calculations once again. Hardworking, yes. Sincere, yes. And he was old. He probably would appreciate and use the money better than most of his younger professional colleagues. Done. It has to be him. Is this how God feels? Is this how God decides, I thought with a beatific smile on my face. Wondering how I could see what kind of smile I had on my face? I was feeling like God, remember! I knew everything. If anything, I was only settling for less. A God settling for the smile of an angel!

I hailed and got his attention. He took a u-turn and braked right where I was standing. I bent down a little to have a better look at his face. I smiled. He did not smile back. Inspite of that, his face, his demeanor did not come across as harsh or rude to me. He had an almost kind face, and I though that it stayed kind, irrespective of whether he smiled or not. Or may be it was just me, 'high on happiness and loads of self-esteem' that day. The day could not have been more beautiful and no one could do any wrong today.

I told him the address, he nodded. I got in. The first few minutes were filled with silence. Then I decided to make things more cheery. Yes this was in continuance of me taking charge today and making it right for me and anyone else around me. Anyone whom I chose. I started with a simple question. 'What is your name?' He looked at me through the mirror at the top center of the auto and replied 'Naseeb'. I said. 'Wow, that is a beautiful name. It means fate, destiny, right!'. He looked at me again through the mirror and replied with a nod. After a very brief interlude between the nod and what I thought was a sigh, he said, 'That is what it means. If it is beautiful or not, that I cannot say. I cannot be the judge of that'. I found a little strange. A little disquieting, a little discomforting.
I asked him, 'Why do you say that?. He replied, 'Because it means different things to different people under different circumstances'. Okay, I confess. I had no clue what he was talking about or what he meant by that, but I smiled and nodded, looking at him through the mirror, pretending to convey that I knew exactly what he meant.

I decided to change the topic and improve the vibes. The air in the auto-rickshaw had gotten heavy all of a sudden. The air felt like the air from the land that was across my home. I tried to rise above it. I loosened my tie a bit. I tried to take my mind away. I spoke again, with an attempt to get over it. 'You know Naseeb, I have an interview today. It is the final round. It is a mere formality actually. That is where I am going. Life changes after this meeting, for the better. Finally!' I was smiling as I was saying this. He replied, 'Yes? Is that so.' His tone did not sound like a question. This was a tone with finality disguised as a question. Before I could respond, he said "You know I had a passenger like you sometime back. Young as you are. Sure as you are. You remind me of him. A lot". I replied, 'Yes? Is that so.' cheekily and smiled. He smiled as well. I continued, "So, tell me more about this person who was so much like me!" He replied, "Don't know. Met him just once that day. Strangely, he mentioned that he lived somewhere near where I always wait for customers. I never saw him again, after that day".

I thought about that, and said jokingly, "Well, happens. You know it is all a matter of Naseeb". He did not smile, but looked into my eyes, looking into the mirror, and replied "Yes. It is".

What happened after that was an ugly motley of a deafeningly loud horn, the rumble of metal colliding, the blood curling screech of tires on tar, the sickeningly faint sound of flesh getting ripped and bones getting crunched, the nauseous smell of blood mingling with that of fuel. A truck, apparently had lost control, jumped the lane and had headed straight towards our auto-rickshaw.I am not sure though what really happened. But I remember this vision clearly. I saw its iron clad bulky front, the metal plate with the devil's head painted on it, along with lemons and green chillies strung together, dangling in the front and then everything was black and a buzz in my ears. I could sense a crowd gathering around us. I could vaguely comprehend voices that seemed to be coming from very far off places. I mustered every bit of strength left in me and opened my eyes to see how Naseeb was. I saw him sitting in a corner with a few people gathered around him. He was sipping water from a bottle someone must have offered him. His clothes looked just the way they were when I got into his auto-rickshaw. He looked unhurt. Then I collapsed. It was all just black now. Even the buzzing sound in my ears had gone away.

I have been in a coma for the past 6 months, may be even 8. I am not sure. But today I know this one thing with a surety that is frightening and alleviating at the same time. A 500 rupee note does not make anyone a God.

Demonization

Calm. Strange. Quietude. Details. Harmony

Reaching Out

Communion of the elements

Fate's Child?

A voice that has stayed with me...
That stands out even on stormy nights...
That whisper honey in my ears and sings for me sweet lullabies...
The touch of that skin feels like a kiss from the angels in paradise...
Those eyes. Haven't seen anything more deeper and more striking...
They hold answers to the world's mysteries and whys...
That fragrance. That hair. As it brushes against my face...it makes me alive...
It makes me believe wishes have wings and can fly...
Take me away with you...
Wherever you are...
I would rather melt in your arms or vapourize and reach the skies...
Than be preserved forever as icy cold fate's neglected child...
Whom no one chooses to hear...in spite of the parched cries...

Inverted Realities

Cold Recoil

It was a lazy Sunday afternoon. The evening was setting in, equally lazily. It was as if the day did not want to move on. Who could blame the day...or the people or the feeling itself. The next day was Monday. I was barely over my hangover. It was still hanging pretty evidently. It surrounded, held hostage every space in my head. Going down, getting food...seemed like the most difficult of tasks. I smoked a few more cigarettes in my stupid attempt to kill my hunger. It was in vain. The hunger came back after every 15 minutes of smoking a cigarette, and so did the headache. The headache kept on increasing its appetite, slowly increasing the territory under its direct command. I needed some instant relief. I looked around. I just had some of the 'green' stuff lying around from last night. Just enough for one good trip.

I wanted to escape, again. Last night was inspired by this desire to escape, I did infact manage to as well...till I found myself in my bed this morning, cursing the booze and the joints...

I rolled myself one. I turned on some music. I felt no particular urge to hear any music. It was just to kill the silence around me. I wasn't used to the quiet yet. I was training myself for it. It was hard then. It is hard now. Just then my cell started buzzing. I looked at it. 23 miscalls since last couple of days. I did not attend calls anymore. Or reply to messages. Only did if they were from my office. That was rarely though because I practically lived in my office. My corner at the workplace to be more precise. I was running away. From what...to where...I did not know that yet. All I know is a misty haze of one sound, one perfume, one laugh, one smile, one touch surrounded me and then I felt incredible pain. Pain is what I remember most clearly.

I sat on my window smoking the one last joint. Cursing it for nearing the end of its existence. I needed it to stay with me. I needed it. I held it in front of my face. It's reluctant glow reflecting in my eyes. Burning my eyes. My eyes felt like rivers then. A river that had no where to go.

I dragged on it with a vengeance. It's bitter taste on my lips and acidic fumes burning my throat. I liked this feeling. I was drifting away. The river too had finally found its course. We were both flowing together, it, strangely in a downward direction, as I flowed in the reverse direction, in my past. No. I didn't want to go there...but I did not resist too much...the truth was...that was the only place where I had any kind of existence. I saw bike rides and movies...and evening dinners and afternoons spent reading books together... I saw those eyes...and then they vanished as soon as they had appeared. I saw disco lights and Gods smiling on me. I heard the bell toll. The noise of the bell increasingly getting closer to me. Getting louder. Louder. Now it was right next to my ears. It seemed on a singular mission of splitting my eardrums and exploding my head...my muscles tensed...My entire body became rigid, as if frozen...thinking that by doing that I would brace myself against this onslaught. It was all in vain. The sound of the bell was inside my ears. In my head. Traveling in my blood through my veins, ready to turn me inside out. I wanted to get out of my skin, just leap out of it.

I ran. I ran as hard as I could. I ended up in a place I remembered clearly. With the place came these thoughts "It was a lazy Sunday afternoon. The evening was setting in, equally lazily. It was as if the day did not want to move on. Who can blame the day...or the people or the feeling itself. The next day was Monday. I was barely over my hangover. It was still hanging pretty evidently. It surrounding, held hostage every space in my head...." It was a chain of thoughts. The very same thoughts that came to my head everytime I found myself in those familiar surroundings. The sound of the bell had now become a shrill scream. A scream that was infinite, that came from somewhere so deep down that it was impossible to locate it and squash its neck so that it would stop.

The thoughts came back again "The hunger came back after every 15 minutes of smoking a cigarette, and so did the headache. The headache kept of increasing its appetite, slowly increasing the territory under its direct command. I needed some instant relief..."

The veins on my hand standing, as if they would kiss me, embrace me, if only I let them burst and grant them some relief through it.

There was an explosion of colours then. I was there again, in that familiar place. Standing in the middle of the room...feeling confused. The confusion I still remember clearly. The colours started floating around me before they started to merge with each other. They merged and became red. Painting me red with the entire room around me. I had red on my hands, under my finger nails, on my face, trickling down. And then I saw a silhouette, lying face down before suddenly turning and looking at me...those eyes...I knew them...I had even loved them once but I loved it even more now. Because they were as dead as mine.

I coiled as I felt a 'cold touch' against my skin. I jerked and opened my eyes. I was confused again. It was sometime till I could focus my eyes again as the grey colour started to take the form of walls.

I moved my hands around. I was soaked in sweat. My clothes. My mattress. My pillow. Then I heard the rap of metal on metal and the clinking of chains. I heard footsteps before I could see the person. Then my cell door opened. And I heard...someone from the next cell shout out aloud in glee "Dead Man Walking My Ass"!!! followed by a shrill laughter.

Lechers United

We are a nation of lechers...mostly! So that way if you aren't one...you should not take this personally...or should you.!!!? I am not a lecher...honest (PEOPLE!!!...saying this is not the same as saying 'I ....am....hic....not drunk...hic... after 5 drinks...or was that less) Well, when I say I am not a lecher...I mean it. I am worse. I stay silent when I witness lechery. But what can I do ...right??? Its everywhere I go...every second thing I hear... but its not that it doesn't bother me...it does...a great deal... I get angry...my temperature rises... that I can say because I can feel the blood throb in temples...I grind my jaws...and then... I look away ...c'mon ...don't judge me as yet... I feel helpless... I have tried reforming people indulged in this, people I knew and people that I did not...

I am 'uncool' because of this. It makes me 'not very like able' to my peers... I'm glad. I think about this need to lech and where the urge originates from... haven't figured that one out yet. But one thing I know for sure. It has to do something with lack of respect for people... okay...women, more precisely... I feel angry at these men and I pity the women who have to share their lives with such men under some social compulsion...I would want to be anything...but, their wives, daughters, sisters... Infact, I would not want to be 'any woman' around them...but I can say that and do nothing about it because I am a man...I have the benefit of mere contemplation and perception on this matter...but what about women who have to face this every single day...everywhere...I often wonder...do they think... ' I wish I wasn't a woman'...and I know this for sure...everytime I think, some woman is thinking that.. I think... 'I wish I wasn't a man'...and then I think...my inactivity is proof enough that I am not one in the first place (not a man in the 'conventionally defined ways of manhood atleast :) )...not to say that these women need my help or anybody else'...they aren't dependent on anybody to do anything for them...they have fared well so far...but would it be so bad...if they did have some kind of support system... or are we...'men' going to continue to be 'Lechers United'...a union of those who lech and those who do nothing about it....just the thought of sharing that space...suffocates me...the choice is simple...breathe or die...the action that should follow the choice...isn't. It takes courage to stand up and stay there...courage I hope I have someday...

'All Men Are Dogs'... If Only That Was True.

Call me a dog and I will roll over with joy...maybe even fetch your newspaper...but put that word along with the dog's two-legged not so friendly friend and I have major major issues with it (not that anyone gives two hoots about what I have issues with :))

I stand up today, in defense of the dogs that have been, for centuries, subjected to this totally uncalled for and baseless accusation...of being compared to 'Men'. Now, maybe, it is my limited understanding but I would hazard an assumption, that most feminists or rather liberals, in this regard are quite clear that 'men' and 'women' are two separate terms...now don't draw out your clubs as yet...I mean terms...as just that and not competency... We all know women are way superior to men... let me simplify...when someone says "all men are dogs"..it is understood that they mean ...men*...not people...not persons...but just men.... (I'm sure most of you are thinking...ofcourse it just means men! since when did men become competent enough to represent the entire race 'people'...like the term 'actors' stands for 'actors' of all sexes...the word 'men' does not have any such luck...and rightly so..

(* definition: those creatures with apparently two set of brains...out of which the first and primary set is automatically overridden by the secondary, but, more powerful one.)...

Coming back to the topic, once again, I am sorry I have a habit of wandering off mid sentences...yeah so where were we...yes!!! "All men are dogs".

I begin with saying..it is totally unfair... to the dogs...ofcourse... Men aren't half as capable and have done absolutely nothing to deserve any sort of reference along side such noble beasts of impeccable character.

I mean...come to think of dogs...what is the first thing that comes to one's mind when we say 'dogs'???...faithful, companion, cute, honest, obedient...??? I am guessing, once again, that most of the adjectives that I have mentioned...most of you would agree with...why then place such noble beings with someone as repulsive as 'men'!!!

Hmmm...does that habit of 'men' chasing 'skirts' have anything to do with this rather harsh (on the dogs ofcourse) and forced metaphor? maybe... I can't be sure..because I don't see much logic backing that one up as well...dogs chase anything!!!

Aah!!! now it dawns upon me...it is the 'men specific' habit to go after anything and everything!!! This could be the reason...yes...! But then, if that is the reason...what are we...and here...'we', I believe would consist of women, because logic would suggest 'All men are dogs' is a statement that most women would make, as compared to men... (again an assumption) forgive me if I am wrong...so back to the point...If considering most women use this statement, then what are they in effect trying to say? The 'anything' that they chase, what is it in reality...isn't that 'anything' a human being that is being referred to? So when we dismiss a human being as 'anything'...what does it really say about the ones who say it...?

These issues are way beyond me...I am thinking out aloud...most of it doesn't make sense...even to me...

So...till the time I try and figure this one out...

To all the men out there :Be good...be obedient...fetch the newspaper...be good on your evening walks...know that the leash is always there...if you misbehave.... Earn the right of being compared to a dog!!!

To all the women out there: Please don't insult the dogs...men haven't earned it yet..they need to be further tamed...and disciplined.

What Age?!

The Origin

Blind Faith

Contrast Manifestations

Mind(E)Scape

Moon Lit

Arrivals & Departures

Sky Canvas

The 'Sacred' Gift

Brain Dead

Bittersweet

Solitude

Life - Lines

Grimace

"The Vultures" - A Salute to Mr. Vijay Tendulkar

Taken from the novel titled "The Vultures" by Mr. Vijay Tendulkar. Loved it. Had to sketch it...cheers...cyril

Nirvana

The Face

Warmth

Don't know if it captures the thought i had or even the title that i have given to this one...cheers...cyril

Art of ........

Hey...saw a similar image on the net...was not a sketch or a painting or anything...i guess was a thing made on photoshop or something...tickled me a bit...' I have to sketch this'... i thought... and here it is ...cheers...cyril

Temptations & Bliss

Have tried to sketch and capture just that...the question is...what is right? what is wrong? what is a sin? what is immoral? If there is a yardstick...what is it...how is it applied...I don't have the answers...just a few thoughts and lots of questions...cheers...cyril

Nightmares

This one is called 'Nightmares'... I am sure we have all had them... I hate explaining my sketches...but would love to hear your interpretation of them...cheers...cyril

Respect the Form

A few of my sketches...some are shades from my thoughts...some I have seen somewhere and have sketched to convey what that image meant to me...hope you enjoy them...as much as I have sketching them... cheers...cyril

Whistling Woods

Whistling woods, possessed trees,

Unhappy spirits travel ling from stone to stone,

Distorting their face with tears and rains from up above,

Distracted, unreal you feel, till a sorrowful soul catches your eye,

Bleeding emptiness in a dark, scary corner,

Whimpered that love killed it, when it passed away,

A heart once he lived in, called itself unfortunate and haunted.

Untimely death, he lived after dying to pay for the crimes, the debt,

To rid of the suffocation, beyond any imagination, melting will,

Bleeding emptiness in a dark scary corner…..

Rendezvous...was never scripted

The restless lines on my bed share my story,
The dampness on my pillow speak my language,
It is pouring when I see outside my window and its raining fire on the inside, where I can’t look anymore,
An unwanted feeling gaining roots, an unwanted organ like, prominent in the harm its doing,
Tear it away it screams, tear it away they scream, the lines on my bed and the dampness on my pillow,
Can’t, I am unable to, I am trying, I am sweating, feels like a nightmare, only it is real,
Wake up, wake up, open your eyes I say, I plead, I can’t, I am unable to, only that my eyes are already open,
Questions in my mind perturbing me, find the answers, uncover the answers, please, please find them they beg, only that none exist,
Make this night end, let the sun break out, make it end, carve it out, please, please, they beseech, they implore on their knees, I can’t, I am unable to, only a rendezvous for the night and day was never scripted,
They share my story; speak my language, the restless lines and the dampness…

Man Weather

For once the weather feels like me,
A dusty storm with a shower of rain,
It is lost and frustrated,
Injured and wild,
It is strong and crying,
Anger inside to blow away homes,
But caring enough to fight the scorn,
A struggle raging in its heart, silently creeping up,
A quiet build up that will burst into thunders, any moment now,
But instead it keeps staring with its iron gaze,
It has to pour; it has to cry tears through rain tonight,
But it holds it up and gives no signs,
As the world fearfully watches it brazenly brushing past,
People now gradually easing as it seems to calm down,
But it silently rages inside, the world unaware as it shows no signs,
Smirking it passes by but hiding the teary eyes,
For once the weather feels like me,
This is to what it has come,
A mirror image is what I have become….

Cracked mirrors and empty houses…

Cracked mirrors and empty houses…
Searching for someone who has left long ago…
Looking for footprints….
Thinking which way to go…
Broken bridges and mountains to climb…
Buried long ago yet digging deep to find…
Untended roads…talking, shouting…till I turn hoarse…
None to listen and none to reason…
Leaking roofs sharing the grief…
Letting the sun in
This room filled with emptiness and no one…
Party to my sin…
Torn spirits and low on patience…
Losing life, losing the essence…
Looking for a new opening…
Anticipating…
Sleepless just to rise…
Mirrors and homes and bridges and roads all come at a price…
Looking forward to it…
Still sleepless just to rise…

Monster Flight

an ugly monster you have been

changing faces and changing names

to remain unnoticed

to remain untouched

lied at will

cried to hide

kept silent and spoke out loud

all was the call of the time

a staged drama

a farce personified

took care to be pampered

was cajoled and loved

all the while

scheming in the darkness

sharpening your fangs and claws

sweet smile

deceptive smile

feeding the monster inside

keeping it alive

you are not for real

you, the only one who knows it

have been putting up a flawless show

you would say the truth aloud

and still only the untruth would be believed

an ugly monster you have been

and you the keeper and the master

controlled its rage

kept it hidden in a cage
monster of masks you have been

monster of many names and feelings

a monster of manipulation

but I know it's now hurting inside

the monsters’ gotten bigger than you

and is twisting and turning inside you f

or its outward flight

can’t take it any longer

i can see

you have become the monster

the monster once controlled by thee

an ugly monster you have been

one of its kind

but left out and the only one

mighty strong

self destructive and blind

too far into the path of being this monster

an ugly monster you have been

the keeper of the secrets

not desired any more

but you have been cursed

as a monster

to always be buried under the floor

an ugly monster you have been

and one you shall always be

no outward flights and angelic sights

an ugly monster destined

this day

by you

shall never be seen
An ugly monster you have been…

Stolen Colours

I feel this pain that is indescribable; it tears right through me…my skin and bones…
My naked soul exposed to the world, tormented and tired, grieving and crying…
Nothing I do makes it heal…no amount of nursing makes it smile…
I identify with corners, dark and dusty ones…the corners of a home in which even memories have quit to reside…
Alone it roams, alone it floats from room to room from one moment of time to the other…
Followed by the burden it took on itself…now bent under its own weight…
It is getting too heavy…to look up…eyes too hazy to recognize colors…
Everything around seems to be painted in black and white and grey…no light escaping through…
No prism of glass to break it into a spectrum…to fill these dark dusty corners with the seven colors of a rain bow…
The bones are white…the soul is grey… the skin is pale and the tears are colorless…
Alone floating from room to room from one moment of time to the other…
Spirit and zeal vanishing in vapors…the colors evaporating in a hurry…only the warmth of the tears on my face and the chill of the bones keep acquaintance with me now…
The soul dying a thousand deaths…the colorless being pushed into an abyss…
Dark and deep like the dusty corners…floating from one moment to the other…
Being tormented further and further….

Incoherent Mutterings With A Stranger - Incident 2

I witnessed a dog being run over by a truck today. He must have been 5 or maybe 6 years old. For a dog that is the prime of his life. His time of youth. Never mind for this chap though, it was wasted. He was wasted. I saw him being hit. Heard a faint whimper. And then he just lay there. His body shaking and jerking. The tremors first shook his legs…the hind or the front I can’t recollect. Don’t care. Honestly it did not matter. Should it…he was dying. I think that was the all important event taking place then. Fuck which part the tremors started. I remember it as I saw it. There I was walking around. A thing I do normally, only there isn’t anything normal about a person walking around on the streets in the middle of a scorching summer afternoon. The heat can eat you. Literally. It can sink its teeth into your brains, soon shriveling under the heat; it can claw and tear your flesh with its razor sharp nails. So yeah, like I was saying, I was walking around. A thing I do normally. I can’t remember the reason for it now though. Perhaps I did not have one. Like always. But that isn’t important either. The important event is the dog dying. I was walking and I hear a soft thud followed by a faint whimper. I looked around. Found the deed. I stood there transfixed, looking at the dog jerking and going into spasms. I think it was a head injury, can’t be sure though because there was too much blood everywhere. I eased out of my trance like state, lit a cigarette and found myself a corner to sit so that I could witness the eventuality. I distinctly remember the reason for me deciding to do that was I wanted to feel empathy towards the dog. I would have forced myself into feeling that if I would not have felt that mechanically. I mean, how could I not feel empathy, witnessing a heart rendering scene like that. Isn’t empathy the base on which humanity is based? I could not deceive the ever concerned mankind by not putting up a decent display of the human empathy. So I sat there, smoking, making an occasional smoke ring or two, filled with a feeling of empathy through out, mind you. It was in one moment while I was watching the dog dying that various thoughts flooded my mind. The first thought was and I remember asking this aloud to myself “ What age do you think, the dog would be if it were a human…what are dog years, when converted into man years…or human years…or whatever the term is?” Isn’t this what we human do? Isn’t this what describes a human best. Forcing things, other objects – animate and inanimate things within a human dimension. Everything has to be from the human perspective. Otherwise it wouldn’t be a perspective at all or even if it would be it would invariably be wrong. Yeah, as if animals, plants, trees, oceans, the wind, birds, the soil could ever have a method of thought to them or their existence! So anyways I could not figure out what the dog’s man years would be. I once again concentrated on its last movements before his inevitable vision of the pearly gates for dogs. I don’t know if animals have a heaven or hell based on their status in the food chain. I mean how a lion could not mind being boarded up with say…a dog, whether in heaven or hell is a different question all together. Yeah so the movements, I saw the dog shit himself. He was covered in his own blood mixed with shit. The stench. Oh the stench of it! I would have loved to know what the dog was thinking. I would have given anything in the world to be in his head right then. Would it be thinking “Why did I have do die so young…why now…I have hardly achieved anything in life… It was just three weeks back that I thought, I found real dog love…now it would never be mine…I would never have my puppy kids…any family… I lived alone…Im dying alone… just when things were looking up a bit for me… I will die a death… a death punctuating a life punctuated with absence of love… care… attention even…Hey c’mon… I am a street dog… I should have known better than to believe that all the good things could have happened to me… and now when I’m dying I can see it all so clearly… all that was never meant to be…some dogs are born just so that they can pass through life and not actually live it like others… I know this now… I am at peace… Bring the white shiny bright lights on now!!!” Would it be thinking all this? Or would it be thinking something completely different like say…a leg of lamb… or the cat that got way last week. This I would never know. Just then my hands involuntarily moved to my breast pocket. I felt the now soggy touch of paper. “Ah! Her letter. She had sent it 7 years ago…I think it was the last one from her…can’t be sure. Infact I think, I am sure…since it was the only one she sent”. Words in the letter floated before my eyes now. So clear, so distinct. I could touch the words and the indifference in them if I only stretched my hand. I didn’t. I was scared. At that very moment I looked at the dog’s eyes. I think it was looking at me. A clear, non hazy pair of eyes. Not a hint of fear. I saw peace there. I found peace in the eyes of a dying dog. And then I saw my face there…with the body of a dog lying in the middle of the street…covered in my own shit and blood. The dog shook once last time. I shook involuntarily with it as if my life was biding goodbye to me. Of course, I mean that only figuratively. Death will come. Just not yet. Not so easy. I coughed. The same old hint of blood mixed with my spit. This has started being a companion to me lately. I spat the blood mixed with spit or spit mixed with blood in my hand and stared at it. The blood looked so much at home mixed with the spit, as if it was meant to be there. It was serene. I wiped my hands. Dusted my trousers. Crushed the cigarette butt. Got up. Left. I did not look back at the dead dog. But I am sure all the people passing by, would atleast look and feel empathy for a dying dog, now dead, if they all weren’t so busy.

Incoherent Mutterings With A Stranger - Incident 1

It was around 7:30 8:00 in the evening. Well in a place like this, you might as well call it 'a night'. Nothing to do. The empty crammed room that I live in wasn't providing me with any inspiration to return home any time soon. "What do I do, to kill time (no companions mind you) and not look pathetic at the same time?" Hey c'mon, I am 26, young (at least I feel that ways), not too bad looking and I was alone this evening (like most other evenings) with no desire to go back home. I walked around a bit. I like to think that walking is an introspective act for me. It is. Sometimes. Today it was just that I did not have my vehicle. So, yeah, here I am, walking. I came across this coffee bar. "Hmmm...not bad" I thought. Decent crowd, young. "Ok, this looks like a lively place (as lively as any place could be here)". So I walk in, it was a nice comfortable sort of a 'young people hang-out joint', a small hut like structure in the center (this is from where they served the order (limited menu, cold coffee and cheese hot dog and if you are lucky, may be a 'vada pav). It was located next to a park, where I guess the more mature generation would have spent their evenings, walking, more like strolling, old couple who were more interested in the number of steps they took per minute than talk to their partners, walking with equal seriousness besides them. Honestly, after so many years, would there be anything left that wasn't talked about already?. A plain old stroll was good enough. That was then. Now the 'young people' had taken over this park. There were groups of guys and gals, comfortably sprinkled across the park, talking, sipping on cold coffee, smoking. And then there were couples, trying to camouflage behind the shadows as much as they could. They needed neither the coffee, nor cigarettes nor cheese hot dogs. Love was their diet. I understand. I wouldn't need any of it either if I was with someone. But I wasn't and so I needed all of the above edible replacements. So, I placed my order, picked up a plastic stool, found a nice, discreet corner, trying to go unnoticed, so that my 'alone and hence a loser status' would not flash like a neon sign board in this dimly lit park. So I am sitting there, smoking, waiting for my coffee. There were a couple of other plastic stools lying around, vacant, still warm from the conversations that the group sitting there a few minutes before would have had. Then he arrives. All 3 and a half feet, thin, puny, with a dog on a leash...a massive labrador, pulling the young chap with him, panting, all excited. Wow, at least someone had a reason to be excited that evening and in general. So what if that someone was a pampered, and I am sure spoiled with love fat labrador. So back to this guy. He couldn't have been more than 10-12 years of age. Cold eyes. What cold eyes. And mannerisms fitting a guy who would have to be much much more mature. He looked around. Then he noticed me. Or rather the empty plastic stools around me. Oh damn, I thought, there goes my corner. Why did he have to spot this place. Maybe the neon sign are flashing bright. So, we sat across each other. Both strangers to each other. He sat on the stool next to me. There were other stools empty, he could have sat there, he could have sat anywhere else. But as things stood, he sat next to me.The labrador comes to me with all the enthusiasm in the world, wagging its fat tail, its shiny body shaking from side to side, eyes bright and lit up, tongue hanging, saliva dripping. But hey! I love animals (except may be the socially qualified one). I patted the dog for some time, scratched his belly and under his ears. He was loving it. The boy, I wasn't too sure. He tugged at the leash and ordered the labby to come and sit next to him. " What a prick" I thought. Silence. We just sat there. Staring in opposite directions. I thought, "at least I looked busy playing with the dog". The dog must have had the exact same thought, because, he got up again and came towards me for some love. But then the fat labby got tired or I guess bored of me and sat back next to his 'master' panting and drooling. Gradually I thawed off and asked, looking in no particular direction "Naam kya hai?". The kid eyed me up and down. Ice cold eyes and asked me curtly "Mera ya kutte ka?" Ok. So he was feeding me attitude. Bring it on. I am not one to back off. Not against this tiny chap at least. I am 6 feet and athetically build (this I like to think and believe) I tried giving him an equally cold look, this I think, is my gangster look. Don't think it worked. And then I asked him "Terko pucha k kutte ko?". I think my retort did have some impact. He looked at the ground, at the blades of grass crsuhed under his rubber slippers, eroded on the sides and then he said "Sonu. Mai pucha kiska kyuki zyadatar logo ko iss kutte ka naam janne mai interest hota hai, mera nai." I just looked at him. Nothing to say, I just turned to my saviour, my cell phone. After half a minute or so, he took out his cell, a higher end one than mine. I gulped my pride, pretended my work with the cell phone was done and put it back in my pocket.Couple of minutes passed. Silence. I asked him again "Itna bada kutta, tu isko ghumata hai ya yeh terko?". He looked at me. Right in my eyes. I could see a counter-attack building up . I was already bracing myself for the impact. And then there it came. He said "kapde to acche pehne hai...kaam se aye?" I nodded. He continued, "Aap naukri karte ho ya naukri aap ki kar leti hai?". Damn. He was good. Formidable. What a comeback!!! I smiled. I had to. This was too good a reply. Touche' I said to myself. And then a strange thing happened. He returned my smile with one of his own. I asked him "coffee piyega?". He did not hesitate. He spontaneously replied " Haan, lekin thank you, vank you nai bolunga. Aapki garaj hai pilane mai. Kabse dekha mai, ek ghante se aise alag, akele baithe ho!". I smiled. This kid was smart. He was something else. I shouted out "Nawaz, do cold coffee lana". The kid smiled back at me. nawaz got us coffee. Sonu took a sip, looked at me and said "Thank you." I said "Nai re...thank you". Sonu looked long and hard at me and asked "To bolo...akele kyu baithe ho." I was taken aback but did not show it. I lit another cigarette. We looked at each other briefly and both smiled...silence....momentarily.

Revolving Doors

Life is but revolving doors...
people moving in...people checking out...
dont bother to call ... or ask them to turn around....
life is but revolving doors...
trapping me inside...
why is life this way...
i ask this and then i smile...
cos i think of you...
thinkin of me...
ten thousand mile...away...
the only person tht i need to stay...
our lives are nthng but revolving doors...
others may leave...but i believe...you and me...
we' l reach our magical shores...
the only person tht i need to stay...
im glad life is this way...
revolving doors...magical shores...
you are my bed rock...when the doors keep spinning...
making my head spin...
when others keep leaving...
u help me break down those revolving doors...
take my hand...and take me outdoors...
you show me the deep azure...meeting the magical shores
u the only one i need to stay...
cos if when i stray...get trapped again...
i need you to be my bedrock...when these doors keep spinnin...
making my head spin...
i need you to hold my hand...tell me...
u there...for me...by me...within...
tell me life is but revolving doors..
but that does not need to stop us anymore..
take my hand and lets fly...lets soar...
breaking down these doors...reaching our magical shores
life is nothing but revolving doors...
people moving in..people checking out...
i smile...I'm glad life is this way...
cos u the only one i need to stay

Lechers United

We are a nation of lechers...mostly! So that way if you aren't one...you should not take this personally...or should you.!!!? I am not a lecher...honest (PEOPLE!!!...saying this is not the same as saying 'I ....am....hic....not drunk...hic... after 5 drinks...or was that less) Well, when I say I am not a lecher...I mean it. I am worse. I stay silent when I witness lechery. But what can I do ...right??? Its everywhere I go...every second thing I hear... but its not that it doesn't bother me...it does...a great deal... I get angry...my temperature rises... that I can say because I can feel the blood throb in temples...I grind my jaws...and then... I look away ...c'mon ...don't judge me as yet... I feel helpless... I have tried reforming people indulged in this, people I knew and people that I did not...

I am 'uncool' because of this. It makes me 'not very like able' to my peers... I'm glad. I think about this need to lech and where the urge originates from... haven't figured that one out yet. But one thing I know for sure. It has to do something with lack of respect for people... okay...women, more precisely... I feel angry at these men and I pity the women who have to share their lives with such men under some social compulsion...I would want to be anything...but, their wives, daughters, sisters... Infact, I would not want to be 'any woman' around them...but I can say that and do nothing about it because I am a man...I have the benefit of mere contemplation and perception on this matter...but what about women who have to face this every single day...everywhere...I often wonder...do they think... ' I wish I wasn't a woman'...and I know this for sure...everytime I think, some woman is thinking that.. I think... 'I wish I wasn't a man'...and then I think...my inactivity is proof enough that I am not one in the first place (not a man in the 'conventionally defined ways of manhood atleast :) )...not to say that these women need my help or anybody else'...they aren't dependent on anybody to do anything for them...they have fared well so far...but would it be so bad...if they did have some kind of support system... or are we...'men' going to continue to be 'Lechers United'...a union of those who lech and those who do nothing about it....just the thought of sharing that space...suffocates me...the choice is simple...breathe or die...the action that should follow the choice...isn't. It takes courage to stand up and stay there...courage I hope I have someday...

hell cometh

last night the devil came for me...
told me it will be you in your body but in it i shall be...
your face...but inside you i shall make my restin place...
i shall start breathing in you with a single cell...
you shall be my altar , my bloody hell...
i shall make you see..dark disturbin images....
i shall be the writer of your life's god forsaken pages...
i shall take and take till you have
got nothin left to give...
i will hold your breathe...till you get breatheless...till you pant and heave...
i shall take away and crush your soul mind and heart...
and steal away all livin in them
from you...till condemn yourself to sad lonliness too....
i shall come back everythime you forget...
to bestow upon you...a pain ...a wrath over bearin...
packed as a gift...a greater regret...

Circus

I'm a circus,
I'm the joker, I'm the ringmaster,
I'm the trapeze and the knife catcher,
I'm the magic dove and the caged tiger
I'm the comic relief and the gasp of thrill
I'm the colorful tents and the fortune teller
I am the exotic beast and the dwarfed ridiculed feast
I am the circus,
I am the illusion,
I am all and I am none.
I am the performer and the audience both married for once
Laugh, cry, shriek, wonder, dance,
The circus and the universe for once…

Watching her go to sleep again...

Watching her go to sleep

my silences talking to me
Why didn’t I do what was right
All that we shared couldn’t it be forever mine

for me to keep
Wanting to reach out and touch you

searching for a place inside your heart

to love you

May be gestures don’t matter any more

i'm living my own truth

swearing by it and yet

denying it to the core

Is it love wasted

or am I wasted in love
It's here today

will it be there again

Memories and pain
watching her go to sleep again

Knowing deep down some where

A thousand miles apart and I would still care
Just to know love
Just to know how
I lived through it

and never lived again

If only for a moment more
I could watch her go to sleep again

It rained again

It rained again last night, soaking one and all…
Some ran for shelter, some welcomed the untimely fall…
Somewhere someone cursed it I could hear, somewhere lovers romanticized I could feel,
Somewhere someone curled up with there only bed partners, the cold, somewhere some was warm by an embrace…
It rained again last night, soaking one and all…
Some where the banyan became greener; somewhere gulmohar gave in…
Somewhere a bird quenched its thirst, somewhere a nest was ruined first…
It rained again last night, soaking one and all…
Somewhere someone was touched by kindness, offered shelter and was comforted, somewhere someone met with empty stares and eyes there were deserted…
Somewhere the ocean grew bigger; somewhere the boats got small, washed and looted,
Somewhere it was an answered prayer, some where faith got uprooted…
It rained again last night, soaking one and all…
Somewhere someone spent a sleepless night worrying about his home, floors and walls,
Somewhere some one wrote a poem a, someone void of anxiety for a home that never existed, wetting his parched skin merrily, Somewhere someone told it like a story, like a mere spectator for all,
It rained again last night, soaking one and all…