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Sunday, September 5, 2010

For Me...

adhigatya guroH GYAnaM chhAtrebhyo vitaranti ye |

vidyA vAtsalya nidhayaH shikshakA mama daivataM ||


For me,

When the tortoise beat the hare,

when the gulmohar tree bloomed on papyrus,

when the single lines formed shapes,

when letters formed words lesser known,

when two and two added as four,

when the ball made its way into the goal,

when the smiles made way for the tears,

For me, you were there!


For me,

When the dress changed from grey to colours,

when books made way for notes,

when benches were counted from behind,

when time was measured with a P or an A,

when I grew and outgrew,

when I stole minutes in seconds to write verse in prose,

when i became a lower notation,

For me, you were there!


For me,

When i chose a system away from a system,

when i spoke of what should have been, and not,

when i carried unfulfilled dreams,

when i found many you's in many me's,

when i watered the forbidden desires,

when i rose and fell, and fell,

when darkness made way to light,

For me, you were there!


In my poetry,

In my soul,

In me, you all were there;

in each form,

same shape,

just a different octate, a different sestet!


For you, my own -

Om Gurur Brahma Gurur Vishnuh |

Gurur Devo Maheshawarah ||

Gurureva param brahma |

Tasmai Shri Gurave Namah ||


To Deuta (Dad), Maa, Bro Dsouza, Mr. Middlecourt, Mrs. Krishnakali, Sutapa ma'm, Krishnamurthy ma'm, Sunil Sir, Dr. Ratan, Rahul Sapra, Sumit Pillai, Namit, Shaheen Jehani, Himanshu Gautam, Arvind Joshi

Sunday, August 8, 2010

The Poem - Generations old!

There was a first
and they were his words.
The other listened
patiently, sometimes
slept with eyes wide open.
In between punctuations,
gargles of alcohol,
a few nature's calls
and some verses blank,
The other would be seated,
seats below,
a meter below the meter
An old saying ran in the village
"Distance from the first always safer"

The first would recite,
pause;
The other would clap,
release a few audible excites.
Scratch his head,
Sometimes the groin,
Looks at the sun
when he came - was a red ball,
now - a bright ball,
when he will leave - in the sky a different ball.

His father had done the same,
So had the father's father.
Generations of practice,
Taught the survival in the game.
His son -
young and naive.
In the distance squatted,
played five on five.
Bought along to observe,
In years will have to learn,
Earn,
the family's morsel of bread,
Safe keep the land,
and all other fears that they dread!

The first would rise,
the other followed.
The first sighed,
the other sheepishly smiled.
The first burped,
the other gulped.
The first moved away,
Two hands on two men,
The alcohol must have been strong,
The other picks up his child,
Sleeping on the grass,
mud on his hide,
worms sleeping by his side.

On the way back, his questions galore -
"Baba - what did you hear today?"
The other would cradle him closer
"Poetry, my son, everyday!"
"Was I there in it?"
another question,
another silence from the other.
Many pauses later,
"No, my son, not you nor grand pa or me was in it!"







Sunday, August 1, 2010

Patterns

I woke up next to her. The room was dark with faint streaks of street light sneaking past the curtains. Light always manages to surreptitiously make way into the dark corners. All it requires is a small crack, a gap, an inconsequential crevice or even a brief parting. As I sat on the edge of the bed, I deliberately parted the curtain to allow the smooth operator to sneak into the room willingly and sate it’s curiosity to explore dark corners. Dressed in yellow, drawing patterns of the window grill over my face in soft shadows, settling comfortably on the floor, a few of its rays carelessly lay on the bed next to me, flirting silently with my presence. I looked outside. The road that overlooked the window lay bare and my eyes could trace its unending horizon, adorned with numerous street lamps that seemed to coalesce into the dark sky as stars in the distant horizon. I shifted my gaze on the bed where she was lying, unaware, oblivious of the spectacle and my state of mind. The bed stead hugged her tracing the contours of her body. It seemed to be gazing back at me, teasing me at the proximity it seemed to be enjoying with her naked body. I let out a sigh and shifted my gaze back on the road and thought about the night, which was only a few hours old.

Our kisses were always very passionate. From gentle brushes to passionately crushing each other, our lips seemed to have a life of their own. For a few brief moment we would pause, the air echoing with our heavy breathing, look into each other’s eyes and then as if the wait has been itself too long, the lips would lock themselves again. Hands would prowl, pushing, pulling, and tugging at anything that would try and come between our skins. In between all this she would laugh when I bury myself on her neck, but that would be momentary. The bed would take the brunt of our wrestle; cotton, silk and sometimes satin crushed under our bodies. For those minutes everything seems to be secondary – time, the mobile phone ringing, the music, the candles that would never be lit and many other things that would be our concern when we would be two different individuals. Sometimes there would be questions in my mind but would be exorcised as quickly as they would conjure under the pulpit of the passion. I would laugh, sometimes smile and be in a state of stupor; she would winch, bite her lips, close her eyes, clench her fists, claw my back and seconds later everything would come to an abrupt end, the room would be filled with an eerie silence, sometimes punctured by hoarse whispers of her “love you.”

It was no different today. I kept lying on the bed, knowing what would come next. She crawled herself to my bare chest, kissed it and caressed the hair on it, she so much loved. I ran my hands through her tresses, carefully separating a few strands falling over her eyes. I wanted to see her eyes but like always her face would be buried inside me. I pulled myself back a little allowing her more room to rest her head on. My ears were slowly registering the various sounds around us now. Reality was near and I kept playing with her hair, hoping feverishly that she would fall asleep and silence would be the last conversation before we woke up again. For a long while she lay still and I strained my neck a little to see if she had slept. And then she spoke, her voice feeble but seemed to echo in my ears – “You took her name again today. You loved her a lot, na?”

I knew the question; I have heard it many times in the last few months. The past always caught up with me. “Perhaps, I can out run it someday,” I thought to myself as I looked out of the window. I could still see the road and the lights plastered unto the canvas. Nothing seemed to have changed from when I woke up till now. Time, Yes, time has passed but nothing else has changed. The light was still searching for other crevices and every time it has managed to find a presence in my room through the curtains. I looked at her on the bed. I made way back on the bed cuddling closer to her. The curtains – I left them open. I can’t fight the light anyway.

Sunday, July 25, 2010

Broken

I broke down today
Over the thread of joy that lay barren
On my war struck heart's ground
Tears dried up inside
There were so many things to hide
Some mountains built of mole hills
Some rivers of rain drops
Some flowers strewn in between rides
to nowhere but the path inside
All along I knew - 'This is just a dream'
So was She
many years ago
When she walked away from my arms to another
And life had never been the same
Till I found my thread of joy
Over one drunk state of life
I hollered
The unsaid was heard
That was it
The dream began
And amongst all the nothingness
Little did I know
I had grown young
and the hardened heart tender
Unconditional
Unperturbed
but it was not to be
Every dream wakes to reality
I woke up a
morning with the essence of the thread of joy
Breaking to pieces
And I collect the shards of memories
Not weaker
but stronger
Because I have a promise to keep
To be where I have been left
with the same smile
the same spirit
the same heart
Tender
Young
Never ageing in the day or dark!

The first draft came from the heart... I will not say anything more. I have no punctuations left...



Tuesday, July 20, 2010

Today anger overtook love,
Temperament assaulted patience,
Love stood where it was.
It does not know to fight back,
So it decided to wait,
Where it stood!
Anger is volatile,
Love eternal.
So it stood under the tree
Waiting!

:) Sigh!!! I guess I have grown with time!!!

Monday, July 12, 2010

An Absent Presence!

In a moment fraught with your lingering presence

I miss the absence

Time would never be the same

But, yet it moves,

Dragging the moments,

With the pace,

I cannot keep up with.

So I wait under your shadow,

Waiting for everything to stand still.

Watch time pass by,

Waiting for the unheard emotion of the heart,

To pronounce the unpronounced,

To see the unseen!

All for a moment fraught with your presence,

Where I can feel the absence,

Of everything else but you!

Monday, June 21, 2010

Birth

I had written this a long time back - the good old way on paper. This was the time when I was reading a lot on the stream of consciousness technique in literature, popularised by Henry James and the other favourite of mine, Virginia Woolfe. In college we were being taught Woolfe's Mrs. Dalloway and every page of the book was an experience I can still relish. Some of my friends said that I was literally seduced by her, and I would not disagree. I still am and never fail to miss on reading something about or by her whenever possible. Those bohemian college days were fun and amidst the stupor of literary liquor, the fertile mind would conceive something or the other. This story was a result of one such night. Today, I am re-writing it and hope to carry the original flavour but the excitement of doing so is much more than what the result would be.

She nervously read her appointment receipt. This was the tenth time that she was doing so and perhaps would do so a few more times before the clock reads 3.30 pm.

"3,30 pm, " she thought to herself, "is the appointment and she could not be late." She was known for procrastinating. Everything could wait for her. Life was fun and so was she. “There will always be a time for everything," she would announce loud to anyone who tried to talk to her about it. Sometime she would laugh it off. Her laugh was mesmerising. It never failed to disarm her detractors and like always leave many men in the room smiling to themselves, secretly wishing her in their lives.

The waiting room had two other ladies. She tried not to meet their eyes but would secretly steal a look at them. Both of them carried a happy anticipation on their face. This would make her more nervous and, she would continue to read the appointment receipt and steal glances at the hands of the big round clock that was hung on the wall. It seemed very still and discomforted her. She would shift her gaze occasionally at the water dispenser in the hallway and watch the bubbles rise up in the canister every time someone would fetch out a glass of water.

He looked around in the room for the bottle of water. She usually would leave it beside his bed knowing that it would be first thing he would reach out for in a half awake and half sleep state. Today, it was not there and finally after groping for a while, he lazily rose from the bed and looked at his watch - "3.30," it read.

"3.30," she looked at the clock on the wall and then looked at her wrist. She was not wearing her watch today but that did not matter now. It was 3.30 and she was still waiting for her turn. She looked at her receipt again to reconfirm and then rose nervously trying to smoothen the crease of her dress. She loved dressing for any occasion but did not have time for the same today. Dress did not matter here, grit does. She walked towards the receptionist who was busy on the phone, deftly moving her fingers on the keyboard of the computer at the same time. She cleared her throat to announce her presence.

"Please proceed," the receptionist told her. She let out a sigh of relief knowing that she was not late today. She did not need directions to the place. She was here earlier and quickly found herself the room. She read the board outside the door like the previous time - "Sonia Singh, Snr. Gynecologist". "Nothing changes," she thought, “nothing at all”. She knocked at the door.

He heard a knock at the door and rushed to open it. It was the colony guard asking for the monthly wage. He refused yet again – “Come next week.” He was anticipating her at the door and he would not want to waste time on anyone else. The room was stale with smoke but he was not bothered. He would sometimes move to the window and look out of it through the smudged panes. The street below with all the cars, cycles, rickshaws, thelas and people seemed a contrast of his room, which never bore a busy look. Lazy, maybe but busy never. She loved it that way and he smiled to himself thinking of how she would announce that even an alert sentry would fall asleep in the room.

She smiled at the doctor. This was the first time she did so. The doctor smiled back and suddenly she was not nervous anymore. She knew what she wanted to hear and she knew what to do. “So,” the doctor spoke raising her eyes from a series of report, “are you serious on your decision”

“Yes, I am,” she spoke. She looked into the doctor’s eyes. The doctor smiled and asked to her lie down. “It will be a routine check up,” the doctor said, “don’t worry.” She was not worried, just a little amazed at the decision that had materialized in her head. She asked for a glass of water.

He hated the morning after dehydrated feeling. “I must stop drinking so much,” he thought to himself. He has been promising the same thing from a long time -sometimes to her and sometimes to himself. Each time he fails miserably, the same way he has been treated in his pursuit for a new job. Jobless, married and living on his wife’s income was not easy. He hated to think himself as a chauvinist but the ‘man’ in him roared at times and he succumbed to the lure of liquor so easily then. He vaguely remembered that she wanted to tell him something yesterday. “What was it?” he thought. “Did she tell me where she will be going today?” he pondered

She had not told him about her visit. “He must be anxious,” she thought. She was out on the streets. The din of the traffic was deafening. “Careful,” she told herself, to calm the excitement to reach home. She passed by a McDonalds and quickly stole a glance at her reflection on the window. She looked like one of the ladies in the room earlier – the glow of anticipation not hidden on her face anymore. She smiled and moved towards the crossing and patiently waited for the traffic signal to turn red.

She still was thinking of her decision at the signal. “This is it.” She told herself continuously, “There is no turning back now.” She took a deep breath and looked at the traffic signal and then at the other side of the road. There was only one woman waiting to cross over. “She looks so happy and bright,” she thought to herself, looking at the woman. The traffic signal turned red and the vehicles came to a screeching halt.

He could see the streets from the window and he kept waiting beside it looking at the traffic signals change colours. “She should be home soon,” he thought and looked at the clock on the table. “4.40,” it read.

“4.40,” he spoke aloud, nervously looking at the table searching for a note or anything that would tell him where she was. He cursed his addiction yet again and lit a cigarette when he heard the knock on the door.

“This is it,” he thought as he rushed to open the door.

“This is it,” she thought as she waited for the door to open.

He gave a knowing smile and ushered her in. The time read 4.45 and everything seemed to stand still when she spoke. He heard her patiently and slowly moved towards her. She kept looking at his eyes.

He thought for a while and then stole his eyes away from her and moved to the window, to blow out the smoke. The window made a strange noise when he yanked it open. Her eyes kept following him waiting for him to break the pregnant pause that had suddenly become more eerie than the room itself.

He smiled and held her tight in his arms. He was numb with a feeling that only he could understand.
She held him and felt the warmth in his shoulders, “Things would be ok,” she knew it.
He loosened her slightly and looked into her eyes while still holding her fragilely in his arms. The gaze was long drawn and she went limp when his breath got closer and spontaneously her eyes closed and lips parted. She could feel him get closer to her lips and was surprised when he passed by and cleared his throat to speak to her ears

“Abort it,” he spoke.
She stood transfixed for the moment, listless and stunned. Her mind re-winded to the clinic, to the knock at the doctor’s door, to the decision, to the exit she had made, to the street, to the crossing, to the woman who stood on the other side of the crossing – “How happy she looked,” she thought before slumping on the floor.

“So,” she spoke as she curled naked to the other side and he held her from behind – “Boy or Girl?”
“Girl,” he answered, nuzzling his head deeper into her nape and his hands tighter into her stomach.