SOLIPSISM

Dragging The Line

2009-05-31T14:09:00.004-04:00

Makin' a livin' the old hard way
Takin' and givin' by day by day
I dig snow and rain and the bright sunshine
Draggin' The Line

Finally, I’ve something to write for my defunct blog. For starters I’m done living on diet coke, cigarettes, Pearl Jam and DC metro. One year of semi-bohemian and semi-constipated (literally) life has ended with the result that I get to be a bona-fide shrink in four years (maybe even a Forensic Psychiatrist some day). But I don’t know whether I should be excited or not, for I have to leave DC (and move to Ohio) -the city which I had started not just like but love-in addition to, I’m ambivalent regarding my admission. Even after all these years I have no clue what I want to be in life or what I want out of it. I at times become so imbued with indifference that everything around me seems inconsequential and disconnected. I’m like this autumn leaf drifting in space, waiting to fall on ground and crumble into non-existence.

My dog Sam eats purple flowers
Ain't got much, but what we got's ours
We dig snow and rain and the bright sunshine
Draggin' The Line

DC was a novel experience (it had to be) - nerve wracking at times and other times ecstatic- and so much changed in my personal and professional life but I’ve again reverted (rather remained loyal) to my anguished self, trying to find my Ithaca. I think, my life for some inexplicable reason seems to move in a never-effacing-vicious circle, and even, all the tangents seem to lead to the same loop: reading the same books, listening to the same music, feeling the same emotion, same unrequited dreams, writing the same insipid poetry on the same angst filled thoughts, and the ever self-defeating thought that I have again fallen for the same girl (again, again and again!).

I feel fine, I'm talkin' 'bout peace of mind
I'm gonna take my time, I'm gettin' the good sign
Draggin' The Line

I have litany of experiences to write about -the Sri Lankan landlord whose beautiful and smart daughter who would drop me to the metro station every morning and how the landlord one day had a completely loony idea of rechristening my name as Gurusinghae so that I can play in the Lankan club cricket team against the Indian club team; about how every third doctor in the Veteran Affairs Hospital in DC happened to be an Indian; more importantly about the surreal life of most of the veterans who fought in Vietnam and those fighting in Iraq and Afghanistan- how their life is filled with disarray, depression, entitlement and drugs; and about the horrible experiences they narrate of the war which can just make you cringe and squirm and lose your mind. But I don’t want to write anything, for I’m lazy and don’t want to come out of the slothfulness which has enveloped me. Also, I have started to feel that writing is no more cathartic (at least to me), and is a puffed up talent. And, to add to the misery I’ve started to re-read Nausea (by Sartre). I don’t know, whenever I read him I nose dive in a quagmire of nothingness and despondency. But the more I’m reading him nowadays, the faster I’m coming to a conclusion that his philosophy is borrowed, redundant, and meaningless (how ironic?). I think I should start re-reading my favorite author (no points for guessing!), and also Heidegger to see if one can really make sense out of life. Can one? What the heck, I’m not going to read anything, rather binge on the plethora of red wine I have and mull over whether L. Pasteur was true or not when he said, “ There is more philosphy in a bottle of wine than in all books”.

Lovin' the free and feelin spirit of
hugging a tree
when you get near it.
Diggin' snow and rain and the bright sunshine
Draggin' The Line

Draggin' the line

2008-08-26T09:23:00.000-04:00

"In my insanity lies my greatness"

EXISTENTIAL ANGST

2008-07-11T00:03:00.004-04:00

He took his café-late and sat on the table facing
the entrance of the union station.
Through the window up on the roof he could see the sun was not on fire, and the grandeur of night was still to light up.

He sipped the coffee and bit the cold turkey
sandwich languidly, while the neurons in
his mind were kept active by an old melody.
Even in the hustle-bustle of the station;
surrounded by myriads faces he felt a pang of loneliness,
nay, not lonely but estranged and disconnected
between the ostentatious show of emotion- of love and respect
in this country, and the struggle one puts back-home
just to prove of being a human.

He thought if there was any destiny to his existence,
And the trains he needs to take
before he finds the station he needs to get off at,
he thought of, how many more faces he needs to
lock in his memory before the space
in his brain runs out, how many more pages of poetry
he needs to read before his life becomes a poem too.
And then like an epiphany he realized what Cavafy meant.
Maybe unlike Odysseus he will never have an Ithaka,
but even the search of the mirage is a journey of experience.

He glanced at the page of the book he was reading,
threw the half-emptycoffee cup in the bin,
and walked into the dark platform to catch yet another train.

ITHAKA

2008-07-10T22:18:00.007-04:00

"Keep Ithaka always in your mind.
Arriving there is what you're destined for.
But don't hurry the journey at all.
Better if it lasts for years,
so you're old by the time you reach the island,
wealthy with all you've gained on the way,
not expecting Ithaka to make you rich.
Ithaka gave you the marvelous journey.
Without her you wouldn't have set out.
She has nothing left to give you now.

And if you find her poor,
Ithaka won't have fooled you.
Wise as you will have become,
so full of experience,
you'll have understood by then what these Ithakas mean."

~C.P.Cavafy

I believe in experiencing the “experience”, so I find it extremely naive when people try to convert almost every experience into wisdom. Even though, I’m also guilty of committing the same ingenuousness.

Read the complete poem

2007-10-31T18:02:00.000-04:00

After I have written a poem, a fearful though always comes in my mind- whether I’ll be able to write another one or not.

SMOKE RINGS

2007-10-01T02:55:00.000-04:00

He vacillates nonchalantly on his easy chair,
staring at the dusk covered alley.
The men standing below the window of his room,
can smell of old tobacco mingled with
Arabic coffee emanating from him.
In the room,
the whiskey drops are dispassionately
falling on the floor from the broken
old bottle lying on the table.
Adding to this pitter-patter, is
the disconcerting sound of the radio,
and the wild love making of the young couple next door.
He seems untroubled by all the clatter,
but his mind is agitated.
Soon a smoke ring will form in his mind,
and he will jump ecstatically.
His eyes will glow with excitement,
his face will show desperation,
as he will try to concatenate his thoughts into a meaningful verse.
The black ink will wash the virgin white paper.
A self-conceited smile will appear on his face,
as once again, he will make people read his words.
People will read and mock his appalling poetry.
He’ll scorn back at them for their lack of poetic understanding.
But soon the poet in him will calm down,
and he’ll again go and sit on his easy chair.
Only to vacillate nonchalantly,
and wait for another smoke ring to appear.

MOONDANCE

2007-09-15T17:34:00.000-04:00

Waves splashed on
the rocky beach.
She sat holding his hands.
The proverbial enchant
running through them.
A glance of seduction,
a mischievous restraint.

Tender touch of her face;
pressing of lips.
Their ragging spirits
filling with rapture.
She locks him in
the chain of her arms.

He rustles his hand
through her dark hair,
to her silken skin.
They caress each other,
kissing like lovers
on death bed.
Her luminous
and unblemished body
glows in the unspoken night.
He lays his wet lips
on her pristine body,
as she streaks his back.

Silence is interrupted
by the moaning of
two lovers in ecstasy.
Storms and desires
are all ignited.
Bodies’ burn,
figures crash,
particles dance
while in one
fleeting moment
two souls unite
into one.

CRICKET

2007-08-30T02:30:00.000-04:00

A field of grass around the battle of 22 yards
A toss of luck, and an army of 11
The ball of venom and the attack of bat
Cutting through the point with a grin of delight
The ability to drive gives a chance to survive
A cry of anguish and a duck of fall
The skill of defense with a class to hook
Catching in air to the clatter on ground
Sweat of fear and the wind of crown
A look of pain and a jump of joy
Arms in air to the heads on ground
Men in blue play this game, and
They say cricket, is its name.

My Lost Mind

2007-08-09T22:51:00.000-04:00

In my mind,
hides
the madness of
fixation
for
a memory
trampled
and destroyed.

In my mind,
survives
a void which
has become obdurate,
and
the silence
which has lost
its meaning.

In my mind,
lives
a thought
lost in the
abstractness of
time and space,
and
the sinister
darkness
of nubilous insanity.

To-spend-or-not-to-spend!

2007-08-08T13:18:00.000-04:00

I’m in a conundrum, in a philosophical predicament. The moral and the righteous side of my character, is trying to kill the desire residing in me by overriding my dishonest side. While the action which I’m contemplating to do, is miles away from being branded as insincere or fraudulent. Now we all grow up to the ideas which are fed to us. Our jejune mind is framed to the concepts, by not only the experiences we have, but also by our preconceived notions. Whatever the case maybe, we become conditioned to react to situations according to these concepts. And when you try to act in antithesis to these formed concepts there is clash of ideas, and hence, the birth of the conundrum.

Two days back, I had gone to railway station to help my mother board the train to Delhi. And while waiting for the arrival of the train, I was dither–dallying when suddenly I found myself staring at two five hundred rupees notes lying just inches away from my feet. My first reaction as I picked up the dough was of utter bewilderment and amazement as, in 26 years of my life not once I’ve had the experience of rejoicing at an unexpected and fortunate catch, while I on the other hand have done enough of this social-fortunate-service to be labeled as a philanthropist.

After floor-lifting the dough I proudly strolled to my parents, and told them excitedly but in hushed tone about the windfall. And as was expected, I was told by my mother (who happens to be an epitome of idealism!!) that we should observe if anybody comes and starts looking for the money, as it wasn’t prudent to go to the counter and make an announcement. Further, if I wasn’t able to get the money back to its rightful owner, it was to be given to some destitute and needy. So for the next twenty minutes I waited for somebody to prop up asking for the lost cash, but nobody came. The train arrived; my mother boarded it and left, while I stood there with thousand bucks in my wallet, and with not so righteous thoughts burgeoning in my mind.

Now I’ve been conditioned to the idea that you are rightful owner of only that money for which you have paid by your sweat and blood, exception being the money which your (grand) parents/uncle/aunty/friends bequeath to you. I left the railway station with my mind contemplating that this money wasn’t earned in a dishonest or corrupt way; rather it might be nature’s way of paying me back and showing gratitude for my benevolence (I’ve lost two mobile and two watches in the past one year). But my conditioned mind wasn’t ready to give in. It made me feel horrible and miserable, as it bombarded me with one despondent thought after another. I realized that it might be somebody’s hard earned money, somebody who was suppose to give this money to his/her old parents, somebody who required this money for the treatment of his/her child. I felt sad for the person, but I couldn’t do anything. I was helpless.

I went home and asked my father what to do about the money. He was of the opinion that nothing is right or wrong, but it’s only our perceptions which shape our actions. Not much help, so I decided to go with the karmic theory. For two days, I kept killing my desire to spend those pieces of paper on myself, and hoping that somebody needy will come my way. But to my utter disbelief, I found nobody, and also not even a single beggar bumped into me (now this is another type of conundrum).

For two days, whenever I opened my wallet those two pieces kept staring at me, as if berating me to get them rid of my fucking-shitty-wallet. But again I was helpless. After hours of exasperation, I finally decided to get rid of the load on my conscience by actively searching for beggars. I went to the market place, to other places of public hangout but to my astonishment I found not even a single one (Do you think India is shinning?!?).

Finally, I decided to go to the railway station to get rid of the money by hook or crook. It will seem stupid or even ironical when I purchased a platform ticket for three bucks, but one can get desperate when the problem is to get rid of 1000 bucks. I walked all around the platforms trying to get hold of a person who fitted my version of indigent. Disappointed after fifteen minutes of search, I came out and decided to forcefully thrust the money on some rickshaw or auto driver.

As I was coming out I finally saw my moment of glory. A rickshaw driver with tousled appearance, emotionless countenance, tattered clothes, and one feet bandaged was sitting on his rickshaw and smoking. I ran towards him in joy. As I reached him I could see he was startled by my sudden appearance, and was about to ask me whether I needed a drive. But I shocked him further when I asked him about his feet. He told me he had met with an accident few days back. This was enough for me, as I saw this as an excuse to shove him with a thousand bucks on the pretext that he needed to see a good doctor.

After forcefully thrusting the money in now shocked-to-death rickshaw driver, I treaded back to my car carrying a much lighter wallet and conscience. And with the thought “I hate my conscience!” in my mind.

PS- I’ve written all this, as I need confirmation from people that what I did was right. Otherwise I’ll go back to the railway station, and get the money back from the druggie-rickshaw-driver, and if he refuses I’ll not only beat-him-to-death but also rob him of three rupees which I spent on the platform ticket.

AN UNTOLD STORY

2007-08-05T18:06:00.000-04:00

Born in a mediocre hospital,
To a mediocre family.
His parents were mediocre in education,
Worked in a mediocre firm
To earn a mediocre income.
So it was natural that
He had a mediocre childhood-
Went to a mediocre school,
Got mediocre grades, and
Had friends who were mediocre too.
Even after schooling his life dint change.
He went on to become a mediocre doctor;
Treating only mediocre patients.
His love life was no less mediocre.
He wedded a mediocre maid and lived a mediocre married life.
For years he sustained to live at a mediocre pace…
Giving every second of his life to perfect the-art-of-mediocrity.
At 70, he had become a bona-fide mediocre.
So it was not unusual when he died a mediocre death,
Suffering from a mediocre disease (they said it was common cold).
On the day of his mediocre funeral-
All the city’s mediocre came,
And when interviewed, all of them
Blurted in unison-
“He was a genius among all of us”.

Written after reading an interesting post- “The genius and the mediocrity” by Jerry

ELEGY FOR A TEAR DROP

2007-07-31T16:25:00.001-04:00

Drop of melancholy,
slowly spreads over
the placid façade.
Fleeting circle
carrying with it
the silent feelings,
swells, only to splinter
in countless shreds
to lay rest in the captivity
of forgetfulness.

Finally we have a winner!

2007-07-30T15:28:00.000-04:00

After 21 days of grueling and exhausting cycling covering 3547 km over the placid flat lands, and gruesome and deadly mountains, the Tour-de-France finally finished in Paris (on sunday).

The rookie from Spain, Alberto Contador became the first rider since Jan Ullrich in 1997 to win both the maillot jaune and the white best young rider's jersey, and he's the first Spaniard to triumph in the three-week grand tour since Miguel Indurain's five-race run ended in 1995. Both of these are remarkable feats considering the fact that the 24-year-old needed emergency surgery following a gruesome crash in the Tour of Asturias in 2004, and ended up in the hospital, nearly losing his life to a brain hemorrhage.

The seemingly endless drama that made this year’s tour one of the most contentious, controversial and compelling Tour's in the race's 104-year history finally ended when Italian Daniele Bennati (Lampre-Fondital), crossed the finishing line to win the most prestigious race on the Champs-Élysées.

The 2007 edition will be remembered for epic battles in the Pyrenees, stage 19's dramatic race-deciding time trial, a litany of crashes - including two involving unleashed dogs - and a steady stream of doping scandals that saw pre-race favorite Alexander Vinokourov kicked out of the race after returning a positive test for undergoing an illegal blood transfusion, and then-race leader Rasmussen's dismissal by his Rabobank team for lying about his whereabouts on the lead-up to the race and missing several out-of-competition tests. But in spite of the all furrow and flutter, the tour will be remembered for the way Contador rode, and how is indomitable and unconquerable spirit won him the most coveted award in the sport of cycling; an award which every cyclist dreams when he paddles the cycle for the first time.

We don’t know if Contador will be able to repeat this feat in coming years, but one thing is for sure that his name has been written in the history books of professional cycling.

PS- Of the 189 riders that started the tour, only 141 finished. The difference between Contador (first) and Cedal Evans (second) was only 23 seconds. And between Evans (second) and Levi LEIPHEIMER was 8 seconds. Can it get any closer than this?

More bad news

2007-07-26T06:40:00.000-04:00

This is the most bizarre of all tours that I’ve followed up till date.

Within twenty hours of Vino being thrown out of the tour, comes the most shocking of all news. Yellow jersey leader Michael Rasmussen has been consumed by the doping scandal. Rasmussen was kicked out of the race by his Dutch team Rabobank late on Wednesday for lying about where he was last month - he had said he was in Mexico when in fact he was in Italy. There had also been revelations that he had missed four random dope tests over the past 18 months.

And, as if this wasn’t enough, cycling fraternity was given more unpalatable news to digest. Cristian Moreni has tested positive for testosterone after last week's 11th stage, and has been asked to leave along with the entire team of Cofidis.

So, 3 teams out of tour in less than twenty four hours.

This tour is fast becoming fantastically outlandish.

Check the tour videos, esp. the rider protest at the start of stage 16

A Champion's Disgrace

2007-07-25T16:29:00.000-04:00

I’m distraught,
I’m feeling miserable,
I’m shattered.

The man from Kazakhstan, whose performance in Monday's stage was feted in the French press with headlines such as the 'Courage of 'Vino'', has failed the homologous blood doping.

Yes, Vinokourov is out of the tour, and so is his team Astna.

From being a pre-race favorite, to going through a horrendous accident on stage 5, and losing time on the ensuing flat stages, to then carrying his 60 stitched body, through the alpine mountains with pain and suffering, but showing guts and courage, and audacity to compete, Vinokourov was on path of immortalizing himself.

He showed lot of mettle on Saturday when he won the stage 13, and in the post race interview, had told reporters that he was optimistic of his chances going in the 3 beastly stages of Pyrenees. However, on the very first stage of Pyrenees he was blown away, clocking 28 minutes behind the winner Alberto Contador. His tour was surely over, and so was his chance of winning the race.

People were expecting that now as he was out of contention, he’ll abandon the tour, and save himself of the all the agony and distress. But on the very next day, he showed the world that why he was has been such a great rider over the years. The whole of stage 15 was like a canvas pianted by Vino’s mental resilience and tenacity. And he not only showed the glimpse of his old-self, but also won the stage convincingly.

All these 16 days, he was hailed by the fellow riders and revered by the people for his never-to-say-die approach, for his fighting spirit.

Then on Tuesday (yesterday) came the terrible news.

The undulating tour of Vino’ finally came to an end, though, not with glory as was expected, but with disgrace. And as the word spread, the whole of cycling fraternity was in shock and dismay. One of the riders broke down when he heard the news, for him– “Vino’ was one of the most beautiful riders in the peloton. He was one of my favorite riders. And if a guy of his stature and class has done that, we all might as well pack our bags and go home right now”. Few felt betrayed and were outraged at how these drug junkies were killing the sport. Though, most riders were restrained in their reaction, but deep down everybody was sad and disappointed, because they all thought of Vino' as intelligent, charismatic champion.

As for me, I don’t know what I felt, yes, I was upset and poignant. But above that I was left with the thought, as to, why did he do this? Why?!? Was it due to fact that the tour which he was tipped to win had gone horribly wrong, and he wanted to salvage something out of it. Or was it that he had realized that at 33 his body wasn’t growing any young, and next year odds will be stacked highly against him. I don’t know, and I think nobody will ever know till he comes out with a confession.

With last year’s winner Flyod Landis still facing doping charges, and with this year’s tour also marred by drug acquisitions, I think what it has done is that it has sown the seeds of skepticism in my mind. Now every time a rider comes out from down-and-dump condition, and performs astoundingly, I’ll be doubtful as to whether he performed on his own natural ability, or was it due to the effect of some contraband substance. In the coming days, I’ll try to reason out my suspicious approach, but reason is fallible, and so are our champions.

Twist In My Sobriety

2007-07-17T01:23:00.000-04:00

You pick the newspaper as you open the door lock to your small, begrimed and cluttered hostel room. The air in the room is warm and humid, and ironically it smells like the emergency room you are coming from. You release yourself of the burden of the white coat and stethoscope, and walk to the corner to switch on the fan, only to realize that there is no power. You feel exasperated, and want to cuss the electricity department, the government, but then all your vengeance falls on the colleague who took an untimely off from the work. You fall on the dilapidated chair, which creaks with every breath of yours. You open the can of beer which you have picked while coming from the hospital. You sip the cold liquid, along with the drops of sweats flowing from your forehead. You close your eyes to kill the chaotic thoughts running in your mind. The moment you shut yourself from your surroundings, your mind goes back twenty hours when you were fast asleep, recovering from a crapulent bacchanalia when you got this call from professor to fill in for the truant colleague. And you were forced to give away you hard earned sleep, and get your ass back to the morbid emergency. When you reached the emergency, it was in utter chaos and mayhem. Seemingly normal people where pouring in with seemingly innocuous problems, and seemingly sick people who were improving few days back where becoming seemingly very sick. Soon started the fall, and like pack-of-cards they all fell. First went the bed number one, then the fifth, then the sixth, then the fourth, then the second, and then the third. Seeing all this carnage, the seventh one got so scared that he pleaded to us for the leave. You were so dazed, that you were convinced that the whole world was conspiring against you, to make you feel miserable and despondent. For, how can one justify so many people feeling ill on the day when you yourself are mentally fatigued, and above all when you have to do twenty four hours instead of the twelve hours? During the ensuing hours you kept ordering interns to carry out the orders as fast and as diligently as they could, you pleaded your senior resident to help you in putting treatment, you asked the sisters to take smaller breaks, you shouted at the relatives of the patients to, not to make a fucking fish market in the emergency, and you compromised the high standards you have set while writing history. In between all this you sat for twenty minutes, took two pills to prevent your head from bursting, drank ten cups of insipid coffee, and ate a pack of glucose biscuits. All these hours you fought life, you fought death, you fought yourself, and if this fight wasn’t enough you came back to room to fight more.

Mirza Ghalib Decoded

2007-07-16T17:51:00.000-04:00

dil-e-naadaaN tujhe huaa kya hai ?
aaKHir is dard kee dawa kya hai

The lover is distraught and troubled and he is asking- what has happened to him? Why is he suffering like this? His simpleton heart is all lost in her love. Even if she does not take notice of him, he craves for her embrace, as the pain that dwells in his heart can only be cured by her healing touch.

hamko unse wafa ki hai ummeed
jo naheeN jaante wafa kya hai

He yearns for faithfulness, from a person who does not even know the meaning of love. However, he feels once she knows the value of her love, she will reciprocate with the same feelings. Today, she is ignorant but tomorrow she will shower on him, her affection and adore him to the deepest.

(These two lines happen to be my all time favorite. They are full of pain, but still give hope and optimism. He pines for loyalty from a person for whom he is non-existent; I think that is the beauty of love, as just the thought of somebody makes you live through every second of your life.)

ham haiN mushtaaq aur woh bezaar
ya ilaahee ! yeh maajra kya hai ?
[mushtaaq = interested, bezaar = displeased/sick of ]

He ardently loves her, but she always seems to be disinterested in him. He always looks at her amorously, only to find her eyes staring beyond him. Lord! Please help him, for he cannot live without her, make her love him…

jab ki tujh bin naheeN koee maujood
phir ye hangaama, 'ei KHuda ! kya hai

She is not with him, but he seems to feel her presence. He can smell her fragrance; he can see the delight and mischief in her eyes. Is he hallucinating? He knows she isn’t here, then why is he experiencing all this?

jaan tum par nisaar karta hooN
maiN naheeN jaanata duaa kya hai

Today, he gives her, his love. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever be blessed by her love, he doesn’t know whether his prayers have the power to bring her to him. All he knows that his existence is doomed without her presence; he’ll give his everything to get that elusive touch that eludes his worthless life. He’ll give her his life, for he has nothing else to give her…

dil-e-naadaaN tujhe huaa kya hai ?
aaKHir is dard kee dawa kya hai

Prandial Plaint

2007-07-16T14:02:00.001-04:00

My love, I love your breast. I love your nose.
I love your accent and I love your toes.
I am your slave. One word, and I obey.
But please don’t slurp your coffee in that way.

~Vikarm Seth

DEAD MAN TALKING

2007-07-10T15:58:00.000-04:00

It’s been two days,
since you locked yourself
in a sarcophagus.
For hours you haven’t eaten or slept.
Now you feel nauseated,
hungry and claustrophobic.
Still you want to remain confined
in this poisonous and fatal state.

You have been filling your veins
with insalubrious substances.
Betraying the faith
you have instilled in others.
But it’s not the betrayal
you are worried about.

You want to vomit
all your contradictions,
spit all your inconsistencies.
You hate the conscience that
resides within you.
For it renders you domestic,
it makes you impotent.

Memory tells you
how you enjoyed sucking
blood from the living,
how you skillfully
wounded the new-born.
You pretended not to care,
but you still dint master
the art-of-hurting (others).

All you do is-
Deride and self-destruct yourself.
You show derision towards (your) existence.

You want to be a loser,
not afraid of being nobody.
Still you go for attainment and accomplishment.
You are tired of trying and proving.
But you won’t kill the conscience;
you take pleasure in what
it creates within you.

You know it’s a sin you commit.
It is sinful to be happy,
when all around there is
decay and disintegration.

Now having written
all you could, you are cold.
Yes cold!
You know this as you
are naked from outside
and empty within.

You realize your
mind is fragmented and
soul tattered,
and the blanket of death is slowly
enveloping your rotten body.
But your conscience tells you-
If this is the finality
you feel no remorse,
you feel no contradiction.

2007-07-09T18:36:00.000-04:00

His soul swooned slowly as he heard the snow falling faintlythrough the universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all living and the dead.

~James Joyce, The Dead in Dubliners

Yet Another Monsoon

2007-04-23T13:56:00.000-04:00

The stagnancy of the milieu slowly evaporates, as the wind rises from facade of the desiccated land. The surge of wind makes the harmless grains of sand vicious, making the life come into existence. The energy and vibrancy is unstoppable, the environment dances to the tune of music echoing in nature.

Across the horizon dark clouds filled with zillions of drops of elixir, coalesce into celestial drums. The snakes of lightning, serpents through the plethoric sky making the heaven let go its nectar of love.

Water drops plunge nonchalantly from the heavens, quenching the longing of arid land. The dangles come to life; the peacocks dance, as the arrival of season full of poignancies is signaled.

However, in the midst of this, a heart lies still, unmoved by the composition being enacted; only thing her eyes see is the path where her beloved last tread. The love, which was starting to bloom, was cruelly slain by fate.

The life has flown far away from her, while what remains is the sting of separation.

The dried eyes, the thirsty lips, the shriveled heart, endlessly wait for the rains that will slake their craving. As yet another monsoon arrives, but will soon depart unheard and untouched.

Splintered Mind

2007-04-07T05:28:00.001-04:00

His mind always constituted rules for himself, by keeping others in perspective. Never had the tenacity to keep the view point of his core in front.

The rules made him stand but he had to kneel first. They made him feel a sense of belonging, but he had to lose first.

To see the delight in his eyes, his spirit had to see grief.

They made him grow only after he was pulverized to diminutive specks. He saw the birth of next day only after he had seen the decay of his inner self.

Today, as he gazes at his image in the mirror. His inside seems to ask, why he needed these rules!?! Why did he need to follow the regulations!?!

At this moment, he feels like breaking all the constrictions of his mind, and let his soul be an outlaw. However, he doesn’t even know what it takes to shatter one’s own mind. Does anybody?

THE SILENT MOON

2007-04-07T01:53:00.000-04:00

Darkness of the night
Grips the cosmic land.
Slowly penetrated by its presence.

Burgeon of the spell,
Mirthless enchant of the light
Casts its shadow.

Lunatics run wild
As the plume of virgin,
Breaks, to free the eternal despair.

The Unfeeling Kiss

2007-04-07T01:49:00.000-04:00

Time is increasing the distance between us.
I am feeling her hand slip out of mine.
The face, which I used to paint with my imagination, is becoming darker and darker.
Her eyes are now indifferent, so is her touch.
Her lips have lost the shine, the gloss is all gone.
I quiver, my body is cold but;
My heart is getting used to loneliness.
The dreams have taken wings and have flown away.
All the promises and vows have been broken,
Her words are not for me anymore.
Everything seems so strange, like a distant memory,
Heading only in one direction, oblivion!
As I have become comfortably numb.

A WOMAN IN LABOR

2007-04-07T01:42:00.001-04:00

She had blithely jumped
When the seed of love was sown,
For months, she had invigorated
Him with the warmth of her blood.

Today, she moaned with pain
For his ‘emancipation’:

In a society,
Cyanosed by the blight
Of apartheid and hegemony.

In a society,
Infected with the pneumonia
Of poverty and the cancer of
Procreation.

In a society,
Bleeding with cynicism
And hypocrisy
Of misanthropic men.

In a society,
Turned deaf to the cries
Of raped women and
The wild pederasty.

In a society,
Blinded by the licentiousness
Of the silicon implants and
The hymen-plasty of the
Dangling virginity.

In a society,
Crippled by the fraudulent politicians
And the fanatic religious leaders
Armed with Kalashnikov.

In a society,
Intoxicated by the noxious
Hallucinogens and the glitter
And gleam of the neon lights.

She wailed for his liberation,
In a society, buried deep under
The grotesque skyscrapers.
Her plume wept tears of blood
For his freedom,
But he remained a silent observer
Imprisoned in the citadel of warmth.

I watched this
With my hands gloved
And feet grounded-
In a society,
As fertile as a woman on menopause
And as potent as a man on Viagra.

The child was never released!

2007-03-12T22:10:00.001-04:00

MAROONED

2007-01-23T14:47:00.000-05:00

On a patch of land I lay,
chiseled by the cold and the barren winter.
A bottle of vodka for the night.

Dreams leisurely float
in a time machine
to a land untouched,
and unheard.

The desolate existence of thoughts
is shattered, as it collides with
the grains of future.

As the darkness of the night, soon
passes in the realm of memories.

ONE DAY

2007-01-22T17:14:00.000-05:00

One day all my dreams will fly away and take the form of reality.
One day the pain in me will mitigate and the void will be filled.
One day I’ll stop being strong and optimistic, even if the situation is gloomy.
One day I’ll stop the words coming through me and hear what others speak.
One day I’ll lose the power to think and feel, and become a silent observer.
One day I’ll stop loving people and let others love me.
One day my parched soul will slake its thirst with the drops of love.
One day I’ll fall in somebody's arms and embrace like a child crippled and torn by fear.
One day I’ll stop dying and live once again.

DEMISE OF AN IDENTITY

2007-01-16T02:10:00.000-05:00

Nothing to
make him
go forward,
past
is what
he doesn’t
want to trod.
The
septic breeze
of thoughts
runs through
his collapsed
veins.
Mind follows
the senses,
but
psychosomatic state
remains
impenetrable.
Eyes stare
down
the
void
in the core
still heart
pumps
the raw blood;
passing
through his
desiccated body.
But nothing
to rejuvenate
as
he lay
cyanosed
on her
icy hands.

The Butterfly Effect

2007-01-14T13:19:00.000-05:00

The flapping of a butterfly's wings in Brazil can set off a Tornado in Texas.

How?

The flapping of a single butterfly's wing today produces a tiny change in the state of the atmosphere. Over a period of time, the chaotic motion of the atmosphere will become amplified eventually to change the large scale atmospheric motion and the atmosphere actually does diverge from what it would have done. So, in a month's time, a tornado would have devastated the coast of Texas. In essence it’s based on premise that even a minuscule change in the initial conditions can drastically change the long-term behavior of a system.

2007-01-13T03:17:00.000-05:00

You have gone,
But your touch
Still lingers.
I stand alone,
Naked in this
Sinister darkness.
Drifting in space,
Floating on tidal wave,
Trying to imbibe
The feeling of
Being one with U.

Redemption of VandeMatram

2007-01-12T14:57:00.000-05:00

Under the dim light of the oil lamp;
He sat, writing on a palimpsest-
A hymn to goddess Durga.

A century latter:

“they” use the pious words
To showcase the hollow patriotism.
“they” crouch to abominable ways
For a blot on the ballot paper.

A traitor is defined by the perfidious;
As, democracy gives way to coercion,
And secularism to fanaticism.

Making the song which brought souls together
Lying on the existence of being just a euphonious warble?

Rearrangement of the Destiny

2007-01-12T03:00:00.000-05:00

For eons, he kept wandering
Lost and displaced in space
Looking for Nirvana!
Mediating on one name.

For years, chiseled by the
Dagger of time
He kept lingering in
The circles of uncertainty
Looking for one elusive moment.

But for once, universe
Changed its course,
Curse gave way to benediction.

Light slit the cloud of particles
Subsuming the electron
In the dark fissure of energy.
To make it lay with its neutron
In the orbit of love.

(Life, as seen through the microcosm of atomic-physics)

Lust for Life

2007-01-11T03:49:00.000-05:00

As the hazy
sky
and purple dusk
engulfs me.
The nectar of
succulent grapes,
the ravishing eyes
and luscious lips,
twist and torment my thoughts.
Hard
to resist the urge,
as
every cell
becomes infected with
the cancer, called
life.

2007-01-08T10:52:00.000-05:00

Nature’s cataclysm!mayhem

Carnage, turmoil to be sedate
Grieve for existence

A Poor Man's Visage

2007-01-06T23:01:00.000-05:00

Light flows from the rusted lamp,
Droplets of mist dispassionately
Fall on the grass below.
Inert and lifeless he sits
Trying to imbibe the heat of his body.
Ravaged and scarred by the society
His frail body covered with tattered clothes,
Remains unprotected and
Isolated to the changing times.
While the passing cars
Throw the dazzling lights
On his façade,
Blinding him of the fact
That India is shinning?

Marooned

2007-01-06T22:49:00.000-05:00

The night was quiescent and calm, till his heavy breathing disturbed the serenity. It seemed grotesque and uncanny for he had started to break into infinitesimal pieces. His body had gone from being amenable to a state of obstinacy, and was fast wearing out, but he appeared to be senseless to its demand. He kept piercing the darkness and kept on running into a state of nonexistence. With every step he became more familiar with the incommunicable silence, with the ineffable silence; plunging every facet into a state of mirthless stagnancy. There was no semblance that there existed any past or there will be any future. All there was …an ever flowing truth running from being chained. He kept on running for there was no thought left to control him; there was no hope, no desire left to grasp. The soul had left for limbo, while the body burned in the sublime despair of being lost in a state of abstractness, of being inundated by fatigue and pain. Still, he kept on running for he wanted to annihilate the stillness of night, for he wanted to obliterate the aperture of timelessness. He kept on running for he wanted his emotions back, for he wanted his existence back. He kept on running for he wanted the last puff of air…

this was written after running 5 miles…

LABYRINTH OF LUST

2006-12-31T17:15:00.000-05:00

II

He enters the fragrant harem
Swarming with elixir of love.
Damsels let go their pretense,
As he slowly unveils himself
In the pool of aphrodisiac.
The delicate limbs and
Thousand bosoms
Snivel for love, like
Caged birds for air.

SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY

2006-12-31T10:21:00.000-05:00

The night of élan rose from the
Wings of her halo.
Her radiant eyes, gleamed through
The silken snares of her curled hairs.
Her heavenly face, breaking the
Darkness of the night.

Bangles danced in the silent zephyr,
Bringing the sleeping hermit to life.
She walked past him, reducing
The multitude to unity,
Succession to an instant.

While beguiled by the beauty,
Austere sat there- praying!
For the time to stop the very moment,
So he could lock her in his eyes for-ever.

Ode to Oxygen

2006-12-29T22:21:00.000-05:00

You are the ubiquitous;
Filling every ounce of my blood.
My heart cannot beat without you
For you remove the stale and noxious from me;
Make me pure in this world of impurity.
Without you everything is immaterial,
As you kindle the fire and
Make go of my thirst.
You are like a protector to me
Masking me from the obnoxious,
Don't ever go
Otherwise, I will suffocate to death.

2006-12-29T21:56:00.000-05:00

Emptiness, Qohelet says, everything is emptiness. What do people gain from all the work they do under the sun? A generation goes and a generation comes, yet the earth remains forever. The sun rises and the sun sets and rushes back again to the place from which it rises. The wind blows south, then returns to the north, round and round goes the wind, on its rounds it circulates. All streams flow to the sea, yet the sea does not fill up. All matters are tiring, more than anyone can express. The eye is not satisfied with seeing, nor the ear filled with hearing. What is is what will be, and what has been done is what will be done. There is nothing new under the sun. Is there anything of which it can be said, "See this is new!"--It has already been, in eras before us. The people of ages past are no longer remembered, nor will there be any remembrance of people yet to come by those who come after them.

2006-12-28T20:57:00.000-05:00

The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
Moves on: nor all your Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all your Tears wash out a Word of it.

~Omar Khayyam

THE PERPETUAL CYCLE

2006-12-27T19:15:00.000-05:00

What is the end of journey?
Is destination the end?
Or start itself was the finish?

Countless people arrive
Still no one lingers forever
The caravan of life moves on
With its fate unknown

The appendage of belief
Makes you travel with time
But slowly the strength fades
The cure grows to be the disease

Naught or infinity,
The finality it seems
Beginning becomes the conclusion
As decay becomes imminent

Wrath of God

2006-12-26T12:16:00.000-05:00

I was the voice,
you were too ignorant to hear.

I gave you strength,
but you were too conceited to lean.

I bestowed on you my love,
but you revered me with hate.

Now, after all these years
You wonder about yourself
In negative disposition.

While I sow
The seeds of despondency
In your world.

The Death of My Soul

2006-12-26T02:25:00.000-05:00

The clock strikes 8 in the evening.
Adorn yourself with a plastic smile
And walk yourself into mayhem.

Sea of breathing souls to greet you,
To make you feel desiccated
And suffocated.

They vomit you with their distortions.
You go delirious by their deliriums.
Only a schizophrenic to placate
Your fears.

Within the carnage comes
An outcry of a vanquished.
You drug them with your cynical pretense,
And permeate yourself with apathy
To stop the wailing.

You hold the amulet of prevarication
And announce the demise.
There is terrible pain within you;
Claustrophobia is your diagnosis.

The clock strikes 8 in the morning.
You gyrate back to the beginning,
Only to wait for the clock
To strike again.

My soul was declared dead after 45 minutes of CPR. Autopsy results showed it was due to 21 continuous night duties in emergency medicine.

UNIFICIATION OF METAPHOR

2006-12-25T12:19:00.001-05:00

An arcane thought, a secret smile.
Clutching to the intangible fragment
Of innocence.

Quietness of space-
Punctuated by the fluttering of
Her sensuous eyes.

Changing hues inextricably,
Mutating one segment of reality
Into another.

Colors brilliant and majestic,
Unfurled an expression that,
Liberated the consciousness
Into a stream of resonance
And rhythm…!

THE VALIUM OF LOVE

2006-12-24T14:53:00.000-05:00

Oh! You dazzling beauty
Oh! You nubile nymph
Why, God made you like
He made nobody else?

Sparks fly,
When your body stroke's
Against mine.
My libido rises, as
I suck the nectar of love
From your gushing bosom.
I taste orgasm, when
The snake of my desire
Slithers through your
Unconquered lands.

Oh! You wine of temptation
Oh! You Goddess of enticement
Why, God made you like
He made nobody else?

THE LOST PARADISE

2006-12-23T14:27:00.000-05:00

Dark and desolate mountains, and
The shroud of shrieking hollow tress.

His unsightly visage,
Starring the bottomless abyss
Of her immortal shrine.

Memories of the lost paradise
Flowed through his dark past.
How he had purged her, and
Buried her in the depth
Of his thoughts.

Now contrite for his sins
His soul cries for freedom.
But still unheard, for
The mirth of betrayal
Lives on…

2006-12-23T14:07:00.000-05:00

Through these fields of destruction
Baptism of fire
I've watched all your suffering
As the battles raged higher
And though they did hurt me so bad
In the fear and alarm
You did not desert me
My brothers in arms

People go here and here to redeem and purify your sinful soul.

PROTESTING INDIANS

2006-12-22T16:56:00.000-05:00

I don’t know the average number of protests that happen in India, but I think we won’t have much credence to rebuff if we were to be placed in Guinness book of world records for being the most “protesting nation”. Most of the protests that happen in India are on the subjects that are too trivial and petty to even demand a debate. So, showing any kind of remonstration on these issues is not only ludicrous but highly ridiculous. I think the foremost reason behind the perpetual protests we all see in India is mainly because of the un-employment (as they say empty mind is devil’s workshop); and all these jobless and idle people are perfect tools for a politician to fulfill his/her vested interests.

The other factor, which I feel very strongly about is that even the so called knowledgeable and the cultured class doesn’t seem to care much about the social scenario and the public issues. I don’t know whether it’s due to the cultural or genetic make-up, but Indian middle class is the most selfish and hypocritical class. Yes, we are literate but we lack the education of being a responsible citizen, we lack the basic civic sense which is paramount for the success and the growth of a society. So when I see all these protests and vandalism, I am not only disillusioned but it also makes me accede to the fact that the class which is urbane, more literate, and sophisticated has been negligent and irresponsible. The social activism has been missing from the philosophy of the Indian middle class. The middle class not only needs to be politically aware, but also needs to educate the ignorant of their civic rights. We need to empower the uninformed people. We need to make sure that the nescient people are not misused by the unscrupulous politicians. We need to campaign not only for our rights, but also for the rights of indigent and poor.

Having said that, there are instances in which people are coming forward to fight injustice, to fight the political prejudice, to fight corruption etc. (examples being Youth for Equality, Justice for Priadarshani Matto and Jessica Lal, RTI campaign etc.). But if we take a microscopic view of the campaigns, we will see, except for RTI all these have happened only when the interests of middle class were threatened. Still, it’s refreshing to see, as until 2003-4 we even never fought for our fellow middle class. I think we are not only in the midst of an economic empowerment and revolution but also in a phase of cultural and social transition.

And if India desire’s to be a super-power, then time can’t be more fruitful for India’s middle class to make it-self more countable and less self-indulgent.

PS- We need to campaign, not protest. Even if protest is required it should be peaceful, not smeared with violence.

2006-12-21T20:17:00.000-05:00

The night has a thousand eyes,

And the day but one;

Yet the light of the bright world dies

With the dying sun.

The mind has a thousand eyes,

And the heart but one;

Yet the light of a whole heart dies

When love is done.

-F.W. Bourdillon.

LOVE OF THE MOON

2006-12-21T16:08:00.000-05:00

The night of dreams,
Slowly engulfs him.
Silently, the dazzling moon
Delights his shimmering eyes.

His naked spirit,
Pierced by its sublime light,
Purifying and solemnizing,
His sinful soul.

Within its breast lies,
The love so tender,
So pristine, so eternal.
Healing his every pain.

Phlegmatic and resolute, he lays.
As the beacon of his marooned life,
Little by little;
Disappears in the web,
Of his endless thoughts.

My philosophical journey

2006-12-20T14:51:00.000-05:00

Cogito Ergo Sum
(I Think, Therefore I Exist)
-Rene Descartes

The first phase of my philosophical journey lasted till the middle of my college days. I was moderately religious, but still agnostic. I enjoyed certain aspects of a religion; however, I couldn’t give myself totally to the thought that there is Supreme Being who is keeping track of every detail that is happening in the world. I would have changed in the very beginning, if it hadn’t been for the state of denial I was living in. I was trying to justify, what I was adamant about. But isn’t that an aspect of human nature, that we always rationalize and defend our minutest of actions, sometimes consciously and sometimes sub-consciously.

With my college days coming to an end, also came the culmination of my belief in the definition of God, as by portrayed by the people or as described in religious discourses. I think every religion is a philosophy, which grew out of a particular social order. It was not only influenced by the requirements of time, but also by the cultural and the intellectual makeup of the society. Therefore, not only has religion outlived the function it was enacted for, but also to a certain extent it has become redundant. And with the advent of the commercialism and politicization of every religion, it has become a major facet influencing world order in present times. Corrupt and unscrupulous people are not only using it as an instrument to fulfill their vested interests, but also are twisting the very meaning with which a religion was founded. People world over are wagging war in the name of God and religion. So not only, every religion be declared defunct, but it should be proscribed, if we want the survival of mankind.

However, there was one aspect of religion to which I was attracted. It was the ever pure and quintessential element of spiritualism. And it is quite similar with pantheism. Both delve on the fact that nothing is beyond nature. Even God is part of the nature. So in short, nature is Supreme. But then the question arose what is nature? Is it something physical? Or is it just another way of putting the fact there is somebody trying to control us. And if we are being controlled, then why there is so much of sorrow and pain? Why there are wars, droughts, tsunamis etc. Pantheism couldn’t shackle my wandering mind. Rather, it did the antithesis. So I turned to Nihilism and its child, existentialism.

Nihilism is the rejection of the fact that there is a metaphysical angle to the human existence. It rejects faith as a fabrication of the mind, conceived by the people, who believe in utopia, idealism and spiritual salvation. Nihilism is not only apocalyptic, but it also advocates the destruction of the present, which is insalubrious and poisonous for the survival, and the chance to return to the state where there is healthy mind and body. It rebuffs the moral values which have been inculcated in the society due to theology and mysticism. In gist, it is a counter order i.e. there is no physical basis of the knowledge. Everything has been created by man under the pretext of ethics and morality.

Now Nihilism is a paradox. It’s full of contradictions. At one point it requires the man to break the shackles with everything, destroy the vestiges of the past and live the life he wants. But isn’t the man, the same being who shaped the present world? So it not only comes to the conclusion that the world we live in an illusion of the mind, but it also wants the same mind to break the illusion. In spite of the inconsistencies, I prefer Nihilism because it harps, that people living in present times are negatively cynic, so to counter them become positively cynic. And this is a reality, not an illusion.

Existentialism like nihilism rejects the metaphysical speculation, but doesn’t indoctrinate its abstractness. It believes on the fact, that only thing that can be proved is one’s own existence, and also on the Darwinian theory of the survival of the fittest. Accordingly, it concludes that the humans have made the society and reforms not objectively, but as a means to peg the strong and the powerful. Not only has existentialism accentuated that action and freedom are of paramount importance to human existence, but also emphasized on the crude reality that human society is driven by narcissism (even Freud based his psychoanalysis on the theory of self-love) rather than objectivity. Self-love and self-survival are the ways by which societies are shaped.

(…to be continued)

2006-12-20T08:11:00.000-05:00

“Where I cease to exist, God starts to exist”

Simple and innocuous statement it may seem. However, if we delve into the hidden and the more occult realms of this statement, we would see its complexity.

Now, is God a figment of our mind? Is it that when our mind’s subsistence cannot be established that God comes into being? Can’t we (the mind and the God) coexist? Or is it only after the annihilation of one that the other will be born? Lastly, can it be a vicious circle where the mind and God keeps interchanging into one another?

But most importantly can we physically prove the existence of God? Or furthermore is “I” tangible!? If “I” is physical matter and God is “energy”. Then according to Einstein E=MC2, where E stands for energy, M is equivalent to the mass and C is the speed of light. We see the overt aspect of the statement- that when mass is destroyed (in other words when “I” ceases to exist) God comes into life (as energy).

On the other hand, what holds the “I” together? Can we refer “I” as mind in totality? However, we can say mind is nothing but “energy” and if God is also “energy” can’t we coexist? Here lies the esoteric significance of the statement. So, in other words it boils down to one thing- what you perceive “I” as?

Hence, the world is nothing but a view from everybody’s eyes and it also proves that --“If the doors of perception were cleansed everything would appear to man as it is, infinite” - William Blake

2006-12-20T08:03:00.000-05:00

Indolent mind

6:46 pm staring through the glass window at the horizon far across…

It’s all tinged with blue, except for a patch which is being swept by the fleeting white clouds. The ragged and blunt edges slither over the blue background as the billows slowly but gradually move away from my sparkling eyes. Sliced in the heart by the rays from the dipping sun, its bosom bursts open to release vapors, spreading all over the sphere.

Time passes, the changes in the patch are perceptible but inevitable.

Soon the white haze will evaporate; the day will give way to dusk which will bit by bit engulf the horizon, and left behind will be a trail of twinkling lights.

THE BITTER TRUTH

2006-12-19T14:43:00.000-05:00

The candle of love, fluttered
in the freezing windy night.
The lifeless body, the weary spirit,
living on the warmth of
love, long lost.

If pain exceeds a certain threshold, it ceases to hurt, instead becomes a necessity.

(I wrote this while trekking on the rugged terrain of Rohtang pass. And all this time the snow clad eastern Himalayas kept starring at me. See if you can construe what I’m trying to say.)

2006-12-19T14:39:00.000-05:00

Today I felt a pang of sadness within me. But I don’t need your sympathy and neither your compassion. Show me how apathetic you can be towards me; show me your indifference…!

CRY OF THE VIRGIN

2006-12-18T20:16:00.000-05:00

The proverbial lust,
Runs through him.

Fingers roll over;
Naked body lights,
As the fiery goblet heats.

Wanton eyes filled with desire,
Succulent lips pressed together,
Voluptuous bosom, the dancing navel,
Rustle his licentious mind.

Bodies’ stroke,
Streak and clatter!

Exultation of the soul, as
Pellicle of the virgin
Ruptures, to capture
The carnal want.

The Burning Tavern

2006-12-18T00:21:00.000-05:00

Ringlets of smoke rose high
From the smoldering ash tray

Sound of the striking tumbler
Echo of the falling glass, stirring
The land of unfamiliarity

Tipple of martini, marked with
Mirthless roar of the crowd
Only to be slain by
Dirge and intoxicating music
Exhilarating the impassive mind

In midst of this deluge
Seated in the corner
A lost soul
Drowning his sorrows
In different shades
Of alcohol

The Swan Song

2006-12-16T18:48:00.000-05:00

As I sat beside my grandfather, my eyes kept starring at his ever-growing unfamiliar facade. He had been diagnosed of Parkinson's disease and I wondered how this gruesome disease was changing his life at the minutest of levels and making him drift further and further away from his normal self. Each time I saw him, it brought to my mind all the dire reports of how many nerve cells we normally lose everyday, and with the added weight of the disease, I imagined the person I know would also with them slowly disappear. It seemed so.

I am not sure what the shelf life of a person is? How many years he has to live, before his final breath? When I see my grandfather I usually wonder- why is he living? He has seen all the facets of happiness and sadness. He lived his life the way he wanted; committed some mistakes and reaped rewards for his good deeds. He saw the growth of his children to the mutation of his body. He stood strong when the times were tough, but now I, his grandchild see his weak demeanor only.

Today, he is unable to hear, he can't read and with the diagnosis of this dreaded disease he seems to be drifting away into oblivion. To be frank our love for him will always be there, it'll never die. But isn't it selfishness on our part to let him go through all this. While he can so easily have a painless and peaceful death. Attachment to this materialistic world will never end, however, at certain point you need to mark an end. And that's why I feel euthanasia should be legalized. So, that people like him can die with a smile on their face. I know his demise will mark an end to an era, but isn't that in the finality of life the seeds for a new season are sown.

How many years can a mountain exist
Before it's washed to the sea?
Yes "and" how many years can some people exist
Before they are allowed to be free?
Yes "and" how many times can a man turn his head,
Pretending he just doesn't see?
The answer, my friend is blowin' in the wind
The answer is blowin' in the wind.
-Bob Dylan

(My grandfather died exactly 3 months after I wrote this. He was 84)

SILENCE

2006-12-16T15:54:00.000-05:00

What is this clatter?
Where is thy silence?

Is it in the cry of a woman?
Or
In the birth of an individual

Seen in the sadness of a widow
Or
Felt in the look of a homeless

Is it the anguish of a deaf?
Or
Is it the liberation of the mass?

Found in the quietness of the night
Or
In the betrayal of the lover

Experienced in the triumph
Or
In the stillness of death

Maybe
It is the song of the heaven
And
The language of the soul

THE CARNAGE

2006-12-15T09:16:00.000-05:00

Firm and sure, she called him up.
Hoping this time he’ll talk. 10 minutes!
That’s what he repeated again.
His response, succumbed her simpleton
heart. But her mind waited.

Minutes changed into hours,
and hours into years.
Nothing changed, as she waited in
the dark alley, cold and unconcerned.

A sublime silence reined; sleep or death
she dint know. Till one day, she mutilated into
a pulse-less body, only to wait forever…

(dedicated to all the mothers, who wait a lifetime to hear their son’s voice, one last time.)

CRUCIFIED

2006-12-15T07:41:00.000-05:00

I stood in front of them,
my indomitable and undefeatable
spirit ragging with fire.
Blood oozed through my veins,
quenching the dried land’s thirst.
Flooded with anguish;
my sequestered path implanted
with broken words and hideous motives,
lay behind and in front of me.
They took my fear,
while I stood blinded
by the wreaths they placed on me
(even before I died)
and by the hate they left in me.

Self-Preservation!!

2006-12-15T07:14:00.000-05:00

Yesterday all alone but today he has company.

I’ve been kind enough, and have allowed him to move around without taking any drastic steps. But he has clearly put me on ignore, shown contempt, and attracted another of its kind.

And if you people are wondering who this being is? Then I must tell you, it’s a goddamn cockroach.

He has been visiting my room day and night, and has some audacity to roam around thinking it’s his abode while I’m the one who is the intruding.The other day I stared at him to scare him away, but the shameless creature kept staring back at me as if asking, “Watcha ya staring at man?” In the end, I was the one who budged, the mother#&%#@! dint even move an inch.

Yeah I lost the battle but the war is still on.

Whenever I see him, it reminds me of Amitab Bachan’s insane intrigue of describing the various categories of cockroach in the movie HUM. That was crazy enough to make everybody go nuts.

I don’t loathe these creatures, but I don’t love them either. This crabby being is always staring his guts out or trying to irk me by crossing my path. He sits and sleeps on my bed, eats from the same bowl and add to it even uses the same restroom. This morning I found him relaxing in my bathtub, enjoying, while I stood there dumbfounded.

Now as he has one more from his stratum, his impudent nature will grow more. And to make matters worse I saw the movie JOE’S PLACE, where a gang of cockroaches takes over the mortal’s place and the poor chap is helpless to do anything about these cranky creatures. So, I’m now suspicious that same thing might happen to my abode also.

I always thought man and animal can stay together in harmony, but now it has become the question of self-preservation, and before my fears turn into reality I must call my dear friend dr. Cockroach who is well experienced in handling these insolent beings. He is a weird man with unorthodox methods but quite effective. Above all, he will have the requisite arsenal to rip them apart from head to legs.

Yeah people you guessed it right I’m going for the kill now.

Oops! Here he goes again between my legs, thinking its gateway of India.

Lament of a lesbian

2006-12-14T06:58:00.000-05:00

At fifteen, they both knew they were different.
At twenty, their heart ached not for the
mannish body, but for the caress of their trepid bodies.

Afraid of the ridicule and scorn, they veiled their emotions.
So, behind the closed doors, their love inflamed.
The drapes of sari would drift revealing the invisible.
Darkness and fear would be dispelled by their glistening bodies.
Eyes lined with kajal burned for the quivering lips.
The cunning tongue writhing in the crevices of enraptures.
For hours contorted bodies would lay on the conjugal bed of charred emotions.

Now, at fifty one, they have reached the cul-de-sac of their lives.
Forehead smeared with vermillion; fettered by the bonds of being
a wife. They gnaw at the phallus, and wait for the deliverance
of the silent mausoleum of their lesbian love.

(Dedicated to the homosexuals and their fight for the recognition of their existence)

LABYRINTH OF LUST

2006-12-13T18:28:00.000-05:00

I

The sheet of white satin
Slipped from her figure
Her naked body, languidly coiled
Around the lingering fragrance
Of his presence
She smiled slyly-
As the night of indulgence
Disclosed itself, through
The lines of nail mark around her breast.

2006-12-13T15:51:00.000-05:00

Insanity @ its Zenith

I’m suffering but I’m not dying. I’m not hypochondriac and neither am I malingering. So, what can it be?

The first disorder-

I'm suffering from "kalopsia". However, I hope we all did suffer from it, so then it won’t be a mere delusion and figment of my mind, but a reality.

The second disorder-

I’m suffering from multiple-personality-disorder. The reason is-
I log into blog-spot with one id.
I blog with a completely different id.
And as if two weren't enough, I comment on blogs with a completely different id.

Preposterous! isn't it?

Now I’m a person who wants to cure insane and mad. But I think, as they say I should first get my house under order then go for others. Can I be cured? Do I stand a chance? Or am I an incorrigible poet?

Eve’s Apple

2006-12-13T08:24:00.000-05:00

Time gone astray
Still one dream floats
To be with her yearning
One eternal moment
Holding on
Whispering those magical words
Conveying the deepest desires
The sound of the bangles
Closing on the bosom
The fall of the earrings
The web of hair
Masking the reality
The pain of ecstasy
Delight of lifeless bodies
Years gone by
Still the timeless gaze
And the maze of endless wishes…

This is a Raja Ravi Verma painting and the moment I saw... something moved within me. And it came out in the form of words.

Unspoken Love

2006-12-13T07:39:00.000-05:00

A true love had none to appease or show,
It has nothing to speak or proclaim.
Never wants, just gives,
For sacrifice is its second name.
It silently grows;
Comes with still feet and ingrains on one’s heart and mind.
Conceals everything from your eyes,
For it shows the light of one’s life.

CYNOPHOBIA

2006-12-12T12:25:00.000-05:00

Single incident, is all what it takes to change one’s perspective, one’s life.

It was summer of 97, month of July and around midnight I received a call from one of my pals(R). He blurted that he was very fidgety and if it was possible of me to come over his place so that we both could go for a stroll. It was usual for me to be out of my place at this hour, as most of my friends and I are not only nocturnal by nature but also live a bohemian life.

Around the corner where my street joins R’s street sits a dog. He is kind of sentinel of that place. Day and night, you find him just lazing around or in the hunt for his opposite. Never knew his age and never was able to judge (believe me I’m very poor evaluator of age of dogs as well as of humans) but I have been watching him for quite sometime now. He is the result of the relentless and unchecked breading that has been going on between the stray and pet dogs.

I always had the opinion that he was a dumb dog, a naïve! Therefore, I gave him the name Joey (character in the soap FRIENDS). In spite of being dumb I admired Joey for his composure and calmness. He was different from street dogs and dint growl or barked at every goddamn passer by. However, my opinion about him changed that night.

After R hung up, I thought plodding will be the best option at this hour; moreover, R only lived few hundred meters from my place. At the junction where the street from my place mingles with his, I saw Joey sitting in a pleasurable posture. I as usual gave my courtesy look. He snarled back at me instead of ignoring me, which he usually does. I dint take any notice and just walked on. Soon the snarl turned into a fierce bark. I turned around and saw he was up on his feet; saliva dripping through his mouth (as if he had seen something mouth watering), there was fire and rage in his eyes, which I had never seen before. All these years his I never had any clue about his incisors, but today they were shining like Dracula’s claw and gunning towards my unmentionable areas.

Nevertheless, I dint take any heed, as I thought it was momentary lapse of reason on the part of Joey considering me as an intruder. But, my plodding changed to brisk steps as I sensed something in the air. Fear of being bitten griped me as his barking became more pronounced.

My heart was pounding, adrenaline flowing through my body but my feet wont move. I was stuck!R’s place was less than hundred meters but so was the distance between Joey and me. Every step I took towards the house, the gap between Joey and me decreased. I was in helpless situation neither could go forward nor back ward. The belligerent being was ready to pounce on me any moment and the only escape route I had was to run! I mustered all my courage and athleticism and ran for safety, never looking back at the dreaded thing.

I reached the gate steps but so did him and was tantalizingly close to my leg when in the nick of time, R who heard his barking came out with a stick and nudged away the aggressive Joey. This incident dented my confidence a lot. I thought, if this not so cantankerous being can act this way then any goddamn dog on this earth can. From that day onwards, I saw contempt in every sonofabitch.

Night tours were what, that brought the fears alive. This episode made my night ordeal highly precarious and incomprehensible. From that episode until the incident, which happened a year later, I had the dog fear ingrained in my mind and heart. Even during day, I took utmost precautions and all the courtesy looks towards them went out of window. These beings attacked me on numerous occasions, every time a new place but I always survived.

After a year one more incident took place, which let me shrivel away this fear. It was again nighttime R and I had gone to S’s place. As we landed our bike in front of his gate around 15-20 dogs attacked us. I think we landed right in midst of a political intrigue going between dogs of his colony. Whatever the case might be, this time I dint lose my self-possession and was instrumental in making these ferocious beings run away and landing R and myself to safety. I realized that if I could handle so many goddamn sonofbitches then what is to fear. Now the apparel of fear I do not sport anymore. Moreover, I again can move about even at night not thinking who is going to attack me next.

P.S- One thing is for sure, the dogs at my place are as notorious and capricious like the drug lords of Cambodia.