The Last Time

I have been trying to remember when was the last time I had so much time to myself.

It may have been the last time that I would have had to sit down and write. And such bad are the times that it has taken me more than 3 weeks of solitary confinement to finally think of penning something down. Well better late than never, now that I have reached a frequency of writing one post a year, I might as well take this opportunity to make the one for this year. I must say, in the era of micro-communication, the art of good writing seems to have gone to trash. But it is a moment to introspect more and get back to peening thoughts to paper. So let us give it a shot once again, shall we?

The eyes seem to part, as they dart towards the clock, the days seem to be getting warmer now. It was Day 23 of the lockdown but life seems to have been like this for decades. The hand reaches out into the air for a sign of life, a palm to catch, a chain of reprieve and at last I find it. As I feel the familiar smoothness of the phone screen, it excites my heart in anticipation of news. The routine continues, messages are read and replied to, the count of infected and dead in the country is checked and then compared to the number of the rest of the world. I could be watching the medal tally at the olympics for all I know, USA steals the show at the top with superpowers trailing behind. As I start counting from top to bottom, I find India at number 17, struggling to keep up with the rest of the world. I may be jailed for saying something like this nowadays, but thankfully, the political mania has taken a backseat for now, everyone seems to be concerned about the next piece of hot news concerning COVID-19. The word of the day, week, month, year, decade and century.

The heat seems to be getting to me as I curse myself for the umpteenth time for not buying a remote for my Air Conditioner which runs at a fixed temperature of 18 degrees. I seem to have befriended crows now as they swoop over to my window and drink out of the bucket of water that I keep for the excess water from the AC. I wonder if they would have noticed life coming to a standstill for the humans below, hope there is enough garbage for them to mingle through.

The world seems to be trying to cope up with this mania and keep themselves up and running, work out videos, online conferences, Dalgona coffee, Sari challenges, anything at all to keep themselves from realising the futility of their own existence, the anxiety of their uncertain future, the unknown end that awaits them all.

But as of now, I seem to be enjoying myself though, the solitary confinement puts me in a state of ease, allows me to relax beyond the wildest of my expectations and not make me feel guilty of procrastinating. These are unprecedented times and I believe all of us need to make the most it, not by keeping up with the rest of the world but maybe for once, take that chance to do something else instead. I have realised that cooking is much easier than I thought it out to be. Cooking Butter chicken, Fried Rice, Hummus, Palak Paneer, Rajmah, Dal Chawal, Chilli Chicken couldn't have come at a better time.

I will take a pause now and return with a more creative mind to pen down stories than talk of the current state of affairs. Do stay safe though, there is a virus out there.

Down the Rabbit Hole

In a freak turn of events, almost exactly a year later, I find myself facing the keyboard in the struggle to put together my thoughts and write something down. Over the past few months, I have had to come to grips with the fact that I don't have much time left with me. Not because I have become a victim of some terminal disease, but just knowing the fact that there is so much to know and see in this world, that it will never be enough.

Fear not, this is not some sort of a fatalistic post which is meant to open the taps of sorrow and into the river of solitude but only a realisation that we have all been born to do one thing only, tell stories. Not just to our children before we put them to sleep but also to each and every person there is. In the past few years, I stumbled across a hole in the ground that was not even the size of my thumb but upon digging, it evolved into a hole that could fit a man inside it. Not only dig deeper, but I decided to enter into this hole, not sure which end I would come out of. It could well be China on the other end.

My tenure in this city has been for the last 4 years and it only scares me to realised that in this time period, I have aged like any other person, but brought to a realisation that I have barely scratched the surface in unearthing the stories buried beneath my feet. This rabbit hole only goes deeper and deeper with each passing day and it is only a matter of time when I will not even be able to look back at the light that I have left behind.

In my time here, I have met many such men and women who have gone beyond into this realm, immortalised, victimised, alone, yet accomplished but slaves to the power of time. They have all tried to piece together a puzzle which has left many enchanted, yet incomplete as they tried to piece together the history this megapolis that has netted millions into its deceitful eyes in allure of its fame, richness for eternity. There is something in the winds, that run through my lungs and make me want to go deeper down this hole.

For now, I shall rest and wake up tomorrow to wonder what mysteries it beholds for me to solve, the island of good life, the heptanesia, the euthanasia, the Urbs Prima in Indis.

It will not be easy

With each passing year, my frequency at grabbing the pen seems to be decreasing at an exponential rate, inversely proportional to the amount of rust which gathers over my creativity. It is a struggle to put together a few words now. The mind still wanders, reminisces and writes but only in thoughts and not on paper. And hence, I must return to this platform so that I can still keep a hold of a skill I discovered in my formative years. It is true that far more interests have come into the foray that occupy my time to no ends. But as I must be true to myself and my identity, I must not forget where I have come from.

To many more posts, I bid thee farewell

King of the Castle

Last night I slept in a house all alone.

A house that I had spent most of my life growing up in. I am 28 years old now and as I wake up on this morning of a summer haze in 2017, there is not a soul around. The cacophony of the television blaring in the wee hours, the whistling of the pressure cooker blowing off steam, the opening and closing of the doors in every other room, all has now vanished. As I child I was made fun of because I had soft corner for non-living things. I would want to carry everything with me to wherever I went because I felt that inanimate object would else feel bad. Later, I grew up. I threw away all that I felt was junk and detached ties with whatever I felt may have a memory but did not have a purpose. But today, I am that kid again. Memories, birthday parties, laughter, faces have come and gone. Colors have been painted over these walls time and again, now there are flowers everywhere and senseless hangings that have replaced the best of art from Van Gogh and Da Vinci. But some things have remained the same, the damaged floor which once was a mystery of mazes as each stone inside differed from the other, the wooden cupboards where I would sneak inside and hide from my enemies, the fan which would be the only sound heard through the night. We have stuck together through all these times and even today in my solitude I have you all as my friends.

This is my home for as long as I can call it my own, my sanctuary that detaches me from my present and drops me off at my past. When the time comes, I will have to bid goodbye to you too. My presence may no longer be around to touch you one last time or the other way round, but believe me when I say this. This house will always be my home.

Last night I slept at home all alone.

Hymns for the Weekend : Part 1 - The Imperial Cinema

As I feel the fur of my cat rub against my arm, I am back to my keyboard, keeping a promise of penning down my experiences rather than forget about them and let time give me a distorted description. The weekend that has passed was one of two very drastic days. One day I was alone, walking the streets of an unknown metropolis and yet speaking to myself while the other day had me in the company of many and yet I chose to be as quiet as a mouse. Carefully judging the characteristics, the mannerisms, the idiosyncrasies of the human kind.

I will choose to skip out the parts that would seem too mundane to write about and would rather hand the responsibility to somebody on Facebook who is probably high on the sugar in his Baileys. However, the morning began with some food that need not be talked of followed by a local train ride to a destination I had no clue of. Grant road was decided as that was the place where all my adventures usually began. This time the destination was Lamington road. The well acclaimed den of the taxidermists and surgeons of electronic products. As I descended on to the road, I expected to see a bulging cesspool of piracy and illegal consumption creeping up my legs, however I found no such sight. Maybe I had chosen to not dig deeper, maybe I did not want to know. I walked on down the road, hoping to find an adventure stuck between my toes.

As I was scavenging through my maps to find some interesting place to scurry off to, I lifted my head and to my left I laid my eyes upon what seemed to be an anomaly. Hidden behind some trees against the blazing sun stood a small theatre with a movie poster that was larger than the theatre itself. 'Imperial Cinema' read out the bright red letters with the chipped off paint and the movie that was playing was no recent blockbuster but one that had managed to survive the pages of time hidden in the secret compartments of cupboards and the hidden folders of our desktops. The film was called Tarzan but the main attraction of the movie was Lady Jane played by the evergreen Bo Derek with a wet shirt that had the right amount of visibility to clear the censors and attract the attention of wandering nobodys such as yours truly.

Usually I would rid my eyes off such profanities as I was too intellectual to stoop down to the underbelly of the society but that day, I was inclined for a reason nowhere close to Bo Derek or her assets. The name 'Imperial' got me interested as I had a slight feeling that there would be more to this place than just the sleaze painted over its walls.

As I crossed the road, I could see Bo Derek's shirt even more clearly now and I was wondering what in the world had being single brought me down to. If the world were to know about me visiting some B Grade movie theatre as a way to pass time during the weekends, I would surely have had a rough time explaining myself. But the mind had been made up, there was nothing more to be thought of as I approached the ticket counter and bought myself a 35 rupee ticket into a place which would welcome the lecherous eyes and the hollow hearts. But I was not too keen to enter into the dark abyss of the hall before doing some snooping around myself. As I walked past the hall, I noticed a staircase heading up on to a second floor. At first I was sceptical of being caught as I never liked being the one who would fall into trouble and have their parents come and bail them out of prison (For climbing up some stairs?!) but then I slowly managed to climb up only to find a urinal which had been built into a colonial structure that seemed to have been forgotten with the passing time. Heaps and heaps of garbage, beer bottles and what-not was all that I could see and I realised that negligence is a simple word to say but a much harder thing to clean up.

I realised that there was nothing much that I could do apart from walking into the hall and be at one with the scum of the society. As I pulled back a curtain which was followed by another curtain, I came face to face with the darkness and a stench that made me feel that I was now in a world where only few had taken up the courage to linger into. At first I found the first wooden (clean) chair that I could get my hands on and sat on it. The movie had just started and as my eyes got used to the darkness, I realised that there were only 5 to 6 more in the hall, scattered to different corners, having their own privacy to indulge into their desires. Bo Derek had just set foot on this mysterious land of tribals and had already made her appearance felt by slipping into the water and getting all wet. I decided to walk further ahead into the hall and get a better view of the entire space.

I noticed the balcony at the top and the louver windows by the sides and as my head arched towards the screen I realised this looked just like a stage that I had seen in the halls of Europe. I imagined a play being enacted where the screen stood today and the entire hall thriving with men in custom tailored suits and women in their gowns, excited to see their favourite actors perform under the lights. However, today it was just us few, in our second hand outfits and unkept beards. The ceiling fans up above me made me realise that I had not sat in a hall with fans ever before, it made me realise that I was in an unknown place, it was time to get back to my world.

On exiting the hall, I walked to an alternative entrance to this cinema which once might have been the only entrance. A majestic gate with the word 'Welcome' with two grand elephants guarding on both sides. The initials TMN inscribed which remain a mystery to me even today. I clicked a photograph of the entrance and as I write this, I come to find out 3 fun facts of this very place which I leave you with:

1. It is a 111 year old site that used to host orchestras at one point.
2. This Cinema was featured in the latest video of Coldplay - Hymn for the weekend
3. Today it's a very popular joint for Gays to get lucky.

More hymns for the weekend, coming soon!

I'm back

It isn't as hot as it is down in Mumbai but there is something about the summers here that bring me back to the road.

The sun isn't hurting me now, as a matter of fact it is hitting that part of my brain which is sending me back down memory lanes. Memory roads to be more specific. I pass tree after tree, field upon field as I keep driving in my car. The beads of sweat drift from my ear down my neck and into the abyss of my drenched shirt. I am trying to save on petrol owing to the large distance I am having to cover and more importantly, I have no intention of risking my 12 year old car in case it gives up on me on the excessive usage of the Air Conditioner. 2 years back I wasn't even here at this point. I was in the city of London exploring the city with my friends while everyone was crying in Delhi about how hot it had become. London was visited again nonetheless, her eyes and her sighs came with me this time. But now is not the time to go back to the nostalgia of Europe. Instead, it was time to remember what I was and a part of me still is.

Mumbai is a new experience altogether and I am by myself. But I had made this choice to venture out and see the city of dreams and become one with it. Having completed a little more than a year in this madness, I can safely say that I have done my fair share of exploration but I'm hungry for more.

I come to you in a completely new avatar now. In between I had been a man lost in love, broken in love and now detached from love. I have taken to new interests and new likes that have fuelled my passions of seeking the unknown. Earlier it was to feel the love of someone whom you are mad about, but that might have to wait. Maybe a decade or two. However, as I get back to my new found goal, (which keeps changing from time to time) it lies in doing what I will regret not doing as soon as I am endowed with some thing called responsibilities.

I have always been a fan of history and more of modern than ancient. I do not need to know what naked men and women used to dig and dance to for those times are gone and we are now children of our doings in the past, not in another life. 200 years from now is what interests me the most and the smallest of remnants that may exist of our past which I may still be able to find hidden in the present world. I am lucky to still be able to touch stones that were laid centuries back and feel gaps that may have been made by an artist from yesteryear.

Enchanted by a world with the same monuments, the same architecture, the same letters engraved in stone, only in a time which had lesser people and but grandeur plans for the days to come. I end this note with one of the many photographs I have started capturing of a time gone by but in some places, lives on in my heart.

I shall see you sooner than you can miss me.

The Long Road

She had always meant for it to last forever. He knew this was the right way to move ahead in life. It was the logical thing to do. She stretched her arm out to him and he thought that holding it would make her feel nice and so he did. The wind blew her hair over her face as she smiled through those strands. He was happy that she felt this way. Her hands were cold as ice and he always seemed to have the warm and soft ones. He let the ice of her hands melt on him, it was a feeling similar to that in his heart. He did not feel warm inside, he just felt, nothing. As the rains of Mumbai started to fall on them, he escorted her to the nearest taxi and bid her goodbye. As he turned around to walk back home, she had been watching him the entire time as the car moved away from him. Till he was nothing but a small speck in the distance, till a drop fell on it and it trailed the length of the window out of her sight.

Now, his hands were not as soft as before. He was struggling to keep them warm. He had his only thick jacket on him to keep him from freezing as he trudged along the path up the mountain. Surrounded by the thick trees of Transylvania, he stared up at the skies which had turned grey now. It would be snowing soon. He had grown a beard since then and shed a couple of kilos. As for her, he never saw her again after that rainy night and today he woke up to know that she was somebody else's. He let the cold numb his regret and the pain in his knees drown his sorrow. His solitude was his fate and he would embrace it. He had shared the laughs, the smiles, the arguments, the fights but there always seemed to be a part of him that was selfish. To live a life less ordinary is what he looked out for and today, no one knew where he was and what he was up to. Each day was another struggle to survive, a story to be told. From being the center of her world to be being ousted from it, he was now a renegade, a dark memory, a speck of dust on a photograph.

He was now ready, to erase her from his mind and as a last tribute to this solemn occasion, he shouts out her name, one last time. The air from his lungs comes out as a cloud as the scream echoes through the trees. Birds fly out in alarm as the words bounce off the Carpathians and back to his ears.

And then there was silence, as if someone had pressed the mute button. And in that silence, a flake of snow drops from the skies, beside the mountains, missing the trees and on his face. And this time, he felt warmth.

Ground Control to Major Tom

I heard a song today. It was called Space Oddity by David Bowie with a girl's voice that came in between as well.
She soothed me as the Bourbon flowed through my veins. It talked of a man going to space and drifting away into space sitting in a tin can.
The feeling resonates with me, the one to drift away into space and be away from all this animosity, this hatred, this jealousness and this constant nagging. The time has come yet again, to shed my skin, forget all those who mattered who I thought mattered and step in through the door. This room was too old now, the walls were worn out, the carpet was dirty, the bed was creaking now. As the sun came in through the window and made the dust dance as if snow was falling in space. The third glass of bourbon was on its way now, the stubble had to go. Patience has become my virtue, I have controlled my loss but that glimmer of hope is on its way yet again. I wish nothing of it, this solitude is just fine. Keep away ye scurvy sea dogs, I go down with this sinking ship and arise yet again from the ashes. I had read somewhere that my birth month was that of the phoenix. I for some reason believe in it, many a time I have been through these maladies but I have always recovered. I shall do it once more.

The rest now lie in the feet for me to run, run as if there was a green football field with blue skies and a stream running beside it.

The Son of Humanity

His pyjamas dragged on the dirt as he walked past the thousands with his mother.

Holding onto her finger, his face stared at the ground that passed beneath his feet, kicking the odd stone, skipping over a lonesome hole and letting his eyes follow the lone plastic bag that swayed in the air. He did not know where it might be tomorrow and what was it doing yesterday but he hoped that it had once been the proud possession of a kind hearted man. Today it was alone, ignored, defeated but hopeful. As he lifted his head towards the skies, he saw the crows hover up above and as they glided past each other, they slowed down and perched themselves upon on a minaret. This was the minaret of the Nawab Masjid, a mosque in the heart of the Muslim colony of Bhendi Bazar. He looked at the hand that was holding his and the aroma of rose that came from it, the sleeve of her burqa was a dark shade of pink, matching the colour on her nails. In the 6 years of his life, he had never seen the colour on those nails change nor even fade. Maybe she was born with such nails, maybe he might grow up to have them too.

The ground beneath his feet turned into hard cemented steps, he felt his knees bend as he ascended into the great hall that shielded him from the scorching sun. He took his free hand and felt the wall next to him, the slippery dust caught on as he felt the coolness spread over his palm. There was an air of familiarity here, the ground was now in the form of patterns, traversing from beneath his feet and over his eyes, under his arms and into the far reaches of the ceiling above him which was in the shape of a large dome. He felt as if he was in the presence of something high and mighty.He had felt a similar feeling someplace else. The carpet below his feet pricked his feet as he walked on it, he had the option of coming on to the floor but it was too cold. He lifted his foot and looked beneath it to see red marks poked in like holes. Like small craters they flourished over his bare white skin. She told him to kneel down and start praying. As he closed his eyes and knelt down, he remembered the day before.

Echoes of bells ringed through his ears, the smell of incense sticks flooded his nose, there was crowd, there was clutter and all he could see in the darkness was a man's hand reaching out to his and clutching it tightly. His neatly combed hair was now a ruffle, the red tilak on his forehead was a smudge. He was shouting out in despair for a while now but none paid heed to him. Finally, a face appeared from the darkness and with both arms, lifted him up from the darkness and out in the open. A fish out of water he felt like, the brightness blinded him for a bit but he was relieved to be out there. If he was the fish then what lay in front him was the sea, a sea of hundreds clad in white and red, slowly trudging through the corridors of this shrine. The sign above him read 'Santoshi Mata Mandir' and his feet were hurting just as they are today. He looked at the hands holding him, firm hands they were, hairy with a shade of salt and pepper on them. He felt the number of rings on them and counted up to a total of 4. Two of them had stones on them and the other two were gold. The rings were as cold as the floor of the temple. He looked up at the face and it was one that he had always been a little scared of. The bristles of his moustache stood like sentinels and his eyes stared straight ahead as if they were hunting for food. Between his eyes was the tilak brandished right up to his hair. He stared at the tilak for quite some time, till he was shaken from his thoughts back into the masjid.

He was back home now, surrounded by those who loved him and those who defined him. The lady with the pink nails and the man with the red tilak stared at him as he stared back at them. His eyes were moist with tears as he wailed to the two about his day at school. Children picked on him for being an outcast, even the teachers weren't very nice to him either. This was not the first time this was happening, it had been going on for the past few months ever since he started going to school. The man and woman did not know who to blame, was it themselves, was it the community or was it the crazy mania that had surrounded this country. They did not wait to think over this, they could not change it. They decided that till the time was right, they would be his teachers. He would learn of the world, what lies beyond the boundaries of this land and make sure that he gets to visit those lands one day. He will learn to love one day and be loved as well.

For he was not the son of a Hindu or a Muslim, he was the son of humanity.

Springtime Sadness

Killing time. That is all I have been doing ever since I landed here. I wait for the lunch hour, the dinner hour, I make my own breakfast, I visit shops, I jog, I wander, I dream of running away from here. It’s strange, I always considered myself as one who could live in solitary confinement for as long as I wished but as of now, the feeling is excruciating. During my days of academic preparation, I lay in the same state except there was an objective at hand, something had to be done and more importantly, I was not compromised. The heart, lay still, unfazed, unused, unadulterated. The rush of hormones within my body has started once again. Something that I longed to feel for 8 long years post my mental rollercoaster of a girl issue. It is the imagination that is to blame over here. I have gone beyond the roof of this house, swam into the skies, passed over the grassy plains, the deserted villages, the haunting warehouses, the winding roads, the forested hills and right on top of the snow covered mountains. Like a helpless ghost I stand there, looking at the world. A resemblance can be made to Ebenezer Scrooge who watches the Cratchit family eat in joy while I stand and sulk in silence. It is my forte, to sulk. I choose to ignore such things and focus on the task at hand but even the silence tends to kill me. Forgotten, forsaken, not one ring has come onto my phone. I don’t mind the silence, I will soon get over it but what happens when it does ring again? A glimmer of hope rises once more, I feel loved, appreciated, accepted till it has gone once again into the oblivion. It is better to go off the radar, begone but what if there is an emergency and I need to be contacted? Who are you kidding? Nobody is going to be in an emergency and nobody is going to call you. I don’t say that I’d rather be somewhere else but is it wrong of me to feel this sense of loss? I had felt the same when I had missed out on my US trip but technology was a friend of mine, it had refused to evolve till then. I had no clue what was up over there while my Mom had the time of her life and thankfully, I had my girl by my side to console me. Best days of my life, best.

Karma has a way of telling me that I shall be rewarded from what I am doing but Karma is no well-defined rule. But wait, I’m being selfish again, I know that its wrong. I must move on. But then do me a favour, don’t tell me anything. Don’t tell me about the fun, the frolic, the beer, the games, the what ifs and the what not ifs because my mind runs crazy imagining the walls, the fragrance, the laughter, the slaughter. I’m glad nobody will read this. They might lose whatever respect they have for me. Sometimes, its better to just stay unnoticed, but keep it like that, my solitude is my friend and nobody can take it away from me, nobody.

The Male in Minority

I haven’t felt more threatened ever before. The gay man with the whip and all his maidens surrounding me. I think i have reached a tea party where everyone is dressed up in pink, drinking tea and asking each other if they would like one cube of sugar or two. There is this desire to run, to chase, to be in the company of the silence venturing into the oblivion. Maybe I am a social animal, one who can’t be with everyone. The feminism present in this room can be cut with a knife. I think I’m suffocating in it. They seem to be standing in a military position, ready to strike on the first instruction. This nightmare will end, later than sooner though. Giggles all around, compliments, whispers in the air, flowing locks, gold earrings flashing in my eyes. My hands are cold even though I sit in this room. I think its the effect of the stares, the slow fall of the smile after the crane of the neck, there is no friend here, there is no comrade, only the end will be me running my fingernails down my keyboard. There were a few sane ones at first, while the others had all gone stark raving mad, but now they all seem to have gone on to the dark side. There are some like me who feel the same, but they lie quiet, zombified, mute to what was happening around them. It is only a matter of time before their balls drop and I see them wearing lipstick and putting on their maskara. I can see the horns coming out from the back of their heads. I don’t think I will be able to see the sun today. The darkness would have settled over by then. All I can do is run, far and straight, away from this madness, away from this madness.

Sheepa

I looked out at her among the millions of faces I had seen in the crowds.

This is how each story began. I saw her smile from a distance and wondered how such a person could have been created who could capture your heart with one smile flex in her muscles. There was an air about her, she had looked into my eyes the first time I saw her and I knew that such a life did not exist on this planet that could reciprocate the attention that I had just received from her. It felt like that it was my birthday and I was being asked to stand in front of a candle and blow out the last one. You are always asked to wish over the last one but you never know what you are going to wish for. You wish for a house, a rich life, a kind and loving wife but all this you tend to get or well at least 'assume' to get. However, when I stared into her eyes, I did not wish to change anything that had happened in the past not predict anything for the future. There was just now and all I wanted was to be with her, now and forever. I was never a confident talker and I still am not. Girls would rather choose the bad and more notorious guys rather than the good ones who always look out for you. That's the the way the world goes. You might be the most kindest of persons and be called the nicest guy in the world but under the dark lights and the influence of the one odd drink, you will be pushed and shoved to the corner where parasites will come and cover your body to suck out all the love that you possess within your heart. Beware of this syndrome I tell you now for you can't be the one standing next to a pillar staring at the life that you could have had instead of realizing that the best thing to do at this point in time was to move on. Sometimes it hurts, there is a drop in the atmospheric pressure when you think of the consequences as if you are sitting on a swing and each oscillation makes your stomach take a turn. Don't worry about them, they will soon subside and you will realize that true happiness lies within yourself. But before I am to make conclusions based upon my opinions, I come back to her. She was not a face in the crowd anymore, her eyes had come across mine several times and we had conversed several times through our thoughts.

I was not a person who would begin a conversation as I stood in the dark, waiting for the right song to come and move my hips to it. I would want a calm and serene surrounding where I could let my mind be my controller and initiate a conversation that made more sense than senseless drunken talk. There seemed to be a lot more that we shared apart from the contact that we had made among out eyes. That night, there was nothing much that I could have done as I was just another face who had sprung up from the sea of unknowns but for some reason, there was something about me that had stuck to be on her mind. I was not to know what it was as I had never wished to know about it but soon after, I was in her presence yet again. I look at her hair as the wind blew it slightly across her shoulder and settled it behind. I looked into her eyes again and I saw the same look that had attracted my attention in the first place. I was struck, there was no feeling that could have described this in a better way for it was moment that had lasted for less than a moment but could have been described in umpteenth number of ways. The feeling had lasted as short as the time it takes for a moth to drive into a driving fan and be knocked out of wits, it was pure magic. I had asked her what was it that had made her eyes widen and her smile broaden but she would not tell me. She would rather blush and keep her secret to herself. I would never know the answer but I would hope that I had something to do with it.

Months had passed and we had exchanged our glances far too often. There had been crazy encounters and incidents that could be put down in books to be the least most exciting but there was nothing more that could have been brought of this. As she peeked through the leaves of the plant that grew at her balcony, she had a question in her eyes. There stood a dilemma that had not existed initially but now had sprung up owing to our association. I did not care much about the what and the where as I was always about the here and the now but owing to the world, there needed to be an answer. Somewhere far away, a volcano was on teh brink of erupting but had chosen to take its vow of silence owing to the state that I was in. I chose to stay quiet, I did not know an answer and I had hoped that she would one day come up to me and say that "It was ok" but that was what fairy tales were made of. Fairies did not exist and nor did their tales.

Her eyes had done the trick once again, taken me into a world that I had imagined and admired but at the same time, disconnected from the reality that I swam through. I was only a novice who had just realized the importance of being a schmuck but I was too naive to take up the responsibility. I wanted to stay in the depth of her eyes, swim in them, touch each point and dive deep into the trenches to know what lay beyond my understanding. But before I knew it, I was back in the shallow waters, for it was where I belonged, owing to my ideologies and inhibitions.

She moved on, she buried the hatched and along with it, me. I was nothing more than a mark on the dirt next to the road. I was the stick that one would see on the way as they sped on the highway and come back to the reality of the speedometer. I was a roll down the window and soon a breath of fresh air. I could have swum in those eyes forever, I could have stared at them till the meteor struck our planet but I was six feet under. This is where I belonged, I was an element, a piece of dirt and all that kept me from becoming one with earth was you.

Forgive me for my ignorance.

Ass-u-me

8pm, flight from Mumbai to Kolkata. The take off has just taken place and we are hovering in the sky like a feeble bird trying to stay stable in a gale. Things seem to be shaking from time to time and as for the fear of death, it's not there anymore. If
It must happen it must, there is no stopping it unless put onto the spot. All of a sudden, a crackle comes across the speakers as the captain says "we have a guest on board" and then pauses. I thought there is some celebrity who would like to entertain us on the momentous occasion of Eid, I could only imagine a film star popping out of his seat, dancing on a number or two, kissing babies on their forehead and giving autographs on ladies' breasts. But before I could carry my imagination any further, the captain let's out the rest of his dialogue "who is in need of medical assistance, is there anyone on board with medical background ?".

My pupils dilated as if somebody had used them as a trampoline, from being wide and full, they shrunk to the size of a full stop. I heard the rest of the passengers on the plane crane their neck over their seats to see what the drama was all about. They were probably missing their favorite serial on the flight so this story might be one for the kitty parties and the poker nights. At the back of the plane was an air hostess who seemed to have lost consciousness and was being carried by her colleagues. She had been made to lie down while they looked at us with desperation, but not a soul moved, all could been seen were their eyes looking back at them, anticipating, expecting but not delivering. But then I saw a man with grey hair get up from his seat with an air of confidence, I could notice the outline of his stethoscope in the pocket of his jacket and this was his moment to shine.

He had been sitting in his dilapidated clinic in the gutters of the city, tending to pregnant teenagers and children faking their sickness to skip school. The money was measly, the hours were boring and life seemed to be just treading downhill with each passing day. But now, was not the time for making ends meet, he had been called for and he would serve. He started walking towards the air hostess and noticing him she went up to him with an air of anticipation in her eyes as she asked "are you the doctor ?", the man nodded his head and said something that sounded like "Can I see the patient ?" The look on her eyes changed drastically to that of disappointment as she asked him to sit down on his seat. What had happened ? Was he a veterinarian ? Was his breath too stinky ? Apparently it was neither, the question that he had asked was "can I use the toilet ?" So much for his moment to shine and serve. The old fart wanted to go for a tinkle while somebody was probably boarding the stairway to heaven.

It was one thing embracing death in times of peril but would I let somebody else die while I continue living ? I was no doctor nor a medical practitioner, hell my mother told me I was not man enough to study biology. But there seemed to be nobody to help and the only thing I was good at was being a hero. But what was I going to do ? Hold their hand and tell them it was ok ? I had no answer but the situation at hand seemed to have improved. Someone had shown up and tended to the lady, things were under control. This plane was not going to be hearse after all. I heaved a sigh of relief as I got up from my seat, went towards the seat where the hostess was lying, passed her by and opened to door to the toilet. Order had now been restored.

Risk

It's about not looking back twice.

Bringing the best of options to your head won't make any difference because every time you think it out, there will always be a different way out, a safer way out.

But that's not how things are meant to be.
A time comes in one's life (don't say it doesn't for you, because then you're just a wuss) when a choice has to be made:
1. Get busy living and then get busy dying.
2. Stop worrying about living and dying.
3. Live today, when dying comes, we will think about it.

Option 1
It's the fear of winding up on the streets, living in old beaten up houses and driving a two wheeler to office is the fear that envelopes us in this invisible straight-jacket of security and peace that denies us the possibility of exploring. Well, yes your wife and children will be able to buy their favorite clothes during the holiday season and you will retire as a grandfather with 2 properties to your name and be able to watch the latest soap operas on your new 42 inch television.

Option 2
You see, this whole business of life and death is bullshit, its all about karma and how your actions make up for your consequences. You sit in rooms smelling of smoke and mould and worry about the corruption of man and how he has created an infinite black hole of evil deeds from which there is no escaping. People worry about God instead and where he keeps his sack of gold to shower on his subjects. Money is no object, we are free souls brought to this Earth for one sole purpose, to spread love and happiness. We are living in a mechanical society where we are controlled by individuals and it is our job to break free from these shackles. One would love to live this theory, just because its well, simple.

Option 3
Risk. Its all about taking that leap of faith between your reality and your conviction. Not all who take the leap make it, you may lose your job, you may end up being divorced, fat, living off your parents, writing stories that no one wants to listen. But you may not. Its as simple as asking out a girl. You know you want her, you don't know what she wants but you will never know till you ask her. You may do your stupid little research and survey about what others think about the proposition, you may even give her hints and what not but until and unless you make that move, you will never ever know. And before you know it, she's gone. And then you have a drunken tale to tell about 'The one that got away'. Grow up. Take that chance and you just might have the best story to tell in your life (I'd suggest not to go for long distance).
Just ask yourself : "Whats the worst that could happen ?"

So at the end of the day, the only piece of advice is - GO FOR A RUN

Run today while you have the legs because tomorrow, you will run out of them.

A Stroll

One needs to take an exodus from the four walls of livelihood and head out towards the far reaches of the earth. Discover what fruits she has to offer, the souls one might not have touched, the sights one is left to see so that one day, on your deathbed, you don't have to lie without a story to tell your kith and kin about how you have lived life to the fullest and need to move on.

And so I head out into the vast outside with puffed up lungs and a stride in my step.
For a noble cause I head into the unknown, for a mission I take this path alone.

Six eggs and a loaf of bread and not to forget a half a dozen bananas from the local market.

The evening has set and the games at twilight have begun, the stars have taken the stances and are taking a power nap before their shining begins for the long and tedious night. The moons seems to be hidden today, probably touching up its face.

I may not have walked more than a yard when under my feet comes the rubble on the road, there's rubble everywhere. I stare up at the towering houses and wonder why man always looks to rise up high but forgets the land from where he comes. I shake my sandals to get rid off the dirt invading my space with a word or two under my breath. Staring into these houses I look at the cheap halogen lamps giving off their dull glare outside. No matter how grand their houses may be from the outside, inside they will always live as beggars, ensuring that their electricity bills never go beyond the danger mark.

Hunger taps me on the shoulder as the prospect of food from the market that may satisfy my pangs for delicacies from the netherworld. However, owing to the elastic waistline of my pyjamas, I choose to not let it defeat me and take a vow to have nothing doing with the processed food industry. I have dreamt of days when I will be able to tell tales of how I defeated the sin of guilty pleasure and maybe then I shall quote this moment of my triumph. When I went to the market to buy eggs and bread (not to forget the bananas) and said NO to the prospects of a chips packet or a chicken patty or one of those round crunchy twirls that... mmmmm.

A growl interrupted my train of thought and for a moment I thought a stray dog was after my crotch again. To my relief it was only my stomach that growled in disappointment of being faced with such abuse. On reaching the market I decided to reward myself with a chewing gum (sugar free) just so that my teeth get something to chew on. You never know, chewing just might help me with my jaw line and make it dashing enough for the ladies.

As I asked the shopkeeper to hand me the eggs, bread and bananas, the whiff of the guava reached my nose and I stared at the stack that stood before me, seated like pompous Romans, full of pride and peacock meat,like an audience waiting for the Tiger to be released at the colosseum. The shopkeeper caught me staring and with the proposition of making an extra buck, told me there was no spare cash and asked if there was anything else I wanted. The Romans looked at me for approval but I held out my thumb to give the final verdict, ye or nay. And much to the horror of the Romans (and the bewilderment of the lady buying her coconuts for her deceased rich husband's exit), I plunged my thumb downwards and said "nay".

On leaving the market, I chewed the gum with a much harder intent to make sure I didn't change my mind.
Nearing the house which looked the same as I had left it, I was approached by a dog.

I covered myself with the eggs (nothing harder than 6 eggs to save you from the worst of attacks) but the poor mutt was only hungry. Its wagging tail soon descended into an immobile vine as it understood the possibilities of its evening supper.
And back I was home again with yet another adventure under my non-existent belt.

Till the winds call me again
Or we run out of any grain
I will rest beside the fireplace
Or the gas stove near my face
But when adventure calls hark
I will venture in the dark
For a skirmish with a beast
Or to buy some white meat
But I will return to tell the tale
Of how much I saved, in the sale.

Lost gold

Under the stars, on the grass
Lies sprawled a story untold
Whose ghosts are now but free
to haunt the skies and the seas
It began with many
But ended with only one.
Who went in search for gold
In exchange, for their souls.
In the combed fields of savannah
These friends had sworn
That in the light of dawn,
They would abandon all
Carry their keys of freedom
To the netherworld of darkness
Where the key shall be lost
But all for a mere cost
To walk on clouds of dreams
As they tied up the loose seams.
It was a legend to some others
And a curse to some.
That none ever cared for
For they sowed the seeds
And ploughed their fields
Till their bones returned
To the soil and to the earth.
But ours was not a fate
left to chance, they said.
As they stepped through caves
And jumped over bridges
To leave behind their dust
Back in their cradles
The lure for that heaven
That holy grail.
Brought them to meet
The man with the hood
And the sickle estranged
Who followed them closely
To redeem the debt
That all men paid
As events unforeseen
Unfolded in front of their eyes
Witness to them were the horrors
Of man and animal alike
As friends broke ties
And swore blood on their sleeves
None could win over the other
Hence all succumbed
To each other’s wounds.
And as the last one
Lay on the grass
With seconds of life
In his grasp
He recalled his mother
As she held him with tears
While he looked up at her
And took her hand, one last time
And then he saw a glimmer
In his palm, lay the gold
That none ever had found.

A minute in darkness

I opened my eyes to the world around me. A world that had colours, shapes, sizes, feelings, loss, passion and so many elements that drove our minds and raced our hearts. But the world that stood before my eyes was of a much lesser composition. It felt simple, it felt neat, it felt new.

All that I could identify was one colour. Black. I was seated in darkness and completely unaware and hidden in the oblivion of space. As I felt the wind from the fan brush my face, I let my eyes try to identify the slightest bits of light that my eyes could fathom to. At a distance, I saw the light from the sodium lamp creep in through my window and illuminate my old and broken record player. An antique that had once played classics and given many a reason to bring in a wave of volatility and an eruption of emotions. But it stood silent today and maybe it will tomorrow as well.

I embraced the silence as I made shapes in the air with my hands and performed actions like a mime would. I could swim in this sea of nothing where all was back to square one, a blank sheet that should have been left blank. I carefully listened to the sound of air entering and leaving me. Not many of those breaths have been noticed, I might as well hear them now before I give out my last.

An ascending tune catches my attention as I listen with intent, knowing well in my world what that sound stood for. It was the call for an attack, a battle cry and I was ready to face my assailant. With a swift move with my fist, I grasped the air and immediately dragged my fingers across my palm. Hoping to feel the carcass of the vector but alas I had missed. But there was no shame in leaving a battle unfinished, maybe there was pride in letting your life finish last.

The darkness seemed to have befriended me and wanted me to stay but my time was up, it was the hour for me to go.
My minute was over. Not the best of minutes, I confess.
But who leaves the last as not the least.

Between the Frames

I am a work of art. No really, I have been painted by an artist. But there was something very peculiar about the colours he used to make me. Unlike the lifeless reflections of a mixture of the palette, the spectrum which he created to paint me had signs of a soul in them. The red on my lips had the taste of blood and the pink of my nails had the scent of a rose. Even the green colour of my eyes wept the dew drops of the leaves in the mist of the morning.

I had been created with a mere brush from a box, a brush that went back into the box after every painting, back in the world of darkness that stood in an unknown silence till the creak of a hinge and the click of a latch let the light touch its hard, coarse, hair. But these colours lived on to see the light. See it through me. And now I had been made to dwell in the worlds that millions only imagine living. Jumping from one painting to the other, discovering hidden worlds and reading untold stories. Giving a whole new meaning to the term, the term 'Interpretation of Art'. I can undo those long conversations over Caviar and Chardonnay, unveil the truths, read between the lines, the strokes, the blots and the spots, all of this even before the paint dries off that sheet of canvas.

Imagine me, asking Mona Lisa why she smiled so or having the chance to taste that Last Supper on that table that cast so many questions to the world when all they wanted was some bread and wine. Gazing at the Cosmos on that Starry Night. It was all so blissful and yet to unrealistic, as if I was still on the other side, wishing upon falling stars and falling eyelashes.

Today, I am on this port where ships with sails have been docked beside me. With their orange sails settling down on the mast, I compare the smooth touch of their sheets to the bruised blisters on the hull. I can smell the stench of fishes being hauled on to the port and the sound of gulls trying to scavenge for any left behind. Beneath me is the water splashing against the rocks and the crabs that peek outside for any leftovers.

Tomorrow, I'll embrace the silence and sit in a room with empty chairs and vacant beds. Gaze through windows with tinted green glass that show me the cloudy skies and beyond. Discover wardrobes and pick out clothes whose owners are unknown or unborn.

I have made plans for days to come as I wander from frame to frame and see beyond sunsets and travel under the seas but in my heart of hearts I do hope to find another creation such as I, who may share this eternal space and share the secrets that I may have missed out on.

For there lies a brush with its tips stained with blood lying closed in a box.

On the stool

He looked out through the window, he had been here before. Beyond the mist that engulfed the glass he saw them trickling, the drops of rain. It was an odd time for the rains in this time of the year. Maybe there was something big about to happen or maybe it was just dumb luck. His thoughts were still somewhere in the mist of the glass as the sound of music played in the back ground, Phil Collins had just said that it was another day in Paradise and he'd asked us to think twice about it. There was no thinking twice about where our protagonist was, right there in the corner on his bar stool. Clutching his 5th drink of the evening, he shifted his looks from the outer to the inner (sic). Conversations buzzed, meaningless mostly, the price of tequila, the oil in the food, the length of the sixer and the size of his package (pay package). And then from his ears he shifted focus to his eyes and from the corner came the figure of a female. A figure that had not been taken care of but you didn't need to look at her from tip to toe to tell that. Just the hidden double chin and the muscular legs (to take that much weight) was probably enough. A girl, probably on a date (or just to have a free drink on ladies night) that seemed to seek, capture and cultivate on a seat of her own. Had she not been too busy fighting with her parents for another credit card, she'd probably reached here on time, but right now she was just staring at the concrete between the bricks, hoping for some secret chair to show up. As her eyes rolled from ground zero to the ceiling, clearly she had stood in one place for too long, eyes had been lifted from their drinks and up to her. And she got her cue as well, mouthing the words from the song in the background to give the indication of showing interest in the music, she turned on her heels and went back to the waiting area. He chuckled to himself, shook his head and chugged down what was left of his drink. It was time to move on. As he tipped the waiter, his eyes fell on the girl again. She wasn't alone anymore, in one hand was the arm of her date and in the other was a Shirley Temple. A bit of the conversation reached his ears as they cursed the rain for ruining her hair and dirtying his shoes. It was a crowded place indeed but then again, every body deserved a chance. And so he offered his seat to the couple in despair (not wondering who would sit and who would stand) as he moved himself from the table to the door, put on his jacket and walked into the rain. He'd been here before, he'll be here again. Probably doing the same things, probably just stare at the rain.

Headlights

I am a driver. A driver of thoughts, a driver for my car. I let the radio flood my ears with the sounds of today and yesteryear. Staring at the phone, dreading life threatening calls from unknown people who hate what I do to them. But I must focus on the road, I must keep the wheels turning. I can't help stare at the ones outside. Second soulmates on the backseat of bikes, the thin red belt circling their jeans. And CEOs staring at the paper with blank expressions in their tinted glasses of their plastic worlds. Balding managers in second hands with their hands dangling out clutching their cigarette by the tips of their two fingers. And then on the road, where lives pass them by quickly as theirs stands still on the asphalt of the tar they step on. Well tucked shirts and buttons up to their collar. Eyes staring at their shoes, they walk on, always the opposite direction. But I must focus on the road, focus on getting there first, meet the deadline, meet the client.



Night falls, stars call, cars stall, gears shift and horns blare. Windows roll up to summon the vacuum of silence. Headlights dip in the distance, a signal for help, a signal to move out of the way. Now the backseats of bikes are empty, now the ghosts arrive and dread us of the inevitability of tomorrow. There are scavengers out on the streets with their empty hands and sorry faces. Lights illuminate the path and I stare at the faces again. There are more cigarettes to their faces, there is a visible stubble on each one. But I cant focus on the road, I am blinded by the incoming lights, I curse him to knock into a tree and lose his head. I curse the Gods for letting woman touch cars. I do. My car burns in the moonlight as the engines roar in agony,but I race to the finish line. I stagger and stutter, I indulge and I fall. Waiting for tomorrow to call me to the roads and press the clutch. I wonder how well I would be as a professional driver. A driver of thoughts, a driver for cars.