A Note to the Reader

Exams are now knocking on my dreams, doors, windows, and every other place where there is occasion for knocking, and therefore in times like these “creativity” hits an all time low. In one word, posts out here will be posted post exams. So come back again in Jan twenty-ten and we’ll celebrate a late new year together. Until then happy thinking and happy reading (my older posts I mean).

Ok now study time… no nap time I guess!

Now Playing:: Main aur meri awaargi…………………….Kishore

A Brutal Paradox

Some men are like seasonal fruits…available
For once in the lifetime of a woman, and expensive too!
You don’t buy them in kilos! You pluck them! You wash them
To adorn your dining tables during the day and when the sun
Sets in the western skies you slice them into shapeless lumps,
Making them small and edible!


You might ask me, “who then has the upper hand in this
Passionate turbulence?” “Undoubtedly, the man!” I say.
Oh, don’t blow your feminist trumpet yet, just hear me out.
Answer me fellow women, isn’t it a submissive dominance
To make a pigmy of your body to his hardened flesh and blood,
And is not it a man’s loss when a woman feigns; punishing


Him when he fails to please! For centuries now, our bodies
Have been sullied with pecker tales of all kinds…but now
Let it give on till it can give no more, for we know what makes
A man, a man after all! And therefore, thrive for men more
Excellent than yourselves…pluck them when they’re ripe,
And let them rot with wild ambitions on your virginal beds!


Strip down to your soul and let him see your naked form;
Intimidate; and then allow him to sink into you; let him
Crush your womb and empty it of every drop of blood;
Make him toil, toil and toil. In the end, dear men and
Women, both realize the brutal paradox of sex;
Both get crushed to be elated!


Now Playing:: Daiyya yeh main kahan...........Asha

Yes, Professor!

The department wore a deserted look as in mourning… and what a place it is to be in the reading room in these hours! The walks at these times, dear reader are so much one’s own that you can scarcely perceive how much it leaves one ‘changed’.

As I slipped in unperceived into a grove of Sandal Trees stealthily watching two women making love… when a familiar smell and taste of tobacco sent my entire being into a visible flutter.

Oh what bliss it was to watch him smoke, smoke and smoke! With the object of my longing and desire carelessly stranded in between the digits of his left, and those of the right occasionally coming down from his temples to flip the pages… he looked like a painter’s delight (and that my dear reader is no exaggeration).

Blessed with a language of exactitude; and speaking in terms of ‘thesis…antithesis…and synthesis’ his lectures have always affected the metaphysics… often raising the wonder and surprise of the listeners. He has the appearance of a saint but one increasingly becomes conscious of the unsaintly malicious glint lingering in his eyes. Ah! What a man to listen and admire forever!

And today watching him tame fire merely rifled his charms adding a triumph to my kink of getting attracted to older men….

Now Playing:: Kisike waade pe kyun……………………….Asha

Symbiosis

It’s a nude, lonely walk from the bathroom
To the mirror in the bedroom; now halting and now
Shivering under the thousand shrinking and sliding,
Yet, clinging and hanging droplets of a watered bliss.


Each drop celebrating its wicked sojourn meanders
Through every indentation, fold, and dimples of my
Anatomy, refusing to change its mood, devouring every
Dreg of my female scent in a pale motion of sense and
Lust, before ending in a failed autonomy, merging with the
Nebulous patches of my wet naked footprints!


This wet form in the mirror has no talent of its own
Although love and lust seem to come pretty easily to it.
Pondering over this form in a deep silence, and peeling
Off a good number of skins later, I finally reach the Soul.
Oh! What a detestable, ghastly image! The Soul has become
Sense too! Oh darling, is Lucifer my guarding angel now?


In haste I stitch the skins up and recompact the Soul.
My evil, sensuous Soul doesn’t deserve this outer form,
Maybe a cut here, a slash there or a burn someplace else
Will complete this auld symbiosis of the Body and the Soul!

Now Playing:: Hum tumse mile..........................Rocky

Winter's Eunuch!

Hate me not darling, for the winter has
Made a eunuch of my body; sterile and unfulfilling,
Inflamed with a platonic love than lust!
Hate me not darling, for I’m not smooth anymore.
The skin’s cracking and so am I…. leave me alone darling,
Don’t come in between my legs, don’t make me
Fight this frigidity; don’t make love to me as a rational
Passion…. I hate it!

Let the winter pass in silence darling, let the silence
Creep into my bones… let my body crave for yours,
Make me wait darling, make me wait and wait… then
I’ll be at your mercy; turn me in or turn me out, I shall
Comply. But now leave me alone darling, let me hide myself
Like a reptile in hibernation… let this barren loneliness
Manifest itself into an obsession with sex… oh, let me wait
Darling, for there is more pleasure, even in this world!

Now Playing:: kaheko rootha……………………….Asha

When the head runs upon you in a fit of madness....

But, what’s the point in taking all those drugs and numbing the senses and putting my manic brain to sleep, I wonder? It hardly serves the purpose because it makes my waking life more unbearable…. leaving me perfectly confused and out of myself. Yet, dad insists on something which he calls the “the larger good”. But, how do I make him understand that these drugs make me feel suicidal…. But, I should hold my thoughts there lest they put me in a cage….. the possibilities of which have already been hinted by the shrink. Honestly, dear reader I don’t know what I’m saying, I feel like I’m on a high, and the reason for this documentation is that I’ve been asked to observe and put down my thoughts, in short I’ve been asked to help myself to restore normalcy.

This makes me feel genuinely sorry for my parents…. certainly they don’t deserve the kind of humiliation that I put them into, besides it must be so difficult to live with a constant knowledge of the fact that they have a daughter whose brain borders on insanity. Perhaps, its nature’s strange way of keeping everything in balance; I guess it was only natural for me to be imbalanced when my brother is perfectly balanced. I wish I could be like my brother and make mom & dad feel proud of me, but it is equally vain to sit still and wish for what I cannot achieve.

I hardly have a clue how I came to develop this condition. It probably began with my inability to deal with stress. At first you get depressed as stress increases and then eventually your mind gives up and goes manic. Its more of a mechanism of the body to take an automatic break from hectic life. I could’ve avoided it, if only the warning signs were much clearer. It’s like a state in which I sink into even at the slightest contemplation of stress and its only in my climb back to normalcy that I actually perceive the extent of my distortion…

I never had an intention of posting the above thing to the blog, especially when it’s three months old. But it’s probably on account of the rains or a recent recurrence of the madness to the head that has made me return to it. It has been some days now, and I can feel that “funny feeling” (which shrinks call ‘mania’ and laymen ‘madness’) running all over me. This time however, I could sense it before hand. It always begins with a mild irritation apropos of nothing, and then you can feel the energy levels slowly rising above normal, till you become hyper energetic; a state in which you continue to dwell for some days or hours, irrespective of all the drugs you take to bring the levels down to normalcy. A maniac is like a totally sloshed person with ten times more energy. And interestingly during the mania time you hardly feel any “needs”, be it hunger, thirst, and sex… nothing at all!

Hyper energy can get dangerous on most occasions… you feel like riding a bike in full speed and hitting a wall, and that’s precisely what made me resort to public transport when I perceived that I was indeed riding a tad too fast. My legs still ache with all those long walks but its better than being dead I think! One cannot talk sense in mania and it’s always better to spend those unwholesome hours either with yourself or people who would tolerate your rambling chats, but the hyper energy levels would drag you to places where there are more and more people, and you end up staging a play of your own insanity. However, the best thing about going manic is that it makes you stoic for a brief period of time… you simply lose the ability to feel pain or pleasure, and even better is that when you happen to recollect your mania time during normal days, you feel that things and events come to you in fragments… it becomes almost impossible to say what followed what… trust me, you’ll be thankful not to remember a lot of things that you’ve done or said!

I haven’t slept well for some days now and I hope to sleep like a child tonight, for I can sense sanity returning. Well, those are enough details to make you shrink with fear and think twice before you come sauntering again to this space and therefore I better clap the extinguisher here. I hope to see you again when the mind is relatively free of such maladies.

Now Playing:: Pehli nazar mein……………….The Burning Train

Waiting...

The waiting is neither pleasant nor unpleasant. It’s like a moment that gets extended and extended and, extended. I have been waiting for a while now… waiting for the séance… waiting for the delayed outburst… waiting to hear him speak… waiting for a good night’s sleep that would eventually answer all my questions. But things do not come to us when we want them the most, although the law of attraction says that they do. He did turn up though, albeit much later and as usual he seemed to be in a hurry, but I could still perceive his darting eyes and an auld and obvious inclination to smile about the mouth, and a vibe full of strong purpose and feeling. Of all the things that were exchanged between us, my waking mind recollects only this one thing that he said:

“The more airs of childish self-importance you give yourself, you will only expose yourself to be the more ridiculed and laughed at!”

Now Playing:: Poocho na yaar kya hua...................Asha & Rafi

Dad, Can I Smoke?

Dear reader, maybe I’m troubled and need help, but tell me is it that horrible to want to smoke? In fact it has been some days now and I’ve been only wanting to smoke, smoke and smoke…..to the extent that I can almost fancy the taste of tobacco in my mouth, and the smell of smoke on my fingers. Well, these are confessions of a strange order but I can’t help it. I’ve wanted just this one thing to make me happy, but wanting that, have wanted everything else as well! I hardly have a notion of what I might turn into if the rules of discipline were to be suddenly lifted from my daily walk through life.


And perhaps, this wasn’t a mere recording of a dream after all…..and sadly all my dreams tend to produce a world of dirty monochrome in which nothing can possibly happen, except to make the head nod and the eyes heavy with sleep. But even sleeping seems to be a rare occasion these days. I’m sleeping for less than three hours a day now, and the less I sleep, the more I want to indulge in smoking…..and even as I write this, I can smell smoke, boy, its driving me crazy…


Now, there are occasions in our life when we must make something happen, like flinging a splash of color into life, but I’ve simply lost the urge to do that….I would rather flounder into heavy chairs and put the body, mind, and the soul in hibernation, till I gather my scattered wits.


Meanwhile, can I smoke dad?

Now Playing:: Yaad piya ki aaye……………….Shobha Gurtu

Inside the Mirror

It’s a torture…
Standing naked before the glass
And to face the skin’s mute hungers, and
Watching the slow rise of the body
From a little girl to a woman!
Why the growth? Why the loss of innocence?

But, can any woman be innocent?
Are not all women alike, when you lift
The veils of their weaknesses?
Don’t all women froth with desire
For men more excellent than themselves?
And how the thought of desire breaks the myth!

Innocence and tenderness are reduced to
Mere platonic virtues, and the body in the
Glass stands proud, cold, and triumphant
With an impersonal lust…that darts the skin,
Reminding the body that its essence
Does not lie in virginity!

Now Playing:: Huzoor is kadr………………….Masoom

In Parenthesis

Some days back this space turned two years old. NO BIG DEAL! After all, it’s the law of nature that things must keep moving. I mean, people and things keep getting older without any special interference as such, and FRISSON too would continue to age irrespective of my active documentation or lazy negligence. I don’t know if I’ve ever told you but blogging for me has always been something that I station in parenthesis and, things written in parenthesis seldom contain any grand theories or notions to attract or interest one deeply and thoroughly! You simply tend to pass over!


Now, coming back to FRISSON, I’ve been able to sort out a few distinct differences between my attitude (in writing) at present and the first year of blogging. It began with the keeping of memories and recording of experiences and all the other furniture that brings out the existing side of an individual. This virtual space became my way of relaxing, of working off my frustrations over my incapabilities, in other words, it became my strange way of compensating for not being a genius. I guess I was living under an illusion that there’re no evidences beyond experiences and in the writing of these experiences, I thought I was simply expressing my existing side, but there’re enough evidences beyond experiences and it takes a while before we get to acknowledge their magnificence!


And in one of those odd silences which sometimes fall on blogs, I started to worry about “words”. For, whatever else we may do, we’ll be using words all day and every day, words continue to matter. Words are the vehicle of thoughts and I knew I was reaching nowhere because I was using all the wrong words for locomotion and I was as good as a heap of stones could be. That was when the waiting game began, and when the words came, they came not in masses but mere numbers, and all I could write was poetry, although the prospects of prose continued to seduce me for a long time. But a return to prose has been really painful and uninspiring for poetry tempts me more and more.


Be it prose or poetry, I still lack the gall to speak my mind, letting the truth out only in half explained words and phrases. To me at all events this deposit of vagueness would be preferred more than all other confessions, for it is physical, wholesome, nourishing, and refreshing to the last degree!


Thank you dear reader!


Now Playing:: Wake up Sid (club mix)

Enter

It’s around two in the afternoon when I return from college. Not a soul seems to be stirring at this hour of siesta. It’s a closely knit colony but, the neighbours would hardly notice even if I get murdered. The first thing that I take notice of, is the huge lock dangling on the front door of the house and a depressing consciousness that comes with the said imagery ,that there’s nobody waiting on the other side to open the door, and worse luck, you play your own guest! I have been returning to a locked up house since the past six years now. You don’t have much of a choice when you’ve working parents and siblings who would rather settle in far away countries than in familiar spaces. Dear reader, I’m unfortunately blessed with so much of privacy that I’ve almost forgotten what it is to be in public and to be social?

But strangely, I manage to leave these anxieties and ill formed depressions at the threshold as undoubtedly the home seems to compensate for everything the moment I enter into its calm confines (although I see enough clutter around). Ah! It’s like visiting the scenes of early youth all over again! I literally throw the bag and the dupatta on the couch (and they remain there, till I collect them very late in the evening, probably when mom’s back from office) before opening the window that would bring the garden alive. The enormity of the garden has struck many and it continues to strike me every time I see it through this window. Although it’s trimmed and maintained, yet it seems to have a hint of a quaint wildness, which could be scary at times. I don’t spend too much of time at this window, especially at this hour, however it remains one of my favorite corners of the house when it “rains”.

Ah! What a bliss it was to read The Mayor of Casterbridge in this corner. As I hung in silence over some of the pages of that great classic, I could feel the garden coming alive, as if Nature too was listening closely to the story of Henchard! Ah! Let me still recall that scene, so that it may breathe fresh life into me and I could live that birthday of passion and romantic pleasure over again!

There’s still a better place in the house and that’s my room, where I presently venture into. Now, solitude, dear readers, makes one fall in love with three things viz. music, books, and thy self. I cannot possibly imagine my life without the first two and although I get wearied of myself on occasions still I cannot resist my own company, and I wouldn’t trade it for any better. Presently, I turn the laptop on (earlier it used to be the PC) and let the music flow. I usually dally between Asha and Lata at this hour, preferably the former in most cases. The volume remains on an all time high as I freshen up. And then, amidst Asha/Lata and the gyrating noise of the ceiling fan I flop into bed. Nothing can exceed the unruffled calmness of this moment as music lulls me into sleep, although I see strange shapes in dreams when alone, still I look forward to these moments every noon.

For more than seventy percent of the day, what I see is what lies inside my room. There are “my stuff”, like a PC which no longer works, a double set of speakers, a laptop (the latest addition), clothes carelessly scattered around, books, books, and more books…they occupy the shelves, half of the bed, whole of my one time study table, and some are packed and kept elsewhere in the house. In one word the room’s gloomy, yet it has put me in some of my best thoughts amidst the worst of clutter. I rarely invite people into this part of my world, for if there’s anything personal in my life, then it’s the solitude of this space, although it has bestowed upon me gifts of no real value. But, it has made me think I’m happy, I can do things I like and people can’t…I think I’m “different”…an expression I hate, yet I cling to it.

You do realize reader, that a mind thus constructed should be partially lame or torpid, with all the sensations at a cold rest. However, having said that there’s also a strange feeling of “happiness” dwelling within for reasons probably known and unknown!

Well there are other things that I can document but too much of self indulgence would only result in making this post painfully lengthy and boring, so I better take your leave at this juncture, until I catch you some other time.

Bye.


Now Playing:: Shokhiyon mein ghola jaye……………….Lata & Kishore

Seasons

Summer’s dead and gone darling,
Shut the world out and come in!
Be the cold ghost of the sun,
Let’s feign heat,
Let’s get cold and numb!

Ever wondered how futile
Love making is in winter?
Where’s the sweat…where’s the
Nudity, darling?
Ah, how they nip and shrink me!

I am bound hither darling
‘cause you love winter,
Where nothing grows, not even
Lust, and all the love’s labour;
So unproductive!

Still, make your move darling,
For the spring’s ruthless and
So is summer. Besides, a
Woman’s body can never find
A better raiment than that of a man’s!

Now Playing:: Beqarar dil tu...................Sulakshana & Kishore

Ah! These Séances...

Even when manic his rambling chat always made more sense to me than all the sense and sanity that the world could offer. He was giving me the feeling of a caged vastness as he continued to talk without gestures. And, in the dim light of my séance I could see his thoughts running upon his head in a fit of madness. Witnessing his half-seen face and motion in the blinding winter mist I felt a dread…a horror, and for the first time in five years I felt genuinely sorry for him. While a drop or two fell from my eyes, his lips seemed to be shut in the firm fashion of a smile…maddening my brain and numbing all powers except the nerves of anguish and a dull lust for death! No matter what, it was always love for a real person, however transient it may have been…

Now Playing:: Piya baanwri…………………….Asha

The Missing

Let me still recall them; my
Midnight darlings of early youth.
Men, who had hit my taste,
Smelling of sweat and coffee breaths,
Men who were sweet in the mouth, but
Hacking their way into me, they
Hardly cared to knock!

As I moaned in silence beneath them,
They taught me what passion is…
Oh, let me still recall them! Men,
Who buried their eyes into mine, and
Made me acknowledge the actions of
The bodies…men, who preferred to
Sink, than settle!

They’re family-men today, yet my
Married body longs for their intimacy.
Oh, let me still recall them, for I’ve to go
Home to a man on a dull, tired bed, who
Gets rid of his raiment at the chance brush
Of the legs…oh, if I could only see his eyes, but all
That remains is a swollen organ of release…


P.S: I’ve talked too much, Asha, chalo sing me a song now.

Now Playing:: Jaane kya baat hai…………………Sunny

Inter alia!

I can feel the idle vein returning upon me, and therefore I subside into my proper element of prose, besides, I missed talking to you, reader. So, tell me how have you been?


As for me, I bunked college today and I don’t think there’s anything much dreadful than being left alone for almost a quarter of an hour in the company of a sensible, well-informed man who is hardly interested in the works of the bard, on whom he wants me to present a paper on! It’s certainly not the prof’s fault that I’m not profiting more. I’m not affecting ignorance, but unfortunately, my brain isn’t spacious enough to oblige high sounding theories and philosophies without aching. It’s like a vulgar illiterate getting caught in a refined medium of communication, without an escape alley, and worse luck, to find all the refinement slowly setting a shop in his own murky system.


Oh boy, that’s precisely the kind of vague literary jargon that our profs expect us to write, and being the ideal student that I am, I’ll surely exhaust the whole fund of antiquity on the blankness, that’s their “faces”! At times however, the puzzling formulas of physics offer a better language of thought than all the words of literature taken together.


But that was not what I intended to write tonight. The main reason for this post was to recommend American Beauty and boy what a movie that was. You may not remember anything of the movie but what remains with you is the smile on Lester’s face (Kevin Spacey). There’s nothing special about the smile except that it reaches his eyes even in death. Perhaps, that’s what maketh a man, a man after all!


Now Playing:: Raah pe rehte hain……………………….Kishore

Brevity

We always had to hurry, since
He came in between meetings.
A mere monstrous orgasm
Ceased our bodies into a
Single shock of pleasure, and
We would be done for the day!

There wasn’t any place for nudity
For the brevity of the act said it all.
“Why work on expositions and
Common endings, when all that our
Bodies understand is a climax?” he
Would say.

As we advance and exhaust our
Fund of passion and taste the
Pleasures of lust, their spirit
Evaporates, intimacy palls; and nothing
Is left but the phantoms and the
Lifeless shadows of what has been!

Now Playing:: Piya baanwri........................Asha

P.S. Asha, please keep on singing this song until the night comes to an end...

The Bestseller

I have been pilfering lust all my life;
At times, hiding my body in the dark,
And at times flaunting it like a shameless tart.
There have been occasional sales
In the markets, and before I could bargain,
My body became my book.

As the weight of the flesh kept crushing me,
I celebrated the rare occasion of being
The concubine and the wife. On every
Bridal night as love invariably petered out
Into lust, I began to learn something more
About men and their kind.

Most of them rejected my face, like
The foreword never mattered for a book.
Shrinking further and further down the
Pages, leaving bold and ruthless signatures
On dark climaxes; undaunted by the cold
Phraseology, they made me readable!

Today, the book wrinkles with signatures,
A handful of whom I still retain amidst the
Folds of nostalgia. But, I have lived a contended
Life full of love for lust, never seeking indemnities,
However, a framed PhD in the closet reminds
Me of the price paid for it!


Now Playing:: Jaane do na........................Saagar

The Notebook Poet

A lonely breath of poetry
Thrashes against me, as I sit for
The umpteenth time, determined
To make a clear work of it.
I wane, stumble, and falter,
Writing a few meager lines;
Surviving on crumbs!


I stop half way down, after
Trying in vain to pump up any
Words, images, notions or apprehensions.
A return to prose beacons, but
The slender digits grow cold and cramped,
Raising a mere prosaic skeleton of some
Mathematical puzzle!


As I break into a nervous sweat
Over the blank unfinished paper, I realize
I cannot write fast enough now, but the
Unhurried movement of my thoughts
Say much more than I can perceive,
And maybe…maybe, I’ve finally become
The notebook poet!

Now Playing:: Dil dhoondta hai......................Bhupinder Singh

Scared at 21!

I don’t know why parents do it to children? First, they raise us with the concept of ghosts and apparitions, and evil beings, and then they leave us alone to sleep in the dark! Parents probably do not know what they do when they leave kids alone in the dark and, leave them helpless to face the gory manifestations of their own imaginations. I am 21, and perhaps I’m a different kind of a grown-up when I confess frequent nightmares in my sleeping excursions. You’ve no idea reader, what a terrible shaking it is to my nerves; to wake up in the middle of the night with the forehead drenched in sweat, the feeling about for a friendly hand, or a familiar voice, when I let out a muffled scream…and then finding none to soothe me, I bury my head under the pillow, for all the unwholesome hours to come! The night time solitude and the dark have become my hell, as they continue to fashion my prosaic dreams into nightmares, and they’re all geared up to try my childish nerves rather more seriously.

Dear reader, I’m almost ashamed of such a confession when I say hags and devils come to look at me by my bedside; and I do know that they’re indeed a figment of my imagination, but I cannot elude their presence and I continue to fight and grapple with them for my fair share of a blissful sleep!

P.S. The sketch is my poor representation of a Kesey masterpiece!

Now Playing:: Chanda re…………………Hamsika Iyer

The Two Kinds

This time the faces and frames
Are much younger. A package of
Juvenile intelligence and
Testosterone has been flooding
The jungle, but “Where are all the men?”
I wonder!

The men sit apart, dreaming about
Fair skin and generous bosoms.
They hardly notice my brown skinned
Body or my college girl’s breasts, but
I loiter around them anyway. One of
Them induces a small talk, and my

Body goes numb with fear and frenzy.
A carnal frenzy that strips me naked
In my thoughts, and the image of
Two entwined private bodies
Begin to loom larger. Someone from
The younger lot hands me a note,

On which is scribbled,
“I love you!” Meanwhile, the man in
Conversation draws me closer and
Whispers, “I wanna make love to you!”
I know not which “love” to choose, but
How long can one resist temptation?


Now Playing:: Hum kis gali ja rahe hain....................Atif

A Defiling Parody!

When he opens my lazy legs,
What does he see there?
Hunger?
Pouring his spittle into
My burning mouth,
What does he feel?
Lust?

Performing the auld motions
Of intimacy, what does he expect?
Passion?
And finally, cushioning his
Fall against my breasts,
What does he pull off?
Catharsis?

I moan too.
But what do I feign?
Ecstasy or hurt?
Oh, what a parody we
Make of the routine, and
Slander it more by calling,
“Love-Making!”

Now Playing:: Breathless...........................The Corrs

Perhaps!

Perhaps he was always there on the other side, but his appearance was different from what I had anticipated from seeing him before. He stood at a distance, and in the dim light of my séance, I could see a strange wildness in his aspect, a dusky obscurity; he was silent like he had always been. Here, was the proof and touchstone of all my cogitations, drenched in the cold dank drops of dew, stretching his hand and asking me to join him!

This is the man, whom I hide from the society, but I can’t help it, he always had a hunger for eternity! But, it has ceased to matter any longer, I’ll be joining him sooner or later, but until then, I need others for survival. He agrees too and says that his life was comparatively a dream; but it was a mere dream of infinity and death; no resurrections or judgments will ever come his way. It’s a romance in these degenerate days, and you are not to resist it, he adds.

But this is not to my purpose. For once I want to turn the tables around and get him into the human business of “guilt”! You’re crazy and stupid, he says, how else the demand of something which you know to be false in your waking sense, come to affect me at all?

I am not to disbelieve him; after all there is no canon to judge my séance!

Now Playing:: Woh shaam kuch…………………Kishore

The Namesake!

I don’t mind when
You explore my contours.
I don’t mind when
You slash your way in.
I don’t mind when
You leave tokens of lust on my body.
I don’t mind when
You leave your flavor
In every nook and cranny of
My being!


I don’t mind
Any of these darling.
But, I do mind darling,
I do mind…
I do mind, when you
Take my name!
I don’t claim autonomy
I hate it!
Let me save some face darling,
Don’t let people know me
By my name!


Now Playing:: Yaad…………………………Shehzad Roy

Why?

On most nights the need
To feign is paramount, after all
Not all bodies speak the
Same language!

And when he’s done,
I saunter into the streets,
Applying my knuckles to
Other people’s doors.

Turned out like a dog
I retreat to the river bank,
Where I hear strange, wild
Men come to take refuge at nights.

They lure me with their
Occult theories and practices
Involving the gracious business of
The bodies. I, turn in!

The morning-after, neighbours find me
Helpless, like a worm by the way side,
Crushed, bleeding lifeless. They ask me,
“why”?...“why”?


Now Playing:: Naam ghum jayega………………………….Kinaara

The Virgin!

She keeps stretching her
One dimensional nudity,
On sheets of white, waiting
For long hours for
The hallucinations to end,
For the limbs of the man
To recede, but she still feels
Them reaching out for her!

The calm of fulfillment keeps
Eluding her forever. Love becomes
Sex and sex becomes love, and
Both defile each other again and
Again.

She beats her sorry breasts
For a moment, her tongue tastes
Blood oozing from a pair of
Parched lips, and lust keeps
Eating her to the point of
Nausea.

What’s the point in having
The devices, she thinks?
When she has so few places
To hasten to?


Now Playing:Ek baat kahoon……………..Golmaal

Face Off!

No, it stood upon its own merits fairly. There it was. It was his mark, his token; that which he was known by.


P.S. But, most faces, involving notions, are hard enough to render; it is too much to expect me to translate a sound, a face, and give an elegant version to a jingle. I am not Ayn Rand!

Now Playing:: Phir wohi raat hai.......................Kishore

One-Oh-One!

Tell me reader, what is it that you do when you’ve all the time in the world just for yourself? You know, times like when you feel as if you’re passing out of Time into Eternity and all! Ok, now don’t even bother to answer that one for; these are precisely the moments when you feel as if your head is running upon you in your madness, as much almost as on another person, who seems to be the more immediate cause of your frenzy, than your dear self! So did you make anything out of the above documented so-called sagacious stuff? Ha, obviously “no”, so let’s quit our mutual “idiot wonder” and talk something “light”!


Well talking of something “light”, reminds me of my blogging journey, which to inform you has reached its first milestone of a hundred posts, and with this one the count gets to one-oh-one! Thank you dear reader for frequenting this space of eternally recurring madness and so crammed of incoherent thinking (that’s because at times even I do not understand what I indite), you know it’s more like a mad rush of thoughts having an orgasm! But it’s marvelous how this freedom of thought operates and most blogs I realize are indeed ‘confessions’, albeit prompted by different themes.


Do confess, fellow bloggers, but confess fairly, cautiously, more in a self-pleasing manner, and a naturalness that should not seem strange to you, or else insensibly your visitors will become fewer in number, and will come less frequently.


I do wanna write more reader but somewhere I lost the punch and there’s hardly a point in writing in so rambling and inconclusive a manner, so I better take your leave for now.


Until then……..


Now Playing:: Meherbaan............Ada

The Flamboyance of Lust II

Do not knock,
Walk right in.
Recline in my bean bag,
Or fall back against me, and
Wait, while I do
What I think proper to please you,
The innocent-little things,
The imagined-the expected.


You think of all
Those women whom
You had wished to know, but
For once
Explore the wide wilderness
Of a young girl;
She’ll make you small and
Edible.


For centuries your Kind
Has been clinging to
Famished nipples,
‘married for eleven years’, you say,
And you still wonder
What nakedness is?
Oh! And you do notice
The couple next door!


But, none thought of love!


Now Playing:: Rimjhim gire sawan……………Kishore

The Flamboyance of Lust!

The Indian sun and the summer heat,
Vital heat;
I know sensuality lures irresistibly.
What are you waiting for, silly?
Look at me,
I walk out of the bathroom,
No raiment on.
Don’t wait for the sun to set;
Its noon, a time for wild love.
Come, make your move darling!


Quit playing with my hands,
You know my mind’s racing
Towards love.
Crucify love into sex.
The buzzing sound of the coolers
Will drown our moans,
Wait no more darling!


Oh, this theatre of enervation,
This vestibule of unresolved tensions,
Oh, the flamboyance of lust!
And, you talk of love darling, when
I offer you lust, and a fall-into
Heat, sweat, weariness
And nudity!


Life is a cruel mockingbird darling,
You are a man, and
I, a woman,
What else are we made for darling?


Now Playing:: Agar tum na hote…………….Kishore

Nostalgic Deceptions

You want to forget, but you cannot. Someday it will be buried deep, but it will not be forgotten. The earliest impressions keep burning into you, in spite of all the resistance and experience; maybe there are more skins that are yet to be peeled off. To say the truth, its time, the thing were gone. The humor of the thing ( some things tend to be humorous when recollected after a considerable length of time ), if there was ever much in it, is pretty well exhausted and it would be vain to drag it any further. I am now at liberty to confess but I realize that even confessions are intelligent in nature, and that my confessions should be natural in a self-pleasing quaintness, than intend to affect a naturalness that should be strange to me. You see, I’ll have to continue living with myself in spite of the confessions!

p.s: And yet to every bad there is a worse……..lets wait and watch….


Now Playing:: Raat ka shauk hai………………Guru

The Mistress, Part 1

Honestly, readers, I am in no hurry to begin this story, indeed it isn’t a story, but a mere observation of this blogger, connected with that interesting time of the early 90s, when I was about seven or eight, trying to learn the ways in which society functions and expects us to function, and more importantly, that there can be relationships out of the wed-lock, apparently, one which society condemns, and that the world isn’t just ‘husband, wife, son, daughter’, and other names of the relations that issues out of the primary ones, but there are a million other relationships that flutter our brains for a moment or longer, because we’re too ill-equipped to understand the mechanism in which the adult world functions!


As long as I can remember, it was in 93 when we had shifted to this house, and although I cannot recall everything in its entirety, but the thing that makes the years of 93-95 worth a blog post is because those were the years that saw my association with The Mistress.


The earliest impressions which I received in this matter, are certainly not attended with anything painful, or very humiliating, but are in the nature comical in the recalling, but it is difficult to keep the account distinct without blending.


Since we were the new arrivals our immediate neighboring aunty began to brief mom about the other families in the colony, which I guess was some kind of ploy to focus attention on house number 6 (opposite to ours) where the Mistress used to stay with her daughter. I bet she had spiced up the details because nobody ever knew anything about the mistress, it all depended upon the speaker who altered the details as and when he required and presented it as creatively and appealingly as possible, and as it turned out we kept hearing different stories about her in the course of two years.


At that age I could never understand what made the women hostile towards her but the fact that they so incessantly bitched about her generated enough interest in me and I longed to meet this woman. She rarely ventured out of the house but I would occasionally catch glimpses of her strolling in the garden or when we went to the local temple and all. I still remember it was diwali of 93 when I saw both the mother and daughter lighting those little earthen lamps and then silently closing the doors on the noise of the outside world. My mother somehow pitied on their lives but she was primarily a wife and no wife ever takes sides with a mistress! Even then mom had nothing against her and by the spring of 94 we saw mom trading varieties of hibiscus plants with the mistress, which in a subdued manner led to afternoon gossips amongst the other aunties. Having sensed this, mom grew careful of her dealings with the mistress and she was glad that she was working as that kept her away from home for most part of the day, a sure respite from the gossip-sessions.


And then the summer of 94 saw me at the door step of the mistress holding a bag of mangoes from the twin mango trees of our garden. It was then that I actually ‘saw’ her. Man, I can never forget that face. She looked like some actress straight out of the silver screen and with that big bindi-like the one that Bengali women wear, she had that whole artistic appeal in her, enough to make you fall in love with her. Presently, she pulled my cheeks and invited me in and before I could take notice of things around me, I was feeding on biscuits, sweets and Rasna. (hey we all remember rasna don’t we?)


Well, readers, the story’s not over yet and the remainder will be posted ASAP……


Now Playing:: Ye din kya aaye…………..Chhotisi Baat

Re-tracing....

I was meeting new faces, new thoughts, new appreciations, and new voices, and for the first day or two I felt literally stunned and overwhelmed. I could only apprehend my felicity but honestly I was too confused to taste it sincerely. I wandered about, thinking I was happy, but indeed I was not. I realized that it is easy to forget people, but replacing them takes a lifetime.


It’s an awkward feeling, when you go about meeting new faces, pretending that you’re enjoying every moment of the conversation, and have convinced yourself that you’ve indeed replaced your old cronies, but somewhere deep within, a part of you is still on the look out for an old joke, or a mere gesture that you could relate to and feel that you ‘belong’………but, the past hardly ever reacts!


So how does one dissipate this awkward feeling?


One simply revives the old feelings. One takes a positive swerve into bygone days, no matter how rugged he/she might have been, or one simply chooses to be a coward like me, waiting for an insane stroke of fate that would bring old life out of dead protoplasm!


Well, it is too late to repent; especially when I had violently broken the bonds between us, returning would be equally painful as going forward has been.


Lost in the dark!


Reader, you might think I am singular, but the real point probably is that there is this widest gulf between my ‘friend-making’ and yours. Yours has always been poetry, and mine has been prose. And prose no matter how well considered and well thought-out it may be, it still remains inferior to poetry!


It’s usually believed that the more people one knows, the easier it gets to replace them. But how could I ever replace the guy who taught me how to punch, or the guy who would play the guitar every time I called, or the guy who would prefer vying with me over solving physics numericals, and numerous others who were a part of my growing up years!


It shall be sometime before I get quite reconciled to this separation and until then fare thee well old cronies, yet not for long, because you’ll be remembered again and again……


Now Playing:: Aur kya ehede wafa hote hain………….Asha

Size Matters!

“Worrying about the size, baby?”

“I don’t think I’ll be able to take in all that!”

“The initial lunge is always painful, but believe me, you’ll ask for more afterwards!”

“That’s enough! My wrists are already paining!”

“I can’t help it; you are holding it the wrong way.”

“But, I hardly know any other; have always held it this way!”

“Oh, come on now; stop being such a doll…..your Suitable Boy demands a cohort!”

“Yeah, the Boy would probably take Ulysses as his midnight darling!”



Now Playing:: Tera mujhse……………Kishore Kumar

Amrita

I once had the key to his apartment, where the veil of my weaknesses were lifted up several times. Inarticulate moments that shut the nonsense-noises of the world except for the chimes jangling to the rhythm of our pulsating breaths. If you ever get to visit that house darling, you’ll find me there, the musk of my scent still blooms at night! In my dreams I still at times fancy the cool floors purling beneath our burning bodies. But my waking stomach rejects it! Oh if a wish could transport me back to that house, every corner of which had echoed with our music...if I could only pick up the remnants of that music and bring it here with me...

What do you think darling that I didn’t try...I did...I did, but you won’t believe darling, he turned me out like a dog, or some profane person, into the common street, I still begged him to re-consider...I was in love, I had no shame.

Looking back, I still have a vague notion that it could not all have perished, that so much love and magnificence could not have been crushed all at once into the mere dust and rubbish which I find it now...but its not over darling, I want that man back...I want him back for I’ve lost my way, I’ve lost the key to my apartment...

You’re right darling, ‘I’m a freak.’


Now Playing:: Silli hawa………..Libaas

At Noon...

Suddenly,

A flash.
Of strange thoughts?
No.
Of words, vying.

More flashes; more words.

A poetic fit.
Brief yet lasting,
Silent yet echoing.

An explosion.

Blurred thoughts;
A waiting, and
Then the lines.

Presently,

A scream
Rings through the house,
With the calling-bell!
Someone sneezes, and

Its over,
Prose returns!

Now Playing:: Aaoge jab tum............Jab We Met

of Friends Among Other Things!

Just when my actions were making me feel rather wretched, my cell phone beeped with these messages:


Someday, when all of us will get busy with our lives….long working hours, no more classes, lectures, friends, and messages…..won’t even have time for ourselves…..at such a day when you’ll look outside the window and remember the good old days………when memories will flash you by……you will get a smile with a tear in your eye and you would get back to your work, thinking I wish I could relive those days all over again…..


Ek din zindagi aise mukam pe pahunch jayegi….dosti toh sirf yaadon mein reh jayegi…har cup coffee yaad doston ki dilayegi….aur haste haste phir aankhein nam ho jayegi…office ke chamber mein classroom nazar aayegi….par chahne pe bhi proxy nahin lag payegi……paisa toh bahut hoga, magar unhe lutane ki wajah hi kho jayegi….jee le khulke is pal ko mere dost kyunki zindagi ye palon ko phir se nahin dohrayegi!


As I said I was feeling rather wretched and there was no way I could originate similar sentiments and get all mushy over friends and friendship in general, but as the clutter began to clear itself and I re-read those messages, I kind of liked them, but duh, “hang it all”, I thought!


Undergrad days are coming to an end, but the learning process has just begun. One thing I’ve already learnt is that: you necessarily do not pay off friends by telling them that you haven’t got for them what they want from you, in other words tell them what they want to listen, yeah you heard me right, be a hypocrite!


You might hate me reader, but I can’t help it! I can’t call these people ‘friends’ who made me write complaints against one of my much loved professors accusing him of sexual harassment. I wish I could put to death each of those pretty ladies for their obnoxious narrow thinking. People, who denied me of choices with all their high talk about unity and respect, are friends of a different order, you won’t mind forgetting them. So much for working in a group! These people believed in sudden conversions, a belief which maybe right, but which seems peculiarly attractive to only half-baked minds!


Three years of hypocrisy is enough. I had enough!

But I’m glad, for the more people one knows; the easier it becomes to replace them.

This again reminds me of a conversation with a good friend of mine, who once asked:

“Must needs be always the overriding consideration? Does not a life long friendship mean anything to you?”

The guy who asked me that unfortunately ran short of life, and it has been a lot harder to find replacements. Boy, why do we always seem to look out for familiar moorings to latch on to?

However, this outer life, though horrid at times, has also been the real one….there has been some amount of grit in it. It did breed character!



Now Playing:: Mehbooba…………..R.D

She's Gay!

She had heard them say,
“Give him all, give him all.”
‘Let me go’, she screams.
‘It won’t take too long’, he says,
Cold and uncaring like the moon;
A constant rumbling of naked flesh,
A pain inflicted; a hunger satiated.

‘I am done’, he says and,
Lies exhausted at the edge of sleep.
‘Can I hide myself now’, she cries?
‘Like I care’, he says and
Out he walks!

Several eyes peep in,
Somebody exclaims,
‘Why is the rainbow red today?’
Another screams,
“Its too late, it’s too late.”
Another says,
‘There are worse lives!’
She laughs.


Now Playing:: Jaane kya baat hai………………Asha

.......

I’m no creative writer but this post reminded me of something in that regard!


It has been a long time, but A it was I think who suggested this notion of dreams and creativity being proportional to each other. An ill-read person that I was back then couldn’t contribute much except a lame notion of creativity being directly proportional only to one’s leisure and everything else being secondary. But his words did make sense to me albeit much later in life. And since I consider myself a better reporter of the ideas of other people than expounder of my own, here’s an altered account of the conversation we had some five years back!


A: ‘I wonder what sort of dreams might be coming to him.(him referring to Richard Bach, A was on a high after reading Illusions.) How could he write a book like this!’

Me: ‘what have dreams got to do with writing a book, yaar?’

A: ‘you know it is generally believed that most writers create their characters in dreams.’

Me: ‘huh…you mean to say that people plan their dreams….that’s an absurd philosophy.’

A: ‘yeah, it sounds absurd but I had read somewhere that the degree of the soul’s creativeness in sleep is much higher than the quantum of creative faculty resident in the same soul when it is waking.’

Me: ‘well you could be wide awake and still be dreaming…’

A: ‘but, dreams still remain the common denominator of creativity.’


But, if characters are indeed a copy of the mind’s conceptions in sleep-then what a copy it indeed is! The mere thought of creating a word-mass, assigning a name, sex and plausible gestures to it, taming it, and clothing it with the attributes of flesh and blood, gives me a high that no intoxicants ever could!


I wish I had a creative faculty rich enough to do the above mentioned things. I would have created a perfect man for myself, who would’ve entertained me all night with the manifestation of some wild and magnificent thoughts. Gosh, the mere thought of it, makes me prone to strange whisperings at my ear. In spite of that, all I’m capable of documenting are the shifting mutations of my ever rambling dreams.


I’m yet to have that “fine dream” which people keep talking about. Who knows I might get lucky tonight!


Catch ya later guys!


Now Playing:: Kya yahi pyaar hai…………..Rocky

Incoherence!

Random thoughts keep crossing the mind until a pattern emerges. Those thoughts do not belong to me. They are a set of crazy conversations; incomprehensive to the core. You must have felt it too reader, the mind brokering between coherence and incoherence, and you wondering, “Could I be heard out of this black depth?”

It’s amazing how the mind keeps playing games with you. How from illuminating it comes to darken, from quick solace it turns to a negative relief? And boy, then from restlessness and dissatisfaction it swerves to a positive misery! In short it keeps killing you!

Your favorite occupations cease to entertain; you can do nothing readily. You feel like reading poetry, but prose seduces you! Boy, what a seduction! You can hardly walk out unmolested!

You perpetually catch yourself in tears, for some cause or none at all. It’s inexpressible how much this “feeling” adds to a sense of shame, and a general feeling of deterioration.

Well, I do not have the vanity to stand by these confessions, and I do not know whether I shall be laughed at or heard seriously, but whatever it is I can hardly find a connection between my thoughts and this poor abstract, so quit worrying I do not understand it neither!

LOST!

Now Playing:: Main zindagi ka saath…………..Rafi

10 Things You didn't Know about me!

Here’s a tag from Abhishek that requires me to list at least ten lesser known facts about me, and here they go:


I’m always and always dressed in black, I seem to have a strange affinity for that color. I know, I know, a lot is said about the psychology of people who wear black, but I don’t care. The only person who could have convinced me to look at other colors is Freud, but he’s dead and gone, so black stays with me forever! And a chance occurrence of other colors in my wardrobe is totally because mom prefers shopping for me at times.


I absolutely hate painting my nails; it gives me a creepy feeling, but I do get fascinated by all those shiny nail colors.


This might come across as a shocker, and you may roll your eyes when I say that, I even dislike carrying a vanity bag, in fact I believe in carrying less, the wallet and cell phone go into the storage space of the Activa. Whoever wants a vanity for that!


The only things I’m possessive about are books and my Activa. I do share books but when it comes to sharing Activa, I can be damn blunt. I hardly let bro or dad drive it. Dad drives as if it’s a bullock cart and bro thinks he’s on Roadies driving a Karizma or something!


I’ve learnt classical music for two and a half years and I do wish to complete that course in near future. In fact that’s the only thing that I’m proud of in my life.


I’m extremely scared of the canine species, so much that I do not visit people who have pets.


I’m quite talkative by nature, but with strangers I’m usually head down and chin buried in my throat. Most people who chat with me know that!


I easily get attracted to tall guys who wear glasses, and if they are dressed in formals, tab toh sone pe suhaga!


It has been almost four years in a row and I haven’t visited a temple. Don’t ask me why, I won’t tell you that.


I have a kink of smelling books before buying them and that is quite embarrassing actually!


Enough to repel people I guess!

Now Playing:: Khuda jaane…………….KK & Shilpa

My FMORT

The clock starts ticking:

• I think knowledge about the length of these organ pipes might be an initiation into the deeper mysteries of music.
• Maybe it would help me understand Burman better.
• And boy, I’m enjoying the final year at college, and to mix with other students is an education in itself!
• Hey, I bagged the best project award this year.
• The future looks so damn bleak! Like I care?
• Of course I do, oh forget it!
• Hmmmm
• Gosh, five minutes feels like eternity!
• Sunday ho ya Monday, roz khao ande!
• Oyye balle balle!
• I really feel like singing, chak de India
• What its already time?? But I’ve jus started “thinking”!
• Bye anyway.

Stop: 05:00

No wonder, I’m pathetic at thinking!

Boy, I swear by a thousand gods that I tried to do this tag since the day I got tagged by Ravi, but as it turned out that putting across five minutes of random thoughts is really a tough job. However, I managed to do it in the physics lab today.

So what is FMORT?

FMORT, my dear readers stands for Five Minutes of Random Thoughts. And all you have to do is to follow these simple steps:

1. Get an alarm/stop watch, pen and paper.
2. Set the alarm to ring five minutes ten seconds later.
3. Take a deep breath.
4. Now, set your mind free.
5. Scribble whatever comes to your mind on the paper for five minutes.
6. After five minutes, tweak the scribbles into meaningful sentences.
7. Post it on your blog.
   The title should be ‘My FMORT’, as the objective is to popularize FMORT, so do not expand it in the title.
   The first line should read ‘I’m tagged by X’, where X should be the name of the blog, from where you were tagged.
   Then ask a fellow blogger to do the same and link to your post.
8. Now sit back and relax. You would be amazed at the speed with which FMORT spreads, that is only when you do it and start tagging others!

And I'm tagging Abhishek, Dave and Priyanka.

Happy Thinking guys!

Now Playing:: Yaad…………Shehzad Roy

I do smoke!

On several occasions when I had tried to give it up, my struggles were overcome by counter influences. Tobacco, for some strange reasons stood in its own light. I remember the last time that I conquered and abandoned it- for a time, my success caused some remorse and a great deal of regret. I’m in love with this smoke, although it chokes me……I know I cannot breathe, it hangs heavy in my lungs…..“Strangle me” I scream and it obliges……salvation! Apart from the mere pleasure of smoking, the narcotic soothes my nerves and controls those perpetual apprehensions that seem to surround my waking life. In spite of all that he keeps inquiring, “Have you cured it, darling?” “It is hard to cure anything of smoking and ‘you’”, my usual reply greets his every enquiry!


Unhealthiness, my dear readers is highly contagious. You cannot be in contact with those who are in a morbid state without yourselves deteriorating. Expect no healthy conclusions from me this month, reader; I can offer you only a sick woman’s dreams!


Now Playing:: Tu hi re………….Bombay

For the Sake of blogging...

I no longer hunt after pleasure;
I let it come to me.
I sing, read or scribble (as now)
Just when the fit seizes me.
I have a quite home-feeling
Of the blessedness of my condition.
I am in no hurry, but
The need to renew my
Acquaintance with this space
Hangs heavy….
But visions do not come
When we try, though
They may come through trying!


That was for you Shruti!

Before, I take your leave readers, I request you to click on this link, which on every reading, makes me abandon Frisson and start a new one under some pseudonym!

Happy Valentine’s Day, but

Love is so unlike the article served up in books: the joy though genuine, is different; the mystery an unexpected mystery!


Now Playing:: Do naina aur ek kahani…………….Masoom

The Missing Person

On singular occasions when my thoughts should have been better engaged, I detect nothing but a black inanity. A face in the darkness whispers something, and in time his slender personality fades away. The meeting is broken up without a word having been spoken, but the heart has been fed. Moments later, when the scene is evoked during an abstracted loneliness, I recall something of his smile, but even that seems to fade in due time. To me, at all events, my life is to bring nothing more sweet than the smile of this person who played no part in it! Ah! These séances, producing a numbness which makes the head nod and the eyes heavy with sleep!


Now Playing:: Zarasi aahat hoti hai…………….Lata

Walking Destinies

“When you feel that the idle vein is returning upon you, close your eyes, and take a walk”, said my auld friend of auld times.


“With open eyes in the daytime, I seem to stumble upon dark mountains. My waking life has much of the confusion, trouble and obscure perplexity of a bad dream. I can’t do what you ask me to do”, said I in auld times.


“You don’t need sleep to induce dreams, do you? Just close your eyes, and walk through your dreams. Remember, that the dreams didn’t knock at your door; you knocked at the door of dreams. Play the guest and fancy yourself to any degree or standing as you please! But make sure you walk out unmolested”, said my auld friend of auld times.


“For, the credit of my imagination, I’m ashamed to confess that how prosaic my dreams have grown. They are never romantic, seldom even colorful. I can never have that fine dream, which you are talking about, and what if I knock and a nightmare opens the door?” said I in auld times.


“Tell me what sort of nightmares you have?” asked my auld friend of auld times.


“I don’t know. I can’t tell you”, said I in auld times.


“Every nightmare has a face and a name!” said my auld friend of auld times.


“Yea, it has a face and a name too, but to take it, will lead to associations, dates, and memories, and all the other furniture that needs to be discarded”, I replied in auld times.


“A nightmare doesn’t last forever. But, after sometime when your walking destinies return you to this neighborhood again, I promise your nightmare would’ve lost its face. You won’t see me again. I can’t take away my name though, I fear, it’ll have to stay with you forever. You may open your eyes now!” said my auld friend of auld times.


“But it is time to close. Your importance is from the past.” I say in present times!


Now Playing:: Veena (instrumental)……………Talvin Singh

Beyond Love!

The poverty of his dreams continued to mortify him.
“It did rain that night”, he thought.
Nights like those do not come along often.
He seized it. That night something happened!
“Oh dear, how easy it is to get a man to love you”, she said,
As she kept massaging his shoulders, a lingering
Wind made her unruly loose tresses
Brush against his cheeks.
That soft touch of her tresses, and he could hardly breathe.
He looked up into her eyes,
Sure he could see love there.
Never before did he find her,
Softer, younger, and lovelier!
He found a thing to do.
Her tresses in his hand and he pulled her towards him,
And wound them thrice around her throat.
Her eyes seem to laugh.
She felt no pain. She knew,
It is easy to get a man to love you, for
They hardly ask for things
Beyond Love and Life!


Now Playing:: Tum aagaye ho……………..Aandhi

R.D

This master of mesmerizing symphony, not content to have laid my soul prostrate, goes on, in his power, to inflict more bliss than lies in my capacity to receive. He seems to be impatient to overcome my “earthly”, with his “heavenly”…….still pouring in for endless hours, upon my heedless ears, music, which seems all surface one moment, but all depth the next…….it twinkles, trembles, and melts………

Now Playing:: Naam ghum jaayega………….Kinaara

p.s. its Burman’s death anniversary today and this song probably defines him to a large extent!

Naam ghum jayega,

chehra yeh badal jayega,

Meri awaaz hi pehchaan hai,

Gar yaad rahe........

Foregone Conclusions

I don’t think anybody ever regards the thirty first of December and the first of January with a casual indifference. All the images diffused over the past twelve months, things that you did or could have done, all that you performed and neglected; begin to take a personal color and you tend to puff yourself up with resolutions. Last night, I felt it, and I am sure you felt it as well, and all of us survived as jolly candidates for the 1st of January 2009.


In sober happiness, I reflect, that I finally managed to make peace with dad after the CAT ordeal. It didn’t take much to break the ice, except a simple, “dad, I’ll sit for the civil services exam.” You don’t have much of a choice when your dad comes with an application form in his hand, and says, “Fill it up.” You muster enough courage to say a “no”, but the look on his face makes you utter the contrasting monosyllable. God help you, Deepika, how have you changed! Nah, I just realized that in life, there’s never a “my-way”, or a “highway”, but, welcome to “daddy’s-way”!! gosh! How I forgive, or overcome in fancy, old adversaries!


I had the best New Year’s Eve ever……….confetti, cake, coffee, chocolates, and cola do give you the best time, unless you want to begin the year with a few added calories. And add I did! Now, I’ve to tell you that the city restaurants actually ran out of tables last night, boy, people were too excited to welcome the coming year, and speed the parting guest. But, we buddies managed to get a not so humble meal at Rohan’s. Then I come home to get pleasantly surprised by my cousin. We watch Friends, fox-trot a bit, and by the time I had another dinner, the clock struck twelve, and it was New Year’s Day.


And even as I write this, I realize that the second of January is not too far behind, and the whole concept of welcoming one, January 1st seems too puerile. I would never understand the need to rise from the past year and masquerade in the “new man” image? But it is the law of nature that we must keep moving. The dog in the street does it, the fly on the window-pane does it as well. Everywhere living beings are hopping and dancing, and they know it by instinct that it is more pleasant to keep eternally moving like the planets than to sit still like a heap of stones. Welcome 2009!


As the years continue to lessen and shorten in proportion, I wish that you have more of the sun, and sky, and breeze, and summer holidays, and solitude, and delicious juices of the society, and candle-light dinners, and coffee conversations, and innocent vanities, and the irony of being in love itself, until we meet the next year. And now, lets raise a toast for 2009. Happy New Year, dear readers!!


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