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...