Crumbs

Ever seen the eyes of street
Mongrels, darling?
They are moist.
Moist with hunger.
You feed them once a day,
Maybe even twice,
Yet the hunger stays on!

Look into my eyes,
Don’t feed them
Over and over darling,
They’re street mongrels,
Born to survive on crumbs,
Don’t kill them with
Generosity!

Now Playing:: Yun neend se...............Kishore

A Rather Dull Post

I remember having a decent childhood; school, sports, music, vacations, doordarshan, summer hair-cuts, numerous family outings &c. Although it was quite an active childhood but I was always lethargic at heart. And no matter how good or bad it sounds but whenever someone says, “oh, childhood is the best phase of one’s life”, it has only made me sick and weak, at the sheer absurdity of that generality. I wonder what do the children have to say regarding childhood? They would obviously say ‘no’ considering the fact that they’ve to sit for exams every year, and therefore would prefer growing up straight into adults rather than be a child and lose brains over education. But exams are only the puerile basis of the argument. When you remove all educational pressures from a child and let it live on like there is no other world apart from the world of the playing field, no child would have qualms staying a child all life. But then, the child knows of no other phases of the human life, so how valid would be a child saying that childhood is the best! That ‘childhood is the best’ is obviously a grown-up’s view of the human life, and certainly a particular kind of grown-up who had a relatively happy, smooth, cosy, and trouble-free childhood, in short one belonging to the Haves! Oh, how much does the human life vary from the haves and the have-nots… so much for the mighty double standards of these generalities! If only people could recognize that nothing’s absolute in this world, everything’s so bloody relative…

Ok I shall clap an extinguisher on all that high sounding stuff especially when I hardly possess the complexion to write on matters of philosophical origins, so let’s politely shift to something lighter, ‘I, Me, Myself’. But I realize that even that may not interest you to the hilt, so you are free to pursue your business elsewhere and the rest… well, could I be any happier!

As a child I never did more than I was told to do, and be it for good or worse it still remains one of my character traits. I hated school but I read my books well. I do not harbor a sense of gratitude or indebtedness for my school, for the simple reason that I hardly learnt anything there apart from the knowledge of alphabets and numbers, and friends are never the reason to say ‘I love school days’ no matter how beautiful and good that sounds to be. Teachers were dull and uninspiring and overtly prejudiced but smart enough to smother your confidence and drive you into well nigh depressive disorders. I guess these were the culprits who planted that seed of mania in me which burst into life three years after school.

But my life in most ways began after school, after tenth to be precise. It wasn’t smooth and gliding, even horrid at times, but it was the real one—there was grit in it. It did breed character. Eleventh and twelfth gave me new perspectives, brought me in contact with new friends, and people who would eventually be responsible for the kind of person I am today. If my school made me hate teachers and their profession then it was college which made me their loyal puppy slaves forever. Today, I cannot imagine myself being anything other than a student and willingly barter all my life for an hour or two spent in the company of my professors. I think I can write a book on them and the mere recollection of their faces and frames makes me giddy with enthusiasm. Ah! All that sweet food of academic life! Boy, I don’t see myself in any field other than academics… what a thrill it is to be a student!

Today when people ask me, “what do you want to do in life or how are you going to face the world with this kind of an attitude”, I wonder what makes those miserable people ask me those questions. Is it their lives which are miserable or is it mine! The fact is I give a damn to what they think about me, I’m sick and tired of explaining. I’m happy and contended in my own skin and I’ve managed to break the shackles of the great expectations and I’m free at least in my mind…

Now Playing:: Lakho hain nigah mein....................Rafi

If Only...

They talk, they weep,
They ache, they laugh,
They breathe
In each other
Like shadows of
The male and female,
Tossing and turning
In the beatings of their minds,
Clinging to one another
Like strangers
Caught in a nightmare,
Waiting for a merging
That simply cannot be.
If bound by the soul,
Why do they often
Meet when they’ve
Parceled their bodies
To someone else?
Oh! If only…


Now Playing:: Maine tere liye………………Mukesh

Words

I do not have any grand swelling theories
To impress you deeply and thoroughly,
Yet words grow and impinge on me
Like moss on auld, sad, beaten walls
That have lived so long
Against their will
Compelled by a ceaseless doom,
That any prelude of the slightest quake
Makes them judder in their eerie silences.
Yet they live on
To tell their dreary tales
Over and over again…

Now Playing:: Roobaroo..................Rang de basanti

I

This noon he said a silly thing to me:
You are done. You are done as a charmer.
The woman in me slapped his guts,
The bitch in me squirmed harder.

And then he said it again:
You are done. You are done as a charmer.
The woman in me buried her shame in the pillow,
The bitch in me gave a breathless grunt.

Sometime later he said it again:
You are done. You are done as a charmer.
The woman in me felt delightfully liberated,
The bitch in me greedily begged for more.

In the evening the woman and the bitch in me
Became I. While the woman reclined to write a dirge
For the love affair, the bitch remained by her side
To remind her of an auld forgotten banquet!


Now Playing:: Aakhon se jo utri hai dil mein...............Asha

Some Other Time

At best I can write about it. But then, it would be called a confession. And confessions, no matter how imperative they might be, should be intelligent because the confessor has to continue living with himself in spite of those confessions. I realize that even my confessions should be natural in a self pleasing manner because to hear of it after many years upon a chance encounter, when I would have built up my life quite differently, wouldn’t be peculiarly attractive because confessions dear friends, go through a great deal that’s bad. In plain words, it takes muscle and guts to confess, to show the world what you actually are, and have vanity enough to stand by your thoughts once they’re out in the open. At present life’s like a chess board and with every move I realize that there’s no point in being blatantly honest for all the game requires is a stealthy and measured glide like that of a chess player. So confessions can wait…

Now Playing:: Chalte chalte.....................Pakeezah

To The Other Man

Did you see me
When I appeared on his arms?
Didn’t you see how the faces turned
When I curled up later
With the sun burning in my face?

“Enough, Enough” you must have yelled
Deep down!
Haven’t you learnt to believe what
You see?
Oh, how can I pity thee!

Betray me dear, get out of my thoughts.
Leave me alone.
Fling some earth on me,
Make me a street mongrel,
Don’t clean the scabs!

Now Playing:: Saaton baar bole bansi................Asha

The High Noon

No more the hazy sunrises.
This year the sun will burn,
Infatuate, distract and madden!
Soon it will be you and I
And the “sweet summer sweat.”
Hang, cling, or recline darling,
The noon’s high and wild and
Loud with silence.
Rise. Ravish. Revel.

I see it all in my mind’s eye:
The cool floors purling beneath our
Burning bodies,
The see-saw of entwined breaths
Truncated and punctuated and
Flushed with a joy so simple
That it renders sex an outside
Place in reality!
Sink. Settle. Surrender.

The Indian summer stings darling,
And the Indian bodies like inert logs
Of wood wait to be chiseled and cherished.
Dim, flattened and constrained in their
Compulsive confinements they curse
The sun, the heat, and the sweat and
Hopelessly wait for the showers to
Make some senseless love.
Dull. Distant. Dismal.

If only… if only they could give
Summer a chance; a chance to throb
Lives quick and warm.
Let the season develop and mature
And picture its stark quality
Like that of nudity. Therefore,
This summer come hither darling and
Let the sun expand our souls
Beyond the skins!
Live. Love. Leave.


Now Playing:: Ek hasina jab se mili..................Amit & Asha