Thursday, October 14, 2010

The Secret Sharer

Amidst every scanty piece of clothing,
I shall look for the secret sharer,
And ask him,
If he could
Rest my sick secret and
Cloud it for a night or two,
So that,
For once,
At least once,
I would know, what it is
To be

Now Playing:: Yeh safar.........Shivaji Chattopadhyaya

The Absent

I don’t know. Maybe it has always been the absence of the unattainable other half (read love) that has made me more distant, more romantic, more loud in my thoughts. Ah, how they allude to the charming Byronic ideals! But, that’s what they are, mere ideals. Ideals are wretched things. They peck at your nerves, bruising them here and there, and even before you realize they’ll make friends walk away, either in envy or in disgust; mostly in disgust. There is no charm in holding onto things real or surreal; absolute fulfillment eludes everyone. It simply does not exist.

I once had a friend who, talked of being loved but not loved enough. “Where do I go?” he would ask, “how do I cure this terrible, terrible loneliness?” There were no answers then, there are no answers now. In spite of the said feelings, he remained a cheerful person, and at times, answering his own questions, he would reflect on how most of us remain empty throughout our lives and die even without realizing that emptiness. Later, however, he would chuckle heartily at his thoughts and say that it’s good that we do not realize, because when the time comes, we would only fill the emptiness with all sorts of muck, and then, try to run away, because the stench inevitably becomes unbearable. What could I offer to such deep reflections, except a mild nodding acquaintance?

Almost every night I sit down to write about that friend of mine, struggling hard to remember all that he ever said during his moments of arrant disillusionment. Maybe, there was always a degenerate romance in the way he unfolded his frustrations, talked about his ordinariness, and flaunted his shameless, but frank individuality. His beliefs changed every day, his reasons varied to the extent of being whimsical, but the loftiness of his thoughts remained unchanged. There was something very reaching in his voice, which made one talk. Ah, fancy! How often it deceives the mind!

Of all the things that were exchanged, I remember him telling me that, memories do not last long, and that the absent are soon forgotten.

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

Tuesday, October 12, 2010


Let someone else be your messiah,
I’m not a fine phrase anymore.
Abandon. Abandon. Abandon.

Now Playing:: Anjani rahon mein........Lucky Ali