Monday, December 29, 2008

these days


sharp tongue. damp pillows. hazy vision. surreal life. clouds in my room. a place to hide. a place to run away to. bleeding feet. unspoken words. torturous silence. beautiful dreams. morbid nightmares. scratches on heart. salty cheeks. cold comfort. a distant death. a faraway life. chaos of thoughts...

Tuesday, December 16, 2008

khamoshiyaan...

कुछ पलों के बाद, उस बरसों की खामोशी को उसी ने तोड़ा पता नही क्या बोला उसने , लेकिन वो बोली थी, ताकि वो खामोशी खत्म हो जाए, जो उसको जाने क्यूँ इतना डरा रही था वो ऐसे चुपचाप था, जैसे कभी बोलेगा ही नही की जैसे कुछ सोच कर चुप रहना ही बेहतर समझा उसने

अपने हाथों में उसका हाथ लेकर, उसकी आंखों में देखा उसनेपर आज नज़रें तक खामोश थी। "नाराज़ हो?" उसने डरते हुए पूछा, मानो जवाब से घबरा रही हो। वो हलके से मुस्कुराया, उसके हाथों से अपना हाथ छुड़ाकर उसके चेहरे को बहुत ही प्यार से थपथपाया।

"ऐसा क्यूँ लगा तुम्हे?"
"तुम कुछ बोलते ही नही."
"ज़रूरी है, की कुछ बोलूं" कहकर उसकी आंखों में एक शरारत सी चमक उठी, जिसकी रोशनी में एकाएक सब अच्छा सा लगने लगा, हर डर मानो कहीं खो गया।

Dear diary,

I'm left wondering again, what makes me happy. Yesterday, I was gazing longingly at a bright yellow coat and wondering if I could stretch my budget and buy it? But of course I could not. It was from a very expensive brand, and hence unaffordable. But if I could afford, will buying it have made a difference? I really don't know. Maybe, maybe not. Being able to buy it, to wear it, and stay cozy in its warmth would have meant a final goodbye to those days of the past when I was just surviving, hardly able to eat out of my meager salary. Let alone buy some woolens. Of course I have a lot of clothes of the knitted variety. But not the smart ones. Not the kind which make heads turn. Am I too kiddish to yearn for such clothes, even when I know that their charm wont last for long?

Haunting images of my childhood - of those days when my NRI cousins would drop-in, dressed in GAP and Reebok, scented by Marks and Spencer creams and lotions, and be the apple of everyone's eyes - continue to play somewhere in the back of my mind. My own pretty pink frocks faded into oblivion among the crowds of silks and chiffons and herringbones. Cotton, humble enough, melted into the background. The till then dear blue socks felt like an old mumbling bumbling country cousin; lil white mary-janes paled infront of shiny patent ballerinas. My comic books felt dusty and ragged and their Peter Pan with its lovely colors and imported paper glittered with its own magic. They were patted and pecked, their witty lines laughed at, their beauty charming, their manners perfect. Whatever little I had till then, was lost forever.

The yearning of the past was the reason why my heart is still hungry. But can a yellow coat soothe the ache?

p.s.: it's fiction, guys. but whether its based on facts...

Thursday, December 11, 2008

your feet...


But I love your feet
only because they walked
upon the earth and upon
the wind and upon the waters,
until they found me.


-Your feet by Pablo Neruda


Image Credit: Accretion

Friday, December 5, 2008

will you come with me...

I am feeling a bit whimsical today. Like I'm walking in a dream. So will you come with me?


To the land of fall leaves and golden sunshine, the cold wind and crunchy footsteps... we will sit on a fallen log and talk about cupcakes and pearls, about dreams and red coats, about feathers and tiaras, about snow and fall, about beauty and inspiration, about sunshine and smiles, about life and mundane, about words and silence...

or we could sit quietly, hearing the wind play with the leaves.

come...





Images: The Cherry Blossom Girl. She's awesome.

Thursday, December 4, 2008

thoughts on war and soldiers...

"On Thursday evening there were lots of soldiers on my train home from London.
When there are soldiers riding with you on your train, you feel extremely small.
It made me wish I were brave.
Bravery isn't something I can hold inside myself very well.
Sometimes I want to be a Lyra and I want it and want it, incredibly badly.
But you can't be brave just from wanting.
It's an impossibility. Like snow in July."

-J.M. Barrie

Monday, December 1, 2008

An email...

..written by a person don't know, but have started to respect immensely. It's long, but do read on:

My two cents..

Imagine one of your near and dear ones rapped in the Taj Mumbai hotelon the fateful
day and you getting frantic SMS's updating you on the situation.. One says 'I am hiding under the bed'.. 'I could hear the explosion',another 'I am scared'.. and another 'They are in the bathroom!!'. and
then no contact whatsoever.. Will sure send shivers down your spine..this is what happened and continues to happen in Mumbai..

The city will never be the same again..
Never before has anyone, anytime, anywhere experienced a catastrophe and mayhem this
terrible in proportions.. For sure the terrorists are rejoicing in their moment of glory.. for 3 daring, top-notch officials fell who where the pride of our nation - ATS Chief Karkare, Mumbai ACP Ashok Kampte and encounter specialist Vijay salaskar... They are the heroes of our nation and my head bows both in pride and sadness at their transient lives which would have taken care
of many more terrorists, gangsters and corrupt politicians had they lived to see another day..

The city will never be the same again. Not the first time this has happened.. Mumbai
is famous for getting back on tracks quickly in the event of any crisis.. BSE is open
today.. Bollywood as well getting on with their work.. I came to know through one of my colleagues whos friend is in Mumbai that even as the shooting was going on, a little further away, the hustle and bustle was on as usual...people getting on with their work.. as if it were just another day..

What is the Mumbaikar trying to prove????? That no matter what happens they are not
bothered?? That they will carry on with their work even if the world gets upside down
???? THIS HAS TO STOP !!! It just shows the attitude of people towards others lives.. To take an example, when the Kingfisher glides through and picks up a fish from the
pond, the rest of them disperse for a moment and then come together at the same spot
in a few minutes giving the bird the chance to attack just as he did earlier.. I can
see Mumbai in that pond.. For gods sake, we are better than fish-in-a-pond.. People
have to STOP.. may be for a day, 2 days, even a week to THINK over what happened, how to prevent it and stand united in this moment of adversity.. but hell no, the Mumbaikar is busy with his own work.. what are they trying to prove ?

The media on the other hand is busy covering the event to the best extent they can.They are all for the TRP's of course, trying to get the best spot in front of the Taj to cover the events.. Gawd... Shouldn't the area be cordoned off completely and media not allowed anywhere near(some of them received gun shots as well, having gone so
close near the assailants !!).. The masterminds are having a field day.. their men are inside the hotel and all the news that they would like to know of is at their fingertips which they can easily pass off to their men inside the buidlings over a cellphone...

It is high time we shake ourselves out of this lethargy...this state of complacency
has to end.. Mumbai (and the rest of us)... we have to react, be alert all the time.
Showing indifference to the events isn't exactly making a statement..
The solution(s) for this cannot be chalked out by a single person in a single day over
a message like this.. Collective initiative is what we need to grab the nations and
global attention otherwise it would just be a message written, read and forgotten on the spur of the moment !!

As and ending note, I would say hats off to the Taj hotel General Manager who's wife
and 2 kids died in the suite even as he was helping the guests evacuate the place. A
lesson or two we can sure learn from him..

MUMBAI.. WE ARE WITH YOU !! Hope this ends soon.. Have held my breath for long now... Waiting to exhale !!

-RS

Thursday, November 27, 2008

if it was my job...

...to look after people's life in Mumbai, I would have committed suicide by now. Or made an action plan with the motto: do or die.

High time the govt. woke up, stopped fighting over silly and petty issues and did something serious. i wonder why people in mumbai even go to offices and not be on road demanding peace and security? why do we always sit at home under curfew becuase theose damn idiots cannot provide us the basic right to live?

Tuesday, November 18, 2008

Introspection

cups of coffee
speckled with drops of tears
rainbow of dreams
splattered with charcoal inkiness

patchwork self-respect
ripping apart at seams
if i'm not for myself
then who is?
if i won't speak
then who will


tired of pointed fingers
tired of words, words and words
my heart won't speak anymore

contemplating silence
brooding realities

condemned loneliness
forced solitude
a day?
a week?
a month?
perhaps...

the lonely corner beckons...

Friday, November 14, 2008

5 years bitten away

It all started innocently enough.

A surprise holiday from office, and Diva (my roommate) and I decided to do some pre-winter cleaning and then maybe go to Dilli-haat. We hauled off the bags from top of our almirahs. So out came the tumbling bundles of soft, cozy woolens and shawls, and all that is needed to survive winters in Delhi. Diva set about sorting them, and I thought of having a look at my portfolio, my HUGE file - containing my college work.

Clearing away the rest of the mess, I reached out towards the file, and my heart stopped beating. One side of it, the bottom right corner was bitten off. Gnawed at by sharp teeth. The mouse hadn't stopped at the thick cardboard casing, but had bitten all the way to the other side.

5 years of my sweat, my toil, of staying awake and screwing my eyes over intricate designs, of perfecting and re-perfecting a sheet, of sketches made in the peak of summers, my wrists staining the rough texture of the paper...work spanning over 5 years, two colleges and 6 teachers...

My favorite sheets - a girl standing inside an open door, hesitant, curious, rendered in oil pastels.
Another sheet, not something which was beautiful, but memorable, now eaten away because of those idiot mice's insatiable hunger.

I can still feel, in my bones, how it felt to take a brush and paint a canvas; dip it in colors of my dreams, and see my imagination come to life. I still remember the grainy texture of the handmade sheets, purchased by not having an ice-cream, that teddy bear...then using the almost broken oil pastels to paint, to draw. And wait for the next day, to show it to the teacher..to wait, with bated breath for her to reject or accept it.

I didn't learn from the past, I guess.

Wednesday, November 12, 2008

Thursday, November 6, 2008

good catch

She frowned. And then some more. 

Tucking a fly-away wisp of silky hair behind her ear with her hands, she adjusted the phone, cradling it in her neck, while using her free hand to mark on her checklist. She was on phone with her aunt, giving her the news of her unofficial engagement. Her aunt was, predictably, excited. A bit too much. But she soothed her and comforted her. She told her about the guy, about how he had proposed, and promised to email his pictures to everyone asap. 

And called the next number. 

It had been two days now, and her phone was ringing off the hook. Congratulations were pouring from every side. 

"He's so handsome!"
"What a catch!"
"Lucky bitch, hid it well from us.."

Her frown was etched deeply now. Their remarks made her feel like a gold-digger, and she was tired of every one's repeated questions about marriage. The reason that she didn't want to marry right now, just because they both didn't feel like, wasn't acceptable to anyone. They called her day-in, day out. 

"...But beta, why not now? You have got such a good guy. Marry before it's too late..."

"...But why wait for another year...?

"...He'll be snatched by another...and then you'll repent. A year is too long..."

Her protests that he had been with her since the past 3 years now, fell to deaf ears. All they cared for was that the boy was a good catch and they both should marry quickly, the sooner the better.  

She was now on phone with her cousin. 
"Look, mummy is saying you two should fix up a date now.."
"What's the hurry guys?" she was irritated now. Angry even.

"You really shouldn't have sent his picture, you know..."
"...why..."she was puzzled now. His picture?
"They say he's too good-looking, and, well, they think you are...." he paused, embarrassed...

She disconnected the call angrily, her nail digging into the plasticated button of the mobile, half wounding it. Her flicks flickered about, but she didn't notice...

Wednesday, November 5, 2008

now this..

That's why I don't like reading news.

Now marriage can be broken even on the ground of pimples. 
No, really. not joking.

fine. Maybe pimples are repulsive to some poeple. But to break a marrigae? What are you? some perfect piece of human being that you want a goddess? Didn't that guy ever hear about acne treatment. Maybe it's just a dumb excuse he thought of for some other reason.

More than him, am angry at the court. What in the world is justice coming to?

News courstsey here. 

Wednesday, October 22, 2008

memories are made of milk cakes...

Friday, October 17, 2008

morbidities...

I had nightmares this morning. Again. Nothing new. But sometimes I get so disturbed...

Today, in my dream, I was in J&K.

Bullets.
Dead bodies.
Blood.

A group of army men laughing, drinking tea, suddenly shot at by terrorists. They die, their bodies neither falling nor toppling, but freezing at the very spot, with their once exuberant smiles chillingly pasted on their faces, their hands still holding the tin mugs...

Then haziness. A door. Teak. I pushed it open, and distinctively felt the wooden surface under my skin. The door opened suddenly, into a white room. Bare. Just a young man lying on the floor, sprawled eerily. His hands were raised above his body, and his palms were smeared with his own blood, like heena on a bride's hand. The blood dripped onto his chest, his grey cotton t-shirt unable to soak up so much of it...

Again a red haziness...and I woke up...

Thursday, October 16, 2008

Musing over my muse...

My muse makes me crave to write. This itch to write, to express...what? I do not know. Somehow, there's no extreme emotion as yet. Not yet. So I cannot write a poem or a story. However, I can tell you what I was thinking.

My muse, as I said, makes me crave to write. And sometimes, when I have read too much of his poetry, I feel intoxicated. He merges emotions and words like Neruda, expressing simple-ordinary stuff in uncommon metaphors. He weaves a tapestry so beautiful, like Gabriel, that I feel as if I'm under a moon-lit indigo sky, and the breeze is a caress, a message from a beloved. I feel this when I am sitting in my cubicle, in the underground office from where I cannot even see the sky.

And then I feel like calling him, meeting him. And wondering how someone, who has magic in his words, be in person?

Very human, I believe. And so, I don't meet him. Sometimes, we shouldn't face what's real. Sometimes, it's good to have a mystery in our mundane life. A bit of fairy tale mystique. To dwell upon his actuality, rather than meeting him in reality.

And so I dream on in this exotic world, created with a tinge of him, and a dash of his poems.

Thursday, September 18, 2008

serial killer...?

i am a serial killer

i murder myself everyday


words, innocent words

are like daggers to me

I hold them with bloodstained hands

and plunge somewhere inside

ah! Better


let those tears pour

call me a cry-baby, now…

i dare you!

i’m stronger than you all..

yet unable to fight my own self.


i sink to the floor

cold, barren

but I like it

it’s as welcome as death right now


words never said to me

words never meant for me

and words which were only for me

they assault

they aim, and hit again and again

hard

fine. so be it.


i am alone now.

lonely, perhaps?

yes, maybe..

for friends are my foes

or is it the other way round?

but it doesn’t matter.

not any more…

Tuesday, September 16, 2008

pretentions

so tired
of pretending to be happy
why don't you come
and make me cry
why don't you come
and erase this smile?

am melancholy's favorite child
and she's hugging me tight
making me breathless
and am slowly sinking
am screaming your name
muffled echoes bounce
in crimson walls of my heart...

tears lurk impatiently for their turn
behind these lost lids
wanting to breathe outside
and dying a painless death...

I've cried before
tears have lost their value
will cry no more
just come please
just come, once
so i can die peacefully
a painless death
soaking in your breath
drowning in your eyes
your eyes
my world
my heaven
have never known something so pure
have never felt like this

i will melt
i will mold
however you say
but don't let me go
piece by piece...
don't ask me to pretend anymore

Monday, September 15, 2008

The Delhi Blasts - again

What do I say here? I don't know. All I know is that I'm trying to be normal. But it isn't easy.
They hit Delhi again. And this time, the places where I go. Where you must have gone. Where our families, our friends go on weekends. GK, CP, Gaffar...

So again it happened. Again people died. News channels have something to scream about for the rest of the fortnight. People have another reason to crib about the government. Editorials will talk about how life is so sasti in India. And I will read all that, hear all that, see all that. And move on.... again.

Just how many times are we suppose to do that? Till one of us dies..till a friend or a family member dies... till our very homes are hit. Politicians will come and say "They can't kill the spirit of the poeple." Yeah, right. They are killing people, in case they didn't notice. So what use is the spirit then?

But you know what's the worst part....that I don't know what to do about it...I wonder if there is something which can be done.. or are we supposed to feel helpless and impotent everytime they blast away a part of my country??

roses are still smelling like roses
it's raining somewhere
and over there, look-
the sun is out, wearing its vulgar brilliance
unaffected
like the rest of us...

Thursday, September 11, 2008

rediff sucks!

grrrr...am so pissed off at rediff. It always does some locha.. that's what you get for loyalty. Usually, it just doesn't show the comments or eats them up for some time. Now it seems that it has gobbled up my entire blog! It's just not showing... :( :( :(

Tuesday, September 9, 2008

darkness abounds

comments are off here. again.
i don't like moderating them. so will not show them here. people who know me, as a person, have other ways of telling me what they feel about a post.
As for the rest, am too darn sensitive for criticism or sympathy right now.

Ciao, till next time.. till a better mood...

Wednesday, September 3, 2008

memories

Nobody warns you against books. Nobody tells you that reading them may hit you where it hurts the most.

It happened again with her. It was an innocent story, as usual. In one scene, a little girl ran towards her father, hugged his knees and asked him to pick her up.

She threw the book away...and prepared herself for the onslaught of memories.

Thursday, August 28, 2008

handle with care

gently
i place my head on your chest
snuggle - at peace
wrap your arms around-
there, now
handle with care
coz all's fragile here

i'm a falling teardrop
hold me
and i will still die
hold me
perhaps your warmth will kill the coldness inside...

i can't close my eyes
they show the blackness inside
stay here, sunshine
let me soak in your light
maybe you will melt those cobwebs away...

p.s.: "let me soak in your light".. this line was suggested by Aakash... he was sweet enough to help me edit this...and for mah dearest love - "don't worry..." :)

Tuesday, August 26, 2008

unsure

why am I so unsure about my own thoughts...my own views? All people do is raise a question and everything comes crumbling down.
And why, I wonder, my friends still can't understand me? They may not like my ideas...but they should ask themselves whether they like me or not...
And if they don't... it's for the better.

Friday, August 22, 2008

smell of memories

She sighed. And then stared at the pile of clothes dumped on the floor. She still had to sort it out. Another sigh escaped her lips.

She padded over to the pile, bare foot. The pile of clothes. His clothes. In a moment of madness, she had thrown out all his clothes from the wardrobe. Now she sat down on the cold floor, her thin, long cotton t-shirt doing little to keep her warm. The one he loved...

Pushing away the thought, she delved into the depths of the pile, her white, almost translucent hand looking lost in the vastness of the dump. Her bony fingers sought a black fabric and tugged it out. It was a shirt, worn and faded over the years.

Without any preamble, memories came floating by, in front of her eyes. It was in the kitchen, when she was cooking their first dinner together, that he had wrapped his arms around her…wearing this very shirt. She had turned around, forgetting the open window, the burning dinner, everything - in the desire shining in his eyes…succumbing herself to him… and how he had laughed softly when she had got irritated at one of the buttons refusing to budge..

Wasn’t it in that very corner, where she had fallen, sobbing, and he had gathered her in his arms, consoling her softly, whispering words said only to a child, patting her head gently and rocking her till she wept her heart out…

He had held her then… she wished he will hold her now, and she could break down again…

She closed her eyes shut… tightly, as if doing that would hold the memories at bay… but then she saw his face, smiling at her, floating in the blackness… black like those nights she would hold him against her, and he would sleep like a little lost child, looking so vulnerable… ...

those lazy Sunday mornings, when he would give her a goofy smile, kiss her and pick her up, place her like a doll on the dinning table and proceed to feed her a scrumptious breakfast with his hands…

She got up suddenly, forcing herself to stop thinking, the black shirt still clutched in her hands. She unbuttoned it and wrapped it around her…

And it felt as if he was holding her again… his smell enveloping her, getting under each layer of her skin, warm and cozy, safe like home…

p.s. i wrote this post long time back on another of my blogs. so no, don't worry. all's ok in my world.

Sunday, August 17, 2008

i feel alone

in this world
all of a sudden
i feel alone
lonely
like
i belong to noone
and noone belongs to me
i have no friends
i lost them all
they were good, oh yes
too good for me...

and so I walk alone again
this lonely path called life
no one to tell me
"careful, there are thorns ahead"
no one to hold onto
least i stumble
no one to look upto
no one to say, it'll be ok

my arms entwine around myself
i need a hug so bad
and these tears drain my soul every night
i know not what ails me
there's noone to ask
no one to care
no one concerned
..so i hope
i stumble and fall
and never rise again...

Thursday, August 14, 2008

quote-I

“A musician must make music, an artist must paint, a poet must write, if he is to be ultimately at peace with himself.”- Abraham masalo

and so we try again...

Monday, August 11, 2008

adhurapan

thoughts-
trickle down in my mind
like lazy drops of rain
on a lazy sunday
hazy, unclear
merging into one-another
about to fall,
about to be perfect
as they reaches it's zenith
but alas,
they die before that.

abrupt end to a short journey
unfinished work
interrupted dreams

...
चलें थे हम बारिश को थामने
हाथ में आई नही
की पानी हो गई
कतरा कतरा बिखर गया हर तरफ़
जैसे इस जिंदगी की कहानी हो गयी

Thursday, July 31, 2008

Love...

Sometimes, it felt strange. Out of this world. And yet, it felt beautiful too. Like she had finally learnt how to live. What to live for, actually.

It had been a few weeks since the weird sensation arose it’s head in her heart. Like a flower was blooming. Slowly. One petal at a time. Every petal gently caressing her insides, like thousand butterflies had taken flight. Like a golden ball of fire was growing larger by the moment.

Neha didn’t ignore the feeling, but couldn’t even acknowledge it. After all, it was her end-of-semester exams. There were books to be read, notes to be made, read and re-read. She was too worried about finishing her syllabus on time, and getting it all right to fret over something which seemed so trivial that one could easily pretend it wasn’t there.

But she couldn’t do that anymore. Not after yesterday, at least.

She sighed, threw her book, “Abnormal Psychology: Case Studies” aside and let the thoughts consume her.

It was yesterday that Ruchi was lying beside her, fast asleep. And she had started observing her, first out of sheer boredom, then, more and more out of interest. All of a sudden, Ruchi looked so beautiful. The way her hair gently fell around her face, like a halo – it made her want to sink her face in it. Her hands looked so soft and delicate… and her lips….pink, and brown at the edges, dried, chapped, yet so inviting…

With a shudder, Neha snapped out...what was she thinking? She hurriedly got up, grabbed her duppatta, her books and ran all the way to her room…

It had been a long time, since she had felt the little stir of attraction towards Ruchi. Ruchi, the girl who became her friend first day in college, with whom she shared her notes, her books, her dreams, her hopes, her life…
There wasn’t a day they didn’t spend in each other’s company. Perhaps it was also because of the fact that they had same subjects. They weren’t roommates, but one would find them together all the time.

It was during those grilling study sessions – Ruchi was very strict when it came to studies – that Neha had realized her feelings for her. She felt aghast, and thought that a combination of excess study, lack of boys and too much of Ruchi was screwing her brains. She thought she was straight!

What followed were a few days in which Neha tried every trick in the book to spend as little time with Ruchi as possible, without offending her. But after numerous excuses, headaches, sleepiness and ‘really important work’, she couldn’t take it anymore. Being away from her, that is.

It was Ruchi who made sure that Neha never skipped a meal, no matter what. If Neha had fever, it would be Ruchi running to get some OTC medicine, not her roommates. It was Ruchi with whom she chatted and gossiped about boyfriends late into the night. It was Ruchi who understood her need for solitude, never pestered her with personal questions and let her be.

And so she couldn’t love her because both of them were girls?
Suddenly, it felt unfair. Love is love, irrespective of age or sex. So what was she feeling guilty about! No, she should stop feeling that she was doing something immoral, she decided.

She couldn’t hide this from Ruchi, could she? But how would Ruchi react? Will she understand her, or, god forbid, stop being her friend?

There was a knock on her door. Neha arranged her duppatta and said, “Come in..”
The door opened and Ruchi walked in…
“You look tensed, all ok?”
Neha smiled. “Yes. All is ok now.”….

Wednesday, July 23, 2008

Man propses. God disposes.
Why do I even plan anyting... at all..
Especially something which depends on other people to be fulfilled?
I have taught myself so many times - so, so many times, not to have any expectations from anyone. And still I do. Still expect. Woes of the human heart. The bloody conditioning of this godforsaken society. Makes me crave, wish, hope, dream, want...
Why? Why can't I become cold to all this? Not to have any expectations, any wishes, any desires...

Friday, July 18, 2008

random aggression

don't take it away from me..
my right to be sad...
am melancholy's own daughter
and it will show
in my angst
in my tears
in the frown etched on my temple
in the scratches on my arm
in the bleakness of the eyes
and the darkness of my soul
let me live it
it's my moment
don't ask me to smile
coz i really cannot
you really want me to fake it, do you?

as you will have it...

Thursday, July 3, 2008

The begining...

So I am starting here now. What I left behind...
My new blog.
Welcome.... :)