Aaj kuch kehne ko jee chahta hai
Kore kaagaz par alfaaz bikherne ko jee chahta hai
khwab haqueeqat mein kuch yun uljhe hain
Yeh uljhan suljhaane ko jee chahta hai.
Aaj kuch kehne ko jee chahta hai...
Har woh baat jo kehni chahi thi tumhein
Kabhi dhadkan ko zabaan na mili,
Hasrat ko panaah na mili,
Woh har bhooli bisri baat uthane ko jee chahta hai.
Aaj sab kuch keh jaane ko jee chahta hai...
Andhere mein ghum the ehsas abtalak
Dubke kone mein siskiyon ki tarah
Aaj andhere mein tatolkar zara zara
Woh ehsas sametne ko jee chahta hai.
Aaj tumse kuch kehne ko jee chahta hai...
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Friday, November 6, 2009
no begining, no end...
[Not the beginning]
Truth without conviction,
Passion lacking force,
Desire still wanting…
Fire luke warm.
Now lies are facts misconstrued…
And love is… oh so tamed!
Tears are found heroic,
And heroism, a shame.
A century since Eliot,
Men are still hollow…
Vodka slouching in vain veins,
Head pieces stuffed with smoke.
Leaning together banging,
In sync with Pink Floyd,
This is the way the world goes,
This is the way it goes…
[Not the end!]
Hello people... after a long time... does anyone still haunt this place? About the poem, well... you may understand it better if you read The Hollow Men by TS Eliot. Cheerios! :)
Truth without conviction,
Passion lacking force,
Desire still wanting…
Fire luke warm.
Now lies are facts misconstrued…
And love is… oh so tamed!
Tears are found heroic,
And heroism, a shame.
A century since Eliot,
Men are still hollow…
Vodka slouching in vain veins,
Head pieces stuffed with smoke.
Leaning together banging,
In sync with Pink Floyd,
This is the way the world goes,
This is the way it goes…
[Not the end!]
Hello people... after a long time... does anyone still haunt this place? About the poem, well... you may understand it better if you read The Hollow Men by TS Eliot. Cheerios! :)
Sunday, January 18, 2009
A Passing Diversion...
She kept staring at the cell phone beside her… waiting to feel the vibration, to hear the peppy Spanish number she had for a ringtone, to see the blue light lit up and show his name… but this was not to be…
Her mind drifted… drifted to those times when everything was perfect. Almost… for she had not known or expected a greater perfection. He was not someone she would marry, she was not someone he could spend his life with. They were friends, best of friends. Both their love devoted elsewhere and let me add unrequited. He was her support system, the only shoulders she could fall back on in the unknown city. The only person who never asked her questions, never judged her... The person who smiled in a strange way when she cried… the only person who noticed her suddenly lost expression… the person who teased her for reading old chats on gmail… the person who took the unsaid responsibility of taking her wherever she had to go. He was slowly eclipsing her life and in a way that healed her from the past hurt and that gave her enough reason to go on from one day to another.
[But what did she mean to him? I know not reader and shall never know.]
But yes, the turn in the road that you are expecting, did come. The sweetness of friendship didn’t last long. A change came over their relationship in the form of awareness. She became aware of the sweeping touch of his hands on her cheek… aware of words spoken in all nonchalance… aware of his presence in every group, every place, every dream… aware of his scent that aroused something deep down in her…
She became jealous of his friends, jealous of his lady love, insecure about his friendship and eager for something more. She began to be upset for no reason, she cried when she was alone, she began to fight with him, ignore him and then return to him when her anger subsided. She did not understand her own self. No he was not The One… he was not someone she would marry… he was not the dream she had always dreamt for… he did not make her feel special in a way she had always wanted… most of all, she was not life’s first priority to him. Then what did she wish for? What did she want? Why was she attracted to him? Why did his scent, his proximity, make her weak in the knees [clichéd expression I know, but that’s what best describes the feeling.] why did she feel pleasure instead of pain when he demonstrated his strength playfully twisting her wrist? Why did she feel her body melt when he tickled her? And then she tickled him back in way that was more seductive than playful. She had never felt like this before.
That night, they went to a party together… everyone was drunk. She was, he was. She clung on to him all evening, giving a damn to the world and he held her all evening…[Whether to keep her from falling or because he wanted to hold her, again it is not for me to say..]Well... so she rested her head on his shoulders, hanging on to his arms, as he drove her back home. And in those moments she had wanted nothing more. Somehow the proximity just brought them together and he gently kissed her and she kissed him back, till everything else disappeared and the heat and passion engulfed them. "He was a great kisser", she thought. And with that she suddenly became aware that she was thinking… that it was not the kiss she had always dreamt off… the kiss that would sweep her off her feet and render her incapable of any thoughts… the perfect kiss of the perfect Man… what she called "The Rhett Butler Kiss"… And she knew he was not The One… But nevertheless it gave her a pleasure she felt never before and she did not want the moment to end. Neither did he, for they drove round and round in the vicinity of her home for an hour or more, hoping the journey never ended, hoping the destination never arrived.
She reached home a different person altogether… her lips quivered from what was her first kiss. She felt like those lips had a life of their own, different from her existence and she fell in love with them, caressing them like he had… she could feel his scent linger on her body, in her curls and as she undressed, she noticed that one of her earrings were missing.
They met the next day like how they met everyday in office.
[Did I mention, he worked in the same office as her?]
Well… life was just the same… like the night before never existed… Like they were just friends like always… The same, but for that twinkle in his eyes and the colour of her cheeks, when he slipped her missing earring in her hand without a word. Only that strayed earring remained a testimony that the night existed.
A month later, she changed jobs. The distance between them started growing… Initially, she was angry that he didn’t call her enough, didn’t meet her everyday… didn’t care for her as much… But then she gradually understood.
He was a season… a season that just came and passed by. They still meet sometimes, with common friends… The chemistry still exists when their eyes meet for a fraction of seconds, only neither of them wants to explore it any further.
The phone finally rang. It said… “Office calling”.
Her mind drifted… drifted to those times when everything was perfect. Almost… for she had not known or expected a greater perfection. He was not someone she would marry, she was not someone he could spend his life with. They were friends, best of friends. Both their love devoted elsewhere and let me add unrequited. He was her support system, the only shoulders she could fall back on in the unknown city. The only person who never asked her questions, never judged her... The person who smiled in a strange way when she cried… the only person who noticed her suddenly lost expression… the person who teased her for reading old chats on gmail… the person who took the unsaid responsibility of taking her wherever she had to go. He was slowly eclipsing her life and in a way that healed her from the past hurt and that gave her enough reason to go on from one day to another.
[But what did she mean to him? I know not reader and shall never know.]
But yes, the turn in the road that you are expecting, did come. The sweetness of friendship didn’t last long. A change came over their relationship in the form of awareness. She became aware of the sweeping touch of his hands on her cheek… aware of words spoken in all nonchalance… aware of his presence in every group, every place, every dream… aware of his scent that aroused something deep down in her…
She became jealous of his friends, jealous of his lady love, insecure about his friendship and eager for something more. She began to be upset for no reason, she cried when she was alone, she began to fight with him, ignore him and then return to him when her anger subsided. She did not understand her own self. No he was not The One… he was not someone she would marry… he was not the dream she had always dreamt for… he did not make her feel special in a way she had always wanted… most of all, she was not life’s first priority to him. Then what did she wish for? What did she want? Why was she attracted to him? Why did his scent, his proximity, make her weak in the knees [clichéd expression I know, but that’s what best describes the feeling.] why did she feel pleasure instead of pain when he demonstrated his strength playfully twisting her wrist? Why did she feel her body melt when he tickled her? And then she tickled him back in way that was more seductive than playful. She had never felt like this before.
That night, they went to a party together… everyone was drunk. She was, he was. She clung on to him all evening, giving a damn to the world and he held her all evening…[Whether to keep her from falling or because he wanted to hold her, again it is not for me to say..]Well... so she rested her head on his shoulders, hanging on to his arms, as he drove her back home. And in those moments she had wanted nothing more. Somehow the proximity just brought them together and he gently kissed her and she kissed him back, till everything else disappeared and the heat and passion engulfed them. "He was a great kisser", she thought. And with that she suddenly became aware that she was thinking… that it was not the kiss she had always dreamt off… the kiss that would sweep her off her feet and render her incapable of any thoughts… the perfect kiss of the perfect Man… what she called "The Rhett Butler Kiss"… And she knew he was not The One… But nevertheless it gave her a pleasure she felt never before and she did not want the moment to end. Neither did he, for they drove round and round in the vicinity of her home for an hour or more, hoping the journey never ended, hoping the destination never arrived.
She reached home a different person altogether… her lips quivered from what was her first kiss. She felt like those lips had a life of their own, different from her existence and she fell in love with them, caressing them like he had… she could feel his scent linger on her body, in her curls and as she undressed, she noticed that one of her earrings were missing.
They met the next day like how they met everyday in office.
[Did I mention, he worked in the same office as her?]
Well… life was just the same… like the night before never existed… Like they were just friends like always… The same, but for that twinkle in his eyes and the colour of her cheeks, when he slipped her missing earring in her hand without a word. Only that strayed earring remained a testimony that the night existed.
A month later, she changed jobs. The distance between them started growing… Initially, she was angry that he didn’t call her enough, didn’t meet her everyday… didn’t care for her as much… But then she gradually understood.
He was a season… a season that just came and passed by. They still meet sometimes, with common friends… The chemistry still exists when their eyes meet for a fraction of seconds, only neither of them wants to explore it any further.
The phone finally rang. It said… “Office calling”.
Monday, September 1, 2008
...
Some stories are told, some buried untold...
The trouble is with those...
That are told in silence.
The trouble is with those...
That are told in silence.
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
I am Alive!
The clouds are forming again... Little translucent clusters dashing into each other... Some hitting with fury destroying the other, some losing themselves in the other's existence. "An epitome of love and the culture of war, together", smiles the senile Sky, watching with his tired eyes.
The little droplets now descend one following the other... in masses, falling into the greedy mouth of the earth, that swallows one drop after the other, leaving no trace behind. The only evidence of the fallen droplets is the wet clod of mud. The same clod of mud, that remained unmoved, when the winds chased the sand to the far ends of the dessert... the same clod of mud that hid beneath sheets of lose sand when travellers passed by... the same clod of mud that was deader than the dead dessert. The clod of mud, whose one end now quivers, slightly, tentatively. A slow, short breath blurts out in a plosive, blowing some sand away. A long limb moves, curls-up uncertainly, as the neck cranes to hide within the folds of sand. The heavy curtains on the eyes finally rise, slowly, as life is blown into it. The Clod of mud rises to life.
Hey everybody... how are you all. Sorry for the long hiatus and I am glad to be back. Glad to be alive. :-)
Cheers!
Winged Fantasy
The little droplets now descend one following the other... in masses, falling into the greedy mouth of the earth, that swallows one drop after the other, leaving no trace behind. The only evidence of the fallen droplets is the wet clod of mud. The same clod of mud, that remained unmoved, when the winds chased the sand to the far ends of the dessert... the same clod of mud that hid beneath sheets of lose sand when travellers passed by... the same clod of mud that was deader than the dead dessert. The clod of mud, whose one end now quivers, slightly, tentatively. A slow, short breath blurts out in a plosive, blowing some sand away. A long limb moves, curls-up uncertainly, as the neck cranes to hide within the folds of sand. The heavy curtains on the eyes finally rise, slowly, as life is blown into it. The Clod of mud rises to life.
Hey everybody... how are you all. Sorry for the long hiatus and I am glad to be back. Glad to be alive. :-)
Cheers!
Winged Fantasy
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
Vroom Vroom.....
8…7…6…
…5
…4
…3
Vroom…. The accelerator swung to the hilt…
…2……1
Screech! Halt! Red!
Damn!!! She thumped the handle of the bike hard in disappointment, as she saw the red Bajaj Avenger slid through the gap and clear the signal just in time. She stood there right at the yellow line, her gloved hands rhythmically tapping at the wind shield, the rhythm of her impatience. She pulled out the ipod from the pocket of her jacket and hastily flicked through radio stations looking for some catchy number that would drown her disappointment at the no-stake race, she just lost with the stranger.
She hated red lights… she hated having to brake… she hated to halt… hated to lose.
She was Velocity personified. Action, adventure, speed and thrill kept her going. She was among those few people who constantly lived on the edge of life, staring at death every moment and yet managing to duck it. To her everyday was the last of her life, and she wanted to live it to the fullest.
15 more seconds of wait before she would be flying on the wings of speed again.
Just then, a yellow Karizma, glided in a zig-zag from between the cars and stood by her side. There was something different about this new invasion, a presence that somehow demanded attention. She stole a quick admiring look at it, in a way not to make it too conspicuous. “Bold and beautiful!” she thought, with a new glint in her eyes. Here was her next fellow player at the game of SPEED.
The numbers at the signal now started to flicker, 5… 4… 3… 2…
And before it showed 1… she released the brakes and turned the accelerator full on and zipped past the light, overtaking the Karizma, blocking its way. This was often her way to invite a race. She loved to prick a man’s ego and watch him react to it in vengeance. She had known by experience, that no man on the surface of the earth, can ever come to terms with a woman overtaking him on the road. And true to his breed, the yellow Karizma pepped up and in no time was right by her side, speeding. She smiled to herself and then the entire traffic became inconsequential. All she could see was the shining yellow body, all she could hear was the wind slapping hard against her helmet, all that mattered was the speed, the race, the victory.
Both the bikes zipped through the congested lanes of the Airport road in the late evening, at unearthly speed… a little twist of the handle, a little slant to avoid a rear-view mirror…a pulse of brake to let the kid cross the road… and a continuous breath-taking speed. For a moment he would find himself far ahead, and in the next, she would be right besides him. Sometimes, they would lose sight of each other in the crowd and the sting of disappointment would only have seeped skin deep, before they would track each other again.
And the race lasted 15 kms with no true victory or loss, just the points ticking away… sometimes in favour of him, sometimes her. And then came the by-lane, the cleavage on the road where their paths were to part. She gave the left indicator, indicating her departure to him and immediately he was by her side. A stretch of about 200 metres lay in front of them before the turn. Both the bikes by now slowed down, as if panting for breath. They then moved together at the same speed, in perfect sync, in perfect harmony… like the moves of a couple in a beautifully synchronized, romantic, dance performance. They played, they flirted, they communicated, all with the twists and sways of their bike, the distance and proximity between their imaginary loci… the rising and falling of the road like the rhythm of their breath… till the point of the cleavage. There they lingered for a brief second, while their bikes were still in motion. He instantly reached out for the flap of his formula one helmet, and for the first time in the last 20 minutes of their acquaintance, she caught a glimpse of his deep set eyes…and in that moment, she saw nothing else. She couldn’t make out the colour of the eyes, but there was a strange power in them… a power that held you captive for a moment. There was something about those eyes, she thought… something piercing, somethin that knocked straight at your heart… a strange honesty, a strange spark. He gave a slight, reluctant smile and raised his gloved hand in a thumbs-up. She had never experienced this kind of sporting spirit before. She twisted the handle of her bike and slanted towards the turn, her mind totally confused on one hand, and on the other furiously debating whether to return the friendly gesture. She hastily turned her head for one last look of him and there he was still moving slowly across the turn, his gaze fixed in her direction. An instantaneous smile broke on her lips and she raised her hands to him in a hi-five. They both smiled and the next moment, the accelerators were turned full on and both the bikes zoomed off in different directions, bound by different destinations.
:-)
…5
…4
…3
Vroom…. The accelerator swung to the hilt…
…2……1
Screech! Halt! Red!
Damn!!! She thumped the handle of the bike hard in disappointment, as she saw the red Bajaj Avenger slid through the gap and clear the signal just in time. She stood there right at the yellow line, her gloved hands rhythmically tapping at the wind shield, the rhythm of her impatience. She pulled out the ipod from the pocket of her jacket and hastily flicked through radio stations looking for some catchy number that would drown her disappointment at the no-stake race, she just lost with the stranger.
She hated red lights… she hated having to brake… she hated to halt… hated to lose.
She was Velocity personified. Action, adventure, speed and thrill kept her going. She was among those few people who constantly lived on the edge of life, staring at death every moment and yet managing to duck it. To her everyday was the last of her life, and she wanted to live it to the fullest.
15 more seconds of wait before she would be flying on the wings of speed again.
Just then, a yellow Karizma, glided in a zig-zag from between the cars and stood by her side. There was something different about this new invasion, a presence that somehow demanded attention. She stole a quick admiring look at it, in a way not to make it too conspicuous. “Bold and beautiful!” she thought, with a new glint in her eyes. Here was her next fellow player at the game of SPEED.
The numbers at the signal now started to flicker, 5… 4… 3… 2…
And before it showed 1… she released the brakes and turned the accelerator full on and zipped past the light, overtaking the Karizma, blocking its way. This was often her way to invite a race. She loved to prick a man’s ego and watch him react to it in vengeance. She had known by experience, that no man on the surface of the earth, can ever come to terms with a woman overtaking him on the road. And true to his breed, the yellow Karizma pepped up and in no time was right by her side, speeding. She smiled to herself and then the entire traffic became inconsequential. All she could see was the shining yellow body, all she could hear was the wind slapping hard against her helmet, all that mattered was the speed, the race, the victory.
Both the bikes zipped through the congested lanes of the Airport road in the late evening, at unearthly speed… a little twist of the handle, a little slant to avoid a rear-view mirror…a pulse of brake to let the kid cross the road… and a continuous breath-taking speed. For a moment he would find himself far ahead, and in the next, she would be right besides him. Sometimes, they would lose sight of each other in the crowd and the sting of disappointment would only have seeped skin deep, before they would track each other again.
And the race lasted 15 kms with no true victory or loss, just the points ticking away… sometimes in favour of him, sometimes her. And then came the by-lane, the cleavage on the road where their paths were to part. She gave the left indicator, indicating her departure to him and immediately he was by her side. A stretch of about 200 metres lay in front of them before the turn. Both the bikes by now slowed down, as if panting for breath. They then moved together at the same speed, in perfect sync, in perfect harmony… like the moves of a couple in a beautifully synchronized, romantic, dance performance. They played, they flirted, they communicated, all with the twists and sways of their bike, the distance and proximity between their imaginary loci… the rising and falling of the road like the rhythm of their breath… till the point of the cleavage. There they lingered for a brief second, while their bikes were still in motion. He instantly reached out for the flap of his formula one helmet, and for the first time in the last 20 minutes of their acquaintance, she caught a glimpse of his deep set eyes…and in that moment, she saw nothing else. She couldn’t make out the colour of the eyes, but there was a strange power in them… a power that held you captive for a moment. There was something about those eyes, she thought… something piercing, somethin that knocked straight at your heart… a strange honesty, a strange spark. He gave a slight, reluctant smile and raised his gloved hand in a thumbs-up. She had never experienced this kind of sporting spirit before. She twisted the handle of her bike and slanted towards the turn, her mind totally confused on one hand, and on the other furiously debating whether to return the friendly gesture. She hastily turned her head for one last look of him and there he was still moving slowly across the turn, his gaze fixed in her direction. An instantaneous smile broke on her lips and she raised her hands to him in a hi-five. They both smiled and the next moment, the accelerators were turned full on and both the bikes zoomed off in different directions, bound by different destinations.
:-)
Monday, September 24, 2007
Silence...
Have you sensed the silence before a horrendous, blazing storm breaks?
Have you sensed the silence after the last breath, in a gush, escapes?
The silence as the wild beast before hounding its prey, quietly sniffs…
The silence in the bouncing, frolicking, streams, falling from high cliffs…
And its yet another silence…
At the bright, golden dawns, amidst chirping birds, ringing faith and an occasional hawker calling out on the lone street.
Sipping a cup of coffee, while buzzing through the morning newspaper…
Humming a soft tune, while strolling the side lanes of noisy, bustling streets.
The silence when the soul unites with the universe, and chants the only truth - “The Onkar”.
And yet again I see the beauty of silence…
When we sit and gaze into each other’s eyes, and at that moment, the entire world dissolves into nothingness.
When that little smile breaks on your lips, and that bloom, to my eyes, surpasses the brightest blossoms.
When I lay my head in your lap, and you run your fingers through my hair, in gentle rhythmic strokes,
When I read out to you this stanza or that, from a book, and we listen together not to the words, but the underlying silence of the moment…
The silence when your hand eagerly seeks mine in the dark and amidst the crowds…
And it is still silence when your hands slip from mine, your fingers trailing the length of my palm, till the last tip of the touch…
It is silence you leave behind… the silence of moist eyes, of quivering lips, of trembling hands and crumbling heart…
It is still silence that remains long after you are gone…the silence of blankness, emptiness, solitude, and of an eternal, never ending wait for you…
The silence envelops you and me and converses in a dialect of its own… while we sit with sealed lips and starry eyes.
Note: Some thoughts, some images brought to surface by this... :-)
Have you sensed the silence after the last breath, in a gush, escapes?
The silence as the wild beast before hounding its prey, quietly sniffs…
The silence in the bouncing, frolicking, streams, falling from high cliffs…
And its yet another silence…
At the bright, golden dawns, amidst chirping birds, ringing faith and an occasional hawker calling out on the lone street.
Sipping a cup of coffee, while buzzing through the morning newspaper…
Humming a soft tune, while strolling the side lanes of noisy, bustling streets.
The silence when the soul unites with the universe, and chants the only truth - “The Onkar”.
And yet again I see the beauty of silence…
When we sit and gaze into each other’s eyes, and at that moment, the entire world dissolves into nothingness.
When that little smile breaks on your lips, and that bloom, to my eyes, surpasses the brightest blossoms.
When I lay my head in your lap, and you run your fingers through my hair, in gentle rhythmic strokes,
When I read out to you this stanza or that, from a book, and we listen together not to the words, but the underlying silence of the moment…
The silence when your hand eagerly seeks mine in the dark and amidst the crowds…
And it is still silence when your hands slip from mine, your fingers trailing the length of my palm, till the last tip of the touch…
It is silence you leave behind… the silence of moist eyes, of quivering lips, of trembling hands and crumbling heart…
It is still silence that remains long after you are gone…the silence of blankness, emptiness, solitude, and of an eternal, never ending wait for you…
The silence envelops you and me and converses in a dialect of its own… while we sit with sealed lips and starry eyes.
Note: Some thoughts, some images brought to surface by this... :-)
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