The Bong-connection

Disclaimer- The Title of this post has violated a copyright or two

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Of my memories of Durga Puja at Calcutta, the first thing that comes to my mind is waking up, at an ungodly hour of four in the morning on Mahalaya, to the mesmeric voice of Birendra Kumar Bhadra’s' Mahishasura Mardini', playing in the background on the radio The goose-flesh that it never failed to bring, the eerie sense of calmness that overcame and the dawning realization that it was just seven days to the grandest festival of them all!

Durga Puja; a festival celebrating the Grande Dame’s home-coming from her heavenly abode. It lasts over the span of five glorious days and every Bengali the world over awaits it with bated breath. Though necessarily a religious affair, Durga Puja is actually a carnival of merrymaking amongst Calcuttans.

It is not easy to comprehend the fervor this festival brings to the average Calcuttan. It is Holi, Diwali, Valentine’s Day - all rolled into one. Even the Cricket and Football World Cups do not hold as much consequence for the Calcuttan as much as this five-day annual fiesta does.

For someone who’s never been a part of these festivities it is difficult to create an exact picture of the grandeur and for the person who has saw it even once…it is an experience of a lifetime.

It is not hard to identify the City with its oft quoted sobriquet during the extent of these days… Lapierre’s ‘City of Joy’ is in fact jubilant without bounds. Enjoyment is the uniform civil code.

From whichever corner you look at it, the city glows like the very clichéd bride. The incandescent bulbs adorning the buildings, the cascades of twinkling lights, the psychedelic roadside illumination, the myriad colored marquees locally called ‘pandals’, the painted faces of the striking idols, the resounding dhaks, the blaring microphones, the pulsating crowds, the bustling lanes, the pomp, the splendor, of the biggest spectacle of the year, is a vision to behold.

The first day of Puja (the sixth day of the Navratra) a multitude of crowd descends on the streets, hopping from one pandal to the other, marveling at its ingenious designs and sheer creativity of the artisans. While the larger part of the nation is fasting, the boulevards in Calcutta are filled with an invigorating smell, which wafts out of the make-shift food stalls.

With their DSLRs or their flash-enabled camera phones, in their new apparel of the season’s a la mode, comes out the cavalcade of men and women, to haunt the roads till the wee hours of the morning. There is the kurta- denim clad young fellow, the quintessential bhadrolok in his white dhoti and panjabi, the lady clad in her silk finest, the young belle in the latest Gudda or in a splendid knock-off from New Market and the children in their charming outfits. The city resembles a runway straight off a fashion week, where the young and old, the cosmopolitan and the rustic, the prosaic and the vibrant dish themselves out in a kaleidoscope of hues.

Come Durga Puja it is said, you can take a person out of Calcutta but not Calcutta out of a person. It is that time of the year when the exiled Calcuttan yearns to go home. When listening to Bengali music or even a lavish Bengali spread, at a Michelin Star restaurant is insufficient to drive away the heaviness in the heart.

With pujo round the corner I can’t help but stir up the sights and sounds of my city that have always bewitched me. The hubble-bubble of the crowd, the upbeat atmosphere, the cackle of nerves, the gaggle of friends, the racket of the paper horns, the gurgle of mirth, the rhythmic strain of the dhaks, the heady smell of dhuno, the coquettish looks, the appreciative glances, the never-ending queues in front of eateries, the night long sojourn down the winding lanes of North Calcutta, the aching feet and the adda at Maddox!

Otherwise quite the skeptic, the ‘Spirit of Puja’ brings out the fanatic in me. However many may I have been present for, ‘Asche bochor Abaar Hobe’ (Next year it shall happen again) always has a resounding ring to me.

So after a long wait in exile, I am homeward bound in a day’s time and only one thought flits across my mind, “Maa, I’m coming home!”

The Last Cigarette

The clanging metal

The searing psyche

Of orange ‘n red embers, burning inside

Held twixt my fingers, with every breath of life.

A silken touch on chapped lips

A heaving breathe of smoky whorls

The craving soul, the cackling nerves

A rush of the head and the thirst within.

The velvety dark sky, a mayhem inside.

The delight of the soul, a moment’s respite.

A moment of being,

A sense so sublime.

When everything ceases to be.

And life runs against time.

The day behind me, darkness to come

I gaze at my last cigarette and marvel how time flies!

We Solemnly Swear We Are Up To No Good!

It was a pack of cards and a 1.5 L. coke bottle which made me talk to her. I recall sitting on the ledge at OSM ‘bored out of my wits’; smirking at the kids around, when I happened to see the contents in her hands. No it wasn’t lowv at first sight...I was more interested to know if she could drink that whole thing by herself and if she would share!?

“Ma Kasam!” as they say…I had no clue whatsoever as to what I was in for and I have been living with the consequences ever since!

We are not Friends and neither are we Foes! Ours is what you call a “Belligerent Attachment”
We are a pair of recalcitrant, abusive, antagonistic, irrational, strong-willed individuals. We don’t share anything. Not our likes, dislikes, favorite food on the menu, cricketing teams, sport-persons, political views, movies, music… Not even the brand of cigarette! She is ‘Amoral’. I am ‘Immoral’. She is ‘Indifferent’. I am ‘Careless’. She is ‘Combative’. I am ‘Opinionated’.

We quibble more oft than we talk. I pine for her when she’s not around & curse her Down-under when she is! The longest we have ever gone without bickering is probably 15mins. We seldom let go of an opportunity to argue (Thank God! Its mostly verbal) I have used and abused every swear word in my vocabulary on her & have learnt quite a few in reciprocation. I have developed a habit of grinding my teeth together (regularly), out of exasperation. She has refined the knack of dozing off to avoid facing me. The non de plumes with which we anoint each other has probably obliterated our christened names from our lives. We do not greet each other politely or amiably like ‘normal’ friends do. We shout/cuss/abuse/snarl and give each other ‘Bear Hugs’. I call her the “Brain” behind my ‘Brawn”. She dubs me as her ‘Domestic’

The only time we join forces is when we gang up on clueless rickshaw-wallahs or oblivious fellows around us, when we need to poke fun at someone else or plain gossip& bitch. When one sees our heads together sitting calmly, we are surely contriving our next ploy/victim.

What do we live for, if it is not to make life more difficult for each other?
It speaks volumes of my fortitude that I am still around her. But on reconsideration I would not rather be elsewhere. It might not be a peaceful co-existence, but we share a perverse pleasure/privilege in plaguing each other. Not many understand us...we seldom do ourselves. And given a choice we’d be TOGETHER wreckin' HELL!!


Happy Birthday GUMMY( aka NUPUR SINGH)!

A Gentleman's Game! (?)

“PHAAAATTT…” the sound rang across the alley…it was the faded yellow ball hitting against the wood; a silence fell over everyone around. The one who had just delivered the ball was eyeing the flight of the ball over everyone’s head, the others went still, none spoke. It was like they were dreading the next moment. Within seconds came the ominous sound of the ball smacking the glass “CraaaaaaCKK”…
“Bhaaaaag!!!” some one yelled, it was the signal everyone was waiting for, before they ran for their lives!
And there I was…Seconds before, mighty pleased with myself for having successfully hit the ball at the first go but now left abandoned in that alley, lugging on to the heavy bat, with a Kapil Dev sticker on it.

I was 7 years old then (& not that tall), it had taken me ages to convince all the Bhaiyaas around to give me one chance to bat. I had been fielding for months and I had started hating it eventually. One shot they had promised. But, I had ruined it now. I stood there stranded, tears rolling down my cheeks! Dejected and dreading the possibilities of not being permitted to play cricket ever again!

It all began with the thud of the ball hitting hard against the bat; that I fell in love with. It was “Sound of Music” to my ears. It took days before my curiosity got the better of me; it was judgment day of sorts before I mustered courage to speak for my rights. So there I was standing square on my two lil’ feet trying desperately to pass on the idea to the chap everyone called “DADA”, that I wanted to play with them! I was dismissed of course. I was told to go play with my dolls, which was sad really, for all of them (the dolls) were already beheaded and castaway, to show my loyalty to the game! But I did not lose faith. I did not budge, with some good amount of pestering and wheedling, I pretty soon found myself privy to the fascinating sport!

Looking back from the first time I held the handle of the bat tightly in my bare palms, to the time when I was introduced to the game, when all the men; young and old, from the neighborhood used to gather around one television and hover around it for hours together. I used to peer over them to catch a glimpse of what was going on. The men in white, running and lunging around, the commentary in a foreign language, all that never made any sense to me, till the day I actually saw the game live in action in my alleyway. I was awed!

It wasn’t long before that I joined the huddle of men in front of the TV during the matches. It was the end of an era, where cricket dominated over cartoons
Over the years of my obsession, from Imran Khan, Wasim Akram, Steve Waugh, Sachin Tendulkar, Sourav Ganguly to MSD. I have rooted for all the wrong teams, gotten sniggered at for being on the losing side, taken the brunt of supporting the Pakistani team instead of showing some patriotic fervor! I have had field days laughing at the losing side, I have stuck to the chair like glue, in fear of getting someone out, by moving an inch, I have prayed to all the gods I could think of before a match. I have witnessed stupendous victories amongst hundreds and thousands of frenzied fans, I have hooted, screamed, sledged, placed bets, gave opinion on cricketers, as if I were a Team Selector on the Cricket Board, argued over advantages of Ganguly as a captain…guess I have come miles from where I began!

It has been 17 years or so since I have been following the game. I have graduated from fighting for my right to bat first, to being a full-fledged “gully cricketer”. From the TV set in my living room back in Calcutta to the TV set at the local coffee shop in Pune… Cricket has always given me plenty to talk, crib about and bond over. I have formed acquaintances, long lasting friendships, made enemies. It ceased being, yet another sport for me.
One thing remains unchanged though, whenever I bring up the topic of cricket first; in a conversation or rant about some intricacy (beyond sixes and fours) or mention my love of playing the game, “Men” in general look taken aback and baffled and the women think I’m generally demented. More so, “The Look” is worth a hundred bucks, when I differentiate a Yorker from a Googly!
No I’m not a kurta clad, bespectacled feminist fighting for rights of women in cricket or campaigning for abolishment of the much used title “Gentleman’s Game” as being a sexist designation. It’s just that I cannot help but notice the number of men who take it for granted that the woman is in all probability watching a cricket match for some unintelligible reason, like the cuteness factor of a certain Afridi or Dravid!
It’s hilarious actually, when you do find such people who watch a match for such obscure reasons, but I would only like to point out that there are a good many men as there are women in that category!
Alas! I’m 23 today and I still am required to prove my allegiance to the game!
It is indeed a cruel world!
...& as the wise men of the world say, “Form is temporary… Class is permanent”… I say, “Acknowledgment is temporary… Skepticism is permanent”…!!!

A rush of blood to the head

Its 17 degrees outside, the air is smoggy and I am breathing ringlets of smoke. I love these mornings…when I sit alone and look outside. Being a late riser, unlike my roommate, I hardly experience this solitude often.

The sun has not risen yet and the street lights are still on. It’s a sublime feeling to watch the city at this time of the day, with no horns honking or noise from the nearest construction site. The silence settles over me like a blanket. The empty streets beckon like an old friend. I can see a cat scurrying by and lone walker pass by, away from the cozy confines of his room and comfortable wraps of his quilt. Its difficult to look beyond the street light, as the road disappears into darkness, but more particularly because of my wretched myopic sight.

I have goose bumps on my arm, it’s not just the chill in the air that’s causing them but the surreal feeling that my surrounding gives me at this hour. It’s like all existence comes to a full stop.

It's been ages i have felt this calm. Not a single distracting thought flitting through my head. No strain of emotion, no wandering reflection on relations; past, present and future, no worries over ambitions, no regrets over the paths taken, things done or left undone, no competition to worry about, no one to dictate or appraise. My existence seems to boil down to the very famous Shakespearean dilemma …”To be or not to be”

Listening to the soulful rendition of a jilted lover…playing over my headphones. I look yonder and imagine, what would it be like not to exist? To fade away into the darkness …to walk away from all the worldly comforts with a backpack and very little money. To trudge the solitary path and not having to look back and wonder, what if?

I am jarred out of my waking trance, by the irate sound of the alarm from my room. It’s time for my roommate to wake up and perform her daily rituals before she heads to college. I know she’ll put the alarm on snooze at least once before she wakes up.

So, I take one last deep breath of the dank air and heave myself out of the chair. It’s time to hit the sack and delve into the abyss of my bizarre dreams, which perhaps even Freud would have a hard time deciphering!

To the Capital...

With a lil’ less than excess baggage on me I flew into the Delhi International Airport a week ago. I had a spark in my eyes and a spring in my step. Two whole weeks on my own in the city I have always dreamt of living… things couldn’t get better! As I heaved my baggage and headed to my temporary aboard, I reflected back in time, to the evenings I spent fighting with my folks over my wish to graduate from this city’s esteemed university. Hmmm..Its been five years since those crazy evenings, every moment of which I prayed and reasoned with my parents, but to no avail! The media was no ally of mine then, the number of reported incidents of molestation and rape were the foundation to my reverted plans of grads.

As the taxi made its way through the thoroughfares of India’s capital I smiled to myself for the nth time that day…quite frankly, work was the last thing on my mind. I was looking forward to gallivanting on the streets and a reunion of sort with my friends.
Though this was not my first trip to Delhi, it was the first where I’d see the city beyond my viewfinder!

In spite of belonging to a city with its own share of rich heritage, the Capital of India has its own charm. The multitude of regimented traffic on the wide roads, the innumerable number of white ambassadors with “Government of India” on their name plates, the frequent motorcade of the next important Mantri, the planned layout of the city in the new parts, the presence of policemen by numbers throughout, at any given time, CNG autos and buses, Phirangs in their Indian avatars by hoards, loudmouth jats, lecherous men, indifferent women…I would only repeat the sights of what men and women before me, have hailed the city for, over and over again!

Rosy as the picture may seem, I got to experience the murky side to the city swiftly. My work took me to Noida( which was made known to me, stands for New Okhla Industrial Development Authority) a 45 mins ride in the overcrowded State buses. Since, my experience with Mumbai local trains, I am pretty much confident about any form of transport. So I didn’t bat an eyelid when I climbed on to one of the buses the first day of my work. What I didn’t expect in the congested interiors was strange men making overt physical advances! An elderly man standing next to me, ordinarily whom I would have referred to as uncle, had a blatant lascivious look on his face and refused to move away in spite of being shoved constantly. I had heard of the perturbed and repressed sexual energy in men, but had never expected such an obvious show in public.

In spite of the overbearing auto-drivers of Pune, this trip to the capital has had me swear unto myself, that I shall never pick a fight over the fare. The absurdity with which the rickshawallahs charge the customers left me baffled. The minimum starting from Rs.20/-, these men had the nerve to ask for Rs.100/- for a distance of 4 kms. No wonder people choose private mode of transport here! I completely understood their plight! The first down payment for a Wagon R is probably lesser than the amount you spend on autos in a whole month!! The surprising part of this was every auto had a working meter which they refused to start.

The fact that I have spent larger part of my adulthood in a city like Pune, has had me accustomed to late nights on the streets, frequently. What left me stumped was that the streets here were deserted by 8 in the evening! A METROPOLITAN CITY five times larger than a city born out of a cantonment was stranded by its very own at such an ungodly hour!
I know two or three incidents do not count for forming a lasting impression nor is it a sufficient argument. But the fact that the Capital of India is nicknamed the “Rape Capital” has had me bewildered for that was in fact, not an exaggerated lie.
Where the Chief Minister of the State is a woman herself, the last thing that the city assures is safety of any kind for the women folk. Unlike my friends back in Calcutta or Pune or even the vast metropolis of Mumbai, my friends in Delhi are terrorized at the concept of walking on the streets any time after 8:30 pm!

I came to the city with hopes..conjured from my vivid imagination. What I came with, was far less than what I experienced. But, what I experienced is far less than what I imagined.

On my way back, as I sit and reflect on my stay, I feel a bad after-taste in my mouth.

The delights of Dilli are at galore, from the lighted India Gate at twilight, evening walks through the winded paths of Connaught Place, shopping at Janpath, haggling at Sarojini Market, the delectable milkshake at Keventer’s, the yummy pasta at Big Chill, the famed Dilli ki sardi, the oasis of intellect in JNU, the snob appeal of DU, the UN-pitted roads, the disciplined traffic that most of my fellow Indians would give their right hand for!
But the enchantment breaks when I reach out to experience the place beyond its touristy attractions.

I sign off with this thought in my mind, perhaps the impressions through my viewfinder were in fact illusions, for I suddenly feel Enlightened!

Oh, Calcutta!

As my craft touches the tarmac, and the pilot announces the temperature outside, the sides of my lips turn up in a smile, cause doesn’t matter what time of the year it may be, the clamminess in the air never fails my expectations.

Kolkata…the erstwhile Calcutta, a prosaic city situated by the Ganges, surrounded by long bustling streets amongst the grandeur of the imposing buildings of a bygone era. A City which boasts of beautiful kohl-eyed women and dhoti clad gentlemen. A city which regales in cricket and a cuppa of tea more than an Englishman.

There are some things about Calcutta which cannot be justly described in the few words that my vocabulary boasts of!
It is something beyond the lackadaisical aura about the City. Beyond the idiosyncrasies of the local men and women. Something more than the century old Howrah Bridge or the over-crowded stands in Eden Gardens. Something invisible which binds us all…a thing which is beyond comprehension for an outsider!

The city of many facets. Where the old and new find equal appreciation. Where inequalities exists but not when it comes to politics. Where all you need is 20 bucks for a lavish meal. Where music is not just Jazz…and art is not, only for a niche gathering.

For an Artist it is a city of Myriad colors, which he sees in the faces of the young and old.
For the Foodie it is the city of the scrumptious delights, which he finds in the fish Curry and the mishti doi(s)!
For the Man with a Nikon it is Pandora’s Box, waiting to be unlocked.
For the Bhadrolok, it is the city of never ending adda and chai! Of the age old marxist ideologies or the inane banter of politics over a game of bridge!
For the Historian, it is the city of immeasurable heritage and culture!
For the Intellectual, it is the city of the likes of Amitav Ghose, Jhumpa Lahiri, Amartya Sen.
For the Youth it is the enthralling city with a pace of its own, not too fast …never too slow!

It is oft quoted among wise men that, you need to belong to a City to understand it.
And to appreciate Calcutta you need to fit right in! Whether you live in East Hampton or in New York City, you remain true to Calcutta, to the Music, the FOOD and the never-ending Adda!

The long-winded thoroughfares, the over-zealous natives, the cramped shacks, the imposing British architecture, the kurta clad, jhola carrying, bespectacled, pot smoking youth, the musty smell of the sacred black waters of Hoogly river, the screech of the tires as the unruly bus drivers race against each other, the impending danger to one’s life as one attempts to cross the roads, the weekend shopping crowd at Esplanade, the dhaks during Durga Puja, the frenzied opinions on Sourav Ganguly and the BCCI, the holler of the conductors, “aaste! Ladies”, deserted streets on the frequent Bandh days, the assemblage of people in front of a TV during the cricket season, the intoxicating whiff of Charminar and ittar from the gentleman standing next to you, the sumptuous smell of the roadside stew, the bulbous puchchkas tantalizing one’s palate …
The sights, smells and sounds never ceases to ASTOUND!

Living 2000 miles away from all this, at times makes me yearn dearly for the simple pleasures that my city has to offer.
Watching the sunset at riverside, getting stuck in the Nor’westers, haggling for cinema tickets sold in black, celebrating India’s wins as if it were Diwali, playing cricket on the empty streets on a Bandh day, roaming on Park Street on Saturday evenings, jam sessions of Rabindra Sangeet and Bangla rock! I miss them all!

At times it becomes difficult to justify such a city, when measured up to concrete jungles, cosmopolitan outlooks, plush lifestyles, fast living and high thinking.

But, even merely visualizing Calcutta as one of those highly glossed photographs taken from a sophisticated digital camera in comparison to its original jaded monochromic elegance is like destroying the essence of the city from within.

As I dismount the plane and look around. It has been six months I have been away. I take a deep breathe, I can distinctly smell the rancid odor from the nearby waste disposal site. I smile to my self again, nothing’s changed! I am Home again!

Viva La Vida

I used to rule the world
Seas would rise when I gave the word
Now in the morning I sleep alone
Sweep the streets I used to own

I used to roll the dice
Feel the fear in my enemy's eyes
Listen as the crowd would sing
"Now the old king is dead! Long live the king!"

One minute I held the key
Next the walls were closed on me
And I discovered that my castles stand
Upon pillars of salt and pillars of sand

I hear Jerusalem bells a ringing
Roman Cavalry choirs are singing
Be my mirror, my sword and shield
My missionaries in a foreign field

For some reason I can't explain
Once you go there was never
Never an honest word
And that was when I ruled the world

It was the wicked and wild wind
Blew down the doors to let me in
Shattered windows and the sound of drums
People couldn't believe what I'd become

Revolutionaries wait
For my head on a silver plate
Just a puppet on a lonely string
Oh who would ever want to be king?

I hear Jerusalem bells a ringing
Roman Cavalry choirs are singing
Be my mirror, my sword and shield
My missionaries in a foreign field

For some reason I can't explain
I know Saint Peter won't call my name
Never an honest word
But that was when I ruled the world

I hear Jerusalem bells a ringing
Roman Cavalry choirs are singing
Be my mirror, my sword and shield
My missionaries in a foreign field

For some reason I can't explain
I know Saint Peter won't call my name
Never an honest word
But that was when I ruled the world...

A Shot of Caffeine

Visiting a coffee shop regularly has its reasons. It could be the music that they play. It could be the coffee that they serve. It could be the sights and sounds of the place. It could simply be the people around you…or it could be because of that brown-eyed guy who you start searching for moments after you take your favorite seat.

What is it that attracts one towards a place over and over again in spite of the variety of choices that are up for the grabs? What is it that makes it a habit in a person?

For me the intricacies of this habit, good or bad are hard to delineate…

Unlike most of my peer group I don’t like lazing around at home after a hard day’s toil, when given an option to gallivant around on the streets. This trait probably has to do a lot with my genes rather than pressure from my peers.

And in spite of my self-proclaimed attention deficit syndrome (ADS); I still like to wind up my day with a hot mug in my hand sitting on my usual seat. Smoking my preferred brand, looking into oblivion or simply cackling about inane things with my dearest friends, all the while surrounded by faces I have come to know over time!

The coffee shop in my neighborhood is certainly not one of its kinds, but despite the commonness I have come to love the place dearly each passing day for the five years that I have spent in this city.

It’s a pleasant feeling to walk into a place, where even though you have never spoken to any of the visages that you see recurrently, you can’t help but start looking for them as soon as you sit down.

I look around…

I see the short guy sitting in the corner as always, hunched over his laptop, with an Ipod in one hand and a smoke in the other. I have secretly named him “Mr. Dependable” for in spite of this short stature, there’s hardly a day when you will not feel his presence around you. He is always thronged with people around him, no matter what time of the day it is. I wonder if he ever eats or goes to work. For he never leaves that chair except to order another cup of caffeine.

Not further down him I see the weird old man, who never fails to come in regularly. Each day he sits there all by himself, reading a fat book or reading the paper for hours together. Wearing the same worn out tee-shirt and jeans and smiling at nothing in particular, he never fails to drink his four cups of coffee a day. I wonder what he does to earn a living.

A holler draws my eyes to a group not very far from where I sit; it is a group of young men huddled together. They look a little old for college students, perhaps working men taking a break after office hours. You can’t miss them in the evenings, each with his own smoke in his hand puffing away in a limbo. They are the ones who crack the loud jokes, whose laughter’s can be heard across the whole place, who will turn to look shamelessly at every woman who walks in, discussing politics or music, well just about anything under the sun. Surprisingly, you can’t simply help but smile at this eclectic bunch for their sheer idleness that connects each of them together.

The couple that always takes the shadowed corner, away from the eyes of the prying world. A demure looking girl in a simple salwar kameez, hand in hand with a run-off the mill cool dude in low slung jeans and a tee shirt which desperately needs to be ironed. While they sit there gazing into each others eyes with wonder lust and murmur in low voices, I cannot help myself from being judgmental and wonder how long would this last. As I begin to move ahead in my sour Jon, I suddenly see the girl pulling the guy forward and smacking his lips right on! The PDA leaves me baffled and to borrow a phrase “looks can be deceptive”!

A see a group of foreigners, plugged into their snazzy Ipods and their hands running sluggishly on their IMac speaking in their outlandish accents oblivious to the natives around them who candidly gape at them.

Two tables down sitting by themselves are two flimsily clad beautiful women, probably heading for a party or coming back from one. They sit there sipping their smoothies and intently discussing about lipsticks and glosses!

In the midst of the assorted assemblage are the jovial baristas in their bright orange uniforms making a living by serving coffee assiduously. This crew of dexterous men and women constantly strive to be on their best demeanor day in and day out catering to the demands of all their privileged patrons.

As I sit there contemplating to have another cup of coffee, I see a group of five entering; they definitely look like college students, chattering away with each other. They come and sit at the table next to mine. It’s motley bunch. There’s the “in-love” couple sitting side by side, surreptitiously exchanging glances, there’s the bored looking dude who looks doped up, there’s the shaggy haired singer who hums to the tunes that he deftly plays on the guitar. The man next to him smartly dressed in white and blue denims insists on wearing this Ray Bans despite no Sun in the horizon. They lounge around with a carefree bearing about them. Soaking in the evening air and company of each other. A while later a moderately handsome looking man joins them, he looks a little older to be in college but blends into the crowd as soon as he takes his seat.

The mood becomes upbeat, the clanging of the mugs, hi-fives and resounding laughter signal a celebration of its own kind.

The evening wears out…the ones who have other social engagements leave. The ones who are left sit there drinking the last dregs of the day.

The lights are dimmed, the shutters half closed. The last few trudge out slowly heading back to their own beds.

As I walk back to the confines of my aboard, I think of the people I have come to anticipate about. Like, the very cute brown-eyed gentleman in his shorts, the good looking bearded chap who has reappeared after long vacation, the short guy with the laptop, the wanna-be photographer. I wonder will I get to catch a glimpse of them again the next day, will I ever get to speak to them before I make my exit from the city, will they notice if I don’t turn up the again.

As all the questions whirl around in my mind I realize I have reached home. I impassively try to push all my thoughts away, at the same time fervently desiring that these people knew the significant parts they play in my thoughts.

That’s when I call it a DAY!

Stranded

I walked till my feet hurt.

Away from the holler of the crowd.

Away from the sound on the asphalt.

Away from the call of my friends.

I walked away till I hurt my feet.

Panting, praying, wishing life was a lil’ fair.

There’s no one to hold me back this time, for no one knows what’s on my mind.

I don’t blame them, its time they lived their lives.

I see darkness ahead…down that road, spreading its branches in the wild.

I don’t feel lonely anymore for I have been alone for a while.

I walked into the shadows, unmindful of the glare.

I walk away with only a glance to spare.

Life has become languid around me.

I seek laughter; I seek joy,

I search for calmness more than the other delights.

I seek Men of honor, Men who are not vile

Men who rise above their ashes to be someone more sublime.

I walk away thinking, yet nothing’s on my mind.

I come to a stop. I am stranded. I now search for my mind.

Though, I am not a accomplished thinker like one and all.

There are times when Life strikes me odd.

The obvious doesn’t appeal to me anymore, I search in earnest awhile.

It is not about what I have, but about the things I could.

I walk away thinking what if…for once I could reach out in pursuit.

I’m stranded!

I’m afraid but I never let it show,

It scares me most to let the world know.

In desperation I look for a friendly smile.

I know what’s in store for me; if I walk back a mile,

I stop to wonder

I don’t stop to pray.

Some call me foolhardy but that’s ok.

And so, I square my shoulders, and look straight,

For it’s still not time to give it all away.

I start walking again.

My feet still hurt.

Away from everything…

For I have a lesson to learn!

THE WRITER WHO LIVED

What do you say to taking chances…well here I am taking a chance again…because all man can do is HOPE …

When I wrote my first letter…it was addressed to a guy..hmph! it wasn’t a love letter..well no way near it..it was more on the lines of letting my thoughts out to the world..i didn’t know how to express..i didn’t know how to be vocal about the mind that I carried every where…and that s how my frend my dear frend MAX was born…

I knew more than enough women (coz at that time that was the only kind around me) who wrote.”secretly…” but in the run..the secrets were meant to only emphasize the fact that…they could be only shared with the dearest..of friends.I never really understood the concept…but I shant crib coz..i had the pleasure of getting my hands on the juiciest and the darkest of the so called secrets. I was and have never been a cynic in life, but when it came to trusting women…hell! That’s where I drew the line forever. This distinction that I consciously made gave me a lot to think about. It was jus a choice that I took..a decision which was not really hard to make for a person like myself who was constantly lured by the other side of life. At first I couldn’t do much about it..simply cause..i wasn’t sure how’d guys of my age (mind you) read my desperation for association…but that again was the stepping stone to what I am today..No not a WOMAN hater..feminist..?? no way…but yeah… someone…who prefers to talk to herself rather than to the world when it comes to her own secrets.

I dunno where all that josh and the mantra of life went but its been over 10 years that I ve been writing and like all good things in the world despite of the fact that I enjoyed every minute of it…the earnestness with which I usually wrote, began disappearing…Sad!

I wont go back and think about why I stopped writing..coz it is one among the million good things that I did…without an effort.

When I write, I write my will, I write about my life..i never edit what I write..not the spell errors..nor the commas ..that I usually would had it been a eng lit paper..I write coz that is the only time I get to be myself…I take that chance and plunge into the depth of my unfathomable thoughts and swim at 100 miles an hour. Do reach the destination I want to reach…everytime? Perhaps ...perhaps not! Am never really sure about that because…by the time I stop to think…I’m panting so hard its difficult to delineate reality from fantasy. Its like the asana(s) all these gurus keep talking about on the tube. Its like the rush of the first smoke for a smoker. It’s like the shot of vodka…its like the whiff of your favourite curry being made… For it never really was the about what I wrote BUT the fact that I wrote..no holds barred!

Surprisingly I could never lie when I wrote. its not like if I tried I wouldn’t succeed..but I Jus chose not to do it..coz life for me is all about the pretenses that you can keep. Pretending while I write..is perhaps not part of that forte of mine.

Today I would like to be a lot of things that I am not…but I know I’d prefer writing down my thoughts on paper..much more than anything. At times i call it a BLOCK..at times I insist its jus another phase in life..at times I wonder was that jus another short lived story of my life…???

Sitting here seeing the world pass by, the evening walkers jog down the road, the laughter, the screeching of the breaks, the rubber on the road, the holler of the crowd, gunning of the bike, the twang of the nearest construction site….and the plethora of sounds that I hear every passing day I wonder…What I have become?

From a simple undulated, unadulterated writer to an ambiguous lone confused Actor?!

Right now it is like the cigarette smoke which fills the room without you noticing it, but when you butt it out, it leaves a distinct smell for you to remind you that you smoked that cigarette. Perhaps its time again to light the next one…and taking another chance at life…

a SHAKESPeaREAN dilemmA!
TO BE OR NOT TO BE WAS NEVER QUITE THE QUESTION...or was it?
hmmm...its seems like a decade ago that i took the initiative to write..and perhaps the last time i managed to it was well nothin short of a disaster...well....i m usually quite modest abt my stuff this tym round..well..let jus say things are not that crystal clear..
hmmmm....life's' good..but the mind's not.its a roller coaster feeling until that very moment where suddenly it all halts..
Some say it true..indeed...what is life..without the time to stand and stare...??hmmm...ahhh i'm being philosphical as the next nuttty prof i guess!!
Ever had those moments where you wished you were the only soul around?
ever wished against your wishes?ever thought how'd it be if you were to spend the night away...on the pavements...bearing the heat and the cold..with not much of..a RIGHT TO protest..?ever wondered why you lusted after the most wrong being around??ever gave a thought abt the day after tomorrow...?
there are so many things we dont do...or rather hope that we dont do them...in time..i am not speakin of the things we generally..do..its those..impulses..when the mind and the rest of you is in dire conflict with each other...hmph! quite a dilemma...?!but alas! even if the show s great we end up doin what we consider as the first impulse...dont we..?perhaps..yes perhaps no...who cares..abt the thot processes when the things done..?!ever wished that you do not keep wishing for that one dearest thing you've always wished for...?
strange how these thoughts come by..at times..more like most of the tym it makes me think i'm turning into a senile ole..lady well a millenium before..at other times...i wonder where so i manage to think up such logically rentless shit any way...?!...hhaaah!..
life, love,laughter,lull,lust,labour....at times..all of it feels ludicrous..but there are times when they are as indispensible as the air we breathe...
well... before i wind this up in a circle...i l leave it on a very established fact...even with things goin for u..even wit people around you..even wit the laughter never ceases...even if the music doth not stop...and the rentless wind blows by..why does somewhere down there the existence feels like a vagabond?

The rush of the air,
The rustle of the leaves,
the famliar feeling of nostalgia and tears...
Across the miles,away from the streets...
a lonely life...a solitary life
What lies ahead... what lies beyond
I oft wonder where did it all go wrong.
I am a woman ...a woman of dreams
a woman of games a woman atlaest!
But alas! no one understands they seldom try...
Its a familiar feeling...but it remains incomplete!
Across the miles way from the streets...
Here i am where i used to be.
A lonesome figure in this huge crowd.
In my soltutude i unwind
In my lonliness i admire..
What is life...but a labyrinth of desires.
They say you get what you want..you need what you get..
i say...its need and want whch leads man to his misery
lead life as you please till that moment you need..
Its not easy yet so ...its different but its not at all impossible.
I am no preacher.I am certainly No saint.
I make mistakes...its humane.
i despise everyhting that goes unlike my way.
i distort anything to suit my way.
Life's full of everything its not just about my choices or yours ...
its neither about lust or vegeance
its something...more
twenty years seem like an era.
nine months seem like a decade..
here i am where i was...
basking in the fanciful realm of reality ..never without a pause.
life's not just a game...neither is it the paradise i lost.
Its'a simply LIFe...love's labour lost!!
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naahh....nothin's officially wrong with me...just a few words on my mind that i penned...truthfully was jus' short of my usual lines...so for a change i wrote this.Am not much of a writer but yeah...thats only meant "professionally"..personally my world revolves around it..need i say more??...