To yearn, is to sign up for slavery to whatever you yearn for. Nothing can distract you from it.
Toilet Grafitti
They used to scare me- those grafitti of human anatomy that lined the walls of train toilets. No onethese were as scary as spooks.
Everytime I travelled by train, I used to instantly go and check the toilet, fearing their presence . It
used to worry me that people resorted to such obscenities. I vividly remember,, once reading “fuck
the nun” in the wall and discovering, to my raw horror, that there actually were a bunch of nuns in my
compartment.
That night, I did not sleep well.
The next morning, I ran to see if the nuns were safe. They were talking amongst themselves normally and nothing seemed amiss. I breathed, relieved!
Many years later, after obscenity has become more common and human failings familiar, the toilet
grafitti does not bother me.
But even today, every once I enter an Indian train toilet, I scan the walls for fading ball point ink marks
and wonder which of the many I share space with, have such dark secret obsessions.
Heat
Heat licking my bare neck
like snake fingers!
Exposed metal grilles
slaking thirst, drinking heat.
Glass shards reflecting
rays piercing like needles.
Sweat droplets on the temple
water sprinkler on plants at noon.
Hot air gushing into the caves of the nose
melting the stony blockades.
Water down the throat
killing my insides with its heat.
Blue nerves thawing slowly
geyser water at work on bare skin.
Steam collecting on mirror surfaces
when a breath is made captive.
Near invisible waves in air,
slowly escaping a plugged iron.
Amalgamation of rice, dhal, salt
in a secret pot of hot air.
Potato on water, boiling
bobbing up and down, like excited kids.
Cackling oil in cauldrons on fire
witch dreams coming real.
Matches and magnifying glasses
little magic brewed at the backyard.
Foot dipped in the beach at noon
white heat scalding to a near death.
Engines puffing and panting
with the weight of people's hopes.
Buildings dancing to still air
heat waves dictating their moves
Pieces of heaven stoning the earth
asteroid showers and celestial fireworks.
Water snaking its way through hills
like curled up swords on a mossy throne.
Dried up ponds dreaming of better days
as the last drop bids its goodbye
like snake fingers!
Exposed metal grilles
slaking thirst, drinking heat.
Glass shards reflecting
rays piercing like needles.
Sweat droplets on the temple
water sprinkler on plants at noon.
Hot air gushing into the caves of the nose
melting the stony blockades.
Water down the throat
killing my insides with its heat.
Blue nerves thawing slowly
geyser water at work on bare skin.
Steam collecting on mirror surfaces
when a breath is made captive.
Near invisible waves in air,
slowly escaping a plugged iron.
Amalgamation of rice, dhal, salt
in a secret pot of hot air.
Potato on water, boiling
bobbing up and down, like excited kids.
Cackling oil in cauldrons on fire
witch dreams coming real.
Matches and magnifying glasses
little magic brewed at the backyard.
Foot dipped in the beach at noon
white heat scalding to a near death.
Engines puffing and panting
with the weight of people's hopes.
Buildings dancing to still air
heat waves dictating their moves
Pieces of heaven stoning the earth
asteroid showers and celestial fireworks.
Water snaking its way through hills
like curled up swords on a mossy throne.
Dried up ponds dreaming of better days
as the last drop bids its goodbye
February 06, 2012
Memory Catcher
What do I take from everyday
the little notifications?
the stolen glances
or reflections on the monitor?
what do I string together
into a sparkling chain
I could dangle around my writst?
When I walk around
I know it would ring
of all the laughter
that we shared.
the little notifications?
the stolen glances
or reflections on the monitor?
what do I string together
into a sparkling chain
I could dangle around my writst?
When I walk around
I know it would ring
of all the laughter
that we shared.
"Where I let the silence take over"
(Title Credit: Somdutt Sarkar)
It was like a silent syllable that suggested, merely by its presence. But somewhere a red giant burst, a supernova exploded, and a dying star ceased to exist. And something new was about to be born...
It was like a silent syllable that suggested, merely by its presence. But somewhere a red giant burst, a supernova exploded, and a dying star ceased to exist. And something new was about to be born...
February 04, 2012
Off the top of my head- 7
It is a Saturday. Your work is going good. You ate idlies and vadais for breakfast in Aapnu Amdavad. You are listening to your chosen music.
Some days you are happy to just be.
Some days you are happy to just be.
January 15, 2012
Off the top of my head- 6
Three years can change a lot of things in one's life. It can change cities, perspectives and life itself.
When I first walked down the pigeon path in college and got pooped by those ever diarrhoea-ic pigeons, I came back to the room and shampooed my hair clean! Today, after three years, I walked all the way back to the room as a matter of fact, understanding that where there are pigeons, there would be poop, and simply washed that part of my hair and my hands and went back to my routine.
At times there is no time to shampoo. All we can do is remove the crap from our heads as quickly as possible and go on with our lives. Off the top of our heads, literally!
When I first walked down the pigeon path in college and got pooped by those ever diarrhoea-ic pigeons, I came back to the room and shampooed my hair clean! Today, after three years, I walked all the way back to the room as a matter of fact, understanding that where there are pigeons, there would be poop, and simply washed that part of my hair and my hands and went back to my routine.
At times there is no time to shampoo. All we can do is remove the crap from our heads as quickly as possible and go on with our lives. Off the top of our heads, literally!
November 19, 2011
Off the top of my head-5
Times change swiftly. Before you can blink, an era has ended and another one begins. I have always had my struggle with such transitions. Much as I like them for the growth they bring...or wait...let me rephrase that...much as I have grown in those phases, and hence, grudgingly learnt to accept them by sheer lack of choice, I have not been comfortable in them.
Vulnerability and questions hold hands together and trap me in between their arms. I walk with them flanking my sides every place I go. Most of the times, I try to ignore them and learn to live with these two shadows instead of one. But sometimes, just sometimes, the space gets too cramped. Like when I lie on my small cot that can't fit three, I feel suffocated for breath, for reason and for truth.
Little did I know that this day shall come again and make me start again. For the thousandth time. Or maybe it is the zillionth... I have nearly lost count and too tired to try to begin from the start.
There is an attic I am building within the house in my head. The house is a cosy small one to fit just me. The attic, however, is beginning to look like a palace! So much to store. So much to keep away from my daily routes and encounters. They cannot be thrown away. I don't even wish to discard them, ever. They still have the sweet fragrance of a preserved rose between the pages of a favourite book.
There is clearly just one path to take. A path of go-where-it-takes-you! Not like there is a choice. Sometimes I wonder, where exactly do I fit in, in my own life?
Am I the protagonist who courses the tale? Or just a mere extra who fills the screen.
Sadness and depression are not buckling feelings. They are like a bunch of thieves- hiding and waiting to pounce on you with stealth. And they do. Everyday. To steal from your treasure, one more of something you treasure- a smile, romance, a happy thought, a thrill... Sometimes, they steal the truth, and you don't know anymore what is right and what is wrong. What is real and what you imagined!
Vulnerability and questions hold hands together and trap me in between their arms. I walk with them flanking my sides every place I go. Most of the times, I try to ignore them and learn to live with these two shadows instead of one. But sometimes, just sometimes, the space gets too cramped. Like when I lie on my small cot that can't fit three, I feel suffocated for breath, for reason and for truth.
Little did I know that this day shall come again and make me start again. For the thousandth time. Or maybe it is the zillionth... I have nearly lost count and too tired to try to begin from the start.
There is an attic I am building within the house in my head. The house is a cosy small one to fit just me. The attic, however, is beginning to look like a palace! So much to store. So much to keep away from my daily routes and encounters. They cannot be thrown away. I don't even wish to discard them, ever. They still have the sweet fragrance of a preserved rose between the pages of a favourite book.
There is clearly just one path to take. A path of go-where-it-takes-you! Not like there is a choice. Sometimes I wonder, where exactly do I fit in, in my own life?
Am I the protagonist who courses the tale? Or just a mere extra who fills the screen.
Sadness and depression are not buckling feelings. They are like a bunch of thieves- hiding and waiting to pounce on you with stealth. And they do. Everyday. To steal from your treasure, one more of something you treasure- a smile, romance, a happy thought, a thrill... Sometimes, they steal the truth, and you don't know anymore what is right and what is wrong. What is real and what you imagined!
November 17, 2011
Off the top of my head-4
I spend half my days sipping chai in the chai gate, looking at passing traffic. Bikes, cars, cycles and all sorts of vehicles pass by and sometimes in such fast speeds that I cannot comprehend what they are. Sometimes while sipping sweet cups of "bina-adrak waali" chai- over and over again, songs begin to play in my head. And keeps afloat the hope to finish a film I've wanted to make for the last six months.
Progress is such a cheat-word. It traps us into becoming lazy. It mutates our being by making us run around in circles.
Long walks in the mornings. Chai again. The lovely calming lawn in the night. Me and the monument. A book to write. Somewhere in these, I forget myself, my film, everything. Somewhere there is a calm.
Why do we grow up and become sane?
Progress is such a cheat-word. It traps us into becoming lazy. It mutates our being by making us run around in circles.
Long walks in the mornings. Chai again. The lovely calming lawn in the night. Me and the monument. A book to write. Somewhere in these, I forget myself, my film, everything. Somewhere there is a calm.
Why do we grow up and become sane?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)