Reflections Of Aalta.

Lies

2010-01-04T01:45:00.000-08:00

'Being with you, I don't realize when I fall asleep, and when I wake up' said he once.

'Liar!' cried she on the empty office terrace, burning with sunlight.

'Liar!' Cried the unmade bed.

'Liar!' cried the voices in her head.

'Liar!' Cried her broken heart.

'Being with you, I don't realize when I fall asleep, and when I wake up' said he once again, kissing her lips.

[The Casper and Michelle series]- Whose are you?

2009-11-19T00:41:00.000-08:00

'Tumi Kaar?'

'Aami Tomaar...'

'Tumi Kaar??'

'Aami Tomar.'

[Whose are you? I am yours... Whose are you?? I am yours.]

Casper asked her the question again and again, as if to reassure himself that she was his, and every time she answered 'I am yours' telling him that indeed she was his.

'Come sit on my lap.'

'No.' She shook her head like a kid, with an innocent smile.

'You won't sit?'

'No...'

'You won't come? I will count till three... 1.. 2..'

'Ok ok' and she was there, right on his lap, where he wrapped his arms around her tightly and kissed her on the forehead. For everything he would threaten her with a count of three, and she loved it. It was like a delicious tease. She loved the way her heart fluttered like a butterfly, every time she gave in to him. She loved to hear him say 'I will count till three...'

'You chor' she said, gently admonishing him. [You thief]

'Why am I a chor re?'

'You are...'

'Why are you calling me a chor? Tell.'

'Because you choried my heart'

'I did not steal your heart, you gave it to me. You choried my heart, you chor.'

The howl of a lonely dog somewhere far away, broke her reverie.

'Aami kaar?' She asked herself. [Whose am I?]

She closed her eyes and imagined that somewhere far, far away, a familiar voice was replying... she wished that a familiar voice was replying 'Tumi amaar.' [You are mine].

But the only reply that came back was from her own throat. She kept repeating...

'Aami kaar?'

'Tumi amaar...'

'Aami kaar??'

'Tumi amaar baba, tumi amaar!'...

[The Casper and Michelle series]- On the parapet.

2009-11-11T02:39:00.000-08:00

Michelle sat faithless on the parapet wall, looking down below. A few lonely cars drove by fast, breaking the silence of the night. The haze of pain surrounded her head, and the ironic joke of life spun in it like a giant wheel. Loneliness was slowly becoming her friend. She was slowly learning how to live with herself and get marinated in pain.

'Would you come now Casper, if I jumped? Would you catch me if I fell? Would you spread your arms like my guardian angel and save me, or will you stand and watch? I need faith Casper, because my stomach seems to eat away at my heart and my heart seems to eat away at my soul... There is this pain, lying like a stillborn child inside me. An infected foetus that is killing me slowly.'

Why is it so hard for us to accept the judgements that life passes on us? Is it because we too have a say in those judgements? Michelle was a victim of life's cruel joke. She had given her all in love, and now there was nothing left in her empty palms. They seemed so barren and white and dry that she cried for the warmth of Casper's hand in them. She could be anyone for Casper. She could be his Sara, his Melissa, his Michelle... anybody he wanted... and he didn't want her.

In the sedated numbness of her pain, Michelle stood up and started walking on her parapet wall like a cat. 'Will you catch me if I fall? Will you fall with me... Will you fall for me Casper, the way I fell for you? Will you give me a chance to prove that we can be together?' Her legs trembled for a while, and then she stood still. She knew that she would not fall, and Casper would never give her a chance. She would just have to live on day after day, to soak in her hurt and seethe in her eternal dreams of holding his hand. 'I will always be there for you Casper... I will always be there waiting in my swing for you.'

Realizations in the city of Bombay.

2009-11-07T06:57:00.000-08:00

The first time I came to Bombay, I didn't like the city. It seemed so distant and mundane. It's small lanes reminded me of Calcutta, an aged city which had seen too much to be exuberant. I guess I was comparing it to home. What I didn't realize is that no place is ever like home. Home has a way of curling you into it's lap and comforting you when you are cold and depressed. You will always find joy in it's otherwise dingy lanes full of everyday people!

On my second visit, I liked Bombay much better. Me and Shan went to the jogger's park. I walked and watched the sea while Shan jogged. The sea breeze with it's old, fishy smell hit my face. As funny as the smell was, being there near the sea seemed to take a load off my heart. It reminded me of my frequent trips to the sea shore of 'Digha' with my family, when I was a kid. I would watch the sea for hours, and it would wash away some silent pain in me. Water always calmed me like nothing else. It always reminded me that there was some stillness left in life.

Life is a little different here, in Bombay city. You see all kinds of people in one place. In the park, there were aunties in dirty pink salwar kameezes, walking in their almost torn, middle class chappals, trying to manage their kids. Then there were the upper class women in their perfectly coiffured hair, Puma shorts, and sports bras, jogging in Nike shoes. Shan jogged alongside one of them (very funnily), in hopes of getting laid later. I don't know how that guy manages to get lucky!!! There were middle aged uncles, with life and years accrued around their waists in the form of 'domestic fat', walking very fast and very diligently, in hopes of renewing their sex lives perhaps!

There were young couples in corners, holding hands and dreaming of love. 'How naive!' I thought, when I saw them. Little did they know what life had in store for them. How it would one day, cruelly, wipe away all their dreams of eternal love. I saw a middle aged couple holding hands and walking, and a solemn smile crossed my face. How brave, I thought! They had battled on and won against life. Won against themselves, and kept their love alive. Their togetherness gave out a gleam of hope in this dreary world of heartbreak.

There was a lonely teenager somewhere, sitting and crying silently. No one seemed to notice him but me. I was instantly worried, but after sometime I realized that I was almost staring at him, while no one else cared... I shied away. I understood that this city had learned to give you what you needed the most- Space! Home cared too much about me. It always pulled me into it's lap to comfort me, and amidst all it's hugs, sometimes there was no space to breathe. Bombay seemed to give it's people that much coveted space. It taught it's inmates how to breathe and heal by themselves. It set the expectation that no one was coming to their rescue.

I looked out at the sea and felt at ease. The sun was setting on the horizon and everybody waked fast and passed me by, but I didn't care. I liked it that I could walk at my own pace and take life as it came. I liked it that I felt no longer like a running puppet who jogged to the rhythm of life. A lot of realizations swept through me and I felt peace blanket me near that busy sea shore. The calmly breaking waves of the sea seemed to tell me somehow that life was not all that bad. That I could still find peace somewhere.

In the quagmire of life, where men, relationships, and your job fuck your mind up every day, and make you hallucinate, you need to find a sanctuary. When broken dreams gang rape your brains, and your oxygen seems scarce, you need to run! Run away! Run far far away to your sanctuary! You may find it in your city or somewhere else, but it's important to go hunting for it... the 'it' named peace! When the unfulfilled promises of love and the complications of human thought confuse you, you need to get away to find your sanity back, because no one can promise anything to you. The only promises that you can trust are the ones that you make to yourself. When you have loved and given your all, but time and life snatch everything away from your hands, you need to take a walk at your own pace to find your sanctity back...

[The Casper and Michelle series]- Dear Casper...

2009-10-15T06:26:00.000-07:00

Michelle wakes up. It's evening. She had cried herself to sleep, and now the tear stains still line her cheek. She pulls up her diary and pen, and starts writing to ease the pain.

Dear Casper,

I spent the day looking into my mobile screen, hoping that you will think of me, hoping that you will have something to say to me, but all I saw were stupid service messages that tried to woo some random product into my life. I finally put myself to sleep. Sleep is the only thing that helps, because in my mind, I seem to be able to live out an entire lifetime with you. A lifetime that I deserve, but when I wake up, someone ties a stone to my heart and drowns me in a pool of eternity.

You say it's easy to get over a person... but how do you get over someone who is the drag of your very breath? How do you get over someone who has become the essence of your very life? How do you get over someone whose memories haunt you and keep you alive at the same time? You say that distance will help, you say that time will help... but sometimes time is powerless too. When you know that the balm of time will fail to heal the scars on your brain, all that you can look to is Death, the brother of time, the eternal silencer.

Casper, baby, I feel suffocated. I feel like someone has nailed me alive into a coffin, and buried me deep inside the earth. I tried my best today to forget you. I washed my clothes again and again, but it reminded me of how your smell would still linger on my shirt even when you left. I went to take a bath, but the feel of the water on my skin reminded me of how we used to shower together each time we made love. I came outside so that I could breathe, but when I looked up at the sky, it reminded me of how we stood in the rain in the middle of the road one day, and stuck our tongues out at the sky like little kids, tasting the rain.

Casper, it's not hard to get over you because I love you so much. It's hard to get over you because I don't want to get over you. What you gave me was special, and I will preserve it forever. I wish I could drown us in some far away stagnant lake, and then stop time forever, so that we would be frozen in that moment. We would be frozen in the liquidity of water, you and me, looking at each other eternally. No burden of morals to bear. No people to hurt. No duty to carry out. No sorrow to wield. Just you and me, suspended in a moment forever, and there would be no thing such as forbidden love... How can you forbid love Casper, when it knocks at your heart?

[Writer's Note: I am starting a series of writings on two imaginary characters called 'Casper and Melissa'. Casper and Melissa are made for each other. They share the perfect love, which waddles in imperfection because they cannot be together. The hurt resulting from it is what I am trying to capture in this series].

Making Memories.

2009-10-08T07:23:00.000-07:00

He was fast asleep, his arms wrapped around her like she was the very essence of his life. 'It's funny how much more charming a man is, when all his defences are down.'- she thought! 'How vulnerable, yet adorable he becomes when he offers his heart to you on a platter, and then holds you and falls asleep like a baby!' She watched the last candle burn out in it's own melted wax of hot passion. It was still raining outside, and the droplets played a strange, beautiful, haunting rhythm in the dark of the night. It brought back memories... Memories sealed in moments that had passed just a while ago.

The room still reeked of passion. The incense's haze softly whispered the stories of passion in her ear again and again, and she smiled. It was raining when they had kissed that night. The cold water in the air had made them want to bring their bodies together for warmth. The rain that night had brought with it the wild smell of drowsy love. She remembered how it had driven her insane. A lot of things had driven her insane that night. The feel of his hard hands on her skin. His brash lips on her neck, leaving signs of crazy passion- bruises of love. Every time he caught her by the wrist, her body flopped in sweet surrender, and every time his wet lips touched her warm skin, her body arched in rebellion. She was like a puppet in his hands, and he was the master of her will. He was the master of her happiness, her sorrow, her pain, her ecstasy, her tears, her smile... He was the master of her all. It was as if a drop of his breath could make or break her universe!

Their minds were like her incense diffuser that night. Small boxes of slowly boiling love, wafting stealthily into the air and burning out slowly in it's own fire. The music of the raindrops had taken them somewhere else. The wax and wane of their bodies together, the smell of their skin mingling, their heavy sighs and hungry gasps, the ignorant creak of the bed, it all suddenly became one! It was as if intertwined fingers were lost in each other, intertwined souls were exchanged, and both their tears mingled only to bring about an ecstatic burst of euphoria, where ying and yang came together, spinning in a frenzy, becoming grey, becoming love, becoming passion, and a moment turned into an eternity, while an eternity was framed into a moment.

They showered together later, and fell asleep in each other's arms. She knew that when he left the next morning she would lie in bed for hours smelling him in the sheets. She would relive the last night in her head a million times over, and shed a tear or two of bitter-sweet joy without telling him about it. She looked at him now, sleeping like a child, and kissed him gently on the lips. Then she looked away towards her hazy curtains and heard the music of the rains making memories sealed in moments that were sealed in other moments, and a tear fell from her eye.

[Disclaimer: For all those who know me at a personal level, this is not a snippet of my personal life. This is a pure work of fiction. It was born in fiction and will die in fiction, so don't let your imaginations run wild ;)]

Post Coital Cuddles- A man's Perspective.

2009-10-08T02:10:00.000-07:00

I am sitting in front of my open laptop now, smoking a cig, pondering on the one question that all women want to scream out universally- Why the hell can't men cuddle after sex??? (To my other fervent male readers- when I say men I am not trying to generalize, I know there are some of you rare gems out there who like to cuddle, so if you fall in that category, you can exclude yourself from this list and stop biting my ass!).

Coming back to the point, just the other day I was talking to one of my friends, and I was trying to get a man's perspective on this topic. Me and my girl friends talk about this all the time. We have known men who do various things right after sex- showering, smoking, playing on the psp, watching the news, calling up others, and even things as ridiculous as hitting the fridge right away to have diet coke and chocolates- but cuddling barely touches the list! In fact, some of us are so disillusioned that we don't even expect cuddles, hugs or even hand-holding any more! I mean, goddamnit! Just lie next to us, even that will do. Just lie next to us for the next 2 minutes and breathe, even that will make us feel like less of a used commodity and more human.

So I asked this friend, 'Why the hell don't guys like to cuddle right after sex? A woman has an emotional hollow in her right after doing it, she feels the constant need to be held, hugged, or told how beautiful she is. Don't guys understand this? Why do they just get up and take a smoke, or clean up and fall asleep?' He replied, 'We expect you to know that you are beautiful, there are some things that we expect you to know without being told. A guy takes the post coital phase in a very matter of fact way.' I must have misunderstood him, because I asked, 'Would a man prefer it then, if a woman just matter of factly got up after sex, had a smoke, took a shower and fell asleep without any expectations whatsoever?' He replied with candour, 'Well yes, it would make our part easier really,' and then he went on to explain his statement...

'You see when a woman has an orgasm, she has the energy for more, while for a man it saps out all his energy. The first few times a man willingly cuddles after sex, but soon it starts looking like a task. Most of us just don't have the energy to cuddle or do anything similar right away, and we don't want to do it like a duty because then the essence of love fades away from it. We will end up doing it then, without any feeling whatsoever. That's why we try to smoke, or do something entirely different from what we just did, to divert our minds, so that we can take the edge off. Once our minds are diverted it helps us relax faster, and come back by your side faster.'

This seemed like a whole new perspective to me! I had never seen it from this point of view. Most of the times we are so busy feeding our emotional need right after sex, that we never think that the guy is well exhausted and almost dead. Hell! I didn't even know we take so much out of a guy right after the big O!!! I think men and women should talk about such stuff more often, because had I known this point of view earlier, I would have kept an array of assorted ciggies, eiderdown pillows and energy drinks right next to the bedside table! Even we can be considerate for you guys!

The Perfect Epitaph.

2009-09-19T06:33:00.000-07:00

She walked up the lonely lane. The buildings loomed in the light of the evening sun. A few rowdy birds fluttered on here and there. She thought about what had happened, how her whole world had changed in one day. Who knew that a kiss could cost so much. She didn't regret anything, not one bit of it. In that one moment in which she had gambled and lost everything, she had lived an entire lifetime.

A car passed by honking, and she remembered the familiar buzz in her head that night. It wasn't the alcohol, it was the buzz of a sudden high. She was drunk, drunk enough to be brave, but not drunk enough to forget. She didn't want to forget it either. The sudden warmth of his body on top of hers, the excitement of the growing proximity when she pulled him closer by his shoulders, the ecstatic rush of the sultry kiss when their lips met.

The walls danced around her, and it was like a small lighter had set her tiny room on fire. There were flames in her head, as the repeated intrusion of his passionate lips on hers ignited a spark somewhere within. Her head reeled, eyes closed, and their tongues played hide and seek. Helpless sighs escaped, as one lip stole the nectar from the other. Later there was peaceful silence, and the comfort of a familiar hug in which they slept.

The next morning brought a lot of questions, but she was not guilty. She was glad that it had happened, for love that can never be, lives on in it's memories. The whole day passed in shadows and glances and stolen kisses. They lived it up because they both knew that being together was impossible. In the evening he left with a fleeting hug. When he left, he left behind with her a faint sigh and the world's shortest relationship. She walked out into the lane to battle gloom all alone. Tears welled in her eyes. There were flower petals strewn all over the road from nearby trees. The lane looked lovely in the fading light. She thought to herself that this was the perfect epitaph...

Ginger- The neighbour's cat.

2009-09-07T09:06:00.000-07:00

Ginger is my friends cat, and now that I have moved house, I live right opposite Ginger! She is your run of the mill, ordinary spotted brown cat. Nothing in her features distinguish her from other cats. Then why am I sitting on this very ordinary, lazy afternoon and writing about ordinary Ginger? Well, because of her antics really. There are certain things about animals that can be really adorable. From the day I moved in to my new house, Ginger spotted me from across the street, came and rubbed herself against my legs, and invited herself up to my house. She has been visiting me pretty frequently ever since.

Today Ginger walked up with me to my house and then rolled on my warm porch, sunning herself, as I watched on from my living room. She must have sensed the rains coming, because she came near my door, looked at me, and mewed. I nodded my head in approval, after which she walked in. This was immediately, if not sooner, followed by the act of a detailed inspection of my house. Ginger crawled under my divan and then came out of the other end, finding nothing useful there. She then moved on to Vineetha's room. She climed up on Vineetha's bed and happened to find it cozy, so she decided to roll around and stretch in it for about three minutes to honour the coziness.

She decided to move on to the bathrooms next, but finding them to be uninterestingly cold and wet places where humans do mundane things like bathing, she turned away. Her next target was the turtle tank. She stood near it and for a brief moment there was prolonged eye contact between Jade and her, after which both parties retreated in fear of each other. After this Ginger decided to go on a smelling spree around the house. She climbed up on top of my TV and smelled my dead starfish fossils. She climbed into my book case and smelled each and every book. It was like she was smelling their names and stories.

Once she climbed off my book case, she took three rounds of my balcony, overturned all my dustbins and then went back on my porch again to sit between the aloe vera tubs, and play with the falling dry vines. In some time, the rain came on uninvited. Me and Kareem sat in the house with the door open. Kareem sat on the bean bag and smoked, I sat on the table, busy writing about Ginger, as the smell of rain wafted in. Ginger crawled in. She curled up next to Kareem and played with him for sometime. After this, she went into my kitchen, climbed up on the highest shelf and sat there looking out of the window. She watched the rain peacefully through the mosquito mesh.

I am boiling some chicken for my turtles and ginger now. There is nothing better than warm food on a rainy afternoon. Pretty soon I will see her polishing off the chicken and going off to sleep in my jute bag which she happens to like a lot. I will send her home once the rain stops. Most writings are incomplete without an apt ending, but I don't know how to end this post! I know that on some other lazy, rainy, afternoon, Ginger will be back in my house again. She will do the same old cute things and then go away, just to return again some other day.

A perfect weekend.

2009-09-02T09:19:00.000-07:00

A weekend is not a weekend if you wake up before 12, says one of my friends. Somehow, I have never been able to sleep till 12 on a weekend. Most of the weekend mornings of my life will be remembered as days when I woke up at 8 to the sound of Kareems snores, to the crying of some random neighbourhood kid, to the honking of some anonymous horn, or to the incessant cawking of some jobless birds on a tree. Besides being cursed with the curse of very light sleep, I also happen to have a boyfriend who becomes Diego Maradona in bed in the wee hours of the morning, so morning sleep is pretty much a forbidden pleasure for me.

This weekend was no different. I woke up at 8 and kept staring at my uninterestingly plain ceiling till 9. I brushed at 9.30 and poked Kareem once. He smiled in his dreams, turned the other way and slept on, uninterrupted! What an insult! I read a book for a bit, and when Kareem started snoring, I put on my headphones and started watching a movie. We ate breakfast at around 12.30, with gooey burgers and chicken 65. We put Jade and Nirvana out on the porch. Jade climbed up on the sideboard and stared at the sky straight for hours, like he was some poet! That turtle is crazy. After sometime, we heard footsteps in the house, and guess what? Mister Jade had gotten off his tub and was taking a walk, inspecting all the rooms in the house!

The rest of the Saturday flew by and Sunday brought the smell of wet clouds on an overhead sky. We made a trip to the orphanage and dropped off some cake for the kids. When I walked out of there, I had tears in my eyes, and a familiar insignificant feeling surrounded me. Every time I visit that place, it reminds me of how small I am. There are things bigger than my problems, my pains, my wishes, my worries and my self. I am just a tiny speck in this large universe. We met up Raj and Rodney on our way back. I showed them my new place, and we sat together and drank to feel significant again.

The Sunday night brought streaming rain on my porch and a cold tinge in the air. It came down in torrents and washed the ground, as me and Kareem stood watching under the porch shed. Tiny specks of watery spray bounced off the porch and fell on my skin, burning it in a slow burn of cold. I tried sleeping, but at 2 I woke up to find my bedside empty. It was still raining heavily. I went to my door only to see that the porch was filled with ankle deep water, and Kareem and Jade were playing in it to their hearts content! Jade swam happily, as Kareem ran behind him, splashing water everywhere!!! I watched silently as a strange feeling of peace overcame me. Sometimes I think that this is what life is all about. We live our entire lives for fragments of tiny little moments that stay on in us like memories. We live for moments when the splashing rain floods the porch, when our boyfriends and turtles go back to their childhood and play in the rain at 2 in the morning, when the cold water baptizes us without judgement. Sigh.

Mediterranean Cuisine: A house of Turkish food delight.

2009-05-18T05:33:00.000-07:00

Have you heard of a place called 'Mediterranean Cuisine' in Hyderabad? If not, then you fall into the same category as I used to. This place is located in the famous food square in Tolichowki, where the 'Four Seasons' hogs all the limelight.

Me and Kareem wanted to have an Arabic dinner, so we skeptically walked up the steps of this restaurant whose name we had hardly heard. I had sincerely expected something pseudo-posh, but the ambiance that greeted us was a sight for sore eyes! It was simple but classy. The lighting was dim in the restaurant (a must-have that always adds that touch of je ne sais pas to fine dining). The ghazals playing in the backgroung went well with the low lights, and a warm smell of Kababs enveloped us from the time we entered the restaurant, till the time we left.

They had two separate menus, one for Indian food and one for Turkish. Take my advise, go for the Turkish one! It's way more worth it, and is a new experience altogether. The restaurant didn't serve any alcohol due to it's conservative location, but they more than made up for it by their surprising range of mocktails. The Turkish menu was not entirely Turkish, but had a few mexican dishes, and a touch of the continent too. However, you can't really call this a fault because the blend of culture that happens owing to Turkey's location in Europe, has some effect on it's cuisine too.

We ordered a 'Chicken Fajita' and a plate of 'Plain Doner,' along with a mocktail named 'Italian Smooch.' We got some complimentary Mediterrannean bread before our meal arrived, served with a special preparation of herbed butter. Now- I know that we Indians have mastered the art of making Rotis, but I have never had a softer or better tasting bread in my life. Our meal arrived soon too. The Fajita came sizzling in first, thankfully not served with an overwhelming amount of gravy that spoils a sizzler's taste. This was served with buttery rice that came in a separate plate, some Rotis that looked very much like Rumaali Rotis but were much softer, and tons and tons of fresh salad.

The plain Doner was even better. It was an ingenious dish made out of very finely sliced scraps of tender lamb, cooked in a very healthy way with just salt and pepper. This was served with some other form of Turkish bread which was simply yummy! Believe me, these Turks may be famous for their baths, but their breads are much much better! Needless to say, a generous amount of salad followed this dish too. The meal was delightful, the menu had variety and was healthy, but what impressed me the most was that the waiters were courteous, and ever ready to help. The quantity of the food was good too, and if not for the two stomachs that Kareem has, we would have never been able to finish our meal.

I had a good time, I was wholly satisfied, and I am currently running out of superlatives for this place. It was very nice to find a cuisine served so originally, without the irritating tweaks that most restaurants make to suit the Indian taste buds. Having Turkish food was also a good break from the regular humdrum of the BJN group and Ohri's restaurants, that hold the monopoly in the food business in Hyderabad. I just wish that this place was located in a more popular area like Banjara Hills, so that more people could come and do justice to the amazing food- but then again, the prices and service would probably have not remained the same. Before I close this post with a burp, if you ask me if I would go to this place again, my answer would be of course! I would willingly come here over and over again, because to be honest, I am completely addicted. Burrrrp!!!!

Midnight Food Nirvana.

2009-03-03T01:39:00.000-08:00

Every city is filled with zombies, zombies who drag their living dead asses to work in the weekdays, and suddenly come alive on weekends. The weekend brings them fresh hope by the basketfuls. Fresh hopes of living out a two day existence, away from their mundane workplaces and the humdrum of daily life. The weekend also drags in with it a good amount of booze, smokes, unwinding, and partying with friends that runs late into the night. If you are a fellow zombie, you know very well that when the alcohol starts cruising through our veins, the smoke creates a hazy dim, and the music gives us a heady high, the only thing that we are left craving for is a good plate of hot, slurpy, midnight food that will warm our stomachs before we finally crash.

On one such unzombifying weekend at Sharan's place, after guzzling down a good amount of beer, we all needed food at 2 in the night. Now, Hyderabad has a lot of 'midnight biriyani' places, but none of them come close to the cheap and orgasmic food served at 'Allhamdulillah.' the all night food joint at Nampally, right next to the Yusufain Darga. I had heard a lot about this place, so I decided to go with Malo and check it out.

5 or 6 bottles of beer down, we set off in the middle of the night, on Sharan's pathetic excuse of a bike, towards Nampally. It was amazing- the crisp night air, the empty (almost ghostly) roads that had huge jams just the morning before, the phantom lamp posts with their lurking yellow lights falling on the thin shadowy lanes we took- they all conjured up this phantasmagorical image of Hyderabad by night, and the lonely bikes that drifted by every now and then only enhanced it.

We reached Allhamdulillah. It looked like any other shut down shop from the outside, but cleverly hidden behind the heavy tarpaulin drape (just before the shop shutter), was an entire city that refused to sleep at night. Once you went to the other side of the tarpaulin cover, it was like accidentally entering magic-land. A sudden burst of light and noise greeted us, as the order taker called out for plates of biriyani, and the waiters ran around with heaped plates that smelled like heaven. Even though this place was filled with staring men, I didn't mind, because I felt strangely alive on this sleepless, hungry, Hyderabad night.

We ordered some spicy, ass burning kababs, tala hua ghosht, biriyanis and rumaali roti, all for the price of dirt. We packed all this back home and licked our fingers away to oily food Nirvana. Once the final burp of satisfaction came out, we all had just one thought in our minds. Thank God for Allhamdulillah, and that's exactly what the name of the place means. Allhamdullilah- Thank God!

Hurt

2009-02-11T20:32:00.000-08:00

There are times when I am a blazing inferno of anger. I don't get angry very often, but when I do, it becomes very hard... not for others, but for me. My anger is self destructive. It grows from the seeds of hurt. Hurt collects in me drop by drop, from people to people over time, until one day it bursts forth... It erupts, a huge volcano. Vesuvius crumbles. I don't like anger. I don't enjoy or cherish anger. I fear it. I keep it away. I have seen more than my fair share of it in life, and it, like the slingshot of David has always managed to hurt me- the Goliath. The Goliath of hurt. The Goliath who got hurt.

Hurt- a four letter word with a brimming ocean-full of meaning, and an oceanful of creatures squirming in it. Soaking in hurt, struggling in hurt, drowning in hurt. Hurt is the biggest reason I dread getting close to people. Getting close to people is like a "cat in heat," it ends up giving birth to little baby difficulties. Little baby difficulties named hurt. There is this, soundproof, opaque wall between people who are acquaintances, siblings, or even friends, but closeness takes that away. Shatters the sacred wall. Now you are visible. You are cold. You are naked. You are weak. You are vulnerable. You trust., and before long you are hurt.

Closeness develops in you this telepathic, superpowerish thing. You can hear the unspoken, feel the unexplicit, you sense! You are like a snake- whether in the grass or in the glass, you know everything. Communication is no longer vital. It is a mere accessory. You know the person, you know their idiosyncracies, you know it all. Then time, the eternal villain, changes and the person changes with it, but your mutant superpower remains. You still notice everything. Nothing escapes you. You notice that the conversation in the room suddenly stops when you walk in. Someone close is sitting in the room. You hurt. You notice the lie, covered in the pretty icing of fabricated facts. Someone close has told it. You hurt. You notice the stories being told behind your back. You know the someone close who has told them. You hurt. You notice that the ending which is at hand, becomes bitter. You hurt.

You notice the decreasing propinquity, subtle sircasms, feigned ignorances, missing idiosyncracies, hidden truths, you notice it all. And you most definitely notice the fact that you have opened your heart out to a person and have got a raw deal in the bargain. You know it's not work, not stress, you just know... You have been used! What do you do now? Flame and go up in ashes in self destructive anger? Let it be, hold it all in, and silently explode? Walk away quietly? Maybe you do it all. You forgive, but you can't forget...

The Man With The Songbird.

2009-02-01T22:44:00.000-08:00

There was this old man,
He had a songbird,
A white songbird.
When the bird sang, people were happy.
But they wanted the bird.
One night,
When the old man slept,
They tried stealing the bird.
It flew away.
So they beat him up in anger.
Beat him black and blue.
Leaving him half dead on the floor.
Even today the man lies there
As a white bird sits beside him,
Crying bitter tears.
Sometime it sings, and the man smiles feebly.
The man's name is God.

Slumdog Millionaire- Try it.

2009-01-27T22:33:00.000-08:00

Before I started watching this movie, I was skeptical... More often than not, hype spoils a movie, and I had heard quite a lot about this one. I was afraid of over-expectation. However, the movie was nothing like I expected. From the synopsis that I had read of the plot, I had the image of a simple story in my mind, a simple story of how a poor boy from a slum wins a lot of money on 'Who wants to be a millionaire' but this movie was so much more than that, and thank God for it!!! The movie was not so much about 'how' the boy wins the money as 'why' he wins it.

The movie revolves around how the answer to each question is intertwined with a burning incident in the protagonists life, that has either scarred him, or molded him into who he is. Human emotion runs deep in this movie, sans the drama- which is very hard to achieve, and the added twinge of bitter-sweet humor is endearing if anything. There are some tremendous performances by child actors in this movie, that are worth ten watches. They have completely overshadowed the seasoned actors with whom they have shared screen space in this movie.

Some people may argue that this movie is another one of those flicks by foreign filmmakers where they profusely portray the slums and poverty of India. All I have to say to them is that the story has no scope for showing the trendiest shopping mall or Maya Sarabhai's carefully decorated drawing room sweetheart. If these aspects were showcased, the movie would have become overtly dramatic. The movie was not made to misrepresent India. It is a carefully well made movie, where the director made sure that the camera revolves just around the protagonist Jamal's life. That's all.

Judgment, decision and prejudice.

2009-01-14T22:42:00.000-08:00

Everybody judges. We all judge people, things, outlooks, ideas right from the day we are born. Sometimes we call it 'having an opinion' or 'making choices', but deep down we are all judging. I am not talking about the sane, calculated judging that should happen more often in our system of justice. I am talking about the spur of the moment, baseless judgments that we pass on people or things, almost every minute of our lives. Much like the judgment of Paris that ruined him ultimately.

A child looks at a simple plate of food and decides it is not interesting enough to be eaten. (who cares if the food is healthy). A friend looks at another friends unkempt room and decides that they are messy and untidy people. (who wants to know if the friend had been having a rough week). People look at high accolades and certified institutional degrees and decide that a person is educated and classy. (who cares if the person is a shitty human being). We hear two people discussing something passionately, and decide they are fighting... and then there is the worst kind- judging people by the clothes they wear and the way they carry themselves.

We judge because we want to classify everything in black or white. We do not even think that there is a possibility that there could be a gray. Gray is too hard to handle! Sometimes I wonder why people have such a strong inclination towards passing judgments... Is it because we want to hide our own flaws behind the facade of the power of deduction? Is it because drawing conclusions about others makes us forget, even if for a moment, about our own shortcomings? Is it because we all want to play God, sitting in the ultimate throne of power and making judgments? Or is it because this is what society teaches us to do- judge, because others are judging you.

If the answer to all this is yes, then I guess we judge to fulfill the incessant human need of stereotyping and finalizing everything. Of having a decided opinion on everything we come across. Maybe it makes us feel safer and more confident somehow. Absolution does come with a sense of settlement after all. Settling is good. Even dust wants a place to settle in- we are just human! But then again, I may be wrong. Maybe I am getting judgmental here...

Sorrow and Love.

2008-12-04T20:15:00.000-08:00

The night was dark, and a sultry summer kissed the skin,
Like a medieval Indian story,
And bells rang far away.

A potpourri of dried flowers rested on their deathbed,
Emanating a smell that mingled with the air,
Not without stealthy caution.

A lizard clicked in a small box shaped room,
stating it's unwelcome tenancy,
and a clock ticked in response somewhere.

A tear was born in the eye and died in the bed linen,
scathing the skin, bruising the heart,
serving the purpose of it's short-lived life.

Inhibitions dropped like clothes around the ankle,
as two bodies came close, in need of warmth, in need of comfort,
in need of life, in the silence of the night.

The steady embrace of a pair of hands,
complemented the helpless pull of the other pair,
as two bodies moved in symphony to the sound of sorrow.

A slow fire burned the box shaped room, the lizard quietened,
the musty smell of the potpourri lost all caution
and the sultry night moved faster than the clock,

As skin touched skin, tears mingled with tears,
and intertwined fingers lost each other
in the hazy blur of the moment.

And bells rang somewhere, far far away...

Impromptu Dinners

2008-08-01T04:53:00.000-07:00

Ever cooked up a dinner at home and loved it? I am not talking about the planned, perfect ones, but the unplanned, imperfectly-perfect ones. Putting the pan over the slow fire the moment you feel hunger tap at your stomach. Still wondering what to cook, while the empty pan slowly browns over the fire... suddenly you miss home and your mom's food.

Out of nowhere you chop up this, and cut up that, and before you know it, you can smell the turmeric working it's way through the dal, and the hot oil making singeing love to the onions. The kitchen becomes an euphoria of smells, as the food commences it's foreplay with the active senses. Even the burnt potatoes smell good, because they smell of achievement.

Simple dinners are always the best, and hunger makes the most commonplace dinners immortal! You slowly lose yourself in a plethora of taste, as an impromptu dinner fills your stomach and your heart.

Now rest.

2008-07-29T23:32:00.000-07:00

You have run around a lot,
chasing idealistic dreams that are not your own...
filing morals, nurturing norms.

Do your shoes hurt?
Or are they the chains around your ankles?
You put them on the other day, centuries ago.

Maybe it's time to breathe out, let go,
stand up and cool your hot heels
on the wet balcony drenched in summer rains.

Maybe it's time to let go of the roses
and fall in love with the orchids again.
You never liked roses anyway...
They are flowers that other people like, because other people like them.

Sorrow

2008-06-01T20:21:00.000-07:00

Scathing pain, burns the skin again.
The listless moon mocks through the open window...
Debaucherous fate, sleeps in someone else's bed
as pain encompasses misery's shadow...

Terrapin Diaries

2008-03-14T05:26:00.000-07:00

And Then Came Nirvana

I was really getting worried about Jade. I thought he was very lonely and that's why he refused to eat. After a lot of speculation I went to the aquarium shop to buy a friend for him. I had to take into consideration the fact that I was going to be taking care of two terrapins now, and having a terrapin is no monkey business!
I walked into the shop and asked the guy to put food into the baby terrapin tank. I had decided that I would take the one that ate. As he dropped some Tubifex worms, this tiny little baby terrapin swam out from under the huge coral and started eating. She was a beautiful and healthy girl, but really tiny! I took her and went home. On reaching home I put her in the tub and watched with bated breath... what if Jade didn't like her? Jade moved closer to her, and showed interest for the first time in a week! I was relieved. I put in some food and miraculously Jade started eating!!! I was too happy for words. Then for some reason I decided that I would name the little girl Nirvana. I guess terrapins are happier in company... at least that's what I learned from my experience. Over the weeks, Nirvana taught Jade many many terrapin tricks! He learned to bury himself in sand when the weather was too hot. He also learned to rip chicken with his claws and eat it (he loves chicken- but try not feeding them excessive non veg, they need more vitamin A). More on them later, Signing off.

Mars vs Venus...

2008-01-24T00:15:00.001-08:00

I know that i am writing about an oft debated topic. "Who is better?" is the question that it always starts with and boils down to. I also know that people are going to continue arguing about this long after having read and forgotten my article, but that does not dissuade me from voicing my opinion. It all started with a silly little status message, that I had put up in my status bar, in good humor- "MEN: They are good for only one thing, and most of them suck at that." One of my friends (male of course!!!) protested, and jumped into a heated argument. As the argument proceeded, the topic was no longer funny, and I realized how immature and unfair men really are. I can easily say that men are a social evil. How?!?!? you ask...Well, walk with me if you will, and look at my point of view. The ratio of crime inflicted by men on women highly outweighs the ratio of crime inflicted by women on men. I mean seriously! How many women do you see, who go around raping men? Yet, the last time I heard, 70 drunk men raped one woman on new years eve. You want to know more? Jessica Lal was not shot at by two women, they were men (and they were drunk). Joan of Ark was convicted by a man. From times older than ours, men have vandalized, abused, raped, violated and scandalized women. We read about it everyday in the papers! We see it everyday in the news! Why? We have allowed a sex that keeps its brains between its legs, to rule our world!!! Why? I know that some of you will protest now, saying that I can't write off all men, just because a few are bad. I will write you off. You know why? Because you are just as bad as them... You can stand up and cry wolf, every time a woman says that men are bad, but you can't stand up when you see men wronging women. All you do is sit and watch, shake your heads, and say "tsk tsk! too bad." This is not about feminism or chauvinism, this is about accepting the fact that something is wrong and taking responsibility to rectify it. The day you make a conscious effort to protest male violence and decide that you will take an active part in respecting women (even if that means making a change within yourself), I will write you down as a good man. Otherwise, to me, the word "a good man" will just be an urban legend, and I will think of men as a savage race, who have no control over their actions or their wieners. That's all!!!

Terrapin Diaries

2008-01-17T01:33:00.000-08:00

The Coming Of The Jade Stone

I brought my very first Terrapin home. I named him Jade. He was hardly an inch long (carapace length), tiny and scared. What is the worst thing about scared terrapins? They are very frisky and will try running away or will need a lot of space to swim/walk around in- this helps them calm down and get acquainted to their surroundings. I put jade in a high rimmed steel plate while i prepared his glass bowl. After an hour of struggle, he managed to climb out of the steel plate. I had his habitat ready by then, a huge glass bowl (the kinds you float candles and flowers in), with rounded pebbles. This was a big mistake! He hated it and needed more swimming place. I put in a tiny clay lamp in the bowl...he seemed to like that. He remained stuck to the clay bowl and refused to eat for two days. I tried everything- cilantro, carrot, spinach, apples, tubifex worms- everything! Two days later I put him in a huge baby tub with lots of water to swim in, pebbles and finally a sand slope that led out of the water. He seemed to like this a lot and kept swimming the rest of the week. However, he still refused to eat and shrunk into his shell at the very sight of me or any other human (or got super-freaked and started running around). I was getting very worried... maybe he was trying to fast unto death or something!!! This would keep me awake at nights. I used to sit quietly near his tub and hear him pace up and down throughout the night. Finally i thought that he was lonely and a week later I went and got him a friend. More about that in my next post. Toodles!!!

Terrapin Diaries

2007-11-18T23:59:00.001-08:00

The Starting of The Diary.

All my life I have wanted a pet but my mom never let me have one. When I was young, I used to catch and bring home frogs and chamelions housing in my grandpa's orchard and my mom would give them a heart attack with a satanic scream and if the heart attack didnt kill them, then I would have to reluctantly drop them back in the orchard. After spending my early teens in a hostel, when i came back home to live with my parents, I demanded that I have a pet and my mom said that I could have a turtle (since they are docile and are good for Feng Shui!!! Moms I tell u!) since that day I have been hunting for a turtle born in captivity so that I can save him from the meat market and bring him up like family. After these many years, about two months back I finally was able to get me a tiny little turtle, thanx to my friend Sharan. It is very hard bringing up a baby terrapin and I didnt get much help online. I longed then to speak to an experienced person about turtle habits since I was anxious about my baby turtle but didnt get much help. Now, two months into turtle care, I thought of starting a chain of posts called the Terrapin diaries where I write about my hands down, rookie experience about turtle care and people who have faced problems like me can either read and relate or can learn from my mistakes! For all those who are interested, keep an eye out for The Terrapin Diaries.

Moonstruck Rowling!!!

2007-10-24T20:22:00.001-07:00

In a hilarious attempt at publicity (or whatever else it was), Rowling proclaimed on Oct 19th 07 that Dumbledore was gay. He was smitten by his rival and friend Grindlewalt which led him to make incorrect judgments... Nothing against the queens brigade missy but why now??? Is it because you feel a midlife crisis after the publication of your last book?

While I was discussing this with my friends, one of them said 'what next? Maybe tomorrow we will hear that Hagrid had an affair with Firenze and out of their coital misadventures, Buckbeak was born!!!' Ha! Ha! Ha! Right on mate. Any clues about Ron and Aragog living happily ever after?

On The Other End Of Planet Hyderabad.

2007-10-01T00:25:00.001-07:00

Sitting in office, breaking my head over my work and my targets, my mind wandered quite far away from what it is supposed to do, as is quite common in such situations. I haven't blogged much, of late. My new job is to blame for it... Google. working for Google has changed my life in more ways than I wanted. I am busier now, and don't have the time to ponder or graze any more. I wake up early (surprise!) and come to office, I work late and go back home, only to flop tiredly on my bed. It is not the work that tires me out so much as the travel that I have to undergo. It takes me an hour and a half to reach office early in the morning. When I am going back, it takes forever... My colleagues (all "out of towners") ask me why it takes me so long to reach home? I answer- 'because I live on the other end of planet Hyderabad'.

On the other end of planet Hyderabad, it's a little greener and cleaner. When the day dies, people go back home to other people like mothers, brothers or husbands. On the other end of planet Hyderabad where people react to things either with a diplomatic nod or a conservative cough, I go back home. I go back home carrying the dead day and my dead energy on my shoulders only to flop on my bed and dream of some day when I will come back home to Kareem. The night fuels my hopes and resurrects my dead energy with some strange elixir to help me drag myself to work the next day, just like a zombie, awakened from the dead. I wonder how many other people are there who live each day on a breath called hope, who live each day hoping for someday...

Dreams

2007-06-19T07:39:00.000-07:00

Do you ever have dreams? Not ones that you have at night, but the ones that you have during the day, with your eyes open or maybe while sitting all alone, breathing in the bland mundane air. Dreams that fill you with an obscure sense of happiness or maybe dont do anything at all, sauntering in your mind like like the grazing cattle, resting there, without becoming conspicious.

I have dreams...... Myriads of them..... Floating about lazily in my mind, sometimes taking me with them. They are of all types and beliefs, no communalism in my mind!!! Some are ambitious ones, that come and fade away just as quickly, glowing with a feverish light before dying out. Like the dream of becoming the biggest artsy actress on earth. Revolutionizing the industry, taking it by a storm, making art films the norm. I know I dont have the talent for it, and as always, just the love is never enough, so it fizzles out, leaving a charcoal spot for rememberances sake.

There are ones that keep recurring quite arrogantly.......... Like the one of becoming the biggest fashion diva that time has ever known. Being photographed. Wearing big shades and Greta Garbo scarves, and then strutting in front of the whole world one day, just to hurl my Manolo Blancs on the floor and declare that I dont need labels to define me! My fashion, is my peace of mind! Thus freeing many, from the slavery of fashion! Or maybe becomin the biggest hippie-diva of all times! Hah! What an Oxymoron! Sometimes I call people Oxymorons...... Not in the real context, but just to make the word "moron" sound a little "hep".

Some dreams are definite ones even if not too practical. They know that I will chase them someday. For example, this dream that I have of backpacking across Europe for a year or two with very little food and no money. Staying wherever I can. Working as a helping hand in Italian Family Cafes, learning their secret family recipes or even as a field hand, in a winery, learning the vintage truths of the oldest wines. Then I would like to tour France and Scotland, as a landscape artist..... not too famous.....making and selling paintings in the mornings and soaking in the culture at night. On sundays I would strictly sit in lazy bristos by the pavement, taking in the fresh smell of Baguettes and Oregano while pretending to read a book all the while, with a cup of coffee beside me. Of what use will all this impracticality come to you ask? Well simple silly! Once i get back home, I will write a book on the bag-full of memories and experiences that I have gathered! Good way to make money, ain't it? However, the recipes will remain with me.

Then there are dreams which I cherish a lot! They are not big dreams, but are built up of tiny smiles and little bursts of laughter, strewn here and there, in the itty-bitty corners of life. I dream of having a bed on the floor made up of just soft matresses and a sheet. I simply adore such beds, I dont know why! Sometimes I dream of having a penthouse with a big skylight roof in my room, so that I can watch the stars by night and see the rain fall in torrents. Washing my roof. Sliding down its glass body, while the thunder and the lightning make ferocious love in the sky, on a bed of dark clouds! There are times when I dream of having two dogs, one cat, a parrot, a turtle (whom I rescued from the meat market), a hamster and a chimp. We are all a happy family. One dream of mine which all my friends know about, is opening a restaurant called "Plays and Platter". It is a concept restaurant with a woodden stage in front, where upcoming theatre troops and budding dance-drama bands are given a platform to perform, while the diners enjoy a play with their dinner. There are other dreams in this category too, but they are too precious to be told.

And then I have fatasy dreams. Impossible ones. They always come with a haze of misty spray, symbolizing surrealism. Sometimes I stand on a lotus. I am a goddess incarnate! Not a goddess of people..... thats a commoners dream! I am godess of myself! Free spirited! Becoming no-one's. Stopping where I want to and moving at my will. I am nymphlike, mistress of the waters! I sit on lotus leaves and soak my feet in the stagnant lakes. I ride waves, calming them. At times I am just a girl, who has sprouted beautiful blue wings. Blue and white. No media here to take the footage. I am in a different world altogether! A world enveloped in an orb of peace and silence. A world where I am one with nature. I walk around barefoot on the beach sands and the forest floor. In some dreams I float on giant clouds. there is nothing around but giant fluffy clouds. Sometimes white, sometimes grey. Me lying within them, floating into timelessness. Floating...... treeless..... rootless..... just floating.

Its very hard to wake up after all these, when life poses a hard question in front of me. Does my reality chase a dream or do my dreams chase a reality?

Ekta Kapoor and a Soap Wash!

2007-05-29T02:31:00.000-07:00

Pretty recently I was subjected to watching the star parivaar awards, courtsey:- my mom and sister, and a few days after that, Karan Johar, invited Ekta Kapoor, the queen bee of television, to have coffee with him on his pretty infamous show, "Coffee with Karan." I watched ten minutes of the show (I could take only that much) and wondered where these people drew their presumptions from! Time for a reality check!

One oft asked question to Ekta is why on earth does she make such horrid soaps? Why does she stagnate television and its viewers? Well over a cup of "Koffee" miss Kapoor threw oodles of attitude and said that she makes serials about the common problems of a middle class household, not for careeristic women.It was meant for the masses and that if we didn't like it, we shouldn't watch it!!! But miss Kapoor! The last i knew, the biggest problem faced by a middle class household was not getting three plastic surgeries done, to get three different looks and confuse the neighborhood vamp and very surprisingly the middle class women in my colony, somehow don't strut around in Ritu Kumar sarees and sequined halter blouses!!! Can you tell me why? As for the don't watch it part, I would love to ignore your over-repeated cliches, but you seem to have brought all the TV space available........ What the hell do I watch?????

Yes there are many good aspects to miss Kapoor too, like the way she has provided employment to many struggling actors, who would have been roaming hungry on the roads otherwise, with a fistfull of ego, in search for work but in the process, she has created a well for them...... a fictional world, and these frogs will never venture out of these wells. They are happy with their duplex flats in Bombay and half a month of shooting schedules. They are scared. They have locked away their childhood dreams of stardom in a giant trunk because even if they want to become stars now, they cant. They have forgotten how to struggle. Life has gotten the better of them. They have sold their souls to Ekta Kapoor and Balaji Tele-films. They are stars of the small screen now, watched religiously by house wives every day, they have made a deal to be happy, happy being small fry.

Miss Kapoor too has been bathing in vainglory and filling her stomach with a false sense of achievement for a long time now. She has created a pretty shell for herself too. Someone ought to tell her that the kind of attitude that she threw on the show could be brought off "Chor Bazaar" at a bargain rate! It was indeed pitiful, watching so many male actors, much elder than her, kissing her ass in the show, just for a scrap of food and a better screen image. What a woman has made of man? Ha?And as for the woman herself, mind your manners missy! Throwing temper tantrums and sending things flying across the set suits only divas! Maybe daddy should have spanked you oftener......

I Float Up....

2007-05-05T04:44:00.000-07:00

I float up......
silent, serene, away from the world.
Peace reverberating......
No bonds.
No hooks clinging onto my body.
No pebbles to throw,
no gloom to ride on.
No baggage, no family
no life......... none!
Just colourless silence
wafing around me
and me within it,
curled up again,
like a foetus.
No responsibilities, no duties.
Peaceful silence.
It's not rebirth,
I just died.
Painting Credit: Avijit Dutta

My Silent Scream......

2007-05-04T23:05:00.000-07:00

The phone lies beside me.
I have hung up.
It's lighted screen slowly darkens.
My bed feels a depressing warm.
It's a horrible place to be alone in.
Horrible! Horrible!
I can still smell you,
in the sheets, in the air.....
Turn down the walls someone!
They are too bright!
They should be put behind bars!
Turn off my mind please!
I can still think of you.
The last time we cooked together,
the last you touched my hand,
the last time we made love.
Take it all away!
Rewind!!
It hurts me! Please....
My pillow turns a salty wet
as my mouth opens,
my lips curl
and a silent scream escapes,
entering the world.

My Wings......

2007-05-04T04:02:00.000-07:00

The other day I woke up
and saw that I had sprouted wings!
Tiny little wings.
Fiborous, vibrant, colourful,
dancing with the sunlight.
I loved them.
One day they lifted me up!
I fluttered in the sky.
I soared, higher and higher,
adrenaline rushing in
soaring high, higher than the clouds......
Suddenly the sky grew smaller.
It closed in on me.
Crash! Bang! Pain seared in.......
I tore my wings off after that.
I think.... I am happy now,
but since that day
my skin has turned purple blue
and there are rainbow scars
on my back.
Rainbow scars.
Purple blue.
Since the day I crashed into the sky.....

Chick-lit....... Flick-lit!!!

2007-05-03T06:01:00.000-07:00

I have been thinking of this new breed of writing of late.... CHICK-LIT!!! Or maybe I have been thinking about the writers themselves, with "sex and the city" posters still lingering on the walls and the desperate housewives still continuing their male bashing, chick-lit has become the thing of today (even with some men, I'm sorry to say).

Gone are the days when journoes were women with the modest haircut, the jholas and the flat sandals. Today they hold their martinis in one hand and ciggie holders in the other, wannabe Carrie Bradshaws, almost killing their feet, culprit: super high stilettos (what’s with wanting to be so tall anyways?). So is this chick-lit just a passing phase that people grow out of or is it a way for the writers to camouflage the void within? I don’t know.... You tell me. With all the ultra pinks and the season’s latest wear (which is going to go out of fashion just as soon), with unending booze and rave parties (sometimes), where does it all sum up to? Am I being rude? Sorry! Just curious! Asking questions is my job. Or maybe this is just my way of exploring new regions hitherto unexplored by me.

Where was I? Yes.... So the chicks who do the lit!!! What are they all about? A bunch of mean girls (they frown at you if you dare to be two sizes large) or plain fashionistas who want to make their own little world? They are everywhere, in the latest parties, air kissing, talking of moksha and nirvana and the "mantra of the month" but when they are without people, are they emotional wrecks? Lonely people with acutely complex psychologies? Minds as thin as gossamer cobwebs, ready to tear at the first hint of rain? How lonely do their two-room apartments feel when the car or taxi pulls over. Dont mistake me, i dont mean to say they are nescessarily poor or non-achievers....... by two room i mean to say that there are many who live in small apartments and are still happy, so what makes these women so sad? Always burning with fairy tale ambition, too hot to stop for a while. Or is their ambition a mutated form of their childhood- princess dreams, too dear to let go of?

Going back to the fashion again, since when did the cargos and tees become bad? they still make me feel heaven in the hyderabad summer! Bad or inappropriate dressing is one thing, but since when did my flip-flops become my enemies? At what time exactly did simplicity jump out of the window, and complication walk in through the door? When exactly did we last stop to smell the flowers (still intact to their stems, I am anti flower breaking u see, they get hurt too....)?Re-reading this article, I see that right now I run the huge risk of becoming one of them chick-litters myself! I will stop while there is time and let your better judjment wash over.... What do you think? Are they believers? Achievers? Dreamers or plain lonely? Has fashion swept over their soul or is it draping their hearts temporarily just to make them realise human value at a later stage? You tell me.............

The Deluge

2007-05-03T00:04:00.001-07:00

You have grown silent.
Tired, if I may say so.
Tired chasing an utopian dream.
Holding dead butterflies in your hands
and fog in your heart.

Just yesterday we were sitting,
talking about sunflowers.
Then there was a deluge
creating a river between us.
It washed me to the other bank.
I called out to you, but the water,
it had baptised you.

I stood,
the sunflowers lay burnt in my hand.
There was mist in my eyes
and rain in the sky.
You have grown silent since then.....
Painting Credit: Avijit Dutta

Only If.........

2007-05-02T23:32:00.000-07:00

This strange feeling eats away
at my brains.
It gnaws at my guts,
darkens my windows with storm clouds.
I want to be alone,
but loneliness kills me,
piercing every cell of mine
like a bright, disinfected needle.
Nothing to help me.
No poems.
No family....... Not even you...........
All too busy,
too far away or lost in time.
You could have helped me,
only if........
Only if you had stopped,
and had a cup of coffee with me.

Moments and Tidbits Here and There.....

2007-05-02T05:27:00.000-07:00

A little hair pulling here and there, a few honest smiles, bursts of virgin laughter......precious time spent together, that is what family is all about.Or with a magnifying glass, that is what is sisterhood. A lazy summer afternoon spent together, behind dark blinds, can be the cheapest soul therapy, trust me...... I know best....... And even if i dont, i at least pretent to..........

Three of us, no tv or internet, courtsey: mom and dad. In our small room, fan squeaking overhead, Buchu's nokia 5200 in hand, taking pics. It was a lot more fun than watching friends or scuba diving. We had a blast! Our own slumber-partyish thing. No mom or dad...... nobody else actually......just us, not like sisters, but as friends, three everlasting friends (too senti right? sorry....)
It made me wonder, what was sisterhood all about? We fight religiously everyday, ready to stab each other. Even so much as a new shoe can spell war......... Our parents are quite tired of us frankly, but then there are these times when we bond, and nothing breaks us then. Its like this sudden burst of unity (especially when mom is after our butts collectively!) revealing all our hidden love for each other. What was this constant love-hate relationship? A blessing in
disguise? Yes it most certainly was. Where else did you get to cry over someones shoulders, when you had torn her favourite slippers just last week? Where else did you get to share make-up (reluctantly), do bf talk and live together with each other for half your lives, (without being called lesbians at least! Perverted world!). You could talk about the pets you would like to have (the whole rainforest in my case) or what mischief to do next (poor mom and dad)!!!!!
I realised that sisterhood was about a lot of things......... It was about stealing clothes and getting angry. It was about irritating each other and blowing our lids off. It was about grouping up against one another, just to kiss and make up in the end. It was abou sudden clawing and pulling hair (yes i still do that!). It was also about looking out for each other, grabbing the other by the tail when she went wrongand slipped. It was a lot of happiness,
packed in one genetic code that tied us three together.
Very different people with an united bond. You cant live with it,
you cant live without it! Its a total catch 22! Strange love!

An Unforgiving Hyderabad Summer

2007-04-30T06:28:00.000-07:00

Its suddenly hot again,
with the merciless sun burning the sky
and the earth below.
The old houses stand in silent tolerence
with their cracked walls and chipped paints.
They have stood thus for ages now,
dilapidated wrecks......
teaching us tradition, teaching us.........
silent forgiveness.

Its suddenly hot again,
heavy blinds darken the rooms within
as the afternoon sun commences
its furious mating,
with the red gulmohur trees.
Setting the world on fire............
the source of all light.

Its suddenly hot again,
with summer naps and whirring, tired, fans
and watermelon sold in slices.
Time for the long kulfi sticks
and cool, quenching water,
from brown, earthen pots,
and two baths in a day..............
or maybe three.

Its suddenly hot again
as naked street-children sleep,
in the flyovers shade
and the stifling summer air stands guard.
Their brave mothers still beg in the canniball heat.
With their brown sun-baked skin
and practiced singsong voices,
unaffected by it all...............
The fathers were missing.

Its suddenly hot again,
melting tar roads and burning tires,
striking people down,
dead, wih the taste of summer
still lingering in their parched mouths,
burning with satisfaction,
having taken its cruel revenge,
yet not knowing why.
An unforgiving hyderabad summer.........

2007-04-29T12:35:00.000-07:00

Have you ever felt this way? There are these certain times when you want to write......... Write a lot actually, but you cant just put yous thoughts together beautifully enough! And worse yet, sometimes those thoughts too disappear! Something of the same degree is happening to me right now. I want to write a moving poem or a gripping story, but it just aint happening! I am not driven enough. A classic case of the lack of muse. Its not really writers block (i am not all that much of a writer!!) but its something of a lesser degree. I know how irksome this feeling can get, so to whoever reads this, i am going to leave a few tips.
1: Chill! Its not the end of the world. Relax and read a book. it always helps. Even archie comics! 2: Listen to music with good lyrics, they always give you good ideas.
3: Go backpacking through the mountains if your work and pocket will allow it.
4: Go out with friends for a bite. A small meeting too can end up being an interesting story!
5: Think of it as a sign from God saying that you should relax.
6: Cook italian food! It can cure anything....... Plus youll love the pasta (slurp!!!)
7: Switch off your room lights and spend some time lone thinking. It helps.
8: Read Thomas Hardy, after him your writers block will look like strawberry milkshake!!
9: Pack your old clothes and donate them to an orphanage. Make some kid smile.
10: The last (and i wont say not the least), write about your writers block. Vent your anger and frustration in pen and paper, it will help a lot! It really works!!!!!!!
Mwah!!!

First Shower………..

2007-04-26T00:52:00.000-07:00

The air did catch a sudden chill
it spread like fire wild.
An aura in the wind did fly,
with fragrance soft and mild

The clouds were ready, fluffed and full
like lovely cotton floss
but hesitant to pour on earth
as if it would be cross.

The dying feilds looked at the sky,
in want to live again.
for clouds to be coy at such time
would be a deed inane.

Then tip and tap- two drops fell down
shily onto the earth.
The flitting birds did chirp out loud
in wonder joy and mirth.

Rapid did grow the patters noise,
making moments of trance
as on the roofs and twigs and trees
the soft raindrops did dance.

The earth was washed with wonder drops
baptized with a new life.
The pleasant drops of shower first
had ended summer strife.

A vapour rose from the quenched earth,
it carried fragrance fair.
It was a fragrance after rains
the bridal earth did wear.

A lush of green did strike the phase,
a hue pleasant to eyes.
A freshness wet spread everywhere,
From barks to stagnant skies.

Dear Storm....

2007-04-13T00:17:00.000-07:00

I first saw you from my kitchen window,
i dont know how small i was then.......
Over the years i kept seeing you.
Mostly on time and sometimes unexpected,
bringing sudden joy.
You were there everywhere i went.
Some called you Kalboishakhi,
some........ mango shower,
and some just called you storm.
I called you wind, pure and wild,
with ferocious, untainted beauty.
You always brought gentle rain with you.
Was she a dear friend?
Oh! how you darkened the face
of the cruel sun, with your armyof dark clouds!
You dethroned him,
reigning for those few ecstatic hours
in glorious majesty............
But then you went away,
always a vagabond, staying at no place,
committing to none,
always on the move.
Were you scared?
Or were you too proud to rest?
When you came, you were in a frenzy,
full of mirth, as if drunk
from some greek gods cask.
Why didnt you come oftener?
Why was i not your sibling?
I could have ridden on your back,
going to strange unknown lands.
We would shake up the prudent trees,
messwing up their leaves,
and then pour the quenching rain over
soil, rock and roof,
and when earths sweet smell would
waft up, we would steal it
and run away.
Run away to yet stranger lands,
looting like pirates.