Honey Everywhere?

Strange are the ways of the heart. A little glimpse can bloom it to ecstasy and a single gaze can burn it to ashes. Grasping onto those ashes, clinging onto every speck of hope, we mould a new statue, filling up the cracks, correcting all the faults and coating it with the gloss of wisdom; yet secretly hoping for some new form of insanity to wash it away. Our heart is like that sunflower that keeps searching for a new sun every morning to help it blossom. And, the problem is that there are far too many stars in the sky.

With the merest hint of a butterfly, we open up the gardens inside; not realizing that petals do wither. Yet, we hope, keep wishing for the rain, throughout the winter, just to glisten those wilted roses. Strange, isn't it, that the same song that helped you smile throughout the day can keep you weeping at night. Little balloons that your dreams were made of, fly away, just to be found on the pavement by some other kid. Frightening, isn't it, when you stare into nothingness just to avoid those eyes. Yeah, those eyes. But then, like a good ol' country song, our heart breathes itself back to life and turns itself so hopelessly blind, that the next thing you know it's found a new pair of eyes.

But in between those two glimpses, there's a time when the slightest whiff of a sudden downpour will have you scurrying outside because you know what it feels like to be free. A time when rooftops seem so inviting because you're a little closer to the stars. A time when music sounds sweeter than ever before. Then, suddenly, just as you begin to breathe, you hit the glass bowl and become the goldfish that you are. Without the gold, of course. Following your heart is like a walk in the woods. You almost drown in every river but then, sunshine feels even better on wet skin.

Our heart is like that pitiable stray that keeps searching for a new master at every corner and trust me, we are awfully good at making puppy eyes.

But, in spite of everything it does, your heart does teach you to live. The very heart that can kill you at times is the one keeping you alive. After all, it's your 'heartbeats' that feed magic to your soul, bring the glitter into your eyes and show you how beautiful life truly is.

And sooner of later, it is your heart that teaches you:



There's no such thing as a loyal dog.

Light Dawns

Sometimes, my life can only be described as a series of Murphy's Laws.



Alas!

Eclipse

Hiding in the darkness behind my eyes,
in the whispers of my breath,
lost in the footsteps of my mind,
deafened by the beat of my heart,
sitting on the cold bare floor,
eyes towards my soul,
as the rats of guilt nibble,
at my feet of lead.

Here in the prison of my heart, chained by hope,



I am free.

Mining In Hell

Sometimes you can't help but marvel at the endurance of the human spirit. The way we fish for hope even in the midst of inevitability. The way we grope for morsels of happiness even in the abyss of gloom.


Like searching for breaths inside your coffin.

Hidden Cherries

In the maze of my heart,
Can't find where I hid,
That blossom of innocence,
That laughter of a fool.

Aches that I've forgotten,
Those gumboots drenched in mud,
The tickle of a soft feather,
That marbles glitter in the sun.

Running behind kites of joy,
Not knowing they are about to fall,
I peek into the dark room of my heart,
To find my last birthday candle.

Teach me all over again,
That wisdom can't breathe a smile,
That insanity is sickly sweet,
That dreams begin before you sleep.



Guess I'm still playing hide and seek with my soul.

Illusions Recreated?

Orphaned souls in a borrowed heaven.

Tangles

Sitting off the ledge,
looking out to the sea,
rise into nothingness,
as the wind tingles my bare feet.

I gaze at the moon,
and drift in the rain,
softly hum that song,
as tears give in to the pain.

Stories left to tell,
paths left to walk,
roses to be sent,
and fights to be fought.

Sometimes, I wish I had the guts to be afraid.

Borrowed Silence

If you look into someone's eyes to see your own, could you tell who's smiling?

Hazy Omens

The way it kisses your lips. The way it caresses your face. The way it takes you into its beautiful embrace. There's something magical about the rain. There always was, and there always will be. The way those silky clouds begin to laugh, fusing the world into their ecstasy. Running across the sky like a small child towards its favourite toy. Dancing in the wind to form delicate swirls of black across a lazy sapphire sky. The trees begin to shiver; the leaves fluttering in anticipation of the touch of that smoldering breeze. A hush falls over the world. And then, quite literally, like a bolt from the sky, the celebration begins.

The first, almost saccharine drop melts onto the orange earth and from that tender embrace rises, quite like a phoenix, that breathtaking fragrance(!) that reminds you of the sweetest of fruits, the freshest of springs and the darkest of nights, all at the same instant. The moment it rises up in you, you fall. Fall into that sweet stupor you can't refuse. That addiction you can't deny. The rain sweeps across the world; those tiny drops writing poetry on the golden sand.
There's something so mellow about the first drop that nuzzles your forehead. The way it trembles across you skin, by the edge of your eyes and slowly trickles into the corner of your lips. Something so beautiful about the first drop that you drink from the pitcher in the sky. It hops on your tongue, diffusing little droplets into the corners of your mouth and rolls down into the cavern of your throat and fills you with nothing else but pure life. It's a dream where you live eternity in a moment.

Sometimes, I feel like standing in the middle of that field, trembling, shivering, drowning in the rain. Stand there, arms outstretched, begging the sky for redemption, waiting to be assaulted by those pin pricks. Wishing that the whip of rain lashes across my body, peeling off the skin of regret. Wishing that talons from heaven rip me apart and wash away everything. Wilt into the ground like every fallen leaf. Sometimes I wish I would dissolve into nothingness, evanesce into the earth, to be moulded into a new statue of mud.

Sometimes, I wish I would melt away into the earth just to nourish a new flower to life.

Sometimes, I just wish...

Because the rain gives you something that God himself can't take away.




Hope.

Black Dreams

About to fly with cynical curiosity,
Loads of hope and a broken wing,
Take those steps, I'm off to woo,
That heartless mistress called Engineering.

Cocoa Beans

13. Cricket. Badminton without nets. Lock and Key. Hide and Seek behind parked cars. Swat Kats. Harry Potter - Book 3. Newton's Laws. Scholastic Books. Hardy Boys. Nancy Drew. Backstreet Boys. Sibling rivalry. Comic strips. Bed time: 10 PM. Essay Writing. Fill in the blanks. Boys only. Girls only. Raksha Bandhan in school. Ice lollies. Orange tongues. Ruffles' Lay's. Tazos. WWE. Field trips. Water parks. Terminator 2. Arnold's biceps. School Day. Elocution. Bournvita Quiz Contest. Courtesy. Unusual emotions. First crush. Furtive glances. Helping hands. Kabir ke dohe. Shakespeare. Hanging out around school. Bio lectures. Age of Empires. NFS. First Whisper. Back benches. Passing notes. Link-ups. Pyjama parties. Last year. Captain. Career. Soccer. Half Life. Sexuality. The Lord Of The Rings. Dil Chahta Hai. Summer of '69. First date. Tutorials. Parents. Rebel. School trip. McDonald's. Four letter words. Boards. Relief. Anxiety. Tears. Jubilation. Achievement. Farewell Party. Keep in touch. New friends. Messenger. Sling bags. Reunions. Looks. Hair gels. Low rise denims. Flirting. Weird accents. D-Day zits. Ragging teachers. Mummy, Papa. Mom, Dad. Sleepovers. Pink Floyd. Guitar riffs. Angelina Jolie. Brad Pitt. First cell phone. Coaching classes. 1 AM bedtime. Branded wear. Music. Music. Music. Bunking classes. Relating to F.R.I.E.N.D.S. Black tees. Coffee and conversations. First relationship. Love? Flaunting it. Long walks. Youth. Chinese cuisine only diets. First heartbreak. Tears. Betrayal. Moving on. Peer pressure. Awareness. Breaking rules. Plunging necklines. Rising hemlines. Concerts. Gigs. Makeovers. Midnight gossip. 2 AM tears. Phone bills. Whatever. Practical classes. Long hair. Streaked hair. Youth activism. First bribe. Nuts, screws and bolts. Testing waters. Bitching. Trust. Piercings. Tattoos. Still comic strips. Getting caught. Mood swings. Philosophy. The Internet. AIDS. Grudges. Lonely walks. Identity crisis. Friends. Guy talk. Eves only. Secret crushes. Hanging out. Late nights. Black humour. Gays and Lesbians. Almost flunking. Jealousy. Messaging. Every nerd has his day. Music, yet again. Life's like that. Farewell: The Sequel. Suits and saris. 2nd year exams. Last minute preparations. Photocopying notes. No bedtime. 4 AM coffee. Scraping through. Entrance exams. Abbreviations galore. JEE, AIEEE, PMT, CET, XYZ. Learning it the hard way. Counselling. Glory. Meeting up. Different, empty roads. Misogynist> Bravado> Chivalry> Friendship. Final confessions. Hope. Beauty. Joy. Truth. Apologies. Tears. Hugs. Friendship.18.

A dream ends. A dream begins.



Life.

Another Shade Of Green

A couple of days ago, I was hanging out with my friends at a popular zone. Somehow on entering that place, I was suddenly struck by that plague extraordinaire : silence. I withdrew into my shell, as I often do, and began to think. Think about about the futility and inevitability of it all. Think about the new detours that our common highway was splitting into. And quietly but unwillingly, I began to sink into the depths of gloom. There, while we waiting at the bowling alley for a free lane, I saw this group of people, all of whom were hearing-impaired. I saw them, gesturing vigourously with their hands, trying to communicate through the Sign Language. They blended effortlessly into the hip, young crowd there and I would guess them to be around 23-25 years of age. There were about six of them, three guys, two women and a small young boy, barely five years old. While I was waiting there with the rest of my friends, I continued to watch them. I saw them gesturing enthusiastically, laughing together, teasing each other regarding their bowling skills or rather the lack of it. You could see the laughter gleaming in their eyes and the absolutely magical joy with which they had embraced life. All of them began to clap and applaud as the young boy (I guess he one of the couple's son) lifted the ball with great effort and staggered nervously towards the lane. They all began to cheer as his father lifted him and helped him bowl. As his ball trotted off into the gutter, they all let out a collective sigh and the two women rushed to hug him. Then, the kid saw his dad bowl and as nine of the pins spluttered away like dominoes, he rushed towards his mom to give her a high-five and began to explain the pins' descent to his mom with pure ecstasy written all over his angelic face. As I watched them, still grappling with my gloom, I saw the joie de vivre that had softly illuminated their life. And slowly, like a ghost, a whisper in my mind came alive.


Hell, I'm the one who's disabled.

Guilty Grandeur

The leaves of regret rustle,
And the air is thick with tears,
Here in the graveyard of my heart,
I buried hope.

Volte-Face

It strikes. It strikes and then disappears into the blue. The moment the scales tilt in the favour of happiness, the long whip of gloom strikes to tear away the skin of peace.

Haven't all of us had such moments? Moments, when, in the midst of quiet revelry, that creature of darkness comes to haunt you. A picture of despair so vivid that it screams into the iris of your eyes and pulls apart your facade. And it hurts. It so hurts to witness that memory of failure in the nucleus of success that you're celebrating on the clouds. It so hurts to lay your eyes on the glossy cover of success when you are writhing in the depths of failure.
Your memories crouch, lurking in some some neglected corner of your mind, waiting for a chance to spring upon at the slightest whiff of joy. They remind you of the dark caverns of gloom when you are busy basking in the sun of glee. Yet, you can't escape them. How, after all, can you escape your thoughts? They strike without warning, gnawing away at every morsel of happiness that has been scattered upon your heart. You try to push them away, try to live in the moment. But then, darkness is a persistent cloud. It doesn't warm the cold caves of separation nor does it allow you to enjoy the candle of togetherness.

They all haunt you. Memories of love that clutch your heart when you are yearning to hate. Memories of hatred that torture your soul when you are reaching out to love. Memories of intimacy when you are learning the language of separation. Memories of separation when you are seeking to rebuild the gardens of love. Memories of despair when you are embracing hope. Memories of joy when you are slaving to the whims of misery. It is in moments like these that you know realize the fragility of life. Moments like these, when both the roads at the fork lead to nowhere. These are the times when you can't shut your mind nor can you open your heart.

Remembering memories is like having a knife pointed at your back. Facing them makes you turn around to pierce it through your heart. It's a moment when you are stuck in reverse.

Unwilling to hold on, unable to let go.

Footsteps To Eternity

Revolves a black hole in my head,
Where all emotions are lost,
Forced to take a stand,
When I can't trust myself.

Distance grows to make feelings simmer,
Memories wither to fallen petals,
Trying to run backwards with feet of lead,
As the spear of time hangs in balance.

When did the flowers turn to dust?
Where did the stars disappear?
Why does the sun wait to shed sunlight?
Why do dreams fail to burn my soul?

My mind is my prison.

Why Calvin Is My God!

Feeling In The Dark

If.....

If you had half a day to live, would you see the sunrise or the sunset?
If your favourite song was playing on the radio, would you sing along or just drown in it?
If you looked into the most beautiful eyes in the world, would you see zest or peace?
If you've lived life to the fullest, would your heart be full and your mind empty or the other way round?
If you are walking on the horizon at night, which side would you like to drown?
If you had to paint out your life, how much of it would be in shades of grey?
If you've loved to the brink of madness, would letting it all go drive you crazy or make you sane?
If silence was the language of the soul, would you be able to understand it?
If you had to walk the wire, would you close your eyes to do it?
If you had to do it, could you trust your life with your heart?
If you had to cry, would tears flow or words?
If you were to lie, would your eyes or would your heart call the bluff?
If you had a moment of life, would you live without regrets or love without regrets?




If life was a dream, would you die when you wake up?

Oysters

Closed fists reveal no lines,
dark clouds don't cry,
sunsets hide the dawn,
No, it's not just me.

Open up, people say,
go out and explore,
breathe out, not just in,
But i still remain the flower, yet to bloom.

In my little corner,
listening to the rain,
watching the world dance,
through the blinds of my heart.

You push me out of my shell,
My wings don't unfurl,
I float, but can't fly,
Not every bubble can burst.

My heart does beat,
maybe a bit quietly,
but someday you'll see,

There's a whole new universe beneath these eyes.

Frozen Emotion

Here i am,
on this rainy afternoon,
trying to find myself.

Darkness descends

I remember the first time i opened my eyes. It was in a dark, dingy room replete with the smell of expired medicines. That was the first time i saw my mother and those eyes. Those beautiful almond shaped eyes. She clutched me close to her heart, tears pouring down her cheeks. I saw several other women there, all bubbling with glee at the new arrival. That was my first moment in this world.

I lived along with my mother in a little shanty just off a road beside National Highway 7. I never knew who my father was. My mom mentioned it just once, in a fit of rage, that he was the same truck driver who had infected her with the deadly virus. It was in those early days of my life that i began to understand the necessity of love, the glory of friendship and the gift of life. I would often wonder why i had to spent every night with the numerous women, whom i had adopted as my aunts, whereas my mother would walk away towards the old, dilapidated large shanty in the middle of the slum. I would cry and long for her in my desolation, night after night and at the first light of dawn, would scramble towards my home. I would always find her there, dreary and broken, but her face would light up with a bright smile the moment she would spot me and she would take me in her loving embrace, as the world would dissolve around us in mellow celebration. My mother showered her love over me just as my neighbours gifted affection. She tried her best to pull me away from the misery and the heinousness in her life. She would place me in her lap as she fed me and told me wonderful stories about fairies and dragons. She would tell me about people and honour, the good and the evil that this world is made of, and most of all she would tell me about the beauty of dreams, for that is all that the hopeful can hold on to.

But life had its own stories to tell.

Soon, word spread about her fatal infection and the malefic disease that she was carrying. Then came the isolation and the silent taunting. In the hope of a better life, my mother left that place and brought me to Mumbai.
It was in this glittering city that i first understood how encompassing the world truly is. It was here that i came to know what a school is. It was here that i began to wear my blue and white uniform and hop off to the place where i learnt the magic of education. And soon we settled into the monotony of life, save for one thing, my mother's failing health. Day by day, my beloved mother, she with those almond eyes, slid deeper and deeper into the dark chasm of death. And then one day, as i returned from school jumping in the little puddles of water, my water bottle hanging from my neck, i came across a half cooked meal of my favourite lime rice.
And nothing else.

With no one to support me and no one to spare me the rod, i fell on to the dismal and bleak streets of Mumbai. Now, here I am, seven years of wretched misery, lonely and forsaken.

As people came to know that i was infected with the same baneful virus that had claimed my mother, i learnt the meaning of loneliness. Now, every where i walk, people shy away, grasp their babies closer to their chests, as if i am devil's messenger. Then, there are the eyes. Everywhere i turn, all i see are those hideous stares, those looks of utter contempt and malicious scorn. Sometimes, i wish that some bird strike me blind with its talons. Atleast, it would stop the stares.

Sometimes, all i wish for are those almond eyes.

Eventually, i found myself on the roads, begging for a living. But when the beggars came to know my illness, they hounded me, threatening me, cleansing me with wooden sticks, lest they lay their hands upon my foul skin.
Now, all i do, is wait behind the stone chair beside the dustbin, unmindful of the stench, waiting for some grateful soul to discard a half eaten apple or a rotten banana. Sometimes, i go back to my slum, when some poor dweller there is celebrating his daughter's wedding with a little fanfare. I sit there, watching the people fill their plates with desserts and sweets. I sit there, alone and forlorn, swallowing my saliva over and over and over again.

Once, a fellow beggar, stole a rupee from my torn trouser pocket. I ran after him, not because i wanted my money back, but because i had finally found someone to talk to. But the moment the boy saw my emaciated body and the discoloured and blemished skin stretched across my gaunt face, he dropped the coin and ran away. I kept running behind him, languishing and wailing but i lost him. I lost the only friend i could have made. That night, clasping that one rupee coin in my palm, under the relentlessly pouring sky, swallowing my bitter tears, i cried myself to sleep.

Why? Why? Am i so ugly? Am i so vile that the air around me turns to lead? Am i so disgusting that water doesn't trickle down your throats?
Am i so repulsive that your eyes burn when you cast them upon me? Am i devil's reflection?
Am i cursed?

One night, as i slept on the dirty pavement, i slowly slipped into numbness. But, it was different this time, not the one i was used to, not the one i was comfortable with. Something scary. As if an icy, black claw was dragging my seven year old body into hell.
And i find myself grateful for its embrace. I find myself giving in.

Maybe death will grant me something which my life never could.


My name.




Anand.

To the gallows, my soul

Ever walked down a road feeling you've crossed it before?
Life's something like that.
We're all living our lives right now, cribbing about our future, worrying about our past and just plain pissed about our present.

But have you ever wondered how your life's eventually gonna turn out? No? Well, good; because you can't. Think about it. You're 85 for a moment, sitting on a lazychair and looking out at the setting sun.
Would you remember that you almost cried when you flunked an internal assignment paper?
Would you know that the class loner whom you labeled to be a weirdo committed suicide 'cause he couldn't find a way to publish his beautiful paintings.
Would you know that the street urchin you taught a few words in English out of plain sympathy is the head of an BPO corp. today?
Would you ever realize that the teacher who inspired you the most to be the man that you are today, died wretched and lonely in an old age home, writhing on a bed for she couldn't pay for her treatment?
Would you know that the pretty girl you offered a lift on that rainy evening would be the one beside whom you'd spend the rest of your life?
Would you know that the surgeon who saved your mother's life is the daughter of the man you'd refused an educational loan?
Would you know that the only friend you've ever had spent the entire last night waiting for you to call?
Would you know that the old watchman you'd befriended on a long wait for your parents was the one who'd pay the fine when you first jumped a signal?
Would you believe that some young girl somewhere still hums the song you penned for your college band?
Would you wonder as to how you ended up being an investment banker when all you ever wanted to be was an astrophysicist?
Would you still get an overwhelming high every time your eyes turned towards the stars?
Would you remember that you almost killed someone on your first after-binge drive?
Would you believe that your poems can warm a million hearts everyday?
Would you know that you've lived out your entire life busy making other plans?

You can't plan your life. Nor can you decipher it. Or understand it.
There's just one thing that you can do with your life.

Live it.

Multiple Reflections

Sometimes life's just like.....plunging a knife into water.

Pointless.

Glimpses

If it weren't for the darkness in the tunnel, would you see the light at the end of it?

Life, is it?

" Sometimes you have to bleed just to know that you're alive.... "

-The Goo Goo Dolls [Iris]

Midnight's Child

I dipped my toe into the black ocean above
and drowned in the sky
drank the wind
tasted sweet moonlight
And serenaded the black heaven....

I walked on the clouds
as the stars pricked my feet
And slept in the seducing moon's lap,
while the whistling breeze draped my soul...

Licking dew drops off the leaves,
I glanced down upon you;
daylight's petty slaves
and wondered

"Can you dream of something better? "

Close to hell, nearer to heaven...

Here i am, standing at the edge of the cliff, looking down into the abyss below, morbid thoughts running through my head. It's quite a long way down, i think. The deeper the better. Atleast it won't be painful. Just a momentary gush of wind through your hair and quick death will welcome you into its frightening silence. I look across the deep ravine below below me. Funny, seems exactly where my heart is hiding. In that dark cavern of lies, regret and failure where the bats of guilt reside. All they need is flash of light to unfurl their wings and break through the cave of restraint.

And that final roll of dice has been cast.

I'm here to end it all. The betrayal, the regret, the failure that has perennially plagued my life. The disappointment, the humiliation and the suffering that everyone dear to me had to endure. The man i am and the man i never could be.

Remember the time in your life when nothing seems to be going right. When everything you do leads to nothing at all. When you have no clue where your life is heading towards but you know that it's the wrong destination. When you can no longer recognize yourself in the mirror. When your voice escapes from your lips and not from your heart. When your thoughts are your worst nightmares. When your own soul begs for freedom. I've gone through that feeling all my life. Believe me, i'm no coward.

I think about all the times in my life when i had laughed heartily and the innumerable times when i'd shed and swallowed my own bitter tears. Times when my own heart wouldn't accept them. All i could think of was those terrible thoughts, those hideously morose thoughts that grip you and never let you go. I couldn't take it anymore. My soul was trapped in my own body, screaming to end the tormenting assault of endless desolation wreaked upon my fragile mind.

I take one last look across the dark chasm that lay in front of me. I'm already dreaming about the last rush of life i'd be feeling as i would descend into the black valley of death. The last thoughts i'd have to endure. The last emotion that would run through my mind as i would enter earth's loving embrace.

Looking down in the dark hell below, i begin to take little steps towards the edge. I close my eyes and am about to take the last few steps when i hear a voice behind me. I turn around to find an old man, his eyes brimming with hope and expectation, hobbling towards me. He walks towards me, a smile as bright and mellow as the morning sun on his lips. He staggers near me, eying the view behind me and asks,

"Sir, would you like to buy a couple of wings ?"

Not all those who wander are lost.

- J.R.R Tolkien
The Lord Of The Rings

Serenity

I'm sitting here in the comfort of my favourite corner, blowing little bubbles into the air.
I watch them float up towards the ceiling , then try to touch them teasingly with my fingers and let them softly fall on my open palm where they hover for a moment before they disappear forming little puddles of water on my skin, like puppies licking my palm. While i sit there, i watch them being born as tiny drops of joy, rising with the eagerness of new birth, floating into space to reach for the stars but then slowly lowering themselves onto the ground with the kind of sadness you see in a defeated child's eyes. Then they gently kiss the earth, hoping that that little act of affection will grant them a few more moments of existence.

As i watch their wonderful dance of life, i wonder: isn't falling in love a lot like the life of bubbles??

We all fall deeply in love, hiding it in little gardens of our heart, hoping for it to bloom.
And then, finally, it does.
Blooms into a rush of ecstasy. Blooms like a flower that freshens with every passing moment. You fall headfirst into that abyss of romance, searching for your little halos. Then, ironically but pleasantly, your heart flies, reaching for the stars that glitter like your loved one's eyes. But gradually, that tender craziness that used to light up your day, turns to obsession, differences and eventually neglect. Then it all softly fades away just like a withered leaf off a dead tree.
Yet, we hold on, refusing to let go. Just like those bubbles, we cling on to memories, that smile, those eyes; grasping onto anything that might offer us a glimmer of happiness, anything that could resurrect our fallen soul. I guess every relationship leaves behind a candle that has been put off just to help us appreciate the darkness we'd been unaware of.

And I guess we all fall in love for the same reason as we blow those lovely bubbles.

'Cause it just make our lives a little more beautiful.

Tears??

The body shivers...there's something in the wind...
There's a whiff of freshness in the air...Your hands slip into your pockets....
Your eyes move towards heaven...Maybe it's the sea...

You breathe in...smells like satin drenched in a nature's sweetest fragrance....
the city draws itself into the dark clouds' tender caress...
looks like momentary darkness has embraced the garden of joy....

You feel it...feel the breeze drift through your fingers...like the loving grasp of a mother's supple love....the kind of happiness that soothes a bleeding heart....Your soul smiles...it's here....

Hope descends over your glittering eyes...your eyelids flutter away to dusk...
and then....






heaven kisses you....

Necropolis?

Isn't it strange that in this world of the living dead,



love blooms only on a grave.........

Coming undone...

Whispering along the corridors of solitude
I treasure every beat of my heart.......

Silence alone can rival death
And brightness too can blind you........

A lonely cloud can hide the sun
A single star can bejewel the sky.......

But here I am, trying hard






To strike a friendship with loneliness.......

Life (As we don't know it)

Racing across the overhead bridge, I flew down the fight of stairs, bumping into some old lady who gave me a look which said...why you li'l son of a.....

Man, I hate these places.

But couldn’t help it, could I?

Okay, let’s get this straight. I don’t hate getting into the local trains…it’s just the staying in it part that gives me the ulcers.

I used to travel a lot by these ‘community living centres’ a while back but then a bus always offers you a much more comfortable (that word just took away my right of being called a Mumbaikar) ride and well, sucker that I am, I fell for it.

So began my love affair with buses but like every homely, loving, affectionate man, I do go off to regular sojourns with my mistress. Doesn’t take much does it? A show of the legs, an eyeful of cleavage and we all fall down into the abyss of temptation. Well, this short visit was more due to desire than lust. The goddamned Bus Co. went on strike just ‘coz they want their daily, weekly, monthly whatever raise and so they decide to rest “the cute li’l red boxes” back in the depots. I would have loved taking the car out but in a city where a guy’s age inside a car is twice than when he’s outside it, I’d prefer taking the public transport…..call it if you will….system.

Panting, I finally reach the platform. Squinting ahead, I try to place the digits on the info display system.

21:13
Not bad, seven minutes to go. Searching around, I find a store and get a drink to drown my parched throat. Ahhhh… feels like heaven. Just as I was about to sing a glorious ode to the exquisite Appy, I saw the crowd dissolve away from the tracks. The train must be approaching. I quickly moved into position, geared up my rucksack, crossed myself twice, said a little prayer, thought about my mom and waited with bated breath. There she blows! Finally, it sputtered to a stop. The train heaved and out came the passengers, weaving through me as I stood there thanking my lucky stars. I’d survived. Survived the onslaught of a Mumbai local.

I quickly scuttled into the compartment. Then, it struck me. No wonder. This local wasn’t gonna leave until the guards changed. It started from this station.

Dejected but somewhat relieved, I found a seat and sat down, still gulping down my Appy. But then I got up soon enough when I saw a family of four with two little kids shuffling between the passengers trying to make some room in the cramped compartment and offered my seat. Couldn’t afford to risk my Appy, could I? ;-)

As I stood near the door watching the passengers scurry into the train, I saw him. Yes, that was the moment when I saw him. Saw the smug smile on his face as he hobbled his way looking at the hungry, tired faces of the passengers. Good business, wasn’t it gonna be? Flinging his tray onto his shoulders, he stepped aboard. And then it started. His feeble and quite amusing attempts at advertising his wares. Hawking…gawking…no matter what it took, he enlisted all the details of his wares. Peanuts, along with a wide assortment of nuts and fried snacks. And like a true Indian, he spiced it up with a sprinkling of chilli powder, coriander paste and chippings of the choicest onions from the fields of Maharashtra. Soon, the customers came, thronging to have a light snack at the end of a tiring day before they could reach the comfort of their homes and settle down for some hot, home-cooked food.

Soon, he had started quite a riot.

His bonhomie and amusing ways soon had the entire compartment smiling. Singing and drawling, he soon had all those tired passengers humming. The deftness of his hands while he crafted pieces of paper into perfectly shaped cones won many admirers. The way he mixed all his ingredients and topped it with a sizzle of lemon juice had the entire coach talking about the delectability of his simple snack. Working consistently, he trumpeted about the delicious nature of what he called the perfect snack. Collecting the cash, soon after selling his ware, he stuffed all those notes into his pocket and continued to urge people to taste his appetizing snack. Soon, he started a new wave of publicity. “Don’t you dare forget having onions, sir; they help increase your blood flow. They also clear up your digestive tract”. He went on with his rant about the health benefits of eating onions with such confidence, almost as though half of the docs at Breach Candy had been hired at his suggestions. “Would you like some more onion chippings, sir?” “Don’t you worry sir, your mixed special is on it’s way. This train’s not going anywhere until I serve you”.

Looking at him go about his job with such absolute aplomb and carpe diem, I wondered what my uncle, an advertising professional, would think of him. I smiled. Somehow, I had a feeling he would have hired him right away to teach all his students a thing or two about advertising. Soon, more passengers filled in and the train was about to leave. With a thoroughly satisfied look on his face and quite a thick bump where his pocket once was, he got off the train.

As I saw him swagger to his spot on the platform, I realized one thing. That life’s a gift. A treasure meant to be honored. And the only way to redeem it is through survival. That’s what he was doing. Surviving. That’s what all those guys in the compartment were doing. That’s what we all are doing. But sometimes we forget that what more important is to be smiling through it. Maybe smile to survive. For then, you’ll survive ….to smile.

Or maybe all of this meant nothing at all.

Just another day in this miracle called Mumbai.

Does ur soul stir?

Ever...
felt the tenderness of life as u walk barefoot on wet grass..

ever heard the leaves rustle to the rhythm of ur heart.....

ever felt the bliss of raindrops on ur lips...

ever felt the kiss of an evening breeze caress your hand.....

ever felt the softness of true joy....

ever seen the dream in a baby's smile...

ever felt the ecstasy of heartfelt laughter...

ever felt the eagerness in an infant's fingers.....

ever hummed a song for an entire day......

ever lost yourself in a sky filled with stars....

ever loved to the brink of craziness...

ever seen the sparkle of innocence in a child's eyes....

ever played hide and seek behind the clouds....

ever sang along with a bird...

ever felt the rain on your fingers...

ever felt the satin on a rose....







have you ever looked up at the stars and wondered........

Nowhere but here

Grey Matters!!