Words and Bodies!

Only them, not me:
She was beautiful. He was intelligent.
And they make love and it illustrates the sweaty, meaty, stony images.

This time, I don’t want to be part of it.

The primal aspects, like co-ordinates
The vital components, like seeds
The livid bodies, like canvases

Somebody got to wake me up!

My burgeoning mind glowed with shame and the subsequent ascendency;
It were displayed and spattered like her beauty,
All naked and abused!

Somebody got to wake me up!

No.
I can’t think without me knowing about it.
No.
I can’t even imagine to feel like staying awake, in the haven.
No.
I ought not assume if it were all real.

It can't be real without my bodies:
Illustrations depicting her and some loose bones.

Somebody got to wake me up!

Look!
These sprouts.

My words carry me thus far, these far
And my imagination lingers within its beauty.

Shadow!

It’s elongated, and
Its wavy graph doesn’t fit well;
Not too well with the struggling pace.
Though, I still allow it to follow me,
Just in case, if any companion needed be!

The sunset and eminence of the night,
It seems a coffin has a readymade shroud. And
My elongated shadow hardly discern this death hour, and
My struggling pace waits each crescent like an episode on life.

I saw the sunset;
It was a delightful sight with so many worries.
Suddenly, it seems to me:
My elongated shadow has brought back all those memories;
The very passages and their ceremonies on life.

Oh!
Little while ago
A labour room expediency comforts the spirit:
A wavy shadow of occasions, together
With some qualms and a dying sun
It’s the shadow again
That wavy shadow!
This time, I wasn’t part of it.

The laughing stock!

Ok!

I have become the proverbial laughing stock. This isn’t the problem, though. The problem lies somewhere else. Let me tell you: I don’t choose to be unhappy. Rather, I pretend to be unhappy. This life is awesome, fabulous, fascinating and colourful. I have lost count of my happy moments. Now, you believe me, I am happy as anybody could be in this earth.

• For I love despair
• For I play blind to the reality
• For I pretend the responsibility

Of what:

• Of a destitute
• Of a life less lived
• Of a person
  

Some tongue in cheek comments; I listened them all, through my ear and stored them to reprocess in my favour. We should learn to live on reprocessed products. Everything has been exhausted, including love and faith.


I thought, they knew me by my name…the infamous name. Sorry, my dreams were rather bizarre. My name was up for an auction. No prejudice but all the chauvinism were there, put together by an unknown curator; that’s how we make-up the untold stories of so many lives! Who knows if somebody is following you the way you are following me.


Do I need to talk again? No, never!


Yes, asking questions are comparatively easier, for us fools. But, we do not have ready-made answers and do not follow all the protocols of servitude, that we called life. Yet, the truth is written on the wall. Live your own lives. If somebody asks me about my life, I would rather ask over if you know me that well, for a question like that?


Even easier is to give advice. Advices come in all virtues. But I hate these virtues like any other vice, for that connives like evils do, in their favour. You must have read few lines to come up to me and thought of this opportunity to pass on few advices. I respect that. But, beyond that, you are just another shadow to me. I know you will fear to face the light. That’s life. And that light is truth. Everybody comes with certain past following them and they think of imageries and metaphors, just to avoid it.


This is what has happened recently. [I creep a lot!] I cannot accept other’s truth. It seems to me, the eyes of truth are inside me and watching every step of mine. It reminds me of three versions of truth. Unluckily, it’s my life. And the truth was a part of my life.

And I don’t fear to be weak. This is my way of tackling your so called virtues. The only virtue that I know is love. Somebody will come in the name of love.

Whatever!

Sometime ago, I was made to think that Love is just another bullshit. Bullshit. Much earlier, before such famished thoughts started to inhabit in my mind, I was of the believe that Love is serene, it’s beautiful and we can do everything for it. I was in the same disposition until recently; one and half years or two years to the present. Everybody has a bad morning, I knew. But, for me, one bad morning wasn’t enough. Love wrecks life and people die. And those who are weak and fragile like love itself, just crumble. I know I am weak.

Ever thought like calling a name, so loud the whole universe listen to your voice…Ever wonder if the monsoon rain has more rain drops than your tears or, ever hold a photograph like your own heart that it starts to beat…Heart aches!

Whatever!

I am still carrying on, living everyday!

A so called poem can shout too...

When she reads my scribbles,
I erase them:
Word by word,
Event by event, in my mind.

When she reads,
She poses questions;
Questions of varied interests,
But none mine.

In between,
Her interest reminds me of the relationship;
She caresses the pages and my heart bleeds.

Anniversary!

I don’t want to recollect some events. I don’t even want to think about those events. But life, as it is, is all about remembering the past and moving ahead. A person may call it learning from the mistakes (if mistakes were the reason for the past) and someone can call it the foundation for the life ahead. Whatever it may be, the past is another part of life. We cannot just ignore it. I am not preaching. I am just saying. Yea, I can’t practice what I preach.

Another something got the better of me. And here, I am with some flashes of memories though in words.

I know I can’t relate it as vividly as I would have like to as I am too preoccupied with what has happened rather the event. A third person could have narrated it better. But, I think, I am the only one left with this memory. The event was long forgotten. No remnants. No nothing.

No. I can’t.

Today is the anniversary, I think 12th anniversary of a relationship that turn my world upside down. Should I celebrate it? Today is Sunday. I am free. I need her approval. No. I am not too sure if she wanted to celebrate it the way we used to. But, I know she must be feeling lonely. She might also be remembering the first time we bowed to become one.

My left wrist still proudly flaunts the scratches your nails plowed. Life moves ahead but some scratches never heal.

A toss to the ANNIVERSARY!

Oh! Holly shit! Doctor forbids me alcohol. Says, “You have had enough of it”. A toast gone waste. Whatever, a toast is a toast, with or without it. A toast! Now, I will certainly become the toss ka boss. Will it be enough for an anniversary. Anyway, a toast, whatever it may be.

A word for me: Alienation!

A word for me!

Alienation: I am not looking for the meaning, neither the actual nor the concealed. But, I am not comfortable at the very thought of using it as a word. Anybody can use it anywhere, where the user thinks it befit. One of my close friends mentioned about it while we were talking about what constitutes India, the great land. His point seemed valid: “Alienation comes from the within, from the self. Don’t think about it. Don’t think that you are alienated from the rest…and so on.” Suddenly, I thought of my look and how I pronounced their names. Something disturbed me!

I wasn’t comfortable.

The moment I reached home, I checked the meaning of the word, just to make myself comfortable. After all, I am going to the office next day, again. And I will meet the same people with same name and same features. I don’t want to be alienated, from within or outside. The meaning was same and I think, still the same. Even more, we were taught that we are not aliens. And further, we are working here, earning and living as citizens, just to confirm that we are not aliens.

So, where did I got myself alienated! Am I unfair to myself, despite all these privileges or am I just not able to think beyond myself? But one thing is for sure; I am not comfortable listening to this word. This doesn’t mean that I desire to be a part of a certain group. In fact, it may undermine my sense of a Universalist, irrespective of where do I reside and how I was brought up! It seems, my uneasiness lies deep inside me, as a part of me, to the retorts of senses (of being a human being) when someone try to distinguish me as an individual of certain unfamiliarity, may be in admiration or may be in utter surprise. In fact, alienation comes from within. And the ensuing question is: how deep and profound can it be!

I wanted to be fair to myself and off course to the unbound opportunities we have been bestowed upon. Still, somewhere within, certain apprehension resides heavily. I don’t know why. I can purchase what I want, asking for bargain and best of products, in their language. But, I am not happy even after I got what I wanted at my own terms. This, in fact, is in itself a worrisome trait. And unluckily, I cannot blame myself. The reason: they see me as a different among themselves, which includes me too. Something in their cadence, include unexpressed desire to exclude me and it parades naked before my conscience. Teasing, they have it at their disposal anytime they want and anywhere they care to!

I was made to be a snub-faced and I often parody the same taunts without any fear. But at hindsight, I am afraid what if this happens to a girl or a more receptive person: the feeling of alienation in a country we called “our country” or, in a liberal perception, a sense of being the second group!

Do we need to find our own country? Everything is not right here.

Sick Leave!

This season is unusually bad. It may be just another premature symptom of climate change that we have been talking about, ever since our kindergarten days. Each one of us had to speak on a topic of our choice on climate change and points were given for each resolution the class agreed to work on. Yea, those were the brains of tomorrow. Now, the tomorrow has arrived. I was on sick leave and got a chance to ponder upon those days. How worried those kids were? They were afraid; what if their playgrounds were inundated, what if the earth is dried and turned into a vast desert! They would huddle in the corner and murmured, how long would they live.

Other noticeable symptoms are: Global Warming (AC or no AC), No more sinking of Titanic’s (melting Iceberg or raising sea level), unusual news of snow falling in Dubai and Sahara Desert (No theory, with or without graphic simulations), bomb blasts (with or without timers , our earth is so warmed now, bombs explode even if it was not planted), bigger pimples and their bête noir cosmetics (beautiful or ugly) and bigger families and flood and drought and market turbulence and everything, including my headache.

These few weeks, I have experienced bad to worse. I am weak and tired. Walk few steps and I feel as if I have been walking ever since. No appetite for a foodie. Worrisome! Some precaution and some medicines, that’s not enough.
Look at my reasoning. I blame it all to the climate change. As a human being, I eat, I breathe and do whatever a living being ought to do, just to stay and fit. Yes. No smoke, no drinks as of now, I think for the last four months. What a long period! But, I am still weak. No one to blame, I blame it all to the season.

Poor me! I am exhausted to my seven sick leaves that I wanted to utilize later in the year end with flimsy coughs and pain. Zero sick leaves in my balance and I will have to think before I felt sick. This season is really terrible.

Saturday Bombings!

Seven days in a week and only one Saturday. Not fair. But, lucky we are, there is only one Saturday. Little irrelevant? But the recent bombings in the country suggest that terrorists want to release their horror shows only on Saturdays. What a day? We eagerly wait for weekend and they just need the arrival. What a day, Saturday day! Whatever the agenda could be, Saturdays are becoming rather fluky days for bombs. It explodes everywhere, on Saturdays.

Three major bomb blasts on Saturdays:

- October 29, 2005 at Ahmadabad
- July 26, 2008 at Ahmadabad
- September 13, 2008 at Delhi

Yea, if Saturdays can be party days for bomb planters, why not Fridays and Sundays. And obviously other remaining days of the week. However, how interesting it could read, most of the major bomb blasts in India (or may be anywhere else) happens on weekends. Easy targets, soft targets and nice days!

- April 14, 2006 at Delhi (Friday)
- September 8, 2006 at Malegaon (Friday)
- July 25, 2008 at Bangalore (Friday)
- August 25, 2007 at Hyderabad (Sunday)
- October 14, 2007 at Ludhiana (Sunday)
- November 24 2007 at Lucknow, Varanasi and Faizabad (Sunday)

No kidding, our weekend parties can be bomb parties in the future. I was thinking if we can change our weekends to more secured Wednesdays or Thursdays. These days might not have proved too holistic in the past either, either. But, in the present context, it seems they can at least put some apprehension on bomb planters’ minds. They would rather disapprovingly say, ‘Oh! This time, the weekend is coming on Wednesday.’ Jokes apart, if days could protect us or instill some sanity on their minds, I am ready do sacrifice a weekend of the two. At least few more lifes would be saved.

What do we do on weekends? We relax. We spend time with family members and celebrate life. And what these guys do on weekends? They experiment their wares. And fuse our wires. Why can’t they do it in friendly manner? May be they don’t want family gatherings! I don’t know. Even if they wanted those in power to listen to them with bomb blasts, announce certain dates earlier that we are going to blast some bombs here and there against this and that. This way, their agenda can be better heard and also be appreciated. Everybody will look in amaze and convinced. But what these guys are doing is not done. My little frightened soul cursed so loud, my heart almost explodes. You know, if bombs can be exploded, hearts too can be exploded same way. But, the real impact will come from heart explosion.

May be we need to plant our hearts in dustbins of the society as a pre-emptied attack on this malaise called, terrorism. Oh! My take on terrorism is: the act of spreading terror, with bombs or without bombs.

OK. Where am I? Today is Sunday.

My weekend will be a waste, today. And some of us will damn these weekends all life long. Please, do not tease us with bombs and guns. We are human beings.

Bombs, cheap bombs
It spits splinters and shrapnel in the smoke
It pretends to speak in the dark
No. It bores a hole
No. It mimes a child
No. It tears a heart.
Bombs, cheap bombs
You are not my friend.
Bombs, cheap bombs
We have human spirit
We are not cheap bodies
Bombs, cheap bombs
The mangled bodies
The charred remains
These are no cheap remnants
These are the themes of insanity
These are the colors of freedom.
Bombs, cheap bombs

You are not friend.

Is my God your God!

Is my God your God!

It says, God is one. For some years, I was happy thinking God is only one and He knows everything; who is good or bad, who is sincere and who is lazy and he judge everything by a common parameter. But I was wrong. This has been observed that there are lots more of Gods. And my belief is rather convincingly proven by fact that people fights in the name of religion. My God is more powerful than his God, my God is more helpful then your God, etc. etc.

Here, my sincere undertaking is to project my own God as innocent, simple plain God. I don’t want sacrifices being offer to my God. It would be scurrilous to my God himself.

Must be a joke!

Whatever it might be, I have known this much that people kill each other in the name of religion and drank blood to purify the butchery.

May be my God is different from his God.