This is a collage of free expression. Random and unplanned.
These are born out of seeing and living life in its raw form...
And there are those who talk, with a shroud; at times
To cover their true self
Their eyes cannot meet the light or the dark.
They look for the grey which is hardly present.
And grey is all life is about.
And such shortage of it; all around the shroud.
Their inner voice, when it speaks
Speaks to emptiness
But it reverberates. And they hear.
Disjointed.
SELVES ON SALE
(1994)
Down I went the attic
Through the lightless corridor
Unto the dark chamber
Where selves were on sale.
Numberless they were
with no distinction of sex
A pageantry of immortal selves
of those who had sold their soul.
The first one from the left
had a smile on its face
“Cheerful youth” read the caption below
“who sold his soul for a shilling.”
Followed then the second
“The Tyrant” an octogenarian
a white-haired veteran
whose toils are his exploits.
Then followed a Lame
Who was an admirer of Time
Now fails to keep pace with it
And limps to get at Life.
“Self of a Mute”
----a loquacious person in his youthful days
A silent surrender was his
To the system that trapped him.
The “Haunted Self”
read now the caption
was a promising youth
whose vanity had deceived but.
Then stood I
In front of the last piece
That of a “Brave Life”
Whose Will was confiscated
Before his surrender.
Penniless I felt
With a penny in my hand
I had no choice there
Mine was a blend of all these.
I have the habit
of keeping things; inside.
I have locked It
inside my corners.
My arms stretch towards eternity
---I am the past, present and future---
My birth is unknown.
My death is a mockery
----I am immortal!---
Now, I am a clairvoyant,
The calendar is my progeny
Obituary my victory!
Life toils with Me.
He strives to get at Me
My rhythm is my footsteps
My symphony, His milestone…
I am His master.
He my servant; indolent
---I am his past present and future----
I rule the world
I explode like a bombshell
I am a nightmare
The child rebukes me…
I am the heart beat
The Lover kisses me---
I am his auspicious moment----
I do not falter
As mortals do
I am not possessed
(As spirits are supposed to be)
I work miracles
I am no magician
I am just I am---inimitable!
I am the omnipotent; the omniscient
The Universe marches with Me
---I am the past present and future---
The whole world looks up to Me.
TO MY SON WITH LOVE
To Aadithya
March 27 2002.
I knew you; for a while
You were only a dot; inside me
But I loved the dot that you were
You ticked… signs of life
Inside me; the miracle of Evolution
Your beats of life were uniform
-Regular pangs –
At regular intervals
Like the soothing beats of Indian music
It was just the tick
You made to make your presence felt
I had made vows for you
I was yearning to breathe for
And you know… I was…!
I recollected many a bed-time story
Forgotten in the tapestry of time
I would have danced with your
Faltering steps a million times….
Your ticking stopped.
We stopped it.
The Doctor was kind though.
You were not to be
What you were trying to be…
You loved me too much
So much that you may have
Devoured me.
His forceps went inside me
With precision.
When I was fast asleep.
And gently, but surely told you the truth.
When I woke up
I had stopped breathing for you
Your pangs had stopped; for ever.
You left a vacuum.
But you had made those eight weeks of my life
A reason to live and hope for…
My child, you were not to be
But I loved you, your mother
However much dangerous they said you were…!
I saw you. Felt you…
It is heartbreaking
That you did not live
To see my face; your mother’s.
The City was shining like a young bride. Radiant. Shops were working all night and the streets lit. Sea of people everywhere. Fire crackers heralding the new season. The City was in a festive mood; once again. Memories of the carnage left behind by the bomb explosion a week ago was overtaken by the spirit of the season.
“Sir can you open the boot please?’ the Sentry at the check point stopped the Motorist. ‘Can you please write your name and address in the book?
The Motorist got down patiently. He walked towards the bunker where three armed sentries stood in an atmosphere of enforced silence. The rays of the summer sun were just beginning to thrust on them.
The Motorist wrote his name and address. “Wish you all a happy New Year. You are doing a great service…”
“Thank you sir. But we do not have a new year… each day is new and is full of surprises for us… !”
The Motorist drove away.
The City was just coming awake. Men and women were breezing in and out of The City. All trying best to make the New Year more memorable than the previous years. Gifts, surprises, holiday plans, and sweet meats were the top mandates of their ‘to do list’ for the day.
“Can you open the boot please, madam?” The Sentry was just after his snack, which he called the breakfast. “Your identification please …? Could you please write your name and address in the book? I am sorry to bother you, even though I can see your baby cry… We are doing our duty madam.”
The Motorist unseated her infant and walked towards the camouflaged check point in an aura of guarded silence.
“I may have more check points to stop by… It is a real hassle. Happy new year to you, anyway…”
“Thank you madam…be more careful these days…”
She drove away.
The sun was ablaze. The scorching heat did not deter those who thronged The City for the best deals found in plenty.
“Your identification, please sir. Madam, yours too…”
The couple got down. The lady handed over a packet of sweet meats to the wearied sentries. “Happy New Year to you…”
“Thank you madam… The City is under high alert. Avoid crowds…”
The Couple drove away.
A warning from the Military Headquarters buzzed at the check point. The walkie talkie said: “Acting on a tip. A suspicious passenger bus is City bound. Forty passengers. Five kilograms of explosives hidden in a bag. Two infiltrators. Over and out.”
No passenger bus could enter The City without the careful scrutiny of the sentries - innumerable passengers, bags and heavy baggage…
That turned out to be a false alarm. All buses were found safe to enter The City.
The evening shoppers returned home.
The mirth of The City was overflowing. The distant musical concert started reverberating in the moonlit night. The ears trained to detect gun shots and bomb shells found relief in the spirit of the moment. Happiness was realizing itself far away. Lovers held hands and kissed in perfect abandon and walked down the street.
The City went to sleep; safely.
“I am sorry… I cannot come home as planned. The City’s security is intensified due to last week’s bomb explosion. Buy our son the gifts I promised him” the Sentry told his wife over the phone.
He dreamt of his young wife and two-year old son in the far away village.
A warning from the Military Headquarters buzzed —‘all luxury vehicles entering The City needs thorough check up…’
The Sentry woke up. He lived an unfinished dream.
Another day just began…
19.04.2007
“Sita, keep this extra money for the medicine you may need for your daughter, since we do not know whether your husband is living or dead.” The Matriarch said in a controlled voice. Sita rushed back home; gratefully.
On the mud floor plastered with cow-dung, Sita’s four year old daughter was lying. Continuous fever and diarrhea had left her very weak. Sita’s seventy-year old mother was fanning the child with a folded newspaper.
“Where are you boys?” Sita yelled out to find her missing sons.
“We are all here,” the three of them yelled back from different parts of the fenceless garden. One on the mango tree, the other digging the garden with a spade and the youngest of the three- the cricket fan of the family- practicing his bowling with a tender coconut fruit that was fallen on the ground.
Sita loved her children intensely even in the dire state of penury. She could not work any more than in three houses as a maid.
She was nineteen when married, and her husband, forty. Both prolific and profligate, he left her with four children in quick succession. His sojourns at home left empty bottles of cheap alcohol, a sweat-soaked shirt and a few bruise marks of heavy beating on her.
Her little savings in the metal trunk too vanished with him.
The last Sita saw of him was with his head split after a market brawl.
“She just mumbled that she was hungry.” Sita’s mother exclaimed as the child spoke after a long time.
The hearth was lit to make the porridge.
All ate. Sita dug into the pot for some porridge. There was more water and a few grains of rice. She drank it with some salt in it.
That bright sunny day, the boys plucked three ripe mangoes. They ate the mangoes all by themselves while playing. The girl wept looking at the skin of the mangoes on the ground, making her grandmother cry with her.
The grandmother looked at the sky and wondered whether there ever was God.
She bundled up the clothes of the girl and made her wear the best frock, which had survived six tears.
“You and I will go on a trip. I will take you to a place, where you will have a lot of friends to play with and three meals for a day. Better clothes to wear and a toothbrush for yourself.”
The girl was elated. “Really? When are we going…? I cannot wait.”
“Sure. Let us go now.” She dropped a kiss on her cheeks.
With complete disregard to her brothers who ate all the mangoes by themselves, she accompanied her grandmother to The Place, which to her sounded heavenly.
Two hours of journey by bus. The grandmother took the tickets and whisked away the child from the crowd that was getting down at the halt.
Five minutes of walk and they reached the gate of a high wall.
“This is The Place. Remember the good things…free meals, better clothes….be good.”
“May God bless you; my child…”
The child looked at The Place.
“How long will I stay here…?”
“For the rest of your life, my child…”
“But who will I sleep with, and who will take me to pee under the coconut tree in the night?”
The grandmother stood there. Speechless. A deep shaft of pain pierced through her chest.
“My precious child…! Let us go back home…let us eat and dress as we have…I only thought of the free meals you get here…let us forget it and return home…”
She grabbed the child.
They left the gates of Ram Vilas Orphanage; unnoticed.
22.04.2007
It was 7 am.
Rrrrng. The Nokia mobile phone beeped: ‘Notes for the Day:’
9.00 am staff meeting
10.30 am meeting client
12.45 pm annual appraisal…
2.30….
The list went on.
The Notes for the Day were heavy; as usual.
The Professional bounced out of bed. There was no time to sing in the bathroom. That is restricted only to Sundays. He was out of his specially- designed stress-relief bathroom in no less than ten minutes.
Rrrrng. The Nokia was ringing. A colleague.
“Hi. Morning. Looks like the AB operating system is giving a lot of trouble. I had over 25 complaints just regarding the AB last night. My shift is over, just a heads up for you to start your day. Bye”
The Professional stormed out of the house.
The traffic had queued up beyond eyes could reach.
The Professional remembered the ‘How to Use Time Productively’ seminar he had attended recently.
He opened the car drawer. Took out a bottle; popped a pill – ‘Breakfast in a pill. A pill a day keeps the doctor away’, the label said.
The Professional plugged his ‘hands-free’ talking contraption into his ears.
“Hi Mom, how are you keeping? How was dad’s birthday? Could not make it due to heavy work pressure. I am sorry, cant make it to the family wedding too next week.. Please make my excuses…”
“Hi, belated happy birthday to you, my friend. My on line calendar reminded me; but simply did not have the time to wish on time…”
The Professional parked the car and hurried to his desk.
The Fast Food caravan brought food. The Caravan comes in every hour and serves food to the needy. Fried chicken, potato chips, burgers and what not!
A Power Point Presentation for all Professionals in the Board Room on “The Groundbreaking Food Processor” began.
The sales agent got off:
“This is our latest product. Custom-designed to match your lifestyle. All you need is to plug this into the USB cable of your computer. It comes with a State-of-the-Art cooking pan and a bottle of water. A small contraption. You put these sachets, which contains all minerals, carbohydrates and proteins into the cooking pan and in five minutes the meal will be cooked and served to your mouth while you work, by the sheer touch of your mouse. Water to drink and clean your mouth will be optional features.”
The Professional wasted no time to decide to order on line. Until the order arrived, he decided to rely on his faithful Fast Food outlets.
Fast Food. Fast Life. Fast Action. Everything was Fast.
Rrrrrng.
It was the Nokia reminder: ‘Delayed medical check up.’
He considered himself healthy and delayed it further.
The rhythm of Fast Life became Much Faster.
The Professional Shut Down his computer. While walking out of office, a sudden rush of blindness filled his eyes.
“Your cholesterol and sugar are unbelievably high!” said the Doctor while the Professional lay in the hospital bed. “Slow down. Eat healthy - leaves and veggies. Find time to exercise…”
Find Time. Eat Healthy. ‘Ambitious Deliverables,’ he thought.
‘Slow Life? Slow Food? Slow Action? How Unproductive!”
The Professional left the hospital.
During the two weeks of compulsory medical leave, his Nokia beeped less. He despised the slowness of his days.
A few days later, he began to feel his own ‘Presence’ while strolling down the garden… and the touch of his bare feet on the lawn…
Slow life. He began to love it.
While going through his childhood album, a photo made him laugh- of him wearing a ------- made out of the leaves of the Jak tree pulled together with coconut ----- !
He cancelled his on-line order for The Food Processor.
26.04.2007
These are born out of seeing and living life in its raw form...
ON TALKING
June 09 2009
June 09 2009
And there are those who talk, with a shroud; at times
To cover their true self
Their eyes cannot meet the light or the dark.
They look for the grey which is hardly present.
And grey is all life is about.
And such shortage of it; all around the shroud.
Their inner voice, when it speaks
Speaks to emptiness
But it reverberates. And they hear.
Disjointed.
SELVES ON SALE
(1994)
Down I went the attic
Through the lightless corridor
Unto the dark chamber
Where selves were on sale.
Numberless they were
with no distinction of sex
A pageantry of immortal selves
of those who had sold their soul.
The first one from the left
had a smile on its face
“Cheerful youth” read the caption below
“who sold his soul for a shilling.”
Followed then the second
“The Tyrant” an octogenarian
a white-haired veteran
whose toils are his exploits.
Then followed a Lame
Who was an admirer of Time
Now fails to keep pace with it
And limps to get at Life.
“Self of a Mute”
----a loquacious person in his youthful days
A silent surrender was his
To the system that trapped him.
The “Haunted Self”
read now the caption
was a promising youth
whose vanity had deceived but.
Then stood I
In front of the last piece
That of a “Brave Life”
Whose Will was confiscated
Before his surrender.
Penniless I felt
With a penny in my hand
I had no choice there
Mine was a blend of all these.
ETERNITY
1994I have the habit
of keeping things; inside.
I have locked It
inside my corners.
My arms stretch towards eternity
---I am the past, present and future---
My birth is unknown.
My death is a mockery
----I am immortal!---
Now, I am a clairvoyant,
The calendar is my progeny
Obituary my victory!
Life toils with Me.
He strives to get at Me
My rhythm is my footsteps
My symphony, His milestone…
I am His master.
He my servant; indolent
---I am his past present and future----
I rule the world
I explode like a bombshell
I am a nightmare
The child rebukes me…
I am the heart beat
The Lover kisses me---
I am his auspicious moment----
I do not falter
As mortals do
I am not possessed
(As spirits are supposed to be)
I work miracles
I am no magician
I am just I am---inimitable!
I am the omnipotent; the omniscient
The Universe marches with Me
---I am the past present and future---
The whole world looks up to Me.
TO MY SON WITH LOVE
To Aadithya
March 27 2002.
I knew you; for a while
You were only a dot; inside me
But I loved the dot that you were
You ticked… signs of life
Inside me; the miracle of Evolution
Your beats of life were uniform
-Regular pangs –
At regular intervals
Like the soothing beats of Indian music
It was just the tick
You made to make your presence felt
I had made vows for you
I was yearning to breathe for
And you know… I was…!
I recollected many a bed-time story
Forgotten in the tapestry of time
I would have danced with your
Faltering steps a million times….
Your ticking stopped.
We stopped it.
The Doctor was kind though.
You were not to be
What you were trying to be…
You loved me too much
So much that you may have
Devoured me.
His forceps went inside me
With precision.
When I was fast asleep.
And gently, but surely told you the truth.
When I woke up
I had stopped breathing for you
Your pangs had stopped; for ever.
You left a vacuum.
But you had made those eight weeks of my life
A reason to live and hope for…
My child, you were not to be
But I loved you, your mother
However much dangerous they said you were…!
I saw you. Felt you…
It is heartbreaking
That you did not live
To see my face; your mother’s.
ANOTHER DAY
The City was shining like a young bride. Radiant. Shops were working all night and the streets lit. Sea of people everywhere. Fire crackers heralding the new season. The City was in a festive mood; once again. Memories of the carnage left behind by the bomb explosion a week ago was overtaken by the spirit of the season.
“Sir can you open the boot please?’ the Sentry at the check point stopped the Motorist. ‘Can you please write your name and address in the book?
The Motorist got down patiently. He walked towards the bunker where three armed sentries stood in an atmosphere of enforced silence. The rays of the summer sun were just beginning to thrust on them.
The Motorist wrote his name and address. “Wish you all a happy New Year. You are doing a great service…”
“Thank you sir. But we do not have a new year… each day is new and is full of surprises for us… !”
The Motorist drove away.
The City was just coming awake. Men and women were breezing in and out of The City. All trying best to make the New Year more memorable than the previous years. Gifts, surprises, holiday plans, and sweet meats were the top mandates of their ‘to do list’ for the day.
“Can you open the boot please, madam?” The Sentry was just after his snack, which he called the breakfast. “Your identification please …? Could you please write your name and address in the book? I am sorry to bother you, even though I can see your baby cry… We are doing our duty madam.”
The Motorist unseated her infant and walked towards the camouflaged check point in an aura of guarded silence.
“I may have more check points to stop by… It is a real hassle. Happy new year to you, anyway…”
“Thank you madam…be more careful these days…”
She drove away.
The sun was ablaze. The scorching heat did not deter those who thronged The City for the best deals found in plenty.
“Your identification, please sir. Madam, yours too…”
The couple got down. The lady handed over a packet of sweet meats to the wearied sentries. “Happy New Year to you…”
“Thank you madam… The City is under high alert. Avoid crowds…”
The Couple drove away.
A warning from the Military Headquarters buzzed at the check point. The walkie talkie said: “Acting on a tip. A suspicious passenger bus is City bound. Forty passengers. Five kilograms of explosives hidden in a bag. Two infiltrators. Over and out.”
No passenger bus could enter The City without the careful scrutiny of the sentries - innumerable passengers, bags and heavy baggage…
That turned out to be a false alarm. All buses were found safe to enter The City.
The evening shoppers returned home.
The mirth of The City was overflowing. The distant musical concert started reverberating in the moonlit night. The ears trained to detect gun shots and bomb shells found relief in the spirit of the moment. Happiness was realizing itself far away. Lovers held hands and kissed in perfect abandon and walked down the street.
The City went to sleep; safely.
“I am sorry… I cannot come home as planned. The City’s security is intensified due to last week’s bomb explosion. Buy our son the gifts I promised him” the Sentry told his wife over the phone.
He dreamt of his young wife and two-year old son in the far away village.
A warning from the Military Headquarters buzzed —‘all luxury vehicles entering The City needs thorough check up…’
The Sentry woke up. He lived an unfinished dream.
Another day just began…
19.04.2007
JOURNEY UNFINISHED
“Sita, keep this extra money for the medicine you may need for your daughter, since we do not know whether your husband is living or dead.” The Matriarch said in a controlled voice. Sita rushed back home; gratefully.
On the mud floor plastered with cow-dung, Sita’s four year old daughter was lying. Continuous fever and diarrhea had left her very weak. Sita’s seventy-year old mother was fanning the child with a folded newspaper.
“Where are you boys?” Sita yelled out to find her missing sons.
“We are all here,” the three of them yelled back from different parts of the fenceless garden. One on the mango tree, the other digging the garden with a spade and the youngest of the three- the cricket fan of the family- practicing his bowling with a tender coconut fruit that was fallen on the ground.
Sita loved her children intensely even in the dire state of penury. She could not work any more than in three houses as a maid.
She was nineteen when married, and her husband, forty. Both prolific and profligate, he left her with four children in quick succession. His sojourns at home left empty bottles of cheap alcohol, a sweat-soaked shirt and a few bruise marks of heavy beating on her.
Her little savings in the metal trunk too vanished with him.
The last Sita saw of him was with his head split after a market brawl.
“She just mumbled that she was hungry.” Sita’s mother exclaimed as the child spoke after a long time.
The hearth was lit to make the porridge.
All ate. Sita dug into the pot for some porridge. There was more water and a few grains of rice. She drank it with some salt in it.
That bright sunny day, the boys plucked three ripe mangoes. They ate the mangoes all by themselves while playing. The girl wept looking at the skin of the mangoes on the ground, making her grandmother cry with her.
The grandmother looked at the sky and wondered whether there ever was God.
She bundled up the clothes of the girl and made her wear the best frock, which had survived six tears.
“You and I will go on a trip. I will take you to a place, where you will have a lot of friends to play with and three meals for a day. Better clothes to wear and a toothbrush for yourself.”
The girl was elated. “Really? When are we going…? I cannot wait.”
“Sure. Let us go now.” She dropped a kiss on her cheeks.
With complete disregard to her brothers who ate all the mangoes by themselves, she accompanied her grandmother to The Place, which to her sounded heavenly.
Two hours of journey by bus. The grandmother took the tickets and whisked away the child from the crowd that was getting down at the halt.
Five minutes of walk and they reached the gate of a high wall.
“This is The Place. Remember the good things…free meals, better clothes….be good.”
“May God bless you; my child…”
The child looked at The Place.
“How long will I stay here…?”
“For the rest of your life, my child…”
“But who will I sleep with, and who will take me to pee under the coconut tree in the night?”
The grandmother stood there. Speechless. A deep shaft of pain pierced through her chest.
“My precious child…! Let us go back home…let us eat and dress as we have…I only thought of the free meals you get here…let us forget it and return home…”
She grabbed the child.
They left the gates of Ram Vilas Orphanage; unnoticed.
22.04.2007
BREAKFAST IN A PILL
It was 7 am.
Rrrrng. The Nokia mobile phone beeped: ‘Notes for the Day:’
9.00 am staff meeting
10.30 am meeting client
12.45 pm annual appraisal…
2.30….
The list went on.
The Notes for the Day were heavy; as usual.
The Professional bounced out of bed. There was no time to sing in the bathroom. That is restricted only to Sundays. He was out of his specially- designed stress-relief bathroom in no less than ten minutes.
Rrrrng. The Nokia was ringing. A colleague.
“Hi. Morning. Looks like the AB operating system is giving a lot of trouble. I had over 25 complaints just regarding the AB last night. My shift is over, just a heads up for you to start your day. Bye”
The Professional stormed out of the house.
The traffic had queued up beyond eyes could reach.
The Professional remembered the ‘How to Use Time Productively’ seminar he had attended recently.
He opened the car drawer. Took out a bottle; popped a pill – ‘Breakfast in a pill. A pill a day keeps the doctor away’, the label said.
The Professional plugged his ‘hands-free’ talking contraption into his ears.
“Hi Mom, how are you keeping? How was dad’s birthday? Could not make it due to heavy work pressure. I am sorry, cant make it to the family wedding too next week.. Please make my excuses…”
“Hi, belated happy birthday to you, my friend. My on line calendar reminded me; but simply did not have the time to wish on time…”
The Professional parked the car and hurried to his desk.
The Fast Food caravan brought food. The Caravan comes in every hour and serves food to the needy. Fried chicken, potato chips, burgers and what not!
A Power Point Presentation for all Professionals in the Board Room on “The Groundbreaking Food Processor” began.
The sales agent got off:
“This is our latest product. Custom-designed to match your lifestyle. All you need is to plug this into the USB cable of your computer. It comes with a State-of-the-Art cooking pan and a bottle of water. A small contraption. You put these sachets, which contains all minerals, carbohydrates and proteins into the cooking pan and in five minutes the meal will be cooked and served to your mouth while you work, by the sheer touch of your mouse. Water to drink and clean your mouth will be optional features.”
The Professional wasted no time to decide to order on line. Until the order arrived, he decided to rely on his faithful Fast Food outlets.
Fast Food. Fast Life. Fast Action. Everything was Fast.
Rrrrrng.
It was the Nokia reminder: ‘Delayed medical check up.’
He considered himself healthy and delayed it further.
The rhythm of Fast Life became Much Faster.
The Professional Shut Down his computer. While walking out of office, a sudden rush of blindness filled his eyes.
“Your cholesterol and sugar are unbelievably high!” said the Doctor while the Professional lay in the hospital bed. “Slow down. Eat healthy - leaves and veggies. Find time to exercise…”
Find Time. Eat Healthy. ‘Ambitious Deliverables,’ he thought.
‘Slow Life? Slow Food? Slow Action? How Unproductive!”
The Professional left the hospital.
During the two weeks of compulsory medical leave, his Nokia beeped less. He despised the slowness of his days.
A few days later, he began to feel his own ‘Presence’ while strolling down the garden… and the touch of his bare feet on the lawn…
Slow life. He began to love it.
While going through his childhood album, a photo made him laugh- of him wearing a ------- made out of the leaves of the Jak tree pulled together with coconut ----- !
He cancelled his on-line order for The Food Processor.
26.04.2007
