Tuesday, May 29, 2007
S-h-am
Humming
Right now I see monuments
Drawn with a shaky hand
Gets sharper as it progresses
Careless whispers strengthened it
The flowers have bloomed
The marsh helped them along
The weak birds now fly
A gentle breeze promised them support
I dreamt of a song
The melody suited my words
I wrote new meanings
Into the pretty tune
The hand that shook is resting now
Against a stone that warms the fingertips
In the cold winter frost
A promising balm
The air that was smoky
Is clearer now
Someone whispered to me that I could breathe
And I'm breathing now
The monuments would just vanish
If the charcoal was invisible
The flowers wither
In the flimsy soil
The birds drop down
If the breeze fails
The words meant stars
When I meant the moon
The words nothing
Without the reading
The hand slips
There was moss on the stone
And I left the gloves
The fingers turn numb.
Would I choke in the air
That I breathe now?
Thursday, May 24, 2007
Clutter
As he came out, in his yellow clothes, smelling of sunshine and freshly cut grass, he paused to look into the mirror. Everything was dazzling, almost blinding. It hurt his eyes, this sunshine. He walked the usual path, and strangers flashed smiles like old friends. Familiar faces called out and asked him friendly questions. He forced smiles, the way that was right, the way the day demanded. He had no reason to be otherwise, except it was difficult. He wondered why, off-hand, but didn't dwell on it for long. He walked on, towards the sun, the one thing he was sure he didn't want. But the day was yellow.
He ate pumpkins, like everyone else. He saw the same things that a yellow day offered. They were playing with water, all laughing and giggling. They squirted some on him, and he splashed some on them back. It wasn't really that hard. It wasn't as forced as it had been. He actually was having fun. It gave him a high, to be able to be happy. He wanted to be, and he was.
He walked on, as a sudden wind picked up. The day was turning blue. The dust rose with the wind and the blue smell of the air surrounded him. The leaves blew towards him, and a stray plastic bag swirled round and round in the same spot. Doors were hastily shut, and clothes left to dry removed. There was a dull thud somewhere in the background. He walked on, the path now deserted, the smiles gone. He missed yellow.
Fataach.
Sunday, May 20, 2007
Horrible nursery rhyme.
And you're yet again saved from something horrid. You were prancing around without a care in the world when you suddenly stop and see your toe nudging air and you shudder at the thought of one step more. You recede back, safe, but just about. You're visibly shaken, you don't know if it was your fault, you don't exactly know what went wrong. And twice in short succession just kills all joy. And you are back to being wary, AGAIN. Suddenly everything now has a sinister undercurrent. Like the blasted nursery rhymes. Aarrgh.
Friday, May 18, 2007
It is there it is there it IS there !!!!!!!!!!
Anyway, this got me thinking. Would you not believe me either ?? Because the Yeti does exist. I'm not overtly imaginative or dramatic or fanciful. I know it exists. It used to stay at the GK waalla place but when Dadamoni shifted base to Mehrauli, it decided to follow me to flat no. 56. I didn't snap at it like the others. Plus I actually had the decency to be grateful for all that it has done for me all this while. It has the most gentle arm ever and the fuzziest lap. Even though it's invisible, I'm sure it must've a very gentle face and the prettiest eyes. It stands guard as I sleep and makes sure that Shaak Chunni stays away. Shaak Chunni always thought that it could get me whenever it wanted. Constantly tried to plague me. There was a time when I couldn't bear hearing it's name out loud. Now I can even type it, even though a shiver runs through me as I type the letters. Thank moon for the Yeti. And the non believers can go eat horse shit. Grr.
Monday, May 14, 2007
Sunday, May 13, 2007
Mmm.
Today when I stand next to the dining table as my steadily withering thakurma slowly eats her food; it comes to me suddenly how thin she has grown. She is now a skeleton of her formal portly self. She squints at me with her hands shading her eyes when I speak to her. She still laments how thin I am.
Once, when I was six years old, thakurma had an operation. She had to go and stay there for a week. When I used to come back from school, she would always be there. Now I was supposed to go to a nearby jethi’s place after school and stay with her until one of my parents would come back and fetch me. Jethi cooked happy food. She would mix rice, butter, salt and potato fries and arrange them in balls around my plate like a small army. Then, because I was a finicky eater, she would make me name all of them and eat them one by one. I couldn’t miss any because it meant I didn’t love the person I had named it after.
The first day I came to Jethi’s place, she asked me to go wash up while she arranged the table. I obediently went to the basin, washed, and sat down. My arm had barely stretched towards my plate when she pounced on me. What dirty knuckles! She cried in dismay. She marched towards the basin while I guiltily followed. That day my knuckles were washed so vigorously that I’m sure they were raw red. But Jethi laughs when I claim that. From that day, till the end of the week, my knuckles were subjected to the same torture until they started resembling almost princess-like proportions. The day before thakurma was supposed to come back, Jethi made chicken for me too. I ate the usual nevertheless. I was stupid. She always claimed that I was the daughter she never had. I secretly stroke my knuckles and try to look as earnest as I can.
She came to visit a few days ago. I smiled at her and asked her whether my knuckles were clean enough or not. She laughingly told me that I had become a ‘young woman’. That now she didn’t have to worry about me because I knew how to discipline myself. I don’t really want to. And my knuckles still look the same.
Wednesday, May 09, 2007
There was a time when fruits were easy. All sucked. All tasted bad, and it was just a mere avowal not to eat fruits, and drink juice instead. Drinking juice was always easier, because they came in pre-packaged containers that had a straw for easy drinking. And then I could crush the tetra-pack into a ball and carefully aim it to the nearest dustbin. Easy. But I’m sick of drinking them now. I want to chew my own and hum cheerfully as I taste my favourite fruit. But I can’t choose them correctly. And all I can do is write about fruits. Exactly the kind I want, and it happily comes to me. Bright orange, with liberal amounts of sweet and tangy alternate tastes. One that I can peel and chew and gulp them down, occasionally spitting out seeds, which keeps me alert. And I can sit in the sun and wait for it to rain, so that the orange tastes even better. The orange may finish, but it would still leave me better satisfied and happier than before I ate the orange. But I don’t know where the orange tree is. I mistook the apple one for it. I cradled it in my arms and brought it home. It was dark red and shiny. It invited attention. It was an apple. It was an apple.
Monday, May 07, 2007
Why we didn't want to be pregnant
Nishtha : Yeah and then you get those horrible things !!!!!!
Nakshak and me : What ? Stretch marks ??????
Nishtha : Kids !!!!!!!!
And we died laughing. Oh MAN.
Saturday, May 05, 2007
Thursday, May 03, 2007
Of sunshine and laughter
You with your hidden fears and magnificent eyes
Crouching in the dark, driven there
Nobody’s watching, nothing to fear
You can cry alone, your salty tears.
Secret hopes and lovely dreams
Crushed inside you, you despair.
Rainy days and coffee all night
Speeding cars and brand new bikes
Laughter shared; your own giddy highs.
Driving fast in an uphill road
A vertical path as the engine sputters
Driving on, far away
Till all you hear is the wind
Whistle around you, ever moving fear.
Of sunshine and laughter, and newer lies,
Stuffed inside you, the basest of highs
You push it down, hoping for it to go
Away like it did, in that ride long ago
That ride long ago.
Wednesday, May 02, 2007
Impatient tapping.
There are times when you feel that you are teetering over an edge. Not just one edge, with one fall, one danger. When you’re on the brink of something big and you just don’t know what it is. And you probably have an inkling of it, but it’s too frightening to acknowledge. Sometimes you think about it and can’t decide what it is. It seems to elude you, leaving only a sense of deep dissatisfaction and unease behind. Sometimes you forget it, when you’re laughing at a joke, or listening to something. Sometimes, in sudden moments, it comes back to you. And every time, it hits hard. Sometimes you stagger, sometimes you feel angrily frustrated. But it ever seems to loom, just out of reach, just a few paces away. In your restless mind, it almost assumes the sure solemnity of a cataclysm.
You can’t decide, you want to, so bad. Kicking things doesn’t help, frustration mounts. While you scream.
Tuesday, May 01, 2007
Rag Doll
Odds and ends, that gather
Make a rag doll
Perfect hair, aquiline nose,
She ain't no Barbie
Hasn't learnt how to pose
Rag doll, tossed around
Flops on the ground
Unobtrusive, no display doll
Straggly hair, no pretty frock
No stilettos, no glam
Pretending would be a sham
Rag doll, bounces off the ground
Stays there, still
Lies there, without a sound.