Sunday, 25 December 2011

CONSCIOUSNESS THROUGH EYES


----Conscious and Sub-conscious thoughts written vaguely.

Stealing through those deep dark eyes I watched you smile when I missed the line. Your lips were bound together but there was that sparkle in your eyes, which meant trouble for the rest of my life. I never visualized us being together but expectations of a different nature invaded my mind. I feared for your life when I knew you were caught in that endless tangle of lovelorn anguish and comparisons. Your smell invoked the air with bubbles that threw stares at my heart and rose into heights conveyed by previous encounters. My speech lingered on for endless lines and that single flutter of your eyes provoked deep ecstasy, unknown, unmatched, unheard of!

Those few seconds lasted for a month and then it was death. Death of eyes that captivated me for such time; eyes that engulfed me through the mysteries of time; made me realize the value of Life. You came and went like the others and now stare back with contempt from the pages of past at my present. Movement of thoughts has abided with circumstances but that stare still leaves its mark at nights; nights filled with masochistic inspirations and self-disdain.

I’m caught in this relative preponderance of diluted Consciousness. Every picture seems muddling into confused canvases. The lost memories haunt me, summoning the demons in my head to react. But your eyes still fight for their place in my mind and at night comes out to haunt me with tears. I hate to admit that I’m lost in this growing cosmos of changing thoughts, if your eyes can see my future then please redefine my life.

Monday, 28 November 2011

This is the Truth!

The drinks are over

The smoke’s down

I hear a knock at the door

It’s the same old clown

Figuring out life

Ain’t easy now

Wonder where I’m headed

Till the curtain’s down

I told you the end’s near

Love can’t escape the truth

You and I were already through

Someday we had to get over fear

Once I said I had to slay

Can’t let them sway

But today my hands full

With blood where from

I have no clue

Love is but lust

Too true to acknowledge

But never lasts

Once again it’s I

Facing you

Under the winter moon

Telling you

This is the truth!

Thursday, 6 October 2011

Untitled


For her I would have done anything

For her I would have smiled on being called a loser!

But now I can feel her slipping from the palm of my hands.

What I perceived as great just turned out to be good.

A stick full of ink and a piece of paper seem to not cut it this time.

Sunday, 25 September 2011

THIRST

This is not madness. No, I’m not dazed. I’ve been fated to be like this, destined to end up craving for more, more and more. This may sound gibberish to you, but, then, it is not my purpose to influence your thoughts. You must not have felt the pressure, the thirst that develops deep within the loins and comes out jittering between the fingers. Have you ever felt the burning desire to lay hands on the pious, virgin book that lies tempting on the stand? Have you ever felt your eyes bulge and burn with desire on seeing the immense collection of books on the racks of a bookstore?

Oh! How to describe the pleasure and pain obtained during first reads, the smell of the virgin pages turns on each and every senses; the crispness of the pages, the hard bounds, the letters, words and sentences, the innately different styles of the writers - all things add up to the crave and passion. Varied writers of different genre baffle the choices. But, would this dilemma ever come to an end? How can I let Mrs. Dalloway lie there beside David Copperfield? How am I to discriminate between luring Austens and Kafkas? Or else, how am I to let Allan Poe lie there untouched by my hand’s soul, unscathed from my mind’s toll? Only I know how seductive they are, only I know how tempting they are.

But, then, what is the purpose of this craving, when I know it wouldn’t end? No matter how much I read, this ever-famished-yearning-core won’t get appeased. At times, I question myself, what is the purpose of reading? Isn’t it a tantalizing process, a flirtation without end? And isn’t the textual pleasure consumed, subjective, solitary or rather masturbatory? I mean, can another reader extract the same pleasure I obtain while reading the same text?

To me a reading session is more sort of a striptease session. I guess the purpose of the text is to tease us into submission. It keeps us fascinated and glued on by raising our curiosity. But does it really satisfy our desires in the end? We keep on devouring a text, sentence by sentence, just to reach the end and unveil the mystery hidden within it. But does that satisfy our thirst? No, it doesn’t. And it is so, because we fail to discern the exact perspective of the writer’s purpose in writing the text. No matter how hard we try, we can never substitute the writer for its text, or vice-versa. Failure to do so has turned me into an obsessive reader and I know that sooner or later I would have to glide out of the reader’s mind, and get into the grip of the writer’s. There is a striking difference between reading and writing, and I know the day awaits me, when I would see my name shining amongst others on the shelves; that would be the day when my ever-famished-yearning-core would feel quenched; sated with ultimate pleasure.

Death perception

Death doesn’t restrain me from doing this. It just can’t prevent the outpour of the thousand things stored up inside me – things that have grown wings with time, and now wants to fly out. I’ve been a fool to think that there are ways out; actually there are none! Life has played its part. I’m not running away from life but understanding a way out of this indifference that has grown as a layer over me. The last drops of rain in my life have given me immense pleasure; inciting more pain. My noose of life’s thread is closing in decaying; worn out with time, and still it holds on to these last few memories of happiness. But now no more. It’s time to move on. Someday I’ll awake from my sweet slumber to die again. Till then it’s goodbye!

Friday, 29 July 2011

Tragedy

I don’t know if I’m right or wrong. If the thoughts I develop are really mine or fragments borrowed from different minds. My handwriting – is it distinctly mine? There must be someone who writes just like me. How many people are writing blogs at this time? Must be innumerable. The time – 6 AM.

I am whining. I am whining. How easy it is for us to fall back? To feel vulnerable, weak, desolated. I am an entity. An atom surrounded by life. Life is running in the fast lane, while I stand here, cocooned in my own space. Why do I try to bridge this gap created by my mental shortcomings? Am I insane? Why do I have to make sense when I write something down? Why do I speak? What am I scared about? Of facing this self-created world; answering its innumerable questions? This world is falling apart. People are dying all over. Not just people, but thoughts and beliefs too!

I wanted my life to be a smile. Even a mild one would have placed me in a different perspective. But life is not what it seems. The seriousness of life shakes me to the bone. Tragedy is life. Life is Tragedy.

Tragedy is convenient. It runs on its own, like the ocean. Death, despair, and betrayal are on the march, and the storms, the tears, the stillness are all part of the entourage. Tragedy is clean. It is restful. Melodrama on the other hand is wrecking. With its traitors and wicked villains; its avengers and glimmers of hope it turns awful. In Melodrama death becomes horrible, like an accident. But in Tragedy, there’s no such problem. In it Death is serene!

Monday, 25 July 2011

End of Love

It is not easy to formulate lines

When all I can think about is my lost life

I was too weak then to acknowledge the truth

Now that I do it seems so clichéd, marked with spite and vengeance

My friends always told me it had to end

Love is never immune to the environment

Now I feel your fingers touch my parted parched lips,

Every time I pour water to quench my thirst

I visualize you kissing me, hugging me tight to your bosom

Is it too hard to reconcile our differences?

Living in the capital has its own demise

I’m not citing an excuse for my exalted misdemeanor

But once you live here you’d realize

This is the place that calls you in your sleep

Where soldiers fear to tread and magicians pray to Greed

Is it too hard to reconcile our differences?

My love has sprinted forward in search of you

Dived in deep oceans to cherish your saline memories

But your eloquence has no more meaning left to decipher

You are a conundrum of errors that happened long past in my youth

Now it seems too hard to reconcile with truth!

Monday, 20 June 2011

Expressing Love

Through the darkness of the valleys, of distance and broken wings,
We meet and meet again to view -
The passing of time, of inspired memories,
Of things to come, promises to fulfill
The amazing light created by your presence,
Would be so strong I never knew,
Being captivated by an angel,
Inflamed and enamoured...I never knew
Each night is filled with memories of you,
Of times spent in exchanging views
Things would turn so right, I had no clue
Cause then, I never knew someone like you
And now I need someone to be with me,
And it's you, who's here, there and everywhere in me
Sharing my moments of anguish and fear,
My troubled times, my worthless vanities!
Simple things are not to be said,
They are meant as and when they are felt
And if you feel it's time I said
I'll stay silent and let my silence speak...
"You are the creator, the worshipper and the worshipped,
The guiding light, the source of love, life and peace,
And I am the greatest, I am the king
My booty is you, your love, faith and being..."

Sunday, 1 May 2011

Encounter

I recall that night when we were both lying in bed. There were butterflies in my stomach and her presence just a few inches from mine made me feel dizzy with desire. She seemed tired that night. So she went off to sleep and so did I. But somehow I got up at midnight and looked at my love’s face. I could realize then what beauty was all about. She was alive, she was beautiful, and she was alone. It seemed she was beyond my reach, as if an impenetrable glass wall had been raised between her body and mine. I wanted to break that wall and touch her velvety skin. But something deep within struck me as a warning: “Love is just a deadly mixture of reason and desire.”

She was sleeping peacefully like a doll; I looked into her closed eyelids and wanted to read what lay behind those enchanting eyes. I closed my eyes and concentrated on her face. Images of a different kind invaded my mind, but in a while everything got distilled by images of her beauty.

I imagined her sitting on a bench, looking down at her feet and wondering why she was there. Was it just me, or did the moon seem to quiver when she pushed back her hair from her eyes?

She was truly enchanting. Her every move seemed to be defined by a brilliant magician. One that had been coached by a goddess to show this girl how to seduce without guilt.

She lay down and fell asleep, and the whole world watched her arms fold across her chest.

She was alive, she was beautiful, and she was loved.

Suddenly I felt soft hands on my face. I opened my eyes and saw her looking at me. She asked me what I was doing staying up so late at night. She asked me whether I was staring at her again like the way I did always. I just smiled. I couldn’t say a word. I couldn’t tell her how beautiful she was!

Monday, 18 April 2011

Communion

So we've come today for God knows what!
Is it the warmth of the heater or the tune of alcoholic strings?
Is it our disappointments that make us connect in this world or
The happiness we wish to build in future?
We all have our variegated thoughts,
But somehow they all seem to connect at this level
The food lies in neglect
While we lay here lost in our worlds
And converse in our dream world.
The songs can't take away our seriousness,
Nor can the silence
I wish we didn't have to look at each other’s face
Wondering what thoughts lay behind
Now I guess it is all part of a bigger purpose
That denies revelation at this present moment
Soon, we would lie down in slumber
Our psyche would force us to carry on with our everyday life
But someday in future I hope we look back on this day
And remember what brought us together!

This wasn’t something we were contemplating that day. We were actually looking for a song to cherish our days at college. That night, suddenly everything seemed achievable; every word spoken seemed so true and real!
Our words, our deeds, our thoughts. Who would have believed if I were to tell that we three had reached a level where everything we said seemed to be spoken out of the other’s mind. As Nikola Tesla would have said, “The Earth is the conductor of acoustical resonance.”
So I’d say that this World is a reverberating soul that carries our thoughts through nature! Nothing is our own, it is all there lying in the open space for us to grab and claim as our own.
I was happy to have come across the other two. I was happy to note that they didn’t realize the truth. If I were to tell them that I saw through them then they might not believe me, in fact they’d feel offended. A person is most vulnerable when he loses his senses and comes out stark naked, losing his guard. I wouldn’t reveal the conversation that ensued between us three, but I’ll definitely remember the words that were spoken from the heart of my two real friends. Hope our dreams come true! Amen!

Saturday, 5 March 2011

The Story Continues -- 2

Peter

Living in Delhi L* has learned that Christ wasn’t really right about saying that the meek shall inherit this world. In the capital, Indian’s from all parts of the country come together and the result is that, to get noticed you have to voice your opinion loud and clear. Without being loud you wouldn’t even get your own thoughts going. Subtlety has lost its meaning in this city and people are wont to cursing at almost everything. The curses range from the most obscene to the embarrassingly hilarious and L* still laughs at them wondering how did they originate.

After coming to Delhi from Kolkata L* learned that there’s a marked contrast in the way people lived in the two cities. Human beings are essentially and intrinsically similar, L* always believed that, but then that was the time when he was in Kolkata, eating, talking, smoking amongst Bengalis. In fact he had lived in Kolkata all his life and this was the first time that he had moved out from home, away from his mom and dad. Soon, thanks to the hostel life, L* realized the contour of Indian people and how generations of upbringing and environment affects one’s thinking and outlook. The South Indians are not happy with the North Indians and think them to be inferior clowns while the northerners think that apart from them everyone and everything else is in South, and that includes Bengal and Maharashtra. Once in college L* met this guy from Punjab who asked him “Where are you from?” L* replied “Oh! I’m from Bengal.” The guy seemed shocked out of his wits to know that such a state existed in India, he kept thinking for a while before replying “Oh! How lucky you are. You know I really like Idlis and Dosas, wish we had more of your kinda food out here in Delhi.” While L* was left baffled in the corridor, the guy moved on with a sense of satisfaction and a smile that conveyed that he had cleared the toughest examination in this world. Soon L* realized that Punjabis are the happiest lot and they actually needn’t know about world politics and geography. To them everything is measured by money, power, food and alcohol. But at the same time L* realized that Punjabis are also the most affable bunch of people and getting along with them was the easiest.

While in Delhi L* started staying in a private hostel in North Delhi where around 70 other guys had put up and although he had a room of his own he had to share the loo with the others. This was discomforting in the beginning but he learned to adjust and share the pot very soon. Initially he found it disgusting staying in the hostel as rats moved in and out of the rooms without even acknowledging human presence. But then one night L* found a dog loitering around the corridors of the hostel and then on another day he saw a cat jumping from one roof to another, finally landing up on his balcony. Besides, his neighbour maintained a pigeon farm and most often the pigeons flew down to his roof and balcony messing it up every day. These incidents toughened L* in no time and he began looking at the animals presence as a boon rather than a bane. In fact he took pride in his close bonding with rats, pigeons, dogs and cats and all other animals and insects that infested his hostel. His friends kept requesting him to move in with them in their flats in posh localities, but L* vehemently refused their pleas and told them, “ You see, I believe books, animals and plants are three friends who demand very less and give back much in return. You see I get along with both humans and animals, besides the cheap hostel facilities are the actual reason why I’m putting up in this mess.”

By the end of the first semester hostel life got interesting for L* as he had made quite a few friends and enjoyed spending time with them, visiting different parts of Delhi and feasting on Delhi food. One night as L* lay sleeping in his room, he heard someone knock at his door. L* looked at his mobile, it was around 1 AM. L* wondered, why would someone dare to wake him up so late, after all his hostel mates knew that sleep was very precious to him and it was one thing that he never compromised with. L* didn’t respond to the knock the first time but then the knocks grew louder and L* had to call out, “Who is it? Piss off, I’m sleeping.” The voice from outside replied, “It’s me, Peter. I’m new in this hostel. I live downstairs. It’s something important that I wanted to talk to you about.”

L* got up lazily, cursing all along. He opened the door and rubbed his eyes to get a better look at the new scapegoat. He asked, “What is it?” Peter looked at L* for the first time and immediately knew that he’d get along with the dude. He took a Marlboro cigarette packet out of his pocket and showed it to L*. L* wasn’t bemused, “What is it? Fucking I was sleeping and you are giving me a smoke? What the hell do you want?”

Peter stood there grinning, and had to usher himself inside the room without even being invited. He took L* by his hands and forced him to sit on the bed. Closing the door he said, “L*, I’m so sorry I disturbed you, but you see the hostel guys are either from Punjab or from South and they don’t even smoke. I can’t sleep without sharing a smoke, so when I heard you are the only doper in this hostel I had to come up to greet you.” He flipped open his jacket and from inside he held out two packets of weed and hash. Looking at the packets, L*’s face lightened up and sleep ran miles away from his drooping eyes. Instantly L* knew that life would only get better from then onwards.

Over the hash, L* learned that Peter was from Bihar and he had come down to Delhi a week back to prepare for the IAS exams. Biharis thronging Delhi to prepare for the IAS wasn’t something new and L* only imagined how another soul was waiting to be slaughtered at the gates of hard work. Peter went about talking about his ex-girlfriend and how she broke up with him a year back. He seemed sad and hurt, but L* didn’t know how to comfort him. Peter said, “You know I think she still loves me. I can feel it.”

L* was silent for a moment. He listened to Peter’s ramblings indifferently and enjoyed the mushy feeling that overcame him after smoking a few joints. Hash always brought the best out of him. L* thought about his own girlfriend and how she had promised to come down to Delhi just to be with him. He imagined walking down the pavements of Connaught Place, holding his girl’s hands, showing her the best of Delhi. Suddenly his trip was cut short by a sobbing sound. L* looked at Peter and saw tears flowing down his cheeks. L* felt guilty thinking about his own happiness while Peter lay crumbling like the plaster on his hostel walls. Literally! L* looked all around him and suddenly for the first time he noticed that his room was actually falling down to pieces, thanks to Peter his eyes had opened to reality eventually. L* made a decision at that instant; to move out of that freaky hostel by the next month, but at that moment he had to do something to cheer up Peter.

L* patted Peter’s back and told him not to cry. “Don’t be a sissy you idiot. Girls come and they go, that’s why we call them girls, or else we would have called them a guitar or a book or something. Yeah, like Godfather, which no matter how many times you read you always feel like rereading! ”

Peter looked at L* and smiled a bit, he told him he was sorry that he made a fool out of himself. Pulling himself back to normalcy he said, “Let’s go out for a ride.”

“Now, at this hour? Are you freaking out of your mind?” L*’s instant reaction was justified but it was so unbecoming him that at the next moment L* blurted out. “Do you have a bike or something?”

Peter gave him a wry smile and told him to put on a jacket and get downstairs in five minutes. Soon L* and Peter were zooming down the roads of Delhi in the cold winter night of January, enjoying the bike ride on the smooth and deserted roads. They went about talking all the way discussing politics, world economy and corruption. By the time they reached Red Fort they had moved on to L*’s favourite topic – Girls!

Getting down at Jama Masjid to eat something L* asked Peter, “So do you get to meet a lot of girls at the coaching institutes? Are they hot?”

Peter didn’t know what to say, “Well, there are a few but most of them are studious sorts. People in Delhi are so serious about life that it’s really depressing.”

“Hmm, I know. Same at my college dude. These girls are real pain; one doesn’t even feel like asking them out.” L* replied munching on his favourite gobi paranthas.

After they were done eating paranthas and drinking tea, L* rolled another joint and then they thought about visiting India Gate before making a turn towards home. While sharing the spliff, L* asked Peter if he had sex with his girlfriend. Peter seemed shy and taken aback by the question but finally he opened up.

“Well, you know we tried to do it once, but it was hurting her so we had to stop midway.”

“Oh Oh! KLPD! Dude that must have hurt you too! So what did you do after that? Like, hugged each other and got off on that?” L* can be really sarcastic and rude at times, Peter realized that and at same time understood that a person’s true nature comes out only when he’s drunk or doped.

“No, nothing like that L*, her parents got back early that night so I had to climb down the stairs and run for my life while her dogs chased the shit out of me.”

“Well, dude, so do we have a virgin out here?” L* looked at Peter incriminatingly as if he had committed the greatest crime in the World.

“No, I’ve done what I had to do but now I’m no more into all those things. You know I’ve been to red light areas and done it with prostitutes too. But now I’m abstaining from all that stuff.”

“And why would you do that?” L* looked at Peter quizzically, “What’s the restriction dude? Girlfriend? Parents? Morality? Allergic to latex? Or is it impotency…?”

Peter cut him short and cried, “No you asshole, it’s nothing like that. Besides I don’t have a girlfriend.”

The moment Peter said this, L* held his hands and pulled him towards the bike. He told Peter to just ride the bike and follow his directions. Peter kept asking him where he was taking him but he refused to give any answer and told him that he knew a way out of Peter’s problems.

After riding for a while they finally reached a deserted street where all the lights were out or dimmed. Peter looked all around him but couldn’t see a single soul awake. He asked Peter what place it was, but L* shooed him down, telling him that suspense was about to end.


So the place they reached was Garstin Bastion Road, yeah the famous GB Road of Delhi.

The ways of this World are always incomprehensible. Their story had just begun…

Friday, 18 February 2011

The Story Unfolds - 1

Julian

When was the last time you cried? In fact why do people cry? The tragedy that befalls an individual’s life is written and decided long before he even enters into this world. There’s nothing; no power by which one can evade the tragedies of life. But still we do cry. Out of pain, out of love, out of all things that’s predetermined and fated. This is the ultimate tragedy of life.

L* had no control over his feelings. He lacked power of control and ended up crying and cursing his ill fated luck. While young, he always prayed to God to give him the strength to endure the miseries of life but after a few years when sense dawned and adolescence bid goodbye, he realized the true meaning of life. From then on he lost faith in God and in turn instilled faith in his own self.

The various challenges of his life, his beliefs, his love and hate continue even today and for any writer it would be a stupendous task to put it down on paper. So today I introduce a small part of his life, the part that’s ever growing, ever appealing. The part of his life that he himself calls – Mon Amourette!

One day long ago, while in Class VII, Julian asked L*, ‘When was the first time you kissed a girl?’
L* wasn’t amazed at the suddenness of the question, rather he was disturbed that Julian chose the decrepit washroom of their insipid school to ask this important question.

Opening his fly and with his usual nonchalance L* replied, ‘The moment I was born.’
The warmth that gushed out of L*’s body cooled him off and he exhaled a sigh of relief. The loo was the best place to be in L*’s school life and he frequented them more often than his classes. In fact he always made it a point to visit all the washrooms of his school every single day. There were six of them in total in the three storied school building, three of them for boys and the remaining three for girls. There was not a single day that he missed peeping inside the girl’s washroom and watching some girl in the act but amazingly he was never caught until one day when he dared to peep inside the faculty washroom and gaped at the biology teacher in her not so biological posture. But then he always had a trick up his sleeve to escape unabashed and with pride and in this case too he was let off without anyone knowing anything about the incident.

‘Bloody Hell! Don’t you fucking feed me that shit!’
Julian was his best buddy and he knew L* was concocting stories. A guy like L* who never even had a girl in school could not precede him in experiencing the first kiss. It was an awful thought and if true would demean his self esteem.

‘Oh! Come on, you think I’m lying to you? Trust me the nurse kissed me on my lips the moment she laid her eyes on me. And I held on to her till my mom snatched me away from her. But it’s a different story that I don’t really remember that incident much as it faded with time and better kisses.’
‘You mean to say you actually had more experiences? But you never said anything about them.’
‘Dude, it’s not something to discuss and feel merry about. You are my best buddy and I share everything with you but certain things are better left unsaid until the time is right.’

That day remain etched in Julian’s memory for the rest of his life. For though he was known to be the best looking guy in school and though he had several affairs in school, but still he couldn’t match up to what L* had achieved much before he even thought about it. And the fact that L* made no fuss about it was the worst part as it hurt his ego and forced him to admire and secretly envy L* from that particular day onwards.Through school Julian and L* remained the best of buddies and continued with their adventures till Julian had to leave for the States for higher studies. Julian still finds L* intriguing and considers him to be his best friend. But at the same time he knows that L* is an entity that can never belong to anyone. He is beyond human perception; filled with stories and forever awe-inspiring.

Tuesday, 25 January 2011

Questions Remain and Answers Remain.

 In the end it’s just who I am!

The love of my life, the garden of flowers…
Your fragrance can never lessen
As long as I’m alive I’d remain yours…
It’s just time that puts a break on my expression…
There’s someone waiting for you tonight
So won’t you be the good girl that everyone thought of you to be…
Won’t you accept the proposal that’s been pending?
Won’t you just cry once before sleeping?

Ha! My distorted thoughts…seems like a living animated motion of picturesque beauty that comes alive when all else seems just routine, just a lie.

There ain't any stars in the sky today
I can’t figure faces in the clouds this day
Relations lost, memories faded in the pages of time
We blame time
But fail to acknowledge our part in this Conspiring Crime!

The guilt of living with lies isn't that exciting than living with the thought of getting lost in those lies. I dream about the days when I’ll accept these lies as reality, my own little world of guilty pleasure. The people involved in my life, the mass that gets affected doesn't scare me from doing what I’m so good at doing. I really don’t need anyone to entertain my belief, this is me, the real me!

But why does she still love me so much?
She says I’m her escape, as if she was born with an idea of mine embedded deep within her. But that’s so cliché. Now how can I deny her the love which she believes to be her alone, when all I can give is indifference…

and where are those thoughts I had for you?
where are those feelings I so valued?
now I look at you and see nothing…
but just a girl like hundred others
who slipped in my bed and slipped out
without leaving any memory…

I have to end this. It won’t take time for this to end. Tomorrow’s a brand new day; no one would read this a second time, no not even me. I’m just playing hide and seek with my own self.

One last time I wanna say that I’m not a loser to end life without getting you, I’m not a loser to die without seeing the end. You can never be happy without me. You can never evade the curse that lies on you. You and your generation would fail to provoke me…your pea sized brain doesn't excite me, so how do you think you’d be able to understand me?

There isn't enough love in this world to absolve my hate!