ruminations

Stupid stupid stupid me,
plucked a fruit off a tree
was a nice golden to see
overripe it turned out to be

for i plucked it when i was hungry
not when the fruit was right
and the other fruits on the tree
are now a far better sight

so stupid stupid stupid me
will now be a little angry
for even though it was free
it cost me heavily

Oh I just can't wait, to be king!
well, queen in this case.

heat

You'd feel it burning
inside of you,
yet an impassive face
would be your truth.

you'd blink twice
and cry inside,
and wonder why, the world
had died.

you'd bleed inside out,
but never show your doubt.
you'd be walking on sunshine,
for everyone, you'd be fine.

it'll only take one
to see;
and then,
you could just be.

for once you find that one
you believe,
you'd burn
gloriously.

eee

Bits of my chin are now visible. I think.

Pome

I can’t see the moon tonight,
you say it looks beautiful.
From where you’re standing,
I wish I could too.

I can’t hear what you’re trying to say,
you say I’m beautiful.
From where you’re looking,
I wish I could too.

Death by words,
slowly, but sure.
You’re saying enough
I want more.

It all falls here,
just right here.
Next to where it beats,
a line of little cheats.

C’mon little forward,
I want to see your eyes.
Do they hold the world for me,
or can they just be?

“This award is bestowed upon a fellow blogger whose blog’s content or design is, in the giver’s opinion, brilliant.”

Kya baat hai.

Some rules of the Game:

a) Show off your honesty (and modesty) by thanking the person who gave you the award and link to their post. (Antara, my wife, who showed me how awesome blogging can be. *sob* Thank you for this award, it means more to me than the look on peoples faces when you tell them Edward sparkles.)

b) List 10 honest things about yourself. Cheating makes you lame, so just play along, all you taggees.

c) Select 7 other bloggers you think deserve this award and pass it on to them.

d) Notify said bloggers about the award and invite them to be the honest ones next.

Here goes...

1) I have a thing for Colin Mochrie, and Ryan Stiles too. Despite the fact that they made the letter 'h'.

2) Beyond 12 midnight, I go flooooopy. Before it too. 


3) I like saying 'Bebe'. A little too much for my own good. 


4) Raw mangoes will get a reaction out of me that you will never expect.


5) I secretly liked reading Twilight. It's just the movies that get to me, and the inordinate amount of sparkling. Also, the 'I wanna eat you, but no, I'm just gonna snog you because I can't tell what you're thinking.' 


6) I love easily, I don't hate easily, or at all. 


7) Sarcasm is an art form lost on me.


8) I really do think the world is conspiring against the lefties.


9) I'm plenty paranoid as a rule.


10) I think 'EEEEEEEEEEEE!' is an appropriate response to everything.


As for nominating more people, meh. Too much work. 
Take is forward yourselves, and consider yourself nominated, since not more than 7 people will read this anyway. 

Spirit

If anyone has seen the move Yeh Mera India, I they’ll know what I mean. It’s the most depressing movie I’ve seen in some time. And the saddest bit is that all of it is true. This movie compiled a lot of the most recent events, like Saif being refused that apartment because he was Muslim.

But like with all movies, this movie comes together in the end, and everybody goes home happy, or dies a death for a very noble cause. The movie did a very good play on the ‘all terrorists are Muslims’, belief, and somewhere it shows that humanity figures above all religions, castes and genders.

The evil molesting call centre boss, the cheap guy with the extremely shiny shirts, ends up saving the girl he had forcibly kissed after a bunch of realizations and a suicide attempt. The Bihari who shows up in Mumbai just like that, ends up saving the Bihari hating Police officer.

The thing that bothers me most is what the people call the ‘spirit’. After the 26/11 shootout at Taj, there were reports about how Mumbai got up the next day and went to work, which showed resilient nature they said. It shows pig-headedness I said. Is it like the entire world will stop working if 100 people are killed? No, their bosses are going to cut their wages and they’re going to go hungry if they don’t go to work.

The problem is that, in real life, it never comes together like that, a new morning and it becomes awesome. What spirit are we showing when we forget whatever happened and ‘move on’? the biggest news after the Mumbai attacks was that a heritage hotel was destroyed, that Ritesh Deshmukh decided to visit the Taj and that how Mumbai is resilient and how it’ll rise from the ashes.

First of all, the Taj isn’t the favourite hangout joint for all the middleclass families. Because it’s a favourite celeb joint, it was given excessive coverage, day and night. The  next thing you know, there’s a double page feature in HT Brunch about how Vir Sanghvi will miss the Taj and its splendor, Shekhar Gupta is walking in the newly renovated hotel with Bikki Oberoi and the shiny floors are the only remembrance that something happened.

The dead are long forgotten, the disaster is pushed aside and ‘spirit’ comes into the picture, where we choose to ignore whatever happened.

Some spirit this is, when we decide to turn are heads to what is happening and decide to be ostriches and live in our own bubbles. The only ones being active in the struggle seem to be one the ones that have been directly affected by it. Does it take someone near and dear being blown up for us to care?

No, I think we should leave this spirit aside, and choose to be really really depressed about how our lives work out. Let’s show patriotism to ourselves before we decide to so towards the country. Let’s start at the most basic unit, being human. Let’s show patriotism for being humans.  After that we can graduate towards religion, caste, and all kinds of other segregators. 

Before it begins to hurt,
before the last of the firsts,
Before you are my past,
its the first of the lasts.

Its time for me to say goodbye,
this time, please don't sigh.
What we had will always be,
an enchanting memory.

Maybe glances few and fleeting,
will now be our only meeting.
But with me it'll stay,
the look of you smiling this way.

Forevermore shall I think of you and me,
a reason as beautiful as one can be.
But now, its time, we shall part,
you will be, in my heart.

--

Unclenching her palm

there sat

a tiny speck of light

it rose to hover

above her head

found a spot

above her bed

diaphanous

multifarious

ethereal

she rose

and it struck

her so hard

it made a hole

through her heart

the vacuum

surrounded her

enveloped her

dragged her

outside herself

outside the world

there she stood

and quietly swirled

surrounded by tiny lights

leaving behind one of her own

away from all fights

she was just breathing bones

Meadows

"She lacked direction," they said.

In the rolling meadows, a fluttering petal was carried by the wind. Lifted and buffeted along the way. It came to rest on a marker, a tombstone, nameless and unadorned.

The petal looked shrivelled as it talked about its past beauty.

If you looked in her eyes, you could see the careful blankness she had cultivated.

If you looked at her face, you could see the animation she played with.

It was his heart that beat for it.

The grass around the tombstone rustled as he sighed. The vast rolling emptiness in his heart would always be centred around the tombstone.

He could remember the night vividly.

Her eyes spoke as she drove into the wall.

She clearly had direction.

Now he didn’t have any left.

Burn

The following entry won 3^rd prize in an inter-college creative writing competition, the line provided was, “It was a pleasure to burn,” from the book Fahrenheit 451 by Raymond Bradbury.

It was a pleasure to burn. Orgasmic almost.

The searing heat filled my insides and tingled down to my fingers. I could almost see a burnished glow emanating from within me. Each step further inside caused sparks to rise up and bite me. The embers glowed beneath my feet and lit my surroundings with a deep rose bloom.

Hot air rushed past me as I entered the chamber, I could see a figure huddled at the centre of the room. The shrouded figure began to rise, it slowly unfurled its arms, I could see tiny blue flames licking and dancing around the edges of the robe.

There was an ethereal feel to the entire proceedings and I felt excitement bubble through me as I saw the figure reveal itself to me.

And, the bell rang.

I had been called back. I can’t believe She did that to me. Why did someone have to die now?

I nervously shook off the last of the fire that was within me and tried to assume a more angelic expression.

Pulling on my robe, I trudged up to the Pearly Gates and resumed my duty as the gatekeeper. A nervous old soul was standing outside; this was one of Her picks.

For some reason, she always picked nervous old folk. But then again, perhaps that’s the reason for the excellent reputation.

I asked him the usual, who are you, where are you from, are you happy etc. he answered like a straight A student, which he probably had been anyway.

I opened the gates, directed him to his cloud, and sent him on his way.

I sighed; there couldn’t be a more boring job. Gatekeeper of the Gate. Like it wasn’t enough having to be white and floaty all day.

I much preferred Lucifer’s place. I had been offered a job there, a much more interesting Entry Desk. This was where anybody who comes through would have to talk to me and tell me why they deserve to burn.

This job came with only one requirement. Lose the halo, literally and figuratively.

My earlier visit had been cut short because I did not want Her to know what I was up to, or any of the other old sods for that matter. I was one of the few young ones who gained entry into Her house. Now, I was learning what I missed.

My job interview had been disrupted and now, sitting at the gates, I closed my eyes and tried to reach the fire in my mind.

Once again, as I passed through the invisible barrier, I felt the rush of heat assault my senses.

I felt my face glow and I relaxed into the feeling it brought. I made my way towards Lucifer’s chamber. He slowly revealed himself to me.

It was the most gorgeous face I had ever seen.

Once I got my breath back, I told him, I would take the job. He nodded once and told me to start work immediately and that he would tell Her where I had gone. It was one of his favourite things to do, he told me, a very evil gleam in his eyes.

It took a little while to comprehend what her was saying, his voice was a rich chocolatey baritone and gave me such comfort that I had to drag myself out of my fantasies to nod a yes.

His stunning secretary took me to my desk. It was not so much a desk than an odd looking couch.

No sooner had she left than my first guest came through the smouldering drapes. He was only a notch below Lucifer in looks.

He said hi.

I couldn’t catch my breath in time.

He told me I looked beautiful, he started to lean closer to sign on his submission form. He looked up at me and I saw the most enchanting green eyes ever, I could stare at them for eternity.

The purpose of the couch became clear. As he started leaning into me, I felt my pulse increase, the fire within me raged like an inferno, I felt his lips close to mine, his breath burning mine.

And, the bell rang.

“Ah hell!” I muttered.

White

Do they remain? Memories? When the heart stops, does it stop your life?

Sitting atop a hillock, staring at the clouds, she tried to find the faces of those she had lost. Smita let the wind play with her hair, it flew all around her face, momentarily obscuring her vision and halting her quest.

The clouds swirled around her, barraging her with a multitude of visuals. It assaulted her senses. She could smell the clouds; they reminded her of old souls.

In all her 23 years, Smita had already felt the pain of being, her bones felt weary, weighing her steps like the moisture laden pregnant clouds.

If she tried, if she tried really hard, she could imagine herself standing in a land of white, surrounded by towering voluminous columns of cirrus clouds; and the people she wanted to see.

She saw unicorns and mammoths and chimaeras but she couldn’t find her mother’s face, she couldn’t feel her consciousness amongst the ones that tingled her skin.

“Umm, Excuse me?”

Smita turned around to face the person who had interrupted her mental soliloquy. She tucked her flyway hair behind her ears and looked questioningly at the intruder.

The first thing she noticed were the eyes, they had the same melancholy blankness that hers had seemed to acquire. Even though the laugh lines around her eyes seemed ironical, they somehow complemented each other. The art of having learnt to laugh in ones misery is hard learnt.

“I hate to bother you, but you’re standing in my spot.” She stated.

“Your spot?” Smita asked, a little bewildered, the concept belonging to classrooms in her mind. Since when did clouds figure in real estate?

“Yeah, it’s just that this is where I stand every time I come here.” She said, somberly, even thought the corners of her eyes had started crinkling in amusement.

“Yeah, ok, whatever. I’ll leave.” Smita gathered the corners of her mind and began to walk away when she felt a hand slide into hers. It betrayed hard work.

“You could stand with me if you want.”

Smita looked at her.

“Who are you mourning?” she asked.

“My mother, amongst others,” Smita said, “Who are you mourning?”

“Myself,” she stated matter of factly.

Both stood there together, letting their thoughts get lost in the faceless faces that shifted around them.

Somewhere in between her entangled thoughts, Smita realized that her hand was still clasped within the peaceable stranger’s comfortable grip.

“I’m Sunaina,”

The name suited her perfectly; the hollowness in Smita’s eyes began to acquire life. Sunaina’s hand never left hers since.