Poems from a Narcissist

Untitled

2012-01-07T10:50:00.001-08:00

ज़रा सी आहट आई तुम्हारी

और दिल मचल गया;

ज़रा सा छू लिया तूने बदन

तो साँसे थम गयी;

ऐ जानेमन रुक जा वहीँ

वरना तेरे रोनक से मेरा आँचल जल जाएगा....

I Love You

2012-01-06T01:24:00.000-08:00

I’m not afraid to tell the world

That I am in love with you.

There’s no running away,

No stopping it,

This feeling that you arouse in me.

The world is not such a bad place after all,

Now that I am in your arms.

Nothing’s gonna make me feel otherwise

No fear, no shame, no games,

All that is there

Is that I love you.

I cannot put this best in words,

But the feeling’s growing upon me

Now that I am in your arms,

The very air I breathe

Is filled with our love.

Let our love be criticized,

Let it be gossiped or penalized,

But there’s no limits of how I feel about you

And there’s nothing to make me worry,

Now that I’m in your arms.

Hold me tight

And hold me well,

Lest I slip

From your arms;

But then again,

What more should bind us

Than the beautiful love we share.

As we grow older in love

2011-11-19T01:07:00.001-08:00

As we grow older in love,
I realise how much you love me,
and then I realise how much I love you too. [As we grow older in love]

Sometimes I feel scared,
but whenever I do, I see your face in my heart....
[As we grow older in love].

Sometimes I feel like backing out,
but whenever I do, I can hear your words of love in my ears...
[As we grow older in love].

I know you shall never leave me,
and trust me, never will I
[As we grow older in love].

I prefer to walk alone,
but when you're with me, I feel as comfortable as I could with me
[As we grow older in love].

I prefer dark chocolate and strong coffee,
but when you're drinking tea I like it as amicably
[As we grow older in love].

I promise you my self,
I promise never to let you down.
Thank you for being in my life
[As we grow older in love].

Don't love me so

2011-11-02T13:34:00.000-07:00

The moonlight shone on the glasspanes
Like your love shining in my eyes.
The wind caressed the shadows
Like your breath upon my neck.
The little kitten purred incessantly
Like your whispers in my ears.

Nature seems to plotting with you against me.
Don't love me so!

This night I want to be in your arms

2011-10-29T16:31:00.000-07:00

This night I want to be in your arms,
Oh dear, don't say no.
This night, let my head find a rest
On your warm, heaving chest.

I would die in your arms, O love,
But for the songs I still hope to sing with you;
I would walk to the last road on Earth holding your hands,
But for the paths I could still traverse with you.

There's nothing so assuring
As the grip of your palm,
And nothing more endearing
Than a warm squeeze of your fingers.

Let me sleep in the hug of your arms,
Let me dream once more of your kiss,
Let me find my rebirth;
Let me find my home.

Two Reality Bytes

2011-08-21T12:23:00.000-07:00

I.
Wake Up.
Wake Up.
Wake Up.
Do not snooze the alarms.
It's alarming.

Wake Up.
The call is Intense.
You cannot ignore it anymore.
No. You should not.

Wake Up.
The bells are tolling.
You will be next
To be eaten by the demon of laze.

Wake Up.
Before it is too late.

Wake Up.

Wake Up...!

II.
Love songs.
Sugar.
Pepper.
Chocolate candies.
Pink ribbons.
Jalapenos.

The world is too sweet.
Let us pour chilli sauce
On your cake,
Darling.

Poems on a sleepless night

2011-08-07T11:48:00.000-07:00

The world is a big mistake.

God, you should not have trusted men so much.

Men, yes, men.

Because you made them first.

In your likeness, they say.

Are you serious, Lord?

Men are like you?

Then what are women like?

Your ribs?

Come on God, be serious.

What religion teaches us much such a joke.

II.

Every bit of the world’s oceans takes its place in me,

When my love for you starts flowing.

All their depths come together

As my love for you takes shape,

And rises into an eternal,

Immeasurable vessel

Where I store your being, your soul and your love.

My love,

How can I ever explain how much

and why I love you?

Like the earth that is cooled with a pour from the clouds,

My heart finds solace in you.

Like the tree that rejoices in the rains,

My body becomes alive with your touch.

Like alcohol that soothes the nerves,

Your words calm my troubled mind.

What else can I want from you, my love?

Hold my hands for ever,

And let my being find shelter in you.

Love me as I love you, my love.

Let me make you the happiest man alive.

III.

Did I say why I love you?

I think I know why.

Because I find my being in your eyes.

My heart in your throbs.

My thoughts in your mind.

My life in your breaths.

Should I say that again?

IV.

Every night I dream of the snake

That hisses but never bite.

One night, I woke from that nightmare,

Only to find that snake on the bed next to me.

When did you transmogrify, my dear?

They say,

“A lot of water has flown under the bridge since we last met.”

I think,

“Why, because the bridge was stationary.”

What is better?

To be the bridge

Or the river?

I prefer the river,

But then,

Who wants to know my choices?

Every human must go on living

as decreed by his social circumstances.

If I say the society kills your life,

Dogs of the society bare their fangs at me.

I live like the bridge,

wanting to be the river,

and all the water keeps on flowing under the bridge.

Trust

2011-07-26T00:52:00.000-07:00

I love the rains,
They soothe me so.
And when the rain clouds
Hovered above me,
Threatening to pour,
I laughed at them.

Bring it on, I said,
Unknowing of their plan for me.

I wish I did not trust the rains so much.

Now I am drenched as the soil beneath the river,
And the sun is nowhere to be seen.

Patients

2011-06-24T01:08:00.000-07:00

Love demands appreciation,
It craves remuneration,
It asks to be given time,
It lives on constant attention.

Alas, my darling,
We have nothing for each other
except our sighs.
We are terminally ill patients of love.

സൂര്യോദയം

2011-06-09T04:11:00.000-07:00

(Written in April 2005)

അര്‍ത്ഥശൂന്യമായ ദൃഷ്ടിയും കൊണ്ടവള്‍ മറ്റൊരു നാട്ടിലേക്ക് സഞ്ചരിക്കുന്ന സൂര്യനേയും നോക്കി നിന്നു. രാത്രി അടുക്കുകയാണ്. കറുത്ത വാവിന്റെ ഇരുള്‍ അവളെ എന്നും പേടിപ്പിക്കുമായിരുന്നു. രാത്രികളില്‍ ഉണര്‍ന്നിരുന്ന് ചന്ദ്രകാന്തിയില്‍ മുങ്ങി മുറ്റത്തെ പേരമരത്തിന്റെ ചുവട്ടില്‍ ഇരിക്കാനാണ് അവള്‍ക്കിഷ്ടം. പക്ഷെ വാവിന്റെ അന്ന് ചന്ദ്രന്‍ പോലും കൂട്ടിനില്ലാതെ ഒറ്റക്കിരിക്കാന്‍ അവള്‍ക്ക് ഭയം ഉണ്ടായിരുന്നു. പരീക്ഷകള്‍ അടുക്കുമ്പോള്‍ വാതില്‍ അടച്ചിരുന്നു ഒരിക്കലും അവള്‍ പഠിച്ചിട്ടില്ല. അച്ഛനോ അമ്മയോ കൂടെ ഇരിക്കും - ചോദ്യങ്ങള്‍ ചോദിച്ച്‌ പഠിക്കാന്‍ സഹായിക്കും. ആ പതിവ് ഹൈ സ്കൂളില്‍ എത്തിയപ്പോ മുതല്‍ അനിയത്തിയുടെ കൂടെ ആയി. രാത്രി അമ്മയുടെ കൂടെ ആയിരുന്നു കിടപ്പ് - അനിയത്തി വന്നതില്‍ പിന്നെ അവളുടെ കൂടെയും. ഒരു റൂമില്‍ ഒറ്റക്ക് ഒരിക്കലും ഇരിക്കേണ്ടി വന്നിട്ടില്ല - കല്യാണം കഴിയുന്ന വരെ.

കല്യാണം വളരെ മംഗളമായി തന്നെ നടത്തി. 500 - ഇല്‍ പരം വിരുന്നുകാര്‍, അസ്സല്‍ ദേഹണ്ഡം, ഹോട്ടല്‍ സാജ് ലുസിയയില്‍ reception; വീട്ടുകാരുടെ കീശയില്‍ വലിയൊരു ദ്വാരം വീണു എങ്കിലും ബന്ധക്കാരും സുഹൃത്തുക്കളും ഉല്ലസിച്ചു. പിന്നെ കെട്ടിയ കുടുംബമോ? ഗള്‍ഫില്‍ ജോലിയുള്ള പയ്യന്‍, കേമന്‍ നംബിയാര്‍ തറവാട്, ചെക്കന്‍ അച്ഛന്റെയും അമ്മയുടെയും ഒറ്റ മോന്‍ - വേറെ എന്താ വേണ്ടത്? പിന്നെയൊന്നും അച്ഛനമ്മമാര്‍ ആലോചിച്ചില്ല - മകളോട് ചോദിക്കണം എന്ന് പോലും. കല്യാണാലോചന നടത്തിയതോന്നും അവള്‍ അറിഞ്ഞില്ല. ഇപ്പോള്‍ ആലോചിക്കുമ്പോള്‍ ആ കുരങ്ങന്‍ ചന്ദു മേസ്ത്രിയെ വേണം തല്ലാന്‍. അയാളാണല്ലോ ഈ ആലോചന കൊണ്ട് വന്നത്!

ഇല്ല. അവളുടെ ഭാര്തവവളെ അടിക്കുകയില്ല. കള്ള് കുടിച്ച്‌ വന്ന്‌ ബഹളം ഉണ്ടാക്കുന്ന പരിപാടിയും ഇല്ല. സൌന്ദര്യം കുറവാണെന്ന പ്രശ്നവും ഇല്ല - നല്ല സുന്ദരക്കുട്ടപ്പനാണ് ശ്യാം. അയാളുടെ പ്രശ്നം - ആള്‍ ഭയങ്കര സീരിയസാ. ഒന്നാമത് കൊല്ലത്തില്‍ പത്തു മാസം ഗള്‍ഫില്‍. എല്ലാ ആറ് മാസം കൂടുമ്പോള്‍ ഒരിക്കല്‍ വരും. ആ വരുന്ന കാലഘട്ടത്തില്‍ ഇവിടെയെല്ലാവര്‍ക്കും അയാളെ വേണം. ഭയങ്കര പരോപകാരിയാണ്‌. കൂടാതെ electrical engineer കൂടി ആയതു കൊണ്ട് കറണ്ടിന്റെ സ്വിച്ച് കേടുവന്നാല്‍ പോലും ആള്‍ക്കാര്‍ വിളിക്കുന്നത് ശ്യാമിനെ ആണ്. അനിലയ്ക്ക് ദേഷ്യം വരാറുണ്ട് - ശ്യാം വരുമ്പോള്‍ തന്നെ ആണല്ലോ എല്ലാവര്ക്കും ഓരോ ആവശ്യം വരുന്നത്!

ഒരിക്കല്‍ രണ്ടു പേരും മുറിയില്‍ അടച്ചിരുന്നു ശ്രിങ്കരിക്കുംബോളാണ് വിളി വന്നത്. ഒത്തിരി പാടുപെട്ടാണ് ശ്യാമിനെ ഒരു റൊമാന്റിക്‌ മൂഡില്‍ എത്തിക്കാന്‍ പറ്റുക. അതിന്റെ താളം തെറ്റിയാല്‍ തിരിച്ച കൊണ്ടുവരാന്‍ എന്ത് ബുദ്ധിമുട്ട് ആണെന്നോ. രാത്രികളില്‍ ആള്‍ അടുത്തുണ്ടെങ്ങിലും ദിവസം മുഴുവന്‍ ഓടി നടന്നു പണി ചെയ്തതിന്റെ ക്ഷീണം കാണും. ചെറുപ്പം മുതല്‍ സിനിമയില്‍ കാണുന്ന സുഖകരമായ പ്രണയവും കണ്ട് വളര്‍ന്ന അനിലക്ക് ഇതൊരു വലിയ നിരാശയായിരുന്നു. ഒരു ചുരുചുറുക്കമുള്ള സ്നേഹസമ്പന്നനായ ഭര്‍ത്താവിനെ സ്വപ്നം കണ്ടയാള്‍ക്കുണ്ടോ ഈ ഉള്ളിലൊതുക്കുന്ന സ്വഭാവം ഉള്‍കൊള്ളാന്‍ കഴിയുന്നു? പിന്നെ ഗള്‍ഫില്‍ പോയി കഴിഞ്ഞാല്‍ അവള്‍ റൂമില്‍ ഒറ്റയ്ക്ക്. കൊല്ലം രണ്ട് കഴിഞ്ഞിട്ടും പേടി മാറുന്നില്ല. രാത്രി കാലങ്ങളില്‍ ഉറക്കം തീരെ കുറഞ്ഞു. പിന്നെ ശ്യാം ഉള്ളപ്പോലും അതേ സ്ഥിതിയായി. എല്ലാവരും ചുറ്റുമുണ്ട് - അമ്മായിഅമ്മ, ചേട്ടന്‍, ചേട്ടത്തി, അവരുടെ മക്കള്‍; അവര്‍ക്കെല്ലാം അനിലയെ ഇഷ്ടവും ആയിരുന്നു. പക്ഷെ ഭര്‍ത്താവു കാണിക്കാത്ത സ്നേഹം മറ്റുള്ളവര്‍ തന്നാല്‍ മതിയോ?

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സമയം രാത്രിയായി. താരകങ്ങള്‍ അവളെ നോക്കി പുഞ്ചിരിക്കുന്നു. മഞ്ഞുകാല നിശയുടെ സംഗീതവും പേറി മന്ദം മന്ദം കുളിര്‍ക്കാറ്റു വീശിത്തുടങ്ങി. ആ കാറ്റിന്റെ വിരലുകള്‍ അവളെ സ്പര്‍ശിക്കുമ്പോള്‍ അവള്‍ ശ്യാമിനെ ഓര്‍ത്തു പോയി. ഇത് പോലൊരു മഞ്ഞുകാല സന്ധ്യക്കാണ്‌ അയാള്‍ അവളെ ആദ്യമായി ചുംബിക്കുന്നത്. കല്യാണത്തിന്റെ നാല് മാസം കഴിഞ്ഞ്. രണ്ട് പേരും വരാന്തയില്‍ ഇരുന്നു സോള്ളുകയായിരുന്നു. അവളുടെ വാചാലത കാരണം ശ്യാമിന് ഒന്നും പറയാനുള്ള അവസരം ലഭിക്കുന്നില്ലായിരുന്നു. അവള്‍ സംസാരിക്കുന്നതും നോക്കി ഇരിക്കുകയായിരുന്നു ശ്യാം. ഒടുവില്‍ ഒരു മന്ദഹാസം കൊണ്ടയാള്‍ അടുത്ത് വന്ന്‌ അവളുടെ കവിളില്‍ ഒരു കൊച്ചു മുത്തം കൊടുത്തു നാണം വന്ന പോലെ എണീറ്റ്‌ പോയി. ആദ്യമായിട്ടാണ് ഇങ്ങനെ. രാത്രി പോലും ഒന്ന് കെട്ടിപ്പിടിക്കാന്‍ മടിക്കുന്നയാല്‍. ഇങ്ങനെ നാണിച് ഉള്ളില്‍ പോകുന്ന ശ്യാമിനെ കണ്ടവള്‍ക്ക് ദയയാണ് തോന്നിയത്. എനിക്കിങ്ങനെ ഒരാളെ ആണല്ലോ കിട്ടിയത് എന്നോര്‍ത്ത് ആരോടെന്നില്ലാതെ അവള്‍ പഴിച്ചു.

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ഇന്നവള്‍ക്കൊരു സണ്ടോഷവും ദുഖവും കലര്‍ന്ന ഒരു മനസ്ഥിതിയാണ്. ഗള്‍ഫിലേക്കുള്ള അവളുടെ വിസ ശരിയായി. ഭാര്തവോതവല്‍ മണല്തിരകള്‍ നിറഞ്ഞ ആ നാട്ടിലേക്ക് പറക്കുകയാണ്. ആദ്യമായിട്ടാണ് ശ്യാമിന്റെ കൂടെ ഒരു സഞ്ചാരം - പോരെങ്ങില്‍ പുതിയ നാട്, പരിചയമില്ലാത്ത നാട്ടുകാര്‍, പുതിയ ഭാഷ - എല്ലാം കോഇ അവള്‍ക്ക് ഒരു ഭയം. അമ്മയുടെ പുന്നാര മകള്‍ക്ക് ആരുമില്ലാതെ കാര്യങ്ങള്‍ നടത്താന്‍ നല്ല പേടിയുണ്ട്. ഗള്‍ഫിലുള്ള പലവരുടെയും പേരും അഡ്രസ്സും അടുത്തുള്ളവര്‍ തന്നു വെച്ചിട്ടുണ്ട്. മറുനാട്ടില്‍ ഒരു തുണക്ക് ആളുണ്ടാകുമല്ലോ.

പക്ഷെ അവളുടെ ആകങ്ക്ഷ അതിലും വലുതായിരുന്നു. ഇത് വരെ ശ്യാമിന്റെ വീട്ടുകരോത്ത)യിരുന്നതിനാല്‍ ഭര്‍ത്താവിന്റെ കുറ്റവും കുറവും അനുഭവപ്പെട്ടിരുന്നില്ല. അവളുടെ പ്രശ്നങ്ങള്‍ ശ്യാമും അറിയേണ്ടി വന്നിട്ടില്ല. ഇനി എല്ലാം ഒറ്റക്ക്... ഞങ്ങള്‍ രണ്ട് പേര്‍ മാത്രം... ആലോചിക്കാന്‍ തന്നെ വയ്യ. പക്ഷെ divorce നെ പറ്റിയൊന്നും ചിന്ടിക്കാന്‍ പറ്റില്ലല്ലോ. എന്ത് കാരണം പറയും...?

Luggage ന് clearance കിട്ടി കഴിഞ്ഞ് boarding pass -ഉം മേടിച്ചു അവര്‍ terminus -ലേക്ക് നടന്നു. യാന്ദ്രികമെന്ന പോലെ അവള്‍ സാമാനവും തൂക്കി പിടിച്ച് എന്തൊക്കെയോ ആലോചിച്ചു നടക്കാന്‍ തുടങ്ങി. പിന്നില്‍ അമ്മയും അമ്മായിഅമ്മയും ഒക്കെ കരയുന്നുണ്ട്. അവളുടെയും കണ്ണുകള്‍ നിറഞ്ഞു വരുന്നുണ്ടായിരുന്നു. പക്ഷെ ശ്യാമിന്റെ മുഖത്ത് ഒരു വികാരവും കാണുന്നില്ല. അവള്‍ക്കത്തില്‍ അത്ഭുതം തോന്നി. എല്ലാ പ്രാവശ്യവും ഗള്‍ഫിലേക്ക് തിരിക്കുമ്പോള്‍ വലിയ സങ്ങടം കാണുമല്ലോ. ഇപ്പൊ എന്താ ഇങ്ങനെ പതിവില്ലാത്ത ഒരു മൂകത?

വിമാനത്തില്‍ കയറി economy ക്ലാസ്സില്‍ നടുക്കത്തെ രണ്ട് സീറ്റില്‍ അവര്‍ കയറി ഇരുന്നു. അവള്‍ ജനലിനോട്‌ ചേര്‍ന്നുള്ള സീറ്റ്‌ എടുത്തു. സൂര്യന്‍ ഒരു ചുവന്ന nഗോളം പോലെ കിഴക്കേ ചക്രവാളത്തില്‍ ഉണരുകയാണ്. ഇത് അവളുടെ പുതിയ ജീവിതത്തിന്റെ തുടക്കം ആണ്. പ്രതീക്ഷകള്‍ ഉണ്ടാകുന്നതു ശരിയാണോ എന്നറിയാതെ അവളുടെ മനസ്സ് പിടഞ്ഞു. ശരിയാണ്. അമ്മ പറഞ്ഞ പോലെ അവളുടെ ഭര്‍ത്താവിന്റെ ഉള്ളു മുഴുവന്‍ സ്നേഹം ആണ്. അവളെ ശ്യാമിന് ഒരുപാട് ഇഷ്ടമാണ്. ഈ കഴിഞ്ഞ മൂന്നു കൊല്ലത്തില്‍ തന്റെ ആവശ്യങ്ങളില്‍ ഒരു കുറവും വരുത്തിയിട്ടില്ല. അവള്‍ ഷോപ്പിംഗ്‌ ന് പോകുമ്പോള്‍ കൂടെ പോരുന്നില്ലെങ്ങിലും "ആവശ്യത്തിനു കാശേടുതോ? ഇല്ലെങ്ങില്‍ ദാ" എന്ന് പറഞ്ഞു കാശെടുത്ത് തരും. എന്നാലും അനിലക്ക് ത്രുപ്തിയിലയിരുന്നു. ഭര്‍ത്ഹൃസ്നേഹത്തെ പറ്റി ഒരുപാട് സങ്കല്പിച്ചു കൂടിയിട്ടുണ്ട്, അതൊന്നും എളുപ്പം മാറ്റാനും ഒക്കുന്നില്ല. ങ്ങാ, ഇനി വരുന്നതൊക്കെ സഹിച്ചല്ലെ പറ്റു.

വിമാനം പറന്നുയര്‍ന്നു. അകന്നകന്നു പോകുന്ന സ്വന്തം നാടിനെ നോക്കി അവളൊരു നെടുവീര്‍പ്പിട്ടു. അപ്പുറത്തെ സീറ്റില്‍ ഒരു പെണ്‍കുട്ടി ഭര്‍ത്താവിന്റെ തോളില്‍ തല ചായ്തി കരയുന്നുണ്ടായിരുന്നു. അവള്‍ക്കും അങ്ങനെ സ്വന്തം മനസ്സിന്റെ ഭാരം ഒന്ന് ഇറക്കി വെയ്ക്കണം എന്നുണ്ടായിരുന്നു. പക്ഷെ എങ്ങനെ തുടങ്ങണം എന്നറിയില്ല. അപ്പോളാണ് ശ്യാം അവളുടെ നോട്ടം ശ്രദ്ധിക്കുന്നത് അവള്‍ കണ്ടത്. ആ ദമ്പതിമാരെ കണ്ടിട്ട് അയാള്‍ക്കും എന്ടോ തോന്നിയ മട്ടുണ്ട്. അനിലയുടെ മടിയില്‍ ഇരുന്ന അവളുടെ കൈയിന്റെ മുകളില്‍ അയാള്‍ സ്വന്തം കൈ വെച്ചു. അനില ഞെട്ടി ശ്യാമിനെ നോക്കി. ഒരു ചോദ്യചിഹ്നമെന്നു പോലെയുള്ള അവളുടെ നോട്ടം കണ്ടിട്ട് അയാള്‍ക്ക് ചിരി വന്നു.

"പേടിക്കണ്ട. ഇനി നമുക്കൊരു പുതിയ ജീവിതം തുടങ്ങാം. നീയും ഞാനും നമുക്കുണ്ടാകാന്‍ പോകുന്ന കുഞ്ഞും മാത്രം. വീട്ടില്‍ എല്ലാവരുടെയും മുമ്പില്‍ വെച്ചു നിന്നോട് ശ്രിങ്കരിക്കാന്‍ മടിയായിരുന്നു എപ്പോളും. അവിടെ എല്ലാവര്ക്കും ഞാന്‍ ഒരു ഗൌരവക്കാരന്‍ ആണ്. അത് അങ്ങനെ തന്നെ ഇരിക്കട്ടെ. പിന്നെ ഭാര്യ ആളെ മാറെടുത്തു എന്നൊന്നും കേള്‍ക്കണ്ടല്ലോ. പക്ഷെ ഇനി നമ്മള്‍ ചെല്ലാന്‍ പോകുന്നയിടത് എനിക്കൊരു hero ഇമേജ് ആണ്. അതാനെനിക്കും ഇഷ്ടം. നിന്നെയും അത് സന്തോഷിപ്പിക്കും എന്നെനിക്കറിയാം."

ഇത്രെയും പറഞ്ഞ് ശ്യാം അനിലയുടെ നെറ്റിയില്‍ ചുംബിച്ചുകൊണ്ട് കൈകള്‍ ഭദ്രമായി പിടിച്ചു. അവളുടെ ചുണ്ടിലൊരു ചിരി വിടര്‍ന്നു - കണ്ണുകളില്‍ ആനന്ദാശ്രുക്കള്‍ നിറഞ്ഞു. ഉയര്‍ന്നു വരുന്ന സൂര്യന്‍ അവളുടെ സന്തോഷത്ല്‍ പങ്കു ചെരുയാനെന്നു തോന്നി. ഹാവും നിരാശയുടെ അന്ധകാരം മാച്ച് ആശയുടെ വെളിച്ചവും കൊണ്ട് സൂര്യന്‍ അവളെ സമീപിക്കുന്ന പോലെ അവള്‍ക്ക്‌ തോന്നി. ശ്യാമിന്റെ തോളില്‍ ചാരി അവള്‍ കണ്ണടച്ചു.

Found and Lost

2011-05-25T23:53:00.000-07:00

“I love you,” he said,

“I love the way you smile when I kiss your neck,

I love the way you touch me and make my skin rise in bumps.”

She smiled again and burrowed into the mass of hair on his chest

That comforted her all those days.

In the calm of that love,

They hid their weakness,

And their soul’s needs from each other.

One mid-morning,

The heavens opened their doors and poured,

And in the lightning of that rain,

Their love was revealed.

Its wounds, gory and rotten,

Stared at them like the eyes of death,

The glimmer of a knife-point on the cornea.

And then they lost their weakness,

Their needs,

Their bonds to the blinding light,

And yet their hands remained outstretched,

In the vague hope of finding each other in the dark of the thunderstorms.

The rain vanished as it came,

The curtains rose to a bright light,

But left a darkness in their hearts

They could not even identify.

Cannot write more

2011-05-19T03:22:00.000-07:00

I cannot write any more.

I thought I told you this before,
But yes, I write for you.

I write of you,
of your thousand lovable gestures,
of your million quirks and faults,
of your innumerable thoughts and dreams.

They blamed me for writing only of love,
of an emotion well abused;
But they did not know it was inspired by you.

If they did,
they might have worshipped you, my muse.

And now,
You have gone away from my life
to find a way of your own;
Be a muse to someone else,
in some other way -
I know not what.

I thought I could find another muse,
and write on.

They came and went,
but failed to inspire,
to arouse me to a climax of poetry
that you so easily managed.

I still stare at your age-worn photograph
and try to write.
But,
I cannot write any more.

More love poems

2011-05-19T03:17:00.000-07:00

I. Soft hands
When you first touched my hands
You said they were soft as a pillow
And kissed the palm as if it were a bud of rose.

Yesterday when I caressed your face
You turned away from me
Muttering, “Use some cream.”

I looked at my withered hands
And found scales and scars and wounds
Of fifty years of love.

II. In Love
Everyone said you and I were in love.

I laughed at them,
You scorned them.

Yet I buried my dreams in your smell,
You bathed in the radiance of my smile.

You and I
Were not to be chained by
Social labels and mores.
But we never realized
How chained we were
By hearts and souls.

Nights were a reason to wake up to make your brunch,
Days were a reason to enter the depths of my locks.

We still denied we were in love.
"We just need each other,"
We reiterated,
In the hope of convincing ourselves.

One morning,
She came in with a bubbly laugh and a cheery face,
Made your eggs and your bed,
Said she loves you,
and took you away.

All I did was gawp after you.
We were not to be chained by
Social labels and mores.
And we are not in love.

I laughed again.

They called it so

2011-03-29T00:55:00.000-07:00

A vague little glee, And they called it Love. A tense little moment And they called it Fear. A slight anxiety And they called it Stress. A mere numbness And they called it Death.

What's wrong?

2011-03-25T23:29:00.000-07:00

For some, I’m born at the wrong place,

For some, the time is wrong;

For others, my birth is too late,

For more, my family is wrong.

In the end I wake up from nightmares

And look into the mirror.

There too, I find the wrong reflection.

My Love Is A Cat

2011-03-25T23:25:00.000-07:00

My love is a cat,

Waiting to pounce upon you as you enter my life.

Its curiosity is a killer,

Its fearlessness a danger.

Ajit’s dilemma

2011-03-15T23:42:00.001-07:00

(July 2010)

‘What can be said of a man who loves a woman and is loved by another? That he is a lucky bastard. That he can have his cake and eat it too. And that he definitely is the most laid person around me.’

“Quit mocking my situation, Rahul. This is serious. I don’t know what to do. I love Suma. I really do. But I care a lot for Sahana. I can’t seem to let go of her. I need her as much as I need Suma. And I know that’s not right. I mean, I’m not doing full justice to any of us three in the process, right?”

“Ajit, you are reading too much into the situation. I think you should just enjoy the liberty you have right now and just, you know, go with the flow,” Rahul took a drag from his cigarette. “Bloody lucky bastard, I’d say. I haven’t had a single girl after me, nor have I felt real true love for anyone,” he sighed.

“You are damn too rational about this. But somehow I can’t, and I am going with the flow, if you haven’t yet noticed. But I feel terrible about it sometimes. I feel like I’m cheating myself, Suma as well as Sahana. I don’t want to do it, but I end up doing it, and then…”

“Cut the crap, dude. I’m damn sleepy right now. What I don’t understand is why you start all this right after two drinks, and spoil my fun too. Blah! Good night, and happy thinking!” Rahul turned on the bed and went to sleep. Ajit was left wondering to himself.

* * *

“Sahana, please, try and understand. I cannot, I am not able to fall in love with you. Don’t push me so hard. I’ll give up. I’m already under too much pressure.”

“Aji you just… don’t understand. No, you refuse to accept me for some stupid prejudice of yours. ‘You’re not the right woman for me.’ What nonsense! Tell me one woman who has understood you and your needs so well and supported you on everything. You go on saying true love is loving the person who loves you, and when such a person is there for you, you don’t want to accept that. I’m just so exasperated. I love you so dearly that I can’t give you up so easily. I don’t know what to call our relationship. I have done so much for you, and you don’t want to acknowledge that and…”

“Please don’t tell me I don’t acknowledge your love or things you do for me. I really really appreciate all that and I have always told you that. But I cannot fall in love with you. You don’t evoke that special feeling in me. You make me comfortable, you’re the best friend I’ve ever had, and you’re awesome in bed… but that doesn’t make love, please try to understand,” his voice was getting more and more gruffy. “And, I’m warning you, if you want to keep testing my limits, let us cut off this relation right away. Let us be just good neighbours and leave each other alone.”

“That’s nothing less than threat, and Mr Ajit Prasad, I’m not gonna take that from you. No one tells me what to feel and how!” Sahana picked up her bag and got up. “But one final word. I love you more dearly than life itself, and you can’t change that.” And she walked off, leaving Ajit with his head between his hands.

* * *

“Do you want a coffee? I’m gonna grab a cup…”

“Yeah sure. Do you have a smoke too?”

Sahana’s laughter rang in her bedroom. “What, post-coital cigarette, eh?”

Ajit laughed too. “If you wanna call it by such a technical name, fine!”

“There, on the shelf. The lighter’s next to it, and the ash-tray is under the bed. I’ll make the coffee.”

Ajit’s phone rang. It was Suma.

“Sahana, don’t speak, okay? It’s Suma calling.”

“Oh yeah, I’m not here, you’re not with me. Understad, understand, sir.” She laughed again, and went into the kitchen.

“Yeah, tell me honey. What’s up?”

* * *

“So, what do you think?”

“Yeah, suits you, but you can look much better.”

“This is the best I could do. I wasn’t ready to go for complete colouring. I thought this light burgundy shade looked charming. And you give such a lukewarm response!” Sahana cried.

“Honey, honey, you look awesome. I just said you have more potential! You’re a very charming woman, and I want people to know that. Come on, I’m buying you some funky attire. How about trying out the new stuff at Lifestyle? Laika was saying there are some trendy things there. Might suit you.”

“Okay okay. Whatever you say.”

“Listen, it’s not about you obeying me here, okay? It’s about getting you a light makeover. Just a touch-up, actually, but something that’ll make you stand out in the crowd.”

“Makeover, yeah that’s right,” she smiled. “I love you, Aji. I love you so much.”

Aji returned the smile. “Let’s go, my pretty pie. Hop on to the bike.”

* * *

“Suma, you’re sure we’re doing the right thing? I mean, isn’t this too sudden for you? You haven’t even got over Vasishth yet… and then marrying me… you know how I am situated. With Sheela’s studies still going on and mom down in the hospital every month, I don’t know if I can…”

“Ajit, I am not worried about the finances. I have a good amount of savings, and of course I’ll work after marriage too. I have no issues with you giving off all your salary at your home. And then about Vasu. The earlier I forget him the better. Don’t worry I’m not using you as a rebound. I actually want to settle down with you. You’re the one for me, I’m convinced. I want to know if you are fine. Anyone you’re involved with, or anything that doesn’t appeal to you? I mean, do you think I’ll be good enough for you?”

“Oh God, listen to you talk! I… listen, I know I never told you, but… but I love you. With all my heart. I can die for you. You tell me when do you want me to come and meet your mother?”

“Aji… you’re such a sweetheart. Make that this weekend. I assume there won’t be any problem from your side?”

“Not at all. My mother’ll be happy to hear I chose you. She’s always been a little partial to you among all my female friends.”

“Oh!” Suma blushed. “Very nice, my future husband, then drop the call for now. I have work at eight in the morning, and oh my God, it’s two a.m. now! Sleep, sleep, sleep, idiot!”

“Hahaha… okay Sumi. Good night. Sweet dreams.”

“Sweet dreams, Aji.”

* * *

“So you’ve made the final choice now.”

“Yes.”

“There’s no going back?”

“There is no need to. Not for me.”

“And what about me?”

“You already know I’m never going to marry you and give you a life you dream of. I have made that quite clear many times, I’m sure.”

“Yes you have, definitely. You and I are together on a ‘no-strings-attached’ basis. And all that only because I, the bloody fool, am in love with you. Ever occurred to you that you could be just taking advantage of me?”

“Fuck you, Sana. I thought we already discussed this. I am not in love with you. But I can’t let go of you. You are more than a friend, much more. I need you like the water I drink eight times a day. You said you understand that. You said you wouldn’t accuse me of using you. You said you’ll be okay. Damn it, Sana!”

Sahana broke down. “Okay, sorry sorry. I am sorry. It’s just that sometimes I just snap. I don’t know what I’m saying. Or rather, it all comes out in bitterness, and then it’s over, and then… I don’t understand. We make such an awesome pair. Why not?”

“Because I love Suma. More than I care for you. She’s the one for me, Sana. You and I are a mismatch. You’ll realize it when you get over your obsession.”

… Sahana was crying bitterly. Ajit made no attempt to soothe her. He walked over to the shelf and took out a cigarette and sent swirls of smoke up at the fan in her bedroom. Then he picked up his clothes and went into the bathroom. She looked after him, gave out a long sigh and wiped her tears. In front of the mirror, she felt her face. She started out as if she was beginning to cry, but suddenly smiled. “Not so easily, not so soon. I know he’ll be back. He and I cannot stay off each other, I know it. This chapter’s not closing so easily, honey. I am not losing my love any sooner.”

* * *

“What is Sahana’s PAN card doing in your laptop bag?”

“Oh that? She gave it to me so I can fill in her bank form when I go there tomorrow. She doesn’t stay in Nashik, remember?”

“Then can’t she come down and do it herself some other day? Why do you have to do it for her?”

“Suma? What’s wrong with you? I keep doing odd chores for her anyway!”

“Stop doing that now. She’s not a baby. Let her handle her own things. She wants to take you with her for shopping, she wants your opinion on the dress she’s bought, she buys little nothings for you from everywhere she goes… I think she’s in love with you.”

“Oh Suma, you don’t know her for as many years as I do, that’s why. Or wait… you’re being jealous! Suma!”

“I know, I know, we spoke about this. You have a hefty lot of female friends, and I have to get used to it. But Sahana seems different from your other friends. I don’t like the feeling she gives me when we three are together.”

“Come on, give that girl a chance. You just met her once. You’re being…”

“You are being defensive about her. I don’t like that too.”

Ajit looked at her. He moved forward to hug her, but she shrugged it off.

“Pack your bags fast, mister. The bus is at 9.”

* * *

It wasn’t a small gathering. Sahana’s friends, collegemates, professors and schoolteachers, the nuns and fathers from her orphanage. Ajit sat in a corner, as if set in stone. One of her professors walked up to him.

“Ajit? I’m Naseema. Sahana used to refer to you as her local guardian. It is so unfortunate. I mean, a road accident… very very unlucky, poor girl. Her parents died in the same way. She was saved in that accident. Only to die in another one, 24 years later…. The Lord has his own ways…”

“Yes ma’am. He has. She was a lovely girl. Thanks for your condolences. Can you please write something about her on that golden sheet over there? She wanted me to maintain a scrap of writing from all those who attend her most important ritual after 24. She wanted it to be the wedding, but… thanks.”

The lady moved off, unsure of how to take the bluntness in Ajit’s voice. Rahul came around to him, noticing his stone-cut look.

“Listen, take it easy. It’s not your fault. She’s made it clear in her letter, right? She couldn’t get over you, she was incapable of moving on. There’s no point in you dejecting over…”

“Shut up, Rahul. You’ve always been very pragmatic. I cannot be. She chose to die with my memories rather than give me up. She bloody took that accident on her because she realized Suma didn’t like her being friends with me. She couldn’t let go of me. She fucking loved me like no one ever did. And I couldn’t give it to her. I couldn’t even make her feel better. Maybe I contributed to make her feel like a slut. ‘No strings attached’, my foot! There were strings all over the place, and all of them were invisible. I fucking took a long time to realize that. I had too much on my dish and I couldn’t clear it up sooner. It is my fault, damn it!” His voice resonated in the silent hall. Everyone turned to look at him. He sat down quietly again.

“Go sign the sheet, Rahul. She’d love to know what you think of her. Do write what you always used to say – ‘you’re bloody lucky Ajit. She’s so fucking pretty.’”

‘What can you say of a man who loved two women at the same time and could never decide whom to keep and whom to wave goodbye to? That he was confused. That he should have made a strong decision sooner. That he shouldn’t have waited till one of his women died. That, my friends, is the tragedy of the bitch called love.’

* * *

Sally’s weekend

2011-03-15T23:34:00.000-07:00

(June 2010)

Most of my weekends are spent waiting for someone to remember me. Meanwhile, I wander about the house, or my little cosy garden, tidying their little corners and searching for pending work. Usually, Rachel might call and say she wants to go out shopping or pay up some bills. Whether I have some work outdoors or not, I tag along. She seems to derive some comfort talking to me about the house, the people, the works. I let her babble on, as my eyes wander along the roads, shopping malls and restaurants. There are families, children, couples, college students, boys, girls, middle-aged people, oldies - all around with someone or the other they trust and like. Rachel and I like each other’s company. We have similar interests in conversation. We have common topics to chat about.

And when she’s not in town or if she’s doing that weekend shift at work, I am alone again. I wait for someone to call. There’s Anaita, or James, who could call. Or I wait for someone to send me a text message. Why didn’t Charlie, Amelia or Stanley remember me yet? I watch a movie, listen to some songs, cook somthing. Stare at the mobile every third minute. No. No one’s called. There’s no text either. Nobody remembers me yet.

Finally boredom overtakes my self-respect, and I text Stanley. “Hey, what’s up?” Immediately comes the reply: “Oh darling, I was just thinking of you. The weather’s so romantic. Shall I come over? Are you free?” I am disgusted. I reply: “Oh boy, no dear, I’m not at home actually. Travelling to the grandpa’s. So sorry sweets. Catch you later!” No reply from the other side. Opportunists.

I call Harris. His phone’s engaged. I don’t have much hopes about him returning the call. So finally, I stop seeking out the men and decide to check on what my girlfriends are up to. Amelia picks the call and says: “Hey sweetheart, my dad’s given me some work. I got to finish it today. I’ll call you back by evening?” All right, all right, busybee.

I don’t have the courage for more rejections. I feel dejected. And I get back to the garden and the house. There is no lack of work around, but I keep wishing there was someone to help me out. I wait for 48 hours. And a new working week begins. Until another weekend looms. Until another 48 hours of waiting….

Me and my books

2011-03-09T07:25:00.000-08:00

The books I read every night,
Once came to life upon my bed.

The Tagore collection hummed melodiously,
The Sherlock Holmes fidgeted restlessly,
And Tinkles jumped about enthusiastically.
The Kamala Das stories came to rest in my lap,
The PG Wodehouse wanted a ride on my back
And the Ruskin Bond beckoned me to play carrom.

My quiet room was suddenly cacophonic,
Leaving me baffled.

I picked up the Holmes and gave it some tobacco,
Lent my mp3 player to Tagore;
Rested Das on my teddy bear,
Gave Bond to my kitten;
Put Tinkle in the cage with my birds,
And laid Wodehouse pn the swing.

Finally, they lost their energy
And allowed me to sift through them,
Agreeing to share their knowledge and pleasure, joys and sorrows.

I held them to my bosom and slept peacefully again.

2011-03-09T07:13:00.000-08:00

I.
"Leech!" She shouted at her,
"You're living on stolen blood."
"It's love, madam,
not stolen, but borrowed."
"Yes, he lends it to you
out of pity,
But that is due to me,
Hence you are but a lowly thief!"
And with that she branded me.

II.
Imposing skyscrapers
wrought in iron and glass,
gobble up suited-and-booted people every morning
and spew them out like vomit by twilight.
These suits and boots and skirts and heels
go on in a clatter,
unaware of their repeated
Ingestion, Digestion and Excretion.

III.
The fly in my hand
wiggled like a maggot
clipped of her wings.
And I, the sadist,
laughed of the tickle from her hairy body
on my soft palm.

Everyone's poems

2011-02-10T08:14:00.000-08:00

I.
Tears hijacked his dreams,
Fear overtook love.
In rotating ceiling fans
And rolling hips of dancers,
He searched for them both.

II.
I sold myself to the wrong people,
The wrong people solicited my souls.
Amid a flurry of wrongs,
My heart set out to claim some rights.

III.
The blue veins shone through her fair skin,
And the knife in her hand glistened.
The brightness of the red spilled
Was also never disputed.

IV.
Rheumatism, Arthritis, Blood pressure, Insomnia;
There was no ailment she was not proud of.

V.
Inhale,
Exhale,
Dust, smoke, CO2, NO and a little oxygen.
The human is contented.

VI.
There's nothing to cry for in grief -
Too common, Too plebian, Too low.
There's nothing to laugh in glee -
Too fickle, Too smug, Too depraved.
The saint sought them all in saffron,
And God.
Amen.

Her and me (and sometimes him)

2011-01-17T05:35:00.000-08:00

NOTE: It is quite fascinating to imagine a third person between two - be it friends, lovers or even parents or siblings. My imaginations of the same produce the following poems, and some before that [You and I (and sometimes another)]. Some of the imagery may be repetitive, but feel the grip of that invisible third person as you read these. Enjoy!

I.
Every time I look for him, she comes before me.
Every time I think of him, her memory becomes vivid.
Every time he talks to me, she sneers from behind his shoulder.
I am shadowed by her ghost that lives with him.

II.
She doesn't need to be called,
She doesn't need to be known,
She doesn't need a name,
She doesn't need no fame:
I know it is her, and she knows it is me,
And there begins the story of her, me and him.

Followed

2011-01-02T02:43:00.000-08:00

The lurking shadows,
The eerie sounds,
The mysterious scuffles,
The entombing silence -
Nothing but myself hounds me.

Secret Palimpsest

2011-01-02T02:37:00.000-08:00

A secret,
multi-layered,
lies in my bosom.

Its layers, all there, but not-so-there,
Like a palimpsest,
It attracts all audience,
And gives new meanings to all.

Everyone can have a layer to take with them,
And all can be satisfied.
But only I know the volume of its inscriptions,
And unaware to them,
Decide what layers they are served.

I make meanings for them,
I complete their understanding,
And yet they gloat at what they learnt,
And yet they pride at each possessed layer.

My secret shall be entombed
In my selective memory
In the absyss of my mind
And the chambers of my heart -
You shall see a part
And like the blind feeling the elephant,
Be happy with what you know.

The Smells We Live By

2011-01-02T02:27:00.000-08:00

It's the smells we live by.

A whiff of wet earth,
fertile like the ready-to-receive-you woman on the bed inside,
Drive you towards her smell.
And when you awake
from a dream full of sighs, moans and orgasmic raptures,
It's the smell of cigarettes you seek.

Or, maybe it's coffee and tea that calms you,
and, along with Coorgie fragrances or Assamese delights,
A little of strong eucalyptus,
Or the light menthol-tainted Vicks
can soothe your throbbing head.

Late evening,
And the unassailable-but-attacking breeze
from the kitchen
Tells your stomach it's time.
Ravenous smells -
of jaggery, spices and more -
Gobble you up in a frenzy.

You walk along the road,
And penetrating wasps of grey air
tell you how crowded the city is.
Choking, wheezing, strangling smokes
of vehicles, burning tobacco, construction gravel and roting garbage
Leads you on to find your space within.

In your office,
The stagnant AC-ed air,
carrying the breath-odour of your colleagues,
Their sweat and saliva and semen-smells,
Their cologne and perfumes and deodorants,
Mingle with yours
and settle down upon the fabric of your life,
Uncomplainingly.

It's the smells that we live by.

An eternal tale

2011-01-02T02:06:00.000-08:00

A long folk-tale is my life,
Re-embellished with each narration,
Re-tarnished with each vituperation -

A long ceaseless ballad,
An epic of gargantuan passions,
No scale to measure,
No depth to unravel -

Curved around each letter,
Hanging on to each word,
A blood-sucking leech,
A slimy slug,
An itchy caterpillar -

A tale of fantasy,
Of repulsion,
Of monstrous proportions -

Meted out in scoopfuls,
To prisoners within my tale,
Thus turning them cannibal,
And becoming a phoenix, a self-creator.

A long folk-tale is my life,
And I shall live in the words as much as in breath.

Thank You Poetry

2011-01-02T01:15:00.000-08:00

When smiles are aplenty,
Words always fail me.
I have a lot to thank you for,
O Poetry,
And a lot to apologize too.

You have shown fortitude
As I shed my depressions upon you,
Used you to bludgeon my frustrations,
And pounded you to free my repressions.

You stood by me
As I watched friends go away,
Dreams shatter, and
Life flow away in a stream's chatter.

I gave you no form,
No rhyme, No reason,
No colour,
No body -
And yet you embodied my soul.

Thank you, O Poetry.
You are my alter ego.

You and I (and sometimes another)

2010-11-23T00:52:00.001-08:00

I.
It is not just you and I.
It's the world.
And yet we doubt,
cringe,
crib,
and cry at our failures.
Ours, we say,
And lament again.

II.
I looked into the mirror
And saw you.
She was by your side too.
We looked a pretty pair -
You, me and she.

And yet there was an ugliness,
damp as the thunderstorm outside,
making the mirror vapour-ridden.

Suddenly the images become distorted
And we all merge into each other,
forming a shape none of us know.

III.
Your words speak my thoughts
Your poems express my emotions
Your touch resonates my yearning.
My darling,
You and I are meant to be One.

I complete your sentences
I embody your imagination
I blow life into your breath.
My darling,
You and I are meant to be One.

IV.
Where did she come from,
like a sprout on the window sill
After a week of rain?

What is she doing here,
like a blown strand of hair
rolling on the floor amid dust?

Where is she taking you,
like the witches of yore
who enchant and destroy?

V.
You licked my ears,
tingling the soul,
And I heard her laugh
in those very ears.

You cupped my breast
with trembling hands
And I felt her touch,
I saw her shuddder.

You kissed my neck
with a soft-falling breath
And I knew her smell
upon your pink lips.

I see her in you.
Whom do you see in me, darling?

On heartaches and faults

2010-11-16T10:47:00.000-08:00

It wasn’t his fault,

Nor was it mine;

And yet guilt hangs around us all the time

Like mist in Coorg,

Or Nainital.

We met one day and parted

with such a deep wound in hearts

that it tore them to shreds,

Like an enlarging tear on clothes.

II.

I lied to him

That I was a virgin.

You are the first to touch me, I said,

And he hugged me in delight,

Slowly sliding his hands up my skirt.

I did not flinch.

He immediately withdrew.

No. you’re not a virgin.

You’ve seen men before.

I don’t want you, he said,

And moved to the next girl in the line.

III.

My heart ached, and the sun smiled at me.

My heart ached, and the sun said goodbye across the sea.

My heart ached, and the moon turned bright and round.

My heart ached, and the moon blackened its visage in grief.

My heart ached, and the winds sang to me.

My heart ached, and the winds roared at my window.

My heart ached, and the dust rose up in a cheer.

My heart ached, and the rain invited me for a dance.

My heart ached… and Mother Nature said, Move On, child.

Snippets from a poet's mind

2010-10-21T05:59:00.000-07:00

I.
The eyes once refused
to see the colours of hope.
And now the darkness has settled upon them.

II.
We heard a song together once
And rode upon its lyrics to heaven.
I came crashing down when the CD got stuck,
And you got stuck in the audio output wire.

III.
Those memories pain me yet.
What do they do to you, dear?

IV.
I want to be like the tides,
That rejoice in nothing but the frolic
of carrying memories
but not in burden, not in pain.

V.
I look out of the window every time
I hear the mating screech of kites.
They care not for a dime
Of my two watchful eyes.

VI.
I watch the clock tick,
Listen to the chirp of birds,
Feel the breeze from the ceiling fan,
Follow the notes of my thoughts.

I'm quite busy, darling.
No time for sorrows, loneliness or pain.

VII.
True to my word,
I didn't speak to you so long.
But what about the million conversations
We carry out in my head every day?

Opening Up To The Night

2010-10-20T08:50:00.000-07:00

I.
Every night,
A tear waits to escape
from the well of the face.
There's nothing to holding it back;
There's free will and independence -
But for a ray of hope
in the brain that dries it
before it can make its escape.

II.
There's something about the dark.
Its mysterious quality is captivating.
Dreams are born in the night
And so is love and most of my poetry.
It hides fears and affection in its bosom.
It scares and comforts,
It pains and pampers,
It breeds violence and peace.

When all's bright, during the day,
There's all the life and the world to seek.
But it's the night that brings you out.
You stand face to face
not with another, but your self.
It scares and comforts,
Pains and pampers,
Breeds violence and peace.

Conversations of a night

2010-10-20T07:54:00.000-07:00

I.
Why, darling,
I'm sorry
I slept off before you finished your story.

What were you saying?
Oh yes, your father died when you were four,
Your mother was raped by his best friend
And you,
Yes you were sold to Thailand.

I am so sorry about that.
But I'm glad I came to Bangkok -
I saw such beautiful sights,
Such ravishing women -
And met you.

I had such a great night, thank you.
I'm going back to India tomorrow.
You take care.

Darling, you were awesome.
And so sorry about your parents.
Especially Mother, Yes.

II.
Did you dream today too?
Forget it.
This is it.
No moving forward.
Honey, the darkness is all you've got.
Enjoy its soothing, personal touch.

Your darkness is your alone, isn't it?
Find me a day that's yours.

No, don't aspire for it.
Stagnate.
There's bliss in it.

What?
You choose to move on?
And leave me alone?
All right.
Let melancholy be mine alone....

III.
The dawn brings promises
Of more memories, good and bad,
Of new acquaintances and relations,
Of fresh rays of hope and peace.

A cup of coffee in hand,
We savour the promises
and promise to do our best.

The phone rings.
Your father passed away
peacefully, in his sleep last night.

Suddenly you dread the dawn of the night
And the end of the smooth darkness.

Picking up pieces

2010-10-13T13:38:00.000-07:00

I.
Mirror reflects my being,
But where do I look to find my soul?

Somewhere within the walls of this body
It lies maimed and shattered.

Picking up pieces after a massacre
Is not easy,
Not motivating.

Will you help me,
I ask the mirror.
And it stares back at me in silence,
As helpless as me.

I look around again,
And everyone is picking up their pieces.

At least, I'm just one of them.
Not alone in my misery.
Heartening.

II.
Her life’s in a mess.
And she plays Freecell,
Wins the game,
And assures herself she can conquer it all.

She goes to the Church,
Looks at the imposing Christ before her
And sheds a tear,
Apologises to her men,
And pretends to be strong.

Alone, at home,
she smiles into the mirror,
Which too scorns at her.

There are tears of grief somewhere,
That struggle to break the steel armour.
But if she lets it break, would she be happy?

No.
She has to live her life.
She has to clear the mess herself,
Pay for it through her own karma.
She smiles again at the mirror,
And it smiles back at her.

Right.

Shakespeare effect

2010-09-02T06:33:00.000-07:00

I.
Yonder goes the heart
that slayed mine,
And I, the greater his slave for that,
Fall at his feet
for mercy or refuge;

What pleases it,
Shall please me fine,
If it be love,
None so great,
And if slavery and mock,
I gently assent.

II.
Why, what drives thee hither, O peasant!
What makes thee crave for things pleasant?
Dost not thy field feed thy stomach?
Wouldst thou not be pleased by roast duck?

Thy hut, I swear, is the safest shelter,
Thy hospitality, an iron-rod melter.
Thy wife, whose smile can win a tiger,
Is worth more 'an ton-pounds of pure wheat fibre.

Alas! I can do noth but scribble,
In auld tongue, all I can do is dribble,
Thy life is unmatched, O pretty lad!
Forget the city, palaces, brilliance - and quit the fad!

Let me love

2010-09-02T06:11:00.000-07:00

I live in their dreams,
And they in mine;
My men, I love thee all,
You abode in my heart's shrine.

How shall I say
Why, how and how much I love thee?
For each of thou are mine,
And yet not mine,
All love's labour's are free.

My body knows thy touch,
My heart feels thine beat,
Each pore in my body
Stands up as thou retreat.

It's not thy kisses,
Not hugs, nor the love-making,
It's the warmth in thy smiles,
The peace I feel when in thine casing.

Scorn me not as a whore,
Deign me not the vamp -
My love's as pure as the morning dew,
As the blue flame of the night lamp.

I care not for the worldly fares -
The lawful names, the legal knots,
But love me as thee shall,
And let me feed my love back unto thee.

Love

2010-08-25T00:39:00.000-07:00

We dig into each other lustfully,
Displaying no shard of love.
In the bare greed of the body,
We seek each other out blindly
And hack and pant endlessly.

In the end, you rest your face on my chest,
And the corner of your eyes are wet.
There I know you love me.

Subconscious and life

2010-07-30T03:10:00.000-07:00

I.
The mesh of bodies
Sprawling on the Earth
Is oppressing.
I'm struggling for breath underneath
And the far-away winds
Are eluding me.

I walk along the shores
For hours,
But there's no end,
No destination in sight.
The sea is tired of seeing me -
It is driving me away with its crashing waves.

I am on the hills,
Climbing up and down,
Along the ceaseless paths of green and brown.
There's no horizon in view
And there's no other escape.
I'm tired of walking.
It is growing dark,
And the woods are turning hostile.

I am standing in the market,
Not a known face around,
No hi, no hello, no what's up.
I am looking for friends,
But their voices far away
Merely add to the tantalising dreams.

This is no dream to wake up from,
Not a life to live out,
Nor am I in a trance.
Where am I?

II.
Being at the right place in the wrong time.
Meeting the right people at the wrong time.
Asking the right question at the wrong time to the right people.
Being wrong when I am supposed to be right.
My life is a play of words –
between rights and wrongs.

It is a happy tragedy,
A sad comedy,
Of ceaseless aspiring,
Ceaseless content,
The works.

Salvation

2010-07-29T09:43:00.000-07:00

I shed my skin again for the night,
And my soul goes into hibernation.
It stays away from the desires of my body,
And I sulk in their disagreement,
Like the mother who watched her children fight.

The soul says she seeks
Spiritual salvation, and would
Rather stay away from the
Impurity of the body's desires.

The body, she scoffs at the soul.
'Be the elite, you bitch, for
You can seek the spiritual and attain it.
Has your superior creed allowed
My brood to even dream of that?'

I sob.
The body goes on:
'I am the Earth,
The Soil, the Water,
The Light and the Dark,
And my end lies here.
Yuo,
The Power and the Intellect,
The Higher One's studentt,
Can seek eternity.
You want me to sacrifice my pleasures
For your purity?
Go, bitch, Earn your own salvation.'

I sob again.
But my soul's nowhere to be seen.
It is growing dark,
And my bed has another being in it.
My body seeks its own salvation
As my soul attains it in staying away.

Horny by the hair

2010-07-22T07:25:00.000-07:00

'I love the way they curl on your neck, darling,
The way they stream down to your hips,
Where you quiver when I plant a kiss.'

He is fascinated by my hair,
And runs his hand through playfully.

I let them flow down his chest
And his body reacts as if touched with a live wire.
His raw lust is aroused,
and he wants me to turn to him again.

I get up,
Tying my hair up in a bun.

'No, let them down.
Let me see them resting on your naked body,
Let me touch you through their mesh.'

I acquiesce.
He comes anear,
Draws me close to him,
And quivers again when my hair brush upon his bare skin.

'There's magic in your hair',
He whispers as we make love.

Panting, I draw back,
My hair behind me,
Laid like the fresh English lawn upon my neighbour's porch.

He says he loves me.
I smile,
tying my hair up again.

Poetry in the rains

2010-07-22T06:40:00.000-07:00

Rains spout romance.

Nature flaunts its sexuality,
Shows off its fertile and well-preened hues
Inspiring all living creatures to follow suit.

It’s the mating season, and
Every layman becomes a poet,
And mouthing metaphors and similes
Borrowed from famous brains,
They go preening about,
Trying to attract their mates.

Lovers moan and whine about separation,
Thirst for some company,
And make love in cosy corners.

While little sprouts of green
Show their heads on the soil,
Dark clouds gather on the horizon
And warn you of impending downpour.

Some revel in the pleasance of the rains,
Some crib about its gloom.

Poets never stop crooning
Of the rains:
They rave and rant like verbose viragos
Of the little rain drops.
Some Wordsworthians write of the nature,
And some write of human nature.

And I too become one of them.

Happy song

2010-05-28T00:27:00.000-07:00

I don't know, I feel tappy...
Just happy to be happy...
Happy because I am not sad,
Happy because I know all are not bad.
Happy to be alive,
Happy to survive;
Happy that I have friends like you,
Happy that all are happy too!

A love song

2010-05-27T21:48:00.000-07:00

Oh how my heart skips a beat,
How the skin longs for a touch,
How my fingers search for a pair
When you pass by my chair.

Hours of talking sweet nothings,
Hours of yearning follows then,
Hours of dreaming, praying, wanting,
How my heart longs for your chest!

The pleasure in those eyes,
The warmth in the smiles,
The love that drips down the sweaty skin,
Oh I wish I had them for ever...

The Bodies Speak

2010-05-19T05:41:00.000-07:00

I.
How does
The rub of bare skin against another
Rouse so much pleasure
As to release a burden
And lighten your mind?
Why does it
Lead to so much thoughts
and feelings and expectations
And judgements on values and mores?

II.
One wonder, unquenched,
Is the pleasure of my skin on you.
How do we lick away so lustfully
The sweat of pleasure as if they were dew?
What do you see in my eyes
That makes you smile so heartily?
Why do I let you touch me deep
And return the pleasure as greedily?
One mystery, undeciphered,
Is the love that increases with each pain.

A tribute to pastoral life

2010-05-11T02:56:00.000-07:00

I ambled through the village roads,
An occasional bus, car or bike
hooting its way around the treacherous curves
Even as I heard the echo of my footsteps in the idyllic calm.

Far below,
In the valley,
Shades of green cheated my eyes of their colour differentiation power.
The silent tiled houses
And pious little churches, mosques and temples
Stood testimony to a life of simplicity.
While smiles and greetings of long-distance neighbours
hugged each other across the roads,
Trees and milestones by the sides
Seemed to wave good-day to me.
Ruminating cattle and barfing roadside weeds
bid me silent welcome.

I walked on,
Surprised by a glimpse of life in the innards of my city.
Where did I live?

Escapist's poems

2010-05-11T02:28:00.000-07:00

I.
So very weirdly,
Everyone cribs about work,
Love and Life.

About how your work
Leaves no time for anything else
And how love is lacking,
Life is slacking.

Yet,
When something decides to show up,
We run around trying to hide.

We are driven,
Not by courage,
Not by lust,
Nor curiosity,
But by escapism.

From life, love, work
And the self.

II.
When we open our old drawers
And find those sheets
of tidily jotted scribbles,
We are torn between
Wanting to throw them
and cherishing their memory.

There was once a 'me'
That loved these, we say,
and shut those drawers again.

The little self
scribbled on those sheets
Go back to sleep,
annoyed for having been woken.

And we get back to the tidying
Unaware and unattending
to the shards of self scattered all over,
Too scared to put them together.

III.
We talk of old romances,
of little love notes
and stolen kisses,
And joke about how silly we were.

But somewhere deep inside,
We nurture those seeds
Or pamper those wounds,
And yet close our minds on them
So we can live peacefully -
Or so we think.

Lost

2010-04-20T22:07:00.000-07:00

I've lost sense of time
Sense of space
And that of life;
I've lost touch with reality,
Lost the world,
And self to the grind....

Ruminations of lazy times

2010-04-19T23:19:00.000-07:00

I.
Ah, the pleasure
of sitting in your balcony
on a bright breezy evening.

Conversations of neighbours,
barking dogs
and chirping birds in the background;
Greens of all hues
doing their little jingle
in the calm, soothing breeze;
Grey clouds hovering above
Tantalising you with thoughts of rain;
Hot black tea and snacks before you,
Pen and paper in your hand –
And your mind,
touched by simplicity,
Pouring its thoughts out.

Ah, the pleasure
of sitting in your balcony
on a bright breezy evening.

II.
On a quiet lazy afternoon,
I sit in the porch thinking of the moon.
The jackfruit, chickoo and mango trees
Serve to exaggerate the breeze.
A febrile ring of the phone somewhere,
Barking dogs and terrces bare,
Drive reality back into me,
But I deny to clear the glee.

Coffee, conversations, cigarettes,
Shabby clothing and colourful sets;
Life is a drama, yet unplayed,
Love is a farce, tackily displayed.
Far away on the horizon
A pariah kite taks a turn
And with no inhibition, no fancy,
My heart leaps for some lunacy.

I laugh at others' jokes,
I share another's smokes,
I work for someone I know not,
I clear the day for another's spot.
What do I want? The moon?
The river? The flowers? The shells? The silver spoon?
There's nothing but praising the dreary,
No joy but to thank my life's not scary.

Even as my thoughts traverse a light year,
My body's here, upon Earth's gear;
The trees still sway to the winds half-blown,
The tulsi in my vase is still half-grown.

III.
An early morning by the verandah
With birds tweeting gleefully
at the post-rain clime,
And trees all glad of being bedewed -
I sit again with a pen and paper,
Glad to be breathing the pleasant air.

Pretty-plumed birds,
Witht their yellows, greens and blues well pruned and glittering,
Give me company,
Tell me how nice it is to live.

The faint grey clouds are parting,
The sun awaits its chance.
The wind is just whispering -
too wispy to listen to its gossips.

My goldfish wants more space to swim,
The sprout in my vase is raising its hood,
My heart is yearning for a longer laze,
The mind refuses to let go of whim.

Far away,
A chimney barfs out black fumes
of urbanisation and modernity,
And the vague clamour of the highway ahead
Strikes the eardrum and breaks the peace.
Someone rings the doorbell
And life calls me back.

Birth of poetry

2010-04-02T10:36:00.001-07:00

Poetry is often born -

Out of brimming cups;
Out of nothingness;

Out of conversations;

Out of silences;

Out of happiness;

Out of sorrows;

Out of dilemmas;

Out of decisions;

Out of you;

Out of me.

Obsessed

2010-04-02T10:32:00.000-07:00

What do I ask you?
What do I talk to you?

Where do I touch you?
How do I reach you?

Are you here?
Or are you there?

Is this a figment of my imagination?

Did I hear you now?

Did I see you there?
Did you tell me not to whisper?

Did you tell me not to scream?

Well, my dear, there you are. And I,
am obsessed with you.

Untitled

2010-03-29T10:36:00.000-07:00

A word came out of my head

And wanted to go on a tour.

I told it to fit into my poem,

“You’ll see so many books,” I said.

“No,” said it,

“I want no poem!

They do not give me life,

They do not give me body.”

I told it to become a scrabble test,

And it laughed at my face.

“I want no-one scribbling me around,

I hate to be deciphered, I hate to be known!”

Finally I said, “Ride on the back of my mind.”

It thought a bit here,

It looked a bit around,

And said:

“That sounds all right.”

And then it rode with me,

And then I forgot about it.

Today when I looked at you,

I found a knock at my brain-door.

“Can I come out now,” the word asked.

And when I said yes,

It ran to you.

Love.

The seductress

2010-03-28T09:44:00.000-07:00

Every little curve of her body
was made to cast a web
on the men who looked upon her.
Each smile of hers
was designed to trap her admirers.

And admire you will,
For she is the enchantress,
The supreme seductress:
You cannot resist her,
You cannot desist her.

Him, her and me

2010-03-26T22:32:00.000-07:00

I dance to the tune he composed for her,
I chase the dreams he saw with her;
I walk the roads they paved together,
I relish the love they shared.

I,
live with them,
And they,
know not who I am.

IF...

2010-03-10T20:54:00.000-08:00

If all troubles could fly off in the smoke of the cigarettes I blow,
Ah, life would be so easy.

If the tears could drown in the pegs of alcohol I down every day,
Ah, life would be a bliss.

If the smiles could multiply like the virus in the computers,
Ah, what pleasure living would be.

If you and I could be together with no regrets,
Ah, that would be a fantasy come true.

A married lady's plaint

2010-03-10T20:52:00.000-08:00

What did I wish for?

A smooth skin rubbing against me and arousing me,
A soothing touch sending shivers down the spine,
Warm smell of you as you hugged me,
And a night of romantic talks.

And I got,
Your grazing beard on my chins,
The touch of your sweaty palms on my breasts,
The stink of tobacco from your mouth as you slurped on me,
And you snoring away after withdrawing from within me.

I watch the flickering moonlight
And dream of another man.

Unique sorrows

2010-03-06T05:17:00.000-08:00

Every human,
Has a sorrow of their own,
Like their unique fingerprint,
Like their own memories.

And while there are tragic faults,
Up there for all to see,
Every human is cursed,
To live with this one unique sorrow.

There are sorrows we can share
And lighten our heart's burdens,
But this sorrow is just for us,
Ineffable and unbearable,
And yet just for us.

My song

2010-03-02T03:24:00.000-08:00

I sang a song
That no one heard,
But it was sweet music to me;
It had all my little pleasures
And all the pains there could be.

Its words were my story,
Its music all my feelings,
Its rhythm was from the heart,
Its rendering, the soul’s dealings.

A smooth breeze went by as I sang,
And I thought I heard it whisper,
Then I realized she took my song along,
To sing to faraway lands and to the river.

The river gurgled, and it was my song again,
The ocean rumbled, and there too I heard it;
And when it rained, the pitter-patter
Sounded just like the rhythm I sang.

No one heard my song,
But there it was – everywhere;
It was sweet music to me then,
And sweeter still it is, now.

The pleasure of pain

2010-03-02T00:53:00.000-08:00

Laughter has lost its meaning.
It shows its face for no reason at all,
And cuts through the pain I so badly desire.

To feel the stab,
To hear the shear of the skin,
To see one’s bleeding heart –
Ah, the pleasure of self-mortification!

A sadist
A masochist
Oh, call me what you please,
But I shall always cherish that pain!

For pain is deeper than pleasure –
It touches you not where it loses feeling,
But deep within where you shall be wounded forever.

Pain is the only eternal emotion.
What is pleasure but a passing fancy?

One night

2010-02-14T21:07:00.000-08:00

When there's no tomorrow,
No hopes, nor any sorrow,
When you and I can lie next to each other in peace,
not worrying about any common dreams,
When my body fits into your crevasses
and your limbs float upon mine,
That one night of pleasure,
Just one night of leisure...

Ah, did I dream of it?
No,
For dreams are for those who believe.
Did I hope for more?
No, for hopes are where expectations hide.

I close my eyes and draw a blank,
I open them and see no one-
What nights are those I spend with myself?!
I want that one night without a morrow.

It's your turn - a short story (2004)

2010-01-27T08:56:00.000-08:00

“Do I have to stay here all my life?” She questioned me with such innocence that I couldn’t restrain my tears. Every young girl who has come under me has asked me the same question. And every opportunity, I have told them, “You don’t have to, dear, you don’t have to.”

It has been 18 years since I am into the profession, and I’ve seen all sorts of lucky and unlucky girls. The lucky ones had their saviours sweeping them off to safer places, while others have stayed on to rot in the squalor. Like me.

“What do I call you?” the girl was asking.

Everyone around me has called me ‘amma’ these eight years. Eight years. That is too long a time. Eight years ago, our old ‘amma’ was on her death-bed and she had told me, “You’ll be the next amma.” Amma. The name commands respect and embodies motherly love. But how many can actually feel and exhibit these, under the circumstances? I did not like out old amma, I just feared her. It is as likely that these girls now feel the same way about me. Not that it is some job I like. But I am helpless. I can do nothing at all, for I am chained. Chained to the wills of those around me. Amma is the matron, not the Chief. She will never be one.

I clearly remember the day I was brought here. I was drugged by a man in the train. The tragedy struck when I was on my way to Vellore from my village in Trichy, to study medicine. I had secured 96% in my PUC and was the first girl in the village to go for an MBBS degree. My father has prepared to send me to Vellore, to my paternal aunt’s house, but not without vehement protests from the elders of the village.

The entire village had got together to organize a ‘sabha’ and threatened to expel our entire family if I were to study further in such a distant place. Was it not enough that a girl had been allowed to study so much further while she should be learning to cook and clean, that now she should be permitted to go so far away from her parents and pursue a life on her own? they argued.

But my father was a staunch believer in women’s rights and he stood up against the whole village. One by one the villagers were convinced about his resolute purpose and irrefutable arguments. All for the sake of his dear daughter in whom he believed. Whom he dreamt of as dressed in white, serving the patients in the nearby Government hospital. And what an ill luck that he should be sick on the day of departure and that she should travel alone. Shattering this dreams and now serving….

When I opened my eyes, I was in a well-decked cot, complete with garlands of roses and mogras. I was bewildered. “Where am I?” “What is going on?” “Am I dreaming?” As I wondered on, the doors to the room opened and a big burly figure strode up to me. I cowered and withdrew myself a few steps.

But those firm hands caught hold of me, and what happened later was only a subconscious memory. O! The agony of the moment! Even after 18 years, I shudder at the thought of it – the struggle, the screams, the shame.

And for hours thereafter, I was totally unaware if what was going on. For two days. I lay in a semi-doped state, begging pardon of my father and shouting for help. And I remember a tight slap across my cheeks. Then I slipped into the unconscious again, waking up only the next morning.

Amma came and talked to me, telling me I had no option but to stay on. And I was an absolute stranger to the city of Mumbai. The city where street oys turn into Bollywood stars. Where crores are spent everyday on entertainment. Where a boy washing a car today would be driving one years later.

But the red light area is always a prison; cordoned off from the city life and yet so close of the people in it, entertaining men irrespective of caste and religions, people from all walks of life. And yet…

God! I just cannot dwell on our position in this wretched society. Unwanted, and yet in demand. Scorned by the members of the same gender that should understand us. Looked down upon by the same gender that uses us. Hmph!

Anyway, life has to go on. There is someone at the door already. Oh! It is 8 o’clock! Business will perk up. “O Saraswati! Isn’t it your turn first?”

Hand

2010-01-24T06:46:00.000-08:00

If just once, somebody made me their priority,
If just once, somebody held my hand and walked with me,
If just once, somebody kept a hand above my head
and patted my back,
...
My life has become an eternal journey seeking that one hand.

What should I do dear?

2010-01-23T03:40:00.000-08:00

I sang a song for you,
But you never had time to listen to it;
I wrote a poem for you,
But you never had the patience to read it;
I played a tune on the piano,
You had an earache and went to sleep -
And now you want to tell me something:
Should I wait or tell you of my headache?

A poem

2010-01-19T20:40:00.000-08:00

All the pain in my heart
Came out as a few words of love and desperation.
Those words,
Not chosen well nor edited to sound nice,
Failed to touch your heart,
Just like this poem here that makes no difference to you.
What should I blame? -
The pain, the heart, the words, me, or you?

हिंदी शायरियां

2010-01-05T02:09:00.001-08:00

१ न थम जाए वक़्त की राहे, तुम आँहे भरा न करो,
न रूठ जाए रूह जिस्म से, यूँ तुम हँसा न करो।

२ सितारों में ढूंढती हूँ तुझे किनारों पे बैठे हुए,
चेहरों का मायाजाल है, पर्छायियों के कमाल है,
सपनो में भी ढूंढती रहूँ, पर मिलना तो तकदीर का खेल है।

३ जाम है, मेहरबान है, महफ़िल की सजी शाम है,
बस हम ही तनहा है, सोये हुए इस रात की चादर ओढ़े।

४ इन आँखों में जो नींद भर आये, सपने तुम्हारे ही हो,
आंसुओं की बहार जो आये शिकवे तुम्हारे ही हो,
अंधेरो का खेल है जीवन, उसमे उजाला न आये,
किनारे तुम्हारे ही हो, सहारे तुम्हारे ही हो।

५ इंतज़ार था किसी साथी का, जो प्यार से कर दे जीवन रंगीन,
मिल गया ऐसा दोस्त हमें, जो राह से मिटा दे सारे पल ग़मगीन।

६ हजारों कलम से निकले होंगे प्यार के नगमे,
पर हमारी भी पढलो, एक और ही समझ के।

७ रात ले आई फिर वोह हसीं यादों की बारात,
पलकों के साए चला आया ख्वाबों का नरम साथ,
दुनिया तो नींद की चादर ओढ़े पड़ी है,
और हम चुपके से चाहे साजन का संगाथ।

८ मीठी बातों से ये गहरे ज़ख्म भर गए,
प्यारी मुस्कान से इस दिल को चैन दे गए;
शीशे का बना होता ये जिस्म तो टूट दिए होते,
जाते जाते आँखों से ऐसा तीखा वार जो कर गए।

To the night

2010-01-04T20:23:00.001-08:00

The glowing night steals upon me,
It envelopes my body in a shiver.
The trail of darkness leaves a sliver
Of pain upon the reverie.

No moon, no stars, no sound of crickets,
All there lies is the shroud of the night;
Against it I have no will, no might,
My body knots into thickets.

The darkness scares me not, nor soothes,
It touches deep but I budge not-
It leaves me cold, it leaves me hot-
And something deep inside me it uproots.

A seed of love,a ray of hope-
they are meant not for the lovers of the dark;
For what the night brings, it takes back,
When away from the sun it flies.

Different

2010-01-02T00:55:00.000-08:00

They tell me I am so different.
And thus they alienate me.
I walk around each acquaintance,
Searching for the rewarding look,
For being different.
But all I get is awe and sympathy,
For being different.

Memories

2009-12-16T23:47:00.000-08:00

I climb up the mountain of life,
Dragging with me a bag of dysfunctional relationships,
With no consolation of exclusive memories
to keep me company through the miserable nights... .

A celebration of womanhood

2009-11-30T21:29:00.000-08:00

Each night I shed my body
That is devoured by the ravenous desires
Of men who find solace in my curves.

Each day I'm born again,
As someone's daughter, sister, friend, lover,
wife, mother, or maid;
But the nights are a celebration of the worldly,
Of the body that carries my womanhood.

The sadness of stories

2009-11-30T21:09:00.000-08:00

Deep in the abysses of memory,
Fragments of stories lay mute.
Characters and episodes,
Flung about the chasms as if caught in a storm.

The conscious,
The sub-conscious,
The unconscious -

The memories,
The thoughts,
The fantasies -

A hash of all this
Breeds the storm.

If every second were weighed down so,
the times would never be happy.

But why,
Why the hell,
Do I take the hash to be so depressive?

It might be gleeful,
memorable,
savourable,
favourable,
anything.

Prayers get answered only if you pray hard enough.

When the body takes over

2009-11-29T00:48:00.000-08:00

I stand in awe as my body lies in another's arms,
I watch in wonder how it rests in another's curves.

There ws a dream once,
Of a firm shoulder and a warm breast,
But like everything else,
Dreams shifted in their place.

Like the tree that welcomes four seasons
And the river that carries new memories every day,
My body embraces fresh smells and skins,
Shedding them like snake-moults every night.

It delights in the contractions of lust,
Unabashed, it screams in joy at each hurt.
It becomes a saint for the day and the whore of the night,
It laughs at the moral farce and flirts with carnal desires.
It challenges the heart, beats the logic of the mind,
And like wanton breeze,
Slides through faces and deep-seated drives.

All the while, I stand in lost thoughts,
Unknowing whether to admire or despair.
When my body walks ahead of me,
What can I do but follow it lamely?

And yet, we come together for a while,
Before the nightfall, before the taste of sweat n blood prevails:
She tells me that she loves me,
And I say, so do I.

One comforting hug, and we fall apart,
But I know her feelings well,
And she knows mine.

Journey of a poem - a poet's ramblings

2009-11-19T22:25:00.000-08:00

I
It flowed from a pen like tears down the cheeks.
It came from the heart,
It rose in the mind.

Words and images,
Metaphors and metonymy –
The mind wrote a tribute to the emotions,
The heart sang a hymn to the thoughts.

A poem took shape,
Young and beautiful,
Carrying the burdens of a soul
Captured in the prison of a body.

II
It wafted away from the soul,
Gained various forms,
Made friends,
Gathered enemies,
Bantered with some and chided others,
Became one with another,
And playfully slid away from more….

Like the wanton cupid it struck hearts,
Like the impish Satan it defiled the minds,
Like the glorious angel it comforted some,
Like the morning mist it touched many lives.

The little poem cuddled
On a sheet of white paper,
A leaf of a book,
A page on a blog,
A pane on a website,
A scribbling on a note,
A memory in a bosom…

III
No name, no face,
No credo, no race,
It came to you
And it came to me;
It became mine
And it became yours;

And in that one poem the world found
A relation beyond boundaries.

2009-10-27T04:17:00.001-07:00

All I want is to be held,
Held in a long warm embrace;
An embrace that hides all tears,
An embrace that clears all fears.

A hand to hold on to,
A shoulder to lean on to,
A life to sustain,
A breath to maintain,
A pleasure to return to.

I smile at the winds,
Chide the nasty sun,
Pet the restless dog,
And clean the ceiling and floor -
All as I wait to be held.

Carnal delights

2009-10-21T02:20:00.000-07:00

A breeze of calm
surrounds me.

Where am I,
What am I?
and why?
The existential questions dissolve into thin air and waft off.

The thoughts
of those rotten love affairs
and grotesque career dreams
Take shape and break up.

Culinary delights,
Pampering,
and sleep are all I know now.

The smells of chicken fry
and coconut oil,
The taste of payasam
and crispy pappadums,
Take me away with them.

My senses are chasing
A lap of comfort,
A shoulder to lean on,
And some lullabies.
Carnal delights are all I need now.

Let the thoughts and dreams
of arrogant rationality
Suffocate themselves in the overbearing mind.
Let them die the brutal death of repression.

And when their ghosts come fleeting by in dreams,
I shall scream out in delight,
My carnal delight.

Rabba…

2009-10-21T01:51:00.000-07:00

Tired and loveless
Is not what I want to feel.

I thought I was stronger,
I could stand a little longer,
But the feet give away,
And the heart takes time to heal.

I walk the lonely shores,
As the fishermen wind up their chores,
The sun sets in the horizon,
And the world seems all right.

But my mind is a flood of thoughts,
Like a basin full of clanging pans and pots,
And I hate being so ruffled
Over what I thought I conquered.

Nothing saps the brain more
Than loneliness after a phase of cheer.
A Bollywood song runs in my mind,
"Aaye jo koi to kabhi jaye na rabba",
And when I look up at Him,
He seems to be hiding in the dark clouds.

Random

2009-10-08T06:14:00.000-07:00

I thought I should write
Of boardrooms and fright;
Of bleeding hearts as ever,
Or people's repartees so clever.

But all I can think now
Is of that fluttering glow;
A thought as sad as me,
An emotion that wants to be free.

The fact that I could be a loser,
A foreboding of a tragic fate;
A beggar, not a chooser,
A matter of eternal debate.

A giving heart, a hoping heart,
A burdened heart, an eager heart;
And a little brains to know
That you're not always meant to be so.

Time is the best healer,
And I need lots of it,
A sense that all's not ended,
And there's a way around the bend...

Healing

2009-09-06T05:40:00.000-07:00

Blisters of a rotten love
Pierce the skin,
Shear through the heart.

I lie,
Sick and tired,
Waiting for the pain to fade away
Under an aceclofenac's influence.

A certain numbness saves the heart
From shedding a lava of pain
Through the eyes.

The wounds will heal, no doubt,
The pain will subside quite fast too.

But a scar will remain
Deep in that area,
Where I saved your memories and worshipped them.

I shall make sure you don't see it,
Because I know it pains you too.

While I try to move on,
Away from the dreams we shared,
and the hopes I cultured,
You shall be getting used to a new life.

My love,
Remember me in those dark dreams
that you're scared to share with anyone.
Keep me in those secrets you would only whisper to yourself.
I shall find my solace in them.

Move on

2009-08-01T02:27:00.000-07:00

I loved once, I loved often,
but never so deep as now;
And then I lose him to the winds,
so I look for love again...

The sands on the shore never dry,
The river never seems to cry;
I talk to them and they tell me,
Some emotions are expressed in vain.

If life is all about moving on,
Why should I stay and mourn?
A phase ends and starts again,
And your life's no blemish, no stain.

Expressions

2009-07-21T04:22:00.000-07:00

The letters curved themselves
upon the blank white paper
and went to sleep.

Time froze upon the layers
of dust on the old table.

Wind was trapped in the leaves
of the fan.

Some thoughts ran wildly
from the tip of the pen,
Piercing through the calm
of the closed books.

A voice demanded to be heard,
A face wanted recognition.

Everyone - smug, trapped or awakened,
Strives to earn their place.

Come, join the rank.

To do: Separation

2009-07-12T23:25:00.001-07:00

The depth of pain,
unmeasured,
falls short of your expectations.

Life's colour is lost,
and you still search for shades.

One change tore me apart,
and your 'to-do' list is long.

I stood on the river bank,
Too lost for words,
Longing for a ride across.

A wish evaporated from my body
And touched the skies.

As if in assurance,
A drop of rain fell on my cheeks -
And I opened my eyes,
To be engulfed in a downpour.

Drenched throughout,
I sought a shelter.
Under every tree and in every house,
I thought I saw you,
arms outstretched.

I closed my eyes again,
and the Sun came high up.
He embraced my curves lustily,
and I closed my eyes,
as he warmed up each pore on my skin.

In the blindness of shut eyes,
I saw your face again.
That smile of affection,
Those naughty eyes,
The gentle blush of perfection.

I walked away,
down the dirty tarred roads
Along rows of shabby houses
with screaming infants
and peeing toddlers.

I clutched my bag in fear,
I quickened my steps.

Was someone following me?

It was your face again,
Hopeful,
Smiling,
Your hands clutching that 'to-do' list.

I strive to blot you out.
I scream out in pain.
I faint.

In the recesses of the subconscious,
I've buried you.
And you chase my conscious every moment.
Repression fails,
and my soul almost scorches itself.

Darling,
do not try to separate you from me.

Crumbling

2009-07-12T22:50:00.000-07:00

The soul,
Shredded,
Fell apart from me.
I stood,
Staring,
Helpless as it scattered away.

The wind was strong,
My will all gone,
And the soul
Too light to hold on.

My body,
like an ancient ruin,
Stood soul-less and grave.
I watched,
as I withered away
and crumbled into oblivion.

Another leaf
from the giant Banyan
Succumbed.

Worship

2009-07-12T21:44:00.000-07:00

I.
My body is a temple
You are my idol.

My soul, an offering at your feet.

I welcome your worshippers
with divine charity;
I elevate myself through your service.

The unspoken and the unspeakable
Cloud my life.
I offer everything unto you.

They touch me,
Grope around my curves,
Squeeze my flesh lustily.

They worship you,
and hungrily devour me - your prasada.

They melt in me,
And I, in you.

Take me higher,
show me my Paramatman.

II. (May 19, 2010)
Men offer their prayers at my shrine
And move on, not thine nor mine;
They wash their faces in my tears,
Their lips speak all my fears,
Their prayers tainted by lust,
They mutter and mumble and lazily chant.

I wonder at their farce,
I cringe as they touch me -
their vulgar fingers coated with greed,
I laugh that I am their deity
I cry about all lack of piety.

A little temple, a little idol,
A little unknown and yet sought after,
I seek those days of total anonymity
I wish I had a mortal death, a bout of insanity.

Letting go

2009-06-26T02:31:00.001-07:00

To think it love was foolishness.

I knew the signs –
Restlessness, elation, the moods.

The nature was bounteous,
The days all bright,
And God the most beloved.
My smile was the best,
Our bodies were in insatiable thirst,
And making love was nothing lustful.

We were made for each other,
and fate had brought us together for a reason.

What could be better than being in your arms, my love!

But nothing lasts forever.

Like the smoke of hashish in the air,
Or the echo of a sparrow's chirp,
All beautiful things perish.

Our love was beautiful too,
Beautiful while it lasted...

An old song would call you heartless
And me unfaithful.
But we knew the depths of our love,
The blind comfort of warm bodies.

I don't want to be mentioned in the annals of relationships
Like Romeo-Juliet, Troilus-Cressida, or Heer-Ranjha.
I don't want to be praised for sacrifice in any poems.
I don't want to be cited as examples in school textbooks.
I know you don't too.

Colours of the rainbow fade away,
A hair strand once broken cannot be fixed,
A soured love is lost forever...

Chipped nails grow,
And so shall we move on.

But I hope,
My memories remain in your heart
like the words of the song we composed together.

The melody of our breaths
echoing against our skin,
The silent moans we shared;
The graze of our skins,
The smell of whisky in your mouth as we kissed last.

The parting sigh is still on my lips.
The words stuck in my throat.
Sweat down my chin
wetting your shirt.

We still don't want to let go,
maybe,
But have no courage to say so.

Things on my mind

2009-06-13T08:13:00.000-07:00

A strange wind blows my way -
Of melancholy, inertia and dismay.

I want to cheer up,
I want to be bright,
But an ennui stains all the delight.

The tales all ended in hope,
The dreams were all colourful;
But I wonder why, like the rainbow,
They always disappeared so soon...

No.
The images are too cliched
to be woven into a poem.

I wanted to be different.

To glide in the winds and not fly,
To flow through the ground and not run,
To melt in the rains and not play...

But now,
The limbs have dried up,
The brain has dehydratred,
The heart has coagulated.

Like sheets of rain,
I just fall on and off...
Flowing down the tarred roads
and into gutters...

Smiles become mere memories
for a page in an autobiography.

A word of affection,
A touch of assurance -
I die for them every moment.

No.
I cannot ask for more,
I am guilty of greed.
But still I crave...

I pass my time looking at Ravi Varma pictures,
Reading Shakespeare,
And aiming at stars.
I look out of windows, thirsty for a chirping finch,
And think of whether stars are aspirable.

But a lizard clicking above the kitchen light
Brings me back to the ground.
The rotis are burnt to cinders, and I am hungry.

I go back to the dreams, inertia, and strangeness.
I go back to my world.

Dirge to the chemicals

2009-05-13T06:36:00.000-07:00

They slipped, fell, declined, dropped, plummeted and tumbled;
And then rose, went up, climbed, jumped, and soared.
They saw downtrends and uptrends, fluctuations and mixed fortunes;
With trades finalised, disrupted, or simply ended in stalemate.

Those industries - petrochemicals, plastics or aromatics,
Survived the frustrating global recession cycles.
Prices, supply and demand - they were troubled;
Sometimes they sank or otherwise they doubled.

Week after week, month after month,
CBI China wrote and PA Mangalore polished them;
Month after month, time and again,
Vanessa and co. sent feedbacks and pruned them.

And now, some of these petchem friends,
Are leaving us, with no one to buy them.
Is it our fault you're going, dears?
Or is it destiny tearing us apart?

Adieu to you, O Acrylonitrile,
Adieu to Acrylic acid and esters,
Bye-bye dear Toluene di-isocynate,
Bye-bye my Epichlorohydrin!

2009-04-11T05:25:00.000-07:00

The soul is in tatters now.
It used to be the heart,
But the wounds have relocated,
because the heart no longer exists.
Rationality has overtaken.
How else do I explain this stoicity?

Aham brahmasmi

2009-03-07T11:08:00.000-08:00

I walk in the shadows of dreams,
I look at the reflections of mirages,
I feel the breeze of distant storms,
I speak the unknown thoughts.

Like the currents of rivers, I flow,
Like a rhapsodist's passion, I grow,
Like the chirp of a bird, I resound,
Like a thundering cloud, I pour.

I am every man's desire,
Every woman's ideal soul;
I amuse every child around,
All humans wonder about me.

I grow,
I create,
I touch,
I move,
I think,
I love,
I choose,
I destroy.

Aham brahmasmi. (I am the Supreme power)

If...

2009-02-14T10:27:00.000-08:00

If liquor could cry
it'd have joined me;

If waves had voice,
they'd have screamed with me.

I'm one with nature
for expression.

I only wish I had the nature's voice...

2009-01-19T21:07:00.001-08:00

It's a long long journey
And I'm dripping wet.
I don't have any money,
Just lost a bet.
If He was to come
before me now,
What would I say to Him?

Take me away,
To the land of your sway;
Give me break
From the curse of myself.

All I ever wished
Was to be a good girl,
Will You tell me
Where did I go wrong?

It's a long long journey
And I'm really hungry,
I just gave away
My food to the roadside baby;
If He was to ask
Why did I do that,
What would I say to Him?

Love's journey

2008-12-15T23:06:00.000-08:00

Every night I ask myself--
Why do I miss you so much?
Is it the warmth, the care or friendship?
Is it the body's need for a loving touch?

Every morning I wake up to dreams of you
And wonder why I am so obsessed.
Do you think of me as much too,
Or is it that you just never confessed?

We are different people, with different needs,
Different parameters and different ways of life;
Different wavelengths at times, and yes,
Different ways of dealing with strife.

But if there was no common ground,
We'd never have come so far.
We'd never understand or care,
Our lives would've gone quite sour.

Love, my dear, hasn't captured us yet,
And though good sense does prevail,
Do not my dreams of you by me,
Make it all seem so worthwhile?

On Stagnant Minds

2008-12-13T22:50:00.000-08:00

I.
I breathe a strange feeling
That fills me with foreboding --
A stagnant smell is in the air,
It gives the fresh fish a scare;
And every bait just goes waste,
My soul somewhere sits in a daze.

My body hurts,
With stress it flirts,
A knot in the stomach,
A weight on the brain,
No, there's no luck
Life's just so plain.

Lives around me grow,
Relations snap, pace quickens,
We try to go with the flow;
But somtimes a matter thickens,
And you wish you could get up and walk
away from the monotony and the trade talk.

Somewhere, a heart beats with you
Wishing you would know too.
Like hills in a child's painting,
We live our lives, oscillating, vacillating.

II.
A silent music play in the head,
I'm looking for disappeared friends.
A thought,
Unclear, unshaped, unsaid,
Wells up as tears in the eyes.

There was someone once,
who wiped those tears away,
And asked me to smile.

That face, that smile, that hand,
is gone,
But the tear stains are yet around.

There is no loneliness, perhaps,
But a stagnancy
that creates a bog in life.

Every desire, every wish,
Used to begin and end with you.

Now you are a straying memory
That I force myself to ignore.

More pressing concerns of daily life --
the monotony, the humdrum, the chores --
Engage our minds wistfully
And we continue ignoring our hearts....

Love

2008-12-11T04:31:00.000-08:00

A hair strand licked the cheeks,
An eye raised its hood lightly,
Lips curved,
And you thought she loved you.

Narcissism

2008-12-07T03:20:00.000-08:00

A deep ocean, getting deeper,
Waiting to be explored, plundered and worshipped;
With lots to give and lots to take,
Waiting for oysters, and sand and steamers.

Lost poetry

2008-12-07T02:42:00.000-08:00

Poetry now seems a long-lost thought.

"Keep on writing", someone had said.
I needed to achieve perfection,
But I gave up too easily.

Where did all my passion go?
I need to set my life straight.
Need to write again, and better.

Can I reproduce my poignancy?
Will I be able to write well again?

Imagination, compact-ness, seem to have died.
I need to prod my grey cells further.

I shall write well again.
Promise

Swapnakkoodaaram

2008-10-09T23:47:00.000-07:00

വാക്കുകള്‍ കൊണ്ടൊരു മാല ചാര്‍ത്തി
നിന്നെ പൂജിച്ചു വെയ്ക്കാന്‍ ആശ തോന്നി,
കനവിന്റെ പൂത്തിരി കനലുകള്‍ കൊണ്ടൊരു
പൂക്കളം വരയ്ക്കാന്‍ മനസ്സു വന്നു.

ആകാശത്തിലെ താരകന്ഗള് പെറുക്കി
നിന്റെ ചിത്രം വരകുവാന്‍ തോന്നുന്നിതാ,
സാഗരതീരത്തില്‍ ശംഖുകള്‍ കൊണ്ടൊരു
മണി്മഞ്ജല് പണിയാന്‍ കൊതിയാകുന്നു.

സ്വപ്‌നങ്ങള്‍ കാണുമ്പോള്‍ നീയതില്‍ അതിഥിയായ്
എന്നും വരെണമെന്ന പ്രാര്‍ത്ഥനയായ്
ക്ഷേത്രനടയില്‍ നിന്നെയും ഓര്ത്തു ഞാന്‍
കണ്ണന്‍റെ മുന്പില്‍ ചെന്നു നിന്നു.

ആശകള്‍ പെരുക്കുന്ന ലോലമാം മാനസം
കണ്ടെന്റെ കണ്ണന്‍ ചിരിച്ചു പോയി,
സാരമില്ല സഖിയെ, നിന്‍ സന്തോഷം എന്‍ ഭാരം
എന്ന് കള്ളന്‍ കാതില്‍ പതിയെ ചൊല്ലി ഓടി.

The heart and the sea

2008-10-01T21:46:00.000-07:00

Far away,
The sea sings its song of solitude.

And close by,
A heart tries to match its beats.

The rocks wither away in silence,
Washed by the raving waves.

With head in the hands,
Someone tries to restrain a sob.

Like shells scattered on the sands,
Tears bejewel some faces.
Hair, like pirate ships on rage,
Flies about in wild disarray.

The sea turns calm with lunar respite.
Some bosoms, like the shores,
Turn silent,
Pregnant with unknown pain.

Separation

2008-09-16T23:30:00.000-07:00

When your eyes are searching for that spot of love in mine,
I try not to look away; I give out no sign
That the love which held us together for years
Has suddenly disappeared like the mist clears.

I never realised, am sure nor did you,
That like ancient ink, love could fade too.
When we sang those songs of togetherness, long ago,
I never thought we could be separate so.

Mind you, it is no fault of you or me,
It is just a matter of destiny.
We over-worked our charms, you see,
We forgot to water the plant regularly.

And as we slide out of our slimy web,
We do not even match our step,
So I move fast, you move faster,
And our love goes frigid, like some plaster.

Love, old love, apologies.
We can no longer sing the same melodies.
Let us move away, in peace and calm,
Knowing we can no longer be in the same swarm.

Confusing

2008-09-10T04:30:00.000-07:00

Turn, turn and turn.

Perfectionism doesn't stand.

Deception prevails.

It just happened, don't worry.

A little cheating is ok.

We are not doing anything wrong.

We are not in love;
but feelings are sometimes overpowering.

You eat, I eat.

The keys of the same bunch rattle together.

Strings draw the kites up into the sky.

We like each other, let's not deceive our hearts.

Blood's always red, thicker than water.

Nerves connect, dissect. Reflex action.

Hearts are pure, everything can be forgiven.

There's nothing to forgive, actually.

Life goes on.

One small memory, sweet and sharp.

You lived, I lived.

Pilgrimage: A short story

2008-08-25T07:02:00.000-07:00

One
Pilgrimage.

A journey into the depths of faith within you.

Nothing to do with the external traversal.

Anu did not don the pretence of that long journey. No, she wasn't going to any shrine or temple. Just visiting her homeland after a long long time. A time long as the separation of the atma from the Paramatma, perhaps.

She tried to equate her journey to the pilgrimage for the umpteenth time. Why am I becoming so philosophical, she asked herself, again, for the umpteenth time. Of course this just had to happen. A visit back home after 30 long years was no joke.

If I had been as alienated from my roots as the other Malayalis in the North, it would have been just a tedious trip to a place you don't relate to, just for the sake of performing duties, or as a service to the ageing parents/ grandparents. But she was always the scary true-blue Keralite. Mouths the language like she was in the state all her life, writes in the language, and knows so much about Kerala. So unlike her fellow north-brought up 'Mallu's, many of who could not even say 'Malayalam' properly. Who spoke with an accent, "Enikku Malayalam kurachu kurachu ariyam (I know a little Malayalam)."

I wanted to be like them at a point of time. I wished my mother was not so strictly Keralite. I hoped I would not meet any more Malayalis so that I would gradually forget the language. But that never happened. She kept meeting Mallus from Kerala who longed to find someone who could converse freely in the language, and were always delighted to be with her. She could not escape them, wherever she went. Her friends called her the Mallu Magnet.

Now she realised what God had been doing to her. Guiding her to her real roots. Where she should be. Like the streams that should empty into the river and the river into the ocean, she should end at her journey at the soil, the waters of her homeland. Her long-lost homeland. The homeland she ever ignored, avoided.

Two
It wasn't her fault. She was born in Mumbai, then Bombay, and shifted to Pune for studies and work. She had never been outside Maharashtra except for 15-day visit to her hometown of Thrissur once in every five years. Then she got married. To another 'Mallu' settled in Mumbai, Rohit Menon. Her husband was so disconnected with Kerala that in their married life of 25 years, they never even talked of going to Kerala. Whenever she mentioned it in passing, he'd be annoyed. "Don't try your Malluism on me, Anu", he'd say. "I have no connections with that place except that my grandparents grew up there. For God's sake, even my parents have nothing to do with that communist land anymore!" Anu never bothered to carry the argument further. She wasn't very keen either.

Till when her younger child, Trisha, 7, once asked her a simple question in her usual language of English. Anu was brushing Trisha's hair after her evening bath.

"Mamma, why don't we speak Malyalam like Sangeetha does? She says it's bad if we are from Kerala and we can't speak Malyalam."
"O baby, that's ok. We are not from Kerala anyway, mamma's born and brought up in Maharashtra, and so is dada."
"But mamma, we cannot be Marathis, mamma. Sonu says anybody belongs to the place where their ancestors are from. And she says ancestors means our parents' parents' parents. So we are Malyalis no?"
"What do you kids do in school, huh? Discuss ancestral issues? Stop this rubbish and complete your homework."

But that night as she lay beside Rohit, an old Malayalam song suddenly came to her mind. Maamalakalk appurathu, marathaka pattuduthu malayalam ennoru naadundu, kochu... It was her father's favourite song and he listened to it on his old tape recorder even the day before he died. There is a land of Malayalam across the beautiful hills, that wears an emerald sari... Was it her land? Did she belong there?

When Raj Thackeray kicked up a row about Maharashtrians and outsiders, some of her 'outsider' friends had launched into an argument whether he was right or not. Did Mumbai make them, or did the people make Mumbai? She had felt very strange then. An urgent need to run towards the south. But Rohit showed no tension. He proudly proclaimed in their company's annual party, "I was born and brought up here. I am a Mumbaikar. I do not know Kerala; but I can take you to any corner of Maharashtra without hesitation." She could not share that sentiment, but smiled anyway.

Her children had many 'Mallu' friends, and they picked up some words very typical of Kerala. Da, pinne, poda, patti, amma, chetta, maashe, etc. She was surprised. But she noticed that they did not use it with her or Rohit. Trisha would mouth them unwittingly at times, and Rohit would look at me with critical eyes; but Anoop was very careful. She noticed that he had learnt many words and phrases, and heard them using to his friends on the phone. Later she discovered that his girlfriend was his motivation. But anyway, he had learnt because he wanted to. Trisha just picked up from her friends and her brother.

She felt so out of touch with herself. One night, Rohit was in Nagpur on an official tour, and she lay on the bed all alone, without his body greedy for hers. She thought of her self. What have I become? Just another 'homemaker'. A fashionable word for the same old job. She was a qualified lab technician, but she wouldn't work because Rohit adored her as a housewife. "You cook so damn well. You know Anu, Sumit's wife can't even make omelettes without burning them. He cooks at home, can you believe it? Whatever you say about women's emancipation and all that shit, you can't cook? That's ridiculous. What did you do all your life?"

Wasn't it the same me who smiled at that exclamation who once slapped a guy in the college for saying that his mother 'did nothing, just sat at home'. Wasn't it the same Anu who broke up with a gem of a boyfriend because he refused to learn to cook? Where did all that idealism go? What happened to the young energetic girl who knew a lot about the world, talked beyond her age, and had great ideas for society?

She sat up straight. No. I cannot be so servile to Rohit. I have to start using my own brains. I am not being the smug housewife. I have to shake it off me.

Three
She started reading again. Unnoticed by Rohit, she read Shashi Deshpande and Amrita Pritam, Simone de Beauvoir and Jean Paul Sartre, Shakespeare and Milton. She started going online and joined a couple of forums on Women's NGOs. She actively participated in forum discussions. Finally, she met Ananth.

He ran an NGO in Pune that worked for the working women facing domestic violence. She got highly involved with the work of 'Saccha Ghar', and also with Ananth. He was a Malayali who never forgot his roots. He could read and write Malayalam, and also wrote articles for Matrubhumi and some Malayalam magazines. She started spending more and more time out of home. Rohit started noticing this. But he never questioned her. The ridge between them widened each day, and they pretended not to notice. His tours increased, the nights they spent away from each other became more.

When Anu started first met Ananth after an online discussion, she already had enough free time, two teenage kids who were happy not to have a full-time at-home mother, a perpetually touring husband, and a two-wheeler at her disposal. Both of them were already quite impressed by each other in the virtual world, and the meeting only strengthened the impression. After a long time, she had someone to talk about Kerala, feminism, and life. Rohit had never been an intellectual partner, but then she had never realised her need for intellectual stimulation. Within three months' time she was sleeping with him too.

One night, Anu did not come back home. She was at Ananth's place, and Rohit, who was expected to return from a tour the next evening, came back to find the house lady-less. He called her mobile—switched off. The next morning she walked into the house to find Rohit really angry.

"Where were you all night?"

Anu hadn't expected him home. She fumbled for a credible answer.
"I told the kids..."
"Fuck the kids! Did you tell me? Who are you answerable to?"

Anu was enraged.
"Mind your words, Rohit. And I am not answerable to anyone!"
"Oh, that so? Then you may leave my house. I pay for the people here."
"Does that mean you have bought us?"

The voices were raised. Trisha was home, and she peeped out from her room.
"Mind what you are saying. If I leave you..."
"The hell it will make any difference. I can sustain myself, and my kids too! Thanks for feeding us all these years!"

Both Rohit and Trisha seemed a little taken aback. She turned to Trisha, "Do you want to come with me or stay back here with this fool?"

Trisha didn't know what to say. She just withdrew into her room and locked the door. Probably she picked up the phone to call up her brother.

As Rohit watched in shocked silence, Anu picked up some of her clothes, books and purse and started walking out.
"Is your man waiting for you outside, you bitch?"

Anu gave him a killing look. "He doesn't have to. He knows I can come on my own. I am a woman, no baby."

And she walked away.

Rohit looked perplexed. He did not understand those cryptic last words.

Four
She went to Ananth's place and told him all that happened. He smiled.
"Now what? Are we live-in partners? I'm game."
"No. Before we start that, I have some things to do. A divorce to take. And then a purification."

Ananth had a questioning look.
"I'll tell you what I have in mind. Let's have food first. I'm damn hungry!"

She had decided on the way to Ananth's place what to do with her life now. She'd take a divorce first. If Rohit refuses a mutual divorce, she'll fight for one on the basis that she has fallen in love with Ananth. And that she can't live with Rohit anymore. The children could be a problem. They have the right to decide since both are above 18. Maybe there won't be a 'for the children stay together' jazz in this age. That should or out fine. Trisha may understand her, Anoop may not. Or neither might. Or, best, both would. They could stay with her and Ananth, or with Rohit. Let them have their choice. Anoop has a girlfriend, Trisha has a boyfriend. They'll get over the divorce soon enough. Life's so much easier with the true partner.

The next thing was a visit to Kerala. Meet the old relatives, go around old homes, write about them, maybe stay there for some months, and feel like a Malayali....

Five
And that is how she finally headed to Kerala. With Ananth. She went to Thrissur, her native place, visited all her aunts and uncles, who were in fact happy to hear that 'the Kerala hating son-in-law' was finally off her.

It wasn't easy though.

Anoop, now an earning software engineer, decided to stay on his own with his girlfriend whom he's marrying soon, while Trisha wanted to stay with Anu. She also wanted to go to Delhi to do her Masters in Film Making.

My kids have grown up, Anu thought. Now I can afford to break free. Ananth came at the right time.

Her pilgrimage made complete sense now.

She was going back to cleanse herself of her subservience to an indifferent husband. She was going back to remove the sin of ignoring her motherland from within her, and reviving her love for Kerala. She was going with someone who identified with her devotion to the land. She had reached the purpose of her life.

Ananth and she started a Root Awareness for Keralites group when they returned three months later. She had the support of several of her relatives settled in Pune, whom she never knew. The group taught Malayalam, spoken as well as reading and writing, and held open forums and seminars on Kerala culture, traditions and Arts. They grew through the years.

Once Trisha returned from Delhi, she too became active in it, making short movies for the group.

Anoop came along when he got time, though he still seemed to resist being with Ananth.

Ananth, who gradually gave the entire management of RAK to Anu was always there when needed. His Sacha Ghar gained power with the Domestic Violence Act in place.

And, God gave them more challenges, but for Anu Kerala always remained the holy land. Her pilgrimage centre which she never missed now. Her purpose on earth was achieved. She was ready for eternal life now.

Expectations -- 21st November, '05

2008-08-18T00:44:00.000-07:00

Accidents happen in life

Early in the morning,
You wake up from a nightmare
And you know something
Will go wrong with you today.

Either an embarrassment at the workplace,
Or a tiff with a friend,
Or a road accident,
Some close relative may die:
Imaginations grow ghastlier every moment,
And something forces you to be wary.

Yet, that which you'd
been waiting for happens;
You discover your best friend's been cheating on you,
(You knew since the last few months
She was being furtive, but still...)
And you want to break down into hapless cries.

You don't want to ask why it happened
(it was to happen, after all)
But you want to know how it happened --
How you lost your dear friend,
And how she lost you.

Depth Perception

2008-08-18T00:36:00.000-07:00

In the recesses of the mind,
when moss and lichen gather,
And its dank, deep smell
Happily keep you away,
You know there's something wrong somewhere.

Keeping away from it
Only deepens your disgust
for it.
Yet,
You do not want to rake it up.
That is the problem.

A jungle of Devonian plants develop,
And if you care to notice,
It now has become so awesome
and overwhelming
That you do not dare to destroy it.

There --
You have reached the depths of your mind,
Away from the prejudicial biases
of the hypocrtical human world.

Alone

2008-08-18T00:33:00.000-07:00

Bright.

Tapers all around you.

A glowing fire-ball right above you.

You are blinded by the light,
hounded by the heat.

Suddenly,
A sharp wind.

Dark.

Petering out smoke.

Smell of melting wax,
cindering wood.

You now have only yourself for company.