#2017ReadingChallenge

#NewYearNewMe may be all about health and fitness, but reading challenges are a thing of habit to me by now. This year, again, I’ve devised my own reading challenge. The challenge contains books I already own, to make sourcing easier. There’s also an affinity to Indian writing that I can’t get over!
I intend to read 50 books at the very least, in the following categories:

1. A biography of a writer 
2. A book based on a fairy tale 
3. A book based on mythology 
4. A book by a Bengali writer 
5. A book by a Japanese writer 
6. A book by a Kannada writer 
7. A book by an African writer 
8. A book by an author you don’t like 
9. A book by an Indian diaspora writer 
10. A book by your favourite author 
11. A book by a Malayali writer 
12. A book by a Marathi writer 
13. A book from your neighbouring country 
14. A book of poems 
15. A book of short stories 
16. A book from Oprah’s book club 
17. A book recommended by a friend 
18. A book that has been gifted to you 
19. A book that was made into a movie 
20. A book whose cover you love 
21. A book with feminist overtones 
22. A book with LGBT overtones 
23. A book with more than 4* ratings on Goodreads 
24. A book you have owned for long but not yet read 
25. A book you started reading but did not finish earlier 
26. A Buzzfeed recommendation 
27. A children’s book 
28. A detective novel 
29. A fantasy 
30. A free ebook 
31. A historical fiction 
32. A horror 
33. A humourous book 
34. A national award-winning book 
35. An international award-winning book 
36. A non-fiction book by an Indian 
37. A play 
38. A romance 
39. A science fiction 
40. A thriller 
41. A travelogue 
42. A war book 
43. An ancient book 
44. An autobiography/memoir 
45. Re-read a book you read in school/college 
46. A translated work in your mother tongue 
47. A self-published writer’s book
48. A book borrowed from a friend 
49. A book published in 2017 
50. A graphic novel

Based on these, I made a TBR jar for 2017, in which I put in 52 titles under these headings. 

I’ll pick up one each time I want to read a one, and this way the books would be both pre-decided and by chance! Since I’m bound to read over 100 books, this TBR jar contains only serious reading. The rest I’ll pick up based on my whimsy! I’ve set my Goodreads 2017 Reading Challenge to 52, and I am all set to start! Oh wait, I’ve already finished 6 books, and #nowreading 2 versions of Ramayana side-by-side — one by Ralph Griffith and another by C. Rajagopalachari. #happyme 

The moment

It’s in the moment that time freezes.

All our lives,

We all wait for the moment.

The moment when love will shine on us,

From the beyond,

From the horizons of the universe,

From the depths of our souls….

The moment,

When nothing is defined

And yet you find a meaning

Unlike you’ve ever met.

The moment,

When everything is distorted

And yet the shape guides you,

Protects you,

Ensconces you….

The moment,

Lasting forever in the depths of your memories,

Walking up to you unawares

And throttling you into a self you never knew existed.

That moment,

My friends,

Is what you and I are worthy of.

The destination set upon us by Time.

The movement held still,

The silence of voices

Penetrating the calm of our existence.

It’s in the moment that time freezes.

Secret Palimpsest

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.

An eternal tale

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.

Opening Up To The Night

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.

Let me love

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.

Different

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.

Carnal delights

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.

Random

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...

To do: Separation

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

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.

Things on my mind

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.

If...

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...

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?

On Stagnant Minds

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....

Narcissism

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

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

While Musing...

Today, have had more than
enough and yet nothing...
heaps of memories, but
nothing to hold on to...

Phases by phases, stages by
stages, life moves on...
a sojourn of the soul in
the mortal world, where
nothing is permanent...

Time to grow philosophical.
Time to play the blame game--
the Fate, the Gods, the
Society, Parents, Friends, the
Self.
Time to consider how fickle
everything in life is.
Time to shed a few tears
on your losses.
Time to prepare oneself
for more.

Prayer -- God! give me the
strength to live through life;
determination to not give up.
Capacity to stand up against
all odds;
ability to smile at everything.
Do not deny me experiences--
harsh or good; but help me
endure them.

Mistakes pile up like dust
on an abandoned bookshelf.
Experiments of trial and error
become experiences and memories.
Some rankle during ruminations.
Whom to blame? And why?

Tears well up in the eyes.
A sob chokes itself in the
throat. A shiver runs through
the spine. And lips struggle
to smile through it all.

MEMORIES OF A REVISIT

On my native land,
After a Ramanic exile,
for just two weeks
of pleasant acquaintance.

Years that have gone by
Show as wrinkles
On people’s faces.

Scores of faces—few
That I remember, None distinctly,
Some that have been revived in the memory
by photographs;
hundreds that have been heard of—
A jungle of faces that know me,
but whom I know nothing about.

The land that smells different:
Sometimes the common stench,
Sometimes a unique fragrance,
And lots to remember
for a long time hence.

The people that seem familiar—
The wavy black hair,
Oily dark faces,
Thick moustaches, and
Delightful accents.

The routines that assume
a fascinating surprise—
The temple- visits,
The bus travels,
The tea- shop rendezvous
and playtime blues.

The attire that pleases
the eyes forever—
The kasavu saree,
The gold, the bangles,
and the pattu- pavadas.

One by one,
they recede from memory,
As one goes back to one’s land of settlement.
And once again,
The faces,
The people,
The lifestyle,
and The tradition
That you grew up seeing...

Failure poems

(1)
A shake of hands,
Few words exchanged,
And then a kiss
To seal my fate.
When I opened my eyes,
His part of the dream was over.
I wait for someoneto fill that part.

(2)

Like a pigeon on the window sill,
My heart waited for an entry
Into yours.
But the authoritative hands
of someone in there,
Drove me out.
I cannot fly far away;
I laid an egg in there.
I wanted you to know,
by barging in now and then,
But you never took the cue.

And now,
You have barred the doors.
My poor egg-
it lies-
unknown even to you.
Hope you check your attic
And at least discard it.

I don’t have the strength
to look at it again
in case I can get in again.

(3)

The atmosphere is radiating
in the glow of the fireworks,
And reverberating with their sound.
Here I am,
Unable to revel in the display,
Lost in the thoughts that set my heart afire,
Uncontrolled even by the ocean of the eyes.

And like hot lava flowing into water
And cooling itself,
The heart finds refuge in the eyes.