Monday, January 30
Friday, April 29
मुँडेरों से झाँकती हुई,
ओस की बूंदों सी,
मेरे आँगन में गिरती है |
सतरंगी परचम लहराती ,
बादलों की ओट से,
लुकाछिपी खेलती खिलखिलाती है|
अधनंगे बदन पर,
सिर्फ़ एक सफ़ेद रेशमी दुपट्टा ओढ़े,
मुझे ललचाती है|
जो हर सुबह,
अखबारी काला सफ़ेद पोंते,
मेरे दरवाज़े पर दस्तक देती है|
खोलते हीं गुम् हो जाना,
मिचमिचाती आँखों के साथ,
लुकाछिपी खेलती है|
वो खुशी आज सुबह,
मेरे बिस्तर पर लेटी मुझे मिली|
उठने के साथ चाय की प्याली देकर,
झिलमिल सी आँखों में मुस्कान भर कर,
नाश्ता बनाने किचन में चली गयी|
जिस खुशी ने मुझसे दूरी कर ली थी,
दिन भर मुझसे बतियानें बैठी|
बोली अब यहीं रहूँगी|
जब तक वो काले घनेरे बादल,
फिर तुम्हारे अंदर से मुझे धकेल नहीं देते|
Saturday, April 9
The skeptic in me writes this,
Always the skeptic in me writes this,
I hear my heart pounding,
Trying to ignore the creaking in my greys,
The skeptic in me types away.
It makes so many attempts,
Emoting on paper, the rapid swims,
The perspiring tinges of rainbow,
Hoping for the glint
The skeptic in me withers in words hopelessly.
Gleaming, the golden orb,
Sinking deep in the calluses,
Dark and dingy in the corners,
Shining in black grease,
The other part of me keeps surfacing,
While the skeptic in me wordsmiths.
Honing all these thoughts, gargantuan in nature,
The ticking continues, ahoy ahoy up the sails,
Turning those wheels that direct,
Shining the curb I always bite,
The skeptic in me now strikes
Monday, March 28
Tuesday, August 24
Another review i wrote for passion for cinema has been published. Please visit the same and update any comments that you might have. Join the discussion.
Tuesday, August 17
You step into a temple seeking another meaning and find it teeming with a bevy of people. People who are so lost they don’t even know that there is a process of self exploration. The bells jar your ears and you shift heavily. The stomach churning vehemently. No medicine in sight. You feel your life seeping through your fingers and giving way to contamination. You shift heavily on your feet and end up on the bed. Few rapid breaths later, you untangle yourself, jolted from the reverie, the sweet intoxicant of the perfume haunting your thoughts till the next night and stumble out of the promise of self discovery onto the streets of being lost. The journey continues.
You travel miles and let the butterflies fluttering in your stomach take control, cling to the conical heads of your ears, lifting you in the air. Flailing, flickering, kicking your legs about, you circle the horizons and land on your haunches, crashing, bleeding to death. Passing through all the flashes of monstrosity meted out since conception. The pain of being, the pain of seeing, THE PAIN…..
All the images imprinted on your mind, you find the meaning. That there is no meaning. You walk back holding gathered, close to your heart, the remains of what was, the evidence of a journey made, and submit the YOU to the finality of being YOU. Nothing changed paths, but none stood still. You come a full circle, womb to womb.
TRAPPED BETWEEN THE WALLS OF THE LONG ALLEYWAY TO PLEASURE.
Monday, August 2
I have written an account of my impression of the Stanley Kubrik movie "A Clockwork Orange" on a premier movie portal passionforcinema.com. Please visit the link given below and follow the discussions:
Saturday, December 12
stains of blood hardened on the skin;
Blue black, frenzy of colours.
I bleed all over,
frozen veins exploding;
Tattered patterns of hope.
I have wounds of the soul,
transcending all creation;
Smeared hopes of attainment.
The garb pretends,
it tends to expand all in vain;
Dots mere on the canvas.
I play hither tither,
sheltered in my being me;
Fudged reflection in the mirror.....
Saturday, June 13
I have to decipher and understand the meaning that is hovering around and still not knocking loud enough or not knocking at all. My veins, turning blue, red, purple, yellow, and green, hardly managing to pump anything but fluid of poisonous nature, are just like the dark falling bark pieces from a rusty old tree, looking to be detonated, exploded, compounded, and shredded to pieces just so that existence will be of different nature and most importantly in different form. Not having anything worth breathing for is worth living for.
The body is exposed to miniscule explosions of chilling nature, the impact being as though you are burnt with Ice. It’s a difficult feeling to explain just doesn’t fit into any metaphors. You breathe and then find that the lungs refuse to inflate or even deflate. They stick to your rib cage and flap about in a desperate attempt to become independent of you just so that they can fly. You are caught in the turmoil of dizzying forces, as though all matter inside has collapsed to form a solid ball which is semi fluid in nature. Green in color, contaminating and disintegrating at the same time, enough to make you cough and vomit and ensure that the more you vomit it out the more it grows in size. Not having anything worth breathing for is worth living for.
You knock a few cans around and find swept in the nature of the intoxicant itself, pure, senile (it’s an attribute of old/age), degenerating and rejuvenating. You try various colors on only to see which fits, leads to redemption and then you drown yourself in the color. You become the color itself. First blue, as pure bliss, ABHAAMAAN, then red angry and mocking the rest, then purple, turning inward with shame and fear, unable to grapple with reality, yellow with fever trying to shake off the sickening dogs wagging it’s tail forever at you, and then finally green (completely contaminated) marking various shades of jealousy (all the seven sins amalgamated) only to leave you with a feeling of being licked by a rabid dog who has seen and smelt the fear in you, the vomit on you. You try to find and then know that not having anything worth breathing for is WORTH LIVING FOR!!!
You are running at feverish pace, perspiring, perplexed at the reason and still not able to understand it fully. You tie a knot around your waist, just to brace yourself for the situation, and then rush headlong into Vortex*, spiraling ahead, just ahead to glimpse your future and then recoil at the sight of the dripping, slime covered, green creature that you have become, blotches of sun forming their mark on the face, bathing in your own sweat, swearing loudly and lamenting at the obfuscation around, all pervading darkness and still everything so clear. You try to clear the fog and then know that not having anything worth breathing for is WORTH LIVING FOR!!!
*(Ashok Banker – Thanks)
Wednesday, May 13
But all this is a part of a long list that will take time for completion. I would, for now, settle down to observations and one of the curious things I observed was the Fair and Lovely phenomenon. I have had in my life the pleasure of interacting with a few unique people and observe from close quarters their personal grooming process. A lot of the middle class young men (I am stating this at the risk of generalizing) seem to be pre-occupied with two things. The hair, the length of it and the gloss of it and the skin the gloss of it and the fairness of it. A comb in the pocket and a tube of Fair & Lovely on the dressing table. I have seen similar skin tone in South Africa and found that among the “blacks” an amazing sense of pride in their skin color exists. I saw a hoarding advertising for a product called “Dark & Lovely”. This to me sums up the entire colour skin debate sparked off a few hundred years ago. While the most oppressed in the matter have moved on and started taking pride in their skin tone as a sign of struggle and liberation, some here have bought into the advertising imperialism / colonization and have become rampant consumers of a product whose results are at best unfounded and imaginary.
To me the most surprising is the fact that those who can afford this product are educated young men!! The drivers for consumption of this product could be many viz. getting a fair girl for marriage, attaining a supposed social norm. I might never be able to find the underlying cause, but one thing I do know that trying to change who we are in order to attain what is socially acceptable is not just trying to lie to oneself but also a small step towards a Unitarian society, where independent thoughts and new ideas seize to exist. Once that happens, we would be mere puppets in the hands of the nefarious social engineers. Like a herd of sheep being led by the mountain goat.