Phenomenal woman that's she

Those nights when only ticking is heard
and every flesh is dormant in concrete 
there's a strange woman who appears
and places herself just besides me.
She glides her soft fingers over my neck
and gently whispers her melody
her voice enters my blood and face
her language my tongue speaks.
In that deep, feminine, seductive voice
the words erupt from my mouth
the words of agony, jocund shouts
the words of midnight bell too loud.
Every night, her footsteps are heard
I welcome the woman with open arms
and she brings a new poetry each time
which she makes me read aloud!
Then she smoothly ships me to dark
As the blue jazz plays in the background
And this I hear just before I go
"You're the angel of the town!"

You

If there is thought or emptiness,
a feeling or confusion,
a fact or principle,
there is You.
If I could free my fancy
I'd disturb you
I'd laugh with you
I'd never hold back
just because
there is You.
If I leave
you will be there again
somewhere in togetherness
or in the hidings.
I'll see you
in my labyrinth.

even if I dance you will not know
wish silence could explain
me.
And then again the tears...they fall
those songs...I can feel you in them
guess you were the only...

Blue

A symphony on the horizon
The notes in the breeze
Some stuck in the rose petals
Others flew to me
Clouds walked 
Dew drops settled
On my pale blue skin
Moist and cold

A walk to remember

On my way to the water cooler, I often watch myself walk to the water cooler. I see that grim face, like it has always been since childhood, trying to de-tangle some hazy stubborn knot in the mesh of thoughts; that loneliness whom I call to walk besides me so that I don't look stupid; that shyness hidden in resoluteness of countenance, showing the wise my hypocrisy and the dumb my attitude; that pain inside which keeps pumping through my veins, blocking my capillaries, reddening my fingertips; those slow-fast steps like electrocardiograph of a lier set up on lie detector and that play of whispers and screams inaudible to the human ear. I see them all present an extravagantly exhilarating performance deserving everybody's attention. But sadly, no one but me can see it. No one but me can feel it. No one but me knows how to appreciate it. But there are some who come rushing to me and enter my secret library to register themselves where they get a permanent residence. I see the welcoming warmth in my eyes when they shut down for few seconds. And as I approach closer to the water cooler, the effect seems to magnify in reverse order. Then there is the flow of the water down my throat, the push of my shoulder against wall, the long sigh of quenched thirst, the cold numb eyes and those million tiny electrical pulses in my brain fusing off to darkness. That's when I love myself the most.

Beast of burden

I'm living under a burden cast upon me ruthlessly by my religion, that religion which claims itself to be the most ancient of all, the source of everything from the tiny dust speck to the gigantic stars and planets, everything earthly and cosmic.
Then there's another hero which is much more malevolent and vicious than the previous dude, and that's - the society boiling with the heat of evil thoughts, capable of destroying the dearest and most personal possession, a man's integrity.
My own ideals are no less a devil, for torturing every inch of me, electrocuting my brain bit by bit, every night when I retire to bed, like a skilled master working his way to perfection in the lonely hours with just a single tool - heat, high enough for brain damage.
And I walk with these three ghosts on my shoulders, guffawing at each faltering step I take. But it's a choice I make to carry them everyday without any purpose. I am a beast of burden but why do I not pity the poor donkey on the rocks or the camel on the sand?

Down hill roll

Do I feel or do I get stoned?
Do I appreciate or do I mock?
Should the warmth be my creation?
Or should I just play plain?
My honesty is welcoming
My smile is endearing
But sometimes the rocks appear on my bed
They are heavy. But they are pretty too.
They are my source of strength. Huhh!
o~ the outward strength on z-axis.
Ask me about the Aurora Borealis,
I will fix you a bread and olive oil
Put me in a dancing machine
I will read my thighs, palms and bare feet
Play is all I know. The game of filth.
Around the lesser mortal and the lesser mortals.

It's I

It's I and you know I will be there.
You don't have to ask me
I understand your troubles
I'm moved not by your sorrow but by the strength you show
You surely need me. I can see it in your eyes.
I'm your mother
I'm your dearest friend
I'm love which smiles at your silliness
I'm peace which waits for you
I'm your comfort
I'll caress your hair
I'll hold you close to my breast
I'll hug you to sleep
I'll kiss you good night
And watch you dream peacefully
My child....
I'll be there no matter what!

Guest at my own home

As I stood at the main gate of my building watching the procession of Ganapati Bappa on 7th day of the festival of devotion, my smile did not, for even a second, feel shy of the large crowd of young boys dancing, playing dhol and taal, the elder ones managing the crowd and traffic, ladies praying for the last time to Bappa who was being taken to lake for visarjan in grandiose trucks adorned with flowers, leaves, balloons  and all the fancy glittering items. There. The kid in me sprang with enthusiasm with every handful of gulaal being thrown in the air toward the dark evening sky. My unwillingness to go back home, where my mom and sister were warmly playing hosts to the guests, was the evidence of my joyous emotions. I stood right there in the center of the widely opened main-gate watching the dance, listening to those loud percussion instruments being played, wondering how I used to do the same when I was a kid and staring at those orange flags, those symbols of a culture, fight and pride. I stood there firmly as if I were reassuring myself of my roots and identity. Although I resonate the most with that vibrant festival where nobody feels shy of shouting "Ganpati Bappa, Moryaa!" there still is a sense of disconnectedness. This yearly ritual is like a mini year in itself! I had missed it for 3 consecutive years. Even when I am not here, the festival continues to be celebrated with equal pomp and show. Every five years new faces will be added to the procession dance, the regular ones will be seen -- with fat necks, cheeks and tummies, -- managing the crowds, while only few of the older crowd will be seen standing and moving slowly along with the procession and I will be unaware of all of it.....From a sincere devotee to a mere spectator, I wonder if this relegation is experienced by others as well.

One life one purpose.
Dance!

The unknown generation

Small hands they painted
saffron, white, green, blue.
Their faces smiling tricolour..
Who are these underprivileged?
The unknown future, shouting slogans,
waving flags, placards in little hands,
unaware, bare feet on tar roads,
just marching, unaware.

Red pulse

I wish we had exchanged the red pulse
Mine with you and yours with me.
Holding it on the platform
Where trains pass by every second minute
Neither one batting an eyelid!
I'd ask you to build
From the rouge and wood
Where the winds bring melodies
Where the sky's streaked green
Look up. It's your home.
A home of anonymity and joy.
As we stop by the gazebo in backyard
Hold me close lest I'm might hibernate
Forever.

That night

The air was thin
They played voilins
Cupids chuckled
Roses waited
Daffodils smiled
And we...
We built castles!

A game

Here's the deal!
I will run
You come for me
Will see how far it goes
Then when you are tired
With cold feat, warm blood
Dew drops on your brow
Quiet and full
I will come for you.

The Godless

I finally finished reading Thus Spoke Zarathustra by Friedrich Nietzsche and resolved not to suggest the book to anyone. There are three primary reasons.
1. It is full of parables which are not very easily understandable but are given in a way which makes them sound profound when in fact they are totally irrelevant!
2. Surrealism beyond words! The amount of surreal imagery the author has drawn is tremendous. Such imagery might be good for visual pleasures but for reading it is totally irritating!
3. The wide array of topics on which Zarathustra, the godless, speaks is just too much! There are animals, passions, objects, nature, feelings, places, and so many other things on which the godless speaks! They all seem so disconnected.
The background story line is very simple. Zarathustra is an enlightened man descending down among humans from a long solitude just to tell them that God is dead and that they should aim to go beyond man, aim for Superman. So he journeys across towns, forests, meeting people and animals alike and giving them discourse on different topics. There are instances of soliloquies where he behaves insanely. So much is happening with so little clarity. It's all a surreal (sometimes exaggerated) dream.
But there are some statements written in fine sarcasm. There's a poetic and biblical touch to the book. Loud reading of the book is just so much fun! But it becomes too dramatic since there is complete lack of understanding! I don't want to write too much about this book. I may be ignorant to philosophies put forth. Anyway. I'll look for more lucidly written books. 

A story

I have been wanting to write about my experience on commuting on my bike in this pretty city but somehow I couldn't get my overwhelming emotions typed on keyboard. Today, a small gesture I received on the road while cycling, revived the whole experience, now making me write in a flow as the mesmerising - The Best of Bach is being played in background.

My story dates back to few weeks when I implemented an idea of a friend, who himself is a cyclist, of painting a piece of cloth with a message - "DON'T HONK. IT HURTS." and putting it on the bag whenever I go out for a ride. I painted the message in bold letters on the back side of the blue TCS10K 2014 goodie bag. Well, that was my first 10K in this city blessed with beautiful weather and awesome cycling and running culture. I'm falling in love with this city!

I have a Btwin Lady Rockrider 5.0, which I got last year after watching these awesome cyclists daily on the streets. I am not new to cycling. In fact cycling was my first love! My first cycle was a purple Ladybird, a gift from my maternal grandmother when I was in 6th grade and ever since then I have been cycling. I must admit that cycling culture in Mumbai is nowhere near Bangalore's. Kids back there have cycles. The moment they enter JC, they ride with less pride and more of hubris, on their scootys and pulsers. I always wondered how none of them enjoyed cycling the way I did!

I rode my pretty Ladybird even when it was no longer pretty. The only time I did not get to cycle, for the lack of resources, was when I shifted to Hyderabad for 2 years. But no more craving for that perpetual motion! Bangalore has given me a lot more than I expected. I fall for this city every time I see a cyclist riding with that "I wear biker's pride!" attitude.

Back to my story. This bold message which I painted in white in block letters is for that impatient lot who think that their mindless honking will clear all the traffic ahead! They honk as if the vehicle ahead will disappear or will somehow move aside, even when there's not an inch to move! Then there's honking at the signals the moment the bold red number, decrementing every second, becomes a single digit! Honking doesn't stop even when the roads are all clear. I think it's their way of announcement "Make way for His Highness is arriving in grand style at the greatest possible speed!" Yeah! Everybody is a Shehenshah on the street! Those wheels have power. Those wheels can take you wherever you wish. Those wheels are a status symbol. Wait a second. None of these give you any permission for indiscriminate usage of those decibels.

Why can't there be a little more patience, discipline, politeness and consideration of the situation and people around? Are these things too difficult to achieve? That cyclist friend of mine, who gave me the idea of painting that message, told me about his experience in Thailand where people hardly honk on streets. The traffic there is a silent mass waiting patiently for the vehicles ahead to move. I came across this story when I googled myself to find more about it. Very interesting and inspiring!

My rides back and forth between my work place in Bellandur and house in HSR, with that blue banner on my bag, have been pretty good so far. Right from the first day of pinning that message on my bag, I have observed that people become more conscious before pressing that horn. I have no idea of what they think or feel when they read the message. But somehow I have a feeling that it definitely reaches them in a right way.

Today morning as usual when I was riding to work and I saw a girl on her scooty-something, passed me by, went a little ahead and gave me a very distinct thumbs up! That moment.....I cannot forget! That feeling of support from fellow riders is something I always wish for. I remember when I had started commuting on my rockrider I received thumbs up from other cyclists who commute daily. I talked very excitedly about this "support a fellow rider by showing a thumbs up" to my sister and friends in Mumbai. It is very encouraging and again makes me fall in love with this city!

I asked the TCS10K participants at my work place to donate their bags to me if they aren't putting them to any good use. I plan to upcycle them by painting good messages and distribute them to fellow cyclists who are willing to put it on display whenever they ride. It doesn't really make a huge difference to the noise pollution levels in the city since I'm the only one who is doing it right now. But I still think I should do it since I feel the change should start from me and I know there are many who think on these lines. I'd be glad if other cyclists also agree to display the message on their bags as well.

That's my story of a small effort for a better and sensible living and a story of my love for the city and it's cycling culture.


And that's my bag. 
Pretty, isn't it? :)

Maid

Freckled cheeks and wrinkled eyes
Frizzy, grey hair, for spiders and ants
Like dry grass on un-mowed lawns
Pale eyes hinting sleepless life
And a face which I see everywhere.
I want to wash and perfume you
Gift you book to read until you go cold.
I'll make you a blanket of salt and earth
Lit up your old fabrics on the sea shore
And let the dark moment pass.

Me. Night.
You. Ocean bed.
Them. Moon.
Eternity.

Pasaara

After experiencing the life of living with less (a lot less), I am back on messy track of things. There are too many of them around me! I have always been troubled by this and now it's getting into my head so deep that every passing day is getting tougher than the previous one. My mental state is too dependent on these things to be taken lightly (as everybody back there always said!).

There was a sense of freedom and feather-lightness to that state where I restricted myself only to the daily essentials. There was a clear line between needs and wants. I cannot forget the nakedness of elements in my room - neatly made bed, plain white walls, clear table, comfortable chair and a small closet embedded in wall. That room was a perfect place every activity (dancing, acting/overacting, poetry reading, watching surreal movies, chatting with friends, cooking rarely, group-studying.....). The emptiness of my room, rather the space, gave me this weird pleasure I cannot explain. The symmetry, the placement of and steadiness in the ever-changing arrangement of the elements, was more than I could have asked for. Every little object had it's place. None was ever ignored. Every little thing was fully functional and was utilized on a daily basis. There were no extras. No accessories. No useless items. No mess. No chaos. There was perfect orderliness which I loved dearly.

Money was never a constraint. I could buy/spend more than what I used to. But I never did. One motivation behind was environmental clean-up cause ignored at our place at least. This thought reflected at my choices pointing towards - organic and recyclable items. Endless stretches of landfills composing of non-degradable garbage overwhelmed me. I vehemently denied unnecessary luxuries available. Life looked very simple. The yes-es and the no-s were easily recognized. How peaceful it was!

Now it's all topsy-turvy. I am on a crazy ride of yes-es. Seems like I have pushed forward the line between needs and wants. The balance is disturbed. I am disturbed. These spirits live everywhere in my room now. They are in the art & craft bag, growing inside the jar of sliced green olives, dormant in Waterman Havana Brown ink, lying in laundry bag and pouches holding unnecessary freebies, crawling on my bed at nights when I'm asleep and playing with dust on the shoe rack. The moment I enter my room they laugh, scream, howl and move around me like crazy spectres. The moment I switch on lights they scare me with their ghastly appearances. Every single object becomes so heavy that I do not dare lift it. And then they laugh at my inability. When I switch off the lights they lift the bed from bottom side which puts a huge pressure on my head. I spent sleepless nights and wake up in the morning with bad headaches.

Life has become difficult with so many happenings around me. 

Ride on

Wrote this after finishing the scariest ride ever in my life! This intense head ache is switching me off!
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Ride on O Rider! Your home is calling.
Let it rain with lightening and thunder.
Let the windy city roar out loud.
Tear the film with blade on your head.
Inclines, patches, signals and risks,
To hell with the Indian scene!
Just push down and ride on!
Your safe home is calling.