Sunday, November 17, 2013

The Regret



There comes a time in life
When you get busy looking into the void
And you start to wonder....
What was it that made me so complacent?
What was it that made me silent?
Was it the failures? Or was it the lack of it?
Did i not pay enough attention to myself?
Or was it too much of it?
What did go wrong, anyway?
Should i have told her how much i loved her?
Or did i stay quiet for too long?
Would it have been better...
If i would've turned the other way?
Or perhaps that turn had long gone.
What am i going to do now...
With all my decisions
With all my worries
With all these dry tears
And with this long, dreary beard
I cannot see anything clear now
Maybe i forgot to wipe the dust off my glasses
Or perhaps my young eyes couldn't see what i should have
What am i going to do now...
To live and to forget?
What am i going to do...
With all this regret?

Awake




I'm up still, way past midnight
Writing my mind on the pages of doom
I feel so frozen and lonely in my room
I'll stay up for a while tonight

Daydreaming about the flowery days
With the sun shining bright above my conscience
My blurry vision seems clear now; oh, what an ambiance!
I can dream like this in many different ways

People say I can't perform my life's act
I really wonder what they do with their own
I cast my doubt on their pretentious brittle bone
As they're unaware of life's most important fact

You can't measure the sky with a scale
You can pierce through it and call the shots
But, the countless stars will outnumber your thoughts
And gravity will later put you on sale

I'll be up all night, writing on these pages
Will keep writing till my conscience ages
I'll write till the dawn of the next day
Staying awake is a task in itself, anyway

The Black and White Dreamer



Geometrical figures, card boards and scissors
She makes novel designs in her own mind
She cuts through her conscience, and the colourless ambiance
And ventures into wilderness to unwind

With a bow stuck in her hair
She'll stand still and stare
At the unusual shapes and flowers
Some would say, "She wouldn't care
And yet she's got a flair
To imagine with her imaginary powers"

She is her own architect, all right
She is an artist with a visionary sight
Craning her neck above her height
She dares to dream in black and white
She dreams in black and white

Saturday, September 21, 2013

Stand Up & Deliver

Sometimes you have to look through the walls
And widen your gaze
There are people who want to pull you down
If you're climbing up the ladder
There are people who will lend you a helping hand
Which, if you choose to hold
Can turn out to be your biggest mistake
Make your own climb
Carve your own road
Let the pulling don't stutter your ascent
And the road make way for new horizons
Identify yourself
Live your hour
Don't fall off the roof if you get there
Influence others
Be influential
Be brave
Pluck up the courage
To swim against the tide
To voice yourself against the undeserving vociferous scumbags
Don't be afraid
Nobody can steal your thunder
Nobody can steal your smile
Wipe that tear off your face
This ain't the time to shed tears
This is the time to revolt
For your choice
For your right
For everything you stand for
For everything you deserve
For everything you believe in
For your love
For your destiny
For freedom
For the love of God
Stand up and deliver
What you are born for

Man, Woman & Child

The farmer perspires and we begin to live
He dies in vain while we forget to give
We forget to give our attention
Every man, woman and child
Give him your ears, not your pretension

The soldier shoots from his rusty gun
He dies in vain, too, while we all shun
We shun the fact that he died for someone
Every man, woman and child
Look up to your saviour before he is done

A girl dies in the womb and we move on
In the blink of an eye a life is gone
Gone even before it’s time to be born
Every man, woman and child
Be God or Goddess, be the baby’s dawn

Ideologies & Theories


Your ideologies and theories may sound absurd or outdated to some, but, who gives a damn anyway! Hear your inner voice, keep listening, and believe in that voice, for it will take you places far more interesting than where you are now. Only you can do that. Who else will give a damn anyway!

Intolerance


Intolerance of a kind, in the way we live in this country, can make us want to tear the system to pieces. Eventually, we realize that we're the system itself because we have injected some virus in ourselves. This virus (tolerating injustice, never saying 'NO', not kicking extortion in the butt, etc.) spreads like quickfire through our veins, making us vulnerable and weak. At the end, the virus triumphs and the system stays as it is.

Barbed Wired




I've been on my own for a while, you know
I've been on the edge with nowhere else to go
I tried to steal what wasn't meant for me
I went a little too far, where else would I be

I've barbed wired my own dreams
I see the world, unaware of what it means
I am scared as hell to open my eyes
Because someone has barbed wired my lies

Friday, September 20, 2013

The Streets Are Made For People Like Me




The streets are made for people like me
The blue sky is what I own as a beggar
I've got no regrets, no shame, no one to blame
I've got no family, no future to see
I'm a vagabond, people, I'm a life-digger

I smoke away my age under the sun
Into this deceitful city that drives me insane
A pig helps me stay clean, you know what I mean
Nobody cares when you are not the one
Who's got nothing to give for somebody's gain

I hope to live till the rains come down
To see my sins flow away without my consent
Till then I'll sip my can of beer, thinking death isn't near
I don't wish to die without a single pound
But I can't bend the rules that are already bent

Set Me Free




(Dedicating to all the unfortunate, sexually assaulted girls & to womanhood)

I made my choice a few years ago
I wanted to grow up a beautiful princess
I'm getting there, I'm sure of that
Some don't want me to, I guess
..
I want to walk down the streets
With no fear, with my head held high
I don't want to be stopped abruptly
I don't intend to scream out a cry
..
Set me free, set me free
Let me be, let me be
I'm also a life, I hope you see
Let me live and breathe free
..
I know you don't have a heart
If you did, you wouldn't throw me and run
I'm not a game where you win or lose
Your heart would've told you so, if you had one
..
Your eyes are enough to haunt me
Let alone your merciless, forceful fist
Even calling out for God goes in vain
When survival disappears in the dark mist
..
"For the people", they weren't meant to be
Consider me a fool if I believe they care
Even if I die a lonesome painful death tomorrow
There is no loss they will have to bear
..
Set me free, set me free
Let me be, let me be
I'm also a life, I hope you see
Let me live and breathe free..

Saturday, September 14, 2013

Viva Zimbabwe!

Zimbabwe beats Pakistan!!

In the last 20 years of international cricket, six World Cups have been played, the advent of Twenty Twenty has taken the world by storm, One Day Internationals have found a need of some kind of a revolution and the format that tests every cricketer to his limit, Test Cricket, has found itself on a death bed. And while all this was unfolding, Zimbabwe, one of the underdogs of the game, after getting their test status 20 years ago, have been trying all sorts of combinations to register modest victories in either test matches or one-dayers.

Today, on 14th September, 2013, they have registered their 11th win in test match cricket. Pakistani cricketers, with their heads dropping in shame after the loss, were simply outplayed. Whether this win will do anything to Zimbabwe Cricket is anybody's guess, but it sure will make them believe that they can win.

And even though the two-match series got leveled at 1-1, Zimbabwe winning a test match at their home venue would certainly be the team to have broader smiles on their faces.

Twenty years of cricket and just 11 test wins. But if you saw the Zimbabwean spectators celebrate in the aisles after the victory, they would take that stat any day.

Sunday, September 8, 2013

Just a thought!

Morning light...

A morning always gives me the feeling that I'm more than just alive, and that the world around me is getting born every moment. It's as if the whole universe is giving birth to a brand new galaxy. The sparrow has a different chirp in her voice, the pigeons have a different flutter in their wings, the river has a different gush in its flow, the breeze displays a different choreography in its flight, and thus, I wonder of all other such small and large events that sweep me off my feet in the early hours of the morning.

Bride-to-be (Morning Story #05)

Wedding day!

The mehendi was looking beautiful. I had received a lot of compliments for getting it drawn on my hands so creatively. I was happy all right, but nervous. That night, I washed my hands just before my entire family sat for dinner together. But soon after, I had sweaty palms. So, I washed my hands again, but had my food with a spoon.

I was going to get married to my childhood friend the following morning, which I had admired all of my 24 years. I knew he was the one for me, but for some reason I hadn't come to terms with my self-confidence as yet. That confidence was shaking and trembling like it does when we go for an interview under-prepared. My cousins pulled my leg all night, but they didn't spoil my sleep. I just couldn't sleep that night. My mind had already travelled to the wedding hall that was at a distance of 8 miles from my residence, in which I was supposed to be standing in front of the love of my life, all dressed up, hopefully properly. I had butterflies in my stomach. I was daydreaming at midnight.

At 7:00am sharp, my mother shook me vigorously, and made sure I was up after whatever little sleep I could salvage from the previous night. I almost had fever, I remember. It was the end of December, and the temperatures in Pune were certainly 10 degrees below normal. Yet, I was panting, as if my mother had just told me I had a Math paper to give today having studied History all night yesterday. I waited for three years for this day, but at this moment, I wanted a buffer of another week. I never thought a wedding can give anyone so many jitters. There was make-up waiting for me, a hair-stylist, and the longest sari I will be ever wearing.

Breakfast was served, but there was no place in my tummy to gulp it down. And so, I threw tantrums like a cranky child who discards the homemade breakfast and dreams of the samosa he gets in his school’s canteen. I had to eat 2 boiled eggs, brown bread with butter and a glass full of orange juice. The yolk popped out of the egg-white and fell into the teapot kept a couple of feet away, the melted butter was spread nicely over the dosa mom had cooked for dad, and five minutes later, the orange juice splashed its vivid colour on the white track pant I was wearing that morning. I couldn't come to grips with anything, quite literally. Looking at all this commotion, my younger siblings began poking fun at me, started calling me by names, and whatnot. There was laughter all over, with me, the joker, misjudging all my juggling acts. I was scared to death. My nerves were shaking. I was losing my mind, or probably had already lost it.

An hour passed by, and everyone else was ready to leave, except me. I remember my sister shouting that morning, “Whose wedding is it, anyway?” Finally, after another hour-long half an hour, I stepped out of my house. And for the most stupid thing I did in my life, everyone burst out in laughter all over again. And this time, it was ROFL. Why, because I was wearing two different sandals in my feet. Never in my life did I ever think that getting married was going to be more difficult than even winning a war. It was horrifying. I felt as if I was about to get deported to another country for some felony I had committed. The ceremony was supposed to run fluently. My father had spent almost a fortune on my wedding, and probably that was one of the major reasons why I couldn't even stand properly on two feet. Putting on the correct sandals, I got in the car for the 20-minute drive to the wedding hall, where I had already been to last night.

Inside the hall, the final decorations were in full swing. Some of my other relatives present were looking at me with genuine admiration. After about three hours when my make-up was ready and my traditional hairdo was done, I had to step out in front of a huge crowd of people waiting to see an unmarried girl becoming a married woman. In school and even in college I never had a stage fright. Today, I did, big time. I was even getting afraid of a wardrobe malfunction. How embarrassing would that be in front of everyone who would have their eyes fixed on you, and you alone! Until of course my man steps out to flaunt his wedding outfit, and the attention shifts slightly. Most of the rituals took place smoothly, and I felt a heavy log of wood removed from my shoulder. And finally, the silk white cloth that was separating the two of us from making eye contact was lowered, and I saw him. And like it happens in a typical Bollywood movie, for the first time in 24 hours, I felt the ground under my feet. All the tension, the nervousness and fear vanished in thin air. A few seconds later, the bride-to-be became the bride of the groom she had dreamt of, without spoiling the moment.

Eyes Wide Open (Morning Story #04)

BLINDED behind the lens...

I am blind as a bat. Not from childhood though. I lost sight of my world at the age of 12 after a freak accident – the sequence of events I don’t fancy disclosing. But, I do have vague impressions of the colours each morning flaunts ever so beautifully. It took me a while to sink in this harsh reality of experiencing perpetual total darkness, but eventually I did accept it. And gradually, I even started respecting it.

Bob Marley once said, “Some people feel the rain. Others just get wet.” I don’t enjoy the latter. A month back, under some fiery bolts of lightning and boisterous thundershowers, I turned 54. For some very odd reason, as there may be, rainfall gives me the kick. But, it’s not just the rainfall under which I feel the spring in my step. The cool breeze and the tranquility of the early mornings make me feel I’m 12 all over again. I don’t sleep for more than 7 hours a day, though it doesn’t make much of a difference, really. I always await the mornings. I feel the rays of the sun that reach my eyelids from millions of miles away come with a message. They keep convincing me of the fact that though I cannot see at all, somewhere deep within myself, I have a vision, which no one else does on the planet. And it’s not supernatural as such, but then again, it doesn’t need to be. A lot of people with their eyes wide open fail to see what the world has to offer. And I’m sure it has to offer a-plenty.

My father was an avid photographer. When he was alive he used to click two distinct times of the day – sunrise and sunset. I wasn't interested in photography as such, but I used to love travelling with him on his motorbike in the twilight mornings. Some of his morning photographs still hog a lion’s share in my casket of sweet memories. I never lost sight of them, and never will; probably because they remind me of the eternal beauty sunrises bring with them.

My uncle, who is aged 79 now, loves to read newspapers really loudly. The reason behind being, he cannot hear clearly. I’m a firm believer that people talk loudly when they can’t hear clearly. So, I’m sure every morning my neighbours don’t switch on the radio, if that’s the medium from which they fetch their morning news. They get them from us. But, the news mu uncle reads every morning is never too convincing. All I get to hear is the number of deaths that have occurred due to some unfortunate events and ruthless violence, injustice happening all over, embezzlement, suicides, impending wars and imminent clashes of the races. And it makes me wonder, how can someone kill a person and see that person die. How can someone see a person dying and not lend a hand to save him. How can anyone with his or her eyes wide open not see what’s coming. How can a person cheat someone else and shamelessly walk free with no guilt in the eyes. All of this baffles me. Sometimes, I just walk away from my uncle’s morning news-reading. Sometimes, I feel really lucky for being blind. At least, I don’t get t see people die, beg and weep every day. What an awful sight that would be to witness. We, as humans have to spread the light on others, in our own way. But today, people pull the daylight out of others. More than the darkness that refuses to leave my sight, it’s the people with these dark souls that scare me the most.

As I said, the world has a lot to offer. The question is what we want to see. The climax of each day depends on how you start it. Just like in life, it ends the way we let it start and carry on. If you start by fooling someone, at the end of the day, in some corner of your heart, you feel you have fooled yourself. If you start by hitting someone, you feel the pain when you get old. If you start by giving up, you are already a failure; you wouldn't need to wait till dusk. The things I cannot see are the things I give immense respect to. And I don’t see a lot of stuff, you know. I keep dreaming of the change of colours every morning would be emanating with flair, of the shine on the surface of the ocean, of the bouncy nature every bird would be exhibiting before it flies off for an eventful day, of the mist that must be spreading on lush green outfields and silent lakes, of people joining their hands to recite the morning prayer, of the youth lending a hand to help the old, and a lot other beautiful things. Almost every morning I roll my visionary eyes on these hopeful, phenomenal events, which for anyone else with incredible eyesight may sound regular.

A few days after i was declared blind by the doctors, my father spoke to me, probably with tears in his eyes, and told me that each morning throws a new light on everyone, different than the previous day. All we have to do is stand in its path; respect it, and be grateful to God for letting us stand in its path. From that very day, my eyes of total darkness began to act like the viewfinder of a camera my father used to carry, through which he could see and capture those gorgeous, shiny mornings.

Friday, August 30, 2013

The Morning to 'die' for - the way the protester saw it (Morning Story #03)

Tahrir Square

I clearly remember. It was a Sunday, 30th January, 2011. The day I would want to forget forever.

Almost a week before this day, an uprising had finally led to a revolution, and the whole of Cairo had its eyes wide open. With acts of rebellion, which had now surmounted into a major labour strike, I had become more than confident to stand upright in front of an arsenal that could easily take my life in a jiffy. But, death was not on my mind; only freedom of my own rights, and that of the people.  But freedom, as we all know it, is so hard to find.

On a Sunday morning, one would think of heading out for a day-long trip, or spending time with family and friends. That was certainly not the case today. This morning, unlike any other was shrouded by an air of rage. And this sense of resentment was quite noticeable on every face of this enormous crowd that had gathered on Tahrir Square, which had now become the war zone.

I had painted a tattoo on my left forearm. It read “DEMOCRACY”. Many others were carrying pro-democracy banners and posters, or wearing t-shirts in favour of the ousting of Hosni Mubarak.  It was still early hours in the morning, but not a soul was asleep. In fact, the tents which had sheltered every protester through the night were already removed, folded and packed in their life-size bag-packs. Laptops were on, and the scent of the Jasmine Revolution was going viral instantly. Tahrir Square had become the new home of these people, but not for long.

Tearing through the fog with the sun rays reflecting off their Kevlar-coated transparent shields, policemen came marching in numbers. And they were walking up to the square with an order - to put an end to this protest without a formal request. Tension arose in the camp, as everyone now had their eyes fixed on the black-jacket policemen wearing helmets and who were armed as well. Everyone was caught off-guard, but all of us with the Egyptian flag wrapped onto our bodies, also knew that it’s now or never. The silent protest was about to get ugly, and the square was about to turn into a pool of blood.

Soon after, tear gas cans were thrown upon us for us to draw back. But, we were unmoved. Nobody budged. Then some more cans were hurled at us, and now with a group or two on the ground, the protesters, including myself, started moving back, but not all. Unafraid by the possibility of death, a wave of protesters plucked up some more courage and started running in the direction of the policemen and began pelting stones at them. And this outburst even included numerous teenagers and women. Age was no bar in this fight. The sun was up now and so was the temper on both sides. The flags began to wave with vigor  Holding the top corners, I was waving one, too, sitting on top of a shoulder of one of my fellow protesters. To break this resistance, another order was given, and it all turned into a riot. Cars were burned, houses were set on fire and the street became a battlefield. Number of protesters, in a matter of minutes, began to ask for medical help. I got hit by a tear gas can twice and was also planted a blow in my abdomen by one of the thick sticks carried by a policeman. Even boys not more than 15 years of age were badly bruised with numerous cuts on their body. Blood dripped through those cuts, and the pain was excruciating. No morning in the history of Cairo looked so terrifying. With no breath of fresh air, there was only smoke all over with cries of pain heard all the time. With lives lost in quite a few numbers, the police receded and stopped the massacre for the time being. Even the protesters, now heavily exhausted, pulled back as well.

The thunderous fight reignited after a few hours, and for many more mornings to follow. Today, when I look back, and I’m sure many others like me, would never would have wanted to wake up to a dawn that went dark in a matter of seconds.

Saturday, August 24, 2013

Kanchenjunga - A Mountaineer's Upward Journey (Morning Story #02)

  • Every now and then when we want to leave our hometown to have a memorable trip, we often think of places that reside in the nature's heart. Places that arrest you with either their sheer beauty, or their remarkable size, or sometimes, both.

    A few years back, I got an opportunity to make a 10-day tour to North India.  At times, I suppose we travelled a little too much to go from one point to another, sitting for long hours in our 30-seater mini-bus. But having said all that, it was worth it. After reaching to a particular destination, nobody complained. Just like no one nagged to get up at 2:30 in the morning to witness the best sunrise anyone has ever seen. At the stroke of 3, in the almost unbearable chilling morning, we headed to the mighty Kanchenjunga. Considering the narrow roads curving up on the modest hills (modest as compared to the height of Kanchenjunga), it was sort of a rough ride with absolutely no seat vacant in the bone-crushing Armada. And finally, after a half an hour bumpy ride of constant ascending, we reached our destination with one eye still lost in our respective half-shattered dreams. To our good fortunes, the weather was clear without a single cloud in the sky. So, the spectacle was definitely going to get its due appreciation.

    Gradually, the border of India and Nepal began to curve towards the sun and each one of us having booked our respective viewpoints, waited with bated breath. Standing in front of us was the humungous and astounding Kanchenjunga and its adjoining tall hills. The white snow-caps slowly began to absorb a tinge of yellow in them, as the sky was turning from navy blue to light blue to dull orange and lemon yellow. There were around a hundred people present to witness this phenomenon, and all eyes were fixed on the third tallest mountain in the world.

    Though the dawn was chilling, this spectacle was installing warmth in each one of us who were now wide awake. And at that very second, it happened. In an instant, the top of Kanchenjunga turned to gold. It felt as if the first sun ray to hit the India-Nepal border fell on top of this astonishing peak. Within seconds, its adjoining hills, too, were plastered with gold. The snow began to shimmer like a 24 carat diamond-studded necklace on a beautiful woman’s neck. The sun began to reveal itself entirely over the glittering shoulder of this tall mountain to announce its might by sending its rays to every nook and cranny of the whole of North India. But, there was only one king of the sky rising above all at that particular moment – Kanchenjunga.

    Slowly, the mist over the horizon began to disappear, and the temperatures moved up slightly. The sky was now a large blanket knitted with two shades of wool; off white and light blue. The entire mountain range, which stretches over quite a few miles on either side, was now clearly visible. The air that was getting lifted over these snow-capped peaks did a ballet, mesmerizing everyone with its charm and grace.

    To make this nature’s exhibition look even better, hot tea was served to everyone. With every sip, people were gazing continuously at this giant mountain with awe. It was quite hard to believe how something can stand so still day in and day out, and yet take everyone by surprise every time one looks at it. An even harder fact to accept was that this mountain is lifeless. Well, to me it isn’t. Kanchenjunga is brimming with life, not exactly in the physical form, but from within. And it brings the morning to life with its unmatched glistening attire nobody on this very earth can replicate. It was a morning I can never ever forget; a morning that will always be close to my heart, as it has gifted me with a memory I will always cherish.

150 and Counting (Morning Story #01)

150+ (or so they say)

I don't know my age. Someone once told me I must be 150, going by the creases that have sculpted my face over the years. Each and every day of my life when I wake up early in the morning, I'm somehow forced to believe that it might be my last. But, then again, I go to sleep at night with hope hidden behind my thick broken glasses, expecting to see a better tomorrow.

I live on a hilltop, not too far away from the ever expanding city, which some years before was not even visible for miles across. Today, I get up, not to the sweet chirping of the sparrows, or to the melodious gush of the river, but to the crackling noise of the traffic, and the roaring engines of the metal-coated cars across the huge tar streets. The fog has now turned into unhealthy air obscuring the clarity of the sky. And as a result, the yellowish-orange morning sun has begun to look brown. And I witness it even after I clean my glasses without a speck of dust sitting on it. Today, the sun rises, but the hope falls. The warmth of the morning now brings a cold wave instead, which chills me to the bone, gripping me with fear till the night comes. Today, the morning doesn't look new at all, but rather looks like a large shadow of the scary tomorrow. The birds that sing their tunes in sync with the morning's rhythm have migrated in search of a better habitat, as their safe and serene haven has been slashed and burned for our quintessential needs. Green is no longer the colour that encircles the periphery of my modest residence with dew drops shining on top of the grassland. Every morning, all that stands in front of my dying, searching eyes is a sight I would want to forget the moment I blink. And all that I believe in now is a distant dream that will infuse life back into these colourless, dark mornings that once used to bring heaven on top of this hill. I hope to see that day before my so-called eternal age finally comes to a permanent halt.