New Year

It’s just another dawn,

Yet another winter morn,

Yes the year has changed,

But so does the date, everyday.

We shred parts of our souls,

In every single moment that goes,

We run into ourselves,

And we’d run out of ourselves.

We are living in the lost cities of tomorrow,

In the 2000s with some years borrowed.

So the question is ‘What’s the intent?’

When it’s known, oblivion is the bequest.

Yeah, we’ll still tread that zig-zag road,

Again try that weird dance move,

Believe in magic and count on miracles,

Make weirder friends and spread the tickle.

We can’t help but do what we love to do,

Keep checking out things off our ‘to-dos’.

We are driven by curiosity and questions,

Never have we cared for the doomed conclusion.

So the intend, my friend, is simply to live and be,

The wise know, the desert today was once the sea.


;) :)

Your Gift

If I were your Secret Santa,

I’d gift you a truth and I’d gift you a dare,

Truth that you are sooo beautiful and I’d dare you to hang in there.

I’d gift you the drive to follow your dream this time,

Coz not doing so now will be an agonizing crime.

I’d gift you the fidelity to mean when you say I love you,

Be stubborn and be unapologetic for it in every way you know.

I’d gift you music from piano chords, drum rolls and violin quotes,

And also a pick to make your own, as they begin hitting wrong notes.

I’d gift you the courage to step into the cold cold sea,

And then take a step further go into the deep.

I’d gift you luck, all that there could be,

To know how lucky you are to be you (also for me).

I’d gift you the innocence to keep empty shells on your ear,

And listen to it roar in the desert after thousands of years.

I’d gift you Maths,

It’ll keep you sane, so that’s that.

I’d gift you 'the look' from across the room, yeah,
And you’ll know everything is gonna be okay. 

I’d gift you a poem that only for you I’d write,

And which you’ll understand once, the time is right.

:)

Lit

Tinkering cups in coffee shops,

Bedecking your nose with,

Red cherry and a lil cream on the top.

Running my hands in your hair,

Picking out nothing,

Just to make sure you really are here.

Damn! There is so much to hear and tell,

But,

You had to leave every now and then.

The annoyance in your eyes,

Restlessness in your breath,

The exasperation in your smiles.

And as you stood up and turned,

Walked out of that door,

More than a thing you burnt.

The night I lay by your side,

Gazing up above,

Into the clear night sky,

We lay there simply counting stars,

Didn’t we cross ninety-five?

When you had to let my hand go,

The red flame this time,

Blurred that memory for sure.

And then once again,

When I hated this world,

And everyone that called themselves sane,

I had only you to return to,

In your jacket I wanted to hide the pain,

Couldn’t breath, I swear I tried,

So repellent it was… my efforts in vain.

You fogged all our memory,

The big little ones,

Both the beautiful and ugly.

Excusing yourself out of the room,

Leave me looking for you every moment,

Expecting your absence like the doom.

There was so much in ’us’ and you know it,

But all that you ever wanted was another cigarette.



___________^^^

Walk to home

Annu stepped out of the white sedan, the laughter inside cutting the white silence of the white winter outside.

“Will you be able to go from here?” Gaurav asked.

“Of course, it the second house from this gate” she replied, the smile still pasted on her face, “Oh and by the way, you still have my ear plugs.” That smile replaced by a mischievous grin this time.

“Ohh Yeah” embarrassingly, Gaurav began digging it in his back pack when Javed, cracked, yet another one-liner from the back seat. And everyone burst out into yet another fit of laughter.

“Good-bye, Annu. Good night”, everyone called out unanimously as the car took a U-turn. It’s whiteness vaporizing in the foggy mist of the night.

She walked towards the huge towering entrance gate, stuffing the ear-plugs in her purse. Her heels in a rhythmic tick-tock. She can carry heels now. Indeed, she’s growing up. Admiringly, Annu admitted to herself.

She reached the society-gate. They kept it close, the outer bigger one, but the small was open for pedestrians. And as she pushed it. She found it was locked too. Damn it!

She stood there frozen. Her friends were gone. It was around 12:50 a.m. by her watch. The roads were deserted, the wind hissing in her ears like a snake. She tried to rationalize as she panicked inside.

“You just have to go round the corner, next gate, a right and a right. That’s it.”

 Hesitantly she took a step. This time the tick-tock of her heels seemed like they were an intruder in the night. An unwelcomed guest. Something that shouldn’t be. Something that better not be.

 “Arre, we’d called the parlour-waali aunty at home when she was telling us about this area. It is not safe. The other day a young lad followed her right up to her door and blocking her way and began showing dirty pictures from his mobile. And she is like in her 50s.”

She turned about in a jerk. She could swear she heard footsteps following her. There was no one. She could see the headlights of a car approaching. Was it slowing down?

She felt the chills that straighten the hair from the back of her neck.

“She even warned about the cars. Stay as close as possible to the gates, and if you sense a car approaching just start ringing the bell. Recently only, a guy in a black DeZire stopped his car near a girl, politely inquiring about an address, and as she turned to show the direction, the other one opened the door and forced her in.”

Her body stiffened it passed by her. She became painfully aware of her surroundings. Even a whoosh of the wind, stopped her breath. She clung as far away from the road as she could, and here comes her turn. This entrance is open even for vehicles.

Her gait is quick but she is couldn’t run. Damn! These heels are killing her. She senses a bike slowing down nearby. Her heartbeat races and growls like- like a hundred engines accelerating yet holding the break, lest it bursts out.  But soon she doesn't hear it anymore. Either it took a turn or killed its engine or whatever, she doesn’t dares to look back and confirm but in that rush of adrenalin continues as fast as her steps allow, her throat is dry.

Silence.

She tries to reason herself out of the fear. She reminds herself how strong she is. She tells herself she can yell and scream and knock on any of the doors, this is a residential area after all someone will come. Then there is this chaukidaar that she can hear even now from this distance. He’d come. Her home isn’t far anymore.

She prays.

Then out of nowhere, she can hear a bike screeching and a loud laughter. Like a roar. The dance of the light, the blaring of the horn, the darkness of the night and the creative faculty of her consternation, paralyze even her blink.

She hears something very close to cuss words and then more of the roar filling every nook and corner of the night. She clutches her bag tightly almost piercing through its leather with her nails. Its engine bursting the dead of the night as it approaches near. She can’t breathe anymore.

Suddenly she found her breath, she found her courage.

Yes, she can. She can fight off anything! She’s Durga. She can. She will.

And the bike hits the break right in front of her. Her left hand is in her purse, ready with the pepper-spray. She forgets the pain in her heels; she’s all set to sprint. Her eyes firm with determination. Her forehead burning like the sun, her eyes focused as she breathes heavily.

Except then the gate of the house next to her opened and a lady stepped out. But Annu doesn’t notice, she’s revisiting all the self taught lessons to combat. Rage and fright battling inside. One trying to win over the other.

“You boys shouldn’t be so loud. The neighbors are sleeping.”

And she was ready with her spray out, as they cut the engine.

“Wait—what?”

It was then she realized. The tension released and her muscles tried to relax. Somehow more scared she ran as quickly as she could. The next right was to her home. A familiar whistle of the ‘chaukidaar’ should’ve cooled her a bit. But didn’t. She was perspiring heavily as she unlocked her door. She threw her purse on the floor. And lay on the bed, motionless. 

Tears rolling down her cheeks. All the horrific thoughts she’d imagined. All the fits she’d fought. The fear that had stabbed her so many times. She was hurt. She was wounded.

A Date

The knife shined,

As she cut,

Slowly.

The wind trapped in her hair,

Or was it him she held?

And oh he sighed,

Remembering how he’d..

He’d so yearned for this sight,

‘He could die.’

And sharp went up her eye,

Her questions never missing,

‘Could he?’

He blinked a little longer,

Honesty, was always his thing,

And she smiled,

Glad they never talk things by.

And in that moment he blinked,

In his arms,

He’d taken her in.

And in a motion too swift,

Exactly like those of her eyelid,

He slit her throat.

In his arms,

She'd once moaned, 

'She could die.'

When he met her gaze again,

The blood still lingered,

And its stain,

On her scarlet lips,

Onto the scarlet scarf.

‘Love is in the air’

Err.. didn’t the horoscope say?

Petting Lightning

Little when she was,

A bolt of lightning she got,

Keep it underneath her pillow

“I am special”, she smiled and thought.

She grew with it,

Carrying it in a casket behind,

Nurtured it and fueled it,

Fighting injustice and its kinds.

Other kids were scared,

Not realizing what it was,

They distanced her and inveighed

And tagged her ‘wierdo-of-their-class’.

Outcast,

Was all she now felt,

Conscious of the ‘curse’ she held,

So grueling to control,

Summoning every bit of her soul,

She decided to lock it away,

And join the ‘normals’ in games,

So,

She borrowed their toys

New and adventurous,

They were supposed to be.

And eager to learn, pretended she.

On a day she found,

A group of ‘outcast’,

She saw a cloud,

That expanded by a clapping sound,

Then a girl hugged it casually,

 Merrily folded it round,

The boy next to her,

Held long threads of silvery light,

He tossed it up,

Like a woolen blanket to hide.

For the first time

She found,

The place she belonged,

And ran and ran

Like a mad girl in town.

Wiping her tears,

She realized,

How much she’d missed it.

He so very much she’d missed it.

She opened the closet,

And from within it did strike

It burnt her left hand

And she was engulfed in fright.

She peeked in slowly,

It was rusted, being itself oxidized,

So angry and down.

Was weak and fragile.

She hugged it closely,

No matter how bad it hurt,

And slowly and slowly

With great perseverance and pain,

She petted the lightning again.

She knew, she was ‘special’,

A second chance she’d got,

And that one realization,

Answered all her doubts

And man she fought!

Like a ferocious beast,

In a single ruthless streak,

She beat,

All that was wrong

All that was wrong.

Cloaked under clouds,

A glimpse of her,

Made men frown,

With a tigerish peek,

And a thunderous roar,

She fiercely beat,

All that was wrong

All that was wrong.

New Girl in the City

New Girl in the city.

Sounds clichéd, doesn’t it? But then my whole life is clichéd…. An introvert girl, with big dreams to ‘create a dent in the universe’, who also happens to sing and write when everyone these days is a singer and a writer. But then as they say ‘You gotta do what you gotta do.. right?’

Sooooo,

Its been like what? almost 4 months now that I moved to this new city. And yesterday I finally unpacked both my cases. (Yeah it took me that long!). Because when the world was busy singing summer lullabies this poor little me was struggling to find a decent roof over my head. Then when that got sorted, a terrific roommate experience was waiting down the line… which tremendously increased my dedication in office work. And as if my unattached and stand-off-ish attitude wasn’t enough the curse of being disconnected followed me here too and my first-pay-expensive-mobile is getting an ear-job. These phones I tell you.. so narcissist they can be ;)

I could count a few more things but ‘The past is in the paaaast! Let it go..let it gooooo” . Now that I’m again writing so who_cares?!. So, this place, where I dwell right now, is fine ( Matthew McConaughey accent). It has a balcony with a white broken swing, a roof high enough to perch upon alone at night and just listen to the stories of the quite whispering wind and also count airplanes. The neighborhood so idyllic, straight out of a story from a modern-ish ‘Malgudi Days’.

It often makes me nostalgic when I see students hailing their bus prepped up for school. I wonder who left their diary or notebook or pencil-box or even worse their homework in the rush. An infant lives just across the street and when I look down my balcony I can see the grand-dada appeasing her with all kinds of tricks. But her tantrums are unassailable! Phew!

Morning joggers in their tide white t-s and black shorts and the strappy running shoes passing a smile at the two aunties who in their flowery printed pink salwaar kameez seem like the ultimate fountain of all the love and comfort that a ripe age can brings upon, carrying back-home a few white freshly plucked, still dewy flowers .

There are even night-walkers discussing all kinds future plans into whose conversation I like to eavesdrop as I shadow them on my way back after having earned my daily bread.

I miss you my friends. Again the clichéd “I never thought I would.. with all of my  books, my new friends, a heavy project in office, free wi-fi …” I most certainly do! And it’s not like that if I call you and we talk for some time I’ll feel better. I’d just miss you more. L

And yes! Above all, I miss you ‘Technika T-shirt’. I simply hate it every morning when I have to think what to wear, and the answer is not you.

Wow! Such a long descriptive piece!  Haven’t written so long ever since I was introduced to the concept of Precise Writing. Hehe J

Hate it or love it,

Challenge me or pamper me

In a whiff “time” will fly,

Yet “Tous les jours je crée ma vie"

A bit of French cliché ;).

But then there are so many things I have to say and here comes yet another cliché “I can’t find the right words” so I decided on going rebel (EeeHaa!) and wrote this one with all the wrong ones. ;)

Right or wrong. Life just goes on.

:)