Chali Kahani-3

I rode in a crazy yellow car with him, I gazed at stretch into the distant green light through his eyes, I drenched myself inside out waiting for her. All he ever wanted was for Daisy to love him and no one else. They say he could kill a man with his bare hands, could he? The enigmatic aura that hangs around my neighbor, Mr. Jay Gatsby, is mesmerizing and dazzling and leaves one spell bound but underneath he is just a guy who fell irretrievably in love.

I learnt from all the alchemists’ scripts the old and the new. I closed the world outside and found a way to create life. And look at what I did! I created a monster. And that demonic creature haunts me and has sworn to kill me and I know it will. He created me and flee when he lay his eyes on me the very first time. To him I am a hideous monster. I ran away and tried to make myself good enough for them. But never did they lay a compassionate eye on me. I shall take revenge from my creator! I am a monster and so will I.

I saw him dead in the garden. I wrapped him in my arms. The police arrived and they asked me to move away. I don’t like answering to them. They arrest me and take me to the station. My dad comes and saves me. I resolve to solve this case and write my first book. My dad doesn’t like this and he makes me promise not to ‘poke my nose in other people’s business’. I do as he says. But now I can’t trust him. I have to run away. I am all alone on this station and I am screaming. I lie in my bed but I want to go back to write my exam I have been preparing for. I have to. Please take me back.

“I mean, if you’re asking a fellow to come out of a room so that you can dismember him with a carving knife, it’s absurd to tack a ‘sir’ on to every sentence. The two things don’t go together.”

Lighten up now, you chappy old fella! and take that restive position, lay back and let yourself slide into this leisurely cozy world of dimwit Bertie Wooster and the inimitable Jeeves. I won’t be exaggerating if I compare this encounter to a lavish massage on the beach of Anse Lazio. This time Jeeves has started working for Bertie’s old chap Chuffy. (What!). Bertie’s one time fiancé Pauline is here (Fiancé! Yes Yes) and there is sneaking and jealousy and stealing and what not!

Please Please one more Pleeeeese!!

“There are moments, Jeeves, when one asks oneself, ‘Do trousers matter?’”

It seems the only way to get out of this complicated situation is to steal the cow creamer. Gussies’s fears need to be soothed. He must be confident to stand up in front of his to-be father-in-law. Stiffy Byng has to have a dog and she needs proof of her lover’s love by him pinching a policeman’s helmet. This is the epic family drama, this is the worst kind of blackmailing, this is hiding for the fear of life, this is jumping, this is the ultimate test for Bertie to prove his grit and stand by the ‘Code of Woosters’.

One more Woodehouse please. This is the last. I promise.

A summer to fight for love. A summer to save the beloved pig, Empress. A summer to prove one’s sanity. A summer to distract a writer from writing his memoir. A summer of impersonation. A summer to follow the love of one’s life. A summer for dressing up for the British style tea time. A summer secret meetings in the rose garden. This is the fantastic Summer Lighting.

The end of this series with the Olive Green Book which says:

We must love someone,

We must keep loving,

All our days,

Someone, anyone, anywhere,

Outside of ourselves;

For even the sarus crane,

Will grieve over its lost companion,

And the seal its mate.

Somewhere in life, there must be someone,

To take your hand,

And share the torrid day,

Without the touch of love,

There is no love,  and we must fade away.

Chali Kahani: A compilation of some of the books i read in 2016.

1. Great Gatsby: F.Scott Fitzgerald

2. Frankestein: Mary Shelly

3. The Curious incident of the dog at nighttime:  Mark Haddon

4. Thank You Jeeves!: P.G.Wodehouse

5. Code of Woosters: P.G.Wodehouse

6. Summer Lightning: P.G.Wodehouse

7. A book of Simple Living: Ruskin Bond.

:)

Chali Kahani-2

“What would you like to have Miss?”

“Feminism on the rocks”

I am Jane. Like my name, my story is quite plain. I was raised unwillingly by my aunt, sent to a Lowood Institute. I am compassionate and kind at heart and am made of all the good things. But most importantly, I have a sense of me. I am woman who is strong and stands firmly to her opinions that you might find a novelty considering the women in my generation, all willing to put themselves so low so as to gain a husband. But not me. I have found for myself a position as a governess to Adele at Thornfield. It was here that I fell in love with a rather ill looking man, who made me suffer on accord of his callousness and made go through the stings of jealousy and what not, even when he proposed me to be his wife, I had more of ill-fate in stored for me. But I never stooped low because no matter how insignificant I may seem, I am Jane. I am Jane Eyre and to me my pride stands above all.

Now that we are in the times gone by and pride is in the theme, let me introduce myself I am Elizabeth Bennet I am the second eldest daughter in the family of five sisters and all the girls are out. I first met an obnoxious and arrogant Mr.Darcy at a ball where he refused to dance with me because I was not upto his taste. He is the man to be blamed for my sister’s tragic sadness. He confessed his love for me despite all my flaws and I hate him from the core of my heart. Our paths keep crossing and slowly my prejudices that ruled my pride gave way to his benevolence and the rest we all know because we have all watched Keira Knightley in “Pride an Prejudice”. Right?

I was a misfit. I was even diagnosed with depression when I was a teenager. I stole from malls and ran in the wrong kind of group. And now, I made it into the Forbes as one of the richest self made women in the world I am Sophia Amoruso. I began buying cheap retro stuff of the street market and tidied it and decorated it and often even modeled for it and sold it on ebay. With time my business named ‘Nasty Girl’ grew and I have few lessons to pass on the new girls. Like: “It is cool to be kind. It is cool to be weird. It is cool to be honest and secure with oneself.” “You create your world blink by blink and its all yours to create”. “You’ve got to show up and own it.” ”Fortune favors Action!”. Be #GirlBoss.

A women comedian, it is not easy to get there and make one’s place in the man’s world, with the knowledge that most of them had a jar of piss in their office. I worked to move to that place, to be able to write for SNL, then be on TV, a special thanks to my striking resemblance to Sarah Pauline. Then I went on to create a series 30 RockI have a daughter too. This is my witty journey upto this point in my BossyPants.

I am Katniss Everdeen, ever since my Dad died my mother lost the sense of being, I have been the guardian of this family. I bring food to the table by hunting that my father taught. I live in a dystopian world, where humans are chosen to put a fight in an arena for the entertainment of the rich. I volunteer for the slaughter because I have to protect my sister Primrose. I play the Hunger Games and defeat them in their games, I am called in again and this time I shatter the whole system. I join the rebels and fight them to the true liberation for us. I am the girl on fire. I am Katniss Everdeen.

 My husband  is cheating on me. I can’t just leave him. He traced her lips with the same two fingers in the snowy night as he did with me when I fell in love with him in the sugar storm. I cannot forgive him. It’s our anniversary and I have a puzzle for him.. I wish to crack open her skull and know what goes on inside it. She is pregnant with my kid and I haven’t touched her in…. She is amazing Amy and after all that we’ve been through I’d be insane to stay with the Gone Girl. But I will.

Wild. A solo trek through Pacific Crest Trail. This is me. My mother died and I don’t know what to do anymore. I am at that place in life when I have no clue where life is taking me. Spontaneously I put in all my savings, sell all the belongings I had and decide to trek. I don’t know what answers I hope to find because truthfully I don’t know the question. I just know that I have to complete this trek. I have to. I have to. I follow some footsteps and I lead some but ultimately this is my trek and this is my struggle. 

Chali Kahani: A compilation of some of the books i read in 2016.

1. Jane Eyre: Charollte Bronte

2. Pride and Prejudice: Jane Austen

3. GirlBoss: Sophia Amoruso

4. BossyPants: Tina Fey

5. Hunger Games Series: Suzzanne Collins.
6. Gone Girl: Gillian Flyen
7. Wild: Chreyl Strayed

Chali Kahani-1

2016 began when in the summer of 1947, I boarded a train to find sojourn in a small town called Mano Majra. It was an odd familiarity. I was there when the muslims were forced to abandon their homes, when stories of the atrocities done to Hindus made one question the very nature of humanity. I saw what Jugga Singh, the infamous dacoit, did for his love, when the civilized were blinded by rage to do unspeakable things to their neighbors and justify it in the name of revenge. I was there, hanging by a thread, because I had boarded this Train to Pakistan in the crisp and impeccable writing of Khuswant Singh.

Not much later, Salman Rushdie wrapped me in complete awe when he offered me a hole he’d drilled to peep in the mystery, that Kashmir is. While I was busy being lost in its magnificence and grandeur, I hardly noticed the libidinous eyes of some on it. I was too ignorant to understand why was Kashmir no less than a raped victim? How was it that a innocent child born in this heaven willingly embraces hell? Why a general named his beloved daughter India and why did a clown chose to be his driver? It was like riding a swing, back and forth,  into realism and reality, that inflated my heart with wonder while rising up and churned my stomach with revulsion as it went down. It was here, that I met a clown who called himself, Shalimar.

Growing up was tough. For me and for you too. You had your struggles I had mine.

I was a beloved child of my parents, because of my quite nature and the fact that only one classmate turned up on my farewell party they were all the more sacred for me. Nonetheless they sent me to boarding school, Culver Creek. My special skill, I memorize last words. I lived with a roommate who hid vodka in his milk. He introduced me to everyone around, and I immediately made enemies. I was strapped and drowned. But I shall not complain, because he introduced me to Alaska Young. J I had the time of my life in that one year. ‘If people were rain, I was  drizzle and she was hurricane.’ And I am here seeking my ‘Great Perhaps’ and still Looking for Alaska.

I am half Asian and a wee bit different and she, the strangest of all. She sat next to me in the bus, and peeped into my comics. I let her. She never talked. I let her. Soon we did. I let her. She came to my home and we read together. I let her. And she had to leave. I let her. Eleanor was my first love and this is me, Park I drove her in my car to that place afar.

Hi,  I am Charlie and I am a wallflower. And this is my perk story.

I grew up in Afghanistan, was nothing like my father and somewhat a disappointment. I used to fly kites and the only way I could impress him was to win the city Kite Competition, which I did but that day turned to a nightmare for me and its memories haunted me ever since. The ghastly memory chased me like a demon and even though I had left everything behind when I moved to America, I had to return because someone once promised me’ a thousand times over’ and fate had given me a second chance.

Get off me. Really. Don’t bother me with any of your silly remarks or questions. I’ll turn away right now no matter how much I like you. Even if I am here to say my last good bye. I am Holden Caulfield and this Is my story and it is yours. I failed in four out of five classes and I am as irritated as you were/are. I am running away and I don’t intend to run away to my home. I will maybe just hang out in a pub, maybe hop and meet my sister before leaving. I’ll smoke one more cigarette. What next thing will I do I don’t have the slightest idea. But I sure will do something. I’ll smoke, did I already say that I’ll do It again. I am the ‘Catcher in the Rye’.

I must have been drunk or maybe it was the smoke, I woke up in ….. I hung out with people who did their jobs in the day and spent their evenings in bars and pubs and drunk like savages I met a Lady Brett Ashley and she bewitched me. She loved me, was marrying a heavy-drinker war veteran, Mike Campbell and hung out with a Duke and planned to elope with Pedro. I saw a town Pamlpona dressed up for a fiesta. I watched bull fighting. And I saw the cruelty and beauty in it. I saw the night crawlers and the day dreamers and there was me who had given up on love which stood in front of me but was unreachable. But no matter what “The Sun Also Rises”.

Chali Kahani: A compilation of some of the books i read in 2016.

1. Train to Pakistan -Khushwant Singh

2. Shalimar the Clown- Salman Rushdie

3. Looking for Alaska- John Greene

4. Eleanor and Park- Rainbow Rowell

5. Perks of being a wall flower- Stephen Chobsky

6. The Kite Runner- Khaled Hosseni

7. Catcher in the Rye- J.D. Salinger

8. The Sun Also Rises- Ernest Hemmingway

Love Story

Like every great love story, this one began even before it had begun. Or perhaps just like everything that is embodied by love is blurred, so is this. The beginning or the end, there is none and there never could be one.

‘The curtains began to pull as the soft cadence of the orchestra was dying behind it. Every eye in the theater was damp , their breath held under the heaviness of a desperate sigh and they sat on the seats like a candle spent and exhausted to the very core. As the roar of claps rose crushing the vacuum of silence, everyone stood up in awe of not just the musicians but the music itself. In the flirt of the guitar, in the romance of the piano, in the longing of the saxophone and in every nuance the audience lived a lifetime’

The next day as he was reading the review, he pulled out a dictionary and searched for the word cadence.

'Ah Cadence!a modulation or inflection of the voice.’ Or a ‘a sequence of notes or chords comprising the close of a musical phrase’

.

'Beautiful beautiful… ' and lost in thoughts he wondered if someone would remember him.. if someone would look him up. A long shot because he knew he was the poetic kinds. He wasn’t usually invited to fancy, big parties. It were the drunk poets, running high on liquor and emotions that called him up. Every time he thought he had seen a heart in the worst state the next summon would prove him otherwise. But he could never change what he was. A replacement for ‘little bit’.

She woke up like a blossom. Reached for the newspaper and greedily gorged her eyes into the review. Yeah she made it. She was there. That piece was special, she cut it and pasted it in her journal and while at it, she tried to read so well so as to memorize every word of it. That’s when she laid eyes on Nuance. She wasn’t sure how to pronounce it. Noo-ance? Nu-aaance? (N) Unace? N (u) ance? She had to look him up.

'Nuance: a subtle difference in or shade of meaning, expression, or sound.'

She had always been a fan of Subtle. The word was a beautiful mystery to her. It means a slight, delicate distinction between things, but look at it.. it carries an extra ‘b’ with it that has no voice to it. And now Nuance. So unheard of like the quality of  imperceptible it embodies. One needs a keen eye to spot it and a curious heart to understand it.

Tonight she is invited to a big fancy dinner party. Ever since her mention in the first line of the review, she has become quite a popularity. Somehow she finds herself in paragraphs she has no business being in, or in some speeches from such foul mouths that even she cursed under her breath. But this is going to end soon.. she is too heavy a word to stick and too beautiful to turn up in rough use.

Tonight he is invited to a grandiose party. That's strange. He’d know a couple of fellas yes, and he’d sit by himself in the corner bar drain down a few bourbon and drive back home. Not bad a plan…

Until he saw her. Just as beautiful as ever. Her softness glows on her, she comes over to for her martini and he… well he hiccups! Umm… rhythmic hiccups.

 ‘Well that’s an everlasting first impression’ he mutters to himself in the interlude, of course.

Everyone is gathered around and the typing begins. It’s a roller coaster. The highs and the lows. The frantic typing like thunder banging a door and then the serenity of the sea.. they are all up all night. When the writer types in the last sentence.

“their footsteps in the woods shush the elves as they disappear in the nuancescadence.”

‘Oo’ squeaks Cadence. ‘He missed the space bar!’. She blushes. He is embarrassed.

And then the back space hits.

“their footsteps in the woods shush the elves as they disappear in their dying cadence.”

As the writer slowly drifts off in a slumber, the words begin to leave. Cadence reaches out to Nuance.

‘Sorry you couldn’t make it’ she says.

‘Yeah its okay, he wasn’t drunk enough I guess.’

She doesn’t smile. So he continues..

‘He’ll probably shred this one. There was more in his head than what he let out.’ he says unable to keep his eyes off her.

‘Of course you’d notice!’

He looks at her quizzical.

‘I know what you mean’ she says shyly.

He is astonished and some more.

As time passes they get to meet more often. Sometimes both just as passing thoughts of the author or either in desperate failed attempts. It was so difficult to place them together in a paragraph!

They knew and they understood, both had flaws and both had trouble fitting in and both were hauntingly beautiful. When they’d meet in the author’s mind, acknowledging their acceptance to be far fetched, they’d dream of lying by the ocean looking at the stars when Nuance would slip his hands in Cadence’s and she’d let them slowly grip hers’. They'd smile and sigh and wish upon a shooting star. Aren’t love stories just adorable?

Time flew fast, as it always does. One question disturbed both. Their oblivion. Everyone knew how words got lost into some irretrievable mesh. They loose meaning and are replaced. They had found each other but they hadn’t met their own destiny. And this hollowness, sweet promises of love couldn’t fill.

When one day.

In an ally that reeked of hopelessness, of regrets, of choked emotions, of trapped cries, of vacuums that sucked life, they were invited. Both held onto each other, too scared to run off and build their own world, they stood close.

“the labyrinth caught up to her,

 but so did her wings,

 which no one took notice of,

 until she jumped from the cliff,

 For as long as the curtain rose and fell,

 someone smiled,

 someone all along knew the brave nuance,

 all along after the cadence died.”

Thus Cadence dies to her fate still holding hands with Nuance. Everytime.

Nothing is immortal, nothing can be. But what passes on is often just the last two lines of an obscure poem.

 :) 

Winter to Meet

Meet me when it snows,

Meet me when everything is cold,

Meet me upon icy stairs of the castle white,

Meet me under faint street lights.

 

Meet me with lips frozen,

Meet me with words broken,

Meet me on fogged rendezvous,

Meet me with warm eyes and nails blue.

Meet me with a trail of footsteps,

Meet me with hair trapped in snow net,

Meet me in restless anticipation,

Meet me in true incarnation.

Meet me on the way,

Keep meeting me along the way,

And meet me in infinite ways of ways,

Meet me, it’s possible only today.

Light Me Up!

I can no longer bear with the stench of the rotten conversation on the table. So I walk right out the bar without saying a word. I hear a couple of voices calling me out. But if I stay any longer I know I’d hate them all, irrecoverably, for the rest of my life. I hate hating anyone. So I leave.

My phone keeps vibrating. I hate it when it vibrates. So I just ignore it. Three glasses of neat scotch washed down my throat and nobody can tell. That’s me. I don’t allow myself to get drunk. But drinking makes me nervous. See for most people drinking blurs the line between white and black and everything kinda blurs. For me everything turns black or white. There is no mid way. That really makes me nervous. When you are unable to bull-shit yourself it gets very depressing. That’s a fact. All truths are depressing. All lies- exhilarating.

I am trying hard to breath and man it is difficult. Panic stage-alpha. So I bump a cigarette. I am not a “regular” smoker but I just can’t breathe right now. So I light one and take-in a nice long puff. You really have to take in the first time, then hang in there for a second or two while you sort-of mull over the smoke before letting it go. It’s basically meditation. Breathe-in a- 1-and- a-2 Breathe-out.

I wish it was cold. Like really really cold. And my fingers were numb. I like my fingers numb and sore. when I cannot feel them. I like pinching them hard then, and see the white turn a little red. Just a little. It’s like when you pinch yourself to know if everything is real. But nothing hurts so this isn’t real. ‘This reality is just pretend?’I like to believe it is pretend.

‘I thought you didn’t smoke.’

 I turned around startled and there he is, with his nonchalant manners, long fingers and killer smile. Well the smile is more kind of crooked. I bet he has a nice folded handkerchief in his pocket. He always has one. I mean who keeps them these days?  But he smiles a lot. Like a lot. I ignore him.

 ‘Really? we are ignoring now?’

I don’t want to talk to him. I don’t. I am dying to talk to him.

‘You really can hold a drink, can’t you?’

I get angry. I get angry over everything and nothing. Really that anger department is all screwed up. I have often thought of segregating the things that should make me angry and the things that should not. For reference, in the future, because I always mix them up.

‘What? You want me to get all tipsy and be all over you just because I am drunk?’

I turn away sharply. (Hah!). He walks up to me slowly. And smiles. Did I tell you he smiles a lot? So there he is smiling. ‘Yeah you wish!’

This should make me even more furious because he ruined my perfectly-snarky come-back with a lame smile and a lame line. But I? I am smiling now.

‘So…  on the run again?’

‘Noooo I am not. I am blending right in. In fact so much so I might be incognito. I laugh when everyone laughs, I compliment, I smile and everything. I do every shit. I am not running away. I am right there, in there, participating at all levels. I even talked to my supy for a promotion. I am even investing in the dammed stock market! In fact before you escorted your beastly ass here, I was in there with them, having a lively conversation.’

‘So why did ya leave?’

‘Just needed a smoke.’

‘There is smoke room in every bar here’

‘Also some fresh air.’

‘Hmm… Did you draw something lately?’

Silence.

‘I did really like that idea through. The one to draw the city skyline with ashes from your cigarette.’

Silence.

‘Hey do you remember your ‘above and this side down’ which you drew on your commerce exam sheet?’

We burst into child-like chortles.

‘That was ages ago!! How do you even know? You weren’t even there!’

And that snobbish smile of his. 

‘I am now and you madam, dream about it every single night’.

‘Yeah the teacher really had no sense of humor. She gave me F+. What does that even mean?’

‘Really? Haha! You dream about the skyline too every night.’ He said softly.

Silence.

‘Watch your fingers, the cigarette is dying.’

I looked down; it was really just the bud left. I turned back to him. But he was fading into millions of tiny red sparks. No fumes.

Yeah I wish!!

I wish tomatoes squash on your brow,

Whenever you frown and fret,

I wish you never get your signature right,

Without a quick little pirouette.

I wish you fart fire,

Let the couch be proof of the cake you sneaked.

And I wish you could only sing Opera,

Whenever you get furious and mad at me.

I wish you were a Sand-witch artist,

And we 'iiiiiiiiiiiinsist' people take sand baths,

And I wish your ears grew long into spikes,

Whenever I felt bored, and life kinda dragged.

I wish we celebrated birthdays,

On two dates alternating each year,

And I wish you did Impressions then,

Of Frankenstein’s monster fighting frizzly bear.

I wish you wrote in snow,

Words actually melt as I read (and they made sense),

And I wish we keep meeting there,

Awkwardly gazing our phones, waiting for someone else.

I wish we knew each other like strangers,

Till one day when we don’t,

Then I wish you fart nervously,

Well.. that’s when you tell yourself "God! Please Nooooooo".

;) ;)

All night.

Slowly it was slipping, my aching soul,
Into my own dungeons, old, dark and cold.

Sometimes in reminiscence, sometimes in suns yet to rise,
But I didn't let go, I put up a fight.

Fueled it with dreams, uncloaked the lies,

And I kept hope up all night.

/* Morning.. */

It was the kind of morning, the sun under gossamer… the chirpy-chirp-chirp birds riding the rollercoaster of the winds which blasts the lungs with such powerful hopes and sinew with the heartbeat with the finishing of a professional motivator. You take it all in. After all you did spend most of the night yesterday tussling with your own logic bomb and finally did emerge a champion in your red cape and gold crown. (Err..commenting the code is still left). The rhythmic cadence of the breeze only adds to the messiness of your hair. You stand in your balcony gulping in the morning tea and just looking, at nothing and everything. The rain teases you with a few drops but then changes its mind like a fickle child who on finding a different toy, shrieks with such enthusiasm that you get goose bumps from that pristine and unreasonable joy.

And then you put on your pretty pink shoes and then ponder for just a moment about the earphones on the side table. Then give up the idea coz the whispers the outside seem to be revealing secrets from some buried coffers perhaps. (Commenting won’t take much time…)

So you rush down the road, skip a puddle or two, your curious eyes collecting every stray penny of pleasure, be it the token of nascence from the freshly bathed leaves, which are still dribbling through their wet taut hair or their sudden dissemination of dash of water on you as they jerk towards you or the trail of their after shower scent that now clings to your shoulder like a pet squirrel.

“No longer hysteric or frantic… when I said I love you, I meant it…. So tell me I can win… Coz tonight we are Infinte’. Hums your head, and you make no effort to supplant that thought. (Except you know you could’ve just have already added the comments). Then as you reach that park, you greet it with an unabashed smile of two old accomplices.

You look around and it’s all the same on this unique morning. The same three midgets on the bench in south corner, capping one nostril with a finger and trying to breath in or out with the other, while making sharp observatory incredibly serious small talks. Then the lone guy, impeccably dressed in white shorts and navy blue tee, ear plugs stuffed and a stern look on his face. His speed never wavering, he rides the path like the moon rides its orbit, nonchalantly and indefatigably.

Then there are the two, fattish ladies on the side, near the swing. Taking turns in being diligent to touch their feet. You look at them and you know or maybe you don’t. But, somehow, you still do that when they’ll get back they will indulge themselves in another treat of cheese burst pizza for all the effort they put in the morning exercise. Then there are always a bunch of kids playing Frisbees and/or badminton (they probably have already completed their home-code to the very end) and of course on the center of the stage, a harmonious group of very to semi old, grandfather-ish figures, and their tryst with yoga.

Now once you have surveyed your ground like a mean fox. You hit the road, I mean, the pavement and begin your round of rounds. You know you’d lose the count, but you inevitably begin with it. Habits! (phew).(Why not have the habit to put in the comment as soon as the code looks good to go). You observe the trees now. Like some gossip mongers, they come close, they say something and lo! Pull apart as if laughing out loudly over the inside joke they shared. And then the sunrays start peeking through the leaves and you try hard to remember that Japanese word you learnt that day for it. Korumbi? Komidi? What was it?! And you take a mental note to check it out. (*chuckles* like those comments I remember to put in?!)

 You go past all the white jasmine and then the red hibiscus. And it takes you to the nostalgia trip to grandma, you see her face and its not from memory because its talking to you in real time. It edifies you that the red ones are a favorite of Shivji, and then the eyes close but the lips begin to dance and you are lost in whatever this is, which of course you don’t remember. And you jerk back with that grumbling stomach that you get because well… you haven’t commented the code yet.

Now as you turn back to run to the gates and then to the room and then to the laptop…

” The world ain’t all sunshine and rainbows. It’s a very mean and nasty place and I don’t care how tough you are it will beat you to your knees and keep you there permanently if you let it. You, me, or nobody is gonna hit as hard as life. But it ain’t about how hard ya hit. It’s about how hard you can get hit and keep moving forward. How much you can take and keep moving forward. That’s how winning is done! Now if you know what you’re worth then go out and get what you’re worth. But ya gotta be willing to take the hits, and not pointing fingers saying you ain’t where you wanna be because of him, or her, or anybody! Cowards do that and that ain’t you! You’re better than that!”…

And you are not sure if that even fits! “But you are better than that! You can comment your code! Coz you are better than that!”….Yes I am better than that! I can put comments in my code! I can write perfectly legible, reusable and concise and precise and…. Code!

So you spend the next couple of hours restructuring, cleaning up and commenting. And once again you get up and pop your funny little head out. And come back running with almost the same speed as you did the last time to place a one-day delivery order for a larger bottle of sun-screen.

;) :) ;) 

All I want...

I am no Lucifer, within me no angel lies,

Yet from great heights I keep falling in front of my eyes,

Swirling down in a whirlpool,

Shredding wings battling in typhoons,

And I ask myself, ‘why don’t I give up to begin with?’

And I crave for new beginnings to give up on and be done with.

So young I am, that it aches and yearns and bursts with energy,

So I burn and drown and try so hard that I can barely breathe,

Yet emerge alive and unfortunately survive,

Chiding my recklessness as I grow older by the daylight,

And I ask myself, ’when did my naivety, I loose and begun doubting paths I choose?’

And I crave to be younger and to be perished in my pursuits.

I feel it physically, as the distant places pull me,

With so great a force I can barely move my feet,

And it’s no longer just gravity,

That me to the ground keeps,

And I ask myself, ’is there any place other than this that I can possibly be?’

And I crave for just one strong pull; just a sole pull to set me free.

I know I am lost, so lost so lost!

But so familiar is this place, I move about like a cloaked ghost

I have deliberately strayed;

Am not trapped in this solved maze,

And I ask myself, ’what’s the glory in being found from here?’

And so I crave to be lost more in a tale nobody dares.

I call myself a seeker incessantly in search of something ‘new’,

I end up finding the same truth; they say it’s within under layers quite a few,

I take some of its part and leave my bit in it,

Tainting the new-found, labeling no longer fit,

And I ask myself, ‘what quest was it that ended rendering it no longer new?’

And I crave for a quest that ends never and keeps me to it forever sinew.

I am in pain, its excruciating as hell,

It heightens and proliferates in measures I cannot tell,

When broken wings and broken dreams,

Turn about and stab in, everything, for a tiny moment, is at peace,

And I ask myself, ‘what is left in me that obstructs me from the final peace out?’

And I crave to be broken more and be hushed down once and for all.

For once in love I fell and man it was ecstatic,

Inside the gates of boundless amazement, time with you I never regretted,

But I was ordained to let you go,

And prove to them my solemn oath,

And I asked myself, ’is letting go the yardstick for my love to thee?’

And I craved to love you more; and more and more until I gather the strength to set you free.

:) :)..

Just makes sense...

Whisper wishes to every butterfly I see,

And reach out for your hand walking down the street,

And dip my marie mindlessly in your tea,

And not sleep till you text me ‘Reached J‘,

Because that makes sense to me.

And listen to ‘A Thousand years’ on repeat,

And relive each of your blink and heartbeat,

And memorize all the sweet things you say to me,

And make you listen to all the songs beautiful and deep,

Because that makes sense to me.

And whistle when you look suave and neat,

And woo when you bring me white lilies,

And let you hold the door for me,

And not judge when you steal my ice-cream,

Because that makes sense to me.

And shop endlessly online for ‘us’ regularly,

And cancel it all the moment you make me angry,

And weave dreams and colorful big fantasies,

And make you a part of it, in every detail subtly,

Because that makes sense to me.

:)..

Unheard Notes.

Like the flutter of eye lashes beneath the spects dark,

Like the gulp of words on the rustle of sleeves not so far-apart.

Like the resistance of the dry leaves under the heels,

Like the quite ripples on a surface otherwise serene,

Like the clack of heels on a dance floor of tango,

Like the whoosh of the skirt in a full circle ‘giro’.

Like the truumm of water filling an empty glass.

Like the nudge and poke into a dreamy reality, a ‘dream’ at last.

Like the hushed slithering of a sneaking Doubtsnake,

Like the boastful voice in a dumb blind-eye’s way,

Like the screech of a blinding light, a (sudden) deafening sound,

Like the crumble of walls and roofs everything above or below the ground,

Like the shatter of crockery one by one or altogether it could be,

Like the thunder of words from a mouth that just couldn’t speak,

Like the klunk of knives rushing through the blood,

Like the storming footstep of a little sweet dove.

Like the hustle of sheets and pillow and hair and unattended tears,

Like the audacious silence of yet another night reliving all fear,

Like the incoherent clincking of everything unbroken everywhere,

Like the smash of a soul squishing under something heavy and itself scared.

Like the shush of the receding waves,

Like the hollow echoes in shells of memories vain,

Like the chilly embrace of nothingness,

Like the warm hug of acceptance.

Like the wooh of winds from a window ajar,

Like the clackety-clack of train switching paths,

Like the tremble of steps a little too shaky and uncertain,

Like the swoosh of tires on a street fresh after rain,

Like the ballerina, white lily, coming back into sight,

Like the chink that remains allowing a passage to light,

Like the ta-faak of red as the carpet is laid,

Like the rising crescendo as the mark is made.


:)

Oversized Sweatshirt

(An Excerpt)

It wasn’t really for me. My mum had bought it for my elder brother. But man did I fall for it! It’s color was so soft like blanched almonds..And as I tried it on, it felt like a warm hug. And I looked myself in the mirror and felt happy and it was silly because it was just a sweatshirt. I have a closet full of it in different shades and styles. But this just felt right. Though it was big. My mum asked to take it out and let my brother try it on. And I prayed it wasn't his size.

It wasn't.

Had I asked for anything else I would have got but then there wasn’t anything else I wanted more. Not even an extra chocolate cube in my milk at night. They were discussing to get a size bigger for him, when I squeamishly asked if I could keep it? Obviously mum reminded me of the many I already had and also that this was bigger. But I just kept pleading more and more and assured them that I’d grow into it. I guess it was the idea of me growing big that appealed to her the most because she conceded. For she always feels I’ll remain ‘ little’ and so she’s always scared for me. I know and also I wish knew why.

But the happy thing is I got to keep it. And that night and in many more nights to come I realized how perfect it was.

Like, one could play detective, pull up the hood and squish their eyes and meticulously look for mice steps on the carpet. It hides my protruding belly when I eat ice cream for the whole week still making me feel that I am in the perfect shape. And the Kangaroo pocket! Could it beeee any better! Because most of the time I really don’t know what to do with my hands. And this is like panacea.

Also it stores memories so well. Like the delectable curry from last night and chasni drops from the day before. Also once I hid the bunch of white roses I’d bought for my grandma under it. The hoods of the sweatshirts are multi-purpose. Catch hold of a trying-to-run-away friend, a keep house for eggs for my nemesis. And also the other day when I left it on the sofa Oly slept in it and I sat next to it rubbing his ears.

I also think it is the best kind of beach wear. It’s so reassuring to imagine a walk in the night by the sea on full moon nights without catching cold. Easy to collect shells and also the wind could fill it up syncing with the ebbs and flows of the sea. Wow.

It comes with a snack complimentary for the horror movies. (if you know what I mean ) It treasures the unattended tear rolling and records the heart’s wild knocking. It hugs me back when I need it and gives me space when I need. It sure does know me more than my journal.

I really do love my oversized sweatshirt.

:)

Whore.

Poetry you are such a whore.

I wanted you to be my lover and more,

My sun, my moon and stars, the seas and shores,

But it turns out you are just another whore.

Your rosy cheeks and scarlet lips,

That playful smile and curvy hips,

And O those inquisitive eyes lined beyond the tip,

You had me seduced in your first eyelash whip.

Alone as I walked in the crowded fairs, so conscious of my skin and unknown glares

Then you came out of nowhere, sliding your hand into mine without a care,

You pointed to me the colors I’d knowing missed, I guess I was scared,

And I saw the world through your wide grin and mischievous eyes.

And somehow it made sense to talk and laugh and see and live and cry.

So I worked up the courage to kiss you in that crowed street, yeah I did,

Though I feared you’d run away, still I dared.

I’ve never felt so lucky when you didn’t go and stood there, blushing not scared.

But then you did something strange,

The reason you never explain.

I wanted my friends to know you just as I do

But you hid, and they tried to make me let you go.

It was when I hit the rock bottom and lay helplessly on deep ocean bed, rotten,

You hugged me tight and cuddled me and we made love like spirits, forever free,

Suddenly I was not so bitter and sour and sinking, wasn’t a feeling I regretted anymore.

On lonely dark nights, when nothing dares to shine bright,

You silently stand by the door, your breath knocking it up and down,

And you ask me what I want you to be today, ‘Let's have dinner’ I say.

You serve me poison on beautifully laid plates, and I savor every bit of the taste.

There is no wine, I don’t need it anyway, when you are here, it’s already a…. Highway.

Then as you have to leave, I beg silently, ‘you are all I need’,

Instead I, I taunt ‘you are just another whore to me’,

And you raise an eye and I see the infinite minds you botch regularly,

And I pay, pay? Everything I ever had, you make it yours, furtively rob me.

Poetry,

 You are just another whore to me.