I am selfish and you fail to see

I say I'm your guardian angel 
and I shall protect you..
I say I shall be there for you..
so slowly you rely on me..
I say I love you for ever so..
slowly you look up to me....
I say...
I shall never let you down....
so that you can always wait for me....
but all I want.....is to clip your wings...
to clip your dreams..so that
When your inhibitions are Shed 
and you are weak...
In this weakness on me alone you shall rely...
no I do not want you to fly..
just to be an extension of My whims..
and extension of Me 
My Reflective Personality








May, 02,2010

Pensive

I am pensive
not so blase....
the red ink has been spilled 
on the crisp white paper...
and I do not want to clean it....
let the red take its course...
deep...lines running across
...falling short of movement...
is it blood!!!
I think for a fraction...
what wonders can red lines do..
keep you living...
ticking ...thinking.
...stagnating
...


05TH MAY , 2010

night-hour rushed in

when sleep eludes and clutters clear...all I have is the ink to smear....

Its been almost a week and I see night has been playing a role reversal for me...my night is turning into my day...the hour passing by with the silent ticking of the clock...during the day I don't even notice that the clock makes a ticking sound...or that the fan makes its own noise of cutting the air quick and random...even the curtain flapping becomes so prominent..the pillow falling off with a thud...nights were meant to mean the end of a days tiring and toiling...nights were meant to be calm dark and silent.. work..all rest...

The techie age has changed it all for us weirdly ...when sleep eludes mobile phones come so handy..and you can tune in to your favourite FM station and listen to all the songs being played at behest...or else you can listen to your own playlist in your phone...sometimes you wonder..they don't make music like before...where words had a soulful meaning to them....
anyway..as I blinked away into the blank..bland dark of my ceiling...my earphones plugged to my ears and my phones clutched in my hand...my thoughts weirdly drifted to the guys who spend their days sleeping and nights sleeping answering phone call of customers in the 'Wild west'...
Somehow it was Vroom's frustration....or Bhagat's own at the B.P.O despair..that Bhagat created Vroom to voice his own . Here is what Vroom said...
"I am angry because everyday, I see some of the world's strongest and smartest people in my country. I see all this potential, yet it is all getting wasted. An entire generation up all night, providing crutches to....run their lives. And then big companies come and convince us with their advertising to value crap we don't need, do jobs we hate so that we can buy stuff.....They call it youth culture,,,,Is this what they think youth is about? Two generations ago, the youth got this country free. ..that was something meaningful....We have been reduced to a high spending demographic. The only youth power they care about is our spending power...Meanwhile bad bosses . ....suck the life blood out of our country's most productive generations." Mr. Bhagat..you'r one of my favourite writers and after your book...my thoughts had words..!!


I dont blame my loss of sleep to the Call-centre disorder...yet after having written this I feel better...
Cheers to all my friends who spend nights working and days sleeping..welcome to the world of hormonal dysfunction. I bet you people aren't even aware of that...!!


I can now sleep peacefully...a weeks sleepless night always thinking of friends who worked and live to appease...Cheers to your labour..

Solace

I found solace in loneliness
Today;
The silence that was once eerie
Today is a calm rendition
Where thoughts can breed
and multiply...
Conjugation of desires
and Dreams


Silence today beckons me
To reach out ...
To my Million Dreams
Dreams Unfulfilled
I'm trying hard
The depth of silence soothes
Distraught nerves
Ever so afraid of death
Today I'm not
The ever-lasting Silence of Death
Holds promises of peace against Turmoil.

Endeavour

The past all know 
Is imbued with troubles
Hence Epoch by Epoch
Period by Period
The new generation clamps fear
To step forward....
Many zealots do drop by the herd
Yet many are undaunted
Not bound by any
Superstition or saga
Undaunted to foray into
The Unknown future
Trusting and hoping 
Their Endeavour!

A last Dance

The dance series


Sleepy since morning
Seeming to move mechanically
From one room to another
Fetching familiar faces
Countering blank stares.
I stumble and walk-
I enter through the blank door
The room is lit so bright
The smell of flowers and candles
benumbs my senses
The air so cool stills my ear
My ever so dry hair is wet
As I sit on the easy chair...
his lonesome corner;
My eyelids call a close..
I cry for a dance
A last dance of embracing cresendo
Before the lid is shut forever.

The Dance

All day long till the day edged into the abyss

of the surfacing night

The Darkness of the day:

Blending with the dark night

Oblivious to all

Oblivious to the the night

all alone in the ranted room

In a silken gown of dark night

Dark as the gypsy hair....

Smell of perfume no more!

The brittle Black rose in hand

She danced

with hair all strewn

face all caked with tears and hanging cobwebs..

The gypsy Kohl running down her raven eyes

The endless dance..

the dance of frenzy

The mad laughter clinking through the walls 

Of ecstasy 

Never such a laughter had I heard

The dance of the knell!

Paul-ific

For me this particular mollusc's always been the scourge of the sea...That is to say when I learnt of this eight legged monster....who did not bite off its preys head...so that the death is instantaneous ...no..it holds you in its embrace... savors you....and then secrets venom out of its tentacles and feasts..urghhhh....how grotesque..

Later I learnt Ladies in Old England feasted on octopus's tentacle..a connoisseur delight.. as their eyes were glued to the plays..artistic...or what..some how modern art and people from the yellow ages have eluded my understanding so I try to maintain a pacific stand on both!!! and some parts of the world my dear mollusc's is fished for food...!!! On that note aren't greens enough to be feasted on?

There could be no end to my amusements delight till my little friends introduced me to Oswald..now Oswald is a blue octopus who can dance to the tune of his friends and can balance a teacup on its limb with much ease as it can walk...swim..build sand castels...arrange a summer camp eighthandedly

...if you are confused my dear friends then Oswald is a toon character!!

Now things have become Paul-iish....all was well till Argentinians were ousted then Die deutsche Fußballnationalmannschaft was ousted and then Managed to stand for a respectable Third!!

today the time is running short..and I am really not sooo ... happy to see This world cup finale..its been a world cup full of surprises...Firstly we saw fall of Champions with teams like that of France.. Italy...Brazil...Argentina falling off and out...

No Paul you indeed are not at all the one to be blamed..your fate is that you are Paulish..imperfecto...no I am well aware of the fact that you may have remote psyche powers..or above all you are simply concerned with the morsel placed before you..the flag has no significance....a twit as much as it has to do with me..and like all other mortal you too are craving for some octopussy attention to your tribe..but this time Paul you have got more than some Octopussy attention...the whole world is looking at you some who adore you , others with eyes set waiting to devour you...

Spaniards!!! I am well aware you may take many a snap this year with Paul..kindly do not even dream of renaming him Paul..simple things should never be given Pablo-ic..ooopsss.... weired funny names..or the sense of simplicity is just driven out free-kicked out of the air!!

Paul or no Paul...to-night is the day of celebrations, my sleep is more important I shall celebrate after reading it from the newspapers!!

May the best team win...Paul may predict..but its these giants who have to make the predictions come true...

Here is to the world cup of surprises..

To the world cup of Paul..

To the World cup of 2010..

May the deserving alone win.

Nostalgia

the feeling of nostalgia seeps within...
of the cannons and drums..
with the violin and the cellist
strumming tunes of the clouds somersault
as the horizon looks dark
with a silver curve
..the curve of dreams..
of the sea and the sky..
and gentle drops of rain pitter and patter..
pattering into showers
showers oh lovely showers
all flowing from above
Let me indulge in thee
Let me indulge in the monsoons love
Oh. monsoons clouds shower
your grace beneath
i sail in my clouds and dreams..
shower your love beneath

Let me drown in the nostalgia

let me be seeped in it...

HUH

"Our greatest happiness does not depend on the condition of life in which chance has placed us, but is always the result of a good conscience, good health, occupation, and freedom in all just pursuits."-Thomas Jefferson

Life is a set of carefully crafted fantasies which we have chosen. Our words and thoughts and actions have been well bred and cultivated. So when we write we think of what we desire...however mostly writings are those sub-conscious thoughts that we have felt...or the conscious words we love to tread mince and measure.

This Monday as I was going to my work after almost a week, and it seemed like ages......yet when I manage to bide by the watch and take the early ride to work I love looking out of the window..staring at minuscule things and laughing inwardly, how such short moments of bliss can these things bring to my face...they can irk me...in such a way that I make an ugly face!!! And I am not ashamed if any one sees it....

Simply staring out at the space...still imagining faces of people ...images.... castles out of the clouds...well its so sweet and nice..yup very childish for my age..but if I don't take this simple fun and joy in...and don't observe these things I fear letting go of the child in me....well..well well...so much for the child in me to take pleasure in trivia...

Today (being Monday 21st of June- when I started writing this blog.)..as I stood...grappled for a decent stand to witness the making of men and history..a curious thought struck me....If these wall could speak...they would speak of men and kings and of chains and freedom ..of victory of vices and goodness..done in times of rarity...Later through the week witnessing turmoils in the very hall of fame..kind of mellows the aspiration...

and now its a lazy Saturday..and i hate a lazy day..ahhhh....and I realize as I come to the end of updating this blog of mine a funny incident which has left an impression..which occurred with me..

this Wednesday(23rd of June) As I took out my wallet..to pay the conductor, a shiny five rupee coin slipped out of my finger..and fell..had it fallen on the road i would not have regretted it, however it fell on the foot-board of the bus...at the very instance a grey haired well dressed man..i repeat a well dressed man was getting off the bus..he picked up my coin and put it in his pocket..looked at me and smiled...

I smiled back..it was then when this quote which I have quoted above came into my mind..!!!! SOME GOOD CONSCIENCE HUH!!!!

The Weak Fallacy of Honour Killing

To come into knowledge and digest the truth that your child has thoughtfully walked ahead, both head and heart ahead, of you, and also to discover an unknown godforsaken person in your family, who has for so long not been a part of your daily cycle and thought, has taken the cinch to move out of the stupid norms you have built unjustifiably, is simply a bolt from the blue for the orthodox Methodist.

Who likes winds of change, honestly we talk of change, to banter about it in a comfortable sofa, sipping away an Irish coffee in the cool ambience of a subtle music. And blah and blah and blah the banter goes…today we saw this thief being punished by the mob. A woman being smashed to death under the wheels of a speeding bus and that her body was being dragged to the nearest hospital…the nearest hospital is just 10 meters away from the place of accident yet...it takes half an hour for the medics to come! We Literati can do all the talking we can and wallow in our own sorrow at the sorry state of affairs. When ever will there be a time to lift up the cudgel and say enough is enough said and done, we must now act on our own words. When!

That indeed is enough! Enough of deviation from the subject. Of the many cases of honour killing that happen we rarely get to see few reported in the newspapers or in the local news or so in fact the national news too. Even more so highlighting one is just the instigating another honour killing.

Each day has made its usual course and has ended on its own at a more appalling note. Each day a small incident makes its four liner mark to an extension on the page Five or six or eight where you find more gory details, and your blood boils. Where are we headed? Are we the subtle brutes? Aren’t we the ones who have thought to make a mark and move ahead?

Gross injustice has been done to the ones who chose to move ahead in life and take and talk changes. Mai did not deserve to be gang-raped, a woman need not have acid thrown over her face only because she refused to marry the feudal lord of her sister or for that matter any inhuman brute of an ogre, who had been lusting for her ever since he saw her. A man and a woman need not be killed if they loved each other and it was the same Gotra that came their way! And if your son or the daughter on whose wedding you had thought of splurging your wealth stayed out of it and chose to marry a man way below her station. So much it shames you. Does it not? But does it not shame you when you lust or look at another man’s wife whom you out of pretensions of reverence call Bhabiji!

It seems it is now taking a place of pride among people and every day there is a little more of it. To add insult to the injury, to alleviate the stance of the lover’s the televisions show try to typecast it by portraying the fate of lovers of the same Gotra. What was the result? One of the two lovers was hanged to death and the other bereaving and living turned mad. Moral of the story death awaits the one who protest.

We are the ones who have made the caste systems, for the one who makes sweets is called Mr. Halwai, the weaver Mr. Ansari, the land lord of the upper class Mr. Zamindar or Babu Sheikh or Boro Babu, the Brahmin Mr. Pandit , Mr. Qazi, Mr. Bannerjee, and the irony of fate lies that the ones who could only grovel and manage to stand up on their own are the middle class people. Struggling with making of their own identity own place grappling to be heard. These are the voices of the present generation.

Why honour your inflated pride when you cannot honour the life the other has chose to live. It’s time to grow up there are better things that are troubling the mankind. Haven’t we made the chains we opt to live in with? Haven’t we chained our own emotions to such a deep derogation that, when we see someone else take the lead; we lash out like vulpine creatures making successful attempts to devour them? The irony is such that people are successful. The sheer irony of brutality taking its course daily and winning over again and again. And an enlightening four liner making its course to the daily, Daily.

Does an honour killing inspire fear in us, when we think of moving out of the usual and take it on the rocks on our own! No not in the least! In fact it makes us feel more primitive. It was better when men ran about food hunting with a leather skin tied to the girdle than the affluent display of gold rings on every finger and lapel. We are so livid to see the pretensions of the cultured society, and each time a man from the civilized wild beats his female infant to death or rapes his maid. Don’t men deserved to be killed on that note. I leave the question to you.

Garden of Eden

On a summer Sunday

as I traipsed along

To the land which never lulls to sleep

To the Land where the Sub rarely blinks

And dreams are rarely bereft.

Where the stars never in their satire

Have a tale to wail

No tornadoes never

No khamsin or gales ever.

Where the fawn freely scampers and

and in the green grass doth frolic

And the faeries in their translucent sheen.

The land where the leaf

Has the diamonds sparkling gleam

Where the beauty of the stream meanders its course

And wine in the river aplenty

to the cups delight and brim

The Dates are cream filled

and Chrysanthemum's and Roses never wilt.

Where the Lover's glory stray

and the grass never dries

And Apollo and the Golden Apples..

the Goddess in her Golden Chariot dances.

So much grandeur of the rain

That pours like glass and sleet.

Yet my heart in thousand pieces is torn

and happiness like a dream forgone

I crave not the grass that never wilts.

And dreams that never see a tear,

Or ever the devils sneer.

My heart is beaded in thousand

silent silken knots

Silk meshed with thorns green

For years I have craved thee

O! Eden.

Lured in Love for thy Golden serene

Why now have I lost my

Lure for thee!

Connoiseur meticulous...!!!

culinary finesse has always been an art ... an art with such efficient good results within a short time, that it builds a sense of satisfaction...and to couple it with the gourmet finesse...is simply liberatingt......the aroma of a well cooked Peshawari Kebabs...simply mouthwatering...

Now to talk about a real Moti Biryani or the Awadhi Biryani...it is said that in the days of lore when the Nawab would have the Biryani placed on his platter the moti, which resembled pearls....... was made of egg beaten with the thin sheet of gold and silver..(silver the ones now found on sweets) and this would be stuffed into the chicken..to enable it cook along with the chicken...and then served...

what we have at present is the mince meat balls...served with moti Biryani..now it may not be a Nawabs delight but it honestly is a culinary example of connoisseur meticulous ...!

To let the flavor linger.... the dash of sweet savor lingering after the last morsel is eaten...hmm...i can just smell rich ghee in the the lovely Badam ka halwa, with the dry fruits meshed in it . Be it a scorching summer or a bone clattering winter desserts are always too difficult to resist. A sumptuous meal is always incomplete without sweet dish.