Catharsis
18 Apr 2011 Leave a Comment
in Poetry
This is a prayer in Catharsis:
A vow to unfurl the Adulterated,
To cleanse through the fraught Crisis
And venerably plead to be Exonerated.
What’s now the Salvation?
She’s Resuscitated our mind, body and soul,
Without a day’s Isolation,
Down the Eons, through her magnanimous Whole.
Now, the Winds are Palpitating – they cough up Air,
They don their masks of Life.
Faint and frail, the irreconcilable Zephyr,
She zombies down the hillside, dreading the Strife.
What’s now the Consolation?
She’s Whetted our beings, lest we wither away,
Lashing, Meandering, lusciously Flowing,
Generously Sprinkling – droplets of life each day.
Now, the Waves are furious – they wreck Vengeance,
They’re armed to fight eye-for-an eye.
Encumbered with human Barrenness, his Decadence
They’ve no patience for his stuttering Alibi.
What’s now the Redemption?
She Appetized, Fed and Nurtured with her spoils,
She gloated in her colossal storehouses o’ Nutrition.
Evergreen, she flowered in her Greens and rich, brown, golden Soils.
Now, she quakes open her Despair,
Axed by his burgeoning Avarice
Yelps for rescue, if she may Dare,
To be redeemed from his black-sooted Curse.
This prayer in Catharsis -
An earnest prayer of Hope,
Seeks no elucidation, holds not one man accountable,
Burns no bridges and demands no reply.
This prayer in Catharsis -
Begs for Introspection, Inquires your Duties,
Suggests Morality and a Vow -
To Nurture a Green Dream starting right Now.
So, when you take a deep sigh,
It’s not ridden with a carbonated high.
And when you drink your succulent hydrater,
You’re not fretting over your lungs operator.
For all the sins we bear,
Let’s pledge to evenly share -
The duty to Cleanse
Now! The duty shall Commence.
An Eternity of Unhappiness
11 Apr 2011 2 Comments
The eternal unhappiness of the human mind
Yearning… for heat when cold, for cold when hot, for slimness when plump, for size zero when perfect ten, for onions during price hike, for milk when on a vegan diet, for megan fox while with mallika sherawat, for maidenhood when married, for real friends in real life while 1000 friends and more flock your FB profile.
The eternal unhappiness of the human mind
Recalling… the tricycle your rode as a kid when you’re on a Harley; mom’s sambar-rice while fine-dining; the glory of Madhuri Dixit amidst scuffles between the Munnis and the Sheelas; the good old sense of DD news when flooded with new age nuisance; pen friends when gloating in the luxury of approving and disapproving friends at the whims of the fancy FB icons!
The eternal unhappiness of the human mind
Staring … at fancy gadgets with fancy glasses, having given in to even fancier vision probs; at the black Audi zipping past you, the day you strap into your the seat of your first car; at the beautiful babies your classmates from school have, when you’re just married; at your spouse, when he’s socialising with your girlfriends, when you can’t take your eyes off his bachelor friends; at the books you haven’t read, forget about those thick menageries in your bookshelves; at the ‘lucrative’ profiles on Naukri, when you’ve just completed probation in your enviable profile; at your co-sister’s friend’s neighbour, who’s just attended her cousin’s wedding in Seattle on FB, when your work is seriously pending!
The eternal unhappiness of the human mind
Digging… weaknesses, when your strengths are strongly envied; meloncholy and ending up a laughing stock, when there are only reasons to rejoice in; the stale dal tadka at the joint down the lane and refrigerating the channa pindi made earlier in the day; Ritiesh Deshmukh and overlooking Bomman Irani; a duplex by the beach when you live in a mansion in the city hub; Sajid-Wajid’s music when parents are trained under the maestros of the Agra gharana; old letters from high school, when a letter needs to be dashed to the telecom for a new connection; re-connections with friends on FB, when they really care a rat’s ass!
The eternal unhappiness of the human mind
Muttering… under your breath, when someone is breathing down your neck; expletives, when you are overcome by love; sweet nothings, when a verbal battle is waging in your head; non-stop over spoilt milk, when the sambar on the stove has past boiling and is on the verge of roasting; good wishes when you should be hugging his soul; courtesy messages to known friends on FB, which are as effective or less effective than text messages on the phone and if to unknown people, doing so without the emcumbering guilt of orkut-izing FB!
Twinkle, twinkle, sparkling star!
23 Mar 2011 10 Comments
in Poetry
Tall, dark and handsome,
He twinkles from a distant sky;
Clouds, rains, mist in wholesome,
They fuzz him up tho’ she does try.
Every sparkling dark night she sees,
She counts his gazillion blessing;
Of those studs that ask her please,
Her knight she knows isn’t missing.
He conquers the cosmic dwellings,
He rocks her world and her universe;
If tormented by their misgivings,
He clasps her hand and allays her fears.
The story of this hero, his girl -
A short dream as you twist and curl;
Watch this saga, hear it first,
Before your heart begins to burst.
Many many little years away,
More than a couple of tiny decades away,
A big eyed baby kitten was born -
She nestled in a wrap she’d fondly worn.
She’d wail, she’d bawl, she’d cry,
She’d assure such joy in every eye!
And when she’d seen her first daylight,
Her hero’d stood there in such delight!
The man, the power:
Before who they’d all cower;
She met his eyes with her own,
A smile broke for him, she’d now known.
Tall, dark and wonderfully handsome,
He held his purring kitten in his strength;
Her first brush with a man so awesome,
She memorised this, to last her life’s length.
Smiling gently, whispering warmly,
He promised unknowingly:
“My blessed angel, hey you!
Through all my life, I will love you.
“Fun, love and happiness,
Peace, charm and success.
An immaculate life, so new, so true,
No man will ever be so good for you!”
She gurgled heartily and lit up his life;
He swelled with pride at the fruit of his strife.
Day by day, their joys grew beyond bounds;
Mom, Man and kitten went on gleeful rounds.
All was fine, so good, so new,
Nothing could ruin, tarnish or curse;
But a thunder, lightning many or few,
Could have meant a threat or worse.
Tall, dark and so handsome
But he lay in bed one spring morning;
Feeling low, gray and lonesome,
He saw the ominous, dark awning.
She’d purred, she’d laughed, she’d pleaded
Her man to seek her when she’d hidden.
He’d smiled, he’d waved, he’d promised
His girl he’d find her when she’s hidden.
Quickly she ran to her farthest farm,
Eager and excited, she reached her secret barn;
Proud, accomplished and giggling non-stop,
She’d known her man’d hardly find her pit stop.
Seconds, minutes and a few hours in,
Her giggles drowned in a loud din.
Suddenly scared, shuddering so afraid,
She doubled up to see what Dad had made.
“No, no my dear, he’s away for a bit,
He’ll come back again, keep your eyes lit.”
“But Mama, he said he’d find me there,
So I hid behind, you know where?”
“He’ll find you here, he’ll find you soon,
Now, look up the sky, don’t give that a miss;
He’s amongst the stars, the sun and moon
But before that all, he passed this kiss.
“Today, tomorrow and forever,
He’ll twinkle, shine and glow.
When in doubt, fear or just too unsure,
You know he’ll fix that here below.”
Tall, dark and handsome,
He twinkles from a distant sky;
Clouds, rains, mist in wholesome,
Beyond them all, he’s on a pedestal, mighty high!
Two years now, she’d seen him here,
Twenty seven years and he’s still so near;
Sparkling, shining, dazzling,
Living a destiny in the making.
Chak de phatte!
21 Mar 2011 6 Comments
in Vacations
Every time my folks (family, friends and foes) from Bangalore chat with me, their almost first question is whether I have visited the places in and around Delhi. The usual suspects are Jaipur, Agra, Fatehpur Sikri, Amritsar, Shimla and if interested, please also include the other potential places in the stretch that can go into the have-you-been-there-yet list of places. Most of us down South are deluded about the distances between the North Indian places and believe that they are all fairly close and the distances, pretty minimal. Arrey, just the way people up North believe that everything beyond Madhya Pradesh is Madras, that Bangalore and Hyderabad are neighbours, while Kerala is in the backyard of Chennai! Ok, fair enough.
Deluded that Amritsar is close to Delhi, we set out on a weekend, bags packed and clinging onto immense hope of reaching maybe 5-6 hours hence. We drove past several familiar Punjabi towns of Jalandhar, Ludhiana, Panipat, Sonipat, Karnal, Ambala (certainly not in the same order), while whiffing in the fresh air of green farmlands on both sides of the roads. We were tempted to stop by, run through the fields, let our hair fly wild and sing ‘Tujhe Dekha to ye Jaana Sanam…’ to one another but decided to drop these gorgeous ideas and keep driving instead, since the Golden Temple Town was still, several miles away. We reserved our appetite for the hot, steamy, buttery parathas and masala chais on the highway and promptly pulled over at regular four hour intervals. Three four-hour-intervals later, we were still driving. Who knew that the highways of Jalandhar and Ludhiana were crammed with bubbly, cheerful truck and lorry drivers waving animatedly at passers-by. The burgeoning traffic on the Balle-Balle land was beginning to tire us. But we were never tired of stopping over for yet another lip-smacking session of fattening butter parathas with thick, rock hard yog hurt and juicy spiced pickle. If anything, we’ve lapped up every kind of paratha dished out on the highways, leading to Amritsar, with the alibi of breaking from the tedious drive. The Xylo too couldn’t cushion us too well through what seemed like a never-ending drive. Lesson therefore learnt: Underestimating distances on the map can be fattening. Remember, places are as far as they are made to seem close to one another.
What started at 430am wound up at 8pm at a comfortable hotel in Amritsar. Having finally arrived, we wanted to sleep. NOT! Downed another barrel of chai, splashed some ice cold water on the dead beat faces and headed straight to the Temple of Goldenness. Most of us first timers had long prepared to submit ourselves to the awestriking Golden structure. It certainly was arresting, boldly glistening in the moonlit night and reverberating with chants, like divinity thickly enveloped it. Wahe Guru! Wahe Gur, Sat Naam, Wahe Guru!
The Golden glow rapt warm in our vision, we slept a short night. A quick morning breakfast here and a mad rush at the temple there – after scuttling around the temple for a bit and clicking every possible temple pose, we promised to make it back in time to Delhi by night. Oh, oh, only after a quick whizz around Jalianwala Bagh. It’s been spoken about so much that when you are putting both your feet on the very ground of the bloody massacre, your history teachers pop up in your head and the dramatic bloody movies flood your sight. The experience was more sensual than physical. It was almost like one could be startled by the firing in the air, hear the pain-ridden cries, see the blood around and walk amidst the tireless bodies lying around, even today! The bottomless well and the gunshot-marked wall were piercing visuals – alive and untouched, like an eternal testimony.
The next most significant thing to achieve before heading back home was indeed the Wagah Border. We made it just in time for the ceremony of ‘lowering the flags’. In groups of women and men separately, we queued up to the open air amphitheatre and seated ourselves in the pandemonium. The go-getters grabbed the front seats while people like me got hushed into the spare corners. It was a regular Sunday. What transpired across the gates didn’t seem regular, not to someone who was witnessing this mania for the first time. Slogans, songs, dance, shout-outs and counterparts on resounded thunderously on either side. For a very filmy drama queen who is most definitely a fan of Shah Rukh Khan, movies like Veer Zara gushing into the head seemed natural. The mass euphoria only aggravated such impulses. Tere liye… hum hai jiye, har aasoon ko piye… Dil mein magar jalti rahe… chaahat ke diye!!
Like being abruptly broken from a hauntingly recurring dream, we had to rush back home to Delhi, before it tired us too much to drive back. We stopped by a couple of Havelis for tea and dinner breaks. Early into Monday morning dawn, we were in the middle of Connaught Place, close enough to our cushiony lives in Vasant Kunj. Like a movie just scripted, this sojourn gave rise to numerous discussions and interpretations about the history and geography of Amritsar and Wagah Border… until the next trip was planned and a promise made, to perhaps satiate the urge to relive some remains of history told, retold, some untold and many unheard.
L for L
17 Mar 2011 4 Comments
in Poetry
Should you profess when you can’t?
When you’re overcome by swell motions
Of intense, curious L?
These murderous understatements
Recoil mockingly.
They are gentle reminders of
The truth that triumphs.
The threshold sniggers aloud
At your wimpering L.
Cautious and careful,
Yet devoid of pretension -
Your meticulous elusiveness.
Trembling, suffering, quietly
Traversing paths of prenuptial destiny.
Immaculately sheltered despite rude oddities,
Such is this heart-rending tale of un-contextual L.
L,
Psyndhu
They say..