Two Weeks Later

 

For days on end

you have scratched a wound 

that must have healed

Today, two weeks later,

you choose to cut it open

revealing your fuming anger

You put your best efforts

with your mastery of words

that drive me

to the edge of insanity

Why can't you move on

instead of insisting to drag on

Why do you choose to blame

instead of seeing ways to tame

Why make me suffer

instead of finding reasons to alter

Two weeks of my normal life

now seems to me like a trifle

In these days, I feel I was used

And so wasted.

All of it feels like a fake

If there was ever a sorry,

must it be for me or you, 

It is never for you,

because

to me, your wound never was.

~ Oct 03, 2021

What's Your Name

On every surprise rain day

a neighborhood parrot

sits atop the same frond

of an aged coconut tree.

It talks in childlike voices, and 

seems to be cooing for me

It makes me want to call back

in the same endearing tone.

But then, dear bird,

I know not your name.

I wish to sit beside you, and 

hear you say about your day.

Tell me... were you able to 

weave your victories, 

deal your difficulties,

knock down the naysayers,

and wade through the dangers?

Would you want to hear 

my day's stories as well?

Dear old wise coconut tree,

several minutes have gone past,

looks like the perched parrot

could not hear me quite...

I am sure you must have

heard my thoughts all right.

Why not? 

You've seen my phases

since my childhood, and

given me company 

during days of desolation 

and spurts of revelation

We've seen each other

through our gloomy days

of storms and rains, and made

the difficult days of pain fade.

Enough of all that I said...

Now, make me a friend

of the visiting shy bird

before it flies away unheard.

~ Sep 05, 2021

 

Necrosis

 

Do you see, my dear boy,

the tendril of a climber

that clinged on to a 

growing neem so slender

has created a necrotic patch

just above the line of latch

I have been wanting to say

that I don't mean to 

trample your flow alike

when I lay a firm grip 

on your forearm, and 

on your growing senses

in such a not so nice way

I only try to keep you away

from an impending disaster,

or to avoid a tense moment, 

which sooner would be 

a cathartic exploration 

of each other's anger

Now that I am out of denial,

the neem so much reminds me 

of your growing mind

So, will you forgive me 

for the necrosis,

'cos it's always a struggle 

for a learning parent

~ Sep 06, 2021

Rain Train

 

It's the wee hours of the morning

The rain train came tramping

My ears hitched the ride 

with joyful jumping

But then, the eyes and mind

had their reservations holding:

the mind satiated reading, while

the eyes were already drooping

'Why do you guys want to retire'

checked my cheerful ears

'I am drenched and full of fire

to quench my thumping desire'

The ears were frowned upon

Thus spake the eyes droning:

'The night is drowning, so

enough of your satire.

Don't you remember,

We are now locked down

inside our mundane spires

and are fish in troubled waters

We are the repressed 

and the spiritless,

And there's none to redeem us

Observe how the muted senses

impotently scream and keep

desolate reminders 

that we are all chained, and 

caged in waters neck deep.

So, let's just go sleep.'

~ Sep 04, 2021

Ikigai - A Short Review

 

• The book is a best seller because people went against the popular view of don't judge a book by it's cover.
• It's a quick and easy read, and not very time consuming unlike some other serious works. Usually, books of path-breaking books test our patience and needs a lot of our time to get the take aways. But, obviously they are worth the time. So, in essence, wrt the Ikigai book, you really don't have to work really hard and think.
• It takes research and key views from important books in the same area.

This point was what put me off. I agree most of the books are similar; they cannot exist without the numeral superscripts and a long list of reference books in the appendix. But in Ikigai, the concepts are freely discussed, like a review or the authors note-taking.

• Some of the points discussed are very particular to Japan's geo. And most of them do not have access to some of the so called super foods. 
• The point about community living is not something one can do much about, unless there are a bunch of other people who understand the importance of living in communal harmony, and come together to make such an arrangement.
• The book is more oriented towards living a long life. Wrt my current frame of mind, I really dunno if I need to live a long life! But yeah, my wish is still to age and die without trouble to self and others.

~ 09 Aug 2021

Sightings on an Uneventful Day

 

The man-woman tree... two distinct interwoven trees

Persistent birds perched on swaying branches

The banyan tree with perforated leaves

Cooing birds calling each other from spaced apart trees branches

A dozen of ravens perching on a barren tree

A hapless unstrung kite hanging free

~ 10 March, 2021

Still Around - A Year Later

Still Around, A Year Later 

It is 11:00 pm, after a long day

And have closed my eyes...

Intending to sleep,

Attending to each of my thoughts

As part of the regular rumination 

After a few seconds,

I see my dad walk down 

the stairs of our house.

He's at the main door.

It's broad daylight.

He walks towards me

in his usual gait,

firm and casual,

with no apparent pain

of his end years.

I notice the fresh blood 

on his forehead.

I know that this is 

of the clot 

that I discovered

so many hours later,

on the day of his death.

He asks, shall we?

I say, Yes, I am ready.

To be part of today's occasion

of laying our house's cornerstone.

~ 05Dec2024

Grief

 
A day or two later,
You are not sure if you are weeping 
You are not sure why you are weeping 
There are times,
You are not sure why you smiled 
at that old woman on the street 

And then,
You wonder if you ever smiled
at dad while he was still alive. 
and chidingly tell yourself...
What kind of daughter you were!
And sulk even more.

After a few days of not crying 
You think you have grieved, enough. 
Or at times, when you don't grieve,
You say, 
'See.. I told you. Grief is overhyped.' 

But, No. Out of nowhere, 
there are moments of 
'a very still life'
So much... that you wonder 
If there is still life.

Like, a few weeks later,
You are hurriedly paring the pineapple 
that kids need for their snacks break
And you don't curse but cry 
if when the knife dad had used was 
not sharp enough...

Now, no doubt. 
That is Grief.

~ 18Jan24 to 05Feb24

Sea's Handiwork

Waving to the shore.

Falling Rain Drops

On the red-tiled floor
I am lying flat, face up
with hands spread out
ajar like an open door

The falling rain drops
dot my resting body and
the rest of the terrace
like they've been
metered for pace
and sorted for shape

The falling rain
drops steady and even
like having passed
through a sieve

The falling rain drops
pierce soft needles
delivering divine nectar
through my skin

The falling rain
drops to take me to a place
devoid of cowering thoughts
and senseless pain

The falling rain drops
sing songs of relief
tapping into the void
and persistently find
the hidden words
in my dormant mind


~ Aug 17, 2021

The Fifth Monkey

There’s a tussle among the thoughts
Their quest is about
who must get thought about,
for how long and first.

These thoughts ace at striking me
just when I lay supine at night
They splash on my face
this handful of ice cold water
that I readily hold in my palms together.

I watch them in silence, and wonder:
how they flawlessly mimic
kids inside classrooms
waiting to run amok
at the ring of the relieving bells.

When I try to tame and distract,
there’s no harping or heeding.
Now I get it. No, they are not kids.
Like adolescents, they get better at it.

One after another, the adolescent me
fills the seats of the classroom,
and do just what they think.

While one of me thinks about
how much of a wonder a song is,
another one’s memory comes rushing in
fighting for my mind space,
and
I am already reeling out commentaries
about a recent song that
sets me on a trampoline
making me jump out of joy,
every time I listen to it, and
the other one that’s full of warmth
like a lover cuddling me
gently from behind, ear-to-ear,
resting their chin on my shoulder
when I am breathing in
the crisp, cold air on a breezy night.

Another of me now raises the hand
and recites an enticing analogy:
about the pleasures of finding
long-forgotten unsent notes
to a lover,
like that of seeing
misplaced, forgotten money
under folded, unused clothes.

A third one
points to the direction of my son
who murmurs, ‘no, I didn’t do it’,
in his sleep,
and makes me ponder
about how much of a bother
I have been to him.

Here comes version number four.
Who am I?
Where’s the missing euphoria, or,
was there even any such thing in me?
Guess I am just such a bore...

Around about the fifth hour
the fifth monkey sits up...
retching a papery white and blue
peppered with all these thoughts,
sweet and sour.

Like a good bout of vomit
throwing out the bad bile,
this poring act brought the relief
like the small pill that cures the ill,

And then came the sleep,
slow and still.


~ Jul 06

Did it Rain?

What am I hearing...

Gurgling water from parched spouts
Calming ripples of crowding water

Water splashing the rioting boys' faces
Soaked up dogs shaking the excess

Rustling plumes of drenched parrots
Flapping wings of taking-off pigeons

Hunger pangs of red roof-tiles
Hot soil slurping the pitter-patter rain

Thank you gestures of tender plants
Pendular heads of coconut trees

Cheerful birds flocking together
waiting to tweet their dusk prayers

Were these your visions too,
my beloved June Rain,
after you poured your heart out
on a dreary sultry crumbling evening?


~ 07 June, 2021

Colour Pencils

When you are dead meat
When you are battered
beyond recognition

When nothing makes sense
When your thoughts are incoherent
When written words are alien to you
When you cannot gather
anything together

When you indifferently reject
every redemptive proposition like
a badly written draft

And, when you have swung from
Unplugged to Headbangers
without second thoughts, and 

in a jiffy...

Talk to me, says the paper
Play with me, says the colours.


~Feb 2021

High Hopes

Sometimes,
I ask like a child,
Or out of audacity,
about what I wrote

Like the pegged ones
on the clothesline ask:
Can't you see?
I flutter so well.
Can you fly me
like a kite tomorrow?


~ May 19, 2021

Life in a Summer Bath

Sometimes,
Life becomes so meaningless
like a bath in deep summer.

You do it
expecting something
that's not even close to pleasure
But all you get is
frustration and regret.

Yet,
You go on.

Eventually,
dawns the ultimate realization:
that one must do their duty
Notwithstanding the outcomes.


~ April 06, 2021

Moonset

Dear crescent
That's setting in the west

Today,
I am like you in certain ways

It's just late evening
You've already retired
Thin, sinking, and fading
Your life's over for the day
You are bleeding to death
And no goodbyes to say

Yet, I am unlike you
In just one way
A hundred more things to do
But if I sat any longer
I felt I would just decay


~ Mar 16, 2021

For the Sweetest Song Ever!

O! Sweet song,
This moment,
Ask me who I want to love.
I would look at you,
Unhesitatingly!

You sound to me like
the sweet voice of my lover,
ringing constantly into my ears,
ever so mellifluously.
Look at the irony:
I've begun to listen to you dutifully,
though you sing in a language
that's a little strange to me.

And as I take you in slowly,
you dribble me in a shower,
raining not of water, but honey
I declare, I'll never be sane again.

When I make sense of you,
my love sees no bound
I'm in a constant state of ecstasy
I dance and float around, like
I've never been on ground. By now,
you've held me in your sway
And, I realize to my dismay
my senses have gone astray

O! sweet song,
This moment,
Ask me who I want to be.
I would point to you,

Unflinchingly!


~ Nov 05, 2020

Today's Moon Story

No blinding lights to pain my eyes
No buzzing mosquitoes to hug my elbows
A pair of white birds doing a ballet
on a night sky flooded with mindless clouds

Appreciating the perfect-half milk-moon
I listen to a playlist that makes me sway
and throw my arms up in the air, unawares.
With a spirited feeling song after song,
I levitate and feel like I've reached the skies.

Now, my fickle mind dances to its tune.
It looks hard at the moon,
and at the impulsive heart,
concluding that the eye calls it perfect
only when it sees more.

Quickly, the mind's resident debater retorts:
No way! It's the seventh day.
It is as perfect as the slashed half of
a swiftly darting ball approaching the sword
in the grips of a doubted warrior.

By now, the moon sinks low.
It let the wicked clouds engulf it.
Perhaps, it heard my fickle-minded words?

A disheartened me looks again longingly...
Soon, the clouds shrink and become
the moon's brilliant soft halo,
and revealing a perfect half
of shimmering gold.


~ Oct 23, 2020

Artist's Hope

I write, time and again,
about the sun,
and the moon and rain
like the incessant waves
caressing the sands
of the familiar shore
I write in the hope
that I can go on

But I still hesitate
to give it all, and
to take
that leap of faith,
the artist's hope,
of making a life
by creating art.


~ Oct 23, 2020

Breakdown Moon

The last few days, I've been
at the brink
of a breakdown.

Every night, I catch just a glimpse
of you from my terrace.
I shy away from you...
you, the red moon,
you, the fury face of night earth.

You try to goad me steadfast
out of this cruel mental slumber.
I can't help ponder, why, everyday,
I evade you, like
a desire I ought to have forbade.

All I seem to wish for, is
to forget to remember.
I stay glued to my inertia,
and grow the indifference,
like it's some indulgence.

The day I forsake
and shook me awake, I come
to see you a little longer.
I search you in the clouds yonder,
to tell you that I owe it you. Alas,
your fury face is not seen.

I persist and pace the night terrace
and feel each of the thirsty red roof tile
that I drenched hours ago,
waiting to sing an ode a mile.
I wonder, about how quickly, you dilute,
from fervent red to a radiant white.

But, today, your fury face is not seen yet.
Tell me, the shining,
when will I see you again?

~ Oct 08, 2020

I Witness

Our mind is an invisible organ that accounted for the sixth sense. It functions by taking inputs from the other five visible organs, that perceive and learn the world around it. And, we are complete, learned beings, if we witness the world with these six.

And, as I recollected the words of a scholar, I saw a shadow play today.

On a blanched sheet, there were images
of the crumbled, tanned tea leaves
brewing in a hot pot, and
letting the sweet aroma out.

These churning of wild thoughts
of the belligerent protagonist,
was as distasteful
as the bratty bile in the stomach.

It instigated the cool and the calm
to turn rogue and act rude
to those resting nonchalantly.

Out of the blue, amidst the rumbling,
emerged the roars of a hundred
angered ferocious lions.

And there were merciless episodes
of flashes that won't hesitate
to leave the eyes blind.

What started in one corner, spread
like thick butter smeared on bread.
In quick succession, dread tore down
the resolve of the disciplined, and 

instigated them to turn the scene 

into a messy riot.

Well, now I see it clearly.

Pregnant clouds have sprawled all over.
And just then, it broke it's waters, and
showered us down its beautiful babies.

They were welcomed into the world,
amid all the prevailing chaos, with
such a spectacle and drum rolls.

Thanks to the thundershowers,
for such mindful revelations!


~ Jul 15, 2020

Love and Separation

Love and death are two topics that I have lived with most, more by imagining than by experiencing it. I replay or think about it either intensely or immensely. Yeah, I agree that the usual combination is birth and death. But I would prefer to couple love and death, rather than birth and death. Though birth and death are consequential, in a way, love supersedes birth. As in, the event of birth is replaced by an emotion called love; and death by separation. 

Death, as an event, wields more power than birth when you weigh the consequences. You can prepare for an event called birth, but you are never prepared enough for death. However prepared you are and wait for it to happen, it always comes as suddenly, and leaves the shock of a slap on your face.

Love lies in a metaphysical plane, and can transcend time and place. Words of love can feel as real as the feeling of touch. And so can death be. You can very much love a person separated by years and thousands of miles. 

And with death, you can very much imagine and feel death and it's consequences, right from the time when just the thought about separation is implanted or etched in your mind. I mean, someone can live with you everyday, and yet, be gone and make you unsure of their existence.

~ Jul 06, 2020

The Illusionist

The sky's an orangish-red
Birds fly in time-lapse
Clouds float in slo-mo.
A stone's throw away, I see
silhouettes of tree-tops
fluttering in glee.

I ask, 'what about you', and
you persist me to tell...
'Imperceptible', I say and settle.

In actual, 'inaction' is what it is.

You make everyone move, yet,
you make everyone think
you are the one movin'
at every blink!

That's by far,
the greatest illusion ever crafted.

And, to say, you are the one
who rises in the east
is certainly, the biggest farce
in the entire universe.


~ Sep 20, 2020

Panacea for Oblivion

I am in oblivion, and
almost in a state of delirium
letting a world of suffering
be poured on to me

Now, there are two paths:
To go down the spiral
or to shake it off.

Though I have seen enough,
and know the cause and effect,
the pessimist streak in me
is urging to take the
path of self-destruction.

By now, I was ambling in the dark,
deciding which road to take,
whether to grow the flame, or
to let go of the hurt and blame

Enter the piano man!
Think it's going to change
the course of my fate...?

He was playing Beethoven's
Moonlight Sonata, followed by
Pachelbel's Canon In D Major,
and over to Grieg
with his Morning Mood
and the beatific Anitra's Dance.

Just when I was settling in
came Schubert and Chopin
chirping the Swan Song
and Nocturn No. 2, and
I was surprised to change:
the pallor went to blush from pale
Just listen to Bizet and Bach 

play their Carmen and Badinerie!

By the time Mozart played
his Turkish March and
Piano Sonata No. 16,
I went home brainwashed
and feeling sanctified. Ironically,
Beethoven's closing piece,
Pathetique, wasn't so bad!

Rightly so, it was called: piano forte!


~ June 30, 2020

Your Voice

Pleasant as a chime
without fail every time
Clear as mountain stream
Real as a lucid dream
Crystalline as the evening sun
Calming as the gentle breeze
Divine as camphor
Sweet as honey

~ Oct 08, 2020

The Teacher

All through in our life
we have sides--of our own self
and see those of others

We take sides,
and want people on our sides.
We decide to stick with people
who happen to us by chance, and
when we were too naïve to decide
someone decides for us instead.

Strangely, these decisions make us...
like favours being returned

There are relationships in our life
that effortlessly define itself a path
and flow like a river.
And, there are the ones you pursue.

All said, the love in us, eventually,
leads us through our life.

Thank you, teacher!

For seeing the shades in the faces,

For having made those decisions,

For being too sweet and sticky,

For mending the cracks and filling the crevices

of all those troublesome years,

And to have tended to my growing pains,

For your wide-open arms,

For flowing into my life,

For having spent time on my side,

And,

For all the cheer and love you still give!


~ Oct 22, 2020

Patterns

Invisible by the day
Revealed by the night
Insider being the light

Some lay afar numb and still
And some tell stories that
don't I dare say!
Some sing songs
and some spurt secrets

Some are cross, and
some are curvy
Some look gothic
with its curls

Some have blinds
and some have frills
Some are clothed bare
and swing and dance lively
to the mood of the wind

Though cold and cross,
you guard and breathe,
But it's funny how folks
conceal you and get choked
with no clean air to spare,
only to say they do
for the fear of night...

Anyways, thanks all
for the pretty sight.


~ June 28, 2020

A Mood for the Song

This one was a strange experience for me. Given the strangeness of every aspect of my state of being these days, I am both surprised as well as not too surprised. Surprised, at the range of emotions this one has brought in me, when the mood for this is song is very binary. There are no two ways about the mood for this song: it is devotion, surrender, hope, sadness, and a kind of prayer. And I am not too surprised that these kinds of things are happening to me because I have become so vulnerable; I guess everyone has been conditioned so, with the experience we are going through now.

Anyways, it is 'Sun raha hai na tu' sung by Shreya Ghoshal.

The most likely event of occurrence arising out of listening to it in loop whenever circumstances permitted me to, would be to be engulfed in the mood of the song. Despite knowing the consequences, I went about listening to it like a desolated lover in search of her lost love. And this went on for a number of days. For quite a while, I was obsessed, beyond reason, by the voice, that apart from a few other obviously apparent highlights of the song, I could not realize and appreciate the finer aspects of the song, which I would usually be able to do for other songs that are ingrained in my life. So much that I have slept off listening to it, and have awakened realizing some silence, because it faded off when it was finishing and getting ready to play the next time in loop.

And then, when the space and time came about for me to write about it, like some spirit's handiwork, it all disappeared. I sit to write and the feeling that swept me off my feet is no longer hitting me. It wasn't like I felt indifferent to it or something, but that longing feeling was no longer there. It was like I followed it like a religion, and now, I suddenly became an atheist. The strangeness and weirdness is because an atheist usually has a reason or at least an indifference when he turns away from his beliefs. A religious fanatic turned into an atheist. Just like that.

Yet, I am still in love and completely awestruck by the voice and the emotion that it evokes. It was like I was possessed and now liberated. Like a constricted pipe that was released. Not that I was suffering earlier and now relieved... But, somehow, it felt strange to have gone through this thing, and now to have a feeling that the entire experience felt meaningless. Was I supposed to infer anything out of it? I do not know. But then, it was some un-named kind of feeling.

Now, I can listen to the song with a familiarity of having known someone long enough, without having the urge, impulse, and eagerness of wanting to know more. No longing, no desperation. Just bliss. A feeling of satiety, and no hunger.

I am holding the song like an unworried child

perched on its mother's hips

clutching her robe for its comfort

Like a playful lover gripping the wrist

of his departing lover

For its part, the song too reciprocates

like there is assurance for the barren

The grip is effortless, and

there’s no desperation to hold her back

Neither is there a display of resistance

There's no questioning on the intent

and there's no illegitimacy in the act

There is neither contempt nor weariness

of having known it well enough

Limitless

Musician with seven notes

Painter with three colours

Wordsmith with twenty six letters

Sprinter with two legs

Migratory bird with a pair of wings

Atom with its three parts

Watchmaker with three pointers

Wanderlust with four directions

Dressmaker with a needle

Locksmith with a hole and a key

And, thief with none

Swearer with just one tongue

~June 26, 2020

Words

Sometimes like paste 

smoothing out of a tube

At times like a baby 

labouring out of womb

~ June 19, 2020

Glowing Faces, Pissing Pots

Glowing faces, holding devices

walking boundaries, slowing pace

unnerving statistics, changing dynamics

revealing rumours, feeling faint 

merrymaking brats, chiding parents

Cut to scene ii:

Pissing pots, germinating glory

calming plants, clinging stalks

helping tendrils, soaring alacrity

saving seeds, growing greed

experimenting life, exchanging notes 

passing clouds, raining sometimes

surprising turns of events

blooming hearts, feeling great

sowing hope, reaping success

learning lessons

rooting back to basics

being down to earth

~ June 18, 2020

Wet

We get beaten up

until we come clean

We are tumbled around

until we kick out the dirt

That's the rule all around,

no point negotiating...

But then,

it's worth even if we are hurt

because when we get wet,

hung and hooked, and

lie high on tight ropes,

all day long, we get to flirt

and flutter with our folks,

and it's still OK to be

downed and left low and dry

because everyone's on 

a cycle of low and high.

We are the clothes 

hanging high 

on the clothesline 

and hooked

by the clothes peg.

~ June 16, 2020

Mind's Eye

A moment came when,

on a moonless night, with

a bunch of ambling clouds

patching the dark blue sky,

I could have aimlessly 

peered through the vast

expanse of the darkness 

so deathlike, dull and dry,

but looked skyward to spot 

a twinkle or two, and

some anonymous birds

darting with a sideward gait,

and just then, 

just over my head

on a patch of clear 

deep blue canvas,

I glimpse a fleet of 

white ethereal beings

fly past with such grace.

I cannot help but ponder...

For once, 

I do not have to bother 

to look at a wonder

the second time

through my camera's eyes

because this moment 

hidden afar in darkness

cannot be frozen with 

such detail, depth, and clarity

by anything but 

my mind's eye.

~June 13, 2020

Flavours

Cows are lazing around, and leaves are shining brightly, under the street light's glow. They are swinging merrily by the branches' arms like there's no tomorrow. There's orange, vannila, mango, ready for a perfect tango. And, there's berry flavour too... Strawberry and black currant. All seen from a distant, these are flavours of pastel colours peeping out of the windows. Out of greed, I decide to buy one of each. My eyes devour some instantly, and freeze the rest as words. Time passes by, and words become verses. The night deepens, and houses' night lights begin to shut. One by one, the flavours disappear, as a reminder for my slumber. ~ June 09, 2020

Words by the Window

On an uneventful Saturday evening, I was about to start on another planned session of reading. This time, it was the book Unbroken by Laura Hillenbrand. For me, the books Unbroken and The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks (by Rebecca Skloot) share the similarity as that of Andre Agassi's autobiography Open (actually by J. R. Moehringer) and All the Light we Cannot See (by  Anthony Doerr). Like how I saw J. R. Moehringer's praise for Anthony Doerr, I was surprised to see Rebecca Skloot's praise for Laura Hillenbrand. Certainly, a coincidence wrt Coincidence!

A few lines into the first few pages of Unbroken, and a commotion breaks out, which makes me look out of my window. Outside my window is my house's backyard, if there's one at all. Well, that is the park's small stretch of barren land, sparsely dotted with malfunctioning children's playing equipment. The same park that was swarming with humankind of all age groups is now a deserted parcel of land, devoid of all the trampling (my heartfelt thanks to corona!). For the same reason, apart from hearing the cawing of crows, I can hear the continuous short squeaks of the shy squirrels, the longish flute-like cooing of the cautious cuckoos and mynahs, shrieking parrots, and the other sweet voices of unseen and unheard of birds and animals. Listening to them gives the thrill of sitting in a silent cinema hall, witnessing the demoing of the state-of-the-art sound effects. Or rather, I must say it gives me a kind of a blissful feeling. 

Beyond this land stretch is a huge expanse of school campus that houses a lot of trees and spaced-apart classrooms. A few decades ago, there were apparently a lot of mango trees, and so the school was pseudonymously called as maanthoappu school. This huge expanse served home for these numerous birds and animals. With the current undisturbed and silenced set up, the fauna seems to be feeling like home and living in their natural state of habitat. That would explain the variety of blissful voices... birds and animals talking and singing freely in all its glory.

Amidst this, when I hear the cacophony of alarming cawing, I cannot help wonder if something is amiss even though it is beyond my capacity to reason or help. I see a congregation of crows flying in and out of a particular spot in a tree. These crows looked like they were conniving and waiting to find that five-second window where someone guarding a place nodded off, and they all convened at this particular branch in quick succession one after another to see this secret code being shared. And their entire mission depended on knowing this code. They flew in, accomplished their mission, and quickly departed. Though they all were cawing together at the same time, there was hardly any cohesion. There was no harmony, but only pandemonium and discordance.

A Late Evening Walk

Moonlight caressing my head

Music filling my ears

Lightness levitating my heart

Clarity infusing my thoughts

Positivity shining in my soul

Ecstasy soaking my spirit

Burdens evaporating like ether

Confusions shattering like a mirror

Ideas shaping like pearls of mercury

Having tamed my troublesome today

I am awaiting my bedtime like a baby

To slay tomorrow's slothfulness

~ Jun 03, 2020

Red Silt

The next morning,

We see Red Silt...

On the road and roof tops, 

flat as well as slopes

of the poor and the riches.

In all the cracks and crevices.

On the drying clothes,

and the helping handrails.

On all of the resting vehicles.

Beneath our feet and

as part of our breath.

As part of our emotions...

Of expressive neighbours, 

few full of curses, and

a few of logic aplenty. 

Of unexpressive silence, telling 

of neither apathy nor empathy.

And some visible silence, 

either out of helplessness 

or of forgiveness.

The house that stood so tall

has now scattered itself

as dust, silt, and other forms,

after trying its best 

to resist two days of 

purposeful bulldozing.

~ June 04, 2020

Heil, lockdown!

Stiff ankles, locked knees, 

gloomy outlook, glum mood,

longing hours, counting days, 

unmet plans, forgotten places, 

rope walk, invisible tether, 

fake enthusiasm, irrational fear,

chained spirit, conditioned mind, 

spaced queues, rationed supplies, 

bare minimum, handful children,

shrinking world, houseful terrace,

hopeless nights, bleakly days, 

ruthless sun, prickly heat,

dry mouth, wry smile,

blanched face, fleshy neck, 

wrinkled skin, unkempt look,

unspent fun, nowhere to run.

blinking cursor, blank space, 

withering words, cautionary tale.

dark mode, need a jailbreak. 

down the lockdown!

dot.

~ May 27, 2020

.

Fan in Four

Of the things that I hate the most 

tell me about 

the whirling fan in four... 

of the monstrous whooshing noise, 

and of its mechanised gusty air.

But then, when there are 

these weightless bloodsuckers 

hanging around 

like they are on a vacation 

with free food 

on the mercy of your tired legs

while you are working like a maniac...

Just imagine what comfort it is

on a sultry night, after a long day 

to just hang up your feet 

at the edge of your working table

letting them nod to the music, that 

the snug-fit earplugs deliver to your ears,

and with a good book in your hand... 

Now, you savour the satanic pleasure, of 

seeing the parasites suffer from starvation 

from the corner of your eyes...!

High-five to...

The fan, in speed four!

Sunshine of my life

It has not even been nine hours

since the time it rained, and

just about twenty hours

since I last saw you.

And yeah, I agree...

there was the night in between.

Though you have been scorching,

and there's much more to see,

I already am missing you.

You know, I am that desperate lover

losing sight of his new-found love.

I rejoice and am filled with

a pleasant feeling of fullness,

in seeing just a glint of you...

The faintly shine of a famished sun.

Like that sweet, divine moment,

when the love of my life

returns to my arms

after a brief desolation.

My New Super Power

It is almost 3 am.

I count 3578, 3579, 3580... inside my head.

I have already come two full circles.

From being supine, to my left, 

to my right, and am now on my back.

Rewind to 1 am. 

I start on an hour-long self-inquisition, 

and write down my to-do list.

Satiated, I hit the bed.

Innumerous ideas and action items

related to unconnected threads

continue to pour in.

After a few minutes of restlessness

I remember the sleeplessness tip:

count one to hundred

and you would be asleep by 99.

Seriously! Whatever...

Anyways, here's how I discovered 

my new super power:

As I start to exercise and 

count my reps, 

I get drifted away and 

begin to reflect very lucidly 

about all the strangeness of life.

And yet, surprisingly I realise 

when it's time to change the rep...

Like there's some timer 

running inside my head.

Untitled

I imagine the letters d-e-a- being written in slo-mo and in a calligraphic way. Hoping that the next letter would be ‘r’, I wait. But no… it turns out to be ‘t’ and finally halts at ‘h’.

Death… here and there, now and then. Can we certainly say where, how, and when? Or, in some cases why…!

I imagine, or rather, there are certain events that happen which lead me to or indicate the inevitable and impending death of a dear one. I sit and wait for the day to come, and then, I wait long enough only to forget it amidst the other unemotional worries of everyday life. And then again, there’s another one such event. Nothing happens. My hopes, or, should I say, hopelessness, shatter.

How is one supposed to live in a continuous ‘let-go’ mode when it is not past tense yet. The problem is that it is present continuous tense. Or a future tense, but without the mention of the prefix ‘near’ or ‘distant’. You know it is going to happen for sure, but you are just not sure when. Of course, we all know that there is no point wondering about when something bad is going to happen, or how, and all the other gory details.

It may be very practical for a surgeon to talk about the patients’ death or life that depends on the surgery they perform. However, ask the practical doctor to talk about the dear one’s death, even if they know it is just a few years away. No way…! If we look at death objectively, yes, it is the presence or absence of a life. But we are not designed to look at it that way.

We don’t worry about death everyday, even when we all know that everyone’s going to die one day. And it is not that we love our kin and kith always hoping every minute that they will not die. I mean, you don’t consciously have that thought about life or death, right?

So, how easy is it going to be if you are kept reminded about it on a periodic basis?

It is torture.

Well, these gloomy thoughts are not entirely about my dad, aged 74, who is determined, or has determined that he will die at 75. But partly yes. In fact, he and I discuss about death… no, it is not a discussion per se; it comes and goes as a passing comment in some random conversations. You know, a kind of mockery about the probability of his deterministic statements becoming true. It does not ache, even a bit, when we do so. But honestly, it aches when there are indications of the event happening soon.

I believed that I was far better than the surgeon who would not mention death even as a passing comment or as a matter of death, or better than the folks who have not realized that, in a few years, the eldest ones are not going to be around. But then, I realize that it does not help in any way or prepare you to face it bravely… Even if you are or not practical about it, it is still going to hurt the same way.

This writing may look a lot like an expression of the fear-of-death concept—thanatophobia.

But no... Just that it is a little intriguing how we all love and live happily when we know that people are going to die. So, it just turns out to be that you can be so, as long as you are certain or forgetfully uncertain about death. There is an area where you are neither here nor there about when and how it is going to happen.

Well, that’s the danger zone that we need to be aware of... that zone of hopelessness.

A note about notes

I think I sold Rahman a little short in "Of Opera, Train Tracks, Rhapsody, and A Gentleman in Moscow" when I briefly touched upon his usage of Carnatic notes in his compositions. It brings such a ravishing feel to the songs, no denial about it. And yeah, the mention of Carnatic notes in a song tends one to slow down the conversation, sink into the current state of being with eyes closed, with swaying of heads and the four of your fingers count and group portions of the song by repeatedly contacting the thumb. But no, we are not anywhere closer to this state of being in most of the songs where Rahman uses the Carnatic notes. There is a lot of tempo that the notes bring to the songs.

I had mentioned about Yaakkai Thiri from Ayudha Ezhuthu, Mangta Hai Kya from Rangeela, Dil Se Re in Dil Se, Kannalane from Bombay, and Thee Thee from Thiruda Thiruda. Perhaps, it was a thoughtless list. So, here is some thought to it.

Like the 'seeing red cars' phenomenon, I could not help but pay attention to the ones that had Carnatic notes. Of songs in that category, I must not miss the titular song in Bombay Dreams (yr 2002). While the female chorus does have some notes, it is not until Rahman pitches in with his strained tone that the song picks a considerable pace, especially in the last minute. 

Well, the album was a bit of a let down for me, primarily because part of the album is a medley of songs from movies such as Taal, Mudhalvan, Dil Se, and Minsara Kanavu... the ones that came out in the last three years of the 90s. Be that as it may, a few of the original pieces do exhibit Rahman's genius. Take the How Many Stars song; it has such a beautiful stature, in both words and composition. Or, Salaam Bombay or The Journey Home for that matter. Through the Ganesh song, one cannot stop and wonder about the fact that the Ganesh Chathurthi festival in Bombay is nothing short of a celebration. And the second song in the Bombay Dreams album to exhibit the magic of notes is Wedding Qawwali. 

One more with notes is the Kariye Na song in Taal. It is a folk-themed song with more emphasis to the verses. And in his own style, Rahman would play down everything and keep it to a bare minimum. Add to it, the Noor-Un-Ala-Noor song from Meenaxi. While Taal was overrated and lived to its expectations, Meenaxi's songs are those that exhibit Rahman's passion and repertoire. Thankfully, I have listened to Meenaxi's songs over a thousand times in these 15 years and not seen the videos until today; even Mangta Hai Kya's video for that matter. Certain things (do not) happen for a reason! 

A few other notable songs with Carnatic notes are Luka Chuppi from Rang De Basanti and Tere Bina from Guru. 

Anyways, now to the closing notes: though my desperation to reach out to Rahman's new songs and familiarize them has died out, I still cannot stop being amazed by the fact that, by hook or crook, the songs end up reaching my ears.