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.