Friday, December 21, 2007


An epiphany before I commence,
A straitened discourse, unsaid.
The plight of sudden urge,
Beyond when I've been dead...
Is still a shivering hand,
With a withered flower held,
In 'tween the narrow glimpse,
Of a smile and silent steps.
"Encore", my mind whispers,
"Encore" you do not hear!
And your fading pace echoes,
Within the sullen space,
Beneath my darkening eyes,
Where I rest my hope...
A fluttering hem - disdain!
A breeze adrift some pain!
As you rush away to quit
The tiny ephemeral moment.
That I hold within my fist,
With grit and silly nerve,
Some hope perhaps still lives,
Till just before the epiphany...


Monday, December 17, 2007

Mistletoe imaginations

I don't know what I seem to be,
Just know what I mean to be!
Finding a spot in tomorrow,
Leaving the joys and the sorrow
Of today in my yesterday...

While you scrape away my smile,
In a journey of many a mile,
With your cellophane flowers,
And everlasting empty hours,
Then you step aside mid-way...

Through the cracks in the wall,
I see my reality crawl,
Into the broad day-light,
Something has to be right,
Before I turn a shade of gray...

Mistletoe imaginations fear,
Something rather dark is near,
Fallen angels ask for respite,
One more chance for a flight.
While I go where they stay...


Monday, October 29, 2007

A country in chaos

When I look around, something doesn't feel right। Something feels amiss. As if there is an upside-down card in the deck. Maybe several of them. I feel a deep hollow resonating within the solidarity that I see exhibited and advertised all over the place. I somehow see complacence peeking out of our image of national integrity and secular perfection. I notice cracks in the foundations that we are laying beneath us. I am bedazzled by the hues of grey that shadow our bright multi-coloured cosmopolitan success stories.

I have been waking up in the morning for the past one week to notice the National Stock Exchange index teasing the 6000 mark। I have been observing the well camouflaged stories of hungry children dying. Newspapers buried under my bed somehow find their way into the mess on my table. There are stories of strengthening the national defense by investing in the bleeding edge of weapon technology. Then there are stories of people stoned to death, of children beheaded and villages pillaged. I remember an old anecdote that I heard as a kid - "An ill soldier in strong armour is not a fit soldier".

A system that is insecure and infested from within will ultimately collapse with or without a strong external defense. A hungry man must be fed and not covered with sheets of steel for steel cannot protect him from hunger. A society that kills people by the thousands on the basis of religion when we talk of free trade and economic revolutions does not sound right! There is something fundamentally wrong which needs to be corrected before we stack layer after layers of bricks on a foundation that is too damaged.

Steel is tempered slowly. Strong and long lasting structures take time, balance, symmetry and a lot of internal strength to be built. A fast settling storm of sand does form sand-dunes but it does not form mountains. We as a people must be aware and alert ourselves against mistaking our sand-dunes for our mountains…

There is a lot happening in the world around us. We are a huge number of people and stacked together we do make a huge difference but that is nothing to rejoice in unless we realize that we must all be stacked in the same polarity and direction to make the best of what we have. We must realize that only when our hungry are fed, only when our weak are strengthened and only when all of us support each other would we be realizing our true potential.

What we have today is perhaps like a huge pile of bricks strewn around randomly. We must now try to make a wall, a tower, a structure out of it to reach the heights that we are capable of. Or else we shall all just lie haywire basking in the glory of our immenseness without realizing that we could be so much more.

When we think of our religion with the zeal of a fanatic, we feel that we are strengthening something deep. What we fail to realize is that there is something deeper that needs to be strengthened first. If ten men act as ten armies and fight among themselves then at the end the strongest army that we can expect to have would be just one man strong. We must realize our folly in not moving towards having an army of ten men when we have ten men to start with.

The chaos that lies around us and glares at us from every nook of our lives is fundamentally rooted within our own selves. We talk of complex economical models and the ultimate edges of technology but we fail to look at the simple things that would eventually make a huge difference. We look at the barrel of the cannon but we forget the screws without which we would just have a barrel and not the cannon.

We must learn to look at the smaller things as a nation. We must realize the importance of having the last hungry man fed and the importance of having every last person walking in the same direction if we have to end up with more than one man. In our entropy we might be at a peak today but eventually an agitated system would collapse in disorder.

There is a need for urgency in our actions - a need to correct our course and to stop building on top of the wrong bricks. There is need to find structure in this chaos, to retain our fundamental matter and not lose it all out in a supernova energy.

It would require all of us. Every single of us to push and heave to drive this nation out of the state of chaos and into a state of true prosperity which is not frail, disturbed or hollow.


Monday, October 22, 2007

हे मनुष्य, तुम्हारा क्या कारण है?

साधारण से परे, विज्ञप्त से पृथक,
तुम्हारी अन्तर ज्वाला का विवरण,
हे मनुष्य, तुम्हारा क्या कारण है?

अथाह आशाओं पर निलंबित अंकुश,
सतह त्रुटी मे विलुप्त वो स्मरण,
हे मनुष्य, तुम्हारा क्या कारण है?

पहल, कदमों तले धरा खिसकाने की,
सिसकती अनवरत अपेक्षाओं का रण,
हे मनुष्य, तुम्हारा क्या कारण है?

निरंतर स्मृतियों पर ठहरे संकोच,
रुधिर लिप्त पथो के कण-कण,
हे मनुष्य, तुम्हारा क्या कारण है?

निराश! विजय! स्वयं के स्वामी!
धूमिल रेखाओं का अंजलि चित्रण!
हे मनुष्य, तुम्हारा क्या कारण है?


Thursday, October 11, 2007

Sand cliff

Everyday the cliff is formed with the receding sea and everyday it falls apart with the tides coming in...

The sun shall set

The sun did eventually set but not before giving us this amazingly beautiful glimpse...

Standing alone

The Santa Cruz Cathedral - This old church stands alone - a witness of time passing by and a testimony to all that it has seen...

Friday, October 5, 2007

Silent boat

The silent boat awaits as the world around it quietly bears witness... A blissful and peaceful site... reminds me of Wordsworth... I will definitely follow this up with a writing soon. As soon as my hands are half as full as they are now...

Perfect horizon

The horizon as I imagine it is exactly how it showed up this fine evening. The amazing play of sunlight, water and shadows as always captivates me...

Receding waters

Receding waters, leaving sand and unwashed feet behind... My Nikon does conjure magic at times :)

High flying


So this is the kite that I was trying to fly a few days ago. I did manage to fly it for a while before it crash landed into a pile of history...

Friday, September 14, 2007

To err is divine

Stepping onto the toes of the underfed frames that look remotely like human beings, is not a privilege that most of us can talk about over coffee. It’s only when fingers laden with heavy cut stones knock on granite table-tops that you can hear such echoes. When whispers are muffled and silhouetted by the smell of rare Scottish blends, it’s only then that we realize that to err is no longer a human trait…

There is a certain arrogance in the construction tycoon’s voice when he talks of the homeless, weak and poor people that were thrown out of their single-plastic-sheet abodes. A certain sense of mockery outlines the tone of the celebrity who shot a poor waiter and got away with it. The list would go on and that is the epitome of the irony! These are not one off cases; they have been the norm of late.

In fact I remember when I was a kid, I was told this very often – “Let it be, everyone does mistakes. It happens!” Well now I realize the subtle meanings of that statement. Everyone obviously does mistakes but most get apprehended for it. It’s only the select few, the ones with deep silk lined pockets and shiny wrist gear that manage to justify the “It happens!” part.

The laborer who laid the brick just before the bridge caved in loses his job and his means to earn bread for his family. The contractor goes home and sulks over a drink, calculating the cut that it would make into his outstanding profit. Yes – he would obviously make a profit still, albeit not as much!

The higher up you climb the ladder the more you realize how punishment is actually like cold air – it always travels downwards and settles near the bottom! The gentle breeze at the top is usually oblivious to the heart wrenching story being told below.

All this makes me remember and visualize the towering images that most mythologies associate with gods. About their mythical powers and how small actions by these divine beings could shake and shatter the world of the meeker humans. And hard as I may try, I am unable to compare it with contemporary reality. The rich and the powerful indulge in their apparently regular ways. Subtle but sultry to those who bear their wrath (or ignorance)…

The arrogance and mockery that comes along the errors is something that they can afford. And for us, the ones down the hierarchy, the common humans – there is the way of forgiving and forgetting. The way to move on and look forward to the next day, hoping that it would be better…

To err in this era is essentially divine, to forgive is the human trait.

Friday, September 7, 2007


Retrograde, in my tunnel vision,
I find reality taking a back seat....
As dreams funnel by in streams,
Of crumbling cracked mud walls
And echoes of tiny footsteps...
Rain falling off a tapered roof,
Suntanned hands holding flowers...
Standing at the beach for hours
At length. When dawn was shorter
Than the yawning dusk... when I
Was just a reflection in your eye...
When our dreams began...
I still exist in that moment.


Wednesday, August 15, 2007

I need to fly (Lyrics)

I feel... I ... I need to fly
To touch you again...
Listening to the fading
Beats of my heart.
In the noise of the rain...

Sometimes... its a memory,
That remains an outcry...
And I feel empty and dry
Sinking in the hopes
To find a hand to hold on...

Maybe its just a thought...
Maybe its just a lie...
Maybe life's a little shy....
Of being lived once again...
I feel... I ... i need to fly

To touch you again...


Friday, August 10, 2007

Launching Bubbletoon.. (Comic strip and daily story)

Visit to zap into the Metrotoon life...

Tuesday, July 31, 2007

Shaded Corridors

When I touch the cemented corridors,
I feel the dust of time crumble beneath
The tips of my fingers - As I step aside
To breath the next wisp of scarce air,
I realize how time has trotted by,
Stranded me on an empty isle of hope...
Somewhere between sincere cognition
And grey fading memories, I lie -
Looking upward at the winter sky,
Snow crystals and stars falling at me,
Whispering little words that I don't
Really understand or perhaps that I
Don't want to. Not anymore since long.


Monday, July 16, 2007

Lemon butterfly

Green butterflies and orange dreams,
Walk by my window sill when morning -
Steps out into the lilac shaded
Garden with purple tulips dancing.
The chirps of the crimson billed
Birds whose little corundum claws
Scratch the back of the cinnamon
Tree that still stands there...
That has stood by for many years,
A witness to all the several days,
When the saffron caterpillars
Crawled ever so slow along its edges,
To find the multitude of reality
That they realized existed...
Beyond their screened grey vision.
Winged angels, travellers of far,
To leap, to dream, to float, to fly!
And while I idle away on the bed,
Letting in the morning's many hues
I almost sit up and consummate
The myriad tiny thoughts in my head,
My fingers stroll the wooden bars
And they almost leap with hysteria...
The cognition of happy truth sinks
To make me wonder, smile and think
I too can leap, dream, float, fly...
Let go of the forbidding shell,
And fly away like a lemon butterfly.


Saturday, July 14, 2007

Reorganized the archive from "Across the wall"

The archive was previously a pasted bulk from "Across the wall" (my older blog). Several people had requested me to organize it date-wise or atleast put the separate poems separately to make it easy to locate and read the poems/articles...

So I finally took the pains of organizing over a 100 poems/articles and I hope that you will find this blog to be much better readable now.

Thanks as always for reading and encouraging me...

The City

Have you walked the streets of late,
Have you seen the jungle we live in.
The grey stone walls are still warm,
And wet with tears in the morning -
When I walk past them on my way.
Marks of someone's hungry feet,
Etched in the dirt on the roads...
There's a story that was told once -
Its told again by the puddles
Near the by-lanes as I run and run,
I can imagine the mud splashed skirt
That tried to shy away last night,
When the cars went zooming by! I run
To find a corner of sanity! I fall
Into the many traps of this city...
Where children are hand-held and led,
Straight into the face of horror.
Where little hands learn to feel -
The texture of rough walls and dross.
While they bite into their souls
And that pain never goes away...
I run from the shadows that -
Are spread across the thoroughfares,
Where stains of blood and torn pieces -
Of cloth almost make you feel,
The torn skin that was dragged
Around the place and left in a heap
Of self-mutilating grief or regret.
I shiver every morning when I walk,
Around the streets where I now know
That the stone walls are still warm...
This city slowly grows on to me,
As it would on you, when you stroll,
Into the embrace of the neon lights.
And as you sink into its noises,
Life tries to wrap you in its arms ,
With a silent kiss of death...


Friday, July 6, 2007


Rippling through my conscious half,
I find a shivering realization exists -
Where I left a timid empty hope.
Desires sprout from a weary heart
When the sun dances with hurried steps
Playing games with the cuckoo's nest.
For it only has as many moments,
As would be spared for happy games.
A brief respite; A pretence; Solace!
Smiles fighting at the last frontier,
We - moving at a tepid fading pace...
Not dead yet; Not so lost as we were!
Steps though not in line, fall firm,
A certain grit outlining my form,
Subtle but certain changes surround -
Reality as it is reborn in my eyes.
I - flukan to be shaped; I - reformed,
Arcane; Adept; Insipid; Resurrected!
Fleeting, blithe, inebriated joy...
I still question hope's fidelity -
Though I do so now in hushed tones,
For it does deserve a second chance,
Perhaps I can now confide in hope.


Thursday, July 5, 2007

Another thursday muse

Thursdays are kind of weird. They are not really in the middle of the week, but they always feel so. They always have that threshold spike to them, just blocking the weekend from embracing you...

Well... Will add to this later...

So well... As I said thursdays... Hmm... I don't know why I said that in the first place, but since I did, I might as well continue the rant. Today being a Thursday is certainly going to fuel the ballistic core of my brain's internally combusted benign matter! I say combusted for the sheer sake of honesty. For where once the grey matter ruled, there now lies a wasted land! Ruins & fossils of a once great dynasty and trust me the damage has been majorly done by the T-days. Don't confuse them with the much gentler Tuesdays... these are the ruthless Thursdays that partake in this mass homicide.

Well bah - T-day needs me to go - will continue soon

Wednesday, June 27, 2007

Me, You and I

To you,

Have you ever noticed when you park the car after a drive in the rains, how drops of water trickle down the wind-shield of the car. As they move down slowly, they gather other drops and streak like a stream across your vision. Sometimes I see the feelings from my past do the same. Streams that gather droplets, getting bulkier and rolling down faster than they were in the previous moment. Somehow those streams always lead to you. You, sitting there cross-legged. Looking at the world around you like it was a mystery that you knew a lot about. You sitting with a smiling face, tears locked away in little boxes. Perhaps there is something wonderful about you but you won’t let the world see it.

You and I have a lot in common than either of us would want to admit. I know that we were in the same boat once but then the tides changed. You went on with the low tide, floating away. I surfed over the high tide thinking of big things and hiding the small ones. I do realize that the small ones matter but then I guess you were better with those. You knew about the magic that the smaller bits beheld. I wonder if you would have shared it with me!

I sometimes think of you and me as the same person. I dream of holding your hand and walking around with you. I wake up and realize that you ran away. Or maybe I left you stranded somewhere and I moved away. It gets a bit unclear but I do know that I am sorry for leaving you. I remember the tiny shoes that you loved. The toys that you prized. I remember that you wanted to run up to them and show your next wonderful thing. You wanted to surprise them. You wanted to love. To be loved. You wanted to remain like you always are in my memory. You somehow didn’t. I did not let you do all of that. I told you to stop running to them because I knew how bad you felt when you realized that your little wonders meant nothing to them. I tried to protect you from the pain that I thought you wouldn’t be able to take. Maybe I overdid it.

Perhaps you needed another chance. Perhaps you were ready to take the "no’s". Perhaps you wanted to run and fly even when no one noticed or cared. I did not really think that you were strong enough. So I made you give up that glint that you had in your eyes. And I made you pack up your wonders and mysteries into those little boxes. Times changed and you weren’t around anymore. Not because you didn’t want to but because I didn’t want you to stick around and get into a mess. You walked away because you didn’t know what else to do. You listened to me. You did. And you were gone with your delights, laughter, smiles, tears, joys, surprises and a lot more. You carried away all those boxes, every single one of them.

I know that you are out there somewhere with your eyes still shining with the next surprise that they behold. Your little hands shaping the outlines of amazing dreams. You were not scared to dream. No you weren’t. You dreamed like a free person. Nothing could contain your dreams. When they told you that some things are just not possible, you told me that they were stupid. You told me that things seem impossible even when they actually were possible because we did not have the courage to accept that the possibilities do not end at any quarter. I laughed at you and asked you to listen to them.

I slowly became what you never were. I became them. Or at least a part of them. I agreed more with them than I did with you. Not because I did not like you but because I liked you too much! I did not want you to run into disappointments and failures all the time. I did not want you to fall. I did not want to get you into trouble. I did not want you to stop being yourself. And then I did exactly what I did not want to do. I tried to stop you from being yourself. I tried and when I could not, I sent you away.

You know, ever since you have gone, I have felt hollow. I have felt like there’s so much missing from me. I have felt so incomplete. Even empty. But I still carried on and every day I put another layer of bricks between you and me. Pushed myself farther and farther from you. I almost forgot you for a time and I felt so good. I felt good because I no longer had to look back and regret what I had lost. The joy as is obvious was rather short-lived. I remembered you when I looked in the mirror and realized that I had no glint in my eyes.

I sometimes try to think of you and me as the same person. I try to remember when we were together. When I used to call you I. When you used to call me I. Those were some days. I cannot really remember or maybe I cannot accept that I was like that at some time of my life. When I could win everything without losing anything.

Today, I can lose everything and I realize that I need you a lot. I need you to bring those little boxes and open them up again. I want to feel and see those wonders. I want to feel the mystery of the world unraveling around me. I guess now you realize why I am writing this to you. I am writing this because I need us to be together again. I will not tell you to listen to them because now I know how right you were and how wrong they were. I will not ask you to hide your shining eyes and magic in tin boxes. I would accept that you are me. I really would if given that chance.

From me.

Tuesday, June 19, 2007

My tryst with hope

Corroborate truth to emcompass reality!
Frugal sensibilities lie rather still -
On the outskirts of consciousness,
While I retrograde into my yesterday...
Fingers clenched, waiting in silence,
To be held and led to continuity.
The flute of ebbing realizations,
Tunes into the timbre of thoughts,
And I lie sombre, letting dusk float -
Into my vision of blurred acceptance.
They, on the other side slide along,
A certain trance manifesting itself -
In their looks that gaze at my form.
Perhaps oblivious or just unnerved,
By the solidarity of my timid steps!
Swords sometimes don't hurt as much,
As the syllables that are undone -
In the silence of sulking dreams.
They wouldn't step aside or let go,
Of the echoes that they reflected.
Sounds scattered across the horizon,
That separates me and my past.
I rush around for a lonely corner,
I strum an unknown chord again,
To play with a chance of possibility -
Of abandoning all hope that be!
But prone I was as I later discerned,
To the capacity that truth beholds,
For truth indeed does contain reality,
And somehow I have subsumed truth,
Ever since I have played presumptions -
To escape hope in the dark silence...
But consciousness kicks in quietly,
While the flute fades away at dawn.
And I continue my tryst with hope!
Maybe this is the very last strand...


Brief Insight (Since was asked to put this in by someone)

This is about a man sitting in retrospect of the life that has gone by. He is thinking of things that have happened, people that have pushed him down... And he is trying to understand why he still continues... why he still has hope of goodness remaining...Everytime he feels that this is the last remaining strand of hope and that he would break after this... There seems to be more left... and so he carries on...

Monday, June 18, 2007


Innocent drops trickle down
On silent paper strips
To blot them in resilience
Overstep one's lines
Of thoughts and dreams
Unknown to reality,
Nightmares manifest -
In the cuckoo's nest...
Born from a shaking voice,
Lost before it is -
Found lying still,
Beside the albatross
Carved in wood...
Moments spent,
Years passed away,
Nothing said,
But words that
Mean nothing...
And words that meant
A world...
Were never spoken!
Blots remain,
Scarring me with stains...


Tuesday, June 12, 2007

My silence

Slipping through my fingers,
Holding to my thoughts...
There's a doorway to dream about,
A matchstick moment...
To burn and turn to ashes!
Then silence turns so loud,
An echo of my footsteps...
Slipping through my fingers,
Holding to my thoughts...
There is a wonderful aliby,
That would set me free-
Broken similarities found,
In my little wooden box...
Another matchstick moment,
To burn and turn to ashes...
Then silence turns around,
To look at me and smile.


Your whispers

Just a touch,
Leading on to bliss...
Flying across
The vision windows
That I contain-
Or that contain me!
Watching from high ground,
In retrospect.
Watching sometimes
Just oblivious to-
Little things that
Wonder in your dreams.
The tiny steps
That make you smile
And you don't realize
That the sounds
Are that of your
Own feet!

Sunday, June 10, 2007


A pinch or a spoonful... Add to taste!

Qutb Shahi Tombs - Another sighting from my apartment

"The Qutb Shahi tombs are located in a pleasant, park-like, setting, near Golconda Fort. They are constructed of local granite and plaster, and were originally decorated with green and turquoise tiles. The tombs contain the burials of seven rulers of the dynasty (two additional rulers died in exile), and other persons associated with the royal family. " -

Monday, June 4, 2007

The woodwork

The wood doesn't seem to be to happy about the weather around here

Golconda Fort - As seen from my place

The Golconda fort as seen from my house. Hoping to write something about it soon

My neighbourhood

My neighbourhood. This is what I see when I step out in my balcony. Something that makes me think... This and the Golconda fort that towers the view...

Tuesday, May 1, 2007

Miracle of hope

I wish I could die,
Like a blot of ink,
Drying out on paper,
Paper - lifeless wood!
Or just fade away,
Like the sounds of a passing train!
I wish I could step across,
To the other side!
Or that I could disappear,
Like a smile amidst fear!
But I just can’t seem to; Because -
I would keep flying high,
Even if you cut my wings!
I would soar to the skies,
Even if you tie me down!
I wouldn’t fall down,
Even if you move the ground!
Let go of me in the deep -
But I am not going to drown...
That’s how I am - have been,
To see all that I have seen,
And still be standing...
Living and wishing to die!
It’s a miracle - Miracle of hope...

-Anubhav K

Friday, April 20, 2007

The scribbled words

He held the book tightly in his hands. So tight that his hands trembled and he could feel the sweat seeping into the paper. There weren't many words that he had. There weren't many that were needed. Memories often speak through unsaid remarks. Sometimes in questions and at other times in exclamations. He wondered if memories could be quiet. He nodded to himself and maybe even whispered a 'No'.

He looked at the clock near the window. His vision darting from the time to the date on the calendar on the table next to him. Time does fly by when you are trying to slow down and look at life in retrospect. As if it was all a part of a greater conspiracy to leave him far behind when he finally gets a grip of his senses. He got up and fiddled with the idea of having a coffee and then he sat down again. Sinking a bit further into his own self, something that he had mastered over the past few years. As if he had a magic lock that he could conjure up on the board and hide behind a giant wooden door.

He would have asked for silence. He could have begged for words. He did neither. The pen infront of him stared back and he shoved it under a pile of paper. He would not write a letter. Not now. Not today. Maybe never, maybe soon! His feet were loosely tapping against the sides of the bed. His mind was ruthlessly tapping on to the thoughts that he did not even know still existed. He tried to form shapes with his fingers and looked at the shadow of his hands with curiousity and then he smiled to himself. Perhaps it was time to let go of the smile and accept that he really wanted to cry. Perhaps he would not do that.

He got up and went down to the garage. His fingers toyed with the keys for a while before he fired the ignition. His eyes exhibited with a rather loud clarity that he had no clue of where exactly he wanted to go. He knew though, that he did not want to stay anymore. Maybe driving away from his house would help him walk away from his thoughts. Or at least that is what he was hoping...

It was around an hour since he left the house and the road shimmered shyly because of the rain that had come down not so long ago. His eyes were fixated somewhere far on the horizon and his mind was lingering somewhere far behind in his past. Another sign board, another motel, another gas station. Life was passing him by in a flurry of activity...

He lied still on the hospital bed, unable to move his right hand or his legs. The walls were a deep shade of white! That is what he thought to himself. The plethora of instruments around him rhythimically beeped and hummed while he looked at himself. He was not shocked. He was just too unsympathetic to his own presence there in that hospital room. A doctor walked in with some sheets of paper. He thought he heard some words. He was not sure. "Last night", "Rain", "drunken driving", "accident on the highway"...

Things were probably happening in such a haste that he was in the next moment before he could react to the previous one. Someone pushed him into a wheel-chair and brought him out of the hospital. Someone held his hand and pushed him inside a cab. Someone pushed him back on a wheel-chair and propelled him into his room.

He looked at the clock again. The calendar had fallen cross on the blue covered book. He slowly extended his left hand and flipped the cover open. On the white page were scribbled words. Words that he whispered to himself. "On your birthday I give you myself forever"...

Maybe forevers are just meant to last for a short time. His eyes closed slowly around his vision. Maybe tomorrow would come with a fragment of hope and smiles...

Tuesday, April 3, 2007

Capturing thoughts

It is like holding your hands up in a prayer and devouring whatever divine insight that you get with the ferocity of a jaguar. There is a hope to get hold of that single fragment of the fibre that would connect you to the umbilical chord of truth itself. There is fervour and then there is silence that follows. Bright and loud silence. So quiet that it would fret through your cognition itself and awaken the awareness of the not so real world. The grey shaded blurred space that fills up the gap between your finger and your thoughts. Ideas take shape but the shivering fingers won't put them on paper. They get etched in your consciousness and yet they won't appear in ink. Ah! Elusive thoughts!

We always wish to catch hold of one of those and put them to task. Whispering to ourselves as if that would persuade the ink to take some comprehensible shapes. Conjuring words out of thin air and then losing their tail just when you think that you have them caged. Then you turn to negotiations! "Atleast half of it". "A quarter?". Thoughts as it would seem are not very open to conversations. Neither are they open to consultation or contract!

Then you finally give up. Lay down your arms and leisure yourself to the luxury of an afternoon nap. Or should we say that you try to do that. Not long before you realize that thoughts are sadist beings. Like a sneaky mouse, they would run and hide when you are looking for them and just when you tell yourself "Let it be", they reappear, gnawing at something at the corner of your vision. As if throwing out a challenge. Showing little sign-boards that read "Come get me".

You think for a moment and sulk again. You talk to yourself, "I'll let that pass", but just as your lips close around that consonant's hissing tone you realize that the gnawing is getting louder. The thought now stands up on two feet and waves at you. Mockery infact is such an understatement for that dismal display. You wish to yourself to have a mundane moment. A thoughtless minute. Is there atleast a possibility to just shut the doors of your mind-vision and let that grating rodent haunt itself with loneliness? Yes you know answer which ironically is a "No".

You feel your toes twitch and you pounce over the bed-rails to that door mat. You almost got it this time. Almost. Just like last time? It's gone! No more sounds. No echoes even in the retrospect of the previous second. Blunt little silent moments. How ruthless can they get? "Very".

Finally your mind starts to pulsate with dreams of actually having that thought dance to an entrancing tune and laying itself prone and low before you. Helplessly marking itself on white handmade paper. The dormouse thought actually manifesting itself in ink... And you very well know what happens next-

You wake up with the same pen lying cross on the blank sheet of paper that you started with. Did you actually fancy capturing a thought on paper?!?

Sunday, April 1, 2007

The yellow flowers

Some times it happens. All on its own. A few days pass by and few hours more. Then like years have gone by, it changes. Everything around us, the house, the dog, the car. Everything just becomes different.
Since childhood we nurture little dreams and big ones. Day dream about a sequence of events. "Meet her after the first job gets going". "Give Dad the keys of my first car". Motion pictures of thought processes flowing across our vision like a vivid story being retold again and again. And time flows by and the things change. Little forms here and there to begin with. Then the car moves out and some other moves in. The girl vanishes and some other comes in. And it just happens. Our dream, the one that had been for years. It changes. Metamorphises into something so different than what we began with. Irrecognizable. Unfamiliar. Changing shapes and changing shades. Different and new. A dream we cherished. A dream we cherish.
Life has a strange habit of turning around a corner and walking away. Tucking away its priceless moments in little packets of laughter and tears. Neatly packed and put on the top shelves of the cupboard. Out of reach of little souls. Away from jumping little boys with jumping shoes and football stories.
I really do not know if John said good bye to them or the daffodils said it to him. But it was a sad evening for the daffodils and for John. The flowers, alone in the backyard. The boy, alone with his friends! He walked like a ghost for days. The flowers didn't smile at him anymore. They just lay there in bright sunlight and in the darkness of the night. Maybe they were waiting, maybe that was all there was to them. Ever since Mom asked John to "leave those flowers and go out and make some real friends". He loved Mommy. He didn't like the sad look on her face that said aloud "It is so sad. My son has no friends". So he went out and he made friends. He had friends at the street end. He had friends at school. He met new people and they liked him and he liked them too. A new life. A lively way of living. With people around. Talking, smiling, shouting.
No more silent flowers. The first few days were strange, and then it was so much fun. Playing and running around. The boy and flowers parted ways... or so it seemed.
I was going through his diaries the other day, and I found something that possibly John wrote to describe that period of his life. The time when he had parted ways with his flowers.
Somethings are very strange and do not change with times, they stay with us till the end of time. Right from the time we begin percieving things, they are there and they stay on till the time we do. It is things like these... like the sun, the sky and our souls, that make our lives look the way that it is. The world around us has a very peculiar way of picking on us and making us see things around us.
Those same wild white flowers on the roadside on the way to school. We can never forget them. Those same broken benches in the local park. We will always miss them. The bright sun after a heavy rain. We will always have it with us. The yellow flowers in the backyard. To be lived with and dreamt of. They lie their in the rain like any other flowers would. They move with the breeze knowing little about the way they would shape the life of a man.
We were sitting on the window looking at the yellow daffodils. Me and John. John and the daffodils. Two couples oblivious to the existence of the other. Sitting in the same room. Looking at each other with empty eyes. Thinking, dreaming, remembering. John was holding his old diary again and scribbling something in it. I don't know that transpired between him and the flowers but whenever he saw them something happened. A page flew off his hand and landed near where i was sitting. John looked at me, his eyes begging me not to pick up and read the piece. I was ruthless. I just couldn't resist the great piece of secret information that had come across. A rare chance to unfold the mysterious talks between him and his flowers.
The little cursive shapes on the paper looked like little fish in the water. Swimming and spread all over! I wish I could figure things out...

Saturday, March 24, 2007

I could walk backwards in time

If I could find a reason to smile,
I would find a closet of laughter...
Beyond the yellow dreams,
There lies a world of butterflies,
And blue spooky monsters!
And we are stepping closer to life...
Far- far away from our dreams.
Little bottles of bubbling soda,
Left around in the corners...
And trousers stretching at the seams,
The days when I was growing stronger –
With every passing day and year.
Those were days when I could jump –
Across every last drop of tear...
And now I grow weak with my white -
Grey hair streaking across my face.
Telling me the story of bygone days...
I can sell all my shiny watches...
Can give up on the red car in the porch
Anything to light up the torch –
To feel that I can smile once again,
But then as I have known all along,
The cost of a lifetime of tears...
Is not enough to buy a moment of smiles!
The closet of laughter is just a fairytale
That I once lived inside of...
Memories – shape them as you please,
But you can’t walk backwards in time –
Not anymore... the time socks are gone!


P.S. - This has been published at MSN India -

Wednesday, March 21, 2007


Finding reasons to give in to the moment,
Flush with desires, holding back or not -
Is sometimes not a choice but just a prelude.
The aftermath of a look, a frisk or a kiss!
A silent afternoon screaming to touch,
To feel the moments' ecstasy curve -
Under the pleadings of your hands!
And you know when and how it begins...
An upsurge of kinds marked with blushes,
Fires kindled within minds, with sweat -
Outlining the silhouettes of trembling lips.
Parted and yet held close with wants -
Getting the better of the rights and wrongs.
Moments furthering the melting of skins,
Bonding curves, to curves held close!
As if temptation were to offer adhesion -
Beyond compare! A breath whispers -
A sigh listens and reacts once more!
With reasons to believe for more to come -
Rather soon - For the blazing heat -
Shudders with some sense of urgency,
An effervescent mix of lust and fear...
Bubbling out from the crevices
That the two shadows contain!
The smell, the flow of silk and hair,
The clenched fists & closed eyes,
There's more than words can say -
That can be said by ruffling sheets!
They soar and drown - to live,
As if there is but this moment.
And as the wave breaks on the rocks,
Their sounds break through silence,
Marking the ebbing mood, silence -
Once more takes over time and space -
Caught between entwined fingers,
And fused shadows - there is -
A moment that they call 'forever'.


Across the wall - Archive

I am posting the archive from “Across the wall” here as a lot of people have been asking to put that stuff up for reading. If you like this please do considering buying a copy of my book “Across the wall of my mind” from

Monday, March 19, 2007

Across the wall

"Across the wall" is now lost in the past. That was where I wrote things when I was indeed across the wall. Now I guess I am very much on the same side as the rest of the world...

So here's the new place that I found to scribble and that's what I will do...