memories

of the day we met,
you remember everything.
i just remember you.

windchime

time flies away
leaving behind memories
memories, that remains caught in the cobwebs of the mind

someday,
the sun shines just so
that i again see your smiling face - in the cobweb
someday,
the moon turns so pale
that it almost becomes dark as the darkest night
that i again see the night, 
the night of your going away - in the cobweb

time flies away
leaving behind memories
memories, that remains caught in the cobwebs of the mind

some memories come silently, in stealth
like the wind is still, not moving
nothing moves, no sound anywhere
the wind-chime does not sing, does not cry
i remain a statue - i donot sing, i donot cry
and the memories again pass by.
--
these memories, they come in stealth, silently
and in my stillness i wonder
who is in hiding here
do i hide from my memories
do my memories hide from me
or is it that, we both always run away from each other.
next time the wind chime rings,
it sounds almost like a sneer, a leer

and then
some memories come with a hundred piper
all around, there is so much laughter
the sun dances, the moon keeps dancing
the wind-chime sings a hundred dream
and i? 
i donot know
whether i am dancing in the whirlpool
or i am the whirlpool itself.
but these memories, they too again pass by.
--
sometime these memories wait for me
sometime, i wait for them in my threshold.
and in waiting, the wind-chime stands alert, 
it does not ring, it hangs still...

time flies away
leaving behind memories
memories, that remains caught in the cobwebs of the mind
memories that take wing
as the wind chime again plays with wind

waiting

you can always argue

that an hour is just an hour.

but sometime

tricks get played

and an hour lasts a little longer

those are the hours

i spend

waiting for you

silence

once all words dry up
all that remains
is the silence.

once silence dies out
all that lives on
is its ever-ricocheting echo
piercing the heart, always

prolonged suicide

between her two fingers
she picked up death gingerly
held it up to the sun
and judged it for one whole minute
then quickly put it on her tongue

now she goes about the town
death-in-cheek all the time

blush

the stars must have whispered many sweet nothings last night

or the sky would not have blushed so much pink today !

alone

when you leave,
you take me away with you.

after that,
in my house
i remain alone,without myself...

or

when you leave
you do not know,
but you take me away with you
and after that,
in my house
i remain alone, without myself

alone

when you leave,
you take me away with you.

after that,
in my house
i remain alone, without myself...


or

when you leave
you do not know,
but you take me away with you
and after that,
in my house
i remain alone, without myself

what happens when
the door is closed
and it is cold outside

do bones freeze
do blood clot
do life stands on a standstill
till the winter is over

does the winter ever go
when the heart is cold
can spring ever come
when the door is closed?

sunset

this evening

as we part our ways

the sun sets

say so a thousand time

and i will still not believe

that the sun will rise again

darkness

in the crevice
the darkness gathers,
night after night

and then,
on a moonless night
i pour all of it on me

now
darkness is me
and i am darkness

winter

the cold night comes
with a ring in its hand

we sit by the fireside
the night weaves a fairy tale

as a parting gift,
it slips the ring on my finger

since then, i carry a frozen heart

tajmahal

ketiyaba tajmahal eta mrityur bedona
boga haat bhori bur kusai
jonak't bohi thake
thik jen
mrityur taap't haat xeki aase
tajmahal rupi ek norokonkaal

aru ketiyaba
tajmahal eta jonaki xopun
dupor nixaa haat baul di maate tumak, muk
raati bur hoi pore rupali, thik jen rupkotha
rupali jamuna't lahe lahe boi jai raati'r tora bur
lahe lahe aahi thup khai rupali tora bur
tumar, mur bukut...

kintu ketiyaba
tajmahal mathu eti mrityur bedona. ..

eyes

in my mind i see your eyes
and the strange play of gleam and shadow within
this is where darkness becomes light and lights turn into nights
this is where i lose my way, this is where i find my path

alive

with my thousand thoughts
i have bruised the air
soon the evening turns blue with pain- like a bleeding heart
my temples throb - with your burning love

i dream that i am walking alive.

belonging

if you ask me so
i will go away
but tell me this...
even when gone
does not the moon still belong to the sky?

always

i climb
the air, always.
always, my left foot slips
i fall into the moon
...
the moon smells like your heart, always

stops...

you know?
how even when the rain stops
the sound of it still keeps playing in the mind...
when you go away
that sound stops

moon

if i could have told you
all that is in my heart,
i would have said it again and again
i cannot
so i give you the moon tonight

a little more

a little more music, till the dance dies out
a little more dance, till the music dies out
a little more life, till death turns up
a little more death, till life runs out

a little more is all i have
a little more is all i ask
just a little more - till i go away

nau

monot aase?
tumi likha xei prothom sithi khon
eta amulmul xubah aasil xei sithi khon'ot
okuwa pokuwa tumar aakhor'r paar bhangi bhangi
boi aahisil ekhon prem'r nodi

xeidina
mur mon jen ekhon kagoj'or nao
tumar sithi'ye korhiyai aana nodi'r bukut
bohut, bohut duur bhahi goisil mur mon - mur kagoj'r nau

etiya
nodi'r paar'ote dub jai mur kagoj'r nau

again

crawling back
stepping into myself
i meet myself again

and in this mind of mine i call my home
i like my awkward presence 

there are so many things to stumble upon - 
a hibiscus dried up between the pages of lost poems,
a warm memory, a childhood toy,
tears of sadness, tears of joy!

i stay awake,
paint my dark nights purple and blue- 
hyacinth purple, sky like blue.
in the morning, i reach my roof 
and with the pigeons, i coo

i fly away
to crawl back again

kiyo ejaak borokhun

kiyo ejaak borokhun
aahu aahu kori
hothate ubhoti jai, naahe

uroniya megh bur'or
auwol bawol dhemali't
akaakh khon ufondi uthe
tothapiu
borokhun jaak
aahu aahu kori
hothate ubhoti jai, naahe

tumi maje maje
rumal't botah baandhi
mur xondhiya'r poduli't roi thaka

okonmaan botah'r akha't
moi khorang sutal dour maari paar hou
mur ukhaah bur paas pore,  moi aag barhu poduli mukh'ole

tumi rumal'or gaathi nukhula
binimoy't tumak je borokhun lage!
gathi'r bhitorote botah khini paak maari thake !

ejaak borokhun'r
e'hazar protishruti
xukan paat'r dore khorang sutal't xori xori pore
borokhun jaak
aahim aahim buliu
ubhoti jai, naahe

light

sometime,
in the middle of the night
when the moon goes a bit dim
and the stars are about to sleep
i see the light
in your eyes

and then sometime, 
just as the darkness is about to kill me again
i see the same light
flowing by the water of the river.

the river passes by your house

i know
that night
you have cried

i touch the light
always first gingerly, 
then as if they belong to me.
and then,
i scoop them up, 
one scoop after another
till my soul can take it no longer


night after night
i die, in the depth of my darkness
night after night
i die, in the hollow of your light
night after night
i drown in the the river, flowing by your side

আকাশ যে কেতিয়াও পুৰণি নহয় !

মোৰ বুকুত 

জাপ জাপ কে থৈ দিয়া আছে 

এখন এখন বিশাল আকাশ 

ক'লা  মেঘৰ গুমুথা আকাশ  - ঠিক যেন  তুমি উপচ  ধৰিচা

কপাহি মেঘৰ শুকুলা আকাশ  - তুমি যেন মোক হাত বাউল দি মাতিচা 

ৰাতিপুৱাৰ আকাশ  - তোমাৰ ফৰকাল হাঁহিতোৰ দৰে

গধুলিৰ আকাশ  - তুমি আকৌ আহিম বুলি কৈচা 

আৰু এই দূপৰ ৰাতিৰ গভীৰ আকাশ  - তুমি যেন নিৰিবিলি খিনি সাবটি বহি আছা 

কিমান যে আকাশ ঠাহ খাই আছে 

জাপ জাপ কে  মোৰ বুকুৰ মাজত…

তুমি আহিবা 

কেতিয়াবা সময় পালে মোৰ এই  আকাশত এপাক দুপাক উৰা  মাৰি চাবা 

ৰৈ আছে মোৰ আকাশ …

 আকাশ যে  কেতিয়াও পুৰণি নহয়…

আকাশ যে  কেতিয়াও পুৰণি নহয় !

eta xosa misa’r tupula

aru emuthi prem

omanikha’r nixa puti thoi dim noi’r ghatot

…

fesa’r kuruli ses nuhuwa loi

nistobdho hoi xui thakim baki tu rati

oprem’or bukut

river

this monsoon
the river refuses to go away without me.
i fold my summer dreams into paper boats
and watch them flow away with the river

while i wait for autumn in the shore...

sinaki

dawor'or bukut guji thuwa ase bohutu elaagi bedona
xeyehe sage ei borokhun jaak'or kisumaan tupal
sinaki sinaki !

ঠাট্টা

মাজৰাতি 

সপোনত 

ছায়ামূর্তি বোৰে

কিৰিলি পাৰি হাঁহে  

যেন সিহঁতে

মোৰ সপোন বোৰক 

ঠাট্টাহে কৰি আছে 

borokhun jaak
paar hoi jai
khorang mon lukai thake kosu paat'r tolot !

LOVE

love is
when
we meet 
but we do not talk
knowing
words are but nuisance
when all that matters
is that 
you and i
exist in the SAME world

lingering

you go away
but your shadow remains
lingering on my soul
growing
day by day
night by night
till
i am more of you
and less of me

the wait

she would wait for him, always

and did not care that he never came

sometime, half her vegetables would rot away, but she kept her faith

she waited for him, always

**this lady has her vegetable stall in domlur (bangalore). she is often found reading some kind of a prayer book while waiting for customers to come to her stall.

the undoing hope

the sun is a little larger today
a bit more round
a sated smile on its thin lips, after last night's sleep

she climbed up the ladder, poised dangerously against the blue sky
several rungs in one precarious go, several rungs in one hurried breath 
she wanted to get the sun down, 
before the cloud gets into her head

the sun smiled wider
knowing full well,
like always, it will cast its hopeful shadow on her
before she can pluck it off her rainbow weeded stark blue sky.

the smell of grief 2

the smell of grief
filled the room

all left one by one
till only grief remained

sadness is always a lonely business

HALF THE MOON AND A BIT MORE

She looked at him, opened her mouth to say something and then, decided otherwise. He was lying spread-eagled on the bed, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. She looked up and caught sight of the cobwebs at the corner of the ceiling of the hospital room.

"What do you see caught in the cobwebs?" His voice startled her. She did not know that he was watching her.

Eyes still on the cobwebs, she replied, "I see a boy staring at me." She turned her face towards him and smiled. "This cob web is a mirror; a magical mirror Prateek. I see you and me in it. You are staring at me. We are still in college. While passing the college corridor, I see you staring at me from the corner of my eye. My friends keep telling me that you worship the ground I walk. And every time they speak about you, I break out in giggles. I hear those giggles in the cobweb."

He scrutinized her face. There was no trace of joke in her expression. Nor could he see any trace of sadness in her face thankfully. He kept looking at her with mild interest. She smiled at him and shook her head vigorously.

"What are you shaking away? Old memories? Past mistakes?", he asked kindly.

She laughed at his question, a gentle, rippling laugh. "You know what Prateek, I never shake away memories. Time is a cobweb, and all my memories are trapped in it. I see you staring at me in the college days, I remember accepting your facebook friend request, I remember fondly our first coffee date, I remember our first Maggi date…”  Her voice trailed away.

"Memories don’t lie, or do they? And they do not die!", Prateek said almost to himself.

"Yes, memories don’t die ", she echoed.  "You remember? The little poems you wrote for me. I guess they made me fall madly in love with you. And then you told me those were all copied from your favourite poet! What is his name?"

"Pablo Neruda," said Prateek.

"Yes,  Neruda. The lines I liked the most were: ' I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,

in secret, between the shadow and the soul.' I thought you had written those lines because of my dark complexion.", laughed Maya.

"I chose those lines because I love you. I mean, loved you.", he sighed.

"Maybe you still love me, secretly? As certain dark things are to be loved?" She was laughing. 

He looked at her. She has this habit of finishing awkward questions with a laugh. A year back, Maya had asked the most fatal question, ending it with a laugh, "Do you want to break up with me?" Prateek had never answered that question; he had just smiled. He often wonders how that smile looked to Maya. Did it look like a sad smile, a tired smile, a relieved smile, or did it look like a smile with no answers. But Maya had got his answer. She had hugged him tightly and told warmly: "We will always be friends; we have always been good friends."

She has kept her words. They have remained good friends and not just ‘once-upon-a-time-we-used-to-go-out’ friends. She would call him up often and rattle on about her daily life. He knows the names of all the irritating colleagues in her new office. And she knows the name of his new dog. In fact, she had looked after Bonzo when he and his new girlfriend were out of town for a weekend vacation. Yes, they have remained good friends. And here she is now, visiting him in the hospital. And asking awkward questions with a laugh!

He laughed back at her, a kind laugh and said, "We are good friends, we have always been good friends."

She suddenly stopped laughing. And when she spoke, there was no laughter in her voice. Her eyes had a gentle misty look as she said, "I will remember the poems you stole for me. You will remember my favourite spot in your neighbourhood park. You will remember how I kissed you; I will remember how you close your eyes when I kiss you. You will remember my laughs and my words. Soon I will give birth to my first baby and soon you will get married to your girlfriend. But however much we pretend in front of the world, we will always remember everything that happened between us. This is what good love does to you. It gives you lots of memories. Sacred memories that we hold close to our hearts and never let go. I know that sometime, when you will take Bonzo for his evening walk and he would be sniffing away the roadside grass, you would be thinking of me. And sometime, when I am singing a lullaby to my child, maybe I would remember you." She smiled.

Prateek could see that Maya was staring at the cobweb again. Without looking at Prateek, she said, "And you are my favourite nostalgia Prateek, almost like my favourite love." Prateek did not see it, but she was smiling at the cobweb.

***

That night Prateek wrote a poem for Maya:

half the moon and a bit more
for you
and all your favourite colours too, for you
i carry, as i walk beyond myself

your fists are clenched -
in refusal
i pry them open, finger by finger
ten moments of lifetime memories!
i touch them
as if i touch my old life again

i slid the half and more moon on your finger
it fits like the perfect ring
i put down your favourite colours by your bedside
they look like the perfect dream

then
i walk beyond myself, and away from you.

As he closed his diary, he was smiling, thinking that Maya would perhaps never know that he finally actually wrote some lines for her. As he settled down to sleep, he kept staring at the cobwebs.

Hundred Years of Indian Cinema: Bombay Talkies

Cinema is a major industry. It employs millions of people; it churns out loads of money. But in India, cinema is not just that. It is a part of our lives, our dreams. And in 2013, we step into 100 years of Indian Cinema! The journey has been a long one and there is no denying that every Indian has been a part of it. To celebrate this great occasion, four directors (Karan Johar, Zoya Akhtar, Dibakar Bannerjee and Anurag Kashyap) have come up with Bombay Talkies: a medley of four short movies under one banner.

Karan’s movie is laced with gay characters. If I had to title his story in Bombay Talkies, I would call it The Coming Out. Initially, the story runs the mundane path of a homosexual guy who wants people to accept him as he is; a normal gay boy. It has its share of humour, wit, sarcasm, philosophy and fun. But as the story ends, we suddenly realize that the story is not about the coming out of the homosexual characters. It’s about the coming out of the female protagonist. The story ends brilliantly with the female protagonist coming out of her stigma of a failed sexual relationship with a victorious smile.

Dibakar’s story is about a father hunting a story for his sick daughter. It’s heart touching to see how a father turns a humiliating experience of his life into a heroic story for his daughter. Nawazuddin  Siddiqui steals your heart with his performance in this story. Probably he will steal many awards too for this one.  He brings to life the simple truth: whatever the circumstances, a father is always the hero for his daughter. Also, this story is a silent tribute to all those people who play the smallest of parts in our Hindi movies. We do not see their names on the roll, we do not remember them after the movie, but without them, the movie is incomplete. If I had to title this story, I would call it Hero.

Zoya Akhtar’s story reminds you of an important part of Bollywood movies: the child artist. This little guy called Naman Jain will steal your hearts with his dreams. If I had to title this story, I would call it Sheila ki Jawani. Zoya’s story is an idealistic story. It tells you to follow your dreams, no matter what. By the end of this story, you may still remain a cynic, but you will not remain without a happy smile. That’s a guarantee.

And then comes Anurag Kashyap’s story. Indians are crazy about their favourite filmstars. They worship Dilip Kumar and Amitabh Bachchan. But are they blind in their faith? Or is it that the fan knows full well that Amitabh Bachchan is not a God but still chooses to worship him? Anurag’s story beautifully captures this theme. The story starts with the craziness of an Amitabh Bachchan fan and ends with the wit of a man who has seen and lived his life. The story is a tribute to Bollywood stardom and the Bollywood fans. If I had to title this story, I would call it The Un-dying Fan.

The movie ends with a brilliant song and dance number celebrating the 100 years of Indian Cinema. I loved Bombay Talkies very much but there is just one thing I found missing in this movie; a boy meets girl love story. After all, romantic love story is the most dominant theme of Bollywood movies. This is what Bollywood is famous for. But the four stories are so brilliant that its hard to keep holding grudges. Another praise: the casting song brilliantly captures the centenary mood.

Bombay Talkies is a subtle reminder that Bollywood has shaped our lives in more ways than we can recognize. It has given us dreams, it has given us hopes. It has pioneered changes in the society. It has celebrated womanhood. It has celebrated love. It has celebrated homosexuality. It has given us careers, it has given us entertainment. And it has given us our favourite stars!

two dead people having so much fun

where was i when you died?
in the telephone booth, calling up a wrong number, just for fun
on second thought, if you were dead, why did you not answer
it would have been so much funnier
two dead people talking on phone
on that, we could have written a song!

i am going with the flow, will you follow?
i am going with the flow, will you follow?
i am going with the flow, will you follow, just for fun?

die again, pick up the phone 
i am calling you now, just for fun
tell me a joke, make me cry
die again, just, just for fun 
two dead people, having so much fun !

the stars are alive, the moon is alive
the air is breathing, the night is alive
and we are dead...
two dead people, having so much fun !

running out of myself and entering a dream

time, many pieces of it

are stuck on our wall

some hanging by the dead clock
some dripping by the cold sun

some plastered to the old painting
some dried up in the flower vase...

a crowd of time around me !

why do you dream so much, you asked me

as you jolted me out of my dream; from this crowd of time

i do not realize that i dream so much

i offer a shallow apology

you reminded me of that rainy afternoon

when you were reading, i was watching the rain

suddenly i thought we were on a beach, and the moon seemed so real

i wanted to swim in the moonlit sea

you finally had to open the window, let the rain come in

before i agreed that we were at home, and it was raining

---that night you suffered a high temperature 

sometime i think it's this city, the streets here

they do something to me, they take me to unknown places

but you say, i do not put up enough fight to stay put here

as if i almost deliberately run away

i never run away deliberately...
 from you, this city, these streets
but sometime i do not exist, i do not live, i almost do not breathe
however much i search, i do not find myself
sometime i just run out of me
sometime i just run out of myself

at such times a shadow of mine remains lost in the darkness of our wall
like a long ago forgotten piece of time
hanging by the dead clock, dripping by the cold sun...

puhor'or poth'ot moi praiyei hoi poru swashrudho
ukhaah bur hoi jai suti suti, taakor
ondhokaar't moi hiya jurai humuniyah kaarhu

puhor'ot moi sokure moniboi nuwaru
soku saat maari dhore xomaj'r borborotai, apunar mur koluxotai, bedonai
andhaar'ot moi ko'la neela hridoyor logot koto je mel paatu

puhor'ort moi pothbhrosto -
baare baare bhul baat dhoru
andhaar goli bur mur bor sinaki
jeniye jao, baator xekh'ot nijok log pau

baaru
ondhokaar bulile ki buje apuni!
puhor'or onuposthiti,
solonamoyi aabeg buror ek daworiya bhumuki,
ne mon'or bhitor'or ek ogotanugotik khamkheyali?
ondhokaar bulile baru ki buje apuni?

apunar uttor'or protyakha't,
ajiloi xamorilu,
iti andhaar'or pujari

এটা মৃত্যুর ইচ্চা

উজাগরী রাতি 
প্রহরী মন 
আরু এটা মৃত্যুর অপেখ্যা 
এটা মৃত্যুর ইচ্চা 

আহিবা  মৃত্যু
তোমার ঠালে ঠেঙুলিয়ে বান্ধি দিম 
মোর সুখ-দুখর টোপোলা 
মোর শৈশব, যৌবন, আরু মোর ঠিকনা 
বিনিময়্ত 
মই ককালত বান্ধি লম 
তোমার অস্তিত্ব, তোমার আত্মিয়তা 

আজরি পরত আমি একেলগে বহি 
কফি খাম, সিগারেট খাম 
আরু হাজার আলোচনার শেষত এই সিধান্তত একমত হম 
যে মৃত্যুরো এটা আনন্দ আচে 

আন্ধার রাতি 
উখ ঘরর ক'লা ছায়ার আর লৈ লৈ 
মোক লগ ধরিব 
তুমি আহিবা মৃত্যু

alone

like sand -

slipping away between your fingers

people slip, life slip by

and we remain stranded alone

being alone is the new crowd

god

so many roads
and all lead to you.
yet,
so many lose their ways 

as they say,
those who believe will reach him
others will always lose their way

inbetween remembering and forgetting you
i spent the spring and the summer
when autumn came, i was ready for winter

opekhha

gutimali
oporajita
aru eta niyor xona godhuli
ajiu lukai thuwa aase perek'or sukot

ketiyaba maajrati
xokolu xui thoka xomoy'ot
ghoror saal'ot meli diu ihotok

junak'or puhor'ot amulmulai uthe gutimali oporajita
xemeki uthe niyor, xemeki uthe godhuli

laahe laahe
eta eta koi naami aahe saal'or pora
xaari paati roi thake poduli't

ajiu
dupor raati
xaari paati roi thake poduli't
tumar babe
- gutimali
- oporajita
- aru eta niyor xona godhuli

winter

trying to forget
and remembering more
this is the coming of the winter

eternity

the narrow lane
the street lights that casted more darkness than light
and us,
walking side by side
silent with each other, in deep conversations with ourselves
we knew
that was the coming of the winter 

and then
just before we parted
we held hands, just for a brief moment
sharing each other's warmth - that was a moment of eternity
and winter never touched us again

fearless

red shoes and i want to sing out loud
red wine and i want to sing aloud
and let the song not end tonight, this friday night

today, this night
i am free
free of neighbours, moral police and roving eyes
tonight, this friday night, i meet myself
and oh, i love myself so much

i will spend all my money on me, no don't stop me
i will buy the shortest dress, the darkest kajal, no don't stop me

i will buy a swing and hang it by my window
i will fly away in my swing this friday night
up in the air, in my red shoes, with my lakme black black eyes
i will look down upon all of you, you roving eyes !!

ah
judge me
call me names
tonight i am dressed in  gucci clothes
all your slanders slip by me

tonight i am cinderella
i drank a lot and lost my shoe
no charming prince, donot come after me
i will buy another pair, i am done with the old one
(after all, i am a girl, i donot wear the same shoes everywhere!)

tonight i am sleeping beauty
i ate a lot, i am in deep slumber
no charming prince, do not wake me up
i love my beauty sleep, and you are not my alarm clock dear

tonight i am snow white
but if you see me out in the woods, in my glass coffin
do not kiss me charming prince
you are cute but i am waiting for someone else here

tonight, this friday night
i am free of old superstitions, old fairy tales, 
i am not your cinderella, i am not your sleeping beauty, i am not your snow white
i am me, myself, my own cinderella, my own sleeping beauty, my own snow white
tonight, i am me, myself
me, myself
this is my night
you cannot snatch it from me dear!

tonight, i will write my own story
if you like it, follow me
if you donot, i will see you to the door
i am fearless, and i will live my own story
i will wrinkle in my own sins, i will shine in my own glory
i will wear the reddest shoes, the darkest kajal
and i will smile at you, even if you donot smile back at me

untitled

 I drowned in my coffee and emerged at the other side of my dream. I met you there. 1/2

When you left I drowned in my wine and emerged at the other side of my life. I met myself there.

my seasons

the rain has stopped
but memories keep pouring
flooding till my house drowns

...

this summer
the river changed its course
by the old shore the empty urns lie waiting

...

the green leaves have turned yellow and fallen
sitting beneath my favourite tree
first time in the year i see so much sky

...

i know winter has come
when i see the purple furs in the glittering shops
and the shivering beggars by the roads

...

one flower for each of my dreams
spring brings for me every year
the most beautiful flower among them, i give to you

the art of living

the chemistry of falling in love
the philosophy of forgetting
and the futility of education

the brown coffee
the black tea
and the colourless dreams

the silent evenings
the moonless nights
and the loadshedding

...

amongst all these
we met, became friends
and parted as strangers

...

the art of living
the art of living
the art of living

fearless 1

we met friday night
you seemed nice
i invited you for coffee

next day, 
you told me
i am characterless

you are wrong
i am fearless


we met again
five days later, suddenly at a friend's place
you brought me a drink, i threw it right at your face

you turned red
you shouted that i am manner less

you are wrong again
i am fearless

later you told everyone that i am crazy
you are wrong again, again
i am just fearless

metamorphosis 2

sometime, 
at the middle of the night,
i wake up and turn into a dove.

i coo and coo, till my heart breaks
then I again turn back to myself - a heartless person

consumer dream

i touch them gingerly
my dreams 
scared they will stick to me forever

they melt at my touch and spread all over
like the drool of a pet at the sight of its favourite food, full of longing
gingerly i pick them up again, drop by drop

i pat them, gingerly
i coax them to sleep
i do not go away till they close their eyes

scarce are my dreams
i do not want to spend them soon, waste them soon
i keep count of them every sleepless night

i want them safe; i do not have the money to buy them again
this time i am saving money to buy some gods

reasons for insomnia

sometime
you refuse to go to sleep

its so easy
to close your eyes to the world
but
you
refuse to go to sleep

you 
refuse to wake up to a morning of bullshit
you refuse to have your morning coffee of despair
you refuse to walk through a afternoon of lies

that friend
who is so stupid that she believed in all the lies
she calls you up in the evening
in memory of the bygone days
you refuse to burn again in memories of innocence

the news channel..
you pay for it
yet it fetches news you do not want to hear
every evening it tells you of rape and bribe and inflation
you refuse to hear the same news, once again

your mother calls you every night
she does not tell you how much she misses you
yet you know, how she yearns for you
but the job you hate keeps you apart
you refuse to hear the pain in your mother's voice every night
you refuse to hear the tolerance in your father's silence every night

you do not want
another such day to begin
so
sometime
you
refuse to go to sleep at night

sleepless night, again !

one part of her sat huddled in the room
the other part -
ran out into the rain - bare foot

later, both met at the threshold
and exchanged gifts -

from the rain, she had brought back a wet moon
the other part gave away her leftover dreams

and together they wove a sleepless night !

what does a woman think when she looks out of her window in the winter light?

what does a woman think
when she looks out of her window in the winter light?

today the meal she cooked was too salty
eight years back, her husband had died
five months back, her daughter had left her husband
one month back, the same daughter had given birth to a girl

what does a woman think
when she looks out of her window in the winter light?
does she think about the right name for her grandchild?

last tuesday, her colleague leered at her
last thursday, with the same colleague, she had spent her night
today, his invitation, she has declined

what does a woman think
when she looks out of her window in the winter light?

does she think about westminster abbey
where she believes people make-out in the broad daylight
or does she think about her local church, the methodist church
where she prays for her late husband once in a while...

what does a woman think
when she looks out of her window in the winter light?

or may be
she looks out of her window- for a respite
when she looks out of her window in the winter light
may be, she does not have a single thought in her mind


what does a woman think
when she looks out of her window in the winter light?

the yellow shawl

it rained while i was sleeping

i slept better - the shadow of rainbow glowing in my heart

wrapped in a yellow shawl, 

i look outside my open window -

the clouds are now sleeping, dreaming

the leaves - greener, dancing in the hint of sunshine

the earth smells of rain

its cold, i hold my shawl tighter

the yellow now closer to my soul

i look within - oh, what a sight

- as the black smiles back at yellow.

i hold my shawl closer, tighter

bageshwari temple

har ek din tere darr tak aana
jaise waada kiya hai tune milne ka !
tera na milna, phir bhi mera wapas aana
jaise chaahat ho ruthe piya ko manaane ka !

godless love

godless love
you follow me
like an ardent devotee.
blind, carefree.


i have returned you to the temple,
where you do not belong.
i have returned you to your home, where you belong
but you are a runaway!

i have abandoned you at the streets...you come back.
(in your previous life, you must have been a boomerang ! - pun intended !)

i keep you aside - everyday, everywhere
everyday you follow me
everywhere you follow me
(you almost remind me of that cute hutch pug  - pun non-intended !)

sometime i walk a moonless night
and bury you, silently and secretly.
silently and secretly you rise again.

godless love, where do i keep you?
god is everywhere, except in my heart.

and in my heart, i cannot keep you

the new year

the year begins,

with the promise to pass by, as quickly as ever.

inbetween,

we will die a hundred death, live a hundred and one life

we will laugh and cry, a thousand times, 

and then, 

the year will pass by

inbetween,

we will know,

how to dream in those sleepless nights

inbetween,

we will wake up, too late to turn up in office

that day,

to make up for lost hours,

we will leave for home late, sleep late

and again will pass a sleepless night !

and someday inbetween,

in this year,

amidst the yellow flowers,

you will wait for me,

----

i will not arrive there.

I have arrived long ago

I had arrived

while

you were planting the green seeds of these yellow flowers.

But 

you donot know so

and,

you will wait for me amidst the yellow flowers,

while the year will pass by, quickly.

The waiting is always long, 

the year, always too short.

Also, some day

we will go on diet, and cheat

we will search for new jobs

we will fight with many, make up with some

buy new clothes, worship new gods

read new books, keep listening to old songs

and amidst all these, 

the year will pass by,

while we all will remain the same.

Surprisingly,

Every year, its the same thing

a brand new year

the same old us !