>> Thursday, February 5, 2009

It was a dreamy night, almost opiate with trees swaying lazily muttering sweet nothings to the mellow sea. His crooked gaits sunk occasionally, finally strewing sand on her. She DirtyLooked, “Dikhta nahi hai kya bevde?”

He squatted next to her offering to help her dust off the sand. This time DirtyLook graduated to LoudSlap. He could take it no longer and burst into tears describing his WorstDayEver with the milk getting stolen, missing his bus, and not getting a seat in the train. Oh, and his wife had decided to go on a world tour – with his money and another man.

She told him that there were WorseThings in life.

Like?

Not being able to eat pavbhaji, being stuck to seafood, no bus/car/cycle rides.

Haha!

She slapped him again and flopped back into the sea. He stared: she was one queer mermaid.

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Steps

>> Monday, December 22, 2008

The choice we made was all ours

To let go

and float onwards.


Then you beckon

Away from the light

Into the oblivion

Only to awake

Reborn - in someone else’s arms.

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Orwellian times

>> Wednesday, November 12, 2008

It had stopped raining outside. I looked at them inside, cheering wildly as if Armageddon had just been avoided.


Sandesh poked his head inside, “It’s a girl!” he announced. I flung the pen-stand at his empty head, wishing that the pen-stand had fulfilled its raison d’être.


Yes, not like she jumped out of my womb! There was absolutely no reason for me to get concerned or overwhelmed.


For the past 9 months, yes N-I-N-E, I had refused to join the revelries of their distorted modern life. I slinked past whenever the topic was teased. I shredded newspapers announcing welcome. I groaned in despair whenever I passed yet another hoarding.


Even the retards at work discussed it: at the coffee machine, water-cooler, Xerox machine, in the elevators, whispering during Monday Morning Meetings…There were people guessing names, gender, date, dress and every inhuman nonsense possible.


Friends admonished me of my indifference towards the hullabaloo. My snide remarks didn’t help much. Neither did mouthing ‘I-hate-you-ALL-you-pre-historic-hairballs’ at random intervals. Nor hate-graffiti. Nor message T-shirts.
I lay down on my bed staring at the fungus that was stealthily creeping across it in patterns. Maybe it was finally over.


That’s when I heard the TV announce, “WE’LL BE BACK!!!”


Just when I thought it was all over…but…its going to start all over again!...I
..


Argh! I hate reality shows!

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Talkative Strangers

>> Tuesday, July 29, 2008

He’s lying here next to me.

His parents might just barge in.
Or they’ll just be glad they had him insured.

Maybe a truck hit him.
Or a freak cricket ball.
He might have just ignored the instructions by the quack.
Maybe his bastard son decided to drop in and say Hi. For the first time.

He might have been planning a picnic next month. Kids, pretty wife, ugly pug, SUV et al.
Could have been too freaking high.
Might have been envying the girl on a guys arm.

So, what did he have for dinner?
Khichdi?
Wine and Caviar?
1 ½ egg sandwiches?
A banana and a glass of milk?

Perhaps he was watching a boring soap on TV before that.
Or was at the movies with friends.
Or struggling to scratch his nose in the sardined train.

Maybe he was saving countless lives with his doctoral skills.
Or smoking off RichDaddy’s money.
He just might have discovered the solution for an alternative fuel.

Might be a Sagittarian.
Agnostic.
Billionaire.
Masochistic Paedophile.

55?
27?
63?
20 years, 11 months and 364 days?
Birthday boy?

His name might be Arun.
Albert.
Abul.
Chinkabawook.

A gazillion thoughts must be flooding his bewildered mind right now.
The Last One being why he’s lying next to me in the morgue.

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>> Thursday, April 10, 2008

Wave after wave
bodies lay in the dust
dried blood they were draped
As the crimson sun did finally rest.

The tired monk’s feet shuffled
feeding the damned with water
as they cried and moaned
on their way to the Maker.

Wizened, his eyes rose to meet
the Warrior: laden with metal and medal.
The sword spoke menacingly in its keep
Tales of scarlet on metal.

The kind eyes imploring
the massacre he wished undone,
pitiable lives that lay writhing
No more to receive a hero’s welcome.

The Warriors eyes spoke to the Monk
of a wisdom parallel to frayed parchments,
when evil flails its tyranny unjust,
Silence weighs sin on the righteous.

And thus with the darkening heavens above,
The saints knelt to quench the dying-
One dressed in ascetic robes
the other in armor and shield.

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