To False Lovers

10^th December, 2016.

I found our false winter promises back,

As the rusted pieces fell apart,

Like flaked skins of a corpse,

I found the evident tribute,

Compelling us to smother each other’s memories,

As the mist came early this night.

I kept my chaos sedated,

Kept my tornadoes in rest

As no more could I bear

The rancid smiles that we pasted,

As we slept through enough lies,

And pretended that it was normalcy,

I need the peace, insanity, so be it.

I’m tired of our excuses we made

Every night, promising to us that it is not absurd,

While quoting Keats and Tennyson to satiate

The remarkable deceits we wove for each other,

That this was love.

So here I bleed,

For one last time,

As I watch the hands of truth grasp my throat

And I exhale the last breath, putrid nicotine breath.

Let this be my last verse, false lover,

But let this be my last ode to you,

For it was false,

But still it was love and I love you.

Xxxxxx­___________xxxxxxxX

Lagged writings

09^th December, 2016.

Fuck…I know I lagged behind… so here are three things in one blog…

Thing 1

“Where are you hiding?

Somewhere you’ll never look!

You’re hiding under the mottled blanket of thoughts and memories.

How do you know?!

Because that’s what I’d do!

Because at the end of it, you’re just the same

After all these years”.

Thing 2

 “Does it ever stop?” Sahiba asked Amartya as he made another peg of scotch.

“No it doesn’t, the bottle isn’t even half” Amartya replied, focusing on the quantity of the drink; making good pegs was an art for him and he took it seriously right after Hendrix and Marley.

“I am talking about something else Ami!” Sahiba retorted.

Amartya handed over the glass to Sahiba and leaned back on his armchair; “I know, and I guess it does, like after 5 more rounds and a year later it will be gone. I’d rather focus my time on the stuff at hand if I were you.”

“I so wish you weren’t asexual Ami”, Sahiba slurred out as she finished the drink.

“Why, so you can rebound on me? That’s got to be the worst idea you ever came up, well right after falling for that shit-stain. In any case, it’s 5 months already; you ought to be out of that zone by now, so focus on the drink and Sade”, Amartya handed her another glass.

Possibly Amartya was right, Sahiba wondered if he was right the first time when he her against Tahir.  Possibly it will stop, as Amartya said it will. Possibly right after the next drink, she wondered.

Thing 3

‘That door needs to stay closed’ grandma said as she tucked Kartik in bed, pointing towards a door in the corridor.

‘But why?’ Kartik asked, as he removed his I-pod from his bag.

‘Because it holds a monster behind it!’ grandma said.

‘Oh come on grandma… I’m fifteen now, treat me like a grown up!’ Kartik said as he played the first song. Grandma laughed and left the room.

The door had no lock on it; the latch could be easily removed. Kartik turned the handle to open it.

‘I told you not to open it’. Kartik turned, scared to his bones, feeling his heart in his throat.

‘The door needed to stay closed’ grandma said as she put her hand on Kartik’s shoulder, ‘and it will always stay closed’, she said as she stabbed his eyes out.

December blues...

05^th December, 2016.

So! The year comes to an end, again, and here I am, again! But to be fair, I guess this was way overdue, like those silly little meetings with your friends; this is something of that sort…sort of!

I’d go on and on about this, but that’d defy the purpose or the intent of this particular blog, so let’s cut to the chase; my exams are over and as always, life and boredom comes and bites me. So here’s what I’m gonna do. I’m gonna write, for the next few days, some short stories, poems, micro stories and even micro poems, one per day…and I will try not be cheesy (which I doubt very much). So let’s start with the first one, eh? Oh and one more thing, these are pure brainstorming, like there’s no prior base, it’s all on the flow...

Varun was always around whenever she needed him. Or when didn’t need him. She really wasn’t sure about this as she never said a word about it. Unlike most the people would do, she kept herself to herself and never spoke much about any inconvenience she might face, but he’d be around. As if by some strange providence, Varun would always know that she needed him.

Like that day in college when she lost her I.D card somewhere and was almost devastated when she couldn’t issue the only copy of ‘God and the State’ by Bakunin  from library for her final term. Varun was just passing her as he saw her fumbling through her handbag for the card and was trying to reason with the librarian, who was essentially very helpful but at the same time was bound by the college rules. Varun saw her in despair and would have crossed her, well, who wouldn’t, given that it was the final term and none would lend their card for book issuing; but then, that wasn’t Varun’s nature. Inherently he was the ‘good kid’. So he approached her, asked her what’s wrong and as sheepishly she explained her despair, he gave his card to her and left the campus.

Or the other day when she stayed behind in college after classes till 8 in the night, finishing her work when her friends went to attend a beer infested party at someone’s apartment. It wasn’t that she was in a hurry to finish the work; she was just asocial in these matters and figured it was a wise decision to stay back. Wise would be an overstatement here as right after 8 she wouldn’t find any transport towards her P.G and even if she did, the auto-drivers demanded ransom instead of fares. Just as she was contemplating whether she should call her father to come and pick her up or head towards the P.G on foot, she saw Varun coming out of the reading rooms with a pile of papers under his arms as he struggled with his glasses and the laptop, always the mess.

They both saw each other, she said nothing, just smiled, and he understood and offered her help, asking her if she would mind him walking with her. The P.G wasn’t much far (by his calculations) but the area wasn’t what one would consider decent in a very general tone, plus one shouldn’t trust the roads these days. She agreed, but kept herself composed. They walked, barely exchanging words, just the normalcy for courtesy. 45 minutes later they were at the P.G’s gate, Varun bade her goodnight, she thanked him and that’s about it. Nothing out of the blues, no ‘do you want to come in’, nothing. It wasn’t their nature.

So that was Varun, always around when she needed him; you’d expect that they must have exchanged phone numbers and whatnot, well, they did. It happens! Naturally as they started conversing, at times Varun would know that she would need him to listen to her or to leave her be, depended on situation. He acted accordingly. And this went for a good long time.

The only time Varun wasn’t around was the day when he died.

Only that day she asked something off him. She said – “Say something. Anything”.

end.

Realism as I learnt it.

19^th November, 2016.

How realism works?

The representation of life that portrays the accuracy of life,

The minute by minute reality, void of romanticism, of fallacies.

So why not a realist poem? Accurate as it goes,

explaining my true nature, the emotions I feel right now,

at the moment as you cross my mind.

Not much, emotions are hard to come by, so let it rest,

for some other day, I guess.

As you cross the depth of my cranial abyss,

Nothing do I feel in particular,

Just as you cross, so does your memories, of a gone summer and a winter.

And I imitate you suddenly, unconsciously,

A lopsided smile comes and goes.

That’s how realism works for me.

Xxxxxxxxx­___________________xxxxxxxxxxxx

Slam!

So I wrote this rhyming poem…

Fuck it eh?, here goes –

‘I don’t feel

The urgency

The fervency

The need for chaos

of silver raindrops

of trademarked chaotic

or roughly poetic!

Don’t need

The addiction

Or the redemption

Neither the comfort,

I’m uncultured

Almost sundered.

I’m wasted

Stoned on a handful of hatred,

The sentiments are roughed out,

Faded,

Wakened under the

Stationed, unfettered heart,

Relabeled, repainted,

Not red!

What I feel,

Is to end this rhyme,

Crush its spine,

As it climbed,

To its prime,

Before its time

As it defined

The need that outshine

My resigned design

To redefine

A cold and harsh wintertime!’

Fuck its bad..

Regards.

Listen

12^th November, 2016.

I should be completing my assignment. No seriously, I should put my entire focus on the gibberish I am going to write which will, at the end, prove nothing, yet will calculate my mental acuity. But there was much more important a work that needed my attention. Or I needed the attention, I can’t be sure, it’s vague but I’ll take it and run.

I say work don’t I? Work – sounds so important and obnoxious and heavy, obtuse even. Because maybe it was nothing on my part, maybe I just needed to use the word work to feel magnanimous? Or just because I feel that way, that this needed my attention?

The work, as I put it, was me listening. Listening to people, person, anybody is a habit I took up. So I was listening.

If you don’t know it, it the world of magic, there’s a thing called taking perspective – the magician uses this technique to ‘take’ the perspective of the audience and shows the trick. Sounds neat and easy? It’s not. Believe me, taking this perspective to see the world from the eyes of the person you’re not is just tough as hell. And it will be a false statement to make that I can do that. I can’t. That’d be ridiculous.

But the point here is to understand what the other person is seeing and connect. Or just understand. 

Understand and share the space.

So I understood. Especially when I know what exactly is going on when I can see through the illusion of words and reach the core where the pain resides I understand. Or at least I try to, most of the time it’s not easy.

You know, it is very easy to hear, hearing is involuntary- you hear the faucet leaking, the fan wheezing the clock ticking, the phone ringing and so forth. But listening needs investment. It doesn’t matter if you understand the person, if you are listening, you are invested because you need to make them feel understood. That’s how relationship works. Any relationship for that matter.  

So when the text said that someone wanted to talk, I had the choices again - to do or not to do. To invest or just leave. And mind you the word invest is by no means a small word, no! It is a commitment because at times it is not enough to care only. I know that I care about a lot or rather a very few people, but at times it wasn’t enough, it isn’t!

So while I was at it, I cannot just jump to a response, that’s chatter over the white noise of a broken radio, how poetic. Listening to my friend needed my time to process the emotion behind it because ultimately it is not my conversation. I was all ears.

And at times it is what you need to be, the ear for a quivering lip, a shoulder for shaken heart, a warm hand for sweaty palm. Because that’s your commitment, or mine at least. Because I care, I always will.

And I give out hope.

I give out hope as free bills, because I know what’s it like to be without one, to look empty on a crowded street and hope, that I’d see you.

Because that’s what listening means, to give hope that they are understood, that they are seen and not lost in the veneer or random verbose that shouts for nothing, it imitates a silent whisper that you need to listen. So just listen when someone asks. Give them hope that they are seen, loved, that they’ll live and go on.

Because someone gave me hope when I needed it. And I went ahead.

Because I care, a few times I get angry at my incompetence of not doing more than that but I try.

So I will always care, even if the world forgets you. Because that’s a promise.

Fin!

Ghalib ki Maut (not really, no...)

1st September, 2016.

So, here we are! After a long journey through treacherous caverns of memories and caves of dark descends, here we are!

Truthfully, I haven't been able to write stuff up, perils of M.A I guess. When you are occupied by aboriginal histories and gender inequality in pre-modern India, you can't have time for romanticism. But then...

So, I have been trying my hand (read: pen), at Urdu/Hindi poetry. Oh, do I hear the world gasp at my audacity? Yeah well fuck you haters (smirk laugh implemented). So, let's just type it down shall we?

'Aaj arson baad aasmaan ka rang dekha,
thoda feeka, thoda dhuan,
thoda bikhra hua, thoda pighla hua angare sa rang.

Par aaj har koshish ke baad bhi,
na main aasmaan ko jalaa paya,
na aasmaan mujhe sulga saki.

Aasmaan mujhe aur main aasmaan ko
bhula chuke hain shayad'...
_________________________________x

'Yeh unki besharmi hogi, ki
unhone humari zindadili dekhi thi
hum zindadil rahe honge kyunki humne
maut ko dekha thaa kabhi'...
_________________________________x

'Aapki yeh fizool nadaniyan
kisi roz humari jaan legi,
hum zara besabr kya hue,
aap toh dillagi par utar aaye'..
__________________________________x

'Agar mujhe dhoondne ki fursat nahi,
toh mat puch main kahan khoya rehta hoon'..
_______________________________________x

okay, this one is the killer by my standards...

'Haalat-e-iztirab ke darmiyan
aajkal aghyaaron ke saath masroof rehta hoon.
kyunki kuch afsurdah aise hote hain jo
sharab se nahi jaate.."
______________________________________x

'Aadat thi meri jo tujhe apni buri aadat bana li maine,
mere ishq se hi tera guroor badha hai
woh toh rehemdili hain humari jo tere dillagi ko masoomiyat samhje hum
warna ashiqui se bhi badtar shaukh thay humare'..
_____________________________________________________________x

Alrighty then... these are some of the inklings out of my utter vella brain... matlab bhai kuch bhi likhoge?

anywhooo!

hope I don't get killed by the poets!

Peace!