Chennai, Delhi, India - its all the same

Chennai, 25th April 2014

8.30 a.m.

I had just finished submitting my photograph and fingerprints for the US visa I was applying, at the US visa Application Center office on Cenotaph road. I called my dog's trainer saying I would be home soon, requesting him to wait for the 10-15 minutes it took me to drive the 3 kms to my home. I had to finish that and then go to office for a meeting.

I cut the call and started driving back. I passed by the Greenways road turning, forgetting to take a right. "Nevermind", I thought, "I can always take the straight road via R.A.Puram. Sure its a crowded area, but this early should be safe!"

I was wrong.

I entered the slum area in R.A.Puram. It is called Kamaraj Salai, and is just beyond the popular Sangeetha South-Indian cuisine restaurant. Some among you may object to me calling it this derogatory term. Consider this - There are encroachments on both sides of the road. Beyond that are two lines of vehicles parked on both sides again. Then there are the numerous hordes of people walking on the road, ignoring the vehicles desperately trying to drive through the place. Every car is eyed with hostility by the pedestrians, women walk around in their night clothes, and men in even less. Don't be surprised at some drunk man suddenly falling in front of your vehicle at any time. There is a distinct sense of violence hanging in the air always.

I carefully wove through the throngs crowding the road even at this early hour. Suddenly a boy, no more than 18-19, if that old, appears on a bike before me. He came from the opposite direction, heading straight for my car in the wrong lane. He seemed to notice me less than 50m away, so engrossed was he in speedily overtaking another biker in his lane. He skid, I swerved, he passed me by narrowly touching my car, he fell.

I stopped the car and rolled down the windows. Was he okay?? A crowd quickly gathered around him. But a crowd started to gather around me too. People were banging on my car, when did that happen? In my mind I saw what would happen next, this being our good ol' India - they would pull me out of the car, beat me, strip me if they could, molest me as much as they could, and it would be too late by the time the police arrived, if anyone even calls them.

I drove forward, surging through the crowd choking my way. I drove through streets and lanes, trying to get to the nearest policeman, because there was never one stationed in this area. Ever. Yes, even the police are scared of these people.

I was being followed by a few men on bikes. As I took a U-turn on R.K.Mutt road to get near the check-post on Adyar bridge, they cornered my vehicle and stopped me. I rolled down the windows, thinking I could talk some sense into them. What was I thinking?! I started saying we should all go to the police station, when the man leading the charge hit me. Once, twice, thrice, over and over again. I screamed for help, while buses and people in other vehicles passed by. No one came. The man kept calling me "thevadiya", meaning prostitute, and didn't stop hitting me. "How dare you hit our boy!", he yelled. I screamed back, "but he was coming on the wrong side!!", and he yelled back, "so what, you should have moved!" His friends surrounded him and egged him on. It turned into a fight for my car key as he kept trying to snatch it from the ignition while hitting my face and arms at the same time.

Slowly, after almost 5-7 minutes, a crowd of people gathered around me. Some of them were not connected to the goons who were hitting me. The main man ran away before I could come back to my senses - I know because I looked for him later in the crowd. A kind cyclist passing by lent me his phone because I just couldn't find mine. I called my dad, then found my phone and called the police (Emergency number - 100).

Another few minutes later, a traffic cop came by. He stood near my car, and did nothing to calm the crowd. He spoke to them in tamil thinking I wouldn't understand, saying that my hands were shaking and I was crying probably as an act to garner sympathy. 

Another patrol car came by with just one constable driving it. He noticed the crowd, the car with the lone woman surrounded by it with the windows rolled down, and very unhelpfully took away my car key. He advised me to not go anywhere, and drove away leaving me stranded there.

Eventually, the police squad came. 10-12 policemen in squad cars and motorbikes, armed to the teeth, quickly surrounded my car and dispersed the crowd. I'd never seen a sight so welcome to me in that moment. My dad arrived a few minutes later, having driven from Annanagar which is nearly 12 kms away.

You'd think the drama would end there. You would be wrong.

I was taken to the traffic police station first, of all things. No one cared that I was hurting, that my face and my arms had swelled up from the beating - not the policemen and certainly not the crowd of goons. We had to go to the Besant Nagar station for the accident case, while the assault case I wanted to file would have to be done at the Abiramapuram police station. I was forcibly made to wait at the Besant Nagar station till 2 in the afternoon that day, without anyone even giving me a break to go to the loo or file the assault charges or go see a doctor.

Reports came in about the biker boy being admitted in a private hospital nearby. His friends and relatives demanded insane amounts of money from my dad, plus medical expenses till the end of time. Dad refused, and an accident complaint was given by them to the police instead. The hearing is due soon. The boy suffered from some scrapes on his elbow and a minor head wound.

After being released from the traffic police station, I was asked to complete the RTO brake test for my car if I wanted it back, so I got onto that. Lunch was quickly snatched on the way at around 3 p.m. By the time we reached the Abiramapuram station to file the assault complaint, it was 5 p.m.

We waited about 30 minutes for the Inspector to return from whatever siesta he was having. I'd given up hope of seeing a doctor and had swallowed a pain killer instead to keep the hurt at bay. Still, my arm was in a sling I'd bought to support it, and I was exhausted. After narrating to the officer what happened, we waited again till 8 p.m. before our preliminary complaint was accepted. We were given what is called a CSR, which is the receipt of the complaint. This CSR, strangely, only said that I was verbally abused. No physical abuse was mentioned in it.

Chennai, 26th April
5.00 p.m.

We went back on the 26th, Saturday evening, at 5 p.m. like we'd been asked to. I'd finally managed to get my injuries checked and some painkillers prescribed. I went into the station and asked the policeman on duty what the status of my complaint was. What followed shocked me, again.

The policeman started yelling at me, saying he had conducted some enquiries in the accident area (instead of the assault location). He said that the locals there accused me of driving very fast (though it was impossible to drive above 30kmph in that crowd), and that I'd hit 3-4 more people too! So I asked him, "but what that any of that have to do with the assault case??", and he answered, "It's all connected, let the biker boy be released from the hospital first and then we'll call him and you together before filing an FIR".

Aghast, my dad and I went to our lawyer and told him what had happened. We found that the police were scared of filing the assault charges against my unknown assailant. Reason - the people from the slum area would mob their police station.

Chennai, 30th April

We set about filing a court order, ORDERING the police to file an FIR then. The court order has just come in, next in line is the FIR itself. Today is the 30th of April, 2014, Day-6 after the incident.

Night on the Train

Darkness is not a state of mind. It is a state of being.

As I sat down on my seat, on the train from Connaught Place to Gurgaon, my eyes registered two things right away - that there were hardly any people in my compartment that night, and the lights were switched off in most places. I looked closer into the dark with morbid curiosity, wondering who sat there. A couple, softly kissing each other on the lips, there, in that corner, their hands unseen and moving under each other's clothes. A man with a lit-up Kindle on another seat near the door, enjoying his book in solitude. Another man, shadowed like the night around him, looking out at the lights of Delhi's metro tunnels speeding by. And me, in my garish make-up and sparkly heels, the skimpy costume somewhat hidden under a pair of denim shorts and a white t-shirt.

Every day I took the metro at the same time, the last train of the night. Every day I saw these or other people, scattered around the compartment, some engrossed in their own pursuits, some staring at me, and some trying to do one and not the other. With my red and black shimmery bustier outlined by the flimsy shirt, and little trails of spangles peeping out from under the hem of my shorts, I was hard to ignore, and an easy target. That was the whole point of the costume under my clothes, to attract the attention of perverts and the wife-sick men of the world.

My profession had dulled my sense of modesty from its previously mild state to an almost non-existent one. There was no such thing as privacy in my world; personal space was laughed off at the front door. In that world of "Professional Dancers", as we were supposed to call ourselves, I had lost my virginity and my sense of being. So, it was fortunate for me that I felt so little anyway, that the constant leering and groping were easier for me to forget than it was for some of the other girls. If there was a place in my mind I could go to, to escape the over-bright nightmare that was my life, I would have. But my mind was numb with emptiness, with no corners to hide in that were free of the red splash of blood. Still, I was better off than the other girls, who were usually in a haze of coke and ice, passed out after dancing like mad dervishes in the hot limelight. You couldn't blame them for wanting to forget, for losing their minds rather than face their new realities. The "dance" did that to you. It took away your identity as a human, and left you a mass of quivering sweaty slicked-over flesh, bared, to be touched and fondled by would-be friends and strangers alike. Free to be pinched, slapped, branded, maimed, and ridden. Free to be used and carelessly disposed off like yesterday's leftovers and that bit of toilet paper.

Strangely, I never lost my purpose in that melee. Some would say that I was suffering from some strange dissociative disorder, but I never lost focus of what I was here for. My studies, my family, my fabulous degree in Fine Arts, my life before this, none of it mattered anymore to me. But what I was here for, that is what directed my existence now. I had been defined by that one memory, the one that had changed me forever - the face of the fiend who had raped and murdered my beautiful and sweet and so innocent! 7 year old sister Radhika. I missed her every time I thought of her, even today. Left her body in the woods, he had, to be torn apart by wolves and wild animals. We had welcomed the monster into our house as a guest, enraptured with the tales of his travels and the wondrous places he had seen and books he had read. Defiling and strangling my sister was how our hospitality had been repaid by that animal, before he disappeared into the great Indian marketplace.

If I had a brush and paints, I would draw the kaleidoscope that passed me by. Art had been my life before the monster had taken it away and replaced with nothing but cold dark hate. Still, sometimes I wondered what it had felt like to hold the wooden handle between my fingers, making melody with shades of colour and texture. Now I barely remember who I used to be.

The speaker announced the arrival of Gurgaon station in five minutes. Of all the people in the train, the couple never stood up to crowd around the exit door like the rest of us, wanting their privacy together for as long as possible. The man at the window was reluctant to turn away from the lights; perhaps he dreaded that those would be the last quiet moments of his night. The man who was reading switched off the light on his Kindle, stowed it into his knapsack and stood up to join me at the door. I slipped my sweatshirt on and pulled up the hood, tucking stray wisps of my hair under it. Slowly, the train pulled into the station, and the doors slid open. "Mind the gap!" the speakers blared in warning, as I stepped off the train and walked, head down, towards the exit.

Just then, a woman started screaming behind me. Was it the girl, from the couple on the train? "Khoon (blood)! Help! Someone!!" she shouted. A few policemen who were napping in hidden places at the station heard her cries and ran past me towards her train. They wouldn't find anything, those officers, not in the train, not on my seat and not through the CCTVs watching me even now. They wouldn't know the name of the little girl that well-read man had raped with his filthy body, and they wouldn't know that her older sister had slit his throat.

I kept walking.

Wendy and Silk ride the merry-go-round

Around the merry-go-round we go
Faster now, then we slow,
Sunlight streaming through the leaves
Misting breath and heaves.

Chapter - 1

I, Silk, and my sister, Wendy, sat on the merry-go-round in the park, hoping it will go as fast as it did the last time. We were the little kids of the bunch, not quite 3 feet tall or 10 years old yet. But that never stopped us from whooping in glee every time we rode the little circle on our wooden horse-seats, our hair blinding us and eyes wild and watery with the cold wind. Chicago was like that at this time of the year, cold as a witch's teat (we'd heard Mommy say that once, and had Googled it when she wasn't looking).

Mommy was now sitting on that bench that she liked, the one in the corner of the park under the elm tree, reading a book like she always did. We never understood why she read so many books, they were so boring! Our teacher was always ragging us to read more, but why would we when there was the internet to learn whatever we needed to, whenever we wanted to? Like I said, how boring... Still, Mommy was like that, doing boring things without any good reason, the way most grown-ups these days seemed to do. Still, atleast she made good pancakes and never scolded us for being too fat the way Amanda's mom always scolded her.

The man in the blue shirt made little bugs crawl up my sleeves. No, not real ones silly, but he made me FEEL like I had them crawling all over me. He was there at the fence again, on the other side of the merry-go-round. He stood there staring at us like he was really hungry and we were lunch. I once pointed him out to Mommy but when she'd looked his way, he had disappeared like the Devil! Mommy told us never to speak to him if we ever saw him again, and had told me to look after Wendy extra extra carefully when we went to the park now. So here he was again, making me very itchy, and I had to become extra extra careful now that he was here.

I wanted to fetch Mommy so she could ask that man why he was so hungry all the time and why he gave me bugs with his eyes. So I shouted over the wind, LOUDLY, "Wendy, let's go get Mommy!" But the circle was spinning so fast and we were laughing so loud, she did not want to ever get off. So here's what I thought - What if I jumped off the moving carousel and ran over the fetch Mommy, while Wendy could ride out the wind before we came back? I quite adored my little sister, you know, even though she could be annoying at times, like when she wore my neatly ironed clothes to school instead of her own crumpled uniform. ANYWAY... I had this neat trick where I could easily jump off a moving swing on my own, without even a single scratch. Yes, I was very proud of it, it was my signature move! I made up my mind, yelled out again to Wendy, saying "I'm going to fetch Mommy!", took a deep breath... and jumped.

Perfect landing! Yes, I know I'm awesome!

If only my story had ended there...



Chapter - 2

If only my story had ended there.

I ran, ran at full tilt, almost stumbling over the little roots & clumps of grass sticking out of the ground, and finally reached her. "Mommy!", I shouted, "That creepy man is back!"
"What creepy man luv?"
"That man I told you about ma, the one who gives me bugs."
"You mean the one who gives you the creeps darling", she said, smiling. "So, he's back, is he? Let's go see what business he thinks he has around little kids at the park. Where did you see him Silk? And why isn't Wendy with you?", she asked, noticing that I was alone for the first time.
"He's standing by the fence Mommy. I left Wendy there to keep an eye on him", I said, feeling quite proud of having come up with that little fib.
"You what?!!"

Mommy ran, like I had a few minutes ago, at full tilt, stumbling over everything in the way. She ran towards Wendy, book fallen on the ground and forgotten.

I froze in surprise; didn't she believe me? Wendy was keeping an eye on him, he wouldn't get away this time! As Mommy's book fell, I watched it flutter to the ground for a bit and thought about it picking up so the pages don't get dirty. Then I watched Mommy run farther away from me, and forgot about the book as I ran after her.

I reached the merry-go-round and looked around. It was still turning slowly, but there was no one on it. The place was empty. No Mommy, no sign of Wendy either. Had Mommy got lost? Nah, the park is not that big! Maybe Wendy had wandered off and Mommy went to look for her? They wouldn't have both gone home and left me along, would they have? They wouldn't forget about me like that, no way. Mommy loves me too, she said so many times, even today morning!

I sat down on the now still merry-go-round, and thought hard. Had I made Mommy angry today? Yesterday? Except for when I'd tracked mud on the carpet last evening, I hadn't done one bad thing till now. Maybe Mommy and Wendy had gone to search for that creepy man? Yeah, that must be it. After they find him and Mommy scolds him for giving me the creeps, they'd come back here and we could go home. It was getting cold after all, and a little dark too. I pulled my knees close and rested my head on them, feeling alone and a not just a little miserable. Mommy wouldn't forget about me, she would come back for me, wouldn't she?

Would she?


Epilogue

Running can be fun. If you close your eyes even for a second, you feel like you're flying. When its cold, the tips of your ears and nose freeze up until you can't feel them anymore. The blood rushes to your head and your heart beats double time, as the world moves by you in slow motion.

As I wake up, I remember the running more than anything else, more than memories of Wendy or Mommy or the man in the blue shirt. That feeling of freedom and and being completely carefree is something I've never experienced since, except in my dreams. Because dreams are all that an orphan and a cripple can have.

I am Woman

I am wind,
I am wave,
I am fire,
I am hail.

I am what you want to feel,
I am what  you need to heal.

I am the caress in your hair.
I am the memory in your tear.

I am your future, and your past;
I am your freedom, and your cast.

I am the solitude you choose,
I am the emptiness up close.

I am the promises you made.

I am sunlight, I am shade.

I am the siren in your dream,
I am the horror in your scream.

The wounds that run so deep in me,
Far too many for you to see,
Leave me but a gaping wound;
Won't you come and heal me too?

Paradise lost, paradise found

There is no word for what I feel
The deep and dark and rushing zeal
This love and hope, my shining world,
Embracing life and what is real.

Remember when my life went wrong,
There was no love nor hope nor song,
Whenever I recall that day
When I but took my life away
If there was ever such a time
I pray it never does me find
I try to take these baby steps
Softer, slower than the rest
With faith I find my winding way
With hope I live another day
Without my ruminations sweet
I doubt my life would be complete
Whether I will or I endure
My baptization will be pure
I will be cleansed in raging fire
I will survive to reach higher
Through every error I have made
I'll find the knowledge to be saved.

I want to walk through summer's heat
I wish to dance to every beat
I want to hear 'most every call
I'll fly to fail, I'll rise to fall
I'll wave my arms like wildebeest
I'll gorge myself on every feast
And fall asleep at mother's feet.

My take on dogs

Rottweiler - Loyal, loving, lovable. Everything a guy should be, but usually isn't.
German Shepherd - Underestimated. Viciousness camouflaged with fur. Like that SOB who wants your promotion
Great Dane - the saint. Not the Val Kilmer type either.
Golden Retriever - Furry fusspot. Remember the popular girl in high-school? Now imagine she's nice too. Ugh.
Labrador - Chupa rustum. Fat furball. As bitchy as its human.
Pomeranian - Think of a wailing baby. With fur. A snout & beady eyes. And teeth. And attitude.

We, the Rapists.

There's no nice way of saying this, so here goes - We're all responsible for the rape of women around us.

Yes. WE men and women and mothers and fathers and brothers and sisters and teachers and relatives and well-wishers. We moral upstanding modern educated citizens of Indian society.

We parents who encourage a girl to like the color pink even in her crib, preferring the boy to like blue. The little girl gets anorexic barbie dolls and the little boys get guns and GI Joes.

We sisters who tie a rakhi on the wrists of our brothers, expecting them to 'protect us'.

We brothers who vow to 'protect' our sisters from all that 'evil' outside.

We mothers who lament when our daughters go out to play without sunscreen, who teach us that its ok for dad to beat us and our children to 'take the edge of their frustration with life'.

We fathers who frown if our daughters wear frocks and skirts.

We teachers & principals who impose 'dress-code' for girls to preserve their 'modesty'.

We, the 'well-wishers', who advice parents on 'how its a bad world out there, not safe anymore'.

We, the relatives, who gossip 'beti badi ho gayi hai, ab shaadi karaa do'.

We women who try so hard to please the men around us that we forget who we are.

We men who try so hard to hide the women in their houses, in their clothes, in their 'modesty' that we forget who they are.

Why is every action, every thought in our sad little worlds led by an unconscious (and sometimes conscious) need to separate men from women? Don't the women know they're different? Come on, we can see our breasts too. That does not mean we can't like blue, is it? Or that we can't see its a dangerous world out there, thanks to people doing their best to keep us apart? Putting us on a pedestal or throwing us in the whorehouse, its all the same because it means you are making us to be someone we're not. We're human. We deserve to be treated no better, and certainly no worse than you. If we're fucked without our consent, give us an iron rod teach us to fuck them back. If we're slapped, teach us to slap 'em back. If we're teased, teach us to tease them back.

Give women the dignity, the respect, the choices, the FREEDOM, that every human being deserves. Maybe then, over time, the rapes will stop.

Don't Stop

Run
Till the road runs out
Run
Till you muscles shout
Run
Your time is NOW
Run
Till you survive.

Sing
Till your voice runs dry
Sing
Till you forget the why
Sing
Till you learn life's song
Sing
To feel alive.

Dance
Till you can't think (even if you try)
Dance
Till you forget to cry
Dance
Till the music stops
Dance
Till you learn to fly.

Laugh
Till the tears fall
Laugh
Till you forget it all
Laugh
Till the bums join you
Laugh
Till you learn to smile.

You, Me and 'Meri Tanhaayee'

When there is no one,
I hide away, I cry.
I watch the world go by,
Just me and my tanhaayee.

In a life no good,
With a simple mind
I listen to the sounds
Of a place gone mad,
It mutters, it laughs
It stutters, it gawfs
The dark side of my coin
Anonymous to reason, the why,
That's me in my tanhaayee.

They notice, they stare,
The peoples in their chair,
Scratching at theirs hair,
Watching as theys tear.
I run away, I hide,
I let the world slide by,
I let my crazy fly,
Bas... me and my tanhaayee.

The Breakup

The world lies
Awake, ajar
And love flies
Away, afar
You fear him
And loathe him
And believe him
And adore him
You watch him
Ignore him
Want him
Shore him
You walk away
Afraid. You tried.
The heart cries
Inside.

Sappy love letter

I've loved, and all the world is mine
I've kissed, and I have stopped all time
I've cried, and the world cries with me
I've laughed, and we're as gleeful as can be
As I feel my heart overflow
As I feel it swell and grow
I'd give up the world
I've give up on time
I'd give up on life
If only you'll be mine.

:)

My Abyss

What do you write when your heart is gone?
There's only Black, and you are alone,
Calm and still, without any life,
No more laughter, no more strife,
Just you and your sins to atone.

What you do comes back tenfold -
The hearts you broke, the promises sold.
It hits you with the force of a gale,
Tears - your rain, and Hate - your hail,
Batter you till you're torn and cold.

When on your feet you're back,
Looking at the bits of your heart hacked,
You know its better to feel no more,
Love and hate left outside your door.
Give in to the Cold, cold Black.

Thief in the Night

Its dark, alone, I steal past you.
Oh, the thrill! Dark dreams coming true.
I scare you, enthrall; come dawn, take flight -
Thieves should never court morning's sight.

Exciting! To have a thief in the house!
Beautiful, deadly, just enough to arouse.
Forbidden, desired just the same,
Never missed, once your fantasies I tame.

Who'd want a thief? No man for sure
Not one with a broken heart to cure
Nor one with a long life to bear
Why want a thief with only love to spare?

Don't even try to love me back
Don't you ever dare cut me some slack
Use me, blame me, a thief like me
Will love you still, though hurt I may be.

Ask me to leave whenever you like
To walk away, and I'll oblige
Marry, live, grow old, die, and Never!
Never again see this thief of the night.

I get the feeling this is one of my worst poems to date. Still.. The heart refuses to quiet down even when the mind cringes at the thought of publishing this :)

I give up on love
And all that it implies,
I give up on pain -
The will to survive.
There's little I have,
I give that up too.
I give up
On you.

"To women, as far as I'm concerned" - by DH Lawrence

The feelings I don't have I don't have.
The feelings I don't have, I won't say I have.
The feelings you say you have, you don't have.
The feelings you would like us both to have, we neither of us have.
The feelings people ought to have, they never have.
If people say they've got feelings, you may be pretty sure they haven't got them
So if you want either of us to feel anything at all,
You'd better abandon all idea of feelings altogether.

A Prayer of Hope

My lines, they fill my mind with hope,
It slowly slides up that slippery slope.
My love for the world, and all its ways,
Keeps me from drowning in dreary days.

The trust I place in life and luck,
A misplaced faith, seemingly stuck,
In nothing but dreams, with nothing but air;
Faith in a world that's fine and fair.

Whither the fear? Whither the hate?
Where is that frightening hand of fate?
With me I carry my Maker's mark,
Safe and away from all that's dark.

Those lives I've lost, those friends I miss,
I dream of them, their brows I kiss.
Every moment I live, I pray,
Let no more life be lost today.

I wrote this within a few minutes, on 12th Feb, at 7.30 p.m. while waiting for a taxi to take me from Pune to Mumbai. I had not been planning to go that day, just as I had not been thinking of writing any such thing. The next evening, my favorite cafe in Pune was blown to bits.

The Canary and the Crow

The French say "je t'aime"
Like the sound of phlegm
"Amore!", the Spanish shout
With considerable lovemaking clout

We all say things we mean, and some we don't,
We forget sometimes that we're not alone..
But its ok to be alone too, if that's what you want,
Because, after all the tears and the snot,
I'm sure all your memories will be gone.

I'd like it if you loved me too
I'd love it if you liked me too
But what if you can't? What if this is wrong?
What if you want a crow to sing a canary's song?
I can sing my silly rhymes till my face is blue
But I just can't stop loving you, even if you do.

So the French now, with their silly ways,
The Spanish and their bull-riding days,
Fools they are, with hearts on a string
Fools to hope its bell will ring
Fools like me, so a wise man says.

The Sine Wave

Numbing is what I know up close,
Feeling is what I wish I chose.
Smiling is what I'd like to be,
Falling, in my future I forsee;
Grief of my life, I feel thy force.

Then comes the dance in our heads, our hearts,
Glittery, washed out; then take-two starts!
Drum-beats so loud, my feet laugh out!
Music so blind, my heartbeats shout!
Piercing me so! these ecstasy's darts..

The music dies out, the drum-beats fade,
Sticky sweat trailing in its wake.
As winter goes, and flowers bloom,
The heart, the mind, are left with gloom.
The soul crawls into some loving oak's shade.

You and I

You could be me
And I could be you,
Two halves of one,
One soul in two.

I’d like the sun,
And you’d want the stars.
You’d be from Venus
And I’d be of Mars.

We’d still meet here,
We’d still be friends.
You and I, dear,
We’d still hold hands.

I’d smile your smile,
And you’d brush my hair.
You’d then have ‘them’ -
While I’d watch from far.

You’d cry your tears
And walk to Square One,
I’d walk with you
Until morning's sun.

You would need me
As now I want you.
You’d still love me.
And I’d still love you.

Books do silly things to us - they make us delve into them and they become a part of our life for the moment, just as we become narrators, observers and actors in their sagas. They make you think and drag out the memories from the deepest corners of your mind, irrespective of whether you are able to deal with those memories or not. Once, I was foolish enough to get married to a person who I did not even know well enough. I wanted to be everything - perfect wife, student, mother, daughter, executive... I can be any of these at any point of time, but I don't have to be everything at once, or I may never be able to enjoy the moment while it lasts. An innocuous little book dredged up this thought, making me remember what I fought so hard to forget; I forgot myself and who I was in that quest to forget.

I decided a long time ago that I would never be afraid of anything, ever. I sometimes forget this, but seeing someone else afraid of life always makes me remember it again. "Remember, remember, the 5th of November", said V, in his movie Vendetta. He drew inspiration from the courage of those who led the gunpowder revolt. I draw courage from the fact that I may never know when my life may end, when someone close to me may be snatched away and when the world may end. I shall never change, and I will always face my fears where they are worth facing; I will value my life and all the people who love me, and I will never, never give up on life or hope or love or trust.

March On

March on, ye world
To the tune of this song.
To right every wrong,
Rise up, march on.

March on, ye young
To the strength of this thought.
When oppressed and fraught,
Brave heart, march on.

March on, ye child
To the promise of life.
When your future is strife,
With hope, march on.

Un-Equal

"Put the pieces back together
Get a hold on life",
It’s easy to say, so hard to do;
It’s easy to get used to strife.

Oh, but if there was a god,
Would he not stop my tears?
Would he not say, “Be happy child”,
And not steal away my years?

There is no god, there is no man,
There is no one who’d understand.
There is no one who wants me as I am.

The pain is there, it’s not enough,
I need to feel some more.
I need to burn and bleed us both,
Till we're not different anymore.

Oh, but if there was a man,
Would he not cast off his doubt?
Would he not say, "All people are one",
And not leave anyone out?

There is no god, there is no man,
There is no one who’d understand,
There is no one who wants me as I am.

There is somewhere a place for me,
Somewhere there is my family,
If not this world, there is the next,
My last reward for this cruel test.

There is a god, there is a man,
There is someone who’d understand,
There has to be someone who wants me as I am.

*What happens when discrimination takes its toll on a person's soul, when society casts out someone who is considered "unequal" to the rest by virtue of his/her gender, place of birth, skin color, or ancestry? Memories accumulate in the person's psyche, memories of hatred and fear - these memories will eventually end the human race itself someday.

Rage Against The World

What I hide is my soul turned raw,
What I mourn is childhood past.
What I miss most is my own laughter.
What I cry over is innocence lost.

What I seek is one minute of joy.
Whatever I find, you destroy.
What I see here is man-eat-man,
Whatever I give, you throw away.

What is it you want of me?
I'm better than you'll ever be.
What I have, you'll never have.
What I am, you can never be.

I am no Atlas, I am no god,
I am not perfect and not complete
I will not carry your scorn or wrath
I will not slash your wrist or wipe your tears.
You can never steal my work, my life
You can never rise beyond your narrow mind
You are but a figment of my imagination
You don't exist but as a world of the past.

All nice guys come with a catch. It could be something small like a poison dart, or something huge like a drunk driver coming towards you in the opposite direction. The point is, it's there, and it's fatal in the end. You are going to be wounded by it, and you will suffer. The only thing you can do is expect it and swerve at the right time. If you're the kind of person who likes to ignore all the bad things, then the least you can do is tell yourself that you knew it was coming after taking the hit.

Bored at work

The leaves - they sparkle yellow and green,
Like the absent words on my computer screen.
Into its depths I stare, I fall,
Waiting to hear it's siren call.

I have no office, I have no home,
I do no work and write no tome.
My life rolls down this rocky path,
Tempered each day with a hot bath.

The stink of rot surrounds my face,
I plead with God to hear my case.
God replies,"I am not here today,
Get out my child, go and play!"

The Art of Rebellion

When must you condone something that you know is wrong? So many times in life one has to face bad people doing bad things, and stand quietly by the roadside watching the show. On so many occasions, one sees someone fighting the world for the sake of what is right and chooses to turn their back on the courage and truth they perceive. What pushes a person to make that choice?

Somewhere along our way from childhood to adulthood, we are taught to be civilized and cultured. Behind this facade, we learn to conceal our emotions, our imaginations, and our individual conscience. Slowly, we start believing that this is actually the correct way to live, and all those idealistic fools who rally in support of their beliefs are losers and laughingstocks. As we gain higher social stature, any kind of stigma attached to our names becomes a source of secret despair and public humiliation. People go to great lengths to hide anything that might be perceived as a weakness or a chink in their armour. Any spark of rebelliousness or original thought is quickly doused with the cold spray of collective wisdom and social conscience.

For all that is said and done, "When in Rome, do as the Romans do". To live in this world of hypocrites, sometimes you have to look the other way. Sometimes, if you want to succeed in the long run, you have to compromise on issues close to your heart. They call it "strategy" in the big books we read. I call it waiting for the right time and turning your opponent's game on him or her. To play the game and win at it, sometimes you have to understand that a battle lost can win you the war.

Play on my friends, battle on to the end.

Lose not your soul now, salvation's around the bend!

Songs of Summer

Wakeful dreams of silk and gold,
Summer dreams of old:
Shelter through the heat and cold,
Simple dreams I sold.

Fleeting pleasures over time,
Sinful pleasures, all mine.
Softly, rising, morn' and night,
Slowly heartbeats climb.

Fading music, fading light,
Sultry music through the night,
Play the strings your soul demands,
No wrong, and no right.

Swiftly diving through it all
Waves of rise and fall.
Summer dreams, both new and old,
Watch how they unfold.

(You lose your heart to love's call,
You wake up and watch it fall.
Life calls back, summer ends too soon,
Love forever stays without you.

Don't look back on summer love.
Throw away its silken glove.
The songs you heard, you sang, are gone.
Your soul is burnt and eyes forlorn.

Do not cry for what is gone,
Never show your heart is torn,
For summer is a season at best,
Fading away with summer's crest.)

Summer dreams, they come and go,
Summer passing fast and slow.
What was done must fade away,
Once a child, now old & grey.

Ethical Dilemmas

My mind he seeks to illuminate,
Its thoughts he seeks to eliminate,
In this place where days fly by,
Moments he seeks to extricate.

Talking of things he's never really seen,
Of corners of the mind where he's never been,
Taking perspectives he knows nothing of;
Someone please scrub off his false shiny sheen.

No lessons we're learning, no joy are we earning,
No volume expansion, or fire of love burning.
The proverbial bucket with H's and U's
Arousing truth and the self - so he keeps droning.

Quell his ego, dear friends of mine,
Speaking of truth while his ignorance shines.
The mind's illusions surrounding his self,
(His so-called intelligence on a dusty shelf)
Where mind and self seldom entwine.

Sources of joy are very distracting,
The intellect, from its purpose, detracting.
He claims refinement, like the highest of men,
His thoughts and intellect never attracting.

Energy drives thought, making him weak,
So his mind is blank save an excitable streak.
Self-praising freak, babbling on and on...
For five MORE minutes, my future looks bleak.

:(

Stand up

Up and down and sway away,
Is today a better day?
Sail around thro' swirling cloud,
Summer has begun to grey...

There is mischief in the breeze
Hanging on the precipice.
Something tells me I have changed,
Crawling out of some crevice.

Falling through the whorls of time,
Falling out on what was mine.
Carry on with all my woes
And life becomes another mime.

Colours fade and so do I,
Music fades and melodies cry.
Tomorrow is a better day,
Today for I must learn to fly.

Envelope of darkness

All good things come in threes; so do bad ones. My life often deviates from this well-defined path, often venturing into realms of infinite horror and darkness. When I joined this institution, I'd imagined that I would live a peaceful life, free of conflict and torture of the kind I have faced before. How naive I was to think that I was among mature and intelligent people! Once again, I am in a colony of fools, their heads filled with age-old prejudices, with the maliciousness that is exclusive to slackers and "second-raters". Belief in so-called friends has become nothing more than a big joke. Loneliness takes on a whole new meaning, with alienation no longer being a matter of choice, but survival instead. What is the value of honesty in this environment? I had hoped these people actually followed some ethics atleast when it came to their work; once again, I have been proven wrong. My ego scolds me for pitying myself, for being so ignorant and trusting, saying, "When will you accept things as they are? When will you understand that this is the way all people are, everywhere, and without exception?"

These questions echo inside my head, and the only argument I can think of is that there are exceptions - I know there are. There have to be some people in this world who realize that there is something wrong with the the way others behave. There has to be someone who stands against this practise of cannibalism : one human devouring another human being. I still believe it is worth my time to find these people, so that I can make sense of this world that seems to have gone crazy.* I have to know that I am not alone. I have to be strong and go on, and I have to find my hope and make my life the way I want it to be.

*I remembered at this point that I have always found the world I live in to be highly irrational and just plain old dumb sometimes. It makes me wonder whether the world has gone crazy, or have I always been so different from the crowd that I have always been alone.

MISs or MISter?

Systems down, systems drown.

Worship the geek, polish his crown.

Systems to buy, systems to sell,

But who threw them down my well?

Spreadsheets and mail, graphics and ware,

Managers cowed and hunched with care,

Word and access, Explorer and 'Fox,

With logic defining every paradox.


Giving commands to the master of us all,

Only to be mocked by a firewall.

Talk about the net, surfing or browsing-

Unless its porn, you'll find us drowsing.


Processing words and publishing screens,

Talking chips and murderous greens;

Who drowned the system? 'Twas some nut,

Trying to outsource his data glut.


Licensing software protects your rights,

Like the poor protected by *Men in Tights.

Systems minimizing human intervention,

The death of all thought and invention.


Welcome to the world of the virtual,

A time for sharing, not getting physical,

Windows popping as the confusion grew,

My well, down,
That system,
Farting,
Threw,
Who?!


*Men in Tights refers to Robin Hood and his merry band of robbers, who used to steal from the rich (especially Evil Prince John). This reference is taken from the title of the movie "Robin Hood - Men in Tights", an old movie that is a spoof of the original version.

Winter brings equal parts of loneliness and joy with it. When there is no one to talk to, no one to share the warmth with, then one believes one is better off feeling the chill take over. What meaning does the bleakness of the cold wind take, when there is no one you can look forward to meeting at the end of that road you're walking on? What cheer can the bright colours of the season bring when there is no one you'd want to show them off to? When the clouds come by so close you can touch them, who is there to stop you from wanting to fly away with them? The cold can kill a man, but being so lonely can make him wish he was dead.

When you look out into the night sky, do you hear the world calling out to you? Who is to stop you from getting lost in that crowd?

When the whole world is against you, rallying for your downfall, who is beside you, teaching you how to stand tall and proud on your own?

Winters come and go, yet life never changes. Only the people in it change, for what is life, "but a stage, and all men and women merely players."

The Jolly Miller of Dee

There was a jolly miller once
Lived on the River Dee.
He worked and sang from morn' to night
No lark more blithe than he.
And this is burden of his song
Forever used to be,
"I care for nobody, no, not I,
If nobody cares for me.

I love my mill,
It is to me like parent, child and wife.
I would not change my station now
With anyone in life."
And this the burden of his song
Forever used to be,
"I care for nobody, no, not I,
If nobody cares for me."

This is the bastardized version of this lovely song we were taught as kids, and for those of you interested in reading the actual thing, here's the link-
http://ingeb.org/songs/millerof.html

The End

These ways, I wonder where they lead,
As doubt scatters and takes seed...
Beauty is broken, love repulsed,
Fate looked on as man convulsed.

Ashes return and turn into tears,
Days lost in these few years;
The darkness spells impending doom,
As He weaves with his bloodstained loom.

Water be still, oceans be calm,
Fire hold me in your flaming palm,
Air take my soul from this land.
Earth - this body shall rest in your sand.

Sometimes...

Sometimes, you just can't stay down. You're not allowed to. I have my friends to thank for that :)

Sometimes, you care too much about someone, who doesn't care about you at all. That really hurts.

Sometimes, you have to stop caring about someone who doesn't care about you, or when you can't afford to. That hurts even more, like someone's crushing your chest from the inside.

Sometimes, you can listen to a few songs, and start smiling or crying. Thats something you laugh about later when you regain your senses.

Sometimes, you prefer pillows to real people. That's really pathetic.

Sometimes, you're so desperate for affection that you'll sell your soul for a bit of it. That's plain stupid.

Sometimes, you get nightmares in bright light, and only the darkness can soothe you. That is rather disturbing and chilling.

Sometimes, you'd rather be ripped up with a knife than feel whatever it is you're feeling at the moment. You wish someone could do that to you. That's self-destructive and suicidal.

Sometimes, you want to sleep, but are too afraid to. You're afraid of losing control over your thoughts and your mind. That's insanity.

Sometimes, I talk too much. That's why I'm a moron :)

Lone Verse

I am alone, a lone verse
A stanza of laughter and tears alike,
Read, judged, discarded; now here, now gone,
I am alone.

I am a lone object, a rock,
Found too wanting, wanting too much;
A sponge, absorbing all, a thirsty stone;
I am alone.

I am a lone, laughing, rhyming song,
Seen and read, and enjoyed by all,
Needed by all, wanted by none -
I am alone.

I'll always be a lone verse,
A comical model of the universe's errors,
Hope my curse, ignorance my bane,
Walking through hell, alone.

I am a lone verse
A tragedy of errors and doomed
To forever exist
Alone.

A Good Poem

Soft, tranquil, meaningful, beautiful,
Is what a poem should be,
Not harsh, dull or hoplessly long:
The way your life you see.

You think to yourself-
The world's got frivolity AND misery;
But how, into your poem, can you
Bring something you never feel- serenity?

Your mother tells you to calm down,
Advising you to express your creativity
In the ways of Wordsworth, Keats and Ezekiel;
All they speak of is beauty and tranquility!

You are supposed to be different,
Not the way the world wants you to be.
You are to be that unique woman
Who's capable of preserving her sanity.

How, then, can you write a good poem
With levelheadedness and equanimity,
When the world around you is going crazy?
Well, you can write that poem without me!!

The Journey

Sometimes…
Miracles occur when darkness ends
Some special person, lover, friend –
A light at the endless tunnel’s end.

Sometimes…
Life plays magick tricks on you
The world is dark, life is blue;
God sends help, you get through.

Sometimes…
My mind’s adrift, my soul is lost,
Nights are misery, days overcast;
Get through it: it’s all in the past.

Sometimes…
The winds, they change, from frisky to foul;
A work of art, twisted – God’s mural.
The skies clear, sun shines, rains fall.

Sometimes…
Everything goes as I had planned –
Another time, another day, another land…
I grasp my life in the palm of my hand.

Lessons of Life

When everything else in the world goes wrong:
No hope nor love, cheer nor song;
When there’s no one who cares to help –
That is when you turn to yourself.

Our minds, our thoughts move god’s hands
Like paltry winds that shift Sahara’s sands.
You are what you want to be;
As you sow, so you reap.

There is the man who says that, “If
I know not how, how may I live?
Nor will I try to – yet, I shall grow,
But off the sweat of another’s brow.

To carry the burden of one who feeds
Off your blood, ignoring your needs;
Cast him out so he may learn
To fall, then stand- to toil, and earn.

Mistakes you’ve made, purgatory you’ve faced.
Today, be better than what you’ve been.
Dream of what you cannot imagine;
Tomorrow be greater than what you’ve seen.