ravaged part II

Post the havoc caused by in humans in Mumbai, I admit of being shaken to the extent of falling to words, in an attempt to vent out. I wouldn't sound typical by blaming the authorities, which anyway has become the latest national anthem. I wouldn't tell tales of brutality, the men in the sheath of religion have concurred. For, I candidly claim of having touched by the relentless odour of terrorism.

I like many more individuals was unshamedly unaware of the terrorist attacks, until it became talk of the office and country at large. I saw people who had never, not even accidentally had stopped at a news channel, staying glued to 24*7 news ,all night in enormous grit. I however overlooked and underestimated the scenic appalling at my own TV set until I seered into the eyes, which had pain beyond explanation.

There were arms, and there were corpses, both competing against each in number and size. There was silence and shrieks both muting the loudest of crowds. It was not terror against man, it was history re-lived, cropped from incidents like The jaliawallah and likes. The gun shots turned everything to stand still, including an inkling to live. As heard from the survivors themselves.

Here are some facts which pondered me to write an incident i was waken to~
1. The fisherman Union claims of having complained to the naval authorities about the enormous RDX loading on the sea post.

2. Intelligence had informed officials, including chief minister and home minister about a terror attack in Mumbai On November11 through a satellite phone reading.

3.The NSG forces took more than four hours to get into action after having being informed of the terrorist captive, where by then the death toll had already surmounted in the hotel firing.

4. talking of unity, after the attacks, it was interesting to know that our leaders, did i say (Leader of the Opposition) L.K. Advani and the PM travelled to Mumbai on separate aeroplanes.

5.operation 'water rat'-an expose conducted by CNN-IBN to estimate security measures at our coast revealed the area is in a state of utter regress. There was absolutely no security post, which should have otherwise been strict and vigilant.

and lastly:
The pigeons outside the Gateway of India opposite to once a massive Taj, have stories of horror to tell. They not only witnessed acts of brutality, but have sobered to the extent of laying numb in there. According to the locals, the birds haven't moved an inch after the bullet exchange in the past three days. They lay immobile, engrossed in humanity perhaps.
( I pray for their well-being too!)

ravaged

in the skelet of

humanity

pinned another

wretch

corpses bleed, in the bruise of somebody

else

thunders,

applauds

and inconsolable sighs

emanated

from a fire destroying self constructed

homes

to the bearing, it was much more indeed

to the bullets, it was a sky beneath

and to the spectators, a show of higher curiosity

big, bang boom, "mom diwali arrived pretty early, too soon".

degeneration

Painting by Edson Dias

unheard voices,
sneering glances,
chained in sermons
of a convoluted self.
why do i become what i never was?
through the glamorous process
of birth, lust and mediocrity alas.

where beauty of a flower
remains trapped in rosy verbose
where seasons flutter
in the storm of thoughts
through robotics of wit,
and sarcasm, bleeding profuse,
in this ghastly 'all'

the delicately woven reverie
couldn't make it to the top
for all there lying,
was a nail bearing ball
as million faces plunged in cavity
which deepened only remorse
greying every single day

oh cowardly soul, what fears you the most
a heartless form or a broken heart in hand?

when journey makes you forget the destination

I am tired of running, breathing sporadically through my frozen nose. Yes, i have been chased since the time i don't exactly remember and I'm not talking about my unfaithful shadow here. I try to eye the enemy through semi-numb senses, which lands me into a cavernous abysmal. This fall is extremely unpleasant and no matter how much i holler (through my fully numb senses now), i have the world unheeded to my tribulation. the journey inside is dramatic, from extreme fear to extreme void. Quite transient to the extent of waking me up cruelly every morning.

Clearly this ain't no dream but the horrendous of horrendous nightmares, the ones which brutally make you realise that you're alive. Each day i see myself in this abysmal, going to a place, popularly addressed as nowhere. Here void becomes the only thing of clarity you have in your head. Each day i sweat profusely seeing this anon enemy, while shadows only foul-play occasionally. It's not that I'm blinded or daft to find out the cause, but over the time I've become a victim of my own self, my own 'fatigued self'.

Interestingly, i take pride in discerning the fact that in this treacherous journey, i seek great comfort in crumpling the stones i meet on my path. 'Anger', 'Jealously', 'Indifference' are bleeding bruised, while their scars are clearly visible on my body. Deception is one thing, i strongly don't believe in, which is why the enemies always manage to spot me from a distance. Their footmarks trail along mine, while the difference is categorically seen in the end. Where my footmarks lose out to the magnum space, i receive in the void. It is then i begin to feel alive, floating to the loose shreds of my sub-conscious. To it i surrender a lot more than just the senses.

shine on emerald (a dedication)

Give me a word
Give me a sign
Show me where to look
Tell what will I find ( will I find )
Lay me on the ground
Fly me in the sky
Show me where to look
Tell me what will I find ( will I find )

Oh, heaven let your light shine down (x4)

Love is in the water
Love is in the air
Show me where to go
Tell me will love be there ( love be there )
Teach me how to speak
Teach me how to share
Teach me where to go
Tell me will love be there ( love be there )

Oh, heaven let your light shine down (x4)

Im going to let it shine (x2)
Heavens little light gonna shine on me
Yea yea heavens little light gonna shine on me
Its gonna shine, shine on me
Its gonna shine, come on in shine
...................................
shine-collective soul

How sweet!

"These candies appear tempting, i plan to flick coupla them"(a bunch of toffees which would remind you of those 3-year-olds running across the field in the hues of electric blue, pink and yellow)
"well! they're all expired, i believe"
"oh, so why are they are here?( boss, we're at a candy manufacturer's boardroom, what else do you expect?)
"you know the country is facing a strong economic recession and may be the client has something in mind", says the servicing chick with an einstein look on her face.
ha ha ha... (bosses are always known for their amazing sense of humour)
"huhaaaaaf past three", i say it in a musical yawn only to conceal my dumb silence.
"our stuff is great, i hope we sell them this time round", meanwhile i am told, " i expect you to be 'sweet' to the client which means speak as little as you can".
yes boss!
...............................................................
"and here is the mind-numbing, eye-grabbing, scintiallting, oh so riveting(while the client is lost in checking out vivek oberoi, semi-nude in the thought blurb)..........................unimaginably witty creative"

SFX: drum rolls out

"it's nice, it's naughty(no the brand is not the pink nokia phone priyanka chopra is promoting), its cheeky too", replies the client biting her lips(she must have gone in the pool as well!!!)

but.......my only concern is it's not 'sweet'
i grin at the boss innocently(note- i'm still mum)
"Ms.. i beg to interrupt, but the brief was 'funnnnnnnnnn"( trying hard not to concentrate on the remark, the servicing chic just made)
"but you must remember at the end of the day the purpose of our product is to spread sweetness", replies the client
(and crash them into inconsolable diabetes, you fuck-face, i have to speak! in my head of course.)

"'i think our personal favourite is this route"", said in chorus( i wonder if these servicin chicks have been sleeping together or what)
the client seems to ignore that as always

The next creative is presented, "It;s a story of a guy.....and see the title of this story is 'how sweet'', while i grin away to glory
"well now you have no reasons to complaint i presume", making it clear obvious that i am the writer on this.
"hahaaa, this is funny", the client looks at me.
haaaaaaaaaaaaaaahaaaaa- the servicing chics in chorus again
and i am smiling sweetly to the former ofcourse.
(by now the boss has gone into an identity crisis)
"hmmm...,
i think my fellow here would like to sleep over the idea, and get back to you", curtly says the client
"now what should i give you?", shrieks the servicin chick in her usual tone
"may be an expensive bed and pink sheets", winks the other one.

hahaha, " you know what's the scene on this Dubai film, i think.."
"oh come now you;re digressing from the agenda madum", snaps the servicing at the client.
(while i am saved from visualising the client on those pink sheets with oberoi now, i would choose Obama, not that twain have a remotest co-relation here)

"alright then ladies and 'a gentleman', we shall get back to you in the evening", quite evidently the client seems to has given up on morons like us.
meanwhile i checked my watch it was 4.30 already.
"sure, it was nice meeting you today" (servicin, i heard you guys complaining of cranky clients who call you for a job meeting every hour)

as the meeting comes to its finale, i said "ok then, hope you have a good sleep", sweetly.
followed by a ROFL by the client and a mourning back in office.

un-wind

today i plod on winds,
unflinchingly
for it bears an incense
purantic.
what's been in the air for sometime,
is legible only now
i colour no more,
for the space is already mine.
and this possession
is no price for the freedom it
yields,
electrical like the blue sky,
eccentric like the cuckoo's nest
beauty in peace
and peace therein.

Angry young(and older) man

anger is the second name for 'inflated ego'
anger is the hazardous black which ignites the matchstick, burning homes
anger cannot be controlled. It makes you loose control,
anger is not a tornado or a low tide, it is but a cumilation of both, on a moonless night
anger equals to destruction, anger is anti-peace
anger is the bullet, injuring wisdom
anger cannot be CHANNELISED, it burns all the routes,

i stop here, i don't think anger in any form can dispel any of the above stated. so venting it is out of question. it's more like a treadmill, the more you pull it out, the more it comes to you. Most importantly it hinders the foresight, rupturing your very faithful sight for that matter.
Having said all this one cant really stop treading anger, but be aware of its destination. 'awareness' is conspicuously essential but comes with a twist here. The more you make the world aware of your anger, the more will be its repercussions, which would mean instead of burning four windows, you burn six now. Anger becomes an Achilles heel, faltering your own steps here.

Those who say that anger is momentary and is good to vent it(the 5 minute volcano active-volcano dies policy) for it's very good riddance is nothing but casuistry. Because they are the people who ignore the implication of that 5 minutes of untreated fire. Anger breeds in the periphery of your conscience and when you channelise it, you allow it to grow. It must be killed at the point of origin itself, that's where awareness comes into picture. Anger cant be defeated, it has to be depleted. Go, angry young man, kill it before it kills you.

ice-breaker

together,
we swanned,
in the rosary of winds
which unfurled truth
of 'you' and 'me'

while it was cold
and cankerous,
before you fought with the sun
with a rage overpowering
for 'me' and 'us'

and 'you' melted thereafter.

hole in the pot

in the whirlpool,
of fleeting glances
i swim,
drown,
alternatively.

one moment, you flash
as a galaxy
dressed in a thousand stars,
and other
you frizzle like a dust storm
maverick.

but then,
i can't blame you,
for your uncertainty
because i was the water
unstoppable, undefined.

off words

"i look into spaces,

and find blemishes

when you ask me

to read between the lines

i follow the words

and run away from its meaning

when you ask me

to read between the lines"

...........................................................

today, i leave a blankpaper alongside you, let me know you!

change

what will be,

from what was

is change.

Atop

In the most trivial of conversations, i was interrupted(for the good) and told that life can be explained in as simple as three sentences -
1. when you see a hill and call it a hill
2. when you see a hill and not call it a hill
3. when you see a hill and call it a hill

to my shock, i didn't bear the trademark 'confused' look, which is clearly the look to hint out that i unapologetically doubt other person's normalcy. However everything made so much sense this time around, and to my shock i saw myself nodding (again)to the explanation of these sentences

stage1: when we see a thing as 'it' is, as per the norms and conventions. That is 'A' for apple and 'H' for hill. Where we most statedly adopt the baggage of our ignorant ancestors and remain in convenient bliss.

stage 2: which statistically me and my friend found that only a handful of people enter into, where a hill is anything but for a hill. i mean the mere reason that it bears a pointed conical top, or coloured brown in their sketch book fails to justify its occurrence as a hill. in other words it's the 'why' stage, where questions form a pile of square, tart, box anything but for hill.

we also mutually came to a conclusion, that it might be hard to get to this stage but it is multiplicatedly harder to move ahead
a. it brings in lot of instability
b. it tempts you to loose focus at every nook
c. if a hill is not a hill, it is open to a subject of debate, it can be a stone which is pelted on him time and again, which creates a ruckus followed by dismay.

chances are that he might be lost, at every seeming turn and keeps on moving round and round around the pointed, conical land form.

Stage3: not even handful of people make it here, but those who do need no explanation of what it feels like to see the same hill now. After having seen a hill, perceiving it to be anything but for a hill and accepting it to be a hill. Mind you, the word is acceptance here, by the virtue of interrogation, unrest, introspection, experiencing, inference and more, a hill is so placidly defined as a hill. and these are the people who know a hill is more than a conical, pointed land form-enlightened attained, gone through purgatory.

i am travelling each day to make my way to 'the top', 'a hilltop'.

the maggot

dormant
behind the curtains of time
reviving the relict
forlorn, forgotten
having lost its sight
to gain only vision
recuperating
in a self-inflicted
ailment
some call it derision
i call it hibernation
the time beseiged
is soon to fly
and spread colours myriad
doubt no more
oh, passersby
a butterfly is to be born
right here, within.

love

'love is a corollory to SELF'

the purpose of my life

Is to be able to experience heaven on a breezy night
to hold hands of my love, the day it rains
to fall asleep in the nursing sun
to grin at the nasal sounds, i make on a cold evening

to describe butterflies in myriad colours on Feb afternoons
to write a sonnet, in the memory of fallen autumn leaves
to look into the eyes of a straying pup and say 'hey i care for you'
to wake up each day and question myself 'what is the purpose of my life'?