Stream of noon

The nude face of the sky
is thirsty of joy
soaked in yellow
discerning a disease
-of mind or body!?
cringing like an infant
in torpid lap of afternoon
the infant who fondles
her mother's breast
in loose aspirations
for it to milk

tehelka expose, volume I

The placement ghost has followed me to the end of the sea, where there is no escape. No faith, no friend, no father. Each time it stormed I sought shelter in my own arms; like the violinists that stuck to their tunes even when Titanic was neck deep in misery. But things don't seem as bright hereafter.

The repeated bouts of failure have a deeper meaning and purpose than mere foreplay of fate. How else can i explain my blanking out in the interview that was held most righteously. The lady admired my writing but didn't find me convincing enough. unlike others I read that magazine several times a month and subscribe to their ideas but why couldn't I express it? Because I wasn't sure if I am bold enough at this age to write for a magazine known for its razor-sharpness on matters of arts and politics.

The verdict is out. I need to come out of the nebula that breeds in my head. The daunting rounds of self-questioning on my writing style and area of interest. Most importantly lack of schooling. Perhaps one year was too short to justify my derailment from the career-building path. Ogilvy sacrifice is meant for bigger things of academic nature.

Tehelka exposed my follies this time. Long live tehelka

into the sea of no shore

Hey musician walking by the quay,
turn around and listen to the waves
The dash of silence
and hush of birds
the blues of the wind
and whites of the tide
OBLIVIOUS
To the world this side
huddled in mud
to the blood that's
saltier than water
and storm thats devours
the hungry men.

Walk on to the sonnets
that have a face
walk on even when the
faces fade.

Placed under a shower

If Siddhartha was born today, he would have been likely to attain moksha in a bathroom. Repulsive to you, isn't it? but how else can I possibly explain my divine interventions at a 3.am at the mouth of a faucet. The purpose of the shower was too unwind myself of the placement doldrums(a sublime rheoteric here). To throw up all the reading I had done over the weekend, compensating for the lack of it in the entire year.

Newspapers make great mats for undoing fruits, sounds proverbial doesn't it? If it hadn't been for the compelling Suduko squares, I would have saved myself a penny or two from the Hindu subscription.

As things turned out, I connived myself to believe that I too can participate in the hobbies of the hairy, double rim spectacled, armpit-stinking nerds. Not in any manner to contest with them, but to taste all the obscurities of J world. Through the hazy bubbles of shampoo, the consequences of this proposition appeared infinitely unworthy. I cannot excuse my temptation for experimentation. Just like sleeping on the tracks to feel the commotion of the engine. Daft enough.

The schematic train of thoughts then led me to the road less traveled.I don't need to go through a god-damn academic exercise to test my merit. What i need is time to enrich the institution of the self; that has practically taught me everything academic and non-academic.

I have nothing to lose. Time, money, age, nothing whatsoever. I need two years of the kind of ambiance i'm currently absorbed in. Nothing less, nothing more. i need more books on my shelf and double the Dvd's. A guitar would be luxury :) A back-pack just too godly.

So here I have my official laugh at you desperate job-seekers, go fight your battles while i just ended mine .