A sentinel of human speed, this bridge never sleeps as he bears the burden of his daily pedestrians and their baggage, both physical and mental.
The kind of company he keeps has a lot to do with his shabbiness; from paupers to rag-pickers and hobos who hovel in the stairway that leads up to his torso.
Wallowing in dollops of fresh breeze, he bears the distinct musk of wet-wrought iron and sports a grubby look. An occasional growth of lichens on his skin adds to his texture. It seems he only bathes when it rains.
Things always look stunning from his perspective The sun retires in a golden haze; soon, the bohemian birds of twilight race against the tinted machines in a neon world, painting a reverie that can bewilder the hoi polloi who trudge across his expanse; the silken moonlight falls upon the trees; the echoes of the husky engine throb in his metallic chest.
He is aging rapidly. He wobbles with every step, and every roll; withering away into a diaspora of rust. A lonely sentinel, he stands in the midst of two crowded roads.
Nov 30, 2009
Nov 26, 2009
A little tribute to ECR*
there is innocuous charm in running away. so what's if it's a half-day get-away for an academic assignment. The sweaty bus-rides of chennai have become my latest fancy. The thrill of getting to the destination in the most absurdest of ways. It calls for handsome cliches but the irony lies in their actuality; wind in your hair resulting into exorbitant goosebumps that succeed.
It is an interesting feeling to be leered by locals while forming their queer assumptions about you, ranging from being a foreign national to a local hippie(how i revel in these). Their juvenile giggles and in your face stares. My encounters have so far been ingratiating in multiple ways. Whoever defined communication in the diaspora of language needs to be sleep-shaken.
I board buses riding on my instincts but often aided by locals who swell with pride in helping a pseudo distressed traveler. The bus-conductors ensure you don't sneak into privy slumbers through jarring Tamil videos that trail in your memory like fancy-dress ghosts. The village women do it subtler ways which means an overdose of jasmine injected in to your laryngitis and the passage beyond. I seek unimaginable comfort in the male fraternity that dare not ogle at you in a women-dominated vehicle(whoever talked of Tamil nadu being a matriarchal society)
In such good-willed environs one can't help dropping his guards. All the reasons that make my solo-trips a refreshing piece of memory every individual time. Today after my trip to crocodile bank which is some 42 km away from chennai, I felt enormously well-suited for roads. The roads that guarantee a bounty of experiences. The ones that lap you after adopting thousands before you. The roads that defy the purpose of gigantic buildings and redefine living all together.
* East Coast Road connecting Chennai all the way to Cuddalore.
It is an interesting feeling to be leered by locals while forming their queer assumptions about you, ranging from being a foreign national to a local hippie(how i revel in these). Their juvenile giggles and in your face stares. My encounters have so far been ingratiating in multiple ways. Whoever defined communication in the diaspora of language needs to be sleep-shaken.
I board buses riding on my instincts but often aided by locals who swell with pride in helping a pseudo distressed traveler. The bus-conductors ensure you don't sneak into privy slumbers through jarring Tamil videos that trail in your memory like fancy-dress ghosts. The village women do it subtler ways which means an overdose of jasmine injected in to your laryngitis and the passage beyond. I seek unimaginable comfort in the male fraternity that dare not ogle at you in a women-dominated vehicle(whoever talked of Tamil nadu being a matriarchal society)
In such good-willed environs one can't help dropping his guards. All the reasons that make my solo-trips a refreshing piece of memory every individual time. Today after my trip to crocodile bank which is some 42 km away from chennai, I felt enormously well-suited for roads. The roads that guarantee a bounty of experiences. The ones that lap you after adopting thousands before you. The roads that defy the purpose of gigantic buildings and redefine living all together.
* East Coast Road connecting Chennai all the way to Cuddalore.
Nov 19, 2009
If one believes in the correlation between epidermis-blisters and guitar skills, i deserve to be inhabited in the hall of fame of rock n roll. In the past 72 hours i have developed sores akin to shoe bites. Now my fingers and toe-nails look like brother and sister born to same parents, unlike previous lengthy differences between the two.
it's true, sheltering yourself in someone's music composition in inexorably easy than building your own. It's only when you do music, you feel feverishly intimate with it. Yes, i experienced laughter spasm when my teacher spelled out "fingering-exercises" for me. Only to be shadowed by exultation of dancing notes on the fingers.
it's true, sheltering yourself in someone's music composition in inexorably easy than building your own. It's only when you do music, you feel feverishly intimate with it. Yes, i experienced laughter spasm when my teacher spelled out "fingering-exercises" for me. Only to be shadowed by exultation of dancing notes on the fingers.
Nov 12, 2009
blackhole
a canyon of sorrow
your eyes,
in the abyss of nicotine
floating across,
the ocean of milky-way
bereft of emotions,
but full of life
humming but noiseless
as you draw,
the curtains of your gaze
a gaze that consoles
my previous sores
your eyes,
in the abyss of nicotine
floating across,
the ocean of milky-way
bereft of emotions,
but full of life
humming but noiseless
as you draw,
the curtains of your gaze
a gaze that consoles
my previous sores
Nov 9, 2009
the storm of afterstorm
The skies are clear, the sun peeps through the ambush of perspiring clouds. The tree stands still in the resilience of its docile shadow. Has the morning arrived?
The toads bid goodbye in their thankless croaks, to and fro in their naked embankments. Some aspirational ones choose to stay back. Is the show not over yet?
The frozen windows exchange melancholic glances. Longing for familiar squark, in the glistened memory of raindrops. Any chance of recurrence?
coffee seeds brew and spill in the (now) black mugs of derision. Its nebular fragrance makes a quiet exit. Any takers here?
The road is thick, vociferous like an industrialist. walking hastily with a heavy briefcase and a squished umbrella. no looking back?
The heart of the lake is gelid, in fond remembrance of zephyr. Indifferent to thirsty cows, who flock over his meaty chest. a wistful wait, perhaps?
The storm harks back to the desert of quietude, in an unnoticed foggy departure. borrowing boats from it's past. gone already?
The toads bid goodbye in their thankless croaks, to and fro in their naked embankments. Some aspirational ones choose to stay back. Is the show not over yet?
The frozen windows exchange melancholic glances. Longing for familiar squark, in the glistened memory of raindrops. Any chance of recurrence?
coffee seeds brew and spill in the (now) black mugs of derision. Its nebular fragrance makes a quiet exit. Any takers here?
The road is thick, vociferous like an industrialist. walking hastily with a heavy briefcase and a squished umbrella. no looking back?
The heart of the lake is gelid, in fond remembrance of zephyr. Indifferent to thirsty cows, who flock over his meaty chest. a wistful wait, perhaps?
The storm harks back to the desert of quietude, in an unnoticed foggy departure. borrowing boats from it's past. gone already?
Nov 8, 2009
on a rainy day
the maverick wind brushed my lips,
like goblet of ice devouring the shore
the moment froze, in the rivulets of reverie
drifting me to an anonymous lure
the snarling storm held me by its fit
and i trembled till i forgot to tremble
before trespassing into the lanes of fear,
in my pursuit of relentless ramble
while the sands that bred cactus upon
dejecting the naked prospects of sun
thumped my back and left me alone
is this how battles are won?
like goblet of ice devouring the shore
the moment froze, in the rivulets of reverie
drifting me to an anonymous lure
the snarling storm held me by its fit
and i trembled till i forgot to tremble
before trespassing into the lanes of fear,
in my pursuit of relentless ramble
while the sands that bred cactus upon
dejecting the naked prospects of sun
thumped my back and left me alone
is this how battles are won?
Nov 3, 2009
skylark
who am i to you?
thickets of sun,
moist by cool wind
in the heart of a crammed shore
with two curious eyes
and two deranged toes
yet you smell familiar,
petals of antique,
where lichens grow
greens that feed maggots and more
a caravan of sights
i couldn't love you more
-mahabalipuram, November 1st
thickets of sun,
moist by cool wind
in the heart of a crammed shore
with two curious eyes
and two deranged toes
yet you smell familiar,
petals of antique,
where lichens grow
greens that feed maggots and more
a caravan of sights
i couldn't love you more
-mahabalipuram, November 1st
Oct 31, 2009
tales from the animal farm
in herds we die,
battling fate
of a destitute
cry and more cry
sniffing blood
in the cage-hound
in herds we die,
by callous hands
that bow before man
seeking charity
to buy expensive knives,
slitting us pin-drop
in herds we die
gradually sometimes
eating fleas,
that come to visit
saving us from disgrace
of throwing up every meal
in herds we die
snorting faeces'
of brotherly love
as we huddle
to exchange sorrows
and sometimes sleep
in herds we die,
weeping in one corner
at the corpse,
of our comrade
cursing him who jabs
pain through sterilized needles
in herds we die,
jostling for space
in our wrongful notions
of mankind
they-who built us shelter
and forgot to build us home
in herds we die
at night and dawn
because life behind bars
drags like toothache
forever,
in dingy thoughts
of escape.
- a bunch of dogs
battling fate
of a destitute
cry and more cry
sniffing blood
in the cage-hound
in herds we die,
by callous hands
that bow before man
seeking charity
to buy expensive knives,
slitting us pin-drop
in herds we die
gradually sometimes
eating fleas,
that come to visit
saving us from disgrace
of throwing up every meal
in herds we die
snorting faeces'
of brotherly love
as we huddle
to exchange sorrows
and sometimes sleep
in herds we die,
weeping in one corner
at the corpse,
of our comrade
cursing him who jabs
pain through sterilized needles
in herds we die,
jostling for space
in our wrongful notions
of mankind
they-who built us shelter
and forgot to build us home
in herds we die
at night and dawn
because life behind bars
drags like toothache
forever,
in dingy thoughts
of escape.
- a bunch of dogs
Oct 22, 2009
semiotics of solitude
why do rivers meet
did you ever think?
o wanderer of infinite space
travel beyond the horizon
the claws of humanity
savage only the meek
open your eyes and seek
"the hoarse of their voice
disturb me most
through the daily ritual
of their uncanny vice.
they growl and tether
and feast upon me"
and you hark back
to dooms in ache?
pronouncing victory for them
dumbfounded in extravagant tears
employing mercy-plea
oh is this how solitude is defined
in your vocabulary?
did you ever think?
o wanderer of infinite space
travel beyond the horizon
the claws of humanity
savage only the meek
open your eyes and seek
"the hoarse of their voice
disturb me most
through the daily ritual
of their uncanny vice.
they growl and tether
and feast upon me"
and you hark back
to dooms in ache?
pronouncing victory for them
dumbfounded in extravagant tears
employing mercy-plea
oh is this how solitude is defined
in your vocabulary?
Oct 19, 2009
wandermusk
a musk so raw,
a fume so rich
like gravel of sand
clutched in peasant's vow
nothing spectacular,
no heavenly blow
whirling familiarity
that is yet to be known
a musk so raw,
a sense so bright
like nebula of dust
hugging hurriedly the moon
reminisces of bygone
an epic? a legend?
devoured by saints
in the tricks of modern men
a musk so raw,
a sight so rare
like wet geraniums
in the wings of unicorn
look how it escapes the naked eye
like ashes settled on the quay
heeded by none, in the hourglass of time
yet a musk sets in, forever in the mind.
a fume so rich
like gravel of sand
clutched in peasant's vow
nothing spectacular,
no heavenly blow
whirling familiarity
that is yet to be known
a musk so raw,
a sense so bright
like nebula of dust
hugging hurriedly the moon
reminisces of bygone
an epic? a legend?
devoured by saints
in the tricks of modern men
a musk so raw,
a sight so rare
like wet geraniums
in the wings of unicorn
look how it escapes the naked eye
like ashes settled on the quay
heeded by none, in the hourglass of time
yet a musk sets in, forever in the mind.
Oct 18, 2009
un name
It all began from christening. A name, a superlative, an alibi!?. Trekking all the way up to the canyons of knowledge in search of that befitting syllable. A Shakespearean character is too mighty for him while a song can barely capture his essence. A poem is subject to varied interpretations for him who's sparkling clear in his otherwise construction of conundrums.
days ran in frenzy,fudging anagrams to arrive at a tailor-made sobriquet.
puzzled, riddled, quizzical, were all the words she could decipher. The wrecks of previous attempts were too impressionable to stray and the phonetics of victory were no where in near sight.
The popular voices reckon that journey defeats the destination, in her case it was words that had cast a spell. The hours of play stretched up to dawn-break.The verbatim gradually translated into a bond that evaded vocabulary, in dumbfounded ruminations.
Her struggle is not confined to christening him anymore and words evade her like never before.
days ran in frenzy,fudging anagrams to arrive at a tailor-made sobriquet.
puzzled, riddled, quizzical, were all the words she could decipher. The wrecks of previous attempts were too impressionable to stray and the phonetics of victory were no where in near sight.
The popular voices reckon that journey defeats the destination, in her case it was words that had cast a spell. The hours of play stretched up to dawn-break.The verbatim gradually translated into a bond that evaded vocabulary, in dumbfounded ruminations.
Her struggle is not confined to christening him anymore and words evade her like never before.
Oct 17, 2009
home-away diwali
I revel in the solitary trenches of my burrow on the festive night.in thick contentment, i animated my teeny-gesture of lighting lamps in the room (and walking 4 km-s hunting for silly diya's). The radiance which apart from glorifying the i-don't care-mess, induced a sense of calm. while there was pompous display of lights and sounds in the make-belief celebration of a home-away Diwali, i stumbled upon the association between family and festival. A new definition, a new symbiosis, i maneuvered.
Yes it is rife to say that festival is synonymous to family, like it or not. After talking to half-a-dozen of relatives, i felt a strange gush of affection towards them. Good to know that the idea of society persists in the black corridors of my solitude. The entire experience of being away on one of the crucial celebratory days, was undeniably unique.
tripped on Mj's videos just for the heck of doing something different today. Shared sweets with my pooches, bought some tit-bits for friendly-people(note the word usage please!), called up grand-parents(even though i went mute after 180 seconds).Noticed a long, marble-finish candle standing like a recluse and felt happy(diwali).
Yes it is rife to say that festival is synonymous to family, like it or not. After talking to half-a-dozen of relatives, i felt a strange gush of affection towards them. Good to know that the idea of society persists in the black corridors of my solitude. The entire experience of being away on one of the crucial celebratory days, was undeniably unique.
tripped on Mj's videos just for the heck of doing something different today. Shared sweets with my pooches, bought some tit-bits for friendly-people(note the word usage please!), called up grand-parents(even though i went mute after 180 seconds).Noticed a long, marble-finish candle standing like a recluse and felt happy(diwali).
Oct 16, 2009
ode to cuckoo
spun in mahogany,
she greets me,
in her friendly scents
and uncanny snouts
like a long-lost companion
-she, a maverick,an errand
whistles
and pooches
and coochie-coo's
her only language i know
fanning my sweat
with her own grime
and ants that
thrive on her tail
she jumps on to me
in her petite frail
i look at her
with an eye of sympathy
for she's often
dejected as stray
but to me she's beautiful
like a butterfly may
she greets me,
in her friendly scents
and uncanny snouts
like a long-lost companion
-she, a maverick,an errand
whistles
and pooches
and coochie-coo's
her only language i know
fanning my sweat
with her own grime
and ants that
thrive on her tail
she jumps on to me
in her petite frail
i look at her
with an eye of sympathy
for she's often
dejected as stray
but to me she's beautiful
like a butterfly may
Oct 14, 2009
we learn
the mist of his gait,
pierces the hallway
hallway; that is
sullen and sore
in its mundane bowels
of false answers
to fake questions
of battling yawns
and twitching moans
he walks like dust
on the flesh of absurdity
seen, heard, felt by none
like carcasses of
ash,forlorn
at the chimney dorm
the mist of his gait
in sepia of solitude
the fading footsteps
that occasionally gate-crash
run,run,run
he soliloquies
no, sings
a rhapsody,
birthing an identity.
(perhaps!)
pierces the hallway
hallway; that is
sullen and sore
in its mundane bowels
of false answers
to fake questions
of battling yawns
and twitching moans
he walks like dust
on the flesh of absurdity
seen, heard, felt by none
like carcasses of
ash,forlorn
at the chimney dorm
the mist of his gait
in sepia of solitude
the fading footsteps
that occasionally gate-crash
run,run,run
he soliloquies
no, sings
a rhapsody,
birthing an identity.
(perhaps!)
Oct 10, 2009
chimes
the chime of your eyes
run through my nerves
noiseless,
filling empty vessels
through silent glances
the chime of your eyes
exhibit tales and toys
lost,
in the the embers of
grizzly adulthood
the chime of your eyes
perfumes desire
soiled
in purple lilacs
and purple rosemary
the chime of your eyes
sing every night
soporific
in pillowing dreams
of valleys and woods
the chime of your eyes
becomes sunlight every now,
blinding
infernos and black-holes
of lesser societies
the chime of your eyes
vocal and vibrant
disquiet
even when you turn back
and walk backwards
the harmonious hushes
in the metallic glimpses
hear would you ever?
the chime of your eyes
through my very own pair
run through my nerves
noiseless,
filling empty vessels
through silent glances
the chime of your eyes
exhibit tales and toys
lost,
in the the embers of
grizzly adulthood
the chime of your eyes
perfumes desire
soiled
in purple lilacs
and purple rosemary
the chime of your eyes
sing every night
soporific
in pillowing dreams
of valleys and woods
the chime of your eyes
becomes sunlight every now,
blinding
infernos and black-holes
of lesser societies
the chime of your eyes
vocal and vibrant
disquiet
even when you turn back
and walk backwards
the harmonious hushes
in the metallic glimpses
hear would you ever?
the chime of your eyes
through my very own pair
Oct 2, 2009
old and new
In the repository of silence, I hear words flowing out of my body like bells voicing out of the rustic corridors of the neighborhood church; unstrung, unheard, enchanting(?) sinking into an internal vortex of unchained syllables. let lose; sliding through the magnum of old structures. old structures that reckon new smells, like a freshly preparation from the daily molasses of same, stoned bakery. savoring freedom so to summarize.
The purpose of a vacation is to reverberate sight and smell of newness in your thoughts, which amusingly i attain here. In the absence of human dystopia, the tic-tac clamor, of herd and heard.
Solitude redefined, painted in fine absences of brightly red and flashy pinks. and grey strokes inked in dotted whites of silvery clouds. This painting is devoured by no intellectuals in their salty criticisms and sour presumptions.
'change must come from within', triggered by changing skies perhaps. my babels lay conciliated in pleasant exchanges with the vocal wind. As i holiday in the old structures, feeling anew, afresh and aroused.
The purpose of a vacation is to reverberate sight and smell of newness in your thoughts, which amusingly i attain here. In the absence of human dystopia, the tic-tac clamor, of herd and heard.
Solitude redefined, painted in fine absences of brightly red and flashy pinks. and grey strokes inked in dotted whites of silvery clouds. This painting is devoured by no intellectuals in their salty criticisms and sour presumptions.
'change must come from within', triggered by changing skies perhaps. my babels lay conciliated in pleasant exchanges with the vocal wind. As i holiday in the old structures, feeling anew, afresh and aroused.
Sep 18, 2009
Aug 24, 2009
Aug 16, 2009
stage freight
Yes she speaks through the veil of anonymity
as the world around her revolves in their chaos
in their untimely exits and uninterrupted cues
screams of pleasure and pangs of discomfort
soaked in pathos of everyday trifles
they hear but seldom listen,
they talk but barely speak,
and silence?
How they never understood!
Raindrops tickle only the naked flesh
And not cloaks stitched out of expensive gifts
Shadows form light of their own
Emanated from the holy light of oneself
oh how they muster it
Though closed fists and careless glances
And laugh- that mocks its own dissonance
The stage is lit once again
-provided she gets to perform-.
as the world around her revolves in their chaos
in their untimely exits and uninterrupted cues
screams of pleasure and pangs of discomfort
soaked in pathos of everyday trifles
they hear but seldom listen,
they talk but barely speak,
and silence?
How they never understood!
Raindrops tickle only the naked flesh
And not cloaks stitched out of expensive gifts
Shadows form light of their own
Emanated from the holy light of oneself
oh how they muster it
Though closed fists and careless glances
And laugh- that mocks its own dissonance
The stage is lit once again
-provided she gets to perform-.
Aug 12, 2009
Amelie poulain
A butterfly flew out of the screen, scattering crimson hues of the lambent sky. Her magic potion transcends you to a celestial orchestra, performed by a zillion enthusiastic stars. You’re serenaded in their craft; you’re soaked in her colour. But it only lasts for 122 minutes. Ask Jean Paul Jeunette why?
The fabulous destiny of Amelie Poulian offers a boulevard of sights and sounds. Its strength lies in its incredible ability to move the audience in extravagant frames of simple nuances. An ordinary tale becomes a fable as an ordinary girl plays the role of a neighborhood cherub. Incidentally that is.
Amelie is brought up in the grief-struck environs of her nonchalant father. She is forced to spend her life in the confines of loneliness, just when hope meets her in an unsolicited treasure box. She gives in to her instincts and decides to trace its bearer. The spirit of mankind beguiles her to help the needy around. Amelie then finds her smiles floating on the ebb and flow of universe’s woe. She is rewarded with love wrapped in joys of companionship.
The music of the film intensifies its sensual experience. The piano impeccably gauges the mood of the film. Mellow in few scenes, gregarious in some. The soundtrack by Yan Tiersen brews a plethora of emotions. Dull yet reflective, gentle yet powerful, it compels you to plunge into the realms of the character. It’s when her conundrum becomes yours and her strife begins to taste mildly sweet.
It’s not the first time when the director has left his audience quivering in awe. The film bears the subtle tone of his earlier works Delicatessen and City of Lost Children. He cleverly uses the comical device he introduced in his film Foutaises; a sing-song narration of he likes/she likes. The editing unfailingly transforms vital scenes to a set of individual artifacts. Cinematographic dexterity gleams through the introductory scenes of the primary characters, including an angora cat.
Life and its complexity whispers through simple yet eccentric imagery. Eccentric being the operational word here. “A sperm with an X chromosome belonging to Rapheal Poulain made a dash for an egg with his wife Amadine and Amelie is born”
Audrey Tautou(playing Amelie) carries the weight of the film in her elfin eyes, setting a sky-high benchmark for her acting prowess. In her foreign syllables she appears profoundly familiar, sketching the character through per plum cheeks and facial lines.
The film overall is a multi-sensorial indulgence. It induces us to see the world through a fair dash of fantasy, soft strokes of imagination and a lot of hope. voila! A recipe for la vie en rose.
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