My mama always says that I can never do things the right way. The reason she promulgates is my breach-incoming to the world. Nothing more complicated than the fact that i was pulled from toe to head from the fetus against the norms of head-first-push deliveries. Why i say is because I land at the liquor belly of the country on a dry weekend. Unknowingly of course. But the idea of Bangalore on a dry weekend is plain shockingly absurd. How do I possibly describe my reaction to the "close till sunday due to election" board? Frown-face with twisted eye-brow? The I-will-smash your balls so what if 17 and a half-year old who is denied entry to an Adult film look.
At that point, It only helped to think that I am not a dipsomaniac. But my motive-supremo was to expose my auditory faculty to some hard-rock and comfortable-metal(if it does exist)as pubs it Bangalore are held as the mecca of music-lovers.
I then pursued the mood-enhancing thought of the auto-rickshaws that play Metallica. Courtesy- a friend's first-hand experience of the rocking auto-ride. Needless to say, I didn't find one. But what i found was a megalomaniac display of books. From roof to ceiling, in multiples of hundred hurled in one stack. The Mahakumbh of papyrus, in L, XL and XXL denominations.
Arthur Miller's plays at Rs. 50 can shock anyone's wit right? The charcoal-folds of epistolatory gave me a cerebral seizure. Wondrously, there was no place to collapse or even squat to scurry the desired tome for that matter. The literary fest sprawls across the three floors; compartmentalized into: Philosophy and fiction on the ground floor. Literary fiction on the first and science fiction on the second. The depraved looking store-employees bowl you out with the speedy quest of the title you desire. The modestly dull staff carries Foucault on their sleeves. Yes they spell it accurately too.
Four-hours well short for the book-mall, along with the booty. i pensively picked up my annual reading list of twelve while rejecting a stack of meaty ten. Blossoms- my singular honey-moon destination, if i marry a millionaire.
Bangalore other than booze and blossoms is unabashedly cool. Be it the local weather or the local intellect. Whiz passig the crowd of drab techies, one effortlessly spots uncouthly men in curly beards like the interface of Greek god of music. Suave and uncanny, they become piping eye-candies. The girls are loud like any other Maybelline-applying chicks.
The libertine use of material reflects in all architectural archetypes. Malls, office complex, residency or even shady restaurants. The spirit of mankind is rendered aesthetically in tall structures that stand for modernity. The Randian panorama of architecture can be scaled in the cloudy fields of Bengaluru sky.
Like any other metro, the speed of life is expressed in mbps. Work-hard but party-harder syndrome seems to infect everyone. Rat-race should be declared the official sport of the state. Technology becomes religion and heterogeneity defines culture.
If booze and blossom compete for the potential b of Bengaluu, Brigade road braces victory. The c.p of Bangalore, brigade road is one-stop destination for shoppers, party-goers, readers and gluttons and even angora-lovers. The road dons a shop that rears nine angora-cats only for recreational purpose.
As days passed, I saw my trip turning into a pilgrimage. I couldn't have asked for more. The independent train and bus-rides were beyond good. The 3 am premier of DDLJ in hindi (played in the volvo) was way too beguiling in a predominantly Tamil and Kannad speaking passenger majority.
Mar 29, 2010
Mar 21, 2010
you can run and you can hide :-)
Things can't get any better when you make yourself run 4 km's to fetch the drool-dribbling, eye-popping, moaning-groaning-adrenaline humping chocolate fantasy at subsidized rate only to opt for an unflattering cold-coffee priced at a modest 35. 'Joy sans pleasure'(borrowed from Robert Jensen's speech), i reckon.
The unwinding roads at IIT Chennai offer a perfect picturesque for fitness enthusiasts and the unfitting exercise procrastinators. Talking about the lush landscape would be stating the obvious but oh deer! what fun in spotting them like former class-mates in a foreign city.
At Twilight, the moonlight pierces through the willows; casting abstract shadows on road that seem to compete with the beauty of the willow itself. The pace of your steps against the throbbing music redefines melody altogether. After a point reality hops into oblivion, leaving you comfortably alone with your thoughts.
If walking clears your head, running, vacuum cleans it. The world looks fresh, even though its bathed in sweat. 'Running without getting anywhere'experience feels as spiritual as it sounds. What does one run behind? Ordinarily-a bus, ambitiously- money and notoriously- woman. But running purposelessly overtakes all of them, even logic and rationality for that matter.
In a span of two days I have begun to think highly of athletes, installing my faith in the 'brain with brawn' species(Hello, are you listening?. And ofcourse you can run and you can hide the adipose. The strategically located cafe coffee day(4-km away from the IIT gate)suitably awards your chiseled tummy.
Why bother with further explanations. if forrest can run, so can I
The unwinding roads at IIT Chennai offer a perfect picturesque for fitness enthusiasts and the unfitting exercise procrastinators. Talking about the lush landscape would be stating the obvious but oh deer! what fun in spotting them like former class-mates in a foreign city.
At Twilight, the moonlight pierces through the willows; casting abstract shadows on road that seem to compete with the beauty of the willow itself. The pace of your steps against the throbbing music redefines melody altogether. After a point reality hops into oblivion, leaving you comfortably alone with your thoughts.
If walking clears your head, running, vacuum cleans it. The world looks fresh, even though its bathed in sweat. 'Running without getting anywhere'experience feels as spiritual as it sounds. What does one run behind? Ordinarily-a bus, ambitiously- money and notoriously- woman. But running purposelessly overtakes all of them, even logic and rationality for that matter.
In a span of two days I have begun to think highly of athletes, installing my faith in the 'brain with brawn' species(Hello, are you listening?. And ofcourse you can run and you can hide the adipose. The strategically located cafe coffee day(4-km away from the IIT gate)suitably awards your chiseled tummy.
Why bother with further explanations. if forrest can run, so can I
Mar 12, 2010
Orion and Artemis
You came to my life draped in white, carrying sunshine in your palms.
I, the infantine hope
of a withering blossom,
Melted In your folds,
in exact widths and proportions
Fitting into the ethereal poetry, that was ever etched
On the nape of the earth.
Love? Was it?
Annihilating all the existing paradigms and notions,
As you scribbled freedom on my wrist.
And danced all the alphabets in exultation
-celebrating the communion of our musk
Love in freedom and freedom in love
Days slipped by like pollen from rose
You and me heading to We
I clinged to us,
blinded by the fire in your eyes
A fire that devoured me, like a hungry giant
Through a royal invitation to the house of pyre
Burnt? Bruised? Any injuries?
So how do I spell mortuary?
Drawing castles out of gelid ash on a foggy night.
A night that limps like an ageing dog
Waiting passionately for sunlight no more.
I, the infantine hope
of a withering blossom,
Melted In your folds,
in exact widths and proportions
Fitting into the ethereal poetry, that was ever etched
On the nape of the earth.
Love? Was it?
Annihilating all the existing paradigms and notions,
As you scribbled freedom on my wrist.
And danced all the alphabets in exultation
-celebrating the communion of our musk
Love in freedom and freedom in love
Days slipped by like pollen from rose
You and me heading to We
I clinged to us,
blinded by the fire in your eyes
A fire that devoured me, like a hungry giant
Through a royal invitation to the house of pyre
Burnt? Bruised? Any injuries?
So how do I spell mortuary?
Drawing castles out of gelid ash on a foggy night.
A night that limps like an ageing dog
Waiting passionately for sunlight no more.
Mar 11, 2010
Feb 28, 2010
Distances
How can one run out of
the sun, moon, and the rain?
The poet assures himself,
sitting by the quay
drenched in mud and paper
beginning to trash his voice
(in split-syllables of cry).
Just then he sights
a stripling playing flute
to the passing flamingos
in broken silences
of the vehement tide.
He pounces on the artist
staging a relentless ballet of fingers
in staid, stainless afternoon
over his clumsy shadow.
"What inspires you to play
against the writhe of Boiling May?
Her memories! Where are they?
Stranded on the roads that have drifted
her away?"
And explains the thirsty urchin
in half-notes of composite smiles –
about her memories resident
in the bounties of his fist,
of bridges built to jump
from one finger to another,
of a fragrance hidden behind
the minarets of his collar –
Occurring and recurring
like melody in a tome,
bringing him her chuckles
through carriages of love.
the sun, moon, and the rain?
The poet assures himself,
sitting by the quay
drenched in mud and paper
beginning to trash his voice
(in split-syllables of cry).
Just then he sights
a stripling playing flute
to the passing flamingos
in broken silences
of the vehement tide.
He pounces on the artist
staging a relentless ballet of fingers
in staid, stainless afternoon
over his clumsy shadow.
"What inspires you to play
against the writhe of Boiling May?
Her memories! Where are they?
Stranded on the roads that have drifted
her away?"
And explains the thirsty urchin
in half-notes of composite smiles –
about her memories resident
in the bounties of his fist,
of bridges built to jump
from one finger to another,
of a fragrance hidden behind
the minarets of his collar –
Occurring and recurring
like melody in a tome,
bringing him her chuckles
through carriages of love.
Feb 22, 2010
A portrait.
I draw you in the moss-devoured
face of the lake.
Can you see my fingers
reaching out for your eye-lashes?
In the neon clouds of slate
Twitch- your eye-lids
falling like stars on my palms;
Drowning all the sky
that water once contained.
face of the lake.
Can you see my fingers
reaching out for your eye-lashes?
In the neon clouds of slate
Twitch- your eye-lids
falling like stars on my palms;
Drowning all the sky
that water once contained.
Feb 20, 2010
Evening
Brightly lit like a bride
walking tip-toe
over waning shadows
Silently in her drape
that falls over the sky.
walking tip-toe
over waning shadows
Silently in her drape
that falls over the sky.
A Verse
Words grow like cotton-balls,
In the Springfield of your hair
words, with no hands and feet
Crawling on my back
like rivers on the map
Drawing you in my pale memory
as i recall the last moon i saw.
Words, scatter as i bring them on
like dust of the forest fire
words that sweetly glance
the way infants look at,
every passing balloon
Leading me to the roads you take,
as i greet my journey tonight.
In the Springfield of your hair
words, with no hands and feet
Crawling on my back
like rivers on the map
Drawing you in my pale memory
as i recall the last moon i saw.
Words, scatter as i bring them on
like dust of the forest fire
words that sweetly glance
the way infants look at,
every passing balloon
Leading me to the roads you take,
as i greet my journey tonight.
Feb 11, 2010
what's up?
shadows fall upon road,
sherlock picks up the phone
vessels scathe,
slayed is the house
spouse, your maverick spouse!
bus-wheels screech
clock-towers preach
one o one at night to five
and hounds..
circle city parks
like cops on chloroform
in the societal trash
of plastic toys and plastic cash
streets weep, sweepers merry
wild goose, wilder berry
forests hide in clouds of smoke
smoke, smoke-0-choke
and buildings..
with long nose
like a queen riding
on haughty toes
wearing botox in her slim wrist
caging dreams in her fist
dreams cooked in,
fast-food oil
brought to you by
the delivery boy
sherlock picks up the phone
vessels scathe,
slayed is the house
spouse, your maverick spouse!
bus-wheels screech
clock-towers preach
one o one at night to five
and hounds..
circle city parks
like cops on chloroform
in the societal trash
of plastic toys and plastic cash
streets weep, sweepers merry
wild goose, wilder berry
forests hide in clouds of smoke
smoke, smoke-0-choke
and buildings..
with long nose
like a queen riding
on haughty toes
wearing botox in her slim wrist
caging dreams in her fist
dreams cooked in,
fast-food oil
brought to you by
the delivery boy
incantation
in the hour-glass of life,
time slips by,
like river from the edge of the hill
like hill from the edge of the sky
with shiny silvery eye
Noiseless like hymns and echoes of a broken bridge,
noiseless, just you and me
in the chest of a giddy night
in the night of a giddy tide
purple our incantation be
time slips by,
like river from the edge of the hill
like hill from the edge of the sky
with shiny silvery eye
Noiseless like hymns and echoes of a broken bridge,
noiseless, just you and me
in the chest of a giddy night
in the night of a giddy tide
purple our incantation be
Feb 6, 2010
the soft thoughts of you,
in the sun-burnt mind of me
wind, breeze, zephyr,
wind, breeze, zephyr
sometimes a fragrance,
in the blue fields of sky
moist and mercurial
moist and mercurial
like the talking rubies
in the cradle of your nape
words and pearls
words and pearls
exuded from the chestnut
of your cherry-bright heart
in the sun-burnt mind of me
wind, breeze, zephyr,
wind, breeze, zephyr
sometimes a fragrance,
in the blue fields of sky
moist and mercurial
moist and mercurial
like the talking rubies
in the cradle of your nape
words and pearls
words and pearls
exuded from the chestnut
of your cherry-bright heart
Feb 4, 2010
Feb 1, 2010
on the loop
The lines that follow are fleeting bubbles of a recollected cognition.
1. A new year is a new year even in the absence of merriment and pompous welcome
2. Tears are cowardly bastards that refuse to show up when summoned
3. Metal is good, the videos are not.
4. the desire of building a tree-house has steeped in course of multiple trips undertaken in the recent past
5. Dogs compulsively isolate themselves in their exiting moments. By this logic they become more profound than those on two-legs
6. writing letter is as necessary and beneficial as sky gazing on a full moon night
7. Facebook ensures you don't turn into a dim turd.
8. Love exposure is good for most part of the film
9. I have lost the stomach for binge-booze
10. John Lenon is a dude but Jim Morrison is an enigma
11. Southpark is not wrongfully hyped and eric cartman has a cute arse
12. A 17 rupee bus ticket to mahabalipuram kicks the butt of an average auto-ride worth 70 bucks for a one way rise
13. Bonne and clyde are coolest couple that have been around
14. Shoplifting is a foolproof mood-enhancer
15. Lucid dreams are irresistible
16. Dumb callers should be quarantined all together
17. A bloated fish possesses secret of the universe
18. fantasies are the only existential truth
19. crackers allow guilt-less binging
20. i have stopped missing people altogether and stop responding to those who claim to miss
21. Golu, the campus dog is not my foster-kid because I'm wheatish and he's white
22. Big words turn a writer into monopolist, fundamentalist too
23. blowing nose while bathing is a bad idea when you share room with three more who;re now forced to wake up at the same time
24. i cannot sustain fear of politics for the sheer unavailability of this philia
25. i should write more than a jabber of grammar-humiliating lines.
26. People think I'm nimble, i let them be
27. sleeping on an operational laptop is pure bliss.
28. Auroville, is haven for bohemians to paint themselves in colours and threads
29. jeanette winterson is the mommy of magic-realism
30. all this is crass
1. A new year is a new year even in the absence of merriment and pompous welcome
2. Tears are cowardly bastards that refuse to show up when summoned
3. Metal is good, the videos are not.
4. the desire of building a tree-house has steeped in course of multiple trips undertaken in the recent past
5. Dogs compulsively isolate themselves in their exiting moments. By this logic they become more profound than those on two-legs
6. writing letter is as necessary and beneficial as sky gazing on a full moon night
7. Facebook ensures you don't turn into a dim turd.
8. Love exposure is good for most part of the film
9. I have lost the stomach for binge-booze
10. John Lenon is a dude but Jim Morrison is an enigma
11. Southpark is not wrongfully hyped and eric cartman has a cute arse
12. A 17 rupee bus ticket to mahabalipuram kicks the butt of an average auto-ride worth 70 bucks for a one way rise
13. Bonne and clyde are coolest couple that have been around
14. Shoplifting is a foolproof mood-enhancer
15. Lucid dreams are irresistible
16. Dumb callers should be quarantined all together
17. A bloated fish possesses secret of the universe
18. fantasies are the only existential truth
19. crackers allow guilt-less binging
20. i have stopped missing people altogether and stop responding to those who claim to miss
21. Golu, the campus dog is not my foster-kid because I'm wheatish and he's white
22. Big words turn a writer into monopolist, fundamentalist too
23. blowing nose while bathing is a bad idea when you share room with three more who;re now forced to wake up at the same time
24. i cannot sustain fear of politics for the sheer unavailability of this philia
25. i should write more than a jabber of grammar-humiliating lines.
26. People think I'm nimble, i let them be
27. sleeping on an operational laptop is pure bliss.
28. Auroville, is haven for bohemians to paint themselves in colours and threads
29. jeanette winterson is the mommy of magic-realism
30. all this is crass
Dec 23, 2009
Dec 20, 2009
a rain
the sky spreads open like an umbrella
to the star that predicts
a season of uncertainty
to the tree,
that awaits golden zephyr
to the bees
that have no place to nest
to the soil
that witnesses a cremation day after day
to the wind
that's lost in transit
to the toys
that fancy other eyes
to the autumn
that carries burnt maple leaves
to a heart
glistened in soulless memories
to the star that predicts
a season of uncertainty
to the tree,
that awaits golden zephyr
to the bees
that have no place to nest
to the soil
that witnesses a cremation day after day
to the wind
that's lost in transit
to the toys
that fancy other eyes
to the autumn
that carries burnt maple leaves
to a heart
glistened in soulless memories
Dec 16, 2009
finally
Chennai,
A city that reads before it speaks
A sea that treats fish-breeder and eater equally
A rain that wets all but quenches none
a road that's safe even for a beautiful blind dame
a bus that greets politely to the beggar
a language that befuddles you but seldom belittles you
a dish that can be tasted only on sweaty fingers
a beach that storms you with aspirations
a jasmine that makes you sneeze until you wear it
a sky that undergoes frequent mood-swings
a crow that replaces pigeon in tamil films
a book that is categorically artsy
a dance that is performed till you retire
a raga that one learns in mother's womb
a drink that filters you from the mediocre
a film that is whistled more than its watched
a cosmetic-shop that only stocks fairness creams
a vehicle that is designed to rob you of your money
a tree that births weighty coconuts but seldom tires
a temple that has more shrines than devotees
a map that makes you lose your sense of direction,
particularly north.
A city that reads before it speaks
A sea that treats fish-breeder and eater equally
A rain that wets all but quenches none
a road that's safe even for a beautiful blind dame
a bus that greets politely to the beggar
a language that befuddles you but seldom belittles you
a dish that can be tasted only on sweaty fingers
a beach that storms you with aspirations
a jasmine that makes you sneeze until you wear it
a sky that undergoes frequent mood-swings
a crow that replaces pigeon in tamil films
a book that is categorically artsy
a dance that is performed till you retire
a raga that one learns in mother's womb
a drink that filters you from the mediocre
a film that is whistled more than its watched
a cosmetic-shop that only stocks fairness creams
a vehicle that is designed to rob you of your money
a tree that births weighty coconuts but seldom tires
a temple that has more shrines than devotees
a map that makes you lose your sense of direction,
particularly north.
a fallen leaf
a fallen leaf,
sicken yellow.
singing prose and lulling rose
asleep on earth's torso
worry-less, penny-less
hanging indifferently to breeze
like wax on the candle
like bubble on the soap
dying tomorrow, dying now
sicken yellow.
singing prose and lulling rose
asleep on earth's torso
worry-less, penny-less
hanging indifferently to breeze
like wax on the candle
like bubble on the soap
dying tomorrow, dying now
Dec 15, 2009
Coffee and me
At the street
as the wind rustles
the banana leafs
a motion complimenting
tyre and wheels
he puts me out of gear
served in an earthen ware
to the road that leads
and road that bleeds
to the moments of rush
people sipping hush hush
while the world leaps forward
i lean back,
reminiscing with my bean bag
At work:
Amidst the cloud of sounds
a chuckle or a frown
he kick-starts my refuge
to the oblivious deluge
of matters that never matter
and words that aimlessly flatter
of curses that never cease
from mouths that pretend to be at ease
while the world brainstorms
i switch off,
to the music that enhances
the sound of sips
On the bed:
as the bats takeover
tumble and hover
proclaiming another end
to the daily fend
he opens my eyes
and heavies my vice
to brew words that mean
and stir focus to the screen
as the world sleeps
in the world of darkness
i colour my dream
to the brink of dawn
i colour it cream.
as the wind rustles
the banana leafs
a motion complimenting
tyre and wheels
he puts me out of gear
served in an earthen ware
to the road that leads
and road that bleeds
to the moments of rush
people sipping hush hush
while the world leaps forward
i lean back,
reminiscing with my bean bag
At work:
Amidst the cloud of sounds
a chuckle or a frown
he kick-starts my refuge
to the oblivious deluge
of matters that never matter
and words that aimlessly flatter
of curses that never cease
from mouths that pretend to be at ease
while the world brainstorms
i switch off,
to the music that enhances
the sound of sips
On the bed:
as the bats takeover
tumble and hover
proclaiming another end
to the daily fend
he opens my eyes
and heavies my vice
to brew words that mean
and stir focus to the screen
as the world sleeps
in the world of darkness
i colour my dream
to the brink of dawn
i colour it cream.
Nov 30, 2009
Adyar Footbridge: a descriptive
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.
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.
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