.... Of Images & Words

Amour

2010-03-20T23:36:00.009-05:00

Here is a novice's attempt. Mine. An extension to the post below.

Like red earth and pouring rain
our hearts had mingled.
With dark skies of starless nights
as blankets, too thin.
But then, she rose
Like a bride in gold
For whom you left me. Askew; in woe.

குறுந்தொகை

2010-03-20T13:34:00.008-05:00

தமிழ் is my mother tongue. My mother, grandmother and my aunts were more than mere patrons of this beautiful language. Some of them wrote poetry and prose; others were serious dramatists. Even today, I can listen to my aunt recite பாரதியார் பாடல்கள் for endless hours with a kind of passion that is infectious... and I am so glad that another aunt took to writing after retirement.

Back in school, I wish I had done better than just memorize these verses for marks and medals.

After an inspiring conversation with 2 friends on Facebook over 2 weeks ago, I finally borrowed this book by A.K.Ramanujan "Poems of Love and War" from the library yesterday. I have not kept it down since. (People who know me well know exactly how rare such occurrences are! )

Reading the originals on 'Project மதுரை' and the translations by Sir Ramanujan - I feel terrible about how little attention I paid to my தமிழ் ஆசிரியர் in school. While I feel very sad about being able to appreciate my mother tongue better with an English translation, I am sure this is better than not appreciating it at all. I'd recommend you give it a shot.

Find below a sampler:

What could my mother be
to yours? What kin is my father
to yours anyway? And how
did you and I meet ever?
But in love
Our hearts have mingled
Like red earth and pouring rain.

Please grab the book if you enjoy poetry - am sure you won't regret it! :)

A Quiet Little Melody

2010-01-21T00:56:00.005-06:00

Slide 0

I saw you as I walked outside;

Hanging around, by the curbside

Little things like these make me smile.

You held my hand and let me in;

Drove me home and waited still -

I looked at you to see if you’d smile.

I never wanted to be alone

Just wanted to be with you at home

So please, won’t you come along – tonight?

So when am scared to sleep at night,

You can tell me it’s alright;

So please, can you come along – tonight?

I‘ll hold you close and let you see,

All the lies that I have been;

Promise you that we will always be….

Together now and growing old,

Forever and for always more;

I will hold your hands and sing to you…

This quiet little melody

Footnote

2009-10-08T10:21:00.003-05:00

As of yesterday, I had set foot on the Western borders of India - Wagah border.
Thanks to a lovely wing, we danced to bhangra tunes as millions watched the guards shake hands across the gate with Pakistani soldiers.

As of today, I've also seen the South-East borders of India - at Dhanushkoti.
Thanks to a lovely family that decided not to disturb my photog adventure inbetween lengths of puja - I also have a picture for proof.

This blog - is to remind me that I have made an oath to myself that I shall visit the Eastern and Northern boundaries before am too old with responsibilities and stuff like that (read 30)

Binary World

2009-07-27T03:36:00.002-05:00

"There are two types of people--those who come into a room and say, 'Well, here I am!' and those who come in and say, 'Ah, there you are.'"

--Frederick L Collins

Am not sure who is better or which one I am.... But its an interesting thought nevertheless!

and I ask again...

2009-07-09T13:24:00.005-05:00

Where did you go?
I miss you so.
Seems like its been forever...
Since you were gone.

Come back home.

.... of white shadows and black hopes

2009-06-04T13:32:00.003-05:00

I burn

for you to see

…of people and places

2009-05-15T22:44:00.008-05:00

Things and places always reminded me of times and people. This was always the way it happened. Objects brought more meaning to life. Strange? May be not!

She sat there, watching passerby's.

The wind was subtle. The place – crowded. There was little space left to maneuver; even for the wind. Probably why it remained subtle.

It could have been an hour, or may be even 2. The rains delayed the bus by a few hours. The not-so-dirty bench at the rear end of the platform was convenient. To watch, to smile, to smirk and to remain inert; immune to the chaos around.

Being the mute participant in multiple conversations, she continued to write... a story of borrowed characters and stolen dialogues. Little truth that captured the smell of sweat and wet iron of rusty buses made it real.

~~It kept her busy~~. Occupied.

And then he called….

Hence, another incomplete story.

Schizophrenia

2009-05-12T12:49:00.007-05:00

Sometimes life is like that, there is always an invisible truth… a hidden reality… open secrets and surreal situations. It works on a simple truth – “Your life is REAL. But so is mine”. They say, emotions have that in them - the ability to bring to life memories. Love; most of all.

I’ve read books. I see there is so much to describe when it comes to mundane routines or even a crime scene. And I can’t help but wonder how Love seems to be the only thing that’s understood without words. Without words.

**********

But we did speak. A little, every now and then. No one asked me as many questions as he did. I had company. No one listened without judging me inside. And I have to agree, its tough finding people like that these days. Many judge by cover, I judge too – ‘instincts’; they say.

May be not.

I stumble upon more questions as I even try to answer the very first. What made me take that extra step?

He listened with patience. I preferred to think, he was observing closely. Sometimes, I even felt his gaze wash my skin.

Reluctant Panic. Both were mine. A sinful combination.

Such things can’t be ignored.

And some people can’t be forgotten. They can’t be remembered either. They just exist in your life. May be as tucked away memories of hurt… Or whispers of something you imagined…

***********

Welcome to my world. Here, nothing is new. Nothing is old. Its got me, myself and I.

With or Without You

2009-04-09T14:24:00.011-05:00

To adolescent nights
Of infant love.
To sweet nothings…
Too many to count.

To silent words
‘n’ several sins…
To aquiline figures
Stagnant in time…

She left behind a story;
A wrinkled one.
Known to none; but
Two shadows in doubt.

PS: Totally inspired by an awesome line up of songs on my playlist! Someday when I can play the guitar - I will sing this song! ;)

Lost

2009-02-23T19:46:00.005-06:00

There is no light outside my window
Sit there wondering why?
Open the door to black walls,
where shadows failed to fall.

I got no reasons! None this time..
'n' I keep askin' me why...?
.. Then I fall asleep..
Wishin' you were here, right by my side.

I dreamt too much, I can't remember..
if you were even there.
I hear those knocks from someone somewhere
but I can't find them there..

Even if you didn't find me then
I would have found myself!
For it has been so long
In a world so lost, all by myself...

...of bandanas & bangles !

2009-01-17T18:53:00.005-06:00

I’ve been listening to Delhi 6 on an endless loop for a day now..

Am not a Delhi vaasi, nor have I stayed there for a considerable length of time to call myself a Delhi-ite. Same with Bombay or Bangalore! But there is something about these 3 cities! The spirit – its energy and the maddening crowd with all its colors! Place with no definition, people with no fear.

Makes me wanna do one of those ‘Friends only’ trip back to Pilani for this song reminds me of infinite Delhi – Pilani journeys atop rusty buses amidst a million pieces of luggage, dust and stale food.

This day was spent remembering Delhi-Haat, Samchat, Connaught market, bandanas and bangles!!

IT WAS GOOD FUN!

Perfect Christmas

2009-01-03T17:14:00.006-06:00

Have you been in one of those moments? One that is hard to believe while you are amidst it? I was. Recently while on a much awaited trip.

So this happened last year (yeah! Christmas ’08). I had planned a trip to New Jersey to meet up with some good ol’ friends. My idea of a vacation or a Christmas Eve or a New Year’s night out is usually nothing fancy. (Yeah, nothing at all) It would be the same old dinner, some new music, a lot of talk and good sleep with friends to share it all with. And that pretty much was the plan for which I had booked a one stop flight to Jersey from Minneapolis via Chicago.

As luck would have it, my flight was delayed. Christmas eve, so I expect nothing less. I never cribbed, I did not even sulk. I was in the Santa mode, trying to spread cheer and joy. So yeah… I was at the airport – with a bunch of strangers tied together by the fact that we were all stranded at the airport. Chicago, ORD it was. Crowded yet with no one to talk to. (Strange isn’t it?)

I manage to seat myself at one of those overly packed gates, hoping to get out on a standby flight. But Murphy’s Law worked right a second time too. The flight went into servicing. By then, I had spent enough time at the gate. I went from staring between faces on the opposite seating area to smiling at visibly irritated faces.

I sat there reading ‘Fooled by randomness’ only to be interrupted by this Indian sitting next to me. ‘Hey.. This is interesting’ he says. I turn to see he was reading the prequel to the one I was reading; both talking largely about the theories of uncertainty. This person, a professor at the University of Michigan handles a course on Uncertainty Principles. Ironically, the man could deal with it only in theory. Whilst at the airport dealing with ‘uncertainty of heading to Jersey’ – he failed miserably.

The other character I got talking to was Vasantha mami. A typical tam bram lady – old, worn out & calm with experience on her first trip to the US visiting her children. She had limited luggage. No phone, no quarters, a $20 bill, a box of tomato rice packed by her daughter at Minneapolis & a boarding pass to catch the flight that was indefinitely delayed. Speaks for itself doesn’t it? Understandably, she felt a great sense of relief on seeing another ‘Tam face’ (myself) smile at her. So yes, this acquaintance lead me to a situation where I had to answer questions which I avoided asking myself. A whole huge list, actually.

Will the flight leave tonight?
Is it the last flight out for tonight?
If it doesn’t which flight will they book us on?
Does this always happen?
The weather is really terrible isn’t it?
Accident’s are not that frequent right?
What about my baggage that I have checked in?
Do you get vegetarian food here? For less than $20?

And many more…

Keeping her quiet for more than 10 mins at a stretch was tougher than listening to the professor fella!

Another couple of hours passed by, and suddenly the whole wait seemed worth it. It wasn’t the case that the flight was good to go. It was one Mr.Dave at the airport. A retired veteran from the Navy who also was hanging around at the airport waiting for the same flight to Newark, NJ.

“What’s with all you guys? It’s Christmas eve for god’s sake! Brighten up. It’s not so bad is it? We still got each other! Now come on, smile for me” says he. Trust me, the crowd did. As if instantly realizing what they failed to see for themselves. A couple of college kids sprang up from their seats walked up to Dave – gave him a ‘hi 5’ (is that how one spells it?), walked around the hip hop style – throwing a couple of ‘Yo man! Wassup?’ to every third person they saw.

Even the girl in pink who was sad that Santa would not find her tonight at the airport seemed to feel better. What more? Thoroughly in the rush of the moment and the energy that was so infectious, I called out to the crowd – ‘Does anyone feel like having some cake?’ (Still hate to think of how I might have reacted if the crowd remained passive to my callout) Surprisingly for me, there was response. A loud one. at that. So the college kids, Dave and I head out to the food court to grab some cheese cake for the whole crowd. Back at gate B16, we had the cake, exchanged stories, seats and everything except our names.

Within an hour from then, the flight was good to go. We were all on it, like around a 100 of us who knew each other and what the Christmas gifts for their families were! And that’s the story of 24^th December 2008.

A perfect Christmas, huh? We also got a $100 off e-coupon on our next purchase. Perfect indeed!

2009-01-03T13:52:00.002-06:00

I knew you would leave if I slept a little longer.

So I did.

2008-11-09T23:05:00.002-06:00

Only a matter of time.

Until I fall too.

2008-11-09T22:58:00.004-06:00

Listen.

I have traveled a long way. But I'm still where I began.

To 7 hours n a moonlit sky...

2008-11-04T22:35:00.007-06:00

She had a seven hour journey up ahead. Not the routine ones. Not those with laptop & iPods for company. They were there too; uncared for this time.. She preferred her new found acquaintances - apprehension, excitement & love.

She sat there on the seat longing for an arm that could support more than just her weight. She stared on at the immatures up ahead working on a kiss in the moonlit sky. She looked away briefly at the window. Blushed at her own reflection. Stretched a bit and shrunk back in her seat. Coiled. Curved. Expectant & dreamy.

Even her watch felt overworked today for the number of times he had been looked at. He could help very little for 'day light savings' kept her waiting an extra hour.

The wait was probably worth it. For afterall she was heading back home.

To home
Where her heart belongs
To dad
With arms wide open
To Him
Who never was
To herself
Who always will be!

Well yes!
She did fall in love.
Again.
Too soon.

With herself for a change.

Cold Gray Mornings

2008-10-30T23:36:00.007-05:00

They say that there is light up ahead.... May be there is too little to be seen. Or may be... Am just blind.

Yes. I woke up to yet another cold and gray morning. I am left with empty visions of a world where silent whisperers scream into thin air. I suffer from memories of a time, so long ago. I miss simplicity. I fear those eyes... scornful eyes - dripping with contempt and disdain. I long for warmth. I run and hide behind invisible walls. I faint and fall off to wake up briefly before I hit the ground. Again.. my eyes open to a cold and gray morning.

Letting Go...

2008-10-11T01:47:00.006-05:00

Its hard enough to remember things that you miss a lot.

I just realized its harder when you miss things you don't remember anymore.

... of neon lights and lonely streets

2008-09-25T20:35:00.007-05:00

---------------------------------------------------------------

I know I want to write more than this title.

I know it every morning, when I wake up before the sun does. I say it to myself as I win over my alarm clock. I know it while I walk to work. I know it while I wait for my cup of cappuccino. I know it while I reply to one mail after another. I recall it while the coin trickles down the vending machine.

I see it in so many eyes. I feel it within.
This is the story... of neon lights and lonely streets.

Let Go

2008-08-17T12:57:00.006-05:00

Another sad song. Another fiction. Inspired by 3 doors down.

Someday you would want to remember me
And that day I would never know
Seems like, these are mere stories
Oh, let it be, for I don wanna know.

Night and day, for all these years…now
I spent my life for you.
In this world there is real and make believe
Where do you want to be?

I love you but I don know who I am
I have lost my face - space; and all I ever had
I love you, but I don know who I am
So let me go. Let me go.

No one knows what I go through
No, no please don’t claim you do.
Fearless smiles with no questioning
Are all I ever asked you for…

Night and day, for all these years…now
I spent my life for you.
In this world there is real and make believe
Where do you want to be?

I love you but I don know who I am
I have lost my face - space; and all I ever had
I love you, but I don know who I am
So let me go. Just Let me go.

Let me go.

And no matter how hard I try
There’s lil to do, and lot to hide
I know - you know
When all the pieces fall apart
And you look at me standing out

You know… you know you jus ought to let me go.

Shadows in doubt

2008-06-19T14:57:00.006-05:00

The entire lane was laid with fallen flowers. Crushed, desolate and crowded together.

I loved those flowers, in petals of white and pink. Or may be I loved it so much because I can still remember the crisp sound of our shy footsteps on them. While the white of the petals shone bright on his face, and the pink - on my cheeks we walked that very path, every evening of every spring.

I also remember that ‘certain’ period, when I was far from young and innocent. But I loved the game of pretext. I lived like a kid. Screamed into the sky… walked backwards… whispered in his ears – half lies and full truth.

Not to forget, the stories we made pointing to our lean shadows on the long winding road. How I blushed at the shadows inching closer… How I grew out of the girl I no longer was into a woman I so longed to be. So many secrets, so many more images…!

.......of mere flowers, shadows and a love that never was.

The lane is still laid with fallen flowers, I hear......Crushed, desolate and wet with tears.

To Aditya

2008-06-17T13:32:00.003-05:00

They say, you can tell from the person’s eye if he/she is lying or not. What do I tell from this one? Read on.

Promises have always been on the list of all things with faint belief. More often than not, they just serve as some fancy seasoning on top of a not so good dish. When life remains simple, and thoughts stagnate atop more thoughts, there is little to do and the brain enjoys the inertness around – you can surely bet there is a rude awakening that lies ahead. This is one such episode, a very recent one at that.

I was at the local school, doing some routine blind reading classes. I usually handle science for class 3 but this time it was spoken English for Aditya and Dharini. I went through their lessons to brief myself about what has been covered in the past and I realized that Aditya had an incomplete homework. When asked ‘why?’ all he said was that he was sorry.

Pissed as I was, I was bent upon getting the reason out. Having asked him around 10 times already, I gave up. I took a moment’s deep breath. Let out all the heat and told Aditya (gripping him firmly by his wrist) “Promise, that you will finish it by next week!”

Aditya kept silent.

I asked him again, much louder. “DO YOU HEAR ME? PROMISE THAT YOU WILL FINISH THE HOMEWORK BY NEXT WEEK!”

He kept silent again. I had given up a second time by then.

Just as I began to loosen my grip around his arm, and was going to let him go – he held mine. Looked faintly in my direction…. Blinked a couple of times with uneasiness and then with a sort of conviction I haven’t seen in even physically able people – he said to me

“Why do you want a promise when I am telling you the truth? Does honesty require re-enforcement? I will finish it. Please trust me. “

Small truth.
Big lessons.
A Rude AWAKENING.

A lil too short

2008-06-04T12:48:00.003-05:00

There are so many things I wish to write about.

I could write about the silly stories one makes up in the wee hours of the morning, to break the monotony of silence.

Or may be about the tiny moment you want to steal between elevator levels to give an incomplete hug.

About sitting on the plane and looking into the infinite sky..

About driving real fast on your new car with the perfect gang of friends and let the loud music communicate.

About jamming sessions, about self tried recipes, about night outs, about unfinished books, power cuts and what not.

BUT no. I won’t.
I’ll let this empty space do the talking. For in my mind, it is in its most beautiful form,

Familiar Strangers

2008-02-24T00:02:00.005-06:00

‘My Life is just a slow train Crawling up a hill’

Its just a short and simple equation, this thing that we call life. Isn’t it? Endless nights after countless mornings, all I do is walk around and observe. I tend to believe am the only one observing. But am being watched too. By who? or Why? Doesn’t really matter anymore. In a land of strangers, we are all alone together. The people I see, the eyes I meet, the voice I hear, the smiles that console; are not necessarily from people I’ve known for long. It just comes from the ones I see everyday. Most times I don’t even know their names. But we wait together for a common cause. At the bus stop. At the hotel counter. At ATMs. At a million other places.

It’s a comforting experience. The familiar face, and the expected smile.
Familiar Strangers.

Scenes from a Memory

2008-01-28T11:49:00.001-06:00

Sometimes I wish I could just flip through the pages of my life. Skip through the ones bookmarked by tears and regrets. Relive moments when random co incidences cause a smile or two. I wished again. Today.

I used to like feeling unique. I liked to race with the rain line, I still like to cry when no one’s watching. I secretly enjoy the rhythm in everything around me.. like when the old lady walks to the beat on my ear plugs.

Oh! That reminds me. I also like times when am no different from the girl next door. The man with the head phones; the loner making a fashion statement !?!

Ah! How strangely similar we all are!

Misused mistakes.
Reluctant panic.
Convenient silence.
Period.

Checkmate

2008-01-12T06:58:00.001-06:00

Last Night upon the stair,
I saw a man who wasn’t there.
He wasn’t there again today,
Oh! I wish to God he’d go away!

As a kid, there was plenty of innocence left for me to nurture. The big outside world with its people fighting to get a life was strangely fascinating. But little did I know, that more they grab of life, more are the pieces they lose of themselves. And with time I began to look at life a lot differently. My impressions were constantly molded by what I saw happen around me and in a way I grew from outside of it. Emotions made decisions, wants lost to practicality, and power redefined integrity.

My learning from all of this was a simple truth.

After a game, the king and the pawn are back inside the same box

Tranquil Sedation

2007-11-17T01:55:00.007-06:00

What did you think when you told me, this was over?
Incessant quarrels to give us reasons forever…
Seasons of change seem to fool me! Hopeless desires.
Locked inside tranquil sedation. Gray and somber.

Give me, space to breathe.
Inside of me, make me free.
Love me, talk to me.
Make up some reasons, to be with me.

How many times have people said this to themselves?
Be beaten and also abandoned! Lonesome survivors.
Seeking the seamless treasons, that life leaves us.
Or blaming the loss and losers, for all their wises.

I will break free
Right now and be, the change to see.
Hear me, Fear me
Make up your mind n see through me.

Disclaimer: for those of you who wanna conclude that this post is about a 'guy-girl' relationship. It isn't! Think outside the box! :)

Take Away My Pain

2007-10-05T12:05:00.001-05:00

spread the message. save a life.

Tell me my mother
Why couldn’t you see?
For night after night,
I cried my plea.

He walked into my room,
Uninvited. Unseen.
Like shadows of yore,
And acted so mean.

I didn’t like it, dear mother,
I never liked playing that game.
That trouble, the trauma
God! What was its name?

I died every night,
And was born the next day.
A phoenix of sorts,
With scars that stay.

Tell me my mother
Why couldn’t you see?
For night after night,
I cried my plea.

Take me with you
Take away my pain
I’d rather be alone,
And watch memories remain.

---------------------------------------

Picture Source: http://www.flickr.com/photos/kamisyed/598090994/

Also Visit: http://www.tulircphcsa.org/

Subtle Reminders

2007-10-02T05:26:00.000-05:00

He had the habit of leaving me small notes and I used to love them. A familiar handwriting, the smell of scented paper, words of warmth and his voice through that.

The comfort that the heart yearned for, while my fingers ran through the half empty bed and beneath the pillow covers to reach the note.

Only this time, it was different.

The words conveyed what my ears refused to hear. The paper smelt like another woman and shimmered with shades of her mascara.

“Will be late”, it read.

I heard his voice and her smile.

I wished that the habit had left with him.

2007-08-14T13:16:00.001-05:00

Objects in the rear view mirror do appear closer than they are.

You only miss that which is no more. Don you?

First Times

2007-07-05T15:08:00.001-05:00

It was the first time she had pushed aside the feeling of may-be-it-is wrong. It was the first time, she was afraid that he would hear her heart screaming. The first time when lying was tough. The first time, she felt love.

She dressed so carefully hoping he would notice and rehearsed her coy smile a million times in front of the mirror. It was the only time; she chose jasmine over roses, and yellow over pink. She did her eyes, and then her hair and carefully pulled out a strand from the side. It dangled and danced as she glanced sideways at the mirror checking all along to see if the pallu was in place.

She had favorites that changed every two minutes. He was probably the only exception.

I sat at a distance watching both of them. Of course, I was the one who had listened to her stories until then. But this time we walked a path of silence. Only she kept interrupting with giggles and hurried steps that upset the rhythm our anklets maintained.

Actually, I knew both of them equally well. Both, who had told me everything but this. Love, I thought to myself.

They spoke through the night. But the night remained young. He held her hand and clutched it tight. Her head locked position on his shoulder. And I sat plucking my lower lip waiting for them to say goodbye.

He did and we left. That was the last train out of the village.

Her first time without him.

Elastic Hearts.

2007-07-04T10:09:00.001-05:00

One of the most serious consequences of being more than just friends is its irreversibility.

2007-07-04T01:05:00.001-05:00

Life,

Is crossing over.

Faith,

Waits to meet me there.

Unwind

2007-07-02T03:47:00.001-05:00

Take me higher,
Make me fall.
Tricky desires,
Standing tall.

Turn around,
Look inside.
For nothing’s wrong
and no one’s right.

Blue Shoes

2007-06-27T03:42:00.000-05:00

I usually shrug off pleasant memories. Else they would mean too much. But this one refused to be.
Shrugged off, I mean.
* * * *

It was exactly like that 2 minute dream before the waking second. It grew, frame by frame.. it melted, it smiled and winked at me as I lived through it. Waking life, I call it.

There were rehearsals that ran in lengths of many days and endless nights. I remember those blue shoes too. They seemed to suit me well. Pretty silver ribbons to ballet with my lady like blue skirt, red roses, and good luck wishes.

And the fall! How can I forget the fall? Gracefully, in slow motion – like it would be my last and like I can’t fall any lower. More perfect than all my rehearsals. And then the freeze…

Like in a trance, the rest of the cast swirls in circles and leaps, while my eyes search through the space to fill the void that could kill me. That is the moment. The split second when the spots are on you. Of applause, of fame, of smiles and crystal drops of tears.

My twelve year struggle understood me.

Fragile Dreams.

2007-05-23T07:32:00.003-05:00

"I worry, I weigh three times my body
I worry, I throw my fear around
But this morning, there's a calm I can't explain
The rock candy's melted, only diamonds now remain”

- John Mayer found Clarity, perhaps. I hadnt.

The words echoed in an infinite loop. Thoughts pressing hard against my skull, I feel pain. Images have that in them, the ability to bring to life, situations or emotions that words don’t do justice to.

A family portrait? A roller coaster? Dad in it? A kid in him? Strawberries, the moon, my first bicycle, car keys, the last moments before a new life, so much more. Sometimes you hope to get used to life. Many times we live that life just hoping to cope with it. May be I belonged to the second category.

Stuck in time, fearing the void that’s swarming all around, tearing away from that helpless feeling I turn towards the window, and watch the glass sink inside.

I see a kid balancing an act on its bike, the dad running right behind.

I see myself nod as I say “there are some things money can’t buy”. Life smiles back at me. Peace.

for one more Minute

2007-05-15T13:00:00.000-05:00

She has been waiting a whole hour to get there. Those secrets unable to travel the distance, waiting and staring at oblivion. All she wants is that one minute with him. So close, so near.

When their shadows will overlap.
When they are two souls in one.
When she can whisper into him, how she yearns to unite.

I saw them that night; So near, yet so far. With secrets untold, and hands that never met. Like lovers from epics, like dreams that feared dawn; they remained distant. Forever frozen with fear.

Lucid Dreams

2007-04-07T03:26:00.001-05:00

I lay awake. I stay still.
I witness the purple sky whistle past in silence.
The scent of paper flowers and the sound of silence add to the inertness of life around.
I lie inside myself for endless hours.
I run, I fall, I scream, I drown.
I dream, with eyes wide shut of the story where I lay awake.

A broken vase. Withered Flowers.

2007-04-04T14:31:00.000-05:00

Little hope, small wishes, eager eyes and a dirty doll to cling onto; that was all she had with her. She smelt dust, and could see very little. She could hear faint noises of people screaming and the sound of machines and tough men. She couldn’t tell if it was night or day. She tried hard to recall, her thoughts refused to spin past the last mug of milk that she drank the previous night. She remembered she wore a pretty pink frock, but she could hardly recognize it anymore. It looked more of black with patches of visible pink.

* * *

Closing her eyes, she went back to her tidy room.

The curtains, the breeze, the warmth of her bedspread and the small streak of light from her table lamp seemed to bring back hope. She hugged her soft toy close and cuddled herself to a comfortable curve. Smiling at her dreams she left the world of reality.

* * *

‘Aargh’ She screamed out. Something scratched her back hard and suddenly there was blinding light. She could hear clearly, she smelt some fresh air, she understood very little. There were mobs of men, women and children speaking simultaneously. There was nothing but chaos all around. She was helped out of those layers of debris.

Holding tight to the doll on her left, she tugged at the man who held her by her lil finger. ‘Where is my mother?’, she asked him.

Little hope, small wishes, eager eyes and a dirty doll to cling onto; that was all she had with her.

* * *

Tracking Times

2006-08-07T06:17:00.001-05:00

Train journeys always do that. The smell of rust n iron carried along with those of memories fresh from the heart. May be it was the isolation, or maybe the wind, or perhaps just the anticipation. She could never tell. She sat by the window, her fingers working fast on that knitting needle and woolen bundles. Her hands worked like magic, without even her looking at the half knit sweater. She stared on, in oblivion. Those tracks that stretched into infinity, reminded her of times a decade ago.

‘Life was very simple back then’ she heard her mind echo. A little unusual as it was, she sat aloof that afternoon spending all her hours looking just at those tracks that seemed to have some haunting story to reveal to her. She was listening detachedly to the conversations in her coupe. In between the regular whining of the 2 yr old, she managed to gather some news on a Geetha’s first marriage and a Swathi’s knowledge on palmistry n psychic powers. But her mind wandered back to those tracks and she stared on..

* * * * *

Tall healthy coconut trees, overlooking a thatched roof and red bricked cottage houses filled with the aroma of piping hot tea n buttered popcorn came alive. She saw Shruthi wearing her pretty pink frock with the white lace, looking like an angel but with dark chocolate smudged around her lips. Shruthi took tiny little steps, careful enough not to wet her shoes in those puddles from yesterday’s rain. There were guests, chocolates, fountains, cars and cake - with 10 candles. Loud music did its duty, it was their favorite song. Yeah, music does that too, the smell of just blown candles, vanilla essence and memories fresh from the heart. She leaned forward to blow those 10 huge candles, with her mom by her side holding back her loose hair. Shruthi, made a perfect ‘o’ with her mouth n took in a huge amount of air jus enough to blow most of them off, but she paused. Squinting her eyes, she drove her gaze through the crowd straining to spot her best friend. ‘He is definitely there! ‘, she assured her self and as she looked on – ‘he must be hiding’, she thought.

She was locked in her awkward 7 like position for longer than she had estimated. Nudges from her mom, and loud whispers became a little more than ignorable. And so she blew the candles, wishing strongly for him to appear in front of her. The flames danced, refusing to listen to Shruthi. She blew harder, n they danced more gorily than before. She saw nothing but the flames. Orange and yellow, and they grew in size. The black wick metamorphosed into a figure, a familiar figure. Her eyeballs enlarged, pupils dilated and they dictated fear. The music muted itself, n she heard nothing but her own screams for help. There was panic all over and just enough threshold energy. She pulled herself away from her mother n turned sharply the other way n came eye to eye with Shruthi, 10 years later.

* * * * *

A loud gasp, faint noises of an approaching train, sharper sounds of a crying child and then the voice of her heart – ‘Its all over Shruthi. Calm down. Its ok. He died several years ago” . She had calmed down, but only temporarily. The tracks and the travel had brought back the old times. Times - 10 years old. May be that was what time was meant to teach. Maybe that was what the tracks yearned to tell. Maybe that was what her heart was longed for – the old times.

The Elves n the Shoemaker

2006-08-04T11:40:00.002-05:00

It was a long time ago, in the city of angels that this soul found peace and rested one night without having to worry about the next day’s meal. It was a long time ago, that in the city of angels, time stood still as if all was planned by God to show the sinned mortals of the existence of goodness in the world. It was a long time ago, that this small story happened in the streets of Richmond, Bangalore.

* * * * *

The bus 138, screeched on its brakes to a halt. It seemed like the bus was crying out in pain, due to the overburdening weight of the morning passengers who held on to anything that they could get their hands on. In between women who squeezed their way into the front and men who struggled to get out of the rear, was Amitha. With an unknown language and strangers for company; unsure of where to get off, her mind was paralyzed with thoughts that took momentary control.

It was a common sight to see. Men and women straining their necks in awkward heights to see if it was time to start wriggling their way through the bus. What was more common was the sight of them reminding the conductors of the change they are due to get. Amitha, however thought it to be too tedious a process to pass the ticket along and wait for her change.

And so she got off the bus, cursing herself for waking up late. And more so for leaving the govt of Karnataka with 3 rupees more than what it should own. She was pre occupied. She was late. Her hair was messed up anyway. Pleasant things didn’t remind themselves in her paralyzed mind. She continued to walk the streets of Richmond, completely unaware of other pre occupied minds.

* * * * *

The bus 138, screeched on its brakes to a halt. It seemed like the bus was yelling out in happiness about reaching 30 seconds too early than yesterday. It was like it set a new record during the most busy morning hour. In between women who tried to keep their make up intact, n men who held their grip firmly on the bus bars, was Atul. Familiar roads, familiar foot board, n familiar faces kept his zest alive. Completely at peace with a typical morning he got off the bus n waited for it to cross.

* * * *

Alongside the pavement, was Sukumar - a soul that had never once looked at the sky. He possessed a rug, a cloth, some polish and a basin. For years he had watched the legs walk past. In the years that followed, he had watched those feet grow. For many days he had felt those shoes; polished them n longed for them. But God had his reasons right, his drama planned and so he sat, longing for long. And then came the day, when he was too old to continue the routine. The day still dawned, n those legs still walked past. But his hands were faint, withered n too weak to hold its own weight. He sat there, with just his rug and his basin. People walked by Sukumar, busy with their own business. Cars zoomed past, with men nonchalantly throwing out crushed cartons or used tissues.

Atul stopped suddenly. He sat down perched on his heel, his hands busy digging into his wallet. He reached out to a hundred rupee note, handed it to Sukumar Thaathaa ; stroked him on his back, spent a few minutes; shared some good humour n as he got up to leave, he yelled out jus so Sukumar heard him right "First month salary Thaathaa....! That’s where it came from ".

Atul was walking just a few steps ahead of Amitha. She hadn’t noticed him, or him or HIM. Until then….

Sense and Sensibility

2006-08-03T07:20:00.000-05:00

And the day dawned, with Seema screaming from the toilet, ‘Mira, switch on the darned inverter. I cannot see a thing ‘. And Mira did as she was told, as she was told every morning at around 7, when with strict regularity the power used to fail.

* * * * * *

Mornings at Bangalore were lazy uniformly. Even the sun used to peep out of the dark grey blankets only well after 6. Having just managed her morning routines, Seema settled for a cold shower. Stepping out, she was already late and screaming at Mira for not giving her a warning alarm about the time. She slipped into her stunning blue salwar, hurriedly brushed her hair back, grabbed her handbag, her ID card ran a quick check on the mirror n locked the room behind her – all the while giving Mira instructions for the night’s menu.

Seema, was already 2 streets away from home. She was just crossing the main road, with the cell phone stuck between her shoulder and her neck. She was cursing herself as she was hearing the citi bank welcome prompt thanking her for her patience. Suddenly she remembered, she hadn’t locked the door. She had left behind a key. She rushed back to the front door that she had left ajar. She stopped. She saw. She thanked god.

* * * * * *

Mira had just counted her steps to the hallway and made a sharp right turn. Seema saw her walk 2 steps forward, n then turn left. She felt the wall and grabbed the key and secured herself inside the four walls of the house that she had never seen.