Sep 20, 2021

Goodbye Ganesha

As long stretches of empty cranes stood waiting, for the last of the Ganesha's to bid adieu, I felt my eyes welling up from a sadness that was not mine. How the stories encoded in my genes have a life of their own will forever remain a mystery to me. I do not fight it, I do not disown it, and I am not enslaved by it. 

We will live in harmony, until Dussehera

Then again, the celestial tales from ancient myths will come thundering down upon this ancient land. As electrons entangled through endless time and space, we will spin with abandon, as our creators spin within us.

Sep 18, 2021

As I Bandaged Her



A stud of hers had fallen
And lost itself in some dark corner
Of my other wise very clean room

Raj! She screamed
There is broken glass in there.
She was bleeding
A lustrous post office red. 

I am sorry baby
I am unaware 
Of shards of broken glasses
Hiding in my dark places
And hurting
Those who come searching there. 

You are my light baby
Shine on.

Jul 18, 2021

maestitia

She would not love me
Ever
Like I loved her.
There is a difference being a river
And a lake.
I would flow into her with a rush
Often, breaching banks

And she would wait for me
Behind the stark tapestry
Of brown buildings
And soot infested skylines
Behind the charade of city living
And the grey hush
From carpeted office floors
Behind the ever grinning insta posts 
And the harangue of the tweets
Like a lake
She would wait for me
To fill her emptiness
In odd seasons
Of random loneliness.

-----------------
maestitia stands for, among other things,  heartsore in latin.
Image courtsey pinterest

May 22, 2021

O Shattered Name

If I could string together
What is now broken and lies uncared
I would wipe the dust off our faces
And help rediscover the music
That we lost
Traveling
Through the hinterlands of our vast
Untamed minds.

 


The title is in memory of Kim Sowol, Korean Poet


Apr 26, 2021

Waiting for Theseus

I was sitting by my window and watching the darkening of the horizon. It was only 5 in the evening, but it looked closer to 7. I could see an ant like hurry among the poor returning home. Those who had cycles leaned into the wind and pedalled faster and those who were plodding home, hastened their steps. There was the smell of sulphur from the lightings and petrichor from the surroundings. Somewhere, it was already raining.


 She called me just then. Ever since she decided to get married again, she would call me more often. As if the joy of being a missus was raging a war within her with the golden shackles that it comes with.

R2 (she called me that), it’s raining here. I so absolutely love the rains. Imagine, it is raining in midsummer! I am going on a drive with Roohi (her daughter). It will be awesome na?

I looked out of the window. The first few drops from large drizzles had started hitting my windowpanes. My weather wane with bells by the window had started ringing in the wind and I could feel dust in my mouth. I quickly closed the window. I saw a three-member family with a kid in tow running. The husband carried the work tools, a shovel, some cement pans, and such. The wife carried the days provisions. And the kid, maybe three or four was tagging along. And then it started to rain. It rained with a vengeance. I could see the adults slouch and slow down. And the kid trying to hide under one of the cement pans. There was no place to run, no shelter nearby. It did not matter anymore. They just plod on.

Shall I come to your place? Roohi was asking about R2 uncle. We can go out and you can sponsor ice creams. She spoke.

I write about these people often. The ones who are enslaved by our megacities and are fed to its Minotaurs[i]. In passing, by the pavements or behind dingy alleys, I see their blood flow into the city drains. Dead from a bus hit or hunger or lost in their own labyrinthine minds[ii], searching for answers to long forgotten questions.


Schopenhauer had once cited classical Indian philosophies on meaning of life and had concluded that strife is intrinsic to life and only compassion can pave way for positivity. Spinoza[iii] had said that this is it. All of it. There is no secret in death, you are just dead. So, life and how you live it, is all that there is to it. There is no mystery or romance. No great breakthrough stories. Only one more poor family walking in the falling rain, with a child in tow, into some dingy lane, where a Minotaur waits for its evening chow.

 

No baby, I do not like driving in the rain. Let’s do a rain check please…



[i] https://www.greekmythology.com/Myths/Monsters/Minotaur/minotaur.html

[ii] https://www.bbrfoundation.org/blog/homelessness-and-mental-illness-challenge-our-society

[iii] https://press.princeton.edu/ideas/spinozas-guide-to-life-and-death

Apr 21, 2021

The edge of darkness

And as darkness came upon us
it were the same colour
As our sullen souls.

And as we waded
Into this ocean of despair
We had already lost our oars.

Mar 7, 2021

Little Lies

The little lies I tell myself
To stay afloat amidst the storm and the sea
Are like bright lights from lightnings
Bolting down on me

All this thunder and the waves
All this anger and their tales
And I float still!

Feb 28, 2021

Is That You?

In the translucent wobble of my memory
I see a familiar face fleeting by.
Barely a moment
And then the ripple of pain distorts
What this eternal lake remembers.

Jan 22, 2021

The Words Were Lovely...

As I grow older, I can see my shadows from autumn grow longer. 

The dull dry leaves of my loved ones continue to fall to ground relentlessly, eventually they become one with the roads that carried their souls on this journey for so long. 

The trees are barren for longer. Shorn of leaves, I can see them more clearly now, all their parched boughs and branches, crisscrossing all over, reaching out to the Sun, as if in a prayer for easy exits, or maybe a wail of despair for winds of change.


I like autumn. It is less busy than spring, and a lot less noisy than Monsoons. There is only the rustling of the dried leaves and the dull, muted protests of the green ones that fell off anyway. 

I like autumn for I can see the forest through and through. I can see through the pine and the deodar and the neem. The big trees no longer block my view of what lies behind them. For as long as I can see, it is just the same thickets, and thorns and leaves and empty stares.


It’s the canopy that was leading me astray. Eventually, there is very little that is mysterious about our lives.

Goodbye Ganesha

As long stretches of empty cranes stood waiting, for the last of the Ganesha's to bid adieu, I felt my eyes welling up from a sadness th...

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