Daydreamzzz

स्वान्त

2011-08-21T13:28:00.000-07:00

साथ, साथी और साधन
इनका समागम इतना दुर्गम
के दुर्लभ जैसा सुखी मन,
स्वान्त सुख में जो करता भ्रमण
रममाण होता जाता, जैसे देखके दर्पण;
भी करले अपने सुख से यही प्रश्न
के भाई साथ तुम हो मेरे या मैं तुम्हारे,
साधन से तुम्हें पाएँ या तुम खुद वो ठहरें;
कर दो हकीकत बयान भैया
वरना ‘स्व’ में अंत पानेवाली यह गाथा
कही वही से ना शुरुआत करने लगे
ना ले आयें अपने साथ, ना निर्माण करें वह व्यथा
जिसमें नीव खोजती यह संस्था
बनी-बनाई, सदियों पुरानी
जिसकी अमर्याद मर्यादाएँ
नदी की तरह बहती
पहुंची उन पांथिकोंके चरणों तक
जो खुद इस अमर्याद का रहस्य खोजते
मर्यादाएं लाँघकर, भ्रमण करते, रममाण होते,
जिनके पग भी तभी रुकते जब
इस अमर्यादसी संस्था का उत्तर
पाते वो एक दिन उसी नदी के नीले जल में,
मुह धोते, अंदर झाँकते, खुदको पाते;
नदी और उनकी आत्मा का एक सजीव स्त्रोत
एक ही होने का वो जब करते उद्घोष;
वोह फिर टहलने लगते
‘स्व’ की नीलाई तले बसे ‘स्व’ की हरियाली में
और फिर खो जाते
‘स्व’ के अंतराल में
‘स्व’ की खोज में अखंड, अंत तक
‘स्वान्त’ आने तक.

मणि कौल को समर्पित.
:(मुझे आज तक (यह कविता लिखने तक), मणि कौल की कोई भी फिल्म देखने का सौभाग्य प्राप्त नहीं हुआ. ना ही उनके बारे में कुछ ज्यादा जानने का. सिवाय एक विडियो के जिसमे वोह ब्रेस्सों के बारे में बात कर रहे थे. और फिर वहाँसे उतरकर ‘स्वान्त सुख’ के बारे में बात करने लगे. जाहिर हैं फिल्म उनका स्वान्त सुख पाने का माध्यम था. उन्ही चंद शब्दोंसे प्रेरणा लेकर प्रस्तुत कविता लिखी गयी हैं. मैं समझता हूँ यह क्रमप्राप्त हैं के इस कविता का समर्पण मैं उन्हें करू.)

THE AMBITIOUS AND THE NON-AMBITIOUS

2011-06-03T01:18:00.001-07:00

There’s a basic difference between people with and without ambition. And that is DREAMS! People without ambition do not understand the concept of dreams. For them, this world is a reality and they have no clue (and no ambition again to know) why they are here. For them, its an act of God! For those with an ambition, a parallel reality exists - a reality which is more real than the present state of affairs around them. It is precisely because of the fact of their constant revisiting THAT reality, rather living in it, that they can dream of a reality better than the real reality around us, today, at this point. It is because of their dreams and ambitions that the world today can even think of being a better place than what it is. These dreams, however small, however unimportant on a first look CANNOT be disregarded. As, it is because of the power of these dreams, realised and otherwise, that those not having an ambition get the power and the hope to keep living on, hoping that something better might happen.
They don’t realise it – the non-ambitious – that they are actually living off the power of dreams of these ambitious souls. And if ever told, they would never even like to accept it. They would in fact deny, stating a million other tangible reasons citing the reasons of their existence. Oh yes, things like money, power, people and the likes of it. In the Indian context, I think the latter makes a big difference. The people! A large amount of the common mediocre middle-class here lives for other people, not realising that an immense amount of time and energy is spent in attending to and taming the egos of these other people, who they are thriving off. Innumerable long phone calls back home, sorting photographs in family gatherings, commenting on friends’ facebook pages digging out the same kind of banal humour that they have been exposed to through the works of Bollywood and other mediocre literature around them. Well, the word literature can be quite misleading here. Because this today’s generation of the non-ambitious has never ventured in that direction. For them, literature to its farthest limit comprises of thick textbooks that they used in their graduation courses. Otherwise, Bollywood and prime-time television are just enough to satiate their thirst for getting ENTERTAINED.
For such people, the ambitious and the dreamy becomes a difficult lot to accept and have around them. For they are constantly reminded of their mediocrity and the absence of a DRIVE to DO anything. As a character in a famous adaptation of Hamlet says to the latter, “If I was Hamlet, I would do something with anything.” Its about time, the non-ambitious come to think about doing SOMETHING with their lives. Because the ambitious are becoming more and more dreamy. And with all this information available to them at their fingertips, they might get lost in the big, big world of KNOWLEDGE. And unless you, the non-ambitious, do not feel the need to get enlightened by this KNOWLEDGE, you are going to be left far behind. So much so, that by the end of your life, if at all you see the white light and your entire flashes in front of your life, you would never be able to witness the CINEMASCOPIC drama that life can be.

चाहिये एक विषम

2010-10-07T01:06:00.002-07:00

एक दिन का राशन
एक साजन
एक प्रेम मनभावन, पावन
एक लगन, सनातन
एक ही शपथ का एक बार पालन
कभी पलायन
कभी स्थापन
एक एक पल का सजीव उद्घाटन
एक एक पल का फिर नवीन चलन
अपलम् चपलम्...

दस दिशायें, दस अवतार, एक हि अहम
फिर भी एवम
घट घटता जाये
तगडम् तगडम्
रुकती जाये, थकती जाये
नयी ताजा कलम
जैसे ओझल होता आंखोंसे
गया, पुराना बलम.

ना हूँ बला, ना हूँ अबला
शाम से हारा मेरा यौवन
ना हूँ गंधार ना ही पंचम
जीता जाऊं एक मजधार का मन
सर से पतन और पैरों में धन.

एक उठे कभी... विचार, सोच, प्रतिबिंब या सम
फिर जाये थम
एक कवी का आलसी मन
सो जाये
निरंतर, निर्मम, बेमन!

चाहुं अब मैं एक विषम,
बस एक विषम
अनंत ही हो जिसका धर्म
थम जाये, सो जाये
पर फिर हो उगम
घटनेवाले घट की भान्ति
दौडा जाये तगडम् तगडम्
अपलम् चपलम् दुनिया के संग
संसार मे दंग
भरपूर उमंग
पर एक तरंग.

डुबती जाये फिर स्याही में कलम
थिरकती जाये, लहरती जाये
एक क्षण, और वो ही लक्षण
के सम पे हो जाये मिलन
दोनों छोर, हम
और विलीन होनेवाला एक गगन
समा जाये सब सगुण, सरल

पर फिर भी बचे एक सज्जन
सोला आने में एक कम
या फिर ज्यादा
जो हो विषम
मेरा एक विषम
मेरे एक दिन का राशन, एक साजन
मेरा एक प्रेम मनभावन, पावन...

कुटुंब

2010-08-31T20:39:00.000-07:00

कुणा एका तपस्व्याच्या घरी
जेव्हा काळीज जन्माला आलं
त्याचा धगधगता भाता पाहून
बाळंतीण म्हणाली, "हे माझं नाही."

सुईण काळजाला फटके मारत
ते रडायची वाट पाहत होती
तर तपस्वी काठीवर हात ठेउन
रामदासांच्या पोझमध्ये उभा होता

शेवटी काळजाला पाणी फुटलं
"हुश्श" म्हणून सुईण उठली, बाहेर आली
पाहते तर तपस्वी अंधारी येउन पडला होता
लाल-पांढरी काठी मात्र तशीच उभी होती

बाळंतीणीने मग काठी उचलून
तपस्व्याच्या पोटावर तीस वार केले
सुईण बघत उभी होती
काळजाला थोपटत पगार मागत होती

तेवढ्यात जवळपास कुठेतरी स्फोट झाला
दोन्ही बायका काठीवर स्वार
हॅरी पॅाटर सारख्या उडून गेल्या
आल्या तशाच सडून मेल्या

स्फोटामुळे काळीज उडून
झाडाला जाऊन लटकले होते
आणि तपस्व्याच्या छातीतून
रक्ताची पिचकारी उडत होती

आता हळूहळू पिचकारी
लांबपर्यंत जाईल
वीस वर्षांनंतर
काळजाच्या तोंडाशी पोचेल

मग काळजाला हुशारी येईल
आणि तेव्हापासून काळीज
आईच्या दुधाची तहान
बापाच्या रक्तावर भागवेल

On Melancholy Out Of Sheer Love

2010-03-29T03:56:00.001-07:00

On other occasions of life
When Love subsides
Beyond the confines of necessary things;
One needs to beckon it
To come back
And hold one's hand.

Such are the only moments
That make one privy
To the immense power of melancholy
That realises in the heart -
An ocean of sadness and longing
Of Love and wanting.

A force that only drives you closer
To Love;
For all those times
When it had been out of your mind.
(But not your heart.)

And you want to embrace it
With the force of that newly acquired power
Of melancholy!

Momentary Deliverance

2010-03-29T03:52:00.001-07:00

Stolen thoughts have been buried somewhere in the near future.
As the mystery train that travels through time
Comes to pick my garbage in the morning;
Of memories and desires that I shagged off through the night
I still skip a beat
For my children of yesterday that went down the drain
Without seeing the darkness of the womb.

As the sun burns over my hair in the morning
I try to click over exposed images of the light filtering through them;
They come out all charred
And the spaces in mind reserved for special thoughts,
Done up exquisitely in red to seem like a developing studio
Give in to the blue hue of timelessness and vacancy.

Regression...
Doesn't deem fit to be quite the phenomenon.
Its a simple word - Falling.

I fall through the rising debris of my semen -
Like a sperm,
Through dead sperms of thought
And recoiled reflexes of action.

Its a state, I have been told -
A phase, a stage, a passing moment in time.
It comes to everyone
And thus is non-new.
I struggle to catch those soothing momentary glances
Who could tell this on my face
And not through some virtual altar
Before which I am kneeling
More since I lost my virginity of the trained mind.

It remains to be a dream to rise again,
And will remain to be so.
Until some fit, bearded, white, old man
Comes to me
All dressed in white
And through his long white hair
Tells me that this was how it was meant to be.
Maybe I shall then rest in time.

But as things stand now,
While it is all still black
Or dark maybe;
While tonight's night is still passing
And the debris rising
Why not I take a moment to console myself
Saying this is how it is meant to be
And rest in the moment
For the time to come?

Star

2010-03-29T03:42:00.000-07:00

You know I was once a star
A star in their skies
Glimmering
Shining
They pointed at me from their shanty towns
Far far away
Into the intestines of the country
And said I was theirs...
Owned by them
I owed them
My shine
Their gaze
My haze.

I had a job once!

One day the star in my eyes vanished
I opened my eyes
To a bright, beautiful world of mine
A world of thorns,
Of stones
Of water
And of the night.
A world of fields
And of the villages
To which I belonged.
I left the city

I left my job!

Today I thrive
Strive to thrive
In the clouds of my own doing.
I find my star
In the bright sunlight
Scorched by satisfaction
And still not see it.
In the night
They miss it.

And we continue
They, on the moon
From where they keep falling
Onto the earth
To die
One death after another

I, on the sun
Where I write
I live.

Weeping in vengeance

2010-03-04T13:36:00.000-08:00

Tonight I am gullible.
Take from me whatever you like
And leave me empty!

For the sins,
There needs to be space
From tomorrow...

Long, tumultuous;
Is the journey on barren virtues.
Admire

Oh Love! If you can't
And give me some warmth,
Grant me a little moist...

In which to dip my eyes
And pretend to cry
For the passing night.

The bright, brazen sun
Of the morrow
Will bend a little more,

For the burden
Of the lush, green evils
Is more to account for.

Mother and I at the Railway Station

2009-09-22T08:17:00.000-07:00

The train leaves in five minutes
The rails prepare to rip
The wheels, to rape!

As we wait
She slaps me
Hard
Once
I hear a constant buzz
And a minute passes

A tear wells
Then in her eye
Salty
Round
All her dreams just dies
In the minute that lived

I am cut into two
By the sob that could have killed
Indefinite
Disproportionate
I try all permutations digitally to get even
Not more than a minute, the manual had read

The bugle blowed
She tells me
I couldn't hear
Handicapped
Both
We realise, after a minute of preliminary tests

Her womb was twisted
And I cried foul
Orphaned
Aborted
It seemed like only a minute ago

The wheels now deliver the first blow
The rails shriek
There's no penetration

They are paired parallely
Its an orgy of orgies
The orgasm amongst orgasms

Multiple orgasms later
She dies

My Roots

2009-09-22T08:16:00.000-07:00

They see me walking on invisible road
Their fragile hearts eager to hold me

They lend a hand
I go blind
They cant see
I miss my hands

So, I run

A long slimy tongue
Now misses my touch

I slip off it
And land in the mouth
Of he who talks of Him

I denounce God
And God eats me!

HIS FIRST ONE

2009-06-25T22:40:00.000-07:00

They were both in bed. Together, after a long time! Entangled under the crumpled sheet…

She set it right, “How many have you had on this?” It was a valid question. He didn’t mind it.

“None”, he honestly replied not forgetting to underline it with, “since you went”. She knew he would do that.

He had to pause before he could ask, “You?” A momentary silence… not that she was under the obligation of pausing like him. Yet she paused.

“Its difficult.” That astounded him. He had always known her to be the ‘black and white’ kinds – one who always thought from the periphery. This ‘grey’ answer was unexpected. It sounded deep and invoked a meaning. It was a welcome change, though it came late. The right time was already gone and the change was irreversible.

They hadn’t moved yet. She broke the embrace. “A couple of them”, she muttered turning her face away.

He didn’t know how to react. She didn’t care. And now he was searching for a question to get back. He had found it. Perhaps he was just looking for the courage to ask it. He mustered some after a few empty moments,

“Was he one of them?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t remember.”

“What does that mean?”

“They were all the same, like you. I always felt I was with you. There was no other way I could feel satisfied.”

“Like me?” He got out of the sheet and walked away.

She cried the entire night. When he woke up in the living room in the morning and came into the bedroom, she was still sleeping. He went under the sheet again and took her in. He pressed his cheek against her chest. That soothed him – like always, whenever he was with her.

That woke her up. She looked down at him, caressed him, ran her fingers through his hair and let out a lazed murmur. He was taken aback. The voice was not her. He looked up at the face. The face was not her. It took him some time to realise it was not her.

That was his first one. After she had gone!

LIFE OF DEATH

2009-06-25T22:38:00.000-07:00

Death lives on
In those living,
Like a loss
Breathing forever

Like a pit
Living to tell the tale
Of the mud that was,
Like a black hole
That doesnt exist
And proves it is.

Its the negation
Of everything that is,
And yet it is!
Its the loss
Of that that was,
Thus it gains!

Its gone now -
the moment that was.
The presence of now
Reminds me of the absence of
the moment that was.
Death thus lives on
And I continue to die
Every moment of
the moment that is.

I remember
as I die now,
When I died last
I lived on forever
with the memory of that, which
I remember now.

While I live now
remembering memories
memorising remebrances,
to remember when I live,
I wait to die.

A MAN GOT TO DO WHAT A MAN GOT TO DO

2009-02-19T23:02:00.000-08:00

For the record, since I have started earning I remain usually broke.
It is a mixed feeling. At one time, I feel sad at the loss of this
essential potential - money. At another, I feel happy that it gives me
an opportunity to perform better and march ahead.

I left my job three months ago and hence my life to the hands of
destiny. I was quite confident – about myself, about my potential. I
am still too. Today, I freelance. I have to really work to direct some
part of the world's treasure into a virtual space created by the bank
under my name as against when I was employed. The world feels happy
when it happens to them. I am compelled to follow them, at least in
this case.

This story starts three minutes ago. Three minutes ago, my entire
saving amounted to fifteen hundred rupees. And I am just 25, not
suffering by any fatal disease and not showing any signs of depression
so as to go and hang myself in the next week or so. (Yeah! I could
survive with that money for that long in this city.) But the pressures
are different. Three minutes ago, I was cursing myself for being a
procrastinator. A hundred ideas have been running into my head since
the past week and I needed time to sit down and write all about
everything I could. But I am such a wasted guy, I only passed my time
looking at other people's works and sneaking for subtle details which
I could invariably get inspired by and try to accommodate in mine – if
I work, that means! I woke up quite late in the morning, spent hours
after that in bed going through the lives of multi-millionaires and
admiring some of them for the kind of commitment they show toward
their work and the rest of it I spent sneaking. Thoughts about my bank
balance kept popping at intervals but I was successful at beating them
with the sharp oars made of a very old thing in the world called hope
while I was sailing on the waters of reality in a boat made of the
older things in the world called talent that had a hole in it. What I
did not realise then was that my boat did not have the windscreen of
hard-work and hence missed direction. But I decided to plod on until
the end came and hence kept rowing throughout the day.

Through all this, I was still cool. An odd job done six months ago
still hadn't paid me and I was promised two days back that today would
be my payday. One hour ago, I gave up sneaking and got up. I took a
bath, put on the better clothes I had and mounted my bike. On my way,
I cursed myself once for not having done what I was really meant to
and wasting all that time in the day. As I reached the office, my
heart was pounding. I must have made one lakh calls for this payment
of mine that amounted to some thousands. I had mixed feelings. Guilt
accompanied with excitement and hope is really mixed. I went in. I was
made to sit. I sat. I waited. I was then called in. At this point, I
missed a step out of anxiety. The mixture was really going deeper. The
accounts guy again made me sit for a while and this time he went out.
A few moments later, he came in. He told me we needed to complete
certain formalities. I wanted my cheque. I longed for it. I longed to
stay in the city for a little more time. I thought, "Fuck'em. Where's
my money?" I said, "Sure. What formalities?" He explained to me for
the next ten minutes. I heard impatiently and nodded to everything he
said. Shakespeare confused me. Money makes cowards of our conscience.
He then held some documents in front of my face. I was supposed to
sign them. Now this was unbearably deep. I screamed, "But what about
my cheque? Where is it?"

He pointed to the table. It was there right on top of a couple of
folders. What an ass! And all this while, I burnt my own blood craving
for one glance of it. Cowards must be really blind. As I picked the
pen to sign the documents, I started imagining my life in the next
three minutes. I saw myself signing through them without blinking, I
saw myself grabbing the cheque and then rummaging their office for an
envelope to put the cheque in, spit on the accounts officer's face for
delaying it so much (now that I had it), run out of the office shoving
aside every ass that came in my way, reach the middle of road, raise
my hands and scream out loud.

I pick the pen to sign the documents. I carefully look through and
read each document. It is a confirmation note from my side about me
receiving the entire payment. I read each word carefully. I sign each
page carefully. The accounts guy hands over my cheque. I look around
for a blank envelope. He finds one. I put the cheque into it, stare at
him for a moment and smile. I thank him and leave the office. As I
come out, I see the nearest chaiwala and feel happy. I keep thinking
about opening a new account with a bank. (Yeah, they seized my earlier
account for having defaulted on a credit card payment.)

I look at the chaiwala and take a sip. I look at people around me.
Nothing's changed for them. No one is jubilant. No one is
over-expressive. I wonder what they could be thinking about. Making
money? And if so, about the work they need to do to earn it? Well,
maybe! Work! What about mine? There's so much remaining. I have
already wasted the day. I curse myself for being a procrastinator. My
account now has thirty six thousand rupees.

Evicted

2008-09-07T14:54:00.000-07:00

"Go to hell"
I shouted at her,
"And dont come back"
She stood watching
With helpless eyes
I slammed the bedroom door
And went out for a drink.

On my return
The tiny living room
Was cluttered -
Books, laptop, cigarettes, cds,
'That's my stuff'

I rushed to the bedroom
The door was locked from inside
It now read,
HELL!

Trapped In Her

2008-08-31T23:03:00.001-07:00

He was a playful child
He played a lot
Whenever he felt like playing,
He opened the gates
And ran into the field.
He played a lot -
Alone or with somebody
Until he met her.

They both started playing together
He shared his toys with her
And she hers.
They continued to play on the field
Until the sun was too high
They thought,
Its better they go in and play.
Since then,
They played under the roof
Lots of games
Most of which she won.
He loved to watch her win
And hated his loss
Nonetheless, he enjoyed!
One day she had to go
She took all the toys
(his too)
And ran out
He ran behind her
And found the gate locked.
In the far distance
She stood
Brandishing the key!

He had lost all games that day
To her
Along with her!

The Writer

2008-08-31T23:00:00.000-07:00

I write, I say
Thats all?, they ask
I nod
I feel proud
Of putting up a thinker's image
They turn away
And start talking
To my friend!

Gully Cricket

2008-07-14T00:57:00.000-07:00

That day
he cried
cuz he didnt want to go
beyond the wall
and bring back the ball

They broke the wall today.
He cried...
He had his stumps carved on it!

The others play
over stumps made of broken brick pieces
and cry
over virtual wickets that fall on them

He doesnt cry anymore
He neither bats nor bowls

He only keeps wickets
to save the ball
from going behind!

DISILLUSIONED

2008-06-18T23:50:00.000-07:00

When the clouds and thunder shift
To a side which is lit
And when you see the gleam
Of the shimmering clouds
With naked eyes
You forget for a moment
That you may be blinded
For a lifetime!

Aah...Why did I show this to you?

2008-06-05T00:14:00.000-07:00

Randomness
Excites
Linear
Individuals.
Individualistic
Linearity
Embarasses
Randomisers.

Play
Game
Win/Lose.
Mindfucking
Games
Play
Winners/Losers.

Losers
Exhibit
Commonness.
Commonness
Sucks.
Suckers
Lose.

Losers
Fuck
Magnanimity,
Brightness,
Happy-endings,
Women,
Lives.

Losers
Win
Alone.

Losers
Drink
Alone.

Drinkers
Win.
Rather,
Drunkards
Win.

Losers
Never.

Suck, Lose, Drink, Fuck - Formula To Win!

From where I came

2008-06-04T00:30:00.001-07:00

Once I told my mother
She didnt bring us up well
She said
She cried...

Once I told my father
He didnt bring us up well
He said
Fuck off...

Once I told my brother
We werent brought up well
He said
He cried
Then said who cares
And then said fuck off...

I went back
To where I did not come from
I did not cry
But I really cared whether I was brought up well
So I couldnt say fuck off
And I didnt say...

And from where I was
I could see all of us
My mother was crying
When my father said fuck off
And I was telling my brother
To not care about them
When he turned to me.

I saw him crying
And then I saw
My father crying
When my mother said fuck off
Because he had said
That she didnt bring us up well

My brother asked my mother
Why did she say that
And she said
Because my father said that to her
And saying so
She started crying

My brother turned to me
Where I was sitting alone, watching
And said
See?
And I said
Who cares?
And he said
Then fuck off...

And I did!

A Tribute To All Indians Between 24 and 27 Chasing Borrowed Dreams

2008-05-24T01:29:00.000-07:00

The pain is rising
Advancing towards the brain now.

It was fine until it was only local
At least the mind was free.
But now its not keeping quiet
It wants to expand
It wants to eat more
- the insatiable, non-eradicable monster,
the alien villain shown in Hollywood movies -
the encroacher who cannot be fined
even by the corrupt police.
Such a big shot he is -
the pain.

And now I cant even think,
Cant write, cant sit, cant stand!
All the while there is an unlocatable sting
Clutching the brain from both sides of the face
My nervous system has gone slow
The nerve is being affected, you see!
The eroded tooth however,
Stands watching, unaffected
- A mute witness of his own exploitations!
There's not much he can do though.

And I tolerate the pain
Of the consequence
Of its inactivity.
I suffer,
let it pass.
I stand through it.
Its called the ROOT CANAL.

I become Kafka's beetle,
For no explicable reason.
Kashyap's 'K', every other software engineer in India,
or a BPO employee -
That's ME - Mediocre (Non)Entity

I am a middle class mediocre,
Incapable of any action
Though filled with an imaginary courage
Which I never demonstrate
Except when I am alone
In front of the mirror in my bathroom
with my underpants still on!

Self criticism

2008-05-22T06:41:00.000-07:00

When I revisit my blog today
After a long gap
Of more than a month
And read a poem
- and more of them -
Of which I was quite proud
When I was away,
I think I was really naive
While writing those
And emotionally misdirected
To be so mistakenly eager
To bask in self glory
That I ended up
Doing mediocre work.

It was this disorientation, I feel
From the actual work
And towards self glory
That prompted such action
And such results from me.

Today I am conscious
That I was mediocre.

And this consciousness of mine
Raises me a level above
So, I think!

Live fucker, Live

2008-04-03T23:16:00.000-07:00

Life needs a reason
To continue
And when someone seizes it
It starts finding a reason
To why that happened.

And thus,
It fuckin continues...
Until God or someone
Seizes Life from you!

If I say only this much
The poem won't satisfy you,
But that's about it!

And before you go on
To find the reason behind that -
Your dissatisfaction, I mean

Let me tell you
That I just gave you
Another reason to continue.

So Live!

I dont want to do anything

2008-03-31T03:02:00.000-07:00

Writing is not my purpose
Neither is it anyone's
Nor is anything else

All doings are only devices
To redeem oneself
Of one's not doings.

What is funnier is
That the emergence of this feeling
Of redemption
Is another doing
Towards the redemption
Of one's not doing

And so on and so forth!

Why?

2008-03-12T23:22:00.000-07:00

The invention of the wheel
Is the worst joke
Of all the milleniums - AD and BC!

Things started rolling only then!

Beer & Writing

2008-03-03T12:36:00.000-08:00

I have had seven gulps of that beer by now
My cell rings
A message
I reply
I check other messages (why?)
I reply to a couple of others
I lean back to regain my original disposition
Sorry - position!
My hand moves
Where?
It doesnt know
I am perplexed
I strain myself
Invain
What was I doing?
Fuck!

Is it the beer?
Only seven... Nah!
I pick the pen
And write this! (Of all that I could)
I remember...
I was preparing!

Father

2008-03-01T12:32:00.001-08:00

Father runs the house
Father runs around the house
Father manages things
Father damages wings
Father is the head
Respect Father
The signal is red
Dare you bother
Father is Father
His name is Father!

Father too is a man
I am a man, he is a man
I see Father, he is Father
He still bursts, he still hurts
"I am a man"
I dare you Father
Dare you smother
Me, mother or brother
Mother, brother and I
Father alone, curses by
But father is father
Only different from other

Who is father?
Where is father?
Was he there?
Is he there?
Is he father?
What is father?
He is father, they say!
Is that father?
Does that matter?
He is father
And, father is father
So different from other!

Men

2008-02-24T06:36:00.000-08:00

Yes?
You said something?
I am sorry, I thought you said something.
So... you still upset about the last fight?
I must have said something. Isnt it?
Someone else then?
Hmmm...

(A while passes...)

He or she?

Reminder

2008-02-24T06:33:00.000-08:00

Nothing...
I just called
To remind you
That its me
Who's not going to talk to you!

Sleep

2007-12-22T01:47:00.000-08:00

I sleep, sleep and sleep
Until I sigh
Mourning the death
Of the time that I killed
As it quietly passed by
From under my nostrils

Water Wall

2007-12-22T01:44:00.000-08:00

Slowly but surely I had started moving towards the tides. They were soaring high above the surface of the ocean - wild, gushing, frothing, white, salty tides. They looked like a child drowning in water and screaming for help. The water is determined to devour it while the poor being is jumping out every time against a liquid support defying the rules of gravity. (What could the fear of death bring out of a man?) His hands flutter in the air like a balloon being deflated. It seemed as if the waves are stuck by a gluey bond to sea level. Every time a wave would attempt to fly out of the sea's clutches and touch the sky, the glue would bring it down.

They were so many – hundreds, thousands, all attempting to flee from the clutches of the devil and embrace the sky. But the devil was stronger. He pulled them down, each one of them with a force stronger than theirs. He was much elder to them, much older too. Fretted and exasperated, tired and lonely, the waves would give up by the time they reached the shore. They would fall flat on their bellies and give in to the force of the sea who would strike them against the sands of the shore, or sometimes the rocks of the mountains.

I was watching it all with a tinge of bitterness inside me. I was feeling guilty - the kind I usually feel even when I step on someone's foot in a train or crush an ant. This time, I thought, there was bigger reason and I was bound to feel guiltier. And so I was.

I had just bid goodbye to her and hung up the phone. No, I didn’t do it stone-heartedly. I took all the care I could. Normally, when I take such care, I tend to go a bit overboard doing things which are not necessary. But then to save myself from the wrath of the consequential guilt, I gave to do those things which assure me of a guiltless future. That irritates her and I feel guiltier for doing so. This time however, I didn’t do any of it. Still, I felt the guilt.

She doesn’t like it when I try to patch things up dishonestly. Even I don’t like it - because she doesn’t like it. This trait is with me since my childhood. I think I have inherited it from my dad. I didn’t know I had this until she made me realise it. Her constant discontentment with me when I erred and tried to make up, brought before me another aspect of my personality. There are many other things about myself which she taught me. But let’s concentrate on one thing at a time.

I was putting forth a theory which was about to seperate us forever. But I was feeling ashamed. Even at such an important juncture, I couldn’t maintain my pride, my self-esteem and went on to justify my action. Of course I was doing the right thing by saying a bye to her. She deserved it. There was no need to justify it or give any explanation for it She wasn’t disloyal to me or any such. She loved me. But not as much as I loved her, love her.

For the past two years, I had lived my life in the shell of an illusion. She was that illusion – an illusion that was real, two thousand miles away from me. It was like a water wall against which I rested not realizing that one day I may drown in it. But I was ready for it. I was ready to do whatever it takes to make her mine. She also knew it. But she could not respect my desire. And so she did not. But I did not give up. I kept on coming up with different ways to rise into her a desire to make it happen. She never complied. She just knew it that it was not going to happen. And I kept on trying.

She had her own limitations. She loved me but she loved her folks more. I remember her saying so once. She had added, “I am asking you to sacrifice me. I could have asked my mother too. But it’s easier to demand from people closer to you.” I had not replied. I believed in what she said but the thought of being a martyr made me doubt her last line. I knew then that no matter what I do, she is going to succumb to her parental pressure. But she did so with elegance, with pride and without a sense of guilt. She knew she was hurting me and bringing down all that I put together to ground zero. She also knew that by that time I had already drowned in the water wall. I don’t think it did not matter to her. But she never showed it. She always behaved as if she was doing the right thing and that I will have to be the scapegoat of the entire situation. I wondered how she did not feel guilty. Or did she feel and not show it?

I couldn’t understand why was it so necessary for me to show my guilt and then be sorry for it. It never seemed necessary for her. And I have always envied her for this. She possesses this uncanny knack of carrying off anything under the cover of her elegance. I lacked it. I am a lousy creature who feels guilty even for the good things happening around him. But I had decided to get rid of it. And so I called her.

I said I didn’t want to talk to her anymore. I had tried all my options and was left with nothing to experiment. I said on her face that her non-readiness to comply with me has made me arrive on this decision. I made it sound as if somewhere, somehow she was responsible for all this. She knew it. And she accepted it – elegantly. Not a tinge of guilt was displayed. I reiterated, “I don’t want to be a martyr MonaLisa.” I hope she understood what I meant. But I am sure she didn’t. She quickly responded, “I would always want to talk to you. I don’t want you to go away from me. But if you are sure you want to do it, its entirely your decision.” I couldn’t stand the latter half. How can someone be so selfish? She was not ready to compromise her limitations with my, rather our expectations. I concluded I had to strike the hammer. I said coldly,” Well, in that case that is my decision.” I hoped for some divine emotional interference. I wished I had not said so – the guilt you see. And before she could say anything I went on to explain why it was necessary on my part to do it. I presented before her all the logical and emotional reasons. But I did that like a criminal brought for a trial, with that same old guilt inside me. Throughout my ten minute long speech, I wished she would empathise with me. My wish wasn’t granted. On the contrary, I heard a bold voice, “As you wish.” The ‘you’ was stressed more than ever. She had done it again. She never ceases to defeat me in my purpose. She seems to know what I want and deliberately keeps it to herself. But I had to win. I said, “Bye”. This time she complied. And we hung up.

If I had to lose this battle, I would have called her back and begged for mercy. I would have said sorry to her a million times. I would have also felt sorry for hurting her. But my own voice echoed in my mind, “I don’t want to be a martyr.” I felt like a winner, only for a while.

As I stepped on the sand and it crushed beneath my feet, something itched me in my heart. I knew this was going to happen. After taking all the measures to make her understand my plight and then presenting a logical, acceptable solution to her was still going to press me under the burden of my guilt of doing something against her favour – of hurting her, of leaving her. ‘I had already drowned in her water wall. Now I was being disloyal to it’, I felt.

I kept walking towards the tides. Remnants of some died waves washed my feet. I watched them recede into the sea, into its ‘water wall’. None of them ever showed their face to the open sky. The ones who were leaping now were the newborns. I suddenly seemed to know what was in store for them. They too were meant to strike the shore and dissolve into the water wall. None of them emerged again. No rebirths allowed. There is no way out of the water wall.

This sudden realization made me want to smile. I was relieved by the fact of knowing for once, what was in store for me. But I couldn’t smile. As I walked into the sea, my eyes stayed fixed onto the leaping tides. The sand beneath my feet was sloping steeply. Some half-died waves gushed past me – lost, angry. I managed to smile at their plight through the water entering my mouth as I opened it. I heard the hum of the ocean for a last time before my ears went under the water. All I could now hear was the silence. As I kept walking deeper and deeper I realised I had already become a martyr. My own voice was echoing in my mind, “There is no way out of the water wall.”

Bourgeois

2007-12-22T01:33:00.000-08:00

I curse the naive, ugly currents
That fill the gullible veins
Of insecure minds

They penetrate my senses
With sharp lacklustre
Leaving charred patches
Of grey and black

Switching on and off
Jumping in and out
Scurrying to and fro
Fearless, I slander them
Fearful, I recoil

I still havent tasted
The honest, white sweat
Glimmering down my brow
Free of the salt
That savours my food.

Eternal Hunger

2007-09-21T22:30:00.001-07:00

Deep, dark, dear hunger
I paint on you the cause of my plight
As responsible as you are
Never do I blame you
For you are meant to be there
Your purpose-you can't explain!

I ask you - Oh! The creator
Of my mind, my soul, my being
And of the hunger, the thirst, the longing -
I ask you nothing - What should I?
And how do I?

For you may kill the poor hunger,
The thirst, the quench, the search,
Those are solely th cause of my being,
I lose them & I am lost -
The thick, white frost -
Then engulfs me, eats me and digests...
My present, remnant soul
Would then perish & my dear friend termed a ghoul...

Oh! Forget it - I will sustain
For the search that never finds me.
Your gift I rely on - Time
It waits for nothing they say
I lend my hand to carry me along.

Burnt Blood

2007-09-21T22:26:00.000-07:00

He is sitting in his chair
His favourite place of despair
And he thinks and thinks and thinks
Of the blood around him that stinks

His fingers marching on the keyboard
Watch his sleepless eyes sored
In a distant screen that's empty from behind
And how the creator has been kind

Clueless as hell as he sits
His butt boils in the bottom in bits
Moving himself a li'l bit
He thinks again of the same old shit

Tapping his feet to the drums
That beat in his ears, he comes
To a hault when he looks around
To measure the futility by a headcount

And then he imagines a dead pang
That blocks him of the time that stang
For an instant before he returns
To the blood from bites and char from the burns.

भित्रं आभाळ

2007-09-21T22:17:00.000-07:00

काळोखाच्या चादरीखाली
नभ अजुन जागंच होतं
टक्क डोळे उघडे टाकुन
शांततेच्या शोधात होतं...

मनात वादळ माजलेलं
दोन-चार गावं उजाडलेली
अन शे-दोनशे शवं - वादळानं पछाडलेली!

एक दिवा मात्र
खांबावर एकटच लटकत होता - फाशी दिलेल्या कैद्याप्रमाणे,
वादळाच्या भोअवर्यात त्याचा प्रकाश
अधनं-मधनं माझ्यापर्यंत सटकत होता.

रात्र अशीच ओसरली...

उजाडलं तेव्हा,
वाकलेल्या खांबावर
दिवा खालीवर झुलत होता
विझलेला...
पण नभाकडे खुणावत होता...

नभ दमल्यासारखं वाटत होतं
एका अनामिक ओझ्याखाली
खंगल्यसारखं वाटत होतं,
एक दोन संतत धारा
नकळत बरसत होतं,
अवजड ढगांचा काळा थवा तेव्हा,
मला जवळच असल्याचं भासत होतं.

Receding Droplets

2007-09-21T22:14:00.001-07:00

The best autumns fade
With the rust clinging to the rails
And green memories
Swaying freely under the blue sky

Time hides itself under vapour
Seeped in through the cracks
In a weary dial

Creepers hanging from the branches
Kissing the ground beneath in its mouth
Exchanging gathered salivas
In the confines of muddy puddles

A dark cloud sails over
Once in a while
Its shadow crusing ahead
Regardless of the contours
And the stupid folk following it
Stumble and fall, Rise and run
Stumble and run, Fall and rise
Until it climbs the mountain to reach the other side
And the stupid folk turn back to expect more

And the stupid folk... Look more stupid!

Selling Yourself

2007-09-21T22:12:00.001-07:00

Drop down the robes
Emitting sunshine,
Concealing desperation
And stand naked
In front of the mirror

What does it say?
Does it talk to you?
Are you listening
Or more interested in gazing at yourself?
Admiring your shapes?
Their developments over the years?
Admiring your beauty?
That you collected
Like stones thrown at you?

Oh! You found your best feature?
You are delighted.
You think they are the ones that get noticed?
But
You forget you are noticed after them
You are hidden behind their existence.
You are forgotten until they are forgotten.

Now you know...
You are not you until they are you...

Mortal Beliefs & Immortal Artistic Sense

2007-09-21T22:10:00.000-07:00

Why does it happen
That an artist
So finds himself alone
In a routinely world
Driven by insecurity
Where everyone strives to
Build secured walls
Satisfying necessitites
Ignoring soft truths
Adapting to the hard ones
Indulging in non-sense
Trying their might to
Make sense out of it -
Sense, which they are
Ignorant about
And when he tries
To explain to these mortals
The real meaning of sense -
Sense, which for him
Is the immortal truth
He is always questioned
About his common sense?

याला काय म्हणावं...

2007-09-21T21:48:00.000-07:00

एक कविता ऎकणार?
ऎकु नकोस जा
पानं पुसत शिकरण खा
जेवायला या
यायच्या आधी या
मग जा
मज्जा
फुस्स्स्स्स्...
गुडुप्प झाले...
उडुप्प झाले
आणि शेवटी उडुपी झाले
उडुपी साले
माजलेले
हुह!
म्हणॆ फक्कड
आहे का रोक्कड?
पसरायचे भोकाड
आणि काय?
भलत्याचा नाद
त्यात ऊल्टा पाय
मग काय?
आज काय अन उद्या काय!
बोम्बाबोम्ब, फाटक्यात पाय!
कालचा गोंधळ बरा होता?
आज घ्या सोटा
आणि ऊद्या लोटा
काय म्हणता अजोबा?
ऊद्या आहात का जिवंत?
का रोजच्यासारखेच मरणार?
आज जगुन घ्या
ऊद्याचं पाहु...
आणि हो... परवा पोहे!
आज शिरा...
ऊद्या वडा...
काला घोडा
उन्हात टेढा
काळ्या, ऊभ्या, आडव्या रेघा
ऊल्टा लेंगा
पाचवे बटण
अर्धा दोरा
काळी सुई
टक्कल पडेल
तर शिवुन मिळेल
आणखी काही?
साबुदाणा उद्या
चहा प्यालात?
पैशे टाका
मोजत बसलात
तर मोजणार कधी?
मोजे घाला
मग मोजा...
नाही नाही, उद्या माझी रजा
ऊगाच डोक्याल त्रास
त्यात श्रावण मास
खेळंच खल्लास
हे काय?
चक्क फस्ट कल्लास?
भगवा पेढा
गडकरी रंगायतन
धन, तन, मन
जंतर मन
जन गण मन
न्यायाधीश महोदय
ऊद्या सुट्टी आहे
कालचा गोंधळ बरा होता
कल हो ना हो
ऊद्या पहा
साडे नऊ वाजता
चित्रहार
सॊरी, रिन चित्रहार!

MOTHER

2007-09-20T12:25:00.000-07:00

Where is my mother?
Probably on the hill
Probably down the valley
I see the sun going down
I see my shadow stretching
It is infinity, the sun is lost
Mother runs to me
Holds me tight
My face pressed
Against her breasts
She is looking
To where the sun sank
I become big,
I grow tall
Mother on her knees
Is holding my legs
I lift her up
Up in my arms
I carry her
To put her to bed
She closes her eyes
I soothe them
She has a faint smile
And I drop dead

Celestial Equivalence

2007-09-20T12:19:00.000-07:00

Congregations of opinions
Surround an unstable void
Marring its depth
Making it shallow
Enough
For the consequences
To bounce back
Instead of devouring them
And letting them churn in the depth
To emerge with originality.

But the universe is not straight
So they say
And bodies attract & repel
So says Newton
(Why didnt they kill him
Before he was born?
Why did the Apple fall?)
And so we have
Actions & reactions
And reactions which
When considered actions
Generate further reactions
And so on it extends
And also expands
In every possible direction
Is this why they say
The Universe is expanding?

And now let me talk
About the intellectual space
The most intangible
World on Planet Earth
Intellects are bodies
And forces are emotional
And mind is the Sun
Or rather a star
And innumerable stars
Constitute Our World
And generations propose
Newer Theories and present Papers
Eradicating earlier beliefs
Eroding traditions
And followers of the classical
Disregard it
And a conflict arises

It functions so synchronous
To the astronomical space
I wonder whether
Newton had any idea
Of what he was proposing
And if so,
I want to know,
That if everything is
A reaction of one kind,
What was the original action?
And how long would I have to wait
To see the End of the World
With the last reaction
When the Universe reaches its limit,

If any...?

Run Like Hell

2007-05-14T08:11:00.000-07:00

Run Run Run
To the end of the world

Run into the flames
To get burned

Run into the blades
And get cut

Run to yourself
And far away... From the indulging self

Run into mama's womb
Dive into the blood

Run into the space
And don't worry for any place... Which you might not get here

Run for your life
And land in the netherworld
Run for your death
And end with a birth

Run for the sake of self
And be a selfish thorn
Run for the sake of anon
And win accolade for a marathon

Run until no one can catch you
Run until they realise you are too far
Run until you realise you are alone
Run until you know you are no more running

Run for the run
Never to stop the run
Run to be never stopped
Run to be never overrun

Run to be there first
Run ahead before the second and third reach there
They make a crowd... Run away from the crowd

Either run or be loud
Loud enough to get noticed
And run away from the notice
They may throw you out
Run before you are out

And get out in the open sky
Under the earth, Over the sky
And run and run and run until you fly
Under the earth, Over the sky!

Water(2007)...An empty Bubble! My review of the film

2007-03-11T14:56:00.000-07:00

An awaited fireball
Falls through the sky
I rush to catch it
Before the flame could die

I had been told
By the Gods who knew
That the dawn was coming
For the sky beheld skew

The hue was set
Apt for the arrival
Since it had went through much
Struggling for survival

The moment had come
And it was time to rise
If it did not hold your breath
You won’t be enough wise

For it had all the red
That the eye possibly sees
It seemed a firm pressed shirt
Without a crease

I couldn’t resist
I couldn’t hold
I begin to dig in
Me, being the strong and bold

I went on digging
And am still not sure
Whether I am at the crust
Or I have found the core

I find myself hanging
In an empty fireball
Is this what they think
Is dark, handsome and tall?

You... the Uncertain!

2007-03-09T10:18:00.000-08:00

Possibly this could be another fate of mine
Directed towards certainty

I keep on walking in a desert
Against the blowing wind
Sand in my hair, Sand in my eyes
Paralysing my sight
Sand-studded, me glowing bright!

I wake up one morning
To find myself on a bed
Surrounded by depths of space
Infinitely deep...
I hang myself beneath the bed
Contemplating... whether I should let go

I sit still at the base of a pond
Silence humming in my ear-drums
And I breathe - Water
Choking my nose, Choking my throat!
Life calls... And I budge to swim
Only to realise I am a statue
Already dead...waiting to dissolve.

I fuel the fire of my desires
With you...
And when I find it extinguishing
I step right into the pier
To burn with the wound of your absence.

I dig into the earth
A space enough to bury me
I lie in there... staring up
Waiting for you to cover me with soil
Expecting to be suffocated
Under the auspicious cover of your hands.
But you refuse again
And I continue to lie...

Possibly this could be another fate of mine
Directed through all the elments
Towards you
Directed through certainty
Towards the uncertain...

A Wandering Soul

2007-03-05T12:51:00.000-08:00

A wandering soul
Often misleaded
In the fury of its anonymous passions
Or should I say impatience?
Digresses
Into an inflaming world
Itching its heart -
A place where it fails to reach
Once drifted...

Its hard to take controlof the uncontrollable
In a situation
Forced by destiny
Which for him
Is a blinking disbelief

Yet it believes
That their would be a day
When the sun would rise for him
But he fears
If its the west
Where he is facing

With emotion in its eyes
And belief in the unreal
And unexpected future
It forgets about the east
Conveniently

And extends its hands
Backwards
To sense the known and non-existent
Hand of love
Invain...

Exhausted it sits down
Head between knees
Losing it all

It is then that love emerges
From within
Surounds it
And rotates
The Earth...
The rising sun
Cuts through the haze
And the soul is caught
In a gaze
It has long forgotten...

Its hands
Stretch to catch it
When it senses
The engulfment
Of its self
In the solar energy of an emotion called - LOVE

The wandering soul
Then disintegrates
In a single fragment
And drops down
On the palm of the ever expected
To seek Eternal Solace

Airport

2007-02-24T14:18:00.000-08:00

This airport at this hour
Leads me to the day
When you came out from the same gates
Today that moment, my heart awaits!

I see myself in those crowds
Rising to catch a glimpse of you
A war that the crowd rages
For those who are unseen for ages.

I fought the war, I won the war
I led myself to the edge of the bar
That was the only one now, who ran across
Between us, Gathering no moss.

But what could ever restrict my gaze
Swaying your silky hair from the distance
I wait here in the agony of the pain
That I can't see you coming out again!

यकीन नहि, उम्मीद सही ।

2007-02-20T12:05:00.000-08:00

तु नही, तेरा साथ नही
मैं नही, कोई बात नही
तु नही, तेरी याद सही
तुझसे मेरी मुलाकात नयी ।

बिखरे बिंब, कांच वहीं
छोटी लंबी हाथोंकी
ऊंगलीयां पांच वही ।

फूल नही, पंखुडी सही
कांटोंके साथ
तेरी याद जुडी हुईं ।

आज नही, कल सही
पर तु मेरी गझल वही
बोल मत पर सुन सही
रोक के मेरी सांस वही
दिल ने आख्ररी यह कहीं
मेरी रूह के बीच कही
तु रही, सिर्फ़ तु रही ।

भले...

2007-02-20T11:31:00.000-08:00

भले असेल तिथला चंद्र तुझा
अन तारे तुझे सवंगडी
पण सूर्य माझा शक्तिशाली
तळ्पेल त्यात तलवार खडी

भेदत असतील तुझे उसासे
शब्द्फ़ेकीच्या पोकळीला
चल पाहूया ब्र तुझा
टिकतो का माझ्या आर्त किंकाळीला

Selfish

2007-02-20T11:29:00.000-08:00

I fight for air
Alone throughout the dare
Missing a heart to breathe
I am a cart to carry death

Uneven contour, up and down
It's me, who's playing the clown
Blood darkens, becomes brown
Into sadness' deepest, yes I drown

Kill Me...

2007-02-20T11:21:00.000-08:00

A triangular void
Enclosing my pain
Inflaming the skies
Down pours the rain

An incomplete hope
Still glitters dark
A virtue of helplessness
Ever ready to attack

Shuddering pieces of memory
About to explode
In the stomach of a volcano -
Their final abode

Erect as I stand
On this futile land
Head down and outstretched hands

Would something more
Severe than the death whore
Suffice me and then kill
More brutally than death's own will?

Hopeless Self

2007-02-18T04:46:00.000-08:00

I am a dishonest man
Dishonest son
A dishonest partner
With an honest passion
To be dishonest with myself

I doubt myself
In the void of others' expectations
And wonder
Why ain't I honest
At least with them?

And I continue
With my feeling of hopelessness
To conquer the world
Which I hope is conquerable...

My crudest poem...

2007-02-16T09:03:00.000-08:00

Push yourself a little harder

I ask for little

I don’t want more exercise from you

I don’t want to exert you

I am exerted

Seeing you numb

Why don’t you speak?

Why don’t you talk

To yourself?

Have you ever?

I have

I always talk

I get exerted

Yes, I know I just contradicted

With myself

That exerts me.

A little harder exerts me

It will exert you

I want to see you all exerted

That exerts me more

I want to get exerted more

So push yourself a little harder

And I get pushed further

Lets reach the goal

We never want to find

Lets be suspended

Till eternity

Lets rush

Until time arrives to free us all

Damn!!!

Woman

2007-02-13T15:46:00.000-08:00

The night was long for him. He couldn’t sleep a bit. He was just sitting on the bed with fists pressed on the mattress and his legs forming a taper down till the floor where his feet rested one upon the other. He was trying to erode the surface of the floor with his toe just as a dog digs his shit-pot in sand or mud, in vain. He wasn’t doing it knowingly. While he dug, he stared at an anonymous point on the carpet. It not only had no name but had no existence too. His eyes seemed to have zeroed on a spot on the carpet but if it would have been possible for him to really give a thought to it and try to find that spot, he would have missed it. He liked to just stare like this. The spot somehow resembled him. He felt familiar and safe. It existed but even he couldn’t notice it.

She had slept long back and was fast asleep, her back towards him. She wore a satin nightgown. She was sleeping like a cat, gathering her body into a lump - her legs tightly pressed against each other, folded at the knees and the waist; her hands locked between her abdomen and thighs – trying to be as small as she could. Her hair flowed from her head, curving over the cushion to spread on the bed. It resembled a still waterfall in the night. Her feet still carried some mud and the bed had become dirty. If he would have felt like sleeping, it would have been too uncomfortable with mud all around. But he didn’t clean it. He just didn’t want to sleep. He just wanted to sit there and reflect. However, since a while he was blank. He couldn’t think of anything except for the knowledge of the fact that he was not able to think. He couldn’t proceed.

The curtains swayed once in a while. He looked at them and smirked. He wondered how much force the air carried to make them move. He looked at their top. They hung from clips. Then he looked at the bottom. There was nothing. They were suspended – along a vertical axis. The air rocked them on its will – along a horizontal axis. They sort of experienced a torque – a force in circular direction, since the clips would never let them go and hence whenever the air pushed them, they would, although in a small angle, move around the bar on which the clips hung. He felt jealous of the curtains. He wanted to be a curtain. They were selfless. They had no belongings and no qualms about behaving or being made to behave, forcefully accept rather, others’ will. He wasn’t selfish and selfless here hasn’t been used as a proper antonym of selfish. It just denotes the lacking of the feeling of ‘self’ in the curtains. Since they lacked it, they never felt the loss of it. Since he had it – the feeling of self - he knew the worth of having lost it.

He saw at himself, standing in front of him, in his imagination. He noticed his belongings. He felt attachment towards them including his wife; in fact she was at the fore. For one moment, he felt lucky to have her. The next moment he thought of her as a stranger. The moments thereafter, he could no longer feel belonged to her and vice versa. He could only see some mass, matter with weight, tied in clothing and deposited on his bed. The dirt on her feet and that on the bed belonged to that mass. It was not his. That is why he didn’t feel like clearing it. He looked down on the bed and imagined their moments of intimacy. He thought it was some other woman having sex with someone else of him – probably the one who is sitting on the bed now.

He couldn’t stand himself any longer. He regained his seat, in his imagination. He sort of felt a support to have someone with him now. He felt safe. He tried to talk, but couldn’t come up with a topic to start with. He dropped the plan. He thought he could just sit like that feeling some company. That would make him feel better; feel safer and he would then be able to feel strong at the cost of his company. That helped. For a while, again he continued sitting, just like that getting a hang of his company. Then, he smiled, in his imagination. He looked back at his wife as if to show her his new regained strength. She was staring back at him with wide eyes. He sunk, felt loose and gave away. His head fell on her stomach and oscillated for a while. She didn’t move. She just watched him fall. She felt that she was tied to something and couldn’t move. Not that she really wanted to save him from the fall. She wanted to take it. She wanted to feel the pain. And it did pain – especially since she was pregnant. But not a sound was made. She just lay there – still, eyes half closed.

Two minutes later, she felt wet between her thighs. She thought of holding it and going to the washroom. She pushed his head away from her stomach. It landed on the bed. Her feet touched the floor and some particles of dirt pricked into them. She had gone numb. She couldn’t even sense them. As she stood, the liquid had flowed down to her feet. She looked back to the bed. He lay there in a pool of blood topped with dirt. She gazed down at her feet. She remembered the day when she had entered his home as his wife. She remembered the oaths he had taken of protecting her, of being her care-taker, of being her better half. Then she remembered last evening. She remembered him sitting like a loser in the car. She remembered the policeman taking her behind the tree. She remembered her mouth pressed shut and her hands held tight. She experienced each singular pain after that until she fainted. She remembered nothing after that.

Coming out of her thoughts, she looked at him and then at her blood-soaked feet. She removed all her clothes, one after the other and stood naked. She stood there staring at the curtains for a long while and feeling the breeze across her face blowing her hair. She cleared the curtains and opened the window. The horizon was on the verge of giving birth to a new day. It was dawn and she took the first rays of light on her entire body. She just stood there watching until she saw the sun. Her lips parted to smile.