The Black Hole that is Faith.

Nicole sips and sips and sips,
the water she thinks is wine,
goes high on the nectar through her lips,
is thus high on faith, not wine.

Friends relax, with their own,
their favorite selves on their surface,
with their faith in laughter, that godsend,
who questions the faith in friends?

Kin, by a line of blood flowing through their veins,
feel the all blotting shine of faith -
blood shall blot, clot and cleanse,
as it holds together a race.

A little child fears not,
the darkness of the night,
for it has faith in strength, faith unbent,
in its guardian's might.

A lover holds a vigil,yet she worries not,
as she knows her faith shall carry him across any sea,
and her faith in him, his in her, theirs in love,
was but only meant to be.

Under the platform of my palm,
that holds my prashad,
I feel the weight and and pull,
of the institution that is faith.

I may not sing your prayers and hymns,
I may not feel what you feel, but I do feel,
the vibes of faith that you send around,
which bring me to my knees.

In the halls of learning, worship, war and peace -
and starting thoughts are but these -
I give you my respect, if only just,
for the faith pulled from you by those who must.

We all have our Gods, and our faith,
and I put mine in my God's hand,
which nudges me to work and love,
nudges me to reap my land.

Faith, you are beautiful indeed. Which for I salute you.

For it is you who makes us human and strained,
us imperfect - but such a beautiful stain.
Us dirty but to be cleansed, us pained but to be reprived -
you make us one, as we believe.

Faith, you are beautiful indeed.

Exalt, Mine.

My hands are on you,
with every finger stroke,
I harbour only my most extreme -
for you to soak.

I wish to purge myself of you,
if it may only be,
for the unrestrained pleasure,
of seeing you outside me.

You are a frozen portrait of myself,
a momented sliver, if I may say,
and you're mine now, mine to last,
mine in every way.

You cannot feel yet, so I feel for you,
feel your contours, reflections and feel,
immerse myself in the near future,
of what you are to be.

My hands tremble as I release you,
as I hope to see truth shine,
before I give you your completion,
you unshackled part of mine.


Oh! - you - Mine!
Capsuled breath of life -
I release you!
so exalt in newfound existence!
Oh! - you - Mine!

Dedicated to the release any creator of anything gets right before he knows he's reached completion.

Rider's Dawn - Spirits (and Spirit's, and Spirits') Call

A candle is sparked in the dark,

Twin flames light up your eyes,

A surge of moralled power flows,

From flames of the deepest sacred crevice.

For a moment, I ask you to put aside,

The daily vexes that break your stride,

To seep to the deepest oaths you’ve sworn –

And know –

This flame a’burn is our own.

I am your spirit,

The very heart of your unexplained,

Your fundamental desire to live,

Your endeavor, will and pain.

I tug at you from your inside,

I sparkle and crackle against inbuilt bonds,

I beg you to spread and ignite,

In the truest form of your scarlet might.

I am your spirit, and I clarion this call,

At your horizon – a beacon of dawn.

Your dawn – ride to it now,

Hesitate not, the time is now!

I hold a candle to your eyes,

What do you see?

Open your eyes, self, and see your flame,

In me and you that are just the same,

Burning us to know and to believe,

That we shall forge our willed without reprieve.

Self, I ask you to realize and merge.

I hold a candle to my face,

I admire the fire in my eyes,

Embronzed, I ride to set alight,

Towards my dawn – to end the night.

The Little Girl With the Angelic Smile

The Little Girl with the Angelic Smile.

The rain was torrential,

I observed, from my rickshaw,

and shifted to the centre,

so as,

to not get wet.

But a purple sedan passed me by,

and aside the driver was a little angel set,

entrenched in warmth, that angelic smile, which,

drew me to the side, to again get wet.

The car sped ahead, and I,

Urged on my rickshaw man as well,

Till he pulled up beside that sedan

at the next red light,

and I saw, and fell.

Into a pit of shock and surprise,

at seeing the little cherub sobbing,

fell tears like molten drops from her halo above,

fell they that set me throbbing.

The light turned green,

and I lost that scene,

as she was driven away into the mist,

a smile to a sob in a couple of seconds,

was my driver’s sardonic gist.

I didn’t need to scream,

at my rickshaw man,

to pull aside, that purple sedan,

and prayed for the next light to be red.

But when he did,

the light was green,

giving me just a glimpse, of another scene

Of what can truly be said –

That t’was an angel among angelic smiles,

Returned to an angelic face,

her summer of joy after tears in rain,

Returned - her eyes shone again.

I thanked my god, my lucky stars,

For entrusting lovingly to me,

That simple, sylvan, angelic smile,

If but a memory.

And I thought of changes in life,

So ephemeral as the dew,

But then I thought of that

Simple, sylvan, angelic smile,

And my own refreshed, anew.

Rat Fight!

Prologue: There was a 'kebab mein haddi' in the peaceful domains of 11 Kalyani. A till then unsighted rodent had been wreaking havoc in our abode, chewing up soap, closed doors and making passes at our potatoes. That, in the world of a South Indian, scrubbed clean household, is about as personal as it gets... Dearest mom had claimed to have spotted the miscreant once (giving detailed explanations about its size and why it shouldn't be in her kitchen) and yours truly had heard its squeaks in the cookery as well. But we were still unsure so as to where its realtime position was. Then came Sunday morning.


The fight begins.



The damage done to our kitchen door by the rat, in its bid to escape.


We'd closed the kitchen door tight, thinking that the menace might have escaped to the piping in the building (home CID had determined that as an entry point previously), but this morning I awoke to see the bottom of the kitchen door bearing heavy ratty influence - as is shown by the wooden shavings above. The creature, obviously bugged by the tight food security measures we'd taken had tried to escape and literally chew its way out of the kitchen door. We knew we had a trap on our hands. Which meant...


Its go time!

We (me and mom) scoured the attic, in the process getting rid of a lot of unwanted junk (and hence really doing what we should have done years ago) but the rat eluded our scrutiny still. We could feel it though - it was just the pulse of our kitchenous surroundings, but we could sense it. I was on the stool when mom uttered a shout and jumped back remarkably quickly. The rat wasn't above us, but was below us, behind the gas cylinder!

Sticks were brought out as the melee began. It was two very frustrated soldiers against an experienced harper of the dark. What a fight it was.

(Match of the extremely early morning - Mom vs. the rat (not in picture))
(Snap deleted due to persistence of the subject)

I had a stick in one had and narrowly missed the rat as it scurried past me into another corner. I grabbed a large tub and had, in a single moment - an epiphany of a fantasy. I would trap the rat in the tub and quietly sit on the tub till we could decide what would be done with it, yes, that was it!

The rat used its pace and cunning against us, cramped us we were in our confines. It never gave us much room to maneuver. Me and mom took the lead in turns, generally ceding when we'd been reduced to screams and random stick banging. All of a sudden, we sensed its absence. We cleared up the whole kitchen (and I had to wash everything that existed there) but there was no further sign of the blighter.



We still think it escaped from behind the Ganesh statue out to a window. How can the tusked one forget his companion? All is peaceful now, as I sit, squeaky clean and rat free to record this incident.

Once again, may peace exist. Always.

Timelines

Feel the glitter of stars upon your faces -
the sheen of timelines of distant races,
singing a storied tune cast in light -
a tune of millenia past, in our sight.

We are unknowingly swathed in their lore and legend,
bathed in their timelines' flow,
but need a sixth sense, an antenna maybe,
to decipher their crypt, decode their glow.

These races may now be extinct,
expired physically in their own space,
but their previous existence is cast upon us, in light,
though in time 'tis out of phase.

I guess Mr. XYZ of far away,
looks through his scope and sees,
our own light, our own past,
of dinosaurs and now ancient trees.

O' Light - you giver of sight,
you've set our clocks to differ by such,
that you've partially blinded us in our sight's imperfection,
made our present and their past touch.

Maybe we shall conquer you one day,
and observe our done from far away,
maybe one day we shall truly see,
and unlock our timelines' mysteries?



To Mr. XYZ of far away, I say hi.

Mother's Day

Lets hear it for all mothers, mother figures, fathers who take on the roles of mothers, mothers who take on the roles of fathers and every being you associate with ma.

Daily do we further grasp, daily do we learn.

You're Godsend,
and we feel like we've been given to our gift.
A gift that eases us through all there is to do,
just hope we can do in our own way, as much and more for you.

Folks, to the motherly spirit that gives so much, and asks for so less in return.

The placement of a show

The lights blare, colours sing, sounds flash in my head,
as I make my way to a prime time show.

I am in the theatre, as the audience.

My ticket is a receptive mind,
which is my brain and heart combined.

I see the thought forms of others,
whirling across the stage,
see is a misnomer - I experience them
and enjoy myself,
as they stare at me from the dias.

I am in the theatre, as the showman.

My backstage pass is an expressive mind,
which is my brain and heart combined.

I send my own thought forms,
flying across the stage,
jingled, encoded in my energy waves.
I know not whether I assault or please - but am simply at ease,
my work as a showman done.

I think at times, though,
I am both audience and artist -
in the same show
as I display and receive within myself, critique myself,
I realise, so many times, that I am my theatre.

And that an entire show is within me, makes me smile.

What one has to say.

Heres an excerpt from a recent chat convo of mine. 'A' is me, 'R' a friend.

.... .... .... .... .... .... .... .... ....

A: Aite then, time for me to go, Rikadablaka.

R: Yeah, me 2, wiazapi.

A: Aureal bourgeois onions.

R: This is kinda fun, banooki.

*Lines of nonsense later, both exit*

You might be wondering where 'A' and 'R' forgot their brains - but hold it. I've recently come to the conclusion that the conventional confines of language aren't always enough to satisfy a person's sheer instincts. I read about a study somewhere that showed that the internal techniques of human perception, mental organization and understanding vary vastly amongst individuals. Original Expressionists like poets, writers and other artistes are revered not only for technical skill, but also for their expression of what is instinctive within them - their expression of how they see their medium. If the audience catches on to their patterns, well, I suppose a new trend may emerge. On a personal level, we (or I at least) mentally arrive to a conclusion after a hopelessly personal-specific thought process and then translate our result into some society defined code answerable only to ourself.

So, progressing from human uniqueness to that chat extract above.

Some sounds may have different connections and associations inside your head, that even you might only be partially aware of. You might have felt good upon hearing a random sound or getting a particular fragrance, not only for the nervous action taking place, but also for the triggers it sets off. Theres even this new fangled thing where people get high on certain co-ordinated digital sounds...

Now, instead of saying a conventional goodbye, I try saying random nonsense that comes into my head. In a way, what I say is very reflective of my state; but also in way that mainly I am privy to. My one rule is that I shouldn't have to overthink to get the word out but simply let it flow. It provides a welcome escape from the usual set rules like 'Ta', or 'bye' or whatever. At that time, the feel of the phoentics of 'Aureal Bourgeois Onions' really appealed to me as something funny.

Uttering such nonsensical, convoluted phrases forms a good oral exercise to improve knowledge and feel of that particular cavity. The word can even mean something in real life, but you just say it because you want it to be there. Its a question of letting it come onto your tongue from the deeper recesses of your conscious.

Next time you feel like saying chonchon for no rhyme or reason, try it out. Whatever it is you wish you'd had the chance to just say - make use of your jaws, teeth and tongue to fully vent. Its pretty satisfying.

Of Post, Fruitless Resilience and Monkeys :(

Today's been an interesting day so far... Interesting is really an interesting word, covering both positive and negative ends of the spectrums, and the reader might have guessed which end I'm writing about...

The day started with me having set to post a few documents to the States via India Speed Post. I trudged out in the scorching April sun of Bombay, completely sweaty within seconds of departure. I reached the post office without too many incidents and took my place in the appropriate line, starting non-concomitantly at either the ceiling or the ground as I awaited my turn. My mind was more focussed on the ice cream I'd promised myself after I'd posted the package off. All of a sudden I get a blast of tobacco stained breath in my mouth - something along the lines of "Arre, Kai Karto re?!?!?" I look down from the ceiling to see the sweaty man in front of me screaming at another sweaty man who had apparently tried to cut in line. I would've joined in, had I known any bit of Marathi, but simply contented myself by giving him the worst possible glare I could. I spent the rest of my time in line thinking about how that horrible blast of breath had come on my face while the man was staring to my right... Some questions never can be answered. After posting the package, I found that the nearby store had run out of ice-cream. I returned home with my grump quotient slightly above the acceptable average.

As events came about, I had to buy two blank CDs later in the day. I headed out to the local have-it-all store (god bless small time Indian entrepreneurs for this) and found that the store owner was lunching. I asked him if he could just deal with me and then be free to eat, and he told me that he'd join me in just a second. Hmm... Just a second... His 'Just a second' consisted of cracking, by the count, four jokes on Gujaratis with his lunch-mate, taking out his cellphone and playing some random instrumental music and laughing to himself - all while not even touching his food. The combination of the insanely high humidity and temperature, and his irritating ambiance prompted me to threaten to leave, rather haughtily, I might add. To my dismay, me gave me a flick of his head and continued with his jokes. The other store that stocked CDs was a good fifteen minutes away, but I'd never really liked this shopkeeper (Whom we call 'Anpad', hindi for illiterate). I stomped away, muttering to myself. On the road, I came across this group of guys listening to, I am almost sure, the same dumb song that the shopkeeper had been playing on his cell phone. Bad turned to worse, and I just had to swear out loud. I felt this haze forming before my eyes as I stolidly marched on ahead. Too bad about the haze, it caused me to ram into this horizontal pole, knocking my cap off and sending me to the dizzy verge of senseless tears. I sat down, collected myself and restrengthened my resolve to not let that shopkeeper get any monetary purchase from my CD shopping. I said some vile things to no one in particular, and moved on. I managed to buy the CDs while keeping myself in one piece - when a thought struck. The owners of both the aforementioned stores are cousins. My day seemed to have reached rock bottom right then, as I swore at everything I could think of for the second time that day - and then burst out laughing at my plight. Little did I know that the day hadn't even ended for me.

I got home and started burning the required data into the CDs. One of the CDs didn't even work, but I was too tired to get angry then. I managed to my best and went for a nice shower. Then this happened.



The lady who lives below me phoned to say that my next door neighbour wouldn't go upto her flat because of two monkeys sitting between our doors. She asked me to drive them away so that my neighbour could return with some peace of mind. My previous frustrating experiences of the day turned into some macho-rage-aggression mindset, complete with images of monkeys scurrying and crying away at my fury. I put on some really heavy metal, got out the trusty stick that most Indian families use to hang wet clothes, and bravely opened the door. I was confronted with two very lethargic looking creatures sitting about a foot from my door. Seeing me, they hurried up to the top of next flight of stairs, and surveyed me from there. I started up the flight whipped out my cellphone, snapped them, and then loudly banged the stick close to a tail. My bluff was called for the second time that day, as both of them calmly surveyed me. Only upon actually prodding them quite strongly, did they slowly get up and clamber out onto the terrace... They weren't my business anymore, so I trudged back inside after escorting the dear lady home.

I did go out in the evening later and vent my frustration on the field, which was very satisfying. But still, having my bravado being zapped so calmly by the omnipresent one sure did make me blink.

Just writing all this down takes lightens the load by so much. Vive le releases, vive indeed.

Satiation

I want to freeze a moment,
not go back and change it,
just freeze it,
and satiate myself.

Moments happy, sad, good and bad,
I'm not asking for one alone,
I'm asking for them all, as may come,
only to realise them, as my own.

I wish to fully claim my parallel emotions,
fully take in these works of art,
drink deeply from this cup of occurrence,
to the bigger cipher to add a part.

Each 'pal' is unique in itself,
one of God's combinations of synthesis,
I want to recall perfectly, realize completely,
the treasure trove that each moment is.

I want to feel a moment,
not go back and change it,
just feel it,
and satiate myself.

The Monk, The Archer and My Sedative

The monk perches upon cold stone,
basking in sunlight and dew,
meditating upon nothing alone,
no thought does he pursue.

The archer stands in the field, upright,
his only target set in sight,
he draws, his muscles tense,
without a whimper, without pretense.

I am not so fortunate.

I stand between one and none,
my thoughts web about, oft undone,
by forays to frequent, clarity too rare,
so much to grab, so little to spare!

Ah yes, clarity.
'Tis what I meant to speak about.

Clarity for me is an elusive fix,
is often lost amidst the mix,
with my targets to hit, aims to fulfill,
"What am I to do?", I wonder still.

To know one has a hundred preys,
behind one's back, ahead in the day,
clarity promises a lot when it does strike,
to reveal but explain, be both heavy and light.

Realization arrives as a packaged gift,
filling the holes, bridging the drift,
bringing the greatest outlook of all -

I haven't done it yet,
but at least I have,
a problem to solve.

Time Pass...

My Orkut profile "About me' section... Just wanted to store it some place...

*Convo with self* Sometimes I wonder: Is Orkut a medium through which people can simply check out what other people are talking about them, under the complete pretention of anonymity, and also a place where the people holding the pre-mentioned conversations drop purposeful snippets so that the post-prementioned convo people can check them out with the knowledge and consent of the holders of the conversation but while retaining the pretention of anonymity and maintaining a firm silence (maybe) between each other in all combinations about the ergo spoken topic?

PS - Why the hell do all the chics on Orkut put their albums as locked? I won't post their snaps all over the internet; just appreciate and move on.

PS 2 - When will people realise that every person on Orkut knows what a "creepy, scary, stunning mind reader" is and has realised that the code they give is complete shit?

PS 3 - Or that there is no kid dying of some rare, supposedly uncurable disease that needs an immediate operation for which funds can be collected only by irritating the hell out of Orkutters by asking them to send the whole scrap all over the network. Guys, the play on one's moral goodness is no longer cute. Drop it.

XBox 360 - Or that those other flashy HTML enabled forwards are equally irritating, have caused huge amounts of irritation, anger, frustration and a general feeling of uncleanliness? *F.Y.I*: They do not make you look cool, in Sync or culturally or socially active. These people have enabled a digital network to require the same kind of cleanup that our dear city does. Dammit.

But I go ahead of myself, I don't want to scare away friends and other potentially interesting scrappers who can actually make up a vibrant social life.

Final Comment: I like browsing Orkut and inserting random (though relevant and maybe insightful) comments when I come across a profile or some other detail that catches my eye. I am not (maybe not) flirting if its a female in question. It forms a great way to make them brain juices flow.

Final Comment 2: This is all I care to say about myself at the moment, showcasing only that facet of my persona that overlaps my Orkuttian instincts.

Final Comment 3: I do not accept testimonials; In case someone does bother.

Footnote: I hate the distorted keyboard text language thats being used "lyK thS Is sO rAdICaL!" It doesn't represent GenX or Gen whatever in my watery eyes. Get over it and learn to write properly. Or go join Aamir Khan in TZP.

*Maniacal laughter at having possibly made someone read this much*

Two kinds of pain

Courtesy them Rocky movies... :P

Two kinds of pain...

There are two kinds of pain,

The first kind of pain,
is felt,

when a dear one is lost,
giving us despair and sorrow.

When an error proves its cost,
clouding hopes of tomorrow.

when bruised by an adversary's strike,
one slips, its gone - the will to fight.


The second kind of pain,
is felt,

when dear ones are lost,
but you know in peace they rest.

when mistakes prove their costs,
but only the learning do you attest.

When you reel from a blow, but somehow know,
you have it in you to go on.

When your muscles ache, from welcome strain,
spurred on from dusk to dawn.

When in your finest hour,
involved, intoxicated in your fight,
you know

victory, if not in hand,
will always be in sight.

Bathed...

It sometime happens that I lose sleep at around four in the morning (relics of setting a four o'clock alarm during exam time), and look out through my window lying down. On Purnimas and on days with clear skies, I have an extremely beautiful view of celestial bodies straddling a dark hill, and this poem is primarily inspired by that. This time, I've also included a few of the notes I've used while composing this poem. They may/may not make sense, but I just wanted to include them here.

Bathed

I toss and turn, eyes closed, sweating hard,
sleep eludes me.
My thoughts rush about,
mingled with dreams,
My eyes open with a jolt,
I look around.
I'm in a different world,
it seems.

I'm bathed in moonlight, starlight pure,
sparkles off diamonds in the sky azure,
a clean glow off the mother of pearl,
casting white shadows upon the world.*

A thought strikes, I sleepily think,
does life have a foreign link?
To whom our own sun comes in sight,
as a star to bathe in, in the night?

Notes:
*- There is complete darkness behind celestial bodies. They block the 'dark light', and hence cast fair shadows over us.

- To use, dreamily think, alien being, window to outside....

- Sun with a different perspective (one from outside our own world),

- Avalanche rhyming? None at first and then more as the momentum picks up? Must try more later.

- Emphasize power words, translation of ideas as I think them.

The Mystique Of Rain

This is poem I penned for a poetry writing competition... I hope I get the prize :-/ (The topic was given by them)

The Mystique of Rain

The Monsoons arrived, earthy, scented,
gently pattering against my window pane,
I fought, I tried, succumbed, relented,
and fell victim, to the mystique of rain.

Diamonds, showered from the heavens above,
is it not strange we search for others underground?
the ones descending are the tears of god,
but the buried ones do us humans hound.

The very essence, spirit of rain charms me,
ensnares me, with its seasonal fall,
its overpowering aroma of earth and sea,
its unique way of purging all.

O' Rain! Oh Mystery of Life!
Subject it is to its whims and pauses,
one year it destroys, bringing hopeless strife,
the very next it blesses, erasing the pain it causes.

God's tears? They may be so,
but are bound with flashes and thunder,
tears of God they are, as they flow,
but of joy or sorrow? I wonder.

Two

Two pigeons, on my window sill,
shying away from the monsoon rains,
gently cooing, with life afill,
seeing me, they risked the clouds again.

Back they came, fleeing those dreary, wet pains,
but I, covert in a corner, did blunder,
at their confused, affectionate fluttering- I laughed without refrain;
scared, they fled, wits asunder.

They were, two hearts, each shielding the other,
made wet by a person's blunder,

sticking together through varied times,
and by fate. Ah, Fate! What a wonder!

And I am one, with two eyes,
taking it all in,
hoping to be knowing and wise,
amidst the wide world's din.

The Flute Seller...

I know its been a long time, but here it is

The Flute Seller

On Sunday Mornings,

I sit and eagerly wait,
by my Window, for that soothing gait,
of distant melodies,
to flit past.

Played on a flute, unseen,
by an invisible basuriwalla, a fluteseller, I mean,
who strolls, (I think) with his pipes and reeds,
playing his salutes, his thoughts, his pleas.

His yet unseen flutes I never do buy,
but look for him every seventh day,
hoping that he passes me by,
as he goes about his blessed way.

On a Sunday Morning, I do awake,
I do sit, and break my fast,
but my mind does only wait,
for those distant, distant, so distant,

sweet melodies to flit past.

Transitions...

Kudos to my bros Varun and Karthik, for having passed their Masters and Bachelors courses, respectively. To Kanch as well as she makes the transition from middle school to high school. To Kavi as she goes to middle school from elementary school (hurray Kavs, you're growing up now!!!) As for me, I too happen to be entering the college stage of my life. Lets hope we all continue our future phases and beyond with prosperity and happiness ;)

And another thing, I simply can't wait until we all get together this summer in India; we have to get a group photo of all the cousins; who have never been together at the same time!!!! Thats all for now. (Man, I REEEALLY can't wait for this family reunion)

Happy Mothers Day

Its that time of the year again...

For them...

My pens dipped before, I do not refute,
dipped to show love, to tribute,
that special one, those special ones,
those whom we call mothers, us daughters and sons.

But times have changed, the sand's falling,
and a new salutes in the calling,
one to our mothers, the givers of life,
gods incarnate, removers of strife.

Mature as have over the years,
you still allay all of our fears,
jewels of the minds, hearts of our souls,
dear mother it is us whom you do control.

Yes, as children we may fight and disobey,
and in these rhymes do we pray,
whatever rigours may come by us,
we forever get to do so thus...

Simply thinking of you fulfills,
our hungry stomachs; and those sudden spills
of emotion, are gently caressed,
as if your hands, loving and unstressed.

Like the north star, always guiding are you
but alas! Thoughts are many and words are few,
and long overdue are these ones, to remind,
more unique gems you cannot find.

We love you, to put it straight,
and will always be there at any rate,
for our greatest treasures, givers of life,
gods incarnate, removers of strife.

-A.C.