The End

And so it fell.

The last scab.

Scraped off by that impersonal message on Whatsapp. An app you claim to barely use. Because you don’t like to type.

And so I called a couple of times and they went unanswered.

I texted a few times… ranted even. Hoping you would see my message and respond, with an emoticon at least.

I started to feel really bad. Especially about how fucked up it was when I found out more than a month later that your grandmotherhad passed away. I had spoken with a common friend for a while and even he didn’t mention it. I fought back tears through meetings that day. I cried for you. And for her. And for what we had so obviously lost.  I trembled as I dialed your number. Hoping that yet again you would not answer.

Except for this flash… I know nothing about you. Nothing about your life for the past year. Nothing about any change in your eyes, your smile, your face.

I texted again. The last time, I promised myself. I wasn’t surprised to see banter in the comments section on posts on Facebook. I wasn’t surprised that you did not reply.

I was however caught absolutely unawares when I did get a message. A broadcast, probably. Impersonal. From you, about you, asking for inputs on a newly launched website. I feel happy for you that you finally did it. I know you will be successful. I feel that in the time that has passed you have made close friends that will help and support you with your quest. Much like I did the first few times. I know that you have enough people that you are close to to help you.

I realize now that that last statement is not about me being selfish or trying to make this about me. It is about the acceptance that I am no longer an important person in your life. There are others. There will be more. This is about moving on. Finally.

Twinge (n):

You remember that moment, that time when you thought you couldn't be happier...
You'll have that again.
With another person, in a different place. And no, you won't think of them while its happening.
But it will be OK.

Of letting go..

Our life is an amalgamation of experiences – a beautifully intricate collage where routines serve as fillers while important events provide character and colour and soul.

These experiences -  each moment, every smell, the little things you obsessed about, pure childlike excitement, the anger, the relief, the sleepless nights…  scarlet, magenta, orange, indigo,…  all come together in form of a complex design that you create. You know the glossed over bits, the imperfections, the exaggerations, the corners you cheated, the sections that mirror you… mirror you so that only you could spot the similarities. You produce your piece of art; one event at a time, unique to your interaction with the universe.

 And you've taken time out of your life to validate these seemingly insignificant bits and pieces, with the hope of providing a soul to something larger than yourself. Time, that you could have spent doing less engaging activities, those that would be assigned the browns, the neutrals and the static.  

Now Stop.

Stop.

And start over.

Does it feel like you dis-own a part of you… trivialize an important part of your life? Disregarding what it feels like to be human and letting your head bully your heart, once again, into believing that it’s the grown up thing to do. You wonder if you’re trying to cheat fate… but there’s so much more you wanted to do with that design.

Because letting go is like giving in.  Like resigning to a stereotype that’s been conferred upon you; because according to the social order it’s the right thing to do. So you do. You stop. The paint is left to dry, the colours soak in. And as the colours soak in you realize that those shades and mixes can hardly be recreated, not with the same innocence and excitement from the first time. Not with the same exhilaration you felt when you first saw it, when it was most perfect. You can only imagine it. But you can never, really, start over. 

Want

Things
Adventure
Purpose
That Person
Feelings
Reciprocity
To not obsess
To not give up
Satisfying Sunday evenings
Exciting Monday mornings
That half written piece to be completed
To be sorted
To just make that fucking phone call
To never think "What if"
To give it everything I can
To not be so strong,
Happy tears
Unconditional
Peace of mind.

A Lover's Prayer

Close your eyes

And think of me,

Just a flake, a memory.

Our fleeting moments, our evanescence,

All neatly tucked, away from see.

Stay a while and oblige me

Stare me down, arrest my gaze.

Let your fingers lead me on

Stop my heart,

And then make it race.

Kiss me like there’s no tomorrow

Push those juvenile curls away.

Make the world melt

Beneath my toes

While you kiss me like it’s our last day.

And when the sun shines

Up on your face,

Your eyes adjust, you awake,

I pray you take this memory

And I wish you keep it safe.

Coz we’re the other people,

Those you won’t afford the attention.

Secret, unconditional

And constituted of recollections;

We’re the lovers you cannot mention.

On why we read and write...

" Writing and reading decrease our sense of isolation. They deepen and widen and expand our sense of life: they feed the soul. When writers make us shake our heads with the exactness of their prose and their truths, and even make us laugh about ourselves or life, our buoyancy is restored. We are given a short dancing with, or at least clapping along with, the absurdity of life, instead of being squashed by it over and over again. It's like singing on a boat during a terrible storm at sea. You can't stop the raging storm, but singing can change the hearts and spirits of the people who are together on that ship"

Brain Pickings. http://bit.ly/S6uLfQ

An Ode

You know who you are. 

You don’t have to be picked out.

We've had our differences. We’ve had our days when we've not spoken to each other. We've bitched.  We've gone for months without meeting. We let men come between us. We let stories come between us. We've scowled and sulked and overreacted.

But we drink. Better than fishes, we drink. Sometimes, we drink more than we talk. Other times, we drink in order to talk. We’re butch like that.

And we may never be up to speed about the all the things that bother us; our jobs, the stress of making it on your own, that boy you’re trying so hard to get over but can’t, that shoot-me-in-the-head-now marriage conversation with the parents, an existential crisis, life! Some of us get to know sooner than the others, some of us sense it and everybody understands.

And through it all, you’re there. In between the chottas and the badas and the joint. The cheap whiskey, the good Old Monk the gallons and gallons of beer; you’re there. A phone call or a What's app message away.

By some weird telepathy we understand. We provide a window, a breath of fresh… rather some booze breath but a renewed one nonetheless. The escape, into a world where everything is sorted, even if it’s only for a few hours.

For our kind that lives weekend to weekend, Janta to Carters, Brass Monkey to Kohinoor, Deepak’s to Juhu Beach - You help pause the madness, with a little help from the high.
Even if we don’t know about it.

Cheers! 

Whirrrr

If you look inside my head right now, or any other time for that matter, you'll see hundreds of thousands of tiny little machines with gears and levers and pistons chugh, chugh, chugging away with little gasps of steam coming out the little chimneys and being swallowed back up to prevent any wastage and together they resemble an air conditioning unit that provides you with an agreeable atmosphere to be in except when its late at night and you can't sleep and all you can hear is its constant whirrrrrrrr  and if you look closely you'll see that they're all moving at the fastest possible speed and if the pistons jumped any faster they'd jump right out my head and knock out some important screws with it.

So this thing has no start. There is no beginning. Its something that you experience in passing… like a huge passenger train with a big red engine that swooshes past the platform you’re on and it looks so cool and the breeze feels so great and your shaken for a bit but your hair will never be the same again.

Some things aren’t planned. Sometimes you just get lucky. And each time, we’re too naïve to realize it. We go through life trying to find logic in all that happens. Which were the words that bowled me over? Were there that many? Do those hands feel the same to everyone or is there really a story behind why it fits perfectly on the small of your back. The silly arguments, the laughter. Oh the laughter! More than enough to make lines on our faces in a few years. Random banter takes over your mind.

And then logic begins to evade you. Like a stupid drunk leprechaun… grinning yellow teeth each time and poof! So you decide to be brave. To butch up and do it. To jump, into something you have celestially no idea how it’d turn out… just to see how it would. The journey. The energy. The high. You want to be brave. You want to trust your heart, blindly. You want to feel the most honest, untainted, anti-normal feeling there is.  And then, you hope he does too.

We’re in a constant state of want. A constant state of need. We’re again too naïve to admit that we constantly need to belong. To belong to this phenomenon that’s greater that yourself. To share that high with someone who’s feeling it himself.

So you do it. You make that mark. You place that bet. You lay out you cards. And then, reality checks in.

* Scramble  *

You’ll do fine. We’re all ok. Logic, my best friend, is always one deduction away. You’re brave, you deduce, you drown out. That train’s left.

The moments passed. Arresting finality stares you in the face. But, your heart’s still racing…

Note to self: Happy Anniversary

She gently turned the key and pushed, trying not to make a sound, not to wake the neighbours.

Work was crazy that day. Three meetings, apart from the everyday truckload of shit she handled.

It was too late to switch on any lights. Besides, she knew her way around her house.

She walked straight to the digital clock that was flashing 1.38am and pushed a button. Time disappeared and a playlist showed up…she pushed two more buttons and Janis Joplin’s Summertime started to play.

Like clockwork, she went to the bar, poured herself some JD. That sound somehow playing with the sound of the guitar in the background. One desperate sip, she closed her eyes, half winced and swallowed.

Alcohol cleanses away the ruins of the day.

She walked to the middle of the room, took off her shoes, one heel at a time and took another sip when he woke up.

“What time is it?” he said, groping for a switch.

“Shh shh shh. Don’t.” She stretched out her hand in his direction. “Dance with me” she whispered. Walking up to her, he took her hand, made her do a little twirl, and pulled her close by the waist… jack between them.

*N-nothing’s gonna harm you now*

One year ago today, they danced to this song in front of their families.

He moved his hand to her hair, untied it. As her hair fell down to her shoulders and to the small of her back, the air around them smelled of fruity, herbal tea and cigarette smoke. She downed the whiskey and asked him to pour her another.

“Get me ice with it please” she said as he looked around for a glass for himself.

“You know, I had a meeting your side of town today.”

“Yeah”, he called out from the kitchen. “You should’ve called me. We could’ve done lunch”.

“It was last minute. But I did lunch. At Gianni’s. You been there?”

He’s waking up from what seems like a dream. His entire body’s in pain, his back damp and BB King’s playing softly on the stereo. ‘We did it on the floor again’, he thinks to himself.

He turns his head, still in pain, and he sees her. ‘Wow. She’s here. She didn’t run off to hog the bed’, he thinks. ‘Wait’.

She’s sitting on one of the dining table chairs turned backside front, looking down at him. She lights a cigarette. In that 3 second flicker of light, she looks beautiful - her hair, her lips, her red fingertips.

And click. Its gone.

“You didn’t get to hear about the rest of my day” she says, picking up her glass from the floor, taking a sip.

“I bumped into Jackie today”, she’s says, behind a cloud of smoke.

He realizes he’s still in his pajamas. ‘So did we do it?’ he thinks.

“You know, that friend of mine from college.”

The dampness is spreading.

“She said you work in the same building. And sometimes the two of you have lunch together at an Italian restaurant down the street.”

The dampness now reaches his feet.

“Oh, and you know, she had on a beautiful pair of earrings.” She takes a large sip. “ Just like the ones I lost.”

He realizes that the pain is originating from his side.

“Oh and guess what.” She lifts the cigarette dangling from her fingers to her lips,takes a long drag and exhales a large cone of smoke. 

“I finally found daddy’s gun today.”

He’s finding it hard to breathe now. Every attempt to inhale makes his body writhe in pain.

She finishes her last sip.

“Here, I’ll show you. Happy Anniversary, baby."

Note to self: Pick up a bottle of Jack at the dutyfree

Whiskey & the Bluez

You bring the whiskey,

And I'll bring the blues;

And we'll sit by the ocean,

Coz we ain't got nothin' to lose.

You play that special tune,

And I'll sing our silly song,

And we'll make music together

All evening, all night; for however long.

We'll laugh and sing and round up a crowd;

All the poets and lovers and Blusmen we find,

We'll watch the moonlight play with our shadows

While the whiskey plays with our minds.

Yeah, laugh and sing,

We'll act like nothings the matter.

We'll dance and sing,

Until no one knows any better.

We'll put on a show,

We'll pretend its all OK.

We'll act like I don't love you;

We've always got Whiskey & the Blues to blame.

In Retrospect

I gave you my heart,

You took my breath away.

You clawed your way into my head,

You've taken all my thoughts away.

So this is what it feels like...

To be on the other side,

To breathe at another's command,

To ache every time she smiles,

To swallow any pride you have left,

To surrender and let down your guard.

To take a breathe I have to relearn,

Coz if its too deep; my heart wrenches

And one too short would risk losing you

If this is love and this is what I ran from,

If this is what the poets feel,

Each day... How they carried on.

Then I was a fool for trying to run,

And for staying, maybe a greater fool.

But to discover,

A reason to breathe

A reason to ache

A reason to feel...

I'd ever be the poetic fool

Who found a reason for life.

Sunshine

Something to look for

He's a reason to wake up

They dont have much in common

They may not be alike

He might not even love her....

But, he's that ray of light

The one that nudges Dark

Lifting her velvetin shroud

Exposed and naked, she's caught by surprise

That secret beauty

But he kissed her, caressed her,

Till she knows its gonna be alright

And they share this secret

Her nakedness, his caress

Her beauty, his power.

People say they're worlds apart

Dark and Light

Day and Night

Yet body and soul,

He could continue without her,

Without him, she'd have no reason to wake up

My 'Piper'

He whispered. i stirred.

He spoke. i blinked.

He sang... and He woke me up

He woke me up from static.

This child shall sleep no more.

He called me by my name

A name that only he knows.

And everytime He calls me

Everytime He sings,

Everytime his voice enters me

More of Him remains...

To take over every part of me

Entranced, Entrapped, Enslaved.

Like an unborn baby to its mother

Like a devdasi to her god

Of this world i would'nt want much

Of this life i'd want nothing

If only He'd do me the honor

Of singing his sweet song

i'd hang on to every note

Quiet like the children of Hamelin

Even if it'd bring me to repose

Better with Time

You jibe and you snicker
You punish those who dont bother,
You fake concern and You fake pity
You patronize all those (un)witting.

We pretend, We make believe.
We overlook, We make ourselves believe
What is acceptable and what is not
Are we that respectable or are we not?

To throw in the towel, or stick out your chin
Most people forget, even the strong have feelings

But,
We age
We wisen up
We learn what to say
We learn how to play
We dust ourselves off
and We hope,
It gets better with time

Forsaken....

Its 0045hrs over 48 hours later and the ordeal is not over. That sickness in my stomach still remains, the little lump in my throat still persists and I feel like its almost not right to smile.

Images of the floor at Leopold's covered in blood, bullet holes in the walls at Cama hospital, speeding hijacked cop cars firing indiscriminately at people at the Metro Junction... make me feel like i got punched in the gut... still.

And wat makes it worse is the morbid reality that this will indeed happen again coz noone will do enough to ever stop it. We have to all condition ourselves to get used to these feelings in our stomachs and throats. We all have to live with the fact that when we go out for a drink tomorrow, it might just be our last. Or a nice evening walk by Gateway, admiring the sunset will also include the now unsurprising sight of the 'occasional' jihaadi docking right in front of you. Everytime you walk from Xaviers towards Metro, or everytime ur crossing that junction you keep looking over your shoulder for the crazed gunman, so you can duck, or so you can move out of his way coz he's speeding. We'll have to wear bullet proof vest when we go to railway stations. We'll also have 2 get use 2 the factthat the vests will protect us the same way it protected Hemant Kakare, Vijay Salaskar and Ashok Kamte. We'd have to check for traces of RDX in our Chicken Tikka Roll the next time we eat at Bade Miyan's. Check the toilets, for terrorists or explosives or terrorists with grenades, at the Taj and the Oberoi's whenever we go there to pee...

Coz at the end of the day, that is wat the so called Spirit of Mumbai is goin to turn into.Coz nobody gives a fuck about anything until the Parliament is attacked, coz all those fuckers were garunteed a seat for 5 yrs, and by God they will have it for 5 Yrs. They wud give a fuck if elections were close and they wanted to tell the public what a shoddy job of national security the present govt is doing n that one shud vote for them coz they are better and have the decency to show up at the site of the chaos while the rescue operations are still going on. Their concern for maiking an example of bad governance by the opposition will obviously be very benificial to the otherwise ignorant people.

I salute the UPA government and its opposition for caring to be with us in this time of strife. What would we all do without them?

I hope...that Governments everywhere will take example from ours. The world would most definately be a better place.

HAPPINESS

Have direction and something to do for atleast the next 5 yrs.

Am a Xavierite again.

Out of the house for a major part of the day.

Orange chappals, nice ass Levi's jeans.

Bright yellow t-shirt, Red windsheater.

Pouring rain.

Long empty road,dimly lit by yellow street lights.

Splashing in puddles.

Bob Sinclair's World hold on blaring in my ears.

The loss of a loved one

There's a girl I know,

Who's mama's no more

Wasn't a good friend of her's

But I still shed some tears.

The loss of a loved one,An anchor for your heart

It kept u afloat as long as remember

And when this anchor's broken, or crumbling in the dark

You drift away and your alone at sea

Where Time's a measure of our memories.

Only these we have when its time to leave.

For every memory; we shed a tear,

Brave a smile, We've faced our fear.

With every tear; we try to fight,

To tame the lump with all our might.

Throat all blocked and unable to breathe

We choke back on our memories.

And so i pray, selfishly and cowardly;

Please let me be the first to die,

Before all the people that matter to me,

So I wont have to mourn them, so I wont have to cry.

PEER PRESSURE.... (i jus had to write one..jus Had to)

And so I've come to realise,
Life will never be the same.
That 3 yr chunk of paradise
Only in memories, will it remain.

I guess I was in denial
Coz these thoughts ar far too late..
With my mind now directionless and idle
It comes as a slap on my face.

My cheek stings from the impact
As emboldened images flicker in the dark
Their bodies, none of it ever coming back,
But their souls, forever leave their mark.

No more royally challenged physics theories,
Tho' its spirit still levitates with us.
No more Robinson in the arches,
The Onion Rings we called us?!!

Art was dark in the Manson Phase
With pinkies swept up in waves of black
N goths were sighted at some place
While in epic floods, they laughed their way back.

New twists in old monks
And breakin UVs while jiving on stage
Kalbadevi PGs, haven for the drunks
Curly hair was quite the rage!

Flings that flung with a blink of an eye
With fantasies fuelled along the way
To hold up fans, how hard we tried....
And shreik when "HGC's" passed by our way.

Hearing lost and earing found,
Vada Paos in tomato soup,
LP refreshers all year round,
Oh, that beautiful...beautiful potato soup.

I lived a lifetime in those years
And struck gold, six times over
Enough to last my worldy years
With plenty left over for forever.

Now the daydream's cut short
As flickers grow to light
My cheek's red as i recover from the shock
While Reality switches to overdrive.

Excerpts from the Audible Ramblings of a 9 - 5er

Does 100bpms, distortion and screaming men scare you; Does my calm as death composure scare you? bitch u think you can push me; Touch me again and ill have my mp3s and bpms kill you!!!

I told you not to do that, but noooo... You wouldn't listen to me, why would anyone listen to me. Im jus the voice in ur head!

lunch in 5 min..yey! wonder wats for desert?...fuck! papaya fruit salad... lunch in 4 mins.. yey! wait, you took a whole minute to think?!

As a matter of fact, i am hairy and im gonna find me a hairy man and we'll have ourselves werewolf babies and our family activity will be fortnightly where we run thru the streets howling at the moon!!! AaooOOOoooo..

Ahh.. Mrs. Nomita; She spoke such beautiful effortless hindi. You'd love to jus sit n listen to her speak. I was awful wid hindi but still..she spoke so beautifully; like she'd open her mouth and the words would flow out beautifully... and... effortlessly much like drunken binge vomit.