September 14, 2012

Story Of A Boy

He went to school,
And wore green socks,
And played in the rains,
Chasing grasshoppers,
Crying for candies,
And his parents loved him,
And they loved each other,
(Kissed each other everyday),
And his brother loved him,
And his new bike,
And his teachers,
Maybe even they loved him,
And he loved the music from
The bagpipes in the mornings,
And Crickets in the evenings,
And his mother sang him
To sleep, every night,
So there he was, with his
Toys, and Peace, and Love
And Hope.

And then he grew up,
He still went to school,
And he wore blue trousers,
And he played in the rains,
Chasing the schoolgirls,
Crying for a cigarette,
And his parents loved him,
Tho' they knew not,
Of the cigarettes,
(And they no longer kissed
Each other everyday),
His brother had, the past year,
Crashed his car, and died.
And the schoolgirls loved him,
The teachers just seemed tired.
But he still loved the bagpipes,
But even more now, the guitar,
Which he was learning to
Play, and his mother,
Didn't sing to him each night,
Only she cried a lot,
So he hoped to make her happy,
And become a doctor,
So he had lost his toys
But he had his Love, and his Hope,
But a little less Peace.

And then he went to College,
Studying History,
(MedSchool was tough to crack)
Studying about Tea Parties in
Boston, and about Mandela
And Gandhi, about Peace
And Love, and War(s)
And he wore skinny jeans,
He still loved the rains,
Although barely ever did he
Play when it did rain,
And over the telephone,
His father did say he loved him,
And his mother, well, she 
Couldn't really speak,
And they never kissed anymore,
Because she was there no more,
The professors had no time,
To love their students,
But he loved his guitar,
And he played it in the evenings,
And he loved the girl,
Who would play the violin,
Who he had met first,
In the Friday music lesson,
And he loved the weed,
And the psychedelia,
And he loved to kiss her
Under the star-lit sky,
So there was a lot less
Love, a lot less Hope,
And certainly a lot less Peace.

And then the next winter,
He wore black cardigans
To college, Black matching the
Darkness in his mind,
And the dark and unusual
Rains of December,
And his father rarely called him
To say he loved him,
So he cried a lot, because
There was no Love to be found,
Neither was there any Peace,
There were drugs,
Lots of hallucinogens,
And there was the Darkness,
Looming large over the corridors
And the stairways,
Loneliness lining every corner,
And every tree, and every
Alley and Hallway,
Ever since he had
Caught sight of her with
 The other boy.
So there were music lessons
On Fridays, tho he never went.
There were still Crickets
In the Evenings, tho no more 
Love, or Hope, or Peace.

And then graduation,
Out of college, which he might
Have attended, but now he
Wore blue long-ish robes,
As did all the other
Inmates at the rehabiliation.
She had come by once,
With chocolates in her purse,
And pity in her eyes,
Which he might have noticed,
If he wasn't trying to bite
His fingers off his hands.
His father would have come too,
But he had had a stroke,
And was now paralyzed,
And restricted to bed, and
A world of bedsores, and
Imminent Death,
So now no one loved him,
And he loved no one,
Not History, neither medicine,
And sometimes,
He would try to sing
Himself to sleep, but
All he could manage to do
Was cry a few more 
Drops of the toxic tears,
And where was the Love?
And where was the Hope?
And where was the Peace?
Now all of those things,
Were silver-lined memories,
Of the songs his mother sang
To him, when he went to school
And wore green socks.. 

July 16, 2012

Of Farewells and Monkemons

Well, it is nothing new for me, really. Change town, change school, change friends, change everything. And just when the new structure stabilizes forming a roof above my head, the bricks near the base are pulled out only to have me witness the complete crumbling and falling apart of that which had begun to feel like home to me. Move on, this chapter is over, find a new home, write a new chapter, life goes on.

This is the end of another chapter. Once again, it is all too difficult to give up, and even the thought in itself is haunting. Everything is happening at such a pace, that the inevitability of all these changes and the irreversibility of the consequences is hardly sinking in now. The support system around me has begun to give way, brick by brick, and I must prepare myself for yet another fall.

You guys know for me you guys exist  in every little by-lane, every dingy nukkad, every shopping mall, every movie theatre, every restaurant, every festival, every experience in this city. And to survive the city, without you all, is going to be *some* task.

I don't know how to round this off. You all know who you are. I am selfish. And I'm not willing to let go. I will miss you all. :( 

May 21, 2012

Ten Things I Love About You

I love how you gently tap one of your feet on its side while sleeping.
And sometimes, while trying to fall asleep.
I love how you, in a bus, keep your phone inside your bag for safekeeping,
Yet your wallet, out of your pocket, does peep.

I love how you, without discernment, nibble on every piece of midnight junk,
That inside your ever-dismaying refrigerator, you find.
I love how you emote out every single spoken word that forms a song,
While singing it out, out of tune, yet I want to hit ‘rewind’.

I love that childlike innocence in your huge eyes, even more so when
They widen, at the prospect of a new mischief,
I love it when you hug me tight, when the darkness around the edges
Of your bed is still lighter(in shade) than your inner grief.

I love how long your hair grows, how absolutely dense, cascading down
The contours of your face, briefly shading your eyes.
I love the lost look on your face, when you dream of the elusive love,
When it rains new vigor and new ecstasy from the skies.

I love how gentle and meek and kind and well-behaved and concerned
You are about your friends, of who you have a lot.
But above all, I love how much you love me above them all,
Know that I too, love you timeless, You’re my sole immortal thought.

February 9, 2012


Somebody residing on the International Date Line has visited my blog.

My dead blog seriously just became cooler.

Yo! Phoren Guy. Gracias!

February 1, 2012


Here I am, still sitting alone, still staring at the empty pages, reading between the non-existent lines trying to make sense of all of this, this entire life. Tried to get everything right, didn't I? But nothing, nothing ever works out, nothing ever adds up.

I'm just so tired of everything slipping out of my fingers every time. Of having to check myself whether I made a mistake or not. Whether I'm making everyone feel good or not. Not for once does anyone ever stop to ask me whether I am doing okay or not. Whether I am comfortable or happy. Never.

I'm just tired of putting up with so much of everyone's garbage for the moment. Maybe it is time to let go, once and for all. For too long have I refused to feel like the victim, the absolute victim. But the darkness around the edges of the bed suggests maybe, just maybe I really am one.
[And yes, there's a reason why this is not up on the secret blog].

Oh, MoodCourtesy:

January 26, 2012

Love Ballad to Oneself - Demise, Rebirth And Everything Encased Within

Probably, you see, a distant poetry,
Coming to life,
Approaching you,
And then passing by,
Leaving your peace
With its lyrical promiscuity.

In the grays of the sky,
And the cracks lining the glass
On the window-panes,
You see how
You are, and have always been.

For you expected an ode
To be sung for you,
You expected the winds
To carry away your loneliness
And bring home to you,
A permanent sense
Of belonging.
You expected remembrance,
And you expected warmth.
But the skies are gray,
The glass is cracked,
And life is cold.

Colder than their eyes,
When they looked away.
Colder than the January
That renders you older,
Every time.
Renders you even closer
To the demise of hope.


I speak of you,
And sing for you,
For I want you to know,
You are a part of me,
And I am a part of you.
This, a tale of rebirth,
This, a tale of Life, Death, And Everything
In Between.
There has been a summer, and a winter
Contained within Then and Now.
And as we inch towards another summer,
I know you secretly wonder,
Why I don’t smile anymore.

Everyday since Then,
Everyday since you left,
I have wished for the smile to return.
I have tried.
I have prayed.
But the erosion of my smile,
That your departure caused,
Now seems permanent.

Yes, Now, I am happier.
My smile is gone, but I am saner.
I wish You could live
This sanity too.
I wish You could smile
My smile,
And yours,
In the reassuring glow
Of my happiness.