My Literary Indulgences...

The day is just like any other. He wakes up begrudgingly, hammers his alarm shut and squints against the bright screen of his cellphone. I recognize the sound of a Facebook notification. I don’t even have to guess what it says. “You have memories to look back on”. It’s been a year today since his last solo adventure trip. For me, it marks a year since I was last used. And while I’m reflecting on these thoughts, I see his eyes open wide awake, as he turns to look at his photo wall. So many adventures. So many experiences. All a thing of past now. I can see the thirst in him, repressed day in, day out; but in moments like these, it rises up and chokes him, and tears well in his eyes. He wants to go, but where his heart bursts with desire, it runs empty on will. One Year Ago It’s a bright sunny day, and the mountains, daunting as ever but for once, seem inviting. The Sherpas say that the mountain gods have blessed their trek. He’s not religious or superstitious but he still offers his th...

It's true what they say - human life is so feeble, fragile; an infinitesimal blip in the cosmic graph of things. Trust me, as I have felt countless of such blips fade away. Man's pursuit for creating a legacy then makes sense to me, leaving a mark in this otherwise incomprehensible entanglement that is our universe. However, the mistakes some manage to commit, even in this diminutive wisp of existence, is bemusing, and at times disheartening. Disheartening - wry sentiment coming from me. That day they wheeled in one of those bemusing ones, though I wouldn't come to that judgement until much later. Hit and run victim, I overheard, as the ER doctor took particulars from the girl who had brought him in. Boy, was he in bad shape! His entire body was run down, crushed and the blood! - lots on the sheets, the floor, the girl, but none in him. As they hooked me up to him, I could feel his very life force ebbing away. As per my programming, I gave a shout out to an...

It's fascinating how music often reminds one of someone; the harmonies, notes, tremors, highs and lows and what not. Diving deep, personalities then seem divine orchestrations where the ensemble consists of a wide range of instruments - grand pianos, guitars, violins, drums et al. This, is an interpretation of one special person in the said musical light. It began on a gentle note, as one produced by a soft touch on the xylophone. Her first words fell with a delicate elegance on my ears. However, one could not possibly confuse this with frailty as the notes (thoughts) were clear, coherent and holding. Pondering more over how her thoughts shape up, I heard the latent rhythm, as base notes on a piano. Over the next conversations of childhood memories, I detected a beautiful melancholy at times, as the strumming violin which adds just the right amount of dolefulness, giving depth to the whole. Weeks had passed, listening to these notes but the beats were still as those prod...

Hey there! What’s with these sunken eyes? Why the tousled hair and this shabby guise? What ails you dear friend, I cannot surmise! Pray speak your heart, and spare me the lies! Escaping from my demons, I can only go so far! Pangs of emptiness, my sleep relentlessly mar! For in these nights, thick, choking, black hot tar, I wait for my Angel, who calls me at Devil’s Hour.

Look around, and you'd see mulishness, And recalcitrance, in droves; alas unfortunate! Yet in this age of the glorified "headstrong", How fortunate to find, an enduring, endearing obstinate! It's not the short lived torrent that carves, But the slow, patient, unyielding water that cuts. Turbulent, putting it mildly, she might appear, But her dogged persistence, is what drives her guts. It's not the momentary inferno that transforms, But the unwavering, growing fire that revolutionizes. Her giggling, jocular, jovial self may have you fooled, But I have gazed into the flames that hide behind this guise. Her few moments of misguided willfulness, Beg the question - I am crazy. What do you see in me? I see a pure soul, an undeterred fighter; A whole lot of passion, lacking in, and endearing to me.

Crafted glistening white like fresh snow, Unblemished, seamless, symmetrical; I was whole. 'Til catastrophe fell; assaulted and damaged My body, but for all its vehemence, could not hurt my soul. Shaken, and broken, I picked up the pieces; This carcass, an assemblage of remnants, wouldn't hold. 'Tis then when my soul, a force of sheer will, Conjured mortar from stardust, and bound my body in gold. From hideous perfection, to glorious imperfection, I hurt, learned, and built myself anew; only to be broken again. 'C'est la vie' I thought, and put my spirit to work. This time, paid its weight in platinum as bind, was my pain. Now I wait, for the storm bells to toll again. For ring loud and proud they will, 'tis providence. Let them come I say, for cataclysms will wreak carnage. To my unshakable soul, my rebirth in stardust will be evidence.

So, it’s the weekend again, and here I am with a new post. However this time, it’s not going to be eloquent poetry, or an absorbing story. It’s going to be an attempt at a very charming, a very personal narrative about this absolutely adorable little girl, who’s both my Nemo and Dory (for those of you who got the Finding Nemo reference from the title). So let’s get started from the top! Born and brought up in a small town, experiencing cities only as a tourist or as an audience at the theatres, I had an inferiority complex when it came to city folk. So in college when our paths crossed for the first time, I could just tell that she was a city girl. Soon enough my doubts were confirmed as I came to know she’s from Mumbai! No wonder she chatted incessantly in English! And yes, laugh though you may, it’s still kind of a big deal (a snobbish deal actually) if you converse fluently and exclusively in English, back where I come from! So there I was, introvert, unsocial at best, overtly...

The sky was a pastel blue, as he woke up to a diffused sunrise. Out on the street, muted glows from the ovens fought to wrestle it away from the clutches of a charcoal night. Another day began in an anemic existence, where he'd trudge on to the factory and take over the wax molding from the night shifters. White hot wax in, cold white candle out. Wax in, candle out. In, out. And so the day would fade away. Come sundown, the pallid soul would find itself in the shop adjoined, selling the produce. Then at twilight, he'd close shop, drop the keys into the fair, pudgy hands of his bourgeoisie master and slink back to his dreary quarters for the night. But before you shower him with your pity, know this that he was at peace with this existence and liked it just so – bleached. In fact, he abhorred the opulent life, bursting at seams with pageantry of colors, which was everyone's pursuit. Then came an evening, when the onslaught of night was decimating the wee twilight, a da...

They say a shadow is silent. Not anymore. But what might a shadow have to say? I have a story. A boy, a girl and lights. The boy I speak of, is the one to whom I’m coupled. Neither bound, nor belong, and certainly not to follow. The sense of entitlement of humans amuses me. No, I have accompanied him all his life; watched him terrified by me when he was a babe, played with him in his curious years, saw him study me rationally with a tool they call science, and smiled at him when he came to admire me aesthetically. Shadows are destined to be spectators, and so I've watched him, in all lights. What shadows are not allowed to have, are feelings, which I’ll never know when and how, took root inside me. The most beautiful love stories are those, where love is requited in a way you could never imagine. This story begins in a classroom. A place brimming with light; of the fiery sun in the firmament, of the countless contraptions humans call “smartphone”, of the fixtu...

Blow up life to smithereens, Catch ye, the absolute tiniest bits! A trifecta recurs, which means, Life is but thoughts, words and deeds! Thoughts, a raging maelstrom, Untamed ere thy arrival, O Teacher! Calm and still thou did the storm, Brought clarity, purity, insights deeper! Words, an unintelligible heap, Oft misspoke, miswrote my sentiments! Taught me thou, ornate is not deep, Simplicity, aptness are how words need be spent! Deeds, confused and misguided, Oft blew up the peace of  my mind apart! Armed me thou with maturity which lead, To actions wont of a gentleman good, kind, smart! Thoughts, Words and Deeds, Why, life, you gave a student of thine! Remember me, thou, is all I plead, As I remember thou, in thoughts, words and deeds mine! 

Preordained to meet, and work together; yet they did not speak, nor break the ice. Though what happened next, is lore-worthy. Patience! And soon you’ll find here nether. Paper planes, funny things those, flying away. They did too! Apart, after the corporate milieu. But like a plane which swings around in a gust of wind, So did their camaraderie, with providence’s way. Dear xxxxxx, Hey! I just heard the news! So you’ll be coming back here after all! If ever there was an example of someone fighting back! Our loss will be their gain. Congratulations! Looking forward to seeing you!   Dear yyyyyy, Thank you! Yeah, funny how life turns out! It’ll be fun to be back with my friends, although now we’ll be working apart. And I’ll be a little lonely in the new environment. But hey, we’ll all be there. Sweet nothings, my friends! Do you see? Seemingly inconsequential words to one. But oh the foundations they laid! Firm, deep, requisite for a lot of things to be. ...

What measure does man have of love? Be they sighs, sonnets, tears or lore? I know no standard for an unending passion! Come! Behold a love that is forevermore. They say nothing is as fertile as a man’s mind Where imaginativeness breeds sheer marvels. And so I thought until I laid eyes on that dame. For she made all my creations, a rant, drivel. Whatever I wrote or said of beauty, not just I But all the bards, artistes and lovers combined, Pales, understates, outright loses its sheen, For the lass that lives in my heart and mind. What of spring flowers, or summer morns? Or autumn leaves, or the wintery snow? They are but flickering flames to my sun! To my great love, my lady, let this be known. And what of angels, and heaven’s manna? Or the sights and sounds and aromas divine? I challenge thee, to find a phenomenon! More rewarding, redeeming, liberating than mine. Sin not, to think this beauty is skin deep! For I most earnestly, and solemnly avow! ...

“I'm not some helpless girl that you need to go out of your way to make my life easier.” “OK. Duly noted.” “Good. Now you're staying up late with me. I've to put in 2k words before morning and I haven't even begun yet.” “But…” “Shut up. Go watch a movie and let me write. I'll call you when I'm done.” Sigh. It’s amusing to be friends with a feminist. Or to be politically correct as my friend would want, it’s amusing to be this feminist’s friend. Because it’s a live one woman show of ebony and ivory. A humorous display of yin and yang. Or simply put, a paradox. And this is about all the reasons why. My camaraderie with her began during an internship. A bunch of young kids, from a college with too many restrictions, we were thrown together into the corporate world and suddenly were being treated like sensible adults! We were housed in the same hotel, with no chaperons. We tasted freedom like we never had before. And in this happy a...