Friday, November 28, 2008

KILL THOSE BLOODY TERRORISTS - Part 2

The masses are bored.
So when a stressed out, tired, focused, somewhere scared NSG is carrying out crucial operations to rescue hostages and dispatch the terrorists to hell, they come out for an evening walk for a dose of entertainment. That way, atleast they're saving electricity by giving their sobbing soaps a sacrificial miss for a night. They gather and contribute to the confusion and chaos that only benefits the heartless terrorists.

I've always known that the masses are incapable of rational thought. But this is outrageous!
Get outta the way you fools! Go home! Leave us alone to do our work in peace! Go, get your fun at the theatres! Dull bodies with dull minds and even duller lives, out for some action.

Heard from someone that yesterday a curious couple, peeping out of a window near Nariman House were shot dead by terrorists. A perfect example of how 'curiosity killed the cat'! Yet, the common man will not learn. And when the bullet goes through his head, his peers will for eternity blame the commandos for their carelessness and inefficiency.

You utter idiots! Leave those poor men alone! Cowards can only watch from a distance and laugh. Go home, maybe your wives and husbands will give you some action tonight!

KILL THE BLOODY TERRORISTS - Part 1

Everyone's been glued to news channels for the last two days. It is very disturbing, the biggest crisis they say, since 911. Terrorists shooting innocent people randomly and blowing up stunning heritage buildings that make Bombay what it is. Are these men utter idiots or what??? Who gave them the gun in their hands and ask them to go fight for Islam? Is this about Islam anymore? And why do these dimwits presume themselves to be representatives of the whole Islamic world, out there to avenge (imaginary) ill-treatment meted out to Muslims??? And WHO are these Muslims they are warring for? The same ones they're shooting at indiscriminatingly? The world needs to stand up and applaud these skunks for proving that one can still live while using 0% of their brain power. They have surpassed all limits of tolerance and purpose.

In this hour, we need a powerful and prominent Muslim leader to stand up and yell out that THEY are NOT part of this! That they do NOT seek terrorist help for anything and that they have been living happily and peacefully in a country which is as much theirs as anybody else's. He needs to direct his words at the terrorist world and tell them that his people have a heart and a perfectly functioning mind, which does not justify murder at any cost. This leader needs to voice the feelings of a million Indian Muslims who have been sitting before their TV sets, united in their solidarity and grief for those affected by this frightening tragedy. This leader needs to stand up and speak now! I just pray he's out there somewhere.

Saturday, November 22, 2008

Coins

Coins fell from the left pocket of the upturned, coffee brown pyjamas. They ran in all directions to secure their own spots on the icy floor. Maybe they like the cold which easily seeps into their atoms and makes them like itself. A pleasant change from the warmth of the coffee brown pyjama pocket. Each coin made a different sound, a unique voice, and startled me. Then ensued the childish game of hide and seek. They are naughty, these coins. They roll away to dark corners, under mahogany tables and book shelves, beds and cushioned chairs. They demand that you bend your proud head, kneel before them on the freezing ground and lend your eyes in keen service. Fingers touch the coldness, impatient to feel the warm coins before they are infected with icyness. Got them! One by one I draw them into my curled palm with shivering fingertips, searching to ensure I got all. And one by one, they are forced through the pierced cap of the plastic Sil jam container which banked my treasure 11 years ago. As I hear them slap their new neighbours, they wail; disappointed to have been found, arrested and imprisoned, yet again.

Hot Water

You touch me with a thousand fingers, I sigh,
Desperate worry fast begins to die,
Vapour sails through many a jammed pore,
Far better than every before.

Addicted I am to you,
Like heated morning dew,
You make unfettered love to me,
No one guessed, so secretly.

You kiss my hair and change its shape,
So toxic but who wants escape?
Eyes drawn shut all the while,
Heavy lids, orgasmic smile.

Humbly surrendered to the overpowering element,
Willingly lost in this steamy covenant,
What plays behind closed door,
I promise you, no one will know.

Tuesday, September 16, 2008

Happy Birthday to me

I just didn’t feel it. Birthday came, birthday went. No bang, boom, blast in my heart. This is a first. Back in school, two days before my birthday it was difficult for my teacher to keep me still in my seat, for my mother to retain my attention during homework time and for me to focus on games. Closer than that, even last year, I felt it.
This year I am numb. Numbed by age? Numbed by the fact that my life has so recently undergone a massive change? Numbed by the lack of feeling within, a proud outcome of broken bonds? I search but I’m not getting lucky. “What’s up?” I ask myself. My mum understood exactly what I meant when I confided in her, careful to not let her feel that she is to blame. She instantly went on this guilt trip, “I know beta, maybe I haven’t done enough to make it fun for you.” No ma!! Nobody is responsible for this feeling that has hopped beside me for 23 years before and during my big day. It’s something very internal and involuntary. And she knew. Wow!

Am I becoming into one of those cynical, prosaic, moaning grown ups who crib about birthdays and feel no joy in celebrating one more year of life gone by? No! No! No! Not that! I won’t be able to take the dulling of my character. I’ll hate myself then. What happened to the defender of childlike, instinctive, happy, lollipop/ice cream- loving behaviour? Where’s that child who was wont to hop about excitedly when her birthday approached and couldn’t stop grinning the whole day? Where’s the fun? Where will I find it again?

I feel like my life is grey. Reasons, I don’t want to think about. Just a huge blob of grey paint plopped on my canvas and rubbed, smeared, stroked, spread in all directions. It’s not even pretty like an exciting and hopeful overcast sky. It’s an industrial grey, like in Charles Dickens’s Hard Times. Maybe I’m a character from it, born in the future to represent that dullness never ends.

There was a cake, friends, presents, phone calls, fabulous food, love, wishes and prayers. But something was absent. Perhaps it was me.

Going Away – 2

Tore away from those magnetic arms,
More soothing than all the balms,
Stuffed my little world in pouches and bags,
Picked my toothbrush, photographs and tags.

Sad eyes watch me as I run to gather,
Signs of me which they’d rather,
Keep now under our leaking roof,
Sorry for those days of acting aloof.

Tough to work with a heavy heart,
In spite of a busy mind quick as a dart,
Gobbling up the memories of all that was familiar,
Music, guitars, jamun tree, shoe rack and beer.

The coconut tree, my unfailing friend,
Tall and comforting till the end,
The parapet wall that held my weight,
While lazy Sunday lunches in a steel plate.

My “football field” where I danced and laughed,
Giving way to beliefs that I was daft,
The orange wall, the wall of art,
The images of all back home I’ll cart.

The hands that shirked now gloomily hold me,
The eyes that were casual moistly behold me,
The times our laughter touched the ceiling,
Our words reverberate with shaky feeling.

Goodybye my friends, I have to go now,
Dragging my heart away with a straight face somehow,
These times will never return that’s for sure,
But when I do, please open the door.


Wednesday, September 03, 2008

Going Away

The night was very silent. So was the day.
I laughed a lot, forgetting that I'm going away.
I smiled when the sun shone and my locks fell down.
Did I know that later tears would escape with a frown?
To hell with poetry and rhymne!!
I know you wanted me to cry!
Which is why you stabbed me and left me to die.
A gradual death, the taste of which you can taste.
Delicious it must be as you lick in haste.
Go away! All you masked serpents!
I know who you are, what you are!
Been hurt enough. No more.
Go!

Monday, August 11, 2008

Football in the Rain

Yes. I'm trying to learn the game.
And its thrilling!
Especially when its with the opposite sex. It's always been more fun playing with boys. Perhaps because they're better at it in most cases, are stronger and don't cry about falling and bruising their knees or dirtying their clothes. All that matters.
Yesterday I played with five specimens at twilight, the sky sprinkling raindrops on our heads very generously. The field was either mucky and slippery in places or had patches of tall, unkempt grass obstructing the free flow of the ball. And to top it all, I didn't have shoes. I didn't even have shorts!
That sounded damn funny the minute I wrote it!
Well, what happened was that I dropped in at Sam's in a skirt and silver dance shoes. The boys were heading to play and it hadn't stopped raining. A pair of shorts landed in my lap and I put them on and lo behold! I was one of them! Only with no footwear. Sam gave me his slippers which made the ground beneath my feet feel like ice. Now I know why slippers are called "slippers." Got onto bikes and rode off to the field, wondering how we'll see in the paling light. But these boys have all the solutions. On came the floodlights, which served us well, and off came my slippers after a firm decision that I was not going to break a leg. The wet grass under my bare feet felt great! Usually, I'm careful about not stepping into dirty puddles near the stations. But this was different. I was on natural grass and this kind of "dirtying" was fun. We played, nearly slipped, banged each other with the ball, laughed, shouted, felt the water streaming down our faces while our clothes hung on us (thank heavens I wasn't wearing white!).
This was what I needed, utter carelessness! And more importantly, real laughter! I love this feeling! When the world simply falls away into nothingness and all that matters is the game and the players. The friendly kind of competiton is the best, makes it more fun. And yes, even the jokes poked at me for my funny antics on the field, not to forget my direct shot at the goalkeeper's groin (he had to sit down for a while, poor soul). I reassured him by presenting to him to the option of child adoption. Pity he didn't seem too pleased.

I love the boys I played with. Good sports they are!
Long live all the boys I've ever played with, such fantastic moments I have had with them all.

Thursday, August 07, 2008

Reading My Blog

I've written this?

Really?

I wonder what happened then

What inspired me to whip around such words

And splash them on the black canvas.

It's fun to go back and read again

To relive, recall and remember

Delightful alliteration!

Sometimes I cannot believe I wrote this

I may find it better now than I did then,

Or worse.

When I check comments, there are more from me than anyone else.

Hahahahaha...

Friday, August 01, 2008

Why so serious?


I could hear a pin drop,
That’s the kind of calm I’m inviting inside me.
Stillness.
They ask me, “Why so serious?” and laugh,
It’s a joke.
I see them all chuckling at me,
Their black eyes glinting like the blade,
Blood still dripping from it.
My blood.
That was all that remained to give.
Love was never enough.
You asked me why I smiled in my pain,
That’s coz you drew those bloodied upward curves,
To help me keep up the show
Of being jolly,
While I felt the blade pricking in my back all that time.
I ran away from it,
But it never left me
I still loved and feared losing,
I’d given so much, and still you turned away,
Forgetting.
Monsters creep closer, their tentacles snaking towards me,
I am alone,
No matter how much I fought it.
Like the Samurais we admired,
Their swords standing tall in sure hands,
Don’t know when my sword fell,
When the metal appeared on the other side of my heart.
I’m gone.
Falling in a pit that grows darker as gravity carries me to the end.
You called me “piteous”
I called you friend.

Wednesday, July 02, 2008

Friend and Foe begin with the same letter

The machine coughs and rumbles as the threads weave in and out and produce sheets of cloth. Some threads are grassy green. They make the eye happy and produce a smile on the cheek. Some threads are black. They pull you into them. To get lost in. A fear of losing oneself in them. You keep away from the black and edge closer to the green. The machine buzzes in your head, never ceasing to rest. The weaving. Colours meet and blend and unite to form one fabric. Who knew that the fabric married so many components?
Friendship is fabric.
You never know what goes in where, what is being weaved into it and what the final spread will look like. Sometimes, the black is more and the friend becomes a near foe. Dark condemnation. You writhe in hatred and the demons inside your brain scream in rage. You want to harm and hurt and lash out with your sickle to tear the flesh out of existence, and throw the scraps to the coyotes.
The machine wriggles. Weaves.
Sometimes, there's green and more green. Love. Understanding. Comfort. Security. Trust. You smile at the thought of your friend. You want to give so much. Dance, sing, hop, jiggle. When you meet, you know you're home.
The machine decides - friend or foe.
When the cloth changes colour from black to green or green to black, the cloth cannot decide. No one can find the answers in a magical orb. They don't exist, these answers.
Stronger the friendship, more powerful the hatred.
Stronger the hatred, more powerful the friendship.


To friends lost and friends gained.....

Friday, June 27, 2008

To all those who I lost….because of you or because of me

I liked you guys
And I thought you liked me too
And things could’ve gone on well
But you chickened out
Got lost in the labyrinth
Weaved in and out at will
Left me standing in the rain
Frowning
I went wrong too
Became a rug
Your shoeprints still linger
They say things happen for a reason, for the best too
Awesome!
So was this the best we could do?
I got tired
Some of you slipped away
For some, I opened my clenched fingers
And let fall
Into strangeness
We know each other no more
Memories tucked away in a musty corner
Familiarity paling like dissipating vapour
You found your way
I found mine
I wonder if they’ll ever intersect
And will I say ‘hi’ or will you slink into the crowd unnoticed
Will I glance at you steely and walk off
Or will you come running forward to shake my hand

Till then
Goodbye
I liked you before, then hated your existence.
But now
I’m cold
To your presence on this planet
My mind does not trace your movements anymore
You may become the Prime Minister in a few years
I might vote for you
Or I might not
My doors were open for a little while
Inching towards closure
Now they’re shut
Gigantic, black doors.
Shut.


Tuesday, June 10, 2008

Will he Wonky wonked out


Lit your way,
Cleared your clutter,
The junk was rotting,
You were relieved, happy even.
Me!! in a different light,
Attention!
Took it modestly, never expecting it to last,
Careful, cautious, my toes touched the water,
Hmmm....warm, nice, bubbly,
Let go,
Not too much,
Just a little,
Warmth and magnetism.
Cumbersome magic.
The end.
My toes touch ice,
The change in your eyes, the distance,
I keep away,
Not to offend,
Your "space,"
Want it?
Take it.
Here, I throw it in your face!
Shut your doors, latch your windows,
Pull on the black blanket and disappear,
In your prism of excess and waste,
Of many who will be smitten,
Dissipate.
While I disappear completely from your mind,
Lose me in them.
Maybe then you can forget.
And so can I.

Tuesday, June 03, 2008

Free from Colonialism

I want it back.
My life.
It's mine.
Has always been.
I just never realised it before.
It was held captive for eons.
By those who gave it to me.
By those who bound me with wires called "attachment."
By those who gave me a living to live a life which doesn't seem like mine sometimes.
By those who still eagerly hold a pencil over the map of my life.
Poised to make changes the minute I betray weakness.
To scratch out boundaries that I may transcend.
To contain me.
To keep me.

Today I decided for myself.
Like the rare times I've done before and faced the discord, the coldness, the isolation.
The same reaction thrown in my face.
How naive am I to expect those who control me to accept my mind.
My mind which desires and designs to its own accord.
Plays to its own beat.
And just yearns to kiss the free skies.
I am alone as usual.
In the decision I take.
Why I take it I have reasons for.
It is a difficult one.
But what matters is -
It is mine.

Wednesday, May 28, 2008

People are sick

People are sick,
They deserve a roundhouse kick,
On their sneaky, filthy asses,
And painful, itchy rashes!
Their own business they will never mind,
My privacy to the dust they'll grind,
And disappear leaving no trace,
All they leave behind is unrest, disgrace.
Alternative activities for them I will search,
So later I'm not left in the lurch,
Some evil pleasure they derive,
In eating people alive!
In hell will they burn and singe,
While I lean back and enjoy the binge,
Keep your nasty, malicious eyes off my back,
Or your head will end up with a crack!

Friday, May 23, 2008

Murdering a relationship


For about 2-3 days, I have witnessed slow murder. She stamps on his foot, he takes out his slicing knife and threatens her. She kicks him in the stomach, he pulls her arm into a painful twist. She struggles for liberty, he grazes her throat with his weapon. She screams, he panics and retreats. She hurtles a brick at him which leaves a maroon impression on his forehead. He runs at her frothing at the mouth, she jumps out of the way. She trips and falls, while he bangs into a wall and collapses. They lie for a few moments to catch their breath. Then, their watery eyes meet. They soften. Love! Fingers touch. Then bodies. Warmth bursts all over again. Fireworks, music and champagne!

He steps on her foot. Something snaps inside her. She slaps him. Shock. Then a retaliatory slap. She pulls out his hair in tufts, while he grabs hers. The knife slowly emerges from the back pocket and the cycle resumes.


This is probably the age of relationships metamorphosing into martial arts class. Even before two people develop a decent understanding of each other, jump they do, into a dark, seemingly endless pit. As they fall, the journey's pleasant and mysterious. But when their bottoms touch the flames at the end of it, they desperately strive to defy gravity, digging a hole upwards to get back for air again.


Lately, I've been writing a lot about 'killing', 'knives', 'cutting', needles', 'dying'....hmmm....I wonder why.

Wednesday, May 21, 2008


Aunty!

I somehow never realised when I started being referred to as "aunty." Just a few years ago, I was "didi" and quite enjoyed the sound of it. But lately, I've been coming across dangerous kids who out of ostensible innocence release the word "aunty" from their lips as if they were born to make others realise how much older they are. I remember this oversmart, 10-year old scraggy boy handing me my stuff over the counter and with a glint in his eye announcing the word that irritates the life out of me. I spun around fuming and firmly corrected him. "Didi....I'm not that old." He screwed up his face, his day made.

The thought occurred to me this morning as I brushed my still intact teeth. I can still play sports, run and jump around like a 12-year old, climb steps two at a time, can recite most of the nursery rhymes, worship ice cream and can kill for it, have never gotten over my taste for cerelac and lactogen and don't feel ashamed about putting my head in mommy's lap and dozing off while she plays with my hair. I'm not aging. And even if I am, does the world need to publish it in their papers and announce it over their radios?? These kids are the worst! They're most evil and dastardly and often get away with it.

When I was a kid, I could distinguish between an aunty and a didi. I guess, as the generations are born, one card from the intellectual structure falls away. Every future generation is a tad bit dumber than the last. To be incapable of setting aside two age-groups purely on the basis of what you see is plain incompetence.

Baah! These dumb kids!

Tuesday, May 13, 2008


Will he wonky
Crazy and wild,
Not more than a child,
Racing on his two-wheeler,
Relax! No one's a snake dealer,
Jet black locks bobbing in the breeze,
You wanna close my hand in a squeeze,
You say what's on your mind,
Whether its evil, mischievous or kind,
A free heart, a notorious daredevil,
Take my heart,
O notorious daredevil,
Take me for a ride into the night,
I wanna get lost in you.

Thursday, May 08, 2008

Our love affair

The grit in my eye,
The shadow in yours,
They wander all over me,
I flush,
Toy with my fingers,
Warmth that brandy never brought,
You state,
I disagree,
I smile,
A frown sprinkles on your forehead,
You speak,
I argue,
I smile,
The frown grows deeper,
Your feet shift,
You withdraw,
I flounder,
You look behind me,
I turn to look too,
When I come back,
You’re gone.
Far.
Going further still.
I clasp your shoulder,
And ask you to stay,
You shrug me away,
You shrug me away.

Perhaps a thought I was,
Concocted when the rain kissed our heads,
And now evanescent,

Decaying shreds.

The folly was mine,
To ask, to hold, to clasp,
And as the grey expanse from him to me stretched,
I clasped tighter,
The folly was mine,
To smother, when I wanted to love,
To yell, when I wanted to whisper,
I sharpened the knife,
He cut me with it.

One last time,
I stand in your way,
You shrug me away,
You shrug me away.


This time, I walk away.

Tuesday, April 29, 2008


On painting T-shirts, playing songs on the guitar and nursing
What a random Sunday it has been. The cold helped me sleep longer, otherwise my wretched constitution doesn't allow me to "over-sleep" even when I have the luxury to. The mintues sailed past and I watched them go through half shut eyes, changing positions every four minutes. Restless even while resting! Had planned to finish this book I've been on for some weeks now, but just didn't happen. Too many clothes to wash. Took the easy way out and ordered for lunch from Cafe Udipi, perhaps also to hear the deep, polite and strangely sexy voice of the owner who always takes my order. I've dropped in a couple of times to pick up a few things, but he doesn't know it's me who calls often from this address...hahahahaha..Checked out egrets and pigeons through my new and yet-to-be-mine 75-300mm lens. Gave me quite a thrill imagining all the tigers, gaur and chital I can capture much closely now. The waiting begins. Ranthambhore's not too far now. Just hoping this cold dies soon.Took me sometime to remove the random words from the T-shirt. Such a lovely colour, with John Lenon's famous words on the back. How could I let the random words spoil it? I painted over them? Made circles, concentric ones, spiralling all over the words that you can't see anymore. It's dry, ready to be worn tomorrow. Kaaku not feeling well. Her cold got worse, much worse than mine. Then fever. Thank God my mother was nice enough to relieve me during fever, I knew all the methods of making Kaaku feel slightly better, if not on top of the world. Steam, Vicks vapour rub, Crocin, cold towel and more. The spicy, peppery sambar I made might have helped somewhere. At least the cough's better.When she was feeling better, she taught me my first song on the guitar. Quite simple, only two chords. I feel like an achiever. Atleast I know one song on the guitar. Drum classes are still a distant dream. That boy has to find me a teacher. Or I'll spend my life striking pots, pillows and pans with my drumsticks.Sleep beckons. I nod and ask it to wait 2 minutes as I wrap up with entry. Random as it may seem, this was an excellent Sunday.

Wednesday, April 16, 2008

Black

Black
Comforting black
Flows around you and hides you in its drapes
Lends a benign spot under its skirt
Take it
Preserve yourself from the harshness of a world that has forgotten how to love
The human acid rain
There’s safety in darkness
No one can see you, pry on you,
You can be the devil
If God does happen to watch; so?
He cannot reveal your secrets
He’ll sit quietly on his silver throne
And throw around his dice
Which decide your fate and mine
But darkness seldom comes when you need it to
You sit in the middle of the throng
Crying in your heart
Screaming in your head
You imagine the cool black fingers taking you by the hand
Into a serene corner
Where you can feel yourself
Talk yourself
Breathe yourself
Hear yourself
You can smile at the pain of another
You can frown at another’s joy
You can be evil in the dark
It is here, that you can cry

Thursday, March 27, 2008

A Single Car goes Far
I've been single for 1 year, 6 days now. I must say it left me quite a wreck. Crying into my pillow every night helped me save on water and detergent, while cleansing my vision of all toxins and dust particles that may have gathered in the course of the day. Thank God for my naturally jovial countenance, I could manage to escape uncomfortable questions and excessive condolensces, that only etched the word 'widow' into my forehead. Basketball helped of course, it always does. Better than any counselling or movie or party. When I played, I ONLY played. The past, present and future blurred away and only the basket remained with clear, defined outlines.
A common post-break-up tendency is to reach out to another specimen of the opposite sex to perhaps replace the lost one. Well, I gave it a few shots, but it didn't really turn out to be as soothing as I'd expected.

I love time. What a wonderful doctor! You don't have to do anything and it gradually rubs out the sharp edges till they become blunt and eventually fade into the background. Other things come to the fore and a transition of focus and perspective happens. The smile becomes more real and the sparkle in the eye reappears, just as the laughter reaches a crescendo again. Life becomes green. Fertile, promising, exciting and sunny.

Ok, now time's done something funny. I have been an unrelated observer of great woe and misery. Woe and misery of those who are "double." Fights, long-distance tensions, insecurities, "if you don't talk to me every night, I'll be angry" attitudes, "why're you talking to your ex-s, I want you to stop this minute" arguments and so on. I have, in some instances, been called to unfurl the white flag of peace in the midst of a fiery couple on the verge of disaster; not a very smooth situation. I have carefully surveyed the loss of individual freedom when 2 people become "double." Activities like reading, hanging out with friends, going off alone on short trips, making decisions for yourself, and 500 other things that one used to do before jumping down the well, are rubbed out from the calendar of life. The oldest of friends lose first place to someone known for 5 months, who'll probably cause more pain than all your friends put together in a lifetime. Priorities jump onto a rollercoaster and emerge dishevelled and well, different.

It's quite fascinating how this happens. And you know that funny thing that time has done? Well, the formless entity has dug up the sand on the beach of singlehood and made me a delightfully comfortable hole to rest in. Here, I lie. In the complacent shadow of a coconut tree, with the breeze dancing in my hair. And I look out at those poor souls in the waters of "doublehood," struggling to keep afloat, not knowing whether to move their arms or to breathe. Luckily, some have learnt the art and have found a raft to sail away on towards the orange sunset. But most, are still hitting the liquid, which threatens to suck them into nothingness.

I sit and watch, taking occasional sips from my tumbler of iced tea. I see more, hear more, taste more, feel more and touch more, because I'm alone, alone with these sensations. My solitude gives me moments when I can 'sense' and experience things which could've otherwise been lost, had my attention been rivetted by another equally clueless human.
A man walks by and winks at me. I wink back and smile. I allow him to sit with me for a moment. And then I send him off. Because I choose to.

Unfettered am I, the thrill and the power,
Trust me O fellows, a single car goes far.

Friday, March 14, 2008

Phwatttt!!

Her palm felt like a dagger. The hand which had been outstretched to touch the warm body behind the green silk froze in the air before dropping. When the beetroot red drained out, a shadow crept up to his brow. He took a menacing step towards her, a strange vigour in his spirit. Her vision absorbed every movement – the taut jaw muscles, the angry vein on his neck, where the collar of the worn out, blue checked shirt ought to have been, a strange foreboding lining the fingers holding together the fist. She stared at the vein snaking its way into the flesh and for an instant gave up guard.
She saw her lips planting baby kisses behind his ear, while her hand………NO! NO! NO! Now’s not the time for silly whims! She shook her head and focussed on loathing him.
Left foot firmly rooted to the glistening black marble, she deftly raised her right and slid it about a foot back. Fingers knit together into two steeled balls, planted strategically before the chest to safeguard, and if necessary to land a blow. Her hair, a bunch of live wires gone awry, kissed her face, half shrouding the scowl that came easily. Her countenance, fierce like a warrior’s, about to bury a sword into the enemy’s heart.
He grinned, slightly amused by her poise. All she needed now was a short, dirty brownish-grey leather skirt, a metallic corset and high, leather boots, and she’d be no less than Xena. Though the light outside was paling, she saw the grin. A shiver darted through her – was it the sudden coldness in the room or just the fact that the dark shadow on his face had left behind something more dangerous?
He run his fingers through his hair and messed it up, his eyes never deserting her’s. Rolling up the blue checked sleeves up, he revealed arms that had been well worked upon. She gulped for a second, in the next, wondered if he had glimpsed the fear in her watery eyes that had now begun to hurt with the effort of keeping her gaze steady.
“Should we switch on the lights or do you want me to take you in the dark?” He was right. She could scarcely see him now. The orange light of the road lamp travelled through the window pane, creating an illuminated orange circle on the floor. His silhouette was still, she knew that for sure.
“If you touch me, I’ll kill you!” Her voice carried more conviction than she had intended to express. She felt him grin again a few feet away from her.
Wait a minute! Did his silhouette just move?? She could see it no longer. She hurriedly brought feet together, fingers opened and reached out into the darkness to find the switchboard, molten heat oscillating from her brain to her toes. Ah! There it was, next to the bookshelf laden with musty, bound volumes. She carefully edged towards what seemed to have become her sole key to survival. Her hand stretched out to touch the cool plastic, but it touched warmth. Eyes widened, shoulders stiffened. Fear!
Something warm and wet glided down her finger tips to her palm. For five seconds, she let it, giving herself up to that familiar tingling between her legs. When his shrewd hand squeezed her left breast, she suddenly pulled back. His hand pelted down onto her arm, while the other desperately sought another hold. She squealed, jumped and struggled. Pure fear! And then, fury!
Letting out an angry cry, she raised her leg, toe pointing to the ground, potential energy in its truest form. With a much practiced force, she made contact with his groin. He yelped like a dog who’s tail had been stepped upon. Loud curses went up into the young night, as she heard him stumble over the furniture and fall with a crash.
Now she grinned. Remembering the way to the door, she took sure steps towards it, light sneaking in from the edges and the bottom. Before the beast could rise, she pulled it open and ran out into the orange twilight. Free!

Thursday, March 13, 2008

Pricking me with your Needle
You want to kill me.
I felt it in your tone, though the mask betrayed you not.
I suspected nothing.
Gently you kissed me.
I winced as the needle danced into my skin.
Poison.
Pain.
Pleasure. Pleasure was yours.
Your eye watered. I caught myself in it.
You pulled it out.
I winced again.
You smiled the smile I loved once.
You sat and watched me die.

Friday, February 29, 2008





























Periyar
To many it's a holiday hotspot. They come, plant their asses on a boat, put on their Ray Bans and English hats and allow the cool breeze to touch their faces. If the hubby wants to hold hands in a flourish of romance, so be it. Spotless white complexions, the mehendi still quite dark yelling out to the world that "hey! don't look at her like that, she's married." Gold, heeled sandals and a lost look, perhaps wondering, "what the hell am I doing in the middle of this blasted lake with this offensive man I didn't really want to get hitched to??"Then somebody yelled out. "WILD BUFFALO! GAUR! STRAIGHT AHEAD!" Those interested in species other than themselves slipped out binoculars, some their shiny digital cameras, while the kids got all excited, trying to jump up and see over the elders. The one who shouted ran to the fore, steady stance, binoculars in position, eyes fixed. Two minutes of bliss, before the boat began to swerve away from the bank. Hair unruly, dirty pants, muddy shoes, smudged kajal, brown arms, thanks to the sun's generosity, a perpetual mad expression. Welcome. That was I. Behind me, the newly married bitch says, "What's the big deal, it's only a buffalo?" What stopped me from whirling around and telling her that "Honey bun, a tiger would think twice before attacking *that* thing, which means that *that* thing has something exceptional about it. But then, what would you know? You can scarcely look beyond your own nose."
Ignore. Ignore. Ignore. Some people just don't have it, and the sooner I accept that, the better for my temper.

The 9-hour trek was fantastic. We went through about four different kinds of vegetation, from shola to semi-evergreen to grasslands to something else which I fail to remember. The terrain was rough and challenging and we literally climbed up and down mountains, reminding me of the last scene of 'Sound of Music'. The tiger pugmark discovery was thrilling.

The camping was a different experience all together. Firstly, I thoroughly enjoyed being the only woman amidst 8 men - 4 guides, 1 armed guard and 3 cute Swedish boys. Zigzagged in and out of the forest, walked on the banks of the lake and finally reached the camping site, a picturesque location on a hill slope, beside the lake. The night was even better. No sign of human habitation, no light except from the silky moonlight and the bonfire. In the night, we heard elephants across the lake to the other bank, trumpeting angrily and bathing too. Thank God for that wide trench encircling the camping ground, or we'd make for some good elephant mattresses. I'll never forget that wild pig I scared out of its years growth, when I went into the foliage to answer the call of nature. And the poor soul will never forget me. Nasty human!


I worked out my muscles pretty well, rowing that bamboo raft for 2 hours in the hot sun. Hence, the tightness of my arms and the blackness too. Hard labour, but good fun. I wonder how it'd be if I became a rower to earn my living. Push-ups would become easier for one thing.

There are just too many things to recount and I don't feel like recounting them all. But O! I'm so smitten!

And the best part is. I was alone.

Wednesday, January 23, 2008

Labour

The pizza box isn't empty. Three slices, gone cold and heavy still lie untouched. They'll probably do for breakfast.
One sprawled out in the next cabin, the other beside me. The sound from their stuffy nostrils pronounced, in the silence of the neon. Something stops me from shaking them awake. Maybe because they look angelic, men gone back to being babies, curled up in a protective shell. I let them be.
Dribbling a crazy love-hate affair, trying not to get burnt, yet keeping it within reach. Some excitement. Do I keep it or does it keep me? He almost believed that I love him. Ha! Well, maybe I do. Or maybe, it's the devil demanding attention again. Another thing I shall let alone for the moment.
The iris touched 30,000 words today, the mind drank them and generated understanding, and so I judged, judged whether they should be read by thousands of people or not. Can I really decide that? Wow!
Sheets of parchment with more dancing words call out to me. They're interesting these words, but somehow, they never end, making them tiresome company.
A semi-stranger. My first personal contact. Brief. No comments. Nothing to comment on yet.
Flashes of the old house, with the mustard sunshine and the silence of a life less modernised. For absurd reasons, childhood always seems quiet. Perhaps the noise in the head grows with age. If so, I wish I go deaf by senility.
The yellow-orange pencil still sits unstolen on the flat wood, staring at me, happy. I like pencils. They're just so.....happy.

Thursday, January 10, 2008

The myth of permanence

Who are you? Your face seemed familiar till a minute ago. Did I pass you in the street? Or were you on the train next to me? Did a whiff of your perfume touch my nose? Or your words reverberate in my memory? Did you touch me to let me know that you are? Had we made plans? Plans to sit and watch the sunset or to disappear together? Why do you feel like I know you, yet I don’t? Perhaps you were someone I once knew but no longer. Maybe you’ve become orange and I remember you to be blue. What happened? Did they bully you? Or did your own monsters get to you?
I’m scared. Scared to get caught between orange and blue because the mixture is ugly. A dirty colour. Almost unpleasant. I fondle the memory whose living counterpart is now dead. I mourn. But I shall not stand at my door to welcome
the new you.

Go away! Don’t touch me with that dirty shade. I’ll never be yours.