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.