Frustration

The inevitable happens.
it has to.
we all know,
and accept-
except
the wait
between what is there,
and what is destined to be
stretches indefinitely.
the breath that is caught
is released, slightly delayed,
with human intervention-
the white robed men interfering
in the domain of the omnipresent!
but then like Bhisma
they can only delay the end-
influencing death.
and, till they negotiate this deal,
live.
pulse
breath
heart rate
saturation levels in blood-
statistics of life
that one survives
as a numberplate.
living,
because death is delayed.
a life relayed
in drips and tricks
of an inexact science
that only thrives
in the wait between
what there is and what has to be!

The Kleptomaniac

Small change

A pen

Comb, someday

Or even wet tissues…

Anything could get her excited.

The adrenaline pumped.

The surge of desire,

the undeniable urge,

to reach out and hold-

and keep.

She could not resist.

She took,

and kept it hidden.

She kept on

giving in to these sudden urges

to own things

that did not belong to her.

She took without asking.

And then one day,

I caught her red handed

with my book,

and, hell broke loose.

A caught a thief -

a habitual lifter.

Punishment was inevitable.

But magnanimity dawned.

I let go of her.

Actually, if I punished her,

brought her public embarrassment,

disrobed her of the normalcy with which she lived her life,

I could have been accused of stealing-

her innocence

her simplicity

her plain honesty

with which she accepted her urge

and, did not shy away from it-

Like I do, everyday!

as another year begins...

standing between an end and a new beginning
a moment struggles for its identity
the twilight,
a brief interlude
weighed down with indecision
to be part of completion or initiation
or be there just like that
without conforming to one or the other
holding on to its own
in the sea of time
stealing a drop
and giving it its own name....

its funny how 

a beginning or an end is celebrated
as if what constitutes totality
is immaterial
in fact, the celebration too is cyclical...
its part of the given,
the conformists uphold it
the rebels ignore it
again in reflexes
and the moment in between passes unnoticed...

but, without this small moment
holding its turf between two extremes
would the cycle be complete?
it is a pause in motion
a breath that holds as one lets go
of what was held so long
and reaches out one more time
forward...
again, as a reflex;
whoever said ahead is where the destination is...
no, not for me
i aim to thrive 

in the moment in between
the end and a new beginning...
not conforming,
not aligning,
not giving in...
holding on to my own
trying to stamp
a drop
in the sea of time....

Vagaries of a fleeting mind…

Books neatly lined or provocatively angled…

Words commoditized and marketed

with élan or greed or both;

trying tricks new or time tested…

Luring, appalling, attracting nonetheless.

Eyes scanning the titles…

one after the other,  and the other…

Reading, registering, trying to decipher.

Some titles beckon

I pick up one and read the back cover

And about the author

Looking for something to read…

To know…. To get absorbed in

And move on… to the next and the next

Similar tales, known premise

Experimentation with a theme

Already innovated beyond recognition

Advice, prescriptions, perceptions

A dozen a dime…

Every time

Each book cries for novelty

And dies on the shelf

Words jumble and then fall in line

It has been like that

All the time

There is a pattern to the madness

Making sense always follows

A mad rush… an urgency to just do

Something, anything, everything

Just let go, give in to the thought

The nagging, recurring nudge

To follow what comes as an urge

Daunting, demanding, unrelenting

Its Christmas…

Like every year… exactly on the same date.

Funny. That’s how it is. That’s how it should be.

Or, should it? Never mind.

So, its Christmas

And there is a Christmas Tree, tall and elegant and all decorated

Like it was the year before

Like it will be the next year as well, and further…

There is comfort in repetition, perhaps

Symmetry, uniformity, regularity

Living life in practiced lines….

The desire to find without seeking

To reach a destination; minus the travel…

Second hand experiences…

Passed on as wisdom

From one to the other, to the other, and the other…

Living on proxy

Borrowing dreams, leasing vision

Dividing each day

in bite sized pieces of programmed existence

routine…  mundane… deemed exciting

originality in the confines of boundaries

set by limitation of imagination

of few, some, a handful

such as those who

experimented with truth and lived  a lie

or, got enlightened under a tree

or, confirmed to rules and exemplified timidity

What a pity!!

Its not a revolt, or a revolution

That I seek, don’t mistake!

No, not at all

Red has faded to black to grey

There is no renaissance beyond the horizon

Not that one is needed anyway

Its working, this world

As it is

Round, flat, oblong or shapeless

Spinning and circling

Round and round and round

habitually

surviving deceit, mistrust, cynicism.

Like I do,

Despite the vagaries of a fleeting mind!

Doors open to new homes....

Doors open to new homes...
bigger, smarter, well designed
with each having a place assigned
no camping in open anymore
no sharing pillow or drawers or robe...
there is space and case for things required
and also for those that got acquired
by need, greed or fancy or status
we grew and things grew with us
So many blonggings that I sort today
what should be carried or left away...


As I enter the new home, all I see
high roof and walls secluding me
from rest of the people, though in same house
we have private battles and fire to douse
We meet over breakfast, or lunch or tea
or fight for remote when watching TV
and then we retreat in worlds of our own
where each of us exclusively belong-
belong, did I say belong?
Oh how wrong!!


In partitioned homes and fenced boundaries
what survives is co-existence of adversaries
We talk and shake hands and even smile
but in the back of our minds, all the while
we calculate, how, when to get the better
of other, and that is all that matter
competition, comparison, status quo??
where did we begin and whats the way to go...


As the doors open to new homes today,
again I wonder where I am going to stay-
Amidst the walls and a peeping hole?
and what exactly would be my role?
Do I arrange the flowers and fire the hearth
what do I do to know what I am worth!
The cycle has gone on for quite long.
When will I know where I belong???

Outgrown

I seem to have outgrown the cradle

that rocked me to sleep,

The lap-

that gave security and comfort,

The embrace-

that brought contentment

I seem to have outgrown the home

that sheltered my youth

The family

that suffered my stubbornness

The friends

who stayed friends

I seem to have burgeoned

in need, in greed-

in thoughts, not deed!

I seem to have stretched

my dreams beyond realization

and, strayed in vastness-

ambiguous yet distinct….

I seem to have outgrown

my shadow

that walked along…

I am too big now-

and, too alone.

My droplet!

No questions

No logic

No reason

No thoughts-

Structured,

Unstructured

Or otherwise…

Just a moment

Complete in its brevity

Deep in its impact-

The imprint

Live and throbbing

Defying time, place or occasion.

the happiness- unique

a taste lingering

behind every sorrow, disappointment or defeat!

Crossing the river

Riding a ferry

-          Daily

No, not for commute

A ritual

A celebration

Of proximity

Of affordable togetherness

Stolen glances

Orchestrated accidental touch

The hidden caresses

Guised as safety precautions-

Lest one fell off!

Stumble, sure sometimes

Because that’s how

One could be held!

Searching, scrutinizing eyes

Of passengers sharing the vessel

But not the secret

That travelled between our glances alone!

And then,

on the other end

as hassled, tired, homing pigeons

made a beeline to the jetty

flying faster to reach

their destination-

their home…

we two love birds

spread our wings…

the ferry now empty

except for us and the sailor…

the final hoot announcing its return

the astonished look of the ticket checker

as we produced fresh tickets

to travel again, without disembarking!

Once again,

The secret messages

Exchanged with the eyes…

And cries

Of  joy…

Just ours,

Yours and mine

As this time

The ferry belonged to us!

Those who were rushing home

Left behind on the other side

While, we

Who dreamt of home,

Ours

Planned the layout of every room,

Debated the color of walls

The size of lamps

And price

Of furniture, curtain and

Our happiness-

Riding on gurgling waves

Of Ganges, in the final leg of her journey

A few hours away

From immersing itself in its ocean of love…

As the red brick façade of Howrah station

Got farther,

The majestic bridge with its teeming traffic

Chuckled

Glancing at its larger than life reflection

And we stared in awe

At the molten gold and sparkling silver

Kissing and caressing on cheerful ripples…

We were the richest

The happiest

The most complete people

In the entire Universe…

I spoke in verse

And you with logic

And yet it was magic!

From magical wonderland

To busy, overflowing street

That never failed to greet

The two

Who

Were only interested

To travel

And unravel

The mysteries of youth!

But by then

We were cruelly reminded of time

-          Almost nine

Cindrella had to go

With Prince charming in toe!

We could ride the bus

But why the unnecessary fuss!

We walked instead

Prolonging every moment

As far as we could-

Crossing roads

Oh so often

Just an excuse

For us to hold hands

To touch

To feel

One more time…

A prank

-          So sublime!

I yearn for that touch

The tingling caress

As we deliberately pressed

Wrong floors on the lift

To savour the gift

Of a hurriedly shared hug!

And that look

That smouldering yearning knowing look

Just a look

That made the heart well up

With love and overflowing joy!

The moments of togetherness

So scarce

So few

So delicate

-but

So true!

Those moments

Like droplets of rain

So sweet

Swept over my memory

So complete!

Today, I watch

The ocean overflow

With waves

Washing the shore

I just stand

And stare

Can I dare

Ask the rain drenched breeze

Passing me by-

To return my droplet,

One that was mine,

Only mine!