Thursday, April 17, 2014

Night vision

she always slept
with her face to the sky.
he always dreamt
with his ear to the ground.
maybe it was the fact
that her sights were upward and on,
while his thoughts
came from what was in and around.

they say true love
is opposites attracting
to a common misunderstanding,
but maybe it's just
finding the other idiot
who fills the gaps
when you go to bed at night.

she always kept
a sliver of her eye open,
as if searching for a glimpse
of a dream within the dream.
wishing the other were real
and the one being lived
a bit less so.

she always lay
with her eardrums blocked out
to the sounds of neighbours.
she would instead
be that much gladder
with the voice of his exhale
filling her void.

love is blind
some others tell me
but i know the truth
with each waking morn;
it is the eyes
that sleep wide shut
in which you see
it's your dreams
that survive.

Wednesday, April 16, 2014

Mental acrobatics

it's an underwater ballet
as my thoughts swim around.
like the Cirque du Soleil
but i'm afraid we'll all drown

it's an impossible ordeal
requiring incredible focus.
to understand what is real
before the water can choke us.

i can see many a circle
and the bubbles in their wake.
the waves they crash and crumple
there is no sense here to make.

this performance before me
would befit an olympic event.
but these are things that define me
so this dance, i'd rather prevent.

it's an underwater ballet
that always eludes my clutch,
like the Cirque du Soleil
but it will never count for much.

Tuesday, April 15, 2014

Strangely deranged [7]

He's doing it again.
Can't handle something that strikingly beautiful.
Can't really grasp how extraordinary it is.
The fear of getting his filth on it makes him pull his hand back.
The dream is a dwindling candle and,
try as he might,
it will not burn ever long.

So he's attempting what he always resorts to in such situations.
He cuts off the flame.
He put's Newton's first law to work on his emotional state
and pushes.
Hoping against science,
that the friction of love can hold back the inertia.

But he never seems to move any further away.
He can't put distance between himself
and the beauty he fears he will sully.
He is the proverbial moth.
She; the mortal flame.
Fear of being burnt isn't a thought that bothers him for an instant.
Rather it is coming so close,
in his final moment,
that he might extinguish her embers.
Self destruction doesn't toy with his mind.
Mutually agreed doom
is a more worrisome prospect.

So he tries to pull off the same manoeuvre.
He tries to duck out of the favourable situation,
hoping to postpone the incoming misery.
Wishing to replace it with pain in the now,
knowing full well
the healing powers of time.

He understands that to save the candle
all he must do is put out the flame
before it burns any further.
Then wait.
In hope that another spark
on another day
will reignite her incandescent beauty.

Tuesday, April 8, 2014


there's a strange
kind of sorrow
at taking a step

past glass barriers
and aluminium barricades
to board
a flying cylinder
to reach
wherever you need to be

this strange
kind of sorrow
at leaving someone
so incredible
so special
that every step away
makes your feet turn 180
and flee right back

this strange
kind of sorrow
knowing onward
is what is expected
but right past
those automated doors
you left behind
is where your
real, true and final
destination waits

it's this weird
breed of sorrow
at departing on wings
when you'd rather
be arriving in arms

I'm still not voting.

Personally, I've always belonged to the George Carlin school of thought. He had very wisely stated the argument that those who vote are responsible for the mess they created. While those who sat at home and jerked off were left with an easier mess to clean up. That being said, this year is the first time I have actually wanted to cast a ballot. Not because I think the country will improve by my doing so, but because I will at least have tried to prevent a totalitarian state being born here. I know it seems a bit extreme to say, but what other colour would the saffron brigade paint this nation if not their own?

The country is up for grabs and no one seems to be interested right now. We are in the middle of probably the most entertaining and in-your-face political fights of our history. With the cyber age finally arriving in India on the sanskaari shoulders of Alok Nath, every famous face should be more wary of the netizenry. Especially if they are vying to win the Seat of Power.

As a whole we are more informed than ever with everyone and their paternal-uncles-twice-removed-from-Lucknow trying to beat numbers and statistics down on our eardrums. But the fact remains that we are mighty limited on options today. Between a megalomaniac, an immature adult and, a chocolate boy; we are painfully short of putting a rational head on this country's shoulders. Two of these (and their gangs of followers) are thrusting advertising from every pixel that can be bought, rented or borrowed. These have been met, fittingly, with armies of fellow geeks who are quick on both Adobe and wit.

One party has started a string of limericks so ridiculous that only the internet could have birthed the meme. While the other is using a masturbation metaphor as their call-sign. The third has become a mockery of itself with the advent of Mango People. But what's common is, for once, all of them have been noticed by people who would rather not give two shits. This kind of situational sarcastic response was usually reserved for the likes of R.K. Laxman and Khushwant Singh. Their ability to point at the truth and laugh made the original caricatures of Indian politics. But, where they used the protection of visual metaphors, the internet has no qualms of making a face the butt of their jokes.

But about a fortnight from now, these meme's will reach the end of their age. They will catapult a few pictures into the 'made-me-laugh' section of our brains and then be forgotten my almost everyone. The lasting impact will be made by the ones who rise from the dust of this fray. And that is the thing that worries me.

We are all pretending to know so much about the situation of this country. Most of us are confidently misinformed about the political scene and the parties are pulling the obvious trick - ignore it and it will go away. The sick part is, that's actually going to work. We are all gravely mistaken about the power of the internet to change the country. Like sharing a post about feeding an African child doesn't really feed the kid, posting your opinion on the internet doesn't really affect the polls. It's high time we realised that change is sparked on the internet but the fire needs to spread offline. There is a very real world that we are the part of and the future only belongs to us if we take it.

I can't shake the feeling that 5 years from now, I'll look back and wonder if a blot of ink on my finger in Summer '14 would have made a difference. Because I do not know what route this country will take under either of the three personas being presented to us. On one hand, I worry about the victory of Our All Powerful And Hopefully Benevolent Dictator Narendra Modi. On the other, I fear we will continue in the line of backseat-driver politics with a child on the steering wheel. On my third imaginary hand, I lie to myself that the underdog deserves to win and will magically know how to lead.

In either case, I think I'd still rather submit to greatest angry old man in the world. Until next time, when I am able to get a voter ID card without paying or being asked for a bribe. Because some part of me still believes George was right. Shovelling shit every 5 years isn't going to change anything. It's the same shit from a different asshole. So maybe, just maybe, none of this matters after all and come election day I should just sit at home like the rest of the ignoramuses and take the more 'productive' action.

Tuesday, February 25, 2014

Over compensation

So Facebook has 56 genders now? We really are fucking with today's generation. I'm not being a sexist or genderist (doesn't exist), but do we need to over-classify our choices so much? I don't care if you dress up in a pink skirt and play hopscotch with the neighbours husband before sucking each other off and going to bed. It doesn't matter and it shouldn't to anyone else.

But this is just straying too far from the windmill. 56 genders? Really? When we were kids, we were told that half the world is women, the other half is men. It's only when hijda's came along that we even considered the third gender. That's derogatory by the way. Third gender. Using that word makes it seem like the losing fraction of the world. Okay then, what's the first gender? Men or women? Can't tell, can you? Then why the fuck does it matter? I mean, if discrimination is a human instinct does it matter if you are second or third? Or fucking 56th?

I really think we're going too far with this shit. I'm getting tired of 5 synonyms of the word Transgender. The syllables are too many and the fucking words have become so stretched out that there's abbreviations being used like MTM and FTM and CTG. And here's the thing. Most of these terms are simply synonyms. Which means they are one of those annoying words in the dictionary that would make you flip a hundred pages to find the exact meaning.

Transgender (see Neosexual)

Ok. Let's find that... N... nag... neo..,

Neosexual (see. Transsexual)

Sonofa... okay... T... transpa... transpo...

Transsexual (see. Two Spirit)

Mother fucker.

Okay, I understand that we need synonyms. I mean, how else would writing be interesting ? But, it's a gender. This is classification of the species we're talking about. And you are literally confusing the fucks out of us Facebook. I started feeling a little queer after reading that list. It's just so ill defined, that you might think you fall into a category. Especially if you are about 13 years old in today's world.

At that age, we were easily influenced weren't we? I mean, if Rohan suggested pissing off the flyover, we pissed off the flyover. And we're all just starting to look for ourselves, aren't we? Am I like my father? Am I really attracted to that girl? What are those two sensitive things hanging under the sausag-ey thing? What happens if I play with it? Then along comes the newspaper with 56 things that you might be. Out of which some will obviously seem repulsive, flinching at what he doesn't understand is natural to a child. Hence anyone who chooses a few options will be judged. A 13 year old won't know any better.

Think about it. This isn't sexual orientation we are talking about. It's gender. It's the box you tick in every form. It's what classifies you. Do you really need 56 options for that swoosh? I don't think you even need two. Because that's what causes discrimination, isn't it? Options? I say remove all the options and just keep one label. One gender. Human.

Because that's what we all are. Under the chiffon dresses covering hairy bellies, under leather whips and gimp suits, that's who we are. Human beings. With boobs, poonanis and penises. So let's just fuck all those options, fuck who we want, how we want and stop worrying about gender. For anyone who thinks they need all those options to decide their own gender, I say - take a peek in your pants and a look in your porn folder. Then tick by your genitalia and live by your adult collection. If anyone asks, say Homo sapiens and move the fuck on with your life.

Wednesday, February 5, 2014

My highness

don't you see
what you do to me
you goddamn fool
just say these little phrases
that somehow let you rule
this kingdom i once
used to call my own
now look at you there
seated on the throne

you are my reason, my liege
the tower within my walls
there can no longer be a siege
i surrender all the wars

don't you see
how i see you
my queen and overlord
i write odes
to your praises
not caring if they are flawed

you are the sun to my frenzy
like Icarus i am mad
i can hear you whisper to me
and for that voice i am glad

Monday, January 27, 2014


there's a flask of Old Monk
calling out my name
strange kinds of smoke
promise to cloud the pain

pills and ills
will keep me occupied
there's even that poison
waiting by the side

your going away
shouldn't hurt so much
so i'll numb it with addictions
for a lack of your touch

there's old Jack Danny
and a few liters more
of his old friend Johnny
walking on all fours

i don't know what to do
i can't see another way
of living on without you
now that you're going away

there's friends and music
that should distract the mind
chemicals to make me sick
should be easy enough to find

i can surely score a high
that will make me forget
that way that you sigh
and the nook of your neck

you may think this dark
or slanderous to say
but how else do i deal
with your going away?