Happy Holi, said she.

Holi is a hell lot of fun, Manjari Shankar claims. You should hear her gush excitedly about her favourite festival ( at this juncture, she might just pointedly correct me and lay favouritism to another festival. Who knows? It is Manjari.). Anyway, I am assuming it is her favourite festival since she sees no end to the sheer 'fun' in Holi.
"The colours, the 'masti', the noise! I can't wait for Holi!", she squeaks quite often nowadays. Of course. The colours, the NOISE! I mean, how can one want to miss out on THAT? How often do we encounter noise in our country, anyway? Hardly! Tsk, tsk..

When attacked with sarcasm regarding her wacky liking for Holi, she loses no time in engaging me, and a few fortunate others, in an amusing anecdote of her 'Bombay friends' and herself, regarding the countless 'Holi'days she's spent ( I shall refrain using 'celebrated' owing to personal prejudice) in Mumbai.

"In Bombay, na, my friends and I used to play Holi for hours together, smear dark wet colours all over our bodies, throw pails of coloured water over each other, throw eggs at each other, and balloons, too! We used to dance like there's no tomorrow and would just not want Holi to end. Ever. Anyway, once we would decide to take a break, na, we'd go to this apartment nearby. That apartment, na, had showers in its parking lot and we'd all rush in, push each other and fight in order to clean ourselves! So much crowd, na, baba! Great fun it used to be! Really! SO much fun, SO many people! I want to go to Bombay now, yaar..." I lost track after that. I heard some rambling by Pratyusha regarding how she used to play Holi with her friends in Calcutta for hours and play even after cleaning up. Something about 'mamma ka kheer' also cropped up, I distinctly remember. The 'Mamma ka kheer' is, of course, not liable to any comments from me. We all know how homesick people from Bengal and other faraway places can get when studying in Madras.

Barring that one exception, I am quite bemused by my friends! I never knew the clutter, lack of space, lack of privacy and isolation, and sheer clamour and cacophony had so many takers! Wow! I mean, would you look at that!? "We used to push each other to have a bath" , but that's okay! It's holi! Of course. Why would ANYONE mind?

I fail to understand this affinity that a majority of people in my country have for this boisterous festival! However, I am merely charmed by their affection towards it. It is so 'Indian', our beloved festival! The togetherness, the variety and diversity of sweets, the bhaang, the touching-of-bodies, (quite dissimilar to what happens in the country on all other days...or is it?), the melody of 'Rang Barse' that fills in the air, and the sheer resplendence!

In this populated and popular festivity, what can one do but smile, grit one's own teeth, and gladly accept the pail of pink water being jestingly thrown at your from four storeys above? Almost feels like some 'fun', doesn't it?

P.S.- I am quite lucky to be in this southern metropolitan! Apparently, the rush of Holi least affects my no-non-sense city. Whee.

Weights and Measures

I'm quite sick of arbitrary expressions. Why can't there be precision in conveying certain meanings? Why can't there be a pretty measuring tape, or a weighing machine, or even a ruler, to measure how much one loves, hates, envies, yearns, etc. When you say that you love me, why is there no possibility of taking that love, pouring it into a scientific beaker and comparing it with the love you profess for someone else? Why is it incomparable, relative and so abstruse?! I would kill to know the exactness of every emotion hurled at me; the scientific correctness of every sentiment toward me; the sheer measure of every meaning. I mean, what does "I want this SO bad" mean? Or, "I love you more than you can ever imagine!"? Or even, "Argh, I hate her from the bottom of my heart, screw her!" mean? IS there any way of knowing exactly how much you want, love or hate? I know this is impossible. It doesn't make it beautiful, no. Just lends emotion a glimmer of enigma and makes it seem all important and special. Ah, the glory. Somehow, funnily, mystery has always fascinated most people. The prospect of surprise, of concealed truths, of hidden meanings and true love looms ahead, like a carrot on a stick, while we, like mere donkeys, surge our heads forward and try grabbing our prize. There's no prize for us, though. Just a life full of its silly secrets and mean surprises.

Small Wonder

I've been an observer for a while now. I've noticed patterns, designs and insinuations where there are apparently "none". Don't get me wrong, but sometimes nobody else seems to see my point! Well, it does please me when I see that happen since it makes me feel mildly different and 'crazy', and who wouldn't want to be 'crazy', right?

Anyway, the point is that taking care of the smallest hurdles in life is much more taxing and challenging than tackling 'huger' issues. For instance, try waking up in the morning with a broad smile. Quite hard. Almost all of us have a grumpy, gruff expression that easily relays "Why, why, WHY do I have to wake up now?". Other extremely proactive minds are already on their way contemplating bunking class or planning their sleep-schedule for the day.

Take another instance. Sheer temptation. A temptation to grab that luscious piece of chocolate cake in front of you and just satiate your soul with its dripping delight; A temptation to just take a 'look' at the answer sheet of the person sitting next to you; a temptation to merely hack your beloved's account and go through his/her personal mail and details; a temptation to ignore the possibility of others being right and you, yourself, being terribly mistaken; a temptation of surrendering yourself to the twists and turns of destiny, and still not admitting it; a temptation to take that plunge and kill yourself. All these temptations we, generally, give in to.

On the other hand, persist the BIGGER issues. Climate change, Population Explosion, Wars, Presidential Elections, Unemployment, Financial Crises, Political Hubbub, etc. Well, at least SOMEthing is being done about the aforesaid. There are panels, discussions, agendas, debates, drafts, controversies, arrests, criminal charges, pacts, treaties, understandings, protests, and so much more activity in this area. Why? Uh, obviously! These are MAJOR problems, all right? They are the 'in' things, and issues that need to be addressed right away. One MUST be global, and not stuck in that personal shell of his/her own. Think broad, think global.

Of course, both of these need our attention and our wholesome involvement in tackling them. But, yes, it is BOTH of these issues that we need to address. The latter might seem to be the dominant issue, but that is a mere illusion.

All I am trying to say is that little things matter. They might not seem to be huge issues, but resolving these issues is what makes a HUGE difference.
It's not as easy as it seems, and ignoring them won't make it any easier.


P.S.- I do not know the point of this piece of writing. I just wanted to write. See, it's a small little thing. I wanted to write. Not about Climate Change, but about an inconsequential matter, which to me, is of paramount fascination. So, I did.

She

And I don't like her. She is bad.
Her sheer presence makes me mad.
And I don't know whether I should rhyme?
I use a face-wash that's got thyme.
Coming back to the point, she's a bitch.
In my M&B story, she's the only hitch.
Oft she interferes in vital affairs,
though she knows that no one really cares,
and yet, she dares! She dares!

When I find her in front of me,
politeness is not what I shall be.
Instead she'll be confronted with Satan,
who is armed with both- a fork and a baton!
Oh, she's not a pretty sight, that one.
No one will ask her to 'Come Undone'.
And even if she does, we'll throw her away,
and move on to a finer life, a finer day!
Amen.

Of sleep and disturbances

I dreamt a dream last night,
and quite a queer dream it was.
Not of angels and the dreamy Heaven,
but of dirty scum and wanton thugs.
In my dream, there lay austerity,
and in that austerity, my dream.
For some nasty reason, I enjoyed myself.
An odd buzz of disturbance ensued,
and I woke up to nature's precocious call.
Damn the timing, Damn it all!

I want to enter my dream again,
I want it to pervade my slumber;
Yet, there comes naught but failure,
as I try to conjure the hazy illusion.
As vacant as Freud's mind, is mine.
And I am reminded of patience.
And the dullness leads to a sweet sleep,
unbroken by an untimely bathroom break.

My love

A smile that flirted with his fine lips,
caught red-handed by the glorious rays,
spread across the sombre, cloudy sky,
over which had fallen the veil of darkness.
I watched my life smile comfortingly at me,
I replayed the image in the mirror of my mind,
and watched the reflection sketch a miracle!
Where can such truth be found, tell me?
Where can such bottomless love crouch and hide?
In the thin niches of the transient present,
there appeared a fleeting mirage of ecstasy.
I swished my magic wand, so sweet!
Poof! My petty illusion met reality!

My boy

He walked the winding roads of simplicity,
and sailed in the most placid of lakes,
My boy had a tender, young heart in his chest,
that longed to kiss the warmth of sunshine!
He trotted and jogged from dawn to dusk,
and closed his eyes awaiting sweet dawn again!

Then, one day, he found a shining rock.
It reminded him of his father's heart.
In his closed fist, it lay so precious!
Against his own heart, he held it proud.
The hue of darkness in the rock-comforting.
That was his own reflection, my dear.

A wandering, twinkling star, dear child of mine,
shone bright against the charred sky of destiny.

Unfortunate

Her face, a dark sketch of pain,
looked up to him for a salve.
He looked away, and gulped hard,
trying to suppress the rising bile.
The deluge of tears in her eyes,
threatening to flood her pretty face,
and he stood there, clutching his pride,
while the rest of us cringed with agony.

Her silky hair whooshed like a cape,
when she turned around in exasperation.
Her eyes conveyed the hurt of the heart,
mingled with the shards of a prickly dream.
Her resolve to be unaffected drowned in pain,
and the excuse of love bid a shallow goodbye.

He, too, was lost in this maze of filth,
and he, too, found this feeling enigmatic.
No sympathy he discovered, though, ever,
and his pain died another death in his heart.
The rift, that had cropped up, broadened,
and she fell into it, while he simply watched.

Stranded

Stranded
Not alone.
A frantic search.
Relief-I found myself.
Stranded.

The White Lice

In the dark recess of her tresses,
Lay the tiny specimen- a couple of white lice.
They crawled their way in and out,
And thrived on her prized scarlet.
Unions they formed, they stood so strong,
And displayed inane arrogance!
Learning to sing, learning to dance,
They hopped their way through Ebony.
Growing in number, an imminent risk,
They found their way on many a head!
The masses demanded representation,
And so the King formed a Parliament.
Discussions were held and laws were made,
And tere were many a strike and protest.
Democracy- the new haven for white lice.
They bred everywhere unabashedly,
And lived unhappily ever after.
And THAT, my dear, was a colony of white lice.
Or, white lies.
Same difference.

Insomnia

The Canvas of dreams lay vacant.
No hue of the night appeared.
Colorless and dead-the violet sky.
The cherubs of sleep nowhere in sight,
As the demon of darkness shut the door.
The hallucination of a vague dream,
And eyelids that refused to lie.
Slumber slumber, where were you?
(Ride on a horse, come, take me away!)
The hours ticked away to eternity,
And time lay splattered across the night.
No matter the deathly stillness,
No matter the haunting loneliness.
Deprived of solace, I lay in my bed,
And begged the rustle of the leaves,
to sing me a lullaby and rock me to sleep.

And a new beginning

Hello, all.

I have decided to turn this only-for-poetry blog into maybe-a-random-article blog now. I do not guarantee too many articles as I am not articulate enough, and I absolutely adore poetry. Anyway, for now, here's something you might want to thrust your opinions on: Whether, or not, I can succeed in my attempt at prose and non-poetic stuff?

Don't shower me with too much condemnation, it'll just break my mighty heart. :)

If you don't like what I write now on, or if you've never liked what I've written...

Keep it to yourself, okay?

Good.

Un-together.

Under the wide wings of the Banyan Tree,
you told me the tales of a glorious past.
Of wonders, thrills and disappointments.
I listened, with wonder, and part-boredom.
The debt of a friend had to be paid.

A flinch, here and there, time and again.
Yet, the drops of a Heaven Gone lay frozen.
Warmth spread to their frigid hearts,
and behold! Here comes a river!
Bringing with it, ashes of the past.

A veil of concern and a facade of care.
An eternity of nursing brought you back.
And yet, there lingered a sickly stench.
Aroma therapy doubled-up and wailed,
while sickness and fatigue budged not.

Nothing works, except a divine salve;
Go, fetch the hemlock, I care not!
Go, fetch the thorns of reality, no bother!
Bring home the chaos of War, I shall fight!
Keep those florid words to yourself,
for they mean naught. They never did.

Trance

A swing, and the weighty bat comes down hard.
On that slouch of a balding character!
How dare he encroach upon my territory?
Intrepid, that pesky little Mr.Thumbelina!

Trodding alongside the Line Of No Control,
and prodding the fraying rope that lay,
he pranced about, in and out-A challenge, eh?
A kick on the shin, a limp 'Ow'. Rest in Peace.

Up, once again, and round-eyed with wonder,
An air of a prince that housed his torn pride,
A watchful glance down the shady lane,
And we're back to being what we are!

A jesting look, and a peeping tongue,
and all the care in the world in a heap.
The heap that was lifted in my arms, O precious,
and scattered across the ripples of the ocean.

(And, secretly swore a thousand curses,
at that wretched filth called Mankind)