Earlier, I thought I could forgive but never forget.
I think now I can forget, I can never forgive.

Like Janis said...Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose...

Balls.
:)

Classic

Life throws up turns at you often. A few of them appear to be blind turns away from the straight path that appears thorny and difficult but with a view of the distant dream. The turn you contemplate is into a blind alley that might take you to the same or an even better but distant and hazy dream. That turn also is about survival. For you and for a few more others.

Noise

The light is a brazen red. He guns his bike, but the engine is disengaged from the wheel. Like reality playing catch up with thoughts. With a flick of his heel, he unhinges the rest stand and lets the bike lean on to it. Ambient noise from a traffic signal along the Western Express Highway. A few steps to the left, he walks up to the leper, who has his stub of a leg wrapped up in a polythene bag to prevent the water from seeping in, and hands him a few coins. 40 year old man in the red car behind is impatient. He honks loudly.

The light is still red.
He will give him a glare.

No. 1 is a Delhiite. No.2 is a Goan. No.3 is a Parsi Bava. No.4 is a Kannadiga. No.5 is a guy from remote interior Vidarbha.

Thats Mumbai.

Vague

There is a faint whiff of the past in the air today. Like a gentle mist that hangs around on some days. The overbearing feeling that something of the past changed your life irrevocable. It gave you contentment that IT couldn't have been different. Or regret that IT wasn't better. A faint smell, not inhaled since long, but very very unforgettable. Of skin, of clothes, of the land and of familiarity. Sweet pain after a climax, the tinge of disappointment that it didn't last long and that it is now gone. Like a peak that was reached and the only journey forth is downwards.

Or perhaps, the past will overtake the present and crash into the future....

From the drafts in my gmail.
________________________

No one knows what its like
To be the bad man
To be the sad man
Behind blue eyes

No one knows what its like
To be hated
To be fated
To telling only lies

But my dreams
They arent as empty
As my conscience seems to be

I have hours, only lonely
My love is vengeance
Thats never free

No one knows what its like
To feel these feelings
Like I do
And I blame you

No one bites back as hard
On their anger
None of my pain and woe
Can show through

But my dreams
They arent as empty
As my conscience seems to be

I have hours, only lonely
My love is vengeance
Thats never free

When my fist clenches, crack it open
Before I use it and lose my cool
When I smile, tell me some bad news
Before I laugh and act like a fool

If I swallow anything evil
Put your finger down my throat
If I shiver, please give me a blanket
Keep me warm, let me wear your coat

No one knows what its like
To be the bad man
To be the sad man
Behind blue eyes

- Behind Blue Eyes
The Who

Thats Me In the Corner

One song that will always bind me to this city. No Friday night in Gurgaon was complete without Shiv playing this song, and the night rounded off by 'Romeo & Juliet', the bunch of romantic idiots that we all are. I will forget every pub, every disc, every other damn watering hole I have been to, but I won't forget any place that got this song, be it CNT in Gurgaon, or Blues in Connaught Place, Someplace Else in Kolkata, T-Oaks in Pune.

Shores

Drifting on the calm waters
From this shore to the other
Stopping at dark
for some warmth and life
I row...

And then there is the horizon
where the sky reflects the water
and merges
Where I want to be
Waiting for when

It will be time.

Wrote this more than two years back and now its time again for that unease. Time for some turbulence. Leaving shores to wander off once again. Another journey, other co-travellers, some still constant and strangely, the destination just as hazy as earlier. The pattern doesn't change much. Experiences do, immensely. How will it be this time?

Jab main chota baccha tha

She: i have to go to the dentist today evening. Got 3 cavities and getting a tooth removed.
Grahan laga hai.
Me: bachpan mein merese itni chocolate chura ke khayi uska jurmaana hai
She: chup be!

Every melody lulls into a drone...
Every conversation meanders into trivial exchanges...
Every story falls into a predictable sequence...
Every journey that follows a map finally leads nowhere...

When you give it too much time...

Writing anything after long and this is what comes up.

Bombay Meri Jaan

Of the many memories associated with the city, is a recent one of a particularly rainy day about an year and half ago. I was in the city commuting between the eastern and the western suburbs in one of those black 'n' yellow Bajaj RE auto rickshaws. It had been a typical difficult day with water clogging low lying streets and the indefatigable traffic jams near the Andheri railway station. Waiting at a particular spot for the traffic to open up, I noticed a well dressed middle aged man in the auto alongside mine. Dressed in a crisply ironed pale yellow shirt and formal trousers, he appeared well groomed and part of the media community that is omnipresent in those parts of Bombay. As is usual to his likes, and I generalize, the upper two buttons of his shirt were undone.

He took out a cigarette but didn't have a light on him. Asking his auto driver proved futile and he looked around for some help. The driver of another auto behind him happened to catch his eye and this man made a mute signal of raising the smoke held between his fingers. 'Got a match?' With an acknowledgement of the request, the other driver fumbled for a while in his pockets and finally found a matchbox in the 'first aid box' of his vehicle. This man gets out and walks up to the other auto, between the vehicles and under the slight drizzle, lights his cigarette with the match that the driver has lit, expresses his gratitude with a slight nod and walks back to his own auto. In a few seconds the traffic cleared up and we all went our way. Not a word, no please, no thank you. All in the matter of a few seconds.

Tadaa!!!

'Wheee!'

'Things You Can't Leave Behind'

Happy B'day!

Happy b'day to you, dear '___'. I don't quite know what to call you. In common terms you would be a 'blog', but you could be a lot of other things too.

Here's to all these words!!

Mine, immaculate dream, made breath and skin,
Ive been waiting for you,
Signed, with a home tattoo,
happy birthday to you
was created for you.

(cant ever keep from falling apart.. at the seams)
(cant I believe youre taking my heart.. to pieces)

Ahh, itll take a little time, might take a little crime
to come undone
Now well try to stay blind, to the hope and fear outside,
Hey child, stay wilder than the wind
And blow me in to cry

Who do you need?
Who do you love?
When you come undone

Words, playing me deja vu,
like a radio tune I swear Ive heard before,
Chill, is it something real,
or the magic Im feeding off your fingers

(cant ever keep from falling apart.. at the seams)
(can I believe youre taking my heart.. to pieces)

Lost, in a snow filled sky, well make it alright,
to come undone,
Now well try to stay blind, to the hope and fear outside,
Hey child, stay wilder than the wind -
And blow me in to cry...

- Come Undone
Duran Duran

Long years ago, I made a Tryst with Destiny

One Djinn to rule them all,
One Djinn to find them.
One Djinn to bring them all
and in the darkness bind them.

It will be one year in a few days. One year of the daily love affair with the autorickshaw. An year of wonder, angst, irritation and surprise at the winds. A place ensconsed in history as much as history ensconsed in India. Of Rajputs and of Sultans, of Nawabs and Mughals, of Britishers and of Punjabis. Of drunken brawls and khadi overcoats. Green'n'yellow buses, flashy Honda CRVs and Government Ambassadors. Of neem trees amidst paved footpaths, smooth gravel and golf courses. Kebabs and chaat, kachori subzi and HCF. Bazaars, behemoth malls and parking lots. Student protests and necrophiliacs. Dhaula Kuan, Mehrauli and Connaught Place. Medical, Safdarjang and Dilli Haat. One year of Delhi.

Haanji.

Coimbatore Diaries

It isnt time as yet for the sunset and yet the sun has gone into hiding. I can see the silhoutte of the Nilgiri range from the hotel room. It is a good room, with a big window, without any grills to obstruct the view. Somewhere, it is raining. I can sense it in the whiff of moist earth. I wish I could open the windows and let the fresh air in. But they're locked. I can hear nothing but the dull humm of the AC. There are a few birds flying around. The setting sun has cast an orange glow to the sky just above the line of the mountains. It feels like Ooty is calling me. I called my colleague up and asked if he was interested in making the three hour trip to the hillstation at night. We could get up early and explore the place at sunrise. The flight back from Coimbatore is at 230 pm. We would have a couple of hours of daylight before we will need to head back. It is alluring enough. I wish I had a camera, so I could share this view with somebody. I am hoping I can pick a good deal from the KL trip two weeks from now. Yes, this time and view wont repeat itself, but there will be others.

________________________

I asked Sis if she knew the names of our grandparents. Between the both of us, we know the name of only our paternal grandfather. I assume that is because Dad writes it with his name. I suppose that makes ours a dysfunctional family. I like that.

Go to Bed?

A tired you,
a tired me,
words strewn across
the bed of our Emotions

Changed every noon
fresh every evening
crumpled the next dawn,
the white sheets of Hope

Here now, gone again,
flitting conversations, varied experiences
Softened, over time,
the pillows of Companionship

Short and sweet
Long and hollow
Still there, every day,
the elixir of Sleep

Check, My Mate

Our queens and our knights,
squares of black n white
Alert they must stand,
walls, they must they gaurd
Illusions bland

A wall of pawns
Your side and mine
One move yours
one chance mine,
Questions everywhere

Straight, sideways
white on black
black on black
and a hop in between,
Silent whispers

Someone will break
Something will give
Until we encircle
and ambush the king,
My Queen

Play the game,
all over again
Shall we?

I close my eyes
only for a moment
and the moments gone
All my dreams
pass before my eyes, a curiousity
dust in the wind
all we are is dust in the wind

Same old song
just a drop of water
in the endless sea
All we do
crumbles to the ground
though we refuse to see
Dust in the wind
all we are is dust in the wind

So dont hang on
nothing lasts forever
but the earth and sky
It slips away
And all your money
won't another minute buy

Dust in the wind,
all we are is dust in the wind
dust in the wind

- Dust In The Wind
Cat Stevens

kya bataaon maa kahan hoon mai
yahan udney ko mere khula aasman hai
tere kisson jaisa bola salona
jahan hai yahan sapno wala
meri patang ho befikar udd rahi hai, maa
dor koi loote nahin, beech se kaate na

kaise tujhko dikhaun yahaan kya hai
maine jharne se paani, maa, tod ke piya hai
guccha guccha kai khwabon ka uchhal ke chuwa hai
chhaya liya bhali dhoop hai yahan hai
naya naya sa hai roop yahan

yahan sab kuch hai maa, phir bhi
lage bin tere mujhko akela

- Lukka Chhupi
Rang de Basanti

Thought of these lyrics, caused by a bag that remains unpacked at this midnightly hour.
And she always forgets towels...

Gabbar Gabbar

aao kaalia, kya khabar laaye ho?
sarkar, hamara appraisal hua,
theek thaak hua
hmm, kitne aadmi the?
chaar the, sarkar
woh chaar, aur tum ek, bahut na insafi
magar sarkaar, accha feedback diya
humse poocha, tumhe raat ko macchar to nahi pareshaan karte?
humne kaha, macchar to nahi, kuch khatmal sone nahi dete
pata chala humein unse communicate karne ki zaroorat hai,
khatmal bhai humein pareshaan na kare,
aur yeh bataaya gaya ki microsoft excel unki bhasha hai
phir humein anti-khatmal spray diya gaya,
for temporary relief

woh bhi 20% extra!!!

:D
p.s. apologies for mixing up names in the sacred sholay script, I really didn't care enough...:D

You Too!!!!

She was 'Trixie2' at first.
Then she fancied being 'Mary Jane'
She also went a little 'Left of the Middle'
Until 'Her Karma Ran Over My Dogma'
And somewhere 'If at first you don't succeed, skydiving isn't for you'

Well, I do hope you succeed the very first time at this now.

Congratuations Sim. Love Ya!

Love Mongrel

He is
a love mongrel

This door
and that alley

This crumb
and that

This winter
and howl

This foot
and that kick

From this street
and another

Love mongrel
He

Here Comes The Rain Again...

Yesterday
On the way to office, while I was waiting at a redlight, a dark grey Bentley glides by like a silent jungle cat and parks itself on my left. Underneath the simplistic body and chrome, I could feel the pulsating throb of its bull engine and what it was capable of. At the same time, it could give me the experience of luxury in as small a space as that, wood panel finish, 6 cd changer and all that jazz. I turned my head the other side. A white grizzly bear with the initials Lexus Lx470 rumbles by and comes to rest on my other side, fumes coming out of its exhaust pipe, while the stunning offroader flirted with the smooth Delhi gravel. I move on ahead. The light on the Rajpath signal is green and yet the traffic does not move. I curse under my breath, its going to be late again. And then from the road emerging from Rashtrapati Bhavan, with a scream of red flashing beacons, a convoy of 8 white Toyota Corollas whiz by. Clock precision driving, each car within 3 feet of the one ahead, doing 60kph, each carrying some smug looking firangs. With a sigh, I turn to look ahead, beyond the driver of the green and yellow Bajaj CNG auto-rickshaw I was in.

He has a sadist streak in Him.


Here comes the rain again
Falling on my head like a memory
Falling on my head like a new emotion
I want to walk in the open wind
I want to talk like lovers do
I want to dive into your ocean
Is it raining with you

Here comes the rain again
Raining in my head like a tragedy
Tearing me apart like a new emotion
Oooooh
I want to breathe in the open wind
I want to kiss like lovers do
I want to dive into your ocean
Is it raining with you

So baby talk to me
Like lovers do

Here Comes The Rain Again
- Annie Lennox

Today, something died

a hope
a relation
an emotion
a bond
a desire

a lifetime

With a flick of my finger I cleaned the speck of dust that chose to sit on my sleeve.
Something that had been building up over a long time just crashed under its own weight.
Noiselessly

Today, something died.

This pic defines the time

(click to enlarge)

I have a 'booze coaster' from one unforgettable evening with friends at TCs in Delhi, obviously used as a tea coaster in office now. It was one of the media nights at the place and 'The Doors - Live' sponsored by VH1 was being screened. The coaster, autographed very lovingly by friends who I was with that night, has that very very recognizable black n white image of Jim Morrison. Along the edge is a quote attributed to him - 'When you make your peace with authority, you become authority'. This, from someone, who apparently died of an OD.

I also had two car stickers from that night. One, with the same face, said 'Riders on the Storm' that I stuck on the board in Office. It was taken off by somebody. I can't figure out why. The other had U2's Bono saying 'Things You Cant Leave Behind', which I stuck on my travel bag. It came off somewhere too.

On the lonesome train journey back, I kept staring out of the window. Passengers got up, others got down, I kept staring out, watching the sun make its journey across half the sky. Somewhere on the same train, there were two acquaintances from back home, but I wish they wouldn't disturb my space. My space in that overcrowded second class train compartment and that long distance train journey. The weather changed from the hot humidity of the Nizammudin railway station, across the heart of the country, into the western hinterland. I had some packaged food, lebanese falafel, packed from the hotel where I had had two baths. A lady was sitting on the opposite chair, a working woman and yet the pallu of her maroon saree draped over her head. She looked older than she must have been, a leather strap wristwatch on her hand. She kept staring out too. Perhaps, she was going back home from where she had been working, to someone waiting back home. Her creased forehead and the wrinkles besides her eye kept speaking to me in an unspoken language. I should have asked her if she would share my dinner. She would have probably given me that little smile that rose up on her face once in a while, while she was staring out of the window. And politely refused.

I didn't. She got down a few stations later.
I resumed staring out.
I hope she was going home to someone.

On a wagon bound for market
There's a calf with a mournful eye
High above him there's a swallow
Winging swiftly through the sky

How the winds are laughing
They laugh with all the their might
Laugh and laugh the whole day through
And half the summer's night

Donna Donna Donna Donna

"Stop complaining", said the farmer
Who told you a calf to be
Why don't you have wings to fly with
Like the swallow so proud and free

How the winds are laughing
They laugh with all the their might
Laugh and laugh the whole day through
And half the summer's night

Donna Donna Donna Donna

Calves are easily bound and slaughtered
Never knowing the reason why
But whoever treasures freedom
Like the swallow has learned to fly

How the winds are laughing
They laugh with all the their might
Laugh and laugh the whole day through
And half the summer's night

Donna Donna Donna Donna

- Donna Donna
Joan Baez