And where is your other half?

Its a half moon night. I wonder what the other half is upto.

Death at our doorsteps.

When we were kids, we always thought that death happened to people living in a far away land. We believed that graveyards were in outer space. That death was not for us.

We rode our tricycles on the streets not knowing what accidents meant. We played House-House with all the members always living. We always had happy endings.
We never played WAR.

We heard the bombs only during the festival of lights.
We knew neither the meaning nor the pronunciation for the word 'Terrorist'.

We were safe, free and really happy kids.


Now when we are all grown up, we have realized that life happens to people living in a far away land. We are surrounded by graveyards and burning bodies. That life is not for us. It can never be cause our intelligence happens to fails us every time we think it is for us.

Death awaits us at our doorsteps.

Mr. Dhingra

Kindly confirm arrival at office.
Please call Mr. Dhingra-papa, at your earliest.
Wife Usha Dhingra is not well. Your willingness to come home on time is much required and will be appreciated.
Tonight, please drink according to your capacity. And don't attempt driving after that. Failure to abide might lead to imprisonment and shame.


These are not letters from the public sector. They are some text messages from my public sector Dad. He takes 30 minutes to type one message, saves it as draft, spell checks it and then sends it to his elder daughter with a cc to the younger one.

Dad's impersonal way of expressing himself affects the two daughters at a personal level.

We have all his messages saved.

Sincerely.

Therefore the moon is ours...

Every full moon night I think of us!

Ambition.

I want to be a scarecrow and stay closer to the fields!

Low low Low low Low low Low low

I am low on confidence, high on depression.
I think my happiness is in the midst of a recession.

Let the moon be!

Isn't it enough for us to know that it is a poet's poetry, a lover's love song, a traveler's torch, a painter's painting, a dreamer's delight?

Why do we want to find out it if magnesium, aluminum, silicon, calcium, iron and titanium are present on the lunar crust?

Did we just kill the poetry of life by searching for science in it?

With some dope and a little hope
I managed to get rid of my suicidal rope.

Its about ME.

I like being alone but I hate being lonely.
I am never at home but I call myself HOMELY.

I look like I am yellow but I am all red inside.
I want to die without committing suicide.

I write like a poet but I talk like a scientist.
I think I donated my teeth to a dentist.

I pretend I am a star and shy away from fame.
I can remember numbers but I always forget NAMES.

I like simple words and even simpler thoughts.
I successfully blocked my past on Gtalk.

I like to move fast but I am slow with 'Moving on'
I love driving the car but i hate using the horn.

The End.

[pruh-nuhn-see-ey-shuhn]

Today I forgot the correct pronunciation for 'Dynamism'. Last week I forgot what 'Warmth' sounded like. A couple of weeks back, I struggled with 'Resurrection'.
Do they have a name for this disease? If yes, How do you pronounce it?

Rise and shine!

Today I found dust and cobwebs on my blog. I guess it needs some sunlight and fresh air.


And some life too!

My favourite Haiku.

Damn it!

Thought for the day.

Some calls are better left unanswered!

Fictional reality.

It happened one day, three years back, in a deserted street of the city where romance occupies every molecule of the city's polluted air just like the djinns do.

I saw love in those eyes (and like I have mentioned earlier in one of my blog entries), I blindly followed them.

The eyes that taught me how to drown tears of pain into songs of happiness. The hands that held my hand so tight that the lines of my palm fell exactly onto his. The lips that savored the poison of the dark as the flavor of the night. The fingers that only favored the moon and ignored the stars. The words that encouraged me to discover prose of my own and some poems too! The face that had layers of calm and peace deposited on the tremors of commotion. The soul that was so real that it evaporated every trace of fiction away.

I romanced three years of my life away with a djinn. He made me fall in love with him and then disappeared into the darkness of the night.

I am trying to stop loving him.

I am trying to drown my tears of pain and change the lines of my palm. I savour the poison every night begging for its flavor to change. I chase the moon and ask the stars for directions. I write words that bring his memories alive in prose and in poetry! In the tremors of commotion I search for peace and calm.

I wish for these three years of my life to turn into fiction with no trace of reality, romance and the djinn.



(I am sorry for this melancholic piece of prose..I just finished reading the City of Djinns and got nostalgic.) This is also for those who think i am fictional...I seriously wish i was..but strange as it may sound..i am for real..and so is the djinn I fell in love with!

a half written post in complete sentences

There is an incomplete song playing in my head,
a half-written poem lying on my bed.

There is an incomplete argument waiting to be won.
with a half-committed boyfriend soon to be dumped.

There is an incomplete move waiting to be danced
by a half broken spine thats supporting me by chance.

There is an incomplete life to which death seems the closest.
a half decomposed skeleton is lying in my closet.

There is an incomplete present feeling totally butchered.
and a half-forgotten past thats eating up my future.

There is an incomplete drunkenness preparing to get drunk
with a half empty glass that looks half-full when hung.

There is an incomplete sin asking to be committed
my half-eaten apple just got digested.

chota

when i am drunk, she drives
what i demand, she supplies

At times
we secretly cry listening to the same song
and still pretend to not get along

i choke, when she smokes
she pays, when i am broke

Sometimes
we take each other's arse
and then casually mention that, " this too shall pass"

when i abuse, she ignores
what i ignore, she adores

There are days
when we talk only with our middle fingers
And act like we'd act with total strangers.

i pick what she drops
she runs while I hop.

Often
we become each other's blessing in disguise
she is a spoonful of truth in my bowl full of lies.

when she asks, i oblige
while i die, she survives

hatred.

I hate seeing friends in strangers
and strangers in friends

I hate glitz n glitter
and people who litter

I hate red riding hood for being so red
and signs like 'this bears no resemblance to person living or dead'

I hate my sister in pain
and hate her even more when she acts like a saint

I hate the absence of trees and the presence of malls,
unwanted marketing callers and their unwanted calls

I hate eve teasing bastards and male chauvinist pigs
and sick fucking assholes who can't control their dicks

I hate people who preach and people who ditch
and all my near and dear ones who think i am a bitch

I hate the fact that i am supposed to be married
i hate my future husband and the ugly kids who are yet to be carried!

I hate this entire week and the week that ended day before yesterday.
I hate the fact that a week after this week i will love everything I hate today.

Lost and found

Sometimes a loss can cause you a lot of damage! Especially when what you have lost is nothing less than your own self.

And then the journey begins to find the lost you!

You leave on a mission to find your lost smile along with your missing heart and the ever silent mind. The search begins in the nearest bar; in different shades and shapes of potent liquid; in familiar strangers and unfamiliar territories; in the roads so often traveled but so less recognized; in the 7th week of solitude; in unfair relationships; in recurring memories and resurging past.

You yearn for the eyes that saw your dreams, the voice that told your story and the hands that shaped your present. You cry for your lost innocence, your misplaced soul and omitted conscience and suffer the loss of a lost you.

You travel far and wide to reduce the distance between you and your real self and finally come back home defeated.

And then one fine day, when you have accepted the absence and rebuild a new you, you discover that in that new you- you have found the lost smile, the missing heart, the silent mind again and that too- in your own house, in your own room, on your own side of the bed!

Tell Mom that you are finally home!

Can you?

Can you censor my dreams, punctuate my thoughts, edit my fears, organize my randomness?

shine!

It takes a whole lot of moons and a whole lot of suns to shine like a star.

today

today i want to be

a period stain
a clogged drain
indian monsoon with no rain

a plain jane
a deserted lane
an open wound with no pain


a broken chain
a passenger train
a cheap holiday bargain!

blind love

I saw love in those eyes and followed them blindly. Now I am desperately seeking an eye surgeon to cure my heart.