November 27, 2009
Mixed are the emotions that arise,
Mixed are the arguments that rise.
Mixed are the thoughts that summarize
Mixed are the lives that survive..
Mixed are the pains that remain,
Mixed are the hearts that drain,
Mixed are the blessings that people get,
Mixed are the redemption's that await.
Mixed are the roads that some take,
Mixed are the stops that some make,
Mixed are the forks that coincide,
Mixed are the paths that decide,
Mixed are the beliefs that question
Mixed are the question that notion
Mixed are the answers that define,
Mixed are the fates that fight the crime.
Mixed are the innocents that reside,
Mixed are the residents that hide
Mixed are the races that help
Mixed are the faces that whelp.
Mixed are the loved ones that remain
Mixed are the corpses that lay strewn
Mixed are the tears that dry
Mixed are the fears that cry
Mixed are the dates that bring terror
but same is the blood that spills,now and forever...
November 23, 2009
Candle light vigils,we the people debates
be it religion or politics of the states,
rocking parties are a heady mixture,
add to that a dash of "parda-faash" culture,
breaking news television,
shake it with some wardrobe malfunction
some drunken party brawls
or window shopping in the malls,
they re everywhere, from twitter to emails,
cheers to our Page 3 cocky-tails.
Some look Serious,some delirious,
sometimes whacky and
sometimes downright tacky,
in your face or plain disgrace,
our P3 are all over the place.
Blowing kisses in the air,
wearing a dress-rare,
they flip flop around,
make an annoying sound,
or give an expert comment instead,
understanding of which is limited,
the rape of a nation,
best discussed over a cocktail concoction,
snacks served on terrorism bites,
end the evening with a DJ night.
Bitch about the local nymphet,
or simply blow their own trumpet.
if nothing else catch a reporter,
go to the bar to discuss manslaughter,
or just buy him a drink
get the damn photograph clicked.
Self invite or gate crash,
depends on how much cash,
stuff you show
let other people know.
Mahesh Bhatt always has a story to tell,
Padamsee's eyebrows swell,
Shobhaa turns 20 on every beach
Suhel sticks on like a leech.
Oh my Simi's plight,
Dah-ling can only dress in white,
Malaya's flashy gold ear- rings,
the in-thing are his F1 flings,
back home Bidappa just swings,
trying to get into the bull ring.
oh there are so many more
i am sure,
somebody please tell them,
intellectual innocence is tolerated seldom,
please stop commenting,
spare us the lamenting,
content matters,and you only know packaging,
so please let the real experts do the talking.
November 20, 2009
the first thing that Id like to do,
is to save everyday, till eternity passes away
just to spend them with you,
if i could make days last forever, if words could make wishes come true,
i d save every day like a treasure, and then again spend them with you...
If I had a box just for wishes, and dreams that had never come true,
the box would be empty except for the memories of how they were answered by you...
If I could make teardrops turn to dew,
i would empty my heart and pour it for you,
to walk on and leave footprints new,
for me to find those memories of you.
If I had eternity sway by my side,
love that would never have cried,
and youth being always true,
I would give it all away
just to have one last look at you...
The song "Time in a bottle" is song written and sung by the late Jim Croce just before he died in a plane crash. Listening to the song is absorbing, to say the least. It kind of sucks you in.Powerful lyrics and lilting melody.One my all time favorites. As a tribute, in my my own small and humble way...I penned a few lines in the last two verses.
I have no false notion of my poetic ability,or the lack of it, so it doesn't warrant a comment.But I feel a sense of gratitude for such compositions. I don't know how else to explain the intensity behind it.I think I am privileged to be able to appreciate these compositions,creations and know that magic can actually be written ! i often wonder if it is possible to write something so passionate without actually experiencing any or part of it. Is it just a mix of good words,creative writing or are they penning their pain in their prose? How difficult could that be? The answer to that is try writing something about some experience for which you have no benchmark or no reference point.
In other words, a truly original post.I think most of us are adept at "bettering" what is dished out.Improvising,refurbishing or for that matter restructuring content. Thus it makes me appreciate these artists much more when I think of their past and their thought process, their pain and their expressions.How one man's words can become someone's emotion, and someone s emotion can just become someone's words....
November 14, 2009
"I have been in and out of the country more than you can imagine… so I know".
The statement hung in the air for some time, before an out of focus pair of blank eyes, came back to reality. Colonel Gupta, now 57, looked like 75,stopped himself from a sharp retort.
Just like he had done for the last 24 years.
A well travelled officer, a decorated officer, meticulous and extremely proud of his country.Col. Gupta was well respected by his peers and seniors .He commanded a huge respect right from the Jawan on the front to the Field Marshall. He had fought wars leading from the front and won medals of honor, and was in the process of becoming the youngest Brigadier in the country.
The telephone call concluded, and he sat back with a sigh...he'd just been offered a role as a defense attaché in Amsterdam. He had to make a choice - decide between serving the nation or the corporation. It was a difficult one.
He took up the job with one of the big MNC's in town shutting his memories and burying aspirations of becoming the next Defense Attaché. Sacrifice had called him again.
How else was he going to fund for that foreign degree that Arun wanted? How else would Arun ever get out of the mediocrity of it all.? ‘Besides a foreign degree would reduce competition for him’.
How else was he to support his only son, whom he loved more than his own life.Col.Gupta thought a little more about Arun, and gulped the lump in his throat, sitting alone with two of his best friends, the couch and loneliness.
Crossing over to the corporate from the military was tougher that he imagined. Over time, he numbed his feelings and adjusted to this new corporate life. The only connection he had with his past were - two ice cubes, water and whiskey ! He would sit quietly in a corner of the dimly lit living room and stare into the empty skies and relive his glorious past. Since his wife had passed away a few years ago, longer if you count mentally and physically, he had become a man of few words ,a stark contrast from where his words would inspire scores of soldiers to go out and lay down their lives for their country or their next best choice - their beloved commander. His savings and health both deteriorated as his wife's medical bills and his son's education fees kept mounting. Yet he had fought on, like a true soldier - never to give up.
Today, his son Arun was home after an assignment in Amsterdam for a prestigious IT company.Conversations were largely limited, mostly close ended or mono syllabic.
Today, his son Arun was home after an assignment in Amsterdam for a prestigious IT company.Conversations were largely limited, mostly close ended or mono syllabic.
Arun was eating when Col.Gupta inquired
‘did you get to eat properly in Amsterdam?’
‘did you get proper accommodation- after all they asked you to leave at such a short notice?’
After a long pause...which seemed like an eternity - Arun’s responded with a modern ‘yeps’?
‘It must've been very cold, did you buy some warm clothes?’ asked a concerned father.
‘Yeps’ was the response again.
‘Did you bring back the muffler I had given you?’Col.Gupta eagerly continued as his face lit up…
‘It is the one I wore when we were facing the enemy in the moun...’
‘ufff Stop this nostalgic stuff Paa’ interrupted a visibly agitated Arun.
‘I've been in and out of the country more than you can imagine, or have ever done, besides how would you know what it is like in Amsterdam - so relax, I know to handle things ’ and Arun left the table,a whiskey glass, and his fathers heart ...empty.
Gyanban Thoughts- We have often come across stories of sacrificing mothers, however sacrificing fathers largely go unnoticed. This is a tribute to them....and mind you...all stories are not fiction. This is about the fathers who have sacrificed their entire lives for their families and yet go unrecognized in their efforts – after all that is a man’s job to work and earn isn’t it? No one realizes the price one has to pay to make this happen. The sacrifice one has to do to make this happen.
So the next time, your old man wants to spend some time with you, discussing his glorious past, give him some time…give him some patience…someday you too will need it in big time.
November 10, 2009
How do you keep on going ,
when you don't see the light ahead,
how do you keep on living,
when an innocent tear is shed.
How do you keep on smiling,
when your heart is bleeding,
How do you keep on being positive,
when peace has taken a sedative.
How do you not give up,
when things are not looking up,
how do you keep fighting,
when your life is approaching the evening.
If there is one above,
this is the time to show your love,
keep the spirit on a roll,
or take out the burning soul.
show me the way,
or take me away...
November 5, 2009
It is a regular Wednesday evening, workday was as usual,the rocking motion of the bus quite usual, the weather usual .6 people start their journey back home.Their middle-class lives did not permit them to have a private means of transport.Over the years some of them really didn't mind it.
Bijoy,an enterprising young man, a misfit with his sitting -on-the-rock-smoking friends,had packed his bags on his uncles confidence in him,and came to the dream city to make it big.His job in a startup was not a high paying one,and as the bus neared the railway station he thought "beggars are not choosers".
Harnam hated the fact that his father wanted him to take over the Tyre dealership.He wanted to sing.Sing to the world and hypnotize,mesmerize them with his golden voice.Tomorrow would be his big day afterall he was shortlisted earlier today for the next round of auditions in a reality show on TV. Maybe this was it.One more round and he would be on live shows...he slipped into a make believe world as the train approached the final destination.
Aalia was rather reluctant to wear the hijab,not that her parents insisted,but thought it would be more appropriate in the society they lived in.She was secretly doubling up as a junior artiste to break free from the endless middle-class mentality.She needed that one break alongside a top heroine,maybe as her sister if she was lucky.Her rickshaw jerked to stop and so did her thoughts about tomorrow.Ronald was waiting just at the right spot.A struggling assistant director, quiet boy from the same colony as Aaliya,they’d bumped into each other in a studio a few weeks back...Since then,they shared their dreams, pains & fantasies of how they’d make it out of their hell hole into the big world of glitz and glamour.They'd found hope.
Anahita had just broken off with her boyfriend & the first thing that came to her mind was Vodka Martini..her faithful old companion,who stood by her always.The ambience of the bar added to her nostalgia. As she remembered the previous 3 occasions.But her real dream was to be high up in the skies.Being an Air hostess would mean an end to her boring mundane regular life.
Tahir had joined a progressive political party earlier in the day.Representing the minority in true spirit,not war mongering, no unnecessary drama, no bias.He had found a mentor and was happy he could now contribute to the country he had benefited from all these years.He was walking past a popular bar,barely able hide his grin and excitement about his new found sense of direction.He couldn't wait to reach home and share it with his father,who had sacrificed his leg in the line of duty for his country.And then it happened.
Bijoy looked up at the big round clock - 9.33PM, the fast local would arrive in about 3 mins.The wait seemed long and tiring as he realised he would be exactly at the same location in less than 15 hours.Feeling thirsty he went to a nearby juice stall.The train was rolling to a slow stop,as Harnam alighted from the running train.The station was packed and crowd ready to barge in like a tidal wave.On his way out he bumped into a man drinking juice nearby.It spilled on to him, surprisingly both did not react.They looked into each other’s eyes,something quite inexplicable connected them.They were about to find out.
Chivalry was expensive for Ronald.But he payed the rickshaw fare for Aaliya inspite of her protests.They headed to platform 1.The train taking them back to their hell –hole had but a 2 hour of peace in between.It was their dream –run. Aaliya said “let us check our fortune today.”The one rupee coin went in the clunky weight reading machine,and out came a ticket which read 57kgs to her delight.Below it- the future prediction – This is your time.Live every moment,tomorrow will bring a new perspective.Aaliya crossed her fingers and gave a small tug at Ronalds hand showing him the ticket.
Anahita still felt low even after a couple of drinks.She decided to go back home..but just as she was about to get up the bartender offered his regular customer one on the house..She thought one more drink and I’ll go back home,sleep it off, and tomorrow will be a new day. This will not be so difficult.Hang in there.! Little did she know what a few minutes could do to her future. Finishing her drink she started to walk out of the door,she saw a young man walking with a strange look in his eyes,talking to himself.Their eyes met,and her heart skipped a beat immediately...Anahita was transfixed at Tahir as the moonlight fell on his face.Something told her he is the man.This is it.
Just then two men,who were waiting in the dark watching, alighted from the parked taxi.Tahir turned his head to see guns in their hands,his instinct made him jump in front of Anahita to push her away.They opened fire.The explosion of bullets into her beautiful starry eyes preceded her fall to the ground.Tahir’s blood spurted on Anahita’s forehead when another bullet pierced his temple.
Aaliya and Ronald heard gunshots and people started panicking.It was chaos.Her heart beating fast ,mind confused, made it difficult to decide which way to go.Ronald screamed at her to shake her up from her stupor."Run"he said pointing towards the waiting train compartment.The bullets chased them from behind.Aaliya collapsed near a juice stall before reaching the safety of the compartment.Bijoy was shot in the back, Harnam’s body was punctured, he lay there still,did not react at the sight of blood and a dead woman in his arms..Ronald fell down seeing the big clock strike 9.36PM.
On 26/11 B. H. A. R. A.T. had died.
November 2, 2009
my heart bleeds and no one to hold,
Everything you do is a miracle,
my work is such a struggle,
Everywhere you go you are revered,
my life has no one bothered,
Everything you say is measured,
my voices are unheard.
Ever thought of lending an ear,
my life won't be in such a despair,
Ever thought of granting a wish,
my needs are genuine not a fetish
Ever thought of coming down to Earth?
you could be surprised of your worth.
Ever thought of being stuck in a traffic?
my computer could show you the gory graphic.
Ever thought of paying rent?
my pocket can't even afford a tent.
Ever worried of getting fat?
my tummy swells just like that.
Such is my life o dear God
show me the way or take me aboard.
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