ODE TO ECSTASY

Mine is an ode to ecstasy,
No place it has for nostalgic tears.
A silence so musical, never again I know I might hear
But I’ll have a shot at diplomacy,
Mine is an ode to ecstasy!

A flickering flame life-an indefinite lease!
Used to feeling good, I take no unease,
for what persists today must tomorrow cease,
too short a time to grieve some unrealized fantasy
Mine is an ode to ecstasy!

Life will be a trade with every usual shade,
through toxic, tedious waters, I shall have to wade.
That fragrance so sacred, never might I feel
But used to secret raptures-I’ll break not my policy!
Mine is an ode to ecstasy!

An excuse this world and its intoxicants
Sinners all lost, lost all saints,
I too shall be lost, or pretend to be.
That symbol of an “ought”, I’ll no longer perceive,
but I too must now learn, the art of hypocrisy,
Mine is an odd to ecstasy!!

TO AN INDIVIDUAL

Love, for the lack of a better word,
is no means to an end.
But, is not it an end itself
in this passing moment?

Seeing my joy, some friends asked me,
why do I not show?
Why would I when seeing you “free”
I get my joy in flow?

No excuse is this bliss unbound,
to capture a breeze so fresh!
That soft breeze, though, is a pretext sound,
to infuse life’s joy in flesh.

Yet I long, to share with you,
everything that’s mine.
But then, what’s mine, but myself,
and some useless lines?

And therefore, to you I give,
this surge from some deep source.
For myself I can give not,
since I already am yours!

A QUESTION

There is a question,
The question is with me,
and I am the question.
The answer that I seek,
does not exist,
For if there is an answer,
it raises ten more questions,
and "answers" to those questions,
raise a thousand questions more!
So what I actually seek,
is disappearance of my question,
and since I am the question,
it is my disappearance!

TO AN INDIVIDUAL

How shall I share with you in words,
The elegance of a graceful pace
The ethereal clues in a tangible face; and
the overflowing joy of morning birds?

How shall I capture in speech
The beauty of a blossom in bloom; its innocence,
convey in words its fragrance,
and transmit the music of soft breeze??

How will these porous words hold
The subtlety of a fresh dew's story,
sing paeans to its pristine glory,
and tell what can't be told?

How shall I infuse any word
with what speakers fail to speak,
what is lost in constant shriek
and the depth of silences unheard?

HOW will the lifeless manifest life's worth
and show it to the creator's immaculate creation,
whose no bit need be changed for any distant heaven,
or for this very earth?

But overcome by greed, I admit
without pretense, having a craving intense,
but to overcome that need, I can offer you to read,
nothing more than a deep contagious SILENCE!

FREEDOM

Freedom,
to choose to win or to lose,
to have your choice, and to exercise;
to be dumb or wise,
Oh, how nice!!
Freedom,
to have your own space,
to gaze at some chosen face,
to eat or to starve,
to have your hue, blue or mauve;
Wow!!
Freedom,
to speak your mind, or be quiet,
to stay in dark, or turn on the light
to kill all Gods, or worship a stone
to shout with the crowd, or stand alone,
Freedom,
to sit, stand or walk,
to read, play or just talk.
To do or not to do,
a thousand things, and more,
Freedom, sure??
Alas!! That inexpressible grief!
A mistaken belief,
Freedom,
Ostrich, its no use hiding your face,
Invisible predators on the chase,
No, its no time for fun,
Be killed or Run!!
In your choice, u seek your glee
But u ain’t yet got the freedom,
Just to be.
SEE!!!

RED INDIA

In tinsel towns, in cities of joys,
Amid countless pleasures and a million lavish toys,
There is an India,
Where water is bought like a psychedelic dose,
In paradise of lust where “ought” and “is” come close
There is an India
Amid dazzling lights where life is on the run,
Where schools and colleges are places meant for fun,
There is an India
Where a famous bloke’s sneeze is a top headline,
where some popular bimbo’s wedding is news devine,
There is an India
Where Armani and Rolax are biggest concerns
Where a neibhour’s sultry wife causes heartburns,
There is an india
And there is an India, spread beyond the hills,
Streching into jungles which sunlight fails to pierce;
Where half-nude folks, are nude not for style,
Where purest thing to see is an artless smile
There is an India
And there is an India, where INDIA never reached,
Which always lived ignorant
Though lived with utmost ease;
An India far from INDIA,
Which dwelt in perfect peace,
On mother nature’s lap amid countless living trees
An India where now, a million barrels roar,
Which lies lethaly hurt, smeared with blood and gore...
Whose cries go unheard, whose wounds go unseen,
That too is an India, now RED rather than GREEN!!!

MY FIRST ATTEMPT AT FICTION WRITING...

OBITUARYI.
Love to me is like a dream, one never knows it was unreal until it breaks. I too was in a dream until it turned into a nightmare and eventually I was thrown out of it into stark reality. Khushi, who ditched me three years back, was my first and till then last love. I still remember that Sunday evening when we had met last. She was in a white ethnic suit and looked like a celestial damsel come down on earth. We did not talk much, but played most of the time our favorite game- staring into each other’s eyes until one blinked; whoever blinked first lost. Most of the times it was me; however, I was always confident hoping to win someday. “Nobody can beat Khushi Agrawal”, she had said. “And today I’ll show you what Kabir….” I had retorted. And the squabbling had gone on. We had been together at Cafeteria for three hours that evening, sipped many glasses of banana-shake, her all-time favorite; and I had almost forgotten that mid-semester exams were beginning the next day.

Six days later, it was the last paper but I couldn’t hope to do well. “Elucidate the meaning and significance of equality and secularism with the help of Constitutional provisions and relevant case laws.” I was stupefied looking at the question. In the hall, the invigilator was Prof. Chopra, notorious for his cobra glare which struck awe in students’ hearts. Not leaving the hall even for a short while Mr. Cobra sorry Chopra killed even my last hope- seeking help from the front or the back desk. How I wished I could puke on the answer-sheet all I had swallowed the previous night, but my mind remained fixated on Khushi. Secularism…respecting all humans...irrespective of religion…equality…all humans are equal….I somehow completed the answer, putting down whatever random ideas entered my head and walked out of the hall. I was upset, strange thoughts crossed my mind. I had met Khushi last Sunday, she was in a jovial mood; but since then her cellphone was either busy or turned off. Was she trying to avoid me? But why? I must have done something wrong, but what that ‘something’ was, I had no idea. I called Neha, her only friend that I knew, only to learn that Khushi was in Bangalore, with her grandparents. I kept sending her SMSs all day until it was evening. Later in the night, I received her reply- “I’m living wid ma grandparents in bnglore, will take admission here soon, plz. 4get me.” That was her last SMS until finally her number was out of service.


Weeks turned into months; months into years, but I never spoke to her again. Was I still waiting for her? I didn’t know. But she was irreplaceable. Her irresistible beauty coupled with childlike innocence was a combination I had seen in no one else. When I promised her there will never ever be anyone closer to me than her, I truly meant it. She was then the greatest joy of my life. Not that we never fought, fight we did, but could never remain cross with each other for any longer than a day. I never had the slightest inkling that she would ever leave me. On the contrary, it was I who usually threatened her with that. But two years later she had left and I was left only with memories of the beautiful moments we had spent together.

II.
I had decided not to fall in the rut of love ever again; not knowing however, that like dreams, love too is beyond human control. Every evening, going to the mall, doing some window shopping and at times sipping some coffee at the cafeteria became my temporary respite from the sickening monotony of campus life. It was on one such evening when wandering around from shop to shop, staring at lavishly decorated outlets, and looking through the variety of items they offered, that I came across Soni. She had a magnetic charm. When I looked at her attentively, she reminded me of Khushi. I fell for Soni the first time I touched her. She was perhaps too nice, smooth and delicate for a carelessly uncaring guy like me. Her exquisitely sublime features required care. Still, she had surrendered totally in my hands the very first time we had met. I had seen in her a companion of my choice. I knew I wanted her in my life. I needed her, desperately! When the opportune moment arrived she came into my life for once and for as long as I would let her remain with me. She came as the music of my life at a time when it was engulfed in the eerie silence of loneliness. She then became the sole link between me and the world, conveying to me their messages when I had lost almost all connections.

Days passed by, we lived together; quite happily. We stayed together in bed, at the dining table, on the road, at work and at times, even in the bathroom. She was an epitome of perfect submission. She would do for me all the things I wanted her to- she would share with me my joys, my sorrows, my pleasures, my pains. When I wanted to speak, she would listen to me patiently, silently, without judgment, and would utter not a word. She would reaffirm every now and then that she was with me, for me, always; except when I’d specifically told her to leave me on my own in which case she would obey me without slightest protest. And then, when wanted I could turn her on in less than a moment, just a gentle touch with a finger, at the right spot would do the trick, in less than a moment. In a very short span she had come so close to me that sometimes it seemed as if she understood me; not fully though, but substantially. She was always free from the diseases that afflict all- hatred, ill-will, anger, greed and most of all, jealousy. I never felt that she loved me any less than Khushi did; however, there was a fundamental difference between khushi and her. If I was in despair and my eyes were moist, Khushi would wipe my tears with her soft scarf. Still if I couldn’t hold my tears, she would wreak havoc with a deluge of her tears putting me in a peculiar fix. Quite contrary to what Khushi did, Soni would start singing whenever I was down. It was so soothing, sometimes I started singing too and we both sang together. She taught me that life is a beautiful song to sing.
Soni had almost healed the wounds that Khushi had left in my heart when one day, I smashed her against the wall with all my might. “Bang”, lethally disfigured, she fell down on the bed. I wasn’t at ease; I didn’t relax. I flung her away with a jerk this time. She hit the floor; her skeleton replied; the internal parts of her body came out and spattered all over. She had gone into eternal slumber, never to wake up again; and with her had gone Khushi’s last message- “I’m getting married Kabir, srry, I wasn’t courageous enough to tell you tht my parents won’t agree to my inter-religious marriage’’.

“And today I’ll show you what Kabir Khan can do”, my own words rang in my ears. Those were the words I had said to Khushi that Sunday evening when we had met last. And I had lost once again. Before anyone entered the room, I searched and collected the battery, the sim card, and all the other parts scattered in the room which were the last remains of my true beloved, ‘SONI’. I safely kept them all in the suitcase under my bed.

Another Day Passed!

I have nothing to write though,
still, coz you’re on my mind,
and nothing have I to lose,
coz, nothing have I to find, and so…

The day passed walkin’ da same old lane,
And turns no new did I make
Hopes and plans went all in vain
As I failed to find my break…

The sun had fun, did many a sin,
Now it wanes, bid it adieu,
And I’ve retained my usual grin,
For what else have I got to do?

Taking in the same old tune,
Muse when the muse will knock my door.
Numb will be my senses soon,
And I’ll be off to another shore!!

"BROTHER" MULLA

It’s been a long time since I posted last; partly because I had nothing interesting in the interim, and partly because I didn’t have the necessary time and patience to post something. But finally, I’m here again, with “something” to share with you. This post is dedicated to Mulla, Bulla’s old crony. He is a different guy. Truly different. No, I really mean it, he is so different, perhaps one in a million. But hold on, I haven’t yet described what sets him apart, so wait a little before forming any image of Mulla. He is different because he can do wonders just like you can click your fingers. He can make you burst into laughter even in your saddest moments. Not because he has a great sense of humour, but because of the queerness of his character and his quirky personality. So you can call him the miraculous Mulla if you like. If I started narrating the stories of his schooldays exploits they would never end. I’ll talk about those one by one, but some other day. As for now, I’ll tell you about the latest one. Mulla related it to me a few days back when I was in Bilaspur for the Republic day. So here it goes…

Guys in general, can be divided into two communities: one with a let-go spirit; the other with a let-come. While the former comprises of the majority, the later is a very small minority. The former is smart enough to ward off glitches and hitches, whereas the latter is foolish enough to invite them. Our Mulla, who essentially belongs to the later has been looking for a job for quite some time. Oh sorry, not just a job, but a decent job where decent means the one which could keep you going with all your profligacy-cum-necessities. Mulla’s necessities? Fuel (for his two-wheeler; bajaj boxer to be precise) and a fag when needed (not needed only when asleep, or may be then too he needs it, in dreams of-course, I am not quite sure). Now finding such a job in a city like Bilaspur is never less then looking for a needle in a haystack, as the cliche goes. But Mulla? He shall overcome, he shall overcome…some day! (Excuse me my misplaced use of “shall”, I guess, at times you can allow me to take that liberty with Hinglish!) Luckily, one day Mulla really overcame. The lady luck smiled on him and he got a job in a prestigious bank; on a probational basis though. It was like what they call a dream come true. So Mulla was happy now, and so were the bunch of fellow appointees. Happy ending eh? Nay!! This is the beginning buddy!! The beginning of the story this post is all about.

In that bunch of appointees, there was a female too; not very pretty, but a dame all the same. So, one girl and so many guys, Oh!! But our heroine was a “sweet sister” type and so, turned into a self-proclaimed sister of all. The sister got along well with every brother, but obviously shared the best rapport with our protagonist, Mulla. Now you don’t know Mulla. He is a kind of guy for whom I must paraphrase Late Mrs. Indira Gandhi’s words for Pranab Mukherjee- “even if you hit him on the head, all that would come out is smoke!!” Yaar truly, he is so sweet, you might have contracted diabetes talking to him, had it been an infectious disease. Coming back to the story, Mulla’s joy knew no bounds when the sister addressed him respectfully, “Bhaiya”. But one thing that dismayed Mulla was the sister’s dressing sense. With her choice of outfits, she could spell disaster. And as you know, boys will be boys, atleast so far as the majority let-goers are concerned. In this respect, our Mulla was an “odd one out” there. He found himself in a strange fix when behind the sister’s back the brothers indulged in cheap boyish talk about her. Mulla could not stop the majority, neither could he say anything to the sister. So what was the fellow to do? He kept mum.

But enough was enough. Mulla could bear it no more when one fine morning the sister appeared in a super-gaudy top, which clearly exposed her cleavage. Naturally, our Mulla was outraged watching whole day the lecherous eyes of the brothers fixed on what, euphemistically, may be called the sister’s forbidden part. But what could he do? Beat the baddies? No friends, Mulla is not a bollywood hero. He is just what he is: simple Mulla. But the feeling of not being able to do anything was literally, killing him from inside. So, next morning, when the sister presented herself in the office in an equally garish and outrageous outfit, Mulla could not help but do something. He wanted to talk to her, but his inhibition-cum-shyness got the better of him. How could he talk to his sister about something so unsavory? “What to do?”, thought Mulla, scratching his head. But having no other way out, he mustered all his courage, and went over to the sister for taking the gallant step. “Sister”, said Mulla. “Yes”, came the reply. “There is a problem”. “What?”, well…well…no other word came out of Mulla’s mouth and he ended-up saying, “nothing”. “No, tell me what?” Mulla’s “nothing” had proved more than enough to arouse sister’s curiosity to the max. Now perhaps we all know how it is to handle the situation, when someone of the fairer-sex is bent on knowing something. In Mulla’s case, she was not bent but hell bent. So after a long introspection, Mulla decided to write his message on a piece of paper and hand it over to the sister. He jotted down possibly the most decent terms he could, “your dress” and handed it to the sister. How do you think would she have responded? “Bhaiya, oh my sweet bhaiya, thank you so much for your concern!!” Oh, did you take it seriously? Hold on, not even Mulla expected such a response. The response that came was something Mulla could not have imagined in his wildest dreams. The sister upon reading the note, turned into “mother”, no not the normal loving caring, affectionate mother that we all have, but “mother Kali”, the Goddess of destruction. Her wrath was of unimaginable proportions and she went on saying to Mulla almost all the unpublishable words that she possibly knew. Poor Mulla remained tongue-tied, not knowing what to do. No, of course that was not the end of the story; the sister-turned-mother thereafter went over to the manager and complained against Mulla in such an acerbic manner that the poor creature was fired immediately.

A few days back Mulla narrated this story to me with his ever-smiling face, in the earnest hope that I would call the sister up and explain to her, how much she had misunderstood him, and that he never intended to hurt or offend her. Despite his financial predicament after losing the job, Mulla’s only qualms were that the sister misunderstood him. Oh, I know u think he must be an idiot, or what you call “an emotional fool”. Well, whatever, but that is what makes him Mulla, one of my two best friends. And I love him for what he is.