Saturday, March 29, 2008

She Answers...

There he is, he would buy the flowers today
There he is, he was a hero in his hey day
There he is, he know they would mark his wake
Epigone rakes eye him for his immaculate fake

He walks this path, like a lion in his cage
They worship his spirit, belittle his wage
He forgets soon, that they remember each day
He is undertaking a walk he does everyday

The urchin is already excited, here come her flowers
For she is his favorite, on the street of ivory towers
Some say he found a treasure, some say he just unwound
Others say he discovered that the world was round

Daffodils under his arm he walks up to the child
Expectation is strong, jealousy runs wild
‘Why her’ ask the ploughing minds and eyes
She is one who answers my cries, he replies

Wednesday, March 12, 2008

Coward...

The guns fire in my ears, I bleed away to glory
The recliner carries me, while ‘they’ write my story
I am already a hero; though I would have to die first
Alive I still was, harassed by an unquenched thirst

The sun is no longer for me; I see the last of light
I breathe in the sea, it douses my lonely fight
The winter in my heart yearns for a warm lamp
The wolves are aroused, as death charms the camp

I am the cynosure, I feel ploughed by eyes
They carry me in fleet, the return is the surmise
I am prepared to be dumped, I believe its time
The chasm is near, liberation seems like a crime

The theatre is alive; the sun stages an encore
Faith has melted, tenacity plays the fixated whore
I draw my strength from the bodies around, parasite I am
Rise if I do, I’d run into a bullet, opaque as I am

So I lie, relishing within me the miracle of life
They dump more bodies, cadavers are rife
Suddenly I wonder how many like me fake and don’t speak
How many of us in the 'lake' are blessed by life, but death we seek

Sunday, March 09, 2008

Emancipated City...

They wanted to harass me today. I am usually a mundane slug, unmotivated by the passing time. But there are occasional bursts of energy, more from guilt than passion. You don’t see them coming and you wish they wouldn’t ask permission to leave. They harassed me today. I call them spikes.

My mind is a brat. It won’t learn from my mistakes. It is a stubborn brat. And here I am nursing it, away from family in Bombay. Yeah Bombay, but I am somewhere apprehensive, for its going to be time to bid farewell, soon.

You know how the most compelling dramas evolve not from observation but by the discovery of ignorance. Living in a microcosm where clich├ęs prevail and subvert adventure, we often find ourselves staring into a parochial sphere which has no corners. Such perfection usually clouds our vision restricts it to what we see rather than what we can.

Two years in a city like Bombay make you more sensitive to paradoxes. But you need commendable gumption to reach out and explore a protean culture like Bombay. I should probably digress to describe my uncanny willingness to absorb passing vagaries and make them my pursuits. No. I am kidding. This post is about Bombay, a city that caught and still dominates my imagination. It can be hard to relate to if u suffer from the ignorance of the north specially Delhi, but the unending night outs, incessant local trains take no time to drench you with the Mumbai spirit. Another notable feature is the dressing sense which prevails in our female counterparts, truly worth appreciating, a welcome change from the flab in Delhi. But the people in Bombay are only half the story for the other half is the Bombay in the people. Those eternal times spent observing people outside nightclubs, outside restaurants, outside Bade Miyan, outside Cooper’s, outside Leopold, Churchill and Mondegar, weren’t spent alone for there were always early however late you were. It is never late in Bombay, never early; your time is a good time. These first experiences put forth on my platter a lot to explore and savour, the music had set me rolling.

What was to follow stemmed from the acceptance of the superfluous, for it was always about challenging the limit of adventure of satiation.

Near the top of Marine Drive is the H2O Water Sports Complex, you can take a boat out to Suzie Wong's, floating in the middle of Back Bay, a funky pink, purple, red and gold drinking den. Down in Colaba, ultra trendy Indigo all low tables and flickering candles – is the perfect place to sip a Bombay Sapphire and tonic. For a cold beer in hot surroundings, but with views on to the bustling street outside, we had Leopold and Modegar.

The fascinating east – west divide and the lesser publicized north – south divide, holds the charm of visitors in Bombay. It is like wherever you have been you must see something better. The congestion, filth, the houses below the sea level perpetually in water, the dwelling of cardboards surrounding the high rises – well Bombay has most of everything.

Whether it is the negros and the Israelis on the streets of Colaba, trying to sell you dope, or the messages on your mobile which say - "For meeting broadminded male / females in your area, Call Poonam now @ 982.....”, or the late nights at JVPD, eyeing ‘out of work’ beer bar dancers. You could see hope in there eyes.

This would sound more like the script of clockwork orange, if we were people of action, people who could shoulder responsibility of notoriety. But alas as I had mentioned I am just a mundane slug.

Sunday, March 02, 2008

Incite...

Six trees in a row, and the haziness in between
The sun embarrassed by clouds lined with sheen
The air needs whiskey, for the spring has run dry
Either that or I have an urge to cry

A cloud hangs from the sky; I catch it in my eye
And rain it does, every drop steals a lasting sigh
The trees sway wanton, wind plays the whore
The gaze is emancipated, souls implore

I sit on the wall, and I see both sides
I see a car in the lake, gracefully it glides
I see an airplane crash on purpose
Must have been suicide I suppose

Six Negros stand in a row, and I stand in between
They have the soccer ball, and I have the preen
The sweat breaks on me, the ball is set to roll
Either that or my pride can’t afford the toll

I am the resurrection, I look for company
My words are useless, intellect is loony
They give me a pass, for a petty bribe
I score with delight, win their ascribe

I sit on a wall, I see inside
The car survives the glide
I see airplane has run out of air
But once on land it doesn’t seem to care