listless as a cloud...

listless as a cloud I wander around ,
muted and hollow ,detached and vagabond..

faces cometh and souls depart.
untouched , untrammeled and unknown..
some gather soul to pour their heart out ,
only to remain a sweet footnote , in the lost and found..

and I still wander as a listless cloud..
never to register even a tiny blip in the vast memory zone…

Magazine menace

A burly arm woke me from deep slumber. I was obviously sitting on the seat intended for the man, who had poked me in my rib to wake me up. No, there was no betel juice traces on his shirt, nor was his hair slick with oil. Weirdly, there was an air of un-assumed meekness in a man of his frame. More like a lab mice with a pitiable face resting on a gorilla’s body. With all my pretentious western civility now firmly buried, I studied this specimen with unabashed curiosity. Some unspoken tragedy was written all over his face. Amicably dressed with a decidedly too clean a shave, there was something amiss from this whole façade of the person.
After one long of hour of juggling all possible combinations to break ice with this person, I fell asleep. Don’t really know how time flew when the same arm poked me in the very same place. Now this was really not being civil said my voice within. Why does he need to poke me!! When all he could do was make some kinda noise to wake me up! .Reality hit home very soon. I saw his fingers making some symbolic gesture. I was staring at his fingers, when senses took over. He couldn speak. Took me a split second to realize what had made him to overcomehis shyness .He was bored and had noticed that there was a glimpse of some form of magazine which was conveniently serving as my pillow. The gesture was simple, “could I borrow the magazine”. A pall of gloom settled on me. A pseudo puritan that I was ,had smuggled playboy from my friend for an ‘exciting’ journey. With a move that even Mohammed ali would have failed to see coming, I quickly covered the magazine. Now the question was, how do I say that I actually couldn give the magazine as it might offend his sensibilities. Was he deaf too?? .I couldn say it out loud for him to read my lips ,as my co passengers would immediately put on “there is this pervert amongst us” face. This again made me realize my piquant situation. How do I convey this to him????. Using hand gestures would have been atrocious, unthinkable!!.

The hand poked me again , somehow this time it wasn that heavy as previous two times. As I looked up , saw my boss glowering over me(ya , no prizes for guessing..was sleeping in my cubicle ). “Lord, he had asked me to subscribe for the construction magazine”. And what I blurted out has always been one of the best thing that ever happened. Yes, I got a brand new boss , and of course a new company to subscribe magazine for ...!

crack in the window pane

An all familiar rankling stirred the sleepy eyes. A spray of rain drops from that almost invisible crack on the window pane brought back a flurry of thoughts. Navigating byzantine memory lanes isn't all that difficult, especially when you know what you are looking for. It was the same old crack which had set of a chain of events. It still remained there, not speaking about the complacency of the resident, but of those memories it harbored…
Come monsoon, skies are awash with grey looming clouds. The drizzle had already made its presence felt to me…I wasn't out in the rain, but sleeping on a bed.. rather more like another article forming a sea of inanimate objects jostling for space on that tiny little bed. Chill breeze through the crack brought along an occasional bout of spray, refreshingly frosty and a break from the monotony called life. Somehow, the spray of misty blue water was an aberration to an otherwise placid stifling setting of the room. I decided it was time to fix the crack, not because I was annoyed by the spray, but more because of the fixated lunacy about the spray being so genuinely out of place in this lifeless room of 10 x 10.
Walking up to the window and trying to give one hard look at the mischievous crack which dared to try me, my eyes narrowed on to a shuffle outside. Had it not been for the voluptuousness of the creature out in the rain, my crack would have still held my gaze. Here was I, trying to improve my gaze, get more of what was being thrown at me. It should have been eons since man made his first civilized break, yet here was I ,stirred to the basest of instincts a man could feel. There was something more ,those eyes…
Large black eyes, a bit larger and it would have fit the description ,'bulbous'. There was a glint of wild yet draped by genuine unfathomable warmth. She was wet ,her silhouette making its presence amply felt .There is something innate about certain actions, which throw the seeds of doubt, inhibition self evaluation right through the window. It was same for both of us, for what transpired next was in line with those actions…actions, which in any other circumstance, context would be baptized by some very alluring adjectives. I threw open the window and asked her to come in. Not even a for a moment did the doubt of her refusing flicker , even for an effervescent time.
What happened next is for your lucid (lewd?) imaginatory juices to take over the reigns …yes, the crack still remains and so does the bizarre events which followed and more so the memory like a whip flogging a horse, a horse for which the laceration inflicted is just another thing…yet, no denying it…it does surface, every time the spray spouts like a beached whale ………

a post to fill up t gap

dunno...just wanted to post something...anything for that matter...deluge of thoughts,but no significant drive to give vent to them in form of a post .Its been a mixed bag ,the usual share of happiness with dollops of hurt.At times,life just flows....no words to capture it...how could i ?its been a schedule where even to thinkof the events which unfoulded is such a pain.A terrific job profile ina nascent stream which demands the best in me...will sum up my vision towards a life which i always wanted to pursue.A real close friend banging the door on me forever...sums up life on personal front.k i got to go n hit t sack...

Loo Monologue

Last over of the match, a deathly silence prevailing over the sea of humanity watching. beads of sweat forming on the brow, the heart beats loud and clear, 36 runs from six balls…a feat if achieved would shame miandad’s last ball a six.. no living mortal yet to achieve this in international cricket …the bowler chugging in …you see the crowd thinning , disappointed to the bone…for we always fail… suddenly the background to fade in the oblivion…the first bounce of leather and a wild swing…catapulted to seven skies…a long stare with feet rooted to ground …waiting for the umpire to raise his finger to relieve the unbearable burden…there is a movement at the other end….he is raising his hand, albeit both his hands…IT’S A SIX !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ...rest as they say ‘is history’ :) .Wild with joy I swing my arms, one comes crashing down on the flush handle and the other skids on to the bucket nearby splashing water all over. Sounds familiar ???? (still grappling to transcend my word play ???? i was the batsman facing shoaib :) ...

Maybe it has to do with humans hibernating in a bag surrounded with crap for about nine months, loo I guess is the way we connect to this primal truth. for all those who just believe in going through the motion..(just love this bit 'going through the motion’ for this context :D ) and having a jaunt for a couple of minutes, stop right here and head to the next blog.
Welcome to the world where all of us have been the loveable neighbourhood spider man to the dreaded jack the ripper, wondering why on earth did Newton have to wait for the apple to fall for reality to dawn (that brings me to an important theory….the western commode I believe was the culprit, lack of visibility deterred this life saving realsiation of all important gravity !) .. a place where we have battled our demons and yes ,romanced with our loved ones .Strategizing to win over the love of ever elusive to being Juan duan for every other girl in town. Ayn rand to Marx… ,Hinduism to its latest offspring called modi , ya…AIDS to piles !! ( when you spend hours in the loo…piles is very often not a blip on the radar of thoughts, what say ? :) ). Ever wondered the fertile of thoughts (and of course the unmentionables) to be born in the most daunting of circumstances :) .For the legions of humanity, to deny the ‘loo’ its rightful place in the pantheon of intellectual labyrinths is a crime !!. the creepy lizard on the ceiling to running water.. every single object including 'pure ether' to produce such thoughts and someone said to crap is to is to relieve yourself !! maybe that was the most profound statement ever to be made. Maybe the marketer who coined the term ‘captive audience’ hit upon the word in the loo,we are all captive for we cannot deny the law of nature, to sit through and prevail , (so ain’t ‘captive’ just the word :) ) …guess its left to us…to just ‘go through the motion’ OR….to dream …………..

PS note : for those who believe this to be a truck load of crap…well, as crap being the premise…what else did u expect :)
Acknowledgement : my cozy loo, without which this article wouldn have been possible…and last but not the least…thanks to nature…which gives me an occasion to dream and still remember it fondly :)

I Love You

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way
than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.


------------------ Pablo Neruda

" the journey called life"

the work so flawed,
jagged lines running criss cross,
shades so confusing..
dash of flamboyance marked by streaks of grey..
yet, an aura of tranquil to surrond the work
for the doer had christened it right ....." the journey called life"