Distance

Sometimes the teenager in me wakes up from slumber and then out comes some cheesy romantic poetry that once could have gotten me a lovely evening away from the solitude of my hostel room...today I just use it to put something on a blog that has been neglected for long...


Distance

I cannot bear to hear your voice some days
Because it reminds me in so many ways
Of all the words you didn't say
Of memories wilting in May
Of caresses and kisses so sweet
They never really were complete
No, I cannot bear to hear your voice
Talk to me and mesmerize
When the distance that my heart can leap
My eyes can only see and weep
So let the silence tonight prevail
When words we know are bound to fail.

Keeping tabs

I hate generalizations, but the following is after much observation and many conversations with others who've observed similarly.

A bunch of friends (females) go out for a dutch party, they eat, they drink, they have a great time; and when the bill comes they calculate neatly what whose share is according to what they had and split the bill. If they make a mistake in their calculations they call each other up the next day and sort it out.

A bunch of friends (males) go out for a dutch party, they eat, they drink, they have a great time; and when the bill comes they split it up approximately and fish out the money. Someone says he is a little short, another just pays up and so on and the bill is settled. The next day no one really remembers who paid what and don’t even care.

Now, what this makes me wonder here is – is it the same in relationships?

River

I don’t know how many of you have filled out those pretty lame autograph books in your last year in school or junior college. It was an exercise that I generally found tiresome and most often answered with wise-cracks that on reflection today don’t seem so wise. Little books filled with all kinds of stupid questions and somehow you had all 60 people having ones that looked different and hence the pressure to come up with something different to write in each one of them.  But one question that I still remember clearly was – which force of nature do you think you resemble the most? I answered instinctively ‘fire’ and even quoted Billy Joel. But once the spotlight was off of me, the swirling waters of introspection soon quenched those burning embers and I believe I settled on the river as being the force of nature I most resembled. I still believe that to be true, let me add. 

When I say that, I mean a river that is still charting its course, that still hasn’t met the sea and that flows on relentlessly taking along with itself all it encounters, gold or garbage, making no differentiation and along the way dumping that which wouldn’t willingly come along, again with no partiality to gold or garbage. A river that doesn’t plan before it flows but flows where it pleases or where the opportunity presents itself. A river that once it encounters an immovable force does not budge and puts all its weight against said force until it makes a way for itself; but then as opposing force after force weakens it, takes the smarter, if longer, way around them. Mind you it has not failed nor given up, for as it meanders around its obstacle, presenting an illusion of defeat, it continues to work against it until it finds a way through, leaving behind the legacy of a lake, often useful, sometimes beautiful too. This river isn’t averse to meeting new streams, joining with them and flowing along as one, or of others leaving to form new channels and paths to the one ultimate fate. A river that along its path nourishes all it touches, sometimes floods and often destroys in its fury too; that washes the dirt and the sins but may leave behind a stain too. Where this river may further head and how long and how powerful will it flow before it inevitably meets the sea is a secret time alone holds.

So what is it that reminded me of this river and of those silly little autograph books that, mind you, I still have in safe-keeping? Well, life is strange, and some comments that bear no reflection upon your life, made in earnest by another, break open the dams that have so long held back the flow….

Pujo II

Dasera was a always a sad day for me!! I talk of a time when life was simple, there was no computer let alone internet, there was one TV channel and that too played 1-2 hrs of entertainment per day max. A time when a cold-drink needed a special occasion, a chocolate was a celebration and ice cream was more often made at home than bought. A time when every piece of clothing I owned I knew when, where and why it was bought. A time when sweaters were knitted at home and were actually needed during pujo. This is the time when pujo was 5 days of pure magic, a time when everything seemed golden; when discipline was not paramount, fun was; when I saw my parents for a while be what life otherwise didnt let them be - carefree.

For 4 days: afternoons meant drawing competitions, fun games, khichoori (khichdi) bhog, cold drinks and ice creams without reason, haathkhorcha (pocket-money) from ma, baba, kaka, kakima, jetha, mama etc etc, while evenings meant running around unsupervised, hide and seek, pakda-pakdi, adda-golpo, biryani, more ice creams, mishti, and late nights; movie screenings that started at 12, a time when projector reels on white curtains still drew in the crowds, plays and dance dramas where kakas and kakimas became superstars; a time when everyone gathered in expectation to listen live to a maestro because you weren't bombarded by his voice incessantly over a thousand media. A time of playing late into the night until tiredness brought sleep and not the toll of a watch or the deadline on the morrow; of riding back home, 4 ppl on a scooter, making groups of such scooters headed in the same direction so as to prevent ambush by chor-dakaat (dacoit). Yes, it was a magical time!

2 complete sets of new clothes everyday for 4 days, planned well in advance to the tiniest detail, some friends whom u met only on those 4 days but were never awkward with, the dadas and didis who always seemed to like me, the girls - some that i liked, others that liked me -,the guys that competed - and lost - the flirting and the fights, the snobbery and the confidence. It was a time when nothing mattered, nothing bothered you, when eating out was the norm and having fun the only rule.

And late on navami, when the feet refused to move anymore, and the voice was hoarse and gone, when the eyelids couldn't stop from meeting each other - u said goodbye for the first time in those 4 days (all other times it was just a temporary break) and went home to wake up on Dasera. It was always a sad day, a day when all my neighbours were celebrating and I had a heavy heart. Ma was going away but that wasn't
what really made me sad. It was the end of a golden time, a magic that no other time in life has given. Yet i knew it would be back next year and I couldn't help but look forward to it.

And as the years flowed, the projector disappeared, the scooter became a car, the games reduced, the adda - and the flirting - increased, but the magic remained until finally the flock flew away. Today I see a bunch of new kids with the glint of magic in their eyes, the nights though end at 11 and a lot of the fun is not exclusive to pujo as it once was for us.

And most of my dadas and didis and the girls and the competitors are gone, some south, others north, some across the oceans and maybe some across the skies too but I am sure wherever they are every sharadiyo sashti or ashtami they atleast once remember that ground in Pimpri (dunno what stands there today)!

And Dasera is still a sad day for me, even if all I did in those 4 days of pujo this time around was work, because Dasera still is the exclamation mark at the end of magic!

Bimaar Yaad

was reading raat pashmine ki by gulzarsaab...this one stood up and said hi!!


ek yaad badi bimaar thi kal,
kal saari raat uske maathe par,
barf se thande chand ki patti rakh rakh kar-
ek ek boond dilaasa de kar,
azhad koshish ki usko zinda rakhne ki!
pau fatne se pehle lekin ---
aakhri hichki lekar woh khamosh hui!!
                      - gulzar

Lying on the Grass

When did I last see the moon held close by a barren tree?
When did I last hear the wind laugh, as it skimmed the waters free?
And when it stopped did i notice, the leaves all stand so still?
Not just foliage, each an individual, with its own will!
When last did I stop to watch the cloud smile like a child
And then as the minutes passed,change into an elephant wild?
And did I see those lights afar,shimmering on the lake;
dancing with the current, a hint of dawn so fake.
When did I last lie on the grass and gaze upon a star
and not a pallid glow of doom, that the city skies are?
Today I heard a song of youth, and a song from days gone by.
Saw the lights and lakes and leaves and wondered loudly - why?

Never meant to lead

i have always been walking
sometimes i ran
at times i sat down by the stream
to rest while i can

i met him there and her
and i met you
and i smiled and i laughed
and cried too

and then i got up and walked
where and whenceforth i cared not
just took the path that shone
with light or with darkness fraught

with hail and with rain
and when the sun shone again
i ran a little

and when the stars twinkled
i flew awhile
and then again some more

but not much did i look
who ran with me
though i saw u fly some
and remember your shadow from when the sun shone
and was it your hand i held when i slipped in the rain?

yes i think it was you
or was it him or was it her
or was it just me?
whatever it was i know one thing for sure

i never meant to lead
and i never asked you to follow
so there's no guilt if you stay
or blame when you go!

The muse

You are back o' muse of mine!
to hold my hand and bring sunshine,
to cry my tears and feel my smiles,
to hold my fears and walk our miles;
to sing to me a song when i am forlorn,
to caress my hair when the sun is long gone;
to play me a tune that comes from the heart,
to tell me a tale that goes back to the start,
to lark in the sun and skim stones in the park,
to look at the stars and lounge in the dark,
to light up my loneliness and make me feel warm,
to talk to my silence and stir up a storm.

Oh yes. you are back, o' muse of mine!
My words! -all in twine.

WHEN

when did we stop walking together
when did we last wait for the other
when did we cover up the sunshine
when did the darkness seem so fine

when did the colours seem to brood
when did the words cease to soothe
when was it that i stopped  my listening
and when did the leaves stop their whistling

when did the joy leave the laughter
when did the taste last linger after
and when did the voice die in ur eyes
when did we start to hide in the lies

when did it come - the stealth of a thief
when was it ok to let you leave
and when did it seem improper to stay
when did the moon stop lighting the way

when did the wounds begin to bleed
when did our greed become the need
when did we grow used to the scars
when did the silence engulf the stars

when did my smile begin to think
when did the world begin to shrink
when did the chasm grow so wide
when did our feet fall out of stride

when did we last smile at a kite
when did the wind get bottled up tight
when did the water dry from the brooks
when did those petals wither in the books

when did it all turn into memory
when did we write the end of this story

FERGUSSON TIMES

I woke up every morning

Looking eagerly at the day ahead.

A day at dear old Fergi

With great friends I had made.

                         I walk into room no. R-6

                        As usual 15 minutes late.

                        At least 10 faces would smile,

                        They are used to the wait.

The lecture reels off in fun

And the next few we'd bunk.

Spend the time in the KIMAYA

Cheering up any face that's sunk.

                        Sharing a Pepsi among 11

                        And fighting for the last sip.

                        Tying up some shoe-laces

                        Or climbing to the KIMAYA's tip.

The pracs were real fun;

Ice down the shirt in chemistry,

Four great doctors in biology,

But physics was always a mystery.

                        Those fun hours on the stairs

                        Outside the chemistry lab;

                        Or an alien from POSEIDON

                        Holding hands near the bio lab.

And then in the evening

Standing at the gate,

We'd chat, chat and chat

Till it was real late.

                   Dhotis and lungis and saris

                  Trad day was celebrated with pomp

                   Chocolate day was great

                   Dairy milks and Perks to chomp.

 And the espressos at Radhika

Or Vaishali's SPDP.

Wishing birthdays at 12 midnight

When everyone's so sleepy.

                        Hey, I almost forgot!

                        Playing truth or dare;

                        Proposing my love to someone

                        Whilst others would stare.

College days were great

And those moments real neat;

With friends so sweet

I had all I could need.

                                                                                                            

--- Arindam