Friday, August 20, 2010

Blue black

Blue black blue
up goes the impulse
with a current
travelling up, slithering up
up up up into the temples of the head
sometimes, it gets stuck
sometimes, it moves, keeps moving
sometimes, it tries to pop out
impossible as this is, the effort makes the space between the skin and the skull stretch
pain blossoms but doesn't travel
Suddenly, somewhere else, another impulse is born and it starts crawling
It travels across the body
to the heart
makes itself felt in different places in the universe of my body
I fail to comprehend why they travel or what they mean
They keep travelling
I fail to notice after a while
I see blue black blue

Wednesday, July 7, 2010

A train dream

Closed eyes. Switched off lights. Near complete darkness. Enough to make the eyes believe so. Searching. Searching. Found. A train dream. A train. A window. Bars interrupting the view and forming it. Train sounds. Train silence. Night. Moonlight. Ghosts of rain leave behind their smellprints. Rain smells colour the night. Colour the mood. Bluish blackish. Mine and I. Escape. The familiar world no more. Paused. Frozen. End of dream.
Morning and reality. A long wait for night.

Tuesday, June 29, 2010

Dreams come true. Dreams no more. True no more.

When a dream comes true, it is romantic no more
Truth is not romantic. Dreams are
Dreams are all I want
In dreams, I pick and choose
The truth I want, the truth I don't
Dreams obey
Truth doesn't

Saturday, April 10, 2010


Late into the night, until my eyes refuse to transmit anymore words through the neuronways, the neuron-metro closes for the day and the brainstation drifts towards slumber, I read one of my dear novels, shifting postures every now and then over the hard-soft bed, never finding the most comfortable posture. After a couple of non-cooperative shutdowns of the eyes, the that's-it-for-today message is passed on to all the body sub-stations. The hands close the book, remove the spectacles and place them on the book and reach for the pillow and the blanket. They make just enough place for the curled-up posture, pushing the contents of the bed a little. A mental calculation is made for the least effort required for the longest finger tip to move towards the light-switch and apply just the required force to turn it off. Once the darkness fills the room, the body relaxes. A bedtime conversation between two voices within begins unprovoked. So, how are things going? All smooth, yes. Really? Really? I don't know. I guess they are. (Till then, everything seemed nice and fine. The book, like all my kind of books do, effortlessly put me on a dreamyland where you don't think much, you just float. Now, a distant fog appears over the horizon of dreamyland) I had a good read. What about tomorrow? Tomorrow, yes, there are things to do, things called important. (Important is a professor saying if you work hard today, your future will be safe, you will settle down well) Project. Exams. Important. (The fog advances) Right now, I just wanna sleep. It's okay whatever happens tomorrow. Sleep then. (The fog fills the entire space) Anyway, nothing is clear. Important is an almighty cloud that I cannot touch or even reach. I'll sleep (More dreamydreams in another dreamyfoggyland) 

Saturday, February 6, 2010

The train-symphony

The smell of their egg curry is irritating my nostrils. It's stinking. And this man, after consuming the smelly preparation starts playing old mass numbers on his phone on high volume. And his kid starts crying loud. But that doesn't seem to bother him. He seems to have got used to identifying it with the background. He enjoys his loud music. His wife takes pity and gives the wailing kid a biscuit. In no time, biscuit saliva starts dripping from the kid's mouth while no one does nothing about it. And it is all over his fingers and he is researching on it now, rubbing it over his other hand. And she gives him more biscuits to produce more biscuit saliva for more research. Soon, as his research doesn't seem to amuse him, he goes back to his wailing job and into the background.

Two more irritating kids - siblings, the sister, the elder and her brother, the younger, a toddler to be more specific - come and sit in front of me. The girl teases her baby sibling, pulling away the fruit drink bottle from his hand. She climbs over the upper berth and drinks from it slowly as he makes a crying face and a crying noise though his tear-pipelines seem to have not got the signal. She's done and her dad gives back the bottle to the baby boy. He holds the uncapped bottle firmly with both his tiny hands and stares into empty space. Bored, his sister bends down from the upper berth and calls him with an inviting smile revealing her two missing front teeth gaps. He's not impressed. The relentless girl comes down and sits beside her baby brother. She picks some grapes from a polythene bag hung on a hook, woos him with them and as she successfully gets his attention, pops the grapes into her mouth. Betrayed, he gives out a betrayal wail. The ever compassionate mother, trying to turn his attention away, as if presenting him with a challenging puzzle, points at her husband and asks the baby, "Who's that? Tell me." He ponders over the request and approvingly says, "Daa-dy!" The encouraged mother now points at her daughter and repeats her request to him. He ponders over the request even longer this time and says, "Daa-dy!" not taking notice or pretending to not take notice of his sister, who gives him a slight punch on his shoulder and putting her arms around her dad, revengefully says, "Idi na daddy!" The baby boy, after considering his sister's statement says, "Idi na daddy!"

Meanwhile, the disappointed biscuit saliva researcher falls asleep sucking from his mom's one of the two while she blushes and tries to hide the act from the audience who are only too well aware of it.

A troop of monkeys, swaying their red behinds, race over the adjacent track as the train slowly calms down and comes to a halt at a station for an exchange of passengers, luggage and chaiwallahs. Everybody enquires with a which-station-is-it?, deriving satisfaction out of some kind of an illusory feeling that their destination has come nearer. And this teenager, wearing tight pants and a T-Shirt with a one-liner, probably an aspiring singer, plays Smack that! for the twentieth time since the journey began and sings along for the twentieth time. The passengers of the compartment, relieved to take a break from the train-symphony, become his acting audience and he sings even louder reassuring them about his non-stop entertainment. They relent, having nothing better to do in a long 24 hour journey, unable to sleep through all of it or watch the unchanging window-view. And a girl, probably his cousin, hums along for encourgement.

A baby girl throws leave-me-alone looks at everyone around her including her mom. She stands on the seat holding the climbing grill with both her hands, rests her head on them and suffers her boredom in privacy with dignity. The train, as its exchange break comes to an end, musters some strength and drags along its wheels, slowly gathering speed pushing the station away till it is finally out of sight. The train-symphony continues.

Saturday, January 23, 2010


I never really followed any plan in my entire life till now. I only always thought planning was a good thing. Even those few times I planned, I didn't stick to my plan for long. All that has worked for me was through my impulses. I still try to plan but my mind is extremely unstable. I do one thing now, and then, something else catches my attention, I jump there. I keep jumping. One of my favourite teachers once told in a class that human civilization is just a couple of thousands years old. Whereas, the animal nature of man belonged to humans for much longer a period before civilization happened. I'm tempted to use this theory to justify my attitude. But evolution is happening all the time. It's happening now. We keep trying to find explanations, make sense of things, find some pattern that explains everything. There's no single explanation. It's full of permutations and combinations. All natural processes tend to proceed towards higher entropy, a higher disordered state. The one which can occur in the maximum no. of ways is the most stable state. Still, we try. We are a part of it. We all try to contribute to the disorder in some way. We all belong here. I try, following my impulses. Others have their own ways. We smell, we hear, we think. We follow our senses and move. If we observe keenly, it's all so random. But if we look at parts, some of them look perfect. And then, we have these ideologies. Ideologies are made with assumptions to work in specific conditions. In reality, we may or may not get all the assumptions right and the specific conditions might vary. So should we dump the ideologies? We need some direction to move. And when there are too many things, we pick and choose. Our minds cannot think randomly. They aren't made like that. The favourite teacher of mine told one more theory. We can't stand uncertainty. With uncertainty, come confusion, fear and other such emotions. Hence, we have good and bad, right and left, yes and no. And how could I forget, God and Evil. But aren't we evolving?

Friday, January 22, 2010


I look at myself in the mirror while brushing my teeth. I admire my face. My head lightly balding at the front, my thinning hair, my wide forehead, moderately hairy uneven brows, my small eyes melting within themselves, I bring to them a voluntary glow to see how they look and then, a normal dull look. My cheeks, with pinched pimples, look dark due to the pain from my pinching attacks, their complaining marks left behind maybe to disappear later. My nose, with tiny heads on either side, reflects light at its tip over the mirror. My nostrils, two dark caves, I can only feel with my thinner fingers but never see within. Deep passages lie there hiding from me inside me. Light hair, just under that groove under my nose, shows itself only to keen eyes. My lips with the foam of toothpaste all over, manage it from trickling down further, balancing it on the lips and the chin. If not for the water and the toothpaste foam, they would’ve looked dried up, with freshly ripped skin at spots, thanks to my restless teeth, they look a non-uniform brownish, blackish and pinkish red. An abrupt curve turns inside and then out, shaping my chin with a small partition, like an afterthought, at its bottom. Maybe, the original plan was to have two of those too, but later seemed unnecessary. My ears, small, carry two white orbs, just seeming fit for them, not burdening them too much. They are matching-matching with my eyes, that’s the best part. End of Face