The excitement of expectations, nothing can beat it. Sometimes the expectation of joy and the happiness caused by it overwhelm the joy itself. We are going back to the dream town of Malvan Katta. The soft feel of golden sand rubbing against my bare feet in knee deep sea water has given me nth shiver this morning. The warm welcome engulfing us, making us feel a part of family is awaiting us at the doorstep, I can feel their happy glances. The delicious mouth watering cuisines wafting warm appetizing smells straight into my head and stomach through nostrils are making me starve. The little shiny twinkling sparkle in the eyes of our young friends there has made the fireworks look dwarf throughout this diwali. But the best of all is the feeling of being together again with the best of the buddies at this fantabulous location for half a week.
Bon Voyage to ourselves. Cheers to life!
Friday, November 12, 2010
Monday, October 4, 2010
From The Reality Of Dreams To Fake Realities
Sometimes in the middle of night, I wake up and rub all the paintings, scratch all the coal, tear off the paper, but how do I rub them from my dreams.
Thousands of voices cry out loud and tell me to run back in time and revert it, they say go back to the ray of hope in the shadowed world, I wish I knew the way.
The first drops of rain burn through my skin and send waves of pain through the veins; maybe I can hide from them but I don’t have a shelter big enough to cover from the pouring through my eyes.
The beats of heart deprecate through my chest, I can set it free for once and for all, but I don’t know how to find it, its home.
Sad movies don’t make me cry, but the pop corn spill from the eyes wet my determination to not to call you, sometimes I dive in, sometimes I stand by and wait for it to get over and to start again.
Loud music doesn’t blur my thoughts, but it gives a silent shriek to the loud thudding and pounding of conscious against reality, it amplifies inside me, I feel like being about to blast out loud.
The mirror shows me the false impression and I play along the bluff, but the sudden splash of water bleaches my fake happiness from inside and resurface the bloodshot eyes that go well with the dark circles.
The fork stammers while taking on the broccoli and spoon suppresses its failure by thrusting it into my mouth, but the loud clinks of the champagne glasses rip apart overcoats of celebration to nude the dejection.
I wait for the big day; it will be the embrace of death if not you. But it will be certain and final. Let the roses turn black, let the sky pour to full its capacity, let it drench the hopes for once and for all, let the mighty one turn blind to its children, let the new born bud never fertilize to be crushed by the careless feet of unjust.
Let it be over, before it begins.
Thousands of voices cry out loud and tell me to run back in time and revert it, they say go back to the ray of hope in the shadowed world, I wish I knew the way.
The first drops of rain burn through my skin and send waves of pain through the veins; maybe I can hide from them but I don’t have a shelter big enough to cover from the pouring through my eyes.
The beats of heart deprecate through my chest, I can set it free for once and for all, but I don’t know how to find it, its home.
Sad movies don’t make me cry, but the pop corn spill from the eyes wet my determination to not to call you, sometimes I dive in, sometimes I stand by and wait for it to get over and to start again.
Loud music doesn’t blur my thoughts, but it gives a silent shriek to the loud thudding and pounding of conscious against reality, it amplifies inside me, I feel like being about to blast out loud.
The mirror shows me the false impression and I play along the bluff, but the sudden splash of water bleaches my fake happiness from inside and resurface the bloodshot eyes that go well with the dark circles.
The fork stammers while taking on the broccoli and spoon suppresses its failure by thrusting it into my mouth, but the loud clinks of the champagne glasses rip apart overcoats of celebration to nude the dejection.
I wait for the big day; it will be the embrace of death if not you. But it will be certain and final. Let the roses turn black, let the sky pour to full its capacity, let it drench the hopes for once and for all, let the mighty one turn blind to its children, let the new born bud never fertilize to be crushed by the careless feet of unjust.
Let it be over, before it begins.
Saturday, May 1, 2010
APARTMENT WINDOW
Hurdle of bright lights criss-crossing each other, honks and pace. The evening breeze flowing across the ocean and through the beach. Eateries and happy crowd. Children playing in the sand and adults becoming children again. The rush of love and passion. The roadside Tea-Stall. The petrol pump nearby and refuelling of people and their vehicles. The signal lights. The night sky.
Another morning with salty breeze across the ocean and warm sun to enlighten the path. The hangover. The late night parties and the excess of alcohol. The glitter of the former night and the shutter of eyes adjusting with exposure to the light. Arms around waists and waists encased between arms. Endless clinks of glasses and exchange of extreme perfumes.
The sunny afternoon. The thirsty strays and ignorant lot of merc owners. The office hours and coffee addicts. The vertical blinds and the air conditioned rooms behind. The schools and lectures. The paper-stalls with Middays.
The cloudy time before dawn. And arrival of rain in the evening. The stranded traffic. Cursing crowd and bare feet people entering the sea. The drops of rain sparing no one. The ones getting wet with their umbrellas and the ones embracing the drips with open hands. The smell of soil. And potholes filled with water. The hookah parlours and coffee joints. The tattooed girls and some more alcohol. Another night.
The glass between us lets me hear it all. It lets me see it all. It’s the view of life from my apartment window.
Another morning with salty breeze across the ocean and warm sun to enlighten the path. The hangover. The late night parties and the excess of alcohol. The glitter of the former night and the shutter of eyes adjusting with exposure to the light. Arms around waists and waists encased between arms. Endless clinks of glasses and exchange of extreme perfumes.
The sunny afternoon. The thirsty strays and ignorant lot of merc owners. The office hours and coffee addicts. The vertical blinds and the air conditioned rooms behind. The schools and lectures. The paper-stalls with Middays.
The cloudy time before dawn. And arrival of rain in the evening. The stranded traffic. Cursing crowd and bare feet people entering the sea. The drops of rain sparing no one. The ones getting wet with their umbrellas and the ones embracing the drips with open hands. The smell of soil. And potholes filled with water. The hookah parlours and coffee joints. The tattooed girls and some more alcohol. Another night.
The glass between us lets me hear it all. It lets me see it all. It’s the view of life from my apartment window.
Saturday, April 24, 2010
END OF LIFE
And there he goes again in the dark sea of lights......they focused at him with the whiteness within them....but the effect of it was passing through him, instead of enlightening him. For first time in his life he realised that there is a sound associated with light.....it was loud; almost deafening. It wasn’t noise but neither was it soothing in any sense. The sound was resonating not only in his eardrums but in his entire body. Penetrating through his very skin and flesh it went inside piercing and puncturing his body with every passing second. The pain was unbearable and undecipherable. The sound was familiar for a fraction of second and he tried to pay attention, and it stopped. All of a sudden there was no sound. He waited in anticipation but everything was silent. As if nothing ever happened.
As the senses come back to your body you want to experience everything. You want to see the world around you, hear the sound of children riding on their bicycles and ringing the bell every now and then to tell the commuters that they are not very good at it. It was a dual purpose action, to ensure their own safety along with the commuters. The chirping of summer birds and the dry smell of soil. So i tried to intake it all, he was standing in front of me, less blur now, less confused. His face was just plain, simple. It was not lack of a sentiment in particular but a lack of any of it. The light which looked like piercing through him some moments back looked a part of him now, or he looked like a part of that light. He smiled at me or I thought so. He looked lot more composed than me now; calm and composed. I tried to look into his eyes to gauge his state. His state of mind, but I couldn’t get through. I felt like I was drowning into his eyes, and then I saw it again, the light. It encircled him, from his behind and then sides and then from down and everywhere. I was trying to scream to tell him to escape, to alert him, but I couldn’t. He just kept looking at me. The fog of light engulfed him from all the sides, a last glimpse of his eyes told me he was aware of the activities going around him, and he was not concerned, rather he looked happy about it. I held up my hand and slowly moved it in his direction....and then everything became blur again.
Pure and serene. The truest form of energy. The moment I awaited for my entire life. Life, how small that term looks from here. So childish. He was still struggling with it. he? Yes it was a he now. I and he are different. We were, from the very beginning. But we didn’t know that, so blinded by the darkness around us. The false sense of belonging, to each other. I look at him, he is still struggling to understand and comprehend what was going around. He was screaming, trying to escape, trying to save me. I couldn’t help but smile. Yes the time has come. The last look at this bodily world. He tried to grab me with extend of a hand. Good bye sandip.
As the senses come back to your body you want to experience everything. You want to see the world around you, hear the sound of children riding on their bicycles and ringing the bell every now and then to tell the commuters that they are not very good at it. It was a dual purpose action, to ensure their own safety along with the commuters. The chirping of summer birds and the dry smell of soil. So i tried to intake it all, he was standing in front of me, less blur now, less confused. His face was just plain, simple. It was not lack of a sentiment in particular but a lack of any of it. The light which looked like piercing through him some moments back looked a part of him now, or he looked like a part of that light. He smiled at me or I thought so. He looked lot more composed than me now; calm and composed. I tried to look into his eyes to gauge his state. His state of mind, but I couldn’t get through. I felt like I was drowning into his eyes, and then I saw it again, the light. It encircled him, from his behind and then sides and then from down and everywhere. I was trying to scream to tell him to escape, to alert him, but I couldn’t. He just kept looking at me. The fog of light engulfed him from all the sides, a last glimpse of his eyes told me he was aware of the activities going around him, and he was not concerned, rather he looked happy about it. I held up my hand and slowly moved it in his direction....and then everything became blur again.
Pure and serene. The truest form of energy. The moment I awaited for my entire life. Life, how small that term looks from here. So childish. He was still struggling with it. he? Yes it was a he now. I and he are different. We were, from the very beginning. But we didn’t know that, so blinded by the darkness around us. The false sense of belonging, to each other. I look at him, he is still struggling to understand and comprehend what was going around. He was screaming, trying to escape, trying to save me. I couldn’t help but smile. Yes the time has come. The last look at this bodily world. He tried to grab me with extend of a hand. Good bye sandip.
Saturday, March 27, 2010
LEMONADE IN THE MARKET
it has always interested me the way they make lemonade.....fresh squeeze of lemon wedges....sugar..salt and water....easy yet elegant...
i was walking the path made of cobble stones...the one led to market...they had all sorts of stuff there....fruits....fresh..juicy and delicious....they had small wooden carts filled with melons and another one had a cart full of strawberries.....the juicy red fresh ones....they all had different fruits....almost no one sold more than two types of fruits...banana, mango, guava, pineapple, berries, oranges, apples and what not.....
but what got my attraction fast were the stands where they had lemons.....yellow signifies freshness....the smell so enthralling that it leaves you craving for more....its addictive...they had a few of them cut and made crown-like shape for the displays....
I was quiet submerged in the beauty of the yellow fruit when suddenly it started pouring....gusty winds and flying leaves marked the entry of monsoon....and everyone rushed to cover their belongings to save them from the fore-coming rain. many pulled out their coloured tripple fold umbrellas and many others wrapped themselves with raincoats. the brave ones who did not carry any defense weapon hid in the shades and in the midst of it all, it started.....the soil, of all the entities present enjoyed the most....liberating from it the tastiest of the perfumes... it gathered and compounded with other dust particle to form mud. the hot type of fruits got covered and some remained uncovered taking a free bath.....the lemon turned more fresh a flick of yellow...the drops being catched with lot more enthusiasm by its oily skin and dripped along its circular border....
the wind came to rescue and washed the clouds away in few minutes and the market resumed its business slowly. the commuters, buyers and sellers started preparing themselves for getting into their respective roles.....normal, common, regular life began....and no one noticed the sour drops of most natural lemonade dripping from the crown like lemon wedges.
i was walking the path made of cobble stones...the one led to market...they had all sorts of stuff there....fruits....fresh..juicy and delicious....they had small wooden carts filled with melons and another one had a cart full of strawberries.....the juicy red fresh ones....they all had different fruits....almost no one sold more than two types of fruits...banana, mango, guava, pineapple, berries, oranges, apples and what not.....
but what got my attraction fast were the stands where they had lemons.....yellow signifies freshness....the smell so enthralling that it leaves you craving for more....its addictive...they had a few of them cut and made crown-like shape for the displays....
I was quiet submerged in the beauty of the yellow fruit when suddenly it started pouring....gusty winds and flying leaves marked the entry of monsoon....and everyone rushed to cover their belongings to save them from the fore-coming rain. many pulled out their coloured tripple fold umbrellas and many others wrapped themselves with raincoats. the brave ones who did not carry any defense weapon hid in the shades and in the midst of it all, it started.....the soil, of all the entities present enjoyed the most....liberating from it the tastiest of the perfumes... it gathered and compounded with other dust particle to form mud. the hot type of fruits got covered and some remained uncovered taking a free bath.....the lemon turned more fresh a flick of yellow...the drops being catched with lot more enthusiasm by its oily skin and dripped along its circular border....
the wind came to rescue and washed the clouds away in few minutes and the market resumed its business slowly. the commuters, buyers and sellers started preparing themselves for getting into their respective roles.....normal, common, regular life began....and no one noticed the sour drops of most natural lemonade dripping from the crown like lemon wedges.
A NEW ENTRY
met this photographer today....very sincere about work....almost workaholic....
the camera was not entirely black...small pieces of objects that worked as enhancements were coloured in different shades. and the lense...obviously.....
the gray room was filled with photography lights....lenses...cameras....tripods and red bulbed lightings...also various sets and the choking smell of half died cigarette butts.
the silky blue skirt slid slowly past my thighs....and i looked at him......he was alredy looking at me....or my open skin and flesh.....the skirt skeeded an inch further...the blue green veins carrying impure blood were semi clad by the skin....the air blower was at its full speed taking my hair strands from shoulder to shoulder.....the eyelashes curled a bit....and the lips dyed in velvet red with the juiciest squeeze within....the silk or satin was rubbing agaisnt my bare chest from inside.....my own hair playing against my neck.....goosbumps errupted from my legs and filled entire body....the butterflies in the stomach took a ride all of a sudden....the lungs smugling lot more air than before....heavings of chest getting harder and the rubbing of satin sending shivers.....the cloth about to loose its position.....the eternal thirst of a body...for another...evident
and he kept clicking.....he bloody damned fucker kept clicking photos.....fucker asshole.....!
the camera was not entirely black...small pieces of objects that worked as enhancements were coloured in different shades. and the lense...obviously.....
the gray room was filled with photography lights....lenses...cameras....tripods and red bulbed lightings...also various sets and the choking smell of half died cigarette butts.
the silky blue skirt slid slowly past my thighs....and i looked at him......he was alredy looking at me....or my open skin and flesh.....the skirt skeeded an inch further...the blue green veins carrying impure blood were semi clad by the skin....the air blower was at its full speed taking my hair strands from shoulder to shoulder.....the eyelashes curled a bit....and the lips dyed in velvet red with the juiciest squeeze within....the silk or satin was rubbing agaisnt my bare chest from inside.....my own hair playing against my neck.....goosbumps errupted from my legs and filled entire body....the butterflies in the stomach took a ride all of a sudden....the lungs smugling lot more air than before....heavings of chest getting harder and the rubbing of satin sending shivers.....the cloth about to loose its position.....the eternal thirst of a body...for another...evident
and he kept clicking.....he bloody damned fucker kept clicking photos.....fucker asshole.....!
THE FIRST PAGE
Words....they come abruptly....and escape into silence....evade you from reality and push you into the dark alleys of truth and wisdom. wisdom unlike common beliefs is not always seeked or awaited, sometimes its forced on you. the thrash so hard and intense that it pulls you back from the sweet tangled golden hair of dreams and lands your brains on the hard soil. bones again concrete, practical brutality where blood does not clot with just a blow of breath from someone special. bones crack and so do you.
and then its blank again, with no plan of actions, its just a migration from one state to another not a story to have an ending, but we expect it to lead us to somewhere like a story.
and there we start dreaming again.....the soft strands start engulfing us slowly. the bubbles of clouds and shadows of heavenly figures, the figment of fraction painted in only one colour.....colour of love and caring and belief and trust and the brush of all such parallel words.
between these you never know when you reach the brim to change your existence from present to past, and then you look back....you look back and realize....and laugh or cry sometimes...but the tears don't always roll down...they are too tired or overly used that wared beyond a point of repair...
and then they say "one more fruit has riped to be reaped !"
THE END OF THE BE(gin)ING !
and then its blank again, with no plan of actions, its just a migration from one state to another not a story to have an ending, but we expect it to lead us to somewhere like a story.
and there we start dreaming again.....the soft strands start engulfing us slowly. the bubbles of clouds and shadows of heavenly figures, the figment of fraction painted in only one colour.....colour of love and caring and belief and trust and the brush of all such parallel words.
between these you never know when you reach the brim to change your existence from present to past, and then you look back....you look back and realize....and laugh or cry sometimes...but the tears don't always roll down...they are too tired or overly used that wared beyond a point of repair...
and then they say "one more fruit has riped to be reaped !"
THE END OF THE BE(gin)ING !
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