You often cling on to things. You live under the impression that it’s too precious to lose, too hard to let go. But maybe not. Maybe it won’t be that hard. Maybe it will be quite easy to live without. Maybe you’d understand that only after you take the plunge.
But you wouldn’t ever realise that. Because you’re too scared to let go.
Monday, May 18, 2009
Saturday, May 9, 2009
I need to remember...
I clasp my hands together
To recreate the touch.
But I don’t feel the tingle in my nerves
With you that I used to as much.
I try to stroke my thumb
I close my eyes and think
Of your sweet breath on my hands
Of your lips on my skin as they sink
But the air creates no magic
The pretence does no justice
-to the joy in your smile
To the softness in your kiss
To the mischief in your eyes
To the love in your words.
No, the air only pierces
Through my mirage like brutal swords.
It awakens me to your absence
It reminds me of the void
It hits my face and runs
Like a lover annoyed
I know there’s no use chasing
I know the times have gone
I know I’m now awake
The dream’s left me alone
Yes, I think I was asleep
All through the days of joy
How else does one explain
Their sudden turn coy?
I think I lived a story-
A fairy tale for girls
The song, the dance, the laughter
Left me dizzy in a swirl
So dizzy that I now forget
The line between truth and lie
I mix up reality and illusion
It confuses me. I cry.
I cry because I know
It couldn’t have been a blur
But the loneliness tells me otherwise
The empty answers are a slur.
Why can’t I connect the past with today?
Why is my elation today so dismayed?
I ask you for the answers
I beg you to see
I know it all happened once
Won’t you try to assure me?
To recreate the touch.
But I don’t feel the tingle in my nerves
With you that I used to as much.
I try to stroke my thumb
I close my eyes and think
Of your sweet breath on my hands
Of your lips on my skin as they sink
But the air creates no magic
The pretence does no justice
-to the joy in your smile
To the softness in your kiss
To the mischief in your eyes
To the love in your words.
No, the air only pierces
Through my mirage like brutal swords.
It awakens me to your absence
It reminds me of the void
It hits my face and runs
Like a lover annoyed
I know there’s no use chasing
I know the times have gone
I know I’m now awake
The dream’s left me alone
Yes, I think I was asleep
All through the days of joy
How else does one explain
Their sudden turn coy?
I think I lived a story-
A fairy tale for girls
The song, the dance, the laughter
Left me dizzy in a swirl
So dizzy that I now forget
The line between truth and lie
I mix up reality and illusion
It confuses me. I cry.
I cry because I know
It couldn’t have been a blur
But the loneliness tells me otherwise
The empty answers are a slur.
Why can’t I connect the past with today?
Why is my elation today so dismayed?
I ask you for the answers
I beg you to see
I know it all happened once
Won’t you try to assure me?
Friday, May 8, 2009
It Rained Today
Delhi and Bangalore. Bangalore and Delhi. Two places that I have now come to call home. A lot of people would be surprised to find me accepting a second home in Bangalore so soon. For them, the city is much too hostile to North Indians. For me, this is the city where it rains a lot.
I remember my early months here, July, August, September. I used to promise myself that I would carry an umbrella whenever I would step out of the hostel. Downpours are quite unpredictable. Yes, I would forget more often than thought. But really, I am not complaining. There is nothing so natural that fills me with more joy (alright, maybe the ocean does. Am I a person with clichéd choices?) than heavy raindrops, or even light ones, on my head and dripping from my nose, with mud on my legs and soiled clothes on my body.
As a kid, I used to leave a bowl out in my veranda to fill with hailstones during a hailstorm. That would then serve as a dinner-time meal or something. Unhealthy, I heard someone say? Maybe. But so was the sand that I used to eat as a kid. Never got me ill. Why should this? It was all for the greater purpose of juvenile joy, unadulterated fun. I don’t know how apt the term unadulterated is here, though. But hey! That was hail, condensed out of evaporated water, which is devoid of all bacteria and dirt. No question of being unhealthy (my teacher later explained to me the concept of acid rain in urban dwellings. Delhi. Hmph.).
Now? Now I am a lot more conscious of getting wet in the rain. It’s been a long time since I did. Even before, for me it was never ‘dancing in the rain’, but just walking, standing, sitting, running sometimes, in the rain. I would spread my arms out like an eagle, tilt my head towards the sky, close my eyes, and just stand, with a quaint smile on my lips.
It rained today, and that’s what I did. I went to the terrace of my hostel building, spread my arms out like an eagle, tilted my head towards the sky, closed my eyes, and just stood... with a quaint smile on my lips.
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Phoenix
This is probably the first personal post on this blog; comes after a long hiatus too. Apologies. The whirlwind in life had settled priorities in a different manner. But now that I find myself free of certain priorities, I think I can promise to stay close to this love of writing that I have.
While I am at it, might I also very shamefully confess that the horrendous beast called Writer’s Block has for long held me captive, and here I write, still under its chains, struggling to break free. You see, I had always prided myself in managing to let my emotions flow through the fingers, out from the pen. Lately,even though the emtions have been full, the ink seems to be elusive. From now on, I will wait for the day where I can lose myself in the world of rhymes again, to release myself of the human bondage of emotions and excuses of this world. Quite a heavy baggage to lug around in life; one that I unabashedly confess I had a swayamvar with. This is a promise I make here today. Since I don’t know how many out there care to hold me to my promise, I shall do it to myself.
Thing is, you need to prove yourself time and again, to gain the respect that you were previously used to. Thing also is that respect comes only to the winners. Hmmm. Not really. Let me rephrase that. You might have respect, you might not have respect, but in victory, you humble people (there are also cases I have seen in the recent past where victors were generous enough to give their own humility away to people. Believe me, that’s not what I am talking about).
Let me recount an anecdote to you. And while I am at it, you are at liberty to opine whether I am blowing my lungs out in the big loud trumpet that I possess, or that I am speaking of this as a mere example. While I have given you the liberty to opine either way (Freedom of Thought, enshrined in the Preamble, as my enthusiastic Constitutional Law Professor would have added at this point), I shall also give myself the liberty of clarifying that it is the latter.
It was a squirrel that carried the message of our extreme, profound idiocy over all of Law School the other day. Yes, a tiny squirrel that turned into a big reason for everyone to laugh over. If you know the background, you might catch the pun. But since you don’t, let me tell you that squirrel is a part of a definition challenge in Parliamentary Debating, wherein the Opposition rejects the definition of the motion put forth by the Proposition, claiming, plain and simple, illogicality.
Fortunate are those debators who encounter a definition challenge. Careers in debating have spanned without being witness to a single definition challnge, let alone be a part of it. The best debators in our college have seen at the most only one. The seasoned, international adjudicator, who has adjudged over hundreds of debates has also seen only one. Should it take any effort on my part to tell you the fortune that we possess for being part of such a rare and historic event right at the beginning of something that cannot even be called a career yet, but merely a few experiences here and there?
You get the point. We were the junior-most batch, against the senior-most batch. And needledd to say, we lost. But we were cool about it (allow me to recount the only consolation), as I have repeated over and over again, in efforts to salvage the sheer stupidity on our part. One of the speakers on the opposite side said that if we could prove that murder is equal to death penalty, then our definition would stand and they would gladly concede defeat. So this is what I say: what is the State ultimately doing when it awards someone a death penalty? Through the death penalty, it murders the person. Thus, murder = death penalty. So there. That didn’t win us the debate (we never expected it to), but that did win us a few bangs on the table.
What ensued were snide jokes over ‘definitions’ and ‘first years, please clarify’ all the next day, before the next round of debate. This spilled over even during the debate: the obvious contempt and amusement on the faces of our opponent were hard to ignore. “We accept their definition,” was their opening line. Somehow, through the course of the debate, the smugness slowly melted away, into anxiety over the course of the debate.
We had defeated a senior time. The smugness had paid its price. The underdog had risen. The laity had bowed.
It was quite a sociological study how their attitude changed post-debate. The “we will slaughter them”, “they have no chance”, was replaced by “dude, you guys are really good. We were nothing like this in our first year”, “dude, I am really sorry”, (handshake) (another there).
Yes, it felt good to win. Yes, it felt good to make the upset we were traditionally expected to make. But it felt best to turn the tables over, to rise like the phoenix. Okay, maybe I am overdoing it. But I notice such stuff. And I did this time too- how everyone reacted to us differently after the debate. And it felt good to prove everyone wrong. It felt good to prove myself wrong too. But that’s a different matter.
Surprisingly, the obvious-contempt-turned-awe in the seniors did not arouse acerbity in me. Somehow, after yesterday, I too perceive them in a different light, one emitting from respect. I don’t have an explanation to that. All I can say is that I feel proud in proving that we might not be pros like the others, but we’re not a useless bunch of first years making a fool of ourselves either. I feel proud in feeling not hatred or contempt over the others, but more respect than I used to. It’s not like we’re brilliant debaters, but it feels good to win this acknowledgement from those who are, as also from those who had signed us off.
While I am at it, might I also very shamefully confess that the horrendous beast called Writer’s Block has for long held me captive, and here I write, still under its chains, struggling to break free. You see, I had always prided myself in managing to let my emotions flow through the fingers, out from the pen. Lately,even though the emtions have been full, the ink seems to be elusive. From now on, I will wait for the day where I can lose myself in the world of rhymes again, to release myself of the human bondage of emotions and excuses of this world. Quite a heavy baggage to lug around in life; one that I unabashedly confess I had a swayamvar with. This is a promise I make here today. Since I don’t know how many out there care to hold me to my promise, I shall do it to myself.
Thing is, you need to prove yourself time and again, to gain the respect that you were previously used to. Thing also is that respect comes only to the winners. Hmmm. Not really. Let me rephrase that. You might have respect, you might not have respect, but in victory, you humble people (there are also cases I have seen in the recent past where victors were generous enough to give their own humility away to people. Believe me, that’s not what I am talking about).
Let me recount an anecdote to you. And while I am at it, you are at liberty to opine whether I am blowing my lungs out in the big loud trumpet that I possess, or that I am speaking of this as a mere example. While I have given you the liberty to opine either way (Freedom of Thought, enshrined in the Preamble, as my enthusiastic Constitutional Law Professor would have added at this point), I shall also give myself the liberty of clarifying that it is the latter.
It was a squirrel that carried the message of our extreme, profound idiocy over all of Law School the other day. Yes, a tiny squirrel that turned into a big reason for everyone to laugh over. If you know the background, you might catch the pun. But since you don’t, let me tell you that squirrel is a part of a definition challenge in Parliamentary Debating, wherein the Opposition rejects the definition of the motion put forth by the Proposition, claiming, plain and simple, illogicality.
Fortunate are those debators who encounter a definition challenge. Careers in debating have spanned without being witness to a single definition challnge, let alone be a part of it. The best debators in our college have seen at the most only one. The seasoned, international adjudicator, who has adjudged over hundreds of debates has also seen only one. Should it take any effort on my part to tell you the fortune that we possess for being part of such a rare and historic event right at the beginning of something that cannot even be called a career yet, but merely a few experiences here and there?
You get the point. We were the junior-most batch, against the senior-most batch. And needledd to say, we lost. But we were cool about it (allow me to recount the only consolation), as I have repeated over and over again, in efforts to salvage the sheer stupidity on our part. One of the speakers on the opposite side said that if we could prove that murder is equal to death penalty, then our definition would stand and they would gladly concede defeat. So this is what I say: what is the State ultimately doing when it awards someone a death penalty? Through the death penalty, it murders the person. Thus, murder = death penalty. So there. That didn’t win us the debate (we never expected it to), but that did win us a few bangs on the table.
What ensued were snide jokes over ‘definitions’ and ‘first years, please clarify’ all the next day, before the next round of debate. This spilled over even during the debate: the obvious contempt and amusement on the faces of our opponent were hard to ignore. “We accept their definition,” was their opening line. Somehow, through the course of the debate, the smugness slowly melted away, into anxiety over the course of the debate.
We had defeated a senior time. The smugness had paid its price. The underdog had risen. The laity had bowed.
It was quite a sociological study how their attitude changed post-debate. The “we will slaughter them”, “they have no chance”, was replaced by “dude, you guys are really good. We were nothing like this in our first year”, “dude, I am really sorry”, (handshake) (another there).
Yes, it felt good to win. Yes, it felt good to make the upset we were traditionally expected to make. But it felt best to turn the tables over, to rise like the phoenix. Okay, maybe I am overdoing it. But I notice such stuff. And I did this time too- how everyone reacted to us differently after the debate. And it felt good to prove everyone wrong. It felt good to prove myself wrong too. But that’s a different matter.
Surprisingly, the obvious-contempt-turned-awe in the seniors did not arouse acerbity in me. Somehow, after yesterday, I too perceive them in a different light, one emitting from respect. I don’t have an explanation to that. All I can say is that I feel proud in proving that we might not be pros like the others, but we’re not a useless bunch of first years making a fool of ourselves either. I feel proud in feeling not hatred or contempt over the others, but more respect than I used to. It’s not like we’re brilliant debaters, but it feels good to win this acknowledgement from those who are, as also from those who had signed us off.
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
DESTINATION ACHIEVED...AND HOW!!
All India Rank-3, out of 12500-odd candidates, will now be gracing the paths of the Number 1 Law School in the country.Yippee!!
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Blindly
In the darkness of the night
Faintly gliding under the moonlight
Is a figure that trudges along.
Is it for real?
Or is it an illusion?
The aura humming a melancholic song.
Abruptly, it stops.
Slowly, it turns.
A vision befalling
My heart begins to churn
The world moves slowly
Time melts like wax
But the candle extinguishes
As I see myself staring back.
The scene flickers
The spirit soars
I see through a different pair of eyes
With nothing where I stood before
It feels cold beneath
As the ground below slips
The sand rushing away
Spilling through my toe-tips
Filling the spaces between
Making me wonder
Whether it’s the grains that rise
Or I sink under
They itch in my nails—
Their desolate hideout
But as my feet defy gravity
They find a way out.
A way out—
That is my Mecca too.
Hands flailing, eyes searching
For solidarity in solitude
And as a cold whisper calls out
From far into the sea
Promising comfort, promising warmth
I walk towards it blindly.
My feet gather pace
My heart finds a mate
As determination sets in finally
Yes, I walk towards it blindly.
They break into a run-
A run for peace
Away from misery
I run towards it blindly.
Gradually, the grains don’t matter
Gradually the terrain alters
My bare feet find liquid ground
But the steps never falter.
The whisper grows louder with every inch
Pulling and hissing
No beat missing
No second glance
At what’s behind
No second thought
I only see me blind.
There is the sound of the moonlight
And the sound of the splashes
The sound of my pant
But all I hear are the majestic flashes.
Now the water’s chest-deep
Yet my heart’s found upliftment.
When suddenly deathly silence finds life
My direction finds annulment
But I know it’s calling me out still
Probably with not that alacrity
Voice loses sound underwater
That’s where it must be
And that’s where I’ll look for it
If need be…till eternity…
Faintly gliding under the moonlight
Is a figure that trudges along.
Is it for real?
Or is it an illusion?
The aura humming a melancholic song.
Abruptly, it stops.
Slowly, it turns.
A vision befalling
My heart begins to churn
The world moves slowly
Time melts like wax
But the candle extinguishes
As I see myself staring back.
The scene flickers
The spirit soars
I see through a different pair of eyes
With nothing where I stood before
It feels cold beneath
As the ground below slips
The sand rushing away
Spilling through my toe-tips
Filling the spaces between
Making me wonder
Whether it’s the grains that rise
Or I sink under
They itch in my nails—
Their desolate hideout
But as my feet defy gravity
They find a way out.
A way out—
That is my Mecca too.
Hands flailing, eyes searching
For solidarity in solitude
And as a cold whisper calls out
From far into the sea
Promising comfort, promising warmth
I walk towards it blindly.
My feet gather pace
My heart finds a mate
As determination sets in finally
Yes, I walk towards it blindly.
They break into a run-
A run for peace
Away from misery
I run towards it blindly.
Gradually, the grains don’t matter
Gradually the terrain alters
My bare feet find liquid ground
But the steps never falter.
The whisper grows louder with every inch
Pulling and hissing
No beat missing
No second glance
At what’s behind
No second thought
I only see me blind.
There is the sound of the moonlight
And the sound of the splashes
The sound of my pant
But all I hear are the majestic flashes.
Now the water’s chest-deep
Yet my heart’s found upliftment.
When suddenly deathly silence finds life
My direction finds annulment
But I know it’s calling me out still
Probably with not that alacrity
Voice loses sound underwater
That’s where it must be
And that’s where I’ll look for it
If need be…till eternity…
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