Today is X’mas. I have been receiving messages wishing me happiness and prosperity. In return I text them my “Thank yous” and my wishes. One look around is enough to make one realize how far away from those words we are. “We” as in the “whole of humanity.”
At least today let’s call ourselves that .Not Hindus/ Muslims/ Christians/ Jews/ Atheist/ Buddhist etc. [I know its easier for the sun and the moon to interchange its positions than for us to do that !] So let’s suppose for the sake of a conversation that “We” are “We”.
We live in a world that has been taken over by “isms” of all kind. We live in a world that’s been taken over by science and technology. We live in a world that has been taken over by hate. We live in a world that has been taken over by religion.
And what is religion? If “We” associate the word religion with God then the question arises “ Does God propagate hatred?” How else can one deduce this phenomenon called religion? Every religion believes in “a God”. And the fight is in the name of God. So who is the perpetuator? “We”? No way!!!
After all who can “We” blame for not having been born “human”? Right? ” “We” are everything except human. So how can “We” be blamed for lack of tolerance? So how can “We” be blamed for the lack of forgiveness? Or how can “We” be blamed for the lack of love?
“We” only understand money. “We” only understand the sensex. “We” only understand logic. “We” only understand selfishness. “We” only understand nations. “We” only understand boundaries. “We” only understand the color of our skin. What “We” do not understand is “We”!
And yes “We” also do not understand the concept of God. “We” are mere pretenders. “We” believe “We” know everything all the while forgetting what this “We” is. This “We” that “We” hate to call ourselves is God. For God is UNITY. Its only when this “We” will replace “I” that the X’mas messages will have a meaning. Otherwise those words will be nothing more than an advertising concept.
If “We” look closely at a cross “We” will see that Christ died on the cross like a “Y”. As if asking a question.
If “We” look more closely at the cross “ We” will see that he answered the question in death by opening his arms like a “V”.
And today after more than two thousand years after his death the question still is “ Why?”
And the answer that “ We” have failed to grasp after more than two thousand years also remains the same.
“ We” .
Friday, December 25, 2009
Sunday, December 13, 2009
She still does it.....
Once a while I balance the moon
On my fingertip,
My index one
- it feels like I am touching the tip of her nose
And from the tip I slide the moon
Down
And it rolls into my arms
Becoming my face
I have begun to look like her
Within my own eyes
I look in the mirror
And I don’t see her
Her absence is my identity
Twinkle twinkle “little star”
Up above my world-
Silently
The sky knows all the secrets
For what is a star but a lotus
In full bloom
And what’s a lotus
But a star twinkling
In a pond
The water is the sky that knows all the secrets
If I remember who I am I cease to exist.
On my fingertip,
My index one
- it feels like I am touching the tip of her nose
And from the tip I slide the moon
Down
And it rolls into my arms
Becoming my face
I have begun to look like her
Within my own eyes
I look in the mirror
And I don’t see her
Her absence is my identity
Twinkle twinkle “little star”
Up above my world-
Silently
The sky knows all the secrets
For what is a star but a lotus
In full bloom
And what’s a lotus
But a star twinkling
In a pond
The water is the sky that knows all the secrets
If I remember who I am I cease to exist.
Vowels
AE! I O U
Vowels or
A promissory note?
q UEUEI ng.
Vowels-
In front of a ration store?
c O l O U r!
Vowels
Rimbaud’s way.
“An” precedes
Vowel
sound.
An “h”onest man.
Always
Silent.
AE! O! U!
Vowel
I.
Vowels or
A promissory note?
q UEUEI ng.
Vowels-
In front of a ration store?
c O l O U r!
Vowels
Rimbaud’s way.
“An” precedes
Vowel
sound.
An “h”onest man.
Always
Silent.
AE! O! U!
Vowel
I.
An early breakfast [ 23/02/2006]
6 30 a m
A yawn. Turns into a
White cloud
Sliding windows
6 32 a m
Black coffee. Red mug.
Feel the steamy brim
Circles
6 35 a m
Shaking hands with the standstill breeze
A sip of coffee
The first smile
6 39 a m
Lift the upturned blue bowl
An orange
Peeling off for the day
7 00 a m
Orange juice. Two sunny side ups
Toast couples
Break bread with a tinge of romance
Bon appetite!
Lovers should eat well. Always.
For the heart to grow fonder.
7 whatever a m
Another mug of black coffee
And the birds
Transcend logic and fly!
I simply stand, smile and think.
Weighed down by my intellect.
Even hearts can be level headed
The more one thinks
The more one gets pulled by gravity.
8 01 a m
Shit.
After half an hour of bull shitting
The next breakfast will be served at 9 30 a m.
A yawn. Turns into a
White cloud
Sliding windows
6 32 a m
Black coffee. Red mug.
Feel the steamy brim
Circles
6 35 a m
Shaking hands with the standstill breeze
A sip of coffee
The first smile
6 39 a m
Lift the upturned blue bowl
An orange
Peeling off for the day
7 00 a m
Orange juice. Two sunny side ups
Toast couples
Break bread with a tinge of romance
Bon appetite!
Lovers should eat well. Always.
For the heart to grow fonder.
7 whatever a m
Another mug of black coffee
And the birds
Transcend logic and fly!
I simply stand, smile and think.
Weighed down by my intellect.
Even hearts can be level headed
The more one thinks
The more one gets pulled by gravity.
8 01 a m
Shit.
After half an hour of bull shitting
The next breakfast will be served at 9 30 a m.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Talking to self the other day
The smile is old yes
I can see
The invisible mirror
In the darkness
Shines brighter than the full moon
My tears are new
On this damp chilly night
Nurturing a warmth
like a pearl
feeling safe in the embrace of
a ravaging ocean
The world looks like a ghost town
Under a starless sky
Where upon I walk
An Adam yearning for his Eve
I run my fingertips
over my ribs
Can’t get her off my chest.
I can see
The invisible mirror
In the darkness
Shines brighter than the full moon
My tears are new
On this damp chilly night
Nurturing a warmth
like a pearl
feeling safe in the embrace of
a ravaging ocean
The world looks like a ghost town
Under a starless sky
Where upon I walk
An Adam yearning for his Eve
I run my fingertips
over my ribs
Can’t get her off my chest.
Monday, November 23, 2009
The absurdity of convention
When I was a school boy I read somewhere “ Education is a way of life. Not a preparation for life.” And listening to some of the elders speak all these years I have come to the conclusion that education breeds ignorance. What education teaches us is nothing but how to disguise our real thoughts. It teaches us to conceal rather than to reveal ourselves. There is a significant difference in being educated and in being learned.
Unfortunately, there have been only a handful of men in the history of mankind whom we could really call learned. The fundamental organ for real learning is not the head but “a heart”. A big heart. A heart that beats the loudest. A heart that sings. A heart that suffers and cries. Not for oneself but for the whole of mankind.
But most times when we hear our elders speak, I feel as if they still psychologically belong to the animal kingdom but instead of barking or howling use language/words to communicate. How often are we true to our words? Does words really communicate what exists in our mind?
We use words as a weapon because as a race we are cowards. And our ego is born out of this cowardice. Like a little boy who sings loudly while walking through an empty dark alley.
Schools condition us. Socially. And this comes at an expense no parent ever calculates. It comes at the cost of the innocence of childhood. It comes at the cost of replacing imagination with intellect.
Now what is an intellect? Its nothing more than an accumulation of fixed thoughts, ideas, rules,regulations founded and derived to control an individual. It’s a hub of data. Nothing more. One can be in awe of the intellect but can’t be moved by it.
And what about individuality? The individual is forever lost. Like “dodos”. Killed yet there is not a drop of tear in anyone’s eye. We no more believe in ourselves. And there in lies the source of our misery. We believe our parents, our relatives, our teachers , our friends…all except ourselves. How is it possible that two human beings can have the same experience? Yet we are taught life as per the experience of others. And like a retard, we follow everything taught to us. Its only a few realized souls who understand life per se. Most do nothing but mimic their parent. And they call that life! In the world of technology, it would be called “photocopying.”
Our lives are nothing more than a photocopy. We are born. We get educated. We fornicate. We marry. We fornicate. We work. We fornicate. We eat. We fornicate. We sleep. We fornicate. We shit. We fornicate. We breed. We fornicate. And yet…sex is a sin.
The other day I witnessed a couple of women in my colony throwing stones at a pair of dogs who were copulating in the middle of the road as these friendly animals often do. Their children were with them. But how can one justify these women’s fear of answering to their kids giggling questions about a biological phenomenon with this act of violence? Isn’t that what is being taught here?
The breeding ground for present day terrorism is not the “ madrassas” or fundamentalist islam, it is the fundamental/genetic flaw in all of us. Its merely that the terrorists are men of action. How may of us have not thought about killing or blowing off someone in our thoughts? The degree of cowardice vary. That’s all.
Nobody is taught to love.
Everything else is taught. A sense of belonging to a family. To a community. To a caste. To a religion. To a state. Self centeredness. Greed. Ambition. The significance of money. The significance of power that comes through money. Everything is taught.
Except how to love. Conventionally, love is but a need in today’s times. I remember a girl to whom I was attracted to once telling me that she would prefer a guy who would need her than love her. I still remember her for her honesty.
And I still love her.
This lack of love is because of the rising popularity of reason. Love is beyond the realm of reason and hence not understandable. One can reasonably philosophize logic, mathematics, language but love???
To understand love one needs the grace of divinity. And that divinity is to be found in a child. A child that we kill in our quest for bondage.
How absurd are we humans? We have freedom within our grasp and yet….
Long live tradition! Long live ignorance! Long live cowardice!
Unfortunately, there have been only a handful of men in the history of mankind whom we could really call learned. The fundamental organ for real learning is not the head but “a heart”. A big heart. A heart that beats the loudest. A heart that sings. A heart that suffers and cries. Not for oneself but for the whole of mankind.
But most times when we hear our elders speak, I feel as if they still psychologically belong to the animal kingdom but instead of barking or howling use language/words to communicate. How often are we true to our words? Does words really communicate what exists in our mind?
We use words as a weapon because as a race we are cowards. And our ego is born out of this cowardice. Like a little boy who sings loudly while walking through an empty dark alley.
Schools condition us. Socially. And this comes at an expense no parent ever calculates. It comes at the cost of the innocence of childhood. It comes at the cost of replacing imagination with intellect.
Now what is an intellect? Its nothing more than an accumulation of fixed thoughts, ideas, rules,regulations founded and derived to control an individual. It’s a hub of data. Nothing more. One can be in awe of the intellect but can’t be moved by it.
And what about individuality? The individual is forever lost. Like “dodos”. Killed yet there is not a drop of tear in anyone’s eye. We no more believe in ourselves. And there in lies the source of our misery. We believe our parents, our relatives, our teachers , our friends…all except ourselves. How is it possible that two human beings can have the same experience? Yet we are taught life as per the experience of others. And like a retard, we follow everything taught to us. Its only a few realized souls who understand life per se. Most do nothing but mimic their parent. And they call that life! In the world of technology, it would be called “photocopying.”
Our lives are nothing more than a photocopy. We are born. We get educated. We fornicate. We marry. We fornicate. We work. We fornicate. We eat. We fornicate. We sleep. We fornicate. We shit. We fornicate. We breed. We fornicate. And yet…sex is a sin.
The other day I witnessed a couple of women in my colony throwing stones at a pair of dogs who were copulating in the middle of the road as these friendly animals often do. Their children were with them. But how can one justify these women’s fear of answering to their kids giggling questions about a biological phenomenon with this act of violence? Isn’t that what is being taught here?
The breeding ground for present day terrorism is not the “ madrassas” or fundamentalist islam, it is the fundamental/genetic flaw in all of us. Its merely that the terrorists are men of action. How may of us have not thought about killing or blowing off someone in our thoughts? The degree of cowardice vary. That’s all.
Nobody is taught to love.
Everything else is taught. A sense of belonging to a family. To a community. To a caste. To a religion. To a state. Self centeredness. Greed. Ambition. The significance of money. The significance of power that comes through money. Everything is taught.
Except how to love. Conventionally, love is but a need in today’s times. I remember a girl to whom I was attracted to once telling me that she would prefer a guy who would need her than love her. I still remember her for her honesty.
And I still love her.
This lack of love is because of the rising popularity of reason. Love is beyond the realm of reason and hence not understandable. One can reasonably philosophize logic, mathematics, language but love???
To understand love one needs the grace of divinity. And that divinity is to be found in a child. A child that we kill in our quest for bondage.
How absurd are we humans? We have freedom within our grasp and yet….
Long live tradition! Long live ignorance! Long live cowardice!
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Zarathustra's Roundelay-by Friedrich Nietzsche
O man, take care!
What does the deep midnight declare?
"I was asleep—
From a deep dream I woke and swear:
The world is deep,
Deeper than day had been aware.
Deep is its woe;
Joy—deeper yet than agony:
Woe implores: Go!
But all joy wants eternity—
Wants deep, wants deep eternity.
What does the deep midnight declare?
"I was asleep—
From a deep dream I woke and swear:
The world is deep,
Deeper than day had been aware.
Deep is its woe;
Joy—deeper yet than agony:
Woe implores: Go!
But all joy wants eternity—
Wants deep, wants deep eternity.
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Thoughts at dusk
A pandemonium of vehicle sounds
A gust of dust
An “azaan” that pulls the strings of the heart
A plate of hot kababs
Policemen with hanging bellies
Goats readied to be sacrificed
Onions and “pudina”
A dash of “Sprite” and a pair of “paav”
Moslem men with Moslem beards
Other men with other beards
Women in “burkas” women in skirts
Beauty parlors for gents and ladies
Ogling rickshaw drivers
Lampposts and prostitutes
Non discriminating wine shops
And an “azaan” that pulls the strings of the heart
We live in times when we
Human beings have all the answers
I suddenly realize I have none
And feel relieved
I have no questions too
Since I learned to have faith
In me and
In God
It’s the strength of ignorance that corrupts
Making us live in an illusory world of sanity
Reality is madness
And the power of love
Like the “azaan” that pulls the strings of the heart
And the crescent moon on the night sky
I kneel at the junction humbled
And build a mosque
A gust of dust
An “azaan” that pulls the strings of the heart
A plate of hot kababs
Policemen with hanging bellies
Goats readied to be sacrificed
Onions and “pudina”
A dash of “Sprite” and a pair of “paav”
Moslem men with Moslem beards
Other men with other beards
Women in “burkas” women in skirts
Beauty parlors for gents and ladies
Ogling rickshaw drivers
Lampposts and prostitutes
Non discriminating wine shops
And an “azaan” that pulls the strings of the heart
We live in times when we
Human beings have all the answers
I suddenly realize I have none
And feel relieved
I have no questions too
Since I learned to have faith
In me and
In God
It’s the strength of ignorance that corrupts
Making us live in an illusory world of sanity
Reality is madness
And the power of love
Like the “azaan” that pulls the strings of the heart
And the crescent moon on the night sky
I kneel at the junction humbled
And build a mosque
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Disconnected
“ The Vodafone number you have dialed has been temporarily disconnected.”
I look at the receiver and dial the number once again.
This time very cautiously. Pressing the numbers harder than the first time.
Once again I hear the same message- “ The Vodafone number you have dialed has been temporarily disconnected.”
I hold on longer and hear the same message being repeated in hindi.
I hang up.
I look at the phone. I smile.
And its my smile that pinches my heart.
I sit down. Recompose myself by ordering a cup of tea.
I walk towards the work area of the bakery. See the boys working there listening to an old hindi film song on the radio.
They look at me and smile. A tray of fresh cookies surfaces from the oven.
A fresh tear from my eye.
My heart – Fahrenheit 451.
My smile like a nagging wife reminds me that this love is going to consume me.
I look at my phone again. Feel sorry for it. It had its day. And not so long ago when it would receive and send messages to her. Then there were other times when it had been courted by her sweet “hellos” and mellifluous voice.
All that now seem like “ Once upon a time…”
Old loves do not end up at archeology departments. You find them first lying on a psychiatrist’s couch and later sitting blankly in a mental asylum.
My wifey smile with great effort reminds me once again that right now I am sitting with a blank look on my face.
I close my eyes and see cookies and biscuits baking inside of me. I open my eyes and my tea arrives.
One of the bakery boys comes over and hands me a cookie. I thank him and take a bite.
It tastes like my tear.
I look at her number on my phone.
“ Should I erase it?”- a question arises.
Like she has erased me from her life.
I decide against it. At least I have her number. Her old number. Her defunct number. Yet her number.
Sometimes all that would remain at the end of this journey might be this number.
A defunct number that connects to my heart.
A disconnected number that rings up my dreams
I return to my smile. Finish my cup of tea and sing along with the old hindi film song being played on the radio.
“ Woh shaam kuch ajeeb thi…yeh shaam bhi ajeeb hai…woh kal bhi paas paas thi….woh aaj bhi kareeb hai…”
I look at the receiver and dial the number once again.
This time very cautiously. Pressing the numbers harder than the first time.
Once again I hear the same message- “ The Vodafone number you have dialed has been temporarily disconnected.”
I hold on longer and hear the same message being repeated in hindi.
I hang up.
I look at the phone. I smile.
And its my smile that pinches my heart.
I sit down. Recompose myself by ordering a cup of tea.
I walk towards the work area of the bakery. See the boys working there listening to an old hindi film song on the radio.
They look at me and smile. A tray of fresh cookies surfaces from the oven.
A fresh tear from my eye.
My heart – Fahrenheit 451.
My smile like a nagging wife reminds me that this love is going to consume me.
I look at my phone again. Feel sorry for it. It had its day. And not so long ago when it would receive and send messages to her. Then there were other times when it had been courted by her sweet “hellos” and mellifluous voice.
All that now seem like “ Once upon a time…”
Old loves do not end up at archeology departments. You find them first lying on a psychiatrist’s couch and later sitting blankly in a mental asylum.
My wifey smile with great effort reminds me once again that right now I am sitting with a blank look on my face.
I close my eyes and see cookies and biscuits baking inside of me. I open my eyes and my tea arrives.
One of the bakery boys comes over and hands me a cookie. I thank him and take a bite.
It tastes like my tear.
I look at her number on my phone.
“ Should I erase it?”- a question arises.
Like she has erased me from her life.
I decide against it. At least I have her number. Her old number. Her defunct number. Yet her number.
Sometimes all that would remain at the end of this journey might be this number.
A defunct number that connects to my heart.
A disconnected number that rings up my dreams
I return to my smile. Finish my cup of tea and sing along with the old hindi film song being played on the radio.
“ Woh shaam kuch ajeeb thi…yeh shaam bhi ajeeb hai…woh kal bhi paas paas thi….woh aaj bhi kareeb hai…”
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Tenderness
How fortunate is the morning dew
to see the rising sun
how merciful is the sun
that sucks her into his rays
One is happy to kill
The other happy to die
All in the name of love.
Think of the destiny of the morning dew if the sun had left her alone?
And how could the sun have quenched his thirst for his heart to burn?
The sun is not there to illuminate himself.
And the morning dew dies for the sake of her beloved.
All in the name of love.
to see the rising sun
how merciful is the sun
that sucks her into his rays
One is happy to kill
The other happy to die
All in the name of love.
Think of the destiny of the morning dew if the sun had left her alone?
And how could the sun have quenched his thirst for his heart to burn?
The sun is not there to illuminate himself.
And the morning dew dies for the sake of her beloved.
All in the name of love.
I have been so wrong
I have been so wrong once again.
And to think that this time I was so sure that I was right!
O my ego! O my conditioning! O my past!
You have been misleading me for so long
The path that I tread is slippery
If at all I am hanging on is ‘cause am quite kind to myself
Or else I would have long disappeared into the black hole of self pity.
I bite my nails and fondle my crotch
See, my hands are full
I need to wash my hands off for a resurrection.
And to think that this time I was so sure that I was right!
O my ego! O my conditioning! O my past!
You have been misleading me for so long
The path that I tread is slippery
If at all I am hanging on is ‘cause am quite kind to myself
Or else I would have long disappeared into the black hole of self pity.
I bite my nails and fondle my crotch
See, my hands are full
I need to wash my hands off for a resurrection.
The gift of void
Strike me dead, my little princess, if I trespass into your memory.
Strike me dead, my little princess, if my heart whispers in your solitude.
Like a snake I have coiled around all memorable moments we shared
Strike me dead, my little princess, if a word ever raises its head.
Holding the moon in my palm I had traveled towards the sun
Strike me dead, my little princess, if the moon fails to light up tonight.
I kneel and pray but my prayers do not have wings
Strike me dead, my little princess, my infidel heart sings!
Every moment like a mirror reflects your face to me
Strike me dead, my little princess, if you ever pass by me.
I have painted the walls of my house in the colors of your smile
Strike me dead, my little princess, if ever a tear drops from your eye.
I have stalked love like the night that stalks the day
Strike me dead, my little princess, and free my love today.
Strike me dead, my little princess, if my heart whispers in your solitude.
Like a snake I have coiled around all memorable moments we shared
Strike me dead, my little princess, if a word ever raises its head.
Holding the moon in my palm I had traveled towards the sun
Strike me dead, my little princess, if the moon fails to light up tonight.
I kneel and pray but my prayers do not have wings
Strike me dead, my little princess, my infidel heart sings!
Every moment like a mirror reflects your face to me
Strike me dead, my little princess, if you ever pass by me.
I have painted the walls of my house in the colors of your smile
Strike me dead, my little princess, if ever a tear drops from your eye.
I have stalked love like the night that stalks the day
Strike me dead, my little princess, and free my love today.
Sunday, November 8, 2009
Zone
I find myself in a strange zone
Where I am happy to be alive
And yet
would be happy to die too
In love even moments cease to exist.
A little love
A little kindness
A little hug
A little magic
She gifted me the universe on a platter.
She gifted me my eyes
So now I can see myself
In pain hides the soul of happiness
Burn –
Jump into the fire and burn!
One does not have to always swim to cross a river.
Jump!
And be happy.
The bottom is the zenith
Drown!
And be happy.
In love one cease to exist.
Where I am happy to be alive
And yet
would be happy to die too
In love even moments cease to exist.
A little love
A little kindness
A little hug
A little magic
She gifted me the universe on a platter.
She gifted me my eyes
So now I can see myself
In pain hides the soul of happiness
Burn –
Jump into the fire and burn!
One does not have to always swim to cross a river.
Jump!
And be happy.
The bottom is the zenith
Drown!
And be happy.
In love one cease to exist.
I love those nights
There are certain nights which are brighter than the day. On such nights instead of the moon I see your smile on the sky. I love those nights.
I love those nights when the stars wither and fall off like autumn leaves from the sky. Or like snow in winter.
Those nights I swirl like a dervish intoxicated by my own singing veins. And my heart echoes a hymn I composed for you the previous moment.
Those nights are so bright that my lips turn into the reddest of roses.
The nightingale yodels and breaks open its centuries old cage and flies off like a meteor from the earth and soars and soars defying gravity.
Setting a new record in flying.
I love those nights because your memories seduce me and encourage me to make love to that beautiful moment where my heart touch my soul.
And my imagination like a rudderless ship sails into an ocean of a fairy tale.
I love those nights my little princess. I love those nights when you kiss me good night and you are still a thousand mile away.
I love those nights when the stars wither and fall off like autumn leaves from the sky. Or like snow in winter.
Those nights I swirl like a dervish intoxicated by my own singing veins. And my heart echoes a hymn I composed for you the previous moment.
Those nights are so bright that my lips turn into the reddest of roses.
The nightingale yodels and breaks open its centuries old cage and flies off like a meteor from the earth and soars and soars defying gravity.
Setting a new record in flying.
I love those nights because your memories seduce me and encourage me to make love to that beautiful moment where my heart touch my soul.
And my imagination like a rudderless ship sails into an ocean of a fairy tale.
I love those nights my little princess. I love those nights when you kiss me good night and you are still a thousand mile away.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
The Old Man and His Dice
I have gambled my everything. My whole life. To be what I am.
By birth I am my parent’s child. By nature I am a gambler.
And the Old Man’s favorite playmate.
As far back as my memories go, He has always loved playing the dice with me.
And even as a lonely little child I always played along. With a smile.
The results have always been the same.
He always wins.
And I always smile.
We always play at His den. With His dice. And His rules.
There have been times when I have challenged Him. Quite often after I grew up.
I have waged my love to Him. I have waged my heart to Him.
The Old Man doesn’t wager money.
You can’t tempt Him with anything at all except your love and your soul.
Yes. Your soul.
And now He asks me to wager my soul.
And I know I will. Though I know it’s a losing game.
But this time the loser will win it all. With his smile still intact.
For it’s only if I lose my soul that I’ll win His den.
The Old Man smiles.
By birth I am my parent’s child. By nature I am a gambler.
And the Old Man’s favorite playmate.
As far back as my memories go, He has always loved playing the dice with me.
And even as a lonely little child I always played along. With a smile.
The results have always been the same.
He always wins.
And I always smile.
We always play at His den. With His dice. And His rules.
There have been times when I have challenged Him. Quite often after I grew up.
I have waged my love to Him. I have waged my heart to Him.
The Old Man doesn’t wager money.
You can’t tempt Him with anything at all except your love and your soul.
Yes. Your soul.
And now He asks me to wager my soul.
And I know I will. Though I know it’s a losing game.
But this time the loser will win it all. With his smile still intact.
For it’s only if I lose my soul that I’ll win His den.
The Old Man smiles.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
The opaque seasons of the heart
I oscillate between being juvenile and profound like all lovers. For what is love if not purely sublime or downrightly stupid. There is nothing in the middle.
Last week I went through my blog and read all that I have posted in the past year and a half and couldn’t help but laugh at most of them. Especially the one’s written on the spur of the moment[which incidentally is the only way I know to write!!]. Certain posts are utterly mediocre and banal.
But then there are certain lines that are poetry at its best. Lines that literally slash your heart and make you cry tears of blood which in turn gives birth to the reddest of roses you’ll ever see blossom on your lips.
Like- “ I am the moon of her apathy.” Or “ Her absence is the lullaby that cradles my dream.”
These are gems. Lines that would make even a Tagore or a Rilke smile.
Now, I don not have any delusion of my self as a poet. In fact, I have always looked upon these things I write as scribbles. And hence call myself a scribbler. For I write mostly out of compulsion. And without a thought. Its more like automatic writing. There have been times when it has taken me a few days to understand certain things that I have written and certain lines are still beyond the realm of my own understanding as of today.
Certain posts I wanted to erase. Certain posts I wanted to edit. But then decided against it. For my blog is ME. And hence it should reveal me as I am. Why pretend that I am some God damn poet when I am nothing but an ordinary man recounting his experiences and recording his feelings.
So if by some stroke of mistake you do trespass into my blog and read it out of curiosity, remember- what you read here is what I am. With all my inconsistencies. The only consistent factor being LOVE. And ironically, human love has its own inconsistencies.
And a vagrant thought passes over the edge of my morning cup of tea.
“ Love is the greatest cook in the world.
It makes the best soul curry.”
Last week I went through my blog and read all that I have posted in the past year and a half and couldn’t help but laugh at most of them. Especially the one’s written on the spur of the moment[which incidentally is the only way I know to write!!]. Certain posts are utterly mediocre and banal.
But then there are certain lines that are poetry at its best. Lines that literally slash your heart and make you cry tears of blood which in turn gives birth to the reddest of roses you’ll ever see blossom on your lips.
Like- “ I am the moon of her apathy.” Or “ Her absence is the lullaby that cradles my dream.”
These are gems. Lines that would make even a Tagore or a Rilke smile.
Now, I don not have any delusion of my self as a poet. In fact, I have always looked upon these things I write as scribbles. And hence call myself a scribbler. For I write mostly out of compulsion. And without a thought. Its more like automatic writing. There have been times when it has taken me a few days to understand certain things that I have written and certain lines are still beyond the realm of my own understanding as of today.
Certain posts I wanted to erase. Certain posts I wanted to edit. But then decided against it. For my blog is ME. And hence it should reveal me as I am. Why pretend that I am some God damn poet when I am nothing but an ordinary man recounting his experiences and recording his feelings.
So if by some stroke of mistake you do trespass into my blog and read it out of curiosity, remember- what you read here is what I am. With all my inconsistencies. The only consistent factor being LOVE. And ironically, human love has its own inconsistencies.
And a vagrant thought passes over the edge of my morning cup of tea.
“ Love is the greatest cook in the world.
It makes the best soul curry.”
The lure of moments
My heart sails on the waves of the silent night
Sails with the mast of the moon
Bound from my heart to your heart
Around the mount of Venus
To the shores of boon.
Ferry me to the land of fairy!
Ferry me to the land of fairy!
I hear my little star hum a song
In her mellifluous voice
Bound from her soul to my soul
Across the reverberating space
To the house of rejoice!
Carry me to the land of fairy!
Carry me to the land of fairy!
The snake dances to the rhythm of the horse
Oh! the nimble lotus treat!
Bound from this life to the other
With the grace of God
back, back to His feet.
Accept me to the land of fairy!
Accept me to the land of fairy!
Sails with the mast of the moon
Bound from my heart to your heart
Around the mount of Venus
To the shores of boon.
Ferry me to the land of fairy!
Ferry me to the land of fairy!
I hear my little star hum a song
In her mellifluous voice
Bound from her soul to my soul
Across the reverberating space
To the house of rejoice!
Carry me to the land of fairy!
Carry me to the land of fairy!
The snake dances to the rhythm of the horse
Oh! the nimble lotus treat!
Bound from this life to the other
With the grace of God
back, back to His feet.
Accept me to the land of fairy!
Accept me to the land of fairy!
God of the smile
The weight of her smile is heavier than the weight of my tear.
With a flourish she paints
On the blank canvas of my solitude
All the colors of her abundant laughter.
Look at that beautiful mole on her God like face!
That’s my present address.
I have painted my inner walls red
Wherein silent echoes whisper
A blue song
Against the backdrop of a pink horizon
An orange drops into a crystal bowl
And illuminates the stars
So that the moon doesn’t
Lose her way
in the dark black tresses of the night.
Her absence is the lullaby that cradles my dream.
The sweetness of her silence makes
My heart soar heavenward
And place at God’s feet
The purest, colorless pearl
Of my love.
God smiles.
“Oh! How much does He resemble my little princess!”
He smiles again.
And I become the everything
In the nothing
And the nothing
In the everything.
With a flourish she paints
On the blank canvas of my solitude
All the colors of her abundant laughter.
Look at that beautiful mole on her God like face!
That’s my present address.
I have painted my inner walls red
Wherein silent echoes whisper
A blue song
Against the backdrop of a pink horizon
An orange drops into a crystal bowl
And illuminates the stars
So that the moon doesn’t
Lose her way
in the dark black tresses of the night.
Her absence is the lullaby that cradles my dream.
The sweetness of her silence makes
My heart soar heavenward
And place at God’s feet
The purest, colorless pearl
Of my love.
God smiles.
“Oh! How much does He resemble my little princess!”
He smiles again.
And I become the everything
In the nothing
And the nothing
In the everything.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
The pursuit for impermanence
Reality is always a stranger with an ugly face. So grotesque that one feels like running away.
But run away from what? Can you run away from your own shadow?
We live such pretentious lives, where ones mask takes over ones face.
Look in the mirror? Oh! Its such a beautiful face!
But whose face is it?
Close your eyes and reflect.
The hell is within you.
So you open your eyes and turn blind. Once again.
Beauty is not a visual medium.
Truth lurks around like a ghost around you. In a mansion of desires.
Where the difference between a dream and a nightmare is a thin line.
You wake up not sure of what you did see.
Truth snaps when you least expect it to. It pounces on you like a tiger on its prey.
Tears you apart. And leaves you bleeding.
Yet not a single drop of blood is visible.
You may be in a crowd and yet there will not be one witness to stand by you and tell the world of the massacre.
Your tears are your own. The ones that cleanses your gut.
Who cares for the tears that flow from your eyes?
Who cares for what happens to the oceans?
We destroy everything in the name of love.
Love.
In love we suffer.
Out of love we suffer.
What in the God’s name is this love?
A true lover is a loner.
All other “loves” are merely relationships.
Has anyone ever loved truly?
Has anyone ever been loved truly?
Yet we all talk “in the name of love”. Without understanding its true meaning.
For the true meaning of love is understanding.
And who wants to live alone?
At least “lies” live in communities!
So let’s lie and be friends.
So let’s fake a relationship.
Like we have faked our lives.
We like to believe that “ life has been unfair”.
How many of us can say with all honesty that “ I have been fair to life”.
Show me that man and I will show you God.
For He is God.
Or else what is divinity?
We are all living a stranger’s life. Blind and oblivious.
The pursuit for God is nothing but the pursuit for one's own true self.
But run away from what? Can you run away from your own shadow?
We live such pretentious lives, where ones mask takes over ones face.
Look in the mirror? Oh! Its such a beautiful face!
But whose face is it?
Close your eyes and reflect.
The hell is within you.
So you open your eyes and turn blind. Once again.
Beauty is not a visual medium.
Truth lurks around like a ghost around you. In a mansion of desires.
Where the difference between a dream and a nightmare is a thin line.
You wake up not sure of what you did see.
Truth snaps when you least expect it to. It pounces on you like a tiger on its prey.
Tears you apart. And leaves you bleeding.
Yet not a single drop of blood is visible.
You may be in a crowd and yet there will not be one witness to stand by you and tell the world of the massacre.
Your tears are your own. The ones that cleanses your gut.
Who cares for the tears that flow from your eyes?
Who cares for what happens to the oceans?
We destroy everything in the name of love.
Love.
In love we suffer.
Out of love we suffer.
What in the God’s name is this love?
A true lover is a loner.
All other “loves” are merely relationships.
Has anyone ever loved truly?
Has anyone ever been loved truly?
Yet we all talk “in the name of love”. Without understanding its true meaning.
For the true meaning of love is understanding.
And who wants to live alone?
At least “lies” live in communities!
So let’s lie and be friends.
So let’s fake a relationship.
Like we have faked our lives.
We like to believe that “ life has been unfair”.
How many of us can say with all honesty that “ I have been fair to life”.
Show me that man and I will show you God.
For He is God.
Or else what is divinity?
We are all living a stranger’s life. Blind and oblivious.
The pursuit for God is nothing but the pursuit for one's own true self.
golden twilight
Her smile is orange
Tulip under a blue sky
Golden reflection of her eye
Swindler sun seize
Puritan clouds gossip
Her wild playful tresses
Uncoordinated dresses
Petal dew drop lips
The wind is bedazzled
Her luminous flowing feet
Home bound birds greet
My little star eyed gazelle.
Tulip under a blue sky
Golden reflection of her eye
Swindler sun seize
Puritan clouds gossip
Her wild playful tresses
Uncoordinated dresses
Petal dew drop lips
The wind is bedazzled
Her luminous flowing feet
Home bound birds greet
My little star eyed gazelle.
Friday, October 9, 2009
Beethoven's Immortal Beloved Letters
Beethoven wrote a set of mysterious letters that created numerous commentaries and assumptions among Beethoven scholars. The letters are known as “The Immortal Beloved Letters”
there are a number of preferred candidates for the Immortal Beloved title.These are Giulieta Guicciardi, Thereza von Brunswick, Amalia Seebald and Antonie Brentano. All of these women are known to have been the object of Beethoven’s affection at one time or another. However, recent research has lead to the conclusion that the immortal beloved is almost certaintly the last of the candidates presented above, Antonie Brentano.
The letters were found in his effects after his death.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
July 6, in the morning
My angel, my all, my very self - Only a few words today and at that with pencil (with yours) - Not till tomorrow will my lodgings be definitely determined upon - what a useless waste of time - Why this deep sorrow when necessity speaks - can our love endure except through sacrifices, through not demanding everything from one another; can you change the fact that you are not wholly mine, I not wholly thine - Oh God, look out into the beauties of nature and comfort your heart with that which must be - Love demands everything and that very justly - thus it is to me with you, and to your with me. But you forget so easily that I must live for me and for you; if we were wholly united you would feel the pain of it as little as I - My journey was a fearful one; I did not reach here until 4 o'clock yesterday morning. Lacking horses the post-coach chose another route, but what an awful one; at the stage before the last I was warned not to travel at night; I was made fearful of a forest, but that only made me the more eager - and I was wrong. The coach must needs break down on the wretched road, a bottomless mud road. Without such postilions as I had with me I should have remained stuck in the road. Esterhazy, traveling the usual road here, had the same fate with eight horses that I had with four - Yet I got some pleasure out of it, as I always do when I successfully overcome difficulties - Now a quick change to things internal from things external. We shall surely see each other soon; moreover, today I cannot share with you the thoughts I have had during these last few days touching my own life - If our hearts were always close together, I would have none of these. My heart is full of so many things to say to you - ah - there are moments when I feel that speech amounts to nothing at all - Cheer up - remain my true, my only treasure, my all as I am yours. The gods must send us the rest, what for us must and shall be -
Your faithful LUDWIG
Evening, Monday, July 6
You are suffering, my dearest creature - only now have I learned that letters must be posted very early in the morning on Mondays to Thursdays - the only days on which the mail-coach goes from here to K. - You are suffering - Ah, wherever I am, there you are also - I will arrange it with you and me that I can live with you. What a life!!! thus!!! without you - pursued by the goodness of mankind hither and thither - which I as little want to deserve as I deserve it - Humility of man towards man - it pains me - and when I consider myself in relation to the universe, what am I and what is He - whom we call the greatest - and yet - herein lies the divine in man - I weep when I reflect that you will probably not receive the first report from me until Saturday - Much as you love me - I love you more - But do not ever conceal yourself from me - good night - As I am taking the baths I must go to bed - Oh God - so near! so far! Is not our love truly a heavenly structure, and also as firm as the vault of heaven?
Good morning, on July 7
Though still in bed, my thoughts go out to you, my Immortal Beloved, now and then joyfully, then sadly, waiting to learn whether or not fate will hear us - I can live only wholly with you or not at all - Yes, I am resolved to wander so long away from you until I can fly to your arms and say that I am really at home with you, and can send my soul enwrapped in you into the land of spirits - Yes, unhappily it must be so - You will be the more contained since you know my fidelity to you. No one else can ever possess my heart - never - never - Oh God, why must one be parted from one whom one so loves. And yet my life in V is now a wretched life - Your love makes me at once the happiest and the unhappiest of men - At my age I nedd a steady, quiet life - can that be so in our connection? My angel, I have just been told that the mailcoach goes every day - therefore I must close at once so that you may receive the letter at once - Be calm, only by a clam consideration of our existence can we achieve our purpose to live together - Be calm - love me - today - yesterday - what tearful longings for you - you - you - my life - my all - farewell. Oh continue to love me - never misjudge the most faithful heart of your beloved.
ever thine
ever mine
ever ours
there are a number of preferred candidates for the Immortal Beloved title.These are Giulieta Guicciardi, Thereza von Brunswick, Amalia Seebald and Antonie Brentano. All of these women are known to have been the object of Beethoven’s affection at one time or another. However, recent research has lead to the conclusion that the immortal beloved is almost certaintly the last of the candidates presented above, Antonie Brentano.
The letters were found in his effects after his death.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
July 6, in the morning
My angel, my all, my very self - Only a few words today and at that with pencil (with yours) - Not till tomorrow will my lodgings be definitely determined upon - what a useless waste of time - Why this deep sorrow when necessity speaks - can our love endure except through sacrifices, through not demanding everything from one another; can you change the fact that you are not wholly mine, I not wholly thine - Oh God, look out into the beauties of nature and comfort your heart with that which must be - Love demands everything and that very justly - thus it is to me with you, and to your with me. But you forget so easily that I must live for me and for you; if we were wholly united you would feel the pain of it as little as I - My journey was a fearful one; I did not reach here until 4 o'clock yesterday morning. Lacking horses the post-coach chose another route, but what an awful one; at the stage before the last I was warned not to travel at night; I was made fearful of a forest, but that only made me the more eager - and I was wrong. The coach must needs break down on the wretched road, a bottomless mud road. Without such postilions as I had with me I should have remained stuck in the road. Esterhazy, traveling the usual road here, had the same fate with eight horses that I had with four - Yet I got some pleasure out of it, as I always do when I successfully overcome difficulties - Now a quick change to things internal from things external. We shall surely see each other soon; moreover, today I cannot share with you the thoughts I have had during these last few days touching my own life - If our hearts were always close together, I would have none of these. My heart is full of so many things to say to you - ah - there are moments when I feel that speech amounts to nothing at all - Cheer up - remain my true, my only treasure, my all as I am yours. The gods must send us the rest, what for us must and shall be -
Your faithful LUDWIG
Evening, Monday, July 6
You are suffering, my dearest creature - only now have I learned that letters must be posted very early in the morning on Mondays to Thursdays - the only days on which the mail-coach goes from here to K. - You are suffering - Ah, wherever I am, there you are also - I will arrange it with you and me that I can live with you. What a life!!! thus!!! without you - pursued by the goodness of mankind hither and thither - which I as little want to deserve as I deserve it - Humility of man towards man - it pains me - and when I consider myself in relation to the universe, what am I and what is He - whom we call the greatest - and yet - herein lies the divine in man - I weep when I reflect that you will probably not receive the first report from me until Saturday - Much as you love me - I love you more - But do not ever conceal yourself from me - good night - As I am taking the baths I must go to bed - Oh God - so near! so far! Is not our love truly a heavenly structure, and also as firm as the vault of heaven?
Good morning, on July 7
Though still in bed, my thoughts go out to you, my Immortal Beloved, now and then joyfully, then sadly, waiting to learn whether or not fate will hear us - I can live only wholly with you or not at all - Yes, I am resolved to wander so long away from you until I can fly to your arms and say that I am really at home with you, and can send my soul enwrapped in you into the land of spirits - Yes, unhappily it must be so - You will be the more contained since you know my fidelity to you. No one else can ever possess my heart - never - never - Oh God, why must one be parted from one whom one so loves. And yet my life in V is now a wretched life - Your love makes me at once the happiest and the unhappiest of men - At my age I nedd a steady, quiet life - can that be so in our connection? My angel, I have just been told that the mailcoach goes every day - therefore I must close at once so that you may receive the letter at once - Be calm, only by a clam consideration of our existence can we achieve our purpose to live together - Be calm - love me - today - yesterday - what tearful longings for you - you - you - my life - my all - farewell. Oh continue to love me - never misjudge the most faithful heart of your beloved.
ever thine
ever mine
ever ours
On S’s birthday eve
There has been a certain victory in all my defeats. Battle scarred as I am, I still can stand erect and look into the eye of fate. As Cyrano de Bergerac said-“ I still have my white plume intact!”
With all my mental and emotional losses, the sole gainer has been my soul. The anguish, agony and all the sufferings have been followed by great ecstasy and an unexplainable happiness. [ A psychiatrist may term it bi-polar! But that’s another story.]
Your suffering is your own. Your happiness is public property.
On your worst days the whole world is hyper active. Even your maid wont turn up on such days. Is it a state of mind or is it some kind of conspiracy master minded by time?
I am still wondering.
Last night I enacted my own death scene and cried a lot seeing all the people who turned up for those last moments with me. I had not planned it. I was standing in my balcony when I suddenly started crying and the next thing I know I was witnessing my own death sequence.
As I was saying, I cried at the turn up. For included in the visitor’s list were people I would hardly acknowledge today. So it was not merely my loved ones who were around me but some guys I would hardly imagine would shed a tear for me. But yes, they were all there. But the icing on the cake was of course the arrival of my “little princess”.
The moment I saw her I breathed my last telling her-“ I love you!”
How completely filimi ?
And that was it. But then not really. For even after my death, I could see her moist eyes.
Coming back to my senses, I tried to re create that death scene. Especially the part where she arrives to see me on my death bed.
It was of all people, K whose voice I first heard.
“ Rajiv Sir…..dekhiye aap ko milne kaun aaya hai?”
I slowly open my eyes and see Kamil and as usual call him-“ Kaminey!”
He turns his head sideways and my gaze follow. Et voila, there she is. Staring at me. All weak and bald. [ Oh! I forgot to tell you, I am dying from brain tumor.”
I take a deep breath and smile. The effort would have won me the “ Tour de France.”
She says-“Hi”
And once again I win the “ Tour de France” and request her to replace that with her “hello”.
She has a very peculiar way of saying hello.
She tries saying it but her voice fails her. I close my eyes and think of the first time I had seen her.
“ Hello….S!”-She had introduced herself.
“ Am sorry.” – I tell her.
And then completing my hat trick of victories at the“ Tour de France” tell her that I am sorry for troubling her with all those SMS’s. And the " sorry" did not at all mean that I did regret ever falling in love with her.
“ I promise you….no more SMS’s in my lifetime …..anyway…..I have erased your number from my cell….”
It takes me great effort to speak so much. And with greater effort, I once again smile at her. Her eyes are moist. And I can detect a small smile somewhere in the corner of her petal like lips.
“ I wish it had been that easy to erase you from the memory of my soul!...... Ek dum chipak gayee ho….Fevicol ki tarah!”
And I laugh. And its like bowling 91 pins down with one ball.
And then even in my almost dying breath I turn sarcastic.
“ Why have you come to see me? Oh!.....I get it….its to make sure that I am really gone!!! Isn’t it?....”
My own stench of arrogance suffocates me. I feel like shit. And for some strange reason feel my inside ripped apart by the dagger of my own sarcasm. Some gland inside my body throws out some kind of caustic substance. Burning my tongue. My mouth. I feel my tears betraying me.
She hugs me in a flash. Taking me by surprise. And holds me longer than she had held me three years ago on a spring morning in Lonavala.
And my soul merges with her soul.
With all my mental and emotional losses, the sole gainer has been my soul. The anguish, agony and all the sufferings have been followed by great ecstasy and an unexplainable happiness. [ A psychiatrist may term it bi-polar! But that’s another story.]
Your suffering is your own. Your happiness is public property.
On your worst days the whole world is hyper active. Even your maid wont turn up on such days. Is it a state of mind or is it some kind of conspiracy master minded by time?
I am still wondering.
Last night I enacted my own death scene and cried a lot seeing all the people who turned up for those last moments with me. I had not planned it. I was standing in my balcony when I suddenly started crying and the next thing I know I was witnessing my own death sequence.
As I was saying, I cried at the turn up. For included in the visitor’s list were people I would hardly acknowledge today. So it was not merely my loved ones who were around me but some guys I would hardly imagine would shed a tear for me. But yes, they were all there. But the icing on the cake was of course the arrival of my “little princess”.
The moment I saw her I breathed my last telling her-“ I love you!”
How completely filimi ?
And that was it. But then not really. For even after my death, I could see her moist eyes.
Coming back to my senses, I tried to re create that death scene. Especially the part where she arrives to see me on my death bed.
It was of all people, K whose voice I first heard.
“ Rajiv Sir…..dekhiye aap ko milne kaun aaya hai?”
I slowly open my eyes and see Kamil and as usual call him-“ Kaminey!”
He turns his head sideways and my gaze follow. Et voila, there she is. Staring at me. All weak and bald. [ Oh! I forgot to tell you, I am dying from brain tumor.”
I take a deep breath and smile. The effort would have won me the “ Tour de France.”
She says-“Hi”
And once again I win the “ Tour de France” and request her to replace that with her “hello”.
She has a very peculiar way of saying hello.
She tries saying it but her voice fails her. I close my eyes and think of the first time I had seen her.
“ Hello….S!”-She had introduced herself.
“ Am sorry.” – I tell her.
And then completing my hat trick of victories at the“ Tour de France” tell her that I am sorry for troubling her with all those SMS’s. And the " sorry" did not at all mean that I did regret ever falling in love with her.
“ I promise you….no more SMS’s in my lifetime …..anyway…..I have erased your number from my cell….”
It takes me great effort to speak so much. And with greater effort, I once again smile at her. Her eyes are moist. And I can detect a small smile somewhere in the corner of her petal like lips.
“ I wish it had been that easy to erase you from the memory of my soul!...... Ek dum chipak gayee ho….Fevicol ki tarah!”
And I laugh. And its like bowling 91 pins down with one ball.
And then even in my almost dying breath I turn sarcastic.
“ Why have you come to see me? Oh!.....I get it….its to make sure that I am really gone!!! Isn’t it?....”
My own stench of arrogance suffocates me. I feel like shit. And for some strange reason feel my inside ripped apart by the dagger of my own sarcasm. Some gland inside my body throws out some kind of caustic substance. Burning my tongue. My mouth. I feel my tears betraying me.
She hugs me in a flash. Taking me by surprise. And holds me longer than she had held me three years ago on a spring morning in Lonavala.
And my soul merges with her soul.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
the humble heart
No. There is no conflict between my heart and my head.
Like the Mahabharata one knows that good will win over evil. Finally.
Like commercial blockbuster movies.
The story goes that Duryodhan sat near Krishna’s head. And what did Krishna give him?
A vast army.
Army of thoughts.
And like Krishna I always stay with my heart.
I am its only well wisher.
As you all know, Arjun won the war at Kurukhestra.
The head is the palace that Prince Siddharth renounced.
The heart is where he finally found enlightenment.
I believe that’s the reason we have this adage-“ When in doubt follow your heart.”
The heart’s path is one of freedom.
A path where peace blossoms
A path where fear fears to tread.
Love is the deity of the heart.
The head- an anarchic land where the devil presides. The land that crucified Christ.
What Christ meant when he said he’d lead us to the “promised land” was the heart.
Yes. The heart.
The heart is the “jannat” that Mohammad spoke of.
The God he meant.
“ There is no God but Heart.”
And Mohammad is the messenger.
Unfortunately, the message has been lost.
Lost in the “Madrassa” of ideologies which originated in the head.
Where else?
We all carry the “ Holy Grail” within us. In our hearts.
But the journey from the head to the heart takes a lifetime.
Everyman dies with his heart in the right place.
And everyman is born with his heart in the right place.
Its merely that everyman is reared as “ Karn”.
Like him, we all know the way to the heart.
But like Adam we simply want to eat the apple and lay Eve.
The head was once the “Garden of Eden”.
Our paradise lost.
The head is the snake that tempts
The heart – the snake that guards the pearl of our soul.
The head is an unreined horse.
The heart, a wise sage.
It takes a Buddha to stop an Angulimala.
God bless the heart.
Like the Mahabharata one knows that good will win over evil. Finally.
Like commercial blockbuster movies.
The story goes that Duryodhan sat near Krishna’s head. And what did Krishna give him?
A vast army.
Army of thoughts.
And like Krishna I always stay with my heart.
I am its only well wisher.
As you all know, Arjun won the war at Kurukhestra.
The head is the palace that Prince Siddharth renounced.
The heart is where he finally found enlightenment.
I believe that’s the reason we have this adage-“ When in doubt follow your heart.”
The heart’s path is one of freedom.
A path where peace blossoms
A path where fear fears to tread.
Love is the deity of the heart.
The head- an anarchic land where the devil presides. The land that crucified Christ.
What Christ meant when he said he’d lead us to the “promised land” was the heart.
Yes. The heart.
The heart is the “jannat” that Mohammad spoke of.
The God he meant.
“ There is no God but Heart.”
And Mohammad is the messenger.
Unfortunately, the message has been lost.
Lost in the “Madrassa” of ideologies which originated in the head.
Where else?
We all carry the “ Holy Grail” within us. In our hearts.
But the journey from the head to the heart takes a lifetime.
Everyman dies with his heart in the right place.
And everyman is born with his heart in the right place.
Its merely that everyman is reared as “ Karn”.
Like him, we all know the way to the heart.
But like Adam we simply want to eat the apple and lay Eve.
The head was once the “Garden of Eden”.
Our paradise lost.
The head is the snake that tempts
The heart – the snake that guards the pearl of our soul.
The head is an unreined horse.
The heart, a wise sage.
It takes a Buddha to stop an Angulimala.
God bless the heart.
Saturday, September 19, 2009
the muse
what can be more faithful than a tear
born in the womb of the solitary heart?
fragrant like a mother's lullaby
that gallops to the world of dreams
sorrow is the eternal muse-
the harp that God plays
to nourish the soul of man
in his pursuit of becoming "human"
where does happiness reside
but in the dark corner of disillusion
and when the tear of the night
turns to a dewdrop
the sun rises.
born in the womb of the solitary heart?
fragrant like a mother's lullaby
that gallops to the world of dreams
sorrow is the eternal muse-
the harp that God plays
to nourish the soul of man
in his pursuit of becoming "human"
where does happiness reside
but in the dark corner of disillusion
and when the tear of the night
turns to a dewdrop
the sun rises.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Or so she said!!!![it seems more appropriate now!]
At times I feel her absence is her presence. As if she is the void that fills me up. I only feel complete when her memories are with me. And like the earth which is seventy percent water.
I am merely a “thirty percent” self.
She is the poetry of my life.She exists and yet she is invisible. Like air. Like a thought. Like the soul.
She is the poet in my soul.
I am absent in her life. In her thought. In her plans. I am not even a memory of a childhood scar. Nor am I the laughter at the end of a joke.
Her sense of humor is silent. My wounds are autistic.
Life is an ellipsis of a mirage.
And hope –the catharsis of the violent ocean.
Saturday, May 2, 2009
Thank you little Miss Happiness
Three years ago, she had cried in front of me. Three years later, she has rejected me. Rejected my friendship. I thanked her. What more could I say? What can you say to a woman you love? And can love end this abruptly? Well, even if she rejects me every moment of her life, I’ll be grateful for that one moment when she could touch my soul and became the wind beneath my wings.
I know I’ve gone overboard about my love for her. But, no regrets. I can live the rest of my life solely with her memories.
And I wish her all the best that life has to offer. And she’ll always be the breath in my prayers. God bless you, mon petite etoile.
Friday, April 10, 2009
SOHA
Remember Soha
The sun had worn his best smile
And the day was radiant
And the enchanted breeze
Of that November afternoon
Remember Soha
I came across you at the Lotus petrol pump
You were in your car
Talking on the phone
You were smiling
When I knocked on your window
Was I smiling too?
Remember, Soha?
I didn’t know you
You didn’t know me
Remember
Just remember that day
Feels like yesterday
And a thousand years ago
“ Soha”
You introduced yourself
I introduced myself
Then we drove to the actor’s workshop.
Hate was a forerunner to my love
I remember
Don’t resent when I say this
But I didn't particularly like you that day
I resented you then
I remember, Soha
How can I forget?
You stood there like a happy child
With a happy face
In that happy lane
Of a happy city
On a happy day
Did it rain that day?
No, it did not
But somehow today I feel like it did
Like the sea engulfed me
In that very lane
Of that very city
On that very day
Oh Soha
That fleeting moment!
It seems I am still frozen there
I still pass by the Lotus petrol pump
But its not the same now
The sun does not wear a smile
And the day looks desolate
And in the breeze you can feel a tear of grief
I have been that way every month of the year
And yet I can’t find that moment
As if its gone missing
Like a child in a carnival of emotions
Or has it died in the arms of time?
There is nothing left there.
Except the petrol pump.
Monday, March 23, 2009
BURN!BURN!BURN!-Rajiv B Menon
My heart burns
Like a pyre of sandalwood
Smell the fragrance in every breath
Love melts the sun into my morning cup of tea.
I can still feel her shoulder against mine
Her bosom against my chest
Her cheek against mine
And the smell of her skin
As if I have transformed into her!
O night of exaggeration!
A piano crashes into the waves; a silent ocean
The moon is mauve
The sky wears a flowing wedding gown
The stars have turned into red roses
The address reads: Lover’s Castle
The wind will take you there
We made love the whole day
We made love the whole night
Me and her
Her and I
Orgasmic moments!!
Time is a mattress to roll on
O unabashed desires!
O articulate silences!
Fate burns in a furnace of consequence
Destiny – a love child
Illegitimate heartbeats
Run on naked feet in a cessepool of feelings
O slums of magic!
Jungle of tranquility!
Burn! Burn! Burn!
Lit up my guts with a million candles
Madonna and the boy child
Jesus of my spine
Allah of my lips
“God is a voyeur.”
Thursday, March 12, 2009
I have dreamt so much of you-Robert Desnos
I have dreamt so much of you that you are losing your reality.
Is there still time to reach that living body and to kiss on that mouth the birth of the voice that is precious to me?
I have dreamt so much of you that my arms which as they embrace your shadow habitually fold across my breast would not bend to the contour of your body, perhaps.
And so much that, faced with the real appearance of that which has haunted me and ruled me for days and years, I would become a shadow I dare say.
O scales of feeling.
I have dreamt so much of you that there is no more time I dare say for me to awaken. I am sleeping on my feet, my body exposed to all the appearances of life and love and you, the only one who matters today for me, I could less readily touch your forehead and your lips than the lips and forehead of the first newcomer.
I have dreamt so much of you, walked, talked and slept so much with your phantom that all I have left perhaps, after all, is to be a phantom among phantoms and a hundred times more shadow than the shadow that moves and will move joyfully on the sundial of your life.
I never sent this poem to her! It would’ve exposed me. COMPLETELY.
Monday, March 9, 2009
Jacques Prevert sizzles!!!!- The Dunce [ Le Cancre]
He says no with his head
But he says yes with his heart
He says yes to what he loves
He says no to the schoolmaster
He’s on his feet
He’s being questioned
And all the problems are set
Suddenly he is gripped by wild laughter
And he erases it all
Figures and words
Dates and names
Sentences and snares
And despite the master’s threats
To the jeers of the infant prodigies
With chalks of every color
On the blackboard of woe
He draws the face of happiness.
Pierre Reverdy et moi
“ Poetry is born of absence; Poetry is in what is not. In what we lack…Poetry is the link between us and absent reality.”- Thus said this French poet. This gap is tragic, but it is the poet’s reason for being.
And hence, there is an anguished sense of loss, of incompleteness and inner void permeating his work. He once described his writings as “crystals deposited after the effervescent contact of the mind with reality.”
Son of a wine grower, he was essentially a solitary man and at the age of thirty seven withdrew to the monastery of Solesmes and remained there until his death.
A pure poet, the eye often took priority over the ear in his poems.
Central Heating [ Chauffage Central]
A little light
You see a little light come down on your abdomen to light you up
-A woman stretches herself like a rocket-
In the corner over there a shadow is reading
Her feet swinging free are too pretty
Short-circuit in the heart
A breakdown in the motor
What magnet holds me up?
My eyes and my love are losing their way
A mere nothing
A fire we rekindle and which goes out
I’ve had enough of the wind
I’ve had enough of the sky
At heart all we see is artificial
Even your mouth
And yet I am hot where your hand touches me
The door is open and I don’t go in
I see your face and I don’t believe in it
You are pale
One evening when we were sad we wept on a trunk
Over there men were laughing
Nearly naked children sometimes strolled by
The water was clear
A red copper wire guides the light there
The sun and your heart are of the same substance
“The sun and your heart are of the same substance.” This was the message I sent [smsed] to Soha on Valentine’s Day three years ago. And her reply-“What a lovely message….thank you Rajiv.”
In fact, this [above] poem is the first of Reverdy’s poems that I read. And I believe that’s one of the best messages I’ve ever sent to a girl/woman.
And since then I’ve been in love with his poems and the woman I sent his poem to!!!!
Monday, March 2, 2009
Dejeuner du matin[ Breakfast]-A poem by Jacques Prevert
Jacques Prevert was something of a phenomenon. A bestselling poet!!! He infused everyday experience and language with a poetic spirit. An astonishingly original perception with a deceptively child like quality- that’s what his poems are.
He put the coffee
In the cup
He put the milk
In the cup of coffee
He put the sugar
In the milky coffee
With the little spoon
He stirred
He drank the milky coffee
And he put down the cup
Without a word to me
He lit
A cigarette
He made rings
With the smoke
He put the ash
In the ashtray
Without a word to me
Without a glance at me
He stood up
He put
His hat on his head
He put
His raincoat on
Because it was raining
And he left
In the rain
Without a word
Without a glance at me
And as for me
I clasped
My head in my hand
And I wept.
The original in French is a “phonetic dream”.
Talking of rain, my mind wanders to a poem by Arthur Rimbaud, which goes:“ Il pleure dans mon coeur…Il pleut doucement sur la ville.”[There is weeping in my heart…Its raining gently on the city.]
It’s a hot and humid afternoon. I sit naked in my room. Listening to Ustad Rashid Khan singing “Raag Malhar” and I realize that sometimes a voice can do what an air conditioner can’t. I switch off the fan.
Trivia: Jacques Prevert is also the man who gave us “ Les Feuilles Mortes”, the famous song of the 40’s. Composed by Joseph Kosma, its a perennial favorite with singers around the world. An English version of the song was sung by Nat King Cole called the “ Autumn Leaves”. The lyrics of the English version is quite mediocre compared to the French one by Prevert.
The falling leaves drift by the window
The autumn leaves of red and gold
I see your lips the summer kisses
The sun burned hand I used to hold
Since you went away the days grow long
And soon I’ll hear old winter’s song
But I miss you most of all my darling
When autumn leaves start to fall.
Compare this with the above lyric.
C'est une chanson qui nous ressemble,
Toi qui m'aimais, moi qui t'aimais.
Nous vivions tous les deux ensemble,
Toi qui m'aimais, moi qui t'aimais.
Mais la vie sépare ceux qui s'aiment,
Tout doucement sans faire de bruit.
Et la mer efface sur le sable,
Les pas des amants désunis.
(It's a song that resembles us.
You who loved me and I loved you
And we lived together,
You who loved me, I who loved you.
But life separates those who love,
Gently, without making a sound,
And the sea erases from the sand-
The footsteps of separated lovers.)
And this is merely the refrain. The whole song is a sheer delight to read.
Oh! je voudrais tant que tu te souviennes,
Des jours heureux où nous étions amis,
En ce temps-là, la vie était plus belle,
Et le soleil plus brûlant qu'aujourd'hui.
Les feuilles mortes se ramassent à la pelle,
Tu vois, je n'ai pas oublié.
Les feuilles mortes se ramassent à la pelle,
Les souvenirs et les regrets aussi.
Et le vent du Nord les emporte,
Dans la nuit froide de l'oubli.
Tu vois, je n'ai pas oublié
La chanson que tu me chantais...
(Oh! I really hope you remember
Those happy days when we were friends.
In those times life was more beautiful
And the sun brighter than today's.
The dead leaves gather on the rake.
You see, I have not forgotten...
The dead leaves gather on the rake,
As do the memories and the regrets,
And the north wind carries them
Into the oblivion of the cold night.
You see, I have not forgetten
The song that you used to sing to me.)
Refrain
C'est une chanson qui nous ressemble,
Toi qui m'aimais, moi qui t'aimais.
Nous vivions tous les deux ensemble,
Toi qui m'aimais, moi qui t'aimais.
Mais la vie sépare ceux qui s'aiment,
Tout doucement sans faire de bruit.
Et la mer efface sur le sable,
Les pas des amants désunis.
(It's a song that resembles us.
You, you loved me and I loved you
And we lived together,
You who loved me, I who loved you.
But life separates those who love,
Gently, without making a sound,
And the sea erases from the sand-
The footsteps of separated lovers.)
Les feuilles mortes se ramassent à la pelle,
Les souvenirs et les regrets aussi
Mais mon amour silencieux et fidèle
Sourit toujours et remercie la vie.
Je t'aimais tant, tu étais si jolie.
Comment veux-tu que je t'oublie ?
En ce temps-là, la vie était plus belle
Et le soleil plus brûlant qu'aujourd'hui.
Tu étais ma plus douce amie
Mais je n'ai que faire des regrets
Et la chanson que tu chantais,
Toujours, toujours je l'entendrai !
(The dead leaves gather on the rake
As do the memories and the regrets
But my love, quiet and loyal,
Always smiles and is grateful for life.
I loved you so much, you were so beautiful.
How can you expect me to forget you?
In those times, life was more beautiful
And the sun brighter than today's.
You were my kindest friend
But I only created regrets
And the song that you used to sing,
I hear it always, always...)
There is a great rendition of the song by Andrea Brocelli.
This tune[melody] has been plagiarized by a Hindi music composer called Sapan Chakrabarty[ an assistant to music director Rahul Dev Burman] for the film “Zameer”[1976] which starred Amitabh Bachchan and Saira Banu. Sahir Ludhianvi wrote the lyric.
“Tum bhi chalo hum bhi chalen
Chalti rahe zindagi
Na zameen manzil na aasmaan
Zindagi hai zindagi…..”
Sung by Kishore Kumar, it was quite a hit in the 70’s. Worth hearing!
Sunday, February 15, 2009
On Valentine's Day
Her silence is a cathedral
Where my prayers echo
Her memory like the wind
Caress the stream of life
That has existed for eons
And yet its only now that
It has felt the warmth.
I know she’ll never return!
How can she?
For she never left my heart!
My breaths are her footsteps
In the journey of time
Love travels-
To the soul!
Her embrace burned me long back
The sun melts the moon
Dewdrops smile like a new born child
In the cradle of a lullaby!
Time will wait
And so will fate
For our reunion!
Friday, February 6, 2009
hmm......
strange as it may seem, here i am....sitting with a blank mind, with nothing to say whatsoever. yet i have this urge to say something. whatever comes to my mind.
first.
evolution of vertrabates?
her loneliness?
my film projects?
how to acquire a passport?
her career????
my career?
my parent's health?
the mind is like a window waiting to open.
but the files are so heavy that
here is sit with a blank mind and biting my nails in between writing this blog!
hmm.......
and she sits in a coffee shop reading a book, sipping a cup of coffee.
first.
evolution of vertrabates?
her loneliness?
my film projects?
how to acquire a passport?
her career????
my career?
my parent's health?
the mind is like a window waiting to open.
but the files are so heavy that
here is sit with a blank mind and biting my nails in between writing this blog!
hmm.......
and she sits in a coffee shop reading a book, sipping a cup of coffee.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
A pre-thought
time is a journey where every moment is a footstep
a traveler neither arrives nor departs
no path no destination
its all fixed, rigged to the core
life is an unrehearsed play
of mannequins.
a traveler neither arrives nor departs
no path no destination
its all fixed, rigged to the core
life is an unrehearsed play
of mannequins.
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