Myriad

A land of villages, religions,

Festivals, shrines and youth.

From Narendra Modi to Rahul Gandhi

Pompous politics and piercing poverty

Everything you can find here

None can you fail to spot.

Bustling Bhojpuri to Kannadigas

To vulnerable Meithei and Mizo

Eight hundred and eighty languages

In twenty-nine states, packed with

Beliefs, attitudes, norms and karma.

From rooted misogyny to fierce feminism

Women politics and CEOs to glorified dowry

Everything was cultivated here

Things merged into sub-things

Goddesses worshipped, devadasis dismissed.

On caste commotion, Aryans blamed

Superior to suppress, fear of flame, exposure

These days, Brahmins also loud-speaker

Reservations, and more reservations

Youth only to sit back and bleat?

Lauded startups to screeching schools

Grinning faces of children, incandescent

Hope, hope do we

There subsists so many mores and folks

Who, when, where, and what do you

Find elsewhere which is so much here?

A Disgraceful Shadow

Then 'tis ought to be

Past me, behind me

Sideways, left and right.

Lurking, yes it does inside me

Inside and out

Mocking my stature

Black, dull black—

Want to hold it and hold

So tight, it tears from me

Tracks own path.

Liverish, when I look down

Intently it walks and walks

And stops when stops

Who are you?

Hair-brained Physics

Makes a tainted mixture out of it

Enlightens us, does it not

With metallic theories?

Shadow escorts

In violence, friendlessness

A vestige.

That splotch on mud

Who cares?

Fruitless stalker!

Headache

How does it start?

It is sly.

Like a millipede

Throbbing thousand times.

How do you feel?

Dizzy? Oh, no.

Nauseous? Not that.

Irritation? Far from it.

Then how it actually feels?

A tinge, it murmurs

At the centre

Screeching and scanning.

 La! What luck!

 When you got a headache.

 “Oh sweetheart, you’ve got a headache?

 Please rest and take care of yourselves.”

 You get that pampering

 It feels awesome.

 Not to do anything but

 Slump and stare at the ceiling--

 Scream at it to stop

 To stop that—agonizing

 Raw, stinging, ripping

 Ruthless pulse.

 You clinch your teeth

 Hard and harder

 To make it flee

 Alas! If only it was so meek.

 Then you start reminiscing

 About pleasant things.

 In the middle of it, you fall

 Asleep and it’s dead.

 If you’re at work

 Or have a deadline

 A cup of coffee (or chai)

 Or two will do for you.

 At the end of the day

 When you refresh and respite

 Headache may have vanished

 Or remained—

 All you will feel is

 Your triumph and how

 you worked hard despite it

 Will sink into still sleep.

Difficult

I do not know

what is and what

is not difficult.

That Difficult deals

with the other Difficult

and agrees being

difficult.

They find it difficult

‘cause of its difficulty

the way not as 

it was thought to be

since Difficult claims

to be greatly

difficult.

It runs upon everyone

who meet it unfortunately-

fortunately, encoils itself

everlasting; when

they do not reckon

it for long, all qualifies

difficult.

I wonder why Difficult

is so much difficult

to understand, rather

never subdues but its

repute is as it is destined

according to nature’s law-
Difficult. 

Farther From The Madding Crowd

While the motions of metaphysics

circulate in and around

the epicenter of the

transcendental (mind), forming

the forms for fifteen seconds;

the memory then unable to trace

it all.

A priory of knowledge contrasting

theories of thinking and performing

befitting the human; humor lost or

regained nobody can account for;

essence required is essence

allocated, while essence is a

grave necessity.

Vibrations and palpitations

ensue the adrenaline in-action;

whilst the deepest emotions

in the unconscious mind is

made barren and the

subconscious state, people

acting absent.

Adorable Pessimist

This method of dark resounding

Given away-

By the mind, without a twinkling

‘Fear’ is the word that collocates

Itself with-

That very thing within me which rotates.

Brooding, by some means has become

A profession, nothing to be proud of;

These laments aren’t easy to withdraw

They reside within, life long-

Cheerful acquaintance people seek,

Distress, shooed away

While lavished by some

Everything meaning the same.

This method of remotely stature

Making life gay-

Narrowed by  the parings

‘Live’  is the word that is construed

Inside us-

That very thing within me screwed. 

Discreet choice

Fleeing from materialistic flouts

Orphan was I, gliding, wandering

Could immensely inhale the rhapsody

Travelling past my ear drums, cuddling.

Not in my destiny to play myriad instruments

 More than food it is dear to me

Goosebumps ran through me, when if lawlessly

Clustered the curt of tunes into a pitch-perfect music.

With ten dollars I roamed mindlessly

Until I came across a young lad, didn’t halt

Holding a guitar in his arms,

I dropped my money into his bowl, obliviously.

Surprised, he asked a song that I craved

Trembling, then played  a winding tune

Curious; I stalked him after the gloomy sunset,

Switched into a grand ruddy hall-

Beaucoup children gathered around me,

But master scorned me to withdraw.

At daylight, beheld the marvel heap of instruments

Nothing perceiving, hit the dusty guitar, never stopping.

Taken aback was my master, harmoniously

He taught me, I played at streets

Many a money he acquired through me

Yet unsatisfied, turned harsh upon me.

A raid dissolved everything, I fled;

A priest listened to me like a deer

Was allotted to a music school, life’s stroke

There, all badged me the specie of Mozart.

The honor of performing a concert

Clinked my tiny blood cells, inviting for more

For music would conjoin me to my birth-givers;

Days escaped and days advanced.

Wanting for a multitude to hear me-

And my pinned Soul.

Both musicians; amidst, I drew my face

There they were smiling.

Frailty

Tiny moments are these
So will they pass
My mind is on lease
I head towards the grass.

No bird comes and sings
Jours and nuits get lonely
While I lay gazing galaxy-rings
No worry if it was my folly.

Botticelli Madonna (sweet singing)

Deep, hollow, irregular breaths she inhaled
A blow of wind plundering her sonority
She widened her eyes to look for a shadow, a mate
None did her eyes meet other than the soul of breeze.

Moistening her cheeks, discolored through endless sorrow
It beheld her, consoling her quivering velvet lips
Her tormented shadow was kissed infinitely, graciously
She glanced above, murmured and cajoled.

Platonic and gay, she surrendered to the gnawing ballad
Of the fraying wind, crooning to mollify her.
Mirthlessly she manoeuvred, her feelings intermingled
"A sad Botticelli angel," the wind thought.

Yet she was diffident, lest it might lurch away
Annealing and cringing her love to sail freely
The spangling wind sprinkled pity upon the angel
She reversed abruptly, the overwhelming wind slackened away.

Noir - A Short Story on an Impulse.

The numbness felt within me like a dark cloud quelling itself during the day only to float  in the moonlit sky. The moon must have better prospects unlike me. Hardy came over to ask me if I wanted to go out for a walk with him. I declined rather moodily. He grimaced and walked past. My senses were wandering outside the casement only to perceive the day’s sufferings of the people, I felt no pain, therefore no suffering. I felt numb and bother less. I slouched upon my armchair all the day, evening and during the night, I slept in my indifferent posture upon it.

The next day Hardy did not bother to come up and wake me. Around six, the dim sunlight peeked towards my casement and smoothed my eyes, causing me to wake up stealthily. When I prodded down into the kitchen, I continuously stared upon the plate which contained two fried idlis and pieces of julienned carrots. I ate it up all greedily as hunger had dusked upon me for two perpetual days. I searched for  him and found him in the geranium. A newspaper was concealing his brown face. He became distracted by my noisy breathing and looked intently towards me. A yellowish-brown husky face which had two stubbles at the bottom right and I stared straight into his noir eyes which had a deep conveyance but failed to convey anything; a face which would convulse any human looking at it with intensity or be easily overlooked. Countenance to me, whether beautiful or not beautiful, tends to attract my eyes which are itself misty-unknown-creatures that do many subtle collapses.

 “Do you need anything?” he asked, relaxing his eyes upon my shoulder.

“I feel drained,” I substantiated feebly.

“What do you want?” he emphasized on want.

“To escape from this noise that does not cease to seize me,” I trembled.

“What noise now?” he asked irritably.

“Noise that culminates at the start, that which terrifies the sleeping soul, that which persuades towards obscurity, that which ridicules the soft feelings and that which makes living a nightmare.” I stormed gloomily.

“You are lost Clamene,” he sighed.

                                                         _______

  

 I hadn’t spoken to him since the recognition of my ailment. He persuaded to assist me in everything but I had denied his generosity at every moment, which made him only a mute statuesque these lowly days. I frankly did not wish for anything but was only interested in sitting on my armchair only to encounter death. “What is this apprehension in every human’s mind appertaining to the concept of death?” I thought for every minute. Striding and scattering the world over to feed themselves and just live.

He did not comprehend any of my feelings for this profound life that I had been gifted carelessly.  One day he entered my dark room to offer me a tomato soup, I accepted it shyly and drank it heavily.  He noticed my displeasure towards all the things granted to me, there onwards he neither summoned me nor brought me anything.

These were my usual, potentially-painful days. We had not spoken to each other over a month now. He cooked, read and worked; I sat judiciously and slept with a doleful pain within my mortal body. I rather did not interpret days ahead of me which loathed my living itself.

The guilt and remorse of losing had overtaken me. I longed to survive my youth once more, to experience the sonorous laughter and all-dulcet-smiles. The love that had perished under the realm of  the cycle of birth and death. It had not yet slept but was just slumbering. I did want to kiss him again on that cheerful turned sad brow. I longed to pacify it but it was myself who craved it.

I went to him one day, the road wasn’t making shanty noises nor were people buzzing down the pavement, it was a public holiday. I desperately descended down the stairs to look at him for the last time because I had felt death reciprocating my illness only a few minutes ago. I struggled towards him, he was resting himself upon the armchair besides the extinguished fire which was emitting bushy smoke. I crouched before him, he was fast asleep. I murmured his name with a tinge of pleasure, he still sat dumb. Horror crawled within me, I was unsure but hesitatingly I looked for his pulse, it did not beat. I stammered and wrestled to call out his name for one last time but my little strength disappointed me and I leaned across his body, frozen.

Asphyxiation

He clinched upon my arm

I woke up with a bolt

Trickling were those trees

To my terror, I shut it.

The psychopathic father, vile

My estranged mother, tranquil

What had he in mind?

Darkness encircled me.

Twice as many times, he scorned her

In a mumpish swing he lashed

She, malacophonous, disciplined by society;

Saturnine clouds floated upon us.

Audacity never overcame her

She pleaded, pusillanimous;

Raucously he smacked, she crouched

Illiteracy was bound to her.

“Oh! Shiny beamers and wind,

I pray you to minimize her troubles

If not mine,” I called out.

I longed to escape to the mountains.

Cursing the fountain of hatred

And the society that established her,

From cradle to grave was just her life

Pinioned to chains, groveling in dust.

Death is eternal and serene

Will serve her better, me thought;

Worthy of freedom from this strife

Nonetheless, it would alter my existence.

Close to midnight he smothered her

I did witness through that creaked door

Hysterical tears shed me blind

So was that lifeless day.

Life jolted and sprang upon me

They whispered non-stop –

Conveniently clicked their tongues

Psychopath undone, a dowry death!

Shouldered myself to forego it

How could I? A prey.

Simmering Solitary

I hath seen you,

Beneath you laid,

Stiffened cry --

And outburst of thoughts

Coveted and sheltered by woods

Coots and ferns lingering you,

Your face kindled furiously, clothes ripped.

You glimpsed the moment I faltered my steps

Glancing at me wildly, suddenly whimpered.

Not endeavoring to run but

Lay stagnant to fathom the sight of a human.

You were lost, I found you.

My glistened eyes poured salty tears --

Caressed your frown, abruptly you hopped before me.

You walked along with me,

Back to our abode singing momentarily.

I fed you with soup and manna,

You ate it hastily with starving turquoise eyes;

Explanations withheld with the sight of you,

So delighting, charismatic and tantalizing.

With even the near fear of death, My Best friend was alive.

  

Picture courtesy: Myself.

A Mumbaikar

runs steady to join the

blatant ruckus of the crowd

and finds himself amidst the toil

in the morning and climbs the 

fast local only to hurry.

Nothing passes silkily as the 

blaring and the compulsion to

ride withdraws the sting that a

Mumbaikar goes through daily.

At the foot-board hang many as

they enjoy the ugly green fields,

buildings, slums and the breeze

without noticing the menace that

clings but only do they hurry.

Munching breakfasts on their way

when there’s no place to stand

the climbers roar nicely:

“The train’s empty, move in!”

The peak hours being in the

morning and in the evening

is a must see for an outsider

where s/he will locate

the Mumbaikars who only hurry.

As unpleasant is the train ride

and the workplace, peace is found

at home for some as for others

life has to move on and on.

Fleeting passage

Door knobs sealed, but the door is wide open

Across the dull room, I see a pallid clock

Click, cluck; it resonates, my breath accompanies

A crow bellows but I hear nothing.

The traffic has jammed, honks echoing

People are cursing, a boy whining

Music system has meanwhile occupied them

Traffic police whistling but I hear nothing.

Teens babbling about unfair life, an escaped notice

Volunteers persuading and wheedling to join clubs

The nerve within me convulses, hampering my trod

Chats are surrounding me but I hear nothing.

Pigeons combating outside my casement

Fan rotating noisily, mother beating jowar rotis

Summoning me to eat, the plastic wavering

Hot sounds emerging from my belly but I hear nothing.

Time has turned so rash, neglecting my poor hearing

I am seventeen, wondering when to snog

Though I feel not, these days deviating to become indolent.

Flashbacks are irksome, mending them has been loaded

Wishing to aid myself but the days have outgrown
Ahead I see, but nothing that I can hear.

Two Moments

Two moments, whither I will be gone

Shall not turn back

To witness that aggrieving tone

For a lifetime to be stalled.