Saturday, December 31, 2005
We do it each year. Don't we? Every day. This is the triumph of human spirit. We fall and we rise. We had the gruesome London bombings. Faced havoc in a devastating earthquake in Kashmir and Pakistan. Katrina struck the US gulf. Planes came crashing down. We still continue to live. The show, as they say, must go on. Humanity at its best.
I enjoy each year. Every new year is just the first day for me for another 365-day trip around the sun. I can't introspect. I can't remember in one sweeping moment the whole of the year by-gone. That is for the newspapers and television channels to cronicle. For internet to record for posterity. I am not an almanac. I am just happy. I'll have a little bash with chums tonight.
I met a wonderful friend in 2005. I got a couple of salary hikes in 2005. Got a new car in 2005. I have sobered down in the year petering away. I didn't indulge too much and I read a few very good works. Chanced upon a few incredible movies and continued to dream.
I wish 2006 is good for us all. I wish my friends love and peace. I wish all girls lotsa kisses.
For the next 12 months, 12 naive wishes:
May Bush continue to be stupid
May Manmohan Singh take India to new heights
May God completely forget about calamities
May BJP chaps fight it out among themselves
May we have more stings to expose the corrupt
May Amitabh get well soon
May we have more of Blacks and Brokebacks
May Osama declare truce and take to farming
May we have more sizzling girls around
May they find a cure for AIDS
May Vikram Seth write more books
May my coy friend continue to be beautiful!
Thursday, December 29, 2005
in quiet English winters
and flutters grow wild
over cosy feather beds
A quiet child tiptoes to loo
on cold zig-zag tiles
teensy slabs smile
at the kid's tender soles
A wince they send
to the sole's soul
an icky snuffle starts
that soon conspires
to spread like bush fire
and floors the entire household!
Thats what you call the English cold!
She was like all mom's of the world. Loving, beautiful and the world's best cook. I was fed like a king's ram. No one counted the calories back then. Good old days. I was born with a silver spoon clutched tightly in between my teeth.
Mom married Dad in 1977. It was a love affair. A love-affair in the 1970's Kashmir. To put things in context, a run-away marriage in Kashmir's conservative society even in circa 2005 is quiet unthinkable of. At 22 years of age in the fall of 1977, she married my Dad. In a court. Only my dad's two buddies attended. None from my father's rich landlord clan. No soul from my mother's educated, aristrocratic household. Complete filmi style. Only difference was this was real! I still call my father's friend Chacha Jee -- Uncle -- because I didn't know my real uncle's for a long time.
Extra-ordinary lady. Well that is a tad cliche' now. She was elegant. There was this extreme pallor of her face and a serene dignity that she seemed to carry so well like her cape shawl. She would never go to her rich dad's home. They had to come to our city apartment. She ensured that I got the best tutors -- only Hindu teacher's cos' they were considered more intellegent. And I had to eat and study and brush my teeth twice a day -- another rarity in Kashmir -- and if I got any spare time, pore through Tintin, Archies and Astrix comics, which -- later on -- our foriegn uncle would bring us.
My friends -- I just have 4 good one's -- loved her. She laughed and joked with them, endlessly. She would floor people with her wit. I have some of those funny bones in me. Mom was religious also. Perhaps one of the few souls, I know of, who was at once, religious and secular. Sikhs and Hindus would eat from the same plate in our home, as we did. She taught me that it is important to be a better human being before I try to be a better Muslim. I know this lesson, by heart. I think I have a more profound understanding of mankind than my faith.
On Dec 28, 1997 she met with a terrible accident. The candle blew out long before the legendary wind. I miss her affection, love and joviality. My mom had an incredible sense of humour. She now jokes with the angels in paradise.
The mother who conceals her grief
which to her chest her son she presses
Then breathes a few brave words and brief
kissing the brow she blesses
with no one but her secret God
To know the pain that weighs upon her
Sheds holy blood upon the sod
received on freedom's field of honor
Mom, 28 Sep 1955- 28 Dec 1997, RIP
Monday, December 26, 2005
You were not same as you are
you had not liked me that way
you were not a part of myself
you had not to finally go away
I wish I never meshed with you
and I were not so vulnerable
I never depended on you
and I were not so miserable
we didn't share things with each other
we didn't think our future together
we didn't listen to each other's silence
we didn't have to pass as cursed weather
even if there's no "me" now nor there's any "you" left
an "us" still hides
somewhere amidst nothingness love-bereft
I know my wishes are not to come true
if possible you'll please try
to take as much of what you left
and take someday my breath away
And here's what I have to say to you friend:
I wish I had met you before
to know what love is like
to learn to love with eyes
to understand the meaning of silence
to fathom the pangs of seperation
I wish I had met you before
to latch onto your soul a little earlier
to save you the pain you've been through
to protect you from thorns and thistles
to clutch you when you needed a hand
I wish I had met you before
to cover you in those storms
to keep you warm on bitter nights
to be your shade in the glare
to hear to your heart's song
I wish I had met you before
to love you like no one else
to kiss your apple-pie neck
to hold you in my arms
to never ever let you go
I wish I had met you before
to never let you feel miserable
to always brush your tear away
to never allow you to be vulnerable
to laugh, to talk, to love you
I wish you live to see
the wishes coming true
to smile and never again cry
to say in hushed breaths
God, thank you, for this mad guy!
Friday, December 23, 2005
As the oceans and mountains part us
And hold on to my rhymes
as flowers hold the truss
Ye are far and yet so near
Mingled in my tune
I would fly, if I had wings
to the land of queens and kings
To watch you over in the water;
the soft cadences of your laughter
I miss the blue and black of your eyes
that mellows hearts with all their vice
My affable little swain
Without you, it won't even rain
It is foggy and it is damp
I long for the distant lamp
How I miss ya
Tuesday, December 20, 2005
I often ask myself, What is love? I flunk to answer. I also flunk to understand the chemistry of it. Or is it Physics? I think it is a lot of chemical reactions going on at random in your mind. Flux. All the time. It needs no outside catalysts, mind you. It happens in any given condition. Sunshine or moonshine or pitch-dark nights. It just happens to you. In the middle of a dream or a fairy-tale movie. In a cocoa smelling cafe' when someone watches you from the corner of the eye. Probably due to its large psychological relevance, love is one of the most common themes in cultures, the world over.
Is it the most profoundly integrated state in the universe? I think it is simultaneously the highest, deepest and most powerful state of consciousness. And Trust me, I am not aggrandizing. I don't do that. I recall Khalil Gibran, one of the best philophers of last century.
When love beckons to you follow him,
Though his ways are hard and steep.
And when his wings enfold you yield to him,
And when he speaks to you believe in him,
Though his voice may shatter your dreams
As the north wind lays waste the garden.
For even as love crowns you so shall he crucify you.
Even as he is for your growth
So is he for your pruning.
The lebanese thinker perhaps put it right. I know, Love is like heaven but it can also hurt like hell. So if you are smitten with cupid's arrow, you tread a delicate turnspike, one that is at once beautiful, enchanting but threadbare. It is a different, mad, sudden, blessed, edgy feeling!
I thought and thought and thought! I concluded thus: it is about Care. It is about looking at the Sun-downs, about walking together and talking through eyes without uttering a word. It is being together, without seeing each other for aeons. It is magic without magical spells. It is a cake. Don't worry. That is some crazy stuff in my head and that is vintage me!
Monday, December 19, 2005
It is cold outside. I just stepped out and found the day tenderly overcast. The fluffy, dark clouds look mournful. Mourning Summer, perhaps. Reminds me of NY. How I wish it rains now! I want God to be benevolent, however. I know when it rains, homeless folks, on the pavements and sidewalks of this huge city, shiver in cold. But I like rains, I like the feeling of getting wet. I cry -- at times -- in the godly shower because no body can see me crying.
Tears idle tears I know not what they mean
gather in the heart and rise to the eyes
I don't have a reason to cry. Still I do. My pals don't know this side of me. Most of the time, I make them laugh. In cafe's and clubs. At home and away. We joke and have fun. Like a jester -- a clown -- in some ancient king's court. Sam's brand of sharp, witty humour, they yell.
In private -- at times -- on dark evenings and rainy days, I sob. I cry for my mom. Her love. She should not have left me like this in a big, bad world. Unloved and unprotected. God, not fair!
I love strange and beauteous things. Like...people who don't love me. Birds. Trees. Rain. Sun-set. Snow. Books. Fish. Flowers. Dew. Friends. Twilight. Honesty. Life.
I dreamt a beautiful dream last night. I was on a carriage. It was going to a snow-land. It was fitted with lights and bells. It gallopped. To Kashmir. To NY. God knows. Santa waved to me on the way. I trundled on.
Saturday, December 17, 2005
However they may be, or not, related.
Remember that the three wise kings were strangers
In search of one remote, uncanny dream.
So may we all be far more than we seem,
Together bound for dark and haunting changes,
More lovely for the loves we have created
Along the lonely paths from means to ends,
Stumbling towards that star of Bethlehem.
God bless us all
Thursday, December 15, 2005
I cannot tell you who my soul-mate is. I respect the element of privacy. Frankly it is about us, not me only. I wish I could. However, I will leave a couple of clues -- thats all I can contrive to do -- for you to sort that out. A la Da Vinci code style. Hope you decipher the little riddle.
- Mon ami -- that is my friend in French -- has the world's most beautiful eyes
- And a quietness that gives nothing away: Nothing
- Will innocently tell you dates of every meeting (keep that in mind)
- Listens and listens like a former prime minister and speaks like a dove (
- Likes to call me weirdo, madcap, stupid (anyone callin me that, you got'em)
- Kid at heart, balanced in head and saccharine teeth (doesn't bite)
- Difficult. I serenaded, cajoled, woo-ed like mad
- Tells me won't marry me at all -- Not at Naigra falls, Canada or Navy Pier, California ( a tad un-romantic)
Happy cracking the code, folks. You can't I know!
Wednesday, December 14, 2005
It was a Kiss. They say soul meets soul on lovers lips. I reckon they -- whoever they are -- are right. I hadn't expected it but then we never expect to watch a shooting star. Or catch a gold-fish. Or fall in first-love. This is the exotic fragrance, of sweat, of hair, of mouths, of breaths that stays for ever.
Lovers intertwine. They grow on each other. That is called a Hug. It is different from a bear-hug. It has shades of ecstacy to it. Bits of longing. Oodles of joy to it. It was not even a bunny hug. It was a love-cuddle. A sweet embrace.
Then marks sprang on the skin. Plebians call them love-bites. I gave them. Deliberately. I hope the feeling has seeped in below the marks. I wish it mingles in the maroon -- rouge -- blood. It flows in someone's nerves now. I think I have a second heart that flutters in me, remembers the whispers, and adds to my entropy.
Do I need say more? I think many people read me here. I must stop in my tracks.
Monday, December 12, 2005
Along the fields so vast
the bus carried him fast
Bleary eyes and a million dreams
that lit up in Sun's orange beams
Fimiliar smells in the old eateries
similar roads, known skies, common trees
Home is such a great escapade
away from life's wacky trade
The laughter and endless chatter
Baked beans and rice flakes on the platter
The rickety bus roared back to Delhi
With hopes in heart n love in the belly!
Wednesday, December 07, 2005
Thats what unites the children of this beauteous world. Play. Innocence. Love.
In adults this streak gives away to double-standards, greed and vice. I hope I always remain a child from within.
Tuesday, December 06, 2005
Hugging communicates at the deepest level of emotion. With a hug, we embrace the whole of life. The language of hugs nourishes the spirit. A good touch always works wonders.
Touch can relieve pain and anxiety. It stabilizes heart rates and soul mates. It is needed in potato farms and paper homes.
Hugging is a very special form of touch that heals hearts. Hugs make us more safe, secure and strong. A simple hug leads to trust, belonging, happiness and appreciation. And Love.
A friend will never put you down or make you feel alone
A friend is the one who picks you up when you've fallen on the ground
So when you think you're on your own and wish you had a helping hand
Because the world is full of people who will laughingly pretend,
Monday, December 05, 2005
and pierced my jersey
I waited for the carriage
on a dark wintry night
The dulcet laughter won't go
nor would the sweet smell of thee
candied whispers reeled in my head
endlessly and in full circles
If I were my consort
I would travel to world's edge
just to see bee-two's back
ambling safely to thy abode
Alas... I tarried!
Lovelorn flutters in a loveless land
loving hopes in a hopeless dream
tender hollers in dead woods
coot sam calling out in vain
Why do I love
Why do I sigh
Why do I expect
Why do I muse
If I could fly like potter
I'd hover in the skies
and dance in the clouds
with angels and birds
And I won't shiver in cold!
Saturday, December 03, 2005
1. Prince Charles got married
2. Liverpool crowned Champions of Europe
3. Australia lost the Ashes
4. Pope Died
1. Prince Charles got married (again)
2. Liverpool crowned Champions of Europe (again)
3. Australia lost the Ashes (again)
4. Pope Died (again)
Moral of the story –
In future, if Prince Charles decides to re-marry.... please warn the Pope.
Thursday, December 01, 2005
I once had a friend who grew to be very close to me. Once when we were sitting at the edge of a swimming pool, she filled the palm of her hand with some water and held it before me, and said this: "You see this water carefully contained on my hand? It symbolizes Love."
This was how I saw it: As long as you keep your hand caringly open and allow it to remain there, it will always be there. However, if you attempt to close your fingers round it and try to posses it, it will spill through the first cracks it finds.
This is the greatest mistake that people do when they meet love...they try to posses it, they demand, they expect... and just like the water spilling out of your hand, love will retrieve from you .
For love is meant to be free, you cannot change its nature. If there are people you love, allow them to be free beings. Give and don't expect. Advise, but don't order. Ask, but never demand.
It might sound simple, but it is a lesson that may take a lifetime to truly practice. It is the secret to true love. To truly practice it, you must sincerely feel no expectations from those who you love, and yet an unconditional caring."
Life is beautiful!!! Live it !!!