“She has gone.” He sobbed.
“Did you ever raise your hands on her?” she asked softly. There was no answer. “Did you hurt her anytime?” she repeated. He lay his head on the table, his face ensconced within his arms. “Yes”, his voice a barely audible whisper.
Somehow that single admission changed the whole perspective. The issue had become “Abuse” now. Appearances could be so deceptive; she thought. This man sitting in front seemed so vulnerable and broken.
Why did this change everything? She was aware that mere words could sometimes inflict deeper wounds than physical abuse. Yet resorting to violence especially against your spouse sounded so bestial.
What is it that provokes a person to raise their hands to inflict injury on another? Among the lower strata of society, the act needed minimum provocation. It was a way of life and neither the perpetrator nor victim let it disrupt routine life. Perhaps that included routine.
However, in the so called cultured, sophisticated society, the terminology and connotations were different. What goes wrong in a relationship, especially one that had been forged through love and passion? When and how does hatred, contempt creep in? How does the layers of feeling get eroded and frayed over the years? When does the equation get reduced to such a level that one stoops to using physical strength with scant respect to one’s spouse? Mere instinct? Just uncontrollable rage? A level of complacence?
She could not judge. She did not know the whole story. She had known them individually, and both were such good persons. But together, they turned out wrong for each other. Who would’ve imagined? And violence? She couldn’t even believe it. Just goes to show that one could never fathom humans or relationships. She felt helpless and desolate thinking of her two friends trapped in matrimony.
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Monday, July 07, 2008
Horizon Hues
She stood next to him, leaning on the parapet wall overlooking the deep blue waters. Both of them kept their blank gazes focussed on the slithering silhouettes of the fish. She was conscious of his nearness, they were just short of touching. The fabric of his shirt and her duppatta were immersed in a playful revelry of their own. She was looking at him from the corner of her eye, when he suddenly turned to look at her full in the face. Startled, she looked away hastily but not before noticing a naughty glint in his eye. She felt like a thief caught red handed. Her mind raced trying to think of some small talk. He was about to say something, but stopped short of uttering the words. Unspoken thoughts lay saturated in the pink twilight mist.
Something had changed suddenly. Perhaps it had not been sudden, it had been creeping upon them slowly, stealthily. Only they had not noticed it. Or may be they had sensed it approaching but chose to ignore it? Thoughts and ideas had simply flowed between them unhindered. She knew his past and he knew her present. They had just woven their notions, opinions through the frontiers of time unfettered by emotions. There had been no confusion…until now? The skyline was turning grey.
Today was different. Why? A web was being woven and they seemed to be getting enmeshed. Feelings had entered silently, words that emerged from the mind took a detour through the heart and got lost at the lips. Silence loomed large. The horizon was tinged red.
He abruptly straightened himself. Folding his arms resolutely across his chest, he gazed beyond the horizon. Without looking at her, his voice barely above a whisper, “Its getting late. You better get back. I too have to leave. I’ll get you a cab “. He turned and started walking. For a moment, she stood looking at his receding figure, then wrapping her duppatta closely around her, she stepped forward, “Please don’t bother. I’ll take a rick. There’re a few waiting over there.”
She hurried ahead without a backward glance. The chill dusk was closing in. He turned back again to look at the blurred black skyline.
Something had changed suddenly. Perhaps it had not been sudden, it had been creeping upon them slowly, stealthily. Only they had not noticed it. Or may be they had sensed it approaching but chose to ignore it? Thoughts and ideas had simply flowed between them unhindered. She knew his past and he knew her present. They had just woven their notions, opinions through the frontiers of time unfettered by emotions. There had been no confusion…until now? The skyline was turning grey.
Today was different. Why? A web was being woven and they seemed to be getting enmeshed. Feelings had entered silently, words that emerged from the mind took a detour through the heart and got lost at the lips. Silence loomed large. The horizon was tinged red.
He abruptly straightened himself. Folding his arms resolutely across his chest, he gazed beyond the horizon. Without looking at her, his voice barely above a whisper, “Its getting late. You better get back. I too have to leave. I’ll get you a cab “. He turned and started walking. For a moment, she stood looking at his receding figure, then wrapping her duppatta closely around her, she stepped forward, “Please don’t bother. I’ll take a rick. There’re a few waiting over there.”
She hurried ahead without a backward glance. The chill dusk was closing in. He turned back again to look at the blurred black skyline.
Thursday, April 12, 2007
Remorse
Sharada was deeply immersed in the book she was reading when her assistant (household help) Leela spoke to her hesitantly:
“Akka, I was actually considering quitting at the end of this month and so when you told me yesterday that you had dreamt the situation, I was shocked, taken aback that I could not reply then.”
Leela’s faltering words succeeded in seizing Sharada’s attention totally from the book she was reading. Sharada kept the book aside and turned to Leela. She had no inkling that Leela was considering quitting. In fact, when she had seen the scene in her dream that of Leela making the announcement that she was about to quit, Sharada was more amused and had recounted to Leela her dream. She had been confident that the situation would not transpire. Sharada was jolted when Leela announced that she was indeed considering the option.
Leela had seemed most content and Sharada too was very happy with the former’s honesty and efforts. Sharada believed that she had been treating Leela with respect and dignity. Sharada asked her to clarify.
Leela hesitantly murmured:
“Akka, everywhere else where I work, they have increased my pay bit by bit. Its only here that the pay has remained the same since the past 5 years… In fact some of the others where I work have even begun grumbling that I’m working for you for much lesser than what they give. And the prices have increased so much that it has become very difficult to pull on. Last month was very difficult what with my father- in –law being hospitalized.”
Leela’s voice was breaking by now.
Stung with remorse, Sharada was at a loss for words. Actually, she had wondered each time she gave Leela her monthly wages, if she shouldn’t be raising the amount, but then since she had begun with a fairly good value, and Leela seemed quite satisfied, she had taken it for granted that Leela would mention if it wasn’t enough. Sharada admonished herself for not having thought of it on her own.
“Leela, I had not realized your predicament. I just assumed that since you did not mention anything everything was fine. I realize now that I should’ve done the needful earlier and not brought the situation to this point. I wish you had told me. You mean that if I had not actually told you about this dream of mine, you would’ve just quit at the month end and I would have never known the reason?”
Leela smiled sheepishly through unshed tears. She struggled to find her voice.
“Akka, it is very difficult for me to put in words my dire situation and helplessness. I was hoping you would observe and come to the decision on your own without me having to make a request.”
Sharada was filled with guilt. She understood that Leela’s tears were not because of her poverty or difficulties. It was more about having had to speak about her helplessness to her. Sharada felt ashamed that she had allowed the circumstances to reach this juncture. She decided to make amends at the earliest, however she would’ve to discuss with her husband too. Sharada assured Leela that she would let her know of her decision the next day.
Sharada waited for Leela to come the next day.
“Leela, both my husband and I feel that we have not done the right thing by you. We should have raised your pay without your having to bring our attention to it. We are terribly sorry for the lapse and we would like to make amends by paying the surplus for last year. Please accept it.”
Leela smiled, “No akka, please don’t feel bad. And please don’t misunderstand me, but I cannot accept the payment for the past months. Just give me the raise from next month onwards. That will be enough.”
Sharada tried her best to persuade Leela to accept the pending payment but Leela politely refused. Sharada was left holding the money in her hand and her heart was filled with admiration for this woman of dignity and self respect.
Sharada was grateful for the dream that precipitated the turn of events or she would’ve lost a good, honest assistant and missed knowing a person of such dignity.
“Akka, I was actually considering quitting at the end of this month and so when you told me yesterday that you had dreamt the situation, I was shocked, taken aback that I could not reply then.”
Leela’s faltering words succeeded in seizing Sharada’s attention totally from the book she was reading. Sharada kept the book aside and turned to Leela. She had no inkling that Leela was considering quitting. In fact, when she had seen the scene in her dream that of Leela making the announcement that she was about to quit, Sharada was more amused and had recounted to Leela her dream. She had been confident that the situation would not transpire. Sharada was jolted when Leela announced that she was indeed considering the option.
Leela had seemed most content and Sharada too was very happy with the former’s honesty and efforts. Sharada believed that she had been treating Leela with respect and dignity. Sharada asked her to clarify.
Leela hesitantly murmured:
“Akka, everywhere else where I work, they have increased my pay bit by bit. Its only here that the pay has remained the same since the past 5 years… In fact some of the others where I work have even begun grumbling that I’m working for you for much lesser than what they give. And the prices have increased so much that it has become very difficult to pull on. Last month was very difficult what with my father- in –law being hospitalized.”
Leela’s voice was breaking by now.
Stung with remorse, Sharada was at a loss for words. Actually, she had wondered each time she gave Leela her monthly wages, if she shouldn’t be raising the amount, but then since she had begun with a fairly good value, and Leela seemed quite satisfied, she had taken it for granted that Leela would mention if it wasn’t enough. Sharada admonished herself for not having thought of it on her own.
“Leela, I had not realized your predicament. I just assumed that since you did not mention anything everything was fine. I realize now that I should’ve done the needful earlier and not brought the situation to this point. I wish you had told me. You mean that if I had not actually told you about this dream of mine, you would’ve just quit at the month end and I would have never known the reason?”
Leela smiled sheepishly through unshed tears. She struggled to find her voice.
“Akka, it is very difficult for me to put in words my dire situation and helplessness. I was hoping you would observe and come to the decision on your own without me having to make a request.”
Sharada was filled with guilt. She understood that Leela’s tears were not because of her poverty or difficulties. It was more about having had to speak about her helplessness to her. Sharada felt ashamed that she had allowed the circumstances to reach this juncture. She decided to make amends at the earliest, however she would’ve to discuss with her husband too. Sharada assured Leela that she would let her know of her decision the next day.
Sharada waited for Leela to come the next day.
“Leela, both my husband and I feel that we have not done the right thing by you. We should have raised your pay without your having to bring our attention to it. We are terribly sorry for the lapse and we would like to make amends by paying the surplus for last year. Please accept it.”
Leela smiled, “No akka, please don’t feel bad. And please don’t misunderstand me, but I cannot accept the payment for the past months. Just give me the raise from next month onwards. That will be enough.”
Sharada tried her best to persuade Leela to accept the pending payment but Leela politely refused. Sharada was left holding the money in her hand and her heart was filled with admiration for this woman of dignity and self respect.
Sharada was grateful for the dream that precipitated the turn of events or she would’ve lost a good, honest assistant and missed knowing a person of such dignity.
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
Something lost, Something missing
Far away in my village
A tree fell
Staked out from its roots…
Verdant Guardian since centuries
Simply down to dust
In a singular moment!
Steady, sturdy presence
Essence of the village persona
Now no more?
It came down with a deafening noise
Breaking thru the silence
Shook the villagers
The sight that met their eye
Of the Glory now prostrate
Chilled their hearts….
And yet the next morning
The sun rose
From the east
Like nothing was amiss!
They wanted to build a
Platform around it…
It was a bad omen
Some said
Today, when I close my eyes
I can still see the quivering leaves
I can still hear
Their ceaseless whispers…
But when I open my eyes
There is just the barren dust…
And some crisp, crumbly roots…
Something less, something missing
From my soul…
A piece of me was uprooted too
That day when the canopied splendour
Came crashing down
To meet the earth…
context:http://ardramaamsandhyakal.blogspot.com/2005/01/rustic-splendour.html
A tree fell
Staked out from its roots…
Verdant Guardian since centuries
Simply down to dust
In a singular moment!
Steady, sturdy presence
Essence of the village persona
Now no more?
It came down with a deafening noise
Breaking thru the silence
Shook the villagers
The sight that met their eye
Of the Glory now prostrate
Chilled their hearts….
And yet the next morning
The sun rose
From the east
Like nothing was amiss!
They wanted to build a
Platform around it…
It was a bad omen
Some said
Today, when I close my eyes
I can still see the quivering leaves
I can still hear
Their ceaseless whispers…
But when I open my eyes
There is just the barren dust…
And some crisp, crumbly roots…
Something less, something missing
From my soul…
A piece of me was uprooted too
That day when the canopied splendour
Came crashing down
To meet the earth…
context:http://ardramaamsandhyakal.blogspot.com/2005/01/rustic-splendour.html
Monday, February 06, 2006
Shabd- The movie
Producer/s: Pritish Nandy and Rangita Nandy
Director: Leena Yadav
Cast: Sanjay Dutt, Aishwarya Rai and Zayed Khan
Music: Vishal-Shekhar
Lyrics: Irshad Kamil and Vishal Dadlani (guest lyricist)
This can’t be called a review – its just my response to the film as I watched it- my way of perceiving it…
I had been wanting to see this movie based on the little info that I had gathered from here and there- the reviews that I had come across were quite discouraging and unflattering- and yet I knew I wanted to see it- my curiosity had been nudged- and when they relayed it on Star Gold this weekend, I watched it eagerly- and frankly I enjoyed it.
The theme is yet again love triangle- except that the third angle has the older woman – younger man scenario.
The husband- Shaukat Vasisht- Sunjay Dutt, Anatara Vasisht- his wife- Aishwarya Rai, and Yash- Zayed Khan.
While the circumstances leading to the younger man- older woman relationship is not very plausible, I could understand the plethora of emotions and conflicts that the situation led to…The questions raised, the doubts faced- the justifications, the validations, the imbibed conditioned thinking , the concept of rights and wrongs- - all seemed very genuine and realistic. To me, it seemed like a very honest peek into the psyche of the characters…
Shaukat Vasisht- a writer who was facing a lot of criticism with his last creative venture- is determined to overcome his writer’s block and regain his audience. He was specifically accused of writing unreal/ fantasy stuff- and so he wants to give ‘real’ to his readers- he looks around for his hidden muse- finds his beautiful wife- Antara (whom he calls Tamanna in his thoughts)- and decides to ‘employ’ her as his muse- he attempts to prise open her comfortable shell of self complacent contentment- probes her to delve within and search for repressed discontent- seek her hidden true self…tho Antara is baffled in the beginning- she claims complete contentment…she slowly begins to wonder on these lines- and this path to self discovery is catalysed by the appearance of a new younger co- worker- Yash.
Shaukat is excited by this new character, and encourages Antara to explore new possibilities in relationships. He is obsessed with the experimentation of his new topic- Woman, the Forbidden boundaries- the concepts of Rights and Wrongs wrt relationships.
Though Antara refuses to comply initially, he convinces her to withhold her marital status from Yash. Antara is uncomfortable with this especially because Yash makes his affection for her pretty obvious. However, Antara begins to enjoy his exuberance (which first, she had found annoying), his mischief- and of course his attention and admiration. She discovers little joys in his company- like spontaneity, uninhibited laughter- and enjoying little, trivial things in life- all those which she had forgotten existed- she realises that she had simply fallen into the expected groove with marriage- comfortably and conveniently performing her duties as a loving wife – and though she loved her husband- and had no regrets- she rediscovered the joy of living in Yash’s company! And now she is afraid of falling in love with Yash…
Shaukat notices the changes in Antara- he understands what is happening- and believes that everything was happening as he conceived for his story plot- the writer in him is excited and thrilled- but the husband in him is beginning to worry and get insecure, scared and sad- the conflict begins in his head- between Shaukat the writer, and Shaukat the husband…
Yash, blissfully ignorant that he was playing a part, is happily in love- he tells Antara the qualities that he finds in her endearing- her hesitations, her coyness, her laughter, her holding back…and Antara feels helpless- she is caught in between his affection and her loyalty to her husband.
It dawns on Shaukat that perhaps Antara ws developing a soft corner for Yash- and that it was time for the husband to intervene and reclaim his wife- he decides that the ‘character’ Yash had to die- and he inserts Yash’s “suicide” into his plot.
Antara meanwhile is unable to cope with new emotions for Yash, sense of deceit and guilt , and her convictions about “rights” and “wrongs”. She confesses to Yash about her marital status- admitting that while Yash had brought into her life a gift of joyful moments- and that she would cherish the memories of the wonderful moments that they had shared…she was very happy and in love with her husband. Yash is devastated but wishes her well and moves away gracefully.
Shaukat at first is disappointed that real life had moved away from his ‘script’- Antara is aghast that he had been seeking/ weaving a story out of her life, that he had been egging her on to “let go” of conditioned thinking, her ideas of rights and wrongs for the sake of his creativity- she confronts him accusing him of insensitivity and ignorance of the ways how reality worked- she tries to make him realise that Fiction was different from the real world…when real individuals and real time emotions were involved.
But Shaukat is unable to take it- he was by now enmeshed in a web of his own making- that of creative obsession! He had been proud that he was able to chart and predict uncannily how the characters in his story would speak and behave. He was convinced that his words were powerful and self fulfilling! He was sure that Yash would commit suicide because he had penned it so- and now the prospect terrified him- he tottered between real world and fiction and was unable to make a difference- he keeps on searching frantically for the last page of his story to change the climax-
Antara realizes what was happening to him- she tries to assure him in vain that his words would not prove prophetic- but Shaukat was too far gone from reality by now- he has to be admitted into a re-hab centre, and she is confident that some day he would return to her …
I liked the metaphors, the imagery- the direction- the play of the raindrops on Sunjay Dutt’s face- I lack the knowledge to describe such things technically except to say that I liked it-
I liked Sanjay’s acting- but wished that they had other actors play the role of Antara and Yash. Aishwarya of course looked beautiful but Aishwarya’s mannerisims masked Antara- and so also with Zayed…however as the story progressed, I forgot to notice the indiscrepancies- the characters of Antara and Yash loomed larger, tho I’m not sure it was because of their acting prowess or my own involvement with the story.
Sadia Siddiqui in the role of the domestic help tho miniscule- was impressive.
Though the idea of a writer husband encouraging his wife to have an affair for the sake of his creativity sounds too far fetched- the questions raised were very genuine –
And it often happens with me that while I do enjoy the nuances, the dialogues- the direction while watching a movie- most of the time on retrospect I tend to remember a movie less favourably with passage of time, so I wrote this out before the ‘feeling’ evaporated.
I remember, many years ago there was a similar story attempted in Malayalam- I think the name of the movie was “Rachana”meaning “composition” in which the writer husband ( Bharath Gopi) persuades his wife ( Srividya) to encourage the affections of a very naïve, simpleton co-worker ( Nedumudi Venu) - and then finally invites him over to their home for dinner- and there the husband makes his appearance- the co worker is shocked, embarassed and mortified- so much that he commits suicide - the wife is unable to handle the guilt and becomes insane, and the wretched husband is left to repent and regret forever…
Director: Leena Yadav
Cast: Sanjay Dutt, Aishwarya Rai and Zayed Khan
Music: Vishal-Shekhar
Lyrics: Irshad Kamil and Vishal Dadlani (guest lyricist)
This can’t be called a review – its just my response to the film as I watched it- my way of perceiving it…
I had been wanting to see this movie based on the little info that I had gathered from here and there- the reviews that I had come across were quite discouraging and unflattering- and yet I knew I wanted to see it- my curiosity had been nudged- and when they relayed it on Star Gold this weekend, I watched it eagerly- and frankly I enjoyed it.
The theme is yet again love triangle- except that the third angle has the older woman – younger man scenario.
The husband- Shaukat Vasisht- Sunjay Dutt, Anatara Vasisht- his wife- Aishwarya Rai, and Yash- Zayed Khan.
While the circumstances leading to the younger man- older woman relationship is not very plausible, I could understand the plethora of emotions and conflicts that the situation led to…The questions raised, the doubts faced- the justifications, the validations, the imbibed conditioned thinking , the concept of rights and wrongs- - all seemed very genuine and realistic. To me, it seemed like a very honest peek into the psyche of the characters…
Shaukat Vasisht- a writer who was facing a lot of criticism with his last creative venture- is determined to overcome his writer’s block and regain his audience. He was specifically accused of writing unreal/ fantasy stuff- and so he wants to give ‘real’ to his readers- he looks around for his hidden muse- finds his beautiful wife- Antara (whom he calls Tamanna in his thoughts)- and decides to ‘employ’ her as his muse- he attempts to prise open her comfortable shell of self complacent contentment- probes her to delve within and search for repressed discontent- seek her hidden true self…tho Antara is baffled in the beginning- she claims complete contentment…she slowly begins to wonder on these lines- and this path to self discovery is catalysed by the appearance of a new younger co- worker- Yash.
Shaukat is excited by this new character, and encourages Antara to explore new possibilities in relationships. He is obsessed with the experimentation of his new topic- Woman, the Forbidden boundaries- the concepts of Rights and Wrongs wrt relationships.
Though Antara refuses to comply initially, he convinces her to withhold her marital status from Yash. Antara is uncomfortable with this especially because Yash makes his affection for her pretty obvious. However, Antara begins to enjoy his exuberance (which first, she had found annoying), his mischief- and of course his attention and admiration. She discovers little joys in his company- like spontaneity, uninhibited laughter- and enjoying little, trivial things in life- all those which she had forgotten existed- she realises that she had simply fallen into the expected groove with marriage- comfortably and conveniently performing her duties as a loving wife – and though she loved her husband- and had no regrets- she rediscovered the joy of living in Yash’s company! And now she is afraid of falling in love with Yash…
Shaukat notices the changes in Antara- he understands what is happening- and believes that everything was happening as he conceived for his story plot- the writer in him is excited and thrilled- but the husband in him is beginning to worry and get insecure, scared and sad- the conflict begins in his head- between Shaukat the writer, and Shaukat the husband…
Yash, blissfully ignorant that he was playing a part, is happily in love- he tells Antara the qualities that he finds in her endearing- her hesitations, her coyness, her laughter, her holding back…and Antara feels helpless- she is caught in between his affection and her loyalty to her husband.
It dawns on Shaukat that perhaps Antara ws developing a soft corner for Yash- and that it was time for the husband to intervene and reclaim his wife- he decides that the ‘character’ Yash had to die- and he inserts Yash’s “suicide” into his plot.
Antara meanwhile is unable to cope with new emotions for Yash, sense of deceit and guilt , and her convictions about “rights” and “wrongs”. She confesses to Yash about her marital status- admitting that while Yash had brought into her life a gift of joyful moments- and that she would cherish the memories of the wonderful moments that they had shared…she was very happy and in love with her husband. Yash is devastated but wishes her well and moves away gracefully.
Shaukat at first is disappointed that real life had moved away from his ‘script’- Antara is aghast that he had been seeking/ weaving a story out of her life, that he had been egging her on to “let go” of conditioned thinking, her ideas of rights and wrongs for the sake of his creativity- she confronts him accusing him of insensitivity and ignorance of the ways how reality worked- she tries to make him realise that Fiction was different from the real world…when real individuals and real time emotions were involved.
But Shaukat is unable to take it- he was by now enmeshed in a web of his own making- that of creative obsession! He had been proud that he was able to chart and predict uncannily how the characters in his story would speak and behave. He was convinced that his words were powerful and self fulfilling! He was sure that Yash would commit suicide because he had penned it so- and now the prospect terrified him- he tottered between real world and fiction and was unable to make a difference- he keeps on searching frantically for the last page of his story to change the climax-
Antara realizes what was happening to him- she tries to assure him in vain that his words would not prove prophetic- but Shaukat was too far gone from reality by now- he has to be admitted into a re-hab centre, and she is confident that some day he would return to her …
I liked the metaphors, the imagery- the direction- the play of the raindrops on Sunjay Dutt’s face- I lack the knowledge to describe such things technically except to say that I liked it-
I liked Sanjay’s acting- but wished that they had other actors play the role of Antara and Yash. Aishwarya of course looked beautiful but Aishwarya’s mannerisims masked Antara- and so also with Zayed…however as the story progressed, I forgot to notice the indiscrepancies- the characters of Antara and Yash loomed larger, tho I’m not sure it was because of their acting prowess or my own involvement with the story.
Sadia Siddiqui in the role of the domestic help tho miniscule- was impressive.
Though the idea of a writer husband encouraging his wife to have an affair for the sake of his creativity sounds too far fetched- the questions raised were very genuine –
And it often happens with me that while I do enjoy the nuances, the dialogues- the direction while watching a movie- most of the time on retrospect I tend to remember a movie less favourably with passage of time, so I wrote this out before the ‘feeling’ evaporated.
I remember, many years ago there was a similar story attempted in Malayalam- I think the name of the movie was “Rachana”meaning “composition” in which the writer husband ( Bharath Gopi) persuades his wife ( Srividya) to encourage the affections of a very naïve, simpleton co-worker ( Nedumudi Venu) - and then finally invites him over to their home for dinner- and there the husband makes his appearance- the co worker is shocked, embarassed and mortified- so much that he commits suicide - the wife is unable to handle the guilt and becomes insane, and the wretched husband is left to repent and regret forever…
Thursday, February 02, 2006
The Eternal Wait
The sound of the approaching train barged into her senses and she was startled out of her stupor. Subconsciously she moved into the “waiting” mode. It took some moments for her to remember that she had nothing to wait for. Her wait had ended two years and four months ago…She knew that and yet but her heart still continued to wait – it seemed to refuse to believe and accept that her wait had come to an end…she had been programmed to wait and could not be deprogrammed!
Before the wait had ended two years ago, the sound of the approaching train meant that he was about to arrive- it meant anticipation, increased heart beats, excitement as she waited for the approaching footsteps. The moments ticked by heavily, each leaving a footprint in her heart. Her ears would be alert to every rustle outside her door- her world would be reduced to just a single all pervasive action- that of waiting…
As the familiar footsteps approached, she’d get into a tizzy of excitement, sheer happiness. She’d rush to open the door- and there he’d be standing outside towering over her at the doorstep- that first moment would freeze- him looking at her and she at him- only after a few moments , would both of them come back to the mortal world- and she would step aside, to let him in- the moment she closed the door with her heart in her mouth, he would swoop her into his arms – and she’d cradle his neck with hers….
Now it was two years since he had left- forever- her wait had come to an end- but even now, when she heard the sound of the approaching train, her senses perked up in reflex- she could not unlearn it- For her, the wait had become Eternal- the wait for the footsteps that would never reach her door…
Before the wait had ended two years ago, the sound of the approaching train meant that he was about to arrive- it meant anticipation, increased heart beats, excitement as she waited for the approaching footsteps. The moments ticked by heavily, each leaving a footprint in her heart. Her ears would be alert to every rustle outside her door- her world would be reduced to just a single all pervasive action- that of waiting…
As the familiar footsteps approached, she’d get into a tizzy of excitement, sheer happiness. She’d rush to open the door- and there he’d be standing outside towering over her at the doorstep- that first moment would freeze- him looking at her and she at him- only after a few moments , would both of them come back to the mortal world- and she would step aside, to let him in- the moment she closed the door with her heart in her mouth, he would swoop her into his arms – and she’d cradle his neck with hers….
Now it was two years since he had left- forever- her wait had come to an end- but even now, when she heard the sound of the approaching train, her senses perked up in reflex- she could not unlearn it- For her, the wait had become Eternal- the wait for the footsteps that would never reach her door…
Monday, January 30, 2006
The Wall Of Silence
Silence, Silence, Silence…why did he never reply? She had called out so many times, but it was like he never heard her cries….but she knew he would’ve heard- he just chose not to respond- Why had she been chosen for silence? Did he think his silence was louder than his words? Did he think she could hear his thoughts through silence? Did he expect her to understand his unspoken words?
Or was it that he did not want to respond? But if so then why? What had she done to deserve this silent treatment?
She was sure she had given him no reason to rebuff her thus..or had she? Nothing that she could recall…or perhaps he had misunderstood her at some point in the past? Perhaps he had misinterpreted her words- sensed some unimplied meaning to her actions?? May be he was not used to her kind of expressions? May be he perceived her words, actions in a way different from what she had intended?
But how would she know the reason unless he broke his vow of silence? Unless he told her what he thought/felt? She could not read his mind…how could she clarify otherwise- reassure him that she had implied nothing offensive in thought, word or deed???
Or was it that he did not want to respond? But if so then why? What had she done to deserve this silent treatment?
She was sure she had given him no reason to rebuff her thus..or had she? Nothing that she could recall…or perhaps he had misunderstood her at some point in the past? Perhaps he had misinterpreted her words- sensed some unimplied meaning to her actions?? May be he was not used to her kind of expressions? May be he perceived her words, actions in a way different from what she had intended?
But how would she know the reason unless he broke his vow of silence? Unless he told her what he thought/felt? She could not read his mind…how could she clarify otherwise- reassure him that she had implied nothing offensive in thought, word or deed???
Wednesday, January 18, 2006
To a friend who left...
Hi …
Just thought of telling you that
sometimes I miss you..lots…
But let me tell you that
sometimes I don’t…
Sometimes I want to talk to you
Sometimes I just want to listen…
And sometimes I don’t know
what I actually wish-
Sometimes I think I should
wipe out every memory,
every thought of you…
And sometimes I want
to cling to even the tiniest moment
And don’t want to let go ever…
Sometimes I ask why, how..
Sometimes I just don’t care…
Sometimes I think
I’m getting used to your absence
And sometimes I feel its unbearable
Sometimes I think I’ll get over you…
And everything will be fine
I’ll keep moving
And sometimes I’m stuck…
I feel lost
Knowing that the past
will never come back…
Knowing that the future
will bring more painful realities…
Sometimes I can accept
And sometimes it hurts
There are some moments
which flash in my mind’s eye-
Which I hold close to my heart…
which are precious...
I always knew you’d leave
But when you did
I realized I was hoping
You’d stay…
Just thought of telling you that
sometimes I miss you..lots…
But let me tell you that
sometimes I don’t…
Sometimes I want to talk to you
Sometimes I just want to listen…
And sometimes I don’t know
what I actually wish-
Sometimes I think I should
wipe out every memory,
every thought of you…
And sometimes I want
to cling to even the tiniest moment
And don’t want to let go ever…
Sometimes I ask why, how..
Sometimes I just don’t care…
Sometimes I think
I’m getting used to your absence
And sometimes I feel its unbearable
Sometimes I think I’ll get over you…
And everything will be fine
I’ll keep moving
And sometimes I’m stuck…
I feel lost
Knowing that the past
will never come back…
Knowing that the future
will bring more painful realities…
Sometimes I can accept
And sometimes it hurts
There are some moments
which flash in my mind’s eye-
Which I hold close to my heart…
which are precious...
I always knew you’d leave
But when you did
I realized I was hoping
You’d stay…
Tuesday, January 17, 2006
Hear me Please...
I don’t care about your name
Or what they call you by
I don’t care how you look
Two heads or four arms
Or a crown of thorns
With nails pinning your arms and feet
Or whether you sport a turban and a beard…
I just don’t care how you look
I just need you to be out there
Up there or anywhere
I need to know you’re keeping a watch
That you’re looking out
That you’ll take care of things
Not just me, but all of us..
Its not enough to know
That you’re within me
Or within everybody
I’m yet to learn to trust in me
And in the rest of us mortal creatures
I need you, YOU, YOU…
To have faith, to have trust
I need to know desperately
That I need not worry
That things will be fine
Even when they seem bleak
When I see things happen around me
Calamities and disasters
Floods, hurricanes, earthquakes
I’m struck with dread
I cannot understand why some suffer
I cannot fathom
Why I’m spared
I see no reason, no logic
in the stream of happenings
I’m sure you do
Just that its beyond my finite senses
So you see why I need you…
Sometimes its not enough
That I’ve been blessed
Becos when I see the lesser fortunate
It doesn’t help
Even as I’m grateful
Somewhere it niggles
Becos I see no difference
in me from them
And I know to You,
all are the same
in them I sense myself
and the ones I love
I can claim no redeeming trait
That isolates me from them…
After all they laugh the same laughter
They shed the same tears
They bear the same pain
But they suffered and they died!
And a piece of me died with them!
Such random selection
Breeds fear within
Today they, tomorrow who?I? Us?
How does the elimination happen?
This uncertainity haunts me…
As I beheld the wake of Nature’s fury
In all its raging splendor
The sights that met my eye
Staggered meI felt lost,
I knew not where to look
When I saw them look
out of their windows
In their marooned homes
The despair, the helplessness
Mirrored in their eyes
Reflected in their visage
Wrenched my soul
Suddenly, nothing mattered
It just is!
Good, bad, rich, poor
Right, wrong, no one cares
Its just you or me or them-
its just the same
the “why’s” just echoed
seeking an answer seemed pointless…
a sense of defeat, a sense of foreboding
a helplessness, a hopelessness
a bleak despair
a nameless fear
pervades my being
I want to shake off this murky stupor
I long to look around
Once again in amazed wonder
I need to reawaken Hope and faith yet again
That which has been
Shocked to numbness
I need to defrost
The spark, the zest for Life
For without faith and Hope
I’m just a breathing corpse!
So please tell me ...
You hear meHear me, please…
Can you hear my silent screams
For myself and the rest of us?
Tell me you do…
the above lines I scribbled in a wave of impulse just after having returned home from the Kaveri bridge- here, where we live- there had been floods in Nov- a husband left his wife and kids at a friend's home- at a safer area- but he remembered something important to be retrieved- and went back to get it...he never came back- his body was recovered after the waters receded...if only....many more such stories...our apartment was spared tho- becos a rly bridge served as a barricade...
the climate is already beginning to get warmer, and now it seems like the uncertainity of those days was just illusion...
Or what they call you by
I don’t care how you look
Two heads or four arms
Or a crown of thorns
With nails pinning your arms and feet
Or whether you sport a turban and a beard…
I just don’t care how you look
I just need you to be out there
Up there or anywhere
I need to know you’re keeping a watch
That you’re looking out
That you’ll take care of things
Not just me, but all of us..
Its not enough to know
That you’re within me
Or within everybody
I’m yet to learn to trust in me
And in the rest of us mortal creatures
I need you, YOU, YOU…
To have faith, to have trust
I need to know desperately
That I need not worry
That things will be fine
Even when they seem bleak
When I see things happen around me
Calamities and disasters
Floods, hurricanes, earthquakes
I’m struck with dread
I cannot understand why some suffer
I cannot fathom
Why I’m spared
I see no reason, no logic
in the stream of happenings
I’m sure you do
Just that its beyond my finite senses
So you see why I need you…
Sometimes its not enough
That I’ve been blessed
Becos when I see the lesser fortunate
It doesn’t help
Even as I’m grateful
Somewhere it niggles
Becos I see no difference
in me from them
And I know to You,
all are the same
in them I sense myself
and the ones I love
I can claim no redeeming trait
That isolates me from them…
After all they laugh the same laughter
They shed the same tears
They bear the same pain
But they suffered and they died!
And a piece of me died with them!
Such random selection
Breeds fear within
Today they, tomorrow who?I? Us?
How does the elimination happen?
This uncertainity haunts me…
As I beheld the wake of Nature’s fury
In all its raging splendor
The sights that met my eye
Staggered meI felt lost,
I knew not where to look
When I saw them look
out of their windows
In their marooned homes
The despair, the helplessness
Mirrored in their eyes
Reflected in their visage
Wrenched my soul
Suddenly, nothing mattered
It just is!
Good, bad, rich, poor
Right, wrong, no one cares
Its just you or me or them-
its just the same
the “why’s” just echoed
seeking an answer seemed pointless…
a sense of defeat, a sense of foreboding
a helplessness, a hopelessness
a bleak despair
a nameless fear
pervades my being
I want to shake off this murky stupor
I long to look around
Once again in amazed wonder
I need to reawaken Hope and faith yet again
That which has been
Shocked to numbness
I need to defrost
The spark, the zest for Life
For without faith and Hope
I’m just a breathing corpse!
So please tell me ...
You hear meHear me, please…
Can you hear my silent screams
For myself and the rest of us?
Tell me you do…
the above lines I scribbled in a wave of impulse just after having returned home from the Kaveri bridge- here, where we live- there had been floods in Nov- a husband left his wife and kids at a friend's home- at a safer area- but he remembered something important to be retrieved- and went back to get it...he never came back- his body was recovered after the waters receded...if only....many more such stories...our apartment was spared tho- becos a rly bridge served as a barricade...
the climate is already beginning to get warmer, and now it seems like the uncertainity of those days was just illusion...
Wednesday, January 04, 2006
Wayside Views...
The bus circled round the bus station and came to a halt. Those who had arrived at their destination , scurried to the exit and the rest who had still a long way to go settled into their seats. Some moved onto better seats, a few were dozing, and the others seemed to be preoccupied.
Bhadra looked at her watch. An hour or more to go to reach her destination. She absentmindedly observed the faces of the alighting passengers. Some seemed relieved at having reached their stop, a few looked excited with feverish anticipation- or so she imagined, while others were looking tired and travel weary - the rest looked plain indifferent- their faces were frozen masks with no emotion on their countenance.
The driver jumped down from his perch to the outside. The conductor stayed back at the door, wiping the sweat of his brow with a shabby towel. He wore a harried expression as he rattled away the names of the places the bus would be stopping at. New passengers scrambled into the bus in a hurry- eager to get hold of the better seats- even though half the bus was empty and there was still time for the bus to leave. The instinct to race ahead of others was inborn, Bhadra mused.
A young girl – probably a college student trudged heaving two seemingly heavy bags to the door of the bus. She clarified a doubt with the conductor and wearily climbed in. The conductor looked visibly annoyed and was muttering under his breath. Bhadra guessed that the girl must have enquired about her student’s concession.
“you’ll have to vacate your seat when more people get in"- he reminded the girl curtly. She nodded assent.
Bhadra deduced that the girl must be on her way home from some college hostel.
A familiar stench wafted into Bhadra’s nostrils and she wrinkled her nose in reflex. Her eyes wandered outside and she saw the source of the smell. She hurriedly looked away, and her gaze fell on some movie posters on the adjacent wall. It occurred to her that it had been ages that she had watched a movie in a theatre.
Bhadra noticed a boy who loked about 10-11 years old getting into the bus. He was balancing a huge open box containing an assortment of pens, hanging precariously from his shoulders. In his left hand he held a handful of pens and she watched with curiosity as he beseeched the passengers to buy his pens, all the while enumerating the superior qualities of his wares. She sensed a despair in his voice . Nobody paid any attention to him. Bhadra gestured to the boy to come closer. The boy came to her eagerly. She bought four pens without attempting to bargain. The sparkle in the boy’s eyes warmed her spirits. She wondered for a moment if the pens would write and then decided that it did not matter if they didn’t.
Suddenly Bhadra was distracted by a commotion outside. A group of unruly boys were harassing a woman. Her clothes were dirty and in disarray, her hair was unkempt. It was obvious that the woman was mentally unstable. She was crying piteously as she clutched a tattered pouch to her bosom. Fear reflected in her eyes as she tried to escape the assault of the boys who were shouting abuses and chasing her. Bhadra was dismayed at the cruelty of the children. Unexpectedly the woman fell down and the pouch was snatched by one of the urchins. A piercing wail rose from the woman and Bhadra shuddered. The people waiting for buses watched the spectacle stoically…
At that moment Bhadra realised that the bus had begun to move. She glanced back for the last time- the children were pulling out the contents of the pouch on to the ground, the woman was still crying out…the people were still watching….Bhadra sat back into her seat shutting her eyes tight - the women’s wail resonated in her ears…and she was aware of a teardrop coursing down her cheek…
Bhadra looked at her watch. An hour or more to go to reach her destination. She absentmindedly observed the faces of the alighting passengers. Some seemed relieved at having reached their stop, a few looked excited with feverish anticipation- or so she imagined, while others were looking tired and travel weary - the rest looked plain indifferent- their faces were frozen masks with no emotion on their countenance.
The driver jumped down from his perch to the outside. The conductor stayed back at the door, wiping the sweat of his brow with a shabby towel. He wore a harried expression as he rattled away the names of the places the bus would be stopping at. New passengers scrambled into the bus in a hurry- eager to get hold of the better seats- even though half the bus was empty and there was still time for the bus to leave. The instinct to race ahead of others was inborn, Bhadra mused.
A young girl – probably a college student trudged heaving two seemingly heavy bags to the door of the bus. She clarified a doubt with the conductor and wearily climbed in. The conductor looked visibly annoyed and was muttering under his breath. Bhadra guessed that the girl must have enquired about her student’s concession.
“you’ll have to vacate your seat when more people get in"- he reminded the girl curtly. She nodded assent.
Bhadra deduced that the girl must be on her way home from some college hostel.
A familiar stench wafted into Bhadra’s nostrils and she wrinkled her nose in reflex. Her eyes wandered outside and she saw the source of the smell. She hurriedly looked away, and her gaze fell on some movie posters on the adjacent wall. It occurred to her that it had been ages that she had watched a movie in a theatre.
Bhadra noticed a boy who loked about 10-11 years old getting into the bus. He was balancing a huge open box containing an assortment of pens, hanging precariously from his shoulders. In his left hand he held a handful of pens and she watched with curiosity as he beseeched the passengers to buy his pens, all the while enumerating the superior qualities of his wares. She sensed a despair in his voice . Nobody paid any attention to him. Bhadra gestured to the boy to come closer. The boy came to her eagerly. She bought four pens without attempting to bargain. The sparkle in the boy’s eyes warmed her spirits. She wondered for a moment if the pens would write and then decided that it did not matter if they didn’t.
Suddenly Bhadra was distracted by a commotion outside. A group of unruly boys were harassing a woman. Her clothes were dirty and in disarray, her hair was unkempt. It was obvious that the woman was mentally unstable. She was crying piteously as she clutched a tattered pouch to her bosom. Fear reflected in her eyes as she tried to escape the assault of the boys who were shouting abuses and chasing her. Bhadra was dismayed at the cruelty of the children. Unexpectedly the woman fell down and the pouch was snatched by one of the urchins. A piercing wail rose from the woman and Bhadra shuddered. The people waiting for buses watched the spectacle stoically…
At that moment Bhadra realised that the bus had begun to move. She glanced back for the last time- the children were pulling out the contents of the pouch on to the ground, the woman was still crying out…the people were still watching….Bhadra sat back into her seat shutting her eyes tight - the women’s wail resonated in her ears…and she was aware of a teardrop coursing down her cheek…
Wednesday, December 28, 2005
waiting to get inspired...
its very rare that i get down to write something purely out of inspiration from within.. the words usually flow only as a spill out after reading somebody else's composition- I've no idea as to metre- verse- its just more of a haphazard flow of emotions that have been evoked from reading someone else's thoughts...and hence its possible that my words deviate onto a track of their own different from what the original writer/poet intended- some words, images create a response within me depending on my attitude/perception/ mood of the moment...and then I feel like jotting the resultant thoughts...hope its not illegal! let me know if it is... :-)
I have mentioned the source of inspiration for each of the following:
this one was inspired after reading at Fizo's
http://knittingalspoetry.blogspot.com/2005/10/moment.html
That moment from the past
Has come back to haunt me
That moment which gives me no rest
That endless moment
which refuses to burn to ashes
I had deluded myself
That I had forgotten that moment
Today, now, I realize
I was mistaken
That moment
Has yet again seized me
In its grasp
A sigh escapes
From the depths of my soul
I surrender meekly yet again
To the whims of memory…
Fool that I was
To have believed
That I had moved on
All that it took
Was just a whiff from the past
And the steps that I had trudged in toil
I retraced in a trice
And I was back where I started…
this one flowed after reading this:
http://myopendiary.blogdrive.com/archive/64.html
aayi thi mein phir in galiyon mein
kuchh umeed se, kuchh aasha lekar
lagta tha ki shaayad
mera kuchh yahan phir se mil jaayega
par yahaan to sab kuchh anjaana sa
sab kuchh naya sa
jo tha woh ab na raha...
jis gaon ki khoj mein main yahaan aayi thi
woh dikhayi nahin deti
waqt ki parivartan
meri gaaon ko bhi chhookar jaayegi
yeh shaayad sochi na thi mein..
ab sirf man ke kone mein
kuchh bhooli bisri yaadein
jis ko sametkar
raat ki andhere mein phir se tarashoon
aur dil mein chhipaake rakhoon...
jo tha woh na raha
aur jo hai, woh mera nahi
uski aarzoo bhi nahin...
again from akhil's pages:
http://myopendiary.blogdrive.com/archive/62.html
sheeshe mein jab khud ko nihaarthi hoon
to apne pratibimb ko dekhkar
aksar yeh bhram mein pad jaati hoon ki
shaayad akeli nahi hoon mein...
phir jab mud ke dekhti hoon to
koi nahin - sirf shunyata
koi mujhe bataa de
ekant mein itna soonapan kyon hai??
tanhaai se dosti karoon
phir bhi seene mein
ek tadap si kyon hai?
yet again from :
http://myopendiary.blogdrive.com/archive/55.html
aastha bhi nahin
manzil bhi nahin
zindagi ke chaurahe par
khadi hoon duvidha mein
is disha me jaaoon
ya us raah ko chunoon...
Bus khade rahe hum
aur achanak ek
Hawa ka jhonka aaya
aur hum fisalte chale gaye ...
kahan se kahan le gaye hume
ab jahan pahunchu
vahin hai hamari manzil
Mud ke dekhoon to
jaane kis raste par nikale hum
par tab tak to bahut der ho chuki hogi
na manzil chun paya hum
na raste ko
jo aaya so paaya
haath me kuchh na samaaya...
the attempt in english:
Just Arrived
Standing at the crossroads
I kept gazing into the distant horizon
Dilemma, conflicts, Indecision
Tormented my mind and soul
Do I go this way or that other one?
I kept waiting ...
In the twilight hour
Suddenly a gust of wind
Pushed me ahead
And I found myself floating
Like a lost leaf
I tottered, I floundered
I stumbled, I fell..
I picked myself up
I brushed the dust off me
A wound there, a tear here
A weary but redeemed soul
I stood rooted to the spot
Where I now found myself
I cupped my hands
Over my eyes
and looked ahead
And What did I see?
In the orange of dusk
Wilderness stretching to nowhere…
I turned and looked behind me
I saw no tracks nor footprints
There was no path of return
For me to follow....
I had not chosen
the path that I traversed
Nor my destination
And so the place I reached
I declared was my destination
I looked again
The embers were glowing in the Horizon
And I had Arrived!
one more:
http://myopendiary.blogdrive.com/archive/61.html
jis tarah bujhthi diya ki jwala manmohak hai
shaayad zindagi ki anischita hi
hame lubhaati hai..
aaj hai kal ho na ho
yehi chintha hamein sataati hai...
the latest inspired from here:
http://viveksharmaiitd.blogspot.com/2005/12/saga-of-crumpled-piece-of-paper.html
I had been leading this crumpled existence
expecting nothing, hoping for nothing
mute acceptance...
you came by...
unfurled me, infused colour
and breathed new life into me
I began to hope...
I began to feel the pride
that comes with the
sense of belonging
Alas! I was but a fool
to believe that I belonged
You stamped a value
and changed hands
I was nothing-
just a medium-
for your expression
the lines, the colors
were not me
and yet I ceased to be yours too...
and now I’m trapped in this ornate frame
The life, the color not mine
And yet I transform the walls that I adorn
Once again mute acceptance
Frozen existence…
But I remember
the touch of your fingers
The ring in your laughter
yet no regrets...
to have been touched by you..
is enough sustenance...
I have mentioned the source of inspiration for each of the following:
this one was inspired after reading at Fizo's
http://knittingalspoetry.blogspot.com/2005/10/moment.html
That moment from the past
Has come back to haunt me
That moment which gives me no rest
That endless moment
which refuses to burn to ashes
I had deluded myself
That I had forgotten that moment
Today, now, I realize
I was mistaken
That moment
Has yet again seized me
In its grasp
A sigh escapes
From the depths of my soul
I surrender meekly yet again
To the whims of memory…
Fool that I was
To have believed
That I had moved on
All that it took
Was just a whiff from the past
And the steps that I had trudged in toil
I retraced in a trice
And I was back where I started…
this one flowed after reading this:
http://myopendiary.blogdrive.com/archive/64.html
aayi thi mein phir in galiyon mein
kuchh umeed se, kuchh aasha lekar
lagta tha ki shaayad
mera kuchh yahan phir se mil jaayega
par yahaan to sab kuchh anjaana sa
sab kuchh naya sa
jo tha woh ab na raha...
jis gaon ki khoj mein main yahaan aayi thi
woh dikhayi nahin deti
waqt ki parivartan
meri gaaon ko bhi chhookar jaayegi
yeh shaayad sochi na thi mein..
ab sirf man ke kone mein
kuchh bhooli bisri yaadein
jis ko sametkar
raat ki andhere mein phir se tarashoon
aur dil mein chhipaake rakhoon...
jo tha woh na raha
aur jo hai, woh mera nahi
uski aarzoo bhi nahin...
again from akhil's pages:
http://myopendiary.blogdrive.com/archive/62.html
sheeshe mein jab khud ko nihaarthi hoon
to apne pratibimb ko dekhkar
aksar yeh bhram mein pad jaati hoon ki
shaayad akeli nahi hoon mein...
phir jab mud ke dekhti hoon to
koi nahin - sirf shunyata
koi mujhe bataa de
ekant mein itna soonapan kyon hai??
tanhaai se dosti karoon
phir bhi seene mein
ek tadap si kyon hai?
yet again from :
http://myopendiary.blogdrive.com/archive/55.html
aastha bhi nahin
manzil bhi nahin
zindagi ke chaurahe par
khadi hoon duvidha mein
is disha me jaaoon
ya us raah ko chunoon...
Bus khade rahe hum
aur achanak ek
Hawa ka jhonka aaya
aur hum fisalte chale gaye ...
kahan se kahan le gaye hume
ab jahan pahunchu
vahin hai hamari manzil
Mud ke dekhoon to
jaane kis raste par nikale hum
par tab tak to bahut der ho chuki hogi
na manzil chun paya hum
na raste ko
jo aaya so paaya
haath me kuchh na samaaya...
the attempt in english:
Just Arrived
Standing at the crossroads
I kept gazing into the distant horizon
Dilemma, conflicts, Indecision
Tormented my mind and soul
Do I go this way or that other one?
I kept waiting ...
In the twilight hour
Suddenly a gust of wind
Pushed me ahead
And I found myself floating
Like a lost leaf
I tottered, I floundered
I stumbled, I fell..
I picked myself up
I brushed the dust off me
A wound there, a tear here
A weary but redeemed soul
I stood rooted to the spot
Where I now found myself
I cupped my hands
Over my eyes
and looked ahead
And What did I see?
In the orange of dusk
Wilderness stretching to nowhere…
I turned and looked behind me
I saw no tracks nor footprints
There was no path of return
For me to follow....
I had not chosen
the path that I traversed
Nor my destination
And so the place I reached
I declared was my destination
I looked again
The embers were glowing in the Horizon
And I had Arrived!
one more:
http://myopendiary.blogdrive.com/archive/61.html
jis tarah bujhthi diya ki jwala manmohak hai
shaayad zindagi ki anischita hi
hame lubhaati hai..
aaj hai kal ho na ho
yehi chintha hamein sataati hai...
the latest inspired from here:
http://viveksharmaiitd.blogspot.com/2005/12/saga-of-crumpled-piece-of-paper.html
I had been leading this crumpled existence
expecting nothing, hoping for nothing
mute acceptance...
you came by...
unfurled me, infused colour
and breathed new life into me
I began to hope...
I began to feel the pride
that comes with the
sense of belonging
Alas! I was but a fool
to believe that I belonged
You stamped a value
and changed hands
I was nothing-
just a medium-
for your expression
the lines, the colors
were not me
and yet I ceased to be yours too...
and now I’m trapped in this ornate frame
The life, the color not mine
And yet I transform the walls that I adorn
Once again mute acceptance
Frozen existence…
But I remember
the touch of your fingers
The ring in your laughter
yet no regrets...
to have been touched by you..
is enough sustenance...
Monday, October 31, 2005
Fickle thoughts
Her intuition had once again proved right-but she did not feel proud about the astuteness of her intuition- instead she wished she had been proved wrong-
What she had feared would transpire actually happened- and when the incident unfurled itself, it had a surreal feel to it- like it was not actually happening to her- she was not a part of the happening- like she was just watching it happen to somebody else as a spectator- so much so that she did not know how to react, respond. She remained queerly unmoved- and then she realized that she had to respond in some manner- and not just sit there like she were watching a movie. She had to think of an appropriate answer- hunt for the right words- She answered dispassionately- she calmly continued to pack his lunch for him- handed it over indifferently- told him to forget that he had uttered those words ever and that she had heard them.
After the impulsive outburst, seeing her grave expression perhaps he realized his blunder and began apologizing fervently- he asked for forgiveness- but she could not bring herself to say that she forgave him for his indiscretion. She stubbornly refused to say that she forgave him- She was not angry or even offended but she felt indignant that he had not paused to think about his wife back home or her husband who was his friend.
He got up and left and she closed- nay slammed the door after him… she hoped she would never have to see him again…
She did not want him to feel humiliated but she did want him to realize that he had been thoughtless- inconsiderate- She understood the frailty of human emotions, but how could he act upon his fickle feelings? Why did he have to confess to her about how he felt about her? What had he expected? How did he summon the audacity to utter those words to her? To tell her to the face that he found her “tempting”? Had he hoped for a reciprocal feeling? She shuddered at the thought.
What she had feared would transpire actually happened- and when the incident unfurled itself, it had a surreal feel to it- like it was not actually happening to her- she was not a part of the happening- like she was just watching it happen to somebody else as a spectator- so much so that she did not know how to react, respond. She remained queerly unmoved- and then she realized that she had to respond in some manner- and not just sit there like she were watching a movie. She had to think of an appropriate answer- hunt for the right words- She answered dispassionately- she calmly continued to pack his lunch for him- handed it over indifferently- told him to forget that he had uttered those words ever and that she had heard them.
After the impulsive outburst, seeing her grave expression perhaps he realized his blunder and began apologizing fervently- he asked for forgiveness- but she could not bring herself to say that she forgave him for his indiscretion. She stubbornly refused to say that she forgave him- She was not angry or even offended but she felt indignant that he had not paused to think about his wife back home or her husband who was his friend.
He got up and left and she closed- nay slammed the door after him… she hoped she would never have to see him again…
She did not want him to feel humiliated but she did want him to realize that he had been thoughtless- inconsiderate- She understood the frailty of human emotions, but how could he act upon his fickle feelings? Why did he have to confess to her about how he felt about her? What had he expected? How did he summon the audacity to utter those words to her? To tell her to the face that he found her “tempting”? Had he hoped for a reciprocal feeling? She shuddered at the thought.
Saturday, October 15, 2005
The Invisible Boundaries...
What did she want? What did she expect? He was right when he said that if she expected him to talk and behave in a specific manner, she might as well draw a picture, stick it on the wall and interact with that lifeless picture! He reminded her that he had a mind and heart of his own- that he existed beyond her imaginations and expectations- his thoughts and feelings could not be tethered to her whims.
She realized he was right. But then she could not make herself accept or like certain aspects of his behaviour while she loved particular traits in him- and he seemed so different at different times invoking contradictory responses within her- she was confused-
But him? He had no confusions, no dilemmas. For him things were simple- and uncomplicated- he could not see or understand beyond his feelings- he had no compunctions about rights or wrongs- He did not find it strange that Friendship could overstep its boundaries and stray into the terrirtory of Love. To him it seemed one of the most Natural culmination to their relationship.
He had no limits drawn for himself. He could not bring himself to stop abruptly at the point she dictated. He often wanted to stretch it a bit further-
So then was this relation incomplete? Or was it a farce? She did not know- but she knew that there was definitely some element which refused to stick to boundaries…some aspect which threatened to lurk beneath the surface- a lurking danger waiting to overwhelm her…where the invisible barriers wore thin and she had to be alert, wary, because she had to face herself at the end of the day…
And so they remained tottering on the rickety wall between definitions of relationships…
She realized he was right. But then she could not make herself accept or like certain aspects of his behaviour while she loved particular traits in him- and he seemed so different at different times invoking contradictory responses within her- she was confused-
But him? He had no confusions, no dilemmas. For him things were simple- and uncomplicated- he could not see or understand beyond his feelings- he had no compunctions about rights or wrongs- He did not find it strange that Friendship could overstep its boundaries and stray into the terrirtory of Love. To him it seemed one of the most Natural culmination to their relationship.
He had no limits drawn for himself. He could not bring himself to stop abruptly at the point she dictated. He often wanted to stretch it a bit further-
So then was this relation incomplete? Or was it a farce? She did not know- but she knew that there was definitely some element which refused to stick to boundaries…some aspect which threatened to lurk beneath the surface- a lurking danger waiting to overwhelm her…where the invisible barriers wore thin and she had to be alert, wary, because she had to face herself at the end of the day…
And so they remained tottering on the rickety wall between definitions of relationships…
Monday, October 10, 2005
A Bygone Life???
The strains of the flute permeated the air - the fragrance of sandalwood agarbathis wafted into her nostrils- she closed her eyes- and drifted….
Images of decorated mud homes- cowdung dried courtyards- open wells- colourful cholis and lehengas, hennaed hands, chiming anklets- jingling bangles- Kohl rimmed eyes, long, plaited tresses, mud pots and the mellifluous strains of the flute…
She was churning the curds- her hennaed hands pulling at the twin ropes , the frothy cream swirled in rhythm around the wooden churn paddle, she hummed absent mindedly- her kohl rimmed eyes gazing vacantly into the distance- a half smile lingering on her crimson lips…kanha- kanha- kanha-
And suddenly the strains of the flute reached her ears- she started- her heart skipped a beat- beads of sweat glistened above her lips- she wanted to run – run to the Banks of the Yamuna- where her Kanha would be waiting- but the butter was yet to set- she grew restless- how would she steal past the watchful eyes of her grandmother, and mother? She tugged at the ropes frantically- the frothy cream splattered around her- she looked around- her gaze fell upon a pot filled with water behind the back door- she gingerly tiptoed upto the pot, emptied the water into the basil platform- and slithered back to churning butter. She looked up to see if her grandmother had noticed- no, she was still bent over the hearth…her mother was busy in the backyard- thankfully her brother and father were out grazing the animals-
She resumed churning the curds vigorously and then as soon as the ball of butter set around the churn paddle, she deftly scooped it with her fingers and placed it in the butter pan. She called out to her grandmother:
“Ba, there is no water in the pot- I will have to fetch some water – shall be back soon”
She did not pause to wait for a reply- quickly gathering the folds of her long lehenga, she swung the empty pot onto her slim waist and sprinted off to the river side.
Her grandmother gazed at the disappearing figure of her granddaughter puzzled. She was sure the pot was full a few moments ago- or was she mistaken? Perhaps her daughter- in- law had used it up. She was getting increasingly forgetful of late.
Radha’s feet found wings- her hair flew behind her- her anklets and bangles created a clamour- the strains of the flute was now near…
Radha stopped when she saw the silhouette of her Beloved Kanha leaning against the Kadamba tree. Her bosom heaved partly due to the exertion of running, and partly due to the increasing excitement in her heart…Kanha was still playing the flute as if oblivious of the world around him- but she knew he was waiting- waiting for Her…she kept the pot on the ground soundlessly, tiptoed to his side, carefully trying to not make noise with her mischevious anklets and bangles- Kanha’s eyes were closed- Radha kept gazing at her Lord’s form- and the world came to a standstill!
Suddenly He opened his eyes, looked at her- the beginning of a smile on his lips- Radha’s cheeks burnt, her eyes lowered, her toes traced absently on the mud…
“What are you doing here at this time? Don’t you have chores at home?” He taunted her.
Radha raised her eyes offended, “yes, I do, plenty of chores – I’m going” and she turned to go.
Radha suddenly felt being pulled to him by her waist, he slowly and deliberately tucked the flute into his waistband- then lazily pulled up her chin- Radha melted into his arms, her back and neck arched backwards- her eyes closed and lips parted- the fragrance of sandalwood seeped into her being….
The waters of the Yamuna swirled and churned in gurgling symphony…
The music stopped. She opened her eyes- She was seated in the “Padmasana” posture on the grass mat in the hall of her home- The silence loomed large…a pang rose and died in her heart…
Images of decorated mud homes- cowdung dried courtyards- open wells- colourful cholis and lehengas, hennaed hands, chiming anklets- jingling bangles- Kohl rimmed eyes, long, plaited tresses, mud pots and the mellifluous strains of the flute…
She was churning the curds- her hennaed hands pulling at the twin ropes , the frothy cream swirled in rhythm around the wooden churn paddle, she hummed absent mindedly- her kohl rimmed eyes gazing vacantly into the distance- a half smile lingering on her crimson lips…kanha- kanha- kanha-
And suddenly the strains of the flute reached her ears- she started- her heart skipped a beat- beads of sweat glistened above her lips- she wanted to run – run to the Banks of the Yamuna- where her Kanha would be waiting- but the butter was yet to set- she grew restless- how would she steal past the watchful eyes of her grandmother, and mother? She tugged at the ropes frantically- the frothy cream splattered around her- she looked around- her gaze fell upon a pot filled with water behind the back door- she gingerly tiptoed upto the pot, emptied the water into the basil platform- and slithered back to churning butter. She looked up to see if her grandmother had noticed- no, she was still bent over the hearth…her mother was busy in the backyard- thankfully her brother and father were out grazing the animals-
She resumed churning the curds vigorously and then as soon as the ball of butter set around the churn paddle, she deftly scooped it with her fingers and placed it in the butter pan. She called out to her grandmother:
“Ba, there is no water in the pot- I will have to fetch some water – shall be back soon”
She did not pause to wait for a reply- quickly gathering the folds of her long lehenga, she swung the empty pot onto her slim waist and sprinted off to the river side.
Her grandmother gazed at the disappearing figure of her granddaughter puzzled. She was sure the pot was full a few moments ago- or was she mistaken? Perhaps her daughter- in- law had used it up. She was getting increasingly forgetful of late.
Radha’s feet found wings- her hair flew behind her- her anklets and bangles created a clamour- the strains of the flute was now near…
Radha stopped when she saw the silhouette of her Beloved Kanha leaning against the Kadamba tree. Her bosom heaved partly due to the exertion of running, and partly due to the increasing excitement in her heart…Kanha was still playing the flute as if oblivious of the world around him- but she knew he was waiting- waiting for Her…she kept the pot on the ground soundlessly, tiptoed to his side, carefully trying to not make noise with her mischevious anklets and bangles- Kanha’s eyes were closed- Radha kept gazing at her Lord’s form- and the world came to a standstill!
Suddenly He opened his eyes, looked at her- the beginning of a smile on his lips- Radha’s cheeks burnt, her eyes lowered, her toes traced absently on the mud…
“What are you doing here at this time? Don’t you have chores at home?” He taunted her.
Radha raised her eyes offended, “yes, I do, plenty of chores – I’m going” and she turned to go.
Radha suddenly felt being pulled to him by her waist, he slowly and deliberately tucked the flute into his waistband- then lazily pulled up her chin- Radha melted into his arms, her back and neck arched backwards- her eyes closed and lips parted- the fragrance of sandalwood seeped into her being….
The waters of the Yamuna swirled and churned in gurgling symphony…
The music stopped. She opened her eyes- She was seated in the “Padmasana” posture on the grass mat in the hall of her home- The silence loomed large…a pang rose and died in her heart…
Monday, October 03, 2005
For Sumit and Prachi!
On the Threshold
The strains of the shehnai
are just round the corner...
the chanting of hymns...
the chiming of bells
echoing within and without
The misty fumes of incense and camphor
The fragrance of the mogra and bela blossoms
are already wafting in the air..
The verandas and the courtyards are bustling
Rustle of silks
glimmer of jewels
there is laughter, there are giggles
There is thrill, there is anticipation
and yet there is trepidation too
Hopes and expectations
Doubts and fears...
But there is willingness and readiness
To make the Best
On the threshold of a New Life
To stop being "I"
and begin as "WE"
Wish you both a Long, Happy Married life...
The strains of the shehnai
are just round the corner...
the chanting of hymns...
the chiming of bells
echoing within and without
The misty fumes of incense and camphor
The fragrance of the mogra and bela blossoms
are already wafting in the air..
The verandas and the courtyards are bustling
Rustle of silks
glimmer of jewels
there is laughter, there are giggles
There is thrill, there is anticipation
and yet there is trepidation too
Hopes and expectations
Doubts and fears...
But there is willingness and readiness
To make the Best
On the threshold of a New Life
To stop being "I"
and begin as "WE"
Wish you both a Long, Happy Married life...
Monday, August 22, 2005
More scribbles
Lord Krishna
Have always been fascinated by Lord Krishna from as long as I remember- in all his various forms and roles- and may be specially by Meera's Krishna and Radha Krishna. As a child I remember having tried to draw him from one of the pictures in the puja room- but this one I drew a few years ago, when my younger son was still a baby- 1996-I had just put him to sleep and I remember hurrying through the picture afraid he would wake up any moment.
This Krishna I copied from the Amar Chitra Katha "Meerabai"- there were a couple of other pictures too which I wanted to draw- one in which Lord Krishna holds a fainting Meera- Meera looked so beautiful, nubile- with long hair- but I was unable to sketch it...
It was one of the boring classes after lunch interval
while in college-1986, and I was dangerously nodding off to sleep- when I noticed this picture on the cover of the note book of my friend next to me - I promptly set down to copy the picture on my note book- all the while pretending to taking down notes- the picture tho did not look like the person on the cover, did help me to ward off sleep.I dont remember when I drew this one- but I must
have been terribly bored...
It was soon after our wedding - 1988-89- I used to accompany my DH to the shop in the evenings - those days he used to run a medical shop in Kochi - and I would sit in a room at the back of the shop- with stocks of medicines around me- sometimes I would while away the time reading some book from the library- may be that day I had no book- I drew this on a sheet of paper bearing the seal of the Medical shop- copied it from a picture on some magazine lying around - The Week perhaps....I'm not too sure.
This was copied from an ad of Farex or Cerelac, I think- again from the pages of a magazine- I had been fascinated by the expression of the mother, but when I tried to capture it I think she looked kind of toothless! The baby was much cuter in the mag.
Its been a long time I scribbled something- recently when my net connexn was down, I tried to draw a pictutre of Radha and Krishna- from a wall hanging that we got from Udupi this May - the pic was beautiful- tho Krishna looked kind of effiminate- I tried to give him some muscles , make him taller- but the results were disastrous as you can see - the original is really beautiful I tell you...I sighed and returned the pencil that I had borrowed from my son.The best ones were those that I drew in school- that of Mickey Mouse,Minni Mouse, Donald Duck and Ms Donald Duck- I coloured them with sketch pens- and made kinda wedding photos of the Mickey and Donald couples- those and a few others are now in my maike...which I show to my sons when we go there...
Now the younger one draws Pokemons with various kind of innovative "attacks" - he draws these funny looking creatures with helmets, and armour like things on them...
Crude sketches....
Sometimes, when time weighed heavily, I used to pick up a pencil and scribble- but now its been a long time that I did any drawing- I usually copy from some drawing, photograph- I have very less patience and by the time I'm half way, I cannot wait to finish the picture- no finishing touches... Besides I don't think I have any particular talent, I scribbled away just to while away time...This is my grandfather . I drew this soon after his death in april 1988. It was more of an attempt to reach out to him when he was no longer there- I drew on a sheet of paper torn out of a note book. The edges are now frayed, but I wish I could have shown him this-he'd have been proud. I tried to copy from a portrait, but was unable to sketch the lips effectively. How muchever I tried, the likeness dissappeared when I attempted to draw the lips...so I left it as it is...I have signed off as "Naru" - that is what he used to call me...
This is of course an attempt to sketch a Kathakali character- I'm pathetic with using colours- so pencil sketch it had to be- I think I drew it long ago when I was in the XII th std- that must've been way back in 1984. I copied it from a painting- but it is disproportionate from many angles- the character is Rajassic-aggressive-( Ravana, Duryodhana etc) and the main colour tone would be various shades of red-
Wednesday, August 17, 2005
Moving On...
Moving on
Memories still bring that
Treacherous gleam to the eye
And the world becomes
A floating bubble
On the sea of fond memories-
A sense of something precious lost,
A sense of jealous fear,
But Alas! The sand grains trickle
Through the clenched fist-
Fool that I was to believe
To hold secure, sand in my palms-
The sea is not mine,
Nor is the shore
I too a passing anybody
Among the yesteryears-
The sand grains pound
against the waves
and onward it travels
across to morrows
And yet, while memories
Moistens the eyes,yet
Gladdens the heart
For that which had been
Sometimes, as we move on
From the past into the future
Racing through the present
Now and then
Ours soul gets caught
In the thistles of time
Causing a tear, a shred
A wound, a scar…
Yet we heal…
surging into the morrow
for it is memories
that shape, that mould
The person that I become
And then there are those
That bring a smile to the lips
A cheer to the heart
And hope to the soul
And I resume collecting
The little memories as I move on…
Forging the past
Savouring the present
Refreshing the Future…
Memories still bring that
Treacherous gleam to the eye
And the world becomes
A floating bubble
On the sea of fond memories-
A sense of something precious lost,
A sense of jealous fear,
But Alas! The sand grains trickle
Through the clenched fist-
Fool that I was to believe
To hold secure, sand in my palms-
The sea is not mine,
Nor is the shore
I too a passing anybody
Among the yesteryears-
The sand grains pound
against the waves
and onward it travels
across to morrows
And yet, while memories
Moistens the eyes,yet
Gladdens the heart
For that which had been
Sometimes, as we move on
From the past into the future
Racing through the present
Now and then
Ours soul gets caught
In the thistles of time
Causing a tear, a shred
A wound, a scar…
Yet we heal…
surging into the morrow
for it is memories
that shape, that mould
The person that I become
And then there are those
That bring a smile to the lips
A cheer to the heart
And hope to the soul
And I resume collecting
The little memories as I move on…
Forging the past
Savouring the present
Refreshing the Future…
My Son's poems
The Song of Dawn
Hear ye good folks!
The morn is here!
The realm of darkness hath ended
Giving way to Dawn.
Hear and be happy
For your watch hath not been in vain
The dark reign is broken
Your King hath passed through
Triumphant and true.
Hear all ye children!
For your King shall rise again
He shall live among you
Until the next dark hour commeth.
The green that was withered
And the flower that was wilted
Shall be aroused and awakened
They shall reach for the skies
Swaying in pristine grace .
Rejoice all ye seedlings of the Earth!
For Light hath overthrown Darkness
Your King- The Sun is back again
He hath fought like a lion in battle
To hark in the Day break.
Hear all ye farmer folk!
Awake , your King is back
Its time to work your hand
To reap the crop
For the world to feast..
Hear all ye good folk!
Exult and be glad
The hour of gloom is past
The morn is here in all shimmering glory!
The Spring Symphony
The flowers they bloom
In the spring sunshine
Without a sulk of gloom
The birds of song
They sing along
In rhyme lifelong
In the shimmer of Dawn
The huge mountains grey
Cast their kind shade
On the valleys and the plains
And along the waters of the Bay.
The gorges rugged and deep
Caressed by the gurgling river
She springs and leaps
Shimmering in the glimmer of Dawn…
Hear ye good folks!
The morn is here!
The realm of darkness hath ended
Giving way to Dawn.
Hear and be happy
For your watch hath not been in vain
The dark reign is broken
Your King hath passed through
Triumphant and true.
Hear all ye children!
For your King shall rise again
He shall live among you
Until the next dark hour commeth.
The green that was withered
And the flower that was wilted
Shall be aroused and awakened
They shall reach for the skies
Swaying in pristine grace .
Rejoice all ye seedlings of the Earth!
For Light hath overthrown Darkness
Your King- The Sun is back again
He hath fought like a lion in battle
To hark in the Day break.
Hear all ye farmer folk!
Awake , your King is back
Its time to work your hand
To reap the crop
For the world to feast..
Hear all ye good folk!
Exult and be glad
The hour of gloom is past
The morn is here in all shimmering glory!
The Spring Symphony
The flowers they bloom
In the spring sunshine
Without a sulk of gloom
The birds of song
They sing along
In rhyme lifelong
In the shimmer of Dawn
The huge mountains grey
Cast their kind shade
On the valleys and the plains
And along the waters of the Bay.
The gorges rugged and deep
Caressed by the gurgling river
She springs and leaps
Shimmering in the glimmer of Dawn…
Wednesday, July 20, 2005
Wooing The Wayward Muse
She lay sprawled on the bed,
Papers strewn around-
Pen held poised;
Waiting for Inspiration to strike…
Her eyes wandered lazily,
Seeking her errant Muse;
Vacantly she gazed
Out the window,
The railway tracks mocked at her…
Words flirted shamelessly,
Like fickle lovers;
Now here, next nowhere-
They slipped her clutches;
As she gave chase…
Language laughed aloud in scorn,
As she scraped the-
Bottom of creativity;
For a stray morsel…
Thoughts were empty,
Emotions ran dry,
Life glided by-
Without ripples;
Nothing shook her placid stupor…
She closed her eyes-
In mute surrender;
And slipped into-
A wordless slumber…
Papers strewn around-
Pen held poised;
Waiting for Inspiration to strike…
Her eyes wandered lazily,
Seeking her errant Muse;
Vacantly she gazed
Out the window,
The railway tracks mocked at her…
Words flirted shamelessly,
Like fickle lovers;
Now here, next nowhere-
They slipped her clutches;
As she gave chase…
Language laughed aloud in scorn,
As she scraped the-
Bottom of creativity;
For a stray morsel…
Thoughts were empty,
Emotions ran dry,
Life glided by-
Without ripples;
Nothing shook her placid stupor…
She closed her eyes-
In mute surrender;
And slipped into-
A wordless slumber…
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