Betty, butter, life.

Betty bought a bit of butter. 

But the bit of butter was too bitter..

The month started with death. 

And ended with life. 

The exams were fucked up. 

But the smile was mine. 

The weight on the shoulders was light (he had become so weak) 

But the memories weighed heavy. 

She screamed in pain.

Then the baby cried with life. 

The father jumped in joy. 

I am no longer a grandson but a brother am i. 

So Betty bought a bit of butter to make the bitter butter better. 

Incomplete laughter

I laughed, but not with my whole heart.. 

Its been a while since you left me.

Stunned. 

My memories of you are varied, 

Some happy some angry. 

I had forgotten that I love you. 

My blood. 

Just before going you won my heart. 

I now (after years) I wanted to be with you, listen to you. 

I wanted to hear stories of a full life, but you don't speak anymore. 

Mute. 

With a jovial heart, with a smile on my face. 

I went forth and carried you.

(Not like you did when  I was a child)

Burnt your body.  Along with smoke memories arise. 

Ashes.. Ashes.  

(Life continues)

Today after days I laughed..

It was real, my joy. 

But something had changed. 

An incomplete laughter? 

The Four Day Old Poet

The time of the day has come, 

My time of the day has come.

Thoughts pass by, 

memories re-lived, 

Opinions voiced. 

Words scribbled. 

I am the four day old poet. 

Thoughtless by the Lake

      

I sat on a rocky wall, 

It was tucked away under a shady tree,

It was just an ordinary wall,

But what lay next to it captured my attention.

I sat alone, i sat questioningly, i sat happily..

The time by the lake seemed to be only a few minutes.. 

But the watch said i had been there for an hour and a half.. 

What was I doing?

Why was I there?

I wasn't bored?

I saw the lake.. I observed it..

The baby waves,

The popping up of a fish,

The flight of birds parallel to the lake,

The trees on the other side,

The smell of sweet flowers around me.. 

All this was too much information.. 

But I felt at ease.. 

Away from all that i knew.. 

Away from noises, sounds were heard there..

Away from dusty winds, a cool breeze was felt there..

Away from people, solace was found there.. 

Away from words, silence was introduced there..

Shhh.. Sit by me and see,

Shhh.. Sit by me and feel, 

Its so beautiful. 

I Shit on You

I shit on you! 

U are meant for my shit! 

 (U bloody indian style toilet)

U filthy ceramic being.

I shall shit on u! Thats the only option i seem to have, 

I dont like u, thats why i dont want to grace u with my shit.. 

(The pressure built up)

I am here for 4 days and you arnt going anywhere! 

I will shit on u! I will i am telling u. 

Excuse me "is there any other loo here" 

"Sorry, we have limited loos, there are a few upstairs though"

I ran away from the filth collector

I go upstairs, hoping to find relief in a sitting position.. 

What the hell, this must b a joke.. 

Twins of the being, lay upstairs, an army of the same kind of nuisance! 

I shall shit on all( oh damn) 

No longer able to control myself

I take a leap of faith, 

i crouch down, Finding it difficult to maintain my balance.. 

I crap on it! 

Muhahaha (i laughed at the pot, and the pot laughed at me)

The pressure was dead, and i promised to not wage war again.. 

But the cycle continues.

I shit on you! 

U are meant for my shit! 

 (U bloody indian style toilet)

U filthy ceramic being.

Poem 3 

Day 3 

13-4-13.  

A Night By Myself

Poem 2 

Day 2 

12-4-13

              A Night By Myself 

Growing up made a lot of things small..

Clothes, toys, bibs, diapers i had out grown them all..

One thing it took a while to out grow, was a crib.

The crib was beautiful, colourful, it had lots of  toys..

The crib was wooden with a blanket of  love around me, 

It felt really nice and comfortable in the crib, but... 

But i yearend for more, i wanted to see what lay outside the crib, 

I wanted to carry the blanket with me, 

The weight and warmth of the blanket made it Difficult..

The blanket belonged with the crib 

I wanted to escape, to run, to live..

The only thing holding me back was the blanket and its comfort.. 

But my patience was lost, 

I got up and left.

The night was weary and cold

I fell ill, sick to my stomach.. 

Miserable was i.. 

At that time there was a realisation.. 

Its not only the blanket that could me warm, warmth was everywhere..

The blanket was of corse my blanket (the very best) and the crib the most carefree place on the earth

I spent a night outside by myself,

At first bare, then with the memory of the blanket

Then next to a fire, the blaze not just warming me but also all around.

That night was important, 

I experienced what i wanted to,

Next day i went back to the crib and the blanket..

Though now knowing what lay outside and still choosing the crib..

I now sleep sound and deep.  

I Am

I Am 

I work by day..

I work by night..

Sleep, oh! That's not my style..

Georgio Armani, Rolex, Versace- they are my world..

I have a six figure salary and a size zero girl..

I am the money..

I am the corporate..

I am. 

I travel far and wide..

I travel by cart, by bus by train, 

The forests, the fields, the temples, the shores, 

Oh! My mother earth! 

The further I went the closer I felt to home.. 

I have no house but a thousand homes..

I am the traveller..

I am.

I wake up daily, i put on my uniform..

I stand on a hill-top under my flag..

I take a vow, a vow to protect the nation..

I can kill for the nation, I can die for the nation..

Greater than my life is the honour of the nation..

Because 'the' nation is 'my' nation..

I am the soldier..

I am.

I look around, I see the muck..

I look around, I see the dirt..

I see the need for change..

I see the need for a rebirth..

I will make it better..

I will make it the best..

I am hope..

I am the youth..

I am.

I am culture, I am history, I am a legacy..

I am innovation, I am technology, I am the future..

I am a thought, I am a feeling, I am..

I am the people..

I am the nation..

I, 

I am India. 

Haven't blogged fr a long time..

Seasoning for all Seasons

Seasoning for all Seasons

The kitchen was a different world, not because of the food or the sights and smells. But for the stories.

I was a young kid just in the 3rd or 4 th class, we had got posted to a little army unit, tucked away in the dense forest in the foot hills of the himalyas.

The unit was in the middle of no where but self sufficient and content rather happy. For a kid my age it was really fun. Almost all day i would be outside on my cycle discovering new paths and trails leading to the jawans lines. When i look back at those time now they feel almost surreal.

Making it even more wonderous were the tasty and 'masalai dar' stories told by our chef Siaram Bhaiya . Oh in what a magical way would he transport me back to the 18 th century by telling me stories of akbar birbal. I would come back home all tired and dirty and head no where else but for the kitchen and struggle my way up to sit on the slab over there. As soon as i would do so. Bahiya would start of in his typical rural rather matter of fact twang.

Sitaran bahia: "Raghoo bahiya wo kissa sunna aap nai?"

Me (raghav): " nahi bahiaya.. Wo akbar birbal wala? Bahiay please bataiyai. "

It would just take a little 'please' from me for him to take out an old story form his old rikitty box in a corner of his mind and present it to me in the sparkly and delicate tender way. The stories would absorb me.

The end of the story would be an expected twist but always followed by tasy parathas with milk or something else he would cook up along side the story.

This was more or less a daily affair.

One of the days was that of no stories but of tears.. The poor old sweet man's little 1 year old daugher had passed away the last year. It was her birthday on that day. He described how he would hav celebrated her birthday if she was around..

What was i to do. I had no idea how to console him.. I asked him.. "bahiyaaa wo kissa sona hai ?" in the best copy i colud do of his tone.. I was able to pull out a smile from beneath the tears.. " nahi raghoo bahiya. Wo akbar birbal wala..? " i told him a little kissa and then told him all about my day..

A few days later i realized he stopped calling me raghoo bahiya.. I became raghoo beta.

Love finds ways to express itself..

It needs to flow..

A sholulder that helps..is never left unblessed.

"Step 1: Confront with Courage

Step 2: Approach with Love

Step 3: Excercise patience and understanding

Step 4: Deal with Skill

when the above is done, instead of friends turning into rivals, rivals turn into friends and instead of love fermenting into jealousy, jealousy transforms into love.

Having befriended the enemy, you can then win bigger battles together!"- Mr Saleel Pulekar

The Solemn Gallery

The Solemn Gallery

As David opened the door light entered the melancholy room. Beautiful paintings hung all around, each more exquisite than the other. Paintings of different sizes with all possible colors in them. Paintings of the rising sun, a lady in the woods, rain the city and many many more hung in the room.

Each painting engrossed the viewer. They made one enter the painting and would just be in that moment stopped forever allowing the viewer to see a fraction of a second for anything upto eternity. David was standing in the most colorful and vibrant room he had ever been in and still felt a heavy drowning sadness in the room.

On the far end sat an old man with paint marks all over his torn clothes a paint brush balanced on top of his ear under the thick lofts of long unkempt grey hair. He had another brush in his right hand and a pallet with slightly dry dark colors spread all over it held in his left hand. Sorrow reeked off him. His black eyes had depth that had an eeriness in them. Were they joyful? Sorrowful? Had pain ? remorse?? David could not tell from that distance but there was a cocoon of concentration around the artist and with utter precision and confidence the old man brushed a dark grey colour in the clouds on the canvas.

In the other end of the room almost next to the door sat an old lady ( about the same age as the man) behind a desk with a lot of messy papers , open directories and scribbled phone numbers. She too had a sad expression, hers was as it she had lost something close to her heart. Her eyes were watery as if she had been weeping until Mr. David opened the door.

The lady stood up politely and kindly requested David to step into the room-their gallery- ‘the room of wonders’. He looked around, fascinated! Painting after painting colour after colour, shades after shades. All under a black roof with tiny white stars made on it. David kept his suitcase down on the dirty floor and loosened his sharp slack tie and unbuttoned his blazer just absorbing all that was around him.

The lady poured him a glass of water from a bottle kept on the desk and offered it to him. David accepted it and took a short sip of the warm and salty water. It was unlike the clean and cool water had been accustomed to, the water brought him back to his senses, he realized it is a gallery and not a room of dreams he perceived it to be. He asked the old man “ Sir have you made all of these?” his voice had a hint of awe in it. He did not get any response from the man & david with an expression of a question faced the lady.

She said with composure “ My husband is hard of hearing and has been mute for a year now. He stopped speaking when he heard that our eldest son died in a train accident when his was shifting to the city where he had got placed by his college.. And yes he has made all the paintings” she said the last part with a faint smile and with pride.

David was surprised to hear this and he enquired more about there family. She told him they had 5 children two of them are going to school. Her twin daughters are studying art in Italy and her eldest is no more. Both of them had there parents who were in there early 80s and required frequent medical care.

He asked how they paid for the schooling, the college and the medical. The lady lowered her head and said that they had taken loans and were finding it hard to repay specially because they had not sold even a single painting in over a year. Their main client suddenly retired from the business and had abruptly stopped their sales. She added “ Sir it is very hard to look for a person with as much money as you and a taste like yours” she peeked into his eyes gave expressed that they would no longer be able to survive if he did

Not buy a painting today.

David was shaken. He had been taken out of his self-made bubble of luxuries and was given a sneek-peek into the grim reality of the real life. He was now determined to help the family as much as he could.

He picked out a painting which showed the sun over a city street still wet with fresh rains.

He asked for the price. The lady said “Sir please give us how much ever you find worth of the painting.” Daivd did not ask again and wrote a cheque of 50 thousand rupees in the name of the artist the lady was overjoyed and hugged her husband showing him the cheque. He was overwhelmed and a tear rolled down his cheek. David was very happy that he was able to revive a fantastic artist.

David gave the lady a few phone numbers of his friends and told her that they will also be interested in such paintings. The lady bow her head before him and thanked him profusely as if he had saved her lift.

David smiled and left the gallery and sent his chauffer to collect the painting. The lady and the artist helped give him the painting. They showed gratitude to him as well.

A minute after the driver left. The artist said” Honey can we leave now. Its so hot here. Do you want to have dinner at Hyatt tonight?? They wernt so good last time but still want to give it a shot.?”

The lady nodded..

They went to the basement of the building sat in their porsche carrera gt and drove off..

The old mad said” honey dint we have twin boys last time?”

The Entertainment Machine

The Entertainment Machine

Being an army kid one is taken to many places.. and one learns to enjoy these not so common places.

So here I as in Bharatpur. A place popular for the bird sanctuary.

Telling out of experience there is ntn more to Bharatpur than the birds.. Its a slow moving town with ntn happening..

But still when ur 13 and bored (and an army kid, yes i take a lot of pride in being one) one always figures out something to do..

One day while on our weapons of exploration.. Our cycles.. My friends n i found an abandoned cemented area on a barren field.. It was a very uprising find cuz all that there was on those fields was a bushy thorny plant and dry soil..

We went home asked our dads abt wat it was.. No one had any idea.. We ( 2 friends of mine who happened to be brothers and i) begged our dads to get that patch a bit cleaned off.. We helped in the cleaning ourselves.. Well wat we found that it was a rectangular large patch of cement.. And it had some white lines made on it.. Wait a second was it a tennis court!?!?

Yes it was.. Well that was it.. That was the solution to our boredom.. A tennis court though in tatters is still a tennis court..

We started playing day in and day out..literally.. In the summer hols we would get up at 530 with the sunrise play till 8ish.. As the sun became harsh (Bharatpur is in Rajasthan at the edge of the desert) we went home and slept.. Again in the evenings at about 5 530 we were on the court again and this time till about 7 ish when it became too dark to see the ball..

The funny thing was that it being an erstwhile abandoned court it dint hav a cage or a net.. The net we found berried deep in the mess'es sports store room but there was no cage.. So we lived with that.. Every time one would hit a fast shot and the opponent would miss it the ball would would go rolling away to a minimum of 20 feet away.. We played with just one ball so invariably whenever a person won a point the other would hav to run to go get the ball..

Whatever said and done we really had fun!! A lot of fun..

It seems now that we had just too much of fun.. All the units uncles would pass by us in the morning when they would go to office and when in the evening they would comeback we would be on the court again.. Them seeing us enjoy our selves so much had the 'tom sawyer' effect on them i suppose.. They just had to play..

So one fine day one of the uncles joint us.. In a few days a few others.. They all complained about wat we had gotten used to the lack of the cage and them having to run to get the ball..

10 15 days passed then one afternoon we say some work happening at the court..

When we reached there we found out that a cage was being built.. Wow now this is awesome.. Within 2 days the cage was ready and now even more uncles came to play.. We had to wait out for matches.. But that was okay just one one match each.. It was fine..

Days passed the court was now throughly cleaned.. And the next day painted.. The court gained speed the ball would now bounce off faster than it had done in it second life now just about 1 and a half months old.. Wow our barren cemented land was gaining popularity..

In a few days the number of ppl playing increased the waiting increased.. Lemon aid! Neebu pain , tea, coffee, real juice God knows wat else stared being served there from the units mess.. It was like a daily sports party..

Well all this triggered our idea.. We started a tournament.. Ad open ( ad = ammunition depot) we made some money just before school reopened..

In the evenings then we seldom ever got a chance to play.. Life was back to the boring days.. Now we cycled with the glow of the lights from the tennis court in the background..

tempo it?

When u think u know something or rather when u know u know something very well something happens and u realize ' okay I dint know that' and then immerge with more knowledge.. U agree?

I recently entered a phase where I dint want to spend much... Or actually not spend an excess where not required.. And cuz of this and my ' good knowledge of all sectors in noida ' i started using the not very comfortable but very economical mode of transport 'the tempo!' well for some reason all of us choose to ignore this mode of public transport.. Why? Cuz its too crowded.. Its got too many stops.. Blah blah blah blah

Well i agree its a bit more time consuming but when not in a hurry why not use it..

So here.. I’m at sector 12 with a friend wanting to go home to sec 71 which is a bit far off.. The most obvious way to go s by auto.. But that’s 70 Rs wasted.. Naah ill find something else..

So i walk down the main road of sec 12.. Spotting an almost empty tempo.. I inquire weather its route has my place or some where close by.. The tempo driver told me that he can drop me off at a place which is almost opposite to my house.. In just 10 Rs.. Well i couldn’t have asked for a better bargain..

I hopped on. the tempo moved in its usual manner stopping after every few min to take on new passengers.. But the problem was i had no goddamn idea where we were.. Its was rather.. Um..um adventurous and scary to an extent.. Sec 58.. Sec 59.. Came and went but i had no idea where they were.. I just kept sitting in the tempo looking/ staring outside in the hope to find my bearings.. Naah not an idea.. R we still in noida ?? The thought creped up in my head... But the fact that the driver told me where hell drop me close to my place sort of reassured me.. I just sat there building my mental map of noida..

When i got off n was told which direction to go to n after about 3o seconds of walking I realized where i was..

I thought ' wow a trip.. An expansion of the map of noida.. A ride home.. A post for the blog.. In 10 bucks versus a boring auto ride for 70 bucks'

One can hardly ever stop learning.. Just b ready to do stuff one normally wouldn’t!

Friendship at the Metro!!

my first fiction story.. hope its the first on many..

Friendship at the metro!!

Casually dressed Rohit is running towards the metro station. He is to catch the 3pm metro for his coaching class. His shirt it loose, not tucked in, his bag is falling from his shoulders. He pulls at his baggy jenes to stop them from falling.

The 3 pm metro is Rohit's enemy and his best friend. When he boards it he meets his friends, laughs at lame jokes but when he misses it he spends his time in boredom. 10 min at the station and a 45 min long commute all alone.

More often the metro was his enemy than his friend. He was wondering how the train was going to treat him. Was it going to be metro the bitch or metro the angel?

Just as he reached the platform the doors started shutting and in a fit of atheism he managed to keep his wardrobe intact and made it onto the metro. Poof!! He was saved from hellish boredom.

Next week the same story continued. Rohit was in his usual hurry, his wardrobe loose, pants falling, bad haywire, iPod on full volume. He unfortunately missed the train this time.

Rohit stood on the platform sad and disappointed. He was a bit disheartened because of the scolding he had got at home for being casual about his timings. He wad bored and bummed out. He threw the bag on the floor and sad on the railing, thinking about what excuse he would give to his teacher at the coaching for being late.

He was miserable ( so he thought)

There was no friend around lonely was he

He wanted fun and joy instead he got loneliness

Rohit looked up and saw the platform opposite to his, up came a girl. At a glance one could say she the opposite of Rohit. She was dressed neatly, walked slowly on the platform, well before time. She looked like the disciplined one.

Both of them looked at each other. She was the earliest and he was late enough to miss the metro. For a second they were the only people on the platforms. Both the same age but Rohit was mentally a child and the girl a grownup.

He wave hi to her cause he needed just to talk to someone - anyone to distract him from his thought and like always he dint have any balance on his phone. The girl replied with a wave a wave he did not expect and that wave was the striking of a new friendship. A peculiar friendship. A friendship of no words, a friendship where they dint even know each others names!

Week after week they communicated in sign language, both their uncommon unite for just a few min every week.

Rohit never made a pushing effort anymore to catch the train and dint mind missing it cuz he would then spend a few min on the platform peeking into another world, a world he was told about in sign language, a disciplined yet joyful world.

Rohit would occasionally miss the metro on intention and act disappointed for his friends who saw hin through the window. Unlike earlier he felt overjoyed by missing the metro.

Time passed by, the friendship grew. The coaching had its break and upon resuming Rohit most looked forward for those 10 min at the platform.

She wasent there anymore. Rohit thought " where would she have gone?? Will I meet her again?? Is she alright??" these questions stayed in his mind.

He would look for her on the station, constantly looking around, just in the hope to see her again.

He never took the metro on time now he had to stay on the platform in the hope she would come.

please leave your opinion about the story. itll mean a lot :)

Ode to the Padmanabhan!

In a strong desire not to break my new years i am here.. Not clearly knowing what to writ..well its not like thats the case every time but i usually hav a topic in my head.. None today..

Well i should write about something i have been delaying for quite some time.. To be precise from the 25th of december 2010.

Mr Sharon Padmanabhan.. And his blog unwinding.. http://sharoon3112.blogspot.com

Met him one day at a gathering.. some common friends we had.. Well he seemed different.. Both in the retarded way and the sweet n joyful way..

But i soon realized that his retardation was one of the coolest things that evening..

So here was a fun loving sweet guy.. Okay..

one day on fb he had put up a link to his blog.. Out of sheer boredom n hope for a shot of madness i checked it out..

I can remember which post it was but i remembering saying to myself." okay dude! This stuff is really good." it wasent the madness i had expected it was who he was.. It was beautiful.. Heart felt stuff...

His blog gave a good feeling.. Something was there in the way he wrote that u had to read more.. I remember once when i knew that i dint hav anything to do in the metro i copied all the old posts of his to my ipod at home and for 45 min just read his stuff.. Heart warming to down right funny.. He can control your feelings for the time you r reading his posts..

I owe him a lot. As it is because of him that i started blogging.. I know the blog is not very famous yet but one day it will b.. I just kno it cuz writing gives me this good feeling its like a thirst being quenched.. And before i read sharoon bhs simple take on things around one self i would hav never gotten down to actually writing...

Thank you bh..

I kno u kno but still.. u rock..

Feb 05 2011

11 31pm

She was there

She was there..

Present yet omnipresent..

She was there..

Where all of us were..

She was there..

In our joys and sorrows..

She was there..

When i started going to school.. Waiting fr my lill feet to bring me back home..

She was there..

Holding my hand not letting me run on the road

She was there

Oh yes she was..

I never acknowledged her.. So much so i never knew how much she meant to me..

She was there she was always there..

But never was i there.. Never was i with her..

She attempted to get me to her.. She made things i liked to eat.. But i still went to her only fr the grub. But never for her love..

I feel sad and guilty.. I should b guilty..

She was there all along..

Why was i not there..

Where did i belong..

If not in her arms..

She was there i took for granted..

She will b there only i expected..

But she wasent any more..

She wasent there.. She had gone..in a jiffy without saying a bye..

She went as she had to.. Every one has to go sometime or the other..

I miss seeing her where she stood

I miss the grubs she would make lovingly

I miss her for who she was cuz she was she n no one like her will i ever see