monsoon 2 me

Monsoon to me
Means a wet creeper climbing unto my window
While I sit there, devouring a novel
An old novel, with its edges torn
A discovery from my uncle’s a rickety shelf…
Yellowed pages, eaten up by fungus
Sitting on dad’s archaic bed
At my ancestral place

In the nights,
Ruthless thundering
And the fear of a snake sneaking in

Monsoon to me
Means a scooty ride
After a tiring day,
The air clean of dust
The road shining clean…n vehicles rushing home
Me crying to loosen the heart
Drenched in tears and rain…

Monsoon to me
Means the coconut tree near my window
Beating the glass pain…
And it raining throughout the nights…

Monsoon to me
Is waking up
One Sunday morning
To find puddles in my backyard…
Watching news with a cuppa in hand
The rest of the state brimming with floodwaters…

Strange thoughts,
Dreams that would never be true
Frequenting my mind every now
And then…

sixth sense

My sixth sense gives me jitters. There have been days when I have hated having this sense. I can smell death from a distance, I can’t tell you who will die, but I can tell you something very very painful is round the corner. I get to know, if would lose something, and I would lose say an earring that day, I would be feeling down the whole day, and my cycle was stolen…someone would run away with my purse…I would know that we would not have a class someday. Whenever I am told that something exciting is yet to happen, the most coveted of friends would call up, and so on and so forth. Sometimes I hate myself for this, knowing something bad is to happen, but you don’t know how to stop it, it hurts…I cursed myself for having been blessed…or cursed…I gave god a nice scolding one night…thinking that he would never dare to give me a sixth sense ever.

Did I tell you when I get my sixth sense working over time? When ever I prayed, and I would be desperately begging god to keep all well, safe and sound, (I do that), some silent voice picks up from the boundaries of my brain and conveys me the message…earlier on I was excited, but later on as I have told you, it was too much of a burden, power means responsibility also , you see…so I gave god that nice scolding and was glad that I did not get those sixth sense warnings for a few days, and then they were back to ma again…

Today morning, I was told that I would meet someone good. So I was brimming with expectation, you see. Someone would march into this parched life of mine…had my oracle class in the morning, my ‘fantabulous’ teacher left us early, so I thought, this is just because I can meet the special person, me and a friend went shopping. I looked around the mall for the special person…grr…him….he was nowhere to be found. Met a school friend gossiping away with his girl friend (who is also my junior), felt like an old woman there. Definitely this was not the special Him, I said to myself. Tried to keep my spirits high. The whole day went by, did orkut somewhat, saw the remaining part of godfather three(I am watching movies in bits and pieces), loved Al Pacino all the more. Now Al Pacino (well no doubt he is just too good) couldn’t be the special person. Made 3 to 4 new chat friends. None of them were the special Him I am talking about.

So what? I called it quits with my sixth sense. Nothing doing, how come it was wronged? Anyways, never mind, there always is a next time. Mum surprised me, “get ready, we gotta be going to some party” . now what would I think---same good old colleagues of mum—same good old namasteys, hi’s and how’r u’s, n which year are you in? how’s the food in the hostel…why r you going thin? Is the study pressure killing you, my child? Blah blah! Well I was all set for it, was also kinda looking forward to dad getting back home soon so that we would be able to make it the party before almost everyone leaves(this is something we are used to). And waise bhi, I would be going to a reception after a good one year or so…

Went there, and met a girl--jewel. A reflection of what I was, four years ago. Though she has better eyes than me. :P just fell for her. When wavelengths match, what else can a loner like me ask for? It’s the soul’s counterpart we are all craving for at the end of the day.

So kids, what do we conclude? We wind up today with the conclusion that my sixth sense stands strong and sturdy and tall (can’t omit that word, everything tall is so good—I hope you are getting my point :P) my special someone for the day was not a Him but a Her…oh! woteva!

to that couple

I never realized that greenish brown was such worthy a color, before I saw her wearing a shirt of that color. It suits that kinda figure, you see, slender, yet not bony. And somewhat err..tall…

And look at the guy beside her; he is thin, bony to be exact! My college senior, I guess…(it’s the ‘senior’ part I am guessing because he is not my batch mate, and with all the knowledge he is stuffed up with about oracle, I am sure he is a final year-comp science, he can’t be a sophomore ).

I see them –this couple-(that’s the only thing I do) at my oracle classes these days. Love birds. Also we have one fantabulous teacher there who must have promised some dying girl friend that he would never ever smile; one of the following posts will be about him.

Coming back to the girl, she does not hang those long earrings, coz she hasn’t pierced her ears yet! Must be around 20, so when is she gonna get them done? Shabby hair, I mean not like the one they show in the adds, its curly, short cropped, just a tiny pony…and look at the way she sits, one leg on another, her chappals neatly on the floor. All set give the corporate world an earthquake the day she steps into it! Her voice exudes confidence…

The guy! Not that pleasant a face to look at, a thin one at that. Wears those strange caption wala Tshirts. Has some kind of an attitude! And is full of knowledge as I have told you.

And they are boyfriend and girlfriend. ‘Coz they sit together. Could be siblings, could be pals. But I wouldn’t let them become anything else but a couple.. They are a couple, because I want them to be one. I like the way they talk, both of them slightly bent over their notebooks. As if those two chairs made up their home. Most probably, they help each other clear doubts…the girl goes demure, the moment she faces her guy.

Once, in the lab class, there was just 1 seat left, and both of them chose to go to another less privileged lab( you never get the teacher there)…because they could not bear being separated…

I will keep posting such crap, to vent the frustrated female locked up in my body!
Kudos to my observation skills!

'night'----A story

It had been raining all day. But that couldn’t stop the traffic bustling at break neck speed in the dead of the night. It had been like any other night, every other night. And there she slept on the couch, in their living room. Curled up like a puppy in the cold, her nightdress shining in the dim light of the TV. That is the way it is every night, she would wait, to have dinner with him. And every night, she would doze off in the couch itself, with the TV glaring at her, loud and bright...On some nights, she would sleepwalk to her room (yeah, it was always ‘her’ room and ‘his’ room, they wanted to live like individuals even after tying that knot, a year ago.); and sometimes she would spent the whole night on that couch itself.

Today, she had decided that she would talk to him, yeah, discuss their relationship that was going down the drain. See, you need to put in voluntary efforts to keep your marriage running. Our good old love, doesn’t work these days. But even then she couldn’t put up till he came back, tired like a child, she was.

He tip-toed into the house, saw her fast asleep. The clock said 5 minutes to 1. 1 in the morning!

He didn’t want to wake his wife up. He felt pity for her; she was sleeping like an orphan! He picked her up and took her to ‘her’ room. Lay her on the bed, covered her with the quilt, and was about to leave, when he heard her, “When did you come?” he turned back to find a sleepy girl, rubbing the sleep off her eyes, and trying to get out of bed. “I will just warm up your dinner, gimme a minute. You go and change.” “No, not hungry, gotta catch some sleep…, goodnight!”

This was another part of the daily story, he would dine out, forgetting that someone could be waiting at home, to sit across the dining table together once in a month and revive the dying emotion they called love.

‘This was too much! She was waiting to talk! And look at the way this man, was avoiding it all.’ she thought. “You aren’t hungry, but I am.”, she yelled back at him. Taken aback by this kind of an unexpected outburst from his always-so-calm-n-composed-better half, he walked back to her, sat beside her. “Why haven’t you eaten anything? When did I ask you to wait?” he whispered.

‘This man deserves to be kicked out of my heart, look at his guts, man, I am hungry, get me food first, you ungrateful idiot!’ she thought.
He read her mind, ‘There, she is fuming, the pressure that had been building for months, whistles off tonight.’ “Wait a sec, sweetheart, I will get you the stuff in a minute!”

‘Sweetheart? My foot! I am too old for you flirtatious tricks my dear husband! I am your wife, I know you only too well!’ today, she would give him a piece of her mind. Years ago, in college, the way things worked, when they were friends, friends too shy of each other. She had always loved him. Was unaware of his feelings though. She took the utmost amount of care to see that he wouldn’t get to know of her undying love and crap! A girl should never tear her heart open. She had her mind all set, to do away with him as another silly yet serious crush, she was so sure, he wouldn’t reciprocate. But one day, it took him a truckload of guts to put aside his ego and tell her that he wanted her, as a pre-requisite for his life ahead! Too much in love, to wait and listen to the rebuke of wailing parents, they married despite the differences that arose…And here they were, in this two bedroom apartment crammed up in some collapsing metro in India, with jobs in MNCs, drawing decent salaries, and not in love. The ‘Workaholic-moneyed’ !

He returned with the stuff..grr..dinner! Placed it on her lap, as she kept staring into his eyes, as her eyes shone with tears. Once upon a time, he had fallen for these eyes! Unbelievable! He tried to enliven a sleeping sentiment in his heart, tried to feel their love. But to no avail. “Do I cook so awful, that you have to eat out every other night?” He kept mum. Stoically put a morsel in her mouth. Chewing it slowly, she asked him again “Why? Answer me? Do you even remember when we had talked properly, the last time? I leave this place, before you are up, and you come back to find me asleep. Is this the life we had promised each other?” Tears rolled down her eyes. He kept feeding her. “What’s wrong with us? Why can’t we live to be happy? Content? Like my parents do? I will be moving out in a month or two, and god knows when will we get to live together again, why are you doing this to me?”

And when he was done with feeding this unruly girl, he moved out into the kitchen. She wiped her tears, and called out his name, one last time, loud enough to wake the neighbors, clinching her fist like an irritated kid.

After five minutes, when he returned to her room to switch off the lights, he found her already dreaming. Food had quietened the hungry kid. He noticed the way she had changed in a year, she had grown a lot thinner, he remembered the way she died to shed weight earlier. Girls generally gain after marriage; his wife had contradicted all theories. This city and pollution had given her than tan also. She was no gorgeous beauty men run after, but her eyes! Man! When she closed them, they looked like two leaves put to sleep. And in the midst of all this lovelesness , it dawned on him that he still couldn’t do without this pre-requisite for his life…

And he hurried to bed. He wouldn’t budge from a bed before an eight-hour sleep he knew!


She witnessed beauty, today morning…
Her face, her own face…
Shining with oil, and the sweat of the last night’s warmth
Tip of her nose glowing like gold
Eyes, almond like…
Smeared with the kajal gone astray
Eyeballs lost deep in thought, remembrance…
resembling two pools of black!
Hair, coiled, long…
Twirled up, covering the sides of the face…
Tresses caressing her lips…
Lips, thirsty, dried up, yet inviting
She licked them up and kept staring at the mirror…
While someone gazed out of it…incessantly
Sleepy, yet beautiful…
A face lustrous, with the remnants of dreams of the night bygone…
Blushing with all the love showered!


Once is enough in love,
One touch,
One kiss,
One whisper,
One confession,
One meeting, when I can see eyefuls of you,
And cage you for the rest of my life
It’s unfortunates like me,
Who can’t afford it more than once

Because, every time you talk to me,
It gives me fuel for a few more days,
Fuel to live…and replenishes the fire
That’s glowing the walls of my heart,
With my love for you…

Every moment I spend with you,
Is one that I want to live another hundred times over…

And i can't let my eyes meet yours,
I am afraid you would see the love pouring out...

Love-that flows in my blood…
Love – that’s unsaid,
I could never open my mouth to say ‘I love you’,
Because every time I breathed,
It was ‘I love you,’ left unsaid,
Only you didn’t pay heed
An idiot that you are

on death

Death is a tragedy that diminishes everything else. Every time I witness death from close quarters, my life should become dearer to me. I should count my blessings, thank god for how safe and cozy I am, away from the hold of death.

But the fact is, none of us can be far from death. Death is more close to us, than we are to ourselves. It can happen anytime, anywhere. And it is the suddenness and the brutality of death that hurts. The inability to digest the fact that someone would never get up again, someone would become a non-existent entity from now on, that someone would remain just a memory, makes me feel sick.

And when you can mourn death properly? You can feel a lump in your throat, a weight on your heart, tears frozen in the corners of your eyes, and yet not cry. The state of shock doesn’t leave you, and you cannot grieve, the sorrow thrusts the walls of your heart, shouting to be shown a way out, but you can’t help it. You can’t cry, so you cage the pain within. It’s more than horrible…

You beg for someone who could help you cry, who could help you release the anguish…and let the shock not overshadow the profound sense of loss that death creates, and the void that it leaves behind…


today, my blog completes a year...exactly 365 days ago, i had grown emotional enough to pen down a poem for someone special. i published it. no one read it. and then after, i blogged about everything i felt strongly for,...n lemme tell you, blogging feels good...doesn't it?

couch tomato

May be it’s a little more than unusual, but I don’t watch the television. Not at all. The latest craze, talent hunt contests, make me feel sick. It is a childhood syndrome, I can’t take in failure. (Doesn’t in any way imply that I don’t fail. In fact failing is a part of life now.) I can’t see people loosing it out there on the dais, weeping and crying back to their home towns. It makes me shaky. Makes me go loose. I can’t take the sorrow of the fellow who gets thrown out of the contest. It goes beyond my comprehension, why the judges behave the way they do, ruthless, indecorous and cold. Don’t they understand that the person, who loses, wants their consolation more than the rebuke? Who doesn’t want to win? Every one does. I can’t help but loathe the way Anu Malik behaved with the contestants, in the sole episode of Indian idol which my pals (who are nuts about the series) dragged me watch. Uncivilized, “ape”ly, I would say.

And about winners, people who ascend all the way to the throne, I get a complex from them. Why? Because, I don’t sing well. I cant shake a leg like them. Because I can’t drive the crowd crazy like them. Why can’t I? So I hate this talent hunt stuff altogether. You know what, earlier on in life, I hated looking up the papers, the next day after results of any examination were declared. That vision of spectacled, toppers ogling at me from that newsprint made me sick. And tutorials claiming responsibility for their success! Sick man!

And I am sure non of you watch the Saas-bahu crap. Do you? So wouldn’t talk about them here. But one thingie. A tiny nothing about me. Loved kutumb when I was a kid. I loved the way they hated their way to love. You fight the person, you know you can’t live without. I had day dreams about Pratham and Gauri. What could be better, they are a real life man n wife now!

News channels? Mushrooming around! How many of them actually do make sense? Every shitty new thing is always breaking news. Damn! Don’t make an issue out of everything. But yeah, I love sting operations, no matter whose privacy they intrude. I remember having confessed about wanting to become a journalist, much to the pleasure of the fellow who happened to take my interview some day. And one day, I will become one, after I have truck loads of money, for the rest of my life. Yeah! I know I can’t kick out all the filth from this country, at least as a journalist; I can expose some of the dirt.

What do I like about the invention of Baird? I like sensible documentaries, by sensible people. And at times, staring at nature(well almost my first love…grr…), via NGC. And watching a serial called Arohan…every time it’s shown and re-shown on DD National, another serial, in which they hated their way to love :P.

sea and me

These waves, they have seen everything. Man crawling on his knees. And wars and bloodshed. Even Asoka and Akbar. And dissolved the ashes of the dead, who chose to be cremated beside the sea. They have been beating these sands for an unknown number of centuries. God knows how many. Zillions of windy evenings like this one. Creamy tides follow one another. Waves, each wave, coming closer to me than the previous, violent and virile. And distant lights, of trawlers, light up the horizon. And I try to feel the fear, of the fisherman, at deep sea, playing life and death with these dark waters. And the agony of the wife waiting, at home. The full moon, which was looking like some white ball floating in mid sea, rises, higher and higher. And there is this different kind of a pleasure that I derive by letting the wind play with my hair, and entangle it as much as it can.

I am staring into the dark, deeper and deeper onto myself. Gradually I forget, where I am, the purpose, the grudges I have about life… there are no lights and the entire beach is dark. Thanks to the municipality that has not paid up the bills of the electricity department.

And then I look at this couple. Yeah, they look like one. The girl, is in a all new red sari, with golden zari work on it.(Imagine! Tucking that entire garment up to your knees and kicking around in the water) And she is all drenched in gold. (lemme show all I have to the sea…) and they are holding hands and talking. Or may be just looking at each other.

And then there are these vendors, selling everything you would like to commemorate your trip with. God knows how much they earn. Many of them know English too. But then there are kids amongst them also. (Street urchins being my specialty).

And I can’t imagine, staying here, for more than a day. Wonder why my parents want to live here, when they are old. The air has more salt than I can bear, and the heat! The sweat! The breeze that blows 24*7 doesn’t suffice.

Staring and staring, my mind moves on to the more complex things in life…

tiny nothings///

so deep are the scars on my heart, that i can't give joy a tight hug when he is right at my door, mumbling ," knock knock! take me in!". and i think happiness is but an illusion. a mirage that will give dissapear into the sands the moment i show him the way into my heart.