why religion is a good thing

Funny thing happened. Subah se had had nothing to eat. So, first I went from library to eat Hare Krishna meal, hoping there would still be some food left. There is a guy who peddles in with a cart full of hot food for us every day at 1. In no time a queue is formed and students from all over the world join in and thank the Lord for such hot free food in such cold and costly London. They serve world's most bland but hot (I emphasize) and holistic platter. Today it was plain white rice and lentil soup in a disposable white paper plate with a disposable little spoon. I felt nice that I was from the land of Hare Krishna, boiled white rice and lentils. Basking thus in what was a reminder of my Hindu origins, I walked on towards Houghton Street to get me some coffee.

As I was counting change (60pence) while also keenly admiring my image in the glass-door of a building, I saw a stall which read "Christian Union". My gaze soon fell on to their banner on which was wrote in big bold letters "FREE coffee/ tea!". Though reluctant at first (as I usually get when I see free stuff), I realised I needed that coffee bad. Not to mention I had not brought me any cash today except the 60p. And so there I went towards the stall, suddenly feeling as Christian as it could get. Got me a cuppa Christian coffee with a Christian cookie to boot, while discussing with the girl at the stall my experience of attending mid-night mass on Christmas eve at St Pauls and suppressing my giggle on their event titled "Which sort of people go to heaven". 

Moral of the Story: God does come to the rescue of His hungry children. No, really. Thank the Lord for today.

Moral of the Story II: The more the God, the more the religions, the more the free food and coffee, the more the people survive, the better it gets.

Spinning an honest yarn

"The more despicable she found her life, the more romantic her poetry became. Perhaps it was a way to soothe her wretched nerves. Perhaps a need to express even in the absence of a muse.

In obscure words she asked him if she would forget him. This was even before she had really embraced him. And fool that he was he said, "yes", not knowing what he said. But she loved fools. Always had. Fools to her were those who thought not of saving themselves when listening to their hearts, fools were those who plunged into the unknown and the known alike and more often than not broke their limbs. But then there is a swagger in their limp. Like crazy men they went about with 'ideas' on their minds and therefore fools to her were rare and fools to her were courageous. He was not a fool - this she had known since long. But this act of his was that of a fool and she smiled at his foolness. No, not foolishness. She had no patience with the foolish, the dumb and the slow."

---

Perhaps you can only like music and love words or love music and only like words. You cannot love both. If one has to be a lover of these two ideas at all - one is either born to be an ardent lover of music or an ardent lover of words. But not both. You'd know the risk in both. You'd know how both can mislead. But you'd have made that choice, subconsciously perhaps, or it may be that your choice would have already chosen you.

---

"These days my mind closes itself at my will. This never happened before. But the more people I meet with who I cannot Talk, the more closure I get. I come down a ladder or two from who I am and then simply 'deceive'"

---

What if you meet your extra-marital lover even before you've met the one you'd marry? 

---

There are times when I can observe the orbit of my own growth (or degeneration, as it were). At times I am removed from the scene. I hate to use the word, but yes,  futuristically. I haven't yet reached there, but I know which binds will be broken and which I would stop caring about. Already a lot seems unfastened. I sit on the edge of my seat and watch.

Unfinished..

The window to my life

It was open so long

the passion that you fanned 

burned cinders for long. 

Winds gushed in 

and storms moved out

But nothing changed

And nothing will

At least Someone's having a laugh!

It's funny what's happening. It really is. It really really is funny. I'm sure God is up there somewhere rolling on the floor laughing looking at me.

More to come. A lot to come.

Later.

Es muss sein!

"Muss es sein? Es muss sein! Es muss sein!"

I know now. Either I am crazy or there is something to the ideas that float in my mind. There is something concerete albeit hidden beneath a thousand apprehensions. There is that world. A world of convictions, ideas, metaphor, belief. More often than not I have questioned myself. I have been someone who hasn't seen much and was thus afraid of being the only one out there, looking for approval, seeking a fellowship of thought. I don't feel it today. And I'm silently elated. As elated as I felt lonesome last night. I might relapse. But when I do, I will think of this place.

tonight i shall write

tonight I shall write
and even though there is nothing no more

I shall write and believe you hear it

tonight I shall word

the letters I had wrote, and

the poems for you

that I forced rhyme!

and when I do that

I shall relive your touch

on my slender shoulder

bare, ever since you caressed it

tonight I shall write of those long lost evenings,

of your fingers running though the strands in my hair

and of my nights spent by your chest,

even as you were to be years away

there are, there were, and there will be morrows

more and more till I ache no more

but tonight I shall not restrain

tonight I shall go weak

and not be afraid

not be afraid

(i recall now that there is an uncanny similarity with neruda in the first line.. but i must mention that the same came as a surprise to me. the reason why i am still posting.)

aise hi, mann hai

Aaj mann hai thora aaram se jeene ka

khud ko samjhaye bina.

Idhar udhar ke shagufton mein uljhaye bina.

ulti-pulti baaton ki patti paraye bina.

Aaj mann hai

bebaak ho jaane ka

kagaz par bekhauf syahi ki tarah

surkh neele rang mein mil jane ka

likhte mitaate - likhte mitaate 

aur kagaz muchore bina.

Thori garam chai, thori dhoop

thori thand, aur thand mein kohra

ek neend ki jhapki, ek chatai!

aur ek balcony ka bhi mann hai.

Aaj mann hai 

thora pyar kia jaye

nahi, dher saara kiya jaye

beparvah! beinthaan! ishq mein para jaye

Aur mann hai thora

pare rehne ka rajai ke andar

ghum fir ke vapas aane ka

ulti-pulti baaton ki 

fir koi patti parane ka!

fly by

I wait by the window

hoping a thought would fly by

perhaps perch at the sill 

for a moment or two 

before flapping its wings again

-taking to the air

taking me with it.

Or it'd knock on my doors,

I might even answer not

For I avoid all who come

with things to think and do.

But as the knocking persists

I'd run to comply

And open the door wide-

Lest it should wander off

leaving me to myself

la jerigonza

I wish I had someone to talk to tonight. Yes I am lonely, but more than that, it is important that I sleep. Sleep and meals are things I am not taking seriously and the results are showing with a loss of appetite and insomniac tendencies..one leading to the other.. leaves me

I will blabber tonight. Lullaby me to sleep it would.

I miss mom. Her smile. Her innocence. Her hands. My head. A pat.

I miss talking to her. Now when she looks at me over skype - I can see she misses me yet would never utter a single word to that effect. It is settled between us that I am the crying one - so how can she go weak in front of me. But you know, I am not the one to cry because I am the child, I am the one to cry because I act like her mom around her :).. and so like one of those tragic mellow moms - I cry seeing her. :)

I also notice a twinkle in her eye, a bit of apology for not having had the time to come online, but I know she is proud of me. And I know she knows not why. Perhaps that's the very reason, that she understands not and as is our wont, she admires that what she can't easily understand. :) Oh, she is so beautiful my mom is. SO beautiful when she smiles. And then on skype I would show off my long hair, "look mamma look! so long!" Wanna put my arms around her neck, on tiptoes (she's taller, you see)..and not let go till she wrestles herself out of my hold.

Oh this time is not right. I should have slept three times by now. I should have.

I have started a new 'venture' here on the blog. It's the Word Post. I would keep coming back to it and post words. Not sentences. Not meanings. Nothing you may even endeavour to comprehend.

I would see how it goes about. Too often with me these days words happen. But neither does a story, nor does a relation of it. It's just an experiment to capture those words. Nothing brilliant about it, just that overtime it might reveal a trajectory worth putting on record.

And as it turns out - I am more awake than I was before I tried on this 'lullabying me to sleep' idea. But now at least I am a happy insomniac.

:) muah

Word Post

Regret Alone Night Reclaim
Vulnerable FAIR Purple Smiles
Silence Home Reveal Reflection

a crumpled rose

"As if my blood is lying spilled somewhere..away from me.. But I know it is mine. I carry it in my conscience as it carries me in its essence. I may never see it again but its mine, mine! Pragmatic me lashes out again. The lover retaliates. Why does reality even happen when the 'unreal' could be so beautiful? Even in our silence we seem to have shared. Even in our pact not to talk is something dear to me. For even in that we partake in something. You would love to get drenched in me. I'll make sure you do."

"You are! Oh  you are! Is it just me or can others sense it too? Can't say I know you. Can't say if it would last. Might just all wither away like the most beautiful flower. But thank you for showing to me that it exists. However small the moment..however frail to even last. It was reality you know..when it was most not. And this is but a smidgen of it. All of it. A pretension. A pretension and a shadow. It is not you who lacks. It's me. It's not your years that came in between. It's mine! Oh can't you see? Won't you see? Won't you agree with me? Let me go for now. And do let me come back once. Let me grow up a bit. Let me fail first. This cruel age should know. I will wait to fail. I will pray to fail. So I may know. So I may know."

This piece might not matter now or might not be understood or worse still - might just be. For more reasons than one. It's like a crumpled red rose perhaps..tucked in between old rusty yellow leaves of an old hardbound. While placing it back on the stack from where I pulled it out, I thought I would just as well post the contents.

These words here are most precious to me.