twilight at salk lake

picking up the new book I picked up from the neo-hubs of literature -
Oxford or Crossroads take your pick.
drawing the chair to the front of my unused and algae-rich garage,
i hung up my Sunday feet on the gaps between my gate.
i was getting ready to start the book but held back to look around
the place we refer to as neighborhood.
there was none, not men, not women, not beasts, not ghosts, no one
who was looking at me or being looked at

the trees, green or otherwise were laded with fruits and flowers
but no one to throw stones at them,
to be chased away by sticks and abuses.
the big, splendid uninviting gates were locked to their hinges fast
no one swaying them with one foot from end to end,
drowning the noise of the heeds of elders.
the roads were clean or neat or barren for that matter,
no chocolate wrappers thrown carelessly,
no skeletons of kulfi-sticks devoid of flesh
no one was peeping out of the windows with some GK book in hand
waiting for some signal, to start the great escape,
escaping the watchful eyes of parents.

stray maids walk along the roads in bright colourful sarees,
always absorbed in thoughts of some other place
their own homes of course.
cars and taxis come and go frequently here, briefly disturbing the silence
with the noise of their horns
and that of rubber against concrete
TVs make constant noises too, undistinguished though:
always on, inside these houses,
makes one think who is watched by whom.
workmen gently hammering away at a distance, break my thought
angry at first, i then wondered
what is doing the same to us all the time?

a mid-winter evenings ramblings

it was not totally planned for that day...
the usual sloth and dejection that gets into you after initial failures to find sounding boards to your ideas had crept into me, after my room mates & colleagues (one's company in a city is so restricted to these two sets of people) gave a lukewarm (would be an understatement) response to the idea of watching this play 'A mid summer night's dream ' which was to be staged at Kala Mandir, Kolkata by a renowned troupe (renowned because the ticket prices were 200,300 & 500 bucks).
I was trying to wither away the excitement under the pretext of other engagements and lack of company, being tired of going to theaters alone or blatantly disinterested company.
Then, 45 minutes before the show I am on a yellow taxi (a Kolkata special, will discuss in length in some other posting) and speeding off (between the omnipresent traffic jams i.e) to our destination with my colleague S. What made us act fast was not very clear, an escape from the office (adjectives are superfluous), poking of our theatrical chemicals, just to do something or something else. Tickets were not confirmed and we had to get them at the venue, so we still were backing "sloth" to prevent other theater enthusiasts to arrive at the counter before us. We did manage to get the 300 wala ticket, after little hesitation and common sense prevailing. 500 ones were sold out and S had merit in the point that a movie ticket costs you 200 !!

Queue - you don't mind them especially if there is a beautiful girl wearing a long black skirt, equally matching black blouse with low neckline, long open hair, little extra lip-stick who resembles someone you don't remember, stands just behind you. You think, hesitate, frame the sentences in your mind, decide upon a good opening line, make yourself audible and re-check to place her face again on the google search of your memory, say 'yes' to yourself and turn to her musting courage; she is on the phone. That kills half of your budding enthusiasm, and the rest when she says " Where are you, I have got the tickets, am waiting in the queue now" and they do appear. There were others as well, few foreigners, college kids, young-at-heart old people, cool moms with not-so-cool daughters, tag-wearing, mobile-kissing and over-polite loud volunteers. I paced up and down, hoping to see some confusing sign of 'GENTS'. Then the queue started to move and I joined S back to our not-so coveted place now.
We got in, then there was this scramble for spaces and guess who we almost got into a trouble with, one of the pals of that girl, anyway life is not always fair. We settled for a seat behind them. The play started late, one of the things about most of east india, late is for granted. People don't mind it at all. Things are planned that way. If you want to meet someone at 6, fix up a time around 5, call them up at 5.10 to say something that was not supposed to happen, happened or something that was supposed to happen did not happen, reschedule the whole thing at 5.30 and finally reach the venue at 5.57, yell at the other person and meet him/her at 6.10. Happys Meetings!!
The seats were very comfortable, couple of sliding in & outs later I was settled.
What unfolded in the next 2 and half hours was an absolute visual delight. I could not add audio to the previous sentence because the play was multi-lingual and I did not understand the dialogues in two of the six languages that the actors used (thankfully the rest four were Hindi, English, Marathi and Bengali). When the lights were off and the play started the first actor spoke an accented English (we later realized he was speaking Sinhalese) references to shit, god, someone called damn, etc were common among the audience. The next few actors spoke in English, much to the delight and nerves of the audience. I was left wondering who the audience were, Indians mostly ?
I would truncate the writing for now.....If I continue to write that would be just trying to close the topic rather than writing for authenticity of expression, being true to your observations and feelings. So thats it for now , this incomplete piece will be taken forward...
the bottom line - GO WATCH THE PLAY |A mid summer night's dream| Directed by Tim Supple| presented by British Council & Relienace Comm| - wherever you can and almost whatever it takes...IT IS WORTH IT!!!

different will

Gratitude in the eyes
of those differently willed,
The touch of acceptance
obtained with patience,
The smile mingled plainly
with the tears on the cheek,
tell a story.

Of courage to face each day
that arrives like a hangman,
ready to perform.
Of hope, despair,
their relation and co-existence.
Of a will preserved with determination
like a pearl,
amidst the portent sea.

demons of the self

now don't just turn your face away,
i want to see it - the wry smile or smirk
let me see it clearly without fear or mistake,
dont leave the work unfinished, fight undecided.

i ain't loosing till i can stand up.
till there is blood flowing in my veins,
till i see the filth that you all are,
till you kill me or i crush you to death.

demons of my self "bring it on"
populate the army you have built,
buttress the fortress of inevitability
that you have inflicted on me for long.

why do you hide in those dark alleys?
it's my head that is bloody,
it's my spirit that you almost fed upon,
it's my courage that is shot.

my faith that you have threatened,
blanket of self-doubt you have wrapped me in
and thrown me to the sharks of fear,
a victory you can smell of, seize it or be seized.

let's fight once more, my demons
like all other times before this.
the enemy is familiar, so are his moves
strengths weaknesses all known to you.

stealth may be your best weapon
when my guards are low,
my mind slothful and spirit adrift,
but those were hardly any fights

surrender of senses, may be absolute,
so may be of belief and enthusiasm,
but thats not all that is there to a man;
spirit and hope are yet standing their ground

let's have it out at the battlefield you pick
pits, downhill valleys, graveyards or else
ready or else, right or wrong, just or unjust
I don't give a damn, but fight I must !!