Sitting with a friend,
staring at the blues,
looking at life
from the bandstand view.
Looking for a chance
to sing and dance,
looking for that one moment
to sweep me away.
Feeling like a tiny piece
in the big puzzle of life
and blowing with the wind
of many directions.
Feeling stuck on a treadmill,
I run without covering the distance.
Waiting on you to come by
so I can follow you up there.
Show me the way
when right doesn’t feel quite right.
Show me the way,
when I lose the spirit to fight.
Show me the way
when night disguises as day.
Show me the way
When the blacks turn to grey.
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Squirrel
Lying safe in a bark hole,
using my poems the way
a squirrel would its tail.
Making do with plant buds
of small, simple words in time of spring.
And feeding on someone else’s ideas when faced with hunger.
For then I won’t have to migrate to keep alive
because I love to scurry around familiar territory,
discovering every new tree for a new story
and every piece of ground for nuts.
And I wish, so wish that on rainy mornings
I could snuggle in my own fur
of books, movies, music and tea, and
never have to leave my drey for inspiration.
June 28, 2009
using my poems the way
a squirrel would its tail.
Making do with plant buds
of small, simple words in time of spring.
And feeding on someone else’s ideas when faced with hunger.
For then I won’t have to migrate to keep alive
because I love to scurry around familiar territory,
discovering every new tree for a new story
and every piece of ground for nuts.
And I wish, so wish that on rainy mornings
I could snuggle in my own fur
of books, movies, music and tea, and
never have to leave my drey for inspiration.
June 28, 2009
Arrangement
I place a piece of banana
Beside a drop of honey
Repeat the lines a hundred times.
With every count I wonder
Is this really me?
I pose for pictures
In the evening light
Trying to smile my true smile
I try red,
pink, brown and white
In the end I wonder
If all this is even right.
I word my qualifications,
My likes and my dislikes
As if hunting for a job,
And hiring at the same time.
Stating my good points
Leaving the bad ones out,
I attempt to sell myself,
Sell out to the business of life.
Why would I want to be with someone
Who’d want me not for me
But for what I reveal of myself
And what I promise to compromise?
But I go on
because everyone else is!
And you’ve got to fall in line.
You’ve got to be happy
With the norms of an ideal life.
Desperate, with every passing month—
As if you marry or you die!
Don’t wear your glasses
Click one in a salwar,
Smile and be decent,
Don’t tell you drink
And don’t reveal all.
Oh, you’re short, look for a 5.5 footer ,
Oh, you are old, try for someone older.
Oh, you are dark, forget the fair guy,
Oh, and you’re a fool
Fooling yourself.
But I’m running late
I need to meet the next candidate
At a coffee shop or for dinner.
And seek a connection born out of the mind
But wonder if he’s going beyond
the clothes, the salary,
And adjusting with family.
Then I meet the next one.
And question myself,
“Why am I even here?”
Then I meet another
Who has no idea what he’s looking for.
Then another who asks,
“What are your hobbies?”
And then I run, run fast
And hide away this feeling
Of utter despair
at being forced to find love
Over an arrangement—
An arrangement of convenience.
Beside a drop of honey
Repeat the lines a hundred times.
With every count I wonder
Is this really me?
I pose for pictures
In the evening light
Trying to smile my true smile
I try red,
pink, brown and white
In the end I wonder
If all this is even right.
I word my qualifications,
My likes and my dislikes
As if hunting for a job,
And hiring at the same time.
Stating my good points
Leaving the bad ones out,
I attempt to sell myself,
Sell out to the business of life.
Why would I want to be with someone
Who’d want me not for me
But for what I reveal of myself
And what I promise to compromise?
But I go on
because everyone else is!
And you’ve got to fall in line.
You’ve got to be happy
With the norms of an ideal life.
Desperate, with every passing month—
As if you marry or you die!
Don’t wear your glasses
Click one in a salwar,
Smile and be decent,
Don’t tell you drink
And don’t reveal all.
Oh, you’re short, look for a 5.5 footer ,
Oh, you are old, try for someone older.
Oh, you are dark, forget the fair guy,
Oh, and you’re a fool
Fooling yourself.
But I’m running late
I need to meet the next candidate
At a coffee shop or for dinner.
And seek a connection born out of the mind
But wonder if he’s going beyond
the clothes, the salary,
And adjusting with family.
Then I meet the next one.
And question myself,
“Why am I even here?”
Then I meet another
Who has no idea what he’s looking for.
Then another who asks,
“What are your hobbies?”
And then I run, run fast
And hide away this feeling
Of utter despair
at being forced to find love
Over an arrangement—
An arrangement of convenience.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
worms
Little worms creep,
crawling out from tiny holes
an apology for a snake.
Longing for that one drop
they cross over
the death-like stupor to wake.
But the gaint world, unable to fathom
your lilliputian hopes
pushes you to the brink
of a shameless escape.
crawling out from tiny holes
an apology for a snake.
Longing for that one drop
they cross over
the death-like stupor to wake.
But the gaint world, unable to fathom
your lilliputian hopes
pushes you to the brink
of a shameless escape.
Language
I try to mumble
but my broken tongue and paralysed lips
fail.
Can every emotion find its way
into the world of words?
A world with confused grammar,
punctuated sentences
and organised paragraphs—
from one chaotic world into another.
Tangled up in the “rules”,
I try but the wild insane overflow
of feelings speaks in tongues
alien to you
and powerless against the wall
you build around your senses.
I wish you could fly you blind
strands with stray dreams
and build a nest inside
the heart of the one
who can’t understand
the language of love.
but my broken tongue and paralysed lips
fail.
Can every emotion find its way
into the world of words?
A world with confused grammar,
punctuated sentences
and organised paragraphs—
from one chaotic world into another.
Tangled up in the “rules”,
I try but the wild insane overflow
of feelings speaks in tongues
alien to you
and powerless against the wall
you build around your senses.
I wish you could fly you blind
strands with stray dreams
and build a nest inside
the heart of the one
who can’t understand
the language of love.
Fool
Singing the song of a romantic hero
struck by the cupid of a mushy film,
he imagined of love and its expression
under a European countryside sun
in the company of a hundred Russian dancers
jumping in joy like insane lovers.
He transported himself to a snow-clad mountain
with his skimpily-clad shivering woman.
Then to dancing and grooving in the rain,
in the city’s deserted tiny lanes
his sexy siren drenched, moving in a wet sari.
He fell into the joy of a cliched love story.
He spread out his arms
full with flamboyant charm
and mouthed lines to invisible music.
He gyrated and threw some pelvic thrusts
to shaking hips and heaving busts.
He let go of his same old boring life
with his regular so-not-starlike wife.
And went back to slow motion running
(Lalalaa..la..laa..lalalaa..la..laa)
His wife’s hair flying in winds unseen—
a fool in love with the silver screen.
struck by the cupid of a mushy film,
he imagined of love and its expression
under a European countryside sun
in the company of a hundred Russian dancers
jumping in joy like insane lovers.
He transported himself to a snow-clad mountain
with his skimpily-clad shivering woman.
Then to dancing and grooving in the rain,
in the city’s deserted tiny lanes
his sexy siren drenched, moving in a wet sari.
He fell into the joy of a cliched love story.
He spread out his arms
full with flamboyant charm
and mouthed lines to invisible music.
He gyrated and threw some pelvic thrusts
to shaking hips and heaving busts.
He let go of his same old boring life
with his regular so-not-starlike wife.
And went back to slow motion running
(Lalalaa..la..laa..lalalaa..la..laa)
His wife’s hair flying in winds unseen—
a fool in love with the silver screen.
I said go
I said go.
But you could have stayed.
You knew the midnight moon
Was calling you to wrap
Your light around my night
Untill the ray of a new day.
But you left
Leaving my hand in hesitation
And kissing me good night
Yet another time.
One more incomplete moment
added to the hundred
Moons you saw from my curtained window
Lying in my arms.
And still you leave me behind,
Once again, to count my blessings,
Wishing you’d know
That everytime I said go,
I meant please don’t.
But you could have stayed.
You knew the midnight moon
Was calling you to wrap
Your light around my night
Untill the ray of a new day.
But you left
Leaving my hand in hesitation
And kissing me good night
Yet another time.
One more incomplete moment
added to the hundred
Moons you saw from my curtained window
Lying in my arms.
And still you leave me behind,
Once again, to count my blessings,
Wishing you’d know
That everytime I said go,
I meant please don’t.
Friday, June 05, 2009
Celebritisation
The beauty queen-
she married a tree.
It's regressive, but freaky!
That hunk
in a yellow trunk
is sleeping around
I smell a scandal!
Here's what I really love to read,
the thing that makes for headlines-
Reality TV show wannabe,
the pin-up boy's infidelity,
the item girl's fashionable tights,
Married star's bedroom fights,
A gay director's sleeping partners
A fatso actress's slimming orders,
A smoking star's self-glorification,
An infidel socialite's clarification.
I, the voyeur,
the lover
of the rich and famous.
I'm obsessed
with aspiration;
giving into
celebritisation.
she married a tree.
It's regressive, but freaky!
That hunk
in a yellow trunk
is sleeping around
I smell a scandal!
Here's what I really love to read,
the thing that makes for headlines-
Reality TV show wannabe,
the pin-up boy's infidelity,
the item girl's fashionable tights,
Married star's bedroom fights,
A gay director's sleeping partners
A fatso actress's slimming orders,
A smoking star's self-glorification,
An infidel socialite's clarification.
I, the voyeur,
the lover
of the rich and famous.
I'm obsessed
with aspiration;
giving into
celebritisation.
Monday, June 01, 2009
CRY
Indu Anto,
16,
poisoned.
"I have failed."
Abraham Biggs,
19,
drug overdose,
"I hate myself and I hate living."
B Govardhan,
18,
cut wrist.
"I was ragged and humiliated"
Rucha,
19,
hangs,
"No one loves me."
Pressure,
disillusionment,
false idea of joy.
Depression,
impatience,
loss of love.
Fear,
and the loss of love for life
cry of teenage suicide.
The soul cries
the cry for help.
16,
poisoned.
"I have failed."
Abraham Biggs,
19,
drug overdose,
"I hate myself and I hate living."
B Govardhan,
18,
cut wrist.
"I was ragged and humiliated"
Rucha,
19,
hangs,
"No one loves me."
Pressure,
disillusionment,
false idea of joy.
Depression,
impatience,
loss of love.
Fear,
and the loss of love for life
cry of teenage suicide.
The soul cries
the cry for help.
Saturday, May 30, 2009
Loss of innocence
The crazy times
have taken the children head on.
O' you children of the modern depression!
Where do you go when your little feet
are tangled up in chains of illusion?
Satyam, you were taken away
at an age where you failed
to understand the value of your life
by those who were too young to know
that children were meant to play.
Instead they played with fire
with money and greed,
Where are the little joys?
They were shot in the head
by the child's new toys-
the gun.
And your picture flashes
in front of a million faces
who switch to another set of moving images
in a matter of minutes.
Spare a thought for the killing of prudence
Shed a tear for the loss of innocence.
have taken the children head on.
O' you children of the modern depression!
Where do you go when your little feet
are tangled up in chains of illusion?
Satyam, you were taken away
at an age where you failed
to understand the value of your life
by those who were too young to know
that children were meant to play.
Instead they played with fire
with money and greed,
Where are the little joys?
They were shot in the head
by the child's new toys-
the gun.
And your picture flashes
in front of a million faces
who switch to another set of moving images
in a matter of minutes.
Spare a thought for the killing of prudence
Shed a tear for the loss of innocence.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Shoot that man
He's filed an obscenity case
or a PIL against every free face.
From Rakhi to Mallika-
he's got them all bound.
An unhappy soul, set him free.
Let's get him down people.
Just shoot that man.
He's beaten up the "loose women".
Demands them to be slaves.
A control freak on the "loose".
Let's get him down people.
Just shoot that man.
He takes the shutters down-
public demonstrations and burnt cards.
He's a violent lunatic on the prowl.
Let's get him down people.
Just shoot that man.
or a PIL against every free face.
From Rakhi to Mallika-
he's got them all bound.
An unhappy soul, set him free.
Let's get him down people.
Just shoot that man.
He's beaten up the "loose women".
Demands them to be slaves.
A control freak on the "loose".
Let's get him down people.
Just shoot that man.
He takes the shutters down-
public demonstrations and burnt cards.
He's a violent lunatic on the prowl.
Let's get him down people.
Just shoot that man.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
lines
Creating,
lines
where there are none.
Drawing,
boundaries
to simplify
what the mind
cannot comprehend.
Forms and shapes
from the confines
of the horizon,
paint
an illusion
of a mind
that fears
the boundless.
And the mindless
chains
dissuade
the mind of
a free fall.
lines
where there are none.
Drawing,
boundaries
to simplify
what the mind
cannot comprehend.
Forms and shapes
from the confines
of the horizon,
paint
an illusion
of a mind
that fears
the boundless.
And the mindless
chains
dissuade
the mind of
a free fall.
Tuesday, May 05, 2009
For love’s sake
Don’t sleep,
don’t wake.
Lie there somewhere in the middle
Don’t use the word ‘make love’
For love’s sake.
Don’t ruin
the fun
of not going all the way.
Don’t give it a name
What’s undone is done.
Don’t think
of us as lovers.
For love can get all fake
So make me yours for this night.
Be my friend for love’s sake.
don’t wake.
Lie there somewhere in the middle
Don’t use the word ‘make love’
For love’s sake.
Don’t ruin
the fun
of not going all the way.
Don’t give it a name
What’s undone is done.
Don’t think
of us as lovers.
For love can get all fake
So make me yours for this night.
Be my friend for love’s sake.
Everything's not alright
Everything is alright
And everything that’s not will be
And you and I will live
in hope forever.
Yawn…go to hell eternity!
Bumpy roads, patchy lanes,
shooting dogs
And dying rats.
It’s all the same.
Another day of hope
Another day of attacks.
Born and gone in a whiff,
thrown in a shit hole at the door-step
Of a minister’s house.
Then where is it that you live hope?
In the government?
Or a poor boy’s grouse?
It takes ten to prove,
ten years to convict,
Ten days to escape.
Ten seconds for you and I
to kill but we die,
and justice is raped.
Everything’s not alright
Neither outside nor inside.
For we live by the same old thought
And fall prey to same old casteist plot,
smelling of the same old inaction,
mistrusting the power of dot.
And everything that’s not will be
And you and I will live
in hope forever.
Yawn…go to hell eternity!
Bumpy roads, patchy lanes,
shooting dogs
And dying rats.
It’s all the same.
Another day of hope
Another day of attacks.
Born and gone in a whiff,
thrown in a shit hole at the door-step
Of a minister’s house.
Then where is it that you live hope?
In the government?
Or a poor boy’s grouse?
It takes ten to prove,
ten years to convict,
Ten days to escape.
Ten seconds for you and I
to kill but we die,
and justice is raped.
Everything’s not alright
Neither outside nor inside.
For we live by the same old thought
And fall prey to same old casteist plot,
smelling of the same old inaction,
mistrusting the power of dot.
Friday, May 01, 2009
Desperate
Desperate, foolish, distraught.
I lean on someone who leans on me.
I have seen you across that line before,
at the point where light sends back a reflection.
I lean on someone who leans on me.
I have seen you across that line before,
at the point where light sends back a reflection.
Utopia
From the space between two wishes of my mind comes the dire need to make ends meet.
The ends- one of the real and one from the realm of the extraordinary.
The space sucks me into my own desperate world of Utopia.
The ends- one of the real and one from the realm of the extraordinary.
The space sucks me into my own desperate world of Utopia.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
27
I fear not joining the 27s
There's this thing
about approaching the line
between a groupie
and a rock star.
I wish I was more
Of the tattered spirit
hanging on the tattered jeans
of Cobain,
eligible to join the 27 club.
If only I was wasted
on dope,
and rose high
on the thin white lines
running in the air.
If only I got low
on booze,
woke up every morning
to the sweet smell
of beer.
If only I got laid
more than I bargained for
and woke up every morning
to the breath of
new skin.
If only the spotlight
was so bright
that I'd be blinded
And the noise
of the crowds so shrill
I'd break.
If only I lived so fast
that I'd cover the ground
even before reaching
the finishing line.
If only there'd be so much
to live for
that I'd die grabbing it.
If only I'd be caught
napping on the border
If only I'd be caught
in the crossfire-
of darkness and light.
Then I'd be a Morisson
Or a Hendrix or a Joplin.
For
real rockers don't die early
They only cross the line.
There's this thing
about approaching the line
between a groupie
and a rock star.
I wish I was more
Of the tattered spirit
hanging on the tattered jeans
of Cobain,
eligible to join the 27 club.
If only I was wasted
on dope,
and rose high
on the thin white lines
running in the air.
If only I got low
on booze,
woke up every morning
to the sweet smell
of beer.
If only I got laid
more than I bargained for
and woke up every morning
to the breath of
new skin.
If only the spotlight
was so bright
that I'd be blinded
And the noise
of the crowds so shrill
I'd break.
If only I lived so fast
that I'd cover the ground
even before reaching
the finishing line.
If only there'd be so much
to live for
that I'd die grabbing it.
If only I'd be caught
napping on the border
If only I'd be caught
in the crossfire-
of darkness and light.
Then I'd be a Morisson
Or a Hendrix or a Joplin.
For
real rockers don't die early
They only cross the line.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
On the road again
It's a crowded space.
Single out my mind.
Give me a few more seconds
to get myself out of the grind.
Get me some good old-fashioned cash
to load my cannons
and take off
to the dream I'm dying to live.
But the time's running out
and the road's long and winding.
And the destination I need
is the road I take.
For thats where I belong
- on the road;
waiting to be back home
on the road again.
Friday, January 16, 2009
music funda
There is always something to learn and a lot to live for. I met the legendary Pandit Jasraj today. It was a humbling experience really. He asked me not to interview him if I haven't listened to his latest album. He asked me come back later, whenever I am free but only after I have experienced the music. "Don't treat it just like an assignment. Experience it. Experience and knowledge will always make you richer," he said.
As journos sometimes you become so mechanical. You just keep doing stories after stories. I do try to enjoy the music and the musicians I interview. But it's great to have some soul in what I write.
As journos sometimes you become so mechanical. You just keep doing stories after stories. I do try to enjoy the music and the musicians I interview. But it's great to have some soul in what I write.
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