A tagged post

A friend recently blogged on Ameen Sayani. When I read this post, my trail of thoughts travelled to Binaca Geetmala, the most popular radio show in Indian history.

Then I remembered listening to radio stations at night because my mom was a big fan of music and songs. She primarily listened to old Malayalam songs but once in a while listened to Hindi songs as well.

I remember Ravi Mama coming home one evening, during those chawlwallah days, with new toothpastes that were out in the market then: Binaca and Cibaca. Light blue toothpastes. For the first time, I brushed my teeth with toothpastes that came in a color other than white!

A little boy back then, I had no idea about market wars. Binaca and Cibaca had threatened Colgate’s leadership and monopoly in the market back then. Now, we see Binaca and Cibaca written on cheap plastic toothbrushes that come free with Dabur Red toothpaste.

Such is life.

End of a dialogue

A child (looking out of a window): Wow! Look! The breeze is so cool; the raindrops spraying on my face is so refreshing.

An elder (peering into the morning newspaper): Close the window; the furniture will be spoilt.

The catalyst

Muse.

The very word is amusing. It lives in its own existence. A muse is to an artist what a catalyst is to a chemical reaction. Basically, what God is to creation or life. As Osho says: The catalyst does not cause any reaction or creation though without its presence nothing can be created; nothing happens.

The relationship between a muse and her artist is the most indefinable relationship.

My desktop wallpaper

An ash-clad face with simmering piercing eyes. Sun-dried and wind-beaten long tresses. Agni surrounds him. He stares at me from my desktop.

Who is he? What is his journey?

All I know is that he was at the last Kumbh Mela (where some photographer captured his fiery gaze). Maybe that is all we need to know about him.

kahin toh

Kahaan kho gayi mere ghar kii chaabi;
Kahaan khoye maine meri raah.

Kahaan jaaon ab taala dhoondne;
Chaabi se pehle taala jo kho gaya tha... Kabhi.

khoyi khoyi sii zindagi

Kuch kahin dur khoyi khoyi sii zindagi;
Kuch khayalaton mein basi sii zindagi.

Ab bahaaron mein baahar aayi sii zindagi;
Hasraton aur shararaton mein zindagi
Ab jeene lagi hain
Kuch kahin aur khoyi khoyi sii zindagi.

Random musings of workless days

I love reading what I had written earlier... just to not lose touch with my past. It is only through what I write that I can be in touch with my past. Be an observer and a witness.

I keep staring at my cell phone every once in a while: maybe I am expecting a call. From the birthdaydigitswallah number. Maybe I expect to make a call. To the birthdaydigitswallah number. But I am avoiding the calling… don’t know how. Don’t know why.

The decision is already made, I guess. – Dated: February 15, 2010

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Why do people take offence for subtle acts of kindness?

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Ab aisa lagta hain kii kuch karna nahin;
Dur kidhar jhaake rehna nahin.
Zindagi ne khud bulaya hain;
Ab jeene se pehle maut kii tamanna nahin.

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Existentialism is the only permanent philosophy in life; it never deserts you no matter what path you take.

My woman

My woman...

My goddess knows no fear:
She is Shakti standing on Shiva
Balancing her grace; balancing the world.

For if she falls, he shall be no more.
No more life; no more death.
No more what we know no more.

Unkept promises

The earth is scorched.
It is awaiting clouds that bring rain. Dark clouds are passing by. They are teasing the earth; they descend, hang low, and show promise of rain.
Maybe, they have no more vapours. Maybe, they are meant to rain elsewhere.

Sighs

A thousand sighs replace a thousand and eight names.
Untold, unspoken, unseen sighs. What should ‘I’ do?

Nothing more. No more.