You see a bud…
You watch them bloom
Into what we call flowers.
You see a seed…
You watch it grow
Into what we call weeds.
Yet, you are sad
To see flowers fall
And weeds grow.
[Still trying to sing (or hum) in the same tune as "It's a Wonderful World" by Louis Armstrong!]
Friday, May 12, 2006
Tuesday, May 09, 2006
Aise hii...
Bas yuhi soch raha tha:
- What happens to the words after I erase them off a poem for better effect? Do they vibrate in a void? Do they still exist in an other world?
- How does it feel to make a movie for the first time? Is the experience the same as writing a poem for the first time?
- Why does the river flow? Why does it have to let go? Why does it never look back, except in nostalgia? Why is the river never guilty?
- What is spirituality? Is it an addiction just like drugs? Does it free you? Does it bond you? Doesn’t it make you feel what others tell you that you should feel? Do we have a chance to feel original and genuine?
- Is yoga a heightened sense of awareness? Are these things over-hyped?
- If you were given a life sentence but you always watched the ocean outside your prison window, were you free?
- What happens to the boy who is left orphaned, like a tear on his cheek, because of tidal waves or an earthquake? Does he see an ocean in his teardrop?
- What happens to the millions of sperms who never unite with the egg? Are they reborn? Do they face judgment day?
- What would it be like to hold discussions with Zoroaster, Confucius, Socrates, Khalil Gibran, Rumi, Guru Nanak, Pablo Neruda, Ayn Rand, Sheldon B Kopp, Paulo Coelho, Mahatma Gandhi, and Van Gogh all in a room?
- What if you could communicate to any of the departed greats through any medium?
- Why is water stronger than stone?
- What would it be like to listen to the Christ, the Buddha, and Krishna having a conversation?
- Whom/ on what does Lord Shiva meditate on?
Thursday, April 06, 2006
Children... let them be
“We have brought you up; we know what is best for you!” Sounds familiar?
This is our parents’ mantra who have been where none of us have been before!
They know everything: whom we should marry, who is our actual best friend, when should we do something, when should we eat, what we should eat…
They want their children to follow the herd because they themselves had followed the herd! But they want their children to be the best!
They want their children to forever study something or the other because they never did it.
They never asked questions but always expect answers.
They failed many times but expect us to pass all the time.
They pass on all their expectations and dreams on to their children; they think that these are relay batons.
But life does not work so easy.
Children are gifted to parents, not born from them.
They are gods; parents make them humans.
They love making mistakes. They love to love.
They don’t know war from peace.
They are not behind life chasing some dreams which may not be fulfilled.
They live for the moment.
They know no fear.
They are Buddhas. They are in a constant state of flux.
They are flowers, not roots…
Like flowers, let them seek the sun, let them burn, let them pollinate, let them spread their own fragrance, let them wither, fall, and be born elsewhere.
Let them travel, let them be buried, let them float on rivers… let them be the source of another tree.
I will be a parent soon (in three years, I guess :-))… Let me be a child again.
This is our parents’ mantra who have been where none of us have been before!
They know everything: whom we should marry, who is our actual best friend, when should we do something, when should we eat, what we should eat…
They want their children to follow the herd because they themselves had followed the herd! But they want their children to be the best!
They want their children to forever study something or the other because they never did it.
They never asked questions but always expect answers.
They failed many times but expect us to pass all the time.
They pass on all their expectations and dreams on to their children; they think that these are relay batons.
But life does not work so easy.
Children are gifted to parents, not born from them.
They are gods; parents make them humans.
They love making mistakes. They love to love.
They don’t know war from peace.
They are not behind life chasing some dreams which may not be fulfilled.
They live for the moment.
They know no fear.
They are Buddhas. They are in a constant state of flux.
They are flowers, not roots…
Like flowers, let them seek the sun, let them burn, let them pollinate, let them spread their own fragrance, let them wither, fall, and be born elsewhere.
Let them travel, let them be buried, let them float on rivers… let them be the source of another tree.
I will be a parent soon (in three years, I guess :-))… Let me be a child again.
Monday, March 13, 2006
To TVMalai
Early morning on Saturday, I headed out to Thiruvannamalai (TVMalai). In a PP bus for just Rs.55 one way!
This was my first trip alone to TVMalai.
It rained and drizzled all the way. I reached at 11.30am and took a rickshaw straight from the bus-stand to Guru’s temple. I was there just in time for the last aarti before he closed the nada.
It felt really good meeting him after such a long time. He had not changed a bit. He had slimmed down a bit… and I missed his long hair!
The innocent, charming smile, the happy-to-see-you look was there as usual.
I told him about all the recent developments (how she left me… how she told me that she can be my teacher and me her student; the idea of redefining the relationship… etc. etc.)
He laughed at that! He was shocked. He said, “I knew you both were in love, but I never disclosed that I knew it!” We smiled. We communicated in broken Tamil, English, Malayalam, a bit of body and sign language too! It was awesome communicating like that… and we understood each other so clearly…
Then, we had lunch together.
We talked and lot of truths came to light. He said that at 32 (NOT 45) I’ll attain something… that will bring me fame and wealth and stuff like that. He said I’ll attain new levels of spirituality and meditation… but said that I’ll never become a sanyasi, as I did not have that yogam.
I specifically asked him whether it is 45 or 32… and he said 32! I asked will I have a so called affinity towards women till the age of 45, and he said, “no nothing like that!”
I realized that I had been misinformed earlier.
I asked him about the rituals I have to perform at Tiruchendur to remove the sarpa dosham. I noted the tasks in the order to be performed.
Then, I asked him to check my horoscope with respect to Leena’s horoscope, the woman who loves me (in spite of me being me). He did all the calculations… it turned out fine. “All 12 planets match,” he said!
He said, “I have just three years more; 2009 death. Then, I will take rebirth!” I was stunned. Something hit me. He continued, “I received signal from my guru… before that I have to conduct satsangs…”
We agreed, “Tatasthu! May the will of God prevail.”
Then, he asked me about Leena. Our story.
I told him:
“Leena waited for me because she knew that I’ll come back to her. Love, like God, works in strange ways… I don’t know whether I deserve her.
I went back to her not because I was afraid to start my life afresh but because I feel that everything happens for a reason. I crushed my ego and asked her whether she still loves me… and she said, “Come back to me.”
That was the most magnanimous gesture I have ever experienced in life and I could not say no. I knew I had to answer a lot of people and many would never understand… (because they have never been where you have been).”
He understood in his own silent way.
He talked to Leena over the phone and cleared all her hypothetical doubts and queries. They bonded over the phone, and he invited her to come and meet him personally. Such a nice man… he treats all equally.
He shares all his knowledge to all who seek. He was about to make Sri Chakra yantra for a person who had come to meet him. That guy belonged to his native place, Srirangam! He was staying in TVMalai for the past eight months and met him only on Saturday! Strange are the ways that God weaves his magic!
While my guru was busy with the horoscope calculations… he introduced me to Thyagu… Thyagu had worked as an officer with HSBC in Malaysia. He left everything and came to India seeking spirituality, peace, and oneness with nature.
Thyagu and I talked on world economics (I did not know I could talk about economics till then!), and nature, and philosophy. He asked me a queer question, “Do I look like a sadhu to you?” I did not answer.
Thyagu showed me a poem he had translated from my guru’s works:
Shiva is the divine father,
Devi is the divine mother,
Adi Shankara is the divine teacher,
And you and I are the divine child.
Wow!
I left feeling happy, relieved, and peaceful. My guru once cleared my doubts for me. He showed me the path and the truth. Oh, I was such a fool!
Anyways, like a zen master once said: “To be what you are, you sometimes have to be what you are not.”
I am sorry because in that process I hurt you, baby. And I feel so foolish… that I will never be able to forgive myself.
Before parting, I said, “Life is our only teacher!” “Avaladaan” he exclaimed!
This was my first trip alone to TVMalai.
It rained and drizzled all the way. I reached at 11.30am and took a rickshaw straight from the bus-stand to Guru’s temple. I was there just in time for the last aarti before he closed the nada.
It felt really good meeting him after such a long time. He had not changed a bit. He had slimmed down a bit… and I missed his long hair!
The innocent, charming smile, the happy-to-see-you look was there as usual.
I told him about all the recent developments (how she left me… how she told me that she can be my teacher and me her student; the idea of redefining the relationship… etc. etc.)
He laughed at that! He was shocked. He said, “I knew you both were in love, but I never disclosed that I knew it!” We smiled. We communicated in broken Tamil, English, Malayalam, a bit of body and sign language too! It was awesome communicating like that… and we understood each other so clearly…
Then, we had lunch together.
We talked and lot of truths came to light. He said that at 32 (NOT 45) I’ll attain something… that will bring me fame and wealth and stuff like that. He said I’ll attain new levels of spirituality and meditation… but said that I’ll never become a sanyasi, as I did not have that yogam.
I specifically asked him whether it is 45 or 32… and he said 32! I asked will I have a so called affinity towards women till the age of 45, and he said, “no nothing like that!”
I realized that I had been misinformed earlier.
I asked him about the rituals I have to perform at Tiruchendur to remove the sarpa dosham. I noted the tasks in the order to be performed.
Then, I asked him to check my horoscope with respect to Leena’s horoscope, the woman who loves me (in spite of me being me). He did all the calculations… it turned out fine. “All 12 planets match,” he said!
He said, “I have just three years more; 2009 death. Then, I will take rebirth!” I was stunned. Something hit me. He continued, “I received signal from my guru… before that I have to conduct satsangs…”
We agreed, “Tatasthu! May the will of God prevail.”
Then, he asked me about Leena. Our story.
I told him:
“Leena waited for me because she knew that I’ll come back to her. Love, like God, works in strange ways… I don’t know whether I deserve her.
I went back to her not because I was afraid to start my life afresh but because I feel that everything happens for a reason. I crushed my ego and asked her whether she still loves me… and she said, “Come back to me.”
That was the most magnanimous gesture I have ever experienced in life and I could not say no. I knew I had to answer a lot of people and many would never understand… (because they have never been where you have been).”
He understood in his own silent way.
He talked to Leena over the phone and cleared all her hypothetical doubts and queries. They bonded over the phone, and he invited her to come and meet him personally. Such a nice man… he treats all equally.
He shares all his knowledge to all who seek. He was about to make Sri Chakra yantra for a person who had come to meet him. That guy belonged to his native place, Srirangam! He was staying in TVMalai for the past eight months and met him only on Saturday! Strange are the ways that God weaves his magic!
While my guru was busy with the horoscope calculations… he introduced me to Thyagu… Thyagu had worked as an officer with HSBC in Malaysia. He left everything and came to India seeking spirituality, peace, and oneness with nature.
Thyagu and I talked on world economics (I did not know I could talk about economics till then!), and nature, and philosophy. He asked me a queer question, “Do I look like a sadhu to you?” I did not answer.
Thyagu showed me a poem he had translated from my guru’s works:
Shiva is the divine father,
Devi is the divine mother,
Adi Shankara is the divine teacher,
And you and I are the divine child.
Wow!
I left feeling happy, relieved, and peaceful. My guru once cleared my doubts for me. He showed me the path and the truth. Oh, I was such a fool!
Anyways, like a zen master once said: “To be what you are, you sometimes have to be what you are not.”
I am sorry because in that process I hurt you, baby. And I feel so foolish… that I will never be able to forgive myself.
Before parting, I said, “Life is our only teacher!” “Avaladaan” he exclaimed!
Tuesday, March 07, 2006
Opposites
Every religious truth I have seen and experienced talks to me about union of:
• the male and the female.
• the light and the non-light.
• the positive and the negative.
The oneness of being is all that the yin and the yang depicts. The shiva linga engulfed in the yoni pitha shows the same. When two opposing forces meet and become one, the entire universe dances.
All of physics and chemistry shows how elements react with one another to become stable. To become a new identity altogether each losing its own properties in the process. To take on an entirely new set of properties.
What happens then: equilibrium or disequilibrium?
I don’t know.
But, I guess, it’s something like twilight. The skies express themselves in the most beautiful colors during twilight. I think it is rasa laya. Beautiful, incredible, unintelligible: full of friction, full of sweet poison, the love that consumes, the intercourse that never ends, two souls entwining to become one. Interplay of passion and desire.
One dies, loses oneself, and is born in the other’s self. Extension of self is what is depicted by shiva-parvati in the form of ardhanarishwara. Perfect process of ‘you’ in ‘me’; ‘me’ in ‘you’. Results in ‘us’.
Not just sexually, but in every aspect of life.
My first enlightenment was when I realized that sex, along with sexual intercourse, is the most intimate form of love, spirituality, and oneness that we can experience. Which is why it has since then been a very pure, holy, and sacred ritual for me.
A ritual to worship the Shakti in you. For you to worship the Shiva in me. Because without us, they don’t exist. They live inside us. Dying to become one with each other through us.
Through us, they experience themselves.
My linga and your yoni are the real windows to our souls. Our souls are our only connection to Godliness and consciousness.
- Abhilash Warrier.
Dated: 9.6.2005.
• the male and the female.
• the light and the non-light.
• the positive and the negative.
The oneness of being is all that the yin and the yang depicts. The shiva linga engulfed in the yoni pitha shows the same. When two opposing forces meet and become one, the entire universe dances.
All of physics and chemistry shows how elements react with one another to become stable. To become a new identity altogether each losing its own properties in the process. To take on an entirely new set of properties.
What happens then: equilibrium or disequilibrium?
I don’t know.
But, I guess, it’s something like twilight. The skies express themselves in the most beautiful colors during twilight. I think it is rasa laya. Beautiful, incredible, unintelligible: full of friction, full of sweet poison, the love that consumes, the intercourse that never ends, two souls entwining to become one. Interplay of passion and desire.
One dies, loses oneself, and is born in the other’s self. Extension of self is what is depicted by shiva-parvati in the form of ardhanarishwara. Perfect process of ‘you’ in ‘me’; ‘me’ in ‘you’. Results in ‘us’.
Not just sexually, but in every aspect of life.
My first enlightenment was when I realized that sex, along with sexual intercourse, is the most intimate form of love, spirituality, and oneness that we can experience. Which is why it has since then been a very pure, holy, and sacred ritual for me.
A ritual to worship the Shakti in you. For you to worship the Shiva in me. Because without us, they don’t exist. They live inside us. Dying to become one with each other through us.
Through us, they experience themselves.
My linga and your yoni are the real windows to our souls. Our souls are our only connection to Godliness and consciousness.
- Abhilash Warrier.
Dated: 9.6.2005.
Moments...
Chingari koi bhadke toh saawan use bhujaye...
Saawan joh agan lagaye, use kaun bhujaye?
Koi yeh kaise bataaye ki woh tanha kyon hain
Woh joh apna tha wohi aur kisika kyon hain
Yehi duniya hain toh aakhir aisi yeh duniya kyon hain
Yehi hota hain toh aakhir yehi hota kyun hain?
Just heard these awesome, sublime lines from two awesome, sublime love stories... Amar Prem and Arth.
Sung by Kishore Kumar and Jagjit Singh, respectively... these songs now evoke a deeper understanding in me. I feel better when I listen to these songs... I did not sing along. I purely listened.
Life sometimes presents such beautiful moments. Moments, which you would choose to live or observe as a bystander?
In my life, I had never been a bystander. I had always lived each and every moment.
Now, I choose to be a bystander and:
look how life weaves its own pattern.
watch where my feet plant its footprints.
listen to my favorite songs, and not sing along.
ponder about poetry rather than read it.
seek inside rather than outside.
For the first time, I know what I want from life. I know what I want.
I was taken on a ride. My roller coaster ride is over.
I know I am free. Because I hold no grudges, no guilt, and no pity.
I realize that I should love what deserves love. I realize that I should believe in my own truth. For there is no other truth than my life, which is my only teacher.
Saawan joh agan lagaye, use kaun bhujaye?
Koi yeh kaise bataaye ki woh tanha kyon hain
Woh joh apna tha wohi aur kisika kyon hain
Yehi duniya hain toh aakhir aisi yeh duniya kyon hain
Yehi hota hain toh aakhir yehi hota kyun hain?
Just heard these awesome, sublime lines from two awesome, sublime love stories... Amar Prem and Arth.
Sung by Kishore Kumar and Jagjit Singh, respectively... these songs now evoke a deeper understanding in me. I feel better when I listen to these songs... I did not sing along. I purely listened.
Life sometimes presents such beautiful moments. Moments, which you would choose to live or observe as a bystander?
In my life, I had never been a bystander. I had always lived each and every moment.
Now, I choose to be a bystander and:
look how life weaves its own pattern.
watch where my feet plant its footprints.
listen to my favorite songs, and not sing along.
ponder about poetry rather than read it.
seek inside rather than outside.
For the first time, I know what I want from life. I know what I want.
I was taken on a ride. My roller coaster ride is over.
I know I am free. Because I hold no grudges, no guilt, and no pity.
I realize that I should love what deserves love. I realize that I should believe in my own truth. For there is no other truth than my life, which is my only teacher.
Scary
Four days. Three deaths.
Who’s next? You ask.
Dad’s in the hospital.
Breathing heavy just like you.
Mom’s crying.
No one to call. To talk to.
You feel like the day you were born. All alone.
All your nightmares seem a heartbeat away.
Life goes on without a reason.
You pull. It pushes.
You cry and it laughs back.
Who’s out there?
Just a void.
Just a reflection.
Another apparition.
Another vision.
More voices.
Another black, dull evening passes by.
After a warm, humid afternoon.
Just like the day before.
You wait.
Nothing happens.
Nothing to say. Nothing no more.
You need money. Never wanted it before.
It doesn’t get scarier than this.
- Abhilash Warrier.
Dated: 23.2.2004.
Who’s next? You ask.
Dad’s in the hospital.
Breathing heavy just like you.
Mom’s crying.
No one to call. To talk to.
You feel like the day you were born. All alone.
All your nightmares seem a heartbeat away.
Life goes on without a reason.
You pull. It pushes.
You cry and it laughs back.
Who’s out there?
Just a void.
Just a reflection.
Another apparition.
Another vision.
More voices.
Another black, dull evening passes by.
After a warm, humid afternoon.
Just like the day before.
You wait.
Nothing happens.
Nothing to say. Nothing no more.
You need money. Never wanted it before.
It doesn’t get scarier than this.
- Abhilash Warrier.
Dated: 23.2.2004.
Friday, March 03, 2006
A bridge fell down
Once upon a time,
I used to cross a bridge across
the railway tracks.
People from all walks of life
Crossed it to get somewhere, I think.
Lovers hatched conspiracies,
Friends met and laughed,
Some times, I think, the
Whole world crossed this bridge.
Across space and time,
It weathered,
Cracked and swung.
On the bridge.
A drunkard
Shouts at his wife.
A mother beats her child
On his way from his maddening school.
Another woman
Slaps a lecher.
I see this everyday.
Like a live motion picture.
This bridge was my home.
Today, the bridge fell down.
Taking down all:
The drunkard, the mother,
And the kid on his way back from school.
All, except me.
Why did the bridge fall down?
Why in the middle of the day?
Why not in the dead of the night?
Anyways, where is the nearest bridge?
My next home?
Dated: 13.05.2004.
- Abhilash Warrier.
I used to cross a bridge across
the railway tracks.
People from all walks of life
Crossed it to get somewhere, I think.
Lovers hatched conspiracies,
Friends met and laughed,
Some times, I think, the
Whole world crossed this bridge.
Across space and time,
It weathered,
Cracked and swung.
On the bridge.
A drunkard
Shouts at his wife.
A mother beats her child
On his way from his maddening school.
Another woman
Slaps a lecher.
I see this everyday.
Like a live motion picture.
This bridge was my home.
Today, the bridge fell down.
Taking down all:
The drunkard, the mother,
And the kid on his way back from school.
All, except me.
Why did the bridge fall down?
Why in the middle of the day?
Why not in the dead of the night?
Anyways, where is the nearest bridge?
My next home?
Dated: 13.05.2004.
- Abhilash Warrier.
Thursday, February 23, 2006
Reborn
But...
(blankness)
(emptiness)
(shock)
Why...
What happened?...
But you said...
You thought...
You had all this so clear in your mind... I was your man. You had decided that I was not just a temptation, but your man for life...
Then, what happened?
Ananthakrishnan, our guru, had said that both of us would receive enlightenment when we are 37 and 32, respectively... I remember everything clearly.
You left me... it took me a long while to refocus. To realign my life. To rethink and digest the fact that you will never be a part of my life anymore.
It was a lovely time. It was a lovely dream in your words... shattered. But the river flows on... it moves ahead. Gathering strength from the slope of life... through the plains...
ranga, I will meet you when you come back to Chennai... but she won't be with me. Vandana, it's great meeting you again. Please do comment on my blog like you always wanted to.
Life, here I come back to reality from a shattered, awakening, soul-wrenching dream. But I am glad to be alive. But, I know a part of me has died... and
Now, I am reborn: stronger and wiser. I remember, life is my only teacher.
(blankness)
(emptiness)
(shock)
Why...
What happened?...
But you said...
You thought...
You had all this so clear in your mind... I was your man. You had decided that I was not just a temptation, but your man for life...
Then, what happened?
Ananthakrishnan, our guru, had said that both of us would receive enlightenment when we are 37 and 32, respectively... I remember everything clearly.
You left me... it took me a long while to refocus. To realign my life. To rethink and digest the fact that you will never be a part of my life anymore.
It was a lovely time. It was a lovely dream in your words... shattered. But the river flows on... it moves ahead. Gathering strength from the slope of life... through the plains...
ranga, I will meet you when you come back to Chennai... but she won't be with me. Vandana, it's great meeting you again. Please do comment on my blog like you always wanted to.
Life, here I come back to reality from a shattered, awakening, soul-wrenching dream. But I am glad to be alive. But, I know a part of me has died... and
Now, I am reborn: stronger and wiser. I remember, life is my only teacher.
Saturday, December 31, 2005
Goodbye, 2005
Another year went past. But a very defining and colorful year it was.
I found my painter girl, whom I had always searched for. More importantly, she loved me back.
It was a difficult year in terms of choices that I had to make. I quit Brainvisa, the best organisation I ever worked in. I had a calling to quit it is the best explanation possible.
It was a difficult year because I worked six months for the worst organisation ever, Sify.
It was a difficult year in terms of people I had to leave. I never looked back...
It was a year of guilt for many a night I felt guilty... and sad. Why do some have to suffer for others?
The year redefined my vision about my religion. Vedic chants and mantras made a deep impact. I made somebody my guru for the first time in life. I met Ananta Krishnan at Thiruvannamalai, and he has given me great insights and moments of truth ever since.
I think, secretly, he knows everything I know about my self and my life. And even my secrets!
More important than my guru and my gods is my goddess. My goddess has been misunderstood and abused ever since she took birth on earth. None realised that she was a god-child.
She shall be guarded well, henceforth. I will be her warrior of light.
I came to Dubai mid-2005 (though I think 2006 will see me gone soon). I regret coming here, but I now look at this as a great lesson in life. It made me value people who I missed.
All said and done, I had a hand in helping somebody's life becoming meaningful. More sublime and more purposeful. That somebody is me. That somebody is her.
I see my dreams and visions possible now. My goddess gives me the strength and courage to make things possible.
2005 will be remembered as the Year of the Koochie. And so will all years henceforth be remembered as.
I found my painter girl, whom I had always searched for. More importantly, she loved me back.
It was a difficult year in terms of choices that I had to make. I quit Brainvisa, the best organisation I ever worked in. I had a calling to quit it is the best explanation possible.
It was a difficult year because I worked six months for the worst organisation ever, Sify.
It was a difficult year in terms of people I had to leave. I never looked back...
It was a year of guilt for many a night I felt guilty... and sad. Why do some have to suffer for others?
The year redefined my vision about my religion. Vedic chants and mantras made a deep impact. I made somebody my guru for the first time in life. I met Ananta Krishnan at Thiruvannamalai, and he has given me great insights and moments of truth ever since.
I think, secretly, he knows everything I know about my self and my life. And even my secrets!
More important than my guru and my gods is my goddess. My goddess has been misunderstood and abused ever since she took birth on earth. None realised that she was a god-child.
She shall be guarded well, henceforth. I will be her warrior of light.
I came to Dubai mid-2005 (though I think 2006 will see me gone soon). I regret coming here, but I now look at this as a great lesson in life. It made me value people who I missed.
All said and done, I had a hand in helping somebody's life becoming meaningful. More sublime and more purposeful. That somebody is me. That somebody is her.
I see my dreams and visions possible now. My goddess gives me the strength and courage to make things possible.
2005 will be remembered as the Year of the Koochie. And so will all years henceforth be remembered as.
Monday, December 26, 2005
The love you dream of
Aakash loved Zena. They had nothing in common. They met only twice. She was a mother of a two-year-old son. She was married and divorced in Moscow.
Aakash was a writer brimming with stories to tell, which none wanted to hear. So he wrote his stories in a little black book.
He had met her first at a nightclub. He was with a friend of his. She was with a friend of hers. Soon, they started talking. Then, they started seeing each other.
He used to open pages of his black book and she would take out her translator. And it may take hours for her to understand a story he read out to her.
It was a matter of languages: English and Russian. They picked up sign language in the process.
Aakash never asked Zena to sleep with him. She never wanted him to sleep with her. They bonded in a way I cannot explain. She listened to his stories. She loved art. She appreciated beauty and poetry. She cried on his shoulders sometimes too for unspeakable sorrows, he guessed.
Zena a 32-year-old prostitute... She slept with a different client every night.
Aakash never understood her need for living her way of life, but he respected Zena. Because she set a price for her body, for her time, and for her effort.
And she could not be seduced by anybody.
She did not use her body or sex as an attention-grabber. No man could charm her into bed with his wily ways. He has to pay. You want sex, you pay for it...
(Many were willing to pay for it. None realised that their money was milk for the two-year-old back home.)
No man could force her into having sex when she did not want it. Moreover, she chose whom she slept with. Unlike most women whom he hated. Men who hated Zena and her kinds flocked to the easy women because they needed more excitement. More risk. More talk. They needed to boost their egos.
And because it was free. All they had to do was pay attention...
A short story of a movie concept in mind... wrote it so that I won't forget it like many forgotten others!
Aakash was a writer brimming with stories to tell, which none wanted to hear. So he wrote his stories in a little black book.
He had met her first at a nightclub. He was with a friend of his. She was with a friend of hers. Soon, they started talking. Then, they started seeing each other.
He used to open pages of his black book and she would take out her translator. And it may take hours for her to understand a story he read out to her.
It was a matter of languages: English and Russian. They picked up sign language in the process.
Aakash never asked Zena to sleep with him. She never wanted him to sleep with her. They bonded in a way I cannot explain. She listened to his stories. She loved art. She appreciated beauty and poetry. She cried on his shoulders sometimes too for unspeakable sorrows, he guessed.
Zena a 32-year-old prostitute... She slept with a different client every night.
Aakash never understood her need for living her way of life, but he respected Zena. Because she set a price for her body, for her time, and for her effort.
And she could not be seduced by anybody.
She did not use her body or sex as an attention-grabber. No man could charm her into bed with his wily ways. He has to pay. You want sex, you pay for it...
(Many were willing to pay for it. None realised that their money was milk for the two-year-old back home.)
No man could force her into having sex when she did not want it. Moreover, she chose whom she slept with. Unlike most women whom he hated. Men who hated Zena and her kinds flocked to the easy women because they needed more excitement. More risk. More talk. They needed to boost their egos.
And because it was free. All they had to do was pay attention...
A short story of a movie concept in mind... wrote it so that I won't forget it like many forgotten others!
Sunday, December 04, 2005
Amma died
Said some damn relative over the phone. He banged the phone down. He shouted, “She is no more, Trishna. Amma is no more…” Trishna was in the kitchen that day (for a change).
“Don’t worry, I am there for you. It’s only us now. I’ll take care of you,” said Trishna. “No… how could I be so blind?” said Aakash charging into the kitchen.
Next day morning…
Aakash was still asleep. He was tired. Exhausted. Death of a loved one is not easy to face. The alarm rang. It announced the beginning of another day.
He dragged himself from his bed to the bathroom. On the way, he stared at the ceiling. “Cobwebs in the corners, I need to clean this place tomorrow. I have to.”
Under the strong light of the single bulb in his bathroom, he shaved. “Hmmm… razor sharp stubble, I have got!”
A spider was spinning a new web at the corner where he had kept his soap. Whack!
“Got you, damn spider! Don’t you ever build your fucking web there…”
He turned on the shower tap. Hot water ran down his cold spine from the shower… he was feeling cold. But its only March, he thought. He closed his eyes.
He never had the guts to face flowing water. He came out drying himself; slipped into his favorite white shirt and blue jeans.
Combing his hair, he thought… “just short of being labeled a stud! But, amma said that I am the most handsome man she ever knew! And don’t worry, amma, I won’t tell dad.”
He checked keys, wallet, change, food coupons for dinner…. Well, all taken. “Let’s go. They can’t do it without me. I have to be on time.”
Went down the flight of stairs, and took a rickshaw straight to his amma’s house. He thought, “It’s been five years after I left home. I’ll be seeing her after such a long time. Wonder how she’ll look today?”
He reached his house. Lots of people were attending the function. All his uncles had flown down from abroad. His maternal uncle had specially come down from Kerala.
He walked in. Smiled at a few acquaintances. In the living room, sat his father and younger brother weeping. They were huddled together. In front of them was an earthen lamp lit. And beside it, his amma was lying as if in deep sleep.
“Amma,” he shouted. “See, I have come. I have come to meet you. Look at me. At least shout at me. Hit me. But talk…” Aakash just sat down next to his father. Nobody said a word.
The pandit came to him and whispered, “Son, we have to start the cremation. You are the elder son. Come with me. The time has come to say goodbye to her.”
Aakash stood. And did everything as told by his elders. This was the only time he never rebelled, never questioned a thing.
He had kept his promise. “Amma, rest in peace.” And he lit the pyre. He saw his amma burn.
He stood still. Till the fire had died down on the pyre. Till his heart caught fire.
He rushed back to his rented room. Undressed himself. Now, he stood naked in front of the mirror. He looked at his reflection. There were no tears. Was life so fast? He did not feel a thing. Was five years of separation so much that it broke the umbilical bond?
“I am free. For the first time, I feel free. No more worries. No more amma to take care of. Now, I can start my own life.”
He turned the shower tap. He remembered, “Amma always used to say you must always take a bath after you come from a funeral or cremation… you should put your clothes to wash…”
She was so loud. He always used to ask her to shut up. “Amma, just shut up, I want to watch a movie here.”
“Yeah, amma, I love her more than I love you. And so I am leaving home.” Those were the last words he had spoken to her. Then, he left home forever, and married Trishna… the love of his life.
The only condition Trishna had laid down was that after marriage she won’t stay with her in-laws. “Well, now at least that is taken care of forever… amma died a slow death because I left home without even a second thought,” thought Aakash.
There was no water in the tap. He burst. His tears welled up, and flowed. There was no amma anymore.
“Amma, just once, I want to tell you… I loved you more than anybody else. She is no more. She won’t come between us anymore. It’s all over finally. No more fights and hidden sighs anymore, amma… I did it. I did what I should have done a long time ago.”
He looked at the ceiling; his mother’s portrait was still smiling at him. The corner of his bathroom mirror where that spider was building a web still held an old photo of him in his mother’s arms.
He looked at the bed. On the bed, Trishna was lying in a pool of blood…
A mood piece dedicated to Sunill R Nair.
“Don’t worry, I am there for you. It’s only us now. I’ll take care of you,” said Trishna. “No… how could I be so blind?” said Aakash charging into the kitchen.
Next day morning…
Aakash was still asleep. He was tired. Exhausted. Death of a loved one is not easy to face. The alarm rang. It announced the beginning of another day.
He dragged himself from his bed to the bathroom. On the way, he stared at the ceiling. “Cobwebs in the corners, I need to clean this place tomorrow. I have to.”
Under the strong light of the single bulb in his bathroom, he shaved. “Hmmm… razor sharp stubble, I have got!”
A spider was spinning a new web at the corner where he had kept his soap. Whack!
“Got you, damn spider! Don’t you ever build your fucking web there…”
He turned on the shower tap. Hot water ran down his cold spine from the shower… he was feeling cold. But its only March, he thought. He closed his eyes.
He never had the guts to face flowing water. He came out drying himself; slipped into his favorite white shirt and blue jeans.
Combing his hair, he thought… “just short of being labeled a stud! But, amma said that I am the most handsome man she ever knew! And don’t worry, amma, I won’t tell dad.”
He checked keys, wallet, change, food coupons for dinner…. Well, all taken. “Let’s go. They can’t do it without me. I have to be on time.”
Went down the flight of stairs, and took a rickshaw straight to his amma’s house. He thought, “It’s been five years after I left home. I’ll be seeing her after such a long time. Wonder how she’ll look today?”
He reached his house. Lots of people were attending the function. All his uncles had flown down from abroad. His maternal uncle had specially come down from Kerala.
He walked in. Smiled at a few acquaintances. In the living room, sat his father and younger brother weeping. They were huddled together. In front of them was an earthen lamp lit. And beside it, his amma was lying as if in deep sleep.
“Amma,” he shouted. “See, I have come. I have come to meet you. Look at me. At least shout at me. Hit me. But talk…” Aakash just sat down next to his father. Nobody said a word.
The pandit came to him and whispered, “Son, we have to start the cremation. You are the elder son. Come with me. The time has come to say goodbye to her.”
Aakash stood. And did everything as told by his elders. This was the only time he never rebelled, never questioned a thing.
He had kept his promise. “Amma, rest in peace.” And he lit the pyre. He saw his amma burn.
He stood still. Till the fire had died down on the pyre. Till his heart caught fire.
He rushed back to his rented room. Undressed himself. Now, he stood naked in front of the mirror. He looked at his reflection. There were no tears. Was life so fast? He did not feel a thing. Was five years of separation so much that it broke the umbilical bond?
“I am free. For the first time, I feel free. No more worries. No more amma to take care of. Now, I can start my own life.”
He turned the shower tap. He remembered, “Amma always used to say you must always take a bath after you come from a funeral or cremation… you should put your clothes to wash…”
She was so loud. He always used to ask her to shut up. “Amma, just shut up, I want to watch a movie here.”
“Yeah, amma, I love her more than I love you. And so I am leaving home.” Those were the last words he had spoken to her. Then, he left home forever, and married Trishna… the love of his life.
The only condition Trishna had laid down was that after marriage she won’t stay with her in-laws. “Well, now at least that is taken care of forever… amma died a slow death because I left home without even a second thought,” thought Aakash.
There was no water in the tap. He burst. His tears welled up, and flowed. There was no amma anymore.
“Amma, just once, I want to tell you… I loved you more than anybody else. She is no more. She won’t come between us anymore. It’s all over finally. No more fights and hidden sighs anymore, amma… I did it. I did what I should have done a long time ago.”
He looked at the ceiling; his mother’s portrait was still smiling at him. The corner of his bathroom mirror where that spider was building a web still held an old photo of him in his mother’s arms.
He looked at the bed. On the bed, Trishna was lying in a pool of blood…
A mood piece dedicated to Sunill R Nair.
A kind of life
Well, it’s a kind of life that you lead in lonesome cities… LA, New York, Mumbai, Dubai…
You walk alone… and suddenly the street lights play behind you… you turn around only to realize that it is only your shadow.
You roam in malls and supermarkets looking at or picking up what others left behind.
You act penny wise and pound foolish.
You work and not an hour goes by without you reminiscing your good moments with her.
You sit hours in your small room wondering what to do, and before you know it, night has fallen. Another day has gone by.
You wake up and before you realize, you are coming back from work.
You wake up, go to work, work, eat lunch, get back from work, eat dinner, walk a little… sleep… days pass. Each day as if a mirror of the previous one.
You write:
“The corporate world’s a wheel, and all men (and women) mere cogs in the wheel.”
You start hallucinating. You start getting ideas. They disappear where they came from. Some days you eat so well, on other days, you hardly eat anything.
You fall sick to realize that nobody around will even ask whether you need water.
You are rich and then, suddenly you find yourself poor. With no money even to buy bread.
You walk to work. You walk back from work. You wonder when the work that you had set out for will be ready for you?
You walk alone… and suddenly the street lights play behind you… you turn around only to realize that it is only your shadow.
You roam in malls and supermarkets looking at or picking up what others left behind.
You act penny wise and pound foolish.
You work and not an hour goes by without you reminiscing your good moments with her.
You sit hours in your small room wondering what to do, and before you know it, night has fallen. Another day has gone by.
You wake up and before you realize, you are coming back from work.
You wake up, go to work, work, eat lunch, get back from work, eat dinner, walk a little… sleep… days pass. Each day as if a mirror of the previous one.
You write:
“The corporate world’s a wheel, and all men (and women) mere cogs in the wheel.”
You start hallucinating. You start getting ideas. They disappear where they came from. Some days you eat so well, on other days, you hardly eat anything.
You fall sick to realize that nobody around will even ask whether you need water.
You are rich and then, suddenly you find yourself poor. With no money even to buy bread.
You walk to work. You walk back from work. You wonder when the work that you had set out for will be ready for you?
The truths about love
Love is crazy because you leave people who would die for you for people who can live without you. Because you cannot live without them.
Love is unfair. Because one always expects more than the other.
Love is unbalanced. Because one always loves more than the other.
Love can be measured. Because you can count your heart beat.
Love is not blind. Because love always chooses the path of fire; the toughest road; the wildest journey.
Love is risky. Because you are not sure whether you will get what you love, and in the process you may lose all that you have.
Love is difficult. Because you have to forgive the other’s past deeds.
Love is jazz. Because you have to constantly improvise.
Love is blues. Because one is always sadder than the other.
Love is medicine. Because it gives hope. And hope is the only cure for our wretched lives.
Love can move mountains. Because nothing else can give you faith.
Love is the only answer. Because then you don’t need to say my god is better than yours.
Love is the only way. Because you don’t need to see your path. You make it.
Love is omnipresent. Because not all love the same way.
Love is a bridge. Because it joins your life with your self.
Love is like art. Because it imitates life.
Love is longing. Because there is always one wish which may never be fulfilled: you may not be the one she loves the most.
Love is being optimistic. Because I wrote ‘may’. She may one fine day.
Love is unfair. Because one always expects more than the other.
Love is unbalanced. Because one always loves more than the other.
Love can be measured. Because you can count your heart beat.
Love is not blind. Because love always chooses the path of fire; the toughest road; the wildest journey.
Love is risky. Because you are not sure whether you will get what you love, and in the process you may lose all that you have.
Love is difficult. Because you have to forgive the other’s past deeds.
Love is jazz. Because you have to constantly improvise.
Love is blues. Because one is always sadder than the other.
Love is medicine. Because it gives hope. And hope is the only cure for our wretched lives.
Love can move mountains. Because nothing else can give you faith.
Love is the only answer. Because then you don’t need to say my god is better than yours.
Love is the only way. Because you don’t need to see your path. You make it.
Love is omnipresent. Because not all love the same way.
Love is a bridge. Because it joins your life with your self.
Love is like art. Because it imitates life.
Love is longing. Because there is always one wish which may never be fulfilled: you may not be the one she loves the most.
Love is being optimistic. Because I wrote ‘may’. She may one fine day.
Sunday, November 20, 2005
I met God
Yesternight, at about 9pm, a dream came true.
I met a hero. A real-life hero. Someone who writes like me. Most people say I write like him. I have no regrets about that.
I met Paulo Coelho. Yes, you read it right!
The man, the moment. Very down to earth. Very simple. Very out of the world.
I don’t have words to express myself. The feeling was something very close to what I felt when I realized Koochie was my painter girl.
Koochie says she never worshipped humans. She thinks that God is very, very distinct from anything remotely connected to humans.
I think otherwise. God manifests himself (or herself; doesn’t matter. It’s God anyways.) in human forms too.
How else can we have so many warriors of light on earth, right Paulo?
I bought The Zahir, and The Manual of the Warrior of Light.
I talked to him. He talked to me. I gifted him Under A Quicksilver Moon. He looked at it and accepted it.
“Abhilash Warrier, hmmm… Warrior of Light, eh!” he exclaimed. I nodded. “Keep writing,” with a twinkle in his eyes. A spark I observed. I nodded once again.
“It’s been my honour,” and I left.
I met a form of God that I worship. I feel blessed now.
I met a hero. A real-life hero. Someone who writes like me. Most people say I write like him. I have no regrets about that.
I met Paulo Coelho. Yes, you read it right!
The man, the moment. Very down to earth. Very simple. Very out of the world.
I don’t have words to express myself. The feeling was something very close to what I felt when I realized Koochie was my painter girl.
Koochie says she never worshipped humans. She thinks that God is very, very distinct from anything remotely connected to humans.
I think otherwise. God manifests himself (or herself; doesn’t matter. It’s God anyways.) in human forms too.
How else can we have so many warriors of light on earth, right Paulo?
I bought The Zahir, and The Manual of the Warrior of Light.
I talked to him. He talked to me. I gifted him Under A Quicksilver Moon. He looked at it and accepted it.
“Abhilash Warrier, hmmm… Warrior of Light, eh!” he exclaimed. I nodded. “Keep writing,” with a twinkle in his eyes. A spark I observed. I nodded once again.
“It’s been my honour,” and I left.
I met a form of God that I worship. I feel blessed now.
Saturday, October 22, 2005
Hmmm...
Now, that was new for title, eh? Trust me to it. I will always come up with new ways.
I am all sick in the head, did not sleep last night. Headache, heartache… and now, the doc says two more days of pills in my diet. God, bad health… whoever a thing called health… and only humans seem to have problem with it. All our medicines and vaccines don’t seem to make much of a difference…
I have not seen many dogs or cats born with deformities the way we are? Or am I wrong?
Anyways, was seriously thinking about my purpose in life. I always take myself a bit seriously. A “very good friend” says so! She wants me to call her that… a very good friend! Indeed!
Am sleepy or what here… forgive my writing… "a sleepy head can do not much thinking." Old jungle saying!
She also tells me that my poetry is a path… may not be the end for me. Food for thought. Real good food I have had in years.
So I list things I will end up doing in the next 10 years:
Café… will not write anything more. Don’t want a rich entrepreneur reading and starting it before I do!
Movies… hmmm… farhan akhtar, need to talk to you for a few minutes!
Spirituality… psychiatry… behavior science…
Where do I belong? What am I destined for? I don’t want to end up like countless others who never gave these questions a thought. Who never stood and stared.
I take this time off to think… I need to stand before her eyes. I need to prove that her belief in me, in what I have inside me… is really there.
I know she loved me then because she saw something even she did not realize then or even now. But I know it. Gut feeling. Instinct. Whatever.
I know she saw an inner light inside me the way I saw hers. Maybe she can’t or won’t express it… but we meeting and getting together on this expedition called life itself is a miracle.
She called me today morn… and made a good morning of a sick yesternight… we talked. Once again, just like the old times… hours… over the phone…
I miss you. Oh goddess!! U make me breathe again… every time love pours from those caring lips… sweet nectar…
Oh my mother goddess, are you waiting for me now? Here, I come unto you. Into your womb once again.
I am all sick in the head, did not sleep last night. Headache, heartache… and now, the doc says two more days of pills in my diet. God, bad health… whoever a thing called health… and only humans seem to have problem with it. All our medicines and vaccines don’t seem to make much of a difference…
I have not seen many dogs or cats born with deformities the way we are? Or am I wrong?
Anyways, was seriously thinking about my purpose in life. I always take myself a bit seriously. A “very good friend” says so! She wants me to call her that… a very good friend! Indeed!
Am sleepy or what here… forgive my writing… "a sleepy head can do not much thinking." Old jungle saying!
She also tells me that my poetry is a path… may not be the end for me. Food for thought. Real good food I have had in years.
So I list things I will end up doing in the next 10 years:
Café… will not write anything more. Don’t want a rich entrepreneur reading and starting it before I do!
Movies… hmmm… farhan akhtar, need to talk to you for a few minutes!
Spirituality… psychiatry… behavior science…
Where do I belong? What am I destined for? I don’t want to end up like countless others who never gave these questions a thought. Who never stood and stared.
I take this time off to think… I need to stand before her eyes. I need to prove that her belief in me, in what I have inside me… is really there.
I know she loved me then because she saw something even she did not realize then or even now. But I know it. Gut feeling. Instinct. Whatever.
I know she saw an inner light inside me the way I saw hers. Maybe she can’t or won’t express it… but we meeting and getting together on this expedition called life itself is a miracle.
She called me today morn… and made a good morning of a sick yesternight… we talked. Once again, just like the old times… hours… over the phone…
I miss you. Oh goddess!! U make me breathe again… every time love pours from those caring lips… sweet nectar…
Oh my mother goddess, are you waiting for me now? Here, I come unto you. Into your womb once again.
Tuesday, September 27, 2005
Taxi talk
Taxi drivers are the same everywhere. They all have something in common; it does not matter whether they drive in Dubai or Mumbai.
They are very concerned about the world at large. World issues and current affairs rule their lives and thoughts most of the time.
They are worried about the hurricanes in the U.S. to the cricket team’s performances. They talk about oil prices and wars in the same breath.
They talk politics and local scandals. They may gossip, but mostly tell personal truths and opinions.
I love talking to them. Sometimes, we end up talking about God and religion. Or about the Law of Karma. General trends in religion.
They are one set of people who are not afraid to shoot from the lips. They are a breed apart. Anyways, as a taxi driver I met, said, “Katrina and Rita came, swayed, and went.”
And for the first time in my life, the names don’t evoke a sense of beauty in me.
They are very concerned about the world at large. World issues and current affairs rule their lives and thoughts most of the time.
They are worried about the hurricanes in the U.S. to the cricket team’s performances. They talk about oil prices and wars in the same breath.
They talk politics and local scandals. They may gossip, but mostly tell personal truths and opinions.
I love talking to them. Sometimes, we end up talking about God and religion. Or about the Law of Karma. General trends in religion.
They are one set of people who are not afraid to shoot from the lips. They are a breed apart. Anyways, as a taxi driver I met, said, “Katrina and Rita came, swayed, and went.”
And for the first time in my life, the names don’t evoke a sense of beauty in me.
Thursday, September 22, 2005
Poetry, it is...
What is poetry?
.
.
.
I don’t know. But, I know, I write poetry. What is poetry for me may not be poetry for you (and vice versa too) because it is the freest art on earth.
Ever-changing. Touching. Classic. Forever yours. Eternal. Inspirational. Wild. Ahead of times. Advanced. Go on. Don’t stop. Awesome. Wow! Window to the soul. Psychic.
It has no form. Certainly, no rhyme, no meter, no style can contain poetry.
I cannot point and say this is poetry. My fingertips crave to touch poetry that flows along with the ink from my pen on to a piece of paper. But I can’t. I can’t even erase it.
It is the untouchable. Sometimes, the unthinkable too.
Poetry is. Always will be. It never was.
If you spin a tale, make every word sound the way it should, it is poetry.
If that word belongs nowhere else but in that verse, it is poetry.
If you cause chaos, it is poetry.
If you produce stillness, it is poetry.
Anything moves… it is poetry.
Every word, if it bleeds, if it cries, it is poetry.
If you hear someone crying far away upon reading it, it is poetry.
If it rouses antique, buried emotions, it is poetry.
If you feel good, relieved, or sad after you write, it is poetry.
If it buries a life story, it is poetry.
If it talks aloud in solitude and silence, it is poetry.
If you turn a page, it is poetry.
If, in the autumn years of your life, you write, it is poetry.
If there is more truth in it than creativity, it is poetry.
If your words have lived their life while you wrote them, it is poetry.
If you wake up in the middle of the night and write, it is poetry.
If what u write inspires, it is poetry.
If what you have written is enough to cover a grave, it is poetry.
If strangers smile at you, while people close to you walk away, it is poetry.
If a ship appears like a lighthouse, it is poetry.
If your words arouse the firefly in a woman, it is poetry.
If your brother follows your footsteps, it is poetry.
If many misunderstand your poetry, it is poetry.
If you listen to Bob Dylan even once, it is poetry.
Blinding lights? Or, are my words so bright?
Am I here? Where are you?
Do we see each other?
Are we staring into each other’s tall shadows?
Don’t close my eyes. Look into mine.
.
.
.
I don’t know. But, I know, I write poetry. What is poetry for me may not be poetry for you (and vice versa too) because it is the freest art on earth.
Ever-changing. Touching. Classic. Forever yours. Eternal. Inspirational. Wild. Ahead of times. Advanced. Go on. Don’t stop. Awesome. Wow! Window to the soul. Psychic.
It has no form. Certainly, no rhyme, no meter, no style can contain poetry.
I cannot point and say this is poetry. My fingertips crave to touch poetry that flows along with the ink from my pen on to a piece of paper. But I can’t. I can’t even erase it.
It is the untouchable. Sometimes, the unthinkable too.
Poetry is. Always will be. It never was.
If you spin a tale, make every word sound the way it should, it is poetry.
If that word belongs nowhere else but in that verse, it is poetry.
If you cause chaos, it is poetry.
If you produce stillness, it is poetry.
Anything moves… it is poetry.
Every word, if it bleeds, if it cries, it is poetry.
If you hear someone crying far away upon reading it, it is poetry.
If it rouses antique, buried emotions, it is poetry.
If you feel good, relieved, or sad after you write, it is poetry.
If it buries a life story, it is poetry.
If it talks aloud in solitude and silence, it is poetry.
If you turn a page, it is poetry.
If, in the autumn years of your life, you write, it is poetry.
If there is more truth in it than creativity, it is poetry.
If your words have lived their life while you wrote them, it is poetry.
If you wake up in the middle of the night and write, it is poetry.
If what u write inspires, it is poetry.
If what you have written is enough to cover a grave, it is poetry.
If strangers smile at you, while people close to you walk away, it is poetry.
If a ship appears like a lighthouse, it is poetry.
If your words arouse the firefly in a woman, it is poetry.
If your brother follows your footsteps, it is poetry.
If many misunderstand your poetry, it is poetry.
If you listen to Bob Dylan even once, it is poetry.
Blinding lights? Or, are my words so bright?
Am I here? Where are you?
Do we see each other?
Are we staring into each other’s tall shadows?
Don’t close my eyes. Look into mine.
Wednesday, September 21, 2005
A page of life at a café…
I love this café. It even has a small Internet café attached to it. It is situated at the corner of Corniche Road, Ajman, overlooking the beach.
There is something about coffee, and a beach put together… my mind wandered to a similar crevice somewhere in a now, hardened, rock called memory.
A handsome guy manned the counter while two waitresses, an Oriental and a Russian, waited at the tables.
I was unwell for over the last three days. I missed work.
Ill and exhausted with a small tearing headache, I found myself at the café.
This is the only healthy food that you can find in this part of the world. Remote and isolated, Ajman often reminds me of a POW camp… a deserted, war-torn village trying to come to terms with the New World.
Seated near the door with my back facing the sea, I ordered a veg burger. The waitress smiled at me gladly. She had few friends, I can see.
I observed the cute, small, short girl who made the burger. She first fried the French Fries. Then, she waited till they got the perfect brown that we all always try for, but seldom achieve.
My first thought was she should be in school. Not cooking in a goddamn, around-the-corner café to make a living.
She readied the burger, dressed it up well, and gave it to the waitress. The oriental waitress served it to me on a clean plate while the guy and the Russian waitress chatted with each other.
There was this uncomfortable silence in the café. The only sound was Arabic lounge (?) music that played in the background.
I was relishing the burger and suddenly my eyes caught the cute girl smiling at me. This was my second visit to the café, and maybe in this part of the world, a second visit in two days was enough to set familiarity in.
I did not dare ask her name. So I’ll call her Cutie.
Cutie must be in her very early teens. But, she looks old and mature. Life has taught her, her share of lessons.
Cutie did not look like she belonged to any particular nationality. Not that I could make out. She had that innocence about her that we adults can only search for.
There was something about Cutie. Cutie looked lonely. Too young to be working.
She looked at me and then looked out at the sea. Perhaps, she was waiting for her prince charming to come and save her. Or, she was looking at the stranger of a ship docked out at sea.
Perhaps, Cutie was a small leaf floating in a river in a fairytale of some faraway land. Or, she is a goddess testing how kind men are in this world.
Her eyes spoke a lot. A lot of dreams had fallen from them yet those eyes held back all the tears.
As I had my last bite, I exclaimed to her, “You make nice burger!” She smiled at me.
I don’t know whether she knew English. It does not matter.
We glanced at each other. And in that glance, passed a thousand unsaid words of prayer, understanding, and faith. Cutie had found a friend.
I don’t know whether she knew it. Anyways, it does not matter.
There is something about coffee, and a beach put together… my mind wandered to a similar crevice somewhere in a now, hardened, rock called memory.
A handsome guy manned the counter while two waitresses, an Oriental and a Russian, waited at the tables.
I was unwell for over the last three days. I missed work.
Ill and exhausted with a small tearing headache, I found myself at the café.
This is the only healthy food that you can find in this part of the world. Remote and isolated, Ajman often reminds me of a POW camp… a deserted, war-torn village trying to come to terms with the New World.
Seated near the door with my back facing the sea, I ordered a veg burger. The waitress smiled at me gladly. She had few friends, I can see.
I observed the cute, small, short girl who made the burger. She first fried the French Fries. Then, she waited till they got the perfect brown that we all always try for, but seldom achieve.
My first thought was she should be in school. Not cooking in a goddamn, around-the-corner café to make a living.
She readied the burger, dressed it up well, and gave it to the waitress. The oriental waitress served it to me on a clean plate while the guy and the Russian waitress chatted with each other.
There was this uncomfortable silence in the café. The only sound was Arabic lounge (?) music that played in the background.
I was relishing the burger and suddenly my eyes caught the cute girl smiling at me. This was my second visit to the café, and maybe in this part of the world, a second visit in two days was enough to set familiarity in.
I did not dare ask her name. So I’ll call her Cutie.
Cutie must be in her very early teens. But, she looks old and mature. Life has taught her, her share of lessons.
Cutie did not look like she belonged to any particular nationality. Not that I could make out. She had that innocence about her that we adults can only search for.
There was something about Cutie. Cutie looked lonely. Too young to be working.
She looked at me and then looked out at the sea. Perhaps, she was waiting for her prince charming to come and save her. Or, she was looking at the stranger of a ship docked out at sea.
Perhaps, Cutie was a small leaf floating in a river in a fairytale of some faraway land. Or, she is a goddess testing how kind men are in this world.
Her eyes spoke a lot. A lot of dreams had fallen from them yet those eyes held back all the tears.
As I had my last bite, I exclaimed to her, “You make nice burger!” She smiled at me.
I don’t know whether she knew English. It does not matter.
We glanced at each other. And in that glance, passed a thousand unsaid words of prayer, understanding, and faith. Cutie had found a friend.
I don’t know whether she knew it. Anyways, it does not matter.
Wednesday, September 14, 2005
So, I finally own a laptop!
First of all, apologies to all regular readers. I have been very busy at work lately.
A few days ago, I think Saturday, September 10, 2005, was a first in many ways!
It was the day I bought my first laptop!
The same day I bought and wore my first suit.
I really don’t know how to thank you, Aquin. You seem to coincidentally play a very important part while I keep ticking off my materialistic wishlist… why just last year Parvati had given me a ride in her Volkswagen Beetle, remember? And now, this laptop too came through a reference of yours!
Ahem… sometimes God just fulfills your dreams so fast and so unexpectedly that you take time to realize that the dream has come true. So I finally bought my own laptop. I still can’t believe it sometimes.
Another big dream of mine is fulfilled in Dubai. Saturday was also the day I did my first formal presentation!
It feels good. I feel like I am moving up the ladder. I am learning not to beg, but to hold attention of the audience. I need to work on my presentation and public speaking skills!
Dr Maen has taken the perfect role of a father figure/ teacher/ leader that I never had. I look up to him. He is also filling Br Keane’s shoes pretty well… polishing the dust off me. Making me suave and sophisticated.
Hmmm… if only you were here, Koochie. I miss you so much.
A few days ago, I think Saturday, September 10, 2005, was a first in many ways!
It was the day I bought my first laptop!
The same day I bought and wore my first suit.
I really don’t know how to thank you, Aquin. You seem to coincidentally play a very important part while I keep ticking off my materialistic wishlist… why just last year Parvati had given me a ride in her Volkswagen Beetle, remember? And now, this laptop too came through a reference of yours!
Ahem… sometimes God just fulfills your dreams so fast and so unexpectedly that you take time to realize that the dream has come true. So I finally bought my own laptop. I still can’t believe it sometimes.
Another big dream of mine is fulfilled in Dubai. Saturday was also the day I did my first formal presentation!
It feels good. I feel like I am moving up the ladder. I am learning not to beg, but to hold attention of the audience. I need to work on my presentation and public speaking skills!
Dr Maen has taken the perfect role of a father figure/ teacher/ leader that I never had. I look up to him. He is also filling Br Keane’s shoes pretty well… polishing the dust off me. Making me suave and sophisticated.
Hmmm… if only you were here, Koochie. I miss you so much.
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