, , ,

Main ab ghar jaane se darta hoon
Kyunki agar main ghar chalagaya toh main shayad se iss ghar mein wapas nahi aa paunga.
Main uss ghar mein kho jaunga jo pehle kabhi mera hua karta tha
Aur ab jo maine payaa hai woh main nahi khona chahta hoon.
Main uske saath jeena chahta hoon
Puri tarha se
Ekant mein
Uss gati mein jo kabhi thambta nahi
Uss suraj mein jo dhallta nahi
Uss kashti mein jo kinare kabhi rukta nahi

Main ab jeena chahta hoon


The Coin



I had a coin I used to play with when I was a kid.
It was a not so very ordinary coin
There wasn’t anything extraordinary about it too
I would take it with me where ever I could.
To school
To the garden
To the loo
To bed
The market when my mother would ask me to buy things for the house
To church
To choir practice
There were only a few places one would go then
On one such day a friend asked to see this coin
I didn’t want to give it cause I felt he wouldn’t know how to hold it
To take care of it
I didn’t want him to feel the faded bronzed surface
Reluctantly I handed him my coin
Counting all the seconds in a second
Eyes never leaving its sight
When I got it back I rubbed it against my T-shirt and held it until I felt it piercing through my palm
‘You’re home’
The coin whispered to me.

They Keep Talking


My neighbours are always talking.
They talk about themselves, their friends and other neighbours.
The milk man
The sweeper
The cats who scouled last night
The vacant space where the leaves fell
The motorist who waited for hours for someone they didn’t know
The shopkeeper who sold old goods
The shopkeeper who sold new goods
The shop owner and his wife
His wife and her dog
The pavement that needs repairs
The laundry that needs drying
The children that need everything
The neighbours they are always talking
They are talking



, , ,

If death had it in it to make us weak
If death had it in it to make us creek
Then life would not ever encourage
Life would never be filled with zestfulness
For in death there is no zest
Zest is the act of waking up with your eyes closed to complete a task that you could do while dying.


Take your heart. Burn it.
Pull out your guts. Throw them away.
Peal your skin. Tear your flesh.
Saw through your bones slowly.
Cut through your eyes.
Now smile.
Smile for you are still alive.


I said goodbye to him today.
It was a pleasant farewell. He took his time and I took mine. We both looked away momentarily when we felt like and it was fine that we did so.There was a tiny tinge of woefulness in me as I shed my glowing tangerine for a bleak rouge. He sipped his tea in melancholy. I thought of saying something nice but couldn’t think of anything. It happens to me on most days. There are a lot of people who recite their alphabets the way they like it. I mostly like saying nothing.
I’m sure he didn’t say anything either. He was silent. Like we liked it.

My Own Prayer

Most days I make my own prayer.

I know quite a few from what we were taught at Sunday school but I still prefer my own.
For a long time now and on most good days, I used to begin with ‘Dear God’. Sometimes I would switch to Lord. Maybe it resonated better on those long and troubled days. I also thought that Lord was younger and cooler. God was more a senior citizen and played bingo with everyone. Though they both did the same job.

On odd zoned out days it’s mostly a Her. I then quickly change to Hello, respectfully. We’re just getting to know each other but on such days I’m almost lost in oblivion to go any further. Pointless. Then there are the days when I don’t know who I’m praying to and I just begin with ‘I’. Like “I think”, “I can’t”, “I’ve had enough” and so on. These are the impatient confusing angered days.

Often there are times when I’m muted. Either they’re all around or it’s just me. I find that rather calming that even they don’t interfere. Not that they get what I’m feeling cause I’m not really praying but I imagine them standing behind the doors and windows keeping it shut so that silence can enter.

Of late its been ‘Hi’ or ‘Hey’. We’re a little more familiar with each other now and it feels like we hangout after rehearsals or while I paint or just sometimes over some chilled milk.

I offered beer but he said it’s hard to lose the belly.



, , , ,

If there is a word that you very well know the meaning of, it is ‘Hunger’

And so that’s how I will write.

For a long time now, my soul hungered for you. And when it did meet you it felt satiated. Not satisfied but satiated.
Now that you’ve gone, this hunger that is reborn for you is unbearable. You would know what it does to you. It does that and a lot more to me. This hunger drives me fucking crazy. Nothing else is good enough. No words are sound enough. No other touch is caressing enough. If I don’t see you soon, it kills me. That’s what hunger for you does to me.

It kills me.

Just a Jar


, , , ,

I taught myself to love.
To love someone endlessly.
I made tiny jars and gave them to everyone filled with my love.

Then you came along.
And I could see that you needed love.
And so I created more of it to give you.
I made sure you never fell short of it.
I made sure that your jar was always kept full.

I saw you needed more and so I made sure you had the biggest jar there ever was. And even that I filled up for you. That kept you safe and happy. And it meant a lot to you.

Until one day, when you stopped coming to the jar. You stopped taking anything from it. And I didn’t know what to with all the love that I still have.

I wonder if you think of the jar like you used to. I wonder if you’ll ever come visit it.

I still keep it filled.



, , ,

This part,

Right this very moment. These seconds. I’d never want anyone to see.

I would not want anyone to retweet this, like this, share it publicly. I’d never want these moments to be instagram’d, none of them flickr’d. Not one single ounce of this becoming a post on some wall.


I’m keeping them, as a draft. A reminder. A note to self.

Don’t you love anyone else ever again.

The Gallery


, , ,

There is a constant change occurring within.
It didn’t take a long time to realize that.
Everything I’m trying to do or say changes to thoughts about you.
Every fucking thing.
My subconscious consumes my mind in seconds.
The minutest second after I wake up.
It’s like that song stuck in your head.
Just that I don’t want the song to be playing out of tune.
It creates a gallery, exhibiting paintings and photographs of you.
All I can do then is dwell in thoughts about you but this time only by myself.
Cause I am slowly disappearing from those photographs.
I am somehow forgotten to be painted.


A vortex engulfs me
Don’t worry. I won’t go anywhere.

Cause there is a world beyond the stars we haven’t been to.
There are trials in love we haven’t seen.

I am ready.



, ,

I sat there crying as you left.
As then I asked my self ‘Fuck! Do men cry over this?’ I wondered why not? What on earth is so different about us that we aren’t ‘meant’ to ‘cry’ over women, over absofuckinglutely graceful women. Women who you have poured your heart and soul over. Why can’t we cry over women who make you feel like yourself, women who take their hands and run their magic all over your body. Whose name, just the sound of the beginning letters of her name turn you into fucking sand. Women who amaze you with their wit and words on a black board. Why can’t I cry for her? Why can’t I hold myself together when she decides she doesn’t want a fucking relationship. Why can’t I cry when I know that the days, weeks and months and maybe even bloody years won’t be the same as it was. Maybe it never will. Why can’t I cry when it hits me that I love her so much that I changed so many things in me that now I don’t know what to do with that change. She has gone. And I’m sitting there waiting for tears to come so that some of this pain may wash away as it rolls down burning deep crevices into my body. So deep that no amount of love could ever fill it up. That the scars may be seen so that no one tries to love me again.

May this pain gush out of me tearing me unrepairingly apart.


I made up this story that had a bit of me and a lot of you. In it you laughed and sang and hummed many tunes. You walked and ran and strolled on the sea shore. You danced and jumped and all the world belonged to you. And when it was time to go to bed, you found my hand and held it tight and rested your head upon my lap and closed your eyes to sweet serenity.

The Sea

In an attempt to paint you I walked down the mountain in search of the sea.
The sea which left behind in its sand the colors that made you.

Striding strong, striding sure, I made it through rain and snow. A war was being fought on my way.

Home now far away, feet more restless eyes growing eager for a horizon was in sight.

I reached, and hoping to be brave I looked for you. I couldn’t find you cause there was no sea but only sand and in amongst those I found a grain that glittered like gold.

And I knew that’s how I had to paint you. For right there I fell in love with you.


I had to, but I couldn’t.

Somewhere I could feel myself go numb and I knew it would only get uncontrollable.

As I looked at you I realized I couldn’t find peace in not telling you what each second meant to me. If I couldn’t go past a day with just the thought of not having to love you, I can’t imagine a lifetime living a barren life of torture.

For there are no reasons why I love you. I just do.


What is a tune, if there isn’t a sound of your presence?
What is a book if it doesn’t narrate your story?
How glorious can these days be that don’t live like you?
How good is a heart if it cannot feel your souls beauty?

Why should I keep breathing if it isn’t for loving you?

I love you…
And there isn’t going back from here.

The End

Maybe you won’t ignore me for these few seconds that I borrow from you. Maybe you’ll hear my words they way they’re meant to be listened.

Let me tell you and then be ignored. Let me be honest and then fall apart. Let me lay down my heart and then make my way home.

You’ve Left

I woke up this morning finding you. Knowing that you’ve left but I found a joy in finding you. I’m pondering over our absurd event last night. Every second counts when you’re with me. Your denial of me dropping you home. You agreeing for me to walk you out. And as we did, it rained and it all came down to that walk with an umbrella which I wouldn’t have had. Your voice standing out amongst a hundred raindrop splatters. Till the auto was all I could accompany you. You left. And as I walked back it wasn’t raining anymore.

The beauty was not the rain or the walk or even the umbrella but at that very moment when a few droplets came down and you raised your arms to cover your head and in that dusky amber tint.

I could see a few roll down from your forehead on to your face and it glittered like gold. You glittered like gold.


Your angelic voice seeps into me through my every vein, flowing like wax dripping on a candle moments after it’s blown out.

The time we sang and laughed together and everything harmonized like my brush soaking water as it leaves behind some color.

I walked those stairs a hundred times just so I could be caressed by the sounds of your heart.

The Night

For this restlessness isn’t my enemy. It keeps me company in my many hours of sleepless nights.
This fear isn’t a foe and gets me thinking about the times I am with you no more.
The night will come again, bringing with it its many shades. The music fills in more silence and dawn isn’t the escape.
I’m drowning. Let me.


When what we listen is just what we want to hear. When all that we see is only what we’ve been shown. When believing is analysing what makes us happy. And death is only a realization that you aren’t breathing.

A child no more

I feel like telling you to go to sleep early. That you’ve had a long and tiring day. I feel like putting you to bed. But I realize that you’ve now grown up.

That the little girl who I hugged tight when she cried can now wipe her own tears. The pride in me is immense and the joy I feel is boundless. 

Though I wonder if a child ever grows up to be a child no more? To the mother who always remains her mother. For whom a child is more a part of her than her own beating heart.

That is how I feel today.

I feel like I love you like a mother.

Silent Missing’

Like a kiss on the cheeks with wet lips,
Parched summers contrasting trees on the sidewalk.
Wires hanging in plenty filling the space in the empty sky.
Ten feet riding on spokes with pedals fit for two.

Haunted sweet children laughing with void in thoughts,
Black umbrellas and hats standing close with bowed heads.
Crossed legs in caramel light listening to strings and glasses high,
Overcoat drenched with wine takes following of four paws.

Dripping drops of blood echoing far beyond the bustle,
Fray sounding whispers in corridors speak a different tongue.
Palms sliding over golden fields swaying to the gentle feet.
Bellman taking time to guide a thousand or more home.

Like painted smiles on the faces of hollow puppets,

We, silently missing everything in that playful smile.


My thoughts about you.

Seems like yesterday that i met you, had a nice chat over your favourite drink.Laughed through some of the time and then just sat thinking of what the other one says in the remaining one. But it wasn’t yesterday and it wasn’t anytime that such a thing happened. Your image though still is as fresh in my mind as the smell of the first rains. I see you smile and see you cry and see you sad and all the more happy.

Everyday you come across as if you own every moment of that time in my life and every moment of that day remains my highest point till the night is over. I can hear you clear like ripples in the middle of the open sea and i talk to you like a blind man to his stick. I talk about us and then you laugh at me. I dream about you and have my sweetest dreams, wish they never had to go away. If i were a singer i hope to sing to you tonight those dreams. If i were an artist i wish to paint you with the colors from my eyes .

Everyday I walk through the roads of uncertainity, knowing not if ever we……. But always hopefull. Someday i’ll stand in front of you hoping to laugh over this together,when you’ll know its me, but till then this is all i have to give you. My thoughts about you. I love you. I love you


In that soft whisper of words, which freeze that smile of contentment.

Giving hope in her dying breaths, that strengthen you for a lifetime.

When in your palms rests a sleeping world and heaven in sight.

When every ounce of your body is breaking, hurting, knowing that you’ll never hold that hand again, against all, you let go.

In a tree that is cut, but in bleeding silence grows again to let you live another day.

…love this is.

But beyond all that I’ve ever felt.

The Surviving Act.


, ,

7 p.m. – the time the show was scheduled to begin, but our seats were vacant and I was waiting with the tickets outside for my dear late friends who were my partners in attending the circus that night.

Prior to arriving at the venue I tried to remember as a kid that one time I saw the circus. But apart from broken stadium style wooden benches and a couple of jokers on stilts, I couldn’t recollect much, or at the least I couldn’t confirm if the other things that I remembered was what I saw that day in the circus or on D.D. Metro in the years to come.

Finally not too late they arrived, and as we entered, the show had already began with the Swinging Trapeze, which didn’t have much to display but did give hope for better acts to come… Next to come were the Jugglers who dropped more than they could juggle and after which the Circus Parade followed with absolute poor marching and music. There was just no presentation skills in almost anything they did. And then I realized that it was only the broken wooden benches that were real in my imagination. Everything else that I was now looking at just didn’t conjure with my memories.

A Circus is also sought by some as to be a subservient place, where they believe that animals are ill treated and the circus artists are living below a standard thats unacceptable to them. Where there is very less pay and sometimes no food.

But like most of us have the opportunity to choose to practice or perform a job that we like, not all of us have that freedom. And for most of them its more than just a place that offers shelter.

Tent Ceiling

For sometime as I watched the performances I got lost in the structure of the circular dome tent which had a revolving stage in the center and colorful spotlights in plenty. The arrangement was not the best as I could judge from the little experience that I have in theatre lighting. At most places the poles holding up the lights blocked major sections of the audience view. Our 300 R.s. tickets, which were ‘Executive Class’ didn’t make us feel a bit like it.

Back to focusing on the Hooping now by a Swedish and Russian performer which did seem interesting, Along with a Kenyan troupe who seemed to be having the best time on stage showing some great fitness and danceing by skipping the rope on their butts, but didn’t really help in bringing much excitement to anyone around.

Mostly every act and performer lacked what a performer really needs – Showmanship. The lack of fitness in the Indian performers along with horrendous costumes, which could be at times x-rated just didn’t help. They seemed to have lack of practice and were out of shape, and at times that has been uneventful for circus artists.

But then it struck me as I glanced through the audience and saw that on a weekend there were barely about a hundred people watching the circus. The money that would come of the ticket sales would definitely not be a wholesome to distribute to over a hundred performers. What could really be their pay? How often would they get a chance to buy newer equipment and costumes? What happens when they are traveling and not performing? and many more questions bombarded inside my head for which I couldn’t find answers.

The Circus has been around for centuries since the time of horse carriage acts in Ancient Rome, but is slowly and certainly a dying art. And we all are partly to be blamed for it, We might have found better things to entertain ourselves with today but what we did wrong, was that we failed to convince ourselves as we grew older that the Circus never meant harm to anyone. As kids we all flocked to the tents and ate our candy floss in delight. But then we condemned it when we had no more pleasure to derive out of it. It does sound like perfect human nature.

I went to the circus, because I wanted to once again experience a memory that had now become vague, and so I did, but also experienced much more.

The Indian Circus might just not last for another century, and thankfully I won’t be around to see its end.

Its a tough choice that these artists and people make, where they don’t live but survive only for entertaining us.

Rambo Circus

Love Grows Where My Rosemary Goes.

It was another one of those sleepless nights. Thought i’d call you up, But I didn’t. You probably know that cause you didn’t get my call.

I sat up thinking about you endlessly until I dozed off and woke up with a stiff neck in the morning. And all those thoughts came back to me.

Everything that I want to tell you. All the time that I’d want to spend with you, besides you.

And everyday that I live without telling you what I feel, I lose another day that I could be with you.

Tell you that I love you. That I really love you.

And nobody knows like me.


It was on that morning that I saw her,

and time froze for me.
I felt no sound in my ears.
no one but her I could see.
and I knew it was her.

I asked myself…
If there is anyone more beautiful than her on this earth?
and yet she doesn’t know that she is.

And not know that she is the one they all write about.
All the songs, words, poetry and colors of the world for her praise.

And I came to find my peace.
I found my passion in her.
I found in her my inspiration.

And I know I love her.

See You In Heaven.

I think about you everyday, a lot off late.
there is no doubt that i miss you,
but it seems a little different now.

You remind me of all those precious memories.

I washed your favorite cup in which you loved to drink the tea i made.
those curtains that you picked for our home still look beautiful.
the books that you never let me touch.
No they haven’t got any dog ears as yet.

I’ve been taking care of them.

But I thought i’d burn them all, and so I could forget you.

When I got back, I accidently tore the shirt that you brought me,
and then I remembered the bed sheets that we put on the floor to sleep on.
The house that we built together.

I couldn’t get rid of all these things,
I couldn’t try and forget you even if I wanted to.
But I want to.

Cause it’s I who every morning wakes up to not find you sleeping next to me.
To see your sunshine smile when you open the curtains to the morning sun.
I can’t make that tea no more,
doesn’t taste the same without you.

I have to live with the pain of you gone,
and I can’t,

So I finally decided it was time.
I couldn’t live without you a second more.

And so I’m going ahead with it.

I’m coming to see you in heaven.

And I know that you’re waiting for me.

Birthday Girl.

..And yet I find no words.

Its been several hours since I took to write,
In a million attempts I fail a million times.

I admit to have fallen.
I realised that there are no words.

For only…
If inspiration were to be personified you would be the perfect metaphor.

If beauty had to be found I know I could find it in your heart.

Your smile breaks a thousand barriers
and your friendship seeks an endless relation.

Hope you had a nice day.

With best wishes and love.

To Natasha,
Happy Birthday

Black Rain.

I was 15 the first time I carried a coffin.

It happened in the winter of 1987, a long time ago but only if you measure it terms of years.
It remains etched on my timeline for many a reasons.
And yes that winter was different,
cause that year for the first time in winter it rained.

That morning a friend called up who lived a few blocks away
saying that he’s on his way to pick me up.
I didn’t have a clue as to where we had to go.
He didn’t tell me until after much persuasion he said we were on our way to Mark’s house.

I assumed that Mark was taking all of his teammates out to the restaurant to celebrate his victory at the inter state championship last week.
He had won gold in the javelin throw. I lost my game at the discuss throw.
He was the only one of the athletics team who won that night,
and was selected to play at the national open games later that month.

Mark and I were friends since the age of 10. We went to the same local school.
I still remember the first time I met him,
it was at the trials for the school athletics team. He was really good from the start.

Like the rivers gushing waters we swept through the fields of competitors in our way.
In the 5 years that we competed we had victories, injuries, gracious defeats and unbeaten runs and God alone knows the amount of fun we had.

But there was one thing that we both knew, that something always held us together.

Mark always said that he wouldn’t step on a field if I wasn’t there competing along with him.
He said ‘this is my way of making our friendship last forever’

We almost had reached his place but needed to get off a few meters away
cause there were a lot of people standing in front of his house.
I asked my friend if Mark was planning on feeding the whole town.

and then he said something that rang my ears to deafness.

As I made my way through the crowd into his house,
I saw him lying there, dead and lifeless.

He was gone.

I took turns carrying the coffin on our way to the church.
I couldn’t cry that day.
I tried, but I couldn’t.

As we put him to rest in his grave,
something happened that I’d never seen before.
It began to rain..    in winter.

But it wasn’t the winter winds calming drizzle that came down on us,
it was the wailing sky’s black rain.

In Ascending Order.

..and the next moment i’m down on the floor,

Not wanting anyone I know.
Up in a rented attic I lay.

Hearing frantic knocks on my door.

Someday I might find the ‘good’ in this bye.

Someday i’ll try and the reason I never cried.
When ‘why? Would matter no more,

and all your glimpses will be dead.

Randomly leading strides,

with my itching bald head.
Trying to figure out where my body doesn’t hurt of its fighting last night.

All the saints may fail to rescue me.

All my ghosts will make way,
for my soul to find its peace.

In a battle it long lost before.

The Confession.

He did still love her,

not knowing if this would be his last chance to say it,
so he said it all.

He wanted to be on the side of truth today, fearless.

Her beauty was not his reason to love.
He just never knew anyone like her, and she was truly like none other.

She did see an inner joy in him increasing by the second which he couldn’t describe
Like a new day began everytime he saw her.

She never did see herself in that way.
and he always admired her for it.

It really didn’t matter what happened after today,
cause he never loved her for her to love him back.
He loved her because the very thought of her made him happy.

Knowing her only made him believe.


I distinctly remember that moment when I saw you.

That innocence in your laughter…

amongst many who sat there you were carefully carved out.

And then a little embarrassingly you smiled when you saw me notice.

Your smile was acknowledgement for days to come.

Until it became more than just a smile.

I could never forget that day,

and i’d never want to.

Safe Place.

Oh how I long for my place again,
my own safe place.
Where none but I could walk free.
See the pain and blood drain.

I built its walls of mansion amidst broken toys.
Where the windows always opened bright in my ever changing seasons.
Where the rain washed my dry and dusty feet,
where I lay for my peaceful slumber sleep.

Sometimes underneath the closed staircase,
where light peeped only through holes from its damp wooden walls.
Or up in an attic where I was close enough to touch the sky.
Or in the trees with a thousand little friends on every yellow leaf.

Where my closed eyes would take me,
where nothing could ever harm me.

Carpe Noctem.

If the night was born of any other setting sun,
it would sleep in slumber peace amongst it’s guardian shining knights and ladies.

But the sun set on not a very welcoming night. It was wrongly written for the right reasons. It brought peace of a different kind.

A peaceful end to an illustrated voyage of many incomparable.

It had different knights and ladies who stood close illuminated with nothing but smiles. Hiding the fear of the imminent dawn of an unavoidable separation by time.

It all happened for it had to. But the sun still tries to assure me that it didn’t want to go down, and if it did… it wanted the night to wake up so it could begin new.

The night just seemed the longest for the sun…

For none of US ever wanted it to come to an end,
never seize to exist.

We wanted to seize the night.
we wanted that night to live forever.

Today, it is a changed era with new risings,
but as much as it finds settlement…

It is a change I don’t like.

~ To all the Xavierites

If You Stay.

A memory slice keeps playing in my head,
endlessly stating it’s inaudible existence.
There’s a heartbeat missing with endings disappearing.
As I wake, the light sparkles my mind believing, that you would stay.

If you stay, we’ll walk up that mountain
watering the trees you planted on the way.
We’ll sing to the tune of the morning robin
and catch the butterflies in the garden game.

If you stay,
We’ll be the dry leaves flying with the wind today.


…Everyday you come across as if you own every moment of that time in my life and every moment of that day remains my highest point till the night is over. I can hear you clear like ripples in the middle of the open sea and I talk to you like a blind man to his stick.

The Jelly Fish.

There once lived a girl who created colour.
Her heart was made of glass which gave birth to all the colours she imagined.
She lived on a shore in a tree house,
her favourite tree.
She coloured it herself.

She coloured everything that she loved and almost everything was colourful.
A day she walked the shore and spotted a jelly fish. It was colourless like the sea.
She thought of all the colours she could give.
She asked as to which colour it would like to take.

The jelly fish asked her colours for the sea and said that it needed a colourful home.
And so for she loved the sea so much that she opened her heart and washed of all her colours.
That day onwards,
the sea reflected every colour it saw.



Running one might say is basically an absurd past time upon which to be exhausting ourselves.but if you can find meaning in the kind of running you have to do to stay in the race, chances are you’ll be able to find meaning in that other absurd past time, life.

Size doesn’t really matter. It is not the deciding factor. It is how you want to use what you have, to make that difference and some of them do.
A few of them run because others are running, hoping to possibly find a purpose for themselves.

In the start its always the longest strides, cause thats when you are the strongest. The body has the maximum stamina and the mind has the best concentration. Once begun there is only one possibility, that is to finish it.
For the highly determined that only possibility is extended to finish first.
For them there is nothing worse than being second best. Trying to get out of the crowd is a little difficult at the start cause everyone is at their best. Everyone’s trying to get ahead. Amongst all this a few break out with the smallest opportunity. Break out into their own to take the lead. For them finishing any other way is nothing but chicken shit.

This is the start of the between. When everyone behind is trying to catch up with the ones ahead. Other few manage to keep on going only by drifting of others.
Somewhere along the middle you realise your purpose and move on now with bold and consistent strides. The leader at this point is trying best to do nothing but keep the lead.

In a run there is always an end. Sometimes when the ones ahead start falling back is when you realise the end is close or its just time to catch up. A little more to the end. But it is this point that defines the purpose of your run. Its when you have given everything in you and still manage to squeeze that last bit out. When all your senses are forcing you to stop, you fight them with the last breath of hope. This is where you make the difference, where you stand above the rest. When you run without limits, And it is here that you will know yourself best.

And when its over the winner always takes it all but for some its never about winning or losing, its just to be a part of the run.

Goodbye God.

I’m writing this note in an auto on my way back to the railway station.


I left the house on a day when you wouldn’t venture out. And to a place specially your not supposed to go if you don’t plan to get stuck.
But as destiny would have it (and i use ‘destiny’ cause it actually felt like having one) it was just ought to happen.
A day before i agreed to a meeting for today at 7pm not really striking me that its the day of the Ganesh immersions. Half heartedly i leave my studio from Vasai at 5:30pm to make it in time to Juhu if at all i could. All day was pleasant weather to actually willingly leave.
Trains were on time and only a few auto fellows denied before i took a trip to traffic land, a couple of minutes of open road and then it all began.

Even before entering Juhu gully you could see the road was jammed. We (the auto driver, the auto & me) managed to get a little ahead. Eventually we got halted in between a truck from front and one from behind both carrying Gods.

Cheering, excitement, dance and music from all around pouring in. People all over. Bystanders watching in glee. Some people inside the truck looking at me and wondering what the hell am i doing there.

Almost untroubled inside I was listening to the track change to ‘just my imagination’ on my pod. The colleague whom i was meeting messaged saying that he would be late, and since i didn’t know when i would reach, not mentioning of my whereabouts to him i told him to take his time.

Now over 15 minutes on that same road with every guy on it trying his own way to clear out the traffic. Somewhere in the middle of all this, if i can recall i did scream ‘ Ganpati Bapa Morya’ with a little bit of excitement.

After some good maneuvering the auto was out of the jam. All credit to the driver. To my destination and that too dot on time. Didn’t feel real, but it was. And not a minute in the jam did it feel wasted.

The meeting went of well & in an hour i was ready to leave and somehow wanting to get back into that undying spirit & say Goodbye to our City’s favorite God.

written on the 1st day of Ganesh Immersions last year – 2008

The Pianist.

Won’t you play a little for me? I need to hear the echoing seldom tune.
She had never asked him before with such longing desire.
And so he sat down at once at the piano.
He played somewhat slowly, to make it comprehensible especially to strangers,
He strummed it out in blatant march time.
He didn’t play all the tunes, but the one he knew the best.
He played his beloved masters song.
So slowly that the roused longnig of his listener yearned for the next note.
Which he held back and yielded reluctantly.
He then felt rising within him a song which reached past the end of this song, seeking another end which he could not find.
And when it ended, it shattered the silence around him.
‘I’m no good’ he said to her gazing with tears in his eyes.

The Industry Of Cool.

One day you will be cool.

Music will set you free. True music is not just Rock & Roll, it chooses you, it lives in your car, or while walking alone, listening to your headphones or with the vast bridges or angelic choirs in your brains.

Its a place apart from the vast virtual world. No one can explain Rock & Roll, but its a voice that says, hear I am and fuck you if you can’t understand me, & then one of these people is going to save the world and that means that Rock & Roll can save the world.

It all comes down to the thing, the indefinable thing that people catch from music that will make you cool.

Its a Think piece.Rockstars, Groupies, Women. You’ll meet them all on your long journey to the middle.

You cannot make friends with the Rockstars. See friendship is the booze they feed you. They want you to get drunk & make you belong. They make you feel cool.

You are uncool.

Women will always be a problem for guys like you. Most of the great art in the world is about that very problem. Good looking people, they got no spine. Their art never lasts & they get all the girls. You’re smarter. Thats what great art is about, guilt and longing & love disguised as sex and sex disguised as love. But the only true currency in this bankrupt world is what you share with someone when your uncool.

Groupies sleep with Rockstars cause they want to be with someone famous. Then there are others who are there for the music. They are Bandaids.

They inspire the music they hear.

Don’t forget to live yourself the way you are , maybe you don’t see yourself the way you are.

So take a vacation from yourself.

Most of them don’t know what it is like to be a fan. How to truly love a silly piece of music or some band so much that it hurts.

DON’T take drugs.

Follow your dreams. Simon and Garfunkel is poetry and not about drugs and promiscuous sex.

Never take it seriously.

If you never take it seriously you never get hurt. If you never get hurt you will always have fun and if you ever get lonely just go to the record store and visit your friends.

inspired by the motion picture Almost Famous.

The Hermit is Dead.

The box of chocolates is now empty,
The mice though in the corridor are cold,
The air is getting still by the second
The prelude of the night is shivering and bold.
The doors and windows are all closed
The leaves in the lawn make not a sound
The matchsticks are taken out, the candles are ready to burn till the dawn.
The picture on the wall is covered with dust
A minute more till the clock besides strikes again
With scratching sound the broken record comes to rest.
The Owls cry the Hermit is dead
The feathers of all who fly soon come by
The flowing river sings its farewell tune
The night now misses his story telling friend.
The wax has melted down to the cobblestone
No one to clean it anymore
The scriptures fear the unturned page
He lies dead, smiling, waiting to be free from his bodily cage.


I am one with the wind
the music is in my feet
i draw the strokes on the wooden floor
i dance to your every heart beat
i dance to the ticking time
each new stride longing for for your pain,
to me this i all that i live for
this is what runs through my veins,
i’ll dance till the end of the day,
i’ll dance to the butterfly way
i’ll dance till i’m six feet under
i’ll dance till my feet bleed away.
My body might not last forever
my heart will perish one day
my soul though will still always dance
a Ballerina forever i’ll stay.


The Visit.

The only time I visit the corner shop now is when I come to meet you. I pickup your favorite chocolates and only then make my way towards your house.

The thoughts I begin to collect of my last visit or of our last conversation, something if necessary to continue with. Most of the time it isn’t required.

I knock and you open the door and your dog barks, you make him quiet and shut him off. ‘Come in don’t sand out there’. You smile and ask me to sit. At a perfectly close distance you sit across me and when beauty so close its hard to get my eyes of it.

Starts of with the usual asking, and like both of us enjoy it, we just keep on talking.

I will admit that there is nobody who makes me laugh like you do. You’re just wonderfully weird.

Of long and short and this over that time chases away the evening and night dawns upon us. I look at my watch and wish if a little late will not be a lot. This then goes on within me for another few restless minutes. I forcefully pick myself up and drag myself towards the door. You ask me to wait and say its ok. The smile inside me, if on the face would have hit a new high. But ‘no’ i say, out of all the struggling approval the brain sends out. Its ok i’ll go and see you soon is what i say most of the time.

I step out of the door and remember something. ‘Oh yes! Here these are for you. I almost forgot to give them..’ It wasn’t necessary is what I always hear but then you never make a fuss. That twinkling smile can be seen again and most of the time thats the reason why I bring you your favorite chocolates.

We share a hug to part our ways till the next time when I visit the corner shop again.