levitate

we were planning the sea, but with Zeus throwing thundering tantrums the sea was coming to us. course correction - we are taking the hills instead!

old friends

The birds are loosing it.

In the morning I spotted a pigeon - a sitting duck to the descending drops of rain. He was still there at noon.

In the evening saw a crow perched upon a lamp post, grinning like an owl, getting drenched and battling the downpour.

Is this contagious?

An incoherent enterprise

They want to teach us enterprise. It's ironical how seemingly intelligent looking professors can take themselves so seriously. The irony does not end at that, smart young people being professed refuse to decipher the message.

She says I sound self righteous, I admit that at moments I do. She says I should drop the facade, I agree that I should.

Now lets get some order in here, two disconnected paragraphs, and then one long sentence with three commas, criminal! So we were discussing enterprise. Endless possibilities with a limited vision tend to create tricky situations. There I go again, theorizing.

It's a pleasure to see them discuss. The man says create needs, sell the rural folks a dream. The woman disagrees, she believes that it would be an offense. The woman suggests we serve existing wants, sell the city folks convenience. The man is silent, he believes that this would be mere observance.

"It's a thin line", they agree.

Westside Mahatma

Scene I

A fancy shopping mall, full of fancy people, buying fancy stuff. As long as I did not enter the frame it was fun, one of those scenes where you wallow in the wings rejoicing the fact that the spotlight will not impinge. I could not play truant for long, the absurd tragedies of the craft.

When you have to do what you have to do it makes sense to do the best you can. I tried being as professional as I could, but I guess it was not good enough. If you want me to assign a reason, I'd blame the old villain - Intimidation!

Scene II

A simple curtilage around a simple house. Simple people who leave simpler comments. The simplicity was imposing right from the entry. One of those situations where you rely on your partner to bail you out, and it aggravates if your partner is reliable, the typical comedies of the craft.

When you realize the glaring mismatch it makes sense to retreat. Sometimes respect shuts out logic and impulses start dictating movements. Cues are missed and dialogues are created. If you want me to assign a reason, I'd blame the old villain - Intimidation!

The Advisor

Three years ago I met Jagga. He was one of 'those' people. The types you are certain you will write about. Just like that middle aged woman who shared a cup of tea with me on a moonless night. A fascinating breed. They intrude your senses and lie dormant enjoying the fact that they are tormenting you, knowing for certain that they would be written about. You on your part keep procrastinating, trying hard to obliterate memories, rewrite the past, evading, running, till in a loose moment you involuntarily break free.

Jagga was also a foreman. That's the only way to describe him, professionally atleast. Medium height, well built, wandering eyes, natural swagger, boyish smile and an unusual intellect.

The face on my wallpaper

This is just not happening! Its too damn corny. Whatever I write sounds contrived. Seriously. I mean what’s the big idea of wanting me to write something on/for you in “English”?

If this is one your sweet little ego trips then I see no reason to play spoil sport. In a strange way I quite enjoy pampering your weird whims and funny fancies. Infact I can even attribute a reason to it, my enjoying, that is – you are genuine. You are genuine to the extent of being a con! Shall I explain?

All this happening all around, these quantum bursts of happiness, the constant unending desire, long walks, short naps, raging hunger at one end and a loss of appetite at the other, unfinished books, unseen films, refreshing music, repeated music, damp walls, long presentations, short presentations, grouchy evenings, grouchier mornings, mid night nazms and borrowed gifts…

I changed paragraphs because there was no way I could ever complete.

As she once said, “some things should be left hanging..."

Disease

“Dusk is a time for losers…”
- O Henry


It’s almost dusk. A lazy day, a lousy day. I don’t like being sick, it makes you feel extremely useless and highly vulnerable. It invades the sphere of your independence and makes you realize the concept of mortality. Yes, in a way you feel like a loser. A loser to the virus or the microbe or whatever fancy organism it is that’s causing you so much discomfort.

Midnight at noon

Familiarity breeds contempt.

It was winter when the bear came out of hibernation. This is a strange land, please do not use logic. The bear had been holed up for as long as he could remember.

The kitten had been watching him for a while. She was fascinated by his lethargy, fascinated because she detested it. She was awed by his indifference, awed because it challenged her.

A star somewhere was witness - the only witness.

The winter wind interfered and the bear woke up. Simple. Actually there is a flaw in this account; no one has been able to ascertain the actual cause. They say it was the winter wind because its simple, but it may well have been the gaze. Several winters had passed by, never such a gaze.

Bear – “It should have been surprise, but it wasn’t”.

Kitten – “It should have been fear, but it wasn’t”.

They were different species. The kitten had a large loving family. The bear was a grouchy loner. He wasn’t abandoned, just branched out.


Narrator – “Alright, not grouchy, just a loner”.

…to be continued

When Marx Died

"Accha hai dil ke sath rahe paasban-e aql,
lekin kabhi kabhi isse tanha bhi chor do!"

"It's alright to let the mind guide the heart,
At times just let the damn heart be!"

"Marx is dead" it's all over the place.

We live in a small community, a community of communication specialists.

Last night he broke free.

A very dear friend, I’ve know him for almost 25 years. It was a pleasure to see him happy. Restrain has several advantages, it purges, shields, nurtures, but above all it provides with an opportunity to let go.

The possibility of the unknown keeps the act alive; volte-face is often the most appropriate tool for typecast performers. And it’s a delight when the want flows from the heart. The script jades out and a human appears, juxtaposed!

Ironical though it may sound, but just when he thought that he had stepped out of the act and was being himself, they told him that it was his best performance.

Raqs-e-bismil (The dance of the wounded)

That afternoon she wrote.
She wrote poetry.
Wrote poetry for me.
For me she changed scripts.
Changed scripts.
Scripts?

That evening we walked.
We walked the same path.
Same path, different strokes.
Different strokes of a new born green.
Born green for a reason.
A reason unexplained.
Unexplained?

That night she wept.
She wept for reasons I'll never know.
Never know what she left incomplete.
Left incomplete for I interrupted.
I interrupted.
Interrupted?

It is a mad dance. I do it because she insists. The pleasures of a simple life!

Communication

She was dancing. I was lonely. The weather was enticing, so I went for a walk all alone. Solitude in small measures is fascinating.

...then I met him. It wasn't a usual meeting. He was walking ahead, "It'll rain again" he said as I was crossing him. "I guess you are right, but wouldn't it be better if this monsoon business ends once and for all?" I said.

We walked together. He was a gardener in the compound just across the road, had worked for two years in my college, lived in shela, knew my hostel, told me that I walk too fast for comfort and that he'd rather that I overtook him.

I did not know his language, he was equally clueless about mine!

mint and tobacco

complementary or opposites?

It's quite a task to analyze this. Besides, there isn't much need for analysis.

There was this couple I met a long time back. Interesting folks. She was a writer and he an admirer. It was an unusual match, someone somewhere had conspired, do not ask me why.

"...ajab yeh pher hai,
taqdeer ka yeh pher to shayad nahin hai..."

...so they lived. She wrote, he admired. All was well till the "issue" intervened. Now these issues are peculiar creatures. They crop up from nowhere and take charge of innocent lives. They make you sit up and think. They mock peace. They spilt you. They make wanderers seek direction, it's a pity!

Uninvited Bastards these "issues"

But they are cathartic, get rid of a lot of bad blood, make characters rethink, create new ground, evolve emotions and make humans human.

What became of them, I do not know. I moved on and haven't been in touch since. But I'm sure they would be happier now.

No, I don't have facts to back this. I told you it was an unusual match, someone somewhere had conspired, do not ask me why.

Aadha Musalmaan

Amidst all this madness, Jehaad as they call it, what role do I assume?

On being asked about his religious inclinations by a British soldier, the Master Poet Asad-ullah Khan Ghalib replied “I’m half a Muslim – aadha musalmaan hoon bhai” The puzzled soldier could not make much sense. This was the master’s explanation – “I drink alcohol, but refrain from eating pork – sharaab peeta hoon, suar nahin khata!”

Main aksar is juml-e pe gaur karta hoon –‘Aadha Musalmaan’ at moments I feel so branded!

The other day a professor in all righteousness stated in class that “…Malaysia is rather entrepreneurial; it’s a rather civilized nation in spite of being predominantly Muslim…” and I am sure I was the only one who registered this.

I have avoided this confrontation for quite a while now. Today I shall put it down in writing.

“Dil hi toh hai na sang-o-khisht
dard se bhar na aaye kyoun
rooyenge hum hazaar baar
koi humme sataye kyoun”

- Ghalib

Steel Making

The monsoon is here. The sheds must be dripping, the scrap all moist, the lime dust settled and the shift changes erratic. Workers would still be drying the damp dungarees near empty ladles and slag pots. A week into a new month, the costing sheets would be prepared. The presentation for the review meeting would be sitting neatly on the desktop of the computer in the conference room. It would be work as usual - Steel making.

I worked there, I still do. No, I am no longer on the company record. My last dues have been dispatched. Employee Code 4822 resigned a year ago - June 9, 2004.

Intoxication

It is basic. A basic luxury perhaps, but certainly basic.

"Wine shops on the street corner..." he says, and I go back to the days when these shops on the 'street corner' were my companions. They aren't all that bad I tell him. They offer solitude and they love it when you walk in looking all lost and forlon. Where else would you find such love? The romantic blend of service & indifference. Its unburdened. Its pure. Lets cut it short, Its sheer pleasure!

"...The burden of identities left far behind
Of drinking from and passing into
Just the moment becomes life itself
Of unburdened, unquestioned love"

Ibteda - A new act

... ek shuruaat hai yeh. Ya younh kahiye ki ek nayi shuruaat hai.

Its a rather experimental act in which the performer can move in and out of roles. Change lines. Alter movements. Modify cues.

To the puritans it might sound rather fancy, but then that's the point. A performer is at the end much more than the script. Assuming a character differs from living a character.

The make up masks. The lights shield. The curtains protect. The stage limits.

Kudrat ke andaaz bhi nirale hote hain. Aql ke maidaan mein jazbaaton ko aksar shikast milti hai. Lekin kabhi yeh kaynaat behad meherbaan ho jaati hai. Baaware shayaron ko maqsad mil jaata hai aur Baaware adakaaron ko tareef.

There are some who will always labour, some who will remain insomniacs, some who will always complain. Then there are those who are fortunate.

If you are fortunate enough spring walks right into your life.

I am bloody fortunate!