Paranoia...thou art trouble!

What is the line of control in a relationship? When exactly do you violate it? Complex questions. It is those moments when your concern takes over your logical mind. And you mess it up. You become too interfering. Too much of everything is sour. Be it love, care or concern. A personal space is a very independent niche. Even your parents are not entitled to encroach there. But all the logic and written formulas fail when you become paranoid. Ah paranoia...thou art trouble!

I am a space-loving creature. Too possessive about my own cocoon. I hardly let anyone come inside my shell. When I do I grow possessive about that being. But my possessiveness is always punctuated by my own sense of space. Yes. I refuse to choke anyone with my own conclusion. Errant or Correct.

But at times, despite a lot of understanding, I fail to abide by my own rules. And then I become just another space-encroacher. Ah!...how easily it hurts. Its crazy how you can hurt yourself. Poignantly.

I wish I understand LoC better. Maybe a J.P Dutt film would help me better. Sorry about the pj. Actually my write-up suddenly seemed too serious. Nah!...life should be anything but serious. :)

Wintersque

Strange and abstract designs appear in the light pink wall. The Papaya leaves are busy dancing this morning. Filtered rays of the winter sun are creating a weird pattern in the wooden shelf. I was quite bemused. How nature changes from one season to the other. The dog has happily curled up in the gymnasium field. The sand – keeping him warm and somewhat cosy. I fish for the mobile in my Bermuda pocket- and realize I don’t have it with me. It is still sleeping beside sleep stained pillow.

I walk back to get it. Arms inside the pajama pocket, my father comes out of his room- eager for a fuming cup of tea. “Its cold!” he greets happily. And I smile at him and re-enter my sleeping zone. I get the smell of winter. It has crept into my room. A bit more intensely than the rest of the house.

A damp, cold air hangs inside my room. I open the window- and the warm sun immediately embraces the dampness. I take my mobile and go back to my parents’ bedroom. The papaya tree was still busy choreographing its’ winter jig. I try to capture it… each time I feel disappointed. I stand- knowing well that I am running late for office- a chill north wind ruffles my hair, past my ears- I realize it told me- “She does not want to be photographed. It’s her time of romance with the astray winter lover. How dare you encroach?”

I was quite taken a back. I was sorry. But then I could not help being a voyeur again. How beautiful is nature’s romance with its most erratic lover- the winter.

Mindless

So that’s what you think?

How long have you been thinking so?

A day? A month? A year? An Eternity?

Your smile is something …

I could never interpret!

What do you say?

I cannot hear properly these days…

I don’t remember what happened…

They say some sort of accident

Feeble…I feel on and off…

Sorry I digressed…

What were you saying?

You do not think of that?

Then why have you come back?

I remember the last time you came to me…

It was raining.

Hard, unabashed and feverish

First time… we spoke the whole night.

Incessant.

See now this bewildering cough…

Doesn’t let me sleep these days.

Quite like you…

Each time I asked you to sleep…

you would refute…

Ah the memories…

They always behave like an errant kid

Pulling me to a world that is not there.

So tell me…how has life been?

Your smile says it has been good.

Why can’t I hear you?

I think there’s some problem with the air…

You’ve also grown old…but not tattered.

You still look so refreshing

Just like Shiuli…in an autumnal dawn…

My throat is drying…

Would you pass me the glass…?

Yea...right that one…

I know you do not think of that…

I have also stopped bothering

Only at times when I sleep…

It comes back…sudden…uncalled for..

Just like you….

They tell me you are not what I think you are…

You are just a counselor…

I know…yes…it is ridiculous

I quietly laugh at them…

I am still a human being…not a vegetable…

And I know your breath…your vibration...you’ve stopped coming...

But I’ve never stopped hoping.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                               

“Sinners are spared while Sachin bats. Because even God is busy watching him”

It was my first time in the Garden of Eden. Yet to taste the forbidden fruit. I was only a clumsy teenager. Walking into the stands, identifying my seat- I was afraid to lose myself in the giant stadium. I clutched my father’s palm. Tight. I was there amid the madness. I was looking at the pavilion end. Some 70,000 odd people were transfixed. So was I. Perhaps just following suit… Maybe unknowingly mesmerized. Uproar! Hooters! A crowd bellowing welcome greeting- and from the pavilion alighted a short, calm figure with a huge bat. This is Sachin Tendulkar? The Tendulkar?

He looked up to the sky, his helmet adorned head searched for some assurance above. Can Sachin ever be nervous? I saw him being so. For a few seconds. Then he flashed the unmistakable smile to the stands- the giant screen showed him walking down the green blood of Eden! The 22 yard suddenly seemed more complete. He took his guard. And for the first time I realized what national pride meant.

It was not how he batted, it was not how he made square-cut seem a suave move, it was not how his hook hypnotized even the opponent- But it was purely his presence. He is a batsman- whose shadow breathes cricket. You look at him and you live cricket. He is born to India- And he truly changed the concept of unity in diversity. He gave us one religion and one God. He gave us phrases. He gave us idioms. He gave us songs. He gave us reasons to smile. He is no less than a warrior!

Yes he faltered. He was never the best captain India had. He had his share of bad patches. He saw a period of lull- but all these combine to make him more real, more palpable, and more rooted.

My words do fail me today….:

A sun that never sinks…on the brink of Wankhede…

A willow that is blessed with tears of joy

An assurance like a mother’s lap!

Warmth that seeps into every dreamer…

A nightmare to the strongest opponent…

Such an unassuming man- such a warm presence

Yet he could rob sleep of a six feet tall pacer

He could awe his own challenger!

No matter what the spinner bought out of his crafted wrist

His blade has an answer to all!

Sand storm took a fitting farewell

When Sharjah rocked with his sixers.

A century was never bigger than the deceased father

He is a man. True to his being.

Steel bangle, curled hair, a thousand watt smile.

Sa--chin…Sa--chin….Sa--chin….Sa--chin…-

Enchantment and heart beat of every blue blood!

He is not a cricketer- He is cricket personified.

The world has been envious- awed.  Time and again

TENDULKAR cannot retire.

He only can walk out to belong forever.

I won’t miss you.

 I’d only live forever in the inexhaustible memories.

So will India. And the world.

Application by a Rapist

Curriculum Vitae

Name: Rapist

Designation: Rapist

Work Experience: 7 years of successful raping.

Biography: I am a rapist. I have raped several women of various age- some brutally, some easily and some with a lot of resistance. I have also been part of gang rapes. I spearheaded the rape acts. Pioneering in taming the prey and tearing apart her fragile resistance- I personally don’t like raping the weak kind. The ones with a lot of agony interest me a lot.

I have never been arrested by police. But today I have lost my ability to rape. No I have not aged. I am still ripe enough. I now stay in an infirmary. I am writing my CV cum biography to apply for a job. Any job that will help me escape from the everyday rape I undergo. You are amazed? How can a prolific rapist be raped? Yes my future employer, it’s my duty to tell you all the truth.

It was a December night, I was drunk. Sitting inside the bus my basic instincts were getting aroused. I had raped a 27 year old call centre executive a week back. I always believed that women are the best addiction. And they are born to please men. Therefore by force or by fear they are to be acquired. Well, sitting in the bus I was getting a bit restless. I once contemplated visiting a brothel, but then I dropped the idea. The satisfaction you get by taking a fresh thing is completely breath-taking. The bus was empty. It stopped near a shack. The driver went out for some necessity. Just then a girl of about 25 boarded the bus. I spotted my prey. After a while the driver came back. I went to his cabin and shared my idea with him. He too had the chip in him. Slightly drunk, slightly sex-starved he agreed after a bit of debate. He gets his share when I’m done.

I went and sat beside the woman. She did not show any reaction.  All women use ignoring as a weapon. I put an arm across her. She still did not show any reaction. I was taken aback. I looked at her to verify whether she was a prostitute. No, she was not.

I held her hand and pulled her in a crude manner. She offered no resistance. I was getting restless. I slapped her; shook her. She flashed a smile at me. “What’s your problem you bitch? I’m gonna rape you right now!” My intoxicated breath was swishing on her. She said in whispers “It’s alright my son. You can take me. I’ll still pray to lord for your mercy. That’s by default a mother’s duty. Some day you will realize you had raped your mother so many times…In so many forms.” A chill ran down my spine. I noticed, she was wearing a white tunic with a cross round her neck. She was a nun. I was repelled, scared, and jittery. Her smile turned into laughter- Loud, cracking laughter. “Come here, rape me. I’m no one to stop you. You are a rapist, son. The one who has raped her mother. In every woman you raped, your mother’s womb bled. But that does not mean your mum’s angry. She still is praying for you.” I held her wrist, kept slapping her insanely. Her lips were bleeding, but her laughter did not stop. The bus had halted by then. The driver had fled. I lost my sense.

When I woke up I was in an infirmary. I learnt that a girl from the nearby nunnery had brought me here in senseless condition. I dosed off. I was in tremendous mental trauma. I kept dreaming of my deceased mother. She passed away when I was only six years old. In my dreams her smile turned into laughter and her lips bled profusely. I ran away from her. But she ran towards me with stretched arms. I am undergoing meditation sessions. They say I need a job. A laborious one. So I apply for it. Can anyone save me from my mother. She rapes me every day. I want respite.

Yours’ faithfully

Rapist.

GIBBERISH

The morning dew has settled on the leaf of the bonsai. Blessed day. I wake up with a half- moron expression and scroll down my mobile phone. The last sms reads: Recharge immediately to prevent termination of services. I realize I’ve missed a deadline again. Every day I wake up to realize that I don’t belong to the world that revolves around me. This disconnect has almost become a conceit. I relish it so much that I almost rehearse this disconnect. What if one day I wake up to find myself in a place where the mutated Homo sapiens like me stay? Would I then find a new disconnect? Estragon and Vladimir have waited for Godot ever since they understood they are lost. Or maybe the day they found themselves and did not know what to do with those selves. I thus fear finding myself. A disconnect helps me remain in a sort of acceptance. Or maybe a denial. It is a comforting cocoon. Therefore I once again doze off.

As I return from a hectic not-so-happening day at work. I retire. Facebook. Gtalk. Laziness. Three options. Unparallel competition. I choose the third everyday. A compelling addiction. So as I lie down to romance my leisure. I meet the Becketians. Or I guess the Becketians meet me. A blurry dimension. Smile fades only to replace a very queer expression. Estragon sits near my head and pats my forehead. I wish he knew how to massage. But even if he did he would not have executed the knowledge. Long back they have lost the pretension of compulsion. You have it doesn’t mean you show it. Or maybe you show it but not always have it. Bizarre the effect Estragon has on me. I swear by my monotony- I don’t want them to enter my inner space. But always, invariably they do. Vladimir speaks slowly. He sits near my feet. I feel like Krishna torn between Pandavas and Kauravas. The only difference there’s no battle. Or maybe there’s no battle field. Battle is like liquid. It comes alive in a package. I lack that. Thus all my battles are without shape. So in my shapeless battle called life...eh! It sounds so Wordsworthian. And I detest the Lucy-kid. No offence meant to his hugely lyrical ballad. So before I digress into one of my weirdness- let my put a period to my evening.

Night bestows and I wonder who I am? No a philosopher would not have been a competition. I promise to do “nothing” better than them at times. Especially with some beloved Vodka in my system. So here speaks the Vodkaish oracle. (Nothing Russian about it): My life has always been a short story, or so I love to believe. Digressions often break the rule- and my life tends to become a novel. Right then the cruel editor uses her skills to refine. And once again I become a short story tending to deviate. Well that's the thrill of it. You are never what you think you are. Catharsis, hence never comes.

And at the end what I understand is I have understood nothing. Neither have you. 

My Patriarchy

I speak for my nation. I speak for its undue advantage- because of the north balcony. I am unashamed of its unkempt nature- because it belongs to me. I have decolonized my heart long back. Thanks to Mr. Chinua Achebe. Last night I had a dream. A night mare actually. There were foreign forces lapping up my nation. I was unable to battle. Not because I was weak, but because sleep has crippled me. I understood they were taking over my space, my straits, my rivers and my pillow too. Unable I was. She cried, she wept, she yelled. She was raped into an organized lady. My madness was raped. She was killed. And I lied etherized under a half-conscious sleep.

Suddenly I woke up. Sitting on my bed I stared at the street light seeping into my nation. No she was there. Just there. As mad as I know her to be. Perhaps a bit more restless- seeking my intensity. I shut the window and darkness dissolved us into one. My room and I were no longer separate. We were as one as two souls in conjugal climax. My nation, my room. I’d never judge her. I will always make love to her. That is patriotism for me. Perhaps fragmented. But then, it’s the unit that shelters me in this vast country…in this unknown world, in this opportunist universe. Yes my nation is my room. I’m unashamed of my disintegration.

Like a walk in the rain

You took the first left

I waited near the cold-drink shop

You were unaware as always…

I was sweating in the sun of May

Suddenly you turned

That was a goose-bump moment

I don’t know what they’ll say

Crazy or weird in some way

But I have been following you from that day

The day when you walked in rain

With a silent hint of wayward pain

You’ve sat beside me in that iron bench

I still can’t figure out the emotion

Why am I so drawn to you?

Love, lust, crush?

Or is it some inexplicable?

There you are … out again

Maybe some essentials you need to buy

Why do I crazily wish…?

That you don’t easily find what you want

That’ll keep you out for some more while

I’d be watching you walk...for another mile

My friends say I chase a shadow

I say if shadow you are…

Then I wouldn’t care for a body anymore

I don’t know what this is…

It’s weird how I stutter trying to explain

I just love watching you walk

Endlessly…timelessly…forever.

My Introduction

My knight in shining armour

You’ve been the one I lost my heart to…

With every breaking dawn I wanted to be yours

Make you mine.

You said there were arrangements

You could just change my life

I was star-struck!

I went back and belonged.

I expected your presence

You compensated with money

A lot of it.

I asked for togetherness

You said its time to move forward

I geared up to walk with you

You decided to run

You chose a different track, a different competitor.

Was I a competition at all?

I crawled with a bruised knee. My heart did not hurt.

A lot of tears, messy, sweaty -soiled my existence

Insomnia led to morning blues

Pills and pillows were not enough

You were my greatest foe!

I hated being a zombie

But that’s all I could afford

And today the sun is shining on me

I still find you charming

But your embrace makes me stiff

I know you need me in the winter of your life

I wanted to be your blanket

You mistook me to be the rug

Not your fault

My fondness was an over-dose

So was my insecurity

I never realized that I never mattered

Or perhaps never wanted to believe

Today you believe in me

Only me

But I’ve got nothing to give you

Except a lot of space

That was once a scarcity

That was something that choked you years back

I still care for you

I have mended my ways…

I no longer get laid when my husband wishes to…

I lie down when I feel the heat

Not necessarily with the man they chose for me

Yes a woman with desire...I am.

I still don’t know dear knight

Why a strange lump visits me on and off

Your helplessness? Or my indifference?

Who cares, I am still the good woman

Who drools over chocolate and Tom ‘n Jerry.

Aaji Bosonto Jagroto Dwaare

Nanan dushchinta, shomoshya, durbhabna, shombaarer birokti, increment er onishchoyota, aaro bibidho jonjaal nie bhabte bhabte jokhon Monday Morning Blues ek otikay rup dharon korchhe- thik tokhoni Kacher dorjar opaare borfi kata roder phaalir dike chokh ta porlo.

Bodle gachhe roder nokshata, sheet er roder aadure bhaab katie akhon ek odbhut rong hoyechhe roder. Notunotwo chhorie dichhe shohorer dewal gulor gaaye, rasta gulor bnake bnake. Arey! Ki ashchorjyo. Bosonto kaal eshe porechhe oh. Ter  paini. Nibhrite nijer shomosto bhalo laga nie shohorer oli te goli te akhon poshar shajachhe rituraaj.

College e ei shomoy ta dedar moja hoto. Porikkhar tara nei, Dol-er plan cholto puro dom e. Neel akash ar prochur krishnochurar mukut dekha jeto college er bairetay. Jaihok apatoto mon ta hothat khub kharap theke besh ektu bhalo holo...mone pore galo bheeshon bhalo lagar shei gaan ta “Aj hok na rong phyakashe tomar amar akashe…chaander hashi jotoi hok na klanto..Brishti poruk nai ba poruk, jhor uthuk nai ba uthuk..phul phutuk nai ba phutuk ..Aji bosonto”

Byas! Jemni mone gaaner unki jhuki, kaj kormo shikey tule likhte boshe gelam. Bosonto kaaler modhye ekta odbhut byapar achhe.Kichhu ta shei aagekar dine college e Panjabi pora ushkokhushko chul er shupurush chheletir moto, jar knadhe thakto jhola bag thnoter kone abritti, jar shathe shomoy katate unmukh thakto bandhobider mon. Kintu take nie ghor bnadhar swopno keu dekhe na, she khoniker otithi, khoniker anondo boye ane, gaan shonaye, mon bholaye. Abar jokhon tokhon ekkebare na bolei chole jaye. Tate kar mon bhanglo, ke birohe kator holo ta tar mone thake na. Thik tamontai holo bosonto.

Office er concrete jhere phele khanikta  lobhe porei baire gie dnaralam. Iint kath pathore mora chndni chowk er opore ke jeno ek khamkheyalipona chhorie diye gachhe. Gachh gulo jano ektu beshi obadhyo, hawar ashkarate matha duliei cholechhe. Ar ekta odbhut gondho bhashchhe, onekta aabir er moto. Traffic er bhaare nuye pora rastatao jeno aj kinchit beshi jyanto. Jhok Jhok korchhe kintu jholshachhe na. Horn er shobdo ke jeno tekka ditei duronto duto chorui o kichir michir bnadhiechhe. E shobi kintu bosonter prosroye. Mon ta kirokom behaag shure bajchhe. Gongar dhaar, prinsep ghaat, camera, kichhu priyo bondhu…ar elomelo ichchher pahar- aaj aar mon beara tikchhe na chaar dewal e.

Jyanto thakar shomoy ta nehati kom. Netie pora jeebon tai dirgho meyadi. Tai jotodin jyanto achhi totodin jekota bosonto ashe tar protiti muhurto bnachte chai. Ektuo chhara jabe na. Ek phnotao na. Ochena poth ba chena chilekotha… Porichito mukh ba aguntuk..shobar praane ashuk bosonto. Shob bhabna bhulie dewa ek unmadona. Shob hisheb elomelo kora ek bhalolaga. Bnadhon chhnire dewa ek odrishyo chaabi…Ghorkuno, boishoik, shangsharik mon gulo aj rakhal hoye uthuk..bosonter alingone.

Aaji bosonto.

Being Human

So many broken relationships

Fragmented scrapped wounded

You look at them

They stare at you

You are awed…flawed…wasted

Insecurity? Your best friend.

Lying low in your bed

You clutch that blanket tight

Hugging the warmth of fur…wool…or simply your own bosom

The mirror suddenly is animated…

You feel a bit lost...a bit cornered

It’s not personal, you assure yourself

But the heart beats fast…faster

You call the one you want to hold near

You talk of things irrelevant…

Perhaps a feeling crosses your mind

What if I am next?

Heart is where the home is

Home is where the heart is?

Your fears won’t ever rest…

Because you are broken by birth…

Striving like the waves to unite with the shore…

So be afraid of voids, be insecure, be possessive

Love madly, laugh loudly… cry intensely …

It is every breath that takes you close to life

…and closer to death…

Because my friend…that’s where you belong!