a' la Kurt Cobain.....Frame-1

U consider urself lucky to have been born in a generation when looking up and getting there, are the buzzwords, afflicting tongues in an epidemic like surge and proliferation......

And this very conception, is the biggest undoing, staring you right in the face.....

It IS the very reason why the current world is the worst we've ever had....

You are being lulled into a false sense of security and prosperity while this engineered complascency of your beings is being manipulated by a few, capable and sadist pockets...to burgeon their already bursting-to-seams coffers and derive pleasure from this act, that, in essence puts them in the cockpit of your life.........

You willingly,albeit, ignorantly squander the control of your life.....you foolishly submit to the regime of imperialist slavery....you toil and sacrifice your sweat on the altar of greed and hypocrisy....you think thoughts that are surgically insinuated in your minds to keep you from revolting by the attainment of a neutral, un-polarised perspective......you desist from relinquishing the jobs you hate...just so that the drive to largesse remains in the top gear......you educate the beings you spawn with the same filth that would hard wire a bias towards these invisible men, who use the veil like certainty of the incommunicado upper echelons of decision making to mask their intentions...........And most baffling of all, you are so absorbed in this elaborate sabotage of your inherent rights, that your radar develops a perpetual bind spot for the rational and the logical........resulting in you, praising the true detractors of your life....you derive pleasure and fulfillment from a life, that actually is a filthy dispensable cog, that is driving and satiating, the disproportionately powerful.........

Ode to the bridges of madison county.....

rummage through the cache,

of the surreal 'somethings',

that are Like willing stowaways,

on the undulations of time.......

obsolete are the myriad discrete moments,

that clamor for eminence,

against the background of the sublime

glow of the sliver of time,

that like a divine incantation,

stands plastered in the walls of my mind.......

The horizon,bereft of a forgotten bridge,

stabbed at my quest, as the sultry clime, did me......

But a hike up your driveway,

and i could smell the musk of my very redemption,

in the aroma of your stew......

Treading the meadow to the heady rhythm,

chaperoning you,

from those make-believe camouflaged enemies,

treasuring the warmth of your presence,

putting up a spectacle,

That the hills of southern Iowa,

will whisper till eternity comes calling......

The creaky table, squeaks lores,

of the first union of our bodies........

The communion of our beings,though,

enjoys the solitude of our minds,

with no testimonies to inanely propagate it,

save our selves......

indulging in the company of the being we spawned,

that ephemeral figure, personifying,

the dissolution of us into one.....

I relish the emotional orgasm,

that enraptures me as i unravel your presence,

in the being, called, 'us'........

The undoing, though, peeks,

from the wrinkles of your face.....

Smothered by the weight of responsibilities,

the world we conjured together,

never takes to the air,

like a 'peregrine' with wings clipped.......

Resigning to the imminence of pain and separation,

the being volunteers commitment to celibacy........

sensitivity intact,

the erstwhile unshakable belief,

the mystic and the magical,

relinquishes the front seat

and the trappings of rational living,

curtail a romance,

which,though, nascent,

is replete with more love than a lifetime of courtship.......

The urge to drop the veneer,

to shelve the pretense,

and build a bridge back to you,

assumes almost palpable dimensions......

4 great days,

might just appear as incongruous dunes,

on the desert called life.....

But the love i feel for you,

a protege' of this blink in time,

suffuses my being with an ethereal warmth........

You might not be there,

to physically consummate this relationship,

but i feel your breath in every whiff,

of the easterly wind.......

your laughter resonating,

in the gurgle of every brook.....

and your love,

in every deed, i do....

In a universe of ambiguity,

this kind of certainty comes only once,

and never again,

no matter how many lifetimes you live........

And i promise my love,

that the unmoving constancy and vitality,

of our love will reflect off my eyes,

till death cloaks them......

then,

the bridges of your beloved madison county,

will mutely recount this tale of ours,

redolent of countless other unfulfilled stories,

but with a character,

only we could have infused....

I'll love you........forever......and ever.......

unfaithful premonitions......

My solid mechanics class was another scrawl on the timetable.....but when the pertinence, renounces the boundaries that a slacker like me stoically enforces, those between the book and life, you start marveling at the precise and subtle meaning, that fate reserves for everything that you are expected to dabble with, no matter how trivial you consider it......

On the lines of hooke's law......the distance, as it magnified, seemed to increasingly make me want to get back to the good old days......

When the limit of tolerance was breached, the pull dwindled into an inconsequential and feeble force, a vestige of the desires that once used to assail my being with an abominable strength.

As the forces, propelling me away, crossed the above mentioned threshold, the corresponding change in the palpable distance, exploded past all precedents, as is to be expected......

The foresight of the point of fracture sends tremors down the spine and i can only brace up to face the recoil that would perhaps strum the vibrations of finality on the collapsible string, that is my destiny......hard wiring my psyche forever.......embedding sense into what has been a mind, 'stuck in a moment', and refusing to relinquish it.......

hell.......i feel so cold..........wonder if fumigating my worries like those irritating mosquitoes in the fumes of nicotine, would help.......

I never believed, this thought would ever intrude the premises of my mind.........

But similarly, i never did envisage the going on's that are pushing me over the brink......

Even the gravest of my premonitions, never informed me........

It's Time......

IN a departure from the ebb of my previous post, this one is again a denizen of those insightful multitudes.......that make an inadvertent appearance, every other week.....on this blog of mine.......

'Its fucking annoying when rational people leverage so much on one small piece of shit'......this status message of my gmail account conveys the two events, tht defined the particular day, this message appeared.......in a rather succinct though very precise manner...........

One being the figurative 'tug of war' between the editorial teams of my insti newsletter........

Whether the domains of the respective editors should figure together, formed the topic of contention........and literally incinerated an hour of my time.....not that i missed a critical appointment or nething......but still.......i have many better avenues to explore my disproportionately prodigious 'free' time..........

Neway........tried to get myself heard.......but(or so) the bone remained adamantly stuck.......status quo prevailed and the deadlock now moves onto the precinct of the next meeting.....and another hour or two of my time lost......

The other provocation was slightly more offensive in nature......and its conception, doesnt cease to bamboozle me....even now......

It represents a classic case.....wherein, the truth induced a violent ejection of the then newly conjured bonhomie........

I still fail to 'see' the reason.....or maybe i never 'saw' it........oh........hell with this 'see-saw'....

When 'can't' morphs into 'won't'..........does a person know that barriers of understanding have been savagely breached and the no return point is waving from the yonder horizon.....the bend of my minds curve is pretty expansive........and that there still remains the case of fourth dimension to promote cordial relations......

Certainty about one thing does though persist........that the lost white cloth cannot be replenished netime soon on my side.....and the olive leaves can wait till i manage to land an italian beauty for myself........

so.......a passive spectator, that i see myself as, can only be activated if the stocks of the above mentioned commodities are made available to me......graciously........

If i am being overtly optimistic,..........so be it......

I am what i am......

A Day in the life......Part-i

Like a grotesque mole on the finger shaped island of bombay, is kamathipura. It retains all the dormant-yet-wannabe-malignant traits of a mole in context of the city.just south of nana chowk, off the bustling Grant Road,its a dingy and morbidly intricate network of alleys and by lanes that dwindle into even smaller variants of the same once the seemingly impenetrable facade gives way to an even more formidable(for a navigator or otherwise) interior where the stench emanated by open sewers casts a veil of olfactory depression and the crumbling houses, dotting the lanes obiliterate the sunlight giving the whole area, an air of pugnacious decadence. All this intermingles and you have a corossive mix which conveys the impression of an interminable bleaknesss.

Hell, i'll be damned if i were to assume on the basis of the above labelling, that it lacks in life. On the contrary, its a playground of multitudes......inspired by the figment of leadin nnormal lives, they make extra efforts on their part to counter the extenuating effects, their surroundings exert on their lives.For instance, A Pan wallah playing the music extra loud so that an urchin sitting on the other end of the street can gyrate to the music,A stunning plethora of street musicians that earn their wages by driving away the general sense of grief that one might associate with this place,mongrels frolicking in the open sewers,Dogs assaulting you in an explosion of licks and..............................

This very blot on the face of the maximum city, is also its biggest brothel, rather, the largest in all of asia. It is, in principle, illegal, the whole prostitution business, but currency notes warming suitable pockets, keep the oldest profession in the world thriving.A disgruntled polic inspector, or a newly trnsferred one or an overtly honest one..........conspire to surgically curtail the expansion of this mole by confirming to the lawbooks, with some degree of regularity.

Did I mention currency notes, warming suitable pockets......oh well...what is life without a warm bed.

A different harlot is sent to these string-pullers, every week, to 'warm' their beds. And this happens with an almost military regularity, as incurring the wrath of the clients, mentioned, would involve several wasting, starving families.It was indeed a cruel irony that the very people, designated by fate, to fulfill the carnal needs of a perpetually sex starved city,lived in such abject poverty..........

Indulging and satiating the most primal of instincts, it should'nt be a surprise, though, that these 'selfless'(i think) whores led an equally primal life,with only the most rudimentary of necessities.

Padma, was a whore, one of the many in this hellhole.

In her home, nestling in the very bowels of this place, she had very few entities, to call her own. A rotting bed with an ailing husband ornating it,a kerosene stove bereft of its daily dose of fuel, a few empty utensils and rags for clothes.This is what she owned.Forced Prostitution had taken away the only gift she could give her husband....her virginity.....the dismal dwellings had, bit by bit nibbled away her hopes from life........and now......HIV had taken away her infant son.

Only the night before, her sole joy of an year and a half had succumbed to an aggressive bout of pneumonia,which compounded by the HIV ravaged immunity of the kid, snuffed the life out of a frail body.

And she knew that the sole responsibility of his death lay with her.

About 8 moths ago, it was her turn, amongst umpteen others when she was required to pay a 'courtsey' visit to the nearby police station.A weekly draw of lots was normally employed to determine the woman that would come calling to the groins of the owners of 'warm pockets'. A night spent, 'getting spent' and no pay to imburse these labours, a wasting body with zilch in tummy, ditto for a stove with a starving womb............a collateral of such dimensions simply couldn't be obviated.

To be continued..........