Finally waiting

In you I find

the earthiness of the sky

the limitless earth

a love full

of paradox

In you I find

the enormity of smudged kohl

the world's tinkling

captured in one whole breath

In you I find

my superficiality

reflected in your pools of brown

my heartbeats captured

in one curve of those lips

In you I find

the feet that roamed

then walked

finally waiting

In you I find

mists that do not

engulf starlight

and annoyed brows

melting like butter

In you I find

melancholy.

pa-ra-parra-pa

Her voice and my thoughts are drowned by perpetually warring and barking dogs. In my head I run in different directions. But never to different people.

It’s an odd calm. The calm after the storm.

there’s a battle outside

and it’s raging

It’s a riot with notes. An attempt to tease the little bit of peace in you.

A sudden urge to photograph this ladder in front of the bedroom door. Add some colour, and it would make for a perfect picture.

Perfect. Perfect?

She had sent me this jazz piano piece saying it described her frame of mind right now. Think she was talking about this mess I call my mind.

Error 678.

And then it’s a one-sided affair.

I seem to be in more than just one such persuasion.

Indeed.

the times, they are a changin’

"One sec."

It's been gnawing at my insides. All the way to my blood stream.

There are answers nobody asked for.

Angry dragons nobody woke up.

Will I ever know? Ever know those brown eyes well enough never to doubt them?

Doubt me?

I've cried with my hands folded, with a prayer on my lips- only twice. Today, it was desperation.

Today it was wisdomrelationshipsforgivenesspatiencecalmsanitylove.

In the mess I call my head.

So what if you go carousel in colour and drum beats one evening? You come back, and it's right there.

Sitting.

Waiting.

Waiting patiently.

As always.

Yesterday, today, tomorrow

It's been grey.

Rainy.

Windy.

Cold.

Cloudy, foggy, driving into the clouds. With raindrops racing off the windscreen.

Part of me hates it.

The other part is head over heels in love with it.

So the story of last night.

Shoes kicked off. Lying in some corner.

And a piece of night sky. Out the dusty window.

And I text.

Then it strikes me.

How many loves do we have in our lives? And till where do we have to walk to seek fulfillment?

Human existence never seemed stranger.

So many cocoons of conversations. Relationships. Loves. But never quite there.

In this mess of meetings and separations, I've arrived.

That time of the year again

I'm not inclined towards prose today.

Nor poetry.

What I'm really in the mood for today, rather tonight, is sulking.

Which I've done for a full twelve and half hours now.

Sulked because she snapped.

Sulked because he didn't call.

Sulked because badminton didn't happen.

And finally, sulked because I had to accompany Maa to the hospital to see an absolute random relation.

And now I can't sulk anymore.

And I'm letting go.

Which pretty much sums up 19.

00:00

There is a certain way winter descends over Calcutta. It's not sudden, it isn't gradual. It doesn't creep over the city, neither does it smoothly take over. You just have to live here long enough to notice the patterns. There are a few brakes..a few jerks. But winter still comes to this city beautifully. And for someone like me, who enjoys the feeling of the world around me being just about cold enough for me to want to be warm, well, it's just perfect.

Cause when you're entwined in his arms after a long hard day of stage fright, and you pass a wall graffiti, when the next moment's lights are reflected in the large pool of his eyes - it is this city you feel for most.

There are five minutes to go. And you wanna go on top of a really top building and scream to the same city. Out of joy, overwhelmingly joyously.

After all..it was winter, Calcutta winter. Which brought intermingled frosts of breaths. And tears, displaced kisses. Him, not much later.

फैज़

गुलों में रंग भरे

बाद-ए-नो बहार चले

चले भी आओ कि

गुलशन का कारोबार चले

Another city post

From the zebra crossing.

My phone lit intermittently. Off ringer. Off vibration.

He said he wasn't in a mood to talk. So I plugged in my earphones.

They say no language can be adequately translated.

Aamake aamar moton thakte dao

Aami nije ke nije moton guchiye niyechi.

Driving through Calcutta near about dusk. Always breathtaking.

The bill boards are just lit up, brake lights and signals are all fresh. Dewy almost.

Light shines in fragmented rays from beyond the lake. The lake with lavender wild-flowers. They're a song on their own.

It's always harmony..you, with the universe. One pulse. Pulsating.

He's singing of life in the background.

Ei toh jibon.

Yes.

Life has a certain romance to it. And everything, a shine to it. In hindsight.

Remember telling her about how I love my mistakes. Fiercely. How else are you young, irrational and extreme?

I'm going to be 17, for a while.

voices. void. absence.

It's just the flow

of it

that confounds me.

I flow with it

one day

another day

yet another.

From one into another.

A shiny blue pebble.

Rounded by the flow.

Rounded enough

to flow with the flow.

Just flow.

It's the worst phone calls

nightmares of nights

that confirm my belief

strengthen my conviction -

this is not a flow which

will end in the ocean

form deltas.

Or break.

They say

there are mind frames

you shouldn't get into.

There are some emotions

you shouldn't get tangled in.

There are addictions and cravings

you should resist.

Obviously

there is a reason why I warn others.

Or am I?

For a lifetime

Waking up with a shiver.

On the season's first cold, windy day. A cloudy morning. Slips into a cloudy afternoon.

And it's still windy.

I look outside.

And I declare it's romantic.

And he asks me.

I cross the threshold. And my feet feel the cold under them.

I step back.

And it's warm again.

I flit from the warm to the cold, and back.

Guess it's true. It's always warm indoors. And cold outside.

The spirit of cities

I write this on one of my loneliest nights. I've been meaning to pen down a lot of stuff for a long time now, but right now the beats, the voices, the rhythm, the climax - is all pushing me off the edge.

Not to mention the clapping thereafter.

Rajasthan.

It's a lonely land.

It's a defeated land.

Every face I see, every kid who looks upon me with longing in his eyes, tells the same tale of poverty.

But then I chance upon the flight of a bunch of pigeons into the blue sky at the Mehrangarh fort of Jodhpur.

The tie and dye at the various shops which pride themselves on selling their products at five times the original cost.

The star spangled night sky when I first arrived at Jaisalmer. I had never seen so many stars in my life.

The dusty bare feet of Pimu, the six-year-old who guided our camel into the sun-kissed sand dunes of the Thar.

Or the lost glory of Rajput rulers, clearly etched in the wrinkled face of the old man playing 'Kesariya balam' at the Golden fort of Jaisalmer, the echo of which can be heard reverberating within the walls of the fort.

All this

Yet incomplete

Eyes welling up

Just at the thought.

I began by saying this is one of the loneliest nights of my life.

My poetry recently

My poetry recently

Has been fragmented

Disjointed

Long and winding-

This road I'm on.

He asks me

What I was thinking of.

And I echo Gibran.

Saying things

Doing things

Silence from then on.

Loveless nights

And even more loveless mornings

For some time now

I've been looking at

Old photos

Ticket stubs

Restaurant bills

And wondering

What exactly's different

Or just not the same.

What I do know

Is that my being

Has been touched

Because when I look into your eyes

I seem surreal

You seem surreal

It all feels surreal.

When I switch off

The lights

On an evening

An evening of an approaching winter

Watch my share of the sky

Silhouette

Of a tree

And the intermittent twinkling

Of an airplane

From between the leaves

With the words

From a day together

A happy day together

When complexes

And inhibitions

Didn't cloud lives.

One life.

And then I chance upon

A recording.

A voice recording.

It all comes back.

Sight.

Sound.

Touch.

Smell.

Taste even.

Ain't a sepia

You stop. You start. You stop again. Only to start again.

Story of my life. Stopping, braking. Starting, accelerating. Smiling, breaking down.

I'm the wave that hits you the hardest. The one you don't see. The only one you don't predict.

Difficult to contain.

Black or white. There isn't a sepia with me. Among other camera effects.

You revisit DMB. #34. Ants marching.

Under the table and dreaming. And you find yourself lowering the volume.

Times have changed, because conversations start with unexpected restraint.

Wonder. Brood. Snap.

There are days when you watch reels of watched stuff. Over and over again. Punch lines have become dialogues you remember. Whether it's with the buffalo or otherwise. He says he really likes this one. And you let it go on. Killing your time, killing the space in your head which screams out for someone..something.

You laugh and you swing with the crowd on normal choc-a-bloc days. He cannot compensate for the change. As much as you might want to convince yourself.

Cause when she left, she took all that with her. Now you're just a note on a scale that isn't yours. So you're really a minor note on a major triad.

Which reminds you that you were supposed to do your pieces for Thursday.

You were filling pages today. And the thickness was a euphemism for the sort of baggage you're burdened with.

The expectations.

Expecting from your unstable self.

I'm a mess in letters spelt out clearly.

Yet you see what you want to see, believe what you want to believe.

So go ahead.

Things from a lost diary

It was a sea green bottle

Things kept safe

Half a secret

The longing from my eyes

The one you didn't see

Things that are unleashed

When you come close

Close

Until your breath

Becomes mine

And then

You break every wall

I'd built around myself

All around myself

When love ends

There will be a tomorrow

With or without.

Love of mine.

Like someone said

It's like a lone orange leaf.

Stuck in the middle

Of nowhere

While the other

Successfully moves

Forward.

Ahead.

On.

Fear is the heart of love.

And that's why

So many conversations.

Endlessly exploring

What was inevitably

Around the corner.

The dying notes

Of the song.

Once upon a time.

Trying to hold time

Hold it still

Very still

As you feel it slipping away

With every beat

Every time

The drum sticks came down.

Fading away.

With the dying notes

Of the song.

Once upon a time.

Mute

What if I was sand, and you blew patterns in me?

What if I was the stuff kids make castles from, dig me out, upset me?

What if I was a blue bucket full of water, and a droplet joined me, only to disturb every depth I've known?

What if I was the breeze, cut and tarnished as I blew from the ocean out towards the unforgiving arms of cities?

What if I was the orange of the street lamp looking down on a monsoon, a lonely bird, a couple huddled under a single umbrella?

What if I was the ache that cried out to you every moment?

"Change the song!"

Another evening spent in your arms

With smoke engulfing you

And me

My kohl is smudged by the tip of your nose

And laughter emanates

As tickling leads me to

Extricate myself from your grip.

Then all that remains is your silhouette

With every feature marked out with chalk.

It is then that I fear

You getting lost among the crowd

You do know of course

That I've kept you safe

From the rest of the world

And I don't want anything to ever touch

Those laugh lines.

Never.

I want to go on making you 18-second promises

And boss, and threaten

And spend smoke engulfed evenings.

Ever.

She's everything

I listen to stories of yellow and skies

untainted love

and smiles that reach up to your eyes.

Then I feel the abyss setting in

slowly.

Bit by bit

but it sets in.

A painful melody plays in the background

and I can feel your nerves

pulsating with the rhythm.

I play

I tease.

And then you laugh.

I told you the sound of your laughter

is the purest thing I've heard.

Then you ask me questions that bring back muck and mess.

The melody's steadily growing louder.

So do your promises.

Existences seem bound at that time.

This inextricable..thing.

Somehow I was happy

in the inextricability

of it all.

And I wanna be happy

again.

Just.

Felt like writing. Not poetry, not prose. Just. To a friend.

I'm listening to "Inner Peace" by this band called Indian Ocean. You must get some of their music, if you don't know about them already.

But listening to this, it's given me one of those moments where you feel very very alone, but it doesn't bite. Cause somewhere you know you're not wrong. So this is alone-ness out of choice.

As John Mayer puts it, this is not the storm before the calm.

I'm standing in a place in life where I don't know where I'm headed. Whether it's towards myself. Whether I'll roam around in circles all my life.

I've made mistakes in the past. I don't want to repeat them.

And I'm also wondering whether it's always a choice between being happy or being right.

Cause somewhere, at some level I feel both are not possible or convergent.

Is is something I owe to myself?

I don't know.

Calcutta

10th August, 21:08

Candy floss

At 17:06-

"Am coming."

So he did. Bringing along with him a whirlwind of fights, and molesting and jostling.

The sad bit is that he took all that with him while I was busy looking at him through the glass, waving goodbye.

Leaving me behind like a whining, motherless puppy.

Now all my amazement at seeing mush between people has been answered.

Successfully.

Featuring..

With a slightly bruised heart, I travel.

Unravel.

Some tunes are in my backpack, the notes all mixed up.

I left my birds home and I know their chirps are lonely back there.

Their mates are either dead or have flown away to lonelier corners of the world.

I think of promises I've made.

In happier moments.

When evening had not set in or words had not hit me.

Or drum beats hadn't made their way into my thoughts.

My memories.

I remember crying in front of her.

It's true.

Loving is short.

Forgetting, so long.

In moments like these, I look at him in my head.

And infidelities.

I must stop this music. Now.

Returning to Classic

I love returning home at this particular hour when the sky's inky, slowly inching towards nightfall.

The red of the brake lights is oddly blurred when the lake meets the sky in a haze of the same ink.

The several windows lit up like tiny pinpricks.

Secrets close to my heart.

His smile.

Kisses on his nose.

His perfume.

One that only I am familiar with.

Him.

Hallelujah to randomness

Sometimes I feel like putting a tune here.

In this case it would be Yiruma.

So much simplicity. Ant and elephant jokes. Colours. Telling someone your love story. Watching repeat episodes of Splitsvilla. Sleeping on a bandh. Killing the hours, till you get of the house to grab some pizza and end up so disoriented, without any sense of time.

New chick in college, with a huge ass and huger boobs.

And the whole of the evening spent talking to a friend about the best ways to hit on her. Or just plain ogle.

So yeah.

Obsessing.

Laughing.

Bitching.

Fearing just a little bit.

Sometimes I feel like putting a tune here.

The Third Letter

Good morning, on July 7

Though still in bed, my thoughts go out to you, my immortal beloved, now and then joyfully, then sadly, waiting to learn whether or not fate will hear us - I can live only wholly with you or not at all - yes, I am resolved to wander so long away from you until I can fly to your arms and say that I am really at home with you, and can send my soul enwrapped in you into the land of spirits - yes, unhappily it must be so - you will be the more contained since you know my fidelity to you. No one else can ever possess my heart - never - never - oh god, why must one be parted from one whom one so loves. And yet my life in V is now a wretched life - your love makes me at once the happiest and the unhappiest of men - at my age I need a steady, quiet life - can that be so in out connection? My angel, I have just been told that the mailcoach goes every day - therefore I must close at once so that you may receive the letter at once - be calm, only by a calm consideration of our existence can we achieve out purpose to live together - be calm - love me - today - yesterday - what tearful longings for you - you - you - my life - my all - farewell. Oh continue to love me - never misjudge the most faithful heart of your beloved.

Ever thine

Ever mine

Ever ours.

Crashing me by

There's a blue light..

Just another friday evening. Eyes hurt by the evening orange.

Love-hate.

Bitter-sweet.

There's a blue light

I wanna see it shine

I'd told you, that you were making memories of your own. That your frames were ones that didn't include me.

I'd told you.

And mine, well..

Mine were helium, red balloons, which flew away.

Or millions of little pinpricks.

Resounding in the general hullabaloo.

And if you're hurting, you should've come along a little sooner.

The esctasy.

And the sinking.

Pulls me down.

Keeling me over.

There's a world outside my doorstep.

But I'm content.

And you know that.

Revisiting the same places, the same times, the same winter.

The winter which eased summer in.

The laughter, and the tears.

Tears that brought you home.

Little by little.

Fade into you

Strange you never knew

Fade into you

I think it's strange you never knew

etude

shards of crystal

quiet

serene

reflecting the ultraviolet

a line of red

underneath

resonant depths

of pools of brown

brown that pierces

laughs

smiles

cries.

loves.

me

in three different places

yet the same

circled

enraptured

time is an

entity unto an abyss

as streaks

and angles

shift

shift till

the gray of the water

and the gray of the sky

are one

my air is not this time and space

i draw you close with every breath

Ei papri chaat

Video games, and a final chokeslam to Trish. "I never lose at games like these, honey. Even if I'm Trish, I'll win."

Boyhood photos.

Sparks.

The entire city before me, wind through my hair. An undercurrent. Dusk.

Swerving in and out to finally arrive. Soft eyes on me.

Fragile.

And sleepy complaints about too much tenderness.

A funny thought struck. It's all the difference between vertical and horizontal stripes really.

first names and first thoughts

which way do they walk? which turns do they take? do their eyes still have that half-torn look, the same which they wore when those irises bore into yours? a hint, a slight clue, just anything.. only when the first name brings you to a sudden stop one sultry calcutta evening.

you run away, you ignore. you be patient and stop yourself. a reminder of things buried way back - again and again and yet again. coming back home to a cold that hits the bones. a change of views, from lines and angles to colours and questions that you won't answer. monosyllables do not hit home. but please, oh please, just once.. let me know what dreams i broke and what frames i escaped?

the joy of nothingness

orange light

upside down

in perspective

and

slow dancing

in a burning room

while he and she

sang some

long forgotten

90's number

fingers tracing

trails that

dust left behind

and patches of

a different sky

lit by

a hundred fireflies

almost as if

you've arrived

to yourself again

to the joy of

nothingness

I walk from...

Light to darkness

Calm to storm

Sitting on the threshold

It's havoc

Wrecked loose on me

In the slight

Sound of rain

And rolling, laughing thunder

Silhouettes in a world

Plunged into an abyss

I walk from

Silence to thunder

Peace to mayhem

Feet numbed

And this sheet moistened

Water levels rising

The storm picks up

Laughter lost somewhere

Like paper boats

Battered by the rains

Playfulness abandoned

Thunder,

Means business now.

*gurgles*

There's little that I haven't said or done.

But there I was. Concentric blue circles, sometimes leaking into one another..now identified and sorted out. Intricately carved out lives, closed eyes and incoherence.

you were made to go out and get her

Hard Rock Cafe and Chambor kohl pencils

Hours faded into days

and then into weeks

Movements in line

with yours

While strings of words

said, unsaid

left behind a trail of thoughts

Trails which led

to places

unexplored, unknown

Bruising, but standing up

dusting and going on

but healed

only now

Inching closer

and closer

a little bit every time

like shifting life

to mould it around you

Closeness

is not a word any more

cause existences

have come to be

entwined

just as your breath

fogs my thoughts

I look at you

and it's a moment

frozen in time and space

frames that will later

flick past

and leave behind

lumps in my throat

Overwhelming

a little dangerously so

but the lines

of your smile

and the sound of your

laughter

etched upon my mind

surround my being

until

I've faded into you.

"We come to each other, gradually, but with love."

Drafts

Take me to the place

I call home.

White walls

red curtains

and sundays with

kids in locked rooms.

You fill up

empty spaces

but the ones you don't

echo with the sound of

fading memories

fading into

oblivion.

Someday maybe

under this blue sky

that we share

they'll be heard.

Again.

I'm done with

being a hippie

and masks worn

to please everyone.

I'm beyond

opinions and trivia

constantly flung about

even in this sunny place.

But your silence

is all that

I'll ever need

cause I know

that it sounds

in the crevices.

It's late when

I return

and the sky's purplish

near the horizon

glaring headlights

the breeze carrying

a hint of rain.

Makes me think

of older times

when there was

unpredictability

in my laughter

and uncertainty

in my thoughts.

Acoustics

and intermingling

of life.

I'd started to write

about something

and acoustics

and intermingling

of life

led me on

to territories

I knew nothing of.

After last night

If I could

I'd rather tell my own story.

Of horizons

And dark eyes

Full of you.

The knowledge of

Every waking moment

And those lost to

Dreams.

Your breath on my skin.

Fear of it being broken.

But then your silence

Balms.

Heals.

And once again

Happy, anklet-clad feet

Run

Leaving marks on

Fresh earth

Leading to you.

You.

Untangled.

Opel Corsa Sail

Three drunken nights

in a row,

frozen, seized muscles

and the smell

of toothpaste

of deodorant.

Smoking worth

three bucks.

Welcome,

you're there.

Closed eyes

against the afternoon sun.

Again -

Who the fuck IS Alice?

The evening is a story

on its own

with falling into ponds

and harem pants

and hours that

you don't remember.

But then

the stars come out

and you can't stop

gazing, wondering.

You haven't seen

so many

at once.

The moon's fucking beautiful

and when he looks at you

so are you.

But there is

just something

which stops you

over and over again.

Unresponsive

and nonreciprocal.

Separation.

Ten minutes

and one call later

he's back

and so are you.

His eyes

never move away

neither do his

fingers.

Your skin smells

of him.

You have half

a corsa sail

for him to

pin your hair

behind your ear

and ask you

very softly.

You have half

a corsa sail

to know

that you would give up

almost anything

for that moment

to last into eternity.

Right then in

his arms.

You have half

a corsa sail.

Paimona

"Paimona bideh ki khumoor astam

Paimona bideh ki khumoor astam

Mann aashiq-e chashm-e mast-e-yarastam

Mann aashiq-e chashm-e mast-e-yarastam

Bidee bidee ki khumoor astam

Paimona bideh ki khumoor astam."

It is near dawn, when he complains I have beautiful eyes. And then the smells of sleep and love leave him bare.

It's in his hands that he holds me, my memory.

Fairy lights illuminate this little space. Half in shadows, my body celebrates. As if each and every bit calls out to him. Recalling his fingers entwined with mine. His first touch. Or when just his sight was my own memory.

A smile. And various dreams behind those shut, moist eyes.

Six down

Not a week since.

And so many things already.

He wasn't happy within. There was no arrogance - to be happy, or even the zeal to live.

Like big blue drops all over me. And then suddenly, I had a foot in my mouth. Not unusual for me, but very unusual repercussions.

:D

Ha.

I can only wave my hands all around, and dance. And wave my heart at him.