My dearest song,
Go away. GO AWAY. GO AWAY.
For you are of no assistance in this wee hour of the day, and you are of no assistance at night. You are such a disappointment, eh song, you spread-legged bitch of a poet's wrong. And your words are but a pissour of marble, stained in yellow and with the stench of strange skins that I cannot recognise.
Sonnet, ode, couplet, ballad - Ah I have seen all of your curves and so have everyone else - isn't it? Yeah? Between the lines I scrawled in long hand on your thigh and your back, you got graffitis by other hands. And you - free verse - you are the worst. You neighing mare in heat! You catnip sniffing feline poetic fart - ha well and so there is no wrong! and there is no right after all! Hahahaha! Hahahaha!
Yeah song, get lost and do not let me remember. Anything.
Monday, October 15, 2007
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
Street Truth
On my way home, turning the wheel this way, I suddenly spied Aamil Dehli. I could see him grinning in my rear view mirror, sitting behind in my old beat up 8503.
I shook my head and wondered why he was sitting in my car. So we talked a bit. I asked him about his life and he asked me about mine.
When I heard his story, I yawned. There was nothing much in it.
But when he heard mine, he roared with laughter, shaking like a needled balloon, this way and that. And when he was over the fit, wiping the tears from his eyes, he bent forward and said,
Maar diya papar waley ney! hain?
Muft huey badnaam...Maya mili na Ram!
And I joined him in his laughter.
I shook my head and wondered why he was sitting in my car. So we talked a bit. I asked him about his life and he asked me about mine.
When I heard his story, I yawned. There was nothing much in it.
But when he heard mine, he roared with laughter, shaking like a needled balloon, this way and that. And when he was over the fit, wiping the tears from his eyes, he bent forward and said,
Maar diya papar waley ney! hain?
Muft huey badnaam...Maya mili na Ram!
And I joined him in his laughter.
Monday, October 08, 2007
I am going to tell stories
Though I know in the corner of mind I will hurt for you Gatsby, ol sport, and the grass that grew wild in your well kept lawns and the graffiti that the kids scrwaled on your white marble steps after all the parties were over and the women were gone,
I will tell nobody about you.
I will tell nobody about how tender was the night. I will tell nobody about the beautiful and the damned.
I am born with a mind filled with little coloured bangle shards like they used to stick into cycliderical cardboard kaliedoscopes that sold for a few rupees on the railway station in the early 80s.
I got it all in here between my ears. The big cars and the dirty gutter, the desperate love and the meaningless fuck, the daze of disc lights on the floor and the walls and the slowly sinking sun behind the Aravalis.
I will tell nobody about you, Gatsby, ol sport because I am going to stick my tongue in the mouth of the world and I am
going to tell stories like never told before.
Watch me.
I will tell nobody about you.
I will tell nobody about how tender was the night. I will tell nobody about the beautiful and the damned.
I am born with a mind filled with little coloured bangle shards like they used to stick into cycliderical cardboard kaliedoscopes that sold for a few rupees on the railway station in the early 80s.
I got it all in here between my ears. The big cars and the dirty gutter, the desperate love and the meaningless fuck, the daze of disc lights on the floor and the walls and the slowly sinking sun behind the Aravalis.
I will tell nobody about you, Gatsby, ol sport because I am going to stick my tongue in the mouth of the world and I am
going to tell stories like never told before.
Watch me.
Tuesday, October 02, 2007
Smells at Night
Mahatma Gandhi's birthday was spent pretty much at home. There was little reason for violence or non-violence.
Though I was a little violent to the dog who was violent at me. And the feeling was pretty much reciprocal.
Brunch constituted of mutton cooked day before yesterday and rice prepared fresh.
Dinner had to be made thrice - eggs and sandwiches because each time I'd make it and dash off to wash my hands in the loo, the rats would come and break the sunny side of the egg and move the bread around a bit. I was third time lucky.
There were many phone calls. I think I will keep the phone off now on when I work.
And of course didn't write.
First you prepare to do it. Then you prepare to prepare to do it. Then you prepare to prepare to prepare to do it. Let's try again tomorrow. There's got to be some way of breaking the vicious cycle!
And then tomorrow is a workday. Which means the corporation. My Mama. Muah. I love you, my employee. My management. You are so good. You fuck me more regularly and with greater monotony than any woman would could will.
I dont think I will sleep tonight.
A thought suddenly came stuck. It was about the smell of the raat ki raani flowers in this season in Delhi. I smelt it the other day, returning from work. How does one describe it? How does one draw it?
And most importantly how does one hide it? It is like the sadness that darkens the valleys around your eyes. People see it and shake their heads. And then they say - Nothing is worth it. Nobody is worth it.
LOL. What do they know?
Though I was a little violent to the dog who was violent at me. And the feeling was pretty much reciprocal.
Brunch constituted of mutton cooked day before yesterday and rice prepared fresh.
Dinner had to be made thrice - eggs and sandwiches because each time I'd make it and dash off to wash my hands in the loo, the rats would come and break the sunny side of the egg and move the bread around a bit. I was third time lucky.
There were many phone calls. I think I will keep the phone off now on when I work.
And of course didn't write.
First you prepare to do it. Then you prepare to prepare to do it. Then you prepare to prepare to prepare to do it. Let's try again tomorrow. There's got to be some way of breaking the vicious cycle!
And then tomorrow is a workday. Which means the corporation. My Mama. Muah. I love you, my employee. My management. You are so good. You fuck me more regularly and with greater monotony than any woman would could will.
I dont think I will sleep tonight.
A thought suddenly came stuck. It was about the smell of the raat ki raani flowers in this season in Delhi. I smelt it the other day, returning from work. How does one describe it? How does one draw it?
And most importantly how does one hide it? It is like the sadness that darkens the valleys around your eyes. People see it and shake their heads. And then they say - Nothing is worth it. Nobody is worth it.
LOL. What do they know?
Monday, October 01, 2007
Kind mama
There is a species of madness that goes undetected. Unfortunately it has no name.
It does not live in you, it lives outside.
It moves skulking in the streets of Delhi. I saw it once at Nizamuddin. It was standing by the road and staring at me.
It is not evil and it is not good either. But it makes nothing. It comes from the land of breakings.
One day, I remember in 94, I was standing on the edge of the wall of near Khair ul manazil and it nearly tipped me over. I am alive and kicking, but maybe it did tip me over and I do not know about it.
Anyway, tomorrow morning I will sit and write. And if I do, I will find out what Vivek said to Sharad on a summer evening in CP.
The corporation is a kind mama. It hold me to its bosom and will not let me go away ever. When I grow up, I will not live with mama.
It does not live in you, it lives outside.
It moves skulking in the streets of Delhi. I saw it once at Nizamuddin. It was standing by the road and staring at me.
It is not evil and it is not good either. But it makes nothing. It comes from the land of breakings.
One day, I remember in 94, I was standing on the edge of the wall of near Khair ul manazil and it nearly tipped me over. I am alive and kicking, but maybe it did tip me over and I do not know about it.
Anyway, tomorrow morning I will sit and write. And if I do, I will find out what Vivek said to Sharad on a summer evening in CP.
The corporation is a kind mama. It hold me to its bosom and will not let me go away ever. When I grow up, I will not live with mama.
Saturday, September 29, 2007
Remember Faustus
It was a curious day. Said bye to dad and drove to what used to be home. I don't know what it is now.
The dog looked happy to see me. She doesnt like to be alone.
I had my two bags with me. And two polypacks - my clothes, underwear, toothbrush and stuff.
I ate the stuff Dad had packed for me.
I felt heavy all the while but it was not the food. It was in the head.
The TV ran like crazy and I kept flipping channels.
Dad called twice. He sounded nervous and worried. They think I will slip. The way Sanyal sir did. Maybe I will, but I hope I wont.
MK says - Remember Faustus? You are living him. A life without redemption. This is truly the end.
And then I felt hungry again and made myself maggi and two sandwiches. Then I slept for a while between phone calls from human beings. There were two calls from office too. But there were no long calls.
Then there was cricket, which has little class left. Very little class or craft.
I don't know why I kept thinking about the month of October. I hate the period between October and March. It sucks.
The dog kept barking all the time. And I kept barking too.
Then the maid came. Actually her daughter. She wanted to know what to cook. I got her to cook Bhindi ki sabzi and dal.
I ate late.
And right now, sitting and typing at 3 in the morning, I thank the corporation for the wireless internet connection. And I remember Faustus, in his room, abandoning all learning that his genius had gathered to devour in one room, and the faustian deal he strikes with ...evil. And the what the chorus says when it is all over.
And I wish I hadn't memorised the lines in 94, It's been 14 years. Why can't I forget?
Cut is the branch that might have grown full straight,
And burned is Apollo's laurel-bough,
That sometime grew within this learned man.
Faustus is gone: regard his hellish fall,
Whose fiendful fortune may exhort the wise,
Only to wonder at unlawful things,
Whose deepness doth entice such forward wits
To practice more than heavenly power permits.
Terminat hora diem; terminat auctor opus.
The dog looked happy to see me. She doesnt like to be alone.
I had my two bags with me. And two polypacks - my clothes, underwear, toothbrush and stuff.
I ate the stuff Dad had packed for me.
I felt heavy all the while but it was not the food. It was in the head.
The TV ran like crazy and I kept flipping channels.
Dad called twice. He sounded nervous and worried. They think I will slip. The way Sanyal sir did. Maybe I will, but I hope I wont.
MK says - Remember Faustus? You are living him. A life without redemption. This is truly the end.
And then I felt hungry again and made myself maggi and two sandwiches. Then I slept for a while between phone calls from human beings. There were two calls from office too. But there were no long calls.
Then there was cricket, which has little class left. Very little class or craft.
I don't know why I kept thinking about the month of October. I hate the period between October and March. It sucks.
The dog kept barking all the time. And I kept barking too.
Then the maid came. Actually her daughter. She wanted to know what to cook. I got her to cook Bhindi ki sabzi and dal.
I ate late.
And right now, sitting and typing at 3 in the morning, I thank the corporation for the wireless internet connection. And I remember Faustus, in his room, abandoning all learning that his genius had gathered to devour in one room, and the faustian deal he strikes with ...evil. And the what the chorus says when it is all over.
And I wish I hadn't memorised the lines in 94, It's been 14 years. Why can't I forget?
Cut is the branch that might have grown full straight,
And burned is Apollo's laurel-bough,
That sometime grew within this learned man.
Faustus is gone: regard his hellish fall,
Whose fiendful fortune may exhort the wise,
Only to wonder at unlawful things,
Whose deepness doth entice such forward wits
To practice more than heavenly power permits.
Terminat hora diem; terminat auctor opus.
Monday, September 24, 2007
The blue badge bus, the red badge bus
It was 1977 and dad was out sailing many months. The coconut trees were tall. And the rains happened all the time in Cochin.
The KG school had two buses. One with the kids who wore a red badge and one with the kids who wore a blue badge. I liked the red badge but I wore the blue badge. The red badge kids would go to Katari Bagh, the blue badge kids would cross the Tewara Bridge and come to many bus stops near my house in Palampali Nagar.
One day I broke my blue badge when I was playing in the roundabout in the park of the KG school. I cried a lot and put my blue badge in my pocket.
After school was over, when the teacher started to put all the children in two ques, one red badge que and one blue badge que, I went into the red badge que because I liked the red badge so much.
So I also got into the red badge bus and not the blue badge bus.
When the bus started to go, I was happy because everybody in the bus had a red badge. But then after sometime I realised that the bus was not going over the Tewara Bridge. It was going to Katari bagh.
Also, all the children in the bus were other children. Only two were my friends- Tillu and his sister who were saxena uncle's children. Saxena Uncle was papa's and mummy's friend but he did not like phantom like I did. He liked tarzan.
This made me nervous and scared. I forgot all about the happiness of the red badge now. I thought I will never get home. I thought I will remain in the road now and no one will know where I live and I will become a beggar. And so I began to cry. And I cried so bad that my nose began to run down my chin and I shut my eyes tightly.
And the funny thing is that even when Saxena uncle dropped me home in the evening on his scooter, I kept crying. As if now, even if I had come home, I could get lost anytime because I had travelled in the red badge bus.
After that, I always held on to my blue badge very tightly, but I loved the red badge even more.
The KG school had two buses. One with the kids who wore a red badge and one with the kids who wore a blue badge. I liked the red badge but I wore the blue badge. The red badge kids would go to Katari Bagh, the blue badge kids would cross the Tewara Bridge and come to many bus stops near my house in Palampali Nagar.
One day I broke my blue badge when I was playing in the roundabout in the park of the KG school. I cried a lot and put my blue badge in my pocket.
After school was over, when the teacher started to put all the children in two ques, one red badge que and one blue badge que, I went into the red badge que because I liked the red badge so much.
So I also got into the red badge bus and not the blue badge bus.
When the bus started to go, I was happy because everybody in the bus had a red badge. But then after sometime I realised that the bus was not going over the Tewara Bridge. It was going to Katari bagh.
Also, all the children in the bus were other children. Only two were my friends- Tillu and his sister who were saxena uncle's children. Saxena Uncle was papa's and mummy's friend but he did not like phantom like I did. He liked tarzan.
This made me nervous and scared. I forgot all about the happiness of the red badge now. I thought I will never get home. I thought I will remain in the road now and no one will know where I live and I will become a beggar. And so I began to cry. And I cried so bad that my nose began to run down my chin and I shut my eyes tightly.
And the funny thing is that even when Saxena uncle dropped me home in the evening on his scooter, I kept crying. As if now, even if I had come home, I could get lost anytime because I had travelled in the red badge bus.
After that, I always held on to my blue badge very tightly, but I loved the red badge even more.
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