love stolen glimpses
love the long stares
love not, the eyes that know no language
love being seen from a mile
love being seen amongst thousand prying eyes
love not, the eyes that meet only behind doors
love hearing what you never say
love hearing you say things i never say
love not, to overhear things i wish you'd never say
love morning alarms
love midnight coffee
love stealing minutes, losing hours
love life
love not, life
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Monday, February 2, 2009
Boys don’t cry
Men can’t cry
Tried not to
Wiped them with restless palms.
Ironed out my puckered brows.
Tongued my lips into a smile-like formation
Unnoticed, they seeped in
Welled up in corners
Blatantly refused to dry up
Now, expected without forecasts on an overcast day
Or, maybe on a sunny day
Warnings issued.
“Tissues roll up to fight the impending floods”
“Tissum Tissum cries the world in unison”
“Tissues running out of paper”
“Trees uproot by themselves to get it rolling”
“Last tree on earth to uproot today”
“Watch movies. Donate books. Who the fuck reads them anyways!”
“Newspapers go online”
“A new study shows advanced long term memory loss in children; causes unknown”
“Studies reveal that white board learning affects long term memory”
“Invest in multi-story apartments and live for a day longer”
“800 die as a multi-storey building collapses”
“Swimming lessons to rip your pockets”
“After Vietnam, Afghanistan too sends their first man on moon”
“NASA bombs Quaida997A”
“Fear of death plays with hormones‘
“Couples copulating at public places on a rise”
“Live your last moments in mother’s lap. ‘Mother’s Lap’ now open at Goregaon (opposite Mashoor Babubhaiya mithaiwale)”
Men can’t cry
Tried not to
Wiped them with restless palms.
Ironed out my puckered brows.
Tongued my lips into a smile-like formation
Unnoticed, they seeped in
Welled up in corners
Blatantly refused to dry up
Now, expected without forecasts on an overcast day
Or, maybe on a sunny day
Warnings issued.
“Tissues roll up to fight the impending floods”
“Tissum Tissum cries the world in unison”
“Tissues running out of paper”
“Trees uproot by themselves to get it rolling”
“Last tree on earth to uproot today”
“Watch movies. Donate books. Who the fuck reads them anyways!”
“Newspapers go online”
“A new study shows advanced long term memory loss in children; causes unknown”
“Studies reveal that white board learning affects long term memory”
“Invest in multi-story apartments and live for a day longer”
“800 die as a multi-storey building collapses”
“Swimming lessons to rip your pockets”
“After Vietnam, Afghanistan too sends their first man on moon”
“NASA bombs Quaida997A”
“Fear of death plays with hormones‘
“Couples copulating at public places on a rise”
“Live your last moments in mother’s lap. ‘Mother’s Lap’ now open at Goregaon (opposite Mashoor Babubhaiya mithaiwale)”
Thursday, January 8, 2009
THANKS BHAVNA.
NO is the biggest smallest word.
I haven’t learnt to say it yet.
Hold your breath when she is sleeping.
Accidentally discovered lanes.
Let go
Do a Delhi to Rishikesh on foot
A cycle ride with someone in the fields
Get to know mother’s secrets and not judge her
Settle down mentally and emotionally, not literally and socially
Stop looking for warmth
Stop making a mess of relationships
Someday I will cross it all. And get there.
wet pebbles, railings
One-night stands reluctantly co-exist with the search for true love.
Hearts that curl up with fear of commitment also nurse the desire to commit and surrender to someone like they did in old love stories.
Smoke filled late hours of the night and fog full early mornings, how do you ever make a choice?
How would it be if we could contract a certain sort of alzheimer's in which we could choose what we want to forget? And light moments that are over and cause intense pain because they are over.
Go Goa and you don’t lose something? Sense of time and sense of control. The white sand beneath as the waves come rushing by. The colour of your skin. Many lose their virginity
Some people come into your life like untimely rain. Brief. Relief.
I never mind dust settling down on my face.
I smile for no reason.
I prefer the cold floor to a warm bed.
Your eyes may rain these two hours, whatever the season.
Buy a flower from the street urchin and make her day
There was something strangely warm about this place; you’d end up embracing people you would not even acknowledge outside.
Darkness I fear, nights I fancy. Rum goes well only with old friends.
Trains mean tracks that meet for a second and then part ways.
Three mood swings in three seconds
Talk to the mike
The feeling of being closer to the sky (top floor houses do that to you)
The exact time the sun enters my window
how often do I remember family and friends or do I stop remembering them at all
distances
love
life.
Complain to a shirt stain
Which is why when you go back visiting even after years, you still smile at the old clock tower. Which is also why you blame it for changing if it does.
I knew wind that howled while the rain sang
I knew the daily sunsets and the occasional sunrise
I knew that streets were wide and the mind-sets, narrow
I knew the lies to tell and the truths to hold back
I knew six different routes to home
I knew five different excuses to get out of there
I knew the old auntie who had no one to wait for but still did, every evening on the cane chair
Arms fold by themselves
Why must the fear of catching a chill overpower the experience of cold breeze seeping through your skin, into your blood? We form miles and cities, we create immeasurable distances. The fear of pain takes over the pleasure of experience . Words are measured, not spoken. Situations are weighed, not lived.
Between what you are and what they think
Between heat of the moment and next morning regrets
Between desire and detachment
Zipper of the old companion travel bag will get stuck before every journey.
The hot sun, not heavy rain, will follow the drizzle.
Heady conversations will be interrupted by ill-timed phone calls. Relax! Hiccups will happen.
To biscuits that come with tea during meetings.
I look forward to the moody Delhi weather, and to standing at the huge window overlooking the flyover when it suddenly rains. I look forward to new faces and old friends.
Greeting cards that are slipped in through the door.
Fifty year old photo studios with framed photos of people posing awkwardly. Swinging by a tree hung tyre as opposed to screaming in a roller coaster. Playing knots and crosses on the last page of a notebook.
Each time you wrong someone, let sleep elude you. Feel guilty. Be restless. Carry the burden of discomfort with you. Give the deceit you indulged in, a sea of importance.
And for choosing to go on foot to faraway places where most prefer to get transported. I should also get paid for making small talk with strangers in buses, trains and on a particularly happy day, anywhere.
Stay still when somebody sleeps on your shoulder. Follow, don’t lead. Give away the last sip of water. Take photographs, don't fight for space in them. Let the one next to you sleep for half an hour more.
Someone came looking for you. You are a roll number. You are seat number twenty-eight. When was the last time someone came looking for you, just like that?
You wanted to leave your baggage? Unfortunately, the only thing that got left behind was the railway station.
Dates? They should just sit pretty on annual calendars.
The idea of incomplete is in fact very appealing. An unfinished conversation, a question that was repeatedly asked but for some reason never got answered, a message that has not been reciprocated, and a glance that awaits another. A trickle of rain leaves behind hope that maybe next time the sky will pour its heart out. Letters at least keep you waiting for the postman. Something will come. Or may be not. What you certainly gain is uncertainty. And that remains. Why seek complete? It means the end.
Of the fact that I had dry red cheeks.
Winter is thick with memories of incidents that never took place.
Excerpts taken from theoldnotepad.blogspot.com.
THANKS AGAIN.
NO is the biggest smallest word.
I haven’t learnt to say it yet.
Hold your breath when she is sleeping.
Accidentally discovered lanes.
Let go
Do a Delhi to Rishikesh on foot
A cycle ride with someone in the fields
Get to know mother’s secrets and not judge her
Settle down mentally and emotionally, not literally and socially
Stop looking for warmth
Stop making a mess of relationships
Someday I will cross it all. And get there.
wet pebbles, railings
One-night stands reluctantly co-exist with the search for true love.
Hearts that curl up with fear of commitment also nurse the desire to commit and surrender to someone like they did in old love stories.
Smoke filled late hours of the night and fog full early mornings, how do you ever make a choice?
How would it be if we could contract a certain sort of alzheimer's in which we could choose what we want to forget? And light moments that are over and cause intense pain because they are over.
Go Goa and you don’t lose something? Sense of time and sense of control. The white sand beneath as the waves come rushing by. The colour of your skin. Many lose their virginity
Some people come into your life like untimely rain. Brief. Relief.
I never mind dust settling down on my face.
I smile for no reason.
I prefer the cold floor to a warm bed.
Your eyes may rain these two hours, whatever the season.
Buy a flower from the street urchin and make her day
There was something strangely warm about this place; you’d end up embracing people you would not even acknowledge outside.
Darkness I fear, nights I fancy. Rum goes well only with old friends.
Trains mean tracks that meet for a second and then part ways.
Three mood swings in three seconds
Talk to the mike
The feeling of being closer to the sky (top floor houses do that to you)
The exact time the sun enters my window
how often do I remember family and friends or do I stop remembering them at all
distances
love
life.
Complain to a shirt stain
Which is why when you go back visiting even after years, you still smile at the old clock tower. Which is also why you blame it for changing if it does.
I knew wind that howled while the rain sang
I knew the daily sunsets and the occasional sunrise
I knew that streets were wide and the mind-sets, narrow
I knew the lies to tell and the truths to hold back
I knew six different routes to home
I knew five different excuses to get out of there
I knew the old auntie who had no one to wait for but still did, every evening on the cane chair
Arms fold by themselves
Why must the fear of catching a chill overpower the experience of cold breeze seeping through your skin, into your blood? We form miles and cities, we create immeasurable distances. The fear of pain takes over the pleasure of experience . Words are measured, not spoken. Situations are weighed, not lived.
Between what you are and what they think
Between heat of the moment and next morning regrets
Between desire and detachment
Zipper of the old companion travel bag will get stuck before every journey.
The hot sun, not heavy rain, will follow the drizzle.
Heady conversations will be interrupted by ill-timed phone calls. Relax! Hiccups will happen.
To biscuits that come with tea during meetings.
I look forward to the moody Delhi weather, and to standing at the huge window overlooking the flyover when it suddenly rains. I look forward to new faces and old friends.
Greeting cards that are slipped in through the door.
Fifty year old photo studios with framed photos of people posing awkwardly. Swinging by a tree hung tyre as opposed to screaming in a roller coaster. Playing knots and crosses on the last page of a notebook.
Each time you wrong someone, let sleep elude you. Feel guilty. Be restless. Carry the burden of discomfort with you. Give the deceit you indulged in, a sea of importance.
And for choosing to go on foot to faraway places where most prefer to get transported. I should also get paid for making small talk with strangers in buses, trains and on a particularly happy day, anywhere.
Stay still when somebody sleeps on your shoulder. Follow, don’t lead. Give away the last sip of water. Take photographs, don't fight for space in them. Let the one next to you sleep for half an hour more.
Someone came looking for you. You are a roll number. You are seat number twenty-eight. When was the last time someone came looking for you, just like that?
You wanted to leave your baggage? Unfortunately, the only thing that got left behind was the railway station.
Dates? They should just sit pretty on annual calendars.
The idea of incomplete is in fact very appealing. An unfinished conversation, a question that was repeatedly asked but for some reason never got answered, a message that has not been reciprocated, and a glance that awaits another. A trickle of rain leaves behind hope that maybe next time the sky will pour its heart out. Letters at least keep you waiting for the postman. Something will come. Or may be not. What you certainly gain is uncertainty. And that remains. Why seek complete? It means the end.
Of the fact that I had dry red cheeks.
Winter is thick with memories of incidents that never took place.
Excerpts taken from theoldnotepad.blogspot.com.
THANKS AGAIN.
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