Friday, September 30, 2011

gust of ..

A sudden thing , tempted by my arrival , started circling me like a perpetrator. I tried with all my strength to stop it from creating a turbulence in my scene, but all in vain. This something had entered the scene even before I could realize. It felt like a love and hate relationship . For it loved getting entangled in my hair , attire and eyes . I , brimmed with agony , felt it like a stone. Just when I decided to vanish from the scene , I saw a man . He was dressed formally ,not with the kind of demeanor I assumed him to be. I say so , because when he entered my scene , he held his arms loose in the air. The one that caused turbulence my side was the one that caused  pleasure for him . He came close and said, "I knew this breeze will dishevel me with all it's might. I cannot take it's might away . All I can do , is surrender with peace. For this way , both the sides will be in a better position , The wind - satisfied and the weaker me - happy while I yield. "
Now , the scene had two people. Both enjoying the mighty breeze .

Saturday, September 24, 2011

Will work for ?

I found so many images on google by this title .
Will work for money , hugs , love , peace , social change and even sex .

Quite an alarming question this seems to be. When I asked myself , the 'will work for ?' question 

I will work for my book !

Such beautiful moulds inspiration takes .
Atif's song on repeat is inspiration for me ! Also is a book and a story.

What's yours ? Are you inspired ? 

Thursday, September 22, 2011


Loop inside the loop
She looks for a place to tuck her attire
Complicated , loose loops
How will they behave?

Loops inside loops
Loopholes in the dress that 
A dirty man looks for
Still , complicated, loose loops

Change him , he needs the change
Make him a slut for a day
And he must know
How dirty his bloody eyes were
How dirty was the making of his soul.

Tuesday, September 20, 2011

At times

A triangular folded page was the cause of her discomfort . The story , completely written to please it's audience , could not make a place for itself in her heart. She seemed like a partial woman . A chauvinist who hates to hear about the goodness of her nation and the government . She had her own supporters . A clan that could talk about how some governments did everything for good , which was rid of corruption and full of transparency . Like she had a few takers , the writer was an acclaimed one too. It was against her rules to despise the narration of an acclaimed writer . Torn between her  thoughts and her rules , she opened the book . This time to read with none of her obsessions , neither chauvinism nor objective rules.

Because she inherently contradicted his point at every word , after every page, her discomforts rose. After few hours of reading , she took a break from this writer and searched on the internet about what he was doing these days . She found out that he is involved in social activism against some norms and laws of the nation. He is supporting parties that want radical changes in the system . Yes, the system he once supported.

Suddenly all this left her thinking , that if after all these years , he could go against every word of his entire book to an extent that he sets a battle against the system he supported , who know , she might , leaving her chauvinism , fall for her country , before the book ends . 

Now there were two stories . The one in the book , and the one in her mind . She read one and structured the other simultaneously . Without any bias . 
Her chauvinism set her free finally . Freedom of thoughts can lead to freedom of judgement .

Friday, September 16, 2011

Love thyself !

How often you wonder, how enough is enough ?

Step aside from the race  , hold your self tight , and shout. 

When you are at your side, it's enough .

Like water, always stick to yourself .

Wednesday, September 14, 2011

Beneath stars , about stars

Beneath moonlight , she and my novel was all that I used to look forward to. We shared a habit . The habit of reading novels before we sleep. The slum did not have many children who could read novels . It did not matter. I was there for her company and she was there for mine. A silent companionship of 18 long years.
It all began at the age of 10 . We were in the same school . It was the only school our village had. Our parents used to work at the zamindar's house . We were neighbours  and shared novels that the zamindar's son used to distribute among us for free (knowing that we are the only one's who are enthusiastic about reading).
I used to study at night usually. Most of the slum children were asleep by 11 pm and hence studying at night was the only preferred option one had.
Every night Zaira used to come , walking like a sleepyhead , at her roof . As soon as she entered , we greeted each other silently. There were tacit inhibitions imposed . I believe there are still a lot of inhibitions in our society .
Whenever we were about to start a new novel ,  we used to show the cover of our respective novels from a distance and then begin reading . Till she stayed , I used to read my novel . While she left early , I used to sit for some more time and study .
Zaira was fond of reading philosophy and astronomy . She thought she could identify any constellation that wandered the sky. We devised means to teach each other whatever important we read via written letters. Letters that were thrown as planes to respective roofs. She would point out to the Apus , Aries , Cancer , Sculptor and Virgo .  I was startled by her ability to remember all the names and shapes of these constellations with such ease.
She used to give me  beautiful quotes , those that would inspire me for the odds and relieve me from distress.

The reception of information was not one way . I was good at mathematics and science . She gleefully credited all her marks in those subjects to me . Questions from her side used to come laden in the paper planes . While I solved them in no time , she bombarded my roof with more of them. Like I was amazed by her astute memory , she was amazed by my skills. Perhaps her speed of planes indicated that one day she will  challenge my speed, like one day I will be able to point to the constellation she loved the most.
To impress each other , this was the most that we could do . No matter how small it might sound , it was more than enough.
I remember disliking her habit of speaking while learning . During cold winter nights , the sound of her voice often disturbed me in my sleep . No matter how much I pleaded her to stop , she never did. In exams , when stuck at some point , her words that disturbed my sleep , struck me back and helped me to answer the questions well .
I knew , it all had to change one day. Zaira got married at the age of 28. I thought she would marry off around 20 , but she wanted to complete her education first and help her parents with the dowry too. She took a job at the slum school as a teacher.  Now , she could purchase her own second hand novels . Those that would help her sleep better and teach better.
I know how I felt sitting at my roof without my companion after the day she got married.
Today , in the foreword of my novel on astronomy , I dedicate it to the one who inspired every word of this .
To Zaira , my friend .

Monday, September 12, 2011


A small cartridge as wikipedia defines it to be. I found one struggling between my old books , hidden as if voicing an illicit love note. Out of curiosity , I wiped off the dust with my purple shirt to look for signs of it's content . None that could clearly equip me . The volume was set low , in fear that a secret might pour out with audacity . Voices from the past must not cause turbulence in present .
Another fear was that a sharp govinda song might leave me in a sullen mood.
With these fears , I pushed the play button . Increased the volume because the music was - the need of  time .
"Here I am - Brayn Adams "

He knew perhaps . His words , even out of an old cassette , will relieve a lot of people . And hence he is always there.

And what followed was a dance :)

Friday, September 9, 2011


How do you define
Freedom for a bound soul ?
In the picture you have
relations close and far

Peace for someone lost?
In the picture you have a search
He has to find
Himself and his folks again

Hate or love for people?
In the picture you have
Humans susceptible to humans
The most dear and dangerous thing in this world.

Monday, September 5, 2011

Before sleep

Before sleep
I am reminded of the day
the insipid coffee , lacking in sugar and heat
The moments , separate from those creating memories
The problems that subsided
Those that still remain , unperturbed by day and night
I pray for the next morning to come a little late
For dreams are esoteric , but completely mine
Not like the day , night and moments
Indifferent to senses , indifferent to me .

Before sleep , I wonder , what will it be to sleep next without thinking of these things .

Thursday, September 1, 2011

What could possibly go wrong?

Sun baked skin
Nerves down , disheartened
Hopes still cold
Heat , not warmth , I witness

Pages , ink , eye and heart
Had the same old story
Yet not connected
Baffling differences in between

This reminded me to remember
Someone who knows it all

Tell me God
What could possibly go wrong?

Should the page be thrown ? and story retold ?