I can't write a poem

The swinging shoes , they are thinking something
The water touching the pebble , it cuts
The sunlight trembling because of crawling clouds
They all hear - the words , the pauses

When I ink the words in blue
The eye blinks
The finger bites the nail in disgust
The teeth chews the subjugated lip
It turns red , I turn pink

I penned the birth of my illegitimate poem
And my lust to write the new and  few
But , of everything this tempted me the most
A poem on - I can't write a poem .

Can I ? 

Of longings

The sky looks big enough from this chair. This chair made of Jute , with mirrors hanging by the sides , decorated with threads red in colour and in between Bougainvillea branches . A flower here and there hits my head at times . I feel a sense of deja vu. I have been to this place a long while ago , a reality that seems blur now . The hairband in my hair stares me unknowingly . As if it refutes arrival over my head , it pains while I try to fit it, so I leave it as it is. I adjust myself into the chair. The time is different. This was my favourite spot as a child. With a loose thread onto which I used to loosely tie my balloon I played here as a toddler. I loved breaking the long thread , I think as a child it gave me a vague sense of power . Vague because the destruction caused was meager.  The candy man on his cart passes by , I notice him from the balcony. He is different , may be the son of the man who used to come when I was small. 
As a child the failures that strike us are smaller in magnitude to those that we encounter now. I had my own share of failures . I could not keep a bubble gum balloon alive for more than 10 seconds , I could never run in the street and loot kites that fell from the sky . my mom never made sandwiches for me in lunch and hence not many drooled over my lunch box and I was an unnoticed tomboy till 8th grade . I could never whistle and I remember how badly as a child I wanted to eve tease boys. All failures.  The toy in my hand often fell , now the cell phone falls and I pick it up with the same  guilt with which I  picked my toy. If ever you compare a childhood day from a day you spend today , you will feel a lull and a longing. Lull because the days were not eventful enough, longing because you want that lull back. 
All I need is to break a thread and feel I can do what I want even today :) 

Old

I am 90 today. A decade younger to 100. Sachin is yet to score his epic 100 and so am I . The world will be different when I will die . It's population will be least affected by my demise , it will adjust. The corners will fill soon , occupations will take another dimension , my age will stop adoring me and I will soon become a picture on the most neglected ignored wall of my house.
I heard once , a quote by a genius - "Only the paranoid survive" . Now what if paranoia struck me in my 90's , will I live another 100 years ?
Early morning I pen my diary with all the thoughts crossing my brain . My wife looks beautiful in her 80's . When we first met, there were no telephones . Now , even the thought seems absurd. She looks in the mirror and adjusts her round bindi . A little to the left , a little to the right and I wonder is it really that difficult to align things which are round ? I never asked her this , it could be an intriguing question.
Meet Rama- my wife.
It was the alumini meet of my college . We had come down all the way from Shimla to Jaipur to attend this meet. I was elated to be there with my wife.
Rama was a beautiful noise . Mostly she remained silent. She was a perfect listener . Her early teachings of dancing helped her emote feelings through her eyes . Her eye lashes that were long and curled towards the end. She never wore make up , she never needed it . Her innocent face read everyone . She knew the mean , the weird , the caring and the harmful soul of our locality . Sometimes I thought what was behind her innocent face. She wasn't her face , she was her eyes - those beautiful talking eyes . And the best part was they talked only to me . I was in love with her as soon as I saw her. She was my second love , the first one being "Jalebi's" her mom cooked for me , when I first went to see her.
As we entered the alumini party all eyes were on Rama. She tried to mingle with other women around , but all the stares made her feel uncomfortable . We went to bed early that day , I was tired of talking and she was tired of being observed .
Most of the places we went , she was the center of attention . How brutally honest I was to tell her this and how cutely she dismissed her beauty and told me "I am only beautiful for you."
Today , I wanted to hear this from her . It has been ages since she last told me this . In between raising our kids , their marriages , our grandchildren , I lost her talking eyes . The only time her eyes talked was when she gave me my morning tea.
Over years Rama became decent . She replaced calling my name with "Aap" , she touched my feet on the festivals and prayed to God . Imagine an atheist praying to God , only to be called a mother of faith . She wanted to instill some values in her children and show them how bonds work , how science can only help heal soul , but can never give it life . She wanted them to learn , time and age don't grey your hair , experiences do . How values can become rare , if you don't pass them on. I often questioned her why she changed . And it took me so long to know the answer .
Early this morning when I told her , I want to live the last few years of my life with her only , with my Rama - the talker , listener , dancer ; she denied .
I again saw her eyes talking .
Denials were beautiful again , or may be I missed their beauty all this while . When you stop appreciating changes , you get disconnected with things that were once yours. She has always been mine .
How I wish the paranoid survives !

Temptations

The toddler star
The target of million wishes
From every corner of this round earth

She waited 10 years
For the young wish to come true
Just when the moment was to arrive
Another toddler star
Tempted her to change her wish.

going going!

2011 leaves . This year was very eventful for me . I realized a lot of things .

1) You always get what you give .
2) Keep your faith with you , no matter what!
3) You are loved more than you know . Try testing :P
4) Your favourites give you a sense of belonging . Atif for that matter .


The 5th pointer -

Your biggest strength is your greatest happiness .

Think about point 5 and tell me if it made you smile .

Happy New Year :)

Love

S

Will it ?

There are things sensed in silence.

 Delicately you undress your unclear thoughts to look how pure or ugly things can be. 

This bulb and it's yellow in my dark room , indicates the night will stay a little longer . 

Eager I am , to watch the sun rise ! :)

Will it finally ?

To love , lies , Etc

Rudra was wondering what can work . Silently puffing his ciggarttes one after the other , ash making a sort of ant house on the floor and the remains lined up like scattered trains on a railway station. He was thinking about the station only, where he met Naina4 years ago. She was late for her train and would have almost missed it had Rudra not held her hand and help her run along. She was slow , in every work , in every phase of life . Rudra was fast. And this was the only thing that was opposite . Naina was very talkitive . She could charm all the uncle's , aunty's , bhaiya ji's and no matter what , she had her say in the end . She needs what she needs , and the world had spoiled her even more. The world had all this while given her whatever she wanted .

Things began to change and they became wonderful friends . Too often friendship becomes a necessity . Solitude is plenty and appreciated , but loneliness is killing. None of them was sure whether it was love or not. But they were sure that it will be very hard to find a companion , who will be able to share something better with them . Hence they decided to marry .

Like every new couple they were happy . But now . Rudra was wondering whether their story will end in a few days . He was reading a novel earlier, a story of how eternal love is and how it changes things for good . He saw Naina sleeping , and wondered if all this is true.

Naina was bold , audacious but slow , cute and slow in her work. Because her beautiful eyes made the world move around the sun , she was used to attention. The aura of her kajal and smile was overwhelming. And Rudra fell for it. It was only today , that he felt out of this centripetal force.

Rudra always knew Naina kept secrets . She wasn't a perfect lover , one that would say yes to a yes , no for a no. Never. Naina was on her own. Her independence was what Rudra loved , hence never questioned. She made decisions which were normally to be discussed between a couple , but she never did . Rudra respected and gave her all the space . Today Rudra hated himself for his every effort.

Naina was a liar. Rudra read her diary and got to know every moment's real version. The child that Naina said was cute , was not cute in her diary . The saree that Rudra gifted her , was not good enough in her diary . She did not enjoy at  the place where they place where they went for honeymoon and she lied about her pregnancy too.

He was so drowned in the circle of lies that his love seemed far from reality. Everything right in her world was wrong.

When you fall in love , it is your second life. You are born new , you begin to morph, all for good . But when you suffer a defeat in love , it gets bitter than death . May be , for Rudra , this was the same time .

Naina woke up and saw Rudra with her diary . "So you have read it all? " , she said .
Rudra nods .

Naina thought it was the time to confess , truths, lies and beyond. Naina told Rudra that she was a psycopathic  liar. When she met Rudra , she noticed when they talk , she does not lie , not even compulsively. Her habit leaves her , her world becomes true , correct and pure . Rudra was her panacea . But her habit takes a toll on her , and she compulsively writes all the lies every night in her diary.

Rudra did not understand whom to believe - a pschopathic writer or talker .
She told Rudra truths about him , his habits , his mistakes and what she feels about them.

Rudra knew that this is someone whom he has always loved and this is the only truth that matters for both of them.

Love was always beyond truths ,  theirs was beyond lies too . To love ,lies , etc ....your ways are beyond conscience and mind .

:) (:

Some day , I will get myself tatooed . 

Distinct remarkable traits of the soul beneath this flesh .

Someday will find words :)

This picture

When I last came to see you , I was a little young. Not that I have grown old now , I was closer to you dear moment. I now feel , a little away. Commotion resides , the car blows the horn , an eveteaser whistles , the roadside baby cries , all this happens for a while till the sun sets. For a moment the world accepts this darkness . What next ? It moves on .

They all interupt me in remebering what that moment was about . It seems like a far fetched dream now , slowly trying to sound real , with me trying with all my strength to do the same.

Yes , it was winters , this season . Late evening , we all were tired , cold but very happy . Togetherness was striking . An year after , we all are at measurable distances , distances that do not drive friends away . I remember you saying , let's have a cup of tea . Isn't it still the same ? The need of a winter evening . Don't you remember me , with every cup of 'Chai' :)

Feather

Tales brewing with coffee.

Muse adjusted in paper and mind.

Your fall is not because of gravity.

And neither is your rise .