Wednesday, December 12, 2012

Shanti - a small story


Shanti*1


She knew why it happened, she knew why she had committed suicide, and she could understand why the post mortem report said there was an unborn foetus.

She could understand why everyone at the tola*2 was raging, yet she could not fully comprehend why. After all she was only 15.

She knew Mala*3 when she was a child. A year or two elder to her, Mala lived next door. They played all their games together. She learnt all the household chores by watching her, her mother never had to worry about that; and Shanti, in her childish pride, was always proud that she came to know about menstruation without even gaining puberty.

The tola knew the two as a company. And now the curious neighbours and her mother wanted to know, who Mala was sleeping with, and Shanti; she did not know how to answer. She was scared and grieved and did not know what to say.

She couldn’t say a thing. She was numb – with fear, terror and her loss. What happened is something she so easily could have narrated, but would they believe her, would they not condemn her. How can she speak out, get the burden out of her soul, without being castigated. Without being hurt?

She had just lost Mala, the one she knew was her only friend, they knew each other’s secret, and they both were afraid then, and now she was gone, forever. Alone, what can she do now, how can she speak out. Who does she turn to?

She just heard her father screaming outside to her mother – and knew anytime he would unleash his terror at home – to her mother and to her, God only knows what all he would do.

‘Your daughter has brought this misery home, she is a curse, and you are the culprit, you brought her to this world, you bitch, why did you give birth to this wicked girl? Eh? What do I say to them now, tell me’, he yelled!
Mother merely said, ‘Shanti is not telling me anything, she is crying herself, I don’t know...’

She then heard a loud noise and a thump and then her mother’s cries, she knew her mother was being beaten up, she wanted to tell her father, but right now she had no courage, she had no courage to say a word.

But her father had already entered their only room, where she was crying, inconsolably, her father picked her up from the ground where she was sitting, picked her up in the air, and dropped her. With a thud she fell to the ground, and did not know how to react. Then her father picked up a kerosene bottle, poured it over her and said, ‘tell me the truth or I will burn you alive’.
Hearing this, her mother came to the room, jumped over the girl and said ‘if she has to die, kill us both, what you are doing! You will be punished for something you never did, that girl did not die because of you, and by killing us, no one, not the culprit; but you will go to jail for our murder. Spare us. We haven’t done anything. WE have not brought any disrepute to anyone. Our family’s name is intact. Tell him Shanti, have you brought any disrepute to the family’s name? Tell him now or I will ask your father to burn you alive, now!’

To which Shanti simply nodded – No.

She was terrified; she was not terrified of anything like this ever before, her own father was willing to kill her and her mother even supported him. She wasn’t this afraid even when that thing had happened to her then.


*1Shanti literally means Peace, also a common Hindu name for girls in India

*2Tola means a hamlet, here it means a hamlet of the most downtrodden, hitherto untouchable castes, although that is long illegal, it is still uncommon for upper caste Indians (both Hindus and Muslims) to visit these areas.

*3Mala literally means a Garland, also a common Hindu name for girls in India

I write it



where is a true self

where is me?

given the predicament and the contradiction, I'm all drawn in.


Am I just travelling without moving at all.

my ways, my life, my being.



do they not pose my questions

Incoherent answers, are they not all I have.


but somehow I'm still chugging along

somehow still finding myself, I am.

somehow still dealing with life's incorrigible differences, I am.


yet with hope I'd fight

yet with hope I'll find I believe

my destiny is what I choose

fight I will

these incoherencies will disappear, I believe

I will succeed. I will live.

it is my own promise to my self.

it is my angst, it is my deciphering, it is my devaluation.

it is my survival at cost, it is my deep devotion.

I have my fate. and I write it.

search the dew







The dew is not formed here 
The winters may come, and the flower petals may yearn for it
But due never comes here, ever.

The joys of small little joys are gone forever, they are gone
To find them, to search for them, I have to search farther lands
They are not found here

Its concrete here, in the mind, and in the surroundings
Its all I get here, why did I come here
where is inspiration, why do I have to dig deep within to find it

पेंसिल।

पेंसिल।


पेंसिल, वो इक स्याह सा टुकड़ा
अब कहाँ है, और उसे कैसे है खोया।  

क्यों न हो उस पेंसिल की तलाश 
जिसे पकड़ना, जिसे पकड़ना,
कितनी ही आत्मीयता से,
पापा ने था सिखाया।   

वो पहली बार पेंसिल से बस चीस रहे थे
रंगरेजों की तरह, कागज़ में 
वो काला सा रंग। 
वो काला सा रंग बस भरे जा रहे थे 

आज यूं ही याद सा आ गया मुझे 
वो पेंसिल की नोक। 
किस तरह तराशते रहते थे,  
पेंसिल की नोक। 
...
बस समष्टि की गोष्ठी 
इसी गोष्ठी ने कहा 
एक पेंसिल की धारदार नोक पर 

विवेचन कर, अन्तः में झाँक कर,
अपनी नयी संरचना कर.

उदहारण सा दे, अपनी समष्टि का,
अपनी ही पेंसिल की लकीर से, 
अभिव्यक्ति का 
अपनी श्रृष्टि का, अपनी दृष्टि का 
अपने चक्षु के समावेश का

कुटुंब में, विश्व में।
ऋणों के उद्दभव, और उसके उद्गम का सार 
इसी पेंसिल की नोक पर 
इसे यहीं सृजित कर 
अभिव्यक्ति की पराकाष्ठा इसी धरती पर। 
बस ढूँढ ले पेंसिल को 
बस ढूंढ ले उसकी धार-धार नोक को 
बस ढूंढो उस पेंसिल को 
तराशे हुए, धारदार नोक को

Saturday, November 17, 2012

STATE OF WELL-BEING AND THE ARABIAN DANCER

STATE OF WELL-BEING AND THE ARABIAN DANCER 


I find myself in an opium den 

And I find it is silhouetted 

Though I never smoked, never been here. 

Yet without fail, beyond the translucent curtains, 

Life and its pale shadow….move on 


I find myself drugged 

I am coherently, incoherent. 

It is the state of my well-being. 


I see an Arabian dancer, beyond the translucent curtain, 

Inside the opium den, as she dances 

She dances beyond my comprehension of vision… 

She dances at the farthest corner, beyond the curtains 

Given my frail vision, as she gyrates to the music, my vision floats 

Yet I see that tender Arabian 

Dancing….she chuckles somehow, 

The tune, the beat, and her body gyrating 

I’m getting intoxicated, even more, ever before. 


Given the shortfall, given the failing vision, 

Yet I see it all…to the farthest distance, I see it all 

Still, I rue not ‘seeing’ her. 

Her eyes, her body language, they all fail me. 


In a complete disregard, she dances, for her Glory 

For her intoxication, she dances….. 

The curtains still hold the view, and I, 

I miss her, I yearn for her. 

Drugged I am, enchanted is the feeling 

Yet nowhere to go, glued to my seat 

I can’t go past the curtains, 

The Arabian dancer has veils 

My curtained and veiled self. 


I am staring, yet seeing without the ability of clarity 

Denied. Even when I would stand, and look around, beyond… 

The Arabian dancer does not co-operate. 


Risking the life’s fallacies, kneading, giving without going 

How long will this ordeal last? 

My frame and my frail legs, fail me. 

Dejected, lost, yet not a complete given-up 

Wheel-chained, I’m drugged, I am ensnared. 


She is beautiful even when veiled. 

Most clever, she is the most cleverly beautiful. 

There she is hiding, (If my wishful thinking allows, may be lurking) 

There she stands, in a distances, with a laughter, contagious. 

With a charm infectious. 

With a wisdom 

With a vice 

With a beginning 

With a look 

With seduction 

With conviction 

With a dream 

With endeavours. 

With life 

With intoxication 

With power 

With belief. 

Yet silhouetted, yet out of reach. 



Yet beyond me 

Yet eclipsing my power of faculties 

Yet making me her crave of her attention. 

Yet unforgiving and astute 



The Arabian dancer intoxicates me, even more 

She is indescribable and I lie seduced 

Seduced to her charms. 

My faculties failing me, I’m falling, falling 

With no one to catch. 


Grilled, I’m petrified, in an illusion. 

I fear my fall, yet I want to fall. 


I now bring-forth my left energies, 

Calm myself, reason. 

Control and calm-myself 

Curb and Understand, is all I do. 



This Arabian dancer, it seems, 

Knows the art of wait and seduction 


Am I giving in, Am I given up. 

Or am I going to get out? 



Drugged I am. 

I want to un-drug myself to know. 

I want the power of my being, to know. 

I want the strength of faculties, to know. 

I want the desire of my good self, to know.

Monday, April 30, 2012

STONE PELTER


STONE PELTER

Eyes cryin' again, in the rain

disguised, you don't see me again

can I hold on, and all that remain

Do I wanna get over you?

Do I wanna get over you?


Yet I am never at home;

And I am not alone.

I believed, by seeing in your eyes;

believed, that things are right, when I knew, they were wrong.


The brown pale earth, now little damp due to the dew

how I long for the sunny days and its hue

while wearing my navy-blue half-pullover over my shirt



A scent of mist

How do I endure this pain of the falling rain?



Love was the only way, and it remains still

I dream of beautiful days and twinkle in your eyes

When you wrapped yourself to me

Warmth it brought, solace it was; when u were near to me.



I long for your touch and that radiant eyes

The sparkle and its balminess during frosty mornings

Bringing that glow to that bitter chill

Enough heat to get out of slumber after long, cold nights.



But now there is nothing left to dream;

Longing for your touch, your breath, your skin on mine.

I am aloof now, and not at all calm

I have lost my composure

I have detached myself

Your unconcern, this stiffness is chocking me.

Your indifference has left me wrecked.



How can get over them, how can I be out of them?

My mistakes, I know I deserve 'em.


I haven't dried a long time,

let me;

My eyes are cryin' again,

and disguised! you don't see it again.



No prayers can answer me, my guilt wont let me free

living, n not moving at all,

this stubbornness wont lead me at all.

this despair, it doesn't end.

Even when all my brothers have died.


I have seen the valley n the crests n troughs
I have seen the guns, firing inside my belly

And here's my longing for forgiveness.



I am my mother's begotten, cursed son.

She protected me; didn't want me to be her another son.

Didn't want me to see the rifle in my hand

Didn't want me to see fighting

For the land; for a cause that lay betrayed

But what do I do?

Let me die my another death, let me sacrifice;

Let me martyr, let me bleed.


I cant think of love, your love.

I cant think of your tender touch

And the way you used to make love to me

Kisses and admiration 
and affection and the intimacy.

while stoning, I forget 'em all.

I forgot my father's words, didn't pay to my mother's needs

I died a long time ago;

I died and I thought of you when I did.

You tried to kill my love, the one I just sacrificed.

And yet I know, while bleeding; bleeding.

That I just lay dying, while you remained a frigid winter.

Saturday, March 17, 2012

RUDE FOOD: LOOK n SAVOUR THE TASTE!


Chicken wings in paprika sauce with sour cream n mozzarella




French fries with tangy sauce in rosemary


Roti, alu-gobi fry n anda(dim) curry


noodles wrapped in egg with chilly chicken

peanut-Melon Mozzarella salad with cucumber and onion....it was YUMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM. LOVED IT

Florentine Spaghetti garnished with grilled Bacon and Salami

Grilled Salad with Sausages
Omelette, with chunks of bacon And minced meat. Bits of fresh parsley, and black-pepper. With some Gauda and cheddar cheeses. Grilled bread in mayo on the sides
Omelette, with chunks of bacon And minced meat. Bits of fresh parsley, and black-pepper. With some Gauda and cheddar cheeses. Grilled bread in mayo on the sides
Omelette, with chunks of bacon And minced meat. Bits of fresh parsley, and black-pepper. With some Gauda and cheddar cheeses. Grilled bread in mayo on the sides
sunny side up cooked with with cayenne pepper and gorgonzola cheese and rosemary. With grilled bread in mayo on the side
sunny side up cooked with with cayenne pepper and gorgonzola cheese and rosemary. With grilled bread in mayo on the side
sunny side up cooked with with cayenne pepper and gorgonzola cheese and rosemary. With grilled bread in mayo on the side
Naga style Pork curry with steamed rice
Naga style Pork curry with steamed rice
Naga style Pork curry with steamed rice
Naga style Pork curry with steamed rice
Three Cheese Pizza: Cheddar, Mozzarella and Gauda. With Mushroom, golden corn and Chicken. Home made base and totato sauce
Three Cheese Pizza: Cheddar, Mozzarella and Gauda. With Mushroom, golden corn and Chicken. Home made base and totato sauce
Three Cheese Pizza: Cheddar, Mozzarella and Gauda. With Mushroom, golden corn and Chicken. Home made base and totato sauce
Baked veggies and a fresh herb and apple cider vinaigrette to go with it
Baked veggies and a fresh herb and apple cider vinaigrette to go with it
Baked veggies and a fresh herb and apple cider vinaigrette to go with it
Baked veggies and a fresh herb and apple cider vinaigrette to go with it

Sunday, March 11, 2012

WHY HAVE I BEEN CALLED PAN SINGH SINCE A CHILD

My Father, a journalist at that time, posted in Gwalior did the unthinkable. He interviewed Pan Singh, not the national record holder athlete - but the dreaded "Daaku Chambal ka".

I have been called 'Pan Singh' fondly soon after - by some of his friends and colleagues some of them who still call me that.

Here are two new-paper cuttings from his reports:






Tuesday, February 7, 2012

A not so befitting reply

(Wrote this to this pic)


I long for you.
Here, I search for you.
I am looking for you.

I think you will gallop,
Gallop these mountains
and you will break these chains

And you will come,
Come to me.

As I wait for you,
At my door-step, at my horizon.

Believing that you will come,
Come to me.

The sun and the moon and the stars
They all wait,
Alongside me,
Just for your arrival.

As I seek those days,
As my thoughts wander
As I start thinking of those 
summer days.

While there is gloom,
Inside the house, 
while there is gloom 
inside my heart.

While this world beholds.

I only wait for you.
To come soon,
For I am still a youth.
Just come, come to me.
I wait, I wait for you.

The valleys and the serpentine,
meandering springs, along with it all;
we all wait.

But that time never comes. 
But you never come.

what was yesterday, never came today;
It never became today.

you walked away, and I just stood here
But you never came again.

This beauty, this serenity, you never came here
you didn't see, you didn't believe.

And here I am, looking through the horizon,
through the meadows and the fields, 
looking and anticipating in daze.

All that I can say is - how could you?
All I could say is - Fuck you!
All I can say is - I cant believe it.
All I can say is - you had some courage.

you left what was beautiful and serene and nice.
You left all life beckoned you.

But you left.
Yet you left.
yes you did.

May this courage stay with you.
May your destiny finds you.
May my good wishes stay with you,
Even if it means
In vain, I wait for you.
In wait I cry for you.
In love, I still believe in you.
In despair, I still find you.
In deed, I still do.
In all, I become.
With it all, I persevere,
I live.
I do.
Do the best, I can be.
I live,
I do.
In the best way I can 
I do.
In the strength,
I cope.
In Life,
I find.
Moreover
I'd know,
I'd become.
I'd find
What I want.
What makes me,
What beckons me.




Monday, January 2, 2012

घर: सीमट गयी


INSPIRED BY A PHOTO ESSAY BY JAVED IQBAL,
TO SEE HIS PHOTO ESSAY, CLICK HERE:

घर
___

घर - उजड़ा,
कटा-फटा
दर्द का अंधियारा
किलकारियों से परे
एक अनजान सा घर
...
ना तुम्हारा- न मेरा
पर है ये वो किसी का

संजोय जाने कौन से मुर्दे
रखे है जाने कितने झरोखों में

न कोइ पुलकित मन
ना ही श्वास का ही ठिकाना
पर है वो - घर
घर, जो है उसका पूरा संसार

पलक झपकाते ही
मानो गायब सी हो गयी

सीमट सी गयी
ये संसार की चार-दिवारी
बस इतनी सी ही रह गयी
घर की मुंडेरी

घर - उजड़ा,
कटा-फटा
दर्द का अंधियारा