Sunday, 17 May 2015

Hues'

Glisten and strew
Morning hues'.
Go through the covert
And spray the latitudes.
Drip in wet leaves,
Tone the dust,
Spatter the lake, and
Scatter into the rays of the sun.
Hue me;
Give colors to a dream!

Sunday, 4 January 2015

Illusion was myself


I wished!
I could!
Now, I slap myself,
For the fever.
Fever inflicted by me.
On me!
Like I was still falling,
For an ant I trampled decades back.
I don’t want to be good,
Anymore,
Nomore.
I want to pipe out;
Streams to the crops;
Of the present.
Make happiness.
I take the second choice,
I go with you!

Saturday, 25 October 2014

My Devil

Image is everything, everything is image!
Well, if you’re only going to chuckle by the humor of Ranbir’s scene, you’ll miss something. Maybe not something what you should compulsively be interested in, but something that gleams in my stand. For me it’s a substance that creates driving forces in my mortal run; sometimes I primarily feel it.
“Just swear to God in front of me now!” That was what my father fired, glaring red eyes towards his drunk son who was mouth spewing shit in the commode. There was a sense of urge and expectation fading away behind his anger. Mother was weeping in the attached room, holding the milk she would have poured through my throat. It was a remorseful scene. Through my drunken eyes I could see their swollen faces and I felt the pangs of conscience. That day, I knelt before the one called God. I didn't care if he existed or not, but I swore by his name.
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I have a devil inside. It has grown along with me. During early days, it was just like every other child; soft, innocent and fortified by the ones who also raised me. It started relishing the newness and beauty of this sphere. It traveled with me to anywhere, played with me when I played with my friends and whispered excitements to me in the dark. But, it was mischievous at times, it often overdid stuffs, overprotected my every sense and over blooded me when I decided things; perhaps it was this aspect that differentiated me from the rest of my comrades.
“Mama..he bit me here.” The new friend ran towards his mother crying and showing his arm out. She had done what normal mothers use to do, when they come as guests to any home; asking their kids to go and play with the ones in the house. The bite was so shrill that it marked deep red impressions of my newly grown teeth on his skin with a little tinge of blood oozing out. The woman rubbed her son with a frightful eagerness. I could see a mixture of love for her son and fear in her eyes; the fear of me.
Gradually, this fiend in me started becoming unstoppable. It got under way at sites and presented itself. I lost myself when it erupted and quietly followed the tracks, it fancied to tramp on. I developed a fear within me, probably the first feeling when I began to understand things, with a deeper intuition. A fear that involved the pros and cons of an extinct me predominated by this cursed wretch.
“Your anger may land you in hell one day. Control it!” Mother would advise me smearing my forehead and sing prayers for me to sleep. Her touch was pure sublime love, it curbed the vicious thoughts induced by the one that quietly moved through my veins. But, I had to think for my long term existence. I didn’t want anyone to find my devil. I wanted to be good like all others. I decided to hid it by any means. I stopped going out, interacted less with people and by the time I was ten, I became the quietest one in our gang.
Well, it wasn’t an easy task. I had to operate at all instants of time. I had to fight it to stop evolving from nowhere, sometimes even had to make friendly talks. Nights were the toughest; it violated my thoughts during that time. Free time was its favorite, it would run into me. So, I started taking to other practices like painting and reading story books in order to make sure I didn’t leave any unused interval. These habits went on to make me more patient and calmer as time progressed. By degrees, my devil seemed to stamp out of me. It was just what I wished for, he left me. I began to feel free and happy; I became good. I was an example of all the characteristics which parents dream their child should possess, behavior, duty, obedience, courtesy, in fact everything. People praised my parents by asking how they raised me. They replied smilingly, “It all depends on God.”
God! This name however wasn’t something that fell in my genre. I only believed in me, in my ways to do things. I was sent here with a monster with whom I burnt years fighting it. It was me all along! Nobody, but I knew, how I dealt with souls to create an image of myself, the image for which I was the envy of everyone. I had won a battle, battle against my devil. I had thrown it away. But literally, circumstances had other things to say.



Well, friends! This is just the overview on what I have been fixing my head over a long time. Finally I think I have started it quite fine. I hope the idea grows into my first book. Enjoy reading.

Thursday, 7 August 2014

The Untold

And I spoke out,
Framing whats and whys...
Love, pressed hard beneath,
Eddies of the heart.
Years of mind-tricked silence,
In real, made me a bearing sage.
Go dear!
I have practiced a lot;
To live in dreams and memories;
There's the old newness in each one of them,
I live in them.

Tuesday, 11 March 2014

Maths; once I loved you....

“O my God! How did you do it?” My distant cousin exclaimed over the phone. Her highly pitched voice tore through my ears. And I had to bring out a gap between my left one and the receiver. I replied low.
“Well...mmm....it’s nothing, you just have to learn it fine.”
“No, wait. Did you dream of the questions the night before?”
I thought of what to reply! It was an insane question to me but, she didn’t own the blame for her phobic self. Maybe, I was some crazy nut to be floating on craziness at a height I never should have been. I convinced her at the cost of application of a word which I hated the most.
“Just practice, that’s all.”
            I was 16 then. Relatives, from all corners of the state, some I never knew, they existed, flooded our home. The reason was someone in their family had done something that no one of the blood ever did: 100 out of 100 in Matric. It was like celebration time for them. My parents were the happiest persons on earth. I was relieved but, nervous as well. Interrogations! I loathed facing them: What will you do now? How much did you practice? Can you do it again in future? I felt I was caught red handed in the relationship I had been secretly involved; my affair with maths.
It was not the case of love at first sight, for sure. I hardly do remember getting a maximum of 50, not until I realized a depth about it, somewhere between seventh and eighth, during the era of simple linear equations perhaps. I began to swim over the subtle flows to solutions. Chords, logs, i’s, ratios and sets functioned like functions in paperless thoughts. Maths had the most beautiful art, the art of approaching things. It had ways where I was the most confident. My intimacy with it anyway proved that it explained everything, even physically. Numbers were my best friends; I have been to glaciers with them!
But everything was not at all rosy; there were villains in my story. Fighting them was the toughest of all. I mean, why the hell should I care about Wordsworth’s lovely spring that never occurred to me? Revolutions, Movements and Kingdoms were like pages of fever. Literature hit me hard. One of them was different: Science, who is still faithful to me. It isolated our secrets dates.
“How much will you practice maths? You must make time for other subjects also.” My mother told me as she looked at what I was penning down while placing tea and biscuits on my table.
Practice, I hated the word. Practice is done for a reason and I had no reason for Maths, I just loved it. Filling pages with the colours of graphs, shades of rationalisation and the hearty numerical solutions didn’t imply the so called Practice. It was funny playtime with the closest thing that ever happened to me.
“This is not maths, Maa. I am doing Science.”
“Ok, sometimes it looks so similar.”
Well, it was not similar for me. For Science to succeed, it had to climb the universally true staircase called Mathematics. It is a total proof of the world of Science. In fact, it was a proof of everything for me then. Four = Five or cow = fish, all these were like weapons for challenges thrown to me. I blended all elements of destiny by figures from zero to nine. I measured eternity in my age of teen. I was at the top. I was in love.
------------
“Bang bang...! Wake up or you’ll be late again.” Someone thumped my door and growled aloud to break one of the softest of many mornings I used to grandly sleep out on the cosy bed of my hostel room. Friend’s you know, so obedient they are in following your orders for some classified brutal things like waking you up in the morning. More often, I peacefully denied myself to accomplish the expected task.
By grace of God or by some inherent numerical skills, I somehow figured in the list of fellows who could step into our state Engineering College for study: my father’s dream. Though I had no idea what would I do after being an engineer, I was happy. Settlement of four years, I thought was enough for me to figure out what future had in store for me. I was confident in all points of life till then. Numbers and measurements have always helped me, they were my silent strengths. But I strayed.
Overconfidence, I suppose will be the best word to describe my deviating ways to a future I had never imagined. A future destined for a struggle in every step! A future where the doom breathes past every now and then! I know some has had seen worse, but mine was not supposed to be like this. And my love, Maths, I don’t know how I lost you. I was not faithful, I know that. Actually I was always searching for you in the various tastes I developed in methods that don’t work with you. You didn’t seem to have any rational answers to them either.
The thing that happens to most of the guys who come to engineering colleges, especially those living in the college hostels is something that can leave mathematics clueless. Well, someone like me whose prime starting idea of being an engineer was to stop the blabbering mouths of kith and kin from further comparing my dazzling past with the present vices was the most suitable victim. Young boarders like us tend to develop immeasurable nocturnal habits. We did what we never did before. Ate, drank and slept like kings. Attending classes was the last thing we thought about.
Lady love, from the view of my short span experiences with a few of them is beyond trajectory and projection. Mathematically speaking, it’s an undefined function that can uproot your function from the algebraic origin of where you belong, to the infinity of emotional crap. Numbers have no clues to it. It demands those which your calculations reject. So, with all these theories of my pitiful old love, what I always did was I returned each and every time. All my relationships lasted for countable days, sometimes months but never in years. No offence to the ones called real lovers, sorry to say, but you’ve already sloped away too far.
It’s the worst phase where human emotions and all the colours of life which you never experienced before suddenly appear and that too in a stage when you need to keep them aside. Such situations lead you to make mistakes that you normally won’t do. In the case of academics during my time in Engineering, I suffered with that. Parties even during exams, being the egoistic bad hero to faculties against the low figures on my mark sheets, cultural dreams during high times of paperwork and many other momentary flash points were the description of the sick me.
It was the time when I really needed my Maths back. I missed the rational thinking and the logic it offered to me before. I missed the ultimate plan! Frustrations heaped a pile over my head yielding nothing but miscalculations of life. I was left jobless (still the same) to sit and stare bewildered beings of the past, race past me to glory. I remembered my day in school when I failed in Maths in class V. The teacher slashed me on my butt and growled, “If you don’t practice, it will happen again.”
That was the point! That was the word, Practice! This hateful word was what I once followed with love. It came in various forms. I just needed to catch the actual emotions to do it. It wouldn’t be incorrect if I say Mathematics did break my heart at that co-ordinate of maxima. But I was equally to be blamed. I didn't maintain what my only true relationship demanded and that was some time of closeness like I gave it before.
Anyways, I now think I have started trying for a revival, an attempt of pulling my curve back to its domain, for a proof that my point of extrema was an inflection in disguise, a final test for my love.
And few months back when a little one of the Matric aspirants from my place happened to chat me online, he asked, “Dada, how can I score a 100?” Though I still hated the word, but this time I meant it.

“PRACTICE.”

Thursday, 13 February 2014

The Return from Silence

I stay in the wind,
Dust-laden and moist-frozen.
I hear chants and curses,
For the ripples I made
In a half-forgotten neighbourhood.
I was or may still be;
Someone's utter soul,
Whom I flew with subtleness
In my last dramatic occasion.
I hear laughs, "He is gone!"
From the very modern mouths
Of creepy kiths and betrayers;
Happiness has ruined them.
Worry not, my beloved blood.
I have gathered courage!
My silence tunes with the wind.
And I'm coming soon;
Like the razing storm of the past.

Friday, 20 December 2013

Vulgar is me

A vulgarity,
Resides within me.
It erupts like the Sicily,
When divine wonder-worlds;
Rejected!
And traced into the deepest planes of manliness.
 They say, “Try again,
Go back and you’ll stem the rose.”
O’ my dear cool advisors;
It’s not whiskey with the ice,
It’s some x-shit!
But am still pining away,
Even with a vague zeal.
Limbonised and searching,
Exchanging phis,
But, running blind.
I reply,
“I am too tired”
Tired of being vulgar.......