Getaway

A drove
of dust
danced
in the
spotlight
of the
street
lamps.

Night
lights
put up
a
fight
with
darkness.

Blanketed
in black,
the
hill top,
the trees
and the
wayward
breeze
fell asleep.

The brilliant
moon
waxed
eloquent.

Negligible
sounds
reverberated
in the
blaring
silence.

Thousands
of miles
away,
he
put out
the
reading
lamp
and
stared
down
at a
gossamer
web
of lights…
not knowing
others
were
gazing
up at the
three
beams
of light
that
set his
ride
apart
from
a shooting
star.

A few
steps
too far
and she
merged
into
the night.

Two
down
and two
to go;
fear
tapped
on your
shoulder.

Buildings,
bus stops
raced
past
as Dire Straits
sang
a serenade
and
in that
wind-blown
moment,
we had
it made.

Headonism/Ravana and Heady

Head-on,
plunged
all,
taken in
by the
heady
signs
of
what
was
to be
the
headlining
event of
the
century.

Waiting
with
bated
breath
for
the
imminent
coronation,
all were
expectant
and
resigned…
except
the
head-hunters
who went
into over-drive
to scout
for slaves
and appease
the soon-
to-be-King.

Workhorses
and
figure heads
they did
find,
some to lead
this
accession,
while
others
to rally
behind.

And when
the crown
lay uneasily
on the head,
the
ten-headed
demon king
emerged
instead
to rule
the country
and lead
it into
war
not peace;
where
this Ravana
of terrifying roar
bellowed
once more…
But instead
of alarming
the foe,
the war cry
turned
his own
troops
deaf.

Headstrong,
he
kept on
with
his
pursuit
of material
pleasures
and sexual
conquests;
forgoing
the real
purpose
of his reign.

Fashioning his
own shroud
in his wake,
this Dasagriva’s
(the one with
ten heads)
fatal flaw
wasn’t
just
his lust
for the
many mistress’
or the
occasional
miss
but
his ravenous
hubris.

And
even
though,
he captured
Sita,
a jewel
in the
enemies’
crown,
his forces
of Rakshasas
and his
ten heads
couldn’t
save
him –
they
were too
busy
fighting
among
themselves
and
gratifying
their
every
whim.

So,
Ravana
fell,
cursed.

And thus
ran his
dirge:
Power
without
wisdom
is useless,
and a king
ruled
by several
heads
is headless.
For in order
to change
the world,
on ego
he fed and
let it all
go to
his many
heads.

Catnap

That damn
cat mocks
me
everyday.
Lounging
on the
stairs,
its always
in my
way.
As I dash
to work;
I see it
smirk
sprawled
on its
back,
basking
in the
corner of
this
concrete
crib
that we
live in,
but it
owns…
Once,
twice
thrice,
it moans
to lure
the
tomcat
as it
swaggers
past,
looking
aghast
at this
feline
bast.
And
what-do-
you-know,
there he
was today,
slumped
by her
side,
plump
and
moon-eyed,
keeping
all the
strays
at bay.
And the
rest
as they
say
is
history.
Now,
there’s
not one
but two
who
lay
spread
eagle
dressed
in nothing
but their
regal
selves…
They
don’t
take flight
or even
bat an eye
as all
pass by,
unless
you play
party
pooper
and
dare to
disturb
their
parallel
universe –
their
perpetual
sleepy
stupor.

Hmmm..

Never
knew
fertility
of thought
was among
that which
held all
life sway,
until I
lost my
mind’s
virginity
to it
one day.

**

On a
outlandish
idea
I was sold:
“Yes, lets
tell all
of em’
bosses to
‘fuck off’!”
- delusions
of having
a head cold.

**

You want
to pick up
where we
left off
years ago.
That’s an
unsual request
from someone
I barely know.

**

Everyday
I decide
I'll be in
early
but inevitably
I'm late.
Since
I've joined
nation,
have developed
this condition,
try as I may,
I can't
put off
procrastination.

**

Advice to
all those
who attempt
‘suiiiciiide’:
Next time
ditch the
pesticide
and try
cyanide.

**

If you
wanted to
kill yourself
for a
14-year-old,
there’s
really nothing
you can
be told.

**

Experiences
made her
whole,
a right
to which
you stole.

Old is as old does

You are too old…

When
the jokes
fall flat,
courtesy your
receding wit.

When
you don’t
bitch about
the past,
but say
“you’ve
learned
from it”.

When the
last time
you did
something
wild was
in 1306.

When your
sentences end
in truisms
and you
quote Moses.

When you
think
puting up
an act is too
much trouble.

When you
fight for
nobel
causes:
the couch,
the remote
on the double!

When the only
figure you are
concerned
about are
the ones
that adorn
your taxes.

When
“the been
there, done
that’s”
feature far
too many
times in your
eloquent
waxes.

Child’s play

My selective
memory
does
remember
those
silly
games
we played;
tugging
at each
other’s braid;
hiding in
the cool
shade
of the
mango
trees,
lest
someone
sees
that
we had
it made
in our
make-believe
world
where
imagination
reigned
supreme
and nothing
else seemed
more important
than a
double scoop
of strawberry
ice cream.

**

Go ahead,
draw in
a mouthful.

If you can
hold your
breath,
so can I…

We could
go blue
together
and wait.

For things
to seep in,
the pettiness
to abate…

You'd rather
suffocate…
than start
over a
clean slate?

**
Toss,
hop,
skip
and
jump:

One foot
in each,
past the
squares:
3 single
1 double
2 single
1 double
1 single…

Bounding
on one
leg,
each
square
is picked,
one by
one.

And just as
you are
about
to trip
over your
own leg,
someone
shrieks,
“Balance!”

A rule of
thumb,
you
willingly
heed to
then,
but years
later
forget…

Hopscotch
is no
different
than life?
You bet!

Past Imperfect

Blast from the past,
bolt from the blue,
dunno what else
to call you…

You called me
after six years
or maybe more
and told me off
for not having
called before.

Have never
been taken
so much by
surprise,
as on
identifying
your voice.

You spoke
like a
miffed lover
who had
run out
of patience,
I could
do nothing
but be
shell-shocked
and pledge
obeisance…

Long-drawn
silences
and curt
words
made this
awkward
exchange
more surreal
than strange
for how
could you
harbour hurt
through all
these years
and expect
me to
give chase.
I must say
you still
don’t cease
to amaze…

I did try,
didn’t I?
But you were
too busy
playing
hard to get,
so I packed
my ego
and left…

What could
I’ve said?
What could
I’ve done?
Was too
impatient then,
didn’t care
about the
long-run…

But now
that we
gave
each other
a summary
of what
our lives
have been
like and
even
how they
ought to be,
isn’t it
time you
forgave me
and
put me
out of my
misery?

One night at Mc Crazy

Queer
encounter
part deux:

Crazy ass
woman
zeroed in
on you…
swooping in
for the kill,
grabbin’
your arms
against
your will…

Watching
you reluctantly
humour her
‘smashed’ stupor,
was more
hilarious
than any
of Crazy Frog’s
accent bloopers.

Till,
you seized
my hand
and pleaded
with your
eyes;
“Get her
away”
appealed
your silent
cries…

Chivalrous me
butted in,
only to
find myself
in her
arms too.
She asked
me;
“Did I
upset you?”
And I
answered,
“Yes!”
But, this
woman
guiless
proclaimed
that you
were with
a certain
Anoushka
she knew –
a figment
of her
imagination
or one
too many
cosmopolitan
brews.

But, I declared
you were
with me..
Then
apologetic she
said:
“Don’t get
me wrong,
I’m not
gay.”
I stuck
my ground
and retorted
“But I
am, so if
you may
leave
my girl
and dance
with someone
else, aye?”

And that’s
when I
realised,
that
not just
did I
do you
a favour,
crazy frog
owed me
big time
too –
Who knew
he’d pounce
and do
his tentacle
bounce
to jig
with
deranged
aunty
on a
strictly
just-dance,
don’t-touch
basis…

And so
it went –
the night
rent
with
dirty
dancing,
frivolous
prancing
and the
usual share
of nutcases.

**
One night
of dancin’
at a
choc-a-bloc
pub
and
a ‘raver’
you
christened
me.
At least
I didn’t
need a
drag
of E!

**

A night
of revelations
comes
at a cost:
Rs 1,115
to be exact.

**
As the city
trudged its
way
to a
new day,
shaking
sleep of
its form,
the vanilla
sky dabbed
on some
rouge and
the waves
waltzed
along.
Street
lights
got their
well-deserved
slumber
and
morning
walks,
they did
outnumber
the crows
who cawed
and pecked
at all-nighters;
prodding
them
to head
home,
rather
than
bask
on the
edge
of a
postcard
skyline
bed.

**

The
sun
may not
rise on
Marine
Drive
but
the day
greets
you
in
its white-
blue,
pinkish
hue –
a sight
you’ll
savour –
a memory
stowed
away of
a far out
view.

**

After-thought

Caramel-coated Exotic Spice
at Grand Maratha Sheraton,
Crunchy Blueberry Cheese Cake
at Marine Plaza,
French Apple Tart at Hilton,
Gooey Chocolate at Churchill,
Amul Rasberry Sundae at
down-the-road Royal
and Aam ras
in mom’s kitchen….
Im a camel,
who lost
an appetite
for hunger,
but couldn’t
give up the
dessert :)

**

Courting creation

Countless
faces have
come and
gone.
A flurry
of affairs
have been
risked among,
a 1000
flirtations
that
didn’t last
long.

But, none
courted
me the
way he did…

The more I
resisted,
the more
he tried
to bend
my will
and trigger
a feverish
rush
inside.

Then
one day,
I gave in…
and so
began
the resonant
waltz
of an
original
sin…

Sleepless
nights
and
drawn-out
days
gave way to
his wanton
ways.

And I realised
he was filled
with lust,
sayin’:
“My cheerie
amour,
if you
love me,
you
must.”

So to his
bed,
I was
led
to consummate
this
romance…

Alas
my dear,
it all
came to
naught,
for
neither
did we
sow
the seed
of thought
nor
did I
know
how
to make
love to
this
gorgeous
'idea'.

To Sukirti, from me

“Thirteen years!”

Seems like
very long
ago.
Seems like
I almost
let you go..
Seems like
we never
needed an
excuse
to break into
a fight.
Seems like
you always
wanted to be
the one
who’s right!
Seems like
your letters
were never
meant to end.
Seems like
my every
wound,
you'd mend.
Seems like
misunderstandings
were part
of the game.
Seems like
sometimes
I was to blame.
Seems like
you never
appreciated
rhyme.
Seems like
I never made
the time.
Seems like
we are
drifting
apart.
Seems like
I should say
something smart…
Seems like
bonding
over bargains
is a good start.
Seems like,
you are
the one
who made
shopping an art.
So, how
about it my
corporate upstart?

Summoned

Its funny how
some memories
are buried
so deep
that even
when they
surface,
you can’t
put your
finger on
‘em,
let alone,
reminisce
and weep.

**

Sometimes
a dog-eared
phonebook
is all it takes
to make you
realise
what you were
and never
will be.

**
Mementos
are the
past
frozen
in time.
No wonder
then,
they get
cold
and
distant
after a
while.

**

Watching the
silverfish
wiggle its
way into
another
tome,
I envied
its skill
to immerse
itself
in words
and live
off books.
The ideal
life lay
amidst those
pages,
ensconced
in its nooks.

Collision course with justice

(Crash/V for Vendetta review)

Hurtling into a
motley of stories,
a salvo
is fired
against
bigotry
underlying
all existence…

The violence
of words
and sentiment,
leave you
gasping...
untill…
you seize
a mouthful
of logic
and see
that contrived
coincidences
can’t be
an unflinching
look at reality.

But they
make for
great willing
suspension
of disbelief
in this
collision
course
of stories,
where
the message
is preachy
but the
scenes
are brief.

Fast cuts
and crisp
dialogues
keep the
intrigue
alive,
to your
relief.

**


V for vengeance,
V for villain,
V for vaudeville…
call him
what you will,
but V
is simmering
within;
coming to
a boil,
he’s our loathe
for all things
corrupt,
avaricious,
filthy.

Veiled anarchist
or a libertine
who decided
to take on
debilitating
hypocrisy,
V is a
perspective –
that questions
the tenets of
terrorism.

Visual incarnate,
Hugo Weaving,
does what
he can
wedged behind
the mask,
to suck us into
the vortex of
a despotic
world.

Vindicating
critics who
lambasted
Matrix,
the Wachowski
brothers pen
yet another
mind-bender.

Vignettes
of The Matrix
trilogy
in V
are not just the
obvious
one man
against
the system theme
– but the option
to go down the
rabbit hole
or to stay out…

Very fittingly,
V leaves
the decision
of whether or
not to blow up
the Parliament
to Evey (Natalie Portman),
an ordinary woman
living in a
extraordinary time.

Verdict: Living
in a world
that isn’t a
far cry from
the autocratic
realm depicted
in this film,
one that
has more than
its dark share
of one-sided wars,
murky politicking
and tailor-made news –
this movie
is a subtle urge
to viewers
to tap into V
– the potential
to make a choice
inside you and me.