A fallen rose!

There was snow everywhere, fresh and pure. Stepping on it would seem like a sacrilege. On that lay a red rose, a red as red could ever get. For all he knew, the rose was white just till the moment she left the place and him…forever.

(Inspired by a scene in the movie, “Phantom of the Opera”.)

A fallen rose
Not from a branch
But from a hand

A lip’s tremble
Soon the air rumbles
Cupid must’ve grumbled

A silent twitch
A soul’s readiness to switch
Never to mistake it as a glitch

A gasp of breath
A struggle to hold or let it go
Looming in the mist, the leery Death

A conscious heart
Once aware and confused now
Purpose lost sans you

A falling tear
Drowning now all that I’ve ever feared
Leaving me only with nakedness to wear

A primal scream
Ripped and torn from nerve to cell
I pray my reality to never even be your dream

Approval Junkies!

Jake Green: There is something about yourself that you don't know. Something that you will deny even exists, until it's too late to do anything about it. It's the only reason you get up in the morning. The only reason you suffer the shitty boss, the blood, the sweat and the tears. This is because you want people to know how good, attractive, generous, funny, wild and clever you really are. Fear or revere me, but please, think I'm special. We share an addiction. We're approval junkies. We're all in it for the slap on the back and the gold watch. The hip-hip-hoo-******' rah. Look at the clever boy with the badge, polishing his trophy. Shine on you crazy diamond, because we're just monkeys wrapped in suits, begging for the approval of others. - Quote from Revolver, a Guy Ritchie flick

A Nihilist's Dream

It was dark. Dark everywhere. The color of the world was pitch black and the language of the tongues, if left any alive, was silence. He was running wild trying to see something, anything, through the darkness which has clouded on the world so swiftly just like an alarmed bird takes flight. His head was aching and he could hear a continuous humming noise from within it. It could be from the fall, he tried to reason out. Wait, did I actually fall?

Gazing around for a long while, in a distant horizon, he thought he could make out something which his eyes would recognize and they did recognize. More darkness! Just when he thought he would faint or get sick of this adamant agitation within his now pounding head, there was a wisp of smoke snaking right above a roadside motel. 'Finally', he muttered and raced towards the motel like a foaming race horse. Just like a race horse that would get shot when it gets wounded.

He could sense the now familiar sound within the motel – the sound of silence. There was not even the sound of shadows moving. This cant be happening, he thought. Maybe I am in a dream and this is all a mirage nobody ever wanted to see even as a mirage. The interior of the motel was a little less dark, like a giant luminescent bulb had just been turned off. Things started to take shape to his straining eyes and the presented scene was a riot. Tables and chairs broken, overturned and scattered around; air infested with the putrid food remains in the sordid crockeries. He clasped the sides of his head, leaning against the stone wall just when there was a loud clanging noise and his body shook involuntarily.

Rushing like a mad bull, soon he discovered that the noise was from the basement. Descending the steps carefully, his mind started to wander away. When was the last time I saw a fellow human? How long has it been since this whatever-this-is has happened here and where was I when all this happened? Where is Fabrizia? The last question shook him out of his reverie and it occurred to him if only someone could offer him explanations for what has come over. Maybe whoever made that noise could. If he doesn’t I will make sure he does, thought he. Stepping carefully down not wanting to alarm whoever it was there, he found the source of the sound.

If not for the tail and the soft droning noise from the belly of the beast he would not have believed it was a cat. The skeletal projection was too visible and eyes were almost invisble in hollow sacs. A dark grey cat. He stood there extremely displeased and his only companion in the basement too seemed to share the same feeling. He stood transfixed looking at it when it dawned on him that the cat was waiting for him to leave so it could move to the other side of the room. The black-humored paradox of the situation stopped amusing him when he noticed blood dripping from it’s mouth and some flesh remains in the claws.

He ran away from the basement and out of the motel into the now chilly exterior. The air seemed heavy and damp. He found it increasingly hard to breathe and stopped running. Doubling over, pressing his knee caps, he took a deep breath and looked around. He had come to a highway road filled with automobiles-none functioning and appeared like toys carelessly strewn around by a giant toddler. He went near each one of them examining for any life form in vain. Coming further down the road, he discovered the bridge ahead was collapsed and shattered in impossible splinters. Had he not driven across the bridge every day to work, he would have laughed at the suggestion of even a possibility of a bridge being down there now.

Across the once existent bridge, there was more wreckage and his now accustomed eyes to the dim darkness could trace out from the ruins, signs that houses and apartment buildings had existed right there not very long before. He stumbled upon a long metal blade with military insignia and fancied if it belonged to a chopper and this thought scared him more and he started to move in the opposite direction. The air was reeking now as there was more and more desolation and decomposition everywhere he set his eyes upon. Still, no human form in vicinity. Chills went down his spine when the thought of he being alone in the city or maybe in the world for that sake, crossed his mind. He shook his head in denial and slogged forward.



It took some more time for him to sink in that the air was dense because of the clouding smoke arising from almost every skyscraper. Of course none of it was scraping the sky now. Each one of them was burnt to the bottom and smoking their guts out vehemently. The sight was tragically depressing and he felt several knots twisting in his stomach. He kneeled face down on the ground. Is this not what I wanted or what I thought I wanted? Why do my guts churn at the sight of this destruction and chaos? There is nothing left, no man left and no values left. Should I not be overwhelmed with joy that now my principles have become a practical reality? I remember claiming all my life, that life by itself had no objective meaning, purpose or intrinsic value. But why does every cell in my body contradicts my very own claims?

This self enquiry did not seem to help much as he coiled himself on the ground like a serpent who is about to shed it’s skin and started to shudder violently as tears started to well in his bloodshot eyes. There was a deafening distant sound of thunder that made him close his ears tightly and pull him closer to himself when he realized the ground was shaking. Tremors, he thought and had a strange premonition the earth is going to open up and take him deep down inside. Pulling more into himself in a circle, he muttered his last words before he passed out, “God, if this is a nightmare and I had been a nihilist, please let me wake up as an atheist”.

From Chennai with Love!

Well, for quite some time now I have been tickling myself with surprise what am I gonna write about next in my blog. I could not stop fantasizing about it and the suspense was almost unbearable. Yeah, I hear you mutter “Narcissistic SOB!” but hey this is all I got to show-off apart from my upcoming six packs and my tall, dark and handsome physique and my silver tongued speeches and my graceful walk and ahem ahem and…

It has been quite some time now I have visited my blog and quite a few things does have happened in my life since the last blog was written. For instance, I am in a new job in a new company in a new city and staying in a new house. Hmm…quite a few changes eh!

For the first few days of my stay here in Chennai, I could not get rid of the hangover of my life – the Mumbai hangover! Believe me when I say the city secretly grows on you when you live there even for a short while. This landed me into the problem zone several times as you get accustomed to several mini luxuries like late dinners, open-minded girls, problem-free bachelor accommodation (lol), autos that run on meters, free and forced fashion tips, cheap internet, etc etc

Chennai does have its own unique charm but habit can be a pain in your keister. Working late and eating out late had been my routine for most of my Mumbai days (recollecting the 1 AM romali roti and paneer chutney and an oily moon) and now when I get out of Chennai office after 11 PM and see the eating outlets all closed and the still open ones with ‘closed’ sign outside, I curse when my stomach cringes. Also I soon learnt it’s a risky business to enter the fastfood joints in the shady alleys which are still open after 11 as they seem to be exclusively for “privileged” citizens right out of TASMAC and ready to puke on you or your plate anytime they feel comfortable. Now I am being a cautious customer and have discovered a couple of Andhra mess nearby. Andhra Mess - A south Indian’s dream! Lol! So much rice for 35Rs – Awesome!

Next embarrassment in my little list of disappointments was the girls’ attitude I have met so far. I just don’t get it when (as if by a global conspiracy) the girls make it a point that they are married or in a relationship right within the 2 minutes of a casual conversation and that challenging stare afterwards when I wonder what I did made her mention that in an otherwise normal conversation. Oh, come on now, You know I look a pretty decent fella. There are many curious and interesting aspects of the girls here still unexplored like why they bat eyelashes a tad more wildly than needed when they see a guy approaching them and why do they adamantly stare at the monitor fixedly even when the guy approached is like standing close and sharing almost the same oxygen molecules in the air space near them and why they give you a strange look (as if you have just breached the Sacred Code) when they are talked to uninvitedly. Hmm..the intricacies!

My house-hunt took to top gear when I realized I would be kicked out of the provided hotel accommodation in a week’s time. Took the Free Ads magazine and tried calling up the house owners and every one of them was a genuine, warm, caring and friendly person till I mentioned am looking for bachelor accommodation. It was as if all the house owners are faithful followers of the “Hate Bachelors” club and explained me that I am untouchable because am a bachelor. Folks there got me considering marriage pretty seriously for some time, duh!

It is a different story how I got settled in a house finally and found out that my house owner was Mini Hitler, version 1.0. Imagine an evil standup comedian performing, rambling for an hour non-stop vehemently, except that none in the audience twitches a single smile muscle of his face, there, voila! You have figured out my house owner. She loves to talk… She loves to talk… She loves to talk…personality profile completed. End of two days of my stay in the house, I was lucky enough to know why she liked dogs and hate cats, her unhealthy bank balance, her arthritis and the size of her thyroid, how she manages to pay her EMIs, why her hubby don’t look like an ex MR.Chennai now and why I could teach her over-enthusiastic kid Civics and why he looks up to me as I remind him of his dead uncle (wtf!)

I like to use and think of my blog like an online journal I keep wherein I record some treasured memories/moments and emotions of passing days. Am sure little things which we gripe about now and petty nuisances would be things of amusement to us in some distant future when we could/would laugh about it. Oh, on a concluding note and talking about amusement, one early consolation to me in Chennai was one of my colleague with a peculiar accent and his proprietary spelling for his vocabulary..lol.I am not claiming that I have the coolest accent, still, his choice of words are pretty lethal as you would understand below. I will close this post with a sample exchange I had with him last week:

Day 1:
Him: Shanmu, my manager is really banging me hard yaar…
Me : What??
Him: yeah, everyday we have meetings where everybody on the call bangs my hash too..
Me: Again, what??
Him: luckily today I escaped from the meeting and Amitha got banged..
Me: (walks away from the place quickly before he catches me giggling)

Day 2: (snacks time)

Him: Push that plate here. Lets finish snacks quickly and move our hashes quickly
Me: ok. But move our what?
Him: (concentrates on snacks when understanding dawns on me slowly) hmm…ok

Day 3: (Coffee area)

Him: Shanmu, check out that goal yaar…
Me: Innocently, looking at the TV screen where soccer is going on
Him: look, look, quick, look there (he points out a busty girl at my periphery)
Me: Ohh…her..the girl…yeah..hot
He: (Greedily chuckles)
Me: Move ur eyes off the hash and finish ur coffee…

Come Times of Solitude, My Shadow is My Solace!

I met him at the doorstep where he was leaning against the wall holding the door for balance. He was like a malnourished bird wearing half-moon spectacles and would have been an easy substitute for Dumbledore in the next Potter installment if not for his emaciated figure.

“Say Hello to your house owner buddy!” said Mr.Mitra (my house broker) introducing me to the aging Sardarji uncle who was observing me while his fingers were digging deep in his mysterious whitey white beard which traveled well across his belly. I stared at him back forcing a smile (trust me, it’s difficult; try smiling at someone who is staring at you like you were some kind of most-wanted convict on the planet). He nodded his head in acknowledgement and started to speak in Punjabi to the broker for a good half hour while I was doodling doodles which would have sufficed Google’s need for two three weeks. Abruptly, he closed his door and locked from inside but not before passing me on a menacing look when Mitra tapped on my shoulder and said “Uncle says not to bring girls here”.

After I paid Mitra and sent him off, I stood in front of the mirror for a long time wondering what features of mine gave me away to my accusing house owner as a potential Casanova or a spoilt womanizer. I had been transferred to Mumbai all of a sudden and was in a hurry to settle down somewhere quick and that is how I ended up here. The mini-flat was well accommodating for my needs with a one room kitchen and a bathroom attached to it – all nice and clean which at the end of a month would turn into a shithole. There was a common door opening to the kitchen which I found later had to be shared with my house owner uncle who was occupying the other side of the flat. Though my frequent love for Maggi urged me to use the kitchen I was reluctant after that one of the few first days when I saw the Sardarji uncle wash and rinse, wash and rinse, wash and rinse all his utensils like crazy till I convinced him that I was a vegetarian. He paused for a while and asked if I eat eggs and when I stupidly nodded he continued right from where he left. Sigh….sigh….

Days passed into weeks and weeks silently conspired into months. By now, I was intrigued by my old man-next-door. He was a queer fellow with temperament exactly opposite to how his face looked. I would approach him sitting at his doorsteps when his face used to look all bright and happy only to get a cold stare at my efforts to strike up polite conversations. Having learnt similar lessons I would avoid him (occasional kitchen crossings) when he seems all sad and gloomy only to be pulled by him to his part of the flat and in no time I would be listening to his history. I enquired about him being alone to which he retorted indignantly that he was well taken care of by his sons abroad and he prefers staying close to his hometown. His sons’ family would fly down and visit him once a year staying with him till they flew back. Then he would talk dreamily about his grandsons while the crazy love and warmth glowing in his face (parts of which was not covered by beard) would make him so endearing. It was clear that he loved his grandsons more than anything, even more than his prized possession – the medals.

Uncle was an ex-army officer of some capacity and had a pretty impressive collection of medals arranged methodically in the display rack he had. He never let me or anyone touch them or even go near the rack ( pervy perversons, concentrate on the story pls… ). Later he confessed even his sons were not permitted to touch them. There were easily more than half a dozen medals and everyday before I leave to office, I would see him spread out the medals neatly over a newspaper and wipe them with an anti-rust solution and dry them with a clean napkin and place it back in the glass box. He looked to me like a paranoid monster guarding the secret key to a buried chest within which his heart is hidden. Still, I liked this about him as I believed this passion got him going in his final days as I started to feel the pangs of loneliness when it was only over six months and wondered how it must be for him staying that ways for years now.

Few more months passed and our bond was growing stronger despite the fact that neither understood the other’s language. Still we managed to get along well with uncle making masala tea in the evenings for both of us and me taking him to hospital whenever he fell sick – which was very often. One fine morning I saw him fidgeting all over the place with excitement and learnt that his younger son’s family was arriving the same day. Feeling happy for him I left to office only to see him clean and decorate the flat feverishly. Little did I know I would be in for shock when I would come back in the evening.

I had a rough day at office (you too would have a rough day at office if you had a cougar for a boss…duh…) and unlocking the door I realized I stepped on something. Flipping the light switch on and rubbing my eyes to see what it was….to my horror, it was a metal shard which would mean only one thing – a broken piece of a MEDAL. I was oblivious to the noises of the kids next door and still staring at it wondering vaguely how to explain this to uncle. The inevitable has to be done – making up my mind I opened the kitchen door and started to enter uncle’s room and stopped dead on my track as if bound by an invisible chord. The place was a freaking battle field. A total mess! The curtains were all stained with color inks, the carpet littered over with a pile of orange peels and empty soft drink cans which I didn’t recognize, newspapers torn and stuffed inside a torn pillow and confirming my worst fear was the display rack – opened and one side of it forced roughly leaving it shattered and broken around the edges and the medals strewn across like disrespectful coins in front of a blind beggar.

My heart fluttering, I analyzed the situation and rationalized it must be the result of kids amusing themselves and found one of them dripping saliva over a candy, no, a medal again. Uncle was sitting at the edge of his bed playing with another grandkid and to my supreme amusement, his face was serene and almost yogic, almost like that of young Buddha – not the one that said “Accept pain” but the one who said “Pain is no pain by itself“. I had never seen him like that in the past nine months and stood there looking at his exalted, peaceful face transfixed while being introduced to his son and his bahu who informed me that it was an urgent visit to the embassy and that they would be leaving India the very next day’s early morning. I took leave and came back to my room feeling more exhausted than ever.

Next day, before I was to leave for office, I paused next to the kitchen door to see the next room was empty except for the old man and I could see cleanliness and order had been brought back to the house. The Sardarji uncle was sitting in his usual position with a paper spread in front of him with the medals arranged methodically and cleansing each one of them and wiping them with the napkin. It was an usual sight except for the single tear drop which rolled down off his cheek furtively.

A Super-Hero is an ordinary man half the day!

Not very rarely and not very frequently either, when things around you, everyone and everything, stops to matter anymore, I picture myself in this greeny green valley lush with fresh grass all around a small wood house, which of course is mine.

There is some part of me, deep down buried inside, still in touch with the caveman –at least through Morse code! How else can I explain the moments of ruthlessness or the heightened perversity that would leer upon me almost everyday. Maybe something is wrong with me. Maybe something is wrong with people around me or the society I am in. The caveman never had guilt pleasures. He took what he wanted and left when he wished. I love him and he is my secret god to whom I sacrifice my guilt pangs to.

This is in times like this, when the heart and mind seek deliverance or a much simpler solution – sleep, I dream of my wood villa in the valley where I am just alone, watching a sunset or a sunrise, listening to the distant rumbling of thunder, inhaling the smell of pre-rain earth, feeling the Zen-like calmness while waiting for the inevitable apocalypse. Nothing bothers me there. I see my caveman walk out of me, by my side, smirking at me while shedding his shackles, stiffening at the first rustle of neighboring leaves, aiming the weapon looking for the prey with that odd, crazy glint in his eyes.

I can never be him in my world back here where it takes more than courage and will to be the original version of me. People get offended when they don’t hear what they want me to say and funny part is most of times I am aware of this and also that the choice to hurt or not to lies with me.

My childhood heroes have mostly been skillfully scheming ship captains and wicked Casanovas who all were reckless nights and restless days personified. And maybe that’s why when Conrad’s narrator-hero steers his battered ship amidst the thick Congo jungles in Heart of Darkness, I was there with him, right beside his shadow, weeping for his sorrow and wallowing in his loneliness. During all this I hear the cruel chuckle of my caveman resonating like an empty echo of a derelict church bell and the low murmur – “you know you had the choice; you have the choice and you always will!”

When all the self pretensions of the day fade away washed by the loneliness of the night I wish it were the Stone Age once again.

Handle with care - 2 China bowls, 3 Porcelain dishes and a broken heart

Just finished watching “500 Days of Summer” and lying down with heavy memories and light thoughts. Beautiful soundtrack the movie has got. Strange! When an average movie hits your tender nerves and causes your soft side (romantic?!) tissues and neurons to instigate and titillate while itching your finger tips to flush out…..


Handle with care - 2 China bowls, 3 Porcelain dishes and a broken heart


Familiar smell of the earth
Just before the falling leaf rests on the ground
It was a day where the sun had no say
And the first raindrop kissing my last teardrop

You turn back to catch a glance that would
Glance back when it is not glanced at
Begins just as usual and ends same way when they say
Love untold is agony manifold

You toss a coin to the skies
Wishing heads but knowing could be tails
It is a gamble but why to gamble
To lose it all or to take it all

Silver clouds drifting above your head
Vacant eyes can only stare when the soul is dead
Sitting by the stone bench in the silent woods
Gaze fixed but heart fluttering for a knowing footstep

That’s all it takes – A single crumble of a twig
Breaking of dry leaves; alarmed cuckoo of an alarmed cuckoo
To herald the coming of the Mate
Though you argue it can’t be a design of Fate

Give me wings – You ask the one
Who bonded you in the first place
Knowing you would still carry her
When you manage to grow your wings

You become the great Phoenix
Rising again and again only to be burnt
You smile painfully and say “that’s Love!”
And the wise old man sighs and says “That’s Life!”