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!”

Let's RocknRolla...It's New Year's Eve!

Well, it is that time of the year when everyone around us would again pretend things are super-cool in their lives and got reasons enough to celebrate. It is New Year’s Eve and I could see the frenzy in the eyes of my colleagues when elaborating their plans for The Night which mostly involves spending a lot of money over drugging their selves which would let them to spend some more. While I patiently listen with a smile, I could not help thinking where it was that I read “Celebration is for people who have got something to celebrate!”

One of my close pals was against me in this saying, “Dude, It is a fresh beginning of another whole new year..just have fun and you gotta let it go!” I could see where he came from but had to reflect also that it would be again a bunch of 365 days which could begin any day we consciously choose to. But considering human’s notoriety as a social animal, no one likes to be left out of the pack and do anything which the other members of pack would deem wrong or shameful. Still, I could not fixate myself on the idea of “celebrating” in a poorly lit place surrounded by jumping, shouting ,sloshing n moshing sons and daughters of Satan when I was invited for The Night at this trendy joint.

I never really have enjoyed myself when you are supposed to feel enjoyment or when you are considered weird if you are not enjoying yourself when folks around you are gay and merry. Maybe it is a problem with me which I have not figured it out yet (like a lot others) is that I seem to be impotent of the power to choke “enjoyment” on-the-fly onto myself whenever I am supposed to, like all the other normal people around me.

I remember me being at a friend’s birthday party along with guys n gals who were all a tad uncomfortable as mostly every third guy/gal was a new face to rest of the group. People were shifting and fidgeting for a while and WHAM…some random guy put on some random item number and that was it. The crowd was on its feet (thought I heard a collective relieved sigh)at the same moment and next thing I know everybody was dancing with everybody except me who was still gulping down my third Aquafina (btw, if you don’t already know, I have quit drinking alcohol – Liver Problem, you see..). Unsure of what to do to get me excited, I was already moving through the palpitating crowd up and down, right and left, vertical and horizontal only to get poked at each of my eyes twice and to find my pants unzipped (don’t even get me started here) when I reached square one. Still, feeling like a reluctant puppeteer who just can’t pull his strings for excitement I tried dancing a few steps alone which when watched in a mirror I would have realized as bobbing my head and jerking my body. Soon I had to stop this too as the host had to come and check on me thrice if I was not having an epileptic seizure of a weird kind.

On the contrary I remember our training days end of which we had a DJ night and I was all happy and fun for the training tests’ results were good which would mean I just earned a permanent job (hmm…atleast for a while). I was a total catastrophe, of course in a fun way, wreaking chaos on the dance floor that night dancing my ass off making a space for myself on the crowded floor within few spaces of which no sane feet attempted to enter. Few of the girls who used to be friends with me stopped talking to me since that night. Learned later that in the rush I had that crazy night I had apparently punched one of them in the nose and kicked another (nothing of which I swear I remember till date).

Come to think of it, Enjoyment to me has always been an ‘Inside out’ thing rather than the opposite of it. The things which had given me happiness had always taken roots in my inner self, within me and have branched out in all vigor and glory. Like when I accomplish something, say finish my day’s work to a sculptor’s masterpiece’s perfection or when I create something in which I see a part of me or when I put my soul in teaching someone things I know or believe in and could see my words in his tongue or a shadow of my shadow blend with his. The days I have returned from work when I have felt I had accomplished something have always been more beautiful than the rest of the days and I have always gifted myself like a delicious dinner or watching a favorite movie or any other pleasure which I have delayed so far. Just because I FELT I DESERVED IT. Maybe it is only me but do you not think celebration needs a reason at all?


PS: Am really glad to have a friend of mine shelling out a couple of thousands to an orphanage here at Vashi which if not for his ‘enlightened moment’ would have got deposited at a pub in Bandra, this New Year’s Eve.

ஜன்னல் கம்பிகளில் எஞ்சும் துளிகள்

நனைதல்

மழையில் நனைதல் பிடிக்கும் என்றாய்
பழுதடையக் கூடியதாகவோ
நனைந்துவிடக் கூடாததாகவோ
எதுவும் இல்லாத என்னை
நனைத்திருந்த மழைகளே
மிகவும் பிடித்தமானவை
என்கிறேன் உன்
நெறிபடும் புருவங்களிடம்


குரல்

பின்னிரவில் படிக்கும் கவிதைப் புத்தகத்தின்
ஒரு பக்கத்தையும் புரட்ட முடிவதில்லை - கீழே
தெருவில் ஒற்றையாய் ஒலித்து பின்தேயும்
குழந்தையின் அழுகுரலுக்குப் பின்னால்


தாகம்

கொடிய தாகத்துடன் அலைகிறேன்
எந்தப் பொழுதும்
வறண்டு உலர்ந்து தரையில் மீனாய்
துள்ளியும் துவண்டும் வீழும் நாவு
சொட்டு நீரின் கருணைக்காக
எவெரெவரிடமோ எதெனெதனிடமோ
இறைஞ்சும் வாய்
பார்த்தல் பணியைப் பால்யத்துடன் துறந்து
தாகம் தீர்க்குமிடம்
தேடியலையும் கண்கள்

தாகம்!திராவகத்தையும் ருசித்துவிடத்
தூண்டும் தாகம்
வெறுமையின் உடலாய்த் தவழ்ந்து
நான் செல்லும் இந்தப் பாலைச்சாலையின்
முடிவில் கண்கள் குவித்துக்
காண்கிறேன் ஒரு கூடாரம்

கணமொன்று தயங்கி பிறகு
உள்நுழையும் கால்கள்
கனவா புரியவில்லை
கண்கள் கசக்கியும் மாறாத
காட்சி நனவுதான்

விதவிதமான அளவுகளில்
வடிவங்களில் ஆயிரமாயிரம்
கண்ணாடிக் குடுவைகள்
உள்ளே திரவங்களுடன்

வெடிக்கும் தலையைப்
பிடித்துக் கொண்டு
வெறிக்கும் கண்களால்
பார்க்கிறேன்
"எந்தத் திரவம் என் தாகம் தீர்க்கும்?"

“The traveler sees what he sees, the tourist sees what he has come to see.”

(Credits: Above is a quote by G.K.Chesterton)


“Many of my first times have been with you Shails”. I heard myself expressing to my buddy, stepping out of Hard Rock Café, vaguely realizing there’s something not quite right about the way the sentence was constructed. But then, it’s kind of true in many ways. So for the moment I walked away from him taking my arms off his shoulders just not to project a wrong picture again.

Trip to Pune this weekend was real fun, thanks to Shails, who took care of me just like how Gibraltar’s president would have taken care of Obama. Asked him about it too only to see him shrug and say “Can’t help it. It’s in the blood”. True enough! With his hotelier dad, rich with experiences from plush hotel giants like Hyatt, Taj etc, his courteousness should have stopped surprising me long ago. But it still amuses me and thinking about it now, it’s from him I learnt the art of giving your best always to your guests or friends, whoever happens to be at your home or with you. Again, he has always been a special friend to me, as special a friend could get to be.

Friday night was it when I reached the highway to Pune next to Vashi Plaza. A lanky guy with curly hair and curly nails materialized out of nowhere in front of me and started to convince me that his Scorpio ride will be the best ever transportation mode ever invented to reach Pune. Unwittingly, I took the seat alongside the driver’s seat in the Scorpio with 8 other people stuffed in the back and was bit relieved thinking I got lucky to get the front seat. My luck was short lived as soon as I found another ‘pleasantly plump’ guy sitting on my thighs when the cab stopped to pick up more people. Turned out the guy was such an extrovert with apparently no inhibitions sitting that close to me breathing his vadaa pav breath on the back of my neck. Soon he started digging my past with shameless questions and my intention of throwing him out of the open window was getting stronger every passing moment. How he managed to get a girlfriend amused me when she called him that instant and he shifted his attention now to the mobile and sucking and swallowing noises (kissing??! ) were all we heard for the rest of journey. Too much for the smart hundred bucks I thought I had saved by preferring cab over Volvo!

Shailender, was there, reliable as ever, to pick me up where the Scorpio dropped me, exactly like my last December’s trip to Pune. A lot has changed among us – I having lost my moustache and few fragments of my clavicle in the accident I had last June and he having gained some weight and more maturity. Having reached his home after midnight and each settling comfortably in respective cosy beds, old and new stories began to unfold as they usually do. It has been a year since I saw him last but just felt we were still together, just like the old college days. Close to 3 AM, he dozed off while I was browsing through some stuff in his laptop. Man, he has some timeless collection! ;-)

Next 2 days then were total fun; exciting food for all my senses but one. Delicilicious Chaitanya’s Parathas, eclectic drinks n electric music @ HardRock Café, long drive back in the bone-chilling Pune breeze, getting eyes all greedy in 3-D Avatar, meeting Sukhada again after a year etc…Thought about work and things ahead to do only when it was time to leave on Sunday evening. Hmm..Leaving is always the ‘not nice’ part of travel. Bid adios to Shails n Sukh and got into the bus and immediately started reminiscing how the days where better when we were all together, back in college. Few of the best days of my life!

Humans have this reflex behavior of diverting attention to pleasant things and thoughts when they start to feel upset because soon, I found myself looking at a classy female 2 seats ahead reading ‘ A walk to remember’. Curiosity killed the cat! ;-) Asked her if she has seen the movie and we were chatting for a while and told her about my blog when I found she’s with an Ad agency (aggressive promotion this is..lol...) It was what she casually said took over my thinking for a while. “All of you IT guys want to become a writer now or sooner. What’s up with you people?!” well, I never really had noticed that bandwagon driving up its way till her remark. Thinking about it, it’s kind of true, starting with IIT, IIM pros heralding the mast and attracting all attention and now even serious bloggers (the like of Meenakshi Reddy Madhavan) joining the club.

Well, it was Vashi again when the bus and my musings had to stop abruptly. It was me again, alone, walking in the highway hugging myself against the cold air, just thinking how blissful it is to travel. I have not done a lot of travelling this year but it’s already a resolution for this January. I feel Travel takes you outside to newer experiences which bring you back to your inside – refreshingly more fresh!

“A good traveler has no fixed plans, and is not intent on arriving.”
-Lao Tzu (founder of Taoism)

My Hit List - Part 2

Okay! Back by popular demand, ahem...ahem, here comes My Hit List –Part 2.

Strangely enough I never did have a crush on any of my Chemistry teachers; wait, maybe because they were all males almost all the time. Moreover my eyes were all on this cute girl in class 9th when I was feeling I had a fair advantage already as I was a lot senior to her – in class 10th. Hmmm…I know. It was quite pathetic considering I have never really spoken to any of the girls anytime anywhere except for occasional, “Pencil sharpener please” “Your butterfly hairclip is really nice hehe” etc..hope you get the drift here.

Thus were my MACKing skills at that time and still I had no hesitation or reservations in harboring a deep crush for this girl. Lets call her Mona. Mona in Tamil would mean a calm and sublime state of mind but maybe she was unaware of that, she was like an exuberant puppy almost all the time. Imagine a well shaken coke bottle opened abruptly and you see the fizz , that’s Mona talking. Take a porcelain box full of colored round marbles and roll them over a glass floor, that’s Mona laughing. You see a spurting fountain gushing all over and that’s..relax Shanmu..take a deep breath..

Such was the persona of Mona and I was getting bulldozed everyday thinking how to approach and do the talking. Then it happened! Seemed Gods decided to give me a chance in the team meeting they had that week when I was told I was selected to represent my school in the annual Rotary Club competitions along with Mona. I participated in the GK Quiz and she was in Western Dance category. We had a full month together where I precipitated, fumed, foamed and finally managed to get along normally when she was around talking and giggling in front of me. The days were full of fun and laughter and the nights were all days recollected.

I thought I was really scoring with her when she started sharing, asking me my opinions and started hitting me playfully wherever I could be hit playfully. She was dancing for a Venga Boys score and God Knows Why, she wanted me to teach her few steps which I did, end of which she immediately introduced me to her friend who was practicing a classical dance number. Things were real fun and the fateful day approached like a slithering snake.

It was the Day of Competitions and my team managed to come 2nd in the quiz (shook hands with Mona and was caressing my right palm like a new-born baby) and I was with the audience waiting secretly for the prima donna. Few hours later, she appeared on stage like a butterfly covered in cocoon , white top and white flowing skirt. How in the world did she manage to do all the steps she did in that ensemble is still a mystery to me. I was transfixed, staring at the stage, like a voodoo magician’s play puppet till the thunderous applause around shook me out of my trance. I was all flattered when I saw her coming towards my direction, the moment she jumped off stage. Locking eyes with me she stood before me waiting. I was again speechless and would have begun to mumble when she asked “epdi irundhuchu anna? ( how was it bro?) yeah..bro..bro for brother..b for brother…but why would b for brother..b for ball..but OH HELL!! SHE CALLED ME BRO!! that was my mind processing after those fateful words slipped out of her innocent lips.

Now, I was literally speechless and shook, nod, wave and did everything with my head to convey her performance was superb and I am very much moved by it that I could not even utter a word. She pecked me in the cheek and went away for packing her stuff. I was all dusty and musty when I reached my friend’s house that night thinking where and when the hell did I tell her I need a sister out of her. For God’s sake, I already have a sister enough for seven lifetimes. I took my friend to the terrace and started telling him my painful story who listened with hmmm…thsst..thsst..uchh..uchh..adada..syllables that seemed very sincere and left me alone for a while. Little did I realize that when I came downstairs, he had broadcasted my comic story to all his family folks that it seemed even their dog was grinning when it looked at me.

Hmmm…life goes on dude! Lose some gain some! That exactly was what happened with my third and final crush. Signing off for now!

Mirror Image of a Dream!

Sitting alone in a corner of the dark room
Making lists endless of sins committed
Looking over the shameless blood spilled
Yet searching for my guilt still

I am the chained monster, a hungry recluse
Writhing and wishing these fetters would break loose
Bring the cannons and blow me away
Before the dust settles clearing my way

Have been to heaven and hell
There’s something I gotta tell
Found pain in the doors of heaven
Pleasure in the bowels of hell

Moments when my heart has jumped with joy
I have always been made to apologize
Pleasing yourself when your brethren suffer in the fields
Shame as a devil would haunt you left with nothing to shield

Nothing to save nowhere to go
Pain excruciating yet too proud to bow
Bleeding soul crying for rest
Wishing to see a face I could trust

Tired traveler I have always been
Misleading signposts are all I have seen
Wandering alone in the meadows
Speakin to no one but my shadow

Its easy to blame all but you
Though it has been there always for plain view
One hand indulging in the unworthy feast
While the other unleashing the ungodly beast

I’ve burnt all rule-books and spat in your sanctum
For nothing is created out of mindless vacuum
Moment of truth is when you listen to your inner you
Moment of joy would be those moments in millions

Never am gonna let go of a chance again
For I now know not a moment out there to regain
Let them cry am wrong who aren’t really worth a nickel
Head held high I’ll march ahead with a chuckle

Nights of the Living Dead!

Back again in this wretched shift!

For the past 2 months I have been asked to work in night shift for every alternate fortnight and I have come to know that my life is being lived by 2 persons – one, the original ME and the other, zombie ME.

Thanks to these creepy night shifts, I have gotten a complete understanding of my ana/kata/meta/ bolism of my body which has carried me so far without claiming any pompous credit for its own. And now does it talk to me..nah..it he-slaps me every frickin moment am awake. Not long ago, my body used to pretend to be the trained lion and me as the ring-master in the role-play we used to play. Now I can only see both of us being a bare-boned lion being whipped by some invisible, dark ring-master holding whips equaling a porcupine’s bristles.

Many weird things you start doing once night shifts begin and when you catch yourself doing them, you stare at yourself in confused amusement. Like when you suck and swallow a lollipop only to see it back unlicked (is there a word – unlicked?!) back in your grasp. I have been brushing thrice a day, as it seems every time I wake up it was a day before I brushed, only to forget that it was an hour before. You look at your room mate's startled eyes staring at you in total horror when you come back in the morning and fall asleep over him - on his bed. You try to write a blog and you catch yourself singing a lullaby and drawing micky mouse and fishes in impossible shapes, all over the paper. You start looking for methu vada in the thali served to you and make things worse by arguing about it to the Gujarati guy who sits in the counter who thinks methu vada is some kind of swear word and starts to bare his teeth angrily at you, waving at his family photo hanging on the wall.

Then there are your fellow zombies who at the sight of you entering the canteen will start to mumble about how crappy this whole idea of night shift is. I personally do not like to complain ( I’ve my blog to crib about anything..lol) and make it a point to keep the complainers ‘at bay’ but at night shifts I practically entertain them. You sit along with them and eat stuff which you would not have imagined to be edible in some other time in some other days. You take a walk in the dead-cold wishing you were left alone when with people who like to annoy you by annoying themselves. Rarely, you get to meet people who you would like to talk to and you open up like a just-erupt-volcano that scares the hell outta them.

This is when I decided to hire only insomniacs for night shift when and if I start my own organization and if night shifts are needed. Still, the only rosy/romantic part about these gruesome nights was the fact that I get to see all the sunrises – Mon to Fri. Awesome! Just like today, when am just back witnessing another rise of the day from the dark dead and continuing my blog with new hope. I get reminded of Brad Pitt in ‘The Curious Case of Benjamin Button’. At some point In the movie, the wannabe-ballet dancer -lead actress loses hope over life and everything after a painful accident and Pitt drives her all the way to a secluded spot near a shore at dawn and makes her sit on a bench, offers her steaming tea and they together watch the rising sun in all its glory. Glistening tears, reflecting the first rays of sunlight roll down her cheeks when she knows what she knows at that moment. The tears of hers were not alone when I was watching the movie and even now as I write I salute the mind which produced such a thought, with warm tears of my own.

Life takes everyone up and down a roller-coaster of its own at a thought’s speed and I know my night shifts are no big deal in reality. This blog and the nights behind had been that of an insomniac in his delirium but for all that I am made up of, I know I will look for the early morning bird flapping its wings across the rising sun in the distant horizon, when I am driven back home in the morning.

My Hit List!

I saw her leaving the theatre and was shocked to see she was carrying a baby, just as cute as she was. Immediately followed the procession of her sweet husband and mother-in-law and they were almost at the exit. I was standing frozen resisting my friends’ attempt to drag me out. Seemed they did not notice her. I don’t know what came over me; I just cried out, ‘Hey, that’s Preeti da!! to my friends who were near the exit too. It was then disaster struck!

Just as I started yelling to my guys over the loud noise of the speakers in the theatre, the song stopped abruptly and all that could be heard was my stupid shouting ricocheting off the walls and it seemed the world suddenly stopped for a moment to look “Who does this stupid voice belongs to?” and hmm..One of those times when you feel why won’t the earth just open up and take you in, hiding from the vicious eyes glaring at you.

Well, she, Preeti was my first crush! It was class V, yeah...you heard me... Memories came flooding back when I ducked my way through the crowd avoiding her not-so-sweet-looking-at-the-moment husband and it was then I decided my crush list will do good for my next blog…well, here we go for the kill…

It all started with Preeti when she joined our school, our class at 5th standard. A lil aside here for folks who think is it even possible to think about boy-girl dynamics at that age, well, sorry guys, you are on the wrong page and for rest of us we are cool…right on track.

She was this goddess or at least that’s how she appeared to us guys. I guess there was some goddess in every guy’s school life but this girl was like a goddess to all the guys in the class...lol. There used to be alternate seating arrangements every month when guys n gals would be shuffling locations and this is the time when the boys n girls would be asked to stand in line and random choice would decide who sits next to whom. Of course the class teacher had a large say in this ‘randomness’. By now a birdie would have guessed what could be the hot seat and the all-eyes-are-on seat. The one next to Preeti’s was the golden seat and whenever she is asked to sit somewhere, then would begin the push-pull-hit-dodge fight in the boys’ line and that day somewhere some angel smiled in her happy sleep and my teacher’s randomness picked me.

There I was walking in my glory with the itchy, spell-casting, greeny-green eyes all over me and sat next to her and gave her what I thought was my most romantic smile. She started laughing and oh boy was I happy…people are supposed to smile back when they are smiled at but she’s so happy that she wants to explode and laugh at my face. Wow!

At least that was what I thought or liked to think at that time!

A week and a fraction of second went by in actual time and my time respectively with Preeti next to me in class. It was then she was made the bench-leader (we had this intense concept back at our school, it would mean the better-ranked student would have veto power and total diplomatic control over the entire bench of 4 students) and she started acting like she was Hitler’s blood relative.

By the length of blog, you would’ve guessed by now I am a kinda guy who always has so much to say and I was a babbling brook back then too and she decided to build a dam across. It was then the bloodbath began! Every time I opened my mouth she started cribbing like a nagging housewife who a vexed husband would feel like burying alive. Then it went a level up when she started complaining to the class teacher about my sewing-machine-turned-mouth and the teacher gave her like total control over my mind, soul and body. She started with physical abuse one fine innocent day…yeah...I know...it gets interesting here…

It was a lazy noon and I was discussing with the guys about the extent of biological-knowledge we would be exposed to in class VI and that’s when she showed up baring her teeth with her beautiful lips.

Her: Shanmu, cant u ever keep ur mouth closed?

Me: yeah, when am asleep

Her: am gonna complain to the teacher now if u don’t stop talking

Me: ignores n mimics when she turns back

She got mad like a mad-cow by this time and grabbed and twisted my thigh in an impossible knot which made me defy gravity for like complete 5 seconds. I have never had any part of my body turn so red till this day and she was sitting there by my side all quiet like an innocent dove. I had turned into the ‘Incredible Shanmu’ by then and every inch of my body was crying revenge revenge…so revenge it was! An eye for an eye – A thigh for a thigh! I had pretty sharp nails for which I had specific use at that time (ok...am not gonna tell what it was for) and when she was least expecting I launched the guerilla attack on her thigh. I let my nails dig deep (people please, read this with the right spirit) in her thigh and pinched her for 10 whole seconds.

Next thing I know was my eardrum getting pierced by a shrill train whistling close by and later figured it was her larynx making that noise. She made sure every thing in the campus with ears heard her mellifluent scream and I was the reason behind the crime.

I was taken to the principal who looked at me like the devil-in-disguise and I could see other boys’ exalted faces with gleeful grin dripping nothing but pure ecstasy. I was a hero and villain at the same time. Rest was history...yup...real history...I was asked to apologise which I did to her thigh and even volunteered for a friendly hug which she refused to.

Well, that’s pretty much it! A helluva crush which came to an end with a pinch! Hmm…thought I would list out the rest of my crushes in this blog...but seems I got carried away. Rest of the stories some other time! Maybe in next blog – a part II. (Like it or not...there’s gonna be a part-2)
PS: the names of the crushes have been/would be changed...ahem..ahem..just to prevent the crushes from crushing me!!

Memento Mori!

It was a cold and mushy night cracking into dawn at its own sweet pace. I was waiting idly for the bus which would take me home. Looking at the people weaving around in all directions stopped amusing me when it started raining and what began as a caress on the nape turned very soon to naughty slaps on the back.

I took refuge in a tea shop nearby which soon began to get filled with refugees like me. Sipping a tea and wondering why tea tastes better when it rains I let my eyes wander through the gathering crowd in the shop. There were people of all ages huddling together without inhibitions; some with cigarettes and some with tea glasses but both cursing the downpour. I pulled my windcheater close to my body and looked at an older looking person who seemed amused a lot. Following his gaze, I realized he had been looking at the tea shop guy. The shop guy was wearing a ragged vest and a lungi and was too busy with his work to notice anything or anybody else except his stove and glasses.

Streaks of rosy light painted in the eastern sky promised a quicker dawn and the rains seemed to slow down. Though it was partly dark inside the shop, I couldn’t help noticing what had amused the older looking guy who was still looking at the tea master. The tea master’s hands with tea glasses in each fist had this repeating fluid motion; first his one hand will rise upwards and then fall down with the steamy liquid expertly swirling in the vacuum in between and finding its destination in the second glass in the other fist. The intense, focused face; the delicate finesse of his deft fingers and the perfect coordination of his torso. It was a masterful symphony! He was slowly transcending into an opera conductor right in front of my eyes and when I realized I heard a familiar honk, I got out of my trance and started walking towards my bus.

That’s when I heard the older guy say something like “You are really quick and perfect at what you do; very fascinating!” to the tea master and I turned just in time to capture an image which would get permanently registered in my memory bank. There was a blank expression on the tea master’s face for a micro second and then it happened. Just like the petals of a blooming flower unfolds, there unfurled an effulgent smile in his face which seemed to challenge the approaching dawn. His actions froze in mid-air for a fleeting moment in which he managed to nod to the older guy who was already leaving and resumed his work as ever but the smile on his face remained. I got into my bus and took the window seat and looked back at him for the last time. The child-like smile on the face was still there radiating his whole being and people around him. I knew at that moment it was a smile I might never see again, a smile taking its source from the heart; a smile without pretense or fear or deceit or doubt; a smile that knows what it takes to smile such a smile.

The sun was already out!