Tucked Away in my Heart...Chemistry

....And there came a day when you said, "Love? Chemistry? Where was the chemistry between us?" How could you forget how you couldn't keep your arms from wrapping around me - the minute you saw me, to the minute you saw me off? Or pulling my hair-clasp off just so you could run your fingers through my hair? That's chemistry.


There are days even now when I feel soft love envelope me...I know you're thinking of me then. There are times when I miss you days on an end. That's when I know something's going on with you. When I feel inexplicable, unbearable sadness....I know you're dealing with some grief then. That's love.


When we chose our ways, our grief turned to anger. You heard what you wanted to hear, even when I didn't say it. You saw what you chose to see, even when it didn't happen. I chose not to be patient with you. You chose to not be patient with me.


Time moved on. So did we. And yet we've remained still...

सब कुछ वही है, पर कुछ कमी है, तेरी आहटें नहीं हैं.... 

You, Me, An Aeroplane...

Memories that rush at me
Trees flying past
You, me, an aeroplane
A landscape below so vast...


Fresh air, laughter, gentle ribbing
Closed eyes, open now
You, me, an aeroplane
A treasured moment, and I go "Wow!"...


Misunderstandings, silence, distances
Accusations flying thick and fast
You, me, an aeroplane
How do I make happy times last?...


Mumbled words, an awkward pause
Cold voices so far apart
You, me, an aeroplane
And now a deep ache in my heart...


And now a deep ache in my heart.

hai-rat kyun...

क्यूँ करते हो तुम ताज्जुब 
मेरी मुत्तरीद तग्लीबी को 
कभी देखा है तुमने हवाओं को 
एक-रुख रहते हुए?


Why do you wonder
Why I am ever-changing
Have you ever seen the wind
Stay the same course?

Alive, guilty.

क्यूँ यह तन्हाई है
क्या यह ख़ामोशी है
ज़िन्दगी के शोर में
किसे पुकारे यह सरगोशी है?


क्यूँ आलम बे-हिसी का
किन गमनशीनों की यह टोली है
इबादत से इस सन्नाटे में
किसे रूह से पुकारे ये सरगोशी है?


मेरे दोस्त का जनाज़ा निकल गया
मेरे चेहरे पे लिखा "जिंदा, दोषी" है
"तू चला गया, मै कुछ कर न सका  
 माफ़ कर देना" दबी सी एक सरगोशी है.


Why this loneliness?
What is this silence for?
In the cacophony of life
Who do these whispers call out to?


Why this situation of apathy
Which group do these morose people belong to? 
In this worship-like silence
Who do these soul-whispers call out to?


My friend's hearse passes me by
My face reads "alive, guilty"
"You're gone, I couldn't do naught, 
forgive me", quietly whisper I.

The silence of death

Lost a friend from childhood to cancer yesterday. Not that we were super close or anything, but he was someone who shared my childhood with. I cheered him on when he won medals, he clapped when I debated. Many years we weren't even in touch. Till Facebook and a subsequent school reunion brought us back together. With great news and bad. He was married to an awesome woman. He was getting treated for cancer. Stunned. I made all the right sounds and inside I was like, "what am I saying? what DO I say to someone who's telling me he has cancer - and with a smile!?" He went into remission for a while. Small sigh of relief. And then it came back. With a vengeance. Spread to his lungs first. Scrambled. HAD to do something. What? Got in touch with someone wonderful who does Reiki, very powerfully. Phew. At least we could do something. As his cancer spread, so did my involvement (from a distance) - Let's get him Reiki, which would - at the very least - ease his suffering. But my life continued. It didn't come to a standstill as his wife's or his parents' or his brother's. Then came the news that he was in hospital. Grim. I HAD to go see him. At least once. Turned out to be my first and last time to see him ravaged by the Big C.


I stood there at the gate of the cremation ground. Waiting for the hearse to bring that once happy, once smiling boy to the place where he would be Amit Khanna for the last time. Alone in a group of people, each fighting their grief in their own way. Someone stood a little distanced from others. Someone stood huddled, holding on to another for support. Someone stood quietly, listening. Someone chattered nineteen to the dozen. I stood there mindlessly, numbly, chanting a mantra that, ironically, was famed to hold the powers to prolong a sick person's life.


Came the hearse, everyone moved forward to follow it. I lagged behind. Someone called out tome urgently. I followed blindly. All this while quiet, composed. Then I got a glimpse of his blister-covering-bandaged head and I trembled. They called us to pay our last respects. I stood there watching people queue up. Some found their way to the family, hugging them, consoling them, condoling the loss. Some stood there, quiet. Some walked slowly, respecting the queue. Some cut the queue and kept standing there. Some fell back, some went more than twice. I dragged my feet - how could I face him even now? I couldn't do anything to save him...


The priest mumbled the mantras. His father and younger brother came with an earthen pot to fill it with water. Their composed faces pierced through my haze. Tears stung. The sight of uncle's hands balancing the pot containing water broke my composure - my archetype tells me no father should have to consign his young son to the flames. Yet, this...I felt hot tears coursing down cold cheeks. 


They picked him up to take him to the pyre. Once again I fell behind. How do I face the stoic wife, younger than even I am? What do I say to her? Words are empty at this point. How do I watch someone I grew up with, burn to nothingness? Emotions are meaningless at this point. How do I console people who were closer to him than I ever was? Compassion is useless at this time. 


Time arrogantly flies by and the flames of the pyre jump higher. Wails grow louder before dying down to soft sobs. I realize my chanting has stopped. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. 


I see Aatisha. Hug her and hear myself tell her how strong she is and that that's how she needs to continue being. Pointless, right now, isn't it?, my mind asks me. It is. And I shut up. I've promised to be more available to her than before. 


Time to go home. Wish others goodbye. What a place to gather, I think. I'd have been happier without a re-union this way.


Silently I get into the car. Silently I ride back home. Silently I eat. Silently I go to bed. I wake up and I'm silent. For right now, any sound is jarring. 


In silence I write this. 


For all there is left for my friend, is silence.  

The silence of death

Lost a friend from childhood to cancer yesterday. Not that we were super close or anything, but he was someone who shared my childhood with. I cheered him on when he won medals, he clapped when I debated. Many years we weren't even in touch. Till Facebook and a subsequent school reunion brought us back together. With great news and bad. He was married to an awesome woman. He was getting treated for cancer. Stunned. I made all the right sounds and inside I was like, "what am I saying? what DO I say to someone who's telling me he has cancer - and with a smile!?" He went into remission for a while. Small sigh of relief. And then it came back. With a vengeance. Spread to his lungs first. Scrambled. HAD to do something. What? Got in touch with someone wonderful who does Reiki, very powerfully. Phew. At least we could do something. As his cancer spread, so did my involvement (from a distance) - Let's get him Reiki, which would - at the very least - ease his suffering. But my life continued. It didn't come to a standstill as his wife's or his parents' or his brother's. Then came the news that he was in hospital. Grim. I HAD to go see him. At least once. Turned out to be my first and last time to see him ravaged by the Big C.


I stood there at the gate of the cremation ground. Waiting for the hearse to bring that once happy, once smiling boy to the place where he would be Amit Khanna for the last time. Alone in a group of people, each fighting their grief in their own way. Someone stood a little distanced from others. Someone stood huddled, holding on to another for support. Someone stood quietly, listening. Someone chattered nineteen to the dozen. I stood there mindlessly, numbly, chanting a mantra that, ironically, was famed to hold the powers to prolong a sick person's life.


Came the hearse, everyone moved forward to follow it. I lagged behind. Someone called out tome urgently. I followed blindly. All this while quiet, composed. Then I got a glimpse of his blister-covering-bandaged head and I trembled. They called us to pay our last respects. I stood there watching people queue up. Some found their way to the family, hugging them, consoling them, condoling the loss. Some stood there, quiet. Some walked slowly, respecting the queue. Some cut the queue and kept standing there. Some fell back, some went more than twice. I dragged my feet - how could I face him even now? I couldn't do anything to save him...


The priest mumbled the mantras. His father and younger brother came with an earthen pot to fill it with water. Their composed faces pierced through my haze. Tears stung. The sight of uncle's hands balancing the pot containing water broke my composure - my archetype tells me no father should have to consign his young son to the flames. Yet, this...I felt hot tears coursing down cold cheeks. 


They picked him up to take him to the pyre. Once again I fell behind. How do I face the stoic wife, younger than even I am? What do I say to her? Words are empty at this point. How do I watch someone I grew up with, burn to nothingness? Emotions are meaningless at this point. How do I console people who were closer to him than I ever was? Compassion is useless at this time. 


Time arrogantly flies by and the flames of the pyre jump higher. Wails grow louder before dying down to soft sobs. I realize my chanting has stopped. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. 


I see Aatisha. Hug her and hear myself tell her how strong she is and that that's how she needs to continue being. Pointless, right now, isn't it?, my mind asks me. It is. And I shut up. I've promised to be more available to her than before. 


Time to go home. Wish others goodbye. What a place to gather, I think. I'd have been happier without a re-union this way.


Silently I get into the car. Silently I ride back home. Silently I eat. Silently I go to bed. I wake up and I'm silent. For right now, any sound is jarring. 


In silence I write this. 


For all there is left for my friend, is silence.  

Tucked Away in My Heart | That Whole Afternoon

ek akeli chchatri mei jab
aadhey aadhey bheeg rahey the
aadhey sookhey aadhey geeley
sookha to mei ley aayi thi
geela man shayad bistar ke paas para ho
vo bhijwa do
mera vo saamaan lauta do...


...echoes in my ear as I stand there in the balcony of my 8th floor room, overlooking the slightly curved expanse of the Atlantic Ocean.


The fragrance of the zero-caffeine barley coffee wafts up to my nostrils, and I stand there, looking at the ocean, but seeing you and me driving around in your limited edition silver SUV, singing along to this, one of our favorite songs. The song is sad, but our hearts are light. The context is somber, but cupid and his angels are dancing around us. We know we may well be singing this song in the real context soon, but right now is what matters to both of us...


You squeeze my hand lightly and jest "Thank God for automatic drives. At least I can hold your hand while we drive!" We look at each other and smile. I say "Yeah, but there's no eyes on your ears, so you've got to look ahead and drive." You laugh out. I join in. I settle back into my seat and close my eyes, only to feel your big, soft palm gently caress my cheek. I sigh. Aah, the simple pleasures of life with you.


I feel a gentle breeze on my face standing in the balcony and I know somewhere you're thinking of me too. We've always had this funny connection of thinking about each other at the same time....we've connected at the same moment enough times to not question it any more.


The rumble of the sea brings me back to the dhaba where we stop to have tea and end up eating their delicious daal -paronthe...the delicious smell of the tempering is making my stomach rumble and my mouth water. I look at you and you signal the server-cleaner-rolled-into-one and say, "two each of daal and aloo pronthe". Soon as the food reaches the table, we both dig in, "diet be damned" you mumble with your mouth full :) We polish off the food and drink up the syrupy sweet masala chai, put the glasses down on the table with an "ewww" and a grimace and looking at each other's expressions burst out laughing. Aah, the simple joys of life with you.


I stare out and the sun is beginning its journey west. I feel a gust of wind push at me and am back in the car. It's beginning to drizzle and I look at you gleefully. You push a button and the sunroof slides open. I stand up and shoot through it, spread my hands out and turn my face up to catch the raindrops. I feel your hand on the small of my back to steady me. I slowly lower myself back into my seat. You look at me gently and point to the seat belt. I reach out and kiss your forehead first. Aah, the simple glow of loving you.


I take a sip at my zero-caffeine "coffee" and turn around. The room's empty. I'm all alone.


Aah, the subtle ache of life without you.

Duality - II

As from the dusty, punishing ground you arise

There’s a glimmer in your eyes

The sinner in me dances with the saint in you

I whirl around as you do too

And twirling and swirling we’re lost in a mist

That is pure unadulterated bliss

And in that moment we realize and are stunned…

The sinner and saint aren’t two – but one.

Me and I

Sometimes furious, at others calm
Ice-queen at moments, at others warm
Rebellious now, then by rules I abide
Wailing within, yet chirpy outside
Happily involved with life, yet battling ennui
Aah! this beautiful duality that's me...
Preview

Rain...

Rolling thunder, clapping lightning and plopping rain,
Fresh earthy fragrance and lush greens again...
Goosebumps on skin, a delighted smile on my face,
In this moment - right now - i'm in a happy place.

With You...Paradise

Across the playground I spy you,
There's a tug at my heartstrings,
As your eyes lock with mine,
A slow smile growing on your dew-fresh face.
I'm overwhelmed,
My heart begins to race,
As you cross that gulf and step into my arms.
The playground is now star-studded skies, lush open fields, gentle waves on the ocean...
The playground, ANYWHERE with you is Paradise.

Empty Spaces Between my Fingers

The door stays open, awaiting your silhouette;
The chair rocks gently in the breeze, empty, waiting for you;
The dent in the bed where you lay has still not filled up;
Your coffee cup stands in its place, untouched, unturned;
The newspaper stays-unfolded;
And since you've gone away, the spaces between my fingers
- that God made for u to fill with yours - stay empty, lonely;
Sighing, I stare at those spaces and then look at the open door...
When will you come?

A Love Affair Called Cricket

And we say cricket is a gentleman's game. Where they hurtle a ball at the speed of (well almost) a misslie at each other - and sometimes even at people watching them :D. Where they spit and blow their nose on the same pitch they slide on. Where they say "FUCK YOU" to (almost) every one who goes out of the field.

But that's not what I'm musing about. I'm pondering at this love affair that each Indian has with this game - down from a 3 year old to a 93 year old. And every cricket-junkie is like a possessive, doubting, yet worshipping partner. There's SO much investment in the game - emotional, financial, physical (what do you mean you've never heard of people beating each other up coz their personal god was insulted by another?!?). As in a relationship, there's one partner so giving (that's the team for you!) and the other partner (the country) so demanding. A small slip and there's Cain to be raised! Let one date (read match) be that isn't all fireworks and adrenalin and the doubting game begins. Along with, of course, the gossiping, the bitching, the making up....

This country is MAD about this game. EVERYthing else pales in comparison - my dad's just come back home today after a heart attack and a stent insertion in one of his arteries and he's sitting up and watching the match. My nephew's 8 years old and he's stuck to one spot coz "koi out ho jayega agar mei hila, bua". I'm sitting there and clapping till my hands are sore - sometimes both hands together, sometimes one hand on my mouth! I'm at a bank in the afternoon and everyone's working furiously, so work can be done and everyone can go home by 2 to watch the match. I step out at 4, the streets are empty. I'm out to purchase something and the store owner says, "come tomorrow, if we've won, I'll give you a 50% discount!" Diwali has competition - there's so many people bursting crackers, I'm wondering if this is March or October!

Well, this is one affair that doesn't show any signs of waning. There may be small flings on the side (football, etc) but the real love goes on...Read my FB wall and you'll know what I mean. The entire country, Blue Boyz included, is in orgasmic ecstacy at the moment.

Sly...On the Fly

It NEVER fails to amaze me, every time I come face to face with it - this slyness that is a multitude of people. Quietly, stealthily, they act, treading on toes so soft, you hear them only long after they've walked. And it's times like these I wonder - WHY am I such a loudmouth? Why have I not learnt the art of closing on deals/finding of love/meeting my aspirations/you name it, quietly? Why MUST I share of everything so openly? So openly that another grabs of the idea and then the opportunity and doesn't breathe a word of it...

And when i'm mulling, does it strike home...this is what makes me me. This is what makes me walk tall. This - the openness of intentions, the uncrookedness of heart.

And I go back to being me. Not sly on the fly, not crooked on the human beat. Me, with my glass of wine in my hand and light in my heart. Smiling, Me.

Resignation: From Job of Life

Dear God,

I would hereby like to tender my resignation from my role of being Shaluu Bhucchar in your company called The Earth.

The last 34 years have been tumultous. I guess I took on the role eagerly enough - it's been so long, I may not quite remember those earliest moments clearly. But there are definitely enough that stand out in memory fairly vividly. Like my father kissing my mother a good day before leaving off to work everyday. I learnt the importance of love and connecting with people you love there.

Or the time I didn't know which schoolbus to take for back home on my first day of school. That was a fairly horrifying moment but one I remembere well. The conductor - a boy with a face pitted with craters (that's what they seemed then), an arm clutching the side of the window next to the door, his head and one shoulder bursting out of the door, leaning over the steps and attached to that dangling arm - shaking his head side to side when he read my address card attached to my uniform...And he closed the doors on me. I learnt the need to know your stuff well from there, I guess.

Or the time I was gathered into the arms of a neighbour reeking of something bad, taken into his house and thrown upon the bed as his alcohol-ridden body came closer and closer and closer...till I passed out. That's when I learned to grin and bear it - and worse, make exuses for someone else's wrong. Over and over and over again.

Like when I got elbowed in the stomach because my sibling wouldn't study. Or when my sibling and I got wrongly accused of stealing our granny's money while God knows who'd who'd done it. I guess this is when I learned to be a kleptomaniac. Might as well do it if you're getting blamed for it!

And oh, the time when I grew taller than anyone else in the class and wore a "new" haircut AND got braces on my teeth to boot. Everyone made fun of me then. Some called me Madhuri-Dixit look-alike - obviously being thin added to the trauma, some jeeringly called me a "pole, wearing clothes". That's when I developed bravado and near-perfect English. I had to look down upon them with something, after all!

Or that time when I thought someone "loved" me. And yet was ashamed to "present" me to his parents because they "weren't understanding and accepting of anyone but their own choice". That's when I first learned I wasn't good enough. There started my journey of doing things the way I wanted to do them, dressing the way I wanted to dress....THAT led to the (awful) perm which made my hair form a (what-I-thought) halo around my face!

Of course there were consequences of this transition - being labelled a rebel. Being admonished. Being the cause of my parent's misery. Transitioning from a happy, laughter-filled child to an angry, free-willed pain. Deepening the chasm between myself and the peopleI used to know as my parents. Still trying to fill THAT chasm. It's only ever deepening...

So I moved into spirituality and started searching - one guru after the other, one source of succor after the other...Some helped, some didn't. Disillusioned with the world of Godmen, I discovered God and God's peace that I was looking for. In myself. So-aham - I am that. Shivoham - I am Siva, I am that.

And the day when I overcame my kleptomania because I decided the thumping heart, the sweaty palms and the guilt afterwards were not worth it. I guess it had been my way of proving to myself that I was good. Oh yes, the fear of the karmic cycle added as a huge impetus :)

Oh, moving out of home. That brought a little relief. I could do as I pleased and somewhere, I could begin to make my mark. I did and moved back in, yet stayed in my own little world of excelling. That's what I have done for the last 15!

And now I'm tired.

Tired of the hypocriscy. Tired of the one-upmanship game. Tired of being blamed. Tired of blaming. Tired of being angry. Tired of being told I'm not good enough. Tired of trying to prove I am. Tired of covering up. Tired of a thumping heart when something doesn't go the way it "should".

I'm tired of this job. And so I'd like to resign from this life.

So I can create another.

Please accept my resignation at the earliest effect.

Pleadingly yours...