my stick note 01

 Every open door presents an opportunity to quit. True. But no one has every stopped you from closing the door and losing the key.

R.I.P Amy

Of an auburn nest and drunken eyes

Of life lived for love and love alone

A string of lies

A voice in the woods

A home and rehab which stand misunderstood

A life lived in haste

Few Songs sung in prime

When you flip through those pages

It’s the substance  underlined

Many a voices condemn her quest

Many forgive, many forget

Twenty seven and put to rest

The lights dim, she shines so bright

Her life fades...her song remains

Nothing comical about them (Part-1)

Friends who hang their boots in my pad are greeted with a common site- a stack of Archies and a bowl of pop-corn. Now they know me reading Tagore to Ayn Rand to Vikram Seth. So, many of them do not understand my fascination with comic strips.

Nor do they seem to decipher the fact that I derive a great sense of comfort and normalcy just by reading them.

Archie with his quintessential boy-next door aura tells reminds me every day, the reason why scores of women out there mercilessly fall for normal guys. Also, does he keep reminding me that you stand-by your friends no matter what! With his deep-set desire to make it to the big league, he doesn’t let down a moment of stepping it up in and around Veronica. All about well-set goals and working towards them. And his impatience surfacing around Betty, in spite of her being faithful, devotional and ever-present, telling me that a guy becomes himself around his woman, where the flaws resurface with the same ease as his best traits do!

Betty the perfectionist. Cooks like a dream, looks pretty, can give a man a run in his game, is intelligent but isn’t a geek. She is the woman of every gentleman’s dreams (note the “gentleman” please). This quintessential rock-star becomes even more adorable because she doesn’t have a roving eye. She is crazy about Archie and wears her love for him on his sleeve, even if Archie plays the puppy-dog around Veronica. Yes, they would be the silent mourning damsels but very much lady-like. You see a lady wants the guy to be a man and usually tend to ignore the instances where the guy behaves other-wise. Because like I said, they are perfectionists.

Veronica the rich-spoilt brat, definitely an integral part of our lives. They are full of monies and are full of themselves. She has to have her way through things, even if it is at the cost of hurting her best friend for life, Betty Cooper. She’d normally prefer a man of class, with lots of money, a la daddy-like choice. But she never leaves an opportunity to claim Archie, because Betty wants him. Perfect Betty, with a heart of gold…something that Veronica could never be. This lady is all monies but wait, like you’d expect it is not dumb. She very well knows that the best pawn to play around Archie is Reggie. Archie drops the Cooper lady, like a hot cake, pronto and rushes to the lady. Between Archie and Reggie, Veronica only loves herself. 

Take this.

You're my hope living it out
You're the one that I defy
I gift myself confinement
To give you freedom in return

The will to forgive dawns
As another chapter unfolds
The urge to forsake breaks shackles
And yes, you are finally free

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Amidst your imaginary sanity
And the lies and hurt games
You only stand here
Because I want you there
There and far away
Where you cannot hurl
Insults and blame and words

Because I have been tamed
I have been tamed
My demons rest
My songs play
My strength gives
and my fury is blessed

You're my hope living it out

You're the one that I defy

I gift myself confinement

To give you freedom in return

Fifteen minutes back

She inhaled in the smells of the neighborhood as she walked. They were present every day, welcoming her into reality, a striking contrast to where she lives, a sparsely furnished single bed pad that smelled of nicotine and bath salts. A few restless street hawkers trying hard to sell their goods, the same familiar nameless faces that waited in anticipation for the bus and a few idle travellers of life. Each reeking the aura of a hard-earned existence.

A hand brushed past as she made her way into a narrow passage between two people. A few dozen eyes leered playfully at her gait. A flower vendor smiled charmingly, as he groped the garland. And a balloon seller thought she was mighty interested. She breezed past this every day turmoil quite easily, as she had been through this drill, a thousand times. She was familiar with the brisk pace of the city life, the non-existing forms living up moments if they were lucky enough and also with the feeling on remaining disconnected.

But today was different. Because, from between the dozens of people, emerged a shadow on the wall.While her eyes were still observing the haunting figure carefully, her head spiraled into a series of thoughts " Was she hallucinating? He (she was sure) looked like some one you would encounter in books. Did she display the money that she had  while paying the auto wallah yesterday? She wouldn't know. She wasn't aware of  anything much these days". She paused the thoughts momentarily with an ironic smile. She wasn't one of those people who would go down without a fight. If it is indeed a shady figure, she better face the truth of who he was and what he wanted, then and there.

She turned around and walked briskly towards the figure. She decided to break the rhythm of her steps, as soon as the figure revealed itself. A man nearly in his thirties, dressed to be an executive, sporting the belly weight of a mid-life dweller faced with a crisis. Nothing charming about him, he could be anybody.This fact greatly troubled her.  She walked away briskly from him and reached home in a rush.

Her husband was the same lifeless corpse watching German Cinema. She glanced at his ash-tray to assess how much pot he had smoked. She picked up his guitar and began to sing a song. That was the only way to make him aware of the existence of another person, these days. She deliberately stopped the song and began narrating the shady follower story, as soon as he woke up from something like a slumber.

As soon as she finished narrating the bit about the shady follower, her husband said, with a snigger on his face, " That is because, baby you are beautiful!"

A wave of anger engulfed her. She had been holding on, but couldn't any longer. She lifted the guitar and started thrashing him hard. His constant requests to stop, couldn't hold her back. That she was beautiful was the truth, but she was in no mood for reality now. Her husband should have known that her every day walk ended, fifteen minutes back.

63 to nirvana

She looked at them longingly. No, there wasn't any possibility for her to have them on, all at the same time. When she was young she barely imagined that she would ever boast of such a collection! She took a marvel crafted in crystal into her hand and traced the length of it. She had a fire going in the room which made the edges of the crystal gleam. The reflection of which lit two more fires in her hazel eyes.

She lived alone but some how the company of these possessions never made her feel lonely. Every day, after a long day at work, her spirit was lifted at the sight of these beauties. In fact, she did not view them as possessions. To her, they were friends. There was one for each mood, they knew her really well down to her barest details, they would patiently listen to all that she had to say, she could hurl them at the wall, throw them far far away or choose to denounce their company if and when she pleased. More, importantly she possessed them!

She opened her closet. 63 pairs of shoes tumbled out . She went over them  with the same ardent dedication, trying each of them on every other night. That was how most of her day-ends looked like. When it wasn't the case, it wasn't the story that was different. It was her.

DREAMS INC.

The room smelled of stagnant air, used socks and onions all at the same time. The odour was sufficient to get me all packed and running. I gazed around. A zillion cigarette butts were diffused on the wall behind the bed. Forming a pattern through them were a few tea spills here and there.  " Not a welcoming sight ", I whispered to myself. The room was empty, causing my whispers to echo back.I was relieved that it was at least a silent place that shut out the din and the madness of the city!

A rat scurried across the room. A spin of cobwebs swayed to the breeze. A group of ants leisurely made their way to their hill. A patch on the roof reflected the dampness of the city wind, a bit too much for my comfort. I felt a layer under my feet and looked down. To my horror, the entire floor was covered in a layer of dust that could be, I don’t know days old or months old. Me being me, I checked for blood stains and then dragged my ambling head away when it was still safe. Seriously, where can new-age TV and Dexter get you?

I walked into the kitchen only to find a plethora or maybe a mine of empty beer bottles. I suddenly felt thirsty. I reached for the sipper tucked away in my back pack. The water pacified my form but the soul still could not fly. Resisting the urge to run away from that place, I affixed my feet firmly onto the ground.

 “You have crossed too many levels. You cannot quit the game now”, the little chip in my head echoed.

I folded my jeans and sleeves. Wiping away the beads of sweat that began to gather on my forehead, I began cleaning the place. I wasn’t alone. I had my dreams for company...