My garden

My garden is overwrought

nothing have I trimmed

in forever

it’s gone wild.

Creepers of doubt

have taken over

the once neat lawn,

and strangle

the tall trees of ideologies.

Weeds of stray prejudices grow

where good intentions were

once planted.

The storm isn’t helping matters,

it scatters the dry leaves

of hopes and dreams,

they blow and drift

snagging sometimes here

sometimes there.

Roots still try to hold on

to something,

anything…

Twisted branches of overthinking

hang everywhere…

The weak seedlings

of new ideas are

gripping for dear life

onto the sticks

of pseudo motivation I

tied them to.

The climbers,

honesty, and truth –

They never die

But never flourish either.

How can they?

When I care so much

about things like

propriety and looking good.

Zihaal e miskeen

Have you heard the song, ‘zihaal e miskeen’ from the movie Ghulami? It’s a much loved Hindi film song. But do you know that Gulzaar based it on a really old song? I absolutely love both versions.

These verses are by Amir Khusro. The language is Persian and Brij Bhasha. Brij Bhasha is a is not a proper language, but rather a dialect of Hindi. What is interesting is that the Khusro uses Persian and Brij Bhasha in alternate lines! In the first verse, the first line is in Persian, the second in Brij Bhasha, the third in Persian again, the fourth is in Brij Bhasha, and so on. Here’s a translation:

Zehaal-e-miskeen makun taghaful,
Duraye naina banaye batiyan.

Do not overlook my misery,
by blandishing your eyes and weaving tales,

Ke taab-e-hijran nadaram ay jaan,
Na leho kahe lagaye chatiyan.

My patience has over-brimmed, O sweetheart!
why do you not take me to your bosom.

Shaban-e-hijran daraz chun zulf,
Wa roz-e-waslat cho umer kotah.

Long like curls in the night of separation
short like life on the day of our union.

Sakhi piya ko jo main na dekhun,
To kaise kaTun andheri ratiyan.

Friend, if I don’t see my beloved,
how will I pass this dark night

Yakayak az dil do chashm-e-jadu,
Basad farebam baburd taskin.

Suddenly, using a thousand tricks
the enchanting eyes robbed me of my tranquil mind.

Kisay pari hai jo ja sunave,
Piyare pi ko hamari batiyan,

Who would care to go and report
this matter to my darling.

Cho shama sozan cho zaraa hairan,
Hamesha giryan be ishq an meh.

Tossed and bewildered, like a flickering candle,
I roam about in the fire of love.

Na nind naina na ang chaina,
Na aap aaven na bhejen patiyan,

Sleepless eyes, restless body,
neither comes she, nor any message.

Bahaq-e-roz-e-visaal-e-dilbar,
Ke daad mara gharib Khusro.

In honour of the day I meet my beloved
who has lured me so long, O Khusro!

Sapet man ke varaye rakhun,
Jo jaye pauN piya ke khatiyan.

I shall keep my heart suppressed
if ever I get a chance to get to her trick.

Got this many years ago from http://sufipoetry.wordpress.com/2009/11/06/zehaal-e-miskeen-amir-khusro/

Let me be your nothing

Let me be the darkness

When you shine in relief

Let me be blank canvass

When you’re poised to paint

Let me be your nothing.

Let me be the lull

Before the melody occurs

Let me be your paper

Before the words spill

Let me be your nothing.

Let me be the poem

That you only spin in mind

Let me be the silence

Before you make a sound

Let me be your nothing.

When pain comes to you

When pain comes to you

Embrace it, accept it,

It tells you that you are alive

That you can think and feel

That you have a beating heart

And a ticking mind.

When tears brim in your eyes

Let them flow

They tell you that you allowed

Pain to seep through

And whet your soul

That you were not afraid

To be yourself

And to feel with abandon.

That you lived

And loved

That you didn’t just

Skim the surface of life,

But dived deep

And came up with pearls.

When pain comes to you

Don’t block it

Let it be an old friend

With keys to your heart

Let it come and go as it pleases

And sometimes meet it at a landing

And ask, ‘Hey, how you doin’ now?’

Rustom and the Last Storyteller of Almora

Books that are set in different eras, different places, and about people whose lives are diverse from mine, always make me feel like I am getting much more than just one story. Without passports or tickets, I get to travel these worlds, peek inside the minds of amazing people. This book offered me much more than that.

Rustom is a man of a strange kind of integrity – his actions display a weird mismatch with his thoughts. By outward appearances, he seems reckless, thoughtless, even. But since we’re privy to his thoughts, we know that he is conscientious, trying to right the wrongs, ensuring that his family is safe after him. He is a man who is a sum of many parts. Thinking about tidbits of wisdom that his mother shared with him, thinking about his wife (in her various avatars), thinking about his sister in the hospital (suicide, he believes – because she always knew what she was doing). I was touched by how real he was. The rich Parsi family with a ‘history’ of suicide provided the perfect backdrop – with uncles who kill themselves in a suicide pact – a grandfather who will allow the family to inherit money only if Rustom kills himself.

How much money can you spend in a lifetime? In one scene, Rustom slaps his forehead wondering how the money ever got over. 

He is desperate, and desperate people do desperate things. Even things like plotting to kill themselves. Suicide is a topic I personally wonder a lot about too.

But Rustom is not the depressed, suicidal kind – he was driven to it – thinking himself into a dark corner, whence the only escape is the narrow window that suicide allows him.

Enter Kahani Baba, the lovable, rotund psychic who shakes Rustom’s consciousness with his visions. In each vision is hidden a clue that could end Rustom’s misery. The clues are random and non-linear – as a reader, I found myself sucked into the vortex of Rustom’s mind, trying to solve and make sense of the Kahani Baba experience.

Will Rustom crack the clues? Will he be able to get out of the corner he’s boxed himself into? For Rustom, the entire story plays out between the bullet and the skin – which, by the way, was an alternate title for the book, I heard!

On the writing – even while dealing with a subject like suicide, Gaurav keeps it pacey, and full of mystery. As a reader, you’ll find yourself turning the pages swiftly. The shorts within the main story were fantastic – each one a gem. Well done, GP!

A few books leave you with a feeling of having walked a mile in another’s shoes. This one does that really well. Another review called it, ‘an almost perfect debut.’ I couldn’t agree more, almost perfect! Go grab your copy! Highly recommended.

You can order your copy of Rustom and the Last Storyteller of Almora HERE.

Audacity

How audacious to think that I'm beautiful
how impolite to say it
how rude to open my hair, 
let it fall down my back, and sway it
how proud to hold my head high,
to look you in the eye
how unthinkable to have my own thought
and unflinchingly relay it

Contrasts

The rain…
It fell all around me
And on me
And it was also sunny
And I wondered why such contrast exists
I exist
You exist
Yes, contrasts exist in this world
And when we mix
Sometimes a rainbow emerges
Epic, stretching from forever to forever
Arching over our lives
And wondrously beautiful

On friends and friendships

Got this as a forwarded email:

Bonding with your gal pals is the best way to deal with life's ups and downs, here are six types that every woman relies on for advice and emotion support

We need different friends to fulfill different needs. Some make good counsellors, others are good listeners and some are miss fix-its. Each one plays an important role in our lives, and we cannot do without them. Here are six types of friends every woman needs in her life.

The new friend:

As much as we love our old friends, it's always nice to meet new people and add them to your friends list. New friends add a spark to your life, and help you re-evaluate your world, adding a new perspective to your life. They inspire and excite you, motivating you to get out of the routine and try something new.

The counsellor:

Can't afford a shrink? She is your best bet. She will listen to all your problems and offer you sound advice without being critical or judgmental of your situation. You can rant about the problems you are having at work, in your relationship or with any situation that requires your attention.

The strong as a rock friend:

She has been there with you like a solid rock in the ups and downs of your life. She knows you better than anybody and has seen and handled your various mood swings. You have had your share of fights, arguments and misunderstandings and have worked your way through it. You love each other and are inseparable.


The fun friend:

This one knows how to have a great time and she is the one who does not mind adding that crazy energy to your life. She always knows where the happening parties are and does not believe in getting home till the sun rises.

The honest one:

She will not say things to please you, and will not shy away from telling you the truth no matter what.

The mother hen:

She is the one you go to when in need for some TLC. She is gentle and comforting and will fix you a quick meal when your feeling down in the dumps. She will not lecture you, but will comfort you like a mother.

---------------------------
This got me thinking – what kind of friend am I? I am not a mother hen. I am not ‘the fun friend’. The shrink? I can listen and give advice, but with a caveat – it may not be sound; I give, ‘use at your own risk’ kinda advice. I am honest, generally speaking, but I don’t believe in ‘hurt the other person’ kind of honesty. So if you look fat, don’t ask me if you do, because I’ll never say yes.

I don’t know what I inspire as a new friend, ‘creative ways to avoid new people’ maybe. I am a bad new friend. Most of time, I am faking it. I am losing interest in getting to know new people – just takes too much energy and they soon show some side of them that I dislike. Dear god, am I turning into a misanthrope?


Looks like I don’t fit anywhere on this list. Does that mean, I am no friend at all? O_o

I have been wondering, this disinterest in making new friendships - is it me or is it them?

That day



     Image source: https://steemit.com/drawing/@yume/taking-off-the-mask

That day

I didn’t have the courage

To say, ‘Don’t.’

That day

I hid my face and

And today

As I step into my closet

To hang another face,

My eyes wander to that one,

The one with

The shame of cowardice

Writ large,

Stowed behind cobwebs

Of escapism.

I pull it out

And hang it away with

Myriad other faces:

The caricature of bonhomie

The grimace of being me…

One day

I’ll have courage again

To pick it up

Stroke it,

Own it, and say,

‘Yes, I was a coward

But I am who I am.’

And from that day on,

I will have no more

Need for facades

Your name

I want to taste your name

... savor it…

Bite off a corner of it,

Suck in the rest of it,

Slowly swirl it around my tongue and

Breathe it into the air,

Wrapped in a whisper

 
Inspired by something a four-year-old said about love. http://sobadsogood.com/2012/06/29/heart-warming-quotes-about-love-romance-from-kids/

You...

Poetry begins to feel poeticker

When taken in with

A little dose of you

Wine more intoxicating

When swirled in

Thoughts of you

The chocolate chocolatier

Breeze breezier

And me? I feel meer

When I am with you

3D, 4D, why this kolavari Di?

I watched Avengers some time ago. I liked it. But this is not a review of the film. This is really about something else.

All through this film that I had waited and waited to catch, I was totally disturbed by the 3D glasses. They were so uncomfortable. And well, the 3D was quite unnecessary, I thought. I don’t know if everyone felt this way or it’s just me. I want to be completely into the film when I am watching it, and the 3D just didn’t let me!

It’s like every two minutes something flies at you and reminds you that you’re watching a movie. They might as well shake your seats and laugh loudly in your ear. We go to the cinema for the high of losing ourselves in the story. Something coming flying at me every two seconds is not really my idea of involvement.

The screen looked dark almost the whole time. Not sure if this is how it was everywhere or the theatre I watched it at had some problem. In any case, a part of me was just dying for this torture to end so I could take off the freaking glasses. Interestingly, the film was good so it kept me in my seat despite the inconvenience and discomfort. But I couldn’t help thinking how much more I’d have enjoyed it if I’d just watched the 2D version of it.

The most annoying part is that the images look grainy and blurred if you take off the glasses. But at least the screen gets lighter, so I did watch part of the movie without the glasses; blurry, but in perfectly good color. So basically, I paid through my nose at a multiplex to get annoyed, irritated, and totally miserable.

And I hear 4D technology is here. Geez. I wonder what it does. As if just the glasses were not uncomfortable enough.

I am scared to think of what 5D, 6D, and 7D technologies will do to me. Will the actors stand around me and perform while I cower in fear of being struck dead? Will the hero jump and kiss me instead of the heroine? That should be good though! Imagine being kissed by Tony Stark. Haha. I can sure deal with it.

But then there are some movies I absolutely enjoyed in 3D! How to train your dragon was brilliant and I really liked the effect. Avatar was great! I only remembered at the end of the movie that I was wearing the glasses.

Maybe 3D needs a whole new technological shift – lose the glasses, for starters. Most viewers don’t want to be dazzled by a firework display of super effects – we still want the good old storytelling and emotional involvement. Somehow technology seems to come in the way.

I believe 3D should come with a caveat: Use only if absolutely necessary. And please, only if it enhances the emotional connection in some way, not if it hampers it.

Again...

Cheated by you again

Eyes blandished

Smile lied and led

Again…

Again I believed

Again I sang

Again heart leapt

And fluttered some more

Again I dreamt

Again I soaked in

Some of you

Again tears brimmed

In my eyes

And stayed there

Refusing to fall

Refusing to be contained

Again...

Restlessness and Sleep

Restlessness comes,
Peeks over my listless body
Smiles and
Curls up next to me
'Why so alone?' he asks.
And then my mind whirls,
Flutters, sways, churns.
Peace forgotten, I rest
My body alone,
My mind, all in a dither
Silent tears brimming
I think of Sleep
My old paramour...
You left me for
A new love...
Does she smile
When you caress
Her hair?
Does she whisper to
You from distant lands,
Her closed eyelids moving?
Does her bosom heave
With the slow rhythm
of your song?
Do her hands smell
Of fading henna?
Restlessness embraces me
'Look at me, darling,
He never did love you,
But I...
I am here for you...
I'll hold you.'
I stifle a sob and
Rest my tired head
On his thorny shoulder
For tonight he'll do
Tomorrow is
another night, though
And I'll hope again...

A river’s tale

A blithe river
Young and nimble
Jumping, sliding, slipping, bouncing
Chattering of snow capped mounts
Of trees tall
Of yaks and yetis


Of braided hair
Of joyful tears
Of carefree months
Of winding years


Of the silt of sorrow
Of the dump of angst
Oblate-d by men
And women’s hands


Of heavens opening
With showers galore
Of water evermore
Than she could hold


Of pouring forth
And bringing it out
Of stretching out arms
And embracing all



Villages, temples,
Schools and huts
Boys, men,
Cows, and mutts


All alike in their
Drowned-ness
All in the silence of the sea
All alike in half-lived lives
Just like you and me

TMI (Too Much Information)

I am feeling a little overwhelmed. Honestly, who can blame me? Everywhere I turn, I am bombarded with information. TMI everywhere! Online, digital, whatever name you give it.

And why, I wonder, do I gravitate towards this information myself? I subscribe to newsletters, I join forums, I say ‘yes’ to notifications. And when these arrive in my mailbox, I frown at them.

But wait! But this is not just me. This is a trend!

I see people on Twitter following a 100 or more accounts.

I can’t even keep up with the twenty something accounts that I follow. Luckily, most of my friends don’t tweet every time they burp. Thank god for small mercies.

I just sit at my computer and I receive a hundred emails on subjects spanning the length and breadth of our planet – sometimes about outer space too.

Seriously, am I interested?

And I generate information myself too – painfully aware that each character I type takes up space on some server somewhere, whether someone reads it or not.
I feel I am slowly getting obsessed with online information and its irritant quality. I never have this feeling about books. Probably because I have a choice - I can decide to not open a book. But can I ignore an email that says ‘must read!’, ‘amazing facts about blah blah’, ’10 best things about blah’? My internal filter seems to be failing. I can’t decide what to read and what to give a miss anymore.

What am I interested in? Art? Cinema? Books? UX? What do I like? Chaat? Cake? Pasta? Choosing is so difficult when you have so many choices. When someone offers me vanilla and chocolate ice-creams and says, ‘pick any one’, I can quickly decide which one I want. But when I go to Baskin Robins, I stare at the menu for 10 minutes, decide on something, peek at other tables while eating it, and feel that the others are probably eating a better flavor.

I feel attacked and bombarded with TMI. I am over-stimulated and overwhelmed all the time. Sometimes I try ‘blocking’ or ‘not paying attention’ to save myself from a burnout. I scan, skim, or plain ignore.

So if you want to tell me something, please tell it to me. Don’t point me to a website with a 1000-word article. I don’t have the energy.

And I am sleep deprived. I need an opiate. And a soft bed. And a soft blanket. And a padded cell, maybe.

Poetry is trash

Burns without ash
and burns within
colorless, odorless
it burns and stings...
not real tears
it’s the eyes
watering from the
stinging smoke of my
burning poem...
All trash to be
burned,
turned into ash
all trash…

So it came to this...

From vows exchanged
To swords trained
From happily ever after
To end of chapter
From the dark mane
To color and rogaine
Seen and done it all; what’s new?
Still lost within, and have no clue…
Locked up! The body a cage
Oh, it sure is lousy to age!

I write like...

I visited a site that allows you to paste your writing and then tells you which famous writer your style is most like. And see what I got!

I write like
Margaret Mitchell

I Write Like by Mémoires, journal software. Analyze your writing!

Most pleased :D

Decisions

Walking through the forest road
I caught a glimpse of a path
That not many feet had trodden
Grass growing where feet once fell
Maybe with good reason?
‘Who knows what I’ll meet, if
I go down that path?’
I turned away and walked on
And have been walking thus…
To things and places pre-ordained
No surprises in store
Far away from the forest now
I think of the old footpath
Who knows what I’d have met, if
I had gone down that path…