The closing ceremony of 2008...

It has been long, since you came new,
Bundled with blessings for a countable few
As you depart tonight with the year's last dew
Up comes the morning Sun, with hopes and dreams anew..

.....And as the horizon juggles between sunset and sunrise, night and morning, 2008 and 2009, we refuse to be harsh to the year bidding goodbye. Save for the handful of smiles and blessings it has bestowed, on this last night of its stay with us, we readily fail to notice the blues through which it has made us suffer, the tears it has brought about within us. Though the apprehension over mass killings at random corners of the country fails to get blurred by a coveted mission to the moon, a 50,000 pound valued booker couldn't help the global market crashdown and the first gold medal couldn't moderate our grief over losing Dada, still we owe our bags full of gratitude to the year bygone for the tad bit of goodness it has done for us...a booker prize, an Olympic gold medal, victory of the Democrats...and yet a few unnoticed fleeting smiles it fruitfully brought about for a while or two among us.

On a personal note, it has been less of flower beds and more of thorns, being the most challenging year in my girlhood of eighteen years.
And despite taking him miles away from me, it eventually kept bringing us together.

And as 2008 wraps itself up...we, in our own accord, spare another hope and tear for Mumbai, Guwahati, Delhi, Agartala, Ahmedabad...and unconditionally thank all the Abhinav Bindras and Aravind Adigas around the world who, amidst all this, made an exchange of smiles possible between us.

P.S.- Happy New Year to everyone out there. Have a great year ahead.

Christmas hues...And Us

Its us who fight through the nights and days. And leave the damp blankets and pillows to rot.

Its us who bring about those undue tussles. And cry out an entire night.

Its us who make those innumerable promises. And break them now and then.

Yet its us, again us, to make those same old vows.

Its us who spoil each other's day. And walk off our own ways.

Its us who blame each other for all. And feel guilty for the same.

Its us who make the other one cry. And cry ourselves no less.

Yet its us, again us, who wait for each other, for days on end.

Its us who fret over the distance between us. And strive on killing it through love.

Its us who wait for the rains to arrive. And share the same umbrella despite having two.

Its us who reach out to each other for help. And hold hands at vulnerable crossroads.

Its us who await the winters through the year. And cling close to keep the warmth alive.

Its us who yearn to see the colours of sunset.

And us, who paint the world green during fall.

Its us who celebrate the essence of winter.

And us, who incessantly pray for it all.

Its us who hold breath for another Christmas,

With the bliss with which it last year came..

And its Christmas which brings back all those together

On another celebration in our name.

Its for Us. And for all those shuffled colours and muffled delight we've brought into each other's lives.

P.S.- Merry Christmas to you. And Us.

In Your spirits...

I woke up with Your age-old spirit

As You broke the night into dawn

Amidst jingling bells and mingling prayers

You re-wore Your thorny crown.

With the break of another winter sunrise

You brought back Your fragrance and hues

And the livened up bells and re-bloomed roses

Marked another Christmas anew.

I waited awake throughout last night

To hear Your bells being rung

In the dead hour of another midnight

I heard Your carols sung.

I longed to see Your eyes before mine

I lit up my candle for You

I yearned to touch Your worshipped divinity

To know what's strong, pure and true..

You have perceived us through the last year long

Through times of green and blue

You have guided us through vicious waters

As You captained our crew.

Its another Christmas in Your name

Another toast, and a treat

For when the rejoicing world forgets the same,

I thank You for this Yuletide spirit.

P.S.- Merry Christmas to all of you..

Failure..

Words have kept twittering inside,
clinging onto crutches, of my feeble kind
until another day, they stumbled upon
the baffling maze engraved upon my mind.

They couldn't trace their way out;
perplexed and captivated, as curses unwind
Crying for another life, another dream, another light..
They were left to rot in the shambles of a mind.

Words kept betraying at bedside,
when incessant tears dampened my pillow
as I rummaged through some darkened alleys
Groping for words, that abandoned me hollow..

Last night I treaded the lanes and bylanes of hope
Revisiting every dream you taught me to see
And goes with me the hollow you left
On a holiday with failure by the side of the sea...

To the City of Joy...

I look out of my window pane
this sulky winter morning
As my eyeballs meander through
the imminent fog,
the upcoming mist,
and the dew that promised with it another tryst..
And they meander towards the defeated Sun,
wait, not the Sun, nor the baring trees
but the fragments of my city
these black balls can perceive,
within their limited boundaries..
And how many such fragments went unnoticed.
Some distant bustling thoroughfare
A few dwellers off the street ..
Somewhere a crammed yellow brick road
Dealing with God's unkind treat.
A few fleeting smiles
and some equally morbid tears ;
Some forged consolations
And some hard-to-defy fears.
I hear someone screaming for life
before me a nightmare flashes..
As I see glimpses of my country
getting reduced to ashes.
I look back towards my city
The happy, selfish lives thriving in it ..
Happy to be blessed,
Selfish to be untouched,
sitting on the nation's safest seat.
And that unnamed yellow brick road,
Shivering with this omnipresent terror
Shrouded in the wrath of a blanket
To beat this heat, uncalled for. ..
And a despising vision of the city
With no more of this prejudice, that havoc can destroy.
And with the timeless prayer
to that unkind Almighty
To keep this haven the City of Joy..

To myself...

I could thankfully greet him with a smiling face today. Fight and successfully pretend to be the same person till now.

Only if I could have refrained those tears a little longer..till our meeting came to an end.

But thank goodness today; he could see only parts of myself...

For he saw those tears and missed the struggle behind to keep them from coming.

Watched me smile but failed to fathom the pain suffered to do so.

Gave consolations but didn't realise that they won't work.

And saw that red scar on the left hand fist, while the clawing of the right hand nails onto the victimised fist, to fight back a few tears, went unnoticed.

For he could say.."You are my strength. Not the one to cry and break down. You have to stay strong as always. Its you from where I draw encouragement".

And couldn’t hear me saying.."I have been your strength since the couple of years you have known me. Till then I had been brought up like the girl I am from within. Delicate, sensitive, vulnerable."

Sounds of rain, and music...

It has been a tiring day to no end. And one utterly wronged.

Right since I opened my eyes to another half-sunny-rest-cloudy morning..only to realise he's not in Cal. Well..he'd be here mext morn only..atleast that's what had been his word before he left. Or that's what can give me an immediate consolation. But its true you can't cling to forcibly imposed beliefs for long. And I shuddered to think that a few days from now every morning would be like this one. I'm not crying a bit just because I'm not supposed to. And I seriously hope the next time I meet him, I'd be able to greet him with a smile.

The dizzy morning made me, quite unlike myself, feel reluctant to drive. And I'm again late in waking up. I feel sorry for it everyday. Not only while getting verbally thrashed by mom, but truly from within. Mom doesn't know this and I guess she'll never believe that. Only this morning, I wished to sleep a little longer.

College timings were late today, thanks to a few reluctant professors. For I could atleast watch the drenched roads patiently drying up. The verandah floor was still enveloped with water, maybe about a quarter-to-quarter-inch. Quite an effort towards perfection, but I'm sure I failed again.

And sitting in the verandah I heard the kids having a tough time spelling Thiruvananthapuram correctly. Meanwhile I kept up my endeavour towards finding the slightest hint of the stars concealed by their some big fat brethren by the end of the night.

I wished in the least to go to college today. Grossly speaking, step out of home. And still more, walking all the way to BCL, alone. I guess I had to. That's why baba had been indifferent today. And the auto-rickshaws made the people wait for what seemed like eternity. It has been I think the longest queue till now. It frequently happens these days. I guess they too want their share of fare rise. And by the time I reached the metro station, buckets of rain were at the helm of trickling down.

The maidan metro exit was a tad overcrowded today. I wondered how in the world people can step out of home during monsoon without an umbrella; and then crowd at the station gate to keep from the rain. I squeezed my way reluctantly through some sweating backs and stinking armpits, out into the blinding rain. I got half of my jeans wet..slipped my foot once on the road..and missed my first class. Walked all the way to BCL, alone, quivering in the cold.

I don't know why I wanted to be in the rain. Fever was creeping in..I could understand. But still didn't feel like moving out. I don't know why I picked up the "Let it bleed" CD from the rack. Maybe it was all to hide those bleeding scars which can only be concealed by the rain.

And then in college staircase, I met the other him. The only thing about him that caught my eye was the blue he was wearing. It reminded me of some bluish conversations and fights..requests and remarks. And a blue furry overcoat he wished to buy for his twins. As for this him, I seriously do not care meeting him every single day. But I feel him hovering around me as a nemesis..for all those crimes I did by hurting him. Or a litmus test to prove myself, to myself, while he's away. I felt confident to go through it and show him the results when he comes back after four years.

I hated the attitude of a lot of people today..as I usually everyday do. And again bit the lips to keep quiet. The only soothing element while leaving college was the sound of a distant flute played by a classmate at one corner of the evening-sky-laden-college ground. And I wished I could play the flute too. Only to allure somebody to stay back.

And I came back home in the jolting and scorching interiors of a 5 o’ clock train.

I guess somethings I’d never be able to fathom. For why those somethings happen and how are they scheduled to happen with oneself. Like why I left my cellphone home today..or what was so special about today’s rain..why I had to try to be happy with friends..or why that flute made me cry like never before.

And why I couldn’t gather just anything to tell him tomorrow…and make him smile…and smile myself…and greet him all over again, with a counterfeit smiling face.

My crumbling piano...

Quiet and desolate,
bared..
uncared..
stripped off all its tunes,
it lied in one corner of my room..
Unperturbed.
Unperturbing.
scathed by the memoirs of its bloom.
As the pages battled recklessly
nesting on their bosom
some void, hollow tunes
crowding against each other...
In their tryst with survival.
As the threads of hair raked my brow
in a feat to match the northern wind
and I opened my eyes to the broken glass door..
Remembering my pianist.
The moment I recalled
my walk deep down
trickled from his eyes, onto the mind.
The lashes concealed from me..my piano defied,
And in his music, in his eyes
my music did I find.
I kept swaying with the tune...
strummed by his stroke..
fondled by his fingers..
with the prayer to sway
all the ages to sprout
on the bosom of my piano,
unless we got trickled out.
And I stare through the broken door
this monsoon, uncalled for..
groping through the northern wind...
searching my music once more.
as I watch my piano crumble down
with tunes falling into pieces
strewn over the floor...
and memories blurred by the mist
Tunes and touches
along with me...
Waiting for my pianist.

Silhouettes...

If I were beauty, I'd be- Love
If I were a book, I'd be- The Old Testament
If I were a season, I'd be- Winter
If I were an feeling, I'd be- Repentance
If I were a cosmic element, I'd be- Saturn
If I were an invention, I'd be- The invention of Light
If I were a time, I'd be- The last hour of life
If I were an age, I'd be- 40, a viable die-able age
If I were a piece of history, I'd be- The fall of Rome
If I were a date, I'd be- The 1st of May
If I were a subject in school, I'd be- History
If I were a river, I'd be- Euphrates
If I were a sight, I'd be- The eyes of Proserpine
If I were a month, I'd be- December
If I were a word, I would be- Sorry
If I were a game, I'd be- Dart
If I were a start, I'd be- The advent of free-economy
If I were an end, I'd be- The end of superpowers
If I were a form of art, I'd be- Murals
If I were a personality, I'd be- Charlie Chaplin
If I were a habit, I'd be- Covering the mouth while a cough
If I were a fruit, I'd be- Satan's apple
If I were an animal, I'd be- Horse
If i were a leaf, i'd be- A fallen Maple
If I were a tree, I'd be- An old Willow
If I were a support, I'd be- An old man's stick
If I were a help, I'd be- A baby's walker
If I were a belonging, I'd be- A canvas
If I were a confusion, I'd be- Parallax
If I were a miracle, I'd be- The Divine Proportion
If I were a colour, I'd be- Transparent white
If I were an addiction, I'd be- Wine
If I were a monument, I'd be- The Roman Colosseum
If I were a tool, I'd be- The sculptor's chisel
If I were a distance, I'd be- that between the eyes and the mouth
If I were an expression, I'd be- The MonaLisa smile
If I were a body part, I'd be- The hamstrings
If I were a mountain, I'd be- The Alps
If I were a piece of land, I'd be- The Kolkata Maidan
If I were an essence, I'd be- The smell of a new painting
If I were a building, I'd be- The Louvre Museum
If I were a play, I'd be- Troilus and Cressida
If I were an author, I'd be- Oscar Wilde
If I were a clause, I'd be- Punishment to male gaze
If I were an amendment, I'd be- Change in perspective
If I were a creation, I'd be- Madonna of the Rocks
If I were a movie, I'd be- Hamlet
If I were a character, I'd be- Liz Taylor in Cleopatra
If I were a wonder, I'd be- The Hanging gardens of Babylon
If I were an pain, I'd be- The pain to bow down
If I were a part of the face,I'd be- An eyelash
If I were an instrument, I'd be- Piano
If I were an inspiration, I'd be- A Candle in the Wind
If I were an element, I'd be- Neon
If I were a song, I'd be- Sacrifice
If I were a place, I'd be- Oblivion
If I were an achievement, it would be- Being human
If I were a promise, I'd be- A true one.

Being insane...

Its time again, I suppose, to wander back to old times. And as you rightly guessed...I AM getting nostalgic again. But I can rest assure....to whom it may concern....that this one isn't going to be another account of some morbid yesteryear moments as it has been a number of times so long. For, this diversion from my usual and known-self is due to the sheer optimism presently administering my days. And this really reminds me to laugh out loud in memory of some hilarious incident which happened sometime back in my school days.

We were currently at the 8th or 9th standard and it was a physical training class then, which we mostly, if not always, used to spend giggling and chit-chatting among ourselves...without performing the least hint of any sort of physical training in the literal sense. Hence it was just another so-called-P.T. period to sprawl and laze in an effort to spend the next thirty minutes. But for some forgotten reason, I was too engrossed in running around hither and tither that day and was quite surprisingly on an adventuring spree...unlike my usual lazy self. Now adventure usually referred to hide-an-seek in our case (yes,we were in class 9 then!) , that too specially in a very unconventional place, for a tinge of adventure again. That "special" place had been a hideously bushy area, approximately two-feet wide and about seven yards long, terribly dirty with dense undergrowth, banana trees fouled with betel-leaf spits (yak!), bird droppings, sewage wastes and dung, between the row of darwan's houses and the school boundary just behind. That place used to be one-of-my hot favourites since I loved to and could spend hours running from the basketball ground to that foul place behind the houses, step over all those rubbish and proceed towards a locked gate on the other side of the ground, climb it up and jump onto the basketball ground only to run back and repeat the feat again.

Now that day we were having our regular P.T. class feats, when there came along a tall, belly-protruded old man, clad in pure white dhoti-kurta and carrying a stick, his trademark attire he seemed to have worn all my 13 years in school. We supposed him to be some bigwig of the school's trusty and our awe knew no bounds as we saw him proceeding towards our secret and treasured hide-out between the bushes. I was the first to give out a loud giggle, as I assumed him to share the same attraction for that place like us, and pictured him trying to cross over the locked gate, making a total mess of his dhoti and himself. Not being able to keep myself from witnessing such hilarious incidents, I ran right after him to observe his feat, not paying heed to my friends who were desperately trying to call me back. In fact it surprised me to see their reluctance in missing out such an experience. And as you might have guessed, to my utter dismay, as I peeped in to have a sneak-peek of his activities, I saw that rogue dirtying our hideout ever more, by disposing his loo out there. I was horrified to realise myself watching that man coolly 'performing his feat' in his peaceful 'lavatory' without the slightest hint of someone watching him with horrified eyes, as if he had suddenly turned a monster. I ran from that place as fast as I could, some faint sounds of laughter reaching my eardrums...as I felt too ashamed of not having understood his mission beforehand as my friends did...and resolved not to step into that once-beloved place ever, ever again.

Growth curves...

I'm entirely and outright a jobless person as of now...and possibly that's why such strange things are cropping up in my cerebral lump and crowding all at a time. Just last night I dreamt about something quite weird; not really absurd,but weird enough to be the substance of a dream...all owing to the utterly vague and pointless thoughts taking advantage of my idle mind. I may well frame the name of my book as "Worhless Thoughts Of A Redundant Mind" , quite understandably, its contents not being taken into consideration.

All right, so returning to my inane dream...I guess for all those faces reading this, I can afford to bring across a smile out of the realisation of the unfathomable stupidity ruling me now. As a matter of fact, last night I dreamt about my purse(Ya,again as a matter of fact...yes I AM weird). Its the same old, bulky off-white purse I bought from shopper's stop and the one I used to hate...that has been claiming my dreams now. I remember how I deadly wished to throw it when every time I had to take it out of the bag for punching the smart card, being already late to college...and had a hard time gripping it within my little palm for paying the auto fare while sitting in the front right vulnerable seat of the auto-rickshaw. I wished to tear it down to pieces of no use...As it is it seemed quite cumbersome to carry all the time. So this quite-obviously-unawaited dream surprised even myself to no end, but there's a bit of history behind it which may well serve to explain this contradiction. ..

It was just last weekend that mom decided to acquire the shopper's stop first citizen membership card and henceforth designated me as the associate card-bearer. And due to fathomable reasons, chose me to keep both the cards in my purse...since she might not be able, or interested, to have access to the shop as frequently as I do. Now that's it...that's all of the history behind my dream. But mom's decision was influential enough to give me a mental push towards adulthood, my new unseen craze after being eighteen. My concious mind prided itself with the thought of acquiring a card only meant for those 18 years and up...having conferred with the first taste of being adult, while the subconcious psyche had already started picturing the metamorphosized facade of an already hefty purse. I dreamt of my purse having become bulkier, brimming and bursting out of its contents, some indespensable requisites of a modern century grown-up woman. It filled me with a sense of pride rummaging through the numerous pockets of my purse containing my college ID-card, cyber card, driving license, debit card, BCL membership card and citizenship cards of some top shopping outlets of the city. It seemed to overflow with all that it housed inside and for the first time I felt blessed to possess something such cumbersome. Not taking into account the style and sophistication quotient, it was a wholly novel feeling to sense myself growing up...which rightly geared me to admire and gratify my hideous-turned-delightful possession, coz all that matters at the end of the day has to be my thing's utility. And, not to forget, how strong a catalysing effect it can exert on my growth and me having its timely realisation.

So cruel...So far

Its all born from the sense of disgust this cursed year has burdened upon me now.I tried my best to accept it with a smile...bt regrettably everything has gone to vain.

Beginning like all the other seventeen years I have survived, I won't believe it to be my fault to think this one belong to the same sort. Again a pawn of destiny.....I feel cheated over and over my this deceptive first-sight impression.Is it such ruthless a mistake to pay heed to the first call of intuition? I earnestly passed the days so far...in the elusive search of optimism. But darkness hovered over and over.Yet again, many a times, I ran to get blinded by the gloomy fate brought for me by this year. But every time hit upon a solid, promising rock..clutch onto it hard..and hopscotch through the odds with the hope of retreiving back with some flying colours.

I fail to behold,that colours have left me quite long ago...leaving some long meticulously-nursed memories awashed in the colours of despair and gloom. I knew I've been fooled again; for I've only learnt to birth them, rear them up...and never did I harness the zeal to pull them off before the world, eagerly waiting to pull me down again...render false consolations...and again get me bathed all over in the colours of defeat...in black and white.

The Way You Look Tonight...

There was a time...I was everything and nothing all in one
When you found me,
I was feeling like a cloud across the sun...
I need to tell you,
How you light up every second of the day...
But in the moonlight,
You just shine like a beacon on the bay...
And I can't explain..
But it's something about the way you look tonight...
It takes my breath away
It's that feeling I get about you, deep inside.
And I can't describe...
But it's something about the way you look tonight.
With a smile..You pull the deepest secrets from my heart
In all honesty
I'm speechless...and I don't know where to start
But its something about the way you look tonight...
It takes my breath away
And its a feeling deep inside...
That I can't describe.


P.S.-This is my first post which is not an original work of mine.I usually don't prefer this...but coudn't resist myself from dedicating this incredible song to someone.Its not here just for being a favourite...its meant for a very special person in my life.

Sans YOU...

I know its hard to bear the heat...

But monsoon won't come this time

Choose your path, leaving the one I tread...

For its foolish to walk my line.

Dont worry about here, ever henceforth...

I'll be fine as being lovelorn.

Spare but this night from thy memories...

I won't cry from tomorrow morn.

Never again empathize those futile tears

Which'll flow....and've always flown

I don't need to hold your finger anymore...

I have learnt to walk on my own.

.Full Stop.

I saw those corridors closing on me
Future and past-splitting me apart,
As I got vanquished,battling with time...
And the hour took its due stride.
Banishing me with all its might
From my nest of memories-unmatched,untouched
Making me a part of it all...
Never Again,Never Anymore.
Snatching those away from my lap,
Thousands of memories....given shape through ages
And bolting them behind those doors of steel.
All by themselves-bereft and forlorn.
The door severed the bond between us
I stared at it through countless years
For my memories lie beyond it,locked up...
None to protect,None to care.
It was just then that I heard a footstep...
A voice,a clap,a cheer,a laugh
Then two,then three...then how many more
From behind the door,my haven of love..
I do not belong to that place anymore
For new breaths have ousted us
To take care of some timeless memories,
And build on them-unmatched,untouched.
That was the message from a demure God
To evict the past and pave way for 'now'
And I marooned the place with my tuft of memories
For it was my turn to put a Full Stop.

The nomenclature of memories...

Sometimes you just don't get to call them........give them a name.They turn you off, make you cry.Even manipulate the do's and dont's of your life. But when you set your mind to throw the abstraction out of them and have an encounter face-to-face.........you get into a jiffy.Memories do play such nuisance.

This thought in the first place may seem to be the height of weirdness and absurdity.Precisely coz we rarely get a chance to analyse the activities of that lump of cerebrum inside our egg-heads controlling our actions day and night.Or we don't try to.But don't times come......when you wish to break out of the opacity of past and look forward? When you want to un-live yesterday and live today for tomorrow? When you hate to cry for the one that's over?
They do come...........in every life.Its just that you don't really care to accept that;and stay happy further. And its the nuisances of that same egg-head which makes us afraid to move on.....cry for what's gone.....and expect yesterday to come back!Ridiculous!!

May be the "intelligent" human would ridicule so this truth of life.Its a rare and fortunate chance of a lifetime to come across such an intelligent one.But sorry........we won't ask for a share of his intellect.For we prefer grief over pleasure, and can bargain intelligence for not being mechanical.For we want to stay as the "foolish" human................And breathe.For there's very little space to breathe in this world.


I do agree...................with the "foolish man".
For it has been a year since I left behind some peaceful corner in the outskirts of the city to move towards the most bustling one.I left an unnamed,isolated street leading to a building in white and blue........for another one,much more 'prestigious'.And tried to forget some bunch of promises,memories and laughter.......for a future,hopefully better.

But why,after all these months of college.........a single glimpse of that same building in white and blue brings tears to the eyes?Why a host of unnamed,undefined memories start accumulating,all at a time?Why the mind seeks to go back to the past?

May be the past reverberates within us all the time.........and waits for the opportune moment to come up.For the memories we create with our own hands,refuse to get wiped out so fast.And continues to intersect every point of life.Sometimes they burst open that store-house and get surfaced through the eyes......

And that's the time we feel reluctant to look forward.We stop dreaming about tomorrow and crave for yesterday to come back.And wish to abandon our present and future........................not to un-live,but once again,re-live the past, the one................that's over.

My First Christmas...

It forces the store-house of memories to trace down as far as it can.............faded memories of a chilly December morning.....that one different dawn,when the blanket doesn't seem warm enough to lure about the extra five minutes of nap...the dream of an old bearded man stepping to our bedrooms,clad in red and white....the bedside-socks brimming with glittering presents,restless to get unwrapped....the incessant queues at the church gates...the greenery of the Christmas tree accompanied with balls,bells and 'Bethelem'....the unmatched taste of 'mom-baked' chocolate cake....the queue for fruit cakes before Firpos....holding the fingers of parents amidst the evening glitz of Park Street...the nostalgia of Flurys and Waldorf....dinners at Bar-B-Q and Peter Cat....the Park Street Santa with his inexhaustible stuff of Eclairs.....the sound of our first tantrums on a winter morning.................
Memories of 'A First Christmas' reminisces one the city of his times............

And yet........tracing down my own memory lane,I could never encounter any memories as such.

But I did have a First Christmas.......may be not with parents........but somebody, very special.

That was 2007......................the year of my rebirth.

Thrill had made me too afraid to hold that hand while stepping into the church.
And yet........................too reluctant to leave its grasp.

The noise of the ringing church bells seemed to have mingled with the pounding noise of my heart in a fashion, rhythmic enough to leave an everlasting imprint on my mind.It made me lose my ability to fathom where my senses were taking me along.It was probably not my senses........for I had lost the strength to sense the world anymore.
My world got reduced to a lump of muscle, creating those mixed feelings, and a host of forgotten and unscathed desires.

The evening glitz of the most hip street in the city........seemed to have faded out.For I had become blind........blind out of ecstasy in the touch of that warm grasp.The nostalgia may be still was the same.....as suggested by the crowd before the Flurys gate. But that was still a different Christmas. For that evening, I got my childhood back. That warmth of one pull of arms, grasp of palms and whisper of words got me stuck in a whirlpool of times.........times of a 'seemingly' bygone era, boistering with noises, laughter, memories and tantrums, making me feel once again......like a child.

It made me oblivious of the ups and downs in life.......of what came and what is to come.For I knew nothing of the world, nothing of sorrow, nothing of the hard times in life.........when one looks up seeking a hand,and there's not one to lend that. That one evening dragged me back to my ideal world of dreams, where there's everyone to caress, worry, love and care; the bliss of a world.....which we leave behind with our childhood, and never again get to look back.

The hurricane of the times of past....circled around me with swirling thoughts....and reflected through my eyes......brimming with dreams........and bursting with tears, in the event of their fulfilment in life.

The city continues to glitter with its same, renewed vigour...and so does the one awaited chilly December morning,with its promise of nurturing dreams........and making them come true, on some other wintry dusk.

That was 2007................................the year I found the love of my life.

The year of my rebirth.

Penitent's Prayer...

In the dark vault of pride...
And haven of doom...
Got buried my glory...
May be never to rise....
As pride intersected our course...

And left behind was me...With empty despaired hands...
And a void mind...
Rummaging through the past...
Trying to fathom ways....to bring u back.

I wanna crawl back to you..
though I know not how...
For I'm stuck in my self-woven cobwebs...
And I know not the way out...
Every following effort,embroils me further...
In this labyrinth of mine...

I'm perplexed...I know not the way to reach
my destiny...The strength do I lack...
I know not the way to pray thee...
To make you again turn back...
And see...
That its no more the same me...

Your jilted memories accomplished...
which years of love couldn't...
And hear I am waiting...with stretched arms
Promising a life...the way you dreamt

For every element of pride...
Today seems as a mirage to me...
And I'm penitent before you...
Begging...
on bruised knees...
To let me stay with thee.......

An Impassive Farewell...

It was the season of saying goodbyes...To part and cry...Try and forget...And then move on...

And yet,everyone seemed so excited...

Never could I imagine a farewell to be so awaited...Studies almost became secondary as everyone got busy with rehearsals.Even the vice-president had to come all the way to the college field for the 'official' valediction.And we had our pockets pinching with the remaining pocket-money 'coins'; the rest,half-heartedly though,being sacrificed for the same.

It was farewell season at my school too.It had to say goodbye to its father.After all,it was that first principal,who had created and fathered it for 15 years.It must have felt remorse to part from him.
And there was another fresh gang of boys and girls leaving school with eyes full of dreams and tears...It felt nice to become one batch senior.

Everything demanded a change...a fresh start.

Amidst our busy routines in and out of the lab,another sound accompanied the noise of clashing test-tubes and of steam forcing out of the oven.It was the cooing of a little creature stuck in a cage in one corner...an albino rat...our dear li'l Ross.

It had been an inseparable part of the lab...and an "important" member of the department as much as us.In fact it happened to get more attention than the professors.So much so,that we couldn't bear it as something 'inhuman' and gave it a gender recognition.It became "Mr.Ross".

Attending Ross,atleast once in a practical class,had become a habit for all of us.Some loved him,some liked,and some laughed...even some ignored.But Ross was there on everyone's mind.For some,giving feeding him was prior to any practical work.And the rest,with the excuse of work,happened to gather at the corner of the lab only to have a chat with Ross.What more...he was even the cynosure of the sports day march...being the tiniest participant on ground.Clad in his white furs with a blue cap,he proudly went leading us all through the parade with a hoarding behind,written-"ROSS-THE LAB PET".He caught the attention of every single soul on the ground,and maybe he was the reason for our runaway success in that march.We were announced the winners and plannings were started for the departmental picnic.All because of Ross.

Days kept passing on as usual,until one day we came to know..Ross is not well.Somebody demanded a bigger cage for him,but the crude answer was...he has lived his life and is soon going to die.It seemed a severely harsh retort,but authority has to have the last word.Some said he had cancer,some said not.Some wept at the thought of losing him,some seemed to be least bothered.But all got tensed on the whole..Ross was again on everyone's mind...It was then,we came to know that Ross was a girl.Tears turned to laughter and it momentarily made us oblivious of the tension.Ross was forgotten.

It was yet another morning we gathered at the departmental lab..all too busy with their work.Maybe it was the first day no one noticed Ross.It was the lab assistant to come up..in an unsure state of mind..and convey the news to us.

Ross has died.

Suddenly there were cries of disbelief throughout the lab.Everyone rushed towards the cage in one corner.Ross was still there..eyes closed..and hundreds of insects strewn all over her.Some couldn't accept the fact,and said she was having a nap.May be she was.But this one won't break and was going to last.Forever.

It was some one hour later that we somehow managed to get time out,for bidding a last farewell to Ross.On reaching the corner,we saw no sign of Ross.Or her cage.A hope sprang up.Maybe she was alive.And had been taken to the vet.Curious eyes searched her all through the lab..before they fell on the cage.The lab assistant was cleaning it once and for all.Our queries got answered by the pointing of a finger towards the terrace.Ross was getting buried by some seniors.Our rush to the terrace for one final sight was of no avail...Ross was already deep beneath the earth.......

Days have kept passing by the same way since then.The test tubes still clash and break..and the hot-air oven continues to get perturbed by the steam.We are still busy with our rehearsals for the farewell.And talks are being made for bringing two more rats in the lab for some research work.This time the cages should be larger.And there are plans for the picnic..And for sports day,next year.Amidst our busy routines,we still walk in and out of the lab.We have again tried and forgotten...and then moved on...but Ross will possibly stay in our minds,atleast for some long.Some will cry,some will lament...and yet some will be least bothered.But on the whole,may be we will always miss Ross.................Or may be not.

Rains that never returned...

Rains have always been a part of me. I can feel myself connect with the rain.
May be for the rest of the world,its just a few moments of downpour,bringing smiles on faces;or a seemingly never-ending process,causing disgust and wrinkles on forehead.It may be an object to love,a reason to celebrate,a peril to fear or a curse to hate.But after having known about the boons and massacres it has caused through ages, I have never been able to form my well-defined opinion about rain.

Rather rain didn't let me form an opinion about it...

It never appeared to me in its true self.....and has always been a hypocrite.It has been with me, in me; never as some separate entity called "rain".But always, as me.

I saw myself growing up with the rain.I can still recollect my toddler days when the faint sound of a drizzle on the rooftop made my heart pound with huge elation.It was right since then, that I actually started talking to the rain.

I remember the dusky midday,years ago at my parental house, when I heard the 'hammering' of rain on the window panes and got to know what is 'hail'.The whole noon was then spent collecting hailstones with father and big bro...and meticulously counting them to be the highest collector!

I recall the rainy mornings when dadu used to have differences with mom and aunt regarding me and bro going to school.We always used to support him silently, and as per the rule,majority always used to win.

The mornings thereafter have remained deeply imprinted on my mind.Though I was never a foodie, still the smell of khichudi and luchi-aloor dum coupled with the intoxicating smell of rain never failed to create an euphoric mood in me.

I still laugh to remind the surprise on everyone's face when I predicted rain on a fine sunny day and after minutes of sneering, it DID start to rain!
I have always been able to feel rain before it came...the first drop of water on ground gives me the amazing essence of drenched soil and wet meadows....saturated ponds and flooded streets....the essence of a holiday in Venice....the essence of finding me within me....

It was monsoon when I met, rather recognised, that "First person" in my life.
He reminded me of a windy evening after a scorching noon..flying dead leaves over a deserted street..shivers in the frigid northern wind..sound of breaking window panes and the familiar screams of unnecessary panic…
He reminded me of a Tagore song…and long solitary walks on rainfed gardens.He brought back loneliness in my 'fulfilled' life, and taught me to feel lost in the midst of a crowd.He gave me the chance to share new stories with the monsoon, experiences of my first-found love.

And it was another monsoon,he left......

Dadu was no more, big bro went miles away...And baba was also no more the same.He seemed to have grown up with his baby daughter.What didn't change was rain.

Grief went beyond my grasp...and familiar faces seemed foreign.I felt stuck at home with alienated figures.Loneliness pervaded all around.I had to love life that way.They say they love walking in the rain coz no one can see them crying.I disagree.I love rain coz it cries with me,unlike everyone else...

Until a magic wand struck....and everything changed.....

It was raining cats and dogs the day...
a magician came into my life...And showed me life the way it should have been...
He showed me after night there's day,after mistakes a chance and after every winter,comes a spring.
He showed me the rainbow after rain...
I learnt not to be happy being lonely and craved to hold his hand.To look at the polished side of the coin and overlook the dull side.To love and accept love with its hues...All over again.

It still rains the same way,but I miss the rains that reminded me the smell of my grandmom,my worn-out parental house,my childhood...I wish that angel had come into my life long back.And I could hold his hand and walk across those wet streets under the same heavy rains,for years to come.Wish my family would have been the same...

And all of us would have been together...ma,baba,dadu,thamma,dada,me and my angel....under the ethereal bliss of the rain....