Myriad Utopia

Estranged

2012-02-09T03:57:00.010+05:30

How is it, that, the paths we followed,
still exist; words,
swapped, over irrelevant banter,
pierced my brain and yet persist.

How so, has life moved
afar it’s sloppy feet,
and cumbersome years
have drifted apart,
from points wherein we meet.

Somewhere, the raven
takes to flight, in transparent,
buoyant skies; as laughter of,
once cherished friends,
gets seasoned with their lies.

You have been, and you will be
as I am here and me; recalled, beloved,
estranged my friend, from all that once was ‘we’.

Steel and Glass

2011-11-14T01:42:00.004+05:30

Are you of glass?
That cracks at every blow;
Transparent at heart,
Blown to size,
Shaped of air
And put up for show.

Or are you of steel?
Forged by fire;
Sharpened to blade,
Tempered, beaten
Hammered to shape;
For such forces made.

Pretty bowls
Of cracking glass,
Such pretty goblets
To gawk and pass,
Silently lost, in habitual abuse…

Or do you stand
Tall and jagged,
Blazing fire
Reborn in ashes,
Frequently lost, yet not to be used.

Death is a daily occurrence....end of life is only an outcome.

A Few Verses

2011-09-07T20:22:00.001+05:30

Here are a few verses by the American poet Edna St. Vincent Millay which echo to my heart. Simple writing of such complex emotions...That too in a time when women were discouraged from unconventional, independent thinking, her life was a testament to her liberal thinking and passionate experiences, much of which is reflected in her writing.

'The world stands out on either side
No wider than the heart is wide;
Above the world is stretched the sky, —
No higher than the soul is high.'
- "Renascence" (1912)

'It's little I know what's in my heart,
What's in my mind it's little I know,
But there's that in me must up and start,
And it's little I care where my feet go.'
- "Departure" (1918)

My candle burns at both ends;
It will not last the night;
But, ah, my foes, and, oh, my friends —
It gives a lovely light.
- "First Fig" (1920)

'Thus in the winter stands the lonely tree,
Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one,
Yet knows its boughs more silent than before:
I cannot say what loves have come and gone,
I only know that summer sang in me
A little while, that in me sings no more.'
- Sonnet XLIII: "What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why" (1923)

'Love is not all: it is not meat nor drink
Nor slumber nor a roof against the rain;
Nor yet a floating spar to men that sink
And rise and sink and rise and sink again;
Love can not fill the thickened lung with breath,
Nor clean the blood, nor set the fractured bone;
Yet many a man is making friends with death
Even as I speak, for lack of love alone.'
- Sonnet XXX from Fatal Interview (1931)

The Vagabond

2011-08-23T05:55:00.000+05:30

I'd like to go home

put up my feet and pet the dog

tea in a kettle

a disk in the player

smile a greeting

dinner together

herbs in the kitchen

books on walls

bread in the oven

peaceful halls

i'd like to go home

to some wine among'st friends

put pen to paper

take an evening stroll

sing a silly song

talk a days worth long

i'd like to go home

where is home?

Quotes on Current Thoughts

2011-07-16T03:30:00.000+05:30

"May your trails be crooked, winding, lonesome, dangerous, leading to the most amazing view. May your mountains rise into and above the clouds." - Edward Abbey

"Use what talent you possess: the woods would be very silent if no birds sang except those that sang best." - Henry Van Dyke

"There is nothing noble about being superior to some other man. The true nobility is in being superior to your previous self." - Hindu Proverb

"It is never too late to be what you might have been." - George Eliot

"Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn't do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover." - Mark Twain

"I complained that I had no shoes till I saw a man who had no feet." - unknown

"Man cannot discover new oceans unless he has the courage to lose sight of the shore." - Andre Gide

"You wouldn't worry so much about what people really thought of you if you knew just how seldom they do." - unknown

"I hope that my achievements in life shall be these-that I will have fought for what was right and fair, that I will have risked for that which mattered, and that I will have given help to those who were in need that I will have left the earth a better place for what I've done and who I've been." - Stedman Graham

My favorite and always standing true -

"In the midst of winter, I finally learned that there was in me an invincible summer." - Albert Camus

The Fall

2010-12-02T16:10:00.001+05:30

The snakes that writhed, under her skin,

have lately taken to silence.

Lulled by a pause in this madness,

they’ve curled into harmless compliance.

But She, who has seen that fall,

repeatedly - time and again;

She waits, perched on that edge

and laughs at their beguiled silence.

Golden rays fall,

on this city of fabled dreams;

and the hand, which traces the stone,

feels the cold of a hundred winters.

Moving through these streets,

half awake, She often dreams

of the lives she left behind;

in arid dust and a fistful of splinters.

And soon it will, as always be,

time again to take that fall;

and the cacophony of the snakes will sing,

like the devil’s scrumptious symphony.

The golden rays will dim with dusk,

this city of fables will turn into truth;

and any stories of ‘Me and You’ -

Will scatter away like empty husk.

Swollen clouds, of violet dreams,

await to burst, as She foolishly stalls;

and along with the innocent snow,

lurking behind, like darkness, She falls.

The Beach

2010-08-27T00:19:00.004+05:30

I was standing there, a minute or more,
with sand in my hair, salt on my face;
I was standing there, a second so still
when life blew me far, far from your shore.

And so it begins, as it always has,
the eternal circle - no beginning, no end;
what was, now isn’t;
what is, shall pass.

On this beach, where once we walked,
our footprints will fade, the moon will wane;
the swelling sea has swallowed our words,
no memories of us do now remain.

The sky beckons, I take my flight
and as I do, I remember that night
on the beach, so long ago, when we
saw a plane, with it’s twinkling light.

The Library that Dreams

2010-08-18T02:19:00.000+05:30

This was a presentation that I had done for my final research thesis viva in 2008. The topic was 'Architecture of Public Libraries as Civic Institutions'. Though the actual presentation was a power point slide show with no background score, I added the music and turned it into a video format. I am glad, that I could work on something which, I thought was an interesting and complex area. The emergence and re-definitions of new age libraries and the changing mediums of information are challenging the old ideas of libraries everywhere. The challenge was to look at how an idea of a 'Mediatheque' would work in Indian contexts, with such diverse cultural and socio-economic factors.
I wish that the next research I undertake brings similar learning and passion for my work.

Not Because of You

2010-08-14T17:19:00.003+05:30

It is a beautiful song:
The instruments fill the space
and the words my silence.
Once in a while;
like a jerky motion
In a moving car;
I feel a sharp tug
as I choke on my shallow breath.

Memories push on my limited space
and I fight a righteous battle,
to be free,
of you.
I have always loved this song
and will continue to,
even, if it comes with
residues of you.

This is the street we walked on:
how I adore its freshness;
the smell of brewed coffee,
from that bistro
where we used to meet sometimes,
that bookstore, which always
reminds me of you,
and your funny crooked smiles.

A restaurant here, an ice cream parlor there
a whole city somewhere;
all coated with shadows of you.
Shall I avoid them too?
My own loving world, painstakingly pieced
one brick at a time,
only by me.
Should I leave it all;
all because of you?

These are the songs I have loved, the food that I ate
the streets I have walked,
the friends that I made;
long before you.
This is the life I have lived, the dreams I have seen,
thoughts I have shared
and all I have been;
long before you.

I am a woman,
a friend, an artist, a lover;
and not
because of you.
I have made myself
and if, I break myself,
it’s not because of you.

The Captive

2010-08-12T20:18:00.007+05:30

The Unforgiven (instrumental) : Metallica

Photo credits

They shut him in a box

The day when he was born

Built of rigid rules

To which then he got sworn

With weaving of their truths

They cloaked his tender eyes

And coaxed his untamed tongue

To speak respectful lies

Now hatred chews his heart

Since many silent years

He flogs his captive soul

For all that he adheres

Ever gone

Ever torn

Ever known just what he’s shown

Never dream

Never seen

Never known what could’ve been

He’ll punish himself in shame

For all his dark desires

He hurts with old regrets

Of unconsummated fires

He wonders who to blame

Lashes blindly in the dark

He’s burdened with a guilt

That’s ripped him wide apart

Disguising indifference

In bitter sheets of care

He’s rejecting every word

Beyond what he can bear

Ever dead

Ever cold

Ever doubted what he’s told

Never be

Never live

Never learned how to forgive

(Inspired from the song 'The Unforgiven' by Metallica)

The Tuscan Dream

2010-08-10T17:37:00.009+05:30

Photo: 'Tuscany' --Marcin Sacha

http://pixdaus.com/single.php?id=71677

Last night I dreamt;
Within these dreams so many,
Last night I dreamt;
I dreamt of Tuscany

Rolling hills crested in green,
Glided along to sunflower fields;
She like you, sparkled in the sun,
Bright marigold in her tresses spun

Heathen blossoms bloomed so wild
And goblets swiveled with rich red wine;
Under her blue skies, we sat down to eat
As music strummed to the harvest beat

Laughter tinkled over truffles white,
White as your dress, your smile as bright;
Green olive branches clambered above
As twilight fell to songs of love

Last night I dreamt;
Within these dreams so many,
Last night I wept;
As I dreamt of Tuscany

Marcin Sacha is a Polish photographer. A link to his beautiful landscapes of Tuscany:
Amazing Tuscan Landscapes

The Charmer

2010-07-26T17:19:00.000+05:30

Good morning sunshine

You have the sweetest smile,

Good morning sunshine

Let’s sit and talk for a while

You, me and the tumbling blues,

Give me a dance, go put on those shoes

I say;

Never, ever

Have I felt this way;

As we swing around together

And sway

Hello sweet sunshine

Now, don’t give me your name,

Let’s drink some good wine

And continue this game

You and me in this downtown bar,

Let’s walk on the beach, or drive in my car

I say;

Now ‘n forever

I’ll hold you ‘n stay;

As we move ourselves closer

Just for today

I can see, that you

Wonder if it’s true;

And I so wish,

I wish that I knew

Insomnia

2010-07-22T10:00:00.002+05:30

It’s an all time record. 6:59 AM, 22cnd July, I haven’t slept all of last night. Not a wink. Not for one second. Not from any desire to set any records, not in an all night party (it’s happened before), not movie marathons, not soul absorbing books and not psychedelic dreams. The devil that’s devoured my sleep is my old companion…insomnia.

Insomnia is a strange malady. It prevents me from sleep and it prevents me from being productive, in spite of being alert as a befuddled owl. So now here I am in the wee hours of the morning, hungering for tea and toast, yet bone tired to move a muscle (as if I’d run some long distance marathon), and I cannot afford to drop my heavy eyelids to sleep as there’s too much to do in the day. I’m reminded of an episode of Tom & Jerry, where Tom has been out drinking with the ruffian alley cats, he comes home hung over and weary and he’s given orders to catch hold of Jerry. True to his form he attempts to tape his eye lids to his head to keep them up and when that fails, he paints a set of fake eyes on his closed lids (hmmm…now where are those bottles of paint?) If I recall correctly he even uses toothpicks to prop up the lids (too painful). Well, I’m wondering what I can do, other than tape, paint and poke my eyes to keep awake this morning? Coffee is obviously an option but suddenly it doesn’t seem appetizing at all. I wonder if insomnia can also steal my taste buds away.

A friend of mine seems to suffer from it too. We gather a grim solace from each other’s afflictions. These days he messages me once in the night to ask me if I’m awake too. No hard hitting conversations or even lighthearted banter. It’s just the crazy comfort of knowing that there’s someone out there who understands why you’ve suddenly turned nocturnal. We’re like bats in the night and with the blackening night we tend to get more ridiculous. I vividly remember one party where we’d both drank a bit more, zonked around like monkeys through the night, harassed a classmate to wake up at six in the morn and dragged him to have tea at a ‘thela’ much to his chagrin. Suffice to say I’ve sailed through whole nights, with or without alcohol. It’s probably not funny, I know, but when some things are simply there in your life; like a pimple on your face; what choice do you have but to get amused by it?

I’m not sleeping alone either. Nope, sire. I have company these days. Suddenly my intimate bedfellows have become my notebook, pen, laptop, hard drive and mobile. Really, I never manage to shove any one of them out. The blanket may fall out, the pillows may topple and I’d be half sitting/half sleeping (read slouching) with my legs cantilevering out; but the aforementioned items get a prize position in my bed.

The positive side of this problem is all the writing I have been able to do. Four posts in one night, another record. Not that they were all conjured up in one night, but still they got managed to be typed out from the indiscernible scrawl which they otherwise are. Obviously this post was written early this morning and has not emerged from a long struggle with pen and paper; which might explain its slightly absurd bent and ramblings about a cartoon cat!

Another irritating/useful aspect of being awake all night is that a song or a tune tends to get stuck in my brain. Irritating cause it of course doesn’t leave my head till well into the next day and sometimes even longer, so much so that it prevents any other tune from entering; useful because it makes me memorize the song. So the song stuck in my head since last night is this one amazingly beautiful song from the movie Ishqiya.

Dil To Bachcha Hai

Thank all the gods of the night for wondrous haunting melodies.

The Boy Next-door

2010-07-22T03:46:00.000+05:30

He was shy and he was sweet;
The boy- next door,
He lived on my street

He’d be buried in books
Or dreaming away,
Staring the world
In an unusual way

And you could see
He loved his life,
Despite of living
With hurt and strife

He spoke so soft
I didn’t hear his name;
He looked so lost
I’d doubt he was sane

Still now and then
His eyes would alight,
Mocking me when
I’d much rather fight

I didn’t care,
He’d come and go;
I knew he’d be there
When I’d get so low

The years passed us by
And I got to know,
As time chose to fly
We had to grow

As life pulled that rug
Just beneath his feet,
He gave me a shrug
And moved from my street

I just assumed
He’d someday explain,
How he’s consumed
In grieving and pain

But life made him sore
And edges appeared,
The boy from next door
He disappeared

As he grew tall
His eyes became cold,
Then in that fall
He looked so old

And so did I fear
For the boy I had known,
As it grew clear
That he walked alone

Once I had seen
Truth in his eyes,
Now how it’s been
He’s courting with lies?

He’d put on a mask
To charm his way through
And I couldn’t ask
What turned him askew?

He learned his games and he played his moves;
The boy next-door,
He just couldn’t loose

Music

2010-07-22T03:13:00.000+05:30

She crept onto me
And captured my voice,
Compelling me,
In having no choice

When sunset comes
I feel her inside,
And softly she hums
To the sea-faring tide

When tears they gather
On these eyelashes,
She strokes like a feather
And soothes the gashes

She echoes within,
Erasing my sin
And whispers to me,
Of songs that have been

She breathes for me
And I live for her,
Singing to be
She dispels my fear

Let it be

2010-07-22T02:33:00.001+05:30

photo: http://www.poeticsedition.com/dancing-with-gypsy-girl/

Ok, this once, I’ll let it go
Lift up my head and let it snow,
Give into rain and let it fall
Turn on my feet, not wait and stall.

Ok, this once, I’ll walk down that path
Soak in adventure and give up my heart,
Treasure this trip and hope for the best
Hold onto now and give up the rest.

So let it be
There’ll still be tomorrow,
So let it be
Now where is the sorrow?
Can you let it be?
It’ll be what will be,
Just let it be
And fly out so free.

Ok, this once, I’ll unfold the songs
Dream of the rights and block out the wrongs,
Empty these pockets and travel alone
Light up that fire and learn on my own.

Ok, this once, I’ll make love to the world
Pick up the pieces of what I have hurled,
Savor this taste of unfamiliar feel
Intoxicate myself to lie down and heal.

So let it be
There’ll still be tomorrow,
So let it be
Now where is the sorrow?
Can you let it be?
It’ll be what will be,
Just let it be
And fly out so free.

Children of Heaven

2010-07-18T17:55:00.002+05:30

Photo: 'Every child is an artist...' Chandni Dossani

http://www.flickr.com/photos/30315335@N04/4670881478/in/set-72157623920754913/

Down this park
In abandon screaming
Sliding down that slide
Do you remember?
I was ten and you eleven,
Loving and living
Spinning every ride,
We the children of heaven.

Eve after eve
Shadow and light
Amongst the dewy field
Do you remember?
You and I, the world forgotten,
Forsaking our plight
Such fantasies we yield,
We the children of heaven.

And then you came
Eyes burning red
Hands veiling your face
Do you remember?
Purple wounds festering to blacken,
Hanging your head
Pouring disgrace,
We the children of heaven.

Ever and ever
Hiding and running,
Gulping down shame
Do you remember?
Innocence grabbed, elation taken,
Left with burning
This insidious game,
We the children of heaven

But in that alley
I saw you again
Holding that knife
Do you remember?
Where did I miss it? How did it happen?
You took our pain
And bartered your life,
We the children of heaven.

Paul oh Paul!…How the Mighty Fall…

2010-07-09T02:01:00.000+05:30

Now I know that FIFA is all about….well…football. But, it can’t be denied anymore that, a large chunk of the entertainment value of FIFA 2010, stems from an eight legged cephalopod mollusk, fondly called Paul. Well I am not going to get into the global impact of Paul’s oracular prowess, nor am I going to get into the nitty gritties of Paul’s refined techniques in crawling over boxes and predicting winning teams ( Paul the Octopus - for anyone too keen or woefully ignorant ). Hey, if you gave me free food every day and a crowd to cheer me on I’d develop astrological skills too!...and I’m just a bipedal.

No. What I would like to examine here, is how Paul has succeeded in making my past few days inexplicably lighter. Where very loving albeit slightly freaked out family and friends, gazillions of brain draining television programs (ugghh ), scores of torturous movies (I Hate Love Storys….HELP!!!!), gossipy newspapers bad enough to be used as toilet paper and an endless supply of books have partly failed; Paul Der Krake has nailed it!

Imagine, getting up every single day with a list of long unfinished tasks, unanswered questions, unending concerns and a general hysteria of the mad mad world; wondering where exactly has that giggling laughter, the one which makes you double over and breathless with its intensity, gone? Where has that carefree light heartedness gone?

Amongst piling bills, alarming shocks, broken hearts and an out of control life; Paul is like a breath of fresh air...er…perhaps sea breeze…or fishy smells….oh whatever!...you get what I’m saying! At work the other day, I had an almost fatalistic feeling of doom, you know, those unrelenting questions – ‘What the hell am I doing here!!?’ ‘Where is all this taking me!?’ past, present, future....blah blah blah…. bomb blasts, petrol hikes, economy, jobs…….one’s mind tends to do a samba/hip hop on a tightrope every single second!....So there I was sitting, head threatening to blow apart, heart heavy with pain….and suddenly the only thing I could think was…’Somewhere in Germany an octopus is predicting football match outcomes!!’

Seriously…it’s the sort of thought which can tip you into suppressed chuckles right in the middle of deadlines and life crises. I mean forget Ganesha idols drinking milk, holy messages in fruit and vegetables and statues weeping away; what are random miracles compared to the 100% accuracy our ‘suckered’ friend has exhibited in FIFA 2010 matches so far? It seems Paul has even branched out this time and is not simply going to limit himself to predicting outcomes of the German team, but is also going to be the key soothsayer of the final showdown between Netherlands and Spain.

The high point of the drama came about when the grieving Argentineans threatened to cook and eat Paul for his prediction of their 4-0 disaster against Germany. Adding woe to this misery was the addition of furious German fans for whom, overnight, their miracle oracle has turned out to be a national traitor. Suddenly recipes for all kinds of octopus dishes are popping up everywhere and German soccer fans are discussing whether Paul should be fried, sprinkled with olive oil and Spanish paprika or stewed with potatoes. Poor Paul. All this for having nine brains (1 in its head and 8 in its arms) and psychic abilities!!

It’s enough to know that in amidst all kinds of chaos, misery and disasters there is still an octopus somewhere providing avenues for chuckles, giggles, outright gut wrenching laughter, international pandemonium and recipe exchange. Let him live I say; let him be the symbol of lighthearted , absurd and humorous human tendencies which inflict us all with smiles and laughter.

Photo Credit: Paul der Krake

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nGkuiKAxtwI&feature=related

Song of My Soul

2010-07-06T13:29:00.001+05:30

I walk below the starry skies
On green Earth I rest my feet;
Alive, awake with luminous eyes,
I dance, entranced to your heartbeat.

I am maker and destroyer
Goddess, queen and whore;
Wanton lover, blazing warrior,
The innocent child you bore.

Entwined, twisting, writhing away;
Caressing gently, completely whole.
Where do you search? Beside you I lay
Sleeping softly - your wandering soul.

Haiku

2010-07-06T02:47:00.001+05:30

Photo: www.vangoghgallery.com

Slots and shapes -
A board called life
Emptiness gapes

//

Autumn rain;
Bitterness in thin strips
numbing the pain

//

Leaves like gold
A lake of molten ice
Reflections so old

he who hath peace...

2008-12-02T14:06:00.000+05:30

if i were to envy one soul,
it would be one with blackened dreams,
one whose neither eye nor heart turns
as comrades pass on to yonder realms.
nor does his chest constrict
while the carcass of his friends burns.

what languid sleep he has been bestowed
one who harbors nor eternal friends
neither claws upon faces of hateful foes

Photo Album

2008-11-29T15:34:00.000+05:30

There is this strong sense that overwhelms me when I look at old photographs. It is difficult to give it a specific name... but the sense is almost akin to the sense of a loss. They maybe funny photos, where I most definitely don't like the way I used to look or the set of clothes I was wearing or the circumstances and background or my silly expressions... but it was still me. A part of me; which is now not there.
A picture can capture and freeze your entire life in that one moment and keep it locked there, while you move on and you move away. The picture can sometimes show you aspects of your life, aspects of yourself which in the rush of that moment you managed to overlook.
In a sense a photo album contains bits and pieces of you which you kept losing on the way in your life to become the chiseled person that you stand today. In another sense it can also show the precious parts that you lost which could today have enhanced yourself more.
As I see myself in one old picture after another...starting from old almost sepia photographs to sharp digital ones... I can see myself transform. If I bother to look very minutely I can even point out the exact photograph in which I lost a particular part of me.

But on the brighter side there are even a handful of pictures where I've gained a lot. Maybe more than what I've lost.
In the hundreds of lives that I have lived in every photograph, somewhere, I have lost myself. To find myself maybe I need to close that old photo album and get up. Get myself prepared to click some new pictures. Sillier ones, crazier ones; but more importantly pictures which will freeze up a part of my life in that moment and give me in return a new part of my life.
Pictures..... Your life within that split second of a moment....