L-word

They think they are in love. And it’s beautiful. But the truth is something else. Just like that word they don't know yet. Owing to poor vocabulary, the couple is quietly going with the template. What’s the big deal? It’s just another borrowed word. Nevertheless, the two often find themselves on a plane that's surely higher than love. They don't seek perfection nor aspire to be unique. Their faces don’t meet each other but their fingers do. While time can’t wait, they can. With every passing day, patience has become their daily mantra. Not entirely rosy, everything reeks of sadness sometimes. Love is in despair — maybe. They neither believe in tags nor in claiming happiness. They just let the other person be. One day, they’ll appreciate the distance that separates them. Or the closeness they share instead. Until then, they won’t bother themselves with that word that eludes them.

Moments of silence

Isn't it marvelous how some of the most beautiful moments happen without any exchange of words? Of course, conversation has its own ring to it but still, when compared to sound, silence lasts a bit longer. We humans take things for granted and if one of those things is silence, then lesser we say about it the better. I can go on and on about how i've seen beauty manifest itself in a soundless backdrop. But i won't. I've got just two such instances for now. And both have to do with my childhood.

1991: We were new to Bombay. My mother had recently lost my brother's twin to death in our village so my dad decided to move us to his city. There weren't many sentences spoken between the two of them. However, it was alright. Silence works part-time as a balm when actions fail. One particular day, we were traveling in a local train and our station was approaching. I remember my dad guiding the way out for us. He was standing near the footboard and my ma was standing right behind him on his left with my brother in her arms. I was on her right. What i remember vividly is her holding on to my dad's untucked shirt for support. Those subtle moments taught me that everything was indeed alright between them.

1994: A grandmother's love for her grandkids is nothing extraordinary. They are put on earth to bide time and make life cheerful for their ungrateful kids' kids. At least for the major part. My grandma was a person of few words but she absolutely adored me. I only remember her talking to us through stories. But what i distinctly recollect of her personality is that afternoon we went to this old temple in Mangalore. Hindus priests have this custom of handing out prasadam after the devotees are done with darshan. I guess it was my lucky day because i received a laadu from the janeu-wearing gentleman. But i was in for much more. My grandma decided to share her share of spoil and earnestly handed me the sweet she got along with the rest of us. All i remember her doing was pointing her index finger to her lips with a smile trapped behind it. 

One love, two forearms

Today stands for everything loneliness sits on. In case if you are in Afghanistan, it's Valentine's Day. One of the finest outcomes of human civilization. In fact, second only to material consumerism. However, there are forever-alones lurking on this planet who don't know what to do with themselves on this specific day. Better put, they don't know what role they play—if at all, that is—in the grand schemes of romantic permutations. You can't blame them. They are singles who've got nothing to do with tennis. Their singledom manifests itself in their hands every now and then. Or fingers. Whatever. So apparently, the worst part about being single is you are single. At least it appears that way from the outside. If you're poor too, then God bless you! Being single and broke might teach you invaluable lessons in microfinancing but it doesn't provide the economy with the much-need love-me-love-you boost it annually requires in February, you see? And it is quite bizarre to celebrate Valentine's Day when you pretend to be deeply in love with yourself. You just don't know what to do. You can't blend in. That is passé. So what do you do? You become invisible to the choices that lie ahead of you. For instance, you download movies that got nominated at Oscars. You download movies that got criminally snubbed at Oscars. You somehow go through the day ignoring the colour red that dominates the visuals on your streets and in office. You wonder whether you should start sniffing around as well. Maybe it's just a one-day phase and you won't need someone tomorrow. However, single life is difficult when both your forearms hate you. 

“You are too awesome to be single!” - a girl you like who is not single

PS: Dear penis, happy Valentine's Day.

Blossoms of monsoon

One rainy night, he looked out of his window and then peeked into himself. The contrast between crowd and loneliness was evident like never before. He pondered for a minute and then took out his smartphone to foolishly text "I think I'm falling for you!" to an unsuspecting female friend. She, on the other side of the town, picked up her cellphone in return and read his loud message under her noiseless breath. Since chivalry was synonymous with this guy, it was bit of a shock to her to receive something as straightforward as this from a person like him. Well, love indeed makes people act in irreversibly weird ways. So she too decided to act weirder and didn't reply a word. But then she couldn't sleep either and the same was true about her poor cellphone. After all, she kept reading the message again and again as if it revealed her entire future. In the end, she replied "Think again!" unlocking a brand new gate of conversation.

Through the looking glasses

Grandma appeared upset. Even the smallest of things managed to trouble her. As if the whole world was taken to conspiracy. Or maybe, it had. For somebody who went to college in the 1940s despite taking birth as a girl, she didn't exude her nice ole literary charm anymore. On the contrary, she just came across as someone unabashedly grumpy and distressed. Something troubled her like anything. Nobody in the family could guess what it was. Some assumed that grandpa's recent departure is to be blamed. After all, she was an altogether different person before he decided to settle in heaven. Others zoomed on senility that often accompanies wrinkles. The drama continued for quite a stretch. In the meanwhile, although everything else bore the brunt of her disdain, her beloved grandson was spared any of the absurdity. And deservedly, it was he who figured out her problem... and fixed it too! Apparently, he used to watch her watch him through her thick glasses. So it didn't take him long to notice where exactly the problem lied. Turns out her spectacles had clouds of sticky marks, fingerprints and whatnot on them that obstructed her view. On the brink of his rather short life's greatest troubleshooting, he set himself to work and scrubbed the glasses neatly. Lo! She could see things properly again. With her past vision back, her nature changed for good. But what she couldn't acknowledge clamorously –– and what her grandson didn’t know –– was the fact that her late husband used to clean her specs. Almost every single day. Once upon a time.

Remember Me

[I just watched this movie "Venus" which had my all-time favorite actor, Peter O'Toole and while watching, these lines sprang into my empty mind.....]

When the darkness falls on your brow,
and you don't see nor you know,
just remember me, my love
for I loved you, more than I can ever show.
I cried every time I saw you disappear
and I kept your memories close to my eyes
closer to my dreams and closest to my mind
these words can never fathom
the kind of feel
I have for your gaze
your rising image and my falling knees,
the depth of your blessing rays on me
you were to go sooner or later,
you had to leave;
It just happened well before you go,
before loneliness struck my life
and killed its glow
but remember me, my love
for I loved you, more I can ever show.

South Indian Motorcyle Trip...

I’ve been talking of traveling since I came to know that there was a world out there. So at last, I’m going to do that. Travel. And see for myself what exactly is on the road and beyond.

Like Prophet Mohammad said, “Don’t tell me how much you studied. Just tell me how much you traveled.” Well, I can’t actually tell any one how much studied because I don’t even have a degree to boast so I better stick to the traveling plan to avoid shame!

According to our plan, we will be leaving on bike early morning tomorrow (Tuesday, 1st December, 2009) from Sanpada, Navi-Mumbai and will endeavor to cover at least 3000 km on road straight towards Kerala’s northern district of Kasargod. This road trip will last for more than a fortnight and will definitely kill our backs. Hopefully, I won’t be riding the bike because my partners, Tushar and Lawry, won’t trust me with their bike thanks to my unreliable riding skills. So I guess I’ll be switching pillion-seats which I wish it to be an easier job!!!

Our plan is simple; we will stick to NH-9 and try to reach Solapur on our first day out. Then stay the night there and head towards Bagalkot and then towards Hampi, followed by Shimoga and Udupi and then towards the kissing edge of Karnataka and Kerala. We won’t enjoy Goa on our way down but will sneak in while coming back.

Tushar is the mastermind behind this trip and Lawry is the supporting “lever” behind the total plan and I’m definitely sitting “behind” these two geniuses! By the way, my Ma who is currently in Mangalore, is worried that we are starting the damn journey on Tuesday and she wants us to postpone the event but superstition hardly matters to us so sorry Amma!

I’m getting a lot of advice from people I meet be it real or internet-induced and all are saying, “It’s going to be tough!” It won’t be an easy job but I guess its time we took this decision because we all are bored of our monotony and need a punch or a kick or a crash or a screech to pinch us alive!

I’m allergic to sunlight like that Vampire from Twilight (Hahaha) so I guess I’ll be having a real rough time under sun. But after spending the last two years of my life working in a graveyard shift, it will be all worth it! And I sincerely hope my stupidity don’t kill me or anyone as its not their fault that they are my friends!!!

Confessions

There are million of topics to cover. Still, I’ve decided to write about my mother. It has something to do with recent “developments” around me. She turned 57 yesterday. And we celebrated it for the first time! Birthdays aren’t a big event in our household especially after my younger brother’s demise that happened too soon and too long back.

Lately, I haven’t been good to her and of course, I feel bad about it. And the worst thing is, she never changed a bit towards me. I did the changing part. The same old love, the same old care, the usual insecurity about my future. I wasn’t this bad when I was a kid. She used to call me “bangaar baaley” which in Tulu translates to “Golden Kid”. I hardly troubled her with my studies because I was an above average kid in school whereas my younger bro, Sai, was terrible and a pathetic student. He kept my poor amma (mom) on her heels.

But times change, don’t they? Today, he is the blue-eyed boy who picked himself up and made strides to book himself among the brights whereas I left the corridor of success to wander in the delight of carelessness. I don’t blame anything or anyone for my current state of disarray but the only one person who really suffered was she. She placed huge hopes and labor to realize her dreams of seeing me like my former schoolmates and friends are now.

She was supportive even when I told her I wanted to be a writer. My dad didn’t had a clue how a writer becomes a writer. But she had her doubts and those doubts took the better off her. She was misled into believing that writers or academicians had no “healthy” future. Remarkably, she didn’t coerce me into engineering. I was just listless so I must admit she just did her part of a good mother, accompanying me to colleges for rounds of application and cut-offs. She was always there trying to catch up with my quick steps.

I didn’t complete my graduation. Let alone complete, I didn’t attend even college properly or appeared for exams. Instead I was lost in my world of words and poem. I was sinking in the quicksand of world cinema. I used to bunk college to attend film festivals all over Mumbai. I did everything that I was already doing in Nashik but at least I was studying well there. Here, I was a thorough truant, possessed and a confirmed variant. Ultimately I left engineering for good in 2008.

She is a pious lady so she was appalled when I decided to discontinue practicing the religious rituals I was used to since I was a kid. That too disappointed her a bit but she never wailed or made a big fuss out of it. Although at times, she did made it known that maybe, I was paying for disservice towards God. She thought my mind was clouded. I just laughed it off and I still laugh.

Even on the day of cancelling admission, I remember her talking to the clerk with poignant expression and asking her “whether “it was common for students to leave engineering?” She is naive but honest. I exploited every bit of it.

She is beloved. Everyone loves her. She used to be crowded by my friends during school days whenever she came for exam paper checking day. Even today, my colleagues at office seemingly feel that I’m the “bad guy” in the play. They are right, nonetheless.

One of my closest friend, Afzal, lost his mom last week and I saw him cry for the very first time in our five years of contact. I can’t even fathom the kind of lost he must be feeling. How can you ever replace someone as vital as you mother? Will I be able to make it outside if there isn’t a mother inside my home? Was I really not a mama’s boy and just pretended to be papa’s champ? Questions kept flooding and are still flowing in. Mothers are just great and that’s exceptionally natural.

So, yesterday, I decided to cut off from my usual classes and decided to surprise her by taking her to an eatery nearby and it was one great affair. While Its funny how I never took my mother anywhere because I was busy with my movies, Internet, poems and words. Sai was the one doing the things a son is supposed to. I was busier calling him “amma’s pet”! By the way, she wanted me to visit my barber as a birthday gift!

I wish she lives a happy life and find a day to see me as someone I want to be-contend and free. But she is of the old mode so it will take time and I’m going to make the best of that time available. I’m going nowhere. I’m just going to change.

Loving you

What is there to love, except,
some words of wit, cadence of praise
in bountiful lores of delicious taste,
a beguiling line of face called smile
and thunderous call called words
blood flowing like ink of life
writing stories of endless pain and plight
and cute ears that listens to mine,
and sweet sight called gaze of eyes
that cries and begets my lies
every single line, every single time.

Felt by me

If only words knew what i wanted to say now,
I must be lonely forever or I am in love....
missing all the moments, the sweet little time
with you and your smile that brightened my life!
It must have been a dream or some spell
that I saw your eyes and couldn't tell
whether it was a mirage or was it real
but whatever it was, it was deeply felt....
and i guess i must be in love with me
I must be a narc and I just can't see
the beautiful spark in your eyes,
your honest beauty and my wicked lies.

I wish I could write down...

I wish I could write down like I used to... but now-a-days its more like laziness has crept over me and I'm stranded inside of me. I'm working two jobs 6 1/2 days a week to make sure my idle mind doesn't get it fodder for devil and my pocket stays comfy. But still I'm getting all weaned up of my earlier creative side which included newspaper clippings and poems and stories and novels alike.

I wish I could write down like I used to... about the times I felt like killing my wrist and live but I never did it and instead used to pen, to write down the shame. I wrote down everything that I felt under sunburn. Today, I'm writing it all but not in details like I used to. My words are not as sharp as it was with life before, with narrow tips and broader lips, I used to catch all my figments with words.

I wish I could write down like I used to... with angst and pangs and songs and dance performed by paragraphs and stanzas and quarts and limericks and acrostics and haikus. But those were the times when I had lot of time to gaze into the greenery around the emptiness of sky and the cloud of rains and smile. I laughed a lot then with hardly any care of how the brutal world could get and how wrong was I.

I wish I could write down like I used to... of endless anecdotes I'd love to entail for legacy to be made out of me. I know this futile dream of fame and glory for my work which I haven't did, is so true to me. Its so numbingly naive and full of dices and displays of luck at every crossroad of time. I don't desire to be read now for I don't care anymore. I just wish to write like I used to.

I wish I could write down like I used to... like I'm doing now...

Roger Federer's French Victory!

Yesterday, on June 7th, 2009, Roger Federer won the French Open Title for the first time ever, after being denied the exclusive Musketeers Cup by Rafael Nadal for the past 4 years and thus, once and for all he proved that he doesn't have to answer any more questions related to '"Who is the best player ever?" debate.... coz the verdict is out... HE IS AND HE WILL BE THE BEST EVER.....

How many players of any era can claim to have such long success on tour as he did... how many players can claim lore and legends to their closet like he does and that too at the age of 27!... and no other player enjoy crowd support like he does due to his calm demeanor, no fuss, no controversy lifestyle, his fluency in more than 3 languages, his school boy looks and no doubt, his exceptional ease on the court with his racket and his executive shots...

This isn't the end of a jinx... its just a beginning of an incredible story for ages to come and ponder and wonder that a boy from the shadows of Alps came up to conquer the tennis world with huge dreams in his eyes and an impatient fire in his belly.... and eventually did, unsurprisingly!

No wonder, after his grand success in a finale, he is heaped with praises from every corner of the tennis world, from almost every old-timers who carry value to their words are validating his claim to history as the best tennis player ever. One of these "worder" was a guy featured against him in the final itself, Robin Soderling from Sweden who overcame a bevy of top ranked players in the tournament including Nadal, Ferrer, Davydenko and Gonzalez but conspicuously looked like a novice on the court and in his own admission said, "Federer makes me play bad...."

Like some say, Federer is the best player ever and that is certified by the best player ever himself (read Rod Laver!!!).

CELL SHOCK

Everybody loves his/her cellphone. It has become an integral part of urbane (and mundane) life that makes it quite inextricable in sensible thinking. I too loved my cellphone. It wasn’t a fancy Blackberry or NSeries but still it was dear to me. We literally slept together, I on the pillow and it beneath it. All was going fairy tale well until this morning at around 4, when out of sudden it wasn’t there anymore. It got lost. Or stolen. Or maybe lost and then probably stolen. Anyway I was the crying baby on either side of the argument. For the record, this is my third mobile which I successfully lost in the last four years. So that validates my absent-mindedness and my declining faith in humanity!

The first thing you feel after losing your mobile is utter desperation, a kind of vacuum. This feeling has nothing to do with your mistake of being so careless. It is very nascent in its purest form. You start reminiscing who was the last person you called. From whom did you got your last SMS. How will you get all the contact numbers back. By the way, the last SMS I received was from my dear friend Tanmay who informed about Rooney’s 55th second goal against Wigan. I was thrilled like anything for Man U topping Liverpool soon, unaware of getting my mobile vanished for good just an hour or two later.

Cellphones to most of us is a link to outside world. It connects us exponentially to people irrespective of the impending distance in between. It is a benevolent invention in spite of constant scientific threats availing it as radiating toxics into our brain (through ear!) and even low sperm count (due to closeness!). Besides, people don’t live with nothing to dare anymore. All are dangling on the edge of danger and who cares about invisible radiation when there are so many visible and imminent vices staring us right in the eye. Radiations are like cellphone stealers, I must add. Both can’t be seen.

Coming back to anguish and self-pity, after realizing this vacuum, there flashes the torch of practical bereavement. And foremost of it is the money put behind the gadget, the balance in it, the numbers, birth dates of friends, notes and gods-know-what. You start cursing yourself for being so birdy and also for not noting down the numbers in a diary or something. Balance is not a major issue in most cases because we all know the stealer is not stupid enough to make a call that will come back to him and nab him. Mostly, it’s a safety measure practiced by ‘expert stealers’. So your balance is assured but what about everything else. You have developed a connection that is so strong and unique with this petite inorganic device. There is very few non-living creatures with whom you might be able to develop such a bond viz. iPod. But then again, the list is too small to allow competition. How many electronics gadgets do you sling along with your wherever you go? Very few, in fact very, very few. And luckily, mobile is one of them.

It not only transcends words in both verbal and textual form but also keeps it intact and affirmed in its record, thus building the lost human touch carved in by time and distance. You won’t take your computer along with you to the market or even laptops are pretty much elite in this case. Mobile with its granular size and indispensable necessity can squeeze in, anywhere, anytime. India is by the way one of the largest cell using nation in the world and no surprise, huge cell phone companies are using national sentiments in advocating their products. People are generally emotional. They talk, argue, gossip, chat but in the end, words fill up something that was missing. Mobile does that job today. Earlier telephones were employed for vis-à-vis but still telephone wasn’t ubiquitous, at least not in a developing country for sure. Cellphone is not a luxury like telephones used to be. It’s like an everyday necessity now, standing on the same scale of usage to a doctor and a temple priest as well.

After weeks of advertising how good a movie SLUMDOG MILLIONAIRE is, I’m getting back in business with cellphone spiel! However, the funniest part of all this tragedy was the look on my face when I realized my cell wasn’t in my pocket. You should ask another dear friend Tushar who witnessed this wretched hilarity. It takes courage to overcome errors. You need to be careful so that moments don’t catch you unawares. Losing a mobile phone is one thing and losing it repeatedly is another. If you don’t learn from your mistakes, then you lose the right to err. I haven’t lost my right yet, though!

After all, it was just a mobile, right. Whatever the nostalgic story be behind its success and fame, it’s still just a plastic plated, rubber padded, radiation emitting equipment that could be replaced anyhow. There are much more important things out there that could cast a horror in your life if you lost them, for say, your mind, your touch of reality, your sense of knowing your friends and family. That would be truly terrible. I’ve watched this splendid movie Away from Her and I can say it must be something else. As for me, I’ve got myself a Rs.500 ugly looking third-hand mobile. It reminds me of my penitence to be more attentive about stuffs around. My dad pasted me an unforgettable quote on hearing my predicament, “If you keep on losing things like this, I wonder, whether you’ll remember not to lose yourself someday.”

A story of a famous waiter

He was born in 1947, a few months before we attained independence. My granny used to say he was all white like milk but weak when he was born and had this rosy lips that was later talk of the village. He grew up to be 14th child of my grandparents and the progeny ultimately ended at 18th child. Unfortunately, only 7 offspring saw more than 10 years of life. That was mainly blamed on poor nutritional value and foreboding.

My dad was named Sunder which meant "beautiful" appropriately. He was a sincere boy and used to do all the chores as expected and very naive too, unlike his elder brothers. Many a times, it so happened that he was the one sleeping empty stomach while the younger siblings got rice. He attended school but complemented it with household and farming errands like collecting dungs, drawing well water and et al. He seemed to enjoy these hard work to flipping pages of book. Apparently, he left school at the age of 13 after attending his mid-term exams which he, no doubt must have failed, owing to poor attendance which was mainly due to his dad's failing health and demanding need of people at farm. My grandpa had better things laid out for him. At least he thought it was so. He left school, now he left the village and set out for Bombay.

He landed on Bombay in the year 1960 and this was the period of conspicuous panic and turmoil since Bombay was drafted to its minimal boundary and Maharashtra and Gujrat was drawn on lingual basis. No doubt, there were some linguist and regional tensions going on then. He spend his initial one month wandering from one place to another with hardly anything to lean on. He did menial jobs, earned too little to save and slept on jutecloth sacks. He once told me that he was given Rs. 13 by his father while leaving his native and half of it was spent on travelling.

This gloomy period was soon to end as one day, he was spotted by this Gujrati-speaking Parsi rich and was given table-cleaner's job at a small bistro-like place. He is still grateful of that one touch of kindness that provided him proper mat for sleeping and ample water to wash. This continued for about a year or so when suddenly he got a note from his brother who had got himself a job in Pune. My dad was earnestly sent for to fill up vacancy there. Without any second thoughts, he escaped. He had to escape because he knew that he was now quite an asset to the working place and won't be let off with ease.

He arrived in Pune in the summer of 1962. Pune wasn't anything like it is now. It was rather dull and wildly empty to say. But my dad was more than happy to be there in comparison to Bombay as he was homesick and wanted someone from his family to behold. So he got this job, again as a table-cleaner at a small hotel run by some Mr. Nayak. He worked there and was "promoted" to water boy and this went on for less than a year when he was asked to fill in for some waiter who was absent. Dad impressed all with his serving skill and memory. Now, there wasn't any need of a genius in a hotel and neither my dad was one but its a tradition in an Udupi Hotel for a waiter not to write down the orders and to serve all the orders mentally without any note to remind. He did superb and it stayed on like that for good long time.

Now, by the year 1966, he realized that Bombay was a better option because he wanted to do something else with his life, something in business, for option. So he left Pune and headed to Bombay again. Here once again, he donned the role of waiter at a place called Madras Cafe which was in King's Circle. This joint was quite renowned and was a daily pilgrimage for students and teachers from nearby campus. He was quickly took a liking to by all and girls in particular, if my uncles are to be believed. They even say some of them were deadpan smitten by him that they even proposed! My dad, being the person he is, still undermines this anecdotes. But he did said once that there was this girl studying at Khalsa College who was in awe of his eyebrows and she always used to wait for his table to get empty so that she can get his service. Bizarre but my dad had other plans and wasn't keen on romance with nubile wealthy students. He worked there for five years and remembers serving today's superstar Akshay Kumar who was a student then at nearby place and used to take lunch at his place regularly.

In early 1972, he was asked by the owner of Madras Cafe, Mr. Shetty to transfer his service to Saroj Hotel which was located at Chembur. He couldn't say no though he was a bit disappointed considering the camaraderie you strike with most of the customers there. He left and joined Saroj Hotel and was again blowing off competition, if any, with his dedication and hard work. He was good looking, better with four plates on his hand, moved swiftly, talked softly and was good with numbers too. This all helped him again to establish genial relationships with customers. He remained a waiter at Saroj till 1996. Then one day, he was asked by Mr. Shetty's son, Rohit to work as a manager. Considering his time as a waiter for almost 35 years, this step was inevitable.

He was made third manager since there were already two working since long time. Dad was assigned with stuff related to banks, accounts, Municipal clearings, taxes which required him talking with bigshots and he was clearly a charming personality to chat and discuss. He was accepted into the fold of managerial clan. It wasn't all easy coz most of the times customers were awestruck to see him in formals roaming the corridors looking out for customer satisfaction and proper disposal of service. Some old customers haven't seen him before in anything other than formal uniform topped by a traditional waiter's cap. But his run continued with a demeanor which made him one of the famous person on the streets of Chembur and even struck a chord with innumerable faceless customers that he met and made sure to leave a etch on.

This story seems all rosy and colorful but it wasn't always so. My dad is and was a reasonable man with virtuous lining but he too wanted to do good. so he tried other avenues of success. He once opened a pan-shop in Mazgaon Dock area which was later usurped by his dear brother, fraudulently. My dad, even to this day has no malice in his heart for this treachery. He earned fine money due to the kind tipping gestures of his customers. He made records with quick serving and multitasking tables. He was sort of a legend of his own.

Today, he is 62 and wishing to retire off in the quiet of his native. He is still working though his pension is up. He still feels that working as a waiter was something more fulfilling coz it had nuances of customers attached immediately to the whole process. He still remember the great doyen of CINEMA, Mr. Raj Kapoor who was a regular customer owing to the presence of R.K. Studio in vicinity, who according to my dad, was a big niggard, unlike his siblings who were a bit too "noble".

My dad always used to say when i was a kid that he didn't want me to be a waiter and that's the reason why he's working double shifts to fill up expense. He was unfazed by his goodness and that's quite unique considering the tag we attach to someone who is good and then ruin his goodness to capital assessment. My dad didn't wished for fame nor did he got one, but he lived a life of memory where people recognize him for his kind way with them. Happy B'day Pa.

A girl's tale

You must have seen a few roses bloom

With beauty insane, ending up in tomb

I aren't that thorn, mind you again,

Lying across the soil under cloudy rain

Life is tough and it can’t change

Much has been said, little for gain

Looking at me, you’ll see

A damsel in no need of a frog indeed

Nor a knight on horse to feed,

Nor any luck to smile on me,

Nor this to crave nor that to see,

I’ll fly as I am, as free as a bird

And do the things the way I need

I was free, I am free, I’ll free

Till the day my wings are clipped,

My hopes aged and death on street!

Finest doggerels of all time

Weariness

I’m tired of the face I’ve got,

I’m tired of my heart inside

I’m tired of everything that breathes

I’m tired but I can’t go to sleep…

Better were the days, no more indeed

When I laughed at my present

& cried all night

At least no more was my grief to greet

Wasn’t I the only walking alone?

Slowly the ambiance showed its hue

And I lost my sanity to fate……

Some choose death and some choose life

and some get trapped in the gap within

none wants to die, for the love of life

all wish to survive and see all sides

how feeble man gets when the truth reckons

humble mind speaks, heart never listens

saga it is and saga do lie

our life is a beauty in the faintest light

we want the sun to never set,

neither the moon to get upset

our reasons are hapless and questions too

a few tried to change but died in the loop

God is kind but he is busy, sort of.

Drunks don't go far

Drunks don’t go that far

They can’t move their dreams

They won’t die the day as well

For they wish to stay, not leave

Their friends are ever awake

The glasses, shades and drink

Drunks don’t go that far

They can’t move their dreams

They won’t die the day as well

For they wish to stay, not leave

Their friends are ever awake

The glasses, shades and drink!

Ending steps

This skin will nest maggots on end

No sign of me stays through long

My breath won’t kick dust, no more

Within it will move death inward?

Who was I ever to smell soil?

Besides the token name I’ve got

Few drops of cry won’t last

And some words of tales, lost

Under this cloud I had moved by

Sucked in air and warmth of light

Seen some dreams in dark night

Loved some, hated few all in life

May I’ll never return back in sight

May I’ll never see my face

May this stays the longest time

i ever thought i could make...

Forgotten days

‘Some days are meant to fade away

some roads we leave and move ahead’

these words were who consoled me then

can’t say the same right now again!

I do feel good to breath this life,

life that could’ve never touched my sight

but that smile do occurs at night

and that face which can’t lie

flooding my thoughts,

belying my convictions,

stabbing my freedom,

freedom to think the way I like!

Many eyes confronts and moves aside

but that smile stay on, alone

as if to provoke my careless state

and question me for my loneliness

innocence pervades bellicose debate

debate which wins down her gaze

can’t say how much I miss those days

better off like the man they dreamt,

albeit I can’t deny my dismal way

still that ‘sparkle niche’ brings disdain!

my head shuns onto higher aim,

aim to curb this baloney instead!

Friendship days

No days can match my days with you

filled my life with words and hue

you my friend, you know me good

may not remember the days we ruled

but I do, the moments had sped

we grew up tied up like fools!

had our times in bad and hope

you were there, as it always showed

a friend like you, needed, more than food

though my life has changed much

yet not seen anyone closer than you

your place is in my heart’s door

day to celebrate may come and go

but our friendship won’t escape this truth

we are and we will be as we should

held by breath and goodwill could,

never leave our touch for eternal world!

Mistaken

The sound that grumbles in my ear

are not the voice of song or odes

It is the deep pain of those in fear

out of their home and onto street

No one knows the grave reason

for this disruption and this commotion

yet going through this season

deepened in sanguine ocean…dead

permeated smell of blood on floor

someone, anyone, lets get forward

try out something, anything new

ask the killers to stop their bullets

“let my people on land live!”

the surly fever wraparound me

I hold a pen in my weak fingers

covered in shivers of shrouded cry

asking for kindness to smile.

Stains of war

Blood has spilled, rain bade bye

Sun still kissing the wounds alive

Roads are waiting, traveler’s unseen

Is it a beginning or end, it seems’

Days ago, kids were out

Days ago, kitchens smelt fine

Days ago, smiles did smiled

Days ago, veins flowed strong.

Story has changed, curtains stained

Some surviving on dusky breath

Others forsaken by angels of death

God visited but he too left

Didn’t say a word; simply wept.

Unheard words

These are just words…..endless words

Words that means none to some

Still for others, on abode of love

These are just words…..poems

Lost in middle of waves to clash

Just like words of budding truth

Alone nowhere in forest of wild fruits

Tasted sin and did some good

These words never meant so much

Between silence and chaos indeed.