New year's resolution

darling,

i'm wearing a rubberband on my wrist... every time you call or i feel like calling you i pull the rubber band to remind me of the pain i will feel when i start talking to you again and then you ditch me for some reason or the other... it reminds me to stay away from the temptation of talking to you because eventually u will call me dumb, an idiot or stupid-- u will make fun of my career decisions, my personality or anything and everything else and make me feel pathetic...the very important thoughtful decisions i make are nothing but stupidity to you...i cant handle that...and when i wanna talk even for 5 mins...u'll never have the time cause ur busy doing something....its okay....i'll also be busy all the time someday... its convenient when u feel lonely and want to talk or go for a movie or dinner...but what about me?? when i'm lonely and wanna talk...yes i wanna talk everyday...every freaking day i wanna talk... the world thinks its normal its only u who doesnt think so and i've lost each and every bit of my personal identity in trying to make U MORE comfortable when i should be trying to make myself more comfortable....

i wanna talk...yes i wanna bloody talk...i'll be talking on my deathbed too...and you cant stop it....so just leave...let me be...i'll manage not talking to u by pulling that rubber band again and again...my wrists wont bleed....but they'll remind me how much pain i have to endure when i am with you....


bye

happy new year.... move on soon....

ishy - the girl who almost died trying to make you happy

White Walls

Whitewashed sterile walls enclose,
Cluttered fixtures and cluttered egos,
Layed to waste on the purgatorial carpet,
After the august ersatz banquet.

Yet sporadically in bouts of joy,
Benevolent souls oblige this toy.
Obscenely bright becomes mellow light,
And sterile walls vanish from sight.

A Lost Soul

Inside the idle crevices of an empty soul
Lays a part of me that I shall not befriend.
Now it is filled, and then drained again
By faces and places I do not comprehend.

Scratched upon by an old splintered pen
The scars on this soul shall never ever mend.
Now it is clean, and then stained again
By faces and places I do not comprehend.

Just a look in the mirror and all is clear,
I am not whom I often seem to pretend.
Now I am me, and then another again
A face in a place I do not comprehend...

Festival of Lights

From the sharp corners of the towering residence,
In perfect linear angles, the shadows slice the concrete path.
The blue party lights add ghostly vigour.
Brown hands toil, browned by rigour.

They dance around in rhythmic pandemonium
Through the murky cavities of the macabre residence.
Yet perfect silence prevails resolutely,
Stabbing vacuous corpses ruthlessly.

Through morning light they lie in deep slumber,
Fantasizing of animated times, now just tormenting rhymes.
And in the night, the foul feast begins again,
This is the festival of lights my dear men!

Addict

Strange addictions and even stranger responses,
I'm addicted to everything that i do not have
And in this moment i feel lost yet so sure,
It's too quiet i hate it, i want back all that jazz...

My CWG Report

What started of as one of the most unwelcome events in our ADPR class turned out to be one of the most fondly memorable events in most of our lives. The internship at the 19^th Commonwealth Games was filled not only with moments of excitement and leisure, but also with endless hours of hard work and dedication.

Like indisposed sheep being sent to the slaughterhouse that was CWG, we entered Pragati Maidan on the 8^th of September to discover at which venue each one of us would be posted. Some were over-the-moon about their venues, and some not so much. What followed was a week of presentations and briefs about accreditations, security, handling media, Games News Service, and the venues among others. While repeated questions about smoking areas at venues and pestering athletes to talk to the media set the tone for how amateurish some of the senior supervisors might turn out to be, most of us were also repulsed by the exorbitant prices of food at the sole eatery at Pragati Maidan.

On the 16^th of September we were finally deployed to our venues, mine being at Badminton in Siri Fort. As excited about the sport as about the athletes, I went with the purest of intentions to make full use of this opportunity. Neeza Anuranjani was my confidant and confederate for the next two weeks as we struggled to work and get work done at Siri Fort Complex. The atmosphere was tense with disagreement and frustration about the policies of most of the senior supervisors who seemed desperately insistent in making us sit without any work or purpose and discuss clothing, vegetables and philosophy. Some of the supervisors in sudden fits of wanting to work would send us to various work areas and ask us to sit there and blabber instead of the sub-zero temperatures of the media lounge. There was some respite with the Squash team that discussed news articles and made presentations every day and despite our repeated attempts at encouraging some sport related conversation occasionally, we were mostly just asked to sit around and do nothing. Yet Neeza and I, like crusaders continued to struggle to get work done in the tribune area which was my allocated work area. Talking to contractors from various companies who were working there, we realized that even for things like getting internet cabling installed in the tribune galleries, five different contractors were hired. It dawned upon us how this was a great way to make money while diffusing the responsibility of getting the work done. Therefore while installing cables through piping and setting up ports would be a couple of days’ work, this ended up taking almost ten days.

I furiously took down notes during our meetings with the competition manager and even day-to-day problems in the tribune galleries while some seemed to mock my dedication. Interesting as it was to try to report these problems and figure out solutions, it was equally frustrating to know that in every meeting of the senior officials for which I handed over my daily report, the dismal pace at which work was done was something I would just have to accept sooner or later. Trouble also came from other sides and my accreditation (much to my annoyance and others’ too pronounced accredation by several despite repeated attempts at correction) was incorrectly printed as that for MPC (Pragati Maidan) and not Siri Fort. Daily phone calls and mails to Ms. Shikha Ghai and Ms. Shelly went in vain as they kept procrastinating. Once we were told not to bring any food or water as the lockdown would begin and it turned out that food for ten people was given to our team of twenty. Since then most people got smarter and got their own food. When the catering actually began it was one of the most horrific experiences – having to eat rotten food. It was immediately disposed and we had to scavenge for other alternatives again.

Yet we persevered. I daily highlighted issues like delay in installation of power points in the tribune galleries, incomplete railings and steps leading to the mixed zone, hazardous height of the wooden paneling, excessive width of the tribune tables and cluttering of wires among others. Some were resolved by speaking to the contractors themselves while others took longer as the chain of command had to be followed. On the 29^th of September finally, just a stone’s throw away from the Games I being extremely anxious about the power points pestered one of the supervisors into taking immediate action. She suggested that we not follow the chain of command as the venue manager had said the problem was not being resolved through this method. As we tried to disregard rules we were sent back reprehensibly and asked to follow procedures. We informed our managers about their misplaced advice immediately.

On the 30^th of September, despite repeated attempts to get my accreditation corrected I was told like an orphan kicked out from the venue I was slowly getting attached to, that I could no longer come to Siri Fort as my accreditation would not give me entry once the card readers were functional. I spent my last day at Siri Fort regretting how I would not miss the opportunity to see the big players but rather miss the electric atmosphere of the matches and dealing with hyperactive media personnel in order to resolve their problems. Strangely, resolving problems is exhilarating.

So I reported at 11 am on the 1^st of September with Sugandh Swani to Ms. Shelly from HR who assigned me to the Photo Department. Here I met the very jovial and heart-warming photo team led by Mr. Saxena and Mr. Sinha. I was taken to the Photo Help Desk in the Main Lobby at MPC and here I built my home for the next sixteen days. It was a different world at MPC. Here we were encouraged to eat food on time and resolve problems immediately. The volunteers and interns and even the managers were young with energy and enthusiasm and not at all boastful of their non-existent accomplishments like the people at Siri Fort. Photographers kept coming to my help desk and I kept resolving their problems and it was truly exhilarating. The work was not difficult and my responsibilities were few, yet I would always go the extra mile to find out information that might be available at other help-desks so that I would not have to send an enquirer from one desk to another and could answer the query in my own capacity as well.

At the Photo Help Desk there were three main tasks to be done: issuing bibs and lockers to photojournalists, providing information about other photo services at MPC, and providing miscellaneous information to any other enquirers. Queries about directions to the washroom and convenience store and even about which Bollywood movies to watch were also pleasantly entertained. While there quite a few technical glitches like the photo bibs not arriving until the day of the Opening Ceremony and a restrictive locker policy not allowing storage overnight; the more interesting problems had a more human dimension. Also, these conflicts that I resolved did not particularly pertain to photographers but were just as rewarding to resolve. One particular case was with an Australian journalist who had brought back an Indian journalist’s bag from Opening Ceremony while carrying all his other heavy equipment as well. It was past 11 and he could not issue a locker for the night and he had no transport back to his hotel as the last bus had left at 10:50pm. With the help of a supervisor at MPC, I was able to get him a locker to keep his equipment and offer him our metro tickets so he could catch the last metro at 12 am.

Another case pertained to a journalist from Nauru, a wonderful lady who was the only journalist from her country and had missed her first event as she could not carry her camera inside since her accreditation was not of a photojournalist. Terribly upset by being sent from one desk to another she approached me and asked if anything could be done. Initially I informed her from my prior knowledge that the accreditation department had been having a lot of issues and so it was unlikely that her accreditation could be fixed. However I decided to call up one of the members in the team and ask if her issue could be resolved. When I received an encouraging response I happily approached the lady once again and informed her of the same. The expression on her face was one that deeply moved me and was one of the most gratifying moments of my life.

Finally, the most memorable moment was when I helped out one of the journalists from AAP who had run out of validity on the MTNL phone he had been issued. When I suggested that he get a new Aircel connection from the store within MPC itself he told me how his friend earlier in the day had lost several thousands of rupees as her phone connection had been terminated due to an account verification hitch. He was thus very adamant about not purchasing an Aircel connection, but he also knew of no place from where he could get an MTNL validity recharge. I did my own bit of research and found out that there was no facility to recharge online and the closest outlet was in ITPO. I immediately contacted a friend who worked there who was able to purchase a coupon and recharge the phone immediately. The AAP journalist was tremendously happy and said he was very grateful for me being one of the few people that really went out of the way to help him.

All these experiences taught me something very valuable: while many people cribbed about saving face for our country by praying that the Games would turn out well, for me, as an ordinary person, it was just about helping other people out. Journalists, I realized, live an extremely difficult life, traveling all day, lugging around heavy gear and barely getting paid enough. In these circumstances, if we could make their life a little easier by the small things we did, it was truly something valuable we did even though we weren’t working for advertising or PR agencies.

I am a Mass Murderer

He whispers softly those sweet words and I can almost feel the taste of my favourite scoop of Mother Dairy Chip Chocolate Ice-cream. I’m mesmerized and I pray with all my might for it to stretch on for an eternity. He whispers again.

But suddenly, like those ancient cassettes that get stuck on the music player, this scene and accompanying sensations wretchedly rewind and replay and rewind and replay and rewind and replay...In the folds of my pillow cover, a rather rude vibration raises my heartbeat. It’s the bloody cellular phone. Aah! I was dreaming, again!

It's 3:30 in the afternoon. Crap! I overslept...again. The oppressively bright light of the phone displays a message from Waka. That’s not his real name, off course. You can forget about me telling you his real name. Waka asks politely (a little too politely I must add), if I can spare a few minutes to discuss business. Business, yeah right! I wonder why I ever agreed to co-write his book. I don’t know how I’m going to manage academics, pleasing my parents, spending time with friends, doing an internship and pleasing my parents all the same time. Oh, and did I mention, I have to make sure that I please my parents as well.

Waka gets straight down to business. “I’m stuck- I don’t know how to make Adi jealous about Aparna flirting with Ashu”, he stutters hastily. “Alright, alright”, I grumpily announce and offer some clichéd plot ideas. He tells me he’s used the exact same ideas but he wants something different now. I’m amazed at our similarity of thought. Great minds do think alike. Goddamn ancient elders – they were always right. Curse them!

As we discuss other deadly plot twists and turns and hurls and burls, I remark, rather unreservedly- as he always insists I ought to, “I’ve never met anyone with such a brilliant vocabulary who has such terrible grammar”. He drifts off onto stories of childhood tortures and even mentions his part-time love affair with geology. The next thing I hear is talk of ants and snakes predicting when meteorites will fall to Earth. I’m baffled. “Ants can predict those tutte taare wale meteorites?”

“Yes, they can tell from the vibrations made by the meteorite entering the Earth’s atmosphere which pass on to the Earth’s crust. And they crawl out from under the ground whenever they sense danger.” I’m suddenly reminded of my own dilemma. Could Waka hold the key to ending my distressful days? How shall I tell you friends, what a dilemma indeed it has been?

Ants!

I lay out my heart before him- “Waka”, I cry, “These ants, the big black ones- they flood my room, especially after 8pm, everyday, by the clock, dot on time. I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to kill them and hear that terrible crunching sound that makes me sick to my stomach. But if I don’t, they’ll climb on my bed and crawl on my arms or face or between my toes and bite me!”

“Bite you?”, he exclaims barely containing his laugh.

“Yes! They’re pure evil I tell you. They’ve even learned to adapt, those buggers, those ants!”

“Ants are also living things made by God”, he declares grandly. “They too will defend themselves like you defend yourself and learn to adapt. They know at what time Deepanshi sleeps and what time she talks on the phone and they will hide in the corners and observe you carefully. They will go and tell their bosses about your habits and at those particular times, the entire brigade will march on in your room and devour your cupboards, your clothes and any other palatable items.”

“For God’s sake Waka, you’ve scared the big Jesus out of me. These ants are like bloody stalkers. Now thanks to your goddamn stories, I’m going to be having nightmares for the next two days.”

He’s laughing his head off and I can hear him, and my blood is boiling. “You’re laughing, you idiot, it isn’t funny. I’m bloody scared now. These ants, these stalking ants”, I bellow.

Barely able to contain his laugh he manages to say, “A twenty-one year old girl, no, a lady, who is going to get married in three or four years, and she is afraid of ants crawling in her cupboard and is even more afraid of killing them.”

“Look Waka, you listen to me... Waka, I know it seems… Alright, I agree it sounds funny, but.. But this is outrageous! They could go to any other room in the house, any other room with more wood to chew on…and, and…. and, where they won’t be stomped upon by me everyday. It’s become a daily ritual you know! You won’t believe! It’s like a battlefield in those war movies. Ants massacred by a giant! Lying lifeless! I even leave them around so others can learn not to come around, but they just…they just won’t…absolutely won’t learn.

And you know what...earlier they were slow and I was able to stomp on all of them, then a couple of weeks back they started running really fast so I had to run after them around – slipped a couple of times, goddamn ants! And for the past few days, Waka... You know for the past few days, they even started climbing walls to run away from my giant stomping foot. What’s next – a bunch of-”

He interrupts me to add “Flying ants!”, still laughing mockingly. “Deepanshi, this just got funnier! A twenty-one year old lady who writes poems about the great mysteries of life and love, secretly runs around her little room after little scurrying ants trying to stomp on them but secretly squints every time she does. What a story this will make! Aah! What a story!”

“Evil, pure evil! That’s what you are – pure evil!”

“I know you’d pick me over the ants any day”, he says jokingly. “You’ll have to kill them dear. No option- nope! None at all. I think they’ve also decided that they’re not going to give up this war. It’s a matter of their ego now!”

“Absolute bollocks. I refuse to talk to someone who says such ridiculous shit!”

“Alright, alright! Try spraying kerosene on them. That might work”

“Kerosene?! You’ve really gone bonkers now, really you have! One tiny spark and my room will go up in flames!”

“No, child! It won't. Spray some on your floor and on the edges of your cupboard and they’ll die by the morning.”

“I don’t know. This sounds dodgy”

“Or try placing some naphthalene pellets under your bed and in the corners. Naphthalene can be used to keep away anything you don’t want.” I secretly wonder if that applies to live humans as well. I make a mental note to try it out on Lola (alias) later.

“Alright. Let me try out your suggestions today”, I say, eyeing the arms of the clock now showing the time to be forty minutes past eight. Dinner time!

"Are you having ants for dinner?" he asks tauntingly.

I solemnly state that this ant discussion ought to come to a well-deserved end.

“You must write a story about this…you must…you absolutely must!”

I declare decisively, “You’ve lost your brains now, for sure!”

“Think of it”, he says, “Just think of it! A story of ants and their murderer – a young erudite lady. If you don’t have ten comments on your story in the next few days I’ll…. I’ll chop of my nose…I’ll chop off--”

“Hold it! Hold it right there!”

“One thousand to twelve hundred words. A short story…and ten conversations like this and we can publish a book!”

“A book! Indeed! Ants and ant murderers…a book indeed!!”

“Oh, but I bet you’ll have so many comments on the story that…”

“I got it Waka! I got it!”

So here I am friends. Save this man some misery. Put down a few comments about my sad attempt at humour, for Waka’s sake! Or shall I call him Wacky?!


P.S. I know each one who reads this will find something unique that they take from this. Some will see it as a piece of dull rubbish and some will see complex socio-economic commentary in it (and you’re not a freak for seeing this). Firstly, I wish to state that I was inspired by the statement- “All animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others.” Secondly I wish to add – “Ants eat cockroaches and humans eat chocolate ants.” Thirdly, and finally, the reader has full freedom to decide independently whether I am daft or not!

Hurt

I'll bury the hurt so deep it will never emerge,
The wicked sins are too many to ever purge.

L'Amour

No pleasure as sinful, no treasure deadlier,

Le chocolat, as love, the purer the bitterer,

A moment’s delight, neither wrong nor right,

A cheap sparkle, brief but blindingly bright.  

Phonies

I like talking to the wall

Hearing the sound of my own voice

Pretending I’m one of those-

Crazies!

I like singing to myself

Because there’s no one to judge

Or laugh at my-

Cacophonies!

I like loving you in my mind

So I can get a rush

Thinking that it’s really you and we're-

Cronies!

Regret

Shedding the colorful regrets of life,
The rain washes away the strife.

One more time

It's been a century, it has,
Since I felt so hopeless,
And helpless.
So why don't you go ahead
And scream at me one more time, baby,
'Bout how I ruined your life
With all the love I gave.
I can't see it, so show me,
Why don't you show me baby,
How it's my fault?

And baby, every time,
I pack my bags to leave
You hold me back
Tell me I'm the one.
So why don't you go ahead
And scream at me one more time, baby,

'Bout how I ruined your life

With all the love I gave.

I can't see it, so show me,

Baby, show me,
How it's my fault. 

Back to Death

Screams buried

In the pillow case.

Salty tears and snot

Defile a pleasant face.

He doesn’t care

He doesn’t call.

I bury myself in books

During the light of day

I bury myself,

When the light goes away.

Death of hope

Is death of life.

Slap me once more

With your disdain

And tell me why you

Don’t want me again.

I am the joke

I am the fool.

Hate me some more

Enough to convince me

That I deserve no life

Death come quickly.

I’m dead

Love is dead. 

Soliloquy of a Deranged Lover

I keep looking over my shoulder
Hoping to see a message or a call
And I don’t know how long I can keep this up
Without ripping my hair out
But I just can’t help it.
You made me fall in love with you, you brute.
Yeah, its because of you I keep on hoping,
Praying, crying for a day when you see
See how much I love you.
And I don’t know how long I can keep this up,
But I just can’t help it.

Cause how can I get over you?
Someone please tell me how,
Cause how I can just forget the three most intense years of my life,
And, and I just feel that I was addicted to having you around
And now when you’re not there
I see that even if I try to,
I could never return to what I used to be,
A mess, an unreserved overworked mess.
And I just keep on staring at your picture all day long
When I cant see the words in my books anymore
When I cant sleep and
And when I walk around aimlessly
Wondering what you’re doing, what you’re thinking,
If you’re missing me.
And I don’t know how long I can keep this up
But I just can’t help it.
I can’t.

God kill me if I lie
I’ve tried
I’ve tried forgetting you
Forgetting every time you caressed my cheek
Every time you smiled at me
Every time you shouted at me
Every single time you looked into my eyes,
And said that you would always love me.
Did you lie?
Cause if you did, then you’re no better than me in lies
But God kill me if I lie
About how crazy I am about you.
And I just want nothing but the best for you
And the hot chick who’ll be your girlfriend someday
Cause you deserve it
You may not think you do
But you deserve it.
And all I can think about is how ten years from now
I'll see you once again
With someone else dangling off your strong arms
And I’ll be alone,
Successful,
But alone.
And I don’t know how long I can keep this up
But I just can’t help it.

And I don’t want to push you away
But I just don’t know what I can do any more.
I just don’t know.
And here I go looking again
And again
And again
Again, again, again,
A message, a call
But its not there
It will never be there.
Because I’m not like you
Independent
Strong
Emotionless.
God kill me if I lie
I’ve tried being someone else
But I can’t.
I just can’t,
No matter how hard I try
To be emotionless and cold and happy
I can’t
Because I can change the little things
But how can I change the most basic thing about me
My passion
And I know you’ll say it will destroy me
And I don’t want to fall into ruin
But for fuck’s sake
Tell me how can I change the core of my being.
Yes I know its my loss
And I can’t blame you
So, Mr. Brute, I won’t blame you.
I’ll die, but I won’t blame you,
Thank you very much
Because I’m the joke you’ll laugh about ten years from now
When you tell tales of an obsessed idiotic girl
Who you’re glad to get rid of
So thank you very much
And I don’t know how long I can keep this up
But I just can’t help it.

The memory of you in my veins under my skin
Pulled, stretched, torn beyond repair
And I bleed you now,
And you shall only finish when every drop of blood has been spilled
Because that’s how deep you are in me.
My drug, my poison, my antidote.
I don’t know how long I can keep this up
But I can’t
I just can’t help it.

Zindagi adhoori hai

Hai to sab kuch hanthon mein

Par hanthon mein kuch bhi nahi,

Hai to dil mein pyar hi pyar,

Par dil mein pyar ki hai kami.

Dhime ujalon mein dhoondta hai ye dil

Na koi rasta hai na hai koi manzil

In lamhon ko, in baaton ko, kho jana do

Zindagi adhoori hai, mujhko so jane do…..

Zindagi adhoori hai, mujhko so jane do…...

Gham bhi hasta hai khushi pe,

Kitni manchali hai woh,

Pyar chupke se kehta hai

Jana to tha mujh ko

To kyun aaya woh, dil ko le jane

To kya aaya woh mujhko rulane?

In lamhon ko, in baaton ko, kho jane do

Zindagi adhoori hai, mujhko so jane do…..

Zindagi adhoori hai, mujhko so jane do…...

Kuch to bacha hoga, kya kuch bacha hai ab,

In lamhon ko, in baaton ko, kho jane do

Zindagi adhoori hai, mujhko so jane do…..

Zindagi adhoori hai, mujhko so jane do…...

Na dil ye harega, tu laut ke aayega,

In lamhon ko, in baaton ko, kho jane do

Zindagi adhoori hai, mujhko so jane do…..

Zindagi adhoori hai, mujhko so jane do…...

Love Reciprocated

Thrilling melodies echo

In the walls of my mind

Hearts in an afterglow

From hope’s sweet bind.

One gentle, gentle word,

Delicate smiles and bliss,

No more a soul flustered,

Wishes of his lips, his kiss.  

A dream, an endless dream

Of moments that could be

Castles in the sky gleam

Yes, he sees what I see. 

Sad Day

The eyes cannot hide the incessant tears,

Fleeting memories expose secret fears.  

Mystery Man

Enticing eyes hide secrets unknown,

Slicing a heart that I no longer own.

Endless talks which are chatter to some,

Upon eager ears are more than welcome.

Neither moon nor sun, neither spring nor rain,

Is fit to compare; each is utterly inane,

My pierced heart that longs for much more,

Shall gladly pine away with this fatal sore. 

Practicality

Practicality is a cloak for the broken heart,
'Tis strange what all pain can impart!

Ode to Spring

Through a fluttering veil of luscious hues,
Fair Lady coquets with the majestic Sun,
As the wicked Wind caresses her tender cheek,
The harshness of Winter all undone.

Sparrows perched upon the towering trees,
Whistle sweetly at the colorful array.
Fair Lady hums and sways in warm ecstasy,
As the wicked Wind drifts away.

The sinful Sun glows after a wearying day,
And spans its gaze upon the fields of fruit.
Fair Lady drowsy, lies upon the prickly grass;
The darkness envelops as all goes mute.

Of Life and Love

Love like life must come to pass,
The tears must come as the laughs.

Deranged

I know not what I feel, but it is changed,
It is not what it was, am I deranged?
He says he loves me, but I cannot claim it,
I miss being loved, but this shoe doesn't fit.

Changes

Love is in the air for a change,

The pining heart is no longer inane. 

Jealous

As fair Spring flaunts her colorful array,
Pale Winter sheds frosty tears each day!

Stone hearted

I shall go so far you will forget my face one day,

I'm made of stone, thanks for making me this way.

300

The words tire from incessant exploits

Of a restless aching shell.

He dithers, he flickers,

Deceptive as the pearly moon,

And as lovers who pray by its light

Are duped into false promises,

So shall I dither in hope

Of his hopeless return. 

Hurt Heart

Oh pierced heart, you betray me each time!

Oh wicked Cupid, why won’t he be mine?

Scars torn into endless pages bleed blue,

Who else can wrap words into a magical hue?

I lie in the desert, thirsty for his love,

No shade even from the clouds above.

My heart is bruised again from the pain,

The loneliness slowly drives me insane.

Three hundred times, and still no reply

The poetry flows and time passes by.

If only I could rip the heart out of my chest,

And stop the pain so I can finally lie in rest. 

Sin

Beyond the shimmering veil of color,
Blurred vision admires your lips,
Tempting as the original sin,
I must suffer the fiery whips.

Moony Love

In this corpse of a heart lies inane,

Love like dew on a winter morn.

If you reach out and touch the pain

Beware, your fingers shall burn.

Only anguish floods the veins

No blood flows in this lifeless shell.

The hope waxes and wanes

Like the moon, I too shall dwell.

A Wish

A heart for your heart,
A word for your word,
May love be a part,
Of your wishes heard!

Lovers and Slaves

Hurt me once, I am your lover,
Hurt me twice, I am your slave.
Obsession is the price I pay,
It shall take me to my grave.

Love Ends

The stench of rotting love overwhelms,
Love is meant to end in all realms.

A letter long forgotten...

It is sad that you still ask what more you could have done, what mistake you made, and why I am overreacting. It is unfortunate that you have chosen to overlook every little bit that I told you about myself, so that you may learn to forgive me for the way I behave.

But alas, my shame has to be brought forward again, and I have to be dragged through it once again, as much as I tried to avoid it with the person that I loved the most in this world, though that may have a different meaning your dictionary.

So let me tell you about this little girl, who was brought up in a pampered household with servants to take care of her in her younger years as her parents were too busy elsewhere. But when this little girl would play with the servant’s kids as she was a toddler of three, she would learn words that a girl of her stature would find it dishonourable to utter. She would then by mistake utter these words in front of her father and she would be beaten to point where she had wet herself. She would crawl back to her mother, embarrassed, and clean up, only to realize that this was not the last time. Her servant upon seeing her despair would take her to the terrace where his room was and make her lie on top of him and do unto her unspeakable things. Yet how could a naïve girl like her understand what was happening, for he would convince her that it was an innocent game.

Years later, she would still wake up in the mornings sweating in bed having nightmares of this act yet never knowing what it actually was. When she turned of age, she realized what it was and decided to never tell anyone of it. But the nightmares would only get worse. She would find hope in the image of a light, and her grandfather smiling. It was then that she would get into violent fights with her brother and one day her father would come home and beat her black and blue so that she couldn’t walk properly for three days and had to apply ointments to soften the rashes on her thighs from all the sit-ups she was made to do.

Yet she always struggled to please her father. The more he ignored her, the more she tried to gain his love. She decorated the house on his birthdays, she would make cakes for him, she would make cards he could see in the morning before he left for work…praying he would forgive her, praying he would show the love she showed to him.

But then they would all shift to a novel place where her father would get so engrossed in work, he would forget her name. He would call her by his sister’s name, and the little girl, still little, would try harder to get his attention. But then the guys came. They came, they made her wanted, they made her feel accepted and gave her time. She followed them. And soon they would stop. They would hurt her purposely and she would leave them. She would leave them because she had the power in these relationships, unlike the one with her father, in which she was the helpless victim.

She ate more and hated herself. Then her grandparents would snatch butter from her hands before she put it on the bread. Her parents would refuse to give her a second piece of chicken and tell her one chapaati was sufficient. Eventually she would lose weight, and her father would tell every person he met, family, friend or unknown, that he was ashamed of when his daughter was fat because she did not look pretty and it was impossible to get clothes of her size. She would go to her bathroom and puke out whatever she had eaten. This cycle would continue till she met a unique boy. He pursued her fiercely and she resisted, but eventually she gave into him. But before she knew it, she was running after him trying to make him happy. She started consuming alcohol to while away the pain. Again, she was left alone, being ignored, being forgotten. Her father would beat her again for leaving her cassette player at a friend’s house for the teacher’s day concert practice. He would tell her he would get her married and never let her complete her education. She would try to kill herself with sleeping and calcium pills. She would survive. Her father would cry. He would then make her apologize for what she had done. She would go back to puking her food out.

But then just when she had given up all hope, a special boy stepped into her life. When she met him, she felt optimistic. He was not only intelligent but also handsome. He also fell in love with her. She felt committed to someone for the first time. Someone she could happy, someone she could share both happiness and joy with.

But she struggled with him too. The wounds that her father caused had not yet healed. She would struggle to grow up, act mature when the three year old girl inside her was screaming and suffocating. How could she hide her true self? Even after the wound closes, the scar still remains.

So here she is, the pampered child of the family. She doesn’t’ know what to feel about her father. He gave her an outstanding education, the best circumstances to live in, world tours, and all the gifts she wanted. But he never let ride on a bus, or scooter. She loves him still, in the corner of her heart. She makes cakes and birthday cards for him hoping he’ll understand some day. She doesn’t want the expensive gifts he gets her or the posh dinners they go to. She just wants some time with him. He calls once in a couple of months and asks the same questions, “how are studies? How is everything else?” She prays that he’ll notice that she’s become quite intelligent now. But her English is still not good enough for him. And her general knowledge is still very poor.

So Avi, I regret that you never understood that this three year old girl will never grow up and I regret that you never understood that the only way this girl will come close to growing up, is if you give her the little pieces of attention she wants. The things she goes out of her way to do for you and for her father. She bugs you even when you’re busy, she celebrates each anniversary with a small but heartfelt gift, she tells people she doesn’t need to about you, she calls you up even when she’s in the middle of something and other things too. She just wishes someone would show her, so that she could feel wanted, she could feel what no one ever showed. She was expected to understand this from the age of three, that people who love you the most, don’t show it. But she rebels, she’s just a kid. No one let her grow up: when she acted grown up in front of her parents, they despised her. When she acted childish in front her lover: he despised her. She loves you. Understand her. 

And now she has become sadistic. She tries to gain power in any relationship; she tries to take revenge, because she has become bitter from the way her loved ones refuse to giver her unlimited attention like she gives them. The little girl is upset with the world for not showing its love. She is willing to sacrifice anything and everything for her loved ones, just praying that they’ll do the same for her. She prays that they will go out of their way to love her, as she does for them. Unfortunately she has become so pathetic. She holds onto words, words and phrases that were said to her. For these words and phrases hurt her. They stabbed her heart until it bled and then she would decide to make herself bleed for making others suffer. She would make herself bleed for treating others sadistically. She would punish herself because she tried to punish others. The words and phrases she holds on to, just give her an excuse to show that she is right. She wants to be right, because she has been told that she is wrong for not growing up by her lover. She wants to be right because she has been told that she is wrong for acting too maturely by her parents. What can she do? This stupid little girl is struggling not to want attention. But how can she not ask for the one thing she has been denied for her whole life? She thinks she’ll die from the conflict she faces. Help her. 

Out of Control

The sin of your sweet soft lips

Makes me dizzy with pleasure

The warmth of your sturdy hands

Make me tremble and shiver

Moans of insatiation cannot help escape me

Love me, love me deeply deeply

My body longs for more of your essence,

I have no control left in your presence.  

Alone, Again...he is not back yet....

I sit by the forlorn light of the moon,

With no one to call my own but solitude,

No stars shining upon me to guide my path,

Or to wink at me knowingly

The wind strokes my skin

And I can barely feel the touch of another’s skin.

My nostrils flare with the depth of inhalation

But I can smell no scent.

Lost, alone, abandoned

I only wish it were without reason. 

A Walk

I sit here again, begging the words to come, but alas they fail me for once. Like prodding a sore wound to make myself scream I let myself get lost in trance of the moment to revive what I could feel so intensely, that intense feeling that made me who I was. It saddens me to think that I am no longer that person. Who am I then? Know Thyself? I know nothing about myself except that I am an attention seeker. The pain gives me power and the joy gives me opportunity to take it away.

Was I always like this, or did I become this when I realized could not get along with anyone. This inability of mine, to let things stay the way they are. There is a hunger to create the drama to feel that passionate emotion which drives me, which nudges me to distort the perfection of the world so that I can feel overpowered by the fact that everything has gone wrong. Is it a way for me to seek power? Is it the realization that since I do not have the power to make things better I should use my power to make things worse since I can do that? 

I told him I loved walking in the drizzling rain. There was no drizzling that night, but the sky was overcast. He asked me what made me walk for so long and was it because something that was bothering me. I said I wanted to, I enjoyed it. I had always liked walking with my hands in my pocket. Left right. Left right.

His letter had moved me too. It was time for life to slow down a little. He mocked my heavy thinking in a jovial manner. I told him that I didn’t sit idle much. There were plenty of utensils lying around waiting to be washed and there were classes early morning the next day. Then there would be work and then studies and then work again.

He asked me if I was too caught up in the nitty-gritties of my daily life. I wasn’t sure if I was. Few years ago I had quite a lot idle time. Life changed so quickly, and before I realized I was a completely different person from where I started out. Not that being different was bad but I wondered where all the time went.

He explained that being different was surely not bad and everyone changes all the time. It is inevitable, and many people do not understand that people change and fight over it. I told him that sometimes I felt remorseful in a good way about change. He was puzzled.

I told him, it was that feeling, knowing that change is inevitable and that people will come and go, so accepting that fact but then also feeling sad that its all gone and that some thing else has taken its place. It sounded contradictory, for if I had accepted the fact that this was inevitable then why should I still be melancholic?

He said he didn’t get too attached to people, and those whom he did get attached to, he made a point to keep in touch with. I felt envious. I had had so many fights with friends over stupid misunderstandings. He told me that what one says in an argument cannot be erased once it has been said so it is better to stay mum. So then I wondered how you make the person realize that perhaps you wouldn’t want to take back what you had said because then you wouldn’t have had the realization that it was wrong in the first place.

I told him of my failed attempts at apologizing and how they resulted in more anger and resentment than they started out in. He told me that perhaps those people did not like a lot of things about me and were trying to justify their hate towards me by saying that they didn’t want to be friends with me. I laughed and said, “Or maybe they're whiny bitches who needed drama in their lives.”

We laughed together for a while. I headed back home again, back to my loneliness. There was often this overwhelming emotion inside me that wanted to run away from this loneliness. But always bound by the limitations of reality and the normal world, I knew I would have to spend another night drinking the un-fallen tears. Did I lack the courage to face the consequences of my breaking the rules? Or was it that I was not sure whether the ordeal would be worth the exultation from breaking the rules? 

I Love the Devil

His lips were parted,
And hair in a mess,
Golden rays darted,
Upon Wind's caress,
His skin smooth as sand,
His eyes like Devil's red,
Black-Life held my hand,
As the wounded heart bled!

Surreal- he says he wants me back

Three years from the day he said
For the first time he loved me
He said it again
And asked me to come back to him.

So I go on vacation
Till the day he decides
That he no longer loves me
And we should part ways.

But till then,
I have fulfilled my vow
Of never seizing to write
Till the day he returned.

Checkmate

Sometimes I think I cannot breathe,

From the pain of our seperation.

And sometimes I want to leave

So I can never return to you again.

Fluctuating emotions vex the heart

There is no rest from the turmoil.

Restless lovers grow further apart,

The game is over, I must depart.  

A Song for the Broken Hearted

Today, I want to say good bye.
Turn away from your heavenly eyes
Once and for all, before the love dies.
Today, I want to say good bye.
Never look back upon what we had
Spend the rest of this life being sad.
Today, I want to say good bye.
Forever. Good bye.



So don’t look at me with those angry eyes
And pretend you’re the only one who’s wise.
’Cause its time I stopped fooling myself
And put my feelings on the back shelf.

Today, I want to say good bye.
Turn away from your heavenly eyes
Once and for all, before the love dies.
Today, I want to say good bye.
Never look back upon what we had
Spend the rest of this life being sad.
Today, I want to say good bye.
Forever. Good bye.

The anger may die one day, but the love won’t
You know I love you so don’t say I don’t.
But its time I move on and leave with grace
Know that no one can ever take your place.

Maybe you’ll stop me, maybe you won’t
But you know I love you so don’t say I don’t.
But its time I move on and leave with grace
Know that no one can ever take your place.

Today, I want to say good bye.
Turn away from your heavenly eyes
Once and for all, before the love dies.
Today, I want to say good bye.
Never look back upon what we had
Spend the rest of this life being sad.
Today, I want to say good bye.
Forever. Good bye.

Sins

It cuts me, slices me
To think of the frivolity I give up
The very same he engages in
It cuts me, slices me
It is nothing but devilish sin.
Murderous loneliness,
Cuts me, slices me,
Until the suffocation threatens to kill.
The emptiness never goes away
Bruised as I am dragged down the hill
Cutting, slicing,
Everything I sacrifice
While he dances in an orgy of sin
Cuts me, slices me
I see the cliff, let me be free of the unseen,
Let me go now where I have never been.

The tick of time

In the mirror of a thousand lies,
No solace is found for the burning heart.
The clock ticks and hope dies,
As the souls only grow further apart.

What menacing optimism shall I abide by,
If path remains so unclear?
Love for love's sake until the day I die,
Hold on to everything dear?

Deathly

I can smell death in the air.
The stench of the loneliness,
Rises into the nostrils.
The veins dilate in anticipation
Of the blood to spill.
The innards contort,
And breath is scarce,
Save me from myself,
Death is so close.

Puppets

I dangle from the threads of his control,

And dance upon his whim.

I live when he brings me to life,

And when he is away I lie dead.

He would say he does not impose his will,

And I merely am too weak,

And I beg for the strings to make me stand,

Lest I fall limply to the ground.

But I ask why he animates me,

This Puppeteer without a heart?

Puppets have no private lives, alas,

They run away from the looking glass.

Lowlife

He became what he wanted to be,

But my wretched body betrayed me.

He has no emotions to feel,

And suicide now seems real.

Give me a rope, a bag or a gun,

There is no where I can run.

Let me finish a pathetic life,

He is happy and I’m a lowlife.

Short of Breath

May the dew drops in the morn

Quench the parched heart.

Oh Life, I am short of breath!

May the cool breeze in the morn,

Cleanse corrupted lungs.

Oh Life, I am short of breath!

May the chirpy birds in the morn,

Bring melody to deafened ears.

Oh Life, I am short of breath!

May the mild sun in the morn,

Restore strength to an aged shell.

Oh Life, I am short of breath!

Eartly Eden

On the cold wooden chair I sit,
Writing rhymes of youth.
The voice in the distance,
Pronounces me uncouth.

The ticks of the clock,
Taunt me shamelessly.
When will the bell screech,
I ask repeatedly.

Webs of mindless words,
Scrawled upon the board,
Kill the soul within,
As the others only hoard.

If only I could memorize,
All the superfluous lies.
The rose bed in the garden
Must be trimmed and wise.

The ants and the maggots,
Must all have their share at the end.
I must return to the soil,
Hail the gardener, the godsend!!

A memorable day

Emotions were such,
That words could not explain.
The pain of his touch,
Was so intense it was profane.

The nervousness at night,
Resonated from the pain.
It was too hard to fight,
And to try to be inane.

He was gentle as can be,
And so I must be strong.
I think I love him crazily,
But I pray I am wrong!

Thoughts of Tomorrow

The feet hurt from the all the running,
Running away from the very thought,
The very thought that can destroy,
Destroy everything or create a new life.

The nervousness finally sets in.
In tomorrow lies the future,
The future I have dreamed of,
Of love restored.

Bitter Lees

I must prepare myself,
Dark eyes bursting with secrets
Shan't entice me.
Those palms upon my skin
Shan't lift my veil.
May emotions be cleansed
Like waste water
Till all but vice remains
Bitter lees.
For off the coast where he goes
Lies no path for me.
For he is sure ne'er to return
The road behind is under snow.
Not summer nor spring
Can redeem the smiles and colors
Of days begone.
Bitter lees.
The wine is drunk and food is ate,
The days of green are gone.

Diseased

Impassiveness is not in my nature,

Yet it captures even ardent souls

Wounded from love.

Can the sceptic be ridden

And faith restored?

Questions that pick at the humble heart,

Until it bleeds,

And suffocates from within

Till at last, all is curdled

And diseased.

Fears

I confronted a fear today.
And I knew all along
It was the idea I feared,
Not the object.
For in that idea
Lay the manifestation
Of the very ideal I stood against,
So courageously.
The frivolity of one's actions
I had struggled so vigorously against
Stared me in the face,
And though my heart pounded in fear,
It pounded, and continued to pound.
Though my actions are called in question,
And the temptations still persist,
I have confronted a fear today.

The week next week

The day approaches for the final test

When emotions shall be victims

Of the beatings of the practical mind

And a week long orgy of stoicness 

Shall prevail. 

Part IV

But suddenly she entered a universe

Where she seemed to excel

Father and her would converse

About everything novel.

Endless talks of life and space

And philosophies infinite.

No worries of pride or disgrace

To keep her up at night.

Even his whips on that angry day

Were not too hard to forget

She did what she loved without flay

For which she got respect.

Yet who could stop the flow of time

And chemicals that disrupt

Life was not a black and white rhyme

Privy fears began to erupt.

Part III

Then came the the lands unknown

Where inquiry was of the hour

The king finally lost his throne,

She bloomed like a wildflower.

Her time there was short and swift

And soon she returned

And then again began the rift

All lessons unlearned.

City to city they went without end

No time for her to be loved

No time with family left to spend

From here to there she was shoved.

Her fears grew into untold nightmares

Murders with knives and blades.

Modest friends fell victim to snares

Who Mother compared to maids.

Part -II, The Life and Lies of a Drama Queen

She was a child of three or so
In the arms of another
The rest of the world was below
Distant was her Mother.
Father in his abode of work
Stayed immersed in files
Luxury was the only perk
And sometimes his smiles.
Crawling about in search of what
She did not know then
But someone picked her up and taught
Her evil deeds of men.
There were no scars of pain or joy
Only fears hushed within
People bowed to the viceroy-
Her father and his kin.
The seeds were sown for future ploys
Seeing the floods of fealty.
Power corrupts and also destroys
People are only realty.

Homes and Houses

I step into the house,

I step into the family,

One which I can never have

One which is too perfect. 

I am an outsider. 

And despite my vernacular skills,

I shall always be an outsider. 

I love him. 

I shall always love him. 

But I cannot step into his home. 

Bitter

The guilt eats into innocent flesh,
I have broken the law.
I cannot withdraw.
I am sinking into the endless sea
Temptation seduces so easily.
And at the bitter end,
Lies only breathlessness.
There is no godsend,
Only helplessness.

Introduction to The Life and Lies of a Drama Queen

The life and lies of a drama queen
Unfold before you today.
You shall see the hitherto unseen,
And actions that betray.
So without further ado we present,
The story before you now.
We hope there remains no resent,
Let the play begin, we bow.

Once upon a time in a land far away,
A girl lived immodestly,
Who lost her way and went astray.
Counsel went superfluously,
Suffering was but a must.
Love had its ups and downs
And piles of broken trust.
Smiles and tears and frowns,
All had their own share.
But before she found the truth
And walked out the lair,
She had to become uncouth.
And that was what she did
And so did she reap.
For truth was what she hid
And her lies ran deep.

Life is Funny

Someone said that life is like a funny joke,

And what a joke it turned out to be then!

When I finally stopped calling the bloke,

He wanted to try being together again!

Days and Nights

The sun sets swiftly

And the leaves turn pale

The days are thrifty

The nights are a veil.

Devils in their mischief

Vex the fine folk

Out come the mastiff

The devils choke.

Fly

You love someone, you open yourself up to suffering, that’s the sad truth. Maybe they’ll break your heart, maybe you’ll break their heart and never be able to look at yourself in the same way. Those are the risks. That’s the burden.

Like wings, they have weight, we feel that weight on our backs but they are a burden that lifts us, that allows us to fly….

Signs

He calls again, and again, and again.
And my resistance is finally tested.
It may be obsession, it may be love,
Is it a phase, or a sign from above?

Musings of a confused soul

I wait for the day,
When he shall be back,

But I can see,
No further than that.
The desire to have him,
Is beyond compare.
Yet after possession
I see no affair.
Is it not practical,
Or is it to much to think?
The lines are blurry,
I stand at the brink.

The conversation

He asks in his cherry melancholy voice

If I shall ever call him again

If I shall love another again

Anger is not my response.

I keep the emotions hidden,

Just like he tutored me.

I can hear the longing in his voice

As he asks me again

I remind him to leave each time.

I hear his coughs and sniffs

But I dare not ask

I dare not reveal emotion.

Finally he leaves

And I am left waiting

To hear his cherry melancholy voice again.

Restless

The restlessness is deathly,
And temptation beyond compare.
But I cannot betray myself again
I dare not walk back to his lair.

Desert Rose....continued

The dead wind in its lullaby

Whispers vigorously to give in

The parched eagle shrieks

The rose is bloody from sin.

Remember the thorny cacti

Scorched by the wrath

Defence is no defence  

Pain lies on that path.

The giver of verve

Gives not but mercy.

Famine fuels the force  

The desert is testy.

The tunnels beneath the sand

Lead to worlds unknown

The edifice in the distance

Could it be a tombstone? 

Desert Rose

Pale crimson skies

Stretched beyond repair.

Clouds as scarce as life

Above the desert’s lair.

Upon the sarcous traces

Of the dusty morsels,

Rain from a wispy heart

Like drunken yokels.

From the parched sands,

Palatable scents diffuse.

It approaches, it taunts

The flesh cannot refuse.

The Way

The sordid night does not let me sleep

And aches in the heart persist.

The pain of loneliness is beyond compare

I do not know how to resist.

The tongue has forgotten the taste of food

The body does not even crave.

These words are all my company and,

Will be buried with my grave.

I see it as the only way,

A way with only two ends.

One to the ultimate death,

And one in which time bends.

Broken

He needs me no more.
And I am what I was again,
Dumped in a pit of hatred,
Covered in the black soot of guilt.
We cannot go back to what it was,
Too much pain has been caused.
I wish he would stop to think,
Of the days when it was good,
But he is too engrossed in what was

And not in what could.
Was it all so evil,
The smiles and the tears,
With someone by your side?
If you had nothing to hide,
Then why not let me go,
Instead you wait till now,
When I'm broken into pieces of your memories.

Celebrate

He has proved that he can never forgive,
I look forward to my death, how festive!!

Evil

I'm dying here all alone
I can see no reason to live
I do not cry or moan
He is evil to not forgive.

Hell

Beat them or kill them, but never join them,
Burn in the fires of hell if you condemn them.
They think they own the world with their careless ways,
If you do not follow then suffer for the rest of your days.

Sick

Suffocating in the filth of a base ideal

Nobody knows how awful I feel. 

Amen

Walking alone by the river side,

I look at the smiling stars.

They have something to hide,

The clouds- abettors in their mischief.

The winds tease me with wicked whistles,

Someone yowls from the field of thistles.

They shall not get what they want.

The night is cold but not intimidating

A train runs in the distance, wailing.

A car drives by but does not stop,

My heart beats faster, clickety-clock.

I put one foot in front of the other,

The silence tries to taunt and smother.

I look at the smiling stars again,

I lose control and fall. Amen.