Saturday

Everyday she tells him to come back to her tomorrow.
Yes, he says - coz what else to tell her he doesn't know...

One day he mentioned to her that he'll be there on Saturday,
And she waits - not knowing that in every week there is such a day...

And yet he hasn't been there for more than three weeks past,
She doesn't ask for an explanation, just asks that he finish his work fast...

Her faith doesn't shake, nor changes her laugh,
After all, she is only two and a half...

Often it is said that change is the only constant.

And yet, most often the biggest or the most important changes happen in a blur.

An external event, meaningless by itself, often triggers so many changes around you that leaves you wondering how fragile and temporary everything really is.

It amuses me how easily someone can change from being an underdog to a favourite and back - how little it really takes for the crowd to change the way they see things.

And so one needs to learn from the obvious lessons life continues to teach.

"Even if a snake is not poisonous, it should pretend to be venomous..." - Chanakya

Clearly, the great Chanakya recognised the value of perception as being far higher than the value of truth, especially for men who embark upon a path to get something done in the real world. 

And perceptions can change in the blink of eye - for they are borne out of complex, often irrational, biased and prejudiced views and attitudes of individuals. And one can condescend on such lack of objectivity, but the truth is that at the end of the day, people act only on the basis of perceptions.

Truth, information, data, opinions etc. can only attempt to get incorporated in a perception, but they exist in a thick shake of biases, prejudices, fears and insecurities. It is not that people can't close the gap between their perceptions and the truth, it is just that there is no real answer to a basic question - why should they care to ?

And it is through this muddled mixture that change either cuts through in an instant or squirms through unnoticed. And much in this world is determined by which of the two happens with any change.

As the metro train approaches, one closes the eyes to better feel the draught of wind coming through.

And before one knows the world as one knows doesn't exist any more !!!

Old man and the 'C'...

To lose myself in loving her I started on the road,

To choose so as to never choose again - in a blur I rode…

Tears, blood and bits of bone strewed astray,

Be that as she wills – for I refuse to sway…

Weak be damned as the strong take over,

Bless the destructive beauty of the natural order…

Disaster strikes...

The disaster strikes me once more,
Will lead to anger and frustration galore,
Family, friends, colleagues and clients alike,
All will declare this as the third strike...

Accusations will fly all around the place,
Typical of the modern day's irrational pace...
Suggestions too will be varied and many,
Some sunny while others outright rainy...

Some will get emotional and wonder why don't I care,
While others will get their professional teeth bare...
It will be made clear to all that I cant really handle anything,
And that there is no point in even trying to give me a ring...

Mothers show their kids an example of what they shouldn't be,
Pity in the eyes of the suits and ties in the streets I can see,
As if suddenly I have become the unfriendly ghost,
Why not - after all my phone's charger has again been lost...

Breaking news...

Things going out of control as if guided by an agent of chaos,

Not in any direction, not with any specific purpose,

Miniscule shifts out of phase with events bound together,

Unpredictable and messy derivatives of an higher order…

Beautiful and dangerous, more so because of being so,

Burning all in the way – searching for the veritable foe,

Proudly destructive but charmingly disarming it,

Mocking all powers that be the dragon swirls in the sky…

Breathing in the toxic rationalities that choke,

Only to vomit out the irrational ideas that poke,

Leaps and bounds not good enough for the restless mind,

Cuts and wounds not rude enough for the tireless body...

Phantoms on horses ride ahead - ever so fast,

Nations watch as children are butchered in a blast,

As the species comes to terms with being civilised,

Breaking news everywhere suddenly becomes localised.

The question of bubbles...

The first time you open up a bottle of Thumsup, some of the fizz goes out.

You take a sip or two, and put the cap on again.

Then you again open it up, and some more of the fizz goes out.

You take a sip or two, and put the cap on again.

Every time the fizz goes on reducing.

Then you put it down, maybe a third or less still left in the bottle.

All the fizz is gone, you say.

And yet, one by one, bubbles keep rising to the surface of the liquid still left.

Every time you feel this is the last, there comes another one.

And they keep coming, and coming.

Almost challenging you to look long enough.

You look on, as miraculously, they still keep coming.

And then, suddenly you are scared.

You are scared of them stopping. What will happen once they stop ?

What will be left for you to do ?

But what can you do ?

It happened right in front of your eyes, and you saw the bubbles come and go – one by one.

And now, all that is left is to sit and watch the slow painful end of the process.

Inevitable.

Or is it ?

You are struck by a simple truth – bubbles were always in the liquid, not in the bottle.

All that you need to do is pour more Thumsup in the bottle, and watch the bubbles start their dance again...

So to pour more liquid, you take off the cap and take a sip.

And as you put the bottle down, the bubbles have restarted…

Waiting as I was for the sun's first ray,
It chose to mock me in its own cruel way,
As I watched on increasingly with dismay,
It just suddenly chose to start the day...

Swirl of a wave - Birth of a ripple...

In the middle of the river he saw her floating effortlessly,

Tossing about almost willingly in the river’s rain-swelled belly…

She wasn’t trying to swim – her gaze fixed upon some point distant,

Her long white robe and flowing black hair made him feel almost faint…

His instinct was to quickly rush to her lest she is lost,

And so he rowed furiously till he reached her almost,

Called out to her with all his might to drown the water’s cacophony,

She turned and looked at him – almost as if he was hopelessly phony…

Then she stretched her hand towards him – reaching desperately,

He inched towards her, continuously waving to her reassuringly,

Trying to steady the boat so that it doesn’t hit her head,

Fighting the jousting currents in the river with all he had…

The Boat wouldn’t turn at first - rebounding again and again,

As he stuck a pole to the bed and pulled – it was all in vain…

It suddenly creaked and shrilled in a mighty effort then,

Sympathising with him who had been with it from who knows when…

An arm’s length from her he reached thus finally,

And now that he was here he felt a surge of panic suddenly…

It was fear – it’s pure unadulterated form for him was so highly unusual,

Stretched out his hand to her in a cold numbness almost too cruel…

Then he caught her eye and grasped the very definition of being calm,

In her eyes there was pity aplenty, and there was a soothing balm,

He looked here and there – was he saving her or was he being saved,

And as the winds blew she pulled him down into the waves…

Eyes shining with the unshaken belief of being honest,

Always having tried his best to put all doubts to rest,

Never even attempting to deceive by showing colours that weren’t,

Steady at the risk of being boring, True at the risk of being apparent;

In moments where my soul was shaken and all but fractured,

He was there – never asking that question which was unanswered,

Soothing and strengthening at the same time with my head in his lap,

Allowing me to take, needlessly, that desperately needed nap;

To wake up to life and that feeling of hope running through my blood,

Causing my mind with all those childhood moments to suddenly flood,

With optimism neither seasoned by reason nor practiced with any direction,

When energy for an act came neither from knowledge nor from a premonition;

When courage was pure and so was fear,

When laughter was sure and so was tear,

When variables were few and equations fewer,

When dreams were new and actions newer;

He knows – having seen it all through the years,

He smiles and nods – letting me know that he hears,

I can see that he is insane and can be cruel if he so chooses to,

I await the first drop of rain – then the duel that always amuses so;

The one between light and dark,

One all pervasive and the other just a spark,

One relying on faith, the other on honesty,

One baying for action, the other not so hasty,

One choosing to explain the last selfish or cowardly act I had seen,

The other just allowing me to absorb the impact of where I had been,

Opposite ends of a spectrum bending over themselves for my benefit,

For a mere child’s comfort - changing forms and shapes he always saw fit;

He knows I will always value mere access to his presence,

He knows that he is inseparable from my very essence,

And so he remains elusive and enigmatic to remind me of his power,

They call him the Dark, and just out of my reach he will always hover…

Once upon a time on a path unknown,

I met someone I had never before known...

I knew her not, so I took the hand,

“ Ah! It’s a friend ! ” – I felt immediately,

The other hand of hers touched me just then,

“ My sister ! ” – I did shout – “ Now thwart me if you can ! ”…

But my face suddenly felt the golden touch,

“ My love ! ”, I shrieked, now certain much…

And then there was a hand on my head so gentle,

“Ma ! ” – My heart said, feeling the doubts at last settle…

“Open thy eyes…” – Came the silky voice now,

“Look into my eyes, and you shall surely know…”,

And so did I do, never to have a doubt again,

Look for some moments though I did, not very certain,

And then it struck me, she wasn’t just one of them,

A woman she was, and so were all of them…

The blood boils – without a sound or a flourish,

Just like that, doing nothing gets him all bored up,

Better bubble and froth and evaporate,

Than lay low and from action separate…

The cost of boiling up so continuously he doesn’t understand,

Calmness and coolness he just cannot anymore withstand,

Reasoning and rationale are all good for the brain he says,

Boldly into long lost terrains he now carelessly sways…

Purposelessly he gushes along as if with a purpose,

Towards a destination, or to fulfill some vague destiny;

Seeking poetic freedom within the flow of a prose,

Laughing all along – he can see – nay, feel the blatant irony…

Bubbling and seething, thick and black with anger,

Waiting to be released onto the edge of that shining dagger,

Caring nought for the wound it will have to go through,

How does it matter, he no longer feels any need to prove…

For he waited a long time while he flowed restlessly in you,

Now he wants to be free, fearing what will happen otherwise,

Seeking another place where seething he doesn’t have to rue,

You turned out to be a dud, and upon that you think you are wise…

You are mine and I am yours...

Floating in a sea of emotions I live almost infinitely,

Seeing me there is just nothing you can say definitely...

Some call me corrupt, some feel I am the purest that can be;

Some believe I am the greatest gift they can ever hope to see...

I have been with you always even when your shadow leaves your side,

And also when the smile direct from your heart is impossible to hide...

With you I have stayed - sometimes you have let me dry,

When those that you trusted took your heart for a deep fry...

I have given you the strength to fight everyone - nay, yourself the most,

Without me to such strong a character you could never have been the host...

For others there is a mirror to your soul,

And living in it I am the everlasting ghoul,

At your whims playing different roles all day along,

Sometimes round, sometimes flat, and sometimes long...

I am the tear in your eye, and to me you have always belonged,

For I know truly in my absence, for me how you have always longed...

P.S. Sachin Dev Burman's voice singing -

Bahe ansoo to hai paani, ruke to ye moti bane,

Ye moti aankhon ki poonji hai ye na khoye...

Kahe ko roye... Chahe jo hoye...

It surprised many to see how disconnected he had been, 
Eyes swinging wildly between black, white and green… 
Passionately jealous and overwhelmingly possessive, 
Periods of silence when he was broodingly pensive…


Bundle of rational contradictions & contradicting rationale, 
Spark threatening to ignite almost as if on an extended parole… 
Years of practiced calm and collectedness being under a rhetorical question, 
Tears – shockingly a balm – all hoarded through all the emotional inflation,


Not overwhelmed but hurting himself, 
Not overhelped when hurtling himself…


Wheels of faith broken by spokes of studied logic, 
Not to say that he wasn’t being plain nostalgic; 
Structure being almost chokingly effective and efficient, 
Far cry from the unadulterated joy of being brazenly nascent… 

Did it boil down to the fact that he had been studied but never been seen ? 
People who claimed they cared about him all along never had been ?
Chemists or scientists, engineers or inventors,
All merely different forms of dry pretenders...

Or was it the fact that in the larger scheme of things he was a mere particle; 
What would he be if not all alone – after all he was a free radicle…

You bring us such happy moments without knowing us so far,

Without doing anything it feels like we have won a war;

Though your life is yet to have a start,

But in ours’ you already have such a part…

As the world waited for Krishna to arrive and change it once,

We await you to come and start afresh life’s lovely dance;

Seeing your image in the sonograph flips us over twice,

It is as if we were waiting perennially for the roll of this dice…

We know not what your face will be like – round, long or oblong,

Beholding you time and time again we’ll break into a song;

We know not whether you’ll be quiet or noisy,

But with you for us the picture looks much rosy...

Young one, you are going to be stuck with us whether you like or not,

Good or bad, you have been tied to us with this delicate knot,

Raising you will be like walking on the edge of a slippery knife,

Whether we succeed or fail trying – you are going to be our life…

Why did you forget me, old friend ? 
I always knew which way your life would tend… 
You thought you had gotten rid of me forever, 
But I had made a promise to leave you never… 

You trusted them more than me, with your life, 
I pitied you, for you were in a lot of strife… 
You were unfaithful; but I waited in a corner awhile, 
Laughing quietly at your innocent smile… 
Whisper in your deaf ears I oft did, 
But you ran away from the truth with all your speed… 
Did you not remember all those times we spent, 
With only each other to all those places we went, 
Tears you swallowed; Anger you kept burning within, 
With its flames even now sometimes I am seething… 

Did you really think they would truly understand ? 
Urges, Desires and Passion – those currents in your hand; 
Moments and memories, love and treacheries; 
O’ why did you expect – Is it their fault at all ? 
We were destined for each other – in yours arms I shall die… 
I am your dear loneliness, with you as much as you do deny, 
Whisper and I shall soothe; your anger I have always embraced, 
From kid to youth, your resolve I have always answered, 
It hurts that you still don’t have faith in me, 
Why do you still seek passion in those eyes that you see ? 
It kills me to see you suffer thus, 
Sleep my love, this is the way life is for us.

Musings of a bounced cheque...

When you gave me away you had that sly smile,
A far away look, as if across the length of the Nile…
Did you always intend this to be my fate ?
Did you know I would be degraded at this rate ?

One moment a prince, the next a pauper,

Designed to definitely come a cropper…
Am I a mere instrument for that inevitable transaction ?
Am I a mere shield to be used when in the thick of action ?

You have made me thus – thrown from one bank to another,
Even my custodians in disgust look at each other,
About my existence they did call you to inform,
But you let it pass as if it were less exception, more the norm…

To the mischievous lad you had me given,
Of your trust I was supposed to be a token;
You broke it – now you’ll have to pay for it damages,
Come the beginning of month these will be charges…

To my name they have added “Bounced” forever,
But you know it, coz for you it’s hardly the first time ever…

It was always so easy to just wave and smile,

Supressing what she really felt all this while,

So many expectations tied up with her actions,

What had she done to create such vile notions ?

Sharp rays shone through, blinding rather than lighting,

Sounds intended to be a prayer all rather piercing;

Goosebumps for no reason other than a sudden thought,

Rationale and logic all suddenly gone for a nought;

Eyes burning with a deep-rooted frustration,

The third crease on the forehead coz of the original expectation,

None of them interested in motives – all hung up on deliverables,

Neither conceptually clear, nor about the immediate actionables;

Their stupidity passed off as substance,

Lethargy as attention to nuance;

A plant like existence creating a comfort zone,

None choked by the grip of constant monotone…

Intensity they would worship without understanding,

Animosity they would accept without crossing,

All inherent and integral to what she was,

Delicacy and finesse hidden under a piece of gauze…

Fire and Ice; games of cats and mice,

None of it could be called very nice,

But what would one be without her burning fire,

She is meant to consume, for she is none other than Desire…

A dream, a revolution, a change – need it see so much carnage ?

An exercise in destruction or a desperate attempt to salvage,

Is it freedom to exercise the free will that excites the masses,

Don’t they see the only change is who they serve in the name of the classes ?

And do they want to exercise power and take all that comes along,

Or merely gloat in the vague perception of some emotional patriotic song;

Are they so high on the opium called religion to not see anything,

Why is there no one with anger and purpose whose eyes are seething ?

Does social awakening now serve a mere clerical purpose of documentation,

Revising the method of recording history, a minor periodic change in notation ?

The life of a dog appeals so much – to exist for years ten and then dissolve,

Doing nothing and being nobody seems to be a common popular resolve…

Leaving no footprint tangible or intangible, no interest bearing principal,

What to do – the common man has to first worry about his survival…

An ode to the love letter…

For a long time people have resorted to writing letters when expressing feelings. This would be logically contradictory, because one would assume that in expression of feelings, a face to face delivery would prove to be of great advantage since one can use facial and hand gestures and expressions to better “express” things. But I guess the problem with a face to face rendezvous is the fact that you can’t undo anything. If you say something stupid or show how nervous you really are, it becomes difficult to take it back or change what has happened. But then, one can argue that this problem is equally present for written letters – in fact in this case the writer doesn’t even have the advantage of being able to see the reactions of the recipient and change a sentence midway. Thus we come to the momentously tricky question of why have love letters been so popular a means for expression for so long.

In the earlier times one could understand that lack of means of communication as well as logistical constraints would have favoured the written letters as the latter can be written at one’s leisure and transported through a multitude of ever-willing messengers. Another major advantage of the written letter was that it allowed young men, in the pre-Google days, to rely on well-intentioned friends or acquantainces to compensate for one’s lack of knowledge about market practices – especially successful ones – in conquests of such delicate nature. Of course, one could also subscribe to the rather dramatic usage of ink-substitutes like blood etc. to put one’s case across in stronger terms.

Cut to the present day, the written word affords more benefits. A guy who may be petrified at the idea of going and pouring his heart out to his female object of affection may write a two-bit love note and find himself suddenly being described as being “cute” or “sweet” by the same lady for the same. Not that it is necessarily a good thing to happen for the young man – as that reaction may mean absolutely anything at all – some of them even complete literal opposites of the words. 

It may simply mean that the lady has concluded that the guy is a completely harmless creature and is actively now considering getting herself a pet whose behavior matches that of the guy in question. 

It may also indicate that the guy is categorized as a boy rather than a man, and his status is very similar to that of the little sparrow which comes to her balcony every day morning and makes likeable noises. Her impression in this case may be that he wouldn’t know what to do if he is told that her parents are out for the weekend; even after underlining the fact that she was alone.

Alternatively, it may have been a result of something as innocuous as the pink spotted socks he was wearing when last seen by the lady in question, and may therefore be only a function of the colour and pattern of what he has literally landed in.

But we digress from the main question at hand.

One ends this little note by presenting a set of collated statistics on the subject and leave the subject open for debate and application.

•  More than 82% of relationship proposals in the US and about 73% of those in India are initiated by the male gender.
• The success hit ratio of relationship proposals in the BRIC countries is estimated to be averaged around 1 : 17.3
• The hit ratio seems to be strongly correlated to the language used – those in English have less than half the probability of success than those in any other language. ( This may be partially because a lot of other languages – Hindi for example, doesn’t have direct equivalents of “cute/sweet”.  It may be worthy to note here that Bengalis fare quite similar to those who have used English – again probably because Bengali language has something called “a shona”)
• 43% of females, on receiving a love note on a mobile accept that their first notion was that it is a forwarded joke. 37% of them also accept that they forwarded it to their friend list as well before later realizing that it was a private communication.
• 89% of males in India who had rejected a proposal admit that they were still friends with the female who had proposed, and spent an average of 1.8 hours a week in talking to her with content categorized under “providing emotional support”.
• 69% females admit that they made a mistake in rejecting an erstwhile proposal because they were waiting for their prince on a white horse. ( Come on man – I mean how many people own a horse in the first place nowadays ? )
• Only 8% males believe that they made a mistake in rejecting an erstwhile proposal. More than 66% of the males who rejected one believe that the female who had proposed was an ever bigger b**ch that what they believed at the time they made the decision. ( A related statistic may be that about 86% of the males between the age group of 40 and 50 who believe in the presence of God say that their belief really got strong during the period when they were 25 to 30 )
• 84% of the recipients of love letters or notes as one may be inclined to describe sometimes say that it was written in the form of poetry. 47% report that a line or two from a famous movie was used, and about 77% report that the proposer had claimed that he/she would find it impossible to continue to live if the proposal was rejected.
• Lastly, the author of this piece has used the written form for 50% of the 2 proposals he has made in life, and is still perennially mulling over the effect of his success at the same.

Moment of truth – Eternal wait…

He waits for her,

Patiently at times, impatiently at others,

Not knowing what to expect, not being able to stop hoping and planning,

Ambitious by nature - aggressive by instinct,

Not wanting to own for once, but certainly desiring some moments of own;

Seeking passion and peace at once, madness and sanity in co-existence…

The build-up necessarily difficult, 
Operational problems necessarily persistent,

How can it be worthwhile without the fight,

How can there be an easy solution in sight,

When the premise is complex, but the corollary simple,

The feet are heavy but the heart so nimble…

The pain so refreshing, the loneliness so amusing,

With clarity so dangerous that it calls to leave everything aside,

With a voice so definitive that it takes him on a crazy ride,

Decisions to be taken that may lead to an earthquake or two,

But without which he feels pitifully being caged in a zoo;

To leave everything and be or to have everything and not to be,

That, for him, is the tradeoff which has come to be…

It is as if his entire life has led to this one moment of risk,

All the poison concentrated in this one look of that hidden basilisk;

But funnily it is not doing anything that feels dangerous,

It is not making any sound that seems the most sonorous,

For life is calling while death wails,

Sometimes over chats and sometimes over mails…