Prose and Verse

Goodbye and Welcome

2007-06-01T13:36:00.000+05:30

You are cordially invited, with family (only non-pesky kids allowed) and friends (again, only non-pesky kids), for the blog-pravesham ceremony of my new blog at Wordpress.

Transportation to the new blog has already been arranged - all you have to do is hang on for another 10-15 more seconds and you will be at the blog-step of my new abode.

This blog will still remain, but only as a testimony of my journey so far and for those few of you who could undergo withdrawal symptoms since you're so addicted to this blog (the only 3 persons on that addicted list as of now is me, me and me).

All further updates will be at the new place. Please update your bookmarks (humor me, will ya?) and please do come by to the new blog as often, if not more often, as you used to come here.

Thank you, and see you at my new place!

P.S: If your browser likes embarassing me and is not exactly redirecting you, please exercise your finger muscles and click on the following link, thanks! -

http://proseandverse.wordpress.com/

Reason(able)

2007-05-23T21:49:00.000+05:30

"Do you know what happened to Bunty when he refused to drink his milk?"

A small voice. "No. What happened to Bunty?"

"He came last in the running race. And he got a zero in his Maths exam. Do you want that to happen to you?"

"No."

"So, here, have this. I added chocolate sauce also, to make it yummy. Cmon, drink it up, drink it up."

"But.."

Exasperatedly, "But what?!"

"But..Bunty came last in the running race because he is fat. And he never listens to Latha miss in the Maths period and he never does his homework. Miss showed us his paper. He hadn't answered any question! That's why he got a zero. I don't like milk, Amma. Please."

"But milk is good for health, beta. It makes your bones stronger. It has calcium, remember? We read that in your science textbook yesterday. Growing children should have milk. So have it please. Do you want me to keep it in the fridge for a while? Will you have it chilled? It'll be like chocolate milkshake!"

"Ok. I'll have it chilled like chocolate milkshake. Can I have it like that everyday? Complan is yuck!"

Sigh of relief. "Sure!"

Remember?

2007-05-12T16:34:00.000+05:30

Remember the first time you took the cycle all by yourself to go to the nearby shop? And how you hit a cow on the road and fell down? You'd scraped you knee, but you couldn't stop laughing at how the cow bolted when you smashed right into it.

Remember the other time your brother hurt himself playing on the swing and came back limping with a gaping wound on his leg? One look and you were bawling at the top of your voice. We had to console you first before taking him to the hospital.

Sometimes I wonder if you're two different people.

Confessions

2007-04-25T10:19:00.000+05:30

You were right. It was all an act. A very elaborate one, at that.

You told me not to get carried away by those flowers and love notes. I chose not to hear you.

You told me he didn't actually mean whatever he said. I thought you were just jealous I found someone.

You told me he's not my type. I didn't speak to you for 3 days.

You told me not to let him take advantage of my situation. I let him do just that.

You told me you knew another girl whom he hurt. I called you a liar.

You told me you found it difficult to see me doing the biggest mistake of my life, before you walked out of my house. I never called you back.

You were right.

He didn't mean all that he said.

He's not my type.

He took advantage of my loneliness.

There was another girl before me.

You told me all this. You're right.

But then...

You never told me you were the other girl.

Tears

2007-04-12T16:26:00.000+05:30

Like rain on a parched earth
The tears soothed her burning eyes
The burning eyes that sang a requiem
For all that was lost.
The words that went unspoken
Little whispers of love, love long forgotten
Those moments that will never be
The smiles that never were
That glance, that touch, those roses -
Those roses and the thorns they held.
The little thorn that pricked her finger
A bigger thorn that hurt her head
And the biggest of them all, the one that shred her soul
Now the thorns were gone, leaving withered roses in their wake.
Salty tears bid adieu to all that was
Salty tears bid adieu to all that could have been
An end for all ends,
An end for all the beginnings.

A Path

2007-03-21T11:23:00.000+05:30

Lost in trance, on a deserted path
My feet kept moving, which way? I knew not.
There were no crossroads, no twists or turns
Just a hypnotic stretch of tar, as far as eye can see.
There were no other passers-by, no bird no animal -
I was alone, at peace with my world and theirs.
The trees stood around me in a bare-armed embrace,
Autumn had wreaked havoc, and Spring was still far away.
Those brown leaves crumpled under my feet,
Like memories of yore, trampled by tomorrow's worries.
I walked and I walked, my feet never hurt one bit!
I stopped to say hello to the little wild flower behind the rock,
I nodded a 'goodday' to the golden bee on the next!
I lost track of how far I'd come, how far I'd strayed
There was an unending path, behind and ahead.

Shortly, I came upon a milestone, a muddy stump of wood
That showed a meaningless number to nowhere.
Was that my destination? Is that how far I'm supposed to go?
Who would tell me that? How would I know?
I looked at the way I'd come and
Found it no different than the way I was to go!
Then how did the number on the milestone matter, I wondered.
To my left was barren land, littered by rocks and bush
Lay a corn field to my right, lush with golden crop.
There would be a village there not far away, and
There would be a farmer who would surely cross my way
He could tell me where I could go, he could give me bread and water too.

But I was not tired, my feet were still raring to go and
I was curious where the bleak landscape would lead to.
So off I went to my left, towards the wild unknown
I tripped on the rocks, and slipped on the sand but
My feet never wavered, my mind never in doubt
I walked on where a path never existed.
I reached a summit, where the land became rougher
Tougher journeys lay ahead, but without the milestones.

I paused and looked back, to see the way I'd come
And my heart was filled with immense joy -
For now, a path I could see, the path I'd trodden by.

A Fairy Tale

2007-03-14T13:13:00.000+05:30

Gita looked at herself in the mirror. Her mother's old kancheevaram was not so bad after all. She tucked a loose end inside and put a safety pin for good measure. She didn't look ravishing, she knew; but this was enough given the circumstances. It wouldn't matter to him how she was dressed, it wouldn't even matter how she looked. All that mattered was she will always be his sweetheart. The image in the mirror blushed at the word 'sweetheart'.

But then, was it really as simple as that? They had last seen each other 15 years back - when she was still in pigtails and he was the naughty kid who always smelt of mud. They had exchanged garlands made of wild flowers beside the motor pump in the mango grove. The last time she saw him, they were both crying. And he was waving from the back seat of their white Ambassador. She was left waving back at him till the car disappeared around the corner of the street.

She shook herself out of the reverie and adjusted her saree one last time. Then she ran out into the next room to help Janani get ready. The bridal make-up was done and they were tying the saree for her. Gita stood around and helped with the pins (they were everywhere!) and the clips. Just then, she heard the sound of a car outside. She quickly glanced out the window and her heart skipped a beat. It was him. Or was it Adonis?

Gita did all she could to stop herself from running out and hurling herself at him, hugging him like there was no tomorrow. She heard them come inside, her aunt was offering them drinks keeping up a casual banter. And then, a voice -

"Nenu bagunnanu, Pinni. Pellikoothuru edhi?" ("I'm doin' good, Auntie. Where's the bride, by the way?' )

It was definitely him. Gita felt tears rush into her eyes. He was finally here, at home. Where she can see him. Where she can tell him how long she had waited.

There was a knock on the door and Anu ran up and opened it. And there he was!

Gita saw his eyes scan the room, and finally settle on her. She felt her ears grow hot under his gaze. She self-consciously pulled a stray strand of hair behind her ear and acted like she didn't notice him. Does this mean he remembers? Would he know that I remember?

'Gita! Alaage nilchunte ela! Aa chair itivvave, thanu koorchoni!' ('Gita! Don't just stand there. Get him a chair')

'It's ok, Chinni. Chair odhdhu.' ('It's ok, Chinni. I dont need a chair')

He felt 7 pairs of eyes on him. He didn't notice that one pair was filled with tears.

A small voice said, 'Chinni evaru?' ('Who's Chinni?)

He burst out laughing. He realized he had used that name aloud. The name only two people in the room knew about.

And she knew that he remembered.

Author's Note: This piece of fiction is the result of watching too many Telugu movies! If I made a movie out of this (horror of horrors!), it'll star Nagarjuna and that girl from the movie 'Gitanjali' - you know the one who dies of cancer finally? No two guesses from where the heroine gets her name. And is it just me or did the part about Adonis make you laugh too? That's pretty corny, but I'm gonna let it stay. For comic relief.

A monologue

2007-03-02T12:09:00.000+05:30

Right. The phone's off the hook, the door is locked and the curtains drawn. I have my coffee (hot creamy with a hint of cinnamon, just the way I like it) and the laptop's fully charged so I'm not tied down to the table. So, now what? Start writing! My magnum opus, the biggest and bestest piece of fiction the world ever read! Only, what the heck do I write about?

Maybe I should write about my childhood. But, what's the big deal in that? I wasn't born and brought up in USA anycase - I don't know what prom is and I most definitely did not think about boys as I was too caught up with my science project and grades. Even if I let my imagination run amock and make up all this, it's anyway taken by Kaavya Vishwanathan and I'm not exactly a fan of chic-lit novels. Idea number one, rejected.

Wait a minute! I can write about my college life! On how I was a day scholar and spent all of 30 minutes on a bus ride from home to college everyday, surrounded by the most boring set of people ever. On how I was studiousness-incarnate and never took part in any cultural activities and/or the uncultured ragging activities. On how utterly boring the whole thing was. Do boring incidents make a good novel? Well, they might, only if you're Arthur Hailley and you wrote 'Wheels'. Idea number two, rejected.

Hmmph. What shall I write about? Hey, how about my ancestral village? You know, with those green paddy and sugarcane fields, the huge jackfruit tree with a pump-set nearby! Ok, sounds good, but what about the plot? I only know of one incident where a poor guy fell into the un-used well and died of methane poisoning. Maybe I can make up a ghost story? About the girl who hung herself from the ceiling fan and how her spirit still wanders around after 12 at night? But that is so old! And pretty lame. I mean, that lady in a white saree is not even scary anymore - even with the red eyeballs and ghostly voice. Forget it, it's no use. Idea number three, rejected.

Now, what else do I have? A story of espionage and betrayal? A la Robert Ludlum! Brilliant! But hey, forgot one thing. You've never set foot out of your home state in your home country and to write about espionage, there has to be at least one other foreign country! Damn! I should've travelled more, as in to places other than grandma's village. You think you can imagine the whole thing anyway? Like Kafka did with Amerika? Heh heh. I can't believe I just compared myself with Kafka. What the heck! Idea number four, rejected.

Oh great, the coffee's cold and I haven't typed even one line. Other than the Sriramajayam that is.

Goddd!! One bolt of creative thunder is all I ask for! Hear my prayers, O Lord!

Hmm, this room feels strangely cosy. Maybe I'll get more creative if I lie down on the sofa and type. A comfortable body means a comfortable mind. And a comfortable mind is fertile soil for creative thoughts. Oh my god, that was so profound! I better make note of this. Who knows, my heroine could always use a few profound sayings once in a while.

Well well well, this sofa is pretty comfortable. A pillow would help, though.

There! Now, let me get back to the story. What other ideas would make a good book? You know, you should have read Kiran Desai's 'Inheritance of Loss' fully, maybe that would inspire you. No! For the umpteenth time, I don't want to write a book inspired by another book. It's pretty close to being called plagiarism and I'm not yet that desperate. No more reading books. The next book I read will be my own. That's that.

Yeah right. I'm never gonna read another book in this lifetime then.

No no, I shouldn't let such discouraging thoughts come into my mind. I can do it. I know I can. It's just a book. I write well, I'm witty enough, I just need a good idea. That's all I need - one good idea.

Maybe I should keep the laptop down and think about the idea. It'll be difficult to type lying down anyway.

Good. Now I can think comfortably. You know, maybe I should close my eyes too. To not let the world distract me. Didn't I read somewhere that the eyes are the first source of distraction and that's why people close their eyes during meditation and all that? But what if you end up sleeping? Well, if one feels sleepy one just has to sleep. No two ways about it.

What do I write about?

What do I...

The Mind

2007-02-02T12:17:00.000+05:30

I want this and I want that
I'd love a bit more of this, this and that
I wanna go here, I wanna go there
But sometimes I dont wanna go anywhere
I'd like to see you, I'd like to do this
I feel like eating anything, but this
I want a diamond, I want some gold
I actually want everything being sold
I love you, I hate you
I can tolerate you, but not you
I cant control this, I cant resist it
And one day you start losing me, bit by bit.

You're called insane 'coz you don't have me
You're put in an asylum, alas! they don't see!
If you have me, it is but to lose
Around your neck, tightens the noose
It's a problem if you have me, it's a problem if you don't
Without me you're mindless; you think you will manage? Oh no, you won't!

The Mouse

2007-01-30T14:23:00.000+05:30

Once upon a time, on an island with a lighthouse
Lived a teeny weeny mouse, in a little mouse house.
He slipped on a pea,
And fell in the sea!
Moral? Peas could be injurious, if you're a teeny weeny mouse.

Life

2007-01-18T09:26:00.000+05:30

I'm not real.
Just a mirage, a shadow that disappears with the fading light.
All that you hear about me is inconsequential -
For he who truly knows me cannot speak about me.
The me that you see is irrelevant -
For I'm not what you see, I'm much more and a lot less than that.
Anything you know about me is obsolete -
I'm ever-changing, morphing into forms you cannot fathom.
I'm not where you search for me,
I'm not what you wish me to be.
Cry all you want, laugh while you can
Despair, lose your hopes and question your faith
I will still remain the enigma that I am
For better or for worse.

Black

2006-08-13T14:47:00.000+05:30

It was pitch black all around her. She instinctively closed her eyes and opened them again, making sure she hadn’t gone blind. She hadn’t. That was a relief. She felt disoriented even in her haven. She was surprised how her own home felt so alien when the lights were out. I have to tell Ani to get that inverter no matter how expensive, she decided. The dark still unnerved her, like it had when she was a child.

She put the lid back on the box she was opening and turned around, hands outstretched, to go back to the hall and get the emergency lamp. She took two tentative steps forward, hands waving around to make sure she didn’t collide with anything in the room. She had an idea how far the door would be from where she was standing. She tried feeling out for the familiar contours of her microwave oven. Two steps to the right of that was the door. She now felt the rough wood and stopped for a moment to get a bearing on which way she has to move next.

There was a faint light outside the curtained windows. Feeling emboldened, her next few steps were more confident around the dining hall. There were no obstructions on the path to the hall, she knew. They had left it like that so Chinnu could play around in her small tricycle. Her heart skipped a beat, ‘Chinnu!’. She realized a moment later that her baby was out with her father. She smiled to herself, it was one of those things about being a mother. She wondered if her own mother was this protective of her when she was a child. No, she decided, no one would be as protective as her.

The showcase glass glinted in the feeble light from the window. Reminding herself to be careful not to knock over the trinkets kept in the glass shelves, she felt around for the edge of the showcase and moved further. She would hit the recliner any time now. And she did. She bent down a little and felt her way towards the table in the corner. Why the heck did I keep the emergency lamp in such an inaccessible place, she chided herself.

She stepped on Chinnu’s Pooh, left on the carpet – it gave a feeble ‘peeep’, as if in protest at being walked over. Their life had changed so much after Chinnu was born. And Ani wanted another child. Her stomach turned over when she thought about that. Ani would want to talk about it tonight and she was still not ready to tell him. She was running out of excuses to not talk about it just yet. He would not understand why she did it. No one would.

Lamp forgotten, she sank down on the couch. She had always wanted to be a mother. But the doctor had said Ani would not be able to give her that joy. Tears were now streaming down her face. She loved him too much to let him know the truth. And Chinnu! He wouldn’t love Chinnu the same if he knew. Or would he? He wouldn’t, said a little voice in her heart. Remember, he didn’t want to go for adoption. He wanted the child to be his own. But Chinnu wasn’t his own. How would he ever understand? She didn’t love Hari, she never did. But she always wanted to be a mother.

The lights came on, momentarily blinding her. She would not tell Ani the truth, he didn’t have to know. She walked over to the table and absent-mindedly switched on the emergency lamp.

Spin me a story... (Part 1)

2006-07-20T14:46:00.000+05:30

It's difficult to write for children. Trust me, it is. I don't know what hit me this morning but I just thought of writing a bedtime-story-for-tiny-tots kind of story - and for the world of me, I couldn't! You know the ones with animals and far away kingdoms, with a moral at the end of each story - no siree, not me. We've gotten so entrenched in our everyday life and it's reality that it takes a huge effort from our side to imagine a completely different life and time (where animals talk, carpets fly and Gods have a weird sense of humor), and make an interesting story out of it without our sarcasms, without any judgemental lines, just pure entertainment and a lesson-learnt message at the end. (And that was a really long sentence I just wrote! What's wrong with me?!!)

Nevertheless, I'm going to try -

Let's do it one at a time then - first my characters: I need
- at least one monkey to act all goofy - the fun part. He might also become my hero in the last chapter
- a prince and a princess for all the mushiness
- two peacocks 'coz they're so beautiful to hang around with
- a herd of elephants, so the princess and the **cough** prince won't feel she's fat
- one donkey to make fun of...er..fool of, too
- some doves to denote love and peace and all that crap
- a flying carpet (I love 'em!)
- an elf who makes shoes at night (sounds familiar? just keep quiet will ya?)
- one nasty villian who keeps saying 'Mogambo khush hua' everytime something happens. The good part is, his name won't be Mogambo. Muahahahaaa!
- an old witch with straggly white hair, no teeth and sitting at a spinning wheel. (Yeah yeah, I've read Sleeping Beauty, so?)

Now for the story line: I dont want a love story. I dont want a villain-kills-parents-so-take-hero-takes-revenge story. I want something fun. **thinking**

Ok..thought enough..here goes...

Once upon a time in a far off land, there lived a monkey. He was a happy monkey, doing monkey things, eating monkey food and living with other monkeys. He lived in a forest near a big kingdom ruled by a young prince. He cannot be called king yet 'coz 'king' doesn't quite sound as romantic as 'prince'. So he was a prince. And he was handsome. And unmarried. And in a nearby kingdom lived a beautiful princess who was conveniently ruling over her kingdom in the absence of her parents who had died 10 years ago. (Author's note: I don't need to parents and parents-in-law - too much complication, keep it simple.)

The prince used to correspond with the princess regularly using her doves and his peacocks. The peacocks couldn't fly very well, but they helped by bribing the donkey to carry the message to the princess. In return, the peacocks used to hang out with the donkey thereby making him look cool among other donkeys. All was well with the two little kingdoms with their love stories, animals and other people.

But one day, there came a man at the door of the prince. He was shabbily dressed, hair unkempt and looked emaciated. (Author's note: Kids should learn new words). He had a curved stick in his hand, much like what Moses was carrying in the animated 'Prince of Egypt' movie and a rolled up bundle under his arm. The rule at the prince's palace was to welcome any guest and treat them well. So the ministers and the others took the man inside, cleaned him, clothed him and gave him food to eat. But all the while, the man never let go of his stick and bundle. This made the Prime Minister get very suspicious about the contents of the bundle. So before leaving for the night, the PM kept a window open in the room given to the man. He would come a bit later in the night and see for himself.

The royal clock struck 12. Actually, the tiny guard moving the gong struck 12. All was quiet and silent at the royal palace. The Prime Minister, dressed as a common man, came to the window of the man's room and peeped in. It was dark inside, the candles were not lit. Once his eyes got adjusted to the darkness, the PM saw a very strange scene. He stood rooted to the ground and watched the macabre unfold in front of his eyes.

And thereby hangs my tale... will get back to it in my next post.

The flower and the bee

2006-07-12T18:01:00.000+05:30

The little flower said to the bee,
'Oh, how you buzz away, always so free.'
Said the bee to little flower blue,
'I'm never free, I have work to do!'

'But you're still not tied down,
To the hard earth so brown!
Up, up and away you fly
Reaching high to the deep blue sky.'

'Ah, but that is far from true,
My dear little flower, so blue -
I can fly high on a day so sunny,
But come down, I must, for your sweet honey!'

You can take the kid out of kindergarten, but you cannot take kindergarten out of the kid.

What's in a name?

2006-07-10T14:45:00.000+05:30

He had always hated his name. Such a commonplace, old fashioned name. He sometimes felt his parents did that to him on purpose. Why would they want to name their only son that?! He cringed when someone called him by his name - he so preferred his nickname, Sonny. He wished he could change the name in the attendance register at school. He was tired of all the jokes.

He hated the day his parents named him Hari.

More than that, he hated the day Naukri.com released the advertisement with Hari Sadu.

Untitled

2006-07-05T14:45:00.000+05:30

She didn't understand why there were so many people milling around outside her house. Was something wrong? Oh God, was there a robbery? She rushed inside. They had broken open the door and she could see the tools still lying about. Did that mean they caught the thieves red-handed? There wasn't much of jewellery or cash in the house, she knew that. Since her husband was flying abroad, they had kept it in the bank locker a week back. What remained at home were the electronic items. Strangely, the items in the hall were untouched. The DVD player was right there, so was her cellphone, the cordless phone, some silver curios in the huge glass showcase - surely, these would have been stolen first! Something didn't feel right.

She saw the police officers standing inside the master bedroom. She went inside and found them discussing about something in the bathroom - the tub, specifically. There was no light inside and they were using torchlights. She felt movements behind her and turned - 2 orderlies were carrying a stretcher into the room. They took the stretcher inside the bathroom. Now wait just one minute!, thought she. Why would they need a stretcher if it was a case of theft? Unless...unless someone was hurt! But the lack of urgency on the orderlies' part didn't attest to that. Which can only mean one thing - someone had been hurt. Fatally.

They brought the stretcher out after a few minutes. A figure, draped in a white bedsheet. No, it cannot be! It cannot be! Her screams were caught in her throat. She felt faint and swooned. She held on to the wall for support and tried to erase the memory of what she had just witnessed. She sank to her feet and the tears started running. She closed her eyes and sobbed.

She remembered then, how it had happened. She'd just taken a relaxing bath and stepped out of the tub. Since the floor was wet, she had slipped and had caught on to the first thing near her to steady herself. It wasn't enough. She couldn't control her skid and fell - her head hit the tub. She remembered seeing blood on her fingers where she had touched her head. And then, blackness.

And then she remembered standing outside her house, wondering why there were so many people around.

To each his own!

2006-06-26T14:21:00.000+05:30

There was once an old man of Mig,
He was eccentric - he glued, to his head, a wig!
"To each his own!",
Said the man, in a baritone -
Then, went right ahead and kissed a pig.

On a girl...

2006-05-23T14:20:00.000+05:30

There was once a girl in Bloomingdale
She was shopping for a dress and a veil.
The dress was white,
And the veil, just right -
But alas, she now looked like Florence Nightingale!

Inspiration

2006-05-17T14:44:00.000+05:30

He looked at the sheaf of papers on his table. His accomplishment, he felt. It was his baby. It was the one big thing he had always wanted to do. His own book. He closed his eyes to savor the moment - he had just written the last chapter. The most exciting, most unexpected of all the chapters. He was sure he had a bestseller in his hands. "Mr.M, what was your inspiration to write this masterpiece?" "Sir, how many other offers have you got, now that your first book is a huge hit?" He could hear the reporters, jostling for space with their mikes and notepads. He could feel the heat of the camera flashes.

With a satisfied smile, he started to arrange the papers - he had done that umpteen times in the last 30 minutes, but somehow, he kept doing it again. Perfection, he called it.

He placed the papers inside a folder and almost reverently, kept it inside the cupboard.

He then turned to the assortment of open books on his table. All his favorite authors. His inspiration. Would they notice the similarities? He shrugged off the thought - you're just being paranoid, he chided himself. They wouldn't know. No one would. It was an art, plagiarizing. And he was the master artist.

On moving

2006-05-02T14:08:00.000+05:30

On Thursday (27 Apr, 2006):
For a long long time, one wish forever grew -
A little place of our own, ours through and through.
Many a sleepless night,
Only one thing in our sight,
We're moving into our own house - finally, a dream come true!

On Sunday/Monday (30 Apr - 1 May, 2006):
Little did I know that a new house isn't just a gain -
It came with much more - my prayers went in vain!
Pack and unpack,
My back went 'cra-aa-ack' -
Shifting to a new house is sure a big pain!

Rest of the week:
Boxes boxes everywhere, as far as eye can see!
Umpteen sacks and covers, alas! poor me!
This is so tragic,
I badly need magic -
Dear Lord, this is my prayer to thee!

2006-04-23T14:43:00.000+05:30

It didn't hurt anymore. She'd gotten used to it. The screams just died in her throat these days. All that remained was this constant ache in the heart. And a sense of betrayal that refused to die down no matter how much her mind thought otherwise. He had loved her. She was conscious of the past tense every time that sentence came up. Had loved her. She doubted if there was any left now. She had always believed that a heart that loved cannot hate. If hate comes in, love tiptoes away. Unheard, unseen, but felt by the heart. But she stayed on because she still loved him. Inspite of everything, she did. And she was not going to give up. She also believed that love conquers all. She was also conscious of the foreboding in her heart that something was to go wrong. Very wrong.

He hated himself. Not her, but himself. He hated his dependence on alcohol. He hated himself everytime he hurt her. Physically or otherwise. He longed for those wonderful times they had spent with each other when he was not the monster he was now. The laughs, the long never ending sweet nothings...her smile! He could not remember the last time he had seen her smile. He had loved that smile above all. Now all he found were tears. And fear. There was always a fear in her eyes. He sometimes wished she wouldn't take all that he did and just leave. But she never let go. He loved her more for that. But somehow, that could never stop him from having that one last drink.

They found their bodies the next morning. She lay crumpled at the foot of the bed, the bedstead streaked crimson - crimson like the floor beneath her. His body was hanging from a rope tied to the fan - looking down at her, asking for her forgiveness and loving her more than ever.

Blank

2006-04-19T13:24:00.000+05:30

I sit in front of the screen,
Words fail me! I'm worried, what could that mean?
Fingers poised on asdf jkl;
Nothing, blank, zero, nil.

There is no dearth for inspiration,
Blogs all around me, no lack of motivation!
Then why this sudden lull,
Why am I not able to write, no matter how hard I mull!

My head aches from the inactivity,
Have I lost all my creativity?!
That is a very serious prospect, you see -
Without frequent writing, I'd be stranded at sea!

For writing is what I do best
I pretend to take it lightly, ofcourse, only in jest!
Me - I'd like a pen 'n pad even on my hearse -
Look! All my anguish is coming out in verse!

Fine Print: Before you think how pretentious of me to say I have writer's block when I have been updating my blog almost every day, here's the real deal - I find myself writing, but not writing what I actually want to. And it kills me to be like that. I'm waiting for a huge bolt of creative thunder to hit my otherwise dull brain to make me finish what I've begun. Or atleast make me start writing the one thing I've been procrastinating for aeons.

The Rendezvous

2006-04-18T14:43:00.000+05:30

The morning seemed more beautiful than usual. She noticed the flowers this time. And the chirping birds flying hither and thither. She realized she'd been smiling too broadly and stopped - what will people think! She smiled again. The wait for the bus didn't seem long, even though it was a good 20 minutes before it came. She got a window seat, again, something that rarely happens.

What's with today, she thought. He had called last night and said he wanted to talk to her about something very important. That's what was different about today. His call. And what it could mean. He had asked her to come to the icecream parlor where they'd gone on the first day of college. Why there, she wondered. Why not the college itself? She smiled again. Maybe because it was special.

She wasn't his only friend, neither was he her's. But she'd always felt there was something more between them. An unknown chemistry, if you could call it that. He never flirted with her like he did with the other girls. There was this unsaid silence between them when their other friends were around. And she could never look into his eyes. He hadn't got her anything for Valentine's Day last week. He hadn't got anyone else anything either. And he had smiled at her near the flower stall - he had looked at the roses, turned to her and smiled. She closed her eyes and saw that smile over and over again. She missed him.

The day seemed the longest ever. She couldn't wait to get out of class soon enough. When the last bell rang, she had to stop herself from running out. She took an auto to the icecream parlor. She reached the parlor 15 minutes ahead. He was not there yet. She went in and took the table in a corner next to the bay window. She adjusted the flower vase on the table and smoothed down the tablecloth. The girl in her. She heard the sound of a bike and looked out - it was him. But then...he'd come with another friend of their's. A girl.

Mind Maps

2006-04-12T14:19:00.000+05:30

If you're out of ideas, you can stop blinking -
There is now a tool to do all the inking!
Fill in the gap
Using a Mind Map,
I'm attending a workshop on Creative Thinking!

What's 'Creative Thinking using Mind Maps'?

The Nail

2006-04-10T14:40:00.000+05:30

Mahi didn't know how that day had turned out to be so special. It started the way most days do - a lazy morning, followed by a hurried getting-ready-to-work routine and a rushed breakfast. Then began the short, but seemingly unending, ride to the railway station - on a TVS moped that once belonged to Muththassan when he was a peon at the local registrar office. It was always in the family, so when it came to a two-wheeler to use for commuting, it was a natural choice! "This is the safest thing you can use when you park it in the railway station da kutta", said Pappa when the moped was handed down to Mahi.

The ride to the station would have been eventless if it weren't for the tiny nail on the small by-lane that Mahi generally used, to avoid traffic. Two hours earlier, the nail had felt it was time for it's act of glory - all these days it had remained the only thing between an old man on a rickety old stool and the hard brown floor. But today, the strain on the poor nail was so much that it decided to give way. Down fell the rickety old stool, taking the old man with it, to the hard brown floor. The impact of this fall sent the tiny nail flying on to the street - where it lay waiting for Mahi's moped.

As usual, Mahi stopped the moped for 2 minutes in front of the small Vinayaka temple and did the usual praying. It was more of a mechanical ritual than an expression of devotion. The moped knew, more than Mahi, to stop at the temple - come rain or shine. Mahi took the sharp turn into the by-lane and tried hard not to accelerate - the road was non-existent, but the potholes were very much there. The moped was in a good condition, but there was no escaping the fact that it was old. Mahi had thought of messing up the moped in the hopes of getting a new one, but that thought was driven out by Pappa's casual remark - "Mahikutta, it's just a matter of another 8 months. Then you're not going to be here after that. If this moped doesn't last, you could always take the bus for a while." So, this moped, no matter how old, was still Mahi's preferred mode of commute.

The nail was lying on the road, its head stuck between two pieces of stone and its pointed tip looking up to the skies. Call it fate or the laws of flying-objects, the nail was positioned to cause maximum damage to any object made of rubber that passes over it. The moped, with Mahi on it, oblivious to the waiting nail, was coming down the very road.

When disaster struck in our case of the nail and the moped's tyre, the sonic effects were minimal, to the extent of being virtually undetectable. The moped didn't feel a thing but the nail on the other hand, had met the purpose of it's Creator. Barely 100 metres from ground zero, the moped realized what had happened. Mahi did too, although Mahi's realization was punctuated with 4 letter words that would have made Muththassi do a somersault in her grave.

Mahi got down to assess the damage. It was bad. The only thing to be done now was to get the moped to a mechanic and find a way to get to work. All this in the next 15 minutes before Mr.Nair, the manager, could realize Mahi was late. The road, for all practical purposes, was uninhabited. Except for the old man on the erstwhile rickety stool outside a shabby tent, there was no other living soul. That is, if one didn't count the stray dog lying in the corner near the lamp-post.

It was a while before Mahi realized that the only way out was to leave the moped and walk to the nearest junction and get an auto. Just then, there came a Maruti 800 car on the very same road. A savior in a shining white automobile, perhaps, thought Mahi. The car seemed to understand the moped's predicament and stopped. Sanju was not the kind of guy to just drive past when someone was in distress. Especially, if it was a young and lovely damsel like Mahi.

Mahi heard the door bell chime - it seemed to reflect the happy chimes in her own heart. Sanju was home.

Insomnia

2006-03-25T14:18:00.000+05:30

There was a girl who was still awake at midnight
She just couldn't sleep - such was her plight!
And so she wrote a limerick,
But that turned out pretty sick -
"Will somebody please switch off the stupid light!"

100 not out

2006-03-20T18:38:00.000+05:30

Do not think, 'Oh, why does she boast?'
Writing was something I've wanted to do most,
So, went the whole hog,
And got myself a blog -
Welcome, people, to my one hundredth post!

On posting 100 posts on my other blog!

The storm

2006-03-17T14:39:00.000+05:30

The sea was far from calm. There seemed to be a strange turmoil in its depths. God knows what those deep blue depths hid. But for Majid, the waves were the loving arms of his mother, the sea. Majid did not know any other mother. From the time he could remember, he was always in her lap - playing running & catching with the waves, building sand castles, even venturing into the open sea with the other fishermen in the village. It was in his blood, the sea and its salt.

But today the sea scared him. For the first time, he felt her rage. He was worried for his friends who had gone out for fishing that morning. Majid was just recovering from a bout of viral fever and had not gone. He still felt the taste of the antibiotics in his mouth - thanks to the missionary hospital near his village, he hadn't suffered with the fever. Dr.Ramesh had told him he'll be fine in a week. That was 4 days ago. Majid felt fine, just a lingering tiredness in his limbs due to the dehydration and lack of nutrition.

He stood at the shore, the waves lapping at his feet. The air was laden with rain - he could have sworn he felt electricity in the air. The sky was an angry grey and a rumble ripped it every now and then, with the occasional flash of lightening. Storms were not new to Majid, but this would not be an ordinary storm. He could feel it in his bones.

The evening breeze had turned into a forceful wind. He found himself shivering inspite of his blanket. He turned to go back to his hut when he thought he saw something bob up and down in the water just ahead. He couldn't be sure what it was, till a flash of lightening appeared. His heart leapt to his throat when he realized it was a human. Someone was drowning!!

It was more of a reflex that Majid rushed into the waters to save the poor fellow. The waves were not in a mind to let him save anyone - the harder he tried, the harder they pushed him back. Majid let out a groan of anger and surged ahead. He caught a hand and pulled with all his might. Only after reaching the shore did Majid realize that it was a girl. But wait..it couldn't be a girl. It couldn't even be a human being!

She was beautiful - strangely, angelic. But her body, how could it be, thought Majid. Where legs should have been, Majid found a tail fin! She was half fish! Majid stood rooted on the spot, unable to move or take his eyes off her. He didn't know if she understood his language. Hell, he didnt know if she could be dangerous! He went nearer, cautiously though.

She sensed him and looked up. Majid felt his heart skip a beat, she was beautiful! She extended her hand towards him, calling him to come closer. As if in a trance, Majid moved closer and touched her hand.

It was instantaneous - there was a loud clap of thunder and Majid woke up in a sweat. He was in his hut, his blanket twisted around him. The broken watch on his hand showed 6:30. It was just evening. He rushed out of his hut, expecting to be met by the half-fish girl. He found no one outside. He wrapped his blanket around and walked to the sea and stood there, feeling the waves on his feet. The evening breeze had turned into a forceful wind. He found himself shivering inspite of his blanket. He turned to go back to his hut when he thought he saw something bob up and down in the water just ahead.

Paint my life thus

2006-03-15T12:42:00.000+05:30

The first rain on a dry earth, ah the petrichor - fragrance of the highest!
You sent me a rainbow, when I only asked for rain!
Dew drop so perfect, the sparkle - a blush when the Sun sends a kiss.
Silky sky with cotton clouds, crumpled musings of a poet's pen perhaps?
And the many hues of blue, pale here, periwinkle there and the bluest blue seas!
A sunrise, a moonlit night and the stars out of reach but in sight.
Flowers born at Your feet, a bouquet for me at my doorstep everyday!
Oh what a blessing my Lord, you found me worthy of these!

Golden for all the love, blue for the laughter,
Red for the smiles and white for the peace.
Yellow for a happy sunshine, green so I'm glad for all that is mine.
And last, a touch of black - for without it, there wouldn't even be a white!
Heavenly painter with colors endless, paint my life thus.

The omnipresent kitchen knife

2006-03-13T15:32:00.000+05:30

Once there was a girl who was accident-prone -
Whatever she did, it always ended with her groan.
She cut herself today,
Like she does everyday
It's a pity resistentialism won't leave her alone!

What's my issue with inanimate objects? Try reading this -> The chair or the bed?

To me (on Women's Day)

2006-03-08T13:14:00.000+05:30

I'm not a burden anymore, not a big debt,
I'm better than a son, yeah, you bet!
I know what I want, I know how to get it.
And I'll conquer all, sure, bit by bit.

Wife to a husband, sister to a brother,
Daughter to a mother, someday a mother,
Daddy's little darling, that'll always be me -
I can be all at the same time, I am a woman, you see.

I will reach great heights, endless and carefree,
Nothing in the world can defeat the girl in me!

2006-03-06T15:58:00.000+05:30

Doctor doctor! Don't give us a fright
Please don't take our ailments so light!
You're on strike,
For want of a hike!
Said the doctor, 'Let the Govt first treat ME right!'

Doctors' strike threatens to spreada

To Monday

2006-02-27T10:13:00.000+05:30

Oh! how I wish I had the flu
To miss office on a Monday blue.
Jealous of my neighbor - the housewife unseen,
And so I became a monster green.
Yellow it is, the day of Woden -
Two more to go, two have been trodden.

Thirsty for red, but I only get orange.
Now isn't it a pity! Nothing rhymes with orange.
Red as in fun, red as in Fridays
Red as in the last of all the weekdays

Let's go to the movies, let's have some fun,
It's the day of Saturn, all said and done.
God rested on Sunday and so will I,
It will be Monday again and all I can do is sigh!

Oh poor Monday, what did you do?
To be called a day so blue!
Laugh on, Friday! It won't last long -
If I work on a Saturday - like Thursday, you'll jus' tag along!
No other day has feelings so true
Like my dear Monday, oh so blue!
I won't curse you, will find no fault
For my first poem came from your vault!

First ever

2005-11-11T04:59:00.000+05:30

After their dreamy marriage
They set off in a carriage
To the moon
For a honeymoon
But returned due to alien barrage.

My first ever limerick - written when I was in my 7th or 8th grade.

She tried

2005-11-10T14:38:00.000+05:30

It was at that moment she decided enough is enough. She was tired of longing for it...tired of waiting and watching..she had to do something about it now. When was the last time she ever did it? She couldn't remember. It seemed like it was in another lifetime when things were so much simpler. She took a deep breath and got up - and felt a shiver run down her spine. Strangely, she felt exhilarated - that surprised her, wasn't she supposed to feel scared? or alteast guilty? She didn't feel guilty - she'd come beyond all that now.

Her first 2 steps were tentative - but then she remembered the pain and she wanted to end it - she walked out of the room. She opened the door and steeled herself for the first onslaught of the cold air. It almost knocked the wind out of her - she could feel her mind giving up and wanting to go back. But going back was not an option. She'd had enough and this was her revenge.

Half in doubt, she slowly extended her hand. She could hear her heart beat in her throat. Her hand got there before her mind did, she could feel the cold veneer of her long lost love - the love was lost, what remained was bitterness. She couldn't defeat the lure of it and now she was giving in. Giving in? It hit her like a blast of a ship's foghorn - giving in? She wasn't going to give in. It just wasn't in her nature to give in. She took her hand back as if she'd been stung. She shut the door hard and ran back into the room. It took her all of 10 minutes to calm down..she could feel her heart beat normally..she was sweating and her hands were shivering.

She heard the car in the driveway. Her husband was home - after what seemed like an eternity. She ran to the door and yanked it open even before he got out of the car. She felt so relieved to see him - he would understand why she tried to do it. He knew something was wrong when he saw her. He came running to her, 'Honey, are you ok? Is something wrong? Why are you looking so pale?'

And she told him. She told him how she tried to give up on her diet and eat the chocolates in the refrigerator after all.