bad news

“Hello! Where are you?” Are you at home ?”
It started off so innocuously.How was one suppose to fathom the immensity of bad news that was to follow later?
“Daddy is no more.”
She thought she didn’t hear it right.When she did, it was with a surreal feeling. As if a fog had descended. Voices and sights became blurred, and her throat was choked by a sudden, large lump.
It was so sudden. As if a punch had been landed, in the pit of the stomach.

good news

Munna bounded up the stairs two at a time and plonked himself on the green rexine sofa, panting, eyes wide with terror.
People poured into the room, somberly, silently. All eyes were on Munna, still struggling with his breath.
Someone was callous enough to sidle upto him and ask in loud whisper,” The child is dead.Isn’t he ?”
Munna recoiled from him in horror, and started screaming , hysterically, “I haven’t done anything, maine kuch nahin kiya!” Over and over again , like a stricken parrot.
At this point, grandpa entered the room, and raised his hand. Munna immediately clammed up.
“The good news is , it is a mere fracture.”
The doctors briefcase was ever so gently placed on the centre table.
The entire room breathed easy.

Today was his first day of independent driving.And Munna had screwed it up. Gloriously. He had knocked a boy off his bicycle , in the choked lanes of the town bazaar. Now the police will come in hordes,and they did. 
The car was impounded and a massive manhunt launched for Munna , who went underground.
What made the matters worse was that Munna was a mere car mechanic, with no license.

Jitterbug

His tiny frame would tremble, shiver and shake.
Barefoot ,clad in an oversized shirt and someone else’s shorts dripping down below his bony knees, he would hop, skip, jump and pirouette; out of no fancy reason. The jitterbug.
Perhaps he was just happy being alive in a land cursed with the plague of poverty and need.
He would spill water from his bucket, or scatter precious grocery on the path; but wasn’t deterred. The song in his head was loud enough to drown the clamour of the wretched living realities.
He would bring long forgotten smile to lips caked with the dust of misery, people would nod and shake their head at the sight of him.
He would, for a moment; let them live and breathe free, and rejoice in the glory of Lord’s creation

Reply

waltz

The party was long over.
People grabbed their plates and ladled food, hurriedly masticating, and talking in whispers, for it was close to midnight, and womenfolk , especially, needed to be back home , with their kids.
The band kept playing a slow number, and the two, the inseparable, drunken duo, continued to waltz.
Like zombies , or tired fireflies, they were twirling, moving, swaying,almost sensuously.
And they were in serious trouble. Their boss watched them, chewing furiously, as they danced oblivious.
It didn’t help that they were both, bachelors.

Dance

No turning back now. Her name was being announced on the stage.
All she could hear was some gibberish , ending with a shout-“Dance!!”
Ear-splitting applause , hoots and whistles rend the air.
Some one gave last minute tucks to the garland of plastic flowers on the enormous bun on her head.
Then she was thrust towards the stage. The night air felt cold on her bare shoulder and she shivered . Her heart went thump-thump and mouth went dry.
The thunder of the applause had died down and she was facing a sea of grinning faces.
“So this is it”.She closed her eyelids heavy with makeup and waited for the music to begin.

Set them free

Stray ideas, phrases, sounds,
and sometimes
complete sentences
Pop into my mind
and start a riot
If not released
with immediate effect

like budgerigars
arguing inside their cage
like so many canines
straining at their leash
barking hoarse
like a caged lion
pacing round and round
gone crazy

the words stumble
around, dashing
and bruising themselves
inside the
cranial confines
looking for release

So ,
in the end
you
set them  free
pleased to see
them soar in the sky
race on the ground
or roar , unchecked
in the prairie 

Terrible happenings

You seared my soul
with a red hot poker tip
No one heard the scream
for the sizzle was louder
and the pain
ahhh that is something different
I must tell you
I bore my mark
till my dying day
like a tattoo of shame
Or a badge of honour
I am yet to decide
which
brings me greater
notoriety


In a flash of revelation
The truth  hammered
itself home
riding on red hot rage
that when you said
different
you meant
the earth
and the sky
and here I was
on land
still thinking
we could be
just
poles apart

So many lies
revealed in an
instant
like a bustling bee hive
of perilous promise
beneath
the verdant placidity
of dense foliage



  

Words

The words
stark naked
stripped of
the shiny
smooth veneer of
civilization

came up to me
and stopped
askance
at my knees


like a
multitude
of hungry
unclothed
children
clamouring
begging
wailing

bereft of
their sugary
sweetness
that senses
and
fake
goodness
coat them

the words
in their
harsh
bitterness
filled
my insides
with repulsive
bilious matter

without the
masking
of their
hurtful
sentiments
they shot
towards me
with the
deadly accuracy of
 missile heads
on a mission.

I stood
alone
the only
target
in vision.

Death

The heart that beats non-stop like an
obsessed slave
a robot
a clockwork mouse
the sunrise
and sunset
like the inevitability of the seasons
and the invariability
of the tides
a ruthless
relentless
force
called nature

thump-thump
going on

despite
heartaches
heartbreaks
"heartiness" of affairs
"disheartening"
moments


the heart beats on.

And one fine day
it falls silent.
stops
stills

The eyes,
seeing
feeling
perceiving
detecting
darting
winking
smiling
living
become
dull
lifeless
glassy
orbs

The
tongue
speaking
talking
tasting
feeling
becomes
a mass of
cold purplish
flesh
despicable

The
mind thinking
goes
where?

Puzzling
irredeemable
gargantuan
loss

or is it
a mere
transit?

camera

He was fond of photography.
That was an understatement.
Despite all the chores he did, despite a nagging wife forever attached to his elbow, grandchildren hanging around his neck, like so many albatrosses, he managed to fulfil his hobby.
He would carry his trustworthy sony everywhere.
To museums, holy places, family picnics, even at home, when his grandchildren walked, talked, ate , sang , he was busy filming them, That to him was the ultimate prize, to catch fleeting moments of innocence and joy , in a life full of care and strife.

i know

“And then the maid comes, when I am elbow deep in the filthy sink water, and my back is aching like hell, and the kids are raising cain, she comes, sashaying in, the goddess!!” she hissed with righteous indignation.
Her elderly neighbor looked at her with calm compassion, folded her arms, and mouthed
“I know”.
“Who does she think she is ? Some princess!!”
Here a fusillade of spittle flew across; but the agile old lady moved aside. Slowly , she cranked open her door , and moved in, even as the barrage of complaints carried on. She had no patience for the likes of her young neighbour. Besides, the loud clanging emanating from the kitchen , told her that the vehemence was not lost , even on illiterate ears……

phone

The phone rang.
A cold dread clutched her heart.
This was the third consecutive night , she had been getting these blank calls. She was alone in the house with her two kids; her husband away on official tour; and someone knew.
Some one with the temerity to call her up in the middle of the night, and breathe heavily into the phone when answered.
Who could it be? and why?
She banged the receiver down and stood at the first floor window, parting the curtains just a wee bit to see the ghostly lawn awash with silvery moonlight.
A silent dark shape loomed right beneath her window, and the phone rang again………

The perfect place

 (Chandipur. A peaceful seaside resort.)

 Where the waves crash on the rocks, relentlessly in a futile, foamy rage;
 where the swiftness of high tide took you by surprise and swept away your new flip-flops in a frothy swirl;
 where you waited, by the slippery rocks; weaving garlands out of fragrant oleanders;for the sun to drown itself in the blue-grey expanse.
Where time stood still and watched the sea by your side
took you by the hand and surfed the breakers

And I watched in awe from the beach
not knowing you could do this and that too
being a perfect you
in a perfect place called
Chandipur

Paradise

"Agar firdaus bar rui zaminast ; haminast u haminast u haminast."
(If there be a paradise on earth; it is this, it is this , none but this)

Every breath says that this be the paradise
why oh why then have I been told that the reverse
is true
that you

are yet to bloom
are yet to blossom
into the artist
you were
meant to be

perchance I believe
in a blatant lie
that forbidden colors of Eden
shall be handed over and a pen

to paint, color and portray
in vivid hues gone astray
the true picture of the paradise
that, indeed, in reality lies

in the unspoken depths
of my heart
too deeply buried
like a treasure
un-retrieved.

Tire

The gates had, since long, clanged shut.
The guy ‘manning’ the railway crossing had diligently taken his position at the small cemented platform, with his grimy green flag in hand.
The train hooted somewhere in the distance, invisible in the morning mist.
People on scooters, bicycles and foot , continued to cross the tracks, executing acrobatics beneath the yellow and black painted bars.
A pair of young boys suddenly appeared. Playing with an old bicycle tire , between them both, they took turns to beat it with sticks , as it rolled down the tracks, wobbling between pedestrians feet and , on one occasion resting on someone’s gunny sack,prompting a volley of abuses.
The train hooted alarmingly close by, the tracks were almost deserted, except for the boys and their
wretched tire. The guard stopped mid-spittle and screamed a high pitched expletive, as a dark shape loomed up , whistling ear-splittingly.
The boys froze on the tracks, their precious tire rolled to its side , right in the path of the thundering train.,..