To Tweet or not to Tweet, is the Question.

No, this isn't a 'fresh' perspective on how Sunanda Pushkar may have died. This is more of a fresh outburst of thoughts on news gone stale, sorry, the ethos of media gone stale, lately. Thus apparently, what was deemed more worthy of being a front page headline in the newspapers, or prime news on various channels, was the Twitter quarrel between Sunanda Pushkar and Tharoor's alleged love interest. Indicting the paparazzi (yes, that's the word I'd like to use here) for trying to create a ruckus in the already muddled relations with her husband, she asked them to back off. However, the newspapers and channels could only stay loyal to their profession and go on to scrape off finer details about who Mehr Tarar is, for instance, and more. 

Now that all coverage has died down, I wonder what prompted the lull. Is it like it took Sunanda Pushkar's death for the media to realize that things can take a turn more tipsy-turvy than a wife vs. vamp TV Soap, much like what they were trying to portray the whole 'Tweetathon' as? And hence, after paying due respects by mentioning that she may have died an 'unnatural' death, they finally decided to let her rest in peace? The question is, what did the media ever have to do with the turmoil in her life anyway? 

Suddenly, the speculations have ended, Sunanda Pushkar's death is now stale news. Or let's say, the approach towards journalism on the part of media has turned stale. A flurry of articles, file pictures, and more didn't quite suffice to keep up with the national news that her 'tiff' with the 'other woman' in her husband's life had turned to. But a woman, who divorced her first husband, who faced the death of her second husband with courage to bring up her son, moving across countries to secure his future by switching jobs, someone who's been called a 'spa-owner', a 'beautician' by the press, did make things alright, each time. Being haunted and having her life and her very image manipulated by the media, was nothing short of a "medieval witch hunt", in her words.  And to have committed suicide after only having vehemently expressed her dislike for the state of affairs in her life, seems like a mammoth printing error in the public story her life was turned into. 

So is the media trying to boast of finally letting Sunanda Pushkar rest in peace, after her death? In that case, clearly, they've got their priorities wrong. The stark reality of her mysterious death, surely has less relevance for the press, or didn't quite manage to go 'trending', unlike the virtual reality of the Twitter tiff. I'm guessing, my new-found interest in reading the newspapers again, wasn't such a great idea after all. 

A Happy Re(s)trospection, This.

  For I don't really know how many nanoseconds of this one second have become the 'past' already. No I'm not caught up with you, and yet I am, for as I write, I realise I can never be 'one' with you. And maybe, it's meant to be that way, for the best. You're never a part of my present, but you have always been my present, once. I'd rather not term my past as a ragged piece of cloth worth being dumped in the bin. From thinking that I could just 'leap' to the glorious, fanciful future I'd visualized earlier, I got to realizing that just as I used to look forward to what was my future once, that future now having turned into my past, is probably no longer good enough, in comparison to what my goals for now, both short-term & long term, may be. However, were I to erase or undo that staircase of 'trivial' victories, life would probably not make as much sense now, my recent achievements would seem incongruous, neither would I know where to turn next.

(Past is the mirror with which we see our future. Yes, you may be looking forward to building something concrete from the muddled slumber of thoughts, but it's always in relation to, in comparison with the things, thoughts, and every influence that has defined you till date.)

From wanting to pass out from school, to retrospecting that it was probably the best phase in my life, till college happened, which became the  new best phase, these so called realisations do have a lot to do with a chunk of perspectives coming from a particular state of mind. 

         I've come to realising that it's wonderful to strive constantly towards whatever you yearn for, but concomitantly, you must realise that in working towards that so called 'ideal' future, you're not really escaping from it your not so ideal past, but learning from it, everyday. If things didn't upset you enough to make you want to change things in and around yourself, wouldn't it be more likely that you'd feel all sluggish and demotivated, in general? Past, present, of future, you have this one life to do whatever the hell you can. And living with the thought that you don't really value your past as much as your present, is as morbid as you could get. Your past will never leave you, and you must accept & cherish it, and learn from it. Many a time we've cast a disappointed glance to it, thinking there's no reason why you or I should remember any of it- of course, if you don't respect what has been and will always be a part of you, where you have always thought your past is an entity separate from you, you're not really building a future, you're only escaping your past, not facing it, or welcoming it. And when you do let go of that barrier deep rooted in your mind, will your mind be at rest.

‘A teacher affects eternity, he can never tell where his influence stops.’  - Henry Adams

The Shadows in the Mirror

अब आईने ने खुद पर धूल की परत चढ़ाली है

छुपा लिया है उसने खुद को

मेरे चहरे पर सोए अर्सों के साए से । 

मेरे दिल में अश्क़ों की धुंध  

भी अब जम गई है, 

सिकुड़ते- सिकुड़ते, रोशनी के खौफ़ में । 

उन पाज़ेब और झुमके की ओर नहीं ताकती अब मैं, 

मैं ने अब खुद से ही मुँह फेर लिया है । 

खुद से नफ़रत करने का शौक़ चढ़ा है, 

खुद को खो देने का एक खौफ़ ही अब  
मेरे ज़िंदा होने का ग़वाह रह गया है । 

उस लाल शॉल को अब ओढ़ना नहीं चाहती शायद 
२२ साल पुरानी वह क़िताब में लिखी गयी 
मीठी शैतानियों और प्यार की अनगिनत कहानियाँ 
मेरे लिए एक ख़िताब हैं, 
जिन से मेरा आज भी लगाव तो है 
पर उस क़िताब के पन्नों पर सूखी स्याही को  
मेरे आँसुओं के कलम ने भिगोकर 
उन घावों को हरा कर दिया है
अब उस क़िताब को खोलूंगी नहीं फिर शायद
अरे अब तो मैंने खुद से मुँह फेर लिया है ।

उस दिन घर से यूँ ही चल पड़ी थी,
बेवजह हँसी के ठहाके ले रही थी
उस दिन आईना नहीं देखा था ना |
अब उस शीशे के टुकड़े पर तरस आता है 
क्योंकि उस आईने में 
जिसकी  खुद की पहचान नहीं 
उसमें मेरे खौफ की परछाइयों को 
अपनी पहचान समझना छोड़ चुकी थी ॥ 

P.S. This poem is an attempt to peek into the mind of a woman who is hitting menopause- probably in her late forties, and has just about started to come to terms with the fact that she is no longer the pretty damsel she used to be in her heydays. However, she mistakenly assumes her physical lineaments to be what primarily is her identity- she dearly holds on to her past, her fears are magnified to the extent that she thinks that her very surroundings are disappearing into darkness, as if alive and consciously moving away from her. But she lives in this world only for a while. She soon does realise that a mirror- a concrete, finite object, cannot capture even a fraction of her identity, which is infinitely evolving. The larger inference being that, never must we assume that we know ourselves, there are different levels of truth, yet at each higher level we become complacent with the thought that we know ourselves the best. 

Overall, the poem touches upon the issues of identity, notions and truths, relativity of truth, the constant urge to define ourselves under categories of the symbolic order we've been living in for ages. Interpretations are welcome.

Guest Uninvited

A guest uninvited, that gust of winter wind,

Thumped, seeped and snuck

Through the window in my room the other day,

Seeking shelter in my room, maybe?

Did he guess someone was up still,

From the embers in the fireplace

Shining through the window sill?

Making him feel uninvited

In his own season,

I closed the window,

Drawing the curtains on his misty face.

Back in my bed, a while later,

With toes peeping out of the blanket

Doing a temperature check,

I stepped out into the backyard.

Walking upon the dried up leaves,

Looked up and saw the sun curled up,

Beneath the blanket of clouds.

Nearly scared a kitten almost asleep,

Feigning pretense to stay awake,

I’m guessing it decided against

Venturing to catch another prey today.

Stagnant Reflections

As I brushed off 
The six week old dust
Off the mirror the other day,
I was happily taken aback to see 
Myself a tad bit prettier, after weeks.

Funnily enough, I had made
The mistake of believing my
Reflection to be me.
Introspection's a better mirror, 
I reflected.
Why does one look into the mirror everyday?
To remind himself how, or rather who he is?
That opaque shard of glass 
Could never encompass
The zoetic surge of thoughts
That have gushed forth from me
Since the time I have existed.

I'm sure, the mirror pities 
It's own lack of identity.
Manipulated by reflections
Of a myriad kind,
The mirror manipulates us thus,
Mirroring us and itself 
In another way.
They thought this opaque shard of glass
Could contain the infinitude within us.
It has only mirrored the illusions 
We projected each time we looked into it.

I am only distanced from myself
Each time I seek to find myself
In that stagnant pool of perceptions.


What good is a mirror, which itself is under constant manipulation. 

The Eclipse

         -(Lights' Conversation with Darkness)
  Light said, 
"We're adversaries, maybe.
But I've come to see the possibility
That you are my shadow after all."

Darkness dawned, and said,

"And I thought you could see everything,
For you were light yourself.
Am I merely a fear, of your and mankind's?
(They think you could have no fears, either.)
I am also, Nature's nocturnal rhyme.
I exist, for you cannot make up for me.

An ever unraveling mystery,
I am humble, for I become
What the world makes of me.
You make the world see,
Little do they know,
They see the world 
Through the colours You colour them in.
I make them face fears,
Away from illusion-ed complacency,
With my silent presence giving them company.
From mere empirical sight,
I have given rise to vision/ imagination in them."

Oh, I am not here to seek pity.
I'm sure they wonder,
Why something like me,
Has existed as tenaciously as you.
I am not to be sought,
I am not light years away, 
I am the recourse within.
Truly, I had underestimated myself for long."

Light flickered a little,
To glow anew in realization, then said-
"I am the spotlight,
You're the impactful dot.
I comprise the glorious endings,"
Darkness said, 
"I am the prompt to the start."
Darkness beamed, said
"Dawn and dusk are but a 
Celebration of our synchronicity."
Light chipped in to continue,
"I begin to see things in a new light,
For I have acknowledged you,
And that is our victory."

From thinking of light and darkness as two opposites in perpetual contention, to realizing that the two exist because of each other. The very conversation attempts to break the notion of them being mere adversaries. Also, light is perceived here from different vantage points in the poem- If one sticks to the light- darkness adversary notion, then light itself has always been in fear of the dark. But light, being luminous as it is, cannot see the larger picture.  When light falls upon an object, we simply see it with our empirical senses, and believe it to be true- a big risk we're taking all the while. Darkness isn't necessarily literal here, it could stand for emptiness- which may thus not necessarily prompt fear, but introspection, or imagination. Hence the difference between sight and vision. Darkness seeks to be throned on no pedestal- it let's the world shape it in the way the world  likes to right now, giving them time to discover its real form, unlike light which has been venerated all along.

Across The Sky's Roof

For the lack of an apt photo for a while.

She'd swooshed by on her skates.

He'd seen her in her reflection that day

On his car’s rear view mirror,

For the first time ever.

The new neighbour, was she?

That very night, for the first time ever,

Both happened to be on their respective rooftops.

The clock had just scaled eleven.

Now that they’d seen each other,

Tonight's coincidence sufficed to make way 

For a rendezvous every night, thereafter.

He’d often be smiling his sheepish smile,

Panting for breath as he’d reach the terrace

While the clock would strike eleven,

A few heartbeats later.

Oh, but she would often already be there,

A teasing laughter on her lips,

A childlike smile in her eyes.

Relief followed by exultation in his heart.

And so, they’d be standing a lane's length apart,

United under the zoetic starry sky, every night hence.

You’d wonder, how both were somehow convinced,

That the other still believed

This nightly tryst 
Under the sky's roof to be a coincidence.

She'd light cigarette after another.

He'd pretend 

To be caressing his pet, 

Fast asleep.

Or some such silly thing.

How he’d wish the whiff of smoke from her cigarette

Would drift across to his terrace.

He’d imagine the wafting smoke

That’d emanate as she’d part her lips

To be a peek into her coy desires.

And many such cheesy things.

They hadn't exchanged a word till date.

Oh but they'd exchanged hearts that very first night.

She didn't even know his name yet

She'd wonder if he knew hers’?

'Has it ever mattered?' she'd think.

'I'm better off not knowing her name!'

Thinking a name could define her

Is to be silly', he’d think.

She was at his door one evening,

To hand over a letter, 

Mistakenly delivered at her home. 

Or so she said. Something he'd happily believed.

She'd slipped her heart along with the letter,

She later happily realized. 

The ensuing night lingered

Six and a half cigarettes longer,

The first time ever.

Fifteen evenings gone by since

She wouldn’t be seen.

He stayed for a brief bit on the sixteenth night.

Disappointed less, worried more.

Did she feel this silent encounter

Of their worlds had stayed silent too long?

Words could never suffice, didn't she know?

He went down to his room ruefully.

Oh but she’d reached just the terrace at that instant.

And they thought coincidences could only always favor them.

A few evenings later he saw her. 
Not veiled by the sepia-tinted street lights this time.

Nor in the crimson blush of that evening.

Decked in bridal finery

The vermilion vows on her forehead

Staring starkly at him like an exclamation mark.

And you thought coincidences could only always favor us,

Seemed to be the rhetoric she was throwing at him.

That night, his tattered heart 
Writhed in dead wakefulness on the rooftop.
Even now, he looks across 
At her absence, a presence in itself.

P.S - Two neighbours, who can't keep feeling that it's too soon to meet, to engage in the language of words, and dates. They're too happy, knowing they will see each other across the roof, every night, after the first coincident meet one night. This goes on for months, till she doesn't turn up for a few days, and the day she does muster up the courage to convey to him, that she would be married soon, is the day he turns up too, only to leave a tad bit early. A happy coincidence that they thought they continue turns tragic. Does he know she meant to tell? Does she still think, he'd forgotten her in that fifteen day span, so as to not up on the sixteenth? After all, they'd never exchanged words. 

The Cosmic Consummation

K: So you think I'm just going to barge in 
And smear your lipstick? I have better things to do you know! 
You said you could wait, 
But this 5 minute time frame that I've spent staring
Into your eyes says otherwise.

 S: Yeah, let the romance build pace.
You think you'll make me impatient? 
I think its time to teach you perseverance. 

 K: Teach me perseverance? How? 
With your impatience? 
You know you rely on words too much.

S: You think words don't suffice? 
It's because actions and glances and gestures haven't been enough till today. 
Which is why the recourse to words. 
And I'll pen an eternity in this billet doux

 K: Haha eternity is a long long time ma'am. 
Trust me, these words wouldn't suffice. 
And if you think they can, well, we shall see.

S: The war of words began, they wrote down 
The deepest of their affections on that piece of paper. 
Affections that awoke, evoked with a new vigor 
As the sheet of paper rustled. 
He tugs at the paper as she hands it to him. 
She doesn't quite let go of it, 
unsure if she's handing over the right feelings.

 K: The room descended into sheer darkness 
As he got hold of the piece of emotion she held so dear. 
Even though he was unsure about where he was looking, 
He recognized the depth. The depth of her never ending eyes. 

S: The incessant, now faster dripping of water from the tap in the kitchen, 
Seemed to give vent to vivid sketches of our romance. 
You tossed the pen away thinking the ink dried up. 
The pen gave up, for my feelings had just welled up, 
Now seen as mere invisible traces on paper.

K: The traces you define as invisible, 
I'm not oblivious to them you know. 
Invisible they were meant to be, 
The pen did not stop writing without a reason you know.

S: The candles blew out as the sparks anew flew. 
He wrote, she heard and responded. 
It was dawn now, but their night had only begun, 
with the crescent moon and the hazy stars nodding approval, 
As they regretted not staying on to witness this cosmic consummation.

K: As she regretted the cosmos not being able to witness this consummation, 
He smiled with contempt for the candle light they shared till the morning sun came up. 
He smiled because he knew the universe had played it's cards 
For it's omnipresence was what had conspired this consummation in the first place. 


                                                                                                                 - Written by me & my friend Karan.

My Verse to the Universe

The innermost core of my being
Bound to your outermost expanse by threads unseen.
Searching you, in garbs of space and time I trot
Pining, clinging to my sole company, of thoughts.
Light has forever cast its shadows, 
Playing old tricks.
While sounds deafen, 
The silences continue to prick. [shriek]

You are the shrine of the divine.
An abstract design, a definite sign.
I'm the echo of your origin,
We're paramours of a different kind.

The how, what and the why
Do not matter so much
As the Now, and you being firmly in sight.
As I wake now from slumber,
Cradled in your infinitude;
My soul seeks you, 
I begin to see your idiosyncrasies and your pulchritude.

We're like coincidences.
Two sides of a coin, connected.  
Deep down, I have known you ever since,
This is a tryst, not a discovery awaited.

I chance upon as many mysteries and finds,
Each time Your consciousness is twined with mine.
Neither is the seeker here, nor is one the giver.
There was never a 'you' and an 'I'.

I know it isn't just me 
Trying to reach out, night after day.
It's you order-ing fanciful twists and turns
Bringing to an eventual fruition, to eons of wait.

Space and time couldn't ever separate 
You from me,
For those had been this far my minds' illusion.
I continue to look for you in your vast presences,
Till we unite in the nest of our reverberations.

A Case of Mistaken Victory

That day, a spark of vitality
Shot out in the garb of giggles 
Of innocent wonder.
From giving comforting smiles to afraid souls
To the disappointment of knowing,
Not every smile can be met with another in turn.
Because for some, sleep1
Is perhaps the closest they know of smiling.
(While some have perpetually stuck to nonchalance.)
He thought he would always be this happy
On seeing anybody happy.

Choked on his tears he did eventually, one day.
For the first time, something that happened to him; 
Affected him. 
He bore it beyond the juncture he could. 
Born of this trait
He could only again start to build faith
His heart could only start to heal again.
Maybe That was his fatal flaw.2
With time, manifestations took hold
Like crippling infestations.
Pregnant with possibilities, killing him-
A little every night, Each time he believed
For that instant, that this was him.
The gnawing wouldn't let him sleep.
Waking up would be the start
Of another nightmare.
Nabbed, asphyxiated,
The web of gloom had finally won over 
His embittered heart.
He had since been dead from within.
Maybe not dead enough to 
Be called a corpse.
He had given up by then.
(What, was it too early? Or too late? Who could ever claim to know!?)3

I'd see that spark blaze forth,
Then and now, 
Reminded of stars, 
Those scattered shards of light
Dead for eons
They fascinate still, then and now,
A pair of curious eyes 
In another corner of the universe.
Strange is it?

Those fervent emissions  

Gave me wisdom worth a lifetime.

Yes, I was once bereft of hope, too.

Funny, ain't it,

I have your struggle to thank 

For my survival.

I have emerged victorious vicariously 

From your sufferings.

Roses on your grave 

Shall be my salute to you.

What is stranger, is that, 

Unbeknownst to you,

You prompted a definite turn 

Inward though, a turn to eternal truth

And I, who now claims 

To live life anew

Has yet not been able to

Do the same for you.
Oh, how I slept that night in years,
Thinking I had won. 
A mistaken victory is only a curse befriended, 
friend.


Sleep - Sleep could mean death, it could mean dreams, it could also be the literal meaning itself.
Fatal flaw - Using the term here purposely to make the event appear all the more tragic & ironic.
(What, was it. . . claim to know!?) - someone who hasn't been in his shoes cannot comment on if he gave up too soon or not. Nor could he himself. For he did not know if joys or miseries awaited him.

Waking up to Sleep.

                               

Do you see light, or do you see through the light? Or is light only a shadow a shade brighter?

              

                                                         -Wrote this nearly a year back                                     

Was in the midst of a dream

Throttling away worries and troubles,

Garnering strength to put an end to it all.

But then burst the bubble.

My knowing eyes opened to a new day, of my old travails and struggles.

I wondered, ‘What if dreams are the reality of one’s life?’

Only, we get to have a glance at it for such less time. . .

Then, must I stop striving in the rat race of the corporeal world,

Chase my dreams all day long in the hope it brings me to a moment of epiphany in time?

The moon eludes in the day, the sun elopes at night.

(Quite literally then, we see the world in a different light.)

So truths could be semblances, and who establishes, and alters those?

A new idea may sound bizarre at first,  [but then it is meant to sound so]

When manifest into reality, the image in the mind takes concrete shape.

Maybe the ‘reality’ is a dream, something we’ve grown accustomed to.

And our dreams, the reality, the possibilities we actually possess.

So when you’re lost in the realm of mere thoughts,

Maybe you are edging near the actuality of your existence.

Like Thoughts may not be tangible, but they give shape to tangibility itself.

In today’s time, the notion of reality’s a blur,

With the arrival of the virtual world.

When dreaming, one cannot know that it’s a dream until waking up. 

What if life itself is one such long dream?

During daydreaming, one is oblivious to his surroundings.

As though it may’ve melted away and molded itself into what you’re thinking.

So do we actually exist mentally or physically?

One cannot even say for sure that we actually ‘exist’,

Can you say for certain that you’re not dreaming about reading these lines?

'BAND' :P

This is the first duet in verse ever written by me and my good friend Karan, What was meant to be a romantic rendezvous, turned out to be a hilarious conversation between them. Cheap humour lovers please read on. :P And Thank You, dearest PACH, for inspiring me to write stuff like this, and following up the recitation with chortles and chuckles of laughter. I'm guessing the 'CH' in PACH has finally rubbed off! XD


I: Khata ho gayi humse,
Jo aaj tak izhaar kara nahi.
Aaj izhaar karne ko dil chaahta hai,
Par izhaar ke liye dhoondh rahi hoon main lafz har kahin.

Karan: Ye kya izhaar-izhaar kar rahi ho,
Izhaar nahi koi ice cream hai kya, jo
Khaai nahi toh pighal jaayegi?
Kambaqht dil hai, ice ceam nahi
Jo bus izhaar se pighal jaayegi.

I: Tab se mood bana ke baithi thi,
Sabhr pe cooker par apni feelings ki aanch badha rahi thi,
Ki tum aake time se pehle hi seeti maar gaye,
Saare romance ki band baja gaye.

Karan: Arre yeh romance hai koi chawal ya daal nahi,
Na ye chai hai, ise halki aanch par ubaal nahi,
Band baaja romance ka toh abhi khoob bajega,
Teri meri yeh aakhri shaam nahi

I: Aakhri shaam, aakhri raste, aakhri kadam tak
Tere saath rahungi
Jab tak tu dinner bill pay karega,
Tujhe gale se laga rakhungi,
Jo dil ka vaasta deke tune bill pay karne se kara inkaar,
Toh tera gala daba kar koi aur murga dhoondh laaungi

Karan: Ab murga bol hi diya hai 
Toh chalo dutch kar len
Gaadi me drive pe chalo toh sahi,
Raste hi khatm kar lenge
Par romance ka band toh bajega hi bajega
Is murge No.4 ke saath scene thoda aisa hi chalega.

I: Dutch ke naam dil gaya dhadak
Aur main darr me chilla uthi, 'What the fuck!'
Yaar ab toh I had to cover up
Toh finally senti maar daala maine keh kar,
'Jaanu, kya tumhe hai mere pyaar par shaq?' 


Karan: Dutch dutch karke khud saara bill pay kar jaati hai,
Raat bhar baat karne ka vaada karke
3 baje tak hi ludak jaati hai
Ludakti hai toh ludak par bata ke toh jaa,
Fir subah uthaane par phir dobaara ludak jaati hai 

I: Ludakne ki baat tune kari kaise,
Ab toh bhai ko call karke tujhe hadkaaungi.
Ab tak mera asli roop tune dekha kahaan hai,
Chikni chameli ke din gaye,
Ab taandav dance se tera dil behlaaungi. 

Karan: Bhai vaai ki baat mat kar,
Taandav mujhe bhi aata hai,
Unko dance karke aise daraaunga
Asli roop toh tera pehle hi jaan chuka tha main,
Dekh tere bhai ke aage se haath pakadke le jaaunga.


I: Lak 40 hai mera aur 97 weight
Is bhaari sach ko jhuthlaakar tu
Hanske keh deta hai,
'Babe, your figure is great.'
Ab tujhpe lifelong ke liye jhapatta maar hi deti hoon,
Ab yaar aur nahi hota humse wait.

Karan: Wait karne me hi toh maza,
Varna ek raat ban jaayegi zindagi bhar ki saza,
Lifelong ki baat chhor, present me khapp paate hain,
Chal dono milke Romance ka band bajaate hain. 

My friend Karan and I, penned the poem! :D