Obscure, like an untried cure,
Part of the allure
Was the demure
With which he would assure,
“You could never really be sure
Of the contour
Of my thoughts and me…”

A diabolic saint,
Unabashedly ashamed,
A tiny bit quaint,
Diffuser of plaint,
Tousled but straight,
With careful constraint
On self-disclosure…

Clemently dominant,
A fiery condiment,
360 degrees bent,
Dutifully impertinent…
An agreeable dissent
Of Providence,
And of all holds and resistances…

Not so much words,
Not so much action,
Was he for real
Or a mere abstraction?


Aria of a Buskin

Those damned days when the countless voices of the sundry alters (as in alter egos!!!) you created with blood, sweat and tears (and a reasonable amount of insanity and, to be fair, maybe a little psychosis!), over 26 gruesomely long years, stop talking to you one day. ‘All the bees in the bonnet have left the building’, they say. And you have already written about not being able to write, well, that’s pretty much the end of the road, I guess.

Moving to a new city (and a sluggishly slow one at that!) may be the worst time, I can imagine, to be abandoned by those imaginary (they might be for real, too, but let’s keep that a secret!) characters in my head. Since I am pretty much clueless about what to do with my weekends (not that I am a whole lot sure about my weekdays either!), I miss those nagging buggers more than ever.
Since they are on a break (from me, I imagine), I was thinking about things I could write of. Things, places, people, objects, memories that I was fascinated by; that could be quilted together into a (somewhat) sensibly flowing story. And, (as my rusted luck on a lazy weekend would have it) I got a picture in my head, of boots. Interesting shit! These boots had had quite a journey. Although they were only an acquaintance, I had met them, but, once! But heck! Was I fascinated by them! They belonged to a friend whose father went to the Kargil war (and the boots went with him, of course!). They not only went to war and back and survived to tell the tale but are still in a hearty condition (better than my current writing condition, and that’s ‘not’ saying a lot), now, sixteen years hence, passed on as a legacy (or just passed on, to avoid the dramatics!). They seem to be taking the transition into civilian life darned well, from what I can tell! Anywho, if I was feeling a little less punctured, this one would have been a funny one. But for now it’s pretty darn sullen. And not my best, but hey! I at least got something down after so long! Some credit, yo!

2015-09-06 20.03.03

Aria of a Buskin

That trip to the barren lands,
I remember;
The unceasing tors,
And clouds of dust,
Searing ground and no vision,
But for
The rotting red
At every step,
That the eye caught
For a second
Before getting lost,
In the haze.

The trip to the brackish lands,
I remember;
An echelon of,
Discombobulated resolute
Who didn’t pass-by,
No more…
Loose grounds and no sound
But for
The sound
That merrily jounced
In the distance,
To the dead.

And the unnerving clamor,
Of steel
In his pockets
For each penny
That he won,
For the bet
At the beginning
Of the trail…
Between fits of laughter
In the bunk
Where he states
To all his mates
‘I will bite the dust, nay,
Before you,
And long after,
The fray.’
A bet, now, he wished
He never made…

That exit from the treacherous lands,
I remember;
In the shape
Of a feather
Of excellence,
Clasped time
In a tight rein…
Sixteen years hence,
I lay supine
In the warmth
Of the sun…

Treading new lands,
In old feet,
With the same
Raw poise
And thick skin,
Scourged on the inside
That no one knows of,
But him,
And his son…
When they look at me
And silently smile
As they tell the story
Of my trip to the
Heretic, graffiti lands!

The Purpose!!! El Objecto De Valor!!!


Broken swing with the hands of wood looking in different directions of disagreement. Dusty sills…Tattered, weary, drowsy fences…The door was falling apart. All it needed was the kids gentle sigh of confusion-bred dejection and it would give way, lose its guard and come crashing down to allow for a flood of magic, miracle and memories it held inside from years innumerable. Ever since he could remember having a memory, since he learnt to open his eyes and soak in the light of the external world…ever since he knew he was alive and even before that knowledge had crept in and found its seat there; he remembered this house, in its greatest detail and all its glory, shelter, warmth, laughter, servitude. The existence of this house in his shards of remembrance dated back to when he made pals with time and they both started teething together, preparing to crunch as many occurrences as their infinitesimal existence would let them bite on from here on. It was his sanctuary…

That was in the past. Time and he didn’t see eye to eye anymore. They seemed to have let go of each other’s hands and got lost somewhere along the million and labyrinth-like maze’d’ paths of compliance, thought and reason.

As he walked in, now, after, well, who knows how long! (He isn’t friends with time anymore, remember!), stepped over the threshold in his mind, peered in; everything inside was the way it was. Nothing lost its place, not an inch. Not out of organization and order but because no one bothered to touch anything, let alone move it or make use of it. They hadn’t had a visitor ever since! Objects from his past just lay there with saddened eyes and a soul full of hope to get an ounce of attention, a stroke, to be laid eyes on. Something………Anything…

Just got buried under a thick coat of dust, the dust had walked in like the shadow of death with its ghastly black robe and spread itself over all of what he held dear, in all its authority (or was it absurdity!), like a pseudo-king on a throne he knows belongs to him only for a while. But did it? Was death there only for a while or had he won its war with time, killed it and established his reign. Had it spread its wings of destruction through all the corners of this once beautiful house, a loom never to be lifted since time was now waiting in his coffin…waiting to be buried and be put to peace, at last.

Everything in the house seemed to drag around the dark shroud on its back, in its current state. The ignorance, the wait only making it’s being obese, heavy and crushing. Fatigue, hopelessness and despondency sat with interlocked hands on all he could see spread out before him, everything which was as anally organized and angled as if it was put in place by someone suffering from acute and chronic OCD.

Will this scaffold ever be repaired, this house ever be lived in again, or it has been ordered into timeless doom? Is its attempt to stand out, beyond repair…? So bright in the day and so dark in the night that it loses its identity…so merged with its adjacencies that it is stripped of its singularity and the complete essence of its being and eventually turns invisible…brutally sentenced to camouflage! Will it be allowed to serve its purpose again, while time continued to hold dear its aridity!?! He sat on the barren ground…rested his head on the edge of the beautiful, green wooden entrance and………and he thought.

And as he questioned himself…

Hey! THERE! Look! He saw something…SOMEONE! Well! What do you know! Sam was still there…He never left…The dog was still there, doing his job. He stayed there, in his chambers…Looking out…Looking on…He STAYED…Because that was his PURPOSE. That’s what he was supposed to do. And what’s better, HE KNEW IT!!! Sam ran to him with happy growl and whimpers, wagging his tail 🙂

He got up, walked in and found time waiting for him once again!

And that was just the beginning!