shared life. shared joy. shared cry. shared food. shared drink. shared bed. shared book. shared pain. shared moments. shared money. shared feelings. shared wink. shared love. shared smoke. shared bowl. shared work. shared rift. shared morning. shared night. shared day. shared plight. shared blush. shared thirst. shared desire. shared fulfillment.
I’m shared. You’re shared. Unshared soul.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Friday, March 6, 2009
Death of an artist
The artist died early this morning. By the time the day broke; mourners from every corner of the town & far off places started flowing in. The small room was filled by people and smell of flowers. Somewhere loud cries, few drops of tears at places and random memories somewhere. It was unexpected. The artist had few drinks last evening like every day with his few friends, and then he had his dinner and closed the door of this studio. He had completed the unfinished painting just before the horizon started becoming whitish. His tired eyes were looking for some rest, and he got the eternal rest. He loved to deliver unexpectedly brilliant pieces of art every time, the same way he showed his death. Did he know while doing the signature on the last painting, that it’s going to be his last signature of his life?
Among hundreds of mourners who filled the room in a way that the artist’s dead body was feeling suffocated; there were this pair of eyes. Nobody could make out anything special about them. The eyes knew they are not supposed to shed a single drop of tears here, else people could question about the reason & intensity of pain. The eyes knew they are not supposed to get a closer look of the artist, as the near & nearest places are taken by the dear & dearest friends and relatives. These eyes spent innumerable hours when the artist just wanted to see them from closest possible distance. These eyes have seen the artist, every bit of him, on the seashore, on the mountains and in dimmed candle light in a corner of his studio.
It was time to take the corpse to the cremation ground. Friends took the body up and slowly made their way out from the small room. They took the artist in front of those eyes. The eyes saw the artist for the last time and then it’s a pain. Pain of loss, pain of losing the most valuable possession on earth which was hidden from the earth till now came forward with a loud cry. Nothing could possibly stop those eyes.
No more closest look; no more gratifying evenings; no more poetry; no more brilliant pieces of art!
Among hundreds of mourners who filled the room in a way that the artist’s dead body was feeling suffocated; there were this pair of eyes. Nobody could make out anything special about them. The eyes knew they are not supposed to shed a single drop of tears here, else people could question about the reason & intensity of pain. The eyes knew they are not supposed to get a closer look of the artist, as the near & nearest places are taken by the dear & dearest friends and relatives. These eyes spent innumerable hours when the artist just wanted to see them from closest possible distance. These eyes have seen the artist, every bit of him, on the seashore, on the mountains and in dimmed candle light in a corner of his studio.
It was time to take the corpse to the cremation ground. Friends took the body up and slowly made their way out from the small room. They took the artist in front of those eyes. The eyes saw the artist for the last time and then it’s a pain. Pain of loss, pain of losing the most valuable possession on earth which was hidden from the earth till now came forward with a loud cry. Nothing could possibly stop those eyes.
No more closest look; no more gratifying evenings; no more poetry; no more brilliant pieces of art!
Monday, March 2, 2009
incomplete sentences
past midnight. half-filled glass. rum & soda. thirsty. pastels & charcoals. drawing papers. canvas. laptop. ms-word. fonts selected. page setup done. word count: 0. smoke. filled ashtray. couple of words. select all. delete. some more words again. select all. delete. brush. oil paint. scratches. pencil. drawing. tear canvas. twelve days to go. full moon. sleepy guards. dark.
empty glass. thirsty. few lines. word count: 23. better. filled glass. closed eyes. memories. pain. some more lines. smoke. empty matchbox. flowing words. half-filled glass. new canvas. barking dogs. figure on canvas. horn. cabs. empty glass. word count: 460. colored canvas. whitish horizon. thirsty.
Monday, February 23, 2009
The fishing legacy
Dandapani looked at the sea for few minutes like every day. His father taught this to him; he couldn’t recollect how many years ago. He was probably 8 or 9 nine years old when his father took him to their fishing boat for a night for the first time. According to the senior, Dandapani was old enough to learn the family business. That’s the beginning, and like that evening, he looks at the sea every day for few minutes before commencing night’s journey for living and hope for prosperity; which he never found in his 51 years of age.
It looked like a gloomy day; he had a fight with his wife throughout the day on petty cash. This regular event took an unusual turn when his wife couldn’t find enough money for their son’s medicine. It was nothing serious, looks like a normal fever and therefore Dandapani asked her to wait for a day before going to the doctor around the corner. And that’s all ignited his wife to bring down each day of poverty of last 26 years.
Dandapani started his journey with two of his regular assistant, but he was very inattentive to his work today. ‘Looser’, that’s the only word was coming to his mind about himself from beginning. There were few fishes on the boat but it was nothing compared to what he was supposed to get on an average day. And then suddenly, there was a storm. The storm took the waves in such heights that Dandapani never seen or heard in his lifetime! It was utterly difficult for them to keep the boat floating. Finally, after few minutes which looked like few light-years, they couldn’t resist the storm & the waves. All three of them were just drowned in that unimaginable current. Only one of his assistant could survive from it, which was nothing but miracle!
Dandapani’s son who was sick that day listens to this story from that assistant who was there with him on that night. They say that storm is called ‘Tsunami’; he doesn’t know what it means apart from his father’s death! The word ‘Tsunami’ and Dandapani’s death are seems synonymous to each other.
Today it’s his turn to see the sea for few minutes before starting off the journey!
It looked like a gloomy day; he had a fight with his wife throughout the day on petty cash. This regular event took an unusual turn when his wife couldn’t find enough money for their son’s medicine. It was nothing serious, looks like a normal fever and therefore Dandapani asked her to wait for a day before going to the doctor around the corner. And that’s all ignited his wife to bring down each day of poverty of last 26 years.
Dandapani started his journey with two of his regular assistant, but he was very inattentive to his work today. ‘Looser’, that’s the only word was coming to his mind about himself from beginning. There were few fishes on the boat but it was nothing compared to what he was supposed to get on an average day. And then suddenly, there was a storm. The storm took the waves in such heights that Dandapani never seen or heard in his lifetime! It was utterly difficult for them to keep the boat floating. Finally, after few minutes which looked like few light-years, they couldn’t resist the storm & the waves. All three of them were just drowned in that unimaginable current. Only one of his assistant could survive from it, which was nothing but miracle!
Dandapani’s son who was sick that day listens to this story from that assistant who was there with him on that night. They say that storm is called ‘Tsunami’; he doesn’t know what it means apart from his father’s death! The word ‘Tsunami’ and Dandapani’s death are seems synonymous to each other.
Today it’s his turn to see the sea for few minutes before starting off the journey!
Thursday, February 12, 2009
In the ruins of Hampi
Million years must have gone by, gone are millions of life by Tungabhadra. But the gigantic stones and the ruins of Hampi have seen them all; millions of sunrises, some zillion gallons of rainfall, perhaps the birth of Tungabhadra! It’s not easy to stand in front of those stones, some of them could make the best architect cry for their size and some could bring out tears from the best sculptor for their shapes! As if they are reminding every human being, this is what you are…a small 5 feet or 6 feet human with egos bigger than life, filled in your heart!
There are tens and thousands of visitors are coming to Hampi from every corner of the globe. Each of them is amazed to see the structures, formation of the stones, the ruins and the sunsets. But nobody wants to listen the stones, their silence speaks thousands words which is not audible to human ears. I heard them, heard them all. Each of them has a story to tell, how they reached here, how the kings and their army men put their feet on them, how they conquered & defeated, how the boy & the girl from the neighborhood jumped to end their lives, how they enjoyed the pain from my tripod and how they wanted me to spend time on their lap for last thousands years, everything!
I don’t remember when the sun had gone down beyond the Hemakuta hills; it must be some hours by now as it was pitch dark where I couldn’t even see my hands. I started climbing down; each rock at a time and the rocks were as if holding each other and created a barricade for me so that I don’t fall down! After few hours of combined effort of myself & the stones, I was back at the plain land mid of my friends. But to my utter surprise, I couldn’t hear a single word my friends were saying! I was just doing a guess work by looking at their face and hands. How can I become deaf all of a sudden? I feared for some time.
But by next morning, I was able to hear everything; all the noise from my dear ones!
There are tens and thousands of visitors are coming to Hampi from every corner of the globe. Each of them is amazed to see the structures, formation of the stones, the ruins and the sunsets. But nobody wants to listen the stones, their silence speaks thousands words which is not audible to human ears. I heard them, heard them all. Each of them has a story to tell, how they reached here, how the kings and their army men put their feet on them, how they conquered & defeated, how the boy & the girl from the neighborhood jumped to end their lives, how they enjoyed the pain from my tripod and how they wanted me to spend time on their lap for last thousands years, everything!
I don’t remember when the sun had gone down beyond the Hemakuta hills; it must be some hours by now as it was pitch dark where I couldn’t even see my hands. I started climbing down; each rock at a time and the rocks were as if holding each other and created a barricade for me so that I don’t fall down! After few hours of combined effort of myself & the stones, I was back at the plain land mid of my friends. But to my utter surprise, I couldn’t hear a single word my friends were saying! I was just doing a guess work by looking at their face and hands. How can I become deaf all of a sudden? I feared for some time.
But by next morning, I was able to hear everything; all the noise from my dear ones!
Monday, February 9, 2009
Neither with you, nor without you
It was the fading sun on the Kashid beach with the last golden rays of the day – those were playing with the water. The water & the horizon seemed to be most beautiful at that moment. People around who were playing with their kids on the beach so far, are now speechless to see the magnificent color of the sky and the sea!
Suddenly the water on the shore started howling. It asked the sun, ‘why you bring these lovely golden rays just twice a day? I wait for you the entire night for the morning rays and again the entire day for this glorious evening! Why these just for few minutes? Why can’t you stay like this always, which makes me a mysterious woman of Arabian nights?’
The melting sun replied, ‘My fair lady, I’ve been made for this. If only I stay with you throughout, then what will happen to the moon? You are again stunning but so different on a full moon night! The stars can literally give up their life to fall in love with you on those nights! What will happen to the mountains on the other part of the earth? There they are waiting for my rays all through a dark night; I need to make them gorgeous as well. And the seas on the other end are freezing and I need to make them warm; so that the creatures under them can live their life. Therefore, I cannot give only these dazzling golden rays to you always; darkness must come for you to get this again!
I love you all; the mountains, all the seas, all the human beings and all other creatures. My rays are surely there for you, but not only for you; my love! On the other hand, you also make me beautiful. Without your waves, I would look dull even on these golden parts of the day. Therefore, my dear Arabian sea, I can neither be complete without you, nor I can be complete with you.’ The last red dot on the horizon goes beyond the vision of the sea.
Suddenly the water on the shore started howling. It asked the sun, ‘why you bring these lovely golden rays just twice a day? I wait for you the entire night for the morning rays and again the entire day for this glorious evening! Why these just for few minutes? Why can’t you stay like this always, which makes me a mysterious woman of Arabian nights?’
The melting sun replied, ‘My fair lady, I’ve been made for this. If only I stay with you throughout, then what will happen to the moon? You are again stunning but so different on a full moon night! The stars can literally give up their life to fall in love with you on those nights! What will happen to the mountains on the other part of the earth? There they are waiting for my rays all through a dark night; I need to make them gorgeous as well. And the seas on the other end are freezing and I need to make them warm; so that the creatures under them can live their life. Therefore, I cannot give only these dazzling golden rays to you always; darkness must come for you to get this again!
I love you all; the mountains, all the seas, all the human beings and all other creatures. My rays are surely there for you, but not only for you; my love! On the other hand, you also make me beautiful. Without your waves, I would look dull even on these golden parts of the day. Therefore, my dear Arabian sea, I can neither be complete without you, nor I can be complete with you.’ The last red dot on the horizon goes beyond the vision of the sea.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Legacy of tears
It was a boring rainy afternoon in Mumbai and Shweta is moving from one window to another in her laptop. At times it’s an Excel file which has got the underwritten calculations of her latest client, then the e-mails and sometimes some browsers which are opened with her regular favorite sites. But she’s actually seeing nothing; it’s one of those days when nothing feels good without any reason. Even she didn’t take Varun’s call twice from morning, sent a text saying busy in a meeting.
Shweta gets up from her cozy chair and slowly goes to the wide glass window of her cubicle. Pushing the blinds behind, she puts her face touching the glass and her breathe makes a vapor mark on the glass. A frail smile came to her lips remembering the childhood days that she spent with her cousin brother drawing figures on vaporized glass windows in Jaipur. Just by that time a crowded Mumbai local went through in front of her; rain-scared urbanites trying to reach their home in earliest possible time.
‘Home’ – is that the word bothering her from this morning? She thought for few moments. Ma couldn’t see her working; else she would’ve been the happiest person on earth today. Babuji left them unattended when she was just two years old with some other woman and Ma lived rest of the few years of life in belief that her husband will be back to her one day. Shweta was just six years when her Ma passed away! From then, her life took a u-turn. Her uncle brought her in his place in Jaipur where she studied, grown up and now the chief underwriter of a top insurance company in Mumbai.
Shweta doesn’t remember her father’s face, doesn’t even remember when she had seen his photograph for the last time. But Ma? There’s a pale silhouette of a Rajasthani lady with colorful saris and one more thing. She could remember her weeping sound every night. And just like Ma, these days she feels Babuji will be back some day to see her. He’ll first go to their village and will found no one there. Then he’ll come to Jaipur, will take Shweta’s address and will drop in to see her one day; in a rainy day like this!
The phone rings on her desk, as if bringing her back in her today at her workplace. The display was showing it’s a call from the desk of the receptionist.
‘Yes’, Shweta couldn’t recognize her own voice. As if all letters & words which are stored there in her mind for last twenty-six years are trying to come out all together!
‘Ma’am, here’s a person wants to meet you’, the lady on the other side replied.
‘What’s his name?’ Asked Shweta. This time it was much better.
‘Varun’.
Shweta gets up from her cozy chair and slowly goes to the wide glass window of her cubicle. Pushing the blinds behind, she puts her face touching the glass and her breathe makes a vapor mark on the glass. A frail smile came to her lips remembering the childhood days that she spent with her cousin brother drawing figures on vaporized glass windows in Jaipur. Just by that time a crowded Mumbai local went through in front of her; rain-scared urbanites trying to reach their home in earliest possible time.
‘Home’ – is that the word bothering her from this morning? She thought for few moments. Ma couldn’t see her working; else she would’ve been the happiest person on earth today. Babuji left them unattended when she was just two years old with some other woman and Ma lived rest of the few years of life in belief that her husband will be back to her one day. Shweta was just six years when her Ma passed away! From then, her life took a u-turn. Her uncle brought her in his place in Jaipur where she studied, grown up and now the chief underwriter of a top insurance company in Mumbai.
Shweta doesn’t remember her father’s face, doesn’t even remember when she had seen his photograph for the last time. But Ma? There’s a pale silhouette of a Rajasthani lady with colorful saris and one more thing. She could remember her weeping sound every night. And just like Ma, these days she feels Babuji will be back some day to see her. He’ll first go to their village and will found no one there. Then he’ll come to Jaipur, will take Shweta’s address and will drop in to see her one day; in a rainy day like this!
The phone rings on her desk, as if bringing her back in her today at her workplace. The display was showing it’s a call from the desk of the receptionist.
‘Yes’, Shweta couldn’t recognize her own voice. As if all letters & words which are stored there in her mind for last twenty-six years are trying to come out all together!
‘Ma’am, here’s a person wants to meet you’, the lady on the other side replied.
‘What’s his name?’ Asked Shweta. This time it was much better.
‘Varun’.
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