Wednesday, December 30, 2009


You tell me this story of your beloved everyday,
Whom you want to tell your love in many ways;
I advise you  like a sage of much experience
Without telling you anything of my story.

Who has not known, my dear, this agony,
Of unexpressed love that sank into silence,
Of a love that required more than poetry,
Mutual knowledge or entire life history.

For you and me wavered millions of times,
For you wanted to know me well enough,
Like the palm of your hand that I'd held,
While I took nothing seriously that time.

Whatever be the truth behind our silences,
It nudges you in the form of other new faces. 

Tuesday, December 29, 2009

Resolutions of 2009

It's been a long year, this 2009 and somehow I was not able to stick to  my  New Year Resolution that I had made this year- to write a page a day. 

Till June, I faithfully continued writing a page a day and blogging regularly. But then, ill health took over and I stopped my writing altogether. Still, I believe that I was able to do some work regarding my blog, which has occasional posts and is not at all a disappointment for me. I guess I bragged about writing a page a day and that finished my writing habit!  

Regarding my other New Year Resolutions ( to lose weight and get up early), however I was more or less successful. The first resolution was an indirect result of watching how the Indian actor Aamir Khan worked hard to gain his six pack abs. However, my plan was only partially successful because it was ill health that brought down the scales and no hard work or dieting. 

Getting up early in the morning was a mirage for me because of my habit of sleeping at around 2 a.m. It was solved when I got a job and started waking up at 7 and later paying off the sleep debt after work. This has been the practice on weekdays since September but on holidays, I sleep till noon. Still a far better me than before! 

Tuesday, December 15, 2009


Who knows when the eloquent falls in love
With your maddest saddest silences,
What strange contradictions arise,
When they want to listen to your words.

Still they listen baffled, tired, bored,
To endless conversations of pain,
While who knows their real motive,
Is it just to listen or gossip around?

With what gentle cues and many reasons,
Do they extract your wildest thoughts,
Along with your saddest experiences,
Just so they can know and be sure.

How can they know your silences,
If what they see is only sheer pain?

Monday, December 14, 2009

A wish

One wish can travel far
Or wide through time,
Whatever the day might be,
A wish that was never made
Aloud with words.

One wish with love
Uttered in silence
Before the altar of souls,
Can bring peace to you,
Wherever you are.

I have heard that you're gone,
Far into the unknown land,
Where I can never reach,
With my wishes or prayers
Or with loving messages.

May be it's another lie,
Like that one said
To win an epic war,
One told out of spite,
Just to bring tears.

One wish can travel far
Or wide through time,
Whatever the day might be,
A wish to bring a smile,
Wherever you might be.

Saturday, December 12, 2009


Two contradictory currents pull
This strange intellect
That loves to string words together
Or pull apart them in analysis.

The one that loves to string words
In wild garlands of ecstasy,
Is silent and rarely present,
While the other mocks daily.

The one that pulls apart words,
To gather meanings and rules,
To make wild guesses at context,
Never comes when needed.

One voice of wild creativity
That has no rules at all;
One voice of scholarship
That finds boundaries hard.

So this life remains still,
With a journal serious trivial
That rarely ever records
The failures of the scholar.

Monday, December 07, 2009


The thin cold fingers seep through every chunk in the soul,
Hatred of a high degree, much hidden by concerned words,
Much disguised by painted smiles and sharp insults,
For you to swallow and digest like those bitter pills daily.

Whom shall you trust in these times of embittered silence,
For each and every shoulder listens and remembers all,
To spring sudden surprises at a relaxed carefree self
That somehow is taken aback by the venom of words.

The venom of words that you spit when you are angry,
The tone of voice that carries deep dislike and jealousy,
One wrong word somewhere and you are driven again,
Once more into these same alleys that witness fights.

For a hatred of a higher degree bad words aren't enough;
It requires the art of cleverly wrapped insults and smiles.

Tuesday, December 01, 2009

Can you communicate freely without using the word "I"?

On a very formal occasion (Workshop on Research Methodology conducted by a reputed college in the city and that involved carefully crafted speeches by experts in the field of research) recently, I heard a friend of mine make a public speech about her experiences as a research scholar. Wide-eyed and eager, I listened in total appreciation laughing (shaking rather) at the right places and being taken back into the past by her amusing recounting of the sordid aspects of the life of a research scholar- facts such as giving in to distractions and writing that 'first draft'.

For let me make myself clear. I’m no research scholar though I pretended to curious neighbours and intrusive relatives that I have no intentions of getting married till I finished (or rather started) my research. Instead of plunging directly into this rather shocking (rather long) stream of study, I read books on research and spent my time online chatting, making friends with strangers and some rare writers who are unresearchable (interesting finds from the British Council library).

In the workshop, a key aspect highlighted was that there are two kinds of research scholars- failed and successful. She belonged to the successful kind of research scholar who made use of her lucrative scholarship and at the same time dived deep into a mysterious topic without any fears. While I was the failed kind, who wasted my scholarship and wavered between topics till the scholarship period expired successfully.

She spoke simply. Effortlessly. First, I was amazed at the way she combined the personal and the impersonal to create a realistic recreation of her experience, while maintaining a humorous perspective on the entire experience of being a research scholar. Her speech was an inspiration because it portrayed the reality of an experience, which is too daunting for the beginner.

Like the proverbial blind men describing the elephant, normally the experts and the successful speak as if their experience is the ultimate and final. . But here she spoke of research as she saw it: complex yet feasible.

Similarly, she spoke of her personal views and idiosyncrasies rather unselfconsciously. Usually when scholars (read successful) speak of their achievements and methods, there is an element of bragging that repels the common (read failed) listener. Now, in an amusing way, she spoke of her addiction to video games and her obsession with her research topic as well. I was wondering how different I am from her. Forgive my egotism, I'm by nature self-conscious (unless I'm dressed up to the nines or in a very chirpy frame of mind) scarcely referring to myself in direct speech (Disclaimer: This statement is based on a fictional assessment of myself as a person) as if it's a form of boasting to say "I". While in writing, I cannot write a sentence without writing "I".

Where did I get such a belief I do not know but I apologise so much before revelations that it has become a kind of terrifying mantra. Even this blog was supposed to have a trivial element much experienced as a result of this shocking “tongue” that apologises first and shocks next. But somewhere along the way this electrifying character was lost to a kind of tongue-tiredness ( a total refusal to talk about the past, the self and experiences).

This speech made my friend made me think (something that I rarely do and something that oftengives me headaches ) about my sense of “I” so much that it changed my life from the moment of enlightenment. It opened my inner eye so wide that I lost my sight temporarily and chattered incessantly to any ear willing to listen about the unspeakable "I" known as me, taking inspiration  from the inspiring friend ( she will be stoned to death and her flesh thrown to piranhas if I continue in this euphoric state for a longer time ; of course by the poor bored hungry sleepy dozing  listeners) who spoke so freely about herself, "as if her life was an open book" to quote her own words uttered some years back.

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