DOLL'S HOUSE



coming soon

"freedom comes at a very high price,as high as slavery...only difference being we pay with pleasure and smile ,even if that smile is dimmed with tears" - paulo coelho

FREEDOM is a very powerful word...

to understand the might of this word battles have been fought,blood has been spilled like water,nations have been destroyed and then re-created to be destroyed again,people have been
slaughtered like cattle,women ravaged and children orphaned.
the clouds have been showered with crimson droplets.
sweat has moistened the land below.
and hope has humbled the brute force of the high n mighty.

FREEDOM has divided nations.

60 years of independence from the yoke of the colonial chariot.
rise of a democratic nation.
an economy on steroids.
a future super power.
the RIDE is destined to replace the RIDER.


but if we believe that we all have our own small worlds ,our own small nations with our own small population and associated problems then we cannot disregard the fact tht there is a constant war within tht small world of ours for a FREEDOM which we dont always understand but still pursue with an amazing vigour.

i have been racing against popular beliefs,growing parental expectations,foolish peers equally mindless pressure,fear,hatred,confusion,dimmed violence and the realization of the futility of relationships ,since this word has drilled itself into my mind/soul.

FREEDOM.

NO,its not about doin 100kmph on a freeway with the stubborn wind swooshing past ur ears and screaming for MORE ,MORE and MORE like some cheap pornstar with DDD assets.
NO,its not about rolling tht joint,popping tht pill,snorting tht stash
NO,its not bout hoisting tht flag
NO,its not about screaming at ur folks for showing their concern [or encroaching ur personal space]as to why those red lettered words in the school diary sez SUSPENDED FOR 2 WEEKS FOR INAPPROPRIATE BEHAVIOR.
NO,its not about the PINK FLOYD's,DYLAN's,MORRISON's,COBAIN's OR FOSSIL's [ for my less colonised cousins]
NO,its not about ur dad's credit card or tht obese bank balance
NO,its definately not about tht hairstyle,tht TATTOO,tht bike, and tht cute ,dumb thing who thinks how exciting it wud be 2 be with som1 like U.

FREEDOM.

And we thought we understood the word.

The CARNIVAL is over.
5 days came and went with a pace tht would shame a 1800 cc ROADSTER,
or better my 1981 ROYAL ENFIELD 350 [restored] on their best days.
it has always been like that.
it has been always like tht with vacations,smiles and good-times.
they are always in a hurry to leave.

i love the pujo...i love the smell of the air ,the light aroma of the incense,the dhak er awaj,
the lights,the food [which is not always good or cheap],meeting old friends [even the ones you dont want to meet],
searching through the dazed hundreds of MAD--OX for tht 1 special person [it ws almost a ritual for us 2 meet at the same place
,on the same occasion and say the exact same things since we parted ways....till last year]

*sigh*

i ws never particularly interested in the pandals or the protimas they housed...
im still not...
but its evrythn else tht is so enthralling.

even a guy sporting pink polka dotted shirt with white trousers,red boots and aviators at 3am in the night
dosnt seem outta place or outta this world.

thts d magic...n u have to feel it to understand...or better just FEEL...dnt try to UNDERSTAND

PUJO s spelled new clothes [ lots of them],heavy pocket money,cap-pistols [designed as per the
newest SANJAY DUTT movie],n lotsa ice-cream for me when i ws an adolescent.

as the calendars rolled n i got uglier and goofier cap-pistols were replaced by
night outs with friends ,getting sloshed on cheap whiskey mixed with coke in a running
TATA SUMO,day-outs with the fairer species,lunch,PROTIMA--DARSHAN [if u kno wht i mean],madox,
dope,boot-cuts,hair gel and deodorants.

this PUJO ws different...

something has definately changed...

i felt curiously satisfied with 1 jeans and 1 tshirt.
didnt feel the urge to drink [ though NOBOMI nights pub-hoping ws fun ]
and d MAD crowd at MADOX could hardly retain its power of enchantment...for i felt more at ease
being at XAVIERS during the closing day of THE CANDLE LIGHT VIGIL FOR RIZ than i ever did in any pandal.
Inspite of my mom's incessant bickering my hair didnt seem to be needing the immediate attention
of the GUTKHA-CHEWING NAPIT of the nearest saloon.


YES...something has definitely changed.
im still trying to understand it...
will let u kno as soon as i do.

FOR RIZWANUR REHMAN
... an individual who died for a belief


My candle is burning bright
everynight it burns a little more
a little fast
with a little light

My candle is burning bright
There are masks around too
with camera craving smiles
and eyes polished white
Things said and done
for the shutterbugs plight

But my candle is burning bright
on the fire in your heart
through the tear in your eyes
I see my world
where love never dies
where a candle can wipe
cloud filled skies

A candle
My candle which is still burning bright
against the wind
against the tide
against your law
behind which you hide
fighting the fight
and lighting the night
Is my candle
that is burning bright...

tell me nothn is for ever
somone....anyone

i cant go on hating myself forever...
my visit to the asylum will be preponed by decades then...
i dont want tht ,i really dont...

no nothng is for ever....
this is just a phase and it HAS to pass away like the millions others before.
how wud u feel if u KNOW that there will be somone in this ridiculously happy world who would always HATE you for what u are...

NO not a sad resultant of a relationship gone terribly wrong
NOT an x girl friend who wanted to possess the one thing i was not allowed to give -- MYSELF

an ANGEL...
ARIANA...

im curious....how would you feel if u were hated by an angel...wudnt tht make you fell like a demon??
wudnt u start hating yourslf for being one??
how will u escape this choking feeling of being the disgraced one??
is there any escape at all??

QUESTIONS again

Oh! how i hated them once
how i hate em all the more ,now.
how i will ALWAYS hate them,forever.

but thts not possible ,is it??

nothing is forever...NOTHING.

PEACE - is tht super hot damsel in school who would refuse to acknowledge your very existence coz u ride a HERCULES MTB and not get baby lapped in a long black four wheel drive sedan,coz SHE would always elude you,excite you,tease you,tear you apart.

LIFE was meant to be simple ,wasnt it???


we are wht we are coz of the moments we had survived as juvenile wisecracks
moments we love to hate now that we have MATURED into juvenile delinquents
moments we wish never existed

moments....moments...moments

moments that never were...

moments when u wished for a moment of peace

do u remember of a moment of absolute nothingness
no friends [fortunately],no alcohol,no drugs,no blood,no smell,no hunger,no hunger,no dreams,no sleep
nothing absolutely nothing

no parents,no propaganda,no desires,no lust

no FEELINGS

yes...

no FEELINGS...nothing
no love,hate,loathe,fear

nothing....just nothing...
except an opaque screen straing back at you with its wiry fingers pointed towards you asking all the questions you had successfully managed to evade for 2 decades and 2 years.

is this a disease...are YOU infected??
i kno for a fact this cannot be hereditary
congenital??

thts a possibility

i just figured my next TATTOO...
il have a MOTH on my back...this altar is full of candles i can see...
its gonna be fun...
dnt follow me...

DECLARATION : im losing my sanity

PROMISE has its existence only in the form of an un-used toothpaste brand ,gathering dust for years in a holy corner of a grocery store with a religious name in a shabby neighborhood,coz it is too cheap to be good n probably it also sends out the wrong message to our most important society.

LOVE has been confined to heart shaped balloons tht will float no higher than the nearest telephone cable and wud resist exactly 5 mins of the ghastly wind.

TRUST is what insurance policy sellers [ the likes of my maternal unmarried aunt ] use as a emotional tissue paper to wipe off the last remaining shadow of doubt.

RESPECT is what coke sniffing,dope smoking,booty shaking and bling making afro-american rappers feel for their homies just b4 they pull out a semi-automatic n pump in an impressive number of bullets into their not-so-impressive carcass.


LIFE ....

well LIFE is a heady mixture of all of the above.
so figure.

MY BUTTERFLY

Fly,fly my butterfly
fly with all your might
with all your breathe
with all your strength
Fly,fly away
with all your fears
those priceless,ageless tears
With all the colours
With all the pain
of those overwhelming years

Fly,fly my butterfly
fly till you tire your wings
or are they called dreams?
Where bloody faces
beseech you to stay back and lament
You have to fly ,my butterfly
Dont let the colours fade
Dont burn your wings
Dont slash them with that rusty blade
This morbid easel desires
every drop of your colour
SO fly,fly my butterfly
Fly away from those sleepless nights
Away from the mirror
behind which the demon hides
Away from the blood ,the gore
This breathless chrysalis
this sickening lore
Please,i beg you
wait no more
Fly,fly till you reach the shore

i dont promise a brighter day
or a greener land
i dont promise merry faces,
no mountains,no sand
i dont promise
decorated dreams for you to see
All i promise are fleeting moments
that look like me
SO fly,fly my butterfly
fly till the flutter
of your delicate wings
nurture typhoons of innocent desires
Fly till those faces vanish
behind the shadows of maligned years


Why dont you fly ,my butterfly?
Dont let the fear alarm you
Dont be scared that you would fall
Cause on one fine dawn
you would learn how to crawl
i will be there holding your hand
i will be there when you stand tall.



SO fly,fly my butterfly
You cant stop now
You cant sigh
You cant rest
You cant lie
Cause you have to fly,my butterfly
fly,very high...



Every poem,infact every minute incident happens because of a greater reason.
its been said tht there is nothn ,absolutely nothn called COINCIDENCE.
this poem wasnt supposed to be here in this blog coz it is very close to my heart for reasons tht
some might kno and most others dont need to.
this piece is dedicated 2 d butterfly who flew very high indeed,higher than the reach of
selfish ,ignorant n arrogant mortals like myself.
THANK YOU.

half A.N.G.E.L.S.

and full D.E.M.O.N.S.




inspired by the works of PAUL BOOTH.

THE LAST TIDE

So this is my last tide
Of feelings that were
Numbed by a shallow, hollow pride
While you struggled to breathe
By my frozen side
I sought answers to
the questions that never died

So this is my last tide
With closed eyes
And a heart opened wide
I tried to be someone
Someone else whose eyes never dried
While you looked away and cried
You failed to gaze inside
I swear I tried
While you looked away and cried
I swear I tried
So this is my last tide
Yes, this is my last tide.

THE MAD MAN’S MANUAL

I wish to play
Like a mad man
A mad man in a
Tie-tied world of
sleek, designer illusions

I wish to write
Like a mad man
Immune to the
Plague of tiresome consciousness

I wish to fight
Like a mad man
For every inch
That was and is mine
A fight against time
And a fight against mime

I wish to fly
Like a mad man
With ink marks
Bearing names and dates
Of places and states
With moments etched
In every stone
Of every immortal ruin

I would love to
Love like a mad man
A fierce, feral
Fountain of untamed emotions
That rebels against
The whip of the social manual
And flows like
Only LOVE can

Oh! How I wish
To be a mad man
To be cured of
this chronic disease
of following dictated doctrines
replacing ideas for aeons
Doctrines vying for symmetry
Symmetry that can only compose
But not create
Create the dream called LIFE.

ELAAN workshop

role play

firstly thanx 2 all the members n organizers of the workshop.
and a special thanx 2 BIMBO for trying extremely hard 2 put up with my apparent impassivity.

THE JOURNEY.....
SO FAR...

ANONYMOUS posts again...
good ones this time but nameless,yet again...
WHO R ALL U PEOPLE???


NWYZ,
the last poem was a rather poor but desperate attempt to break open that block in my mind which had prevented me from writing for quite some months now.
i kno that utter exasperation and frantic desperation SHOWED.

VIOLENCE is a medium,a physical,brutal way of expression.
expressions ranging from anger to loathe to hatred to sadness,dejection,ridicule,embarrassment and confusion.
VIOLENCE helps.IT DOES.
VIOLENCE when confronted , when tried to look straight into its fiery eyes ,is SCARY.
i remember having frenzied attacks of fear,fear of pure VIOLENCE.
i remember feeling so violent that for moments i stopped feeling human.
moments that went on for weeks.moments when the only way to save the person i didn't know anymore and the people i knew , was a locked room,an enclosure with shut doors.
YES,it helps.
coz when i come out of that room,n smell the air ,i feel human once again,the fear is reduced and violence replaced [though momentarily] by a flow,a flow of emotions,EMOTIONS which are meant to be felt and not expressed.
n POETRY/ART/VIOLENCE are forms of expression.

YES ,a few years compiled with an embarrassing amount of tears has,but mellowed the beast down...but the fear of it starting to breathe again is overwhelming.

a certain long lost but never forgotten GEM-in-I claims i have achieved the impossible.
i have SOBERED.
n i quote "u have found a way to channelize all that anger into various productive things".
i CANT disagree,NEVER could,NEVER did...
except once and that was IT.
PRODUCTIVE THINGS like what??
i was always a scribbler
few unfortunate but rather important turn of events kept me away from my sketch board.
for years.

i always had a way with words
i did write some amazing work-of-art love letters.

n music...
OSHO urges to play whatever one can to his hearts content without thinking if its utter and unbearable noise to ones neighbors.
NO,my flute isnt that noisy and my otherwise nosy but good natured neighbors
havnt complained n i have faint feeling that they never would.
my music is very amateurish ,i admit but its music none-the-less n its beautiful.

but i guess i accelerated my growth in the past 2-3 years.
i started reading when i was 20.
i started writing when i was 21.
i started drawing again [thanx to ELAAN http://www.elaan.org/ & PONCHI ] when i am 22.
and i havnt started thinking yet.
so the growth isnt complete.
i guess its never complete.
in fact the race,the wait itself is the growth.
n i am GROWING.n WAITING.n RUNNING.

N u can only be with me if u can run as fast.
but i seriously doubt it.

a ballerina who once
danced to the silent tunes
of risqué insanity,
was lost in the
violent chorus
of adament frailty

do u remember her??
that wild hair
those dark eyes
in a desperate fight
to outrun the borders
drawn by the lines of
captivating kohl
fighting against the
ravenous wind tht
threatens to snub
out the last existing
piece of music
the last song
the last play
the last drawn line
the last move
the very last...

do u remember her?
how she used to
jump at the sight
of gypsy women
selling dreams in
crystal balls n tarot cards
how she used
to feel for the
used and abused
urchins who were high
on a life tht never was
how she craved
for the flower
tht never grew
for a bird
tht never flew
for the wind
tht never blew
and for her half
tht ws never you.

there is nothing
to say or do
to bring her back
u say
to bring her back to you
to a world
that was never her
to her half
that was never you...

ANONYMOUS PEEPING TOMS N BOMS

lemme reinstate wht i had mentioned in one of my former posts....
this is MY blog
so the views n reviews are MINE.
they might sound preposterous,malicious and all tht 2 all of u.
but the way i see it,thts YOUR problem
not MINE.

im not here 2 conform to a whole lotta OVERTLY CONSIOUS n OVERTLY DUMB faceless,nameless compulsive bloggers...
ur adamant effort to prove 2 a world tht isnt there how amazingly well read u r ,which in turn should naturally prove how intelligent and talented u wud like evry1 to believe u r, makes me
LAUGH.
So thanx for the humour you all so generously provide.

n next time if u wanna comment try not hittin the ANONYMOUS tab.

www.elaan.org
ELAAN

Thanx PONCHI... u have no idea how much i respect u for this.

n THANX ELAAN.

i would love to quote lines n rhyme sentences

but for today

just for today

i would rather my silence speak

...

THANK YOU for everything.

im surprising myself....and scaring too
im writting too much...all of which is absolutely abstract...
and TOO much is not good.
my lines have stopped rhyming for some months now.i was worried but not anymore.
the fear of being an outcast has fortunately stopped scaring me.
but the crocodiles havnt.neither have those hammerhead and great whites.

i have been sketching a lot too...mostly cathartic...
its new to me coz i have never NEVER used drawing/painting/sketching as my cathartic medium.
i have been drawing lotsa angels - sensuous,voluptous,broken,dejected,rejected,tempting,sad,morose,vindictive,evil,traumatised,LOST.

Wht i would like ....NO....LOVE to do now is boxing or freetsyle running.
but i cant.
but i WILL ...somday.

few days back directed by an impulse at 3oclock in d night i happened to look up [NO ,i didnt see the ceiling fan,i was outside ]
through the leaves of my personal coconut tree [i saw it from the day it was planted] i saw the sky.
DARK,BLUE,LIMITLESS,DEEP,SENSUOUS,TEMPTING,INVITING,SEDUCTIVE
juz like my angels.
and the starz ,like jewels on the crown of a rogue princess destined to be the gypsy queen somday,somtime.
and then it DAWNED on me...i juz cudnt remember the last time i had looked up to see my sky...i forced myself to think ...but hell...i just cdnt remember.
how could i have been so busy ,how could anyone be so busy ???

the sky is beautiful ,u know.
it needs some appreciation...some clean honest attention.
its beautiful.

people are so pretentious...they used 2 amaze,shock me once but now i suppose i hav gotten used 2 d overflowing hypocrisy.
a whole lot of absolutely shameless braindead pseudo articulate intellectuals with ZERO self esteem.
They would go to any extent,say anything and do evry fucking thing to convince you,try and make you trust them.
WHY???
i have no idea.

i just dont understand these people....i just DONT.
its not tht i didnt try,i did...but just not my mug of beer.

a faker with a fancy cam offering help ...
HOW??? i hav no idea.
but wht i kno is tht he needs to save it for himself,would needs gallons of it ... mostly psychiatric in nature.
but thts OK coz he provides tht much-needed humour ...
he gladly becomes the joke...

people feed on attention....it seems as if its more importnt thn food nowadays.
you give them that and all they want is more .... more....MORE & MORE.....

SOCIAL GLUTTONS ....

APPRECIATION is a different story altogether...
i admit i seek it too and with a zeal that would shame the worst of them...but its not wht i wud like to term as FAKE INGENUITY.thts wht every1 is after...i think the driving force is the fear of being an outcast ... not having enof plastic poems to earn you the entry pass to the SOCIETY OF HOMER-humming hum-bees.
whts the incentive???
a few [always FAKE] words of appreciation,may b an invitation to a meaningless recital ceremony,a chance to exchange a "HELLO ,I LOVE YOUR NEW BOOK" with a certain 89 year old writer who specializes in cheap sleaze.
devouring films in a language u dont understand while you can hardly read your OWN language.
arguing with peers over a book tht outweighs its content.
or may be juz the DOG-TAG of being an INTELLECTUAL.
oh how we abuse the word.it was beautiful once,remember??

wht d hell is the incentive???
how can fear be so overwhelming that we are ready to become someone absolutely differnt??

i mean if its there,its THERE,rite??

WRONG.