Fade

Night swallows
the blazing sun and obstinate afternoon,
wind sings
of pebble monsters
and clay sculptures.

Dark veins are bulging out of bald heads
and big blank black eyes stare at me.

Terrified, I struggle with the shackles
that tie me to a fading world.
Drops of color tumble down the wall
while time and heat consume their traces.

The nude paintings which were
once so vivid
have dissolved to death
lines have blurred
the centre of mass has slurred
memories charred
and voices marred.

I am leaving on a half shattered boat
while raindrops howl on the roof of
my half drowned hut,
I do not know what is next.

Rage, against the machine

Unbelievable morons.

Group Discussion | Ethical quotient
Topic : Is it ethical to take organs of a death row prisoner  after his death without his permission.

It is 3 in the afternoon and I, with a two week stubble and eyelids ready to drag me to deep sleep any moment now, am sitting in front of a panel of a few professors with seven other students. I don't know why I am attending a group discussion competition with my feeble communication skills and no courage or patience required for a debate (a GD competition is a debate being masqueraded in outfits of respect for others' opinions.)
But here we are.

And what is everybody saying ......

They have committed crimes, they are not a part of our society. So their rights and their organs must be hacked off their bodies.To save some fucking lives.

You IDIOTS !
It is a person you are talking about. They have paid for their crimes with their lives, there is nothing bigger you can do to them. That is it. Their body belongs to them and it shall be treated as they wished it should be.
You, are sacrificing individualism to save some fucking lives, is that it ? The freedom for which people fought and  fought, kingdoms were toppled, populations were wiped off the face of earth. You are gonna sell it back for chump change ?


You do not allow aborted fetuses to be used for stem cell research and "mutilations" with human cell biology. But taking organs off of a dead criminal who spent so long in prison and finally died in penance of his crimes, why, yes !
But I do not say anything. Be practical, they say.

I have seen this continuously in whatever little I have seen of our little world. This is how society works. Instead of thinking rationally, acting rationally and solving the problems by going right at their heart , you stab around their asses. "Bleed fat to death" is your strategy. No , because problems are the only things that keep your system going. If, by actually solving the problems you ran out of them eventually, what then ? What will you live for ? So, go, find excuse to keep everyone in equilibrium with this shit and mask yourself in humanity.

Rage against the machine.

I know it is a cliché. But that can't stop the boiling rage.

Its not the fault of the governments, the terrorists or God or the devil. Its you, sitting on your asses, doing nothing.

You, are the people who marry your daughters off to their rapists. You, are the people who sit on their huge storages of wheat and rice, waiting for prices to ascend while thousands drain out of their lives starving. You, are the people who bias every newborn thats born in your part of society with the crap perception that you have of it. You, are the people who have made taboos out of sexual interactions. You, are the people who slaughter young couples just because they didn't hold their desires and attractions. You keep tapping in the lives of individuals around you , just for the hell of it, telling them "they should stay connected with the society, we take care of each other." You, are the reason why morons are glorified and people with sound minds wander in the street aimlessly while you hurl insults at them.

You ! yes, you out there ! FUCK YOU !
You did not join the society to help others and live a social life. You did because it was the only way to accumulate maximum for yourself, by luring others away from their rights.


Who am I ?
I am a female embryo wrapped in polyethene rotting in the dump. I was destined to be a life. I am you.

But, oh ! no!
We don't want love, we want power.

Twisted preferences.

(oh ! I forgot, I am a student in my hostel room who just has been preached how world works. Preaching others is the one thing I should not do. )

This is not a review : Satanic Verses

Years ago , I read a book, a guide for Hindi grammar actually ,at the end of which there was a compilation of essays. One of the essays was about the effect of books on society. It discussed it in a tone of a practical man who assumes that his moral background is solid, correct. The example of the books which were supposed to be a bad influences on society was "Satanic Verses" by Salman Rushdie.
The blasted self proclaimed critic says that that book drove people mad, triggered violence and hurt people's feelings ,concluding at the end of the paragraph that such books should not be read, written or published. I decided that I will read that book. Adam's apple. Besides I knew I was completely bonkers, what more a poor book could do to me ! (not being able to read it back then had several reasons: couldn't ask my father to get me "story-book" which costs around 400 rupees; the book was banned in India; had no access to book stores or libraries which had English books; had no knowledge about piracy and torrents). Somehow I got hold of the book (smell of illicit means you smell ,huh ?) and read it all in six days. The book is marvelous, magnificent, grand and really sensitive. But it actually did change my perceptions, my beliefs..... made me a totally different kind of mad. It did hurt people's feelings (so much so that they blew themselves up in a bookstore just because it had copies of this book!) and stirred some shit up which ,before that, was just  lying around in streets.
The book constructs a background music that slowly peels off the skin off the priestly face of religions and dissolves the line of good and bad created by them. On the other hand it does not try to rationalize everything (unlike atheism, which does it with sheer arrogance and brute-force) and finds some space to adjust the feelings which we toss away for being ridiculous. This is my view and could be wrong, doesn't matter.
I would just ask the people out there not to misguide other people when they are supposed to write guides or textbooks. They have a deep impact on the personalities of readers since they have their trust at that point of time. Careful, you might crack a vase or two!

Is it ?

tender palms of a leafless tree
pick up the severed head of a voice
rolling in the mud
after a public execution

it is painful to be bald in cold nights
but the moon is raining  love
that would keep one warm,
probably.
molten expressions
deformed sentiments
dripping life
underneath a shimmering pole.
is it brutal of me to watch?
or is it beautiful, really ?

I am stuck in wrong kind of equilibrium
stability is downhill everywhere
and I hate to tumble.
is it necessary ,really ?

An empty canvas

Beside a half drowned stone
stands an actor
in the middle of a dark stage
in a faint delicious light
scavenging on the delusional applause of an absent audience
but with an unusual stillness
breathing silent heavy air
like an empty canvas

A wax painted wall, burns alone,
glows in white and black
and its reflection in the actor's eyes
asks questions.

How do you expect an empty canvas
to speak,
to have colors?
How do you start on the path of unknown destiny?
What do you see in the folds of the curtain
and the pits on the actor's face?

the moisture under the trembling hands
vaporizes
hands move
and the mighty muscles of a face
crouch on each other

How much can you know
an empty canvas?

the proud director watches with a illegible smile
the actor doesn't know
what he wants
and what he wants.
Are these two, two different questions?

What do I want to say ?
What do I have to say ?
Is there a difference ?
heartbeats are still waiting to be allowed to happen
and time does not want to move.

Should I start ?
Where?

La Mar

I went to see KONARK mandir situated near Bhuvaneshwar, not very far from the coast line; around three kilometers. Incessant blows of wind, rain and time have painted the stones and sculptures of the mandir with a gloomy brownish-black shade and through this colorful veil, peep out the lives of people from that civilization (that created by Ganga kings). The now disfigured figures whisper words in the ear of every passerby..... about the way they worshiped their gods, the music they composed and the euphoric dance postures they did in their celebrations .....about how they had sex (romance, foreplay, coitus, cunnilingus, threesomes..... everything with detail!), about huge creatures fighting their equals, people indulged in sports and the final one cause of all life , the Sun... on the very top. The paths to the "garbha-griha" are sealed and scaffoldings support the poor old story teller. The idols inside have been enthroned in a different mandir and are still worshiped by pujaris who inherit the right of it.
The smoke gurgled out by a beating "piaggio" taxi produces a different feel and wipes those brown thoughts from the windscreen of my mind. Now tiny raindrops are getting accumulated on it and the smell of smoke (which i so condemned when living in urban areas) intermingles with the smell of the sea...... enough of absurdity to send a shiver down my neck. The sea is calling with a calm and sophisticated growl while the mighty wind pushes huge waves towards the coast. Wallet and cellphone out..... and we're ready to roll,eh mate?
For about one hour we continued to go knee deep in the water and let the waves collapse on our chests. The huge chunk of water around us advances with haste to the land and drags us with it. And after all that friendly , blissful hauling , it all sneaks back into the sea, stealing away the sand under our feet. The mixture of water and foam advances like an army genrated by the collapse of huge mighty waves. But both the sound of their collapse and this white-blue-grey army remain nothing but a minor haul. Like i used to grab my dad's pants near the knee and ask for taking me up his "godi". nostalgia, love.
A clean, beautiful and long coastline with almost no rocks and no plastic. Less people... yeah that makes it beautiful . A subwave raced along the crest of a big wave, collided with a similar one coming from the other end and settled down. I stare at the barlike clouds and a blazing purple sunset. Intoxicated with the purple wine of the sun, the evening goes berserk and crashes in the deep,dark and sleepy lap of mighty night. It's time. I have to leave.
Later in the night we went to Puri in the same kind of taxi and the smell of the smoke has crowded my nostrils. And sea is close by. So that bizzare and harsh mixture of sea-wind and taxi-smoke has become parmanent. The coastline here is parallel to the road passing by and the lights on its side. Plastic bags and other rubbish is flying around with the wind. The wind is more turbulent now and so is the sea, rushing to shore with great force and leaving the foam behind while retreating which then disappears quickly, like the pleasure of music. Un-describe-able. "Anirvachniya" in pure Hindi. The retreat of the-determined-to-attack-again sea exposes a smooth wet bed of sand, the smoothness of the ground being smothered by Crabs loitering here and there.
All that wandering of seven hours at least, sucked out every bit of energy from our muscles and now we are dead, nidhal, on our way back to Bhubaneshwar.

Schizophrenic

When I look into the world I observe joy, melancholy, grief, anger ....wrath, gluttony.... pouring out in front me.... different colors from different containers roar their way to my feet. I wonder sometimes if I could collect them and make a garden where each plant has its presence felt, each particle of dust is hosting the aroma of life ,the whispers of nature. But a bubble in my chest, bubbling its way up to the throat, rings the alarm of barred communications. Why am I so ignorant and hesitant, "a tragedy of society"? Are the colors of other universes different from mine? I want to walk in those villages ridden with their dirt and mud ,bathing in their whisper of nature..... their aroma of life...worshiping their gods. I want my heart to be a mosaic of intutions, festivities, feelings.... sweet ,sour and salty. I want to have them all, close and intermingled with me ,like a worm in wet sand.

The rituals of the "is-ness", the "istigeit" [read that in Doors of Perception by Aldous Huxley],the great and unfathomably beautiful grandeur of nature.... so lucid, so solid . The music under the shawl of words and words in the arms of music. I feel like a huge face looking into the wonders of this huge painting ,itself smeared somewhere in there , itself another mosaic .....which bathes in streams of thoughts like a thousand colors being splashed on a windscreen and still wears a weird bent expression. The noise of those colors storms up and creates that lucidity, the feel of existence, the feels of life. I starve for it, I desire it, I fathom it .(unfathomable?) But somehow the huge waves of euphoria collapse to the ground when they fight the heaps of junk thoughts and barricades of communication lying around me. I am too obsessed with myself . I want to remember what I knew when I was born.

I am like a water drop stuck in a very dense, three dimensional grid of red hot iron strings , vaporizing slowly. My vision is blurred and the shield of cognition has turned opaque. Caged inside a bubble, I roll in Chandan forests, present among the absent ones. The responses ,the fingers pointing things out, the chatter and the randomness. That freaks me out, makes me feel fear, my own fear. In the rubble of sounds and screams I cut my way through, riding the wings of metaphor, never coming back on ground. This is dangerous and outrageous. I can almost hear the sound of rules cracking! No, I gotta go back, find out what I knew, what I was....... these are all masks.... mask under mask, fake faces all the way to the bare hard skull [from Satanic Verses]. This is not right, I gotta go deeper, dig harder.... quicker, need to get to it before my life ends! RIP OFF ALL THESE STUPID PAINTINGS.... they are meaningless, they are! I need to construct it all, from the very start, without a glitch.