Friday, May 27, 2011

The Crusader (against literary abortions)

Cute, bespectacled, slender, tender gal gets onboard the metro at Akshardham as the everything merges into a dull gray outside now that its beyond dusk, holding a copy of Paulo Coelho’s “The Alchemist” in her left, as everyone admires her dark hair and black outfit – a tee with horizontal parallel embroidered golden patterns, and gypsy track-pants (those belly-dancing harem things, whaddever you call it); everyone but the two defeated horse-necked middle-aged men with a prominent Adam’s Apple next to me, that match the generic telephone department employee profile - ones who talk more, work less, and make commitments sound like curses.
Seeing the girl that way was offensive.

Thursday, May 26, 2011

Meat, mass, spit, dickless folds in pants - defines what my present creature of hatred sitting bang opposite on my train's birth is about. Lies, lethargy, deceit, aloofness, and blankscreen is also what he's about. Dirty toe nails, callused base of feet that occasionally brush against my forearm. A horror. Too good it ends soon.

Wednesday, May 25, 2011


There's somebody new in my life. Somebody beautiful and tender, somebody who's always around in a halter top eternally lying on her stomach in an uncomfortable position just waiting to speak with me. She wants to know me sans any expectations or commitments. I'm always finding her on torrent sites; I guess she really wants me.

Friday, May 20, 2011

Somebody stole my Thursday

It’s a conspiracy. Days cannot just vanish. Just yesterday it was Wednesday, and today is Friday, as is being confirmed by several sources. Somebody stole my Thursday, it’s as simple as that. How surprising was it for me to be in the office on a Friday assuming that it was a regular Thursday, then being corrected at EOD - when I’d just thrown my EOD-farewell song of “I’ll resume with loathing you tomorrow” - that the weekend had come knocking instead. The moment was infuriating, I felt cheated, I felt less lived, it was a tragedy. “Days cannot just vanish,” I told myself, repeatedly, until the catastrophic dissonance of the birds at twilight broke my fixation on this single thought.

Thursday, May 19, 2011

पुराने पुरुष की नयी दास्ताँ

So this guy ambled down his stairs quite early this morning. As expected, the sight of cursed old men ambling alongside in thigh-high obscene shorts attempting to achieve immortality in the ruse of good health greeted him. These old men generally look the army types. One could also come across cursed old women of the similar cut, only that these women look the homely baniya household types - ones who accidentally struck gold on the tele in the form of Oprah or Ellen DeGeneres while deep frying their aloo, deep frying their bhindi, deep frying their baingan, deep frying their dal, and maybe the rice too.

Tuesday, May 17, 2011

A Letter to True

I think continually of those who are truly great.
Who, from the womb, remembered the soul's history.

Where are the airstrikes?

Thoughts always stray into fiction, fiction that is more like a fantasy than anything constructive or creative, fiction around the flesh. Hands sliding down the same cracks over and over again; working on the same breasts over and over; lips through the same kisses, till some stirrings make a grab for attention – more often going acknowledged.
Where’s the boy of the wonderworld, who would wander out and wonder if it’s a nice day for airstrikes – Viorar vel til loftarasa? With a displacement in musical preferences comes a displacement in personality. Though associating self - described above - with (a newfound appreciation for) The Flaming Lips would be sacrilege, it’s the missing Sigur Ros, Pink Floyd, and the power of suggestion that rattles.

Wednesday, May 11, 2011

We are the Freeman

How often have we slipped our yoke, only to find it choking us again. A succession of days reach a crescendo that makes one feel like being reborn, like shedding old skin. But that new skin is a mere cosmetic novelty, when, in fact, the entire culture around us remains constant, remains in a state of hopeless decay that is taken for normalcy, to intensify my expression.

All our futures lead to our past, to our facticity. The humanity, as diverse as it is, is interlinked to trick us through the edge of a circle back to where we started from. The chain is a loop. However it would be premature to claim to have traversed this loop – my short agespan, my short experience, my subdued intentions.

We remember the Freeman. We are coterminous. There is no distance between us. No false veils of time or space may intervene.

Sunday, May 08, 2011

Facebook's localised content?

क्‍या आप ऊब गए हैं? फेसबुक पर मजेदार अनुप्रयोग का इस्तेमाल करते हुए सुंदर स्‍थानीय अविवाहितों से मिलें!!!!

फेसबुक पर इस प्रकार का विज्ञापन देख कर पहला विचार यह रहा की कैसे सबसे पहले खोजी और कर्ता ऐसी पथभ्रष्ट उद्योग से आते हैं | हिंदी के ऑनलाइन प्रचलन की शुरूआती बुनियाद शायद ऐसी चीज़ों से ही पडे | उन हजारों अनजाने हिंदी साइट्स और ब्लाग्स से बिना कोई श्रेय छीने यह राय प्रस्तुत करना चाहता हूँ |

Friday, May 06, 2011

Falling through space

Fall through space, through vaccum
You travel through the solar system and enter the Earth's atmosphere
You enter the atmosphere and
Rending all the atmospheric layers
The ionosphehre
then the thermosphere
then the troposphere
then the stratosphere
there's a lonersphere sandiwched there as well
fall through blue skies
towards tumors of white
tumors that soon take semblance to clouds.
And you fall through a chasm of cotton
you fall through a dream
towards your approaching doom
Between the sky and earth it's not a long distance -
soon you stare into the earth
and see centuries of geology waiting to shatter your bones
wish the laws of physics were a bit liberal to those wafting through space
It indeed is a return to reality
for when you burst like a bag
your skeleton want to scatter themselves around the nation falling as sphagetti ribbons
but the skin holds it back
perhaps there is no free will
even at the last instant of your
there is none at all.

Tuesday, May 03, 2011