Quitting on time

Can I skip the footstep
And go for a run?

Can I close my eyes
And open them when I please?

Can I unbeep the digital
And unwind the analog?

Can I miss tomorrow
And have the fortnight?

I've not lived for too long yet. But sometimes in life, when you go through certain trying experiences, the ones you know you will always file separately in a place with treasure-chest antiquity, you realise things about life and people, like a sunrise. Slowly illuminating, sweeping the darkness away and just opening your eyes to so much that you feel your life's been one long, unending night before this.

What have I seen? That a true reflection is incredibly, incredibly rare. You can't see your face and your reflection at the same time, so there must be some kind of discrepancy somewhere. Light cheats. It bends around corners, it vibrates at the slightest uneven surface. So you can trust it to let you look, but you can't trust it to help you see. So something is different. As subtle, as quiet as that last known breath before sleep conquers all. But is.

So you must learn not to trust your eyes, but to trust your heart. Never, ever give up on that voice. Never forget anyone who can put up that kind of a mirror in front of you, which makes you see that sound. And hear it. And grasp it with both hands, like a breath.

I know I forget. A lot. Bits of conversations, movie scenes, book authors, twin moments, people we find in common, songs to send you, incidents, your favourite foods . .. ...

But you're my mirror. You flex your graceful fingers around my ignorance and you make me see. And no matter how dark it is, you're seeing what I see as well.

"Aww, cmon! It's just a post!"

:)

Hope

Jaipur - 14th May, 2008.
Bangalore - 25th July, 2008.
Ahmedabad - 3rd August, 2008.
Delhi - 14th September, 2008.
Bombay -

Sometimes, the banality of statistics can be terrifying. It's cruel but true, and ignorance is a bliss this month.

of salted pears and q uiet

of salted pears and q uietude
wet with rainy nostalgia

of awed silence awed silence and bliss
under flourescent stars

of a lazy no where
stringed with silvery nothings

of an illuminated m ystery
behind the cloud-ringed mountains

of s catter ed music notes
its plural complexities perfected

of b reathing about bombay
to be taken along and not sent

of the essence of time gone gone gone by
and revelling it in the now

of a million minutes past you and me
within a universe of four walls

an ode to the cusp of a saturday-sunday with sharan at her place

To: Princess and Peach

Done.

Sometimes people employ screaming hysterics, endless self-negating monologues and relieved chatter to convey all the blood, sweat and tears something has cost them.

And sometimes, people say just one word.

This is to the most honest, liveliest, compassionate and down-to-our-lemon-green-pyjamas craziest motley crew I have ever worked with. We are the best team I couldn't dream of.

God versus Mortal

For all of Ayn Rand's hyperbole on human ability, it's strange that she never said a word on sports.


(Photograph courtesy: Angelo)

Blink

9:35 pm, somewhere in between Blood Diamond.

Solomon (Djimon Hounsou) learns from his wife who is in a refugee camp, that his son has been captured by the RUF. He grabs the fence which separates him from his wife and two daughters and shakes it like he's being electrocuted. He screams to the guards to let out his family and keeps shaking the fence. Finally, the guards attack him with their rifle butts and become nervous and edgy (read: ready to shoot him). Archer (Di'Caprio) intervenes and drags him away from the fence.

The screen fades to black, and white letters in a comforting font appear on the screen. A cozy jazz tune plays in the background.

"Do you know why companies make ads?"

"So that you can go to your microwave and make a bowl of Act II Popcorn without missing the programme."

"Honest."

The television is a curious creature.