U, Me and The Numbers!

I saw him, I dint notice.

I was too absorbed in my thoughts to focus on anything, which most of the times is true for me.Also, he was as insignificant as a struggling dust particle caught in a Brownian motion on this busy bandra flyover.

My rick moved an inch after 12 mins or so... the wait here will be an average 30 mins .Years of travel in this part of the city has conditioned my mind to comfortably float into a state of vaccum and effortlessly do away with all the hurry to reach anywhere , to anyone.

Secretly, I have started to love the silence amidst this commotion and the murder of the obligations “to” (be on time ), “to” (reach somewhere), “to” (work and increase my country’s GDP).

He came closer. A quick analysis gave me the assurance that he will walk past me. The base of analysis being hardcore data and the z.e.r.o. expression face I have become a pro at.

I saw him, I noticed.

A well crafted torso, he wore a painfully bright T epitomizing the Linking road couture. Beads of sweat on his forehead, oceans in his armpit. He stood at the ric , just ahead of mine. A stack of 21 books, from Salman Rushdie to the Kite Runner.

He kept explaining each and every book in detail to the stylish chic , who seemed more interested in her chipping nailpaint than in the literary world.

He was persistent. I was interested. He moved every inch as the potential client moved, every attempt as rigorous as the first….21 heavy books effortlessly placed on the left arm. It seemed to me , God has made such customized job descriptions for almost everyone in this world. The sizzling sheena then picked up her blackberry to dial for sos and put an end to the mutual misery.

I was next. I wanted to be. I wanted to hear all about the 21 books, most of which I have already read . I was amazed at the skill of this dharavi guy , who captured the essence of these book. He spoke about them with passion . I bought a book and my ric moved ahead, he kept walking to me and managed to sell a second. And then a third, at an discounted rate. I did complement him for his amazing selling skill , to which he replied that he has to complete a target of selling 15 books everyday.

I forgot about him. He was inconsequential.

I went to work, I did my targets too. I came back home and did the same. As I looked back at the day, I started wondering about the numeric aspects of this chaotic thing we all call life. The aspect which made us all similar in a way , you , me and the inconsequential dharavi guy.

I thought about the number of petty desires and the hungry obsessions–from showing off branded underwear to increasing the jewelry collections in our lockers.

The want to see the number of “likes” on our face book pics and getting an empty social assurance that we are happy.

The numbers we got in school report cards , then in CAT and now in our appraisals of corporate rat race.

The number of wants in a lifetime and the want of numbers in it.

To earn much more than we need and then increasing the needs much more than we can ever earn. A game with futile efforts to equate the two.

A complicated formula of each number leading to another, every target connected to the next. Every quantitative achievement leading to a qualitative mirage of fulfillment.

Time to sleep and achieve my numbers tomorrow!

abStracT SpeAk

Fragrances are brutal, they follow me everywhere
Barge in from nowhere , reminds me of someone and quickly fades away
It fades and fades, then stings me sharply to remind me of her-
The nights when i tasted her darkest secrets, the days of a lonely girl
Wish i could bottle this - make the hatred a lil sweet, i wish i could break it into pieces...n search for the real me..

I was her dearest, i so fell in love
Rested on her neck...her skin..i always mistook for fur
Walked with her in the shimmering lights, longed for the moment to dangle and get a glimpse of her
I kept awake when she drifted to her dreams.. entangled in her curls
Heard every word that she promised others, every word so fake...
I chuckled to ones believing it , chuckled to her games
Never thought she will break me too...into pieces just like my heart
She dropped me off on a Tuesday morning, on the backseat of a car

Worthless and torn,
I now keep wondering if her heart was any softer than the peddles on this road...
There it comes- another glass, just as brittle as me, broken into pieces by an unkind heart, a new neighbour..another "me"

Late at night- numbed by the rain, hiGh on Our sorrows, high on our fate...

We walk back home- we both sing
Some call us her love...n for some "just her earings"...

Bliss Or A Bend?

Walk with me …a mile or so
Let’s be together till the bend in this road
Sprinkle some sunshine, add some rain
Spice it up with promises, the ones in vain..
Give me a teardrop, add your giggle too
Wrap up your love, place the contempt true..
Fooled each other, that we’ll forever dwell
Forevers until goodbye; such a handsome fate!
Walk with me …a mile or so
Let’s be together till the bend in this road

Yesterdays will stay; then they will fade
Some stories to remember; some we’ll forget
This saffron evening, the heaven’s pale
The vanished powers of our reign…
I fly back, oh so free….into nothingness, like the sea
Fool me again…say we should stay & I will fool you back
like I always did...
A few steps more…then another end…
All roads are lovely…except for these bends

Main Bhi "BABA"

Standing near the door, managing myself in half square feet of area, amongst hyperactive women cribbing about mother-in-laws, bitching about “to-be daughter in laws”, at 7 in the morning makes me wonder if a special “Viagara powered women horlicks” is available at the local chemist. You guessed it right, m dragging myself to my office in the mumbai local train.

Amongst all the commotion, I manage to read the newspaper perched at an angle of 123 degree north and my spectacles at 495! My favorite is the speaking tree in TOI. On my voyage to this enlightening page, something rather interesting catches my attention. It’s the “Chitrakoot baba sex scandal” …wow! It definitely made me smile despite the painful angles my life was at now.

If you are a Mumbai local traveler, I bet one of the source of your entertainment on the way to office is the graffiti in the compartment- ranging from “I love you, Sheela” to incomprehensible graphics drawn by a frustrated man. I notice, recently the business opportunity has been tapped here. Something more interesting than the grafitti! Strips of papers pasted everywhere, each different from its neighbour read - Cure Fistula, improve your manhood, “Learn axelent English speaking- Don’t be down, win girls”

Flouroscent coloured cheap papers read “Baba Bangal wale”, “Baba Bhairavi” , (this one wins hands down) “Baba Jangli, for all Mangliks” ..F***ing rhythmic baba! I stood there reading each one….it had certainly changed my loyalty towards the speaking tree. One of it read – “If your daughter has her Jupiter sitting on 5th place , or if her moon refuses to kiss the sun, or if the Saturn has entered rahu, she will never get married”. “If your daughter’s ketu is sleeping with mangal, she is SCREWED!” ..and so on and so forth. I wondered in this so called economic capital, how many of educated parents will fall a prey to this bullshit, how many will suffer because one baba jangli has decided that someone will die- because 20 years ago a girl was born when the clock struck 12 noon 34 minutes and 5 seconds!!

In few recent instances, I have seen so called educated people blindly falling prey to this. MBA Marketing- top B- school grads fail to understand gimmicks of uneducated babas. I wonder how will it be to visit one of these baba homes- I guess they will shove up broom sticks up my nose and dance around me , so that I will get a promotion at my next appraisal.

I am no one to challenge these “Godmen”- afterall if they can predict birth and death- they are bloody talented and can easily replace god himself. As I reach Dadar, and the clock strikes 8:00 , I just wonder about this career option of becoming a baba - I will earn much more, I will be respected..and yes I will rule so many dumb minds in the world..! Atleast I will not have to travel in the locals at unearthly hours..not bad, not bad at all!
I will be in business till the end of patriarchy (oops the world)

100 sqaure feet

100 square feet of pure mess....

Of empty bottles below my bed

Of random pages with half - written thoughts
and the several chapters erased ...

Of the peppery- spray for “just- in- case"
and miniatures of old monk for exactly the same..
Of jhonson baby lotions and the anti- ageing creams too

Of laptops and ipods and the old radio too
Of “lenses on offers” and expensive perfumes

Of the never- utilized “candle light dinner” dress
and of used up candles from the dark rainy nights ...
Of glossy invitations and menus,
and plates of Maggie cooked on the yesteryear days...

Of the ladoos mom packed for me,
and a flight ticket to escape farther from her ...
Of shimmering gift wrappers preciously tucked away

and the gifts sitting idle waiting to be touched

Of the webs on the wall and the walls of life creating the webs ...
Of days of broken heels and nights of broken hearts,

of dazzling dusks and the murky dawns

If and when the time to leave arrives, I ll look back …

At this alien piece of land- my home, a nameless life- now my own

100 square feet of pure mess, I enjoyed creating it all…

To Nowhere..

A Saturday evening…a bout of self- love. I choose to spend this evening just with myself…
I buy a pirated copy of one my favorite books…I have read, read and re- read this book a couple of times in the past few years. Interestingly… every time I have read this book, I have been in a different city…each time life has been a little different than the last time I read it.

I walk back, not necessarily with an aim to reach anywhere. I let myself walk through the small lanes, not knowing where they will lead me to …
Paths which lead to the unknown, are worthwhile to tread on…

It’s a beautiful night.... The air is crisp and cold… it starts drizzling…the cold rain drops pleasingly pierce my skin. I have reached a divine place overlooking the city which has death- like calm and a life- like vivacity. It is dimly lit..very calm, forlorn….. a place, where I suddenly feel alienated from all the things which I am a part of …It is a feeling of being possessed by everything around and not having any possession of my own..it’s beautiful, almost like a string of magic moments..

I want to scribble a few lines to capture these moments..I do so on the blank pages of the book I just bought. A few lines on the next page attract my attention….it talks of mistakes, of fate…and the mistakes which make our fate...of letting life choose the course by itself ...

I sit here thinking… the last time I read this statement in my dilapidated apartment on a winter night years ago in the city of joy...I had no clue I will read it once again in this city, I never thought I will go to...

My journey from there to here, then to now…it took a lot of strength and a little fragility, a lot of love and a little hatred, a lot of turbulence and a little peace...a lot of "letting- go" and "holding on" ...big errors and little mistakes

I sit here wondering...when we let ourselves on anonymous paths we come accross lots of illusions, apprehensions of what may happen next and a fear of not being able to find the destination again…but I guess that’s the price we all pay for a few magic moments like these..

I bookmark this page…for the next time and the one after that…

Of Doubt & Trust

It never ends, I wish it never does
These last few moments of doubt and trust…

No more it matters if I win...
And it doesn’t matter if I win a lil less
It is meant to be broken, destined for an end
I see it going…was never mine
It never goes, I wish it never does
The last few moments of doubt and trust…

No more it matters if I will miss it
And it doesn’t matter if I ll miss it a lil more
Yesterday has disappeared, tomorrow will too..
I see this day fading away soon
It never fades, I wish it never does..
The last few moments of doubt and trust…

The dawn is elusive, the dusk is too
A Fathomless abyss between me and you
Where the doubt is charming, and the trust is too!