Days, nights, and the times in between

As the wind hums its free-spirited song

Overcast skies and the moist soil

Freeze the frame in a fragrant picture of bliss

When nature washes its world clean

As the morning spreads it warm colours of life

Or the poignant evening scents cast their shadow

I sit by the window, thinking of you

Wishing you were here, sitting next to me

Bright golden beginnings come day after day

Seasons flutter past in happy and frenzied frolic

Time stretches in a sensuous wait

The sunshine mellows and blossoms spurt their new hues

On branches, resembling light from a prism

When the bees buzz in my garden

I tread barefoot past these tiny rainbows, thinking of you

Wishing you were holding my hand as we walked together

The seductive blackness of the night takes over

Dreams beckon, calling me to a far-off happy land

Glimmering stars spot the skies, glittering fireflies light the porch

The thickness of darkened silence is everywhere

An intoxicating fulfillment trickles down my veins

And I give in and melt into a pleasured heap

I stare into the candlelight, thinking of you

Wishing you were here as we felt the love in each other

The promise

In those rare hours of fitful sleep
I turn over to rest my head on that warm shoulder
To match the rhythm of my breathing
With the rise and fall of his
The cold emptiness opens its arms to me instead
The voice that brightens the corners of my heart
The ones I emptied to make space
For memories of you and me
And which still lie half-empty
Waiting for more to make their way in
The voice that makes me smile very so often,
With that gentle teasing, the occasional loving bullying
And words to comfort me when I am oft so low
The voice that brings to me without fail
Pristine sunshine streaming down that bright glowing orb
Even through hail, sleet, mist and snow
That voice I still wait for
The footsteps I still strain to hear
Peeking from right behind the corner
Making me wait, but telling me all the same
"It'll be worth the wait, you see."

Teardrop

Three hundred and seventy-three days
And mere few hours ago
I had shed that first tear.
I hadn't meant to let her go.
She just chose to leave me alone,
Promising to take away a little of my melancholy with her.
She had lied.
But she did lovingly graze my cheek,
And give me a  fleeting peck on my chin
Before she left me
In the company of my loneliness.
There were many that followed -
Each making the same promise,
And breaking it more mercilessly every time
Duping me, and then mocking at me
While the hurt fails to dissipate in the emptiness
And the madness finds fertile pain to grow on

The dilemma that is she

Tiny reluctant smiles tiptoeing around closed doors, trying to stun the pensive visions that live inside. The visions sit, only brooding - over moments lived and unlived; over relationships lost and found; over things that had been, and things that will never be.

The hand of happiness tries to gently prise open, the blue-veined teary veils that keep her from seeing the untried chances, unmade choices, unyielding charms. All it feels is the cold gloom snaking over what once throbbed with a lively pulse of hope and the thrill of adventure.

The slimy gloom slithers and coils around the the weak, tired, trembling shadow of that heart of hers, asphyxiating her with the dread of unsaid loving words, unheard friendly whispers, unseen glimpses of togetherness...

The dread of being untouched by the sweet hand of passion; of being undone by fears that creep along the crevices of her mind, contaminating it with that diseased malignant grime of despair; of being unwanted despite her unhesitating brazen lips reaching out to kiss what she desires.

Flitting past the windows of her eyes shut tight, she senses the obvious but still cannot see. The past she gleefully lived and the moments her heart conjured are the stars and the moon spotting the blackness of her crazed see-sawing mind, teetering along the knife's edge.

To lose heart and to step over the precipice into gloom.... To live with hope and take the leap of faith.... She sways  to the rhythm of frenzied practicality that blends with the tune of calculated insanity. The sounds and the smells of doom fill her senses, but in her mind's eye, she knows what she wants is what it will be.

Something about a rainy Kolkata

There is something quite special about Kolkata when it rains here.

There is something uncannily beautiful about the way it gets, cool, breezy, rainy and wistfully romantic whenever I am home, no matter how short the trip is. It's like I am being given more reasons to love this sleepy, laidback city full of an incandescent charm.

The tarred roads look shiny, reflecting the golden yellowness of the streetlights. The quietness interrupted by the sound of a car's tyres cruising on the puddles on an otherwise smooth street. The stray dogs playfully scamper about, while searching for a shelter for the night.

As I sit on the ledge by the window overlooking the road outside our house, the boys in my locality get together for their late-night adda. Their loud voices surprisingly aren't irritating tonight. Their jokes make me smile. Their voices have a strange inclusive quality about them. One of them has got cha in a thermos for the whole gang.

I see a couple walk past them, out for their post-dinner walk - the radiantly pregnant lady and her husband holding hands and enjoying the sudden drop in mercury. They share a private joke and laugh; the wind carries the happy sound in my direction...

I sniff the air. It smells of moist soil. The streets are almost empty, the street lights hazied and blurred by the heavens showering the scorching earth with the coolness of Kal Baishakhi. I run to the terrace to absorb it all in...

I face the strong nor'westers and get stung by the raindrops, which are huge and scanty at first. As I start walking along the railing on the terrace, the rain intensifies into an overwhelming cloudburst. I know nothing else. I want to know nothing else. I only know I am here, part of this beautiful moment.

PS - The above was followed by lots of predictable screaming by my mother who was upset for leaving the door to the rooftop open and the water on the staircase and the fact that I refuse to grow up. My father was bemused as always. 

But who cares. I slept with a big grin on my face. :D

Also see: Seduced by the Rains 
               Healing Showers of Pain

Impenetrable Meanings: Just not quite there yet...

I look at the sky, half cloud laden
I find the stars, shyly hidden
The moon leaving it's melancholic glow behind
The beauty is all but lost on me
As I wish the fluff to uncover the light

I listen to the symphony, mellow and melodious
The notes touching, the harmony porous
The tune ignites a pain at the core
Making love to me and hurting me simultaneously
As I wish for the absent lyrics to tell me why it so

I read a poem, profound and deep
The feeling apparent, but the words don't seep
The words leaving my mind groping for recognition
Halfway through I seem to lose tide
As I wish to be able to look into the poet's mind

I dig into a bruise, sore and hurting
The scab gives way, blood oozing, my fingers dirtying
In the mess that aches and piques
The curiosity keeps poking, the throb tells me to stop
As I am left solving the puzzle of what I want

I tread impatiently, skipping stones on my way
I stumble once, I decide for a moment to stay
The obstruction leaves me skeptical
The route now disoriented, I wonder which way to turn
As I wish for a hand to hold and guide me

As confounding and pretty as that kaleidoscope

Names of people, places and events evoke emotions in me. All these "nouns" that are sometimes very important, and sometimes seemingly insignificant, have put their stamp on my personailty en route the elusive destination of my life.

As much as I wish to be not affected by these elements in my life and keep walking independent of any form of attachment, it is just the disillusionment of detachment that I discover during my bouts of toughtfulness. Apparently, I am responsible for the way I feel.  I may begin to dissociate myself from people, from places, but in my mind I remain as attached and loyal to good memories as the time they were being created.

I had read somewhere, "People will never remember what you did or what you said. But they will always remember how you made them feel." Certain people have made me feel very strongly, sometimes for the better and sometimes for the worse. The stronger the emotion aroused then, the stronger the association of the person with a deeper shade of my disillusioned detached feelings.

So, in the end, doesn't it boil down ot the same thing? Our interactions always evoke emotions, Out attitudes and general frames of mind help us form our opinions of others, which make us like or dislike them.

Some things that I look back on when I am down and out, and the things that salvage me from depreciatory self-piteous phases; An affectionate nickname that someone calls me by. The urge to make someone laugh. Mock annoyance when the joke is on me. Cacophony in company of friends. Moments spent knowing more about my best friend. Voluble silences that accompanied quiet conversations. And days that were made wonderful only by the mere presence of some favourite people around.

I would rather forget people who brought me pain and hurt me by lying to me and undermining me; saying things that angered me and by betraying my trust. I only remember the lessons learnt and choose to scoot from there.

Life is a magnificent gift. Things will sometimes be difficult. They will be confusing. But to look beyond that confounding string that refuses to untie or the psychedelic wrapping paper is what is important. Oftentimes, there are a series of silly boxes to open before you get to the real gift. Don't look for happiness. Create it. Happiness is too fleeting to be found in one place.

Back to my favourite metaphor about life and memories: the kaleidoscope. The  broken pieces of colourful glass are like the many shades of sentiments we experience throughout the span of our lives. Isolated and in their exclusivity, these fragments mean nothing. But when you put them all together and reflect upon them in totality, you see how these useless pieces combine and fuse with each other to form the most beautiful patterns; each extraordinarily beautiful, each unique, each unlike any other.

The magic and the ironic beauty of life...!

A heavy heart
A throbbing head
Some smiles I recollect
Some tears I brush aside
Still looking for an illusion
Living in a happy hallucination
I breathe, laugh, cry
Wrap it all in rosy velvet
Gift it to my days to come