As if I were God

I made midnight mythologies
For my heavy eyed children
As if I were God
Had burn marks and crooked nail tips
When I braved the kitchen fires
As if I were God
The domestic omniscience
That household omnipotence
As if I were God
The unseen resevoir of compulsive love
Yet my love ‘dare’ not ask for any love
As if I were God
I say, “Forgive them lord for they know not….”
But they know it all, still I cry
As if I were God
I wait for the bliss all my life
N I was told to see bliss in others’ smiles
As if I were God
I was the unseen guiding light
In the victories of sons and lovers
As if I were God
From the land of my father to son
I wander in my own dreary mid-heavens
As if I were God
But when the world saw me
In my beauty
In their distanced blindness
For once they had sighed.. “eh.. Goddess”!!!

COZ I write poetry when m told to do so..

give it whatevr title u want to... The Theme was transition.

All the clowns repainted faces
Drew all measured graces
Their acrylic smile
That glittered shine
They checked their weapons
For the newest crimes

They chained the human races
the gloom of the urban places
n lifted the world in their hands
Sped up to the heaven’s land
And in this chained transition
I unchained myself

I now see all glories
In the childhood stories
And now I smile at their laughter
That endless before and after
I will cross all seas
In the smallest boat
n if I drown in the oceans
retell my cries as anecdotes.

The Ghana Dudes

Here I am not talking about the kind of friends who your mom wants you to be with. But the real world morons you are friends with because your imperfections match theirs. Shipra joshi.. ur one of them. So what kind of literary marvels do these friends offer you to read? Literary pieces that enhances the intellect …. NOPE… it improves your …… well….. nothing. It just gives you a inside_the_head loud laugh for a second and blows big your pervert vein.
Shipra made me read some blog by an IITan some months back. The most fascinating thing about these MATH BITCHES is the self-constructed high pedestal they sit on. They are the science heads who’ll take the civilization to the moon someday… (RESPECT for that). They aspire for the best of everything, even the best girls.. a loud (WTF) for that. This blogger guy had engagingly entertaining romantic aspirations. His blog post had a live pervert mind commentary of his visual encounter with an out_of_his_league girl. Now the sole remarkable thing about this post was a similie that he used. The GHANA similie. He says the reason why he aspires for blindingly hot girl in his life is somewhat similar to why Ghana plays in the soccer world cup. HOPE. This small word makes the world of miserable-nothings go round. Hope that deep down all these complexities of a love search there’s a silver lining. Hope for the revenge of the nerds.
But listen up NERDS OF THE WORLD if the Republic of Ghana wins the world cup that’ll be an example of “undying spirit”… if I put it in the best words possible. But if we turn the imagery in context of this blogger guy it turns out to be a leap beyond limits. It’s unfair on God’s part to bestow an arm candy to undeserving ambitious aspirant. You guys have tormented us as little kids. You had the all green grades. Your ever-smiling parents flaunted your little crazy brain all their lives and they’ll continue to do it till the last seconds of their lives. You’ll never know how abused my mind felt when I was still writing the math problem and some front seat ass in the class would stand up and blabber some absolutely correct shit. But that’ll be an end of your classroom victory tale.
Expect no more.
Beauty by your side is beauty abused.

Words... Bloody words!!!

When I compose I write somewhere in the middle of an almost blank notebbok. And yes my notebooks are usually blank because i love erasing what I write. Its nasty and a flawed process but I feel it catalyzes the newness in ideas. Ideas are most celebrated by blank brain and paper.
I love to write when its dark or when it rains or when the world acts to be still. It gives me a feeling that the world is waiting for my words (its good to flatter yourself in this mean world). It makes me write like a child. Like a little child who simultaneously looks at her watch and the paper in the last few seconds of the examination hour. This sort of self-constructed stillness inspires. It gives you time to deconstruct and reconstruct when you write.
But I don't love the words that I write. I wish I had a thought pen or something like that where I could register all the swimming ideas. Because I hate words and what I hate more is the crafting process. I love the crudeness of thoughts. Words simply puncture the beauty of the raw.
For example (i have a habit of giving example coz i feel that people made me understand science this way.. so it must be the best way available). Coming back to the example:
A guy is looking at a really stunning girl (a Megan Fox or sumthn). Looking at her majestic, inspiring, supergorgeous beauty. (U know what I mean.. we're talking shallow here). There's an instant unstoppable train of thoughts that starts. You think about the girl. About yourself. About you and the girl. About how she's out of your damn league. Who all are actually in your league. About how hot girls don't always fall for gorgeous men so may be
you've got a chance. There's no bloody brake in this train of thoughts and there shouldn't be. You want to hit the pervert track. You hit it. And hit it hard. AND NOW writing this little tale of random pervertism is like.. Your mom asking you "What are you thinking my little boy."
DAMN I HATE WORDS.

AUTO-MOTIVE

Sometimes try flipping pages of a kind of magazine you’d never read and surprise yourself with the existence of an entirely alien world. For a girl like me this literary Pluto would be an Automobile magazine.

I recently read some stale editions of AUTOCAR not out of choice for sure but as a research work for (stories later). And I was an illiterate passerby in this motor world. I understood just one percent of the horsepower, mileage and torque science. But I think I cracked the code of the word science that goes behind advertizing a car or a bike. What Car buffs do to these magazines is….
They mystify facts and figures . For instance some automobile column reads: “Think car parts are ugly, oily, and dirty? They are. That’s why we love them.” Statements like these do not state anything but only leave you thinking about the stuff you’d never get to know. They simply confuse coz they are meant to do that because they believe “Cars are beloveds.. if you don’t understand its love. BUZZ OFF”

The language used in these columns aims to blow life into the metal. Which cannot happen if you don’t want it to happen. Example again: ” Mercedes says: LOOK AT ME I”VE MADE IT.. IT’S MINE MINE MINE.” Well I would just call it some cheese of humanly attitude over the bread of market rationality. OK. metaphor overdose.

Tell the man that the car is out of his league and he’d follow and fantasize it like a dog. It works with women and so does with cars.

Talk in euphemisms and metaphors. The car is considered intelligent if you have to re-read the tagline to understand. And if you don’t the mystery continues. But would 40 lakhs car sell for euphemisms? But its just an escape from teaching car-science on screen. And the ad doctors know it all. Anything for visibility.

But the MYSTIFICATION continues.

Bad Women

There she was again, wearing her beautiful wedding dress. Inside the same church with similar sounding divina blah blah but the people present were quieter than before and so was she. The red roses that decked the aisle on her wedding day had long been faded away and so had her gorgeous blush that used to rush down her cheeks. Jemini had been married for 3 long years when one day she blessed herself free from the curse of life. And on the front row I saw her son, too little to understand death and mourn it, sitting on his father’s lap. Every voice in that church corridor had its own reason for Jemini’s suicide. Her familial dissatisfaction was the explanation she left us with. Though the reason seemed not so believable to most but they zipped their thoughts behind their gloomy faces.

“She had a fine family, a good husband and a baby boy.. what more did she want??”.

They were right. Marriage was Jemini’s own decision and motherhood came to her as just another way to live this long life with a wrong decision. But she could not trick life with her seemingly happy choices.In the last few years I seldom met her, twice on her anniversaries and twice on her son’s birthday. She had convincingly masked all the fatal uncertainties and doubts behind those smiles occasionally put up with the tray of drinks and cakes. Her happy silence for all these years is what left us all with questions that only she could answer.

All endings do not assure a pleasing fiction. Marriage and motherhood is the socially recognized aspired end for women. And when this domesticity is their own decision it becomes hard to retrace the steps coz it becomes unwomanly to leave and abandon. She may at times not love her husband who was once her love of life but motherhood becomes the unbreakable shackle for life. Must it not be acceptable for a woman to “not love”.

They said it was an escape from responsibility. But some years back, when Jemini took charge of her life and chose to marry a man of her choice, it then became responsibility of the man to save her from tragic ends like this. Responsibilities do not strengthen a relationship, love does. Sitting all day at home and parenting a child… some say it inevitably brings smile on a woman’s face. But I am not quite sure about that. Questioning happy-motherhood poster image is not the way of the world.

"Only bad women exercise their freewill to not love”… the world screams at our sex.

Villain TO No Villain

Once upon a time, all the disco_dancing_lovers of the rich bollywood daughters were rejected by their fathers and the hindi film-makers needed no other plot for the 3hrs entertainment. The next decade they became obsessed with the smugglers and mafias crowding India and the major reason why these movies rocked the nation was because of the faces like AMRISH PURI and PERM CHOPRA. Manoj Kumar and Dileep Kumar fought almost all kinds of rich greedy bastards possible in fiction. Meanwhile Amitabh and Dharmendra did the dacoit hunts as adorable-desirable cops. And for the next few years GULSHAN GROVER and RANJIT raped on-screen for reasons that are yet not understood. N if ever we fell short of these plots of revenge/avenge_stories.. then our film makers clung to the safe 1947 independence theme zone... where some miserable english actor is paid to say dialogues like "THUM SAALA INDHIAN DHHOG..." n the reaction is a funny movie_hangover_patriotism.

From 1930s to 2000 bollywood had explored the whole range of villainy. Zamindars to Mafias we handled them all for almost a century. Post 1990 movies introduced a no villain policy to hindi films. Doctor Dang and Mogambo are now long lost. Presenting situations rather than people as antagonists is the mantra for this mature bollywood.

I grew up with this bollywood baselessness and always connected well with it. This changed bollywood with better scripts n dialogues somehow alienates the coarse minds like me.

Creating Worlds

Personally I feel that there is not much room for critical analysis on a play's prologue and I share this thought with almost all my friends. That day when the self-proclaimed non-geeks_but_literature_lovers(paradox alert) tried to squeeze the shit outta kalidasa's shakuntala, we had a pseudo intellectual symposium about the novel Isha had recently read. The Six Suspects. I haven't yet read the novel but there's a thought in the novel that she talked about and it intrigued me.

She said that the novel talked about the small worlds that we build around us. Our world has all the people we love, we care about. We think it to be a safer and more secure world than the crude reality of the actual world that we live in. The imaginary walls that we build around are meant to shut out misery, death and disease from 'our' people.

All this time we know that these walls will crumble when reality will knock. But still we expect an eternal bliss and immortality without any reason. We know that there is violence in the world. But we expect a reason for it to enter our sphere. It couldn't just another happening when it happens to our personal self. Why don't we feel the same emotional kick when we hear about 'some' disaster that happened to 'someone' and when it happen in my own little world, our friends, our family or the special ones who ever entered the four walls. At this moment our world appear to be a mere facade.

People die and with them crumbles their world which they make and remake throughout their lives. It's not just about the presence of few people who matter to you but about their thoughts and feelings about you which place you in their worlds. We all try to weave people together with the threads of affection and care. But these threads cannot hold the heavy realities that surround us. And a whole world ends when a single person submits to death.

Thinking about and analyzing life must always be avoided. You always face a dilemma... whether life is better as a cynical realist or a lover of life who shuts the gates of reality.