SOURCES OF DECEPTION

The Source of love- Detachment
The source of calm- Chaos
The source of togetherness- Separation
The source of knowledge- Arrogance
The source of Heights- Lowliness
The Source of Hope- Despair
The Source of Divinity- Ignorance
The Source of Life- Death
Together these sources play the game of human mockery
In unification they strike the trick we fall for
Poles apart they seem while each reflects the other
Well we are Humans….Sometimes Ignorance is what we stand for.

KILL YOUR SOUL

She was lying there. Lazily. A gloom filled the air. She looked at the clock standing on the shelf next to her. 4.50 pm. The day was not over yet. She half sat on the bed. It made a creaky sound. Finally, some sound!
She looked through the window. First day at work. It was scary, challenging, painful. She had promised to do well. Her mother had instructed her to perform well. She had left her till the work place as it was her first day today. But she didn’t step in.
Her final steps were hers completely. Once she walked in fear creeped into her system. Breathe in deep. Breathe out in one blow. Yes…It was getting better. Finally work started.
It got over faster than normal. Guess it was realized that it was her first. It wasn’t supposed to be known. But it quite helped.
7.30 pm. The evening had a chill today. She felt different. She felt confused. She felt employed. She touched her profits. She felt soulless. And then she finally cried remembering what her mother said without looking into her eyes when she was leaving her at the doorsteps of that workplace for the day- Kill your soul. It won’t pay more than the body you are just about to sell.

A NAMELESS CITIZEN

Just smiled as I stepped out of my home,

Just enjoyed that fast moving train,

Just let my hair fly in that speeding bus

Just laughed as I sat in that theatre called Fame.

Just grabbed my favorite burger at that joint,

Just rejoiced the seaside calm,

Just soothing my senses across the grass at Joggers,

Just hoped and skipped as I played my favorite game.

I am doing as much I can,I am gathering my happiness- it’s a tricky lovable catch.

I am practicing each day as my last day today,

It took a terrorist to teach me that.

I don’t know if I should thank him,

Or should I curse his being every moment,

Where will I go…What shall I do?

I am scared in my own land…I am just another nameless Indian citizen

REASONS OTHER THAN ME

Yesterday once again I wanted to be away from every hell. From never ending work pressures. From stupendous deadlines. From my voracious bosses. From everything I felt best when absent.
In short I just needed to find some peace…and feel a little luckier than the rest of my folks. Not that I wasn’t when we talk about sheer talent, but then with time I realise that you got to pay a price to be good at your work.
So I slowly slipped away from office in mid hours, got back home, changed and went to a nearby old age home. Reasons I cant explain. Probably the whole idea of being with people waiting to see someone new, making them happy, being the light of their gloomy life made me feel better. Even proud if that’s the word your looking for.
As I walk in the home a strange feeling of helplessness surrounds me. Its not the first time I am going there. Nor will this be the last time. But the feeling stays more or less the same.
I meet one and all. The sisters, the priest, ofcourse the old aunties who surprise you with a smile on their tales about how mean the next auntie is and sometimes shock you with a tear about a lot of other things.
Finally as I am about to leave I see an old uncle sitting at a sofa facing the garden. He reminds me of Pinnachio's maker. As in the same half bald head, watery eyes, half moon spectacles. He seems a little lost right now.
I go to him and speack for a brief ten minutes. He tells me that today's his son's birthday. He wants to wish him but cannot. He has forgived his son. Probably all he wants to do is hear his voice. But cannot for reasons he cant explain.
I try diverting his attention. We talk for some more time. I tell him about the latest ad I made, the new recipe I learnt, the candles I tried making, the salsa steps that I underperformed, even the blasts that have kept me scared.
He listens. Sighs.Smiles. Laughs. Looks worried. Finally Mission Accomplished is what I begin to feel. He looks happier.
As I say my Goodbye and promise to come again he stops me for a second and does something I remember with teary eyes everytime. He joins his hands and thanks me for talking to him. For giving him some of my time.
I am left speechless. I want to tell him a lot of things. But he leaves me with that unexplainable expression.
I still will go to the Old age home. But only this time- The Reasons will be not for myself.

A LAST GOODBYE

A LAST GOODBYE

He was a part of my unknown vision of the world outside my mom’s little womb. My storyteller. My guardian to school. My charitable friend who gave my Rs 5 everyday for the samosas in school. My carrier for a Band Stand sea view in those toddler days.

His grey hair…His moist eyes…his cricket fever…now that he’s gone…a lot of these small big things take me back to the days…when he was so much around.

He cried on so many occasions. I saw tears when I passed my tenth grade with distinction. I saw tears when I opened my eyes after a major accident that could take away my life. One element…Thousand Emotions.

He died a not so peaceful death. Cancer was eating his system at 80. I knew his pain. But couldn’t do much about it. He complained of pain equal to a thousand scorpion bites. I knew it must be bad. But I didn’t want to imagine.

One night he went off. I felt numb. Cold. Sad. Hurt. I cried but not the Indian conventional way. For the first few days…I couldn’t accept he wasn’t around anymore. And then…it was a crisis situation for everyone. And I decided- INEED TO BE STRONG!

Here I am today. Back to the suburban life of Bandra. Meeting my friends. Loving my people. Telling them about the latest addictions of Good Life. And suddenly I meet Sev Puri Chacha.
His rare quality- He gives me a free puri everytime we meet. He asks me- Aur Dadaji kaisa hai?
I give him the answer, he wouldn’t want to hear. He turns away his eyes, pauses a minute and tells me- Who Bahut acche the. Tumko bahut pyaar karte the. Kitna roye the jab tum hospital mein tha. Kitna khush huye jab tumko noukri mila.
He tells me a lot more that take me down the memory lane. So much…so much!

I am heading home now. My cell buzzes and its mom. “Hi Mom”
How long?
Half n hour possibly.
Come soon. Dad’s waiting for dinner.
Ok. Mom….
Yes
Dadu loved us so much…so much!

There’s a pause. And for the first time since that incident we both cry together.

Thanks Sevi Puri chacha. For unlocking these tears. They needed a release.

Bye Dadu…Miss you so much…so much!

TAKE MY HAND

TAKE MY HAND

How far will I walk with you…?
Maybe till there where the skyline ends.

How deep will I dive with you…?
Maybe till there where the sea bed rests.

How high will I climb with you…?
Maybe till there where the tallest star resides

How close will I get to you…?
Maybe till there where your heart reveals your unknown side.

A long journey has just begun…
Together how far…only time will reveal…
Take my hand in yours and smile as we walk till then…
Coz We got miles to go... before we sleep.

One Simple Question

As i walk up the stairs of Mahalaxmi Station I see her again. She challenges me everyday. Day aftr day. With tattered hair. Ragged clothes barely coverin her ageing torso.She looks into my eyes with one eye. The other has lost light anyways. And tat eye asks me

one simple question.

This is the 2nd time i see him. He's lost his companion. A companion tat helped him thru the waters of the Dal lake. Fed his little family of 3. He silently curses the storm tat challenged him last evening. Then he curses his hands tat lost grip of his companion's lifeline. Finally the lake waters tat ate up its oars.. Amidst the mean cold, at a nt so friendly hour and an even unfriendly day in tat beautiful city made ugly by the life tat it sheltered, he looks for a new companion he can carry his trade on, shell a few coins in return of taking people across the banks and his lifeless eyes peer into mine through the big screen in my hall and ask

the same simple question.

The wheels are moving and I hav a new friend. A friendship tat bloomed over 5 seconds, a filmi tune and a coin tat cant buy him a meal. I watch him countin all the pennies he collected. He's happy. Happiness worth a vada pav. A vada pav to kill his hunger pangs till the next morning. Happiness worth his breath through the night. He breaks into another tune on his rusted harmonium, dances, sings and as I see his happiness worth every tear, his eyes again spring

the same simple question.

The one eyed old beggar lady on the streets of Mahalaxmi Station...The little boy who toils for survival in the heart of Kashmir...The little singer tiring his torn vocal cords to fill his hungry cold belly...all tied by one common string...One Simple Question. A question tats bcom a part of their soul. Gues they never realise it. Bt do they realise they have a soul? A soul is non essential. Insignificant.Bt its ther. Always ther. And it asks tat simple question everytime- If your an Indian...Who am I? If this land is only winning...then wat ground do I thrive on?

Does anyone hav an answer? I don know abt you...Bt i simply and sadly... Dont!

All I have is a doubt about the true power......... Of a super power called India!