beneath the blinding darkness!!

In the dark hours of my night, I give up. In the dark hours of my night, I succumb. Succumb…yes I do…to the hazy binds of its pungent nothingness. Why, I’ve stopped asking myself that. Why…because sometimes you’re not supposed to.
The far off paradise blurs with each gaze I cast. It slips away as I try and grope it in . It falls apart as I look for it in the filthy remains of my incessant ruminations. Deep into the empty carcasses of my disheveled prose.
I hold up all through…all through laughing, at the meek deep within. Laughing because it is below all rest, to want and mourn out loud. But it is in these intimate darks that I let go…and let it seep in. Into my veins…to rest just beneath my skin. Making it tingly…making it go alive for once. Making me forget everything that needs to be forgotten…making me remember that which I really need to.
They asked me to look around. Then, when I had lost my all. And so I did. Yes I did…to find it (back). Well I did for most of it. But my eyes still search for the missing crumbs that I fortuitously let fall. My heart still wanders for the pleasant woefulness that I let slip away. My fingers begin to burn…itch from the sensation of stretching out. They will not quit until I ask them to. My fear is that I wont.
But tomorrow I will stand up again. Hah…that’s my gift. You see I always do…without a petite little trace of it. Without the tiniest hint of these sparse moments when I allow myself to trip over(and fall down), just to see sometimes, of exactly how it feels to not be perfect for once.
And then I stand up again, to fight another day. Why…because I like it…just like “pa” does…to keep at it. Continually…until you cant anymore. You know, with things like these…you’re not supposed to wear them (on your sleeve or someplace else) but stitch em deep inside. So you can never take em off. Never never!!!

…. Mullah maar na bolariyan, mainu bikhra yaar rijhawan de;
Kanjari baniyan ta vi meri izzat na khatdi,
Mainu nach ke yaar manavan de….


For being in love, I pay the price. The price of me, the price of you. The painful yearn to run behind you pinches my insides, it bawls across the depths of my being. One that I have made you a part off. One that aches for the want of you. They call on me for worshiping that which is you. They say I will loose to you that which I never had. “They”, the unaware of what it is to have and yet not to know. To love and to be loved. To hold and to let go. So today I dance. I dance for the celebration of you; I dance for the celebration of us.

greetings from inside the hole...

Why do I need to have a plan? I don’t even like the word, PLAN, it doesn’t make my tongue sway. Even COMPLAN is better…(hun??). But for PLAN. The shiny crisp pieces of white adorn my tabletop, they’ve been doing the adorning for quite sometime now, am supposed to put my blue in their white. GET DOWN TO IT, I hear every single day. Why would I do that…why would I do something that you have to get down for. Why cant I not have the yellow postid up where its always been…telling me what “TO DO”. Tell me…is it really running away, if all you want is to go back home…HOME…mmmmmm!!! Now that tastes nice. Am gonna go, I tell myself….away for a while (the damn word again). Why do I tell MYSELF of all the people? Because there’s no use, telling them. They know…that’s what they told themselves too. That they’ll go away (for a while) but they didn’t. They’re here, just like everybody else is. And that’s what they know, that it takes more…more than telling yourself. It takes switching off, locking up, shutting down, maybe even running away. To go back home. I pack my bags quietly…at night. I don’t want them to know…you see they’ll hate it. If I make it to AWAY. Because they didn’t, no one did. And it gets suffocating, to hear them at it everyday. Why, well because it’s better to walk instead (chalte raho...ruko mat). And its nice to walk, to feel that numbness fade away, When the blood gushes in, like in a faucet. Making that wooshy noise. I’ll walk out tomorrow…nope I wont run, I’ll just walk out. In front of them, with my bags packed, so they know that am not coming back. Because that’s all it takes. To get up and walk away.

ek aazaad khayal!!

sabse aage hum the, arre sabse pehle bhi to hum hi the. gar chalte rehte to bhi kuch baat thi, par nahin, bas ruk gaye...beech mein kahin. ab khare hain, kyon...pata nahi, kiske liye...ye bhi pata nahi. bas khare hain. kuch der main baith jaate hain...baat-baat pe lait jaate hain. arre bhai log daur rahe hain aur tum khare ho. bhag nahi sakte to chalo... chalte raho...ruko mat. yun tham gaye zindagi ke liye (*laughs*) kabhi kya woh rukegi tumhare liye?! jeetoge tab jab dus ke dus milke kheechoge, teen-chaar ko baitha diya to dum kaise aayega. socho mat...bahut soch liya. sawal karo...jawab dhoondo. par yun in baaton par baitho mat. chalte raho (*sighs*)...kaam chalta rehna chahiye, bas.

(grndps-- on my last visit--sums up our long usual argument on war and freedom in india!!)

Came across a couple of old home videos back at chacha’s place. There was a whole undiscovered box full of them (seems like he was the only one around with a video-cam when we were all kids). Interestingly, found one with a “HAPPY 1st BIRTHDAY” and my name on it. Hah…I don’t know about the others but its some bloody thing watching yourself that tiny. And while on that, its even more amusing to see your folks (and other folk-like people) in the bizarrest of hairdos that they wouldn’t now be caught dead in. The most sidesplitting thing however (in the video) is my special solo jig. Like most other Indian kids, then and now, I seem to have well discovered filmy music. Ma often mentions how I had a thing for the awkwardly weird “tirchi topi walle” (for those of you who don’t remember…haw ji poppi shame!!!). Anyhoo, so the jig begins with me knocking a couple of things off the table…yay, happy birthday little me. Then someone puts on music, some crappy bollywood thingy…not that I seem to care. And then it begins, the walk first. Am inching my way across to the TV, walking, then crawling then walking again. Ma stops me halfway…PITSTOP…runs her hand across my posterior dubiously. Nope all’s well inside. So then it continues, the walk-cum-crawl-cum-strange slithery movements again. Gets worse once am near the perforated voice part. Placing myself in the most eerie Mick Jagerrish position I start the creepy boing-boings. Feel a jitterberg somewhere deep down in my toes. Spreads all across my legs, and moves all over the rest of my body until am jumping my ass off. And jumps they are, amidst constant fits of panicked shoulder movements, freaky up and downs with my ankles in the air and my toes somewhere still down below. A couple of violent ass thrusts and the grand finale…baby high jump landing on the lil baby butt. Sadly no one goes *TADA* only a soul-ripping bwaaaaaaaa from me. LOLS… She’s some kid there in the video. And since the 18th I had yesterday sucked, think I would have liked if she was still around.