Anaahat

It was 2am. she stood at the window, with a cigarette between her lips, puffing, in Life’s face. Puff-puff Listen you, she said 'I am not quitting yet' With the first puff - there was a light-headed freedom, and a certain tingling in her nerves The second puff - the world moved in a motionless animation, the leaves swayed minus the breeze Third puff - the sky exploded above her head, the tall buiding far away, threatened to walk her way. Puff-puff, 'I am not quitting yet' There was darkness, with the fourth puff, smoke in her lungs, nostrils and clouds in her head, her ears rang, with magnifying sounds. Silence. It was ten past two, she hung on the window, her hair in the wind, hands dangled lit by the streetlights. The in-between of life and death.

Shyam That winter on the top floor of a hotel in the beautiful valley of Panchgani, Shyam decided he was born for happiness. Sanskriti was pregnant. Shyam’s around her, the stood watching the hills and the off-peak silence around them. The sun was painting hues of orange and yellow in the sky. Their hands clubbed together, they stood dreaming of the promising future. Shyam could almost see their simple life arrive here, to a holiday time in the beautiful valley. Sanskriti Six years from that day, Sanskriti watched the lonely stars twinkling in space from the balcony of their house in Pune. She could still visualize the ecstasy on Shyam’s face when he had said that aloud. His voice kept ringing in her head, magnified as they now spoke only in monosyllables. Sanskriti walked to the railing and looked down at the empty streets. It was deserted save for the lone motorcycles zooming on the shinny streets. She looked at her watch. It was 3am. The night was starry and cool. She loved to w...

Some months ago, in one of the Atlas Sunday Meets, we started discussing Atheism and the necessity of it to be an objectivist. There were a few present who didn't belong to that fold, so we all debated. We discussed for long. As usual, there was no conclusion to the discussion regarding ‘existence of God’. We left, with more thoughts to be sorted and more ideas to sort these thoughts. To, take this discussion to the next level and to concretise the arguments, we invited Father Anthony to come and speak on the topic “Can there be a system of morality without God”. We thought, who better than a God’s man to come and present His case. From the objectivist perspective, we had our own Jerry Johnson to put his thoughts. Deepak was moderating the discussion. All others who were present, were either atheists, agnostics or with a different belief system than the conservative religion. The date was set as Sunday, the 20th of June 2010. With the rains pouring down on Mumbai with a veng...

The day was like any other day, I was working typing at my computer cursing its stupidity Thinking of you. Wind gushes, the white sheets flutter a moment in time something within myself is alive through you I feel dissolved the constant motion of cars buildings douse in the summer afternoon sleep I watch your un-even breathing I smell your skin your touch magnifying somewhere deep within and the screams of the cars evaporate. After centuries, and eons, births of suns and deaths of stars, I re-think of you, the loss of you something missing, something missed. Past that corner, I see her with you I see you smile with her and I am still stuck with you, just stuck with you, Simply stuck with you.

Here, now I am going to post a poem which is very special to me. It has a great impression on the poems-side of my brain. There is some history to my posting it here. This poem was shared with me by a very dear friend years ago. Then, one day, I really wanted to read it. (I am sure you know the hungry feeling of revisiting a poem.) And it was lying there hidden in the list of emails in my inbox. I couldn't find it. After a long-drawn out process of trying search words, and then finally opening each mail, I uncovered it. Now, I thought, I will put it up here, where I can read it whenever I want. Also, it is here for the rare reader who chances upon this log. I had seen Linton Kwesi Johnson recite this (Dis) poem, if you can call it recitation. It was more like a music-less-rap-song. And each time I re-read this poem, I can almost hear him, his strong baritone. I can picture him swaying left and right, left and right, wearing a golfer's cap slanting over an eye, bringing a...

I finished reading Arundhati Roy’s essay on the Naxalites published in the last issue of the Outlook last night. And my day began with one sentence echoing in my mind from the piece she wrote: The Hindu state. The Hindu state acting against all the rest. I couldn’t digest this. And I am trying since, to do so. Finding Freedom in India Perhaps the reason that I cannot digest is the fact that I am a Hindu. That I was born in the upper Hindu caste and I have also lived most of my life sheltered in a fairly well-to-do state: Maharashtra. The sheltered life is not even counting the days spent sheltered under the darkness of the abaya in Saudi Arabia. With my childhood spent in the Muslim-dominated country, my father has an exceptional view of an Hindu extremist. And I grew up with these "Hindus are soft-targets" woes. I still have fights with him though - on the extremism. My reason is that, you cannot generalize one bunch of peoples wrongdoing as the whole religion's fa...

The floodgates have opened. rushing through the hairline fracture at the first crack, first sense of freedom at the sight of an inspiration desired. The floodgates have opened, ofsentences, ofwords, ofimages, of scenes transformed, from my mind to yours The floodgates have opened, with the critic dead on my shoulder, leaving me running through grasslands, a blithe spirit, an expanse of my arms, gathering the widespread, my feet a foot above the ground, and the wind kissing my ears. The floodgates have opened, transforming, the mysterious into the bonafide, a dream to a legitimate touch, realizing those glances of undetected emotions, those hidden words behind eye-lids, a feeling accomplished, an entirety, of your world and mine, of your future and mine, weaving all that’s gone by, to lay it all out for the yet to come. Oh yes, the floodgates have opened, rushing myself out of me, with closed eyes, I am ready to see.