Monday, April 30, 2007

Swimming in a fish bowl

I wish I had a choice; there must be another way…

There isn’t, life is like the bits of shaving cream that’s still there after you are done, equal parts of white lather and tiny pieces of hair. It all gets flushed at the end.
What does it matter? Life? Live it or lump it.


The title is a reference to the song, Wish you were here by Pink Floyd. The lyrics can be read here and the song itself can be heard here...

The Painting

Light streamed in through the frayed curtain. Rhea was already awake. She was frowning at the painting she had hung on the wall last night. There was something vaguely disturbing about it…
Realization struck. She shuddered.

That was a bad hiding-place, she thought contemptuously. The spider, now on the floor, twitched briefly and lay still.

Saturday, April 28, 2007


Come into my dreams, and into my only freedom. There is a thundering world underneath, and if you come close enough, care enough, you may hear a choked breathy whisper. Come; see the secret about a secret: you will hear the greatest truths and the grimiest lies, and I shall be buried under every distinct sound.

Wednesday, April 25, 2007

love story 3,4 & 5

He started smoking. She asked if he’d mind some coffee given that they were both cold and waiting.
Waiting for something. Anything actually.

“How did your wedding go? Show me your wife’s photo.”
“Alright. I don’t have one on the phone.”

“Life doesn’t stop. It comes a full circle.”

Her bet was always on Life.


The road was emptied by the sudden shower.
Their shadows moved through broken branches, leaves, broken pieces carried by the dust-storm. Occasionally the headlights of speeding vehicles would startle them. She tried very hard to keep-up with his gait.
There was not a cab in sight.

It was raining on the tumult of the storm.


Two days later, her phone beeped

“I don’t know whether I should say thanks. But you made me feel better, much better.”
She wrote “We better our own selves; the world is just a vehicle.”
But was met with “There is a word ‘Rekindle’. That’s it.”

That evening it rained again.
“Love story, come again.”

Tuesday, April 24, 2007

love story 2

Their story was broken when it had just begun.
He knew it all the way, she didn’t.

And then an evening of sudden summer shower, the dust rose in a storm giving way to water.
They were caught in a café across a rickety table, drenched and not knowing what to say.
Love and rain…..
[Wendigo, I guess I discovered this one late]

Song 55: Here Comes The Sun

She doesn't believe in heartbreak. Though she knows how easily her heart can break. She doesn't acknowledge failure. Not cos she's always succeeded. She isn't an idealist. Not cos a cruel world battered her ideals out of her. She believes in life. Not cos it's beautiful. But cos it goes on. Cos nothing stays.

Glad C&b put this one up. Lovely song. One of my favourites :)

Sunday, April 22, 2007

Nothing at all...

In my moments of emptiness, I have Nothing to say.
That is when I want to speak to you, The Most.

“Will I?
Won’t I?”
I manage to hide behind meaningless texts, which are not me…

Don’t you have anything to say?

It’s my worst Nothing that wishes to tell you my best Something
['When you say nothing at all'--lyrics by Paul Overstreet, covered by Alison Kraus & Union Station and also by Ronan Keating]

Saturday, April 21, 2007

Song55 : Here Comes The Sun - The Beatles

Things seemed sharper, brighter.

A cool breeze, warm sun.

Laughter and smiles around him.

He A light, carefree, happiness about life. Then about himself, and everyone else. It made him giddy.

Silly fool!

He laughed to himself.

The sun smiled down upon him, as he hopped, skipped and blended into the world.

Wednesday, April 18, 2007


Since the beginning of time, am at the periphery.
Running my own orbit.
I try every now and then to defy all forces and rush into the sanctum-sanctora. Into your core.
It hardly brushes past you.
When you do really get touched, I have my eleven minutes of fame.

They call me a UFO, then.

Monday, April 16, 2007

Resigned to victory

He exclaimed,
You’re a worthy opponent. A good sparring partner!

She sighed wearily,
There is more to life than verbal battles. Don’t you get tired?

He asked,
Why? Our conversations are so much fun!

She retorted,
We don’t have conversations; we have custody battles for the last word!

She won that round. But of course.

Sunday, April 15, 2007


She spun wildly, her crazy footwork sending him into a delightful tizzy. Soon, more appeared. Behind the apple bush. Beneath the willow. Beside the sapphire stream. The patter of tiny feet filled the silent night.
The wind noticed, and whispered a warning.
They twinkled out of sight, leaving him with a broken midsummer night’s dream.

Saturday, April 14, 2007


Shrill alarm. Snooze. Re-snooze. Shards of a dream—a memory—lingers. Muffled screams, tense muscles, bloodshot eyes. Shake it. A moment of truth, realized. Accept it. Turn head, look out the window—the sun is not quite awake. Perhaps it never will wake, at least not for today. Thunderous gray skies promised much needed release.

Thick as thieves

She broke the rules first. It was like taking money from the wallet of someone who’d steal from her eventually.

And he did. Wondering why she didn’t agonize over closure, the way other women did.

She’d never tell him that the story ended long ago. With the realization that they were both capable of theft.

Thursday, April 12, 2007


Apathy. Denial. Shrugged-off acceptance. Laughed-off justifications. We dont need no education!

It surrounded him. Why were they like this? Why did nothing interest them? Motivate them? Spur them? How could they always just be like this?

In front of them, the unconcerned lecturer went on spouting his theories to whoever listened. Also apathetic. Just differently.

Wednesday, April 11, 2007

hazaaro.n Khvaahishe.n aisii ki har Khvaaish pe dam nikale

She looks out of the window. White clouds float in the sparkling azure sky. Her dreams were many. But she has learned to let go. It doesn’t hurt anymore.

He looks out of the window. The brightness hurts his eyes. He lost all his dreams and the pain remains. Why did he let her go?

Lyrics: Mirza Asadullah Beg Khan/Ghalib 27th Dec 1796-15th Feb 1869
Singer: Jagjit Singh

Javeda Zindagi (tose naina lagey...)

She’s been driving all night.
Behind her the sky has a silvery clarity--a pearl being turned to light.

She rolls down the window. A whiff of fresh swift covers her face with her hair. This neutral, early April breeze— it seals the ending of the hot, sticky night.

Seals a lot of endings right…

[Song Javeda Zindagi from the Film 'Anwar']

Tuesday, April 10, 2007

Song 55's-IV, Little Boxes II

On her way, the butterfly touched down. At times, the flowers spread their petals and reached out to her. At others, they were so proud of their beauty and fragrance.
But they were all flowers who didn’t wish to fly, happy being rooted at the same place for their lives.

Happy being named a ‘flower’!

Song 55's-IV, Little Boxes

She was born to him, an austere and her, a dainty flower. Creative and poor.

When she could decipher words, they told her,
“Spread your wings, our little butterfly.
And learn to mend them too.”

To this day she flies having crossed miles, braved storms and being blessed by the wind, caressed by the Sun.

[Little Boxes by Malvina Reynolds, sung by Pete Seeger]

Sunday, April 8, 2007


The thrill of her chase used to be about impossible dreams in the future
And wrestling them into submission

Now that nothing’s impossible anymore,
She finds herself thinking often of the past
Conjuring visions of how life would’ve been, if it hadn’t gone the other way

Nothing spells unachievable
Like what may have been…and wasn’t.


Friday, April 6, 2007

Sleep, or Lack Thereof.

The cell phone read 3:34 A.M. I do not know why I was awake, but I resigned myself to another night of broken dreams. It had only been two hours since I had finally crawled into bed. I vaguely remember the last night I slept continuously and without interruption.

Will I bend before I break?

Thursday, April 5, 2007

Song 55s IV: Scarborough Fair II

She slips in and out. The window’s been reduced to a watery reflection of the hospital room. Darkness crouches just outside. Piled clouds shoulder each other out of the way. Big bullies. Doctors gravely shake their heads. Suddenly, a smile plays among the wrinkles and liver spots. Once in the hereafter, what dreams may come.

Scarborough Fair, Simon and Garfunkel

Song 55's-III, Are you going to Scarborough Fair?

She was working at her family barn. He was riding back home from town after a long, long time.
And their eyes met.

She ran away on a stormy night. When morning lit up, they found her on the cliff bend on the way to the rolling plains below.

He had a bet on more….

[Revealed, just made a start ...]

Wednesday, April 4, 2007

Exactly: 1 month. 15 wordsmiths. 180 posts.


The Ultimate game

The player sighed
All these games, all rookies
It was tiresome

Time 'twas, to play the master stroke on the ultimate game
His inspiration was fueled by the insight that,

The culmination to creation was destruction.

He swallowed and rested, satiated

His last words read,
Who did you think you were kidding? I won anyway.

Tuesday, April 3, 2007


He looked beseechingly at her.
“I am going away for long. Can we re-look at it?
Am sure you’ll have things to know from me even if am not there as yet….”

“It’s not that! My soul doesn’t bloom with you.”

She turned her gaze blinded by her own judgment.

Not wanting what she gets.

The girl from yesterday

He left her. Just like that.
She kept staring at his picture and the eyes of her unborn daughter he promised they would have.
She continued living on the memories they had made.
It has been weeks. But she waits for him everyday.
Her foolish heart didn’t know she had become the girl from yesterday.

Song 55's II: Durr (II)

He is alone. Again. His latest fling didn't work out. Again. You wonder why. He is perfect, after all. Rugged, well travelled, sophisticated, he always says the right thing at the right time. You know you would be perfect together. And you are. But then he is alone. Again. And you don't quite know why.

Monday, April 2, 2007

Song 55s I: Duur (Strings)

Wiseling and I had a conversation from which this particular brainchild was born :). I wrote a post recently (on my blog) about Song-people. How songs so often conjure up an image of a person in your head. Not based on the video or the lyrics or even the singer alone. But just from the general feeling you get when you listen to the song. Wiseling came up with a 51 for Duur and I thought it might be fun to do Song-55s. I'm going to start with Duur. And if any of you have a different take on it, or even the same take but in a different way then feel free to jump right in. Course it goes without saying that if you have a different song then you just start your own Song-55s chain for that song. Try if possible to link to the song so that if one of us hasn't heard it, we get to listen to it.

His eyes open to darkness. A startled second skips before he remembers where he is. Drat the time difference. But he's used to it. Been here, done this. Many times. And familiarity hasn't even begun to breed contempt. The world's his mollusc. Travelling's his thing. And nothing beats the feeling of wind in his hair.

As beautiful as sin

Sitting cross-legged in the dark on the balcony
Uncharacteristically, enjoying the rain outside

Late in meeting a ‘no-future’ boyfriend she wouldn’t see for a week
He’d parted with longtime girlfriend..again

It wouldn’t ever be more possible or less tempting
I’ve to leave

Try not to go

Forget the first word

Secrets cause no casualties.

Sunday, April 1, 2007

Artistic temperament

I don't like you. I just find you entertaining.

People always paid her these back-handed insults. Thinking they were so subtle. And dramatic.

On reflection, she was the artist and others, always audience.
An artist makes the audience feel the inspiration. When the audience imitates the creation, they validate the artist.

The studio beckoned again.