Woh Zindagi Humari

Pata nahi kahaan nikal gayi

Woh zindagi humari

Har teesra word tha gaali

Sab chalta tha bhai

Shave din mein do baar karte

Kyunki Senior se phatti rehti thi

Moonch bhale na ho

Par attitude mein koi kami nahi thi

Na jaane kitne funde diye

Ragging mein bhi hanste rehte

Kuch funde follow bhi kiye

Senior ko Sir kehte-kehte

Har sawaal ka jawaab tha:

Take it easy doc

Gaane to sunte the

Par sirf angrezi rock

Padhai ke alaava

Har cheez mein aage rehte

Padhai likhai se kya faayda

Fashion Show aur Axis ke hote

Pata nahin kaise

Raat bhar jaag kar tafri karte

Dost bane bhi aise

Ke ek dusre ki maarte rehte

Badi besabri se hota

Mess off ka intezaar

Har Saturday jaa pahunchte

CRC ke dwaar

Mazzaa to aata Sunday ko

Jab mess mein mehfil jamti

Coffee kitni bhi kadvi ho

Yaari ki mithaas mein ghul jaati

Pata nahi kahaan nikal gayi

Woh zindagi humari

Har teesra word tha gaali

Sab chalta tha bhai

Borivali Fast

8.44. It is not the time. It is a train – Borivali fast, will not halt between Bandra and Andheri. Previous train was a Virar fast. Which is why there were a few people on the roof. But the Borivali train would be better, I hope.

8.50. The 8.44 train is just entering. People on the platform with bated breath, waiting in position for the slight opening in the door (what with four people hanging onto the door!), just enough to squeeze one’s way in. Before the train stops the people are already funneling in through the anorexic opening of the door.

8.51. Feeling like a sardine. People seem to be pushing and pulling in all directions. Some groan. Somebody at the door yells.

8.55. Hands outstretched, facing left and with my legs making an obtuse angle (How did I do that?). Everyone has finally settled down. Feels like cattle now. Or may be it’s just the grass that looks greener!

8.58. Andheri. Quite a few people add to the herd. And a few more degrees of freedom are added to my physics defying flexibility. Nadia Comaneci here I come!

9.10. Malad. Mass exodus followed by mass influx. But it’s getting better. I even can see some part of my little toe.

9.11. The train steps out of Malad station and stops dead in its tracks. Literally! There is a bit of commotion at the door. And suddenly people moved closer to each other and the sea of humanity parted. But instead of Moses I saw a small man, barefoot, wearing shorts and a shirt with “WR” printed on it, jump in. Within a flash he turned his back to me and pulled up a stretcher, with two more of his colleagues helping him. As the train started moving the three men sat around the stretcher.

9.12. The man on the stretcher is injured badly. His shirt and trousers are torn. His shoes are off and a blood soaked sock is tied to his left leg. His face is crimson with a mixture of blood and sweat. His lips are parted and I can see the blood all over his teeth. It’s still 9.12. His lips open wider and his head rises a little bit as he gasps for breath. It’s still 9.12. He’s still again. And another violent gasp. Its still 9.12 – how long is this minute going to last?

9.13. The three laborers are discussing their wages. ‘Even this stretcher counts’, said one. One more breath of air. Another shudder. But nobody seems to notice.

9.14. The train enters Kandivali. ‘Don’t step across the body. Go around’, yells someone. Two people go around it. The others just step across. After all it’s only a 17 second halt. Life goes on. Or did it?

Pain

All wounds cause pain
But that pain is extreme
Which inflicts a wound
That pain is supreme
Which creates a wound
And still, makes not a sound

The pain cuts in
And goes so deep
Yet, how deep can it go
Only the wounded can know

The pain sinks in
Going all the way through
Till there's nothing to cut
And no one left to hurt

Mirth was murdered
The spirit was butchered
Happyness got drained
As the pain poured in

Pain seeped in
And pervaded the whole
What got me first
The pain or the hole?
And that is the truth
That only the pained shall know

The Debt

Yeah. That's me over there. Walking the last few steps of my life. I didn't always walk with a limp though. There was a time when I walked with a spring in my step. It was a long long time ago - more than half a century ago! I was all of 21 then....

Just out of engineering college with a good job in hand. Everything looked beautiful and I felt great - felt that I had the potential to do anything that I could dream of. In a few years time I married my college sweetheart, Anjali, and we moved together into a pretty little house. She was my best friend, my source of strength and everything else that I could ever ask for. Together we made that pretty little house our pretty little home.

My hard work at the office was paying off and I was beginning to climb up the ladder to the higher echelons of the organisation. Work was good. I liked what I was doing and I was good at it. Things couldn't have been any better. And then they got better. Anjali gave me the most beautiful gift that anybody could ever give me - our daughter - Muskaan. What a little bundle of joy she was! A perfect balance of her mommy and daddy.

Time went by. I had risen to the level of vice president at work. Both Anjali and I were getting older. I was more gray than black now and Anjali was a little better off! My little bundle of joy had grown up. She was now a confident, young lady - just the right mix of traditional and modern - quite like her mommy. And just like her mommy she fell in love and was going to marry the man of her dreams. We were both very happy for her but at the same time we were also a little anxious hoping that things would work out fine for her. She wasn't going to stay with us forever. She had to pursue her dreams and she had to do it her way. But despite being prepared it wasn't so easy.....

Soon thereafter I came to head the firm. After a very successful seven years of record growth and profits for the firm I finally retired. Anjali and I spent some great years together. Now we had time for everything that we had ever wanted to do. We went to the theatres, new restaurants and even a photography workshop. All these small things added up to a great deal for us. We were really happy. The maximum satisfaction that I have experienced is whenever I have seen Anjali smiling. I am glad that I could keep her smiling though those last few years. Atleast, I'll always remember her that way.....

She had seen some really difficult times when she was young. I, on the other hand, had none. And she would often ask me why some people are always lucky. Why is it always her that has to face the bad times. I'd tell her that everybody has to see their share of ups and downs. Sooner or later everybody has to go through their share of difficulties. Sooner or LATER.....

Its been twenty years since she has gone. And I live all alone. The same structure which was our pretty little home now feels no more than a cold, dark building. Every corner brings back memories which hurt more than they heal. Haunting memories of the happier times past. And there is no getting away from this for the debt has to be paid..... sooner or later........

Sketching Peace

Mind-fucked again. Feeling hollow and broken with the knowledge that something is wrong, something is not true, something is not right. Shattered dreams expose the reality. Grappling with the reality that stares you in the face, trying hard to find a solution but realizing deep inside that a solution is not possible when the problem is not clear. There is hurt, pain, misery but they all stem from something shapeless.

The questions are many and I don’t have any answers. I don’t want any answers. I want neither hope nor despair. I want to go home – but to nobody and to nothing. I just want to be alone – free and peaceful.

I start looking at them one by one. All of them aren’t good. Some are not shaded right and some are not proportionately sketched. But there are few which I will not forget. Like the gentle old man with his time warped wrinkles and soft cheeks. He looked satisfied. Content. He looked at peace.

Lisa Ray looked really beautiful. There was nothing ostentatious about this picture. Very simple with the hair neatly pulled back. Smooth lines and curves intermingling with each other and eyes that looked crystal clear. No embellishments, no jewels. Just pure beauty.

As I flipped through I felt better. The last one – the best one – takes time to come but even waiting for it is an experience, second only to the experience of absorbing the last sketch.

Eyes closed and partly open lips. A fair face. In perfect contrast yet in harmony with her long, black and flowing tresses. She is saying something but you cannot hear it. She speaks neither in words nor with her eyes. What she says can only be experienced. The innocence, the virginity, the flawlessness metamorphose into a beautiful statement of truth which only the heart can hear and the soul can feel.

Liberation. Beauty. Peace.

Faded Glory

Filth, dirt and grime
Just pollution and noise
Neither reason nor rhyme
Bombay lost her poise

Innocence murdered
Women raped
Not safe anymore
As people gape

We all did our bit
Fuck'd her like a whore
No mangroves left
But shanties galore

What have we become?
We didn't even shed a tear
A long way we have come
But the city drowned last year

A thriving center
Now reduced to dust
Her very people
Betrayed the trust
They striped her naked
To satiate their lust
Crippled and tortured
Die she must

You're Just One Of 'em

'Twas a dark day
And they were closing in
There you lay
Were you awake or sleepin'

Awake you were in bed
They tempted your soul
Floyd ringin' in your head
But your heart had a hole

They came in trickling
But you didn't stop the flow
And soon they were rushing
Blow after blow

You too went numb
And comfortably so
Did you know you'd succumb
That you could stoop so low?

You aint no martyr
You didn't fight the tide
You're just one of 'em, sir
'Twas too soon that you lost sight