A tale of tragedy

Date : 8 January,2009
Time : 5:00 in evening , but it's already dark in my room

A terrible headache is troubling me.An hour passes and I am still tossing in bed.Now, headache is leading to disillusionment and random thoughts.So,this picture emerges in front of my eyes,and for a moment I wish I could paint.But I could only write.So, I grope in darkness to find some paper and pen.Not in a situation to reach out for the switch to turn on the light,I start scribbling in darkness.


1)It's a fateful full moon night,
when two lovers were to meet,
but here he is,with his sword in his hand
his face expressionless,
eyes carrying a hint of deceit.

a morbid silence envelopes the place
which helplessly heard her wails of pain
for he won't stop,till her agony died down
so he stabbed her again and again.

Now,her lifeless figure lies in disbelief

her breath is gone,
"Dead",he whispers to the breeze,
his face expressionless as stone

The moon still looks bright
oblivious to what just took place,
it gleams in romance
between the dead figure and the expressionless face


A cool zephyr blows
playing with the locks of her golden hair
over the once-lovely face
now pale with death,no,betrayal.
2)He was the handsomest of handsomes,
and lovely maidens fainted on his sight
fearless he was, his mention only
would make enemies tremble in fright

She was a moon, a beautiful dream
and her smile was like crack of dawn
a painter's imagination, she was,
across miles,
her beauty would make peoeple moan

It was another full moon night.
when their eyes met
and their hearts were lost
they could not be together
as rivalry grew in their bloodline
so he had promised,"We'd elope"

3)As he lingers to gaze at the dead beauty,
who lies in her own pool of blood
she breathes again,fighting with death
just to utter these fateful words

"what hath I done,
to deserve this,
I refuse to die

I refuse to die,
unless you tell me,
your love was a lie"



Nervous he is ,
a drop of sweat,on his brow,shines,
he steps back in utmost fear
and disappears in the dark of night.

Every full moon night,
she breathes back to life
and you can talk to her and she'd say

"I died long back in his hands,
its a wait that keeps me alive,
he keeps coming back and kills me everytime,
but I refuse to die,
I refuse to die,
unless he tells me his love was a lie".

It took so long to publish this poem because I was never satisfied with it.I still am not.I had to compromise with the beauty of picture to keep poem intact and I had to compromise with the beauty of poem to keep picture intact.The picture,if you talk about,carried a loads of emotions.The dying princess's face could make hearts bleed and the knight's face was so expressionless, that it hid perfectly another enduring tale,and the moon,the lone witness,I still am clueless how to put it in words.

Who moved my pizza...

Location :Sec 40 market,Gurgaon
Time : a Sunday evening already half spent in shopping
The bandwagon of ladies enter the boutique(that means It's my formidable Mother,my bhabhi and me).I have to get a suit stitched.After we are through the design selection formalities ,the “masterji”(as all tailors of the world are better known as)proceed to take the measurements.As he reads out the verdict of the inch tape (commonly known as inchi-tape in households),the words fall on my ears like molten wax.
For all that pizzas I sacrificed,and the delicious smell of cheese,that I have forgotten,this is what I get to hear :(.God must be busy somewhere eating pizza..

Alive or dead

Sometimes,so strange feelings equip you that you cannot define as to what you feel,can't even explain to yourself.

It's a usual weekend.I and my Mom decide to spend some good time and we head out for shopping (the most usual stress buster for women folk).It's our usual life-is-like-this-and-that talk when a pungent smell comes through.

"Koi mar gaya hai",exclaims my Mom,punctuated with her typical,full of agony "Haaye".I am still thinking about my Reebok shoes,takes me a while to resgiter what she means.

It's a cemetry and a dead body is burning.

So, this is how burning of a human body smells like.

It's been years.Last time I mourned was when my grandpa died.The only time,I saw someone go away.I saw him being burnt. The thought of him --a human corpse inside flames lying helpless was as piercing that day as I felt it now.I go numb,thinking how it takes less than a moment for a person to go lifeless,the same person whom you love so much,spend all your time with,whom you can't live without and whose absence you never imagined.Now, he can't hear you,can't talk to you,can't respond to you and all you can do is to dispose off his mortal remains,lest they'll rot.It's just we make it look like a ritual,make it look like the start of a new journey,the truth of which,nobody knows.

But this is how we go,go on living, in denial of presence of death.

The onset of winters...

As a kid, I was always amused by winters.I loved the smoke rings we could make with our breaths in the fog -laden air.In the rhythm of words,the smoke emerged,floated in air and then faded away.It was like watching words travel.
Another few springs of my life passed,and I rather grew scared of winters.Winters,now,I picture in my mind as colorless and grim.People glued to their homes and quilts,empty streets,dusty leaves in the final stages of their lives,a lonely moon on its prolonged stays in a dull grey sky.

No sun on a typical day.

This loss of Vitamin D energy somehow affects my mood and spirits that go in an all time low.And clothes,most of the times, I feel like some eskimo under their sheer weight.

And summers-bright,full of colors,life,people on busy streets,orange-blue sky,clouds like delicate cotton and fresh green leaves,moon bright in a beautifully adorned sky,and sun fierce as ever,its glory restored.Faces red and sweaty,full of a zest called life.I find nothing un-welcome in summers.It's like my life given back to me.
But there are a few things that I'll fondly remember for rest of my life,which belong exclusively to winters.
My mother waking me up on a typical winter morning,"Dikshu",she'll say in a voice full of affection which will send me tossing in my bed innocently like a 2 year old kid.She 'll draw away curtains of the window that opens up the street's view and a gush of cold wind will sweep in."Dikshu",the temple bells will ring again, and she'll open the door to the balcony,to make way for ushering sun rays.And as I'll pucker my face imitating annoyance - though wishing in my half asleep heart that this moment remains frozen,hanging in air- the mother will give me the warmest of hugs,and the sweetest of kisses.So unfair,this all,I could enjoy for just one winter of my life.These imprints drawn on my mind still keep me warm in lonely winter nights as I brood over how life changes.
Another is the only trace of color I've seen in winters- flowers of "Palash"/"Dhak".What a view to behold!Trees holding flames.
And third is the taste of a hot cup of tea on chilly winter night while a cold current hits my face.These pictures are drawn vaguely in my mind, with no location and time registered,but they are preserved in form of most b'ful of the feelings I've ever come across-the mother's affection,the nature's treasure and the feeling of being alive.

I just wish summers remain as long as they can, for I love them and I just wish summers go,for onset of winters brings with it - a wait, for summers to come..and ofcourse,those b'ful feelings.

"Bus" Last time!!

I believe God exists,else how can I explain my being able to catch bus everytime no matter how late I am.
This also explains to me , why the verb for getting into a bus is "to catch the bus".Two days, and I had been on sprinting exercises after buses.

Sunday,11 Jan,2009 :A lazy afternoon giving way to a chilly evening
I get down from a refusing-to-slow-down 711 ( you could say escape getting "down" the bus) at Dhaula Kuan.In distance , I spot this "Karol Bagh to Gurgaon" bus approaching the stand.Now,till day,I couldn't figure out the exact location of the stop on this around 500 m long stretch.So, when I am standing at this far corner of the stand,say the Southernmost end,the driver guy would make sure he stops at the northernmost point.So, by the time, the bus reaches this point where I am ,guys are are already hanging out of the doors.At Other times,when I stand at the northernmost points,drivers so brazenly ignore me and whoosh away straight to stop at a distance which atleast I cannot cover given all the relative velocity concepts.
Now,today I am sure the same old story would continue.But, wait,there is this very sweet girl standing next to me who starts waving so nervously at the bus to stop as she won't be able to breathe if she doesn't catch this bus.
May be,this works.I follow the suite.
Our very own Haryana Roadways driver,who believes so well in gender equality presumably doesnot want to give any unfair advantage to the fairer sex.So,here we are standing like two cows,helpless and mute and the bus crosses us swirling and swaying in speed just to stop 200ms away.By now, all the crowd is running.
I am just getting into this "abhi nahi to kabhi nahi" mode when I spot this cute guy,who had been eyeing me all the way in 711 bus.He is still looking out of the window and following my volatile expressions.Dharamsankat .This guy who is visibly impressed for I don't know what, now watches me running like a fool,what do I do?
"Listen Girl,you may ever get such a guy again , but this bus, never,again-Run,Damn it".
And here I am running in full speed after the bus,with all the crowd -to emerge victoriously- to finally get into the bus,secure a seat and offer adjoining seat to an aunty.The auntyji then proceeds to shower me with a relentless spate of questions "kahan rehti ho?","kya karti ho?" "dilli mein job karti ho?" that you doubt if she plans to get her son married to you.
You must be thinking what happened to the other girl?Well, she still has to overcome the charm of cute guys looking out of the window and will take her some time to realize that catching a bus is more important and difficult than catching a guy.Till then she 'll keep missing her buses.

Monday 12 Jan,2009 : A not-so-foggy morning
Management Lesson #1 One solution which did not work in one situation may work perfectly in another situation.
I needed to remember this,atleast, when the company bus has just crossed me and I still am a few metres away from stop.
Girl,why don't you wave?
Bus didn't stop yesterday when I was waving like idiots.
Damn , that was Roadways, this is company bus.
It's too late.Bus reaches on schedule,rest of the junta gets in and my Rickshaw-wallah is still panting trying to attain the highest speed-its a prestige issue now.Bus starts moving.
"Wait,Wait...please,pleeeease",I murmur to myself .
Time to seek divine intervention.
"Please God, Please ...Won't happen again..this is last time ,las time I promise".
Guess what ,the bus comes to a halt at some distance ,just to wait for me to get in and my jaw drops.I am almost like - "You are actually there listening!!" .
Again a minor sprint exercise andI am into the bus.Look at the (the same unruly)conductor with all the gratitude in my heart, and proceed to a back seat,where I'll give a morose look to who-ever would come and sit next to me.