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Tuesday, 6 June 2017

THE TURNAROUND

"She loves me, she loves me not."

Here you are, standing at the bus stand with her. You know you have to tell her sometime. Yet, you can never gather the courage. Ever. Who knows how things will go once she does know? You can never tell.

She starts walking away from you, towards her bus. You look at her receding form with doe-like expectant eyes. You have this feeling that she will listen to your thoughts, just like how you listen to the radio by tuning in. You laugh at your foolishness. You want her to turn back and wave good bye for one last time before leaving. But, that only happens in Bollywood. Nothing like that happens in reality. She will leave you just as unceremoniously as Richard Parker. And you will not be able to do anything about it.

But, hope is a bitch. There is a faint glimmer of hope in a remote corner of your heart. It is like that ray of the sun which penetrates through the dense canopy of a rain forest and kisses the ground. You are so petulant that you refuse to leave unless she turns and waves at you. But she is only sashaying down the road, apparently nonchalant. Or is it your imagination? Does she also feel the same way as you? You don't know. You never will. Yet, you do not abandon hope. Hope is truly a bitch.

With every step that she takes forward, your heart sinks a little. From inside, you die a little. But you still stand your ground as firmly as you had before. You make sure that you keep your eyes wide open and do not blink, lest you miss the moment that you are waiting for so intently, so hopefully, so foolishly...

You look at the chignon at the back of her head. With every step that she takes, it bobs up and down. It is rhythmic. Ethereal. Poetry in motion. You smile as you think about the number of times you must have played with her hair in your dreams. You smile as the memory of you brushing away the strands of her hair from her face and tucking them behind her ear comes back to you. But, dreams are dreams. Do they ever come true?

She is almost there now, near her bus. Soon, she will be on it and off. The joke will be on you. What will you do? Will you wait there all day for her? You shake your head as if that will do away with all the unwanted thoughts ricocheting in your mind right now. It doesn't.

Suddenly, she stops. Your heart skips a beat. You realize you have held your breath. The world comes to a standstill. It is as if the Earth has stopped rotating on its axis. You wait, expectantly. Is she thinking whether to turn or not? Does she even want to turn? Will she turn?

Then, she does it. Slowly, she spins on her heel. You make sure that you don't close your eyes even for a millisecond. This moment is not to be missed. She has turned a hundred and eighty degrees. Her eyes meet yours. You stare at them, transfixed. You want to put your hand up and wave but you realize that it is made of lead. Slowly but surely, she smiles. Her lips curl up in that cute manner that you have always liked. You can swear that you see a sparkle in her beautiful eyes. Somehow, you manage to smile back at her. "Bye", she mouths. "Bye", you reply.

"Cut!", says the director. "Nice shot". But, you realize that you are still standing rooted to the spot and still smiling long after she has gone...

Thursday, 11 May 2017

THE ATTACHMENT

All he wants is the Red balloon,
He wants it badly, he wants it soon;
It's his even before it actually is,
But, something is definitely amiss.

Attachments...
They always hurt,
But what does he know?
He is just staring at his balloon go...

Oh! There will be other balloons,
Blue, Green and Yellow,
But these don't entice him,
It's only the Red one that makes him mellow.

The balloon has flown off,
Into the vast blue skies,
He turns to have one last look,
And it reflects back in his teary eyes.

There is anguish, there is pain;
Look at his emotions drain,
He stretches his hand,
But his effort to catch the balloon is in vain.

In his heart he still has hope,
That the string of attachment will not become slack,
He looks at the sky longingly,
Waiting for his balloon to come back...

Saturday, 24 January 2015

THE MATH OF MY LIFE

She is as beautiful as calculus,
Integrating the joy,
Differentiating the pain,
Always limiting it.

She is as beautiful as algebra,
She is constantly variable,
But also is variably constant,
The equation of my heart.

She is as beautiful as geometry,
The line of my life,
The origin of my Cartesian plane:
That dimensionless point.

She is as beautiful as a vector,
With the direction of my life,
Magnitude unknown.

She is as beautiful as infinity,
For she neither has a beginning,
Nor has an end,
And can't even be defined.

She is as unpredictable as probability,
The throw of a die,
Toss of a coin,
A moment there,
The next ...
She disappears into thin air.

MARTIAN BEAUTY

She must've come from Mars,
For she's out of this world,
Beyond this planet,
An alien with hazel eyes.

She must've come from Mars,
For she was so pretty,
So beautiful,
That she could never be human.

She must've come from Mars,
For her hazels had superpowers,
That mesmerised me completely,
Got me attracted like a magnet.

She must've come from Mars,
For she was unlike others,
Extra-terrestrially pretty,
She was a Martian beauty.

Who says there's no life on Mars?
Just look at her,
She is Life herself.

She is the beginning,
She is the end,
She is in my dreams,
She is in my head.

She's like a mermaid in water,
A hazel queen on land,
She's as white as snow,
She's a Martian beauty herself.

I love every atom of her,
Every single atom,
For it must be from Mars,
Because she's a Martian beauty herself.

Tuesday, 25 March 2014

THAT HAZEL PAIR

For ophthalmologists shall say that,
It is only the colour of your iris,
But only a poet shall tell you this:

That Hazel Pair,
Shines brighter than than Sirius,
Brighter than the brightest,

Brightest of all.

That Hazel Pair,
It entices me

To explore the realms of something,

Unknown to most humans.

That Hazel Pair,
It has a sparkle,
It has a twinkle,
It has its own lustre.

That Hazel Pair,
It is a puzzle,
Yet to be explored,
A treasure,yet to be unearthed.

That Hazel Pair,
It has a depth,
That even the most advanced SONAR,
Wouldn't be able to measure.

That Hazel Pair,
It lures me,
Into a dimension,
Unknown to all others.


That Hazel Pair,
It has an aura of anonymity,
A plethora of satisfaction,
Contentment...

That Hazel Pair,
Stands out from all others,
Blue,black,brown,green....
O!what are they but negligible in front of it.

That Hazel Pair,
It has a uniqueness,
It's own identity,
Unlike any other.

That Hazel Pair,
Its mere presence alone,
Pacifies me,
Quenches my thirst.

That Hazel Pair,
It has a voice,
A voice that nobody else can hear,
But only me.

That Hazel Pair,
When it squints,
Its shallowness,
Is what captivates me.

That Hazel Pair,
It is shallow and deep,
Calm and serene,
A recurring scene.

That Hazel Pair,
It's like the Pied Piper,
Musically mesmerising,
Shrewdly scintillating.

That Hazel Pair,
It's so prepossessing,
That it accentuates your beauty,
And sets the starer on fire.

That Hazel Pair,
Has the power to pause,
The whole wide world,
And send it into a trance.

That Hazel Pair,
Against the backdrop of white,
Looks newly polished,
Looks extra bright.

That Hazel Pair,

It's neither very red,

Nor is it very brown,

It's simply hazel,an amalgam of the two.


That Hazel Pair,
It crinkles when you smile,
But when it floods,
Something's sinisterly wrong.

That Hazel Pair,
Its breathtaking beauty,
Provides panacea,
To all the problems.

That Hazel Pair,
Neither has any beginning,
Nor any end,
For it extends from nullity to the infinite space beyond.

That Hazel Pair,
Has around it a thin haze;
A riddle,a complicated maze,
Making it difficult to avert my gaze.

That Hazel Pair,
It's so far,
Yet,I feel that it's so close,
That I'll extend my hand and 
touch it.
But,before I even try
That Hazel Pair
Vanishes,
Dissolves into the night,
Slips through my fingers
And I wake up,
Having a longing...
A desire for
That Hazel Pair,
To visit me again
That very night
And,make my dreams bright.

Wednesday, 18 September 2013

WHAT IS LIFE?

"What is life?",you say,
Life is but a way,
A path that one chooses,
No one knows right or wrong.
"What is life?",you say,
Life is but a struggle,
Come what may,
A battle against every odd.
"What is life?",you say,
Life is but problems,
Nay,problems interspersed with joy,
Amongst many other things.

"What is life?",you say,
Life is but a beautiful day,
At times sunny;at times rainy,
Yet most times;dull and overcast.

"What is life?",you demand,
Life is but to reprimand,
Others,
And reciprocate yourself.

"What is life?",you inquire,
Life is but fire,
Sadness is smoke,
The feelings that choke.

"What is life?",you wonder,
Life is but a blurry blunder,
You might not be able to see it clearly,
But ultimately you realise and regret.

"What is life?",you wonder,
Life is but lightening and thunder,
Followed by a downpour of sadness,
But ultimately a sunshine of happiness.

"What is life?",you brood,
Life is but directly proportional to your mood,
At times harsh;and
Most other times crude.

"What is life?",you contemplate,
Life is but a huge mistake,
Amidst people who are wrong and,
People who are fake.

"What is life?",you ask,
Life is but a mask,
A mask of artificiality,
A mask which people wear.

"What is life?",you ask,
Life is but a difficult task,
Something that can or cannot be done,
Depending on your own wills and inclinations.

"What is life?",you ask,
Life is but a book,
And every new day,
Is a fresh page...

"What is life?",you ask,
Life is but an abyss,
An abyss of sadness,sorrow,depression;
Overcome these and you are the happiest person.

"What is life?",you ask,
Life is but birth and death,
What have you brought into this world?
What will you take?

"What is life?",you ask again,
Life is but an incessant rain,
A rain of happiness and joy,
A shower of contentment and blessings.

"What is life?",you think,
Life is but a momentary blink,
Unexpected,
Unpredictable...

"What is life?",you think,
Life is but a connectionless link,
A link between nothingness and infinity,
Neither knows no bounds...

"What is life?",you sigh,
Life is but as irrational as pi,
3.141592653589793238462643383279...
Non-terminating,non-recurring,never ending...

Wednesday, 5 June 2013

EXPECTATIONS HURT

I was waiting near the bus-stop.My friend had not yet turned up.I was supposed to go to school with him today.In his car.

My cellphone rang.I picked it up."Hello,"I said.

"Yeah,hello...,"said my friend,"we'll be there in five minutes."

"Okay,"I said,"by the way,what's the colour of your car?"

"It's white,"he said and hung up.

"Five more minutes only,"I told myself.

The sky was growing dark.Somewhere in the distance,I heard thundering.It could rain at any moment now.I hoped that my friend would come to pick me soon.

Suddenly,I saw a white-coloured car in the distance.It was coming closer.Closer.I don't think that the car was travelling slowly,but I experienced the whole thing slo-mo.

"Skoda,"I almost screamed.

I had just realised that the car was a white-coloured Skoda Octavia.Could it be my friend's car? I felt excited at the mere thought of it.

The Skoda went past me.I simply looked on.It couldn't be my friend's car...

Apparently,I had asked my friend only the colour of his car.I hadn't asked him the name.

I heaved a tremendous sigh.

Soon,it started drizzling.As I like to get wet in the rain,I didn't make an effort to find any shelter.I simply stood over there.

I don't really know why,but at that moment I imagined myself as Aditya Roy Kapoor.I pretended that the song 'Tum Hi Ho' was being played in the background.I was completely soaked.Raindrops dripped from my face.It seemed almost like the scene from the movie 'Aashiqui 2',except for the fact that there was no Shraddha Kapoor around...

Another white car!

This time it was a Volkswagen."Wow!"I exclaimed.Those who were standing at the bus-stop looked at me,clearly astonished.

The Volkswagen zoomed past me just like the Skoda Octavia;except that,this time I found the lower half of my pant dripping with muddy water.The goddamn Volkswagen had done that.

Having learnt a lesson,I went and stood quietly under the shelter of the bus-stop.I wondered whether my friend would ever come.

Two or three cars and about a dozen scooters and bikes later,I saw another white car.Even as I was contemplating whether it could be my friend's car,the passenger's window of the white Maruti 800 rolled down and the freckled face of my friend was unmistakable.

"Hop in,"he said...

It was on that day that I learnt a really important lesson of my life:
Never expect anything.
Expectations hurt.

From that day onwards,I stopped expecting that somebody would come to pick me up in a Skoda or a Volkswagen;and I thanked my lucky stars that my friend had come in a Maruti 800 and not in a bullock-cart that was painted white!