For all that has gone by...

Whithered roses on the cenotaphs of time,
dusty milestones and the sweet love rhymes,
the silent tears for the long lost loves,
the people who went in terracotta urns,
broken windows and shattered dreams,
the remains of which I clearly see.

The Olive wreaths
and the crown of thorns,
The lengthy ales and a bar house brawl.
The illusions of youth,
unveiled to me.
The terrace bonfires,
A stolen smoke,
faces familiar,
all drowning in the placid river.

The bleeding wounds,
now only scars,
the pain and hurt now seem so far.
The fears unknown and the growing anger,
the bouts of despair and the breaking smile,
the brutal jokes...(Mostly mine)

A red rose springs anew,
from the ashes of Aphrodite's fool.
An eternal bouquet,
I shall nurture thee,
the colors of my sweetest dreams.
Old companionships, justly renewed,
some worn away, like dead cocoons.
New friends forged,
hopefully for life.
Some truths revealed,
not so kind.

Another day,
A new bright dawn,
Another chance to prove them wrong.
A chance to rise,
where no man be.
A chance to go, beyond what I see.
A night to fly beyond the moon,
and burn myself in the summer noon.

A leap of faith,
I'll run a mile,
A silent prayer,
My fondest wish.
Fuel the fire,
that stokes my soul.
Love like Love is lone.
Live another day,
Take a breathe,
Laugh away.
Let go of what could never be,
And look ahead in eyes of time,
and fearlessly weave a dream.

I am Back...Sigh!!!

A person needs a little madness, or else
they never dare cut the rope and be free.

-Nikos Kazantzakis

I feel out of sync and out of tune from the world around me. There is a restlessness of sorts. As if a part of me is left behind. There is a distraction, a gnawing sense of aloofness. I feel a sudden disconnect and detachment from my surroundings as my heart and mind take refuge in the memoirs of the sense of utmost liberation and freedom. I feel euphoric and ecstatic in one instant and helpless and trapped in another. Trapped in the opacity of the life and routine I will have to confirm to.

My vacation was an attempt at absorbing the remnants of my past, the tangibility of the present and the dreams of my future. A journey within and without, no doubt. I learnt to let go of what was transient and hold onto what was indelible. I learnt to listen to the waves that beseech you and to people who matter. I realized that I am not as sane as I thought I was ( and I never was very sane, mind you). I rejoiced and reveled in my insanity, in the foolishness of my ideals, which I am sure to know will shatter the moment I step into the world. I know I will probably have to lock my inner child in a dark dungeon, to be freed only in fleeting moments of overwhelm. I know, I might never get the time to talk crazy and be myself. Scary...

Yet, since I am crazy, I need not confirm to all these ideals. I can still throw a tantrum if I feel like, still talk rubbish because I want to, still be idealistic, since I have the license to be mad, still have elaborate plans about the future, still dream of being on the cover of Time magazine with my partner, as the most powerful couple in the 21st century. Still own the numerous villas and penthouses, still have the time and resources to travel the world on foot. Still get hurt over small but significant matters, still cry my heart out because I just feel like. Still be stupid where mental rigor is not required. Not saying that I wont grow up, just that I will always keep young.

After all, the happiest and most content part of you, is your mad inner child, curious and carefree, who explores the word with an innocent inquisitiveness and a simple desire to just be himself.

Really missing the chai's on the sea shore, the walks on the beach, the midnight songs, the mosquito bites in the night of the clearest skies, brightest starts and frequent shooting stars. The Breakfast at Honey Bee's, the over cooked Tuna at the Garden restaurant, the stupid plans at Golden beach . Most of all...the Company.

All I Want Is You

I'll be your strength,
and share your burdens.

I'll be your shield,
to protect you in battles.

I'll be your quilt,
in the cold bitter nights.

I'll be your laughter,
to erase your pain.

I'll be your voice,
in your moments of silence.

I'll be your parchment,
when you need space for expression.

I'll be your hands,
in your times of labour.

I'll be your light,
when all is dark.

I'll be your balm,
when it hurts like hell.

I'll be your mirror,
when you introspect.

I'll be your heart,
when mine stops beating.

I'll be the sun,
on grey, overcast eves.

I'll be your smile,
in the long, lonely days.

I'll be the cool, clear, crystal stream,
when all you need is to quench your thirst.

I'll be the soothing shade,
on a hot summer noon.

I'll be your shadow,
when you lose your way.

I'll be a friend,
when you need one.

I'll be your family,
in the journey of life.

I'll be your cushion,
when you hug me tight.

I'll be the wing beneath your wings,
when you want to soar the skies.

I'll be all that you want,
I'll be everywhere you want.
Only for you,
Day after night.

All you have to do,
Is say it once,
Say it again,
And again,
Till sleep comes my way,
Those five words,
Which took my heart away...

A piece of Advice: Indelible in its Brutality

No meaningful relationship should be abandoned, no matter how hard it gets or how trying and cruel the circumstances get. Lest of all, they should never be left to decay in purview of what other, inconsequential people think. Good people are rarer than the blue moon, hang onto them till your last breathe. Clutch to the last straw of hope if the need be.

All meaningless relationships should be avoided like the plague, because the only thing they do is add excess baggage to your life. Simplify your life, get rid of them. All relationships, which lose their meaning, should also be abandoned, though a fair chance for survival must be given to them.

Never mix your interpersonal equations because it just complicates things. Life is multi dimensional but must be led linear. It can be understood backward but must be lived forward. No person is worth losing your dignity for.

With that, the mother of healing, closure, has been achieved. I now move towards equilibrium once more, and this time I'll achieve it no matter what!

An Ode to Myself

Ketan, Ketan, you're the best,
Oh My God! So self obsessed!
Ketan, dearest, you are so fine,
clear as a river, deep as a mine!

Ketan, Ketan, you sexy boy,
I thought you were shy,
Looks of Adonis,
Charms of Don Juan,
I am worth more than a Trillion Yuan!

Ketan, Ketan: Gods own reflection,
Dude, you need time for introspection,
Don't know and don't care,
I am Wise, witty, poised and pretty!

Ketan, Ketan, they envy you,
You show off, we hate you!
To all my fans, kisses and hugs,
To all my critics a big "Fuck You!"

Ketan dear, you blessed child,
I know guys, none can deny!

Ketan, Ketan, you lump of chocolate,
"You wish!"
Don't lie, I know you want it!
You're so funny, so charismatic and nice,
I know baby, you are so right!

Ketan, Ketan, what to say?
"WE GIVE UP"
Nothing darling, love me every day!

I Am Pretty! HA ( Johnny Bravo theme song to be played)

Song

The night was velvety blue at its best, darkness rained from the sky, dark, moist, wet with solitude, known only to vagabonds of the city streets. The woods smelt of decay and damp rot, yet, life harboured under some stone, or the hollow of some tree, somewhere, in some hovel or burrow, life celebrated its own magnanimity. Life is indeed generous, or rather, greedy and pompous, it transmutes itself into a million forms, in places unseen and unheard of, simply to celebrate itself.

The path I trod was sick with mulch and the wastes typical of woods, after a heavy downpour. A groan of disgust escaped my lips, as I walked barefoot in ankle deep mulch and natural rot. The irony couldn’t have been more subtle. Here I was, walking in filth and natural slush, on a cool, windy monsoon night, and just hours ago, my kinsmen and I had celebrated the first rain of the season, with hopes of it washing away all our miseries and reaping a bountiful harvest.

The air was aflame!

Tiny golden sparks danced away, content and overwhelmed with the advent of the seasons very first rain. Their aurum glow was as eerie as evocative. It inspired in me the desire to set myself alight and pirouette away in the agonizing ecstasy, in the deep, dark, damp woods, burning it with my sadomasochistic desire for pain. I could imagine myself, with the golden lights all around me, looking like a dark, fearsome god, the embers of my rage, dancing menacingly around me.

I had no idea why I was traversing the woods at this unholy hour of the night, when humanity rests and the dark, violent, volatile and tempestuous side of man gallivants and struts with the air of evil enterprise. Perhaps, I too, had surrendered to my Freudian id, my hidden, inconspicuous and clandestine alter ego, for I had decided to walk among the ancient dead. My fingers, dark, long and bony, looked evil and macabre in the queer glow of the flying sparks that hovered around me.

As I walked onwards, inwards, deeper into the anatomy of the woods, the mulch had begun to discomfort me; I felt obvious and pathetic remains of his once alive creature squish and pulp between my toes. The venerable dead, apparently, were only us humans, whose remains deserved to be treated with a severe and unflinching respect. The rest of life, or rather death was a matter, which rarely, if ever required place in our thought. Our death was burnt with all religious sincerity and customary mourning, their death, was being pulped and crushed between my toes, under my feet as I walked (a bubble of insanity, it seemed had begun to grip me )

A clear, warm female voice assaulted the silence of the night. I turned towards the voice and walked through the soggy mulch, almost mesmerised. There was a mystical, poetic quality about that voice which attracted me towards it. I suddenly knew why I was there. It reverberated of a certain ungraspable essence of life, alien to the deadly woods in which it resonated. I sought the voice more fanatically than ever as I begun to hear it louder and clearer, but was unable to pinpoint its source.

The sound began to encompass the periphery of the woods, it seemed that there wasn’t a single source for the voice, but rather the whole forest, every tree, every jasmine flower, every little insect had joined that multifarious chorus of poetry. I turned sideways, round about, ran forward, retraced my steps, went off the forest path, yet the sound ceased to be located. It was permeating every pore of my heart and soul, it felt like ice cold needles, piercing my very skin. I spun around, maddened and frenzied by the noise, it was driving me insane. I spun around, showering dirt and mulch everywhere. I felt possessed by that voice, but I felt wonderful, ecstatic, overwhelmed, bursting at the seams of my soul.

“I shall dance, sway, swirl and whirl,

I shall laugh and cry,

Tear out my hair;

Scar my bodice with his mark,

Brandish myself with his love,

Live with his name,

Die with it, capsuled in my heart.

I scream and delight,

My heart pumping in all its furious frenzy,

He is mine,

And mine alone,

My sweet heart,

Dark as the night sky above,

Marked like the eon moon.

I burn and burst,

At his mere touch,

I love him more,

Than I can bear.

I shall dance and sway, swirl and whirl,

I shall laugh and cry…” she sang.

I fell on the wet forest floor, mouthing the cursed song, every bit of my soul and body was on fire, it devoured me, burnt me, scarred me, the fire raged furiously in my heart and soul, yet blisters appeared on my body, it was as if the cursed song had decided to possess me, burn me with its passion. I writhe on the forest floor, agonized, excruciated, every bit of my body, screaming in protest…

And then it stopped.

The song, the voice, the woman, ceased to exist. There was nothing but ice cold silence, broken only by my silent sobs. I was bleeding profusely from my leg. I was paralyzed with pain and fear, the hurt and agony was mixed with an unreal joy, and ecstasy unknown to me before, I laughed and cried at the same time. I was covered in the forests excretion all over. I writhe and twisted and turned in agony and ecstasy, my whole body shrieked in heavenly pain. My hands, legs, back, thighs, chest, head, lips, all rejoiced in bloody celebration of my mortality. The pain felt like a release of a thousand years of euphoria.

“I shall dance, sway, swirl and whirl,

I shall laugh and cry,

Tear out my hair…

I scream and delight,

My heart pumping in all its furious frenzy,

He is mine,

And mine alone...”

Children, irritants and torture

I remember myself as a child very vividly. I was quite, obedient, well behaved and trained in social etiquettes and manners. I had a code of conduct, which my mother insisted that I follow religiously in any social occasion, or I faced the risk of a nice thrashing when I came back home. Not that I enjoyed being all goody too shoes all the time or even getting thrashed, but at least I never made a nuisance of myself, and I am proud of it.

Ahh, those were the days…when my mothers glare was enough for me to whimper away in a corner, her stern admonishments were substantial enough for me to mend my ways.

Alas, the new parenting rules have wreaked havoc on the personality of the upcoming generation. The children today make Damien look like Mary’s little lamb. They are noisy, rambunctious, belligerent and just plain annoying. They shout, screech, throw tantrums, spoil their clothes, run around bumping into people, ruin the environment and just make nuisances out of themselves. A misbehaved child is Gods way of suggesting reintroduction of corporal punishment in contemporary parenting.

Public places are the worst backdrop for any misbehaved child to lose his nut. When I see those raucous little beasts clinging to their parent’s dear life, or running around in the metro, howling at the top pf their voices, while the helpless, desperate parents look indifferent, I am filled with the urge to deliver a few tight slaps across the brat’s despicable face, and perhaps threaten him with stuffed chillies in his mouths and eyes, and also do at least one and at the same time, cane the parents for their poor parenting and training.

I am sure that most of you have guessed by now that I dislike children. Well, no, that is not the case. I merely despise the ill mannered ones. You know the kinds I am talking about, those who come to your place and ruin your new upholstery with their filthy little appendages, or break your child’s toys, meddle with your delicate crystal and china, run around in circles, shouting and screaming and touching things you haven’t let your own flesh and blood touch with bean poles. The uncontrollable and unmanageable little nasty devils who keep barging in and out of rooms and talk rudely and caustically… Yes, those are the ones who deserve absolute and pure torture as their comeuppance.

Hanging them upside down, raining them with belts and chappals, pinching them and poking them with needles are just some of the way that they can be dealt with. Other innovative ideas discussed by my friends and I are pulling their hair, making them frog jump for 10 hours on an empty stomach, locking them in the bathroom with chillies in their mouth and switching off the light. Making them sleep outside the house on a cold bitter evening…you get the idea, right?