::The Journey::

Life as we say, as we know, as we feel. Nothing more than convoluted signal of hyper and hypo mania.. They say unknown or perhaps we are blinded by too much.. A twin brother of darkness..rushing and pushing whole meaning of depressed or elated desires

You play, we play..a game of authority or a game of submissions
designed to make you win or lose is something to ponder on. Nevertheless a journey you take must
Knowing much..or forgetting much

Who am I to say..Who am I to ask
I am nobody. I am just the flicker of shadow..
Silently moving between you and them
I am just a dark passenger

 ..next : Duality

Spirited Away..

In the closed palms there is a wish..
And I run along the shore holding it tight..
Naked feet , sometimes get hurt
Sometimes get cut and bleed
And I run beside the mighty waves, protecting it tight

A sight of albatross is they seek
Men and women in the cloak along the sea
But my messiah is there in my palms
Sleeping for the day of reckon and my call..
And one day it will open its eyes
Wearing bright armour, it will shine
And I will then run along the mighty Gods
The mighty sun and waves of clouds

And then is the time when eternity will end
And the void in the space, where the souls exist will suspend
And I will fly, not run anymore
My angel wings carrying me above the shore
My hands open..my arms free
And I rise..and I rise
to disappear in the nullity…


“May be the lines of your fate must be echoing in the air, which he must have heard”

She could sense the savageness of that sound loud and clear. Breaking the monotonic virtue of time and space. Suspended and surreal was every pulse of her existence. Her brown eyes blinked and She started thinking she may not have been feeling this


She had not been frisked by that female with always suspicious look in her face in the mall. She has never liked it. The whole idea is pretty repulsive. Its nauseating and equally disturbing. But is it because she had been touched by a member of her own gender. Perhaps it was more attributed of being under watch or a sense of distrust that comes along with it, which was more disturbing. That female had ,always though, allowed the emigrants to walk in her kingdom but today she got interested in letting her hand the liberty of enjoying another woman’s presence. This might not have happened today


The girl with brown eyes’s fiancee had not called her and pleaded her to wear a specific dress. And she did think to give him a bonus day by looking pretty, which was out of her nature. It took longer than she expected and this had started to irritate her. How much she wished a normal life without any affair. Without any complications of such necessities.  Funny is love as it starts with an outcome of something spiritual, something like discovering zenith by a wanderlust but gradually with time it all becomes like a child. She might have missed that call


She had not forgotten to put her phone on silence mode as was her nature to do so. She liked full concentration, while she worked.  And that day she happened to have again take out her long forgotten love. “Her list”

It was there all this while. Neither it spoke anything in loud tone nor it was totally quiet. There were silent whispers though , which were unheard and unnoticed, when she started writing it. It was like a gift of magi. She committed herself to it without any repulsion but as suggestion of life..her own puzzled surreal world. It had lines.. all sorts of. They created wisdom out of just everything, such was its magic. It made perfect sense to mark it as extension of her alter ego. Why not it had all her dark desires, her surreptious prayers, her frequent complains, her boastful surprises and her sparkling laughter.

Every single line scribbled on it articulative or inarticulative bore a sense of pride. Like a warrior who have taken all the bullets and salutes to make his shoulders shine.

But that list had taken taken the shape of mental notes. Notes about talking to him. Caring for him. The list was further succumbed under the  shiny paperweight  called Career and a bag full of ambitions. It groaned hard when the transition was happening but the white noise of that singular emotion didn’t let it to be heard or known.

That day she wouldn’t have taken out that list


That list had not growled out with its last energy so hard  that it toppled over, while she was searching for her childhood yearbook. She got engaged a day ago. Funny is the idea of getting engaged. You do get engaged with host of euphemisms. You tend to have a sense of numbness and at the same time heightened sense of a enigmatic loss. The sense of giving up and sense of believing playing magic tricks all round the clock.

She would not have got engaged

if.. if..if

There was a pause…

These things then came into her mind in no particular order –

  • A sound of distant falling bangle
  • Sunshine cutting across her best friend’s hair while they were going for school in winter
  • Her moist eyes and drying lips
  • Her wrist with watch on it. The seconds hands glaringly staring at her. With wisdom and blatant guts and gumption . It said “tick”
  • Wetness in her abdomen with red fluid smearing out

Then the noise began to rise. She can see it. She was entering the mall. And a mad guy shouting at the male guard has taken out the tool of darkness and in order to save himself , the male guard had diverted that tool.

That tool was pointing at her and then she heard it!

The old torn paper she had in her hand which she wanted to show her fiancee today was flying in the momentary freedom.

The time, that malleable or ductile. That outlaw (err or lawful). That which defies speed under its own virtue. Patterned yet sporadic. A parallel wisdom of space. A nuisance. The devil. That clock just smiled making perfect 10:10 and said again till she couldn’t hear anymore



Hath chingaari pe rakh de kuch is tarah..

naqaab pehne khwaab aaye kuch zara..

Hath chingaari..hmm hath chingaariii..

rafta rafta jo ho tere aahato ka sabab

dadhke ye dil or kare pashemaan fitarat..

na samjhe ab tak to samjhe ham teri dasta kuch zara

hath chingari pe rakh de kuch is tarah..

ye gila mausam se nahi..shikayat bas hawa ke rukh se hai sanam

badale nahi zameen ke dastak..par naseeb ke kadam..

aaj fursat mili hai qayamat ke baad..

aaj harkat jo hui hai teri jamanat ke baad..

bas ab pila de do boond apni aakho se zara..

hath chingari pe rakh de kuch is tarah..

haa hath chingari pe rakh de kuch is tarah…


Let it slip.. that dew of dawn.. let it roll like a romantic thought..

Just don’t wonder where did it go..wonder where it got lost..

The touch of hand..drenched in tears..

facile shapes in sand..appear and disappear in quenched fear..

Tried to hold it as an impulse of escaping ecstasy..

though all I can see is endless sea..

Would wait for another day..

when night would pass through the wisdom of clay..

A drop of dew and a heart drenched in wine

come tomorrow and you will be mine…


Wont let it slip that dew of dawn..would hold on to that romantic thought

Wonder how perfect we are..forever in the arms is lost..



Bleeding Blue!

I have never been a fan of cricket! Never been the keeper of numerous stats for I have always lacked faith in the religion of India called cricket. You can call it blasphemy, I was happy to be part of that 10% of pessimistic crowd who always thought cricket is just nothing more than money minting game and every other match has been fixed. It is nothing more than a serious fashion statement where heroes do not earn their respect but are made by varied sources of media and the crowd likewise.

But somehow I got hooked on this world cup. What I saw not a single man earning respect but a team. For every wicket that did fall, there was another man giving the team a shoulder. What I saw was not Sachin in Atlas role but 22 hands keeping India intact.

This world cup had everything of what you would call bollywood potpourri. It had a loss, It had a struggle, It had wishes, It had hope, It had tears, It had that fight, It had that resilience, It had that come back!

I saw every member of the team (barring few of course :P) sweat and bleed blue literally rather they did bleed tricolour in true spirit. It was not a game of earning every single run.. running on grass or hitting hard. It was the spirit of every Indian. Where we not only dream but strive.. strive to show we are the best.

For 28 years Indian team struggled to learn one thing, DISCIPLINE and what a way to show the world that they can! 28 years people I saw keeping track of every other shot being played, every other ball that was played.

Overwhelmed I shouted, I clapped, I cussed, I gaped! from league matches to Australia..To Pakistan and finally Sri Lanka. India did beat every other previous world champion to show the mettle they are made of.

When India did win this cup.  Indians did go wild. Streets jam packed! Madness running high. Honestly, Could anything else give so much collective joy to diverse set of Indians. From billionaires to laborers on construction sites?

I guess Cricket is bigger than religion here.What I saw today was a billion tears, a billion hope and a God! Sachin! I can never put in words the contentment I felt after seeing the man who has given this sport 21 years of his life without any question, lifting the cup. It was befitting when Virat Kohali said, “‎”Sachin Tendulkar has carried Indian cricket on his shoulders for 21 years. So it was fitting that we carried him on our shoulders after this win.”

Today was the day I saw what it meant to create history! Today I felt that numbness! Today I guess I have turned into a theist from atheist. Proud to be Indian! Jai Ho!

Tippy Tappy dance

When Clouds circles over your sunny sky..just roll over a bit n do a tippy tappy dance dance..
When the blues kisses the light of your whites..just slip a bit..n do a tippy tappy dance dance..
and  soon you would see everything disappearing..like snowflakes dissipating in the motionnn..all you need is a tippy tappy dance chance 😛

There are times when you would say, “Hey it is not the way.. neither I wanted nor I would suggest this day”
The percussion of time doesn’t bring any joy and you couln’t see through the dark curtains, that singular ray
you need to defintely topple it over.. just shake it a bit ..as soon..
soon you would see everything disappearing..like snowflakes dissipating in the motionnn..all you need is a tippy tappy dance chance 😛

When Clouds circles over your sunny sky..just roll over a bit n do a tippy tappy dance dance..
When the blues kisses the light of your whites..just slip a bit..n do a tippy tappy dance dance..
and  soon you would see everything disappearing..like snowflakes dissipating in the motionnn..all you need is a tippy tappy dance chance 😛




it’s not enough



Is it Enough!


It can be either

that’s the horror of sometimes…



I wish it to be



wish it is


It can be either

that’s the weirdness of sometimes…



I wish you  were like



Like I wish you were


It can be either

That’s the distance in sometimes…



Are you doubtful?



you really want to be together


It can be either

That’s the beauty of sometimes…

Confessions of a flier

I know how to fold and join these estranged dendrites perhaps to launch a folded euphemism of euphoria or liberation. Though I wont call it harsh subjugation of my nature or destiny. All my life, I have known and loved one thing…my wings..my flight..

Yes, I am a flier.. I have seen plateaus and mountains..high rise…low rise.. I do understand the nature of air , even their smell. The language of compression and depression..As I have always loved to fly…

It was not easy in the beginning to fold and flap..to push hard and suggest..But it was that feeling..A feeling of every particle putting their truest form of elemental love inside your body and forcing the life out of an invisible sphere.. causing not to see but feel…feel the air..

Come to think about it. Every syllable and every organism as such, has revolved around this one singular feeling which bifurcates you… Isn’t it platonic?..perhaps it is.. though attached with physical gesture yet so platonic in nature are these feelings.

With time my tool of desirous action withered..But the joy of heightened carousal acted as seductress. It was monogamist lust. Honest to a single soul yet passionate.

Today I can just move around slowly with those wings. I can’t fly..My wings have ceased to exist. My flock tells me it’s the nature’s law.. Axiom..

Whatever Thou Giveth Out Onto To Others, Will Come Back To Thee

What if, I don’t agree. What if, I call it the biggest blasphemy. I was born to fly. It’s the truest form of love. It’s not an attachment or affection or infatuation or stubbornness. It is called existence.  I am what the movement of air is. and I can’t see my love but feel it. Though it does cause my heart to beat faster. It is not the cause.. It’s the evidence of its existence. Evidence!

My wings are the evidence of my flights. I think, therefore I am and I would and hence I can!

I can see the sun is shining brighter today. It’s been long time it has not gleamed in such an artistic fashion. My satirical existence has left a note on the bewildered chimera..I saw..errr..no I felt my body amalgamating with my mind.. and I was flying!


It was no ordinary love. A glass filled with curiosity, confusion and enigmatic attraction. In the moments of stranded solitude he picked her hair..one by one..each strand showing signs of simplicity, each moment carried. Looking behind the veil of suspended black seraphic beauties he saw her smile.

It must be the fogginess of the voice that was transpiring between the dull silent night and the signature of dawn. It was unsure whether it meant breaking out or in.  The lure of past or present or sublime future, as he was about to leave.

Every second of the carousal seems to have married the ghosts of hollowness that time carried with itself. Inebriated with the jinx of her smell. Her drifting smile was punching away the memoirs of viscous shyness.

Unsettled, and so not satisfied was the need of being together as it was felt. Pauses were making conversation with mind and heart.

“It seems there are lot many things that occupies your life and there are so many things you love “, she complained. “Perhaps I am your last love”, she conjured. It was never easy for her to submit herself to “forever”. It was also never so difficult for her to condemn the honor of “never”. Every breath of her played with the percussion of solemn vows they had taken together sometime in midst of perpetual longness

He looked at her with sudden vicious smile hinting everything about a secret alchemic stone he was just about to bring forward. The power of which, would claim the spatial existence of all the elements between them. It was not an outcry, it was a suggestion. It was not desperation but exasperation. It was not hope but a belief…

” You know what! Those are the things I am sure I love to do , as they bring me joy..but you don’t know one thing my love.. you are the only thing whose absence makes me cry”

The time appeared to turn and churn with her hair. She looked back at him with the innocence of a new born child..and..and she smiled…