Monday, December 25, 2006


This city intoxicates me.

Its walls wrap me up in their poisonous embrace, pushing me in deeper. She indulges my memories of sins long forgotten.

I am in a part of this city I have never been in before. Yet its familiarity grasps me. It isn’t the people. Not even the smell. It is just a feeling. A feeling from years ago, bringing back departed encounters. Like bumping into what should be a ghost that should not be.

Bodies brush past me. A skirmish just to keep heading in one direction. On one path. But there is no one path in this city. It is a series of mazes interlocked and intertwined in each other. Feeding of each others complexities to create this cacophony of crazy confusion.

Today, I try to disguise myself in this return to her lair. I try to get lost in the labyrinths of her being. To not be recognized and to not remember. But something pulls me back to her. Even though it shouldn’t.

Something in her intoxicates me and pushes me deeper.

The answer eludes me. The question is why.

Monday, November 06, 2006


The words you wrote just before these, will not be seen by anyone. Ever.

They are gone. Destroyed.

Thursday, October 05, 2006

Repeat performance

The whispering wispy clouds
And clouded the moon

Like cigarette smoke
Rising, encircling and going
Its own way

The symbolic symphonic synchronized dance
Around the moon
Was a sight to behold

It was happening fast
And repeating itself

Sunday, October 01, 2006


Yes. You have come to the right place. Not the same place, though it looks pretty much the same. The familiar comforting background still warmly welcomes you. The look and feel still mellow you down and take you on a journey. But the journey has changed.

Every journey brings out of it a new you. Even if you go back to the same place again. It is this new you that travels again and changes a place. In this continuous symphony of being changed and changing, you become you.

* * *


I have traveled nine cities in the last month. I have lived the proverbial nine lives. Each one different than the first. And me? Each time different than the previous. I have metamorphosed my being across continents and oceans. Leaving a little bit of myself, everywhere I have gone. In return, taking a little bit for myself to fill up the spaces I have emptied.

It is the little things in these times that make the big difference. The train that you couldn’t make it in time for, the rain that splattered down changing your plans again and again, the small town with a big appetite, the big apple with a bite taken out of it, the gorgeous cityscape turning into a beautiful landscape, the things about some cities that never change, the town that you never thought that you would see, the quiet river that you sit by and contemplate, a friend you thought you would never make, the perfectly comfortable start to a long journey, different types of buses, trains and planes, and at the end of every journey, a smiling face. Even though you are not home. And then the simple and perfect joy of coming back home.

* * *

The eating of the cuisine of one country, in a second country, with a person from a third country, when you are from a fourth country. Twice in a week!

Where are the boundaries in this world? What are these boundaries made of? Nothing separates us anymore. Not borders, not nationalities, not seas and not even languages. It is one world. Beating and moving.

All nine cities connected through the intangible. Through words and feelings and being. Through us.

The loop of the 9 slowly unfurling, removing the boundary that it drew, removing the physical connection that it made and turning into a 1.


* * *

Yes. You have come to the right place. Not the same place, though it looks pretty much the same. The familiar comforting background still warmly welcomes you. The look and feel still mellow you down and take you on a journey. But the journey has changed.

Every journey brings out of it a new you. Even if you go back to the same place again. It is this new you that travels again and changes a place. In this continuous symphony of being changed and changing, you become you.

You become one.

Friday, September 29, 2006


When I walked into this dream for the first time, it didn’t seem like a dream. Everything seemed the way it was supposed to be. Nothing was out of place. It all fell in together. Except for her. She made it dreamlike.

The way the light fell, you could tell it was manipulated. Soft. Glowing. Highlighting. Shining, but not bright enough to make you look away. It drew me in. Softly but surely.

Now, there you go, wondering. How can light be manipulated? That is because dreams are a manipulation of the reality that we might want to see. Not wish for. But maybe, just want to see. To see what it might look like. It is a safe place after all. What’s the worst that can happen? You can wake up.

But I was not waking up this time. This was real. Or so it seemed.

To draw the circle complete – the shutter opened and closed. Click.

The dream of the viewfinder was over. It had all come to be. The frame had been frozen, the way I wanted it to be. The photograph was a dream. And it had been created. Manipulated.

Thursday, August 31, 2006

The terrace

I have never meant
to see this
or the way
it would be

You know
the reason
is you

I know
the reason
is you

why won't we
say it

Why don't
we see beyond
what we want
to see

Where are we
going to go
from here
if we don't know
where we are

The great wide open
is waiting
we don't think
it is there

we are looking
for it
a key hole

And the key
lies in
the truth
we shy from

The truth
that is hidden
these words

do we
from here

Wednesday, July 19, 2006


Today, in the morning, the colours seemed brighter than they usually are. The green was deeper and more profound. The black was darker and more inviting. The white was brighter and more calming.

There was something in the air which said it was going to be a great day. No, not a feeling. It was just there. Right there.

And then it happened.

A lone leaf fell to the ground. Floating, floating, floating, till it was suddenly pulled down. And bang. It hit the ground without a sound. But created ripples among the other leaves, making space for itself. Disappearing into the sea of leaves on the pathway.

Then it was clear. Before the rain started trickling down.

Invisible at first, you could only feel it on your skin. You could feel the leaves sighing together in union. Fluttering, dancing and celebrating its arrival. Waiting for it to sweep them off their feet and float them into another world. Another time.

She was back.

Friday, June 30, 2006

All is all

"Is that all you wanted to say?"

"Yes, that and some more. But for now, only that."

Sunday, May 14, 2006

Idle thoughts on a Tuesday afternoon

I want to get away
From the madness
And meaninglessness
Of this materialistic


I think
I should have chosen
The life
That he has


I will
Like him
A second time


I find
The same questions


That I am asking them
Too early
But is there a thing
As too early


What was it
That they say
Better late than never
Don’t quite agree
With that really


The thought
Has crossed
My mind now
Why should I
Let it pass


There is
So much left to do
So much left to see
And today
Is not enough

Wednesday, May 10, 2006

Spoken understood and unwritten

It does not matter how we arrived here. What matters is that we did. And it happened on a song. We were not going to, but then it all changed. But that is not the surprising thing.

What is, is that it happened on a song. Literally. And figuratively of course. But literally.

And it happened not once but twice.

Too much to take? Maybe.

* * *

Sometimes, you just have to let go of yourself. If you don’t, it won’t happen. And you will never know. What you need to know. What you need to feel. What you need to do.

Release your inhibitions.

Sunday, April 02, 2006

Second charade

What a false front all of them are putting up. Do any of them even think that they are being real? Maybe they do. And that is the funny part about it. There is so much pretense in this tonight. How does it matter to any of us? We are just mere mortals creating moments that have no meaning. Creating a tonight which will never matter. Are we even having fun? Maybe we are. But does it matter? Does anything matter right now? He is going to sleep with her for what it is worth. She is going to make love to him in the hope of a new tomorrow. But what is the reality? Love or sex? No one knows. But this night will end in something more than the usual. And that will be a moment that will haunt them for a long time to come. Right now they can stop it from happening but they are not going to. Because they want it to happen. And it will happen. Not because it is meant to happen but because it is bound to happen. But what does it matter anyway. Let me finish my drink and enjoy the rest of the night.

Thursday, March 30, 2006

I’ve traveled

I have stopped existing in your world.

I mean, I do exist but only just about. It is not a struggle for life or anything like that. I have just blended in and am now in a dark forgotten corner. The rage has simmered to memory. And I just lie there. And watch.

* * *

I have started shining in a new world.

I mean, I was always there but as someone else. It is something like your world but nothing like it. I have just blended in and am now in the spotlight. The novelty has set fire to a passion. And I just go out. And create.

Sunday, March 26, 2006

Uncertainly unwilling

If only
For a moment
She hesitated
When he looked her
In the eye

It was
This moment
That came back
To him
When she died

* * *

Figuratively speaking, of course. She was still alive. But not his anymore. That was when he thought back to that one moment of hesitation, of doubt. Of the doubt that lingered in everything, even if it did not creep up and show itself.

* * *

It was
This hesitation
That killed
The innocence
They had created

* * *

The world that was built upon the fragile illusions of the absence of reality. Of course it had to all break down someday. But not crumble like this. Not with deceit.

* * *

But everything does not end the way it is supposed to. Or so they would have him believe.

Thursday, March 09, 2006

Moment vs. Moment

“It was my moment versus yours.”

“Why does it have to be one against the other? We were both there weren’t we?”

“Physically yes, but there is more to it than that.”

“I am sure there is, but what the hell do you mean by your moment versus mine?”

“Well, I am sure it did not mean the same thing to you as it did to me.”

“Why do you think that?”

“Because we take out different memories from different moments. You are a sentimental romantic and I am a practical yet sensitive poet.”

“Oh, so the poet speaks!”

“No need to get sarcastic. I am just trying to answer your question.”

“So why don’t you compose a poem to explain it to me.”

“Maybe I will.”

“I am sure you won’t.”

“Why not?”

“You don’t have the inspiration.”

“Haha. Do you think everything I write is inspired?”

“It isn’t?”

“No. Sometimes it’s just some bullshit string of words that I put together in the name of art. Let others ponder the mystery and wonders of my writing just by making it so different from what they have read before, and it comes out shining as a brilliant piece of literature. Of course there are other times when I put my heart and soul into writing something and everyone seems to misread what I have been writing about – taking out their own meanings, which ruin the very purpose of my writing. Anyway, that does not matter. That is why I say it is my moment versus yours.”

“But I am sure it does not happen all the time. There must be times when people spot the bullshit and feel the passion.”

“Feel the passion. Hah. Yes, there are times when that happens.”

“And those are the times you feel connected to your readers.”

“I suppose I do.”

“Then how is it your moment versus theirs.”

“But they don’t get the exact same feeling.”

“But they get the gist of it?”

“Yes, they do.”

“Then can’t there be times when the moment is the same for us.”

“I thought I was the practical one, but then again, this is a very romantic point of view.”

“Leave romance out of it and answer the question.”

“No. There is always a difference in the moment.”

“Stop being stubborn.”

“Okay. Okay. So there can be sometimes when the moment is same but that is very rare. Different things mean different things to different people. Like the last sentence, that was alliteration to me, a confusing sentence to you, using the word “different” too many times to someone else, clich├ęd to another, nonsense to another and so forth. If one simple sentence can change things then how can you expect moments to be the same?”

“Stop trying to confuse me.”

“Exactly. You are confused while I am marveling at my alliteration.”

“Words and moments are very different things.”

“Are you trying to confuse me now?”

“No I am not.”

“Then let’s go get a cup of coffee and continue this there.”

“Let’s. Maybe we will create another moment.”

“Maybe it will be the same.”

“It will.”

Saturday, February 25, 2006

a doubtful interrogation of an uncertain problem

did your life

are you

i was

haunts you

do you
think of

she looks
at you

Wednesday, February 15, 2006

Between the lines

When it started, it was not a beginning. It was picking up the pieces that someone else had left behind. It was a start but not a beginning. It is very important that you understand that properly, that is why I am starting by telling you this.

There it was, a trail left behind from before. The pieces in no particular order. They were not even pieces, they were crumbs. There was no way of putting them back together. Then why did I bother to trace them and collect them? What would I do with them?

I didn’t know.

And because I didn’t know, something told me that I should pick them up and keep them away. For the future. To read something into the past. To make everything come together. To take this shattered start into a beginning. A beginning that was about to begin but could not because it was not meant to be. Not today. Not now.

In the middle of this celestial complication of starting and beginning, was what I was looking for. Neatly placed between the crumbs.

It was a space.

But as the crumbs were cleared away the space was no longer the space that was the beginning. And within that space lay the answer. It was all in the shape. The shape that defined the shape of things to come. And that was lost forever. All because something told me that I should pick up the crumbs and keep them away. For the future. To read something into the past. But it was all there.

And now it was not. It was gone. And that was the end of another beginning.

Monday, January 30, 2006

Further than away from the past

I travel through your soul
I unravel mysteries that don’t yet exist
I contradict the very purpose I was born for
I move without moving
I see more than my eyes can feel
I become what I am not meant to

For I swim into your soul
When you look at me
Even that one fleeting moment
Is enough to tear you apart
Into a million pieces
So that I can go beyond

Note: This is a collaborative piece with another artist. The words are mine, but the picture is not. Need your help to know how well they work together and what this conveys to you (emotions, feelings, thoughts, etc.) when put together.

Tuesday, January 17, 2006

Frozen facade

What do you see in me? Why do you stare so longingly at this frozen moment?

I am resting. I have traveled many miles to reach this instant. This ordinary moment. Which no one has noticed but you. But I do not think you see it for what it is. For what lies beneath. For what flows beneath. You do not see me because I am just a blur in the background. I am the background. You see me only in the circumstance that I have trapped myself into.

There is a crack where I am held together. Even you have not noticed it. Just a small, tiny, little crack on the surface. It is tearing at the seam, threatening to burst the vein of my salvation open. And mark the end of this endless solitude.

But it won’t. It is held together by the anguish of my forlorn individuality. Which no one sees, but me.

No, not even you.

Saturday, January 07, 2006

Among the ruins

At the edge of the broken kingdom stands a new king. He surveys the ruins all alone. Ready to begin his new battle. His new crusade. His discovery.

Behind him, the sun rises in all its magnificence. He is silhouetted against the blood red sky, his figure imposing on the kingdom that lies ahead of him. The light falls gently on the broken kingdom, bursting through every broken doorway.

From behind the rubble the child watches him plot her uncharted future. She does not know it yet. Nor does he. For now she looks at him, while he sees the future.

The ruins are not the same anymore. The kingdom is coming to life. The king has returned.

Monday, January 02, 2006


One small, fleeting moment later, and she was gone. Gone the same way she came. From the mist. Into the fog. Away from here.

But she had never made any promises to stay forever. She had never given any more than she had taken. But did she know that she had taken so much. So much more than those before her. And possibly so much more than those who were to come.

She had shown me places. Places I had seen before and places I had not. Places I had seen before, I had not seen the way she showed them to me. Places I had not were now my seven sins.

And the twelve nights that she took me through were pure enchantment. I cannot recall or relive every moment, because the experience was more than the physicality of it. Then it struck me. That in times like this, you need to smile when you look back.

And so I did.