A tragedy

The infinite, 

multiplying possibilities of childhood, 

being chased forever,

by the whittling years,

are dead men 

now.

Their ghosts however

return, without fail

to haunt the undeniable

now.

10pm - News. The kid that fell into a borewell two days ago is dead. They finally got to him.
11.45pm - Calvin draws his death ray blaster on an approaching Zorg.

Both of the above belong to the same reality. If only I can convince myself of it.

A score and six years

"How does it feel to be twenty six?", asked a friend. "No different", I said. Though I suppose it finally is sinking in, the age that is. Aging has never concerned me before, but the other day when a much older (read thirties) colleague remarked that going past thirty meant having one foot in the grave, it gave me pause. Yet another thing to crowd an already crowded mind. Life it seems, never gets any simpler. One stays afloat and sane, or one just sinks. Gibbering like a mad monkey. Do mad monkeys gibber ? I haven't a clue, but this is rhetoric. I love rhetoric.

Anyway, I realize that my worries are trivial and inane compared to the regular killings that happen on a daily basis in Iraq, or the current situation in Darfur, or the little girl I saw at the signal stop. She moved from vehicle to vehicle convincing people to buy some flowers. She had a badly done bandage on one side of her face, coming down over her right ear. You knew it was badly done because when she turned the right side of her face towards you, you saw that the bandage barely covered the red mess of a hole that was there in place of her ear. I do not ask for perspective to be slammed into me, not that perspective ever listens. The gibbering monkey threatened to grow louder that day, but we managed to keep him afloat.

A score and six years. It is to be seen how many more.

Sit

Sit, drink your coffee here; your work can wait awhile.
You're twenty-six, and still have some of life ahead.
No need for wit; just talk vacuities, and I'll
Reciprocate in kind, or laugh at you instead.

The world is too opaque, distressing and profound.
This twenty minutes' rendezvous will make my day:
To sit here in the sun, with grackles all around,
Staring with beady eyes, and you two feet away.

-- Vikram Seth

maple syrup

There are things that for no apparent reason, get indelibly etched in your mind. The factoid ( if it is indeed a one ) seems to achieve no apparent purpose sitting there. Like maple syrup.

It was like this. Way back in eighth class, Nondi was yammering away. Nondi was the name affectionately given our geography teacher. He walked almost as if he had a limp, his whole body leaning to one side and almost a swagger. Well, at least he must have thought it was a swagger. And I don't, to this day, know if he really suffered a limp, but being kids, and with the amazing cruelty that kids are so easily capable of, we named him Nondi. And i digress.

It was geography time and Nondi is yammering. I then recall that he asks us, to name that which is used as an alternative to sugar in Canada. And some one from a bench behind me, shouts out maple syrup. And that's it. Maple syrup makes itself a constant companion to my life thereafter. I can even recall the way Nondi was standing as he posed the question to us.

Now at four or so in the morning, as I sit unable to sleep and with a ringing headache (quite the bastard) I think of maple syrup.

Damn, its eight already.

I came across this post on a friends blog, with a link to this comic. I hope I have something better to put up for my tenth.

almost perfect

Its a saturday morning and I look out the window. It frames an explosion of fresh green leaves and a wet earth. The air is cool and the smell of rain lingers - that absoluelty divine whiff of a parched land suddenly made wet. And my lines are prevented from becoming a cliche, by a sky which is a bright white, and not a brilliant blue. A cup of tea in hand, I stare oustide as my mind picks up on a thought. I forget the beauty, as it tries to think of ways to preserve a moment like this forever. Stupid me.

early death

musings, born
out of a monkey mind
that refuses to be still
jumping and grabbing
on to every passing thought
following it around
chattering
gibbering
and discarding it
for the next ,
die an early
death.

Life's like this

Life trundles along the gray plateaus of the daily, avoiding the dark and sunken valleys of despair and missing the tall shimmering hillocks of happiness. There is a path that it follows amidst these, on this endless gray sea of slate. The path which for the most part is by itself, is intersected every once in a while by other paths and more often than not, takes sharp turns into the aforementioned valleys. Life has to be careful, for there are never any signposts put up in advance, to warn it of such things. "Conniving sod!" it says, its irritation directed towards the one who designed all of this. Surprises almost seem to be built in - a feature, instead of a bug.

And every once in a rare while, along the dusty path, are glimpses of what-may-be's. Having stopped now, at one of these, it pauses to look upon the what-may-be. And a moment later it ambles on, wondering about mirages.

another year

"Are you making any resolutions for the new year ?"

"Yeah, I'm resolving to wing it and see what happens."

"So you're staying the course ?"

"I stick to my strengths."

stray

somewhere along the way
i stopped being a stray.

orderliness, discipline and rules -
that is what is needed you fools.
or so we were told,
by those that were more than just old.

somewhere further along the way,
i miss being astray,
of thumbing my nose at the world,
and just having it my way.

habit

dinner is done
and i sit here
fiddling.
looking, searching, twitching
for my nightly habit

not finding you,
i pick up a pebble
and let it fly
while my mind
skips over everything
with hardly
any interest

my eyes flick
left and right
as my mind invents
reasons and rationalizations
to get rid of this splinter

poking, prodding
it refuses to abate
till i have you
in my sight

you are a nightly habit
and habits are broken
much harder
than they are made

i come back
each night,
wanting you
to grant me some respite.

about

i dont believe
that i can say more
i shall remain quiet
and smile to myself
some will call me insane
but who says sanity is all ?

comfortable

and somewhere
since the beginning of this conversation
'twas something i said
or something i did
you changed
from being chatty
to being quiet and lost
in yesyerday - silent

i sit by the silence
that has you in a hold
moments i dont want to trample in on

with a warm cup of coffee in hand
watching you watch the outside
my fingers tracing figures on the table
not saying anything
comfortable.