wtf

is going on ????

a hurried wandering

numbered not timed

siddharth

you ? when did this happen ... remind me ?
allo?????
bolo bolo
you've got amnesia. remember me?
who is this amnesia ?
anamika's sister

wot ? wot does that mean ?
i'm the one to ask you. what's that mean? :((
shoo, stop crying
cant help
look !! a cow !!! 3:-o

-x-x-

And all you touch and all you see
Is all your life will ever be

breathe, pink floyd, dark side of the moon

bleary

It's unbelievably bleary today.The day's
all grey and gloomy.
so gloomy. The kind of day you'd want to spend
at the office.

it is said

C39HrP24DhTt

nosy

the moments are longer
the thoughts lie cold and heavy
like the ice frozen over
from last night's flurry

panic attack

empty house

it's the end of the game
and the cards come face up
it's obvious what should've been done
but it's too late now, 'coz the game's over, the chips are gone
and there's no sound except, the chuckling of the winner
and the quiet scrape of card on card
as the lady shuffles to deal the next round
and there's not a fortune-teller in sight

ever thus

the couch powerful

sleepy-eyed day

I have a couch that was handed down to me by a
colleague leaving the country. It's turned out
to be a powerful one, that couch. Well worth the
strain of pulling it up a flight of stairs.
And that's not too unusual a word for a couch
either - powerful.
I can, at the end of a busy day, sit on it, sink
in and nod off before you can say 'I`ll be there
for you'. On a quiet morning, I can sleep for half
an hour from 9.00 am to 9.10 am. And go off
a-visiting to the weirdest places at all sorts of
times. I think there's no fun in going off to the
world's hotspots,tourist spots, where you
just walk around like a baby with wide eyes, looking
at this and that and thinking 'wow!!' . Of course,
it's a 'wow', coz you don't have it at home. You come
back with memories of the the odds-&-ends-and-bits-of
-colored-glass-sorts. You can get the same from watching
T.V, or reading books.
Now, dreams and day-dreams, that's a different cup of tea
altogether.To go some place and leave your body behind,
inert, relaxed and immobilized.
To see and hear things that your sight and hearing and mind
would have never agreed upon, well, now that is interesting.
Like plugging into a program in the Matrix movie, the couch
plugs me into alternate realities. My alternate realities.
They are fragile like figures scratched in the beach sand,
and no less fun.

It's snowing outside. White fluffy flakes are slowly
but surely taking over the patio, swirling in around
and about the smokers' feet. Icy wind ruffles their
hair and plays the cigarette smoke away. The coffee pot
sighs on its warmers, but the caffeine is ineffective
against the cold, as seen in the creaking joints, aching
heads and frozen ear lobes.

I had a dream in which I was back in the Mumbai office,
only it looked more like a classroom, and we were going
to take a class in history. Of course, this sounded absolutely
normal to me then. The last thing I remember thinking, in
the back of my mind of course, when the teacher walked in,
was that my whole America trip must’ve been a dream I had the
previous night. I also vaguely remember wondering why we were
having history classes in the office. I rummage in my bag for
my books. Then, the alarm went off.

4 pm is the first ending of my day. The day ends struggling
against the post-lunch slump. And wakes up again at after 4.
Early evening and night are the early parts of a different day.
Crunching feet on the ice and leaves on the way to and from
the bus stop marks the axes around which the separate days hinge.

There was a second dream, in which a morose looking guy was
playing a guitar in what was the music room. Playing it well,
I might add. It didn't look like the music room I knew, but my
mind tells me that it couldn’t have been otherwise. When the
guy does finish playing the piece, I go to talk to him, but he
is talking to someone else, giving directions to what I assume
must've been the new location of the music room. I try to find
out the same, for I want to get to the music room and hear the
troupe practising , but he says something about there being slots
available and that I should definitely come take a look. And then
he was gone, elaving me wondering about the new location of the
music room

Back home, in reality, Bill was raving about kringles right
about after lunch. Isn't it wonderful that a small storefront
does so much better business across the whole north-east coz
of the internet ? I'm going to buy myself some dill pickles.
Which is a slightly crunchy version of cucumber steeped in
brine/vinegar solutions. I'm drooling already.

I got my last haircut from a chap called Vito, down at the
Farmer's Market. He's a slightly old Italian dude, very dignified,
rather friendly. He did a neat job, not forgetting to trim the
foliage between my eyebrows. I'm touched. No one has done that
before. I can't, since then, look into the mirror without feeling
quietly proud of the way I look. They don’t sell pigs at the
Farmer’s market here. Not the live ones, atleast.

Talk to you later baby

silver stark

attack of the extra-bio-luminescent-killer-bees

odds and ends

warm blue skies, sunny day
sun-browned green brush
brown streaks on my collar
atleast back home, the icy wind makes
your eyes water

I ran to the fair grounds
but the place was empty, the tents gone
only the colored poster remained to tell
of the promise of the next one

speakers call to the impatient
airplanes like big birds wait
the payphone banks are deserted
the emptiness beyond the glass walls
is like a dew drop threatening to
explode

the giant metal birds wait patiently,
for, after the treading the infinite blue
the fretful humans are but crying babes

the familiar streets start rolling past my window,
I am rested, but wistul, like on waking from a dream
and a irritated too

waiting for twilight

melancholy : a distant memory of home

the firewalker

see what I mean ?

second snow

It's been a while. It's snowing again. For me, it is still novel.
A second childhood of sorts. I doubt if I can communicate what I
feel about the snow, I'm not sure of it myself. The snowfall's a
relatively familiar stranger.
Flurries which melt on the ground and leave a covering of water
on everything. Traffic runs faster, as if trying to outrun the
snow. Cars whiz by, and the bus drivers maneuver aggresively with
a new-found skill.
People are quieter, withdrawn into themselves, staring silently outside
the windows. When they talk, it has a forced politeness, an intensity
which wasn't there before.
The signal changes, and I jog across the street. The store's emptying,
people are leaving, coming out the door wide eyed. They know they should
be complaining about the snow, but the cynicism hasn't caught up yet,
for the moment, they are happy at nature's caress, ignoring how cold
it is. The girls at the cafe counter are happily chitchatting in the
absence of people to be polite to. I want to hang around just to watch
them chirp away, but have no excuse, so make off with my order. My mind
can't seem to settle into anything particular, so I head out home.

Daily routines run their course and leave me gratefully into a precious
solitude. The backyard is covered, carpeted in white. Seems so very serene.
I want the serenity to open up and swallow me up. Or failing that, rise up
and seep into me. Like it does to the gaunt leafless trees, fingers reaching
toward the sky. I'm grateful and restless at the same time, like a kid who's
given a new toy and then put to bed. People stop by and leave. Electronic
fingers that stroke and pinch and wave goodbye. Time to retire.
Got schemes to hatch. Plans to make. The changing edge of season is not
to be wasted.

standing tall

 
 
 
 
 
 
 


in the cherished sunlight
cryptic breezes warn
of thieving autumn's
approach

it's friday evening

I stay longer at my desk coz
I'm afraid to go home

queen and drones

and protocol droids
There are no kings

how on earth

do you survive a Borg ? can someone tell me ?

once

you put your photo on the web, it's not yours anymore.
Don't complain if it turns up ... wherever

a toaster

which lets you control the color of the toast.
crisp, papery toast dabbed with thick honey.
is my cup of tea

it was a day like any other

The email slipped into his mailbox silently. His eyes, however,
caught the shuffling on the toolbar indicating a refresh.
He opened the attachment.

The green riverside. Silence in the air. Youth. Fifteen faces.
Some smiling, some defiant, some amused.

A tear crept to the corner of his eye, his upper lip
trembled .Threatened to give.