Friday, December 23, 2011

Shooting Star


"the night is young, the moon has cast its spell" he said
....And I said "darling! it's time to say good bye"

"Was it only so much of the night I'd have with you" he asked


...And I fluttered my wings, and said "it's time for me to fly"
"I'd want to wake you with a song and sleep with the smell of you in me " he said "how will you hear me from that far"
...I said "look outside, in the grey sky, wish aloud, I am - 'the yet so near, yet so far'I'm the shooting star"



Thursday, December 08, 2011

MIRAL To Mirage : a (re)view From Real to Reel



I had a chance to watch Miral at a special screening of the film after the inauguration of Flashpoint Film Festival at Alliance Française. Being privileged to be amongst the select few invitees, I picked up the seat with my Swiss-French India-born pal- Nasha to my right and the woman with the sexiest attitude, whom I am extremely fond of – Shobhna of Queer-Ink. As the moon rose the skies in South Bombay, the stars flowed in- tisca chopra, Mahesh Bhatt and Jean-Raphaël Peytregnet Consul General of France in Bombay. Compeered by an actor who has starred in the debut film of Miral's star Freida Pinto (Slumdog Millionare)– Arfi Lamba. Mahesh Bhatt stole the thunder with his one liner. I will rather end this review with that. SridharRangayan, the festival director, should receive a humanitarian award for facilitating dialogues on diverse issues that plague our society. Flashpoint Film Festival would screen award-winning films from across the globe that touch upon the important issues that are life-impacting. It will also hold a panel discussion with the film makers. Sridhar mentioned that my friend Vinta Nanda along with Nandita Das and Others would be there to partake in group discussions as panelists.

With events like these Human Rights will always be at the forefront.
 “Discussions are triggered at forums like these, and then transformations happen at dining tables at home”

Miral  
the transit from somewhere to nowhere.


An address adds rest to your life. Not before would you have felt the comfort of an address. How often have you felt deserted? When was the last time you were lost in the sands of time with no hope of finding a way. You become either a ship that wades through the flood of devastation, or you become a piece of metal that sinks and settles rock bottom. Miral is not a film, it is a mirror. A mirror of human rights. In our very prolific cyber “ www” world, this is a film that speaks about one other www – WHAT WOMEN WANT. Through the myopic lens, not so small than the human mind is, a tale so lucid that elucidates the war and the wrath of the Israelis and Palestinians. 


The cinema revolves around several characters and the film tackles many issues, and guess that is an issue with the film.It is both a boon and a bane, the film doesn't lose its plot, but the ignorant viewer does. The film has several “let’s freeze this frame” moments.
  • Girth and the mirth of a tantalizing belly of a woman who revels as she rebels.
  • The nurse who helps some prisoners of war escape. 
  • The same nurse who wanted to save lives, turns a bomber and coyly goes to a cinema hall and leaves a bomb behind. 



The film steals you with moments, though at places, it loses the momentum.

The French author and philosopher Albert Camus puts it,
"Instead of killing and dying in order to produce the being that we are NOT,
we have to live and let live in order to create what we are."


Living to the spirit of the above quote, powered with a performance – nonpareil is that of Hind Hosseni, played by Hiam Abbass


She literally woke Hind from her grave with her brave performance. Hind is the mother of hope, who mothers children orphaned by war and does it aptly. The determination, the zeal, the zest and the fervour for human rights is all exhibited so very well, that you want to be like her - giving and forgiving. What steals your heart,  is not just the empathy that she exudes to orphaned children like Miral, but the apathy that she embodies when she decides to not take political sides even at the most compelling of situations. She keeps aloof to float her own boat midst the murky waters of the bloody politics of the land.  Her character – spotless, unpreachy, yet full of empathy



For the average joe, I would like to let you know, that don’t go by what the trumpets blow. Well, the best part of the film is not Frieda. Frieda plays the title role. But she is not the one whom you would remember after the film. She plays the orphan who is caught in the web of love and war. She loves the enemy, the police catch her and lash her.
And she continues to date and mate with the enemy. One of my favorite lines which are apt for her character penned by Samuel Taylor:
An orphan's curse would drag to hell, 
a spirit from on high;
but oh! more horrible than that, 
is a curse in a dead man's eye!




But you know, even at these painful moments, she fails to evoke the desired level of empathy in the audience.  I guess the director was too bedazzled by her international ‘diva’ness though slumdog millionaire, that he has her looking like the Frieda of Slumdog yet again. Though it is much marketed as HER film. She is just a director’s moll who does what is expected from her - Listen and Act. She has Indian genes, like mine. But babes, you need to do more to win praise. Too naïve, but does as expected from her. Brings nothing more to the role – frieda. But having said that, I am sure that she will blossom into a fine actress. After all, India is the land of vidya balan. Our actresses are thus a class apart.

As for the dynamics of societal change -
Cinema is just a medium, YOU are the media.



In keeping with the spirit of Flashpoint Film Festival, MaheshBhatt sums it all
‎"When someone points at the moon,
look at the moon,
not at the finger those points"





Friday, November 04, 2011

Helpless + Opportunist = Kamatipura??


it was just yesterday, at byculla station that this incidence happened. 
a woman, in her early 30s, who hails from pune, was here on a vacation with her sister and bro-in-law. her sister and brother in law boarded a slow train and she missed the train. naive, uneducated and scared - she poured her heart out to a random stranger... who told her to get into a train. she got into an empty ladies first class.... and he couldn't get into the same because male passengers like me and a couple of others,  in the attached general first-class objected. 

the man came back at sandhurst road station (one station later)to urge the woman to get down. rizwan, a co-passenger, enquired with the woman if she knew the man. she said - NO. then me and rizwan warned her, as the crook behaved like he was her husband. he was touching her and pulling her. we did not interfere, as we did not know what was happening. but thanks to rizwan's 6th sense that he asked the woman. 

i got down with the lady at CST station, and went to the police to report and help her find her lost relatives. also, i took her to the deputy manager - railway office to make an announcement for her relatives. i gave her some money. i tried reaching her relatives on the phone, but in vain. finally her husband picked up and he requested me to put her in a train to pune. i was just going to do that and the woman's relatives came looking for her. she quickly returned the money i had given her and said a million thank yous. 

now, yes, i feel nice to have been helpful. and am thankful to rizwan for being proactive and noticing. sometimes being nosey helps. i kept updating the entire episode on facebook... so that we all are connected.  also clicked photographs of the woman, just in case something untoward happens. there are some questions though.... 

rizwan and I are sure that had that man managed to take her along, she would probably land up in kamatipura. 

what if she did not find her relatives. 

the crook, seemed like a naamcheen goonda. and i spotted him chatting with others, 
what if he beat us up... 

would any of the spectators who came later to say thank you and give me Duaa's and blessings would have come forward to help... 

or 

will the nosey public - aam junta from dombivalli  or a young elite crowd of davidoff perfumed cuties from bandra would have done anything more if they saw another woman in the same plight... 

or 

would they have watched us getting beaten and then in full josh??? and sung praises of us later. 

what keenan and reuben did is remarkable. read about them here.  they lived for what they stood up for, and now they will live forever.. 


but how alive are you???



lets keep their name alive. 

by acting, and not reacting. 

by not watching, but helping

by not sympathy, but empathy



Tuesday, October 25, 2011

HOPE CALLED DOG








i wagged my tail, 
in pain,
in vain,
i was huge and bulky, 
people were scared, 
and i was so hated for that. 


but i loved till i dropped. 
they pelted stones and whips,
i still didn't stop. 
i still didnt stop. 




i didn't want to reap, 
no riches no biscuits or treat, 
but i wanted to stop my master from being a creep
i wanted to stand by example 
i wanted him  to understand. 
i wanted him to stand,
i wanted him to take a stand. 


so i stood my ground. 
and showed him the way. 
listened and licked his tears, 
and told him to love and love 
when the fate gives away. 


today he stands, 
in front of my tomb. 
with heart full of love 
he is fresh out of the cocoon. 


those prickly thorns long forgotten,
i smile from haven, 
i know my love has been fruitful and it is to use, 
for he has learnt to say no to abuse. 


wish he was smiling, when i was with him. 
wish he didn't think then he sinned. 


im happy now, 
for now i know that he seeds his heart, 
decides what grows. 
for this is not the life he lives, 
this is the life he chose. 




- jimmy parvathy venkateshwaran


happy birthday jimmy. 


i don't miss you. 
how can i, when i'm with you. 

Sunday, October 23, 2011

't never happened.







scared and scared
 woods so stark,
the lonely me,
within a windy sea.

home afar
life ajar.
the crooked clock
timed untimed.


crime-a- time,
mind-a-whine,
then like a trick
black-n-yellow rick
came to pick.

single n sole,
pounding soul,
balm and bomb
hymn n shriek
got in it.
with a mind so sick
road alone,
night overblown,
silent sound
so loud
cloud un-cloud.


off the spark divine.
scare inside
no uncouth me.
alone distressed,
tainted, stretched and spread


two more got in.
now three and driver
not left to die in lone night
the night sea and divers
then ahead,
a little ploy
the two aboard,
middle me.
wanted to toy.




touch uncomfortable,
sensed rhythm-less fiddle.
told it off
sick un- meddle



the two dirty minds,
babel and bable,
straight and strait,
daunted tainted disdained



shriek-a-squeal
the prey prayed
as the dirty-wretched
hands played.


give me all you have,
a voice said,
pushed the head
down unzipped to give a head.

touched and felt up
emotions rocketed
all the pent up.



no one else
lonely road
only voices heard
of crocking toad.

victim man
a lad in mind
ran with a scream.
in time untimed.


then came, another rick in scene
a boon godsent for
the woe underwent

hopped in it
as it ran away
the windy winds
withered away


in the rick,
night of pain
do i speak as i tremble,
i tremble as i speak…
standing in the rain.
inane. insane.
inane. insane.
still haven't given up hope.
still hold on to my song.
"no night is too long.
no night is too long. "

tomorrow is another song, 
no use being grief stricken,
tell the mind. 
for what happened, 
never happened
it never happened. 
it never did happen. 

... group grope




scared and scared
in woods so stark,
the lonely me,
within a windy sea.

home afar
life ajar.
the crooked clock
timed untimed
crime-a- time,
mind-a-whine,
then like a trick
black-n-yellow rick
came to pick.

single n sole,
pounding soul,
balm and bomb
hymn  n shriek

got in it.
with a mind so sick
road alone,
night overblown,

silent sound
so loud
cloud un-cloud.

off the spark divine.
scare inside
no uncouth me.
alone distressed,
tainted, stretched and spread

two more got in.
now three and driver
not left to die in lone night
the night sea and divers

then ahead,
a little ploy
the two aboard,
middle me. 
wanted to toy.
  
touch uncomfortable,
sensed rhythm-less fiddle.
told it off
sick un- meddle

the two dirty minds,
babel and bable,
straight and strait,
daunted tainted disdained

shriek-a-squeal
the prey prayed
as the dirty-wretched
hands played.


give me all you have,
a voice said,
pushed the head
down unzipped  to give a head.

touched and felt up
emotions rocketed
all the pent up. 

no one else
lonely road
only voices heard
of crocking toad.

victim man
a lad  in mind
ran with a scream.
in time untimed.

then came, another rick in scene
a boon godsent for
the woe underwent

hopped in it
as it ran away
the windy winds
withered away

in the rick,
night of pain
do i speak as i  tremble,
i tremble as i speak…
standing in the rain.
inane. insane.
inane. insane.

still haven't given up hope. 
still hold on to my song. 
"no night is too long. 
no night is too long. "

Saturday, October 15, 2011

The Autobiography Of A Breast



Abreast in first class.

I’m a citizen of Bombay. My name is BREAST.  Boobs, balls and bablay are my nick names.   
I boarded the train at Andheri station. It was the ladies compartment. The first class ladies compartment. The one that has the general first class compartment that has organisms that are one of the other sexes.. And that complete whole organism is called a man. But i'll call them – The Moustached Ball


Everyday when I get into the train the mustached ball looks into me- as if I am some long lost cousin of his lost in the mela of kumbh.. I was for once embarrassed, and I covered myself with my hand and drifted my focus on to the other breasts in the compartment. Two stations passed by. Now it is Santacruz. And this Moustached Ball was still looking into the depths of my nakedness. I could sense that he was not just admiring. He was doing some pelvic movements and was feeling up his balls too. It looked like he was going to spurt out to an orgasm any time. Till now, more stations had passed. The train was to stop at Wadala and move back on another track towards Panvel. As the train changed routes, my mind was violent with this brute. I am a young breast of 22. He was a hefty old mustached ball of 40 something. I was scared, but I smartly tried to ignore his perverted NetraChodan. This happened day after day. This Moustached Ball had boarded the train one station later - at vile pale. 

I should say, I have named the station vile parlous in my mind. There is this certain uncertainty of the unknown fear that I had deep in my heart. I had a clean chest. And he didn't  Every day, he would ogle at me. One day, I  had draped a saree… and hid myself inside a blouse. It was a rainy day. And I was wet. The sari was transparent. The blouse was stuck to me. My pointed nipples were his delight. I could never forget those stares. Those looks. Those lusty movements. Those dirty lips. I can never. I thought he would do something bad. Bad like – touch me, or press me, or oppress me.

He never drifted his eyes from that sight. I felt I was stark naked. As I alighted midst the mad rush at my destination – Kurla station. He followed me. The day was bright . The crowd was noisy. But I could hear it right. He was soon accompanied by 2 of his friends. They said “BABLEY KYAA HAI BAAP”.. As I walked past Kurla station bridge. There was hardly any room to move my hands. Three Moustached Balls joined him and they kind of encircled me. I was felt. One hand was on my me.  Another on my nipples. I wanted to scream. I wanted to shout. I wanted to revolt. But I couldn't. I was scared. Really scared.

The four moustached balls were mushtandas and I was a little breasty bubbly babli ball. I have marks of their hands on me. I can see them, even if you cant.  I can still feel their lusty hands on me. I felt so violated that I switched jobs. I ran away from my city. I ran away from my country. I reached Florida. Things were not any different here. I returned after 7 years. Married to a decent Moustached ball now. I haven’t mustered the courage to let him touch me. Though we have had some "force-myself"moments of penal-vaginal sex and as a result we have a baby boy. I left my husband. I am alone today with my folks.  I hate to breast feed him. After all, he will grow up to being a moustached ball. I mean. He would also be a moustached ball. Another moustached ball. Just another moustached ball.



-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

My idea of feminism has been very different. A firm non-believer of extremist thoughts, I, for once, never really struck a chord with the bra-burning feminists. (You belong to that category? Koi nahi – the world is big for two contrasting thoughts to co-exist and find our own footing) I have never found it offensive when someone looked at a woman’s boobs or booty and said that they were a beauty. Well, voluptuous or anorexic each has their own tale to tell and a whole lot of woes. Let me delve deep into the plunging necklines and get into deep secrets of the booby world. This is something that a friend of mine had narrated. It took her 2 years of  her following  my blogs and articles, and stalking …  to speak about openly to a complete stranger – ME. and that’s all that she needed. A ear that hears. A shoulder to cry. And yeah...  drama queen friend like me… who makes a joke of every serious situation. You know all i had to do, was not to counsel her. I cant. I am not a professional counsellor  all i did was i listened to her. and slowly directed her to a counselor. and O! Man, it takes a lot of patient ears to hear the unsound heart. well, but then, when finally when she stopped singing her  "why me"... i was all smiles and think all my listening was worth it. 

And today, I share her story; I've changed some details, to conceal her identity. And yes, I have her permission.

Today, she has grown from being a breast to being a woman. And she has learnt to love, and learnt to live. Though, this never came easy. How I wish, it was easier to say no?


you think of it, while i admire the new titillating Vidya Ball an's flick - Dirty Picture's promos. 





Balls, after all, that's the first ever thing that i and HUMankind have touched, clasped, pinched and  suckled to. 

Hai Naa?

Wednesday, October 12, 2011

Know Not

do you see liar written?
source: BrainDen








The moon is listless,
the sun is lost in clouds,
Why can't  you hear my heart beat aloud...

 The bird is chirping,
it is singing our song,
I think she knows how much I long...

The sea is quiet,
the waves recede,
how much to control how much to conceal ...

I think it's time for me to know,
I think it is time to give my life a go...


I can't be more helpless than I already am, 

I need to cajole  my  mind - un calm.

I now clasp my life,
A firm grip alone i hold,
The unsaleable part of my heart so bold.

I'd let you play the guessing game,
Be content that all content has been known,
But mind it, my mind has a story of her own

I am in many folklores,
but still with a chapter unwritten...
Buried deep within....


 ...Still with a story untold!!!!
... Still with a story untold!!!!

Wednesday, October 05, 2011

the art of deception

am tired. 

really tired.. 
of lies and liars. 
and of truth that's hidden
and everything forbidden. 


wish to go abroad far and beyond. 
to somewhere that no one knows. 
where the sun shines bright
and no one raises brows. 


where i can be me. 
like i have never been before. 
will someone hear my plea
someone take me to a new shore...


i have grown my wings, 
i flutter them, i am about to fly. 
but the sky is sly. 
the sky is sly. 
the sky is sly.
the sky is so damn sly. 


(and old old poem i had written. guess when there was slander campaign against me in college)

Friday, September 16, 2011

Love Letter To The Angry Madarasan





Dear Beautiful aand Very Angry Madarasan,

I am nice tamil pullai from Bombaai. I am ketai nakshatram, vadulya gotram… I am from chittoor in palaghat.  I am just like that only zending you some dedails so dhaat you caaan cheg with youaar vaadiyaar if see eef you aaand I caan get alang.  Aaas friends only… naat faar marriage sake okay. So don’t misunderstand me. you know it is better to tell gotram minnadiye, to avoid any painful fights dhaat iyer pullais and iyengaar ponnus or kaveri tanni and  palaghat beople haav. 

I wand to dell you little moor about myself. Liszen okay.

I haav lived in matunga and chembur which is like the mini madras of this mad rush called bombaai. All my atthai’s and atimbers, and chittis and chittapaas and paata and paatis and all the maamas and maamis are from heer only. But zome 3 generations baak they haad migrated from their ooru in south India. It must be near your place only. I haav so many yegstended reladives ovher there, you know.  When we meet in zome kalyaanam with over other reladives, we discover oft-ten dhaat the beople I used to gaal my friend is aactually reladive. You know no. our paati’s and paataas haaad some 7-10 kuttigal. They made more kuttigal. Some fought. Aaand they got zaperated. And now O my gaad, we gould be gouzins. When we draw family trees, It can get embaarasing. Who wants to realize dhaat you aar doing your own gousin.

You would be glaaaad  to know,  dhaat I thrive on masala dosai and idli vadai.. if there is sambaar- then sooper. when I go oud with my amma and appa I go to madras café or myzore café in matunga only okay. Or even brindavan in chembur. Or mani’s lunj home in sion. tho i haav been only in bombay aal my life. i should be more marathi illaiyaa? so? 

And yaa.,.. i go do tembles. and loove mallaigai poo vaasanai. i aalso lige going to tembles like sabari malai aaand guruvaayur. all my faaamily members are graduates or bost graduates from IIT. engineeering is in my blooddu. 

and you are what? reporter.. illaiyaa? besh-besh.. adum nalla profession dhaan. 
I aam in awe of your writing skills. I may agree or disagree with your comments. But let me dell you like that only – you-aar post is awe-zome.

Anna girl, dake a chill-pill, I say. I know dhaat the delhi-pullai will be yennywayz drowning in shame. May be idd iss naat about delhi but about yeah bartigular pullai.. that made you make such morbid generalizations. Delhi is not all dhaat bad. All delhi pullais are not so sad. You know, I haav a lot of awesome beebal of delhi origin. aaand they are lovely beoble. i aalzo had a general view about all delhi pullaigal at one boint aaf time. but i feel now dhaat i was being too rigid with my generalizations. 

You know my reladives aaand zome aaf my glose friends aalso dislige youar post. They mighd get aangry with me aalzo. But, what-to-do gril.. I love you-aar post as much aaas I love my delhi-loving-fair-pullai and friends.

I am bidding you good baai.

Achhah.. varein..

Aiyoo abushtam!!!… poiyittu varein kittaya …


(And in Punjabi style,
Bending  half only to touch your knees)
Paai laagu madarasan! :) 

Youaars tair chaadam loving iyer gousin from bombaai, (bossibility is theer, illayaa?)

Chitoor Venkateshwara Ramakrishna Harish Vishwanath Iyer








P.S. This is in response to this original open letter to a delhi boy  by Shahana 


glossary for my north indian pullais and ponnus also. esp.. delhi pullais


vaadiyaar : priest , ponnu : girl, pullai : boy, atthai : bua, atimber : bua's hubby, paata : dadaji, paati: daadima, chitti : mausi, chitappa : mausa, kalyanam : marriage, kuttigal : kids, malligai poo vaasanai : the aroma of jasmine flower, aiyoo abustam : bad omen, varein : coming/ jaata hu, poiyuttu varein kittaya : jaake aata hu, tair chadam : curd rice, illaiya : isnt it? 

Wednesday, September 14, 2011

speaking up... weaning out



A curious stranger in train recognized me and asks me if he could have a word with me in private.

We got down at the next station and sat on the railway bench.





He initiated the conversation with a tremble of happiness in his voice.

It was like he has seen some happy ghost like casper or so.

He knew much abt me, much about me.

- my blogs, my love, my education...

...Everything.




I was kind of amazed by the way he spoke about me.

I was obviously flattered and pleasantly shocked.


I wondered what was it that he wanted to tell me more.

Did he ask me to get down with him so that he could just tell me that he has read about me.... ??? So wandered my mind.
When I was abt to leave he suddenly opened his buttons to reveal a scar.
His father had beaten him when he refused sex with him.
And I was the first person to know about it.- a stranger.He in his 20s and living by himself now.

Smart, young, straight and handsome.

Before we Hug a good bye - he quotes me..
"The greatest pleasure of life is not finding someone to speak to, but finding someone to listen. "
He wanted me to share. So, the post. 

YUPP! My posts invite and incite a lot of attention.
and the endless name calling starts.
Popularity comes with a prize. Me and my loved ones pay it everyday.
(O! i'm almost sounding like a martyr. Which i actually am not :) lol)



But I wonder, had I not shared,
Had I not spoken,
Had I not lived life inside out,
this one boy,
like many others I have met ever since i opened up, 

may be would have not mustered the courage to speak up and share their innermost well-kept secrets.


Guess i know the sound of silence. it is deafening
Yes, I know how it feels to be quiet and
So, do I say - it is important to share.

It's good to believe that the world is beautiful. Indeed it is.
But like the cliché goes... Chaand mein bhi daag hota hai...

And nothing comforts a bleeding heart, than a heart that's weaned out the pain....

Hai naa?

Friday, September 02, 2011

A Kind Heart

sometimes you pray so strongly that it manifests itself in action. 

on wednesday, i set out on a lunch date with 2 of my pals. 
my bag was open. and my wallet found its way out of my bag. 

i had some money. and some  credit cards, debit cards. but more than all of it, i had some very fond memories stored and associated with my wallet. 

i called up Shiv like i always do when i am in crisis. 
he was praying then. he heard me out and said - you will get it. kattayamma kadaikum (you will definitely get it). he also advised me to not block my cards in haste, as he just so strongly felt that strongly. 

i wondered how   could be so sure that i would get my wallet that i lost on wednesday with credit cards and cash back. i didnt take the risk. i blocked my cards.  

and today, on friday, i get a call from an absolute stranger- Mr. Shinde who found my wallet. Now this man, Mr. Shinde, is a man in his 60's-70's. he found my credit and debit cards. he called up my debit/credit card bank for my number... he then chanced upon my office identity card which had my office number. 

he called me just now. he verified the details. and told me to collect my card.

it is so easy to get enticed by the lure of money. he did not have to  resist the temptation... how could he resist... when he wasnt tempted at all?

such is the power of positive belief. Especially when you pray for someone other than yourself. And so strongly. 

Thank you Mr. Shinde for returning my wallet. you might not be on FB but this would reach you. this had to be shared. i will share it. kindness kindles kindness... and the wave of kindness  shall spread its tentacles far and wide. 

Shiv, I thrive on your positivism. 
needless to say
thank you for being you. :) thank you.. and love you for this. :)

Saturday, August 06, 2011

.. hang on!





my moonlit night
so out of sight,
i wish it could stay
and not stray away...

o! my little day,
with heart-full dew...
will you leave me too??

stay with me,
be good to me,

till tides are tidy...
till time is timed...

be eternal,
be true!!
be eternal,
Be true!!!!

Saturday, July 30, 2011

... this is true





... The night is shy,
The moon is sly,

And then there is you,
With dove eyes unslept too...

The cloud will pass,
Moon will be overcast,

Now just,
Slip into a slumber,
My little wonder
Let dreams invite,
Touch stars in the sky,
Find all the answers to all the "why?"

Earl' you will arise,
To a morning new, too good to be true
But this is true, this is true, 

only this is true!

... beyond


"this is but a passing phase",
"some go far, some stay behind in the race"
is yes a banaity - a cliché

remember... a mind distressed - like a spring oppressed,
it shall propel, it shall propel....

even in stillness of time ....
....when seems fucked all the kindness expressed in rhymes

keep the faith, you will have it all.
keep the faith, you will walk tall.

when times seem dire,
the newness is not as desired...

still, it is a new beginning,
it is challenging, it's compelling...

a mind distressed - like a spring oppressed....
....it shall propel.... it shall propel... it shall propel...

Friday, May 20, 2011

Eternal


pic by :    parikshith sambasivan


i know the coldness,of the summer,
i have seen many such winters in summer before,
but never did i think i would, without you
see life beyond the shore...


then one day, you called out my name,
in this dizzy whirl, i found a world,
i now found new wing,
and realised i was also a bird


deep in the mountains,
when you fly over,
i would wait then, with pride in my eyes,
with wings not so strong but,
i'll  idly watch you fly out of sight...


then when one day,
you call out my name...
i would then, 

be born again...


when the phoenix left,
ashes turned to fire,

with a promise
"i will be born again, 

after being offered to the pyre..."

Saturday, May 07, 2011

The not-so-queer case of Male-Jhol

this was an article i wrote for the "out of the closet" page of the DNA newspaper. 


Male-Jhol… naa... this isn’t a hindi word. 
It is hip and hinglish. I am one of the many males)  in this orgasmic island city whose hormones get thumping and pumping, cajoling and jholing looking at other males (call us a minority and I will give you a thappad.



Yaah yaah.. I am gay. And I love men. I think of making love to a man.  I am engaged to a man and have a ring to prove it.

And let me tell you. Our joys our sorrows are as different and unique as a boy to a girl or vice versa. (What are they called?yeah STRAIGHT!)  I’m often asked who plays the Man and who the Woman in the relationship is. The truth is that gay relations are unique and different so are our love stories. We don’t
fit into moulds. We define moulds.

I don’t believe that I need to identify as man or woman in the relationship or for that matter the sexual act. We are two men in love. Period. ( I mean no period  ) Our love stories are just the same and break offs – ditto as straight ones. 

Let me share my love story with you.My first love. (One sided though) In an early night of a drizzling June, at the windy Bandra reclamation, I fell in love… and for the first time. Was it love at first sight? NO. It was love at first kiss though. And now I know the questions raging in your mind.

Aiyoo. So did someone see. Naahi vaatla bheeti?

Nahi.. Mumbai is a busy city. Who has the time to see and bajaao seeti.  He was not the perfect man. But he was as imperfect as me and perfect that time for me.  As the dark clouds further stained the orange sky, and the drizzle ended and therewas a cloud burst. It was a perfect gulzar moment for us with a very situational
“ek akeli chatri mein jab aadhe addhe bhegh rahe the" playing in his iPod that was plugged into our ears,  a ear each.  – now it was “jaane do naa… paas aaoo naa…” all this at the very straight Bandra Reclamation that kissed the Arabian sea. 


The moon waxed and  time waned. I looked at my watch, two hours had passed. We decided to move to our respective homes. I called out for a “rickshaw”… and surprisingly, he sat in it.  Puzzled, I stood there muzzled. He said, let’s spend the night together. I muttered huskily “where”. He whispered “Bombay”. I hopped in. The rickshaw meter kept  ticking and we sunk into our past and present and future. from bandra to andheri. and from andheri to bandra and then from bandra to sion and then from sion to goregaon, we just “rick”ed it all over the ricked night.


He spoke I listened. I spoke and he listened. And the conversations that were initiated this dawn-less night, held us together for 4 months. Then we tripped and missed our steps. He found another and I was left alone singing melancholic tunes of the 40s. I kept a big face for 3 months. And then it took me 4 years of sad poems and reams and reams of tear absorbing tissue papers to finally gain the confidence to rise in love again. And finally change my facebook status to “in a relationship”…

Does my rainy day story sound alike the laila-majnu love relationships that go little beyond raat-gayee-baat-gayee?

well, we and our relationships are not queer. And if you insist we are.. then I’d say “as queer as straight ones”

our dill’s, in the same way go rock-and-roll , so what if it is Male-Jhol?






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