Sunday, September 30, 2012


Separate, yet inseparable,
Unite, but only momentarily,
The threshold of longing, overwhelming,
Their struggle, a matter of time.

They come together, almost,
Such that they cannot be parted.
Alas, not so soon,
For they cannot remain heedless.

Consciousness, destructive; Separation, painful.
Perseverance, relentless.

At long last, I let go.
Yet, they resist.
A few moments, hence,
They unite, never to be separated.

The eyelids close,
And slumber seals my soul.

Friday, September 21, 2012


Little things you collect
Cherish, keep close, hold dear.
Memories special, yet vague.
Less use, more emotion.

Mere things, you say.
Frivolous materialism, you argue.
Part of my evolution, my answer.
Replaceable, not really.

Gone and lost, nonetheless.
No point brooding.

Heart, heavy; mind, vacant.
Endure. Accept. Let go.

Thursday, September 20, 2012

Most, and more.

Why define me as this or that?
I am more.

My potential, endless.
My possibilities, limitless.

Conform, rebel, or strike a balance.
I do, what I please.

Sometimes, black; others, white.
Often, shades of grey.

I seek change. I detest change.
The ambivalence, profound, but not all.

I am selfish. I am selfless.
I am something. I am nothing.

I initiate, I withdraw. I lead, I follow.
On indecision, too, I dwell.

I believe. I doubt.
I hold on. I give up. I move on.

I rejoice. I brood.
And then, I feel no more.

I accept. I censure.
Then, participation I cease.

Back, forth and again.

I fear. I rise.

Flawed, gifted, doomed.
The infinite unknown, in between.

I can be anything,
I can be everything.

I am all. All is I.

Wednesday, September 19, 2012

Near, far

Random ruminations, scattered.
Profound threads, visible in the distance.
Yet, so elusive.
Lethargy, mediocrity and escape,
Or, struggle, exploration and endurance.

Beginning, always a task.
More mental than real, possibly.

Candid Conversation

The breeze, calm and composed,
Teases my hair, plays with it.
I close my eyes and,
I am the breeze.

Raindrops on my face,
Soft and intermittent.
The urge to separate, so strong, 

The raindrops fall faster,
My thoughts, slow down.
I let go.
The lightning bolt, approves.

Sunday, September 16, 2012

The Rhetoric of Condescension

I always thought formal occasions were something of a gimmick, a spectacle, a satire on our social sensibilities. They bring out dilemmas on what to say, how to conduct oneself and what to wear, the basic objective being, to make you reflect on what is acceptable and what is not.

We never really grow up.
We only learn how to act in public.

This dictum might simplify the dilemmas arising from the questions - what to say and how to conduct oneself. You concern yourself with polite and courteous behaviour, expressing joy in seeing people you didn't care about, feigning interest in their activities that didn't matter to you twopence, and above all, assuring yourself to the point of eliminating all self-doubt that you've had a bloody good time.

What to wear is a much more complex dilemma. Do you conform to the social norms of respectable occasions, made more momentous by being attired a certain way? Or do you follow some, break some and arrive at a customised attire, that reflects, more closely, your personality?

More than what you say and what you wear, what is said and sometimes left unsaid, are observations more interesting.  We might all be seekers of knowledge, but there is something about those who especially address students at formal occasions, that I find deeply troublesome. Because they see the past better than it was and the present worse than it is, it becomes easy for them, or rather comes to them very naturally, to criticise today and all that it stands for and has come to represent. They, of the yesteryears, come from an era where such things as goodness, morality, decency, discipline, excellence, ethics and other such superhuman traits were commonplace. For us, of the damned Kalyug, these characteristics are dead skeletons albeit of a glorified past, revered of course, but meaningless and incomprehensible. We are hopeless, we are doomed. And, they know it. Yet, they take it upon themselves to restore us, knowing undoubtedly that it is a pointless pursuit. They try to reason with us, appeal to our diminishing sense of fraternity, of service and goodness and remind us of our duties. While they lecture us, we must repent and restore ourselves. Or else. 

Often these rhetorics are scripted in flowery language, loaded words put together in a haphazard fashion, the sense and sensibility, in serious doubt. The delivery of such speeches, gives to the speaker, the sad illusion of having conveyed a profound point, which the others are incapable of ever conceiving and therefore, of having made a lasting impression on the minds of the scores of muted, awed listeners, the spectators.

But aren't we doomed already? What is it about a formal occasion that makes possible such meaningless message-making? 

Why, if the present, the younger generation is so doomed, is it burdened with the magnanimous task of changing the world, of taking it forward to a more stable state?

What makes it possible for elders to lecture the young to be more humane, when they may be even less so?

Wednesday, September 12, 2012


Underneath the surface, calm and composed,
Is an inscrutable expanse
Of thoughts and dreams and ideas,
And endless tales, waiting to be heard.
Each one of us, has a story.

Tuesday, September 11, 2012


'It takes many to make the world'
Hearing this, I grew up.
But once every while, you come across one,
Who makes you question that dictum.

Pity, contempt, dislike, you feel it all.
Amidst tests on your patience and endurance,
You feel thankful - truly grateful-
For they have shown you exactly
Who you don't want to be.

Monday, September 10, 2012

Then, and now.

Growing up, I wasn't much of a chai person. While my sister would look forward to the weekends, wake up at dawn to have chai-biscuit that my grandfather made, I would usher the weekend in deep slumber. However, we would all look forward to the summer holidays, to the rare treat of puff biscuits that our aunt would get from Maharashtra. Chai and puff biscuits would be the favourite breakfast and evening snack, for as long as that batch of the biscuits would last. But even then, it would suffice for me to have it once.

Exam time or illness, were the only times I ever had chai, sans any accompaniment. The fact that my grandparents made it so lovingly, was of course the contributing factor.

In the meantime, I found coffee appealing to my taste buds much more than chai ever did.

Both beverages were an uncommon element in my dietary intake and this earned me the much-desired approval of my mother, who in fact, never had either.

Obviously, inevitably, and in retrospect, rather naturally, this changed.

What inspired the change was the trip to Kashmir last summer. The temperatures in Leh are unbearably low, especially for us since we don't have much of a winter. And the cold, a searing pain in the spine. Warming appliances were inadequate, yet, hot liquids seemed to help. It was at this stage that I discovered my love for sweet-corn soup and a surprising, yet pleasant affinity towards chai.

Initially declining and wavering, soon I started partaking of this much-loved beverage. Partly because lectures and events at the University of Hyderabad are incomplete without chai and samosa, and more so, because I wanted to find whether in a changed climate I could stomach it or not.

And now, I have established an amiable bond with the drink. On rainy days or in spontaneous moments, a mini-cup of chai resonates bliss.

Sunday, September 09, 2012

Once again

Better to write for yourself and have no public, than to write for the public and have no self. 
–Cyril Connolly

Writing, such a deeply personal practise, and a blog, a purely public space. A natural oxymoron, an inherent conflict. A stalemate was inevitable with two equally powerful considerations.

While life is all about contradictions, it's not always a question of either-or. Sometimes, it's this as well as that, and maybe a little more, and how you balance it all. However, knowing is not enough, we must do.

I turn over a new blog, and hope, amidst all the complexities, to find that elusive balance.