Yellow, Red and White.

Yellow,
        Big ball of fire we call Sun.
        The flower in the park that stands proud.
        The walls in my room.

Red,
        That runs in my body.
        The anger in our eyes.
        Every bride.

White,
        The distant Mountains.
        Cold mornings.
        The cloudy sky.

I wonder if my Yellow, Red and White are your Yellow, Red and White.
May be you see differently than I,
and we see differently than them.

May be my Yellow big  ball of fire is your Red big ball of fire.
That way distant mountains, cold morning and
everything in between look different to us.

I have been told that we all are different.
Perhaps we all are.
Isn't that beautiful?

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Romancing the Winter.

Winter winds - be kind.

Blow them clouds away.

I need stars to blanket the night sky.

I need them to twinkle,

to entertain me.

I watch the train of traffic in a distance,

each with burning headlights.

- Yellow and Red.

And when I look up there is a silhouette of a bird.

Flying.

Free.

And beautiful (so beautiful).

I think of me,

- My life, as I juggle my eyes between the silhouette, yellow and red.

I wonder when did the minute changes took place from then to now.

How beautiful it (my life) was and how it still is.

Ahhh, thank you life.

Eyes still searching for stars.

Oh Winter! Be kind.

#shyless

(30th October - 2013)

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The Beautiful End.

     If I am a Romeo then Shanghai would be my Juliet. This however is not an ode to the city that I love. Past 6 years have been a precious chapter of my life - but things end. And quite sadly even the good things do. Last month I went through goodbye of multitude so high that it left a lump in my heart. Now in Kathmandu, the other city I looovvveee, I have all the time in the world to reflect upon the fairy tale like 6 years that I spent in Shanghai. Like every good story have some heroes, mine had some too. It was particularly hard to say goodbye to those. Among the stars in my life they will forever shine the brightest. So this is for them. Not for Shanghai, not for Kathmandu but only for them.

The end...

The beginning...

Perhaps this is the end,

Or the new beginning is it?

They say nothing comes with guarantees,

but right this moment as I write and pause

my beating heart loves you-

like a friend, a brother and a family.

Loves you,

like the only way I should.

And oh'dear - moments makes life.

And I dedicate this moment to you.

And how do I put it short and sweet?

Let's just say-

One day when you are in the crowded room-

full of strangers.

And you need a friend,

I will smile from across the room-

for you - Just for you.

<3
(7th July - 2013)

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Such different lives we live.

(turns the radio on)
I fiddle the knob of the radio.
Roam the dial for the distant sounds -
on the short and long wavelengths.
Stretch the antenna,
that towers high above my head.
Strange whispering.
Hiss and Hoosh.
Rising of the ocean.
Falling of a distant tree.
Dit dit and Dot dot.
Monks chanting vespers.
Booming of a Big Ben.
Lovers kissing.
Kingdoms falling.
Children laughing their heart's content.
Woes of mother over her dead child.
Bullets, bombs and missiles.
Stories.
Voices.
Songs.
Plays.
BBC.
Life...

Such different lives we live.
Wish I could live them all.
(turns the radio off)
#shyless

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rules

You can. You can't.
There are so many rules you know. 
There were. I grew up with them.
There were simple ones.
Clean shoes and Neat hair.
Ironed shirt and Good manners.
Those were easy ones.
And then there were other kinds.
Do not cross legs while you sit they said. Boys don't do that.
There are rules to be a boy.
They don't cross legs. I didn't. I don't.
When I did in the solitude of my room. I quickly reverted and obeyed rules.
You can't have a hand gestures.
You can't cry.
As they famously put it, "boys don't cry."
You talk a certain way not because you feel like it,
but that was what asked of you.
You obeyed them just like I did.
No questions asked no answers given.
I showed up when the neighbor that I hated died.
I mourned externally but beautifully.
That shows how refined I am they said.
I was a child. I believed.
I mourned.
Half-heartedly but beautifully.
I still hated him. I still do.
Drink beer they said.
Only a child drinks a yellow and red thing called juice.
Beer - did it make them men?
It was bitter when I first tasted it.
But oh'boy did I convince them how I liked it.
Dammit! I drank more.
CHEERS I said. I am not a child anymore.
I am a man.
And that is the true aspiration - being the "idea of man."
The concept.
"Idea of man" but not a human that is important.
Ideal man or woman not a human.
Men don't like reading. They like football.
Anything other than that is for sissies. Yes they have a name for it.
They have other names,
- fat, ugly, weird and bunch of others.
They aren't who they are supposed to be.
It's a crime. Social suicide.
They need to be slim, beautiful, popular.
Yes, popular. That's the word.
They won't survive otherwise. Not a chance.
Unspoken rules.
The End.
The Beginning.

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*abso-happy-lutely awesome*

     I would often discard the (ever so flowing) forwarded e-mails. But, just the sheer boredom led me to one particular e-mail yesterday. I couldn't help but identify with its awesome message. Thought ... ... I might as well share it with my blog-buds to read.

Waking Up Full of Awesome

There was a time when you were five years old,

and you woke up full of awesome.

You knew you were awesome.

You loved yourself.

You thought you were beautiful,

even with missing teeth and messy hair and mismatched socks inside your grubby sneakers.

You loved your body, and the things it could do.

You thought you were strong.

You knew you were smart.

  

Do you still have it?

The awesome.

Did someone take it from you?

Did you let them?

Did you hand it over, because someone told you weren’t beautiful enough, thin enough, smart enough, good enough?

Why the hell would you listen to them?

Did you consider they might be full of shit?

Wouldn’t that be nuts, to tell my little girl below that in another five or ten years she might hate herself because she doesn’t look like a starving and Photo-shopped fashion model?

Or even more bizarre, that she should be sexy over smart, beautiful over bold?

Are you freaking kidding me?

Look at her. She is full of awesome.

You were, once. Maybe you still are. Maybe you are in the process of getting it back.

All I know is that if you aren’t waking up feeling like this about yourself, you are really missing out.

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moment like this

and yeah!!! that's moi.

     In the quite moment like this - within which time melts… within which I think of you, I and what could have been. In the quite moment like this… within which I think of the past, smile and get nostalgic... within which I need no words to express. Yes in the quite moment like this!!!

     In times silent surrender - I think of all the mundane thoughts… linger around… hover onto it… meanwhile gazing at nothingness. In times silent surrender… I steal a chance and look at you… silently… just so you won’t know. Yes in time’s silent surrender.

     In the numbness of this moment - I wish never to say goodbye… no adieu… but hellos… only hellos. In this numb moment I think what could have been if friends never depart… lovers never bid farewell… no hearts broken. Yes in the numbness of this moment.

     Sometimes it’s not about what you did but what you didn’t do in the given moment of time. Sometimes it’s not about laughter's but it’s about lazy quite moments; when you and I sit… ponder about past and future, about yesterday and tomorrow, about life’s peaks and valleys.

     With the lump in my throat I speak… with hole in my heart I smile… I stay silent… remain quiet. Goodbye friend… Until we meet again!!!

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memories last a lifetime

     Sometimes I review notes of the latest story I am working on. As I sit there gnawing on the end of my pen, random new thoughts pass through my head and get cleared for take-off on their own connecting flights to oblivion. I scribble some quick notes as they lift off hoping the disjointed and haphazard nature of them may lead to a story. Mostly, though, I play games with the faces I see, and on the recent extended evening walk on the bridge (as discussed in my previous post shang-high-ness), that's all I ended up doing. Surge of nostalgic thoughts passed through my mind. Of the times I lived and laughed. Of all people I bade farewell to. Memory is a treasure valuable than gold and I know, all of you know that just right. Today, I share with you all something which is very personal and dear to me. Below is the poem that was written and sent to me about a year ago by a person who was and (still is) important to me. Though it might be meaningless to you all but it's one of the best gifts I've ever received... We lost touch eventually (because there was no other option, the way we saw it) but then again memories last a lifetime... this one certainly will!!

"poem through a grey sky

through thousands of miles

even through another life

you seized my mind...

a smile that never shivers

eyes burning in the inside

tanned skin

dark hair

this silhouette

deeply anchored in my mind

bringing a feeling of happiness in my soul 

warming a hand frozen by this land...

continue to move

continue to dream

burning down the roof

warming up the rift

cherishing this chance to share with you

some amazing moments in my life

souvenirs and memories

written in thoughts of scarf..."

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if you think...

Just a reminder :: It's not my creation. Its one of those poems, you know the kinds you stumble upon and decide to bookmark because they inspire you so much. Yeah those kinds!! I compile such stumbles under the tag :: borrowed knowledge; so follow this particular tag if you want to go through my stumbles. and may I remind you that my stumbles are only positives, life is too short to give attention to negatives;)

IF YOU THINK

if you think you are beaten, YOU ARE

if you think you dare not. YOU DON'T

if you like to win but think you can't

its almost the clinch that YOU WON'T

if you think you'll lose, YOU'RE LOST

for out in the world we find

success begins with fellows will

it's all in the state of mind

if you think you are outclassed, YOU ARE

you've got high to rise

you've got to be sure of yourself before

you can even win a prize

life's battle don't always go

to the stronger and the faster man

but sooner or later the man who wins

is the man who thinks HE CAN...


:: and here's my geeky spec photo!! love them specs;)

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Desiderata

     Desiderata, which in Latin means desired things, is a poetic work of pure inspiration likely penned by Max Ehrmann during the 1920s. I have to admit my knowledge in poem is almost nil and and am not an avid fan of poetic literature. But this poem is soothingly simple for me to decipher and am loving everything whatever it has to say. Just a few days ago I'd think 'Desiderata' is  some fancy Mexican dish but now i know.....

Desiderata

Go placidly amid the noise and the haste,
and remember what peace there may be in silence.

As far as possible, without surrender,
be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly;
and listen to others,
even to the dull and the ignorant;
they too have their story.
Avoid loud and aggressive persons;
they are vexatious to the spirit.

If you compare yourself with others,
you may become vain or bitter,
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.
Keep interested in your own career, however humble;
it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.

Exercise caution in your business affairs,
for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;
many persons strive for high ideals,
and everywhere life is full of heroism.
Be yourself. Especially do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love,
for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment,
it is as perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years,
gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.
But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.

Beyond a wholesome discipline,
be gentle with yourself.
You are a child of the universe
no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with God,
whatever you conceive Him to be.
And whatever your labors and aspirations,
in the noisy confusion of life,
keep peace in your soul.

With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,
it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.

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Susanna's Seven Husbands

Susanna's seven husbands
Died one after the other
And left Susanna dear
In a spot of bother

She didn't miss them much
Though she missed them twice over
But getting rid was better
Than being the silent spurned lover

She loved each of them
Death still sealed their fate
Killed one after the other
And satiated Susanna's hate

Labelled a succubus, a witch
Susanna's still in the mansion
Shunned by the familiar and the stranger
Wearing out life's last session

But her spirit still burns bright
For she calls society's bluff
She isn't shunned for being thought a killer
But because she's had the last laugh

P.S.-The Ruskin Bond connection is self evident.Inspired by the short story, Susanna's Seven Husbands, by Ruskin Bond, upon which the movie Saat Khoon Maaf is based.

<<<http://moifightclub.wordpress.com/2009/11/23/ruskin-bond-writing-vishal-bhardwajs-next-the-seven-husbands-plot-details/>>>
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my yard

not my creation..// but good thing are worth sharing..!!

in a narrow alley is my yard.

what isn't here? everything is.

countless disease,

endless hunger,

boundless grief,

only bliss is absent,

there's a ban on it.

in a narrow alley is my yard.

what isn't here? everything is.

in this yard of mine

god-made men and

man-made gods

both live.

but both are dejected.

both are frustrated.

men are dejected

because they are

tortured by fleas all-night-long

tortured by monies all-day-long

and the gods are frustrated

because

no one worships them, no one respects them

so, in this yard

gods and men

blaming each other

curse their luck together

in a narrow alley is my yard.

what isn't here? everything is.

~~Tanslated from "Mero Chowk" by Bhupi Sherchan in "Ghumne Mechmaathi Andho Maanchhe."~~
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