Thursday, May 24, 2007


They're watching…
Before the frosty rays emanating from the Sun,
Over the eternal city light studded crown,
The city lights that stand lofty over and run,
The radiance of darkness down,
So fire-beetles forget their destiny and insipid,
Their purpose seems to find places whither in fairy-tales,
When deceptions sips on the blood of their bruises,
Oh the Sun, does it not know it's the City!
Does it not know when they're watching?
When in mid-December, their watchtowers stir,
For that is when, nigh, their breathes held high,
They sigh together.
They're watching, oh world,
Their maddening stare rips every soul, who have wronged,
Grips every hand that's killed, or hurt,
Sips poison in engraved goblets.
Yes, they're watching...
Do not move, do not speak,
Or kindle and live.
You do not have the right to that.
Be watchful…
They're always watching.
Faces of the children of the bereaved…
Ever watching…
Grieving mothers,
Faces of the daughters and sons of the ocean,
Watching, watching…ever watching…
Eyes of the heaven…
They're watching

Nervous wreck

The results are out.
And the humble beginnings of the Darkmaster
Beckons but at me with growing claws,
And I muster
The courage to hold his hands.
For,in it yet,
The dissolving pink rays
Of the hood of the drowning Sun
Lost and disarrayed,
Evokes,it,the echoing clink of the mangles,
But lullaby,
It is to a blue baby.
Lullaby for the children of the well,
For the sleepy Sun...

Here,upon my throne I sit,
Under darkness,ominous,beset,
In it a balden eagle shrieks nigh,
Shattering the heart of the sky,
That mirrors the waves and the lands,
And the moon in the sands,
In this mirror I see myself naught,
Does anyone remember the road
That strays them to be lost?
A perfect darkness is perfect within,
The wild penumbra of a flame licking,
Enshrouding a garden,
Of blooming shadows,
Shadows of one shade,
Lest I show.
Their dispersed beauty,
Like an awkward silence,
Between soulmates,
At first glance.

And here,upon my throne I sit,
Where Mother Darkness cajoles me,
And into her heart,I see...
On her dusky shoulder,
I weep.


Dim Light,Dim,

The world is reflected off in steely gazes.
As I wallow in being yet alive in flesh,
The dose wasn't enough,it hurts,
I'm caught up in a unfitting dress,
The mesh of Everything,
Everything I disowned,
And Nothing I owned.
I still have to go,...

Walk in the dress under the Fated Dome.
Lit not in moonlight,nor of heaven,not even hell,
Trembling like first-sprout leaves in rain,
In candles of black flames,I see no reflection in the mirror,
There isnt even a pucnture on my throat,
The dose wasnt enough,
So I still walk.

It thrusts me,onto the porch,gnashes my dress ,
Bathes me in blood of the fortunate mourned for,
I dare not drink,lest it make me immortal,
The coffin was too small,
My dress too long.
I'm still undead,
I'm still not alive.



The sun was growing smaller,

Unfurling black holes unto Death,

I know.

And I await,with abated breathe,

Her Nemesis to seduce her from the

Face of dying Earth;

I know.

I know I wont live,

Wont even be a phantom,

Phantom I am now---

A mere flicker in this Kingdom,

The living kingdom of Death;

I know.

If only light years could be years,

Enlightened,untouched by tears

And seconds could be the distance

Between Them and Me,

I see,I foresee---

When humanity will die,

When fleeing winds will cease to sigh,

The butterflies could fly,

And not be feared by the boy I love,

If only there was a sole place for love,

I could be a phantom,

The Phantom of the Opera,

But by her death bed,

True tears I could shed,

I could be my last unfinished business,

Bidding adio to Her Nemesis,

From the other dying kingdom of Death.

But I know .

As the sun grows colder,

The universe, infinite,for distance...

Between Them and Me.

I sit in my corner,

Struggling to block the scorching summer,

Awaiting impatiently the onset of winter,

With abated breath,

In the kingdom of Death,

Awaiting .....the onset of My Nemesis.

Penny wise Wiser

Penny Wise…Wiser.

Penny bolted up the arching gateway cutting across her neighbour's spruced lawn,the moment her own garden came into view from the pavement she had restricted her pathway from school to home to.
Everyone greeted her with the warmest humane touches conceivable…well, for something as non-Homo sapiens as plants!
Sarah spread out her tendrils and caressed every inch of Penny uncovered by her Gujarati print top and jeans. Little Tim cocked his head and reached out with his little cuticular branches for Penny's attention to seek.
David, the stubborn old one remained resolute, and moody that Penny had even thought of leaving them…but melted in her touch and bent forwards to tickle her ears…
In her garden, no one was nameless. Nobody was just a plant…
But the irony was…they weren't just plants either. They were weeds. Weeds that her neighbors had scorned at, and at Penny for indulging in their growth .Weeds that her mom had long given up trying to persuade her to exonerate their backyard of. Weeds that Prerna Gupta,commonly called Penny, found exotically beautiful.They, with their purple-eyed petals with smidgens of green and yellow here and there, she felt were some unknown work of art of God that somehow got derailed on their way from factory to the House of Pretty Things. But Penny had revived them, and loved them, and named them.None deserved to be nameless and unloved.She called the whole house of these forsaken beings Flowers. Just Flowers.
"Penny?" A once- pretty woman in her thirties, whose sagging shoulders and eye-bags made no secret of her recurring sleepless nights, stood framed by Penny's Flowers.
Penny's Mom was another thing, another stop at her wonderland. She never ceased to smile when she began talking.For the times they had had together, they had played rain flutes, slept under the stars on the sands of the beach,gone on midnight runs through the woods on the outskirts of the town, and had made shapes, and slowly matured to discerning Bangkoks and Hoolahoola Town up among the clouds of the sky. Penny never ceased to believe when her mom was around. That was when she begun to believe…
She believed that ants,when they touched mouths in a trail between a source of sugar and ant-nest ,actually conversed in Antlish.
She believed that the wooden cupboards could still feel it if you chop them.
She believed her life was a pyramid where everystone just fit in and gradually came together as it ascended, and terminated at the peak, with a single stone.
That's what her Mamma told her to believe…
Presently as her mom stood there looking like the ideal idol of Penny's hero, Penny looked up from her Flowers, smiled and followed her in.
"Someone's here." Her mother had an odd simpering tone.
Penny walked to the door and there stood a girl from her school, Sandra.
"Hi, Penny! I just thought I'd let you know about this play we're doing this fall. And Mr.Burnette, recommended you for a part. I won't say more. I have the script here though."
"Oh…" No one in her entire life in America had ever come to their house, and since they didn't have a phone, Penny basically severed all connections with school the moment she left that building. Her only reminder was homework.
Sandra peered at her expectantly.
"Um,come in."
Sandra nestled on the couch in the living room. It was less of a couch and more of a patchwork on a chair. But Sandra fingered it with an fascinated air. That boosted penny's confidence .Better much.
Sandra held out a thin booklet.
Penny took it and immediately began leafing through the pages. Principally it was projected to avoid looking at Sandra. But words stood out.Strange.Outcaste.Detached.
Somehow the words made a 'strange' impression on her 12 year old mind. She didn't have much of vocabulary…but even so, they lingered and tickled some quiescent emotion.
Finally Penny raised her eyes to find an empty couch. Some inner instinct told her to panic. And she did! Big time!
She screamed, "San---Sandra?" She warped through the hallway---there was a deliquescent smell about that hallway…always had been. But today it gave Penny Goosebumps. Somewhere ahead shuffling footsteps echoed up to her. She followed it, and gradually her brisk footsteps silenced to tip-toes. And where was Mom!?
What had happened!? She shouldn't have had let anyone in. People didn't just pop up on their porch everyday! What if something had happened to her Mom! She would never forgive herself!
She rounded a curve and came upon a sight that exceeded her fears extensively…and it nauseated her. Her Mom and Sandra. And they were laughing…her mom was laughing; like Penny had seen her once in a blue moon lately!And Sandra was holding up one of the vases her Mom made…
Penny could be a very sulking child when it came to sharing her Mom.It wasn't that she was a jealous type or anything,but just that,when her mom said that Penny was all she has,she believed it.She was all Penny had.
When the Guptas had come to US,almost two years ago,Penny thought she was the luckiest of all her road-side cricket and football friends back home,but fate has a way of unwinding when life has been wound to the near-highest point 9.9.
One fine morning,Penny woke up to find her mom clutching her face,gawping at the TV screen where…
Something was on fire,…no, something had collapsed,…no, people were falling from the sky….
The only thing Penny could discern for certain was the trauma that emanated not just from the scenes,but also her mother's face,her shining eyes,…the blood-stained silence of victims,and blood-stained faces of people crying over bloody bodies…blood,blood…and more blood….everyone was a victim.
The date was 9/11/2001.
They had to overcome the grief a little too soon.Just like millions of people had to;to stay up nights after night,to evade sleep,and the consequent haunting memories in the shape of dreams of the bleeding nation,to go away on long drives to distant themselves from the room,the aura,the lingering scent of the ones who were future in a not-so-distant-past,now the past themselves…
The subsequent national security policy precluded them from returning to India,for a while,and even afterwards,it seemed that as Penny and Jessi Gupta had come to US as J2,that is dependant on Rahul Gupta's passport,or something of as complex structure as it seemed to Penny's young mind,they couldn't leave as yet,without complicated procedures.One day Jessi Gupta returned home in tears.She had been out to make international call to her hometown.That scared Penny to death! Her mom was stronger than anyone she had seen,ever!
It became apparent that nobody back home was willing enough to help,---believing that might engulf them into the potential terrorist list or something as stupid,no doubt!, Penny thought angrily! Both Jessi's parents were long dead,leaving her orphan,which probably accounts for her infinite strength,of mind,and also why Rahul fell so overtly in love with that bespectacled and unstylish damsel who studied like a complete geek, with a 100% scholarship at Calcutta University.Penny's only living grandparent was her paternal grandma,and the sole in-law who borne Jessi into the Gupta family with honest acceptance and more than---a wisp of a woman.Like a expansive white wisp of smoke.All white.And all wispy.And so were her opinions and feelings regarded by everyone…wisp.
One day, having moved from their old house to a run-down house on the outskirts of Manhattan,NY,while attempting to convert the damp domicile into a inhabitable home,Penny asked her mom,about any further developments for returning to India,Jessi froze,then slowly approached her daughter and told her,that they didn't need to return to India,that they had nothing to return to,that she had some great ideas about what she could do here,---she could start with a vase-selling business,and then try to polish her English up,and then she'd be as good as any freelance writer,for it was her ability to express herself that earned her the title of a prize Bengali literary scholar,not just the language itself, at the same time,for she was a good with her hands,be it writing or sculpting.She was trying to convince herself,even Penny could see that…
They didn't need anyone.Penny had to agree.
She had started school at Ridgeview Junior High,and instantly knew it was going to be one long struggle.Through the entire school life!
It probably would have been made easier had all the seats at the cafeteria not been hitched for someone or other,and she didn't have to share her lunch with conversing ants,among the grass.Or,if Ron Shelby didn't have to trip her everyday,every two periods when she's approach her locker to exchange books for the next two periods.Or if, Amanda wouldn't have revealed to everyone that Penny talked to ants at 12.Or if,some of the girls hadn't found her in the restroom singing 'Ki brishti,ki mishti…" and even dance in step,making a total fool of herself.Or,if she wasn't such a good student to top it all of,for adding the geek factor to her dorky disposition.Or,if….maybe,maybe,just maybe,,,if she had made some effort to blend in,to lose the Indian-looking clothes,the Bengali music,and for once,once,she opened her mouth and said 'hi' to someone.But the moment she'd find someone staring at her,and looking away whenever she made gestures of advancement,she'd lose all the surging urge.She had a hunch it had something to do with her dad being a victim to 9/11 a few months within their arrival here,and them being South-east AsiansBut fact was,she knew it was partially her fault too.But she didn't care.She just didn't.She was sad,at first after her father's death,then as time flew by,the sorrow became replaced by a permanent anger,a made fury at the whole world,the universe that conspired so against her mom and her….She hated them,hated them all! But,not her Flowers….
A week after Sandra had dropped by their dumpling home, someone slammed a magazine onto Penny's desk.Thats how people passed her things.They slam it.The school weekly.US---Underneath the Students "Foreign communities among us…like Prerna Gupta….her mother's vase-selling business that has descended to the pavements among the Billyhoos….others less under stress is our janitor's son…---Sandra Hachet" .The words sprung up to her face like white-hot scorched beetles…striking her face cold….
She was barely aware of her classmates shamelessly pointing to her, whispering behind their neighbors' ears, and heard snippets of conversations like "I hear they're like really poor…I hear they live on a broken down house her grandfather once owned…no, I hear they have a jungle in their backyard…My mom says her mom's real weird…Someone told me they drink from the lake….". She was standing hidden from view by her locker-door, but fuming she slammed it shut, but only to provoke another comment "Her mom's a psycho…"
"Yeah,my mom's a big psycho and we're all real poor and poor people are mean and if you don't shut your trap she's gonna come and get you in your sleep! You lousy no-good weasel…" Penny had stridden upto that boy and spit in his face. And her clenched fists were already swooping up to make contact with the boy's jaws ,had it not been for someone big and burly to pin her arms back and drag her away.
The big someone turned out to be her Principal, who locked the door, and turned to her with furrowed eyebrows.
"Considering your situation ,miss, you should know better than to get yourself into any fights or anything that might affect your mother,as she's already…" He trailed away,and produced a fake cough,blinked at Penny for a fractional second,coughed again,and the resumed, "Anyways,point is… What do you have to say for yourself!?"
Penny pursed her lips. She had a lot more than he could envision 'to say for herself'. She wanted to tell him that she had no 'situation'that she was just like any girl,like his daughter,but they were he were one of the ones acting all freaky and shoving her away.She wanted to tell him that they had it all wrong,that her mother's profession never touched what she had grown up to be,her mom was too cool to do that to her,that she was the bravest person she had ever seen,and far and better off than the home-maker moms who kept to home and got fat.And she wanted to scream at him that she was just another girl,but like everyone else she had her differences in little ways,the very proxy for distinguishing Egyptian mummies and human beings.She wanted to yell at him,cry,and tell him to open his eyes and listen to himself.She looked at him with his eyes propounding a pregnant silence from her part,urging her to end it already.
"Nothing sir. Nothing."
The day disregarded the space-time continuum and froze and passed by in a daze. Like a horrible perpetuating nightmare it drifted off till it found Penny walking down the gravel-covered archway through the backyard. It wasn't till she saw her mom looking extra-pretty in an autumn lipstick and lilac scarf and holding a cup-cake that had a candle on it,that she remembered it was her 13th birthday.
Somehow that thought drew her out of the trance that her whole day had swinged into,and that brought back the suppressed fury that had been suffocating within her,the memory of the ticking moments when she had watched as if from a distance,a discrete existence,her Pyramid go crashing to the sands as someone had pulled out a stone and the first rational thing in her irrationality, that occurred to her ,was to and she did ,charge
towards the Flowers in a mad rage and begun uprooting them…Sarah, Little Tim, David…all.

Her Mom rushed down the steps dropping the cake, and pulled Penny towards her by her shoulders, shaking her as if to get a loose globule of sense back in their places in her head.
"Stop! Stop! What are you doing!? Sweetie!"
"They're weeds! They should know better than pretend to be flowers! And how dare I let them think they're flowers! How dare I! How dare they! How…" Penny was breathing heavily.
"Oh dear, what did they say!?"
Penny paused in her furor,turned to look at her mother's face, her own stained with muck and tears. She looked into her eyes and whispered in an unusually serene voice, "They just told me I needed to de-weedify my garden.".
Jessi stared at Prerna,perceiving beyond the words…
"Well, they may be right…from the common point of view…but---" Her mom pointed to what remained of the Flowers, "--- hey, look at them, aren't they just pretty? It would be a shame to lose them when they're just as pretty as any rose or lily…I mean, so what if they're of a different kind…doesn't matter…And they grow by themselves, they don't need anyone…so much easier…" Penny looked at her mother cock-eyed…her mother was talking feverishly, and fast, as if to not to waste anytime to let her daughter know that it was alright.It was ok.
"Mom!? Mom!?" Penny spoke as gently as possible but to bring her mother out of her spell.
Her mother looked up at her daughter's face and it seemed to have aged far beyond her years.
Wiping her face,she had only one thing to say to her daughter---
"Happy oh…Prerna. Happy birth..oh my Penny. Happy Birthday."
They say,you have to say Happy Birthday three times,to make it really happen,in the true sense of the term where age in one's mental and physical world must merge,giving rise to manifestation of the word maturity which itself is a relative term ,as a tadpole loses its tail to become a frog ,while some develops the same to attain adulthood.
But fact---it had already happened.For our little heroine,Prerna Gupta.Only that doesn't make her so little anymore.
Does it?

Story unto thee Story

>before you proceed, please note,that this is a random story that I just felt like composing,might contain reflections of my life,but otherwise,not worth reading<
The song is playing like a brooke out of water... has no tone for the shuttered faces to hear,yet it plays the sweetest eyes close shut as we dance along...tune to tune...swinging rhythmically, the slowness of a misty winter morning in our touches ,the fire of a 10 o'clock Sun in our hearts, entrapping the essences of life, the infinity in our embraces...the scent of the rain-drenched evenings on the scorched diase in the demolished ol' fifties cafe...yet the colors would be etched across the undersurface of our eye-lids.
We were old then, we thought we would never get back the lights on, the cafe was torn down,and the dj was a crazy old man chasing the dogs down the streets.
We were old then, our hair were white, we had thought we would never meet again. We had the mere photos ourselves in our hands to seek solace from the son and daughter-in -laws disgusted maneuvering around our bed-pans every morning and day.
We were old then. We had no inkling of what we looked like, I had given up looking at mirror since the last he whispered between kisses, I was beautiful.
We were old then, the broken teeth of the crunchie hair-band he had slipped into my hair the first time he proposed saying that he had preserved it since the day I had left it at his home, the first time I had been there with my girlfriend, lay between my tears at night the warmth of bedsheet, right under the pillow, the strings come loose every day,now consisted of a handful few ones, red,yellow,and a brown one,---brown,the color of his eyes, the way they used to look into mine, like breaking the water-surface and taking a long-yearned for breathe or,like being breathless yet alive underwater itself.We were old,then. The world had parted us, my white clothes held more color than my lips.His son yet had no clue who he was. The bastard ,father had married me off to disclose the birth of our son,our gift from heavens. The way he had cuddled him ,held his minuscle fingers between his fingertips,like tipping delicate cashmere silk , and had brought tears to my eyes, ....taking me back to the day we made love for the first time...his every touch,his every breathe on my neck, his clumsy but passionate caressing..of my being,my soul,my heart...I never believe we would have to leave. I never did, forgive me.
But we arent old anymore.
We were old,not anymore.
Where the olds become young, where time travels back,where memories happen for the first time in future...thats where we had flown to, we had flown to where we could be together...where the brooke could sing without water and the sun could be up at night,and moon hung from our trees....thats where.....

Sulekha--The Story

Sulekha...the story ...

Sulekha left us a few days ago,...but I still feel her existence in every fibre of this every nook and corner...her erratic breathing...her round-the-year cold ,...her sweet occasional laughter...I miss her like anything! And I would probably do anything to get her back....but she's lost...lost to the other world...

No she's not dead. Indeed she's probably more healthy than ever ,now,more beautiful than all those whiles when I used to envy her pretty face. I used to envy her....

But deep down,we all know envy comes from admiration,...her brains,her beauty,her everything....she was this perfect girl.And when mom would praise her,even pull her cheeks,a habit mom had mastered very well,and which I resented at all times,...even I ,MOI,would fume go green with envy,and if she continued, further would proabably have had been too happy to have my cheeks pulled all day,even at the cost of having my pimples popped in the process !

I feel ashamed.

She was the only one ,who knew when I first fell in love,I would talk on the phone,oblivious of her,and she would cast me a wise "dont think I dont know what you're on about" and I would ignore her,at least pretend to,and then burn beet-red that she knew my SECRET! Oh no!

When younger ,when she came into my room,when I was asleep,I would peep ,a half-open eye,and spy on her,she would never look at my clothes,...she used to look wistfully ,at my barbies,and I would go yellow, with excitement,...what next,...she would brush a hand over my Rapunzel's long hair, twirl a finger through my Fashionella's purse, ...and that was it , I would be so disappointed...that I didn't have any excuse to complain to Mom.

There was a Deo-spray in the downstair bathroom ,which I never used.

It would probably have rotten there.Except She used it,and not knowing how,as it was,---a special sort from America,..I doubt I knew myself how to,might explain why I never DID use it!---,and she had messed up and wound up applying it on her whole body,so that she smelled like hydrogen sulphide .I did complain to Mom.She couldnt do anything about it.But I accomplished my goal. I had made a bad impression about her in Mom's mind.

When I broke a cup,it was blamed on her.... whereas ...I broke it....

When the lipstick went missing,the foundation kit was broken,it was her name on everyone's mind...later it was found somewhere in the bottom of mom's purse...

When the phone bill went high,it was her calls that everyone would look into....when that month was the month, we had been spending huge time talking on phone,cuz,of our newly healed relationship with Uttam Mama!

And when Mom's worst enemy,her mother-in-law came,the source of all politics was granma,and the key,was Her. Her.Her.Her.

And then she left. Now there's a rumour going around,that she's a prostitute.Some say,she was lured into it.Some say she went into the business of her own accord.And either way,she's earning it big...after all with beauty like hers...why shouldnt she?...the beauty I envied...the beauty I created a monster of...the beauty I destroyed....

I still feel her in every corner of this house. Her calm acceptance of Fate.

Of everyone blaming her, she stayed silent even though she knew it when she was being blamed for something I did , I!

I created a monster. But I know I'm not alone.

There are many monsters out there,like myself,...making monsters ...but staying undercover like the angels...who "care"... I was 11 then,..,but I know some things reflect your true nature no matter what!

And ,it reflected the true envious,rotten mind i had....

I could curse myself all day long,till time ended, ad infinitum. I could try to ammend my mistakes,by trying to better myself. I am trying. Trust me.

And at times,I even wonder why any boy would even like me,leave alone love me,why Anwesha still calls me her best friend,...Me..the narrow-minded teenager I was...maybe still am...I never know...No one is consciously narrow-minded!

But the damage is all done. Sulekha's life is ruined.And I am willing to take credit for the great deed. But her road has met an end with more green,red,yellow,lights for me, or for anyone.She's gone. Gone where they all go. And when it comes down to it. She had no flaw. She was perfect. Smarter,prettier ,more thoughtful than any girls in my whole year put together!

She was ethical,she was honest,she was a good friend.

Then why her? Why not me?

I deserved her fate more than her!

I do!

And as much as a coward as I am, at least in this case,I do admit,I deserve her fate a full 100% !

But she's gone,and so are the lights ,its dark, suffocating...and all I can do is regret....all I can do is ....REGRET!


Towards me she walks

In breathy silence,

Her lips in a sneer , it seemed...

Playful, but not juvenile,

Pulling me towards her,

Closer...ever closer

No matter how I try to hold back

From the crack of the sky

She whispers behind my back.

She awakens in me,

From a millennial lumber,

Rippling like the misted

Silhouette of an Early Rider,

Set for this journey she will

Accompany me,

To the land of Unbound Bliss.

On my first love she blows me a kiss!

She lives in me,

Looking over me,

Through red-rimmed eyes,

She always sees,

Picking me up, my broken pieces;

Against a cold old storm,

Against a dark starless night,

For me she always cries.

Hovering over my existence,

She pulls me in an embrace.

She'll survive as me

Beyond my touch, my trace.

She'll live in Them, as Evanescent Me,

In her hyaline curves, her divine grace!

She'll walk as me.

Towards millions unnoticed, untouched,

Their tears of faith she will rid

Yet today, towards me she walks,

For the destiny unfulfilled.....