Archive for March, 2012

Free Will

I was kind of compelled to write this one after being forcibly made to listen to talks about the Gurgaon gang rape case in my cabs and smoking lot in the office apart from the various points of view in the paper. I cannot but have pity on our socio-politico anomaly which shows a severe lack an understanding of the concept.

The cab driver – It’s girls’ fault. They roam around semi naked and expose a lot in a provocative way. If a guy gets out of control due to the sex drive which actually is being driven by a girl then there’s nothing wrong with the guy.

My esteemed colleague – What was that girl doing at that ungodly hour in the night? By the way guys drink to get drunk. So what?

Gurgaon Police – Women should not work after 8 pm.

Anonymous comment in the paper – Girls should maintain their images in accord with the society.

There used to be frequent cases of stolen bikes and cars in my society in Noida. I wonder why did we not talk like that then. Why did the police not order bike owners not to ride their bikes after 8 pm or to hide their bikes in their respective floors in multistoried buildings? Why is there less number of cases of a powerful politician’s house being burgled or his wife and daughters being raped?

According to me- There’s no Free Will so far in where we stand. If seven guys with a strong support from their political background or their heinous beasts inside want to have their immediate sexual fantasies entertained, they can do so. Because they have means to escape. Think for a moment, would you not do it or think of doing it were you at such an advantage?

My suggestions to working girls –

1. Don’t spend on your clothes or cosmetics or phones. Save as much as you can so that you can buy at least a Chinese pistol ASAP. Our police can’t fire a round to protect you.

2. Get a filthy rich boyfriend preferably with a political background.

3. Learn to protect yourselves.

4. Stop faking that you are the weaker sex and stop claiming seats or coaches in public transport.

5. Tell guys that even they might get raped by gay rapists.

P.S. There’s only FREE WILL. You’ve gotta accept it. No choice.


Ganga Beach Cafe # 1 @ Rishikesh

A million bumping heads

Rendered in coherence

An enigma just beside me

As rises the height

With a soothing delight

Playing with resilience inside me

Goes she, leaving with a smile

Leaving me with a smile

Bending over a mile

I look forward to an exile

Into the lively adobe

To a turbulent surprise

Let me promise to be back soon

In your paradise in disguise

Ganga Beach Cafe # 2 @ Rishikesh

Numerous thoughts incline toward me

Each carries a unique motion

Each tries to build upon another demolition

Leaving me with confusion

Led by a multitude of ecstasy

My head branches like the weed

As Brownian as smoke of hash inside and out

No rescue arrives till I’m out, stoned with doubt

And I willingly lose it all

Forgotten, pampered, hit and hurt with the fall

My demise, my nirvana, my moksha

Are they all just myth

Or parts of a great equation not with a logical accord?

The dream does not stop here

As I decide to climb higher and higher.

Brain Damage

Light a cigarrette or better if you have something even better. Sit in a dark large room with a few pieces of furniture in there. Turn the lights off.
Are you high now? If no, then don’t call me an idiot. If yes, then you will find some sense in what I’m trying to tell you.
How can you be so sure that the petrol station you cross every night while coming back from work does not move after you lose it from your sight? Duh. Sounds dumb, doesn’t it? Lets take something portable. Say, your cell phone. What happens to it after you fall asleep? Does it stay where you keep it? Your Common sense says ‘yes’. Mine too. What is your common sense? How do you define it? How can you trust your common sense so badly? On what basis? I mean we didn’t know trees are living things till a mad scientist told us so!
Let’s deduce it from pure and simple logic: We close our eyes but still are in physical touch with the object, so if it moves, we’ll know. But it doesn’t, so we know that it does not move. Or even if we close our eyes we have a camera recording its movements which tells us in the morning that the phone did not move an inch. Agreed. What if the object constantly creates an illusion not detectable to human perceptions? We understand the camera recording according to our own perception of a camera recording, right? How can we be so sure that inanimate objects lie where we leave them? After all they also constitute of elementary particles. Or is it just a concept or rather a notion very well fit into our everyday understanding of the world we live in so that we can’t think different?

My nth Love

When I see her… I feel so calm. I feel the innocence of my own smile that comes to my lips without an effort. I feel like surrendering my thoughts to her with a confidence that she can give them a caress like never before. I feel hungry to read her mind and heart. I get the urge to see the beautifully different side to what she appears to me. I wonder if I ever could have her pacifying aura once in a while for a lifetime. I know the moon has a darkside too. But she’s not just the moon. She makes the moon a moon

The Maestro of Lullaby

Once upon a time there was a voice
That sang many songs of pain and rejoice,
Gave strength of beauty to the beholder’s eyes,
Magically turned the drinks to elixir of choice.

Soon it became the lullaby of the youth and old.
It came with a lull and left in a storm.
Getting to the lips of ours, putting the spirits on hold.
Reminded of the beauty one could never buy in gold.

Taught to be sad at the epitome of fame.
Laid many stories and said ‘what’s in a name?’.
The touch of which gave life to the relic,
Made all cry from prolific to the lame.

There was no sob, no eyes were wet,
The audience was frozen by the master as pet.
With every heart and soul being grounded to the core,
Talked more of the feeling than mere happiness had set.

Once upon a time there was a man
Who could possess that voice and no one else can.
He left us one day while tears broke out
With his voice still singing for an eternal span.


It’s raining again; Oh, it’s raining again!
On the vast godforsaken land,
Where at the blink of an eye,
We see pain, blood and disaster.
It’s not blood today
But it’s raining again.

It’d happened long ago.
The echo had succumbed to the walls.
Or Only I had thought so!
His shadow had a victory and the man had to pay.
Cowards had the rein while the braves had no say.

Hurray! It’s raining again.
Filling my glass with drops of joy,
now I sing, play gigs and feel my voice.
I’m getting back to life with the rush of blood
Led by the grand rejoice.
Yes, it’s raining again.

Erratically Implicit

I closed my eyes
And tried to wake up
In a world that’s too far away
That struck from above.

Taunting me with honed voices,
Not a single was distinct.
How cruel were those noises!

With every possible hint
In an alienating stint
followed by the clue
It came as on cue
And I heard that song
Of stories not heard for long.
Then I stumbled upon the truth,
‘We all go places that we may never belong.’


Lips move in frenzy and I start to drift.
All fall out of sync and the loudness is swift.
A train passes by as mine derails.
I pull the brake but the friction fails.
I see many faces alive but they bleed.
They still shout with an unfathomable creed.
Back in the mass again where I was,
I feel uneasy to know that there’s no pause.
A cloudless sky runs with haste.
I see people eating with no sense of taste.
Surrounded with the filth I begin to wonder,
If in this storm there ever was a thunder.
I lock my jaws and unlock my mind,
with numerous toungues spelling curses behind.
I infer, I dceree and I pass my chance,
leaving my inmates with a courteous glance.
Now I am happy and I kiss my luck,
blaming the noise with which I was stuck.
I see a doctor to ask for a cure.
He sounds pretty sound and he knows it for sure.
In his words he tries to be quite precise,
”They talk a little crazy disproportionate to their size,
of things they know and out of their sight.
They run with a torch that bears no light.
They laugh, they mock and hinder your way.
They bet their back as much as they may.
They mumble, they chatter, they faulter and sigh.
They look back a lot to disguise a lie.
To hide their faces they wear those masks.
They’ll answer to all even if no one asks.
Their demeanor to you looks absurd because
according to them, ‘the effect precedes the cause’.
They always get paid to wear and tear.
It’s in silence they die. It’s loneliness they fear.”