twilightglade

2007-08-16T21:57:00.000+04:00

2007-08-16T21:46:00.000+04:00

2007-07-15T12:06:00.000+04:00

chinese chefs

2007-06-07T20:20:00.000+04:00

2007-06-07T20:07:00.000+04:00

2007-06-07T19:59:00.000+04:00

2007-06-07T19:50:00.000+04:00

rajasthan

2006-04-20T08:48:00.000+04:00

minnie and simone

2006-04-20T08:46:00.000+04:00

scooping sea-smells

2006-03-24T08:44:00.000+04:00

beach cricket

2006-03-24T08:43:00.000+04:00

jugglery

2006-03-18T17:37:00.000+04:00

my sis and my niece

2005-07-07T11:38:00.000+04:00

go fish

2005-07-07T11:37:00.000+04:00

look closely

2005-06-21T21:26:00.000+04:00

lullaby

2005-06-21T21:04:00.000+04:00

my nieces and nephews

2005-06-21T21:01:00.000+04:00

zzzzzzzzzzz

2005-06-21T21:00:00.000+04:00

what the...........?

2005-06-21T20:58:00.000+04:00

fly

2005-06-21T20:57:00.000+04:00

simone&me

2005-06-21T20:56:00.000+04:00

jump

2005-05-29T20:00:00.000+04:00

hit the road jack

2005-05-29T19:57:00.000+04:00

catch 'em young (this one taken by by bro-in-law)

2005-05-29T19:56:00.000+04:00

cat call

2005-05-03T11:28:00.000+04:00

keralaaaaaaaaaaa

2005-05-03T11:27:00.000+04:00

free wheeler

2005-05-03T11:23:00.000+04:00

cherub

2005-05-03T11:22:00.000+04:00

dry clener

2005-05-03T11:21:00.000+04:00

live action

2005-05-03T11:19:00.000+04:00

more of kerala

2005-05-03T11:18:00.000+04:00

kathakali

2005-05-03T11:16:00.000+04:00

hail....

2005-04-20T21:30:00.000+04:00

the sardar and the sea

2005-04-20T21:17:00.000+04:00

well....................

2005-04-20T21:15:00.000+04:00

sugar cane summer sane

2005-04-20T21:05:00.000+04:00

secular citizen

2005-04-04T21:58:00.000+04:00

garma garma samosas on a cold, wet day- gas courtesy indane

2005-04-04T21:48:00.000+04:00

my air jordans, not worn much

2005-04-04T21:41:00.000+04:00

hanker-cap

2005-03-27T01:04:00.000+04:00

drivers seat sign

2005-03-27T00:54:00.000+04:00

when the sky meets the water

2005-03-26T23:07:00.000+04:00

shoulder sleep

2005-03-26T23:00:00.000+04:00

round and round
everything stands still spell-bound
silence sight, sound
in this womb new found

2005-03-26T00:23:00.000+04:00

balancing tact

2005-03-26T00:18:00.000+04:00

an eye for an eye

2005-03-26T00:16:00.000+04:00

all in a day's work

2005-03-18T00:15:00.000+04:00

flower-power choir boy

2005-03-18T00:13:00.000+04:00

head under heels

2005-03-18T00:12:00.000+04:00

what's your next move?

2005-03-18T00:09:00.000+04:00

who are you?

2005-03-18T00:06:00.000+04:00

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

2005-03-18T00:04:00.000+04:00

market-place face

2005-03-18T00:02:00.000+04:00

me and my cigar

2005-03-11T00:18:00.000+04:00

sweet stoned summer sleep

2005-03-10T23:53:00.000+04:00

three is glee

2005-03-06T10:32:00.000+04:00

foot-path foot-wear bed

2005-03-05T23:05:00.000+04:00

foot-path bed

2004-11-29T18:57:00.000+04:00

workin' it
you know that your job is been taken too seriously when you clear your throat, hit the right baritone and answer the phone with crisp, professional, "Business Standard," posed both as a greeting and a statement.

i've always answered with a simple "hello" when i pick up my cell-phone.

2004-11-11T13:09:00.000+04:00

wishy-washy

i look up from my washing and rinsing to spot my maid directing a half-smile towards my blank face. hmmm, "what now?", i ask, "you must'nt wash your own clothes," she suggests. i mumble something about having washed my clothes nearly all my life.
she's waiting for me to finish my fabric cleansing so that she can swiftly sweep and swab my bed-room and go back home to a child who's ill and the husband who's always in bliss from bedding bacchus.

she: who's that?(eyes rivetted to the photu next to my bed)
me: that's my girlfriend (i dont want to alarm her and so quickly add that we plan on marrying in 06)
she: i always wanted to ask you about her, but could not bring myself to. she is very nice.
me: thank you.(you are not getting a raise,woman)
she: please marry soon, she can wash all your clothes.

hmmmmmmmm....
the all new SYMPHONY WASHING MACHINE
life-time guarantee and free service, also cooks, cleans and gives head and ego massage when in pain.

yeah, ok sign me on

2004-10-14T19:20:00.000+04:00

angster
Ever notice how young pre-pubescent girls in school-uniforms and bright clothes always cling onto their dads while riding pillion. How they smile infinitely and chatter cheerily.
grown up, draped in dapper college garb they sit as far away as they can without falling off the seat, with arms folded and faces dark. Dads and daughters alienated, inhabiting disparate universes. affection, seldom displayed and when on view appears awkward and contrived.
Folks become uncool, hmmm, they just don't understand, my favourite drug-doing band have all the answers, as does Hollywood, credit cards and weekend alcohol consumed with chums with languid compatible smiles.

2004-10-14T19:02:00.000+04:00

photucatcher
it has been an eternity since i have picked up a camera, cupped the lens gently, looked through the viewfinder and squeezed to hear the sound of the shutter opening and closing with a soft, silky click.
capturing the moment, before it dies before your eyes, choosing the opportune moment, when time and space converges and pastes itself onto the photo-canvas. for a fleeting jiffy the universe punctured, the core bleeds to live on for posterity.
throbbing, fettered, it is set free, to be reproduced over and over again.
black and white
array of dazzling colours
beauty pure and simple or a grotesque gash embossed.
a sunrise
moon, haunting dance of shadow and sparkle
lights, camera
satisfaction

2004-10-02T17:06:00.000+04:00

awakened
i smile in my sleep. the wake-up call, has begun. the engine roar and then the motor sputtering, kickstarting noisily. the groggy morning spews excited chatter of women, most of who have waited from the crack of dawn. i curl up and hmmmmming to myself bury my head deeper into my pillow.
15 minutes pass.
the voices are louder. some frail and frantic, others loud and boisterous, raspy and quarrel-ravaged.
"i was here first you wretch,"
"even your mother was the same, conniving and deceitful,"
"i know why you are like this, you were a born a low-life and a cheat,"
the conversation veers to being vulgar, insulting and downright derogatory, with most of the insults being heaped on the parents of those involved in the quarrel. there's a reason to why old folks go deaf in their twilight years.
the watering hole, always the place where one is most vulnerable and most ferocious. the pegging order being decided on the amount of brute force that one possesses and guile.

the noise continues, i switch on the music system, insert a 'Nirvana' tape and scream along

With the lights out it's less dangerous
Here we are now, entertain us
I feel stupid and contagious
Here we are now, entertain us
A mulatto
An albino
A mosquito
My Libido
Yay

More than 55 per cent of Chennai's drinking water supply is privately owned and controlled by the water mafia. This is by far the greatest dependence on private players by any Indian city. Most of the water comes from the neighbouring villages, a large number of them are being bled dry gradually, truck load by truck load.

2004-09-30T10:50:00.000+04:00

oceanshine
we walk on by, past stores displaying handcrafted jewellery, handbags, wall-hangings, stone sculptures, chillums, second-hand books and bright coloured clothes- kashmiri salesmen wearing 'come on in' smiles. the wind against our skin feels like being baptised in icy cold spring water after the sultry, sunny day. children, wild-haired and dreamy are running hard on the soft loose sand, chatting, chanting and playing games with no real rules and zero purpose. foreigners with lonely planet and rough guide paperbacks are choosing their restaurants meticulously to consume masala fried calamari, tiger prawns in hot garlic sauce and a choice of brews for wash down the sea-spills.
the shore is scattered with catamarans and a few power boats. the ocean is dark except for one section where the three-quarter moon is doing a fiery dance on the waves. moonlight reflects on the black depths appearing like slivers of sliver dashing against each other in a languid mating sequence. magical fireworks inside the bay's belly. where the ocean is not lit by the moon, it appears raven winged in flight.
there's a single soul squatting near the water's edge, motionless, gazing into the distance. we seat ourselves on one of the catamarans behind the man so as to not disturb his meditative pose.
there are two men standing a little away from us wearing jeans and loose shirts directing their actions and attention to a small handset flashing an sms. upon reading it the men display immense amusement and guffaw intensely. we are joined by two more men in the boat behind us, locals in lungis and faded shirts, sitting crouched and conversing loudly.
we sit in zen like silence and listen to the symphony of the sea, never missing a beat as it roars, rises, recedes and falls with a sweeping shhhh. the man, squatting awfully close to the ocean's entrance now lifts himself and pulls up his trousers, which we had missed in the pale moonlight, bunched up around his ankles. shit happens. he walks away oblivious to us and the others around.
the men in the boat are joined by a third, with a bare hard sun-burnt chest.he jumps in and starts beating up the older of the two and then the whacks the other, who screams," what i have done," in tamil. the bare torsoed man unhands him and starts to focus all his attention on the older man. his hard hands land squarely across the other's face, thock, thock, thock. he then holds him by the collar and bangs his head on the wooden surface of the boat, repeatedly, till he tries standing up, uttering a soft cry of sheer anguish. macho-man resumes the fisting, one blow on older-man's jaw lands with such brute power that he's knocked off the boat. as he tries to flee the scene he's met with the machismo dripping stranger's knee smack in the middle of his chest.
we move away as the victim runs towards our boat and watch from one of the restaurants called sea-side(the owner must be a whiz with words). the backpackers are knifing and forking away their sea-chow unmindful of the bloody action a few metres away. the children continue chasing each other, shouting joyfully and brimming with enthusiasm. the two jean clad men are trying to get the phone to work after it has been dropped into the water after a suprisingly big wave doused them with a salt-shower.
we are hand in hand as we watch the two black silhouettes against the foaming waves, two figures, one riding the other,they could be easily mistaken for amorous lovers who overcome with passion started making love on finding a secluded boat.
as we walk away, i look back one last time to see a strong hand lift a comatose head high and then drop it down with a loud thud. the symphony of the sea, however remains unaltered. the shore temple in the distance, is standing proud on its high embankment, gazing,stone cold

2004-09-20T18:37:00.000+04:00

wordman
i wait
for words
to spill out
like freshly minted coins
whirring and taking wing
lacerate unpalatable hearts and heads
soothing balm to a sagging soul
squeezed out like psychedelic colours
from a maverick rainbow
mercurial unfettered beacon
bleeding pearls on a sunless sorrowful landscape

2004-09-19T18:13:00.000+04:00

ACJ revisited
Vineeth, Neo and I headed past the light-house, the Marina swollen with enthusiasts braving the hot sun, slurping on ice-cream and raw mangoes. Once on Wallajah road, the familarity of Triplicane police station to the right and the row of fancy stores to the left has my heart jump in anticipation.I have rubbed rubber on this road a thousand times before, but this time it's different. Once inside the campus, we proceed diffident and docile to find Yolanda offering us a weak smile. Weak because I half expect her to spring out of her seat and start clapping her hands in obvious delight. We engage in polite conversation, she informs us quickly that none of the faculty are in today, it being Ganesha festival and all. She glances at the clock, she has twenty minutes before she can head back home. Understandable that.
I go over to the notice board, a new list of 87 names, names without faces and conversations attached to them. ACJ, feels like a home coming after a long journey and finding a stranger stretched on your favourite sofa and swapping channels. Enter the second floor loo, the pungent stench of phenol and fresh pee swamps my nose. Some things never change.
The library now, Neo, Vineeth and me head out in different directions, they want a look-in on their dissertations, I wander to the newspapers. "Hi, come here," two men in left-hand corner of the library beckon. "Are you an old student,"
"Yeah, I am,"
"Shhhhhhhh" I suddenly realise the library is deathly quiet and everybody is buried in their books. They then ask questions about my job, designation, salary, faculty, assignments, dissertation and the like. I answer nonchalantly, now since I am a bona fide journo and not some sales person who's had a quarter-life crisis with an ambition to be a journo. Yessir I even have a card and a pay check to prove it. I point to Neo and tell them," He's the one, has answers to all your questions, all the best,"
There's a crowd around Neo, he's a legend already, there are talks about not wanting to wash hands after they have shaken Neo's. A quick smoke at cancer corner ensues, we hear this story about how this girl and her buds got their wallets stolen in Pondi.
We head back with no tale to tell.

2004-09-17T18:51:00.000+04:00

overbuzz
he traverses the bowels of the night
aiming the black steed through the eye of the storm
lightning burning a silver path
through green-grey marshes and withered foliage
she waits for the sound of her highwayman's hooves
where's the chorus for this song?
kaleidoscopic flurry of three headed stars
heaven unbuttons her soul
overbuzz drunken fireflies gathering helium baloons
birthday bash, fairies, bridge across a God's abode

2004-08-14T13:33:00.000+04:00

jugalbandi

time-8:00 am
day-monday
place-muruguesa naicker mansion
hmmmmm.....stretch, yawn, rub eyes, clear head, yawn, scratch. find tooth-brush and tooth-paste, open the door and walk, squinting at the early morning rude sun. Stop by at one of the many windows(they all look alike), peer inside and yell
Mr: Nell: "Mr Neo,its me your morning early demon, awake...shake dreams from your hair. New day has dawned upon us."
Mr Neo: "Hmmmmm.........ahhhhhhhhhh, 15 minutes?" today in a semi-foetal position, (its amazing how he sleeps in different positions every day)
Mr Nell: "'Sure old chap, I'll iron and shave meanwhile."

I'm a morning person, I like mornings genuinely, like one would like rainbows, clear skies and hot tea after a sudden helter-skelter...pell-mell downpour. However, I don't look like a morning person always looking like I'm back from a week-long bender with a clique with a death wish to drink and drug itself to death.

I look at myself unappreciately, wash my face removing the cobwebs of sleep from around my eyes and begin brushing my teeth in earnest. The guy to my right has shoved his tongue cleaner up his tonsils and starts emanating the most nauseating, guttural noises and then continues to spit his grotesque find all over the white sink. Heaven help.

The local mullah is crooning soulfully and is exploring a new octaval range. His voice seems to pierce through the air, rushes to my brain and slots itself like electric liquid platinum. I listen with new born big eyed wakefulness. New strains of music make their debut into the morning weaving into the mullah's beseeching supplication. Suprabatham. Tabla, vocals, sitar and other instruments, the morning comes alive and cries gleefully.

Wake up and hear the music.

2004-08-03T19:35:00.000+04:00

dawn
he dusts the stars from his blue-black bed
lifts his incandescent cloud mattress
peers shyly, waiting for the moon to draw her curtains
hurls himself from the sleepy sky
....asking
is this a day for violins or violence?

2004-07-06T19:56:00.001+04:00

cherubchild
He's merely five. His skin is coloured flawless ochre, his eyes are charcoal black and his hair razor sharp silk. Less than three feet from the ground he stands tall and tenacious. The first time I saw him he was using a small stick on a cane basket like it were a cycle tyre and running behind it as it bounced like a crazy ball. Ajit, is in the neighbourhood with his construction worker entourage who are helping erect the house next door.
He plays alone, shunned by the rest of the kids in the neighbourhood who are amusing themselves with fancy, expensive playthings. The kid is clearly on rocket fuel, alive and animated, blissfully unaware that he has been ostracised. He constantly uses ingenuity and enterprise to craft himself new toys and mind games. The landscape he inhabits in his head is movie like spellbinding and magical and he scarcely notices his surrounding.
I saw him this one time in deep concentration as he was striking a nail through a circular plastic device which he was affixing to a irregular stick. Once done he imagined it to be a bike and ran with it. I look at his folks, defeated, their eyes vacant and their bodies shrunken from the sheer physical ravaging they have suffered.
Ajit, don't lose that ingenuity and inventiveness and please do not let the world wear down your gee whiz enthusiasm for life. Go from labourer to mason to contractor to mega-builder.
Do not let them snuff out the fire in your soul.

2004-07-05T14:08:00.001+04:00

zany genuflectors and moongazing maggots
The next time you are sitting in front of a comp, try this little exercise. Type two individual words, with no quotes into the Google search bar and hit enter or 'i'm feeling lucky', if your search result ends in a single find you have successfully stumbled upon a 'googlewhack'.
Google spews out 16,300 results if you type 'googlewhack'; there is this site dedicated to 'googlewhacking called www.googlewhack.com, where the search for the single result has been elevated to an art form. Some of the googlewhacks include ambidextrous scallywags,fetishized armadillo,assonant octosyllable and antiestablishmentarianism psycho. Dave Norman even has a bestseller called, 'Dave Norman's googlewhack adventure. Norman incidentally did not set out to write the book, he stumbled upon it just as he discovered the world of 'googlewhacking'. After getting an advance Norman promptly starts no work on the book but instead checks mail,paints and does crosswords during which he finds out that his self named website is a googlewhack. He sets out on a pointless oddssey spread over 4 continents, to find before his thirty second birthday a string of ten individuals whose names are 'googlewhacks'. The book is supposedly stomach hurting, rib breaking funny and the pace jet speed scorching.
I got two sets of words which yielded one result, moongazing maggots and zany genuflectors, but they did not meet with one of the 'googlewhack' requirements which neccessitates that the words exist in www.dictionary.com.
Let me know if you get lucky, happy googlewhacking.

2004-06-26T19:07:00.000+04:00

moonlight to daylight
The city was comatose and still, unaware that the rain had come out to play and was splashing the buildings and washing the wind's face. It was dark and night had covered the township with a shroud, lightning offered an occasional surreal snap-shot. They looked on from their high rise, otherworldly in their appearance, cosmic soul mates who had found each other after travelling multiple galaxies and surviving many life times. They had never compromised refusing ordinary love and lesser lovers never doubting that there existed another who will unlock the secrets to the soul and all the mysteries of the universe.In those moments of rare doubt she would close her eyes and listen intently for the throbbing of his heart and it always came however faint like she had her head on his heart. When they had finally met, everything became silent and the world around started to dim and fade like it never existed. Their eyes grew misty and they embraced. The transformation was immediate all anxiety quelled , serene songs played in their hearts and they understood why they were born and why they would now never die.
They danced involuntarily as every cell of their bodies moved to the beats of a divine cosmic harmony. Magical feelings never experienced before wracked their hearts making them weep in uncontrollable glee. They were ablaze feeling light and airy like they were unable to feel the burden of their own bodies.
He looked at her and said, without you I was like ...
'a sky without stars'
'a violin short of strings'
'a symphony sans it's conductor'
'an ocean devoid of a shore'
'a song bereft of music'
'a rainbow minus it's colours'
'a forest with her trees felled'
'a bird wanting her wings'
'a sun vacant of light'
'a prophet robbed of his prophecy'
'a lover missing his soul'

Dawn had arrived clothing them with an orange-yellow glow.
I had a dream last night she told him.............

2004-06-26T12:23:00.000+04:00

metrosexualmenu for saturday night
4 prozacs
tequila + trance fix
fury fuel of life
seducing dull death
self-destruct or self-ressurect
festival of sleaze and savage skin
head trip
heart flip
salty eyes....tear drop tasted
delirium in dance
distress demise

2004-06-25T19:29:00.000+04:00

simone diya prabhu-new and improved (version 2.0)
Simone is playing with her toys; an ecletic mix of barbies, cars, cooking utensils, jigsaw puzzles and a frisbee. I say ' hey, 'run along' (just part of a long list of names that I call her, the others include 'ptsst yo' and 'culndhe(baby) mary), what do you want to be when you grow up'? She stops playing with her toys flashes me an enchanting smile and replies, 'I...... I want to be a 'magarmach' and eat all of you.' Hmmm, she does look like she is constantly plotting something, but mutating into a croc and eating us bit by bit; it never quite crossed my mind that sweet Simone had such gentle career plans. Gee, to think that her Dad figures that Simone is headed for superstardom in the tennis arena.
Simone is like a bright flower floating in pure spring water. She is animated innocence.... radiant like pristine white light pouring in through roofs of tall trees in a dark damp forest. Soon she shall have to be broken in and told about the ways of the world, her spirit skilfully compromised, crafted and cultured. Her intuition will be smoothly bartered for intellect in the hallowed name of higher learning, her rapturous faith in Santa will be traded for the cold comfort of Shoppers Stop, her spontaneous smiles and laughter swapped for tact and trained good behaviour. Dear Simone has no clue about what's in store, the long list of must not do's and the definitely must never do's. Taboo and tradition, sin and salvation, education and erudition, discpline and decorum, immorality and immortality, rules and restraint, falsity and faux pas. She will slowly make that ultimate acquisition of the grown-up, 'the personality' chiselled and moulded from years and years of conscious conditioning.
The real Simone will be left behind to play with her toys........ smiling an enthralling smile to herself.
Dont grow up Simone, maybe not just yet.

2004-06-23T14:31:00.000+04:00

the rise and fall
fall in the market
rise in viagara sales
unhappy wife
happy pharmacist
cock, stock and one non-smoking barrel

2004-06-18T18:25:00.000+04:00

free
we sat by the setting sun
stoking dying silver embers
basking in a web that twilight spun
blue-black skies of dull decembers

she said hold your head up high
open your mouth to swallow falling stars
'my supernova', i hear her cry and sigh
only cosmic mates hear the music of the Gods to heal all scars

2004-06-18T11:30:00.000+04:00

zenwhim
its crowded in here
thoughts arranged like crooked teeth
sift them and caress them
file them like smart soldiers
ready to do your will

the soul is a ghastly gift
wants to fly winged horses
upon a zenwhim
rein her in
kindle her on an alchemist's slow flame

springwater freshness douses the pyres of falsity

2004-06-17T18:26:00.000+04:00

soul stirring
i need to find something to die for
before i learn to live
do i eat on the apple
and abandon eden
to feed my soul now starving?

2004-06-15T16:49:00.000+04:00

simone diya prabhu
My four year old niece's big black beautiful eyes stay transfixed to the 21 inches of instant nirvana. A kaleiodoscopic flurry of images and symbols exquisitely fashioned to seduce the mind and engage her in a surreal cell. She is like a supersponge, not missing a anything, picking up the latest commercial and hindi movie tunes and singing them effortlessly. No, she goes beyond that, she re-mixes them to suit her tastes, Chak de, Chak de, Chak de, Chak de sare gum becomes Maama (that's uncle in tamil) Maama, Maama buy me bubble gum. She has Pokemon tee-shirts, Barbie pants, Tweety baseball cap and loads more of cartoon character driven apparel and accessories.
She is a child of mass consumerism. She has been that since maybe her umblical cord cut was wiped with a Johnson wad of cotton dipped in Dettol. No,actually it was much before, I had made sure my sis listened to BMG or Sony music promoted 'Music for the unborn child', soothing western classical music guaranteed to make your child a mathematical, science or humanities genius. You cant go wrong with research, Harvard and MIT types have for years espoused the positive effects of listening to classicial music and how it makes children more intelligent. Simone you see had no chance, she listened to BMG promoted classical music from the womb. Now she is an infant DJ, mixing tunes and spewing them at will. She is onto Harry Potter presently and in love with Radcliffe from the looks of it. If Potter drinks Coke and chomps on Kellogs, she will demand that she be fed the same diet.
But not all is lost. Ask Simone, as to who she likes, Tom or Jerry and she would smile lopsidedly and say Tom. Ask her why and she says she feels for Tom as he always gets the wrong end of the deal. He never gets to devour Jerry and instead has a plethora of painful near death experiences. Disney's interpretation be damned, there is some freedom of choice after all.
You go Simone.

2004-06-14T17:02:00.000+04:00

power of suggestion

There's this house in my neighbourhood. It's huge, maybe 300x200 square feet, maybe bigger. I would'nt be suprised if one day the owner fancied razing it to the ground and conjured up a football stadium in it's place. The name on the black glittering marble reads 'Lakshmi Venkateshwara Nilaya', I have never seen the owners, but word has it that they are one of the wealthiest families in Bangalore; owning a score of medical and engineering colleges. It's built like a palace, a monstrosity reeking of a vulgar ostentatious display of wealth. Onlookers stop to gawk unashamedly at this hallowed turf worthy of kings, some even snap up pictures, others even pose next to the obscene dwelling maybe wanting to show the output to relatives and friends.

There's something else about the house which demands attention, though it has been fully completed there is always some construction work going on. Nonstop, every single day, there is plastering, painting or some other form of modelling. A flurry of activity with labourers mixing cement and sand, carrying bricks and stones geting their orders from an important looking mason. The reason for this is a prophesy made by the family astrologer, who told them that there must always be some building work in progress or one of the male heirs would suffer a horrible death. Now, when there is no construction work required the masons break down a piece of the palatial edifice and re-build it. They have been doing this for more than five years and because the family fears for the life of their sons this is destined to go on forever.

The power of suggestion is astonishing, it bludgeons reason and replaces it with kooky crap. It happens all the time and it gets itself deeply enmeshed in the inner reaches of the mind and then starts to govern almost every action of ours. Our every ego impulse becomes the sum of the number of suggestions that we have been party to. It gets sucked in and slots itself softly in the confines of the unconscious. No freedom of choice.

Childhood is fertile ground to plant the insidious seed.....

'Don't play in the water, there's a monster waiting to grab you'
'Don't go into that room, the boogie man awaits'
'Don't climb trees, there are ghosts in the high branches'
'If you don't eat your food you are a bad child'
'If you do not do well in school, nobody won't love you'
'Say sorry, you bad child, why did you play in mud'
'Sex is sin, God will disown you if you even think about it'

Guilt, shame, phobias, insecurities, neuorosis, depression and what have you.

The power of suggestion,when used as a placebo though has tremendous self-affirming and therapeutic powers.

Yeah, about that astrologer who made that prediction, it's rumoured that he has a fortune amassed, most of which comes from a monthly direct credit into his account from an anonymous builder. Some say it's the same builder who's built the 'Lakshmi Venkateshwara Nilaya'. I don't believe it, but hey I may soon start believing it. Never doubt the power of suggestion.

Plant it and it will grow. It's yours to use or abuse.

2004-06-10T10:27:00.000+04:00

second-hand inmate of the corporate sewer gravvy mission
why have you shot down clear cobalt skies?
leaving her wounded and wet by the side of dawn
vampires fight over the feast of her scarlet soul
spirits of liberty and free-will flee the gory canvas

did they have to awaken you with enterprise pumping your heart?
do you feel alive now?
living another's dream
clean starched shirt and matching tie

where is nursrey rhyme bliss?
gentle spring breeze rocking swing and see-saw
nibbling on cotton candy thoughts
smoke rings, guitar riffs and 'happy hour' ales

time for a backpack, paperbacks and backwaters

2004-06-08T18:32:00.000+04:00

gaza stripped
ismail and issac
brothers spat out from the same womb
twin seed of abraham and jacob
their rear view memory mirrors now cracked
eyes for an eye and teeth for a tooth
blood washes the holy land

ismail now walled and weakened
livelihood snuffed out
his dwelling taken a shelling
no place to bury his brothers
banished from his ancient abode
his new borns with umblical cords tied to turbulence

he thinks, " either i be the bomb,
or i be bombed"
a bridegroom to vengeance
"he be the bomb"

2004-06-08T13:42:00.000+04:00

de-flower
rows and ridges of flowers in their bower
soaking up colours falling off rainbows
the fields planted with dapper diamonds
in bloom and beautiful
they shiver suddenly

upon the gardener's debut
he,saddled with an affliction
damned to play a savage game of
she loves me , she loves me not
clinically dismembering

dandelions,roses, daisies and orchids
garden of immeasurable grief
a multi-hued bloodless carnage
strewn petals decorating their own funeral
she loves me , she loves me not

2004-06-03T12:49:00.001+04:00

my grandmom and me
my grandma is 81. she could be 91, i dont want to ask. she and me we have been running this race off late. there is a daily prize at stake. the winner lays claim to the sloth jackpot; an unending supply of free tv time, watching clouds, listening to music, talking to oneself, reading, guzzling tea, chatting, leaving permanent tush patterns on the couch and staring vacantly at strangers.
i need another showcase at the rate im going.
she is agonised at losing and the leaden victory laps i do around her don't help either.
this morning i want to put the smile back on her face.
i awake at 6. a sense of purpose greets me, i feel new energy pouring into every cell of my body, a larger than life atmosphere bathes me, i greet the sun-god when he makes his appearance.
its the world cup qualifiers on ten sports.
brazil vs argentina.
ronaldo is sublime. his feet are magic, the defence throws confetti as he waltzes past them.
three times he's brought down in the box. three times he slickly slots to make ball and net mate.he smiles a toothy "i'm orgasmically happy smile" to the brazilian faithful as they burst into rapture.
sambaaaah
the tush dimple on my couch just got further etched.
hmmmm....wonder if my granny fancies football too.

2004-06-02T11:51:00.000+04:00

yesterdaze
time now to barf violently
these past regrets, wrongs and must have dones
they that have the power to rise
from the bowels of yesterday
these memory morsels stuck in cavities of time
regurgitated to be chewed and swallowed

........repeatedly...........

reach the insides of my head
wipe the grime from crevices in my cranium
lay waste my putrid past
keeping my mind in chains and imagined pains
bask in the golden glare of the nirvanasun
violins sound the gift of present sense

2004-05-31T13:12:00.000+04:00

discotheque
its 3 am on saturday night, well more of a sunday morning and the venue is a popular night-club. the music is chromed, polished and slots like liquid mercury in your brains. the beats per minute keeps increasing until the tempo sears through your mind and your body starts gyrating involuntarily. the strobes are unmerciful with their assualt, painting surreal images on the wet bodies of the dancers. the dj is a god on acid creating an illusion of magic and merry mayhem as he puts a spin on the discs. the heathens bow before idols of bacchus and aphrodite seeking rhapsodies of exquisite pleasure.
the lights and the sound work in tandem to obliterate thought, burning soberiety to a cinder. teen spirits wearing beguiling charms and taut smooth skins soaked in a mixture of sweat and manufactured pheromones seducing each other languidly. the atmosphere is orgasmic, the nymphs and the knights forget the mundaneness of their existence to flee to a theater where the script reads of freedom, rapture and infinite amusement.
awake the next morning with a stranger in bed soon to be a friend or a friend soon be abandoned as a stranger. head pounding, tongue dry as sandpaper, feeling like a freshly squeezed sponge and having the whole of sunday to entertain the hang over.
amen to teenage debauchery and decadence.

2004-05-29T13:00:00.000+04:00

loveqwul
here she goes again
seduction of the downward spiral
or elevator to heavensmell
lo! ho ho
she be the free spirit
wildchild........wanton cloud rider
no..........i shall not stop her
she be happy with love
or the illusion of it

2004-05-22T12:57:00.000+04:00

surfbum
pristine sapphire sky
smattering of virgin white clouds
a family of four sea-gulls
diving, darting soaring and screeching
free and flowing
fired by the sun and sea alike

a clan of bohemian brothers
seeking the tallest waves
the loudest raves
alive feeling pained pleasure
from salty sea licking
surf-board fall wounds

with night-crawl
the sky is a roof
sand pillows
wind and waves crooning lazy lullabies
counting shooting stars
to court sleep

dance with loch ness and the yeti in my dreams

2004-05-22T12:14:00.000+04:00

moongaze
gazing skywards on a clear night
i spotted the moon
lo behold! she had a daughter by her side
shining and sparkling
she bore all signs
of a nocturnal clandestine consummation
with a superstar from another universe

the daughter it seems
was the seed of maverick planets
with fireworks for hair
a smile to douse a thousand suns
eyes that welled up with springs of eternal soothing
God and his angels watched
with open mouths and rapt heavenly attention
and threw orchid confetti from their front row seats

2004-05-15T19:59:00.000+04:00

cold storage
again...
my muses she denies me and cohabits with rigor mortis.
she's on a bender guzzling comatose-cocktails, binging on numbskull sandwiches and courting zombies
come back dear muse .....
im jaded, faded and have cobwebs in my mind

2004-05-09T08:41:00.000+04:00

shades
it is sunday morning
i lost my shades yesterday
now everybody can see my eyes
climb the window to my soul
it is time to mourn
maybe even a funeral
but all funeral parties they wear black
black shades included
i have no shades
i lost my shades yesterday

2004-05-04T11:58:00.000+04:00

her again
she's .........
the sleep in my wakefulness
and the wakefulness in my sleep

2004-04-29T19:38:00.000+04:00

apathy
last night i saw this physically challenged guy who had no limbs from thigh down being kicked brutally by this other guy who appeared inebriated. a crowd watched animatedly, under a dull yellow street light, they looked like the kind of folk who could'nt afford a tv and its in-house remote controlled violence.
i rode on, had dinner and slept, peacefully i think.
ten months of covering deprivation, ethics, truth telling, objectivity and key issues.
they prepared me to be a journalist who can change the world.
it stared at me last night and i felt impotent.
i should have taken martial arts instead and bought myself a cape and a ski mask.
meet moseley man. defender of the downtrodden.
there i go again amusing myself with the world of fantasy.
stop nelson...............write another report.........why dont you?
changing the world can wait.

2004-04-27T09:05:00.000+04:00

she
the stars
they shone so brightly
she ambled her way in
smiled and spoke

the heavenly bodies
they hid behind them clouds
ashamed at having been outshone

when she laughed
her laughter fell like
streaks of supernovae

forming a world where angels and cherubs lunch

2004-04-27T08:54:00.000+04:00

corridorsofclarity
i dont check the weather report today
there wont be a sudden downpour of discontent
to leave me cold and callous

she holds the key to my seasons
bright in bloom, honey dew like
she works like a fairy alchemist

my feet are tickled by green suppliant grass
my heart is still and flowing mating with sublime lucidity
this season she has brewed made spring blush

2004-04-24T08:41:00.000+04:00

marquis de moses
open wide she says, this might hurt a bit. I'll spray some anaesthetic on it and if it hurts too much then i'll inject you. i'm thinking morphine and its accompanying languid daze. the spray does the trick, i cant feel a thing.
she begins what seems like an electric drill to my ears.
bzzzzzzzzzrrrr.
i feel like she's my shearing my gums so that my teeth fall out automatically. the pain starts, damn the pain suppressor. she continues, i can feel some kind of spray coming out of my mouth, i later learn that it was the blood from my spongy sensitive gums. the taste in my mouth now is that of having munched on old leather chappals with old engine oil as sauce.
i need to spit and ask for morphine shot. but she had said that this procedure would not require injecting, i cant be chicken, i can bear the pain. but i need to spit and spit i do. except this aint spit but blood, not the diluted blood mixed with spit. but just plain thick almost blackish blood.
im the count of transylvannia who's just held up a blood bank, and im upto my neck with blood so i gotta barf.
are you ok she asks? this one you can tell is concerned. she must have used her intuition to figure i wasnt ok. im all right, are you allright? i mean after all you are the one doing all the hard work. all im doing is lying down with my legs up. you are the one who needs to concentrate. im fine she says.
i wasnt being sarcastic when id asked her whether she was allright and saying that she was the one doing all the hard work.imagine... she slips for a minute, shes thinking about how her husband keeps saying he doesnt know where he kept his credit card bills. her worst fears have been confirmed, he's cheating on her, shes angry with the husband, she seeks revenge, she needs blood. thats why my smile and concern.' me im allright, i hope you are ok, im chilling here while you are doing all the hard work'

i close my eyes and she employs her electric drill.

i'm........
scuba diving and swimming with mermaids and rainbow coloured sea creatures
in a ferrari driving to victory after starting 20th on the grid
two feet away from the peak of everest with tenzing and hilary on my back
saying howdy to neil armstrong as he descends from his bird on the moon
skydiving with jonathan livingston seagull
water water rafting somewhere in the colorado
with tarzan in the amazon inches away from the all woman tribe
devised doors which will close all windows on bill gates
scoring the goal of the century later dubbed the leg of god
scoring the fastest one day century all sixes, no singles, fours, threes or fives
.........................................am i flatlining....................................................
the agony is unbearable now...im stallone in first blood strapped to wires which are sending paroxyms of pain and anguish directly to the pain receptors in my brain.
we are done she says.........and im looking at her like she's the queenpaingiver of the ruskie army 'you wont get nothing outta me , you phuqqing commie'
mr. moses we are done.
yeah ok, i make my way to the ice-cream parlour, a 80 buck tub for 50 qwul.
hmmmmmmmmmm......
next time i shall pop my own drugs and smile through the suffering.

2004-04-23T09:14:00.000+04:00

rain
i wish i could bottle up...
the smell of rain
the rush of a roller coaster
the buzz of riding at breakneck speed
the smile of my niece
drunken butterfly whoops in my stomach when i see her
stars falling off the sky on clear nights
laughter and conversations shared with chums
symphony of sounds on a moonlit night at the beach
sunday morning easy awakenings

2004-04-14T21:05:00.000+04:00

bohemian symphony
with hair like daffodils strung on a rainbow swaying to a reggae tune i always wondered why shanu decided to style it straight. all the kurusawa movies i should think or the haiku influence.
im so glad its sprung back to its stringy self.
shanu...free spirit, goddess of goodwill and generousity, funny, quirky (donkei) loving, lovable, clumsy, talented, creative and an out of the box mind.
gypsy queen with beautiful ethereal face, splendid smile, lazy talk, funny walk.
60s flower power poster girl/woman.
what you see is what you get easy rider.
you will be missed like a severed arm dreamchaser.
conjure up the magic at moneycontrol and blow them away.
all the best buttercup.

2004-04-08T15:44:00.000+04:00

schizo-free-her
hey...
i like it better here
in the voids of my mind
you wont find me when you come knocking
with pain and punishment

no feeling anymore
slip off this map of rude reality
the voices i hear are my own
im not alone

i havent lost my mind
i have just found it
locked and walled in these grey cells
devoid of reason my mind roams free

comfortably dumb and demented

2004-04-02T12:03:00.000+04:00

godspeed
will leave now with tears spilled in the back of our eyes
laugh with glee like a baby in bloom
sleep this season out in the cold
left with a thin memory blanket

nursrey rhyme bliss meets blackboard chalk clarity
coffee spills....ink stains....cigarettes sent
grim weeper serenading black hole vertigo
this sea of sorrow floods my heart

melancholy she lives with my heart in the house of infinite sadness
frustration he drops by to deliver hammer blows
how did these strangers morph into me?
i'm severed and suffering upon their exit

let me curl and hug what's left of me
need time therapy in fast forward
time now to enter the world of fancy dress and petty pretence
big city flights of fancy will leave nostalgia numb

2004-04-01T09:57:00.000+04:00

alvida arun

the first time arun opened his mouth in class it was about how some people are centre left, centre right or extreme left and extreme right......at the end of it one knew arun was always right. politicially that is. he had this knack to provoke people, smile and watch the calmest of them go stark raving mad.

he made MJ utter the F#*# word when he was justifying Godhra and the carnage. he also had the soft spoken salman khan meets ajay devgan flatmate of ours furiously screaming at him because arun had the audacity to say that 'India Shining' included 92% of Indian households having access to a television.

now my first reaction was that we had a hardcore hindu fanatic in our midst. i realized soon that he was passionate about almost everything politics (he's a super psepologist in the making), sport (he was part of the sports quiz winning team), economics and numbers (a CA at 23), singing (he sucks) and off late fitness (he's seemingly in shape)

he hated sainath until sainath told him very sweetly that he's going to make a super journo, he'd almost blush whenever sainath was mentioned after that. though he kept saying that there were holes in his stories.

rahul and him shared a special relationship....arun loved irritating him... and their interactions almost bordered on violence.....it was good old bonhomie...
his favourite song went from 'hum doon soniyo re' to 'my love dont cost a thing'

us flatmates also had a mating ritual to demonstrate our closeness..it's been captured on camera...good fun that..the politics elective threw up some intense interactions between krishna ananth and giri. arun sifted through hazaar books to prove a point to krishna.

giri was a little boy at heart... a boy who could't heat water with the coffee maker....who could'nt iron a shirt , fold clothes or wash them.
before the CNBC interview arun was running a high temperature, his palms were cold and sweaty. he seemed quiet and subdued. he later explained that this was his idea of getting into a zone. he got the job and the biggest pay packet of the college.

the tam-bram is doing allright.
he will be missed sorely........maybe his singing wont.

goodbye arun giri (CA, PGDJ)