Droplets of blood

Artwork by Audrey J. Ross, do check out his blog

I compel the smiles to be brought forth,

For I believe that's what people would like to see.

And those who humour me,

Get lost within.

Soon they forget the allusion,

Start pricking on the scabs,

They believe it's a favour,

I go back to weaving shrouds again.

This is a very old poem, i think around 2005/06. I shall be updating a few more soon. hope someone is reading this blog still to follow my bickerings . XOXO

Currently listening to: Lalon Band, (you can check there fb page )

Recently watched : Ranjhana, Bombay Talkies

Currently reading: A Song of Ice and Fire 

Tilling the Earthwoman: A Chennai Wedding That MAKES A DIFFERENCE

Tilling the Earthwoman: A Chennai Wedding That MAKES A DIFFERENCE:

This is a post I have taken from Bhavna's blog and honestly it’s a story worth retelling. Full credits to her for such a beautiful blog post. Please make all your comments on her post. And hope such feelings of generosity are instilled in more of us. I only wanted to share the story so more people could read this.

I was thinking that morning—this is one wedding I want to attend, one wedding that I would cherish attending, where I would delight in giving the wedding gift.

I don’t enjoy weddings. I am not into competitive dressing, competitive jewelry showcasing, or latest gossip, or assessing if bride and groom are “match made in heaven.”

But this wedding, the wedding of Thilak and Dhana on June 1st 2012 will be different. It is a wedding that MAKES A DIFFERENCE. How?

1. The wedding reception will be a fundraiser for an education fund for underprivileged children. No box gifts allowed; only donations to the fund.

2. The children from 8 homes in Chennai have been invited to the wedding reception. They will join in the celebration equally as rest of us.

3. The bride will not wear any silk clothes or expensive ornaments and the wedding will follow a much-researched simple ritual attended by close relatives.

It sounds simple, doesn’t it? And yet so hard to actually execute! How does a bride tell her family that she does not want to get dressed up and that she wants to marry so that she can adopt? And that the groom wants to pay for the reception from his pocket—not his parents or in-laws? And that he says No to gifts? Thilak and Dhana have waited almost 2 years to convince their family to do just that!

Nope, Dhana and Thilak were not in love when they first thought of marriage. You see, both of them are uncommon, a little odd. Dhana had been avoiding marriage, for her passion was with animals and social work. Thilak had decided he would not marry for he was convinced that he could not find a companion who would share his social passion, his adventurous spirit, and his quiet spirituality. But Gods smiled at these two wonderful individuals and brought them together in a way that is so apt!

A little baby girl called Theresa played cupid in this couple’s life. Who is Theresa? She was a non-affected six-month old girl abandoned by her teenaged HIV+ve mother. She first triggered motherly love in Dhana’s heart. Then Dhana proposed to Thilak, a friend then, to marry her so that she could adopt the baby. Adoption homes try to find parents before the baby turns one year as children find it difficult to adjust to new homes as they grow up. Dhana could not convince her folks in time and Theresa was adopted by another set of loving parents. But the wedding fundraiser in June is in the name of Theresa Educational Fund commemorating the love that brought these two beautiful individuals together.

I have known Thilak for sometime now. I first ran into him in the India Against Corruption movement and thereafter discovered that Thilak had dedicated his life to the welfare of the underprivileged children. He is the co-founder of Sevai Karangal along with Nandan which monitors and supports eight Children’s homes in the city of Chennai. The organization works with a difference: They don’t just donate. Rather they ensure people engage with the homes and the children. The monthly social treks conducted by Chennai Trekking Club take Chennaiites to celebrate their birthdays at the Children’s homes or take the children out on joyful treks. For more information on social treks, please go towww.chennaitrekkers.org.

Thilak insists that what children need is attention and love more than anything else—a sense of familiarity, a joy. He raises funds for infrastructure—he had a block built at one of the homes when he noticed the rooms were cramped for the kids. He organized for water filters after he tested the water in couple of the homes. He raises funds for their school books and stationery and uniforms. He raises funds for their education. He along with other volunteers organizes Diwali events at the homes. He also supports an Old Age home. Till date he has channelized close to Rs. 7 lacs to the various homes in about 4 years.

And he monitors closely if the money is being utilized effectively, if children are being taken care of properly. I remember once I was travelling with him to a meeting, when he asked, if I would accompany him to a surprise visit at a home nearby. We bought some goodies for the kids and dropped in. Thilak later explained that these sudden visits help him gauge the real situation and also keeps the pressure on caretakers at the homes.

Besides engagement and funding, the organization has also set-up a mentorship project called Navigator, akin to the Big Brother Big Sister program in United States and workshops to improve creative skills in the children.

No, Thilak is not from any rich family. The poor guy shuffles his time between work and passion so that he can sustain himself as well as provide for his passion. Dhana is not a rich girl either. She is rich in her heart.

As these two ordinary citizens of our country take that seven steps to bind themselves in matrimony, they do more than that—they set an example for others to follow, they give meaning to the structure called marriage, they bring hope in the lives of so many children, they bring faith back to cynical hearts.

So please join me in extending blessings and heartfelt wishes to this lovely couple. You can Facebook Thilak at https://www.facebook.com/theluckraj and learn more about Sevai Karangal at www.sevaikarangal.org. If you are in Chennai, do join a social trek!

चल, लौटते हैं|

Taken On Route to Manali (August 2011)
Kodak 

चल, वापस चलते हैं,
उस रास्ते के किनारे,
हम अपनी रौशनी छोड़ आएँ है शायद,


और कुछ साज़ bhi रखे होंगे,
उन्ही लिहाफ ओढ़े
पहाड़ों की पगडंडियों पर।

उसी बारिश की छींटों में भीगी सी माया,
वहीं बैठी है,
सड़क के किनारे टूटती सी bench पे...

कहीं किसी तरफ से ही आ कर,
किसी पुरानी train का फ़ालतू सा किस्सा सुनाते हुए,
मेरे पास बैठे तू,
आँखों से मेरे बाल हटाते हुए,
कोई बेहूदा सा ठट्टा करे,
मेरे ज़हन के लफ्ज़ गुनगुनाये...

चल लौटते हैं?
जहाँ रेतों पर अभी भी,
सिर्फ़ हमारा आशियाना बना है...
चल, अब वही चलके रहते हैं।

image (C) copyright: aparna mudi

chaand aur barish

बारिश आज झगड़ रही है मुझसे खूब, 

rain on my lense, just very strong drizzle

रंग लगाना है मेरे चेहरे पर,

कुछ make -up सा लगाना है, 

के कोई न पहचाने, 

बस धुंधली सी आँखें ही दिखे सबको मेरी!

कुछ जल सी जाती है, 

उन सारे romeo 's  के प्यार भरे ख़त में 

मेरा ज़िक्र देख देख कर,

सोचती है की सारे मेरे लिए ही लिखे गए है | 

और मैं उसके सामने खड़ा हो जाता हूँ, 

के उसके आँचल में, 

धुंधला के खो जाना अच्छा लगता है

इस झूठ को मैं टाल जाता हूँ,

और जकड लेता हूँ उसे अपने चारो ओर, 

के हर romeo अपनी juliet को रात के अँधेरे में मिल लेगा|

आढ़ में उसकी जलन के, 

उसी के आंसुओ के कुछ बूंदों में भीगते हुए

धुंधली रात में पहली बार चूमेंगे एक दुसरे को|

Fairy tales IN trunks too

She made one for herself...
Where she rode the winged Pegasus,

Robed and armed with swords
And slayed mighty dragons,

She fought fire with her bare hands,

She became the knight,

Who she always thought would rescue her.

They never actually came,

To her tower at all,

Nor riding on white steeds,

Nor braving monsters, and storms...

She counted days and months,

In the lines on her fair skin,

Drew them herself,

With nails that had grown wild,

She wrapped the bloodied hands,

With her golden hair,

All thorns and matted,

Her only crown,

The flowers, had dried away,
the petals - crushed...

Even the magic mirror refused to speak to her anymore,

She wasn’t the chosen one for the fairy tale…

She waited… For she aspired to be,

In clichéd phoenix tales,

Be a phoenix herself.
To turn life around.

With magic wands and likes,

And crumbled and vanished in those very ashes. 

NOTE: I often like writing poems in continuation to a previous poem, or in the same theme,

Here is a link to Fairy Tales in Trunks the original one.

You might enjoy it

Walk

Ranikhet 2009

A magical misty night,

Up in the hills,

A couple walks hand in hand,  only out of habit…

Both remembering the love they shared,

Even a few years ago.

Now as they fight,
With their own lives,
catching up on them,

Their dreams lie back home on their pillows,

Fading away in love letters

Folded and locked away in boxes.

A magical misty night,

Getting colder as the night falls,

Each wishing the stars would start falling,

So the lover’s eyes would twinkle again

With the wishes they made in secret,

Even a few years ago.

The wishes that came true,

At the cost of love,

Love which was stored in piggy banks,

For years,

So they could be spent little by little,

On magical misty walks like this. 

Autumn leaves (yellow)

It’s time for us to cross-over again, 

Walk the bridge that takes us, 

from this warm bank, 

To the other.

Time for us to reflect, 

Time to shed the gains, 

That the rains brought us.

And wait for the worms to come to us,

As our children carry us away.

Burial at sea,

Beneath an epitaph,

On a tower of silence,

Or just a gift to the flames.

And time for all the greens,

To ignite their fragile selves,

And leave the residue behind,

Yellow…

stupendous man(on the last minute way to submitting my design journal)

love stories

Stand,

Here by the side,

And look away, 

And not just into the sunset,

Which you say looks like my eyes,

But into the burning edge of the earth...

Watch it burning black, turning into a sillhoutte...

Sillhoutte,

That you claim to be, 

Wholesome,

Complete, with your outlines defined...

Look into the mirror 

And all you will see is darkness,

Darkness within the defined outline of you...

Break. 

Your absolute is by me...

And i walk out...

Stand right there, 

And dont reach out...

I am the sunset,

I am beautiful,

And as all beautiful things are...

i destroy.

picture (C) aparnamudi, aparnamudi@gmail.com

hrishikesh, march 2009

currently listening to: radiohead, pearl jam, coldplay, sinead o' connor

currently reading: blah
current mood : pretty darn good

recently watched :samurai champloo, eli stone(tv series), jersey girl

just go away

whisps of my body, 

saw them walking ahead of me today,

in the fogs,

densed in smoke

prize posessions left behind

morning mist, smog some call,

absolved into mockery,

no one dares to listen, 

not even walls, 

they prod scars and prick them open

the dead rises again,

dark as the onyx,

the onyx lies dead,

sometimes moaning.

torn diaries... deleted memories...

i wish i had a pensieve....

to keep my memories locked in...

to keep mt love locked in too

replies part 2

purgatory is a good place to be...
waiting there makes the complete sense...
the purification thus after
shall begin in blood,
and end in fire...
and after the passing through the holy fire,
one shall return to hell,
where the one shall bid goodbye,
"sleep well" you would say,
and turn ur eyes away,
for the fire is too strong,
hurts the eye...
there remain only black and white ashes...
the role reversals for once are final...
the promises finally complete,
there shall be no more...

what else do i say?

I'm choking on my own silences.

There is, but, little hope of a CPR.

There is no good man around.

There is nothing left,

But the voice box.

And crackled pretentious voices are heard.

Like old broken radios.

There is calling out.

Now that im full,

While every one is gay,

I just ate silences,

Handfulls gobbled down in hurry,

The table was full,

Of silenced images, 

And a box of pickled love.

and now i choke...

on silences and shadows..

Fairy Tales in Trunks

Pages which turn moldy, slimy,

And crumble into white ash,

Were once enameled,

And then mites came over and over,

Gnawing the enamel coated years away.

They ate through the skin,

Then started on the flesh,

Not once did that hurt,

No pain that the facade showed,

They just gnawed the memories away.

And one day ants ate the mites away,

They bit and snapped,

Hurt and pained,

They pinched and clawed,

Some mites remained…

And sprays didn’t work,

On these mites or on the ants,

The pages turned yellow and then green,

When the book was taken out,

It fell apart,

With the relics of some ants and mites,

None of the pages flew,

Just parts,

Unreadable words that vapourised.

The story ends right here,

Never got to know what fable it told,

There were no silver armoured princes,

Who rode white stallions,

Rode like the wind…

To sleeping princesses

currently listening to: radiohead, tokyo police club, the fray

currently reading: pukhraj (gulzar)
current mood : pathetic

recently watched : rab ne bana de jodi (yeah i know i have sunk to a new low), balls of fury, bill and ted (adventures and bogus journey),andaaz apna apna 

moments of happiness

It’s the weird moments of happiness that I’m clinging on to these days. Just a little moment. Why does love do this to you? Make you such a complete loser. If it wasn’t for being in love, I would live my other moments too, nahi? Your smiles depend on someone so completely unaware of it, that it hurts… everything hurts anyway. The pain of it is “sweet” some say. And in hindsight that seems like such a completely ridiculous idea. Some said “don’t cry for me” and I don’t know to correct him… the fact that I don’t cry for him, I just cry. It hurts so much not to be with him.
I seem to be like a pathetic cry baby… it’s not too good. It’s not a very good symptom to behave like a loser all the time… I should follow my own advice… be in love and enjoy it… the only problem being.. I don’t have too much choice. I haven’t been given the choice of being in love and not wanting him. Though it is not imposed, or so I have heard, but it is required. The pining hurts and no one knows that better than me.

The curtains shall be drawn,
Not on you my love, not on you,
Just me, so don’t you fear…

Don’t fear I shall not go away,
Only from you my love, only from you,
I shall not show you my pathetic pains…

My pathetic pains that sear,
Not with hurt my love, not with hurt,
Just with this overbearing longing for you…

This longing for you that burns,
Not your memories my love, not your memories,
Just the skin on my flesh, melting down all beauty around me…

The beauty that reflects that playful smile on your lips,
Oh! the “need” my love, oh! the need,
If only I knew how to live without it, I would.

I just live, my love, in this paradise,
Waiting for you to fall, my love,
While the angels tie me,
And then reveal their demonic faces…
And I, my love, unable to break free,
Wait in vain, for you...
For you, my love,
Must have ascended to your heaven,
And the mere shadow of me
must have been vanquished
by the over bearing light of the gods

junks

Let’s just finish what you have left of me,

Just scraps and junk,

Patches of moss sticking to the outside,

Looking like broken car bodies,

Lying in junk yards…

Let’s make the best,

Of what is left of me,

Incomplete, while u left…

Bare, where your memories have gnawed.

While I remain stuck

In this quick sand of non realities,

Of realizing that the bleed

Is that of ink on unwritten letters…

Let’s just write those down,

Make this real again.

Let’s believe that it never happened,

You give me the vodka cocktail,

Top it up with a little lime and cyanide,

Let’s cease to exist…

Or at least me,

My sour sole mortified,

Take the body away too.

Put me in that crushing machine

Where you had led my heart once…

Finish what you had left of me,

Scraps and junks of rusted car bodies.

lecter's lovergirl

He kissed me,

Whilst I lay lifeless,

With cyanide on my lips,

He sucked it back…

As I lay cold, his lips froze.

And his breath became shorter, harder,

I felt déjà vu…

Of when Romeo lay next to me,

Romeo’s regret…

That he took the stab

And never saw his Juliet rise again…

The apothecary’s lie,

That never reached him.

That word of caution,

That could have undone,

The perpetuity of love.

And I realize Lecter’s tale

Will merely always be metaphorical…

Quoted for instances of horror,

Since Lecter is incapable of dialogue

Of last, dying words, of love,

Etched on some writer’s chronicle.

He will only be fêted and ‘hated’

For kissing his own apocalypse.

While His dead little lover,

Will live again forgotten,

Home again,

As her 22^nd statistic figure ends its existence

She will commence again,

Of finding the 23rd

dun want all this,
the things i wish for, for myself
dun want them to come true...
they do for a while
and mirage out to the deserts,
oh, im gonna now take heed,
to good advice,
do what is supposed to be done,
not listen to my heart,
let it all be,

for all i am is inappropriate,
bad omens to things,
things that i believe in,
and those are charades,
love is but a chore,
a mere matter of habits

one of the thousands

people like you dont need lovers
you get them a dime a dozen
you need only nobodies like me,
who can pray to you,

people like you are gods,
everything is dedicated to you
and you can chose to throw us away,
to the devil, or as labor...

you dont give us a choice,
you make us walk away,
know that we pine for your divinity,
you are the "divine incarnate"...

Rita's Diary

Hey Rita,

Read a page out of your diary the other day,

Dint know you wanted to leave,

Wanted to go on a little trip down hill,

On the self made sledge,

Hammered down nail by nail,

Plank by plank coming apart

Down the deadman's hill...

Hey Rita!!! 

Why didn’t you mention

You were generously giving away

All your possessions?

Letting go off mortal passions,

To follow Hansel's bread crumbs,

To the witches confectionary,

To fight her, and take her place...

Hey Rita!!

Dint know you write,

Even the suicide note of your lover was written by you

While he died in your arms, you smiled.

You placed that dagger in his hands.

He pleaded, while you seized his hands to slash,

Led him to his penance perchance...

Hey Rita!

How come you battled;

All those demons of yesterday?

What made you the goddess yourself?

How come you left your diary behind;

In tatters,

Was it for me to piece together?

Did you ever read your old diaries again?

Went back the dreggy alleyways and

Held tight the arms the skeletons of your closet?

Have they clutched back at you?

Pressed the wrong places?

Have you been aroused?

Made love to them?

he was the one, the perfect one.
the one who i wanted him to be.
the imperfections were perfect.
the madness and the strength,
the scars which never explained the tenderness.
or the touch that never sufficed his he spirit.

the perfect voice, which cannot sing;
his stupid narcissism, thinking for someone else.
the perfect intensity that can never be held.
in the anger and in the vain look,
in even the devils smile and the saintly innocence,

he was the one the perfect one,
with poetry written on him,
ones i could trace out with my fingers
running all over him, and beneathe,
almost in his blood,
playing in his head over and over,
one i could hear if i put my head on his chest,
playing with his heartbeat...

the perfect laughs that could be laughed,
on evenings spent on random thoughts
on finding perfectness in imperfections.
on passions unexplored,
on unexplored passions.
on childish fetishes
of cherries and chocolates
and of witty remarks.
on running wild, untamed..
on holding back and taking it slow.
instinctively.
in the blind

the right time....

in perfect anticipation of the madness
in randomness of wants
in anticipation of the perfect
in thoughts untold
just done thoughts
in gypsy trips and unfound roads...
in not dancing to the tune,
in being a step away from the perfect
in questions asked and unanswered
in instinctive drunkenness
in genius and skepticisms
in normalcy and life

vis-a-vis

in wanting to be ideal
in wanting to be as is
in general access
in losing out
in jargons of jitters
in being the sinful devil
in bringing the worst in me
in plunging in
in role reversals
having a way with words
using flowery language in my poetry full of bull crap
in strength
in being weak

in random dives and scaling the mountains

we need to wait

waiting....

p.s. reading nothing, watching paranoia agent, listening to coldplay, sufi, r.e.m