Words break,
I hear the snap;
Vision blurs,
and I see the vague.
I smell
my breath,
babbling my own words;
Thirst binds throat,
Loosen up veins.
Heart loudly shouts,
but intermittently.
and it feels like
a quagmire eats me.
Sleep is inducing my senses.
keeping bound,
behind the fences.
But something liberating
in loosing up everything;
world lost but life blown in
as comatose win.
Friday, August 7, 2009
Sunday, March 15, 2009
The Burden of Fate
The eyes closing with increasing crease on forehead;
The heart beats faster and every breath was spent
on futile attempts to move forward the cart.
The tethers tightened over shoulder with pain of piercing dart.
It moved a bit under the May-Sun;
The heat making the load, heavier by a ton.
Sweat dripped like a thatched roof leaking in monsoons;
Sweltering under his own courage, the man droops.
The muscles contracted in a rhythm;
The body was weak and febrile.
Teeth clashed violently and lips parted;
The despondent face gave a virtual feeble smile.
Two old hands supported the cart’s end;
A weak arc back was acutely bent.
His grey hair was perfect companion for his gloomy eyes;
His sweaty palms lacked the strength that will suffice.
The old man had no future ahead,
Only an abysmal past;
After fording many fierce streams,
still had to cross an ocean so vast.
“Oh! Just a little bit more and then we are through the steep”
Shouted the old man; standing bare feet on the burning concrete.
The legs moved again, the wheels rolled a bit more,
but still the languid bodies have no leisure to afford.
The man pulled the burden of his youth;
The old man pushed the burden of his past;
for the gargantuan load of their lives was
getting heavier by every moment so aghast.
It was May in Lucknow, and it really gets hot there at this time. A young man along with a pretty old guy (may be his grand father) was trying to pull up a over loaded cart under the merciless, boiling sun.The struggle in pulling up the cart, specially of that Old fellow who is pushig the cart from back with all strength is evidence of the failure of the social system in this world.
The heart beats faster and every breath was spent
on futile attempts to move forward the cart.
The tethers tightened over shoulder with pain of piercing dart.
It moved a bit under the May-Sun;
The heat making the load, heavier by a ton.
Sweat dripped like a thatched roof leaking in monsoons;
Sweltering under his own courage, the man droops.
The muscles contracted in a rhythm;
The body was weak and febrile.
Teeth clashed violently and lips parted;
The despondent face gave a virtual feeble smile.
Two old hands supported the cart’s end;
A weak arc back was acutely bent.
His grey hair was perfect companion for his gloomy eyes;
His sweaty palms lacked the strength that will suffice.
The old man had no future ahead,
Only an abysmal past;
After fording many fierce streams,
still had to cross an ocean so vast.
“Oh! Just a little bit more and then we are through the steep”
Shouted the old man; standing bare feet on the burning concrete.
The legs moved again, the wheels rolled a bit more,
but still the languid bodies have no leisure to afford.
The man pulled the burden of his youth;
The old man pushed the burden of his past;
for the gargantuan load of their lives was
getting heavier by every moment so aghast.
It was May in Lucknow, and it really gets hot there at this time. A young man along with a pretty old guy (may be his grand father) was trying to pull up a over loaded cart under the merciless, boiling sun.The struggle in pulling up the cart, specially of that Old fellow who is pushig the cart from back with all strength is evidence of the failure of the social system in this world.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Success is not a destination; but a lifelong journey !!!!!
Two more steps,
And I will touch my goal;
The journey has finally ended,
No more sojourns.
There is no wait left.
I just need to push open the doors.
No more guessing of what’s in the store.
The fate has raised the curtain,
Finally I am there.
The goosebump die out;
killing the “Low Confidence” sound.
I won; and I remind myself “I will be” statement.
The sweat taste sweet now, the sweat bear scent.
I am through.
And they who love me
Pump their fist.
This is a triumph of their belief,
Testimony is their eye’s mist.
They hug and celebrate;
Laugh in an animated state.
As they exult in my approach to the goal;
My sense is caught with…….
The milestones left behind;
The dust of the road side;
The broken bridge that I mended;
The quagmire where I was stranded;
The little hand that shove me out,
The pretty voice pepping me before every bout;
The wrong-directions sign posts;
The sore thumbs and broken bones;
The rising up after every fall;
Every inch that I had to crawl;
I think of the complete journey,
Every lesson; all the learning;
All the chasms that engulfed me
But spitted out as someone better
I recollected and realized; this journey is my win.
The END; it doesn’t really matter.
And I will touch my goal;
The journey has finally ended,
No more sojourns.
There is no wait left.
I just need to push open the doors.
No more guessing of what’s in the store.
The fate has raised the curtain,
Finally I am there.
The goosebump die out;
killing the “Low Confidence” sound.
I won; and I remind myself “I will be” statement.
The sweat taste sweet now, the sweat bear scent.
I am through.
And they who love me
Pump their fist.
This is a triumph of their belief,
Testimony is their eye’s mist.
They hug and celebrate;
Laugh in an animated state.
As they exult in my approach to the goal;
My sense is caught with…….
The milestones left behind;
The dust of the road side;
The broken bridge that I mended;
The quagmire where I was stranded;
The little hand that shove me out,
The pretty voice pepping me before every bout;
The wrong-directions sign posts;
The sore thumbs and broken bones;
The rising up after every fall;
Every inch that I had to crawl;
I think of the complete journey,
Every lesson; all the learning;
All the chasms that engulfed me
But spitted out as someone better
I recollected and realized; this journey is my win.
The END; it doesn’t really matter.
Friday, January 30, 2009
Serendipity
Twinkling eyes,
They touch and smile;
Lips always have muddled pain.
May be she also burnt in rain.
He was a vagabond,
for his fate bantered;
Souvenirs of his broken heart;
Squandered like past season's greeting cards.
When they met and
laughed with muffled giggles,
Sore hands caressed wounds and tickled.
Lost was time;
Thoughts left barren.
His essence in her myrrh; her vision in his gaze;
Their love was baked in alluring blaze.
Angels smiled,
for the broken heart bits melt;
and reformed into an elegant diety,
As heavens cried "Serendipity".
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Will, Defiance and A defiant Will
The doors were bolted,
the breeze,stranded in courtyard.
But chimes still ring,
with heavy beating overcast.
Lost to destiny,
A sound plugs can't hide.
The monsoon has arrived.
The acidic rain will bite.
The roof,
plastered last season.
But alas! I know,
the ceiling will indulge in treason.
The will is so defiant,
It will leak.
Rain will chafe the heart.
Drenched heart will tweak.
the breeze,stranded in courtyard.
But chimes still ring,
with heavy beating overcast.
Lost to destiny,
A sound plugs can't hide.
The monsoon has arrived.
The acidic rain will bite.
The roof,
plastered last season.
But alas! I know,
the ceiling will indulge in treason.
The will is so defiant,
It will leak.
Rain will chafe the heart.
Drenched heart will tweak.
A Quatrain of Dejection
With teared up heel on desert sand,
His limp deformed his tired shadow;
And with the wind piercing his mortal self.
The vision Contracts, falling in narrow.
His limp deformed his tired shadow;
And with the wind piercing his mortal self.
The vision Contracts, falling in narrow.
Slumdog Indian; Is it??
The claim is coming thick of finally placing India on the centre stage of world cinema with Slumdog millionaire. I haven't seen the movie yet but will see it.
But as much I appreciate the presence of a large Indian crew in making of a worldwide acclaimed movie, I am still quite sceptic of calling it anything near to an Indian movie. True,the movie is inspired by an Indian novel. But going by that standard every third Bollywood creation should be notified as a Hollywood movie because of the penchant of Indian filmmakers to Lift the western Ideas from a Hollywood DVD.
The cast is Indian, but it have to be if the movie is to be placed in India. They cannot have a 'gora' running down the slums claiming as an Indian. We are way too different.
(This remind me of the great ability of Indian filmmakers in past era who easily gave a twisted accent and a golden wig to make an Indian actor as foreigner.To Great Indian mass, you can offer anything on the platter and they will gulp it. But I agree time has changed).
So, even If the characters are predominantly Indian and the spirit of movie, as claimed by Danny Boyle, is of Mumbai, it leaves little for India to be over the moon. The Director and production is British. The screenplay writer is British.The male protagonist or in a more filmy lingua "hero" of the movie is British. The movie is a British movie and the truth is, it's a movie made by a British with his sensibilities. And I have severe doubts that had an Indian with his sensibilities, made this same movie, would it have caused such a stir worldwide?
And their is nothing to feel small. The rush for Oscar is out of my understanding. We have an artistic and eclectic Cinema. But our sensitivities are different from West. It's not necessary they understand us. They may find the dialogues which have us rolling on floor as mundane. To have recognition from them is of course better but expectation is futile. For it is in no way a measure of our greatness or dexterity in the art and entertainment of cinema.The truth is we should stop lamenting for OSCARS and make some Indian awards of the reputation of Oscars. And to achieve that, first of all we have to make them transparent. But surely Awards or no awards, with the current trend Indian movies are and will go great guns. It seems Industry has come to age. And I hope and deem that in coming time Indian Movie Industry will give stiff resilience to the domination of Hollywood.
But, For Rahman, its a true achievement. He has over the time given some great music and the Globe is a justification for that. I keep my finger crossed, that on Feb 22, he have something to cheer.
Moreover, a different section also claims that the movie has shown the underbelly of dirty-murky Mumbai. Well if the plot is set in such a place I think you have to justify by going into slums. And all those who claim this is not true INDIA, must make me understand how much 'TRUE' India they see in Mr. Johar's Kabhi Khushi Kabhi Gam or KKHH or Chopra's Mohabattein or DDLJ . I can bet no part of Chandni Chowk in Delhi is like shown in K3G at any time of year( with a bunch of 100 trained dancers exploding the scene in a jiffy) and I have never been to any village where farmers are singing in Unison with Girls waving sugarcanes and persons happily swinging on a overcrowded bus's roof. Actually Danny has put a step ahead than his Indian counter parts in going and shooting into the real places that story demands. It's true that it shows dirty India but may be the story is about dirty India. A movie about vibrant India will portray upsurging India. How can you have all of the India in some cinematic shots. We cannot capture whole of a person, leave alone a nation and that too a nation like India.Even the thought is preposterous. And if Dirty India sells, then there is much too it than just a movie.
So, stop criticizing or being too ebullient and accept that its a nice foreign production placed in India with substantial Indian contribution. But sadly I find only that much to rejoice.But the hype will drive me to theaters to watch it for sure.
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