Surviving with TINA

Surviving with TINA isn’t easy

Before you run your fanciful imagination amok

TINA isn’t the abusive – schizophrenic partner or the spouse

it is just the abbreviation of There is No Alternative

Living without any control or even a choice

Yet being advised to be grateful

That you’re able to Inhale/Exhale spontaneously

 when people are scampering around for ventilators for the brain dead.

यूँही चार-छे लइने

न बची थी कोई ज़िंदगी संवारने की लालसा।

या किसी आवाज़ की खनक को सुनकर झूमने की आरज़ू।

पर जबसे तुम आए हो पास।

ज़िंदगी संवरि सी लगती हैं।

और दिल झूमता है जब तुम्हारी खनक पड़ती है कानो में।

जैसे की किसी का पहला प्यार लौट आया हो।

Some Lines Just Remain Inside You

Some lines just remain inside you

As your own secret

Once scribbled on the paper

But doodled away so no one else can decipher.

Or typed once

Then wiped out by the cruel Back Space on your keyboard.

Never to be typed again.

Some lines just remain inside you

They don't sprout any poem.

Or become part of a story that you write.

Some lines just remain inside you

As a throbbing pain sometimes

Or just as a niggle at others.

Some lines just remain inside you

As someone you spotted on the road once

But didn't stop to enquire about because you were in a hurry to reach somewhere.

Still, the image wakes you up with a start in the night even after years.

A Normal Day

Watching the sunrise from somewhere behind the concrete jungle.

Nothing to look ahead for or nothing to regret about yesterday's goof ups.

No proposals to be made about the upcoming projects or reports to be submitted about the completed ones.

No anxiety of facing the one man firing squad called the Boss.

No kids heckling you with their weekend plans, the list of movies to watch, new places to eat out in or birthday parties to attend.

A Normal Day has become a numb day.

Birth of a poem

This was written in '97. I was doing a creative writing course (postal) from UK and they used to send a monthly newsletter about opening for freelance contributors in magazines and journals in the UK. In one issue I found a small column about a poetry competition with the title 'LOST' to be judged by an eminent poet (I don't remember who). This info was lingering in my head but I wasn't expecting anything to come out of it. Then bingo! I was going through the India Today in candlelight (those were the days of 30 mins load shedding & funnily those 30 mins turned out to be the most intense or focused in a 24 hrs day). There was a write-up about Soumitra Chatterjee, I don't remember the headline but the introduction had something like “he may have retired but his popularity refuses to go into oblivion”. The last word somehow rang a bell in my head and the last line was formed and very soon the whole poem was ready. So, I pulled a writing pad closer and jotted it down (yes! I used to write everything on paper with a pen in those days). Next day, I requested Dad to get it typed in his office PC and bring a couple of prints in the format specified in the newsletter. I did get the print out and a floppy disk in the evening with the comment "the lady who typed this told that you had spelt ‘existence’ wrongly and she has corrected it." No idea if he had read the whole thing. But, he did get me the Demand Draft for the submission and then I typed the covering letter attaching the poem and the DD with an unstamped self-addressed envelope requesting them that I’d like to have the opinion of the judge about my poem. I’d get it after a month or so on a piece of paper not bigger than a visiting card “We did not mean to use the title to be used in that context. And, only a person with severe physical disability can come up with the last line."

For me writing this at that time was an experiment with words rather than an emotional outpouring. But, I feel today it somehow resonates my mental state and I doubt that my mind will conjure up such a thing no matter however hard I try.

Lost

Dreams are lost with the sweet slumber.

Wishes are buried deep inside the heart.

The vulnerability to love,

The courage to hate,

Is lost.

Hopes for the future,

Memories of the past,

Are lost as I pass through the present.

Futility of existence pierces the soul.

Now I wish my life to be lost in the oblivion of eternity.

An Urgent Shot of Insulin

I lay by the wayside in a drunken stupor

I can feel people passing by

As if oblivious of my existence

Or scrubbing their noses in disgust

Wish a stray dog just sniffs me

And lets the world know

That I’m not actually drunk

But in need of an urgent shot of insulin

Threshold of Endurance

Strip me off my dignity – daily

Until I put my hands up to surrender and say I Quit

But, I’m powerless even to call it quits

So, what I do is stretch my threshold of endurance a little further - daily

A Tightrope Walk

Water that sustains you
Can drown you to death.
People who claim to love you the most
Can even kill you in a moment of rage.
Life as they say is a tightrope walk
So, if you lose your equilibrium in a moment of exhilaration
Can only spell your doom.

A Drifter

Life seems to be changing its pattern very frequently.
And, I change my passions, obsessions, habits and even friends accordingly.
Without really missing the old ones as if they belong to an another era.
Thus giving undue profundity to the sham 'Living in the Moment'.
And,  being A Drifter in the real sense.

Dignity in Death

There would be a Dignity in Death

That life would never have,

Silent, serene, calm as a grandpa's clock

That is unwound for ages

But, never loses its poise, composure or stature.

The Pain

Let the pain drown you to the depths

Depriving you of any oxygen

And let you be there in peace forever

Because bouncing back and going through cycle

Again and again is not much fun

Is it?

An Actor

You laugh on a semi-funny joke

As if it is the most hilarious you've heard in your life.

You hear to the complicated love story of a friend

And offer him constructive suggestions and fresh perspective.

Without letting anyone know how tormented your being is

Or how sunken your heart feels.

Either you're a great actor

Or you're hiding the symptoms

Of bi-polar disorder.

तेरी याद

रंज नही

गुस्सा नही

बस एक दर्द जो रोने से भी हल्का ना हो

और जो ख्वाइश जगाए एक और ज़िन्दगी जीने की

तेरे साथ

I don’t know why I wrote this

Existing in a vacuum

devoid of love

wrenching the heart

desire at least a touch

that can sooth the soul.

Don’t know why or how I wrote this. I feared that such things have stopped coming to me. So, when the first line struck me in the early hours a couple of days back, I tried to keep it in focus until rest of the lines came up. Without thinking about mistakes, rhyming and such things I typed it directly in FB with forward slash between the lines and posted it. I even copy pasted it in twitter (surprisingly it is much less than 144 characters).

Hope it is all was worthwhile.

A Strange Place Other Than Earlobes

No, no... This isn’t a post about my fetish for earlobes (one of the softest and smoothest part of the body). In fact it is the title of anthology of corporeal poems by five contemporary poets that includes my good friend Binu Karunakaran. The book was formally launched on the 19th of this month at a function in the Kochi-Muziris Biennale 2014.

Here are a few pictures that I could click of the function:

Leena Manimekalai - the Chief Guest, a few moments spent together before the function

Dr. Sreelatha - one of the five poets featured in the book, giving a brief introduction of the book

Riyas Komu - initiating the proceedings

It takes mammoth effort to unravel a book

Ra Sh & Binu seem to be wondering if they will get a chance to speak

Meditating Riyas

Star of the Biennale & a fan

His moment did come

A sign of Arrival - Amol Palekar asking you to sign his copy of your book

You don't get Amol Palekar seated next to you everyday. So, just freeze the moment

A clichéd love story

A clichéd love story

Throbbing in my head

Though they didn't walk into the sunset

Hand in hand

And, carried the pain in their hearts

Throughout their lives

Need a writer with calibre

To make it sound

Unique and fresh.

A Blade of Grass

No widespread roots, shoots or even leaves.

No erect trunk or branches that can bear fruits.

No shrub can flourish in my shade.

Being just a blade of grass.

That can be crushed by a tiny feet.

Don't Suffer

Let the silence in your soul prevail

if it is giving you peace.

And, if the chaos inside is choking you

just blurt out.

Don't suffer.

These lines are playing in my mind for the last few days in a formless way, I couldn't do anything better with them, so just put them down as they came. Maybe it is the result of reading too much about Robin Williams' death.

A Visit

He came to me once again last night.

Not sure whether it was to refresh the memory

of a sweet pain.

Or he wanted me to know that the future still holds

something worth living for?

Or he just wished to give me courage to say I love you

once more?

Cadbury Shots – for Pappa

I miss the Cadbury Shots and other assorted candies

that you popped into my mouth as soon as I settled in the auto

after work.

You for me were never the celebrated hero that people make you out be;

just because you made a man out of a son like me.

Never ever you indicated that it was something out of the ordinary.

As Preachers say Life must go on

and I promise you that I'll do my best to cope without you.

But, wherever you are, be sure that you're missed here Pappa.