Unbridled

Unbridled love

And unbridled pain

Run parallel like rail tracks

It is life’s endeavour to fill the chasm in between

Seeking unbridled happiness

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.

Honeymoon in the times of Corona

The phone buzzed around 3 AM making me wonder if I have committed to a trip to anyone, then remembered that we were in lockdown so no question of any trip. Then I checked the number for the country code, to know if it was from a fraudster from a foreign country wanting to steal money from my bank account as we are constantly warned by the phone companies. But, no it was a local number.

By the time I figured that out the call got disconnected. I was ready to go back to sleep thinking that I will return the call during the day time and see if it was from a known person.

But, it buzzed again within a few seconds, it was from the same number. I picked it up quickly not wanting to miss it again and asked "who the hell…" a stern voice replied "Abdul? This is police… Does the autorickshaw KL-43 9530 belong to you?" "Yes… it is parked just outside my house". "Oh! Then please come out". I could feel that his voice had softened.

What can I say… The scene outside was utterly heartbreaking. Forget the upholstery, those mongrels didn't even spare the tiny LED lights fitted in the side.

……..

This is a partially fictionalised version of a chat with a friend who stays in newly formed hotspot zone in the district. He has an autorickshaw that can be mistaken as a mini discotheque with a state of the art music system and fancy lights. He had even given me a few rides in his vehicle.

He narrated this incident (when I called him to ask how he and his family are coping being in a hotspot), where a couple of stray dogs torn the upholstery of his auto, which would cost at least ₹ 10000/- to repair.

And, the only words I could utter in consolation were "they would have thought this was cosy place to celebrate their Honeymoon", before he disconnected the phone.

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.

A Lamppost

Searching for a lamppost emitting sulphuric glow around midnight
With a friend.

As a dog would scamper around looking for a place to pee.

Not for the same purpose. But, to stand underneath sharing life experiences

And puff in peace.

******
Dedicated to a friend who finds it difficult to say No to any of my expressed or implied wish.

This is a hypothetical situation. I don’t advocate smoking, if you don’t believe me please read this.

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.

Stray Dogs

In hindsight every life threatening situation has something funny about it or it just leaves you with a smirk on your face because you survived it and it gives massage to your ego.

Well, I’d such an experience a few weeks back. People familiar with me maybe dying of boredom reading about or listening to my adventures on the battery operated wheelchair. So, this is basically for the uninitiated or the people who may have missed this story altogether.

It was a Sunday afternoon and on the whim I felt like catching up the latest release in the theatre nearby. Oddly, I was feeling super confident that today being a holiday I’ll reach the theatre without any hassle as the traffic on the road would be minimal and I’d cross the roads without any assistance.

My intuition was proven right as there wasn’t a soul on the road. So, I continued my jaunt till reaching the main junction - no traffic. Still, I looked left, then right, then left again (as they used to teach in school from a chapter about Road Safety) before crossing the road.

Having crossed the road, I was jubilant in my head and even imagined punching the air. The going was smooth till now. I was aware of the big auto rickshaw parked ahead and cautious that I should not bang it. Suddenly I heard a humming sound, it took me a few seconds to realise that it was actually a growl. My eyes started searching for the source of that, and there he was, under the auto, looking at me. My wheelchair automatically became dead slow, undecided whether to go ahead or to stop. In fact, there was a bunch of them taking their afternoon nap. Meanwhile, the growling had become barking and it was waking up others. The barking one had come out by now and taken his position on my left and others were following him and taking their positions as if they were going to have a pre-match huddle like cricketers around me.

I nearly started crying looking at the jaw of the leader of the pack barking ferociously, I’d see the sharpness of his teeth and wondered where he’d reach if he decided to pounce on me, shoulder, neck, face and even my head. Suddenly, the dialogue from Life of Pi “Animals don't think like we do! People who forget that get themselves killed. When you look into an animal's eyes, you are seeing your own emotions reflected back at you, and nothing else.” flashed through and I realised that crying won’t help, turned my chair to the right and ran for my life.

Yet I’d feel that a few of them were chasing me, barking at the top of their lungs and an old drunkard (who couldn’t even keep his Lungi in place) standing on the sidelines and telling me pedikalle mone, unnum chayilla (don’t be scared son, they won’t harm you).

Thankfully, a couple of bikes appeared (as if they were assigned to save my life) from nowhere honking and making noise, which made my chasers disperse in various directions and forget everything about me.

I stopped when I was safe distance away from the dogs. My thighs were shivering due to spasm and anxiety, which is risky as my balance on the chair is maintained by the stability of my legs on the footrest. If I lose that I may slip out of the seat very soon and then manoeuvring the chair would be impossible. So, my first thought was to take U turn and return home. But, facing those dogs again within minutes didn’t feel good and I’d already covered three-fourth of way to the theatre and it’d be such a waste of effort to return home without watching the movie.

***

I’d narrated this incident orally to my friend Velu, who was very encouraging in saying that my narration was so good that it kept haunting him for a couple of nights. So, I’ve burnt the proverbial midnight oil for a few nights to write it down for the wider world.

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

The Bridges of West Kochi

I’d first heard about The Bridges of Madison County from Barry Norman who used to review movies for BBC TV. Those days I’d just begun self-education about Hollywood films so I hardly knew who Clint Eastwood and Meryl Streep were, but, I remembered the title as I felt it was important by the way Barry spoke about it and time and again mentioned the lead players (though I don’t remember what his opinion of this film was). Robert James Waller novel (from which the film is adapted) is one of the first e-books I read after getting a PC at home in early 2000s and saw the movie after learning to use the torrents and downloading films.

The film has stayed with me ever since. But, the real significance of it came to the fore when I got a camera and started thinking of projects to do with the new gadget. That was the time I started thinking about the bridges on this side of the town (obviously not the oft clicked and filmed Thoppumpady bridge). I talked about the project with my dad, auto wallah and cabbie friends, but it didn’t materialise and they all seemed to say unison “these places have filth flowing under them and the stench will be unbearable.”

Yet my dream of being like Robert Kincaid (the nomadic National Geographic photographer played by Eastwood in the film) did not go away. At last I told about the project to my ‘ever ready to help’ friend Raju, he too warned me about the stench factor, still he was game for the adventure. It was decided that we will cover the Kalvathy area in the first leg. “And, no need for an auto, we’ll reach there in 15-20 minutes walking and you can start clicking pictures on the way itself”, Raju’s wise words.

The fun part happened when we thought we’d covered 90% of the distance, we realised that we were heading towards Cherlai Kadavu instead of Kalvathy. “I’ve seen a bridge ahead and thought it was the same,” Raju said.

“I meant the one near the State Bank.”

“I think that is the other end and I don’t think that we can reach there walking.”

This in a way proved to blessing for us as we discovered an unexplored and virgin part of the town and it proved to be exotic in every sense of the term with bridges to be found at every few steps and life lulling around on a lazy Sunday afternoon.

A petty shop as we approach the bridge

From the centre

This is where the friends bond

Those friends put me on the footpath

A mansion across the bridge

They aren't amused

A place to worship across the bridge

Ranjith etta bless me

The sight on my Right side

What would the world be without The Mother?

And, of course Raju - My Friend. A 1000 Danks.

Wannabe Robert Kincaid telling bye until he visits another Bridge.

Vanishing Vocations

This is Mahesh doing something that is rarely seen these days. What is surprising is that I found him very close to my home and that too on a Sunday. I don't remember noticing him before and he said that he has been there for the last 18 years. And, when I asked him why he was working on a holiday he answered with a counter question to my friend Raju "Do you take him out like this regularly or is this a special occasion?" then realised very soon that it wasn't a good question to ask and sheepishly replied "I've promised to deliver this chair soon so I'm working today."

I feel I was lucky as  a child to see this equipment operated, kids loved the sound this machine made and used to love seeing the sparks fly when it worked. So, everything worth sharpening was brought out when the call Kathi murcha aakaan undo? was heard. This fellow refused to pause when I called chetta from behind gestured him to stop. So, no frontal pose. :(

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.