Love on Grave

She smiled. I laughed. Hysterically. It seems awesome to be in between two women. Wait. Was she a woman?

M-A-R-G-A-R-E-T

Yes. Margaret is usually the name of a girl. She was a woman. So, here I am, sandwiched between two women. And then she, with her fingers, and bloody sharp nails, circles on my chest, diverting my attention from the stone that was behind. Just lie down and try to watch what’s behind your head. It’s difficult. But then I am here doing this. And much more. But then she scratches with her claws.

I scream.

She shouts.

We laugh.

Rain Falls.

It’s black. No living soul in the vicinity. Eerie. What's even more eerie is the fact that below MARGARET is engraved her Date of Birth. People take birth. Pee and Poo in pants. And then they grow. Create Familiar Enemies. Create Unfamiliar Friends. Have Sex. Reproduce. Die. Become MARGARET.

She removes what was covering her upper half of the body. Physically the upper half of the body. We were making love on a dead body lying six feet below me. So, literally I was sandwiched between MARGARET and She. And then suddenly she jumps and stands. Claws stretched forward. I rise. And then we dance. Circling around MARGARET. With upper halves of the bodies uncovered. She and Me. Me and She. She watches.

Drenched in cold water, we hold hands and merrily dance our way through the foreplay. She bites me. Bitch. I wonder what I would answer the next day to my master. The mistress bit me. Hah. Blue Jeans we have on ourselves. And then again we lie on MARGARET. Graveyard is a silent place. No one comes there in the night. At least no one who can respond to the proceedings. The best place to make love. We do something and then something. I hear music. A Rock version of ‘We Wish You a Merry ’. I don’t know from where. All I can see is She and Raindrops falling straight on my face and then bouncing back. Someone on Top. You know. Woman. We make love. Fall.

And then we circle again and dance around MARGARET. Poor MARGARET. I hope she rises from the grave. And makes love in this graveyard on her grave.

I sing the song
That echoes in the yard
Clutched in claws
I sing ‘We Wish You a Merry’

One Day

The CM wakes up rubbing his eyes. Its 6:30! His wife is already in the kitchen preparing breakfast for the two children who are polishing their shoes and getting ready for the school. They are still not out of the sleep. 'They' includes the children and the wife. CM has to drop them to the bus stop and buy packets of milk and bread for the family. Last night, he had gone to bed at 12 in the night after a hectic day ----

THE HECTIC DAY

The CM wakes up rubbing his eyes. Its 6:25! His wife is already in the kitchen preparing breakfast for the two children who are polishing their shoes and getting ready for the school. They are still not out of the sleep. 'They' includes the children and the wife. CM has to drop them to the bus stop and buy a packet of milk for the family. Tomorrow he will have to buy the bread..it'll get over at today's morning tea. He wakes up..and ya.. by the way.. he is not the Chief Minister.. he is a Common Man.. just a pun.. ;) These smileys.. I tell you.. are really useful but our CM really hates them.. why? He, most of the time, does not understand why the hell has SMS been invented at all.. and the SMS lingo goes out of the head.. leave alone smileys. He gets ready and drops his two sons to the bus stand and comes back with the milk. His tea is ready.. hot and steaming.. he wonders how his wife predicts exactly the time of his arrival and he always finds his tea ready for him.. hot and steamy. He picks the newspaper from the gate, takes the front page and gives the middle ones to his wife. They both sip their tea and digest the coverage of massacre that took place in a village nearby. CM gets to read the front page.. the most important of all.. the wife, a bit weak hearted, gets to see the pictures of the dead bodies..huh.. I don't know why they decide to print the detailed photographs in the middle pages inspite of knowing that its the wives who are going to witness them first.

Anyway.. coming back to the cause of the massacre..a boy from a lower caste eloped with a girl from a Brahman family.. so the boy's family members were burnt alive and other people in the village of the same caste were raped and murdered.. wives.. daughters..everyone.. casteism!

They exchange their pages and now the wife gets to know the reason of the pictures she just saw and CM gets to see the pictures of what he just read. Both are horrible. After chit-chatting for a while, they get up for their respective works. They have no maid. So, the wife has to clean up the whole house and our CM takes care of the Chairs, Tables, Computer, Sofa and Dining Table.

He is now done with his work. He switches on the TV. The massacre is everywhere on the news. Some are discussing the cause with an ex-cricketer, some are interviewing a villager - "Jo kuch bhi hua, usme aapka kya kehna hai?".. Fuck off man.. his daughter and wife has been raped and murdered.. what would he say! He changes to an English News Channel.. they are covering the protest of the Indian students in Australia against the discrimination they face due to their colour. Huh.. these Indian girls spend so much trying to be the fairest of all.. and they take no time saying.. you are black.. not fair to the girls.. they must protest.. "Go on.." - this time the wife thinks, watching it from the kitchen!

Our CM thinks what would have happened if all would have been of the same colour.. no black Indians.. no white Americans.. no yellow Chinese.. OR all would have been of same caste.. no kshatriya.. no veshya.. no brahmin.. OR fuck it all up.. change it to the local cable channel.. he must be showing some new movie..

..aah.. its A Wednesday! .."koi maa******d ek button daba kar meri zindagi ka faisla nahi kar sakta".. he hears Naseeruddin say this sentence and over breathes this time with a smile on his face.. as if he killed those terrorists on the runway! Who cares.. both are Common Man.. one getting paid for being so.. the other paying monthly for watching him on pirated discs. The power of common man!

fast forwarding...

He takes his lunch box and water bottle to the 'Ambassador in its last days' and asks the driver to start. The wife goes back from the balcony.. now she will get to see him in the evening. Before that she has to do hell lot of work. Our CM is the king in his ambassador.. the car stops at the traffic signal. There are young boys outside the car selling 'White Tigers' and 'Alchemists' and 'Shiv Kheras'.. some boys are selling 'Forbes'..recently launched in India.. a small girl is selling roses.. he feels pity for her.. but what can he do.. roses are costly.. Rs 10 for one.. its an expensive affair..! Suddenly, he sees a boy of the age of his elder son in an auto-rickshaw buying 10-12 of them.. "Rs. 100-120???? What are these boys gonna do in life.. they spend money like water on their girlfriends.. caring nothing about the work their fathers... like me.. do!", CM thinks.

Its green now.. the vehicles roll off to their respective destinations.. and after 15 mins of drive he reaches his office. He gets in his room.. orders his peon for a cup of tea.. calls his assistants to start the work and opens his own files..

fast forwarding...

His Ambassador has finally given up.. the driver has taken it to the garage and most probably he will be the king again.. tomorrow. Today he has to take an auto-rickshaw. He waits for one at the cross 100 mts. from his office.. there is 'the girl in tight jeans' standing 5 mts away from him... there is no sign of an empty auto-rickshaw. After 20 mins of waiting, he sees one coming... he waives a hand and the auto stops.. but hey.. WTF.. it stopped for 'the girl in tight jeans'..! Frustrated.. he decides to give the city bus a try.. the frequency is quite high during this time.. he thinks.. and going by his thinking.. he sees a bus coming.. he gets inside and finds a seat for himself.. aah.. lucky man!

After 3 stops, 3 college girls get into the bus. One is holding a bunch of 1, 2, 3, 4, ...., 10, 11, 12.. ya 12 roses.. Our CM smiles! He thinks of the boy in the Auto Rickshaw..

"Uncle, please let one of us sit here.. we are very tired.. please!"

They got our CM..! He isn't even occupying the ladies' seat.. anyway.. after a little protest and a lot of counter-protests from the standing passengers.. who, all of a sudden, have started seeing the faces of their daughters in those girls about whom they were fantasizing about having sex with a while ago, he stands up. He stands up and the girls giggle.

fast forwarding...

"You are not even 5 feet long and you have a girlfriend?"

He hears his wife shouting at their younger son who is in eighth class. He, frustrated after the hectic day, also starts beating him up for having a girlfriend. His wife found an Archies Card in his school bag.. it was worth Rs 50! After all, how can a boy from a small town like his can have a girlfriend. Had it been a metro city, it would have been his elder son instead of him.. mistake.. for NOT having a girlfriend even in 1st yr of high school, our CM thinks! He thinks.. and he thinks a lot..! Idiot!

He thinks a lot and beats up his son for purchasing a card worth Rs. 50.. he beats him up for taking his seat in the bus.. he beats him up for stopping his auto-rickshaw for 'the girl in tight jeans'.. for buying roses.. for practicing a version of apartheid.. for raping women.. for practising casteism.. for his miserable life.. for not being brave like naseeruddin shah.. for every problem the world faced today.. he beats him up!

The Hectic Day Ends!

A.. B.. C.. Nudity..

A : Nudity should be abolished from the works of art, it goes against morality.

B : How do you define morality? Is it a democratic term?

B : Should we bring down Khajuraho because it depicts nudity?

A : No, it belongs to a different time and is a part of the cultural history of our country.

B : And if I build another Khajuraho now, should it be demolished?

A : Yes.

B : What the fuck?

B : Are you against M F Hussain's nude paintings of Hindu Goddesses?

A : Yes, it hurts the sentiments of Hindus.

B : And what about his painting depicting a nude Hitler?

A : Its good, he hates Hitler and he accepted it.

B : But he didn't say he hates Hindu Goddesses.

A : So?

B : You hate him for his non-acceptance and like him for his acceptance depending upon what is important to you and what is not and then you make judgement against him.

A : You watch porns. You like them. Would you like to see your family members in any one of them?

B : No. You don't get my point. I cannot even count the no. of temples in which we have semi-nude idols of Hindu Goddesses. We (including, but not limited to, you) go and worship them. But when M F Hussain does the same in his paintings you go all crazy.

C : Chal yaar, aaj shaam ko test hai apna.

A : Abe but...

C : Abe sab galat bhi hai.. sab sahi bhi hai mere baap. Chal le ab. Baad mein nudity discuss kariyo.

Listening to a Crow

You know what I feel. I feel the world is bullshit. Bulls shitting all around. Mean bulls with their mean intentions interacting with each other in a tranquil poise of sufferance. Sometimes, I feel like pissing them off. Off to their ridiculous self. Off you go. Off. Because I am not a bull. Don’t ever mistake me for one. Yaa… but you can, because you are a bullshitting bull.

I am a crow sitting on the bulls. Sitting on the shitting bulls. There are many like me, taking free rides from connaughtplace to hauzkhas, pecking them all the way and finding them helpless to get rid of them. Funny thought. Haah! I am crow. Kaaw-Kaaw. But you think connaughtplace is too far from hauzkhas. I say you bulls have metro. Crows are not allowed inside the metro. Aah. There I hear you saying – “No bull can travel from Connaught Place to Hauz Khas and that crows can fly.” So I say, that is all you care about? that no bull can travel from connaughtplace to hauzkhas? that crows can fly? Can’t a crow joke? Or you think only bulls can? Don’t you feel ashamed of yourself?

Bullshitting bulls. You don’t even think what made the bulls, which used to be the Mercedes once, stop travelling a diminutive distance of connaughtplace to hauzkhas. Or soul to heart. You deprived the crows of the free rides. Bloody bullshitting bulls. But I am a crow. Kaaw-Kaaw. I think about this. So I fly. I fly long long long distances. Travel from one settlement to other. Making the bulls afraid of a visiting bull. Pecking the bulls. There are bulls everywhere. Some show their body. Some the shape. I peck at them.

Some travel in their descendant. Mercedes. The pretty ones. The shape. I peck. Some have black skin with a tail from the neck. At them, I peck. Some are tied to a single pole. The foes. The friends. I peck. The licking bull-pairs who reck. I peck. Am I a poet? No, you moron. I am just a pecker. The pecker with straws and not the one with pebbles. Like the ones you suck from like the pretty (really?) ones on the screen.

I am a crow. A black one. I loved free rides on the bulls. But now I have to think otherwise. Maybe, I can float on the smoke. Or on Mercedes with the pretty ones. By the way, the pretty ones have a tendency to hide their shameless eyes and half of the face with black cowdung cakes for reasons beyond comprehension for a crow. They look sexy. The cowdung cakes. I wish to have a pair of them. And peck at the shameless eyes. And the shape. I am a pervert, you say. Yes I am. You are too. We differ because I Kaaw-Kaaw and you ruminate. Ruminate silently. And then shit. Shit about me. Shit about the pretty ones among the foes or friends. But you wouldn’t shit now because you are a gentle-bull. I have made you feel so. Sorry.

I am joking.

I know you have pointed out many grammatical mistakes. But you can’t expect me to know correct Grammar. Bulls know Grammar. I am a crow. And you say all I say is nothing but crap. Well, crows too have a digestive system. Like You.

Thousand Lives..!

The days are not the same..

As I come off my past..

The morning dews drown my soul..

The wavy breeze blows me apart..

The music of your voice..

Is something I die to play..

Your tender laugh...your gentle giggle..

Takes my breath away...

As the night melts into our souls...

And we melt together as one..

Those private whispers..those friendly jokes...

Makes my body..u being the soul..

Though you are not here...still you are with me...

I can see you..I can feel you..

Breathing every breath with you...

Swaying with you..in those rainy nights..

Is all what I live for..

Kissing away the drops trickling down your face...

Is all what I can die for..

Staying with you is my dream, my desire..

Loving every moment..Living thousand lives..

Dying in your arms is what I crave..

To make this happen..I live..that's all I can say!

What is Love?

What is love?
The feeling of being with her all the time or the feeling of being remembered by her every second..

What is love?
Those dew drops suddenly turning to some romantic poetic noun or these sunrays seeming like emerging rays from a diamond..

What is love?
Grinning all day long for every possible reason or weeping all night with that unusual smile for no reason..

What is love?
Her hair curling slowly all over your face or her eyes staring at something else and still watching you like no one ever did..

What is love?
The music of her voice piercing your heart like cupid's arrow or her fragrance mesmerizing you like the oldest wine available..

What is love?
Feeling cold in sweaty days or feeling hot in spine chilling evenings..

What is love?
The most loved romantic song playing again and again in your iPod or your favorite pineapple cake being prepared by her everyday..

What is love?
The touch of her hand on your palm giving you that satisfying sensation that you always craved for or watching her sleep like a princess and gaining that unexplained unprecedented strength to protect her from the smallest and the biggest problems one could ever face..

What is love?
The intense feeling that you can die straightaway just to retain that beautiful smile on her face or the feeling that you can live thousand lives all alone with a hope to achieve her sometime in the 4th dimension..

Love..
Its amazing.. isn't it?

But..
What is Love..?

Gone are those days...

Who am I or rather what am I?

This very question often strikes me and strikes me very badly!

Am I the one who I used to be, say, 10 years ago? No, not at all when it comes to realizing oneself and realizing the fact that this whole world is yours. Where is that innocence gone? Where is that feeling gone that everything is yours? Where are gone those days when I used to climb over long hose pipes just to feel the height and get that unusual happiness? When was the last time I held my mom's hand out of fear from the dark or sat beside my dad while watching a horror flick just to feel that I am at the safest place in the world? They are nowhere near to me at this stage of life and this is not just about me, it is for all you people who are reading this blog after clicking that link out of curiosity. Would you have done the same thing when you had just heard that there was something in this world called 'blog'? You call it wisdom, keeping the mind open and getting to know about what others think about different aspects of this life but I call it being curious to know whether what you feel about a topic, does the person opposite to you feel the same or not.

I mean, what the hell did that mean to us what others think when we were at the initial stage of our life?

We were free and happier than we are now, though we have all the freedom that we craved for at that time. I bet, the happiness that we get these days by watching a late night show or chilling out all night is nowhere when compared to the happiness that we got after getting a new toy from the market.. How excited we used to be when our dad used to bring those chocolates while returning from the workplace.. those ultra-satisfying nights when we slept with our favorite toy car or dolls beside our pillow are nowhere to be seen now.. Buy as many clothes you can, watch as many movies as you can but the level of satisfaction can never meet that!

As we grow up, we will always miss the day before since the more we become older, the more we come closer to this world and experience the bitter truths of life which our parents hid from us and suffered all alone just to give us the best they can.

I really miss those wonderful days.. those days when one movie in the nearby single screen theater meant a lot to me.. those days when I used to wait eagerly for my birthday to get those amazing gifts from my friends and relatives.. be it just a pencil box or a sketch pen set.. those days when I used to enjoy those small rides in a small fair.. and those days when I used to hold the hands of my mom and dad firmly while crossing even a narrow and traffic free road..

I miss those days when I used to live and live freely!