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If ever two pairs of eyes had locked before, it was not like this. The world could have crumbled into dust and he wouldn't have looked away. And she knew it, too.
Her smile spoke volumes, as she looked up at him.

All of the "First time we laid eyes on you" stories danced in her mind as she saw the scene in front of her.
"If you don't mind, may I have my daughter back?"
He didn't even blink, "You've had her a while, I need to catch up."
She rolled her eyes, "You didn't seem particularly eager to lend a hand, back then..."
"Haan, toh possible nahi hai no, baby, otherwise I would have!"
He'd managed to tear his eyes away from his daughter for the one reproachful look before he turned back.
"Arre sweetheart, let her nap na, or are you training a future all-nighter champion?"
Reluctance was an understatement for the extreme lack of enthusiasm with which he handed the baby over to the nurse, who walked over to the cot, and put her package in carefully, smiled at the couple in front of her, and left.

He sat down next to her, and reached for her hand, "Remember...?"
"Yeah, we weren't too far off the mark were we?"
He smiled over at the cot, "No, we were soooo off. Come on, she's way better than what we'd imagined. We hadn't thought of those pretty little fingers, no? And have you seen her nose?"
She laughed at him, and kissed his hand, "Told you that you'd be a ridiculous doting daddy..."
"Haan toh itni pretty hai woh, pyaar nahi aayega kya?"
"Nahi, nahi... Karo, jitna bhi karna hai. But listen... Serious baat hai..."

He snapped back to look at her. "What, is everything okay?"
She sighed "Arre ya baba. Abhi no stress... But you realize that she's going to grow up and be like beautiful and all? We're going to have to hire a bodyguard..."
They both looked over at their daughter, who chose that time to stretch and sigh in her sleep.
"At least 3 bodyguards..."
"You're right."
"And a guard dog."
"A doberman. And a guard cat."

The Epitome

A life in rewind

“Babe, I don’t mean to tell you what you already know, but maybe you need some more nutrition, hai na? I know you’re more than capable of eating for two on a good day, but you know you have to do that every day, right now na?”

She rolled her eyes at him, but obediently pulled the plate closer again. “But this is boring food! There’s no taste to this!”

“Haan na, baby, itna teekha tum kha sakti ho, baby thodi khaayegi…”

“Why? I’m sure she’ll love some achaar… Let’s try na?”

He dropped his head into his palm and laughed, “We’ll try tomorrow. For now, eat.”

She grumbled and picked up the spoon, turning towards him for another complaint, but he was too quick.

“Mmm, now you can take your time with your food, and I’ll get a nice nap” he settled comfortably on her extended legs, a pillow between her thigh and his head, “Go on, take your time.”

She sighed, sniggering to herself, and got down to finishing her food.

***

‘The mornings came too quickly these days’ she thought to herself, as she stretched and heard him already putting on his belt. The unmistakable clink of the buckle told her she’d missed the morning banter.

“You’re not coming back in, to bed?”

 He glanced at her in the mirror and smiled at the routine they’d carried on for years “No, sweets, it’s late today. Gym mein thoda zyaada time lag gaya. But I’ll come home early, and we’ll do coffee and Bournvita”

“Can I have beer?”

“Can I first have my baby?”

“Take her now only, she’s a bore, just like you. She wants to go to work.”

“Just like me, or just like you?”

“I’m a lazy ass, you’re the one who won’t come back to bed.”

“Mommy darling, you’re dying to get back to work, and you know it. You’re probably already drafting an intro mail for your daughter and setting her task list up. Okay, I’m off. Kiss?”

“Ew, no! I need to brush.”

He leaned down and kissed her belly, then grinned up at her “I wasn’t asking you.”

She began to laugh.

***

The door opened and his perfume drifted in to her before his voice did. He was on the phone.

“Hunjee, abhi ghar aaya hoon. Just got in.”

She mumbled into her pillow “You can get off the phone now, at least.”

His voice smiled out from her earpiece, and his breath tickled her shoulder “But then I won’t hear your pretty voice say ‘I love you’ over the phone na?”

She growled in response “I love you”

“Okaayy bye…”

His hand was rubbing her back now “What happened, bad day?”

“No. I’m just surrounded by idiots who don’t know their hands from their feet.”

“So, bad day.”

He was making noises with glasses and all.

“No, no! Wait! I’ve made you filter coffee. Thandi hai, bas thodi garam kar do.”

He paused, and turned to her with a frown “Why are you making me coffee at night? Don’t tell me you have work to do yaar…”

She grimaced. He wasn’t going to be happy “Not much… Just a little…”

“Yaar toh din mein kar lete na, why would you leave it for after I get home?”

“Arre abhi shaam ko aaya…”

“So, we’ve talked about this na, why would you take up a project at night?”

“It was important…”

“No yaar, you do your project, then I’m going to sleep. I’m tired.”

He walked off, cup of coffee left on the table, a plate of food in his hand.

“Scoot.”

He looked up at her “Jaldi kaam khatam karo, and sleep. Don’t waste time. Again, you’ll stay up late, and be tired tomorrow.”

“No, I’m done.”

“Done with work?”

“No, work is there, I’ve pushed delivery time to tomorrow evening.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to spend time with my husband. He’s quite sexy, you know.”

***

“Pastels look gorgeous on you”

She stole a side-glance at her almost-husband “You know what a pastel is?”

He nodded, under pretence of straightening his glasses “Like the signal is a green, the pista ice cream is a pastel green; I remember.”

She stifled her laughter as her father gave her a look from across the mandap. Probably not the best time to get in touch with her sense of humour.

“Babe, suno na…”

“Hmm?”

“Aapko mujhe prompt karna padega. I have no idea what anyone is saying. Thoda distracted hoon na. Those pastels and all.”

“Damn it, I was hoping the fam would do that bit. Mujhe ghanta pata hai, what to do…”

They both stopped laughing as the pandit gave them a dirty look this time.

***

“Listen.”

“Hunjee?”

“If I quit my job, pick up my Rani of Jhansi sword and come off to your city, and convince your family, would you seriously consider spending the rest of your life with me?”

“Sure. But where would you get the sword from? And who would pay your rent?”

“Arre that I’ll manage. And rent maane, I’ll take over your business, siphon off funds as expenses, and make it vastly successful within the financial year, so you’ll never find the money taken out.”

“Oh, accha. But market down hai, and regulations are against us.”

“Haan, but I’ll probably pull a Richard Gere from Pretty Woman. Have you seen Pretty Woman?”

“What is the Richard Gere reference, but?”

“You’ve not seen Pretty Woman?”

“I HAVE, I don’t get the Richard Gere reference.”

“Oh. He basically buys big companies that are floundering and sells them off bit by bit.”

“So, you’re buying me out and selling me off?”

“Not you ya. Your company. And I’m not buying, I’m going to seduce you to sign it off to me.”

“You know it’s not really MY company to sign over to you.”

“Older people love me. That’s my concern, not yours.”

“Aight. Let’s see. My signature will come last, if you succeed in the rest.”

“Haan, but then you’ll spend na, rest of life with me? Even if I dissolve the company?”

“Kyun nahi? Raja ban ke jeeyenge.”

“I’m serious.”

“Huh?”

“I’m serious.”

“About?”

“Will you consider marrying me?”

“Babe, we talked about this…”

“I don’t give a fuck. Do you want to?”

“Yes”

“BRB, getting my sword.”

***

 

She packed up his shirt, and his t-shirt. And the note he had sent her when she’d won her major milestone. And the box from the chocolates. And put them all the corner of the cupboard.

The house still resonated with his voice. The city still threw scents of his presence at her. Her phone was strangely lighter now, and her inbox strangely empty. The ding of texts wasn’t as fun to hear anymore.

Maybe it was a coincidence that the rains had started when the final page of their storybook had been turned. Perhaps some lucky little girl in the future would read the child-friendly, happily-ever-after version of their story. Their original story was more like the German old wives’ tale version, with a gruesome ending. At least, it was gruesome for her.

‘It’s not like you’re a mermaid or a secret princess, really, what did you expect?’

She shook her head at her momentary lapse of practicality, and mentally put away the silly flights of fancy away with the clothes and the past few mementos she couldn’t bear to throw away.

Scents fade away faster than people do. But they hurt more. Scents remind you about love in a weird, integral way that kicks you in the gut and lifts you up, at the same time.

The collar, crook of the arm, and mid-torso of the shirt in her hands no longer smelled of him. It no longer reminded her of being engulfed in the protective bubble of their fairy-tale.

***

“Suno na.”

“Hmm…?”

“I think we need to talk…”

Diluted

Dear Old Friend,

How are you?
Where the fuck are you?
And how the fuck did we get here?

From knowing which page you scribbled on
When the lectures stopped being fun
To not knowing if you're okay?
To not calling you when things stopped being fun one day?
From knowing not to let you spend
Too much time with that one friend
To not knowing your heart broke last year
And you still aren't a stranger to those tears?
From jumping in joy when you got into your dream course
To a "Wow" on Facebook among a 100 others?

Did we get diluted along the way?
Like feisty aerosols, did we evaporate?
I hope that explains it
Where our late-night-staircase,
Standing-under-a-bus-stop-in-the-rain,
Don't-really-mind-if-I-get-late-going-home-again bond
Disappeared to...
Because then, the next time it pours
And water seeps in;
Spraying off buildings & dripping on the floors
It can drip on to textbooks,
Seep into bags,
And amid the crowds of bone-drenched, monsoon-harassed,
You & I
Will be on the same page again.

Just Like My Mother

I dreamed that I was my mother, last night. Draping a sari in front of the long mirror, encased by clouds of talcum powder, and grown-up perfume that only she was allowed to use.
The sari was beautiful, if a little too stiff for my frame. But as I stood, sweaty from all the pleating, pouting at myself in dissatisfaction, you reached over my shoulder for the talcum powder. And whispered "Let's not go" into the crook of my neck, making me giggle and forget about my reflection.

I dreamed I was my mother, last night. Walking into a protocol-drenched gathering, smiling politely at seniority, and grinning with camaraderie at everyone else. The difference between her and me was the outfit next to me. I don't know what colours non-official parties see more of, I only know my whites, blacks, and olive greens. I don't know which colours you wear, but I'm guessing irony plays out here... There's only one out of the three that I grimaced at; the blues were never blue enough, the lines never strong enough... You had to be... After all, you wore wings.

Standing next to you, sipping demurely at a single drink for the evening, discussing how consumer markets and audiences were changing, talking about tech & convergence, I dreamed I became my mother. Only difference is, she didn't have a vastly connected, dynamic, scary world to discuss and take down. But she took on and took down her own world in context, and still does.

I dreamed I was my mother, last night. Proudly wearing my achievements on my sleeve, and you on my arm. Fixing your cummerbund in place, fussing with a sari that just wouldn't sit tight, and coming home to someone in the mirror who I could be proud of, with someone on my arm who I am proud of. Holding my own in every conversation, walking home at the end of the night as someone my mother would be proud of.

Because the sari stayed in place, and the head remains high.

WIP - One Haleem, & the Perfume of a Thousand Kebabs

The crowds didn't do much to stem the free-flow of sweat down her back. She silently cursed, wondering if it were anti-sanskar to do so while shopping for Iftaar food.

"But then again, you're going to eat this as chakna. I think that's haraam enough for one night." She sniggered at her own internal monologue, and took a deep breath as the smell of the tandoor danced towards her.

He liked red meat, she made a mental note to pick up seekh kebabs last, to make sure they didn't dry out. She stopped at the haleem stall and asked for a plate. Home was haleem, he had said.

"It's shitty to feel transplanted and out of your comfort zone," she defended; her internal monologue taking offence at her brain pointing out the obvious. There was no ulterior motive at all, to this last minute search for food, it was just the right time, and a universal favourite!

She shrugged it off, threw in an extra plate of seekh kebab, and crossed over to the other side of the road, ready to head home.

"Oh crap, I need a mixer." she looked around for a general store, frantically digging through dimly lit memories of late nights in bars, for the accompaniment to honestly the worst whiskey in the history of time. But it was sitting in a bottle at home, smuggled away from the offsite, and he liked it, so why not? "See? More proof. I didn't get a thing specially for him. I was using that stuff to cook, anyway.", she sniffed to herself, rubbishing the argument.

"I don't think that damn whiskey dreamed in all its brewed & barreled time on earth, that its life would come to this."

She walked home, in a huff at herself, hugging the food, and more soda than she'd ever had in her fridge.

Standing outside her door, he thought how odd this could end up being. "But why odd, there's nothing odd about hanging out with each other. You've done it multiple times. It wasn't weird then." 

But the context...

"Ignore it."

He took a deep breath, and rang the bell. And laughed to himself as he heard the music from behind the doors. She opened the door as he was mid-laugh.

"Hi! Er, are you laughing at my doorbell?"

"I didn't expect that to ring..."

She giggled, opened the door wider, leaned past him, and rang the bell a couple more times. "There's a song for that..."

His laugh caught in his throat as she pulled back.

There was something about the scent of kebabs that arrested your senses. Something irresistible about cooking meat sparking its scent across the night air.

She was fresh out of the shower, he guessed, the whiff of Johnson's Baby was unmistakable. But her hair retained the allure of the tandoor.

"You got Iftaar food?"

She turned around and made a face, "Okay, that's an uncanny guess... Tukka maara?"

He grinned at her, "Haan, I thought you'd return the favour of all those times back when you'd come to my city."

"Uff itna predictable, I never thought I was. We can get pizza if you want. That also pairs well with the subtle smokiness of your DSP."

"Kebab se shuru karte hain, then we'll see. Let's see what your Bombay can do with tandoor."

The comfortable togetherness of the corner bar sets in without your noticing. Somewhere between the first sip of your first drink, and hitting the bottom of the third one, the inhibitions all nod off, and fall asleep. And you're sitting in the most companionable bubble.

He reached around her, trying to pick up her empty glass, "One more?"

She swept her hair off her neck, and nodded. He stopped, mid reach, looking at her fingers playing with her hair. "You made the kebab over a tandoor yourself, kya?"

"What?"

"Your hair smells like we're standing at the kebab stall right now."

She pulled back, "Oh crap, sorry, I'll keep it tied, I didn't get around to washing it before you came over."

He shook his head, "I like standing at the tandoor with you. Let it be."

She ducked her head, but he knew she was laughing.

"Yes, one more, please."

Dear I-Wish-Someone-Could-Tell-Me-It-Will-Be-Okay

Nothing will be perfect.
But you know that.
You're not a hopeless optimist.
Hey, but you are an optimist, haan.

You grow into it.
The world treats you well.
And sends you kittens and puppies with big believing eyes who shyly lick your palm and slide up to you while you sleep to cuddle your toes.

The world sends you wins.
But you see right through them
You pick going home to your cats.
And you value most, the brickbats.
Good job, you!

And from a shy kitten yourself,
You become a full on psycho cat.
It's pretty cool.
It's your callsign.

Honestly, I'm not sure you need a break in the space time continuum to make it.
You make it.
Or you fake it
And you help others make it.

Don't roll your eyes at me.

But don't stop rolling your eyes.
People will tell you not to.
But it's nice to acknowledge the ludicrous.
And to be the ridiculous.
You learn to be a clown
Even if you're breaking inside.

And you find people who see right through that.
And love you for it.

You meet heartbreak.
It wore stripes at one time, specs another, and pathanis at yet another.

Know what that means?
You've got a heart held together by superglue
Patent it.

You find the poetry in tears.
You cry so hard it scares you, but you're up the next day, striding into office because your team needs you.
Nah, they may not notice.
But they'll hug you at some time.
Tell them you hate hugs.
They'll find reasons to hug you
And to love you.

You become my role model.
Every time I look back.
Because man, what a hike life is
And what a damn Sherpa you are!
Just like your mom, you fight for perfection.
And just like your dad, you demand attention to work ethic.
But equally like both of them, you know how to acknowledge irrationality, differing views, and you appreciate people.
(Sometimes grudgingly, coz you don't really like people; being a cat, and all)

You don't need anyone to tell you it's okay
But you meet them anyway
You're born to them, in fact
And they're the people you tend to attract
Friends, Romans, countrymen
Absolute strangers
But well wishers.

But you know the coolest part?
You are clumsy as all hell.
You keep falling, keep getting into scrapes, keep taking chances, keep making an ass of yourself, keep cringing at all the idiotic things you do.
And you never, ever stop doing that.

The channe ka zhaad doth protest
And my case, I hereby rest.
Am I lying?
You'll only have proof if you go out of your way
To prove me insane.

Go.

Stale

Nothing tastes as much of regret as yesterday's coffee.
Unless it's that weird, woolly taste of your tongue...
Too many puffs, too little water, and a little too much anger.

The best way to express these days...
Is those last moments of quiet when you beat the alarm and grumble awake too early,
Only to take sips of coffee that's been chilling since you ran out the door last morning,
Stretching your toes because they're cramped,
Wondering what important things you missed yesterday;
And ignoring work texts because it's not 9.30 yet, fuck you.

Actually, a good caption for these days is coffee and ignorance.

Fun working-person tip: shutting the world out doesn't keep it out,
It gives everyone the liberty to waltz in to your personal space,
And remind you that you're not making your presence felt in their lives,
And make you feel like a piece of shit.
So you run out for a solitary beer after a hard day,
Coz you can't afford to make a friend to take along.

Coz you don't want one more unread notification.
Coz you only have some time before the alarm rings.
And coz that coffee will still lie in the fridge
Getting more frozen,
If you try to reply to your life every morning.

Another good caption:
Life as a Monorail.
Monotonous one way railroad track
From A to B
Flying through people and pollution
Picking up only grime
And letting the people off at their stops.
While you never stop.

Doing what you're supposed to, right?
But you never seem to be right on time
Or fast enough
Or the AC isn't cold enough
Or you're just too crowded.

But that's your job.
And you get no praise nor pity
For doing your job.
Only complaints on unnecessarily numerous social media channels and personal email stinkers.

So a few more puffs
A sip of water
A resolution to drink more water
A vague inkling to make plans for later
And that coffee.

Probably today
I'll manage to drink more.
Water.

Butterfly

Etiquette
Manners
Shake hands now
Use your fork here
Smile
Reply
Nod politely
Speak softly
Send a mail!
Pick up the call!
Elbows off the table!
Cover your mouth when you yawn!
Chew 24 times!
Use your indoor voice
There's so many guidelines!
It takes a lifetime to learn
And then you have to be reborn
To put them to work
But you must follow each one
For your training to be complete
You need to
Memorize
The rulebook to life
Know the rules like you know the back of your hand
But don't build a life out of sticking to them
Life never survived in a rule book
Or under lock and key
Life is free
And unfettered so once in a while
Throw caution to the winds
Get down to living with magic
Watch the shackles drop off and feel the multicolored light take you over
Lift you beyond the boundaries of your guidelines
Watch the myth of your existence come to life
Fly
Watch what happens in the now
Right now
Nobody has a doubt
That you know your rules.
But once in a while
Forget them.

Backwards

Retrospect
The act of looking behind you, and cringing at all the rookie stuff you pulled.
Of saying proudly, that you regret nothing! While making new lists of things you'll never do again on pain of death.
The feeling in the pit of your stomach that something bad is going to happen. Because you know it already did.

I wouldn't change a thing (But really I would)
I'd make myself taller, slimmer, and more sorted.
I'd write that answer this time, on the sheets they gave me.
I'd call him back.
I'd actually get off my ass and meet my friends so that when they get married, I know more about their lives.
Maybe this time, when I look back, I'd be more poised, less broken, and the cracks won't show.
Maybe this time, I won't be tempted to rhyme retrospect and regret.
But then, maybe I won't.

Retrospect and regret have an internal rhyme
For some reason.
Maybe the next time, I'd wish I hadn't taken the call, hadn't written the answer sheet, and had gotten hammered that one time.
Maybe I'll always look back and cringe.
Maybe the rhyme scheme
I've internalized
Never ends.

Independent Passing

You know the problem with Independence?
She has a strong-ass presence.
Way stronger than Instinct.
Instinct is a benign little thing
Like an old woman who's found
Whatever she wants to do, it's allowed...
But she's scared to take the plunge.
Independence, though...
Is an abrasive 20 year old
Who says she knows best.
Nevermind, the rest
Of her life
Is yet to arrive
She's unstoppable
Unmatchable
Unforgettable.
But this one time...
She fucked up.

She didn't stop you.
When instinct wanted to
When every ounce of her body
Said she should.
She fought them all off
And waved
As you walked away.
She didn't tell you
When her brain screamed
"Make him stay"
She let you pack your bags
And move away.
She picked up your call
Let the tears continue to fall
Wished you luck
And turned back to work.

Because she recognized her counterpart
She knew him from afar
She knew he was fighting a different war
Of which she was not a part.
And though
She stood ready to fight at his shoulder
She waited till he asked her.
While he fought on, a solo warrior
Alone, coz he didn't want to worry her.

So she waited for him
And he dreamt of her.
But he stayed away
And she didn't bother.

So our independences fought
Their different wars
On different fronts
And lost.

While Instinct sat at home
And knew nothing could be done
We needed our space,
And we needed our freedom.

And when the wars were lost
And the soldiers returned
When you didn't make it
And I had nowhere to run
Instinct stepped up
And pulled me to my feet
Reminding me of an enemy
You couldn't defeat.
Telling me the war
Is yet to be won.
That your work
Must be done.

Independence will fight
Now next to her
Making up for what
She should have done before.
Your war is ours now
It began anew
With every little victory
Dedicated to you.

#AboutLastNight

Liquid courage, they call it;
A swig is all you need
To take life by the balls
And to chase your dreams.

One swig
And you'll stop being scared
Stop wishing you'd dared
That one time
When you ran away.

It's fight distilled from adrenaline

It's the balls to say what you mean.

Liquid courage
One swig and you're super human;

You're doing stuff they said you can't
You're breaking rules
You never believed in
You're saying words
You rehearsed
A hundred times in front of a mirror.

A sip to remember
That you're the boss
That it's your job
To take charge
Send that mail
And goddammit, ask for that raise!

Your best friend
Leading you to the dance floor
That lying bastard
Who says you're a bomb
When you're probably more a nunchuk
And that REALLY shouldn't be
Your song.

Your wingman
Who hates to see you crash and burn
But knows she's so damn far
Out of your league
That you probably shouldn't even dream of her.
A swig is all it takes

For "Hi, what're you drinking?"

That idiot
Who told you "You have a dream""
"You have a gift
Damn, you should perform your poetry
It really speaks to me"
Except they've been swigging
Pretty damn hard themselves.

Aged for years
With wisdom imbibed from
Oak casks, and brewing tanks
Microscopic bubbles of yeast-fuelled logic
Pushing their way into your mind
Telling you what you already know
Just don't have the impetus to go for.

Liquid fucking courage.
Because for some reason
Without one swig
You have a duty to suppress it
You know what you want
But you're denied it
Flight fights back
Flight comes in first place
While you cower in the back
"Bhai daaru lao..."

Almost There

I’m not perfect and I don’t expect
To really ever be
I have endless flaws but that’s just how
I know to be me
I’m a fighter, undercover
As a quiet soul
Perfection bides away its time
Till it's unleashed upon the world.

I’m not perfect, not even close yet
And I’ll never be
I’m a warrior, undercover
Till something deserves me
It won’t be perfect, I can’t expect
Anything to be
But I’ll fight if I’m convinced I should
And that this fight, I fight for me.

I’m flawed for sure, I can’t deny it
But I’m almost there
The flaws are mine to hold for life
Not something I despair
I’ll find a flaw I can complement
And then things will be perfect
But till then I’m almost there
I’m not perfect yet.

How to Meet New People After Half Your Life is Done

As a product, you're a problem
A long-term investment
No guarantee
Prone to short circuits
And hell for maintenance.

But even the battered defects you own
Have been accepted by some
But when you grow, you meet many more folks
With whom you have to make things work.

Of course, you come with an instruction manual
But that's buried deep in packaging
Which nobody will try to open
Unless you're doing some tagda marketing.

So let's try to make sense
It's an easy enough process;
Just a few steps.

Step one.

Get out of your corner

And try, na, once, to talk?

You’re fun sometimes, you also acknowledge,

So, can a tentative introduction go too wrong?

Step two.

No, don’t run away just yet

You’re human, not on a final shoot for Seinfeld

Don’t let the raised eyebrows daunt you

You’re a star, your new friends should flaunt you

Step three.

Okay maybe that was a lie

Human beings never grew out of the playground

We were annoying little shitheads as kids

And there’s still enough of us around.

Step four.

But remember, you have some friends

And you’re fairly certain they’re going to stay

So maybe take some courage from that

And make the stage fright go away?

Step five.

FYI, they’re really not worth it

You’re not fighting the playground mafia here

You won’t get bullied now, if you don’t find a group

You won’t find that you’re out of the social loop.

Step six.

Who am I kidding?

No, this isn’t a commentary

Imagine, me?

Confident, stage-smart, street-smart, will-talk-to-clients-at-a-meeting

Me?

Commenting on introvert society?

What is this pseudo-sympathy?

So what if my ears are red right now

And my palms are sweatier than the last time?

But honestly

Have you seen those photo-series?

Behind the scenes of perfection?

The background to every airbrushed video?

The “seedy underbelly” of the show?

Did you wonder if that could be true

For people walking all around you?

Because here’s step seven, from behind the scenes.

Weigh your idiosyncrasies

Find which are okay with society

And if you play your cards right

You’re not weird, but quirky.

Which brings us to step eight

Wherein all you can do is wait

To either be found by, or to find

Someone who is of like mind

But this isn’t cause for celebration

Because then things hit new escalations

With step nine, you tread with care

You’re worried just how much to share

You’re mentally flipping through 25+ years

Of complexities, oddities and fears

And as you introduce each one

You’re fully prepped to see them run

Because you’ve watched these oddities take shape

And even you know you’re a little strange.

Step ten is for those lucky ones

From whom the audience didn’t run

Because now you can finally rest

You’re in the presence of one of the best

And you’re free to embark

On the next monumental task.

Step eleven is what we call sustenance.

It’s what forms the basis for everything else

Piece by piece, you build up on

Each step which has come and gone

So your marketing strategy is now in place
You're ready to launch; complete, with game-face...

But did anyone ever bother to ask...

Why do I need to strategize to ensure I get to socialize?
What even, are you offering as a prize?
The right to interact?

Where did it begin to go wrong?
How are we letting this go on?
Who gets to decide
Which person fits, and who is better off on the outside?

May I hazard a step twelve?
I've been using it, and it's treating me well.
Don't bother.
Really, stop.
Why should you market yourself at all?
Especially to just MAKE a friend
Because that's a beginning, and not the end.

Don’t bother with making a case for you.

You’ll find your niche, like back in school

You’ll find that one other little girl

Who finds it fascinating to be in your world

And you in hers, and that’s all you need

Don’t  bother to bring her up to speed.

You’ll find each others’ oddities

Before you find the normalcy

Ideally, one day, we can all move on

And leave the marketing wars to Flipkart & Amazon

Because we're all broken

We're all oddities

Without a return policy

And why shouldn't we be?

Nobody cares what happens to perfection

It will be fine, it's programmed to be

We're all looking at the flawed

Because that is where there will be magic to see.

I'm Okay

The shower beats down steam & heat
Blessed relief from the deep freeze
And that’s good for now.

You’re okay
You’re alright
Close your eyes
And let the beat
Of the water repeat
The words so you believe

You’re okay
You’re alright

Repeat anything enough
And it comes true
Bullshit with a straight face
And anyone will believe you
You just need to commit

To memory like back in school
Where you had to remember, not Google
Commit
To the back of your mind
Like the tables we memorized
And then left far behind

Commit
To forgetting
To ignoring
To leaving it all behind
To getting better
And better
And better
Till nobody says
Are you okay?
Should you get help?
You’ve been really down
Get out of the funk now!

Commit
To hiding the existence
To avoiding the reactions
To dedication
Perseverance
And sheer
Fucking
Willpower!

I'm fine! 
I'm alright! 
I'm only washing my hair
That's why it took so long in there
Some extra grooming
Something unwanted needed removing 

You’ll believe it
If you repeat it enough
And you must
You must learn

To forget
Forget about the dark; forget it exists
Forget the endless nights fearing dawn
Looking for a way out of it all
Forget the feeling of being at the top of a fall you can predict
That hermetically sealed bubble slowly closing in
Forget the insecurities
The painful memories
Forget how it feels
In fact, douse the heat
Of how you feel
And push everything back into deep-freeze

The water is ice cold now
The geyser ran out of warmth
Trying to drum some into the arctic cold
That just refuses to leave
So I give up & let the icicles in
Beating down till I’m tingling
And I don’t know if I’m in pain
Or just numb now

You’re okay
You’re alright
My teeth chatter in time to the beat
As the water repeats
The mantra back to me

You’re okay.
You’re alright.

Repeat anything enough and you believe it
Bullshit with a straight face & you're sure to win
Going through the motions
Ignoring the emotions
I don't know when the argument
Ends
And reality begins

You're okay.
You're alright.

Falling in Love More Than Once

Love seems to come & go as it pleases
Looks like it listened to you
And those pointless & super cheesy
Dialogues you continue to spew:

"If I don't leave, how will I return?"
A pathetic attempt to soothe the burn
Of the departure I struggle against
Of the long wait that lies ahead.

Until I see you the next time
And all the love comes rushing in
Like the crashing waves of the incoming tide,
A tidal wave set of from within.

I guess it's worth the wait again
Till you find a way back to me
And I fall in love all over again
So many times now, I gave up counting.

Recipe: Breakfast

Two mugs pulled sleepily off their hooks
Fingers fumbling where closed eyes can’t look
To see just where the kettle sits
Deftly concocting the perfect mix
Of coffee, sugar, doodh aur paani
Differing from mug to mug fractionally
Carefully chosen breakfast spread
Of a thousand dips to eat with bread
And then settle down quietly;
Two mugs, sister, toast & me.
The lull before our daily storms
Begin to rage & drag us along.
As a ritual for keeping calm,
Add some judgement, if you want
There’s no one listening in on you
Coffee, food & just you two.
Or three, or four, as per taste
But don’t add too many, or it’s a waste
Of the carefully crafted simplicity
Like with coffee, sister, toast & me.


A friendly tip; for best results, consume this mix repeatedly.

OCD

Routine to see.
Shudders from you
At my style
Which I refuse
To match to yours
Because I’m all odds:
Odd Socks. Odd Laces
Odd Rhymes
Odd Timing
Oddball Furball.

And your structure
Causes torture
Too fixed
Too matched
To match to my desire
For oddities
Among symmetry.

Straining
Against what we are, inherently
Built so differently.
Obsessive in our own degrees;
Your even keel & my extremity
Both out of sorts
With all humanity.

But we’re calmer
When we’re together
Because when two halves make one
They must fit
In symmetry
In equality
And here we agree perfectly
With each other.

Fitting cracks into cracks
Where we both broke
In unison
Where equal hurt
Rests quietly
Complementary
To the capacity
To heal

Till we’re fixed
On one reality
That obsessive-compulsively
We must be
You & Me.

Starlight is Only the Reflection from Stars that Died Light-years Ago

Everyone notices shadow
Very few notice light.
Shadows were what light probably came up with
So people would love what it did.

Because light, na...
Light is the Indian Wedding in the form of energy
There's always something to complain about.
You screw up your eyes when there's too much
You squint when there's too little

YOU, though.
You wear dark glasses
Till it's too dark outside
To see the depths they hide
Till you're steeped in shadow
And what lies beneath, we'll never know
You're like light...
You've seen everything you need now
From the safety of your shadow.
You've traversed the depths
And as you sit there
In the light you like
The time reserved for postmortem starlight
You make mirrors out of all of us
In a strange defiant salute to physics

Your light
Calls to our light
And your solar-powered persona
Crafts planets out of us
Orbiting your sun
And we feel it

That slight buzz of energy
Rocket fuel to the personality

But nobody notices
The increasing grey
The deepening shadow
Night falling behind shadowed eyes
Because we're too busy shielding our eyes
Against the light.

#KadviKaakdi - A Bitter Tale

Like when you walk in on Friday with "plans for the night"
And find yourself right there when Sunday says goodnight.
Timeless thwarting of humanity
An out-of-nowhere whammy.
Evil hiding among friends
Revealing itself not till the end.
A toothsome treat gone badly wrong
Sorrow deployed with every dining gong
Sneaky devil in disguise
Kadvi Kaakdi... With the innocent it hides.
Like the spreading smog across the earth
That can't be traced back to its source
Rooted in pure disdain
Of anything but causing pain.
Kadvi Kaakdi crackles into the night
At every besieged diner's plight
Ageless evil is here to stay
From Birth of Nations to their Salad Days.

Resolution 2017

"It's not affecting your life na?"
See, I know it's not
Not directly
But it is personal.
Because you took away
The dream that there's hope
For millions
Looking to move up
To move out
To move on
From worlds that don't understand them
And I take dreams very seriously.

"But you can't change anything, so just move on"
But why?
One day
One country
Now one man
Changed everything.
And made it okay
To hate.

And hate causes wars
Hate causes hate
Hate burns and corrodes
Hate divides
And divides
Till the root of life
Is hate.

So why not?
Why can't one voice
One poem
One... Me
Change anything?

Nobody says anything
Because it's one country
Fuck them
Is about time someone
Kicked them in the superiority

For a moment there
We were living in a world
Where people wanted to love
Where "law" was friendly
Where the CEO of Google
Didn't have to call in personal favours
To let me in
To my own country
Where every news article
Didn't put me behind new bars
Where my anatomy
Was not making me a target
Where I had an option
To not be afraid.

And it wasn't political
It wasn't business
It was social
It was intrinsically human
To care.

And you know what?
I want to care.
And I want to get started now.
Because
The debates will begin again
Colour
Race
Religion
Pro-life...

...pro-life, that's funny
Did anyone think about life
When they took these calls
To build walls
To keep people out
To pick a thread
And slowly unravel life?

I want to make it harder
For everyone around me
To ignore people
To feel removed
To stay out of it
To "what's it to do with me?"

I'll tell you what it's got to do with you.
Not saying anything means
It's not "him"
It's you
Building walls
Banning people
Ignoring the world
Outside your comfortable
Air conditioned
Perfect
Living room.

One man
And his division
Will multiply
And add
To the voices
Till one
And one
And one
And one
Makes many
Who all took it very personally.

So what I'm going to do
Is care.
And talk about life.
Because let's do that a little.
Forget the objective
Forget the politics
Forget the dhandha
Forget your unfounded fears
And get personal
Because it's all personal...
It's personal as hell.

#Resolution2017