#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.

#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.

Narrative

You see & I see
Almost exactly the same things
What could be, or may be
But we’re never in sync
You’re half full, I’m empty
And neither of us wins
You say & I say
We see such different things.

What you saw, I missed out
I looked the other way
And by the time you turned around
My frame had already changed.
But this was your world and mine
Not a worldwide release
That you & I saw differently
Was an issue for you and me.
Your truth & mine
No longer what we meant it for
A connection for two
Not a skype call with the world

The world knows what they see
A unit despite disparity
You & I separated
From the common story.
What they read into me
And what they read into you
So different from what we know
So different from our truth.

But who can keep the world away
When they’ve picked their sides?
Now it’s about who saw it right
And picked the winning guy
You saw what I saw
For the first time, aligned
What absolutely could not be
No two ways around this time.
Both glasses half empty
A part empties away
As the world counts their winnings
And our story fades away.

Aashna Iyer - The Last Supper - Airplane Poetry Movement

Aashna Iyer Performs - "Inheritance"

I can't believe it took me this long to put this up!

Really makes me question my existence, this lapse... Anyway...

Menstruation isn't too much fun, guys, I mean, let's face it, we hate 'that time of month'. And you know what society does to make it better for us?

They treat us like we're dirty.

We're not allowed into temples, not allowed to touch our own stuff, not allowed to eat what we want, wear what we want, not allowed to play with who we want... Life after puberty is shitty, if you're a woman, and there's no reason why it should be!

It's so silly that we're a country of people for whom sacred equals 'motherland', 'gai-mata', 'Durga-ma' and what not... You know what ALL MOTHERS have to go through? Menstruation!

What is the logic here? NONE!

This is my attempt to get you to think a little, question a little, and maybe stop inheriting those ridiculous bits and pieces of knowledge that have been passed down to you by generations of ignorance...

SMM Dilemmas

We all have moments in life
When it's time to make  choice
One decision that could change all
One move; either way, it's your call
You decide, you choose your fate
You pick between relief and hate
One way or the other, you're stuck and you know it
You're losing your mind and you cannot show it
It is a curse of society
The diktat of propriety
Should I - Could I do that?
Can I ping him?
Do I dare start a chat?
Would he respond, would he ignore it?
Would I look at the ground, hope to be swallowed up by it?
Distraction won't work. Eyes stray to the page
Where they tell me he's still online at this stage
Start typing
Stop typing
Start typing
Delete
And he's still online, making this harder for me
Maybe that chat will result in something more by and by
The thought gives me the strength to finally type "Hi..."
And the crazy voices in my head
Scream that I should have ignored him instead
And now I stare and I stare some more
Hoping for a reply, hoping I'm not ignored...

LHS =/= RHS

When the LHS and RHS disagree
There's a problem where it shouldn't be
In school, that was the issue
The only thing that bothered you
Math sums that didn't add up
Equations that refused to be solved
Marks that never came in
An enmity with math you never resolved

But that was then
And this is now
When people die
When equations
Don't add up

The sign
That defines
Equality
...is a pair of lines
Carbon copies
Mirror images
A pair of lines
Both the same

But that
That's math
And math?
It's about fact
It's about school
It's not reality
It's a tool
On your way
To adulthood

Unless the calculation
Needs revision
Because somewhere
Someone decides
That you exist
To prove a point.
You're the LHS that the RHS can't stand
You're the means to an end
You're the pivotal part of their plan

To rebel against math
To take revenge against someone
You don't even know
It's about authority
It's not school
It's a tool
To prove a point.
You never cared about anyway

Kahaani Kuch Jyaada Hi TV Ki

The midget is your usual TV-enthusiast child-of-the-90s.
I love my cartoons, and my RomComs and SitComs and have a particular soft corner good-looking men with sexy accents.
I don't usually rant about the media, because, let's face it, my bread-sans-butter comes from all kinds of media thingamies. But there's one thing I cannot suffer silently, and that's the soap-opera. More specifically, the Indian TVC's contribution to soap-operas has me fuming.
Because in a country where they only need the dream of the hint of smoke before they call the fire-brigade, the blatant kitchen-sink politics they showcase, even glorify can contribute to some unpleasant domestic situations. Our TVCs show violence, greed, crime, adultery, emotional abuse all in the guise of 'entertainment'.

It frustrates me. So I did what I always do when frustrated. I wrote. And then performed it. Here it is... Kahaani Kuch Zyaada Hi TV Ki

Responses welcome.

Critique encouraged.

Please do fight with me on this one. I'd love to have a chance to rant impromptu!

Why, Laptop, Why? - Pune Poetry Slam

Because technology gets us hooked and then tests its power... Why, Laptop? Why did you have to do what you did to me?