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.