Pluviophile

Melancholic 

Romantic

Annoying

Beautiful

Treacherous

Healing

Repulsive

Sensuous

Rain 

Defies grasp

Of the hand

And the mind

Soaks the soul 

More than the body

Caresses like a lover

And damages like one too

Doesn’t stop till it’s through

You

Wouldn’t know 

With your arid form

And your arid mind

That’s parched and cracked

And hardened beyond repair

That revels in its barren beauty

And deters those droplets from treading

Lest they too lose themselves to oblivion

Alas

You misjudge

And grossly miscalculate

Those droplets are now torrents

A relentless and unforgiving army

That rushes and gushes and ravages

Leaving nothing but mush in its wake

Slowly you begin to embrace your destiny

Turning into the quagmire you were always meant to be

Wistful 

Quixotic

Maddening

Heart-wrenching

Deceitful

Gratifying

Murky

Inspiring

Rain 

Defies grasp

Of the hand

And the mind

Destroys the shell 

And imbues from within

Washing away all pretensions

Unless you are what you were never meant to be

Then your metamorphosis is its only redeeming mercy

The Grind

Prepare to take a leap of faith

Spread your wings wide, and soar

With your feet rooted firmly of course

Or Icarus’s fate will be yours!

Take a dive in the deepest sea

For a taste of the knowledge that was never yours

But beware of the cutthroat sharks within

They show no mercy to even the next of kin!

If it is treasure you seek, look far and wide

But there is no pot of gold at the end of the rainbow

It is but an endless toil day after day

So, prepare, Sisyphus, prepare to decay!

You tell me the grind has been worthwhile

From poor church mouse to lord of the concrete jungle

You say you have led a life of decadence

Need I remind you, child, that it all now ends with a slow ride in a hearse?

You shan’t be forgotten, though

Your stories will be shared by those you left behind, like your heirloom

Why is it, though that when you linger through that last dying ember

They look around, and ask, “How much longer?”

In Remembrance...

This is in memory of Pradipta or Tublan who was and will remain the apple of so many eyes… It has been seventeen days since you left us – a very insignificant number not marking anything. Then, why is it that I chose today to be the day when I pen down every thought that I have been feeling since 5^th July and not uttered to anybody? Is it because I have finally come to terms with your loss? Guess not. Because that is beyond my power. Despite my always having been a person who chooses the head over the heart, I cannot come to terms with this. This has made me question and doubt the very source and destination of my daily prayers. The last seventeen days, I would wake up every morning and somehow believe that you, keeping the ritual of sending me ‘good morning’ texts alive, would send me yet another text wishing me ‘good morning’ and add that all I have been hearing about you was a big nasty prank…

When I shared this idea with a friend, she (probably thinking I had gone berserk) calmly explained that I had to accept the truth that you aren’t coming back. It took me some more days to register and here I am, taking one deep breath after another and writing everything down because I have never thought of myself as an expert at handling crises; and speaking about you without ending up sobbing inconsolably would be a Herculean task I am not capable of.

When my mum told me ‘Tublan aar nei (Tublan is no more)’ I thought I had heard her wrong and that you had probably met with an accident and had been hospitalized. Those clarificatory details however, never came. The shock those three words caused me has often woken me up in the wee hours of the morning with a jolt and hit me like a cold wave when I sit up and wonder as to where we went wrong to deserve such punishment.

Wherever you are at the moment, I would like to believe that you are much happier than any of us here but what angers me is the fact that you had the privilege to explore it before any of us had the chance to. I am told to derive solace in the belief that you are at peace there but what about all those whom you left behind? What about each one of us who still holds on to you steadfastly?

I still remember that you were the one who gave me my first Barbie when I was six years old. You were the one whose interest in Swami Vivekananda was so infectious that I started reading about him, myself. It was you whose example my parents would cite when I scored poorly in my exams. It was you who sent me those long texts so frequently in the form of poems stating that the days that we spend in school and college are never going to come back and therefore, should be enjoyed to the greatest extent possible. All this meant so little, then. Now that you are gone, all I have left is the past which I ruminate over time and again and whose every facet, I remember in painstaking detail. I have three messages of yours in the form of jokes in my phone. (I always regarded you as one who thought it his personal responsibility to make those around him smile.) Once my phone memory becomes full, I will probably feel compelled to delete even those three messages. But every minuscule element that I remember about you is probably enough to honour everything that you are to me.

When I sat grieving on the 5^th of July, my Dad tried to console me saying that studying diligently and scoring well in the exam I had on the following day was the least I could do to honour you since you have always been so hard-working. I derive succor in the fact that I did my best and that you would have had no complaints against me while you were leaving. I do not question His deeds anymore because you have always been so spiritual and I do not shy away from talking about you anymore (fearing those tears) because I take pride and feel privileged in having known you. Although this grief of separation is insurmountable and has created a void in my life, I look forward to seeing you on the other side; and trust me, it will be sooner than you think…

Musings at my desk…

Sitting at a desk, I let ennui wash over me,

Looking around, I see numerous files around me.

Dusty old pages of forgotten feud,

Some that show us the way, others that delude.

I am expected to be fervent and learn,

How do I, when this gibberish is so difficult to discern?

A lonesome desk and a steaming cuppa allow me the much needed privacy

But it is this privacy that triggers in me decadency!

The Android Market and trashy e-books are my solace now

For, focus eludes me and diversions hold me captive somehow!

As I park myself in this air-conditioned room

I prepare to succumb to the infectious gloom;

Forgoing the breeze that is blowing outside.

Beckoning, it entreats me to join its stride.

Like an estranged lover, I study its movements discreetly

 I find leaves, frayed cloth and tattered paper yielding to it completely.

Resignedly, as I come back to my desk,

I prepare to work on putting together the burlesque;

Which changes colour like a chameleon,

And transforms from an appeal to a reprieve to a remission.

I hear it will be presented before a just, impartial lady

Who will be judging it ‘blindfoldedly’!

Although the scales she holds display balance,

They in reality often tip heavily in favour of affluence.

She has in conclusion given her verdict in print,

Letting one have the last laugh while another is chagrined.

And thus begins a fresh round of charade;

Laden with vice but justice writ large on its façade.

I return my gaze to the weighty file in front of me

Nevertheless the ennui washes over me…

‘No great work has ever been produced except after a long interval of still and musing meditation’ ~ Walter Bagehot

  

The Solitary Moon

I gaze at the moon that looks down upon me and smiles its wry smile.

It understands my loneliness.

It is not reluctant to bare its blotches.

It derives solace in the cavern in my existence.

Not everything that is beautiful is content, it explains.

Not everything that is beautiful is supreme.

I am but a mere shadow of another’s existence –

A scrounger of another’s glory.

Beauty and mirth rarely go hand in hand,

Nor does it guarantee camaraderie.

Why lament, what is out of reach?

Why seek the elusive?

Why embrace the afterglow of a mirage?

That’s when I understand –

You’re not illusive –

You’re absolute and my desire incarnate,

Basking in the eerie glow of this moon,

Breathing my sanguine expectation.

You terminate this torment, and consummate this pursuit.

For, the moon that is a comrade of my solitude is yours too,

The glow that it bestows upon my visage is a part of your countenance too…

…………………………………

There are nights when the wolves are silent and only the moon howls.’

~ George Carlin 

Ode to an Old Friend

(i)

Hello, Melancholy – my old comrade!

Where are you, I wonder…?

My mind has been your favourite promenade

Wherein you loved to enter and meander.

‘Out of sight, out of mind’ -

Seems to be the order of the day;

You however, were an extraordinary kind

Who compelled me to obey.

You clung to me like Velcro

And blended yourself into me;

The more I tried to let go,

The more you lacerated me.

Oblivion, I knew would not come so easily,

For, your roots were too deep

Which clung to me steadfastly.

So I decided to give in and silently weep. 

I bowed before your magnanimity,

For, you enveloped me in those wide arms, and made me numb.

I marvel at your tenacity,

For, despite my resistance, you never gave up, and made me succumb.

(ii)

Now you’ve left me alone and are gone,

I weep no more, but am still forlorn.

I fail to comprehend this mannerism

Wish I could purge myself of this masochism.

But although you’ve moved on to greener pastures

I miss your ‘noble’ gestures!

I miss the darkness into which you’d draw me

For, light now blinds me!

I have become an island in a sea

A complete misfit, the joke seems to be on me!

I fail to appreciate mirth

‘Cause I have forgotten its worth.

They call it relativity

But what is this to me, but insanity?

I now need you to remind me

The true value of joy, of what it should mean to me… 

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'It is such a secret place, the land of tears.' - Antoine de Saint

Despicable Me

I am unreasonable; whimsical, they call me!

Seldom yielding; always adamant!

Rarely forbearing, ever rancorous!

Hardly altruistic, relentlessly misanthropic!

Well, this is how I’m wired!

I always have it my way!

Who wants to be selfless,

When he can have the world by his sway?

I know I’m despicable!

For, one loves to hate me,

Yet hates the way he loves me!

My loathsomeness knows no bounds,

Like the infernal serpent, it hisses as it hounds.

It derives immense pleasure out of the chase,

Once the prey succumbs, it displays apathy,

And moves on...

Only to watch its prey die slowly,

Out of decadence more than anything else.

For once you’ve given in

There’s no turning back.

The serpent has had its fill

And now moves on to a fresh kill!

I take pride in this sadism,

For, heartlessness is my thing,

And humanity shuns me!!!

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‘So many people to kill... so little time! ’- Poison Ivy