Love letters

Old letters are nostalgic, endearing even, written between family and friends.

However, there is always something sinister about love letters; even as the love gets consummated.

Love letters are out of this world, they do not belong here, except for those stolen moments they are written and read, re-read, and re-read for quite some time.

Like stealthy kisses, fateful impulses, they are born out of fervent passions, minds in a whirl, momentous ecstasies, or desperate agonies.

Like fireworks on the sky, magical flowers that sprout and wither overnight,

they are glorious, yet ethereal in their own accord.

Scandal and shame always await them,

or worse, the inevitable purging.

But the worst happens to those that manage survival and hold honorable places in chests,

for they lose their lusture like aging actors.

True love like wine gets better with age,

love letters decay, fade over time.

Like illegal drugs, adversely therapeutic, they lurk in locked chests, these phantoms of your past.

As you pass by them in silent weary afternoons, an eerie solitude creeping over, unsaid,

you first hear them smirking and giggling,

slowly turning into painful groans;

finally they come, the unmistakable shrieks soaring to such levels, as though you locked them just seconds before...

Like devilish naughty kids, they plead at you with sly eyes, asking to be with you, promising their atonement

your heart wrenches to forgive, but know that you shouldn’t

Nevertheless,

You budge, giving in to their victory, undoubtedly as you must.
with streaming tears you embrace them, spend some happy hours with these fugitives,
cooing with them over the past, only until  it’s time to get back to the present.
you then watch them go back to their graves, carrying undue poignancy,

Every time a bit more aged,

more faded,

and more dog-eared than the last.

The Black Hole

It was only a tiny little spot,

neatly cleared up, no mess at all

totally empty, staring at me...
not for long, I was smug and easy

took to feeding it slowly but surely,

as it grew greedily,
to enormous stature;

no hope of satiation, whatsoever;

I went on relentlessly

pooled in every resource I owned and borrowed;

what was just a poor little void

is now a panoptic hungry black hole;

Dreading me from deep within,

Waiting for absolute usurpation;

Nothing seems the Matter to it

And not even a faint Light returns!

Perhaps...!

With the rustle of each wind,
I look up at the bell,
perhaps, it will toll on its own
but no,
it just hangs there, tongue-tied
waiting for me to tug at the rope, perhaps?
The winds whistle away,
mocking at both of us...perhaps!

A Tortoise Story

That I am able to shut out and let in
anything at anytime within my self-made shell
scares me...
Is the trail actually deserted
or am I taking futile detours?
the cheery mad laughter that I so relish
has died down all of a sudden,
returning only to haunt my dreams;

weary of the path that is so clear ahead
I lie down and sleep a little,
dreaming of dancing and not running;

Where's the grace in winning a race?
with poor little hares that can't match your pace?

Survival of the Flippant

Life is all about Love, Sex, and Intoxication
Survival? that's a totally different story.
Live less and survive longer...that's the way of the world
#sad, really!

Homecoming

The sun returns;
after long dark wintry nights
of mournful hibernation;
Its rays weak, merely warm;

it shyly kisses the snow covered leaf,
with bated breath, it prays that the leaf lives

the leaf turns over with a radiant smile
welcoming the gentle warmth with goosebumps all over

Deeply disturbed? rightly so...

1, 2, 3, 5, 6, 7, I am not counting numbers. These are the ages of girl kids being raped and killed in our nation, by the hour.
We stand by, shocked to the senses, a nauseating feeling creeping in, owing as much to our helplessness as to the heinousness of the crime.

These acts have been happening all along, around us; shame on us if we are as ignorant as to believe that Delhi is the only rape capital. We live in rape towns, rape cities, rape villages, rape colonies, rape HOMEs.But nothing matters, everything is just a piece of horrendous news unless...(you know what I was going to say.)

More often than not, the perpetrators are well-known to the children; "friends" of their family. In a scenario where we are even numb to news about fathers raping their own daughters, this is not surprising. Yes, we hear of a case like that every other day. Let's face it...it happens, there is no way we are going to stop it happening if we go on pretending that we didn't hear it.
So, where are we heading to? Are we okay with such things happening around us? I for one, feel ashamed to look at my daughters in their eyes. What kind of world have I brought them into?
Can I tell them, "See, the world is a filthy place to live in..but don't worry, we all are living here with our senses blocked, learn the art from us; Let me just pray that you be safe..."  SHAME!

The good touch bad touch concept seems to be the mantra of the educated elite class, let alone middle class children. All schools including public and corporation schools must rigorously include schemes of protecting the girl children as part of the curriculum.

Awareness about pedophiles is the need of the hour. It's not a bad idea to seek the help of reformed criminals who can help us identify and fight this epidemic better. We need information, their inside story, how they lure children, what makes them beasts so they attack vulnerable young kids.

We need to think of immediate, long term, and ongoing measures to stop, prevent such crimes from happening again. Planning and imagining the worst possible punishments for the criminals is not one of the sanatory options.

Our PM, he says, is "deeply disturbed". Good! We hope he is disturbed enough to take some stringent action against drug trafficking and liqour distribution in this "developing" country.

Those who have suffered agonizing mental trauma hearing about this particular case, may read this too:
http://www.rediff.com/news/report/delhi-wounds-of-five-year-old-rape-victim-healing/20130422.htm

Cinderella and her fairy

"Give me not a chariot of gold, or groomsmen, oh so neat;
Nor do I ask for dainty glass slippers for my feet.
Let me borrow your silvery wings, oh! let me just try them once!"
implored little Cinderella at her mighty fairy godmother

"Alas my dear child, these are not mine to claim;
borrowed wings are these, tracked and watched for time.
Tools of duty that I must duly return in the eve."
So saying with a forlorn smile, the fairy took her leave.

Crop rotation

Sow a different crop each time,
so you don't deplete the soil of the same nutrients
also you get to reap a different crop each time
but many a time,
you don't always reap what you sow

Broken Kaleidoscope

All those artistic patterns,
a million colorful hues;
nothing but tricks of my own hands and eyes

Ropewalk

It's a tight rope walk
walk carefully, slowly,
do not drop the heavy stick...
make sure you retain your balance

listen to our words, never falter,
move forward in a strictly straight line
look around, but only where we ask you to.

But never look within...
for you'll come to know
that the rope is just
lying on the ground.

Projections

All dimensions are perfect in a closely viewed isometric projection.

To obtain perspectives, step back and get away.

Dystrophy

I accidentally stumbled on the other side of my heart,
and now really cant tell one side from the other;

I mistakenly looked over the forbidden wall,
and now find that it doesnt exist anymore;

I disturbed the serene dripping of the hour glass,
and got stranded in time, for what seems like eternity;

Discovering reasons and deducing logic for what was once outrightly crazy,
I have doomed myself into a rational insanity.

Madness...

I am just a tiny insect

that suffers and spreads

this malignant disease

please have mercy

oh, do not judge me

am just a carrier, a conductor

in great pain myself;



I know not the origin,

I do not plan to attack;

nor do I have definite targets

I charge by instinct

I die by the same

The River

The river starts flowing again 
meandering its path boldly out of the sea 
at a high tide, defying gravity; 
now a bit salty, no more streamlined, 
it flows with a turbulence never known before

The Sun

The sun shines atlast, bright and dazzling;
blinding me to everything else
its rays kissing every bit of my skin,
As I greedily drink it in, scorching my throat, blistering;
lying back on the hot fissured ground, in a timeless bliss,
I relive the dream endlessly;
slowly dusk sets in, the retreating sun more beautiful than ever
as it leaves behind the longing for another day, another new promise

Another new shade...

A bitter sweet chocolate,
rich and creamy, satiably sweet;
a fresh new flavour, perfect and nourishing
yet every single time,
as the last bite melts down,
leaves behind a twinge of regret

The Fire

I was playing with fire,


smitten by its reddish blaze;

with a deep mysterious core

the heat was warm, tingling my senses;

melting and uncovering the cold crust of my heart



but the fire soon turned cool and blue,

I dared it to burn me, scorch me to ashes;

as i sought with vigor, it went cooler and darker

the blue flames no more soothing, leaves my heart colder than ever

The drama is over...or is it?

The drama is over...the curtains are drawn. Tabloids will have another week at the max sentationalising it, while conservatives "briefly" pay their condolences, loathing to say anymore on the grim subject.

That's how we are...At extremes. Either seeking food for our sensations, or being refinedly aloof. When are we going to actually see things for what they are?
As an emotional fool myself, I know what the price is. An entire nation cannot afford to be so. The media cannot fodder or cater only to just the sensations of its people.The cost is dangerous. Baby Falak - one of the thousands of children being abused and trafficked, or both, everyday in this beautiful country. Weeks after Falak got front coverage, there was a news about a "Baby Sanyam". thanks to the links..."Those who read this, also read.." Another baby, another unimaginable horror.

But baby sanyam quickly lost the limelight. Probably because he had his mother to care for. I have been googling for him ever since, dying to know what happened to him, how has he recovered, but no update whatsoever after the part that his biological father was fighting for his custody. For godsake, what happened to the child??

When I first saw the picture of Baby Falak lying in a hospital bed with her face masked, and her tummy covered with a lot of tapes and IV lines, I was naturally reminded of my younger one aged one. Because though two years old, Falak appeared to me only as big as my daughter.

I could not but feel that this could have been my own daughter. Well, I felt she is as good as mine. I could not imagine the horrors the little one, whom should have been showered with love and care, had undergone. Like thousands of Indian mothers who saw and cried over her plight, I too could not sleep that night.

From then on, I have been following her updates on the various news sites/ channels. For the past four or five days, the only bit of news about her was that she is stable, and was fit to be discharged in a week. I was anxiously waiting for the news about who will take her custody. It's believed that several people from India and abroad had volunteered to adopt her. Her mother, a victim of human traffickking herself, has been identified and is under the custody of a home run by an NGO.

I was patiently waiting for news that the "miracle baby" as the Doctors had declared her for surviving so many cardiac arrests and injuries and trauma, had all the possibilities to lead a normal life, and that her brain was not likely to be damaged. That was the one line I was dying to read on the next update. Sadly, this is not a fairy tale that I was reading.

"Baby Falak leaves for a better world"
"Videos, expert blogs, more breaking news on Baby Falak"
This is what Igot for googling her name today.
Seriously, I am unable to understand the psycology behind any of this.

We are all to blame to let this happen right before our own eyes. Forgive me too darling.
Helplessness hurts...and haunts.

India! Open your bleary eyes to Sex Trafficking

A sense of pathetic helplessness is stinging hard....
The past few days are haunted by just one thing...Baby Falak. Even the most hard-hearted person is moved to tears reading about her in so many news sites and channels that flash her story from various aspects. The whole country is praying for her - pipe in the reporters.

Yes, it's true. Nevertheless, the gnawing question is, how long are we going to just read such horrors on news papers, lament about it for a while, and wilfully, thankfully may be) forget them as we get engrossed in the all important affairs of our daily routine?

I personally have statistics; the number of times I felt sick and disgusted, engraged with so much frustration that ends up with a migraine. But it passes; fades away in due course, until another shocking headline hits the eye.

It seems that not a single person is to be blamed for the fate of Falak. The teenage girl responsible for Falak's current fate has clearly been a victim of intense sexual exploitation, possibly trafficking. An innocent baby left with nobody to care but a tramautized person, barely grown out of childhood. Who is to blame?

There can be no second opinions about all involved directly in Falak's case must be
severely punished. However, it'll only be chopping the tip of the ice berg. All the people who are to be blamed are linked to the never-talked-about business of sex trafficking.

It's not that we are not aware; we are aware of the human trafficking that flourishes in our country, aware of the enumerous teenage girls and children exploited in every inhuman way possible...what have we done?

Most of us don't even want to hear about them, it disturbs us. It shakes up our visions and dreams of a perfect world. We'd rather turn our backs on the dark aspects of life; pray to our "high and mighty" gods that we stay out of such dirty and lowly troubles.

It's high time the government takes a serious hand to curb this horrendous business that is going about. Individual crusaders like Sunitha Krishnan face all the hurdles in the world to do their might. However, without stricter laws in place and forceful execution, there is little hope for a better future.

May be the government should legalize prostitution, let willing adults indulge in it with safe measures. well, they might face vehement opposition from Saffron clad crusaders for daring to defame the "rich cultural heritage" of this holy land.

We stand at a threshold to decide what's important. The lives and fates of thousands of innocent children? or our self-inflicted, self-destroying, highly hypocritic notion called "Indian (read Hindu) culture"