Tuesday, December 30, 2008

Swirling Red Wine

So I see into the depth of her eyes,

Like many of us lonely

seeking answers from time

And I sink deeper in the red of your wine

Standing far from you and still

drowning into the core of your darkness

for little joys and heavy pains

I desire the nakedness of your soul

Hidden truth of a bleeding heart, I harness.

Oh, many a lives play their silly cards

Betrayals, guilt and mystic true love

Unfound, still forever lasts,

Destiny smiles, as you slip the touch

One of hidden desires

you tried to hold so hard

Cup of Memories fills with moments

which you live and left behind, so far,

mingled with shine,

flowing from your eyes,

ones which moistened and

deserted forever,

the softness of lips parched,

heaving for burning moments which

died, unfinished, left ajar.

Monday, December 15, 2008

Till one night...

Its perfectly silent today, inside the room. The monsoon is somber and melancholy. But its different. The winds are blowing out and the crows are croaking far into the drenched trees. But inside the room, its only the sound of wheezing wind and its moist coldness over the skin. Pricking coldness and lovely sound of wind and me.

I am as sane as I’ve been of late. With not much drunken heaviness on my head, though there is a strong desperation for a smoke. Growing stronger by the minute. The eyelids are feeling light, not swollen and heavy, after a long time. Lighting up a cigarette in this wind, under the dark clouds, into its stillness, but I am resisting it. Knowing fully well, that I’ll give into the strong urge, sooner. Just that I am thinking about the perfect silent place where I can soak into my cigarette. Go to some place, smoke and some how think about this silence and stay in it. If nothing, just stare into its emptiness and stay in it.

What I remember of recently is the last weekend. It was sort of a little celebration for the new apartment into which three of the friends had moved in. Usually, whenever I’ve entered into their place there is this music. Not this time. I was told it was by the sea-side with a sea view from the balcony. Escorted by and behind Haria, I walk to the balcony, it was a dark evening and I could not see any sea. It was pitch dark to see anything but the road lit with street-light and the slums that line the beach side with the black tarpaulin.but I could hear her. For a second it felt I could hear her scream for me, but I could not figure out, was it angry, brooding, gloomy, or just as powerful as the amazon.

Soon we were stretching ourselves on the couch and started drinking. That’s usual, we drink when we meet. And we drink heavy when we all meet up. Mostly we drink, till the bottles are emptied. Then we smoke cigarettes. We smoke them all the time. Till the cigarette packets are emptied. Then some one drives into the night. Gets another bottle of whiskey and few packets of cigarettes. This night was no different I remember.

I guess there was a little difference that I can recollect now. It was mostly silent that night. Usually we play music in the back ground and we drink and we smoke. Soon the music gets louder. Sometimes it turns to a noise. Noise to cut us off from the thinking. Sometimes the music is noise to take us away into thoughts far away from the frustrating week long life of servitude, of boredom. Week long days where in we try to somehow contain the restlessness and manage to keep the spirits at some reasonable level. But into this night we had all decided not to play music right up our ears. It was played into a different room , with a soft number, just barely audible to hear and we started talking.

Every one could sense Chandra’s mood. His bearded face was unflinching clear about his frustration and angst with routine life. For reasons that he tells us he doesn’t know. For reasons I think he knows and each one in the room could feels. The answers he knows but chooses denial. We start talking. We talk gibberish. Things which are of little value to build a prosperous life. We talk shit, so I feel. But anyways, we light up cigarettes, fill whiskey into the plastic glasses, and we talk shit. We try to remember the good old college days, spent at the cemented platform under the tree. Comparing our present life to the college days. Remembering how each one enjoyed the aimless life that we led. As we speak of college into the subconscious we try to recollect and compare our school days to our college days. In school, when we all had purpose, single minded effort to a goal called college. When the world was limited to your goal and your success and the struggle to success. When we were in school we thought we were brilliant and consciously tried to enhance our efforts in direction of our goals. When we wanted to prove more. The energy levels were high. And compare college days where we effortlessly lost the identity earned in school days. Where in we appreciated the world around and remained agape with the diversity that lay in front. When we first started to cherish smoking, drinking, getting high on soft drugs and adventured with our lives. Never realizing about what lay in future. And now we reflect back up all of it and remember them and talk about it and ask questions. Irrelevant questions.

We talk shit. A lot of crap. And gulp all the drinks we have. Trying to ridicule the world or appreciate its diversity. Still trying to define the meaning of the word success. Only that now it is different. Its simply unclear. The desires, the needs and the wants. Desire for calmness inside ourselves, desire for dreams, desires for sexual cravings, desire for money, desire for happiness.

Then Haria spoke, “ There are no answers to such musings, that life”. He speaks it with so much ease that its puts to rest all the discussions. Sinking in the very feeling that its another of those aimless conversations and fruitless discussions about past, present, future and useless sentiments.

After exhaustion from all this talking, we just walked into the balcony. Drunk and exhausted we sit on the hairs, on the pavement. And stare into dark night. Over the road. Far away where the sea roars. Ambrishh tells me to watch the sea in the morning-it looks beautiful, as if he wants to see its vastness in that particular dark night and may be he could still see it into this eyes. We all lay there silently, occasionally talking something. Enquiring about friends. Ambrishh asks, “ How’s Pandey doing”. I tell him “ nothing much, haven’t spoken to him in couple of days”. The conversation ends. Then the silence dawns. We talk about how much none of us wants to go to work in the morning. Then the silence dawns again.

I do not know what they were thinking. I lay there and listen to roaring sea. The wind blows through the trees making wheezing sounds. The curtains blowing into the air, rising, rumbling. Its feels cold over the skin. Cold and silent. There is this amazing balance in the nature. The howling sea it tears apart the silence of the night, yet silence and coldness prevail. Like two opposites in perfect harmony and respect for each others might. Like silence whispers the strength of void clear to the winds. Like darkness breaths on the face of the light, silently proclaiming its omnipresence in the universe.
And we remain spectators.

It feels similar today. The wind roars, the silence of solitude prevails. There is this gentle feeling of depression that takes over. The pulse feels lower than usual. But I ‘ve started to enjoy it that way. I realize I like these useless conversations. I realize I enjoy this aimless drifting. I enjoy these cold howling winds in the monsoons. I like that balcony. I like the company of friends. I like us sitting around that center table, with plastic glasses, empty bottles, morsels of food, and the useless discussion. And I know, time will change, someday the table top will no longer be cluttered, but may be with a vase sitting on squeaky clean glass pane. And may be someday we would be standing behind glass window and pull the strings to open the Venetian blinds, look outside and want to walk away and escape into the night- reflecting.

Sometime I think, we all at our ages, realize, we all keep drifting away, leaving so much behind. Into our own choices. Into our individual destinies. Unconsciously, drifting like these winds, these times. Till one night…

P.S: Reflections in the blues tempo.