at the pub...on one wet evening...

The evening was wet
It was drizzling, and if it drizzles on the first week of October...
And if you're in a pub with bottles of potions sparkling...
You must get into the act of drinking smooth honey!

That was what exactly he was doing,
Sitting on the high stool, near the bar tender's counter,
Admiring each and every subtle movements of the tender's hands...
How she mixed one potion with another with perfect ease...
How she shook the lemon chips and soda and coriander leaves in steel shiny shakers
As her whole body gyrated...

He sat there, looking at the potions on display...of different hues...
White, black, orange, red, green, brown, blue...
He noticed how the water drops made maps of unknown continents on the glass panes...
He noticed how three coated honchos argue and altercate, drunk...
He noted down the sad eyes of that woman sitting at one corner
With a colorless potion lying idle...

At the pub...
One wet wet evening...
He, noted everything...the people...society...competition...love won and lost...
At the pub...

the cup brims over...

He thought he grasped exactly what it meant really,
When the cup of mind brims over...
He thought he had experienced that feeling before even... registered somewhere in his hotspot of cranium...
The feeling of the cup brimming over and overflowing...
Inundating all and sundry,
Flooding him and her,
Flooding his books and pencils and keyboards...
Flooding his walks and runs and rides...
Flooding the streets and the roads traveled and yet to be traversed!

The feeling of the cup of mind getting filled and emptied by default!
It overcame him...
It came over him like silent dream...
It came over his solitary existence like slokas chanted by the priest...
It came pouring like the Great Inundation!

The flight...

My flight was always due
I knew that within...always...
Probably the moment I was born the flight of birds left me bedazzled...
Probably Icarus heaved a sigh on my nimble heart...

So taking the flight, for me,
Was like fish taking to water!
I had that fore knowledge
That fanciful flights are great scramblers...
They could scramble my existence even!

But still, I thought, the flight should I take,
No matter what pulls me down-
Sarcasm, hate, irony, pains...
I knew the flight fanciful cheats so well...

But still I had those sighs of Icarus, heaving on me, all the time
Icarus and his molten wings...
Icarus and his fall...

I knew all those beforehand,
I knew all the pangs n glories...
But never felt attracted by any of them,
For only the flight was important for me-
The Flight, and nothing else...
The light of the sun falling on my tiny existence...
Because of the flight...
The heavenly tunes running through me-
Because of the flight...

I knew what I would be termed as-
Madcap, eccentric, whimsical, frenzied, emotional, cruel, inhuman...
The list could be never ending...
I know the list myself!
But tell me,
How can I miss the heaven and the blue sky?
How can I miss the angels with wands of poesy waking me up every morn?
How can I possibly miss the flight?

the listeners...

For the last few days...
They are not talking...
They just listen together-songs...
Not songs proper even-some kind of music, instrumental...
They just listen, without talking, as if they had turned speechlessly silent;

For the last few weeks they listen the songs of the birds, the call of the wind, the rustle of the leaves, the rumble of the river...
They hardly talk...
For, talks are so mundane, they've realised after talking so much over the years;

They just listen
For they have become The Listeners true!

like a feather

Sitting by the pedestal fan, buzzing just by my ears, unplugged...
I felt, like a feather...light...as if I simply don't exist...
As if my being has become non existent...
As if I have become a mild breeze myself,
Blowing away...
'so blown away by the gust of wind...like a feather...like a leaf, yellow...'

Sitting by the wind blowing so hard into my ears and my soul,
I felt like being blown away to far off lands...
Where only peace prevails...
Where the seagulls fly enjoying every bit of their flight...
Where the unknown calls...

choose, dear...choose...

He told her oneday,
Distracted, looking at the blue sky and the distant cliff, snow capped...
'Choose dear, for life is a matter of choice...
Choose...only one request...
don't choose it unhappily-like a life going haywire...
choose dear,using all your mind and nimble heart...
choose, with all that you are bestowed with...
choose...as life chooses beauty;'

She just kept silent, processing every word and syllable spoken to her by the vagrant man;

But he was still unperturbed, as if he was looking the distant snow capped hills
And he was in a trance;
He muttered:
'Choose dear, as morn chooses the day,
as the road chooses the traveler...
Choose dear...
with fervour and gaiety...'

THE PATH

He got down from his car,
Just where the road bisected into two...
He just dropped down from his car,
And asked the driver to leave him there;

The driver was curiously dumbed,
For he never saw the man getting down from his car in a bisection..

One road was fairly peopled, festive, crowded, noisy...
And the other road was almost vacant-
Only an orphaned boy, a widow, a hermit and painter were there...

They were all walking,
 silently, but with happy faces...calm, bright...

He looked thrice to the crowded road, boisterous,
And thought:
'why me not be a bit brave to walk the silent but happy road?'
So,
He took the path-
'Of course less traveled by',
And
After traveling a few paces,
He realised that the path went up to a cliff...
And as he looked up,
He thought he saw no path!
He could only see the cliff, covered by snow and frost...
Those who preceded him to reach the very spot,
From where the path actually disappeared,
Were seen getting scattered...
They were busy searching for a path up the hill-
Each, in his or her own way...

He thought
He should also try
Now that he had chosen a path
And the path had been so silently invigorating!

don't cry, dear!

'Now that the new born sun is smiling through the curtain of cotton cloud...
Don't cry, dear!
Don't be such a baby...
Cause I love you dear!
I love you more than anyone else in the world...
I love you more than your parents...your brothers and sisters...your wives and husbands...
I love you like your kids and daughters...little bit emotionally though...
I love you all the ways possible...
I love you as nature provides happiness to worn out saddened hearts...
I love you the way the beauty of the dew drenched deodars on solitary cliffs soothe ...

Don't cry dear!
As love has come to you so pure and divine
As love has bestowed upon you such an amount of elation permanent'

the woman of morn...

Riding along, as usual, I thought,
It was time to stop somewhere,
Tired kind of,as I was,
Hitting the wet bluish black road as early as the pre-dawn...

So I stopped,
And noticed a tea-stall clean
As clean as the open slate of mind in the morn...

And there she was making tea...
Her black hair untied, oiled, shiny,
Falling over her shoulders,
And I looked at her face...calm...but full of love unrequited...
I sat on the wooden bench
Being just another thirsty traveler...
She handed me warmth,
Cupped in plastic...
I stared at her curious eyes...
And ...
I lit up the first fag
Leaving from my mouth slowly the white airy poison;

Then suddenly she asked:
'So...why you've come here?... missed the path?'
I said nothing but looked
At her face full of warmth...
And shook my head as if feeling sorry for being a jaywalker into her place;

Then

I dropped a few coins on her open palm
As if I dropped a lot of my state, jaywalking, waywardness...
She saw it all with her intent shiny eyes...

'Please do come again, missing your path...'
She said, her face having half smile...
I felt pained...
I felt helplessly agonized, knowing the tears that filled to the brim, my seagull-heart...

As I descended from the wooden bench
And got ready for the long ride again...
She repeated:
'Do come again, even if you come confounding your destined route...'
I just smiled,
With a candle burning inside,
And the molten wax melting forever...inside...

are we living it good, dear?

If you have that twinkling in your eyes, believe me, senorita,
You're  alive!
If you can shed a tear or two from your painted eyes,
For that kid who gathers dust all over
His dark and blistered feet;
You're living it good, senorita...
If you can hold the hand of the stranger in your soft hands tight,
Without even being thinking about the futurity...
And have the courage to be the true,
You're a queen, senorita!

Believe in,dear,
For living a bit for others,
Is like living good forever...
Forever young and mirthful!

despite...

Despite me showing you the path of light dear,
You chose the wrong one...
Perhaps that was your way of making it even with me...
Perhaps...you chose that path of dark to enlighten me...
Who knows?
I'm not a judge of things
No human can perhaps with all our own shares abundant
Of frailties and follies and foibles!

But haven't I stood for all that was good?
Haven't I been the lone traveler always?
You just chose, perhaps, to be a fellow traveler for a mile or so
Of my umpteen untrodden miles...

Despite me showing open
The redness that boiled...
The twinkling of the pearls on eyelids bright,
You chose the sand and the slush...
Perhaps that was your way to teach me a few things more-
Of the hardset lesson told in the most unheard manner...

Perhaps that'll give you all the hopes...
And glories so unreally bright!
Well...
I wish things were good for both of us
And the memories were the truest...

Hope you live the way the best you can,
And I do mine!

Believe me, dear,
Coming to the end, is like a new beginning!
Coming to the climax,is like loving the past...
Coming to part, is like forging the newest ways!

idol maker's dream...

The lump of earth dumped near the haystack,
Just outside his shanty,
Kind of kept him restless
From the moment it arrived...

Last night, when it rained,
He jumped out of his cot,full of vermin...
And ran outside fast
To cover the lump by a plastic sheet
For he was afraid that the earth might get washed away...
He covered the lump neat, putting weight on the plastic,
To prevent it from being carried away by the whiff of wind blowing...

After covering it, he almost caressed the lump,
As if he was caressing a new born dressed in plastic!

This morning,
Even before the sun woke up,
He woke and uncovered the mound...
And kept staring at the lump, moist, for sometime...

Then like a priest, he readied himself for the occasion,
He bathed, he prayed,and wore his blessed apron, mud stained...and streaks of color here and there;

Then he touched the mound...
He touched the cold lump
And thought he was going to transfer his energy and soul to it...
He touched the lump
As if he was god, providing life to the lifeless,
As if...
He was the eternal lover
Sending across the passion of love-
To ignite passion the same in the coldest thing on earth!

He loved the mound...
He caressed it...
He poured his all
As the day waned to become the night...

And when the sun got set finally,
He lighted a taper
And touched the woman mound ...
Now he thought, he should make the woman beautiful...
He imagined all the beauteous forms on earth-
The perfect physical beauty of a woman,
Divine, pure, virgin...
He dreamt of an angel in her simple nudity
Standing in front of him with all her beauty shameless...
He just dreamt...
As he worked, sweaty, muddy, tired,
In the impregnable darkness
Slightly modified by a taper,
Flickering all the time...

The evening became night,
And the chill in the air set in...
But he kept on working...
As if he had only one dream to long for...
And a singular journey to make;

He shivered a bit by the nip in the air,
He, of course, felt hungry and tired,
But who can prevent an impassioned, lustful man from his art of pleasure?
So he worked till the darkness waned even...
And the morning arrived slowly like a graceful charm,
Making the taper redundant;

When he finished,
He just looked at the beauty
-Standing infront of him,
And smiling perhaps,
As if pleased by his burst of passion...satiated...

He just looked
At his woman,
The woman he made...
He felt
Sleepy and terribly hungry
And remembered he hadn't eaten for several hours...
He thought he had become the divine lover...
He thought
It was time, finally, to sleep...

Searching soul...

With the sky being blue as ever
And the wind being breezy...
He rode out of home early
As he wished to retrace the path;

He had just the kind of wish that a son, having spent long in alien land,
 Has usually...
To return
-to innocence...
-to forgiveness...
-to sleep on his mother's lap after a journey across seven seas...
-to take refuge...

So
He rode down the streets and the roads
-His second home...
Searching all the time for that gentle smile,
And soft end of white cotton saree
Which he used too often in bygone days to wipe off his tears and sweat...
He rode...
He rode through the town
In search of his mom
On the very day he was born-
Some three decades ago...

the greatest gift...

Holding a copy of the book freshly printed and bound and delivered right at her doorstep,
one morning by the courier boy,
She turned amazed and speechless for a while...
Then she softly turned the cover page
As if she was running her nimble fingers on a new born baby,
And came to the dedication page;

On the page was written:
'Dear, I tried actually to write a love song for you...
But, it was so pervasive kind of heightened passion
That I wrote and wrote...
And it became a novel...
Sorry for presenting such a cumbersome kind of love, expressed in so many pages...
But as I believe my love is true and good,
Benign and deep,
Light and flared-up,
Beautiful and sublime,
Flavoury and unsavoured hitherto by any mortal, (barring a few, of course!)
I believe you'll just fall in love with the gift...
And keep it close to your ravaged heart;

I believe you will be the book yourself, just like me!
You'll be true and good like love itself...'

Reading the lines again and again,
She just wept...
As a child weeps in joy...
As a daughter weeps for her distant father,
As a son weeps for his long lost mother...