forsaken

April 15, 2009 at 11:59 pm (poetry)
Tags: , ,

Being set adrift aimlessly in life as a consequence of abandonment is indeed a scary thought. The lines below illustrate a picture of a forsaken boat that no longer interests its master.

—–

The boat drifted silently in the dark water,
Gently breaking through clouds of devious mist.
Ignorant of the reach of the ripples it spawned,
Oblivious to the deadly rocks it missed.

The broken oars lay on the side, in agony,
On the floor of that once contented boat,
Snapped, each in two pieces, unmercifully,
Leaving its future to a directionless float.

—–

Topic courtesy Sunday Scribblings.

5 Comments

The extortionist

March 21, 2009 at 8:55 pm (fiction, poetry)
Tags: ,

Till about a couple of years ago, Mumbai, the financial capital of India, was overrun with many gangs that targeted businessmen and extorted money out of them. The modus operandi of these gangs was to hire novice shooters, often unemployed youths, and provide them with pistols before sending them on a mission to threaten these businessmen. These often ended up badly for the shooters themselves, who ended up getting an insignificant share of the extortion money, if they survived the indiscriminate encounters with the police. The prompt this week at Sunday Scribblings is “I come from”, and I thought of using this to tell a story of an extortionist waiting for his mark in a red light area in Mumbai – a story that I’ve imagined a few times before.

—–

The morning had passed, in boredom complete,
And not a soul was seen, in that dirty street.

In the corner café, as I sipped that burnt coffee,
Out came to seduce me, the famous Sophie.

The whores were awake, washing the night’s filth away,
But Sophie, that woman, she knew neither night nor day.

Not today, my darling, I’ve come on a mission,
My work doesn’t wait, for your pleasure or my fission.

She cursed me, as she left, a jilted hooker,
But she left me aroused and hotter than a cooker.

My eyes still trained, on that third floor window,
Sharp and focused, as I dreamt of that future dough.

I was waiting for my mark, a fat old pig,
He was in that whorehouse, on a decadent dig.

Today was just to warn, that rich business man,
That if he didn’t pay up, we’d end his life-plan.

Came lunch hour, and in poured those dastardly pimps,
And yet, of the fat pig, I couldn’t catch a glimpse.

Anger engulfed me, as I doubted for a wee.
What if my informant had double-crossed me?

I broke into a sweat, as a bastard cop showed up,
But he ignored me unsuspectingly, as he downed his cup.

These cops, they’re incompetent, that’s what we say,
They couldn’t find a horse, lying in a heap of hay.

I felt the cold body of my deadly .22 colt,
Hiding inside my pocket, just waiting to revolt.

By god I’d shoot, if he ever violated Sophie,
She might be a whore, but she’s my trophy.

It was mid-afternoon now, and the street was busy,
And all the coffee had made me a little dizzy.

Pakya, the paan-waala, seeing me falter,
Promised that some ghutka, would, my state, alter.

I gave him a fiver, and sent him on his way,
And wondered once again, how long should I stay.

That’s when the pig showed up, clearly satisfied,
And I sprung into action, broke into a stride.

I pulled out the colt, and aimed straight at his head,
But I knew today, wasn’t to shoot him dead.

He squealed, petrified, as he wet his pants,
And oh, the bystanders, they scattered like ants.

Please don’t kill me, he begged my gun,
Who are you? And what have I done?

Absolute power, as adrenaline pumped through me,
This message is from your master, I screamed in glee.

I’ve been sent by “Chotta Rajan”, the mafia don,
To keep you in check, and control your con.

Meet me at the docks, with ten million in hand,
Or I’ll bury you alive, in the Chowpatty sand.

I come from Mumbai, so pay up my man,
I kill for a living, and I’ll wipe out your clan.

7 Comments

Dear Past Me, Dear Future Me

March 14, 2009 at 11:48 pm (philosophy, poetry)
Tags: , ,

The prompt this week at Sunday Scribblings is “Dear Past Me, Dear Future Me”. This got me thinking that if I could, one day, meet myself in the past, what would I be thankful for? If I could meet myself in the future, what insecurities would I want answered?

—–

Down the dark alley, as I walked alone,
I chanced upon a mysterious vortex, unknown.

From it, seemed to emanate, a divine glow,
And time around it, seemed to progress, slow.

Scared, but mesmerized, I jumped right in,
And that’s when my head went out for a spin.

I woke up on a beach, dazed, confused,
In pain, I realized, I was badly bruised.

As I trudged along that sandy shore,
I heard an old man’s satisfied snore.

Ecstatic at not being alone there,
I shook him awake, with little care.

He smiled knowingly, as these words escaped me,
“Who are you, and where are we?”

I am your future, said the old grey man,
And I will tell you the outcome, of your life’s great plan.

You never did marry your present sweetheart,
But a great journey you did, with another, start.

At times you were attracted by other than your spouse,
But you always stayed faithful to your marriage vows.

You never had that son you always wished for,
But your daughter, you came, to infinitely adore.

You never made partner at your firm,
But your wife, when you were late, never did squirm.

You never hit that jackpot, you, so earnestly, craved,
But you grew through those tough times you honestly braved.

You couldn’t afford that lovely house on the beach,
But to your children, great values, under a roof you did teach.

You never made friends with the football star,
But your commoner friend, walked with you, till far.

You weren’t able to visit that exotic island,
But you’ve saved enough in your retirement fund.

So walk on, along this beach, that is your present,
And you’ll see a life, in great satisfaction, spent.

With that, I traced my steps, with a sense of joy,
And that’s when I came across a little boy.

Shocked as I was, at seeing him,
I knew this could not just be a whim.

I am you, when you were all of ten,
Said the boy, when I asked him “when?”

I am you, when your mother tucked you in,
And kissed you lovingly, on your little chin.

I am you, when your pet dog died,
But to protect you from hurt, you father lied.

I am you, when your sister cared for you,
When you wouldn’t recover, from that belligerent flu.

I am you, when your best friend moved,
A decision that wasn’t his, which you vehemently disapproved.

I am you when you stood first in your class,
Yet you played with him, through his grade was just a “pass”.

I am you, when you cried through the night,
When you bore witness to your parents’ fight.

I am you, when you loved every life’s moment,
And every second, in unencumbered joy was spent.

Nostalgic, yet overjoyed, at a childhood blessed,
I carried on, along the beach, with my answered quest.

And at a distance, I could see, the vortex again,
And I knew this time, there would be no pain.

12 Comments

A changed world

March 5, 2009 at 10:22 pm (philosophy, poetry, politics, religion)
Tags: , , ,

I’ve always wondered what a child would grow up believing in, in this world of religious extremism, unjustified wars, ethnic cleansing and extremist pseudo-nationalism. How would you make the child see that there can be a different world, a better world?

—–

Listen up, because this is important,
Hey unsuspecting child of today,
The world was different when I was on stage,
You could, back then, your audience, gauge.

There was love for the neighboring family,
Whose faith was never a concern,
Today, they’re enemies from eons ago,
And our religion wants them to burn.

There was no war fought over a pretence,
And a democracy belonged to the people,
Today’s it is thrust on, for barrels of oil,
And preached from the heights of a steeple.

There was no cleansing of people unarmed,
For the strong stood up for the weak,
Today we ignore the bloody massacres,
And turn deaf ears to a generation’s shriek.

There was respect for brothers foreign,
Who flavored a welcoming society,
Today they’re victims to suspicious whispers,
And causes of livelihood anxiety.

Listen up, because this is important,
Hey unsuspecting child of today,
Fight for a future of yesterday’s beauty,
And forgive us, for failing our duty.

—–

Topic courtesy of Sunday Scribblings.

15 Comments

better halves!

March 2, 2009 at 10:17 pm (poetry)
Tags: , ,

The three words provided by Three Words Wednesday this week are “callous”, “interfere” and “persistent”. The following poem is my submission.

How can you be so callous?
Exclaimed my wife, thoroughly dejected,
You forgot your only daughter’s birthday,
And now she feels so very neglected!

But love, in all sincerity, I’m profusely sorry,
For I’ve had such a terrible day,
I’ve had to fend off my persistent secretary,
Who’s just looking for a quick lay!

Poor darling, she lovingly sympathized,
I won’t interfere with your work again,
Just promise me, you’ll buy me that solitaire,
And take me on that expensive trip to Spain.

How can you be so callous?
Screamed my gorgeous secretary,
You promised to leave that hag for me,
Don’t you wish to be, in my arms, free?

But love, in all sincerity, I’m profusely sorry,
For I’ll owe my wife hefty alimony,
I’m terrified of her mother, a persistent lawyer,
She’s armed and built, like a naval destroyer!

Poor darling, she lovingly sympathized,
How dare that witch interfere in our love?
That aside, darling, my landlord called today,
Did you forget to pay my rent yesterday?

9 Comments

Lost in time

February 26, 2009 at 12:15 am (philosophy, poetry)
Tags: , , ,

Once upon an ignored dream,
I chanced across a pristine stream.

A victim to the sun’s havoc, was I,
And that sight prompted a relieved sigh.

As I took a dip, in that divine flow,
I witnessed a fish, with a radiant glow.

Today onwards, forever, under this beautiful sky,
Said the fish, you shall not die.

Shocked, surprised at this godly gift,
I let my mind, into chaos drift.

So many desires, so little time,
That complaint, now, was a wasted crime.

So I set my mind, into deliberate action,
And rid myself, of that chaotic distraction.

I swam the English Channel thrice,
Battling the wind, waves and even ice.

I visited all nations in this shrinking world,
And saluted their flags, so proudly unfurled.

I finally understood, the theory of relativity,
Overcoming my lack of mathematical proclivity.

I fell in love, the flaming passionate kind,
But even her, reluctantly, I left behind.

I taught my child, to ride his bike,
And he pedaled on, beyond the dike.

I fought in a war, and saw my comrade fall,
All that blood spilt, for a squabble small.

I built a temple, mosque and a church,
Yet for God, I still earnestly search.

Then came a time, when, in my immortal life,
Every new moment, brought unrelenting strife.

No purpose discovered, in all this time,
There was no new mountain, I wanted to climb.

I went back to that forgotten stream,
And let out, in desperation, a dejected scream.

I waited in agony, for that silver gleam,
Of the fish who granted me the immortal dream.

There was no fish, only unending days,
As into listless infinity, I continued to gaze.

—–
Topic submitted to Sunday Scribblings.

12 Comments

recession?

February 5, 2009 at 2:45 pm (philosophy, poetry)
Tags: ,

Her dog barked in unrestrained excitement,
As she stepped out into the winter sun.
She walked past her convenience store,
And saw they were now selling a gun.

So why the gun, at a convenience store?
She asked the man, perplexed,
Said he, they’re the only things that sell,
In these times, when the world’s a living hell.

4 Comments

I believe

December 28, 2008 at 4:28 pm (love, poetry)
Tags: , , ,

Let me tell you the story of this friend I once had. She was stunningly gorgeous, and had the most amazing calming effect on everyone around her, including me. You could gaze into her dreamy eyes and find a compassion that would melt the hearts of the most cynical. She could bring out the best in others, but all she thought and talked about was the others.

For the longest time I believed she was riddled with the bullet-wounds of a torturous past that bespoke of shattered dreams – a life she had dreamt of since she was a little innocous girl. I believed the healing of these wounds had hardened her, made her more resilient, cold – made her the woman she was.

But the reality was that she hadn’t really recovered from those wounds. I realized that her unfinished sentences and unexplained metaphors were ways of protecting herself from reliving those battles and reopening those wounds. That tough exterior of the strong woman was a bandage around the essence of that little girl waiting to break free, and breathe in the morning air, and dream once again.

This poem is dedicated to her memory.
—–

One day in summer, at the end of spring,
I met a woman as pretty as morning.
She brought a smile to my weary face,
And walked confidently with a seductive grace.
She battled the world, like there was no end,
Yet she was everything, you could want in a friend.

Not a night went by when she did not cry,
Yet on no man, defiantly, she resolved to rely.
She made me crave to be a better man,
But never wanted to believe “I can”.
But I wish I could, to her this advice, lend,
There is no tear, true faith can’t mend.

One day she realized, under the morning sun,
That I was there waiting, and there was nowhere to run.
It was then that she decided to again, be a girl,
And give in to her heart, enjoy that twirl.
She’s now that girl, a child at heart,
Who paints her day, like bohemian art.

And that is why, sometimes, I truly believe,
That two and two can add up to five.
And that is why, sometimes, I truly believe,
Apples can fly, straight into the sky.

—–
Topic courtesy of Sunday Scribblings

19 Comments

that night on the bench

December 28, 2008 at 4:02 am (fiction, love)
Tags: ,

She stared straight into the dark void, avoiding my troubled yet curious gaze. A small teardrop silently found its way down her cheek, past her lips. I could see the chaos ravaging her mind, bringing flashes of painful memories that no joy on this earth could ever vanquish. The sea breeze ran playfully through her silken hair, ignorant of its inability to wipe the tear off her cheek, or the memories from her being. The faint light of the street lamp accentuated her slender shoulders, but refused to play any part in hiding her sorrow.

They don’t define you, girl, those memories are just that – memories. You live in the present, you are my present. You are with me. I watched in anguish as she struggled to find words to hide her thoughts. Trust me, for all I have to offer is trust, and I won’t pretend to have your love. Yet.

I reached for her hand, as she withdrew hers.

3 Comments

Late

December 28, 2008 at 12:46 am (philosophy, poetry)
Tags: , ,

Why was I late, that lovely morning?
When you and I had planned to ride,
Those rickety bikes, through the forest trail,
With the breeze playing havoc, with your silken hair,
Why was I late, that lovely morning?
When you and I had planned a life?

Why was I late, that Christmas eve?
When you were waiting, for my gift to be unwrapped,
I was sure you knew what I’d wished for,
And I knew it came wrapped with a mother’s love,
Why was I late, that Christmas eve?
When all I wanted was the wrapping paper?

Why was I late, that dreadful night?
When all you had were your last few breaths,
But I had those memories, of you holding my little thumb,
And guiding me through the dark, a father and a son,
Why was I late, that dreadful night?
When all I wanted was one final gaze into your eyes?

—–
My take on “late” by Sunday Scribblings.

4 Comments

« Older entries