Well, its been ages since I have come face-to-face with my blog. And we aren't even estranged! So finally, after having been accused(!) of lethargy, laziness, disloyalty to blogosphere in face of zippier social networking and microblogging sites and running out of 'creative steam', I decided to take some 'action'. And since I almost always write about childhood, lost joys from the 80's and 90's and more miscellaneous blasts from the past, I decided to run through my old posts for some inspiration. But then, who wants inspiration when you can have salvation! So, to cut a short story shorter, I have decided to publish all those unfinished drafts lying abandoned among their much-complete, reasonably-commented over cousins in my blog dashboard. Open-ended stories that leave a lot to the reader's imagination are a rage nowadays. Open-ended films too! So why not open-ended blog posts, right?
I have skipped the drafts that ended much before you could even say 'draa...'. They would have been too open-ended, even for a well-endowed imagination.
I hope I have redeemed myself with this post and I shall not henceforth be accused of mind-block, writers-block or any such vagaries. QED.
15th October 2011 | Untitled
There was a 'right way' to put the audio cassette into its cover,
There was a place for stamps and 'stick-em-stones' in the top drawer,
There was a trick if the floppy disk got stuck inside,
There was a carrier for a bum-hurting bicycle ride,
There was a secret stash for summertime ice candies on sticks,
There were stars, 'v.v. goods' and neat red crosses and ticks,
There were peep-holed numbers on the phone that turned into a tizzy,
There were yarn-spinning, tale-telling neighbors who never got too busy,
There was one channel to watch morning, noon and night,
There was a wooden ruler for every hand in a class fight,
There was a fountain pen and a blotting paper too,
There was a home-made concoction for the annual bout of flu,
There was a pen friend in a difficult-to-spell place,
There was a tailor who made frilly 'umbrella' dresses with lace
There was always one more person to squeeze into the backseat,
There was a glass of 'Rasna' when you walk in from the heat,
-------------
15th October 2011 | Untitled
There he was, a raggedy old man,
with a toothless grin and parchment skin,
breath rasping and whistling with the wind,
reed thin bones rattling within.
Holding a bowl close to his heart,
He walked to where we stood,
Tasting raindrops as they trickled down our faces,
Feeling the clingy wetness of a newborn brood.
"Look my children....loooookkkkkk"
His palm uncovered the bowl just a tad bit
"Look how they lie in there....
Oh, look how perfectly they fit"
Smothered smile, hurried hush,
Heads nodded in a collective whole,
Ten eyes inspecting the invisible contents,
of a weather-worn bowl
"They were quite big once,
Oh yes, needing a sack that too,
I couldn't get them to sit still,
as much as I tried to...
They would leap and jump,
from day to night,
-------------------
11th April 2010 | Untitled
Like the breeze that blows across the meadow
Silently stirring, casting no shadow
I walk alone along the street
Whistling in tune with my feet
Like the wind through a crack in the window
Like the sea touching every shore
Letting go and asking no more
I walk amidst the summer dresses
My face caressing the wind-blown tresses
Of perfect strangers I met not 'fore
Like a frivolous bee
On a springtime amorous spree
I devour the scents of the bazaar
The mundane with the bizarre
Feeling insanely happy and free
Like rain on a parched land
Satiating the hungry sand
I let the city fill me
With all I can smell, hear, touch and see
I let it hold my hand
And take me where it wants
To sights unseen and familiar haunts
-----------------
16th November 2009 | Untitled
Its been quite a while since this location has seen some activity. Just like the good old ODIs and test matches losing out to their fancier sibling 20-20, blogging is also fast relegating its place to the pesky 'what are you doing?' and the naughty 'what's on your mind?' of the www world.
everything in a jiffy...hail the quickie !!! But let me not digress and stick to my original plan for this post. Actually this post is a celebration of a phenomenon that dug its feet in the ground and is braving the onslaught of the 'fast and the furious' craze that is sweeping the world. Ladies and gentlemen, presenting to you Bollywood. You may be in and out of a McDonalds with a full belly in 5 minutes...but you still got to keep that $$$ glued to the seat for 3 whole hours to watch the split-second softening of the father's face on the train station as he lets go of his daughter's hand to send her to her beloved to walk (in this case, ride) into the sunset. No shortcuts here...no brutal edits. Just good old stories taking their own sweet time to crawl from that white screen with lots of text on it to those defining bold words THE END.
Stalking and watching the girl from behind the college wall. 3 months. Getting to know the girl's name. + 2 months. Writing your first love letter. + 1 month. Discovering your family's longstanding feud with the girl's family. - 25 years. Fighting goons, hired policemen and emotional blackmail alike. + 3 months. Holding the girl of your dreams in your arms as the police takes away the repentant cruel uncle and his hired goondas and the flowers and kissing birds cover the screen. Priceless. Laying the foundation for a sequel. + 9 months. See? Whoever proposed that the world is moving towards a faster life has jolly well left Bolly out of his calculations.
Yeah yeah....I know my account of Bollywood is outdated by atleast 10 years. The kissing birds, holding hands, family feuds are so passe...they died with the late 80s or maybe the mid 90s...but hey
----------
I have skipped the drafts that ended much before you could even say 'draa...'. They would have been too open-ended, even for a well-endowed imagination.
I hope I have redeemed myself with this post and I shall not henceforth be accused of mind-block, writers-block or any such vagaries. QED.
15th October 2011 | Untitled
There was a 'right way' to put the audio cassette into its cover,
There was a place for stamps and 'stick-em-stones' in the top drawer,
There was a trick if the floppy disk got stuck inside,
There was a carrier for a bum-hurting bicycle ride,
There was a secret stash for summertime ice candies on sticks,
There were stars, 'v.v. goods' and neat red crosses and ticks,
There were peep-holed numbers on the phone that turned into a tizzy,
There were yarn-spinning, tale-telling neighbors who never got too busy,
There was one channel to watch morning, noon and night,
There was a wooden ruler for every hand in a class fight,
There was a fountain pen and a blotting paper too,
There was a home-made concoction for the annual bout of flu,
There was a pen friend in a difficult-to-spell place,
There was a tailor who made frilly 'umbrella' dresses with lace
There was always one more person to squeeze into the backseat,
There was a glass of 'Rasna' when you walk in from the heat,
-------------
15th October 2011 | Untitled
There he was, a raggedy old man,
with a toothless grin and parchment skin,
breath rasping and whistling with the wind,
reed thin bones rattling within.
Holding a bowl close to his heart,
He walked to where we stood,
Tasting raindrops as they trickled down our faces,
Feeling the clingy wetness of a newborn brood.
"Look my children....loooookkkkkk"
His palm uncovered the bowl just a tad bit
"Look how they lie in there....
Oh, look how perfectly they fit"
Smothered smile, hurried hush,
Heads nodded in a collective whole,
Ten eyes inspecting the invisible contents,
of a weather-worn bowl
"They were quite big once,
Oh yes, needing a sack that too,
I couldn't get them to sit still,
as much as I tried to...
They would leap and jump,
from day to night,
-------------------
11th April 2010 | Untitled
Like the breeze that blows across the meadow
Silently stirring, casting no shadow
I walk alone along the street
Whistling in tune with my feet
Like the wind through a crack in the window
Like the sea touching every shore
Letting go and asking no more
I walk amidst the summer dresses
My face caressing the wind-blown tresses
Of perfect strangers I met not 'fore
Like a frivolous bee
On a springtime amorous spree
I devour the scents of the bazaar
The mundane with the bizarre
Feeling insanely happy and free
Like rain on a parched land
Satiating the hungry sand
I let the city fill me
With all I can smell, hear, touch and see
I let it hold my hand
And take me where it wants
To sights unseen and familiar haunts
-----------------
16th November 2009 | Untitled
Its been quite a while since this location has seen some activity. Just like the good old ODIs and test matches losing out to their fancier sibling 20-20, blogging is also fast relegating its place to the pesky 'what are you doing?' and the naughty 'what's on your mind?' of the www world.
everything in a jiffy...hail the quickie !!! But let me not digress and stick to my original plan for this post. Actually this post is a celebration of a phenomenon that dug its feet in the ground and is braving the onslaught of the 'fast and the furious' craze that is sweeping the world. Ladies and gentlemen, presenting to you Bollywood. You may be in and out of a McDonalds with a full belly in 5 minutes...but you still got to keep that $$$ glued to the seat for 3 whole hours to watch the split-second softening of the father's face on the train station as he lets go of his daughter's hand to send her to her beloved to walk (in this case, ride) into the sunset. No shortcuts here...no brutal edits. Just good old stories taking their own sweet time to crawl from that white screen with lots of text on it to those defining bold words THE END.
Stalking and watching the girl from behind the college wall. 3 months. Getting to know the girl's name. + 2 months. Writing your first love letter. + 1 month. Discovering your family's longstanding feud with the girl's family. - 25 years. Fighting goons, hired policemen and emotional blackmail alike. + 3 months. Holding the girl of your dreams in your arms as the police takes away the repentant cruel uncle and his hired goondas and the flowers and kissing birds cover the screen. Priceless. Laying the foundation for a sequel. + 9 months. See? Whoever proposed that the world is moving towards a faster life has jolly well left Bolly out of his calculations.
Yeah yeah....I know my account of Bollywood is outdated by atleast 10 years. The kissing birds, holding hands, family feuds are so passe...they died with the late 80s or maybe the mid 90s...but hey
----------
