Total Pageviews

Friday, December 14, 2012

The old man.....

Today he touched 100. 
He looks like a little boy, but at the same time he's an old man.  His flesh is wasting away. Bones once covered and concealed by well rounded muscles now stick out offensively.  Once, a man on the move is now confined to the bed.  He lies helplessly on his stained sheets. Impervious to the bites of the bedbugs and mosquitoes. He is nearly blind. Cataract has taken over the retinas. Yesterday someone called. A relative. Wanted to know, how he was doing. He couldn't get the name. But at this stage of life, names, faces do not matter. His memory was also fading. He has an old mobile phone by his side. That's his only contact to the outside world. His relatives call. Now and then. He does not remember their names anymore. Keeps confusing one with the other. Rarely they come to visit him. They have all contributed and kept a servant to attend to his needs-which are now limited to eating, peeing and shitting. He shits more than he eats.  One of the signs of  him being alive.  One night, he heard a woman's voice in the next room. Then he heard her moaning heavily. The servant perhaps had got a whore for the night. Or maybe he imagined, he was not sure.   He  gets irritated, when the phone rings. He does not want to talk. The effort, tires him out. He does not know anything about his disease. He only knows that its time to die. There was a time he was scared of death. He didn't learn to swim for fear of drowning. He didn't fly kites for fear of falling off the roof.  He is tired of shitting on the bed, tired of the bloody servant, trying to force food into him.
The phone began to ring. Then it went on and on…………

Monday, October 1, 2012

The Last Train...

Ashes to ashes dust to dust.
The journey came to an end. he was lowered into the ditch.
A grave to be  precise.  He opened his eyes.
It was dark and damp. Silence all around.
What will remain with him is smell of  death. Stench of decay.
Slowly his flesh will peel off. Life will be rendered in bones.
Butterflies will give away to worms and maggots.
It was only yesterday. He was waiting in the platform. For the train to arrive. The place
was filled with figures floating around. All waiting for the last train. He looked up. Shroud of death had
covered the sun.
The train arrived. Like a mammoth serpent, it arrived silently.
They all boarded the train. No one rushed. None carried any  luggage. The berths had
names. Not numbers.
Like a giant anaconda, the train started crawling. No one spoke. No one smiled.
The platforms were empty.
He was trying to think. Faces appeared and then disappeared. A small child was running
all around. His mother with food in her hand chasing him. He could hear the child's
laughter. Not the mother's voice, who perhaps was pleading with the child to eat his food.
The child suddenly turned and started running towards him. He extended his arms to hold
him. He could not. The child ran through him and so did the mother with food in her
The train had gathered speed. He closed his eyes. Sleep, heavy on his eyelids. He was in
the hills. It was misty. He was walking with her. hand in hand. It was the first time he had
ever travelled with a woman. They checked into a hotel. An old lady, the proprietor,
welcomed them. It had started raining. They got into the bed, slid under the quilt. The
room heater, glowing in a  corner of  the room. The train rattled. He woke up. He could
still hear the child's laughter. The shadowy figures sat motionless. No one spoke. He fell
asleep again. A dark cloud had gathered. He had lost his way. It became dark. He could
not see a thing. Someone held his hand. He could not see the face. It was too dark. He
surrendered to the unknown guide. He travelled a long way. Holding hands. Suddenly the
figure started screaming. Her long dark hair coiled around him like hundred serpents.
Jumping, jolting, jarring of the train  broke his sleep yet again. "Life is a tale told by a
harami"...a figure, sitting quietly all this while, screamed. "Man is a dog," another figure
shouted. All men began to bark.
There was a sudden frenzy inside the coach.  The figures were running across the narrow
corridor of  the speeding train. A giant figure leaped out from nowhere. "Hail Lucifer," he
raised both his arms and looked up.
"The mind is its own place and in it self can make a Heaven  of Hell, a Hell of  
Heaven.What matter where, if I be still the same, And what I should be, all but less then 
he Whom Thunder hath made greater? Here at least We shall be free the Almighty hath 
not built. Here for his envy, will not drive us hence.Here we may reign secure, and in my choice To 
reign is worth ambition though in Hell: Better to reign in Hell, then serve in Heaven,"  
his voice echoed.
Suddenly silence was back. No one spoke. No one moved.
All were looking at this floating, translucent giant.The train moved gently.
Once again lulled by the movement of the train he fell asleep.

Tuesday, December 13, 2011

Finally I faced the demon, ,
it had been stalking me..for days now,
could hear the footsteps,
felt its hot, rancid breath in the room,
I would get up, look under the bed,
pull down the curtains,
run all around...
Wanted to confront it, wanted to see its face.
And finally I met my demon...
this time I did not hear the footsteps,
it had tiptoed in and stood in front of me,
I gripped the broken lampshade,
flung at it...
I smashed the mirror...

Sunday, November 13, 2011

The room......

Me and my laptop. And memories sharing my bed. Nothingness- a void. I sing, I talk to myself and I dream. I cry, I laugh, all by myself. Alcohol to numb my feelings, my senses. People get busy, memories fade..the bed turns into a coffin... I die....
Discarded dreams, fall off the shelves, while dusting. They are swept off and dumped into the garbage bin. My body was removed yesterday..perhaps buried or burnt...did not matter. It was lifeless. It felt no pain.
I had occupied the room, the bed... for years. Now the room is being cleaned. Fresh bedspread is being spread.. Some even suggested to paint the room-to get rid of that stale smell of death..... All done ! Its now ready for a new occupant......

Saturday, April 30, 2011


My imagination ?

Shadows run across my room ,

I try to touch them, shadows,

they run from one room to the other,

they lie down by my side,

I try to touch them....the shadows..

they play with me..

my only companions,

in the vast empitness of my room....

Every night I return to my shadows,

they wait for me...quietly....

Friday, March 4, 2011


Impossibility of the situation stared at his face. Long, lonely, never ending roads stretched to nowhere. Icy winds hissed like angry serpents. Fatigue, numbness, migraine infiltrated the body. Darkness engulfed darkness. Sound of silence, drowned voices, screams. Desires melted into melancholy. Fear, uncertainty, blended with frustration. He banged his head against fate. There were no lines on his palms.

Faced her like a stranger. No words, no glances were exchanged. Conversation led to paradoxical situation. Specters danced on the pyre. Unfulfilled dreams, unrequited feelings. Roads never traveled upon. Destinations never reached. Words never said. Compulsions coiled rapidly, crushing life. Unfazed by the lashes, peeling skin, back all torn-bleeding, the chained man struggled.

Someone trying to sleep: Tired eyelids, heavy with fatigue.

A man was kneeling down, a gun pointed at him. He wanted the assassin to pull the trigger. He wanted to sleep the sleep that knew no breaking. He wanted to dream forever. No more waking up to reality. The road ahead is blurred. Phantoms stalk silently. Flowers on framed photographs wilt. Silhouettes play with silhouettes. Shadows make love. Skin smells of cancer. An existential crisis stem from a new perception in life.

To love is to lose.

Heathcliff digs his grave. Blind bats fly out of crypts. Moses fail to part the sea. Jesus drags his cross. The matador is gored to death. Hungry lions tear apart rotting carcasses. Blood spills on the bed. The portrait turns ugly.

He had shut the door and threw away the keys. The oversized knob on the massive wooden door had rusted. And then one day, the knob was given a wrenching turn. The door was swung open. Rusted hinges shrieked in anguished complaint. The room was dark and cold. Shattered dreams hung, trapped in the cobwebs of memories.

Looked outside...

Roads still ran around frenziedly Like a confused cobra.Time drifted away like a drifting kite. Satan and God stood holding hands. Smiling. God served the forbidden fruit. Devil laid the table…

Tuesday, April 27, 2010

A bit of washington....

War Monument

White House