A smile to remember

we had goldfish and they circled around and around

in the bowl on the table near the heavy drapes

covering the picture window and

my mother, always smiling, wanting us all

to be happy, told me, "be happy Henry!"

and she was right: it's better to be happy if you can

but my father continued to beat her and me several times a week while

raging inside his 6-foot-two frame because he couldn't

understand what was attacking him from within.

my mother, poor fish,

wanting to be happy, beaten two or three times a

week, telling me to be happy: "Henry, smile!

why don't you ever smile?"

and then she would smile, to show me how, and it was the

saddest smile I ever saw

one day the goldfish died, all five of them,

they floated on the water, on their sides, their

eyes still open,

and when my father got home he threw them to the cat

there on the kitchen floor and we watched as my mother

smiled.

Sach hai mahaj sangharsh hi

Sach hum nahin, sach tum nahin,
Sach hai mahaj sangarsh hi!

Sangarsh se hat kar jiye to kya jiye ki hum ya tum,
Jo nat hua wo mrit hua jyon vrind se jarhkar kusum,
Jo laksya bhool ruka nahin,
Jo haar dekh jhukha nahin,
Jisne pranay path maana hai jeet usi ki hui,
Sach hum nahin, sach tum nahin,
Sach hai mahaj sangarsh hi!

Aisa karon jisse na praanon me kahin jadta rahen,
Jo hai jaha chupchaap apne aap se ladta rahen,
Jo bhi preesthethiya mile,
kaante chube kaliya khile
Haaren na insaan kabhi, hai sandesh jeevan ka yahin,
Sach hum nahin, sach tum nahin,
Sach hai mahaj sangarsh hi!

Humne racha aaon humhi abb tod se iss pyaar ko,
Ye milan bhi kya milan, jo mod de majhdaar ko,
Jo saath phoolon ke chalen,
Jo daal paate hi dale,
Wo jindgi bhi kya jindgi, jo sirf paani si bahin,
Sach hum nahin, sach tum nahin,
Sach hai mahaj sangarsh hi!

Sansaar saara aadmi ki chaal dekh hua chakit,
Par jaakhkar dekhon drigon me sabhi hai pyaase thakit,
Jab tak bandhi hai chetna,
Jab tak hridya dukh se ghana,
Tab tak na maanoonga kabhi iss raah ko mai sahin,
Sach hum nahin, sach tum nahin,
Sach hai mahaj sangarsh hi!

Apne hridya ka satya apne aap humkon khojna,
Apne nayan ka neer apne aap humkon poochhna,
Aakaash sukh denga nahin,
Dharti paseeji hai kahin,
Jisse hridya ko bal milen,
Hai dhyay apna to wohin,
Sach hum nahin, sach tum nahin,
Sach hai mahaj sangarsh hi!!

Paon se lahoo ko dho daalo

Faiz Ahmed Faiz


Hum kya karte kis reh chalte
Har raah mein kaante bikhre the
Un rishton ke jo chhoot gaye
Un sadiyon ke yaranon key
Jo ik-ik karke toot gaye.

Jis raah chale jist simt gaye
Yun paon lahoo-luhan hue
Sab dekhne vaale kahte the
Ye kaisi reet rachai hai
Ye mehndi kyon lagvai hai
Vo kehte the, kyon kahat-e-vapha
Ka nahak charcha karte ho
Paon se lahoo ko dho dalo

Ye raatein jab kat jayengi
Sau raste in se phootenge
Tum dil ko sambholo jismein abhi
Sau tarah ke nashtar tootenge.

I Miss Your Smile ....... And Mine too

I told you I love you but that was not enough. I told you that I want you but you didn’t listen. I would have spent my nights listening to your heartbeat but you didn’t care .You were pretty busy in finding love in arms of people who love none but themselves. That night you told me that you were going home and I was not strong enough to tell you that your real home is my heart and that’s where you should be instead, I told you it will not last and they’ll betray you but maybe you didn’t understand that. All men betray at some point or another, in real or in thoughts they do , I know that coz I am a man and I knew you wont be able to handle that coz I know you and I love you and with every breath I take my love keeps increasing but you were always too blinded to see that .And then I heard that he left you , I had seen this coming and have told you already but you told me that you can take care of yourself and I murmured “But who will take care of me when I’ll see u shattered”, but may be I was too low for you to hear. And now I am shattered to hear that you didn’t take that too well. Kiddo all the moments we shared of love and warmth will be lost one day like tears in rain and what will remain would be just an internal happiness or sorrow and I want you to be happy.

Sweetheart I miss your smile and I miss my smile.

Make me smile once again and smile for me once again coz that’s the only thing that can save us from drowning in this river of sorrow, betrayal, pain and loneliness. May be that’s the only right thing that we can do in our lives and make our lives worth living , I know you no longer believe in love but believe in me coz there is nothing more beautiful in this world than your smile and I wanna see you smile once again .

Why does the sun go on shining-Carpenters

Why does the sun go on shining?

Why does the sea rush to shore?

Don't they know it's the end of the world

'Cause you don't love me anymore?



Why do the birds go on singing?

Why do the stars glow above?

Don't they know it's the end of the world

It ended when I lost your love



I wake up in the morning and I wonder

Why ev'rything is the same as it was

I can't understand, no, I can't understand

How life goes on the way it does!



Why does my heart go on beating?

Why do these eyes of mine cry?

Don't they know it's the end of the world?

It ended when you said goodbye



Don't they know It's the end of the world?

It ended when you said goodbye

Hazaaron Khwaahishen Aisee

hazaaron Khvaahishen aisii ki har Khvaaish pe dam nikale
bahut nikale mere armaaN lekin phir bhii kam nikale

nikalanaa Khuld se aadam kaa sunate aaye hain lekin
bahut beaabaruu hokar tere kuuche se ham nikale

muhabbat men nahiin hai farq jiine aur marane kaa
usii ko dekh kar jiite hain jis kaafir pe dam nikale

Khudaa ke vaaste pardaa na kaabe se uThaa zaalim
Kahiin aisaa na ho yaaN bhii vahii kaafir sanam nikale

KahaaN maiKhaane ka daravaazaa 'Ghalib' aur kahaaN vaaiz
par itanaa jaanate hain kal vo jaataa thaa ke ham nikale

Maaeri- Euphoria

Teriyaan, meriyaan pul gayaa
Pul gayaa haar te jeet
Hey maae ki karnaa main jeet nu
Howay na je meet, howay na je meet.
Bindiya lagaati to kaampti thhi palkein maaeri
Chunniyan sajaa ke woh deti waadein kal ke maaeri
Mere haathon mein thha uska haath
Thhi chaashni si har uski baat.
Maaeri aap hi hansdi, maaeri aap hi rondi
Maaeri yaad woh, yaad woh aaeri
Gallaan o kardi, maaeri ankhhaan naal larhdi
Maaeri yaad woh, yaad woh aaeri
He maaeri…

Baarishon mein lipatke maa aati thhi woh chalke maaeri
Deriyaan ho jaae to roti halke halke maaeri
Phir se main roun phir woh gaaye
Thandi hawaaen ban ke chhaae
Maaeri heera o gaandi maaeri gidde o paundi
Maaeri yaad woh, yaad woh aaeri
Jannataa o langdi maaeri mannataa o mangdi
Maaeri yaad woh, yaad woh aaeri

Ab kya karoon, kaa se kahoon e maaeri
Ab kya karoon, kaa se kahoon e maaeri…

Ooooo…
Duniya paraaee chhorh ke aajaa
Jhoothe saare naate torh ke aajaa
Sau rab di tujhe ik baari aajaa
Ab ke milein to honge na judaa
Na judaa… na judaa… ho…
Hoonte to aaye, koi te le aaye
Maaeri yaad woh, yaad woh aaeri
Gallaan o kardi, maaeri ankhhaan nal larhdi
Maaeri yaad woh, yaad woh aaeri
Pul gayee mera pyaar maae bas lage maheenein chaar
Maaeri yaad woh, yaad woh aaeri
Yaad woh aayee, maaeri yaad woh aayee
Maaeri yaad woh, yaad woh aaeri

Ab kya karoon, kaa se kahoon e maaeri
Ab kya karoon, kaa se kahoon e maaeri

So You Want To Be A Writer

So You Want To Be A Writer

if it doesn't come bursting out of you
in spite of everything,
don't do it.
unless it comes unasked out of your
heart and your mind and your mouth
and your gut,
don't do it.
if you have to sit for hours
staring at your computer screen
or hunched over your
typewriter
searching for words,
don't do it.
if you're doing it for money or
fame,
don't do it.
if you're doing it because you want
women in your bed,
don't do it.
if you have to sit there and
rewrite it again and again,
don't do it.
if it's hard work just thinking about doing it,
don't do it.
if you're trying to write like somebody
else,
forget about it.
if you have to wait for it to roar out of
you,
then wait patiently.
if it never does roar out of you,
do something else.

if you first have to read it to your wife
or your girlfriend or your boyfriend
or your parents or to anybody at all,
you're not ready.

don't be like so many writers,
don't be like so many thousands of
people who call themselves writers,
don't be dull and boring and
pretentious, don't be consumed with self-
love.
the libraries of the world have
yawned themselves to
sleep
over your kind.
don't add to that.
don't do it.
unless it comes out of
your soul like a rocket,
unless being still would
drive you to madness or
suicide or murder,
don't do it.
unless the sun inside you is
burning your gut,
don't do it.

when it is truly time,
and if you have been chosen,
it will do it by
itself and it will keep on doing it
until you die or it dies in you.

there is no other way.

and there never was.

A Room With A View

Sunday mornings, so looked forward to after a long week full of tiresome days and unforgiving minutes. As the day stretched out in its finite span.. I realized the number of chores that I had been neglecting for the past many weeks. I began to think about planning the day. Didn’t have to look far though. One glance at my room ... and the course was set.

In thorough shambles, the room needed to be spruced up. And not just because I wanted to please ma. It was becoming difficult to find one’s way around. Though I don’t mind it. There is an order to the disorder.

Books and magazines strewn across, laptop resting on my bed, clothes lying off the hangers, pens and pencils scattered around, unread newspapers dating back to last week, a news clipping floating in the bedside shelf, mobile plugged in the charger, shopping bag and handbag all tangled up, headphones lolling around. The wardrobe with an internal mess of its own. Comb, kaajal and lip-gloss fighting for space on a table crowded with scribbled scraps of paper. And a fragment of myself. This is my room.

Anyways.. I began to go through the room systematically. I began with my favourite corner- my bookshelf. It’s always a real treat to look at it. Literally living out of a suitcase for the past two years, it was a visual delight to see them lined up in a shelf, rather two shelves. Needless to say more than four-fifths of them had not been read. They were picked up just for that reason. To be read at a later date... when I could wrap myself up in them and sit under a shade for long hours of solitude. While re-arranging them in a new way (genre-wise), I recalled the history of acquisition of each book. Each had a story to tell. I could recall my first training- in Salt Lake City, Kolkata, when I was dutifully carrying a copy of ‘ City of Joy’ in my bag. A book of all times and a must read for any genuine lover of non-fiction. Then came the various postings and the incessant travelling to and from home. Each such trip would bring in its wake a visit to the neighbouring book shop for a travelling companion. Book haunts being my favourite trips, I would set off without any company, although fervently wishing for one. If browsing alone is heaven, then browsing with someone means having fun in heaven. One such day out was with my close friend Aditi, to the Delhi book fair which came about by serendipity. Armed with a shopping bag, a thousand bucks each and a resolve to ‘just browse and buy only verrrrrry selectively’, we waltzed our way inside. Only to lose our step. Though not as big as the world book fair, it still boasted of a good collection. Buying paperbacks at throwaway prices, that too rarity likes Ibsen’s plays and Mark Twain. It was there that I shook hands with Hindi literature and bought a variety of authors, much to Aditi’s surprise. “ Are you sure you are going to read them? You don’t look that educated.” –she raised an eyebrow at me. “I can at least make a try.”- I smiled back lazily. After a trip to the nearest ATM, one cornetto each and four-five hours, we ended up with a full bag, tired feet and happy faces. ...... and they smile back too..

Having arranged them well, I turned to the various posters colouring the walls. Not actually very fond of spoiling the walls, I had developed this habit in Delhi, where I had covered the wall lining my bed with pics of frenz and family. The pics were off now, as I was at home now and ma certainly doesn’t appreciate this kind of wall papering. But the cheeky poster of Garfield saying ‘ I may not always be right but I am never wrong’ still adorns the almirah frame.

But somethings never change. The switchboard near my bed is a tangled web of wires- what with the laptop and charger and the modem and the speaker. And I still keep my head where the feet should be and the feet where the head should be. And I still sometimes sleep with my head on my laptop and the lights on. An old habit of mine, sleeping on my books, with ma or papa checking up on me and turning off the lights after taking off my specs.

There is a clock on the wall which faces me and a calendar on the one behind me. Both glaring reminders of the time which has never stood still, while the room has changed forms and addresses.

There is a cupboard full of clothes, both well-worn and new. The accumulation of the various shopping excursions.

My handbag lies in a corner, resting on its haunches after a week full of carrying my stuff. There lies a diary in a corner with lines scribbled in pencil in it. There hangs the echo of music last played.

But there is more to my room than just four walls. There are memories of lazy evenings spent with family, relaxing in that familiar warmth. That warmth still persists. There are voices from the conversations held with friends over the telephone- the tears shed over fights, the giggles and the wisdom shared. There is the feel of papa’s cuddles as I cried over my lost piece of jigsaw. There are sisterly confidences, shared over cups of coffee. There is the touch of ma’s care as I shivered in high fever. There are the shards of broken dreams. There are the missing vowels of unspelt ambitions. There is the tension of silent rebellion. There is the anguish of an uneasy mind. There are footprints of a journey. There also lies the cloak of acquired wisdom. There is the serenity of a mind at rest. There are blushes of the first crush . There are smiles and there are tears. There are injuries and there is healing. There is success and there is failing.

There are pieces of the old skin. There is the fragrance of the new one. There is the strength of determination, the dull ache of perseverance, the glimmer of resilience, the mirror of humility , the joy of hope. There are glimpses of achievement, depths of hollowness and the patience of a sphinx.

There are the smiles of first love and the resignation of solitude.

My room has a view of its own though. It carries the smell of wood. It’s welcoming to friendly eyes and smiles but wards off strangers and mockery. It argues and it debates. With the other rooms in my home for its independence but not isolation. It embraces and cuddles when I am lonely. It shares my secrets and keeps them safe. It pampers me and spoils me and handles my mood swings. It’s seen me laughing crazily, fuming angrily, weeping bitterly and giggling childishly. It’s heard me talking to my friends. Like Bridget Jones diary, it keeps a record of all that happens. Like its occupant, it changes moods and becomes naughty and sober by turn. . Like the unfinished lines in an article written randomly, it contains many unfinished sentences, words not fully formed and speech yet unarticulated.

It’s not just a room now. It’s an extension of me. And contains a portion of me. It moves around with me. Accompanying me to my work, my friends place, a party or a walk. And what it learns , it keeps adding to the murals of my four walls.

The perfect wallpaper.

Stop all the clocks- W.H. Auden

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

What my friend always says to me.......

"The best thing for being sad," replied Merlyn, beginning to puff and blow, "is to learn something. That's the only thing that never fails. You may grow old and trembling in your anatomies, you may lie awake at night listening to the disorder of your veins, you may miss your only love, you may see the world about you devastated by evil lunatics, or know your honour trampled in the sewers of baser minds. There is only one thing for it then — to learn. Learn why the world wags and what wags it. That is the only thing which the mind can never exhaust, never alienate, never be tortured by, never fear or distrust, and never dream of regretting. Learning is the only thing for you. Look what a lot of things there are to learn."

Tears,Idle tears

Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean,
Tears from the depth of some divine despair
Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes,
In looking on the happy Autumn-fields,
And thinking of the days that are no more.

Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail,
That brings our friends up from the underworld,
Sad as the last which reddens over one
That sinks with all we love below the verge;
So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more.

Ah, sad and strange as in dark summer dawns
The earliest pipe of half-awakened birds
To dying ears, when unto dying eyes
The casement slowly grows a glimmering square;
So sad, so strange, the days that are no more.

Dear as remembered kisses after death,
And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feigned
On lips that are for others; deep as love,
Deep as first love, and wild with all regret;
O Death in Life, the days that are no more

Walk On

And love is not the easy thing
The only baggage you can bring...
And love is not the easy thing...
The only baggage you can bring
Is all that you can't leave behind
And if the darkness is to keep us apart
And if the daylight feels like it's a long way off
And if your glass heart should crack
And for a second you turn back
Oh no, be strongWalk on, walk on
What you got, they can't steal it
No they can't even feel it
Walk on, walk on
Stay safe tonight...
You're packing a suitcase for a place none of us has been
A place that has to be believed to be seen
You could have flown away
A singing bird in an open cage
Who will only fly, only fly for freedom
Walk on, walk on
What you got they can't deny it
Can't sell it or buy it
Walk on, walk on
Stay safe tonight
And I know it aches
And your heart it breaks
And you can only take so much
Walk on, walk on
Home...hard to know what it is if you never had one
Home...I can't say where it is but I know I'm going home
That's where the heart is
I know it aches
How your heart it breaks
And you can only take so much
Walk on, walk on
Leave it behind
You've got to leave it behind
All that you fashion
All that you make
All that you build
All that you break
All that you measure
All that you steal
All this you can leave behind
All that you reason
All that you sense
All that you speak
All you dress up
All that you scheme

P.S " I don't love you

I say this because this is true. Why do I say so? It’s not me, it’s the symptoms. Symptoms that to the trained and clichéd eye seem to be that of love.
Now, I am not an expert on this topic so probably won’t be able to be delicate and nice about it and this might hurt any sensitive readers feelings. Now there are several phrases used about it which irk the soul. This ‘falling’ in love and ‘rising’ too. The supporters of both the theories have flooded orkut and facebook profiles with quotes. Why can’t they just stand still in love? Isn’t being in love supposed to be the state when everything else ceases to matter. Nothing moves except a moving stillness. But I guess that is surreal and once again a cliché.
I don’t have anything against love birds. They are interesting to watch from afar but very boring to be around with. Either they are too lovey-dovey which can get embarrassing and frustrating especially if you are single. Or they are very quarrelsome which makes you wish fervently for remaining single. What I am against is their penchant for match-making. Since three is a crowd, they are always trying to pull in a fourth member to make it a happy foursome so that the one who is lonesome doesn’t become meddlesome in their billing and cooing. What they don’t realise is that this in most cases is downright degrading both for the third and the fourth. Suppose the fourth has a runny nose? Or the third has a shrieking laughter? Or the third and the fourth hate being chaperones?
It’s not only besotted couples who do this ‘catch the match’ thing. I have some friends, who are single and take an active interest in finding the firsts and seconds for the third and fourths. They spy every stolen glance, titter at every handshake, smirk at every smile exchanged and scent cupid in every blush. Now being of a very blushful, smiley and handshaky nature I have been a victim of this devil in disguise often. After a long and strong friendship, I have been able to convince her (I hope) that I am not in love.
But you have to be careful. A careless smile can lead to a lot of trouble. The fourths start believing that they can make you a likely second. And start dropping hints. It’s a hint that you should start dropping them hints which mean otherwise. And I have, by repeatedly asserting my feminist nature, ranting against ‘chauvinist men who believe that women were made from the ribs of a man’ and so forth. Enough to keep any attention seeker at bay. Seriously I am not the sort of person who can fall in a third or fourth’s ‘made for each other’ criteria or be impressed by mushy love tributes.
Another reason why people can take you to be that of a romantic nature is your affection for reading. To the ignorant, novels mostly mean love stories. Or to be precise, the ubiquitous paper backs sold in the market, which have a titillating cover page, a sensational back cover and a very boring plot. Am not denying having read any. Have read some in teenage, due to curiosity, peer group or simply because of lack of having anything else to read. But I graduated from thereon to a better and higher scale. I do read romantic fiction even now, but that has become a rare event. I can be found curled up with a Wodehouse these days.
Finally, what adds frosting to the cake is my ‘INFP’ personality as revealed by mbti, a personality test devised by none other than Carl Jung and administered to me by a friend with q-th degree of imbecility. Well, us ‘INFPs’ behave like INFPs are supposed to. And am no different. (INFPs are idealistic, loyal to their values and to people who are important to them. Want an external life that is congruent with their values. Curious, quick to see possibilities, can be catalysts for implementing ideas. Seek to understand people and to help them fulfil their potential. Adaptable, flexible, and accepting unless a value is threatened. ) Now these sorts of personality orders give people food for thought. But I vehemently oppose it. I am a good Samaritan, not someone in love. To give effect to the contrary, I have started being snappy and vicious to anyone who even tries to hint about ‘love being in the air’.
The camel’s back got broken by the straw that was laid by Karan Johar in ‘Kuch Kuch Hota Hai’, a lovesick movie where Shahrukh Khan says in a literature class ‘Pyaar Dosti Hai’. And the scales fell from people’s eyes.
Friends started eyeing each other surreptitiously. Trying to realise “If you wanna be my lover, then you got to be my friend”. So that even honest and pristine friendship came under suspicion. So, I make this declaration:
My dear friends, I love you, but I am NOT in love with you.
Contradict this with the statement given by my nemesis, D Silent Assassin– “A boy and a girl can’t be simply friends. Feelings! They always crop up somewhere.”
But I don’t blame people for their suspicions. After all, I stay up late each night, am engrossed in books, try to seek solitude, keep listening to soft music , have male friends and found busy on the phone.
But these rather than being symptoms of love are signs of being an unlovable person.
Not that I plan to die like this. What I dislike is continuously being at somebody’s elbow, this idiotic celebration of rose day and valentine’s day., the petty quarrels, the long shayari, the public display of affection and the ‘ love u’, ‘miss u’ kinds of text messages.
I have my own versions of the perfect Raymonds man. The strong and the silent one, both of which are essential. The mental strength to get along with me and the silence to match my verbosity.
Sadly... Mr. Darcy is getting dusty in a bookshelf.
Listening sagely to this long diatribe of mine, my wise friend got up and smiled sardonically..... ‘You know something, dear. Your soliloquy provides a proof against itself.’
Love, actually?
No!

An ode to the silent assassin

The silent assassin, a self professed lean mean killing machine. Sometimes i wonder, what are his weapons, how does he kill. Having known him for some time, I still haven’t been able to guage him but then that is what he says as well... that judging him would be an understatement.... it would be him who would pass the judgement.
But i know that he isn’t mean. Not really. After all he gave me free rein to handle this and his other blogs, risking sabotage and vandalism. Why was that? Did he expect an increase in the number of posts? Or was he simply seeking apartner in crime.
But lets not get into this. He moves mysteriously, closing in on the kill.
So what makes me talk about him. Not gratitude for giving me a platform. I have my own blog. Not boredom. I have too much on my hands to get bored. And its not pure statistics either. Increasing the number of posts on this blog. There are easier ways to do that.
Am doing this because its probably a safe way to tell someone what u think of them. For many reasons
Its tough calling people names on their faces. You need to have courage, a punch or at least running shoes for that.
There are people who read this. You cant act spoilsport in front of them.
The written word can be interpreted i in a variety of ways. U can always add footnotes and references.
Bandwidth is less expensive than a mobile bill
You get time to prepare for the retaliatory fire .
Most importantly, sometimes its easier to write than to tell someone how and what they mean to you specially when you are placed some thousand odd kilometres apart. You cant see them chuckling at your words.
But its difficult telling someone that he is a friend specially when the fellow says that “ A boy and a girl cant be simply friends.”
“Then what?”
“U don’t have to find names for every relation kiddo. Just let things be.”
What do i say to this reasoning?
Just an advise- while i don’t think too much about it. Plenty of girls will find it objectionable. Revise .
“U don’t know me much kiddo.”
“And how do i do that?”
“Well u gotta come down.”
Another advise psycho- stop quoting statements. On the other hand. Don’t . I enjoy it when u quote and then name the source. Lets me know the number of films I haven’t seen.
But then, I know u enough to say that you are one of those guys that I feel safe with you despite of your tall and big statements
I know you enough to say that you are protective, that little things matter to you, that you wouldn’t cause a deliberate hurt.
You do speak too bluntly at times, to the extent of being rude. I have been taken aback several times. And it was only later that I came to accept it without being hurt.
But you know, am simply amazed at your depth of knowledge especially Hindi literature. In this time and age! You introduced me to such a lot of new things.
Talking to you, I now know that there are things you value and respect.
But if u praise a guy so much, people around are going to think that you are in love with him.
Au contraire am not. So Gaurav, you can rest easy, I haven’t ruined your chances yet.
You know, it’s sort of a cliché, but I don’t know u too well to criticise you... as yet.
I know you claim to be a bad guy, and love being called so.
And you are too, in some ways. When you try sarcasm, when you act rude or when you act indifferent. When you narrate whole chapters of your novel to me and expect me to remember every word you say. When you cc messages to me.
If there is another side to your fence, I am yet to see it.
Apart from all the BS that I have spewed and generally do... it’s been nice.. knowing you. Or at least trying to know you.
Seriously, I would have missed you even if we hadn’t met.

Cheers..... Always and forever.

While my guitar gently weeps

I look at you all see the love there that's sleeping
While my guitar gently weeps

I look at the floor and I see it need sweeping
Still my guitar gently weeps

I don't know why nobody told you
how to unfold your love
I don't know how someone controlled you
they bought and sold you

I look at the world and I notice it's turning
While my guitar gently weeps

With every mistake we must surely be learning
Still my guitar gently weeps

I don't know how you were diverted
you were perverted too
I don't know how you were inverted
no one alerted you

I look at you all see the love there that's sleeping
While my guitar gently weeps
I look at you all
Still my guitar gently weeps

Evergreen Tree- Cliff Richards

Evergreen Tree

Oh darling, will our love be like an evergreen tree
Stay ever green and young as the seasons go
Your kisses could make love grow like an evergreen tree
Bloom in the summer’s sun and the winter’s snow

On every branch will blossom, dreams for me and you
Our tree of love will stay ever green, if our hearts stay ever true

Oh darling, I love you so, don’t you know that I’ll be
True ’til the leaves turn blue on the evergreen tree

On every branch will blossom, dreams for me and you
Our tree of love will stay ever green, if our hearts stay ever true

Oh darling, I love you so, don’t you know that I’ll be
True ’til the leaves turn blue on the evergreen tree

On the evergreen tree, on the evergreen tree.

Love as I see it !

I love rumors! Because rumors are mostly revealing about subjects that we don’t talk directly about, facts on the other hand can be very misleading, and the new rumor in town is that I am in love. Who am I? I am a nobody, always have been a nobody and always will be a nobody but the important thing here is love and what we see in life is that its most talked about topic but nobody really answers to what love is. Bukowski calls it a dog from hell, its lust for young generation and intellectuals who believe life is more cruel then death discard it completely.



But I think there is more to love than meets the eyes, but what I don’t get is why are people so insecure about love, why do they have to hide so much, if they are truly in love with someone and that’s the only reason I don’t celebrate days like valentine day, because I wont celebrate a day when someone died to protect love, love in itself is a immense power and does not needs someone to protect it or fight for it. I would rather celebrate a day when someone met love and when I say love, I mean love in its most basic form ,where there is no falling ,only raising to heights one can only dream of .And then to be honest I don’t really care about days coz days are not important ,people are ,for me that day would be important when she would be with me ,and if someday I really have to celebrate a day for love ,I would prefer the day Shri Ram and Maa Sita met , and Kamdev-the god of love or cupid aimed his arrow at Ram from the front, the same Kamdev who had been set aflame by the curse given by the god of destruction-Shiv, when he had aimed his arrow of desire at him under cover of a hiding. The noble intentions of Kamdev gave him the strength and courage to take an aim at God from the front.” Nobody died this time, just love happened and even for Gods there was a height they could raise to, and that’s what I want. I don’t need love ,what I need is what Bhagwan Ram and Maa Sita had ,because if u can define love that It is and nothing else, what happened between them ,I want love in its purest form ,no strings attached to it and when ill get that I will give a new definition to love ,to be honest I don’t know what love is but I know that it exists in different forms and rumors ,they’ll always be there ,and I don’t mind as long as people think I am in chetan bhagats kind of love ,ill worry about it when it would be more of a kalidas or bukowski kind of love because only that has got the power to create or destroy something . As for now I want someone who I can wake up with after staying awake all night just to watch her breathing. May be ill get that kind of a gal or maybe ill not but one thing is sure , I am soon gonna be in love ,coz the worst thing about love is that when you talk about love ,it takes away your strength of staying away from it ,and that’s one thing I am pretty sure of .

Love is cocaine and I am gonna get my share of it.


Adios for now ... Love.

An invitation to blog

An invitation to blog

It all started when a close friend, having nothing to do, got this fiendish idea and decided to launch a new site. But this was not all. He had added a blogging feature to it, to give free rein to the creative pursuits of its members.

Though talkative and busy he was, unusually, at a loss of words and so unable to dole out his usual dose of gibberish. Being familiar with his penchant for the abstruse, I shuddered at the havoc his words could wreak upon the unsuspecting and hapless masses. I guess he is aware of this fact as well.

Ever fond of deriding us, his unenlightened earthly compatriots, I got a real surprise when he of the unearthly species came slinking up to me.

Being a bit bashful to talk about it upfront, he pinged me when I was online on google.

“ Eh.. hi!.. hw r u?”- asked he, suddenly concerned with my well-being.

“Um ok… u?” – I returned the courtesy.

“ Me well as well.”- he hemmed and hawed.

Him-“ Say.. hvnt read a line by u all these days… hw is ur blog cmng along?”

Me-“Yeah, really lacking in time… and ideas”

I was surprised at his sudden interest in my doodling.

But still, I wanted to know the catch, so decided to play up to him his own game.

Him- “ Say…”

Me- “ Say on…”

“ I have created a blog site. Would you care to write in there?”- he blurted.

“ Me?”, “ Write in your blog?”- I was aghast.

Him- “Yep. Am giving u the chance to be my co-blogger.”

I guess he was a bit hurt, having imagined me to gush over his offer and babble like the babbling brook. And in my heart oh hearts,I was.

Little known, struggling and and an aspiring writer that I am, I don’t pick and choose, taking whatever that could come my way-letters to the customers, notes to bosses, interdepartmental communication. Though oft and many, they offer little scope for innovation. The most creative liberty one can take is to choose between “Yours truly” and “Yours faithfully”.

This was an honour indeed. But I decided to play it cool and asked for my rights.

“What will be my stipend?”- asked I, greed in my eyes.

“Ha!”- laughed he who must not be named.

“You asking me for a stipend?”

(You sorry excuse for a writer- is what he thought)

“Why… this is your own blog. You are our star content provider.”-is what he said.

“Well.. okay….If u insist.” – said I, accepting his commission.

“ But remember-no objectionable stuff to be posted there. No sleazy, obscene stuff, no political statements and no unparliamentary language.”- said he gravely.

So much for creative liberty. Some people take the fun out of everything.

Appreciation creates its own kind of slaves. The more of it one gets, the more one wants. So, for the sake of my 15 seconds of fame, I pushed myself to a punishing schedule.trying to live up to this blogger’s blog.

And now I can be sighted, here and there, lost, with a notepad in the crook of my arms and a pencil dangling between forefinger and thumb.

Sometimes….. a piece of graphite and a scrap of paper are all that you need …. .

I saw you across the dancefloor
Out of the corner of my eye
I felt the connection
I don't know how, I don't know why
I shouldn't of stayed
When I saw you there with another man
But as we slipped away
I thought I heard you say
This wasn't part of the plan

CHORUS:
Just a meaningless kiss
It wasn't suppose to end up like this
Just a meaningless kiss
Ohh Ohh
Just a meaningless kiss
We knew it was wrong
But we couldn't resist
Just a meaningless kiss
Til I fell in love
With you

But you didn't want me to
Oh no

And here we are two years later
Too late to turn back now
We gotta finish what we shouldn't have started
We got to walk away somehow
But it's easier said than done
When two hearts beat as one
And three hearts are one too many
That's why we shouldn't have ever begun

CHORUS:
Just a meaningless kiss
It wasn't suppose to end up like this
Just a meaningless kiss
Oh oh
Just a meaningless kiss
We knew it was wrong but we couldn't resist
Just a meaningless kiss
Til I fell in love
With you

We can't go on like this forever
When we're not meant to be together
So leave me here on my own
From now on I guess I got to dance alone

CHORUS:
Just a meaningless kiss
It wasn't suppose to end up like this
Just a meaningless kiss
Oh oh
Just a meaningless kiss
We knew it was wrong but we couldn't resist
Just a meaningless kiss
But I'm still in love
With you

No matter what I do

You can put the blame on me-Akon

As life goes on I’m starting to learn more and more about responsibility
I realize everything I do is affecting the people around me
So I want to take this time out to apologize for things I have done
And things that have not occurred yet
And the things they don’t want to take responsibility

sorry for the times I left you home
I was on the road and you were alone
I’m sorry for the times that I had to go
I’m sorry for the fact that I did not know
That you were sitting home just wishing we
Could go back to when it was just you and me
I’m sorry for the times I would neglect
I’m sorry for the times I disrespect

I’m sorry for the wrong things that I’ve done
I’m sorry I’m not always there for my son
I’m sorry for the fact that I'm not aware
That you can’t sleep at night when I am not there
Because I am in the streets like everyday
Sorry for the things that I did not say
Like how you are the best thing in my world
And how I'm so proud to call you my girl

I understand that there are some problems
And I am not too blind to know
All the pain you kept inside you
Even though you might not show
If I can apologize for being wrong
Then it’s just a shame on me
I’ll be the reason for your pain
and you can put the blame on me

You can put the blame on me
Said you can put the blame on me
You can put the blame on me

Sorry for the things that he put you through
And all the times you didn’t know what to do
Sorry that you had to go and sell those packs
Just trying to stay busy till you heard from Dad
And you would rather be home with all your kids
As one big family with love and bliss
And even though Pops treated us like kings

He got a second wife and you didn’t agree
He got up and left you there all alone
I’m sorry that you had to do it on your own
I’m sorry that I went and added to your grief
I’m sorry that your son was once a thief
I’m sorry that I grew up way too fast
I wish I would’ve listened and not be so bad
I’m sorry your life turned out this way
I’m sorry that the FEDS came and took me away

I’m sorry that it took so long to see
They were dead wrong trying to put it on me
I’m sorry that it took so long to speak
But I was on tour with Gwen Stefani
I’m sorry for the hand that she was dealt
For the embarrassment that she felt
Just a little young girl trying to have fun
Her daddy should never let her out that young
I’m sorry for Club Zen getting shut down
I hope they manage better next time around
How was I to know she was underage
In a 21 and older club they say

Why doesn’t anybody wanna take blame
Verizon backed out disgracing my name
I’m just a singer trying to entertain
Because I love my fans I’ll take that blame

Even though the blame’s on you
I’ll take that blame from you
And you can put that blame on me
You can put that blame on me
And you can put that blame on me

Just a yellow lemon tree-Fool's Garden

I'm sitting here in the boring room
It's just another rainy Sunday afternoon
I'm wasting my time
I got nothing to do
I'm hanging around
I'm waiting for you
But nothing ever happens
and I wonder
I'm driving around in my car
I'm driving too fast
I'm driving too far
I'd like to change my point of view
I feel so lonely I'm waiting for you
But nothing ever happens
and I wonder
I wonder howI wonder why
Yesterday you told me 'bout the blue blue sky
And all that I can see is just a yellow lemon-tree
I'm turning my head up and down
I'm turning turning turning turning turning around
And all that I can see is just another lemon-tree
I'm sitting here
I miss the power
I'd like to go out taking a shower
But there's a heavy cloud inside my head
I feel so tired
Put myself into bed
While nothing ever happens and I wonder
Isolation is not good for me
Isolation I don't want to sit on the lemon-tree
I'm steppin' around in the desert of joy
Baby anyhow I'll get another toy
And everything will happen and you wonder
I wonder howI wonder why
Yesterday you told me 'bout the blue blue sky
And all that I can see is just another lemon-tree
I'm turning my head up and down
I'm turning turning turning turning
turning around
And all that I can see is just a yellow lemon-tree
And I wonder,
wonder I wonderhow
I wonder why
Yesterday you told me 'bout the blue blue sky
And all that I can see, and all that I can see,
and all that I can seeIs just a yellow lemon-tree

Long Ago- The brotherhood of Man

Long ago,
high on a mountain in Mexico
lived a young shepherd boy Angelo
met a young girl and he loved her so
rich was she
came from a very high family
Angelo knew it could never be
they ran away to their destiny.
Running away together
running away foreverAngelo

Running away from danger
running from ev'ry strangerAngelo.
They knew it wasn't wrong
they found a love so strong
they took their lives that night
and in the morning lightt
hey found them on the sand
they saw them lying there
hand in hand.

Success is counted sweetest

Success is counted sweetest
By those who ne'er succeed.
To comprehend a nectar
Requires sorest need.

Not one of all the purple Host
Who took the Flag today
Can tell the definition
So clear of Victory

As he defeated - dying -
On whose forbidden ear
The distant strains of triumph
Burst agonized and clear!

Knocking on heaven's door-Avril Lavigne

Momma take this badge off of me
I can't use it anymore
It's getting dark, too dark to see
Feel I'm knockin' on heaven's door

Knock knock knockin' on heaven's door
Knock knock knockin' on heaven's door
Knock knock knockin' on heaven's door
Knock knock knockin' on heaven's door

Momma put my guns in the ground
I can't shoot them anymore
That long black cloud is coming down
I Feel like I'm knockin' on heaven's door

Knock knock knockin' on heaven's door
Knock knock knockin' on heaven's door
Knock knock knockin' on heaven's door
Knock knock knockin' on heaven's door

Bang Bang He shot me down

I was five and he was six
We rode on horses made of sticks
He wore black and I wore white
He would always win the fight

Bang bang, he shot me down
Bang bang, I hit the ground
Bang bang, that awful sound
Bang bang, my baby shot me down.

Seasons came and changed the time
When I grew up, I called him mine
He would always laugh and say
"Remember when we used to play?"

Bang bang, I shot you down
Bang bang, you hit the ground
Bang bang, that awful sound
Bang bang, I used to shoot you down.

Music played, and people sang
Just for me, the church bells rang.

Now he's gone, I don't know why
And till this day, sometimes I cry
He didn't even say goodbye
He didn't take the time to lie.

Bang bang, he shot me down
Bang bang, I hit the ground
Bang bang, that awful sound
Bang bang, my baby shot me down...

Listen to this song here 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GaVNfZWBVhQ

My favourite things- the sound of music

Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens,
bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens,
brown paper packages tied up with strings,
these are a few of my favorite things.

Cream colored ponies and crisp apple strudels,
door bells and sleigh bells and schnitzel with noodles.
Wild geese that fly with the moon on their wings.
these are a few of my favorite things.

Girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes,
snowflakes that stay on my nose and eyelashes,
silver white winters that melt into springs,
these are a few of my favorite things.

When the dog bites,
when the bee stings,
when I'm feeling sad,
I simply remember my favorite things,
and then I don't feel so bad.

Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens,
bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens,
brown paper packages tied up with strings,
these are a few of my favorite things.

Cream colored ponies and crisp apple strudels,
door bells and sleigh bells and schnitzel with noodles
. Wild geese that fly with the moon on their wings.
these are a few of my favorite things.

Girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes,
snowflakes that stay on my nose and eyelashes,
silver white winters that melt into springs,
these are a few of my favorite things.

When the dog bites,
when the bee stings,
when I'm feeling sad,
I simply remember my favorite things,
and then I don't feel so bad.

My first mistake ......... to kiddo on her 24th birthday !!!

Don’t you just love these comfortable silences … just two people sitting in a coffee joint and nothing to yak about ,I always wanted someone with whom I can just shut up for a minute, she said after we had finished our coffee and haven’t said a word in fifteen minutes. I don’t think so, I replied, coz we were not silent … your eyes speak too much …they tell me everything, things that you don’t even tell yourself. But don’t you think that it was much better when there were no languages and we haven’t started naming relationships.Yeah because only my eyes can say that how much I like you and knowing that love is a dog from hell I still love you, I smiled … It seems to me we aren’t on a date but on a intellectual power trip ….. Well sometimes love is nothing but two normal intellectual people gone insane and when that happens … history is made and right now we are making history coz we know that we don’t have a future … Serendipity …. You are looking for something else and find something else that’s how I found you … [I never forget the pain in her eyes but I kept on with my yakking] …. I’ll always cherish you as a friend and love you like a man loves a women he never touches but nothing more coz love for me is nameless and wid no boundaries ... I don`t name love and i like things in their purest platonic form .... and I left her alone in the coffee joint. Seven years gone I still can smell her perfume on my breath but what’s gone is gone and if I could just change it I would have changed it because she made me realize that someone with whom you can just shut up for a minute and be comfortable is the one you want to spend your life with. Kiddo forgive me for I loved you and didn’t knew that but ill love you no matter what, ill love you always …. And never.

I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You By Pablo Neruda

I do not love you except because I love you;

I go from loving to not loving you,

From waiting to not waiting for you

My heart moves from cold to fire.

I love you only because it's you the one I love;

I hate you deeply, and hating you

Bend to you, and the measure of my changing love for you

Is that I do not see you but love you blindly.

Maybe January light will consume

My heart with its cruel

Ray, stealing my key to true calm.

In this part of the story I am the one who

Dies, the only one, and I will die of love because I love you,

Because I love you, Love, in fire and blood.

LIVE, SUICIDE, LAUGH, SUICIDE, LOVE---M is for Vendetta

Suicide....Suicide....Suicide

This is what my thoughts are

Suicide....Suicide....Suicide

I do not have a star

To put in all my hopes

To put in all my dreams

Where will I be without my star.

Before you came

Suicide....Suicide....Suicide

These were my thoughts

But now I am lost.

I do not have these thoughts anymore.

Live....Love....Laugh

That is whats running through my mind.

Live....Love....Laugh

I must be insane

Running off cocaine.

Live....Love....Laugh

These thoughts are brought to mind.

Live....Love....Laugh

It must be some kind of sign.

To be here with you

And the love that you sew.

I quit the drugs

But brought on the pain.

But it is bearable

As long as I have you to gain.

Suicide....Suicide....Suicide

Nope, dont need these thoughts no more.

Live....Love....Laugh

Now I have something to live for.

M is for Vendetta

An Almost Made Up Poem by Charles Bukowski

  I see you drinking at a fountain with tiny
blue hands, no, your hands are not tiny
they are small, and the fountain is in France
where you wrote me that last letter and
I answered and never heard from you again.
you used to write insane poems about
ANGELS AND GOD, all in upper case, and you
knew famous artists and most of them
were your lovers, and I wrote back, it’ all right,
go ahead, enter their lives, I’ not jealous
because we’ never met. we got close once in
New Orleans, one half block, but never met, never
touched. so you went with the famous and wrote
about the famous, and, of course, what you found out
is that the famous are worried about
their fame –– not the beautiful young girl in bed
with them, who gives them that, and then awakens
in the morning to write upper case poems about
ANGELS AND GOD. we know God is dead, they’ told
us, but listening to you I wasn’ sure. maybe
it was the upper case. you were one of the
best female poets and I told the publishers,
editors, “ her, print her, she’ mad but she’
magic. there’ no lie in her fire.” I loved you
like a man loves a woman he never touches, only
writes to, keeps little photographs of. I would have
loved you more if I had sat in a small room rolling a
cigarette and listened to you piss in the bathroom,
but that didn’ happen. your letters got sadder.
your lovers betrayed you. kid, I wrote back, all
lovers betray. it didn’ help. you said
you had a crying bench and it was by a bridge and
the bridge was over a river and you sat on the crying
bench every night and wept for the lovers who had
hurt and forgotten you. I wrote back but never
heard again. a friend wrote me of your suicide
3 or 4 months after it happened. if I had met you
I would probably have been unfair to you or you
to me. it was best like this.