Monday, October 06, 2014

Bride walks in wearing glasses, "femalia" walks out

February 17, 2020. Bhaelgarh, India.

In an internationally unprecedented event, a myopic Indian bride decided to walk down the aisle wearing glasses despite being seriously advised to do otherwise by everyone in the family, including nuptial veterans such as her aunts and grandparents. The females in the clan, or "femalia", couldn't believe the sight and boycotted all photographs with the bride in the frame (pun intended). It is being said that what was supposed to be a moment of pride turned into a walk of utter embarrassment for the father of the bride, as he avoided the piercing glares coming from both sides of the aisle.

The bride in question, name undisclosed to protect her identity from the rioting fashionistas, is currently hiding at her sister-in-law's (unmarried and 27) home with her new husband, who, as it turns out, is bespectacled himself and "doesn't get it" (one way or another). Media is stationed outside the homes of the prominent players of the story, desperately wanting to get a quote from anyone, to understand what led the bride to make such a spectacle of herself and those who always wish the best for her.

The days leading up to the wedding have been nothing less than a roller-coster ride for the two families tying the knot. The bride, a 29 year old fair and beautiful girl, who is also a mathematician doing research in Sweden, finally gave in to the family's "request" to get hitched to a boy. Open minded and far sighted as they are, they accepted their daughter's boyfriend into the family. To their delight, the boy is a highly regarded engineer in the USA (but from a different caste). However, the seemingly agreeable and polite girl slowly unfolded into an unorthodox "bridezilla" - she cancelled an appointment, acquired by pulling a lot of strings, with a renowned ophthalmologist for a long overdue vision correction surgery. To add salt to the wounded and seething mother-in-law, she refused to wear contact lenses, not once, but "till death do us part".

We, at Sparkle Magazine, were able to track down the mother of the bride just before curfew, to hear her opinion. "I didn't want my daughter to go through what I had to face," she said, teary-eyed. "Numerous proposals turned away from my doorstep at the sight of my glasses. In fact, my wedding is literally a blur in my memory, because I didn't have my glasses on." Before walking back to her home, she added, "but deep in my heart I also feel a little vindicated."

We shall hold our spot outside the bride's current residence all night, glassy eyed and caffeinated, to be able to catch a glimpse of the "spectacular" newly-wed. Stay tuned or follow #bespectacular.

Wednesday, July 02, 2014

"I am trying my best"

It's that time of the year again, and I thought I should write something about Papa, for myself and for everyone who still thinks of him. My memory disappoints me in recalling the finer details of my time with him, so the little figments that remain with me are bias blends of what actually happened and what I thought happened. The human mind has a tendency to scale up the bitterness when registering an event from the past, which leaves you with little to cherish and a lot to blame. It's not a good thing, but it is what it is.

When I hear others talk about having shared a very happy moment Papa, it creates an image that sometimes conflicts with mine. I was, after all, a kid at first and later a teenager with the usual issues of self-indulgence and he had to be a strict father and say "no" more often than he would have liked to. Eventually, I feel puzzled and guilty for not remembering things correctly and keep my side of the "story" to myself, like a research publication with sketchy references to back it up.

Recently, my Gmail account started complaining about lack of space and forced me into going through 10 years of mails to get rid of some. It's worse than cleaning a hoarder's room, really. You are talking about going through 10 years of conversations and feeling embarrassed by your 10-years-younger self. You are talking about Orkut as opposed to Facebook, about college lingo that was a horrible twist on English and Hindi, about countless chats discussing fickle crushes, about being the center of the (your) universe. I got rid of tonnes of emails asking to "make 'frandship' because u have a nice profile", why did I save those emails in the first place?!

Interspersing hundreds of useless emails, there were some exchanges that had been treated with utmost indifference, but are now precious gems due to an unforeseen development in 2009. Email conversations with Papa were to the point, like text messages (SMSs) used to be in the 90s and early 2000s. They were mostly about whether he had reached safely at a conference and whether he thought his talk had gone well. Some mails were more generously worded and ended with "love you two/three" or "missing you all" or something of that sort. While he was in some foreign land prepping for his presentation, my sister and I would ask Ma if he was going to wear the "white-wala" or "grey-wala" suit. Sometimes she'd know which one, other times we'd find out from a picture of his presentation. His signature bandhgala suits.

As I progressed through the emails and slowly approached 2009, I found an email that hit closest to heart and has altered my memories forever. It was an email sent from Korea, I think, a part of our conversation on how he should buy a web cam or some other electronic equipment while he was there. In those days I felt it was my responsibility to give my father free advice on electronic purchases and how to keep up with technology.

I am trying my best. 

My response to the email was of a cocky adolescent who thought she knew more than her parents. The conversation is from a time that cannot be changed. It also epitomizes everything that my mind chose to tuck away in some dark corner of my brain, only to make room for unnecessary bitterness and egoistic dissatisfaction. It has brought back all those forgotten moments, when he had tried his best for me, for you, for all of us. And that's all that should have mattered, and counts anymore.

Friday, February 21, 2014

Our "Instagrammed" Retrospect

With Facebook taking over Whatsapp for $19bn, people are raving about the "poetic justice" the Whatsapp co-founder Brian Acton should gloat about. Tech geeks have unearthed Acton's tweets from 2009 that record job rejections he received from Facebook and Twitter. "It's a $3bn loss for Zuckerberg!" It's not the first time an entrepreneur-turned-billionaire has a history of setbacks from his very own competitors (Google guys, but that really was Microsoft's mistake), and every such story is followed by social media updates on how fate has its interesting ways of turning things around. Let me poke this bubble of yours - in all likelihood, Acton would have been fired from or quit those company jobs in 6 months anyway. And the world would have been deprived of a free cross-platform chatting service for at least two more years. Here's why...

Let's go back to 2009 for a bit. Acton is looking for a job. He knows his skills lie in coding and he's confident his ideas are worth a listen by big names in the field. His brain is figuratively bursting, because his vision is clear and ready to be materialized...or maybe he is just broke. These companies are looking for a candidate who is smart, knows his stuff extremely well, and would make a good employee in their team-driven environment. They had a job profile in mind and were really looking for a guy that fit the bill. Acton meets them for interviews and they like his genius, but maybe there's something about him that doesn't really meet their requirements. So they turn him down. Those very reasons are probably what set him, and Mark Zuckerberg for that matter, apart from the guy who actually got hired instead. Acton and Zuckerberg are entrepreneurs and you can't tie them down to a chair and a desk for others.

In my opinion, it's just the difference between an entrepreneur and an employable person that worked out in everyone's favor. There's nothing wrong with being either. I, for one, think that I belong to the latter kind. Share your idea with me and I'll help you bring it to fruition. I will give you my ideas and ask you to paint a vision out of it. Facebook did not miss an opportunity to own the intellectual patent behind Whatsapp by not hiring Acton, they probably helped sow the seeds for its development. You may argue that Whatsapp could have been born in a cubicle at a Facebook office, but my guess is that that would have taken longer. The world is more often bestowed with a boon every time a smart guy is put in a tight spot than when he is comfortable on a couch watching TV. In the past, when Acton was unemployed and dejected, things did look bad and nobody knew how the future would unfold. In retrospect, however, it sounds cool to say "burn!", but there is no reason why it should go down in history that Acton was vindicated and Zuckerberg had made a mistake. In the grand scheme of things, it could not have gone down in a better way.

We 20-somethings are fortunate to have friends who are entrepreneurs. I know a few, and I know they are just different. All of them have been unemployed, broke, rejected. But it's not something you can change by employing them in a company. They'll pull the whole thing down and start afresh or just run away.

If we do want to take something home from this, it's that no startup app is worth THAT insane amount of money.

Monday, February 17, 2014

Little White Porcelain

I'm just a little piece of white porcelain
Sitting on the mantlepiece, often wonderin'
That how the world turns to the left or the right
Everytime you pull a book out from behind.

It's nice to feel belonged n loved whenever you see me
And wrap me in your fingers, to dust the shelf underneath
And when you proudly tell the story of how we met
They always pick me up to check my bum instead.

On days that you come home right when the hours are wee
I make a mental note of where you dump your keys.
And try to fight my porcelainity to help you find
The next day when you frantically lose your mind.

I see your friends are here, both the good ones and the creepy
The bond you share with them is beyond my plasticity.
Coz they come here they talk they laugh, you hear more than you say
But I'm your sole supporter on your rainy day.

THIS one of yours is just a piece of work
I fail to find a way to pass you on the word
As she stands next to me n waves a finger at thee
She's threatening to weaponize the shit out of me!

I hope against hope she's just checking my bum
But she flings me right at you and her aim just sucks.
I end up as a pile of mud, my broken self then prays
She stumbles on her way out, cracks her hollow head.

Wednesday, July 03, 2013

Exit...Stage Left

Death is that ugly white truth no one has ever been able to hide from. It gets you when it wants to and it leaves you however it wishes to - burnt, naked, lost, never to be found or right in the middle of a natural calamity. Last words rot away with your flesh but thoughts have a longer half life and stick around like your bones. One death will stand out in your life for a lot of reasons. It's like the death that imparts the power to see thestrals in the Harry Potter series (my comic relief for this rather serious note). The more I think of such a demise the more I admire it in a very bitter respectful way. Bitter, for all the chaos it left in its wake and respectful for its white beauty.

He was a man of conviction. In a very orthodox way too. And everything was there for a reason in his life. Things just didn't lie around, you see, something the rest of us have aplenty. He had a role to play in the larger scheme of things. However, unlike us who think we have found our purpose but end up burning our entire life (at all ends) to figure it out, he had found a good one. He knew it since he was 21, the day he lost his father. I wish it were the same for me.

But this is not about his life; numerous heartfelt words have been said and written about life in the last four years. It's about the day that was dented due to his sudden departure. And his silence only meant it didn't come as a surprise to him. He didn't want to go, nobody wants to go, but he did what he had to and with the grace of a man who had never sugar-coated life to deal with it. That, wells my heart up not with tears, but awe.

He was not indebted to anyone. Never took a paisa he had not earned. I think his power to look everyone in the eye and speak his mind up was a consequence of that. "Never ever tie my shoelaces for me", was a standing instruction in the house. And he kept it that way. His death was not a long and painful poem for his relatives to recite, it was a full-stop. And so he does not owe anyone to have taken care of him in his last few breaths, because it was only one.

He would walk an extra 10 miles for you, but wasn't the sort to cause any inconvenience to anyone. First, comes the world, then our guests, then family, then himself, that was his pyramid of priority (flipped over). We - my sister, my cousins and I - were raised to put others before us. And so he went on to make it easier for us to travel to Jaipur for his last day by keeping it on a weekend. Everybody was there by Friday night, spent two days at Ugam Path and took off Monday morning. Nobody had to worry about work, their bosses, or school.

He was against ceremonies. If he had cared enough he would have started a movement to abolish ceremonies! But he never missed an occasion to bring everyone together under his roof to share some bread and beer. It was the same thing every year - invite everyone over, whether they liked being together or not - eat, sing, dance and talk (albeit a little). "New year's in Ugam Path!" "Summer holidays in Ugam Path!" "Weekend in Ugam Path!" "Graduation party in Ugam Path!" The air smelled of soggy disposable paper plates rich with tamarind chaat chutney, gol gappe (homemade!), chicken curry, mutton curry, some sliced raw onions to go with the curries, and, in the afternoons, kadhi chawal (with some sliced raw onions again). There was also an undercurrent foul of words spoken under intoxication, but he used to do this uncanny dance of optimism to take care of that. He would borrow a dupatta from the nearest young lady, put it over his head and throw his hands up in the air. It was funny, I tell you, brought a smile on everyone's face.

Getting to the point, he made sure his last day was no different. No ceremonies, please. No rituals over who will cremate him or bury him or where his body will be laid to rest. No donations to some priest to chant some words to make his walk to heaven easier, no sir. "Come over to Ugam Path, spend some time with each other, just forget about the awkward fit of disrespect for one another we had the last time we met, and spend some time with me. You don't have to do anything. Just sit. Okay, is this house not big enough for everyone? Let's walk over to the park." They say over 5000 people got together that day, I was not aware of that. His body was donated to a local medical school that didn't spend years on paperwork.

It's about keeping your word till the last breath, and after.

Wednesday, February 22, 2012


Feels quite easy to sit back now,
     And warm up to neglect.
For every thing seems bright and strong,
     In my concocted retrospect.

A brand new fictional paper back,
     And some conceited dark coffee
There sits my beloved black canine,
     My Habit, uncommitted and free.

I vividly remember all those days
    Or wait, it's not a memory
Maybe it's what my Habit dropped
    In that intoxicating liquid bean.

For I feel no pain, no dread, no love
    Where I feared I'd die the most
Now all I squint to see is a blur
    Of a past tucked in and closed.

I turn sideways and take a moment
    To look at my beloved ally.
How trim and proper, with a glint of copper
   Is her fur and the sun in her eye.

I have liked a few things, loved another
    Cherished all for some time
But found me Habit mumble close
    "it is not yours, but mine"

We fondle the new thing, which's me Habit's
     We quickly grow so fond
It seems unlikely, almost absurd
      For ever to sever the bond!

So every day, like a daily chore
     There's a time well spent with them
That, them we feel so used to now
      That on them that our smiles depend.

Guilt or Blame, one way or another,
     Things sadly fall apart
I find me Habit, on the ledge
     Nursing a broken heart.

Is it normal for Habits, have you ever seen;
    Them bitches to change their mind.
After three indoors, give or take
    We're out of 'cold-turkey' confine.

Or tis okay for Habits, paradoxically
    To have a heart of caprice
To love something like no tomorrow
    To move on, if either leaves?

In the end I know, I'll smile to myself
    As I sip the dark coffee
That me Habit could have, may have done 'em wrong
    But it has surely protected me.

Wednesday, December 28, 2011

Blink Warp

light graffiti

There, right before you, was a big black wall
full of hazy graffiti.
In the dark was Oblivion, dilating your eyes
only to be blinded in three.

And like a neon sign, that'd had too much to blink
the wall lit that instant.
That hazy graffiti, flashed a million things
that were only too coherent.

In a burst of reflex, when you closed your eyes
and saw a dark blue ink.
Were filled with some ease, from that painted graffiti
but it left too much to think.

When another moment passed, it took away the shards
of the broken thoughts you had.
And free did you feel, in an unsettling breeze
of the shards that flew right by.

Then the dark blue ink, that had appeared to be
protecting you, like an ally.
it thinned, it darkened, in red streaks it sharpened
like a clouded malicious sky.

As the spiraling metal, on the stove under a vessel
curls and warms and burn.
In an uncanny semblance, in flickering fluorescence
you saw the graffiti unfurl.

On waves of warm radiance, right under your eyelids
the million images grew bright.
They hovered for some time, and danced for another,
like kites at the break of twilight.

When your heart was calmed, by sincere denial
what was left were silhouettes.
The impressions had gone, the thoughts were blurry
with confidence you raised your eyelids.

Wednesday, February 23, 2011

Off the Hook

Some feel it like an ice-cold blob
Hanging like a locket
While some feel it like an albatross
By the skeleton in the closet.

For some it lingers, down every corridor
Calling out their names.
Gliding by from door to door
As phantoms of unfounded shames.

Unfounded I say, unfounded it is
Yet we all disagree.
We fail to see that it’s what we
We ourselves want to believe.

This guilt, this shame from long time ago
From a time we rest forget.
But remember bits, etched on our skin
We scratch, but later regret.

Like the guilt we bear, of unrequited hugs
That we wish we could return.
Of a sibling, or son, we said did not deserve
And rendered forever to yearn.

Like spectacles or bracelets, of beads of carved wood
That residual love remained.
In the shadows of some nook, invisible to look
And innate, but delusional to sane.


Another year here, with yet another face
With a resemblance that rang some bell.
But we let it pass and hopped on to things
And ventured out of the shell.

Familiarity remains, still rings some bells
That the hug doesn’t fail to see.
And out pours out, with our love for the face
The hug that we owed to thee.

It is time, it is time, to ‘purge’ yourself up
Of the unfounded guilt you bleed.
And let yourself stand, by the mirror to see
Something that you should’ve believed.

That depthless love, like a debt of a broke
Never saw the face of closure.
We splurged that was left, for as long as it took,
Read as long as it took, forever.

Tuesday, July 06, 2010

Open Secrets

I would shut my eyes
And bite my tongue
Let every urge fade by
But wouldn't spill out
The secret I save no matter
How hard ye try!

As human I am
And humans can be
Like ketchup bottles that squeeze
Just wrap me around
Your curly fingers
The truth will I reveal!

I’d often mix-up
And mostly forget
Which tale was to be shared?
And which ones were those
That my bridesmaid told
As good as not to be there?!

Then one brain-day,
It occurred to me
That secrets could be shared!
That I could go on,
Singing song after song
And not be under your flare!

So, on a moment when I
Couldn’t hold it behind
My tummy started to churn!
I laid out the words
And crossed my fingers,
‘Promise, you won’t tell anyone!’

That did it! That did it!
I went on to spill it
What otherwise was a secret
I slept well that night
Gave reason for no fight
And caused no racket!

And so, in the end
In a bunch of some friends
An open secret did all keep
Triumphed inside,
And burning to hide
All appeared oblivious and meek.

Monday, July 05, 2010

The Acoustics of Hollow Minds

Truth, basically, is what the majority believes in. Online polls and forums have made us participants of various kinds of decision-making populations, and just by the click of a mouse we first possess and then exercise the power to control the course of things. We have all witnessed how masses can pick somebody up, make him sit on the throne for one moment and pull him down the other; the less fortunate of us have also experienced it firsthand!

After waving off the Minority to just be a group of people who think too little of the situation and the future (so the Majority says about them), the Majority sometimes provides shelter to people who know too little of situation and the future (so the Minority says about them). Putting the blame-game aside, a decision-making process would more often see the Majority build up in such a manner that, if it were to be compared with the appearance of human life on Earth, everybody would think he is Adam (the one to propagate life with Eve) because the real Adam (the leader) made him believe so.

It so happened that there was a small bunch of beings that thought a little more of themselves and were not very happy with living in a society where everybody was equal. We’re talking of times like those pre-historic ones when barter system was a hit until one of those high-headed beings (let’s call them Leaders) realized all commodities (and later human beings) had different value. The rest of the people were too busy in either making ends meet or having fun, and so catered to the Leaders’ desire to display their only talent – Oration, lest the Leaders should make them the topics of their speeches and slander them. Anyway, one day, it occurred to one of the Leaders that he should pass a rule in the civilization to ascertain his superiority over not only the People, but the Leaders too. So next day he went to one of the People’s house and narrated eloquently his well-prepared speech, ‘You and I pray for the well-being of the civilization and I have complete faith that you will see eye to eye with me. It is for the benefit of all of us that I propose the introduction of different hats for different people. For a person of your reputation, a long pointed hat would make you stand ‘taller’ than the lesser beings! This proposition You! You!...and.....For You!’ With those two words ringing between his ears the man replied, ‘Seems like a good idea to me and I have no reason to object to it! I will stand for what others think of this proposition! I so have made my decision! I will go with the Majority.’ ‘Oh the others are impressed with my brainchild and form the Majority!’ convinced the Leader without having consulted anybody else. ‘I am in the Majority then!’ declared the man. The rest is, predictable.

Anyway, our present Leaders are far from orators of poetic verses and classical plays and definitely do not care about hats, but the rest of the people are just like their predecessors. It is like an orchestra plays to the moderator’s opus; it is a leader’s skill of weaving his words in a melody that mesmerizes the innocent mass to believe that they are united and have influenced the unanimous decision in some way or the other – to become the Majority. In some corner of their head, whose existence is denied by most, they know that they are a part of the majority solely because the rest of the herd is in the same boat. And everybody lives happily ever after...

Little do we know that the power to choose rests in us and that we have handed that very power to our leaders. If this melody is tuned to the notes of the masses, it can resonate on frequencies powerful enough to change the course of history, and it has done so before. It takes a mass of population to draw the line between right and wrong; the rest just appears in columns of national editorials to improve our English.

Sunday, November 15, 2009


It is seldom heard by me and you
That love lives between the few
Who part their ways to north and south
And surrender their love before doubt.

Only one thought rings between his ears
That you’ll be million miles away my dear!
Oh, how will we keep the flame alive?
How will the love surpass, survive?

He loved her more as each day rose
Yet learned not to wrap her close
Still months lied before she’re to fly
And she did go when the months flew by.

Fall falls before winter closes.
And ants gather a buffer of food.
For they be armed before it’s too late
And it is time to hibernate.

So he picked a leaf from the ant’s book
And found himself a warm nook
To prepare for what lied in fate
And be ready to ‘hibernate’.

Unusual promises, odd vows
Were what he wrote on his walls
To remind him for every second and jiffy
As a peremptory strike against self-pity.

And so he went onto ‘hibernate’
With love burning within his heart
Without a tear rolling down his cheek
But her absence rendering him blank and bleak.

He lived as much he loved his life.
Which was as much he'd always strived.
And let women advance with love
To receive some of his in return!

I don’t know what happened next
Nor sure was it this simple or vexed.
Whether spring came to bring her back
Or returned with an empty sack.

Doesn’t matter how't in fact concludes
The boy enjoyed all colors and hues.
And as all love stories end trim and proper
They sure lived happily ever after...

Sunday, August 09, 2009

A Handful of Nothing

I don't know why isn't my blog giving spaces between the stanzas!
I stand on one end of the corridor
While my back faces the wall
While my heels and head touch two spots
I fear the I might fall.
Beyond me lies the corridor
The walls run to meet somewhere
I am blind to where they begin
And it's too dark to see the end.
I open my eyes
To pull them as wide as I might
To absorb the light barely visible
Into each blackhole of my eye.
I let my hands go
Each finger ready at its hour
Stretching cautiously to its degree of freedom
Rooted in the palm, yet very far.
And then I breathe
Punctuated when I inhale
Puncturing the vacuum within me
Fearing my lungs might fail.
And so I raise
I raise my right hand
Down from the bottom of my arms
Parallel to the barren land.
The blackness before me
Does not beckon me, no
But the will within me, albeit slowly
Tries to stir some hope.
It seems ages before the wall
The wall that clings to my back
Lets me go with a heavy heart
To disengage and detach.
I trace what I want, before me
When my fingers run through the air
It is nothing, that little nothing
That falls for my hand's snare.
For I can see
Or just want to see
In this black, a little something
And not, not turn around
With a handful of nothing.
Because pain is not my problem
Nor I hope to see you again
It's the search for something
In which I am spent, but in vain.
For I will go on to search
In this blackened corridor
If only there is any promise
This blacknedd can make for sure.
Because the only thing that breaks me
Is a promise broken itself
It's the frustration that grips me
That all I can blame is myself.
For my naivity and credulity
On hoping against hope
That this corridor will promise
Little more than nothing to swallow.
You will feel the anguish
When locked inside a cage
With keys to every lock but alas!
Endless locks, to cater to your rage!
With every key that removes a lock
The lock appears repaired.
To tease your mind sinusoidly
With pangs of hope and despair.
I talk about the anguish
That robs me of my faith
That renders me cold in my heart
All the way to my grave.

Thursday, September 25, 2008

The Charlatan Cacophony of My Kin

I mostly avoid seeing what appears to be
When I enter a swarming jamboree
While a dozen cliques clamor aimlessly
While my ‘friends’ feel happy hopelessly;
While they raise their arms longing to wrap me
While they pass a smile full to kiss anybody.

“O kin! O love! My dear friend,
Tell me over some wine and bread
What makes your hair so black and curly?
What gives your skin that flare, that flurry?
What makes you like that ludicrous alike?
You shouldn’t wear this shirt with a tie.
Listen when I share my clandestine
On how the best shade is tangerine
You seem to be quite short of taste,
Flock with me, you’ll learn all in haste!”

“Such trivialities”, I reply, “shant be necessary
For they are for the charlatan society.
Please hear what lies beneath
This exultant well disposed sheath
Be the one to answer who is me
Apart from cheering who I could be.
For here a million belong to akin a creed
Prove to me that you’re a friend indeed.”

“My my! Not a word,
Not another breath under my nose!
Your pathetic, tragic soul,
Shall dare not take its toll.
You ask to walk an extra mile,
Though I haven’t any minute to while awhile.
For I am here to cross some words
To kill some time while we ogle at birds”

“For the sake of my space, my time
For those pieces of borrowed dime
For the moment when I lent a comfy shoulder
For when I helped you move the boulder
For the friend you found inside of me
For the friend I try to see in thee
As I look beyond the receding horizon
Looking blindly for a cogent reason
To what difference lies between
Who I could and who I should be.

“Your demeanor baffles me
To self embarrassment that I cant see
How to classify what is help, what is favor
What’s a deed done out of endless savor
I implore a state of understanding
While the world seems to be quite demeaning.”

Saturday, July 12, 2008

Hoping Against Hope

This is a poem on child abuse. What if the child has no clue that she is being abused and is trying to convince herself that this is how the world goes around? Ironical, isn't it?

As those teary eyes peep beneath the door,
For any shadows lurking on the floor,
Any signs of you being there,
Hoping against hope, this was fair.

“You, o uncle, o my family kin,
Thou shall know what’s good, what’s sin,
Thus I believe in your disposition,
Hoping against hope, there were benign intentions.

“So when you dropped by my room,
‘Just to say a hello, an adieu’
Shutting the door behind your back
Putting me up upon the rack
Tracing the lace beneath my dress
Why must my bosom supple to breasts?!
My eyes scare me, as I catch a look
Of your deeds in the mirror at the nook,
The butcher’s goat, as it waits,
For the dagger in his hand to signature its fate!

“I mustn’t panic, should not despair,
Should not question those who ‘care’.
This was right, this was just,
All uncles would do what was must,
Shame on me to doubt his love
See a vulture disguised a dove!
I am young, know not what lies
How the moon conjures the tides,
Should trust he who takes care of me
Who comes in the dark, but adores me
Hoping against hope, that I am wrong…”

Saturday, June 28, 2008

The Truth about Lies

The dictionary defines the word ‘true’ as something in accordance with fact or reality. And ironically fact is defined as something true. That is such a neat way to fool people and manipulate these familiar words. I wonder how many erudite or imprudent people have given these four letter words a thought, but I have come to realize there aren’t even half as many truths as we claim every breathing moment of our lives.
Come to think of it, there are billions of people living lives, sharing the world, bustling in the crowd, feeling feelings, seeing light, not seeing in the dark, appreciating colors, fouling on foul mouths. Who in the right state of mind claimed that all of us saw the world in the same manner? When we are born, we open our eyes to confront a world completely unknown to us, even the body bestowed on our soul is like a new friend to be understood, to be communicated with, to be teased to know your limits with it and to draw the lines consequently. A baby just a few hours old maybe doesn’t even know that if he just pulls his eye lids upward, he would be able to ‘open’ his eyes. It might sound a little weird, but I don’t think he would be able to define ‘opening your eyes’ as lifting his eyelids and rolling his eyeballs in all direction. In fact, I don’t think he is even grateful to be gifted with the sense of ‘vision’.
Till the time he is spared from all the learning, he communicates in a language with no sounds and actions. I think if one wants to see how magic happens, one must observe a young soul getting on with his daily chores with just no visible mode of communication with the people and objects around him. Once the learning spree begins, he sees a thing and a name comes up for it. Everything has a name; name is the most important thing in the world, words are names, every word is a name, and to connect to anything I must know its name, to be respected by it, I must know its name, to like it, to dislike it, to get angry at it – I must know its name. The child perhaps takes his five sensory organs a little more seriously for the first time when he sees his mother shrink her smiling face into other expressions such as a frown or a scorn or even delight for that matter (although her face wouldn’t shrink in that case) or starts to tickle him. In fact the first time he realizes his own forte for opening his mouth and controlling the air in his lungs to make him feel nice and happy would be at the same playful moment (for your reference I mean laughing).
There is a world in every eye. What appears red to me might be blue in your eyes, a circle for me would be a shape with no corners, for you it might just have two ends, or for that matter corner for you must mean no corners at all! I know it sounds little obnoxious, absurd, are-you-out-of-your-fickle-mind sorts. But how in the world can you be sure of what I am seeing? There are words; there are languages, which are man-made and on the other hand we have us, humans, lives that are created by something supernatural (okay we come out of our mothers’ wombs and our parents have ‘created’ us!). We have named everything so that there is something in common in all of us. Hence the sky is blue (on most sunny days), no matter what color it appears to you. And since we have heard this since our fleeting memory can allow us, my saying that the sky looks different from what it looks to you sounds absurd. I hope I am making some sense to you!!
So much for the colors and the shapes, but how does it relate to my subject? Since everything is subjective, differing from person to person, these cannot be called facts. Consequently, I am not as true as false I am when I say I love having tandoori chicken. “Now where does food come into the scuffle between truth and lies??!” Emotions are just the consequences of hormonal imbalances – like the rise and fall of a stock market (!!). When you love, hate, envy, excite, mourn, or feel any emotion, it is either a surge of adrenaline swelling your heart (not literally of course!) or some other biological process. It is probable, that when you like some one and think of him/her day and night and fantasize all happy (again through your perspective) and gay moments that you would want to spend with him/her your face curls into a scornful look instead of the more accepted and observed smile. Also maybe when people hate someone, you have butterflies in your stomach or you skip a heartbeat. I say so because maybe the first time you felt like despising and emulating someone in the same moment (jealousy) you were told, “hey, guess you like her!” and so what seems to be envious to others appears like love to you. So emotions aren’t facts that can be true or false. So I would not lie in saying I hate my mother because maybe my heart is filled with a sense of immense care and joy when I ‘hate’ my mother!
Our sense of direction is also not a fact. Nobody asked me before defining right to be right and left to be wrong? Maybe my ears hear right to be left and left to be right. Maybe the sun rises in the west for me because the world appears upside down to me!
I can site almost everything to be subjective, opinionated and hence not suitable to be categorized between truth and fallacy. THIS is the only truth – the truth about lies.