Nolan's Odyssey

Haven’t read the Odyssey but have read about it through the history reams. For me, it has been philosophy disguised as adventure & psychology wrapped in myth. The greatest myths survive because they are not about the gods and monsters - they're about us and our characteristics – be it our grief, vulnerabilities and our longing to be back home with our own.

Being a Nolan fan, was excited to see the journey that Odyssey took, through his IMAX lens. 

Wasn’t struck by either the Cyclops, Calypso nor Circe but how grounded it is. It’s not relegated itself to the museum – instead it is a poignant thread for today’s world. He humanizes it through his lens. Thus the casual dialogues. 

Nolan’s Odysseus doesn’t dwell in his pride or glorify his brilliance – instead he’s a softer, reflective man who’s in tune with sensisbilities and tries to be poignantly politically correct. 

Was impressed by the weaving together of timeless human truths. The monsters showcased are metaphors - pride, greed, vengeance, fear, ambition, love and the intoxicating temptation of power.

In the midst of the daunting journey, the gods do intervene, but it is still human choice that determines destiny. And that’s the enduring lesson which feels especially relevant today: be cautious of those who promise glory through easy narratives. 

The weave that Nolan sews, is a masterclass in summation – it strips the armor of ancient propaganda to look what lies below. It’s a cautionary tale – don’t believe in the gilded paeans of politicians. True virtue doesn’t lie in the decree of the state – it resides in the small enduring acts of goodness, resilience and basic humanity. This is what keeps us tethered to each other inspite of the world that tries hard to tear us. 

The Odyssey isn't about reaching Ithaca - It's about who you become on the journey home.

The Line We Blur

Love and care are not the same thing. They are not the same emotion wearing two names

We often use them interchangeably, as though one automatically guarantees the other. 

But nope they are not. They are different things entirely. 

Care is duty, habit, familiarity, sometimes even guilt dressed up as loyalty. Love is choice, renewed on purpose, again and again, even when it's inconvenient.

You can love someone deeply and yet not care for them in the ways they need.

You can also care for someone immensely, long after the love has quietly packed its bags and left.

Care is making sure someone's eaten - it's about duty, habit and familiarity. Being there when they need help. Wanting them to be safe, healthy, and okay.

Love is something else. It's the desire to share your inner world. It's a choice - to be with someone, not out of obligation, but because your heart still finds its way back to them.

Sometimes, relationships outlive love - especially one that has quietly run its course. Because life has slowly replaced love with habit, responsibility, familiarity... and care. And care can be deceptive. It feels enough. It looks enough. From the outside, it can even resemble love. So we stay.

That line gets blurred on purpose. Not because we don't know the difference. We do. But we blur - why? 

Partly because leaving is exhausting. Ambiguity lets you stay a little longer without having to call it anything. Untangling years of shared history feels more daunting than simply carrying on. Lethargy is easier than a decision.

I care for people I no longer love.

I love Whisky [iykyk], and caring for him is simply one expression of that love.

The distinction is subtle, but once you see it, it's impossible to unsee.

Perhaps the hardest thing in life isn't falling out of love.

It's recognising that you already have.

This Is Not Governance

Grew up reading history which told us that my India won her freedom not because an empire weakened, but because ordinary people found extraordinary courage.

One man walked to Dandi. Millions walked with him.

Today, another man sat on a hunger strike and requested a dialogue on the accountability to an entire generation of students. 

Instead of dialogue, what we witnessed today is not governance. When an administration relies on the plainclothes policemen and security personnel for an early morning abduction of a peaceful, fasting Sonam Wangchuk from Jantar Mantar, it abdicates its right to be called a government. 

A true government is of, by, and for the people – I refuse to call the people who did this that. The current ruling apparatus operates purely for the preservation of its own power and the enrichment of its corporate.

The parallels to the British Raj are no longer hyperbole. When Gandhi went on a hunger strike, even the ruthless East India Company were forced into the theater of dialogue. Today’s ruling party lacks even that colonial courtesy. They do not engage; they erase. They are uncomfortable with conversation itself. 

Pre-independence, our forefathers paid lagaan to the English. Today, the tax code has simply been rebranded. The modern version is funneled directly into the pockets of Adani, Ambani, and the tight coterie of oligarchs. 

The hypocrisy is staggering. The PM beats the drum of self-reliance, telling people to travel in India, to wed in India. But there’s a glaring omission - he never tells them to study in India! 

Why? Because one cannot mandate domestic education when one has utterly failed to build the infrastructure to support it - failure made glaringly obvious by systemic exam leaks that has left millions of students in despair. More than 1.2 million Indian students are currently studying abroad, and the number taking loans to fund that education has nearly tripled in the last decade. 

That is the actual wealth we should be trying to stem — and the real brain drain we should be reversing.

For Love Is All Who I Am

 

I loved you deeply as i know how. 

Never once did i regret it, not even for a fleeting moment. 

Because love, freely given, is never a loss. 

It leaves fingerprints on the soul - not scars. 

Every kindness, every embrace, 

Every piece of my heart i placed in yours.....

None of them were wasted. 

Love has a way of returning - may not be through the same door. 

But it returns. 

In another embrace. In another friendship. 

In another season of life or simply in the quiet place. 

Of knowing that i remained true to myself. 

With or without you. 

My heart, never empty because love was never something i possessed. 

Love is something i am. 

It flows through me as it's me, my nature. 

I have always left without bitterness. 

Without wishing i loved you less. 

For if i had, i would have become less of myself. 

And that would have been the only true loss. 

The Silence Of Our Conscience?

 
I Am Apolitical. I Choose Humanity First. 

I care about people, animals, kindness, fairness and dignity. Call me an advocate for those who cannot speak for themselves - whether they have two legs or four. If labels are necessary, then i am a Humanist. 

What unsettles me is not just one issue - it's not only education or governance. It's the growing feeling that we as ordinary citizens have become spectators in our own democracy. Our voices are no longer part of the conversation - they are simply background noise. The feeling is painful. 

Watching Sonam Wangchuk undertake a fast for what he believes is right has brought that pain into sharp focus. Here's a man willing to put his own life on the line for a cause he believes affects students who are the future of this country. That kind of conviction deserves to be heard. At the very least, it deserves engagement. 

What troubles me is the indifference. Indifference is perhaps the most violent form of silence. Anger / Debate / Disagreement - all of these acknowledge your existence. But indifference simply tells you, that you don't matter. 

That is the silence i find hardest to accept. And it isn't only the silence of those in power. It's the silence of much of our media - be it mainstream or entertainment. It's the silence of those influential voices who tell us what deserves our outrage vis-a-vis our applause. 

Millions of us first encountered his brilliance through 3 Idiots. We laughed, cried, quoted dialogues and applauded the message. We turned the film into part of our cultural fabric. But today when the man is fasting, where are the voices? We celebrated his story. But those are the same strangely absent for current his-story. 

Not saying that every influential voice should share the same opinion but there is a difference between choosing a side and choosing to care. There is a difference between political allegiance and human empathy. Some moments and times rise above ideology. 

Democracy is more than elections. It is the relationship between us and those we entrust to govern. It depends on dialogue, accountability and the belief that every voice has a value - even the ones that disagree with us. The feeling that listening itself, once considered a virtue, is gradually going extinct. 

I write this as someone who believes empathy shouldn't be partisan. Government, policies, leaders - all will have their fair share of successes and failures. But compassion should remain constant. The day we stop feeling another person's pain, we stop being a society. We become a populace sharing geography. 

Humanity isn't seasonal. 

Compassion isn't selective. 

Silence, in the face of another's suffering, is not neutrality. It is a choice.

And today, I choose not to make it.

RAFA : Relentless, Agile, Fierce, All-Time Great

RAFA. 

Watching Rafael Nadal’s journey felt less like sport and more like witnessing a man negotiate with pain, over and over again—and still choose to show up.

I was crying through most of it.

14 Roland Garros titles doesn’t even sound real when you say it out loud. It sounds like mythology. But what stayed with me wasn’t just the dominance—it was the cost. The quiet, relentless suffering behind that fist pump. The discipline to keep going when the body is clearly asking you to stop.

The contrast was poetic—Federer, all grace, like ballet in motion. Nadal, like a storm crashing against rock—raw, relentless, unyielding.

He didn’t just redefine greatness—he redefined endurance.

And maybe that’s the uncomfortable part. Because he makes suffering look purposeful, almost noble. Like if you’re not pushing yourself to the absolute edge, you’re not doing enough. This should be a lesson for Alcaraz too—that even greatness has limits, and knowing them is part of the journey.

Because in the end, retirement isn’t giving up. It’s not the closing of a chapter in defeat. It’s the courage to step away, to open doors for new lessons, new purpose, and new hope.

Still, you can’t look away.

Because somewhere in that grind, that refusal to quit, is a reminder of what humans are capable of—when they decide the pain is worth it.

Elegy

Memories of you beneath the full moon

Dancing at the high tide of heaven’s rich boon,

Informs the cliffs and canyons of my soul:

With munificence so to crown your role,

            Yet maintain exquisite control!

            The memory has exacted its toll ….

Strontium Ninety in each falling bone

Have I been journeying forth alove

Through monasteries of mountain and of moor

And big city din of teeming public ways

Where changing lights brought no beloved face.

            I dream on still, of brocade in the night:

            Of jasmine trailing its soft allure

            And peacocks that made the dusk more bright.

Thoughts

Marriage in Crisis

Thirty odd years ago, marriage was still considered an institution, though the fraying at the ends had already begun. The young trusted their parents and watched, with peripheral interest, the matching of horoscopes, the meetings of the families and lastly the meeting of the two important players in the future union. A large percentage of these marriages seemed to work and if they didn’t very few knew about them. In conventional families, the wife’s subservient attitude curbed her individuality and she was prepared to take the backseat while the husband devoted his time to his career. Whatever may have been the path which led to a marriage arranged or otherwise, there were societal pressures and ones on the couple to keep the marriage stable.

Marriages has always been such a highly gendered institution, the differences apparent in the division of labor, parenting styles, different responsibilities, expressions of social intimacies and psychological orientation. Automatically, irrespective of whether the woman works outside the home or not, they are largely responsible for the housework, childcare. They play pivotal roles in family and marriage while the men are involved in their provider roles and generally the “outside of homework” though more and more women are taking on this extra baggage in lieu of the fact that there is increasing pressure on the man in his work.

Today the institution of marriage is in transition. There has been so much emphasis on gender equality without other supporting factors …. That of acceptance of each other’s strengths and weaknesses, no high expectations or divisions of labor, so much so, the incidence of divorce even in a country like India, with different norms of sustenance and forbearance has gone up alarmingly.

What is disturbing is the high divorce rate among older people, couples who have been married for 15-20 years, where the women want to call it quits owning to the infidelity on the part of the husband, mental cruelty and other factors which no longer need prolong suffering, with the woman’s economic independence.

Where gender roles were defined, it was easier to conform to a pattern but with the inevitable emancipation of woman, her economic independence, western influences and new value systems imbibed from peer groups or passed on by her parents, marriage has assumed a new face. It should be remembered that couples do not exist in a social vacuum but within a larger social context that forms and shapes the values, expectations and beliefs of the partners and constraints their patterns of interaction and transaction as a couple system.

With longer life spans and an active life prolonged, one can anticipate more years with a life partner, which is why sandbaggers are required on the shores of marriage building up defences against the downturn in the support for the institution. Marriage counselors, formerly pooh-poohed at, have today assumed a role of importance in guiding couples through stormy seas and averting the imminent pain of divorce. Can one develop a system where established marriage couples with successful marriages, properly trained, can bring their skills forward in fostering love and understanding between couples?

Today, in India there is a disenchantment with the system of arranged marriages and a reluctance to “take the matrimonial plunge”. Even for dating couples the world over, saying “yes” to a legal bond of matrimony before they say “I do”.

Living together before marriage is like nutri sweet; it doesn’t provide the context to really find out the worth, the values nor the character and commitment of the other person. It may be fun, it may save money but it is not the same as a till-death-do-us-apart commitment.

That marriage is in crisis, is an universal happening. Marriage is strongly institutionalized, not just in India but also in the west and is a preferred context for intimate relations and is the cornerstone of family life. There is a compulsive need to stay married and have children within the marriage. Marriage involves a high degree of interdependence, a close emotional bond, sharing of residence, a commitment over time, a sharing of roles and functions and an active sexual relationship. Marriage offers stability, providing an atmosphere of love, acceptance, encouragement and trust in which partners exchange instrumental and expressive support.

In today’s shifting values and changing times, there is a less reliance on marriage as a definer of sex and living arrangements throughout life. There are more number of extra-marital relationships including open gay and lesbian relationships, a delay in the age of getting married, higher rate of marital disruption and a more egalitarian gender-role attitude among men and women, where norms and values have been totally structured.

Priorities have shifted even in a country with hidebound traditions like India. Where the priority was the husband, it has shifted to careers as far as the woman is concerned and deep resentment surfaces when the husband is not willing to share duties in the house. Stay-at-home women who have given up careers to be good mothers and home makers find little children and the never ending drudgeries of housework single-handed. The woman’s fatigue and pent up frustration is heaped on her husband producing the inevitable lacuna in the marriage.

The husband is intimidated by the new-image woman, bewildered by the revolt when he has been brought up all along to expect a conformist woman who regards her husband as the most important factor in her life. The answer to this lies in the mother’s bringing up their sons to accept the fact that gender roles are no longer defined and that men and women have to share the burden of work and child rearing tempered with tolerance and understanding if the marriage has to work. With the present day work pressures, a feel for each other’s nest and giving one another space is of paramount importance, with a healthy respect for each other. Couples who set apart time to do something together are those who have a successful marriage, prioritizing this, even putting it above their children. When the children grow up and move away from the parental umbrella, the couple realize that they have only each other and for ones who have not debated on this aspect, its too late and the rift is too wide, what with the chemistry on the wane and the predictability of the marriage jarring. It is imperative that each partner cultivates some interest which can be pursued well into retirement days and which will stave off the loneliness and the pain when children leave home.

Women tend to be more concerned about their marriage than men and head for counseling. Wives tend to see themselves as the major force for resolving conflicts and when they give up the effort the marriage is generally over. The men feel that the expectations of the women are immense and they cannot please them however hard they try, despite a sizeable contribution to the family. They are under pressure to improve financial contribution, share in raising the children and provide emotional support to the wives. With tremendous pressure at work, they suffer emotional exhaustion. The simpler role of husbands in the past decides has now been replaced with a more complex role. But the emotional needs of a woman are different: she wants a soul-mate, someone who can understand her needs, someone who is caring and one who will take care of her when she is unduly stressed.

The goal of the marriage is to become united in purpose and spirit not to overpower and control each other. Couples that are already emotionally bonded have little or no trouble following this because they have learnt how to behave in sensitive and caring ways in each of their life’s role. Couples emotionally distant have great difficulty accomplishing this goal, because they are accustomed to doing what they please, regardless of its effect on one another.

It is hoped that in the years to come, granted that children have inculcated the basic qualities of trust, sense of commitment and fulfillment of obligatory roles, marital relationships will stabilize and assume to some degree the importance that they held the last generation.

In conclusion all I have to say is marriage is often not the happily-ever-after phenomena as portrayed in fairy tales or films, nor is it a permanent state of romance.

It is a life long process of cementing a relationship in the face of several adversities and an ongoing process of physical and emotional accommodation, sharing and loving. We should neither idealize it nor have our knives sharpened all the time. There is no perfect marriage and there never will be one. Neither is it necessary to be so. All the fun will be lost if marriage is always sedate and predictable.

An M&B kind of Love – Then and Now

Gone are the days of clinging vines and shy, retiring violets. A new breed of vegetation has taken over, consisting of tiger-lilies and venus fly traps. No longer are the Mills and Boons heroines locked up in their ivory towers of innocence. No longer are they naïve 18-year olds, overawed by the scent of their lover’s cologne [M&B heroes tend to overdo things, anyways!]. No, today’s heroine is older, more intelligent and definitely has a mind of her own [let the hero use any which cologne he wants].

Once upon a time, there lived a strong, masterful, arrogant, tall, dark [and preferably Greek or Italian] Conte Roberto de Falcon, who had a twisted / sardonic / mocking / tasting smile.

“Are you afraid of me? I admit to possessing a temper and pride …. But I can be kind.” [How obliging!]

Only one word aptly sums up the heroine; tremble. She’s liable to tremble when she’s [a] sad [b] feeling cold [c] in his arms [d] out of his arms.

“My little English rose, you were meant for me,” booms his authoritative voice.

“No, don’t please ….”, her voice with an undercurrent of fear fades as he gathers her in his arms and crushes his lips to hers. Her treacherous body betrays her yet again.

Today, we have the sensitive, understanding, adjusting, tender yet devastatingly handsome [spectacles notwithstanding] Brian, His sinewy, taut muscles are the only relic of his caveman ancestor, while she has shed her shackles [among other things].

“Make love to me darling”, she purred, with half closed eyes and half opened lips.

“No”, replied Brian.

“No?!”

“I won’t make love to you. I’ll make love with you”.

Jane, our old M&B heroine, was either a steno or a nurse – depending on whether Senor Roberts was a ruthless businessman or a disillusioned doctor. She’d inevitably marry her boss and docilely give up nursing patients to spend the rest of her life darning his socks.

Today, Jenny [our new heroine] is determined to be who she wants to – a marine biologist, a detective or an ad executive smart enough to hire a maid to darn his socks.

Once upon a time, Dominique Farr was a bleached blonde with Pearl Blossom on her nails, Moonlight Magie on her lips and Christian Dior around her. She has a cold glint in her eye which only the heroine could perceive. The Vamp. Who else would hiss, “You little fool! Do you really think he loves you?”

Once upon a time, dear Jane would land up at a party that was much too wild for her. Her erstwhile charming escort would suddenly turn octopus and she’d scream “No!”[Incidentally, her vocabulary is generally restricted to one word]. Just then, the hero who conveniently happened to be passing by, would grab Mr. Octopus by the collar and growl [clenched teeth et al], “Get your hands off her….”.

Today, of course, self defense is the name of the game. Jenny, of the sharp stiletto fame, manages, in one breath to land a well-aimed kick at Mr. O’s trousers and a “How dare you spy on me, you….”, to the hero hovering around [obviously our woman of steel hasn’t read any fairy tales, with knights in shining armor]. She can take care of herself, her weapons ranging from well-manicured nails to the occasional karate chop.

Birth control. For Jane, before marriage there was no question [blush, blush] as self-control was the only method known to her. And after marriage, why, there was no need!

“Darling”, he murmured.

“No, never! We cannot do it before our wedding night. Patience, darling, it’s only six months away”.

Now as Brian buries his lips in her soft curls and whispers “Jenny?” she can happily reassure him. “It’s alright Brian. I’m on the pill”.

The very quality of the relationship between the hero and the heroine has undergone radical change.

“You treat me like a slave”.

“I treat you like a woman. We Italians understand that a woman must be mastered”.

Compare this with the Nineties attitude.

“I can’t give up everything I’ve worked so hard for Brian”.

“I know sweetheart. Don’t worry. We’ll work something out together”.

Well, that about sums up the two different attitudes. M&B’s have always been an embodiment of a woman’s fantasy. While today’s M&B does retain its fairly tale like quality, surely dreaming of a romance between two adults [as opened to a half witted 18-year old and the Incredible Hulk] is a step in the right direction.

Encounter

I asked him, tell me,
How do you, like me?
He said, he'd
Soon unfold this truth,
Why he looks at the twilight
And plays with the moonlight, why he
Slowly closes his eyes
When it drizzles, why he
Hold me unconsciously at the
undulating paths.

He said: He'd also
Reveal, why sky bows to earth
At the horizon.
I wonder, what he
Really means by telling
Me all this, but in that
Encounter i forget what
I'd asked.  

Death

Here in the dark
Alone
With the enduring silence

And 

The warm, strong smell of rain

Soaked streets

Human flesh and soil

Death
I breathe you
Through laughter

And through the roses as of old
In your armour
Things take a shape
Unappeased by prayer and gold
I seek and watch patiently
Long before i tire

Swing me suddenly

Into the effervescence
Of youth and song
Of beaches and carnivals
Oh! Obscure
Calm and into the shade
Solitary light at the end
A gospel of the last land

Death of watching you
I reveal
My innermost self
Proved then go
To greet a companion

East or West – Who reigns and shall the twain ever meet?

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Being Indian does not mean embracing all things ethnic and eschewing all things foreign. Nor does it mean being so besotted with the west, that nothing Indian is good enough. The trick lies in appreciating and adapting what is best in both cultures.

Of late, much has been said and written about blindly aping the west and adopting alien cultures and mannerisms. This is justified under the classification of patriotism and it would take a brave soul to pick up this particular gauntlet. I do not profess to be brave but in my opinion, this ready-made package of sentiments is so often-mouthed, so often written about, that it stand in danger of becoming yet another cliché. Then again, it is the catch all ‘mantra’ of patriotism that finds an instant response across the length and breadth of our country.

Such sentiments, I would think, propound a theory that while not entirely devoid of truth, tends to tar everything with the same [locally made] brush. It is a theory that eyes all things ‘foreign’ with skepticism and suspicion, which is ironically enough, a throwback to the war-time Britain, when patriotism stalked the streets, bludgeon in hand and self-righteous gleam in eye, scouting the unwary victim. The understanding implicit in this theory that if you want to be Indian, you’ve got to like Indian, buy Indian, breathe Indian. And nothing else. Or else.

Now, I am an Indian as the next Indian. I love a plate of biriyani just as much as I love buffalo wings. I can perch on a ‘moda’ [with the mandatory cushion of course] as comfortably as I can sink into a bean bag. If I fancy the idea of strewing the floors of my house with bright durries well, I’d still like to buy a washable Belgian carpet. And I enjoy wearing my well washed Diesel’s just as much as I luxuriate in the feel of a Benarasi.

Okay, so I have had to fall back on some puerile comparisons. But by now, it must be pretty obvious that I am an advocate of the middle path. I believe that neither the east nor the west is bad. Both have their strong points and it is up to us whether to discard them or make them part of our lifestyles.

The point is, why must we feel guilty about enthusing over ‘The Wasteland’ without praising Madhusudan Dutt in the same breath? Why must we carefully balance our enthusiasm for Godard with a mention of Ray’s magic touch. Why must we sound semi-apologetic about going in for a music system with Japanese name tag?

Let’s look beyond the ethic chic jungle. The real India, if I may fall back on another show-worn phrase, goes beyond mirror-work wall tapestries and outsize pieces of unglazed pottery. The real India is a land of tempers and boundless warmth, of petty jealousies and unstinting generosity, of kinship and camaraderie. And above all, of tolerance.

I firmly believe that we, the ubiquitous middle class, know all about that India. Of course, there will always be the privileged set with their Swiss bank accounts, their Lalique crystals and their houses on the French Riviera. Just as there will always be the compulsive Swadeshi set who eschew all things ‘phoren’ in the belief that these are tainted with an admix of corruption, amorality and general decadence.

I hold my belief for those of us in the middle. Those of us who can laugh at Bappi Lahiri’s obviously lifted tunes as we can deride Michael Jackson’s obsession with all things white. Those of us who see the US of A as a land of both opportunity and oppression rather than as a land of plenty and green. Those of us who can enjoy a Premchand story as much as one O Henry’s tale. And for those of us who yearn to go abroad in the belief that travel truly does broaden the mind. There is really no getting away from the fact that, ruled as we were fir ages by foreigners, some of their customs and rituals have inexorably seeped into the Indian psyche. All I ask is that we allow the famed Indian habit of tolerance to permeate all things western, too. If we have some great things going for us in India, as indeed we do, well, the west has a lot of good things to offer too – not the least being advanced technology, tastier cheese and a better range in children’s clothing!

Let us not be ashamed of wanting the occasional streak of wanting to shake a leg to Bon Jovi, of wanting our children to enjoy their Enid Blyton.

Which brings me to another touch topic.. English. Now I happen to know a lot of people who feel as passionate about this beautiful language as I do. I refuse to see English as only a legacy of colonialism. It is only inevitable fact that much of the world’s body of literature, of science, of knowledge itself, is in English and while translations are freely available, some of the flavour is invariably lost in the process. I advocate fluency in one’s mother toungue, one’s national language is a necessity. My only question is, why should acquiring this proficiency involve a compulsive running down of English?

If you met someone who wants to settle his Tina or Tony ‘out there’ consider that until both Tina and Tony decide where they fit, they won’t be of any use to India. If they exercise their ‘go-west’ ghosts, it will be the return of the prodigals. If they don’t, that is all right, too. We have enough talent, here.

But if you meet someone who is trading his Kolhapuri chappals for a pair of Nike, someone who raves about Oliver Stone’s JFK without a mention of Adoor, someone who says he loves Ibsen but does not add that he swooned over Bollywood’s latest offering – recognize that you are in the company of a truly integrated soul, who is living in the India of his dreams. An India where he can sing ‘We shall overcome’ to the tune of ‘Hum honge kamyaab’. Or vice versa

Ways Of Looking

I list them off, one by one
To ease the subtle envelopement of night
They are all here, present accounted for
In the cool damp air like black birds
Settled on a chalk ledge waiting patiently
For class to begin.

The phone is ringing
7, 8, 9 times

"Here is the essence of the thing"
I mutter, struggling with the occasion
That has strangely come into being.

Somehow the list is too complete
There is something I have
Carelessly neglected to mention

Will you come

Will you come
To the narrow streets
Of my town?

There's a river 
Flowing nearby
Perhaps you would like
To see the boats go by.

There are green trees, wild flowers
Maybe you would find some mystic hours!

I'd feed you fruit and tea
Brought all the way from the city
When you'd say that
You don't have any love
To pay, I'd fetch some strength
To make you feel that
I match your wavelength.

I'd let the river answer
My love for you,
That I want to travel
With you far and blind
Because you have touched me
With your soul and mind.

Tribute

You, my gracious lover, an obsession
But a magnificent one, give meaning
To melancholic words, let a smile
Light another, and then thousands.

Open windows to a glorious sight
Your tender touch, sweet whispers,
Caress sorrows, prune rough edges,
To blossom through the day.

Lonely roads and overgrown paths
Turn into a saga of visions.

Many wings and many hues, set out
Wishful toward an unknown voyage.

Across seas, leave an indelible mark
On my yet unaccomplished trail.

So here's some more randomness to the already random blog - havent visited you in the last 4 years as life has been quite tumultuous but here's to one of the 2015 resolution - will try and visit you more often and express more freely within you than just keeping it swirling within the cranium.