We never promised any happy endings,
Weren't we simply Lovers in time of need?
Oh!Just wipe away those tears,
Before all shackled memories are freed.
Naked & unprotected tears leave us to our past,
& memories are spirits that only time can exorcize,
Fine,let us play out this final act as well,
though suffering will be its only prize.
Perfection was what we saw in each other,
& love simply nourishes on a diet of illusion,
Yet when reality crashlanded our flights of fantasy,
with each other,we simply couldn't be done.
We became a series of questions to each other,
answers to which we couldn't find,
and now that I could forget about it all,
I'll prefer those questions to the silence in my mind.
Forgotten by all,travelling unfamiliar roads,
Once we had found solace in each other's company,
Now,so close to finding my way back,
Lost with you is what I'd rather be.
So let's hang on for one more time,
It'll be a rough voyage I know,
Happiness,we might be able to give up awhile,
But you are the hope that I can't let go.
Random scribbling about how you always while breaking-up suddenly realize that let's give it another shot.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Bhaiya In Mahrashtra...
Took the train from Patna Junction,
Next day I landed at Kalyan,
I had to reach somehow to Dharavi,
where already I have half my 'gaanv'.
Everyone kept yelling 'Pudhe Chalaan Bhaiya',
Though I had never tied rakhi on their hands,
I though it meant 'Ram-Ram',yelled it back at them,
And in return got a thrashing,grand.
Somehow finally made it to Dharavi,
On the spot,I was given a new ration card,
Then they started a fight over whether I'll be,
a Taxiwalla,Dudhwalla or Security Gaurd.
One day while waiting for fare in Dadar,
I played Ravi Kisen's latest Bhojpuri soundtrack,
Suddenly I was surrounded by 'background dancers',
who beat me up into lot more colours than blue & black.
I am an alien,I am a beaten alien,
I am a Bhaiya in Maharshtra!
I learned basic Marathi faster than a Sehwag century,
Told 'Dhagala Lagli' was my favourite song,
And I thought my 'beat'-fication was over,
But how I was to be proved wrong.
Just like Pakistan blames India for everything,
Be it floods,match-fixing or a crashed plane,
So was I blamed for every wrong here,
They loved me as much as Bush loved Saddam Hussein.
And one morning I read in 'Amar Ujala',
that BBC(Beat-Up Bhaiya Campaign) was launched with fanfare,
It was worthy of being a Marketing Case Study in any B-school,
It was that successful here.
On the train back,I told my story to one Kamal R Khan,
Moved,he made a movie on it,with himself as the star,
And since people got to know the culprit behind this disaster,
I am beaten up daily even in Bihar.
Gaanv-Village
Pudhe Chalaan-Move ahead
Disclaimer-My name is Tickoo and I am not a Bhaiya!
This is an Indian take on Sting's 'Englishman in New York'...I just hope nobody finds it offensive coz it's all in good humour and if he/she still does,I promise to vote for MNS in the next elections to make up for it!Jai Hind,Jai Maharashta!
Next day I landed at Kalyan,
I had to reach somehow to Dharavi,
where already I have half my 'gaanv'.
Everyone kept yelling 'Pudhe Chalaan Bhaiya',
Though I had never tied rakhi on their hands,
I though it meant 'Ram-Ram',yelled it back at them,
And in return got a thrashing,grand.
Somehow finally made it to Dharavi,
On the spot,I was given a new ration card,
Then they started a fight over whether I'll be,
a Taxiwalla,Dudhwalla or Security Gaurd.
One day while waiting for fare in Dadar,
I played Ravi Kisen's latest Bhojpuri soundtrack,
Suddenly I was surrounded by 'background dancers',
who beat me up into lot more colours than blue & black.
I am an alien,I am a beaten alien,
I am a Bhaiya in Maharshtra!
I learned basic Marathi faster than a Sehwag century,
Told 'Dhagala Lagli' was my favourite song,
And I thought my 'beat'-fication was over,
But how I was to be proved wrong.
Just like Pakistan blames India for everything,
Be it floods,match-fixing or a crashed plane,
So was I blamed for every wrong here,
They loved me as much as Bush loved Saddam Hussein.
And one morning I read in 'Amar Ujala',
that BBC(Beat-Up Bhaiya Campaign) was launched with fanfare,
It was worthy of being a Marketing Case Study in any B-school,
It was that successful here.
On the train back,I told my story to one Kamal R Khan,
Moved,he made a movie on it,with himself as the star,
And since people got to know the culprit behind this disaster,
I am beaten up daily even in Bihar.
Gaanv-Village
Pudhe Chalaan-Move ahead
Disclaimer-My name is Tickoo and I am not a Bhaiya!
This is an Indian take on Sting's 'Englishman in New York'...I just hope nobody finds it offensive coz it's all in good humour and if he/she still does,I promise to vote for MNS in the next elections to make up for it!Jai Hind,Jai Maharashta!
Friday, September 3, 2010
A Stone's Throw Away From..
Shouts..angry shouts..shouts that made your blood boil even more with rage or could make your skin crawl with fear depending on which side you stood.
Till a week back,Azhar could never have imagined being one of 'them',"the disgruntled unemployed misguided youth" as they were portrayed by most.
The face that lit up on seeing anyone,was today covered in a mask;the hands that healed,were today willing to hurt;the dream of seeing peace prevail one day,replaced by a simple lust for revenge,and then Dr.Azhar Siddiqui thought,"Shit happens!".
And yet he couldn't escape thinking,"How did it all come to this?"
Another crowd,another cacophony of angry shouts;Iftikar Chacha had died in an accident with a police vehicle.
All we wanted was an inquiry into the incident.
Amin,Anam's little brother,all of 7,and just like a kid his age would do,nagged his Ammi into letting him join us in the procession moving towards the police station.Somebody stopped us as we neared the place,all we could hear at the back were snippets of an argument.Tempers flared,somebody throws a stone,a couple of gunshots and it's commotion all around.
"Amin!Stay with me!",I yelled without looking,as I felt his grip on my hand changing,and when I looked at him,those words had no meaning anymore.
He lay on the ground,his small hands unable to cover the large blood spatters on his kurta.
I stand infront of Anam,my head down.We buried Amin an hour ago.
"Azhar,look me in the eye."
I slowly lift my gaze to meet hers.
"I know what they are planning to do,you are not going to be a part of it;it isn't right!"
I flare up,all the guilt,anger,frustration comes out,"Wrong and right can only be decided by might."
She shakes her head and simply says,"When will this end,Azhar?When?"
And here I am,with a stone and a choice on my hand,a legacy and a so-called enemy infront of me.
And why are they an enemy?Would I have done something different in their place,surrounded by an angry crowd which could have turned violent anytime?Maybe.But how can I condemn someone's action if I am not sure what would my reaction be?
My anger,my hurt is justified;violence?I guess not.Though it is the easiest and probably the most satisfying way to react to hurt,but is it the best?Probably not.
Yes I might be able to hurt one or two of them,I might create a stir in their ranks but is it going to bring a change to the human instinct for survival when cornered?Definitely not.
So how is what I am doing,going to stop what happened from happening again?
And then I thought of Anam,the hopelessness on her beautiful face.Anam,I know,I know,how this is going to end!Atleast for once,somebody has to learn to forgive.
The arm which was ready to hurl,relaxes;the tightly held stone,falls out of Azhar's hand.
He only wishes that he could have realized it when his heart was shattered by grief and not by a bullet,but what he regrets most is not being able to share his epiphany with Anam.He hopes that God judges him well for these final moments.He removes the mask and smiles his last smile.
Today as Azhar's funeral procession moves away from his house,Anam looks at it from her doorstep,covers her face,picks up a stone lying on the ground and starts walking the other way.
Wrote it a couple of months back(before Lamhaa released!),have tried my best to be non-judgemental coz anybody who is not in that situation,doesn't have a right to judge those who are.
Till a week back,Azhar could never have imagined being one of 'them',"the disgruntled unemployed misguided youth" as they were portrayed by most.
The face that lit up on seeing anyone,was today covered in a mask;the hands that healed,were today willing to hurt;the dream of seeing peace prevail one day,replaced by a simple lust for revenge,and then Dr.Azhar Siddiqui thought,"Shit happens!".
And yet he couldn't escape thinking,"How did it all come to this?"
Another crowd,another cacophony of angry shouts;Iftikar Chacha had died in an accident with a police vehicle.
All we wanted was an inquiry into the incident.
Amin,Anam's little brother,all of 7,and just like a kid his age would do,nagged his Ammi into letting him join us in the procession moving towards the police station.Somebody stopped us as we neared the place,all we could hear at the back were snippets of an argument.Tempers flared,somebody throws a stone,a couple of gunshots and it's commotion all around.
"Amin!Stay with me!",I yelled without looking,as I felt his grip on my hand changing,and when I looked at him,those words had no meaning anymore.
He lay on the ground,his small hands unable to cover the large blood spatters on his kurta.
I stand infront of Anam,my head down.We buried Amin an hour ago.
"Azhar,look me in the eye."
I slowly lift my gaze to meet hers.
"I know what they are planning to do,you are not going to be a part of it;it isn't right!"
I flare up,all the guilt,anger,frustration comes out,"Wrong and right can only be decided by might."
She shakes her head and simply says,"When will this end,Azhar?When?"
And here I am,with a stone and a choice on my hand,a legacy and a so-called enemy infront of me.
And why are they an enemy?Would I have done something different in their place,surrounded by an angry crowd which could have turned violent anytime?Maybe.But how can I condemn someone's action if I am not sure what would my reaction be?
My anger,my hurt is justified;violence?I guess not.Though it is the easiest and probably the most satisfying way to react to hurt,but is it the best?Probably not.
Yes I might be able to hurt one or two of them,I might create a stir in their ranks but is it going to bring a change to the human instinct for survival when cornered?Definitely not.
So how is what I am doing,going to stop what happened from happening again?
And then I thought of Anam,the hopelessness on her beautiful face.Anam,I know,I know,how this is going to end!Atleast for once,somebody has to learn to forgive.
The arm which was ready to hurl,relaxes;the tightly held stone,falls out of Azhar's hand.
He only wishes that he could have realized it when his heart was shattered by grief and not by a bullet,but what he regrets most is not being able to share his epiphany with Anam.He hopes that God judges him well for these final moments.He removes the mask and smiles his last smile.
Today as Azhar's funeral procession moves away from his house,Anam looks at it from her doorstep,covers her face,picks up a stone lying on the ground and starts walking the other way.
Wrote it a couple of months back(before Lamhaa released!),have tried my best to be non-judgemental coz anybody who is not in that situation,doesn't have a right to judge those who are.
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