Showing posts from 2011

the mountains that never move.

...gandi baaten karti hun, gandi kitaaben padhti hun;  gande se sher likhe hain, gandi gandi si kahaniya kehti hun. gande log nahin, gandi to gandagi bhi nahin;  mail kahin aur pada hai, mujhpar raaton ka andhera ghangor chada hai...

...aadhe likhe nazmon me shabd joda karti hoon, iski uski baaten sunkar kisse batora karti hoon. us raah par tu hai nahin jahan har shaam guzaarti jaati hun, is raat me sath tera nahin jiski sihai se tujhpar geet likhe jaati hun...
गन्दी बातें करती हूँ, गन्दी किताबें पढ़ती हूँ; गंदे से मैंने शेर लिखे hain, गन्दी गन्दी कहानिया कहती हूँ| गंदे तो लोग नहीं, गन्दी कहानियां भी कहाँ है?  मैल कहीं और पड़ा है, मुझपर रातों का अँधेरा घनघोर चढ़ा है|
आधे लिखे नज्मों में शब्द जोड़ा करती हूँ,  इसकी, उसकी बातें सुनकर किस्से बटोरा करती हूँ| उस राह पर तू नहीं जहाँ हर शाम गुजारती जाती हूँ,  इस रात में तेरा साथ नहीं जिसकी सिहाई से तुझपर गीत लिखे जातो हूँ|


Every day. 
I walk with measured steps. Measuring and counting and timing my steps. To make sure I don’t walk too far away, to ensure that I walk just enough, just enough to make sure that I seem to be moving, but then not too far away to seem to have left. I walk the same road every day; stop at the same places, the places where it will be difficult to go unnoticed. Every day I seem to be just the same amount of desperate, the same amount of moronic and the same amount of incorrigible. But I make sure I am different enough to not look too repetitive.  I reiterate feelings; I reboot life after each night’s denial. Every day, I walk taking measured steps. Every day.
Every day, unnoticed, unwanted. Everyday unnerving, morose. Every day.
Every night is the same night, everyday there is a new morning.
Every day. 

well, all you had to do was run your fingers on my lips, look deep into my eyes, and kiss...

...yeah, that simple. 


Go away.
Before I can even muster a whimper, go away. Before my sighs turn into sobs, go away. Go away before dusk settles into the imminent night when I would want you to sit next to me, indulging in star gazing. Leave alright; leave before I can settle in you, comfortably, before you settle in my heart, mind, soul. Leave, turn around and leave. Walk away like you did tonight, walk away like you will when I strip my soul naked in front of you. Leave before, I confess, leave before I reveal. Leave before the plastic wears out, the real sinks in, leave. Leave before my desire becomes my need, go away before I become too much. Walk out on me, for that I can handle. Walk out, for that is what you will eventually do.

the end

all along, I thought you were the only truth, turns out, you were the biggest farce of them all.
..Lost in you, lost in your embrace, lost in your thoughts, lost to your thoughts, lost to you…

Lost in the books I have read, lost in the characters, Draupadi’s strength, Dominique’s belief, Cathy’s love, Maya’s eccentricity. Lost in melodies, the mysticism of whirling Sufis, the dhols and the tablas, the violins and the guitars. The sky, the wind, the wings, the bike. Lost in your words, lost in your smile, lost in your hands, lost in your stubble, lost in the hair. The pale pink lips pumped to red seductresses. Red laces, pink thongs;
the heart, wrenched, eroded, crumpled, re-garnished, and resurrected?
“Nothing excites me anymore.” “ you are either In ‘deep’ love or are insane; do you have suicidal thoughts?”
Find me. 

kaaga re kaaga re mori itni araj tujhse chun chun khaiyo maans
khaiyo na tu naina more, khaiyo na tu naina mohe piya ke milan ki aas..

-Nadaan Parindey Rockstar.


I lie awake. sobbing, wasted, half naked. alone. I am not sad, I am alone. very alone.

look up, look around me, look for places where I hide, there is not a single place where I can lie comfortably. Night does not hide anything, the darker it gets, the clearer the bolder the picture emerges.
Who would find me if I am lost? who would make the effort? Would I want you to make the effort? "Why" is the most important question. Why should anyone make an effort to find someone who is lost. This is hypocritical, I am talking of getting lost in full public glare, not hiding it with poetic stances, am noting it out, in prose.

I know for sure, work wont miss me. My phone will not ring even if I leave it alone for months together. The inbox is already full of spam.

Will you shed a tear and say  'she used to be some one I once knew'?

How it would feel to me and to others I see everyday if I were to be lost to the world?
I am already ain't I? 


A pair of lips…a pair of hands…a pair of eyes…a pair of breasts…a pair of legs…a pair…us.

katiya karoon...saari raati katiya karoon..

tu hai na..'tu' kehkar pukaar mujhe, apna sa lagta hai...
tu mere chaadar ke silwaton me chupi teri chuppi ke sath mujhse lipta sa lagta hai....ek aur duur kahin se tu pukare to 'aaja yaar' kehkar pukar mujhe...main mud kar dekhun to muskura...mere jahan me teri hi bas ek surat hai jaise, aisa lagta hai...
...aaj raasta paar karna ho, mera hath thaam kar 'ab ruk zara' keh mujhse, mera haath tere haathon ke sath tarasha ho aisa lagta hai...
...mujhse mil, meri aankhon me jhaankh zara, meri rooh me teri jhalak si ho jaise lagta hai...

...tu kuch mujhsa lagta hai...main tu hun, tu main hun...tu kuch mujhme samaya sa lagta hai

...hadh karoon, hadh karoon....

(line in italics and the title from the song 'KATIYA KARUN' Rockstar)

of goats and sheeps and wolves.

step 1: make a mistake.
step 2: find a scapegoat.

its effing gruesome being a junior especially when you are a senior to some juniors who are also juniors to your seniors who dont mind displaying their seniority in front of your juniors and do not bother to share the blame when their senior (who is your super-senior) uses you as the punchbag.

...behti ganga me to bhaiya har koi haath dhota hai...

so if you are a scapegoat go get a life.
if you are on a scapegoat lookout get your a** off here.


would you wait for her to slay your demons too?

long nights - 2

I got off the train and from the other door to the same compartment got off another girl, almost my age.
He was standing there, he took her luggage first and then took her hand into his and broke into a smile. She beamed back at him...they walked in front of me hand in hand telling each other stories of how much they missed each other, how much she missed him was evident from the fact that she could not take her hands off his back... I suddenly remembered she had asked me what the next stop was. She had been waiting on the door for more than 30 was worth the wait. Sure was.
I took a taxi and headed back home. 

long nights

I wish to see you once before the end. I wish to meet you for the first time again. I wish to unlearn all I know, of you of the world. Of everything I ever knew. Let’s make new beginnings. Meet me like you will meet a stranger. I wish for a new dawn. I wish this night ended.
But it does not work that way does it? I can’t just wish for things to happen.


So your first language is your mother tongue?
What is the first language you choose to ask a question to another person when you travel in the first class?
Yes, I write in English, I think in English and the language I am most comfortable in is English, no doubt, but when I have to ask what station I am on, I will ask the question in Hindi, it is just how it is. 
This lady in the train was reading a ‘gruhashobha’,  was wearing a purple lipstick, with gaudy eye makeup. I was trying to figure her out, she then turns around and with a thick Bihari accented English asks me what station it was and I was flabbergasted.
I couldn’t speak. She assumed I didn’t know the language. 
She got off anyways.
I am too shallow. meh!
Atleast he had the balls to say it was me and not him.

ah well.

this one : i love to hate to love to hate.

this one : i wish i could love enough.

this one : i wish i loved less.

this one : i wish, loved me back.

dig a pit and bury yourself in it.

my dad just wants him to be qualified.
my mom...God knows what she is serious about, except in her obsession with cracking PJs and making my life a long standing one.
and my brother ogles at his 'female' FBfriends.

I may say a lot but I cant. wont. no one will listen.

war and peace

They shout out and tell me the war is over. They greet me and leave not able to read the poker face. I should have guessed they killed the enemy within, but I as looked on; They turned their back on me,once again, broke into that race.

*Ek lamhe ko to ruke; wo bhi nahin, hum bhi nahi..*

It is weird ain't it? The head tries vehemently, furiously to erase things, replace the replace the supposedly good with evil sometimes because 'it was', because it is not 'now'. 
The hand. 
The hand holds onto everything, everything that is within grasping reach...Trying to feed the mind with 'new'.

The heart admist the chaos, even within itself somehow manages to keep that one door locked, away from anyone's reach...

...Even yours because you are locked in it...

the letter

To You,
My dear Mr. Perfect, Please don’t be perfect. Be rugged and edgy. Don’t sandpaper your rawness away. I won’t mind if you miss a few words when you sing my favorite song, or have that out-of-bed hair like almost always. You should be a wordsmith, the master of words. I won’t mind if I am lost in them. But my dear you, since I choose you, you know that words don’t remain mere, when they are said, when they are meant.  Mean what you say, say what you mean. My dear you, I won’t expect you read out Keats or Hemmingway to me, but when you look at me when I read them out to you, *the look made with all sweet accord* do let me know that you are understanding all I say, and more.
My dear Mr. Special, walk with me in the rains, let me kiss you when we do, just hold my hand and lead me. Don’t stand there with an umbrella when it rains…pull me out into the rain and get me drenched.
Soaking mock my resistance. Indulge in me. Indulge me.
Let me look up to you, with respect. Look at you …

this is why I was VAGABOND...

The VagabondGive to me the life I love, Let the lave go by me, Give the jolly heaven above And the byway nigh me. Bed in the bush with stars to see, Bread I dip in the river - There's the life for a man like me, There's the life for ever.
Let the blow fall soon or late, Let what will be o'er me; Give the face of earth around And the road before me. Wealth I seek not, hope nor love, Nor a friend to know me; All I seek, the heaven above And the road below me.
Or let autumn fall on me Where afield I linger, Silencing the bird on tree, Biting the blue finger. White as meal the frosty field - Warm the fireside haven - Not to autumn will I yield, Not to winter even!
Let the blow fall soon or late, Let what will be o'er me; Give the face of earth around, And the road before me. Wealth I ask not, hope nor love, Nor a friend to know me; All I ask, the heaven above And the road below me.

-Robert Louis Stevenson
...this is why I am VAGABOND again =)

red ink

there is one you could live without, there is one you should live without, there is one you learn to live without.

there is no one you cannot live without.

baadal kaale nahin...saanwle se hain... baarish bhi kuch dhundh si maloom hoti hai...
aankhon me nami si hai bhi...nahi bhi tu kuch yaad sa hai bhi...nahi bhi.
sirhane ek kitaab padi hai...uski ek pankti me tera zikr sa hai... meri zubaan par tera naam sa aaya bhi...nahin bhi.
tera chehra, yaad, zara sa hai bhi...nahin bhi... adhkhuli aankon ka dekha wo tera sapna hai bhi...nahin bhi...
mere jahan me bas tu hi hai... tu is jahan me hai bhi...nahi bhi...


random conversation: ass you like it. =P

prelude: A very cheeky midnight conversation that turned into a lot of name calling. (read koala bear/guinea pig). A very cheeky morning sms sparks off the following conversation.

N.B.: cheeky morning sms: "emotional lines by a desperate lover....I want her back =( and I want her front too =( "

Bored 1: ass-ome lines.

Bored 2: ass-tounding is more like it. =P

B1: for ass-piring despos...

B2:  that is your ass-umption.

B1: haha....ass-ential guide to despo-dom...

B2: ass you say!


ass-entially the post ass-pires to be funny but fails.
bite me.


image:  HERE

a hand on my heart.

I am tad overweight...but there has to be a pair of hands which can wrap around me and hug me.
One thing that fits just right.
One place where I can be lost to the world.

A strange familiarity.

lovers are not lovers for love's sake.
love is not always illogical or blind or a momentary lapse of reason.
love is not love for love's sake.
love does not need a love story, love does not need to be professed, love does not need to be found.
it just materializes, as an answer to questions that haunt you, striking you at the moment you least expected.

for all questions there is an answer, and that answer more often than not is love.  


i stole a story, i loved it...i hope you like it too. 


orignal link : A strange familiarity.
author : Krish


The rain was knocking hard on the window panes and he was surprised to be annoyed with the same sound that he once loved and romanticized about. Nakul had arrived at the hill station 2 days ago, riding all through the night. But, his plans of exploring a beautiful terrain that held a soothing promise were thwarted by the incessant rains, making it impossible to get out of his hotel room. He checked his smart-phone for a…

mist and music

There is purity tucked in nooks and corners… When you play the ‘tivra sa’ and there is that automatic chime with the heavens telling you that you have hit the right note.  There is nonchalance when it rains and all you see is water drops forming something of a ending up moist on the foot-board of the train not wet, not dry...something like love.
there must be God. has to be.


and it rained.

on cracked asphalt.
on parched skin.

it rained all over the wretched heart.

it rained...

random conversations: fallacies and failures

"You can be the world's strictest teacher."

"And that is because?"

"You take a lot of tests and no matter how someone was to perform you  fail the person".

The sad part is there is no one who is willing to undergo the test and whoever does finds out the sham that lies beneath the speciousness and runs for life.

A strict teacher hardly has pupils that stay. That like her to stay. That like her.


If I am not writing feverishly it means that there is nothing much going on on the emotional front and too much going on around me.
There is too much noise, so much so that, I am still reeling under its effect when I finally go off to sleep.
I can’t even think, there is too much noise.  
Not bad noise, no chaos, just noise. Too much of the physical world that just cannot reach into me. There is not enough inspiration or maybe I am not looking. 
Yes, my eyes are closed I am sitting and letting the world get to me. 
Too much noise.
If I am not writing I am reading.
There is so much content in what people write. It is commendable how people rise from talking about the ‘ I. YOU. US.’ Talk about the world at large, talk about things in particular, talk about morals and life values. Talk about the needs, norms and calls of the society.
How different are they from me? 
I am too lost. I am trying to imagine this to not be real that there is something else that I am meant to do there is something els…

random conversations: yes. honestly? yes.

Y: [sms] "dil haare pukare tujhe..."

X: [calls] (smiles) main abhi yahi gaana sun rahi thi...

Y:(smiles) i love you..

X: i shouldn't be talking to you, hai na?

Y: honestly, yes.

X: should i put the phone down?

Y: yes.


May's malady?

I can write a love song, a love sonnet. I can show to you exactly how pretty the things will look when the couple walks hand in hand under pouring skies. I can write a love poem that will make you blush. I can do so much more but I cannot promise you that I will make a promise. 
You know why? 
…usne apni deewangi baanti nahin…maine apni fakeeron me luta di…

la la laaaaaaazzzyyy.

very cute.
very very cute

wait...did i say cute?



Wind blowing on my face, a song on my lips and hundreds and thousands of faces.
I stand at the edge of the gate, in that train that I take every day.   I am nothing for those 18 odd minutes, I leave one half of the day behind to come back and live another half. It is my break. I don’t have to be anything; I don’t have to wear a mask. Amongst those hundreds and thousands of unknown faces, most which I might never see again, I lose my sense of being and at the same time am closest to me. Half listening to the track playing on the background cutting out the chaos outside of me and inside me,I sense silence, blissful serene silence. I am calm. 
For those 18 odd minutes I am zero.   For those 18 odd minutes I am ALL.

too many books, am reading you my favourite line...

 Older chests reveal themselves
Like a crack in a wall
Starting small, and grow in time
And we all seem to need the help
Of someone else
To mend that shelf
of too many books
Read me your favourite line

Papa went to other lands

And he found someone who understands
The ticking, and the western man's need to cry
He came back the other day, yeah you know
Some things in life may change
And some things
They stay the same

Like time, there's always time

On my mind
So pass me by, I'll be fine
Just give me time

Something on a positive note:


random conversation: something beautiful.

"at the station, train in 5 minutes"

"happy journey! tell me when you see something beautiful"

"tune FB par se profile hata dia nahin to abhi bata deta...tu ruk ab."

"abhi wapas aati hun...."

"nahin rehne sirf main nahin, sab dekhenge"



auva auva.

random lyrics from the song:

*sweep sweep sweep...sweep sweep sweep  *

*auva auva tumse hai tumse pyaar
auva auva tumse hai tumse*

                                         ................................................................... LOVE the song! =D

random smiles =)

well, i did try captioning them.  but i guess. i said almost all i had to when i set  the title.

and btw is it vanity if i spend a lot of time reading my own posts over and over?