The Wandering Songs

Rhythm resounds through echoes Our universes dance in bliss Swirling across skies is solitude As we silently live a song’s prelude. World rejoices the soulful music Play my favourite beat, Dear Heart You and I can blend in a note Welcoming the cosmos as we float. Our shadows tenderly draw close Where our breaths smile at each other Tiptoeing between here and heaven Moments pray for this unknown union. Darkness cascade through the tresses A caravan of dreams lights my eyes One moment away from your story We awaken in the moonlight of glory.

Tiny Love Story

You still don’t get it, do you? How I live a love story with you in it. Well, I didn’t need you to know what love is, yet, on a velvet blue night, I catch myself thinking about the possibilities that might emerge had you known. The brief magic that connected us, you might have long forgotten; I carry it in my memory like a piece of potpourri. 

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I sit there holding your thoughts

Trying to hear what shadows whisper

Eyes heavy with blissful stupor 

I tip toe through the breeze.

Come here, you foolish song

Tell me my love is not wrong.

Your dreams caress me gently

Like the Moon wooing the galaxy.

Far across the desert

Lines blur to become one

The birds wait patiently alert 

As the clouds melt the Sun.

I wander through your footprints

Little did you smile at my hints 

Unsaid stories we did share

Where time ends, meet me there.

Drops of dew and wild tear 

Your intoxication chases away fear

Every heart beats with desire 

Live a little, burn like fire. 

- Sutapa Kar 

An Incomplete Love Story?

I sit to write about love

And stare at static photographs 

Are those inspiration enough?

My eyes have a failed story of bluff.

He who shall never know the truth 

Carelessly believes the lies of youth

Call out his name, I cannot 

The lost letter will reach the destined spot.

I might wake up from slumber 

To realise the kiss was a blunder

A life-like dream I pray this is

Few pieces of the tale are his.

Buried under tears of forgiveness

Lie the prayers to catch us

Ink pierces through the sheets

As journey falls behind the streets.

Distances we have travelled

Unknowingly to meet each other 

I went searching for meaning 

To find myself circling your being.

When the heaven and earth intertwine

They find their abode in you 

I have nowhere to go 

To you I lost my wins.

I Miss Me

 

There she stands, behind the veil, quieter than her shadow

Watching the end walk away into the twilight horizon.

The day announces reality to be a grey pretense

As the meaningless night descends on my window.

 

She loves the hide and seek as I grow tired

Every dream abandoned by the bed-side table.

Like the broken promises that lit the false sky

I have failed myself many times over.

 

My mute voice begs to call her one last time

To lose myself just one more time in her fragrance.

The sparkling laughter refuses to acknowledge my today

My thirst for an ounce of faith vanishes unrequited.

 

She was the hero of my story You forgot to narrate

The storm strangled like the brown letters under the pillow.

The mirror mocks at my reflection that is You

As I wait to be abandoned by a flood of memories.

 

Her voice flows through my veins as a map

Of the journeys I pretended to have forgotten.

Happiness, as it is, seldom looks different

This time she shall not fool me into servitude.

 

The clocks mutters under its breath

How time has conned us with a lie.

On the edge of submission I attempt one last time

Waiting for my truth to atone the frivolity of defeat.

Who says flight of freedom is what everyone seeks?

 

 

 

 

 

 

It's Painstakingly Good!!

I cracked the 'Dard' code. No doubt Hindi movies pay regular tribute to the D-word. If you do not know what Dard means, it's the lyrical Hindi equivalent of 'Pain', silly! And why am I romanticising pain? For all its worth, pain can lay grounds for choice of reactions. Creative genius to tsunami of compassion to apathetic cruelty, pain has mothered these and many more. More reason for the movies to weave eloquence on where pain hits and does what thereafter. To back my argument, I am the living testimonial. Many are aware that I suffer from one of the base models of auto-immune diseases, Rheumatoid Arthritis. Not grand nor glamorous like its other cousins. By now, even the worst math minds would have figured, why all the pain similes? And when it arrives, all the body can sing is 'Tumse miley dil mein uthey dard karaara...". Ouch! This Dard is Karaara. Karaara = Crisp. Indeed, crisp it is!

After a year of 'near no-show', the sly trickster is back. Just when I started dreaming about wearing the tiny skirt and heading to the tennis court to learn the game (one of my many sapney/dreams), I woke up with a rude jolt of severe pain. As if someone drilled through my shoulders and to sweeten the revenge, glued the finger joints to form perfect straight lines. There I was, a few mornings back, lying immobile on the bed, conjuring ways to break the news to my mother, who like all mothers, was expected to break down/yell/cry/go numb. But before she resorted to one of the above, she kindly agreed to sit me and massage some movement back in my hands. Thank god for parents!

As my 'Shani-tastic' luck would have it, assignments for the mysterious degree I enrolled a few months back stared back from the study table. They demanded immediate action to avoid a year's loss. Irony, right? More so when the same family that would consider you a demi-God should you have more than a couple of university degrees, derided me for the 'irresponsible' decision to opt for something that required scribbling epic-length answers. Nearly 120 questions to go! Without the aid of the carbonated drink that preaches, 'Darr Ke Aage Jeet Hai', I threw caution to the wind, braved the blazing Sun and finally, purchased two pens (yes, yes, till now I did not have a decent pen to attempt my assignments). Armed with the arsenal, two pain-killers (they kill the stomach and liver too), a set of agonising parents and a decent air conditioner, I commenced the trek towards the academic summit. The climb is on, though the torment grows. 

This is a real-time, fuelled-by-pain post by the way, and I would like to garner as much sympathy as possible. Well, no, not really. Those who know me, can vouch for my high pain threshold and equally heightened sense of control. I would die a hundred times over if anyone would find me in my vulnerable moments. And this is not a virtue, I realised with each greying hair. Mastering the art of concealing debilities can be one of the initial triggers of RA. You are human and not Sunny Deol, for whatever's sake! Nowadays I have to tutor myself to come to terms with human frailties. Back to the tale, my next move was to chisel my badminton skills. Maybe this was another denial move by the brain. There's not much left to imagination now on what might have transpired, is there? Here's another secret I unearthed. The joints do relax after all the activity to shut down with faster pace and heightened pain to say the least. I had lost the game, set, match and I refused to believe it. And I am not referring to the on-court game. 

That night and nights after, writhing in excruciating stiffness and pain (Bollywood may call it "bicchhoo ke Dank jaisa dard" or something) all I could manage was to distance myself from the bodily afflictions (thanks to a mystic and his processes). These are also the moments when you decode soul-crushing truths. One was - Sleep is Judas or Brutus or Ponty Chaddha's brother (a turncoat can come in various avatars). It's four days now and that bloody scamster eludes my 'oh-so-lovely' doe-shaped eyes. 

Touched your soul? Eyes getting misty or you thrilled reading about your mortal enemy's torment? Whatever be your reaction, know there would be many more episodes of similar or worse collapses, yet this is not hopeless. Auto-immune diseases are ominous, yes, they sneak up unannounced, they can alter lives. But don’t so many other phenomena have the same effect? Romance, lies, lottery wins, Donald Trump, or say a national award winning film performance by a certain Khan chacha? The last one is a myth, I agree. 

Regular health checks, careful diet, active lifestyle and a calm mind, these can be my friends in this lifelong tryst with RA. I have no way out, so rather face it and ride it. By the way, lest I forget, this post was also birthed by the constant pain. Wonder if this is what they call 'meetha dard'? Or does that mean something completely different? What does Mr. Akhtar have to say? 

Often as the night lands, I marvel at the juxtaposition of our insignificance in this whole cosmos vis-a-vis the objectivity of our personal experiences, say bodily discomfort. There are no conclusions to arrive at, just the ingredients for stories and books and poems and research in quantum physics and on rare occasions, a humdrum post such as this. 

After this copious outpouring, creaky fingers notwithstanding, I finally managed to put together the Dard playlist for 'those uncomfortable moments' and to start with is 'Dard-e-Disco' for the record limps in and out of the car, or 'Dard-e-dil dar-de jigar' when opening a bottle is a medal-winning feat. There are many more I would like to enthral you with, yet the fingers beg for mercy and I need to call it a day. 

For all those who might have no inkling, RA-induced joint pain, if not worse, is similar to what you experience, when you catch the love of your life making out with your bestie in the backseat of the car you surprised him/her with on the eve of your engagement. For those who fathom it all, thanks for your patience, compassion and helping hand to bring the jar cookies from the top shelf. 

P.S - I do not mind sympathy 'likes'.

Pretty Lies

 

Facts fight the lies they chose as their King

Crown adorns the heads that praises sing.

They know not the language of toil

Blind egos blight the level playing soil.

 

Soulless laughter that deserves no audience

Love they receive can trounce any conscience

The 9 to 5 man shudders at the realization

His precious values are irrelevant in Banana Nation.

 

Acrid air chokes the lungs and fuels the pocket

This is where the Zombies outrun the prophet.

A news a day to toy with our time

To not be a brown-nose is the crime.

 

The race is on, the mind is gone

Rats fight the battle; the war long won.

The battered one walk back to the cages

Maps to freedom were on the lost pages.

 

Ashen faces that fail to justify the end

Do not look for excuse to stab your friend.

Sky accepts defeat, it has nowhere to hide

Cloud smirks, it now knows to take a side.

 

The lost bird cannot return home

My God seeks a new tomb.

The masks that hid the pretty lies

Endure ignominy as cruelty flies.

 

The pauper poet tears sheet after sheet

Of ballets on Romeos forlorn on love street.

Destinations merge and lose their address

Anchorless lust for everything survives, nonetheless.