The Ravens

Do you hear them not? 

Where the earth does shake?

Graves all rise, confused and distraught..

The ravens are awake!

He saw the silhouettes.

Heard the bells of doom.

Chained to his bride,

The solemn groom.

No one was at the church when it happened.

Just the crew,

And some cake.

There were lights galore,

Crystals and more,

But no one knew the ravens did wake

They stepped forward,

Fell in formal lines,

Monotony recited their vow.

The priest was bored—

But in the end,

The prick finished with a gallant bow.

And so— his job was done.

Such a performance!

The audience truly smitten.

There were tears of joy—

In every eye,

No wonder no one noticed them hidden.

They had all risen— to bless the newlyweds:

Too unaware to know——

The sacred vows were nothing but lines,

On a popular daily show.

Then came the wrath!

And then came the vengeance!

Defiance of the old by the new..

Then there was bloodshed,

Broken bones,

And the scattered heads of a few.

“We shall reunite”, they said.

“We shall conquer again,

with new vows and rules—-

And this time prepare 

To behead and destroy,

The monarchy of fools.”

“Fools who think “life” is greater than death,

Fools who repeat mistakes—-

of putting “life” on a pedestal

And not on burning stakes”

The forces promised that Death shall win,

In a battle that shall make—

Men and fools tremble with “life”

For the ravens are awake!

Mirror...Mirror

It is strange that the person who wants to act in movies doesn't watch as many movies as other people do.. i used to find it rather awkward and some-other-word that i can't quite place right now.. 

I thought myself to death and then realised  the difference between the audience and the character n a film.. if it wasn't for a handfull of authors , the world would have been deprived of a brilliant reading habit..similarly, if it wasn't for a number of directors, producers, actors, writers...the world would have been deprived of an almost obsessive addiction of watching movies..

a "watcher" is prime..

The fact that he can watch a dozen movies in a day calling it "the movie marathon" is the reason why the difference exists..

Its a li'lle difficult to articulately put in words but its he who makes our industry survive..with his constant flipping through the net for new "weed".. movies that release and are not affordable in the daily routine of a "commoner" (as shakespeare refers to the underprivileged society in Julius Caesar)..

It is them that keep us alive, the strugglers, the A-listers, and the veterans.. we turn audience to our own films knowing where the director said "cut" and where he let the camera rolling for the emotion must have seemed real enough in spite of the glycerine warming up to a tear stained face.. 

The curse of being an actor is the knowledge of what was real and what was unreal in a film.. the million dollar sets were real , yes, but only for a tight scheduled budget line, which when expired, so did the million dollar dream of the perfect mansion, the perfect waterfall and the perfect bed on which we made love..

The realisation of the unreal is such an ache that it ceases all other sensation, those of adventure, of wishes and dreams and callous beliefs in a certain red-coated, white-bearded man called Santa.. The tooth fairy seems nothing more than a fellow actor out of work trying to live up to the so very lived-in lavish lifestyle..

The flaws stand out more for an actor with every new film when her favourite contemporary actress seems to look a li'lle more beautiful on the screen-palate.. she blames not her age or the worries of the world that has lent the tired scratches on her face but the color-correction and the technical disadvantages of a small-budget meaningful movie where she was not meant to look beautiful, but real..

The audience.. the common man only sees the glorious her..lost n the lust for the woman whose his fantasy come true.. the last surviving unicorn for which he keeps yearning everyday and misses not one wrong footing.. the actor slowly becomes god.. an then desire to achieve that god.. then the sudden realisation of her favours to another man whom the commoner cannot harm in jealousy..makes her nothing more than a conniving little whore who betrayed his undying love..

We are merely pawns to our own kind..pawns to their stories built up in their heads.. a character from the film which becomes their reality.. they accomplish relationships with those make believe characters without really knowing the person..

But thats allright.. where would we be if they didn't lust for us?? 

How else would we be saved if we weren't "playing" the "damsels in distress"??

its all fair..

And for us??

cinema remains the magic mirror before which , each day, a forgotten yesteryear actress stands in her best velvet and silk.. and commands,"MIRROR MIRROR ON THE WALL...WHO IS THE FAIREST OF THEM ALL???"

and the answer's always someone else...

The Unborn

She sleeps so sweet..

my angel,

the girl of my dreams..

i crumple in peace..

in pieces..

though bliss it still seems..

such a boon..

like spring,

seamless as the sea..

like parchment maps..

so fragile,

a note hidden under my morning tea..

like summer curtains..

swaying always

something old, something blue..

like unread chapters..

of the favourite book,

something borrowed something new..

i know she hears me not..

the unborn,

and she shall never see..

but i'll crave yet..

for her some more..

and always know how she'd be..

they say she's gone..

for forever..

for no stars shine above..

li'lle do they know..

she lives..

fast asleep in my cradle of love..

Letter to Ignorance

Dear IGNORANCE,

                          How have you been?? Quite active it seems to me.. everyone keeps talking about you.. you are the star..aren' you now, my little devil... how come you do not visit Grandma anymore????

I worry about you.. i think at times that you are taking up too much space in people's lives.. 

You seem to have grown rich and powerful enough to buy more and more land.. more than anyone can acquire in one miserly lifetime..

But my son... don't you think you should slow down the pace in which you seem to be growing...

But then.. success makes you hungry, doesn't it?

Even as a kid.. you were always greedy for more.. more peanut butter.. more chocolate chip cookies...

But you are a grown up now my baby..

And i feel like i do not know you anymore..

i wish i had not indulged your wants for more... as a child..

then perhaps.. you would come home once in a while... to rekindle the forgotten memories of my warm lap.. the peanut butter.. the roasted marshmallows.. 

But you've already had so much of all that already.. haven't you???

I miss you..

The child of my thoughts... you are still bliss.. only not for me anymore..

                                                                                                        love,

                                                                                                        Grandma memory.

Head_Heart In Sync

i have often wondered more or less..

why life can't simply see..

it is nothing but a spare thought..

erased when it has to be..

i have often wondered now and then..

how important love is to me?

and realized a li'lle more than,

maybe dew for a dying tree..

now i wonder of things more real..

like hatred, malice.. pain..

and sometimes also of curses gallore,

taming such "love" insane..

i wonder about superstitions,

about satin tied in knots..

around the neck of he who preached love..

till he hangs loathed and rots..

what more do i think of when love gulps down..

my monument of expectant vows?

from the man i dream of, on the galloping stallion..

to whom my reluctance bows..

to whom i pledge my dying day..

a caravan of warmth astride..

to whom i pledge my royal guard

the purple sea and night, his bride..

but i have vowed again..all over again..

to wait till my last sigh..

mists in the fragrance of my man again..

and awaken me lest i die..

though i'd rather die of patience.. not impatience..

between the vision and the blink..

if i ever had to choose love like he chose,

his heart and head in sync...

Bombay Blues

When i first came to Bombay.. like any other young actress looking for the big break, it all seemed dreamy and beautiful.. the endless roads with just enough traffic..the numerous coffee shops , affordable yet expensive because they became a daily luxury..the known faces primarily famous on a small scale sitting in the limelight of the offspring of the evening blaze with a glass of wine at WTF or conversing over coffee at Costa or Bru was just a routine event like taking a shower or brushing my teeth every morning..oh so common.. no one here looks at them in awe.. no one cares.. because everyone is important here.. or I guess they like feeling that they are.. but thats not wrong.. not entirely untrue.. for whatever work they did.. they would always get to go back home and eat "ghar ka khana" and make wild passionate love to one..two..or maybe many..

I began timid.. very unaware of the disguises.. 

I still remember being on the streets.. spending a night and an exceptionally beautiful dawn at Oshiwada bus-depot.. sittng on my travel trolley placed upright and rocking myself to sleep.. one of the many experiences that makes us realize important stuff.. makes us stronger in so many ways that are unknown to the sheltered.. the stench of the stained side walls because of frequent hurried urination is what kept me from falling off to a dreamless sleep that would tug on my eye lids as i struggled to stay awake.. The empty busses like giants waiting for the liaisons of war to command them forward made me feel secure as if they would protect me from everything real and unreal.. I wouldn't lie.. I felt disgusted at first and missed if not beautiful porcelain plates and clean linen but definitely my bed back home..the varnished wooden floors of the library and most of all... Ma..

But gradually when i grew stronger with the stench, the security of the formidable busses, i started feeling at peace.. such peace that i have never known.. What was making me happy? the slow movement of the wind that would at times expose my face to the darkness by lifting away the veil of unruly..unwashed hair or the sudden grins of the metal on the sidewalks that would chuckle light as if they were mocking me.. ? 

Why indeed was i happy? 

i realized late but i did eventually.. the thought that something was achieved.. the feeling of accomplishment.. the tired attempts to gather my life together breaking into dawn.. the solace of being safe.. and the immense pride of a 20 year old surviving the vengeance of an alien city... thats what made me happy.. i had won... the war was over..

Maybe i didn't make any material gains.. no deals signed..no agreements agreed to.. but i was free.. with more conviction in my stride as i looked Bombay in the eye and said in my mind," Someday you shall be tamed.." 

And she smiled..

I have learnt a lot from this magical city.. She's taken a part of my soul everyday and tended her wounds.. she has stolen a stray bit of my fragrance and whispered it away to the sea.. She has injured me just to take away a vial of my tears to water the trees.. I feel broken at times..

But what keeps me alive in this mad mad world????

A part of me that lives on ...in the trees..the breeze..the sea.. the wounds of Bombay.................

The Frozen Tree

Do look beyond the frozen tree

There's sunshine a li'lle, I think..

Or maybe just broken glass

Smiling with every blink..

Do look beyond its ugly knots

The russet cracks and the scoops

There are treasured pains, Linking arms..

Bronzed in friendly loops..

Do look beyond its leafless shrug,

Its stare..

Its toothless grin..

There are unshed tears,

Resting in peace..

In the cradle of thoughtless sin..

Lovers robed in leaves of passion

Of Autumn frolics and fun..

Leaving behind forbidden love

Naked beneath the sun..

Pirates of the lonely coasts

Robbing the shelter of the tree -

Draped in hues of earthly pleasures

And the mystic lull of the sea..

Burnt, broken.. but still alive

With secrets buried deep -

It stays awake through endless dreams..

Just so, I can sleep..

Look beyond the frozen arms

Where I survive unseen..

A solitary bud in the crest of death,

A hope that keeps it green..