Wednesday, February 12, 2014

My Town

I come from a town where the people look brown, talk black and act white
And a generation of education that taught me that all I need to survive is a C
This town is of people with big shoes and small steps,
Of people who walk on the sodium lit streets without knowing which side of the road they are walking,
With a displaced generation- of ones who never grew up in the land they come from,
Because money speaks louder than words.
Filled with a little bit of Hypocrisy that there are no jobs,
Except of those who advertise and attract the eyes of those filled with experience.
He is rejected from the job because stereotype is a fact of the eyes,
It’s like a filter of the camera which puts him in either black or white disguise,
Suddenly, every Black boy is a gangster,
All Muslims with beards and baggy jeans carry a bomb,
All Polish guys are meant to be builders,
All Indians are meant to be doctors.   

The road under the sodium lights-
Either leads to a road of a Prince, a fairy tale marriage,
Or lives behind the closed doors, with people barely staying alive.
In this pot of melting colour and creed , People divide, judge my life
,People cutting at me if my boyfriend’s white and my best friend’s gay or black
This town is cut beyond bandage,
The only thing that will keep this town alive is love,
As Black eyed peas once said,
We gotta have love to set us straight.

Monday, September 30, 2013

Guinea Pig

Handpicked out of numerous specimens, experimented, being synchronised in every octave, molten self being poured into umpteen moulds, each as juvenile as melancholy, surreptitiously scripting the most jocular twists, my life, my relevance, is of a guinea pig, and they my Gods are satanic!!


1. rodent a little larger than a rat
2. somebody used in an experiment

He asked himself another time, just to make sure. And all he got was precisely the same response, the same cluster of thoughts echoing in his mind yet again, hurting his body like fetters, or so he felt. Without any further considerations, he fastened the knot. He had carefully selected the particular kind from a huge bunch of ropes, all sizes and colors. "Death", he had thought, "seems way more colourful than life", musing within himself about his sense of humor. He had always possessed the darkest of humors and more significantly, been proud of it too. Though his being in serious troubles many a times because of it was a different story altogether.
He had taken care to onfirm from the shopkeeper if it could handle weights of around 60-kg. "Thanks to what they cook in the goddamn mess, I ain't too heavy", he mused again. Atleast for a 20 year old, he wasn't. But for anyone his age, he sure was extraordinarily intelligent, like every other individual belonging to the same league is supposed to be, the league of the IITians.

He was almost laughing, in his usual satirical tones, thinking about what people perceive the supposedly best institutions to be, and what they turn up to be like, for entities like him who become a part of them, when someone knocked. "Atleast let me die in peace", he blabbered, followed by the trademark curse or two. He hid the rope and the box of sweets his mother had sent, in quick succession, and thus pulled the creaky door open.
"What’s it dude?", he enquired uninterestedly.
"Nothing, just need your tutorial notebook. We have a submission tomorrow remember?"
"Haven't dunnit. I don't care."
"Shit he's gonna kill you."
"I said I goddamn don't care."
He was happy he wouldn't have to do any more of copying tutorials. He was tired of being a zerox machine.
"Oh alright. Do you have anything to eat by the way?", the voice brought him back from his Utopia.
"No I do not", he paused, "Actually, I think I do. Here, this box of sweets. Take all of it". His face brightened with the thought of the most generous act of his entire life, while he waited for the "Oh thank you" to tell him in the most casual of tones how it was absolutely okay. But the gratitude never got expressed. He wanted to snatch the box back, but all he could say was
"Now would you mind if I said I wanna study?"
And to that, he shut the door on him, avoiding any further expressions, though he just about caught a glimpse of awe on his friend's face. However hard he tried not to admit it to himself, he still knew that somewhere inside, in the deepest nooks of his heart, he wanted his friend to stay longer, enjoy the sweets together, maybe fight over them, running after each other for the possession of the box. But he was too scared to think on those lines as he did not want to admit that he wanted death to stay away as long as possible. "But I want to die", he reminded himself convincingly, and got back to contemplation.

"You know I wasn't always like that", he remembered telling his friends the day before, after one commented about the dense air of pessimism that had been surrounding him lately. A week into the trauma, he was quite used to people asking it by then. Also, he himself couldn't agree less. "If it wasn't for that goddamn day", he thought once again. It was the 15th of November, he remembered precisely, "Another day in the life of another being, but for some, no less than decider of their fate, the destiny writer", he mused again. This poetic tinge was another possession which used to fill him with pride. He tried to visualize how many people would have had their life changed as dramatically as his did on that particular day, but hurriedly discarded the thought.
He had had quite a debate with his friends then, a serious one, pretty contrasting to the amazingly hilarious and endlessly useless 'bakars' they used to have almost everyday. He was amazed how anyone could be in favor of not allowing students to sit in the exams just because they had an attendance trifling short of the prescribed mark. "Isn't it unethical?", he would say, "Ask the person who suffers". And all they could say was they understood. But that could hardly console him. Instead, that was one line he hated from the core of his heart. The only effect it had was to have them stepping on the same wrong stones over and over again. It hurt, and it hurt bad.
And thereby, had followed, another sleepless night, his seventh in a row. He remembered sleeping till late last Tuesday, the 15th of the month, reaching the department late, missing half of the lectures as usual, and his friends telling him about the notice. He remembered exactly how he stood in front of the students' notice board, reading his name over and over, trying to believe he won't be allowed to sit in the DigiCom exam just because he was one attendance short of the required 75 percent. It had been a week.
But that night had an uncanny air about it, he could smell it even from a mile. It was different. One, he hadn't cried that night, which had become a kind of de rigueur by then. But more significantly, it was then when it had first occurred to him, when he had first asked himself that question, the question of life, or more aptly, of death. "Do I deserve to live? What for? How would I face everyone, my family, my friends, most importantly myself?" He had remembered the time when he had come to Roorkee with the best rank, and the highest head. He couldn't afford to flunk in a subject for heavens' sake. He couldn't afford to have that blot and live with it. And in a wink, he was sure what he deserved. He asked himself over and over, through the night, and the days that followed, if that decision was just an impulse, but there was no looking back then.

Over these days, another strikingly important thing he had been doing was reading, reading his own compositions, both in verse and prose. Writing was one thing that used to give him infinite pleasure, and he wasn't bad at all. Infact he was a delightful writer and quite a number admitted it. He realized it had been quite some time he had written anything. "There wasn't anything significant to write about as such", popped the afterthought. Next moment, he found himself with his diary, though he took quite some time to find a pen, he never had one you see. The last time he had bought one was when he had joined the campus, he remembered, quite happy about that fact. He wanted to write about his every 'goddamn' moment in the 'goddamn' institute, how his life had changed, or in his words, "turned upside down". The thought that "he was a part of a huge experiment, and everything in the universe was busy conspiring against him" had been haunting his mind for quite a while then. He visualized a cluster of men in white coats (quite funnily, one of the faces he clearly saw was the professor who had failed him), holding test-tubes with colourful chemicals in them, experimenting over lifeless rodents in a glass jar showing rare signs of life only when their artificial habitat was moved. He looked carefully and found himself in another of those neatly labeled jars, with his name and enrolment number printed over it. The enrolment number, his identity in the campus, reminded him he was just another one of the lot, everytime he saw it written. And so he scribbled:

"Handpicked out of numerous specimens, experimented, being synchronized in every octave, molten self being poured into many moulds, each as juvenile as melancholy, surreptitiously, scripting the most jocular twists, my life, my relevance, is of a guinea pig, and they, my Gods, it seems are satanic!"

He then read it over and over, adoring his beautiful handwriting (another asset he was proud of, wrongly this time), pondering endlessly over every word, wondering when he turned into such a pessimist, awestruck how he could be something he used to advise others not to be, doubting the times he used to be labeled as an 'over-optimist'. The video of his friend telling him "We're all mere guinea pigs my dear" played in front of his closed eyelids not any less than a thousand times, as if a scratched compact disc in an antique disc player had got stuck in a loop.
He hadn't even known its meaning at the time, when in a usual discussion about their miseries, the oh-so-intellectual friend had said that.
"We sure are overburdened pigs", he had quoted then, and joined in the laughter. But then when he found out what 'guinea pig' meant, from, the ultimate knowledge source that he never could pronounce right, he had contemplated for days about how life at IITs had been so contrasting to what he had imagined, how he had felt cheated when he discovered the kind of knowledge he was being exposed to, how he found himself at the mercy of some incorrigible mortals known as professors, how he had gotten to know that the only difference between IITs and other technical colleges lay not in the education but in the inexistent females and desperate males his campus housed, how he had always been a misfit, just an extra piece of lego in the jigsaw. He was happy he wouldn't be one for long. He secretly commended the five people who had committed suicide in his campus during his stay, for the first time advocating their cause, though he always used to criticize their act in public. Once had even written a critique for a local daily, labeling them as cowards. But for the moment, they seemed like the bravest of souls.
At that thought, he tied the rope. He was just about to kick the chair away from under his feet when his phone buzzed. It was her.
"Hello", hesitantly, he picked it up. He had to, after all it was her.
"Hey, are you coming over for the party?"
"Well, actually..."
"Come quickly. You're already late."
"I… I'll just take fifteen minutes", he found himself saying.

"I am not as brave as those five. In fact, they weren't brave at all. It was mere cowardice, and they were senseless in committing such an act", he told himself, recalling excerpts from his article. "Or maybe I am just running away", he wasn't sure what was right, what he wanted. But now there was one thing he did not have any doubts about, that he needed to give it another thought. He left it for 'some time' and started thinking about the more important question at hand, what to wear for the party. After all, it was her.

A week since, a rope hangs outside room no.G-71, bearing the weight of not more than a wet towel and a pair of undergarments, definitely not 60-kg.

Monday, August 5, 2013

little box of knowledge from the parallel dimension.

My constant efforts of necrophagy and also the practice of reiki got me to some experiences of thoughts that I am happy to pen down here. 

I strongly believe nothing but your higher conscience is your god. therefore, so called "god" is within you. Some people address it as god, some people address it as their intuition ,some as their soul or their self and some people address it as their energy. Whatever you may call it, it projects to one and the same thing.

Remember, we are a part of ‘Collective Consciousness’. Our bodies have many different cells that make up our organs and our bodies, in fact 90% of the cells of your body are not your own ‘DNA’. They are other bacterial and microbial fauna that ‘co-exist’ with our ‘own cells’ for the benefit of the whole. In the same way we all live together on this planet, many different species of creatures and beings, from plant life forms to mammalian life forms. Additionally, when you move your arm, and walk around, THE 90 % BODY MASS of microbial life forms, that is your body, all move to YOUR WILL, THE WILL OF YOUR MIND AND CONSCIOUSNESS.

IN THE SAME WAY, THE COLLECTIVE CONSCIOUSNESS AFFECTS AND INFLUENCES ALL OF US, AND IS A ‘HIGHER CONSCIOUSNESS’, JUST LIKE WE ARE MORE ‘AWARE’ THAN THE ‘TINY’ CELLS OF OUR BODIES.When we begin to ‘individualize’ ourselves from the Collective, through Self-Reflection, Observation, Going Within Ourselves to our Center, which like a ‘dimensional portal’, shoots our Consciousness Outwards through the ‘layers’ of Grids of Consciousness beyond our Planet, which is nothing more than a ‘Particle’ in the Body of so called "God", of which the Universe is a part of.

We all have ‘masks’ that we wear, or ‘hats’ that we wear, that we believe is ‘me’. These ‘personalities’ are created from your ‘experiences and trained reactions’ to the situations in life. When you are ‘not aware’ or not ‘proactively’ choosing what you are doing or thinking in any given moment, you are under the ‘influence’ of your “I’s”, or “Ego Identities”. The day you snap yourself out of this, use your energy for your own positive good, and feel the energies around you and the environment around you this is when you see the existance of the "god".

To be a part of oneness, fluidity, clarity and awareness beyond Prayer, Rituals, but Directly as One,You need to be a little bit crazy to speak to the energies/god, you know,they have a sense of humor of their own :)

love and light to all.

Monday, October 15, 2012


I have learnt something incredibly important, and I hope and intend to remember.

In life, there are often phase which seem tricky, treacherous and confusing. And all too often, there are choices to be made. There are always some options that seem easier or faster. It is always tempting to choose the convenient. And yet, fact is, in the long run, the most convenient choice you can make is the one for love. Love and compassion, is indeed the primary driver for true happiness, comfort and convenience. 

When faced with difficult choices, pick for the right reasons, not for the right apparent results. 

I cannot say I didn't 'know' this before - everyone has heard and read the "morals" and the "rules" all the time. Yet today I truly understand and appreciate. 

And I hope I never ever forget.

PS Now as I sit to write this and mull over, few words I heard earlier this week come back to me "...the temptation to go on was there, but I knew, that any longer from hereon, and it would be for the wrong I couldn't". If only one could top infinite respect with a little bit more...

Wednesday, May 30, 2012


                                 This Saturday, lying on the grass near the not so wavering river and soaking the sun in the sheryl crow manner and enjoying one of the few counted days of sun in Germany. Sun- after hailing from the pan fried country, who could imagine to look forward to its presence and enjoy it like they had never witnessed one? So many things become different once you loose being in regular touch with them.So was the Sun, It became different for me. The days I see it on the full bloom,impelling its hot spell, I feel close enough to where I belong.Reminds me of home.And that thought brings the comforting gleam on my face.
                                 A sudden , the winds started blowing bringing the grumpy clouds slowly to surmount the tropical summer sun. Yet another remarkably German weather. It doesn't even take 15 minutes for the sky to transform from clear blue to bags of grey-black,blown-up gloopy water downpour messengers. I see everyone packing up their mats, picnic boxes, everything to get going.

 "Pri, lets go home. It seems that it will rain mercilessly. Get up, hurry. We gotta catch the tram" said my friend. With not much thinking and concentrating on the thought in my head, I obeyed to her suggestion like it was an order. "Home" - the word just got me into trance of feelings mixed with memories. 
                               Walking along the bank of the river towards the bridge to catch the tram, the word engrossed me in a different world of thinking. How often have I changed both -the meaning and the location of this word? The answer travelled as far back as the age of 7, Grade-2. My first ever notice that the word "Home" has no permanency.  

Back then, when I was leaving Dehradun I asked my mother "Ma, why are we leaving our home?" 

"Who said that my child? We are just shifting our home. Its still the same- practically. Home is where the heart is. Its not a building my baby." she replied. 

Since then I have always clutched to these words. And it was never too difficult to change places, with this definition. 

                             It started drizzling and I split that definition and ponder deep on it.I wonder - Where is my heart? It usually wanders between two places- occasional home-sickness and affection for knowledge. Both of which stand in different physical zones. What is the right definition of home? Place where my ambitions carry me or Place where my roots belong?
                           On the bridge, we heard the tram bell. We were just a few steps away from the halt station when my friend uttered " Run pri, Else we wont be home before it rains hard." Breaking from the chain of thoughts and questions which were self answered, I ran as fast as I could to board the tram. We managed to climb inside, right on time. 

I looked at her and affirmed her  with a smile " So, we will be Home now".  And I knew this is my answer. Here lies my Home. 

Saturday, March 3, 2012


The traditional demise-sudden outcries,
Upon colorless world, forever they lay,
I realize,life has become -
Sea of dry bones and dirt of sweat.
Final moments carnal-wind blows over,
Incessant graveyard stretch so far-
Hope's silent song so threatening,
Manifestation of nothingness.
My eyes cast down to wishes of dust,
I wish to sleep- but never to dream.
One day,here- I will lay,
Embrace the cold stone of my black tomb.

Friday, April 29, 2011


Sometimes I am dead hope,

A million dreams which lay supine.

A kindergarteners humor,

Drifting aimlessly in time.

Sometimes I am existance,

Carry life afar,

Make way through the toughest instance,

And bloom into another flower.

Figuration of budding life

or pale death-

I wander with strife,

Either for fresh green birth,

Or for an angelic end.