There are days when you want to recoil
And wonder what’s worth all the toil
There are days when not all is well
And you’d rather not talk it out or yell
There are days that dawn overcast
And for once you hope they won’t last

But these days are speed bumps on a highway
Meant to slow you down, not stop you midway
‘Coz your destination is a journey in itself
And the search is about unraveling yourself
So breathe easy even if the sun don’t rise
Darkness is momentary, say all men wise

Smile ‘n move on along the path you seek
You may tire but won’t ever feel weak
But remember this highway has no shortcuts
It’ll take a toll and throw at you ‘ifs and buts’
So be open to whatever comes your way
As time will speed you up, come what may

And if ever you feel you’ve reached a point
Where paths split and you’re stuck at a joint
Remember all roads lead to that one place
And it’s only about what instinct you chase
So put all your faith in that power above
Believe in yourself and that li’l thing called love

Goodbyes are nothing but bookmarks to life. You know where you left a chapter unread or a story unfinished or may be even a tale completed. These bookmarks are reminders to make you want to live in the hope of flipping through life again, to tie loose ends or to begin afresh. So keep them safe.

Today’s parting was at various levels…last, frantic minutes were spared for final hugs and deep emotions got spent on a spontaneous trickle down the cheeks. There were the Shadow Lines, the magic-magnetic moments, the bear-hugs, the handshakes and the exchange of gift-wrapped keepsakes. There were also chain SMSs, plenty smilies and reminiscence of four long years.

Then there were none.

There was also the lunch across a Chinese table on a sweltering August afternoon — randomness shared along with spoonsfull of steam rice, honey potatoes and garnished with blank looks. Castles were built in an air laden with lyrics such as ‘if tomorrow never comes’, crazy dreams were woven around every prick of the fork and washed down with cold water.  There was also a walk down the posh street. It carried none of the crazy highs of previously experienced spontaneity, neither did it seem like a goodbye long due. There were no hugs, no handshakes, no last-minute anythings. Just a ’see you’ which went unreturned. And then, parting with a part of myself. I realised it today that we are best unplanned. We will meet soon, magician. We must.

I’ll miss you, sorely. All.

Time for a new journey. Hope to cross paths at the soonest.

the so-much-me about him is enchanting. from letting feet breathe from under covers to parallel lip-syncing my thoughts to mirroring actions. there’s so-much-me about him that i feel i can snug-fit into a li’l space in the vast canvas of his being. for eternity.

the so-much-me about him is unnerving. what if i get lost, a drop in the ocean and cease to matter? what if the so-much-me in him dissolves into the seamless expanse of his being without a trace? what if the so-much-me in him becomes just a drop in the ocean?

the so-much-me in him must be, must stay. but getting so-much-him in me is being worked at. consciously. blissfully. hesitatingly.

fingers crossed.

it just doesn’t rain on the summer of discontent. desperate thirsts remain unquenched, fluid desires evaporate without a trace and salt-sweat leaves ghastly, ghostly forms on starched cottons. the clock ticks in a continuous cycle of hope and hopelessness, empty spaces between two seconds waiting to get filled in by pitter-patter.

none.

it just doesn’t rain on the summer of discontent. browns ache to turn green but wilt in disappointment, pregnant gray clouds frown like a woman scorned, threaten with thunder but refuse to deliver. heat is cold to sentiments desperate to escape out of a pressure-cooker head, find a life, an expression. breathe.

none.

it just doesn’t rain on the summer of discontent. it never does.

i live a recurring dream of vermilion and its many reds; of silver toe-rings and trinkly anklets; of shimmery chiffons and seductive silks; of velvety rose-petals crushed by hennaed feet; of jangle-bangles and ochre glows; of balmy, shiny, pink glosses; of trapped, subtle scents in willowy handkerchiefs; of morning sea wind blowing into shampooed hair; of coffee mugs and tea junkets…of love, of epiphanies, of life.

]]> http://purplecarnations.wordpress.com/2009/05/09/colours-of-the-countryside/feed/ 1 deep purple shy kids1 pic1 http://purplecarnations.wordpress.com/2009/05/09/394/ http://purplecarnations.wordpress.com/2009/05/09/394/#comments Sat, 09 May 2009 03:01:47 +0000 deep purple http://purplecarnations.wordpress.com/2009/05/09/394/ ]]>

A beginning

i want to rise above the confines of smart vocabulary, shed the baggage of borrowed phrases, drop the clever pretence of inspired idioms and float above the matrix of jumbled letters and wise words. i want a language to myself. a language of new-everything.

the other night, i dreamt up a world of bliss,
where long roads take no u-turns
where the veil of resistance falls
without fear or guilt…
where barriers melt and desires meet,
where lines blur and smiles sparkle
where a kiss is frozen in melting moments…
and time stands still

it’s a world that lives in me
it’s a world i wish i could live in

dated: dec 13

At 11:30 pm, i sit in a room, wood-panelled on four sides, and look beyond the yellowing plates of greasy finger-food and transleuscent beer mugs, some half-empty, others half-full…

from behind the tobacco-scented smoky haze, i see a thought-bubble rise and dissolve…and i zone out of the humdrum. in a matter of micro-seconds, i try and decipher the alphabets in the thought bubble, carefully jumbled…yet carelessly obvious.

they all form a pattern, and suddenly disappear into the binary matrix of space-time.

almost as if on cue, i feel my sweaty fingers work a text on the nokia, and the ’send message’ prompt is prompter than it’s required…

poof! it goes travelling through airwaves, taking with it the dust-and-grime smelling delhi air…floating through matrices of binary signals into another, richer nokia cousin that’s been soaking in the hussain sagar breeze…

a chain is started and soon the weakest link is identified…