experimental soup

rogue word alley...

2011-10-14T07:09:00.000-07:00

aah words, you irascible rogues.
what is it that you whisper into my ears?

"for old time's sake, my old friend,
let us take a walk down the alley."

take me back if you will,
cause the truth be told.

i missed thee.

Schizo-babble

2011-09-21T11:51:00.000-07:00

little by little, the words come to me;
voices calling out inside my head.

say it, write it, paint it they say;
cause we're but wisps in the wind.

...gone, just like that.

Ahab's Rage...

2011-04-24T23:49:00.000-07:00

the eerie mist of a sunless dawn,
snakes its way across the land.
silent and still, the Pequod awaits,
fitted to embark on its fateful quest.

its iron harpoons wrapped in veil,
forged to hunt in a watery grave.
the silence of its windless sail,
a ghastly invite to the foolish brave.

for when the dark snatches the light,
each one filled by the sins of old;
crazed men will set sail tonight,
led by a rage only Ahab behold.

with avarice stoking their iron tips,
men with carnal lust seek the beast.
the taste of fresh blood their nimis,
without which the air despair breath.

the sail filled with the force of avarice,
no prayer leads the proud Pequod forth.
for the ocean giveth men their destiny,
to each an equal measure of their worth.

death for all, salvation for none,
rage leaves behind love forsaken.
a home somewhere buried done,
a memory one hath forgotten.

the wrath of man is a terrible thing,
for one, it'll smite an insulting God.
vengeance filling Ahab's entire being,
he follows the white fire to his fiend.

only that Satan's son to hunt and kill,
will quench the rage that Ahab feel.
from where it cometh, this mad will?
one that strengthens Pequod's keel.

all life unleashed in one final aim,
when Ahab meet the white whale.
what was this rage that led men to sail,
knowing the destined end to this tale?

wine and bread

2011-03-07T06:17:00.000-08:00

while the demons of passion weaken your knees,
these quaint sips gently lull the besotted mind;
such is the thirst of this wine.

***

morsels that feed your irascible roguish anguish,
for which men would be beasts without thought;
such is the hunger for this bread.

sea shells...

2011-01-05T08:59:00.000-08:00

for the shallows hold the many secrets of the deep.
timeless tales of the sea,
laid bare by the retreating waves through shells in the sand;
left back to whisper the fates of men.

what brings us together...

2010-12-19T07:50:00.000-08:00

what is it that brings us together?

like a gentle breeze on a moonlit night
guiding the dance of a feather's flight;
a mindless traveler fancying a tripe.

like the fragrance of a new blossom,
drifting in the feisty spring wind;
a feel-me-close, but touch-me-not dream.

like the dizzying dance of a desert storm,
running endlessly in the waterless sand;
ravishing hungrily all at hand.

for soldiers we are not,
to be commanded to war
in a cause that is not of our own.

it has to be something,
akin to an inscrutable fiend;
and so it is destiny.

the eyes' treasure...

2010-12-17T22:00:00.000-08:00

tepid and timid, thieving forlorn glimpses,
how can they be anything but venomous;
to the bold wind caressing your hair.

blinded that they are, these distant oculars,
blinded with the sight of your beauty;
my eyes are now sinners.

to spite others who behold your beauty,
is the sin they'd gladly surrender to;
finding salvation in each glimpse won,
now forever theirs to treasure.

the only one standing...

2010-12-07T23:01:00.000-08:00

fragrance of blossoms re-enacting an eternity of birth & death,
stolen into the distance by the gentle breeze;
all that remains is the seed that germinated into the tree.

men don't cry...

2010-10-28T01:45:00.001-07:00

...and so said Zeus, son of Cronus, father of Gods & men...

burnt by thy own fire,
O' Prometheus, forgotten shall be thee.
thy gifts turned to dust;
nothing thee did will ever be enough.

guarded by vengeance, chained by ignominy
a bare rock to pierce thee flesh;
where you'd fantasized the touch of gentle lamb skin.

pain & punishment, thy reward for having done fair.

not a tear shall trickle from thee eyes
to whet thy hollow sigh of lament.
it is your bane, O' Prometheus,
that men don't cry.

...

आशियाना...

2010-10-19T02:31:00.000-07:00

आशाओं की छोटी-छोटी बूंदों से बने है सपने हमारे - कुच्छ कामियाबी के, कुच्छ खूशी के - जिनसे सजाया है हमने हमारी दुनियाँ को | सपना एक ऐसे घर का; जिसमें हर दिन हो खुशियों की दिवाली। जिसमें बसी हो हमारे आनेवाले कल की उम्मीद...

एक नयी दुल्हन कि पायल की झंकार, बच्चों की गिदगिदाती हँसी, बुढ़ापे का साथ

...बस यही तोह है सपनो का घर हमारा।

the silence...

2010-08-20T02:41:00.001-07:00

...a thousand words cannot overwhelm silence.
and when the words are spent, she shall return
to mend the broken heart...

repost : the sands of time...

2010-03-21T23:17:00.000-07:00

...black or white, its all a matter of perspective. some tales are told somewhere else first. still they might belong to someplace else altogether...

***

there's a distant sand that travels borne in flight by the wind
and a fine sand that slips away from my grasp within

the coarse sand nature violently breaks down into fine grain
a wet sand sculpts the dreams of a child in her innocent play

the crafted sand blazes on the fire to feed my hunger tonight
the glazed sand brightly bedecks my beloved bride
there's a even a sand i worship as my faith's right

the sand trapped inside the twisted glass un-counts my day
i'm the ethereal sand that my bones will turn into someday

in the end its all nothing, but simply sand laying along my way

...

this is their story...

2010-01-10T23:54:00.000-08:00

"you don't know me at all. so how can you love me?"

"no. but i do know myself. and i know that i love you."

...it didn't take a magical charm to bind them. so a Magi was not needed. being perfectly lonely would have done just fine for either. but it was inevitable that they meet someone someday. and so they met. and 'that' was the magic trick!

***

"you look better than ever. but then again, i can't seem to remember you otherwise."

"you don't remember much, do you?"

...age always caught up. no matter how hard anyone tired to cheat it, even of a few moments, it always caught up. it was foolish to think that it was following them. they were merely running away from their own shadows. the only way to evade it was to turn off the lights...

***

"when do i get to see you next?"

"you ask too many questions. isn't it enough that we're together right now?"

...desires are like Shylock the Jew. they can never have enough of anything. that was the one thing that they were taught ever since their childhood. desires are incorrigible and there were only two ways to deal with them. to murder them in their womb, or to let them live. let them grow and then overwhelm you. like it was about to tonight...

story of two nights...

2009-10-26T12:43:00.000-07:00

...

O' gentle Sylph of the glade,
guardian of nectarine cities.
elemental by nature, a woman's soul.
i beseech thee.

unveil to me the beauty i so desire.
the one caressing the fragrant breeze.
worlds underneath her feet,
she is all i seek.

sing me to sleep.
bring me my dreams.

***

born of words, darkness & shadows.
from tales intricately woven tight.

unraveling the mind's flight,
giving wings to my heart's Djinn.
unknown creature of the night,
many are thee.

"Bakhtak!"
listen to me.
thieve me of my sleep,
tonight i need no dreams.

...

2009-06-30T05:11:00.000-07:00

Sunday Morning...

2009-05-30T06:24:00.000-07:00

...nothing beats the first lazy stretch of the day. an elongated slow movement of the body that tunes the mind to the fact that the night is over. its a brand new day. the mellowness of last night's dream is fading. its time to wake up.

you are not late riser, but you sure are groggy early on. but you know that you are a morning person. its a whole new you for a whole new day. even if its a Sunday. you can walk across your own house with your eyes shut. you know the contours of the place like those of your own body. the coffee-table is always there next to your couch. it always has been and it always will be there. just like the birthmark on your arm.

somethings have to be the way they are. call it the only part of you that is the stickler for custom and is highly superstitious. the old pagan part of you. it is the little things. like how the water must boil first. how the coffee has to be beaten into a thick musty paste before finally adding the sugar. no milk. milk ruins coffee as do all other anomalies that are the little deviants from your daily routine. evil deviants, you hate them, unlike the newspaper that nests silently at the doorstep waiting to be picked up so that it can tell you what is it that is wrong with the world today. the TV spews the same news vocally. the radio does not work. you don't remember the last time it did. ever since they invented the i-pod. radios became obsolete. as did music ever since they started smashing melodies in an electronic box with beeps and freaky robotic sounds. rock n roll died a long time ago. you lived on. as did everybody else.

this morning the kitchen is your refuge. it protects you from everything that the world has to throw at you. the knives and the salt give you a sense of security as do swords and spears to a warrior. when you have them at arm's reach you are invincible. its funny, the feeling of security provided by the spices and the cutlery. something they call the placebo effect types. they have a name for everything, the scientists.

the toast slightly singes in the toaster. the eggs scramble upon the gas as they always do. the parsley is missing today. the little stick-on on the fridge door gets a new scribble. "Parsley and Oregano". it shall be bought before the day is out and the note shall be crushed up in to a ball and chucked in the garbage bin. such is the short life of the stick-on note.

its time to go and wake her up. you go back across the hall on tip toe, as if the cacophony of the noise you have stirred up so far hadn't woken her up yet and the sound of your footsteps would. you sneak into the room. she is still asleep. she is still dreaming. a faint smile dancing across her lips suggesting that it is a pleasant dream. maybe she is dreaming of the seagulls along the harbor. she always dreamed of them. you extend your hand to reach out. caress the line of her brow. wake her up. but you can't. you can't take your eyes off her. her beauty enthralls you and takes your breath away. you do not have the heart to put an end to her dream and her smile. you remain standing. staring. for a few long minutes you remain as you were and then you quietly sneak into bed as well. her fingers curl around your arm and instinctively she cuddles in closer. her head resting below your chin. her smile elongates further. you smile too.

...the coffee is going to get cold. but you no longer care.

a thousand Suns such as this...

2009-05-28T04:01:00.000-07:00

...

turbulent in sleep, these insomniac thoughts

they flee to a refuge on some distant world.

a world that is not quite a paradise,

but somehow one that still feels like home

illuminated by a thousand Suns such as this.

...

...

mi amor!

2009-05-15T23:06:00.000-07:00

sketch by: Mervyn Vincent Dias (a.k.a. Merv the fat bastard)

***

"my little Oedipus!"

...and then she looked at me with those eyes that were suspicious of all persons new, especially a small boy, as i touched her body and marveled at her contours, my fingers uncouthly caressing her. she held my fingers and guided me in all my childish games. she embraced me, opening herself up to me, as i enthralled my senses in her. intoxicated by her fragrance. aroused by her taste. she unabashedly seduced me with her ever faint whispers, telling me of the many wonders she had to offer to me. things i could never even imagine in my childish dreams.

she told me, "you want a whore. i shall be your whore. you want a lover. i shall be your lover. i shall be anything you want. you just have to think of it and i shall be it! but you shall never remember me. you shall leave and forget all that there is to me. you can never love me."

i said, "at least let me try!"

...she then invited me to enter her. to love her and to be with her. she took me in and showed me sights that i had never seen. she bewildered me with her indefatigable nature. she enamored me as she called me over and over and over in her sweet melodious voice...

...and i kept going back. until one day when i stayed. drugged. slaved. to become a man. corrupted. corpulent. sinned. but loved. forever her's...

the lost land of never-more...

2009-04-05T12:56:00.000-07:00

for more photos visit the photoblog

there is a thing about being in an induced transcendental frame of mind. see the colors play riot as the music fuses the nerve endings of the brain cells; numbing some, hyper activating others; as the cornea dilates to the point that the misty opiates are no longer of any particular shade; the intoxication of the mind is completed amidst the chaos that erupts within.

...seems like ages since I've been to the land of the colors. to the timeless expanses of nothingness. the flow of the vital liquid in the body merging with the flow of the violent passions that stir the waters to create ripples that spasm the soul. the rush to go nowhere. be there. for the moment. forever. the vague poesy haunting till it becomes a cheering light. the liberation. the revolution. not for one short hour. neither for a fleeting minute. never to be the elusive second. supposedly the non-existent moment but for the inescapable reality of it's throes...

color me. engulf me. imprison me. illuminate me. shelter me. embrace me.

tonight i set my dreams on fire.

i am but for thee.

tiny little ramblings...

2009-01-23T11:10:00.000-08:00

The end of a season
Sunrise in the horizon
Man sleeps on

***

The little tadpole cries
A lotus blooming in the swamp
The dew can but quench thirst

***

The thunder clouds look dark
Spears can't penetrate the rain
But life is beautiful

***

words spoken lost amidst the noise.
the meaning sometimes unknown.
vague are all echoes.

***

the frog sits on the withered lotus leaf
the water underneath frozen by the cold
the tears don't wet the world lost below.

the Ghost of the Banyan Tree (intro)...

2008-12-04T21:42:00.000-08:00

It is when people begin to simply walk straight through you, that you realize that you might be dead. But it took quite some bit of being ignored of and being unheard to for me to grasp the hint of my demise (thinking that you are asleep and that all this is a dream is a convincing argument, but it only lasts for so long). One fine day I seemed to have begun to cease to exist to this world. Should have been easy to deal with considering that I found myself suddenly availed of an entirely separate dimension to frolic around in, instead I find myself inexplicably entrenched in an elliptical orbit gravitated around the Banyan tree.

Being a ghost has its advantages. For one, ghosts are bullet and bomb proof (even Godrej safes are dubiously missing the later part of this guarantee). You see, what I am, is nothing more than an idea, a thought, a belief and a voice liberated enough to permeate into omnipresence. One may convincingly argue that ideas, thoughts, beliefs and voices have no address; they are to be found everywhere. But one must begin from somewhere, and in any case, materialism does filter up to the paranormal. So remember the one place that you must know to be assured to find me if you happen to come looking for me. I am the ghost of the Banyan tree,

& i live above Masi’s chai ki ketli, on Fathegunj road, Fathegunj, Baroda – 390 002

...The address sure doesn’t read too well, I agree. Anyone even remotely familiar with Baroda geography will vouch for, that living right above the Fathegunj main road does not bode very well. But there are certain de facto benefits of being a resident amidst the hulla-bulla of the said area, especially if you happen to be a ghost and at the same time happen to have a humorous aura (no bones for Mr. Ghost, you see) and loves a good gossip. In retrospect though, I should not have had spent all that time sipping that damn cuppa tea!

welcome!

1801...Heathcliff analyzed...

2008-07-30T16:03:00.000-07:00

...a mirror reflection...

(read on here at the main blog).

dreamchaser...

2008-06-07T06:12:00.000-07:00

something old that i found in one of those long lost notebooks. you know, the ones that you find at the bottom of drawers covered in dust accumulated over the ages. a remembrance of a time when things were much more simpler and supposedly innocent. when dreams mattered.

***

Sleeping with open eyes under a clear sky

diamonds for stars and a pearl for a moon...ssh! listen...

the voice of unspoken words;

they bring about a new awakening.

Suddenly thus disturbed, your thoughts return home

thoughts that for a few moments had travelled...

...the dimensions unbarred.

To a world of castles built in the air

with rivers of nectar nourishing the fields of joy

a world where gold values less than a tear

and where someone special is always near.

the sun shining bright and birds singing sweet,

this is a world of love, a world of dreams.

Now that you are awake, you remember it all

losing it thus you shed a tear

and the sound of silence falls heavily upon your ear.

but cry not my love, do not despair

cause nothing is yet lost.

You still have a dream that you have dreamt,

and the toughest task being done,

you only have to chase your dreams.

...

the changeling...

2008-04-15T01:11:00.000-07:00

link to the main blog...this post could have been here...but then, white or black, it's both me after all!

the changeling!

turning pages...

2008-01-03T22:41:00.000-08:00

turning the pages were never this easy. sometimes it requires a tremendous amount of effort to stay with the flow of the words and the sentences that are penned down. it's as if there is a certain degree of effort on part of the writer in writing them and now it demands a similar effort on part of the reader to read them. but this was different. the fluidity of the words was unlike any other. maybe it was the fact that somewhere down the line of sub-concious thought, there was a parallel. the words formed sentences that formed emotions.

like the dark emotions of a sinfully victimised mind that begged for salvation. sought it in the wrong places and then somewhere along the path just gave up. the mind and the body had given up. but the eyes. the eyes still sought freedom. salvation.

the words bound him. entrapped him. just reading them evoked something sublimal within him. it was something that he had not experienced before. a feeling of wanting someone in sheer bestial manner. to ravage and consume and at the same time to be engulfed. to be utterly and totally annihilated by the other person's savage reciprocal of his own passion. it mattered not that he didn't even know the other person. he had not the faintest clue to what she was like. all he knew were the words that she had penned down and he had read. they were his map through which he would divulge into her. know her. feel her. want her. reality was a mere construct that prohibited his true thoughts from becoming a solid construct. they were there to hold him back from reaching out and touching her. but they mattered not.

sometimes you need not the reality. your imagination is more than enough.

words have power.

her's most certainly did.

Kafka I, I Kafka...

2007-05-23T01:47:00.000-07:00

“You do not need to leave your room. Remain sitting at your table and listen. Do not even listen, simply wait. Do not even wait, be quite still and solitary. The world will freely offer itself to you to be unmasked, it has no choice, it will roll in ecstasy at your feet.”

-Blue Octavo Notebooks

*****

he named you after the emperor Franz Joseph, didn't he? your father? don't mind if i light myself a cigarette. it's not really an affliction, this cigarette habit. take it as a symbolic construction if you must.

...it is the vanity of man that prevents us from realizing the mortality of the fragile existence that we live. we subject ourselves to needless rigors that sap our vital force and leave us exhausted. it's like this cigarette...with each puff we transcend ourselves in the pursuit of instantaneous gratification, while the cancer spreads throughout our inner body consuming us as much as we consume the cigarette. mankind is an ignorant species, plagued by diseases of its own creation. like the cancer spreading through mine, and the tuberculosis spreading through yours! you knew it, i know it.

it is said that you had mesmerizing eyes...those large gray opiates; often mistaken as brown or even blue, lit up each time you spoke with the humor that was characteristic of Kafka- not as much irony as mischievousness- as if they knew something that others did not. the slender wrist and those long ethereal fingers, speaking fingers, which took on the shape of the stories that you told. like a painter's brush painting a masterpiece.

you indeed were an enigma. an enchanting enigma that drew the ones whom you met like the flame draws the moth. and who would know this better than the women whom you loved, and who loved you back...Felice Bauer, Melina Jansenka, Julie Wohryzek and the unforgetable Dora Diamant. familiar names all, i presume.

Dora says of you;

"to have lived one single day with Franz means more than all his work, all his writings."

...how did you manage to draw out such affection? can anybody love someone who is capable of immortalizing the emotions of absurdity, social and spiritual chaos, loneliness, frustration and oppressive guilt of an individual threatened by anonymous forces beyond one's comprehension or control. you were that individual. all your works are works of pain, if nothing else. and yet, Dora claims you to be someone entirely different. how can it be possible?

it seems that as if the man who wrote all that and the man who lived an actual existence were entirely different। either that or, you were an excellent actor who fooled everyone. Franz Kafka the writer; or Franz Kafka the man? that is the essential question.

the entire of literary Europe acclaims you as an existentialist and a nihilist! Dora claims otherwise ;

"A person who ate and drank with such joy as he did, how he took such pleasure in eating a banana! whoever saw Franz drink a sip of wine would become a wine drinker. How could a human being who lived so intensely, who gave such intensity to acts of daily life, how could he have hated life?"

how indeed?

you did not hate life as much as in loathed the perpetual decadence of it...the gradual decline of the self is an abomination that is undesirable in the perfectionist standards of Kafka. you, who would not even agree to have your own works published, the same works over whom you laboured so intensely, only to disown them as imperfect objects incapable of even being read. how could you withstand the monstrosity that is the life os a man in today's society? you talked of ghosts...in the end you became one.

but that wasn't the case always, was it? Kafka the writer saw his life as a ghost's. Kafka the man saw the beauty of his apartment and the street leading to it!

i have something for you. you might recognize it. (taking out the cockroach from the bag) So cliched and expected isn't it? Gregor Samsa, Die Verwandlung. The Metamorphosis...how did you begin that story?

“As Gregor Samsa awoke one morning from uneasy dreams he found himself transformed in his bed into a gigantic insect.”

Maybe you actually meant a vermin and not an insect. But that is hardly of significance. I shall assume that you meant for it to be an insect. But an insect? A vermin? Of all the possibilities that your imagination laid at your disposal why, why would you choose for Samsa to be an insect? Why not God?

Through Samsa’s metamorphosis you speak of someone who finds himself socially ostracized, despised and suddenly turned into something insignificant. The wheels of life suddenly are reversed and the one who earlier was seemingly indispensable is rendered unneeded. The world does not need Samsa the insect…but is this insect of yours and today’s God really that different? Does the world need God? Does the world include God in the course of its daily existence, unless it is to avail itself of an opportunity to obtain certain benefits? The necessity of God is as much of significance as was that of Samsa to his family before his metamorphosis. I could go on and on and on…keep on ranting about the pathos that is our society. You know what I speak of. You saw the same. You understood it in the same manner. You even saw it coming.

But then what is it that distinguishes this vermin of an insect from that of today’s God?? The fact that I hold it, shudder in disgust and throw it on the ground and then squash it. It deserves nothing better.

Had you been a man more religious than spiritual, you would have accused me of blasphemy. You know what? You may accuse and condemn me of blasphemy a million times…but my answer shall be the same.

“Speak not to me of blasphemy, man. I would strike the sun if it insulted me.”

…Captain Ahab spake thus to Starbuck…and I say so to you.

You feared your father. Hermann Kafka. Maybe you loved him, but you feared him more. And that fear always prevented you from becoming who you always wanted to be. You were always a malleable and timid creature, who was incapable of standing up to his own father for his own convictions; who accepted the decree laid upon him with the sense of final acceptance that was to an extent utter submission.

Reminiscent of your own works, isn’t it? Especially the one in which the giant machine painfully inscribed the judgment on the bodies of the poor souls before finally tossing them out to face death. And by this point in time, even death became a welcome escape. A final solution to the humiliation and subjugation of one’s existence and one welcomed it with a smile…‘The Penal Colony’. That’s what you called it, right?

You wrote in your diaries about your father saying:

“As a little child I had been defeated by my father & because of ambition have never been able to quit the battlefield after all these years despite the perpetual defeat I suffer.”

Ah Kafka! You need not have quit, you only had to but speak out. You wrote with such elegance. Words were like your faithful mistresses. If only you made appropriate use of them.

The September of 1923; 21^st of September to be precise. Now that indeed must be a memorable date. The grand move to Berlin. You left behind your family and a way of life that you had accustomed yourself to for over forty years, and despite your failing health and perpetual indecisiveness, for once managed to make things happen instead of allowing for things to happen. You yourself have confessed to the fragility of your resolve saying the night before you left your parents house in Prague was “one of the very worst.” And the indecision that always haunted you now tortured you to the extent that you spent the night unable to sleep.

...Tearing yourself away from Prague was, even though very late, the great achievement in life without which one has no right to die...

“Within limits of my condition, the move to Berlin was a foolhardiness whose parallel you can only find by leafing back through the pages of history, say to Napoleon’s march to Russia.”

But nevertheless, you managed it. Cause beyond a point there is no return. This point has to be reached. And with the disease ravaging your body even as you dreamt, for once in your life, of a happier situation in the company of Dora, you had reached that point. And tearing yourself away from Prague was the great achievement in life without which you had no right to die.

You once wrote a story about a mouse and a cat; correct me if I am wrong, but it goes something like:

“Alas” said the mouse, “the world is growing smaller everyday. At the beginning it was so big that I was afraid, I kept running and running and I was glad when at last I saw walls far away to the right and the left, but these walls have narrowed so quickly that I am in the last chamber already and there in the corner stands the trap that I must run into.”

“You need only change your direction” said the cat, and ate it up.

*****

It’s not your infallibility as a writer that I question. It’s your fallibility as a person that I object to. Kafka, the man, shall forever be in my eyes an enigma whom I look down upon as I do upon the insect crushed on the ground. Kafka the writer, I shall exalt and hold up to my eyes.

After all, Kafka is not I, and I am not Kafka!

schimakcus-schmackus...

2007-04-29T04:49:00.000-07:00

a land of gibberish
up inside my head.

...im trying to make sense of it!

myriad requiems...

2006-12-06T07:41:00.000-08:00

...Ajay stopped suddenly and stood there in the middle of the city market as he realized that he was lost; the dull throbbing in his head indicating that the effects of his medications was wearing off. The humdrum of the boisterous crowd was quickly fading away into a separate dimension and he realized that pretty soon the effects of his meds would vanish altogether & he would be transported into the catatonic yet merciful world that dwelled within his brain. His memory was becoming vague and already he couldn't fathom what moment was it exactly that had made him undertake the journey from his home on the planet Entroiz to the tiny planet of Tekkan and towards the far end of the planetary system of Geisel. Tekkan was the junkyard of the system, a place for the connoisseurs of all sorts of planetary objects. The crowd moved at a rapid pace searching for the treasures that each desired and it was becoming increasingly harder for Ajay to keep rooted to his ground. And before he realized it he was lost in a maze of uncertainty as his feet became an unwilling accomplice to the movement of the crowd.

The Internal Climatic Control (ICC) system of Tekkan ensured that the visitors never actually felt the impact of the true nature of the planet's harsh environment. Still, that did not prevent Ajay's body from going into a tumult as it biologically tried to acclimatize to the change. It was an evolutionary process and man had never really been able to overcome it completely. It was like a bitter slap on the face, knowing that man was controlling half the galaxy but failed to control what was happening within his own body. Or maybe, Ajay rationalized, it was just that his body was used to the comforts of his home and this trip was proving to be a major task for his frail body. In any case, his stay on the planet had to be kept to the shortest possible.

Entroiz was the first human colony in the planetary system of Geisel. The planet itself was almost twenty times the size of earth and lay about five times the distance from the sun of the system. Entroiz had been earmarked as mankind’s new home away from home somewhere around the early years of the 27^th century. The world had shown signs of habitation with its active volcanoes and tectonic activities that signalled a hot core similar to that of earth. Although the gravity was six times that on earth, it was no surprise considering the size of the planet. Moreover, a good portion of the planet’s surface was covered with water that consisted of one big ocean and millions of lakes and rivers. The poles were covered with ice similar to earth, the only difference here being the presence of an eerie green glow that had turned out to be a correct indication of the presence of vast mineral deposits. Overall Entroiz was an extremely lucky find considering the similarities that it had with earth. The probability of finding such, as it is was very less in the vastness of the universe. It had taken the better half of over thirty years to transform the planet into a gigantic replica of the human habitation on earth, during which mankind’s best knowledge of terra forming was utilized to create safe sub-terrain city size dwellings in the numerous shallow chasms of the planet. The cities were categorized into sectors; and now, in the later half of the 28^th century, Sector 2 was Ajay’s home city. The only place he felt comfortable enough to call his home.

Ajay had since his early adolescent years exhibited an interest in the past of his species. Ever since the obsession of trying to understand, or more correctly, dominate the galaxy possessed man, the curiosity of man had evolved to things beyond himself. Man no longer tried to wonder at the intricacies of his own evolution. What mattered was what lay beyond, and not within. Ajay, on the other hand, had been highly intrigued by the social evolution of mankind. Eons of human thought had finally culminated into a curious blend of follies and certain strokes of genius that Ajay attempted to understand. The destruction of the planet Earth in the 25^th century had only gone on to strengthen his belief in the extreme volatility of mankind. Man had ravaged the planet until it was left barren and desolate, and even then he had fought over it to ascertain his right over it and eventually destroyed it in one moment of madness that had fragmented mankind forever. Earlier man had fought over a dead planet and destroyed it, and now they fought over the eventual destruction of a dead planet. The sheer irrationality of man was astounding.

Ajay was on the constant look out for the last few reminiscent of earth that had somehow managed to avoid the destruction. His quest for such earth made antiquities had cost him much, but he had persisted. His home was a museum of old earth articles. From the remains of the titanium upholstery that the early space pioneers had fitted on to the numerous lunar and Martian colonies in the early 22^nd century, to the 20^th century wooden table that looters salvaged from the destroyed earth, Ajay was an obsessive connoisseur. But what he prized most were the books that he had managed to get hold of. Not the electronic data pads that man had been using since the late 21^st century, but the paper printed books were the most precious of his possessions. The books reminded him of a bygone era of culture and civilization unlike what he knew. It was his addiction, the musty smell of the damp pages were his escape into the misty lands of his imagination. His brain fed off the contents of the books and they soared on the wings of thoughts that man had penned down over the ages. They liberated him from his frail body and the present and took him into the past. They made him a time traveller. But his mind was also the most fickle part of his being. Once it delved into its recesses it wanted to keep going on further and further until it had touched the bottom. But that never happened. As he further fell into his imagination, the deeper it got and in the end he was suspended in a state of free falling from which it was extremely hard for him to snap out of. The medical councillors had him on prescription because of this and unless he took his medications regularly, his mind would drift away and leave him, in the worst scenario, completely innate. And so Ajay stressed hard to recollect his thoughts and reminded himself, with a faint smile playing on the edge of his thin mouth, of the purpose of his sojourn to Tekkan. He was here for a purpose and he could not, and would not; allow his mind to take over until he had achieved what he wanted. His thoughts would have to wait.

The city market of Tekkan was the last refuge of the unwanted objects of the galaxy. Every refused object found a place here. Or at least momentarily until it was processed and ejected out into the fiery volcanic pits that dotted the southern ridge of the planet. Tekkan’s volcanoes were the burning pits of the galaxy where everything unwanted was reduced to ashes which permanently streaked across the deserted landscape of Tekkan. Inside the bubble of the ICC it was a different world altogether. Various junk dealers peddled their assortment of objects to the people who made the journey to this distant planet. The main dome also functioned as a gigantic plasma screen on which a new-age form of trance-cum-psychedelic fusion music played, leaving an eerie feel that gave Ajay the shivers and threatened to give him an epileptic fit. He hunched his shoulders, checked his Planetary Positioning System that he had obtained on arrival and after reconfirming his location, and made his way towards the escalator. He had strayed further than he had initially thought due to his momentary loss of direction while being caught up in the flow of the crowd and now he had to retrace his steps back to get to where he needed to be. He knew what he wanted and he knew where he would find it. Ill health and an alien planet were not going to become an obstacle between him and his euphoria. And he was no longer lost as he stepped onto the escalator...

alternative ending...

2006-07-26T00:22:00.000-07:00

"hello!"

"hey, its me. so where are you?"

"i just got out of the car and right now i am headed towards the elevator. but why are you calling me at this time?"

"well, i just wanted to let you know that i won't be able to make it to the lunch thing tomorrow. would you mind terribly if we rescheduled?"

"you got somewhere else to be? and why couldn't you just tell this to me once i got back?"

"well, cause i'm not at the apartment, and i won't be back until tomorrow evening. did you forget that K's getting married tomorrow and we girls are planning to throw her a bachelorette party tonight. then she wanted me to stay over after and help her get ready for the big event. so i'm staying over."

"isn't that going to be a bit difficult to manage since you too need to get ready for the wedding and all?"

"well i already got all my stuff with me so it shouldn't be a problem. and don't forget, you have to be there as well. i already put a note on the fridge where you can see. it says, 'tomorrow evening K's wedding'. in any case, i'll call and remind you."

"all right, i will put a reminder in my planner as well."

"thanks. and yeah, your dad called, he wanted to know when you are going to get some time off so that you can go see him. he's got some stuff he needs you to know about and have sorted out."

"did he give you any specifics as to what the 'stuff' really is, or is it just more family drama?"

"yeah, your probably right. anyways, why don't you call him and find out. also i fed the cat. look, i got to go. take care."

"you too. have fun i'll see you tomorrow then. bye."

the small bell announced the arrival of the elevator and the doors slid open as he stepped into the dull silver coloured metal box, pressed 7 and waited for the elevator to begin to move.

the elevator was something that always made him a bit apprehensive. it never used to be a problem earlier. as a kid, he had in fact enjoyed riding the elevator up and down the building where he used to live, stopping at each floor. it made the watchman, who was also the janitor, pretty mad. but it used to be so much fun. but he grew up and then he went to college. the next 3 years of his life simply had no elevators in them. he lived on the first floor. his classes were always in the lecture halls. even otherwise, he had never found reason to make use of the elevator in college. he had learnt to prefer the stairs. they were healthy since they offered some exercise and were less crowded. in fact, if he remembered correctly, he could count the number of times he had used the elevator in college on his two fingers. and ever since, he had developed a mild claustrophobia of elevators. even now, 8 years after he had graduated out of college, he felt his pulse quicken and the stress levels rise as he stepped into the metal box at his work place. he could feel the sides closing in on him, like in the old Indiana Jones movies where the stone walls in the temple would close in to crush the haplessly trapped person. often he wondered, with beads of sweat forming on his forehead, what were the chances that the metal box wouldn't plummet to the ground ending his story right there.

but there were other times as well, like when he went to the mall or some hotel, when he could use the elevators without feeling so overly paranoid. maybe it was because the elevators there were not just a metal box. most of them at such places had a glass wall from which you could look out. that always soothed him. in any case, he had come to terms with the fact that elevators were there to stay in his life and that he had to make use of them every day. it's just a matter of a few minutes each day that he had to spend in the metal boxes. he could do that. plus he kind of liked the big mirror in the elevator at his apartment place. it complimented the narcissist in him.

he heard the small bell again as the elevator stopped and the doors slid open allowing him to step out.

(to be continued...)

Old Path, White Clouds...

2006-07-12T13:37:00.000-07:00

They say that God but blesses a few
And I am one truly blessed.
He has given me all that I have ever wanted,
I truly am the king amongst kings.
And yet I yearn to be the traveller
Out to discover life.

Youth in me, I know no fear
As I walk the road on a journey,
To which I have no destination.

Walking the proud strides of a man,
I see an old path
And it lures me away from my road.
Now I walk in the steps of the one's who walked before me.

The gentle breeze and the fragrant flowers
The birds chirp me on further down the path,
With the grass so green by the side.
And then i raise my eyes up to the heavens,
Only to see the white clouds stare me down.

I hear them mocking and quietly pointing,
"There goes yet another one,
He thinks he has to see it all.
He's left all that was to be his behind,
Only to find his destiny."

And then they gently float away.

Simple yet harsh,
These words humble my pride.
And as the one's before me did,
I sit on a stone
And think back upon my life.

The whole world envied,
And i gave it all away
Just so that I could find more to meet the eye.
I tried too hard to find new things,
Only to loose what I once had.

God made me a king
But I choose to be the traveller.

A moment's sadness eclipses my soul
But then i hear this faint tune
That makes me raise my eyes,
And I see the clouds lead the way down the old path.
They just smile and wave back,

"Hasten fellow traveller,
We have a long path ahead of us."

the dandelion...

2006-07-09T06:20:00.000-07:00

Many a times i go to the fence
Times when i am my solitary friend.
I stand by it and share a silent thought.

Sometimes I wonder who I truly am
Just another person
With a fence built across my heart.

A heart thus divided
In eternal conflict
Two faces to my true self.

But today by the fence
A sudden thought shakes my very soul.
A sudden realization
Of what is left of my life.

I've fought all pains
Lived through tough times
A struggle every moment
A fight for my rights.

Victorious against time's tide
I suddenly realize
I've lost my smile.

Disturbed and distressed
I lean against the fence.
Tears filling up my eyes
I look across to the other side.

& lo, guess what I see?
One one side I had lost my smile
And right across the fence
The dandelion has it.

a million poets together...

2006-07-09T01:11:00.000-07:00

Without you within me
Do I look like I care?

You spoke some
You lied more
Should my trust be in you?

I don’t know
If you loved me
Or was it a farce,
For all to see?

The great days
Full of lame games
Should it hurt now?
When I turn and see

Without you within me
It felt like I won’t be
But now I sense
Was I was just a penny,
That’s not your best bet?

I hurried love
Didn’t see it was blind
Many prick of thorns
Today I feel
But I won’t hurt
I’m not blind no more

A heart is yours.
Will always be
In times of love
We think we give it away.
But your heart is yours
And will always be

Looking back on the heart given away
I only see the footprints,
Walking in circles in the sand.
Belittling, what I thought was a surge forward.

Cause everytime you spoke,
You lied.
You played with me
For all to see .

Love is blind, and sometimes we do hurry love
Don't feel the pain till it really hurts.
"Should it hurt now?
When I turn and see.
And sometimes it does

I cry over something lost.
Only that it was always within me.
Cause your heart is yours
And will always be.
The momentary pain relapsed
A heart is yours
Will always be.

Am not blind no more.
Without you.
Within me.
I'm still me.

& Time just makes me seem like an innocent fool.

(inputs by Scribblez, Vinesh, Nachi, Starry Nights, Kishley, Rose & Anup.777)

can be seen in unedited format at Scribblez's

2006-06-26T09:21:00.000-07:00

drift wood

check

2006-05-31T14:56:00.000-07:00

this is the check post...hope it works