Apart

Life keeps falling apart

Like the leaves of an autumn tree.

Like the old tiles of a disheveled bathroom

Like the remnants of a beautiful artifact

Like uncontrollable hunger.

As the bond nurtured over the years

Fails to stand the test of time,

So does Life

Fall Apart.

It's a cruel joke, some would say

Life gives you everything and then smirks,

It snatches away..

The last morsel

The last shilling

The last blood

The last hope.

The 'Perfect' Guy

Such a post I haven't written in a while. Such a piece I probably should have written a long time back. So I haven't exactly been fortunate in the choosing of guys. Part of this is my fault. And I would say part of this is their fault. But I can't. Not really. For you can't blame others for your own problems. 

So what makes a guy perfect? There is no "one" quality. Rather it is the mixing and matching of imperfect qualities of a person that complement your imperfection. So till now, I have always gone for the sweet and sensitive type. Needless to say, while they are very sensitive from animals to their mothers, none of this "sensitivity" works when they are dealing with me. Chasing an illusion, so to speak. If a guy treats strays with warmth, takes a dying stray from hospital to hospital, that does not mean he will be kind to you. If a guy loves and respects his mother, it sure as hell does not mean he will do the same for you. It doesn't mean he will do it for any other woman. Are you his mother? Are you his warm furry friend? Okay then.

I have noticed over the years, the kind of guys I have liked have been the ones with the best sense of humour among the whole congress (a bunch of baboons are known as a 'congress'). And it has ended with me feeling a little stupider every time. With the realisation that humour and wit is relative. And definitely not a yardstick to measure sense and sensibility. For as I graduated into newer arenas, they began to seem stupider and that made me feel stupid about choosing them in the first place.

So yes, I have learnt a lot from these past "accidents". But today I was thinking what exactly is it that attracts me to a guy? And in the midst of trying to find that one girl that my current crush could have probably liked, I realized, it was the "one"! Of course! I need to find guys with problems. It is not enough for a guy to be witty, sensitive blah blah. He needs to be an emo full of problems. 

Now I have seen that an established notion is, most women like "bad boys" or boys with problems. Unlike their instinctive need to "reform" their guy, I don't feel so at all. It's just that, a melancholy me probably finds a melancholy guy ideal. Understand his problems, be with them blah blah... the usual mothering. And I hate that word. For if you end up mothering anyone, that's what you will always remain for them, ' a mother', an agony aunt. Probably this is what is wrong in my interaction with humans, I end up listening to their problems and "understanding" them. Hence I become the agony aunt. The one who gets called to the funerals, but is never a presence at parties. 

I digress. Anyway so what I was saying is, mothering is not a good way to meet prospects or even meet friends. And I realize I should not care for the possible past whims of my current crush. As if that's going to help me win over him. As if I can bring the dead back. As if his happiness will make me happy. 

Another main point: If you think, his happiness will make you happy, think again. We say all sorts of stuff but we don't really mean all of them. 

Heartbreak will probably only provide me with inspiration for a few poems, posts and a feeling of how wonderful I am compared to that needy son of a bitch. True but then happy endings are not a dime a dozen.

Turns Out I am Elizabeth Bennet!

Took a Quiz on "Which Jane Austen character are you?" and the result was Elizabeth Bennet!

You are Elizabeth Bennet of Pride & Prejudice! You are intelligent, witty, and tremendously attractive. You have a good head on your shoulders, and oftentimes find yourself the lone beacon of reason in a sea of ridiculousness. You take great pleasure in many things. You are proficient in nearly all of them, though you will never own it. Lest you seem too perfect, you have a tendency toward prejudgement that serves you very ill indeed.

                                                          

Gee I am 'Sorry'

When did it start? When did I become this insensitive ruthless person indifferent to the feeling of loved ones? How did I lose it upon those who have sacrificed the most for me? Wait, I was always like this. Selfish, overbearing, self obsessed. What's new in this? I'm spoilt, kind of. Everyone knows I have a temper. And it's not that I don't realize my mistakes. But what's the use of realizing your mistakes if you are going to keep repeating them? When you keep on hurting the ones who love you? But can't bear to see those ungrateful leeches suffer who you love and who couldn't care less for you. Learning your true friends, that's what life is all about. But misbehaving with them time and again? People who you know, would NEVER leave you? Why push them to a corner to a point of no return? I am easily the most selfish spoilt brat I have met. Hurting the sensitive ones just where it hurts them the most is no act of self-gratification, it's plain cowardice. If you have to hurt someone to make yourself feel better, you are just a bully. And I hate bullies, when did I become one? So ruthless, so full of hatred... Being unhappy does not give me the right to make my loved ones unhappy. And after all, how much of 'Sorry' can you say?

Invictus

I saw the film, "Invictus" last night. Fell in love with Morgan Freeman all over again. Fell in love with a lot of things all over again. While that is a subject of more elaborate discussion, in this post I'll restrict myself to the poem, "Invictus" by William Ernest Henley, the lines of which were used in abundance in the film. And I'm sure you will like it.




Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds and shall find me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

Walking on a Tight Rope

I walk a tight rope

Towards a dark invisible goal

Thousands of cheery faces urge me on.

I look below.

Small skyscrapers

Scared I stumble

Nothing to hold on, nothing to fall upon

The abyss looks up at me.

Like the mouth of a hungry beast.

But with nothing to hold on, I fall down.

Hamster Racing

Angry Voices, Chirpy Voices

Excited Voices, Expert Voices.

I wish I could turn them off

Like the remote control of a TV.

Dodging my way through the voices

I search for the prize, my Light

But the voices are so many

One-eyed sperms, they obstruct my way

I dodge, I jump, I twist

I do more acrobatic turns than Anderson Neo

And I get ahead of the voices.

Oh thank god! I breathe fresh air. 

But wait! 

Now they are after me, these voices.

I run and run.

Towards Light. Nirvana. The Prize. My Goal?

The voices keep on trailing me.

The path ends abruptly.

I fall off the edge.

Down and down

In a deep dark abyss.

No light. Surely the voices can't see me?

I can't see them.

Quick, that rock!

I hide behind

No voices, excited or annoyed.

Angry quirky happy flappy

None.

I eventually give in.

Exhausted I sleep.

Dark dreamless sleep

My pounding heart begins to rest

I and my heart, we sleep

Comforted in each other's company.

"Tring tring", my heart wakes up in fear

"Tring tring", my phone rings
"Tring tring", a voice I can no longer bear.
"Tring tring", my heart at me stares.

Twins Nervousness and Exhaustion run away

My heart calls them back. 

But they run.

I'm speechless.

And soon in the cool, dark cave

Light streams- voices glowing sperms!

And the cave glistens

A heated array of electric lights.

"Tring tring", one one-eyed voice smiles

"Tring tring", one excited voice hovers

"Tring tring", a non-chalant voice waves

"Tring tring", a bossy voice observes.

And so I realize

The voices were with me all along

Could never run from them.

Phone in hand,

I long to be 

A carefree spirit again.

5 Different Types of Perverts

My content seems to have taken a swing towards the mundane and daily from yesteryear dreamy posts. Sure enough I miss it but what can I do when there are so many humorously pathetic characters around? This post is dedicated to some of them.


Most women travelling by public transport or alone will have faced more than one of the following pathetic sad perverts.


1. The Look-around Guy- He keeps on staring at you, at your "assets" all the time never making a move. If you look at him once, he immediately turns away possibly ashamed at getting caught. These seem to be some of the more shameful types; whose perversion is limited to staring at your body parts.


2. The Laid back Guy- Quite literally. No matter how much space is there on the bus, he will always "fall back" upon you. You move to a side, turn away from him, but sure enough, his whole weight is concentrated upon you. And mind you, NONE of them have ripped figures to boast of. Most of them, to put it bluntly are quite overweight. Lord save you from getting sandwiched if you are sitting next to one of them. When you glare at them, they move away. Then after a few minutes, the bus keeps on jerking and he keeps on falling back upon you. And when they get down, and you glare at them, there is a smirk on the corner of their face; making you want to slap them with your chappals. Jerking back on you is by far their largest achievement in life.


3. The Disappointingly Attractive Guy- Sure enough, in the midst of rush hour traffic, sweaty fights to get one seat in a public vehicle and relentless waiting for hours, once in a while, you might find a guy who is reasonable attractive. He might even remind you of some celebrity like Rafael Nadal ( I kid you not, I met such a guy once!). So then, since celebrities are some of the most over-hyped people on earth, you quickly lose all sense of difference between a magical media-created celebrity and a flesh & blood person. 


He opens the door of the shuttle, lets you take the window seat and you can't help thinking, "Wow, this guy is pretty good to me, eh? Nice of him.." And then he is pretty decent for the first hour of the ride or so, but then he begins to fall back on you like the No. 2 kind of pervert. Surprisingly you don't mind, because let's face it, he was somewhat chivalrous ( I wanted to mean this word, ironically all I could think of was the word, 'chauvinistic'. :|). 


Another half hour into the ride and he starts touching you on the arm. You think you have misunderstood the touch or something (I don't know what that means but yes, you try to look for the positive desperately), till it becomes increasingly clear that the guy has no intention of even seeming to be nice. And what you feel at that moment, for lack of  a better expression is, "Et tu Dude?" You too? 


Pathetic perverts are many but this kind of pervert is seriously annoying. I mean, you handle all kinds of jerks everyday but this kind of meeting a jerk who "appears" to be reasonably attractive and well groomed is seriously disappointing. 


You move a bit further to the window giving him a clear indication that he should keep his hands under control. You don't even look at him coz the disappointment is enough to cause you nagging anger and you are more likely to punch him not so much for his jerkish behavior as for his shoving your dream guy ideal into a pool of cold water.


4. Hit & Miss Guy- Crowded public places see a proliferation of these guys. I once ran two stops to catch one such guy and then had him beaten by a flock of strangers who thought he was a pickpocket. Pity they wouldn't have behaved the same way if they had known he was an eve-teaser. These perverts are lurking in the crowd, may be out for a tea break or something, but whenever they see a girl, their first intention is to run and touch her. Preferably the rear. Coz its easy to touch and run. Also it's difficult for the girl to turn back and charge at the person than when she is touched in the front. Cowards again. But oh what pleasure there is to touch her! I bet their fathers did the same thing to them. 


5. Lap Top- Often times, when you are sitting next to this guy, he will begin behaving like the No. 2 Laid back Guy. The only difference is that, he does not stop at leaning on you; he steadily graduates from leaning to dangerously placing his hands on you. If the bus is crowded or you have a bag on your lap and are thinking of something else, you might think that he is leaning because he is asleep. But then, move away your bag, and quite possibly, you will find his finger on your leg. It happens. So does shit. But shit is normal. Is this normal too? I don't know. Enlighten me.


These are the five kinds of perverts I could think of. Do you know of more? Write back. 

Trying...

Trying to be good
Trying to be better
Trying to get you
To like me.


Trying to be sweet
Trying to be nice
Trying to be something
I am not.


Just so you would look.
Just so you would smile.
At me.


For that smile of yours
I could die a thousand deaths.
To be looked at by those eyes of yours
I could catch my breath.


And then you did.
You looked at me. 


All at once
The world became rosy
And the stars were cozy.


I felt shy
I was red
Under your glance.


But then you turned away...
The world was lost
And I craved for more.
Once more.


A flash of your eyes
A twitch of your smile
A fraction of your voice
Just a bit, only for a while.


I think of you. I shiver.
As a rose under the sun
As a leaf under the rain


And I pray for it
Wanting it to happen again
But you merrily squeeze away
And with black female asses, gently bray.

Rhythmic Vibration

It's amazing how much insight a crowded bus ride can give you. When you are returning home after a hectic boring day from office, and you suddenly get up on a bus that is playing old Bangla songs. And you regrettably put aside your headset that's playing Robbie Williams coz there is little space to stand, much less hear music. And you see images, fragments..


A group of regular travelers. From the outskirts of the city. Not your usual polished kind. Enthusiastically talking about how good your bygone Bangla songs used to be. And how crazy your current Dev-Jeet-Koyel songs are! And you can't help suppress a smile. 


Kinda true..


And then slowly but distinctively you begin hearing the clamor of rings and fingers tapping rhythmically against the roar of the engine. Tapping to the songs. One, two, some more.... a tall man with a closely wrapped shawl taps his ring while holding on to the ceiling of the bus. An old gentleman sitting right beside you taps his unmindful fingers against the steel wall of the bus. And on the front, next to the driver, sits the group of excited passengers talking about the charm of bygone era. 


And it is at that precise moment that you feel.. rooted. Yes that's right. Rooted. The  tape recorder moves on to a remake of a Manna De song after the Hemanta Chatterjee one. You hear gasps around, "Ooff Hemanta". The song currently playing is "Se amar choto bon" ( "She is my little sister"), a great hit of the bygone era by Manna De. You can't help suppress a smile when you see everyone laden with emotions at the song. Like you. Reminded of the old times. The memories associated with the song. And then suddenly, the old gentleman asks, "Dada, this song, it's not the original, is it?"


You are kind of amazed. You realize most of the bus is quietly thinking about this song.


The conductor, a young lad in his twenties mumbles a reply. The gentleman repeats,

"These are remakes aren't they? For instance, Hemanta's song was sung by Indraneil Sen, but who sung Manna De's?" His question makes you wonder as well. Surely there couldn't be many singers who could duplicate Manna De's voice with such accuracy? Was it perhaps, then the original song? But the music...


The bus driver grumbles back, "Ooff, you like the song, listen to it. Why do you have to know so much?", making the gentleman shut up in an instant and making this flaneur feel bad instantly. This is what her teachers used to say, she wonders. Typical Bengali behaviour, innit?


And she observes the old gentleman. Perhaps she was feeling bad. Perhaps he had interested her. The way he sat resignedly with a hand on his cheek, silently staring out of the window. Was he perhaps thinking of his younger days? Perhaps this song had a special significance in his life? Related to someone very dear, perhaps? His heavy bag was on the floor. But there he sat, quietly staring out of the window in silent symphony.

The song ends and a "jhinchak" Dev-Koyel number begins. The group sitting infront laughs out good-humouredly, "See, it has started again...". Possibly realizing popular sentiments, the bus driver changes the song to something more old school, with better melody and lyrics.


A lady in her late fifties gets up. The crowd greets her, "Arey Didi, we were talking about you only.." Regular travelers. Like family. Almost. You take one more look at the old gentleman, kind of feel a bond with him, for no apparent reason and get down at your stop.


The bus continues to hum the melodious tune of old ages and trudge forward towards the fast flickering city lights. 

Insomnia

Nights are dark
Days are bright
I can't sleep
Whether dark or light.


Pills and drugs don't work.


It's not as if I don't want to sleep.
I badly badly do
I would do anything
For a good night's rest.


I dream of sleep, sweet bliss
And pray that I get to sleep.
At least for one night!
I feel drowsy, I feel tired.
But sleep eludes me, try as I might.


Thoughts images come screaming to me. 
The moment I close my eyes.
And sweet bliss evades me
With voices from outside.


Peace, peace is what I need.
For a goodnight's sleep.
But the voices won't stop.
And the thoughts will feed
On my exhausted mind.


The poet is a tortured soul, I smirk
Might as well write a poem berserk.
But is this a poem?
A memoir? An epitaph?
No it is but a piece of trash.

The Bright Light

Love is Beautiful; Love is Bright
Love is Sweet; Love is Light
Love makes the world go round.


Love made my day; Love was my life
It was but love
That kept me alive.


Until I realized I could love no more.


I was crestfallen, injured.
I was bruised, battered.
I was a piece of coal, charred.


I leafed through the pages of life.
Had it been a lie?
A beautiful soulless lie?
The kind that makes you wanna die?


But surely that could not be true?
Surely something must be true?
My love, my passion
Couldn't be all imagination?


But as my head cleared
I felt light.
One emotion less to carry
One feeling less to be wary.


There was no love; never for me
It was a dream, a fantasy
All I was left with now
Were anger, hatred and jealousy.


Love gave me hope; it gave wings
But all that was gone now.


And there goes the water; I mop
The gold fish with dead fins.
And with it dies
Every hope of love and life.


So here I stand in the narrow room
With a gun in my mouth.
Thinking of a time lost
Of a dream, better forgotten
And I push the button.


A noise ensues.
And with it dies
Wretched sinful hope
Of a world of beauty & love.

Scream

Angry screams, Proud screams
Awaken me at midnight
Bewildered I sit
On the cold hard bed.


Voices surround me
Unfriendly, harsh
My ears shriek in pain
My eyes close in fear.


As the warm morning begins to smile
I hope for a new day
Away from the screams.
But they continue, they haunt
Until I run away.


Far and far I flee
The screams chase me
Until I can go no far
I look around, there is calm.


No more screams to haunt me
A yellow river, the green sky
Orange hills in the distance.
I sit on a rock.
The river serene sweeps by
And I feel safe.


But soon it's time to return
Where the screams lie.
Fearful steps I tread
Homeward bound.


But wait, what do I see?
The gentle river flowing by
Beckons me.
I go up to her edge
She smiles at me.
I walk down her
Soft wet body
Until the gentle water
Caresses my body.


Deeper and deeper I go
Until she kisses my lips
I stand there drinking the nectar
Of her sweet soft lips.


There she flows kissing me softly
Until my being is submerged
Under her kisses.


Kisses so intense I can't breathe.
Overwhelming kisses
Deep kisses.
I can't breathe.
The River feels me softly.
Give in, she muses quietly.
But I hold on,
Until finally
I surrender.
I let go, I let her kiss me
And deeper and deeper
I drown. 

Like a Dog

Like a dog
In search of affection
In search of love
I roam the streets


Like a dog
They kick, throw stones
Humiliate me.
Like a dog
I beg for their love
Wag my tail
Prestige eludes me.


Why? Why? Why?


A little smile
A little pat
A little affection
I'm hungry for love.


I am a dog
And they are humans
Dog is a man's best friend
But can a man be a dog's best friend?


They look at me affectionately
Throw biscuits, smile
I go up to them
Looking for love.


And then they kick me
Kick me so hard
My body aches
I squeal in pain.


A proud dog would bark
A proud dog would growl
A human would hurt back
But alas, I,
A useless ego-less dog
Go again and again
In hopes of finding love.


Bit by bit, drop by drop
My life force is sucked out of me
But I don't give up.
I get kicked and beaten
In hopes of finding love.


But when the days are hot
And the nights icy
I lie on dirt-filled streets
And dream of Hope.
A world of love and affection
A world of sweet bliss.
And I feel
Happy.

Loneliness

A lonely night
A moonless night
It's not fair; it's not bright.


Cold breeze flutters my hair
Tells me I'm not alone
I look at the night
Distant majestic light
And atone.


Will you be my friend?
I ask the Night
She looks at me speechless
Owls gape, bats smile
Loneliness flutters
She walks away...


Where can I find a friend,
In this big wide world?
Who is there, who is truly mine?


Humans detest me.
With hope, I ask the animals
Will they be my friend?
A sick dog, a naughty parrot?
A big fat furry cat?


The sick dog finds a kinder friend
The parrot dies
The cat befriends the food.


In despair, I turn to Nature
Trees, sky, wind
Rivers, mountains, cloud
Surely they would be my company
And drive out these demons, so hungry?


But Nature has her own course
I'm her subject, not friend.
Not an equal.
My emotions, my passion
Are but just events
In her larger schema.


So here I sit by 
On a dark silent night.
The only sound that of crickets
And loneliness, my only company.