A Good Book

A good book is a warm blanket that keeps you company on cold nights. A corner of solitude where you can cry in peace, and laugh with joy. It is a friend that says a lot without speaking at all. A good book is a philosophizing drunkard that dishes out life lessons, page after page. It is a graveyard where all human emotions come to rest. And that takes a part of you when it gets over. Because a good book, is love unrequited.

Returning by Metro

Crowded Metro. A girl sits cozily turning a page of Sheldon's Angel of the Dark. The woman beside, puts her mobile inside the purse. Hoping she would get up soon, several weary legs near her seat perk up in position. Non chalantly, she takes biscuits out from a lunchbox and begins chewing.

A girl wearing a bright yellow woollen top stands casually by one of the poles, speaking on her phone, 'No, but you have to see what kind of dress I wear to office'. A few feet ahead, another young woman wearing a navy blue sweater lined with feathers, observes her intently.The girl standing next to me is whatsapping some Abhinav Sir. Me?
I'm just trying to read her message.

One Child - Many Hats

In 2011, I wrote an article for the Akshaya Patra Foundation, an NGO with a focus on the midday meal programme for children. This organisation aims to serve 5 million underprivileged kids across 8000 Indian schools every single day.

Now, this Foundation has come up with a TV Commercial, that aims to highlight the plight of a child labourer, and the various odd jobs, these kids are required to do, every day, to get to that one hard-earned bowl of food. So if you thought your life was difficult, you need to see this video.

No child deserves to go hungry. Do your bit. 

Visit www.akshayapatra.org to see how you can help. 

My First Haiku

Here's my first attempt at Haiku. Be nice, people.

The pigs run scared
Their ears fly in the air
Somewhere, a dog leaps in joy.

The Smell of Home

The warm tap water smelled like home. It reminded her of wintry mornings when her mother would painstakingly heat up buckets of water for her. They didn't have a geyser. All they had was each other.

The misty mirror hid the emotion on her face. Suddenly, the weather seemed less cold. The warm water smelled like Maa.

Cold Love

There is that familiar sting in the air. The cold bites on the lips; the chill tucks at the heart. Windy memories rush past as time moves anticlockwise.

Another Earth

The moon peeps at me from behind a cloak of dark, rustling leaves. Its dark crevices move, almost. Could there still be water in them, I wonder. As the movement in the moon's crevices becomes more and more pronounced, the wind suddenly becomes chilly. I shiver. The crevices have started flying.

Distant dark flying objects. I strain my eyes. Some of those flying objects start moving into the neighbouring area of my roof. I see women with pointy hats sitting on large flying brooms. As I stare transfixed, they ignore me and fly around, quietly in the dark realm. Another earth within mine.

Diwali House

As evening arrived, a glow spread over her face. Bright ornaments decked her from head to feet like the jewellery of a new bride. Tonight was her time to shine and no one could take that away from her.

The lights turned on; the house smiled. Tonight was Diwali.

When Love Trumped Friendship

Even though they had just met, it felt like they had known each other for ages. Friendship was inevitable.

A preference for dark humour.

Wit.

The same sensibility.

Even the same name.

But neither guessed they had also fallen for the same man.

The Dead of the Night

The dead of the night.
Your story makes me wonder
The Universe is mysterious
Sometimes, it reflects life
But most times, a lesson.

Strange are the ways of men
Stranger still, those of women.
What does that make us, I wonder.
Poets, anti-socials, loners
Or the rejects of society?

They say, love is a young man's game
A wrong bet, and you lose heart
Learn the rules, don't be a fool.
You see, love is not for amateurs.

So while you and I scribble
Pages and pages of morbid prose
Pretty lovers with prettier frames
Live fairytales of their own.

The Night Sky

Draped in a wave of clouds,
The moon lets out a lazy yawn.
A naughty wind brushes past
Pulling off its cover, oh so lightly
Illuminating half a mile of the sky.

The moon is called off from sleep
A rude awakening
Big eyes, full of reproach
It scolds the wind, pulls the blanket closer.
And the endless sea goes dark.

Dark clouds with stoic silver linings
Like the depth of a bottomless ocean,
The synchrony of a fish's scales,
A unique geometric pattern
Shield the Universe.

A solitary star winks away
In the midst of this celibacy.

A lighthouse full of hope,
It is the sole flame, 
Eternally awake
In the sleeping world.
Like my love for you.

Ode to Sleep

I love to sleep.
It keeps the demons away.
As long as I'm safely tucked in
They won't get their way.

I love to sleep.
For dreams give me wings
Even in a nightmare,
I always find my way.

I love to sleep.
It's the best thing to do.
Better than the crying, the anger
The pain of seeing you.

I love to sleep.
It's the only thing keeping me sane
Forever healing,
The wounds you inflict by day.
Every day.

The day I stop loving sleep
Is the day I stop loving life.

Love Escape

Pausing mid-air for a moment, the feeling of love languidly flew away from her, when she jumped to catch it. As she sighed against the closed window sill, it blew farther and farther away, into the snowy recesses of the night. In search of a new destination, a new heart.

Conversation Starters

It all starts with a conversation. A casual 'What's up' followed by a friendly, 'Where's your lunch?'. With a concerned 'Are you okay?' when things go tough. Before you know it, you are talking about life, love and all things heavy. Yes, conversations are the starters, but the best of them happen when no words are involved. When the actions are so vocal, that words become silent. Such conversations are like codes, to be deciphered only by those for whom they are intended.

Monsoons Are Here Again

As the golden rays of the monsoon sun drenched my balcony, the wind hummed a playful tune. I stood with my tea, soaking in the quiet warmth, the blissful solitude.

At once, life was beautiful again.

Rite of Passage

The rite of passage was imminent; it was time for her to finally become a woman. Clutching the bottle with fear and anticipation, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Then sprayed with all her might.

10 minutes later, her prize lay quivering on the floor. She smiled. Her first dead cockroach.

Crazy Stalker

Do you have a crazy obsessed stalker who cannot take 'No' for an answer, gets all touchy-feely when you handle them firmly and does not want to let go of you, even at odd hours?
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You do, if you are in Creative.
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They are called 'Servicing'.

Negative Bank Balance

I did not know it was possible to have negative bank balance till I joined Advertising.

When Evil is Stupid

If you are trying to manipulate people, at least make sure they don't see through you.

Else it makes you seem like a complete idiot.

The Pigeon, The Statue

Accept that while some days you might be the pigeon, on other days you will just be a sitting Lamborghini.

Long Drive

Drops of poetry trickle down my brief
My mind goes on a long drive

As the sweet sweet rain drenches my soul.

Crickets

I like the sound of crickets chirping at night. Reminding me constantly I'm not alone. But then they stop. Abruptly. And just as I begin to adjust to the sound of silence, they begin chirping again.

What are they, men?

Epitaph

My friend passed away. We were together for 7 years.

We first met in 2008, at a retail store. It was a bright sunny day. I remember him peeping at me as I smiled, and he blushed right back. That blush stayed with him for the remainder of our time together.

He was my best friend. Knew all my secrets, my dreams. From my daily to-do lists to bank details to the most random of poems, I trusted him with my heart's content.

But for the last 2 years, he was ill. I took him to the best specialists in the city, they even patched him up, but he fell sick again. People began advising me to look for a new friend, but you don't just discard friends, do you?

Still, he held on. He even came with me to the new city. And for the past 11 months, was instrumental in making my life in this alien place a little livable, a little more familiar.

But tragedy struck last week when he drowned. My fault. I should have never taken him close to water. And now, I'll never see him again. Or the data I stored in him.

Adieu, my Nokia 5130 Xpressmusic. No one will ever take your place. Rest in peace, wherever you are.

OMG

The Lord personally descends upon earth every time an atheist whispers, "OMG".

Word Song

I like words that tell a story.
Like epiphany, epitaph or reverie.

Suicide

Tapping his feet restlessly, Roy waited for the Google results of 'Ways to commit suicide'. Minutes passed. Nothing.

Annoyed, he decided to go for a walk in the park. By the time his page loaded, Roy had already decided life was beautiful.

No Questions Asked? Not Really.

I usually ask a lot of questions. Mostly, out of genuine curiosity. Sometimes, to test the patience of the listener.

In school, they called me 'Question Bank'. Once in tuition, my Math tutor said exasperated, 'You ask too many questions.Just learn the theorem, you don't have to know how'. I stared down at him, as if I had seen a chimpanzee in suit.

As a kid, I'd take things apart, just to see what was inside them. My sister's mobile, for instance. Or the radio. Whether or not they could be put back together was left to the capable hands of the lesser mortals. I was busy pursuing a higher goal, one that could potentially save the future of mankind. At least, that's how it seemed then. Luckily, that's how it seems even now.

Flaneuring Around

Sometimes I just like to walk. Far away from everything I know.

I will get lost in the landscape. Tune the music a bit, so it plays quietly at the back of my mind.

Sit somewhere. Watch life pass me by. Think nothing.

Until some stray thought finds its way into my conscious. There, I'll let it rest awhile. Unhurried, untempered, undisturbed. While nature and I watch others run, to make up their lost time.

Spring Love

The air is moist, it's been raining
The sun wears a soft glow.
Summer is blooming into spring
Even the birds know,
You are here.

Stealthy Gazes

The way his hair fluttered
The way she smiled
The way he sang
The way she wrote
Neither knew the other noticed.

Life Crushed

Engrossed, she hunched over her tab, trying to figure out the best way to place candies. Those delightful coloured cells, bathed in stubborn problems, beckoned her to be their saviour. She was there, almost onto the next level.

Suddenly, the client stormed in. 'We've figured it all out! We just need to work the night.'

She looked up. Her life died.

Eaten Up

Slowly engulfing the whole city, the monster grew in size. Soon, all that left of the capital was its monstrous landfill.

What Long Meetings Teach You

# How to sleep with your eyes open
# How to yawn with your mouth closed
# How to pretend to be interested.

Crossing Paths

'Buddy, hey Buddy, you alive?' Joe whispered under his breath.
'Not for long', Buddy replied slowly. His voice was low, his breathing heavy. 
'You gotta listen to me man, make a run for it'. Joe kicked Buddy with his short fat legs.
Buddy winced under the pain. 'Don't be stupid. I can't even see. I only hear the rhythm of the death machine, coming closer and closer'. 
His voice was resigned. He had accepted his faith. Joe was annoyed.
'Don't chicken out, man. All you need to do is to hop over and cross the road. And you'll be free'.
As his buddy let out a sigh, Joe realised it was a gasp. The indifferent machine had routinely sliced through Buddy's heart and trimmed him into neatly-cut nuggets.
Just like that, his life was over.
It was Joe's turn now.

Black Lips

No amount of fairness lip balms, magic herbal cures or whitening face washes could take the 'black' off from his lips. Even cosmetic surgery wouldn't work. 

Years of ass-kissing had left a visible impact on him.

Size L

Size L then- Large
Size L now- Loose

Addicted

She: I don't know what to do, doctor..
Therapist: Well, how does that make you feel?
She: I don't...know. It makes me feel happy, alive, on top of the world. All sadness vanishes... It makes me feel..high.
Therapist: That's a good thing, isn't it?
She: Initially it feels good, but then I'm consumed with guilt. It's wrong, just wrong and I can't stop it. Help me Doctor, please!
Therapist:....
She: I'm addicted! To KFC.

Retirement

Trampled upon, worn out and torn apart, they gave Boss the best years of their lives only to be replaced unceremoniously by a dapper younger team. 

Heartbroken yet free, the pair of old leather shoes decided to embark on a new journey of self discovery, to see the world alone and for the first time, without a master.

Creepy Pickup Lines

You are so pretty I wanna hang you on my wall.

You are so pretty I wanna make cupcakes of your face.

Restless Soul

A never-ending journey-a tireless thirst for the unattainable, a feeling of dissatisfaction, transient happiness. May be someday, contentment will come. Bringing with it finally, the joy of peace.

April Fool's Day

'But it's spring!' The sweaty family panted. 
Haha Happy April 1st, beamed Nature.

Mean

"You are mean", the dog whimpered.
"What did I do?" I asked, surprised.
"You said, 'oh what a cute pig', when I fell into the mud".
Snorting on my laughter, I offered helpfully, "Umm.. that was a compliment.."
"So mean."
"I'm sorry. I don't mean to be mean. It's just, I don't have a filter."
"You are injurious to health."

Lurking at Night

When your soul is tired and the eyes, weak
When your limbs succumb to the dreamy beat
When the sky is crowded with stars lit,
That's when poetry peeps out at night.

Stars Below

Twinkling stars
Travelling stars
Static stars
Halogen stars
A starry town comes to life 
At night.
Hopes and dreams
Lend their wings
As this town softly glows.
As I watch this sleepy town come to life
14000 feet below.

Endless Wait

'You never came back', she looked at him longingly.
'I had to take off', he mumbled.
'How..how could you not feel what I feel? Last night when we were one, when you saw through my dreams and insecurities, when you made me feel loved, did you not feel any of that?'
'Sara', he stopped her. 'Last night was 2 years ago'.

Noise

Clobbering utensils
Like the high school bell
Ring in my head.
One after the other and another
The cacophony continues.
The Universe expands
A man shouts, a child cries.
Somewhere, my sleep dies.
A mother begins singing
The child joins in.
Mellow laughter
Interspersed with utensil-smashing
The only way to get some peace,
Is to go deaf.

The Darkness Inside

Darkness creeps
Like a lone wolf
About to pounce
On indiscretions of the past.

The clock ticks,
As the prey runs
Desperate to hide
In a maze of uncertain shadows.

Fallible and naive
It senses danger.
But how can it hide?
When the real enemy lurks within.

Scared and lonely
It counts its last moments.
As the predator inside it
Patiently waits to make a strike.

It's during dark days as these
That my predator comes to life.

White Night

It's late at night. You are online, as am I.
'Liking', commenting on others' posts.

But like always, the words between us will be left worlds apart.

The Intruder in the House

As Susan ran into the bedroom searching for some sort of weapon, the intruder tenaciously followed.

Desperate, she grabbed the first bottle she could find and sprayed on him with full force. The intruder fell on his back, legs up, trying hard to get up.

But Susan did not stop. She kept on spraying till the bottle was nearly empty. Finally she sat down on the bed with a thud. Beside her feet, lay the body of the curious roach.

Smile

Hands touched. Thunder struck. Violins played, flowers shied.
“Pay attention, kid”, he said sternly as she secretly smiled.

Views from a Plane

                                               

Blessed amidst the clouds

Of cotton candy.

The world beyond me

A meandering trajectory of choices.

There is no confusion up here, no choice.
Just an endless kingdom.
Never-ending, distant, stoic
Peaceful.
Makes me wonder
How does it feel to die in heaven?

A4 Briefs

Strewn about words

A4 briefs.

Unkempt, uneasy

Gasping for a little space,

A little grammar.

Impersonal black font,

The words gasp for breath.

As the briefs compete for space

On my stacked desk.

Small words come to life

On the backs of those briefs.

Poetry breathes

In this inane mundane world.

Giving me space

To breathe a little.

Loving in Oblivion

Seems like yesterday

I was a kid growing up.

I said 'I love you' hoping against hope.

And you said nicely, 'Thank you'.

Through the tears I laughed.

You were funny alright.

And I had thought we'd be just fine.

Damn free will, I smiled.

What had I hoped for, after all?

Then my best friend, my confidant

Fled up the farthest wall,

When I told him it made me jealous

That he got involved with another girl.

Other men I have liked, 

But dared not express.

My affection comes off as rudeness

As I die to escape.

Their gaze.

Their presence.

Their very touch.

The sound of their voice.

It just gets lonely here sometimes.

Lonely and terribly cold.

I hope I don't stumble into the darkness,

I have worked so hard to be free from.

Because the darkness, it unleashes

The demon I shelter inside.

Butter

He longed for the thin-legged, slim-waisted lasses, and lusted for their beautiful sweet mouths. The only ones who ever had him however, were the fat, unattractive girls. Butter was forever unsatiated.

The Ball

Whee! I went flying in the air, as the sun smiled and the winds kissed my round white face. The birds looked at me wondering what I was so happy about. It was like having wings, till the bat hit me smack on the face and I was thrown up and away, bruised and battered.

Evening Breeze

The warm evening breeze kissed me fondly, like the memories of first love. The leaves whispered restlessly as the streetlights muted to a dim glow. My heart began humming a distant melody. Evenings like these made me want to dance in the street, without a care in the world.

Then, three men sprang up from the corner of my set, and jumped up to pee by the side of a house. So much so for a romantic evening.

The Murder II

"Do this". "Do that".
They were relentless. She was fed up.
One day, she took a hammer and started beating them out.
A few trickles of blood later, the voices finally left her head.

Squirrelling Love

Wow, she's really tall, he thought as he stood in front of her, holding a bunch of wildflowers.
"Umm...", he began to speak but only a squeak came out.
The camel looked right through him, making his heart squirrel.
If only she knew he wanted to share his nuts with her.

The Heart, The Brain and The Stomach: A Conversation on Love

On a windy wintry evening, under the shade of the smiling sun, she fell in love, once again.

'Oh boy', the brain observed, worried.
'Geez, I hate these butterflies', the stomach said giddily as the heart hoarsely sang, 'It's a love story, baby just 'yes'!'.
'Grow up', her brain said, in an authoritative Alan Rickman tone.
'Like, really. I can't have butterflies no more', her stomach groaned.
'Grammar', the brain corrected sternly.
But the heart had already broken into an impromptu ballet, 'I love you and that's all I really know...'
'Fine, but don't come crying to me again', the brain said, annoyed. 'I can't pick up your pieces everytime. Why can't you be smart in love, for once?'
'What's the use of all the smartness in the world if you can't be stupid in love?' The heart danced.
'You stupid, stupid heart', the stomach was sick to the core. 'You have any idea, how many butterflies have flown inside me till now? I refuse to participate in your games. Mutton, chicken, fish, I can digest. A bunch of flying colourful butterflies, straight out of a Disney film- no man! I refuse.'
'And you are still injured from last time', Rickmany brain observed wisely. 'I advice you to take it slowly'.
But the heart was already doing sprints in rainbow-land.
'How can someone so logical in life be so stupid in love', the brain sighed.
'I agree man, the heart's lost it again', the stomach said, lighting a cigarette.
'I'm not your man and we are not friends. I am the most intelligent organ in the human body and you just clean the gutter', the brain replied coldly as it blew off the cigarette. 'And that stuff is not good for health'.
'Chill man. Who put a stick up your ass?', the stomach curtly questioned.
'How dare you...', the brain fired up.
'Guys, guys, relax. I am fine. It won't be like last time. I promise', sang the heart in a high-pitched octave.
'Well, at least, it's not a Justin Bieber song..', whispered the stomach.
'Oh really, so this guy has already said he loves you', the brain said sarcastically.
'Not exactly', the heart quietly replied.
'So you have said you love him?' The brain interrogated.
'Not exactly'.
'So what exactly did you tell him?'
'I liked his Facebook status!', leapt the heart in joy.
'I want some antacid. I am not feeling very well. All those butterflies...', the stomach said weakly.
The brain ignored. 'So let me figure this out, you expect him...'
The heart cut him short. 'I don't expect anything from him, okay? Stop being such a stuck-up'.
The stomach giggled amidst glares from the brain.
'Let me tell you right now, the next time you come to me, injured and crying, I will tell you,'I told you so'', it declared tersely.
'What's new? I can't stop falling in love because of the fear of getting hurt', said the angry heart.
'No, but you can at least try to be intelligent about it'. 
'I'm not a brain', laughed the heart. The heart's laughter always calmed the cynical brain. Taught it to have faith. Even though, in the end, the heart was always injured. Somewhere deep inside, the brain believed that one day the heart would find happiness.
'You talk like a 16-year old school girl', the brain shook its head, exasperated.
'And you behave like a 60-year old Grandpa', the heart laughed heartily.
'Well, someone has to be the grown up...'
'Guys, guys, I hate to interrupt this reunion, but could someone please help me with some antacid', begged the stomach.
'Hand, mouth...', ordered the brain.
While they got busy, the brain said thoughtfully,' I don't think this is going to end any differently'.
'I know', said the heart. 'But we do not give up trying, do we?'
'I hope you find what you are looking for', sighed the brain.
The heart smiled. 'What we are looking for'.

Sad Job

He had all the requisite credentials for a job.
A Certificate of Innovation in playing pranks.
An A+ in mending shoes.
He was even nominated in the 'Best Dressed' category. Twice.
He knew that soon, the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow would be his.

But in post-recession Europe, times were tough even for Leprechauns.
Shattered dreams and endless bills forced him to become a cobbler.

But even now, he gets up every morning to brush his dense red beard and dust his ragged green coat. On St. Patrick's Day however, he gets up an hour earlier, puts on his best green graduation coat, and runs about playing practical jokes on unsuspecting drunkards. This is the only day he can be his true self. The only day, that makes the remaining 364 days bearable.

The Murder

"Wait..wait, please don't kill me", he pleaded.
"I'm sorry, I have no choice". The murderer's voice was impassive as he grasped the weapon.
"There's always a choice", he cried.
The murderer went quiet.
"You can give me a happy life, a happy family, everything I have dreamed of...", the prisoner begged helplessly.
He paused, thinking for a moment. His readers wouldn't like that.
Then, with a swift stroke of his pen, he pushed his character off the edge.

He sighed. Time to begin the next chapter.

Pigtail

'You look beautiful', he whispered softly as he helped her to the chair.
Their first date. She blushed.
Settling down, he asked, 'So, what would you like to order? I hear the pork belly is awesome'.
She flinched a little.
'Just a..a salad please.'
'As you wish', he smiled as he motioned for the waiter.
'You know.. Your hair looks lovely, I bet you would look gorgeous with pigtails'. Women liked his candour. Or so he thought.
But she went pale.
'Ex..excuse me...', she rushed up from her chair and dashed towards the ladies' room, leaving him wondering if he had been too forward.

Inside the spotless white washroom, she stared at the mirror. Did he know? How could he know? No it was impossible. She had taken every precaution.

Instinctively, her hands began tracing the outline of her satin silk gown. The smooth neckline, the flawless waist, the perfect hips. Her hands rested.

Inside, lurked the faintest trace of a bushy pig tail. Of course, the dress hid it well. But she could never be completely sure.
She stared at the mirror, ashamed, sweating like a pig.

Out in the restaurant, he waited. Finally convinced that his forwardness had put her off, he left.
Inside, the ladies' washroom grunted in agony.

Lose Weight Now!

Do people sneer at you for taking up extra space in buses? Is your life spent roaming from mall to mall trying to find clothes of your size? Are you worried that you might end up becoming a football? Not to worry, now lose weight in just 4 weeks. No medication, no exercise, no operation. Register at my PG today. The food is enough to put you off eating for a long period of time.

Tahir Shah in Haryana!

I saw Eye To Eye - Tahir Shah in the market today. With lush locks falling down his face, he sprang up and down and spoke in a distinct Haryanvi accent. Gazing admiringly, I wondered how it would be if he were to sing Eye to Eye North Indian isshtyle.

Balanced Diet

"I need to have a balanced diet", I thought, morosely munching on Hyderabadi Biriyani last night. "Something healthy, that helps to lose weight, be fit...", I pondered today, dreamily eating the Chicken Rice Bowl I so dearly love. "May be tomorrow", I wondered as I walked alone with my Hot Chocolate towards the office.

Cautious Words

Words, big and small, fat and round, slim and tall, leap out of the keyboard like candies in the Crush Saga. They arrange themselves neatly on the page, only to be prudently dismissed. Restless and passionate, they desire to be read and seen, alas, Facebook is no place for Romantics. One best exercise caution, even if it be against one's heart's intent.

Silence

2 am. Suddenly lights go off, voices go up, darkness breaks out.

A deafening roar blocks my ears. 

I can't sit, can't hear myself think, let alone play Candy Crush. I start pacing round the dark room, then the building, hoping something, anything will stop the monotonous rumbling. But the noise gets louder every instant. Until suddenly, the ventilator starts bursting again and the TV resumes blaring. Thank Heavens, the noise in my ears has died.

2 minutes later, it's dark again, and the noise is back. 

I sit on my bed, eyes closed, trying to shut the noise out with all might. 
Dammit, who knew silence could be so loud?

Wise Men

Oh Beauty, you heartless creature!
You snigger and sneer
As wise men make a fool of themselves
With the most banal of jokes
In your august presence.
All so your face lights up
With the enlivening smile
That strikes their erratic hearts.

It is true what they say,
Beauty has long played folly with wisdom.
But only the wisdom of men, they forgot to mention.
For the hearts of men, even the wise ones
Are governed by the beats of an organ far down
That not cares for intelligence or dumb sarcasm.

Monkeying Around

Emergency has been declared in my PG. The doors and windows have been tightly shut; the valuables safely tucked away. Solemn Nepali faces stand huddled together outside, determined to protect the building and its inhabitants. As the impending doom draws near, everyone waits with bated breath.

It's time. The monkeys have arrived.

Meeting the Past on the way Home

Late one night, I found the past roaming idly in the quiet corners of a deserted street. 'Hey, so long!', I called out. Flicking away the embers of a dying cigarette, it looked up and asked, visibly surprised, 'You..what're you doing here..?' 
'Just passing through', I smiled. As you were too, through my life. 'Wow...you look..different. Let's catch up sometime', it softly suggested, voice filled with surprise and candour. 'Sure, why not', I smiled and moved on. 

The aloof, unforgiving past had forgotten it could never catch up to the present.

The Sing-Song Virus

There's a dangerous virus doing the rounds of wintry North India. Deadlier than the Dengue, more contagious than the cold, it will strike you when you least expect it. It spreads by air and prolonged contact with those infected. Till now, prevention is the only cure. But patients show no outward symptoms, thus making it difficult to quarantine them. Except one thing. If you find a loved one humming a Honey Singh number, beware. Maintain a minimum of 5 feet distance, use ear plugs and contact the nearest government asylum. Or you could be next.

P.S: Status inspired after I caught myself humming a Singh-song unawares. :-/

The Camel that spoke like Robert De Niro

The Meeting 

As I trudged along the tormented path overwhelmed with briefs, a stoic smiling face caught my gaze.

'If this bothers you sweetheart, just imagine being burdened by idiots all day', said the pet camel at the Bikanervala restaurant, in a curious Robert De Niro voice.

'Why yes, Mr. Camel, I don't know how you do it. Why not just kick them?' I looked at those wide-set pair of eyes, serene, always smiling. He was chewing the end of a Cuban cigarette.

'Gotta pay the bills sweetheart, everyone's gotta pay the bills', he said, his voice hoarse, his chewing incessant.

Right then, a potbellied Sardarji with two gleeful children stopped in front of him. 'Well, that's me', Mr. Camel wrapped up the conversation, as he threw the end of his cigarette in the cold February air, wiped his mouth with polished hooves and gave a million dollar smile, that dazzled with a set of perfect white teeth.

'You'd look better with a hat, Mr. De Niro', I thought as I walked back home, contemplating the burdens of mankind.

The Observation

There is an open parking lot below my office. On lazy afternoons, Mr. Camel lies there, by the shade of a few inconspicuous trees. Chewing and gazing at the direction of the pet horse nearby. Always smiling. I have often wondered whether he is enlightened or just psychotic. May be there isn't much of a difference between the two.

Today as a couple got on him, and he lazily strolled across the parking lot of indifferent cars, a driver began playing 'Tamanchey pe Disco'. Suddenly, Mr. Camel neighed. And as the lone horse in the distance looked up in confusion, he jumped up with two hooves in the air, shaking his hump to the beat of the song.

The couple sat petrified while the mahout ran screaming.
But neither the obligation of the job, nor the yelling of his boss could stop Mr. Camel anymore.
He was finally free.
Or was he?

Tough Life

Life must be tough for pigs. Imagine wetting your nose every time you try to drink water.

The Chirp

I tried to call out to her but with the straw sticking out of my mouth, only a muffled sound came out. Where was she? I saw an eagle flying in the distance. Wings outstretched, it spiralled round and round, reminding me of the poem by Mr. Yeats. 'Darling, can you hear me?' I finally chirped aloud, causing to drop the straw. Oh boy, the nest will just have to wait, I mused as I flew to a nearby pole.

Rain is Coming

The air smells of wet earth and all around, Nature has assumed a pregnant silence. The trees, they are still, as if waiting for her to burst forth. The earth below my feet is dry. 

It is going to rain again.

Running Rat

Eventually, the rat got tired of running. Panting, he sat down and began wiping his face with a moist cloth.

'So, you got something for me yet, lady?' The poor rodent squeaked at me.

Looking up from the Book of Idioms, I replied quietly, 'Rug rat, rat race...rats abandoning a sinking ship....nah..nothing, sorry'. 

'Your fault. Why is it that 'rats running in a stomach' sounds perfectly fine in the vernaculars but so odd in English?'

'Why indeed?' I thought to myself.

'And you...you agreed to write it in English..why couldn't you put up the status in some vernacular language, where it is perfectly fine to have innocent rats run up and down the length of your stomach?'

'Umm... My readers are from an extensive language base...' I said importantly.

'Why should us rats suffer for the limitations of English'? He squealed.

'You are right....' I was hungry and Mr. Rat was tired of running in my stomach. We shared nibbles of my last cream biscuits and quietly wondered on the dilemma of transcreating idioms in a foreign language.