Wave

It comes in waves

A tsunami, 100 feet tall 

Making landfall 

On the parched shore of my heart.

Filling it with love 

Slowly, steadily 

Enriching it, then drowning it 

Whirlwind of emotions

Swallowing everything in its wake

A distant memory, a happily-ever-after dream 

Reduced to rubble. 

Blinded, bruised, battered

Must have been my fault.

Again?

Again.

As the second wave gets ready,

I close my eyes

And face it all over, again. 

Bread Omelette

The bread omelette stared at me, like the disfigured face of a burn victim.

Its wrinkly white pores resembled an old man with no teeth. The omelette hung limply from the sides like the limbs of a cancer patient.

I sank my teeth into the rubber.

I hate bread omelette. So I had asked the guy to get me a plain omelette. It was a simple enough instruction. But what arrived was a sallow egg sandwiched between two resilient pieces of bread. I told him I did not want the bread. What made him get the bread?

He told me I should have specified.

Only I did.

I told him off, a bit rudely. And then realized, may be this was why people thought I was obnoxious. I left the sad bread omelette as the lame kitty nobody wanted. A desperate desire to throw away the pathetic excuse for food rushed through me. The nerves in my palms leaped in joy.

I could throw the plate in the kitchen and make him cringe in fear. May be the resounding noise would wake him out of his carelessness. A thousand such scenes flashed through my mind. It was worth a try. The act would be obnoxious enough to get his attention.

Or I could ignore it. Let him know I didn’t care for his substandard service. He would get the message.

Or I could just rescue the omelette and eat it. Ignore the distorted bread.

But there wasn’t any evil in that.

I patiently waited, looking to create maximum impact.

And as I pondered over the next course of action, I slowly ripped the bread to shreds. Along with the omelette. The elastic slice badgered my teeth. Amidst mouthfuls, I thought. This time, I’ll let it slide. But the next time, I drag him to hell.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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'.

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.

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.

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.

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.

I hate rains

Rain makes me sad. 
It reminds me of afternoon drizzles by the window; when droplets of creativity played in puddles in the rigorous Math copy.
When every bit of lecherous mud was avoided with trepidation. Sometimes unsuccessfully.
The waterlogged moments of love. Unspoken yet immortalized in words.
The congested umbrellas in shuttle taxis gasping under strangers' sweat and rain water. Or perhaps, they were crying. 
The heart is, but a mausoleum of memories. Rain washes down its strong walls to reveal the undergrowth within.
I hate rains.

Conversations

Fingers on his chin and head slightly bent, he looks at her silently from behind those big round glasses.

She stands, scared. A huge pile of papers in her hand and the expectation of having to perform weighs her down.

"Next idea", he silently murmurs.

"Umm...umm, so this is about a woman who brushes her hair with cactus..."

"What's the brand?" He inquires.

"Uhh..softener..hair softener", she mumbles.

"Oh..done", he says quietly.

"Already?" Her disappointment thinly veils the nervousness she feels around him.

"Hmm...yeah", he goes back to watching Breaking Bad on his computer screen.

She comes back to her desk, banging her head against the imaginary wall, for a millionth time.

"Be smart, be confident, be brave", she encourages herself.

"You know, it's been a while. Doesn't make sense for you to stammer so much in front of him. So, he's your boss. So, he's cute. So, he's witty. So he's intelligent. So what? You are not dumb. You are clever and funny and talented."

"And he's so remarkably down-to-earth. I didn't expect a celebrity to be like this".

"You're starstruck".

"Dearness, I'm crushing on him at the rate of 2 icebergs per second. Just last day, he was running down the conference hall like a child while explaining an idea. And yesterday, he was cycling. In the office. He's always teasing me. And, he talks ..I mean, really talks to me. You know I'm shy and I don't talk much with people. But he comes everyday just to talk to me. I mean, who does that?"

"All it takes to impress you is for someone to be nice to you".

"Dunno. But he's not just nice or talented. He's a good human being..."

"Or so it seems."

"I wish...I wish..", she began dreamily.

"Careful what you wish", the stern voice warned.

"Why can't I get guys like that?"

"Coz you become dumb when it comes to guys you like. You are smart and sweet and funny. But when it comes to guys you like, you act like a total retard."

"And now it's affecting my work. I mean, how on earth am I supposed to think of ideas when he just stands there being so cute, so friendly, with such an adorable smile and accommodating personality?"

"He's flirtatious. And you, are an idiot. You never learn, do you?"

"Apparently I don't", she mused grimly.

"Is this the first time a guy has been so charming to make you fall hard, and land with a thud on the floor?"

"No", she said quietly. Underneath though, she was thinking of his suede shoes and lime coloured watch. The fancy hat. The twinkle in those eyes hidden behind big glasses. That indomitable spirit. That sly smile. That seriousness with which he listened to every idea she had, no matter how flawed, how trivial. The poems she had written on him. The way he flirted with her, but still treated her considerately like she was his sister. How much he loved his daughter. His beautiful wife. And how, he was still so warm with her. And everyone around him. How he helped everyone. Even those who could do nothing for him in return. How straightforward he was. Blunt but never rude. How he found beauty in the tiniest of things. How he was frank with her. Fancy saying that her writing was like a 13-year old. How it had angered her. How she was so terribly terribly intimidated by him. Because of his down-to-earth behaviour. Would she be able to live up to his expectations? Did she deserve so much kindness? As she thought this, her eyes became watery.

"But you know", she continued, fighting the knot in her voice, "he's different from others. He genuinely helps people."

"So? Your job is to work so you can better yourself. Then find a new job. Don't you think I know why you did not leave even though you had other offers?", the stern voice thundered.

"Weh....Well, I thought I could learn from him", she stammered again.

"Sure you thought that, but you also liked spending time with him", stated the stern voice matter-of-factly.

"Yes, well who doesn't?" She smiled. His thoughts made her feel shy. 

"You are fooling no one except yourself. This is your life, YOURS.Whether you want to run it or ruin it, is up to you. Remember, a lot is riding on this."

The stern voice subsided inside her, telling her what she always knew. Just a young girl with big dreams, trying to make it in a big city. Did such feelings even have a place here? 

Cast Away

I hate being ignored
Much less by you.
I hate being rejected
Not by anybody; never by you.

Despicable, tyrant of a heart
Says it improves my art
My tendency to rhyme
Is a farce to many; an obsessive crime.

I'll rhyme when I want
I'll write when I want
I'll feel what I want to feel
And you, Sir, are not going to change that.

You know what I hate?
About your whole bloody sex, I mean.
You make others care for you
Only to reject them right away.

What is this sadistic urge?
This destructive drive
To make people love you
Only so you could ignore them?

Now look what you've done
Made me hate myself
For falling into your charms
Only to be turned away.

Time and time again
Castaway.

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.

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.

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.

Silly Girly Blah!

Enrique should be sued for spoiling girls; filling their heads with all sorts of romantic crap. Otherwise how can you explain them going gaga over him whenever he whines in front of the screen with hands outstretched, mouth wide open and shouting some insensible word? Sometimes you don't even have to see him behave like a maniac; his voice is enough. Such whining, God! Such screaming. Such panting. Such passion. Such love.


Making a girl feel really wanted, that's what these stupid girls probably like in Enrique. The way he makes them feel as if they are the most important things in the world to him. No one, nothing else matters. No matter how imperfect you are; he is there to love you. No matter how tormented you are, he is there for you. No matter how boring, how insecure you are, he is there for you.


But look at his albums. All his videos deal with lust more than love. Right from Hero to Tired of Being Sorry; all he seems bothered about is sex. Look at the kind of girls he falls for. Supermodels. All of them. Killer cats. 


Look at the kind of girls in love stories. Most love stories which are from the guy's perspective make him fall for the supermodel. Spiderman (which is not really a love story) makes Peter Parker fall in love with the beautiful Mary Jane. I have lost count of how many films implore the hot women to look for the character (more than looks) in guys! 


The underdog, is not good-looking, he might not even be bright. But he almost always has a good heart. He falls in love with the school or college heartthrob. The girl is too blind to see his love but often at the end of the story, she comes around. She sees him for his real beauty. 


Now the guy might or might not find love with his childhood sweetheart (who is usually opposite in character to the heartthrob but equally hot). But c'mon, who does not like being squashed between two hot ladies, one completely different from the other?


So while occasionally you might get a Steven Carell 40 Year old virgin story or a typical Jack Black fat guy story, such stories are extremely rare in case of women. Never Been Kissed and Bridget Jones' Diary come to mind. The girl gets her first kiss when she is thirty working in an office. And Glee. Nice program. But such cases are rare. 


And now let's divert to real life. Does the fat girl get the hot guy? Does the lonely girl get the popular guy? Does the introverted girl get the charming guy? I have not heard of any such cases. But these girls listen to Enrique, John Mayer and those typically whiny male singers. Dream of love. Not just anyone who will accept them the way they are. But someone they genuinely want. Does dreaming repeatedly make it come true?


Not necessarily.

But then, who doesn't try? ;)