Limbo

I know, its been ages since I wrote. Just, didn't have anything. Been listening to a few Porcupine Tree songs all over again. Sleep together, especially. This is just a product of that. Two people, not really meant to be, just postponing fate. Dunno why I called it Limbo, its a horrid name. But anyways..

Sunlight swirls, twists and twirls to awake,

Me from merciful sleep, it stirs and shakes.

A hazy memory recollects last night's wee hours,

Beside my empty side, lie the last of your contours.

Stupid is as stupid does, so the saying says,

How stupid are we to do this day after day?

Why should your sleeping form let reason be overrun?

When we both know our story's well and truly done.

There you are, eyes guarded and a frosty smile,

Its an obvious effort to come sit with me a while.

A stab at conversation is an undeniable cringe,

Like the crackle of leaves on a damp dawn's fringe.

Thank god for work, now I don't have to stay here,

Everyday I hope my mind will this day get clear.

But your face, your hands, every pore on your skin,

Everyday I love to fail, and I succumb to your sin.

But not today, from now on our mindless acts no more,

For now I shall live my life, and you live yours.

I come home, but of your essence there is nowhere a sign,

I smile and realize, you've been having the same thoughts as mine.

Existence

i dunno what exactly this is. part suspense, part funny. the idea made me laugh. dunno how this'll go...

Silence. What is its nature? Nothingness, that's what is. After a while, you yearn to hear the little sounds of nothing, accustomed as your city ears are to a constant drone. There's nothing more soothing than to sometimes find that your search for even the tiniest pinprick yields nothing. That is when you're reassured that indeed you are the only one there. Bringing with it a wave of peace for those who seek solitude. But my silence was disturbed. Jarringly so.

My name is Jarvis. I am 12 years of age. Sometimes it seems like I always have been. But maybe its the magic of this place. Its where time sometimes comes to take a breather. Green grass, cobalt blue skies. This day, I was on one of the hills of my property. Enjoying the silence, blissfully aware of my lonesomeness. Its a lush spread, forty acres, with a small pond, and a couple of small hills overlooking a neat little valley. You could say I've had a privileged existence. So there I was, drinking in the nothingness, when I saw It.

It was about five foot ten, russet skin, brunette hair. It looked just like any of us. In every way. Brown eyes, short, pudgy nose, a heavy- set mouth. Only Its skin looked sickeningly fresh, as if It had just gotten out of the womb, in Its present condition. And It walked with a gait so stoic, it looked like It was making no progress at all. But it was moving all right. Slowly and steadily, without even a spare glance in my direction. I sighed with relief when I realized It hadn't noticed me. And just like that, It passed.

I sat down right where I was, shaken to my core. I'd always heard tales of them, that they did exist, but never had I given it any more than a disdainful thought. But today, having seen one with my very own eyes, it could not be denied any more. They existed. I sat there for a few more minutes, half expecting It to come back any second, and say 'No I did not overlook you! But I wanted to lull you into a false sense of security. Did not want to lose you in a fit of excitement. And here you are, off-guard and relaxed. Now, you have nowhere to go!'

But of course, it was my overtly cinematic imagination at work; no such thing happened. I half walked, half ran back home. Mother had kept a porridge over the flame to cook. Lunch was due in a few minutes. She turned around at my sound, and peered at me, obviously noticing my paler than usual color. I walked into my room without a word. Ever since father had left us abruptly, it was like life held no special attraction for us. The house was in perpetual disarray, a picture of neglect. It had grown filthy and looked uninhabited. Hardly the house of someone who owned the property we did.

'Jarvis! Come for lunch!'

Lunch was ready. I made my way to the kitchen all too sure that she would notice something was amiss. I sat down and started gulping my hot porridge, eager to get out of there. I gagged on it.

'Calm down Jarvis! What's the big hurry? And what's happened? You're hiding something from me. You look like you saw a human or something.'

This time I dropped my spoon and coughed, looking afterwards at her with wide eyed wonder. 'How did you know?'

'What?! Tell me what happened!'

'I was just on one of our hills, sitting and enjoying the view, when this human walked by. I saw him clearly mother! He walked so slow, foot falling after next foot, dressed exactly like us! But he never even looked in my direction.I don't know what I would have if he would have. But I'm sure I saw him mother!' I exclaimed.

'Nonsense Jarvis. I won't have such talk from you.' My mother spoke in an unusually cold voice, quelling any protests. 'You know full well there's no such thing as humans. We spirits are the only thing that exist on this earth. Do not harbor such wasteful beliefs in your head. Humans, bah! Now you listen to me. It was just your imagination playing tricks on you. You did not see a human, such things don't exist! Do you hear me Jarvis??'

I mumbled a yes and went on to finish my lunch in silence. Mother never looked at me throughout, as if she was afraid I'd continue the discussion if she did. I finished and went up to my room, where I lay down and thought. She was entitled to her beliefs, and I to mine. If she had seen what I'd seen she wouldn't have denied it this vehemently. I knew what I'd seen and however much she said anything, I did know one thing for a fact now. We spirits aren't the only thing to live on this planet.

Humans exist too.

Home

a new poem after a long time. somehow i wasn't able to accurately express my thoughts on paper, its not one of my best works, but something i had to do, nonetheless...

The bike rushed by me, a man with his son on it,

A sudden flood of memory welling in me then,

I saw his eyes he'd shut, or maybe open just a bit,

Just as I used to with dad, as a kid back then.

I was on my way back home, after many a day,

Excitement to the brimful, not knowing what to expect,

Recalling mom's loving touch, every word dad would say,

Coming back to finish the dots that I had yet to connect.

The piles of garbage had risen since the last time around,

The people on the roads just weren't as serene.

For a person back in town after ages in foreign ground,

I was an outside spectator to an alien scene.

The roads had widened, but still too many cars,

The quaint old shops replaced by stores and glaring neon,

The cold civilization I'd vowed to leave from now on afar,

Had followed me here and would not be gone.

I coughed in the smoke, the grime settled on my shoes,

And just as I started to panic and despair,

Like pages out of my history at once let loose,

I found preserved and untouched, my neighborhood there.

There was the old restaurant we always used to eat at,

The neighbor's door in front of which I played many a game,

It was then I felt with entirety of conviction that,

Some things should always remain the same.

Elevators- part 3

the third and final part, primarily because the story ended up being longer than i expected. its all getting too similar, i need a breath of fresh air now, and ya i'm in the clown phase...hope ya'll like the message.

The elevator lurched to a halt on the basement level, slowly, ominously. The doors opened with an almost imperceptible hiss. The entire lower level was bathed in a blackish-blue light. Whites took on a eerie florescent glow, and blacks remained hidden in plain sight. There were balloons on the floor, that knocked against his feet. Some that he trampled and burst, causing the sound to echo loudly across the empty floor. He ventured further into the light of darkness, knowing how his environs made sense, knowing full well what to expect, but not knowing when. That was when the first cackle sounded from somewhere nearby.

He whirled around in the direction of the sound, all senses alert for any indication. Again that cackle, only closer this time. The lighting of the place had begun t unnerve John, and he wanted this to end quick, either way. He caught a glimpse of florescence behind one of the many pillars that supported the floor above the basement. Quick as a flash, it had taken a look at him and gone. Another cackle, now dead in front of him, about 20 meters away. The distantly spaced blue lights caused strange dark blue shadows to fall in corners, and it was one such corner that John was facing. Then suddenly, a glint of a long blade. Withdrawn and then hidden. Right after that, those eyes. Finally those eyes.

Two pairs of brightly glowing, colorfully decorated eyes stared back at him. Vibrant hues of red, green and blue making a bizarre sight in that light. Then the dress came into view, equally colorful and designed to induce laughter. However John was far from amused. He was facing his greatest fear. John had caulrophobia.

John Hanks was terrified of clowns.

He felt his knees giving way for the umpteenth time, but he resolved to not give in. That was when he was infused with a strength he knew not existed and he was gripped by a determination that he would not give in to his fear this time. He was going to face it, he as going to kill it. And with a roar, he sprang towards those eyes, terrified and fearless simultaneously. The figure stood motionless, goading him, waiting for him. Just at the last moment however, it draw that long blade once again, and made to plunge it into John's heart.

John Albert Hanks, the simple salesman, blocked his thrust like a professional martial artist, and, quick as a cobra, turned the blade onto its wielder. He pressed upon it, and felt it pierce through the clown's heart. As he fell upon it, he saw its face. Painted white, looking ghastly in that light, it was right now a mask of pure terror and agony. It was mute, and no sound escaped from its open mouth. Its eyes stared fitfully at him, hating him, wanting to kill him. But John held on, and after a brief struggle it fell limp. But right before it did, it smiled up at him. That smile that was the staple of clowns all over the world, a funny genial smile. But one which also could terrify if you looked at it in another way. And for that moment, John's blood was water. But not his will. The last of his fear had evaporated, and it now lay dead in front of him.

Sweating profusely and out of breath, he trudged back to the elevator, hoping to god that this unexpected ordeal of his was over. He sat down on its floor for a minute, after he had closed its doors. The elevator was not taking him anywhere else, so that was a good thing. After a minute, he got up and pressed 'ground'. Innocent as though nothing had happened, it willingly made its way up. He got out of it and part of him wanted to run away, but it was now only a small part. Most of him did not fear any more. John was done with his share of fearing in this lifetime. He got out of the building, took a bus to his motel and slept deeply and fitfully for the rest of the night.

It is two years after the incident. John is walking down 113th and Bloomberg. He is back home with his family, in Springfield. He has a paper under one arm and an umbrella in another. It might rain today. He waves to Stevie, his neighbor. Five minutes later, he is at his destination. 'Precision Clockworks'. His small little watch repair shop. Business isn't exactly steady, but it provides his family with three square meals. He pulls up the shutter and starts setting shop. He does not know what his future holds, he does not know whether he took the right decision quitting his job, and doing what he always wanted to do. But one thing he does know. Whatever it might be, he can overcome it, because he is not afraid anymore.

He sits down in front of his shop, waiting for his trickle of customers. A passerby's mobile starts ringing, and the ringtone is Beethoven's 9th symphony. John smiles faintly.

Wasn't that the music playing in the elevator that day?...

Elevators- part 2

again, i'm unsure of the direction my story's gonna take here. I'm just making it up as i go. its more like peering into a fog, knowing where the destination is, not the way there however.

The elevator came to a lurching stop at what seemed, impossibly, to be the 13th floor. John felt his world spin around him, but then for a second, sanity gained a foothold. Maybe there was a problem with the display, it was just showing the wrong number. Maybe it was just the 12th floor after all. And so he waited with bated breath, as the elevator steadied itself and the door began to slide open..

It was dark. Pitch black. Not a sound. Yet there was a heaviness in the air that was palpable. The place was rank of a a deathly stillness. Maybe he was in the lift maintenance room or something like that. That would explain the extra floor. Then, just as if to rob him of his assuring conclusions, there was a slight rustle followed by the sound of something dropping. He snapped his head in that direction. Then it was followed by another rustle, and it about a second the whole place came alive with a flurry of invisible activity. John hastened to press the button to shut the door, but the door wouldn't budge. He took out his lighter, and tried to flick it on, trying to see where he was. With a snap the light jumped to life and he beheld the floor.

At first he couldn't see anything out of the ordinary, but when he looked down, he staggered backwards in shock. The whole floor was flooded with rats, rats of all sizes, all equally aggressive and all of them making a beeline for the elevator. Red eyes and a deafening collective squeal rising from their midst. Bug-eyed, he pressed the button again, and this time the doors slowly made their way shut, but not before two of the rats quickly jumped in with him. He looked at them for a second, then blindly tried to stomp them, all the while spasming from disgust. He never even realized the lift was making its way down on its own. His mind was consumed by the rats.

John Hanks had always had a deep-seated phobia of rats.

He stomped the two rats until they moved no more. Then, right in front of his eyes, they disintegrated to a white powder and blew away into oblivion. He didn't know what was happening, but he was sure he was losing his grip on reason. The elevator stopped at floor 6, which he then noticed for the first time. Glad that he was back again on a floor where he knew people were still there, almost bursting with relief, he bolted out of the elevator as soon as the doors opened, searching for the first person he could find and tell him what had happened. But the entire floor was devoid of people. All he found was empty room after empty room. Then suddenly he yelped, and clutched the nearest door frame.

The entire ground beneath his feet had vanished, and he seemed to be floating in air. He was high, high up and he couldn't make head or tail of his situation.

He was gripped by a sudden wave of nausea; he didn't float miles high in the air on a daily basis. He vomited violently, but funnily, the salesman in him asserted itself even at that odd moment, and he made sure the vomit stayed clear of his shirt. The absurdity of his action startled and he burst out in laughter. Not the robust, joyous laughter, but the laughter of deranged mind, beset with terror. He rocked on his heels, still steadily standing on nothing and let the laughter ebb, letting it all out.

Still holding onto any frame he could reach, he slowly made his way back to the elevator. Something told him that like the last time, he would find refuge there. Just as he neared the doors however, he felt gravity making a magical reappearance. But it was building up slowly, his legs slowly beginning to sag from under him. He made desperate dash to safety, legs feeling like they were in quicksand. Just as he felt everything give way under way, he had miraculously made to the asylum of those four enclosed walls of the elevator, he hurriedly pressed the 'close door' button and by now having a faint idea of what would happen, waited for it to happen. And just like that, the elevator now made its way to the basement floor, the deepest and darkest level. John had always known what his fears were, heights and rats were two of three. Some part of him had silently accepted the surreality of the situation, and-would you believe it-was actually predicting what the basement would hold. His third and deepest fear...

The man who smiles

ever since I remember, I've been afraid of clowns. even as a kid who went to the circus with his grandpa, i used to secretly dread their coming. i dunno, at some level i always thought the smile on their masks hid something sinister. still do. put simply, i don't like them. Victor Alves' 'Clownhouse' has done nothing to allay my fears...anyways...

Lights explode on the insides of his eyes,

People cheer and jeer in equal measure.

Perverted enjoyment from his pathetic cries,

He is a freak he is, the man who smiles.

There's his story to tell, if someone lends an ear,

A sordid life of one who makes masses laugh.

A frustrated mind stuck neither there nor here,

He is a mess he is, the man who smiles.

All the years he'd bottled up, come tumbling out,

Darkest of secrets the world must not know.

He has hid behind the painted mask too long, no doubt,

He's on edge he is, the man who smiles.

None know where his family vanished in that night of rain,

The night the monster in him gained full control.

He is sharpening the same old knife once again,

He is awaking he is, the man who smiles.

He's calling you to him, an innocent question to ask,

You follow him, assured by the bright colors to follow,

Till he's upon you, the knife and the twisted mask,

He is alive now he is, the man who smiles.

Elevators- part 1

i mean, they're just elevators aren't they? they go up, they go down, mindless messengers. but what if they weren't? p.s. all the places mentioned in the 2nd para are related to Stephen King's life. Little dedic ;)...

John Hanks was a salesman. Pretty dry introduction to a man I know, but then again, there weren't all that many dimensions to John. His job was pretty much his life, and his family understood. That was the thing about being a travelling salesman. It consumed you, it'd make you its slave. Most of the year spent going from one unfamiliar place to another, till you eventually never know where you actually belong.

But he had memories from almost all of them. The man in the motel room beside him in De Pere, Wisconsin who sang sinister and sordid rhymes till late into the night. The receptionist in the office at Fort Wayne, Indiana who used to take frequent breaks to inject herself with juice to make it through the day. John had noticed the needles. The toilet cubicle in Stratford, Connecticut which read, 'I saw Jim Morrison at Woodstock and I liked it!', accompanied by a very graphic and lewd drawing of an excited male reproductive organ. And the pair of stern father and timid girl he had seen at a bus stop in Portland, Maine once. He held her in a very peculiar and unsettling way, and she was evidently very uncomfortable but dared not utter a word. His gaze seemed to quell and threaten her at once. John could sense something amoral at foot.

But these were nothing more than imprints on his endlessly gray mind, the pattering of certain distinguishable moments from a sea of sameness. He would be taking none of this to his grave, no souvenir, no memory of his pointless life. He was just another number. Or so he thought, until that fateful day in Bangor, Maine on the evening of 19th June, 1984.

It was his call at The Transatlantic Food Packaging Company, on that day. He had a 6 'o clock appointment with the sales manager. John basically worked for a polythene production company who had patented a new variant of the substance and wanted to market it. That's where John and his trips to companies all over the country came into the picture. And so here he was, meeting the manager, a pleasant fellow to talk with, but one who wouldn't buy his pitch one bit. And so John there soon, another refusal on his record. He took the elevator from the 8th floor office to the ground, mind occupied with thoughts of his future if his luck with his sales didn't change. That was when the elevator suddenly ground to a halt midway, lights flickering. He groaned and cursed silently, pressing buttons futilely. The little box wouldn't budge. He leaned onto one side and sighed. Slid down and sat on the floor, casting his briefcase aside. The last thing he wanted was to be bored to death in a stuck elevator. Of course, that was never going to happen.

A minute passed. Then two. John had started dozing off already, when he heard something. He snapped up to listen carefully. It sounded like a low gurgle, like someone trying to say something underwater. Then he heard low murmurs, whispers. He could not make out what they were saying, but the tone was secretive and ominous. Then again the gurgling sound, a note of desperation creeping into it this time, more intense this time. Then again, more whispering, slightly louder this time. He caught a snippet or two.

'-that should do it?'

'Yeah that should take care of it'

'HEY!! HELP ME!! I'm trapped in here!!' John yelled as loud as he could. He didn't care who the voices belonged to, if they could help him out of here, that was all he wanted from them. The whispering stopped suddenly, and an unnervingly long silence followed. Just as John began wondering what was happening, the elevator suddenly sprung to life, but started going upwards. John sighed with relief. Now he could thank those voices for helping him and make his way to his motel room, where his warm bed awaited him.

The elevator kept climbing. 5,6,7,8,9,10...the building had 12 floors. It reached 12 and John wondered how he'd been able to hear whispers from the top floor. Then something happened that numbed him with shock and terror and suddenly he wondered if he were in a bad dream. The panel to his right had buttons for 12 floors, and he knew the building had only 12 floors.

The elevator had just gone past 12 and the little LCD display over the door softly glowed.

With the number 13...

The Economics of Eloping- (part 3) conclusion

the penny has finally dropped, so to speak..too bad they don't even have pennies on them right now, those two :D..i didn't wanna make the ending too dreary, so well...i'm convinced this should be a short movie, btw :P..

'Hmmm. So let's get this out now. Do you think this was a mistake too?' Ryan asked in a flat voice. It was the next morning, they were sitting on one of the many boulders.

'Maybe Ryan...it certainly isn't what we expected it to be. Right?'

'Yeah I guess. So what to do now?'

'I don't know. We're out of money, hungry, with no shelter to speak of. I'm tired of fighting with you dear, but I've come to realize that we can't just live with each other and nothing else. We need those comforts. This kind of thing happens only in movies, and it shouldn't even happen there...'

Ryan chuckled and nodded his head. 'We've got to admit that both of us were really stupid to think this up, and not thinking it through. But there could be one last thing to try, it just might work'

'What??'

'I'll be back love. By evening. I'll tell you then, where I went.' He just smiled and ran his now rough hand over her face, in response to her expression of consternation.

He made his way to the town of Ramnagara proper. He scourged its meager streets for the bank, that bank. There had to be a branch. Ah! There it was. Some luck finally. It was the bank his dad had an account in. He went in and waited to meet with the manager.

'Hello sir. I actually have a request to make of you. Its actually a problem. My father has an account in this bank and I'm here on a trip with my friends and I've run out of money. Is there any way I could withdraw money? I could provide you with verification details..'

'I'm sorry son, but we can't do that. Its against procedure.'

'Please sir! I know the account number, his name and personal details. Couldn't that be enough??' Ryan pleaded.

Thus it went on for another five minutes. The manager eventually relented and allowed the withdrawal. That was when Ryan made the second stupid mistake.

'Don't tell him I took the money' he said as he smiled and winked, making it look like he actually was just having a little extra fun with friends and nothing else. Soon as he left the room, the manager patched a call through to the number provided in the form. Ryan's father's number...

The brief respite that the money provided was wonderful. They went into the city a few times. They had their first full meal in some days, and now could actually think of going to another city and start something. They had started to search for places, to move camp. However, two days later, as they were busy breaking down their hut, a small local boy arrived with a box of fresh apples.

'Excuse me sir, there's a man standing on the main road that told me to give it to you. There's a note inside too...' Saying so, he ran away, his task completed. Ryan picked up the box, perplexed as to what it said. Lynn stood beside him, trying to read.

'Son, this is your father. Stop this stupid little production of yours and come back home, your mother's worrying her kidneys out. I know the whole story now. The bank manager called me, I spoke to some of your friends, and for the last few days, I've been looking out for you, and I finally found you. Whatever thing you have with that girl, we can work it out, you didn't have to do something as thoughtless as this. My problems are with her father, not with her. I don't know how could subject her to hardship if you love her. Now stop this nonsense, and come to the road with her. There's a car here waiting to take the two of you home.'

They looked at each other, and some mute voice told the two of them that although it would mean they were giving up, the wiser counsel would be to just go. And silently, defeated, they made their way to the road, eyes lowered, not wanting to meet those of Ryan's dad.

He was there, right beside the road, looking at them, but not saying anything. When Ryan came close, he hit him lightly on the head and said,

'Einstein. Even if you had to run away, you could do a better job of it. One ATM card, a few clothes, and another individual to take care of? When did you come up with this half-witted plan? I never pegged you as a nobel prize winner, but this is plain stupid. You, girl, I don't know what you see in my son, but if you've decided to be with him, I won't play the villain. I'll talk to your dad, I'm sure there's a way.'

The two of them looked at him like two mutes, amazed at how easily he'd settled the issue. All the complications were the ones they had created. As if he'd read their mind, Ryan's dad said,

'That's right. You could've just asked us first! But no! Anyways, enough of this. Get in now!' he said, with something that could almost me called a smile, on his face.

They got in, thinking where their story would take them now. They were anyways richer by experience, and a hell of one at that.

So did they have a happy ending? How does it matter? This story's all about celebrating their stupidity!!...

The Economics of Eloping- (part 2) the truth

So when we last heard, Ryan and Lynn had managed to escape their parents' 'clutches' and start their own new life. All straight out of a dream. Well, now's the time for a dosage of reality :D...for all of their stupidity to parade itself, and to realize how wrong popular culture is. God, i love this part :P...the pulp of the story...

They spent the night in a cheap motel, but they were together in the same room, overnight! They spent the intimate night cozying up to each other and slept in each other's embrace. The next morning, they decided to catch a bus out of town, to someplace where they could start to forage for their own life. But a bus ticket needed money. Ryan had that figured out. He had brought along his ATM card, and would withdraw whatever little money his dad had put in his account. That would suffice for till they were on their feet. They made their way to the bus stand, the promise of a perfect forever, clear in their eyes.

Once there, Ryan made his way to the nearest ATM machine and made to withdraw money. But then flashed the dreaded words on screen,

'Insufficient balance'

He did a double take. He could not believe his eyes. How could this happen?! But suddenly then, his mind zoomed back a few days, and he remembered a particular conversation he'd had with dad.

'Ryan, I'm a little short on immediate cash for a little startup capital that I need right now. I'll be withdrawing all the money from your account for a week or two. I'll put it back though.'

How could he forget?! What to do now? He went back to Lynn and recounted the whole story. At first she couldn't believe him but eventually they came to a consensus that arguing would lead them nowhere. They had set the ball in motion by running away and they could not turn away now. They checked their pockets for whatever money they had on them. They had a combined total of a hundred rupees.

They went to the bus stand and asked a conductor how far would hundred rupees take the two of them.

'Well sir, with a hundred rupees, you can get a ticket to Ramnagara, or Mandya at best.'

They both looked at each other, pure and true worry writ across their faces.

'Well, Ramnagara has a lot of scenic locations. We can make our own little house somewhere there. I'll farm and you cook, we'll live on our own, in our world. What say love?' Ryan offered.

'Okay sure..' Her voice was a notch lower than it had been till now.

They gave each other a reluctant smile and climbed onto the bus. After an hour long and bumpy journey, they got off the bus, disoriented and utterly clueless as to what to do next. Ryan was wondering why he'd bothered to study four years of B.Com if he was going to end up farming on some land. Lynn was wondering what they'd eat till the crops in the farms grew. And both were wondering when they could get their very next meal, because they were famished. It was not the most ideal of situations to be in.

Over the next two days, they set about building something resembling a hut among one of the many clusters of boulders a little by the side of the road. There was a meager amount of free land near their hut, which Ryan set about trying to rake free of weeds. He was clueless about it beyond a point. They didn't touch too much on the topic of agriculture in B.Com you know. It struck him within a few hours that this was a very poorly thought out plan and he started to have serious doubts about sustaining it. By this time, all of the food they had brought with them had run out. They were broke, hungry and very annoyed with their situation. Lynn had started losing her temper with Ryan and was complaining about everything. No food, no proper shelter, no guarantee of even a reasonable future. The worst part was, she was mostly right. It was then they realized that they had perhaps been stupid about the whole thing. That perhaps..

It was with these thoughts that Ryan made his way to the main road, looking to see if there were any shops that could give him any food on credit. He was subdued and disgruntled, his attention barely on the road. Just suddenly then, the roar of a passing two-wheeler roused his attention to his environs. He took a look at the vehicle, and his eyes grew wide. He looked around, and saw a few more vehicles, just as he expected. He turned right around and ran for all he was worth. He came back to the hut, panting. Lynn looked at him, concern overcoming her recent annoyance and resultant indifference. She ran up to him and asked what had happened.

'I almost ran into our friends. They were on their way to a road trip to Mysore or something. I don't think they saw me.'

That was when the same thought struck the both of them. This whole idea had been one stupid, short-sighted blight. They were idiots. Of an overwhelming order...

The Economics of Eloping- (part 1) the dream

I recently watched this movie, '500 days of Summer', brilliant I should say. It raised a very valid point: this whole concept of 'the one' and 'we don't need anything but us' is just a load of nonsense fed to us through those cheesy pop songs and rom-com movies. Reality is harshly different, and this is just a light-hearted, slightly satirical take on that. also, the cultural references here is my indication to what i feel is mediocre crass :D...p.s. i wanna make a short movie on this story too. any takers? :P

Ryan and Lynn were in love. And frankly that's all they knew or cared to know. No, literally. Because they weren't exactly what you'd call, you know, intelligent. Both were students of St. Patrick's College of Commerce, everyday students with nothing remarkable about them. Fine, they were nice people, Ryan was a little rich, and Lynn could almost pass as a looker. But that was about it. They had a limited group of friends with limited ambitions and limited horizons. Frankly, even the way they met isn't much to write about. Well they were set up with each other by common friends. So there.

But once they met, it was magic like they show in the movies. They bonded over pretty much everything, from the music of Linkin Park, to their favorite reality shows, to the enigmatic Micheal Bay movies and any and everything else. They'd constantly spend time with each other, during and after college. Sitting around in coffee shops, they'd spend hours joking and laughing, looking into each other's eyes and holding hands. This was something meant to be. This was fate, and they believed they were in love. Days passed into months, months morphed into years. And just like that, college had come to an end.

After the last working day, the two of them were sitting and talking about their future. They couldn't to tell their parents and make it official.

'What'll your dad say if I came and spoke to him?' asked Ryan, smiling, as he held one of her hands.

'I don't know Ryan. Dad's a little protective about me. And of late he's been a little difficult. Ever since he's had this new competitor in his business, he's been a little stressed and edgy. I don't know if this is a good time.'

'Damn, you know what? I never asked you all these days what your dad does! What does he do?'

'He has a sugar production unit, he manufactures sugar and sells it. But apparently there's this guy who puts his hands in many enterprises, now he's entering the sugar market. Some Joseph Colaco, he's been giving dad a tough time.'

'Joseph who?!'

'Colaco. Why?'

'But that's my...that's my dad!'

'What?! Why didn't you tell me earlier?!'

'I myself didn't know what my dad does! He gives me money, and beyond that I haven't bothered to know much more.'

'Oh my god Ryan. Our dads hate each other. You know what this means right? They'll never let us be together. So what do we now? Do we have to..'

Ryan didn't let her complete the sentence, placing a firm hand over her mouth.

'No love, I won't agree to that. If they won't allow, then we'll elope. After all, you're all I need! You can live with that can't you?', he looked at her hopefully.

She nodded at him earnestly, looked at him for a moment and then, with a trill of excitement, held him tight.

**Did it occur to you guys they never even ventured the question with their parents? Stupid, stupid mistake**

So it was decided. They were going to run away on the night of their graduation day, the 25th of July. They both stuffed a bit of their clothes and some food in a bag and put in his dad's car boot. They spent the entire ceremony sitting like innocent children with their parents. Once they were done, however, they left them on the pretext of meeting their parents. They did meet the aforementioned friends, but very briefly, after which the two of them made their way to Ryan's dad's car. They took what they needed, and they were off. It would be a new life, with just the two of them and their love. They would want nothing or no one else. Just like they had dreamed.

...Yeah, Right...

She.

The sudden mood shift from one to two was just to bring in some fun. Tried my hand at a new emotion ;)..

She, of whom the trees have whispered tidings,

She, who the wind has awaited with bated breath,

She, whose glimpse eternity itself has been biding,

She, whose equal anywhere has not yet been met.

Well actually I bumped into her last week,

And no it wasn't a transfixed first gaze.

Little was I to know it was her I would seek,

With hopeless desperation in a few days.

For it was an elaborate entrapment you see,

She bumped into me one too many times already,

You could safely have put it past serendipity,

She'd firmly decided she wouldn't let me be.

What else was I to do, if not totally fall?

For her black doe eyes and her button nose.

With that angelic smile, her grip of fingers small

She could've charmed anyone, but me she chose.

With her there never could be an argument's end,

But at times she was innocent as a small child.

Deep as you'd like, with her complications to mend,

With the kind of passion that drove you wild.

Oh it was indeed a devious destiny to which I fell,

The universe had plotted the glorious fiasco,

But if someone asked, I still would tell,

That I'd go through it all over and over more.

The Call of the Road

I went on a trek to Ramnagara recently. It was a 50km journey on bikes zipping in the 70's and 80's...an open, endless road, picture perfect weather, and good friends with the prospect of a good trek. What better setting for an idea? :)..

My eyes follow the black snake,

Open for all the eye can see,

The urge to gobble it up, in me,

As I follow the call of the road.

Sun peeps through the grey spread,

The wind plays a playful rhythm,

Idle conversation with a friend,

As I follow the call of the road.

Thoughts run with no abandon,

Secrets spill out from the backseat,

Time has no real significance,

As I follow the call of the road.

And like every perfect circle,

It winds back to where it began,

Life makes all the perfect sense,

As I follow the call of the road.

Give it a name..

I dunno whether this is a proper work per se. Lines that just scurry across a mindscape, at best :)...

Hey! I'm you from twenty years hence,

Where dreams are sold at ten a pence.

Your life is a DVD displayed on a shelf,

Not one moment for you by yourself.

It reeks of monotone, the air you breathe,

Dull as your grave and its lifeless wreath.

Why bother if the mightier have a harder fall?

Irreverence this day comes cheap after all.

A brooding mind-mist, clouding and stalking,

Fogs our minds till death comes knocking.

Plug yourself in the wall and face another day,

Artificial ecstasy that comes to spirit you away.

Plant that mask that imitates a face with a smile,

Lie, cheat, steal, give into it for a while.

Feel that clawing from your insides, its a force,

Drags you to the present, through unopened doors.

Hourglass somersaults

Two mornings ago, i was just hit by a torrent of hidden old memories- sights, sounds, smells, a touch or two...i've finally forced my habitual side to forsake a rhyme scheme, i'm afraid it'll tamper with the feel of the poem. seems to give me a freedom from self-imposed shackles :)..

Its just another morning till the first thought hits you,

And flies you on its wings to a long-forgotten place.

You peer curiously at those vaguely familiar strings,

Threads of a life left behind, come to greet you again,

As the hourglass somersaults for you one more time.

Is that you, whose mother plants a kiss on the cheek?

Waving goodbye to the figure in pants much too big.

Is it the same smell, of books imprinted onto wood?

The first day back to school, brings back a panorama,

As the hourglass somersaults for you one more time.

Touch the same blades of grass that you ran through,

Or sometimes hid in, till your mothers grew worried.

The long summer days changed your innocent friendship,

Into the first pangs of an eager yearning for her touch,

As the hourglass somersaults for you one more time.

Time slows to a timid crawl, you're with your friends,

How can you keep talking so much about nothing?

It wasn't that funny a line, you all laugh together too much,

Yellow memories of a bonhomie on a failing recollection,

As the hourglass somersaults for you one more time.

But you're back in bed, your journey a hazy memento,

The canvas of your life just passed in front of your eyes,

Is there a regret, or a pining for what could have been?

If so close your eyes, and wish for it all over again,

As the hourglass somersaults for you one last time.

A Real Story

I got the idea for this while watching a skit making a gentle commentary on kids in reality shows. How there's quite a bit of falsehood and manipulation in them, and that's what I wanted to point to. Its again, slightly smaller, I have other plans for this work :)..yes, thats a chorus. go figure..

I stood for hours in the endless queue,

Acted cute as my parents told, to titillate you,

Yeah well I could sing, but that's not enough,

I spewed out sadder tales as the going got tough.

Vote for me, help me continue my journey,

I've had a hard life where nothing's come free,

Spent nights dreaming through the windowpane,

Is this story enough to touch your heart again?

I begged and begged, made promises to break,

When I lost out, there were accusations to make,

Falsely thanked the people, said my failure was fine,

It was for those who remained to repeat the same lines.

Vote for me, help me continue my journey,

I've had a hard life where nothing's come free,

Spent nights dreaming through the windowpane,

Is this story enough to touch your heart again?

The Last Take

This is an idea my mom gave me actually. Something she'd written in marathi when she was my age. She told me to write something on this. The premise is basically that its a maimed stunt double lying in hospital, watching on tv the actor he impersonated, win an award for that film. He's talking to someone who happens to have entered the room, pouring his story out. And 'He' is the hero of the film here btw, purposely done so, to sarcastically enhance his greatness. I haven't tried to be eloquent or very poetic, i feel it'll ruin the feel of the poem. His emotions are subject to interpretation, i'm trying to keep it as open-ended in thought as possible...

Could you turn on the television sir,

And switch to the film awards show?

My body aches, my vision is a blur,

And I can't move my limbs anymore.

Did you know sir, that it was in fact I,

That took the falls and all the burns,

As He stood and watched by the sides,

Only to face the camera when it was His turn.

A passing glance, or a mumbled thanks,

Was all the gratitude from Him I'd get,

Empty promises of rising through the ranks,

As I risked my life everyday on set.

The people loved Him in it, made Him a star,

Everybody said 'The Star' would win it all,

So tonight I'm watching Him at His finest hour,

Hoping to be acknowledged, however small.

There He is! He did indeed win it,

Ssh wait, let's see what He has to say,

His family, the people for making it a hit,

He thanks the director for making it His day.

And so I shall rot away into the background,

Yet I have found my reason to be happy,

When He looked at the camera with gratitude profound,

I want to believe He was looking at me.