Amen...

someday i'll kneel before u
& make bare confesions
until then, bless my silence

someday,while u walk alone,i'll
come and hold your hand
until then, bless my absence

someday i'll hold u
by my arms before u trip,
until then, bless my blindness

someday i'll show u
all riches of the heart
until then, bless my poverty

someday i'll ask u
to forgive me
until then, bless my cowardice

someday i'll not
bid u farewell so abruptly
until then, bless my helplessness

indelible stains....

there are these small,seemingly trivial moments in life that get permanently recorded in "hidden" cameras.like bookmarks left admist the pages of life itself. somehow never managed to forget them. yet i know it was nothing significant (it was not intended to be that at least)..a phrase uttered, a glance stolen,a gesture..they are quicksands of my past. i might have crawled through them.. but some part of me is still buried there.i carry these everyday.. reliving them with the same intensity each day....these r not moments of joy or victory of grief but something more..something that stands as a culmination of a lot of choices i made..if i put together all these snaps perhaps i would get a very clear picture of how i have lived my life. the signpost might be wrong but the billboards are not.

It is on momentous ocassions that life is revealed but it is in small moments that life is understood.

i rejoice...

when i first met him he seemed too perfect..just what i thought somebody should look.i wish i were like him.then i actually met him,saw him closely from a distance, too afraid to approach.shed the fear slowly,the wall was never broken,but i managed to peek over. the more i got to know him the more i became disillusioned.oh he is not so perfect afterall..he lies,he flatters,he mocks,he stammers,he feigns knowledge,he gets tanned.he was actually like me!!.no. not yet!. the last nail in the coffin was when he tried to impress me (there was no need).that basically is insecurity...isn't it.of course i tried to read between lines but somehow i know i am right.now what i think of him is no consequence to him,and purely my perception.but somewhere i stopped hating myself...somewhere because of him i signed a truce with my weaknesses.

room for life

my life is a little like my room.. always messed up, every time somebody "important" is supposed to come i try to push the filth under the cot. only to hide it. never making an effort to remove it.so each time there is more dirt, more waste.. then it starts to stink and all my efforts to hide come to nothing. i cant shove the smell off.i suffer it. too afraid to look to afraid to start.my life is a little like my room .. shantaram lying on top of a certain JBK das.each time i pick up one i miss the other. an empty pen stand ,a 2006 calendar marked with a time table to study mocks at me on my table.i see my comp shrouded in dust.. a guitar waiting for salvation...
today i cleaned my room it 'appears' better.someday i must start cleaning my life..
my life is a little like my room sumptous yet belittling

the dog knows not its a dog

like a dog that gets caught in the middle of a traffic,running helter skelter, escaping each colission by a whisker,and lands up on the footpath at last, relieved to be alive,too happy to be breathing..and then realises it is on a new road ,a road it had never seen before,a strange new road.too afraid to trace back, it..it decides to take the new road ..until the next traffic comes.
i live..nay i just survive.

one hour @cobbler's shop.

Perhaps a cobbler working on a torn shoe is the best example of life in its full brutality, blunt and true. the despondency with which the “customer” throws his slipper, the alacrity with which the cobbler takes hold of it in his both hands as if a doctor were checking his patient for injuries, the stingy and ruthless bargain that follows for that extra rupee, the reluctant concession, brimful of contempt. a fistful of disdain. a demand to sew it in black thread to avoid detection, his wry smile. his trembling hands pierce the worn out sole,as I watch detached.he tucks the flagging leather in,i watch.he finishes his operation and places it near my foot.i wear hand him a coin and just when i turn and get ready to lose this small stop in the midst of more important and significant events i hear a voice "maga joda sari hoythaa"(son,does the shoe fit properly")i nod my head dumbly and whizz past as my engine screamed at the top of its voice.

an ode to greatness-MN

yesterday happened to be MN's birthday.i wish i had his no.wanted to tell him that he shaped our lives,kindered thousands of souls like mine.i usually dont confess influences but boy,he has changed me rather made me,i seriously dont know where MN ends and i begin in my life.he taught me how to think.what amazed me was his versatility i have seen people brilliant in their domains but the universe is his domain.talk about literature,medicine,sociology..u name it he knows its depths. his sense of humour is outstanding,and those were not cheeky remarks or pjs he made but his masterful play with words and stupendous analogies that made us laugh.he had his own analogies for everything.hysteresis curve-totapuri mango,simple kuduk motion(shm).....
if u have lived in mysore and not listened to him u have missed something.long back niki had written something about good teachers,i didnt know how to reply to it then but now i realise ..perhaps a great teacher is one who can make his absence felt long after u have passed out from his classes, when u exclaim i wish he were to explain this...u know u have met one