On the other side of an ISD call

My feet are so firmly grounded on this land
Almost as if caught in the most banal quicksand
Tell me how it is to fly in a plane
Tell me, does it smell different when you breathe
Is it just in the mind, or are places actually special?
Do they really produce better fibre of cloth?
Why does it smell so good out of the cargo?
Why does the wait never disappoint?
What is it about a foreign land and crossing over?
Can only few privileged make it by providence?
Will I ever cross the seas and breathe else?
Or is it always here, waiting for the imported chocolates, perfumes and
watching films and reading books?
Will I also sit in a plane and tie my shoelaces?
I want to board a plane, break the sandbar of fortune
No more Australian beer, Swiss chocolate, Beat books and Canadian shirts
I feel blind when I eagerly ask how it all looks
I have to rely on their pictures and words
I also want...
Why are there seas? Can't we just cross on foot?
Why is there money? Can't we get generous hitch hikes?
There must be an easier way than facing a consulate
To fill bags of imported chocolates, perfumes and colorful clothes

When I play push on the edge of my bed

I push and I pull. Of course my ownself. I just keep pushing and pulling in thoughts and words and sighs and moans and tears and shouts and I mumble imagined dialogues in between. I keep at the edge and roll a few marbles bigger than the crevices. They keep awkwardly slipping through each corner and they hit the little multi-layered multi-colored sedimentary rocks and roll down in the water. I love igneous rocks better. They should never hurt cuticles or you feel pain, horrible pain. I just take that one step because I am so adventurous and then I brood over the huge step and its shreds around, then I just sulk and gulp up the whole thing as if some sour milk and sleep over it. Next morning it is not so bad and a few days later it is frozen well only to come out in sleep talk when i am possessed by Mara. Smile. I fear falling down, not so much as I hate the fallenness and the inability of "Sartre on Sex and Love" to soothe. So, probably as my way goes, I will deliberately fall a few more times and sit down not to fall or just sleep on the ground if no one pukes on it.

Congrats! Statistically you are a man

The fingers frantically clicked away
At revealing the true self
Could she know really
If numbers predict what she hides so well?

Gulaal

Usually I never comment on films I watch. But for this, I just felt like doing it.
I was actually quite unaware of what the film was about, to start with probably inadequate publicity or just the image of an off-beat film. The coloring, settings and costumes are eye candy, marvelously fauvist style loud vibrant colors to match each character. The story starts off really well and I loved the Ran-saa character. It is so true as Sonali pointed out the other day, Dilip the protagonist does not stir up any liking or connect, he remains hanging somewhere in the middle all the time. The second half was again, as for every recent film I've seen, draggy and incoherent. The story loses pace and vigor. Female characters wer "lameness" personified. Agreed, the editing was bad, some sequences were unnecessary. The whole teacher character given to the female was useless, some weird reproduction of a modern age, pot smoking cool babe (probably Kashyap is falling for the abuse of "showing drug use" in films). Piyus Mishra dazzles with all that John Lenon obsession and witty verses. The narrative was interesting because it cuts in and out of past and present (very common these days though) and uses music for progression (which is hardly the case in hindi films since 60's). The close ups are beautiful, K.K and the last sequence of initiation of the mud blood brother and his sister. Script is tight, almost no useless violence revelry. Mahie Gill is wasted and annoying. I loved the film for its visual appeal and music. Gives me all funny powered thoughts. I like.

The bunny looking heavenwards

At night when I walked in little fury, some daze, I passed the huge tar paved roads of my college which looks like a gothic set floodlit in orange. It was dark and silent as usual. People and purpose are to be explained in every inch of the college. No purpose no people. Wondering and wondering, on and on after two years of having been in here, I just looked around to see if anyone felt so helpless as me. But to my surprise I saw you, Bunny dustbin, looking upto the heavens, as if calm and saturated, no more willing to give way to the bickering of dissatisfied voices. I found solace in you