Say Cheese.

I smiled. It was a beautiful feeling.
To be happy to be free to feel light,
The chains were there but i couldn't feel the weight of the iron on my sore body.
I could feel cold metal, but it tickled me instead of hurting me.

How much does it take? How long does it take?
To smile, Throught everything.
The time on the playground when you fell and tore the new pink dress,
The warning bell of exam, when you knew the answer but could not get youself to write.
Or the 2 mins of snooze on a sleepless night.

If only we could 'say cheese' when the camera was shut,
HIS hand holding us throught everything would be so clear.
If we smiled, letting go of the revenge would be easier,
The 9.17 churchgate local would be soemthing you look forward to.

A simple blush, a sweet thought, a beautiful fragrance,
A short attempt at massage, a want to give love.
A forced happy thought, a simple thank you.
A little bit of teasing, a glass of water,
The look on the face of a chubby child,
Whose eyes shut while he smiles innocently.

I smiled, it really doesn't take a lot.

Cannot be Written.

There are some incidents in life, that cannot be written.
And they are best unwritten.
Tucked away carelessly in ur mind.
No amount of tears can wash them,
No amount of emotions can numb it.

You bite your nails, trying to stop feeling,
The butterflies you felt.
But they tell you, your feelings are superficial,
Merely a cheap copy of the film they saw last night.
We cry, then stop, then laugh and end up crying again,
Untill we fall asleep.
And wake up only to see Kohl stains on the pillow.
To stop feeling consumed, I sit to write,
Only to realise, it cannot be written.

It is not my fault ma, its not my fault honey,
I swear, dont hate me, I need you.
Yes, we know now, we know never to trust me.
But this one time, just this once,
Can you make me smile,
For the last time, my love, my hate.
Let me write, it will set us free.
Please, my master, my emperor,
Look upon me, the least of your beings, make me write.
Now you realise it cannot be written.

But yet I write, I hope, I dream.
We wake up everyday, to the same day, seeing you leave.
And i sleep again shutting my reason, which says,
That tomorrow also,
You wont come and I wont write.

Life Left.

(I refuse to make it fair even as my frnd adi forces me. i did punctuate it!!! im too lazy. i dedicate it to vishal, an imp reason of my spoilt stupidity. and ofc pa. most imp i dedicate it to me. to fear and courage. and to never growing up... lol... cheers... read on and comment.)


A firm hand moves over my curvy waist,teeth mark my neck,
And lips caress my jaw line.As i am posseisively held,
"Trust me", the voice says. "I love the you of you".
I blush and I let out a sigh!

I hear, screams and insults,
My hurt kills my voice, I cannot be heard.
I see red. The red of rage.
I see greenish blue. The colour of my wound.

A small hand tugs my dress,
She waves out to me and runs to 'daddy',
The child inside me envies her,
As she walks along playfully with her hero!

My breath is fast and short,
My tears are flooding.
My body is red in fear,
And my hands shake as I hold tht bottle of water.

Now I'm breathing, eyes low, and everything is slow.
The pills are spreading its wings inside.
I spread out my hand trying to grab some support,
And theres is soft light outside my eyelids.

Honey, dodi, pumpkin, baby, duh, girl, princess.
They try all names to wake me up.
This tube in my nose is irritating,
And so is that concerned face waiting outside.

Dont ask me why? Ask him. Why did u wake me up?
Let me sleep, oh, let me sleep, please let me lie down!
My breath is working, your work here is done.
Life came to me. Moments became memories. Life left.

I am.

(this ones for Pa. tc dad n God bless)

I am the shades of green on the plastic plant.
I am the trail of a tear in the eyes of a spoilt kid.
I am the burnt rubber mixed w/ blood on the hard road.
I am the over boiling, spilling milk near the tired, lost house maid.
I am the fear in the heart of a death sentenced rapist.
I am the colour of the bruise on the face of the abused boy.
I am the drug abuse of the parent.
I am the temptation to run away from problems.
I am the empty head of the yapping chic and the lust of the guy staring at her.
I am the desperate kiss and puff of smoke after the fling.
I am the unchanging steady face of the violent child.
I am the greed felt by a young beggar looking at the building.
I am the relish in the left over food.
I am the satisfaction of a rich man and mediocrity of the middle class man.
I am the happy guilt of the first kiss and scared freedom of the last.
I am the relaxation of a pedicure.
The howling of a hungry dog.
The blazing fire in the candle light dinner.
I am the power to manipulate, plot and hurt an innocent soul.
I am the smudge of kohl near the eyes of an old whore.
I am the wishing eyebrows of a drag queen.
I am the bejeweled hands of a show off and sparkle in the tear during sex.
I am the cable wire blocking the sky and dark eye shadow of a seductress.
I am the cut wrist and the bad hair cut.
I shine in the sun reflecting in your sweat.
I am the obsession and ridicule of a bully.
I am the blush on the bride’s face and knife to cut the cake.
I am the jealousy and helplessness of the ex and empty pride of the present.
The speechless head of the retired breadwinner.
The ink for the writer.
I am evil...
I AM.
Who am I? I am God!

Around me

(hmm another poem written long time bk. lets jus say im in da mood of posting stuff :D)

Everywhere around me I see people...
Different, loving, trying, thinking,
Hoping...

Everywhere around me I see things...
Good, bad, bright, dull;
Just there.

Everywhere around me, I see space...
Lots of it.

Just a simple empty space,
Which unearths its way between all this...

And then the battle begins;
My amour of defense comes up;
I try to wrestle, but who can fight space.

It was like the desert sand,
Fatal but when held slips away…

Then they come…people and things for your salvage.
You hide behind them and it seizes your being even intently…

I observe it as it fills me up and consumes me,
I observe as it shows me inside every one and every thing
I wonder if this is what we have in store,
Of this momentary and alluring span of life…

Seduction

(random poem scribbled on the note pad, hence no puncutation and grammer, altho i love its rawness. written long time back.)

i knw what ur doin, its ur job...
u do it all da time.
ur lips n ur eyes move
they move... responsivily, passionatly.

then u move ur hands
expressively and proactivly
ur attitude and ur language change
suitably, accordingly.

i see everything inside u too,
i react correctly.
but somethin else is on my mind,
my eyes give it all away

then i read my mind n smile
shyly and slyly.
if u knew wat i was thinking...
u'd stop ... stop wat it is tht ur doing

ur talking abt somethin.
some worldly topic, some social issues,
some political concern discussed philosophically
or simply jus commenting wittly

but i see somethin else.
i see the fire burnin behind it,
it spreading everywhre u see or reach, unknwingly
and heating up slowly

u do not need nething else.
the mental foreplay is on
read the signs systematically
u own every bit of it...

ur seduction is done intelligently
its cutting the body slowly
ur power is tempting me in extasy
and ur eyes make me surrender respectfully

n well our conversation is over
so we'll just get back, its abt time
continue with the work physically
but enjoy the sparked up storm soulfully

Dreams

(wrote the 1st para longggg bk... the rest is a creation by me and my best pal vishal. so its different. its fun tho u shud try... 1 line by each one. different creation. this also happens to be my 1st story with a nonhappy ending. so its a lil sad :P neways hope u guys enjoy... o n i dedicate this to vishal talsania... to you vishy... for always bein thr and managing me. love u)

He opened his eyes and it was a beautiful forest surrounding him. it looked like he was the first one to be there. His eyes saw lush green trees with wild flowers hanging. He was breathing earthy smell with wet wood. The air seemed moist and cool on his skin. It was like he could taste the moisture. He was meditating there. His head and heart were peaceful. All his senses were at their pleasant best. He slowly got up to move near the constant, soft music in his ears it seemed to be coming from near by. It was a water fall. He moved the bushes and slowly moved as if he was floating. As he went closer with every step the music became clearer and smoother.

He was moving towards the fall. He could feel the water droplets on his face. He was moving towards the water his feet almost touching the water. Suddenly, he saw a girl emerge out of water. High cheek bones, long hair adorning her curved waistline, deep black eyes going perfectly well with her dusky complexion and coat of water droplets all over her body. She was the most beautiful angel he’d seen. And she was looking straight into his eyes. As if looking into his heart. She was walking towards him. She came closer and closer with every beat. Closer, closer, closer he could feel her icy breath on his face now. And she walked through him. As if he was thin air. He felt chilled icy chilled puff of breeze. As she went past.

He looked behind to see who it was and he saw no one. And his shirt was wet with water stains. and as he wondered, the music grew stronger. It was almost enticing him now. Seducing him towards the beat. It was all around him now. It was evading his soul. Suddenly it stopped. And he fell unconscious on the ground faintly seeing the image of the angel he saw before.

He woke up in his familiar bed. And faintly through his sleepish eyes he saw Zheel coming out of the bathroom, glowing and fresh of a warm bath. He thought to him self. She was nothing like the angel he’d seen back then. She just moved without a glance at him. And the beat was lost.

Who was that girl in his dreams then, someone so familiar and yet unknown. Someone with whom, he felt he’s spent a lifetime with. But it wasn’t his wife. Someone, whose face now he cud barely remember, but whose icy touch was still very vividly fresh in his memory.

He got up.... to continue with his morning routine. But this question not leaving his mind not even for a moment. Now he looked in the mirror. Just staring. And he decided. Decided to live his every moment and share his life and non existent love with the woman who never understood his dreams.

life

(something i thought of long long time bk, some1 jus reminded me of it today :) . neways cheers)

wrong situation, wrong person, wrong time.
wrong situation, wrong person, right time.
wrong situation, right person, wrong time.
right situation, right person, wrong time.
right situation, wrong person, right time.

right situation, right person, right time, wrong me!

Swollen hands

(dedicated to my best friend Priyanka Shetty. wish you all the love in the world. and a happy never ending. God bless. mwah!)
(this story is fictional. only taken random names of frnds. wrote it while being bored to death in the hospital. cheers)

They were on opposite beds in the hospital. She mostly slept due to medicines. And he, he just kept staring at her hands. He couldn’t see her. The green partition had divided them. He knew every curve and movement of her hands.

Two days later. They spoke. He offered her his ipod. ‘Coming back to life’ was playing on the pod. She broke the ice. “So what happened?” she said gesturing to his hand. “Butchers knife fell, lost a lot of blood.” “I’m a chef, by the way” he added after a brief pause. “OKAY! Aren’t you too young to have such an accident!” she exclaimed mockingly. “Aren’t you to old to have an ‘innocent’ over dosage of medicine” he retorted back. “I heard the doctors talking.” He said. She gave him a look and said, “So tell me about your girl.” She paused. “I figured you have one”.
“Yup, Priyanka...” He plainly said. With his stern straight questioning face. She shrugged. “Amit. Tall, chivalrous, rude, young.”
“Really!” he said understandingly. “Coffee date, right now?” She narrowed her eyes, as if skeptical. “Black coffee.”

He called the ward boy. Coffee came. Conversation started. There was pretence in both their eyes. But an undeniable spark. A painfully strong chemistry. They spoke about everything, besides themselves. There were blank moments in the middle where they just kept staring at each other. “You don’t have pretty hands. But they look nice when swollen.” He said with a boyish excitement.
“Huh? Okay.” She said fixing her gaze on his eyes which were on her hands. She just looked at his face. He had the most hurtfully opaque eyes she had seen his lips were chiseled to imperfection. She was jealous of his sense of humor which mixed with his agonizing smile.
“Tell me about her.” She said trying to avoid his manly charm. “Smart, seductive, stupid, Sunshine.” He said looking into her eyes. As if challenging her.
It had just been half an hour. He invited her to sit on the steps outside the hospital room. Then she said, “I would like to tell you why it happened, the real reason why I’m here.” He asked her back, “why? I don’t wish to know. I understand.” He just stared at her while she looked down at her hands. He did not know how long he kept staring at her. Her innocent eyes and flowing hair, mesmerized him. He did not know why in his head her lips seemed ‘sexy’. He never referred to women that way. Her womanly poise enticed him. She suddenly asked, “Its weird you know. I’m in the worst condition possible and you actually asked me for coffee.” And then she laughed without any inhibitions shaking her head. “You are crazy. I feel like kissing you.” His eyes fixed on her face. “Aren’t you very committed, mister!” she laughed some more.
“Not really…” he paused. “I’m engaged.” He waited for her face to get discoloured. “I’m bored of this stupid game. Really.” He said. “Ok listen.” He continued looking at her shocked face. “I lost a lot of blood when the knife fell backwards on my hand, but thanks to all those donors I got it back. I lost my mind when I fought with you, but here in this wretched place I got it back. I almost lost you and I want you, with out any questions or explanations. I want you to be mine.”
“Umm… I… umm… you…” she said trying to gather herself. “Why?”
“Cause you have the most dammed beautiful swollen hands ever. Marry me, sunshine” he said with a strong voice. She cried. He held her hand and let her cry. Between her sobs she said, “Yes Amit”

hmmm...

(Statutory Warning: This post is absolutely weird and random.. read at your own risk)

The weather is storming. It’s restless and vibrant. It’s forcing me to write. I actually just want to go out get wet and dance in the rains. Or maybe, go on a crazy, risky, fast drive to no where. Make out, jump and play in the rains. Act like kids, love like teens, feel the pouring water like an old, frayed, dying lady.
And here comes some more… wild, violent, murderous rains. What a thrilling show nature puts on for us! Then I just come near the window. The nature forces itself inside the house and penetrates inside me. Whilst reading an old friend’s thoughts on the blog, I am forced to become retrospective. But then again. how can I be normal when the nature has lost control. Might seem weird but I’m deeply connected to the natural elements. My name, although highly complicated, means nature. At this point I have completely lost the point of my post. But I shall continue because I can’t stop. Writing is like a drug takes you higher every time. If you try to quit, it will come back to you somehow, and no matter what it stays in you body and mind. Every word I type on the key bored brings new thoughts. Don’t know how this will end or where, or will it really end. It’s a long drawn process going on since forever. I’m trying to organize my head. Put different thoughts in different compartment. As it is creating technical default in my system.
Right now, I am thinking how do I get pictures uploaded on my blog (as I am pretty daft at computeering)? And I am thinking about that one person who was something more than friends and the fact that I shall never see him or my favorite book that is with him, ever again. I’m not depressed, but its just weird that you would NEVER see a particular human being again. And I am thinking of my all my favorite who will leave for a long time. Or should I concentrate on the career vs. the ‘love what I do’ fight. There’s more… picking between family and non family. My crush on this amazing guy or casual relationship, My longest ‘love of the life’ friendship or having a crush on random blog on the net. the long alone talk at the window or droplets on rain on my bare hands.
I have a funny head which only tqo people on earth have understood. One is my best girl friend and another is a stranger and will always be one. So yeah! Calmed down. The nature I mean. And well me too.

Lekha

Lekha sat at barista. It was lightly drizzling and heavily clouded. She was trying to pen down her thoughts while playing with the ice cubes in her iced tea. It was on of her blank space time, where she had so much in her head but nothing to write about. She looked around quietly, some really hot men, some pretty chicks and few other familiar faces. At that moment she was invisible for everyone. “Hey that’s Cyrus sir!” she thought to herself. But she did not feel like talking to anyone, she liked being merged in the crowd, where no one knew her. She became one with the sound around, honking, screaming, blushing giggles, loud laughs. “How will I tell him?” she thought.

Lekha was short and petite. She hardly spoke to anyone and most people thought of her as cold hearted. Her subtle features added to it. She was away from emotions. As if she could see them from a distance. She never dated in college. Whilst working she met Siddh, he was tall, thin, nerdy looking guy. He was a writer like her. And to her surprise he was an engineering graduate turned writer. She was often jealous of his writings. They understood each other. Even when they did not, they dint bother. Sometimes through the night discussing stories ideas and thoughts it was difficult for them to come to the real world leaving the fiction and fantasy. Sometimes they fought so much that it turned in to passion. And it would turn into the most lustful love making ever. But the distance always prevailed in them. Like they were miles away.

Today, she waited for him for three hours. He finally came. She had the coldest look on her face. Like always. She knew this was inevitable. “Hi sorry I’m late!” he said trying to be apologetic. “No Siddh, I am late… a month and half…” she snapped. “You mean… You are”… “Yes!” she said firmly. They both sat there for a very long time in silence. “I never told you this… I love you. And I’m really going to miss you!” he said in a heavy voice. “You know what! Me too” she looked straight in his eyes. They hugged for what seemed like eternity and parted with a kiss. While leaving she asked, “So are you going to write about this or me?” They both just smiled, giving each other last looks. She went home with tears and a satisfied smile se wrote about a story about the best break up ever.

Being ME

(this is an old post i found written on one of my blogs. ni ts surprising i can still relate to it a little bit. weird huh! so yea comments/ suggestions/ advice welcome)

It’s been a while since I left college and yes like every other person I am cribbing about: ‘Damn! Why do I miss my college so much?’ Yes it all started there. When we are little we are asked question, “Who do you want to be when you grow up?’ and I never knew what I wanted to be. But life gave roles and I accepted it. In school life and junior college I was different from any other teenager. I was in sync with my developments, maybe a little too much. Crushes were fun and revenge was new and fresh. In college like in school I realised I have always lived 2 yrs behind my life and thought 2 yrs ahead. As usual pretty complicated… but let’s get back to our story. Hmm… so the missing title of my life was always filled by something or some1… flings, boy friends, friends, parties, magic touch all the attention and fun was on. I was a student, a teacher, a leader, a hottie, a tom boy, stupid, over intelligent, sweet and blah crap… but I was something always. I never was someONE

After college and few parting weeks I was alone and free. Bored of life and doing nothing. Suddenly friends were gone and the phase of FUN and stupid flings was passed way back and I dint realise it. So I was no more the student or the other names. And since your in the 20 phase (I m sure u know that) your expected to b wise… so role at home cant be that of a careless gal having fun parting. Your duties remained same but your role was diff. so again who was I? Yea, the good gal in the house, But wait that’s not me that’s who I m expected to. So to change that social outing and formal events increased. To get back to who I was ‘used to’ being… I became the perfect hostess. So now I was the sweet hostess, but wait I wasn’t that either.

Went through different phases of being a girl to a woman, reader to writer, psychologist to philosophist and etc. some were longer and some were just a one night phase. But the question of who am I, still persists… because the deeper you go the freakier it gets. Your family, your name… hell your own body seems alien… (Yes when we say ‘my body’… its something that belongs to us not something we are)… and there in the dept of deep question. My confusion of finding my temporary and permanent identity persisted.

The other day my younger perky cousin asked me, “Wow!!! Isn’t it fun being u…?” I jus looked at her; she liked me, looked at me in awe and even followed my life patterns sometimes. I listen to her college story and smile about how simple life is to her wish i could tell her what it is to be ME...but i see her and i feel... ignorance IS bliss.

Surprise?

Click! The door opened. She pushed it with huge bag of grocery and books in her hand. This was the first rain of the season. She wanted to go out and get wet. Rains for her were freedom, something that washed off all her emotions, happy, sad, hurt, pain, excitement, everything. She felt empty and light. She put on the stove but today her head was not in cooking. She had decided to make Mexican for dinner. Cooking and serving would give her pleasure. The pressure cooker built up steam. She went in to the room undressed. She took a quick bath and put on some music. She realised there was some sprint in her step. Her head felt funny she just slipped into her bathrobe and started cooking. Evening was setting in and droplets of fresh rain kept pouring. While stirring the red pasta sauce she got lost into the beauty of the fierce sky, a small droplet hit her eye and she shut her eyes.
She heard a voice from behind said, “Ash, I don’t think we can go today, its pouring crazy it’s early this year. I’m sorry ya. We shouldn’t have ……” But she wasn’t listening she was in the terrace with her new formal dress with her most treasured manolo blahniks lying on the side, soaking herself. Her eyes were shut and water pouring from her hair to her face, neck, waist, feet and on the concrete ground. And that’s when he kissed her.
She opened her eyes and the pressure cooker gave the final whistle as if pleading to take of all the steam. Aastha was quiet. She knew what she was going to tell Vikram tonight would shake up her life. Turn her world upside down and maybe even make her the very vulnerable. Right now she was just enjoying jumpy the feeling inside her heart and stomach. But she was still what she was that day on the terrace… highly insecure.
Vikram was her life. She loved him; she had given everything she had to him. Many times she would talk to herself and call herself, ‘stupid’. But the last one year was the most beautiful year of her life. Most of the times they would just be sitting in one room, working on different things and just stealing a quick glance at each other in between the incessant clicking of their laptops. Or they would just lie down on the bed staring at each other for hours. Not touching each other just staring and the alarm would ring for them to get dressed and go to work. There were times when they would not talk for days because of the most trivial matter but both knew that it was needed. Sex was just another form of having a great conversation with the ‘Special Vikram Coffee’ in the middle of the night. Inspite of all this he was still a normal hot blooded man who loved kissing her at every chance he got, and she was still the petite woman who blushed at every kiss.
She was not sure how he was going to react to this.
She realised it was late and she needed to get dressed. She tried on a few things and finally came down to a simple kurta and jeans. As she wore her glasses she realised if she hadn’t met him she wouldn’t have known that glasses make her nose look thinner. She smiled and laid down the table. He came; they kissed and settled for dinner. “How do you do this, Ash…? I mean how? You make like perfect food for a long tiring work day? I’m gonna eat all the lasagnes” Vikrant went on. Dinner was over and she was clearing the dishes. All the while she tried to pick up hints as to how he would react. “We... We should live together.” She just said it concealing her nervousness and excitement. She had said it a lot of times before but this time she meant it, even he knew it. He looked at her, nodded his head and suddenly got up went inside. She was a little shocked. She turned and faced the sink with her eyes closed. This was the most insulting few seconds of her life. At first she wanted to cry. She thought to herself. ‘He’s selfish, mean and stupid, maybe…’
Suddenly he held her hand from behind and slipped a ring in her hand. Before she realised what happened he took her to the terrace outside. “Vik…what… I…?” he kissed her forehead and whispered in her ear, “I’m selfish, mean and stupid but so are you! And now I’m not asking you, I’m telling you… Let’s get married!”