The Christmas weekend was the best I've ever had :) in so many ways.
I'm so deeeeeeply in love with life now that I'm sure it'll help me sail through some, if not all, difficult times that are yet to come in 2010.

I just need to get a control over my extreme emotions.

The curse

It was a soundless night
Leaves rustled, werewolves howled
The sun masked and moon guffawing
Four shadows quietly prowled

Gargantuan and sinister
The shadows stealthily moved up and down
A massive prison they guarded each minute
On the fringes of Bracketia town

It was a curse that lay on them
A curse that meant they knew not their names or purpose
“You will be shadows of no form or use”, cried the witch
“Until the day you find your crux”

Inside the prison lay a little girl
Captured for stealing a stale piece of bread
Her brother was dying and needed her right then
His life now dangled by a thread

She had to escape, and escape now!
So risking all, she called out to the four
“Why are you shadows and not like one of us?
And guarding us, is that your only chore?”

The shadows had never been spoken to
And each silent day made them grow more fierce
But the little angelic voice lured their souls, and how
the shadows dropped their guard and spears

“We do not know who we were or are
But we guard the prisons with all our might
Our memories have been wiped out, and our bodies stolen
we’re now just shadows in the moonlight”

“hihihi, but I love talking”
whispered the giggly fat first shadow in a hush
“I love explanations, and giving all possible details
It gives my shadowed soul a bloodless rush”

“For eg, he’d say “You’re a thief””
“But that’s just not the whole bad story is it?
But “you’re a thief (and in the future a likely murderer)”
Now this sounds worthy of a writ!”

“Ha!” Said the second shadow
“unnecessary exclamations and unnecessary additions
Have you little girl, heard of such atrocious language?
And he believe he was a writer with a mission!”

“Atrocious language he tells me!
It ought to be ‘he believe[s]’ and not ‘he believe’
But I’m open, loquacious and not reticent at all
Unlike this cold ‘Closed Mr. Steve’ ”

The little girl smiled, and laughed
at the shadows’ childish bickerings and verbal battles
“the shadows seem friendly and nice to me
Absolutely nothing like their dark exteriors that rattle”

The third shadow rose from the others
A giant squibbly form, reminiscent of a child’s curls
Bellowing out loud he said “Shut up!”
“We should be wary of over-friendly little girls”

“I have the height of a pixie,
What harm can I do to you or your brothers?
My trial’s two days after tonight's full moon,
Sigh…the thought makes my soul shudder”

The shadow which lay quiet till now
Came up to the front, joining the two verbose ones
“he’s angry with what we are, that’s all he is
From all that is pleasing, he runs”

“But I know he has immense wisdom & tolerance.
For when the judges ask his choice of sentences
A series of options, all equal in comparison
{100 years, life imprisonment, death}, he says”

“He also has a penchant for music
For he often joins staves and simultaneously played lines of music
So although he’s loud, and scariest amongst us shadows
I am the Nastiest, as most prisoners pick”

“I reveal what’s thought, and the unspoken
What’s lost, what’s hidden and what’s not
I judge what’s more, what’s less, what’s big or small
I am the leader of us shadows lot”

“My grandpa once told me a story”, said the girl
About how Bracketia lost it’s writing flair
Of four brothers who served to fill in and accentuate
lines written out of zero care”

“It’s a story that passed down in our family
And to speak it out to anybody, we’re forbidden
But since you’re shadows and do not have a body
I’m sure the rule would not apply then”

“So these four brothers had a magical gift
The Bracket family as they were called
Round, Square, Curly and Angle Bracket
All writing problems they easily solved”

“But alas, the town of Bracketia once
participated in a “Writing” battle of the towns
The Bracket family represented us and won, of course
But left on others a displeased frown”

“The witch of Hyphenia was angry
And she caught the four brothers by deceit and sham
And turned them into forms still unknown…

Wait, maybe you’re those brothers; Damn!”


The shadows stepped back startled
A jolt went right through where their hearts had once been
And the memories came flooding into their shadow minds
Their purpose of life they had now seen

Something happened, the mist lifted
The guffawing moon seemed to now smile in a mime
The girl was the crux, the revelations the ones
which freed the shadows of their no-crime

Four handsome brothers stood in their places
Watching the prison walls dissolve and disappear
Bracketia would return to the normalcy it once had
Its people would write once again without fear

So each brother has a specific purpose
They still correct and beautify what we write and speak too
So next time you use a round, square, curly or angle bracket
Just call out to the brothers, I’m sure they’ll help you

(Inspiration: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bracket)

What's right

I wake up and smell the coffee
Ready, the newspaper, reading glasses
I reach out, my right hand trembles
My left hand supports

It is difficult, I touch the glasses
Difficult to grip, to hold
I get it close to my face, and I maneuver
My face fits it perfectly

Now the cup of coffee
The plate rattles, coffee spills onto my shirt
A sip, two sips, and more
The right one does it well

The morning over, the lunch, a stroll
Cricket, tennis, the evening news on television
The world, changes each day
If only the remote would stay still

Month end, I am the man, I pay
A pen, the chequebook, I dread
Each month, a worse tremble, a worse signature
Yet, the scribble pleases me in a childlike way

My wife, my children with theirs
An outing, a picnic, a wedding
That little voice within, “I hope I can be steady”
But they love, she loves, I live

Doctors help, fail, no real cure
Nerves berserk, no control
But, I’m a whiz, I quiz, I reason, I debate
So what if the right one’s gone a little wrong

Dedicated to my grandma (dadi) who passed away and my grandpa (nana) who’s the ‘mental mathematics’ whiz. Parkinson’s really squeezes out a lot of confidence from within. There is no complete cure, and the small things we do each day becomes a feat for them. Tying the naada of a pajama, shoelaces, brushing teeth, combing hair.....


But I love them, the way she was and the way he is.

I wish I could paint

(came across this while on a blog-blog visit. Liked it, hence, put it up.)

......I also wish I could be a singer

Hansel and Gretel: A twist in the tale

Brothers grimm, they once created
the story of Hansel and Gretel
I always felt it was way too overrated
too much masala to make it sell

But then I sit and scratch my head
wondering how they cooked up the plot
For had they met a bong instead
an insane touch it would’ve surely got

So here’s the bong version of the duo
a story with a little twist
I hope the story has that, what you call a ‘flow’
a little plagiarism just might assist

A sleeveless blouse, and dhakaai shaari
A giant bindi on her forehead
The stepmother’s attire was really fiery
Sheddho bhaat she swore by, unlike the story’s bread

“Another drought! My hurt hearts badly”
The stepmom cried aloud
“I know, oh my dear shonamonee
Let’s throw our cheeldren out”

So out went little Hanshail and Greytail
Onto the crowded streets of Kolkata
The stepmom’s plan would surely never fail
All details were in her mota khata

“Do not Whorry, my leetal sis
I have counted all the men
All the men I saw shamelessly piss
On eleven walls, no actually ten”

“When ma leaves us, we will follow,
The mark of these freshly wet walls
Just a little pain you need to now swallow
Get home we will, don’t you now fall.”

So, through a million legs and fish stalls
Hanshail steered through
But what was this, now all the walls
had that wetness on them too!

The poor duo was now lost and hungry
thoroughly confused with the route
till they came upon a woman, so angry
that Greytail hid under a bundle of Jute

“Who is she”, thought Hanshail aloud
“She seems so horrid and sly”
“She looks like a witch and burps so loud”
No wonder the name plate says “Mukho-pad-dhyay”

“But we’ll still ask her if she can give us,
something to drink and eat
But if she starts to create too much fuss
We’ll make a fast retreat”

So in they went, and knocked at the door meekly
Waiting to see what lay in wait
But the woman ushered them in rather politely
Creating a doubt of whether to like her or to hate

The walls were brown, made of shondesh
The floor of boiled starch
And Gur made up the idols of gonesh
Everything else was ilish maachh!

Greytail started greedily hogging
And Hanshail wasn’t far away
Food everywhere and noone stopping
This was a heavenly stay.

The woman was evil, and extremely wicked
Luring them this way
“Fatten them and put them to bed.
A fine dinner they’d be on Sunday.”

But alas, hypermyopic like all bongs are
The woman could hardly see
“are the children now fat like my ambassador car?”
frequently wonder, would she

And Sunday came, the pot was ready
She worked with an extra zeal
The shorshe prepared, her hands now steady
she got ready for her scrumptious meal

Hanshail and greytail knew of the scheme
This was the moment they dreaded
A push and it ended the woman’s dream
although loudly she pleaded

Running as fast as they could they escaped
The brother sister duo
Jumping, running, they were so jaded
Where was home, was now their woe

Then they met a little duck
Who said she knew the way
“I’ll give you a ride for some 200 bucks”
“that’s the deal, so simply pay”

So fleecing the kids, homeward she flew
On scotch, the bong father was high
And after a robindro shongeet with the crew
The duck stood up to say goodbye

But being the bongs that they proudly were
The happy family caught the duck
Patla jhol they made of her
Putting an end to all her luck

So I end it here, the fairy tale
I’m really out of rhyme
A writer’s block or a complete fail
I’ll write some other time.

P.S.: The words are not misspelt. They are mostly written the way most us bongs pronounce it. e.g. "My hurt hearts = My heart hurts", art would rhyme with hurt.. and so on..

P.P.S.: Hope the bongs enjoy this :P

P.P.P.S.: Inspiration- all the jokes abhishek cracked on bongs

Image: Greg Baldwin

A beauty parlour; Some conversations

“Did you hear Mrs. Thakkar’s young daughter is pregnant?”
“Oh you mean the wife of the infidel, alcoholic lieutenant?”
“No, no, that’s the other Mrs. Thakkar who lives in South Delhi”
who has a teen daughter, known for an appearance rather slovenly”
“Oh, the one, who has that smelly, ogre-like lover?
“Ya! with teeth all crooked, and a head that’d look better under a cover”
“No wonder they weren’t included in Mrs Khanna’s list of party invitations
With daughters like these, they’ve forever scarred their reputation”

......................................

“Payal spends a lot lately, wonder where she gets all that cash”
“Haha, it’d be better if she used all of it to get rid of her moustache!”
“Those ugly blackheads on her nose, makes me sick when I look at her
and to think I HAVE to see her face in school, today, tomorrow and day after.”
“Have you seen Roshni’s arms and legs, aren’t they horrifyingly hairy?
She doesn’t even do her eyebrows, imagine, that’s like totally scary!”
“Yeah, even Rachna, I wonder if she’s ever visited the parlour
“Unsightly sensibilities, all these girls, I’m glad we’re way way smarter!”

.......................................

“I love giving money for charity, that’s the least I can do, can’t I?”
Like I recently helped those orphaned kids, by donating a lakh to CRY.”
“Well, I donated 5 lakhs, since being rich has with it responsibilities”
and oh those kids love me so, and treat me like a celebrity!”
“Oh, my husband once took it on him, to change some street kids’ fate
and so they went viewing their country, in his grand private jet”
“We give them food, we give them clothes, we give them all our money
yet they crib, moan and shout, and say we’re all a bunch of phonies!”

........................................

“Did you see the black dress, that Ronita wore to the party?”
“Yeah, showing off her cleavage; she got drunk little miss smarty!
“Not that, I meant it’s the same black dress she wore even the last time
tchah! What a revolting thought, I’d NEVER commit such a crime!”
“She’s got neither a good body, nor a rich dad to flaunt
So how does she always manage a guy, on all her silly jaunts?!”
“She needs a serious makeover, my maid looks better than her!”
“But she can’t be really helped, it’s useless, so why even bother... ”

Tweedle dumbs

Of lawls and gawds, there was a hunch-backed stud boy
Tweedle dumb his name, the comp his only toy

Buzz and ping he would, on Fb, orkut and twitter
Rain and sunshine, his butt huge, his fingers were getting fitter

Twenty friendship requests he’d send each precious day
But twenty one rejects he’d get back; his days were always grey

And then one day he found a very sexy lass
Watching her profile pic, he let out all his gas

He sighed and sighed, and sighed and sighed
Sweat beaded up on his snake like hide

She accepted the request, he jumped with ecstacy
He was in that thing called love, his brain went fuzzy

He pried through all her pouting photos, single and group
Watching her every click and hi, now he’d constantly snoop

Hacking her passwords, her days and her dreams
Tweedle dumb stalked her, in a manner rather grim

The sexy lass dumped his friendship via a status update
Tweedle dumb fumed, broke his chair and spit at his fate

He stalked her more, made morphed nude pics of hers
And blackmailed to send them to all her fb brothers

Crying and crying the sexy lass ran
The fastest she could to her wise old gran

“Tweedle dumb”, roared the giant lady with a tiny pet crow
“If you snoop and stalk, I will make your nose grow and grow”

“You send the photos to me and I shall burn them away”
“If I hear of your antics again, I shall stuff your mouth with poisoned hay”

“Ha!” said Tweedle, you are an old, ugly hag
Do not mess with me, or I shall choke you with a rag

Tweedle went his way and opened his fb account
‘Click, click’ and he was on the day’s tenth spying count

He wrote to her “Come to me and we shall be happy”
If you do not, I’ll make your life real real crappy

The final click on ‘comment’, and his nose felt really weird
With a sudden jolt, his nose was as long as the hermit’s beard

‘Wham! Wham! Wham!’, he hit his nose
Hoping it would get, if not normal, then at least close

He wrote another comment, ‘I love you, and I want you’
His nose now touched the ground, and he rushed to the loo

‘Burn the photos!!!’ Gran’s voice boomed
Or else prepare well to see your life get doomed

“I will not listen to you old hag!” screamed the sick brained man
“Ok” said Gran, “then watch your fingers grow each time you plan”

Tweedle rushed to his toy, glued to the chair he started scheming
But ‘SwOOOOOsh’ and his fingers grew, his nails now gleaming

“Ouch! I can’t type! My fingers hurt and now bleed pus!”
Tweedle dumb jumped up and down creating quite a ruckus

“Old Gran help me, I shall not stalk, snoop or pry!”
“Just get me out of this mess”, Tweedle let out an anguishing cry

“Ha ha ha!!, Tweedle you are really very dumb!”
“You do not listen to what I say and then break down into a crumb”

“Take the photos Gran, take them all away!”
“If I ever repeat this heinous act, then stuff me with the hay”

“I shall make your nose grow back and let your fingers stay
And give you another chance, but I will have the last say”

“If I hear another complain, a whine or see another tear
I shall rip your soul apart, and the other similar tweedles shall die of fear”

“Actually let me cast a spell to make sure all you tweedles behave
Not a mere fb block, around which all the tweedles find a way”

“When another tweedle strikes, this Gran will surely rise
Be scared all you tweedles, stop those random hellos and hi’s”

“So, Bling Blang Bloong! When the clicks boom”
“Let the tweedles wear their nose so long, that they’re never a fitting groom”

“And, Bling! Blang! Bloong! When the clicks boom
Let their fingers die out right then, and bring close their doom”

Tweedle dumb sighed, and cried the next 365 days
“I will not stalk, I promise, just give me peace”, he’d pray

And although the tweedle dumbs of today still stalk, snoop and spy
Gran lies in the dark, her claws itching to make them cry

So of rofl's and lols, there was a hunch-backed stud boy
Tweedle dumb his name, nobody does he now annoy

Fireflies

Fireflies, and a night
a math textbook, scribbled notes
a song playing too loud
to shut out, what is deafening

Today, tonight
a broken pot, a burn of white
a door not too strong, trying
to shut out, what is blinding

A lunch, a dinner
a scream, a smack
a pull of the hair, little hands scared
to stop, what is bleeding

An exam night
a scattered math note, a torn book
a burn, an attempt
to stop, what is beating

A drunken day, a drunken night
a smack again, a lustful force
an act of horrifying domination
to shut, what is creating

An owl, another night
a rebellion, a rise
a little fear, a lot of courage
to let out from within, what is seething

A morning, the creeping night
a plan, a sense of hatred
a wait for that one impetus
to root out, what is poisoning

that night, a starry night
again a hit, again a fall
again a pull of the hair; and then a shot
to kill, what is killing

Fireflies, and a night
a math textbook, scribbled notes
a song, a mother’s hug
to love, what is loving

5 years, 11 months and a week later...

5 years, 11 months and a week later...
1) I feel happy
2) I feel happy
3) I feel happy

and I hope this stays.