A little bit of you

A night so silent, not a wind in sight,
A darkness so plain, falling over the night,
In the stillness, something was amiss I knew,
All I wanted was, a little bit of you

The mountains called and the chill descended,
A bat flew by, the quietness offended,
A soft sorrow crept as the star remained unmoved,
If only I had a little bit of you

Somewhere far away, wind gasped,
And just for a moment, a leaf dances,
Once again, I could hear the owl hoot,
It was all here, except, a little bit of you

:(

Writers Block!

For All My Closest Friends…

I will not tag anyone in this post,
it is for my closest friends,
they know who they are,
and they’ll find themselves in this poem:

The Last Song of Dusk…

It was only several years after it was written that I came across a work of prose which was in fact poetry. Not more, not less, but poetry. ‘The Last Song of Dust’ is not just any poem. It is a sad one. A melancholy ballad that fills you up with itself till in a gesture of respect or out of desperation, tears begin to shed. I read this book one day, from dawn till dusk and cried my heart out. It must not be mistaken that the story is one filled with tragedy which warrants this catharsis. It is undoubtedly tragic, but it is not the death and separation that makes you cry. It is the style.

The book flows out in volumes of sorrow. Like a child lost. Like the night. Like Dariya Mahal. Engulfing. This doesn’t necessarily go to say that it is a spectacular book, or even an excellent one. It is just a little piece of dark magic, above mere literary accolades. To measure its contents and grade and judge it, would be sinful. It is not even something that will be remembered and included in academic texts to be learnt by rote by bored students in faraway inconsequential universities. It almost an insult.

What strikes me about this book is its ability to stare at me. Not just the panther, but every character stares at me. I stare at a little bit of each character in me. The wildness of Nandini, the calm of Anuraddha, the silence of Vardhaman or the wordless innocence of Shloka. Or was it the other way around?

I will never know. What I do know is that it was written by a 26-year-old, which only reminds me, that it’s always possible.

Zhop Aali!

This is an ode to all my friends and colleagues who burn the midnight oil to work and then are back again in the morning all week long. These non-voluntary workaholics are the poor sleep deprived souls who have eyes set in dark circles and look at least 5 years older than they are. For lack of too much else to do, I dedicate this piece and a few minutes of googling to you.

Sleep defines everything we do…or at least when and how we do it. Technically, an average human being must spend 1/3 rd of their lives sleeping. But that is clearly not the case. We spend either obscenely more or excruciating less time devoted to this blissful activity.

To put things in perspective in the bigger picture of a human lifetime (which isn’t so big after all!) we may make a few assumptions: 

• Childhood and old age are the only time when people are only glad to find you asleep. They tip toe across the room and are completely paranoid about waking you. It is also the only time when you can cause a lot of trouble when you’re awake.
• Most women sleep when they are tired. Most men sleep when they are bored. Children sleep whenever they want, except when they want to cry. Working people sleep more peacefully during work hours than at home.
• Lew Wallace was the one to invent the snooze button. Why? He was supposed to reveal the reason at a press conference, but he didn’t make it because he over slept.
• The world record of maximum time spent without food is actually longer than the world record og maximum time spent without sleep. So we can stay hungry longer than we can stay awake.
• Man is the only animal who goes to sleep when he’s not sleepy and wakes up when he is.

This list could go on. Sleep is one of the most interesting subjects of study. But what makes it more interesting is how it affects me. The time between childhood and old age, is the one where life is what happens to you between telephone calls, Facebook friend requests, tea breaks, sutta breaks, time-pass breaks, lunch breaks, simply-need-a-break- breaks and a few random breaks thrown in. in short, this is a time when life is a synonym for work. And at work, there is no time to sleep (official) and it is unthinkable to sleep in any of the breaks mentioned above. Lose a nice little chai break to sleep? No way!

Instead we pore over computer screens, down caffeine/ nicotine consisting substances and slowly go from happy, healthy, smiling, fun-loving, living people to sleep deprived zombies. But this really could be a good thing in someway (being the highly optimistic person that I am!). Because all this work pays off…most of the time! So the less we sleep, the more toppings we get on that pizza. So my grand hypothesis of the day is that sleep is inversely proportional to no. of pizza toppings!

It is truly wonderful to observe how our twisted brains actually manage to mess up nature that had been getting along fine until then! We have actually managed to pit food against sleep!

There is a lot more I want to say about sleep. It is something I truly miss these days. I would probably have typed it. But what to do…zhop aali!

Maybe, Maybe Not

She carefully placed all the dishes on the dining table. She set two plates. Two scented candles in the centre. Perfect. She walked back to the kitchen to get the glasses. On the way she looked into the glass of the cabinet. She was looking stunning. She smiled and continued to set the table. He would come any moment now. She had been planning this surprise dinner for weeks.
It was eight o’clock. He was a little late. She didn’t worry so much. Better give him a call. “The number you are trying to call is currently not reachable. Please try again later.” said the polite recorded voice. For the twelfth time she kept the phone down. It was nine o’clock. He was really late now. Where could he be?
“I know!” she thought. “He’s probably lost his job. The boss was giving him a lot of trouble of lately. He must at the bar now. He must be sulking away. I wish he would come home. As of now, my salary should be enough for the house but I hope he finds a job soon. Our investments should last us till then. I wish I could talk to him. Why can’t he just come home……”
Just then the phone rang, breaking her chain of thought. “Would you be interested in a car loan madam? Our bank can give you a great deal.” said the telemarketer.
“No, thank you.” She said with a sigh and slammed the phone. She sunk into the couch again. It was nine thirty.
“He’s gone to get a car. Yes! That’s why he’s late. He hasn’t lost his job! He was insisting on getting a new car for the longest time. He must have bought it without asking me. I told him we don’t need it, the old car is fine! But who listens to me? He went straight to the showroom after work and he must be driving it around town right now. He’ll come home with that sheepish look on his face. How dare he buy the car after I told him not to! Hasn’t the decency to consult me!”
Suddenly she got startled when the windows shook in the wind. Within a few minutes, thunder and lightening burst over the city and it began pouring buckets. She stood by the window and saw several people running about to shelter themselves from the rain. She looked at the clock. It was ten. She was getting even more worried. Just then a car on the road came to a screeching halt and narrowly missed a fruit cart on the road. She watched absent-mindedly from the window as the fruit seller and driver bickered.
“He’s had an accident! Oh my god! I hope he isn’t very hurt. Maybe he skidded on the road in the rain. What if someone got killed? He must be in a hospital right now…or maybe a police station! Why can’t he call me? I should do something to help him. Maybe I should call the police.”
She went to call the police only to discover that the line was dead. Just then another thought came to her mind. “He couldn’t have had an accident. It started raining just an hour ago. He should have been here by eight! Where could he be? Oh I know! He’s having an affair. He hasn’t been himself of lately! I bet it’s that new client that he keeps talking about. He must be having dinner with her right now while I’m waiting for him like a fool. Let him come home! There will be a showdown today. How can he cheat on me!
She waited impatiently for the next half an hour. It was eleven now. She was very angry. She couldn’t wait to lash out at him. Then the bell rang. She rose slowly and opened the door. He stood in front. He was soaked to the bone. His clothes were covered with mud and grease. In his hand was a bouquet of wilted and almost smashed roses. She was completely startled by his appearance.
“Where have you been?” she asked, still in a state of shock.
“You won’t believe it! I got promoted today.” He said, handing her a soggy letter from his pocket. “I decided to surprise you. So I got these flowers, but there was this horrible traffic jam on the way. I was stuck or over an hour. As if that wasn’t enough, that stupid old car broke down. I had to walk two kilometres to find a mechanic. It started raining on the way. My phone got wet and stopped working. I tried calling you but because of the rain, all the public phones were also dead. This is such a bad day! So what have you been doing at home all this while?”

Chitrangada

The cry of the peacock tore through the early morning mist of the desert. In the palace, servants rushed about doing their daily chores. The king was getting dressed for another day. In the east end of the palace, the sun rays crawled into the room. She moved uncomfortably in her silken bed clothes as the sun rays disturbed her sleep. Indignantly she pulled the covers over her eyes again and continued to sleep.
A few minutes later eight-year-old, Princess Chitrangada crawled out of bed and opened the windows. She breathed in the morning air and stared straight at the young sun, defying its power. It was a miniature victory for her when she felt that the sun couldn’t defeat her.
When she came down, the king was busy.
“Good morning, Your Majesty.” she said to her father. The King smiled at his daughter and returned to his work. He was having a meeting with some white men. They were very fair and, momentarily, aroused Chitrangada curiosity.
Not bothering herself much, Chitrangada ran out into the lawns to play. All along a maid would be with her. The princess was never to be left alone. But Chitrangada was high-spirited. She didn’t like being monitored all the time.
“Get me my new doll.” she ordered the maid.
“I can’t leave you alone, Your Highness. The Queen has forbidden me from doing so.”
“I will also be the queen someday. Now get me the doll!” said Chitrangada indignantly.
The maid looked around to see if there was any other servant in sight. Seeing no one, she had no option but to leave. As soon as she was out of sight, Chitrangada dashed for her favourite spot on the lawns which she had discovered only a few days ago. It was near the wall, behind an old well. There was a hole in the wall. Chitrangada could see the village from there.
Just then she saw a small figure running up the hill towards the palace. A little girl, not much older than the princess was running. Chitrangada called out to her. The girl seemed a little afraid, but nevertheless came closer. She climbed in through the hole. She was dirty. Dust on her face and hands and even her clothes were torn.
“Who are you? Why are you running?”
“I’m Lakshmi. I was playing with my friends in the village. They’re trying to find me. This seems to be a good place to hide. They’ll never find me here. Are you the princess?”
“Yes I am. Will you play with me while you’re hiding from your friends?”
“Alright. Have these berries first. I just stole them from the garden”
And that was the innocent and humble beginning of a friendship that would change their lives forever.
Chitrangada and Lakshmi then met frequently. Secretly, of course. A queen in the making wasn’t supposed to mix with the commons and Lakshmi too would be scolded at home if she was found playing with the princess. The royal family were supposed to be revered and not befriended. Lakshmi too knew this but she liked Chitrangada so much, she didn’t want to break the bond between them. So nobody knew of their secret friendship. Whenever possible, Chitrangada went down to the lawns and Lakshmi would come to meet her at their hiding place.
Chitrangada learnt from her all about the people in the village and how different their life was from her own. They were all poor. They didn’t have silken robes nor did they eat lavish food. They worked hard all day and even in spite of that, went hungry every few days. In drought, many would die.
“Why don’t the villagers grow their food Lakshmi?”
“Some do. Others are forced to work at the factory by the white men.”
“What’s a factory? And who are these white men?”
“It’s that big building in the city. I have seen it once. They make something there, I don’t know what it is but it is sent it in big carts. And the white men! They are very cruel. They whip the workers if the work is not done. They don’t pay them very well too.”
“Why doesn’t my father ever help the villagers? Does he know how bad the white men are? I’m sure he’ll help if he knows how troubled the villagers are.”
“No, no Your Highness! Please don’t tell your father anything. Especially about me!” said Lakshmi abruptly.
“Why?”
“I have to leave. It’s getting late and mother must be looking for me. I will see you later.”
“Hey wait! Don’t go!” cried Chitrangada, but Lakshmi was already gone. The princess thought lot about that meeting. She didn’t understand a lot of things. She wanted to talk to Lakshmi. Ask her why she left so suddenly at the mention of the name of the king. Lakshmi didn’t come to the palace again. A week passed. Then another one. Chitrangada would evade all the servants and sit alone behind the old well all evening waiting for her friend. No one came. She was really worried.
The little princess then made the first important decision of her life. She took her oldest cotton robes and cut them here and there, rolled them in the dust and rubbed some on her face and hair. Princess Chitrangada then, dressed as an urchin, climbed out of the hole in the palace wall. She gathered all her courage and went to Lakshmi’s house. Lakshmi had told her the way once. Chitrangada reached a little deserted hut. She looked around to see if she could find Lakshmi.
“Go away, there is nobody in that house.” said a shopkeeper.
“Where is that little girl who lived here?”
“You came a little late. The white men came to take her father Bhim Singh away. He refused to leave his family. They troubled him for many days. Then, last week, they shot the little girl and her mother dead. He tried to save them. He too was killed.”
Chitrangada heard all this silently, shocked beyond belief. Without another word she walked back. “I won’t cry.” She told herself. “Princesses don’t cry. I’ll talk to father. He will help me. He’ll punish those bad men. I’ll tell him what they do to the poor villagers. They couldn’t have killed Lakshmi. I have to go back and tell father.”
That evening when she went back to the palace, there seemed to be someone in the Divan. The king often met people there but it was rather late for visitors. She stood behind the netted curtains. She would talk to him as soon as the visitors left.
“We need more people for the factory Your Highness.” said a white man.
“Take as many as you want from the village. As it is the crop always fails and they don’t pay tax. Useless creatures. You had might as well make them slog in the factory.”
“They keep protesting. They can’t leave their families behind, they say.”
“I told you to force them. Tell them it’s my order. They’ll do anything the king says. If they still resist….that’s a fine pistol you have there. Use it. As long as I get the revenue, I don’t care.”
“Your Majesty, don’t worry about that. We are already using that pistol very well. After that farmer’s family we killed last week, all the villagers are frightened. I don’t think they will hold up the protest much longer. Your payment will arrive from the city in a week’s time. Anyway you charge double the tax to those who work in the factory!”
All three men laughed heartily. They were in total oblivion of the little girl behind the netted curtain. A single tear stained those royal cheeks. In complete silence she went to her chamber. She lay on her bed, eyes wide open, not awake, not asleep. By morning, Chitrangada was reunited with Lakshmi.
Not all of the king’s riches could revive his daughter. Nobody even knew how or why she died. The little princess, in spite of her father’s riches, died in the attire of an urchin.