Humor and its loyalties

Humor belongs to body, humor belongs to soul

If I knew any better, I'd be on its payroll

Humor ain't no joke, its serious if you laugh and choke

It may kill you if you are a poor bloke, whose dream went up in smoke

Humor may be a guy, whose pastime was to deny

Indolent rulers their right and keep check on their might

But then it may be  a gal, on whom it befell

To cheer up the folks in hell, and teary fits dispel

It serves up a plate of snorts and smirks

Past youth and wit it can unearth.

Satiates an old desire to sigh

At the blunder of your folly to pry

It even makes you cry,

fat tears of pure delight

brings home friends on a cold night

And warms up the hearths of love's light

Humor may serve another kind of purpose,

If it roams the rulers' court of jesters

Divesting them of somber expressions

Macabre smiles and sadistic inventions…

Push them of their high horse

Make them seek better recourse…

'cause it ain't no fun for the poor man

If humor cant afford to mess up the rulers' plan

Humor, do you sharpen your wit at their expense

Do you bow in excess to see their vanity's extent?

You are silent when they mock at you

Do I see a twinkle in your eye or a tear push through

Is it so hilarious that it hurts to laugh

Or the silence of the hurt they have caused

Have you given up on your troubles and decided to be wry

Or is it your pun that drives them away, and make them shy

Maybe you played in a yard, laughing on the sly…

Maybe there wasn't any other trade you learnt to ply

Do they see you as a light hearted soul

Is your intelligent banter your parole?

You are the keeper of their blunders' records

Nameless and ageless are your divine methods

Do they know it is you who rule,

Do they know of their shame's mule

Do you want them unblinded, unmuted and dissillusioned

Of their might, of their right to be unquestioned

Are you there by choice or appointed,

Are you moved by the need to be wanted

Isn't there self deprecation where you wander

And I've seen you often surrender

To the claims and fancies of people's hunger

For a little respite

from the harshness of life

Where does your loyalty lie?

On whom do you rely?

Out of every destiny's graph,

Who has the last laugh ?

MIDDLE SCHOOL

She was looking through the window to escape when the other girl called her… she was irritated. Not again!! I will not hear another word of mock concern. “Latha!!” the voice called, “would you eat my tiffin, I’m really bored of the same food everyday”. What! she is bored of food? But, should I take it? I am starving, what will others think? I can’t stand their pity anymore. They won’t say anything but I see their faces every day. I’ll eat, I’m starving. Upma! My favorite, this girl is weird, she doesn’t like it?
Here, your tiffin box, nice and empty. “Thanks Latha…” What is she thanking me for? Oh no, why is she coming back? “Hey you could share lunch with us every day you don’t have to eat alone” hah! I don’t have to eat at all. No thanks, I don’t like to eat in class. There I saw the flicker of pity again. Thanks for your time. Now get out of my face!
Random people come and go out of the class, the middle aged roundish woman has been going on for about an hour now. Ouch! Why did she have to throw chalk at me! “Latha! Enough! Stop looking out of the window and pay attention here!”  I’ll show them why it is important to look. Look! There is life outside, the real one, not the ideal world of rules and norms and science and lovely political systems. Not geography that changes every year in your textbooks. Not history fouled over. The present, the current!!! Its outside, it’s here. Aah, forget it. ill be mute as always. If they want to know, let them look into my eyes.
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“What happened???” have you seen Latha? “who, the mad one no?” she is not mad! “unruly messed up hair, feverish eyes, crazy laugh and always lost ya I know her” well she standing there on the scool terrace and going to jump!!
“What??!!”
“Latha don’t jump”
Why shouldn't I, this is what is real, this is what I’m meant for. Not your books, not your pitiful smiles of mock sympathy. I want to be free of this room, this building, of you all!! My life ! I am coming…
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Why did she do this, who was her friend, do you know what happened.
I think she was a bit challenged, you know what I mean?
No, no, some guy dumped her.
She was wild
I knew something like this was going to happen
Shut up all of you, she’s right here!! She was sick of the empty words around, the weak attempts at empathy. Nobody could enter her world. Even teachers mocked her. All your explanations cannot make up for her silence. Nobody could get through her shell of pain… we killed her!!

WHOSE STORY DO YOU WANT???

Is it a nameless faceless crowd? I thought not.

People differ here, I see them in all their quirky variations. High achievers, low self esteem issues, superiority complexes, glorious dreamers, amazing artists, the super whiz kids…The look uptos, the cant get throughs, the pitiers, the unsavory, the nocturnal, the diurnal, the blind, the mute, the magnifique raconteurs…

And it is the same reason I look at them. It is their stories…

The first month I was the meek one. Walking through the corridors observing all that went on. The charades, the breakdowns, the adrenaline rushes of unknown acquisitions… how they thrilled me, the story teller in me. At first I wanted to stop every such person and talk to them about their story. I was a blank slate wanting to fill in every color. I signed up for every activity I knew the meaning of, and some more. Then I learnt how to persist, and how to let go. What to learn, what to give up, and how to give up gracefully, and gracelessly.

I got a label too. But took a while, a year to be precise, to find the niche. A writer. I knew I was, but not defined. Not all encompassing. My subject still is people and their stories.

Some had fought their parents, earned their way into college, the others who hadn't worked even to make a meal for themselves but were amazing at subtle abstract analysis, confused actors, depressed poets, silent photographers, foodie comrades, the perfectionists, the obsessed, the geniuses and their sidekicks. All of them walking rushing, pacing, lazing, tapping, flourishing through the same corridors. Oh the sheer intensity and quantity of stories they had to tell and the scarcity of time was almost physically painful for me to bear. The great auditorium where the realities of every deserving living thing fought for time and space to capture the attention of the world. The thrill of the pulsating audience, trance-like and spell bound. At other times, the audience stood up and talked, sang, and chanted together.

I was gripped by the energy around me, everything outside the walls seemed mundane. But then the walls expanded, the world around seeped in and I could see the energy, the stage, the actors in everyone around! Understanding individuality and using to cater to the demands of the crowd. The composition of the crowd, its strata was amazing. And just at its boundaries were me and my friends. We fit into them, but we were still meandering at the periphery. More than once we became the outcasts of the system as did many others. The best thing is, nobody is stagnant. People faded, people arrived, people stayed. And stories! Endless stories were passed on to us. People grew. But my childlike lenses have survived...

SHARING RAIN

It is enough that friends are here… and the music… there are plans of impending joy… we will sing of the sorrows and make merry of yesterday… we will burn away some unspeakable prospect and dance to celebrate love not claimed yet…Laugh till our eyes smart at the extent of our need for it and ears ring out its youthful resonance… we’ll fill our lungs with the scent of the green and turn giddy with the joy of not knowing what to do…

And there I see more of you all, waiting at the threshold of uninvited yet welcome familiarity… to join us in this blooming wonder called rain… there, we stepped out of our boundaries to claim our share of the rain and are filling each of our voids to the brim with its magic… miraculous amounts of energy prevails as if the sun has burst its seams and is pouring out its love as rain… beloved mud is being washed away in its glory and roaring tree whispers have ceased their labor…

Yes you know what I speak of, even If you deny the knowledge of my tongue . . . why are you quiet now? A moment ago you danced with us, Is it the sorrow of an unfinished business with the rain. Pay heed to the summoning winds… they are ever large hearted to carry your longings to the rain… strain your ears … is it not the promise of a quenched thirst tomorrow, that you hear??

The Patronus - RRR

Of all the tales I ever read,


Given by you, ive always kept,

Close to my heart, the world of magic,

And wished it true so hard, it’s almost tragic.



Dreams, music and a whole world of stories

I recovered from you, a gift greedily consumed.

Now that you’ve made a home for yourself in memories

People like me hoard u up, as we never assumed,

What the life gives and takes away,

Is seldom treasured when it’s close at bay.



You are a creature of night no more,

You are now as I’ve seen you before,

You are an illuminating patronus washed ashore

On the waters of irksome dark voices galore.

Your presence a balm on the bothered mind,

Sometimes to goad to action when fear blinds



One of those beacons that fires up the night

For wanderers often trying to find

Some reason, some magic, music or sorrow.

To sing out to wayfarers, some pain to borrow.



Laughing out loud, you’re amused at the ruckus

Created down here upon your birth soil

Yet unaware of what you left is a wreck of us.

Touching every life passed by was your toil.



You made dreams come true

And some screams left unheard too,

And the theme of all things has come to bloom anew.

You being you, even tears withdrew.

People who knew, remembered what you eschew

Regrets, guilt, fear of unknown they threw.

Now everyone shares the vision you saw,

And some secrets you left, left us all in the thaw.



There are books yet to be read,

And people more to be met

There are poems to write and share

And rhythms of life unearthed and laid bare

Stories and stories to be lived and told.



Yet, you’ve left it to me

To pick a happy memory

And summon you to be

With me, as my patronus, for all eternity.

the hall of shame

i said i'm right

But no one heard me

My path belongs to light

But they'll kill me

I was a witness but it wont count

their gods are of lies but truth comes around

The day they laughed at my weakness

they hid their cowardice

when they mocked my humility

they proved their malice

their trees bear fruits of spite and hate

crumbling saplings at an alarming rate

I'll tell you the story, pray listen

But it wont help if tears glisten

I saw a cruel deed and i spoke

I spoke to reveal their master stroke

They killed hope in its purest form

they plunged into its heart a thorn

the girl was young innocent alone

her dreams through her her dark eyes shone

They surrounded her in sinister desires

yto cool their savage apirit of fires

now im in front of you

listen to the truth and act, i beg you.

dont let the single voice of reason

die, dont replace it with treason

you are men of honour, courage and wisom

dont bow your head in might's kingdom

so what they are large in numbers

salvage the truth before it crumbles

they stand with their riches beauty and false standards

remove the curtain theyre coward monsters

let the halls of justice not be maligned

let your children see how truth you define

let not our past our present betray

let the path of might not lead us astray

let no girl with hopes agin be crushed

let her innocent dream not be hushed

let men be honoured only by truth

let us be deaf to the language uncouth

let us forge a heart of steel

let no one our right to speak steal

let us grow a tree of respect

let us an honest world beget

let no witness be woeful like me

let not the violent soul go free

let us sing tales that inspire

let each spirit have a spirit to inquire

i rest my case your honour

now you decide, what you honour.

the state of existence

which story do i tell you of the ones born out of the depthless chaos of my mind
i try to bring some order to it so that people may reach out to me,
rather than stand befuddled in their steps.
i've seen it in your eyes, a sudden spark of understanding that you felt
when i opened my heart to you, and showed you the senseless prattle of guilt and puzzlement.
and i saw the pity. yes, i have pain, but of a different kind.
its sweet and tangy and leaves a bitter aftertaste.
like a story that eludes the reader of its secretive endings.
i have hop ein music, fore it dares to accept what people dont
they are happy in musical epiphanies and lyrical truths.
just dont bring it into our daily lives. for we will protest. ferociously.
ah, the subconscious defenses play out their sinister ways...how human, how freudian..
i laugh at myself, its as if my worlds are stuck at different entrances to the same place.
and cant get past their single fixations.
ill keep singing listening, watching and laughing and when i meet myself at some crossroad,
ill write to you to let you know, i saw myself in you today, ill mett you in my past tomorrow.

God For Sale?

I used to see god every day,
In faces well known and loved...
Those faces stood for all the good,
The grace and glory in the world.
Ihad found God through quests
Amongst books, idols and morals,
And elected Him to guide my way.
I gre older and i saw my Godcowering
In the dark challenges thrown his way.

Blood had flown in his name,
People used him for fame,
Looked at him in disdain,
And accused him for being vain.
My god had failed, and so i had.
i carried the sins, My God was bad.

There i sat remorse writhing in my gut
When i heard her singing softly.
She didn't stop as i glared at her.
She sang of love, her eyes a soul-mirror.
She sang of God's victories,
The fables that changed histories
He wasn't a God i'd heard about.
She must have seen him without a doubt.

The prayer wasn't a hymn for mercy
It was a joyful song of miracles
Miracles of science, wonders of nature, and
The strength of humans unnoticed.

She stopped singing, it was quiet.
My breathing was laboured, my heart tired.
Tired of bearing the cross too long,
For being punished for another's wrong.
For defending a false god i'd burned,
At a stake that ought to be turned
Into the heart of that whose fault it was.
Not me, but my mind, confused it was.

I'd not looked at god for inspiration,
I'd not celebrated life in its motions,
For my mistakes i'd not repented,
I'd accused others when i was the one demented.

Yes, every crime has a lament in it,
Every good deed, a choice before it.
Every hope has a risk of getting crushed.
Every moment has something not to be rushed.

I may not change my life in a day,
I've seen that my god was astray.
I've decluttered the mess in my head.
I've paved a path in my heart for him to tread.

DILLI... eternally yours

The smells and lights of dilli are as old as your ancestors' ancestors and as new as your heirs. dont try to familiarise yourself to dilli. she'll laugh at your naivete...

ah, the painful enrapture of crimes, the sorrow in achievements, the decay you feel in your bones is all dilli's...

dili's wounds are festering in you daily. your intoxication wont end today, the meh of dilli is not a trifle.

i see you have found love in the streets of dehli, your flight is now in the arches and minarets of dreams. your colours have changed your poems are longer. you've gone from ruler to beggar, still dilli loves you back fiercely...

you cant escape from her clutches, you cant rule her. she teaches you to celebrate loss...she's dangerous ive seen, i was a traveller who she trapped now im a slave, a settler, a dreamer, another ruler of hearts...

the music of dilli beckons to me, the actors on its stage are in heavy trance.

the whorls of mystic expectations and deadly dreams in the canvas of little eternal histories

calls for you, seduces you until it creeps into your soul...

if you've lived many lives in dilli ... loved and lost and loved agian, built tiny islands of hope,

lost your innocence and found it in a young dirty face uplifted in wonder of dilli..

if you've learnt to ignore Her mistakes.. endure her pain as yours

if everyday you pray to die in someway and encounter her glorious life...

she has let you in her heart... and you are here to stay...