Thursday, December 31, 2009

I'll sing you this song tonight

This song is mush overdose, so If you're not one for mush, don't read it, even If you're tagged in it, you'll just end up judging me. I know i'm not a very mushy guy either, but there are those times when it has to be said. Cheesecakes around the world, rejoice. I bring to you "I'll sing you this song tonight".
Note : Honest "Sincere" criticism appreciated, as always.


There's a song in my head, that won't go away,
and strangely enough, I want it to stay.
And I'll need that song, when I'm feeling blue,
For that is the song that reminds me of you.

This song that I sing, it's no simple tune.
And not all can follow the notes that I croon.
But then this song, and sadly, I know,
it makes me remember, how i let you go.

It seems such a pain, being here on my own,
In love with this song, that I sing alone.
I think of the times, when you'd sing along,
Back when we had both been in love with this song.

Unless I'm mistaken, you're singing it too,
and somewhere, you know that I'm thinking of you
You know that I miss you, I know you can tell,
I want you, and you know you want me as well

So save us the trouble, i'll take back what i said
I need you here with me, and I'll need you ahead.
And till you return, I know I'll survive
These notes and these rhymes will keep me alive

And all of these notes, and all of these rhymes,
are pieces of us, in a simpler time.
And now I know, what I had all along.
You and me were always part of this song.

Sunday, December 13, 2009

If you're happy and you know it

I have been having a bad couple of weeks, no secrets there. This morning, I decided to sit back and watch "The Dark Knight" again, that scene where the Joker makes the pencil 'disappear" always makes me laugh. In the middle of movie, I realised I had been drifting in and out of it. I kept going back to a certain time period in my past.

When I was about ten, Cartoon Network started a Cartoon Series, Batman- the series they called it. Me and my friends went bonkers every time it came on. I wasn't anything spectacular. just your regular batman, fighting it out with your regular Joker and your regular Penguin. Every time we heard the batman theme song play, however, we'd all drop everything else and sit our little perky asses in front of the TV.

We used to meet to play football, I remember, or soccer, whatever. Even though we played in a tiny soon-to-be-a-parking-lot, semi-grassy are, and even though we made goal posts by keeping two bricks at a certain distance from each other (we couldn't be bothered to go all the way to the community park and wait for our turn at the field), and even though i sucked at football, horribly, I don't remember feeling happier my entire life. I have played football since, on more than one occasion, but its never been the same. We used to start playing around 4 in the afternoon, and we kept on playing till the one kid who bothered to wear a watch screamed "Its Seven!". Boy, you should have seen us run. Batman was on, and come hell or high water we would be at my friend's house in time for us to be seated and listen to the whole theme song play.

Football and batman, ah, the joy those two things brought me. Its amazing, isn't it. Since then, I have been in and out of relationships, been a part of multiple musical ventures, been a part of one of the best undergraduate b-schools the country has to offer and had a milliion friends. Somehow, even though all these things made me happy beyond words, nothing I have ever experienced since Batman -The series, has ever come close in comparison.

It wasn't the show of course, the show is just how i remember that time. It was the freedom, the freedom to watch a TV show every single day without missing a single episode because you had to study, or because you had some or the other task to attend to. I could do whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted, and when I was doing it, I didn't have to think about ANYTHING else.

I miss those times, when I could actually enjoy every moment without worrying about the next, I miss the times when life was about living the now and not planning for the future, I miss batman and the football in the mud that came with it.

I miss me, eight years ago.

Til Death Do Us Part

I sat in the room beside her. I tried to remember; it was only a few years ago, this uncomfortable silence was absent. Instead, there were only the noises we made, doing what only came naturally. Fast forward five years into the future, and I didn’t want to look at her. The mother of my children, the keeper of my home. It was a home no more, though, it was merely a house. Whatever spirit of belonging had once existed in me, whatever attachment I had to this house, it was long gone.
I sat beside her, watching her flip through pages of a magazine I neither knew anything about nor cared for , something to do with Balcony Furnishings or Bathroom Fittings, it’s irrelevant. Dressed in a nightgown, her face plain as daylight, unkempt hair, she had become everything she despised five years ago.

This was not the woman I had fallen in love with during my days at the old job. This was not the smart, conversant and deliciously sensual woman that I could not stop thinking about every living second. That woman was going places, this one was just going shopping.

She had always been beautiful, gorgeous, in fact. She was one of those women who were supposed to stay beautiful till the day they dropped dead on the floor, with a thousand lovers to mourn her death at that. Lately, however, I had become a little more aware of her ageing, She looked older, the sparkle in her eyes I saw every time we met at the cafe on the south side had disappeared, leaving her eyes hollow, sucking in all the light from the room, sucking in my very soul.

It was nauseating. The prospect of growing old in this house was horrifying.

I looked at the wall, and saw the marks we made over the years on the edge, a happy little audience, watching our sons grow taller and stronger every day. Maybe it was worth it, after all. “It’s all about the kids”, I kept telling myself, “It’s not about you or her, it’s the kids.”

Yes, that was it. The kids. The one thing in my life that kept me sane in this monotonous, dry, repetitive hellhole of a life. The umbilical cord that kept me attached to this house. All of a sudden, I knew why I hadn’t up and left all these years. My children, the seeds I had sown so long ago, the very reason for my being. All of a sudden, it was obvious why I had put up with years of dissatisfaction and dullness and not ventured into new horizons alone. All of a sudden, I knew what had kept me here, and not let me out into the world, exploring new boundaries, the likes of which I hadn’t seen in years.

All of a sudden, I knew what I had to do.


I sat next to her in the kitchen. She was still beautiful. Her eyes, hollow as they may have been, were still the purest shade of brown I did ever come across. Her lips were still the rosiest shade of red. I watched her sitting on the chair, staring at me right in the face, not making a sound.

Not making a sound.

I watched the blood trickle down her throat, I watched her lifeless eyes lie still, motionless. I watched the white of her nightgown slowly turn a bloody shade of red, her lifeless hand still holding on to the knife-handle sticking out the back of her neck.

I could still hear my oldest shaking violently in the upstairs bedroom, trying to break free from the ropes that tied him to his bed. He would be asleep soon, too. The blood would soon run out. It would only be so long, the blood would definitely not last much longer. Not much longer, for sure.

The baby was sound asleep when I found it, It didn’t wake up when I carried it from it’s room all the way to the upper floor. The bucket was full and ready. I saw my baby smile as I put him inside his watery grave, and for a moment wondered what he might have been dreaming about, then decided not to spend time on needless ponderings. He might have been screaming the whole time he was in that bucket. He might have been crying. I don’t know. I think that was when the magnitude of my actions sunk in, because everything blacked out.

My oldest no longer made any noises, that was a good thing. He was at peace. The poor boy probably had it worst out of the lot. The pain he went through, it was unfair, but all that suffering probably shortened his sentence in purgatory. I looked into the bathroom and saw the bucket containing my wife’s favourite child, though I never condoned having favourites among children. Still, it wasn’t as if the stupid harlot considered my opinion about anything anymore.

As I walked towards the door, preparing for my final exit, I looked at my wife, staring lifelessly at me from the kitchen, and the gravity of the situation hit me like a fist to the face. My wife, was sitting in the kitchen with a knife through her throat, my oldest son was in his bedroom with incisions all over his person, and my baby, my four month old bundle of joy, was packed face down in a bucket full of water in the upstairs bathroom.

My family, the people I loved, the people that loved me back, the mouths I worked day and night to feed. They were gone. They were all gone.

And I was free.

As I walked out of the door, I whistled to myself, and waved to the friendly lady next door. She was so nice, and the food she made was marvellous. As a matter of fact, I think I fancied her all these years. She’d make a jolly good wife, I’d say.....

Friday, September 18, 2009

Blissful ignorance

You know what annoys me? When i walk into a room i hate, smelling of the kind of the food i would never eat, full of the urban human waste i would never consider being friends with, breathing the air full of snobbery and lordliness that chokes me, making everyone in the room feel like they have the lowest level of happiness possible, and that everyone else is better, and i come across this constantly smiling little shit, blissfully unaware that the world is not the rainbow-blessed paradise she has made it out to be in her head.

The world is not a happy place. We have war, recession, loans, murder, stress and the Disney Channel. It's not easy being a regular person in the horrible, decaying excuse for a world we live in. I am not saying this should depress you and turn you into one of the people who die a little bit inside everyday because they hate themselves and their lives so much.

All i am saying is, there are flaws in this perfect world man has created for himself that we tend to, or try to, overlook, just to keep our own happiness intact, even if it is at the expense of the wonderful moulding into more complete human beings we could have had if we had accepted these facts.

There is this girl i know. Bright, nice, clever and on the rare occasion that she tries very, very hard, funny. She is the poster girl for perfectionists around the world. Perfect test scores, perfect friends and perfect values.

And this, for lack of a better word, has fucked her up.

She has never been anywhere outside of a five kilometer radius of her house unaccompanied by her parents. She, inspite of all her intelligence, is doing a correspondence course from one of the best educational institutes this country has to offer, at the expense of getting a regular course at the same college, which, besides having more value, would finally mean she would be compelled to break out of the comfortable little geographical shell she had so conveniently created for herself.

The reason for her close proximity to perfection is not ambition or greed. She, as i found out recently, is merely a puppet on a string. A little string puppet being controlled by her parents to squeeze as many marks out of her as possible.

In no way does this justify her behaviour. I am just saying that perhaps the cause for such behaviour is her upbringing which, for the most of it, is her parents.

My point here is this. This girl is perfectly happy living in a world where Mum and Dad take care of everything, and nothing can go wrong. In spite of all her bliss, she has been deprived of all the life experiences she could have had if she had been outside that 5 km shell.

Yes, she would be in world where her parents wouldn't be there to shield her eyes from all the evils in the world, to block out all the images that might provoke a violent or even an excited reaction. In short, to phase out everything that might have compelled her mind to work on its own.

I ask you, would that have been so bad?

I don't intend to wipe out happiness from the lives of those reading this. I like being happy, more so nowadays (just ask the people who have known me since way before). Being happy makes it easier to get through.

I just want to wipe the smile off the face of that ignorant, precious little pumpkin who is so happily unconscious of the fact that there are big, bad wolves who are waiting to pounce the moment she turns her back on them, that the world isn't all happy and fine, that the only reason she has been able to live a life where she had sunshine on a cloudy day was because everyone around her put up the picture of a beach day in front of her window when it rained. That the only reason she never got mugged on a public bus was because she had never been on one. That the only reason she never experienced bad food was because she only ate at places people had eaten at before. That she never got stuck in traffic because daay gave her a ride to her destinations two hours before the due time. That the only reason she is happy all the friggin' time is because she is yet to exprience what the real world is.

Welcome to the real world honey. We may not be the happiest people, but at least we know why.

Monday, September 7, 2009

The diary of a deranged romantic

I can make you think you know
me inside out, but know this, no.
You don't know me half as well,
as you think, though you love me so.

I'm not the perfect little boy,
that little bundle full of joy,
that you knew once, and really did.
I am no longer your play toy.

I have my mind, i use it too.
I do what I like, and i like what i do.
And know this, as you sleep at night.
Somebody will be watching you.

Somebody will be standing by,
the glint of murder in his eye.
A rusted blade held in his hand,
smiling, he'll bid you goodbye.

And then, he'll simply turn around,
throw his knife away, for he is bound,
by any love that's left for you,
come back to bed, without a sound.

But, my dear, this still is true,
one day I'll end what i must do.
The monsters underneath your bed,
fear the one lying next to you.

Until that day, my love, unstrain.
I still love you, i will refrain,
from doing what i must tonight.
Tomorrow night, i'll try again.

It's not your fault you changed so much,
we had our times and fights and such.
But now i cannot live with you,
disgusted by your very touch.

And soon, when all this love will go,
you'll know pain, as i already know.
For, you don't know me half as well,
as you think, though you love me so.

Tuesday, June 9, 2009


You know the phrase 'Nobody's Perfect' ? Well, all I am going to do in this post is confirm the validity of that phrase. Nobody, indeed, is perfect. Or at least that is what I feel.
It wasn't what i always felt though. No more than a few months ago i was more than willing to believe that more than one person around me was perfect. Try as i might, (and i did try, believe me) I couldn't figure out any flaws in them. Everything they did or said was just so perfect. Everytime they sneezed, everytime they talked, everytime they picked boogers out of their nose, they seemed so perfect.
But then everything looks pretty from afar. It's when you get closer to paradise when you get a glimpse of the sewage treatment plant squat in the middle of town.

So this is what happens. You get to know these perfect individuals, and the flaws start to emerge. You start to see the person behind the facade of perfection. It becomes only too clear that he people you idolized are not the idols you made them out to be. They are, in fact, more messed up than you will ever be.
The only reason they seem so perfect is because they are so insecure about there imperfections, they dedicate their lives to eliminating all visual evidence of their flaws. They devote so much time and energy to concealing their shortcomings. they create a new person entirely, someone who lives the perfect life, eats the perfect food, walks the perfect walk, talks the perfect talk and excretes the perfect excreta. But, at the end of the day, it's not a real person.
The real person is under-confident, easily pressured, perpetually depressed, insecure, snooty, Show-off or a regular pain-in -the-neck. The beautiful south-indian woman who smiles at you everyday when you go to pick up your paper goes home to a husband who is ashamed to call her his wife, and beats her in front of the year-old son she so lovingly bounces on her knee every morning.
Now, however, the illusion has been broken, and i am not sure how, but nobody in my small insignificant little universe has attained anything close to perfection.
Don't really know what the point of this post is, but it's something i had been thinking about for quite some time now.