Perfect Imperfections

Posted on September 17, 2009     Leave a Comment

I am an artist by living, and my work of art is my life
– Suzuki

I would want to know more about your life Mr Suzuki – living or dead. Read more and write even more about the same. We all realise how we spent our lives, once we at least get midway or farther with our endless insane misinterpretations suiting our own agendas giving a million judgements in half a minute.

We bring a national hero Rajyavardhan Rathor home. We bow down to a road rager bollywood hero who just donated a crore. But yet crucify a Dhananjoy and his family with a single rope. We also read about how Avantika Maken embraced her parent’s killers. We remember Bipasha basu and forget P T Usha. We adore Aishwarya’s beauty and hate her choice of clothes in the same breath. We forget Mother Teresa’s death anniversary and remember Diana’s in the same month. And still take pride in our channel of thoughts and have Big Fights with Rajdeep Sardesais.

The list could be endless cause our miseries cloud our minds and we just read such quotations in quotes and feel good.

Written on Monday, October 11, 2004

Mind Chatter

Posted on September 17, 2009     Leave a Comment

There was a sense of urgency because time was running out, the opportunity was cruel and mean. The stolen moments were entwined on that branch of old wood which hung in that gorge of peccadillo. It hung in the ether as though she said ‘statue’ to her. And then the broken glasses flew in the air and stood still…the moment was captured into a sculpture. Tiny trumpets blew into the ears blocking all incoming signals. Now all these were indelible plus time. Timeless.

Written on Wednesday, October 13, 2004

Bungee Jump

Posted on September 17, 2009     Leave a Comment

The sound of surrender was deafening with the fate perching on the top of that rocky mountain, watching that lone eagle, just released, on its unending expedition, mocking at the ego which takes a bungee jump and knows that the last point of return does not exist.

In the untruth of the moment, a hollow consolation in longing was sensed as a higher bliss than wearing the mask of togetherness in a named whirlpool.

Written on Saturday, October 16, 2004

Pieces of me

Posted on September 17, 2009     Leave a Comment

There was a story that begins and ends, sensational in its own right which might seem so wrong to the unending melange of meaningless. Strided undeterred, sometimes in the mind, like a tale in the books unwritten, they flew like pieces of me hither-thither.

And now i gather them sometimes from the beach in the midnight, sometimes from his wine glass, some i found on my corset, some were under the bed – they were those fumbled words, sometimes from the sweat on my brow, some when i hear the song by Whitney Houston – Heartbreak Hotel, sometimes in the reason for existence, in the broken rules and also when I write this.

Written on Friday, October 22, 2004

Touched

Posted on September 17, 2009     Leave a Comment

Last week was an action packed one for me. I got a promotion from being a Design Head to Team Head (Online Operations). And the most touching mail that I got I need to put it up here cos it deserves to be here.

Wanted to wish you a luck for your new avtaar
It is pleasant to have you as a team leader
The one who is not a boss but a leader
Every business needs someone like you
Someone who has high standards, someone who is always on top of things
Someone who always has a smile for you and most of all,
Someone who won’t take any BS.
We are lucky to have you, and there’s not a soul here who isn’t happy to see you in command.
You really know your work, and I have no doubt in my mind that you’ll prove one of the secrets of modern management.

Again wish you a luck, and may god bless you.
Pradeep Rattan

My sincere thanks to you Rattan, I shall put in my very best to live it up always.

Written on Thursday, November 04, 2004

Whisper

Posted on September 17, 2009     Leave a Comment

Like that sculpture from the recluse cave
Holding onto the flitting rays of a lone candle
Steps on the cold ripples over the singing stream
Hearing a whisper that sounded like a promise
Takes a deep breath, in the reflection
Gazes at her first expression.

Written on Thursday, November 04, 2004

Obit

Posted on September 17, 2009     Leave a Comment

I was deeply shocked to read about Shama Futehally Chowdhury’s passing away today, in the newspaper. She had been my neighbour some years back and i always remember her to be so very pleasant whenever she met me and can never forget how she once made my day by saying ‘you look so beautiful like a rose and a lotus in one’. It has been till date the best compliment I have ever recieved. I wonder what had happened to her, how she died. She must have been just 50 something.
She was theatre scholar, faculty member of National School of Drama and a well known writer.

May her soul always rest in peace.

Written on Friday, December 03, 2004

Unanswered

Posted on September 17, 2009     Leave a Comment

Cross-examining a misguess of a vast audience to have heard, understood loud and unclear and interpreted in the manner as I would have forced them to believe along the echoes of my ruminations but then I found that the thoughts innumerable are always allowed and each question need not be answered.

Written on Thursday, December 09, 2004

For Amma & Achan

Posted on September 17, 2009     Leave a Comment

Early morning breeze created ripples on the silent estranged distributary of Ganges,
Met me when I walked over the rocks on the shore covered by the shining dew drops,
When I heard a bhajan from the distant temple over the mountain,
I bowed down, chose to meditate and pray not to Gods this time,
But to those who love me the most.

Written on Saturday, December 11, 2004

Khajuraho 2005

Posted on September 17, 2009     Leave a Comment

The air had so many tales to say,
Some heard, some imagined, some interpreted.
As much as one sees the life in its glory
Child and the mother, a king and the warrior, a beast or the beauty
The song of desires appears as though one turned page by page
and unravelled those illustrations; sometimes here and sometimes there.
Even the mighty tree with its own branches entwined
With the lush bougainvillea in the background, pink and green
Singing the same song and then temple bells ring
And when they breeze past the ones who lay over the pruned grass
Even the rays of sun takes a stolen peek
The creator was God himself, commands a thousand salutations
For the canvass with the right amount for the correct effect,
Alternated with worldly-wises for perfect education.
For thou who seek more is completely misplaced.
To appreciate would require somewhat half the intention or the skill.
Or just why don’t we let be
Anything said less or more will still be anyhow understatements

PS:My heart bleeds to see the poor restoration attempts which in the next fifty years, world will get to see nothing but a combination of dilapidated original and a grieving fake trying-to-be-old new.

Written on Tuesday, December 28, 2004