Sunday, January 31, 2010

Tuesday, January 26, 2010

Break the silence

What's happening guys? Why this hiatus?

Wednesday, January 13, 2010

A Love Story

she clatters her way through my upper shelf

dissembling books from their literal dispositions

forcing me as a metaphor of pity's metonymy

purging my symmetry and assembling anomalies.

i wake up to find my wretched dream

dreamed into my now slumber life

left to deify her delightful ego

from the letters of my once adored language.

Saturday, January 9, 2010

Antichrist- short short review

The difficulties that I had to surmount to watch this movie will run into pages but that not being the primary concern here let me go to the effect that the movie had on me. It was two hours of shock, horror and repulsion. After this movie I don't think I am ever going to be shocked at any of those accounts or sights of sexual violence on man or woman. I don't even understand how the actors were able to carry it out. Friends who were sitting on either side swore that they are never going to bring me for the next version of IFFK. After the movie I was really interested to know what exactly did the director Lars von Trier want to signify with all that sexual violence on screen...he must have meant something. The reviews talked something about the biblical allusions and all...but here is my take on it. The present world is so full of violence and the movie employs a kind of alienation effect wherein the audience is jolted with such scenes that he sits up and realizes what he takes for granted is in fact a grave offense that may destroy mankind. It is intended to give a shock to the conscience of a society which teaches its children to be non- responsive and close their eyes to such crimes (and wait till it happens to you to take some action). I wonder if the eve- teasers and the rapists get the point...#!*%
PS: For those of you who are wondering why this post has no head and not tail, this is just a section from another post in another blog:-)

Thursday, December 31, 2009

From Prepaid to Postpaid

The rousing jingles of practised imagination
articulating her casseroled lipstick coated voice;
Seducting me at midnight with ruthless sweetness,
From prepaid to post paid was her solitary concern.

"Sir", she added with an exclamatory respectfulness
before preceding with the foreplay of my senses;
From head to heal, she covered in a minute or two
As i was led to all the holes and loop holes.

"Yes", was all my tongue could babble
in a tone of superimposed frankness;
As the equipoise of all my midnight senses
broke down to her seismic armada of promises.

Sunday, December 27, 2009

2010

WISHING MERRY CHRISTMAS
&
HAPPY NEW YEAR

Sunday, December 20, 2009

BASICALLY YOU ARE ALL GIRLS!!!!!


It was raining cats and dogs.I had no way other than to take refuge in the waiting shed till she came back from the church graveyard.I cursed my memory which always betrayed me in taking an umbrella.She was my dear friend with whom I spend seven years of my residential school life.Our school was a microcosm where we lived in an entirely different world alienated from the usual school life;where we had to make ourselves fit for the fight outside the four boundaries of our campus.

She was an extraordinary sensible girl who tried to weave her net of life like a spider but was annoyed to find herself already in the intangible mesh of fate.The strict residential school life,even from the age of eleven taught us to follow the Darwinian principle in our life.Though hostel life was amusing at first,things were different after two-three years.

Time flees away cunningly without even making others aware of the changes it make in one’s life.Like seasons change she was also changing.Transformation is somewhat terrible when it shake out the very basement of the self-made framework of presumptions and ideologies.She despised her warden who always chewed the same cud after each and every night roll call,“You know basically you are all girls” giving particular emphasis at the words “basically”and “girls”;as if it was all our fault that we were born as girls,after all she was also a woman.Hearing this we felt like dumping her into a large tumbler with boiling water in it.

It was the day when we were promoted to 9th standard.During those days it was compulsory for girls to wear “dupatta” from 9th standard onwards,for the study time during night at the school building.The echo of boys howling at very moment we entered wearing “dupatta”still reverberates in my ears and this was something she could’nt tolerate.,but I consoled her and told her to take it as a mere joke.But then,there ensued a sword play with words between my friend and one of the quarrelsome boys in our class who always found an impish pleasure in pasting the chewing gum especially in her bench.Unfortunately our warden was the duty-in- charge that day and she happened to hear her shouting at the top her voice against the boy.

After the usual night roll call ‘speech’ she was given a one hour extra ‘moralising class’ by our warden,who was not even ready to hear her arguments;but always insisted upon the fact that “basically you are all girls.”

Amidst the tough hostel life,it was her mother whom she really missed.She could never understand her mother completely and always felt that her mother completely and always felt that her mother had woven a hard shell around her which was really difficult for her to penetrate.Six hours of Parents Visiting day could’nt cement up the gap between them.But they loved each other and always wanted to say something which both could’nt tell.

Vacations were like a cool downpour in the scorching sun.She was always confused with her ‘home’and ‘hostel’.Was home her ‘hostel’or hostel her ‘home’?She felt herself like a migrating bird that always came back to spend a few days at a wonderful place.

She slept with her mother whenever her father went for night shifts and it was during such hours that she gave vent to all her emotions and thoughts.Her mother poured out her ideas about the coincidences in life,about the unconquerable Fate and about the other sides of life.Her mother always said that ‘to get a good life-partner was the same as to win a lottery.’Though she could’nt imbibe everything that her mother said,she never counter-questioned her.But time revealed all the mysteries and secrets behind her mother’s words.

It was during such a vacation that they saw an astologer who was employed in a jewelry shop for identifying one’s birth stones.After learning her birth sign he asked with surprise.”are you still living with your husband?”;for which her mother’s response was a rhrtoric smile.

She could’nt sleep that night.The astrologer’s words echoed in her ears,”its surprising that you are not divorced still.”Each word hit on her soul like a sharp sword and made deep cut wounds.Then she knew everything and realization burst upon her like a bombshell.It was all an adjustment between them.Her parents were two parallel lines living under the same roof with entirely different ideas and ideals,which she could never accept.Her mother never lost equilibrium and maintained the chord from breaking despite all the harsh realities just for the sake of her daughter.

She swithched on the light and took out the ring from the box.It was 12.30 at night.The ring which astrologer gave her mother whichn was ‘destined’ to diminish all the difficulties in her life.He also predicted that all her difficulties will come to a halt after the age of forty five. A mere stone influencing a person’s life was something indigestible for her.

Mazing motion of her stream of thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the harsh voice of her father followed by arguments which ended with her mother’s sobs.

She never dared to ask about the undercurrents in her mothre’s life which made her life a quagmire from where there was no escape unless and until all the ties were broken.

Few weeks later, one night she disclosed her first love affair[which she later told me was a mere infatuation] to her mother.A long silence ensued there after, which was broken by phone call.It brought the message of the death of her father in aroad accident and surprisingly it was a week after mother’s forty fifth birthday.

A cold hand brought me back to reality.It was she herself smilling with an umbrella in her hand.


By,
Scorpion