"#Normalise the curve," said the Statistician.
"What about the the fat tails?" asked the Secretary.
"What are you two talking about?" said the Politician.
"How to exterminate those who don't agree with you, sir."
"Of course. Don't use fuel this time. So costly."
#vss365
On this Children's Day:
To My Child - 30 Years Hence
Thirty years back
We worried about
The mushroom cloud
And the world ending
In 1999.
Now we worry about
The loss of freedom,
The hate of all
And the world ending
Close to 1999.
I fell in love
at a speed date...
For five and forty seconds:
Tender looks, witty repartee,
Nature's rhythm, our heartbeats
Treading the same measure...
Fill in the rest of that
Well-played act, will ye?
For five and one hundred thirty seconds:
With great #resolve,
We tackled the predicament,
Weighed our bank accounts,
Career prospects, credit scores,
She noted my shoe size,
I discreetly inspected her teeth,
We enquired about family's health,
Checked if history supported future...
Then, without much (more) ado,
We said, "I love you..."
#vss365
"I #implore you to love me,
Don't look with such hate.
I ain't weak, ain't defeated,
Yes, I used to feel more before.
I just can't fight, can't love,
I can't even get out of bed."
"Who are you talking to?"
"noBOdy. NObody. noboDY."
I snarled at the one in the mirror.
#vss365
How many times have I said,
"Consider the #hypothetical..."
When I could have stated
The obvious reality?
I even asked what you would do
If I married a lovely woman.
We knew that was you.
He still separated us.
No more of the #hypothetical,
When that's all that's left.
#vss365
The chit-chat was cordial at first.
I asked about her guy, the wimp. Got a report of "the hunk". That irritated me.
I shared my theoretical wisdom about matrimony and also #hypothetical cases where the guy ditched the girl at the last moment. That irritated her.
#vss365
Within, in a space
Neither dead nor alive,
There's a spyware:
Soulware or, The Altar.
There lies #dormant our secrets,
The love we don't recognize,
The grain in the chaff,
That we get when none's given.
To access The Altar
Ego, Or Id, or whatever,
Delete
The rest.
#vss365
Man : "I've just mopped the house and you expect me to have sex!?"
Woman : "I just wondered (with no metaphor intended) why the mop seems to be in suspended animation, a #dormant object for eternity, that flaccid fall with not even a limp urge."
#vss365
Let me erase
the #saga I wrote,
Let me escape
to the darker side.
Those lost words,
those lost thoughts,
The search for the one
Who knows it's about her.
#vss365
"Remember Prim Rose?"
"That plant?"
"Idiot...Prim Rose...in school!"
"Ah!"
"The rose of my life."
"We fought over her, didn't we?"
"How she laughed..."
"That laugh..."
"Why did we call her Prim?"
"She was wild."
"But, we didn't know what a #primrose was."
#vss365
"Like Caeser," SI Anu noted.
"A dozen stabs less," Insp. Shokie said.
"CM must have been killed by the 11 ministers in that meeting."
"But, the 11 daggers have one set of #fingerprints, that of the absent minister."
"Elementary..."
Shokie's cold glare interrupted.
#vss365
With this, lemme logout
(and you too)
and take a look outside
Oh I know I will
race back here
Seeing the crappy lot
Out there.
An old love of mine, she
Took a lot of pages
Of poetry about
Her true grit,
Strength,
Yes, she
Took a lot of pages.
Years have gone by
That #snowflake
And its fractal intricacy
That love vanished
When I got to know
Her best friend, she too
Took a lot of pages.
#vss365
In my concrete gaol
I have everything;
Can I open the window,
Can I look outside?
There's BCL, Fountain, Gateway,
A path by the sea, can I get there?
A stroll on the Embankment, to Tate?
Maybe not a #campfire in the park!
In my concrete gaol
My mind has nothing.
#vss365
I've done it again-
Self-destructed,
To ease the pain,
Soothing hatred.
Killed nine lives
And more, to spite
The One whose knives
Carved me right.
I had it all
In my past
Money and girl
And lost fast.
No more flipping
The hour-glass cursed,
No more slipping
Hope for days blessed.
"I am in love," my son declared.
"Bah!" his sis said.
We did not know what to say.
"Son, aren't you too young?" my wife said.
"I haven't got a condom to spare," I blurted out and got a kick.
"Ewww, you all have a one-track mind...which one...#sugar-coated donut or the choc one...hmmm," he said.
"Neither," his sis and I said, reaching for those.
#vss365
They say you bring souls
visiting for not too long.
I have placed a meal
For you then, for them.
They say the eagle
Outsmarts you by flying
High till you are left
Breathless, like me.
They don't say much
About us, do they,
With the pretty around,
We crows don't care, do we?
Them in the government
Try to divide us,
Keep us senseless us
In caged settlement.
We oblige, #sleepwalk
Thro' life, blind et al.
Fight all thoughtless all
To rise dead in our wake.
#vss365
"String-hoppers and mutton stew?" she asked.
"Nope, idli-sambhar," I replied.
She frowned.
I was dumb the morning after the first night, ignoring the future #foreshadow-ed by that exchange.
But, not for long.
Next morn,
"Pancakes and maple syrup?"
"Yes, ma'am."
#vss365
Googled
the meaning
of #inscape.
Nope!
That doesn't
mean much.
Unique
and
inner nature?
Bah!
That doesn't
mean much.
My love's #inscape?
I've overdosed
On that #prompt.
Yeah!
That does
mean much.
#vss365
Have you ever met a psychologist
And done the Rorschach inkblot test?
The gymnast is facing a mirror, I said.
That spook kept his poker face.
I could have told him what Google
Told me to say. C'est la vie.
Inviting straight jacket,
Shooing freedom away. On a whim.
Certain things should not happen together.
For example, saying “I am in love with you.” and
“When I was your age, you were not yet born.”. To be explained later.
It was a lovely day. The first rain of the year,
that too heavy. Autorickshaw still managed to cover the eight kilometres to
office in forty minutes. Only one passing car sprayed water. The first Mumbai drain
water on my face but not in my mouth.
By early evening, it was not so lovely. My boss
wanted me to pack my bags and leave the office. A head-hunter with my resume
had forwarded the same to my company and (bless the nitwit for finding the
right match) to my boss. It took half an hour of fervent begging to keep my
job. I was left a lot like Bond’s drink, shaken and stirred, was it not?
In between that episode, I had got two messages,
both from ‘MIL’. The first said, “My dear son, sorry short notice. Reach Mumbai
dom air pot at 7 pm.” The second said, “7. Airport.”
I told my boss my mother-in-law was coming to
town. He offered sincere condolences and reluctantly reinstated me in my job.
I got to the airport at 7:15. I did not have to
apologize.
“Sorry for troubling you, my dear.”
“Why are you late?”
And, I replied to both, “What are you two
doing here?”
You might feel as lost as I was without a bit of
history.
One, I should not have put their numbers under
the same ‘MIL’. Two, the sweet-sounding one is the remnant of the one who had
to go; and the other, that of the one who left.
It is tough to introduce them better. While my former
better halves do not want to have anything to do with me, their mothers had
their reasons to keep in touch. I remember vaguely that they did not turn out
to be like their daughters. While their daughters were rational and religious,
they were religious and rational respectively. Of course, that would have
helped only if I knew which was which.
Introductions were not required. They knew of
each other in that saga of betrayal. We made our way to my apartment. They sat
at the dining table expecting me to do the needful.
Beguiling, I thought, not realizing how beguiling
it could really be.
I did what I could. I called the third number
under ‘MIL’.
Again, history calls. I was a happy bachelor for
a long time, not before but after my first two forays into matrimony. Then, two
old friends pressured me to upset the steady cart. One was on the wrong side of
50 when he knotted himself to a 30-ish. The other was 40-plus 50-minus when he
entered into coy matrimony with a sub-30. They told me that the old regency
ways were fashionable yet again. Women these days want, they displayed a
classified ad: “a man who can handle himself, cook, manage house; a bit low on
pick-up, a bit high on empathy to compensate; experienced, financially
independent, low on ambition, short of time, company for not too long”. And, my
peers added, “They are exactly what we need.”
I bit that apple. I nearly spoiled the taste with
the afore-mentioned two lines at the start of this report.
My friends were right. My wife is a busy
professional. We see each other when she is in town. She is hardly a bother.
She coaxed me into putting our reproductive material in cold storage. She plans
to use it only in her 40’s when she is ready for that. I found my soul-mate
through her. That is, her mother.
Now, that is a really lovely character. And, it
was her who I called in my time of need.
“Will be there, pronto,” she replied sweetly,
succinctly.
The door-bell rang twenty minutes later. For the
second time that evening, I said, “What are you two doing here?”
I hate to do this but history, once again, is the
need of the hour.
A few months back, my wife surprised me with the
question, “Do you think we should try an open relationship?”
For a moment I forgot that women are prone to
such rhetorical questions.
It was a moment too long because I had blurted
out, “Yes.”
Don’t ask me why I wanted an open relationship.
Men do go to places no man should go to. To cut the story short, she gave a
curt nod.
I have not enquired if she has explored that
realm. It is sufficient, and necessary, to say that I tried my luck online.
On one site where one has to swipe right and
left, I found one match.
Our profiles matched because of the single line
in our bio, ‘Love cooking’.
Our chat was definitely risqué:
-Can’t wait to try it with you.
-Same here.
-Will you come here?
-Your house?
-Where else?
-Of course.
-I will get the kitchen ready.
-You prefer the kitchen?
-Where else?
-Of course.
I went to her house. Her mother opened the door
and told me, “She had to go with her husband. His father caught Covid. Sad
case. She told me to take her place.”
Before I could protest, she dragged me to the
kitchen. It was a pleasure-filled hour cooking Hyderabadi biriyani.
Again, don’t ask me where it had gone wrong or
right.
I have not yet seen that Covid-displaced daughter
but her mother and I have tried out many a recipe since then, at her place and
mine. Her number is also under ‘MIL’.
And, she was there at mine that lovely night to
try out jerk chicken.
Do you actually think the Grim Reaper is a
haggard figure in drab clothing riding a dark horse waving an unwieldy scythe
in the dark on a cold winter night?
I had the Grim Reaper in front of me: four
mothers-in-law seated together at my dining table.
Or, within the confines
of lockdowns and such,
Did we lose sense of time,
Did we let life slip away,
Uncaring, grasping too little?
Why didn't I
Say I love you;
Why did I
Leave you alone;
Why did you
Trust me;
Why didn't you
Leave me alone;
Why didn't we
Stay longer;
Why did we
End up alone?
There are days
when I know
no one
will listen
to me.
Yes,
days
when I know
and
days
when I ignore.
I had
such days
even
with you.
You
said later
you wanted
to
torture me.
You
remain
a
torture.
The others
a pain
I can
ignore.
No two words scare me more than "I think",
That precursor to confusion and danger.
Is it the comedy or the gravity of the situation,
Is it the human at the root of the problem?
That precursor to confusion and danger:
When he said, "I think we love the same girl,"
(Is it the human at the root of the problem?)
When I tried to defuse that bomb, "I think I love her not."
When he said, "I think we love the same girl,"
Did he not assume his thought and feeling outweighed all?
When I tried to defuse that bomb, "I think I love her not,"
Why did I assume it mattered what I thought?
Did he not assume his thought and feeling outweighed all,
On that day he twisted facts, ignored truth and incited a riot?
Why did I assume it mattered what I thought
And forgot that my action mattered most?
On that day he twisted facts, ignored truth and incited a riot,
I chose to dwell on lighter stuff
And forgot that my action mattered most
To the ones who would die in the days to come.
I chose to dwell on lighter stuff,
(His girl was religion and nation, I didn't know?)
To the ones who would die in the days to come
I turned my back to protect my life's love.
His girl was religion and nation, I didn't know
Even when he ridiculed, called me a traitor.
I turned my back to protect my life's love,
Now why would that be, I think?
Even when he ridiculed, called me a traitor,
I kept him as a friend, a jester.
Now why would that be, I think
I was saving myself from myself.
I kept him as a friend, a jester.
So dangerous it has turned out to be.
I was saving myself from myself,
With no guts to face our femme fatale.
So dangerous it has turned out to be,
No two words scare me more than "I think",
With no guts to face our femme fatale,
The gravity of the situation I took as comedy.
What was it about you
That caught my eye and my mind?
The way you walk or
When you slept (well, didn't you say?)
Leaning against me
Or...I don't know...I miss you.
We died the day we found a god splendid,
We had no time to fear, no time to spare,
Buried alive in grave unmarked, my kid!
We weren't the saddest case, the people said,
My friend's twins, they found tender loving care,
They died the day we found a god splendid.
To ease our pain there were more tales horrid,
Of houses and families all laid bare,
Buried, alive in grave unmarked, my kid!
The day after was bright lovely sun-kissed,
Almost forgot, erased, the day before,
The day we died and found a god splendid.
The tourists are back, the quarries are bombed,
The green a veil, the damned silent river
Buried alive, in grave unmarked, my kid!
Remain we will on slopes fragile, to skid
When rains will bring old plans disposed, terror,
A day splendid to find a new god dead,
Buried alive in grave unmarked, my kid.
I bought a time-machine.
Killed Hitler.
Visited Atlantis and Pompeii.
Stopped my parents from marrying.
I came back to the present.
I am still there.
Customer service says,
"Sorry. No refund."
This particular problem in fiction has been troubling me. As much as the doppelganger-should-die issue.
'Standard' fiction with time-machines usually has these rules: do not mess with your own past to kill your present; mess with your future to correct your present.
Somehow, I fear, the present will be preserved irrespective of what you do in the past or in the future.
Let's call it the Riddle of the Time Machine.
At Malabar Hotel, near PaiCo:
We said "Two Wills" at the door,
"Two strong coffee" at our table;
Swaggered to the kitchen to light,
Young cowboys with mean looks,
Slurped coffee in stain'd crack'd cups,
Our whiskey shots to face tough life,
Talked about Anju's tits and Anu's hips:
"What is the omega in sine omega t?"
We were not dumb, he and I,
Quiz aficionados et al. actually.
He had Jane's handbook on planes,
I had Manorama yearbook and more,
We knew all about Wilfred Owen,
Lady Chatterley, WW1, WW2 too,
Kamikazes, Woodstock, 'Nam,
The Beat crowd, Pirsig, madness,
Watergate, Deep Throat, both kinds!
We could recite the Gita and the Bible,
We did not know the Ramanan of that Changam-chap,
But we knew our local politicians, that's family;
We did not trust VoA or Sputnik, but BBC was ok
For the music, the plays and the news, was it?
We knew what to believe. We did not know our PM.
We knew when we had choice,
We knew our free will well,
We did not fuck ourselves.
We did not touch on heritage or discrimination.
We knew we had to go abroad to be accepted here.
We did fight over something. What did we fight about?
Before I forget, let me tell you
We were not sure about anything.
That saved us, believe me!
Malabar Hotel is no more, PaiCo too:
We don't smoke, we don't drink strong coffee,
We have had two wives, one kid, a few lovers,
All premarital we swear, believe us,
Extramarital would be tougher fiction.
We have been husbands, widower, divorcee,
Maybe a murderer, no just a killer.
We have lived, loved and let go.
We have fought for women. Cursed by a few.
We could be trash. We are not all bad.
We should not complain when we have been us.
We still don't talk about commies or fascists.
Is it their salute that embarrasses us?
Or did we expect them to be gone by now?
We don't touch the losers either,
They just won't do whatever, right?
We know all about the shit that happens.
He talks about his heritage, his new citizenship.
I talk about my lot, about perceptions common.
That's old guys' stuff. That's nothing new.
But he's uncomfortable, I notice.
It's not just me who is scared of me.
We talk about the new ones, the dangerous ones,
Who talk about heritage without changing citizenship,
Who talk about discrimination, believe what they say.
You sound a lot like them, he accuses.
If he can be sure about all, why can't I?
He accuses the majority of thinking like the minority.
Why can't the minority take the load of the majority,
I counterattack. Did we fight about this then?
Did that fight come back to haunt us?
Is that our hope too, the cyclical,
The circle of life, with its Yin and Yang?
Maybe, Malabar Hotel will rise again. Maybe not PaiCo.
Will entropy reduce here? At another's expense?
There is no escape from this circle of hate, is there?
We want to talk about Anu's tits and Anju's hips.
But what if the circle escapes into the unknown 3d,
Will this cycle of hate return to good only after us:
"What is the omega in sine omega t?"
Your love letters,
after a few years,
will be shared
with friends
and spouses.
It will be
a lovely
party joke.
Don't fret.
You will be
invited
to that party,
joker.
That which wears out should
Be cause for thought, not the rest.
Only fiction lasts.
#haiku ?
30 years back, I wrote to her:
"Her dark hair straying across that beauteous face,
Black eyes filled dim, alight yet through the full race,
Tear stained cheeks glistening like moonlit waters anew,
Long wet lashes as reaching branches dripping dew,
Blood stained lips trembling, lucky breath to kiss her tender,
Yet not touching, harming her no more but silent yearn render."
Now, I write to her:
"Woman, do not smirk at my words 30 years old.
Yes, the wet lashes were mine and was I nervous!
Remember our first meeting? You congratulated me
For a race or a speech. And I replied, "Same to you."
I cursed every moment I did not have you, believe me.
Remember that drunken night I left you to be with my buddies?
At 6:00, I went to the coffee-stall for a strong filter-kaapi,
At 6:10, I knocked at your door, woke you up, kissed you.
All you said was, "Nice coffee." Did I go back to my buddies?
We were never into PDA, were we? Even in dotage.
We liked our secrets to be our secrets.
Remember when you acted like a stranger, sexy in saree
Sashaying to the kerbside, attracting not just me,
I whistled and leered, the guys around ready to lynch me
When I said, "What a belly!" And you replied, "Same to you."
You fought all the tough battles.
All I had to do was not to trip you.
I was no knight ready to die for you.
But, without you, I am ready to die."
I have relatives who wear the Brahmin thread,
I have relatives who were called "kuravan" (low-caste),
Served outside and all that crap.
I have relatives who pray at the famous mosques and churches
of Tvm. I avoid those and Padmanabhaswamy Temple.
I won't tell you where I go. I don't want you there.
I have relatives who did some good for others.
If they were told to correct their views
Because society did not like it, they did not listen.
I have this cute relative who does social work.
He is with a small political party of Central Tranvancore.
The small ones are the best to get funds, he says.
I have relatives who are communists,
I have relatives who are not that but are the same,
Ready to kiss any ass for the sake of business and kids.
I have relatives who converted for better prayers.
They still seem the same to me
When they serve good food.
I have relatives who converted others for love.
There was a sad case of a girl cheated I could do little.
She was not in love with me.
I met you
after I met my first love.
That was a disaster.
Not you.
She talked about her first love.
Not me!
I met you
after I met my first sweetheart.
That could have gone better.
We are too good friends,
I said to her.
What an idiot!
I met you
when I knew so much
And still an idiot.
Did I tell you
about the lovely one I met
after I met you?
When I write about you, to you,
Why am I the man I was to you?
Never the man I have to be,
The proper and mature me.
Sharing sexist jokes and wet dreams,
Coffee-tinged kisses, muffled screams.
Did I grope in the dark, also in sight?
Was it too rough when you held tight?
An act, a god-damned no-encore play,
Even when I pulled the plug our last day.
In the dark, it’s still our old ways, laugh and talk and kiss,
With few truths and lots of lies, the immature love I miss.
The day he lost his job,
She fought with her boss.
At home, he said something,
She too said something.
Years later,
They laughed
Over those somethings.
Or
They forgot about those.
Or
They used those with others.
Or
They let it fester on its own.
If
They were together
Or
Not.
Love
Equals
Indifference
Minus
Random Events
(Good
Or
Bad
To
One
Or
Both).
I met an ex.
Bitterly I stabbed:
"Happy with HIM?
Does HE do cnuninlingus
As well as I did,
right after breakfast,
For that kick start to a day?"
I felt love too:
"I still have Chikoo,
remember our stuffed toy?
I touch him to touch you."
If I had said all that,
you would have replied,
"When did I become not dead to you?"
We just walked by.
I smiled at the lady saying FU on her phone,
My ex nodded at the guy with a Maserati.
This world is full of phallci symbols and ghosts.
The best part of writing:
when a reader takes my love poem
as hate speech.
O my baby has life!
When everyone ignores,
that's fine. When there are likes
And not one word of dissent
Especially from a mate;
I feel like an influencer
with a cult, too stupid
not to disband the lot.
When I'm nice, I hate by the hour.
Guys hiding behind beards for breakfast,
Lasses with lovely lips in chaste locks later,
Sandlewood paste, thread, lower, upper, caste, class,
Anything goes. I don't need news. I hate
The virtuous too, give me a pimp any day.
I am not a fan of that four-letter-L-word.
That's like placing a bet at roulette.
Single number, column, black or red, fixed?
I need info. I need returns. Hate is easier.
I have a friend of mixed breed.
It likes its Aryan roots.
O how friendly they are!
It hates its Negroid roots.
Narrow-minded creeps they are!
I am narrow-minded, I know.
I am not friendly, I know.
How many wars have we fought?
Did you take me as refugee?
I did not see my puppy eyes
On the front page, anywhere.
Not my obituary either.
I am sorry
to say
your love poems
and stories
do not interest me
because
your love is
not original
it is just a repetition
of what we were taught
of what we think
as love.
Do not trouble me
till you can think
till you can
love.
i mailed a love.
she replied:
“meet a shrink.”
i met a shrink.
he told me:
“you need love.”
i realized then.
the big lie:
“love’s mental.”
(title: do you need an emoji to understand love?)
Love marriage is easy
(if you have met the half-good person)
You have shared the same toilet
You know which drawer has the cash
You know how the knickers (his or hers) fall.
Arranged marriage is tough
(if you meet the half-bad person)
You get one look at the toilet, if you are lucky
You have to believe in love and trust (and cash?)
You don't even know if there are knickers to fall.
#WritingCommunity
I hate love poems
All that crap stuff, missing et al.
When she left
I did not cry I did not
I don't remember
When I ripped her bra
How she laughed
Do I remember
Her head against me
I hate all that
All that crap stuff, missing et al.
#WritingCommunity
Concise trans. (modified):
"Encourage building of educational institutions (if you must have temples, keep it small). We are one, with no restrictions on mingling. Look in the mirror. If you see darkness, there is no point in praying."
-Sree Narayana Guru, 1856-1928
i have a problem
with poets & writers
who call themselves
poets & writers.
it’s just
another job.
it ain’t.
How many wars have we fought,
Not for a cause (just or not),
Envious of a friend's gain,
Destroying (for nought or pain)?
i thought we would climb
(when our love merged all seasons)
these steps together.
#haiku ?
when did i stop
writing love poems?
was it a few years
after you left?
or when they accused
i would not let you go?
did i find a loophole
in your case against me?
how do i convince
myself i did not kill you?
A kid next door
Shouts with glee,
"I got 20 out of 20."
The parents, grandparents,
Even neighbours, kiss, hug,
Wish her "good luck".
When will they tell her
To be a mother, a wife.
"Enough is enough."
Will she decide
Not to have a girl child
Who gets 20 out of 20?
#girlchild
Grandma used trains for meals.
Morning shuttle (from?) : breakfast.
Express (from Madras?) : lunch.
Night shuttle (from?) : dinner.
Not for morning coffee, porridge at 11,
Evening tea or snacks from tins anytime.
The same trains might be there.
Grandma's gone. Me too (nearly).
In ‘2034’, the sequel to George Orwell’s ‘1984’, we find Big Brother depressed. Everyone seems to be doing only wrong stuff. Everyone’s watching p#rn, talking of b#mbs, planning *n*rchy. Big B is going crazy. Meanwhile, Big Corporation is lobbying for a law which makes corrupt data illegal. People are strapping Fitbit on their pets or in-laws, they claim. AI behaves like NI, totally bewildered, absolutely useless. It is not right to make the artificial natural, Big C protests. And yes, Pegasus is p&gged.
In a godforsaken railway station,
In a state deprived of its demon,
I found beautiful writing:
I miss you.
