Thursday, February 22, 2007

You are leaving me, my dear.

You are leaving me, my dear.

I thought, we have ages to grow old together
but life has caught us up
tripped us, tricked us
in no small measure

you look serene, peaceful
prepared for your journey
I stretch my lips in a smile
my eyes scream a different story

People come in waves
you have touched many lives
i see your smile
giving them strength to say goodbye

i hang back, my eyes are drinking you
i wish i could steal you
these last moments with you
these last moments with you

You are leaving me, my dear.

Tuesday, October 31, 2006

Winter Chills

Winter brings the chill -
Will my bed be warm enough
To thaw your cold soul?

Wednesday, October 25, 2006

The Pompous King

There once was a pompous King
Who strutted his stuff with his posse
His homies jumped at his slightest whim
The sight of which was quite gross(e)

The King was all bluster and thunder
He looked to heaven, his feet was stuck down under
He loved to huff, oh he loved to puff
Alas, his enemies were made of way stronger stuff

Until one day he hatched a scheme
To fight them on his own turf
So he lured them in, he sold them dreams
And he almost sold them on his bluff

He said, we must find the greatest king of all
And answer the question, once in for all
The greatest king is the greatest warrior
So, we need to fight, on the floor

The kings came, and the nobles and courtiers
Also came the old emperor
The floor was set, the rules were set
And the common folk, all started to bet

They all fought like dragons and thunder
The common folks sat tranced in wonder
With their swords, knives, spears and arrows
Heads rolled like parisian gallows

Three days and nights the heavens rent
Until it seemed like all were spent
The King, it seemed, had got his way
Oops, the emperor had not yet had his say

The emperor, and old man,
Had earned his age
Had seen many a battle
And lived to tell the tale

He said...

Pompous king is right I think
That we need to find the greatest king
But tell me royals, tell me commons
who really is the greatest king?

Is it the fighter, the warrior
Who let his weapons do the talking?
I am just a simple spirit, a lover
Who lets his love do the walking?

At this the crowd erupted, the royals roared
You are our emperor, they said
You are greater than all the kings
Your words have truth, the fight is dead

At once there was the sound of an ugly roar
'twas the king who couldn't take it anymore
He ran away, deep into the forest
Never to be seen, forever... no more

Friday, October 20, 2006

Thin Lines and artists

There is this thin line right between love and hate? Found out, same said thin line exists between a guy who is fighting a problem and the same guy becoming that problem he is fighting. Let me explain.

Take religion. Religions generally are born because of some sort of reaction to an existing religion or practice that was starting to oppress. Like Budhism and Jainism were reactions to prevalent oppressive Hindu society. First the new religion really has the right spirit. As it gets bigger and bigger, it loses the essense that made it different and "right" in the first place. Know what I mean? It becomes the enemy it was born to fight in the first place.

Take politics. How many poor suckers join politics to fight the corrupt politicians? How many of them become "one of THEM"?

Take art. Creativity and individualism is at the core of being an artist. As a student the artist learns the basic techniques of his art form. He faithfully copies his teacher and the current accepted "evolutions" of the art form. Think - studying picasso, monet, van gogh's styles. Then at some point he rebels against the accepted. He discovers the creativity within. Maybe he gets inspired by something, but then wants to re-interpret it in his own way. Take it a little further, maybe in a different direction. Said artform now changes for ever, doesn't it? I mean, picasso changed how the world view art...

He is lucky - the world accepts it, says "Wah wah" and he is the toast, the creme-de-la-creme, cream of the crop, next best thing, he deserves the "padma bhushan" yaar... His creative evolution of the art is "accepted". Now he becomes part of the "system" - he has a vested interest in keeping his interpretation "legal" while other contemporaries are upstarts, nincompoops and they are blaspheming the art into something "illegal". The world agrees with you, until the next upstart that comes along that is able to turn their mind.

Now, what is wrong with that you say? Well, at some point, these artists are bloody humans too. For every guy who becomes the king of the world, there are hundreds that dont make it. You get the partronage, your art is legal, and somehow the artist in you probably dies a little, coz you want to keep your status quo... You dont get the patronage, you end up hungry and bitter, and probably, still stay an artist :-)

The world judges the artist and chooses to reward the artist with their partronage, or punish the artist with their indifference. Judging or critiquing art does not "make sense" IMHO it is all about your personal, subjective reaction to what the artist shows you. Its what "turns you on" and "floats your boat", man.

But, what to do now? The world is going to judge, the critics are going to judge, and the poor artist cannot do a thing about that - he is going to have to LIVE the result of that judgement.

How many ways to show I am married?

So, turns out, if a woman in India gets married, she needs about half-a-dozen things on her body like glaring Las Vegas billboards announcing to the world that she is "taken" and someone else's property. There is the mangal sutra, the bangles, the bindi, the nosering, the toe ring and the sidhoor.

I actually saw something totally interesting about the origins of these "signs" of matrimony --

“Even to this day, there is a custom whereby the mother asks her son on the eve of his marriage, ‘Where are you going?’. He replies, ‘I’m going to bring you a maid-servant.’ It comes from those days when the victorious clan would drag the defeated women back to its own hill. Not only that – to bind someone you need a rope or a chain … The women would be brought back in those days with chains on their wrists, otherwise they might run away. The iron bangle that a married (Hindu) woman wears today is a symbol of that early servitude. In those days women also fought in battle, and were often hit on the head and severely injured. A small vermilion mark then came to represent the blood streaming from their cracked heads. But today a woman must wear that vermilion mark if she is to be recognized as married.”

So, in my estimation, ages ago, women must have been chained to posts when unattended, or maybe tethered like cows, and hence the dog collar (or mangalsutra) and the nose ring.

And, just out of curiosity, how many signs does a man have to wear? Like.. none... "Sir, you are free to roam about the country")

Tuesday, October 10, 2006

What you gonna leave behind?

Maybe I am young enough to not care about death just yet. But, it is quite interesting to observe how the older a person gets, the more desperate they get to define their legacy. What you gonna leave behind?

If a person is a head of state, or a nobel prize winner, or an accomplished artist, or anyone who has the requisite fame and fortune that qualifies them for an automatic footnote in history, it is probably more straightforward to answer the question. What about the great unwashed masses?

The quick and easy answer is of course - kids! But it seems to be more than that. It does not seem sufficient that you leave your physical DNA or identity behind in other human forms. There seems to be a desperate need to leave your spiritual and mental DNA and identity behind in terms of religion, family traditions, culture, rituals, attitudes, philosophies behind for your children to believe in and nurture and carry on. Any rejection of this stuff is a rejection of them, of their identity, and hence their "legacy" :-)

Tuesday, September 12, 2006

Life inspired

How would it be
To live a life inspired

to feel that lightness of being
finely tuned
suspended yet constantly
moving, flying, soaring

the little boy who grew up
no money for food
and ended up saving a nation
on wits alone - he could

the little girl
painfully shy, even ugly
but conquered the world
her gift - a voice as pure as honey

that old man
who plodded, yes, a life ordinary
but he raised a loving family
and that was all he ever wanted

i would give my kingdom
to sing that perfect song
i would give the clothes on my back
to dance that perfect dance
oh, i would, i would
give my life
for that one perfect moment

When it all makes sense
I make sense.

Tuesday, June 27, 2006

Picking the buggers in my brain

Why is it that something bad has to happen before you know what is good with you? Why do you need a cloud to show the silver lining?

How is it that Samwise Gamgee, the family man turns into Gollum at the workplace? And, by the way, why do I have to deal with him?

How is it that your loose your true love when you marry him? Do you divorce now to find him again?

How is it that the family is your safety net? Esepcially when they are busy pushing you off the damn cliff?

Why is life so fundamentally unfair if you take a minute to think about it? And why do I care?