Free Spirit

Free spirit,
Like flowing wine,
Take the shape,
Of this glass of mine.

Roll with your fingers,
A mysterious charm,
To your gypsy eyes,
Do I disarm.

A look of wildness,
In your eyes,
A beast within,
For freedom cries.

A dance untamed,
A song so free,
Cast a magic spell,
That enchains me.

Little Red Kite

Little red kite,
Bobbing up and down,
In the big blue sky.

White clouds,
Dodge birds,
That scatter about.

Red kite,
Pulls hard,
At the little boy.

Look,
There goes the little boy,
To the sky.

(Photo - With my school friend Pratik in a roadside restaurant in Singapore.
By the way, if you have a taste for short stories, try http://prawncurry.blogspot.com)

In the café

There isn’t much to say. The voices in the café are distant and incoherent and the music too low. But then the silence is just as annoying to my ears as loud noise can be. Which is why I speak. They are fillers, more like bubbles in the air, which the cartoonist forgot to type words in. But that will do for now.

Her gaze isn’t very reassuring. It is an entreaty and a question. It speaks louder than the bubbles I draw in the air. It makes the sound of a ticking clock waiting to strike the hour. Everytime I look away the clock doesn’t move. It waits for me. And each time I look at it, it starts ticking again.

Even the coffee smells of something else. Somebody has put too much anxiety in it along with sugar. I try to drink it with apathy, but it grips my throat and forces me to consider this and that. I smile at her and pretend that nothing is wrong. And she smiles back at me pretending nothing is wrong.

There isn’t much to say anymore. But there is a little hope. That she will walk out of this café and find herself waiting outside for her. That she will smile back at me through the glass door and perhaps forgive me.

Photo: Vijay at a Starbucks in Palo Alto

Hypocrisy

Non-conformism has been my mantra for sometime now. When it comes to tradition or convention I always ask why. Social mores and customs lie neglected under a pile of clothes in my wardrobe. What society thinks of me, doesn’t really bother me. I have always been an outsider anyways, looking at society like one looks at fishes in an aquarium. Every now and then something happens and I plunge into life with a splash and am surrounded by it, but that is so rare. Those rare instances are very memorable, but that’s not what I am talking about.

I am talking about hypocrisy. Of how I pretend to be just what I am not. How non-conformism fades away every time life comes calling. It is there somewhere inside me, in some part of my body. Its physical form is not known, and its chemical composition is ambiguous. It was passed on to me when I was born – like a birth defect. A part of it came from my father and the rest from my mother. And now it is a part of my identity. It is the way I look, I think, I act even though I seldom betray it to the world.

It is my deep love for tradition. For that old house where my grandmother lives. My love of that smell from the kitchen when my mother cooks. It is my respect for my grandfather’s principles and my father’s sense of dignity. It is the memory of that winding staircase that leads to a place called home. It is my love for my mother and all her beliefs and superstitions. It is the smell of incense sticks and earthen pots. It is the sound of dhak (drums) and conch shells. It is my love of art and poetry. It is my love of values. It is my deep-seated respect for tradition and convention.

Photos - The Udaipur Lake Palace

Blue Eyes

Wish I had blue eyes. Beautiful blue eyes. Cobalt blue eyes. Blue eyes that look like the ocean. Where waves of emotion would wash against the shore, splash themselves on distant rocks and become droplets and mist. Blue eyes as blue as the sky spread over high mountain peaks that tower over clouds. Proud blue eyes so happy in their blueness.

Wish I had such blue eyes, that you would love me for them. That you would look into my eyes and lose yourself in them. That you would ask no questions. Blue eyes that would enchant you mesmerize you. Blue eyes that you would never forget. That you would dream about. That you would think about all day, so far away and miss my blue eyes. That you would long for them. Blue eyes that you would see each time you close your eyes.

Wish I had blue eyes that would say all that I have to say. That you would look into them and know just what I mean. Blue eyes that say so much more than words. Blue eyes like a thousand pictures. Blue eyes as sweet as music. Like the song of birds at dawn. Blue eyes like rain drops. Blue eyes so blue that they would shimmer from a distance. That you would see them from far away and come running into my arms.