Saans

Woh jo jalte hain chilman
Chiragon mein tumhare
Agan unko hamari aahon se mili hai

Ye jo barasti hai tumhare aangan mein barkha
Boondein use hamari aankhon se mili hai

Yoon to hum jal lete, ta-umr,
Aashiyan ko tumhare roshan rakhne - par afsos

Yeh jo ruk rahi hain, ab tak hamesha
Meri saans humein tumhari saanson mein mili hai

Words

Words are such disloyal friends. They have this stupid tendency to desert you just when you need them. They just run and hide somewhere in the folds of chaotic waves inside you, no matter how much you cry for them. They know they're there, they know what they mean and they know they're needed to stop things going astray, but they wouldn't arrive. Worse, they'd often send some foreign cousins of theirs to cover up- other words that have no clue what's going on and have no business showing up. And you're left cleaning behind the mess they make. Such disloyal friends.

And then, there are other times. When a truth, a forbidden feeling, an honest confession just appears from somewhere inside you. Words suitably accompany and just pour out of you, like they suddenly hate you and cannot stay inside any longer. And so you say stuff, out loud, stuff that leaves you defenceless and exposed. But the listener doesn't care. He's somewhere else, engrossed in some other words. He listens, he reads - probably - and he ignores. And you're left alone, vulnerable, staring at the vomit of stupid unrestrained words spread on the floor. Wondering whether you're not worth it or your feelings are meaningless. Or whether, words are being disloyal friends to your listener, abandoning him, leaving him speechless and unresponsive, when he really just wants to tell you how much your words mean to him.

Such disloyal friends.

Noise

That sinking feeling
At the pit of the stomach
Crowding around the gut
Climbing up to the brain
Squeezing all in its way
Pushing out every breath
I gasp, that sinking feeling
Is making me drown again

I sink, I swim, I fight
Till the sinking wins and I quit
What's the point, I ask myself
Life isn't worth the pain
Numbness takes over the limbs
The mind refuses to think
I walk alone, drowning
In cold November rain

I sink, till I shrink
Deeper and deeper within my shell
The only place still safe
The only place still sane
Alone, in the darkness, I question
Whereforth leadeth life today
But noise is drowning the inner voice
The noise mocks with disdain

Directionless, helpless, alone I wait
In deep safe corners of the cocoon
Either the noise itself will die
Or wash me over drown the drain
I cannot hear, in this noise
What the instincts want me to do
But logic asks me why even try
Life really isn't worth the pain.

Incomparable loves

Lots of loving lovable loves
Loiter around in the throes of the heart
Who is to say which ones are greater
Love is always perfect, love is always flawed

Pyaar to aakhir pyaar hi hai
Naapein parkhein kaise koi
Ishq waala love bhi love hai
Aur pyaar hi hai khamoshi ka saath

Loves, unlike lovers, do not hate each other
They're far too self-obsessed to even care
The love for the moon doesn't rival that for night
They both just ignite, they both are just there

Mere pyaar se tera pyaar na kam na zyaada
Gehraiyaan na naapi jaayein inchi tape ke bharose
Na gin sakte hain aansu, na lafzon ko wazan karein
Is jado-jahid mein aksar pyaar hi jata hai bikhar

Some loves are fleeting, some undying
Some flicker with the candlelight and the wail
Some weaken, some strengthen, some draw off each other
Some give life and some lead down a dark trail

Gusse se bhi pyaar hai, teri muskaan pe bhi marte hain
Teri aankhon ke kone ke jugnu pe bhi hain kaayal
Pyaar kaun sa is duniya mein mukammal ho jaye
sab kismat ka hai khel

Book Review: The Krishna Key

Ever since I finished reading The Krishna Key, I have been wondering why is it a work of fiction. The closest I've got is, "Because Da Vinci Code sold x million copies". But The Krishna Key is much more a book of history and mythology, and more precisely the grey zone between the two interpretational art/science forms, than the latter ever was. In terms of sheer quality of writing and narrative though, even Da Vinci Code was better than this.

Ashwin Sanghi has a reputation of his own, though Krishna Key had come especially recommended. It appeals, I am certain, to a certain reader demographic - the religious, the non-fiction-oholics, the conspiracy theorists. But it manages to sound a bit too contrived, too forced, and by the end too preachy for even a reader like me who likes narratives that try to find a hidden layer behind notions we have and the world we see around us. 

In brief, the book brings to fore the oft-repeated questions - Did Krishna really exist, or is it just mythology? Did Mahabharata really happen? It throws in tons of evidence, theories, stories and interpretations that make you want to believe in its hypothesis. The theories in itself are easily the most interesting part of the book, which makes me believe the writer should have chosen a better format than the force-fit fiction tale with too many stereotypical elements and "forced" surprises. 

The protagonists of the book are unlikely hero. The women of the story are smart and sharp, the men confused and the motivations laughable. For a fair while, you don't even realise who are supposed to be the leads, which in itself is not a bad thing.. Part of it is weak character development, some elements of which appear so late they appear forced. Mostly, I do not like the dialogue. The plot is kinda plausible, especially once it gets over the hindi-filminess of the first half. But the dialogue is virtually non-existent, because the monologues take it over. At a point, you wonder, why are they all running? What are they trying to get to? Why now? Why so urgent? Why so SERIOUS?

This book is great if you're interested in history, mythology, the one world-one civilization paradigm, the supremacy of Hinduism (in a very twisted way), and hell, who doesn't love a conspiracy theory. Dont read it for the story it tries to tell you though. Not worth it.

This review is a part of the Book Review Program for Indian Bloggers!

Nights

Exhausted
I fall down on the bed
But sleep evades
When will the questions die?
Unchanged
Stays the toughest one
Have I changed
Over years? Over weeks? Why?
Peace
Could probably be bought
Can faith be restored?
Should I quit, or should I try?
Tears
Appear uninvited anyway
And clean the eyes
Off hazy dreams that pry
Sleep
I still pray for
As answers don't come
In guilt, pain, confusion I cry.

Abhi abhi

Another place I dream to reach
And I walk another path
Abhi abhi to dil ki suni hai
Abhi na karo zamaane ki baat

Half-truths

Are half-truths lies? If so, are they "better" lies?

Imagine yourself where you repeatedly tell a half-truth to someone because you think they'd not like or understand the full truth, or because you think they'd have a 'problem' with it but in your head is completely legit, just a point-of-view issue, so they don't really need to know. It is likely the "someone" here is important enough that you care how they think/feel/perceive you. How does telling those half truths make you feel? E.g. Telling your parents you're going out with friends while you're going out with a certain 'friend' because you don't want them to know/ overreact. Or telling your best friend you're going out with boring office colleagues when you really have to go out with a new close friend because it is quite awkward. Telling your husband you're crashing at your (girl) friend's place tonight, while really its one of your guy friends you'd crash at, because you're not doing anything wrong, just avoiding an inconvenient conversation.

I don't think it'd be hard to imagine what I ask for many of us. We say convenient half truths and little lies ALL the freaking time. So what's the big deal?

The big deal is to me, at least, sometimes these little lies rankle a lot. We say them because we care about the other person's feelings or beliefs, and want to sidestep rather than hurt them. We do it anyway because we're convinced we're not doing anything wrong, but we also would rather have them not know than know the full truth. It's a really fine line. Most days indifference is probably ok. Some days it's not. Some days the guilt wakes me up at night. Some days I wonder how I would feel if I were being led to. And then I realize I would "understand" quite easily and not 'think' much of it, but the way the 'lie' would make me feel is a very different kind of pain. The pain that lingers. The pain which 'knows' and yet where you're quiet because you understand.
And then I wonder, wasn't pain what we are avoiding in the first place anyway? Why damage trust for a little bit of convenience?
Isn't trust TOO precious for that?

Is it too hard to do a direct honest conversation upfront, battle through a bit of temporary heartache if any, and live peacefully truthfully thereafter?

Chaand

Ek chaand mera
Ek tha jahaan ka
Ek pal churaya
Ik wahin gira tha
Ek aasmaan ka tukda
Us pal ka rehnuma tha
Kuch aur hi tha manzar
Kuch aur hi sama tha
Aankhon mein chaand chamka
Ek boond mein tha chhalka
Dil ko chubha naya ek
Ehsaas halka halka
Lafzon ne sath chhoda
Chupchaap se gila tha
Ek pal maine churaya
Ek pal wahin gira tha


Ek chaand mera
Ek chaand jahaan ka
Us chaandni mein mujh ko
Mera aashiyaan mila tha...

Baat-cheet

Shikayat lekar tumhari gaye the khuda ke paas, 

kambakht khuda bhi tumhara aashiq nikla...

Mizaaz aashiqui ka chhaya hai lagta hai aj kal

Zara hum bhi to jaanein khaas itna kaun hai...

Us ka jo pucha hai to bas itna jaan lo. 

Bahut khaas, bahut khaas, bahut khaas hai koi.

Shabdon ko kisi ke naam kar pate 

Kash koi khaas itna humare paas bhi hota

Ishq karna hai to ubikharne Ka hunar bhi seekho

Ishq main hadse aksar badey sangeen hotey hai

Wo Haadsa Wo Pehli Mulaakat Kyaa Kahoon...

Itni Ajab Thi Soorat Haalat Kya Kahoon

Koi bhi ho ham-safar, yoon na ho Khush is qadar... 

Ab ke logon mein wafa hai kam, zara aahista chal

Bewafa is duniya mein, wafa ki umeed kam hi hai..

kuch pal hi mil jayein mohabbat ke, to zindagi kat jaye shayad

This happened on Twitter, love the banter. There was a time the blog had a lot more of this, so putting this here to remember. Not all shers are original and many are not mine, of course.

Book Review: The Devotion of Suspect X

When I picked up "The Devotion of Suspect X", I had my expectations low of the crime thriller, despite the 2mn readers' claim on the cover, and despite my general love for International literature from Japan, inspired from Haruki Murakami's stables. Having read it twice over now, I stand corrected, and yet I realize I probably started from the best entry point in this novel which has subtlety and subtext all over itself, my favorite kind of story-telling. 

The book is a reasonably well-paced crime novel that keeps you hooked till the end, even though you know the whodunnit (as well as whydunnit and howdunnit) in the first 50 pages of the story. Despite that, the twist is something you'd never ever guess and the subtlety of hints makes you want to smile when it is revealed towards the end. The plot is beautifully crafted with the protagonists being a couple of geniuses, a hapless mother-daughter and a key question "Is it more difficult to devise an unsolvable problem or to solve one?" There's generous amount of maths, science, philosophy and logic colluding all over this fine piece of literature, but they all fit beautifully and never overwhelm a reader who might in normal circumstances shy away from those subjects.

Come to think of it, in fact, the only thing that seems out of place in hindsight is the title of the book, whose impact I think has been lost entirely in translation. 

Yeah, I would have probably just called this book "Devotion". Because that is the only word for Ishigami's terrifying simplicity of action, because that is the only word that describes the enormity of what hits Yasuko in the end, and because I am sure that is what the author would have been drenched in to produce a book like this. 

The characters are wonderfully, realistically drawn and yet kept semi-closed in a way that forces you to imagine what the protagonists must be going through and question their actions (or lack thereof) rather than doling it out on to the reader on a platter to just gobble. My heart goes out to Ishigami, the simple genius mathematician, for whom you never once stop feeling "wronged" as a reader, from beginning to end, to the extent that you feel a vague anger for pretty much every other character in the book. In my opinion, pulling off that kind of subtle empathy in a book is kudos to the author, and will remain the most lasting memory in my mind.

Go read! Available here on Flipkart.

This review is a part of the Book Review Program for Indian Bloggers!

बर्फ

Shararat bhari nazron ne tumhari
Aankhon mein meri haya bhar di
Ek hi pal mein in bewafa nainon ne
Mere dil ki raza bayaan kar di
Hothon ko dabeeche daanton tale
Main muskaan ko taish se chhupati hoon
Rok lo haath pakad mujhe aaj zara
Isi umeed mein mud ke door jaati hoon
Paakar kareeb tumko, khud ko yoon kho rahi hoon
Maala koi toot kar bikharti hai jaise
Patton par padi os fisalti hai jaise
Sooraj ki oat mein barf pighalti hai jaise

शरारत भरी नज़रों ने तुम्हारी

आँखों में मेरी हया भर दी 

एक ही पल में इन बेवफा नैनों ने

मेरे दिल की रज़ा बयाँ कर दी

होठों को दबीचे दांतों तले

मैं मुस्कान को तैश से छुपाती हूँ

रोक लो पकड़ हाथ आज मुझे ज़रा

इसी उम्मीद में मुड़ के दूर जाती हूँ

पाकर करीब तुमको, खुद को यूं खो रही हूँ

माला कोई टूट कर बिखरती है जैसे

पत्तों पर पड़ी ओस फिसलती है जैसे

सूरज की ओट में बर्फ पिघलती है जैसे। 

Mann

Tumhe zulfon mein apni uljhane ka mann hai
Tumhe aur paas thoda bulane ka mann hai
Tadapta hai kitna ye dil tumhare liye
Nazron se aaj tumhe batlane ka mann hai

Questions

What do you do when the rational, sane half of you "knows" the truth, knows things as they are and wants to believe it for what it is, but the other half refuses to just believe and wants to see, hear, feel the truth, wants to be reassured and comforted away from fear, doubt and insecurity?
What do you do when caught between a logical half that recognises paranoia and insecurity and a sentimentally foolish one that is running out of strength pulling oneself out of a deep abyss all alone surrounded by unhealed pain, vulnerable doubt, a need for attention and a self-preservation instinct bordering on the self-destructive.

Why don't the two of them just talk and sort it out?

Answers

Sawaal dil ka kabhi hothon pe na aa paaya
Tumse nazar milte hi lafz pighal jo jaate hain
Dhadkan meri dil tumhara kabhi sun na paaya fir bhi
Chupchap aankhon mein tumhari jawaab dhoondhe jaate hain

Book Review: Urban Shots

The back cover of my copy of "Urban Shots" quotes "has all the ingredients of a breezy read…". That sentence is incomplete. 

This ostensibly simple collection of love stories has the ingredients all right, with short tales of love written lucidly making you turn the pages, but still manages to be anything but a breezy read. Because every now and then you find a story tug at something in your heart - invoking emotions, asking questions, rising memories - and you find yourself engulfed in a reverie of your own, not turning to the next story anytime soon. And every now and then you find yourself wondering what next would have happened, dreaming about a world you can see but don't live in, angry at the author for not telling you more. And if you're any bit of a hopeless romantic like I am, or are otherwise soft at heart, at least once you will find yourself shedding a tear or two for something you won't entirely be sure about. 

Urban Shots may not be pathbreaking fiction, era-defining literature or even a book you'd remember the title of a few years down the line, but in its quintessential simplicity it is something that carries a bit of us, all caught in the mad whirlwind of pacy urban lives, complex relationship dynamics, un-understood demands of the heart and irrational rationality of the head. 

With 31 stories themed around love, not even 10 pages each in length, and many by first time authors, you expect a bit of sameness and you get it. Actually, most of them are not really stories, they're like screenplays with context of random scenes we see around ourselves each day - two girls talking over coffee, a woman walking out of a mall having met a date over lunch, a phonecall from an ex-lover never really forgotten, an outburst between two strangers bound by something close in common. For the better stories, you can immediately see it happening in front of your eyes. For the best ones, you can feel them happening to you. That's why I think the top picks for every reader would subjectively vary with where they saw themselves at that point in life. Having said that, would recommend "Beyond Reasonable Doubt", "The Last Look", "Making Out", "A Good day", "Strangers", "Twisted", "High Time", "Reality Bytes"

The biggest letdown of the book for me was that a LOT of the stories sound the same, in terms of the voice of the narrative. The editor's voice feels too strong at times, the writing style too homogenous for a collection, and that takes away some of its freshness. Barring a few exceptions, the ones which retain heterogeneity actually feel badly written though, and therefore I can't judge whether they're a result of some mellowing by the editor on something even worse, or the writer's insistence to leave a few tales alone. The ones that feel freshest are the ones where the writer's semi-autobiographical voice seeps through a line or a setting, and you smile to yourself, almost trying to tell the writer - you understand. 

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This review is a part of the Book Reviews Program at Blogadda.. Participate now to get free books!

Believe it or not...

Rationality makes stupid decisions more often than irrationality does.

Choices

I have learnt something incredibly important, and I hope and intend to remember.

In life, there are often phase which seem tricky, treacherous and confusing. And all too often, there are choices to be made. There are always some options that seem easier or faster. It is always tempting to choose the convenient. And yet, fact is, in the long run, the most convenient choice you can make is the one for love. Love and compassion, is indeed the primary driver for true happiness, comfort and convenience. 

When faced with difficult choices, pick for the right reasons, not for the right apparent results. 

I cannot say I didn't 'know' this before - everyone has heard and read the "morals" and the "rules" all the time. Yet today I truly understand and appreciate. 

And I hope I never ever forget.

PS Now as I sit to write this and mull over, few words I heard earlier this week come back to me "...the temptation to go on was there, but I knew, that any longer from hereon, and it would be for the wrong reasons...so I couldn't". If only one could top infinite respect with a little bit more...

Injurious to health

There's a story I want to tell, but I am not sure how it ends. I am not exactly sure why I want to put it into words though, because it's a story of unspoken words, and therefore I am likely to fall short. But "they" say that saying things aloud heals faster than letting tears wash them away, and the idea is tempting. You know how people sometimes complicate their own lives - there is this girl I know, who does it, unfailingly, all the time. For as long as she knew love she'd loved one guy, but as soon as she got him in her life, she refused to believe that he loved her back, as opposed to some charitable affection, and drove him away lying to him she didn't love him at all. Ego, pride, sheer stupidity? Who knew?

Several years now she's spent in secret silent misery loving him more than ever, unable to truly look at a life beyond. Yet, a mere public mention of him, let alone a sight or a meeting, brings out a reaction that wouldn't betray anything but hate and disgust. I wonder who is the show for. Is it for him - whose hurt at her betrayal has been for all to see and suffer, but surely in all this years that has turned to indifference? Is it for the world, who frankly couldn't care less anymore - it is old gossip after all? Or just for herself. 

Once upon a time she used to be the closest of my friends, which is how I knew how deeply and passionately she'd always loved and desired him and how happy she was when they first got together. I had been more than a little jealous, I'd confess. Did the jealousy of mortal folk like us become the cast of evil eye on her life, and frankly, on her sanity? I don't know. I don't know what exactly happened. I haven't been privy to her feelings or her life even since; I suspect no one else is, either. But I know her well enough to understand the misery she's really in, the pain in her eyes and the facade she stubbornly puts up. More than once I've tried to break in, but never succeeded. To be honest, I gave up. It just felt like it wasn't worth me, or I wasn't worth it, whatever it was. And I moved away for some years. I was selfish. Isn't everyone? 

But I cannot stop thinking about it now. I saw her yesterday and it broke my heart. She couldn't have been worse. She lives alone, barely survives on what seems like a horrible job, and has no social life. And the way she looked at her, I was convinced he must have done something horrible to her, something so hard to get over it's destroyed her life. So I tried everything from provocation to empathy, anger to friendship, and all I got was tears. Silent tears. Something that told me that no matter how infinitely bad it looked already, it was only getting worse. 

But I want my friend back. Whole.

So I went to him and asked - what the hell had happened. And how could he do this to her. To my surprise he broke down, because he doesn't know either. In all this years, he hasn't known, and hasn't been able to get over constant hatred and rejection from her. He knew she once loved him, and  that incomplete knowledge made it impossible for him to successfully replace her in his life. He tried hard, but he couldn't give himself to another relationship, and it didn't last. He'd told himself to not ruin his life over someone who barely knew he existed, but couldn't stop. He knew he couldn't live like this, dangling in the middle, mentally neither here nor there. I don't know what made him open up to me - we'd never exactly been friends. Maybe it was hope he saw, in some convoluted way, in my initial accusatory words that betrayed how much she still suffered over him. 

All this is truly fucked up. Big mess.

So I am trying something different. Why? Because I cant bear the pain all this is causing me. Me, who's otherwise a non-player in this cruel game, and yet, anguished merely by witnessing some of the anguish. I am selfish about it, because I hope by trying to set something right, I might tempt Karma to forgive me for some of the wrongs I'd done in my own life. I can't find out more by asking, so I am taking a convoluted detour that might, if it goes well, end up in the two of them telling each other what they really feel, and what that means for the past and the future. I do believe in jinxes and evil eyes a lot more now though, so I won't tell you what it is. 

I don't know how this ends. That the pain is intense is proven by how it affects even me, who's just a bystander. I hope I leave it better rather than worse. Quite unlike my own life.

All these one-man women are ridiculously stupid. And injurious to their own health. 

Thank You Rahul

Feeling silly as I want to cry and smile at the same time as Rahul Dravid says " My approach to cricket has been reasonably simple: it was about giving everything to the team, it was about playing with dignity and it was about upholding the spirit of the game. I hope I have done some of that. I have failed at times, but I have never stopped trying. It is why I leave with sadness but also with pride."

It is the spirit of failing, and never stopping trying that is so human, yet so beyond-human, that makes him a perfect role model.


I am speechless.

Random survival tips

God knows which one comes handy in which situation for some of us:

- don't stress over someone that barely remembers whether you exist
- take it or leave it. Do one.
- don't worry about what you can't change or control. Worry about why it makes you feel helpless.
- everyone is basically selfish. It is ok. Don't blame them for looking out for themselves.
- if you feel like you're giving your best but nothing is changing, stop. Step back. You're not worth it. It is not worth you.
- if you don't respect your feelings, no one will
- if it feels so bad it couldn't get worse, stop. It could get worse. It will get worse. It is already worse for someone else somewhere. So what? Chin up.
- die. Or live. Don't dangle in between.

All in

What breaks once
Can it ever be unbroken
Words once said
Could they be unspoken

Probably the cracks will always stay
The shattering noise won't go away
The debris of the said, wouldn't be dead
You'd forget but you'd smell them every day

I wish people didn't have noses
So what if we couldnt value roses
At least we wouldn't be trapped by time
Infected by the past in daily doses

So scared to break - not unbroken any way
Unspoken silences piercing everyday
Trying to shut your doors to hurt
You manage to keep happiness away

I wonder, if we tried to forgive and heal
If we allowed ourselves once again to feel
You can't do it alone, but still I wonder
If it's better to go all-in on the deal.