Art

'They were the most ancient of spirits. Accursed. Unruly. Demented.
Guilt, shame, perversion, humiliation, pain, filth, tragedy and dear old insanity. They violated the very soul and impregnated you. Spread their vile tentacles until their seed was deep within.

And there it festered, my child. It thrashed about, plundered and feasted until the soul could take it no more.

And on stormy dark nights (when Master danced about in ecstasy), it slithered out of the womb. For the sake of the weaker ones, they named it Art.

The mother alone knew what a monster it was'

Of Gita and intolerance.

In the very first line of Gita, Dhritrashtra asks,
'Sanjaya, after MY sons and the sons of Pandu assembled in the place of pilgrimage at Kurukshetra, desiring to fight, what did they do?'

His usage of the word 'my' represents his ignorance. And the reason for the downfall of the Kauravas.

And what are we fighting for?
'Our cow' (Aka 'our' holy animal)
The cow is not yours. Nor theirs. Its an animal. In ancient times, it provided milk for home. It's dung provided fuel and purified the home. It's urine was used for it's antiseptic property.
In short, life was impossible without the cow. Hence, it was revered as holy.

Its not the same today.

Have you ever read Ramcharitmanas? It's poetry. It's a ballad of love.
Tulsidas transformed his unadulterated love into words.

And, some years ago, people upheld the same words to bathe a holy city with blood. That piece of land was neither yours. Nor theirs. It was (and still is) just a piece of land.

Wake up.

Depression

That's the thing about depression. It drapes itself in black and never lets you see how fragile and serene it is.

It's perfection. The absolute nothings come together and play a concerto. You cannot move.cannot think. Cannot feel.

In that one hollow vaccum of a moment, you are dust. Nothing. A pile of sobs, smelly clothes, crumpled sheets, stinking dishes, scattered moldering junk. The world loses it's power over you. You lose your power over you. Thoughts, emotions, opinions, expectations, motivation and bullshit.

Hopelessness strums in the background and pain fiddles with the strings. And before you know, you are the puppet dangling from those strings.
And what a macabre performance you give. Your uninhibited unadulterated best!

Remember. Serenity, not sanity.

Of ISIS and Voldermort.

Of ISIS and Voldermort

Disturbing as it may seem, ISIS is running it's reign of terror along the same principles as Voldermort.

With other terrorist organisations, you knew who your enemy was. A deluded man ( probably with a beard) in army fatigues carrying a weapon in hand ( in black robes with a wand and a darkmark on the arm? ).

ISIS has penetrated much deeper. Using internet as it's imperius curse, it's spreading fear. Distrust and suspicion.
You no longer know if your neighbour is one of 'them'.

Distrust will breed more hatred and discrimination. Discrimination will push more and more innocents towards them. And the vicious cycle will never stop.

The answer ( as Dumbledore clearly stated), is love. Hold on to your beliefs and love old friends with more conviction than before. In time, horcuxes will be found and destroyed. But hate will linger forever.

Moment with divinity

Moment With Divinity

You don't need meditation, you don't need breaks, you don't need yoga, you don't need alcohol. 
Actually, you don't even need peace.

All you need, is a moment alone with divinity.

The moment when you hear a note so powerful, it makes the hair on your arm rise. When you read something that sends a shiver up your spine. When you see symbols and figures scrambling for your attention and you want to disentangle them and make all their lives easier.
When the first thump against the steth resounds in your ears. The first gush of blood soaks your scalpel. The screen pops open and your fingers waltz over the keys. When you swirl your tongue and you feel ecstasy running down your throat.

That moment when you lose touch with all that matters. Or all that you think matters. When you are alone and endowed with a thousand heads. When there is silence inside you and all you can hear is Divinity whispering. When your senses do not respond and dance to an old forgotten tune.

All you need is a moment alone with divinity. Find it. And let it destroy you.

Darkness

DARKNESS

Click! And the lights went off. The flickering, the hesitation, the struggle of the filament against what was to be its fate.

And then,absolute utter darkness. He could feel his pillow squished under him. His bed sheet crumpling when he folded his knees. 
He reached out and touched the plastic of the bottle. Dewy, melting away at his touch.

He could hear the kitchen window banging against its frame. Weighing its chances and braving the winds. The blaring horns, the screaming neighbours and the nonchalant television sets.
He could hear and feel them all.
But all he could see, was darkness.

Darkness made so much sense. Glare, obscene, dull, painted, flashy, drab .. All lost their meanings. It was all a matter of shapes. Ups and downs. Curves And bumps.

There was peace in the dark. Unknown faces and familiar touch. When one could see the ghosts dancing. And laid the souls to rest.

Its wasn't as if he didn't like being in the light. It's just that. Darkness made so much more sense.

Moment

MOMENT

Have you ever considered how fragile this moment is? How infinitely small and insignificant.

When you are gone, no one will remember this moment. No one will know how you choked up while listening to an old favorite. Or, giggled hysterically at that double meaning joke.

No one will know how you felt, what shaped you, moved you, broke you and eventually gobbled you up.

In the cycle of time ( or the cycle of karma, if you would call it that) each moment if a wisp. A flicker. A sputter. Poof!

That's what makes this moment, just another moment. That's what makes this moment eternally special.

Insecurities

INSECURITIES

When you go to a party in a 'not so good' dress, you instinctively try to look for others who are disastrously dressed.
And, sometimes find a moment of pleasure in poking fun at them.

The same principle applies everywhere.
The woman satisfied with her own hairline will never point out you your bald spot.
The man comfortable with his own shape, will never poke your tummy.
The ones happy with their own little lot, will never begrudge your wealth.

It's all a game of insecurities.

Ode to the child within

Ode To The Child Within.

Yes. The child within you is dead.

Actually, it died quite a while ago. You have been dangling it's corpse and playing the puppeteer. While your ego has been adjusting the flickering macabre lights.

You dont greet people with naivety anymore. You judge them by their attire, their colour, their accent and ( if you manage to delve that deep) their 'status'.
You dont put on clothes that define you. You pretend to. You put on clothes that define society's image of your stereotype.
You eat so that you click photos, manage calories and fill that void. You know your choice of coffee, your taste and your choice of cutlery. To 'experiment' is an effort. Not a habit

You know your 'comfort zone', your 'type of people', your brand of whiskey and your choice of vehicle. Randomness is exotic. Something you do on weekends. Planned. To be celebrated.
Maybe there is still time. Maybe its not that late. Hug the corpse and accept it. You never know,it might start breathing again.

The pedophile

She googled the term first. And then googled the images. A series of filthy, disgusting looking men. Middle aged and criminal looking.
She banged the laptop shut, threw off the lumpy rubber band off her hair and lopped down on the sofa. She wished no one had told her that word. She felt like a criminal, some psychiatry patient. Grrr! Like those fucking gays or murderers.

She checked her phone again. Suneel hadn't messaged. He had exams today. He was always so stressed out during exams. And so brutal later. His 16 year old arms pinning her down as he vented it all out. Not the usual sweet, lovely, experimental, shy boy. Almost a man. Much more man than her useless husband,anyways.

She instinctively looked at his picture on her phone. Balding, grey moustache ( clumsily dyed), hair popping out of his nose. And that tummy, the sweaty shirts and what not.
Her daughter fake smiling next to him. She had inherited her mood swings. All that door banging, screaming, her face stuck to the screen.

They had no idea. No idea what it was like to sit at home and watch those dull sitcoms, read filthy gossip magazines, face the maid's tantrums or haggle with the shopkeepers.

It wasn't like Suneel understood either. But, he al least made an effort. After they were done with fucking, he would cuddle up next to her and smile as she ruffled his hair and talk. She liked his smile. Sweet, innocent, almost apologetic.

She loved how dependent he was on her. How clueless, how utterly unaware of life. The way he answered her messages and calls immediately. The way he winked at her if they ever crosses paths outside. The way he cared.

Pedophile! She wondered if they really understood. If they could ever put a saree clad middle-class housewife's pic among those disgusting men.

She looked back at her phone. Waiting.

Belonged

PAIN

The trouble is, we have invented way too many ways to subdue pain.
Analgesics, anti depressants, movies, booze, social media and what not. In case none of them work .. Good old lies and ego usually do the trick.

We don't wait long enough to let the pain sink in. Let the sobs snuffle, the tears dry and the muscles ache.
Most of us don't wait to see what pain ( real pain) can do to us.

And that, is the magic ingredient. The alchemist's stone, if you would call it.

The fat boy doesn't slims down overnight.
The back bencher does not sits in IIM out of luck.
The orphan does not grows up to be the saint on his own.

Pain (if you let it simmer at the right temperature) alone can bring about the metamorphosis. The deep understanding and the disdain for society.

You will not ask for approval, you will not look for appreciation. You will never look back and sigh.

Just let it sink in and break you.
- Akshay.

Those Potter Maniacs

No. They don't flaunt it as they used to. Don't stand in front of the bookstore at 6. Or, go crazy looking for the first day first show tickets.

They don't check mugglenet for new theories. Don't google images for the new movie's wallpapers. Don't look for potter merchandise in every shop. Don't scan the papers for news clippings.

But, on hazy cold nights they snuggle into bed and cuddle with a book sometimes. When the world shouts too much, they put on an old dvd and headphones and mouth dialogues.

Sometimes, before turning on the lights they, they whisper 'lumos'. Before unlocking the door, they tap the lock and blurt out 'alohomora'.

Sometimes, their ears quiver when someone makes a HP reference. They greet those complete strangers with such love as if they have been drinking fire whiskies in Hogesmade all their life.
Oh! You should see them smile when they catch a kid reading philosophers stone.

Catch them sometimes. They'll be sitting dreaming somewhere. Or, will be caught fighting with their heads held high.
Mention Dolores Jane Umbridge. You'll shake your head and walk off, wondering what happened to the normal  sane person you saw a few minutes back.


They have their own Gringotts. Their own Chamber of Secrets. And their own Department of Mysteries. And in each of them, they store away stories about the boy who lived.

Above all, they are the only ones who know the exact hand movements for performing a levitation charm. And they'll remember it. 
Always.

Feminism and mythology.

The trouble is, modern day feminists don't get it. The single (independent) woman can be the mother, the manager, the diplomat. She can even be the warrior. But, she cannot be the ruler.

Shakti ( the single, unchained, dominant, powerful Mother Goddess) is called upon only when the world cannot do without Her.
Durga is born as a sum of the energies of all GOds ( and surpasses them all). The resplendent, radiant and ruthless warrior rides into the battle field and destroys all that stands in Her path.

When She cannot face the ever-changing enemy ( the one that sprouts from his own bloodshed), She gives birth to Kali. The gaunt, blood lusting, tongue lolling dark dark Mother. The one that dances to the sounds of battle drums and gets drunk on the blood of those She truly loves.

When the Dark Mother cannot be pacified, Siva must Himself descend and offer Himself at Her feet. The mother then transforms into Dhoomavati. The widow, the void and the truly vanquished.

The single woman shall rise, shall battle and shall win. But, if unchecked, She will lead to Her own demise.

To place Shakti in the hands of Shakti is like making a plug switch of matchsticks to control the forest fire. Or, a dam of ice to control the flood.

Shakti is dynamic. Mutable. It requires Siva beside Her. It is not a question of superior or inferior. It is the very basic nature of things.

The Marriage Marathon

Chichi. Look at you. Lounging around in pyjamas and flipflops. Still Nagin dancing in pubs, selfieing and facebook stalking crushes.

When all this while, there is a marriage marathon happening out there. Men and women your age have been coming home tired from work, exhausted and bleary eyed. And yet, holding hands with their coaches ( read, parents) and going through mind wrecking grueling 'choosing' sessions everyday.

Women have been discarding  minis and embracing churidars. Giving up the comforts of low necks for full sleeved track suits. Not to mention, the never ending barrage of Face packs, vitamins and statins.
Hitting the gym, removing objectional content from facebook, keeping somvaar fasts (coz, we need to insert some Bharatness everywhere) matching the colours, comparing notes, zealously scrutinising others and holding hands with a dozen other professionals (designers, interiors, gym coaches, neighbourhood veteran aunties)  to make the marathon happen! 

Men have changed their browsing histories from
Blonde
Black
Cougar
Teen

To
rajput
Brahmin
Tamil
No caste bar

Well, we are men. What bigger sacrifice and preparation do you expect from us?

The marathon begins at the job line. Once you have settled in your position at this line, you must start running. Sometimes, the relatives wave the flag ( or blow the get-set-go whistle). But mostly, its a kick on your ass that makes you topple ( laptop,salary cheque, fixed deposits, degree n all in hand) into the arena.

The crowd in the audience wil be thin. Mostly, it will be contestants you age. Clad in Lehangas, suits, veshtis and designer sarees. Switch on the Bharatnatrimony app on your phone, plug in 'mangal bhagwan vishnu' on your ipod and start running.


As more and more of your friends run ahead of you, the scoreboard will flash fake I-am-so-happy-i-am-dying inside wedding photos. The winners who reach the deadline will have their babies' photos flashed on the screen too. As the number of awwwwws and likes increase, you will feel the pressure building.

Run closer to the stands. They will be sitting in the audience. Always ready to lend a hand. Their own handcuffs clicking and they offer you a shortcut to the finish line by offering to handcuff you to an overly eager borderline personality chick.

Move your lazy, carefree, alcohol laden, work obsessed bum and get ready.

Haven't you heard? There's a marriage marathon happening.

Befriend a book

Befriend a book. It will stand by you, through thick and thin. Patiently waiting. It's pages unruffled. It's spine unbroken. It's words slow, clear and precise. Never scathing, never reproachful, unchanging and soothing.

It will talk to you about whatever you want to talk about. Give you an entire new perspective. Wait for you to finish your line of thought. Sometimes, you'll want to hug it and sob your heart out. Sometimes,you'll throw it away in disgust. It will never mind. It will always there for you. Patient, forgiving.

There is a subtle sexiness to it. The kind that makes you want to put your arm around it and waltz into any dark corridor.

It belongs to every century man has ever known. It's still being born. Find your book. Let it woo you. Happy friendship day. 

BAARISH

धुंधले चश्मे को कोहनी से रगड़ 
बनियान का कोना निचोड़े हुए 
सिकुड़ी उंगलियो से नाक पोंछ 
सपाट बालों पर बरसाती ओढ़े हुए 

एक अरसा हुआ, बारिश में भीगे हुए 

TALK

Talk to me. Talk about something random. Something superficial, stupid, common. Even deplorable.
I am done with deep talks. Done with the incessant grinding of meaningful conversations.

Engage me. Seduce my vilest emotions. Disgust, jealousy, anger. Even pretty little lust. Talk about the weather, about your last smoke, about cheesy songs and cheesier neighbors.

Talk. Talk to me. About something random. As long as it silences the gongs within. Talk.

THE RAPIST

Are you a rapist? No? Think again.
Have you never (mentally) raped anyone weaker than you? Misused your power? Tortured someone in the head? In rage. In frustation. In a fit of jealousy.

The answer ( whether you accept it or not), would be a tiny little 'yes' somewhere deep within.
Imagine a childhood born of poverty, hunger, lack of education, disrespect and a constant struggle to survive. Add to it, the twisted nature of society around you. A drunk father who beats up the mother. A 'mohalla' where it's okay for guys to whistle at girls.

Imagine years of frustation piling up inside you.
Wouldn't you turn into an animal?
I am not saying that anyone is right ( or, anyone is wrong). Understand.
A crime is never isolated. We ( as a society), are somewhere responsible for breeding the crime and the criminal.

Shunning and hanging them is not the solution. The solution lies deeper than what we perceive.

The AIB knockout

The AIB knockout 

Can I launch another FIR? Not because the show was Vulgar. But because, it was nothing else.

Is this the future of comedy? Put together a group of celebrities and crack filthy jokes at each other? Use downtrodden cuss words and make immature 'observations' ?

Have we watched too much of Russell Peters and Jimmy Carr?

That was an organized event? People paid to go watch it? I have conjured up hundreds of such nights in the hostel. Drunk.

It's a corporate booby trap. Make money, do something attention seeking, get bad publicity and make even more money.

I don't mind the abuses and cheap humor. What I mind is, ONLY abuses and cheap humor. Grow up. 

#aib #knockout #writer #write #media #india #allindiabakchod #scandal #stupidity #wtf

baanchta

बांचता

दो आने का दुखड़ा, चार का चुटकुला

चौपाइयाँ , इनायतें मानो मुंह ज़बानी 

झोले में मुसड़ी इतिहास की पुड़िया

पोटली में बंद कोई मनगड़त कहानी

कुल्हड़ में किस्से, दोनों में दासताने

जलेबी जैसे जुमलो संग लतीफे लजवाब

पीछे छोड उस  रंगमंच की चका चौंध

अब गलियो में बांचता फिरता हूँ जनाब

अब गलियो में बांचता फिरता हूँ जनाब

- अक्षय

Uncomfortable

Uncomfortable.

I want to make you uncomfortable.

Make you feel jittery, unhinged and unsure of yourself. Bring out thoughts that rattle your conscience.

I want to be there in your darkest dreams. In your screams and torn seams.

I want to make you squirm and think. I want to bring out a side of you, that you don't like.

I want to shake of your armor and scratch your mask. I want to be inside you, so much that you feel violated.

I just dont want to be there. I want to make you uncomfortable. 

#uncomfortable #jittery #shaken #evil #writer #write #thoughts #philosophy #dark #red #happiness #gay #homo #love 

LIES

They feed you lies.
While they comb your hair and straighten your clothes, they'll tell you that looks don't matter.
While they compare you with the neighbor's kids, they'll tell you that society's opinions don't matter.
While they try to mould you into their expectations, they'll tell you to be yourself.
While they scold and berate you, they'll tell you to be positive always.
While they inwardly hope that you don't do anything to damage their reputation, they'll tell you that it's okay to be different.

While they tell all these lies, they'll tell you that truth always wins.

Bedhangi

बेढंगी 

नहरो में प्रवाहित जल नहीं 

मैं उजड्ड पहाड़ी नाला

सुर-सुस्सजित कंठ का अलाप नहीं

मैं अल्हड़ ठहाका मतवाला

ना विद्वानो के वेदों का ज्ञान गंभीर

मैं तो अधपके प्रेम पात्रो की स्याही

ना शिल्पकारो की तराशी मूरत कठोर

मैं कुम्हार के चाक की रिसती सुराही 

तुतलाते होठों के अस्पष्ट शब्द मैं

कंपकपाती कूची की छटा बदरंगी

मैं किसी नौसिखिये की रचना बेढंगी

मैं किसी नौसिखिये की रचना बेढंगी

- अक्षय सिंह 

Bitterness

Grow up. Just don't let that bitterness seep in.

It drips in quietly. Drop by drop. Orange bars and candies  taste sour. Cartoons become gibberish nonsense. The tiffin from home loses it's magic. So do the hands that used to share it so freely. 

Before you know,bitterness starts soaking in. Entwined with envy and dipped in desperation.

Desperation to achieve, prove, win affections, exact revenge and amass something or the other.

From the morsel of food in the mouth, to the birds twittering on the branch. Everything is complained about. Jokes carry a shade of sarcasm. Praises are lined with grudge. And happiness is felt only when it is appreciated by others.

Grow up. But don't let that bitterness seep in.

That bitterness is the weapon society uses, to defeat you.

KALI

Kali is more than untamed nature. Kali is PAIN. Pure ecstasy that accompanies pain and surrender.

The Goddess of outcasts, the ones who have never belonged. Who have spent their lives trapped in their own mind. Drowning in the guilt that has been forced upon them. Misunderstood, cursed and aloof of society.

The poets, the aghoris and the power seeking madmen. She accepts them all. Loves them. Adornments, gifts, wealth .. Nothig matters. As long as you surrender yourself and ask Her to stomp you.

And stomp she will. Crush your ego, wrench your half baked relationships, feed on your illsuions. Until you are left sobbing and weak. Do not stop praying. There is no one who lifts you as swiftly and as lovingly as Her.

Offer her your sweat, pain, weaknesses, fears and all that rots inside you.

My Dark Mother, will destroy you first .. Before she reincarnates you in Her own image.