It Was.

When I think of school and the years gone by. There is a sense of detachment or actually, a forced sense of detachment. I have made myself forget, let go and move on as I did not have another way out.

It was a place witness to my life and lessons.
It was a friend and foe at once.
A lover all through.

It was those dark blue jeans which fitted in perfectly
The stereo which played the song
I was aching to hear.

It was a daily walk down memories
which were swept under the new ones
I would make that day and write about that night.

It was the friend who came to hold my hand
The teacher who taught me Integral Calculus.

It was the late night maggi
Midnight conversation where the darkness always had something to say.
 And I the silence to listen.

It was the two loaves of bread every week
and the five eggs per person.
The cold coffee which always came out perfect on a bad day or the night before a test.

It was the damball court shaded by trees
Whose branches I would ring and spread my arms
Serenading the falling petals.

It was the warm black sweater which went well with everything
The folk dance whose beats still play in some corner.
Shadowing the Manavu candle.

It was Music and Lyrics. Deception and Magic.
Assignments and Tests. Marks and Scars.
Bollywood and Blues.

It was the silence your steps matched and the trees swayed to.
Wherein for a few moments you could hear natures throbbing beat.

It was two friends.
Me and you.
Walking hand in hand with no words exchanged.

It was.

And will always be.

Heartbreak Warfare

I wanted to write a poem tonight. And then I heard this song. 


Heartbreak Warfare - John Mayer




Lightning strikes
Inside, my chest to keep me up at night
Dream of ways
To make you understand my pain

Clouds of sulfur in the air
Bombs are falling everywhere
It's heartbreak warfare
Once you want it to begin,
No one really ever wins
In heartbreak warfare

If you want more love,
why don't you say so?
If you want more love,
why don't you say so?

Drop his name
Push it in and twist the knife again
Watch my face
As I pretend to feel no pain

Clouds of sulfur in the air
Bombs are falling everywhere
It's heartbreak warfare
Once you want it to begin,
No one really ever wins
In heartbreak warfare.

If you want more love,
why don't you say so?
If you want more love,
why don't you say so?

Just say so...


How come the only way to know how high you get me
is to see how far I fall
God only knows how much I'd love you if you let me
but I can't break through at all.

It's a heartbreak...

I don't care if we don't sleep at all tonight
Let's just fix this whole thing now
I swear to God we're gonna get it right
If you lay your weapon down
Red wine and ambien
You're talking shit again, it's heartbreak warfare
Good to know it's all a game
Disappointment has a name, it's heartbreak, heartbreak.

It's heartbreak warfare.
It's heartbreak warfare.
It's heartbreak warfare.

Unrequited.

The bee waiting for the

flower to bloom.

The cup of chai

losing its steam. 

A soldiers widow still

groping for the familiar touch. 

A lover waiting for his beloved

as the darkness falls. 

Unspoken words

stained ink on paper.  

Written letters

locked in the cupboard. 

Eyes tightly shut. 

Unrequited.

I am not sad she said no. Just happy I asked. 

Unrequited. 

They are some emotions, deep inside, hardly visited and often pondered. One of them has prompted me to write. All through our lives we grapple with unfulfillment and fly through the cracks into happiness. A sickness of a merry sort, a lovesickness. 

I search through the annals of my mind. A desire warmed by passion. 

****************

The waves caressed her bare feet

as she embraced the ocean. 

Its depth and the completeness 

it bought in her. 

She could sense the tranquility,

she sought. 

She could sense her thought 

and in them, his. 

That night at Bandstand. 

Chai was sipped, cigarettes were smoked. 

And hearts were dealt over

sewn dreams. 

His reflection in her eyes,

down to her soul. 

An interwoven story, 

whose end was never written. 

A sickness of a merry sort,

a lovesickness. 

Last Night It Was Raining.

The skies are crying,

the breeze escapes from the window

and flows through my hair. 

The cigarette ash engulfs itself

as I watch it dying. 

What is? Will it always be? 

Where was this melancholy hidden. 

From there to here, and now where?

Looking within, searching beneath. 

No shadows. No light. 

The lime and the beer,

tease my senses.

Where am I? 

I ask the wind, 

and it has no answer. 

Who am I?

I ask myself. 

Being alone.

Observing myself. 

Compromising desire for ambition. 

Have to let go.

a lot more is on its way. 

Look out for the clue

I did. I searched. I found

and then the mystery changed. 

The memories of lost love and the lost love of memories.

****

Has Indipop Found A Savior In Bollywood?

Indie music and musicians are finally making inroads into Bollywood, giving it’s music a new dimension and a fresh lease. Music today is original and enjoyable,unlike the past where everyday a harsh new remix was released. This change started in 2008-2009 and steadily crept into the mainstream. Today, it is a force to reckon with.

Last year we had Suraj Jagan, one of the pioneers of the Indian rock movement, crooning to the tunes of Vishal Dadlani for a Karan Johar film. Upcoming band Agnee, scored the music for Dil Dosti etc and its lead singer Mohan, has lent his voice to movies such as Udaan and the recently released Shor In The City. And how can I forget to mention Papon’s  wonderful rendition of Jiyen Kyun and the lusty background score by Midival Punditz in Dum Maro Dum. Such collaborations have churned out a variety of memorable soundtracks and going by the song listings of upcoming films many more are on the anvil.

Bollywood music always catered to an audience and more importantly to a demand. As Indie musicians never had any such compulsions, they were free to explore and experiment in their musical endeavors. This freedom coupled with unbridled creativity converted indie music from a niche into a movement that Bollywood has finally stood up and taken notice off.

This was further cemented by the influx of Indie musicians such as Mohit Chauhan, Vishal - Shekhar and Salim - Suliaman, who today are some of the biggest names of the Bollywood music industry. All of them honed their skills and built their musical foundations whilst playing in bands during their youth. The most specific mention here would perhaps be, that of Amit Trivedi's, whose musical score for Udaan, DevD, Aamir, Aisha and the recently released I am was nothing short of brilliance. Touted as Rahman's successor, and not without a good reason, he is definitely the one to look out for.

This is slowly bringing about a change in the pattern, sound and identity of Bollywood music. It has lost all shape, size and boundary. Thus, ushering in a new sense of creativity and freedom into the industry, which is here to stay and thankfully so.

I Wish.

It rained today evening and the smell of wet muddy soil and crisp air overwhelms me. It takes me back in time, when it was all so complicated, simple and pure. It takes me back to school, to my hostel, to the long walks from the dinning hall, to the Maggi parties and bathroom water fights. The walks lit by the moon, the misty mornings where I woke up to the voice of my house parent, hoping to squeeze out an extra minute(s) and dancing to the latest song in the radio at any time of the day or night They are so many such memories I would like to forever and ever keep in my arms and visit in times like these.

I close my eyes are random images pass by. Of faces, places and moments. They start of in a random order then go on to suddenly spin around and come together. It is mysterious and at the same time magical. I would trade anything asked for if I could just go back for a few seconds to those sandy paths, those flowering trees and those familiar faces. The warmth, compassion and sincerity of relationship. The passage and stillness of time and memories. The everything of everything. 

I was chatting with a junior today and we spoke about our hostel lives. The ice breaking session, the freshers performance, the clothes people wore, the morning ramp walk in the dinning hall, the faces turning sour on seeing the Idly and what not. 

As much as I tell myself that I have moved on and that is the past. It will never leave me and deep down I never want it to. It is a treasure trove of memories, some of which make life worth living. 

Boys Hostel. Kitchen. Four Rooms. Bed. Chair. Coffee.Her. Moonlit terrace nights.Music.

Us and Them. 

Note - This is a very abrupt post written in a flash. It may not be that good. Sorry :)

2010-2011

Ahhaa! One year of college has come to an end and ladies and gentleman! What an year it has been. 

I have changed, a lot. The individual I was as I first stepped into Pune on a rainy day in June exists only in the shadows of the individual that left Pune with a spring in his step a few weeks ago. He walked around with a bag and explored a new world, like a child exploring a new toy with tantrums and triumphs. He walked around carrying his baggage, like a wanderer hoping to find home again. He walked out with nothing is his hands for he knew what he really always wanted.

Looking back time just flew yet some moments still linger. I wish I could describe all of them to you and myself. They are a handful of moments which you can feel and experience as well when the time is right, yet words often elude them. It is difficult to describe something which even you have not completely understood.

I do not know where to start from, which thread to pull out from the weaves of time and stitch together as I write. Some threads have not been touched upon and have slowly withered away. What is new today, will tomorrow be old and now is left behind, yet those moments still linger. 

The people I met. They were all different, some shook my hand and passed me by and others made me a part of their story and I did too. A note, a page and sometimes, even a chapter. From a name to a friend and sometimes more. From a handshake to intertwined fingers to a warm hug which made all the difference. Many have crossed and many have walked my path with me.

The shopkeeper would know which chocolate I always took and keep it ready when he saw me entering. Every morning I would walk to the stand and the autowallah would go into his auto waiting for me to sit inside. My tiffin uncle, a cheerful sardar, would send me kheer once a week and call asking, how it was. The guy at Patios always gave me a familiar smile and served my strawberry creme at a super fast speed. The uncle at Pune Bakery always gave me change and served me their ‘ Pune ka world famous’ puff with the biggest smile I have ever seen. 

It was such charming and unexpected relationships that added a magical touch to the year gone by and it is only now when I am looking back that I realize all this. 

I have many people to thank. Some taught me lessons, some taught me life and some made me laugh, sing and leap. They have been wonderful and always a ‘ One paisa per second’ phone call away. 

All this, more and myself gave me something to wake up for each morning and get out there, climb that extra step and walk that extra mile.

Here’s to a wonderful, eventful and a completely unforgettable year. And something tells me the next one is going to be even better :)

Love.



Love is when your hands intertwine
Your eyes speak
Your hearts shimmer in unison and your souls touch.
It is purer than purity itself.

Thinking and Thought.

I write with nothing to write about.

The air is still, the sounds are inaudible, my body is here, my mind wandering to a place I do not know. Every mountain has an ascent, peak and a descent. For some the last leg of the journey is one more relief than satisfaction. The job is done, now time to go home and sleep. For some, the ascent gives them a high, stepping on stones and falling till the right one and the right way is found. Learning is more from falling than anything else. Thats easier said that done because for each person his fall is something only he can understand, comprehend and if possible arise from. 

We all are moving to the peak or from it. Young ambitious dreams and old men whose days are soon numbered. The peak is just a temporary transition, the path is movement and progress in parts, while the mountain is life.

The race is not about who reaches the peak first, it is about who reaches the peak along with himself and passes by it with acceptance and not with arrogance. 

I often thought life was similar to watching shows on a television set. Different times, different channels, different performances and different shows. Its all different and yet its still in the same box. Its all changing even before you know it and yet its still in the same box. Sometimes it feels as if life is like living a dream, or at times a nightmare. It often happens, you feel as if you’re standing still and the world around you is moving and even though in control you are unable to do a thing.

The past also feels like a dream, nostalgia itself is an illusion. It was there and maybe it still is and hopefully it will still be. When you look back, they were things you thought you would never forget, experiences you thought you would never move on from and falls you could never arise from. Today, they are just specs in the dust. A handful of stories and a few images are all that remain of fond memories as well.

We are moving with ourselves as well as moving with the times.

He was my friend

is he still?

That was home,

is it still?

I will never forget,

Do you still remember?

Yes and No.

Life and Living.

Hellos and Goodbyes.

Moving and Running.

Stopping and Staring


Thank You

Last Night

As I look back on the night gone by there is an awareness in me that I have experienced possibly what will turn out to be one of my most poignant memories of Pune.

 As I stood there on the road and watched people, cars and bikes go by all with various voices echoing one word in their hearts. I felt one with them and, if I may say so one with India. I just felt that strange feeling,  when something which was always there but was hidden just comes out of no where and overwhelms you. I felt a strong connect to the notion,that is India, and more importantly all those people seemed in unison with me.As I stood there I knew that its going to remain only for a few more seconds or hopefully minutes.The cheer, the joy and the unison of a victory brought people together devoid of boundary and class. I myself danced with a group of people you would never find me socializing with and my friend hugged some random guy shouting ‘ Hum Jeetgaye’ on the road he will never cross paths with again. For those brief moments we were all one. We were not Individuals, we were Indians.

I felt light, as if I could fly. There was a sense of euphoria, elation and peace in the air which left no one untouched. There was a fluidity in the atmosphere coupled with an infectious thrill. Everyone was shouting, jumping and cheering. For a few brief moments, people divided by life came together in joy. My friend started dancing hysterically with a street kid, a man stopped his car in the middle of the junction, only to climb on top and dance to the latest item track blaring from his speakers, bikers passed by waving the India flag, and each passing car got a cheer and fist up. This was a celebration of a different kind . A celebration where you could feel the silence around the noise. A celebration which you do not prepare for, a celebration where letting go is effortless, a celebration where we celebrated as a nation.

 As the World Cup started, Cricket for most people was an interest, yet somewhere down the line it has turned into a passion.And after Saturday, chances are it will go back to being an interest as public memory fades each day with the morning newspaper. In being transcendental it remains and in times like this it reaches.

The whole of India came to a standstill, from Aamir Khan sitting in the Mohali stand to the Auto wallah who could not stop talking about the match while he dropped me home.

They may not even remember this victory a few weeks from now as they will move on with life. Yet whenever they recollect this day and these moments they will definitely have a lingering smile.

I often wondered why Cricket was the only sport that mattered in India. Last night I came close to understanding this phenomena. Cricket makes us aware that we are one, those brief moments of joy on a win, or loss on a defeat bring our nation and more importantly its people, together. In India, cricket is not only a sport but also a medium of expression for the masses, an escape from their humdrum reality. An event which makes them feel important. When the team wins, they feel as if they themselves have won. Here is where they feel close to their aspirations. A momentary peak experience.

Some of us may not feel the exhilaration, freedom and flight of it all, but on that junction on SB road, I did and hence even though I have an exam in the next few hours I am writing this.

Hum Sab Ek Hein, Bas Kabhi Kabhi Yaad Dilana Padta Hai :)

I do not know where to start from. When I think of Pune, thoughts race through my minds, filled with people, places and memories. It often happens when you look back on life that, what earlier seemed like a pothole was actually a disguised stepping stone.

In these series of articles I shall share with you my journey and how Pune became, from a city on the map to the place I now call home.

My First Friend

When I first came to Pune, I had mixed feelings of what it was going to be here. After every summer is was back to school, the same place and the same people. This time it was a paradigm shift, a chapter of my life has just ended and a new one was about to start. I was filled with my baggage from school and with the insecurities of a new social set up. I expect a lot from myself and that often spills over to my surroundings and I was hoping that Fergusson lives up to them as well.

On the first day I wore a crisp,well ironed white shirt and my favorite pair of blue jeans, checked my hair in the mirror * A lot of times* , adjusted my shirt to make sure it was falling properly and left the top button of my shirt open to complete the look. I made sure everything was perfect, after all you only get one chance to make a first impression. 

With a bag slung across my shoulders and a confident stride I walked right in, filled with optimism and the thrill of discovery. What is college? Why is it such a big deal? will it be as good as I expect it to be?. I was also looking forward to see new faces and make new friends, as I hardly knew anyone in Pune.

 On my first day I met this guy from Delhi who I had seen during the admissions. He had come with his father that day and as they walked past my father commented saying that he and his father look exactly similar. Surprisingly, when I shared this with him he told me that his father said the same as well. When we glanced past each other that day we knew that we would go on to becoming good friends, because sometimes you just know. 

When you first start getting to know someone, its like reading the blip on the back of a novel. You only see brief parts of the various shades in their personality.

We hit it off on Shahrukh Khan, Salman Khan and Butter Chicken. If you put two Bollywood fanatics in a crowded room, trust me, they will definitely find each other and we did. While we were sitting and chatting in Coffee Day * A luxury we can hardly afford on out student budgets* he showed me his photographs, as in not his photographs, but some shots that he had taken. I was like why is he showing this to me? ; I asked him this question right now and he said he was showing off. Lol ya right! =P, to which I modestly replied, I did not even need to show off.

He had all the cliches on a typical delhi-ite. The strong voice, the accented english jumbled with hindi words, laughing at people from South India,Cracking jokes on Gujratis, dreaming of Tandoori chicken even at breakfast and doing a impromptu jig every time a hindi item number played on the radio. 

Once he made Butter Chicken for me and a few others. It was good, or that is what I told him when he asked how it was. I don’t know why but since then he has never made it again.

Since then its been one helluva journey. He has made me drop down on the floor crying with laughter due to his antics, spoken to me when I needed to talk to someone but could not say it, and spent some of my best times in Pune with me. I have spent countless evenings with him tripping on B - grade hindi movies, Cold Coffee, Anu Malik songs and Santa Banta jokes and what makes me smile as I type this is that they are many more such evenings on the way.

He was the first friend I made in Pune and his name, ladies and gentlemen, is Siddhant Chawla - Item Girl, Photographer, Foodie, Kulfi Lover, Biker ( as he does not like it when I mention his khatara scooty) and Friend.

During the day I am a pauper,

at night the only king.

The stillness of the tree,

the swaying of the branches,

the swing of the air,

wondering thought,

motionless action.

The crescent moon in my grasp,

half a moon in my arms.

The full moon is beyond my time.

Her window in my sight,

dark; but illuminated by my  sight.

Let me have my solitude,

for my silence is intruded.

Let me have my melancholy,

for it’s about time my sorrows drowned.

Poetry is the place you visit,

when you have nowhere else to go.

The void of silence,

fills itself,by itself.

Let the noise fade,

for I want to listen.

There is still time for daybreak,

Let my solitary reign remain.

Tonight is another night,

the constant sky,

the empty clouds,

the wallowing sound,

the immolating silences.

The stars.

One bright another dark,

one stark another naked.

Today I am back home.

Belongingness is transcendental,

a traveller does not belong to the tavern,

he belongs to the journey.

The breeze soothes my fingers,

as my hand on paper,

paints my thoughts with it.

Her window is far.

Blurred, hazy yet clear enough.

The shadows of the night,

stay still in their motions,

they prey on the silence,

guided by the stillness.

Poetry is the place you visit,

when you have nowhere else to go.

And right now there is no other place,

I would want to be in.

Staring

The clock keeps ticking,
the seconds drag on,
her voice is lost in the ocean of my thoughts.


Snapping back to your world,
fading into mine
staring,
into what I cannot see.


My pen flows with the words around me
guided by the thoughts within me.


Bowing to silence
fear and respect
boredom and daydreams
fleeting glances,hidden messages,conveying voices.


When the time is over
this moment will be gone,
the solitary reign of silence
gone.


Eyes open,closed ears
wandering minds
restless and bewildered


You move, glancing at the window
and the world,
that beholds.


The tree, branch and leaves.
you observe, yourself.
an insight, a vision, a friend
and you go deeper,


Touching upon
all that is running behind you,
all you are running to.


The bells have rung,
the soul closes to the mind,
that opens.