few lines from my play :)

Circus ^©

Scene-I

(Dim light on center stage. A glass window on one side. Two tables placed on the either side of the stage with few chairs. Floyd’s comfortably numb being played in the background.

Now the music fades and a single spotlight on center stage. An old fragile looking man appears on stage with a broomstick. He sits on floor, his hands are moving as if he is trying to scrub the floor. His movements are awkwardly stiff as he is any kind of mechanical device to perform the work. Suddenly he stops and hesitating looks on the either side of the stage and straight towards the audience)

Man: (holding an imaginary microphone and a candle, stands up and runs towards the audience) ladies and gentle man!!! Welcome to the circus at the end of the universe. It seems you people turned up for the show a bit early… you know I still haven’t cleaned this mess out here. But that’s ok none of us are really clean here. If you people are wondering what actually I am doing, then let me explain…. I am cleaning my guilt, my incapabilities… my complexes, just like this respected august audience here.

(He again goes back to his work, but with in seconds he moves away from the audience with a scream).

Man: but why are you people listening to me? I am not your handsome cowboy from west, neither am I the wise man of east…. Thieves!!! You people must be thieves. But... What will you steal? What remains? In your blindness have you forgotten that all men are created equal? Yet some die alone…

(He tries to hide himself with his arms and runs towards the tables. A young woman appears on the stage from right wing of the stage)

Woman: Just yesterday I hear the news of someone stealing a dead man’s chest, and you still have eyes and a working liver.... but thieves don’t come to the circus with pan caked faces my dear. These must be our patrons.

Now please, let me introduce my worse half and myself. We are your hosts for the show. But don’t tell anyone about this, it’s just between you and me and maybe him but he doesn’t know…

Man: yes, yes!!! It’s a circus.

My dear audiences please don’t get fooled; today there is no show. Actually we never had any shows; it’s not even a circus. It’s a mental asylum, like rest of the breathing space around us…

Woman: shut up you old fool, (now towards the audience with a visible disgust for the old man) excuse us for this inconvenience. Though some people feel this place is a cuckoo’s nest, but it’s not an asylum any given day… you don’t believe me? Well, let me tell you the story of this place…

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

Adapted from Ken Kesey's novel 'One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest'

Resume

Cocoon

Leash of appropriateness

We translate it all over again,

Adrift to keep the reminiscence

And compile the muddle of gentlemen.

Apparently free; are we?
Our wings are all hesitating,

Thrown into disarray of sluggishness

And when we finish our escape

We are driven in ignorant bliss

We look as if perched in hushed sweetness of oblivious.

Ode to Abrasion

A solitary spot rise the trumpet’s blaze

The extraordinary ruins marked

With the hollows of canals & myriad

The final rendezvous glimmered in lamps.

Stone conduits deform,

Handsome windblown testimonials

From the obituary page

Obstinate cathedral will follow.

Standing congested without restraint

Unblemished doors envelop a foaming cacophony

Some hoarse inhalation again,

Across measured blue windows.

Lost in Fluent running chords of mumble

Like deviation in the sky,

The dense dwelling softly shifting

Harmonic makeup and its spectral fogs

Complicated as that sky dive through smoke,

Furled petals turning into rich metals,

The cobbled street below whispering out of pained friction

Applauding pale edging rooms sail to shadows.

Thoughts of Blindness

Sluggishly, merchant

Roaming through rough burnt

As deep leaf soars
Agony destroys,

Tartly ripe churchyard.

Carnivores rejuvenates carelessly
With squirrels glittering

Beehive pecks brightly.

Some Funny Stories

Sorrow filled weeps at night

Underneath his loving look,

A man rages in a sigh

And runs in joy.

Laughing for being born

At brick walled sunlight.

Intemperance

With wooden windows,

Hanging in each bedroom

Drown with blue shimmering mascara,

Nights in rinse in new haze,

To disseminate into new air.

Bare feet painted on waves

Contrivance used by others,

Like a rosary costume that sparkles with grace

Reckoning Beads move round

Flesh to flesh and spills the cauldron.

Trivial measurements

In the prolific dirt

A stitched comforter

With the thread of time

Of patterned numbers
flicker fast and slow on fingertips.

In the grit- dirt children bemused

Out of the silence of the make somewhere your home

Over an crushed metal discarded long ago.

It’s an allusion in the extravagance of sanctuary

To mourn and remember

That we inhabit in this arrangement.

Door

Other waged people live in animation

May say, in sweet beliefs,
songs from the trivial woodland

Shred towards Slowly, cautiously,

Past the hour

Stories unwritten or told

Of a million era bearing in mind

Eyes open, once again.

Ode to Whiskey...

Expecting a good morning tomorrw....

The News

“Look for it on the news” was first thing I got when I decide to fix my greying cells into the big world of IIM’s (to be specific IIM Indore) for next two years, I mean nobody knew there was a IIM (for some IAM) in Indore, some offered to help this distressed soul and get an admission in ASDM, RUBM, IEM, IIBM etc. don’t ask me what those things mean, I know the last word must be management… well I presume. Man!! A isolated hill-top with a few hundred nerds, making out with balance sheets and crazy management theories which makes no sense to me. Fortunately I can write a different story now, good news for me. The comfortable new place, where all the little craziness that fit comfortably into my world.
Now remembering those initial days of “i” (yeah! We must have this I everywhere) I seriously laugh at myself, but it must be obvious for a kid new in the block. For the past 1 year, i have been living in the state of luxury (here I don’t have to clean my room, they got these nice n kind being called “housekeeping staffs” to do it for me…), man!!! My mom even makes me clean my room at home.

Probably the best you get here is the steady flow of music… different genres n languages. I am happened to be blessed with kind souls who make sure I develop the uncanny taste for multi-lingual music. Just imagine my growth chart of development in taste of music, with neighbours playing robust Punjabi to bhajans to Pink-Floyd to Mallu songs to Bethoveen n MS Subhalaxmi (all playing simultaneously)… well don’t take me as free rider here, I regularly contribute to this ritual of learning with my not so Favourite bong song and heavy dose of Nirvana at NIGHT!!!!! (turn the music at max, lock your room from outside n go for a walk … trust me for next few days you can easily say goodbye to sleep from your life)

Or may the mess at late night, which is the something of a pilgrimage for most of us. I consider myself as a live example of great mess food!! Actually I am considering suggesting a new name for it like “soul-food” or “God Kitchen”. And why not? Just imagine a guy with a waist size of 28 inches is now having almost 32 inches sexy belly. Now another question, how mess food can be so good? May be a detail schedule of my eating habits can explain a few things
Breakfast @ 9:20am
Lunch @ 1:40 pm
Evening snacks @ 5:00 pm
Dinner @ 9:00 pm

Now the best part… post 11:30 pm its food fest for me with fried eggs to sandwiches to Maggie to stuff parathas and the grand finale… world’s best double egg-double cheese parathas. By the way I must mention about the countless packs of chips and bottles of cola along with cigarettes (that’s very specific to myself) that keeps me alive.

Right now, like my mom you must be wondering what actually I am doing here? I would say having fun while learning a lot and in the process getting a degree. This place is actually more than an institute giving you a PGDM or MBA or god damm!! Whatever. Here its not about getting in and going out with a filthy fat pay check. Here you learn that invisible thing called ‘life’, learn to share your last cigarette with five others at 4 o’clock in the morning or live a life in 24x7 mode (please read here we are living our life, not just surviving it), you learn to adapt to situations n then make it adapt to yourself.

Sometimes during my late night walks I wonder, what I will do after I leave this place and its people. And I remember one of my seniors words “ Dude!!! It’s about the experience called ‘i-life’ you get here, you blink and you miss it!”

Now after a year I can say I am glad, I crashed here at planet-i.

Ironic sadness for a verified realization

The half written story on wrinkled papre is an expression of my personal satisfaction and cynicsm to my numbness . Why should it reflect thoughts and angiuse?

Priest’s Poisoned Prize

Stream form like glow-worms
Pleasantly silent in want of infant Serpent
As if almost honest innermost.

Raging in and out,
About art at best in innocence
Sunburnt and silent
Ancient tents loom over thickest thirst.

Ten thousand hand and land
Dried dropped and cherished,
As if that secret serpent
Pitched to priest’s sermon.

Admired and aged,
Sold around the spend wind’s sound.

Into Blues

Blue smoke of fallen years
Before the pale eyelids
We see at the midnight peace
And world comes to the corner
With dusty dew flowing.

The anticipated anguish
And the ability of old fire talks
Weeping beside flicker
They call those works of extravagances.

But have you wondered why?
No one come
In all redefined harmonic things
To feel the old distinguished kindness.

Call it the beginning of card game
Or a ballroom dance
Faces will identify all baked and washed
And the blue smoke will be thereIn printed notes and dusty cards games.

Thoughts of Blindness

Sluggishly, merchant
Roaming through rough burnt
As deep leaf soars
Agony destroys,
Tartly ripe churchyard.
Carnivores rejuvenates carelessly
With squirrels glittering
Beehive pecks brightly.

Some Funny Stories

Sorrow filled weeps at night
Underneath his loving look,
A man rages in a sigh
And runs in joy.

Laughing for being born
At brick walled sunlight.