Western urinal and Indian Weddings

The concept of a western urinal is good. Provided you don't happen to be anywhere near to a Indian wedding and morbidity has taken toll of you to such an extent that you have decided to wear something resembling a Indian Kurta. For such matters western urinals and Indian weddings are a disaster in the offing.

Imagine you are the urinal trying to do what the gods have ordained for you at this importune moment.The bladders are loaded to the point of detonation with a very short fuse.The concept of automatic discharge with your pants on has been obliterated the day you passed the potty sessions back in infancy. Decency says you have to do it the naked primal way with due adjustments to your hang. And you hit the first roadblock.

Ground check to see whether the person beside is more interested in his life or is looking around.Then you proceed to pick the kurta to an extent where anndiems cannot discharge a heady and smelly patch on it, all the time looking funny like a kangaroo with an up turned pouch.

The next logical steps would be to untie the umbilical cords of your pajama. For some hellish reason, you wish you are a sailor adept at knots. Also you wish you hadn't tied that knot looking at that gorgeous picture of whoever adorns the dark walls of your sanctum .In the mean while you are enlightened on the joys of life , about karma and crap IE basically how it feels to be happy.

With the success of all your endeavors you loosen the knot. Now with a careful estimation lower you pajama so as to avoid butt exposure to the nosy bastard who came behind you at this very moment. The levels of estimation is the one thing one feels that beats the heady astrophysics. And then the karma, the absolute nirvana , the action that liberates the chained and maimed soul from the manifestation of Lucifer himself.

That done and thank heavens for that the same reverse engineering works wonders.Think of the lass of your sanctum, mess up with the knot and close the exposed parts of the bodice. Run out of the purgatory and sincerely hope you never wear an Indian Formal to Indian Wedding with an western urinal.

Sunset at rum point

You are sitting on the beach with that sun setting. You remember all the good songs being written about sunsets. Then you look at your side and there she is. Your heart skips a beat. And you realise this is where u want to be the rest of your life. In those wee hours, just before the sun tilts over, you imagine this is it. 

” This is the life I like and the girl I love. Why should I be somewhere else doing something else, dragging my life along doing something that I hate?"

What is so special about the sunset? Is it something to do with the person sitting with you? The silence seems so soothing. For once you want to sit and feel the sound of waves, hitting the sandy floor at your wet feet. The salty breeze that blows her hair, on to your face. The sand that has inexplicably clung to the most impossible parts of you. Her perfume that smells so close.  And the sun shines unto your eyes, for that last time. For once, you don’t mind looking at the sun. It is as an open challenge. 

“For once, I can challenge anyone to lessen that thump in my heart."

You love the company, the sun , the fragrance and the way waves crash in rhythm, with your heart. In silence lies such power. The exchange between silent hearts, which no sentient being hears. You wonder why you weren't there the last evening. You wonder why all the evenings. You wonder about the next evening. Instead of getting lost in the moment, you think about moments that you can’t be with her. 

The joy lessens and a mild throbbing pain sets in. In place of a thumping heart there grows a nagging fear of sitting apart. “Can’t we be together forever?” But you stay silent. You are afraid of asking, of tempting fate, of jinxing the setting sun. Afraid not of an impending doom or the apprehension of the wrong foot, but of something else. Something more subtle. Instead of being afraid of the mundane things, you are afraid of what comes next. 

Will the next sunset be as sylvan? Will the salty breeze still blow her hair unto your face? Would the twilight remain or will you, by the force of nature, be sitting alone on the beach. Brooding upon a sun that has already set on the western horizon (Which by the way you haven’t noticed right then.)?

And i still cannot say....For you will not answer. But should I ask...I do not know!

A peg and tell me more

A peg and tell me more,
Of strife, life and lore,
Of the smoke rings and fire,
Fear not me,
For I have the devil on hire.

A peg and tell me more,
Of eyes,sighs and sore.
Your burdens I share,
Fear not me,
For all the devil may care.

Fear not the night,
Cause the devil's a whore.
Fear not me,
A peg and tell me more.

To live

A feeling i hear, softly whispered
With words none respond.
As the air grows cold, people walk,
On lanes and run!
The sweet smell still lingers,
In memories,  i will someday forget.
And darkness still stays in
The hand that reaches out.
Afraid i look back,
Among days to search for somethings.
Then again i say,
I wish i knew.
Confused i go on,
Where the waves drown the heart,
And i am back again,
To suffer and live.

For them

For them that walk the night,
Brighter the lights have been.
The cold moon knows not,
Of tales unheard, unseen.
Hearts should fail not,
Nor should words speak,
Of feelings forbidden,
And the lonely streak.
Of some people we expect,
A mute unknown feeling,
A bard has naught,
But a few words for healing.
That way they know not,
Sometimes they do care,
Knowing they are lost,
All curtains laid bare.
But the path is hallowed,
And they walk alone,
Sad inside,smile without,
Others sins to atone.

Men

Never do flowers weave,

The language of love,

Or faith that men greave.

Silent lie the graves of men,

In death or life sullen,

Never in life did blossoms sway,

Over them, the fallen.

For them who sleep,

Does the hell care,

And passerbys pass,

But none dare!

My mind

Mental state is a difficult phenomenon to describe.But nevertheless engineering graduates are prone to a specific mindset, conveniently described as sleepy oblivion to all else that wakes.


Some memories are bought dear,
Some cheap persist,
The few one tries to forgo,
Are stubborn in the least.
In past that haunts,
And present that wavers,
Thin lines of mist rise,
Man despairs,hearts falter.
But the insipid land,
Was not to be drenched in tears,
Nor does it blood want,
But for the flowers that grow,
In smiles now scant.
Why are graves marked,
When perchance a stranger may come,
Shed a few tears ,and remember,
A different man and a different place
some call home!

one

If i could a flower find,
One that withers not,
With age or slime,
Of love begotten,
And faith sublime:
Happy i would be.
But flowers wither,
of age and slime
for love i gather,
Is not all bliss;
and faith is they say,
Is blink and you miss.
Off heaven ws white made,
In heaven it stays,
And all mortals who faith search,
In graves it lays.