Just another love song...

 

Is there any shortage of love songs these days? Or should I say, has there ever been a shortage of them? Not really, right? Bollywood is famous for churning out songs for no reason or rhyme (pun intended). And so it probably wouldn't hurt to add one more to the infinite list that is already floating in our universe. Except that I can't classify this into any particular genre of romantic monologues.  It's certainly not useful for the purpose of serenade. Any attempt to sing this under a lady's window would probably be met with sharp objects thrown from the window in question. It's not a Romeo-Juliet departure song either. Shakespeare (he is one person who has definitely turned enough in his grave), will once again turn (how much turning room there is anyways in a grave, by the way?) if Romeo were to sing this.

But that's the catch. For Juliet had no choice. But Scarlett had too many choices. For those who are not too familiar with Gone with the Wind, her full name was Katie Scarlett O'Hara Hamilton Kennedy Butler (No wonder she could never make up her mind about whom not to love).  

And Cinderella. She's my favorite. I have great respect for her. She rocks. 12 o' clock, and gone (more on Cinderella in a later post).

Anyways, so here it is, the "unclassifiable", just another love song...

 

Falling all over, head, toe and heels,

Just another heart, in trouble

How do you tell apart love, from a crush?

A big bubble, from a bigger bubble?

 

I know you will find, what I couldn't find,

I know you will touch, that coveted space

But where will it lead you, when it ends?

Smiling back in the mirror, your uncertain face?

 

Turn around; you may see someone you knew,

Feel your heart-beats again, as you leave to go,

But did you notice, that questioning look on his face?

Was it the first goodbye, or the last hello?

 

You fear the fear's coming back,

You are losing something you've got,

Did you ever heed when they told you,

Lovers may live forever, love does not?

 

You never thought it could happen to you,

You were so safe and sound,

Perhaps you were not so right after all?

Perhaps you forgot, that it all comes around?

 

It will happen again, you can't help yourself

More will arrive, and even more will go

How long will you hide the fact

The last time you fell in love, was not so long ago?

Free me...

For those who have heard Uriah Heep, the title of this post would bring some interesting memories perhaps. But this post is not about interesting memories. It’s about parts of a past worth forgetting.

For those who remember that we today completed 59 years of freedom, this day might be a day to rejoice. But this post is not about rejoicing. It’s about coming to terms with realities.

For those who have determined that we have successfully traversed a long distance, this day might be a day of heaving a sigh of relief. But this post is not about relief. It’s about an overwhelming anxiety that leaves one in a state of turmoil.

We have certainly come a long way, no doubt about that. India was shining. It still is. But what hurts is the dark spots on our shiny surface.
59 years and we still have the Babri Masjids and the Godhras to our credit. 59 years and we still have no justice for our Jessica Lals. 59 years and we are still destroying innocent lives with state level sex rackets involving high power ministers. 59 years and we are still trapped with Bofors and Telgis fooling with the tax payers’ money (of those few in a million who do care to pay taxes).

There is a something essential missing from our freedom. And it creates a strange nauseating feeling. The feeling you get when you are forced to eat a bowl full of curry, with no salt in it.
It didn’t have to be like this. Some people blame Nehru, others throw it all on the Mahatma. Some say Indira Gandhi made all the mistakes. But we, the people of India, were always right. Right?

So what does it take to be free? What does it entail? How long before we ultimately end up selling our country? Inch, by passing inch. Religion, by useless religion. Rupee, by wasted rupee. Independence Day, by live-telecasted Independence Day.
Or can we keep it safe? From ourselves?

Photon...

It was out of no reason that today I decided to just go through some of that stuff which I had written earlier, but had never posted anywhere. Like one of those days when you think about cleaning the closet, to make space for newer things, to throw the trash away, except that you end up spending a few hours playing and looking and associating memories with those items, only rearranging them and never having the heart to really dispose of anything.

And it was in out of this rummaging that I found this one. Written a few years ago, titled “Photon”. Yes, it’s about the thoughts of that tiniest unit that makes up all the light around us (my high school physics teacher would never have looked at it from this angle). I was wondering what it would feel like to be the smallest entity making its small contribution to illuminate the entire world. And this is what I had come up with --


Into the ocean, hidden from all,
And back again, to the lighthouse
I've seen that mighty ships have fallen,
To softer winds, silent and proud.

Planets were there, where they still are
Though shadows have changed, over the years.
I try to make out, as I move,
The salty waters, from the muddy tears

I slide across, into the dead bones,
Into temples, idols, and the stripper's frame
The heart of all, I find devoid,
Lost in search, of a fragile name

I am a witness, to the daily circus,
This dreamt-of world, and its worldly dreams,
Saints and sinners perform their art,
I wish I could tell them, what it means

And I light up the rain-washed roads,
To be splashed around, by footsteps unknown
Evanescence and eternity are so very same,
The sooner I die, sooner am I reborn

Open the box, and I'll escape,
Though infact, I was never inside,
And I'm afraid I won't find it,
Any more greener, on the other side...

Stories...

The life we lead, the death we fear
Are the shades of a smile, the hues of a tear
The truth about life, that nothing's really true,
Coz we just hit the black, before we touch the blue.

The roads we build, the bridges we burn,
For the people we meet, on every single turn.
To fall in love, and then try un-loving,
Is like meeting death, and then try undying?

The places we hold, in the scheme of things,
The Sun, the stars, the chocolates and the wedding rings
But still we fight, to find that special role,
The hunt for that pillar, beyond the final goal.

The fear or love, and the trust we place,
Caught in a steel web, our images in space
Waiting for spring, my snow-covered hopes,
While it all melts, or while I learn the ropes

The wrongs and the rights, and the fairy tale stories
But we ain't in Hollywood, and this ain't the movies
Confronting my illusions, is tougher than it seems
Or appreciate the similarity, between reality and dreams...

Realize...

Sometimes it’s perhaps too late to admit that you have signed up for the wrong relationship…
But when exactly do you realize that you have got it all mixed up?

• After the invitation cards have been sent out?


• Sometime after the advance has been paid to the caterers?


• After the last dinner as a single?


• After the best man, and the bridesmaid have been decided?


• While walking from the dressing room to the wedding hall?


• While walking down the aisle? (In Indian context, somewhere between the fourth and fifth “phera” around the fire, perhaps?)


• Somewhere between “I” and “do”…?