INDIA STANDINGS....

The financial year ends and ends thee hope of a world cup triumph. The share indices take a negative slope as even with the upward GDP and GNP trends, inflation rules at 6.5 per cent; import growths edging past the export margins. Bloody battle over Nandigram SEZ rests with the chief minister’s intervention- redemption at last!
And the Iron Maiden, Shakira concerts carried the sounds of western music deep into the head banging junta of India Shining!
The crests and troughs in the days of our lives no more seem to hurt the collective passions of ‘we- the people’! Rounds of abusive text messages, emails of loath and demonstrations of violence await team India. Bob Woolmer doesn’t figure in our prayers- not a moment spent to realize the enormity of clot skewing up sports at the global level. Industrialization leads to murders and still we are not convinced- the triumph of Mr Ratan Tata goes down as a fabulous victory over harried emotional politicians like Mamata Banerjee! Or was it a ‘swift’ move tried out by rivals from the northern regions? With the rolling of a new year, India seemed to have changed lanes, gelled together in several facets to emerge as a potential super nova- some might have gone ahead with a definite stand! Do we really align with the country per se? The high and mighty makes us bask in borrowed pride. We play for ourselves- be it the gentle man’s game or a crafty round of socio-political gimmick!
We do not own up to the happenings of India. Bouts of amnesia and the little knowledge of worldly affairs make us comfortably numb. A plethora of news channel makes us shudder at the ‘Big Brother’ to the Saddam’s execution but still an hourglass witnesses no change in the way we conduct affairs! We do not PDCA- plan, do, check and act. We do not evaluate the individual or the collective existence and essence of the biosphere we call our own!
All and sundry possess an opinion expressed at work place, at home or even a soliloquy while reading the daily papers, but applications, assessments and improvements of the much beaten tracks is never undertaken.
Social workers hog the lime light, footage, while the police provide a villainous touch; politicians and their press conference are all as regular as clockwork! And life for India, our native land traces the down slides of failures.
Individual excellence generates exhilarations rather madness en mass and this hysteria make us dissolve the banal realities that need to be addressed. On a gilded throne we are trying to christen ourselves the numero uno!
‘Water’ made it to the short list in Oscars and we try to align ourselves and wear the whiff of its perfumed glory, while it was our Machiavellian plot, which clouded the shootings in Benaras. Ironically RDB is also hitting on the under belly of Indian politicians! Do we at all realize that? The blunt judgmental myopic existence is taking the Indian-ness out of us! The land that hailed the first civilizations welcomed and juggled a thousand caste and creed needs to show a much matured application- driven by a collective sensibility! The blinkers of selfish dogmas and self-saturation are taking the wind from our sails. But these errata blamed on certain individuals are only a way out! Certain figures, revenues and glorified members do not ‘buy’ a halo for the nation… when would we really strike the rhythm of self and society? When would we realize that burning effigies do not eliminate the root cause!
When would this matrix of unequal expansions stop tearing into the fabric of the Indian landscape?

just occured to me u know!!!

The magic of first love is our ignorance… that it can ever end

And so it did. Cause there was the magic… of course, then the first love and eventually the very end… but with that was my ignorance swept off its heavy slumber? Like a curious Einstein I would try to create the maze of logical network- a thousand question marks, which might have been a customer survey for a new body lotion!
Nah! I aint shaken off from my ignorant bliss.
Typically there would be ‘n’ number of flashbacks, anecdotes trying to demand footage as the mindscape would be rolling on the latest ballads from mushy movies… suddenly the distant horizon seemed like the land of eternal emotions! A pensive mood, the vacant look and the whirlpool ice-magic effect bringing the temperature down! The cardiac muscles seemed to have a will of their own and strange murmurs would be generated from the hollow of the gastric. A sense of loss- so very well defined throughout my system! Aint signs of true love? The first love?
Now there was time at hand- the instrument of Graham Bell laid to rest in some forgotten corner… some messages of ‘true love’ etched in its binary memory? I fear to erase the ‘true lies’ of the magical feelings- oh! The ignorant me! Wish I could sweep away the clots of hideous cow dung that added to the fertility of my cranium! But again, the manure in time might just lend a rich texture to the ‘soil- matter’ where my emotions germinate?! So I think I would let my ignorance hibernate… with that the chances of another first love would brew in a decanter somewhere nah?!! Hope is thy opium of life boss! But cant the second love be given a chance to move up the ladder… I mean why cannot we have the tales of yore… riding the mighty waves of human emotion, trying to swim through the waves of self-pity? Ah! The experienced love-bird! Cupid would surely be generous with his haywire arrows- some favors for the ol’ horse, wont he?

Nah! Let it be the hopes of the first love… let it be the tunes of the first beat, the smiles of the first touch… cause aint gonna believe that it would wither away. That ignorance is the charm that leads us to surf through the watery walls… the resistance, the resilience, the requiem like a malady infecting through the veins and arteries of our body system! So it never ends, ‘cause it never was… like a shifting shadow, the imagery of love translates from and into the characters that play along in the acts of life… love would keep us alive!

The tears of joy, the drops of sorrow, both stress the lachrymals but alas… the blanket of ignorance is never dusted! Short stories of events, people, their deeds and judgments into the fencings and duets of characters dissolve in the cauldron of ignorance. And let it stay- undisturbed! The happiness of life is in the strength of love- the concentration of acid/alkali which dissolves the salts, residues of love!! Aint possible to dissolve love- aint possible to resolve love… aint possible to love a second time boss!! We really never would know if it was… true love… and if it was! Aint no point marking a second slot…

The magic of true love is our ignorance… of looking beyond its confines.

BINARY LITERATURE

I am a wordsmith. I construct the concrete jungle/jingle of words to make a living; mostly prose but the hapless heart sometimes strings together the rhymes of a soulful something I never could gauge- rather in hindsight I could not believe my own repertoire!! Not that I am totally unpalatable, but as modesty clouds my judgments, I stutter to waste words of self-indulgence.
Nowadays there aint anymore pen and paper! The royal blue, the washable black ink pots and the blotches of ink stains on the table cloth; many a crumpled draft resting in the basket-of-waste! The fountain pens seeming aristocratic in the pen stands with the gleaming clips of signature brands- parker, the waterman.
The fluid motion of a titanium tip on the paper whites gave birth to expressions! They would take a while to dry into permanence and as long the moist ink
Till then, the volatile, sublime words seemed so vulnerable- like one harsh cross and its existence would be denied, as just an erratum in the mindscape!
How the spin yarn would hop around the realities of past, present and future to knit the vibgyor of social romance! There would also be the imaginative sauce, lending the yard of unsure intrepid ventures, making the presentation wholesome.
But now… they just have ‘keys’ unlocking the dogmas of the literary world. The letters encased, molded in electronic instruments generate binary logic and voila! There is born prose- there unfurls poetry! With a ‘press’ the traces of iterations are erased! The neat whites with smart alphabets arranged- like sure as clock work! Perfect!
The colors and font styles change with a ‘wish-button’ and suddenly no one cares about the hand writing prowess! The signature style of different people, the funny twists and turns of the cursives- all smoothened by the lathe of science!
Grammar is corrected; spell checks and suggestions for proper and better usage…. Touches of unforeseen mistakes, the unusual ways of portrayal or even ‘unknown errors’ which spice up the literature seem to have been imprisoned like bugs in a fly catcher!
Letters are no more posted. The blue inland letters, the ocher hard board post cards and the air mails do not fly around the geographical bounds abuzz with stories, emotions, anecdotes, advice or acknowledgements…
Words have dried as the buttons do not leave a trail of unsure footsteps. The screen behind the mirror no longer stands tall beside the creations of wonder.
And I?
Writing in stories of the yore… when the train of thoughts would run the crests and troughs in the hollow of my brain and slowly approach the epicenter of explosion! And there would be born a prose- a story! The whites would be blotched, the hands would be spotted with the inks and the sun would have slipped back under the western horizon- after a tiring watch over my ‘germinations’! Inevitably it would be the starry night with a cool zephyr tempting the sheaf of papers to escape from the writers’ confines, when the mitosis, meiosis would give birth to the stories…
Somewhere even the nature around would bless this humble word-monger! But now… when I try to hold the oar strong, I falter… the boat seems over burdened and the tides seem too high against the dingy… it’s a scary feeling…
For now I do not know if the broken emotions make its way around in unsure words, if strings of imaginations paint a canvas in myriad hues… and if there is any error between the covers…
I do not sell anymore, for I have no story to call my own… for I never sold stories, I never created illusions… and I never really knew how to dodge the realities of life. To key in words of proportionate emotion, doctored inference and articulate reactions, I never did learn.

But one last story would I write… and I know, the hand would not shake and the letters would roll out with dignity and honor. That would be the story of ‘the days of our lives’ and that would complete the journey for a wordsmith- and it would be done in style! Remember folks… honesty, in words and purpose, never fails an author… on paper the confusion prevails, but in the binary existence of jet age, we might not reveal the inner moistness, under the dermis.
But when the ink dries on with a lasting impression on the papyrus… the shared expanse of life strengthens the cardiac inside! Then we call it a ‘words-worth’!!

way back into love...

Tracing along the shadows at dusk
Drawn long in the melting rays…
Turning aside for the familiar touch-
For a smile oh yeah! The frown so sweet
As the airs around bring the tunes-
From….Way back into love

And dreams don’t blotch those perfect blues
Where dusts of time have stolen words-
The red rose still of a fragrance known-
From way back into love…

Lost, translated, yeah those moments far
Aint could stop, could hold you back
Do ya stop besides to look back… lady?
When the rainbows gleam in the wet monsoons,
Of our days-
From… way back into love-

Way back into love…

Oh yeah!
A moment stop
The joy ‘o pain
Hand in hand walking down the lane
Lady! Wish you well, such is love-
My treasure chest and that red wind chime-
From… way back into love…


ps: this is kinda effort into song writing.. lyrics so to say.... and got the inspiration from drew barrymore of musik n lyrics.. it was a lovely number there... i just wrote wat all came.. huh..
i just wish i could put in sum musik n tunes into it... help out folks.. but is it ok in the first place :))