life's a kick

Streets go empty excitement in the air Pak versus India the World Cup is here will India make it to the finals the men in the house worry women worry for feeding those men hot chapatis and curry he stops all work, is glued to the TV bites his nail and perspires for the game her day unchanged, she cuts cleans and cooks her routine of drudgery, all the same home-maker she could be, or a coporate lass but it's on her the responsibility rests of keeping the house clean, supplying nourishing food and children's school work and tests men remain engrossed, in tall wordly matters at leisure and convenience, they indulge the kids women remain absorbed, in zillion homely work and when their baby craps, men don't clean the shit he gets the car serviced, he even buys his clothes for such little work, he praises his own knack the wife has no time, from his socks undies and ilk she toils through out the day, almost breaking her back freedom has brought her, car and communication now adde...

The road from sector 6 to sector 4 market in Dwarka, New Delhi, like most Delhi roads, is wide and smooth. That is, for the cars. For the pedestrians, it is, what you can call as an ‘olfactory nightmare’. In between the two markets runs the famous ‘naala’ of west delhi, an age-old landmark occupying a prominent guiding position in Eicher maps and Google Earth. For the uninitiated, the far-reaching smell is indicative enough. The naala oozes with gut turning muck in the middle of towering concrete structures. Nature’s way of saying – the shit has hit the fan. Offering a passage above this naala (no matter how nose-burning) is a short bridge. Almost every evening, I cross this stretch on foot to reach home. Day before yesterday, I risked an unusual response to a usual phenomenon in this part of the world. I saw him from far and close enough to figure that he was peeing. With men, the pose tells it all, actually. What angered me was that he was pissing bang in the centre of that cruelly n...

They stood there wearing cool black t-shirts and red mini skirts. A picture of the modern disdainful beauty – thin figure, out-of-bed hairstyle, kohl lined eyes and sulking demeanour. They were what they call in the PR/ Advertising/ Event Management lingo as the ‘Usher Girls’. Dissatisfied as they always are with the outsourcing agencies, the only one thing that the entire Client side agreed to, was the fact that these girls did everything but ‘usher’ the guests in! Why? I keep wondering (I also wonder why I ask so many whys?). What’s the need of these usher girls? As a concept, per se, it makes sense for lean organisations to hire temporary manpower for one-off events to do the sundry jobs. The entire outsourcing business owes its origins to this reason. But only because most of the world is going for outsourcing, does it become obligatory on big organisations, with more than enough (and potentially good but abominably underused) manpower to get into the same rut? All said and done, e...

Everywhere I go everywhere I prevail a silence leads a silence trails I do what I love I dance and read and write I sing I play I travel with silence as my guide my friends are my darlings and family my resort but silence is what stays in my actions and my thoughts I shrug it off in music in things that make me proud but it returns with a vengeance a silence – clear and loud silence flies all day in nights it comes to brood my mind is its nest my heart is its food it’s found a hole in me it lingers near and close it resides in the vacuum in just the place that was yours.

अबकी सावन फिर आया है, बताना उन्हें दिखाना उन्हें, वो सड़कें जो पत्तों से ढकी हुई हैं वो टहनियाँ जो फूलों से लदी हुई हैं वो सुबह-सुबह कोयल का गाना वो भीनी सी खुशबू का हर पल आना वो झरने की रिमझिम तरंग वो दिल का उछलता पतंग वो प्रेमी जोड़ियों का मुग्ध संग वो प्रेम के धागों से जुड़े हुए अंग वो दिन की ज़रा-ज़रा से धूप वो धरा का खिला खिला रूप... अबकी सावन फिर आया है, बतान उन्हें। एक और गर्मी बीत गयी, उनके पसीने की ठंडक को छूए बिना एक और बरसात टल गयी, उनके जिस्म को आप में घोले बिना एक और पतझड़ चला गया, उनके साथ एक लंबी सैर किए बिना एक और सर्दी पार हुई, उनके बाहों में सिकुड़कर सोए बिना... अबकी सावन फिर आया है, बताना उन्हें याद दिलाना उन्हें, कि मैं आज भी जीती हूँ उनसे दूर बिताए लम्हों को, उँगलियों पर गिनती हूँ...

RED was the colour of seduction. of sizing you up with dark eyes provoking you with casual lies of inciting you with clever tricks of love that fights, bounces and kicks… GREEN was the colour of envy. when you spoke of another woman with praise I’d clutch on to you my heart ablaze… BLUE was for our after-fight mood. lying on the same bed apart and aloof waiting for another to make the first move and as we got a chance which we just wouldn’t miss we’d put our heart and soul in a mighty giddy kiss… WHITE was the colour of peace. holding hands on a busy road snoring and sleeping in your arms gazing at your face- wordless & quiet soaking in love and its charms… PINK was the colour of joy. joy to love you joy to tease you joy to take you for granted and then, joy to appease you… ORANGE was the colour of our dreams. the flame that glowed behind us that guided and held us that found and smelled us that inspired and charmed us that strengthened and armed us… PURPLE was the colour of o...