If I was You.

If I was you, and you were me
Would they let us be?

If I was you, and you were me
What would they see?

Would they blow our brains out
Or would they chain our hearts
Before we figure it out?


If I was you, and you were me
Who would love more?

Once Upon a Time in Calcutta

Once upon a time I lived in Calcutta
Where the joy evaded the lonely souls
Where the roads took an endless toll
Of mass defecation
Where they cleaned up the trees
Burned a cuckoo’s nest
Where the poor helped the poor
In hot summer afternoons
Feeding water into their empty stomachs
Where the winter deluded you of the ghastly chill
Where sometimes joy spread around like a cancer
Amidst a romantic dream.

Once upon a time I lived in Calcutta
Where they told me about Marx and a dream
Where they hoped beyond the urban pledge
Of incredible India
Beyond the Potemkin villages of wonder
Beyond the gory capital city that disrespected love.

Then, I lived in Calcutta
Foraging the lonely streets
Looking for us
Wondering what you were doing
About those little naked children by the tea-stall
Who wanted to live.

Once upon a time I lived in Calcutta
Before the sprite dust invaded my eye
Leading me to the dark side of the moon.

When we prechead hope through the long nights

Never cry for the passer by,
Never weep for the creep.
Never dance with fear,
Love with a tear,
Never say no to life.

So
Let it be forgotten,
As a flower is forgotten.
Forgotten as a fire that was once singing gold.
Forgotten forever and ever, as time, our kind friend,
He will make us old.
If anyone asks say it was forgotten:
Long and long ago,
As a flower, as a fire, as a hushed footfall,
In a long forgotten snow.
 :)
(The second stanza is the poem 'let it be forgotten' by Sara Teasdale)

The Bugs Of June

So the bugs of June fly into the night seeking a halogen light.
They flock around it, all of them, fluttering their tiny wings, as if drawn by some gypsy magic.
They collide with each other and fall like some bizarre dead flowers, but they fly up again, time and again without fail, with no regard to their little lives.

They aren’t scared of being found.

They dope on that light amidst the silent night, as if they are scared of the darkness.
They are perhaps scared of getting lost.

I wonder how they fared millions of years ago when there was no halogen light through the long nights, when there was no fire, no electricity.

Did they seek for the moon in those scary dark nights?
Just like we do often? 

About a New Life (Lie)

Rain drenched streets, flightless moths, tall trees,
Unfamiliar faces
Autumn’s familiar smell
Sleepless nights and hot cups of tea.
And time goes by.
The memory lingers on for a while
Of brick lanes and crowded streets
And then it’s all the same..

Getting used to it.
Getting used to it.

Dreaming on, wondering is this it?
Is this the end?
Growing up?
Running for glory?
Money and fame
Sugarcoated smartness.

And time goes by.
Getting used to it.


Your memory lingers on for a while, and then it’s all the same..
Getting used to it.
Getting used to it.
 

Fly Away. Shoo.

Caged bird Caged bird
Don't you want to fly?
Caged bird Caged bird
Who will decide
If the heaven that you yearn
Belongs in the cage
Or in the autumn winds rage
In the azura up above
Or in your wings lost love?

Because its the Fourteenth of July.

 As a young boy I would keep a track of time. It was me who exactly remembered the day we shifted to Salt Lake, December 6th, 1998. It was me who would keep track of the score in every cricket match in our para. I would remember exactly the time when I would have to return home. Well we couldn’t afford watches back then. I remember it was the sun that would guide me. The rule was to get back home before dark. Back in those days I would measure time, I would mark dates, I would tell my brain to remember them, from birthdays to national holidays, everything-The dates that mattered to me, the dates that mattered to all the special people in my life. They seemed so important to that little child in me. Doing something for friends seemed so fun.

But then he grew up. The position of the earth around the sun didn’t matter anymore.
Little things that once mattered were slowly forgotten.
As we grow old I guess the meaning of everything around us changes, how we look upon life, our definitions and principles.
Time changes us.

Now ten years is a long time some would say, but for a ten year old boy is it?
No, he is just as fresh as the leaves of spring, in early summer.
Ten years. A decade they say.

My little dog turned ten years today. He grew with me. He taught me one or two things about love and attachment. He was always like the little brother I never had. The advantage of having a brother that doesn’t speak your language is that he won’t pester you with his problems. He would only listen to your sad tales. My canine brother would only bark in excitement, fear, joy and pain.
I remember that autumn of 2001, when he slowly and silently entered our life-my mother brought him.  He resembled a white snowflake, in our dusty apartment. I clearly remember those years, that holy time. I remember his first birthday, his second, third, fourth and fifth. I remember how he would drink water of the bathroom floor, how he would be scared to get down the stairs. I remember when as a five year old he would wake me up and save us from a fire accident. I remember those years when he was young. I remember how I would walk him around endless blocks and tire him out, how I would make him run beside my bicycle. He would hate me for that. But little doggy never said anything. He just outgrew me one day and I didn’t even notice it.

And suddenly he is ten years old.
Days passed and the memory of the last few years disappeared in the quick sands of time.  I hardly remember taking him out, I didn’t keep a track of time. I didn’t keep a track of him. I just let time flow. I didn’t mark dates. I tried to forget everything. And yes, I succeeded.

If someone asks me, dude, when was the last time you did something special for someone, I would say, I don’t know. I would lie. It’s a faded memory though.

Did I do anything special for anyone anymore?
I guess not.
I never marked the special dates. I never tried to remember the special ones. I told my brain to forget everyone, everything, and yes it did.
I never cared they would say.
But if you ask my little doggy, I am sure he would know. He was there all the time, he looked after me. He would know everything-all my secrets. He would know how special everyone was, and how important it is to do something special.

But my little doggy would not bark to me.
Years of indifference made him silent.
I did care. But how does it matter?
In this world,

‘when you care, you have to do something special.’

I guess I lost it there.