Destinies

Torn from the middle
It hangs just mid-air
Like an unsolved riddle
In the wizening glare
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The Darkness

He looked into his eyes
Oh, what did he see?
It was just a new born baby
Nothing simpler could be

Oh he looked into his eyes
And what did he see?
It was something more wonderful
Than ever he could be

But that man couldn’t go to anger
And he couldn’t find his tears
The beauty of survival
Was lost inside his fears

Moments passed before him
Of tender happiness and joy
Too few they were to free him
From the night’s soft employ

Dil Ki Nagari

Dil Ki Is Sunehri Nagari Mein
Milte Jaate Hain Bahut Dilwale
Muskurahat Chahte Hain Sabhi
Par Yeh Chhale Karun Kiske Hawale?

In This Golden Land Of Love
I Keep Finding A Lot Of Lovers
They All Want My Smiles
But Who Do I Trust My Blisters With?

- Neha
(Inspired by Purak Udani)

Who will die first?

Who will die first? She says she wants to die first because she would feel unbearably lonely and sad without me, especially if the children were grown and living elsewhere. She is adamant about this. She sincerely wants to precede me. She discusses the subject with such argumentative force that it’s obvious she thinks we have a choice in the matter. More

Please please me

“What do you want to do?” she said.
“Whatever you want to do.”
“I want to do whatever’s best for you.”
“What’s best for me is to please you,” I said.
“I want to make you happy, Jack.”
“I’m happy when I’m pleasing you.”
“I just want to do what you want to do.”
“I want to do whatever’s best for you.”
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Bye Bye Bangalore

The last thing I remember about leaving Delhi would definitely be the heavy sleet in which my father deftly manoeuvering the car safely deposited me to the airport. As I later disappeared into the surging throng of human bodies, I saw him stagger to the car, knowing that he had lost his daughter to the world. More

Base Details

If I were fierce, and bald, and short of breath,
I’d live with scarlet Majors at the Base,
And speed glum heroes up the line to death.
You’d see me with my puffy, petulant face,
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Lieutenant Mamiya’s Long Story – 2

Holding his knife, the bearlike Mongolian officer looked at Yamamoto and grinned. To this day, I remember that smile. I see it in my dreams. I have never been able to forget it. No sooner had he flashed this smile than he set to work. His men held Yamamoto down with their hands and knees while he began skinning Yamamoto with the utmost care. It truly was like skinning a peach. I couldn’t bear to watch. I closed my eyes. When I did this, one of the soldiers hit me with his rifle butt. He went on hitting me until I opened my eyes. But it hardly mattered: eyes open or closed, I could still hear Yamamoto’s voice. He bore the pain without a whimper-at first. But soon he began to scream. I had never heard such screams before: they did not seem part of this world. The man started by slitting open Yamamoto’s shoulder and proceeded to peel off the skin of his right arm from the top down-slowly, carefully, almost lovingly. More

Lieutenant Mamiya’s Long Story

They untied Yamamoto and led him to the staked-off area. There they tied his arms and legs to the four stakes. Stretched out on the ground, stark naked, Yamamoto had several raw wounds on his body.
“As you know, these people are shepherds,” said the Russian officer. “And shepherds use their sheep in many ways: they eat their flesh, they shear their wool, they take their hides. To them, sheep are the perfect an­imal. They spend their days with sheep-their whole lives with sheep. They know how to skin them with amazing skill. The hides they use for tents and clothing. Have you ever seen them skin a sheep?”
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The Violence Continues

When I was younger, my grandfather used to tell me stories about Pakistan. He would tell me of the glorious days spent there, the riches, the land, the beauty and all that west Punjab was. The love that the neighbours shared, how easy trust came in those days and of course the ghost stories. No story of my grandfather’s could be complete without a mention of the supernatural. With my growing up, the nature of his stories changed. He began to finally tell me about the killings and the blood spilling that happened during the time of the Partition.
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Of Optimism

He felt the world tumbling around
A winged dream jaunted by
And slowly whispered in his ear
I know you worry, but why?
Too often it is that worlds fall down
But at least you have got me
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Moms

After becoming quite irate at me for not jumping out of bed at her soonest convenience with her typical frustrated air . . . I slowly relented to her miserable mood only to overhear that the problem was solved . . . having only donned my boxers, I walked upstairs to see the unsatisfied woman cleaning dust off the floor with two cards; one of which unbeknownst to her, and her bickering nag, had the words ‘Serenity Now’ printed in large letters.

I laughed a lot about that.

Conversations With God

“So…? Is this the punishment for not being religious?”
“No… I mean not really.”
“Then? I mean… I know I haven’t visited a lot of temples. And I know I think of him in the only prayer I attend and I know you might be pissed because I climbed all the way to Pahwagrh and never went into the temple and I know you are irritated because I tell everyone that I do not believe in you when I secretly do… but aren’t you supposed to be forgiving?”
“Of course… but you have to remember what you believe in. Karma. You have a lot of bad Karma lined up against you.”
“What sorts?”
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CRASH!

Each afternoon in the deserted cinema
The latent sexual content of the automobile crash. Numerous studies have been conducted to assess the latent sexual appeal of public figures who have achieved subsequent notoriety as auto-crash fatalities, e.g. James Dean, Jayne Mansfield, Albert Camus. Simulated newsreels of politicians, film stars and TV celebrities were shown to panels of (a) suburban housewives, (b) terminal paretics, (c) filling station personnel. Sequences showing auto-crash victims brought about a marked acceleration of pulse and respiratory rates. Many volunteers became convinced that the fatalities were still living, and later used one or other of the crash victims as a private focus of arousal during intercourse with the domestic partner.

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A Thousand Wishes

There lie a thousand silences
In the gaps between your fingers
But only one resolute apeal
In the width of your hands lingers
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