Monday, March 26, 2012

Love is, indeed, real

A woman aged 17, gentle at heart and sound of mind, and pink of health, got married to a man of 27, strong of build, and equally solid of character. This story is set in Mumbai, India. Slummy Mumbai might I add. It was like most indian marriages arranged very ideally by well meaning and sensible parents.
Now let's name them since I didn't know of their names. The man seemed very Raju ish. And the woman seemed very Aradhana ish.
Okay so, Raju and Aradhana lived a nice enough life and from the love they shared soon a baby boy was conceived. Aradhana, 19 and heavily pregnant was rushed to the hospital one early February morning when her water broke. Raju was at her side, at his supportive strong best. The doctors decided after hours of deliberation that a C-section would be the best course of action to take and Raju not being able to see his wife in the pain she was going through, readily consented.
22 years later, I was at that same hospital. It was my 7th or 8th visit in the general ward and the only constant I'd observed was the presence of this one woman, frail as a stick, a bag of bones really. She wore her hair like a young boy's. Every one of my visits I noticed a man I presumed to be a ward worker by her side. The woman was mentally ill and the only time I heard her voice, meek and in bursts of playful "aah"s was when that man was around. During my last visit at the hospital, curiosity had the best of me and I found out the story of the woman who never left.
On that fateful day 22 years ago, Aradhana overdosed on anesthesia due to negligence of the doctors. It attacked her nervous system messed her up pretty bad. Irreversible bad. So the family sued the hospital and to compensate it was agreed Aradhana would stay for free, till it was her time to leave the world. That man was no ward worker, he was Raju and for 22 years, every day, twice a day, he came to see his wife, to feed her, to entertain her by playing music, mostly religious music on his phone speakers. He was always smiling, not once did I see him frown. He was there to exercise her stiff muscles, to help her sit up, talk to her, carress her, soothe her, put her to sleep. He was there to love her, nurture her. To be her only loyal support system, never failing, always strong and around. The son hadn't gone to see his mother for years. Claims it's too painful to see his mother in the state she's in. But Raju will always be there for Aradhana, I am sure of it.
This reenforced the idea that love can be a constant guide. The force of love is undeterring, determined and all powerful.

Icelandic - she said she will learn. Self teach, at that.

Stones they come and stumbling you run
You take one you lose one and still the pain's just the same
There's fear in the eyes of the onlookers
There's fear in your own eyes
The same night, the same bed, the same phone, the same feelings
Some things never change
Constantly I drift and consistently I am driven to doubt
Doubt of self
Doubt of people
Doubt of the world in general
Some people never change
This world is blue and so many other colours
But I love blue
I love the band the colour the genre the dog the bruise the sky the sea
But mostly I just love being blue.

Wednesday, March 14, 2012


The ideal getaway
Is someplace far away
In a sky full of misty rays
And a sea full of wondrous waves
Here joy of the heart stays ablaze
None no more can hold your gaze
The world is no longer black it's grey
Everything of awe ceases to amaze
You're Earth's daughter who daily does gaily graze
You're sure this is not just a phase
In the meadows the pugs you chase
This is not a game of charades
This is your life
The life you decorated with finest lace

Aditi's awesome reply to my poem:

Your beautiful convolutedness has left me in a daze, my vision is a blur, all haze. I can compare this song to everything but a donkey's brays. Haha nice, the look on thy face, i have but certainly taken thy case. But life is nothing but a race, all these niceties they do unfaze. But running after pugs, why that's only your craze. I suggest in the yellow afternoon sun you laze. And let your wondrous thoughts set your pen ablaze. Section 377 has liberated the gays!

Saturday, March 10, 2012

Ship Salamandar sails with sordid men, with great solidarity in the sunshine.

It's never dark enough for the moonlight to shine through
City lights are bright and cruel
The stars they lay hidden behind clouds of smoke and dust
It's not quiet, it's loud, it's uncomfortable
Lying in the bed all you hear is the road
There is no clarity in my vision
The smog blurs everything
This city is big, this city is too big for me to live in
I'm getting away soon
The stars they call to me
The soft white clouds elsewhere are so tempting
I'm going to explore the world
I'm going to seize my chances