@boredom and a dictionary... Post breakup blues?

The words: investiture, investment, inveterate, ipso facto, invulnerable, inviolate, invigilates, invidious, in vivo, in vitro, invincible

Post breakup blues


My most valuable person since that rank's investiture
An investment, I thought, that'll grow in stature
Though I am hardened, a casanova inveterate
ipso facto invulnerable...
                                      ...I find I'm not inviolate.


In a self examination that your ego invigilates
The results are pre-announced, and are invidious
You're a FAIL! that she, and the whole world, hates
A sorry, misshaped creature of fate, hideous

Post breakup blues,
                               leave you searching for clues
as you mind runs off to a glorious past,
                                                           footloose
Thought I was hardened, a casanova inveterate
ipso facto invulnerable...
                                      ... but I miss my mate...


Agitation and emotion - a storm brews in vivo
My words on paper culture anguish in vitro
For my invincible semi-creative poetic skills
Love failure, however, is just more grist for the mills

@boredom and a dictionary... Let's pick on love.

The words: Acme, acrophobia, acquiesce, aconite, acrimonious, Acrostic


Do you know what it's like to be lead to heights
In love, life's acme, how fast does time fly...
You're pushed off then, forgotten as you fall from her sights
Acrophobia remains, it's what you remember her by...

And when to despair you helplessly acquiesce
Not escaping the falling skies, just feeling the squeeze
Distress itself may change you with the pressure it brings
It can - if you so wish - make you fly, give you wings...                             

---

Aconites disguised as roses, were they to be the prize?
Regrets as your dreams die an acrimonious demise?
Endeavoring to erase your memories is like, you think
Indelible marks being covered with weak whitening ink...

Responsibility @ Vineet Contributes

What is Responsibility?

And when one is cycling
down the busy street
and out of the corner of your eye,
you see
prettywoman!
walking down the street,
prettywoman!
the kind you like to meet...
Responsibility is -
Keeping one's eyes on the road.



It is short, terse, aphorism like constructions like this that keep all of us on our toes...

Return to Rishikesh

After what seemed like a very long journey (a feeling shared by the co-passengers) aboard the Kochuveli-Dehradun express, made all the more dreary by the lack of a pantry car (read banana fritters aka pazhampozhi and meals) and glamorous people to journey with, and a relentless onslaught of vada-pav vendors along the Konkan route, alighted at the Haridwar junction railway station at 3:46.

If anything, the train was a bit early. It wanted to finish off its uninspiring run as fast as possible, perhaps...

The lands, lush green after the monsoons the last time I had travelled along the Konkan rails, were this time dominated by shades of brown... I had a window seat, as usual, but more of the fate colluding thing was visible in the singular incident of it being the only broken seat in the entire compartment, if not the entire train.

Pappuji, the wheelman of Ushaji, was waiting for me at the station. But he couldn't get to me in time for me to stop giving some of my money to a poor little rich kid (long story, that... in short, I got taken for a ride, again)... By the time he did get to me, I had managed to get a useless recharge on my vodafone number too...  

Ever courteous, Pappuji and his wingman Birenderji escorted me to the Indica, and we set off, honking for attention amidst a dozen others trying the same tactic. The adamant bulls and tottering rickshaws were gradually left behind, and we were on the road to Rishikesh.

As the wind whipped my hair (it had assumed the consistency and quality of coir after the train trip and had to be tamed down with half a litre of water which I had poured over it from the station in order to look a bit presentable), the cold prodding a just hatched headache to grow faster, and the scents of Pappujis tambaku and Birenderjis bidi aftersmells mingled with the fresh air to make me intoxicated enough to forget the abovesaid headache, the exhaustion slipped away to be replaced by the realization - Here I Am.

Last year, the journey from the station to the Omakarananda Ganga Sadan was in the dark. This time, I took in the changing scenes with eagerness.  The first sight of the Ganges, the majestic Shiva statue, couples along the banks (pavitr pyar ke liye sabse uttam sthal?)... And landscapes as soothing as a lullaby at times... no concentration was required for appreciation. Relaxation. Consequently, I found myself contemplating quite seriously about the implications of a sign behind a truck that we overtook that read 'bure najar wale, tera mu kala'... Would a booranazarene who also happened to be 'coloured' take that for a racist slur? Or were 'coloured' people the only ones with this capacity for boorinazarizm? Would the sign make any difference to an illiterate buranazarist? Would the 'kaalapan' show up in the Garnier scale, as advertised by John Abraham in that hoarding we passed - two shades down in two weeks? What exactly would be the purpose served by this blackening? Would the curse affect, shivers, myopic and hypermetropic people by default, or did they think of including their exemption as such in fine print before the proclamation?

Signboards on the Motichur Gohri route say that 'Elephants have right of way', which made my soporific brain think of pouting elephants who had been denied 'right of way' by mischievous children, and an elephant attorney arguing the case in court..."The law says that we do indeed have the right of way..."... I think I  caught Pappuji and Birenderji exchange concerned glances while I was chuckling away to myself...

And then silence. Till we saw a group of saffron clad monks walking up a winding road... "Not a single fat swami among them... Perhaps this 'ashram' in the hills and mountains was a ploy by the first of these people. They divined the later generations would get good exercise by just walking around... if it was the plains, and they were more sedentary, most of them would have got  high cholesterol before salvation..."

Arriving at the Omkarananda Sadan, I was shown to my old room. After dumping the luggage, went around for a walk almost immediately... went across the Ram Jhula, and took a ferry back to our banks... She was as cold as ever when I touched her during that boat ride, my dear Ganga... But she warmed me up as my hand trailed in her waters. She's magical like that.

Blackie...Sagar alias Blackie...

This afternoon, we got a new visitor/add-on to the family... A very good looking cat, jet-black, with gleaming green eyes, who decided that we were good enough for it, or at any rate, better than being chased around by the hounds... Perfect accessory for the quintessential villain... (and the foil to the dogs who frequent our household)

All it needs is the quintessential villain, it's with a rather uninspiring substitute for now...

Black magic. Schemes to take over the world. Grinning malevolently, as my fingers slide over the glossy dark fur. Making people who practice feline-apartheid fidgety by training it to run across paths...  So many things just became more possible... 

Thank you, Fantabulous Friends of Facebook

Joy of being alive, and friends, what a mix!
I don't do drugs, but I just feel I got my fix...
From your wishes, all you beautiful people
All throughout the day, I got my kicks...
No better way to step past the twenty-six...


Thanks everyone....

Rhyme me a Lime, Eric... please?

"There was once a man from Thyme..
who, in order to make his lines rhyme..
invented words..
which were quite absurds..
like Berylyme, Filtryme and Pultimabbilistyme..."

Vineet. He wrote me this for r2r. The guy plays the piano, makes girls cry in good ways, and now, writes nonsense that is good enough to give me a complex. I mean, Pultimabbilistyme?! I could have stayed awake a night and not come up with that... 

My friend, since there is no one else over here, let me applaud and welcome you.  One day, I promise you, we will become famous. Till then, we'll have to do with being fabulous...

Ah, incompleteness!

EMPIRE OF THE EVENING


Feel giddy, dizzy, you know, a bit woozy
Like in a state of the nation of Halluci
The sight I just saw, yea, and still see
There, in the middle of the road, a pixie...

...long hair lying loose, is it a she?
Heavens! Why is that bothering me?
Existentially, I'm entrenched in reality
And she, or he, should he/she even be?


Just standing there, oblivious
To the traffic uproarious
I find it quite lugubrious
It should be so inconspicuous

For no one's looking his/her way
she's that needle in that stack of hay?
She winks when she catches my eyes
Comes up, says 'Hi', I evince surprise...

"I thought you'd speak in ancient tongues"
She guffaws loud and long - good lungs.
'My tongue's only as old as me', she grins
'And learning English was one of my sins

By now, I'm fascinated utterly
Even though when life runs normally
Talking to pixies isn't my cup of tea
But now? Right up my alley.

'I've been cast out by voting with a show of hand
from the Empire of the Evening, our hallowed land
They said - "Go to them whom you so admire.
That you want to change this heavenly empire" '

It registers now, she's wearing denim jeans
And that hair's straightened, with a glossy sheen
She looks at me looking over it
'Schwarzkopf hair colour and straightening kit'

.....
...
.

HA! Did it. Posted an incomplete 'poem'. 

History: One fine evening, while watching the sun cast all those long shadows outside my clinic which was experiencing a lull in patients at the time, I was overcome with the thought of what it would feel like if I could really write poetry... You know, think up a fancy title, then get inspired by something... (or the other way around)... and spout verses that could cause shivers to run up the spine of the readers.

So, I got all determined to try it out. The title came first, from the scenes unfolding in the twilight outside - 'Empire of the Evening'. There, that had a nice ring to it. Now, what would inspire a poet who had such a good title... I scouted the shadows, and one of the many tiny idiotic voices that keep up the cacophony inside my head said - 'No one would notice even a pixie in that particular shadow'

"A pixie? That's not what I was looking for. I was looking for something a bit more grand."

'That's the point, exactly. No one looks for pixies because they are not as grand, as say, Griffins?... Perhaps that's why we never see them, because we just don't look for them"

As more inspiration was not forthcoming, I, depressed, guessed I'd better do whatever could be done with a pixie. 

And when the first patient of the evening arrived, I had arrived at this.

...

Then I forgot all about it, and weeks went by. Last week, I found the scrap of paper while looking for a case-sheet, tried to make out what it was that I had wanted to do with this ( - turn it into a satire of our society using a comparison with a fairy one? Lampoon politics/feminism/fantasy writers?) and failed. I had no idea.  Completing it seemed a drag, so I decided to do some 'face your fear' therapy, and get over my phobia of publishing an incomplete work - which is one of the perks of having a blog. Consequently - this.

(When, oh Webbhagawaan, will my blog have many followers milling around, who will respond with alacrity when I post something like this, and complete it with many versions - you know, like those chain poems in forums... That'd be fun)

Anyway, reading it again, it's safe to say Serious Poetry Writing is in no danger of being addled by me anytime soon... Peace.

Swaha, Swahili poem by Vineet and me...

After being REJECTED OUTRIGHT by a tyrant who is otherwise a soft-spoken and very talented singer, this piteous creature of our co-creation (mostly Vineet's) was languishing, waiting to be cast out to the place where there is wailing and gnashing of teeth. So I thought, why not bring it to this blog... (it is not as if much of the other stuff here is making much sense either - I think it makes more sense than some of the recent uploads)


No maneno...


Hatujui nini sisi ni kusema ..
tutaweza kusema ni hata hivyo
Hatujui nini sisi ni kuimba
lakini sisi kuuimba fulani

Nani anajua wapi tunakwenda?
Ambaye anajua ni wapi?
Ambaye anajua mahali makofi theluji?
mahali ni ya sasa?

Huenda hatuna kujua kila kitu
Mola nani anafahamu?

Khammaheyo no maneno
no maneno

So, you write this...poetry? Is it all yours?

Once they leave my mind, they've always been.
They're not visions that only I've seen.
Neither strings of letters, nor clusters of words,
encage that which is more free than birds.

They're no more mine than the falling rain
that soothes, inspires, and moves on to the sea.
But they come through me with labour, pain,
love and blessings, and abundant energy...

Or is it the 'I' that passes through them all?
As they stand still throughout eternity.
These Themes, new 'realizations' of a 'soul',
of the same old Truths, and their harmony.

@boredom and a dictionary... What do you do?

The words: inimical, inimitable, iniquity, in propria persona, in loco parentis, in mediass rayz and so on...


WHAT DO YOU DO, THEN?

Most of the times, in mediass rayz
I confound audiences in inimitable ways
To make verses out of words inimical
That is my fancy, quite whimsical

Poetry with dictionaries in loco parentis
instead of emotions of the heart, they say
is iniquity - injures those not inured to this,
who curse when they meet me in propria persona

Too intellectual a limerick?

A gourmand with a bad thyroid gland
Told his chef - make it gross and bland
For my very discerning palate
may then help me not to inflate
to something the size of Gondwanaland 

@boredom and a dictionary... morbid morphic resonance

The words: Morale, moribund, morphic resonance (postulated by Robert Sheldrake), mordant, moratorium and so on...

Morbid Morphic Resonance

For most of his life, he had been mordant
And as he now lay dying, OD'd on Meth
His morale in his morbid body wasn't moribund
It rose even more when he saw Death.

Death was puzzled to see him smile & gloat
And wave around an official looking document
IS HELL NOW ISSUING MORATORIUMS?, Death thought
IF SO, THEN WHY THE HELL WAS I SENT?

"Have you heard of morphic resonance, Grim-man
As postulated by the famous Robert Sheldrake?"
Death professed ignorance as only Death can
With an emoticon on his phone of Chinese make.

This one.

"It says - 'Para-normally, a pattern of events
or behavior, makes it very very likely
The subsequent occurrences of similar patterns
So right now, when I see you, and me you see...

..This, as its a paranormal activity
should happen again with high probability
But as it won't if I'm dead and gone
I calculate I have high chances of living on"

Death scratched his skull at the supposed conundrum
then swung his scythe and set him free
ALL THIS MAY BE TRUE FOR PARANORMAL, CHUM
BUT I'M JUST A VERY NORMAL GUY, REALLY...

@boredom and a dictionary… ‘An Arab Royal? Him? BAH!

The words for today were: effendi, effervescent, effete, effluvium, egregious, egress, effulgent.

‘AN ARAB ROYAL? HIM? BAH!’ (Written by the room-mate)


It is eerie how the effendi
Normally quite effervescent
Can efface himself with ease
When the landlord asks for the rent

He is egregious otherwise, that scum
(Or as the nobility would say, effluvium)
His effulgence becomes quite effete
When you end up paying for his treat

He’s efficacious at being egalitarian
Filching my underwear even, non-effusively
And every night, at exactly one-ten
He steals my blankets, surreptitiously

@boredom and a dictionary... Lanolin

After 2 minute verses, here is the next round…

The setting: In the afternoon, at the vaidyasala, when it is all sultry and there are no patients, I frequently find myself drifting off to see the Sandman. To shrug it off, sometimes I open a dictionary that I keep there at a random page, look for the words which aren’t used that often, and then try to concoct something around them.

Say, for example, I sight the word ‘Lanolin’ (a refined derivative of the fat-like sebaceous secretion of sheep, used in ointments and such as a base)… in due time, this happens.

LANOLIN
I went to the bar the other day,
It was being renovated, I walked into a bar
You wouldn’t know now, the scar’s gone away
The ointment the barman gave saved the day

It had turpentine, egg-white and banana extract
Snake oil and bear fat for extra healing impact
All this and more were processed and put in
a base of old antibacterial handwash and lanolin.