Ritual

When I woke in the morning, I tried to connect it with the light that shone from the side window. I could see the brightness or dimness of the light without my glasses.  Every day it was my ritual to raise my head from the pillow only after discussing within myself what time it was. I got better and better each day just like those men who have the ability to know if there is water in a particular spot or not. Something’s have a certain way within themselves. So it was my wrist watch on acquiring the skill to read the sun.

THE GROOM

This was his third wedding. He looked at the crowd and then the bride. She was beautiful as he thought her to be. He stood there, fixed to his spot, admiring her. `How did she become more beautiful every time he looked at her? ‘

He was shaken from his reverie by his `best man’. He smiled at him and then was handed the basin of rice. He looked from the rear end of the auditorium. This wedding ceremony seemed to be pompous. The groom and the bride were non residential Indians. Though this was only his third wedding, he felt like he had attended too many. Being a wedding waiter was not something new in his native place. There were three other boys from his native place, working with him in the same role. Of course, they had more weddings served than him. He let his hands press down his black coat. It was given to him on his first day of work. The coat was the finest piece of cloth he ever wore till now. Even then it reminded him of his soiled t-shirt he wore underneath it.

As usual, there was a need for a rush of activities. Serving the rice, curry and various other dishes all at once.  And of course not to forget the dessert.  The people seem to be gulping their food down, all at one go. It was like they were always running. When he thought about it after most of his day’s work, he chuckled to himself. He could never figure out where they were going in such a hurry. Maybe they had big jobs in big offices in those tall buildings which he saw pictures of in the paper. The paper; he could never really read much, but definitely worth looking through. Especially those special papers that came on the weekends. They never disappointed him in terms of excitement. There was no need to purchase one of course, he got a small colorful piece along with his bahji which he would buy cheap while drinking tea by the sidewalk near to his tiny room shared by five others like him.

Every one of his room-mates talked of those glossy women and big houses with those big T.V’’s they would own one day.

He had once an opportunity to see a glance of some Malayalam movie in the big T.V that his owner had at his house. The irritating part was he could not hear or see it properly because the two children of his owner who were close to his age where fighting over the remote-control. He tried to peer above them. Realizing eventually that there was no use in trying hard anymore above their heads.

When he reached back to his room that day, before he entered the room he heard laughter and dirty jokes being pulled upon each other. Yet everyone was joined in the laughter. He smugged to himself too on hearing it.

Something itched in his heart. There was more peace at this late night time in his room where they were smoking cheap beedi’s and passing around cheap liquor than he ever found in those big places with those big labeled drinks.

He wondered; was my world better now than the world I dream of? The rich and posh world? He didn’t have an answer, so he spread his mat out and went to sleep tucked under his thin sheet.

i am strange and so are you. somethings abt us remain same and yet somethings never appear same. we are all running much faster than cheetahs or the wind. we call ourselves gods of many things. yet we remain below. some lil things climb small ladders and then there we proclaim victory. we wave our swords up high and yell our guts out proclaiming - yes we ve done it

in money matters

it goes to say lot of things happen at short spans of time , ppl trust ppl. hate them or even pick up weapons of mortal destruction some somehow turn to jihad and create themselves as the ultimate core human boamb ... but wat does it do to ppl who wear ties and work like leashed dogs day in and day out under ppl who sit with big mugs of star bucks coffe and be kos of thier colur,nationality or some fake degree they get the up-ass freedom to tell the lower-ass ones to wipe the dust of the floor or even get that menial cup of water which they themelves are oh- so capable of gettin but it would hurt the 3000 dhs suit that they bought or their mistress hands that smoothered it down for them , the caress of her skin light fingers still tinger there and they would oh-so not want the embrace to go just by doin the task of gettiin a cup of water ..so they rather sit up hold stiff backs and give gruffs of laughter to poor peons who stand almost on their knees or are in positions where they are tryin to avoid the simple lack of control over the urinary bladder ... well all over said .. the rich men in their thick suits that make them swelter and the poen wearin his thin cotton shirt with his wife away in some remote out of telephone range but definetly in range of a bpl mobile are all ponderin over this receeeeesionas they call it ... the "eeeee" expand as the days go by and ppl sittin in stock broker chairs sittin and wipe their foreheads no longer with imported pure cotton handkerchiefs but rahter with dirty muslin cloth once used to clean the table of saravana bhavan hotels ... everyone is sittin in chairs that make them wonder will this chair be there for me to come back and console myself thar i am still wat ppl say i am or some postion the company has somhow granted me with grace so far .... the thought goes on and on, when the nite comes in new york , ppl in dubai worry for them durin the day and when the day finis for the sheikhs, educated britons in navy blue coats and thininig hair carriyn files neatly kept in yellow folders, walk before paparazi so that they get a chnace to show off to the world that they are workin at somethin to reach at somethin they so-call belive but which if u look at it closely is actually the something of nothin , which is actually something!!1

2009 has entered the financial scene with a wimper, a tired old man has picked his left foot from the previous year and put it in the year 2009 and his thining efforts to raise his right foot to join in unon with the foots ve become a tragic scene .....

the richest men on earth are those living in shacks in the slums of delhi who do not ean a penny to buy his beidi or the adulterated liquor that willl eventually make him lay still in some roadside gutter or if he is lucky before the gates of some odd cathiloc church where the priset would put the symbol of the cross upon view of his carcass and rush to call the muncipality workers to "bury " the rich man who left the big financial worlds never knowin how rich he really was .

bottom line of the story ... an old sayin it is but nevertheles am using it ... the circle of life come full circle wheather u like it or not.. u live , u die , u get forgotten !

Twelve

And they view from the sides of the wall, they peer to see if more has come... yes they are many in number, riding arabian horses, splender in colour, the sand arising like a storm , the leaves shiver and fall, there is none mourning their connection of life.. dead , alive, breathing, contemplating, accesing web pages, arousing.... they ve all felt it .. wrapped in muslin cloth... held towards a mothers breast, their gums clutch the nipples , she did not wince in pain for this joy amidst the women in the land of the baren ... life is peircing itself thru veils of thickness... war, bombs, swords, bullets... are they wat is peircing u oh women behind the wall? .... wat? speak louder pls.... the air is punched with holes made by victories of men who believed they were leading us to greatness... speak louder oh mother at twelve.. let ur child voice arise ... can it touch the glass panes that stand tall leaving oak trees to wither in shame ... ur not alone u tell me? there are more? more? & still more? ... where are they? behind? behind the wall? behind the house? underneath? underneath wat? underneath men u say? ... men... men who touch to grapple wat god did not provide them with to push wat they found extra fittings that instilled luxury at the oddest times of panic and rivalry.... yes they did not count i know... they did not ask if it pained .. i know oh mother at the age of twelve.. and yet u stand .. u stand to tell me.. u dare to use ur own voice ... u wont ? u wont u say? this is a whisper for me to keep in my heart? the many that come will keep coming u say?... can u speak to the world? .. they will not listen u say? maybe someone will oh pure one.. someone will tell another one and they will tell others in turn and then maybe a nation will be born lil one, a nation where u will revive ur childhood... u will smile like the other children ur age, u will laugh and jump and when u fall on the dust u will brush urself gleefully ...knowing fully this is the perfect heaven on earth..

there, there & there

Neither tall nor short,
Neither funny nor snotty,
Neither crisp nor damp,
Neither me nor you.

To them we are but
A figment of the inner lives.
There is no rebellion,
No constant bickering,
Only the plain consent of
Achievement mixed with concrete
And sand...

Words they speak fly like the sand
Settle among hairs and inside ear lobes,
A whisper is heard over and over again...
They speak within and without,
It is the same... They are there,
Not there but there, there and there!