A Thousand, a thousand desires.....

A thousand desires such as these
A thousand moments to set this night on fire
Reach out and you can touch them
You can touch them with your silences
You can reach them with your lust

Rivers, mountains, rain
Rain against a torrid hill’s cape
A thousand
A thousand desires such as these

I loved rain as a child
As a lost young man
Empty landscapes
Bleached by a tired sun
And then
And then suddenly it came
Like a dark unknown woman
Her eyes scorched my silences
Her body wrapped itself around me
Like a summer without end

Pause me, hold me, reach me,
Where no man has gone
Crossing the seven seas
With the wings of fire
I fly towards nowhere
And you
Rivers mountains rain
Rain against a scorched landscape of pain

A thousand desires such as these
A thousand moments to set this night on fire
Reach out and you can touch them
You can touch them with your silences
You can reach them with your lust
Rivers mountains rain
Rain against a torrid hill’s cape
A thousand
A thousand desires such as these

OST Hazaaron Khwaishein Aisi

Engleash

I like to think of my interaction with language or with books in the way I think of human relationships. Awareness, respect, love, are all part of a relationship. Flexibility is important. But even relationships have rules which we evolve through an understanding of each other's personalities. If we don't know our limitations, and don't want to know about them, if we go even further and celebrate our limitations then the relationship may turn out to be a barren exercise.

Where English is concerned, colonialism becomes the excuse for all kinds of irrational arguments, for sloppiness in the name of 'fighting back'. The Empire Fights Back? It's a nonsensical phrase. Who or what are we fighting? It was Indians who wanted English to be taught in the first place. No one forced it down our throats. After half a century of ambivalence and confusion we now say we need it because it is a global language. Fine. Let's get down to learning it properly. Let's stop making fools of ourselves and get back to work.

Abate!

After the storm abated he would return home to the mainstream locality that he stubbornly refused to leave for safety.

Coming within a whisker of death, seeing the heap of pictures burn down to ashes, he wonder if his life's work was finished, being escorted under armed guard to safety and, finally, contemplating a permanent shift to a locality with more Muslims, Indianness was being crushed.
Except, his heart aches; it hasn't stopped aching since then. The question, "Who gave, who took," has become a cruel taunt.

The silence in the room was so deafening. With slender frame shaking like a leaf in a storm and scorching brine finally escaping his eyes, he asked a group that had turned to stone, "Who gave them the right to take away my life — the dignity with which I walked the streets, my mother whose lap I passed my childhood of innocence, will I be able to call her mother again?"

I was dead and I was a victim on the move. Every moment of life is weighed down by the Jinx. It is not easy to explain - because it's like one fine day this queasy feeling in your stomach which tells you that there is something wrong and a recurring feeling that you are unable to break the creation of jinx with many of the ideas that you have.

It is not due to the lack of valid reasons but more so because of a complete detachment with the reality which conficts your fear. Impeccable logic to trap the countless fears... ain`t it?

Relief alone is not enough, there has to be a transformation in lives as well. this is when I live again

Question ?

We live in an age of marvels. We hear devotees flocking to forests in search of divine, Celebrities win fame and fortune after changing the spellings of their names in accordance with the tenets of numerology. The men running the country are sitting in the courtyard flipping currencies in their personal greed and when charged of corruption they plead guilty and innocent. We daily swallow pills with our morning cup not even knowing if they really work.

Every one knows that Muslim's breed faster, women are good home makers, its he, who is smart when it is with numbers, environmental degradation is just a myth breded by the ecological terrorists. Climate changes are scientific discussions, disruption and conflict will be endemic features of life and once again warfare would define human life.

Living in an age of cruidality of a willing suspension of disbelief, we also live in an age of great cynicism. unquestioning cynicism and unquestioning credulity are two sides of the coin.

is it really so? if so, why is it so? could it possibly, just be otherwise than it seems?

How ridiculous. Who's going to ask all these footling questions in the course of a busy working day, crammed with so many things to do? Waste of time particularly when you are assured with no answers left.

But that's just the point. Do questions necessarily need answers? or it could just lead to more questions? being a sceptic - unlike being credulous or being a cynic - is tough. Its like walking up a steep slope that never seems to end.

Mongrel Thoughts

How he seems so unashamed, so "in his skin," moving with a tall head of grace

I never got lost. For some reason, I'm more at home everywhere than at one place. I belong everywhere and nowhere. I'm kin to everyone, and no one in particular.

And once you get into the habit of not needing anyone, it's kind of hard to break.

So I decided I'll think of myself as some kind of a social world citizen. and then I feel.... I need everyone! I love people. I want to meet them all! I just think there are too many out there saying "This is mine." or "She's mine." Too many lines have been drawn. The World is breaking apart because of man's weakness for some testosterone conquests over territory and power and people. I want control over what deep down I know I have no control over whatsoever and it scares me.

Everyone seems to be hypnotized in this country. I guess you think I'm just some poor displaced soul doomed to roam the earth without a mean for a soul.

An ashtray filled with cigarette butts as I anxiously lights another.

You won't be made to feel! Period. You're mongrel and you're phony!

"I'LL close my eyes... and I'LL see you standing there..." - HYPNOGOGIC

The house is asleep and dark except for the rims of gray shades from the moonlight, hair wind blown, with a serene expression, sublet and sad. Wearing a rugged demin with a slit on his hand carving memorys of down town.

Don't be surprised to find your not changed an iota. you hardly ever spoke

I suppose this coming into life was, in many ways, prepared for weeks, maybe even months before.There was a restlessness feeling. Out of the blue and for no apparent reason. There's nothing more frightening to be settled than to suddenly feel unsettled. I don't know when it started ... I do remember one night in particular, a little over a week before she arrived..."

It was late at night after a long day. tired -- fighting all night with the bruised thoughts I could hardly sleep more than two hours a night. I was reading some lines skimming the words, turning the pages without absorbing what I was reading. My mind was far away. And no matter how I tried, I couldn't call it back."

I seat myself in a couch flicking on a reading lamp and open a book. Flicking the ON/OFF switch as the mind wanders.

Walked through the dining room, passing a closet filled with empty dishes and broken glasses. I stop. Shoved in the corner behind is an old, un-opened bottle of Whisky aged with dust. remove up, setting atop the sink to open it. But when I catche a reflection of self in the window opposite, I stop. I see a lonely, frustrated old man in a tattered blue denim anxious to open a bottle of liquor to deflated self in the milds of the wind

There isn't a soul for miles. I turns off the porch light, with a brave and daring impulse, I stand under the naked sky. The air feels good against the body with open arms, up against the night sky and moon like a hypnic jerk

frozen in words