Friday, October 30, 2009


Stranger, he knocked again,
who's that my son? Mama asked.
I was at work - seemingly,
too busy to feel the words,
nor her concerned eyes, aching womb.
Son, who was that? Again?

Silence... A deafening one,
Oh I can't lie to you my blood.
This ain't torture for you, it is me;
throw in a line, the son drifts.

Silence again... A deafening one;
lullaby soft, her voice chimes,
love, need, a worldly pull;
the stranger sleeps; for a while.

Tuesday, October 27, 2009

The Phantom of the Theatre

No whistles, boos or cheers! Things one associate with a movie theatre, especially when the audience is mostly boys, was missing. Yeah, boys! Who said I am a man all grown up, eh?

But the show was beginning - the late night show!

These shows have become more of a habit now: The after-work games and movie sessions at my place with friends Kannan, James Hardy and occasional guests - Engineer Ram, and couple of other friends of Kannan.

But 1 O’ clock in the morning is never late-night for me, is it?

It is the usual time I leave office and yesterday, being a relatively uneventful day in the sporting world, I reached home just past midnight. Actually, I would have taken a little bit more time had my friend Kannan not given me a “ride” on his bike.

Not exactly a "lift" in the conventional sense of it though as I had my own wheels, my cycle, and Kannan was riding his Thunderbird. But I used my trusted old right hand to cling on to his bike back-rest as he rode in a sedate speed to accommodate this awkward passenger. But it was fun, something we have been doing quite often these days.

Once work is over at office, I usually end up sitting on my terminal, most of the time keying in the poems I may have written during the day, while Kannan and Hardy would be doing what they love most. The former, designer beyond par, will be checking out video games, while the latter - the wise guy among sports journalists in Chennai - will be researching means to hack and download music for free.

And then the suggestion one day by Kannan: “Hey, why can't we go to your place and hook up the Playstation and kick some butt?”

You know what my answer would be right. “The doors are open baby,” I had replied and so it began. First with Playstation and then suddenly we developed this taste for movies.

Movies... MOVIES?

Yes, the motion picture kind. Movies are completely against my nature and I am not exaggerating here at all. My brother Leo had downloaded and saved a few movies on my hard-disk and I had never watched it till last week when Kannan, while browsing through my files, suggested they were good. And this designer dude has a big collection on his laptop too. That was the beginning of the end I guess - the end of sleep, I mean!

Of course, I agree that my place is a dump but as a theatre it just rocks. Then there is the added comfort of the nearly non-existent bed where one can stretch and watch the flick of choice by the click of a mouse. And of course the digital surround-sound from my speakers, though small, is powerful enough to wake up the neighbours. We found that the hard way actually.

Two weeks back, me and Kannan, a little drunk of course, put the speakers to full blast. It was around midnight and my neighbour came up and politely said the volume is a bit on the higher side.

“Sorry boss,” I waved, smiling with pride at the power of my speakers. And in a deft move of my left hand I reduced the volume, all this while negotiating a high speed corner. We were playing 'Need for Speed' on Playstation you see.

And then came the movies one after the other, usually the sessions lasting till we hear the Big Mosque in Triplicane invite the righteous for their morning prayers. A couple of binges were there too, hardly avoidable, especially at the start of the month when we are hell-bound on spending money on booze and birds, the latter sadly eluding us till now.

Yesterday it was a French movie, again a contribution of Leo. The video had some problems but the movie was entertaining. “Now that's a movie with attitude man,” said Kannan afterwards.

But Kannan man, it is not the movie; I feel it is our surprise visitor who is so full of attitude – ‘The Phantom of the Theatre’.

All was set for the day's show, laptop on chair, our tired butts on the floor, speakers connected and just as I was going to switch off the lights, a sudden yell from Kannan.

“Yo, man what's that?” he asked. Couple of F-words later I answered, “It's a bloody rat dude and how did it come in here.”

Show him the door, I suggested to Kannan, who tried it by slightly opening the door so that this little brat can go out. But the visitor seemed to be in no mood to oblige and was getting cozy between my shoes. I tried to urge it to move forward to which it squeaked and ran towards the TV and poof!

“Where did it go man,” I asked, searching through the mess in my room and promising myself that I would clean it up first thing in the morning. But somehow I had to get rid of the rat first.

But he was nowhere to be found. So we got back to our movie which got over at four in the morning. Kannan was packing up his stuff ready to leave while I was just wiping clean the food crumbs.

Few minutes later, the designer rode off, to the sunrise! Leaving me all alone with the ‘Phantom’.

Now Kannan was sure the rat had gone out and I believed him too. I was not getting sleep though and so I logged on to the net and was checking some random stuff when the ‘Phantom’ reappeared, this time menacingly active.

Perhaps it was time for its morning jog. I tried the ‘showing the door’ routine and what do you know, the ‘Phantom’ obliged as if it knew the show was over for the day. Adios amigo. But wait, will he make another appearance?

As for cleaning up my room, well if I had cleaned it today, then who will update my blog? You?

Monday, October 26, 2009

Cupidity defense

Smog spreads down evening trail,
deliberate, indeed by you.
Ye wishes laid bare n flesh,
visage no more, no longer pure.

Deep down that ageless tickle,
drives you to the loch.
Your trip that day supernal,
not a vision, it's the body eternal.

Snap! Alert with yellow light,
smoke screens, all yours for now.
Love ain't the way you vie,
selfish, the games and lies.

Castling - aye, schemes of heart,
driven by age but lass, my rage!
Never morality, it's a set-play,
just a man beyond your reach.

Sunday, October 25, 2009

Him and me

Time warped to the good days,
no ties or lies pulling me,
from the serene reverie,
on the day He rested for good.
Harmony in praises n chords,
and a few familiar eyes.
Here I stay in silence,
behind me the redeemer smiles.

Long before 'em shallow lines,
this seat was my hamlet lone.
Wishes of peace and bells,
different yet love indeed.
Buzzing bees and hushed prayers,
minutes after the little shower.
This moment I missed for months,
alone with the Spirited One.

Wednesday, October 21, 2009

Peace of a puzzle

Something here I can't explain,
the birds or the mango tree.
The noon sun covering half of me,
or is it the breeze, cool as the sea.

Readers, two and three,
a writer above them feels,
of a far-off island paradise,
world at peace, love all around.

Left rise archived red-stones,
amidst a jungle: The swaying leaves.
A field trip to yester-tales,
portal opens to good old days.

Flag poles point north,
while the heart turns west.
Hard-wired to spread the wings,
this migrant's lost between seasons.

There goes peace for a toss,
a worthless DJ, loud taste,
and the wake-up buzz,
what's missing - love or life?

The morning class

On chair, with a gigabyte mind;
the boss and his colourful dictum.
Hippie, yippie and a nerdie,
the kids are ready for morning class.

Three measured gulps of wisdom,
laced with ice and oil.
Lighting up the threesome world,
smoking gun and a celluloid cigarette show.

A couple turns to four hours,
lecture shifts to women and life.
Torn one's happy with the wilder side,
designer sports a classic smile,
while the engine-man takes the wheel,
and the chairman sleeps, who pulled the plug.
(On a booze party with two good buddies of mine)

Monday, October 19, 2009

L' Artista

The master's at work,
six long years of inspiration,
landscape here, a portrait there.

Red crayons, blue pencil,
a little bit 'em brown too,
soiled tiny hands her brush.

Brows meet in serious thought,
doodling her classic down,
pure; its perfect just enjoy!

Her song, that forgotten rhyme,
instincts from a friendly world,
shouts ignored with a naughty smile.

Short n cute, long in reach,
with larger than life of a canvas
- her mama's kitchen wall.

It's papa and the school,
and those buses on the street,
enchanting beauty in simple thoughts.

Let her, do let her fly,
her heart, let it be white,
a colouring book hers to paint.

Give her, do give her the hues,
love in its purest form,
let it splash, wall or soul!

(My six-year-old Cousin Aleena's favourite pass-time is shown above. Her mom however was not happy seeing me encouraging her to extend the canvas to the drawing room.)

Triplicane Diwali

A tree of light, price a day's lunch,
brightens up his world.
A flicker among the million sparks,
but it's his Diwali on the streets,
the busy and bustling Triplicane,
his roof the stellar sky.

The bursts worth millions
- his laughter not the crackers.
Forgotten his days in burning sun,
or the pending nights in the rain.
This day he has fire in him,
and power to make his sister smile.

The deafening roll of drums,
a rich man's show of might.
Hey boy! What's yours now?
This street and a good night's sleep,
with dreams of a brand new day,
and hopes of a life all bright.
(On the Diwali celebration of a boy who lives with his family on the streets of Triplicane, Chennai. He may not have a roof of his own, but the festival of lights was a day when he forgot everything and just laughed and played and made his kid sister smile. A million dollar smile, which probably cost him his lunch - the price of his firecrackers.)

Wednesday, October 14, 2009

Blinded Amnesty

It was just a friendly crossfire,
a shot from the days in the club.
then one from the nights in a hub,
but now bonds are in the cross-wire.

Itchy finger trigger happy,
the boiling sense - swing your axe,
the softer skin - do the coax,
push and lose, it's cruel, no hobby.

Time for truth n honesty,
prefer woods to city of angels,
where buzz is the cosmetic gels,
better hate than blinded amnesty.

Right! You're the blessing mother,
with strength from a million decades.

Tuesday, October 13, 2009

Hi Chi

The wrong side of bed again,
something that's beyond boredom.
From aberration to habit,
mornings drag my back to the sack.

Is it the pied piper on horse,
or a tired journeyman in play.
It's growing over the barbed wires,
now the art should prove its worth.

That fresh day never comes,
maybe it will by sunrise next.
Park and the restored Chi,
blocks in flow and a plumbing job.

In deep the dew-filled life,
out goes the moor and weed.

Sunday, October 11, 2009

Left for more...

A crown with stars n band of Asian brothers,
mane blown out in thinning curls.
A real son, hmm! Maybe; the poise,
Aries, war a game since birth.

Looking down as armies charge,
left to right, the red force,
right to left, the legend's men,
my place; with the greyed senator.

Three years of front-line march,
stretched webs near blurred eyes.
Not angry blows from foes,
but killer stabs of a lonely self.

The city port I sailed one night,
for fame, bylines and that mortal need:
Some justice to the pawn me,
born poor and a world to conquer.

Counted, measured a hard day's work,
next day trashed, the truth, the lies.
Morn comes a brand new fight,
battle for some no man's cause.

Chin up, sure for more,
looking down at this Colosseum.
Battered body - wine then Malaria;
scars aplenty but no one to nurse.

Friday, October 09, 2009

Variable Whore!

Moonlit slide-shows aplenty,
inside the eye of an image storm.
Tales, booze and portraits all,
urges and Woodstock dreams.
Worthy, worthless, who cares;
I've been there more than ye.
Sweat drops with that cold touch
of a blade on my neck, for a pal.
I came empty, will leave too,
more a man, no fables or boasts.
Ain't that a cute one,
the variable happy news.
Chained for a grainy grind,
for kings from a red-light town.

That man, an haircut during sleep,
this boy, a legal bind during nap.
His will jaded with the fading hands,
sucked dry by the hungry whore.

Simply the best, one lore, all too often;
the platoon which landed before the force.
Now fight or die, loyal rewards,
medal of honour 'exceeds' their books.

Call for duty answered in ready,
for a man or was it a friend.
But why forget life! Did he?
For this miserable rut, hell yeah.

Sam sleeps and his hair grows,
pillars falling a matter of months.
The boy will wield his sword just wait,
a fight to death he doesn't mind.

Walk away if the pride was lost,
but the promise is the swing to kill.
Nothing between love and him, beware;
he'll never ever take it light.