Saturday, November 21, 2009

One flew over a cuckoo's nest..


One flew over a cuckoo's nest..One still does fly over the cuckoo's nest..But..

Rewind 20 years.

It is 8 am. You have been pushed out of bed, so you don't miss your school bus. You drag yourself out of bed and get ready, cursing the schooling system, but run through the gates, just in time for the prayer. You squeeze into your class line, not really bothering if you're the shortest one, but at the end of the line (Heck, you still got there!). The crowd drawls, while you gaze at the clear skies above. And there it is , the providence of nature, the birds and the proof of their washroom routines clearly not in place as a splat on your shirt. You get home by 4 pm, to be cursed by your poor mother who will have to scrub off the stains from your shirt and get out to play. 6:30 pm and its time for you to get to homework, while you see them going home, ask your mom innocent ingenuous questions about their nests, their nestlings, are told some flimsy fables, to shut you up. You go to bed, reading fairy tales and parables containing parrots, crows and pitchers and if you belong to a religiously inclined household, Jatayu's tales of his attempts to rescue Sita.

And today..

It is 8 am. You are rushing to office, scrambling to find your bus or busy answering the driver's call just so you do not miss your cab and are forced to go to office on your own. You reach work, go about your day and leave office at around 6:30 pm, again the same rigmarole, the same routine with the buses and the cabs. And then, the TV, the couch and the comfort of your pillow.

Have you ever taken out a moment and thought? You are at a place now, where you don’t see a bird, or do not want to. Too busy in your schedule to even notice whether they still fly overhead or are flying saucers orbiting the planet. You are too old to admire those little flying creatures, those species we learnt about once at school, learning how to distinguish one from the other, from the way their beaks look, or the color of their feathers, or their peculiar flight. Too old to admire what once fascinated us and kept us hooked for hours, finding place on our canvasses and drawing boards.

But they, on their part still do exist, still do go about their reckless ways, still fiercely protect their little ones. But from who?

Our children are too busy deciphering the new windows interface, exploring (flaunting) their playstations, Wiis and Xboxes, studying hard with thick spectacles to beat that kid at school who might just come first this time. They're too busy trying to get ahead, or trying to stay where they are, to notice what lies above. They don’t bring home feathers that they almost stepped on and ask their Mom, just what bird it might be, but bring home pamphlets of animation or computer language courses. They don't complain about a bird dirtying their shirt, but complain about an OS crashing, a speaker not working, an internet connection not streaming fast enough or a new pair of Reebok zigs they are not able to find in a red color.

We on our part have too much in the day to tend to, to be able to see an injured broken wing lying by the road, simply because you have an important discussion in the cab with the other equally frustrated employees on how Bangalore traffic is out of bounds and how the city is bursting at its seams. In the late afternoon, you get out for a fag, but are too busy finding out who said what on the floor and who's rating is definitely a 'Poor', to notice a pair of eyes perched a few steps away staring wantingly at the fountain by which you are sitting.

If you took a moment and looked up in the sky, you'd still see them as you once admired them in flight, as sparrows you once nursed back to health, as your once-upon-a-time friends, as playmates, as fellow-earthlings. Yes, something has changed for us, in us, but the world around perhaps has not. Its stood witness to mankind's progress, gently smiling at the fact that he does not really care enough about whether all wings reach home safe in a storm, or whether all nests have safe branches.

If only we cared enough to remember…to relive…to notice...

Friday, June 12, 2009

Why would you, unless.....?


I know that's what you'll do, stab me where it will hurt,
no grief in your eyes, as you see the blood spurt.

You know how I am, I'll bleed to death in your quest,
But it's a game you must win, you will ace this dirty conquest.

So you'll still do everything you can, to break me,
To see me begging for mercy, begging to be free.

Free from the pain you give me, free from this heartache,
There's just so much it can bleed, just so much it can take.

It's broken in an instant, with you having walked all over,
Bitter with pain, pangs noone can ever discover.

Drowned within it's own depth, it's scared to look up,
Broken by a joke for fun, a really unfair setup.

Vowing it will get better, without you by my side,
A day will come reckoning, it will get calmer, the tide.

You'll cry someday too, in agony and despair,
Wishing you hadn't trampled wild, realising what's fair.

I won't be around to see it, nor care enough to console,
You nearly killed my heart, its peace as you then stole.

I hope not to get more bitter, more torn into pieces with this pain,
Till someday you wish it were just a bad dream, try to turn it all back...In vain!

Sunday, May 31, 2009

Lost in the Deluge


Loud claps of thunder, a dark red sky,
I wake up from my trance, as lightning flashes me by,
Large drops of rain, fighting for space,
Disturbing my thoughts, cutting them loose from the chase.

The soft whispering wind, grows heavier and louder,
My wavering thoughts are now crushed to a powder.
Perched against the downpour, with arms wide open,
I try to grab my mind, but my heart it’s stolen.

Carrying love from far away, a lonely distant voice,
Touches my lonely soul, while drowning all the noise.
A heart that feels my pangs, asking me to feel its pain,
It’s as broken as I am, tears running in each vein.

Refusing to succumb to the deluge, my eyes are shut tight,
I feel nothing but numb pain, the dark eclipses all light.
Shattered into pieces, a heartache we share,
Soft as fur inside, an iron mask on the outside we wear.

The rain that breaks our peace brings us together tonight,
We carelessly succumb to the call, giving in without a fight.
Hearts that cry alone, but smile as one in the rain,
Our incompleteness begins to fill, the sorrow too will wane.

I breathe softly but surely as I mock the thunderous sound,
I’ve lost my heart to this voice, but a new strength I have found.
The night cries itself to sleep, as the rain gives in,
Densely dark around, with a single flame burning within.