Equations in love

Bare and bold

he walks in the acid rains.

Passion warming the cold

and love filling the veins.

Wrapped around gold,

his accomplice is a flower

for whom his palm unfolds

and shields her from shower.

But the shield is double edged,

it may scratch the thread

it may guard the aroma

From reaching out to himself instead

As the two souls tumble downhill

together on sand,

their fingers may get unclutched

and make them misunderstand.

But the hearts stay together

no matter where they land,

no matter what they say

If, but, whether, can or and.

Both may shed tears

but it only catalyzes

the positive swarm against fears

when in her absence, he analyzes.

Sometimes he wobbles and sleeps

with thoughts of depart,

but all the haze clears by one look

at those divine works of art.

Fortunately,

Both acknowledge this “fun”

of facing those word bullets

fired from the other’s gun

These fights are cute

Aren’t they?

as they rekindle the same

togetherness of the first day

When they clutched palms

referred as “night and day”

sitting on the wall beside

the far-off water bay.

“The company has been eventful.

Honey, ain’t it?

It made my life beautiful”

He said “Thanks for being part of it”

-- This poetry is a work of fiction

Django Unplugged

Welcome Strangers

Sometimes a short conversation changes the course of life.

We all have some theories and counter-theories inside our minds and they just keep fighting. They perplex us. They stagnate us. Be it the context of career or relationship or conflicting dreams or conflicting personality traits or pragmatic vs ideal thoughts or principles vs adaptability or confusing buying decisions, we keep getting in the labyrinth. And coming out of it often seem impossible. You are already in some of these mazes. Aren’t you?

Well you just need to talk. Talk to different people. People from varied backgrounds. Do a survey. Meet a stranger. Make a new confidant if you don’t have one. Tell him /her about your dilemma/circumstance. Someone somewhere said that meeting one stranger a day is one of the greatest hobbies that you can inculcate.

All in all you must bring in the dynamics of change, of a stirrer, of someone-to-show-you-the-mirror, of someone-to-show-you-the-unseen-world-in-the-medieval-period. And only in that dynamic state would you encounter vision, decision making power, thoroughness of knowledge and strength of character.

Infuse thoughts. Attract ideas. The tagline “An idea can change your life” isn’t untrue.

Most of the time, when you encounter a new head, you receive ideas that just fit in your circumstance and the way forward becomes strangely obvious. That’s why you must keep getting those conversations, however uncomfortable they may be, going. But, if you are a lonewolf and you don’t want more wolves in your private enclave, then just read. Read biographies. Read about a similar personality or a person with similar dreams or one who dealt with a similar problem. Know the minds of the greats. Know how they think. Converse with them. Books when read well, becomes a lively conversation.

Mind you, I’m not asking you to randomly send facebook friend requests or to call unknown numbers or to add unknown google ids to your chats. You need to step out of the door man. We are social animals, not social media animals.

So, where to find such eligible conversant? Where to find a would be confidant? Where to find wolves?

Yes, I know it is a difficult question to answer it convincingly. But let us have that intent. Since, where there is intent, there is attempt. What I’m trying to converge to is, why can’t we have a stranger meeting club? No forms. No registrations. Just come and meet.

Now there is already a service called “Meetup” that arranges meetings but they are contextual or interest-based. Hereby, I’m ideating a TOTAL STRANGER club. I think it is a lot better than telling the GoodReads community about the books you are reading currently.

May be it all sounded like bullshit. Spare me if it did. I just had to write something on this boring afternoon.

See you.

The child

Back bent forward.

Head down. 

Bumpy road speeding past under the wheels.

"Practice makes the man perfect" 

"Practice makes the man perfect"

"Practice makes the man perfect" murmured Manu as he paddled his bicycle faster and faster. Against the autumn wind, carrying a heavy school bag on the back, he cut corners fluidly. Still four kilometers to go, he accelerated. More. He defeated scooters, motorcycles, cars, trucks and kite runners. He manipulated barriers of fruit vendors, rickshaws, cows and wandering commoners without braking. "a cube plus b cube plus three a squared b plus three b squared a" he shouted to himself "What's that, haan? Tell me ..tell me". Airborne dead leaves followed him for the answer.

In ten minutes he reached the school, parked his bicycle and ran towards the assembly courtyard. All students were already lined up. He stealthily appended himself at the end of his class's line. A few strides left to him, in the corner, stood a huge mango tree. School's head boy shouted to commence the pledge from the stage in front. Manu threw forward his right hand as did the other students. Just then a squirrel jumped over and across his shoes and whizzed towards the mango tree. It zig-zagged over the path with its tail pointing skywards. Manu watched it climb up the tree with full concentration and didn't utter a single word of the pledge. And he paid for it. A house-prefect caught him red handed.

[Eleven years later]

Manu was staring at the blank cells of Microsoft Excel's New Worksheet. He dragged the cursor around to let himself know that he was still alive and didn't die of meaninglessness. "Why on earth I am doing this" he murmured. He turned his neck and glanced right and saw his colleague preparing the Daily Status Report. He felt so lazy and wrenched that he kept his neck in that position. He noticed a wrinkled forehead, a tunneled view into computer screen, haphazard mouse clicks and key strokes. In a whim, he got this strange feeling that he himself has been a waste "ox" worker. "How? When?" His breath shortened with the realisation. He hurried to the lift, pressed G and wrote a message to his boss that he has to go out for today.

It was 3 O'Clock in the afternoon, roads were sparsely occupied and Manu was accelerating his motorcycle with back bent forward, head down and occasional speed breaker speeding past under the wheels.
"Who am I"
"Who am I"
"Who am I"
he shouted and even the most self involved passerby noticed a freak. He zig zagged on the straight plush road, fiercely overtaking even those with exotic speedsters. Today the child owns him. He drove until he reached the biggest bookstore in the city- CROSSWORDS. He entered the shop in a jiffy with half tucked shirt, loose tie, shaky hair and open mouth. He was hungry of his ideal self. A female shop attendant who had received no flirty comments from fellow attendants for a while, watched him wander around the store. She decided to break her boredom, approached Manu and broached "Excuse me sir, you need any help?" Manu turned back, found a good looking girl giving him good looks. But his expressions didn't change. He wiped sweat off his forehead and said wearily with a dead face - "Oh yes, I need one Class Eighth Algebra book".