Saturday, June 25, 2011

:: MONSOON DIARIES #1 :: Sudden Cloudburst ::

And another season sets in,
Spreading through the haphazard maze
Of stone,brick,concrete and life,
And the usual rush of hopes
And scattered dreams
Sheltered from the dusty sun.

The melting bricks find solace
In the sudden rain of the afternoon,
Pouring in through the gaps
In the canopied sky,
Crowded with tower after tower,
All vying to reach the daystar.

Somewhere down across the labyrinthine road,
Someone throws the window open,
Taking in the smell of dust and rain
Wafting in through the rusted grills,
Setting the air free
From the shackles of monotony.

And in the lane opposite,
The distraught lad
Finds alleviation in the dusty guitar,
Not strummed since
He had finally come to face the world,
And realize its potential.

In a city where discord is the only harmony,
Similar smiles of ease
Spreads across the convoluted
Works of iron-
All together,all alike,
All in a similar sense of relief.

The sudden deluge
Surprises the grime coated foliage,
Washing them off
To the rich emerald and bich hue;
All looking up in a silent prayer
Of whispered thanking to Tlaloc and Chaac.

The strange mechanical humming
Of the monstrous growth of metal and bricks
Suddenly seems amputed
By the congruous sound of every single
Drop of rain
Striking the black air of the city.

But then all suddenly break out of the reverie,
And abstract technicolour dreams
And are back to stacks of files to be transfered,
Open trigonometry text-books,
Whistles of the pressure cooker in the background,
And the din of metal hitting metal.

And I still search in absolute vain
For verses to pen and words to explain.

26TH JULY, 2011

Friday, June 10, 2011


I was jolted back into reality from my dreamland as the howling wind gathered speed. The sky was a strange violetish blue, with interspersed hues of orange and gray. Weirdly, I could never understand if it was cloudy during the night. All I could make out were patches of purple, blue, gray and the in-betweens. Now, which part was the cloud and which wasn’t was beyond my comprehension. I looked at the space in front of me – two thick volumes of The History of English literature by David Daiches, a stack of half written, doodled in and almost illegible notes on metaphysical poetry, my cellular phone and an open copy with just two lines on it –
                        I look up at the open skies
                         I feel your twinkling eyes
I couldn’t remember if I had given it up as a bad job or had just fallen asleep like that. It was three in the morning. Not the best of times to tax your gray matter. I would attempt finishing that on the next day I guessed. What was more important was that I had missed four precious study hours just a day before the Honours examination. Since the rest of the year was spent on Facebook, Youtube, with the guitar and in pursuit of happiness, these few days before the exam were absolutely crucial.. I pulled the notes stack closer and stared at it for two minutes owlishly. No, it definitely was not making any sense. My English teacher was probably reading more into it than the poet had intended to express. I could not concentrate. The shrieking wind did not exactly help my cause either. I got up to drink some water and freshen myself. On the way, I checked on my mother sleeping peacefully and my pet kitten curled up at the corner of the bed. No exams in their life. What bliss. When I got back to my study, the strong smell of rain on dry earth caught me unawares. It was much too strong. I inhaled deeply taking in the scent. What was this called again? I Googled on my phone and Wikipedia came up with the word Petrichor. Who cared anyway. Nonetheless, I scribbled  it down at a corner of the copy.
Thick broad raindrops invaded my table. I hastily swept the books aside. This weather was definitely not meant for any kind of studies. I took up the copy and went through the two lines. Nah! It sounded too corny; almost like a punk pop song. I suddenly imagined a certain blonde girl jumping on the stage, mic in hand, in weird punk attire and gothic eye makeup and singing those to lines. Definitely not the best of inspirations to carry on the lyrics. I thought of scratching it out. But somehow I could not. I left some blank space and started all over again –
                        The raindrops invade my room,
They fall on the pages strewn,
I think it is weird,
But they lighten up the gloom.

Erasing every thought
Of the memories I’ve sought,
Maybe all those golden times
Were indeed flawed.

Because they drench me,
Dissolves the memory,
‘Cause they lock up the door
And melts away the key.”

A fat raindrop pattered straight onto my copy. It fell on the word ‘thought’. The word turned a light gray, almost bloated. And then another tiny drop fell on top of it. The impact dissolved the ‘oug’ of the word and droplets splashed right on trop of ‘memories’ and ‘times’. Another drop. ‘times’ was eliminated. Some splashes later, ‘gloom’, ‘door’ and ‘key’ dissolved. But the drop on ‘memories’ was still undisturbed. If it stopped raining, the paper would dry up and the memories would turn back to being normal gain. Panic seized me. I pushed the copy closer to the window. But not a drop more on ‘memories’. It was time for desperate measure. I took a pencil and swirled the drop on ‘memories’. That did the trick. I had accomplished what nature could not. The black ink swirled in the water and turned into a dirty mess. I sat back and smiled to myself. I had done it. The next moment, I felt utterly stupid. I had spent the last ten minutes writing the lines and the next fifteen in washing it away. Was I even normal? I wondered if I should laugh or cuss. I didn’t do either. I just patiently took out a fresh sheet of paper and wrote down the lines again from memory. And then added one last verse –

                        The raindrops try as they might,
                           They just couldn’t ignite,
                           Me and my weird wonderings