when the sun went down

He stood there at the gate

His arms stretched out

pink she blushed and out she ran

breaking the shackles

-the hesitant lass

He looked her in the eye

put his arms around,

The orange desert sun gleamed

on her pink face

She smiled like an angel

Of divine grace

The moon shone

on her pale white face

He left her behind

Until the sun

would go down again.

And so she waited everyday

For the day to close in, So he would come,

Until one bleak dusk

When the sun went down,

She stood at the gate

Lo behold!

for the old familiar

happy face

but he never came down

from the desert sun

Not even once

Not even at all

And my lips part his,

The tides leave behind,

A world of peace

Under the benign sky,

On a silent land,

Begins my lore,

Of war and love.

The tanks grunted,

The rifles roared,

The long twilight

faded into the night,

The moon shone

Through the fleecy clouds,

Sans love, Sans Remorse,

The lust for battle ,

took its own course.

One bleak day,

As tears leave my eyes

And the  sun fades out,

On a barren land,

Under the smoky clouds,

My lips part his

And he leaves me alone

To end my lore

Of Love and War.

Inspired by Xenia Simonov

Filter kaapi is an aromatic, addictive liquid concoction, that seldom resembles American coffee (Thanks to the abundance of freshly boiled aavin milk) prepared using conventional apparatus – read as without the electric coffee maker, using the coffee that is restricted only to the south-eastern part of the Indian subcontinent, ground as a coarse powder , popularly known as narasus kaapi (usually suffixed with bhesh bhesh romba nanna irukku) phew!

now, where was I ? yeah, It starts when you are five, the phenomenon of tempting the little kid with the aroma of this wonderful beverage , and suddenly one fine morning depriving the child of its taste because some local newspaper reporter suddenly thought he wanted to cut down on the sky high narasus kaapi price, for selfish reasons, and wrote an article that elucidates with reference to context, all the ill-effects of this elixir on children.

whatay   Jackass!

There was something good in it though, for children who are rebels, the legend of coffee addiction thus started. First you try the  dad, if you are a girl, and as for guys, of course mom works just fine. You start taking clandestine little sips from the respective parents’ coffee cups. sometimes it is hard to convince either of the parents thanks to the loving bondage that is called the wedding

seriously what is wrong with this world? Them and their love?!?! See, what you have done? the kid’s stranded without kaapi for god sakes?!

Grandparents. they are the best. They are too old to make complan for your sibling and boost for you.

The dislike for health drinks among siblings  is always complementary to one another. That is,  if you like complan, you cannot like Boost/bournvita and the likes and vice-versa. And in any given case of two siblings, both of them never like the same beverage.

So all you have to do is just show your liking for coffee, and there, you got yourself a lifetime of clandestine filter kaapi, and then there comes a day when it doesn’t have to be clandestine anymore . Yeah, the day when your parents become grandparents , and so it goes on.

Why do some idiots choose the same slot machine, to play for 20 more dollars when they just got 80 dollars from the poor little  machine,  and lose all 100 dollars?  May be they believe in luck so much that they don’t acknowledge the fact that there is Math  in the world. What can I say, Common Sense, of All things consequential and inconsequential, is the MOST uncommon.

I kinda feel playing cards is  a Sad people’s way of passing time, but then, I was happiest when I got 50 dollars from two American co-gamblers who pitched in for the miser that I was to play Black  Jack. Sad news folks, I knew I sucked and that is why I didnt put in the money …. ah what the hell, best Gambling memory ever. Yes! because these people don’t ask for the lost money back! Americans are awesome when it comes to Gambling.Don’t you think? As a side note, helps if you are a pretty chick.  Sometimes a nice looking guy would work too

When five people hit the Casino, the total money Lost is always equal to or greater than the total money gained . I’m pretty darn right coz why else you think there  are Casinos. Best way to deal with it, Gamble away as a gang and equally split the loss. Fun for everyone! Ok, may be to make it a little fairer,  the one who won the most can be allowed to break even.

For those who have never gambled before, I wanted to say get a life, But nah !! You should all Try it once, It is awesomeness  of course only  if you follow my Laws of gambling.

A million little stars  on a clear sky with  no cloud,
seen through the broken roof of an old bungalow,
lying on an old piano covered in a dusty white shroud.

An Old book  and  A cup of  hot coffee,
The sound of the rain water hitting the roof,
Ah! Feels like I have eaten a hundred million Toffees.

Disclaimer: What follows is a post which involves expression of hatred for the once awesome sport and the reason for it. I don’t intend to hurt anyone on any note.

I loved the sport. I really did, when there was one world cup once in four years and a couple of ODIs every year, I used to practically run from the bus stop, home listening to the Commentator, shout from inside the TV of all the houses on the way, making sure I’m not going to lose more than one over while I  executed this exciting sprint every afternoon during those times. Yet here I am, writing about how much I hate Cricket now.

The meaningless publicity, The bureaucracy, The cheerleaders.

Why for god sakes? There are enough people who enjoy the sport and watch it for the sport and not for the cheerleaders.Stop spoiling the macho sport that this is.

The irresponsible players who no longer have class, The drama.

Why would you slap someone?why the hell would you cry on TV? damn it!.

The advent of the celebrities who suddenly start loving the sport so much that they want to have something called the most stupid Indian Premiere league (IPL) , and then, Cricket became lame.

Lame to the extent that Mandira Bedi and her wardrobe of tattered little clothes became the presenter for something called the Twenty /Twenty world cup, which then became T Twenty,

what was that for?I gotta tell you “Not cool man, Not cool at all!

and all of a sudden all these gimmicks became so important, that the only reason cricket talk was in the air was for this and not for the love of the sport.

So now I’m one of those really frustrated once-upon-a-time-cricket-lovers, who cannot take it any more, and has started hating the word cricket and all the people who put status messages like “Tendlya Rocks!!!!” Get a life guys, Cricket is not the sport for us anymore.And I’m sad it is not!

Your wife is right! Cricket Sucks!!

One fine winter morning, when the street was not particularly crowded, the little boy dressed in his best clothes came running to see his master as usual, only to not find him. The florist beckoned the little boy and took him by his hand to give him something.The violin was left on the footsteps outside an abandoned little hut. There was a little braille note- he opened it. It was the notes for the new song he was supposed to learn, and someone had signed off saying “You are on you own…”. He felt the note with his little hand. Tears rolled down his cheeks, he took the violin trotted to the bazaar, where a couple of eager listeners waited, and started playing the violin, just like his master,only what he played was a mournful melancholy for it was the only way he was able to express his sorrow.

It was pitch dark and the three little yellow lamps on the dirty damp walls of the tunnel where simmering for want of a new tungsten. There was a puny little man  standing with a pile of messily cut wood just outside the tunnel, while he kept looking out for any sign of danger, from the wild world, Gripping his Axe tight as if ready to attack anyone near him.The train passed by and the night went by, the   next morning, a little Boy came by to take a last look at his Father and pick up the Axe. Life had to go on,  And so that night near the tunnel, there stood a Little boy with  a Lantern  and an Axe .

They were laid to rest under the orange sky, On the silent Land.Two people rose up into the sky and reached the huge wooden door in the middle of nowhere. One of them was a happy bearded man and the other a sad puny little man.They smiled at each other while they waited for the door to open.

She got ready to leave saying “Stay safe. Don’t forget to wear your shoes when you go out” I saw her leave and sat there thinking what I was going to do for the rest of the day while I longingly looked at kutti who was still tied, wishing he was free to take me somewhere around the country side.

It was boring and almost mid-morning. It was beautiful. The birds were chirping and the  squirrels were fighting for the cashew nuts strewn all over the  tiny not-so-symmetric bunch of stairs made of mountain rocks which take you down the hill to the narrow muddy road roofed by the thick green foliage preventing any kind of light from hitting the mud.

Maya came running once my grandma went out of sight, showing me something that was glimmering in the mild sun peeping out of the clouds.It was Kutti’s key. She was haughtily  grinning away to glory while she said “I stole it from grandma! what a dream come true” . Her voice set  a vibe of troubled pleasure. We slyly went near the beautiful white pony and Maya was just about to open it.The lock was little rusted and I bent down to help her open it up.

Suddenly kutti got a little restless and I heard some boots dashing  against the stone staircase. I turned back and I saw a couple of Cops walking up hurriedly.I asked them what the matter was and he questioned us and then all I did was flirt with the officer to get rid of him.Don’t really know if the officers were real or I was hallucinating or how they knew that we were up to some mischief.

Soon we opened up Kutti and I went to wear my shoes. There was something that pricked me inside the shoe. I put my hand in and took out a little rusted key. I took it out and smiled to myself.I had a familiar feeling,  that of troubled pleasure and I understood what Maya my little sister felt when she showed it to me, though it was for a completely different reason. My gran trusted me.

The alarm screamed. There was No white Pony, No staircase,No narrow road and No grandma.I had to get up get ready and get to work. The thought of this made me just lie down again and close my eyes and remember the beautiful countryside and the beautiful white Pony once again. I did it and It was Bliss indeed to have a perfect dream even when you know it can never come true.

A patch of green grass with little dew drops covered the leg of the yellow board. It was as if the grass was lovelorn but was still waiting for the sun to hug it with its bright smile. I was too bored staring at the lovelorn patch of grass and waiting for its beloved, which was mildly trying to make its presence felt. I left them behind to kiss and make up.

I followed the stream which seemed to be indomitably armed with persistence to reach somewhere; someplace bigger; some place where it can sit back and relax. I reached a slightly big river which was calmer than the stream.

A little boy was standing on a small rock and bathing an old elephant. He was lying on down lazily in the middle of the river.”Turn Gaja… I need to scrub your other ear … Now turn!!!” I heard him shout. The elephant slowly changed his position, so the little boy can do what he wanted. After the whole ritual he put lots of sacred ash on his forehead, tied the little bell around his neck and walked him slowly to the temple on the shore. I went behind them. The little boy turned to me handed a candy and said ” It is his Birthday Saab… he is as old as my Father ” and smiled. I took the candy and walked till the temple. Then I realized I had a train to catch, so I reluctantly walked back to the lonely bench below the yellow board. It was getting late. Someone who looked remotely like the station master came to me and said the train was not coming and it has been canceled because of some riots. I looked around to find the not- so- dirty lonely bench again, this time it wasn’t lonely. There was a couple sitting on it and from the looks of it seemed like they were having a deep emotional conversation. I was pretty sure they wouldn’t appreciate my presence around them so I started trotting along the stream.

I soon reached the river. There were a few of those catamarans. I sat on the shore leaning against one of them and watching the river flow down, the oars Romancing with the river and fighting with it, but they never stopped being together.

The day went by … and It was time for me to get ready for my travel once again. Most of the catamarans were shored and oars were kept away from the water. I went back to the abandoned bench. The grass was lovelorn again covered with tears of dew.

I suddenly happened to remember a verse by Wordsworth

To her fair works did Nature link
The human soul that through me ran;
And much it grieved my heart to think
What man has made of man

I Went in search of nature to forget the love I thought I lost. Like the oars that keep coming back to the water and like the sun that comes back to shine on the tiny blades of grass every dawn, It is going to come back to me. Hope springs eternal and  So does Love. And So I wait- Until I’m put to rest under the benign sky when night closes in on me forever.