time travellingAfter several years
I wore a wrist watch
Now everytime i glance
towards my wrist
i am transported
to my days at school,
when wearing a watch
was a mark of growing up
same as having a moustache
Like unofficial badges of manhood

Now everytime I glance
towards my wrist
I travel time.

There is a crazy rush of
thoughts running from
the beginning of a memory to
It’s end
Running from one end to another
Criss-crossing each other
Rubbing each other
Generating so much friction
Elbowing each other
Hurting me with their entangled inelastic mess
About to tear apart the highways of my brain

They have picked up so much dust
The heat from their friction is picking up a storm
It’s heavy,
It’s so foggy
The pain is slowing me down
The heaviness is pulling me down
I am going down.

Through this fog all I could see
Are these fast moving lights
Blinding white and bloody red

My brain inside is so heavy
It is now dragging to a halt
It is caving in
It is stretching its hands out
To hold on to one of those
white fairies that seem ever so light
that they just fly past me

I am tilting to one side
There is so much weight and
it’s so foggy
I can’t see anymore
I can’t stand anymore
I just want to hold on
to one of those white fairies
Only they seem to be like something
That can drag me out of this pit

My hands are so heavy
It is so close to them, yet so far
My vision is slowly fading away
as it just about manages to hold on
to one of the white fairies flying by
And everything just suddenly
becomes so bright for a moment
and then finally silence.
No rush, no criss-crossing
no friction.

anisha_collageIt hasn’t been too long
But some time
I realised that this feeling of love
has been more of a fascination
than an emotion

You too, fascinated me
with your innocent smile
your southern accent, and
the perfect Patiala you wore that day
You fascinated me with your stories
of growing up, and
your zeal to break the norms
To one day be your own master

But fascination is not love
and I realised it when you would
forget your key at home or
leave the light on

The fascination faded away
when I would arrange and
you would scatter

But as fascination faded away,
I found love

I found love
in the ease of your smile
the innocence in your eyes
the honesty in those cries
in the emotion behind that postcard
in the trust of your embrace
in the absolute joy I could see in you
when you broke into a dance
knowing, we were getting the house painted

So this struggle of mine, to make your portrait
I realise, the fault is all mine
I need to get better in drawing
I’ve got to try a little harder
not be complacent but
humble, rather.


They told us
that it was the golden peacock
They told this to possibly everyone
before and after me.

And we,
as naive as the kids we were,
we believed a lie.

But then they like
to talk in metaphors
in a land still largely uneducated
Giving people hope to strive for
Something that is, in literal terms, impossible.

Looking back,
it seems like an amazing plot
for making a country full of people
believe in a fairytale-like history
and a hope for the future
that is non-existent.

Just like religions
that have made epics out of stories
and mindless zombies
out of human beings
who are supposed to have evolved thinking.

Reading the newspaper everyday
shows me no signs of any peacock made of gold
Rather a nation
decaying due to neglect,
political and social corruption and
widespread apathy among it’s own people
towards making it a better place
for their own self.

A peacock diseased
in every part of it’s body
Kept alive by sheer chance
and a few good deeds

A peacock, they should have said, made of sand
that has no skeleton
no strong bond that can
keep it together
when the waves roll in
or the wind howls

Blowing away particle by particle
like the hopes of it’s masses
A good metaphor, instead of the golden lie, for the generation today.