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Showing posts from September, 2018

A Shifting Poem

When you say, You have got to be funny, that's when You actually start becoming funny. I mean the moment you say something is funny, it becomes funny. I mean funny itself is not a funny word. I mean confidence comes in funny ways. Like the time when mum thought I was throwing tantrum. But really, I was only throwing food around. My mother laughs at this now. But at that time, she stopped the cassette that played ‘ mai nikla o gaddi leke’ And listened to Jagjit Singh For the whole time I collected my tantrum. We ran 11 houses to get to the building where we are now And it will be really funny if you believed that 11 Were the only houses we shifted away from. The funny thing with houses is they do not shift. People do. And yet people say - We are moving houses. We were all watching Jagjit Singh on television, when mum said that her sadness level is not Jagjit Singh vala level and asked me to change the channel. She was the one holdi

On reaching the exit of C. Sec Metro Station

There is an AFC gate that one needs to find; there is a card or token that one needs to fumble for; there is wide space that looks inviting for a lesson in skating; there is a recharge machine that sits vacant most days; there is a chipped wall housing Delhi Metro poster girl that one acknowledges; there is an escalator that one takes; there is a five-step staircase that one waits on; there is a short walk– it is then, that one, really exits a Metro Station. My first metro visits are visits to the exits. It is only then, that I know, I have visited a new metro station. All metro exits are similar but once you reach a wrong exit gate, not the one you usually take, you kind of know how similar is a word which means different. As soon as you exit AFC gate, you might even start seeing signs of it. At Central Secretariat, this different terrain begins to show itself by how there is no recharge machine near Gate 4, or how the surveillance staff is lesser in number here; or how the wom

Tu chal ke toh dekh, peeche seat khali hogi

1:50 p.m.The sky above the rickshaws looked clear. The road from the back gate of  AUD  to Kashmere Gate Metro Station is one of those roads where you can see people walking in the middle of the road, carefree. This road is also where rickshaws ride on the sides. A large section of the road is taken up by parked cars of the shopkeepers (and builders) in this area. Like a great day, this day also started by noticing how high the sun stood and its brilliant heat. The class of Literary Journalism was taking a field trip and Delhi Metro was the field. The students stood at Gate no. 7 and little did they know that escalators were going to remind them of inertia that day. We were standing at the station’s entrance gate, near the entrance of ISBT bus terminal, a lot nearer to public toilets, beside a  paan peek  stained wall, under the hoarding which proclaimed Kejriwal’s mission and a mostly clean outside. It is this vivid and varied outside that makes me marvel at the inside tha

And the thunder said

The thunder said, “this trip will take a lifetime what are we going to do till then? just skip around? ask for homes? but from whom?”  Homes have for long been seen  as blues and whites. The last people on earth  were also the last people aiming at zero-word count,  but not quite achieving  the meaning of few words  and more sounds. The World was talked about every day. Every 8 minutes light is followed by another  & soon the THUNDER gets unseen, skipped, in the readings of light getting followed up. It still haunted Thunder  what will follow after the skipping gets noticed. When the thunder skips it takes sky for a surprise. . . . When the sky searches for a home, it only finds a sky.  Windows occasionally frame clouds – shifting in slowness, weaving white for every colour  that misses home, waving & thinking that Clouds Are Doubts! As we catch rain in palms. Maybe we are drinking confusion. An