The Naked and the Nude.

 “Let artistry be spread around! Let it begin with me!”

  

O’ see her before the sun

or before the vapours of scented candles!

She isn’t the naked, she is the nude.

She isn’t the same as the lexicographers construed.

As synonyms they express,

the deficiency of dress.

Yet, they stand so wide apart, as,

love from lies, as truth from art!

The naked which often compete

against the nude may know defeat.

She’s beauteous, appealing, elegant and dainty.

In all what she reveals, she hides more than that.

She may be unclad, but she is not unveiled.

She’s threadbare without clothes,

 yet she’s eclipsed with beauty and art!

O’ see her in the showers of light rainfall,

or beneath the tune of a country symphony.

She’s the epitome of loveliness and refinement.

Her denude divulges her pulchritude,

her naturalness concedes her elegance.

Nudity, she wears like a uniform of the other side,

nudity, she wears, like a shroud!

She represents innocence, she’s candid and credulous.

She is the cupids own nude child!

She is avert to masks that disguise her beauty,

suffocated by the shrouds of artificiality and fabric!

She is liberalised and spirited,

free from garbs that disguise!

She has often wondered, how,

her true beauty be revealed if it’s cloaked

in appearances?

Corrupted bodies are concealed, she knows!

She is the epitome of common humanity,

symbolising care, healing and wholeness.

She isn’t a woman, who is self consistently hidden,

in dreary shadows of doleful doubt!

As she convenes on her round bound curvy hips

with her slender arms,

covering her breast’s convexly round

so sound,

over her convexly curved legs.

As her two naked limbs cross each other

and her hair like a spring of black Halloween waters

cascade smoothly on to her arms,

she poses a pacific poise

projecting a sense of equilibrium and tranquillity!

Her expression of her ethereality reflects

in the shine of her face, the flow of her walk

in the flex of her waist and the carriage of her neck!

Behold her female form,

the divine nimbus that exhales from it from head to foot,

attracts with fierce undeniable attraction!

She draws me by her breath,

as if no more than a helpless vapor, I were!

All falls aside but myself and her!

What’s expected of heaven or feared of hell, are all consumed.

The cosmos falls in place!

But what goes into you when you see her, boy?

I can see, your lust is crude,

utterly blind to natures pure!

You want her to hold you; your lust just sold you!

Her nudeness spells sex to your illiterate heart,

as your offending thickness to take her goes strong!

Don’t you know it’s wrong? You should’ve been gone!

She isn’t an object, she is an art.

Appreciating her is a mutual conquest

betwixt your mind and the heart.

Look beyond the skin, seek the truth!

Beyond definitions, cross par imageries.

What do you see in her naked? Her anatomy!

And in naked shines the Goddess,

When she mounts her lion among men??

She may not be the Venus de Milo chiselled from marble

and carefully pedestal placed!

She may not have bled in the battles of the Atlantic!

Her name is not Eve; she has no temptation to offer!

She isn’t your mistress by the night,

converted to a rotten memory by the day!

She isn’t the milk you thirst for,

which is now dried in your mother’s breasts!

She isn’t a slave to promises scribbled in ink,

when there isn’t a master.

She is only a woman,

glorified for being a woman!

When you lay sleeping in her womb,

you called her no name!

She is that she is- the mother of the cosmos

humanity: her child!

She is the nucleus of which

A man is born!

As I see my soul reflected in Nature,
As I see through a mist, one with inexpressible completeness,
sanity and beauty,
See the bent head and arms folded over the breast

It is an angel I see.

The Known Unknown.

“Smile at a stranger. See what wonder happens!”

“Aren’t you scared to meet me?” Said he

“Not at all!” said she.

“Not?” Questioned the bizarre he

“Why should I?” Interjected back, the innocent she!

"Weren’t you nervous in the start?" She never was.

"I could be anyone!" She knew he wasn’t.

"How?" Perturbed he was.

"Just!" Sure she was.

A stranger, you may be,

however not stranger than a fiction

A stranger you may be, but the truth you are.

Are you even a stranger or you just pretend to be?

As you sit in front of me,

some 15 inches away, your eyes and mine they fix!

Your eyes are brown, eyes never lie

they are steadfast in their gaze!

Your shirt is black, it doesn’t cringe much, I see

as your shoulders shift their orientation!

As I speak an infinite deal of nothing,

you sit only to listen!

I am a river of deep waters inside me.

You can negotiate my breath,

And swim to cross me across me.

But you can never rip me apart

Why will you harm me?

Why should you?

What do you need to harm me? Am I providing you any?

No slight of annoyance, no trace of provocation

No fuel made of ire, no little instigations!

You’ve breathed the same air as I have,

and soaked in the golden sun as me!

When it rained, like me you danced in it,

and when the wind blew loud, like me you took covers!

How then, can you be different from me, oh stranger?

You may not be my blood,

but aren’t our blood constituents the same?

 A human, you are, just like me.

Do you not have human eyes that see?

You have hands to span and grasp your greed,

organs that thump to live!

Senses to prove you are alive as me,

 affections to show, you care!

Passions that indignate, satisfactions that vindicate!

With the same food, we are fed.

With the same weapons, we are hurt.

Subject to the same disease and healed by the same means

The same sun shall warm you and the same ice can cool.

If you are pricked, you’ll bleed! So shall I!

If I am tickled, I’ll laugh! So will you!

If you are poisoned, you’ll die! So shall I!

And if you wrong me, I’ll revenge! So will you!

Won’t you? Won’t I?

And still you remain a stranger?

For me you are not, a friend you are!

Your fingers are lean, they often not cringe!

Your gaze is stead, it doesn’t lie!

“You are nice!” said she

“Nice?” said he

“How big is the universe?” queried she

“Infinite!” answered the confused he

“Have you seen it?” probed she

“I believe it.” Confirmed he

“It’s the same with your niceness.” Smiled she!

I rose up this morning and thought of you in subsequence, for

your paleness moved me anymore than your eloquence

Thence, you I chose to see, joy was the consequence!

Sweet Surrender.

“When she surrendered and actually gave in she realised,

‘why was she resisting it in the first place?!?’”

That evening when the atmosphere outside was windy,

but my mood was warm!

When the semblance of the neighbourhood was no more a concern.

Next to her I sat, to fall in love with her!

Towards the infinite ulterior I looked,

as did she, towards the everlasting yonder!

Was she speculating the same as I was, I wondered?

Irrespective of the parallax, our vision had!

To her, then, I said

that it shall find its way, through gaps and crevices.

Seep its way through closed windows and pleated curtains,

through narrow gaps between the door and the walls!

Consequently through little fissures and closed apertures.

Through eyelids squeezed shut and pressed in tight.

Whether you will or not

light will find its way, into the darkness behind your eyes.

With eyeballs rolling in utter amazement,

she turned to me in marvel and exclaimed,

‘Like light like love!’

If it has to, it shall arrive in all closeness and detention!

That day, to elucidate  love,

Her words lost their way in hidden mazes.

She told me, how unruly were they,

to not be falling in place!

I remember it was then I fell for her.

To me she was exotic, to her I was an alien!

Such a mad paroxysm love for strangers

is not lucid, they said then.

But like a lump in my throat, love sat

as twilight thickened around me like a sweater.

Swathed in its warm security and temperate protection,

in such rare, fleeting moments

I dared to love.

I turned to her then, to hang on to a kiss.

To taste the light of her soul,

that beamed through her glittering eyes,

as the nights melted away,

like aftertaste in her mouth!

Alas! She turned to me and said,

“My eyes are stars!

They can only twinkle.

Forgive my up-curving lips.

They can only smile...”

Suddenly then, in a way of sweet surrender,

she pressed her lips against mine

and added, “...and kiss!”

As darkness fell like a curtain

to enwrap their love eternally!

Once people said, “You are mad!”

She said, “of course not!”

But when she fell on her face in love, all her mad rants became her song!

Kodak Massacre.

“Look a little, look at me.”

Look at her feet, so fair and fine.

Negotiated in the ventral, with a mischievous curve,

forming a soft crescent at the soul!

Her feet’s hunchy dorsal, fastened, with the thin straps

 of her fuchsia hued slippers striped in white.

In utter sprit and spurt,

she slipped them in so quickly, abruptly!

 As today, out of her home, you called her out

under the golden sun peeping from the north-western horizon

on to the greenish yellow playfield.

Some three years ago,

When the night wasn’t so dark, because the moon was high

and the heavens were illuminated by the astral lights.

The souls of her little feet walked all over you!

It was then; you had surrendered your senses,

to her cinnamon hued hair and,

the vain-glorious scent of lavender she wore!

You skinned your heart and you fell for her

as her amber eyeballs walked all over you!

What in your strength could you do then, say?

But google back at those shining doe eyes

in what you called mesmerisation, enthrallment!

And she, dumbness, numbness and everything alike!

 Before you know it, with all her authority,

swaying in her might gait, she walked over you!

Look at those feet now,

They remain no more little like a doll!

As on them today stands a whole of a woman, ho!

She’ll smile at you and peek at you,

just to play snoop, she’ll squint at you.

But she’s your government and she isn’t democratic!

She’s the czarina of her own fascist state!

What choice you say, you have?

But surrender unto her imperial jurisdiction!

Because with ascetic commands of her own sovereign,

she walks over you!

A hell of a woman, she is!

But she lets you call her ‘your own’!

Look, it isn’t the camera she’s looking at!

It’s that one eye, right behind the viewfinder she’s reviewing.

As against the rosy wind, with her right foot forward,

crossing over her left.

Progressing her walk, her left foot in subsequence.

Like a breeze she walks against the wind

like a baby, she smirks at the box camera!

But with love in her eyes, she looks

towards the man holding the camera...

To the only man she ever loved!

He’s you!

And suddenly, while she was frown-smiling at you,

the camera shutter was pressed!

For eternity and more, the instance was captured.

Who had known, it would prove to be a Kodak moment,

saved on a 35mm, the lassie she!

Worthy of a poetic alibi!

Till later yet, she continued looking at you in languish

for you, to turn to where her lips were,

and claim her with a loving kiss!

Caffeine Moments.

“A lot can happen over coffee..”

Across the diametrical ends they sat,
on a table that owned a dyad of drinks.
Hers, a cup of Grande latte, his, a glass of Irish espresso!
As lean and shaped and tall, her frame,
like the glass of coffee which every 25 seconds, touched his lips.
Black and inky his charcoal hued pullover. the dye of it, deeper than the night.
Which matched the pigment of her onyx eyes!
In them, for minutes together, he couldn’t surrender to gaze..
But she, not in an erstwhile, could concentrate the courage to caste an eye in his eye!
The soul of her feet was up the ground, freezing, unfreezing in pronounced anxiety.
Putting her weight on the toes, where the fingers of her feet were in tense pandemonium!
Off her, his eyes never rambled to the wild blue yonder,
where all his dreams were really born!

In their hesitant cerebral conversation, occurred a whimsical interlude..
when to sip his espresso he took a period,
and she attempted a dare to look up into him,
while blowing the froth of her Grande coffee,
which to him looked passionately whipped,
but to her, psychotically!

Alas then, when the rim of the glass had just nudged his lips,
he looked up at her, looking at him!
The meat of her convexly curved legs contracted in her nervous wreck.
Fidgety, fluttery and jittery felt she...
He could see, the supposed windows to her heart were open,
she posed, like they were inadvertently shut!
For her eyes then, drew a screen so sheer,
impenetrable by his piercing gaze,
which had Herculean of a time puncturing it!
Her thoughts, they whizzed past the moment,
and shot into recursive loops in a maze,
only to fall back upon themselves and tie kinks and knots,
and untie up once again...

She could see he was still contemplating her.
Yet, she was endlessly spinning a warped web of thoughts
not of introspection or self defence.
Only an absurd chain reaction that started so basically
of gazing and not gazing in continuation.
Perhaps it was the way, he lifted his glass
or the heart shaped pattern of froth in her coffee!
Her mind, they filled with associations and dissociations
of haphazard thought trial, which even she did not conjecture!
Just random, inconsequential images,
promiscuous, contingent in nature,
yet colourful and abstract!!

Her eyes and his,
they couldn’t help but doodle thoughts in their head!
Tedious, annoying and often incomprehensible scribbles,
which every split second they cropped up!

And finally he gave up and sipped his coffee..
and so did she!

Without you, Mum.

“....I gave my first university exam!”

That night, in full, I could not sleep,
as I yearned for those days, which seemed like a ‘once upon a time...’
Where were you, to cuddle me and cosy me inside my blanket,
look into me lovingly and say,
‘See, you’ve studied all! Why should you be tensed?
There is no need to worry, child!’?
Those days I remembered when you snuggled me in velvet
and kissed me goodnight and good luck.
No more, I was a bug in a rug, cold and incomplete I was,
without you, mum.

Next morning, I hadn’t a choice when the alarm rang,
to rise up from the bed and freshen up.
Because, I knew, there was no you,
to come and kiss me on the forehead and say,
‘Wake up, child. You had said that you’d lessons to revise.’
And then I would crank up my face and beg,
‘Please let me sleep, mum, I’ve revised all.’
You could see, it was a lie, through and through, and
like a snooze button of my alarm, return five minutes later.
That morning, no more, I was woken up with love.
Tormented and tease with the alarm, I was,
without you mum.

Where were you, to run around me,
with mayonnaise sandwiches with grated onion and ketchup
on a platter, early in the morning?
You had made sure; you cooked what I liked to eat,
though you told me, too much mayonnaise wasn’t good.
Because, it was my exam
and you didn’t want to upset me with food
That was ‘good for health’ and I detested!
This morning, for breakfast, still, I went to the mess,
for I knew, I’d upset you, if I left it.
I remember, you always gave up on everything,
on the day of my exam, to make sure, I ate well.
The mess food didn’t taste well, vinegary and sour, it tasted
without you mum.

That morning, I remember, no one there was,
to give me a bottle of water and some candies.
I missed you, mum, then,
when I went to the water cooler to fill my bottle
and tore a pack of melody candies,
and stuffed a handful in my pocket.
I could hear you saying,
‘Eat a candy and drink water, if you think your head starts aching.
You’ve too much to write, don’t you!’
Then, hardly had I thought that was important
and only took it from you,
knowing that you’d insist too much if I denied.
Today, I did it myself, cause deep down there,
no matter how much nonsensical a teen I may be,
I know, you are right!
That morning, unaided and unassisted, I felt,
without you mum.

For prayer, I couldn’t light the incense stick that morning
in a single go, like you always did.
I missed you then.
Instead of praying for my exams I prayed god
to send you back to me.
Because, I knew, you’d be praying for my exam already.
I spent 5 matchsticks to light the incense stick,
without you mum.

For those days, I long,
when you kissed me goodnight and kissed me good morning.
When you made my favourite dish for breakfast
and ran after me, so that I’d eat it all.
You would pack my lunch and slip it in my bag
and remind me to carry a water bottle and candies.
When you would not let me leave the house without praying
and wish me luck a 10 times over.
When you would assure that’ll do my exam well
And I was a wise and intelligent girl.
But what I was, I am nothing today,
without you mum.

Realising that you’ve always been the master of every task,
you are my dependable source of comfort.
Yearning for the times when you supported me when I called
and you were a cushion for me to fall.

That morning, it hurt me a lot when,
without you mum,

I gave my first university exam!

A harmless Enigma.

"In the quest to discover the underlying truth in you."

The lion king’s jigsaw puzzle,
which your 5 year old daughter plays during the long and sunny Sunday afternoons,
that’s what you are!
Only knowing yourself, where each piece rightly fits in.
Giving clues, but never giving in!

You are the single drop of rain,
which falls last on the purple petal of casuarinas.
when the grass is green and the sky is grey.
That’s what you are!
Only knowing yourself, from where you have come.
Giving water, but never giving in!

You are a single ray of light,
which enters my room through the open windows.
and falls first on my eyes and kisses me.
That’s what you are!
Only knowing yourself, when you left the sun.
Giving warmth and light, but never giving in!

You are a single stream of river,
rippling at some places, gushing at another.
That’s what you are!
Only knowing yourself, when you will change course.
Giving water, but never giving in!

The golden fruit,
which is borne too high, inaccessible to the world,
which hangs freely in the air by the wooden brown branch,
that’s what you are!
Only knowing yourself, when you’ll ripen and fall.
Giving sweetness and saccharine, but never giving in!

You are the bright red rose,
Planted in abundance both in the garden of love and hate,
for its fragrance and thorns.
That’s what you are!
Only knowing yourself, the nectar inside you.
Giving honey, but never giving in!

You are the smoke,
Emerging out when I blow my cigar, each time I puff.
That’s what you are!
Only knowing yourself, how lofty you will rise.
Giving me the high, the kick, never giving in!

You are unique, that’s what you are!
I wish, I was too..

Stairway to Heaven.

"When you're out walking one day and you feel a certain presence beside you... that will be me, loving you, wherever I am."

Dear Jude,

I don’t know how to start this letter because I am not sure, how you will take it on when you read it. I am not even sure, if I’ll be able to live through this letter of mine to you and if you will be able to take it furthermore after a point in this script. Anyway...

It’s late at night now, 2:15pm as I can feebly figure out from the grey wall clock hanging on the opposite wall. I am lying awake watching you sleep so peacefully by my side here. It feels good to hear you breathe so calmly.

Jude, I’ve had the best time of my life with you and I’ve loved every moment of it. In the truest of words, you had illuminated my dusk and dawns and made brighter my days. For all those times you stood by me like a rock, for all the times you made me see the truth, for all the wrongs that you made right, for every dream that you made come true, for all the joy that you brought into my life, for all the love that I found in you, I’ll be forever thankful to you. I’ve no words to make you feel that you’ve been the tender wind that carried me. You have been a light in the dark, shining your love into my life.

But today, as I write this letter, I need to tell you something. I know, all you’ve heard from me is a lot of crap stuff and junk and I am sorry for that. And what I am going to say now will be hard to hear, and I am sorry for that too. Jude, I am grateful to you for each day that you had given to me. My world was made a better place to live because you were in it. But I’m afraid, I will live no more. I haven’t ever told you, I have been a patient of blood cancer. The doctors have called it ‘Multiple Myeloma’. You know I’ve been a good girl at school. I remember sitting in the front row in every dance function, every oboe recital and I cheered with my friends. I sat in the front row of my every graduation class. I have always been the first one on my feet and the loudest one in the crowd. And for the first time in my life, I am feeling defeated. OK, so you’ve had wine, red and white and beer and whiskey and cigarettes in life, which is awful and you know it. And I know, you only smoke rare, on occasions and only when you feel troubled, like now. But please don’t do that. It harms lungs and makes them black.

Initially when I started to be with you, I had a lot of reasons to walk away. Some of the reasons of not seeing your side were-
1. on going physical danger. You would have more of beer in your blood than water. 2. High likely hood of a broken heart. 3. Uh, career sabotage. 4. You seemed clinically insane. 5. You seemed to enjoy my pain. 6. I hadn’t even kissed you. 7. You were ruining your life. 8. I would ruin a perfect friendship by romancing. So, I thought, if I looked up your blood type and it was the wrong one- if it would’ve been an Rh –ve, that would be it. Then I could just stop thinking about you, without the slightest scope, physically, mentally and biologically too. But I had just one reason to stay- I was in love with you. That was really it. One reason but concrete enough. That’s how it is- when something begins, we hardly do have an idea about how it is going to end. The house you're going to sell becomes your home, the roommate you are forced to take in become your family and the guy you randomly spoke over the phone and the one you were determined to forget becomes the love of your life. You have seen how it has all happened.

As I live through my last few hours, I am avoiding a circumstance when there is no second chance. It's to tell you how much you move me, how you have changed me. You made me a lady, by loving me Jude. And for that, I am eternally grateful... literally. If you can promise me anything, promise me that whenever you're sad, or unsure, or you lose complete faith, that you'll try to see yourself through my eyes. Thank you for the honour of being my love. I'm a girl with no regrets. How lucky am I to have had you. You made my life. I want to tell you that you’ve been every possible thing that made me go on. I’m sad that unlike all the time when I was weak, you won’t be able to provide me the strength to live any longer. I am being uprooted off this world, Jude, but all I am saying is please, be at your very best.

I'm so deeply sorry for every time that I ever hurt you, or disappointed you, or let you down. No, it’s not the sorry said straight from my playground days. Like remember the times I told you that when I was little and I would accidentally bite a kid on the playground? My teacher would tell me "Say you're sorry." And I would say it, but I wouldn't mean it because the stupid kid I bit totally deserved it. But I know that making amends this time is not that simple. Saying that I am sorry perhaps won’t cut it. But I am not just saying it, I mean it. I may not deserve your forgiveness, but I hope, I so hope, that somewhere in our time together, I had taken the opportunity to earn it.

Sometimes I wish to forget this giant tumor so that I could talk to you again, laugh with you again, even if that means for a minute. You know how I had made plans to die in your arms like the way it happens in fairy tales. But I am scared! You know what of? I am scared of everything now. I am scared to move, I am scared to breathe, and I am scared to touch you. I can’t lose you. I won’t survive. You made me love you; you made me let you in and then I am in a situation where I don’t have the heart to die in your arms. But may be God has bigger plans for me than the ones I have for myself. Like this journey never ends, like you were sent to me because I'm sick, to help me through all this. You're my angel.

In this world, I won’t be able to speak no more, so be my voice. I won’t be able to see no more, so be my eyes and be my breath, I will not be able to live no more. I am reminded of all the times you gave me wings and made me fly. You touched my hand and I could touch the sky. Every time I had lost faith, you’d given it back to me. You stood by me, I stood tall. Thanks a lot for telling me, there was no star up there that wasn’t out of reach. You were my respiration, my only inspiration.

I was on to become a lawyer. I had a purpose. I wanted to spread justice. Now I don’t have the chance. Now I won’t get the chance to do anything anymore, but you do. You could go to a management school after you’ve over with navy. You could hang out with your friends and party. Go! Do something great with your life, because you have one. You will live but I wont! And I know that feels horrible and shocking and terrifying but that’s how it rolls.

I attended my last English class yesterday morning and I flipped over the dictionary meaning of ‘grief’. It defines grief as keen mental suffering or distress over affliction or loss; sharp sorrow; painful regret. As lawyers, as managers, we're taught to learn from and rely on books, on definitions, on definitives. But in life, strict definitions rarely apply. In life, grief can look like a lot of things that bear little resemblance to sharp sorrow.

It isn’t just death we have to grieve. It’s life, its loss, its change. It’s a thing we all have in common, but it looks so freaking different on each of us and it comes in its own time for everyone, in its own way. But the worst part of grief is that you can’t control it. So the best you can do it try to feel when it comes, and let it go when we can. And that happens when the five stages of grief have past- denial, anger, bargaining, depression and finally acceptance.

I have had my part of denial. I’ve gone into denial because the loss was so unthinkable I could not imagine it's true. I have had my part of anger- I was angry with everyone, angry with survivors, angry with myself. Then I bargained, with life, with god. I begged, I pleaded. I offered everything I had, I offered my soul in exchange for just one more day. Then the bargaining failed and the anger was too hard to maintain, I was depressed, despaired, until finally I accepted that I've done everything I could. I let go. I let go and moved into acceptance- Acceptance of not the fact that I was not going to stay but of the fact that there would be no more of you.

Don’t think why loss of a loved one has to suck so much, has to hurt so bad. But that’s how you come to know that you are alive- when it hurts so much you can’t breathe and you try to figure out a day in future when it somehow, possibly, impossibly won’t feel this way. That you won’t feel this hurt again. But Jude, there is always a way when things look like there is no way. There is always a way to do the impossible. That’s what you and I have in common, isn’t it? We are inspired. In the face of the impossible, we have been inspired.

After I am gone, I want you live in a world of constant progress and forward motion. You know how the world is- stand still for a second and you are left behind. I want you to invest in life wisely. They say the bigger your investment, the bigger your return. But you have to be willing to take a chance. You have to understand, you might lose it all. But if you take that chance, if you invest wisely the pay off might just surprise you.

I want you to live for the moment and not worry much about the past or the future. In life every minute is a borrowed time. We spend our whole lives worrying about the future, planning for the future, trying to predict the future, as if figuring it out will cushion the blow. But the future is always changing. The future is the home of our deepest fears and wildest hopes. Realize, your life is happening now. Not after your naval school, not after residency but right now. This is it. It's here. Blink and you'll miss it. Live every moment of it.

I’ll be gone, so just let go off the past. Besides, for most part, we really don’t live in a physical world that we can touch or see. It’s essentially the world that we create in our minds. When there has been so much love and happiness for someone, it is natural to be reluctant to close such a wonderful chapter in our lives, for moving forward is rarely accomplished without considerable grief and sadness. And while your sorrow may be profound, the clouds will clear, and the sun will shine on you again. And in that warm, bright light you will find yourself facing a glorious future. A future of exciting challenges and infinite possibilities, in which the horizon will stretch out before you, trimmed in the heavenly glow of the sunrise of your tomorrow.

So as I write this almost last paragraph of my life to you, there is only one thing left to tell you. No, it would not be about how terrific I feel about leaving this world or that you have been my life. It’s to tell you that I'm just one chapter in yours. There'll be more. I promise. So here it comes, the big one. Don't be afraid to fall in love again. I’ll be watching over you from up there and when one day, when you will, I’ll be the happiest amongst the angels. I’ll feel that I’ve really, sincerely taught you how to love- to give love and accept love. Watch out for that signal, when life as you know it ends

I want you to go hard and go strong. I want you to LIVE. All of us have a story to ourselves. We have to stay alive, because we have to see how the story ends. I wish you a story with a happy ending... and the wisdom to look for it.

I am not here in this world with you while you read this but it’s not because I don’t love you, it’s because I do. Its not because I don’t miss you, it’s because I miss you already. It just means that the story of our true love isn’t over yet. Together or apart, you’ll be the only man of my life. I’ve been blessed because I was loved by you.

Much love-
Iris.

Of Pink Nailpolish and Life.

"More than just a pink nail color.."

Like the tiny little drop of pink nail paint,

hanging onto the tip of its bottle’s brush,

is the individualism of something called life-
sensitive, juvenile, tense and precarious!

Like a woman of appearance and vogue, handle it!
Govern life torrid but treat it temperate.
Look however she holds-
a bottle of her favourite pink nail colour between her fingers,
gentle of touch, but firm of grip!

Look how deep the woman with the vial of her nail paint
before application, submerges her brush inside it.
Up till the neck of the whisker it goes, till the deepest it can get.
And when the brush exits,
out, the bottle’s nozzle-
it’s nauseating with colour, dripping with chrome.
spitting out pigment if not handled with care!

Life is in itself a colour.
The more u immerse in it the happier it gets.
It isn’t just about breathing, prevailing, enduring.
Its more of indulgence, a lot of pamper.
Prosper in happiness, in joy, in glee.
Elate yourself in life’s hue and colour,
exhilarate yourself, in life’s chrome and odour.

Like the gentle strokes she gives,
with the brush on to her nail,
unto perfection
is what life too demands of us.
She fondles her nail and she soothes her nail.
and she strokes the whiskers onto her nail.
Not just once or twice,
thrice sometimes, or may be four.
But she’s cautious to not let her pink nail paint dry
Every stroke is a better try.
She goes on to do the edges just fine.
And polishes her nail, till every stroke rhymes.
She’s attaining completion; she’s looking for precision,
she won’t quit until she’s gained perfection.


Must we polish ourselves, with every moment that passes by.
Try over and try again,
until its excellence we reach!
There is always a next stroke left,
to make ourselves smoother, better.
But before the polish of our lives go dry,
must we catch on time, on space,
striving for betterment, for life’s enhancement.

And then, she sits back,
and lets dry her pink paint- patiently, collectedly.
Cautious enough, to not touch places,
for it is still vulnerable, prone to blotch.
Life teaches us to be patient, to be calm, composed.
Being clumsy and awkward can mean slanderous circumstances.

Just a vial of pink nail paint may it be,
but handling it with imprudence,
or polishing nails in indolence,
can mean a smudge on beauty!
Offensiveness for winsomeness!
Handling life an erratic way,
can mean asphyxiation for breath!
Death for life!

I have learnt.

"Emotions are celebrated and repressed, analyzed and medicated, adored and ignored -- but rarely, if ever, are they honored."

I have learnt how to protect feelings. I have learnt how to protect my opinions. I have learnt that feelings and opinions cannot be shared to an unworthy and untrustworthy audience. For me, feelings were like diamond- Something that could last forever- unchanged and perpetual-Untouched by corrosion, heat, snow or wind. Opinions were like silver, albeit versatile, though liked and respected by all. Even if opinion’s meant being derived from facts, it almost never meant that facts could be replaced. I understood that facts had their own place and opinion, their own. And that in no way could opinion overpower facts.

I have learnt the truth today. I have learnt that opinions are like girls who have been breached of their virginity. I have learnt that they are a raped version of facts and one is different from the other only in terms of distortion. Their worth is similar to a girl subject to gang rape- thrown from one man to another- becoming bloody with each penetration- and being worsened with every man it goes by.

Feelings are like stones- kicked and punched. So what if I thought they were diamonds? Can a person decipher from the looks of a stone if it can be refined to a diamond? Does everybody have the worth or the skill of a diamond cutter to unlock their beauty? Is everyone rich enough to adore the beauty of a diamond?

I have learnt where I went wrong. I have learnt that there is a severe level of compatibility between a person’s body and his soul. I tried putting different souls in different bodies! God hasn’t given anyone a license to do that when he himself doesn’t own it. Feelings were mine and opinions were mine. But the bodies I had instilled them into were different. Funny how it is, that in me flow the same blood that flows through the blue veins of all analogously programmed human beings, but still, I am made biologically incapable of donating my blood to everyone. How then can I believe that my feelings and opinions be welcomed by everyone I meet? Is it not natural for them to pollute it and throw it on to someone else? Is God too not a slave to nature?

I have learnt to have a world of my own. I have learnt that I need to be my own rock, my own island, my own hero. I have learnt that the only person worthy to harbour my feelings and opinion is my own soul. I have learnt that no two humans can see the same feeling or the same opinion in the same light. Why did this learning not dawn earlier? I know not! Can any two places on the earth share the same amount of sun’s light and heat? Can any two people in the world have the same thumbprints? Can a murderer of a little girl look at her in the same light as her mother? I have learnt that it’s not fanciful to have a world you can call your own. It’s a necessity of life. There is a reason why we are born alone, we die alone.

I have learnt that if I am brimming with feelings and opinions that I crave to share, I must fix them, bite on them, claw them but not share to an unworthy audience. I have learnt that when it is flushing in the heart, overflowing out of it, all I can do is hammer it back. That I keep hammering and hammering it on and on. Why? Because it would feel really good when I stop! I have also learnt that one’s opinion is another’s infection. When one gets sick, does it not start with a single infection? Is it not one lone nasty intruder? Pretty soon the intruder duplicates- becomes two- then those two become four-and those four become eight- then, before your body knows it, it's under attack. It's an invasion. And then the big question arises- once the invaders have landed, once they've taken over your body, how the hell do you get rid of them?

I have ALSO learnt that I don’t want to learn all that I am forced to. I don’t want to learn that a person is born only to become emotionally challenged. That in the making of a world you can ‘call your own’ there would be no one who can step in, hold you by the hand and tell you, ‘I understand’! That it’s legal for someone to cut you with a knife, but it’s criminal to bleed. If you come in this world with a body of flesh and bones and organs and feelings, then bones would break, organs would burst and flesh would be ripped. You have a biological licence to sew the flesh, repair the damage, and ease the pain. But what when feelings break down? What when opinions are not only discarded like a piece of dung but also raped, what does one do? Is there any science? Are there any hard and fast rules? You can just feel your way through it! And the irony sub stands still- that you’ve to feel you way through it alone. That if you share it, it’ll be spit at.

I have learnt that I will never be able to grow up. I have learnt that none of us do really grow up. We get taller, we get older and we get sensible but we never really grow up. I have learnt that ‘once upon a time…happily ever after”, the stories that we tell are the stuff of dreams. Fairy tales don’t come true. I have learnt the reality is much stormier, much murkier. I have learnt that even if we grow up, we still have the same problems when we were five- We are still forever stumbling. I have learnt that for most part, we like a bunch of kids running around in a playground, trying desperately to fit in, sharing emotions and feelings, throwing tantrums sometimes and exchanging smiles on some other.

In the end I have learnt- that the castle in the fairy tales, well it might just not be a castle but a hut of barn. That the frog, it may be just that and no prince! I have learnt that we have to be like the frog living the well who considers the well all his world because it’s all he has seen. Indeed, it’s just ‘my world’ that I need to see. That if I come out of my own world, I’ll die. Does a fish out of water not shudder? Isn’t a baby born within 5 months of pregnancy a still life?

I am striving each day to make ‘the world of my own’ a better place to live in. Are you?

नारी व्यथा

दर्द को तो आदमी ऐसे लेते है, मानो कोई बनावटी दंड हो,

मगर औरत उसे प्राकृतिक संपत्ति मान के सह लेती है |

यह व्यथा प्रारम्भ होती है उसके जन्म के साथ,

उसका रोना सुनते ही छा जाती है गम की रात |

फोड़ दिए जाते है हर्ष के गुब्बारे,

बुझा दिए जाते है प्रसन्नता के दिए सारे |

मनुष्य सोचता है- उसे झेलने वाला केवल दाता है,

अतः उसे मारने का प्रयास किया जाता है |

पूछोगे तुम, "किसलिए?"

लड़की है वह, सिर्फ इसलिए |

जैसे ही मनुष्य अपना विवेक खोता है,

कहानी का दूसरा शरण शुरू होता है |

"मुझे भी पढना है", जब उसने कहा,

थमा दी गयी गृहस्थी, खिलौने देने थे जहा |

आगे सुनो, उसे क्या क्या सहना पड़ा,

पहाड़ी बाधायों से उसे कैसे लड़ना पड़ा |

जल्द ही पिता को लगने लगी वह बोझ,

पढने की थी उम्र, परन्तु लिया उसके लिए लड़का खोज |

किन्तु वहां पर भी उसे सुकून कहाँ,

ओह! दहेज़ ने जला दिया वहाँ |

अरे! यह व्यथा तो चली आई है,

सदियों से इस तरह अन्धकार ही लायी है |

कभी उसे जलाया, कभी मरवा दिया,

मोल, उसके हे मानव! तुमने भुला दिया |

नारी ने तेरे जीवन में, कितने पात्र अदा किये,

माँ, बेटी, बहन, पत्नी के रूप में संग तेरे दुःख सहे |

हे मानव! नारी तो एक दीपक है,

जला कर खुद को, रौशनी औरों को देती है |

और तू है जो इसे बुझाने का प्रयास कर रहा है |

अरे मुर्ख! तू अपने जीवन में ही खुद दुःख ला रहा है |

पहचान,इस हीरे का मोल, नहीं तो तू पछतायेगा,

हाथ में आये खजाने को भी, तू पा न पायेगा |

The Other Side of Me.

"I hold the key- the key to both realities,

The girl that I want you to know. If only I could show.."

You say, I don’t do no bogus good to you,
that to you, every little of me has remained true.
To you, I am a feather, a soft-heart, a sweet heart,
who acts like summer and walks like rain,
who is a beautiful reminder of the fact that it’s time to change?
You see all honey and goodness in me.
That’s purely because you are crazily in love with me!

You look at me like there is an angel underneath,
innocent and sweet!
Fluttering her wings to fly in and about,
to tell you about the different side in me, when she’s out.
But you have to realise this already,
that I am a little bit of everything,
all rolled into one…

I tried to tell,
because I am your lover,
doesn’t mean I can’t be a bitch to another.
To you I am little child,
who seldom runs about the wild…
But to your daughter, I am mother.
For the god up there, am I not a sinner?
You had said, to you, I appeared a saint.

I am your health; I am your dream,
I am your chocolate beneath the cream.
That never means, I can’t be typhoid, a nightmare,
a poison, a toxicant!

Haven’t you always lifted me over ditches?
And helped me into gilded into carriages?
Oh! You felt, I was the girl ought to have the best place everywhere!
Ha, but before u happened to me, love,
nobody ever helped me into carriages, leave alone a gilded one!
And nobody anytime lifted me up from the ditches.
I love you for you’ve kept for me, the best place in the world.
But that doesn’t mean I can’t be dirty enough to fight for my own place!

To you, I am a soft lip-kisser,
that doesn’t mean, I can’t be a bloody lip biter!
I am a fairy to you,
but isn’t I a woman?
Look at me..

With your hands, you feed me,
and the same fingers yourself, you lick!
And every time those fingers touch my tongue, I smile.
Because you wish to continue this for ages, you say,
‘Like a pigeon, you eat, not even a girl!’
And then you hold me and kiss me,
and fill up all my hunger, to quench all my thirst..
But baby, I can work as much,
to eat like a man, when I could get it..
and bear the lashes as well!

Part of me is Angry Auburn,

outgoing and wild,

fearless and frustrated,

surrounded by people who don’t understand.

But the other half is much different,

soft sky blue,

calm and relaxed,
shy and soft-spoken.

Both so different

but make the same me!!

Tell me, if you are ready to take the difference in me?
Tell me, if you aint not shocked at the nakedness in me?

La Femme.

"She knows, she can, because she has had it.
Because she is a woman.."
She can:

· Whip up a great dinner with five items in the fridge.
· Hard boil an egg.
· Diplomatically tell a man to butt off.
· Ace a job interview.
· Ask a man out.
· Listen to a friend in need.
· Change a flat, or knows whom to call in.
· Effectively end an unhealthy relationship (romantic/platonic)
· Beautifully wrap a gift.
· Say ‘no’ gracefully.
· Forget pleasing him.
· Tell her man exactly how to please her.
· Sew a button.
· Make a kick ass cocktail.
· Apply lip gloss in the dark.
· Take off her bra without removing her shirt.
· Balance her checkbook.
· Create a budget.
· Find the best deal.
· Read a map.
· Hail a cab.
· Say something in French just for the heck of it.
· Dress for her body type.
· Spot a fake.
· Feign interest.
· Hold a baby.
· Brew coffee.
· Quit or leave something gracefully.
· Eat a meal at a restaurant herself.
· Self defend herself against predators.
· Learn a trade or a profession that enables her to earn without relying on a man.
· Do laundry.
· Wear stilettos and be taken seriously at work.
· Entertain unexpected guests.
· Find joy in little things- a thank you card, a circus show.

She knows:

· How to apologize when she is wrong.
· How to take a compliment gracefully.
· How to handle a scary, whirlwind obsessive relationship.
· How to act at a business party and a bachelorette party.
· How to fall in love without losing herself.
· How to quit a job, break up a man and confront a friend without risking a relationship.
· When to send a thoughtful thank you note.
· When and where to ask for help.
· What to tip for a $25 bill.
· Where to get a picture framed professionally.
· Where to ask for an advice.
· What to wear for a cocktail.
· That she can’t change the size of her claves, the width of her hips and nature of her parents.
· Hers is not a perfect childhood, but its over.

She has had:

· One old boyfriend reminding how far she has come.
· A youth she is content enough to move beyond.
· A past juicy enough that she is looking forward to retell it in her old age.
· An email address, a voice mail box and a bank account no one has access to.

…..and hence she is flawless!

Burned Out.

"A Cigarette: A fire at one end, a fool at the other, and a bit of tobacco in between."

Paper, a filter and some tobacco.That's it?

Neat.

You look at the stick, eventually turning that look into a gaze. Ok, so its 120mm in length and 10 mm in diameter. No, you don’t figure it out that precisely, but does that really matter? You know certainly, it is ignited at one end and allowed to smolder for the purpose of inhalation of its smoke from the other end, which is inserted in the mouth.

“Can I do it?” you think, hard!
Yeah, I can! What’s the big fuss??
“Must I do it? You think, harder!

You wish to possess a cool image and fun-loving personality by being a smoker. Non-smoking is for wimps and wusses. Besides, a noble job like smoking has no reservation criterion. It reduces the gap amongst the rich and the poor too.
Your mind plays the games of knots and crosses. All religions speak against alcohol; no one says a thing against tobacco. Stop the double standards folks. That’s certainly logic, you think. You close your eyes and go ahead.

Where must you place the butt? Between the index finger and the middle finger? The thumb and the index finger? Or grip it with all the four fingers at the stick and the thumb in the opposite? So, u are intelligent enough to realise, you are a starter and hell yeah, you really don’t want to make a fool of yourself, do you? You hold up that stick finally between your index finger and the middle finger. That’s how most of them out there do it, don’t they? The mental game of knots and crosses multiplies itself by 5! You have varied thoughts, emotions and ideas running through your body, mind and soul. The big question lingers, “to be or not to be?” a wimp or a hunk? Even before you know your decision consciously, you find the butt between your lips! A state of utmost stillness lingers on. You swear, you never must have been anymore concentrated, ever!

Your entire concentration is on how you must light up that tobacco rolled inside that piece of paper just not to make a fool of yourself. You pray, “Oh lord! Burn but just the cigar! You certainly don’t want to be an object of ridicule for the oncoming months!

Peer pressure?
Yes it is {yet again}

The tobacco inside the paper lits up! You pull hard! How hard? Do you even know? Two weeks ago, you had saved a person by giving him the hardest mouth to mouth resurrection. But the question remains, “was it really the hardest?” certainly not! Not harder than what you do with the mere paper roll! Your mouth is smoky and you feel the irritation. But hey, you are cautious enough to not show it. “Oh! I am the dude who is a born smoker!” you pretend. You don’t want to be ‘looked down upon’! The smoke travels through your wind pipe into your lungs. You cough, Cough again! Five seconds later, everything is all cool. You repeat the action four times over, dragging a little too much the second time, lesser much the third, managing a decent one the fourth time over. By the 5th, you are a master! Congratulations young one, you have just said hello to a supposedly ‘headache remover’! Oh really? And moreover, its diwali in a week’s time and you’ve harnessed a handy method of lightening the fuse.

Nirvana?
Yes, it is {finally so)

Anyway, you casually throw the butt away. Hey! At least have the decency to discard the butt in a flower pot or a garden bed if you don’t want to walk all the way to the trash can. It will at least fertilize the plants and keep the insects away. Being a smoker doesn’t give you the liberty to be non-civic! And dude, you are just a novice if you’ve forgotten that already.

Next on, you are walking on the street with a song in the heart, a thought in the head. You spot a tapri, you freeze! Or perhaps, the wills classic ultramilds you spot makes you freeze! It says, ‘discover a passion’. Haven’t you already? Ok, so you would not want to answer that but hey that doesn’t make you any more innocent. You go ahead. Classic and chloromint- the eternal pair! You look around, checking for dangers. Is your neighborhood aunt out with her dog for a walk? Is your dad returning for office? Your mum, is she out shopping for in the subzi mundi? Wow! No, you proceed. The shopkeeper has gauged, you are new in the game, just by your expressions. He advises you on all different kinds of cigars and whoa, you stand and listen too. Finally, it is lit, you walk off!

How cool is that?
Yes it is {I guess so}

One last time, you light it again. You start smoking - inhale, exhale, and smoke in, exhaust out. You make smoke patterns - perfect Os, wispy lines. You play with your lighter - open, close. The power, the authority that you feel holding the stick in between your fingers, the emotion that overcomes you, the intellect that challenges you, the disease that spreads over you, never lets you go. However you pull hard. This time before you blow out, life blows you away. Congratulations! You never got the chance to grow old.

Happy ending, finally?
Yes it is (definitely)

P.S - Cigarette smoking is injurious to health. (Who cares?)
After all, it is really a good career move if you want early retirement and would like to use up your sick leave.

How logical!
Yes it is {whatever}
One really has to quit smoking. Either you do it personally, or life does it for you.






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