Kyunki...

Continuing with Ratlam Diaries

The objective of the trip was to study television consumption patterns. I went there to know what it was, that drove Indian women to watch the same old serials, which were clones of each other, with similar plots and characters, for years and years.
There was a Kyunki, there is a Balika Vadhu, there is a Bidaai. These three shows are the most popular shows on Television, with Kyunki ending its long 8 yr stint recently.

But I ended up being glad these serials existed.
Here's why.

Part 6: The Anonymous

Q: What are you?
A: Marwari, Jain, 30Yrs Old, Daughter of a trader, Wife of a Shop Owner, Mother of 2 sons, Bahu of Shri XYZ, also a trader.

Identity is hard to find in Indian women. Its hidden away under the thick layers of various roles she plays in other people's lives. Very little of her, after the age of 20, is about only her. Articulation of feelings, thoughts, ideologies are all governed by these roles, and the settings.The way they dress; the way they speak; who they speak to, who they don't; what they speak and what they don't; what they study, how much they study, where they study...

It seems like a different world.
I tried to imagine, if 10 years ago, I had been told that I can't wear my comfortable t-shirt and jeans, can't stay out of home after 8, can't speak to boys, can't go out of home town to study, can't study after graduation because it would be difficult to get me married off, etc etc.
I wouldn't have managed to become half the person I am today. I like what I am, and I realised, it's got a lot to do with the immense freedom Ive been given. Most of Indian women aren't that lucky.

Leaving out the extremely suppressed situations,
Even those of us who claim to be open minded, are comfortable with our contradictions and double standards.
We believe in educating our daughters, but not too much. We are ready to consent to a inter-caste marriage, but not an inter-religious one.
I'm sure strong logical reasoning are given to support these contradictions.
Simply, to us, Freedom comes with clauses.

In the middle of one of the research discussions, one respondent, Neeta, asked us, where we were from and what we had studied.
When we told her we have come from Mumbai and are MBAs, her face lit up. She suddenly had no interest in talking about her life. She wanted to us to give her career advise. When we promised we would gladly talk to her after the group, she reluctantly agreed to go on with her responses.

Part 7: Balika Vadhu

We were talking about the show called Balika Vadhu. Its a show about child marriage set in a traditional Rajasthani set up. Its a rage on Television.
Neeta had heard about Child Marriage. She said its practiced among some of her relatives, those who live in villages. She tells us, Ratlam is a town, its much better than the villages. There are only 2 colleges in this town for graduation, and only one of them is good, with functioning faculty. Neeta is currently in her 2nd yr of graduation. She wants to study computers and wants to do an MBA. She wants to earn money to help her dad with his loans. She would have to travel to Indore for that(4 hrs away by road). Her parents have asked refused. They say Indore is too far and risky. They'll have trouble getting her married off, if she studies in a city. She said, rather apologetically, that she was the elder child, younger brother is only 10 now.
She carried a mobile phone, all her friends did too, apparantly. But they hide it in the bags. If they are seen talking on phone too much or seen giving it too much importance, it would mean she is a 'vaisi wali ladki'. A phone is supposed to be for emergencies, not to chat with people, she told us.

Though she was not married off at 10, she still identified with the lead character, Anandi (the 10 yr old bride on the show). She identifies with the suffocation, the continuous monitoring; the lack of freedom to do what one wants.
She said, the reason why so many people like the show is not because it showcases, albeit in an extreme situation, a very common social issue among women, Suppression.
She claimed suppression exists in varying levels everywhere for women, even in a big city like Indore, hence, every one likes the show.

She says she uses this serial to communicate. She makes sure her dad and mom watch this serial.She waits for the end titles, because they always end the show with a provocative question, which she always wanted to ask them.
This serial for her, then provides her with a companion, the one she meets every day at 8 PM. It also acts as a communication medium between her and her elders, the one that is used to ask difficult and uncomfortable questions.
Neeta ended her interview by saying, she is glad the show is on, she would miss it terribly if it went off air.

Part 8: Kyunki...

Hum Log & Buniyaad - Kyunki - Bidaai - Balika Vadhu.
Middle Class economics and values - Politics of home - Complexion and wedding matches - Suppression of freedom.
Thats why they work. Because they connect, they communicate for the audience, with the audience.

Kyunki, was big for a reason.
When Kyunki started, it was the story of a middle class girl marrying into a rich household. The story was about the life of a typical Indian bahu, surrounded by in laws who are hungry for power and authority. The fact that after about 2 years of its start, the show lost the plot and gave in to extreme melodrama, is another issue.
It was not the best show ever made, but it was an attempt, voluntary or by chance, to put up a mirror in front of us as a society. It questioned the automatically assumed power of the in-laws over the Bahu. It posed an uncomfortable question : who wins when the 'Right' is against the 'Powerful'. It shook a lot of things that were taken for granted in Indian families.

As it progressed, it also gave a sense of immense power to women. Women were doing everything in the show. Women portrayed the good, the bad and the ugly. Women kept the household united, faced challenges for the family, took decisions, did everything, while the men of the house did little on the show.

It made people connect, get involved and feel for the Tulsi, as she went about saving her family over and over again. Women spoke of Tulsi, as if she were a friend; some who met them everyday. I remember my grandmother sitting in front of the TV and giving Tulsi advice on how to deal with situations, also always trying to inform Tulsi of the evil plans of Mandira, and then complaining aloud that Tulsi is making a mistake by not listening to her. For my grandmother, and many women, Tulsi was real.

Its extremely fashionable to dis these soaps. Every one does it, for the right reasons too. But those who dis these soaps, the elite, educated, some what liberated citizens are not the audiences. But the rest of India surely is.

I hope serials go on and continue to be the support system, the companions, the friends, and the spokespersons. We don't have politicians worthy of challenging and changing the social situations. I am glad we at least have Television Characters.

Business sense continues to support these shows. Bottom of pyramids and all that jazz.
So like it or not, these shows shall go on.

Being Single

Red Wine, Jazz & Romance. Excitement. Companionship.
Vs
Whiskey, Rock & books. Routine. Narcissistic existence.
An age old argument, I think it’s totally pointless though. There is no real contest between which life is better.If the hangovers from previous relationships, and anxiety about sudden changes were to be kept aside, I bet most people I know would any day prefer to be in love. So do I.
The point of concern, however, is when singledom is forced upon you, due to lack of choice, what do you do?
Here’s a redundant analysis of the situation faced by me and many of my single friends.
Given that you want to, how do you get out of the situation (Singledom)? Yes... by finding some one. But how does that happen? By keeping eyes open and looking at every single person around you with a magnifying glass? That seems highly unromantic.. isn't it supposed to be spontaneous? Whatever it is, it just seems unnatural.
Compared to7-8 years ago, scripting brand new stories from scratch seem less probable today.Teenage has gone past. I guess with age, comes experience, and with it, wisdom. And wisdom breeds fear.
There are too many self created conditions, constraints, barriers. It’s become more of a convenience deal. Everything has to fall in to the set criteria; Age, geography, mindset, frequency, eating habits and favorite TV shows. The idea of romance seems to have been crushed by cynicism. It was so much easier to fall in love when we were 18. Boy! Did I compromise on my ‘criteria’ then!
Now, after taking some hits, some extremely painful ones at that, the whole condition of being in love seems, like it invites vulnerability. It's definitely not an encouraging sign. Your history comes and stares at you in the face every time the thought crosses the mind.
I am not cynical. Not entirely. Not yet. But I see this definite change. Forget the part about asking some one out, the whole process of convincing yourself about your interest in some one is stressful. Everything has to be perfect even before you find out that person’s interest in you.

To add to the trauma of all this internal complicated thought process, are the committed friends and relatives.Its not that you go green when you see a couple, you really are fine with your life and you are quite indifferent to theirs. You really don’t care how they are perfect for each other or are a disaster together. Either ways, you just take it as a fact of their lives and unfortunately yours too.Singledom, on the other hand, is often seen by these committed friends as some sort of an ugly disease. The disease that needs urgent prescription from those blessed souls who have nailed this thing called life, by being in a relationship, however good/bad it might be.
I really have nothing against being around couples. But I do get annoyed with those of them who constantly prick you with the ‘Hehe loser! You are single, we are not’ type of look in their eyes.
Their behaviour is quite stunning. Combined with that look, there are classic statements made on a regular basis:
‘You are hot only. You are smart also, can’t understand why you are still single’ –
A lot of times, this, sounds to you like:
‘You are decent looking, you have managed to pass PG, and even then, no one is asking you out, what’s wrong with you? Must be something really terrible that would put off people – body odour, acne, fat, god knows what else’.

What this does is, makes a supposedly innocent sounding compliment turn into a pathetic mystery, for which the friend pities you.

It seems then that, it’s not about finding a match anymore, it’s about being chosen by some generous god, who would be willing to date you..yes in spite of you being YOU. Its about seducing the Mr. Perfect, there are so many of them running around no?
Retorts like the following pop in my head immediately:
“Thank you for recognizing my hotness and smartness, but don't you think you are forgeting on little detail? It’s not enough that I am ‘good enough’; I would need to find some one who is ‘good enough’ too."

Most of the times, life goes easy. You don’t want to take this painful conversation any further, so you smile and let it be. You pretend like it indeed was a compliment, you don’t respond at all and all is well.

And you get back to the comfortable state of being 'single and happy about it'.

Mumbai

Every one has something to say about this. I do too.

I was walking back home last night. It was 1 AM. I saw a man coming towards me. He was wearing a blue t-shirt and a jacket with the hood on. He had long hair and was well built.
There are about 20 terrorists roaming around in Mumbai, free and carrying AK 47s.
I quickly figured, in case of a possible assault, I won’t be able to beat him.
I saw him pass me. We both stared at each other and moved on. But I looked back; just to check if he was taking out an AK 47 to shoot me.
I live in a housing society, which has a decent security system.
I was surprised at what happened. The pacifier was not the faith in the stranger but the faith in the security of the society. Isn’t this very strange?

I can’t understand the rationale behind some reactions I have heard.

Some say we are making a big deal out of it just because its Mumbai, Kashmir has seen terror for decades now.

For all that its worth, a 100 people dying for no real reason, is a tragedy, wherever it is. The horror in one situation cannot lessen the other. Whether its Kashmir, Iraq or Mumbai, dead people are dead people, aren’t they?
It seems like the most obvious thing, why deny it? To sound cool and fearless? In front of whom?

Some said the media is hyping things to sensationalize and spread fear. It’s the same monotonous thing they show every 10 mins.

Sensational or not, it is news. It’s information coming in spite of extreme danger in the areas. I don’t really agree with the tone of some of the reporters, but over all, I’m glad some one was there doing it for me, and I got to see it.

Then the most annoying ones and also the biggest in number are those who harp about ‘Mumbai spirit’. These people claim that the aim of the terrorists is creating fear and we shouldn’t give in. hence we should carry on with our lives like it’s any other normal day.

First of all, to think that these fidaians, who volunteered to kill and die so that they go to paradise, would have a motive it self is giving them immense respect.

A news channel showed a couple with a 6 month kid taking a family walk along chowpathi. The journalist asked them why they were out and why did not staying in doors, to this, they responded, that they wouldn’t want to sacrifice their enjoyment because of terrorism, then the terrorists’ motive would be achieved. If they had been shot then and there, the reason for their death would be stupidity. The army and Navy are in the city for gods sake, that means situation is not normal. Is that so difficult to understand?

I have no clue who did this and for what reason. I know this; there are people with guns roaming around in police jeeps randomly shooting at people. The police and the army are trying to catch them. In the middle of all this, the civilian public is not the focus of the situation. No body cares at least while the battle is still on, whether you give in to fear or not. The only focus right now would be keeping everyone safe.

I’m sitting in my office today. I’m here to work on a presentation that NEEDS to be finished. It’s a red coloured template, with a big ‘[V]’ written in the right hand bottom corner. I’m trying to establish the habits of the core TG, so that the channel can be more relevant.
I give two hoots about it right now. So I am pretending to work. Typing furiously, staring at me monitor.
It seems like just another day, people ordering for omelets and discussing GRPs, but its strange sitting here pretending like it’s just another day. There is an excitement and curiosity all around, to see the story unfold further. More action, more news.
Every one is a little worn out though. Two days of continuous NDTV coverage can do this to anyone, where Barkha Dutt is telling us that we must remain stoic.

Flashbacks Of A Fool

V wrote this for me:

May 15, 2007

Incandescent Metaphors

An angel stopped at my door step

Give me a little of your tomorrow
without cabs with neon lights honking
without screens with virtual windows blinking

Write me down in pieces
of incandescent metaphors

How do I dress her up in words?

She has found a home in some lazy moment
or maybe, is still scouting for one,
in pieces of yesterdays & tomorrows.
There are always so many.

She flows along turbulently
wearing reflections of the sky.
The sky does not understand;
she does not explain.

She flows down truculently
with banks on either side, dawn & twilight.
The banks-
are they wings
or are they anchors?

Naive, she forgives mirages
for being abhorrent & arrogant;
but follow them, she does.

There is so much to her
& just too little that one can know.

How do I make her up
& let her out of herself?

An innocent angel
still waits at my doorstep;
or is she a conniving witch?

------

And I responded:

May 17, 2007

Witches Can Rhyme

What would the sky know
Of hot fire and cold snow?

How can the banks see
The violence below the sea?

What’s hidden; what’s shown
Can’t dress up the unknown

A themeless hollow tale
Gets boring and pale

So put away the pen
Think and maybe then

You would actually write
With all your might

I’m neither a witch nor an angel
Its all perspective and angles!

Yeah right Buzz off!!

----

Now when I look back, this is what the essence of it all was;
Some poetic and vague rendezvous, which had seemed like everything then.

Ratlam Diaries

The story really is of a journey, through the border of MP and Raj, also known as the 'Heartland' of India.

Part 1: The Queen Sized Bed

This eventful journey started with a halt at a plush, pampered stay at Sayaji Hotel, which sort of out of reach for me, generally speaking.
The deluxe suite had a home theater system, a Video Ipod, A multimedia system with internet, and 2 large heavenly beds, which sunk in by a foot, making it by far, the best bed I have slept on, yet.

The background of course is that I have never stayed at a place so blatantly luxurious (expensive) before. Hence the excitement, To tell you the truth, I was besides myself, moving around with a broad grin - thankfully, I didn't have to showcase the stupidity and the sheer LS-ness to anyone else. The sad part was the stay lasted for less than 12 hours, and it felt sinful to get up at 7 AM, out of THAT bed and out of THAT room.

Sneha, who was accompanying me in the adventure had booked an A/C cab for the 2 days of our stay. We hopped on, and set out for Ratlam in the morning, while Sneha was trying to explain to me her liking for Air conditioned anything.

Part 2: The pretty little thing

Sneha was my only companion on this rather unforgettable tour, it became important for me to get along with her.
Now, Sneha is a pretty little thing. Wears sunglasses when out in the sun, wears a perfect smile when talking to anyone and everyone, and moves her hand gracefully when talking.

She is really, a work of beauty and grace.

Hence, most of the time, when she would speak, I would just look at how she moved her hands, or settled her hair, or put on the glasses and took them off (which happened exactly 243 times on the way to Ratlam).

She is also, the only woman I know, who was told thrice by complete strangers (all women) that she was beautiful, and that they would like to call her, if she didn't mind sharing her number, all in front of me. She has some sort of a charm and an ease about talking to people.
She is in the right business then I suppose, of understanding people. I guess extracting insights becomes that much easier, when the respondents are falling in love with you!

Part 3: Maneuvering Through The Bosom of the 'Heartland'

National Highway 79.
The road form Indore to Ratlam takes about 4 hrs to cover.
The road was brilliantly and consistently not there. There was just no road. We drove on mud and dust, and what felt like a huge chain of crates left by some serial meteor attack, or footprints of a 50 foot woman, who chose to walk the whole way. Eeshwar, the cab driver, told as that the road is in great condition, after Ratlam, which at that time seemed like a useless piece of information. We took a break from the Marathon jiggle-all-muscles exercise, and ate, what was, the best poha I have ever had. And then followed it by drinking, what was and would be for a long time, the worst chai I have ever tasted. The chai was unbelievably hideous to taste. It wasn’t a liquid to start with; it was a thick gooey, brown... thing. I promptly returned the cup, and chose Masti Mango Juice, which was nice.

Once back on the err… road, Eeshwar really tried his best to make sure we had our share of thrill on the way, that for sure, kept me awake for the rest of the journey. Sneha, was panicking, first demanding and later requesting him to drive more carefully. This added as a fuel to Esshwar's now puffed ego. The POWER, baby, was with him. Cocky Eshwar and Panicking couple - (Me and Sneha of course), hence kept ourselves engaged through out the nerve wrecking journey.

Part 4 : Bandhej - The worst kinds

After we finished our work in Ratlam on the first night, we set out into the heart of the town, Manekh Chowk, where we were told, you get the best Daal Baati in the state. We went to Shriram Daal Baati waala.
It was a room, with iron desks arranged along the corners, and the walls had cemented seating arrangements. Me and Sneha occupied a desk, and ordered for 2 daal Baatis. After having learnt the technique to eat it, by staring at other desks and asking Sneha questions that sounded stupid, we went on to eat 2 plates each. At this point, when I was trying to break the baati into crumbles and mix the ghee in it, Sneha pointed out to me, that everyone in the room was staring at us, and actually talking among themselves about us - they made no attempt to hide this.
Then we realised that actually, there were no women in that place, not even with family. And for that matter, we hadn’t seen a single woman outside on the road, or in the market.
It was 8 PM then.

We finished our food and came out and were waiting for Eeshwar to finish eating. We stood on the road, realising that everyone there was staring at us as well.
We chose to ignore. Actually, there was no other option.

An old man came rushing past us, brushing my shoulder rather painfully. I didn't react. He did. He turned back and yelled, "idhar kya raste mein khade ho, dhandha karna hai toh kahin aur jaao" I stared back at him, filled with anger and irritation. It was an unnecessary conversation I thought, so I turned back. But it didn’t end there.
He continues ranting, "aurat log ko raaste pe kya kaam hai, bekaar raaste rok ke khadi ho jaati hain. Ghar pe baitho jao .... mumbled gaalis" I didn’t react. It was too late by the time I realised what he had said.

After a gap of 5 min, we heard the typical, "Chammak Challo, Nikli Kidhar, Chal tujhe jannat dikhata hoon"
I have heard this before. But this time, I was shocked at the shamelessness with which it was said. There was no sign of guilt, shame, nothing. These were 4 boys, 19-20 yr olds, looking at us in the eye and saying this, and not stopping with it. I pulled Sneha out of the way, when one of them tried to pull her Kurta, trying to tease.
They weren’t planning to speed off after that, the engine was off!
We backed off and stood inside a thela, assuming the chai wala as our protector, who seemed scarily indifferent to what was happening. They left at their will, after having achieved the satisfaction of having ‘teased’ 2 women.

In a span of 10 minutes, my confidence in myself and to an extent in human kind in general, was in the dumps.
I felt naked.
Among all the times when I felt embarrassed, shocked and abused, this was very high up. The sheer lack of reaction our part and forthrightness on theirs, was a dreadful combination.
The Chai wala later asked us, what we thought was so important that we had to hit the road after dark.

All this might seem natural, as it seems to me in hindsight. But what sets this incident apart from others is my inability to react. There was no reason for them to hesitate. We didn’t give them any.
I was simply, too afraid.


Part 5 : The Lost Battle

Colourful Bandhej Prints
Pink - Orange - Blue - Yellow
Ghoonghat till the chin
Chooda - Nathni

There was nothing unusual about the women in Ratlam. The scene was what we had expected out of a small town. I had gone there to talk to people, about television and about life there in general. What I didn't expect was to be provoked and challenged to feel empathy and unfortunately, sympathy.

Ratlam is a colourful confluence of two of the most stringent clans in the country – The Rajputs and the Marwari jains. While the food and the clothes were mesmerising, the state of women there was embarrassing. Some statements that were made during the groups for research form a story, from a distant world, from our world.

We went there to understand what they liked on Television, what we found was that a television was not just an entertainment medium - It was unfortunately, their lone companion.

More on that in another post

Thoughts of a wandering mind after a boring day

Har naya din, ek nayi udaan liye chalta hai
Phir jumme ke intezaar mein,
kisi gumnam raaste pe bikhar jaata hai,
Mera Calender.

Har nayi raat, phir ek nayi ummed paalti hai
Kal kuch toh alag karenge, kuch toh alag sochenge
Phir bas, shanivaar ka saath mil jaata hai,
Aur Azaadi.

Har nayi soch,
Phir in shikayaton ko apas mein mitaati hai
Jhagadte hue, bas gum ho jaate hain kahin
Bat jaate hain saare khayaal,
teen chaar hisson mein.

Ab apna Flashback dekha to laga,
Jis manzil ke liye ek-ek pathar ko jod kar yeh bridge banaaya
Woh toh kabhi sala chahiye hi nahin tha

Dangling Conversations

Song by Simon and Garfunkel
------
Its a still life water color,
Of a now late afternoon,
As the sun shines through the curtained lace
And shadows wash the room.
And we sit and drink our coffee
Couched in our indifference,
Like shells upon the shore
You can hear the ocean roar
In the dangling conversation
And the superficial sighs,
Are the borders of our lives.

And you read your Emily Dickinson,
And I my Robert Frost,
And we note our place with bookmarkers
That measure what we’ve lost.
Like a poem poorly written
We are verses out of rhythm,
Couplets out of rhyme,
In syncopated time
Lost in the dangling conversation
And the superficial sighs,
Are the borders of our lives.

Yes, we speak of things that matter,
With words that must be said,
Can analysis be worthwhile?
Is the theater really dead?
And how the room is softly faded
And I only kiss your shadow,
I cannot feel your hand,
You’re a stranger now unto me
Lost in the dangling conversation.
And the superficial sighs,
In the borders of our lives.

Neend

Har raat woh aata tha,
phoolon sa mehekta hua

Ankhon se milta tha
aur raat ko thahar jaata tha

Din mein chedta rehta
aur raat ko zor se lipat jaata tha

Din mein ankhon ko wohi,
pyar se sajaa ke jaata tha...
chamakte hue heeron se

Ankhen khafa hain aajkal,
ke barson mein unse milne
andhera aaya nahin

Kahin woh bhool toh nahi gaya
Ke ankhon ko uski zaroorat hai?

Par hai bhi woh bada bedard
Kisi aur ki raaton mein mast pada hoga...
yahin kahin

Of Vices

Been there done that. Its a powerful position to be in when you catch up with old friends.

'DUDE! you havent EVER done that??!!! You kidding me right??!'

'Yah man! I used to do it all the time...but now I'm learning to abstain.'

It's very surprising to think how things, that have been proven bad, are always cool. And its cooler to have done it and quit it. That increases the power multifolds. Coz you have conquered the vice inspite of it trying very hard to get you!

Ah what the hell...we all do it all the time.
Its always cool to show off vices...just like its cool to have latest gadgets, to talk about rock concerts, specially if you have the extra dope on some obscure band whose popularity never rose above a couple of basement junkies.
There are of course more innocent motives behind vices, like actually liking it. But that, one person does and a hundred pretend to like it coz they think this one person defines what's cool. And following her gets u in her league.

Guess its always been like this and will continue to be so till the day non-conformity becomes the latest fad.

Anyway after having made no point at all, I blame my long lost friend for this post, coz this ranting was triggered by a discussionI had with him...

My Wild Child

You built red mazes of truth and lies
Your puzzles keep the sun awake

You play with the lost wild flowers
your poems turn them to shades of pink

You tickle the black clouds gently
your touch makes their palms sweat

You stray from the concrete curves
your tunes make the streams sway

You flirt with the serene evenings
the sky blushes and the birds flutter

You ditch the moon for the red star
every night the moon melts an arc

You live a dream every night
Stars glisten with your glittering eyes

You, my dearest wild child,
give nature a reason to be

A Rhyme for Mou

A sub and a book is all she needs
She eats the sub and the book she reads

She wears glasses and looks through them
She goes to lush and buys ahem ahem

She eats at mess then hogs at TT
Sweet tiramisu and anything meaty

She sleeps a lot and likes it quiet
Aerobics is on but to hell with the diet

I like her and I think she likes me
In Bombay we’ll meet and friends we’ll be.

-----
To the wonderful times and rhymes with Mou!

Stuck between here and the moon!

She spread her wings and coloured them purple
She looked around her to find the fresh grass dancing

She chose to stay there a night and soak in white dew
She packed some of the pink that she stole from the roses

She loved the blues but chose to go to the black of the moon
She sprinkled her pink on it, laid down the fresh green cushions

She then settled down somewhere
between here and the moon


----
Dedicated to Pranky- one of the most colourful dreamers I know

To Uma

Silver rings and golden dents
Beatle’s love and lush scents
Warm hugs and gleaming eyes
Plush cushions and Radiant smiles
Yeh sama and Denver’s Country roads
Your voice, my base and Guitar chords
Jugalbandi with neighboring speakers
Between Ghazals and The Beatles

Cheers to two years of neighbourhood!

A Happy Birthday

Wait...is it today?
Yes it is
No...maybe not
Oh what the heck does it matter
I will call

Eyes drooping, begging for rest
But Wait its just 11:57
3 more minutes to go
Oh what the heck does it matter
I will call

Called early, beat the queue
Should have said more
Should have said less maybe
Oh what the heck does it matter
I did call

Shouldn't discuss you with others
Shouldn't reveal history
Like always, did what I shouldn't
Oh what the heck does it matter
I shall lie

Lie I did, oh how I suck at it!
Angry and restless
Zoomed through it, without explanation
Oh what the heck does it matter
They wouldn't see

Stalking the shelves of past
found myself green
No, this cant happen, shouldn't happen
Oh what the heck does it matter
I won't crack

Cracking and crashing
found my way to the crust
trembling hands reaching for it
No. It doesn't matter anymore
the crust has crumbled and is no more

Matters Of Fact And Ficiton

Some truth, some confessions, some dreams

Some cooked up for me to feel nice
Some to make others feel not so nice

Some as nauseating as salted water
Some refreshing like seaside breeze

Some landing me on the rim of a fire ball
Some taking me off on a flight of dreams

Some like the messenger between mutes
Some like the air between parting friends

Some blinding; some binding
Some furious; some frivolous
Some short; some never ending
Some smooth; some abrupt
Some effortless flattery
Some painful hypocrisy

No, it’s not all fiction...
But never full truth either