What shall I bring you from the far far-away land?
What?
I asked. “What shall I bring you from the far far-away land?”
You are going there? When?
Soon. Very soon.
Can I come?
Umm…would you know it when you saw it?
Would you?
No.
Alright. How do you go there?
There’s a winding road. And one has to walk or fly or swim. That’s all I know.
Swim? On a road?
Yeah, it’s a funny road.
Okay. I’m coming with you.
Please don’t.
Why not?
There’s a charm in returning for someone and knowing that someone is waiting. It’s an old charm. But there’s also a magic in knowing that I will return for you…and…never really return. It somehow extends the horizons.
Like the horizon extends when you lie on your back on a green field on a cloudy day?
Yes. But vaster than that. Besides I want to bring something back for you.
I don’t want anything. And how will you bring anything back when you say you shall never return?
That would make the wait all the better for you, don’t you see? There would be something to look forward to everyday. Every morning you wake up, you will look for me, the afternoon will be dreary and gloomy I know, but the night shall fill you with anticipation once again. And I will return someday, you’ll see.
Are you this cryptic with everyone?
No. With them I talk of puppies, temples of Madurai and bitter chocolates.
I am honoured!!!
But tell me, what do you want me to get for you?
Nothing. Just come back.
There must be something.
Yes.
What?
An end to my wait.
Are you quite sure?
More than ever.
Okay. But that will end a lot of things too. Your love for instance. Or my value. I don’t like conclusions.
Nothing will end other than my wait, I promise.
:).I will write to you.
Oh no! Don’t. The postal system is horrible here.
There’s a charm in reading old, lost letters that after many days of sunshine and rain, dirty mailbags and all sorts of fingers reach the right address.
Every weird thing has a charm for you?
Not quite. I don’t find that goatee-d, auburn haired rapper friend of yours charming. Nor Mr.Reshammiya. But every little every-day phenomenon that people love to hate appeals to me.
Are you trying to be Romantic?
No. Only truthful.
I give up. When you go, let me know.
It rhymes! Delightful!
Will you?
No. I don’t think I’ll have time.
I expected so.
I never denied that you know me better than I myself do. I adore you.
I wish I could say I don’t. Bye.
Bye.

This is entirely fictitious and totally impersonal.

Don’t stare at me quizzically
with your black crystal eyes
when I am writing of love and pain.
The light of the table lamp,
you interrupt with the shadow
of your lanky frame
and head full of noodle-curls.
You hover like a constant refrain
at the back of my mind.
Like some catchy tune
that would not let me alone
and go on playing inside my head
even when I am thinking of
something else…someone else.
I try to be impersonal.
Can’t you see?
Can’t you refrain from
devouring my words
and upsetting their coherence
making my poem
dance to your cadence?
But you will push your face
close to mine…
so close that nothing distances
our skins…not even air.
So close that I can see
your pupils dilate and retract.
your strong perfume suffocates me.
The same one you called masculine
and I, obnoxious
and yet craved for
behind the façade of lies.
You keep drawing my head
onto your shoulders
knowing full well that
I have given up needing them.
I hate it when you smile
your slow lopsided smile
as I search for metaphors
to explicate love.
And that’s not only because it distracts me.
Don’t you realize it has to be impersonal?
Bringing in my schoolgirl mad love
like that! Immature, juvenile!
And don’t you realize it’s all gone now?
Gone and dead!
Dead and gone!
How is it that we always forget
that you killed me and I, you?
There! That clouds your eyes
That wipes off your smile.
Leave me now, please…alone...
to write impersonal poems on love.
where all the characters are fictitious.
The boy doesn’t grin like you
The girl isn’t full of quirks.
Where our shadows do not linger.
Yes I promise
I’ll give them a happy ending.

Happy valentine's day everyone. Enjoy!!!

Anonymity.

Your eyes touch my face.
I feel like the poor pebble,
One among those hapless millions
that the heedless stream leaps over,
touches for a moment
And forgets in the next.

JUPC...short for Jadavpur University Photographic Club (how I wish they'd let us change the 'ic' to 'y') is as the name rightly suggests ,a photography club I belong to and which belongs to me. Excuse the cliche' when I say it's my second home because that's what it is.
Arranging for a photographic contest every year falls under one of the many activities of my club. This year we have arranged for a national photographic contest on portfolios- 'MONTAGE' to be judged by eminent photographers.The last day of entry is 15th February 2008. So if you are interested...Hurry up!! Not much time left now.
For further details log in to http://jupconline.com/MONTAGE.htm.