on pain..

on the streets of this strange city,
i have to re-think my notions.

on everything.
on humanity, on companionship,
on love;
on pain..

physical pain was extra-ordinary for me.
inside our homes, a pain or a wound used to be highly attended
every bit of care taken from the moment it appears till its last day.
i dint know it was a fortunate luxury to have.

some day on the street i saw a boy
he had a wound on his belly
it was a big one, puss coming out from it..
its sight frigtened me.
and the look in his eyes startled.
he was playing with a girl of the same age,
he almost dint know such a thing existed on his body.
what was his chances of living?
it was so huge that it must've spread inside.

yesterday i saw a dog
it looked like it suffered from far
when i reached near, i realised
it had a part of his head cut off.
its skull was seen.

and now,
i feel ashamed of using the word pain
even without having the slightest idea
of what it really means
for being a part of that priviledged lot
who dont really understand any of these words truely.
hunger, poverty, shelter,
life.

parzaania - a ray of hope

i was quite cynical when i went to see.
its so tender a topic to be discussed.
so vulnerable.
and hence, so scary.

not a very good production.
script seemed a little bookish..
hmmm...

BUT.
i wonder how dare they speak the truth.
of gujarat.
oh my god,
i've heard people screaming at the top of their voices
i've seen people trying to draw pictures
on the walls which just disppear amoung the thousand other colorful ones.

and who cares for the truth?
no one does.

truth, justice,
all manipulated words.
i'm not even sure if i should use them..

and here i see a hope.
a little bleak one.
but still.

they managed to speak of EVERYTHING that happened there.
without trying to save faces of anyone.
yes, not just one, but all the stories are told..
how they raped.
how they killed.
how they drank the blood.
how they lit every street on fire.
how they organised it.
how well!

thank you, parzaania.

some poems

at war with vacuum
----------------------------

when she died,
she looked indifferent.
yes, i remeber she wanted to
and so much.

now that where she used to sit
how she used to sit
when she used to sit
is empty.


the no one who might call
-------------------------------------

my phone was silent
the whole of yesterday
or even may be
before that.

finally i decided on
the sad note of violin to play
for the no one who might call
to litsen.


gargi
-------

she was a scholar
the only woman amoung seven listed
she questioned
her husband, a man
in presence of thousands
and so long ago

but how do i care..
i need to name myself again
i need it of my own.


when you arent here
-----------------------------

the memories flood,
i've been mad
i've been wild
i've been in love
and you've been beautiful
my sweet little boy.

in your presence,
you remind me
of that uncommon bitterness.

afterthoughts of recent films...

guru:

as one of my friends said..,
we are already so careeristic..
do we need a film to justify our
carelessness,
a-political-ism,
and unawareness..

traffic signal:

oooh.
i dint get disappointed like this
for years now..

i hate it when they take such issues and
then play around as if its their matter.
they can justify anything,
and at the end of the film,
it wants to make you sad about beaking a traffic signal
and making a fly over.
it was so bad that they professed
traffic signals should be kept for the people living around.
i think these are different issues.
sad.
page 3 was a bad attempt.
this one's bad bad.

conclusion:

this is why i like karan johar better.
he doesnt like talking serious to mess with it.