I forgot how to write a song..!

[Happy February!]

It's Valentine's Day

Gusts of love-laden words

Should be rushing your way

I must have at least

a million poems to say

I wonder what's wrong?

Has it really been

so long?

Have I forgotten

How to write a song?

I'm not running out of themes

You made me dream

A few thousand dreams

You taught me

how to smile for no reason

How to read newspapers

How to cry and still feel joy

How to whistle, how to drive

How to talk my heart out

How to sneak out of home

How to play tic-tac-toe

How to simply love myself 

How to simply love you

And then it hit me, what's wrong.

I've been busy 

falling in love so long,

And I've forgotten

How to write a song.

The first time I pulled an all-nighter

When you’re sitting up and working at 1:30 AM, listening to nothing but the sound of typing, your mind wanders, flitting between day-dreaming and memories. Mine just passed by this incident when I first pulled an all-nighter. The day our door-bell burned out. I was 12 years old…….

 11:00 PM on the previous night

We were heading back to Bangalore from an “educational trip” to Mysore. The bus was filled with Class 7th and 8th students and a teacher-turned-DJ. We started singing random songs and by 1:00 AM we were dancing in a moving bus. Not a wink of sleep was possible that night. It was the first “best night of my life”! We reached school at 2:00 AM to find our parents sitting outside waiting for us. I went back home rambling about all the fun we had and all the stuff I ate during the trip, and ended up sleeping around 3:00.

11:00 AM inside the house

I had just finished a heavy breakfast and was trying to figure out how to curl my damp hair with a pen, when Mom and Dad decided to go grocery-shopping. They called out for me to close the door and be good; I locked the door and went back to dressing my hair. I brushed and twisted and tangled my waist-length hair, daydreaming about the best trip of my life……..

The next thing I remember is seeing a blur of all the faces of our neighbourhood, a ladder leading to our balcony and my mother crying and laughing at the same time. I figured I’m sleepy and crawled into bed and fell asleep. 

11:00 AM outside the house

Mr. and Mrs. R climbed down the stairs, relieved now that the child is safe at home. They headed to the humble grocery store and ticked off the items on their list as they bought.

“Let’s get her a Dairy Milk” Mrs. R suggested when they were almost done

“Don’t encourage all this, it spoils her teeth. She’s already got braces” Mr. R reasoned tonelessly and moved forward.

“Then we’ll get her to brush three times a day!” Mrs. R was determined

Grumbling about how late the bus got last night, and how they had to wait at school all night, Mr. and Mrs. R headed home one hour later. Climbing up two flights of stairs ,they rang the doorbell, conjuring an adorable little image of their daughter standing on her toes to reach the peephole and check who’s at the door.

No response

They rang the bell twice, thrice, ten times.

No response. Tension began to build in their minds as they banged on the door calling her name. Neighbors came out wondering what happened to the generally quiet family next door. 

“What happened?”

“Looks like she must have fallen asleep…”

“Call to your phone and find out… Oh you don’t have a phone..! Right!”

Comments flew around, the other kids came to their rescue and used their screaming skills to awaken the girl

“One.. Two.. Three.. SHRUTHI!!”

They yelled again and again, some grownups joined in after a while and called as the worried parents jabbed on their doorbell. Suddenly after a while someone realized, when the noise died down, that the doorbell is not making any sound.

“On my God it has burned out!” Someone exclaimed

To try everything possible, the annoying kid downstairs got his toy Dholak out and played it like the Lord of Seven Seas, but there was no response from within Door no.67. 

The smart engineer from ground floor suggested we enter the house somehow, and found a ladder in his garden that seemed to reach the second floor. By then Mrs. R was sobbing and Mr. R’s BP was twice as high.

“Now someone has to climb up” he ordered. Nobody dared.

So he climbed up the two floors, jumped into the balcony and entered the room, and there she was. Asleep on the edge of the bed with her mouth open, legs dangling down and a comb in one hand. Apparently she was brushing her hair and fell asleep. Yes, that happened. 

The engineer opened the front door and yelled for everyone to come and see for themselves the wonder that was the kid’s slumber. Mrs. R ran inside and hugged the sleeping kid as Mr. R’s BP dropped to normal.

Sleeping beauty woke up for a second, saw a blur of faces and crawled to the middle of the bed to go back to sleep, amidst the relieved laughter of the entire neighbourhood.

So that was the first time I stayed up all night.

PS: True story!

Sorry for being an enigma

Sorry for being an enigma

Attitudes change and people don’t.

But I’m not the same any more though.

I’m being an enigma,

Sorry for being so.

I’d rather care less than care too much.

I’d rather not wither at every touch.

If that means being empty inside,

So be it.

Someday when it’s too late,

I’ll just cry over it.

I’m not being heartless, no.

I’m just being an enigma.

So sorry for being so.

I want to to hold you close,

But I’ll ask you to leave me alone.

Sometimes the world is perfect

When you’re here,

Sometimes it’s just fear

That brings out tears

That everything I hold dear

Will someday fade away.

Sorry for being an enigma.

So sorry for being this way.

Attitudes change and people don’t.

But I’ll never be the same two days in a row.

I’m just being an enigma,

And I’m sorry for being so.

Silence inside...........

The sky full of fireworks..

And the silence inside.

A second-long laughter just died.

Within those dry lips,

I thousand screams hide

And prowl about

Flitting across the eyes, in and out

Like little sparks of fury…

But I’m already burned out.

I’m already beaten numb

Already swept clean

Pinched dry

Erased

Of all those tiny little joys.

Now all I hear is noise

Of those beautiful fireworks outside,

And the numb silence inside.

Blink

Blink

And there is a footstep I could follow.

Blink

And now there is just snow.

Blink

And there is a flash of light.

Blink

And it’s darker even more.

Where’s my big revelation

That I had a heartbeat ago?

Why, now, is everything dark,

And filled with snow?

Yesterday I complained,

Of a room too bright, a sweater too warm and light

Of soup too tasty and bread to fluffy and white!

Today I sit, cold and confused

Alone, my unhappy mind left loose.

I muse

About yesterday and all that I had,

“How imperfect it was, so bad!

How could I be happy?

I have so much to lose!”

Blink

And I had it all, but I complain.

Blink

And I lose it all and complain again.

Blink

And the light and footprints disappear,

Blink

And I’m left clueless again.

(This is just the sensible part of my mind yelling at the other, whiny unhappy part of my mind.. nothing too serious!)

Dialogues in my head

“What would it take to get

That hint of a smile on your face,

That twinkles of your eye stand out in the haze?”

“It is already there, don’t you see?

A wall of indifference

Is all that’s between you and me”

“It’s not what’s there, but what is not.

But I sure sense a lost happy-song

That’s gone for I wonder how long..”

“Read me for what I say, read me for what I do.

But my happy-song only plays

In my happy place, unknown to you!”

“Give me a smile that lights up the room,

Give me a giggle that jingles like chimes,

Give me a laugh that so mesmerizing that

I may forget to rhyme!”

“Quit searching me for answers,

And for scattered joy.

Just don’t ask me why.

Ask me if I’m fine, don’t wait for a reply.

Quit trying to read me,

That’s all I want you to do.

Because the happy-song I lost,

Plays in my happy place unknown to you!”

My shoes, your shoes

Yesterday I was going ga-ga over pretty peep-toes and pumps, craving for new shoes. Today somehow the same word directed to a different conversation in my head. Going through this post and a friend of mine reacting to it in her blog, it got me thinking. 

There was a time when we humans were all kind, and selfless, and considerate of each other. I’m not good with dates so I don’t know when exactly that was. But now, all said and done, to be kind to someone we have to stand in their shoes and empathise. And I’m sorry, but others’ shoes don’t fit me at all! I wear my own pair of soiled grimy ones and I like to complain!

Complaining comes easily, while shopping for groceries, driving in maddening traffic, hiring an auto in the city, standing in a queue…….! Does this list ever end? Every shoe comes with an opinion; mine came with a burning hate for auto drivers, buses, bikes, cars, pedestrians, cyclists, gift shop owners, customer service…! We have been cheated or annoyed by everyone, and we are on a life’s mission to get even with each one. Kindness is absolutely jobless here!

For example, I go back home from work every day by car (which my dad drives), around 6:30 in the evening. That is when all offices close, buses are crowded, kids cycle back home from tuitions, and people take evening walks in the dust. And the relationship between my father and me is such that, while other little princesses give their dads nice teddy bear hugs, we express our love by complaining about the traffic. Every evening. 

“Look at those bikers speeding! They could get hit and they don’t care!”

“It’s such a big car in such a small road!”

“These pedestrians have no sense of discipline! They just cross the road like we’re invisible!”

And last but not the least..

“Why the high beams??? You’re not on a highway!!”

Well, I stand by the last one. But when I go on a bike I prefer to squeeze between the heavy vehicles and speed away, not bothering about the big cars stuck in a jam. If there is a slight mishap, everyone yells at everyone, when it takes hardly a minute to say “Sorry” and move on. When I’m crossing the street I expect a speeding car to wait for me. Honk more than once and I would be all “Oh Mr.Big Shot had a car and wants everyone out of his way! This is not your street and I’m not moving faster for your sake!” 

I’m just saying, I’m in my shoes and it is really comfortable. I refuse to try on everyone’s hoes and be kind to every person a meet, because then I will never have my way!

So bottom line- yes it is tough to be kind. I wish it was easier. I wish we could wash all that filth out of our shoes…. I wish it was that simple..!

Again, what's love?

(Valentine's Day is months away but these thoughts just don't leave me!)

Too many debates start with “What is love?”

One day, yet again
A weary conversation was led
Where suit-clad big shot said
Love is the purest form of emotion
Between man and woman
Wrong, once they grow up there is no more love

Said the young lady with a tattoo on her sleeve
Love is the hedonic electricity
Between cupid-stuck teenagers
Wrong, said the plump woman in pink
Until they grow up they aren’t in love
Well, you grew up. Are you in love?

Calm down ladies, now, now…
Why does love have to be for the opposite sex?
Said the gadget-loving, bike riding guy next
While the girl with the tattoo texted
Her temporary soul mate
That she’ll be late
Stuck with a bunch of love-less lunatics
“..Mother and child, brother and sister..”
The artist continued to list
The technical types of love
Desperately trying to be different
And enter
Two men, hand in hand
Wearing each a wedding band
And catch up on the debate
And the speaker, relieved, raises the question again
The question that triggered
A tiny war between generations
“What is love?”

Outside air conditioned room
Where debaters fly at each other
A puppy lies on the pavement
Its blood trailing from the middle of the road
Puppy crushed under a truck load
A puny little boy, also crushed
Looks back at his shed where under a half constructed building
Everyone is busy building
The tallest apartment of the city
Brick laying, cementing
The puny kid silently, gently holding
The half dead puppy
His little hands caked with
Dust from passing the bricks
Tears streaming down his blackened face
Whispering in his own blubbering language
“Don’t leave me my friend..
I love you so much..”

And the third time, again
Up in the air conditioned room
The calm one (still!) asks again
“What is love?”
Answer me now…

???????????????????

“Do you believe in your religion?” Well… it depends. On about a million things. After today’s religious ceremony I attended, one of the near-thousand festivals we celebrate in a year, the dilemma continues.

Today, after constant contemplation for several weeks, my parents coaxed me into attending the pooja for Anantha Padmanabha festival being celebrated in a mutt. For those who don’t know, it is a place where men who never went to gym in their entire lives make it obvious by wearing just a panche, (silk cloth draped around the waist) and insist that all ladies cover themselves head to toe. This is not about feminism and gender equality so I won’t dwell on that issue. I’ll just say frankly, I was terribly bored in that situation. Thankfully I had a book with me; it came to my rescue. Making myself comfortable in a corner of the big hall and stretching my legs, I had just begun to get engrossed when one of the bare-bodied bosses came to me and said, “Fold your legs!” and why? “It points towards God!”(He meant the idol of the deity sitting diagonally opposite about ten feet away).

This reminded me of the popular story almost every Hindu must have heard in their childhood, that of Kanakadasa. His teacher once gave all his disciples a banana each, and asked them all to eat it in a place where nobody is looking (this assignment sounds far more interesting than what we get now!). only Kanakadasa comes back the next day with the fruit intact, and gives the coolest excuse for not completing an assignment “I could not find a place where nobody is looking! God is everywhere!”
Makes sense right?

Maybe years of exposing skin has resulted in them losing this basic wisdom. And at the end of this thought along with being bored, confused and sleepy, I was hungry. Dad had insisted on not breaking the fast until the pooja was over and just decided to have two cups of coffee (“not counted as food”). Here he sat stiffly like he had a healthy meal of oats fruit and milk. My stomach growled. Quietly I slipped out, bought myself a coke and fries from good old McDonalds, sat in the car and munched away.

*sheepish smile*

By the time I returned it was lunch time and more people were undressing (why??.. I don’t get it either!). Some pious wife fished out a large box of pills from her bag and picked out the right ones with her frail, wrinkled hands and held it out for her husband. He obediently swallowed them. I tried hard to picture him stronger after all those pills but I failed. His pills, the bulky necklace of holy beads, smearing of Chandana and other stuff all over his body and the bulky mobile phone falling off his lap took up half of his weight. His wife bullied his from one side, and I sat there wondering, is this where God is? I can’t bring myself to trust religion to bring about anything positive. Yet, we follow.

Again, the dilemma continues……..

PS: this post is not opposing any religion. it is just a contemplation. no offence to believers!!

Baby blogger's day out.....

Shruthi ramachandra feels like a real blogger today, having just attended a bloggers’ meet for the first time.

After I reached home, half-soaked in the rain and decorated with the choicest particles of the Bangalore air pollution, sporting my new IndiBlogger t-shirt and typing a spontaneous post, I feel like.... The boy who stood in his shoes and wondered, and wondered. (not exactly how John Keats says.. a little similar.) I still wonder… about how many bloggers there are, how long they have been blogging and how young I am! (for the record I am only 3 months old! When you comment, pair it with a chocolate for the kid J)

I also wondered about the new Samsung Galaxy tab that was being showed off like a parent showing off his gifted child. Baby Samsung is like a super-baby. Along with singing, dancing, drawing, painting, chatting nonstop and things like that, it can show you the world on a flat screen, and how it does that, I wondered. 

To people who understand technology it may look simple; my skull has technology-barriers.  Moreover, I love my baby, Nokia, the most.

Organizers from IndiBlogger are doing a terrific job organizing these meets and I applaud them for the efforts. For New-comers like me who just jumped into the sea of blogging, it was a tremendous experience. Cheers to the IndiBlogger team!! J

PS: this post is one day late because I had no internet connection! I should probably get a baby Samsung!!