I had to.....

No, He is waiting

shut up is what all i say

to your eyes that enter in

even before i know

hmm, its wrong but..

its something that I..

He is waiting i said..

Yea, He is..

I conceal my word

at your care in cover

the knot to this bird

of nature that we alter

I stay silent and I talk

it just be the way it is

not breathing the mock

but a stifle at ease

he needs me I believe

I wanna stay and I leave

like the way I hate what i think

to be a piece for your ink

I smile and I cried

it will not move and it may

like a parking ride

This is wrong, i again say

She is waiting

don't reply the way you don't

the ring that is in,

of her, it shines and it Cut

at you-the outsider within

Yea I am.. But..

can I be true to myself or..

continue to mock to meet the society on what it bothers

I can't ! but what for?

you? me? or others?

Breathing for the life of them

the water is mine, not the tree

and kill what I am

is this what I need from me..

The more she adds the more I lack

with an honest effort to somehow like, I tell

The more I try the more I move back

I don't like her, I Yell

can I be able to tolerate it

Yea.. You will I think

with a frank hope of you should not

The possessiveness of being honest

is what makes me... forget it

No Others, I ought

receivers of an unknown sperm of thought

A crop in this weed

is what all I need

to their 'base' of think, I germ

a futile another eject of sperm

Sharanabasaweshwara maharaj ki.....

A fresh air breathing in the old nostrils, with the ever clean brittle rhythms of broom sticks moving back and forth of the daily dirt, and a shout ‘get up’ disturbing the dusts of my ear.

‘I don’t wanna come, there is nothing that excites me’ – I said

Don’t come, just drop us there, it excites us neither. And as always, The Engineer accepted the driver cap from all my family members to drop them to ‘Sharanabasaveshwara Jaatri’.

My vehicle protested to carve ways in the randomly moving private vehicles and zig zag moving teen age DON’s modified bikes with their above human audible red- grill horns, the group of auto rickshaws with 60-70 kmph speed with their stops in the middle of this heavy traffic inviting the waiting passengers – maarkeet maarkeet!!!! With my grandfather guiding me on my driving on this road where I have traversed some 1000000 times, keep left, drive slow, over take only from right, give hand signal while you turn, hey! There is a speed breaker....

My clean vehicle smirked to get itself parked in the parking lot that looked like a scribbled page of a lad of five. I walked with them as a body guard in jaatri, a thick cloud of dust started resting and forming a multi-layered film on the hefty drizzled sweat of my body engendered from the smiling late evening sun’s boiling temperature of 40 degree Celsius. The ‘ Har ek maal pandraa (15) Rupaye’ kinda stalls that growled with their high intensity customer attention – ‘baRRi baRRi.. jaldi baRRI’, The sugar cane juice stalls with highest possible volume of the songs from the tape recorder with dancing lights embedded, ‘ hadd se bhi zyada tum kisise pyaar nahi karna’, jeeta tha jiskeliye, ‘dheere dheere se mere zindagi mein aana’, kitna haseen chehra kitni pyaari aakhe’. The photo frame stalls that had all kind of photos, katreena framed in wood of 15 Rs, Salman portrayed inside a paper wrapped glass, Shah Rukh could only get some space on the cloth wall supported by a single nail of iron, but a special decorated 3D photo frame gathered most of the customer attention for it showed Goddess Laxmi, Saraswathi, and Ganesh from front, left, right views respectively. The loud screaming men for the sales of their ‘Channabasaweshwara ChuDaa’ engrossed me for their originality. While my eyes moved over these stalls and shops my body stirred into the gusty flood of mob giggling around, voicing their paper horn, teasing the dames who had eyes as dull as dusk bordered by their brown lashes that were lightened by the torrent of dust molecules, the dresses designed by the local tailors with absurd blue jeans with some over shining road silver pearls over the front left and back right pockets to match the shirts that had shades of chrome yellow with a flower embroidery, to wrap the bodies that were as straight as an ideal national highway road, yes with almost negligible speed breakers!.

In this difficult situation, my stomach with its frank hunger ordered my obedient brain for the obvious.

Kaisa bhai, phalli ? – I asked

10 Rs, 100 grams – he said.

Arre bhai, saadaa phalli, 30Rs/Kg milta - I bargained…

Jahaan miltha hein, wahi se le lo phir… - he slapped

I gave him 10 Rs and purchased 100 Gms !!!

My right hand dived inside the pocket in haste, firmed few nuts and threw in air; the capriciously rotating, over an unknown axis, salted nuts formed a queue in air in the direction of my mouth in defiance to the gravity. My lower and upper hungry tooth eagerly waiting for nuts, to come in between them, like a desperate couple wanting to get divorced.

I continued my bodyguard duty standing at the exit of the ‘haRR ek maal, pandRa rupai’ stall waiting for my aunts to come back from their lady shopping. The very dust-comfortable people holding hands of their small kids and shouting at the elder kids not to run and consoling their naughty kids who were protesting for every single item in jaatri, people who made very clear to others that they were uncomfortable and were new to these kinda substandard fests, and those who purchased every single item, those who window shopped the open shops.

My hanker for enjoying the Jaatri was taken away as a charge against my sin of growing up...

I stayed silent for I looked very small in front of all this.

I remember them all.... and they...

NO Priya, this isn’t suiting the occasion, the color is bright as a happy hike mail, the pale green curves of the template cannot be used for all occasions, the background isn’t dark, ok Rachna I will ask Ranjeet to change this accordingly, but how did all that happen???...

Neha was busy scripting the mail of 'Ignore Apply for Leave' and sat bemused by the talks of Rachna and Priya.

Nithesh had the news in his mind and his words stammered while he talked to the candidates over phone losing his usual fluency, zeal and command over language. He remembered his constant hanker for my hinDi ( groundnut chutney) which I promised to get from my next home trip.

Hi all,

We regret to inform you all about the sad demise of our colleague Mr. Shivakumar SD this morning. Please assemble at the B wing at 10 AM for a condolence meeting. May his soul rest in peace.

Regards,
Team HR

People did not care the errors the mail had scripted itself to explain all that I was not – hardworking, smart, professional, and all that. Vinuttha reading this mail in her feminine shock and concern, a quick recall of her feeding lunch, her anger at my last few morsels unattended, my arguments, my take on perception, human mentality, objectivism, wrapped her thoughts before she turned to Sudhanva who ran short of his silence, his face not revealing the paining shock of the loss of the independent candidate in his government, his silence screaming out, of loss, his brain wept analyzing the series of data collected by his thoughts. Vidhya was numb like a kid that just saw her brother left for his boarding school after the summer vacation. She talked to Vinuttha and Sudhanva for a while and called Sanoj for the obvious reason.


Laxmi dropped her big lunch box the moment the news trickled down to her brain, she sat anesthetized, she just didn’t speak. My mime of woow woow woow with my hands held high with end fingers curled to take a shape of cat limbs...reminded her.... her tears smiled in cry for she lost me – the only human being who almost matched her height. Avinash threw his chair and rushed to his stress mitigating habit. He smoked 3 in a row. He voiced nothing nor silenced anything. He along with Badri gathered with Laxmi and Vishalaxmi. They did not discuss and their silence argued. Nitendra joined them. ustad hodaa said Badri in grim voice of distress. His voice revealed his tears. Ravikumar rushed in.Tanveer said bunching all his grief into a sack of one word -- Nouna... ( Shit.. !!!)

Puttu, Kiran, Satish gathered at our bay, there was noise and kiran did not complain. They voiced some usual stuff that people usually talk when one die. – He was a clever, a serious, and all that. Balaji forgot his daily quote and did not care his care. Varun, Jeevan, Anita, Ravin followed him.


Lokesh came at 11 AM carrying Pooja on his bike, shouting at the BMTC bus driver who smooched the break in passionate lust in the middle of fast moving traffic. Lokesh entered office with his usual witty smile. His brain did not respond to the news he heard. He was terribly taken aback, he shouted ‘I just spoke to him yesterday night’ – He couldn’t believe what he heard. He was hurt and his body language showed it all. He blamed everything that he thought was the reason for my death. He left office to run his new wheels straight to my house.

Pooja stood, as a reward to the place below, the exaggerated fragility of her presence against the sky--flaunted the fastidious coolness of the gardens and entrance door from which she came. She had no annotations even in her furtive peace. She spoke no word (an unknown relief from no victim). Project work enveloped her, she paused for a sec, saw the ‘time’ and……. Continued with the work.. Vinya read the mail again and recalled the editing I had once done to her article in GRANTHA, her face advertently forgot her usual smile this time.

Sastry ponderously pronounced a mail on me and Time like Ellsworth M. Toohey. Anu was innocently happy for a moment, for his brain thought that I have resigned and have taken an editorial job, and then the parachute of his creative brain landed in the reality of thick wild forest of life making him feel as the rest and walk towards our bay. While he walked, he looked down to watch his feet crushing a surface that responded, gave way and conceded faint prints to be left behind. Zakir felt the death of an enemy warrior on the other side of war field – a war in which we were invited to fight nothing. And he wasn’t happy. Deepak Alur – a man who has the silent contempt in the shape of his mouth; the planes of his gaunt, hollow cheeks; the cold, pure brilliance of the eyes that had no trace of pity. A face that was the abstraction of strength made visible making every girl feel, a convulsion of anger, of protest, of resistance--and of pleasure, was talking to his calm and strange feeling of loss flavored his words of no sound.

Govind was unavailable for his comments.
And the rest enquired who exactly Shivakumar SD was, and they signed an obituary in return to the person who they got the information from. It read... RIP (Rest in Peace).

And the day ends.

I purchased life and I paid...
as all others even I died..

The new day, the fresh air, the soothing touch of heaven from the rays of young morning sun, the husbands, the mothers, the fathers, the siblings, the boy/girl friends, the care takers, the intellectuals, the night romeos, the physical pleasure, the family tensions, the complexity in the requirements, defeated me and my death...

The people I did not meet and those I did, I don’t regret...
I remember them all.. and they forget..

Zzzz....

At the deepest hour of 4 30 AM, I found myself dead in sleep, saar ready naa? (sir, are you ready?), voiced my phone converting the said analog words of my cab driver to digital first and then analog human audible voice. I attended the call and died again.. My educated brain then forced my uneducated part of it to wake up and get ready. I wrapped myself with green stripe sweater, collared out with a white shirt inside, the traveling bag to look pertinent for the trip, the floaters to add to the sweatered decency. All these were my room mate’s deliberate choice and effort to make me look decent unlike always. Saar ready naa? voice rushed out again from my phone. I carried myself to the inside of the cab and died again, with a blurred ba bye to my friends. Half a KM from Blore Air Port, the conscious inside asked me ‘loafer ticket tandi??’ (Loafer, did u get the ticket??), my hands responded to my conscious and quickly dived in my pocket to get the happy news and made it reach My brain which in turn passed a smiling signal to my lower lip. I tried a coffee to make me come alive again after the formalities of ticket checking, luggage clock, revealing the gate number of the flight. The experience from the point of getting the gate number to boarding the flight was beautifully unknown so I cannot pen that (I mean, I slept off ).

Stepping in, I showed no sign of nervous though those were first ever steps of mine inside a KF Travels, I was shocked to see two lady like structured heavily tarnished with cream colored cream, framed by the sharp cuts of eye brows, eye lashes, tip of the hairs back, and falls of 15-20 blunt cut hair from the heights of their forehead to the upper end of their nose, the color red sprayed over their sheet of cloth and on pieces of their lips; at the entrance of the travels. I had once seen these structures in my childhood days in Durga fests. I risked almost deciding to bow my head and touch their feet for their eternal blessings. Jhor se bolo.... JAI MAATA Di...

I dragged out one side of the seat belt and inserted inside the female part of its other end, till I felt a sign of firm and comfort. I looked out for a probing learn, and then unknowingly started waiting to know who is gonna sit next to me, with a boyish hope of seeing a gal. In this wait of mine, I was unwittingly defeated and conquered by my sleep, I forced my eyes to open to see the plane moving, the first thing that I did was to see who is next to me. There was an area of 2*2 sft, with its belt open, designed for comfort of the passengers, and was the confirmation to my hope that no one is gonna sit next to me. My Sleep started its exultant again, then a lady melodious voice of ‘Sir, how are you’ flowed in my ears making me start fighting with my sleep. The Air hostess started her profession of gratuitously talking to the passengers. There was an ARMY old man sitting on the window seat of the next seat of my row. They both started the tête-à-tête like a flight on fire, ‘I used to do this’, ‘I used to run with those weights’ twisted a male voice and ‘ohhh that’s nice’, ‘ohhh that’s so cute’ , ‘ha ha ha ‘, types whispered the typical lady accent of the Air Hostess. This chat made me sick and my half death started bringing in more assets to surmount my other half life I had.

She said - Sir, are you from Blore? I said - No

She asked - Hyderabad for a business trip? I replied - Yes

She enquired - How long have you been in Blore. I answered - 3 years

She revealed – I am basically from Blore. I Smiled

She then said – My father is in ARMY. I smiled

She continued – kai kui kai kui kai kui….

I said, I m sorry I m very sleepy. She smiled J

I then capitulated completely to my sleep and it was again a beautiful unknown experience.