Inspite of ourselves we weep
Loneliness is desperate deceit
Left upon untrammeled beds
Flowers rot and turn to weed
Oh this aloneness when I am surrounded by this muck at my feet
The music plays somewhere near my hip
We weep we weep
There is deceit in me
Let these smiling eyes turn unreal
It is surreal to see you smiling back at me
I have my hell to raise
Go away
In spite of me I will push you away
Teeth tangled in the webs of lead
Oh are those my feet
Shall we be careful to tread upon your well-tended mackerel
Or shall be upon our way
For this is deceit
Your smile is a lie
I wanto hate
Go away
It not you I write this for
Then why do I wait for rain
Pretentious posturing
I am fake
Go away
This desperate alones
This is my hell to raise.
Shall I spell check this
Or shall we just pretend
We are good at that you and I
Or is it just me
Let us pretend then our pretensions are real
Confuse me so
Maybe the truth may not be
Oh language language unable, disabled to explain
Crippled words, dripping and soiled do you even care
Do I care that you care
Shall I pretend you don’t.
Oh but desperate deceit I do
I do, I do, and I do
Do I care or do I pretend?
Life’s unending conversation with itself
Why why
Are you a part of it
Or maybe your not
Maybe it’s just them
Round and round the merry go round
And up a hill they went
Listen to your pathetic speech
Aloneness is desperate deceit.
Spell bound, spell binding,
turn around why wont you?
If not for you
fuck you
why does this sound the way it does.
In short vinyl steps,
bind me down
oh take me,
take me in
who is it that said something about shelter from the storm
come in she said I'll give you shelter from the storm
insiduous, deciduous mystery men
take these shaking hands in your and wrench them free
these forests are muddy now,
their scent has turned the stone to rot.
Squelch went the wounded soldiers
in bloody hand grenade rivers.
Its my figer floating by the side.
or maybe its just my teeth.
Alone, macabre dreams turn unreality to fantasy.
Why do i smile as i write this?
What was that line?
In circles we bite down our bits.
Its the horses mouth my bleeding hand
enter at your own risk
beware of dog
said the horses mouth
cantering upon broken stone.
Mindless hands and tasteless tongues
wrap their sinewy muscle around me.
Come in she said I'll give you shelter from the storm.
I can feel my hand shiver.
Shiver shiver not shaken yet.
Friday, March 16, 2007
Indrani and I wrote this
RED.
She is red. only. He is obsessed with red. She dances. because dancers are red..she dances bharathanatyam. with so much vigour and so muchness. as if her entire being is in the dancing. she is red because she has to be red. she has to. Its hard to imagine somebody like her not to be red. She is Vijayanka.
He is obsessed with red. he isn't red. because he doesn’t feel anything. nothing surprises him. he deals with life as if it's routine. there is nothing new. he has to pretend to be loving, caring, angry, to want. because he doesn’t really want to do all those things. that's why he is obsessed with red. He wants to be passionate. he is constantly aware of himself. aware of where he is. He can never get lost. he knows where each road leads to. but he doesn't know he is obsessed with red. He is Dr. Pandey.
It was at a party of partyness make-up, lip stick. tinkling of glasses. White. laughter in a room full of husbands, wives and parents. Men and women. everything is white. Except the balcony which is black.
So quietly without being noticed he walks outside to the balcony and lights up a cigarette and throws the match stick. That’s when he notices her. She is dancing. teaching dance to a somewhat twenty-ish boy. Showing him a dance pose. And then she breaks into the dance.
He is mesmerized. By the vigour and the lost-in-the-danceness of the woman. And there is so much now in her dance as opposed to his yesterdayness and tommorowness.
He stands there watching her. Only her. Only her movement. The fire. The green saree. Oblivious of the presence of the student. That’s the first time he sees Red.
She finishes her class. The student leaves. He stands there till the light goes off and she goes in.
Dr. Pandey wakes up everyday at the same time that he woke up yesterday. His slippers are exactly so. He brushes his teeth for 2 min and three seconds. and his paper reading follows the same ritual. The sports pages are always left for the evening 6 o'clock drink.
9:00 am. he in his not so big and not so small car traveling to his not so big and not so small clinic in the not so big and not so small residential locality of Sheikh Sarai. The Hauze Khas red light is red again. No matter how much Dr. Pandey calculates he never misses the the Hauze Khas red light. RED. He lit a cigarette and flicked the match out the window and thought briefly of the woman he had seen the night before. Dance teacher. Red
She wakes up at 7 or not at 7. every day is a day unlike yesterday. drinks coffee sometimes. sometimes she doesn't. sometimes she leaves and sometimes she doesnt. but always always there is the dance. The dance thats never done. Her dance is red hot fire because of her Unfinishedness,her no routineness. Only the mundane can be finished. Vijayanka never finished anything. she left behind her a string of unfinishednessess. There was a whole stack of charcoal sketches lying in her cupboard. Black and white. Ranjit was unfinished as well, as he still sat waiting for her to decide or not. Book marks marked the halfway and three fourth points in the books that littered her house. she read but never the whole book. Vijayanka was the girl of unfinished business. But dance dance was new everyday. Dance could never finish so there was never any need to try. Dance didn't have an end that Vijayanka could run away from. With dance Vijayanka was neither beginning nor ending neither finished or unfinished, with dance she was.
She walked out onto the balcony and saw the matchstick that had sailed onto her balcony the evening before. She remembered looking up at a face peering down at her. The face was all blackness and awayness against the whiteness of Verma's party.
The light was no longer red and Dr. Pandey drove past the florist and then stopped at pan shop at the corner before his clinic. A man spat out his red pan peak just as Dr. Pandey opened the door and got out of the car.RED. He skirted the pavement and walked past the dripping remains of the mans paan. The pawari already had Dr. Pandey's 4 classic ultra-milds layed out in front of him.
She woke up.
He walked into his clinic and got a call. Hysterics. Again hysterics why is it that mothers feel the need to tell the whole colony about their child's not so stable stool. All attempts to pacify were fruitless in the face of such volume. He agreed to go over and take a look at little Sanket. He couldnt believe he was at going to travel half way across town again, he had already done it the night before and was not looking forward to the drive, there were too many red lights.
He walks past the big kirane ke dukan with the big sacks of chillis and spices in the front.RED. Unhyginic he thinks as he walks up the narrow lane that leads to the house. He would not have found parking if he had driven up. Reflected in the mirrors of a mirror shop. He catches a glimpse of her eyes. And her hand. as she grabs a fist full of chillies. red. she has lovely long surgeon fingers, with the chillis blood red in her hand.RED.He walks past the mirror shop and into the courtyard.
Mrs Khandelwal was still weeping and wailing when he entered. He conducted his routine check, patted the stunned infant and then gave her a placebo.
She switches of the glarey whitness of the television nothing hold her attention for more than a minuet. He settles down with his 6:00 'o'clock drink and the unread sports pages. She puts on her payal.
Dr. Pandey was getting on in life. He was a man of reasonable means and in his chalked out, planned to the last detail life he realised that it was time to get married. So he puts and add in the paper. It was a simple add not one of the biggest but nothing that some one reading the classified section could miss.
Ranjit called and then Ranjit called again. Ranjit was always the one to call. Vijayanka wasnt sure. She never was with these things but when Ranjit asked her all she said was no. He asked her why and she said because there is something else, look in the paper, the supplements.
Dr. Pandey had had his add answered, she seemed lovely. He went to see her perform on Tuesday evening at the habitat and then they decided to meet at Lodhi Gardens on Saturday.
He walked into Lodhi gardens past the stone sentinals up the winding path to one of the tombs. He saw her sitting there. Green and red sindhuri mango in her hand. Sitting under the mango tree. As Vijayanka bit into the fleshy fleshyness of the mango she looked up at Dr. Pandey.
He saw Radhika sitting on the steps of the tomb. He hurridly walked past the attractive woman in the red cotton sari. She seemed familiar perhaps he had seen her somewhere. He walked past the red.
She is red. only. He is obsessed with red. She dances. because dancers are red..she dances bharathanatyam. with so much vigour and so muchness. as if her entire being is in the dancing. she is red because she has to be red. she has to. Its hard to imagine somebody like her not to be red. She is Vijayanka.
He is obsessed with red. he isn't red. because he doesn’t feel anything. nothing surprises him. he deals with life as if it's routine. there is nothing new. he has to pretend to be loving, caring, angry, to want. because he doesn’t really want to do all those things. that's why he is obsessed with red. He wants to be passionate. he is constantly aware of himself. aware of where he is. He can never get lost. he knows where each road leads to. but he doesn't know he is obsessed with red. He is Dr. Pandey.
It was at a party of partyness make-up, lip stick. tinkling of glasses. White. laughter in a room full of husbands, wives and parents. Men and women. everything is white. Except the balcony which is black.
So quietly without being noticed he walks outside to the balcony and lights up a cigarette and throws the match stick. That’s when he notices her. She is dancing. teaching dance to a somewhat twenty-ish boy. Showing him a dance pose. And then she breaks into the dance.
He is mesmerized. By the vigour and the lost-in-the-danceness of the woman. And there is so much now in her dance as opposed to his yesterdayness and tommorowness.
He stands there watching her. Only her. Only her movement. The fire. The green saree. Oblivious of the presence of the student. That’s the first time he sees Red.
She finishes her class. The student leaves. He stands there till the light goes off and she goes in.
Dr. Pandey wakes up everyday at the same time that he woke up yesterday. His slippers are exactly so. He brushes his teeth for 2 min and three seconds. and his paper reading follows the same ritual. The sports pages are always left for the evening 6 o'clock drink.
9:00 am. he in his not so big and not so small car traveling to his not so big and not so small clinic in the not so big and not so small residential locality of Sheikh Sarai. The Hauze Khas red light is red again. No matter how much Dr. Pandey calculates he never misses the the Hauze Khas red light. RED. He lit a cigarette and flicked the match out the window and thought briefly of the woman he had seen the night before. Dance teacher. Red
She wakes up at 7 or not at 7. every day is a day unlike yesterday. drinks coffee sometimes. sometimes she doesn't. sometimes she leaves and sometimes she doesnt. but always always there is the dance. The dance thats never done. Her dance is red hot fire because of her Unfinishedness,her no routineness. Only the mundane can be finished. Vijayanka never finished anything. she left behind her a string of unfinishednessess. There was a whole stack of charcoal sketches lying in her cupboard. Black and white. Ranjit was unfinished as well, as he still sat waiting for her to decide or not. Book marks marked the halfway and three fourth points in the books that littered her house. she read but never the whole book. Vijayanka was the girl of unfinished business. But dance dance was new everyday. Dance could never finish so there was never any need to try. Dance didn't have an end that Vijayanka could run away from. With dance Vijayanka was neither beginning nor ending neither finished or unfinished, with dance she was.
She walked out onto the balcony and saw the matchstick that had sailed onto her balcony the evening before. She remembered looking up at a face peering down at her. The face was all blackness and awayness against the whiteness of Verma's party.
The light was no longer red and Dr. Pandey drove past the florist and then stopped at pan shop at the corner before his clinic. A man spat out his red pan peak just as Dr. Pandey opened the door and got out of the car.RED. He skirted the pavement and walked past the dripping remains of the mans paan. The pawari already had Dr. Pandey's 4 classic ultra-milds layed out in front of him.
She woke up.
He walked into his clinic and got a call. Hysterics. Again hysterics why is it that mothers feel the need to tell the whole colony about their child's not so stable stool. All attempts to pacify were fruitless in the face of such volume. He agreed to go over and take a look at little Sanket. He couldnt believe he was at going to travel half way across town again, he had already done it the night before and was not looking forward to the drive, there were too many red lights.
He walks past the big kirane ke dukan with the big sacks of chillis and spices in the front.RED. Unhyginic he thinks as he walks up the narrow lane that leads to the house. He would not have found parking if he had driven up. Reflected in the mirrors of a mirror shop. He catches a glimpse of her eyes. And her hand. as she grabs a fist full of chillies. red. she has lovely long surgeon fingers, with the chillis blood red in her hand.RED.He walks past the mirror shop and into the courtyard.
Mrs Khandelwal was still weeping and wailing when he entered. He conducted his routine check, patted the stunned infant and then gave her a placebo.
She switches of the glarey whitness of the television nothing hold her attention for more than a minuet. He settles down with his 6:00 'o'clock drink and the unread sports pages. She puts on her payal.
Dr. Pandey was getting on in life. He was a man of reasonable means and in his chalked out, planned to the last detail life he realised that it was time to get married. So he puts and add in the paper. It was a simple add not one of the biggest but nothing that some one reading the classified section could miss.
Ranjit called and then Ranjit called again. Ranjit was always the one to call. Vijayanka wasnt sure. She never was with these things but when Ranjit asked her all she said was no. He asked her why and she said because there is something else, look in the paper, the supplements.
Dr. Pandey had had his add answered, she seemed lovely. He went to see her perform on Tuesday evening at the habitat and then they decided to meet at Lodhi Gardens on Saturday.
He walked into Lodhi gardens past the stone sentinals up the winding path to one of the tombs. He saw her sitting there. Green and red sindhuri mango in her hand. Sitting under the mango tree. As Vijayanka bit into the fleshy fleshyness of the mango she looked up at Dr. Pandey.
He saw Radhika sitting on the steps of the tomb. He hurridly walked past the attractive woman in the red cotton sari. She seemed familiar perhaps he had seen her somewhere. He walked past the red.
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