What i feel, think and imagine, I spell!

Friday, December 21, 2012

rant.



There have been a lot of articles condemning the Delhi rape case. I decided not to share any of them cause I feel cheap in doing nothing but sitting in front of a fucking computer and sharing, but some were really good and valid and I shared them anyway. Of course I'm furious but so is everyone else. Yes I feel like shouting madarchod, bhenchod and visualise myself heroically murdering those bastards. It's not helping. Murdering fucking everyone of these people in the most gruesome fashion. It's still not helping. This is the first time I'm willing to condone brutal capital punishment and it's shocking me and scaring me. I have always been against it. What is happening? But in my heart I know that's going to start another set of problems - but maybe it should happen, society has historically adjusted itself through anarchy whenever this happens. To the master of puppets it's just another shiver in the strings. Yes, I'm really angry and I'm no one. It's scary beyond wits to even imagine what it must be like to be that family - to be that person, that brother, that parent, that boyfriend. I fail, I can't.

So what do I do. Ok to begin with, I'll rant about or rather espouse some basic philosophy points I have constantly mentioned. Why does someone do this and what is the source? Are we basically savage animals and it shows up in heinous crimes like these. Sure, we are horrible savage animals that will succumb to cannibalism but that's an over-simplistic view. How can someone even like forced sex? There is no way on earth it can be pleasant. What is wrong with these people. But then I will continue to blame ourselves as a society not because that is the easiest thing to do, but because that is where the problem starts with.

You make a society that practises female infanticide. What were you thinking and what were you expecting? You start murdering these girls before they were even born. You not only screw up the sex ratio but you send out the wrong message. Do you realise how you are affecting the world with female infanticide? What if there was only one woman with for every three men in the world/country? What do you think would happen. Would it affect or worsen these crimes? Of course even if there was one lone woman in the world, not one person should dare touch her without consent, but we know the dark side is going to show itself. What is the message you are sending out? You have sent her packing even before she was born. You have already made her inferior. You have already destroyed the beginning. If that was the attitude before birth, same is going to be the attitude after birth. You will bring up the guy telling him he has to take care of the business and you will bring up the girl telling her that she has to get married off somewhere. You bring up the kid that way for 20 years. What do you think is going to happen to them? Do you really think the girl will have confidence and ambition left. You make your women cook and serve your men the food. They then have their meals after the husbands are done. Are they your motherfucking servants, you pieces of shit. You have your get-togethers, you drink and merry yourselves. Then you leave some cola for the women. They have to serve you and wait on you and get refill your peanuts every half hour. You will not allow her to face the world and then make fun of her for not knowing it. You seclude that person from the outside world - then you ill treat her and show her a morsel of pity at your passing fancy. You are disgusting enough to make her crave for that too. You are breeding social and psychological pain and monsters beyond your imagination and one day it is my sincere hope that it wakes up and destroys you.

The problem is not with some set of rascals who can't control themselves. They aren't patients, they are pests that need to be dealt with and dealt with harsh. But the problem is how we treat women. The problem is how we see them, and the biggest problem is how we are forced to see them. How many schools do you have that are coeducational and foster healthy coupling of both the sexes. Most of your bloody schools are single gender. You cut them off and separate them from childhood. You frown upon all the communication they do. Yes you make it so fucking taboo that even the most simple (i won't fucking call it innocent, cos that's the wrong word to use and perpetrated by this delusion that you have created) communication is treated with unnecessary and inadequate jokes and attention. Forget communication, the most human essence of touch is considered wrong. How wrong is it to fucking touch a person. How do you sense a person? over the fucking internet on Facebook. It's biologically done (apart from communication) by visual communication, our reaction to auditory perception, our sense of touch. All these things contribute to how we perceive any human being. You burkha bondage bastards have destroyed the very essence of human kind, the very essence of a living being. To communicate between two people, just two people. You have killed at the very core the simple spontaneity that we shared when we were unaware kids. You have made taboo and disgusting the most natural and holy (if that fucking cuss word was ever going to be used) aspects of human bonding. You have fettered it with fear and suspicion. I know of colleges in India where boys and girls - kids! - aren't allowed to talk to each other and are fined. Obviously you'll have eve teasing, stupid vulgar gestures these men commit to grab the attention of women, and then worse the anger and frustration at their failure to do so. It's a reverse effect - men act like donkeys, women get protective of themselves and treat every one with fear and suspicion - they become snobbish. You start a bloody spiral and spoil human bonding for everyone. You ever know why they are snobbish probably cos on the way to the cafeteria through the day, she was glared at 5-10 times, maybe whistled at, maybe pushed or inappropriately touched in buses and trams, and that's why she's pissed. And you know why she feels so helpless, cos she can't fucking tell anyone about it. It's embarrassing, she can't complaint to her senior managers, when employees mistreat her. Often it's the fucking boss himself. But then how does she rattle cages. If she complaints, she's going to be declared a slut - and since she is more easily expendable, she's going to have to "change departments" while the boss is important to the business. And of course you know "she was a little like that only, dressing like that". Who the fuck are you to tell what she should dress like haan? Do you bleeding imbeciles every notice why dressing is important to them? Why it's an important part of their persona? How it's linked to how they perceive and relate to the world. Have you ever seen them move properly when they are happy and realised that the dressing, the movement, the head shakes are all part of them. They are all part of their beauty and their existence and they are not only for men's pleasure. They would like dressing even if we men weren't there to ogle at them. All part of what makes them unique. And you have killed that too. You have made a disgusting world. You have made a world for them where they are valued and judged only by their looks. Of course how else do fucking arrange marriages happen anyway, the girl should be pretty na. The girl should be pretty and the guy should be rich. That's your fucking barometer. Every where the only way they are judged is by their looks. Granted we all as human beings are attracted to people in certain ways and this affects our behaviour, it even happens between men and men and women and women. But no you have objectified her to the point of insanity. There has to be her perfect figure, she has been treated across literature, art and all forms as an object. Of course that crass crap doesn't merit being called art or literature, but hey aren't these the times that we live in.

And then how can we forget sati. The most noblest of indian traditions - the example we use to tell the world we are a great country with such pride and aplomb never used to congratulate your women's hockey or cricket team of course. Fortunately we had the british rule us (I say this to make a point, it was obviously most unfortunate) and they taught people like Raja Ram Mohan Roy to teach us to not burn our women alive. Someone, someone smart told me it originated as a practise because Mughal emperors after war would rape the women after winning a war. Well probably it did, but it took a long time after the Mughals to change that, didn't it. And what does that tell you - they preferred to be burnt alive than to get violated and raped! And we still hold these fortresses as our monuments of honour. We in India have palaces and forts (the ones I saw were in rajasthan) where the high gates of the fortress are marked with a series of hand impressions. These are the impressions of the women who put it there before being burnt on their husbands funeral pyre. Of course these are our signs of greatness, the kings the dynasties that we hold on to. These are the buildings that we are proud. Raze them to the ground, they have nothing to teach you and if they did you wouldn't learn them anyway.

So what next. You treat them pathetically at every age, in every relationship at every place. What about sexuality? How often does the husband reciprocate and partake in what the woman wants? How often is she allowed to be expressive. You just want your blow jobs don't you. Did you ever bother with what she wants, what pleasures her. Did you even fucking clean that cum off the bedspread after ejaculating. No, why will you, she's your fucking maid servant. She is supposed to be submissive and she will do that. I'm sorry if that was a little too disturbing for your ears. Why do you think this happens then? Have you heard stories of women being tortured? How men stick iron rods and throw chilli powder into their vaginas. How India is a fantastic country, the golden bird of the east, in fact the fucking great country that has spent twenty years fighting for a seat in the UN but not the fact that it has the highest child molestation in the world. But of course, this is both young boys and girls - I'm guessing girls here have it far worse. My friend is a psychologist who has treated children whose dad used to rape them and they used to cover themselves in their own shit to prevent that from happening. What drives this sort of behaviour? Are you as a fucking society a culprit of this for having fostered an environment where men are called alphas, praised for that and women are hidden behind shut doors. Or is it that these people are bastards despite their upbringing and we in India and Delhi especially seem to be way to full of that. If you still feel proud of being an Indian, I feel sad for you. I feel disgusted and repulsed. Don't give me your shambolic reasons of how we used to be a great and open society in Harappan and Gupta times. I have grown in these times and seen this foul shit and I don't think that I can have any shred of respect for a country and that doesn't agree on language, religion, cast - nothing at all and fights over them - but unanimously molests and rapes women. That and commercial bollywood which is a rape of aesthetics and story telling are probably the only two things we as a country agree on. And of course we like our bollywood - we've got all the conventional saas bahus, the epic drama of indian life and the item numbers working for us. If that mass cultural delusion isn't example enough, what is.

And all you fucking feminists and well-bred women, if you raise your voice at how appalling and stereotypical what I have said is, you can go fuck yourself to. You don't understand the plight of these women any better than men and just need social recognition. Even if your intentions are noble, your attempts will be pale. And you women aren't bereft of these crimes as well. How the fuck can you let us treat you like this? You should have slaughtered us and murdered us long back. You not only commit a crime against yourself and humanity by letting us treat you this way, but you also treat your daughter-in-laws the same way. You pamper and spoil your sons the same way. You fucking don't give your girls enough freedom the same way. So fuck you too. You might be the product of a social disaster but you are fostering it as well. The next time your drunk husband manhandles you, please file a report with some NGO (not the cops, god knows they might rape you and call you loose for talking to another man) or better cut his testicles when he is sleeping.

Quite frankly if these are the times we have to live in, we don't deserve you. You are the only people that make this shit world even the tiny bit beautiful or worth living in. For every fucking bomb that we have dropped, you have been enchanted by the essence of flowers and decorated our small houses with them. Quite frankly you have civilised us and taught us dirty beasts how to live. But we don't deserve you and neither does this world. Actually maybe nature does but we don't. Also, if someone blames me for stereotyping women here I'm gonna burn you piece of shit as well. I know very well they are more than that and can perform at any rate men can.


Thursday, November 29, 2012

the good news and the bad news



the bad news is people leave you, the good news is you don't need to hold on to that many
the bad news is time flies, the good news is you're the pilot
the bad news is love is lost, the good news is it exists
the bad news is pain is everlasting, the good news is happiness is at least fleeting
the bad news is ugliness hurts, the good news is it decays
the bad news is beauty isn't appreciated, the good news is it's a joy forever
the bad news is life goes on, the good news is life ends
the bad news is poetry will fail eventually, the good news is it'll win in the moment
the bad news is you won't know which is which, the good news is neither are that bad, really
the bad news is finding beauty is so difficult, the good news is it finds you
the bad news is friends change, the good news is they still stay
the bad news is everything changes, the good news is everything changes
the bad news is nothing lasts forever, the good news is nothing lasts forever
the bad news is you just won't know, the good news is you just won't know
the bad news is trust and hope, the good news is trust and hope
the bad news is her, the good news is her
the bad news is you're in love, the good news is you're in love
the bad news is you're mad, the good news is you're mad
the bad news will fade away, the good news will stay
and that's both a bad and a good thing

Saturday, November 17, 2012

Musings

We try so hard to feel unique and special yet we so often tend to fall in line

Thursday, November 15, 2012

random junk again


sometimes i wish, i could tell myself what i would tell others

Monday, November 12, 2012

random junk



the bad news is people leave you, the good news is you don't need to hold on to that many

i guess the reason maths is beautiful is because it's a never ending search for symmetry. that's what it is, it shows up as symmetry, it is symmetry and our dim minds are mildly enlightened by it, only to be thwarted in the end by a search for perfect symmetry which is not possible, which is what beauty is - an ongoing search for impossible perfection

Thursday, September 27, 2012

Mother

Mother, take me to the place where the skies kiss the seas. Mother take me to the place where I can drown peacefully in the oceans. Mother take me to the place where no one mocks me for being who I am, no one, me, innocent, peaceful harmless, coward brave I don't know. Mother give me peace, mother give me salvation just at least give me arms and a chest to die into when I've lost into. This cruel world will not leave me, these people will not leave me, they will eat me alive, they'll kill me, worse drown me, maybe ridicule me but worse bend me. I don't want to bend, I wanna win but not as much as I care to be, as much as I care to kiss the sky goodbye at least once as much as I care to brush the leaves at least once as much as I wish to die at least once, with dignity, maybe not as a god, but at least man. Mother, mother, ... mother!

Wednesday, July 18, 2012

Blue flowers which shine like stars under the night sky

I could say more but what do I say, ur skin on ur bedspread under the night sky is calling out to ur surroundings like a tiny whisper to the air which provides the fragrance. I could hurl out but what's the point the little blue stars under the tree are already gathering around you. I could smell in futility but u would never be able to reach the eyes of the urchin that can see the dust flail and glow about u. The illiterate could never understand beauty anyway how would he see the perfume in the weather about u. How stricken he would be by the pain in every drop of the moment about u that could only entwine and die out in spaces around u. How would he see the presence around u, how would he feel the presence around u, how would he be the presence around u. The long traces of black shall meander through the night like meadows floating in the sky and covered as though by the mist and the sky they shall sparkle in the effervescence of the unilateral imagery constrained by the pangs of charred hunger and insatiable greed of beauty. I shall continue to captivated by the essence of freedom as the glory of beauty will continue to chain me. Blessed I am as I am tortured and chained by the lack and trauma of the universe joking on me. The ruby red lips laugh and mock me as I daringly and fearfully sneak a look at them. Gutted through the teeth of the mocking bird, gutted through the teeth of my enemy, the victor slimy pangs of poison melting my inner mind, every inch of my soul, but why should I look in disbelief as beauty makes a mockery of me

Sunday, February 26, 2012

things or/and people



the things we love, the people we love
the people we love, the things we love
the things the people we love love
the people who love the things we love

the people who love the people we love
the people who hate the people we hate
the things the things we love make us love
the things the things we love make us hate

the people we love who love the things we hate
the people we love who hate the things we love
the people we love who love the people we hate
the people we love who hate the people we love

the people whom we love but don't love us
the people who love us but whom we don't love
the people who cry and the people who laugh
the people of pain the people who are sane

the people we hate for how we love them
the people we love for how we hate them
the people we love for how we love them
the people we love

the things, the little small things
the things we love, people force us to hate
the things that help us love the people we love
the things that help us give some love to ourselves
the people who love us, help us love ourselves, and teach us to love

what crime hath i done to have to include hate in this love
why the design so
why should i complain, why shouldn't i complain
who am i to complain, who am i to not complain

the things we love, the the people we love
the people we love, the things we love

Saturday, February 18, 2012

hmmm


sometimes i wonder if the people we love have anything to do with how much we love them or how we feel about them. at times, the lines become so blurred, they tend to really feel like an object of desire. why do we love them, because of how we feel about them, or because how they make us feel, because what side of us they bring out. what are we really in love with, them or us. im not sure momentarily if its them, it seems in this moment that we just really love ourselves, they are the instrument, the carriers, the missing connection to ourselves. we cant really feel ourselves unless we love, cant really feed ourselves that craving, that hunger inside of us, the need, shameless and naked, brown and green.

they form the channels
we are the pit and the crater
never ending, never there
sometimes here, and sometimes there

Friday, February 17, 2012

m'lady


so what aches/wakes you up today m'lady
what change has the world failed to bring today
what grace have you further grown today
tell me o prized one, how do you manage to get better every day
tell me quite simply, if today is today and yesterday no longer is
how have you grown fairer today
what has changed
 listen:  beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder
what is new
tell me all, and i shall know
i shall live and i shall sing
in the beautiful mellow moments
of your grace of your touch, that gets warmer everyday
the power you have, the power you gave away
what will betray you, pray tell me today
let the bliss be forgotten if it tell me
just tell how you're different from yesterday
 listen:  F a a i n t s !
and i shall give you my being as usual, simple straight, same, the nothing man
oh if you ever fainted, i should be there, i shall be there
oh if you ever dropped, my arms would be there, by the balcony by the bay, in the jungle below the moonlight fighting its way
but the moonlight beautiful as it maybe can never know, even as it weaves throw the leaves and trees
we are entangled far worse

 if words can send shivers down are spines, i guess the touch of our palms would just run riots, disrupt the machinery within

Tuesday, January 31, 2012

quotes

reality is such a knock-off

never underestimate life. if you think you're fucked and life cannot get any worse, think again.

Saturday, January 28, 2012

fools gold


i don't know whether you belong to nature, or in nature, but when i look at you, i see nature itself. in you i see nothing but every single element that makes it up. you're not just human, you're more. you're the earth building a structure, mud by mud pore by pore, you're the wind sailing through the structure, you're the water soothing the structure, you're the fire that burns within. you're the nightbringer, the shadow, the shade. you're the morning start, fresh breath and wings. you're everywhere, you can disintegrate, merge, rise.

you don't need a room, a house
the forests were made for you

the lake your bath
the moonlight the mood lighting

only the palms betray your true form
your true origins

human is just a shape, and
as you walk along the sunset
only i shall know what besets your shadow

--

because only i can see it, only i have the eyes
and in that you're mine, in that you're my slave
you may be my muse and my goddess
but in that you're my slave

Wednesday, January 25, 2012

remembering fatimah


she walked in wrapped in white and blue
with an innocent grin on her face
jesting, naughty, free and smart
she easily lit up the place

her smile, her easiness was of natural fibre
acting wasn't about acting at all
she walked with a book of leaves prised to her chest
there was such life within

then she came one night, hurried in fashion
a shawl wrapped around her
with hair falling and never ending
and eyes twinkling through and through

there she stood slim on toes
with the backdrop of the night
the night cowered behind
her fairy had landed

as we sat together and talked
her hair touched my face
it was as if we'd known each other
laughing over and over by the parking lot

it was to be cut short
the day she came to me in her salwar
we spend the day stealing glances at each other
with the rest of the world uproar

time has a funny way of playing
and began another adventure
she became the master
and me the hungry pastor

she wore a lot other pretty things
but the prettiest she wore was her hair
the beads, the simple cotton fabric, the torn jeans
were mere appendages to garment
that flowed like the night river

that river celebrated everytime
we shared the night sky and moonlight
we spend many a time fumbling and fondling

there were those times
she was wrapped like a mafia at midnight
there were those times
we stayed up talking all night

we shared dreams, aspirations and visions
we shared hopes, ideas and our bodies
we also shared our souls and existence
we shared everything we had and
we shared everything we could offer

there were times when she wore yellow
there were times when she wore orange
there were times when we talked for hours
with her sitting by the window sill

we comforted and motivated
we cheered as a team
we made jokes and were naughty
we walked, drove and rode

we felt elation together
we hid together and
we admired together
we resented together

as i look back upon those moments, i realize
the best way to know what attracted you
is to remember a memory
only the thing that attracted you will be there
and the rest will be a haze
and you're flooded all over the place

we began a journey
i didn't know i could feel this way
i guess i didn't know to love
and i guess you were on your search for it

we still haven't found
but i hope you do
i really do
both love and and peace

Tuesday, January 24, 2012

god knows!


i often wonder, why i'm a little atypical when i'm with you. it must be a good thing, who wants to be typical anyway. but it's more than that. when we are close, sitting together, lying together, hands close enough to make the hair strands prick, palm close enough to brush over your face, fingers streaming through your hair, i become more. i am not just pulkit anymore. i am not sure what i am, whether i am not myself, more myself, another side of myself, or perhaps more correctly both of us, but i am sure i am not just pulkit anymore
call it an orgasmic high, cosmic high, whatever, but there is a certain rush that plays through the body, pore by pore, stem by stem, that changes things, makes me lose myself in the moment. my brain melts and all my senses become more accentuated than ever. every syllable of your name begins a different note of music, there is so much stillness you wouldn't miss the dust dropping on the floor. the touch of the earthen hands transport me, make me feel i'm still connected to the mud below, part of the earth; we are like two pounds of clay grown out of the earth melting into each other. if we were but trees, your hair would've provided shade to entire forest that was us, they would've brushed my face like the leaves dancing in a wind.
and then the time would come for one of us to leave and shatter the beautiful image, only to be rebuilt again the next time

--

future cannot be predicted, it can only be made

Friday, January 06, 2012

creature


you know i never looked at you as just a human, it seemed too limiting, i always looked at you as more, a human, a bird, a fish, a winged beast, an animal, more importantly a creature. at times when we lay together i could feel myself as an animal, feel both of us were animals, wild boars lost in the greenery basking in the centre of a grove as the moonlight bathed upon our naked bodies. only i guess it was more often the evening daylight. you were too beautiful to be just human, the clothes were just a macabre to blend in. you could've been a unicorn i guess, if they ever existed, or who knows, they may have been invented just to match a feeble description that pails infront of you. but those legs belonged to a creature of land and sea and air.

when i looked at  you walk, sometimes you felt like "a painting that walks". human was too limiting a word. it was too graceful, it had to be a canvas, it had to be that a painting had come to life; a painting not limited by the strokes of men, not even by my imagination. a painting had come to life. as you stayed still, i could see a sculpture, a beautiful sculpture that never moved, that wasn't saying too much now, just had a funny smile etched on its face. this smile had jest, hunger, faith, naughtiness, it was menacing and calm at the same time. it had the momentariliness and was everlasting at the same time. it was there and elsewhere at the same time. it was a sculpture at that moment, it didn't say too much, but it had so much to be said until the veil broke.

--

you have to look at the girl everytime like its the last time cos you never know when it is gonna be the last time, and there's gonna be a last time, and when its the last time youre gonna hate yourself for ever for not looking at her the last time like it was the last time