Chaand ka Farmaan

Dedicated to Sherni

Souja raajdulari, teri palkon mein khushiyaan…
Kal naya savera hoga, ek nayi shuruwaat…
Phool khilega, roshan gulshan…
Dhoop choomegi chilman…

Andhkaar ki duniye se tu…
Chal padi hai door…
In yaadon ko bhool jayegi,
Dil tera majboor…

Kaun kahega tu hai wahi…
Jiske Honth the mere armaan,
Aankhon ki duniya mein rakhdi,
Maine apni jaan…

Yaad karoge jab tum mujhko,
Ek meethi muskaan,
Kuch pal ke aansu,
Kuch pal ki khushiyaan

Kuch pal ke moti,
Kuch pal ki bindiya
Kuch pal ki roshni
Kuch pal ke armaan

Yeh thi meri prem kahani,
Likh di kaagaz pe,

Padh ke hansna, aur yaad karna,
Ek khoye chaand ke farmaan
Ab tou bas ek raaj mehel mein
Padegi teri chaaya,

Kisi aur ki baahon mein tu,
Rachegi apni maaya…

Kaun kahega pyaar ki manzil
Pe tha tera naam,
Ab tou bas ek shaam ki manzil
Paimana aur jaam..

Jab kabhi raaaton ko uthna
Yaad karna woh naam,
Jab kabhi bhi teri yaadein,
Chal pade beeti raahon par

Yaad karna woh kuch haseen pal, woh raat, meri baahon mein, woh duniya mere naam par…

Birth of Roxen

The beginnings of a undeveloped Temp-named protagonist….

The spray hit hard and fast. The raging ocean smashed herself against the rocks as if in delirious lament. The winds sliced past his naked chest as he moved towards the end of the breakwater. The chill in the weather could not match the chill in his heart. The screaming storm could not stand up to the storm in his soul. His feet slipped on the slime covered rocks. Losing his balance, he fell sharply, cutting his hands and thighs upon the jagged rocks. Sliding down the sharp slope, he landed in a little pool of rotting water, bleeding profusely. And there, lying in his own blood and sweat, in a pool of murky brown seawater, Roxen saw the sunrise. A dazzling silver light engulfed him, and he floated into the arms of the winds, borne away by the cruel twists of destiny. He saw the lives of many souls unfold, and felt the wisdom of ages creep into his very being. There, lying in a murky brown pool of rotting seawater, in the creeping daylight, Roxen drifted towards destiny, death and darkness.

My Pearl

Dedicated to Sherni…

And now I’ve lost my pearl, and can’t find her….

In the beginning, the Creator had a thought,

And it was the most beautiful thought he ever had,

So God became an oyster,

And then He loved that thought,

And he loved it liked the oyster loves the grain of sand,

And that thought became God’s personal universe.

And just like an oyster, he built that thought,

Day after day, year after year, century passed.

A millennia passed, and still God loved that thought,

Building layer by layer, drop by drop,

Until the thought became a pearl.

And in his infinite wisdom, He dropped the pearl onto the earth,

And into the ocean,

Where the pearl lay, for an eon,

Where the pearl saw the whole creation take place.

I was in my boat, drifting upon the troubled waters of life,

Clinging to any island that came my way,

But I didn’t find the heaven I was looking for,

So I sailed for a thousand years, looking for the light in my life.

A great storm sprung up in the mighty ocean,

And my little boat was torn to shreds in that strange, powerful storm,

And as my cold body hit the water, I still looked for the light,

Slowly, steadily, my blood was replaced with salt,

As God’s tears entered my body, and filled me with despair,

I slowly sank to the bottom of the ocean,

In the deep, dark and sacred womb of Mother Earth herself,

Like a crying child in his mother’s bosom.

I slowly sank to the bottom of the ocean,

And lay there, waiting for death to take me to a better place.

My body settled into the ocean floor,

My eyes caked with mud and water.

And then, out of the murky depths,

A single ray of light shone thorough,

A dazzling aura of purity,

That lit up the demon depths,

In the ocean, that was the hole in my soul.

A last frantic attempt, I swam towards the light,

And there, embedded in a millennia of mud and earth,

Lay a pearl.

A pearl like no other,

A thing this world has never seen,

A fragment of an angel tear,

A piece of the Sun,

A mirror to the stars,

Venus essence,

Strength of Mars.

As as I swam towards that pearl,

I found the light I had been looking,

A light that lit up my soul,

And brought tears to my blood-drenched eyes.

That pearl I took, and swam to the surface,

Where there was only the calm after the storm.

And I loved the pearl like God had loved her,

And I wanted to only look and hold her to my heart forever.

But, now my pearl is lost,

And I don’t know where to look for her,

If someone could find her for me,

I would give that man my soul.

I’ve searched the whole ocean,

And I’ve looked for her under every grain of sand under the beach,

I’ve searched all the stars,

And I’ve even looked under my shadow,

But I cant find her,

She’s not in my heart,

She’s not in my arms,

She’s not in the love of a man,

She’s not in a glass of wine.

I’ve looked for her in the laughter of a child,

In the robes of a monk,

In the song of a lark,

In the beauty of a mountain,

In the joy of happiness,

In the loneliness of sad,

But I can’t seem to find her

And I want my pearl back,

For without her I am lost,

And I love my pearl,

More than I love my life.

Have you seen my pearl, milady????

I’m Sorry

Dedicated to Sherni…

I’m sorry…

And I’m sorry,

I’m sorry for the times I never said “hi”,

I’m sorry for the times I missed “goodbye”

I’m sorry for the rain that clouds the sunny sky.

I’m sorry for the pain, for every time I lie.

I’m sorry that the sun is too bright today.

I’m sorry that the flowers only bloom in May.

I’m sorry that the shower is cold and wet,

I’m sorry for the times I actually SLEPT in bed.

I’m sorry beautiful people cannot fly.

I’m sorry that I make you tie my tie.

I’m sorry for the marks, of love and lust alike.

I’m sorry that my brain is sometimes on strike.

I’m sorry that I don’t have a license yet.

I’m sorry that I didn’t dance the day we met.

I’m sorry for the world, that just stops and stares.

I’m sorry that the earth needs repair.

I’m sorry for the fog, I’m sorry for the traffic,

I’m sorry that our love sometimes may seem static.

I’m just SORRY that I didn’t pick up your calls last night.

I Love You.

Aryavansh Shukla

Teri Yaad…

This lil piece was written when I was really missing Sherni…. It in Hindi (well, actually in English, but the words are in Hindi) which can be the most beautiful or the most crude language in the world, depending on how you use it…

Aur Jab bhi teri yaad ke kaante dil se dil milate hain,

Ek gazab sa dard uthta hai seene mein,

Sansein kuch bhari bhari si ho jati hain,

Aur shor panapta hai is khali mehfil mein…

Ek bheegi si muskurahat ubharte chand ki tarah nazar aati hai,

Aur phir, ekdum se thum jaati hai,

Kisi parinde ne dum toda hai abhi,

Ki shayar ke gham ne zindagi se muuh moda hai abhi

Kisi ka chehra yaad aata hai jabhi,

Ek gazab sa dard uthta hain seene mein mere,

Aur man mein, leheron ke nirantar khelon ki tarah,

Yaadon ka silisila jaari rehta hai kabhi.

Bas illah hai mere, manzur-e-khuda,

In saason ko kheench lo is chadar se,

Laouta do mujhe wo yaadon ka silisila,

Laouta do mujhe do pal ki khushiyan,

Mere mehboob ka chehra ab muskurata hai,

Aur maut ke andkhar mein bhi, ek bar phir,

Hans ke chup ho jata hai.

Final Closure…

She grabbed the change, receipt, box of donuts, and her handbag off the table.  Balancing the bevy of packages under her arm, she flounced out of the shop, a woman in love with life. Her eyes shone with good health, and she was dressed in a chic yet understated manner. As the cool autumn breeze lifted her silken black hair off her forehead, she walked down the street to her parked car. The car in question was a sleek red Lexus, low slung and sexy. She wasn’t really sure what car it was, but then again, it didn’t really matter. At her station in life, cars ceased to be a wonder.  It was just one of the many she had, an army of wheels at her disposal. Feeling uncharacteristically retrospective, she congratulated herself for making the right decisions in life. Decisions, that had lead her to the home of her dreams, a companion who loved her more than anything else in the world, and a status that gave her the mental freedom she had always desired.

She touched the door handle, and the machine beeped twice. The boot popped open, and she dropped off her burden. Handbag in hand, she turned towards the door handle, ready to slide in and unleash the 400-horsepower beast onto the unsuspecting city traffic.

And then she saw.

She almost missed it, but somehow her unseeing eyes, fleeting past the multitude of humanity, alighted on one face.

Unchanged. The same sleepless eyes. The same artlessly tousled hair. The same sardonic half-smile. The smile that was always less pleasure, and more pain. Nothing much had changed. The clothes had become darker and fit better. The stubbled cheeks had hollowed out, giving the face a long-suffering weather beaten look.

The perennial cigarette dangled from his lips, smoke curling up lazily. The eyes were, as always, in a slight squint, the smoke causing them to look hazy.

He was sitting on the bonnet of a parked car, something long and black and non-descript. Although the act itself was out of place in the Tuesday afternoon crowd, it somehow fitted. It fitted all those memories, it fitted the look in his eyes. It fitted that aura, the personal universe that extended 4 feet all around him.

The memories came rushing back, crashing into her head, like buried memories often do. There they lay, in a messy tangled mess.

Before she could sort out the turmoil that raged inside her, he slid off the bonnet, opened the door, and with a swish of tires on wet asphalt, was gone, rapidly vanishing onto the oncoming stampede of cars.

She collapsed into her car, breathless, quivering and shocked. Twelve years. Almost twelve years since she had called him from the bus, telling him that she would call him as soon as she reached the border. Twelve years since she had not replied to those long emails. Twelve years since she had deftly erased all signs of him from her life, and buried all the memories. There was no mausoleum for those memories. They had lain, deeply dead under a unmarked grave, in her mind. Until now.

The silence in the leather seats taunted her, torturing her with its unasked questions.

Twelve years, she had gotten on a bus, and gone home to her parents. Twelve years ago, she had spoken to him on the phone. She had told him that she loved him and she missed him, and had listened to the pain he could not disguise in his fluid words. She had heard the words that he had not said, the words that knew that something was wrong. His voice was clear in her ears now. As he told her how much he was missing her already. Words that said how he couldn’t wait for her to come back. Waiting for the love that was his life. And she had said, “I can’t wait to see you again, sweetie. I’ll go home and call you, and we’ll chat online as soon as I get an opportunity.”

But she had not called him. She had not gone online, not from that ID, ever again. She reached home, and started forgetting about him. Meticulously, she took every little beautiful memory they had together, and burnt them. Memories, that was intensely short and intensely beautiful. She rubbed out all the love, and all the commitment and all the promises she had made. She never went back.

That was twelve years ago. Twelve years; a week of phonecalls and emails, and then twelve years of silence.  He was annoyed at first, then perturbed at her silence, then frantic, despairing and finally, he stopped speaking. All that she could think of now, was the last conversation she had with him, the last conversation that had marked the ending of it all.

“I can’t wait to see you again, sweetie. I’ll go home and call you, and we’ll chat online as soon as I get an opportunity. Love you, Bye”

And now there was this. He had waited for her outside the café, seen her seeing him, given her a look, and had vanished again.

There was only a question in his eyes, and it had screamed at her, louder than the traffic and the million conversations. Screamed louder than the sounds of smart clacking heels, and rustling newspapers and busy walking.

WHY?

But there was no answer. The question remained hanging there, alarmingly unemotional, bloodless, and a little unbelieving. She had just vanished without warning, for no apparent reason. They could have had a beautiful life together. But she had taken it all away from him, in a single shot to the head. There was no closure in this reality, no sanity. She had just walked out. Gone forever, like a stone in the water.

As she started the engine, a single solitary tear crept from her eyes. It danced down her skin, and splashed onto her wool coat. It soaked into the thick weave, vanishing without a trace.

The red Lexus sped away, unaffected by the sudden traffic jam in the opposite lane. A traffic jam caused by an accident, when a long, black, non-descript Mercedes had hit the barriers of the bridge one kilometer away, and had jumped into the rushing waters below, killing the only occupant.

Because none of us are angels…

Because none of us are angels. Because we do the same things that we should never do. Guilt excites us. Perversion thrills us. Our deepest darkest desires are often the dirtiest, grimiest examples of the filth in human thoughts. It’s okay by me. Guilty pleasures are often the most sensuous. There is a tart little masochistic child in all of us. And he wants nothing more than to touch himself, to rub where it pleases him most. He wants to squeal in pleasure.

And then there is that little annoyance we call love. It’s the sound of two deluded people simultaneously engaging is a series of ridiculous illusions. A series of pennyworth parlor tricks. A mask to hide all the naked animal lust. A reason to justify happiness. And it has its place in God’s universe too. Were it not for love, we would all have died out a thousand years ago. Although our venerable society has inconveniently outlawed polygamy, humans are the ultimate pimps of the animal kingdom. We believe in unbridled pleasure. With such a mindset, how can we expect to commit ourselves to one pathetic person for an average lifespan of 70 years. The only way we can drown out the sound of monotony, is by deafening ourselves with noise cancelling soft porn audio feeds. Being the unintelligent creatures we are, we burn ourselves time and time again. We engage in the same deadly spiraling dance of death every once in a while. Rushing towards a hot and hard place. And there we prostate ourselves upon the Altar of Pathetique. We then start to believe in our innate goodness and the ultimate badness of the big empty world. We resolve to never lust/love after another fellow addict ever again. And then we rush back to the same old warfield, eager to show off our battlescars, numbers adding to our self-preservation instincts.

Ta Ra Ra Rum, Ta Ra Ra Rum. Singles bars. Complicated relationship status. Elementary geometry in the human body. Ill concealed desire. Hunger for more.

I want more. More than this. More than human. I want to rise above. Let me drink so much wine that I may forget stupor itself. Let me wallow in incessant orgies, so I may forget lust itself. Let me drown myself in opulence, so I may forget material pleasure. Let me eat so I may forget hunger forever. Let me kill men, so I may forget sin itself. Let me be free. Let me be liberated. Let me be Aryavansh Shukla

A letter of Love…

I gave you all my love, I gave you more than I could give. I gave you my trust and my faith and my dreams. When we slept under the moonlight, I spoke to you about my dreams and hopes and ambitions and all my fears. When you kissed away my tears, I believed that we would be together. And now, you have done this to me. When you slipped that green dress onto my naked body today, I felt as if there could be no better feeling under God’s watchful eye. All my dreams shattered, all hopes dashed into a million poisoned shards. And these are not my hopes, these are pieces of my heart, and now they sting so. I kept dying for you, kept flying for you. And I believed, oh I was a fool to believe. A man like you can never love. He can only take, and once you take what you want, you leave me here to burn away. To add fuel to the fire, the evil fire that burns inside you, devouring humanity and peace and thought and sanity. All you see is the young one, and you write poems to her, and sing songs to her greatness. Once, these songs were sung to me. This man will leave you like he has left me, you ungainly whore. And then I will laugh, and then I will cry, because he will have been long dead then. He does not love you. He loves the feeling of loving you. It is a curse, this love of love itself. It devours a steady man from the mind inside. It can strike anytime. Don’t hurt yourself over him. Heed my words, and you will survive my wrath. Someone once said , “ Hell hath no fury, like a woman scorned” And he was right. I will have my retribution, my final closure. I will be living when he is long gone. He thinks he can just take his things and run away. I’m not going to be easy for you to live, Sonny. You are going down a lane that ends in a wall and a forever-broken heart.

You have raped me, you seed of Satan. You have raped me and sold me to a thousand men, and they have raped me and shared me with a thousand others. And each time, I only see your face, remorseless, satisfied, arrogant. You want me to suffer. You want me to suffer, because I’m only made of love for you. But you never did realize, that there is a feeling greater than revenge, and it is closure. I want closure. I want to see you beneath me, begging for mercy. My children have been murdered. You killed infants, young ones, healthy men and old people alike. You are unjust, Dear Man, and now I shall catch you. I am the true master of this planet, because I am the planet. And you shall pay. You tears will be swept out of your eyes. You screams will be drowned in the gale of retribution. It is time that Man pays and the Earth collects. I will burn your art, and erase your thoughts. Destroy your grain, and uproot your mind. Get ready to suffer, and suffer for every day until your death. Death for you is far away friend, and I will be with you all the way. Not comforting you and going with you, but taking you with me. And you will suffer. You will suffer at your own hands. Your children will strangle you with innocence, and then eat your body in taste. They will devour the source, and will then be cut up and returned back to the mud of Creation. Your nightmare starts now.

 

With Hate

Earth.

It’s been a while….

As the Staind song of the same name says, it’s been a while….It’s been quite a while, since I put my thoughts to paper, rambled senselessly through the twisted corridors of my mind. Listening to the strains of “Fade to Black”, I feel the age old pain renewed. The pain that has always been part of me, the pain of suppressed power. It is the curse of self-doubt, the plague of hesitation. Today, I practiced guitar for almost 5 hours straight. It hurts, and it’s gonna hurt like a bitch tomorrow morning. However, the fresh calluses on my fingers remind me of the inconstancy of my life. Rather than a sustained and thus productive effort, my life has often revolved around periods of great inspiration and energy, followed by even greater periods of dejection, disheartenment, and utter sloth. It is my sobbing prayer to anyone who might be listening in the heaven’s above, to grant me the one thing I crave the most in this world. The constancy of purpose. Give me a passion that lasts me more than 48 hours. I’ve tried running, lifting weights, swimming, smoking, drinking, memorizing the entire contents of a book, crunching numbers (in a fit inspired by Good Will Hunting), cryptograpy, skipping, boxing, break dancing, alcohol, drugs, chasing skirts, praying, intense meditation, yoga, even rares instances of inventiveness……Nothing seems to stick to the teflon-coated facade of my life. Everything has a patina, a laminate that protects me from any form of lasting impressions. Lasting: word for the day. Nothing seems to stick. It’s like a galvanized life. Goals change not when they are achieved, but when they become too ponderous to think about. I probably waste a large part of my day, thinking and plotting about something, only to let it go in the evening, and discard it for a new mental-mistress. I’ve seen things today, things that sparked a deep fire in my loins, that screamed at me…Do what nature made you a man for and claim your prize. But no, I shall not. It isn’t fear, I haven’t known real fear for a long time. Instead, it is a worry that maybe what I set out to do may lose steam halfway, and god forbid I’m beyond the point of no return. The last thing I would want is to be stranded in a desolate reserve, unpopulated by kindred spirits, where every smile is an effort, and every word a challenge to the wilderness. My soul longs for retribution, for fame, for universal glory. O Raistlin Majere! What price I would pay to live the way you lived. Second to none but the power of my own mind. Proud like a God. To point my finger at all the doubters and the achievers, and laugh until my soul is blissfully unburdened of its wearisome luggage. Unparalleled power, fame, glory and money….The master of my own destiny. And sometimes, taht Zippo-lighter of a feeling that we call hope flickers in the cruel North wind, as if to sigh out and whisper away to greener pastures, and stiller skies. And yet, I cling to the last thread, as the speeding jet takes off from the masked runway at midnight. I might be really babbling under the psychadelic influences of Nirvana, seeking my very own nirvana in this hellish place. The pictures I saw today deeply affected me, and made me think “I would be such, that the mortals say, Of him we have not a picture, from his time of imminent greatness. As a child all the innocence in his eyes was lost upon the world, and resulted in a change so great that it rent a gaping hole in the canvas of mankind itself. And now plays “Black” by Pearl Jam. At once a blindingly familiar bittersweetness courses through me, more bitter than sweet. And all I taught her was, everything. And now my bitter hands, chafe beneath the clouds, of what was everything. Her memories come to me in a stream of consciousness, renewing old scabs. There is no pain, only Novocaine numbness. Those were the times I can say, that “Yes, I’m a little happy” But now the light from the Black Sun that feeds inside me tattoos everything black. All the beautiful images turn to shadeless silhouettes. I know someday you will have a beautiful life, someday you’ll be a star, in somebody else’s sky. Why oh why cant it be mine. The men from Seattle couldn’t have said in a more heart rending fashion. Yes, I am not afraid to admit it, that even after one year of solitary existence, her kisses still sting me as much, when I run the film of our time together in the projector of my sadeness. My words, never underestimate the power of words. The ancient Hindu scriptures say that a man never must say an untruth, even if it means the loss of life of a million souls, and the desecration of hell itself. The power of words said in a state of great emotion is such, that although they are often foolish and unwise, they remain to haunt us of their unfulfilled promises unto our very deathbed, like ghouls returning to claim their share of life from the living. “Humko Deewana Kar Gaye” a movie that made me weep tears of glistening blood. Every moment was like an intense biopic. Another haunting memory. The tears as they dried on my shoulder. Although the moment lasted less than a moment, it shall remain in my soul for eternity. And if I could, I would turn back time and go back to those moments we shared, if only for another minute together, just one more kiss, just one more glance into those ecstatic eyes, as our souls writhed together in divine consortium. And yet I do not lay fault upon any being, not even myself, as it was a bitter lesson learnt in the fire. The fire is where the steel is folded an infinite number of times, in order to morph into the singing katanas of yore. And this katana shall sing yet, if only a single deathsong, like the songbird that pierces its heart and impales itself upon the altar of sacrifice, for no reason other than that of pure joy. The lesson has been learnt and it has been learnt well. Never again shall this katana sing for life. Now the song shall be in death, as everything fades to black. And yet it shall cry, “Sajna aaa bhi jaaa, nai lagda tere bina dil mera” The immortal words of anger/love. Try as I might, you are a part of me, and to destroy you would be to destroy the very part of me that keeps me alive.  The velvet heart still spreads its fragnant tendril betwixt the arches and gothic griffons of my shadowed alter of passion. No amount of dust or cobwebs can wipe out the indelible caress of your lips. Set in stone, they shall remin true even in the catacombs of rebirth. And so I will it to be. Every moment I live not the future, but an altered version of the past. These words hold no meaning for me anymore. Your very essence has become spliced with every breath I draw, and hence every intake of prana or life-energy is a yogic recall of your presence. Maybe the gods be with you, and give you even my share of the fruits of the few good karmas I have. A blessing upon your eyes, and a longing kiss upon your lips. That is all this soul has for you. Sometimes my hidden eyes tell me that somewhere someone else is thinking the exact same things, and longs for my unattainable caress too. However, this is merely the power of wishful thinking. Fly away my little sparrowhawk, you have bigger battles to fight. I am but a leaf on your perch. Live the journey not the destination. Goodbye and Good Night….

Why I hate Valentine’s Day

Every year, on the Fourteenth day of the month of February, thousands of people grovel before their spouses and declare their undying love (until the money/fame/political tenure lasts). They crow sickly words of affection, and exchange completely useless over-priced gifts, that they neither need nor want. The over-zealous sometimes exchange cards with mass-produced “quotes” on the inside, and the really earnest ones might scribble a “Love” or a “Yours Forever” for that “personal touch”. The flower vendors, chocolate stores, lingerie stores, sex-toy stores, stupid little bauble stores do brisk business, and many millions of dollars are spent.

I abhor this with every fiber of my being. I FAIL to comprehend, that if two people love each other, why do they only spout it today?? What exactly are they doing the rest of the year? Snogging others? Pursuing homo-erotic relationships? Swapping wives? Hiring hitmen for each other? WHAT!?!?!!?!??

Not to be condescending or anything, but methinks, if I was to love someone, I would love them all the time, not just between 0000 to 2400 hours, UAE local time, 14th February. If I had to give my soul mate flowers, I would give them to her when she leasts expects it, maybe in the shower, or after a really rough session of snogging…

I mean, how shallow and baseless can people get? Do you need a day to love someone? Do you really need another excuse for too much alcohol and one-night stands? Do we really need more teenage pregencies? We already have birthday’s, Christmas, and New Year for that. We dont NEED to buy that card, or that diamond ring or that dinner. We don’t need more AIDS because of “Honey, it’s Valentine’s Day!! Let’s do it right here in the mall!!” Love is an intense, powerful (although not necessarily GOOD) experience. Preserve the sanctity of it. It’s not a marketing strategy, its human emotion. Sod off Cupid, ya fat lil’ f**k…

Peace…