Trading my soul for another day of hope
Using each word to keep from falling apart
Smiling bright and wiping the frown
Love is a little joke I play

I count the cycle of days and weekends
Until every part of my heart aches
You did say I would be special
Love, is a little joke you played

Little ghosts in the back of my mind
Singing slight lullabies
As I trade sleep for a night of dreams
Deep, deep, I am neck deep
Drowning in lonely sleep

I close my eyes & wish a blanket
A blanket of your eyes and arms
comfort in knowing you will speak
Lying by my side

Sweet lover
I hear the thunder clap
As you whisper nothing’s in my ear
Love, is a little joke you play
Love, it’s a little joke we play

The skies come alive
In twinkling festivals
I want to loose the memories
And make a fresh start
Start a party and let you be the host

Swallow the ice and douse the angry sun
A new beginning with you in my life
A spinning whirl of tornado’s
Dance, that will make my blood rush
And bring on a summer blush

I want to sleep to emptiness
And wake up to our dreams
With you by my side

Start a party and be the host
Awake to dreams and alive to your touch
So drink with me, a farewell
Of the nights that were dull

A farewell, a farewell

That when I wake up on our couch
I would find your heart by my sleeve
Staring at me, bringing me back alive

Tiny knots in my throat when I know
The heart races only in dreams
That we never did honeymoon
And you carried your heart with you

I guess you thought you would stay too
Bringing sunshine on the rainy days too
Like a movie backwards, we rewind the memories
Heading straight to the promises were never kept

I flip the rear-view, watching you
Wishing you will wave, one last time
Before the memories disappear too
Hoping you will finally say what I want to hear

I would be a fool if I dint know this is a goodbye
Promise me, you will still be my friend
Promise me, you will keep the promise

A couple of excerpts from her coloumn:

—————————–

“ The other thing that happened in that glimmer of time between leaving the road and landing wherever we’d land was that neither my ex-husband nor I braced ourselves. Instead, we simultaneously reached to clutch each other with both of our hands and, together, in the same instant, shouted I LOVE YOU!

And then, instantly, we went down. Nose first. There was a tremendous slow motion thud followed by a ferocious blur as we tumbled end over end over end over end until at last we came to a stop among the trees.

It was so silent then. I don’t know if there’s ever been a moment so silent in my life since. Me. My ex-husband. The road somewhere like a mute film of a far off dream. We looked at each other. It took me a while to understand that we were upside down, hanging by the seat belts that had saved us. We were covered in tiny blunt shards of glass and drenched with a red liquid that I later comprehended was wine—bottles we’d brought along for the evening’s festivities that had shattered in the tumult. But we were alive.

I was shaken by the accident, but not for the reasons it would seem I’d be shaken—not the frightful careening or the terrifying flight or the violent tumbling. I was shaken by the beauty of that moment when my ex-husband let go of the steering wheel and we both did and said the exact same thing without thinking about it or agreeing upon it or hesitating. In the end, we clutched each other and shouted our love. I didn’t want to die, but if I was going to, I was glad to be doing it with him. It’s one of the purest revelations of my life.

This, even though I was already aching to leave him. Even though a little more than two years later I did. Even though it’s been more than a decade since I’ve even spoken to him.”

—————————–

“The truth will come to you once you stop careening. Don’t brace yourself. Clutch onto whatever you love the most when the tires leave the road.”

The clouds have been coming in for weeks now, flooding the cities skies with changing shapes and blowing winds. Tell the people here that the weather is pleasant and they will not admit, pollution hazing their minds to believe the lack of good seasons.

Lots of people who come to Hyderabad say that it makes you soft, and most agree to that. It is the city of archaic malls selling DVDs, a city flooded with billboards, ruins from old forts, freshly painted walls that reveal a layer of peeling paint beneath. It used to be cheap city to live in, laid back and fresh. All the parks still remain – but business is brisk post dusk driving away kids who would have wanted to play. What happened here? A lot and very little.

The city gets quite, pretty quick in the night. Party goers ride up and down the roads in packed cars, and occasional mehfils and dance troops keep the others busy . People end their days sipping on tea over saturated with sugar, served in chipped white ceramic cups that usually come with a story of the previous drinker.

The city is quite a mystery by the night, the police patrol in khakhi coloured uniforms that have faded to shades of pastel, while “hipsters” sneak in to restaurants and bars from entrances only a “Hyderabadi” would know. The shutters are down up front, but the party is on inside. Personal is never discussed, getting high is a given, relationships slip in and out of smoky daze. People dance local, to international mixes. Cars are parked afar, and bikes hidden in shadows, lest a bribe may have to be given.

A small place and often innocent enough. It is a shadier city than we care to admit. There is a front of museums, parks, zoos, historical sites and nizami heritage. I have been here for almost all my life and never visited the parks.The street markets in narrow alleys are dense and popular, vibrant and a perfect trap for the local and the tourist, although the shops are not much – collectively they have enough fare to become centers of shopping, for bangles, bed-sheets, hand made perfumes and cheap imitation jewellery.

The clouds come in thicker now and the winds more violent. The peace of grey above brings out the city of color, chaos and tiny apartments jammed together. The educated population is largely “techie” and employees walk around with their office identities dangling from their necks, the hep ones have the ID’s hanging from their jeans. Billboards a hoarse for attention – a major local newspaper finances cricketing teams and is rearing with buzz for this season, while the movie posters fade in and out faster than they are noticed. The mom and pop stores are vanishing and so are stores that sell homemade “limited” ice cream and ground coffee. IT education is on a perpetual boom, with flyer’s blowing in course details. It is a “hi-tech” city, with perhaps more IT start ups than in the entire country.

There are hundreds, thousands of vantage points with breathtaking views and rolling greens on the outskirts. Swimming is gaining popularity despite the chill in air, for the occasional showers will come along with unbearable summer. The climate may get worse than we think, but cleanliness and public transport are perhaps better than we give credit for. The food is spicy, amazing and plenty if you can spare the cash. Street vendors generally have it good. The people out travelling don’t. Tempers fly high, but love and compassion also finds its way.Sometimes.

The rain pours and I remember the first time I ate an Ice gola in a mall, it was also the first time I felt respect and love, also the first time I walked in expensive leather boots, despite the rain. I remember how chaotic and busy the streets had been. I walk along now while people stand joined at the hips under the flyover, avoiding the rain.

I had noticed then that not everything was grey and gloom, it was possible then to have a good time in under 20 rupees. It could have worked differently if I dint see, but I choose not to go anywhere else.

Maybe, where I am going with this is clear, but not to me. Not yet. The city is growing haphazardly, eating into the forests and charming boulders. It could be blamed on the times. Housing is exceeding expensive, and living is getting there. There are fragments of the past sticking out like treasured charms from matchstick complexes that cloud the vision. Some systems don’t work so well, while some better than in anyplace else. For you to come in now and see, it is easy to not notice how beautiful the city is. Allow yourself some time. Time ticks slower, order yourself a tea and some biryani.

The seasons change faster than anyone can keep up, and the suns now out brighter. Hardly any traces of the rain can be seen – but it is there somewhere, a clean leaf that survived the grey.

Gonna do my best
To not stay mad
To thump my wrists in the air
And hurt nobody
Try hard and honest
So life would not vanish

I set about to write of a full life
Only to recollect flying fists
And sorrows to take to the grave

I never hurt nobody, only to regret
At the hurled angry words
But didn’t my mamma prepare them all?
“Pardon all that he says,
he is just my angry child.”

Where did life vanish
No vision past images of flying fists
Was I not another one?
Hell bent on living a honest and full life

And so I keep walking
Trying to stop the flaying arms
Counting one to ten
For I had heard it being said
“Forgive him, his mother says
he is just an angry child.”

A play on Rorschach, blood blots, swishes, splatters and slides. 

]]> http://www.chaitanyasblog.com/works/inspired-from-tv-dexter/feed/ 0 http://www.chaitanyasblog.com/works/no-direction/ http://www.chaitanyasblog.com/works/no-direction/#comments Tue, 28 Feb 2012 09:56:05 +0000 Chaitanya Reddy http://www.chaitanyasblog.com/?p=2832

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Merge

Plunge