There is an old family house, built on flattened out contours on the left side of a mediocre mountain, that is now void of its makers. One was a nice man, but a drunkard, who had taken his own life insidiously. His wife, everybody called her Maati (माती), was a giving lady. Their son, a little […]
Last night hailed thunderstorm from all over the places and directions, it was windy and later it got rainy. This morning, it was one of those mornings when the ceiling fan is not needed yet you still want it to rotate with the whirling of the winds that comes fresh after touching the mountains around. […]
I do not know if I’m worth this, but: Will you always love me? Loving me has been described in a hundred ways, ninety-nine of which are my own metaphors. A storm in a teacup, a hurricane racing down a blind alley, a cloud with no fixed course. You are the author of the hundredth, […]
It is a strange feeling. It’s a step yet it has so many infinitesimal sub-steps under it, so many if conditions applied to each one. I was just wondering what it’d be like to find places and roam around them. Especially if the places are in other countries. Meet people, spend nights in their rooms, and under open night skies, even if it’s raining sometimes. Spend nights talking to them, about their lives, their problems, their love, their everything and just keep listening until they ask me to tell something. Perhaps even make love with strangers who would not be strangers after I’d have talked to them in the nights, cooked with them, shared with them small wreckages while cooking them some Indian food in their kitchens, hitchhike on strangers’ land and roads.
I see a fellow blogger always having traveled so much since her teens it makes me feel jealous on nights like these. The biggest problem is exchange rates. I mean 1$ = 65 Rupees! My friends who’ve gone to US for higher studies share their dilemmas with me, where spending a dollar somewhere else means they’d have to walk for half an hour to get a bus back and the like. Here, I’m in between parents’ separation, being thankfully lifted and driven by God knows what, finances uncertain, job uncertain, what I want to do / can do uncertain. I’m 23 and it’s been over 2 years since someone has wanted to sit with me and talk. I haven’t talked to any friend let alone seen one in person for over 5 months. I don’t even know if I have friends after these. It’s frustrating sometimes, with the only option left to just write it down for no one else to read/see but the wayback machine.
I know people battle with problems more worse, and this is more of a desire and longing than a problem. But there is always more. This isn’t more really, this is like a compensatory longing for time spent by other’s choices or rules, be it a person or Indian society or lack of options or ignorance.
I’d just want to get away for a while, with a stranger, no matter if it sounds something that only happens in the movies, it’s a possibility. People have had experiences. I just keep asking to nobody in particular why not me. Why can I not tell my parents or anybody for that matter where I’m doing with whom, what I’ll do there. Why can’t I set out a foot towards the mountains and explore unchartered territories, perhaps just stare at the pink cheeks of beautiful upper Himalayan women. Why can’t I explore places? Why am I so afraid of things? Why am I writing this?
Background: Art Dote
Amazing, curve of an arm,
wave of a hand speed breaking
over the stretch marks on lower back
feeling the lines like the habit
of taking corners of clothes and sheets
pressing in between the gaps
of two fingers, a pleasure
no one else ever even sees.
Wrap of an arm, making the back
and front the ancient interior China,
the arm, the great wall of China,
protecting from sadness
and occasional loneliness.
Curve of the legs fitting the other
like they were two rods under thermal stress.
The vastness of the ass comforting the lack
of it on most days, when my body hair
is as natural to you as blinking,
I miss how two bodies become void
In the shape of night’s silence, the arc
I’d started writing on this blog to engage with the WordPress community. 27% of the seeable (searchable) web is powered by WordPress. There are so many of us! But I haven’t been able to make conversations. Not even a single comment came through. I don’t know if it is the things that I write about are unrelatable to people, or what.
For now, I’ve started writing on Medium.com more. I’m also writing to properly send pieces to literary mags.
Here are some of the pieces that I recently wrote on medium
- Things I Wouldn’t Say Otherwise: This was the first slam poem that I formed at a local open mic. I wrote this the night before the open mic. For the lack of any better content, I thought to myself
What could be a better subject matter than to think about what things I could tell a bevy of trustworthy strangers. Hence I wrote this poem. All the events in the poem are real. The poem is currently a draft, Medium let’s one share one’s unpublished work as well, just that people won’t be able to comment on it or recommend it
- Paper 3 Newspaper Clippings: This is a slam poem/free verse about a bias I was a victim of. Since I was in first grade, fashion and film industry in my country and all around the world played with my mind. Most Indian families do not talk freely about many subject matters. Most of the parents think that studies are the go all be all goal of their children that they should achieve. Most of the times, they do not literally talk about anything else. I haven’t talked to anything with my father for years other than his asking me if I need more money, and my asking him if he’s okay. It’s very obvious to say after this information that I didn’t talk about girls or sex or how is it like to be in the real world, and what are their problems and so so many other things.Due to this bias, slowly and steadily my neurons started getting hardwired. I could only find skinny models, busty breasted models attractive, I’d drool over them, masturbate on “Hardcore Porn“, until two things happened
- I couldn’t get an erection with any girl I’d be with
- I realized myself out of this fact, spent nights (literally) thinking about it. About why didn’t I get attracted towards other girls. The longer I kept thinking about it, the faster I kept getting out of this fucking bias.
- Lost in Words: Why Listicles and Catchy Headings are Ruining Reading Habits: Self-explanatory, I guess.
- Once, I: After a poem by the same name, which was featured in Poetry Magazine in 2013.
Also, I curate a weekly literary/arty newsletter. I call it LOL (List of Lit). You can read more about it here. Please Please see the previous issues to known what it is all about. If it’s for you please subscribe?
Until next time WordPress, adios!
After Jane Hirshfield’s ‘Once, I’
slept on the flowers of the night sky
Ifness, lunging, scaring.
a star, dead as its light,
hit on the neck-nape of time
of a bird of north,
or a lover so happy
cries, behind the eyes
being done for like
the neck photon