DABBLER SCRIBBLES

Glow with me through this lucent night,

Amidst the dark in the city lights,

Like the hundred blazing suns,

Splendid, nocturnal, selfless burns,

Street lamps like the glowing stars,

Dazzling city at these late hours,

What you see is not farfetched now,

Step along I will show you how,

Décor night with these luminous dots,

Never more pretty and ever will be not,

Come along, just aglow tonight,

And be lost forever in these city lights.

“Pay for the ticket or get down from the bus”, the ticket collector was aggressive now. “Are you going to pay?” he exclaimed at the old man who was all dressed up in his dowdy clothes, with a series of stitches on his shirt screaming out his poverty. “Sir, please… I do not have enough for the fair but I need to go to my daughter’s place. She is ill, please allow me to travel”, he pleaded his best with wet eyes. “Pay or get down”, decreed the collector.   

              “Ridiculous, why do people travel when they cannot afford to”, Arnav looked more judgmental than concerned. “Such dowdy poor people reduce the standards of our city, they should not be allowed here in the first place”, Arnav muttered loud enough for me to listen while fidgeting with his watch he bought from USA on his last trip. He took a glance at the old man again and drew into his seat, staring out of the window with no signs of compassion.

             Monday morning and we were travelling in the state bus to the city Museum for a documentation of our history project. The populated roads and the nooks, the series of little native shops at the either sides of the road with human voices of all ages screaming an invitation to visit them, the old, partially fallen buildings still holding the flag of “old city”, were all to be taken into account for the culture study project and nothing better than a ride via state bus could have been possible.

      “Ok driver, stop the bus now”, the collector made up his mind to have the man out of the bus. The old man threw a glance at the passengers but none seem to feel his plight. Arnav witnessed everything but choose to submerge himself in his IPad. “Get down”, he screamed his best, “If you don’t have the money don’t board the bus”. I swiftly got up to the conductor and drew a sum of 100 and smuggled it to him. “Let him travel, he is poor but still a human…. Show a little compassion”, I proclaimed and started walking towards my seat. The old man nodded his head in gratitude and wiped his tear off. I drew back into my seat, gazing back at the wonderful city. 

What a shame! Our culture has gone down the drain. Look at the way she is dressed! Mr. Dutta was all over the case of “diluting Indian culture” again. Sipping a cup of Assam handpicked tea with ½ spoon sugar owning to the fact that he was diabetic and munching on his favorite Osman biscuits that I got him over my last visit to Hyderabad, looked troubled again over the exposure of oneself through the decreasing dress lengths which was rampant now among the colony girls.

                                  I sat with him in his balcony, a projected space on the third floor of the apartment, secured by the iron railing which were adeptly decorated by the creepers planted by Mrs. Dutta when they moved in five years ago.

                           Mr. Dutta was a bank employee, a man from old school and an orthodox to a large extent with a little flexibility to allow his daughter, Aakruti, to go to Hyderabad to pursue her engineering from a reputed college.

                 “Do you think our Indian culture has really lost its roots? With all the westernization and adulterating of morals, Nudity in the first place, I am more than worried about the course of our culture in the country”, he picked up the last biscuit from the plate and stared in the open space over his balcony, expecting an answer.

                   “Nudity is in the thinking”, I pitched my voice loud enough to smuggle these words clearly in his ears while placing back the cup of Assam tea. “It has always been a part of our culture since long but we seem to have adulterated our thinking over it”, I continued. “What are you talking about… been a part of our culture? What do you mean by that?” Mr. Dutta was demanding a justification of my words now.

         I pointed at the replica of a sculpture of nude pairs from Ajanta and Ellora caves that hung elegantly in his hall. “India is the mother of art that celebrates the beauty of nudity and freedom of expressions. Kaamasutra, the compilation of urging desires between two bodies and souls, the sculptures of Ajanta and Ellora, the elaborated depictions of nude divine figures at Khajuraho, few of the paintings of Raja Ravi Verma, have been the pride of our culture. People then did not adulterated their thinking but rather celebrated the creation of beauty and appreciated it. Doctors do not see the patient’s exposure as nudity and forsake treatment. Children are never ashamed to expose themselves infront of their mothers. Nudity is in the thinking Mr. Dutta and it has been a part of our culture but what was not is the fact that we adulterated our thinking over it”, I proclaimed clearly.

Like the verse that long freed men,

So break down the art of thinking,

Rebuild, rethink, rehearse, reborn,

And be the one, not sinking,

Do not despair, agonize, halt or rest,

Embrace the core, let go off your crest,

So bring all that you can,

From the little shelves of your heart,

The nooks of your brain,

The marrows of your life

From the gutters of your vein,

 And weave them all up to fabricate,

To pull it over world, the vicious crate,

With the words clearly knitted,

Carpe-Diem! Seize the day!

So I ask, celebrating your soul,

What will be your verse, today?

       Essence:

            This poem urges a writer to encourage himself into creating wonders by having a whole new perspective towards life exemplifying the fact that he is the one who can have a different thinking, ability to judge things and who can eventually create some marvelous verses to contribute in the legacy of literature!! 

* Carpe-Diem means "Seize the day" and is an inspiration from the movie "Dead Poets Society"* 

Hatred forged, disaster stricken,

Murderous souls no mercy reckoned,

The least beauty in the fabric of time,

A weave, god said was not mine,

Heliographies of the wasted emotion,

A heart, amidst the chaotic nation,

When cupid was flying back to Olympus,

With his arrows, looking less pompous,

What shall the fate here be?

He stood there for once to see,

The little world beside the ocean,

Washed of peace, hatred swallowed potion,

Ruins of the broken wall,

Rammed like it was hell’s call,

A man with a lady in sight,

The only two against the hideous fight,

While all others summoned death,

They smuggled themselves into forest wealth,

Neutral hearts, clear as crystal shinning,

No hatred, cupid went deep mining,

And then he knew he had a shot now,

The two were to fall in love, but how?

He pulled an arrow, rested on his bow,

Only to have the hatred show,

Launched it right to the chest of man,

Where the seed of love can,

Grow and bloom like pretty orchid,

Everlasting and placid,

And then an arrow at the woman’s heart,

Love planted by the cupid smart,

They succumbed to love in each other,

Like two bodies but a soul in together,

Cupid smiled and finally whispered the word,

Spread love and make this place a better world!!!

ESSENCE:

“A city where the feeling of hatred has forged a disaster and made all the people murderous, conspiring deaths and killing each other it was hard for cupid, the roman god of love to go back to mount Olympus, the gods land in roman mythology, ignoring the chaos. He stood there to see the destruction and was worried about the diminishing love. Amidst the chaos and hatred a man and a lady, who did not have any malice or hatred at heart decided to run away from the destruction. Cupid felt their pure hearts and decided to invoke love among them. He shoots an arrow at the man and then the second one at the lady and they fall in love. Cupid then whispers softly to them that they have to protect their love and eventually spread amidst the people who are caught in claws of hatred!!! “

It was Rudra’s 5^th gaze at the building today. He comes every day to the park with his umbrella and gaze at the 7^th floor of the Mortan Apartments at least once, but today he was all stuck there.

                                  Handling the company’s marketing, he earned great and had all the luxuries one can mention. He had no regrets but a pile of flashing memories and now that his friends moved to other state except him, he craved for those days more…and today he stood there wishing for the old days to return.

        5 years ago while studying in the state engineering college Rudra managed to make few acquaintances and eventually friends for life time. Arnav, Neel and Alok shifted with him to the 7^th floor of the Mortan Apartments and lived there for the rest of the college years.

      It was already drizzling now and Rudra drew his umbrella out while still staring at the balcony of his room on the 7^th floor. A tear fell from his eyes and soon disappeared in the rain.

                    5^th of July, the same day as today when he heard few noises of people talking in his locked room while he was trying to open the door. Arnav, Neel and Alok have all suddenly gone out for various reasons and Rudra had none to share the bliss of his birthday, his 19^th birthday.

                                      He never celebrated his birthday, neither at the orphanage nor at the community school. It was his scholarship that allowed him a study at the state college and he was always more reserved than rest. But today he craved for a companion… he swiftly inserted the key in the door lock and twisted once, the noises calmed, and he twisted twice. He grabbed the door knob and opened the door.

             “I wish they were here”, he muttered while turning the lights on………

                               Happy Birthday to you,

                               Happy Birthday to you,

                               Happy Birthday dear Rudra,

                              Happy Birthday to you!!!!

                                   Arnav, Neel and Alok sang their lungs out with a little cake in their hands. 

                    A tear rolled down his cheeks and he hugged them with a smile and all the bliss he can.!!!!

 He snapped out of his memories.  “Miss you guys”, he whispered while still staring at the building!! Miss you! 

“Look at the man out there, I am sure he must be low born”. Friday evening and Utkarsh and Tavish were on their way back from office. Bound in their formals, though the perfectness has worn out by the day’s work, they were still logically well dressed. 7 pm it was and their office cab broke down compelling them to take the bus. Packed with passengers from all walk of life they could secure a little space to stand near the back seats ensuring a seat away from Mrudhan, a dowdy dressed middle aged guy who has rightfully settled himself on the seats reserved for the low born.

                            Utkarsh was high born and had his ideals shaped to meet his reputation. He often avoided contact with the low born(s).

                                       More than a century has passed since the walls of castes have fallen but Utkarsh was still holding the pillars strong in spite of his magnificent education and equality speeches that Tavish offers him every now and then.

      The bus jerked to stop and Utkarsh was sucked to the front along with the rest but he managed to avoid a physical contact with Mrudhan.

                                          The bus moved and Utkarsh sprung back to his little space feeling victorious of his avoidance. 8:30 pm and the city looked as pretty as the newly wed bride with the lightings. With a rush of vehicles on road the city looked alive and the delicious aroma from “Karachi Bakery” reminded Utkarsh of his hunger.

                             “Tavish have you still got the bar? I am hungry”, Utkarsh urged while still having a last peep at the Bakery which now was left behind. Tavish drew the bar and Utkarsh adeptly tore the cover and smuggled a piece into his mouth.

                                         Before he could realize, he seemed to have already taken in a big piece and was already coughing his lungs out. He needed water and none seem to have. He was coughing hard now holding the iron bars of seats with Tavish beside him standing helpless. A hand with a bottle made its way from the little mob of the passengers and urged Tavish to take it. Utkarsh peeped up and saw Mrudhan extending his bottle to him. Utkarsh couldn’t forgo the pressing urge for water that he seemed to have finally left the pillars of difference and grabbed the bottle, drank to finally cool his lungs.

                       Yes the pillar of difference has finally fallen and Utkarsh stood there holding the bottle not trying to match his embarrassed eyes with the low born.!!!

      

9 feet tall, spreading its beautiful arms to embrace everyone it stood amidst the little creepers and a few concrete boulders of a broken wall fence. It stood rather strong now, today, it stood like never before, that little tree.

                                3 years back when Mr. Singh decided to plant it in the open courtyard, he was very skeptic of its survival. A thin helpless sapling bending by the stroke of a little breeze, how it would survive the constant patrolling of herbivores? Indeed the chances were low. But he decided to plant it fending by a circular wall of bricks around it like a little cage of protection.

                             2 years after the fencing and its root were pouring themselves deeper and deeper into the womb of the soil, it was more than ready to withstand anything. Mr. Singh on the other was still cynic of its healthy growth and the day when few of the cattle in his open courtyard breached the brick wall, he decided to cement the fence.

                                                                               A cemented fencing!! Why? It felt like being caged, like not being given freedom to bloom and spread. Traumatized, but it could never say a thing to Mr. Singh about its lonely pacific nights, about the little chat people have under it when Mr. Singh gets busy inside, nor about the poor burglar who broke into the house only to be scared away by Rox, Mr. Singh’s dog. Never had it spoken a thing to him about the ruthless hindrance that cemented fencing was causing it, simply because it cannot……

                       A year past since then and it tried to box itself within the fence as much as possible, but it was just not enough. Like the little bird that needs to fly off the nest, like the last strong hit on the boulder in the stream’s path only to make a way, it’s root broke the fence, emerging out of it to spread to huge extents……. Like the era of anarchy finally ended by the thoughts of freedom…. Like the final breaking by roots!!!

                               

(Thanks for reading, hope you liked it. Stay tuned in to read more posts to co me)

“Miss Neer you look as pretty as ever”. Arnav blushed as he saw Miss Neer. It was the seventh floor of the company and Arnav has his desk in the rightmost corner of the floor, desk number 26. Arnav had a liking for Miss Neer. He loved the smell of her perfume, the sweet cardilac, the little pearl necklace around her neck, her wonderful smile and her pink dress that she wore every day!  Same pink skirt with that pretty pearl necklace …. Every day! She looked charming and Arnav never asked a reason for her monotonous attire.

                  3 months ago on 14 July, 2014, Arnav was hired as an accountant in the company. He has been a rather confined to work guys since then, except for his little chats to Miss Neer, whose desk was beside his…the last in the row…desk number 27! Miss Neer was shy too, she never spoke to anyone else, never left her desk even for coffee. People in the company giggled whenever Arnav speaks with her. Arnav never mentioned about his liking or never spoke of her with his colleagues. He got her coffee in the breaks, but Miss Neer never drank one. Every time he offered, she whispered “coffee kills” and chuckles refusing it. It all seemed like Arnav was her only friend in company and none bothered heeding her presence either.

                                 Saturday night and Arnav had to take an extra shift to complete his target. Miss Neer was at her desk too, and nobody else was on the floor. Arnav had to get a file to complete his documentation from the store room, the attender was already gone for the day and he left store keys with him. He smiled at Miss Neer and moved towards the store room. Third room from the lift, he walked amidst the silence of the floor and the dim light that shone only near his desk. Miss Neer was still at her desk, watching him, smiling. He opened the door and turned on the light. Pile of dowdy files covered by a sheet of dust filled the room. He kept searching with his eyes transfixed on the racks and files. He tumbled over a box and fell down and in his attempt to hold a rack, few files fell on the floor.                                                      

                                                                    Pink file, with blots of ink on it with a similar smell of cardilac fell near him and a paper peeped out of it. It was Miss Neer’s record. He got up and picked the file. A chill flowed through his spine when he read a news report amidst the documents…..

                            14 July, 2013

                                                  Neer, an employee in a reputed company, died an un-natural death yesterday when a coffee machine exploded at her house after she returned from her office…………………

        He caught his breathe to peep out. There was no body on the floor now!!!!

(sorry it took me long to come up with a new post!!! hope you guys like this one :)....... share and comment on this story and stay tuned to read more posts to come !! )