City Streets

City Streets
(in the oct hols 2007 for journalism hw)

Vehicle fumes bathe me as I walk the city streets.
The roars of blue and white paid concentration cells, and lorries carrying rough blocks of granite vibrate my stomach. Various pitches of horns intrude my ears. The bikes and autos, unpredictable as flying insects, irritate the voluminous cars.

On the road, there is spit of different colours, cow dung, unstable slabs and sudden holes.
The flyover has plastic tents under it. Dead bodies of the trees still lie beside the widening highway. The smell of the nearby market is a strong mix of flowers, open fruits, urine and smoke of cigarettes and vehicles.

Some men with drunken red eyes sing songs as they pass young girls. A conductor and driver refill their water bottles and empty their bladders. I look away. The cobbler’s children are playing broom cricket.

Men with dark shining skin catch bricks in time with rhythmic hammering. The women ignore the incessant motorized slicing of granite as they sieve sand and cement, and carry the mixture on their heads. They seem to grow shorter by the weight.

A group of boys in faded clothes boldly share a partially used beedi and walk past the disabled artist who draws the same picture with chalk on the quiet road every few months. The vegetable vendor’s bare soles are dirty and cracked. But his eyes are bright. His voice rings out loud and spirited.

Ban the Bulb

If u really want it off and switches don't work then
rip the circuit.
'Ban the Bulb'

Mirror

I look for my reflection

I love my reflection.

It isn’t me but my only companion

Through life.

And sometimes it is me.

When we talk I wonder who’s speaking to who.

I cry unashamedly on to my reflection.

Because that’s the only direct truth.

Only me reflection knows me my way.

Only my reflection knows me at all inherently.

Others understand me, in their own ways

They just carry impressions, untruthful; coloured by their lives.

So I am a woman, an adult to them all

But to myself, I’m just me.

I don’t need them. But I forget it sometimes and get lonely.

All I need in my life is a mirror, my reflection

And my need to be understood by another

Is fulfilled

Or perhaps I fool myself.

Adult

25/5/07

I suddenly realize I am a machine. I do the same things everyday. I’ve stopped feeling. I’ve stopped thinking.

I’m too busy with my life. I’ve grown far away from childhood. I’m passive. I’ve stopped caring…cold, inert, dead. I’m insensitive and superficial. Everything I thought I shouldn’t grow into. I’ve become that machine.

I can’t think further than logic. Logic isn’t enough. I run form introspection. I run. Rapidly run from being alone. I am afraid and now I know it.

I used to burn my blood for work, for the love and passion. Now I only burn to fool myself of love of work, for the rain, music and nature.

I am an adult. I am a machine. Monstrous. There is no love in me. I’m a danger to myself and to humanity and all of dear earth.

But now that I shine light on this state, it will vapourise.

Let us love like children

In this moist breeze

That sways the branches

And trees

Let us become children

Again, my love, and play

In the rain.

Let us get soaked

Laugh and roll around

On the warm wet ground,

Let us throw handfuls of mud

And drop hail

Down each other’s clothes,

Let us tickle and giggle

And chase each other.

In innocence.

Let us love purely

And carefree

Let us love like children.

..

9/4/07

..

Two dots

Bothers me.

Two spots on white

Could mean so much.

It could be doubt

Or fear or a response

That has no words,

He could love me

Life fire or be as

Indifferent as a stone.

He could be shocked

Speechless

Or acknowledge that he

Expected it.

He could be patient

Or be asking for mine.

He could expect me

To continue.

It wasn’t whole,

Perhaps he isn’t.

It could’ve been

?, or !,

*, or yes,

Or and?, wait, or oh!

But

..

A mere gap between

Two conversations.