Whose defeat will make me smile?
Who will smile at my defeat?
The long race is on,
I thought I was racing with the sun.
Promises, which were meant to bleed,
Hands, which were never to reach.
Countless solitude we shared
The long race is on.
Planned screams, shattered dreams
Pretentious greed is all that is left to me.
Once love was in the air.
The long race is on.
Countless pointed fingers,
Capsulated shame.
She smiled, I wanted to smile
With her, for her.
The long race is on…..
Saturday, December 5, 2009
The lone soldier – A request song
Of all the things I respect, doing one’s own things alone probably would be among the top of the list.
I spend most of my student life in a compulsory boarding school. It was a boy’s school. Only for boys. However there were exceptions - teacher’s kids were allowed to study with us. Sons and daughters. In our class, there were two such day scholars.
One son of a geography teacher another daughter of our mathematics teacher, Total strength of our class was 25 to 30, varying from year to year.
Day scholars generally had the added pressure of performing, well I never knew the reasons but nevertheless they had the added pressure.
Considering them a good friend was generally out of the question. As hostellers we were a very close community. And having a friend who would be a teacher’s family member was a straight no no…
So basically the life was tough for these day scholars or so I believe now.
Now think for a while of this girl... who?... Arrey daughter of our mathematics teacher. She was the only girl in our class. A class full of growing, curious, raw boys. Boys void of any female contact for months except for that girl.
She was treated as an object of curiosity. As if some kind of alien or something, a completely different breed. Not a friend, not a sister, not obviously a girl friend, not anything that can be defined in words. Talking to her was a mater of challenge that only the courageous among us would have taken. We were not the sympathetic type.
She grew up with us. From child to an adolescent. And we observed her from a distance. She became very introverted. Keeping things to herself not that she had an option. We all were changing, the world was changing out side us. Inside us there were rebellious confusions.
We greeted each other we smiled at each other, we stared at changing shapes of her breasts which she tried to hide by the books that she carried. We were learning language, we were learning to speak, we were learning to abuse and understand their literal meanings inside the enclosure of our boarding school campus where teachers were our target audience, not important whether they were physically present or not.
And she was there all the time like a lone soldier who was not allowed to participate.
She played violin, or painted the most magnificent paintings. She stood first in our academic year and recite a wonderful poem. She was however never in competition. She was a teacher’s daughter - 'judging will always be partial' or so we believed at that point of time. No matter what she did never ever won our respect. We were not the respecting type either.
Her spontaneity was the only thing that amused us more or less likes fishes inside an aquarium.
We passed out of our hostel life. Moved on with what ever earned from days of enclosure, days of boundaries, days of infinite curiosity, days of rebellious confusions and target practicing of abuses. We moved on. days passed, years passed by.
The lone soldier talks now. She is allowed to participate but now she doesn't have a side to chose… or a place to lose.
I spend most of my student life in a compulsory boarding school. It was a boy’s school. Only for boys. However there were exceptions - teacher’s kids were allowed to study with us. Sons and daughters. In our class, there were two such day scholars.
One son of a geography teacher another daughter of our mathematics teacher, Total strength of our class was 25 to 30, varying from year to year.
Day scholars generally had the added pressure of performing, well I never knew the reasons but nevertheless they had the added pressure.
Considering them a good friend was generally out of the question. As hostellers we were a very close community. And having a friend who would be a teacher’s family member was a straight no no…
So basically the life was tough for these day scholars or so I believe now.
Now think for a while of this girl... who?... Arrey daughter of our mathematics teacher. She was the only girl in our class. A class full of growing, curious, raw boys. Boys void of any female contact for months except for that girl.
She was treated as an object of curiosity. As if some kind of alien or something, a completely different breed. Not a friend, not a sister, not obviously a girl friend, not anything that can be defined in words. Talking to her was a mater of challenge that only the courageous among us would have taken. We were not the sympathetic type.
She grew up with us. From child to an adolescent. And we observed her from a distance. She became very introverted. Keeping things to herself not that she had an option. We all were changing, the world was changing out side us. Inside us there were rebellious confusions.
We greeted each other we smiled at each other, we stared at changing shapes of her breasts which she tried to hide by the books that she carried. We were learning language, we were learning to speak, we were learning to abuse and understand their literal meanings inside the enclosure of our boarding school campus where teachers were our target audience, not important whether they were physically present or not.
And she was there all the time like a lone soldier who was not allowed to participate.
She played violin, or painted the most magnificent paintings. She stood first in our academic year and recite a wonderful poem. She was however never in competition. She was a teacher’s daughter - 'judging will always be partial' or so we believed at that point of time. No matter what she did never ever won our respect. We were not the respecting type either.
Her spontaneity was the only thing that amused us more or less likes fishes inside an aquarium.
We passed out of our hostel life. Moved on with what ever earned from days of enclosure, days of boundaries, days of infinite curiosity, days of rebellious confusions and target practicing of abuses. We moved on. days passed, years passed by.
The lone soldier talks now. She is allowed to participate but now she doesn't have a side to chose… or a place to lose.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
catch 22
I saw the mosquito…. And my eyes followed it…. It sat on my thick and rough skin. I let it sit… I watched it closely…. Beautiful…. It was about to sting…. I shake… it flies away…. I followed it again…It sits on a little tender skin this time…. And I was about to kill it.
Pregnant she must be… I have read it some where… they need protein and our blood supplies it to them… How much blood can it suck in one go… I am going to kill it…. What fairness what justice…
What rights I have to take its life….. and I cry for justice. They say it was born to be killed by me. Who knows as I was born to feed it…
Pregnant she must be… I have read it some where… they need protein and our blood supplies it to them… How much blood can it suck in one go… I am going to kill it…. What fairness what justice…
What rights I have to take its life….. and I cry for justice. They say it was born to be killed by me. Who knows as I was born to feed it…
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