That feeling sometimes called love

 

 

Waste of time, sheer waste of time, that love I poured out!
And she asked, oh, it was yours to pour out eh?
Did you make it and bottle it that you pour it at will?
And as she reached and set the star above in line with the moon,
she whispered

Love blossomed with i beheld you
It was no seed i plafor poemnted and nurtured or brew that i distilled with care
But it did posses me, and it became me, nay not a being like
The makeup i could cake/put on.
It felt it in my eyes, it poured out with
The tears that welled and spilled
It was in the spit that in anger i sprayed
But mostly it had
The warm feeling that surged in my greatest despair, to dispel.

In was in the great darkness I asked about love,
And like a spark I found it within.

She moved the gray cloud away from the light of the moon
And singsonged
Love reared it’s head sometimes when i tried to buy myself some of it
And when at it, a pinch of happiness, and both evaded
I tired to nurture it in me with thoughts and bold moves
It didn’t awaken in me nor could I touch it on the outside

And then she looked down from the moon still reflecting in her eyes
And chimed
Its grace my love, it dwells in us. And when love does dwell
Prayers are the heart’s throb, smiles sparkle in the eyes
The body knows not it’s pain,
And even the ugly world shines forth
And she reached down and kissed deep on my lips
And bewildered i beheld that which i can’t posses or lockup for later.

d – 4 July 2017

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a slightly long sigh

The dull throb of listlessness
Waiting on the hurt of the next burning hot drop
To thump into the numb scalp
And then the open eyes see
the epicenter of the deep darkness
of the pitch dark gloom
The promises of light still beckon
‘but it is beyond this threshold’, she whispered.

My knees hurt from the running away

The pain is intense ever so often
From psychedelic full HD nightmares
As real as Maya and her sad laugh

Oh yes, those pinstripes of enabling light
In the darkness of the thick old blanket

The light comes in from the frayed edges
Of patches stitched over old tears of
Half fought battles
Of tough times and stumbling steps

Light that forced itself on my bleakness
That hope, wakes me up in cold sweat

There is solace still at the Rock
My parents set me up on in my far off youth
None at all at the sanctuary where the selfish greedy priest sits
He turned the water that make you thirst never more
Into an abyss of toxic waste
‘You all are to blame, you tragic losers’, his taunts echo.

My sighing and heaving bends the old rod I lean on
Still sturdy though, form the soaking of tears of my mother
The sweat that dropped on it from my father’s brow
when he smiled his bitter sweet
the strains of old hymns
the intermittent outpouring of love
the reluctant obedience of a daughter
the resplendent sunrise and sunset I sometimes see over the city smog
the selfless giving of friends…

I stopped at these water stations via dolorosa
Seeking my salvation

Rangoon – that bridge too far.

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Wow! It was Friday, even before we could say ‘Thank God’, and He had given us a little more to cheer, it was Shivarathri, and the movie release – Rangoon. Thank you god! We said. A lil too soon we thought, thinking back a little afternoon that day.

I salivated at the thought of the treat from Wednesday (the next Wednesday was Ash) on. Even decided to do the piety of lent for a couple of days – practice run for the coming feast. Rangoon is a Vishal Bhardwaj film, and it had Shahid (with whom he has never really failed, not just that but even gave Shahid new life) and then gorgeous Kangana. Vishal had gotten back to form with Haider after a bit of a slip with Matru Ki Bijlee Ka Mandola, but then with MKBKM would have been difficult to get Imran to be Amir, and even the confidence of blowing the breath of life into Shahid didn’t help then. Cut to the present, Imran seems to have retired and must be in the same state of bliss as Abishek the Bachan! So, move on we will.

And come Friday we rushed about all the chores of the morning and got to the theater for the first show (yes, first day first show). Ah! Shiva’s slumber and the producer having to talk with the Censor board guys seemed to have effected the guys in Mumbai. The censor board is the joker in the pack that brings more tears than laughter. Our censor board is the most hardworking team on earth. Their sharp scissors can’t seem to have enough. They chopped off the kiss from the Bond flick Spectre and with it all of Monica Bellucci, making it a total waste of a cinema outing. We will save the stuff they did Under My Burkha for later. Moving on, after an hour’s wait the movie began. All the better for the lovely feast we thought, licking jowls in anticipation, thoughts that voiced itself in that hall, the 10 of us in the stall (the 11.30 morning show and it eventually got us to Rangoon at 12.30) were fairly well acquainted by now. And because of this instant camaraderie we also found out that in this digital age the movies are streamed at the theaters, show after every show, and that these guys had some issue with the film certificate.

OK, movie now. It was really nice to see Kangana on screen, it was nice every time she was on. Oh, Shahid was solid too, that boy has been working very hard, the debacle that was Mausam, an indulgent one which his father mounted for his son, did disturb his inner blocks. And he continues his good from from Udta Punjab. Saif’s struggle continues, he looks good, he gets to wear crisp tux en-all, the creases in place period wardrobe. Yes, he does carry it off and well, sometimes it just becomes that, and them clothes does not maketh the man. Earnest, oh he was! Also there was Richard McCabe, he had a lot of screen time, if he was out to get us to loathe him, he did a good job of that. He was just over the top, and his Urdu and Hindi mostly made you cringe. So it was nice to see him shot down after that fearless Nadia train rescue, very short lived that was, he came back and how! Kangana’s fearless Nadia would have made Mary Evans proud (yes another Aussie reference) and a lot many others too. She is fragile, strong and she soars, and she lifts your heart. Will the melancholy that only seems to add further to her sparkle consume her too soon? Her screen presence is almost Brandonesque.

The sets and the bridge to Rangoon, the scenic Arunachal Pradesh were just very small drops that promised a downpour this summer. So like one swallow and a few little water drops does not a summer thirst quench, Rangoon too does very little. Rather disappointing horse at the Race from the Vishal stable. So, in some ways it was like the debacle that was Rajni’s Baba(2002_film) . Well, scale it down a bit, and the impact in this small world would have the same feeling of hurt. Rangoon did however get me to dig out a copy of another war flick (Aussie reference again) about the girls who went on to entertain the troops – The Sapphires. And that lovely sound track.

Rangoon OST was bloody good too.bp-Full-Juke-box-out-rangoon-shahid-kapoor-kangana-ranaut-Saif-ali-khan

OK, now for the script. Yes, it had lots packed into it. Vishal was through, so when he made Saif’s Billimoria walk the tight rope and then take off his hand at the wrist very early in the movie, he was setting up a finale that would take the whole lovely bridge down and with it your heart and let you wallow in your tears of loss and love, and also love of our country, that heady concoction was flat beer – neither foster nor our own kingfisher. But there is that wooden feeling, quite like billimoria’s mechanical hand, or a hangover from cheap bad liquor.

Shahid does get you to leave your cushioned seat and stand up, with his rendition of the national anthem and his Bhagat Singh stance. Supreme court ruling of which stanza to stand for and when you could snore through, be hanged. Our patriotism being defined by lathi and gun yielding unruly, lacking any culture could do with this selfless lesson no? OK no! But then that is the farther-est we are from today. We understand en-mass chest thumping to lies and self love. Well, that is not the reason why the film didn’t do well at the box office. Rangoon does test your patience quite some in the first half and then the second half gets muddled up with too many of the subplots having to knit. Vishal does lose it every now and then, and sometimes when he thinks he has got it, he has lost you. Was it the big budget and scale that made him lose it? Was he infected with the same virus that got Anurag Kashyap when he was in Bombay ?

And for that triangle that Shadid, Saif and Kangana play, is but just a Tinny percussion discord. Can a girl love two men? Can two men live with the love of one girl? Well, NO answers, maybe they were not even the questions that were asked. But if you ended up asking, then you have Billimoria left alone to walk the tight rope with a tattered flag and a battered hand. Love is a just a thin veiled backdrop, but it still gets the lot of them to perform very brave acts like with grenades and bullets in the brain .

The old world trying to speak to the shallowness of the new world will let your art down. Like after all that tough kissing in the movie, the big question Kangana got asked many-times over was, ‘who is a better kisser, Shahid or Saif?’ hmm m…

Oh yes, Kangana does take a big part of you when she leaves saying, my soul left with the Soldier and of-course ‘Bloody Hell!’ nice touch with that as the famous last words, but the cgiafter a big let down. All puns and spoilers intended.

Bloody hell, Vishal rise up from that drunken mud wrestle and give us another.

home! Wesley home.

 My friend sent this back to me after 15 years… god! how time has flown.. but the situation on the ground has only gotten worse… the analogy of a train with it’s breaks not holding and going downhill has been most used to explain the earth’s deterioration…  the same would analogy can see more clear and very visible physical manifestation in the corrupt ways of our Churches and diocese.

Your words on 9th May, 2001 – Flashback to an interesting read 🙂

Aashish Joshua

 Mar 2
to me
Dear friends,
Greetings! a little something i want to share with you.
On May Day laboring on another morning, got a call from Manoj to meet him at the old Peoples’ home.  A long while since I ‘d been here and this sure wasn’t something that would have pulled me away from a book and music on a holiday.
A plethora of images passed before mine eyes.  It used to be a place I looked forward to going, not so long ago.  We went there for prayer meetings, to sing, dropped in cause we were passing by.  Somewhere along the way all this changed, haven’t been there since the work on a new place began.  I asked myself why the change occurred, and got some very petty excuses for answers and an insipid one ‘I was busy, didn’t have time’, which in the next 30 seconds was already dismissed as very lame.
Well, we ventured out to the place all the same to find answers along the way.
We walked in and introduced ourselves as guests from Wesley to the warden a kind old lady, Rasathi in her 60s in a youthful zest (a warden in a youth hostel before she came here).  It has been 4 months and she should  now start to age a decade every month.  More about her another time.
A sure way for me to have a disastrous experience is to do something because “it will be good for me”. **
We went around the place, nostalgia completely removed- the harsh reality didn’t even allow me that soft cushioning.  We looked at the size of rooms in the new building from the roof top, the new rooms that are ready are not accessible because they say the contractor has not been paid and he will not allow possession of the rooms. Does not you anger well up? we downed it with a glass of warm water from the kitchen.  We weren’t ready for the inmates (that’s what they are called, a prison they know no escape from).  We walked among the ruins, a comforting sight to most who saw their very lives in such imagery, a feeling at home.
The Home is a row of rooms along the path way- 4 doors that lead into cells which house these old bodies, hands that a few years ago led young lives by their little fingers, who have led exciting lives and traveled around, whose eyes filled with tears of happiness at new life and wept into hungry cold grounds at the loss their loved ones.  Today they will ask you to pray that the Lord take them to an abode we are so accustomed to think is rosy.  A land where your limbs will get new strength and your teeth will be back, wrinkles will only be laugh lines (what else, in a land where there is no sorrow).
Now, as we walked round and round quite embarrassed to meet those that reside in these walls, one of them came out and confronted us,  she said, ‘ you don’t want to come inside and meet us, you would have come in if there were girls, wouldn’t you?’.  We walked up to her not knowing quite what to say. Where these accusations right?, were we afraid to see at close quarters what we were inevitably heading for? Were we afraid to know what goes around and make it difficult to justify our deeds at a later date?  Well, we reached her before we could quite figure out, she burst into a rich laugh and repeated her question to help sink it in deeper and then a little more louder (once more with feeling).  We didn’t come up with any answers but told her we were from the church.
She kept us in splits with episodes from her eventful life, she introduced herself- ‘Mrs. Mary Benedict- but no benediction’, she laughed.
She regaled us with her tales and having told us about marriage and mortgage she spoke of her children in distant lands and of fat pay packs
– pride and regret, sighs and smiles.
We also met Ruth Solomon and Mabel David quite pleased to hear her name though it be to summon another.  One asked that we pray to ask Him to call her to His side at the earliest.
Throw away the wine bottle, put out the candles, no one is coming by this way- said a poet about oldage.
The garden has a few lovely blossoms – no lawn, no evenly laid flower beds, a bright contrast to the garden in Church – what for? Who comes here?
At the new block we climbed the steep stairs that will lead to rooms – god!, they must think that some spring chickens coming to stay here. No thought absolutely about disabled and geriatrics (or is this something Jim Carrey specializes in).  We are to blame – we didn’t question the plan when in sat there beside the alter staring in our face and we saw nothing wrong with it then. Why complain now?- well, our unlearned mind and untrained eyes didn’t see it – and please brethren come behold the sight, a reality jolt.  Will we look at it only when it happens in our
homes, or will we lock them in such closets?   Will we continue to look
the other way?
I remember 2 years ago when a few of us thought some things were going to change for the better, we set up a cool mailing list to correspond with each other, to help build a community in virtual space- to build a home for these old people, we deliberated and we build them a castle in the air, well, some didn’t even bother with that.
This here verbose outburst is not another attempt at building community-
do whatever you think is right at the time you encounter it.   I am
guilty of not being in church and talking to you guys and now suddenly I have all my fears to pour out to you, am angry and very sad, and in impotent rage I have no one to talk to but you who I once knew so well.
Forgive me my outburst, but you sure must ask yourself some questions, the answers are not hard they are blowing in the wind, and what the
world needs now is love.   We must awake and ask these our elders who
are involved in these projects, what they are up to – don’t you want to know about the house your parent is building?  Would you not know his blind side and throw more light onto his lea side.
Does this place not matter to us Wesleyans, are we so far removed from our own, are we so blessed that we are in a land where we will never grow old!
… death under the force of a hurricane is better than life in the arms of  old age*
After such triviality do I have anything to offer you?  Yes, I have a sight that is such a horrid shame to any school of architecture. And the callous behavior of all those involved with the building I will not even get into. They say that there was 10 lacs spent on it, it sure is a
sight to behold!   The future residents will on reaching here believe
that they have at last reached the tunnel and now need only wait for the light.
And when you have reached the mountain top, then you shall begin to climb And when the earth shall claim your limbs, then shall you truly dance.*
more later, love
david.
*Kahlil Gibran
**Hugh Prather
Ps: I have no hope of knowing that I have said the right things, or if these are self-righteous ramblings, I might never know.  I must also hereby request a space for these things I have said.  You would write us, call if you think you need us, or you could do your things your way, but for your own and these old people’s sake do something.  And feel free to write me about my short falls or anything you would want to say.  especially mail me if you don’t want me to write you.
God bless.
D.

explain yourself…2 examples

Every now and then you are asked to explain yourself.   Sometimes the frequency is on an everyday basis.

Eg:  yesterday I was accepted as as belonging to a Church.  Today, I have to state if I am, cause otherwise I am not.  They had a new rule put in a personal dairy and it looked beautiful on those pages, even as it manifested her own glory.  It said, must not sing songs with that bunch of them who sing songs of love and stuff… (yes, mustn’t say ‘and stuff’) but said it is.  So, it was then declared, and now she will go about building that army against those who have no need and don’t use arms.

 

Eg 2: yesterday I was a nice guy.   Today there is big doubt… selfish fellow, hasn’t called me or hugged me in a long time.  He is actually evil.   Fuck him!  When he pings I am not looking his way,  if he comes and asks ‘what’s for dinner?’  my answer: what’s dinner?

And like this we go on and go on… then every now and then someone will die and we will say, ‘ iyooo how short this life is?’  feel good for a while. And go sit on the garbage heap again.    We will soon build a house and then She wakes up and says, I can’t be mixing with those pariahs,  we will call other kind of friends home..  and then we go on and go on. ..

And now you can go and scream that you have not come to that side of theirs and so they are justified in hating you.   Yes, yes, Hate!   Whatelse? Despise?   No! hate is what we jump to, straight.. we have come a long way you see… from them dark caves…

She got me wrong. And drowned my song

The days filled with Indian summer colors
bright and blinding, and yet inviting
her moves were graceful even as she pulled her feet up,
on to the sofa.

And in a sudden mood shift, like a leopard
that sensed danger coming in from afar
she stared out of her big eyes and her face went Kali
and her tongue thirsted for the blood of my inner Asura
and turning,  she walked away  – gait purposeful
ugly and damning…

I sat at the doorway and sang my lil ditty,
she got me wrong, and drowned my slow song.

The days are ashen winter shade
glum and gloom and the chill uninviting
Her face turned away from my luck turning-south and my cold
cold feet

the mood remains cold and dark
and no cat moves or glacier shift in sight.
Her stare blank even in that rare glimpse you catch
no talks of the taste of coffee just the darkness of scorn
tears did well, and faltering steps losing purpose
ugly and sorrowing…

I sat at the parking lot and sang my lil ditty
she got me wrong, and drowned that swelling song..

Yesterday, over my shoulder

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Oh! it’s been years now
but like the shadows from yesterday overlooks
the shoulder, in the mirror
I see you sitting, smiling at I walked in

you looked troubled then
but soon we laughed to the rhythm of
the city’s cacophonous traffic sounds.
Oblivious, the earth had for us
brought forth new flowers

the weight and stench of
yesterday’s
dismal lilies lay at our feet
Coffee’s aroma filled, then enveloped
us in it’s cloud

and that seemingly ordinary lifted and buoyed us
No land no water no language nor song’s lilt
even slightly alien.
we belonged! and the world inviting
where a while ago we were
unwanted!