Monday, January 20, 2014

Epiphany of a twenty six year old at a coffee shop

As far as winter afternoons go,
Not the best conditions for an epiphany.
The warm sun through a nippy breeze,
A cup of coffee fast losing steam,
A cigarette, stubbed half burnt, smoking itself,
To no one's amusement.

And she looks at cars go by,
Starting to speak, but holding the thought, till the moment passes.

It could have been a smile,
It could have been a song,
It could have been a convertible which I saw too.
It could have been the sun kissing the back of her neck.
It could have been a secret,
It could have been a confession.

She started to speak, but held the thought, till the moment passed.

And we were in a moment in history,
Which would not merit a line in a textbook,
Not put a nation at war,
Not break the heart of a queen.

A moment of pure peace,

Will find its way, falling like an autumn leaf,
Forgotten, insignificant.
Will look good on a greeting card,
Or in a montage of memories.

Like you, me and the man who drove that convertible.
A generation looking at cars go by,
Starting to speak, but holding the thought, till the moment passes.

Wednesday, May 2, 2012

One with cold feet on a winter evening.

'Just be your normal self' she said but her eyes betrayed the importance of the occasion. He tried, for once not to look into her eyes, but listen instead to what she was saying and as he was registering the advice she had only just dished out she added, ' And I don't see why you should be nervous, its a pub, they play your type of music, and my friends love football too,' which made it pretty clear that she saw no reason how he could screw up and not strike it off with her Delhi friends who were to validate her choice.

They climbed the stairs to reach the far corner table of the upper deck which was a no smoking zone (what he would give right now to have a cigarette dangling carelessly from his lips to create a mirage of macho elegance which would justify his awkwardness masked in silences). He knew they were sitting at the table adjacent to the glassed wall which eliminated the sound of the bustling Delhi bazaar but did justice to the sight of its pomp, extravagance and judgement. A sizzling lamb steak was just being served on the table.

He had half a thought of tripping down the stairs with all this weight of expectation on his shoulders. But then, if not love, what else could inspire a man to rise above the great anxiety of inconvenience. And this thought put a smile on his face and he turned to look into her eyes, to hold her, to assure her with some poignant line by some poet of the yore.

But just then she let go of his hand and pranced her way into a huddle with them whom he had to impress and for the first three minutes, as they hugged and laughed and talked gibberish and laughed louder, he stood where she had left him like anchored like a ship, from the moment she had let go off him, and had no clue how he was to proceed now as all inspiration, all grace and all composure had left him and in a moment of madness, which he till date claims to be a case of demonic possession, but trust me dear reader, by his own free will, he blurted with resignation and authority,' Fuck this shit, I cant do this?'

And they who had to be impressed must have been stunned and perplexed, she who had to impress them must have felt betrayed and revolted, but he who had to conquer this moment for the vanity of love, did not care.

Through the glass wall, they saw him go, like a stream off the hill just after it rained, like a pinball after the lever had just been pulled, passing women in Italian cardigans and Victorian overcoats, and children wearing scarves with the colors of the rainbow and more.

The sun started setting on an awkward evening in Khan Market.

Monday, December 27, 2010

To the feisty little kid who always made me smile

Hope cannot be given,
It is always found.
Laying still, dormant...
Buried deep in your heart.
Forever eluding or defying
Our intellect and our education and our experience.
And when people are buried, and suffocated and lost,
In misery, despair and pain,
They will then, just when they have given up on it,
Find it.
Magnificent, radiant and abundant,
In all its glory and irony and with all its might,
Hope cannot be given,
It is always found.

Monday, April 19, 2010

vintage chaukya

Clear Chat History

lil one

delhi gone

KKR also


chalega chote

next season


but dude...i m feed up of this IPL



i kno chote

if this is fixed its going to be like wwf


i m not talking bout fixing

i m talking bout the business of cricket

i saw the interview of sports minst gill

he was bang on target

regarding iews about IPL


wat he say



that once this craze bout IPL is over(which i feel will happen sooner than later)..they ll go 2 some other sport

maybe hockey


dats true yaar


aur usme khud paise kamayenge


hopefully hockey


baad me GPL

i dont mind even 20-20

but this IPL is shit...just shit


dude hockey i think is a better game than cricket


evrything bout IPL is nonsense..apart from cricket...but even that is so less

i mean cricket is not an integral part

chutyairi is hogging the limelight

chutya actors knowingnothing bout cricket...

chalo even not knowing is also nota crime

but jo wo log na jaante huye cricket ke baare wo shaana bante hai

uska gussa aata hai


shaant gadadhaari bhim shaant


chutya ads ..leave alone between overs..even bet balls


dat really sucks


after evry match theres a bloody party going on

do u think any1 who has lost a match will go 4 a party

but here they do

winning or losing dont matter

its like khel lia

party kar liya

laundiyo ke sath nach liya

daaru pee liye

kal fir khela,piya,naacha,laundiyabaji

maa ki chut


woh bhi lauda giri hai..... especially indians ko woh sab hajam nahi hota


one more thing that is dangerous...inter player rivalry

ye log aisa intensity se khelte hai ki bhul jaate hai ki ye apne sath bhi khelenge kabhi

us din yusuf pathan ko dekha

kisi indian opening batsmn ka wicket leke itna khusha ho raha tha jaise kya hua hai

fir gali galoch

aapas me hi jhagda

i think the intensity they show is just for the camera


dude... all for the limelight


itna paisa mil raha hai to jee jaan laga rahe hai...india ke liye kehlenge to bhi paise milenge..par itna nahi

india ke liye khelte wakt dikhao na itna intensity

fuck it...


at that time..... tail between legs


chutyagiri...reluctantly,unknowingly or maybe hypocritically...i 2 have ended up watching these chutya matches

so i cant say all this


u can

because you went in for the game...


but from now on iont b a person who knows all schedules,standings,results etc

at least ill try not to follow it just bcoz evry other idiot is

just for talking about it

people watch it s that they r not left out in a conversation


dude.... most ipl conversations are boring


the other day,,,that chut reity zinta was talking nonsense about pitch conditions when a host asked her about the match....


wat i actually like is naman ojha...and other indian spinners... they are so much better than bajji


saying that the pitch looks good,will support the batting blah blha

sab suna hoga kabhi kisis commentator ke moo se

idhar badi expert banke chipka rahi thi wahi dialog

and y day was shouting and cursing when some1 dropped/misfielded

who the hell is she to comment on cricket...

do cricketers write reviews 4 her films??

same with that slut shilpa shetty


dude... unka paisa laga hai


and that chutya pak supportet gay king khan

bhen chod

there was absolutely no reason 4 him to make that statement on pak cricketers

all was done to promote his film

he timed his statement just prior to the relese of his film

all bloody chuts


woh chutya giri hai


i m very happy(even if i said that i dont care about IPL,i m very happy these 3 actors teams' didnt make it to semis

IPL will ruin 20-20 will ruin cricket in fact

enuf 4 2day i guess

main jata hu cooler ki thandi hawa me sone ko

i need to cool myself


cool down man... jalgaon seems a real hot place


yes it is


4 now.

Thursday, March 4, 2010


Fifteen minutes into the machines lecture, boredom finally started taking its toll on Kunal. The temptation to use the escape hatch was quite strong. The only problem was he was not sure whether anyone was as purely bored as he was. Maybe a few were, but then they were equally frightened of Prof. Shubha Pandit. For the escape hatch to get activated it was important for two people to get completely bored and only bored. If you were even slightly hesitant, reluctant or frightened the inverse escape effect would automatically be triggered. The hatch would open, but the exit path would redirect you to the first bench, centre row. In fact, you were to be so zonked that you should have no idea, as to where you wanted to get out, with who you wished to remain there. The tricky part was you needed one more person to be in the exact state of mind as you were, you could not indicate it to anyone. The dangerous part was when you felt that the state of things was appropriate; you had to say, “HATCH DESPATCH”. You did not have to scream it out; nevertheless it had to be in your normal audible tone. The good part was once it worked, no one would have any memory of you being there in the first place. Wherever you reached too, no one would be surprised with your sudden appearance.

Although its need was much acknowledged and concept much appreciated, no one really bought the idea of its existence. Of course, it did make a very good topic for canteen discussions and also inspired some remarkable works in the field of back book poetry (Asphyxiation – Nikhila Nadkarni) and desktop graffiti (population paradox – Rahul ‘Chaukya’ Kulkarni). Also no one had ever claimed successfully operating the hatch – or for that matter triggering the ‘inverse’ by unsuccessfully operating it. Sometime in the summer of 2006, however Divyanshu created a mild ripple by stating that the erstwhile chemistry professor Mr Alok Mishra had confirmed its existence and utility to Heston and himself during the preparatory leave. Many wanted to cross-check Divyanshu’s claim, but unfortunately & mysteriously that very semester, Mr Mishra for personal reasons, left the college. Heston on his part always laughed off the topic, but then again, he never categorically denied what Divyanshu claimed. Coincidently, things have been pretty frosty between the two ever since (some attribute it to Heston’s dedication to Jazz and Divyanshu’s - much in your face fixation with classic rock).

But right now, Kunal wasn’t thinking about any of this. All he wanted was to get out. Anywhere but here and so overcome with despair and boredom without his knowledge he blurted – “HATCH DESPATCH”.
No sooner did he say it, that his heart leapt to his mouth, and somewhere between the two events the ground beneath his feet slipped – literally. He was blinded by a sudden white light – what had happened? Did people hear him? And who was the person who had escaped with him - he was flooded with an avalanche of thoughts. And after a moment which transcended eternity, he found himself back on his feet, back to his senses – much to his surprise, dread and amusement – in front of SP ma’am. At first he thought that the ‘inverse escape effect’ had been triggered, but the familiar and hostile setting of S.P. madam’s cabin reassured him that the hatch had indeed worked.

There he stood fumbling and mumbling, not knowing what to say, if something had to be said that is. But his confusion was cut short by the professor herself. With the darting look from over her specs, which was so typical of her she said – “Essentially, Mr Dekhane, you are not the only one who finds machines taxing” – “Yes ma’am, I mean, no ma’am” was the best he could do. He gathered himself, curtly bowed his head and left the cabin.

And although the smile could not quite make to any of the two faces, there was no questioning the relief in either.

Monday, March 1, 2010

Call Waiting

In this theatre,
Of 'i'll call you later',
Each night the same old tragedy plays,
At midnight's gates,
He silently waits,
She takes her time, with her many ways...

Sometime last June,
Complains the moon,
Was when, i know she kept her word,
Ever since that night,
Barring a fight,
"i'm too sleepy now", is all i heard...

Hush! hush! Oh Moon,
You speak too soon,
Any moment now, my cell will ring,
So don't be loud,
And least be proud,
Hundred full moons, her voice will bring.

The moon made light,
In the valley white,
Except an owl, no sound was made,
And in the dark,
From some distant hark,
He drew hope, and the lover stayed..

(the moon says)
Maybe she's shy,
And that is why,
She wont call you till i have left,
Then with a smile,
God bless my child,
She spoke, and in a soft cloud slept.

And like many before,
And maybe more,
Whole night he waited for her call,
From heart to bone,
All alone,
Like a maple leaf of an early fall..

Wednesday, February 24, 2010

The sun shines for the vagabond

Sometimes the sun winks from the east,
the summer hums a lazy breeze,
the heart is light, the mind at ease,
the vagabond thus ambles on...

Trees welcome him with shadows deep,
the silent noon, a dreamless sleep,
when weariness walks off his feet,
he's up again, for the way is long...

And when the winds are stern and grave,
he'll march on till his heart is brave,
then rush back to the nearest cave,
Alas!! it is a long way gone..

His ragged blanket, a mental sheild,
that sunshine of a daffodil field,
some old scar, he never lets heal,
on a night like this, will keep him warm...

The torrent shall never shake his will,
only make him try but harder still,
thus floating midst fear and thrill,
the vagabond keeps fighting on..

And maybe when the dawn does break,
the first sunbeam shall kiss his brow,
and he will rise, and set forth on,
a journey he started long ago...

Or maybe when the dawn does break,
the first sunbeam shall kiss his brow,
and fulfill a promise that it made,
to a vagabond, long long ago...

The day, my friend, you shall not greet,
the first sunbeam, with ready feet,
no sun would shine that day on earth,
no breeze, no shade, no summer mirth..

And all shall know, that day beyond,
the sun shines for the vagabond...