Going Solo

It didn’t take long

To go solo

Be it movies

Or restaurants

Or museums

Or a bookstore

Or treks

I don’t even remember

When it began

Perhaps during my college

My long solo commute?

Every daily commuter

Is always alone

Though almost crushed

In a crowded train or bus

There is a constant

Inner talk with self

About a thing

Or millions of things

Or just an empty mind

Too fatigued to think

You don’t need people

When you grow up

So rugged

And then of course

There are betrayals

Of trust and time

Then there was beautiful phase

When my newborn boy

Became my extension

I was never alone

I was his constant

For that tiny life

I had brought forth

Into this chaotic world

I was never alone

Kids never let you be

Unless you play along

So often it would

Be the library or bookstore  visits

Where I would sit solo

In line of sight of my boy

Far far away in the kids section

I don’t remember

Who exactly was I

Training to be alone ?

After the boy grew up

And flew off far far away

I made up my mind

To be the solitary reaper

Of my abandoned pursuits

I unearthed my buried self

In place of a girl in 20’s

Out came a woman in her 50’s

More calmer, confident and wiser

Much slower too

How I wish I could reach out

To that girl and tell her to go solo

The world abandons you anyways

Women are supposed to play

A second fiddle in everything

Wish I could spare her from

All the traumas and dilemmas

And of course all the tears

My dark circles are rightfully earned

But here I am in my 50’s

Carrying that abandoned

Spirit of my 20’s

I know it feels absurd

To those who never tried

(Or didn’t have to)

To stand up for oneself

And live for a while

Remember?

We have abandoned our earth too

Who moves solo in the dark space

And then there is the final solo act

When we depart solo!!

Kafkaesque II

Kafka wrote about it

Long before

World turned into

This dystopia that

Pre-dates Orwellian one

Was human condition

Predisposed to be

Such a nightmare?

Making up rules

In the favour of power

At the cost of powerless

Cohen famously sang too

“Everyone knows dice is loaded

And the fight is fixed

The good guys lose

Poor stay poor, and the rich get rich

That’s how it goes”

What kind of a matrix is this?

How do we escape

This labyrinth of our own making ?

We are the predators

We are the preys 

Perhaps, human condition

Cannot be redeemed

Even though

Christ has been crucified

Wars have been lost

Upon which religions were built

We are spiralling

Nobody knows

But yet everyone knows

Trials are punishment

You never get a sentence

For what you didn’t do.

But you were charged guilty

And given a Sisyphean task

Of proving your innocence

A lifetime is spent in seeking

Justice and freedom 

Validation and acceptance!!

An Ode to A Photographer

Photography is a rare art

Playing with omnipresent

Light and Time 

Capturing moments

That transpire magically

Just like a sudden flight of a bird

Or deep pensive prayer of a saint

Or something unsettling

Or maybe deeply political

Just like a dying child staring

At an approaching vulture

These are moments of truth

That transcends Time

A photograph rarely lies

Unless of course it is doctored

To peddle a lie

Ever since it’s invention

There have been warriors

Going to the ends and the depth

To capture beauty and horror

Their gaze becomes

The gaze of the masses

That’s the magic

They turn you

Into them

The gaze changes places

You become the onlooker

Your silence becomes complicity

Life of a photographer

Isn’t an easy one

Trudging with the gears

They make the unseen

And unknown visible

They unravel the truth

That hides in the plain sight

Leaving us to wonder

How did we allow this to happen?

Are we going to do something?

Photographs have changed

The world history

But photographers carry

The burden of Sisyphus

They must push the boulders

And the borders again and again

They must teach

The blind populace to see 

And behold the truth

And not turn a blind eye 

Again and again

Photographers have turned 

Cosmetic over ages

They just indulge in beauty

Safety and narcissism of it

Yet there came along

A rare tall one

With a discerning eye

And deep wisdom

Who could stop the world

With one single photograph

Using simple Light and Time

To paint the undeniable Truth

An ace visual storyteller

Holding the mirror to the world

Leaving for the future

Stories that are imprinted

By light on the frames of Time

And memory forever!!

PS: In remembrance of legendary Raghu Rai who passed on to another realm today

Brain Fog

Best words and lines

And the flow of thoughts, ideas

Come to me while

I am walking or teaching

Or while doing some unrelated chores

And then they disappear

Brain fog I guess

Should I guilt trip myself

For not writing them down?

Or maybe a pardon is in order?

After all brain fog isn’t my fault

And it isn’t the brain’s fault either

We keep constantly overloading it

With information, emotions and sentiments

Evoked by hundreds of visuals

And narratives unfolding

Everywhere all at once

One moment we are infuriated

And next moment we laugh

We cry for a bit too

And then we are confused

Most of the time

I guess the brain too gives up on us

Thinking fast, thinking slow

Long term or short term

Cognition and metacognition

How much can it label and segregate?

Neurons too must be overworked

With all the firing and messaging

I try to remember that string of thoughts

Something that got completely lost

While I went on a scavenger hunt

Looking for war, elections and other news

Doomscrolling

I don’t remember knowing these words

During my growing up years

Brainfog, doomscrolling…

Oh wait…what was I planning

To write about?

Ufff I lost the string of thoughts again

Wonder how James Joyce and other

Stream of consciousness writers

Would have fared in this era?

Will there be a new genre?

A genre of brain fogged writings?

For writers who lose their

Stream of consciousness?

Success

Success is a mirage

A beautiful illusion

That everyone chases

It is intangible

But yet always measured

In tangible terms

Of money or assets

Or fame or infamy

Success is a strange mirage

It doesn’t guarantee

Happiness, peace or safety

Yet it is one of the most

Powerful driving forces

Driven strongly by

By the societal constructs

Or cultural norms 

World’s most famous

Writers, poets, singers and artists

Who died dirt poor as failures

Are often remembered

Oxymoronically

As successful failures or vice versa

Success is a strange mirage

A milestone some never aspire to reach

Yet they remain successful

By defying all norms and constructs!!

As Tears Go By

Marianne you sang

“As Tears Go By”

At a very tender age

And then life happened

Men took you for granted

They were seen as Bohemians

But you were labelled a slut

You went down the rabbit hole

Found yourself living on the streets

One has to hit the bottom low

To reverse the curve

Which you did brilliantly

And with much grace

You didn’t hate the men

You chose to rise above them

They sought popularity

You took refuge in literature and poetry

You forged your own solo path

And gave the world its own

Cold war anthem

“Broken English”

A complete arch of life

Beating all odds

Seeking depth and beauty

Amidst all the darkness

Your voice changed too

But your singing didn’t

The world denied you awards

Time and again

But you never cared

Life has to be lived

After all for life’s sake

Not for the sake of

Judgement and validation

Validation from whom?

And for why?

People will discover

Your “Seven Deadly Sins” 

Which actually saved you!!

Oh! Marianne…

As life goes by…

Your words ring so true!!

Image courtesy: Album cover of Broken English

Waiting Time

We will certainly wait

But for how long?

Can you hear the collective gasp?

Can you see the crimson pyres?

Sorry, there is no waiting time

In this game of death!!

How long do we wait?

For better sense to prevail

For wars to end

For children to get a chance

To live their life

How long do we wait?

For the Time that never arrives

Time of peace

Time of love

Time of kinship

How long do we wait?

For the rains

For the barren land

To become green again

For the earth to heal

How long do we need to wait?

For the stars to be visible again

To be able to breathe again

Perhaps sing again

How long do we wait?

For a day without news of abuse

A day with no school shootings

No war or no killings

No rapes or acid attacks

Just how long?

Just how long before we value

Humanity and living

How long before we value

Equality and love

We have been waiting

Far too long

Too too long

To find ourselves

To love ourselves

Immortality

There are ways to live forever

Through your sheer talent

There are ways to be

Remembered fondly

By gently nudging the broken souls

Be it Van Gogh or Sylvia Plath

Or countless many more

Who struggled for existence

Struggled to pursue their passion

They died as mere beings

Unrecognised mortals

But lived forever

As Immortals…

Time truly

Is a game changer

The more you 

Try to hold on to it

The more quickly it slips away

And then without

Your knowledge or approval

It makes you live forever

As immortals…

Condemned to be

As per everyone’s

Imagination and perception!!

Magic of Books

We devour books

By different authors

About different places

With different perspectives

Diverse stories in

Written in various

Language, words and vocabulary

Idioms, metaphors and phrases

We become inhabitants of the story

A keen observer or listener or

A lizard on the wall

Watching the characters build up

The taut tension between them

and then the resolution

(Or lack of it)

The beginning and the end

The two fixed ends of any story

The story stretched out in between

Just like the tension

Of a guitar string

That creates harmonics

(And the disharmony)

It is punctuated with

Vibes, noise and silences

Books are our escape

Just like music or movies

They create an imaginary world

For us to inhabit

Even if momentarily

Till the last page of the book

The places which are real

For the writer

Become our wild imagination

Our ultimate refuge

Most blissful death

Would be perhaps

Being completely lost in a book

Imagine walking on those

Cobbled street of another time

Or in a futuristic world

And getting left behind forever

For there is no coming back!!

No rude awakenings

Morning alarms and drudgery

No looking out for your

Favourite characters or places

We will become as unreal

Or Surreal as them!!

PS: Ramblings after the monthly book club meeting