काश जाती थम ये रात

काश ये शाम ना आती और काश ये दिन ना ढलता
और ना होती काश ये रात दिन मे तब्दील

बस थम जाता ये वक़्त यहाँ और
पीगलती तुम मेरी बाहों मे ऐसे
जैसे ना तुम होती ना मैं होता
और ना होता ये वक़्त का एहसास
बस होता हम दोनों का सिर्फ़ एक वजूद

पर तुम हो वहाँ मैं हूँ यहाँ
जहाँ रात भी ढलती है दिन भी निकलता है
और वक़्त सिर्फ़ चलता रहता है

बस एक आरज़ू के साथ ही जीता है अब ये बाँवरा दिल
इंतजार की उस रात मे जब
तुम होगी और मैं और होगा ये चौदवि का चाँद
जब थम जाएँगी ये साँसे हमारी होके एक
और थम जाएगा ये वक़्त भी
लिपटके हुमको अपनी बाहों मे

Emancipation of memories

Frail attempts of my ephemeral impressions
Are engulfed by those mighty oceans
Forgotten is history and lost is time
As memoryless shores surrender to tides

And I reflect..

Amnesia blessed o ocean sand
Torment of memories is thy distant land
Reborn with each wave anew you are
While I burn in the agony of past

Stubborn is past refusing to leave me, crying
I AM you, you otherwise amorphous cretin

No, I cry, you enslaver of memories, you past
Emancipation they seek from the spell you cast
Wait they in the dungeons for the mighty tides
When rescued I will be from the fettering confines

Lost in Sunnyvale

Bhaumin told me this hilarious anecdote. I thought I would add some masala to it to and make it an interesting story. So here it is and it is written purely in vein of humor so don’t take any offense, please.

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Our story starts with an anonymous white man who, for the purpose of this story, will be referred to as A. It was a rainy Saturday but A was determined to stick to his appointment as he readied himself to meet his friend in Sunnyvale. Yes Sunnyvale. Now for those who don’t know what Sunnyvale is, and yes ‘what’ is more appropriate here than ‘where’, it is an “Indian” reservation located in the heart of Silicon Valley. The tech industry of Silicon Valley has provided the thriving atmosphere and we the desis (people of Indian sub continent) relish in the glory of “preserving” the culture. Upon one’s visit to Sunnyvale one could witness the abundance of desis per square mile this sanctuary provides. So it was not surprising that A was up for a big surprise. Even within this reservation there exists a ghetto, the techie getto if you will, where all the bad-ass indian techies live. It was here A’s friend lived and for the reasons of anonymity I will omit the details about the ghetto being referred to here.

As A entered the community, our ghetto, the aroma of curry filled his nostrils and he knew he was up for some danger. As he walked through this persisting aroma he couldn’t find anyone around. But as he crossed another block and into the heart of the ghetto, the street was full of desis talking/chatting that suddenly turned into whispers. The mean stares (or rather stares of surprise) were being thrown at him and he was ill equipped handle them. He knew he had to get out of there. He crossed the block and made a right and with quickening pace crossed another block. As he finally caught his breath he wasn’t sure anymore if he should continue his quest of finding his friend’s place or not. Just then he spotted a young lady in saari crossing the street and in her non threatening looks he decided to take shelter and ask for his friend’s place. He slowly and cautiously approached her.

“Excuse me” said A.

“Yes?” replied the lady-in-saari with a surprise.

“I am looking for this place” he asked her as he showed her the address. “Do you know where it is?”

For a few seconds she threw a strange glance at him and replied

“No.. but there are no foreigners living here” and she walked off.

Shock waves passed through A as he didn’t know what was that supposed to mean. But surged back the memories of his forefathers from nearly 4 centuries ago when they had landed at Plymouth and how they would have felt.

We don’t know what A did later as little information is available of that account. But it won’t be surprising if we stumble upon a blog “Foreigner in my own country, welcome to Sunnyvale”.

And what would complete the circle with irony is reading of that blog by a Native American.

Just a storm away

Wakes she up with the spreading wings
To flutter miles away where the cuckoos sing
"Must I escape from the fettering wisdom to
The country where the iridescent flowers blossom"

Beheld in her eyes is a world of dreams, of
Puerile meadows swinging under wise oak trees,
Of waltzing monarchs on the waves of wind
And serene lake embracing the pebbled brim

But must she wither the threatening storm,
The dark rain clouds and the distant thunder
And attempt must she to escape this fate
Of looming darkness compelling surrender

For the fragrance of freedom is just a storm away
The fragrance of freedom is just a storm away

An awaiting symphony

Some rain here some thunder there
Blew a breeze among the fluttering leaves
A symphony emerges amidst those swelling waves

But Where are we all running to
To an orchestra in tuxedos or to an opera in gowns
Oblivious, as nature conducts its diligent score

Hamsters stuck in a wheel we are
Yet gloating at our achievements
Pause, breath and step out of that wheel
A symphony awaits for an audience

A transparent state

States high was a normal high school. Bitchy teenage girls, football jocks, geeky nerds, sprinkled with a few goths. A formula for a classic high school. Sleeping around were jocks, wishing to be sleeping around were nerds and world was a fucked up place doomed to darkness for goths. It won't be complete without gossips among 'mean girls'. All in all a classical american high school. Peace prevailed in open and chaos behind the closed doors.

But change was imminent. Omen was in the air as vicky walked the corridors. Vicky Leaks, a new entry to States high from the land of kangaroos, was a quiet and creepy young girl. Though no one was sure about the girl part. Guys, even not-ever-getting-laid nerds, stayed away from her and bitches.. well they bitched about her. Acceptance is what Vicky had always struggled for. Some argued that thats why (s)he became she though creepiness never left her. But the corridors that were undisturbed by goths could easily take one more creep. Very soon everyone forgot about her and States high returned to what it was before. And continued frustration of not being noticed returned to Vicky.

All her life she had struggled to be recognized, struggled to prove her existence. So much so that the doubts of her own existence and invisibility occupied her thoughts. She tried to commit suicide, picked fights with other girls, and stole things from grocery stores, just to get noticed, just to prove that she very much existed. But that wouldn’t last for too long and as normalcy would return and so would her doubts about her own existence. But this too was set to change.

A week before States high's football game with Mideast high she overheard some of the school cheerleaders gossiping about who's who of 'sleeping around' in school's football team. This was Vicky's chance to prove to the world forever that she very much existed. She knew if this information was leaked it would bring disaster for school especially just a week before the game. She could threaten to release this information. The idea of holding such a baton filled her with sudden surge of empowerment. Thrilled was Vicky for her awaiting future but she knew that the power can corrupt people. “Who cares” her inner voice seemed to say. It was the least of Vicky's worries and her thoughts seemed to suggest “what is far more important for you than the corruption-of-mind is the exposure of corruption. Its about the time people know who you are”.

Yet a justification was needed. Justification to expose those secrets, least of which shall include her necessity of being noticed. But what could be such justification she thought. As she struggled to put her idea into a moral framework one word rung a bell. Corruption. What fights corruption? Transparency. Yes transparency. That was her answer. She knew that to the world of opaqueness she needed to bring transparency. And that was her justification. Her moral framework.

She realized however that she need more. She needed diversity of information whose leakage would justify the moral framework of transparency beyond the gossips of who slept with who. This was Vickey’s day and ideas were pouring over her in abundance. She had found the treasure trove of questions, answers to even one of which would be explosive enough to bring her to spotlight. She needed to find what were teachers upto, what was the principal, who was school’s football coach as well, upto, what was SCHOOL upto?

But how? How could she know what they were upto? Locker room gossips could only reveal as much as who slept with who. As she walked past classrooms in the long silent corridor the answer walked past her. “Dos is dead” “Debug this.. bitches”…… , their T-shirts read. She knew geeks were her answer to the burning questions of revenge in her heart. But she hadn’t left a great impression on anyone including geeks. She needed a way in among geeks.

As she lay down in her bed contemplating what would appeal geeks and the ways to befriend them, the weight of her own thoughts put her to sleep. But she had already found an answer the next morning she woke up. And it had worked. The geeks turned around in awe and surprise as Vickey walked the school corridor with a t-shirt that read “you can pipe your output here ;)”. Geeks were sold. To the principle of transparency on surface and to their only hope of getting laid underneath. Subsequently they hacked their way to know everything about teachers, principal, school and everything that was to bring transparency.

Storm was coming. Lightning could be seen and thunder could be heard in distance as Vicky made everything public from who slept with who of football team to teachers’ affairs and closeted principal. “Girlfriends need to know what cheating bastards are their boyfriends” “Football team needs to know who their coach really is when they share their locker rooms with him”. Principal broke down. Quarterback, one of the “cheating bastard”, with few others, was ambushed and found beaten with “they deserved it” banner. Needless to say the football game was lost even before it could be played. But transparency was brought.

Most importantly for Vicky, revenge was served. And notice was made. Forever.

PhD Blues..

When will you graduate?


















Only a PhD can take you that long..