Am I still Alive?

Is there anyone there?
Can anyone hear me?
The flesh crawling under my skin
The ears like a dog’s
On the alert
The sense of being stalked….

Early morning coffee
Details of bursting skin
Broken limbs
Human bodies in a bloody pulp
Mothers turned to stone in disbelief
Lovers cursing the day when they fixed up that date
Son at the morgue, “Can you identify your father Mr. Patel?”
“…..yes it’s him…it’s the wedding ring on his finger….”
The gold band didn’t get charred you see….

Local calls, STD, ISD
“Don’t worry, I am still alive!”
Aaj Tak, CNN, BBC-
BREAKING NEWS-serial blasts in city
Government declares red alert.

Same stories, different places, same reasons perhaps?
Bombay, Delhi, Assam….
Or maybe august 15, 1947; December 16,1992; February 27,2002?
Or maybe rewind a bit more in past?

No one hears me when I am being hunted down
No one acts when a genocide tears us apart
A deaf country
A paralytic nation
A generation suffering from amnesia
Forgetting the past
Discarding the trauma
The newspaper crumpled in the dustbin.
Breaking news doesn’t break anyone’s heart anymore.
Living for the future
For the illusion, the mantra of “Don’t worry, everything will be ok.”

I am back on the street
On the alert
Murmuring to myself
“Thank god I am still alive.”

Wrting for the First Time

She came to me when I least expected her
Her mind bursting forth with lines
The dip of the nib in the pool of ink-
Scratch scratch scratch…
The virgin thoughts given a shape
Alphabets and letters and words
My white nudity is dressed in
Words words words…
Pregnant with ideas
Of ideals and reactions
She cannot hold on for a day longer.
Bursting out of her womb
Her soul is now imprinted on my body.
I am a sheet no longer
But her baby.
A proud mother’s smile envelopes her face.

PERHAPS...

Sitting at Barista, I am waiting for a friend. Now she has told me that she will come at four but then she is quite famous when it comes to making people wait.
“Where the hell are you? How much time does it take you to come from college?”
“Coming right now…got stuck in the traffic at the bend.”
Hmmmf….Vodafone message-two bucks thirty reduced from my account-balance now stands at Rs.0.93. amazing! Can’t even give a missed call.

Getting stuck in a coffee shop where everyone comes with company is quite an experience-two lovers cooing at the back(I wonder why the owners don’t throw these PDA people off!??!), Auntyji coming with bachchalogs for a treat(kiddies look haggard, guess the imminent board exams don’t help much in looking happy!), a gang of friends(one of them with a fly on the chin before I realized that it’s a growing goatee), two surly looking men discussing business and there I am still waiting for my friend as my cappuccino arrives steaming.
Hmmmm….
Now as I look at the woman sitting in the corner I find myself staring-
Must be at the wrong side of fifty, a chiffon sari in mustard green and greying hair at the temple-not an out of the way figure but then she has a rose on the table. Come to think of it when was the last time people saw me with a rose??! Until I buy myself one, I don’t get to see often of these red flowers! So what is she doing with one?

My friend comes-“God these rickshaw wallas….they have to haggle down to the last penny!!”
-“Or is it you who haggles down to the last one?!!”
-“oh give yourself a break…let me order something.”
-“see the woman there…the one with the rose.”
She turns all the way back (embarrassing, she never learnt to be discreet!)- “Ya, so?”
-“You saw the rose? A middle aged woman sitting alone at a coffee shop with a rose. What do you think can the story be?”
Yawn!-“Must be somebody ya, why are you bothered? Now let me show you this, this polka dot top. You know how much I got it for?? Fifty bucks-beat that!!”
-“Huuuh?? Where from?? Why can’t I ever get things like these?? Tchaa!”

The story of the woman lies forgotten. She is still sitting alone.

-“Ok gotta go, my maid will be there almost.”
-“Heh heh, already the proper house maker are you?! Thik aache, will see you at college tomorrow. And ya do get your assignment; will need to maaro some ideas!”
-“Sure. Bye.”

My friend leaves. I stay back to use the loo.
Coming back I notice that the woman is gone. Time for me to pack and leave as well. And then I see this man coming- tall, with wrinkles near the eyes, the grey hair falling at his shoulder, the shirt untucked…. And holding a red balloon in his hand- a heart shaped one. He looks this way and that and goes to counter and asks something. Not finding the answer he wants he checks his watch and sits on the chair left vacant by the woman.
A bunch of college people troop in. All flushed, the girls giggling at the guys over some secret joke. All hold red balloons.

And then it dawns-
One more day to go for St. Valentine’s Day, the guy martyred for love!
A rendezvous- the woman and the man- a promise made perhaps ages ago- when perhaps they were still in college- perhaps a long awaited meeting- ideas burst out in my head!
Perhaps but then perhaps not.

I take my bag from the chair, leaving.
The man is still sitting on the chair….waiting…
The story of the lonely woman now complete.


Dated: March 9, 2008
6: 40 p.m.