I suppose you need caffeine to read through this

I am reposting this from my other blog, Reading Room after editing it a little. I thought it needs wider audience. Those of you who have read it already, please do feel free to comment again or ignore. For all others, do take a little pause and read through this. And do click through the icon to get other insights, if you so desire. Now brew a strong coffee, drink it along while you read this:



Do real-world catastrophes such as 9/11 (and the bombs in Madrid, and the ones in London, and the war in Darfur, and … really, all the human-driven, mass loss-of-life events) affect what you choose to read?

India is not new to terrorists or terrorism. We have had it in the Kashmir region for more than three decades. We have cried hoarse about it to the world at large but no one listened to us. Only after 9/11 happened, US woke up to the fact that it was very real and they were also a part of it in the larger view of things. They are not as invincible as they had presumed. I wouldn't like to dwell on the political stance about US for the middle east. That is not relevant to this topic.What is relevant here is, how can anyone kill innocent people? That is hard to understand. But then terrorists have no feelings or sentiments. For them we are faceless and nothing can come between their brain-washed beliefs. At one point or other, powerful countries (I don't think I need to name those here) have created terrorists to counteract terrorism. And it has only backfired on them. Have we really learnt any lessons from all this? The state that the world is in, apparently not.

For me terrorism is very real. It is there at every corner. Especially for those who live in Delhi, if one forgets Kashmir, which we can't. Twice I have been in the vicinity of terror attacks, only saved by God knows how. For the last thirty years or so, we have terrorists killing people in the Kashmir region. Every day. And bomb blasts elsewhere are not uncommon. Mumbai, Delhi, Bangalore, Varanasi, Hyderabad are just a few places I mention here, which have been affected by terrorism and blasts. Recent ones took place in Ahmedabad which left 50+ dead. We cannot move anywhere without security check up. All this does take a toll.

And now taking on reading. I can read about terrorists, I can even watch movies too. (However, if something like this happens, I go off reading completely for a while. Any kind of reading). Nonetheless, I think all of us need to read about terror attacks, terrorists and terrorism. If only to understand the whys and hows of it. Trying to escape the reality of it is not going to let it go. I wish to understand how a terrorists' mind works, even though I can't do a thing about it. Because I can't get over all those people who are dead for no reason at all. Terrorists simply do not need any reason to kill. They just do it. Cliches simply do not work here. Religion, faith has no meaning when one is left dead and/or maimed, in body, mind or spirit.

And in the midst of it all, please do remember that the world is much beyond US and has faced terrorism much before 9/11.

Has you coffee gone cold? Or do you need another hot mug of it?

@Update[13 Sep, 2008--7:35 pm]: There have been five bomb blasts in Delhi today, in those places which are kind of crowded in weekends. There have been casualities but not confirmed how many..

rains and mud, shouldn't there be a frog too?

my trousers rolled up to my knees
I walk in the rain holding
my yellow umbrella
flourescent colour of it
brightens the drab day
an interesting one that was
where hysterical laughter
mingled with inert sadness
why can't I see through
the misted droplets
is it pouring as never before
or my tears render me blind

I let the umbrella go
look up the heaving sky
letting it wash my deepest bleakness
waiting for the sun
to peep through and
gleefully play hide and seek with me
I ignore the pleading tones
of the muddy umbrella to pick it up
instead I look at the tiny frog
jumping up and down at my feet
small yet filled so much with life
my heart soars up as never before

"what is it about another life that moves us so?"

Writer's state of mind

What’s your writing state of mind these days? How do you access that “mysterious faculty” where insight and imagination are nurtured? How do your instincts about your writing ability help you? What’s your experience of being in “the writing zone”?

Whatever we do in our lives, is largely dependent on how we are feeling at that particular point of time. Be it doing the daily mundane stuff or getting on with our creative self. That state of mind reflects in our spirits of doing things. Be it in writing or any thing else. When I am elated or downright down in the dumps, words simply seem to pour out. Maybe so much so that I have to stop those. I look, I observe, I imbibe and then I write. With too many thoughts. With no thoughts. It works both ways. Any experience, small or big, can make our mind go in many different ways.

For any writer, something compels us to write. It might be in any form, essays, fiction, poetry or even disjointed thoughts, all jumbled up within us. To decipher all those, the onus lies on us. I might have a concrete thought about what I am going to write but somehow imagination takes over along with insight and I end up with a completely different piece. Isn't it what is mystery of writing? Instinct has a role to play in it. I have found out that when I can't get anything across, the waves of words that gush out help me cope better. To any situation. The days I am unable to write, I feel like a bummer.

What is this writing zone? How does one define it? For me when flying words get caught in my mind and a some kind of order is established, it helps me write. For better. And for worse. Becos trash too helps me cope up. When I get it out, I know that I can improve on my writing. Like mood swings, we do have writing swings. And it is for the good. To show us that we too can fall and fail. Only to pick ourselves up. Is it not writing like a performing art? We do it for our readers, though. I take a sympathetic view of those creative artists who cannot perform at the drop of a hat. As with writers.

How do you feel about it? Can you identify with imagination playing along with insight? Does absence from writing for whatsover reason, affects you?

Fearful of what?

What is it about coming Tuesdays that I have a lot of questions for myself? Mondays are the days, I feel lethargic and tired. Maybe like most, I hate to go to work after Sunday. On Tuesdays, I am supposed to be a little better. Am I really?

Have you ever feared the unknown? Or simply are afraid of the very familiar state you are in? Or just plain scared of nothing? Does it make sense when I ask this? I crave for change. Yet when I have it, I want the previous state back. Why? I want constant change yet I fear it. Why? I used to thrive in it. Confused state of mind, is it not? Lately I have had this feeling of drifting without any direction and purpose. This is one very unsettled state of being. It has gone on for too long. I can't come out of it. Is it depression? Or something else? Why? Am I tired of just being with myself? Or can we call those beautiful fractures of my mind?

I can't pursue the very things I loved to. Like writing poetry or reading or listening to music or sketching. I used to visit book fairs, museums, art exhibitions or simply be a part of a crowded place. Now nothing interests me. I shun all those. Yes, even poetry. Oh, I write but somehow I can't write the way I want to. The way I used to.

I have had death wish, many a times, in the past few weeks. What stops me from going that way? How long is this state going to last? Don't you think two months is a long time? How do I get out of it?

Eventually, I know I will bounce back. The question is, when?

what does one call it?

her emotions clash with rationality
of you which analyses each of
her changing expressions

she spurns your slow seduction
turns away hiding herself
from your discerning mind

yet you strip her to her core
observing her brain map
dissolve into your thoughts

when she heats up to you
you step back leaving behind
a debris that is not her any more

why should you even care your
voyeurism into her- took a toll



Lately I have been writing most of my poetry without any punctuation. I don't know if it works or not. Nonetheless, with rawness of emotions, I consider those redundant. The purists might not agree with me. But then, how do you define creative expression? Does it is have to be restrained and constrained? As with stripped bare emotions, nothing is, at least for me.

down and out

there was nothing to hold
yet you kept clinging
with all your defenses down
merely with pure speculation

even now it is not too late
come on, retrace your steps
retreat to your safe haven
nurse yourself back to life

"just don't expect miracles to mend
your broken heart any time soon"

blown away

the air around me has changed
uncertainity seems to have gone
the wind blew it away, leaving
behind a sense of tranquility;
when the clouded cobwebs cleared
all by themselves.
reading between the signs
I have this gut feeling that
it is time to leave the familiar,
venture out in the unknown
where whole of me would merge
with you, and why not?

"you and only you are home"

Taking myself to places

How does place figure in your writing? Do you feel comfortable in the place you live, or do you feel at odds with your atmosphere? Do you convey that in your writing? What stories does your location have to tell?

I believe in the old adage, home is where the heart is. Slightly improvising on it, I would say where my thoughts take me. In my writings, which consists mostly of poetry, I don't write about specific locations. Those are more generic and anyone can feel at home reading my poetry. However, if I write poetry of a personal nature I can recall the exact place. I might not write about it but I feel nostalgic about it. Mind can travel to any place it wishes to so does our writings. Places do influence our way of thinking, our attitudes and give us a sense of belonging. How well we get that across in our writings is very important. For me place and time are interconneted in some instances.

If I set aside poetry, I think in a story or a novel, place is very important. Otherwise, it can go all awry. Sometimes geography defines how a particular story should move. Many a times the cultural ethos and historical background play a part. I prefer to read books with strong historical facts. Along with genetics, we are all defined by our roots where environment also plays a fairly big part. One can say that one can't write anything if one does not consider that. For me, a imaginary place too is important, be it in the fantasy land of the mind. Doesn't fantasy land become a real a place we all visit and take a hiatus, at one point or the other, in our lifetimes? Who can blame us for that as we need to do that to keep the inner child within us alive?

My question is, do you agree or not? Why or why not?

Tuesday musings

Long time I did a Tuesday musings post. Since July I have been in some kind of limbo. Frankly, half the time I don't feel like doing anything other than day dream. I do force myself to write daily but I am not much satisfied with what I am producing. I was such an avid reader. Now I hardly even bother to touch a book, let alone read it.

So, starting from today, no tomorrow ( I am ever the procastinator!!) I must do the following:

* Read atleast 100 pages daily, from any genre picked randomly from my TBR pile.

* Write one poem a day. That is not as easy as it seems.

* Eat more dark chocolates. It has anti-oxidants!


"mundane thoughts are as essential for living as oxygen is for breathing"

I catch the words haphazardly

the sultry heat gets to me
trickling down my back
the moon stares starkly at the stars
with an unusual dour face

out of nowhere poetry comes to me
I catch the words haphazardly
making no sense yet there
out in the open for me

this particular night is conducive
for darkest of depression
I can write the saddest lines tonight
and still I desist from that

your image stands between me
and this windless hot night
tears and sweat fight to take over
I resist, giving in to none

"why do I need to write saddest lines tonight?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I can write the saddest lines tonight has been taken From – Twenty Poems of Love by Pablo Neruda.