poetry

As I Ploughed

No animals were harmed during the writing of this poem!
And this giant snail was seen in my mother’s garden.

Rasp and clank of trowel

I am a gardener

Tiny drops roll down, seep in pores
soften my heart, irrigate the life within

A scoop of earth flaunting its aroma
betrays the bugger crawling inside
her womb
I turn my trowel upside down
the plant I sowed is dead
My unripe love that I still dread

Tough soil like a furious mother
has her arms crossed. I am her
intractable kid, I insist her to let me go
on and ask for passage for my trowel

Gleaming soil, slimy juice
like a trail on your brown sleeve
that you used to wipe your nose

Dead ginger, creepy snails
Inside their shell, I can see life
eating life. But mother is kind.
Dead ginger, creepy snails
sit together in her lap

Life weeps for the dead
And in her womb life loops
to end one day.

Rasp and shuck of trowel

I am undertaker

Tiny drops roll down, seep in pores
soften my heart, irrigate the life within

Personal Narrative

Let me increase entropy

Shall I give a heads up that I am weird. But then the other person will become more skeptical. Even if I don’t appear or function as a weirdo, I would be drilling in their mind that I am weird. No, I should not say anything at all. Why bring attention to some speculative quality when it might not be noticeable at all. I hope I won’t regret it. 

Hi Divya, are you there? Can you hear me?

Hey! Yeah, I can hear you.

Great. So, how are you?

Brain not functioning. The other person is trying to access a brain area that can’t be accessed without authorisation. 

Segmentation Fault. Core dump not available.

BLANK. 

No neural signals detected in the cerebral area.

System going down. Reboot will start in a while.

Hmm … 

Ain’t that a personal question? Could we not just start with the actual work. I am yet to excel in these short talks. I want to answer but I can’t. Wait, it is the way a conversation unfolds. And you don’t have to tell how exactly you are. Programmed social protocol. You say you are good and ask them if they are okay. And then throw in the actual question that has to be discussed. Okay, on the count of three…

I am good, I have a few queries regarding Treasury Bills. And I also want to discuss a little about OTR and WI.

I know I should have asked them how they are, but I can’t force myself to ask that. No, I can’t. Right now only one thing matters – make the other person hit Ctrl+C, kill this program. My codebase needs an emergency update. And this update might take weeks, months, or years.

Image not found! OOPS …
Manhandling a camera outputs a weird selfie
Let the whim drive me
What worst could happen?
It will happen and will be a new fashion

I am doing something completely random, trying my best to get out of my comfort zone (or as I have heard other cool people say getting comfortable being uncomfortable) not on one but multiple axes. Instead of planning the content to write while trying to sleep, now I am making efforts to actually write about all my insecurities, flaws, and the little discoveries that I make about myself. And once the diagnosis will be done, I’ll consult Dale Carnegie’s bestseller. Tickets will be raised, I will work on them, and finally I will share my progress here with – ? Now, it is a tricky thing. Who reads my blog? A few people who clicked that Follow button. Here I want to confess one thing – I am was very doubtful about the content that should be published here. Because when you clicked that Follow button, you expected to find here a particular kind of content. Now if I deviate, would it be wrong? Did I trick you to get in? ( I so much want to delete these lines but no, I won’t. ) It is my blog, I will do whatever I want to do with it. You are free to choose your actions. ( I am not being rude, another thing that I need to work on. )

It has been more than a year that I have been at home with my parents. College ended abruptly and the very first job of mine started as Work from Home. All kind of interactions have gone virtual. I have not met a new person in real (not that I want to), all new acquaintances made on WordPress, Messenger, LinkedIn, the point is – it is all virtual. And texting (I would include calls but not all, will elaborate in later posts) is way more different than talking in person. I am very efficient in texting cause it is easy, no facial expressions, no tone, lots of emojis to dilute the intensity. In person, I am terrible. I actually avoid people. We are going out, do you want to join us? My answer is fixed, my machinery has been programmed to say NO. Do I have to change it? I guess no. But then there are certain things like asking the other person about their well being, well that is still easy compared to talking to a friend when they are going through a tough time. No matter how much I want to ask, I can not find words. What do I do? I simply avoid them for a while, and when things are normal, I try my best not to bring up that topic by any chance. Fight or flight? Flight. But my reasoning is that my words won’t do any magic, they might hurt them even more. I can’t be trusted with my words cause they often not match with my intentions. ( Writing is different, you have copious time to think, edit, google the best way to express and then copy paste. ) I have issues, but then we all have issues, mine no important than yours and yours not more important than mine. I wrote this as if making an entry in my journal. But I am certain about one thing, that selfie was not required. LOL.

PS- It has been two months, I have forgotten most of the things. Editor and settings…

poetry

The night had two moons

The sky descended down 
with her heavy veil of cloud
lifted above her dark hair
She brushed her lips against 
the earth and rose swiftly 
back in the air leaving behind 
the earth restless with lips parted

The sky descended down 
with her lips shaped as a ring
to tickle the earth with her breath
She whispered in her ear 
and watched her moan and
blink the million leafy eyelashes
that the world would trim

The sky descended down 
with her starlit fingers stretched
brushing the palm of earth
She held her hand firmly 
to fly her away, away from 
this world that was sleeping 
in the shade of her bridal veil.

Fiction

Poem Fairy

“Mom!

“Hey, welcome back. How was your school?

“It was inspiring.

He said in a sing-song way. I could see his eyes beaming with joy as if he had discovered some gem.

“Hmm inspiring. Whom did you meet? Elon Musk?

With his hands now resting on his hips and his eyebrows furrowed, he started staring at me while squinting his eyes. Holding that expression, he said, “I want to become a poet. Do you know how to become one?”

I adjusted my glasses to avoid looking at him from over it. “Well, you have to write a poem. But what about being a programmer?” 

“I was a kid then. 

“Sure, you were a kid a few weeks back.” I muttered.

“Now, I know I want to become a poet. And if you have a poet inside you, a Poem Fairy visits you in your dream. 

“I see, she never visited me. 

He came closer and patted my right knee. “It’s okay, Mom. It happens. Not everyone is lucky.”

“Thanks love. I am wondering what that fairy does? Does she write a new poem or tweaks an older one?

“I don’t know much, but she gives you words. Will she visit me, Mom?

What should I have replied? She never visited me. “If you write a poem, maybe she will.” 

“Actually, I wrote one poem. Do you want to read it?

“Wow. Why don’t you recite?

“Ahem.

He is a performer. Look at the way he clears his throat. I will get him one beret also.

“Here it goes …
Twinkle twinkle the tough wrinkle
Grandma smiles then her nose crinkles
When my released gas sprinkles 
the air, it then tickles the tiny hair 
peeping out of her nose, the nose 
that she closes then with her fingers.

poetry

I am timeless

A perpetual load on my desk for the next day
then why do some nights make me more restless?

Worn out and drained the same each night
then why do some nights make me more sleepless?

Rendezvous with accretive failures
then why do some nights make me more hopeless?

Same maniac and jittery person retires to bed
then why do some nights make me more breathless?

Chattering on end to spill out everything
then why do some nights make me more friendless?

Drowning deep in the ocean of distractions
then why do some nights make me more aimless?

Same dead man roaming around the world
then why do some nights make me more lifeless?

I wait patiently for the shooting star on all nights
then why do all nights vanish effortlessly by morning?
For countless nights, I wait. I am timeless.

Personal Narrative

That’s a wrap, baby

Alright cut, cut. 
Are you kidding me? Are you Kidding me?! 
Are you getting this? Look at this! 
Oh my Gosh!

Last day of 2020! I was wondering all the same on the last day of 2019 as well. And then time flew like an arrow. And here we are – 2020 about to become history. I was very excited about 2020. I have been waiting for this fab sounding year 20-20 for the last 22 years that I have spent on this earth. It was a joke. You are supposed to laugh. (By the way, did you notice how my age and this year are related to each other? 👀)

I vividly remember the way 2019 ended. Don’t give credit to my memory. It is the fact that you happen to remember embarrassing moments.

December 30, 2019

Suitcase ✔️
Laptop ✔️
ID card ✔️ 
Ticket ✔️ 
Mobile ✔️ 
Keys ✔️ 
Perfect. 
Papa, I am ready.

Wait. Wait.

We forgot the selfie.
Cheese.
🙂
Yep, now we can leave.

After 45 minutes, we were at the airport performing our emotional ritual – Goodbyes. It was fun to be in college, and I was only one semester away to get out of the college. But I have always been a homesick child. With every few steps, I turned back to check if my parents left or not. I knew they wouldn’t leave unless I disappeared completely. I got in the queue, patiently waiting for my turn. Meanwhile, I opened the ticket on my mobile. My turn came, and I was asked for it. I expected the same. I always get nervous at this step because I always make a mistake here. I don’t like standing out of the crowd. I prefer to camouflage with them and get away with all this procedure. I showed my ticket and damn! I was again asked to get out of the queue. But this time, it was even worse.

My ears heated up, radiating heat as they turned red. My heart was pounding loud. My hot ears heard its thrums. All the tickles in my stomach made me smile shamelessly.

I stared at my mobile. 
@#$%&* 
The date! 
January 30, 2020!

My neck was paralyzed. I didn’t dare to turn around and look at my father. I started enumerating the ways to get inside the plane. I begged that lady to let me in. However, she was persistent and kept saying that all seats are reserved. But it was not an issue with me. I was ready to travel all the way standing in the aisle. I assured her that it wouldn’t be a problem for any of the passengers. I had lost my sense that I never had with me. She just gave me looks, and I had no choice but to give up.

We drove back home but not in silence. I wanted to disappear. Today I can dare to laugh and shrug it off. But then I was embarrassed. I wanted to be invisible to avoid the occasional gaze of my parents falling on me. At that moment, I felt skipping an entire month of college to stay back at home. My mind wandered to think about the omens described in the novel The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho. Why did God allow me to make this mistake? What is the hidden meaning? Was He trying to tell me that I am going to spend the next year at home?

The next day, I was on the train traveling to my college. LOL.

The prologue for my 2020 was quite apt. Don’t you think so?

I came back home in March after my mid-semester break was extended. (Thanks Covid.) I didn’t anticipate that it was indeed the farewell, college is getting over. I had my e-convocation on October 22. (You got it right, that’s called show off! ) It was not at all exciting. It was just another regular day. (Dear virus, thank you.) I got my first job. Yay! Work from home. Lol. Did I say I am homesick? Yes, that’s right. So, I am loving it. I am indeed grateful to this virus that it gave me such a nice chance to go back to those school days when we all stayed together. Family ❤️. Nevertheless, by no means it is an approval for you – Mr. Covid-19 – to stay back. From the bottom of my heart I thank you, and from even a greater depth of my heart I want to ask you – when are you planning to leave?

Honestly, I don’t care if it is 2019 or 2020, or 2021. All these chapters belong to the same book. A new chapter definitely brings freshness. It will take a few days to adapt to writing 1 instead of 0. Anyway, I hope that the epilogue for 2020 would be more pleasant and less chaotic.

Fiction

My Cute Devil

Oh, dear! No. Mr. Bean is not your Daddy.

Don’t touch them. Come, hold my finger, baby. 

See, this pumpkin is even tinier than you. 

Yes, Mama likes that pumpkin. Isn’t it cute?

Erhan! No. No, don’t pluck it at all. God, why? That is not your football.

It’s okay, get up. You must have hurt that pumpkin. Are you okay? And your knees?

What? What you don’t know?

O honey, I also don’t know why are you crying? Look at your dress. I am not buying you new shoes.

Baby, when will you learn to put on pants? What is wrong with your hands?

Where are your pants? And what were you doing in the bathroom? 

Love, that’s my broom not your magical broomstick.

Erhan! No one washes mobile, never. 

No, you don’t even rinse it. 

No, it is neither thirsty nor hungry. But where are your pants?

Of course, you don’t know. Someone must have stolen it, no? Or was it magical pants that flew out of the chimney on their own? 

Wait, what was that burning in the hearth? Your pants?

Erhan? Did you do that? And don’t you lie to me.

Oh, I see. Yes, Mama also likes to wear hot pants. They are warm. But forget this one. It will burn you. 

Burn means hmm, that is a very clever question. Let me think. Do you know about fire?

And do you remember the needle? 

Injection?

Haha. No, we are not going to a doctor. Don’t worry. So, when the fire is given by an injection, it is called a burn.

Yes, dear. No one wants to get burnt.

Who told you that? 

Oh, really? I had no idea. I think maybe because dead people are stronger than us. They are brave, so they don’t feel any pain when burnt.

Yes, your Dad is the bravest of all. Honey, do you want to listen to a story?

poetry

Stuck in time

There is a roof above me
But it is too high to touch
It is magical – it is chameleon
It has so many dots
They form so many patterns
And the sky still looks empty
It looks still. It is stuck in time.

I lowered my hand in the river
Took the drops and aimed at those dots –
Above and below the water.
Only the water danced with my hand
But it looks still. It is stuck in time.

These dots twinkle in the sky
These dots twinkle beneath the river
Each paired up with its reflection
But they are still. They are stuck in time.

More beautiful than the gems
The gems studded on His crown
More lively than the firefly
The fireflies dancing between the trees
More in number than the water drops
The water drops that fill the gap between these dots
Shinier and brighter than the moon
The moon that doesn’t come on certain nights
More comfortable than my home
The home that I shall leave upon my death
So many souls inhabiting these dots
But they are still. They are stuck in time.

And my eyes are stuck on the sky
How long will it outplay this dead game?
I turn my neck but I don’t lose
There is a star flying in the sky
Why the sky let me win?
Or was it He flying the star?
Was it He who fought the sky?
Was it He who is dead but still alive?
Now I am still. I am stuck in time.

My gaze still locked by the sky
A gentle wind blows to bring life
The water rises and falls to play some music
I and the sky continue our dead game.

The wind wants me to give up
It caresses my cheeks
It wraps my curls around my eyes
It blows against my eyelids
It gets rougher, and now I struggle
I can’t see the stars above –
The wind is dancing
I can’t see the stars beneath –
The river is singing
The wind tickles me
The wind hurts me
The wind makes me realize – 
I can choose to open and close my eyes,
I am alive.
I lie down on river bed
My eyes are now closed
The lullaby is sung by the breeze
I fell asleep.
I dream of a star – not for me
But the one on which He lives
And the stars – they must be shining.
They look still. They are stuck in time.

PS- To every shooting star that I see, I pray that I could see you again. One last time.

poetry

Come Back to Me (5)

Ghost

“You have to keep breaking your heart until it opens” – Rumi

Time and again, my heart has broken
Each piece recites the love unspoken

Sunken eyes and a crooked nose
Never had a skin that glows
Shabby, I am shabby in appearance
My reflection is scared of my face

Are these words not bitter enough?
Remember, he’ll treat you rough.

O darling, but you want to fall
Carrying last drops of desire, you crawl
I saw his smile drilling hole in our wall
Soon I was alarmed and gave you a call

A pirate looking for love, flying on the mizzen
That sailor saw, but never reached the horizon

Still, you continue heading for him
Clasp the air, you ain’t gonna find him
The truth is gonna hurt you the most
O darling, you are in love with a ghost

You are hurt, I can see
O darling, come back to me…

PS- Darling, are you meant to just shatter?
Or am I a fool who finds only rocks to hit you on them?
You have opened so much that you have turned inside out.