Early morning

The smell in the air

urges you to hug it

and the inky blue of the sky fades

having spent itself

writing out another day.

The feathered minions 

chirp out a chorus

as the heavenly tent changes hue

goes gold

and then it hits you, in all its flair

the intensity of the magician's voice

'Let there be light'

F1 and ManU - A quest to understand fandom

For the thousandth time – “I know that the world cup starts today, thank you very much”. But people do not listen, I get reminders, and group invitations and event notifications, I am tagged in football fan photos and asked often “Which team are you supporting?” 

Sitting down to figure out the answer, a bigger question appears ‘why do I need to support a team?’  I am unable to figure how my support will make any difference to the team, or even to the person who posed the question. Football isn’t even a game my country plays, but that’s not the point here. I am more surprised by the set  of avid fans I keep running into; reason - the fandom is composed of everything but the game – ‘official’ jerseys, posters, vehicle graphics, team themed pubs they like to hang out at and what not. Smells like a capitalist conspiracy, doesn’t it? I am convinced of the fact that had baseball found a similar marketing, the same people would have been donning ‘Bulls’ jerseys and be fluent with the home run counts of all players.  So, a majority of the ‘fandom’ is caused by the associated pop culture than an actual desire to enjoy the game. It lacks substance. 

I do not abhor sports; on the contrary I really enjoy sitting down and watching a game. Sports are probably the best non-destructive exhibition of human ability and competitiveness, and an unsaid undercurrent of harmony when it comes to international competitions.  It is recreational and it is entertaining.  But to like a game because being 24 and ‘aware’ mandates you to do so is a different thing. 

“Dude, just check out the crowds in the stadium- sexy”

Watching a game with a crowd is fun, but being all goggle eyed about a crowd 5000 miles away moves towards perversion in my books. And if I dare to quiz the fan in question about a rule of the game, I get crazy answers – crazy enough for the officials at FIFA to contemplate suicide.  I am not questioning the knowledge of these people; I just want to figure out what is it that makes them all wet and orgasmic about their team, and as I said, it is never ever the game. 

‘Why, do you like Man – U?’ I asked, and the guy said ‘Do you question you religion?’ I wanted to ask ‘did you read it up on their website?’  I contained myself and said ‘I do’. He threw me a dirty look and replied, ‘Well, I don’t’ and that was the end of the conversation. I’ve had this conversation with a lot of people, I do sometimes get facts like ‘they just made this friggin’ deal for that amazing player’ or ‘have you seen the size of the home stadium’ or ‘they’ve won the EPL and the Champs league and the donkey derby’. And I throw a mock appreciative ‘wow!’, but I never get a proper answer. All these people are buying, and various marketers are selling and I’m sure that the fans are being short-changed. But they’re happy, and so the system works just fine.

You decide on a team, Google their stats, watch a video or two, memorize the names of the players, get yourself a jersey and ensure your face book update intermittently advertises your support- there you are, a full blown fan. You can support Argentina without knowing its location on the map, but you should definitely know the pool they are in. 

It makes me sad, rather than irritated. You like a sport to be liked by your peers? That is a lot of constructive energy wasted, a fake competition and pseudo awareness – you’re sold.  It beats the primary concept of sports. 

Coming back to the original question – who do I support? Well, I do like watching football, and definitely would watch the matches.  I might even take sides in a match, but I’m not losing sleep over it, and definitely not spamming online lives of my friends. I would support football and enjoy it. 

Stop making a fool of yourself and enjoy the game.  For a change, look up the rules of the game; makes it more interesting to watch.

Raajneeti - the review.

It has been a long time since I’ve seen a movie that told me things I already knew and still left me considerably shaken.

Being Indian, we aren’t novices to the political circus; the subterfuges and the backstabbing are common headlines to which we hardly pay any attention these days. And I think this lack of attention is what Prakash Jha wants to change with Raajneeti.

Raajneeti takes you to the halls of power.  Not to the viewing gallery, no for the writer knows that’s where we’ve all been. He puts you bang in the middle of it - a very powerful political family where the seeds of a feud are starting to germinate. From there on, plays the saga of a modern Mahabharata. Brothers go to war with each other, conniving uncles rub their hands in glee, the females let their inner vixens out, bastard children refuse to identify their mothers, the streets run red, and money sets out to buy every virtue that is not for sale.  As an intricate game of chess unfolds, the audience discover the forethought of the opening game. And just so that you dare not say that there’s nothing new to the story, Mr Jha keeps hitting you again and again, harder every time, stripping the same characters turning them more vicious than you dared to imagine, sticking them on you face with a “now see this” tone.

And if the story wasn’t good enough for you, the starcast leaves you stuck to the seats right till the last of the credits have rolled out. Ranbir Kapoor has done justice to his family name and has proven once again that it’s not just a nice face that makes you an actor. Manoj Bajpai as always is a pleasure to watch and Ajay Devgan cast in a role that is his by right makes the screen explode with anger. Katrina Kaif shows signs of life in her face and actually manages to move those muscles. She has silenced those who thought that she would be the one who’d sink the movie; the movie can actually be called her best so far. Nana Patekar cannot be praised enough, he slips into the role so naturally that you actually have to remind yourself that he is acting. Arjun Rampal has made a surprising comeback, and if we are to go by this performance, he might actually manage to stay around this time.  But what made the movie a treat to watch was the way the small roles were handled – accomplished actors summing up all their skills for very brief but important appearances on screen.  This is just a fraction of the sense of detail that Mr Jha has, from the party symbols to the mass rallies, things were beautifully planned and executed.

The best part is that this is not an agenda movie, poking you to get out on the streets and change the world, it does not address the youth nor does it question your moral sensibilities.  There are many beautiful facets to the story, but I guess I’ll leave them for you to discover.

Go watch it.

I want to take a big hunting knife,

the kind you see in action movies

And rip 'the fabric of reason'

to shreds.

It is this cursed veil,

that has hidden from me

the truth about myself

The 'logical' plan it bears,

has led me to a fool's treasure,

A potful of illusion called -reality.

I have been

corrupted

by rationale

denuded

by hope

and betrayed

by life.

All I want now

is that Atlas,

with all his might

heave his weight one last time

and throw it away.

Beggars

You skirt around them,

you ignore them,

you pull disgusted faces,

you even poke fun at them,

because,

of some notion planted in your head,

"hard work earns you money - not pity"

but as they say,

"what goes comes around"

and believe me

you'll be lost when she

does it to you,

turns her back at your

outstreched hands,

refusing you

the alms of life.

Putting it together

"It's easy", My mother says,
"These are the pieces,
here is the final picture,
right here, on the top of the box,
just match the slots,
the key is to find the corners.
Go on, finish the puzzle".

I turn away, ashamed.
How do I tell her, I've lost some tiles.

हार के कहकहे

जिस ज़मी पर नीव रखी थी ,
वह मंज़र ही बदल चुका है,
जिस घात पे मेरी नाव बंधी थी ,
वह समंदर ही बदल चुका है,

कैसे अभियंता फिर निर्माण करेंगे ?
कैसे लहरों को पार करेंगे?

जब मै खुद को ही भूल चुका हूँ,
गैर मुझे क्या याद करेंगे?

जिसने जागीर मेरे नाम करी थी,
वह राजकुंवर ही बदल चुका है,
जिस दम पर शर्त लगी थी,
वह हुनर ही बदल चुका है,

कैसे फिर खुशहाली के वाडे करेंगे?
कैसे ऊचाईयों के इरादे करेंगे?

जब मै खुद को ही भूल चुका हूँ,
गैर मुझे क्या याद करेंगे?

खत्म, जितनी भी साँसें बची थी,
डूबने का क्रम अब रुक चुका है,
जिस आज ने मेरी कहानी रची थी,
वह इस दुनिया का कल हो चुका है,

मेरे वंशज मेरी हारों की किस्ते भरेंगे,
अंतिम संस्कार पुराने रिश्ते करेंगे,

मै खुद तो भूल जाऊँगा, मगर,
गैर मेरी असफलताओं की - बातें ज़रूर करेंगे .

My God died

I just finished a very disturbing book called 'Riot after Riot'. A collection of essays describing the major communal conflagrations in the country since the 1970s. Written by the eminent journalist M.J Akbar, the book is beautiful in language and raw in what the language expresses. I was shaken, rather I still am. The poem is an aftermath of this reading experience.

It was just a book, non-fiction
picked up, to satisfy a reading addiction,
my hands ran red, blood clotted and fresh
and the glue smelt - of rotting flesh.


scalding phrases of deliberate fires,
revealing truths of diabolical liars,
swords,knives,spears,stones, guns,
dead parents, killed children, raped nuns,

kerosene,LPG, moltovs, en masse rage
a murder book - page by page
a million answers for why a man dies,
the only weapon always used - lies.

there are idols,or there are none,
they read the namaaz, I sing a bhajan,
but religion is just a clever decoy,
the reverred scapegoat, the indicting ploy

hatered is cleverly festered,
wounds made, irritatingly pestered,
people killed, with a random roll of dice
a bigger move, a pawn sacrifice

halfway through and my belief crumbled,
asked about my opinion - mumbled,
a few more pages and I was in a daze,
lifelong convictions, lost in a bloody haze,

I knew the truth, at the revelation I cried,
I've always judged, but now I didn't know my side
I am guilty of having a religion,
I am guilty of belonging to a region

Riot after Riot, the wounds would never go,
I wanted the truth, but never so,
I want to unlearn, unread, I tried,
'twas, 6th of December,my god died.

Murder - by design

Another morning, I write an ambitious plan,

Look it over and burn it, without much pain.

A new foolscap, I edit as much as I can

And then, burn it again.

Listlessly, I flick on the TV,

Changing channels, from one babble to another,

Looking, but not daring to see

What is for sale, what is for barter?

The sound of the day, becomes a din

I get up from a waking slumber

To catch the noon sun pouring in

In daze, I dial the number.

And cut it, before a reply,

I kick myself to the Now,

Angry at the time I let fly

I’m late – there’s going to be a row.

Unmindful of what they’ll say,

I brush, shave, bathe, dress, drive,

Work – distraction, salvage the day

I think it’ll survive

To office, at least half a day,

Take calls, no, yes, yes, no, no

It’s a straight road; I still lose the way,

I try, cannot make myself go.

I drive around, streets, avenues, by-lanes, aimless

Sifting through the worldly grime

Junk food, coffee, cigarette – tasteless.

Look at my watch, it is leaking time.

I hear the waves, how far have I wandered?

I stop. Filled with guilt,

I feel squandered.

Stab, wrench, I bury it to the hilt

Orange blood, practised move – skilled

Heave out, let it be.

Another day killed

Buried at sea.

हिसाब

आज की कमाई -
रिश्वत के छह सौ रुपये
मंदिर की भीड़ में गिरा, मैंने उठाया एक पेन,
बड़े सा'ब की शाबाशी, शायद एक दिन की छुट्टी,
दिन की तनख्वाह - पचहत्तर रुपये
दोस्त की फर्जी एंट्री करने पर कुछ बढ़ा हुआ विश्वास
भिखारी को दिए दो रुपियों के बदले मिली दुआ
छह हज़ार रुपये अगले महीने वाले 'काम' के इंतज़ाम के लिए
चार गालियाँ
बच्चों का प्यार
बीवी की थकी आँखों में खेली हलकी सी मुस्कान
खुद के अक्स के सामने नज़रें झुकाने का एक और कारण

खर्चे-
थोडा सा ईमान
दस रुपये दरगाह की चादर में, दो भिखारी के हाथ में,
पच्चीस रुपये का किराना और सब्जी,
बूट पोलिश, कल ड्यूटी के लिए - दो रुपये
कमिटी की किस्त सौ रुपये
नोट रखने के लिए दस लिफाफे, पांच रुपये
एक और दिन

नुक्सान -
छह बीड़ियों से थोड़े और खराब हुए फेफड़े
इज्ज़त
एक आतंरिक कचोट,
भगवान् से डर
और कुछ बचे हुए आखिरी सपने
एक और दिन

जोड़ा जाए तो हिसाब बराबर ही बैठता है.

How to write modern poetry

You first need the feel, for the perfect brew,
kill all the happiness, before you let the words stew.

Rake up your past, for the bad moments you've had
for writing modern poetry, you need to be really sad.

If you've sinned - that's good, had a girlfriend - better,
write only when you're high or drunk, remember every letter.

Frustration is a necessity, depression an added advantage,
you should have suffered, that's the adage.

Now you have the feel, let me expound on style,
it has to be very very dark, the vocabulary vile.

Shit, fuck, bitch, fill it up with abuses
frustration ensures you find multiple uses

Shun structure, coherence, should be rife with grime
never write in verse, for there ain't a bigger crime.

you get all this correct, and the content doesn't matter
for all I care, get it written by the Mad Hatter

That's the feel, the style - content, and a promise of flattery
there you have it - the manual for writing modern poetry.

Appendix - I

Modern poems are best left unnamed,
but if there is some credit to be claimed,
then here are some naming rules,
and a few random name pools.

make it as arbitary as possible,
lose the words, just make it audible,
call it - fussss, baaraaooom, blam
cough, hack, drool, they love it at the slam.

or make it descriptive like hell,
*pointer- they really sell,
Like, an ode to the third turd in the pot,
or the aroma when the dead rats rot.

So, I guess you've learnt, the mane of a modern 'Pome'
just don't mention me, when you bring your laurels home.