Arbit Scratchpad

O’ Bestower of lights, Of warmth, and radiant glow! There it is - the unmistakable chill Accompanying your arrival! This time however, It conceals a dizzying festive zest; And as the lights from the array of earthen lamps flicker Dancing like those intricate works on her saree’s pallu, They now infuse  Akin to the blistering variety of fireworks  Colorful bursts of joy inside of my mind! Continued from last year's ' Diwali - The Conjuror '

I am reborn now, The dead past is gone; Left behind in slices of time, Of years bygone. A single root, No wait, a few of them actually, Remain stuck  still In the muck of the past. A bolus of soft vomit Of self pity; I play with it. Will have to now vomit it out The over bearing stench, getting unbearable! But it helps you, Helps you get shorn of all that is unnecessary, The filthy conformity, the make-believe, the ostentatious. So what if a little smelly a medicine? The creativity dies within, When depression sets in. Shun it! No way, it is nothing but that pain, A fertile soil for creativity's gain! Treasure it.

Dedicated to all my friends – old and new - active and dormant ones too… As I was going back home that night, In the red air-conditioned bus, in mid-flight. I looked around, for there was some noise, Ringtones and mobiles had turned modern day toys. There sat on a seat - a sister and a brother. The sister was elder, the brother the joker! The girl dressed in black, the boy in brown and white, One would have been thirteen, the other ten, not quite. They made a jocular pair, the girl trying on a serious face As the boy continued clowning with his ‘Bugs Bunny’ grace. As he made faces to her, she laughed and giggled,  Enthused, the boy in his seat, further joyfully wriggled. Mumbling jokes, stories and comments he made. Mischief and energy glowed on the face of the brother The sister at times would scold and admonish,  Once resorting to complaining to their mother! I could feel the palpable warmth and the joy of the siblings. You share and care and yo...

When we desperately dredge for the elusive happiness, bliss and mirth; the reverse can captivate us into murky depths of despair... It is those illusory strums that our mind plays to lure us to dark despair-land - a mysterious realm, painful yet providing some sort of pleasure. When we get engrossed in its tunes... readily following, wallowing in self pity and anxiety. When a simple game unknowingly becomes the essence of life, falsely. You know the futility, the unreal nature of it all - yet you want to cling on, cling on desperately to some distant dream for we know it is unrealistic. So what? We say until it envelops you in its fangs ... that IS when you gain enlightenment. Pain and troubles/failures are our true guiding lights attuning us towards self-actualization and to what is so true to our very nature and nearest to our heart.   The best of times make you edgy and nervous as if you can fall off the cliff - success in conventional terms that is not in sync with your inn...

Litchis by SHAMIT BAGCHI The outer peal, The crimson ribbed texture, I pluck it with my underdeveloped nails. The innards - semen-colored. Sweet, nectar filled, Juices flowing around the lips, dripping, A stain it leaves on my shirt; And on my jaws and cheeks. My tongue chokes, In the sweetness of the fleshy core. Its hollow, vivid to the taste. I let it linger - on the tongue Eyes closed I taste it with a vengeance. Then I bite - soft, succulent Squirting, it overflows in the recesses Of the confinement of my mouth. Melting, vanishing in a moment, Leaves a trail of viscous nectar as it Goes down my throat; getting steadily dilute. With my hand I extricate the seed and Throw it up yonder, above the betel-nut trees As I see it fly I turn around and Then I pounce on another one from the bunch; My father had bought from the market. Then I was a child, hot summers At my grandpa’s place – I’ll remember always: The burning sun on the roof And litchis for company. PDF Version

The Summer again, Slurping the litchi nectar; Days went by - the hot afternoons. Those Mangoes, Their oranges and yellows. Juicy, ripe teenage days. Covert fantasies, a soaring mind, Boring after cricket fights! Childhood, sweat, grouses and laughter Grandpa's sprawling house. Hustle bustle, markets and hawkers. Talkers, walkers and gawkers! Those evenings hanging out with cousins, The Chaat stalls, little money, pockets empty Fountains of heady fun. Giggles and running around, Studies suspended for months. Reading books and Visiting places, ours and theirs. God knows whose else, All a custom, accustomed to; Without any will - an annual affair. The clock strikes twelve Night then, sleep eludes. The heat is not doused yet; Heat boils and rashes Fridge water and cold splashes. Summer holidays to look forward to; The Summer then, Summer again!

DIGTAL ARTWORK Titled: Black = Hope (Click image above to expand) Life is no pleasant game, Yet a game all the same! Come with me, let us Go forth to tear thus, The occasional pall of gloom. Awaits the dawn of consciousness. Darn the naysayers, Burn their demoralizing prayers. The beats of music, And human company, keep up The zest for life, the trick Is to yearn for the very best! Enjoy every step, wait not With bated breath, To reach some illusory goal. Feel the oneness of each and every soul! Black equals Hope, since it’s A matter of raising your eyelids. The ennui shall vanish, Gain You shall zest, Zest, ZEST. -------------------------------------------- Watched Vijay Tendulkar's play 'Silence the court is in session' (English version of the Marathi original Shantata! Court Chalu Aahe) by a budding and getting quite adept troupe called VODO - http://www.vodo.blogspot.com/ - at the Rangashankara on 11th June 2009. Current...

Rabidbrain, Glumchum, Bottleneck and Hohum. Sitting over a bottle of orange rum, Checking pockets for rupees, some. Sweetie swine, friend of mine; Blabbers Neitzsche and explains Einstein. Joining in on RocketScience and BellyDaince; Who can lecture on anything from Relativity to Psycho Conscience. Glimmerick, FattyChick, Two of them who are always sick, MonsterMani and Always Funny. Call out for some extra dose of Nimbu Paani. SubhoRat Ri and Namastewaali; Talk of Hemingway's vices, of Picasso's folly, Eclectic ViolinVaasu and Erudite Jhaptaali! Argue on Mozart, Ravishankar and fight over Salvador Dali. Over uber intellectual talk they dine. Reunion done, feeling sleepy and having gorged on Meat of a sheep or perhaps a porcupine? Raise a last cheers, break and move on. Back then at the college campus, Among enlightening adda and general ruckus. With coffee, tea and half-cooked snacks; life was fine. For professors, study and exams the mind will always pine. Ah! College Campus ...

Big city, morning light; No time anywhere in sight. Everyone's hurrying, to where? Kids, cars, men and women, Whether at eight or ten; Some destination, somewhere. Late evening, lights on; And bright, noisy honks. The same flight, to where? Life’s all a hurried flight; Of climbing steps, greater, higher right? Everyone wants to reach there! But where to? Slow down, please will you. Before it’s a bit too late. Feel the wind in that swaying tree. Where there’s calm and free, Wouldn’t you like to be there? Not a great piece of poetry, nevertheless expresses what I felt traveling to work one day and felt I need to capture the same.

Read the poem: An empty canvas that itself fills

Like the eye of a storm; The silence held, dripping like blood, Only a while it stayed. And then the silence was gone. It was torn apart, By a pack of wolves, So immense and horrific. Peace, in shreds. The blood dripping. He begged of them, They payed no heed. They howled and laughed, And carried away chunks Of his flesh, in their mouths, Red in greed, and malice H e heard his every cell Shriek in pain, H e was going to fall apart. He tried to choke his scream, He had killed his dream. Only for a while, He hit back at the beasts, And tried to flee. Then he picked them up His own body parts. He started eating them, Was he consuming himself ? H e had prayed to thee. Did you hear him ? Could you see ? Was he consuming himself ? Were those beasts inside him ? Or were they outside his existence ? To put himself together; H e had to consume the self. From beasts to angels They had transformed. None can consume himself, He had only consumed his ego.

Of unfulfilled duties, And unearned rights, Of worthless works, And stupid fights. Of loveless affairs, And heartless flings, Of remorseless apologies, And unattached strings. Of untrue lines, And mindless talks, Of late realizations, And retrospective walks. Of unleashed potential, And an unachieved dream... Poetic Injustice - A collaborative blog of poesy ... Nakul , Shreyas and yours truly. More on the history behind this initiative on Shreyas's blog.

A heavy shadow, the misty plain A bunch of men with a fresh plan, again The steaming cups of tea, sound of prayers A scheme gets resolved in the mind of the slayers. Read more of the poem: A mistaken prayer, a false offering

Here is a poem on Bangalore. 'Tomorrow and the city'