Friday, 29 June 2012

Unspoken Words: 55 fiction

The wedding day had finally arrived. It was to be a grand, elaborate and pompous affair. The whole village was invited. Food was to be served in plenty. 

The bride sobbed silently, tears flowing down her tender cheeks. She wanted to study and become a doctor.

After all she was only 16, and he 51.

Image source: ibtimes.co.uk

  





Wednesday, 27 June 2012

What I Hate About Mumbai

I had earlier done a post on the 10 things I love about Mumbai. But honestly speaking there are certain other things that I hate about this city. Basically its a love-hate relationship of some kind. Come to think of it, Mumbai is one of the metropolitan cities in the country. So is this what urban India has to offer?

1. First and foremost, travelling can be a nightmare in the city. I hate the unbearable crowd, particularly in the local trains during the peak hours. Not to forget that some co-passengers can be very rude and mean. The traffic-stricken roads don't help either.

2. And if at all you travel by the train in the morning, don't even dare to look out of the window. I keep wondering why anyone does not do anything about it. Mumbai needs more public toilets!

3. Every year it rains and the city floods up. Lives are lost. Roads tear apart.

4. Good and decent looking roads are dug up in the name of a skywalk, a flyover or a metro project. More traffic jams.

5. People litter and spit here, there and everywhere, without a second thought.

6. The ugly looking, badly Photoshop-ed hoardings of political leaders.

7. The noise and the pollution, lack of clean running water.

8. All festivals here are a noisy affair. The crackers, the drumbeats, the blaring music. Even on a religious occasion, the music is that of a  "Chikni Chameli" or a "Sheila ki Jawani". For God's sake, they are sleazy item numbers! Where in this, is the devotion?

9. Accidents happen, murders take place in broad daylight. Mostly people refuse to help.

10. Fights break out at every nook and corner and the language used is foul and extremely unpleasant.

And the list can go on and on. Sad state of affairs.

An efficient government, responsible citizens and some combined effort is all we need to make Mumbai a "better home".




Tuesday, 26 June 2012

Pen and Paper


When was the last time I picked up a pen and wrote a letter?

Well, may be 10 years back.

As a kid I loved writing letters and what I loved even more was receiving them.


My letters were written as neatly as possible, in good handwriting, without any or little mistakes. Carefully sealed and stamped, they were dropped at the nearest post box.

And then when the postman would deliver a letter in response, I would jump around the whole house in happiness. I also had a collection of old letters, stamps and postcards. But that was then.

Times have changed, technology has developed. These are the days of emails and social networking sites. But somehow I don't like writing emails. May be I'm too lazy for that. I'd rather leave a short message on somebody's wall. Nothing elaborate. Emails are mostly those that are forwarded in bulk. Some joke, some short story, some funny picture, and some other "forward to another 12, or you will die" rubbish.(how I hate them!!)

Yes, communication has no doubt become easier. But somehow somewhere something is amiss. May be its the personal touch. I keep wondering. May be its just me. Er...I have no clue.

Disillusioned.




Monday, 18 June 2012

Not Enough


At times
When I'm awe struck
Words don't seem enough
Giving up, I let it be
Surrendering to the moment
Reveling in true bliss
I choose to remain.

Its true what they say:
"Silence speaks a thousand words".





Thursday, 14 June 2012

Poetry To Me

A shout, a scream, a piercing cry
A prayer, a dream, a silent plea
A train of thoughts
A frame of mind
Of voiceless words
And breathless rage

Emotions ripe
And numb with pain
Eruptions rise
And seek to burst
Not with tears 
Of unknown fears
But with words
And rhyme to vent

A stitch that holds the heart in place
Poetry to me, is mine own space.





Tuesday, 12 June 2012

Goodbye Party For Miss Pushpa T.S.- Hilarious


Friends,
our dear sister
is departing for foreign
in two three days,
and
we are meeting today
to wish her bon voyage.
You are all knowing, friends,
what sweetness is in Miss Pushpa.
I don’t mean only external sweetness
but internal sweetness.
Miss Pushpa is smiling and smiling
even for no reason
but simply because she is feeling.
Miss Pushpa is coming
from very high family.
Her father was renowned advocate
in Bulsar or Surat,
I am not remembering now which place.
Surat? Ah, yes,
once only I stayed in Surat
with family members
of my uncle’s very old friend,
his wife was cooking nicely…
that was long time ago.
Coming back to Miss Pushpa
she is most popular lady
with men also and ladies also.
Whenever I asked her to do anything,
she was saying, ‘Just now only
I will do it.’ That is showing
good spirit. I am always
appreciating the good spirit.
Pushpa Miss is never saying no.
Whatever I or anybody is asking
she is always saying yes,
and today she is going
to improve her prospect
and we are wishing her bon voyage.
Now I ask other speakers to speak
and afterwards Miss Pushpa
will do summing up.
( A poem by Nissim Ezekial)
When I first came across this poem, all I could do was laugh, laugh and laugh. Nissim Ezekiel in this poem very aptly reproduces the manner in which Indians speak wrong English. This is mainly because of the reason that we first think in our mother tongue and then translate the words and phrases to English while speaking. The result would then be something like this, " Miss Pushpa is smiling and smiling". If you keep your ears open then you will come across such English almost anywhere and everywhere in the country. 
As you go through the poem you will find some phrases that are typically Indian. For eg: "departing to foreign", "two three days", "cooking nicely" , "not remembering now" and the likes. 
Another notable feature is the fact that Miss Pushpa is always addressed as " Miss Pushpa" and as a "dear sister" but never by her name . So very Indian. Interestingly Miss Pushpa is described to be both internally and externally sweet, coming from a very "high family". And the icing on the cake is that her father is a "renowned advocate". A perfect example of how family background and the profession of the father matters in India. Not to forget the initials in her name " Miss Pushpa T.S.". Another Indian phenomenon. And what is hilarious is that all this is being mentioned at her farewell party. 
Well, firstly I'm amazed at Nissim Ezekial for creating poetry out of such an ordinary situation - a farewell party. And yes, he does successfully manage to not only capture your attention but also to tickle your funny bone. However, when it comes to a post colonial context, it also could have been that he was stressing on the validity of the use of this native variety of English, though far separated from the standard.



Monday, 11 June 2012

Vague dreams (55 fiction)

Darkness enveloped her body, silence bit into her ears. Dreams of a happy marriage seemed distant and vague. A loving husband was all she desired. Some care. Some concern. But he wanted more from her. She gave him all she could. But he was hungry for more.

" Newly wed woman burnt to death for dowry"


crying, eye, girl, sad, sadness
Source: givemeachocolat.tumblr.com


 P.S - My first attempt at 55 fiction. Let me know what you think of it.





Thursday, 7 June 2012

10 Things to do on a Rainy Day

I love the rains. Or so I say. Rains in Mumbai can be a messy affair, but still worth it. Here's 10 things to do on a rainy day:

1. Get drenched
2. Write a poem
3. Have some hot coffee and steaming pakodas
4. Read a good book
5. Spend the whole day in bed
6. Day dream
7. Watch the rain drops fall
8. Make paper boats and get them sailing
9. Try a new hobby
10. Go on a picnic



Tuesday, 5 June 2012

Let it pour


Let the skies tear apart,
And the winds gather rage,
Let it howl, let it brawl.

Let the thundering strike.
And the showers descend,
Let it fall, let it sprawl.

Let the heat rush away
And the soil gasp for breath,
Let it soak, let it drench.

For the hour has come,
And the time in near.

Let it pour, let it rain.


Picture source : Google Images




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