Dream

                                                                DREAM

I used to walk every day, sculpting myself night and day.

It was art, like a potter with clay, or a Shakespearean soliloquy.

On these walks, I pondered my life choices,

Visualized my success as the world rejoices.

But my sounds were plagued by white noises,

My dreams were crushed by so many voices.

Why do I bear this pain in my brain in vain?

I abstain from my dreams, even if they’re ingrained.

I am numbed by my situation. It feels like a concussion.

I built my body for cremation even though I am your creation.

My hair is too long, my habits are wrong, my senses are gone.

If I am a sprinter, can I run a marathon? My life, you pawn.

My legs are cramping, I don’t stop walking, I start running.

When I reach my destination, I stop losing and start winning.

You don’t know me, you never will, if my obedience, is this drill.

With this weight on my head, I will run uphill, till I stand still.

I see so much on these walks. Leaves fall,

ragdolls, gold coins hidden by grasses tall.

I see railway tracks, never used, just existing.

My life in cracks, on a road, never taken, yet persisting.

I see my neighbor across the road, weary and old.

With long hair, old clothes and a look that shows he’s bored.

He walks like me, jobless and carefree, limping with cramps or a bad knee.

He recognizes my face and waves at me, tears flow, as I wave back at me.

Happy

I should be happy, I should be asleep,
But in the stillness of the night, I hear someone weep.
I know I am great, or so I am told,
I remember being funny, I think I was bold.
I have been treated badly, even with disdain;
But that’s not the reason I feel pain.
I still am funny, I still do laugh,
It’s an illusion, in it, there’s no heart;


It’s so late at night, I can see a new sun,
My head is too groggy to think of a pun.
Once my throat was dry from talking uncut,
Now my mouth stinks from remaining shut.
I was once in love with my sleep, why didn’t it last forever?
I know not why our relationship is severed, we are not together.
I guess it was a war between me and everyone,
I lost my smile, I guess I lost a ton.


It’s gone on too long, I am inured,
Everybody is happy, they say I am cured.
The greatest privilege is to love and care,
I have seen emptiness, I wish I could share.
I have more than many, my needs are met,
I have nothing, nothing I wanted to get.
My pillow is drenched, it’s not sweat,
I knew I heard someone weep, my eyes are wet.

Rebel

So, you think you're a rebel?
Are you really? Or do you want to be visible?
Is it because you think everyone hates you?
No they don't; They just don't patronize you.
Is it because you think everyone loves you?
No they don't; Otherwise you won't feel like you.
Is it because you think they want to be you?
No they don't; Nobody can be you.

So, you think you're a rebel?
Or are you scared of being one among the pebbles?
Is it because everyone is conspiring against you?
Or is it because you aren't getting the respect due?
You really must think you're important,
why else would you get so despondent?
What have you achieved with your own might?
Have you gone through fire to become a light?

So, you think you're a rebel?
Do you listen to punk rock or heavy metal?
Have you broken a few trivial rules?
Or have you stolen inexpensive jewels?
Rebels will never be criminals,
maybe a musician, poet or something abysmal.
They do no wrong except follow their heart.
You are a rebel if you make your own pie chart.

Nothing

“Become something first”, is all I got when I asked anything.

Where’s the fun in becoming something when you can be nothing.

Life is a prelude to our real lives, which is eternal,

Why waste it on a desire so useless and carnal.

Take the path less traveled by is what they say,

That should be the mantra to success they pray.

In this race to become something they forget,

Doesn’t everyone want to be first? I bet.

Everybody idolizes a hero, who wants a cipher?

Ask a hero how he feels, always under pressure.

If making something of yourself is all that matters,

Then how foolish of God to give us life, who leave his earth in tatters.

Heroes are the supermodels of this world,

Good to see from far but still a part of a herd.

“Become something first”, is all I got when I asked anything.

I said, “I become infallible if I know I am nothing.”

“I want to be like water, pushed around by the stones,

But reach my destination with the same taste.

They spit me, waste me and throw me,

But they can’t live without me.”

How good would it be to be free?

Enjoy all the small things like air, water and tree.

Life is to be lived without any pressure or gain,

When I was made, I was something, do I need to prove it again?

The Beach Auction

The curtains danced over my face, its threads caressing my shut eyes as the morning sun rose above my house and illuminated my room. My eyes were still shut but my ears weren’t, because someone decided to yell my name loudly in what I thought was a dream. But like every other day, it was my father yelling at the top of his voice trying to wake me up when I was busy enjoying my sleep early in the morning. All good things come to an end and so did my sleep when my father walked up to my bed that particular morning and yelled my name into my ear, “Prakash!” he yelled. My typical reaction would have been to go on a killing spree, since sleep has always been my first priority. But when your father is an ex-black-cat commando, you don’t wake up with a grumpy face or a heavy sigh; you wake up with a jump, sit up straight, and make the bed with no questions asked. My father expected me to do all this in one swift movement of my complete body, in under 10 seconds.

That particular morning though he was in quite a hurry, which I thought was normal. Till he told me to finish my coffee quickly and come down to the garage. Now that was a sign of trouble, because whenever my father did that it was either to buy some meat that he’ll make me clean or for a run which always ended with me ending kilometres behind my father. Sometimes he just called me to wash the car, which I thought was worse than torture. Keeping my fingers crossed, I went to the garage only to see my father waiting in the car for me.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“Vizhinjam” he replied.

Vizhinjam is a beach very near to its famous brother Kovalam, but isn’t as huge or clean as the latter. Over the years this beach had become a place for fishermen to unload and sell their fishes to fisherwomen, who would then sell these fishes in all the fish markets scattered over the city, at exorbitant prices if I might add. My grandfather used to go directly to these market places early in the morning and buy the best fish, which were usually auctioned, and my dad continued this tradition. 

“Are we going to bid?” I asked my father.

This was the first time I was attending an auction and maybe that excitement was a little too evident in my voice.

“Maybe, if we find some good fish at the right price,” he replied.

Since his reply wasn’t encouraging enough, I sat back in my seat and started thinking about the smell and muck I would have to endure on the vast beach. As if I wasn't scared by every creepy crawly living being enough, fear of half-dead fishes with sharp scales that could cut your hand was pretty reassuring. I just wished by dad would handle them and I would carry them in the sañci (carry bag) till the car to feel like a man. I didn't like touching the slimy, pointy and beach sand covered creatures.

After an endless drive, we finally reached a crowded Vizhinjam beach. So crowded, that the ocean was hardly visible from the parking spot. Both of us decided very quickly, not to take the car any farther because it was my grandfather’s car. So we left the car, with only money and car keys in my father’s hands. We proceeded towards the beach, my eyes fixed on heaps of different varieties of fish just lying on the ground being sold by fisherwomen.

“If these women see you staring at their fishes like that, they might just pull you towards their stock and sell them to you” said my father.

“Aren’t we going to buy anyways?” I asked.

“Not from here,” he replied. “We’ll buy it from those boats” he continued, pointing towards the ocean where I could see more than ten boats filled with fishes.

We walked towards the boats, which were at the shore and I looked wide-eyed at all the heaps of fish and the way people were buying them. I could hear people surrounding the boats, yelling their price for the fish and the fishermen then trying to sell the fish by shouting the bids out loud. We passed many boats; some had fishes which we weren’t interested in buying, some had good fishes where the veterans buyers would outbid us at the last moment and some didn’t have fresh fishes. This last category of boats, where the fish didn't look fresh, were the scammers. They took the unsold fishes out to the ocean and made a grand return to make the customers think that they were fresh catch. 

Many boats came, many were emptied and taken away as the sun became hotter and tourists, mostly caucasian, started filling the whole market. They were bad for local customers, because they drove the prices up. 

I stared at the light blue sky and its reflection in the ocean. But the site that grabbed my attention the most, was a mosque built on the rocks with its back towards the shore.  The sun reflected of its top to make me squint. When I turned back, I couldn’t see my father anywhere near, so I walked to a new boat which had just reached the shore. There weren’t many people crowding it, so I went and stood there only to find my father standing across on the other side of the boat. The bidding had already started and the price had already reached Rs. 800, which was placed by my father of course. There wasn’t much competition either except for a fisherwoman who was quite determined to outbid my father. I saw the price double in a matter of seconds and the auctioneer's tongue shouting bids at the speed of light. This went on till the price became Rs. 1800 and I started losing faith in the whole idea of “buying fish at a cheaper price from the ocean”.

“1800 onnu, 1800 randu, 1800 moonu” announced the auctioneer, bringing his hand down and signalling the end of the auction.

There was a silence for a few moments as the auctioneer hesitated to put the fishes in the fisherwoman’s basket. My father gave me a signal and started walking away from the boat, but a few fishermen walked up to the boat and told my father to stay put. They started beating up the auctioneer till blood splashed all over the blackish wet sand. After a few minutes, when they were done with him, they showed his bleeding face to all the bidders at his boat.

“This woman is his wife” they declared, pointing towards the fisherwoman who was outbidding my father. Some people took the basket from the fisherwoman and gave it to my father, who took it with a smile on his face. The mob of angry buyers were surprised, many tried to stop my father when he took out Rs. 1700 from his mundu and gave it to the auctioneer before dragging me away from the shore towards the car.

“You didn’t have to give that money. Seventeen hundred is a lot for a basket of fish,” I said, after placing the basket at the back of the car.

“I agree. But getting more than five kg of sardine which is worth more than three thousand in the fish market, at a mere seventeen hundred is a very good deal” he replied with a broad smile.

I turned my head to get a last glimpse at the auctioneer, the ocean, and the mosque but nothing was visible through the crowded shores of Vizhinjam.  

Love and Laws

The strictest laws give birth to the worst offenders,

Everyone wants to be a hero, so who wouldn't want to be a rule breaker?

But if the laws are eradicated wouldn't we become wild creatures?

These are the laws made not by us, but by our maker.

But if love is free, a feeling, a preacher;

Then why are the laws made to make love a misdemeanor?

It’s said, “Love is within us, love surrounds us.”

This is the law of nature and maybe something divine.

Love is all that we need, maybe even a kiss.

Since it is the hardest to find, the rules have to be mine.

Laws will be made and laws will be broken,

This is the only rule to find unconditional love.

Some follow the rules and some don’t,

If you know you are nothing, you can’t get hurt.

Human norms are many and we are just clones.

Get out of this rut, get the work done and have a little fun.

Go get what you want the most and make your life brighter,

We who go against worldly laws aren't losers, we are fighters.  

My Child

My Child

She was my child, my own flesh,

my baby girl was a part of me.

I had so many dreams of a lovely creche,

where my daughter would study with glee.

I can still see the small hands and the soft skin

in my head, through my eyes, but it’s all just a dream.

She’ll always be and is still my kin,

I wish I could hear her at night cry and scream.

What was her fault? Was it being a girl?

So am I, maybe I should have taken the pain.

I wish I could see her crawl and swirl

and maybe someday see her dance in the rain.

She was taken away from me mercilessly,

nobody thought of giving her a second chance.

I just wanted once to hold her closely,

feed her once or maybe just get a glance.

I feel betrayed by the man of my life,

he loved me deeply but killed a part of me.

Somebody tell my baby I was threatened with a knife.

I didn't know how to fight or where to flee.

With a heavy heart I have to walk into the same mesh.

How can I forgive him after what he did to me?

She was my child, my own flesh,

my baby girl was a part of me.