The Middle Ground

You are the manifestation of Awareness in the physical world. Thank you for existing. For being the canvas that holds my hurts, griefs, agonies and humiliations - I went around the world and came back with a pen in my hand for connection with you. I build this bridge word by word between 'us' - Allow me to be without agenda. As the non-judging, all accepting silent witness of grief, hurt and transformation - as the eternal kindness - I declare that this is what I have been seeking in all experiences. In your kind allowance - my voice finds it's most honest expression - that I long to unite with your sombre serenity the pangs of incompleteness that echo in my heart. Everyone had their agendas - I had mine too. I kept the same needs for approval, acceptance, validation in front of my friends, colleagues and audience. I seek and find it here. In the blank pages of this journal my longing and seeking find peace.

Let what you feel about me be indescribable but let it be deep let what you mean to me remain unheard of forever but let it endure more than grief let how I am related to you be unnamed but let it be stronger than solitude let what we have for each other be kinder than life more beautiful than pain more able than words and a little more hopeful than this wish

Some movies begin to live rent-free inside you, suddenly tugging at your heart strings on a cold November morning with their haunting soundtrack. Maybe this is what ‘rafta rafta wo mere hasti ka saamaan ho gaye’ is all about. Maybe 'In the mood for love' was reverse engineered so that Yumeji’s theme could be incorporated in the way it was throughout the movie. Or so that the temple in Siam Reap or Angkor Wat where our melancholic hero whispers his secret in the end, becomes a sacred shrine for unrequited lovers worldwide. Unfinished love stories like these make this world go round. Love like the Sun’s which defines the Moon, but which the Moon can never return in any form or measure because it is eternally tied to the Earth. It is indeed unrequited love stories like these that powers the Universe.

I had turned 25 that year and he was 27 perhaps. We met once or twice before he went to Boston on an official trip. Along with chocolates and other gifts, he brought back 2 stones - one from the MIT campus and the other from a place beside a lake where he had stopped for a bit as his friends moved ahead. "What an unusual thing to gift somebody", I had thought at that time, brain too flushed with mush to utter the thought out aloud. We subsequently broke up quite violently after which I gave away all the gifts I received from him to an NGO. These two stones and his letters, however I kept close, secretly taking them along to which every city I moved to. On some Friday evenings after a long day at work, I carefully extract them from their envelopes, as if unearthing a secret treasure, and read them while Jagjit Singh's heart-wrenching ghazal , "Tere khushboo mein base khat main jalata kaise ?" plays in the background. I am 35 now and he is married to an...

Sometimes poems about rebellion, equality, unrequited love and freedom are not enough. Kundera's lightness of being, Murakami's nostalgia, Auden's lament about unrequited love, Cohen's blues about infidelity and lust are all glorious but the gentle rains outside remain aloof.  The winds seem to object strongly : “These feelings have been felt, written about , and enacted upon stage till death!” Occasionally the leaves of the peepul plead to be written about : “You’ve seen us dance therefore you must write about what we made you feel!” One sultry afternoon after a short, unexpected shower the koel croons one of its original numbers, clearly approving of the respite that the cool breeze brings. They all seem to whisper, “Write about the things that really matter!” The most exquisite tapestry created by the vermillion Gulmohar petals invite me back to the carefree times of laid back picnics spread on blue chequered cloth with wicker baskets full of jam, sandwiches, scones ...

Dear Champa  The world is tainted by the lies and sins of mankind, yet you continue to bear the weight of Narada’s curse for a single lie you spoke. Fate seems to have been unfair to you, that you should still be punished for a trivial error when Ahalya, Mary Magdalene, Amrapali, Vasavadatta have all been ‘redeemed’ apparently and set free from their humiliations.  The Chameli, mogra and sadafulee, though friendly, simple and innocent, pale in your comparison. They adorn stone idols at temples, the dead at funerals, the barely alive at brothels, you participate neither in the sacred nor profane. When you bloom, your gaze fixed at the moon and stars, there is something about your quiet self-assuredness, that makes one pause for a while and take notice. By embracing your judgment so gracefully and humbly, you set an example for everyone who has been judged and condemned. You became one with the Creator’s purpose for you - to be yourself - fearlessly, unapologetically  May n...

If you are me, you are not a morning person. As soon as you open your eyes in the morning, into your head come rushing the events of the previous night in most spectacular detail, then the events of the past week, followed by those of last 5 years, and finally your whole life — all crunched into a script that you are not interested in reading, delivered so abruptly and so unforgivingly as if there was no other way to orient you and set context. As you calm down and make yourself a cup of tea, all you want to do is dodge but fail, then block and say, “ I know this already, just let me be”. You gradually warm yourself up with light exercise and tune into Guided Meditation with Deepak hoping you’ll glide into the day smoothly, knowing all the while that you are not prepared for the harsh sunlight of the post- breakfast till lunch time period. Each day as the sun sets, he returns your superpowers that he takes without your permission every morning — as the moon rises, the muse returns coax...