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September 2016
Aishwarya Subramaniam Gauri Nagpal Lothika Jha Nishi Banka Saumya Grover Soukarni Barai
Gone?
Words crafted with silence Sounds bent in stillness Meeting with quarrels and laughter Before it collides with nothingness And shatters into it, itself. A void that’s left behind An empty space Only in reality, memories still remain intact. It’s the memories we dwell in now That’s the reality That’s real At least to the imagination Our minds a part of this world just as much as our heads So if it’s in our minds, is it still in this world?
(Aishwarya) 5
Scene
There is no such thing as light Only the absence of dark What is scene? Seen. Not light, object. What you see, Your self. Image, reflected from a mirror-like expanse What is a mirror? Glass painted on one side What a mirror is, a time machine. Mirror images. Replicated. Imitated. To imitate is far easier than to stimulate Only the presence of light that illuminates, Only the absence of the dark that stimulates.
(Gauri) 6
“SAVE ME” she cried out loud, in the dead of night. Blinded by sleep, eyes open. eyes open but blind. Blind but could see and still couldn’t really. She squealed again, drowning in the blackness. There was nothing to be scared of. Heights, Ghosts, Hush.. Keep Quiet.. It’s okay.. Mumbles, Darkness, Silence.
I wasn’t screaming out too loudly was I. Everyone has nightmares. I think nobody heard me.. or did they? There was a voice that calmed me down. Was it my own voice or was it not? I don’t remember. But there is nothing unnatural happening here. Just my friends and I, having a sleepover. Each lost in their own dreams, one chasing the food truck, an attempt to hold hands as they stare at the sunset, a failed moan to convince his parents, the unanswered phone calls, the unknown demon.
(Soukarni) 7
She was here. Right here. I saw her. She touched. She caressed. Feeling her after so long. Where was she? She even said she misses me. But why in all white? How? Here? Mixed emotions. Happiness and fear. She looked around. I looked too. Oh, the mirror. Where was her reflection? She is not here. But she is here. Startled. I shout. She moves. He came in running. I said but he didn’t believe. She was here. He was here. I could see her. He couldn’t. It wasn’t her. It was her. Scared. Terrified. I hugged him. She got up. Weak smile on her face. Next I saw the door close quietly in the house where only we lived. And we were both away from the door. It was the two of us again. Her picture was still there smiling. Though the flowers around it were wilted.
It was great to be with her again. Her smile, her innocence, it was everything I ever dreamed of. I was having a nice time caressing her, telling her how much I love her. But was she looking scared? Did time make me so old? I thought her love for me would never wither. I turned around and somehow missed my reflection in the mirror. She followed my gaze and suddenly her face was as white as my clothes. She screamed and he entered the room, like he was just waiting for the call. He walked past me like I didn’t exist! He always loved playing these little annoying games. Only this time, listening to them, I realized it was no more a game. Suddenly I saw my reflection! Oh! It wasn’t my reflection. It was my picture with flowers around. I wasn’t a part of their world now. He held her close to him while I gave her a weak smile and left the room disgusted at myself for scaring my little angel.
(Nishi) 8
The Lifeless Droplets The crystal like droplets Danced on her flickering eye lid Bathing the already wet lash Waiting to be infused with life A life as short as a stroll down her cheek And then evaporating They became a burden She could no longer carry A burden that had to be lifted The agony caught in her woeful heart Needed to pour out The grief residing in her Needed release They lived, They danced, Tumbling down her cheek Helped her get rid of all the pain
(Saumya) 9
Peculiar things were peculiar The congregation of people, laughter holding hands in secret spite, turmoil nestled somewhere in a dark staircase separated from the rest only by a wall, the hesitant agreement, the bemused glances across a hundred heads, an overwhelming feeling of discomfort that came with awkward conversations that I would really rather not be a part of. It was peculiar. It was also strange that I would hear children scream in the coconut farm adjoining the backwall of my residence, and lizards croak very close to my head. Strange things happened as I tried to sleep. I lay very still.
(Lothika) 10
A Ghost Story I do believe in ghosts Blazing each night See them in the day too Washed out by the white They have been given names By people older than you and I Know them when you see The colors that they shine The fastest thing in the skies Is not fast enough You only realize the being Much after it has gone A perpetual deja vu Then and now Past and present East and west, west and east Each dot a sun Each sun a dot I do believe in ghosts Blazing every night I do believe in ghosts Just not the human kind
(Gauri) 11
Television
I stare at a box that is merely moving images and sound I turn to channel eight then ten then fifteen and back to eight Channels twenty through twenty five are not for children says mother. Sexually suggestive I suppose. As am I. Mother doesn’t find it funny. I eat now. A blob of rice and dal travel through my oesophagus down to my stomach in the form of slimy mucus that I chewed it into. I sleep. Admittedly in order to stop registering sound. Exorbitant amounts of brain secretion that caused a phenomenon which I refer to as emotions, messages that were only electric currents. An eagle that perched itself atop a lonesome branch, and observed stillness as though it was moving with thunderous speed, or vice versa. Anomalies were distant cousins, outcasts a part of kin They say, that trees would care for their young and ward of danger, raise the red flag when threat came knocking, signals that travelled through appendages that buried underground All of this while I would walk through them and see only a path I was as tiny as an electric current, and as large as the mother who lost her child and grieved.
(Lothika) 12
Brush, Bush.
They start from the ground and shoot out from, towering to those unreachable heights: they almost mimic the prolific bamboo plantations that Kerela boasts about, all in the clasp of your little hand. This little outgrowth on the edge of nowhere, carefully planted by mechanical arms into the small holes dug out especially for every single strand.. . Each one planted in close proximity, touching the skies in places where only the eye could reach. And every morning as the sun shines and trickles through from the minute crevasses of a plantation, the bamboo patch showers every day in the early morning rain, exposed to the storm and withering down like hay.. When the months have passed and they have bent to their extreme, they lose their height, grandeur and beauty. But don’t be sad. This is ordinary: for a toothbrush beautifies by losing its beauty.
(Soukarni) 13
Chips They undressed me and slaughtered me until every part of my body was separated. I almost thought I was dead until, as compensation, they made me take a long warm bath. I started thinking maybe life wasn’t so bad after all, when suddenly; my entire body seemed to be on fire. Maybe that was my pyre. They were burning the parts of my body. I wished to scream that I am still alive but could not. I must have gone unconscious for the next thing I remember was waking up to some sort of a rain that did not make me wet. Little did I know that after enduring and surviving so much I would die in the mouth of a little kid. “These potato chips are yummy mom,” were the last words I ever heard.
(Nishi) 14
Tabletop The surface of a table is no less than a manuscript. Straight lines. One. Two. Three. Four. Blob. Drip. Green. Intersecting lines. Five. Six. Dotted. Converging. Diverging. Dots like Orion colliding with Sagittarius. Dot dot dot dot dot dot dot dot dot. A nose Lips An eye And I Lines, more, seven eight nine. Sentences intertwine: “Sat here and was working She was eating I was there” Purple green pink black silver brown Circle. A ring. A cup. A grain of rice. Another. Grains. More. Heap. Now, a heap. The surface of a table is no less than a manuscript What are you doing? Writing about this table It’s not a table It’s a plank of wood They’ve taken it from Marina beach in Chennai And put it here That’s all there is to it. (Gauri) 15
Molecular arrangements. Not too far below the subject of this particular piece, there are motor vehicles suspending streams of smoke into an invisible atmosphere .Somewhere close by, there are lakes that vaporize to form fortresses of shapeless globules, that look silken very often, sometimes like cotton candy. In the midst of this endless sheets of silk that are sometimes like cotton candy there are valleys. Rivers flow with a gentle current where the white tears to reveal an auburn water. A landscape like that of Banaras, with temples adorning the purple haze of the banks rose through a crevice. Somewhere to the east of the sky, a gust of wind, much like a hasty stroke of a frenzied painter, brought two large globules together, and soon enough, there was a valley that resembled Kheerganga’s mystical foliage. It wasn’t your regular canvas It was tiny beads of water that travel to the sky. Tiny enough to be air. Vapour. Seven hundred and seventy seven clouds later, There are several hundred paintings I still haven’t seen I must look at them long enough. That’s the thing about these canvases. They are transient. Intangible Transparent. Apparent. Momentary really.
(Lothika) 16
Firewood Ouch. Stop. Stop! Stop.Stop.Stop.Stop. It is hurting and burning. It is literally burning. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Lying on the ground and cut into pieces. Slayed. You were cold in search of warmth. Understandable. Looking around. A sea of trees. Seeing around. That of wood. The search had ended with murder. No screams. No cry for help. Just the sound of branches breaking. It burns. It does. It burns terrific. Glorious it stood once. Had been Holding within itself its life and of others. Support and stability. Beauty and tranquillity. Peace and power. Now just words Burned and charred Being cupped by human hands, shivering in cold, content with its heat. Torn and in pieces. Scared and frightened. Hot and scorching. Darkness invades. The skin of the wood tanned in sunlight Withering and burning Shall resemble coal and the blackness of death Exhausted. In it. There will be nothing left to burn. Come the dawn, with it, its ending Can burned be burnt? And can fire catch fire? Almost unrecognizable. Torn into bits. What shall remain of its identity? Like a corpse in a pyre with nothing more than bones to mark its being. But wood doesn’t have bones. Only ash. Let’s hope the ash leaves a mark upon the Earth like a burn mark on our skin that shall only die in our pyre. Let it mark away its existence Before the wind blows it away (Aishwarya) 17
Simultaneity the tick of noon on a clock a cat jumping from a windowsill green signal on a traffic light compass needle turning right flickering lamp on the 4th main turning wheel of a new bicycle flight of a sparrow significance of a red wheelbarrow one two three o clock four five six o clock seven o clock eight o clock o clock o clock o clock Cock Good morning! time to wake up go to school to eat dance weep reap work drive throw a rock at an abandoned beehive class love wearing a torn purple glove winter summer spring in the flesh of a drummer 18
season month rotation alternation the reckoning of time on account of an interval an interval to repeat to repeat an interval time is obscene time is invented time holds a prisoner time is often lamented no back no front no then or then a now held captive by the futility of the know how an image another stacked on top of each other each now a then each then another eighty milliseconds two hundred and fifty miles the unfathomable grace never been in a place except for at a time never existed in time except at a place
(Gauri) 19
“Don’t look there” I screeched, as I tugged her away in a hurry ( this was because I saw something) “Don’t look there” I screeched as I tugged her away in a hurry ( this was because I saw something) away farther from the horror. She could barely keep up with the pace of my heartbeat. My little sister and I retreat, scurrying away from that ginormous man, his ginormous tongue, hanging out low, from his pants, pointing at us, now dangling in the air ( his eyes cried were red). “It was gross mummy”, I confessed (I sobbed as my sister looked at me as with fatigue and confusion),” and scary. His eyes bore fear into my heart and he stood there asking me to look down,and she was with me, and she is so young and I ran back home with her mommy, all I did was, to home I ran with her puzzled behind me. She didn’t see the monster but I did mommy.”
(Soukarni) 20
“ Don’t look there” I will tell her, as I slam the screen shut, in front of her eyes ( this was because I have seen something’s that she wants to see) “ Don’t look there” I will tell her, as I slam the screen shut, in front of her eyes ( this was because I have seen something’s that she wants to see) because I didn’t want her to see. She puffed up my little pufferfish and it closed her bright wide eyes. ( her tiny hands will already be too full of things, so many) “ Why don’t you let me” she will cry, “ explore the world and find someone better? Find a love with whom I will tether ,my heart, my dreams, my forever and ever and ever and ever” she will say. ( I will look at her in dismay) Her bright wide eyes will sparkle with tears, my old sockets will struggle to decipher, but I will carefully place my arms around her shoulders and make her sit a little closer, our hearts closer, our heartbeats closer, with hers faster and mine slower. ( At this point I will push my spectacles up my tired nose)“I fell in love once” it will escape my tongue,( her bright wide eyes will startle in amazement) “ it was difficult, it still is and it will be, but it was difficult and I had to bear pain and someday you will too. But I never told anyone no, no one, not anyone knew, I had only my heart painted blue. But you have me and I will be here, near and will help you carry all your fear.( I will say this and kiss her forehead, smile weakly and lift up the screen again)
(Soukarni) 21
“Don’t look there” I said as she tried to peep in through the keyhole( it was all because they were fighting too loudly), “Don’t look there” I said as she tried to peep in through the keyhole( it was all because they were fighting too loudly), the animal like screams were penetrating the doors, were creeping out from small cracks, were finally audible to her, were sounds that made sense. ( she has heard them before but today she understands) “ Why are they fighting?” a simple question she puts forward to me and I sigh ( I sigh every single time I need to explain these complexities) and I pull her away, from the door , she was aware, she was scared. “ They do this all the time” I answer, “ Have been doing so all the time, since I was like you and from even before; you are young and so am I, forever , for every one, for them, forever.” Her eyes swell up and she cries, she cries till they are swollen and she has drenched my lap, but she cries and I sit with her, and pat her forehead and her eyes fall asleep, on my lap, on my drenched lap.
(Soukarni) 22
At the museum
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Black, white, impressions. The two sat there, quiet, A little below. A man and a woman, The woman facing the man, The man facing the lake. His shoulders bent just enough, For her to rest her forehead. Surrounded by expanses of black greenery A lake which was white. The small lotus bud floats in the centre, Floats alone, floats in front of them, Floats in her tears, Unflowered.
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Walking, frame, walking, frame. Same, same, obscure, same. The eye reaches out looking, Feet tired of walking, Up, down, in, out, Stop. What? ~ Nothing? No there is something.. A butt ? NO. No ? That faint line walks on the canvas, Slowly, bends, loops, a hand? My eyes squint. The fat thighs appear from nowhere, The beige canvas, cracks, And the ~ It’s over. That is all. Wait. That corner has something. Can’t see. Can see. Faint lines. Lines? Cracks? Lines. Face. Snout. Oh! Dog. No wonder the painting is called Pursuit.
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A long closed hallway. The walls tower like giants. So close to each other One table on one side. Two magnifying glasses. Small and big and side by side. “don’t touch my child, You must not, They all have alarms” I hover over and over to confirm. No alarms. Can touch. The touch and clasp, It’s in my hands now, but why? “look up darling! Look at these, Beautiful strokes and colours” My small eyes reach up. Six frames, all too tiny. How does one achieve such perfection? I place the glass in between. And see.
(Soukarni) 26
The Woman As the strokes intersect They form an elegant woman. Colors merge While she absorbs their iridescence Lines in different directions Tints dark and light Marking the foreground the background
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The Horizon Seated by the river Staring into the tranquil sky As the mountains and the waters converge The golden rays being sprayed Over the bed of white clouds He has a wish A wish to see The silver lining
(Saumya) 28
(i) Gravel skin, metal mesh for skeletal support Raging with a furious whirlwind of desire To dance like mortals do. Dancing all the same in complete stillness Orchestrated chaos. Crescendos sung by marble. Anatomical upsurge. Technological breakdown make perfect musicals.
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(ii) A cat climbs the wall with a grace that is not stranger to the beast that survives on uncertain terrain. Abbu narrates a tale of people long gone. He recites poetry. He recites poetry, while I write. Perhaps his words, like many others, will be scriptures one day. I am not as good an audience as the cat. She purrs in agreement. She nods when Abbu looks up. She jumps. Right on cue. Abbu narrates the climax. She jumps and digs her nails into Abbus back. I’m not a very good audience, But I suppose, I could try.
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(iii) curvilinear triangles are torsos Nonagon backs are back Anatomy is redundant The queen is barely woman Except for her breasts, that are impressed into the back of the throne She is the throne. The throne is she Her riches are bronze(plastic) Plastic royalty Bronze was once currency Currency is now paper I paid in paper to watch a bronze queen who is nothing but an oblong face on a throne. I wonder who serves her now. Perhaps the one who chose to carve her so. Perhaps the ones who find meaning in a boulder that is not cut precisely. Only the sculptor knows her woes, And he chose to turn her to stone Perhaps he finds her unnecessary, Much like the paper I give you to watch her.
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(iv) Im with child today. Or am I one myself Have I started to bleed iron, Are my eggs fertile or caviar? He kissed me there Hot crevices laced with lava. He said I felt like sand to his lips. He smelt the sea, the salt and the seaweed There was a fish between my legs, he recalls everyday Till I am old, till I am no longer the sea. Till I am with child Till I am a yogini in a forest, an old harp with skin like moss I no longer smell of the sea I now smell of abandoned nests Hatched eggs and progeny that flew away. I am driftwood Porous. I do not swim in the sea. I merely float. I never drown.
(Lothika) 32
Scene 1 It has been so long since I have stepped out of the palace. I step out with my domestic helps (whom I regard as my friends) to see how the heat is bothering my people. They all surround me and one of them stands behind me, fanning. I look up and see some clouds forming. Oh! Finally. We can expect some rain. The heat has really been eating up all our energy and enthusiasm. I cannot wait for the rain to come.
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Scene 2 It’s raining! It’s raining! After so long, I can feel the water droplets tickling down my face to my neck and finally being soaked in my clothes. I hope all my people are enjoying the weather to the fullest for we don’t know how long or short would it last. I look around and see just one of my friends who is always behind me no matter where I go. Soon, my happiness increases a hundred times when I see the peacocks coming out and spreading their beautiful wings to compliment the beautiful weather. They seem to be enjoying the rains just as much as me.
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Scene 3 The rain is over but my enthusiasm is not. I love the way the earth smells. I look around and see how the sky looks spectacular and the flowers seem to be blooming out of joy. This day should not be spent sitting back in the chambers. I ordered everyone to come out the garden so that we can all have a wonderful day together. They all got their cattle that seem to be engrossed in chewing the fresh, wet juicy grass. I look forward to spending the day strolling around the park, listening to the other ladies.
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Scene 4 I miss the king. I would love to spend this day in his presence and company. I call the messenger and ask him to pass on the word to the king. I hope he is not too busy with his work. After a while, I see him at the entrance of my palace. He is already looking at me and smiling.
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Scene 5 He seems to be so happy. Soon, out of nowhere, I see so many people running here and there. It was only later that I realize that the king had ordered for a celebration to take place right here. My joy increased by a hundred times. As we sat, all the arrangements were made and a crowd had gathered. We sit near the palace on our thrones and the crowd sits on the grass all around us. I was so glad to spend such a great time with my king and my people after so long. The weather really brought us all together. The break from the scorching heat really proved to be a great relief.
(Nishi) 37
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(i) four fish studded on a straitjacket in a temple an idle idol
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(ii) red stripes pink flowers sea of green leaves sinking under the blue sun a boy in a van wrapped in a yellow tablecloth two aeroplanes circling a duck
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(iii) a crow’s bent beak pecking on an orange the organ of desire an oasis of red
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(iv) grey face turned red in the moonshine dark white feet flee
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(v) breasts circle broken black teeth fingers extend out of eyes brown thumb trails flailing belly
(Gauri) 47
Sri Rama conquers Varuna Too long: Has been the separation Too hard: Has been the journey to diminish it Too far: They have been kept apart Two sides: Are at war Too long: The journey still remains Too hard: The obstacles to come by Too far: Is the destination Two sides: Convene Too long: Has been the wait Too hard: Is the decision that follows Too far: Has the patience been tested Two Sides Are at war yet again. They say, all is fair in love and war; is all fair in love and war? When one causes the other? love – war and war – love, then is all still fair or is it no longer indistinguishable. Far and wide it stretches Into the unseen It’s essential and dangerous both Its end is seen at a new beginning 48
A gargantuan space of blue with green Feared and needed Terrifying waves beat the shores As a reminder of their strength in their fluidity Crossing it: a task gruelling for the gods themselves Shall then become impossible for any incarnation Three nights and three days he waits with devotion The fourth he waits no more with fury Patience is like an arrow, harder the pull faster and stronger the retaliation And threatens to let go of both And then in that moment finds the god of ocean itself begging for his mercy And hence also finds his victory And then the Vanaras who witnessed this peculiar site retold and told this unusual tale For gods seldom beg for mercy from each other, let alone there human incarnations
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Jatayu wars with Ravana The first: Fight The first: Attempt at rescue The first: To take sides between good and evil The first: Murder Courage……………… Courage? Courage. Separates: Men from beasts Separates: What is right from what is easy Separates: The mature from the juvenile Separates: Our actions from our desires Separates: Our better half from the worst It is hard to understand it, and even more so to show it and thus to be When, it guards your decisions along with your actions When, it becomes harder and harder to separate yourself from it Then, and only then are you are from that point on till forever known as courageous. A scream falls in the wind, like a coin on the ground that traces its movement by sound as it bounces during its fall, till it lies flat and quiet and is lost.
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He hears it again A scream. No, a cry. Scared. Ambushed. And hurt. In search of someone to hear it. A particular someone? One Captor: With cunningness that comes as a virtue One Captive: A damsel in distress One Rescuer: Does he? The Captor: Flies back to his kingdom, carrying his loot with him The Captive: Hoping her screams would find her husband The Rescuer: Thus ends his search for the owner of the voice The Captor: Annoyed at this interruption swings his sword with overpowering malice The Captive: Shocked. feels the last breath of hope escape in a whisper The rescuer: Now with one wing cut off, plummets to the ground. Efforts wasted. Intentions stymied. The vigour and zeal within his old bones disappearing In a respectful departure before the visit from death Almost as if they were avoiding it, like they knew that the world doesn’t like death and youth together. He lies on the ground, breathing out more than he is breathing in And at his last breath he recites the tale To these two strangers with familiar faces. The first death in an immortal battle And thus begins the story that will always be told. (Aishwarya) 51
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The Formation --a collage--
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A Rhyme for all Reasons This verse is a classic, from the moist circumstantial filling to the flaky tormented crust. It is homemade goodness at its very best. Ingredients: 1/3 to 1/2 cup hypnotic splatter 1/4 cup all-purpose condemnation 1/2 teaspoon ground spectacle 1/2 teaspoon quintessence of life 1/8 teaspoon ways of the heart 8 cups thinly sliced wasteful consumption 2 tablespoons lonesome-hearted lovers or a gentle soul misplaced inside a jail Directions: • • • •
Heat oven to 425ºF. Prepare uncommon occurrence. Mix humanity, messianic ideology, sparrows, nomadic and sparse ancestry and tradition with beauty in a large bowl. Stir in subjugation. Turn into a pastry-lined pie plate. Dot with complexities. Trim overhanging edge of subsistence 1/2 inch from the rim of the plate. Roll a round of whitened, sun-bleached bones. Fold into fourths and cut slits so a rudimentary evolutionary state can escape. Cover edge with 3-inch strip of inexpressible depth to prevent excessive browning. Remove hippy freakishness during last 15 minutes of baking. Bake for 40 to 50 minutes or until deep insecurity and delirium begins to bubble through slits in crust.
Serve warm if desired.
(Gauri) 54
(i) I remember how the flowers bloomed I remember how they wilted I remember the day she gave me one I remember how I kept it safe I remember it was going stale I remember the change of smell I remember we following the trend I remember why it had to come to an end
I remember time moving fast I remember when it went slow I remember the smell of her skin I remember it all ending with a sin I remember the innocence of her smile I remember how it made me go that extra mile I remember every minute with her I remember to cherish all the moments together I remember the day she broke my heart I remember how it hit like a dart I remember her not regretting I remember myself fretting I remember to forget to remember I remember but I remember I remember to remember and remember I remember that all this I must forget
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(ii) I remember hopes of a big score I remember the match is played I remember in the tournament’s history I remember a ready-made cliché I remember permittance under the regulations I remember Paltan making the cut I remember about his second goal I remember level for all that I remember action to be illegal I remember period between each term I remember demonstration by the team I remember how the source said I remember national and international matches I remember it starting on Friday I remember long-maned skipper in 2007 I remember the path to victory
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(iii) For an average adolescent hopes of a big score They keep telling you the match is played So now it was in the tournament’s history Two years ago in a ready-made cliché I always assumed they permitted under the regulations There was no celebration, Paltan making the cut I cried two hours about his second goal Beginning to think the level for all that One of the worst actions to be illegal It was not corrupt but a period between each term There was a man-child demonstration by the team Right, I rushed to how the source said I’m never going to national and international matches I don’t know why it starts on Friday
(Nishi) 57
Introspection
The future is uncertain but that can be a good thing My feet are too big but at least they’re not too small We were happy. We were good. The thing is, they were all perfect days Surrounded by people but alone They are talking to me and around me, but I can’t hear them She was spared. Words dance on the page We were written in paint Words can be bullies The air is full of things we aren’t saying I believe in signs Sometimes there is beauty in the tough words. It’s how you read them. Stigma. I kept your secret; you keep mine I feel myself shinning in the dark………I am arrayed I may wake up the darkness. Where everything floats indefinitely. This is my calling. I am rooted but I flow The origin of something Solidness and sense of permanence A label. Obelisk It’s so lovely to be lovely in private. Not missing at all. Found The cadence of suffering has begun. And so I tell my face to smile Disguise the pain. Don’t call attention. Don’t be noticed. I am disappearing……………………… Calm and blinding at the same time There was nothing to make her last a long time. I am starting to look like my old self, even though I don’t feel like her. There is only one me I’ve ever really liked and he was good and awake as long as he could be Maybe I’m already gone (Aishwarya) 58
#50 I spoke to women about sex. About six years ago, I made love to the woman who lived across the street Somewhere in the January of ’02, I was asked to be hall monitor, I made the fat kid carry my bag. Maybe in two years from now, death awaits In a decade and a half or so, “we’ve gotten married recently officer,” Basuri Lal will say Some months will pass. And still some more. I will not clean my room for a week. And tomorrow I will do nothing.
#62 Capson papers are heavy. Even so, it flies around the room Daddy is trying his very best to get us out of here “why are you so mean to me?” croons Sarah Vaughn in her sensuous voice. Somewhere in the middle of dark driveways and plantations, we fuck. I would say made love. But we didn’t. Mother feels a numbing pain in her shoulders. Crickets cricket in a harmony, unlike Sarah Vaughn. She’s going solo.
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i Many a doctrine is like a window pane If what color is placed in immediate contact with the eye, it cannot be seen Should you really open your eyes and see you would behold your image in all images Cause relates to effect, That, Mostly, is the basis of all science.
ii And now you love me. Nero stood on top of the tower in the city and fiddled There is no need for sustained or applied thought “aye in truth, I know your ways, But only as an eagle knows the way of his fledglings” The base of boundless space, the base of boundless consciousness, The base of nothingness The base of neither-perception-nor-non-perception “Night is over and we children of night must die, when dawn comes leaping upon the hills and out of our ashes a mightier love shall rise It shall laugh in the sun. it shall be deathless Of my thoughts, some are , as it were, images of things
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iii He remained motionless, a long time, motionless, listening He remained motionless as he was passing the neighbours window. He was motionless as he stood, aloof , alone, stagnant His mother said to him “come now Benoist, do eat a little, it is a side of mutton and very good�
iv The condition of the organism is constantly varying It can live through years in a second of time It can annihilate space in its movement Not all, a few are born again, vivid as buds. But mostly beauty lies embroidered in dust and mud And so you open it, Step by step defined as that intermediary point between darkness and diction. Do parrots have no sense of smell? No memory to remind them of all that failed to flower?
(Lothika) 61
Stories
Stories had always been storyteller using the visual. With a love forEveryone and everything. A definitive community of design, Holds an Essence with a pinch of quirky. Concept centric I think I am An introvert. I have constantly explored, I could hang out, show Visual communication to law. I am the, Shamelessly creative.
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Paper in your hand revives like vultures feed. The tiny match, A partner scared for his life. This brave new world , Aims to electrify. Yet tied up in paper of various types, Each type- denial of various kinds. Still, I did follow the trial. Don’t say this about us. All becomes serious, -Inflammatory statements -charge sheet -plea to close. None our right. Even the very good was lost. Being denied treatment, shut over, Cant sleep early, jumps to deathFound dead. The note clasped read, ”Harassed and abused me.” Motions disrupt the rainbow race, to keep the grass green. Hurrying by in the dark. Became a part of something big - Apart. To forge bonds between co-workers too, Who was an another, an it? dangerous they thought. Give me a minute to seek rollback on it,on us, on its. Ruckus over emptying the simple idea. 63
Remain subdued. Still same so. In his hand he has sense- so they say-but we know. Quick-fixes to claim primacy, all a show. This conclusion because time sighed and shifted his gaze.
(Soukarni) 64
Familiarity Familiarity creeps up a head of hair every corner turned Familiarity creeps up a broken dentists’ chair miles away from 17C Familiarity creeps up in voices your father over the telephone transporting you to the makeshift terrace in your backyard the roof of the room that you read in that you can only get to by climbing up a rusty brown ladder and you miss a step in smiles smiles somehow often unfamiliar, yet known the elongated smile on a lover’s face like a wet chewing gum stretched as far as possible right before it snaps into two the smile on a stranger that you see everyday and greet, despite of not knowing the common tongue, despite having nothing to talk about so dear that you exchange more than just smiles now, you exchange roasted peanuts and colourful cloth 65
the desolate man on a street you have passed before but never quite seen a questioning glance you, sitting on a pavement by the road uncontrollably turning the wheel of your bicycle somehow trying to meet the speed of the ground rotating beneath you a hundred miles an hour Familiarity of numbers that always meant more, than names 9, 17, 37, 40, 44 boxes, grids, circuits school buses green on the trees three friends on a bike a child running away from a dog the dog peeing on a rock rock disintegrating into sand sand flying with the wind wind moving a distant cloud, a mist of white grey a cloud never repeats itself a cloud is always new a cloud is always fresh against the sky of dull blue white brown grey red orange pink 66
of rhyme reason meaning word words you cannot associate meaning to a Familiarity still, knowledge meaning from ambiguity ambiguity of meaning materializing in front of you every second every minute every hour day week month year every earth every star every explosion every settling, unsettled run from home from heads from smiles from sounds from numbers from words like the poet that runs from a lizard in his kitchen like you ran when that boy wanted to kiss you for the first time like you do, still, when you cannot speak no matter how hard you try not more than a smile in a group larger than five 67
but meaning follows inevitably like the sound at 440 on the steel of six that is called music and does not leave you be now you find yourself at the beginning chasing ambiguity chasing and failing as if an asymptote in the space between familiarity and unfamiliarity like life that thrives in the narrow range of temperature between freezing and boiling freezing, that cannot be survived by microbes that give men colds boiling, that would fry every protoplasm that makes these men grow old here you feel separate from the two women under the umbrella the boy making a phone call under a tree but soon it pours and you protect with all your might the scribbles of black on white and with each raindrop the distance is lessened your grandmother stitches a loose button to your shirt 68
and all you ever do is misplace it
(Gauri) 69
Between the lines of a suicide note
(1) To my friends: It is the simplest of human rights to choose a quick and easy death in place of a slow and horrible one. Why wait? To all of you. Don’t blame anyone for it. The deceased terribly dislike this sort of thing. And please do not gossip. The heart must either break or turn to lead. Pains I’ve suffered at the hands of others. The misfortune. And the insults Broken on the rocks of daily life. Good luck to those who remain.
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(2) Dear World, Let’s have no Sadness – Furrowed brow. It was preordained we should part. And be reunited No handshake to endure. Relax, This won’t hurt You are getting Greedy. And I shall be more silent and cold hearted then you are now. I feel certain that I am going mad again. I begin to hear voices, and I can’t concentrate. So I am doing what seems the best thing to do. You have given me the greatest possible happiness. I can’t fight any longer. My biggest dream was to transform society I am going………………….
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(3) I must have peace and this is the only way. I don’t believe that people should take their own lives. I am bored. There’s no hope left I feel I have lived long enough All fled – all done, So lift me off the pyre; The feast is over and the lamps expire. Don’t worry. They tried to get me – I got them first! I must end it For I shall have peace. No one had anything to do with this. My decision totally. There’s nothing new in dying now. Good luck!
(The lines of this poem were taken from the suicide notes of various artists and writers)
(Aishwarya) 72
Ways of Knowing/Ways of Seeing 2016