Basement penthouse

Yet another day, the story goes on

So many things to ponder and frown upon

I wonder what’s brewing in the cauldron for tomorrow,

If it’s just the smell of more frustration and sorrow

In a topsy-turvy world where truth is stranger than fiction

So much continues to be ravaged by the storms of misdirection

With some compasses pointing to their own egoistic afflictions

Even fairness looks like it’s a victim of the rot

No action, but enough food for thought

Amidst the pushing and shoving and the endless hustle

I try to figure out my place in this jigsaw puzzle

Ideas, thoughts crashing down on me in a deluge

To escape the maze, I’ve got no subterfuge

So I slip into my basement penthouse, my trusted refuge

The weird, wicked ways of the world continue to haunt

Pushing me around on what I think I want

The environs, they just continue to taunt

You think you have a lot, but there’s really nothing to flaunt

At the end of it all, you end up looking gaunt

Confined in my basement penthouse, my trusted retreat

I think is it just a battle based on delusion and deceit

I debate on what would or wouldn’t amount to admitting defeat

My basement penthouse, just a vagary, one of many, which I hope

Will provide some ammunition against what the surroundings hold

My head, six feet under, tries to focus on this uphill task

Not getting waylaid seems like a big thing to ask

Fortitude and logic look like just a futile mask

‘cos you never know what’ll show up, shattering those hasps

Forty two

The alarm went off at 7 A.M. on that Sunday morning. He woke up relaxed after a good night’s sleep. The big day had dawned. Over the last few years, hardly anything else had given him a comparable feeling of satisfaction. He had always gone to great lengths, literally, to prepare for this, and as usual, he was feeling ready and confident. Just about an hour was left. A cool breeze and a few clouds in the sky, just the weather he liked for such an occasion, also added to the feeling of comfort.

However, time, as people realize through experience, is an agent of change. Some significant changes had occurred in his life in the recent past, and his priorities had begun to change. He was not a champion or anything such, but he had quite a few marathons under his belt. He had had enough experience of puffing and panting and sweating it out along the country road dotted with stalls providing water, electrolyte solutions and first aid. But it was now taking a back seat given the circumstances.

Elsewhere, a much younger version of him was also up at 7 A.M., finally opening his eyes to the much-awaited day. He was a newcomer to the rigorous world of marathons, and this was to be his first one. Despite the daunting task he was about to undertake, he looked unfazed and unperturbed. With no experience in this field, he was eager to see how things would shape up, and was enthusiastic to find out firsthand whether forty-two really was the answer to everything, at least for him.

They both left their respective homes for the starting line, thinking of what lay in store for them. As they approached the venue, they saw the starting line, teeming with people. Among the multitudes, they saw a few familiar faces cheering for them. They both went and joined their respective groups, joking around and eagerly waiting for the run to begin. The veteran stretched his legs a bit. This, he had decided, was his swansong. ‘Carpe diem’, he thought. The debutant took a puff of his asthma medication, and was now feeling a bit nervous. Time would tell how he would cope with the loneliness of the long distance runner.

In a few minutes, the marathon was flagged off. Both of them, standing merely a few feet apart, started running. Once they did, they never looked back.

Where do we draw the line?

You’re poor. Then one day, the government suddenly says that you aren’t anymore. So you can officially spend more, and thus have to. Since then, you’ve become still poorer. Then one day, a youth leader visits you to sympathize with you, and consumes the little amount of food you had left with you or a meal which uses up your cash, and makes you even poorer.

Our ministers, too, are poor. They know that the zeros in their paycheck are zeros after all. They are hardworking too, of course- a lot of effort goes into optimizing the usage of the limited resources available to them, such as the few rooms in their accommodation, the few litres of fuel per day, the few attendants etc. available to them. This, of course, is apart from the intense vocal cord activity and the rapid eye movement and the hormone release occurring in the Parliament sessions. This hard work earns them a right to relish the delightfully inexpensive food available conveniently in the Parliament canteen.

In other developments, the government has decided to introduce special coupons valued at Rs. 5 and Re. 1. These coupons will be accepted everywhere in India, and for each coupon, a person gets a chance to consume one extremely generous serving of a concoction of cock-and-bull stories. Ministers say that people have been buying this stuff for so long now, so it’s about time it becomes official. They have also said that whether it can be digested is a different issue altogether, and an independent body will be appointed to look into the matter. Further, considering the current trends among the nation's youth, they plan to consider Kareena Kapoor videos as an acceptable payment.

The Capital

Flags soared and cannons thundered

as the capital witnessed riches, power and plunder

They all came here and fought in the ring

And it always remained the city of the King.

It still holds that coveted throne

People of power have made it their home

It’s thronged by many of history’s treasures,

by tales of authority, pain and pleasure

Amidst the projection of a modern facade

and the fight for surviving the chaotic rat race

and the shattered fortresses where noble warriors bled

Amidst the searing summer and the biting winter

amidst some sought-after vistas, aromas and tastes

The demons routinely keep raising their heads

As the light fades, the danger lurks

The responsible have, their responsibilities, shirked

No one cares for the victim, they’re all on the run

The story is revealed only under the rays of tomorrow’s sun

The villains are the ones who had

themselves as heroes portrayed

Knowing there’s little hope in searching for answers,

the seekers feel betrayed

The mighty occupants of the echelons of power

Powerless in dealing with the need of the hour

The funeral pyre of dreams, hazed under its own smoke

is being projected as a ray of hope

The rat race proceeds towards this light

But not all are deceived by this dubious sight.

Weight of the abstract

The limelight shines on me ‘cos of what they perceive

As readiness to play the game

And my steps soon become unsteady

As I try to lift a ton of fame

I bend further and my back begins to crack under

the weight of expectations riding on my shoulders

then in one fiery rush, my hope gets crushed

when desperation rolls in like a massive boulder

Disappointment and regret hang heavy from my neck

I’m trying to steer my ship clear of a wreck

A thick fog of negativity hangs in the air

I doubt if I will see even the brightest flare

In a world oozing with fragmented humanity

Solitude weighs down my heart

It will probably take a gargantuan jackhammer

To break its sturdy crust apart

Tons of truth and sorrow often come crashing down

Leave everything in their path destroyed

Amidst all these riots, I still keep searching for

That cherished, precious ounce of joy

Musings

He came back from a walk after dinner and gulped down half a bottle of water in the searing summer heat. He hadn’t felt good in quite some time recently. A rather long time, in fact. Nothing seemed to be able to enliven his rusting mind. A usually refreshing glass of iced tea didn't make a difference either.

He thought about what had gone wrong and when. Nothing particularly outstanding struck him. It seemed that over the past few months, he had become sort of detached from everyone. Involved, being together with them, staying in touch, but still somehow detached. As if some invisible wall had crept up between him and everything else. After some events in the previous few days, he was thinking about the futility and utility of it all. All of it was supposed to mould him, shape him. But into what?

He could be described as an impervious façade masking an undertone of gloom and helplessness and an explosive presence of anger, standing under a cloud of uncertainty. He knew that he was about to be ravaged in less than two weeks’ time, and was almost confident that what lay ahead was beyond his ken. These thoughts stirred around for a while, and as it always seemed to happen in recent times, they vanished. They seemed to have no effect on him. As if they never existed to begin with.

His apparently isolated, stagnant, doubt-filled self then resumed the mundane activities of daily life.

Forty Winks

Around 0100 hrs.

Just saw the latest score of a high profile football match online. Switch off my computer and tube light. Speed up the fan, dress down to my shorts and lie down in bed.

0200 hrs.

Not asleep yet. Random thoughts swirling around in my mind. All sorts of random things spring up and I can't stop thinking about them. Getting frustrated now. Trying to clear my mind before falling asleep, but looks like mission impossible.

0230 hrs.

Still not asleep. Kick around uneasily in irritation. I can actually sense the heat of impending anger rushing through my head. It isn't doing any good in helping me sleep, though...

0300 hrs.

Still stirring about uncomfortably. Find it a little too bright inside my room. Why don't they turn off that damn floodlight? An argument based on logic is out of question since they blame it all on some 'timer' which keeps some of those lamps on at midday and off at 7 pm. Nobody wants to be responsible for anything around here.

Cover up the remaining open part of my window with old newspapers, then go back and lie down in bed.

0715 hrs.

John Petrucci makes his influence felt as my phone starts belting out the delightful opening notes of Glasgow Kiss. I promptly wake up, in a dazed condition, turn off the melodious alarm and go back to sleep. Screw the 8 AM class.

0930 hrs.

Feels good, despite having gone through all sorts of weird dreams in an apparently fully conscious state. I can clearly see what I'm dreaming, and when I'm seeing those things, I'm fully aware that I'm dreaming. I can remember most of it. Some strange phenomenon at work here; can't remember any such thing being mentioned in that presentation on sleep that me and a few friends given a couple of years ago.

Brush my teeth, rush down to the mess for breakfast before they start taking things off the tables. Have a class at 1000 hrs.

Then follows a largely nondescript day loaded with classes, maybe a couple of hours' sleep to utilize time during bunked classes, a lazy feeling stretching throughout the afternoon, maybe a game of football in the evening, dinner and then a generally somewhat productive post-dinner session.

Then the whole cycle repeats. Over and over and over again.