Thick Wad of Notes....

My friend writes in face book status “A book, shut tight, is but a block of paper”.
And this I found it really philosophical and was inspired to add few lines...

The block of papers comes to life
When loosened off its strings
The knowledge overflows,
Wetting you from head to toe
With wisdom, u never knew
That it was possessed within you,
Your soul trapped
Under thick layers of doubt,
That had sent you wayward
To unknown zone,
As you thread through its grainy path,
The truth then
Slowly unfolds,
You enter into the gates of bliss,
Such powers lie within
Those thick wad of notes....

pic source: flickr

Mumbai Trains

People of Mumbai travel dangerously,
They just cannot wait,
For, empty train may not arrive,
You see their body protruded out,
Against the polluted air,
They reach home with a cake of dust,
Masking their body with dirt and sweat.

Many not sure
If they will arrive
In one piece when they will reach home,
So dangerously, travelling in this style,
Not afraid of banging on any pole...

Or sometimes,
Because of a ruthless killer,
The riots break loose and break the roof,
Of train, that throws many people around,
Their mangled bodies don't ever reach home.

Yes, this is Mumbai,
That we all know.....
It is made of people
Who just live each day,
Will they see one more day,
As a lone Mumbaite,
One never knows.....

Read My Script

Writers need just readers, my friend
Just read what I write with my blood
Don’t judge me, hammer me or kill my soul
It’s what I feel
Just so, my words flow

Happiness is not just success, my friend
I need the food for my lonely soul
I have burned the oils for many nights
To cook these words
And bring them life

Don’t compare me with other accomplished stars
I cannot ever even think like them
I tame my words and dress them up
Do read their performance
Just once more.

So, stand alert, hear them croon, applause,
Dear reader, applause once more

Twittering Muse

In a concrete jungle
Birds are silenced
But humans are happy
To steal their tweet
Fluttering, twittering
Exchanging ideas
Jumping from link to link
Savouring ideas, comments, suggestions
Learning songs
That birds would sing
While raven, crows, cuckoos, sparrows
Are lost
Into the maze of bricks
Internet yogis
Having field day
Twittering about
Their tweedy twits
They even share
their love notes in tweets
Now isn’t that not really tweet?

When Two Poets Whisper

When two poets whisper
In melodious verse
Lifting moods to
Cloud nine
The birds, the bees
And all human beings
Can taste flavors
Of sugar, sweet and brine

The verses sweep out
From under the skin
Flushing cheeks with
Color, shade and hue
The moment is paused
Turning senses divine
Under its sweet music
Eternity comes alive

Faded Tapestry

“What is that?” said the father to the son
“It's squirrel running down the tree”
“What is that?” asked father again
“It's squirrel running up the tree”
The day was warm, but the shade was cool
Under a tree sat father and his son
Father scratched his ivory head
His eyeballs moved from right to left
Son was deeply into a verse
No time he had for chatting or fun
One more squirrel passed under a bench
Father asked again “What is that?”
“Squirrel, squirrel, squirrel” screamed his son
“Don’t you understand this, you old man
It's a squirrel I say it for final time
Don’t cross me again, shut up for a while”

Father’s eyes then filled with tears
His memories flashed back to those lovely years
When son was raw and he was young
He had hugged his son for his every quest.
Patience was the order of day
Happily they had played every game

Not once had father yelled at his son
Who in his innocence
Had questioned every pun

Kisser Boy (Script Writing)

10.36 INT-NIBANA SOCIETY OFFICE CORRIDOR - DAY

WATCHMAN sits in the corridor, outside the society office on a low stool. He is watching from the door at the meeting session that is in progress inside the room. There are five committee members sitting in a circle. He can hear them all talking at once arguing amongst them selves. SECRETARY is examining the log book and accountant is making the bills. WATCHMAN sees EMRAAN HASHMI walk past him towards the room but he stops him from entering the office.

WATCHMAN
Hello! Where you going?

EMRAAN HASHMI
I need to talk to the secretary

WATCHMAN
You can’t, he is busy in the meeting, come back later

EMRAAN HASHMI
Don’t you know who I am?

WATCHMAN
(looks closely then blinks)
Oh yes I know who you are,
you are the serial kisser, right?
I have seen you in
Bollywood movies,
do you also give kissing lessons.

EMRAAN HASHMI
Yes I do, but I will give
kissing lessons only after I
move into this building

WATCHMAN
You mean to say that
you are buying an apartment
here, in this building?

EMRAAN HASHMI
Thats right, and that is why I want
to meet the secretary

WATCHMAN
(lets out a soft whistle)
Wow! I really want to learn kissing.
You wait here, I will tell the secretary.

He goes in excitedly inside the office and starts to speak loudly pointing his finger towards the door.

WATCHMAN
Saab, there is EMRAAN HASHMI
waiting outside, who wants to meet you,
its that same guy, you might know him.
The one who goes moochy moochy in all his films

SECRETARY
(irritably)
Yeah, yeah, we know him,
tell him to come later, we are busy now.

WATCHMAN
Saab. talk to him na,
it will be so nice if he is lives in this building,
imagine our meeting will start with new
kissing postures every month, *kitna maza ayega na*?

SECRETARY
Now, that is the reason we cannot give him
NOC certificate. We have *jawan choris* in the society,
there will be no morality left

WATCHMAN
Morality? You mean kissing is like losing one’s morality?

SECRETARY
(Nodding his head)
Exactly, the way he kisses, *Besharam!*

By this time EMRAAN HASHMI has already followed the watchman inside the office and is standing behind him

SECRETARY
(talking loudly)
Hey, you kisser boy, we told you na
that we cannot give you NOC certificate,
didn’t you understand?

EMRAAN HASHMI
Why? You are being very unfair.

SECRETARY
Unfair? arrey you will corrupt the *chokris*
in our building and then Shiv Sena will
make our life miserable

EMRAAN HASHMI
What has Shiv Sena got to do with this society?

SECRETARY
Don’t u know that Shiv Sena is very much
against foreign culture. In India, we don’t
kiss mouth to mouth in open public, *Bhaiyas*
on the road get very excited. In India, we only
hug, body to body, full length, but no kissing,
you understand, you kisser boy?

EMRAAN HASHMI
See mister there is nothing wrong with kissing,
it is only mouth to mouth, no body touching at all,
you don’t want body touching, I don’t touch,
if that is the way you like it. Come,
I will show you how harmless it is.

EMRAAN HASHMI walks towards the secretary and gives him a long kiss.

SECRETARY
(shrieks loudly)
Hey, move away, help, oh! you bloody gay

SECRETARY falls on the ground unconscious and the other committee members run out of the room. WATCHMAN looks at EMRAAN HASHMI hungrily, smiling ear to ear.

Poverty Line

Poverty line runs a curvy path
And finally fades away
With hard work
It normally
Crushes under its weight...

Pity Party

Will you come to my pity party?
I am having it on a rooftop today.

Together we will talk
About our imperfections, and
Pity those opportunist who failed.
We will honor and tame
One ‘Ms Perfect’, then
Snub hearts that are drained
Of trying too hard,
But reaching nowhere
On a crossroad
They die of shame
We will talk and chat
With perfect friends and
Play a dirty game
With egos boosted
By rich and famous
We will pity
Our poverty stakes.
For snacks we will serve
Some shrewd cruel words
Half baked by senseless brains
When you feel hurt
We will pity you then
With a sweet desert of pain

After attending my pity party
You will never ever feel the same

Script-writing - Auto Rickshaw

14.38 EXT – AUTO IN A CONGESTED AREA-DAY

SMITA looks worriedly at the auto driver (PAKIYA) as he drives through the congested roads of Mumbai. There is a big queue under the subway and there are lots of cars honking continuously.

SMITA
Why have you taken this route?
I told you that I was in hurry.

PAKIYA
This is the shortest route Ma’am
We will reach soon.

SMITA
Soon? You really think so? Huh?
Don’t you know that the traffic
Hardly ever moves here, we can
reach soon only if the traffic
moves. Here it only crawls.

PAKIYA
Have patience Ma’am, there is red
Signal there, as soon as the
light turns green, the traffic will ease.

SMITA
I had told you that I have to reach
Goregoan early and you are delaying
me by taking me through this congested
street.

PAKIYA
(IRRIATED)
Every darn street is crowded in
Mumbai Ma’am, What do I do?

SMITA
You should have taken the express highway

PAKIYA
(snorting)
Ha! And you think that express highway
is not crowded? It is more crowded
than the Link- roads. Ma’am?

Smita looks out of the auto and sees a big queue of traffic behind her. There is no space to make an U_turn. There are more cars double-parked in the lane ahead of her. People are crossing the streets and squeezing through the traffic; children are skipping and walking between the autos.

SMITA
You auto-drivers are all stupid.
I wish you guys had brains and
could make proper judgments and
knew which route would be easier
to follow.

The traffic begins to moves and PAKIYA rev up his auto to drive ahead. Soon, the traffic eases and he starts to drive faster and reaches the express highways.

SMITA
Look! Be careful, you are driving
too fast. Why cant you drive slowly,
you could cause an accident and then
you will be sorry.

PAKIYA
Okay, can you please shut up and
let me drive peacefully?

SMITA
Shut up? Did you say ‘Shut up’?
huh? Aren’t you supposed to be
polite to your passengers?

PAKIYA
(rudely)
Ha! Polite? You expect me to be
polite when you chew my brains
with your yakitti yak yak . If
you interfere and distract me
what do you expect me to do?

SMITA adjusted her purse and brings it close to her chest, staring at him through his mirror in front of his auto.

SMITA
Stop the auto now, I said stop
the auto now.

Pakiya continues to drive, revving up the speed even faster, looking straight at the road ahead and honking and driving on

SMITA
Are you deaf? I said stop the auto now

She looks out of auto and starts waving her hand to the passing traffic

SMITA
(screaming)
Help! Help! Somebody help, I am getting kidnapped!!!

Kophi with Mogri

Mogri puts away her pile of clothes into the cupboard. It has been six moons already since she arrived in Spain. Every evening, her cousin has been taking her out, sometimes to the sea shore to watch the sunset and sometimes to the market to check the freshness of the tomatoes. Last night, her cousin took her out for dinner to a typical Spanish restaurant. They order Paella, the traditional rice dish that contained assorted sea food like clams, octopus, shells, shrimps, fish and also meat like pork and chicken. She had loved it much except that it was too bland for her taste. The food was not all that spicy and she wished she had carried her pickle bottle in her purse.

Nevertheless, Mogri is enjoying her stay in Spain. She decides to go down alone and asks her cousin to join her later after he has finished his errands. She walks down the street to get a cup of coffee. There are chairs and tables spread outside the coffee shop. Mogri is amused because she has never seen tables and chairs out side the cafe on the foot paths. In her city of Mumbai, only beggars or street hawkers are allowed to use the footpaths, sometimes, the beggars are even allowed to cook for their families who come back to that footpath after their hard days work at begging, none of pedestrians in Mumbai ever use foot paths, they always walk on the middle of the road, Mumbaikars are always dodging and tricking the traffic. Things are so different here; European countries have tables and chairs to enjoy a meal on the footpath? This is something new for Mogri. She likes this arrangement very much and decides to sit down and call for a waiter.

Mogri does not notice that there are no waiters in this coffee shop. She does not see that the people go inside the café, read the graphic menu board that is displayed on the wall, place their order and bring it back to their tables. She sits relaxed, enjoying the cool weather of Spain. She watches people on the street who are dressed in stylish clothes and wishes that she could also dress up like those Spanish ladies in jeans and T-shirt, or even a long skirt would do, but this salvar-kameez is so darn cumbersome and it is attracting too much attention on her. When she had walked down the street, most of the people on the road had given her a second glance. Some of them had even stopped halfway, stepped aside to allow her to pass so that they could admire her ‘Arabic costume”. It was like walking on a ramp, only the applause was missing.

“Puedo sentar aqui?” says the white-skinned man as he stands by her table with a cup of coffee in one hand and croissant in other.

Mogri does not understand that this man is asking her permission to sit at her table. She looks at the coffee and croissant in his hands and wonders how a waiter can bring her order without consulting her but she does not want to argue with him because of her limitation of speaking the language fluently. Luckily she has memorized few phrases so she happily beams “Gracias, Si! Si” and takes the cup of coffee and croissant from his hand and keeps it on her side of the table.

The white-skinned man smiles and sits down next to her. She looks suspiciously at him. She is not used to sitting next to a stranger and never next to a waiter. She does not like it one bit. The man stretches his hand and pulls the cup of coffee and croissant plate toward him. Mogri does not understand how these waiters behave in such an odd manner in a foreign land. She stretches her hand and pulls back the coffee cup and croissant to her side.

The man smiles and says, “Vale, si tu quieres eso, voy comprar otro mas para me” he gets up and goes back into the coffee shop. Mogri does not understand when the man tells her that he was going to buy some more for himself, since she wanted to have his coffee and croissant. She just nods and says, “Si, Si, Vale.” She is so grateful that she can speak few words.

She likes the taste of the croissant and munches it slowly, savoring each bite and takes small sips of coffee between each bite. She has almost finished her share when she sees that man again with another cup of coffee and croissant.

“No! No, No!” she says shaking her head from left to right and then right to left again, several times, trying to send the message across that she is too full to have one more ration of the same stuff again.

The man sits down again, opposite her and starts to sip his coffee. Mogri wishes she knew Spanish fluently then she could have told him that in her country waiters don’t share their coffee break with their customers. They normally have it in the kitchen. Mogri is now getting used to a strange behavior of this man. She is thinking whether she should pay her bill now or wait for him to finish his coffee.

“Hola! Que tal Amigo?” she hears the familiar rumbling voice of her cousin. The loud voice of her cousin had the power of frightening a sleepy child, of defusing the traffic sounds and even for breaking the ear-drum of elite politicians. She could recognize his voice even if she were few miles away.

She looks up to see the white-skin man get up, shake hands and peck on her cousin’s both cheeks.

She knits her brow, bracing herself.

“Mogri, I am so glad to see you with my friend Pedro, did you ask him about the new schemes that his bank is offering this week?”

“New schemes at the bank? Er? This waiter? Do you know him?”

“Waiter? You mean to say that you don’t know him and you are having coffee with him? Don’t you know that he is the bank director of ‘Banko Santader.”

“Really? He is 'the' Bank Director of Banko Santader? Oh my God!!” she says stressing on the word 'the'.

She is glad that she does not know enough of Spanish, else she would have made a fool of herself.

Journey Of Life

Came into this world
Empty-handed
Weeping gallons of tears
In spite of being liberated
From dark confines of womb, that
I believed to be a secure place
Knowing not what freedom exists out here.

With careful steps, have trudged
This rough road of life,
Going through those dark tunnels
Of disappointments and misery
And yet, have wished to find bliss,
To earn a name of honor
Towards the end of the journey

A name, I need take it with me
Packed into my bundle of happiness
Along with the accessories
Of hope and joy
I don’t wish to go back empty-handed
For, it shall not be my turn
To weep any more tears.

Nothing is Worth Reading in Newspaper Today

From a ‘Favorite’ list of my web page
I scroll down, down the links
Selecting an oven-baked e-paper
To read the news of the day

Headlines pop up and scream
The bad news of the day
From the dais of the first page
Fresh news is in poor shape

Bandra-Worli Sea-link crowded,
Seven minutes was the game, but
The race is won by that old route again
Slow traffic blinks in shame.

Petrol prices hike, doubling
The bills of vegetables, fruits and rice
How will the common man survive?
Begging will be high on scale.

Andhara’s Mp slaps bank officer
For dragging feet in disbursing loans
Is violence a theme of the day?
Slapgate needs to be tamed

Three kids killed in bus mishap
Girls fall prey to Nigerian scam
College students held with nasty drugs
PC warns of strike again

Phew!

Nothing is worth reading in papers today
Better to listen to woes of angry rain
Who this year, is already late.
Because sun played its dirty game

img source:
http://nie.lancasteronline.com/

Stop Singing, Cuckoo!!!!

Stop singing Cuckoo your false alarm
The pregnant clouds may not deliver
Scorching sun pushes clouds under my skin
Blisters of sweat are all over me
Mouth is parched every minute
Thoughts are sans directions
Your singing gives me no consolation
I am beginning to believe there will be no rain
This year, summer might never end

So,

Stop singing Cuckoo, your favorite song.

img source:Google

Silsila of my FB friends

Main aur meri tanhaai aksar yeh baatein karte hain

K, would I ever meet you, my FB friends
Strangely separated by virtual bytes
Would I read your notes, laugh with you
Share my stories and hug you back?

yeah kaha aagaye hum tere saat chatle chalte.....

Through silence we walk and carry the verse
Playfully the words match the tune
Everybody sings the same language of love
yuhi saat saat chalte......

mere saat saat mehkee..tere chandan ki khusboo

The essence and the aroma of this silence
brings fragrances to my virtual world
The scented candle of friendship burns
yuhi saat saat chalte...

yeah kaha aa jaye hum......tere saat saat chalte......

Random Thoughts on Heart and Mind

There a direct link between the state of heart and state of mind. Whenever we are disturbed and agitated, we cannot concentrate and we lose interest in everything. Our mind is all the time preoccupied with worry and we cannot find solutions. We have no interest in food, play or in any other sensual activities. What do we do? Will talking to people help?

I think not. Talking will not help. I think nobody can help us. People might be sympathetic to us, try to give us some solutions and might even try to pacify us but they cannot help us overcome our agitation. Only we can help ourselves.

First and foremost, it is important that we don’t expect any kind of help from anybody, people standing by us in good times and in bad times is a myth, nobody can really help us, and we must solve our own problems and learn to deal with it. There are many things in life that we cannot change, so why do we struggle in trying to change them? Isn’t it wise to just accept it? Okay, we can try to do our bit to change the situation but that is all we can do. Only try, whether we succeed or not should not be the cause of our agitation, we cannot expect others to do what we think is right.

For example, there is so much corruption around us. Everybody is out to cheat us. They expect bribery and will make things difficult for us if we do not oblige. So what do we do? If bribery and corruption is against our principle, we stick to it and not encourage it and face the discomfort. We can do our bit by standing firm by our principals and face the consequences. But can we stop our friends to stand by our principles? No. We cannot. They have to make their own choice. Every body has their own priorities and it depends how they train their intellect. If they make wrong choices, it is because their mind is weak or is fast-a-sleep. They have to awaken their power of reasoning so that their mind decides what is right.

We all have to do our own obligatory duties; we cannot expect fruits for every action that we make, but what needs to be done, should be done. If our concentration is shifted from our duty to do what is necessary, to expecting fruit for our action, the quality of our work will suffer. And quality is the most important factor in our life, with quality, we can attain class, with class come satisfaction of doing the right thing and the happiness follows, filling our world with sunshine and warmth.

For maintaining a healthy balance between our mind and heart, it is important to do what is right and not agitate our intellect by compressing it against our senseless desires.

Stormed by Beauties

Calm down and relax. This is the message coming from the natives of Baldeosmourita, a village in the interiors of Sudeansthan, that is located just behind Himalayas in the northern part of India as the tension is brewing in the village since the local authorities decided to forfeit their plan of appointing and honoring one 'beauty of the village' per month. On Tuesday, the Nawab of the Baldeosmourita asked the villagers to show ‘maturity’ and focus their attention on more important things like doing household chores, producing babies and serving their lethargic husbands.

The comment came as the backdrop of the growing desire in women folks of the village to occupy the lime light as the most beautiful woman of the village for one full month and their frustration at not being selected and honored like their peers.

Since the decree was announced by local authorities of selecting and honoring the beauty of the village, all the women in the village had changed their life style. One beauty was appointed by the authorities each month, which wore the diamond studded crown during all times of the day, at home, when she sat in her balcony, or when visiting her neighborhood and even in the market place. The experience was very rewarding, woman who had succeeded in wooing the organizers and making it to the dais of honor, enjoyed the respect and love of the villagers. She enjoyed the pampering, attention and the gifts of the villagers for one full month. She was allowed to brag about her hidden talents, gossip to her heart contents and even visits any random house in the village for a free lunch. Every woman waited for her turn while she envied her peers who enjoyed the limelight and she secretly nurtured the desire to be the lucky one during the next month. Most of the women had make-over, some of them going to the neighboring villages to change their dress sense and some even attended the finishing school (taking loans from banks) to learn some etiquettes and ‘the right behavior’ as they called it.

During the last six years, more than seventy such candidates have already been selected. Some deserving and some, not so deserving. The villagers have not been able to figure out the criteria for the selection of the candidate by the organizers. Like, for example, one beauty was selected randomly because she was not available for comments when the organizers had selected the wrong candidate. Yet, another one was selected, while she was on holiday and her presence was missed by the organizers and they wanted to know her whereabouts’. There were some who were shabbily dressed, some lazy and bored and some completely disinterested.

But the genuine ones who really deserved the status waited patiently for their turn.

Now, for some unknown reasons, the selection of ‘beauty for the month’ had come to rest. This has angered the women of the village, who had invested so much time and effort in maintaining themselves in the hope that they would be selected some day. The angry mood has been splashed on the web too, with viral messages spreading through videos, blog entries and discussion groups. Consider a video of a well dressed villager in native dress exposing her bare skin, just enough to arouse an interest in her anatomy, protesting inside a police van that has been uploaded on You Tube, “ This is the ******* police who arrested us in two groups,” the blurb for the video reads. “Now we will do something about this. Now they should protect themselves from us.” Such video, picked up after the arrest, have embarrassed the organizers of the beauty pageant and are asking Nawab of the Baldeosmourita for some help and solutions to this uprising.

In the bid to introduce some peace, Nawab of the Baldeosmourita has urged the villagers to calm down and relax and concentrate on more important activities that are reserved for woman only, such as doing household chores, producing babies and serving their lethargic husbands.

He has assured the villagers, that he will have ‘high-level-dialogue’ with the authorities and that the matter will be soon sorted out.

“The selection of beauty pageants will be continued as soon as some hiccups are iron out” he shouted with an air of confidence, during his speech on local TV channel during the prime time slot.

Release Me..Let me go......

We choose to wind ourself with tantacles and chains
When they soffocate us, we gasp
Freedom is something, we all can have
If only we learnt to loosen our ropes......

Please Call Me Soon......

Believe me not
when I say that
I don’t wait for your call

Or

when I say that
you mean nothing to me

Call me
hear the beat of my heart
hear the soulful verses
that tickle forth

Hear me
soar up the sky

Only you have the power
to lift me from dumps

Call me
I anticipate your muse.

So we decide to cook........

We drive through hills, valleys, and plains
Winding up through those narrow streets
It’s our day with family, friends
And much cheer and laughter, a special treat
We munch on peanuts, gulp few drinks
Not wasting our time for any eats
Till it is dark and hunger screams
And then we desperately hunt for place to eat
But it’s too late in this small town
Villagers have an early sleep
No eatery open, no fireplace warm
Nor fast food centers, no motels found
Round and round in circles, somersault,
No chefs, not even in telephone books
We come back home and grapple fruits
And yet couldn’t control our hunger pangs

So, we wash the pans.
In apron, dressed
Cross-legged by fireplace
We decide to cook.