Om

A world colonized by nouns, a word;

As verbs run around in vain

Adjectives prop up meaning strong

And adverbs con in disdain

Conjunctions are the glue that keeps 

The staff together at home

Pre positioned and interjecting

The above and the below and the Om!

The Toolbox

It was a perfect summer day in Delhi - just out of the clutches of the cloaked up, villainous winter chill and still not in the throes of the frying pan that the city becomes for most of the year. Early March it was - when the world had still not dreamt up what would change the very fabric of the reality we collectively imagine - in the form of a pandemic. Yeah, it was one such breezy afternoon when many a housewife, a handful of husbands (no?) and a few single men and women would have thrown a few grains of jeera or garlic into their channe ki daal ka tadka while thoughtlessly sipping on a glass of cool lassi or chaach while watching their favourite news show. It was on one such afternoon that Ahmad was working under a car with his toolbox and his head sticking out from under the front bumper of an old 2011 Swift - his forehead glistening with the perspiration of an hour's work, around the black mark where his forehead had touched the ground a million times so far in awe of his maker. 

Ahmad's shop was right next to Bablu's. You could tell the difference quite clearly even with your eyes closed - from the fragrance of the agarbatti that lit up a miniature statue of the goddess Laxmi and an even tinier idol of Lord Ganesh - the two gods taxed with the duty of bringing in good fortune. Today, they had done quite a good job, as it was the third customer who had picked up his Baleno and paid for the services in full, while a fourth car, a Scorpio, was waiting to enter the work area even as the Baleno was just about to move out, and the only thing preventing this manoeuvre from happening was Ahmad's toolbox.

There are a few things that could have happened that day and this story might never have been written, but to put things in context, Delhi had just witnessed one of the largest incidents of violence created by the polarization of the radical extremists in the fringes of society coupled with the visit of arguably the most accomplished buffoon of our times. I could have said that it was an era of buffoons, but alas!, our own buffoon wasn't as successful, because the gods play a much bigger role in our version of democracy and he was more a mama's boy than a bappa's man,  but then I digress.

Ah, yeah! what followed was that flying tempers sent the toolbox flying, after which some abuses flew by, followed by some Rafale Jets. That last one didn't happen until a few months later of course, but blows were exchanged and some bouncers were summarily summoned from the nearby Kishangarh village, with what followed being a thorough beating up of the Ahmed clan - the father and his two sons. Things were tense in the market for a few days, with all the shops shut and no one taking up work as all the gods took shelter indoors -  quite a harbinger for times to follow. Since then, while a virus trended and became more feared than Shri Ram and his foreign adversaries, Ahmad still limps a bit and Bablu was locked up in Tihar Jail for a while. I'm not sure where he is now, but while Ahmad's toolbox is still in action in that market, there are many other toolboxes that may have been shut down forever, only for a few drops of adrenaline, a few moments of so-called glory, for some gods that needed defending? Meanwhile, the galaxies churn themselves in oblivion.

Toolsmen

The spider crawls onward on its mission,
Building a stable future, guarding existence
With insurance policies, investing in funds,

Weaving its web, yarn by spat out yarn,
Designing life with hard-earned cash,

Using the chemistry and physics available

To its lithe and agile physique and mind,
Tanking up on fibre and gluten-free flies
Whipping up protein shakes for strength,

Beat after beat, fueling its existence,
Pumping out gas to keep life rolling, yet

Yearning not for the finite, but for an infinite 

Merely visible from this blot called a lifetime.

We're born now - we're living!
On our journey from crest to trough
To crest again, spiraling onward

Towards a nothingness so absolute,
It has neither inside not out;
A forest you can keep going into -
Way beyond halfway, all the way.

Encompassing everything including us, 

Present to witness this glorious hour and beyond;

In darkness yesterday and perhaps tomorrow;
Yet in light again today, at this moment;

With our roles within these square inches -
Boxes in this infinitessimosecond of spacetime!

Climbing mountains for a while,
Pushed up by the time behind us,
Curving up with chutzpah, until,
Dizzying up at the crest,  breathing in
The vast expanse to the best that we can see;

We roll downwards for the rest of the ride,
Applying the brakes on time to come; does it resist us?
That time that takes us forward, to those waking up;
Ahead of us; true happiness moving in a circle;

For hills and valleys complement the plains; 

Alive, flowing, pushing the ups and downs.

"Do not despair, for one of them was saved"!
We can choose to choose that other guy too

And these things may not always make sense

But when the goal is kind and the will untiring

The wheel does find a way.

There are unavoidable expenses of course,
Overheads sometimes tragic & heart-breaking

Unfortunate collateral in the bang that sprang
From the groins of this universe that joins
The thighs of the infinite to the infinitessimal

A one-time investment for many lifetimes,
A squirt racing up a dizzying cove
Trying to outrun everyone around you
So you can find a way to the other side,
So the wheel of time can meet its fate and

The thoughts and dreams that were once you
Can find a way ahead through brains or bytes,
Or be placed in dusty medieval libraries,
where old, tattered books lie, much like us -

Retired; watching the forces romancing
With tasks more beautiful than ours.

Yet sometimes we wait and sometimes we act
In haste, in our scramble towards transcendence, 

Mindless of the march of evolution - at the top
Of the foodchain, at the top of the garbage pile,
High as a mound -  vultures and eagles hovering
Around in search of rodents or rotten pieces
Of carcass, or beef or mutton or dog meat;

This progress made possible by the infinite, 

Seemingly inconsequential fluctuations in Time
That we call time - the time that we try to can
In bottles measured in hours, days or minutes -
Hardly a flicker in the furnace of the eternal love
That bakes a billion claymen, and the soft caress
Of another love - that maker of that first heartbeat,
And that faint whisper of breath - that keeps us
Going towards the eternal, yardstick in hand

Capturing in frames mere fractions of time; 

Envisioning ourselves as the whole itself.

We are time moving forward, we're progress -

How do we want to define it? Measure it? 

Do we have a say at all? 

We can now be a day in a year full of nights; 

Of silence In a year full of screams. 

If we're the toolsmen of this universe, then 

What will be our choice? 

Would we spin our yarns towards the eternal, 

Or would we be happy making memes?

You were leaving

There was a mess in the hall,
While the world turned spring into fall,
Then came the winter decay,
As I was driving away, dreaming
Of bright lights and planes,
While you stood, drenched in the rain,
Holding me sane and together,
No matter the season or weather.
Yes, I would've run up to you
And never hung up on you;
Driven you wherever you'd want;
Heard all the stories you'd chant,
If had but known for a second or two
You were leaving...

Too busy packing my things,
Dumping my treasures in bins,
Could never send you my words
As I kept chasing the herd.
Too busy proving myself,
I left your cards on the shelf
I spent my days in a daze,
And the nights were lost in my ways,
Typing and swiping the screens
Even when you would peep in.
I would have stayed on your page
For the rest of our days,
If had only known for a second or two
You were leaving...

I missed and  misread the signs,
Too busy learning those lines
That I now stumble to read,
As the tears blur out my feed
And time keeps testing the ink
Etched in my soul and my skin.
Sometimes they tell me I'm strong,
But that isn't where I belong.
They don't really know what's inside,
Beneath the toughness and pride,
Longing to see you again,
I'm hollow and busted within,
For I never thought for a second or two
You were leaving...

Vivienne

Living Sin, letting go
Wished a while upon the closet
Washing pain like a wicked dream
Getting high on a whirlwind
Sipping truth, sipping truth, sipping truth
Very sane, insecure
Lying stoned by the washbowl
Telling time, "you're the best thing!"
A weary smile on the go
Running slow, running slow, running slow

What do they want to say?
They're lost in syncopation
In a chorus gone astray
Why do they bomb and slay?
They're following the syntax
For the power and the pay
Why do they seize and prey? 
They're building a crescendo
For these bars will end some day
Why do they bow and pray?
They're preparing for the cadence
As the flesh turns weak & pale,
Vivienne turns grey...

Smell of stew, caring arms
Misty Churchyard in the past
Blaming fate, naming relations
Deep inside lies love asleep
Passing by, passing by, passing by
Soothing sighs like a carol
Warming touch and those tears
Trying hard, so unsure
Oh will I stay, oh will she go oh
Am I alone, am I alone, am I alone

Why does it fade away?
We're seeking it in patches
Made of plastic, paint and clay
What do these words convey?
We're not tuned in to the music
We don't listen; we just play
How do we find our way?
Pace your footsteps to the rhythm
There are signs along the way
How do we seize the day?
By seizing every quaver
Space is reverb out of scale
Time's just delay

Da da dum dum dum da dum da da dum dum
Da da dum dum dum da dum da da dum dum
Da da dum dum dum da dum da da dum dum
Da da dum dum dum da dum da da dum dum

Two thieves hanged, despair, we can't go on;
Two thieves hanged, presume, resume, we will go on;
Two thieves hanged, we're damned, we can't go on;
Two thieves hanged, she waved, we're saved, we will go on!

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahh!!!!
Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahh!!!!
Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahh!!!!
Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahh!!!!

Mind, Matter and Morality

A few considerations for the human race...

1. The morality of a species is linked to the survival of its species and not necessarily to the larger good beyond the boundaries withing which the species exists. Imagine a colony of viruses that could think, converse and formulate laws of morality. Their morality would be very different from the morality that humans have come up with, for example. So the question is - what fraction of morality is truly constant? How do we know what is right and what is wrong, without any doubt whatsoever?

2. If the history books and pre-historic stories or theories that refer to pre-historic times are to be believed, then, that have been passed on to us as the truths within which we construct the meaning of our existence, it seems to bring us to the realization that we have come a long way from where we started, and the travails of the stone age and the physical insecurities of previous eras have been overcome and mankind has managed to carve out a space for itself on this planet, where its people are very safe, and life on earth can potentially be comfortable for everyone. At this stage, then, when all the comforts we can think of are present on earth, and we can easily reverse our economy by having fewer children, reducing energy consumption and focusing on having fewer people with a greater quality of life on this planet, then what is the need to keep seeking an economy that swells outward. It seems like we had set out in the right direction, but we accidentally traveled a couple of stops too far. That time the history books said was being struggled for, according to me, has arrived, where the existence of humans on this planet has been optimized to a large extent. The focus can now be on eliminating the few dangers that still threaten our existence, like natural calamities and diseases. These are the two primary things that need to be focused upon by all governments. 

3. While the leaders, scientists and philosophers focus on these few problems that are left to solve and maybe further contemplate the meaning of existence so that we know which way to go, most others should now start reducing the population by having fewer children, going away from cities and developing self sustaining communities that are self-sufficient to a great extent, so that we can have greater regulations that are much easier to monitor. 

4. We can focus on investing in a more robust inter-continental security system, where attempts to hurt each other are thwarted harmlessly, neither individuals nor governments are allowed to have weapons, existing varieties of which need to by systematically and uniformly destroyed. Property distribution laws need to be made more fluid and inclusive, keeping with the transient nature of the existence of this material world itself. People should be allowed to travel from anywhere in the world to anywhere else they want, as the robust security system would ensure that crimes are minimized, if not eliminated. 

5. A movement away from a globalized economy is the desperate need of this hour, at least until we find a way to regulate production and processes uniformly across the world. The globalization of production has led us to an unprecedented state of apathy and the industrialization of food production has led to the commodification of other sentient beings that are living entire lives as slaves to suit the desires of our palates. Our focus should be to reduce the levels of voluntary suffering we launch upon fellow sentient beings and special focus should be accorded to being able to produce meat without the need to either breed or end life for the purpose of food production. Human beings should themselves strive to achieve a state of maintaining consciousness through means more energy-efficient than life. 

My God

My God has a name
My tongue can't spell,
A shape invisible to the eye;
A voice of love we cannot hear,
Tasteless, formless, free
From life & death & causalities,
A touch we cannot feel
In the signs we hear & see
In this myopic, blindfolded time;
The proof that he exists is me
If I am, then therefore, must he/she/it/they.