The Girl who cried wolf

The Girl who cried wolf

Splendid Sir

Do you know the girl who cried wolf?

Of course you do

Do you believe her torrid tales of

The Big Bad wolves

Who feast on her soul every day?

Probably you do.

We do know that one bad animal

doesn’t define a species

Do you?

#Notallwolves

We get it sir

Can we get on with it?

Your fragile ego

Calls her a Nazi

And disses her into a ditch

Of silent suffering

Like the good old days

When girls were good

Like little red riding hood

You forgot the moral of the story didn’t you?

Others

Living on the mandate of others

Is basically Life imprisonment

Yet we all bear through it

All Smiles through a gritted teeth.

A rite of passage of course

To come unscathed through the other side

Full of sudden wisdom and cryptic cynicism

Silently afraid to cut these choking umbilical chords

Nourishment and community and all

Convincing ourselves this is what it is

To Be Human,

Taking the place of the Others

Who won and lost

Losing our wonder

And wondering what we lost-

The essence of being ourselves

The hyenas feed on our soul

Only when it is exposed

Keep it intact tightly within you

Guard it like a watchdog

Fundamental rights and all.

Worship it like a temple and

Pray you don’t lose yourself

For the call of others

Whatever may be the cost.

You Too

I too didn’t

 wanna  get raped

Stalked hunted preyed on

And

Live in a social structure

Where I could do no wrong.

I too wanted to report him

And make him pay

For all the layers

He stripped off me

And made me a sexual object

Only worthy of being attained

I too want to come out clean

After I burn down this building

Of patriarchy and misogyny

Where his silence is valued more than my voice

And my silence is enough to prove his male noise.

I too

I really do

But will you pay my bills

And help me when I’m on pills?

Why will I ask you for justice

When you shame me for asking too late

Truth is

You don’t want me to voice out

And change this system

Where it works just fine for you

How is my accusation worse than his actions?

Because now you have to do something about it now?

So I’m sorry

If it is going to affect your privileged little life

But I am going to climb to the roof of your building

Take my biggest fricking megaphone

And shout YOU TOO*

*you silent enabler of patriarchy

I hope you can hear now*

A hard day's night

Sometimes

Whatever you touch turns to gold

And people sing your praises

And name their babies after you

But mostly

It is a crap fest

And walk in the dark

A whole lot of ‘learning’ and ‘hardwork’

Without reward or due.

It is very easy to get disheartened

Or a whiny loser

A self-fulfilling prophecy

Which can be avoided

With a bit of grit

Bite your teeth

Get down to work

Not to prove anyone wrong

But prove yourself right

The world openly admires talent

And secretly respects hardwork

Become as good as you think you are

Take these bad days as a boon

Or fool yourself with any b.s

Anything which helps you sleep at night

So that you live to fight and win another day.

Actual experience makes clichés real

And superstition into faith

And a bad day

A good one

Pia Pia

Writing to the tunes of a tamil kuthu song! 

Unleash the pyaar 

When the chest is too tight 

and future not too bright 

why so morose 

when you can write a killer prose

Get in the groove lady 

and do a bam chika bam bam 

dreams can be lost and won 

firstly you need to run 

Smile at the sun

we don't need another nun 

actually we do 

Amen! 

But first go 

nanananana

yah yoo

yipee 

whooo 

MEEE

Found a judgement I was searching for all day , so decided to unleash some silliness :P  

An ode to the good night

The night gave me his shirt

And solace and comfort

I could stare at his face

All night long

And expose my secrets how

He gifted me solace

From mundane encumbrances

For most part exacerbated by

That cantankerous bitch known as day.

Her piercing eyes

Questioning everything

Intent on making me sweat

You cannot excise the truth mom

Just ask nicely maybe?

Why do you like him more you ask

I can walk his streets

Dark it maybe

Safe to brandish out my scattered self  

And lick the ice cream off my hand

Streets sparse with kindred spirits

Silent whispers

Ready to let me in

On their simmering secrets

Once the sunlight sets in

The clocks get reset

The same souls turn back into harsh humans &

Atone for yesterday’s falter

With my back broken

I limp through the day

And surrender to my dear father

He puts on his twinkling smile

Reserved only for these special nights

And snuggles his daughter

The travails of the day seem far away

If only for these few hours.

"in the street of the sky night walks scattering poems" took this Toad's prompt to heart and the results are for yours to see. 

Stalagmites

Sharing a poem I handwrote my friends for this friendship day :) sorry for the non posting. Laptop crash and a law career makes writing difficult!

Stalagmites gracing the inner linings of my heart

inner compasses gently swaying me away

from turbulent mirages , of

an insecure voice 

which once belonged to my mind 

Making me believe 

that I can be more 

than my self

by being myself

My saviors in nightgowns

roaming a love lost town

when we have each other

we will always be home 

Mahanati Hangover

There is something about this movie. It has invigorated the romantic in me and stirred me so much that I have no option but pen my thoughts on it. It is not that the film is without flaws – the ‘innocent’ phase of savitri tests our patience , the film maybe guilty of being too in love with its protagonist and background score was sometimes just TOO loud and it ( perhaps understandably) hesitates to go too deep into the character’s psyche or action. However , the film soars above because of only one reason – Keerthy Suresh.

Right before I had the lucky opportunity to watch this movie (twice) , Keerthy Suresh was my least favourite actress. Maybe because she acted in Bhairavaa , Remo and Thodari – the three worst films inflicted on mankind. Maybe because she was more Loosu than ponnu in her loosu ponnu roles. She isn’t typically glamorous or stylish ( not that I particularly care) nor did she show any acting skill which would warrant her inclusion in all the latest films.

Until now.

She begun the movie with the usual bubbly , enthucutlet beats. I resigned myself for a dud. But then Gemini Ganesan A.K.A Dulquer A.K.A ‘Ammadi’ dropping Kadhal Mannan entered and the film sprang to life. We could see why she fell in love , even though there were huge warning signs everywhere. He isn’t a bad dude either. It is just life. Then comes her transition into ‘Mahanati’ / ‘ Nadigaiyar’ Thilagam’ . Although I haven’t watched any of the movies which she acted out in black and white I could see the greatness. I could see the Savitri in Keerthy. Ganga became Chandramukhi. There was something awesome about her walking elegantly to the Mahanati BGM. Like Rajini walking.

Then her heartbreak and downfall. Damn Keerthy is good. I’m assuming she used prosthetics for the heavy portions and she emoted so well. Maybe I am praising too much. But she was worth it.

Also , all this throws light on the fact that the tamil and telugu industry really need to pump out more scripts for their heroines. They used to in the 50’s, why can’t they now? When everything is apparently more advanced.

The sets and art design made me nostalgic for a time I know nothing about. Madras with trams and taxis looked so good, I wish there were more period movies made. They have a charm which we somehow are not able to capture in our ‘now’ movies.

The songs are so good. ‘Mouna Mazhayile’ is all shades of romantic and mesmerizing. Mahanati BGM is so regal and ‘ Irudiyil enna Minjum’ is just haunting…. The direction , shots were really beautiful. Telugu Cinema with Bahubali , Arjun Reddy and Mahanati now is showing how to be grand and good at the same time.

Me the living

Me – the living

Writing for myself

Of rivers and sunset

Don’t have to worry about my skill set

Or how the lines don’t mesh

with what people expect.

No likes , no comments , no shares

No feedback to feed my ego back

No more second hand living

It might actually be thrilling

To discover why I really write

All over again

Writing for an audience since tenth grade

Reader is my default

Writing not.

Somewhere along the way

Eyeballs glazed my edge

Was always a cat on the fence

Now filled with trepidation to jump in any direction

I offer platitudes and bromides

In shiny gleaming proses

Posing as something else

Content should always trump form

But then reality always bites on the backside

I can close my eyes and write a poem now

No challenge anymore

I need to push myself outside these boundaries

Do something different

Or something simple

Don’t care about the fancy words I use

Or the number of lines which might bore or please you

I NEED to write for myself and for that

This is the First Step.

Silver Linings

Silver Linings

One good day , One Bad day

Arthritic steps

slowly crunching on  

Best time for silver linings

Is when you are blindfolded

Trace them through your heart

Holding its shattered pieces in place

The hand which holds your hair

When you are unloading your stomach out

And which holds your hand

When you are unloading your heart out.

The voice which might be on a virtual screen

Million miles away

An emoji in the end

 which wipes that tear away.

One good day , One bad day

A spring in my step

Steadily marching on.

Nesting

Hi guys! I am finally done with my five year law course. While academically it is a big relief , personally it is taking time to readjust from one home to another. So I start this new innings with a supposed to be simple poem about the same. More inventive stuff for later.

What is the word Bittersweet supposed to even mean?

When you like Bitter more than sweet

I ain’t no Ayn Rand but

I do know when things get out of hand.

The streets of joyous past invite me in my sleep

It is all too real now

Once it isn’t tangible anymore.

I run and run inevitably into the white light

Only to wake up sweating underneath the not so noisy fan

All the pent up teardrops

Have made me moist from inside.

Even removing the corn from my foot

Feels like saying bye to an old friend.

It isn’t all doom and gloom

There is hope in the horizons still

Life just got a whole lot more interesting

I could be anything I want

Yet I can’t

It is the whole balancing act

That adulting is all about

I feel like Peter Parker with his superpowers

Fighting the infinity war

Hope I don’t disintegrate into thin air!

The new has become old and the old new

There is no such thing as status quo

Just a new list of never ending woes.

I twirl my hair more

To tangle it like my feels

And make decisions myself

Without sharing it immediately to my friends..

Feels wrong yet right?

An Exciting time to be alive!

Am I right?!

( I have used more rhyming words to incorporate my pre college style and ?! to show my state of mind. This is Part 1 Of my poem series on Adulting)

Little Maryam

Indian fiction seems to be in two ends of a spectrum – One covered by the fancy Salman Rushdies and Vikram Seths of the world who weave magical and complex tales encompassing an astounding breadth of narratives and on the other end we have our humble Chetan Bhagats who write simple stories for the ‘average Indian’. This is actually true for all literary worlds. There is a tendency to look down upon these simple tales , more so if they are ‘love stories’. Given India’s crowded average love stories , I wouldn’t even grudge the critics so harshly.

‘Little Maryam’ on first glance might come off as yet another love story. And believe it or not it is exactly that - but with a small difference. It is good!  Like my favourite character McSteamy aka Mark Sloan says to Mcdreamy in Grey's Anatomy  “Cliches became clichés for a reason. Because they worked. It is great isn’t it”

McSteamy Approves (y)

Simple stories written well which make you feel things are the best!

 Revealing anything about this book might come off as a spoiler. The premise is a rooted little love story between Saadiq Haider and a girl called Maryam , the twists of fate which befall them earlier and later. The official tag line reads - A second chance romance with a shocking twist. 

 However , if you are an experienced reader you can see these twists come a mile away.. but it still won’t stop you from feeling the very real emotions pouring from it and that is what I absolutely loved about this book. 

I tried narrating this story to a close friend and she just started laughing at how ludicrous it sounded. However , in Hamid Baig’s words it is all too real, intense and believable. The initial portions might seem like a stretch but the care and craft puts in helps the punch land strongly later. Even the word 'little' in 'Little Maryam' has significance,

The book is laser focused on telling the tale of Dr. Haider and Maryam so much so that it glosses over parts like say winning of a nobel prize!At the same time thanks to the well crafted initial portions there is a sense of rootedness permeating through the book (maybe stemming from the Banyan Tree which it so lovingly portrays). The emotions are authentic and feel earned . I went from frowning at it to crying over it much like the person who the story is narrated to over the plane!

And for the all the people who read this review and thought that maybe this is  coming from a typical senti romance loving girl , I swear it is not! I remember crying over only two books before

 1) Paths of Glory by Jeffery Archer and 2) Oath of Vayuputras by Amish Tripathi. 

I just feel that the earnestness of the book has rubbed off on me, to give it such a glowing recommendation. There were a few places where I would have liked a more detailed narration and some words which didn’t feel like it didn’t belong in the sentences but the fact that it made me cry like a baby makes me wanna not care about it. This is great work by a debutante who I hope will only get better from hereon.

Verdict – Give it a shot with an open mind

Stars – 4/5

Carpe the frikking diem

Seize the day

Every second , every minute

Do not let the drowsiness drown you ,

Let that moment ebb away

Before long you will be viewing it from

Mount Nostalgia

Where powerful telescopic lenses

Painfully scrutinise every moment you wasted

Till you had no more

With the ones you love.

Things you took for granted

Will be pulled away without ceremony

You will be lying on the carpet

Rubbing your head

Wondering about gravity

The day your sun burns no more

Sounds like an improbability

Beyond your levels of comprehension

But it was always right around the corner my friend

You’re just driving for the first time

Listen to this burned freak and just

Seize the day.

Scream

Taking a raincheck on one’s feelings

Is a recipe for disaster

Trying to be strong for both of us

Has only made me weaker

World’s greatest armor

Is being in disguise

Only when the chinks start to show

You will know that there is nothing brave inside

 So why don’t you pull that veil

Make me scream

Say those words and

Save me too?

Pitch dark

A shadow has crept over my soul

Inching through my defences

Making me darkness herself

I wallow in grief over things lost

In the invisible bonfire

And try to survive on the warmth of embraces

Of kindred spirits

Only that it feels like a stranglehold

And I push them away with a

Weaponized tongue and my newfound strangeness

Friends and foes are all the same

Only difference is the name.

I burn through whatever light I get

Worried I might never see again

In haste I commit little crimes

And wallow once more again. 

Sangili Bungili Open the Door

Hi guys! Wish you all a Happy New year. With New year comes the question of constantly reinventing oneself and I decided to experiment by  collaborating on a fictional story with Prason - Humor blogger and CFO of the soora mokkai blog - Chronicwriter . You can check out the blog Here , it is a damn chill blog actually and you can thank me later for introducing this kind of awesomeness in your life. So what Prason and I have done is essentially snowball a story from scratch. He writes a line and then I write one spontaneously making it all up and having tonnes of fun in the process. Hope you have as much fun reading it as we had making it.

Disclaimer - The post contains liberal doses of tanglish.

Prason

Prashanth was frantically searching for his laptop.

It was right here inside my backpack.  And now it's not. The backpack zip is open and my favourite key-chain that was fixed with the zip is missing .

My hands instinctively reached for my Jean zip and I was relieved to know that they were all in the right place.

Someone had definitely stolen my lap top. It definitely cannot be my mom. She already has a mac.

My backpack was under the bed; and hence it cannot be the maid too because she does not even clean anything under the bed.

It cannot be my girlfriend because well I don't have one and it cannot be my boyfriend too because I am not gay.

Yen ipdi mokka potu saavadikiraenaa, technically and basically I'm an IT guy and this is all I have in my life. As I am an IT guy, I do have a photography page and all my pictures are in my laptop. And oh my yesunadha! I just realized there are damning pictures of me trying out my nandu brand lungis

Well, I am kidding; there’s more than just my nandu brand mishaps. There is a floor plan of my office which I am going to rob day after tomorrow.

There are three other people in my team and I hate one of them. It cannot be Surya because he only recruited me. Or could this be his masterplan all along? It could be because we both like the same girl – “Smitha” from our team. Trust me when I say Smitha is worth sending someone to jail. Her eyes! They make my heart beat so fast that if I let it out, it can out run Ussain Bolt and create a new world record in the 100 metre dash.

Her voice makes chinna kuyil chitra sound like kovai Sarala. So I never tell her to sing. I never tell her anything actually. But I do talk a lot with Pooja, the other girl in our team. Surya hated it when ever I talked with Pooja or Smitha.

Why did I agree to the stupid robbery plan? I thought it was a stupid joke of course till it was not and by then I had already revealed too much to Pooja. I think she hated me because I liked Smitha and maybe she was the one who flicked the laptop?

My thoughts are jumping so wildly today. I shouldn't have probably had all the free filter kaapi shots. I guess Surya drugged me with those kaapi; he was too friendly with me. I am sure Pooja and Surya are together on this.

I try to call them with my phone. Alas! My phone is also missing. I had last seen it in my back pocket. What the fruit is happening guys?

All I have is this one Rupee coin. I have no other option but to invest this coin and become a millionaire. And for that I need to leave this damned room. And this is when I realize that the door is locked. Not the sharpest day for the 10th topper today.

Well I gotta pee now. My bladder is full and time is ticking too. I have used all my karate and yoga skills to control this tsunami attack. But aathratha adakkalaam. But moothratha kandippa control panna mudiyaadhu. Let me unload eshwaraaa! I wake up in a pool of sweat from my bed and I look under the bed immediately. I can see my laptop peeping through the backpack.

Prason's version of the same story is up on his blog. Do check it out!