Thursday, August 9, 2012

The Mumbai Local and the Companion Lost



The Bombay locals remind me of myself, albeit younger
A little younger in experience, immature in worldly ways.
I remember timidly asking a bespeckled man how far CST was
And if I’d have to change the train at Dadar.
So many helpful voices, no one seemed to care
But everyone seems kind, everyone selfish in their own right.

Old men and concerned women ask where you’re from
“What is your business here? Where are you headed?”
“I’m here to meet someone, new here.”
Not entirely new, always been passing through.
Does everyone feel alive when they get down at Victoria Terminus?
I was distraught when SRK blew up Victoria Terminus as a superhero.

I’m reminded of a Parsi couple sitting in the local
They seemed satisfied; I wonder what caused it.
This feeling of contentment, it spread through them to me
It’s infectious, every emotion felt in the local.
Because in the local everything spreads, like adrenalin in tired veins
And it hits you harder; it hits you sharper than any other shot.

“If you want to get down at Bandra then come closer to the exit.”
Wise words of advice from a helpful traveler, I got down safe.
But it wasn’t Bandra or Thane or Churchgate or anywhere else
It was always CST in Mumbai, VT if you feel more colonial than me.
Faint memories of finding my companion in alluring Colaba
I remember her dropping me back to CST, I did hug her goodbye.

Goodbye, farewell, it’s done and is near-forgotten
Though every trip to the Maximum City does refresh memories.
And every ride in the Mumbai Local makes me nostalgic
Of events that have transpired, that never may be.
The Mumbai Local is young love for me
It is sweat, and the glimpses of a companion lost.


Sunday, May 6, 2012

Peace Be It.

Bespectacled man, greying hair betray age
Moustached minion of the law of the land.
Peer down, engrossed in flaccid work
Humble words, patient, tired tone.

This patience, it counts, it is required
Till when though, movements look tired.
And then he stands, begins to walk
And then he hesitates, he cannot trod.

Who knows what occurred, what incident
What weakened his back, his legs, his step.
He looks tired, he is tired, yes he is
Tired of fighting, defending nothingness.

'Cause nothingness is all this is
A void you jump in, a void you sink in.
And from this void attempt to escape
And from this void you comprehend.

You comprehend what one seemed right
Is now not just wrong, is entirely evil.
Why should you just pretend to aid
Why not stride forward with a limp.

Today he sits, listens, directs
Today there is a glimmer of peace.
And peace is at the end of the line
So peace be it, let there be peace.


Friday, May 4, 2012

Stench

Stench, that odor, flaring up my nostrils
Suffocating, poisoning my inside parts. 
What rotten flesh, what burnt-down body
Could emit such a smell, I wonder which.

The pungent odor refuses to leave
Chicken left too long to simmer, broken eggs.
Vegetables left to be scavenged by rats
Those rats consumed in the evening broth.

The bride set to fire, warm kerosene
The bride now sits here, emitting fumes.
She'll live with the stench throughout her life
What life is this devoid of beauty.

Forget beauty, no greeting flowery scent 
That scent lost, doused by pure flames.
Those flames have now reduced to soot
The poor soul, she sits there mute. 

I wonder what travesty occurred
It claimed her tender, child-like skin. 
I wonder what drove her, or any other
To play with fire and dance with it. 

Maybe she lit the final flame 
Vengeance took over, maybe she sinned.
Or maybe the classic case, the ill of dowry
Nothing to give, nothing to gift.

The men in fading pinstripes, jeer and cheer
While I sit tight, pretend to forget. 
I ramble on, I wouldn't know a thing
Except the morbid, dead, pungent stench.


Wednesday, May 2, 2012

Shame.

Eyes wide open, the pondering gaze
Look right through me, bow down in shame.
That shame, that gaze replaced by a sham
This age and world not worth a damn.

That shame again draws me closer
Closer to the eyes of the beholder.
Those eyes again, they drive me mad
They seem so sure, depth, them sad.

That shame that seems so lost on oblivion
That shame I wonder when it left us Lord.
Instead we're greeted by unfocused eyes
That shame we crave for, that shame be mine.

Shameful.