Guten Morgen!

Three beams of monochromatic light, 

Travelling parallel to each other,

Faster than the speed of sound,

At par with the speed of light.

Pierced their way through the ozone, 

For a morning premiere,

Past the ionosphere, 

Through the nebulous clouds, 

through the tree tops,

reflected here, refracted there and,

finally with fraction of the energy it had, 

entered my window, seeped through the curtains 

And caressed gently on my eyelids. 

And so ended its slightly longer than sojourn,

A tad bit draggy with all the jet lags, 

A mild discomfort of travelling miles, 

From the sun to a vision captured in my eye.

Knock knock..?

Knock knock who ?

Good Morning from infinity and beyond.

Venice, Rome or Home?

The funny thing about what you miss is that they are not something utterly complex. They are the most rudimentary things that you have been taking for granted almost throughout. Maybe the elves did it when you slept peacefully in the night and you never realized it.

And getting things straight is more difficult than solving a discrete Fourier transformation.

It’s not about just having the perfect morning coffee, but it is about keeping stock of milk, sugar to make the perfect pot of steaming hot kaapi. It’s not about just unfolding the crisp pages of the morning newspaper while sipping your coffee. It’s about getting it.

It's not about just cooking; it’s about finding the perfect pots and pans to cook them. To store them. It’s not just buying veggies, but about finding them in the fridge, fresh and green as per your whim and demands. Availability check on stocks and forecasting suddenly becomes difficult.

It’s about finding those perfect containers to keep salt, sugar, spices in. Small, medium, large size containers are suddenly very important. And guess what, they don’t materialize in the cabinet on their own. They sure don’t reproduce, but they do tend to disappear a lot. You tear open a packet but you don’t know where to store.

Segregating garbage and disposing it is a big task. Finding the most practical and easily accessible place for mops and tissues is a must.

The house mysteriously starts eating your socks. There is a hungry monster inside my washing machine which keeps eating my clothes. Any thing which comes in a pair you lose one of it. Then you buy another pair and you are left with three.

And guess what happens when you don’t keep track of things?

You have everything but you have no system in place. You skip making coffee. Tea is just not your cup of tea. You bring chopped vegetables and then forget it in fridge. Or you buy so many stuff at once thinking that you might need them, but alas..it’s just adding more to the recycled waste. Oh and you have to dispose it too! 

The fridge has lots of stuff, ice-cream, flavored curd, sauces and many more sophisticated edible items. But whola you want to have curd rice and you cannot find curd!

The tin containers with the biscuits don’t exist, but the crumbles from the last packet of Oreo’s sure does.

Perfect pots and pans are non-existent.

Salt and sugar are used directly from the packet, till you find some small container to keep it. And then you keep it in the container, and cannot find the container and go back to the packet. I don’t know why it is easy to find the packet and not the container! The dustbin overloads, till you think it’s time to throw away the waste maybe in a week.  

You will quit reading newspaper with the morning cup of coffee. Reducing on waste I say, who needs paper when you have cell phones and laptops and tablets and what not. You start to think which are the clothes that are wrinkle free so than you can just wash plus dry and look all chic and suave.

You keep buying small things like tapes, pins, markers; as and when you need, and then again misplace them. Things start mysteriously disappearing. It was right there you believe, safely kept on a side, but it is not.

What do you do??

Well, you get a rhythm, get a system, get a grip….home is home…home sweet home..

Extinct'ly Distint

It seems absolutely
interesting  and lovely,
And might I add,
Not far stretched
And opposite of lovely.
To take a walk
To the milky way
And to decipher,
The Morse code
Of the blinking stars
along the way.

But there seems to be one
Fundamental obstruction
along my way,
Distance and remoteness
Of the milky way.

The nocturnal choreography,
Seems out of the world.
As one by one stars unfurled.
Maybe that one there was
Christened after a
Charming young king.
Just because it looks
So cryptic and seducing.

There are just,
One too many..
Might as well say,
Plethora to a plenty,
Still,
Managed to count till two twenty
Then had to come to a abrupt halt
You ask me why? Because,
Ursa minor just winked,
Oh my god,
A sign so succinct,
A wink so distinct,
That it is forcing me,
To have a new instinct

If only it stopped at this,
But that's just not it,
The flaring end of a comet,
Is luring me into its orbit.
And to add more to it,
Another constellation
Of arcane irrationality,
Is tempting me to hop that way.

But there seems to be one
Fundamental obstruction
along my way,
Distance and remoteness
Of the galaxies far far way.

Well,well,
What do I do,
What do I say?
Who needs flimsy nets
Of reality anyway?

This & That

You were running late,
But then you thought,
What if I ran two blocks,
That would save time a lot.
Straight out from a movie script,
In style you hopped and skipped,
Just round the corner,
Was the place 'La'Conner.


Ruffed hair,
Wrinkled tie,
Beads of sweat,
Sun in eye.
Almost made it in nick of time,
Part of you is feeling sublime..

Alas,
Your Bella donna is already there,
Smiling her heart away
On this random musician,
Who you just hope is gay.
She looks enamoured,
The crowd seems enraptured,
Soon he ends the song,
And strums the last note,
On his willow wood mandolin...
The crowd is awe stuck in silence,
With music stuck in their soul
And then they go,
Bravo, Encore!

With the bars set high,
You walk up to her,
And look her in the eye.
You can only hope,
And prey to the sweet lord,
That solely with you would she,
Reminiscence the love song.
Lyric to lyric, chord to chord.

And as the crowd rustled by,
It seemed as though,
She was the only constant,
In the evanescent evening sky..

The silhouettes vaporize,
As you sit outside,
Still mesmerized.
Chatting with a glass of liquor,
Slowly the stars begin to flicker.
Together you stare at them,
As though they are,
Morse codes to decipher.

The silence is broken,
As the waiter drifts in,
Dinner,
Cheese, bread, Ravioli,
Tiramisu and Ricciarelli.

Ricciarelli, too fancy she says,
Ravioli,too simple you say.

And the topic drifts,
Into something as trivial as colours.
You like blue,
And she likes
Some form of red,
So you quiz,

"What is wrong with the colour blue?
Well nothing, Its just not red...
And what's so special about red?
It just doesn't make you feel the blues..!"

"So, that mug to your right, is kind of red,"
She begs to differ,
"Nah Uh, not so in my head, because,
Nowhere does it fall anywhere close,
In the spectrum of acceptable red!"

After much contemplation,
And deliberation,
Finally,you agree,
And promise to find,
That acceptable red,
And never make her feel,
The terrible blues.

You don't like this,
And she doesn't like that
But, you do mould into,
Each others yin and yang.
And fit perfectly in tandem,
Like two words, random,
Which go well together...
Like This & That

Stardust

The land of Shangri-la,
Or as they say,
The mystical land of heaven,
Was perforated.
And from in between
Those million spaces
The amateur stars,
Just tumbled and
Slipped through.

Riding on the arms
Of the squally wind.
And leaving behind
A trail of promises,
To go back.
They stumbled upon the exit,
But never found the way out.

We are made,
As the myth says,
From the dust
That falls down,
Along with the
shooting stars.
There is an
Entire universe,
Swirling within us.
And the supernova
Beating in our hearts.
The mind tuned to,
The music of the
cosmic stars.
To the rhythm divine,
You and I,
are sublime,
You and I,
Are nothing but
Stardust.....

Too Much Time To Kill

Staring at pigeons on window sill,
Have got ample time to kill...

I heard this one...cooing,
I thought,
What the hell is it doing??
Who is it wooing?
Well then, it flew..
But another one came through...
Again this one starts cooing...
Aahh who are they perusing??

These pigeons on window sill,
Have got ample time to kill.

It's just sitting there,doing nothing,
Not even caring to flap its wing.
It looks coyly to its right,
Then double coyly too its left,
Then left-right,left-right and left.
I thinks its been left bereft,
By that damsel on the other window sill,
Which too has got ample time to kill.

They have perched for hours,
Meditating on higher powers,
Standing still,doing nothing,
Like salt and pepper shakers.
That's when the damsel decided,
To cut the chase and end the pause,
Its time to take matters into her claws.
So she flew and soared and came by his side,
But then,this stupid cooing piegon,with his pride,
Strutted along,slipped and plummeted downside :P

She cooed her heart out,
Had tears of mirth I say,
That's when the pigeon one,
Swooped in...
Right next to the damsel on window sill,
Cooing together,too much time to kill!

Timeless Words Of Beauty

Words to wind the neglected corner of mind,
Words which make the neatly folded,
And creased heart of mine,
Unfold itself from within the shrine,
Without any cue on every single line.

Sometimes the heart sings in symphony...
Or sometimes it turns utterly dissonant.
With every single vowel and consonant..
It goes aaha with exclamation,
Its curls within in contemplation,
It thumps across the ribs in shock,
Goggle eyed and left to gawk.

The jaded ink stains impregnate them self..
Plain words in a book from a cobwebbed shelf.
Hiding in the veil of anonymity.
The heart gets scrambled, it gets crumpled..
Even with words that are jumbled...
Its makes you hear the beat of a foreign heart,
The spaces in time which do not prolong,
But neither do they so easily part.
Words which immortalize the fading memory,
Like those letters written from Max to Mary.
Words which bring music to your ears,
Like 'An equal Music' to drown in tears.

The heart, beats from within those pages,
To pierce right though in gradual stages.
It's just plain simple words on page,
Which remain timeless even as we age..

PS: 1. Mary and max is a clay animated movie and it revolves around being pen friends
      2. An equal music is a book by Mr Vikram Seth, a book about two gifted musicians and one on the          brink of losing her hearing.