Clarity

The scale was balanced perfectly,
Both sides ugly yet neither likelier -
Was this just an ugly dream forced unto me?
Or reality I must share with every other?

A dozen voices sounded, fuelling the barrage
In the dark, secret chamber of bittersweet assembly
Oh how they came together and invoked sacrilege!
An image wrought with repulsive disharmony.

Childish outlines boxed together portions of the image
Unseen hands scrawled across them messy labels in crayon.
“Unity!” sought a voice, clubbing cloud and wave
And thus sky and sea were one, discounting the horizon.



A voice mocked the stark light reflecting off a steeple,
“Garish, primitive bacteria” the man’s stars were reduced to.
Another spoke of a castled king, bemoaned the fate of his people
Of miniscule men and homes shredded to bits in the whirlpool.

Scandal after another! I was numbed to the fight
But their devious, twisted barbs I could no longer disregard.
I retorted as I knew best - I sat down to write
And thus I rant in defense of clarity; I write to end this spar.

Most onlookers figure the loudest must surely know it best,
They argue - “Would the poor man yell so if he didn’t?”
Alas! Mistake them not, if only at my behest,
For connoisseurs of art or interpreters of true intent.

Chaotic voices in our heads, they must lead us to ambiguity
Blinded as they are to the evident, the straightforward.
But from my moonlit perspective -and this I offer in triumphant glory-
I see only a spirited clump of grass inching smartly heavenward.

MindPorn

They say many a poem is penned
In moments of passion, inspiration and boredom.
I plead guilty to the two that guard brother Inspi then
PB minus J, I shall break free of thy hold!

He wants to talk to me tonight
He adds, "Is that a change or what!"
I'm surprised I didn't want to sock him in the jaw
Au contraire I laughed, it delighted me so!

A quarter of a day must go by
Before the hour of our chat comes along
Yet the prospect of conversation, of talk light and merry
Brings peculiar relief - What's this, MindPorn?

And then there's this pal who owes me some dough
But today seems to remember it not
So I mumble like a fool and feel like a fraud
Then give it up as a lost cause.

I thought it wise to put off
The collection of dues, you see.
On a rainy day I had planned to collect
In an endeavour to spend wisely.

Well the rains have arrived, they have
And washed away all memory and how!
Now that I'm slightly baffled and slightly broke
Fine, that's his birthday gift, like it or not.

A message just came in, I paraphrase -
I'll give you the money tomorrow, says he.
Now this MindPorn offer I must decline
For I rather fancy the other end.

AITM And After.

Thinkers from different time periods and time zones have given the world their take on a gazillion different issues. Inclusive of trivial, metaphysical, moral, the works. Funny term, 'thinkers' - they're people who probably thought the same as a thousand others but had the sense to market it, to say it out loud, maybe even write it down. And then people tell kids to be quiet is to be good.


Come to think of it - and then they say marketing is a new subject! Marketing has been around since man first learnt to hack and grow and kill but not share; that's how bartering came into place, right? If you want a more modern scenario that supports marketing, take India post independence.

Priority in '47 was basic administration. IAS = best thing ever.
A little further and infrastructure was the need of the hour. All hail engineers!
Then Gates opened up, Jobs came in later and the race to be more "hi-tech" than the next set up demanded IT professionals, boriya bistra baandh kar.
Managing the imbalance between infrastructural needs, options and possibilities and the workforce handling them meant MBA grads outshone IAS babus and how!

And after admin, infra, tech and management more or less in place, what's needed more than ever before is going out there and telling the world what you have to give it. You want to sell yourself, your vision and your services and you want to sell it right. You need the media, you need good promotion.

Sure, you needed promotion then and you need AITM today. You had doctors, architects and lawyers then, you have and need them today. Have I picked the right field, considering today? I don't know. Did I pick a sensible train of thought? I did. Thank Mr Dhunji Wadia, Orientation '10.


The previous post, I'm sorry, killer tha and not quite in a sense flattering to me. Have stuff about the concept of Time playing on my mind but I think it's safe to assume I may leave that for later.

The Week. Kill Me.

This is the story of a week.
A week that never was.
A week that never will be.
But be it should, oh yes, it should!

A trial in every sense of the word I propose.
Be warned, it reeks of unexplained trickery.
I speak of a week that will drive you to insanity,
Except that it never will be.

Day 1 – The day it all begins

This city is robbed of transport.
Yes, plundered overnight.
The roads are ripped off the ground
Runways follow suit.

No trains, buses or taxis.
No rickshaws, cars or bikes.
Bicycles went out at the stroke of midnight,
It’s like your city never could commute.

We dare not speak of choppers,
Of airplanes in the endless white.
Vanish into thin air all did,
No trace of immediate respite.

Day 2 – The end of another beginning

“To communicate is to build bridges”,
Pronounce men of word and tech.
They suggest the powers of the Internet,
Phone lines, they say, remain.

They say the city will cope,
Indeed, emerge triumphant it will.
They invoke the spirit, the resilience,
But dare you hope at only their behest?

So those who ordained the transport lift,
Further ordain thus.
Your city is naked, you cannot converse,
Soft speech is all you’ve got.

Day 3 – The day of denial

Initial panic overruled,
A sense of calm prevails.
You numb yourself to the unnerving state of rest,
Pooh! A lucky holiday is all it is.

All will be back to normal, you say.
This is but a dream.
Just a chance to shirk tasks and chores,
With deadlines you may now play.

Day 4 – The day you start to see

What felt like a godsend does no more,
The city has been stripped bare, that’s real, yes it is.
You’re stranded, do you now see?
Stranded with no route in sight.

And there is no one to blame.
Indeed, no reason to name.
Did you desert your places of being, my friend?
Or did your city desert you?

Day 5 – The day you begin to brood

You yearn to kick-start your Scooty Pep.
Your Verna begs your touch.
You ache to feel the rush of a frantic sprint,
And that shared sigh once finally aboard the bus.

Your insides resemble a kaleidoscope,
With shifting images of LED indicators;
Your senses glowing numbers taunt and tease,
For the 8:16 left without you.

You itch to get those files in order,
You know work aplenty awaits.
But some part of you believes that this is it,
To never return to that desk, your fate.

Day 6 – They day the chain snaps

Daily wagers are at wit's end,
Local workers hold on tight.
For much as you insist it is one big city,
Much shorter are some cross-state flights.

Flustered folk must stay home,
Or job-hunt high and low.
“Ah but its quality we want, not numbers”, say employers.
Oh the tables never did quite turn.

Men were quiet thus far, they were,
They hid their fear well.
But to jostle for bare necessities now,
Is it not the very essence of indignity?

Day 7 – The day all jump into the fray

All the men of power and all the men of rank
Now marshal their forces, to maim, to vandalize,
Walk for glory and reward many eager youths will,
But how far and to where?

For who is the enemy? Who is it they fight?
They stand ready, but alas! ready they stand without end.
Dusk will see them fall apart, for a ghost you cannot stab,
This is the end for them then, of muscle there shall be no praise.

Meanwhile you struggle, as you have all week long
You're shackled with no relief in sight,
You stay up nights to devise antidotes for The Week
Don’t. It never will be.