One tongue

My stomach tied itself up into horrible knots inside, then unravelled itself and contorted into writhing creatures, my nervous heart doing loop d loops all the while.

It had been two weeks since I had moved into this new neighborhood, this new country actually, and school would probably be a nightmare, said my over thinking, self conscious, introverted brain.

On day one, I stepped into a class who took no interest in my existing. I slunk into a seat up front.


Then. Lunch. She smiled at me. I smiled at her. So what if I didn’t know their language? They knew mine.


The burial of the blue umbrella.

The umbrella had an umbrella shaped burial. Grand. Open. Covered. 

It had really been for Helen. The owner. The lover beyond comparison. The umbrella girl. The smiler. 

Her mother made it happen. Pity she didn’t attend.

It was the umbrella she so loved that did it. Took away from her the love of her life.

You see, no matter how much you love another, a thing, a person, you love your life the most. And Helen was the sort of girl who wouldn’t compromise on that. She was a girl full of… Of gumption.

And again I say she lost the love of her life. 
Her life itself.

The umbrella itself was perfect. Blue. Rich, silky, blue, and waterproofed. It also had a pink smudge close to the top- a kiss mark from her mother. After all, the umbrella was Helen and it needed a kiss too.

It all happened suddenly. So suddenly and on a Wednesday. The day of the grand christening. The day the store housing the umbrella saw a procession be led in it’s honour. By Helen, of course. And no one else behind her. Just her and the umbrella. But a procession it was. And the umbrella was named as well. Named. A secret name. I don’t know it. Do you?

Well. That was another Wednesday. This Wednesday belonged to the cat. No umbrella.

The day of the burial, not a person wept. Rarely do you come across people who weep for umbrellas. This umbrella was no different. Of course, there was only one person at the burial too. He had been paid, though. He was supposed to bury the royal blue. So, he had no need to emote either.

The cat showed up as suddenly as it could disappear. Damned cat. Maybe un-damned. In another universe. On another street. Not here. 

Helen had only tried to shield her. The cat. From the unshieldable rain. Then the car came. As silently as the cat. Ready to deprive a girl from the love of her life. 

The umbrella had a case built for it. Protective. Preservative. Then another. Wooden. Umbrella shaped.

When it was buried, Helen’s soul must have rejoiced. It lay to the right, after all. 

An umbrella shaped hole in the ground. An umbrella shaped case within. An umbrella shaped covering inside. Have we lost the blue?


I woke up to loud lights and bright sounds.

The red positively glared at me and the mirthful laughter just wouldn’t stop. I couldn’t remember where I was or why.


Or, for that matter, who I was.


My eyes slowly adjusted. I don’t know what I had been seeing, the lights had been yellow and white all along. Probably.


But the laughter, it wasn’t joyous any more, it was sinister. Laconic, even.

My eyes refocused. Sitting bolt upright, and sweating till my pillow was drenched, I awoke to find my fever had broken.
Something told me I had seen something not many are privy to, something of implications I did not fully understand.
After all, I realised today, even if it’s in a dream, no one hears joy at hell or demons in heaven.

What haunts me

Mid dream I have been stopped and stirred;

What wrath of God have I incurred?

Each night my eyelid droops, but slight,

Then opens to the sounds it’s heard.
What stops me from a restful sleep?

What cause is it that lies awake

In corners of my brain unknown

To me until the night of wake?
And why is it that I do weep?

To books and stone that soundly sleep?

And why is it that here I think-

Most lucid thoughts and do not blink?
To whom do even I write this?

To empty souls and deep abyss?

Why must I think of what none do?

They rightly say ignorance is bliss.
The thoughts I think, they do not leave

At any point throughout the day,

To the still air they mockingly cleave

Yet don’t control a word I say.
And so I’m left with thoughts to haunt

Me till they finish first; I will

And like a pantomime I live 

To mouth the words I never will.

Musings of madmen

He was perhaps a little mad,

But people generally had

A notion that the blue nomad

Lost his marbles ’cause he was sad. (One Day)

But you would see, (the young one did)

A face in his, so calm, a bliss,

Of which adults most unaware

Tend to extinguish, here and there.

He jumped, he clapped, he danced, he’d sing.

He lived off alms (if you’re wondering,

How he did make any living,

Doing as he was, that sort of thing.)

He felt a power, quite unknown,

A miracle, a seed he’d sown,

The day he gave up, quite alone,

All that he had ever known. (Yes Everything)
He’d chosen to be mad.
You see, it is our destiny

To have some worth, and the worthy

Can see the world as it should be —

Filled with naught and nobody.
And who are you, Great worthy man?

And how much wealth have you amassed?

And what great peaks have you conquered?

How fruitfully have your days passed?
And who are you?

Extinguish pride,

And keep humility

In your stride,

And let your soul be your true guide

In life.

A new sort of nation

My country is closing up to the date when it achieved it’s Independence many, many years ago.
On that day, the hypernationalist in everyone will arise, sing the national anthem, wave the flag, congratulate other hypernationalists and then forget all about it till next year.
Of course, there will be those who may look silent on that historic day but who have the seed of respect for their country, and the entire world as one human race, sown deep and steadfast into their hearts.
These people will be criticised for being so quiet on their country’s special day, or for not standing up to the national anthem when it’s played repeatedly for practice for an event, or for anything under the sun that someone finds offensive on *that particular day* to the country.
Of course, the hypernationalists’ own fakeness of emotion and extreme boastfulness of their nation (without complete facts, at times), doesn’t count.
You see, I believe that any country is not just a blaze of glory for it’s residents. It’s not a collective emotion one is supposed to have (although this sentiment was extremely important in each oppressed nation’s fight for freedom, and I respect it). 
I believe our perception of a nation should change with the change in times, and that a nation should be treated as a respect worthy human. As a person with a past of both good and bad. A person who made mistakes, maybe too many to count, but who is mature enough now to correct them and move ahead.
In which case, being proud and supportive of one’s country no longer means that one blindly praises it to the high skies. That one is blind to it’s faults or it’s great deeds. It no longer means that on one or two days special to it, you honour it and salute it like crazy. Like on mother’s or father’s or women’s days, where everybody gets one day of special treatment, then back to square on the next day.
Being proud of one’s country, I believe, should mean, that you forget what another’s country has done to yours and move on, show solidarity and try to keep improving it, and most importantly, connect your nation’s identity with that of the world and the environment. You no longer maintain that selfish attitude of “my country first” & “my country is the best” but the attitude of using your brain and thinking of ways to battle what it is we have done to wreck the Earth and to help each person on the planet.
We must stop being so selfish that we see only one country’s good in our line of sight. There’s people everywhere on the planet, suffering, and we’ve got to do all we can to help each individual. We’ve all caused enough harm to the world already, in our needs blinded by selfishness.
So. What is the meaning of a nation? A place where narrow mindedness is crushed and where people learn essential values to enable them to operate as world citizens. A place where country love is measured by how much you have done, by any means possible, for the country, the world, without harming anything or anybody. Without causing massive destruction or wars. Without oppressing people of any community or religion or gender (for such shallowness has no place in a country’s great mission). 
The meaning of a nation, today, is what our forefathers thought it should be, and even better. For we no longer have to struggle for freedom, but for happiness, and a great life for everyone.
My country is going to be celebrating it’s Independence in a couple of days. There will be, of course, a whole lot of flag-waving and proclamation of love for the nation. But maybe, just maybe, if even one person reads this massive amount of text I have produced, and understands it, then I will have succeeded in getting across to others what for so long I have kept trapped within myself.

Inspire me

The sun beating down on the old tin roof,

The tree waving hi to some buzzing bee,

The street singer with his cap on his head,

Tilted to a defiant degree,

At different points of life, do much

To still, to stir, to inspire me.