Riches

Riches

This is my ode to a fritter
Of a lovely welcome holiday
Well made plans and then the others
All shunned on a cool breezy day

Tucked inside a warm blanket
By the breeze which gently shook
I watch the day go by, still
Between the turning pages of a book

The chores important of some degree
And then a few I completed frivolous
A new lacquer on old skill-sets
And a thing for the stomach omnivorous

A day of learning, spent on self
A day so narcissistic, spent on self
A day to cherish, spent on self
A day of the calendar, spent on self

A thought takes shape of little prod
I am for sure very rich today
No, not for money, nor materials
But my time I have a lot today

-x-x-x-

© Parched For Rain

Alive and Scared

Alive and Scared

Oh what a time to feel alive
On a quiet night in a high concrete forest
Walking in the dark
Guided by fluorescent lamps
Left unshielded by third storey curtains

Alive on the last spurt of energy
After a long caffeinated orgy of ingenuity
Scared of the dark
Blinded by white glares
Of unquestioned strobes of disapproval

Oh what a time to feel scared
Afraid at once of this fragile existence
Staring at the mountain
Alone, unprotected, unsheltered
Of dreams piled through the clouds of tomorrow

Scared of a ceaseless ocean
Dragging a lifeless body away, away
Not drowning, yet
Floating forever on bouys
Of duties and responsibilities and trials

Oh what a time to be alive
Oh what a time to be scared
On the cusp of greatness lest the courage fail
On the cusp of despair lest the hope prevail
Woe be to who in this battle of self?
I'm alive and scared
I'm alive, I'm scared

-x-x-x-

© Parched For Rain

The Human Stage

The Human Stage

The stage is set for the day
For a series of improvised monologues
Delivered for an impact, precise, well rehearsed
Then, the lapping up of ever effervescent praise
A silent and quick exit left
The stage, reset for a new day

Of course, the exit never exists
For one stage leads to the next
All floating, temporary, for improvised performances
But an inner stage, in secrecy of the sacred ungods
A silent memoir of perseverence
The inner stage, always exists

The questions arise, the answers arise
Never together
The forlorn couple in forlorn love
Destined apart
Between the mirror mirages and the what-the-fuckery of voiceovers
The checks and balances are frailer than a lunar crescent

I keep an eye out for sudden hands out of shut windows
An eye out for recognition and its eventual avoidance
Treading on a brownian path for amoebic sustenance
Encapsulating the happenings of an omnipresent present
I keep an eye out for each new stage
I keep an eye over the levee, lest it break

I hear an occasional shout to let it flood over
More shouts and cheers to let the levee fail
I laugh, I laugh at their temptations
I laugh, I laugh at their hopes
I laugh till I'm alone on my stage
I'm alone where it all matters

Here all is sacred
Unblemished, ungodly
The performance ceases
The stage ceases
I'm alone
I'm me

-x-x-x-

© Parched For Rain

A Winter Sunset

A Winter Sunset

The gentle onset of an ignorant cold
Over the fast fading amber-orange warmth
On shivers transmitted by a perverse breeze
Permeating all, unhindered by fabric
Unhindered by the very skin that clings
Laid bare to the bones and the blood
Yet, surprisingly gentle - a tease

The clouds conspicuous by absence
As the urban stars are being lit up
The Orion of jogger track gardens
The Great Bear of the snarling expressway
The moon is a billboard of gourmet cheese
There will be nothing beyond soon

The slowness of it all, and suddenness
Probe the finality of absence
As each weakening ray lingers on memories
Lingers on what could have been
The warmth of hope, fading

This transformation is a riot high up
The fringes of the western sky deepening red
The east lost to its own deepened dark

The hallowed inner consciousness
The only warmth on offer

The winter sun, slowly sets

-x-x-x-

© Parched For Rain

Monuments

Monuments

Build on you men, build on!

Build that which may stand tall and strong through quake and flood
Build that which may make you forget the price of your blood
Build that which may inspire a generation of scornful scions
Build that which may inspire a sacrifice of a thousand toothless lions

Build a monument - Oh men of misery!
Build with your hands and with your trickery
Build till your backs fork out of you
Build for you know what is true

Call in your experts and engineering technicians
Call in your lenders and your men of due diligence
Call in the number crunchers and the book keepers
Call in the three marketeers and let them seek the seekers

Build on you men, build a monument for me!

A monument where the river rerouted
A monument where the trees uprooted
A monument where the land was tough
A monument where the sea was rough

Is it not hope, that you cherished forever?
Is it not beautiful, the fruit of sweet labour?
Is it not love, all your prayers and cries?
Is it not just, that one small sacrifice?

A monument to your fists with hammers and sickles
A monument to your pens and swords and shields and fickles
A monument to the greed where you headfirst delve
A monument to the apathy of a father of twelve

Build on you men, build that someone may build one for thee!

-x-x-x-

© Parched For Rain

A Boatman's Monologue

A Boatman's Monologue

I could have survived without the bridge. Like my fathers did for all those years. A man, after all, does not need bridges to survive. A man has to be self-sufficient. One does not need to go to the other side of the river for it. What new do they have there? The men there are the same. The villages are the same. It's the same country everywhere, is it not?!

And if anyone did want to cross over, they could use a boat. Like we friends had done when we were young. There was no bridge then. My father slapped me when I returned. He gave me no dinner too.

"Young boys have no business crossing the river; going to the other side. No business at all to leave their mothers worried.", he had scolded.

But then, that was no good reason to build a bridge, was it? Some people high up in those city offices wanted it built. They said that bridges connected people, brought in prosperity and growth. How? No one told us how.

These people are thieves, I tell you. Stealing a part of our livelihood this way! This fishing business does not earn a lot. Sure, it fills our stomach -  you should stop fishing if you can't catch that much and start begging - but what about the rest?! We have our house to mend, our women need their new clothes and stuff, our children have to go to school ... I too have a life now, don't I?

A truck from fisheries comes here every Tuesday and Saturday. Yes, from over the other side. We save a bit of it. But then I've got this sorry excuse of a boat. Needs mending every season.

Back in the days before the bridge, any person worthy of being called a man in these parts could make a decent living ferrying people across. Simple money for simple people. And fresh fish to go with it. Nothing much of it these days.

Don't be mistaken. I don't say anything bad of the river. She's been good to us. She's like my mother you know! Taken care of me and my people. Took care of my fathers too. But she's grown old now. Streaks of black and foam show up sometimes in the summers. Found some dead fish too. God knows what they do to her up in the city.

And she gets angry too. She flooded over two rains ago. Her water entered our houses and fields. Bad year it was. Lost two kids in the village. The third was saved by the hospital people. He was in bad shape by the time we got there. It was in the next village. Over the bridge, you know. The bridge saved him. You cant cross a flooded river, now can you?!

It's a tough life you know in these parts. Up in the river all day looking for fish. I don't even come home for lunch these days. I have it in the boat. Fix it to one of the bridge pillars under the shadow, eat, take a quick nap and then back to work.

Do stay here tonight if you boys have no rush. I will take you tomorrow on the other side on my boat. Just like the old days. I'll take you boys for free! Won't charge a paisa ... Promise!

-x-x-x-

© Parched For Rain

Train Through A Tunnel

Train Through A Tunnel

Laid back, I sit by the open window
Resting my elbow on the frame
As the train rushes along, the fields
And rivers and trees, none ever the same

The subtleties of indifferent change
Brought of a steady foreign influencing
I sit through and watch it unfold
Over drifting pungent wafts of seasoning

The world, in essence, passes by
And is faster still the passing of day
The sun, exhausted on its own
Pulls out to its pale red parking bay

It's dark all of a sudden, a rushing dark
Not the sun, it still has a while to go
It's an ominous dark, a tunnel of smoke
For the light I then hold, inching slow

The subtleties of change, not indifferent
The now inward self influencing
I can no longer sit and watch unfold
Over the pungent wafts of self burning

The smoke thickens as old people join
The clouds left behind, for me to grow
The more the merrier, or contrary
For the light I then hold, inching slow

It's light, and sudden stops the smoke
The sun out west efforts on in my frame
As the train rushes along, the fields
And river and trees, none ever the same

-x-x-x-

© Parched For Rain

The Resignation Of The Resigned

The Resignation Of The Resigned

The path of you, your resignation
And the roads looking forward
Their summary asymptotic union
All encompassing, closing inward

The precession of omnivore hope
And the unfocused discretes
The faces that deny a stillness
In contrasts of unlighted streets

The promises, long laundered
Amid reassuring attempts
The self-help, the self-battles
The self-love and contempts

This resignation has been adrift
A paper boat in choppy waters
An ablution from the relatives
In absolutes of uneasy saunters

The railing on a loosened bolt
The last unsevered connect
To the unraveling of the reality
Where asymptotes intersect

Who has prepared for this?
Not your twisted flicker smile
This path of you, your resignation
Your trudge to the farthest mile

-x-x-x-

© Parched For Rain

A Drive In the Mountains

A Drive In the Mountains

The reds, the greens and the in-betweens
The vestiges of a thousand strife
But there runs a course to judgement
That race veiled by a stubborn life

The chaos calls and beckons once more
The day calls back to the old grind
But if I run a while back to the start
That sweet, sweet spot I may find

The tempered ashes burn here all day
The life here hides behind bends
But memories linger and beacons shine
That balance off regrets and amends

"Get out my lad, get out!"
There screams a voice in my head
"Get out when you still can
You're better not alive than dead!"

The drive out along this mountain road
The heavy darkness descended thick
But me and my ride burn as one
Her motors by my blood run quick

The escape runs a sharp, tight road
The ascents, the falls, the hypnosis
But shattered it be by the blinding blinkers
That rush along the median amiss

"Exhilarate me, my lad, exhilarate!
Lower down your lamps there
Prepared you are to fly me off
But I aint not going anywhere!"

The summit cold at the dead end
The first dew throws its weight
But the road has ended and here I am
That sudden dawn and shimmering gate

"That's it my lad, enter, enter!
Enter that you may never live"
The key is my hand is warm still
I turn around, I have more to give

-x-x-x-

© Parched For Rain

The Driftwood Gamble

The Driftwood Gamble

It's a gamble one takes

To be unstuck from his world

Lose semblance of reality, past

A tree, if one may consider

That frees from the soil

And unto a river has itself cast

And a tree it is called no more

Driftwood it is now, afloat

This river guided by the earth

In whose currents the tree sheds

Every last leaf that may later rot

Or feed many a fish in mirth

And then onto the ocean deep

Casts the river its pile

To toss and turn and shimmer and burn

Forever floating amid flotsam

On the blue-green vortex of tides

Under the eyes of the moon and the sun

That is a gamble one takes

To be unstuck from his world

Against hope of a glorious day

When this driftwood may touch

A foreign soil and take root

Birth a new life, a new way

-x-x-x-

© Parched For Rain

The Eucalyptan Rustle

The Eucalyptan Rustle

The sunset breeze brings in tales
From the far lands out west
The mountains that raise my horizon
And the sea far beyond

I sit here listening amidst the leaves
This sweet-pungent carpet, ever growing
As the tales rise in louder fervour
And ebb away after dark

The tales are distant, of the unknown
Not all complete, or rational
Like day-dreams of a distant cousin
And I'm the unsuspecting privy 

I listen, for it is better
It reminds me of books
These, the tales of the breeze
Tales, in the eucalyptan rustle

-x-x-x-

© Parched For Rain

The Principled Man

The Principled Man

"That's the way I do it"
Says our principled man
Exceptions are his rules
And then describes in essence
All that he refrains, if he can

Persistence is personified
In our principled man
He's always out of tools
And his ramblings are forever
Astride a cranky ol' motor van

Give a soft couch of comfort
To our principled man
Think often of the mules
And he calls you a foolish splurge
'cause all foam deserves a ban

Its always a silent battle
For our principled man
Shrapnel are for fools
And the stakes are always high
So to the flanks is where he ran

Never look straight in the eye
Of our principled man
Glares of shimmering pools
And the flares may seem blinding
The wasted fire of a burning man

-x-x-x-

© Parched For Rain

An Anomaly In Ownership

An Anomaly In Ownership

To have and to have not
To hand and to hand not
The edges blur away
Was it mine to say?
Where it starts and where it ends
Defined by roads with sharp bends
In a finite space and an infinite void
A zero sum of sorrows and moments joyed
Of checks and balances that slowly wither
Of serpents and arrows and veiled slither
A sinking feeling of my own undoing
In moments that hearken an up-going
Where does it stop, where does it end?
Where do I start and where do I mend?
Is it not mine to say?
No, the edges blur away

-x-x-x-

© Parched For Rain

The Good Evening Melancholy

The Good Evening Melancholy

The melancholy of the evening
Hits me hardest on this day, today
The usual shrapnel of a faraway bomb
Replaced by the ticker and the beater
Inside my chest and sleepy eyelids, today

The conquest of my world is lost
The armies I command draw no fire, today
Left out on the open plain, the open drain
They celebrate the battle they have not yet fought
Inside themselves, as they prepare for the rot, today

Not today
The rot, not today
They say after me, not today
They say with eyes unblinking
They say with their widest grins
They say, not, today

The games played by the mind and the minds
The faceless words and the epithets
The grins of a thousand toothless faces
They always knew, not, today

This melancholy and the memories
Littered with today's songs and monologues
I see a change in the leaves of a distant continent
The change of seasons and change of hearts
I see it before it sees that I've seen

The melancholy of a dusty evening of changing seasons
I've seen it all

-x-x-x-

© Parched For Rain

The Night Sheep's Wool

The Night Sheep's Wool

Its been a while since a night like this, funny
Has kept me awake
Been counting sheep and wolves and the lot
Those things that were never
Or ever did they belong where I thought them to

A myopic fate dreams of a parallel universe
Where nothing tunes out
Nothing breaks the harmony, nothing rots
Just as I traverse through
Its spring, and fall beckons too through the carpet

The mosaic of flowers, of faces and shadows and ...
And images that blur my sight
Hazy memories and witnesses who ask their due
They were a part too
Of a story they recall distinctly as being untrue

There are questions I ask, to no one in particular
The whys and why-nots mostly
Where and how matter less, questions of a lesser appeal
To a lost night, a lost story
The author of a smile mischievous and motive unknown

The author of this story was a hunter
He tamed wolves and hawks
And on a steed he came, galloping, high head
Wind through the hair
As I lay grasping the last pages of his book

The questions remain, the whys and why-nots
Entwined in unchaste knots
The knots counted by a ship that sails far east
And into the west, why?
They say the earth is round so, a spheroid

It does not matter to me, it should not rather
As for where do I stand
The earth remains steady - it always has
The sky shifts - tell me why?
No, tell them, tell the people out there

Tell them that its never night, I'm never asleep
The bed-sheets never crumble
The dreams they never have seen, nor have I
The sheep and the wolves are real
And I - the stand of wool that was lost in the hunt

-x-x-x-

© Parched For Rain

Other Late Night Escapades @ Parched For Rain:

Kerb || A Walk On A Still Night || Summer Night || Tonight

Haiku Collection - Part1

"Nag"

jazzy evening sessions
nag machine hits a solo
cut out that dumb noise 

-x-x-x-

"Survive"

day away from work
boredom killed curio the cat
survive, I shall this

-x-x-x-

"Brussels"

thirty dead, many lost
flick, flicker, boom-boom, kaboom
I still hate traffic

-x-x-x-

"Pray"

hope's distant glimmer
wide eyed, crazy mounted steed
pray today come, pray

-x-x-x-

"Galat Ladki"

zimmedar ban aaj tu zara
fark hai, rahe anjaan bhale hum
ladki galat, ya sahi

-x-x-x-

"Ask"

bullet through my head
casket and a bed of lead
this is all I ask

-x-x-x-

"Reunion"

cat among pigeons
jokes of old, salted, matured
as friends meet today

-x-x-x- 

"Independents"

possibilities
myriad, an inspired dawn
for independents

-x-x-x- 

"Touch"

ripples after stone
avalanche after mountain echoes
she's touched me again

-x-x-x- 

"Flame Of The Forest"

anticipant through tinder
blooms flame of the forest
a lost hope ignites

-x-x-x- 

"An Evening By The River"

slow sets lazy sun
a prolonged destinal longing
as seawards she winds

-x-x-x- 

"Celebrations"

bells, gongs, drums, cymbals, men
the quiet heart steadies how
cacophony erupts

-x-x-x-

"Life Filtered"

the plot peaks and dips
filtered to best behavior
a life takes shape

-x-x-x-

"Songwriting"

songs don't write themselves
but flow as memories unchecked
as floodgates crumble

-x-x-x-

"Gravity"

i'm your gravity
your lone flights of fantasy

takes life from my love

-x-x-x-

© Parched For Rain
Blog Contents

Book Review: The Calling by Priya Kumar

I - Reviewer!

To be honest, first up, I was a bit skeptical. And a bit nervous too. I had with me a copy of 'The Calling: Unleash Your True Self', an inspirational book (novella, perhaps, of 150 odd pages?) by Priya Kumar. I'm, in some way, wary of this genre of inspirational books - most of these just sound so preachy! This was my first exposure to the author; and first exposure to the concept of reviewing a book.

The book cover ...

I now had three simultaneous tasks on my hands:
1: Read the book, understand the book, understandthe author and understand what it meant to me
2: Review the book
3: Remember to enjoy the book while balancing 1 and 2

Reasons enough to be nervous, I suppose!

-x-x-x-

Possible Spoiler Alert

The book has a message - the hand-written foreword/note by Priya Kumar gives some insight too. It is the way the book sets about to tackle this message is what makes it interesting. The story revolves around the protagonist Arjun, who suffers a massive mid-life crisis - an unsatisfying job which pays decently, not many people who can be considered friends and to top it all the wife seeks separation. He also has exhausted the fuel in his car by the time we are midway through the first chapter.

What follows are a series of accidents and restorations - both physical and spiritual - where Arjun meets up with some uncanny and possibly unnerving characters who act as guides in Arjun's journey of self-discovery. The book - and Arjun - starts near Shimla and ends up in the Garhwal Himalayas at Hemkund Sahib, via a quick detour to the Valley Of Flowers.

The book is Arjun's journey. Through the journey it dwells on concepts and ideas like 'role of a friend', 'role of a guide', 'your understanding of your surroundings and its betterment', 'how to build your story around your lot of people' and most importantly 'the unwavering belief in oneself'. The concepts, ideas and their presentation take the reader on an intriguing journey. Yet, everything is easily relate-able at the same time.

-x-x-x-

You Talk Too Much ...

This is my frustration with Arjun. Arjun is the narrator of this book - he's in the thick of all the action and story-telling that one sees in the book. Yet, one gets the feeling that Arjun is sitting somewhere in a house in Delhi narrating this story at a gathering of pre-teens. His narration is too superfluous - especially during high adrenaline sequences where one would expect a more crisp and concise writing. The editing table could probably have used a busier hand.

The role of Jay - a friend of Arjun's and a secondary character - seems to conflict the book a bit, considering that at least in Arjun's opinion Jay has everything sorted. The roles of the spiritual characters are etched with sheer perfection, giving an edge to the story. Chandu is a delight with strikingly balanced realist and spiritual sides. And who uses a Blackberry these days?

-x-x-x-

Parting Shot

'The Calling: Unleash Your True Self' is a worthy read, especially for people who plan to rise up the corporate ladder. It gives a saner perspective to life - all that goes in to differentiating you from a good resource to a good person. For me, it comes at a time when I'm battling in a way to keep my aspirations afloat in a work environment where notions of professionalism and rationality have taken a backseat to patchwork engineering. I hope to work more effectively towards my calling too.

And by-the-way, when it comes to the workplace, everyone is replaceable! Enjoy!

Also, it takes long buddy!

-x-x-x-

Details

'The Calling: Unleash Your True Self'
Author - Priya Kumar
Genre - Inspirational / Motivational
Published by - Books That Inspire
Contact - www.priya-kumar.com
Cost - INR299/-

-x-x-x-

© Parched For Rain

Note: Images in this post are not owned by me.

Abandon Ship

Abandon Ship

Where does the ship sail?
The one that trusts the wind
And the choppy sea waves
Yet discardeth it's oars
To make haste?

Where does the ship sail?
Hands of whose oarsmen slip
And seek the limp rudder
Yet forget they the man
Who binds them?

Where does the ship sail?
The captain when dreams
And lusts for solid land
Yet a compass he's read not
Of dead needles?

Where does the ship sail?
Us lifeboats care not
And sturdy as we are
Yet swiftly ready for a call
Of "Abandon Ship!"

-x-x-x-

© Parched For Rain

Dread Takes Over

Dread Takes Over

You’ve scaled your unsavory peak
Aint nowhere more to go
The deep dark valley beckons
And you know you’ve to go
Hold your heart still my friend
‘cause the unknown never has an end

It’s a new day, bright, sunny and blue
Start over with a fresh chalk and slate
Your thoughts reach for the night
And for its shadow you wait
Through the day you stagger by
‘cause the night is when you can truly cry

Upon your word I cast myself
Paint your banner in my blood
Yet in your eyes I see the battle is lost
The enemy comes over like the flood
I take my sword and off with my head
‘cause it’s a new you, my master is dead

Fear it was not, nor will it be
We fear what we know, see or are told

Its long lost cousin, is dread
It creeps with our necks in hold
Hold your soul as it sinks to the never
‘cause that’s when dread takes over

-x-x-x-

© Parched For Rain

My Sin

My Sin 

Addiction ... your addiction has taken me places
Just to feel you
Inside me ... around me ...
But you dragged me to hell
Oh! Heavenly hell
With those black lips
And those sinister quips
I don't think I'll win
Oh! You are my sin ... my sin ...

I nail myself
To this ground
It hurts ... you hurt ...
'cause you've dragged me to hell
Trapped in your spell
I want you to crumple in my arms
As I feel you ... reveal you
But I don't think I'll win
Oh! You are my sin ... my sin ...

I look up half awake
See you rising above
It scares me ... you scare me ...
'cause you've dragged me to hell
Trapped in your spell
I want you to serve me
As you caress me ... release me
But I don't think I'll win
Oh! You are my sin ... my sin ...

I see you with a new guy
Maybe just a new toy
It angers me ... you anger me ...
'cause you've dragged me to hell
Trapped in your spell
I will make him pay you for your time
As i break him ... even kill him
But I don't think I'll win
Oh! You are my sin ... my sin ...

-x-x-x-

© Parched For Rain