Imperfections...

A major victim of “time passing by” is the appreciation of one’s own work. A few days back I was going through the poems I had written during my college days. It was mostly about the usual stuffs like the frustrations, failure, crushes and things I somewhat find too clichéd to write about now a days. Its funny how we and the things around us change and we are the last one to notice it. We don’t even notice the significant contribution we ourselves put to change these things. Coming back to the poems, I would be lying if I said that I didn’t want to make any changes (and improve) any of those poems. I wanted to make them more cheerful. I wanted to change the metaphors I used to describe things. I wanted to frame the verses in a better way. But then poems just do not pop out of nothing. They are the testimony of how one feels for different encounters which transpires in his life. They are the best way to tell who you actually were on that specific day. So even if you try to change the poem you wrote, all you will get is a new one which will show who you are today. You just can’t change something you had written in the past.

Maybe it’s better (and easier) to acknowledge them just as they are and accept that it’s because of what we felt and wrote earlier, we feel and write much better today.

Anyways, just for old times sake here’s the first poem I wrote:


Starry Nights…

Glint of the city fades away,
I flee from glaring heights,
From jeering dark lanes
From the betraying paths.

I head for the woods,
Befriended by the sultry night,
Stars wink excited..
As if meeting an old’ friend.

Sneaking through the clouds,
The moonlight hugs me.
Breeze swims across like angels,
Disappearing the last traces of sadness.

Deaf to the calling city.
Know I have to go back...
Face the glaring sun...
Trying to bring me to my knees.

But for the night I am trapped
I wrap myself by the shadows...
Under the aegis of sleepy trees...
Lying on the grass I just drift away.

Yet Again...

Why do I always get an urge to write about this city whenever I am here?

I have no friends here nor have I stayed here long enough for the nostalgia to hit me hard enough. Yet I am always the "little wide eyed boy" when I arrive here and the "Lonely old man" when I depart.  Maybe I long for the sheer determination of the city to have a good time no matter how grand and impractical it is. I mean in which other city can one do the following things in a single weekend:

• Go to a live gig in a happening pub.
• Watch a Anupam Kher play.
• Watch people show off their Ferraris, Lambos, Porshes in Kala Ghoda.

Its not even these extravagances which excites me. Its the fact that these  things are just a part of every other day which really amazes me. There is no concept of "moderation" here. Everything has to reach its limits and beyond. Have a close look at any passer-by's face. You will find a tinge of arrogance. As if being able to live here certifies that they have the audacity to be the first one to break all norms and then show the entire country how it's done. 

This place doesn't make me realize what I already have. It reminds me of everything I need to achieve somewhere in the future.

If you haven't realized which city I am talking about, then maybe it's time you need to explore a bit...