What She Wants, What You Want

She wants midnight adventures and spontaneous kisses
To look at real life with near misses
From the stories she reads.
She wants to test you with the questions
she's heard her friends being asked
by their boyfriends.

For some reason,
It's a constant comparison,
A constant rain of thoughts
A whirlwind of doubts.

You want things easy,
A pace where it's nobody's problem
If you drive fast or slow.
You like the space you have with her
The space to be filled with laughs and sparks.
The space where there shouldn't be doubts.

It's a circle of invasion and evasion,
Just because it can be done.
It's a circle of circles in the end,
Just because it can be done.

What If I Didn't Try To Fix You?? (Not So Coldplay Cover)

When you’ve tried your best, but you didn't succeed
You didn’t  get what you want, nor what you need
Now you feel so tired,  you just want to sleep
Stuck in reverse
And the tears come streaming down your face
Cuz you’ve lost something you can't replace
You’ve loved someone, but its gone to waste
Could it be worse?

Lights didn’t guide you home
It didn’t ignite your bones
And I didn’t try to fix you.

And high up above or down below
You were too in love to let it go
N now you’ve tried so you know
Just what you're worth

Lights didn’t guide you home
It didn’t ignite your bones
And I didn’t try to fix you.

Tears stream down your face
Cuz you’ve  lost something you cannot replace
Tears stream down your face and I
Tears stream down your face
I promise you I will learn from my mistakes
Tears stream down your face and I

Lights didn’t guide you home
It didn’t ignite your bones
And I didn’t try to fix you.

Bhavra (Bee)

In Hindi,the word "bhavra" means bee and garners a lot of content and significance in Hindi, Urdu literature; the context in most cases being as free as a bee, or being innocent, as the English would say. It signifies freedom, zero restraints, a spirit which transpires freely across everyone and everything.

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There's a rusty forlorn cart full of tea,flames,mouth fresheners,biscuits,deep fried snacks and a living associated with it.
There's an old man,his brother,his wife,a white dog with one ear bent spending days under the cart and a child playing with the old man's wife. The child is the vegetable vendor's daughter who sits across the street. She sells her vegetables and her other half plays with the old man's wife. When the end of the day comes, the child leaves with her mother,the vegetable seller. I don't know if the old couple have children of their own.
He had bought a house years back for an amount of money which will not even buy a rich man's son a motorbike these days.
He still pays off the loan to the bank by selling tea and snacks. He is at the corner of a street which has turned into a three way crossing from a single curving road.
He knows how to tell time in ways more than one. The clock inside his cart is just a device to him. He has his own references to time through the fields, trees, buildings, shops, men, women, puppies, dogs, cars, technology that have bustled in and out of his life.
He still has to pay off his loan completely and hence, the tea stall,his cycle, the endless trips to buy tea leaves,milk,sugar and ginger exists.
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There are quite a few dogs that have their lives centered around his shop. In the mornings, he or his wife lay out several plates of bread and milk mashed together for the dogs to eat. The white dog with one of its ears bent lives under the cart itself and when not asleep, spends time being petted by the wife or one of the customers.

I was there on a Monday evening, drinking tea, staring at the sky where black was winning the battle over the blue and orange,a slight breeze blowing.
A puppy appeared out of nowhere, brown fur, bright-eyes and the thinnest tail I have ever seen on a dog. It jumped around for a while, getting in everyone's way and the old man had to finally shoo him away. I watched the puppy move off to the other side of the road and immediately a worried looking brown dog (I am assuming she was the mother)followed the puppy. The streets were busy and a car was taking a turn at the three-way crossing and I lost sight of the puppy on the other side of the road. At the turn, the car slowed as the driver twisted its wheels and suddenly I saw the puppy appear out of nowhere and cross the road with centimeters to spare in front of the car. I looked at the driver and saw the driver hadn't noticed the pup nor the near miss at all. He couldn't have. It had all happened in a matter of seconds.
The puppy dashed across to our side and went off sniffing around as if nothing had happened at all.
I remarked to the old man, "Abhi gaadi ke neeche aa jaata"(He would have been run over by that car just now!).

The old man just said,"nahi nahi,usko kuch nahi hoga, bhavra hai woh"("No no, nothing will happen to him, he is like a bee").

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Bug

"Pssst! I think I have caught a bug,

Meet me my dearest and I will tell you.

Maybe you know what the bug is,

I can't seem to put my finger on it.

There's a kind of itching

But a ticklishness where the bug's bit.

I don't know if I want the bug on me.

Maybe you can decide for me."

Meet me soon,

I've called you time and again.

You never pick up the phone

So I ended up with the idea of a letter.

I had already sent you a letter

With all kinds of news about my life.

I am sending one more letter today

And I have written about the bug in it.

I wrote you  a poem once,

Combined words that rhymed,

Inspired from a postcard I had once seen as a child.

It was childish,wasn't it?

But the happier dreams are made of such moments,

I have no regrets.

Maybe you'd laughed,

I don't know till date,

You'd just smiled and thanked me.

I should have asked your girlfriends about it.

"Fireworks and starlight

The postcard read it was the occasion of Twelfth Night

In Iceland where winter, our favourite season

Hangs out all year round with all its might."

What a goofball.

Terribly "underrated" (terrible) talent shimmers beneath.

I wish we could rewind to the point in time where we had met,

Beneath the starlight in the park, with fireworks welcoming the New Year in the sky,

We'd been walking alone, we'd lost our friends in the crowd.

I still have that number you'd given me that day.

Numbers changed,addresses flipped, friends resurfaced and got lost in that crowd again,

Maybe the letter will work.

Maybe I could dial that number you'd given me in the park,

Would it be possible to rewind then?

Let me try 02508975648387.

Absolutes

Life is not made up of absolutes. I firmly believe in this fact by now.
Nothing is black or white, good or evil,loved or hated, yes or no. There is always a grey area between that black or white or an indecision between the yes or no which lingers in memory for everything relevant. 
If you decide to buy a shirt, you would think about how the other color at the store would have looked with the trouser you are putting on.
If someone cheats on you, you would tend to go back to the intimate moments in spite of the hate.

Between the birth and death of a star, it outshines itself. At times we see the shine,at times the clouds get the better of it. But the star still exists against all the odds. 
As we get older, we understand what our lives are worth, is more than a definite absolute. We cling to memories and experiences and use them where we see decisions to be made. These circumstances result in more experiences that form all that matters between the yes and no,the black and white.
It's of the utmost importance,that these grey areas exist. Without them, we are just decisive, cold, calculating humans. These are the real emotions with which decisions are made in life. And without emotions, we are bare beings.

There are times in life when we do feel that an absolution is absolutely necessary;there are no emotions that should be considered,and a yes or no should be said. Problem is that the fact that we wanted to make sure no emotions are involved,is an emotion in itself. It brings with it its relevant doubts,questions, answers, solutions et al. 

Image Source:Google.

Peace will never be achieved if there is absolutes. Contrary to what the brain may say at times, the most important part of life are experiences,memories;the grey area which we want to overlook while taking decisions. But without that part of life,there are no decisions,there is no peace to our soul. 

Absolutes do not exist.

Wanderer

She stands in front of you
Your light, your night,
Your senses,your sight.

Your heart yearns to take her hand in your own,
Your heart doesn't want to agree with your brain,
Your heart tears apart under the spell of her smile,
Does you heart really know what's wrong and what's right?

Should you,for once, listen to your heart?
Give her a chance lest you lose your part?

The past cannot be undone.
You must forgive and forget.
And be the better man that you were born to be.
You must lose yourself in her thoughts and dreams,
Know her better than she knows herself,
Be her world and you will have yourself a new world,
More beautiful than you have ever known.

She stands before you
Sad yet radiant.
Without a tear to show for her hopelessness
Her gaze is endearing.

Looking at you straight in the eyes
Where she has always believed that hope resides.

images source:Google

Dream Diary- Pearl Jam

Okay I am not making things up at all, I know there was a Coldplay dream earlier and now there is a Pearl Jam, but both these dreams had gaps between them, I am just trying to kind of put them in some sort of order. 

Dream Log 2:

Imagine Darjeeling,specifically the Mall Road, not all the way up to the top but somewhere in the bazaars. There are people milling about everywhere; clothes, shoes, ornaments, decorative pieces, jewellery, lamps, shawls, spices and anything you can think of, the bazaar has it all. From somewhere there is a smell of coffee and maybe a bit of onions being fried. I am kind of overseeing the whole scene. There are children running about and adults and children riding on horses. There's a permanent stench of horse feces, unknown to the locals but the tourists and the visitors have their noses wrinkled at times. Among all the shops, eateries, inns and restaurants there is a small antique shop filled with old clocks, jewellery boxes, chairs, books and all other kinds of junk stuff that you can think of. The owner of the shop is an old couple. The man sits in the shop while his wife knits mufflers and sweaters and tries to sell them at the front of the shop. Inside this very shop there are a few people who are not native to Darjeeling or India even.

It's the member of the grunge rock band from the nineties-Pearl Jam. They are all old now. Wearing loose pants and large half-kurta like t-shirts. They have mufflers around their necks which they bought from the wife in the store. They have been in Darjeeling for quite sometime now,roaming about here and there,trying out the eateries, visiting the mountains,camping. No one has recognized them yet. It's been several days. Everyone is so caught up in their mobile phones that faces are long forgotten. Plus, the band members are miles away from their home and chances of recognition were low anyway. The band didn't perform anymore even though they hadn't broken up. They just didn't because they felt they didn't reach out to people anymore, no one heard them, no one saw them, no one appreciated them. Being used to the opposite kinds of societal behaviour for years, they lost interest in doing music even for themselves.

Someone needed to tell them that they should keep the music alive, even if for just themselves. The guitars should be strummed, the drums should be played, the bass should be brought to life. So I descended from my overseeing position to them. They were pretty surprised to have met someone who recognized them and their music even,and in Darjeeling. I convinced them somehow that they should do music again. As an idea, asked them to take their musical instruments out to the bazaar and sit down at a spot and start to play their stuff and see i they enjoy playing with each other. They go up the mall road to the centre of the little town, sit down and start playing. Eddie is in a maroon flowery half-kurta, Mike is in blue, Stone is all wrapped up, Matt and Jeff are in dark green half kurtas. The band looked fabulous as the crowd started to gather around slowly. They had bought an old black radio from the antique shop and kept it in front of them as they played.

Slowly the fervour returned, Eddie's voice grew more confident, Mike's licks became more prominent and the band started to have fun. I stepped aside and flew back up to my overseeing position and watched the band regaling the crowd and finally doing music again.

And I woke up.