Kashi 2/3 - Ghat Walk

I stepped into Varanasi with songs in my heart – specifically “Tu Ban Ja Gali Banaras Ki” and “Tu Kisi Rail Si Guzarti Hai”. I had no agenda or plan on what to do on reaching. My best option was to wander around the Ghats and the lanes. Food was always available everywhere and if I couldn’t find a shop, there was always Swiggy. I walked along the Ghats to my heart’s content. I walked on every step I could find, and I walked every morning and every night.

I found a band who was performing at the Ghats and without a second thought I rushed up and joined them, singing old and new songs, discovering that there wasn’t really much difference among them. I found street food vendors whom I started to recognize and the distinct flavors they specialized in. I found a sketch-artist who made a portrait for me for Rs. 350 in 30 minutes, all while sitting at the Ghat. I walked into a garden from where I was driven away because it wasn’t “for tourists”. I later joked with a Swede couple that how even Banarasi loacs recognized me as a tourist, with no trace of white skin on me. I found a sage basking in the early morning sun surrounded by pigeons. I kept walking till the Ghats ended. Then I turned back and walked more.

There was this one instance with a guy. There’s a large painting of Shiv on one of the walls where Shiv extends his hand outwards. A guy was trying to take a picture with his own hand extended towards Shiv, as if holding his hand. He was trying to work the camera angle. It was one of those things that you pass by without paying much attention, as I would have to. I was walking thinking if Shiv is so different from Varanasi. I have often believed that a man’s home is an extension and expression of his self. If that were so, then Varanasi with all its chaos was undoubtedly the expression of Shiv. As I was passing by that man, I don’t know what came over me – magic or mischief – but I shook his hand and went along my way. I didn’t even break my step. But I will remember the look on that man’s face for the rest of my life, as I know he will remember me. He was trying to reach out to Shiv, and in the process, Varanasi reached out to him. I wondered of all the ways in which Varanasi was reaching out to me as well. Every great or small interaction I was having with the people, dogs, land, and sky of Varanasi was Shiv. Not only was this His home, this was Him.

In another incident there was a protected VIP Ghat. I crossed by it several times, nothing seemed to be happening there. Just 2 police officers sending people away who ventured too far into the Ghat. There was a small Vishnu temple there that I noticed and wanted to visit. I had never seen a Vishnu temple. It was on the edge of the river. As I proceeded towards it the guards signalled me away. I tried to negotiate that I just wanted to visit the temple without venturing into the protected place, but the guards wouldn’t budge. Ultimately I had to go climb back up the stairs. Interestingly, the stairway went right above the temple. I was walking over where the shrine must have been inside the temple. As someone who is brought up in Hindu traditions, it is unthinkable to step over a shrine with shoes intact. But I thought that’s what being in Shiv’s home is like. There is no superior or inferior, not even Gods. There’s chaos. And there’s Shiv. And that’s all that matters.

MKC1 - Love Thy Neighbor

‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’ Matthew 22:39

 

I am not the most religious of people. But I am no stranger to ‘loving my neighbor’. During my time in Mumbai I praised the Lord for placing me opposite to one of His (/ Her / Their) finest creations who, for the longest time, remained blissfully unaware that her kitchen had a window overlooking mine. Along with 20 other kitchens in our apartment complex.

 

When people ask me what got me through the lockdown, I simply say, “mere saamne wali khidki mein ek chaand ka tukda rehta tha.” Two months later she saw me gawking and the curtains finally came down; and so did my rental agreement. And I found myself in the most progressive city of the 1980s – Kolkata.

 

It is often said that the destitute of this era are better equipped and live longer lives than the pharaohs of ancient Egypt. Kolkata used to be the most progressive city in India in the 1980s and the second-most important city of the British Empire (if you’re wondering what was the most important city, don’t worry, so are the British). In the 21^st century, Kolkata remains the most progressive city of the 1980s. And it is as alive as the British Empire is in India; or in Britain for that matter. While the country and the continent moved ahead with the times, Kolkata held on to the 80s and stood still. It was the classic case of an immovable object colliding with – nothing! So my emotions would be understated in saying that moving back to Kolkata after 13 years was unnerving. In reality, was outrightly nerve-wracking.

 

But this series is not about Kolkata. Nor, regrettably, is it about my oblivious neighbor from Mumbai. This series is about my new neighbors; the ones who taught me what it truly means to love thy neighbor.

 

My new neighbors are opulent, ambrosial, pulchritudinous, and perspicacious people. Basically, I would use words for them that Shashi Tharoor might use for praising someone; while letting them and everyone around them know how moronic they really are.

 

I had always felt that living opposite to my Mumbai neighbor was like living in Holland. Now living with my new neighbors feels like living next to France.

There are two kinds of people in the world. Ones who know where, what, and why Holland is, or would at least Google it after reading these words. The other kind would come to be my new neighbors. But we’re getting ahead of ourselves. We need to start at the beginning.

 

In the beginning, God said, ‘let there be light.’ But that is wrong, mostly because we are living in post-2014 India. Hence, in the beginning, Lord Bramha opened his eyes, and 150 trillion years later, I came back to Kolkata at a marriageable age.

 

My family had been living in the same building for the last 30 years. Why you ask? [Enter Sheldon Cooper] In the summers, that building faced the least amount of electrical outages usual to Kolkata. Even the outages were normally supplemented by an in-house generator powerful enough to operate fans and occasionally, even computers. The apartment was directly in the path of a south-Kolkata cross breeze created by opening windows at the north and south walls. There were two TV sets – a big one with an Amazon Fire Stick in the hall and a small one in the parents’ room with an Airtel set-top box. The big TV was close to the dining table at an angle that is neither direct, thus discouraging conversation, nor so far wide to create a parallax distortion. In my ever-changing world, that building was a single point of consistency. A place where I always came back to after living nomadically in some obscure corner of the world. If my life were expressed as a function on a 4-dimensional Cartesian coordinate system, that building at the time of my birth would be (0,0,0,0).

 

I am sorry. I got a little carried away there. But this is a ruse. Writing that paragraph ensures that the people reading further are aware of the modern civilized world. This also ensures that my neighbors will never read beyond these words. Hence, I will not be a victim of mob lynching. Another reason is to tell my readers - PRICE NEGOTIABLE.

 

So in the beginning, I was happy with my home. And as most 30 year olds of my generation would agree, if you’re a gleeful independent stable 30 year old living with an Indian family, then you’re not going to stay happy for long.

 

My family realized that my building, which had produced a fine specimen of society like myself, was no longer fit to raise kids. I also agreed that my existing building was no longer fit to raise my senior parents. So we decided to move elsewhere. Somewhere with a basketball court for kids, yoga room for my mom, and a swimming pool for myself. Can I swim you ask? How is that relevant for enjoying a swimming pool?

 

With these considerations in mind, we chanced upon an apartment, 300 meters away from our existing building. It was everything we were looking for. It had a high ceiling that relatives would be jealous of and we would be clueless about how to use (size matters). It had a garden on the second floor that I imagined my mom would spend her afternoons in. Or I would, in case my mom didn’t. It had a swimming pool - on our floor! And as my Tinder location settings would tell me, the place was “vibrant”. I was floored. So was the apartment. In Italian marble.

 

So 3 months and a 20 year mortgage agreement later, we were the owners of 1DA, Manikala, Kolkata.

 

That’s when we met the neighbors.

Dance with me

Dance with me

as the world plays symphonies

of time and distance and love and longing

hold me close to you

do not let me go

let me melt in this embrace of yours

when nothing else matters

but knowing that I am yours and you are mine

and in a moment that is honest

let me feel your breaths coming closer to mine

till there’s no you or me anymore

 

Dance with me

as I look into your eyes

as I draw you close to me

hold you, touch you, feel your presence

let me preen your eyes for the fire I’ve searched so long

let me hear your voice for thoughts long lost

allow me to seduce your soul

failing which, let me steal your dreams

failing that, let me be the obsession of your thoughts

failing that, let me be your pillar of support

and failing even that, let me have known a moment

when I knew your hand was once in mine

 

Dance with me

in the rain, among the meadows

by the river or under the lake

but ignore the beauties nature bestows

unless a crackle of thunder draws you close to me

ignore it all, and only feel my presence

as I have lost the concept of the world

finding my whole world right before me

And if all my moments were to make me choose

I’d not skip a beat before picking the one

where I found your head in my lap

and found my lips on your forehead

and my fingers intertwined with yours

a light breeze across my face

and my heart ready to jump out of my chest

barely able to restrain myself

from declaring to the sky that it has bestowed upon me

a truly wonderful moment for once, a moment

that I shall always remain indebted for

just enjoying the privilege of sharing one honest moment with you

where you were you, and I was I

and the universe simply refused to matter

GMBA

Something from long ago. When the Sun first started to set on a bright world, and winter began.

GMBA Speech

Peers, Classmates, XLers, lend me your short attention spans;

I come to pass gyaan, not to gather it,

The gyaan that seniors give, lives after them;

The work is oft interred with their jobs;

So let it be with you. The noble CRISP

Hath told you to make a giant CV:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath you answer’d it.

Here, under the leave of Jittu and the rest—

For Jittu is an honorable man;

So are they all, all honorable men—

Come I to cry in my funeral.

XL was my school, harsh and vague to me:

But Jittu says it will be alright;

And Jittu is an honorable man.

He had brought many students in to XL

Whose loans did your CBI account fill:

Did in this Jittu seem ambitious?

When the the batch have cried, Jittu hath ignored:

“Alright” should be made of transparent stuff:

Yet Jittu says we’ll get placed;

And Jittu is an honorable man.

You all did see that on the brochure

We thrice asked him about the placements,

Which he did thrice ignore: Was this honor?

Yet Jittu says we need not worry;

And, sure, he is an honorable man.

I speak not to disprove what Jittu spoke,

But here I am to speak what I do know.

You all did never know him, not without cause:

What concerns you now, to withhold us?

O judgment! thou art fled to brutish beasts,

And men have lost their reason. Bear with me;

My heart is in the coffin there with this course,

And I must pause till it come back to me.

 

But yesterday the word of Abraham might

Have stood against you at JLT; now lies it there.

And none so brave to do him reverence.

O masters, if I were disposed to stir

Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage,

I should do Jittu wrong, and Mishra wrong,

I will not do them wrong; I rather choose

To wrong the dead, to wrong myself and you,

But here’s a mail from the ID of Jittu;

I found it in mine, ‘tis his promise—

And they would go and kiss his ass

Yea, beg a toenail of him for memory,

And, dying, mention it within their wills,

Bequeathing it as a matter of joke

Unto their leisure.

 

Have patience, gentle XLers, I must not read it;

It is not meet you know how XL fooled us.

You are not wood, you are not stones, but men;

And, being men, bearing the promise of XL,

It will inflame you, it will make you mad:

‘Tis good you know not that you are his trueborns;

For, if you should, O, what would come of it!

 

Will you be patient? Will you stay awhile?

I have o’ershot myself to tell you of it:

I fear I wrong the honorable men

Whose daggers have stabb’d us; I do fear it.

 

You will compel me, then, to read the mail?

Then make a ring about the corpse of GMBA,

And let me show you those that made the batch.

Shall I type? and will you give me leave?

 

If you have CVs, prepare to tear them now.

You all do know this JLT: I remember

The frst time ever we came on;

‘Twas on a winter’s evening, in Shere Punjabaxi,

That day we overcame the borders:

Look, in this inbox came Jittu’s mail through:

See what a rent the envious Mess made:

Through this the well-beloved Abraham stabb’d;

And as he pluck’d his cursed words away,

Mark how the hopes of us follow’d it,

As rushing out of doors, to be resolved

If Jittu so unkindly knock’d, or no;

For Jittu, as you know, was our angel:

Judge, O you BM/HRs, how dearly Jittu fooled us!

This was the most unkindest cut of all;

For when our noble PlaceCom saw him stab,

Ingratitude, more strong than Your powers,

Quite vanquish’d him: then burst our faint hopes;

And, in his office muffling up his face,

Even at the base of the Admin building,

Which all the while remained silent, great GMBA fell.

O, what a fall was there, my XLers!

Then I, and you, and all of us fell down,

Whilst bloody treason flourish’d over us.

O, now you laugh; and, I perceive, you feel

The dint of pity: these are gracious laughs.

Hearless souls, what, laugh you when you but behold

Our loans invested wounded? Look you here,

Here we are ourselves, marr’d, as you see, with traitors.

 

Good BMs, sweet HRs, let me not stir you up

To such a sudden flood of thought.

They that have done this deed are honorable:

What private motives they have, alas, I know not,

That made them do it: they are wise and honorable,

And will, no doubt, without reasons stay mum.

I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts:

I am no poet, as Dadlani is;

But, as you know me all, a plain blunt man,

That love my career; and that they know full well

That gave me public leave to write and post:

For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth,

Action, nor utterance, nor the power of pen,

To stir men’s blood: I only write right on;

I tell you that which you yourselves do know;

Show you sweet GMBAs’ wounds, poor poor dumb mouths,

And bid them speak for me: but were I Jittu,

And Jittu Gupta, there were a Gupta

Would ruffle up your spirits and put a tongue

In every wound of GMBA that should breathe

The stones of XL to rise and mutiny.

 

Why, friends, you go do you know not what:

Wherein hath we this deserved your loves?

Alas, you know not: I must tell you then:

You have forgot the will I told you of.

 

Moreover, XL hath left us in foreign walks,

Different teachers and new buildings,

On this side of campus; it hath left us,

And to our heirs for ever, common trifles,

To plead to you, and be isolated.

Here was a XL! when comes that realization?

 

Vishal Gupta

6 Oct 2014

A Storm Brewing

You know that moment

right after the break-up

When you’re full of love

but have lost the one you could pour it on

Your heart is heavy

you wonder how we got here

You miss, not the person

but how you felt

Yearning, to feel it once again

you look at the phone directory

Someone. Anyone…

Who may be able to understand

what’s going on in your heaving heart

lest it bursts out of your chest

He sits solemnly alone in a room

this book has occupied his evenings for several days

engrossed, he instinctively reaches for his phone,

checks for messages. Nothing

He returns to the book

A quiet moment has gripped the room

Like the one right before the rain

Like something is about to happen

A ring. A name. A face. Memories.

He smiles before accepting, savoring the moment

He says hello, anxiety speaks from the other side

He knows some terrible ill has befallen

and she needs to be heard

Her heart is heavy with emotion and words are difficult to find

She made the call but cannot tell him of the dreams that haunt her

Instead, she tells him about her day

How she spends time watching a lot of videos

And is unable to wake up to face the next day

How she’s gained a few pounds recently

And how she’s determined to lose it again

And suddenly she apologizes

For now she understands how he had felt once

She understands now, his love for her

She doesn’t want him back, as he is still the same guy

She knows he won’t take her back, as she is a changed woman

He realizes her heartbreak, but chooses not to mention

instead he sticks to listening

it’s been long since someone has heard her

and longer since he’s had the sweet ring of her voice

Life seems to have humbled her

and she sounds like the girl he was once in love with

She needs to be told all is well with the world

and she is safe as long as he’s there

But he’s lost the right to say that long ago

If only he could hold her once again

She would know she never left his thoughts

And find home in the comfort of his arms

He finds it easy to forgive her

She realizes he has moved on with life

That’s what people do, they move on

Time heals everything, but does not spare the pain

She will heal too someday, she knows

But not today, today she wishes there was no time ahead at all

Today she wishes for just a moment, a moment with someone

Someone to tell her that her world has not broken apart

And that’s what she sought from this call

Her mood has lightened, her heart has not

she will find the pillow wet in the morning again

for he might have forgiven her

she’ll take far longer to forgive herself

A song appears in his head out of nowhere

a song he thought he has long forgotten

something they had shared long ago

something he hadn’t touched since her departure

he couldn’t place it at once

but like a strong sea current rushing to make love to the ocean

it quickly took shape

“So close to me… feels so hard to breathe… so hard to hold back… let’s just take it slow…

Just a kiss on your lips in the moonlight…”

Vishal Gupta

9 January 2020

Dance Bar

I write this post as a log about my first trip to a Dance Bar in Kolkata. I’d refrain on commenting on how I got there and any moral implications. Judgement is in the eye of the beholder. My story, is about the scene my unexperienced eyes saw.

The place is hidden behind a Sony showroom. The way to go is a lane protected by a tough looking uniformed security guard. But he doesn’t ask any questions. We seemed like the kind of people who knew where they were going. The lane covered with old unoccupied buildings led us to a door which was transparent to the old Hindi songs playing inside. We got in to find the place was jam-packed except for one unoccupied sofa-set right in-front of the stage with a board proclaiming the words RESERVED on it. We haggled for a bit and ultimately agreed that we’ll move if the people whom it was reserved for arrive. The manager gave in and we sat.

Sitting down, the room sunk into my system. I am no stranger to discos, but this place had a darker aura. Maybe because of the smoking or the kind of crowd. It was as big as any medium scale restaurant with a small bar in a corner and a stage, towards which everything was pointed. Flashy disco lights changed the colours of things everywhere. There were tables in-front of each seat which didn’t seem to be made to support too much food. People usually had ice, a few drinks (usually a mug of beer), and a few snacks on their tables. By the way, the Paneer Tikka was delicious.

I realised that the music was not being played but was from a live performance. I’m no stranger to world class concerts and famous bands and I daresay, this vocalist was extremely talented. Accompanying him were 3 instrumentalists beside the stage. But that’s not where my attention was. I noticed 3 girls sitting behind the singer. 2 in short red western outfits and 1 in a green Sari. They seldom made eye-contact with the crowd. They were busier in typing on their phones and chatting among themselves. On either side of the singer were 2 poles which surely weren’t meant for civil sturdiness. The singing went on for a while, which though was good, was not what any of us were there for. Meanwhile, a waiter was going around with a wad of 50/- notes to anyone who called him. He’d go to a guy, and change any note (usually few 100/- or 500/- notes) to fresh 50/- notes. Later, he’d take the tips to the girls from the customers and point towards the customer who’d made the generous gesture. Also, more girls kept coming in till there were about 10 girls sitting behind the singer on the stage. I realised a few things about their dresses. (I really don’t care I you call me a perv. I was in a dance bar after all. All the judgement to be made is already out of the window)

• Barring one, they did not expose their legs. They wore saris, lehangas, and leggings (some netted)
• Only one wore a dress which exposed her legs. While sitting, she covered her legs with some kind of a cloth
• They didn’t show too much cleavage. Not as much as I expected anyway

Soon, the dancing began. Some lanky guy in a red t-shirt with a straight face came and pointed at 3 girls. Those 3 were to dance on the song which was started. These songs were played on a cassette rather than being sung now, as they had more beats and were faster. These were songs I hadn’t heard before but the dancers seemed to be conversant with them, as they lip-synced all along. I don’t think they were meant to, as they clearly understood that this was no dance competition. By no standards were they dancers which come close to the ones I had seen on TV or in live performances. They were just enjoying the song with the knowledge that their tips depended on how much the audience enjoyed their dance. This was an audience that got excited at every cleavage show or a sway of the hip. They didn’t need a salsa or a rumba performance. I, somehow was dejected. I expected better dancing at a dance bar.

My eyes moved to the girl in the short red dress. She was constantly pulling down her top to hide her navel. The skirt was as low as could practically go. The girl seemed very uncomfortable with her dress. However, she smiled the most among all the performers. Also, whenever the top moved up, a bit of her bulging tummy would show. And by a bulging tummy I don’t mean anything like the big tyre I travel around with. It was something like what Kareena Kapoor would put on for a Malyali movie. Something told me that the girls didn’t do their own shopping. I confirmed this when I noticed that the boots of all the boot-wearing girls looked exactly the same. It was then when I noticed that barring one, all the girls wore either boots or high heeled pin-pointed sandals. Even though I didn’t like the dance much, but I understand how difficult it may be to dance with a 4” pin sticking out of my shoe. But these girls were there to earn their livelihood, and it meant wearing unfitting clothes and giving their best on raunchy numbers.

I also noticed something which particularly moved me. Every time a new girl would enter, she would first bow to the stage before entering. These girls knew they were performers and the stage was a means of their lives. They respected it as much as anyone would respect their profession. Each time they’d get a tip, which always came as a 50/- note, they’d touch it on their head and hold it till the end of the dance, at the end of which they’d go back and put the earnings in a jute bag kept on their chairs. At one point I also saw the singer receiving a tip for a few notes. He touched the notes with his eyes and took them to a small temple hidden behind a large speaker. I was surprised to see a temple inside a dance bar. But making moral judgements here is not the aim of my post.

About the jute bags, I watched closely. All the girls had a medium-sized jute bag. The kind of one my Mom takes for vegetable shopping. On closer observation, I could read the word UNIVERSITY as the 2^nd word among the 2 words on the bottom of the bag. It was a bag by some University. Later I saw the word Institute on the bag. I don’t know whether these girls went to a college or were they just using the bags. I tried but I couldn’t comprehend the name of the University, which must’ve been the 1^st word on the bottom. In addition to that, on the back of the writing each girl had pasted a piece of paper, probably with her name on it to identify which bag belonged to whom.

I realised that at the end of the song, the girls always returned to their assigned chairs. They cheered for their friends on the stage and made gestures indicating they were looking hot and sexy. They weren’t all friends among themselves. Sometimes I could notice them staring at another dancer with menacing looking eyes.

At one point when a new song was started, 3 girls were called and 2 of them approached the same pole together. They seemed to quarrel about who gets to use the pole for a bit. The lanky guy who indicated whose turn it was to dance was called to settle it. The 3^rd girl offered one of them to use the other pole but by now it was an ego issue. The girls declined the offer and tried to use the single pole together. Obviously it didn’t work out and one of the girls had to go pole-less. Guess there’s petty politics in every job.

I wondered, even after the kind of job they were doing, it was still a daily life for them. If they ever felt ashamed or afraid of what they did, with time they must’ve learnt to live with it. They even had priorities about the type of dance they liked and maybe about the clothes too. Like any office environment, there were likes and dislikes, but were settled soon as everyone understood that the work is of paramount importance, not anyone’s ego. After all, no matter how demanding or demeaning a work is, after some time one learns to live with it and even make a few choices about how they like to do that work.

At one point, I had to… siphon my python. I looked around for some kind of sign, like the “His” and “Hers” words, symbols, anything. But I realised that I was unlikely to find one. This was not a place which would need to keep a dedicated “Hers” door. I finally got up and asked a waiter who directed me to a place right outside the gate of the bar. At about 10 steps away, were 4 urinals in a corner. That’s all they need here, I thought.

I noticed the crowd. While I did see some people who seemed rich, judging by their clothes; most of the crowd seemed to be an old working class crowd with faded untucked shirts and unshaven beards. And while this does not go for some people, most of the people there seemed to be too self-conscious. As if afraid to be spotted there. I don’t think it was fear or shame or guilt. It was just the kind of thing you feel when you are on stage. However, they weren’t. And the girls who were actually on the stage seemed to be gaining confidence with the minute.

Yet, the dancers hardly ever made much eye-contact. They saw themselves, other dancers, their friends, floor, poles, air, but rarely did they glance at the public. They weren’t too concerned about their expressions either, which to me forms a very important piece of any dance. But then, bar girls didn’t really get money for their expressions. Although, now that I think of it, the ones who smiled more seemed to be getting more tips.

After about 90 minutes there, a man came and sat down beside me. He had the air of a regular and smoked what my friends later told me were hard cigarettes. The waiters also seemed to know what he would like to drink. He soon sent a small wad of notes to a particularly energetic girl who was the only girl dancing with bare feet, allowing her to make some moves impossible with heels. The waiter told her who has sent the tip. She looked and gave a knowing smile. It seemed like she knew the man. I wondered if her acquaintance was limited to tips on the dance floor or went beyond it.

I wondered who these girls were. If they were girls who were seeking work in the acting business, their dancing skills surely would come in the way. They were all using new Samsung phones, meaning they knew a bit of English. Or were these girls who simply failed to make a living on their own. Or were these girls the ones disowned by their families, maybe born without one. Or maybe each had her own story of how she got there.

I tried to look closer to make out something from their faces. I noticed a few tattoos on their arms, but wasn’t able to read them. I wondered what religion they were from, but this was a place without any religion. For the customers, lust was their religion and for these girls, their work was their worship. I left with the immortal words of the great poet Harivanshrai Bacchhan in my mind

मुसलमान औ' हिन्दू है दो, एक, मगर, उनका प्याला,

एक, मगर, उनका मदिरालय, एक, मगर, उनकी हाला,

दोनों रहते एक न जब तक मस्जिद मन्दिर में जाते,

बैर बढ़ाते मस्जिद मन्दिर मेल कराती मधुशाला!

Long Years

Meeting after long years, their eyes were filled with tears

‘I’ve missed you so much,’ he said to her through his fears

But alas he knew, neither wanted for them to stay together

She was no longer the girl he knew, and so he wouldn’t take her

Neither would she agree, for he had remained as was he

In the hay days of their companionship

they were each other’s reason to live

For lonely men and women lead a life devoid of purpose

and there is no being living ever more deplorable

But soon love fades and bitter feelings emerge

as neither was willing to accept, that love takes effort

The reason for living became the bane of existence

sense of duty prevailed, but will to live did fade

And so they parted ways, never to be interfere again

as a memory he would remember her, but no more

and she would attempt to forget, but flashes would remind

Of the curse they now both carried, and would for life

And whenever life would remind me of his curse he’d laugh

for humor was all he was left with once drained of tears

When she left, he mourned for a long while

time moved on, and wounds burned incessantly

and sorrow turned to rage,

but twas not the end of his punishment

It worsened still and nothing was left

except for humor, and he learnt

that rage follows sorrow, and comedy follows rage

Once he was done, and he turned to the heavens for solace

for his options were to break down and give up

or to stay up and fight to his imminent end

But Gods offer no condolence, which is the trade of man

They made a hole in the ground and pushed down further

Scraping the pavement with his face, pulling out hair from the scalp

and just when he felt it was all over

God would land another thunder on his unsuspecting back

And it was then when he decided, that he would go down with honor

He would continue to fight till his last breath

And he would keep breathing, and make each breath count

For things had a way of eventually getting better

if he just kept breathing for long enough

And so he walked, searching for his happiness

Through the town where she came from

Walking barefeet in a city of broken glasses

Believing in one thing and then the next

and then believing in nothing at all

for he was over the fairy tales of the world

which people celebrated in groups

so as to not be labeled as lunatics

In such worlds his lack of beliefs were an abomination

and he accepted his existence as abominable

But once he happened to chance upon the sound of her voice

Turning around, he found her pitying for his deplorable life

She was no longer the girl he knew,

and he had remained as was he

Vishal Gupta

5 December 2017

Something Old

Met someone new, felt something old

I have lately have this “newfound” desire

of going back to old familiar things

Watch movies I’ve watched and liked

Read that cult classic over and over again

Watch the epic movie that stunned audiences

Meet old friends at old familiar places

and have conversations we’ve already had

I constantly look for the next thing

The lists of life grow long that take a lifetime to get to

So I rarely allow myself the luxury of repetition

“Once done must be well done” is the motto

But only lately, I have had this desire

Desires that come alive again, which had once grown old

like laying on the roof and watching the stars again

Going to a familiar place and watching the sunset again

Watching the moon, playing old games in its light

And watching young lovers sing songs again

Over the world, my heart had to roam

Now I seek something a little closer to home

Holding her in my arms again

Feeling her kiss that I've dearly missed

The familiar feeling of her flesh on mine

So natural as if was meant to be

Knowing, in her presence, that I was “home”

For "home" is not a place, it is a person

It's knowing she is mine and is safe with me

Vishal Gupta

25 Jan 2018

Bag of Memoirs

I have a bag of memoirs

It contains stories from the past

Marksheets of a time when I was lost

and drawings of friends I used to collect

Shirts that had grown dear to me

and testimonials of family

The first tool I ever built

and the last book I had written

Lately, the bag has grown heavy

and I don’t look at it too often

My stories travel with me every day

But the bag stays at its place

So I surround myself with antiques from the past

hoping to live in the glory of days gone by

Some day, I’ll leave these possessions behind

and move on with my stories, and my bag slightly empty

I’ll carry the gifts I received

lest someone someday need reminding

But I shall not burden my shoulders with memories

My soul shall stay full with them

And if a day should come

when my memories leave me by way of a tear

Then I’ll be all the more lighter

I do not mind

I’ll walk along looking for newer pastures

For that is all there is to life

to love a lot, to live gently

and to gracefully let go of things

not meant to be forever

Vishal Gupta

26^th July 2018

Nostalgia

It has been a long time since

I have been where I wanna be

It has been a long time since

I have seen what I wanna see

It has been a long time since

I have felt as I wanna feel

It has been a long time since

I have lived as I wanna live

A long time since I have felt,

the presence of my mother with me

the belief in her voice

in everything regarding me

Her every action for care of me

Her every thought for the better of me

All I can remember now are the tears

when we had parted

and her attempts to hide them from me

A long time since I have had

those fatherly hands to support me

those calm ears which understood me

those ages gone by, which made me what I am

those struggles of agony to make my future light

those brief periods of tension, which worked for better relations

those gentle eyes emitted serenity

that peaceful face displayed divinity

Oh how on earth can I repay the people

who gave me life as it is

A long time since I have been

with friends now forgotten

the moments with small joys

and periods of silence which went by

the cherished youth shall be remembered

even when its fragments disperse

for each will carry memories

of golden times in their hearts

I could not tell them what I felt

And we parted unknowingly

And made a mutual bond to remember

the times when we were together

The days we left is all I seek

them back wants the creature in me

I know that I cannot redeem my past

and my destiny does not allow that in my path

so I rest patiently remembering

the faces that once were with me

A long time since I have held

the small hand of my little sister

and talked my heart out

with feelings and joys and pains

and when those eyes

understanding every word I say

Not interrupting and letting me speak

To lessen the burden from me

I wish she was here with me

So once more I could tell her my pains

But alas! that time has gone

when I had someone to hear me

A long time since I have een

those twinkling eyes gaping at me

Her hand I held once and she had blushed,

my very existence wanting to be with her

To see her face to see her laugh

to hear her voice to feel her presence

to smell the fragrance of her har

to see her innocence to feel her breath

is what makes survival easy now

for the desire to meet her again

shall put me up for a long time

A long time since I have talked

with the teacher who taught me to think

the man who taught me to use my power

the man who taught me to fight my weakness

the man who made me what I am

the man who believed me in everything

with whom I felt so free

with whom I seek to be

I need my teacher yet once more

to ask for advice to take me again

into the realms unknown to me

His faith in me is my strength

and I try to live up to that

His teachings guide me in sorrow

His blessings guide me in strength

It has been a long time since

I have been what I was

I have lived as I lived

I have thought what I thought

I have loved whom I loved

I have laughed as I laughed

A long time since

I had faith in myself

I held head high and challenged the sky

But one day I will be back

and re-attain all I lost

It will be soon and I will be better

and we shall be paid by Almighty for our struggle

I will be back one day

I will be back one day

Vishal Gupta