Tuesday, December 11, 2012

Whirlpool - Cinquain

                                        Picture from http://doctorwhite1995.deviantart.com


Feral enough…

Agitates the abyss…

Crafting vicious mayhem within…



fe/ral e/nough

a/ji/tates the a/byss

Craft/ing vi/cious may/hem wi/thin


Cinquain, despite its French-sounding name, is an American poetry form that can be traced back to Adelaide Crapsey. Crapsey, influenced by Japanese haiku, developed this poetic system and used it to express brief thoughts and statements. Other poets who popularized the form were Carl Sandburg and Louis Utermeyer. While the form does not have the extensive popularity of haiku, it is often taught in public schools to children because of the form's brief nature.

Most cinquain poems consist of a single, 22 syllable stanza, but they can be combined into longer works. A cinquain consists of five lines. The first line has two syllables, the second line has four syllables, the third line has six syllables and the fourth line has eight syllables, the final line has two syllables:






Poetry with five lines. Line 1 has one word (the title). Line 2 has two words that describe the title. Line 3 has three words that tell the action. Line 4 has four words that express the feeling, and line 5 has one word which recalls the title.

Line 1: Title Noun

Line 2: Description

Line 3: Action

Line 4: Feeling or Effect

Line 5: Synonym of the initial noun.

Sunday, October 28, 2012

Call it a date...A coffee date

                         Picture from http://ipad.wallpapersus.com/black-coffee/

'A lot can happen over coffee.' has been taken quite seriously by a few of the urban lot, it seems. You can find coffee shops being thronged by people of all dimensions, colors and moods, gossiping around with sugar and cream filled extra-large portions of coffee. Amidst all the chaos, you will always find someone, sitting by himself, eying for a piece of life in his otherwise uneventful life. I decided to have a feel of this whole fill-in-the-void concept, not in the desperate hope of an event or a date to spice up my life, but just to sit back with a book and a cup of hot coffee in a quiet surrounding.

To my dismay, I had chosen a public holiday for the experience and the place was jam-packed with our small eyed neighbors and a white family. Hey, this is not intended to be a racist comment. It immediately transported me to a recent conversation with my dad. He called me up with a concern about the rumors of violence leading to the exodus of thousands of north-east people from all the major cities. His worries were justified as I, to an extent, share a slight physical resemblance with them, which till date is an ancestral mystery. Anyway, we had had a hearty laugh over the phone that day.

I ordered a black coffee, pretty unusual of me, but so was this visit to the cafe  I occupied a table for two, with a chair holding the power of leaving your arse in a state  similar to a moment of pride after winning a free ride from a truck driver, fooling him with a puppy face, and later, cursing yourself for being a miser. The black leather sofas were already occupied by the giggling girls and the spiked haired blokes, the downside of visiting a supposedly hap place on a festival.

I took an extensive look around the room to find a bunch of girls, all dressed up (and nowhere to go), giggling endlessly, making me wonder if something can be hilarious of a sort that makes you chuckle and not guffaw. I have started considering the possibility that I lack lot of inherent qualities the fairer sex holds, for which I don’t have the tiniest of regret.

A couple, with A4 size papers lying all over the table seemed to be trying their luck on some kind of a report, immensely stressed and on the verge of bursting out on the other. The story of life.

A gang of cute guys were scattering their charm, talking in a language I couldn't decipher, but I definitely wouldn't allow that to act a spoilsport, coming in the way of my rights to appreciate the good looks.

My eyes fell on a girl occupying the table next to mine. With her laptop and headphones plugged in, she was savoring her alone time. I could say that from the expressions on her face - at peace, with a tender smirk once in a while. Suddenly, out of the blue, an Indian guy, dressed in casuals and blurting out English in a fake accent approached her. They seemed to have met before but barely knew each other. With no hint of invitation, he made himself comfortable. He was loud enough not to be overheard, considering the level of concentration I am gifted with. He bragged about every possible possession he had or hadn't, to the recent break- up with his girlfriend, which clearly was an intention to declare himself single. Poor girl’s desire to be at peace went haywire. I assume he had been following her and landed up at the same place, at the same time with no company. Or he may be the kind I mentioned in the beginning, the desperate kind who visits cafes to have some action in order to make his life interesting.

I ended up reading a single chapter of the book I had expected to finish the very same day, but I won’t complain. This entire episode reminded me of Peter Frampton’s song:

People Over The World
We are the same
Just different colors
We have one life to live
So much to give and so much to share
There is love to be found
Just look around
There's happiness there.

Saturday, September 29, 2012

Blessed (Part I)

When a mother, who works for 16 hours - five days a week, travels in the most hideous conditions, dealing with the most unpleasant and unwelcoming people on this earth; who gets half a day off from her work on Saturdays, giving her a little time to spend for herself, makes herself present, every Saturday morning, at her daughter's school in order to write notes, borrowed from the high scorer of the class for her (mother) to dictate them to her (daughter) during her exams, as she is unable to read on her own due to low vision.

Friday, September 28, 2012

Blessed (Part III)

When a brother protects his sister from the pranks being played at, even worse, fun being made of; at the same time, finds ways to boost her confidence and helps her overcome the strange fears she holds.

Thursday, September 27, 2012

Blessed (Part II)

When a father builds a relationship of trust with the pan wala, the garage owner and the man selling ice cream, falling on the way of his daughter's school, just to make sure she stays safe in case an unfortunate event occurs.

Friday, July 20, 2012

The Rat Race

A simple object (A pipe) can teach you the most important lessons of life

Don't give up on your values,
To win the race;
Don't crush your peers,
Keep up the pace.

Thursday, May 10, 2012

My Diary (The Lost Muse)

Letting your muse fade away is not less than having a miscarriage. It feels like losing a child before it has stepped into this world. You build dreams over it, the dream of bringing it to life and nurturing it, the dream of finding yourself through it and see it turn into a fully grown being.

I've been going through the same trauma since months now. Desperate enough to write at least a line, I used to sit down every night in search of words that could lend shape to the thought that struck my mind during the day. To my dismay I ended up losing the muse altogether.
I wonder if being obsessed with perfection or the chaos inside is responsible for holding back what deserves to have an identity of its own.

Thursday, April 19, 2012

An Angel Born

An angel born,

Accompanying the euphoria,

In the devout form.

When she turned three,

The jubilation fizzled out,

For she could not flawlessly see.

Conquering the impediment,

Did she work wonders with utter verve,

For she led her life with sheer contentment.

The triad is a specific form of tercet. The origins of the triad are Irish and Welsh. A triad is a poem composed of three tercets. It is a consideration of three things and their effect on a person. Welsh versions of the Arthurian legends make heavy use of this form.       

Sunday, March 18, 2012


Dejected and destroyed, he pleads for death,
Withered it stands, with the head held high,
With the hope alive, it faces the sky,
When shattered and abandoned, it still holds faith,
For petty pains, you whine, why?

Monday, February 13, 2012

My Diary (Then and Now)

The journey between what you once were and who you are now becoming is where the dance of life really takes place.“ This quote by Barbara DeAngelis exactly defines the last year and a half of my ever so seemingly uninteresting life.

The moment I laid my foot on the land of Pune (March 2011), it gave me a sneak peek of the bumpy ride ahead. The unwillingness of coming to Pune for the intended purpose had already sucked the fun out of moving to a new place for the first time,making me officially tagged as a grown-up; and no accommodation added to the woes, leaving me with no option but to spend a day on the road, cursing myself for not booking a hotel, owing to some ego issues. This desperation led me to settle for a PG, which made my life a suffering for a month . But, like I quoted above, the journey had started, the journey into myself. What ensued thereafter was life changing, not remarkable for the people around, but for me, yes.

The whole idea of pushing myself to like and excel at something I have absolutely hated for years , without being paid, for indefinite time period; for the sole reason that I didn't have the guts to take the plunge into the unexplored territories made me suffocate each day. But the fearful, indecisive and the people pleas-er I was, I continued drowning myself into the invisible ocean of dis-satisfaction, anger and chaos within, only to end up making things more miserable than I had started with. But this entire episode was a blow on my face to make me face the fact that there is no point adding days to life, just to be in the comfort zone which actually doesn't even, by any means, match your own definition of comfort.

While I was silently dealing with this trauma, I discovered what had subconsciously been bothering me since the day I had started pondering about the whole hole-in-the-heart and no-courage-in-the-ass syndrome I was suffering from.. With no opinion at all and no decisive power, I had based my belief system on what I had been taught rather than experienced. It indeed is a lame existence. A person who doesn't hold his own opinions invariably rely on the external sources, making him prone to a confused and handicapped life. Voila! Know your problem? Consider it half solved. For the rest, read 'work-in-progress'.

Came December and I was sent to Bangalore for a month long training, which gave me an opportunity to experience the 10 days I would take back to my grave. An 8 days vacation, stretched to 10 filled with amusement, adventure and the moments which succeeded in leaving an everlasting impact on my life, my first Road Trip. I would hopefully try to come up with a travelogue I have been promising since almost a year now. It was a life changing experience. It altered the way I perceive life. The roads could teach me what 25 years of schooling and the nurtured and protected life couldn't. It charmed me into actually believing the cliché - The joy lies in not knowing what life has to offer but to keep moving ahead with the hope of reaching the destination, savouring the ride. Also, the roads less taken can lead you to the breath-taking landscapes making all the pain and the struggle gratifyingly worth.

Like Lao Tzu said,“A journey of a thousand miles must begin with a single step.”, mine has just begun with the first step of figuring what I expect out of my life and that none except me holds the right to decide the direction to be followed to live a fulfilled life.

Wednesday, January 18, 2012



          When the shadows of darkness blind you
         And life seems hollow,
    Let the ray of hope guide you through,

        HIS divine plan you follow.