Two Rattraps

This life, that I am
already standing 27 years ahead of,
with little achievements and assets to count upon
I only have degrees, even of which I haven’t yet payed the banks back.

As I look back to see…
so many years have passed since being YOUNG,
and, so many DREAMS have died since I’ve become a GROWNUP.
From the benches where there were cheerful friends around,
I am now sitting on an alley,
and there are human robots on either sides instead of walls.

The LOST YOUTH, or the EMPTY MANHOOD, whatever you call them,
they hardly have time to think of their own lives.
They won’t feel bad either. Because—
they’re scared of dreaming and deprived of hope,
caught in a routine and joyed by their woman’s grope.
Dysfunctional they seem by their wiped off hairlines
Protruding, yet ignorant.

And not just around me in my work space,
I see theme everywhere:
at the barber’s–haggling over being a regular visitor,
at the cinemas, buying the front rows,
fueling their bikes with the cheaper petrol
and at the McDonalds, buying Happy Meals.

But, happy they aren’t.

Instead, burdened with fake promises to kids for new toys
And trying to defend all long lost arguments with the wife, in some of which,
they are accused of being incapacitated either ways,
or the jewels that they couldn’t yet afford.
and a few vacations that have been postponed year in, year out.

I think again, this time of the difference
that they and I carry, as of yet.
It seems I still have a head start
and a chance to do something better,
to make a little difference,
and to prove this existence.

I had once written, as a thought, that—
The biggest responsibility in this world is your name,
do not let its reverberations die from this galaxy.

But just if you let the dreams die, the soul might follow blindly.

In this bigger maze, where we hook breads to rattraps
We have our own cages too, but unlike the caught mouse,
that has only one, we have two:
one to where we head in the morning, and two—


where we return back at dusk.

From The Balcony of R-4

This February, on the 4^th, to be precise

I rented a new house. R-4,

that is what it reads.

A double story and park facing

It stands in the heart of a posh colony

surrounded by big houses and busy people.

Everyone here carries a little ego—

the maid that comes to cook my neighbor’s food, just cooks.

By that I mean, she doesn’t clean, or wipe or dust, even if she spills.

The stove is black, dark black with stains of spices, flour and turmeric mixed with oil, gravy and all that ever fell over it.

The sink is bad too, miserable. Black and sticky.

Then comes the lady who mops the floor, she just mops

she cleans the rooms and stacks the waste besides the kitchen, and

God knows, who picks it up from there,

but once or probably twice a week it is gone,

and the little dustbin that is all covered in a paint of vegetables and chicken gravy stands relieved and empty,

for a few hours, until the heaps start coming again.

There’s a balcony, too.

Which overlooks the road below, and a big house on the opposite side.

In that house lives a girl, probably in her approaching 30s

who is frequently visited by a friend, or maybe fiancée.

He comes in this navy blue Mercedes SUV,

Sometime after dusk, and when he halts the giant car, and opens the door to get down.

THEN! YES THEN!

There is this mesmerizing blue light

that falls from the bottom of the rear-view mirror

and projects the Mercedes logo on the dusty road.

Some five seconds later, it shuts off,

but, it has already cast its magic and seeds of desire sprout.

Then as he opens the trunk of the car, and fetches a hundred-rupee Parley-G packet

all stray-dogs come wagging.

I have seen his love for them, he feeds them every day.

And I have seen their love for him too,

when he leaves somewhere at eleven, they follow the car till the end of the road.

He leaves me in thoughts of luxury and of doing something good…

Well, that is all that's good about this place!