Saturday, March 31, 2007


Fried brown gold beer
shimmering with overflowing haze
and juddering against the lewdness in air.

The forlorn basturd takes a gulp
and follows it up
with a piece of juicy meat
dipped in mayo.

He enters into the world of
ashpalt swamped with vinyl.

Whoring jewels in blinkin lights
jasmine flowers and denim jackets
the shopping spree and discounted sale
curtains and garlands and incense
and camphor and broken coconuts
and the crowded coffee shops.

And behind all these happened
the birth of Kumara!

the Devi and the Junkie
metamorphosing themselves
from emptiness to form.

As worms and fleas
As Arthropods and insects
As birds and animals
As men and women.
And in each of those forms
they made love .

and inturn, each of these forms
gave birth to this
unending song.
and inturn, each of these forms
gave birth to this
unbroken verse.


He walk into the baazar.
One zillion bees
celebrating yet-another-b'day-eve of Kumara.

A few bees bargaining hard on the pavement
over a pair of rugged shoes.
And a few fees flying on top
with their hands held together.
A few buzzing round and round around the windows
there were a few frustrated bald king bees
buzzing restlessly infront of a garment shoppie.

And among these zillion bees
four stood out.

-- and that yippie
bryanadams santabarbara
tomcruise johnabraham
orkut radiocity maniratnam
Pop corn steamy hot cappuccino
---and an extended foreplay.

-- and that one complete man
bison jockey
with a smoothie silk tie
drucker kotler
rand bach
red-wine cnbc
low calorie
and power-fuk
Everything just-in-time
--High performance delivered.

--and that neo-anarcho-commie-lib
glossy scarf
scrunched kurtas
jute bags
nose rings
glittering eyes
film noir
chomsky gramsci
and ofcourse, Focault
--thank you,mam

--and that Jatamudi
Om teeeeee
rudraksha arm-band
Shiva tatoo
and that tripped-up-wanna-be-hippie-look
or that wanna-get-tripped-so-that-i-can-be-a-hippie-look
ericclaptn bobmarley
gandharva fatehalukhan
gokharna hash
goa trance
tantra mantra
kerouac burroughs
bergman bergson
zorba osho
--and one extended valley orgasm.

and ofcourse, the lonely
the passive observer.
trying to deconstruct
the thin long spun web
but gets choked while
trying to patronize
and patternize
the connecting patterns
but gets disconnected
from the rest
in the process.
Mapping the map
and presupposing the mapmaker.
And thereby,
practising active dualism!
That one forlorn basturd.


In front of tht forlorn basturd
around the round round table
the buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
of the bees.

'kill the fukin buddha, babe!
ur your own budda.'
yapped the complete man.
to the sleepy yippie.

'Yup Babe. I have no long hair
I have no pierced ears.
And I polish my shoes evryday.
yup. If you think
am a conformist, so be it!!!!
There is this level of cowardice
lower than that of the conformist
the fashionable non-conformist.

"I make money.
And I spend, bcos I can.",
he yaoppeed again,
while the yippie ordered
her next round of momos.

"I scorn at mediocrity.
Perfection, my dear. Perfection.
Thts my ideal.
Look at those buffoons outside.
Those gulls
who scorn at perfection
for the sake of travel.
but theyll go nowhere.
But, I, my dear.
I, the Jonathan, The Raymonds man
had put aside travel
for the sake of perfection
and I, my dear, I
can go anywhere.
Anywhere. my dear.
Anywhere. jus instantly.!
and That is freedom.
That is supreme freedom.
Each of us is
in truth an unlimited idea of freedom.
Everything that limits us
we have to put aside."

The momos arrived.

"Yup, am a ruthless bastard.
and yup, i do bend the rules
and make some dough. but fuk that!
truth is fukin fuzzy.
And I don't fukin care about tht.
I just act and
leave the rest to these divine verses.

"Thou hast power only to act
not over the result thereof.
Act thou therefore without prospect
of the result and
without succcumbing to inaction"

a humble being
an atom in the universe.
an universe fullluva atoms'


'Choothball..' , there came the Jatamudi.
suckin the blood outta people
and then U go on and quote Gita
to defend ur fuked-up, corrupted business.
And to conceal ur insecurity
bobbin outta ur blatant individuality,
U use Bach and tht chootia seagull."

"U bloody randieeeeee
to cover ur stinkin ass,
u use Rand.And Feynman.
'a fathom in the universe. an universe fulllof fatoms'
ROTFL. Jesus fuckin Christ."

"The dialectical world u decay in,
U fukin zombie.
No seagull will come to ur rescue.
Only hungry crows will
to smell ur rottenncarca-ass.
No Roark will snob-stare you.
And no verses in Gita
will redeem you from
your well imagined,
fuked up dialectical world."

"And I, the Jatamudi,
and I, the Jatamudi, from the junkies-own-land
will offer to redeem you.
And recommend you
the best self-help book for
all the zombies like u - 'DIE'

And then, the Jatamudi
tied the tie around the neck of the zombie
and shouted
'Ready Set.
Merry go
and round.
and round. '


'there is no harmony
only cacophony
no peace no love
no space no time.
all bloody fuked up'
said the Jatamudi to the Yippie gurl.

Steamed momos
Shanghai Chicken
Bloody Mary,
they ordered.

'the maddening pace
frightens me'
he confessed to the yippie
we would run away and
be flower children.
making alms by selling pastries
to the bloody tourists.

'okay, my love'
but, what are we goin to do tonite?' , the yippie asked.

'Here.Now. Here.Now.
'It's all so beautiful.
the little kids swallowing their sausages
the pampering lady and the pissed of husband
the pleading sales man
and the ever busy sales gurls.
Cramped pavements.Shops.
City lights.
It's all so beautiful.', he said.

the food arrived.
room filled with
the aroma of mayonnaise.

'Here.Now' , she said.
'Now.Here', he said

they smelled the food and
threw it outside the window.
and he poured mayonnaise all over her body
And thus, they started making love on the table.


'Boorshua' said the Neoanarchocommielib
'Enlightenment is totalitarian.
Enligtenment is bourgeoisssieeeeeee

'All the arty flatusus are inventions of the elite
how can there be harmony?
how can there be consonance?
when people are starving? '

'look at that textile showroom
and look at the people standing on both sides of the table
what do you see?'
the neo-anarcho-neo-commie-neo-lib asked
while the jatamudi blinked.

'Hahahaahahaaa, u bloody boorshua!
can't you see the women standing on both sides of that table?
the boorshua shopper gurl and the puny sales gurl?
can't you see?', he asked
jatamudi nodded, visibly pissed off for interrupting him while making love
'and what else do you see?
can't u see any other difference?
can't you see the difference between their tittties?
and how uniformly huge it is on the one side
and uniformly flat on the other side?
can't you see that u moron?'
shouted the neolib.

'the history of the world
and the history of the class struggle
is clearly illustrated, thus.hence proved', he said
and took the steel chair and banged it on the head of the jatamudi
and grabbed the mayo-drenched breast of the yippie
and shouts
"Abolish private property.
Workers of the world


the gross generalizer,
the forlorn bastard
got shitscared
after witnessin too much blood
after listenin to too much noise.
And ran outta the babel shoutin
'karl marx murgabadd.
jesus bastard bastard bastard christtt'


Coated with dew,
the asphalt started to blush.
Empty and pure
like a baby's foot..

the forlorn bastard,
running like a madman,
gasped for breath
and fainted and fell down.
Erroneously, he smelled the dew coated asphalt
and involuntarily
started licking it with frenzied delight.

He saw the first rays of sun
caressing the asphalt.
And then, slowly
cocooning the entire place
with its unbounded warmth.

And over the gliterring asphalt, he saw
left becoming right
and right becoming left.
And yesterday becoming today.
And today becoming tomorrow.
And Dawn metamorphizing into Eve.

He got up.
and infront of him,
unaware of any grief,
stood the oceanic sky
stretching with ceaseless joy
and undiminished mercy.


No comments: