Reflections

It's past 10 pm, lights racing past the tinted window of the bus, a shadow over the other side of the bus was speaking to me. I could hear it's voice, but inaudible it was.

It was not heard by the young girl, probably in her teens, sitting in a seat front of me, speaking over her phone. She was talking casually to her old friend, to whom she didn't talk for past two months, or so it seemed. She had a guy dump her recently. She says, "the guy who was with me two months ago, supporting me in every decision I took in my life, telling me I was beautiful did not stick to me when I said I cannot hold it. He just moved away saying, what's the point if you don't love me. And now, he does the exactly same affectionate thing to someone else. And ends up telling me that he's got into a relationship with her. He didn't have any fixed emotions." There was a touch of grief as she spoke the last sentence. I was listening intensely looking at the shadow. I could see her reflection look back to find an older guy, me, sitting behind her. She instantly pushes her strap under her pink top. The shadow said "Insecurity is a very strong defence. It makes you stronger, and less vulnerable. She is growing into reality. Turning from her fairytales. Gaze at her, make her stronger." I fix my gaze at her, expecting her to notice, but she's busy on the phone. I give up staring to watch around.

There was another lady, in her early twenties, may be. Clad in her black coat and skirt, over a white shirt, completely fit. She held her phone to her ear. Yes, she was on the phone too. I paid attention to her, eavesdropping is bad, but nevermind. She resigned to her job, and is moving to Singapore for higher studies. She was talking to her "baby" who was just asking questions to keep the conversation up. A why for a pause seemed his top trick to flirt. She says, "I am going to study Very large scale integration in my masters. Do you even know what it means. *pause* You used to call me a dumb blonde. See, I am not as dumb as you think I am. I'm even getting stipend and scholaships at NUS. *pause* I want to end working early, piling up dollars by 40, and getting into my swinging armchair by 50. *pause*" That eager shadow says, " look at her who studies for a settled life. People prefer higher studies to earn money. No one understands what it means. People plan as if life is their chess game. No one understands its more of a snake and ladders than it seems to be. Everyone thinks Steve Jobs is their role model and "connect the dots" is their only commandment. And that is why people don't want to live on this planet anymore.

The voice was inaudible to the third guy who sat on the last seat too. He was using headphones after all. The way he was making expressions on his phone confirmed the selfiesh addiction. All the world is losing its power of memory and time is the smoke of hash#tags. We are living fake lives.

We are turning education to be more about progress reports than progress. We are mistaking the dire need for support to be need for affection. We are creating lives wherein people look into the screen in their hand, wrapping a 800 metres building into 800 pixels and nothing more. The shadows stop speaking to us, because the screen is too bright.

Thanks for the eye-opener, Ash. You are the best critic I ever had.

I do what I want

Clad in branded plain black suits,

stamping clean and shiny new boots,

iPhone shining past their coat, 

into closed chambers some do float, 

paying in cheques they hate to count, 

piling pennies in their account, 

are these countless gentlemen, 

their dreams limited to the pen.

Some work in cool airs nine to five, 

for prestige and fame they do thrive, 

all they know is their own high, 

how happy are they, they do lie, 

they do things they never knew, 

and do nothing that is new, 

scientists they are, O hypocrisy, 

literate they are, such illiteracy.

There is a writer I see earning tons,

but his typewriter never runs, 

there is an engineer I heartily adore, 

he just works like a swinging door, 

there's a violinist I always love, 

she just plays on the top of a stove, 

all these people lost their dream, 

in the ill waters of money fame stream.

I serve those feeble gentlemen, 

by hatching their eggs into a lovely hen, 

I teach the fruits of masters of science,

because they gave it up in their whines,

I see my dreams not when I sleep, 

I know I don't make a cognizant heap, 

I too don't idle on a daily beat, 

I seek the delicacies of a cognitive treat.

I do teach, it's not any fault, 

I don't preach, my life isn't at a halt.

I am the one who knows I enjoy, for I am deaf to your taunt, 

I am the dream I saw as a boy, for I do what I want.

Monday morning 2

The last cool breeze towards the sea, over my face did it flow free.
The sun was up burning in glee, as I stood under the shade of a palm tree.
All the night did I restlessly walk, every party animal did I curiously stalk,
I heard them laugh and sob and talk, in voices of a kid who ate the chalk.

Red and black short skirts they wore, as high as one could call them a whore.
Their glossy lips in smiles that bore, in silence did their jealousy roar.
Smiles and hugs and kisses on cheeks, and more poses from the selfie freaks,
attention is what each one seeks, on a phone wherein no one speaks.

They met over tequila shots, and drank over like new mud pots,
as their gait stumbled from the spots, where their friends were but shiny dots,
each would kneel and sob the pain, till the mascara on silks did rain,
ditching and bitching is their complain, in the city which knew no rain.

The rich party had jewels rare, the hosts had their fair own share,
the profiles had some backs bare, the likes sprang up like a morning hare,
but none saw her passion tears, all knew fashion but none her fears,
none knew what was between her ears, none saw her soul but all her years.

Clad in the best leather jackets were men, whose bikes would roar like lions ten.
Their muscles knew rods more than pen, all of them met in the alien den.
They watch the ball being kicked and hit, they speak of how one stays fit,
they tell all stories of valour and grit, but none can speak in humorous wit.

They meet over the chilled beers, and turn into bulls in three cheers,
reds and blacks are their steers, and to the ladies their herd nears.
A couple of punches in the face, one trades the hash for golden brace,
some machine freaks would run a race, some would vanish in a witch's trace.

The rich party had cars of gold, the hosts had got a booty to hold,
changing was the man defined to be bold, over all drugs stealthily sold.
The valour was also put to stake, in the casino of the unholy mistake,
none knew why their muscle did bake, if not for the girls' eyes' sake.

Like its people who didn't know why,
like its birds that never fly,
like a beautiful moronic lie,
on a Monday morning slept Dubai.

Circle

The world is going round and round, 

and leaping always over the bound, 

the world is like a hungry hound, 

the meat of change is what it found.

We see men who lack all hairs, 

we see women who trekk in lairs, 

we witness when they are not in pairs,

studs to studs and fairs to fairs. 

We evolved to civilize the ape, 

from waters to juices of grape, 

from cottons to pieces of cape, 

from strong men to men who rape.

We don't see for our eyes are stuck, 

in the screens where colors' muck, 

that nature's clock had now struck, 

the hour when we inverse luck.

We can't dodge or we can't duck, 

we shall barter and hate the buck, 

we will go back to the wild fuck, 

it's all our luck stuck in fuck muck.

Dangerously dense

Travelling from Dubai to Sharjah on a Friday afternoon by bus for work, I boarded, along with a bunch of other passengers into a double decker which was already full. Standing was inevitable. While it might sound strange for the Emiratis who know me, I would like to reiterate that this is nothing new for any Indian. The bus has exceeded it's capacity by almost double the numbers. And then, I took critical notice.

Not every woman got a seat despite young n capable men were dozing and nodding in the seats. Not that I am against feminism or something, but UAE is one country where any woman is rarely deprived of seating in journeys. However, in contrast to the daily metro where women are more preferred to have a comfortable journey, the situation in the bus was more Indian. Also, a woman who had reserved for her better part failed to offer the seat to the standing woman. Oh, the irony. If people started the handkerchief reservation (rumal daalna) here too, I don't see any reason why should Dubai be any comfortable than Hyderabad or any other Indian city, if not for its scarce population. Yes, population density is the cause, and my concern. People who compare Mumbai to Sharjah, Delhi to Dubai, or Hyderabad to Singapore, welcome to the conception of population density.

We are speaking of population density. Look at the list of cities and you'll know the stark reality. Limited to Philippines (somewhat) Indian cities monopolize the list. Every Indian city has, on an average, one and a half times the NYC Manhattan. And we don't live in high rise. Exactly explaining the lack of proper space. Lack of proper space can affect human development in many ways. A few I try.

1) Improper roads, traffic congestion is common place. Even good roads tend to be worn out of excessive use.

2)Heavy slums, unhygienic residences, Improper supply of resources. A bad quality of life is evident.

3. Rapid rate of increase in population leading to further deterioration, like in Kolkata.

4. Increase in pollution of every kind, harmful practices, nature becomes unable to purify herself. 

5. Congested public transportation, longer queues, lethargy and bribery, unclean cities.

Many more can be explained by a social scientist, but this is the essence. I hope everyone realizes the need to support rural india to maintain the balance, and family planning, of course.

P. S. : India is my country. I love my country. I'm just trying to show the root cause.