Sep 20, 2009

Christening

I want to invent a name for this feeling. Something that is not Love but has all the basic ingredients.
Something that is like warm rum , which is sweet and silly but not strong and all the intoxication has gone out of it. It is what an invalid or an old spinster/bachelor who has never taken any spirits would appreciate and draw comfort from.
Something like an old pair of cotton shorts that has developed holes in all the wrong places but you love to curl up in it and read Robin Hood.
Something like The Murder on the Orient Express. Though you have read it a million times, you find something newer and thrilling each time you read.
It is a warm feeling. Not like a searing hot passion where you call out to your mate in the middle of the night and he comes to you from miles away on a motorbike or bullock-cart and tries to climb into your balcony and though it is against all reason, you go out to meet him in your best and skimpiest lingerie with the possibility of the Gurkha on the night-watch catching sight of you. No not like that at all. It is not that feeling where 80% of your head tells you to kiss this person / pinch his butt in front of old grannies just for the heck of it.
It is tepid. It is lukewarm. It is like the shower water when you are more than half-way through your bath and the steam has ceased fogging up the mirror.
It is like the last piece of cake left in the fridge. Probably old and going to turn stale and is nothing new, but you know that this one is going to last you a while because it is the last piece and your diet starts tomorrow and it is not so violently delicious that you will be tempted to swallow it in one gulp.
What does one call this feeling?

Sep 17, 2009

kabhi siyaahi kam pad jaati hai

kabhi kaagaz ki wasee dekhke sehem jaati hoon

ab haal kuch aur hai mera

na toh kagaaz ki hai galti

aur siyaahi bhi begunaah hai aaj

bus dil ki kami hai

jo beemaar firta hai

khwabon ke sheher mein

aur kabhi na poore hone waale khwahishon ke galiyon mein

jaise koi na-mard ,sirf apni jeb bharkar

firta hoga tawayafon ke mohalle mein.