Dirty mind,. dirty body... what about soul?

The sun is out. Almost kissing the top of Qutub Minar. Today being Sunday, decided to sleep a little longer and skip the 4 a.m. walking routine. Stepped out of home when the clock displayed 6.10 a.m. with Zack in tow.

The fruit vendors were just unwrapping their wares to begin the day and the night sentry with a lathi greeted me as usual in the phal mandi. Half a dozen black puppies came rushing at Zack which I warded off deftly. Found the elderly security at the ICICI ATM in the marketplace was seated in his plastic seat with legs stretched. I have been seeing this gentleman for over a month now, except once or twice when a much younger security used to be guarding.

The elderly security also has a black dog chained to the ATM - perhaps as his companion which hardly moves or barks.

Half a dozen news vendors are busy sorting out sunday morning papers while a makeshift roadside chaiwallah is dishing out garam chai and 'fan' and rusk to the delivery boys. The Mehrauli bus terminus is almost empty and hear a conductor shouting 'AIIMS", 'New Delhi railway station' "connaught place' Three or four auto rickshaw drivers were standing outside their vehicles while their radios were blaring some old hindi numbers. "Shoo, shoo'' yells one driver at Zack which gives a royal ignore to him. A few early morning walkers seated on the parapet of Bhool Bulaiya - a 12th century old architecture curiously peer at me and my dog.

Zack dutifully drags me to as many pillars and tree trunks as pssoible to sniff and pee to mark its territory or as its identification mark. Hundred metres down the road, another pack of black and brown dogs come rushing out of the MCD car park and the Yogamaya Mandir - where the Pandavas conducted yagna during their vanvas - and Zack barks at them with equal ferocity. False courage, I presume. I know it simply cannot handle the pack. Still.... it barks at the top of its voice while I shoo away the pack to avoid any damages.

As I move towards Qutub, I sense a shooting pain through my legs. I stop in my tracks and bend down to check out. After a few seconds, the pain stops. I move forward and again the same drama repeats. Who's feelng the pain:Me or my body? is the question that pops in my mind. Why this confusion over body, mind and me? what's me? Is this 'me' different from 'body' and 'mind"? Is 'body' not 'me"? Is 'mind' not 'me'? I brush aside these thoughts and move ahead.

Near Qutub, I overhear a few elderly gentlemen-morning walkers talking about actor Shiney Ahuja and his 'consensual sex' confession to the Mumbai police. "His wife categorically declared that he is not that type - meaning 'rapist'," one bespectacled and baldy man was remarking. "Lekin, he would bed the maid if she agrees! What morals?" another chortled. "Poor lady - his wife who has so much faith in him,' I heard one of them saying. 'Dirty mind,' was another comment.

"Dirty mind" and 'dirty body' also. What about his soul? Is that also dirty? Don't think so. Soul is pure, unblemished. What our mind thinks and how our body acts has no impact on our soul. All of us nurse thoughts and indulge in various activities - including sec 37 of IPC. Luckily, each one of us is privy to our own thoughts and deeds. While deeds are monitorable by others, our thoughts are not. How many of us can claim to be 'pure' 100%?

Does Zack has a soul? It does, surely.

MEDIAMATTERS 2: 31 May, 2009 - Sunday

1. Walked into http://epaper.timesofindia.com
2. straight to astrospeak
3. Next halt – Delhi times page 1. Nothing interesting.
4. Delhi Times last page – Bollywood gossip. Nothing interesting
5. page 1 lead – lankan massacre toll story. Short on words, but good gripping aerial shots. Pix courtesy: Times,London
6. to edit page – nothing interesting
7. conversation with paul Coelho – decide to read. Not immdly
8. sports page – t20 world cup columns on fatique. French open story. Not reading
9. too many advts on sports section. News looks like fillers.
10. go to times life section – aditya rajkapoor (shammi’s son) first person account. Like it.
11. Paul Coelho interview with Bachi Karkaria – “I don’t understand how buying gossip magazines may raise the GDP of a country” says PC. It does, I believe. Chain effect. Bachi talking about crap being churned out and lapped up by public!
12. Try http://epaper.dailypioneer.com. Like Express, it still shows yesterday’s paper. Wake up, guys!

MEDIAMATTERS 1: 31 May, 2009 - Sunday

1. Began with www.asianage.com
2. checked veenu sandal’s tarot card reading of my zodiac sign
3. on the home page, found Pranab Mukherjee still being mentioned as “External Affairs Minister”, though he is the new Finance Minister. Of course, he was the External Affairs Minister in the UPA government in its first term that ended a few weeks ago. Habits die hard!
4. logged onto http://epaper.hindustantimes.com
5. The Australian episode of Indian students being attacked and Meira Kumar’s prospects of becoming the first woman Lok Sabha speaker in India did not interest me because I had consumed this news last nite on CNN IBN.
6. Skimmed other news – Wal Mart in Chandigarh, but did not read.
7. Went straight to sports page
8. Lead piece – Namaste London – liked the title. Did not read. Its about Indian team in London reaching for World T20 Cup beginning this week
9. Read Gavaskar’s column Extra Punch – the legendary cricketer does not miss a chance to give a solid ‘punch’ to the world cricketing body.
10. Sometime, I like to down pdf pages and read. It is much faster and easy to read because you don’t have to click and read each item. Moreover you have the liberty to enlarge font size to anything you like and read items of your choice.
11. Paris Open is on. Still not interested to read about it. Dunno why.
12. Excellent usage of visuals – editors know how to draw eyeballs! Lot of legs and cleavage show!
13. The third page of sports page on football. Lot of ads. Did not like the look of that page.
14. page 4 – lot of ads. Colors TV channel programme promotional ads – distraction for a serious reader.
15. went to Books page – read Coca Cola review. The book is by a friend – Nantoo Banerjee, former business journalist. Later he worked withCoke in India. He was a hard hitting guy. Well, the review says he has lost his original touch. By the way, another coke’s Indian operations are in the offing. Some American fourth estater is likely to land in india in the next few weeks. Watch this space.
16. World page – read about Susan Boyle, the singing sensation on “Britain has got talent’ (snippet)
17. Read the Sri Lanka story on the death toll – quoting UN official. Last night watched Walk The Talk – Shekhar Gupta with SL President partly. Will transcript when it appears in Express next week.
18. Vir Sanghvi column –on dynasty politics. Yes it is a major concern.
19. Indrajit Hazra column – Red Herring – xlent. Reading him for the first time.
20. Manas Chakravorty column – superb. Read him on livemint.com. HT has changed immensely over the years for the better.
21. straight to zodiac page.
22. HT City – KJO party news – good to know about patch ups. Why carry enmity too long? Better to bury them a.s.a.p.
23. Visuals tell the tale. Maybe. Abhishek-Claudia Cannes meet issue am talking about.
24. Enough of HT on Sunday morning – spent a little over an hour.

Leave Me Alone, Please!

What are you upto these days, madam?
I’ve no problem over you building
More than one residential block.
Certainly, not at my cost.

We never met since I moved in.
It’s no issue at all.
Heard you’re lazy and drone away
Most of your time inside a gilded chamber.

Seen your children buzzing around
All the time in my little house.
Sweet, and honey-suckled ones sure
I must admit.

The other day daughter showed me
Your black and brown mansion
From my terrace and quite impressive
I must say.

Well ventilated in a neat structure.
When expressed desire to meet the architect,
Daughter said it was none other than you.
Great guy, you must be.

Tell me, why you need another mansion?
The one I saw was huge to accommodate
An army, if I may say so.
Clueless I am.

On the eastern side of my balcony
I saw hectic activity with some preliminary
Survey work underway as your consultants
Busy exploring the ground and surroundings.

That was a month ago. Yesterday I was aghast
To see some structure in place and
A huge workforce in full swing –
Trying to meet some unspelt deadline.

Build as many mansions as you want!
I’ve no quarrels to pick.
But leave my walls and compound free.
Go and build your residential complexes.

How about the peepul tree
in the neighbourhood?
Or the Finolex drainage pipe
In Wadhwa’s four-storey building?

The choice is wide. Leave me alone.
I can’t move the Supreme court
To evict you out of my premises.
Wonder why I object?

The day your complex is ready
And families come to occupy,
My entry into balcony to watch
The majestic Qutub Minar will be over.

Can’t afford that simple joy!
Concede my request, Madam!
You can build elsewhere.
Qutub I can’t move for a better view!

You're My Sonia!

Catch hold of him tightly!
Lest you fall and crush bones.
No helmets and careless.
Not mandatory, so what?

Where were you all these days?
Vanished into thin air
With no trace whatsoever
Leaving me in a quandary.

Don’t do this again.
I’m a heart patient.
Can’t bear this separation
Anymore. Got it?


You, in the pillion,
Me in the driving seat.
You in the scooty upfront
And me in the car behind.

Don’t mistake me!
I am no loafer.
I know you, but don’t know
Whether you know me.

On road our paths
Criss cross daily almost.
Traffic signals provide
Extra opportunities for close ups.

Your aqualine nose
Reminds me of Jayapradha,
The southern siren
Satyajit Ray adored.

In colourful Salwaar kameez
Or crisp Canjeevaram saree
You’re divine.
Do you know that?

The way you tie hair
Into a bun or allow it
For a free flow sometimes
Know not how to describe.

Know not what you do.
Know not where you go
Every morning piled onto
Scooter with the gent in front.

You’re calm and silent.
Modern, but not ultra.
Sleeveless cholis, yes.
Faded denims, not yet.

My wife’s diamond nose-ring
Will sit on you nicely.
Your fingers from distance
Look empty. Thank God!

No engagement rings.
You’re a free bird.
Should be no problems.
The first hurdle cleared.

When you vanished for a
Fortnight, worried I was.
Getting married? When?
To Whom? Have I lost out?

Now that you’re back
I’m happy and glad.
Hold him tightly, baba!
Let you fall and crush bones.

The signal is green now.
Your scooter moves forward.
Me too behind the wheels.
All is well and smooth.

Must rush home this evening
And tell my wife that
You are my Sonia.
Perfect match for my son!

The X Factor

I have an appointment with God of death.
Know it is certain, but know not when.

This is one appointment I can’t cancel
Come what may when the call comes through.

Can’t tell my secretary to put Him on hold
Saying “I’m busy in a meeting for the next hour”.

Neither can I complete my power lunch with
The visitor from abroad at the posh restaurant.

He means business. I mean, God of Death!
His meter does not stop nor tolerate delay.

Can’t even kiss my sweet daughter at the
Dining table as He gently nudges me out.

No way, he can tolerate delay on any count.
If it’s time to go, you better go.

It’s unusual that I can’t fix my own
Appointment with Him. It’s He who fixes!

‘Take it or leave it’ is perhaps his style.
Who the hell is He to decide my exit?

Child, my father told before his own exit,
The appointment is fixed the day you were born.

I never knew of it. Neither you will know.
But it’s there that we cannot decipher.

The Doctor who wrote your birth certificate
Almost saw the writing on the wall, but seldom read.

As the nurse cut the umbilical cord linking you with
Mother saw the same. But did not understand.

Every night I sit at desk to write X minus one day
On a piece of paper and repeat the exercise daily.

Till I know the value of X, this meaningless exercise
Will continue, I tell myself. Mystery is it not?

Know of any mathematics genius who can solve this
Puzzle once for all to relieve me from tension?

RAMESH KUMAR

The writer lives just behind the 12th Century Qutub Minar, New Delhi, India

The Dark Room

It is damp and dark
As I roll over
Tangled wire-like stuff,
Kicking and keeling.

No one to my rescue, yet.
Piercing screams through
Parched throat bring no relief.
Written off already?

Cruel, if so.
How I manage in this
Cloistered leather cubicle
God alone knows!

She is restless,
Helpless. Like me.
I feel her, can't see her.
How long? I don't know...

Just a matter of days
Before I see light and life.
This is one room
I can never return to.

She's longing to see me.
So am I.
It is a long wait
In this damp dark room.

I live on hope,
She too.
We're linked,
Yet, not seen.

It will be over soon.
I wait for two things:
A loud scream and
A liplock with you, mother!


Published in www.motif.tk, an online fortnightly theme-based webzine

Romancing At Cafe Randezvous

You’re tall. You’re attractive.
Sing well in whatever language.
Sparse crowd at Café Rendezvous
Doesn’t surprise me.

Your solo performance is on.
Conversations puncture
The cool ambience
As I dig into some
Unknown Korean munch.

Without a care in the world
You’re on a roll singing like a breeze.
Wonder how you manage this!
Unconcerned and unmoved

Over audience apathy.
I keep glancing at you
Between bites and some business deals.
You’re engrossed.

Believe you’re singing for yourself.
If the audience don’t listen, so what?
Are you drugged tonite
To ignore the tasteless lot?

Don’t know, but can’t ignore.
I ponder.
An eye contact I try to see your soul.
I don’t exist for you, I presume.

Table cleared and bill paid.
I raise to leave towards door.
Legs motor me to you.
A warm handshake

I desire and you don’t disappoint.
Neither met you earlier.
Nor heard you till now.
Just one look and just one song

Is all that needed to change me.
Friends search for my
Hands to shake at the gate.
I hide them in my pockets.

How can I allow them
Rub away your fragrance
Etched on my palms
On this beautiful night?

Let them think I’m mad.
So what? I don’t care.
I’m in love with you
Till tomorrow morning at least.
Don’t disturb me till then!

RAMESH KUMAR

The writer lives just behind the 12th century Qutub Minar, New Delhi , India.