Wednesday, April 2, 2008

The Last Battle

the last battle

The grey sky wears a pallid haze
A faint eastern glow soaked in rain
I walk ahead, forlorn and so lost
A broken soul, an empty mind trenched in pain

'Twas the night, that hour of din
Blinded by hatred, fighting with blind compassion
Vanquishing my foes, spewing bullets in daze
I remember, those dying eyes and lolling heads so ashen

Death hangs in the air now, it moans and sings
Ravens and kites pecking at human entrails,
The echo of gunfires has subsided, the war's now won
Yet lost, a scared battlefield, as somewhere a mother wails

For the nation's glory, I butchered many a soul
Now, engulfed in ignominy, the soldier in me wanes
I mourn the death of a brother, I mourn the death of a son,
In the folds of silence, I now pray for peace, for love that remains.

[Writers Blend entry for the month of April, based on the theme 'War' ]

Tuesday, April 1, 2008

Guest Blogger: Thinker-Girl


The most curiousest, most delightful thing happened to me yesterday.

When I talk about the Esbjorn Svensson Trio, I do so with the reverence that most Gods recieve. So there I was, sitting opposite this wonderful woman I had known for all of two days, mind-boggled when she told me that she "studied weet Eysbyern at the Royal College of Music". Yeah, she said that. And then she gingerly ripped another morsel of roti (swedish pianists are ambidexterous, forgive my sarcasm) as though nothing had happened! When she was done chewing the thing, she smiled at me and said, "I didn't know E.S.T was famous in India. I like his music too. Esbjorn always had a wonderful way of playing". I excitedly explained to her that the chances were likely that I was the only person in India who had heard of E.S.T. Before she ripped the next bit, she quickly said, "You have good taste in music."

Chew Cecilia, chew. While I drift into one of my mindtrips. My favourite pianist, wow. So I'm connected to Esbjorn Svensson. W O W!

What's that? Your brother's name is Esbjorn as well? Charming.

But, I mean, he's human too, right? Of course people would know him. But then again, imagine the odds of that - a swedish name, intonation unheard of in this country, my favourite pianist, Svensson! Unbelievable. And you, jazz-singing angel from the west, nordic energy come to stir my love for music anew, indifferent to all this veneration, look at you! The web of life is so intricately simple. Six degrees of separation afterall then. Or less.

Ah! listen to Vineet in the other room. He chooses the piano over lunch.

My second favourite without a doubt.

"Yes, he IS a musical genius in the making, isn't he?"

He'll be my Svensson someday...

Thursday, March 27, 2008

Hope For Change

Thursday, March 20, 2008


by David Guer

"Here". With tears streaming down her face, Dawn, my wife of five years, stormed into my office at work and tossed a list on my desk. "I need you to stop at the grocery store on your way home. I have to pick up the kids."

"What's wrong?" I approached her, but she waved me away.

"You never talk to me, and you expect me to tell you what's wrong? Forget it!"

"Dawn, please. Sit down and tell me why you're so upset."

"Not here. Later." She left before I could argue further.

I didn't try to stop her. Dawn knew. Somehow she'd discovered the secret I'd concealed for months. I'd fallen in love with another woman.

Dawn and I had been high school sweethearts. I couldn't wait to marry her. But our marriage soon began to unravel. Close ties to her family, who lived nearby, constantly interfered with our time as a couple. Dawn didn't see the need to separate from her parents and put me first. She ran to them when we had a disagreement. If we went out for dinner and a movie, she invited them along.

Over time, I began to feel like a child waiting to join a kickball team, raising my hand and shouting, "Pick me! Pick me!" Jealousy grew, poisoning our marriage.

In a heated argument one night, I demanded, "If I asked you to choose between me and your parents, whom would you choose?"

Without speaking she answered my question.

Four years into our marriage, Dawn and I had drifted apart. I'd grown weary of being rejected, emotionally and sexually. Her excuses for refusing my sexual advances ranged from fatigue to lack of interest. One night in bed, I massaged her back and legs, knowing it was a turn on to her. She responded with a perfunctory kiss on the lips.

"Not tonight, David. Maybe tomorrow." She rolled over and went to sleep, leaving me dejected and hurt.

Before long we were having sex only once every couple months. I envied my married friends who described frequent, healthy sexual relationships. As my resentment grew, I began to wonder what I'd ever loved about Dawn.

A change of scene
Needing a change, I enrolled in a local community college. I met Stephanie my first semester. We attended several classes together. I learned her father worked for the same company I did, and Stephanie and I both had a child the same age. She was stuck in an unsatisfying relationship with her live-in boyfriend; I was disillusioned in my marriage. We connected instantly, sharing long conversations over lunch, in-between classes, and sometimes even during class.

Second semester, Stephanie and I didn't have any classes together. Deprived of the opportunity to see and talk with each other, we started to chat over the Internet. I also created a new e-mail account strictly for our correspondence.

Our instant messaging began as a way to communicate during class, similar to the way I'd passed notes as a kid. But the sessions grew more frequent, and soon I was chatting while at my job and late at night while doing homework. Our physical separation provided a false sense of security when our conversations and e-mails turned gradually more flirtatious.

Stephanie stood out from other women I knew. She was free spirited—intelligent, funny, and carefree. But most important, she was attentive and non-judgmental. As our friendship grew, so did my romantic feelings.

Inside, though, I was conflicted. Though I knew I was breaking my vows, I felt Dawn's rejection justified my feelings for Stephanie. I often cried out to God through journaling and poetry. I knew he'd forgive me if I repented. But at the same time, I blamed God for allowing my marriage to fall apart. And frankly, I wasn't ready to repent.

The great divide
Sensing the growing chasm between us, Dawn sought ways to spend more time together, clearing her calendar of events planned weeks in advance. She made certain we ate supper together and cooked my favorite foods. I stubbornly resisted her efforts.

"How was your day?" she'd ask when I came home from work.

"Fine," I'd reply, then ignore her. Although I knew I should work on my marriage, I was still angry about Dawn's loyalty to her parents and her sexual rejection of me. I wanted to hurt her as badly as she'd hurt me.

Months earlier I'd planned a romantic, 5th-anniversary trip to Cancun. As my relationship with Stephanie intensified, so did my desire to get out of the trip. One week before we were to leave, Dawn and I had a heated argument.

"We may as well cancel our trip to Cancun," I said. "I don't want to waste the time or money when all we do is fight."

Shocked, Dawn began to sob.

I cancelled our reservations the next day.

Four weeks passed. One day at work an instant message from Stephanie popped onto my screen. "I need to tell you something, but I don't know how."

Replying back, I urged, "You can share anything with me."

"It's really personal and I don't want to look foolish."

"Okay," I said, "if it makes you feel better, send me an e-mail."

Sure she was going to confide her feelings toward me, I logged onto my e-mail account. I read her message, savoring every word.

"The last several weeks have been great," she wrote. "I know you're married, which makes this a lot harder." My heart pounded in my chest as I read on. "I've realized I have feelings for you. I often imagine what it would be like to kiss you."

Elated, I replied back, "Me too."

For the first time in months, I felt needed and wanted. I looked forward with anticipation to kissing Stephanie. A few weeks later, at a remote picnic spot, we shared our first kiss. My heart said I'd found paradise; my head screamed, What are you doing? Although we never progressed past kissing, each time we kissed the pull to go further strengthened.

As I continued to withdraw from Dawn, she became angry. "You touch that laptop more than you touch me," she complained.

"Welcome to my world," I muttered, remembering her sexual rejections.

"David, I've tried. Won't you ever forgive me?"

"You've pushed me away for years. It's too late to fix things."

I thought about Stephanie, how she gave me the attention I craved. She soothed my wounded ego with compliments and love notes, filling a void in my heart. I began to believe she was my soul mate. I was in love.

Walking a tightrope
Late one night I was instant messaging Stephanie, when Dawn sat up in bed.

"What are you working on?"

"Homework," I replied.

A message from Stephanie popped up, and I quickly minimized it.

"What was that?" Dawn asked.

Adrenaline rushed through my body. "An Internet advertisement."

I knew my sneaking around was wrong. I buried myself in work and school, no longer wanting to be home. Fearing my relationship with Stephanie would be discovered, I limited my contact with family and church friends. I knew I should end things between us, but I wasn't strong enough.

Six weeks had passed since Stephanie and I admitted our feelings for each other. One night after skipping class to be with her, I returned home to receive a call from Alex, a family friend. He asked if I'd meet with him.

"I've seen changes in you," Alex told me when we got together. "Your priorities have shifted. You're investing far more time in school and your friends there than in your wife and son." He proceeded to share how, as a young husband and father of three, he'd cheated on his wife with a female college instructor. "David, I can see my past living out in you."

For some reason I confessed my relationship with Stephanie, and that I was ready to leave Dawn and our son, Drew, for her. Alex listened patiently, making one request—that I allow him to arrange for Dawn and me to meet with a marriage counselor. I promised I'd think about it.

Secrets revealed
The next day, Dawn confronted me in my office. Alex must have told Dawn about Stephanie.

I stewed as I drove home from work that night, bracing myself for the confrontation to come. How dare Alex tell Dawn!

When I arrived home Dawn's face was puffy and tear-stained as she prepared supper. After an uncomfortably silent dinner, I tucked Drew into bed. Walking downstairs, I found Dawn sitting on the couch, waiting. I sat on the floor and said, "Is there anything you want to ask me?"

"Who is she?" Dawn asked. "How long has this been going on?"

I told her Stephanie's name and that we'd been involved for six or seven weeks.

"Do you love her?"

"I think so," I admitted. "I'm not sure I can end the relationship. How did you find out?"

Dawn started to cry. "Alex told Mom and Dad. When I stopped by their house this afternoon, Mom was crying. They didn't want to tell me what was wrong, but I guessed."

It figures, I thought angrily. Once again Dawn's parents had come between us.

I felt I was on trial as I confessed everything—that I'd become emotionally involved with Stephanie through e-mails and instant messaging, and that the affair was on the verge of becoming sexual.

I hoped Dawn would give up on us. Since I didn't have the courage to end our marriage, I wanted her to do it.

When I revealed that Stephanie's mother attended the same woman's group as Dawn, her control snapped. "What?" she yelled. "It's her?" Eyes flashing with anger, she ran to the basement. Grabbing a plastic baseball bat, she beat it against the stacks of Rubbermaid containers and cardboard boxes.

"You're nothing but a liar!" she wailed loud enough for me to hear her upstairs. "How could you betray me like this?"

I stood in the kitchen, torn between anger and shame.

You drove me to it, I thought bitterly. You chose your parents over me, so I chose Stephanie over you.

Dawn finally came upstairs, red-eyed and exhausted. "What are you going to do?" she asked.

"I don't know."

"I'm willing to work through this," she said. "But it's your decision. Either you end your relationship with Stephanie, or it's the end of our marriage."

The next five days were the darkest I've ever experienced. My secret was out. Our family and church friends knew what I'd done. Inside me, a spiritual battle raged. I replayed the notes, the cards, the conversations, and the physical attraction that drew me to Stephanie. Though ashamed, I didn't want the fantasy to end.

A few days later I received a letter from a respected friend. I wept as I read her loving admonishment. "I fear that if you turn your back on God, Dawn, and Drew, you'll forever be haunted by deep regrets and wounds that will never heal completely. Yes, God forgives, but we must bear the 'blisters of the heart.'"

I wept most of that night. Dawn stayed with me, comforting me.

The next day I knew what I had to do. I e-mailed Stephanie that I'd decided to work out things with Dawn and was ending the relationship. "Please don't contact me anymore," was my final statement.

Stephanie responded angrily. "I wish you'd made that decision earlier so I didn't end up hurting people I care for!"

Two days later Dawn and I entered marital counseling. As we talked, I was able to make Dawn understand how deeply she'd hurt me. "I felt as if you loved your parents more than me," I confessed. "I'm so tired of feeling rejected. So I decided it was less painful if I pulled away from you."

"I'm sorry I made you feel that way," she replied. "I'm completely committed to fixing our marriage, whatever the cost."

As we worked to bridge the distance between us, physical love became a catalyst for our healing. "I need to be close to you," Dawn told me. "I feel as if we're becoming one again."

While it took just weeks for my heart to stray, restoring our marriage took much longer. At times I questioned if staying with Dawn had been the right decision. When we fought, I'd recall the good times Stephanie and I had shared, and I was tempted to pick up the phone or e-mail her.

Dawn had doubts as well. "I still don't trust you 100 percent," she confessed nearly two years later. "Sometimes when we fight I wonder if you're still sneaking around."

More than five years have passed. Rather than involving her parents in our disputes, Dawn now seeks counsel from two godly women. They help her see when she's right, when she's wrong, and how to grow in her role as a wife.

Though my job requires that I correspond with colleagues, male and female, through e-mail and instant messaging, I limit my conversations to work-related topics. If a conversation drifts to a personal tone, I end it. I also meet with six other men to share, study, and pray on Sunday mornings.

As Dawn and I continue to rebuild trust, we're committed to being honest about our feelings and thoughts, with God and with each other. We still have our tough times. But with the support of friends and our commitment to God and each other, we're growing to better understand, know, and love each other, as God loves us.

Saturday, March 15, 2008

Hotel Chevalier

"Whatever happens in the end, I don't wanna lose you as my friend.
I promise, I will never be your friend. No matter what. Ever."

Thursday, March 13, 2008

Surely Something, Dr. A !

Oh, Dr. A

Oh, Dr. A
There is something (don't go 'way)
That I'd like to hear you say.
Though I'd rather die
Than try
To pry,
The fact, you'll find,
Is that my mind
Has evolved the jackpot question for today!

I intend no cheap derision,

So please answer with decision,
And, discarding all your petty cautious fears,
Tell the secret of your vision!
How on earth
Do you give birth
To those crazy and impossible ideas?

It is indigestion
And a question
Of the nightmare that results?
Of your eyeballs whirling,
Fingers curling
And unfurling
While your blood beats maddened chimes
As it keeps impassioned times
With your thick, uneven pulse?

It is that, you think, or liquor
That brings on the wildness quicker?
For a teeny
Dry martini
May be just your private genie;
Or perhaps those Tom and Jerries
You will find the very
For inducing
And unloosing
That weird gimmick or that kicker;
Or an awful
Of unlawful
Marijuana plus tequila,
That will give you just that feel o'
Things a-clicking
And unsticking
As you start for celebration
To the crazy syncopation
Of a brain a-tocking-ticking.

Surely something, Dr. A,
Makes you fey
And quite outré.
Since I read you with devotion,
Won't you give me just a notion
Of that shrewdy pepper-up potion
Out of which emerge your plots?
That wild secret bubbly mixture
That has made you such a fixture
In most favoured s.f. spots!

Now, Dr. A,
Don't go away

Oh, Dr. A

Oh, Dr. A

Friday, March 7, 2008

My Own Private Idaho

Providence divine wears a semblance of derision
Deified and revered, alas! humanity's blinded vision
At His slight behest, Time sprints to oblivion
But such a frailty as mine, yet strong, scales his own eon

Hopes lay scattered, each bit mirroring a broken soul
A fountainhead's societal dream to fulfill, life's quarter did I troll
The palette stained with colors, the pregnant canvas awaiting a stroke
But the dream fleets away, a dark haze skirts my mind as I smoke

Mirth and sorrow, rage and passion, enveloping my solitary existence
Yearning for Their love, but each passing day nurtures strong resistance
Friends and foes, such a one sided coin I flipped with ease
A few harsh lessons, my innocence plagued like an incurable disease

As seconds trickle through, each rivulet of life meanders to a culmination
The fraternity sails by, bidding farewell instills a sense of elation
Seated on the bank, as I gaze at ripples resonating in unison
I see Providence divine, wearing that semblance of derision

Tuesday, February 26, 2008

An Ophidian Tale

Download the song here >> Naagin - The Lady Cobra

Thursday, February 21, 2008

Fast Car

"You will weep and smile
And see heaven in the headlights"

Monday, February 11, 2008

A Wonderland Fantasy

[From the mail archives]

Friday, February 8, 2008

Hip-Hop Police / Evening News

Chamillionaire takes on multiple roles in two new videos from his sophomore album, Ultimate Victory. First he plays a perp (alongside old-school icon Slick Rick) who is arrested by the Hip-Hop Police. In Evening News, the rapper is an anchor and field reporter, taking jabs at America’s idea of newsworthy headlines. Did anyone else get a Dave Chappelle vibe while watching Evening News ?

Wednesday, January 30, 2008

Guest Blogger: Anupama

And none will hear the postman's knock

Without a quickening of the heart.

For who can bear to feel himself forgotten?

~ W.H. Auden ~

An aluminium letterbox hanging inconspicuously near the electricity meters. An address book in my shelf. My writing pad and my favourite Parker. The post office opposite my school. The 5-rupee Indian postage stamp with a picture of a Leopard Cat on it. My Camlin glue stick which I wouldn’t go to school without. Bits of paper. Memories.

At a time when teenage turmoil had thrown me into consuming confusion, these letters were paper boats that stood the roughest storms and delivered me to the shore. At a time when the flock around me was alienating me, a few birds chose to take me under their wings and helped me fly higher than ever before. At a time when most were becoming frogs in the well, I found bits of paper that fluttered in with perspectives of different worlds. Each a Hitchhiker’s Galaxy. Each a small universe on its own. Together they formed my universe, a world where I thrived and grew from a tender bud into a sunflower. A sunflower that found sunlight streaming in through the white pages.

Over a course of 5 years I received plethora of letters in envelopes of all shapes and sizes – small blue ones, long white business envelopes, khaki envelopes, pretty Hallmark and Archies envelopes. Over time I learnt to recognize the hand-writing on the envelopes and know who had written to me just by looking at my name through the dirty glass window of the letterbox. Over time I realized who had enough time to sit and write a letter to miles-away-me and sign it off ‘Affectionately’. Over time I found true affection through that dirty glass window.

I learnt more through my letters than through all of my textbooks. I debated about the existence of Neutrinos, heard the latest buzz from colleges in Chandigarh, learnt how to recognize embassy cars and about life in Saudi and Japan, learnt how to write my name in Arabic, had a peep into the cultures of Lakshadweep, Manipur, Goa, Pondicherry, the Andamans and many such states in India, poured out teenage angst in my letters and learnt how to deal with those crises, I grew up with some of these friends – through school, through junior college and college - without meeting them more than twice in about 7 years yet relating better to them than to anyone else around…I found true friends through the India Post seal.

I was 16 and just out of school dealing with the novelty of college when my father suffered kidney failure and was in the hospital for days together. For the first time in my life I was afraid that I might lose him, I was lost having to pretend to be brave being the elder child and yet longing for someone to hold me and let me cry. When the friends around me heard the news, I do not remember anyone even keeping a hand on my shoulder just to say that they were there. And then I remember two of my far-away friends sending letters by express mail offering comfort, relating similar experiences when one of their parents was in a bad state of health and how they dealt with it. They called frequently to check how I was doing and I was able to stand tall in that period of my life only because I had my friends backing me irrespective of where they were on the map. I owe them more than they know and their letters have been the pillars of my life. It was a time when I found strength in fragile papers.

Today, with the intrusion of e-mail and instant chat, I keep in constant touch with these friends yet, in the flurry of HRUs and BRBs, I miss those days when I used to be up till 3 in the morning writing letters, drafting and redrafting my replies, sending and receiving pictures and Christmas gifts, saving money to buy the best paper cards to send to my beloved friends and preserving the ones that they had sent. I miss being down with cold and fever and fishing out old letters to read as pastime and feel warm. I miss craning out of the balcony at 3 PM to see if the Postman had come and running down to my aluminium letterbox as soon as he left to see if someone had written to me. And I miss the words…"Dearest Anu"

Monday, January 28, 2008

Guest Blogger: cK

Listen to Cigarette Smoke by Arctic Monkeys

Sunday, January 27, 2008

Hear My Voice

Download the song here >> Voice

Thursday, January 3, 2008


She lay in ruins. The Angel. The valley wore a desolate look as the wearied sun longed to disappear over the horizon. The bleak landscape resounded with her incessant sobbing. The demons had long been gone. Her hapless outcries had been vehemently suppressed by their demonic exploits. A crime so heinous that left her shattered. Her modesty knifed at mercilessly. Her soul hid itself in a coccoon of ignominy. The Angel lay still in a pool of blood, wide awake, tears meandering down her cheeks only to fade away...

Read my complete article at Writers Blend >> Unbreakable