Showing posts from January, 2014

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so I arrive here

i have come a long way from home
the bondage of home it has ever hard
in truth, recollection’s the only thing i have
memories have become the heaviest chain
and all my lives i have lived only in the heart
with those shackles and chains and fetters
there’s no place to turn to
the path oscillates between crimson and darkness
and seemingly there is more in life i can do
and so i arrive here

i had imagined, i had only imagined
i imagined about tall buildings
i imagined about the pastures so verdant
i imagined about the master of the masters
i imagined about love
i imagined about happiness
i imagined about good life
i imagined about us
i imagined about them
i imagined about you and i

so now when I arrive here
i started with a foreign fuck
what i imagined was not what i saw
what i saw was not what the things were
and the world is made of cold concrete
and the pastures are so deceptively dry
and i have been told to shit and make manure
and the masters are no different but their noses &…

How to Master Karate and Hindi Like a Pro in a Week

Freedom is acquired by conquest, not by gift. It must be pursued constantly and responsibly. Freedom is not an ideal located outside of man; nor is it an idea which becomes a myth. It is rather the indispensable condition for the quest for human completion.
― PAULO FREIRE, Pedagogy of the Oppressed
If you are from any of the Northeast (NE) states and living in New Delhi, there is a great news for you. This February 2014 is going to be an exciting month for all of us. With pressure from several NGOs, students’ organisations and NE-based women’s groups, the Delhi joint police commissioner issued a press release on 28 January, Tuesday. The law enforcers are conducting an emergency self-defence training at the Siri Fort Karate Club. The two-hour session of martial arts will be followed by an hour of Hindi-speaking class each day. The training is scheduled to be held during the weekends and gazette holidays, in the last week of next month.

Fact Check

A number of people—especially the youth…

The Politics of Art

Art for art’s sake—much more than a cliché—is a misconception. We construct reality through a seamless blend of arts and politics. This is the only way we can identify ourselves as a society.

A subjective statement, like that of art—on its own ground would be lacking reason.

However, we can get hold of the nuances in certain occasions—for instance, when we listen to music for music’s sake or perform for performance’s sake. The problem is in the deficiency of meaning. Reasons are too insufficient to tell us about ourselves. And we are never logical and always live in a chaos. We can arrange the narratives through a creative process. 

Again, it might sound like a contradiction that an element of this generalised term of art, like music, originated when man found leisure time and started experimenting with evolutionary-cognitive-and-whatever-growth skills. It was seemingly for its own sake and existed in an apolitical setting. Now it has grown to such an extent it can be sold and bought …

One Hundred Ways to Be Good

outside the only thing they want us is to be good
we are just too good, do the best we could
but when we go back home the world tempers
the smacking of goodness blurs
the parents are only interested in goodness
but what we search is beyond goodness, it is artless
talkative fathers have a thousand reasons:
the future is on us and the time only runs
and wake up before the world awakes
and what we can afford is only the occasional breaks;

and do this and that and this again and that again
it’s how in important functions we become chairmen
in the issues of the land
in the future of our self-made brand
but old man, we are just too high to listen to you
we are getting more than we can chew

so excuse the mothers too, all the mothers
we are better without the useless wisdom that slurs
what you can see in the morn is what we do the night
and the night is what we do in light, bite by bite
what you tell is too little but nothing we’ve against you
but we pity the time you lose in giving us a clu…

One January Evening

Revolution is growing
It grows with poppies
It grows with weeds
And the mother she smears
Her own blood in her children’s clothes
Revolution is growing
It grows with the stink
It grows with the garbage
And the people they cry
A loud wail nobody hears
Revolution is growing
It is inching towards the heaven
And add one more year to forbidden time
And ever the horizon is misty
If not for these crimson poppies with greens
It makes us so high we need no revolution
The only missing thing is a smoking partner.

At the End of the Day

The newspaper boy bring in paper every day
All he does in the world is to hand out paper each day
He lives on the paper; until one day he told me about his mother
His ailing mother needed medicine and he needed an advance payment
How would I know when all I know is all the bloody newspapers only?
Ever he disappears just after he hurls the paper at my door
His life is two minutes old a day;
When I go out to the general store to buy bread
I always see the storekeeper’s eyes quickly fixed
He got things to sell and he got money to count
The store is a universe
I don’t know if he has an ailing parent
And ever he disappears when I leave the store
His life is five minutes old a day;
And it is so scarce to see the wise folks
I wonder how old are the doctors and engineers a day
People are writing their stories
And it will be no surprise for the wise men
If they write their stories in blood
From a fool how they had to give up foolishness
Just because his family demands, his friends demand
The society demands too m…

Pelle Palem Panthou

You made the universe
But you had left the purpose
Now on my own
All I can do is to make a clown
Out of the things you told me you wanted me do
Out of the things you told me you wanted me not to do
And the circus is getting boring
Tell me there is some meaning in dying
And I will leave
With the narrative
With a story
So funny
So fuck off.

Number Blues

In the card shows a number
If only not my days were—
I’m a number

For the job I do
For my cloth and shoe
A number in the queue

A queue in the hospital
The life it is on an angle
The numbers in living are only so dull

Agonising, between the numbers
The line blurs
But ever the serial number appears

From day one to the last
The number trolls fast
And up to death, to ember, it will be a blast.

The numbers are counted in the death
The number of year’s the shibboleth.

We are called with a number
What we are, we call it a number.

Look East Policy: The Ugly and the East

Rewind to 1991. When India plunged into economic crisis, history was rewritten in bold letters. A new age was imminent and liberalisation, privatisation and globalisation, shortly the LPG, became the catchword. Twenty-three years down the line, the dynamic of politics has changed drastically, much more than it had in the two centuries of imperial rule.

In this context, we have a surprising element of the promising Look East Policy—an offshoot of the economic development process. That it took decades of waiting and watching to implement things, howsoever embarrassingly scarce, is no news if we look at the larger picture of negligence and apathy, which are synonymous to the Northeast India. This is also a region with the longest-running insurgent movements in the world. Most of the regional issues is discussed in the prestigious defence institutes. It is understandable but the deception is hard to ignore when we see even development issues are viewed from security perspectives.

An off…

From Where I Belong to

I come from the other side of the land
The sun shines fine through the pine
In our mountain there’s a fine line
’Tis lost in the bottom and the top
’Tis a twine of life and death, yet never know which
But I have no gun to show love
And I have no money to love my lineage

I come from the other side of the land
It’s all well to fly high, get stoned and drunk
Nothing’s wrong with us
Unlike on the other side
The snide, the obviousness is a pity
You see we do have some dignity
Our wildness and freedom puke on their ass-face
And they have stinking lockups
And they have fat asses outside shit-scattered with stolen notes

I come from the other side of the land
Killing is a mine run
So is dying
So it issurprise they have books
Thousands of books and rules and all
Murder and killing and innocence are different
These are as different as IEDs and grenades
Molotov cocktail should be our national emblem
Sorry the books are a farce
The greatest minds are suffering from amnesia
The rules should go dow…

What Happiness Is, It Is, and Is Not What It’s Not

This new year, life’s got a new meaning. Means and ends offer some sort of meaning to our existence. But we know we are far from knowing it completely. Leave aside the serious talk to the boring academicians, who never know how and where to stop. We can stop when we know a little bit of purposes and we can stop before it exceeds a known limit. Long story short, life is happiness. Others are just secondary.
“You will never be happy if you continue to search for what happiness consists of. You will never live if you are looking for the meaning of life.”
Seek Not, Just Feel

When the universe is so relative, though it is hopeless to see where it begins, we have the advantage to interpret the definition of living and happiness on our own. The freedom to expression is as contagious as the happiness; because we don’t even need a helping hand to comprehend it but just make a stylishly happy statement to ourselves and others.

It follows automatically that life is all about how …

On Leaf, Off Season

The leaf has shed for the new year
The spring’s due, but it’s no excuse
In the e’er moving surroundings
It’s always hard to find a spot

Mortality shows sympathy
All’s well until we come open
Kill for a country; that’s no wrong
And die as well and it’s so well

The leaf has shed for the new year
No killing, no dying would count

And it depends on no autumn
And us we are dependent
The line’s twisted as we are torn
So apart it is right in front

Living and making a living
And there’s no time to keep tabs on
The killers, the looters in us
And new year is just too hopeless

Clearly a stale meat’s more useful
Even if it’s just relative

The leaf sheds, for it is what it is
Yet we can’t cannot ignore it
And it depends on no winter
And no summer makes it complete.

Monologue Blues

How would it be
—You are hopeless
A life sans me
My dogs know it
And bark and howl
It's a tickle
You know it where
Around my arse
The mutts know it
You know as well

GREEN MEN IN BOOTS  Hear, hear, his mutts
But they are no match
From far we fare,
Our blood is real
More than your dreams
Motherland screams
It's louder too
Your bombs and guns
Your hopelessness
Yes, our's louder

LOCAL GREEN MEN  Your land's not mine
Our's not your land
For fifty years
It's been so long
We have waited
New greens for fields
New suns for days
We do, anew
The new's the old
Our guns know not

Double power
Double danger
It's double all
We come to loot
The cops too weak
We got to feed
The animals
In us you see
The worms, the germs
Eat all you up

In colour range
We are the grey
On luck we live
In fuck we swear
The looters loot
The killers kill
And us we live
One day shorter
Oblivion stares
The sheer contempt.



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