Just.
Let it fly
and lie open
to sunshine
and the winds
of self-
abuse
and some
mercy
and some
hope
and some
fat
wads of
money,
to buy some
love and
goodwill and
some peace
and all the
other stuff
that
keeps
life
going.


Just.
Let it fly
and take
with it
all my miseries
and my pain
for ever,
to some
place dark
and lonely,
desecrated
with some
hidden kind
of meaning
thrown
around.


Just.
Let it fly
and divide
its time
between
life and
death and
some other
kinds
of fun
and some
different
types
of games.


Just.
Let it fly
and look
down at
the sleeping
crowds below
and say
Glory,
Hallelujah,
Praise the lord
coz we're
lucky and
insane
and
ridiculous.


Just.
Let it fly
and keep
wondering
where
the fuck
this shit
is gonna
take you
then say
Amen
to that
and that
and
the other
then just
whisper a
Goodbye.


Just…
Let….
It…
Fly….

Sky…
High…

Where
ever
that
may
be.


!!!!These words need to be sung, People!!!!
Neelu.

Your name was no mystery. Whoever saw you, first saw those turquoise eyes with their specks of gold. They also saw your smooth butter-biscuit skin. And your hair that changed colour with the different watches of the day. What made it unbearable for me was the fact that we--both you and I--were young, not yet eight, but somehow ready for love.

And then the movie happened to us. Actually, a scene from it that showed a just-married hero and heroine coupling like hungry animals. You looked at me and smiled. I smiled too. It was a sort of code. One that promised something new. Hot and tantalising.

The scene over, the movie held little interest for us, so we came out of the movie room, where the whole larger family was watching a Sunday film on TV, just days ahead of an uncle's wedding.

"You saw?" You were definitely the bolder of the two of us.
"Er… yes," I was a bit tongue-tied.
"We should try it sometime," you said, your thin red lips curling into a smile like a snake slithering on a still waters.
"Yes… we must," I said, my heart beating like grasshopper wings.

The grasshopper feeling was realised the next day. On a hot summer afternoon, when everybody was asleep. You had no fear of being caught. You probably had all your alibis in place. We were in an unoccupied room where only a curtain separated us from shame and exposure.

"We are just married, okay. And it's our honeymoon," you explained and started to strip. "Now you pretend you're taking my pictures," and you began striking poses I had only seen on poster models.
"Okay, darling, I am tired now… let's sleep now," you smiled your red curly smile again. "But why are you still wearing your clothes… take them off… it's our honeymoon, no?"
Soon I was naked too, trembling to the touch of your skin against mine. Naked we kissed and caressed each other. Till we ran out of ideas. So we napped naked before waking up and going back to the rest of the clan.

I was guilt-ridden, after all you were my sister, no matter how distant. But you were back to being your blithe self. You stirred something in all of us. In your heart you probably knew that you were the hidden reason behind a lot of fights between us brothers, cousins. And you'd play us all together and individually: catching, like a child genius, on our peculiar weaknesses.

Later as a teenager, I remember once convincing you to come home with us during the summer break. I promised you movies, music and some trips to the new water park in my city. But there was a hidden agenda. Of being able to finish the love scene that we started years ago.

But this time you were playing someone else. Another cousin from my mother's side. I sulked but I can't even say you were totally callous. You played me too, but whenever you found the time. And I regretted getting you with us.

When you left, you left with a promise of keeping in touch. And you did, but it was mostly to tell me about your current boyfriend.

Soon after our class XII results, we got news that you had eloped. The family was livid. Search parties were sent out in different cities to look for you. I was part of one too, more curious than vengeful. But it was all a wild goose chase. Your plans were like a film script.

It happened a few months before your 18th birthday. And as soon as you turned 18, you were married in a secret ceremony where no-one from our side of the family was present.

In the years that followed the beautiful rebel in you turned into a devoted housewife and mother and all our childhood fantasies were erased like chalk stories from a blackboard.

This Monday I got another piece of news about you. That you had left your husband and two kids... forever.

In these last six months of your life you had been like an upside down drip bottle, slowly emptying out of its contents to those around you. I never visited you in hospital because I didn't want to change my last image of you… But Pa did. And he admired your strength when you told him that you'd be back on your feet soon.

Strangely, last night you and I were kids again.

Pushing the envelope… playing wife and husband once again… again without a damn care in the world....

Goodbye and take care Neelu!
(Pic by Keshav C)

And I also carry a code. Unbroken. Unread. Puzzling. Fuck knows meaning what. Breathing down my neck like a pre-historic moth trapped in the amber of my skin, waiting to be born again... resurrected... as words and thoughts in blue dye.
It's been a year since I started blogging (here's proof!!). Bodhihop, unlike Rome, was built in a day. On an impulse, after reading blogs of friends and acquaintances. When I started, I didn't even know what a 'blog' meant but I went ahead nonetheless.

This year as a blogger has been fun. And eventful. Have attended several Bloggers Meets. Met bloggers of various persuasions and views, some of whom turned out to be celebrities of this underground and anonymous world. Also realised many things in this my first blogger year. And topping that list of realisations is the fact that blogging's about energy. The more you spend on exploring your mind and sharing its contents with people, the more you are likely to attract, by ways of eyeballs and comments. A certain honesty and candidness is, of course, a prerequisite. As is the ability to make connections: both in how you write and with those for whom you write.

Offline too, a lot's happened in this year. Decisions have been made. Choices, pared down to only the most exciting. And this month has been unusually 'electric' in that sense. My love life has placed me in a zone of depth and meaning, which is good. I celebrated my new birthday on 666, mostly by sleeping and yawning heavily when not. And also by waking up at around 11 pm to a world that seemed to be on mute. Six days before that, I submitted my sixth resignation letter, without knowing what I'd be doing next. What's more, my dismal bank records have entitled me to a loan of Rs 1.5 lakh (haha). This last one, however, has pushed me into the arms of a fresh dilemma. But that's another story.

Thanks to all these sudden changes my worried friends have begun suggesting alternative careers. These include: travelling (bet you didn't know that could be a career), writing a book, selling insurance, making an experimental film (yeah, the 'experimental' is important), becoming a travel guide, drug-peddling, gigolo-ing, driving a taxi, becoming a motivational speaker or a sex guru, selling Amway products and last but not the least important, taking sannyas. These options, as anyone facing so many would know, have thrown me into further confusion, which is not so bad as it could also be a career option. I could become a confusionary or something like that: giving very confusing advice to people willing to pay.
I BELIEVE...

that reality is essentially a metaphor...
for dreams... And that dreams are the 'original'
form open to subtle manipulations
from a higher consciousness.

Much like genetic engineering
changes the ARE-ness of beings
by manipulating DNA
dreams too change reality
by opening up possibilities.

The men or women who understand this fact
also understand the ways of reality.

Picture by Keshav C
Tags are a pain. But when they come through people you dig, you're left with little choice.
This one comes to me through
Methinks and Scout.

So here goes my SIX WEIRD-FACT list:

* I was a pyromaniac kid. There were real fears that if I was left home-alone with a matchbox there would be no home to speak of.

* The first time I appeared on stage was as a tree. It was a non-speaking role. But I thought I'd become a celebrity at school. Of course no one remembered the tree.

* My older sis and bro told me I was adopted and I believed them. I also believed them when they told me I was a baby croc when they got me. And I was grateful for all the work they'd done to make me look human.

* I didn't know what FUCK meant till class ten.

* I had a pair of white mice that ate their own kids. Also had a parrot that opened its cage and walked out to freedom.

* I have passed out mid-flight after wanting to go out of the plane for some fresh air.

Am not passing this on, but please consider yourself tagged if this interests you :)
Siachen: In the summer months the glacier retreats, goes closer to the mountian-base where it is covered with some grey matter, looking very unsnowlike. Below, in the valley, wheel-borne guns boom in competitive echoes. Four, to one from the other side. Cameras are not allowed here like at so many other 'sensitive' places in India. There are camouflage watchposts around here that are located inside Himalayan grottoes.

These are the eyes of the army.

Soldiers keep the enemy fixed in the crosshairs of their guns and binocs from these posts. At night, when temperatures feel like the moon's dark side, they can't even light up. Because that would give them away. Unannounced blizzards and the wind-chill that follows them also work on their flesh and skin. Frosting them to such a degree that many lose their fingers if exposed for a long time. The air is also thin here. Sometimes mimicking the effects of mind-altering drugs. Radio and TV are simply out of the question.

Such is the watcher's ennui at these posts that the sleep cycle often spirals out into other dimensions. Like a telescope penetrating awareness, delirium and sleep, all at the same time. Talking to oneself is common here. So is cursing, crying and compulsive onanism. Only the very steady in mind are given these post duties. But even the very steady in mind find it difficult here. That's why post duties here are shorter, relatively.

O P Baba is one of the very few who has survived these harsh conditions. As a result he's become an unrelenting toughie. He is especially heavy on those who fall asleep when there are required to be up and awake. Soldiers often get nightmares about O P Baba. Those found sleeping are woken up by stinging thwacks across their faces. Smuggled cigarettes are also similarly snatched from mouths. O P Baba is such a terror that young officers and jawans sometimes wonder if he was ever young himself. If he ever felt even a minor tug of youthful rebellion.

If he ever transgressed. Or disobeyed orders.

Every new entrant to Siachen is warned about O P Baba. There's also a small shrine that some jawans have made for him. It's meant to keep him in good humour.

Details of OP Baba are sketchy. No one knows for sure which regiment he belonged to. Or what was his exact rank.

Or for that matter when and how he left his body to become the glacier's phantom saint.

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As an art practitioner I work in a variety of mediums, what you see here are glimpses of my many creative projects. If you like or feel strongly something here please don't forget to comment

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