A Pretty Good Me

I'm no cape-unfurling Superman.

Forget being an Übermensch.

A Lincoln's a far cry.

A Mahatma? Not in ten millennia.

Bullshit is Content

These are the days of content.

 

Text, audio, video, graphics, gifs, photos, JPEGs, animations, motion pictures, 2D, 3D, music, white noise, pink noise, SMS, tweets, newsfeeds, games, apps, blogs, HDTV, FM radio, pulp fiction, literary fiction, non-fiction, memos, minutes, emails, reports, excel sheets, PowerPoint presentations, and so on and so forth—things that are making the world go round.

You Win Some, You Lose Some

In

Life.

Some grow,

Some diminish.

Some work out, some don't.

Some hang on, some move on.

Some you hold on to, some fade.

Some keep standing, some wither.

Some you adopt, some you abduct.

Some you keep, some you let go of.

Some you're born with, some you acquire.

Some you achieve, some fall by the wayside.

Some change, some become more of the same.

Some fall into your lap, some you have to snatch.

You 

win some, you lose some.

The Indian Incontinent

Almost in all major metros of the hot Indian subcontinent, a cloud cover is a welcome development with distinct foreboding overtones. Especially if it is a weekday, you know it's going to be cool outside, but you dread the traffic if it so much as drizzles. It's a good thing, but it's a bummer; you want to be happy, but you're being held back -- a schizophrenic feeling, adding to the already bipolar nature of an Indian metro, where the uber-rich live alongside the uber-poor,  where a Bentley is stuck in the same jam as a Luna. Why do they have to wait for a flood to declare a public holiday? Do it when you see the clouds in the horizon; we will telecommute. I promise I'll work! The geography of India is not weird, it's our cities -- they're just tumorous now. I can't help but crack a crude joke: "Is this the Indian subcontinent or the Indian incontinent?"

Honknuts

So, I was driving home the other night, and the weather in Delhi was especially lovely. Not too cold, not too hot, just right. I rolled down my car windows to enjoy the cool breeze outside. (Thankfully, the pollution wasn't too bad either.) What really spoiled it for me was the constant honking of cars and bikes. It was so bad that it could leave a normal person rattled and traumatized if exposed to it for above-average duration. Not to mention, the loss of hearing.

The One In Which Gulliver Is Bored and Calls Newton for Advice

Destiny washed Gulliver up on the shores of the island nation, Lilliput, a kingdom ruled by minuscule intellectuals.

Gulliver’s ship was wrecked during his long voyage. Floating on a rotting plank, he was desperately seeking terra firma. It was a blessing that the tropical storm that thrashed him one night also deposited him on the shores of Lilliput.

Donkey Donuts

The guy who brings donuts is popular.

He may not have any talents or skills, but if the organization is big enough, he'll rise high.

Call It a Day

And before I know it is time
For me to call it a day
Eyelids laden with sleep
Consider the passage of age:
“What transpired today that stood out
In the backdrop of yesterday?”

The day was like any
Of the six others that make a week
Like a uniformly drawn rainbow
Of seven white bands
A single bright bow
Stretching from peak to peak

An urban, mechanical truth
Of things zipping past in a blur
Work and business not stopping
To say hello and chat
To look at one's feet and smile
In deeply satisfying wonder

Days, like granules of white sugar
Melt in the stove of eternity
And all that is left floating
Is a memory caramelized
That questions the fickle faith
Of terrestrial fraternity

Ask the guardians of chronology,
"What happened of the day?"
They say, "We don't know,"
"It turned into a week!"
"And what about the week?"
"We can't say," they say

"It turned into a month!"
"And where did the month stray?"
They say, "Well, it seems,"
"It is now a whole year!"
And before you know it is time
For the year to call it a day

In the City Zoo

In the city zoo.

Look out the tiny cage
Of my personal space.

Listlessly. Aimlessly.
Fed and burped.

Millions of visitors.
Unlisted Exhibit, I.

Survey around to find
Animals of hues all.

Living in content cages
Of their personal spaces.

Millions of residents.
Don't see, don't hear.

Don't need.
Don't want.

Eating, drinking, mating.
Eating some more...some more.

In cages of personal spaces.
Aimlessly. Listlessly.

In the city zoo.

Put Some Water Out

It's hot!
Burning hot!

Seared senses perceive only mirages
as the sun rains down fire with a vengeance.
Wind, like invisible flames, licks the very soul of beings.
The horizon looks close and far.
The destination seems unknown, unachievable.

Put some water out..

For thirsty of the earth,
the birds, animals and people without shelter,
whom god has forgotten today.

Put some water out..

For the parched of love,
who never got a full cup
from the vessel of life.

Put some water out..

For there is a drought of hope
in this conflicted city-state
of harsh realities.

Put some water out..

For that seed buried deep
in the bosom of the fertile
may sip and reach out.

It's hot!
Put some water out..