Chips & Coke
Good in front of TV
Good on bean bag party nights.
Not good downhill
In car descents
Where rippled wafers
Embed particles forever and ever in your nails
Where a burp-bubble of coke keeps moving
Up n down the esophagus
Carrying with it chips masala.
Grainy oily chips
forever on your finger tips
Mixing with grease on the car handle
On the rupee notes
On your scalp when you scratch a bit
On that iron bar you must hold onto on hairpin bends
Bends when you lurch forwards
And a fancy mix of Kurkure -
Tedha hai par mera hai;
Uncle chips - Bole mere lips I Lurrve...
And Lays - No one can eat just one..
Threatens to come out in one mix
Where you can't figure one brand from another
One promise from another
One USP from another
One Target Audience from another.
Sniff sniff
They still smell
My achari masti fingertips.
G.O.A
Ragdoll beating.
Goa.
Control your body.
What control your body?
Position your legs.
What position your legs?
Just hold on tight
For the rodeo ride.
As the speedboat swerves flambouyantly
We hope it lives up to it's name - Lucky Star
Because tied behind on an inflated raft,
We aren't feeling so lucky, or loved or blessed by God.
Just gripping, grasping and rejecting our limbs, trunk, head
To flail, loll, fling and jerk about
As we're dragged on uneven waters
Tossed high up
Flying like frisbess and then wham, bang, landing time.
First impact butt
Next neck,
Next total recoil.
Like slow motion videos of how and when airbags pop out
In smooth sedans.
Sand in my mouth, in my underwear
No idea what's seaweed and what's my hair.
Sputtering, we totter to the beach
Collapse and let masseurs run their hands.
Few seconds later, we sit like nothing ever happened
In flimsy threads, separating stars from long distance flights.
And the fire descends from the skies to the sand
As a fire eater comes along
Juggling three bottles.
He misses now and then.
A better performance than the smooth, perfect showman
Who does not triumph, fail, recover and exult with company.
Waves foam, froth and every now and then run up
To our toes and candles
Where we sit and eat.
All's good.
Little do we foresee
Ourselves tossing once more
3 hours later
On a weak Activa doing it's best
Down the wrong long road,
Towards a flight to catch.
Bravely sinking into potholes,
Leaping over speedbreakers.
While sleep holds on tight,
Snuggling in the crevices, convolutions of our tired brains.
Goa still parties on.
Two people flee.
Bye bye sea.
Like whaaa…
Like fish nibbling at feet? Like counting dew drops on leaves for inner peace? Like opening your pores to jasmine wafts? Like that Tibetan bowl that makes a sound on circling it with a wooden stick? Like scratching pups under their foldable ears for hours? Like sitting in a window pretending you are the breeze? Like provoking sneezes to clear the system and head? Like alternative hot water cold water gushes on your head for reinvigorating gasps? Like swallowing live fish for alimentary canal clearing? Like a marathon on whisky to get the best of both worlds? Like watching tired people sleep peacefully? Like pulling lost cords out from pyjamas? Like cupboard cleaning? Like chai in a mountainside tapree? Like lying in hay? Like forgetting where u are? Like an awesome pedicure? Like cinnamon and pepper freshly ground? Like smelling crisp sun-dried sheets? Like blue Jodhpur doors? Like a terrace with paapad and chillies drying on it? Like untwirling on a wound up swing.. whizzing faster and faster and then a little beyond? Like lost in a boat you’re carrying upside down on your head? Like the smell of whitewash? Like eating ice after a fresh snowfall? like getting off an air conditioned airplane into blustering winds holding tightly onto your topi? Like a surprise hug and a swoop and a wham? What alternative therapy dye want?
Highway desires
Look I know
I’m attractive n all
Hard to resist
But please control yourself
DON’T KISS ME.
When I sit in my pilot seat
A chequered muffler across my nose
Squinting eyes
Intense with bidi smoke
I know you want to
But
DON’T KISS ME.
You can enjoy pretense
Brush your fingers
When I change gears.
Maybe pour me lote se paani
Old school ishtyle
But lissun miss
DON’T KISS ME.
Weekend I must record for me
Sweet sweet weekend.
Sat morning - thundering Enfields.
Cult-brothers homed in.
Then a windy spring evening.
The smell of grass.
Akbar Road
Teen Murti
Shanti Path
Sailed on Trek
Nevada to jaggery-town
Passed Canada, Japan, Australia
Embassies.
A twinkling airbus flew overhead
Against dark rolls of cloud tinged with orange
And I sailed below.
Neck craned up
For a twitch sec,
And then zoommmmm….
Sunday morning.
Woke up right side of the bed
Threw my feet into sports shoes
Pedaled down a dawn-dark road,
Suhail in tow
With his fire-engine helmet
And loads of go.
Ripped the roads
In a band of 12
As perspiration started to break
As the sun came up
Ochre orb
We broke into drrrrrrt.
Fingers jammed in cold
Refusing to squeeze life-saver brakes
Began to thaw
And we skidded, hurled down sand,
Sending the odd peacock
Squawking away
Outta our way.
Ride done.
But legs got momentum going
And going
And going.
Clockwork.
Reached the P-Maidan Book Fair,
To meet kith & kin.
Mom,
Sitting pretty with volumes
Picked, selected, chosen and bagged.
Hit home. Nani & khichdi.
Hit Khan Market
Jasmine tea
A friend back from Kargil, Drass
Another pal ready to catapult to tropical Hyd
A friend loony n moony, inhaling new-found love.
Lull n stories.
Hit Maggie n Dane
A cosy bed
Crepes n tea-lights
Maggie’s dad with a thousand vials
Of different smells
Horsehair and daffodils
Precious mumbo jumbo
That his kids couldn’t mess with.
Café Morrison
A run-in
A massive co-incidence
You from SODA?
You know what Gaultier did for Madonna?
Finally, back to that day’s home.
Pillow and tring, tring.
Morning. Back on the saddle.
Photo by Hari Menon.
Drive-back friend
Beer sloshes, whisky twinkles,
Vodka bubbles with Sprite a bit.
Wine rolls lazily,
Nimbu paani says – Hey, that’s it.
From under the table
An order rings out:
Slosh-a-osha, Gimme mosha!
whiff whiff sip
The tight, dry buds unrolled
And the dregs were blossoms.
Seaweed down the porcelain cup.
Jasmine tea.
When everyday is a new day
////Another from the School of Rhyme.
You know the rules, right?////
Hey, how is it a new day?
Till today I had the same name.
I played the same game.
My intentions were uniform.
But today, I felt the need
To flip the day,
Change my creed.
I walked into a bar
And no beer
I ordered vodka.
You see, I had in tow with me
A Russian celebrity.
I went to the Circus
And no I didn’t applaud
When Mr Whiskers
Jumped through the hoop, a fireball.
I took a hop, a skip, a jump myself
And entered the centre-of-attention ring.
Shoving the oversize kitty away
I did my own ballsy thing.
I went through the hoop.
I went through the flames.
I perched on a stool
And sulked and roared to the ringmaster’s cane.
And then, just for effect
I blew a bubblegum and jumped into it.
Now can you do that
You big furry black and yellow?
Leave business to the real fellow.
Off I went again.
Call me Fiza.
In one place I cannot stay.
Main hawa hoon, kahin bhi rukti nahin.
Ruk bhi jaaon agar toh main rehti nahin.
I went to an advertising agency
To see what they were trying to sell to me.
A postpay connection?
A bottle of Mr.Muscle?
A mosquito repellent spray
Valentine’s Day Special Prepay?
They brainstormed and argued and chewed their pencils,
Sat with feet up, on swivel chairs in ill-disguised dismay.
I thought I’d lend a hand or brain
And help them push their idea train.
A concept, a deep thought, a direction need you?
Maybe an additional promo idea
Or a 360 proactive what-have-you.
Why not try and base it on smart urban home-makers,
Calling them expert housewives and astute career-makers.
The ages old idea won the day.
It would fuel 30 new TVCs and radio scripts again.
A washing machine, a microwave, a refrigerator
Would be sold.
The same stuff but new enthu.
Having done my thing, said my say
Having established that everyday is a new day
I returned to my not-so-humble abode
And fixed my chai.
