"Smile"

I lost it to the wobbly winds, 
And scathing rains,
Moments of silent restraint
Fly-by-night sorrow, 
Forlorn times of uncertainty,
Despondent strolls in the lobby
Staring at the roof – mute with an air of whispering,
Waiting for the emissary of light,
Talking to the indifferent placidity of the walls,
Whilst waiting for the apostle of grace

Glad I found it now!

Midnight's Children

As I turn to the last page of Midnight's Children, am aroused by a certain pathos that the journey of Saleem Sinai, which held me on tenterhooks, is finally over!

As Rushdie’s Midnight's Children plays around the foreboding nature of destiny, similarly it was in my destiny to read this book at the turn of my 24th year. Somewhere in 2008, I was gifted a marvel called “Midnights Children”, little did the person know that I might be reading it exactly after four years.

Midnight's Children, tells the tale of Saleem Sinai, one of the twin born on the midnight of 15th august 1947, the other being a cataclysmic nation gripped by a plague of conflicts. It skilfully critiques the infant nations (India, Pakistan and Bangladesh) in the teething phase of finding its sovereignty.

A panoramic narrative, with lots of chutney, love, conviction, denial, nose and knees, sorcery, ghosts, innuendos on the exploits of the government, language riots, gods, snake charmers, and curious characters.

The language is complicated, and the multiplicity of ideas certainly makes it more difficult to explain the book to others, there is something for every reader. This allegorical narrative is further embellished by lush imagery.

A book that will never cease!

Delirium

Woke up with an overwhelming melancholia;

Soaked in an endangering thought,

Of losing my sense of being,

Tough choices are drowning the self,

A state of helplessness;

With all relations going awry

Today seems to be in a quandary;

Quite oft, I feel the need to wake up no more,

With piles of blank sheets; to be filled with wails

Cry Cry Cry

And fill my sockets with delirium..

Woes

Getting lost has always been a fantasy

Now years after,

At this juncture,

Where obvious aim seems discolored,

With mind and soul leading nowhere,

Ambitions seem inconclusive

Toil Toil Toil...

Seems to be the only words ringing deep inside

But for how long,

Quite unsure of that

Anxiety, fits and bouts of emotions,

All have submerged the self

There is nothing much to do here,

The fallen man knows

Nobody cares,

After all

Its about a life worth few pennies.