I like peace. I like the silence that comes with peace.

I like silence. I like the peace that comes with silence.

Hyderabad Blues

Hyderabad's rain is like a paradox. It drenches you, but still does not drench you.

Same for your clothes. It will continue to rain- an ever-so-slight drizzle- but it will continue nevertheless- conspiring to never let your clothes dry. And then it'll come at the least unexpected of times. Like, it'll be bright and sunny and U'll think- 'Hey it won't rain today!' But then suddenly, it'll start. And sometimes, even when it's cloudy in the morning, and U expect rain to grace the still muddy earth very soon, it'll not rain.

And then, as if it is an instrument of God's justice system, it lashes and drenches those people, at those very times, when they have knowingly done some terribly unjust and wrong things to other people. So, they get drenched, and suffer from cold, and curse the wretched rain for their evening outing gone horribly wrong, and for their misery.

But they don't realise that this is God's way of doing justice on them, for their wretchedness. The rain is not wretched. They are wretched. For which, Nature obviously seems terribly wretched and unrelenting to them.

And then, like a naughty playful boy, the rain gets to the streets and stays there( potholes & depressions are no less on Hyd's roads)- getting splashed on passersby and people sitting on the edges inside autos, and on people going merrily on bikes.

And the naughty rain even conspires with the as-it-is slippery and lavish granite floors of some software company buildings, to make more IT- people slip. And they fall. And then they rise again. And the rain even collects on some unlevelled walking areas, again continuing the splashing phenomenon, this time unknowingly by one employee on the other.

Then on evenings when it rains heavily, it rains gold for autowallahs. They charge exhorbitant rates, and if not agreed to by the potential passengers, the scoundrels simply refuse to take them. That's in case the autos are present and available, which is highly improbable on such days, especially just after office hours end- like 6:30 p.m.

In all probability autos won't be available, and IT people returning from office ( who don't avail company bus services), have to walk down some kilometres. In the rain, in scarcity of umbrellas, covering themselves with hankies/dupattas/books, tiny/huge splashes of muddy water filling the lower half of their jeans/chudidars/trousers/salwars( whatever the case may be).

In Orissa the rain acts more professionally. Heavy rains for half hour or one hour or whatever it is, and then it stops. Stop means a complete STOP. No irritating drizzle which will neither let clothes dry nor let people get wet.

There, whenever it rains, it rains like it never rained- with great enthusiasm and force.

But Hyderabad's rain is like a paradox. It drenches you, but still does not drench you.

This face, this mask

This face, this mask,
And this gruesome task;
To live,
And to enjoy life,
With this mask.

Clouded behind clouds,
Crowded behind crowds,
Torn apart by two worlds,
Walking the middle path.

Searching for me,
Knowing I am deep,
Inside me.

Searching for bliss,
Growing the gold,
Inside me.

This face, this mask
And this gruesome task;
I know one day,
I shall live,
And enjoy life,
Without this mask.

Nobody knows what is love.
They say love is this,
They say love is that.
I listen to them,
Watch them, read them.
While they say,
They act, they write.

All that I know,
Is that it is an enigma,
Which I do not know.
And which no one knows.
But which all think they know.

Devdas

I can literally smell the cold virus. Anytime. Anywhere. The sensation when it first enters my nose is like no other. The other day i was standing by the window,attracted to it due to the sights and sounds outside. Winds lashing wildly and rains falling in huge drops. The Summer Sun had been unrelenting before that, and the wild storm had come as a welcome relief. Almost a wild relief, I must say.

The gusts of wind were pleasant. Even playful. They were trying to meddle with my newly shortened hair& how?! Not in full force- just with how much pleasant force was possible through the window. Outside they were wild. Inside they were gentle.

And just then, I had that familiar feeling; of the cold virus visiting my nose, and sniffing the insides of my right nostril greedily. The air it released inside my prized nostril, within a jiffy, was warm- the signature of the revisiting cold virus. That signature feeling, which I had had my maiden experience of, during my stay in Delhi for my 11th and 12th. I had perfected the feeling over those two years while over there. And the perfecting art continued even after I came back to Bhubaneswar.

Not that the cold virus did not exist in Bhubaneswar (before I went to Delhi). Just that it had not acquainted itself with me as strongly in my birth town. But believe me. In Delhi, it became my lover. And an obsessive one at that.

Every season change found the cold virus finding me.

A slight rain, and it caught me and forced itself on me.
The first coming of winter, and it caught me and grew wilder loving me.
The end of winter and the start of summer and some cold drinks( even a wee bit of cold water), and it wildly loved me.

It came back to torture me every season. And each time I knew it whenever it might have just even touched my nose. No it wasn'tGabbar Singh and did not have footsteps. But it had that habit of releasing warm air when it touched my under-nostril skin.

My body always bravely fought back and let it know how much I absolutely detested it. But the illogical lover would listen to nothing. It would relentlessly rape me every season and cause my nose to bleed with salty water and block my breathing and make me sneeze unendingly and choke me obsessively to force me to accept it, and leave me weak and conquered.

And gradually I found, I had no escape from being the obsession of this relentless lover. I could feel the antibody soldiers within me slowly losing their ability to fight. Almost unbelievably and unintentionally, I became Chandramukhi welcoming Devdas into the Chaukhat of my luxurious nose. Defencelessly forced into prostitution.

Now, Devdas comes whenever he likes. He revels in the clarity of my nose, in the submission of my body to its whims, in its ability to wield its power and dominion upon me.......

And thus he found me again while I was standing by the window. On the day of the first thunder shower in summer, and he found me and sniffed me greedily, as though he had missed me badly since long. Precisely, since the last season change. He uses me as a prostitute, disposes me and does not forget me.

He comes back again.

He is Devdas. The cold virus.