Works of RK

No, I wont ever be away from you. Bound to you like the other end of a Compass, I forever remain connected to you. Where ever I go, you will still find me drawing circles, circles of life around you.

My life is a brilliant orchestra.  I do not know the players, I will never see the composer nor the conductor; I do not know when the drums will sound, or the violins play or when the trumpet would shout loud. All I know is that there is magic in the wild cacophony of my life. I like some compositions, I hate some. It might not be a Bethoven or a Bach...it still sounds like a good symphony to me. And amidst these myriad tunes, you are my favorite sound. Rajesh

India Burning As I fight rational to make sense of my today and stumble forth into a future I do not know of, I look behind and hear the holler of a million innocent lives. When you carved my nation's soul as if it were caviar on your cedar and rosewood dining tables, the wounds from that night bleeds still. You doctored my lessons, taught me an alternate history, made yourself heros and saviors of a race that could care less for you. When I grew up, I searched the google and learnt about the murder on your souls. You taught me about Hitler but kept your own names away from me, you taught me about the freedom struggle but kept secret your absolute craving and hunger for the power over a billion poor away from me. When I grew up, I googled and learnt about the dead the buried the displaced and the lost. When I have children, I will not sing songs of gods to them, I will sing songs of your murder and your lust, when I have grand children, I will burn MP6s and Blue Ray Discs with stor...

Every time we were together, holding hands firing hearts; I have felt the moments light up, electrify. As my fingers criss crossed and drew wild patterns on your waxed skin,  as our bodies intertwined in serpentine loops, as your perfume mingled with my cologne, I had felt the bush fires burn, rage, consume. The fires from my yesteryears fuel the memories of my tomorrows. I never really had enough of you, I am yet to turn cinders. Burn me for all time, the phoenix awaits its ashes. Rajesh

As I added years on to my living, my idea of myself grew less hazy. I still do not know more than maybe 5% about I, but then, the 5% that I know is quite interesting. I wait for my story about myself to unfold... as I grow older.  One thing I have realized about myself is the way I sometime allow a stray sentence to get hooked on to my foundations and how I allow some thoughts to govern my actions strongly... for a very long time, probably forever. One such line is : This too shall pass Whenever I have been too sad or too distressed, I fall back   on to this line and feel better instantly. Some days are major disasters, they begin with a strange feeling of loneliness and I finally end up thinking about you. Some time, when I feel too much in love with you, I would end up writing on a piece of paper... this too shall pass, and I survive another day. When ever I have found myself yearning and longing and waiting for someone to be by my side, or to catch a glimpse of someone I l...

The new does not replace the old. It just finds a little space of its own and cuddles in. Your thoughts are like frozen concrete of snow. It will take a million years to melt, another million to vaporize. Punctuating between random thoughts, my thoughts comes back to you. It is as if a flock of a million birds fly out into the sky each day, but come evening, they all come back to the same tree to roost.  The randomness of my thoughts always fall back to the simple constant of your memories. I always end up thinking about you. The silken hair and the lip gloss that you ended up eating all the time, the whiff of perfume and that not just another women style :)  I have sometimes wished my script to have had a different line, but when I think of the time we spend together, I fall in love with all those times... all over again. You are my favorite story, you make me love the movie of my life. Rajesh

There are moments when moments slow down, times when seconds stretch into long years of silences, only the hearts beat out loud. Beyond the definitions of our everyday existence, we reach out to hold hands, be close, and spend time. Togetherness brings solace, peace of the kind that runs scared of being spoken aloud.  Love is like a frail crystal bowl, in our silences it sustains and finds life. Should you ever speak aloud, seek answers when questions are not allowed... the little spark of life that sustains will peter out. All that remain ... will be white noise. Rajesh