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The cities

City life
under city lights.
Blanket of security
so we could see -
meet the devil in the eye
the untrustworthy passerby.
Poor man, he is running too
to beat the good at what they do,
puts up a bad fight
at the good man's delight
leaves in a hurry
this place is a worry
for even a devil
has no time to revel
in this city life
under city lights.

Those who stop and stare
are crazy enough to be here.
Walk, talk and eat
together, and keep it neat.
Though moving at 50 is a Land Rover
on a marvel that is the fly-over
people forgot to fly
trying to touch the sky -
they got closer on 15th floor
yet locked behind some door
listening to music of the horns
maybe the devil warns
that it's running still
so come out if you will
keep the spirit alive
and run for someone else's life.

City life
under city lights.
Where the stars are dim
how do we reach for them?
Is it money we are after
Our identity our master?
Or are we chasing immortality -
to be found, not lost, in history.

Glory be.
For a man like me
finds it hard to see
the now of each face
lost in the pace
of this city life
under city lights.

Quizzing with the Idiot Box

Television is not just an idiot box anymore. It keeps my mind at work at least. We are always playing a guessing game - truth or lie? I have been left on the guessing side since Television drifted from just giving to selling. Now it's a fish-market out there. Modest to ambitious fisherwomen/men. Grunted to greedy customers. Fishes - of all kinds. But it's a market, and some decided to stay home. They started watching Television on mute, lip-sync and laugh.

And how moral can a market get? So soon Television started lying. In the days of Colour Television, it became more so difficult separate the black from white. With a solid backing from everyone - the businessmen, the audience, and the entertainers - the show went on. Everybody found a way out.

The scriptwriters

You have an idea? They have a script.
Auro from Paa?
Say that the kids want to talk to him, put him on phone (Airtel only), and put him on Television.
Skin cream?
Say that it helped Malaika Arora Khan and Arbaaz Khan to bring lost love right back into their married life.
Chitragandha Sen comeback?
Put her everywhere - ramps, photoshoots, page 3 parties, ads, shows - one could choke on the overdose, with no movie release of an actor of that caliber in sight.

They are the least to blame; their prime job is to churn money. They converted everything and everyone into a brand, and sold it. PR went all out, and soon entertainment got the better of media. But the major choke point was when the News channels gave in.

The audience

We - the people, we will take anything, with a pinch of salt or otherwise. Dara Singh's son, Rakhi Sawan't mother - everybody was watched, and celebrated. The difficult audience found their peace in very selective channels or shows, or in the game-plan of keeping the mind away.

Publicity stunts call for a lot of lying - unnecessary lying in the name of entertainment. If the audience was smart enough to understand that their favorite movie star is after all human too, then they would probably appreciate his/her life for what it is, and him/her for who they are. Only if the public understood their lives were a movie too, and found peace if it was never screened in the theaters. Sorry, multiplexes.

The 2 idiots and a dog

Aamir Khan named his dog Shahrukh, and so much has happened since that nobody remembers the dog that bought the 2 idiots this share of fame.

At the Sahara Indian Sports Awards 2009, noted Badminton player Prakash Padukone, gave an advice to the players in his speech after receiving the Legend Honour award. Here's an advice not just for the players, but for everybody who will go to any lengths to be remembered. He said, “Keep away from controversies." The 2 idiots had toed the same line, until recently.

Why then, are the King and the Perfectionist honoring us with a dogfight on National Television? Why did the Perfectionist have to start it, and the King follow? Aamir had said, talking about his forthcoming movie, "An idiot is someone who makes a mistake once, and doesn't repeat it." So let’s hope.

"Bow wow", Sharukh, the forgotten dog protests.
“Who decides what is entertainment?”, he barks out.
He has got Aamir's intelligence.

Fools rush in

A recent article threw some light on how the Age of Greats is gone. We will now have 5 minutes of claim-to-fame stars. Public memory is short and there's a media explosion. Nobody has the time to celebrate someone else's life for too long. You have to be in the public eye, somehow, anyhow. So be in the movies, music albums, ads, photo shoots, publicity gimmicks, reality shows, and page 3 parties. Be on the ramp. Be in the news - a deal brokered between the entertainers and the businessmen, for the audience.

Times are changing, always. Greats of any time were the ones who did things differently. If today is the age of maximum-publicity, then it's time to go down under. If at 45, a star wishes to remain one at 70, he can follow the script. But if at 45, he/she dreams of being Great at 70, then it should shine bright, and show less often.

An exception to case is Amitabh Bachchan. A 73-year old lady contestant on America’s Got Talent told one of the judges after he rejected her, "I hope at my age you will be able enough to do what I can do." She got through the round, thanks to the two other judges, and left the stage, with a happy face and with no voice. It's a thing with age, and its eternal battle with time.

This is not to compare Big B with that lady, for he's sure got talent. So it would have made more sense if someone like him had said it - "I hope at my age you will be able enough to do what I can do.(I lead)."

So lead, sell lesser lies.

Most favorite movie

Imagine a world where you have only black or white to choose from, always. This is the world where you can’t play games. Only truth was heard, which left a lot many hurt. But then it also made them brave. For then they became sure.

The need to be known, and remembered, amongst the people is more than before. For others, it’s the need to feel connected. It’s a good demand-and-supply situation for the market, so the businessmen are at work. It’s the audience and artists-turned-entertainers who can leave with this thought -

We are brands anyway, we are brands too.
So let us be ourselves, and let us be good.

No need to be quizzing with an idiot box.

Avenger's Song

Shooting arrows
wide of the mark.
Grey skies
over the boulevard.
Angry winds carry
no hope to guard.
Echoing noise is
a wild dogs bark.
Without a flag
or a visiting card.
The avenger walks,
alone in the dark.

The roads worry
at the last yard.
In whispers,
the trees disregard.
Society's very own,
the classic retard,
decides to go,
to places barred.

He says with a smile -
To find peace
before I resign,
I will fight
with no rules to define.
I will leave
with no dust behind.
The rest can rest
as they walk the line.
But I'm at war,
vengeance will be mine.

Alone in Pauses

How alone am I?
In a dark dingy room,
where shadows loom.
With euphoria abound,
but no thoughts profound.
Counting the lonely stars,
fading horn of distant cars.
When the music stops,
and the curtain drops.
Just before my sigh,
How alone am I?

How alone are you?
In between your coffee sips
Watching the moving lips
Missing the spoken words
Walking with alien herds
Amidst the traffic lights
Waiting for broken kites
With a different point of view
How alone are you?

How alone are we?
Reading the quiet signs
In between the times
When all stops moving
Then will we see,
That I'm not you
And you're not me.
So let our differences be.
To know,
How alone are we.

Rested Time

Remember me.
I taught you to excel,
blessed you on the farewell.
Now guilty as I watch,
Societies' pursuit to quell,
a prodigy who tried to rebel.

Remember me.
The neigbour's broken fence,
our casual pretense.
A private joke,
between good old friends.
Humor that lost it's sense.

Remember me.
To the blues they played,
sweet love we made.
How we didn't know then,
soon this music will fade.
And so we swayed.

Remember me.
Once too young to protest,
Then a boy full of zest.
My son is now a man,
who learnt to disrespect,
with due respect.

Remember me.
On a night it poured,
9 o clock, you were too bored.
Mine is a face,
of a traveler on board.
The stranger you ignored.

So remember me by.
If you allow,
I'll take my bow.
We will meet again,
and you will see how.
Let our time rest for now.

So Quiet

It is so quiet here
So quiet you forbear.

The noise I want to make
Chooses to foresake
Silence easier to seize
Respecting the sleeping trees

I walk with the dust
On one way roads I trust
For they show
The only way to go.

Enough time to cry
I needed before I sigh
So time learn't to stop
Settled on my tear drop

My lonliness there to caress
Filling me up was nothingness
No need to play a dirty trick
It's a picture I could not click.

Where the gods reside
Is for you to decide
But if there was a place ever
Where the gods celebrated together
So quiet you forbear
It is so quiet here.