The Sea Beckons – 9 – The Plunge

The sky was a spray of orange with the setting sun peeking from behind the clouds. It was darkening and the evening was quickly fading in to night.

Velan asked Stephen, “Where is the heart?”

Stephen looked blankly at Velan before answering, “Yes, I get you mate. Where is the heart in this ever heartless world. But buddy there still is lot of goodness in this world.”

“The heart is near the centre a tad bit to the left. It is not all left as people think.”

Stephen blinked and said, “What ever man. Why did you ask me to come over to your house and take your car and drive here. You could easily have come in a bike. Moreover why have you asked the two frauds to come here.”

Two guys, Nishant and Shyam had tricked Velan by saying they needed his ID proof for a purchase.  When he showed up they had made the purchase of a mobile on loan with his proof promising to return the amount shortly. They had out right cheated Velan and exploited him thinking he can afford it and let it slide by. Velan was a pushover until he is pushed too far. He had called them to join for drinks. Shyam was an ad film maker and Nishant was a good for nothing loafer with loans all over town. Shyam was the one who got the mobile but Nishant was the one who sweet talked Velan in to coming with the ID proof in the first place.

They came and were standing in the dimly lit side lane where the bar entrance was. The lane reeked of urine. Velan and Stephen were waiting in the car in the main road. Velan asked Stephen to remain in the car. He then stepped out and checked the long knife underneath his shirt. He went to the two and before either could open their mouth he took out the knife and stabbed Nishant in his thighs hard and twisted the knife and pulled it out. He then turned the knife to Shyam and asked him to give the mobile. Shyam silently in fright turned over the mobile. Stephen watched all this from the car.

One leg of Nishant’s grey pants had turned in to dark red and he was howling in pain. The sun had disappeared all of a sudden and it was totally dark yet the moon was nowhere to be seen hidden among the clouds. Velan calmly walked back to the car.

Stephen had started the car and was visibly shaking. Velan had earlier purchased this long knife from a iron and steel utensil supplier that supplied to butcher’s shops. He had got the details of the shop from Stephen without revealing what he wanted. As soon as Velan got inside Stephen rushed away. Not before a limping Nishant and Shyam threw expletives at them. Velan was shaking as he approached them initially but surprisingly enough after plunging the knife he became dead calm. It gave him such a high tat for brief moments he considered plunging the knife in to Nishant’s heart.



I need a mentor

I need a mentor

to hold my hands 

and drive my pen.

To set me free

and drive me wild.

To train me strong

being subtle and mild.

Until that day comes

when I need him/her no more.

He/She shall be with me

the ink of my writings immortal. 

I am a shadow

[This poem is inspired by Nirant Gurav’s style of writing.]

I am now a shadow of myself

that I once was.

Where find I

the broken fragments.

Can I ever be whole again?

When all king’s men 

couldn’t make Humpty Dumpty right

what hope do empty I have. 

I need not a thousand men

but a brave three hundred

that stand by me always. 

My fragmented soul

hovers around her.

She is long gone

dissolved in the mist.

If perchance

I rise to fame and glory

she might return to me.

Not her sorry

nor her story

I care.

All I want is her

and I would regain myself.

So I need to conquer the world

brave three hundred

to set her free

and recapture myself.  




Can’t forego structure and order in words, 
though my whole life in chaos and shambles,
I seek freedom to fly and sing like the birds,
cruising and cursing and rising high my rambles,

I can die,
but not my habit,
I do try,
to do bit by bit,

flying far away in my mind space,
I rant,
the mysteries of the elusive beauty chase,
I pant,

I am now a certified writing addict,
hoping someday in my name there be an edict. 

A song in my hole

A song in my hole,

a mad mad rush,

to conquer fame plush,

a thought ever fresh stole,

I rise from idle tremble,

to a crescendo of words littered,

most of those lost or stuttered,

yet part beautiful and humble,

I wrote to make complete sense,

not anymore, for  folks seek and find,

what is meant and that unmeant kind,

the hidden  treasures from foliage dense,

for ruling now, not words, but soul’s puzzling thoughts,

those that don’t find the mark, litter of missed darts.

Water hit hard

The water hit me hard and fast,

like rocks thrown from high,

as I chattered under the falls cast,

can’t stand long though try;

yet the cold outpour sucks in,

below the water goes in a stream,

silence of nature without a din,

take a dip in the flowing dream;

the black cliff face soars up so high,

rocks and boulders black strewn around,

the tall green trees that silently stood by,

orange setting sun hid by a dark cloud;

nature there so beautiful, plentiful, serene and wild,

that one can be lost there forever playing like a child.

Cliff’s edge

I sit at the cliff’s edge,

a mere push will do,

all that knowledge,

failed me true;

I was afraid at that height,

yet there was a brain rush,

tempted to jump out of sight,

aching a long lost crush;

the misty freezing hilltop calls,

thick green trees and bushes,

gushing water of the white falls,

flowing water and pushing fishes;

the beauty poured numbing senses,

arrested in a borderless world without fences. 

The Sea Beckons – 8 – Quest

Velan was happy and content these days. The friendship of the sophisticated slum girl Mercy and the creatively alluring Deepa’s blog rapport made him happy. The days that extended endlessly with boredom now were shorter and sweeter. It had been several days since the first phone call with Mercy. He had talked to her several times since then and also met her in the beach on more than a couple of occasions. Similarly he commented regularly on Deepa’s blog posts and she too left comments in his blog.

Yet even in these wondrous times there was an ache in the back of his mind. He wanted to write a novel. It was his life quest. He had in fact written a potboiler thriller fiction novel. But it didn’t satisfy him. He almost discarded it. He wanted to write a character driven literary fiction. Yet having had a cloistered life and having slept idly for over a decade he had nothing much to draw from his life for the novel.

So he wanted to meet new people in different walks of life and interview them about their life and experiences. He bought a recorder for this. He already had a camera to take photographs. But you can’t simply go up to people and talk to them about their lives. At least he could not do so. He asked his friend Stephen about this and he had promised to arrange for meetings. But it was not happening.

Meanwhile under the guidance of his brother and his own efforts the non vegetarian restaurant was beginning to take shape. The kitchen and the kitchen team were ready. The interior decoration was done. Only the several other finishing touches remained.

Life was taking shape for Velan before his eyes. Yet the slow pace of these changes were almost maddening for Velan.

Then something hit Velan hard. Why wait for his friend Stephen to ask for introductions. He can ask Mercy and she will take him right in to the midst of the slums and right to the midst of the sea. But the problem was she might take affront to treating her and her folks as some pieces from the zoo. Yet the yearning for his quest of a novel outweighed these considerations and he called her. She picked the phone on the first ring itself.

“Hello Mercy, I have a favour to ask of you. But I don’t know how to ask.”

“We are way past these things. Don’t be shy,” prodded Mercy.

“I want to meet people of your slum and interview them. Go in a boat to the sea. All this for a novel I want to write.”

Mercy laughed loudly at this and said, “Thats all. For a moment there I thought you were about to propose to me. Consider it done.”

“Okay, I’ve got to go blog now. Catch you later.”

“So you are still running behind that blogging girl Deepa you’ve told me about.”

“No, nothing of that sort. We are co-bloggers thats all. Please don’t tease me over her.”

Velan ended his phone call and sat idly smoking and hearing songs. His mind was not in to blogging. He wanted his novel bad. Did he have it in him he wondered. The blog was filled with people of superior skills. Yet if they themselves couldn’t make it, could he? He had meagre talents that he can hone. But will it take him all the way. Something drastic must happen in his life to force his pen to weave a glorious novel. What will happen he wondered.


War road side

There underneath the orange skies and blazing red hot sun,
the horses pounded in thousands toward the distant castle walls,
the bugles blowing and war cries hollering, in a frenzy they run,

arrows pierced, canons blasted and everywhere some dead soldier falls,
defying certain death they near and never waver the approach to the goal,
they were trained in to bravery and in such madness unheard fear’s calls,

nearer, clearer, yet blurred by the pace they engulf battle field whole,
not here to tarry and rule but to rape, pillage, plunder and loot,
a savage race feared by all, civilised kingdoms of yore their watering hole,

fierce nomads never thirsting for home they roamed thus without root,
the castle gate gave way to their hounding and in columns moved inside,
violent without kind bone, dragged man and woman, stamped with boot,

from those times brutal and heartless to the modern space age ride,
man unchanged and mighty take pleasure in suffering folks of road side.