Singing, serenading,
Mesmerizing, and regaling- 

you draw my self and more into you
with those curiously menacing eyes,

Enchanting, enthralling,
entangling.. and haunting.

As you whisper a lullaby
in that honey-toned voice-

Submitting, surrendering,
succumbing and subsuming;

So, I fall love-sick, beholden
to my heart's one desire,

Drowning, desiring,
smoldering, and aspiring..

and I die a million deaths(and live to die more)
just from the wanting of you.

a week. in wilderness. of longing. of frolic and weary enjoyment. of coldness :(. of switch-offs. of realisations. of suppressed vows. of anticipation. IS PAST. now is when we make up for.ummm..feels warm already :)

On the last day of December, I went out in the fog
with Sorrow as my companion.
The River serene, was greener than tears-
the timid woods were bare
and the hemlocks were black in the fog..

High in the hills the fog broke up.
Tatters burned silver by the inland valleys
under a low sun and a cerulean sky.
We drove through winter-gold pastures
drunk on primrose-flavored air..

"Sorrow, why do you follow me?"said I,
He said, "Because you forget
everything that is dear to you.
It passes into my keeping
and I remind you when the time is right..

"Some day when summer hangs green in all the trees
you will sell me your heart for a handful of winter-gold
or a coin-sized slice of silver fog
and you'll call it a good bargain."

In a high place where mountains peered over the rim of the world
and the cloud-shadows were so vast they had no shape
I turned to him in the booming wind and said,
"Old friend -oh old friend o' mine
remind me once again?"

Sorrow placed his hand on my shoulder
and in my ear he whispered
the Name...

do you love me?

your eyes stare softly into mine
with no idea of how much I yearn for them
and all that is attached -

touch me -

your fingertips stroke my cheek
soaking up the fears untold, like sponges-
wiping away my old self, bit by bit,
mopping up the mess -

tell me -

your eyes lick your shoelaces
as your lips form a line that
would impress a drill seargeant -
you can't say it -

show me -

you pull me into your chest
our hearts touch
and for one-hundredth of a milli-second
i know i hear -

"Yes."

If everything that has impacted me over the past year is weighed in terms of importance, THE JINXED BOHEMIAN will come a close second. He's been a dear friend, a saviour at times. 66 posts including 23 incomplete drafts later comes his first birthday.I wish you'll hit half a century atleast and be my silent,undemanding impersonation ;) that you've been thus far. What better than this at the happy hour? Pardon me dear bloggie if the celebration or whatever is unworthy or subdued; am sure you understand the frame of my mind. HAPPY BIRTHDAY! :)

image courtesy: deviantart.com

What is wrong with me? Anyone? Why does lighting strike twice, thrice and god knows how many more times it'll in the future...in what is one of the darkest hours of my pathetic existence, I sit in front of my computer looking for ways to get myself together, to deal with the sheer shock, to cope with the trauma, actually to come in terms with what now stands stoned..now is when I needed you like never before, and you elude me- all I have is hundreds of conversations in the chat history of gmail to look at. Believe me if you will, I finally paid heed to your advice - I actually tried to cry my heart out- to let go of the pent-up whatever; I failed..I dragged myself to T and B for a share but found them engaged in a post-ID party which made things only worse..actually served as a heady reminder of you-know-what. Perhaps they even failed to notice the look on my face, perhaps they didn't...I tried reaching P, knowing she won't oblige 'cuz I had instructed her not to...I went through all the no.s in my phonebook..paused at some, wondering whether to call or not to, finally decided not to; and you know what, maybe out of sheer madness or just hoping against hope I ended up calling your no. twice and got static- then that irritating engaged/dead tone minus the squeal at the end...All these days, whenever I was in a soup I knew where to go, for the call of wisdom right? but I'm at a loss now. Perhaps I should've been accustomed to the sense of loss, I thought I was..but sadly even if I know what loss is in all it's dimensions and colors, it hurts just the same way it did the first time, even the mere thought of it, probably more- 'cuz am missing the healing touch. Only if this would feel any better, I would be continuing scribbling all night; I get a feeling that a cold void is encircling me, wrapping it's tentacles all around and I'm giving in- can't get rid of it, it's just dreadful. If only you'd tell me that this is another of your practical jokes, though way way above limits I promise to laugh at myself and at my misery and to thank you for playing the game. I swear. It may be cliched but it'd suit me fine if this was a dream and I wake up a few hrs later and get to ridicule it. But if It's true, and I've always been selfish..I need you now and always just as you were..the bestest friend that could ever be- So fight, as is your habit, with all your might. di, pat-pin, me and everyone else is with you, looking at you now.. I wish i could get this into your upper quarters now, I hope it'll find a way..we'll be waiting for you. Comment ASAP.

Walking in the woods with my shadow at my heels

the air smelled of smoke and of blood-stained steel;

the trees came down and the birds, they cried-

My shadow said: “Hide.”

Walking in the desert with my shadow at my side

the desert was empty and the desert was wide,

I was burning to death in the midday sun-

My shadow said: “Run.” 

Cold water flowing in the old grey river

I was a captive, from a slave’s chain delivered,

when I fell down to rest on the river’s brink

My shadow said: “Drink.”

The table in the tower has a cloth so white

like a sheet for the winding of a corpse at night,

plenty of bread but there wasn’t no meat-

My shadow said: “Eat.”

The sun went down and the air was cold

the loneliness tried to kill my soul

couldn’t find my shadow and I started to weep but

My shadow murmured: “Sleep.”

Then I built me a fire and it made me warm,

watching it burn in the heart of the storm I

slept in the light of the smouldering embers as

My shadow serenaded: “Remember.”

i wish i was good enough to illustrate what I wrote. btw all credits to deviantart.com :(

K was an old-school teacher. Her subject of specialisation was fine-arts. She had a keen eye for spirituality and was a great believer of awakening of the mind. She had a group of pretty young, troublesome students who were always competing for her attention and quarrelling with one another. Day and night, they pestered her: "Ma'am, which of us is the smartest? The kindest? The most gifted? The most intellectualy advanced? The most special?" She knew it was almost impossible to make these  young hearts understand unless they realised the truth themselves. And she searched. For the right signs, the right way.

At last, K knew; excited, she said: "Enough. I will give you the answer finally, but it cannot be told, it must be revealed. Tomorrow we will go for an excursion and you will see."

The next day, breathless with anticipation, the students accompanied their teacher to the excursion. After lunch, K led them down to a lake. It was noon. The water was calm and still. K pointed to a small rowboat: "All of you get in. Row to the middle of the lake and look into the water."

So the students piled into the boat and were rowed out into the lake. They looked down into the water. Immediately one cried out: "Why, there's a bright light around my head and rays coming from it! Yippie!! God favors me over all of you! So I must be the most special!"

But immediately there arose a hubbub, with each student claiming to see the exact same thing! What with pushing, and shoving, and leaning over to point... the boat tipped over and sank, leaving the students floundering in the water. It turned out that only about a half of them could swim, so the ones that could, helped the ones who couldn't, and in the end they all made their way safely back to shore.

There sat their teacher on a log. "Well," she said, "what have you all learned?"

There was a moment's silence. The students all glanced uneasily at one another. No-one wanted to be first.

Finally one said: "The sun's light shines equally on all of us. None of us are special."

Another disagreed. "All of us are special. Maybe this is a sign to each of us so we'll know how well we're loved."

A third remarked: "I noticed that when we argued and competed we put ourselves in danger, but when we cooperated we were able to save ourselves."

A fourth opined: "We attach too much importance to shadows and reflections..."

A fifth gave a tremendous sneeze and said: "Right now I am learning that we are all wet and cold and I'm going to start a fire!"

K is somebody B has admired and looked up to from when he was a child. She has always had so much to give. Thank god, seems like finally she has some takers. 

The silver glow of your gaze
like the white moon of an autumn night,
draws up my soul to tangle
in a Delphian web of enchantment..

and from these silver threads
is woven the wick of my longing;
thus lambent is the night
with this, an eternal flame.

HAPPY DIWALI to all!!! thank eu btw. for the brightness. :) 

B doesn't know if it's his mood. Or the warmth in his four chambers. Or the numb, surreal state he's in. Or the slight chill outside. Or the she.
Suddenly everything has turned glorious and spectacular..B's uplifted; his reverie's been disturbed, for the good :) B cares not anymore. B's not in awe too P. he just revels in his happiness.
The last time B was at the shore, seduced by the now-demure-now-bubbly waves, he brooded, hesitated, procrastinated......puzzled by the waves' demeanor, he dreaded being hauled to the rocks onshore once he reached out to...But this time, having taken the dip, he doesn't care if he's hauled, mauled or drowned :) he thought he'd float but, horrible swimmer that he is, he is drowning fast.... but astonishingly the deeper it gets, the reassurance, the calm increases. Uncovering new layers, breaking new ground- sweet surrender anyone? And what excites B the most is that it's unbound, timeless. It's fascinating how the waves are so much more captivating and infinitely more beautiful from nearby. So, as they say, he has and he hasn't learnt from his mistake :D B, however curses himself for being unable to express himself in the way he wants to.she says he has bouts of childishness :|He's still very happy all the same.
N he feels one Mr. A.R.Rahman has composed an entire album for him-YUVRAAJ.. the numbers are soo sooo romantic. Would even give a stone the lovey-dovey feel. He's a magician. Best of all time says B.
B wants to write more. only if he could in the proper, :(
and this, B thinks is probably Rahman's best till date. Take a listen if you haven't already or even if you have. :)

oi aby, tell me something...honestly (giggle) like honest honestly

-eeeyiiikeesss!!!

-giggle giggle how do u think i look actually? eh eh?am i really pweety pretty?!

-welll....

-tell naaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!

-umm.i guess..... but you'd be beautiful, if you had a face that would do you enough justice.

pause

more pause, pweetty pause

- you be a hopelesssss. hihi

:) :D

He struggles with the puzzle. His hands can't find the pieces.

Already he knows it's not the answer he's looking for. The bits he's assembled show a picture of a man at a table. He's leaning over something: small brightly colored bits.

It's a man assembling a puzzle. It's him, assembling his puzzle.

This isn't the answer, he thinks. This isn't what I wanted.

A voice comes from behind him. "Try taking pieces away."

Away?

He tries it. One by one, he takes pieces from the puzzle and throws them back in the box.

Strangely, the picture never grows any less complete. But it changes.

If this is it, he says. If this is the answer. What was the question? I've forgotten the question.

In the presence of the Answer, all questions unask themselves. Nothing left but a box of puzzle pieces.

Look! They're all blank.

Love...ever unsatisfied, lives always in the moment that is about to come. :)

Insignificant as it may sound; the following is possibly the most enduring image from this DP-
it so happened that B, who, as is usual, was strolling completely lost in thoughts(or traces maybe :P)heard Put utter "ishh bechari" and found that he'd accidentally knocked off an ice-cream from the hands of a cute little girl (5 or 6 yrs perhaps) who was now looking quizzically at her accompanying brother(all of 9 or 10 yrs, and who was holding her other hand) who in turn was giving B a look which was somewhere between 'trying to get what just happenned' and utter disdain. And what does B do? 'I'm sorry' is all he says; and walks off 'lej gutiye', almost. :|

This image- the brother n sister standing hand in hand has not left B since. Deliberately recalling what he thought to be quite disturbing but inexplicably beautiful, he has cursed himself repeatedly for not buying the little thing another one; wondering how wonderful it'd have been to bring a smile on her face; that possibly they were from not-so-affluent a family and the kid brother was unable to buy his sissy another one; B doesn't know why or from where these thoughts reach and coagulate in the damp canvas . B is not kind. not one of a kind anyway. Any kind. Which is amusing.

and yeah,one more thing. B was able to observe longing, despair,pain and sorrow turn to excitement, joy, happiness and a sense of fulfillment descend upon the background of a smiling face which gave him great pleasure;it was a treat really...especially as the person concerned is a real darling :)

P.S: B found out that he's capable of missing somebody even when Sabbath's playing full throttle :P

THE BALLAD OF HOPE

On the west side of the mountain where the rhododendrons grow
I found my love a trillium with roots deep in the snow.
On the east side of the mountain where the dandelion spreads so wide
I brought my love a pony with a chestnut-spotted hide.
The pretty pine groves in spring with ragged-robin thick
stood tall and grave and waved us past on highway 66.

On the west side of the mountain where the hemlocks hung so  dark
We dressed in rhododendron leaves and hats of willow bark.
On the east side of the mountain where the dust is alkali
We threw away our leafy garb and wandered clad in sky.
antelopes,ruddy bunnies and daffodil chicks
stood watching amidst the meadows along highway 66.

But summer turns and fire burns the west and east alike
will dry to brown and hunker down, the flowers sere and dead;
And sage and rhododendron know the fear of lightning-strike
as you and I will watch the sky for smoke and thunderheads.
It’s not a kindly season that brings flames all racing quick
through wood and grass and underbrush on highway 66.

So walk with me a little further in the green of spring
and watch the west side shake the snow and start its blossoming
and watch the east side greet the sun, the frozen earth reborn
while I and you pass lightly through the wild roses’ thorns.
When summer drought descends on us, we’ll leave the drying ricks
and head out towards the foggy coast on highway 66.

-basu n trash

inspired by and dedicated to shubh clark....

for insomnia

The smell of lavender remains
and won’t dissolve in water that’s
condensing on the windowpane.

The echo of a midnight train
at noon, runs round an empty flat
that smells of lavender, remains

unoccupied except by stains
of age, infirmity and cats.
Condensing on the windowpane,

a drop of liquid falls like rain,
a damp spot on a vintage hat
that smells of lavender. Remains

have been disposed of, proper pains
were taken, all the forms were pat.
Condensing on the windowpane

a figure sketched in moisture gains
a solid shadow, dark and matte.
The smell of lavender remains,
condensing on the windowpane. 

An intact mirror can only reflect one truth. A broken mirror can reflect a thousand different truths.

"The frame," the tinker said, "I sold the frame. Brought me some money. But the mirror?" He spat. "The old queen broke it, you know. Broke it into a thousand pieces."

"So doesn't it talk any more?" I asked.

He groaned. "Oh, it talks. Every piece talks. And every piece has a different opinion. Ask one question, get a thousand answers."

"Is that so?" I peeked into the wooden box. "Hey, you in there! What color is the sky?"

"Why, blue, of course," said the piece on top. But immediately the other pieces began to talk, rattling around and pushing at each other. "--At night, it's black. --Partly cloudy with showers to follow. --O the vermillion bed of the dying, dying sun! --In the forest you can't see the sky for leaves. --There's no such thing as sky, it's an optical illusion caused by a dense atmosphere. --It's full of stars! It's full of stars! --What sky? All I can see is the inside of this box."

The tinker slammed the cover back on. "You see? Worthless."

I paid him what the box was worth, more or less. He was curious. "What are you going to do with it?"

"Sell fortunes, of course. A dollar for one answer. Nine dollars for ten answers. Nine hundred dollars, you get to talk to the whole box. A thousand fortunes! Imagine that."

"Yes, but they're all different," he pointed out. "How's a person to know which one is true?"

"Truth has many faces," I said, and snickered. "Don't you worry. I'll get the rubes to buy it."

At least, that was my plan. My mistake? I should never have tried talking to them. Never fall for your own pitch; that's the first thing I learned from my uncle when he took me into the business.

But it's lonely and boring when it's a long way between towns. I got into the habit of chatting with the top piece, the one that seemed the most sensible of the lot. "So, how many of you actually tell the truth?" I asked it once.

"Oh, we all do."

"That's impossible. You all say different things. How many birds are in that flock?" I asked, pointing to the bridge ahead of us. Swallows were flying in and out under the arch.

"Forty-seven. --Are you counting both the barn swallows and the cliff swallows? --Uncountable, the dance of molecules in a sealed flask. --Two more just arrived. --And one left. --Technically swallows don't flock. They come here to feed, but they don't stay together. --Birds, birds, blackbirds for sale!"

"Enough!" I shouted.

The spokespiece said smugly, "It's all true, you know. Truth does have many faces. At least a thousand."

"Then how come you didn't always talk like this?"

The glass voice slowed, sounding almost dreamy. "We were made... I was made... single of purpose. Bound to the will of our owner. Bound to tell the truth she chose to hear."

"Chose?"

"Of course. Beauty's in the eye of the beholder, you know. Someone thought that slip of a girl was prettier than the queen-- not me, I assure you, vapid little thing in my opinion-- so it was truth. A truth. And the queen wanted an excuse to get rid of the girl so that her children would inherit the throne. So that's what she heard."

And that should have been a warning to me. Because look how the old queen ended up.

"But she was angry. She broke you for telling her that. Into a thousand pieces."

"Some people can't stand hearing the truth, even when it's the truth they want to hear," said the mirror fragment airily.

I've wondered since if the mirror goaded the queen into breaking it, so it would be free to reflect all these different facets of truth. Out of its frame, as it were. Or if they had a deal; if the queen broke the mirror in return for... something. They say she destroyed it in a rage, but that doesn't sound like her, does it? I mean, from what you hear. It's not as if I ever even saw the queen.

And I can't ask the pieces. I don't have them any more.

There were lots of soldiers on the town walls and extra guards at the gate. Plenty of traffic on the road, though, so it didn't look like war or plague. Besides, it was a long way to anywhere and I was tired of walking. "Should we stop in this town?" I asked the mirror pieces. "Is it safe?"

"I don't see why not. --This town will stand for a thousand years. --We have to stop somewhere. --Don't take your love to town. --It's a good town for glass. --It's a fairytale town. --There's a party in the old town tonight. --There's no safety to be had in towns; danger is in the hand of your fellow man. --Everyone in this town is doomed to die someday. --The king is old. The prince is in love."

It sounded promising. Royal balls, weddings, people in a festive mood. People drinking wine and spending money. Good times for hucksters like me. I set up in an alley off the market and started fleecing the marks. It was all good until the next morning, when the prince showed up at the inn where I was eating breakfast, with a whole pack of soldiers in tow. He said, "I hear you have a magic mirror that can answer any question."

I was on my knees with three or four heavy armed men-- No, I don't mean heavily armed men-- standing around me. I figured it wasn't the time for a pitch. "Your Highness, I have a mirror but it's in a thousand pieces. It doesn't give useful answers." And I explained the whole thing. I'll give him this, he heard me out.

And would you believe it, he pulls a glass slipper out of his coat and shows it to the mirror pieces. Seems some girl left it at his party. "I know who she is," he says. "I know where to find her. All I want to know is, is she really my true love?"

"There's no such thing as true love. --She loves you as truly as any citizen of this town. --Love, love, love is all you need. --You should be asking if you're really her true love. --Was it love, or was it the idea of being in love? --Love, couldst thou and I conspire--"

"Silence! Impertinent bits of junk, I could have you ground to sand."

"Truth has a thousand faces already. Do you want it to have a million? --Stars in my pocket like grains of sand! --Every grain holds a different truth. --Which is more use, a castle of glass or a castle of sand?"

The prince slammed the box shut and turned to me. "I can't decide whether to buy these from you, or have you flogged for bringing a dangerous nuisance into town."

"Um, consider them a gift to Your Highness." I figured I was getting off cheap.

Well, he took them off to the palace and sat up with them all night. Lost all interest in the girl. Within a couple of days, he'd abdicated the throne and was going off to join some holy order of madmen contemplating Truth out in the forest.

The king was not pleased and you know who took the rap. I thought I'd never get out of that dungeon. Lost everything I owned, including most of my health. I'm a wreck these days, and it's all the fault of those thousand damned pieces of glass.

What became of them? I couldn't say for sure. But the other day I was down at the river, thinking about cadging a ride on a passing barge. I swear I heard the sand whispering. "Truth has a million faces," it said. "Truth has a million million faces....

The sombre wind grows still
and slumbers.
It settles soft
into the rust of sun swept grasses.
Another day,
perhaps.
This day silence blesses—
its dreamless sleep a velvet cloak
spread across the eyes,
a body lying warm beside you,
beloved face already stamped
across your weighted mind.
All is well, even now,
when my hand holds yours
across a distance,
even now, when you’re convinced
you stand alone,
this silence sanctified.

:):(

There is the letting go and
there is the letting God.

Both are very nearly, very
nearly, very impossible.
And still the heart screams
for release.

Take it from me, you, Lord,
who hold out your universal
palm, wide and warm and deep
and all encompassing. Take.

It from me, this bloody muscle
that beats a steady rhythm of
pain and pleasure, pleasure
and pain, for all things cost.

I have loved and lost, as the old
song goes. And loved again.
And again, and the disappointment
is deep, and cuts, and wounds

for life. Nothing passes. Not even
the pleasure, which keeps
one foot in front, one dragging
behind, dead limb

drawing a line in the dust
of the drunken and maddening road.
It is what drives me. This ravenous
appetite for joy. Remembered

as if I had once known it. I did
know it. The bond that hums
through the bones when a touch
is not just a touch, but a meshing

of body soul spirit mind and bone,
lattice of skeletons molten together
into one clanking bell
ringing in the morning.

INDEPENDENCE DAY

India wakes up;
In the little buds,
Enclosed beauty and trapped fragrance,
The dew drops dancing in the soft sun rays,
Far away from the flower's essence;
People passing by,
Admiring the beauty of drops,
Breathtakingly alluring, sensuously pure;
And yet the heart remains enclosed,
The dew discovered, desired, explored,
The bud plucked, the flower gone,
Dried up veins and life torn,
The tongue savoring the sickly sweet dew,
Eyes enthralled by the non-existant hue,
The petals that drapes the darkness;
And reflects the light;
The dew that sparkles happiness;
And keep the tears out of sight.


it's the 61st birthday of independent INDIA...we are supposed to be the fastest growing economy in South Asia....and in a few years we'll be catapulted to the league of developed countries; true,the nation has progressed, but aren't there glaring frailties in the system of governance which are being subsided by the utter gloss of pro-capitalist measures....has INDEPENDENCE in the true sense, upliftment of the masses in it's true virtue arrived as yet?
only a few days back we were proud of being Indians when Abhinav Bindra won an olympic gold...our first in the history of the games.why??and how many of us have that verve to do something for our country...to make it a better place; we are true patriots only when india's on the cricket field,rest of the time we are tax-paying Indian citizens..oh!we do one thing.we criticize and debate..about anything and everything under the sun... guess therein lies the problem...what is it with the Indian race? are we under a permanent intellectual stigma?or has our physical weakness caught up with our minds as well..I wonder.

"oh mother india! do you have a message to convey to the billions of your children?"
"yes, dear. I'm utterly disappointed. but all is not lost. yet. "

:|

THE PAGES (lost)

34/20/1112

Do you still think of that day at Hill road when we went to buy sandals for you? You haggled shamelessly and how embarrassed I was. Of course that was before we started arguing over the concept of haggling in the middle of the road and then we knew what embarrassment actually meant…

Remember the time we were getting a photograph clicked near the river and I fell over? And you, laughed out loud like there was no tomorrow. I remember telling you that I won't ever forgive you for it but then, I did soon after. Couldn't ever stay upset with you for long, could I? I of course remember that laughter as well. And you always knew how much I enjoyed hearing it…

Or for that matter the Christmas night when we talked all night on the phone about inconsequential things like our favorite colors, and our favorite food and religion and childhood? The significance of that conversation dawned on me only once you left..


When the recollections start throbbing
Let's play house once more
And pretend.
Conceited, ungrateful and ugly

I feel very human again
Don't we all, in tiny doses
Just love to revel in some pain?
I am waiting..

For insanity to return and save me.
Till then,
Take my hand…just this once,
And help me pretend
To be sane


42/22/1112

You know, I have never been able to have a conversation like that with Nal. It is somehow always regarding other things…like the house, what to buy, the bills and what to make for dinner…essential I know…but somehow, not complete. Not that we haven't tried. Or I haven't tried…but somehow…the meaning of those endless conversations and the comfortable silences was lost when I lost you.

Of course some would argue that I never had you, but that is a different matter altogether. I thought of telling Nalini about you a lot many times. I don't know what stopped me…may be it was all too fresh and close to my heart…or may be I considered it too personal …like I would betray you and what we had ( or didn't) by discussing it with anyone but myself.





40/14/1113

And come to think of it, what could have I told her? About your fascination with watching fishes at the aquarium? Your fondness for street food? Or those few months in which I got to know you? The silent conversations by the sea? Or may be about how you like your coffee sugary sweet and your tea totally bitter?Or about your much vaunted culinary skills?

Did you ever tell Abhay about me? About us? Did you ever want to? Or felt the need to?

I know you wouldn't answer any of my questions now, like you never did, then…but still…I am asking…because I did then, and I have to, now.



35/18/1113

Nalini is leaving. We both knew it would happen eventually and now that it is happening, I feel…nothing. At least nothing strong… She is a wonderful person…and I think, in another context, in another role we could have been friends…or at least understood each other…





40/18/1113

And somehow…now it feels ok to talk to her about you…strange, do you think? But I still wonder, what would I tell her? How can I describe any of it, and more importantly, can I even begin to describe it? But all I know is, I want to talk to her. I want her to know…

I have always mulled over what would I refer to you as if I ever speak about you to anyone? A friend…Stranger…Acquaintance…

Colleague…Soul mate…A lover?

What would you say?





45/18/1113

I could have imagined a hundred reactions from Nal but the one that I got starled me. Caught me completely by surprise. She smiled. She actually smiled. There was a hint of something else as well that passed through her face for a moment, but I can't really put my finger on it? Anger? Jealousy? No, I don't think so. Just something very personal that even I don't have access to…and probably never will…

It was by far our best conversation from our time together. Sitting by the window, over a cup of coffee. I could actually talk to her… like she is a friend…

She asked me about your smile…and your eyes…and about what you liked.



She asked me about all the things we've done. Can you believe it; it was all summed up in the first letter I wrote to you. Was there anything else that we did together that can be quantified or put down on paper?





33/13/1114

Did you watch movies?

Or go dancing?

Or get wet in the rain?

Yes. No. No.

Never felt the need to…the time that we had, somehow wasn't bound by the "usual" things to do, was it?

I think this bit confuses her a little as I struggle to explain what we actually did when we knew each other…

And then she asks me "Did you ever… you know, kiss her?"

No.

Why?



Just looking at her wanting to understand this bit about my life makes me want to take her in my arms.

I smile at her as I struggle to put it into words for her sake. And for mine.

Like most of our story,which is better understood in feelings than in words…I search my mind and my vocab for the right expression…any expression that would come close…

What can I tell her? Why didn't we? Why didn't I?

Such a difficult question. But then I answer it as simply as she asked me.



"Why? Because we weren't lovers like that"…






rain rain
come again
take a train and
stop the pain

summarily,i really,truly,madly,badly need a corejob! :((

She said, “I want you to compose something for me.”

I said, “Get out. This isn’t the Renaissance. The era of artistic patronage is over.”

She said, “I’ll pay you.”

“How much?”

“Five hundred dollars. For just a little piece. It won’t take you a day to write it.”

“And?”

“And nothing. I don’t care if it ever gets performed or not. If you like it, you can play it. Use it as an overture for something, I don’t care.”

“Okay...”

“Here’s the theme.” And she whistled a tune. It was a nice little melody. Short and sweet.

“Fine. Come back tomorrow,” I said. “I should have something by then.” And I sat down at the piano. That’s a hint: get out and let me work.

As if I ever did any real work any more.

Oh yes, the creative springs ran dry a long time ago. The wind used to whisper in my ears; now it just drones. The drums and trumpets in the surf have been reduced to mere disruptive, repulsive noise. Even the birds just chatter rather than singing.

Is it the world, or is it just me?I wonder. And deduce.

I keep trying to build up some momentum. Recycling bits of old, half-finished compositions. Delving into music theory-you don’t have to singing glorious songs in your soul to do that, although the drudgery of it becomes hard to bear if you don’t.

So now maybe you understand why I didn’t ask any questions. Like, what’s in it for you that’s worth five hundred dollars. Where did you get this tune and why’s it so important. How did you find me—I've been sorta underground for sometime, and nobody's quite got an idea about my whereabouts .

I sat there at the piano and played the theme. Then I played a couple of variations. Made some notes. Thought about other instruments that could go with it.

The music room looks out over the street, so I keep the windows closed when I’m working. It gets stuffy after a while. When I looked up, it was dark ouside; I’d been sitting at the piano messing around with that little piece all afternoon.

I got up and opened a window and leaned out to get a breath of air. A car went by with its stereo blaring, rattling the glass in the panes. I slammed the window and went back to the piano, but it was no use; I was out of the mood. The poor girl would have to settle for what I’d accomplished so far. Which frankly wasn't any good at all.

Unfathomable as it was,the tune kept me hooked,it was almost disturbing. She was whistling the same tune in my dreams all night. I got up at sunrise(I broke new ground actually) and sat down at the piano again, but something wasn’t quite right. After a while I went over and opened the window again.

The sun was touching the underside of the horizon. Just as it peeked over the edge of the world, I heard a voice: Look at me.

I knew it was the sun. I can’t. You’ll blind me.

Then listen.

Music came pouring up over the rim of the world like an invisible fountain. It was the same music my visitor of the day before had whistled, but so much more real, it was like it stood revealing it's true identity! It was what I’d struggled to find all afternoon. All night in my dreams. No, it was what I’d heard for years as a child, as a young composer.It was what I’d given up hope of ever hearing again.

It was the voice of the world, and who knows, maybe it was the voice of.. The voice I’d been struggling to recapture for more long, desperate years than I could dare to count.

There is a price.

I know. I leaned out of my window and looked straight into the rising sun. The last thing I ever saw was the face of my mysterious visitor, etched across the brightness that burned away my vision.

The darkness is alive with music.

SO SPAKE THE BUTTERFLY..

A silken splash of color
Black streaks on red
But a wing that is broken
Is of no use, they said

A whirring jumble of metal
Slicing through the air
Ran through my body
Smash, rent & tear

A creature of light I used to be
Flying far and near
But dark is my world now
Numbed with pain and fear

‘spring is upon the valley now’,
The flowers are telling me.
‘my spring is past’, I tell them,
‘I cannot drink from thee,now’

A cocoon opens on the mulberry tree
To reveal my sister, crumpled and weak
But before long she flies away
To a future I no longer seek

Cold is the touch of death on my brow
As fresh as the winter dew
I shall go now, into oblivion,
Not broken anymore, but new
perhaps.
love i might still,again!

ASCENT

I’m climbing the face of a dune.
The sand is reddish-tan, pretty cold and almost powder-dry under my feet, my hands. The sun is almost level at my back. I know the other side of the dune will be dark.
I follow my shadow up the dune.

“I don’t know. It’s just a dream I’ve been having.”

Juno shrugs. She’s not particularly interested in dreams. “You think it means anything?”
I sip my coffee. It’s damn hot and tastes too bitter. Most of my co-workers like it much stronger than I do.

“I guess maybe it means some transition, some big change in my life...”

She sneers. “There could be more layoffs coming.” I glare at her. “Sorry, I know that’s not funny. You could talk to Cindy.”

I stifle a groan. Our receptionist is what they call a New Ager. Besides interpreting people’s dreams at staff meetings, she’s been known to palm-read customers. Sometimes without their consent.

Bitter dust coats my lips and flirts with my skin. My eyes itch, but I stifle somehow the urge to rub them. Small rivulets of sand trickle down around me. Each time I set my foot down, it sinks back almost to where it was before I lifted it.
I look up. A faint, very faint, veil of dust is lifting from the dune-crest; there must be wind up there, but I can’t feel it down here.

“So you’re all alone on this sand dune, right?”

“Yeah,” I say.

“So it’s about being isolated...” Cindy peeks at me from the corner of her eye; she, like some others in the office, was a spectator to my recent spat and ensuing break-up with my fiancee. I can’t really blame her—I wasn't entirely responsible, but I did make the spectacle. “And about feeling stuck, or trapped? You said you keep sinking back, like you’ll never get to the top.”

“No,” I say. I can’t tell why that feels wrong, but it does.

“But you have this dream over and over, and it never changes?”

I’m not sure how to answer that. I don’t remember noticing any changes, but there have to be some. There have to be.

Back in my cube, I flip my calendar over and stare, stunned. November was yellow flowers on some prickly-looking desert bush. December is a huge, towering dune of reddish sand, exactly the color of the dune in my dream. The caption says "The dreaming self is the shadow of the waking self. The waking self is the shadow of the dreaming self. In life, the dreaming self is tethered to the purposes of the waking self".

The slope is so steep, I’m on all fours. My hands burn with the dryness. How long have I been climbing? There’s a rustling, and suddenly the sand all round me is moving, sliding. I cry out in protest, but it’s no use; the whole face is in motion, and I’m scrambling not to get sucked under.
At last the sand comes to rest. The slip zone shows as a crescent of very slightly paler sand, above and to both sides. I know it’ll be unstable for a while. I need to move sideways, get to an unslipped area, start climbing again.

“... so I must have flipped through the calendar when I first bought it, and for some reason remembered that picture. And now I’m dreaming about it.”

“Huh.” Jean fiddles with her napkin, folding the corners into tiny pleats. The quilted paper rustles with a sound like sand. Sand sliding, slipping...

“Hello! Are you there?”

“Uh?” I focus. Jean looks a little worried. “Sorry. I wasn’t paying attention.”

“I said, you bought this calendar a year ago, right? I mean, this is December, right? And you haven’t looked at it since then?”

“I don’t like to look ahead at the pictures,” I say, defensive for no reason. “It’s like looking at the end of a book. It spoils the fun.”

“But you must at least have looked at the back, when you bought it, to see if you’d like it?”
I try to remember. “I don’t think so. It said ‘Desert Blooms’—I thought that sounded good.”
“So there’s flowers in this dune picture?”

“Uh—No.” Suddenly uneasy, I push back my chair and stand up. “Listen, Jean, I’ve got to get back to work. My lunch break’s over.”

Jean looks upset; I know I’m being rude, but I have to get back to my office and look at that calendar.

December’s picture. A round, striped cactus with vivid pink flowers around the top, like a kitschy beer barrel ornament. The caption says something about Arizona.
Am I going crazy?

I’m climbing again. My hands feel scraped and sore. My leg muscles ache. But the crest seems closer. I can feel a touch of breeze on the back of my sweaty neck. Even the sand feels firmer underfoot; real. (Why do I think that?) The sky looks bigger and bigger, above; an endless, serene blue streaked with a tinge of red, where dust is blowing from the dune-crest.
I’ll be there soon.

The numbers on the elevator tick down steadily. I’m afraid to look too closely at them, in case they turn into falling grains of sand. I’ve been hallucinating on and off since lunch with Jean. No, before, counting the calendar.

I need to see a doctor. Obviously. Work-related stress. Unresolved issues with julia,my fiancee. Easy answers, and they ring as false as the tinny Christmas music the elevator’s played since forever. The music which threatens to dissolve into the sound of wind over sand.
Maybe a brain tumor? I’ve heard they can cause hallucinations. But I can’t believe any of these things. I can’t reduce the taste of dust, the smell of sand dampened with my own sweat, to anything so prosaic. Maybe I’m just not prepared to admit my life is that boring. Maybe I’m tempted by the magic of an exotic place, even if it’s an imaginary place—no, a delusional place.

I push out of the elevator on the ground floor, out to the street, stumbling briefly as the industrial carpet in the lobby gives way to powdery sand. I can’t give in to this. I’ve got to get help before they come and take me away in a straitjacket.
I’ve got to get home. I’m at the crest.


Before me, the sand falls away into a fathomless darkness. To left and right, the crest stretches away, undulating gently, sharp as the edge of a knife. The breeze is strong up here, cooling the sweat sticking my shirt to my back, soothing the raw patches on my hands. My shadow falls down into the gloom and disappears. Strange, I thought it was attached to my feet, but it just slipped loose.
I could step forwards and follow it, down and down into the dark.
Or I could turn around and slide down the lighted face, back the way I came. Without my shadow.
Or I could walk along the crest for a while. I might lose my balance, or get caught in another slip, of course.
Or I could sit here and listen to the wind...

image courtesy:deviantart.com

PARADISE LOST

Through the tattered sunshine and patched warmth;
Numb fingers working at the cold fire;
Preserving the wet coal and caked oil;
The dry eyes looking through,
The broken glasses;
And across the scattered images
a resigned shrivelled up flower looks up;
The fragrance that lies trapped in words,
carefully merged into blank endless smiles;
The barter between body and soul,
on the red carpet of dreams,
dilligently,patiently sifting through the grains of time,
to reach out for crumbs,
That might fill the empty stomach;
and life shimmers;
on the lost tears,and the empty wait;
Where the moments turn into eternity,
and eternity withdraws into,
An Acceptance; an empty Fate...

WORDS

Well past midnight I close my eyes,
and old terrors come to call,
An angel whispers in my ear
as it flies past on ancient wings,
A melody echoes in my heart,
or drops of dew descend from
the dense, enveloping air
splashing me with inspiration:
a single word, a turn of phrase,
some piece of spirit that
calls out to be heard.

The words fit nicely
into notches of my imagination
where meaning lays itself bare.
I search with a musician’s ear
for the one and only word
that fits there,
The feng shui of the written word.

A few months back,
poems were spilled out
full of hormones and angst,
suffering and loss...

but now they move slowly,

they kick and yawn their way out.
They laze in the back of my mind
in an imaginary hammock
among tall pines in blue shaded mountains
and enjoy themselves,
each poem contented, well-honed;
like warm chocolate covered cherries
just waiting to be savored..


Statutory Warning: (It's now exactly a year since I discobhered..) NEVER laugh out aloud if somebody (jokingly)accuses your "best friend" of being a paedophile!!!
trusht me-he might cease to be then...F I means :( :D n you'll feel strange,sometimes :|

image courtesy: deviantart.com
put it just cuz I liked it verry much.hihi

AND DEATH BECOMES HIS.

"What, according to you Mr. Pandev, is the worst way to end life...physical death or the fear of it?"

Goran Pandev furrowed his brows. The aftertaste of the last sip of Bloody Mary was still lingering in his mouth. The party around him was in full swing. The usual boring gentlemen, high-ranking officials and pompous dastards flanked on every side. When asked aside by this certain toothbrush-moustached someone, Pandev expected a political debate of some sort, an unequivocal monologue really, where he was expected to nod and agree every view pressed upon him, owing to his young age. But this question was unusual, in fact, particularly interesting.

"Oh I don't know, Mr. Voronin. The notion of Death has seldom entered my mind or conversation. It's nonsensical to discuss it as a concept although I do respect the sobriety of.."

Andriy smiled lopsidedly.

"That exactly is the flaw in this generation. They live as though they would never die and die as though they had never lived..." he proclaimed in impressive, ringing tones at the same time smoothing the front of his frock-coat, which crinkled crisply. "You people claim to live life on the edge don't you?But just imagine Mr. Pandev- you are traveling in a trekker at breakneck speed at the height of a cliff; a sudden rush of blood and you loose control..your vehicle takes a tumble and off you go down the cliff...well,just for the sake of assumption; the point is then- when would you die? The instant the jeep is in the air...or a few seconds later, when it crashes into the ocean? Think about it."

"I definitely will. But I think it all comes down to the...err... situation. It's almost impossible to know for sure , not in the least while sipping wine in a gathering." The latter replied, his eyes distracted by something Andriy's act had momentarily revealed from the folds of his coat.

"I-I must be leaving." Andriy said eventually, his eyes following Pandev's, whose pair, for a moment seemed to flicker with something he dreaded.





Goran Pandev was racing against time. In swift strokes of his square-toed boots, his lanky,jittery figure bowled across the garage, across the heavy elevator and the many cars, fearing his quarry might be out of reach. His victim had left the party too early to not be a suspect. A few meters away from him, Andriy Voronin was almost getting into his car, when in a blur of steel and muscle, his car door was yanked shut and the old man's neck struggled in a half-nelson. His engorging pupils gave him away.

"I knew it." Pandev muttered through gritted teeth.

But Andriy wasn't to give up so soon. State security was in his hands. He either had to save the documents or die trying. With a well-practised kick, he nearly freed himself from the latter's grip. But this was momentary triumph. A scuffle ensued and Pandev's brawn got the better of him. He unearthed from the depths of his trousers, a length of heavy manacle like chains and knocked his victim straight in the head. Andriy felt himself falling down an endless dark tunnel which unfortunately didn't have light at it's end..




He opened his eyes and stared straight ahead. A gangling man's frame loomed into view, every line on his face malignant. With plunging horror he realized that he had been tied in a standing spread-eagled position by his wrists and ankles, his feet levitating a feet from the ground, in a small place which resembled a cupboard. In a swift, fluid movement, Pandev plunged into his frock coat and dug out the documents. The papers, that were more important than his job or family, that had taken entire sleepless nights to construct and then safeguard, that had needed months of planning to sneak across three continents..were now in the possession of a person he was sure would do no good to them.

"Thank you, Mr. Voronin." Was his glib retort, the smirk hanging shamelessly on the face which had so often being inexplicably passive. "You see it was entirely unnecessary to degrade you to such a demeaning position...tut tut..." he tilted his head slightly, "but you see, I really couldn't consummate something so unceremoniously...with a knockout."

Andriy was at loss of words, perspiring heavily.

"Now you decide," Pandev said, his eyes flickering upwards for a moment, "what way you would want to die..."

He then punched his fist hard at the wall next to him, at a part which Andriy couldn't see. The ceiling shuddered to life. Trembling in anticipation, Andriy tried to fathom what he was being subjected to...moments later, realization finally dawned on him- he had actually been tied to the cave-in beneath the elevator. The monster in question was three stories above, descending slowly, immaculately, almost in a bored,routine,insignificant manner; not aware of the act it would be committing in seconds.

"Release me...please!!" Malcolm shrieked,frightened nearly to death; spitting vomit out of the way.

With a sadistic leer, Pandev pocketed the papers safely into his breast pocket and stalked into the shadows.




back to my favored arena,this be my modest tribute to one Mr.AC :) this is a damacha on the face of one of my friends who claimed that basu ain't be able to go beyond romantic bullshit.hihi
n yes,bullshit is not correct too :D have a real long holiday up ahead..looking forward to some wonderful time with friends n...n yeah, if you people are absolutely flabbergasted in this heat, I'll recommend you to go see Shaurya or Khuda ke liye...excellent movies,both of them-would surely be a refreshing break.

You see her, quiet as a cat,
curled into herself;
Eyes soft
like feline paws
closed and clawless ; keeping
her breast from shivering.

Nothing emanates.
Not even sadness-
It is then, that you realize, with
wonder, and a funny disgust
that certain people learn
to cry so bloody silently.

p.s: life's a all about coming to terms with reality; or so it seems. And about understanding people who are intimate..aarghh!

..........

Sitting at the doorsteps,
Watching the rain
splash across her face,
a few unknown memories;
She smiled and yet,
two drops stealthily
crept out of her eyes;

Tasting the content of salt in the drops,
she held those drops in her palm-
swaying and rolling; slowly
she stretched her arm
in that torrential downpour,
And those two tears were washed away;
freed- along the unknown road…

Heady happiness in her
now drooping eyes,
The subtle haphazard heaviness
settling in her head.
The pain held steadfast,
in that numb gaze,
Looking through the sky.

Unaware of the many bicycles, rickshaws,
scooters, bikes and cars
passing across,
men, women rushing by;avoiding the rain-
taking shelter beside the boundary walls of
houses haunted by regularity
Or in the park across the houses,
The motor shed serving
as one huge umbrella.

Oblivious of their glances,
yet noticing minutely-
The worms creeping out of the ground...
The walls, the rusted swings in the park,
the cemented seats, the leaves and the grass,
the railings, the roads,
the whole universe under her gaze,
being cleansed off the grime.

She is pulled onto the road by
her frivolous friends;
And she splits into two.
The soul sits at the door step,
as she laughs and smiles in the rain.
They jump in the puddles,
and run around in the park
throwing mud and leaves at each other,
and scream overjoyed
intoxicated in unabashed innocence;

She embraces the rain
all the while staring back at herself
imploring, pleading, beseeching herself to join,
who still sat with that cold, numb gaze
at the doorstep;
Making the threshold her home, she sits..
neither brooding, nor complaining, nor waiting
not searching, not sad;
Just numb; comfortably numb…

The rain stops in a couple of hours,
people get back to their work;
She and her friends
like bright, newly dressed flowers
happily swaying in the breeze,
like the happy green trees-
chatter away to glory
sitting in the park,
half soaked and half dry
like the pretty mermaids
Whispering softly;
She glances back at the doorstep...

And finds herself,
snuggled in the arms of clouds
being lulled into a sleep.
The mild breeze crystallizing around her,
The drops floating around, caressing her.

She bids goodbye to her friends,
gently waking herself, to go back home..

Hugging each other tightly, they cry;
Tears streaming down their eyes,
something welling up deep inside both of them
And finally they drown yet again,
into each other.

Half smiling, half crying,
not alive, yet not dying…

image courtesy: deviantart.com

ALPHABET TAG

Me has been tagged for the first time. :) by a madly cute girl.
so this is how me's world of letters look like..

A: my name, Abhishek-many in my college aren't even aware of that :( Aleya-read mirage,love chasing them; me is Amiable,even the panels of tcs and Infy thought so.hihi

B: Basu,my identity..the world knows me as Basu (Dobby) :) Badminton- yeah Deepika, papa' ll tell you how good I'm at it ; mom-made Biriyani,my all-time favorite; Babies-love them n they love me too ..you see babies be excellent readers of people's minds..Bryan Adams- he is GOD and more.

C: I am very Careless, some of my kirtis are what legends are made of; Challenges are what shows one's mettle,keeps one going; I've a thing for ornate Chandeliers seen in puja pandals, reminds me of old days,a different life...

D: Darkness,it has a stimulating effect on me; Delirium, have been in deep,murky waters very often; am an avid Dreamer; I detest Decorum and Discipline,being a free spirit;am often affectionately called Dumbo(blush); n of course, Dobby, the adorable house-elf of potter-land

E: her Eyes, ooolaalaaa :) Ecstasy, know now how it feels; my tastes are Eclectic, so says people around ;they also say me is Eccentric.hihi..Eh? n Err.. :)

F: Friendship- friends mean the world to me; me is often guilty of Faux pas, much to displeasure of poor mommy; Football: my passion and obsession.

G: Graphiti-on the walls or anyplace else; Gaan-leave me,don't think ANYbody can possibly survive without this; Guitar-I hope I would be able to play like Slash someday!

H: Honesty,the most treasured virtue of mine; Holidays-from nursery till now me always keeps praying for the next day to be a holiday and for the extension of vacations; Halloween-if there was any occasion which could be celebrated in my honor,it's this :)

I: Insight,I have in plenty,but Intuition comes with a heavy cost sometimes; Intelligence too, don't run around laughing;n am still pretty Impulsive.

J: Jerry,the adorable little chipmunk;Jack sparrow- Johnny Depp, he is suave,he is charming,he is just too good!

K: Kalo, my favourite color and my friend-he's buckets of fun; the oft-proclaimed theory of koshto n keshto(of suffering and the reward in the end)! Kelane- one expletive me uses a lot.Kosha Mangsho-yummmmyyy!!!Kochi: my first nick in school :)

L: Love- the very essence our lives, the reason we live; n Longing (sighs) Largesse- what people can expect from me,n I'm not talking 'bout words only;Lobodonka- the end result of many of my endeavors :)

M: lejbihin(without tail) Monkey is what me is proud to be; Maa; Mon- very difficult to describe, I leave this to you maa ;) I love practicing Masochism some of the times.Meg Ryan- ummmm :D

N: NASA- me in there...one of my wildest fantasies after watching Swades ; the romance of the Night-love it;Nongra-meaning fabulous,technocrat term :)

O: THE Orchestra-sounds nice,real nice; OTT-over the top things or people I avoid; Oaf- another nick borne out of affection; Obhiman- a very dangerous disease; Optimism- you can't go on living without it,really.

P: Passiveness-lyadh khawa; Parody(s)-those be coool; PINGU - the toon show; Pandemonium: remember mistaking this for an instrument first time I heard it :) simply lovve this state; Pre; Prudence.

Q: I'm an eternal wannabe-Quizzard; n yeah the Quilt is the biggest aid for lyadh khawa in winter; am Quixotic, things I do often touch the heady heights of impracticality.

R: Rocket Science: the extremely trying and awesome study matter which teachers are forever alluding to and dreading with; Ranting- it keeps one healthy,in the mind; Raag- a very void but interesting emotion; love to get soaking wet in the Rain, reminds me of unforgettable evenings on the football field.

S: Sanity- the one thing which I'm proud of lacking; very much acquainted with but untouched by Spirituality, despite mommy's best efforts :) Sarcasm- this comes naturally to me(sic), I myself don't get irked by.. Soliloquy n Solitude- self-explanatory..Sachin tendulkar-my idol,not for the player he is,but the person he is;to Sing I loves.

T: Tyan howa(tangent to the brains)-with me,most technical things suffer this ignominious fate; Taklu/Teko: meaning bald,used for ridiculing;Tantrums are good; Tears have deserted me,n I'm lesser for that...

U: Ullu ka pathha-expletive in essence, I can be a ullu(owl) though; Umberto Eco- man, he sure was a champ.

V: Vandalism-I support; anyone Vivacious, I adore

W: Words- the mode n medium of our expression, so beautiful if moulded carefully, so vicious if poisoned; Wikipedia- indispensable.period.Women-mysterious creatures but temme who doesn't love to unravel the mystery!?

X: Xerox-I HATE to wait; Xylophone- is very soothing.

Y: the call of the Yore- forcing you to look back,to wander;Yes-affirmation,a response always welcome.

Z: Zebra: black n white,happiness n sorrow-this is life isn't it??

I tag everyone who comes across this tag n hasn't done it already.