One Drink

One drink to the champ,

Forced in the ring with his hands tied 

One drink to the tears unseen,

The ones pride couldn't hide

One drink for the striving lark,

Flying, to an empty nest

One drink to the unhealed wounds 

The bleeds, time can't mend

One drink my friends

To those who drink,

One drink to those

Who understand why

- Sanket 

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Ashes to Ashes Dust to Dust!!

As the evening grows dark I come to rest at a small pool of water... its character muddied by circumstances. I hold it in my hands, the shifting surface refusing to reflect a pale moon ... and so I seek in the darker depths ........ a glimpse ......... a hint of the moon that once shined so clear ........ a light now  missing.  I sit down and try to  wash the stains of tire the day has brought.... the stains refuse to fade away ..... and I smile at the fact that it wouldn't matter even if they did. To the water I say ... here is laughter - here is love - the flowers once so beautiful - I now offer you withered.

 

On and on I walk through the night and I reach an old abandoned fort .... I roam its insides ... now dreary quiet ... I chase those empty shadows of silence for the hint of laughter that once echoed and I ask - where did he go? the boy that once capered and galloped, and ran merry in halls of gold.

I walk and stumble till noon past morn .... now seeking again - a drink of water ... a humble drop. I  reach an endless barren ... surrounded by a scalded land ... I fall on my  knees and dig with bare hands .... in that dry parched earth - I forsake my soul -  I bury its grey fabric - a satin once white as snow.

Ashes to  ashes - Dust to dust. Behold in its quite sombre - the death of  Hope.

- Sanket

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When time does not.

There is pain that cannot be known, except by those who already know it. And it is hard to explain.  The impact is sudden, the initiation abrupt and its presence violent.  Its true nature - shrouded in suffering. And time only heals its symptoms - the venom left for later.

It is a cacophony of screams. And you shut your eyes to blackness, and then it begins...

All of your nightmares and past wounds come alive with malice, and attack at random will without relevance. As you are made to relive every single horror of your past - like you have travelled back in time - like the incidents are happening to you again. Its agony is beyond defiance, and you feel as if you were born and killed and born and killed over and over again. And suddenly you know - what hell feels like.


An experience reserved to be felt only once, you are made to live it again and again. And you begin to recognize what death looks like.  The blackness in your eyes shifts, and you realize it is just too dark a shade of red. It is a red  you have never seen before. 

And you begin to lose track. There is no orientation, no logic, no functionality left untouched, and no sense of time or place, no motive nor purpose, just blinding anguish. You forget hunger, you do not feel awake, you do not feel asleep.  There is no veil between you and your pain, no distance, no shield, no excuse nor escape.

It is a pain that penetrates all defenses. Of ego and pride, of apathy and arrogance, of assurance and confidence and pierces right to the core changing that most scared defining element in you; 'How you look at yourself?' It is a pain that changes your soul.

You are left with a distinct before and after memory of yourself, a person and a constellation of characteristics you can never return to. The recovery is not repairing, it is remaking. And it takes its own time with many failures and little to cheer.

And you realize that some wounds never really heal. That you have to find a way to live with them. It is a pain that cannot be known, except by those who already know it. And it is hard to explain. 

- Sanket

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How Long ?

How long will winter last for the young seed

As it dies alive, its spring denied

How long will the storm rage for the bird on edge

Waiting, for its wings to fly

How long should the capers halt before they lose step

As the child grows up and the boy dies

How long should the strings bear stretch

Their tunes mute, craving a master's hand

How long do the corks stay shut, as the wine waits

For a celebration to come by

How long should the secrets search a ear

Before they lose scent, And their mystery spoils

How long do the eyes fight sleep, their lust longing a touch

And desire succumbs to its own cries

How long do the lips hold shut, And silence the screams

Before they forget how to smile

How long should a heart seek love

Before it fills itself with ungiving sand

How long will the winter last, for the frosted seed

Why was its spring denied ??

- Sanket

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Deepu Thomas

People usually have a best buddy in school when they are growing up. I

was fortunate - I had two; Anand and Deepu. Eventually - the 'growing

up' did end and fate placed us on different points of latitude and

longitude, prohibiting contact for months, sometimes, years together.

It is at Anand's request that I write this article today.

Try as I may, it is impossible for me to write this piece without

being overwhelmed. And so, if I err, I kindly ask you to forgive me

just this once. I write with enormous compassion and great humility

today - for today's article is about our best friend Deepu Thomas.

I was 5 years old and 2 feet tall when I first met Deepu. Since, I

clearly can not claim to be mature at the time, it is entirely

possible that those numbers are a trifle off-mark. What I do remember

clearly, was the universal likability of this boy. Quiet, shy and

easy to get along, Deepu had the makings of the perfect 'good boy'

from an early age. Anand joined us soon after. Indeed for a large

portion of my school years, we did everything together and soon

enough the school teachers had a rule of not letting us sit together.

If Anand portrayed intelligence and I portrayed arrogance, Deepu was

the living definition of simplicity. Immensely talented, yet

endearingly humble, he was the kind of boy who talked less yet spoke

more. His presence had a way of unconsciously teaching life long

lessons through the smallest of actions.

Lunch hour was an unusually tumultuous time in our lives at the time.

And so I wasn't surprised, but agitated none the less when it reached

new heights one day...... We were having our usual 'peacefully

chaotic' meals - when a bigger boy toppled Deepu's lunch box. Deepu

was never the one to get into fights and probably wouldn't have said

anything, so I took the honorable duty of hitting the boy as hard as I

could. This clearly took my adversary off guard as he must have

thought me to be mad to take on a boy his size alone. Needless to say

- his following punch was a great set back to my morals. I looked at

Deepu with a "Now what??" expression - and so in our common interest

he joined the battle. Fortified with new valor, I launched into a

fresh assault on our enemy - this time targeting his nose, using his

ample long hair as hanging ropes... through the corner of my eye, I

caught a glimpse of Deepu randomly hitting the guy - and so we kept at

it - till our enemy thought he had enough and decided to make a run

for it.

Oh yes! We were then made to kneel outside the classroom. I must admit

I felt a little guilty, to make Deepu suffer the punishment with me.

He looked at me kindly though, and we giggled our way through the

lecture. Later on Deepu showed tremendous restraint, as I play-acted

(over acted) the fight to my friends over and over again. None of us

was smart enough to observe, that my versions were varying in detail

at each iteration.

Alas! our glory was short lived! Soon later, seizing an opportune

moment, our former Mr 'Big Boy' trapped me at the end of school one

day. Behind my back lay the steep walls of "Cretch Grounds" -

impossible to scale and the only exit out of the ground was cut off by

Mr "Big Boy" - only this time, he had ensured back up in the form of

two other equally Big boys. It was the end of our P.T. session and my

class teacher was leaving with other students - already out of the

grounds, I could have yelled for help - or might have even ran away

with a little scuffle, but neither of these options were viable

without loss of honor, and so terrified as I was, I decided to put on

a brave face and face my enemies.

Needless to say, I was pounded mercilessly. The grounds provided with

ample stone though, which I proceeded to use, except I forgot, they

would use them too. Pinned by two boys on either side, I was beaten

left, right - centre - there was no escaping it. Deepu, must have

noticed I was missing, since he came back to the grounds, looking for

me. I still remember being enormously relieved to see him. Yet, it

was clear - there was no escaping this day...

He plunged into the fight right away. And then........ we both got

pounded. Neither of us quit, and we would have probably beaten

ourselves up for good, had it not been for another teacher, who broke

the fight. Our attackers ran away, and we were taken to the first

floor staff room, torn clothes - cut lips - yup - we were quite the

sight to see. Amidst detol induced tears - I looked at our sorry

states - and yet, felt immensely proud and light...

Throughout the ordeal, Deepu never made extravagant claims nor did he

blame me for causing trouble.. Silent and quiet as ever, his actions

had spoken much louder than any words I could ever speak. To, this

day, I keep that incident as my standard of friendship, simple and

always true, such was the lasting influence of my friend on those he

came in contact with..

Our friendship took new dimensions when Anand joined us. Sparkling

with intelligence and delightful humor, he took my mischief to new

heights. Whatever be the venture, Deepu would always end up being a

reluctant yet assured accomplice.

It still makes me laugh to think that Deepu hadn't seen a porn film

till he reached junior college. Anand for sure, saw this as a flaw in

his education and decided to remedy it by procuring a 'Blue-Film' -

it is telling that he instinctively thought of my home to be the

perfect venue, for watching it! I was more than happy to help - and so

it came to be - that Deepu lost his visual virginity in my living room

as Anand and me kept guard.

"If it hurts them so much! Why do they do it??" - Deepu asked.

"Thats the whole point!" - said Anand. (which seemed to have confused

Deepu even more)

"Oh! Most of the times - they are faking it." - said I - with the air

of one who has seen things beyond his age. ..

Little did I know - it was the last time I would see him.

Soon after Deepu went to pursue his bachelors in southern India. Me

and Anand stayed in Mumbai and pursued Engineering degrees. During

those four years, I remember meeting Anand twice, but I could never

meet Deepu. In another three months after I finished my Bachelors, I

flew to the United States to pursue my graduate studies, Anand I

heard, had flown to Baharain, to work in his Dad's firm.

My first return to India took longer than I had anticipated. And so it

was only after a long 30 months that I saw the twinkling lights of

Queens Necklace again.. During my stay in the U.S. I had made it a

point to meet international people and ask for specimens of their

currency. We had a hobby of collecting coins from different countries

- back in the school days... I intended to surprise Deepu - on my

return - with the collection of coins and currency notes, I had so

diligently preserved ...

I met my favourite school teacher - the very next day and we chatted

happily about my experiences in the U.S.

I had a sumptuous lunch and got ready to leave.

"Where next??" - my teacher asked.

"Oh - to Deepu's house, I have a coin collection for him, hes gonna be

so excited!"

"Sit down Sanket." - my teacher commanded. And so, I did, confusion

and bad omen filling up my mind.

"What is it??" - I asked.

"Hasn't anyone told you??" - she asked.

"Told me what!"

"Deepu died a year ago - in an accident " - she said.

I spent the next fifteen minutes in denial and anger, and smashed a

glass in her house. "How could you guys not tell me! This is not

possible!"

I left her place - remembering to be as angry as I had ever been in my

life. After, I came back home, I yelled at every person I knew and

was disoriented for quite some time.

I asked my sister, "What happened?"

"He was at a bus stop - when a drunken truck driver hit him. He was in

coma for a while, but couldn't survive the accident." - she said.

I was never a religious man, but I remember, locking myself in my old

room that day and asking GOD a repeated question - " He never harmed

anyone - why him??? why him??"

My sister later told me ...

'The school his funeral was filled to its capacity with people from all

walks - some knew him as school friend, some knew him as a student,

some as a friendly boy in their neighborhood. Every single one of

them - were gathered that day, grieving with deep sorrow - they had

all lost a person very close to them.

Courageous, loyal and wonderfully simple, Deepu - was the finest human

being - I ever knew. No contest.

As I try to collect my thoughts today, I am at a loss to explain, what

it is to have such a person being taken away - so mercilessly - so

unjustly ....

A wise person once said - "Many that die - deserve to live, and many

that live, deserve death, It isn't up to you - to give it to them"

Deepu Thomas certainly deserved to live, live much longer and happier

and his loss is undoubtedly one - that we shall never quite repair ...

All, I can say to coming Don Bosco students - is "Gear up boys! You

have some big shoes to fill! May you always strive to be as virtuous

as my friend and buddy - Deepu Thomas"

Offering as proud a salute as I can.

Sincerely,

- Sanket

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तेरी याद में

एक जमाना था जब तुम्हे चाहते थे

एक जमाना था जब तुम्हे चाहते थे

तुम तोह छोड़ कर चले गए

मगर ये प्यार भी है कैसा ....

अब तुम्हारे गम से भी इश्क होने लगा है !

-- संकेत

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Lies to Myself..

On some things I know I have lied to myself – and this is one of them. After swearing to destroy all of her things, I know I haven’t really discarded all ... somewhere hidden in an album lie, now yellowing photographs  - still beautiful with a hint of those times – in an academic file alongside my notes – I am sure -  lies buried - a birthday card – and amongst the modest treasures of my wallet is a guitar pick – that still fancies her touch. ..

Masked cleverly in my words, somewhere lie  - subtle references - to memories only one reader can relate......  In empty corridors of a dilapidated structure, there still can be heard - echoes of her laughter and although, now abandoned – there still flows a river -  now mourning with salted water.

In the waking hours of some nights, the bed still longs her warmth. And the still air – now devoid of her scent – feels like a vacuum mocking my heart.

On some things I know, I have lied to myself and this is one of them ......  Oh! How I wish there were words that could describe – How much I miss her on some days ....  

– Sanket 

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The Wincing Heart!

Soon a year would have passed

Since the time you last held my heart

The streets have changed

The people have changed

And yet my mind searches ...

Wandering down familiar paths

Long have I bled and hard have I suffered

I should feel anger,

Or I should feel vengeance

And yet, I feel neither.

The days have been numb

And the nights, sleepless

The eyes remain moist,

The Breath, restless .

Nothing can be changed

And Nothing can be done

Yet the heart listens not,

It asks Why and It wonders How?

It doesn't know the answers will never unravel

For questions not be asked

When the day has wound down

And the world is quiet

In the silence of the night

I can still hear your voice.

So fair, so clear

As if you were in my bed - still besides

With the body still living

You took the life out

In return of love, I might have expected many things

But this, I did not imagine

This, I could not

They say forgive and forget

I know not where to start

Should I forget the way we fought?

Or the way you laughed?

How do I remove the scent of your hair

Still coursing, the veins of my heart

I do forgive you

In such a way as I can.

Yet this I promise,

Though far away you may be

Now, in someone else’s arms

On some unexpected evening

In an unguarded hour

You will see the sky turn crimson red

And remember me in that hour.

Remember the smiling eyes

Of a mischievous, yet innocent boy

The boy who gave beyond giving

The man you widowed, without marrying

And you will have to return into his arms

For your sake, I hope truly

He can love you as I once did

As love should be, As I would have!

- Sanket

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Words of Music.

Theres a lot to say ....... that can never be said,
Ever restless thoughts gathered amongst moistening sheets and pillow covers,
Endless fears blinked back behind skilled eyes,
Fatigue and frustration ejected through calculated and cruel physical excursion,

A perpetual effort to locate the friendlier shades in a life too used to RED,
And hope swims like a deflating buoy with tides pushing it down again and again,
Screaming with each rise .......... No surrender!

The strange things battle does to ones persona .........
Theres no glamor to a battle gone too long ......
Eyes that have seen too much, Heart thats endured horrors beyond its share.........
So what makes it go on ???????
May be its what Kipling said .......
"If you can make your heart and nerve and sinew serve your turn long after they have gone
And so hold on, when theres nothing in you except the Will which says to them hold on!"

There aren't words that can narrate the realms of my sorrow tonight .....
May be music can ........

[Image Credit:: http://www.easyelements.com/image-files/music-brush-set-example-2.jpg]

Dm, Bm, Am ( 1 1 (1212121212) 1) (in a slow strum)
individual strings on Em .......
and Em.

As it is often said .... when words fail ....... music comes to aid.

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S P A Z O

The sound is unmistakable .... but it doesn't do justice to what happened ..... a blade is thrust in ... sharp .... very sharp .... body doesn't know what happened ..... until the eye sends an alert on seeing blood .... the horror comes first ..... the pain follows later..... the blade has gone deep .... pulling it out would be more painful than letting it stay in ..... yet some things must be done .... so the blade is pulled ... each microsecond unbearable .... amidst screams ... the body begs to be unconscious ..... as if that wasn't enough ... the blade was poisoned .... ensuring that the wound does not heal ... the skin never grows .... and blood clots only reluctantly ...... yet the body must function .... it does .... but life seems paler than any fathomed death ..... Yet a time comes ... when the same enemy has to be faced again .... all senses beg to run away ... but you hold the legs ... the body struggles against the mind .... the mind forces a submission .... but the energy lost in the struggle tires even before the swords are drawn ..... but you hold the ground ... for retreat is cowardice .... wishing a win ... or at least a dignified end ... but the enemy has neither in mind .... the only target is your un-healed wound ... old - and dark .... the pain potent and alive as if eternal .... and the blade plunges down a familiar path .... the fragile blood clot cannot hold it back .... the body staggers back .... there is no strength to draw the blade out .... so the enemy comes to a sinister aid .... pulling the blade back slowly .... its only then on top of pain ... you recognize that this time the blade isn't poisoned but delivered red hot .... the enemy eases it back through an old wound .... and you see your own blood drying in the red heat .... Will thy end me ? ...... you ask ..... 'Nay!' .... comes back with a laugh .... the eyes close ... in ancient greek ..... SPAZO.

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A girl from the past!

Hi,

I was at my local railway station, had just returned from college. Opposite was a train waiting to start its trip to CST. Dulled by a days work, I was about to go home, little did I know that the moment would bring a memory that would stay with me for years.

I was walking towards the stairs and then lightning stuck me! A flash of hair, a voice long lost, suddenly recognition struck me, I didnt have a postive visual and in the middle of a thousand people, I couldnt possibly sure of the voice. But that moment, every sense of my body was on alert, adrenaline rushing, the days fatigue was long vanished, my heart was thumping as if trying to break out and the brain was screaming -- Its HER! . I stopped dead in my tracks, then turned towards the direction of the sound. Slowly I walked to the train compartment and looked in.

I couldnt see her face, her hair was a bit longer, but the voice was affirmative. It WAS her. Her frame looked more supple and sexy than I remembered. It was a yellow salwar kameez. She was laughing, joking, having fun -- the things u do when u are in junior college waiting for your train to start. And then I absorbed the whole picture and its horrifying brutality pierced me to the core.

She was with another guy. Infact she was leaning on him. It could be a friend - my pathetic heart offered. Huh! Its her boy friend! - the inner voice countered. No kidding, it was by all means her bf. You could tell from the body language, when a woman was with her guy.

Then memories returned. She was my first crush. I was so so naive at the time. For a while there was something between us. She was close to her mom. She told her. Her mom said 'Concentrate on ur tenth.'

She met me then, for the last time as a gf, told me her mom didnt approve of our relationship, infatuation, too young, studies, and ofcourse mom is always right, she is my best friend. So tata!

I was like, OK! Wow! That was fast! And there she ended it. Without protest, without fight, without asking any questions and without even thinking about me, as if I was just some dress she got from a shop that her mom frowned upon.

I was numb, when I heard it. I still remember the date - 4th April 1997. It was when I was facing a year drop at school for helping out another student. So not only did she dump me, but she did it at the worst possible time. The cut that I got, went so deep, it still bleeds.

My school prof needed some bribe, so that the matter could be closed and I didnt have any. I couldnt tell home ofcourse, for being blessed with the worst child-parent communication system. I didnt know who to ask money for. I went to see my mentor and my teacher at the tutions where I studied -- he wasnt there!

That moment. That one time - I was felt so alone, so much out there in the cold. It still frightens me. I survived .. somehow .. marred by hurt and in terrible shreds. Thanks to her I had faced my first academic benchmark while being handicapped. I succeeded though, I got into science, then into engineering.

But there she was, infront of me, still beautiful I feared (I couldnt see her face, didnt want to .. rather) . Those big watery eyes, that wonderful line of teeth when she smiled and the laughter that was devine!

She was Ok, infact she rocked right now! Her mom probably approved of a bf in college I thought, or rather she matured enough to keep these matters to herself. It was like a calculated cruel joke, a white hot blade being dipped into an old cut again and again, slowly, the devil taking sensuous pleasure in my agony. I remember the horror of going through it. And I still cant tell u what was worse, the pain or the need to hold back my raging emotions cos I was a guy in a public place.

When in danger, fight, if u cant then try avoiding it, get out of the way, put distance between ur opponent and urself, get out of the lethal radius. Since here my opponent didnt even know there was a fight, I decided to move. As if in agreement, the train moved too, starting its journey.

I forced myself to get into an auto, said the right address .. all the time I was telling myself... HOLD on! not yet, wait .... I got home, not yet .. greet the people in the living room first .. modulate ur voice .. keep facial expression in control .. yes thats good .. say u are tired .. tea? no tea . Get into ur room.

And then I sat there. Finally letting go. NO NO NO! not so loud, U idot , mom is in the kitchen, she might hear, nahi common .. ya better .. use pillow .. aare take care .. dont suffocate urself to death.

I went through the day as if in a daze. I called her that night. I said 'hello' -- then a long pause , I heard a sharp intake of breath, then a fearsome voice asked 'Sanket?' . I cut the line. A stupid pathetic person inside me applauded, 'She still remembers my voice!' . I said what crap! have some respect. Matter closed. No more talk on this subject.

I took out my wallet and extracted a yellowed photo. On the back was her name - in her own hand. I looked at it one last time - and then with an effort of will tore it to shreds and threw it like confetti from my third floor window.

If not from the heart atleast I could remove her from the wallet. There was a solace in that.

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