God was Murdered

Saturdays are the days people, my age, wake up late next to someone they love or married to, have a greasy brunch and then go do something that looks like fun or whatever that marriage/love makes do.  I wake up next to a bundle of books I’m both in love with and married to. I wake up early on Saturdays as my ‘prison sentence’ is still another 7 weeks away from getting over. I’m a full-time prisoner of the world’s deadliest jail - Full-time employment. Either way, my prison sentence, at several times, is super lenient - almost at par with Sanjay Dutt’s jail-term for being best friends with the superstar terrorists like Dawood and Salem. Like him, I get plenty of Out-of-Jail time via casual Furloughs & Parole.  Though I, officially, work on Saturdays, I often use my veto powers & skip prison [work] altogether or leave at lunchtime. I left at lunchtime last Saturday, 9th March ’19 & went to the suburb where Rich People Live: Jor Bagh After eating ...

One of my favorite verses from Anna Nalick’s marvelous song ‘Breathe’ is “2 am, and I'm still awake, writing a song. If I get it all down on paper, it’s no longer Inside of me, threatening the life, it belongs to And I feel like I'm naked in front of the crowd.” Introspecting & then penning down all her inner thoughts on paper, Anna should’ve felt a liberating cathartic sensation, yet she felt like she’s  naked  in front of the  crowd . Let’s go off on a tangent. A recent reliable survey by Tasha Eurich’s [organizational psychologist] team showcased that the people who introspected became far more ‘unhappy & depressed’ than those who lived in ignorance. And the more they introspected, the more they become melancholy as fuck. Hey! Hey! Hey! - What the hell is going on here? I thought introspection, like making love & eating Swiss chocolates, is a damn good thing for our mind, body, souls & toes. After meticulous research [all while star...

3.47 am - 9th January 2001, Footscray Hospital, Melbourne “You should be fucking dead right now” The 6 feet 2, almost 40-year-old policeman roared scathingly. “Do you have any goddamn clue what you’re doing with your life, son?” “Totally clueless, sir” That’s what I wanted to say; instead I, judiciously, decided to keep my ‘pie hole’ shut. Earlier that evening, three of us [Naveen bhaiya, Madu/Gittu {Abhishek}, & I] had driven to a pub in Footscray. Naveen was already drunk when we entered the pub at about 7 or 8 pm. And by the time we left the pub at circa 2.30 am, he was [Cops later informed us that Naveen was 8 times over the permissible limit of 0.05 BAC] drunk out of his mind. I didn’t know how to drive, so I asked Abhishek to take the wheel, but Naveen insisted that he’ll drive. Abhishek was a natural ‘push over’ & I too gave in without much of a protest. Cut to the chase, within 5 seconds of getting off the blocks, the car overturned & then dragg...

Born in the early 80s in India, I was literally forced into loving Cricket.  But, I got away. It was a blessing in disguise that my full-time-working-&-full-time-bickering parents airlifted and dropped me across most of my school holidays at my maternal grandparents’ place. My grand-dad, a retired army-man, introduced me to sports beyond Cricket - Football, Hockey, Tennis & tons more. I got hooked to Tennis. By 1992, when Tendulkar was, by million miles, the most famous sportsperson/God in India, I was in awe of a female tennis player from Argentina. Gabriela Sabatini. Fast forward 10 years - 2002. I met a bloke [Gaurav Malik] when I moved into Howitt Hall in Monash University. He loved two things: Bashing Aussies & Manchester United. Courtesy big-ass projector rooms available for the students, I began watching football like I had always watched AFL {Aussie Football}, Tennis & Cricket. It took me a hell lot of time to comprehend the rules ...

I don’t know her soul; barely seen her eyes, merely glanced at her contours Met her thrice outdoors; always exchanged goodbyes beyond midnight’s four zeroes Once, in the hallowed Connaught, we walked a few miles after the sun had gone home I don’t know her like Joker knew Harley Quinn; she’s a friend of a friend And friends now are a lot like fleeting fashion trends, Who meet, drink, dance, click pictures & promise to meet again Then forget each other's shades by the month's end Her & I may part ways at life’s road’s next sharp curve  So, I ain’t gonna pretend to care or love I sit here with pen, paper & thoughts writing this poem with nothing nice to say For the girl whom I didn’t even wish on her nineteenth birthday For the girl with whom I haven’t performed the ritual of digits exchange For the girl famed for her resting bitch face For the girl who gets the shakes when I move in for embrace For the girl who’s one of the rarest h...