Let Her Rest…

She sleeps. Yet she is. Without rest.

She gazes. Into the dark ceiling. The seamless cover. Of black.Lit by a thousand twinkles. Interrupted by. A hazy foreground. A gray lining. Partly covering. Silver stars.

Her mind wanders. She lingers. Over the past. Worries. About now. She thinks. About tomorrow. She wonders. About how. It will unfold.

She knows. Tomorrow. Will be no different. From today. Or yesterday.

The stars will shine. Over her. While she dies. A thousand deaths. Will not end her journey.

A journey. Of colorless infinity. Spotted. With small speckles. Of colorful bursts. Within many. Light years of dark nights. A journey. Of little truth. And many lies.

She will live. Through this. And many other journeys. Sometimes disturbed. Sometimes limping. Mostly numb. Otherwise unhindered.

She will find solace. In the blackness. She will hide. In the seamless. In the distant. In the near. In the cries. In the tears. In the whispers. In the torment. In the hidden. In the laughter. In the mystery. Of a naked night. Like million. Other nights.

She will survive. While I die. A million deaths. While I seek. Countless desires. Impossible dreams. While I lust. For life. With her.

She will just. Survive.

Survival. Is not. A sin. It is not. Defeat.

Survival. Is. An instinct. Driven by necessity. Emerging. Out of darkness. In the hope. Of a brighter. Morning. In the hope. That every little speck of brightness. Illuminates. Her soul. Like. A million suns.

I am. Entangled. Intertwined. Bound. Within your bounds. I live. Your dreams. I feel. Your darkness. I see. The brightness. In the little sparkles. Like you.

Come my beloved. Embrace me. Forgive me. For I have. Caused this darkness. Upon you. I have slit. Your belly. I have entered. You. I have. Violated. You. Until. You accepted. My attack. As you did. Darkness. You embraced me. Without complaint.

Upon you. I spit. I shit. I fuck. I fornicate. I procrastinate. I create. I destroy. I multiply. While you tolerate. While you endure. While you remain. Constant.

I want you to know. Today. Now. I attacked you. Because I felt. I had to. To survive. But. The truth is. I am you. You are me. We live. We exist. We dream. We survive.Together.

I am your spirit. And like you. I will never perish. Yet. Abuse. I will. Not out of hate. Or disrespect. Just. Out of habit. Terrible. Human. Habit.

Let us. End this duel. Of day. And night. Of love. And hate. Of laughter. And tears.

Let us. Cuddle up. Curl. Into each others arms. Let us. Share the warmth. Let us smell. The toil. And make love. While we await. Another dawn.

One More Night in The City

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Red. Blue. Green. Cyan. Magenta. Yellow. Blink. Blink.

The night. Lives on. As she does. Sparkling above. Vulgar below.

Colors of torment. Of unrest. Fill her firmament.

They merge. Into the night. One more night. Sleepless. Restless. Endless. Seamless.

She ends. While I do not. She stops. I do not. I am enveloped. In my own darkness. In the smell. Of my sweat. Inflicted by her. Just like. The wounds. I have. Inflicted. On her.

She reminds me. That life. Does not end. That life. Is passed on. That pain. Is life. Like pleasure. Is an illusion. Created. By life.

She tells me. That I seek an illusion. While I ignore the truth. I am blinded. By small particles. Of light. While I ignore. The darkness. Without which. They would never. Shine.

We are inseparable. Light and dark. Night and day. Love and hate. Pleasure and sorrow. Life and death.

Come. Into my arms. I want to hold you. Never. To leave you. Together. We will. Dance in the rain. Get drenched. In the heat. Together. We will toil. For a tomorrow. That we will never see.

Dear Bombay, (My ‘Dhobi Ghat’ Impressions)

Dear Bombay,

Sorry my love for writing this random letter to you. I just want to tell you that I love you. I want to tell you that I am sorry my love.

I am sorry my love. I left you. I was angry. I was dejected. I was frustrated. I was hurt. I was cynical. I was disillusioned. I was selfish. I was stupid.

I am sorry my love. My love for you was not unconditional. My love for you was not selfless. My love for you did not stand the test of time. My love for you was not meant to be.

You did not question me when I abused you. You did not question me when I betrayed you. You did not question me when I hated you. You did not question me when I loved you. You did not question me when I returned.

I am sorry my love.

By the way, I met Arun yesterday. He lives in our beloved Mohammed Ali Road. He must be a good painter. He seems to love you. He listens to some really wonderful music. He is slightly ambiguous about his relationships. He smokes like a chimney. Just like you my love. He allows people into his life. He does not allow people to run his life. He lives in crowded streets. He is surrounded by humanity. Yet he is alone. Yes he is fragile. Just like you my love.

Then I met Yasmin. She described you so beautifully. She was so wistful yet she had so much hope strangled within her. I think I am in love with her. I want to hold her. I just want to tell her that all her longing can be fulfilled by you, my love. I want to hear her voice again. She kept talking to me last night as I slept cuddled in your arms. Can you find her for me?

I meet people like Shai every day. Smart. Mobile. Educated. Rich. Searching. Yearning. Running. Seeking. Refreshing. Uninhibited. Exhibitive. Giving. I must admit this. Initially I wasn’t too sure if I liked her but now I quite like Shai.

As I write this letter to you my doorbell rings. Munna has come with my clothes. Washed, ironed, folded and delivered. Some starched. Some ruined. Some old. Some new. The dhobi has been my unbroken connect with you my love. So many dhobis. So many clothes. But this Munna dhobi is quite a character. At first I was unsure if I liked him. But now I do like him a lot. He reminds me of you. He is much more than a dhobi. He lives for a better tomorrow. He is capable of love. He is honorable. He is noble. He is human. He is a survivor. Like you my love.

I met this bespectacled girl called Kiran Rao yesterday. Behind those big, round glasses were eyes that displayed so much love for you. Her love for you made me so envious. How could she? Tell me my love, do you love her? She calls you Mumbai. I call you Bombay. I met you much before she did. Yet she seems to love you much more. Despite the terrible name she calls you by. I think she meets you more often than I do. She expresses much more to you than I can with this juvenile letter. Can you please recite this small couplet to her?

naazuki us ke lab ki kya kahiye
pankhdi ek gulaab ki si hai

Can you thank this Kiran Rao for making me love you all over again? Can you tell her that her tribute to you called ‘Dhobi Ghat’ or ‘Mumbai Diaries’ has begun to heal my selfish, scarred heart? Can you please let her know that I will look forward to the rains because of her? Can you thank her for introducing those lovely people last night – people that will remind me of you for the rest of my life? Can you tell her that I have discovered my eternal love for you because of her?
Actually please don’t ask her all this. Just tell me this much…

Can you forgive me my beloved Bombay?

With love,
Hansal.