NaPoWriMo day 21

Prompt: write a poem on sleep, or the lack of it




“Nanhi pari, sone chali, hawa dheere se aana”




Her lullaby makes me drowsy

A tender memory from when I was young

My little hands in hers

Ma’s hands soothing my back

As she cradled me to sleep

Patiently waiting

For my eyes to close for a few peaceful hours.




My little niece in her granny’s lap,

Recalls her entire day before bed,

“Doodoo piya?

Mumma? Papa? Nani? Masi?”

Ma assures her that everybody has had their bottle of milk,

“Butterfly, Bumblebee!”

“Me me me, you you you, makes we”

In her half-asleep state,

She sings Nani all her favourite songs,

Proudly serenading herself with lullabies,

Yet refusing to close her eyes.




“Gudiya rani, betiya rani, phoolon ke nagron se ik din”

“Nani, baby shark doo doo doo dooo”




Under the blanket,

I stop myself from laughing,

Masi won the sleeping contest,

Which means muffling the giggles

Lest her sleep is lost forever.




When Ma begins a drone-like hum,

Is when her tiny almond-shaped eyes begin to droop

“Baby doo doo doo” she coos,

Doo doo doo

Doo doo

Doo

...




All I can smell is the Johnson baby cream, Feel the comfort of her hands in mine.

Ma plays with my hair and I drift into a reverie,

I was the baby once.



Baby doo doo doo doo

NaPoWriMo Day 20

Translated a ghazal I wrote last year for #napowrimo2018 for Day 20 of this year’s writing challenge:

Tum bas ek ajnabi the, par meine tumhe aane diya

Bina kuch kahe, bina khatkhataye, tumhe aane diya

Ek moti khojte khojte, tum samudra mein dub chale

Tairana nahin aata, lekin aage aate hi gaye

Savaal ek bhi nahin, sirf javaab hi javaab

Nayen pyaar ka safar, nayen ilakon ka khyaal,

Ek pal ki shanti is shor bhari duniya mein

Is pyaar ka shakti, is nafrat bhari duniya mein

Jab hum milenge, shaayad tum mujhe le chalo

Tumhare dil ki sabse gehre kone mein, bas mujhe rehne do

Thoda theherte hain us kone mein jahan hum pehle mile the

Bas let jao mere paas, upar baarish baresti jaye.

Mere haath tham lo,

chalo, yeh kahani shuroo karein

NaPoWriMo Day 19

Prompt: write an abecedarian poem
A day in the life of a freelance writer
Begins with a failed attempt at waking up early

‘Cause you know we sleep late working and all.

Deep sleep fades, and you jump outta bed, drink two glasses of water, take a dump,

Even water your plants for a change.

From there, the routine is set in motion -

“Get your shit together and just finish the damn article you’ve been avoiding.”

Hopefully, your desk is clean and conducive enough to make this happen.

If not, just use the couch and be done with it.

Just when you thought you had a good flow going,

Kamal, your Swiggy partner arrives somewhere near your home, asking for directions.

Little do you know how tough it’s going to be to get back into zone after breakfast -

Melted cheese in a crisp ghee roast dosa enables drowsiness, not productivity.

Now, where were we?

Oh yes, the article on Borneo’s phallus-shaped proboscis monkey on the brink of extinction.

Perceived as the most aquatic primate due to its webbed feet.

Quite fascinating indeed!

Right after lunch, when the research is nearly complete,

Survival and the task completion demands a 30-minute power nap,

Then comes the final output between 15:00 and 17:00.

Uh oh, you missed the deadline (again)

Very real disappointment

Will be swiftly fixed with a little butter and dance fitness,

Xoxo,

Yours truly

Ze day is finally done!

NaPoWriMo Day 18

Prompt: write an elegy of your own, one in which the abstraction of sadness is communicated not through abstract words, but physical detail.

In the grander scheme of things, 

Life goes on. 

The toast continues to be buttered, occasionally burnt,

The birds still fly above us, shitting on our parade,

The words still flow from time to time, escapism saves the day.

The art of living - 

As you no longer know - 

Is a fine line

Between holding on

And letting go.

NaPoWriMo Day 18 - extra

Prompt to self: Write a poem to capture the present moment you are experiencing

sometimes
you need to remind yourself to stop,
slow down,
find yourself in your balcony
after the April showers
admiring the stillness of the trees,
the hydrangea blossom in your little forest
getting the attention it deserves,
being seen as a living being the way it was promised,
when you took him from the Lalbagh nursery into your own home.
for the first time.

Erik Satie floats in from the room
merging quietly with the pitter patter -
nature’s soundtrack that never disappoints -
with the second shower
comes the crescendo
and finally, the train whistle to complete the masterpiece
did you hear it too?

my jasmine, basil, aloe vera, tomato,
the neighbourly mango and avocado trees
keep me company
reminding me to remember to grow
the way they silently do.

NaPoWriMo Day 17

Prompt: write a poem that uses the form of a list to defamiliarize the mundane:

Things I found while deep cleaning my house:

-An old Kopiko wrapper, still holding on to its mild fragrance of coffee

-A Christmas card I made for my dog Smiley when she was still around

-pressed leaves in ziplock packets, segregated by size

-A broken yo-yo, replaced when the kaleidoscope entered my life

-A Space Jam tazo, the last remaining one from my collection, a reminder of the glorious past

-A short story about being abducted by aliens from when I was seven. It did not end well for me.

-A couple of handwritten recipes collected over the years, none of which were ever attempted

-An old Pakheeza cassette, my father’s favourite Hindi film

-A sketch of the dream cafe my best friends and I planned to start after college by the beach

-A photograph of me smiling, the kind of naughty joyful smile that comes out only with the right person

-A poetry notebook from a decade ago, long forgotten words between the pages

-A bit of myself here, a bit of myself there

NaPoWriMo Day 16

Prompt: Write a Dramatic Monologue

Ouch 

"Every second Tuesday, under the shade of the mango trees in my lane
I walk to #32, climb the steps, prepare for the mundane drama of your life waiting to unfold
You come, start talking, jibber jabber, jibber jabber,
Just another Tuesday with your dear ol' me, who comes to your rescue,
Because I carefully hijacked your power.
It was a slow process, an experiment to break you over 36 months,
Meticulously carried out by a thought stealer,
Who feeds you little somethings that you knew all along -
Revelation after revelation that never quite registers in that thick head of yours.

From a distance, something gnaws at me -
It is something about the way you hold the cup of tea with both hands
Or the way you itch your scalp mid-sentence, pretending like the dandruff did not fall onto my couch.
But you are paying me to be here, to listen to your never-ending sob stories, the occasional victories,
How the great loss of 2004 left you scarred.
It was the same year as the The Great Wave hit our shores,
The year the world learnt in horror what a "tsunami" was.
Nature unleashing her anger for mistreating her so long.
So long.
So very long.

It's funny how every single one of us remember that day, that year so differently,
For me, the whole year played out amazingly, if I recall,
It was the summer of '04, my father had completed his book on sleep psychosis,
I was four sizes smaller than I am now, skin glowing in my pink chiffon dress,
Drinking wine after not having any for nine months.
And for you, oh yes, it was a year of mourning, wasn't it?
How very peculiar how time flies, no?
How some memories refuse to be re-written, while others get in line for minor adjustments.

AHEM. "And how do you feel about that?""

NaPoWriMo Day 15

Prompt: Write a Dramatic Monologue

Ouch

"Every second Tuesday, under the shade of the mango trees in my lane
I walk to #32,  climb the steps, prepare for the mundane drama of your life waiting to unfold
You come, start talking, jibber jabber, jibber jabber,
Just another Tuesday with your dear ol' me, who comes to your rescue,
Because I carefully hijacked your power.
It was a slow process, an experiment to break you over 36 months,
Meticulously carried out by a thought stealer,
Who feeds you little somethings that you knew all along -
Revelation after revelation that never quite registers in that thick head of yours.

From a distance, something gnaws at me -
It is something about the way you hold the cup of tea with both hands
Or the way you itch your scalp mid-sentence, pretending like the dandruff did not fall onto my couch.
But you are paying me to be here, to listen to your never-ending sob stories, the occasional victories,
How the great loss of 2004 left you scarred.
It was the same year as the The Great Wave hit our shores,
The year the world learnt in horror what a "tsunami" was.
Nature unleashing her anger for mistreating her so long.
So long.
So very long.

It's funny how every single one of us remember that day, that year so differently,
For me, the whole year played out amazingly, if I recall,
It was the summer of '04, my father had completed his book on sleep psychosis,
I was four sizes smaller than I am now, skin glowing in my pink chiffon dress,
Drinking wine after not having any for nine months.
And for you, oh yes, it was a year of mourning, wasn't it?
How very peculiar how time flies, no?
How some memories refuse to be re-written, while others get in line for minor adjustments.

AHEM.

"And how do you feel about that?""

NaPoWriMo Day 14

Prompt to self: Write a poem using quotes from films

People have forgotten what life is all about.
Someone needs to punch you in the face.
It's never going to make sense because it doesn't.
And there's nothing you can do about it.

We all fear death and question our place in the universe.
Someday I'll be dead.
Someday I'll just be bones in a box, but right now, I'm not.
Are we awake?

This is real life. It’s not perfect, but it’s real.
Speak a little truth and people lose their minds.
Am I mad enough?
I want you to get up right now and go to the window, open it, and stick your head out and yell, ‘I’m as mad as hell, and I’m not going to take this anymore!

There's never been a time where there's been a fork in my road.
What would you do if you were stuck in one place and every day was exactly the same, and nothing that you did mattered?
Turn right and follow to the end.

Sometime empty page present most possibilities.
Empty what is full. Fill what is empty.

Maybe everybody's looking for something.
What is it to be human? What is it to ache? What is it to be alive?
I want to learn everything about everything.

This is the beginning of happiness. This is where it starts.
The whole universe depends on everything fitting together just right.
The idea is to remain in a state of constant departure while always arriving.

I drink a lot of coffee before I go to sleep so I can dream faster.
Dream after dream after dream after dream.

I’m not a real person yet.
I shall try to start over.

NaPoWriMo Day 13

Prompt: Write a poem about something mysterious and spooky

I was seven,

My cousin and I were convinced that in the depths of the parking lot

Lived a scary old witch, boiling cauldron awaiting us.

This was partly because overnight, a drawing of a terrifying woman showed up on the entrance walls,

Partly because the guard told us stories what no child should hear.

In our own little Ghostbusters way,

We tried to come up with ways to scare her away - 

And protect our families from her wrath.

We tried fart bombs, boomerangs, mirror reflections,

We even left her messages in scribbles and drawings to stay away,

But to no avail.

It was some time around this unprecedented witch hunt

That the scratches started showing up.

The first day, we saw them on the walls leading all the way down to the desolate lot.

"It's all in your head," Ma told us off.

The next day, I started feeling an itch on my scalp.

"It's probably just lice," said Ma.

On the third day, I showed her the bloody scratches across my arm and back.

"This doesn't make any sense at all," she gasped.

Eventually, the bleeding stopped.

The witch's warning heeded, 

We stopped our supernatural investigations,

And focused on school instead.

Even now, two decades later

I sometimes wake up at 3am, fresh scratches on my face and arms,

My therapist says it's probably just a panic attack -

But I know better than to believe that.