Withered Raindrops – A Story of Us

The days we strolled hand in hand
In light drizzle
The rain drops
And the rainbows we saw through them
The smell of the new born mud
Do you remember?

Do you remember the morning fog?
The steaming idlies at Iyengar’s?
The By-Two coffee
The late night cinemas?
The ride back home
The love we shared
Do you remember us?

Do you remember the first touch?
The gentle caress on my hair
The hesitant mingling of our fingers
The nervous smile
Anxious eyes
Thirsty Heart

Do you remember?
Me?
My name?
My face
Smell
My all
Do you remember me??

You wish for a nest when it rains
And
Wait to fly out
I miss you most times
Though I have you around all times

Do you remember?
The days we fought
The pillow in the middle
The cuddle at dawn, and the realization little later
The badly made coffee in the morning
The forgotten Kiss
And the hug
Careful glance, to avoid being caught

We have become memory
The present reduced to a badly directed stage act
But why is act going on?
Even after the curtain call

We have become memory
And memories of us come back to me as a sweet dream
Inflicting a pain, sweet and sour at the same time
Can we live in our past and push the present forward

A decade of marriage
And its anniversary has become a forgotten tale
We cuddle up in our sleep
But as strangers we wake
Do you remember?

Do you remember?


Do you remember?

Do you remember?

the first smile,
the first touch
Kiss
Kiss
Do you remember?

Unending phone calls
Coffee that never gets o’er
Sun that never sets
When it does finally,
It never comes back

The lazy mornings
The disturbing maid
And the sunlight

The walk around the house in underclothes
The cuddle at the gas stove
My kiss on the neck
And the lazy morning rain

To be continued….

DannieJohn

First experiments with my New Toy - EOS 400D

Ammazing song... Amazing feeling listening to it...

feelin blue feelin blue feelin blue
my heart says can't be can't be true

jane kya chahe mann bavara
akhiyaan mere saawan chala

feelin blue feelin blue feelin blue
my heart says can't be can't be true

saghan aachal sarabore hove
sajan aasuvan main kya jor hove
kya jore hove apne jiya pe
mann to mhara ye manncahala

jane kya chahe mann bavara
akhiyaan mere sawan chala

pavan purva main yoon udta jave
badra chanda se mann judta jave
aave havaa ka jhoonka fir aaisa
toote patang ki door sa

jane kya chahe mann bavara
akhiyaan mere sawan chala

Childhood Memories

I am trying to run through my childhood…. My years of growing up, coming to terms with life which was as at the same time stupidly funny and profound. I am trying to go back to the earliest day in my life that I can remember. Trying hard.

Sometimes there are bits and pieces, some days are in order and are continuous. Some were happy, some were painful. Sometimes I relate to them, can find words to articulate the experiences I have gone through, sometimes memories have become old and unclear. They have started to wear off like the old photographs in my Grandma’s album. The moment you look at it, you know this is a beautiful snap but time has erased some of its beauty and now is presenting itself to me as some Jig-saw pieces. Let me have the fun of putting it in order.

I have always tried to maintain a Diary and in some occasions I have been fairly successful in documenting some of my days (mostly it was written during the brief drowsy moments before sleep seized me). But somehow it is more exciting to look at those unclear photographs of my memories and try to figure out the beauty of it.

One characteristic of my childhood that I vividly remember is that I was constantly out of sync with rest of the world around me. I lived mostly in a world created by myself, where I chose the characters, the setting and the environment. When I first read Calvin and Hobbes cartoon strip, I could immediately identify with Calvin – mainly because I lived my childhood like him. Not as cynical, but surely as detached from the rest of the world. But as years went by, I slowly started recognizing life around me. Today, I still retain 30 to 40 percent of this trait – In fact I have a world tucked away in my privacy, in my mind, I sometimes steal a moment of secrecy to look into my bathroom mirror and act out few of my fellow citizens (of my world). But I also have my saner world, as some might call it, the one I actually enjoy much lesser, the one in which I need to struggle through 30 days to get my bank account filled so that my bread and butter can be taken care of. Given a choice I would love to remain in my world, one I created some 20 years back, when I was kid, and risk being looked down as an insane and mentally unfit fellow for community living.

My mom tells me that, once back from school, I used to finish homework and milk and run to enact a play in the courtyard of my house. I hardly remember what it was about and from where I picked up inspiration for it. But I remember the hero of the play was called “Maccedona” - God alone knows what it means.

I used to walk from one end of the courtyard to the other muttering rubbish (in my mom’s words) – probably for me it was highly intellectual dialogue of my play or was it life itself. At times I used to gallop on one leg, indicating travel of my hero on a horse. I remember the swift movements of my hands, my mannerisms indicating an adventure. Aah, now I remember, probably I was inspired by the Greek tales that I learned in my school.

I am still trying to go back to the earliest day I can remember in my life.

Something else I remember about my childhood was that, I was never academically inclined. That does not mean I was less curios of the intricacies that surrounded me. I could never get myself to sit in one place and mug all that I was required to. I had questions on everything, if I found answers for them, then that was education for me. Sometimes I could not find answers, no one would provide them. There is a C&H carton, where Calvin asks his dad, how load testing is done on a bridge and his Dad gives him some stupid answer. I have received a lot of stupid answers like that – not from my dad, from others around me.

I used to ask questions, more of them and question each answer given. I still have that trait. Some people find it irritating but for me, I derive my inspiration and learning from asking questions.

My sister was a very dominant inspiration and source of learning for me in my early days. We were two kids and our parents used to work. So most of my childhood, it was the two of us. The earliest image I can remember of me now is that of my sister giving me a bath, putting talcum powder, combing my hair, dressing me up etc. Once both of us were ready – this would be around 5 PM; we would stand on that high step in the corner of our old gate and wait for our parents to get back home from work.

To be continued…

Writer’s Block

When the sun sets and darkness prevails
Night stands out and smiles at me
The cold of the mist surrounds
Wet grass everywhere around
My eyes fixed on the eternity above
And you resting on my stretched arms below

How many more such moments do I yearn for?
My love, when you are with me and my loneliness.
Perhaps that is why I love to be alone
Alone with shapes I deem necessary
My imagination playing the creator
My whole his fingers

Shapes that come to me from my past,
Forms that breathe at times, at times not
Soulful at times, at times not
Some which make me wonder the marvel of thee
Shapes that I make love to; laugh with and cry
These are my moments, mine alone and yours

My imagination, my love and my Spirit
When I close my eyes, I see you at times
I move into this darkness and emptiness at others
I search for you for days but in vain
And then you appear from nowhere to make me crave
For more of you; but you have kept me your slave

Alas, I could say “Let there be", but I can’t
I am to struggle to create petty makes
Eyes wide open fixed on the eternity above
Wet grass everywhere around
And hope to have you resting on my sretched arms below
Alas I could say “Let there be”
And a marvel like you would come to life; over and over again

Dannie John
11-Jan-07

Some Snaps

Pictures I took for christmas. The christmas tree at home & Me at my bedroom balcony- sober of course.

Some movies.... Some Cribs
===================
Hi..
The other day I was watching a movie called " Secret window" . Predictable but Impressive. The best thing Iliked about the movie is the way it started. It started with the text display of " 6 months later". What impressed me is the way the writer/director (David Koepp) effortlessly and naturaly compressed the background story into one text card in the first scene. After reading that, all the rest of the story falls into place so nicely.Funny and errie movie. Ending was very predictable, but probably you dont like the movie for what it is, you more like it for the way it is.

Infact I stumbled upon this while I was watching Iqbal. Watched half of it. I would have probably dealt with the screenplay slightly differently. Different sensibilites, I guess. Nevertheless, fun to watch. Shreyas is a good actor (i was about to write natural actor, but suddenly realised acting can never be natutal).

Last saturday I tried writing after a long hiatus. I picked up, one of my incomplete works - "Flowers in Monsoon" and tried re-visualising the whole work. wrote only one page, but I loved it. The first draft was written 4 years back and what I wrote on sat was far better, much aesthetic and poetic. Maturity counts, I guess.

One thing I have noticed you need tremendous discipline, good mindspace to think and lot of ideal time to day dream if you want to be a writer. My current profession as a recruiter does not allow me this. I am frustrated from that point of view.

Now I am working on my discipline, tried morning walk today. As for Mindspace and time, I am trying to find a workaround for this. Lets See. I want my first movie released before 2010 ends.

All my struggle further is towards this.

Cyao.