Annie and the Underworld II

Last night I dreamt I was back at Santiniketan again. Suddenly the heat, the sweat, the stench, the goats and the dogs they all came back along with the cacophony and the screams of what seemed like a few hundred little children in Uniforms running around, but strangely I felt warm and pleasant, I even saw myself sprawled under my bench that I had wet, sobbing and generally feeling miserable and then suddenly noticing a figure at the backend of the class also darting underneath a bench and scrambling around on all fours as if in search of something, I watched the scene through what seemed like a few hundred dangling legs, some boyish, some girlish – and that made me smile, it made me laugh suddenly through the flood of my tears I was laughing and then crying and then laughing again while my nose leaked and sticky saliva stretched between my open lips – I realised it was Danny. He was the same guy ‘coz of whom I was in my current state of misery. It was he who had given me the folded white sheet that had those ugly words scribbled, I love you. In my dream the incident continued to roll and the chorus of the entire classroom chanting ‘shame, shame, shame’ tore through my wretched ears. That’s when I heard another distant sound calling out Annie?? Anne? The sound was so far , far away – yet it seemed so close, I felt I could touch the sound.

Annie and the underworld

it was a balmy summer afternoon,Annie walked in, She was distraught - her shoe had come off so she was forced to walk into her classroom half dragging it while also dragging her bag, her nose was sweaty her eyes were flooding up fast, she quickly relieved her School bag onto her desk, which was gratifyingly located in the front row of her class, and then promptly squatted underneath her school bench, unmindful of her clean white skirt, and sobbed like she was lost , she hated her existence, the heat outside was vengefully punitive as punitive as it was even inside Santiniketan. Not really the one envisioned by Tagore and other enlightened mortals of yore, this one was more exceptional, nothing inside Santiniketan matched its more celebrated namesake. It was one long ugly concrete shanty - hot, noisy, creepy, untidy and chaotic. The school even had dogs and goats moving in and out at will, goats in fact took pleasure in leaving behind their select droppings as a compliment, dogs did what they knew best lifting one leg. Santiniketan smelt of urine all around and so was Annie - for she had just managed to piss in her squatted position and continued sobbing even harder. The world above in the meanwhile was in complete oblivion of Annie's plight, it seemed so routine. Annie's mates where all in different states of animation themselves, most were also sobbing at different decibel levels, while a few were singing some fresh bollywood numbers, i could distinctly hear someone singing 'my name is Sheila, Sheila ki jawani'...somewhere in the background i think that was the ever active Bama singing, making sure her voice was heard above all the din, a few more were whining, a few were shrieking and running around, some were using their desk as a jumping board with disastrous effects, since when they jumped they either landed on a classmate or onto the next desk hurting themselves,I saw a few doing ramp walks - the classroom looked anything but one. And the whole of Santiniketan seemed caught in more or less similar state of animation making the whole school sound like a place in constant riot. The cacophony continued until soon Annie's teacher walked in, the animation and noise dropped down, all running and jumping around froze and the classroom settled down to an irritating buzz as the teacher took in the customary 'good morning teacher' chorus,and for Santiniketan it was not surprising how this routine was copied out in every classroom across the school all at the very same instant,so the chorus from our classroom had several matching chorus from the other classrooms at Santiniketan. Annie's teacher placed her cane on the table , cursed after looking at all the chalk dust on her table and promptly started addressing her uninterested wards who were by then back to more innovative forms of silent animation and gestures and games - this time it was located just within their limited desk space. The teacher banged her desk loud with her cane bang bang bang the class briefly gave her some semblance of an attention until She turned around and faced her small wooden black easel board and then went about hollering her nonsense,a small book in one hand her cane gripped loosely by the the other hand, some thought she was singing a rhyme but most had no clue what the teacher was doing, Annie continued sobbing underneath her bench and the rest were all doing whatever they felt like doing - everyone seemed happy doing whatever they were doing. All, except me. I was frowning at my pencil, someone had chewed its head off and so all i could do was to place it on top of my tapering desk and watch it slide and then catch it just before it fell down. I continued the sport for a while until one instance it slipped when i thought the teacher had called my name and i was caught between the confusion of whether to catch the sliding pencil or stand up to answer the teacher's calling- the pencil fell down or rather i allowed it to fall - I stood up, that's when i noticed that the classroom had a visitor, it was the big, dark and obese School Princi and her usually menacing face looked even more gnarled and angry - large dark red painted lips could not hide her yellowing dents, thick eyelashes, tacky eye shades, streaked hair, thick neck, big boobs on a sweaty face with ugly unaesthetic gold chains plus her stringed reading glasses together gave her just the look ideally suited for Santiniketan - She was discussing something with the class teacher in an agitated manner and the class teacher looked equally agitated and all the time they were looking at me and my name was being mentioned in a not so very complimentary tone. Then my name was called again, I realised my teacher was gesturing me to come forward, while gripping her cane harder, i knew what was coming but I was perplexed for i was not aware as to what was the cause and the severity of my crime, by now the whole classroom's attention was diverted to the current event that was rolling out, it was almost 40 gaping mouths wide open with fear and anticipation I slowly inched away from my desk which was Thankfully among the last rows of the classroom and using the art of inching forward at the slowest possible pace started inching forward , almost wishing they would ask me to go back and not come forward but no such luck came my way,then I remembered I had forgotten all about my fallen pencil I dashed back, slid under my bench and like a rat started looking around desperate almost as if I knew some hidden key that would magically take me out of this rathole, by now the decibel level at which my name was being called was getting seriously loud. But I tenaciously kept moving around, on my knees it was hurting and painful on the knee and my darned palms began sweating making my palms darken with dirt and dust , using the art of ignoring loud calls from 2 menacing faces who were waiting to devour me, through a corner of my eye I caught Annie, she was still crouched under her bench while she continued sobbing pacing her actions with a few gasps for breath intake, at that moment I wanted to roll on my stomach and laugh, Annie was such a crazy bug, but seeing her sob i lost control myself and started sobbing suddenly the whole of Santiniketan's Class 1C was wailing real loud - talk about collective sobbing, I think we were the very best in that art.

thesocratespot: death of agitation

thesocratespot: death of agitation: who's the ghost ? stalking? shadows ahead, light behind, radiating crescendos, emotional epilepsies, here now, nowhere

thesocratespot: Autumn

thesocratespot: Autumn: its almost a compulsion you have to live when you really cannot, you are told your body is incarcerated - you are no joan of ark no ...

Autumn

its almost a compulsion you have to live when you really cannot, you are told your body is incarcerated - you are no joan of ark no jesus no shylock not even the grave digger who played a role in the hamlet - Oncologists are your gods, society your naive shepherd, get burnt with radiation, they call it healing, be hated by those who once loved you when you are lost to the Alzheimers- who are you ? who are they ? is time relevant? is anything relevant? what's relevant? you are just less than a dead lamb. you just wait- death to come sooner than later. But, Nature, thinks you should piss around. And the Pharma company will test it - declare you need a syringe to live.

death of agitation

who's the ghost ? stalking? shadows ahead, light behind, radiating crescendos, emotional epilepsies, here now, nowhere

Scelorotic

Its a numb afternoon heat over Mumbai and not surprisingly even the dogs who feasted on human waste were fewer than their usual numbers for that matter even the vast ant like army of little malnourished children who usually lined up every side of the crowded, cluttered streets of the great slum sitting in a squatting position while openly defecating were fewer .

The heat was oily and sweaty , it seemed to create a sense of dazzling darkness on the entire slum forcing the scores and scores of the mobile bazaar system of old rusty wheel carts of various colors and hues that intertwined to simply stand muted and motionless under the effect of the sizzling sun.

And most of the tobacco spiced paan chewing male vendors with their leaky red oral liquid who earned their daily wage by pushing the inimitable old rusty 4 wheel-carts selling everything from strange leafy vegetables, sundried fish , half rotten berries ,bananas, guavas and that sinister looking burnt bamboo shoots , roasted peanuts and shallow fried potato patties and mint water filled fried buns found themselves catching a nap under their own rusty carts - briefly ignoring the meandering set of stray cattle that happily enjoyed the

while a whole battallion of 19th century automobiles honked and bonked and scratched and scowled and raved and ranted at each other with choicest of expletives while trying to beat each other to go ahead of a mindless traffic jam.

But the most interesting part wasn't the demographic stat, it was in fact the look on the faces of those few dogs as well as those children still around , they were unmistakable.

The dogs, the kids and the entire slum was infested by a feast of flies that enjoyed the hospitality of all the slum-dwellers and everything else around - so the scenario i was looking at with my half swollen eyes and an equally swollen lip went on slow motion : thin, lean street dogs licking fresh human excreta even while little humans continued excreting more - and all of them had a few tons of flies buzzing and moving and sitting all around them, including their faces , their arses everywhere even my own swollen face - the stench of the place was unique in a way - but while all this was happening the look and feel of the whole mise en scene was that of a numb , expressionless , value less but very purposeful world - a world that enjoyed being around, loads of shit.

little satan

he looked
lost
but
satan , he was

trapped

deep
in an unfamiliar
jungle

trees soared
creepers
hugged
bushes, rushed
water, gushed
slippery mud
sank to the knee

insects
thrived
his blood


the air was
thick
and the light ?
twilight -
a dark , silent
moonless
twilight

a poets
prayer

flashed

'eternity



even
thunder and
roars
sounded
like muted
rumbles

2011 AD

unknown to me there's a me

days have gone years have come i no longer eat mud but still feel I'm as blind as a bat they say mind is the home of reason but mine is so devoid of such attributes

Mysore

Man makes pictures Pictures make life I wish I could Make a picture

thesocratespot: It was fun really I kept swigging Dry And straig...

thesocratespot: It was fun really
I kept swigging
Dry
And straig...: "It was fun really I kept swigging Dry And straight Had no agenda Really Soma seemed Fully Under control I had no complaints I Enjoye..."

It was fun really
I kept swigging
Dry
And straight
Had no agenda
Really
Soma seemed
Fully
Under control
I had no complaints
I
Enjoyed
the companionship
I kept looking
I was in
I was out
Who was moving
who was not
What
How
Why
Giggles
Buzz
I stay
Stoic

shadows make sound

Shadows shadows shadows
making noises ?
I couldn’t ignore
You should only be making shapes
Not noises
I said
The shadow said
Just to spite
I smiled
Good try

iyer

my road

I was walking along that lonely road , the sun was scorching and the sky looked raped and I had lost my shoes – wasn’t easy , with my ultra thin 40gsm cotton tunic and nothing much else; The road was burning hot and the vegetation scarce, thorny , ugly - all forms of life seemed cockroaching away from that bastard sun , all except me. I had no choice really , for I had to go on , in fact I had to , there really was no choice .
Parched, thirsty, I looked at the black , thin, vomit and urine spilled water stream as I crossed it – it gave no solace ( added to my smirk ) but it definitely had the pigs , dogs & bitches almost drowning me but fortunately they saw I was walking and they slouched back – looking away from me- almost instantly they were so busy digging the cool , dark slush and dirt that even the crows and eagles respected their dirty , dirty turf .
I
I walked on
For I had to
Walk on

Sd/-
Iyer

mind mine

Mind mine
(by the end of
September )

it left me
feeling
slow?

like loosing
your
breath
then
your sight
then
your senses
and then

your
life

its autumn

and the leaves
they are all
deserting

and I
stood nude
when even
the barks
they bid

goodbye

and i?

lonemariner

Lone mariner

An old
un-sea worthy
betrayed but bold
white boat

seemed it had
sailed
many a rough
sea
before

but now
it lay
tired
along with
its lone
occupant
the lone mariner

a jagged pattern of
dark peels of wood
cut through
the fading paint

like
wounds
slashed
by
mad
butchers

even the sea
seemed
sad
as it
softly
lapped
itself
onto the jagged
broken
wooden
carriage
of the
old
ragged
white boat


small even by standards
of big and small.

the mariner lay sprawled
skin
burnt
parched
lips
half
shut
eyes

linen and skin
firmly starched
assaulted
by
salt

an all weather
man
the lone mariner

metastasize

ah! who among my dear writer friends gathered here can help me ? get over the loneliness that accompanies independence and the uneasiness that shadows freedom ? i feel i am far too free, far too independent , far too lonely , far too uneasy to ... u there can i carry that coffin ? i wanna feel that cold wood that carries the dead.

thesocratespot: Unfound

thesocratespot: Unfoundhttp://http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nu6o53LtU6Y

Unfound

How on earth did i manage this ?
of traveling this far ?
i have often reflected on this
45 years and all that !

Must surely be someone's idea of a good joke
have a feeling that someone just dropped me
in a hurry
and did not bother
to search or retrieve me
'coz it did not matter anyways
for what use are inconsequential objects ?

those things
that are allowed to be casually lost ?
or those
that are deliberately
allowed to simply slip out ?
those
when dropped
do not even make a sound ?

like those
utterly useless crap
that you sometimes slip
into your pocket
and then (say)
you had a hole in your pocket
and they simply dropped off ?

no, no not necessarily the kind of holes
that happen to those without a dime
i am talking about a hole
thats simply a hole
thats all

And that simple hole
that lost something irrelevant,
say a plastic coat button ?


And i being
lost and unfound
simply went about
like most unfound

Rolling here
moving there
sometimes hither
sometimes thither
sometimes wither

always inconsequentially

always like all forces

UNFOUND