In-dependence

The water splashed on me. The horizon was never deeper. I stared into the sea; and then into myself. I was sporting torpor in the most fanciful way by standing right in front of the sea, facing it straight! The water splashed again; perhaps, to rejuvenate me. I wasn’t satiated with life then. I wanted to break free from the limiting boundaries. The quest of being self sufficient, independent in all possible ways was the topic of the hour. It was the uncertainty of the future that was riding on me with anxiety and fear as its byproducts. The process was endless.

The waves – they never stopped. They had a timeless charm within that was getting reflected from without. I was still standing. I failed to obviate my stolidity; it just had to surface. It was free now. Yes, quite ironically, my stolidity was free; not any other emotion. It was freer than what freedom is. But was it independent, too? Or was it merely free? The sea is free; but not independent. The sea is not bound by any limits – it’s free. But it certainly depends on the rain cycle to persist – it’s not independent.

Was I the sea? Or was the sea me? Was I really free? Can I ever be completely independent? The sea was biting me in thoughts, just as a cat does to a mouse before swallowing it up. Even the cat is dependent on the mouse. Then, who is self sufficient? Me, you, the cat, the sea; who? Or nothing is? Are all the claims of independence and freedom as superficial as they sound after scrutinizing them? Perhaps, the universe is independent; it envelopes all the dependence in a darkish space to celebrate its own independence. But am I, the minutest fraction of the immensity of the universe, independent? Or as lethal as it sounds – ‘in-dependence’, just as all its other parts?

The water splashed on me. The horizon was never deeper. This time, I splashed my way through the sea; to celebrate a similarity – the state of helplessly being in-dependence!



- Mihir Chitre
mihirmumbaikar@gmail.com

Light

A pond lay at the bottom of my garden,
Frozen, surrounded by moss
With colossal creepers clawing for space.
Unreal yet full of character.

I would stare at it, struck by its force.
Ghosts lie at the bottom, they whispered.
I pretended not to be scared,
But the summers never dried it up.

Then one day, this labyrinth disappeared.
The sunlight in my garden, hit dust.
Not the frozen pond, with creepers.
Probably it ate itself up, tired of growing.

I did not know, I refused to know.
My mind has stopped racing.



- Janvi Gandhi
Janvi.87@gmail.com

Independence Dom!

"Dom!", I spat the word like a cough lozenge out of my window, but it bounced off the grill and plastered itself on my dust-crowded window-sill; the aww ricocheted off the walls of the next building and washed over me like a glass of water thrown into the wind: Dawwm, it said.

"Damn!", I tell you. Damn the consonance. Damn the way these vowels play a Parnassian in my brain, a sound cage I cannot break out of. Who is to blame?

"Dom!"

Yes, Dom is to blame. Can I take the liberty of calling you by your first name? I will do it, too. I cannot free myself of you like the Muse did, shutting you out for twenty years. Would I do it, if I could? No, I am the monkey on the back of your virtuosity. I am the conscientious thief of your artistry, a thief that takes in small portions, never in gluttonous wholes; I pluck the eye of your Christmas Turkey, the n from Altermann, the glister from your key. I will lick the blood off the unicorn you killed, the blood Shylock didn't dare spill. I will clip the nail of your typing finger while you sleep. Your poems will be held together by this variety of absences! Why should I be free of you? I choose to be fiercely dependent on your words.

And still I blame you, Dom. Tough love. You had many women, Dom, but this man would outwoman them all. Even faithful Sarayu shall pall before the fierceness of my devotion, the submission in my crawl before your disdainful, out-of-focus stare. Free of homes and homeliness, wanderer, dreamer, you shall never be free of me. I shall outwit the cancer you did not treat and become your prime disease.

I shall deride Sidharth Dhanvant Sanghvi in your voice as a weak dose of LSD.

My flashwords shall not let you sleep, I shall be a one-man-paparazzi army. Having wet my fingers-proboscises, I shall drink from your ink. I shall be the leech that will bleed you into health, that will rouse you out of death –

I warn you, Dom, you are not the only one doing the haunting; I haunt you as only the living can haunt the dead. Tie me close, Icarus, I am your waxen wings. I shall exalt you till your glory melts and till you fall to the sea. I shall prize you from your poetry.

At last you will borrow no voice, depend on no posthumous jamboree.

At last you will be free.


PS: The words are half mine, and half Dom Moraes's, lines or titles of poems, but that is expected; we are both Cancerians, and I feel this great affinity; and I will never forgive him for dying on me.


- Partho Chakrabartty
dropdeadman@gmail.com

The Choice

“Blow, blow, thou winter wind,
Thou art not so unkind
As man's ingratitude” – Shakespeare

(Yup, I'm selling out, like we did in the tenth standard. No essay of ours ever began without a quote for those extra marks, did it?)

I'd heard it in humour often. How a man's (as in male's) life can be so hard and more often than not, it's because of a woman. Or even more often because of more than one. I don't really know if the theme brought out this article in me or if I would've written it anyway, but man! It's so hard to be truly independent.

Independence to me right now is the freedom to make a choice without having to regret it and without having to feel guilty. That's never going to happen, is it? I mean let's face it, independence sucks. I can see two sides of it already. I was told by my good friend that he's a 'true man' and he'll never give in to a woman, never do something to please a girl if he doesn't want to do it. Dude, you're never going to get laid! Sometimes you've got to suck up to feel happy. What! Did he just say that? I can't believe he wrote that shit! Ok, maybe there aren't enough people reading this to actually make that statement and maybe it's just my guilty conscience thinking it up. But I swear to God, I derive immense pleasure out of sucking up sometimes. Mom, here let me help you with the cleaning. Dad, let me take care of this for you. Here, I'll help you with the dishes. It helps. When you've attached yourself to someone so much that you love them a lot, it really feels nice to, well, suck up to them. I'm sure you know that. You just covered it with lesser demeaning words such as ‘adapting’, ‘adjusting’, ‘doing a favour’, etc.

But at what cost? Oh my son, he's so good, he listens to all we say. He's going to marry the girl of our choice. “Oh my god! What did you say?” “Did you say ‘no’?” “Is this what we raised you for?” “Now I don't even matter to you, do I?” What did you raise me up for mom, dad? I know you're working 12 hours a day plus 2 hours of travel plus 2 hours of house work just to make a good future for me. So that I don't have to see the problems that you faced while growing up. But at what cost? When you decided you're not going to let the bad things that happened to you happen to me again, did you also made up your mind to make sure that you will let the good things that didn't happen to you happen to me as well? At what cost? Mom, are you happy with dad? Don't you think you could've done better? Don't you think if you would've hung around with him for a year, you would have got to know he wasn't right after all? Oh you did know that, didn't you? What was it mom? A loss of hope or a sudden surge of the same?

Why is it that I must be what you want me to be? Isn't that a waste of the person I am? Or indeed the person I can be? Believe me, I respect your wisdom, I know you're probably better equipped with that thing called experience to tell me what's right for me and what's not. But those were things that happened to you and to think you think they shouldn't happen to me is to be completely ignorant of the person I am. Maybe what shouldn't have happened to you will change my life if it happens to me. But with that umbrella of yours that you protect me with, I'll never feel the rain.

We kids will never appreciate the love you put into raising us. We're bastards who secretly wish you weren't around. We're so damn ignorant, we think we could so very well manage without you. We're people who want life to make us what we become when we're 30, rather than let you make us the same. We'd love you to guide us, not control us. Let us choose the path and tell us HOW to walk on it, not WHERE to walk. 'There's always time to change the road you're on'. Don't say, “See we told you that wasn't right.” I know. I heard. I remember. I wanted to check what happens when I'm not right. Are you pissed because I wasted a decent part of my life? Or only because you think that you have a right over me and that I challenged your authority? How often has it happened that you told us off for doing something you didn't like and that only strengthened our resolve to do it again? There's always a better way. Let go. It'd be an immense burden off us.

Everything we do in life is based on fear, especially love -Mel Brooks
The first thing I made up in my 'not to repeat the mistakes my parents made when they raised me' book is: Not to be so in control of my children when I raise them. Never let them feel they're indebted to us, because my kids might grow up to be just as weak minded as me. They might not want to speak out, thinking it may hurt me. I'll be open. Of course, I don’t know where you hid that book of yours. I'd read it and probably be surprised to find the same entry. Maybe when I'm a father I'll realise the troubles of parenting and hate myself for writing this now. But till then, please, let go. I'm shit, the fault is my own. I could never say this to them.

“So I just go on like this
Feeding till in peace I rest
Not knowing where the goodness is
Smothered at my mother's breast.”

- Nikhil Kini
- nikhil.skinny@gmail.com

Irony

She would run to her workplace, outrunning hunger.
She fought her way out through her children’s unwary eyes.
She would sell her sweat for a few pieces of rectangular paper,
And her sporadic smiles for her family’s succor.

A drunken husband and the bottles of destruction,
She struggled bare-minded to achieve a pseudo destination.
The days would enclose children’s demands within
And nights engulfed her needful and desperate screams.

Words were overrun and tears were restrained;
decrepit bones and muscles that had sprained.
She abstained from frolic and refrained from jubilance,
Ironically, she was never free but always independent!



- Mihir Chitre
mihirmumbaikar@gmail.com

The Wall Clock

There was a deafening silence in the huge hall of that archaic bungalow at that late hour. It was a secluded place and the vast empty fields, outside, were giving an ominous touch to the surroundings. The rusted antique pieces and the deteriorated walls were adding their bit to the mysterious tranquility. There were four huge windows in the hall with heavy iron rods fixed on them, seemingly for protection from the queer, for protection from the unwanted. Accompanying them, were the two doors that looked to have come straight from the medieval age having skillfully made designs on them. I looked around rather cautiously, only to freeze my eyes on something that was standing out clearly in that atmosphere full of peculiarity. It was a wall clock. It looked terrifying at the very first site. The clock had many tales related to it. It was said to be dropping a litre of human blood after each complete cycle of the minute hand. Nobody, who had ever spent a night in that place, was believed to have survived the jinx of the wall clock. People were said to be swallowed up by the haunted clock. The clock would use the human bodies to regenerate the blood used in its unique periodic process. Its rusted hands and brown coloured body looked cruelly eager to get changed to crimson.

I was slightly shattered to see that; but soon got a hold on myself. I was there to prove the common beliefs wrong. I was there to ridicule the tales that talked about the supernaturally evil character of the wall clock. The place was said to be haunted. No one had ever survived the dark nights and the terrifying voices that could occasionally be heard in that place, according to the beliefs that existed in its vicinity. The nights were said to be endless and the mystery of the wall clock was irresistibly challenging for the adventurous person in me. Though, certainly there were moments in that dreadful night when I cursed myself for taking up that challenge as some of them turned out to be rather spooky.

Still, I was determined to know the truth in the supposedly jinxed wall clock that was taking a toll on my composed mind, and strongly believed that houses and things of such an occult character can be found only in stories. I was trying to stay normal, trying to have some faith in myself and my life-long beliefs. I put both of my hands in the pockets and tried to relax myself. And now, I was finally heading towards the clock. One step closer, two steps closer, now three.

“aaaaaaannnnnnn”, I heard an unidentifiable howl . It was louder than what I had ever heard. It scared me off completely. I skipped a heart beat. With a frightened mind, I looked back and around. I scrutinized the surroundings. But nothing had moved, nothing had even fallen down. Everything was in its proper place, just as it was before. I wondered where the voice came from. I moved forward. There was some red fluid spilled over the floor. It was blood. Human blood, I presumed. I reached the spot by taking tiny and careful steps; bent down on my knees to touch the floor. Quite courageously, I looked up. The clock seemed eager to take me in, it seemed desperate for my blood. It wanted to kill me to get crimson.

“Noooooooooo”, I shouted. “Save me,” I screamed eagerly and ran for my life. There, I reached the main door; the central exit of the bungalow with an increased pulse rate. Time passed, I calmed myself down. And with all the courage I had, took the decision of my life. I decided to go back to that mystical hall; and I did.

I crept inside. And gathering all the guts I ever had, glared at the floor. Much to my surprise, there was nothing on it. It was clean as it looked when I entered the hall. Now, with some confidence, I looked at the wall clock, and this time it was even a more mollifying surprise. The wall clock, too, looked simple; just as it should have looked to me, as per my beliefs. The room was no ominous either. It was simple nonetheless tranquil, dark. It still had that queer character. There, I was; knowing the mystery of the wall clock.

“Fear is, indeed, in the eye of the beholder,” I told myself.



- Mihir Chitre
mihirmumbaikar@gmail.com

Venom

There she sat opposite me,
Demure-faced
Eyes that scream murder…
So she spoke
And I galloped!

He used to care for her,
Now he can’t stand her
She has always persisted,
Indeed she can’t lose this, can she?

The three of us,
On that table,
Desire dancing in our eyes,
She talks, we smile.

We share a secret,
She doesn’t want to know it,
Her hands move swiftly,
As if trying to vanquish the spark!

We meet again, without her
Drink the moment thirstily,
Then I imagine her,
Vengeance in her eyes,
Can I freeze this look?
It’s V for victory.
And V for venom.



- Janvi Gandhi
janvi.87@gmail.com

Let's NOT (??) vote..

Hello young readers of FRW Mag. We're freaks. We're rebels. We're weirdos. But we are not Voters. We just don’t have the time for it. Damn the government. They take taxes from Dad. Now they want to ruin this one holiday that I deserved and I got.

Unarguably, the youth is that section of the society which is the most intellectual. I seriously feel the need of the youth turning into a vote-bank. Poor people are a vote bank. People from the so-called "backward classes" are the vote bank. Non-Maharashtrians in Maharashtra are a vote-bank. Maharashtrians in Maharashtra are a vote-bank. Then why is the youth not counted in the vote bank? Is it that the youth has no demands? Is the youth self-sufficient? If the youth thinks that the government instead of a catalyst, acts as a road block for welfare and development, can the youth just go ahead with its lavish life?

I’d like to state here that if you want to retain your right to equality, right to freedom, right against exploitation, you will have to vote. Else, you won’t even know when the following happens.

BREAKING NEWS: You can’t study anymore. We’re breaking down your school to
make a mall. We’re the government. We even control the media.
In your face. Ha!

Sab parties waste hain. All politicians are corrupt. Everything is rigged. It's of no use. Samir is wasting his and our time…And many more excuses will always be there to evade our responsibility. But unless we take up this responsibility, we’ll stay freaks and weirdos (no offence to the FRW organization.). But definitely not rebels, if we just resist whatever is presently going on in the world, in our own country, in our own city, in our own backyard.

One more interesting (rather hilarious) issue. I’ve often heard people say. Kisko vote deneka re? Sabbich saale chor hain. Celebrities*? “Oh No! We voted for Govinda. He won. He defeated a veteran. He was so proud that no one in the Parliament ever heard from him thereafter!” Has anything been done about this except the party still vouching for its candidate. Does he need a “Partner” who’ll get the job done? If that’s what will justify the still-persistent “Bhaagam Bhag” of Mumbaiites. Arre baba thodi akal lagao. Does anyone read the portfolios/promises during the elections? Start. Distinguish between right and wrong.

There was this case where a guy contested elections with the promise that he’ll fight for free electricity and free water for everybody. WHAT?! Is this Wonderland?! Be aware. Be realistic. Know the candidate. Try to find out. Ask your parents. Ask the candidate’s neighbours. View his history. Take a decision, and make sure it’s a well-thought over one.

I’m not the one who likes preaching. Kindly do not worry. I’m not planning to contest the forthcoming elections either. But I’m someone who cares about my present and my future. And I know I’m responsible for it.

*I have nothing against Govinda or other celebrities or the political parties they represent. But I request them not to accept the responsibility if it’s gonna take the back-seat.

CREDITS:
Inspiration for this topic: Rajendra K. Misra, LEAD INDIA Contestant, Bangalore
Reference: wikipedia.org


- Samir Bellare
sambell111@gmail.com

The Release

Tonight will be a long night –
So long, I’ll lose myself.

Tonight, I’ll lean out, tethered,
Into a world of silken touches.
I’ll lift drooping leaves
And blow dust off their backs.
I’ll make myself a smile
And float it on rivers that go far.
I’ll paint lolling tulips on faces
And compose lilting melodies.
I’ll soar to embrace a boundless sky
And brush my fingers against falling flakes of air.

Tonight, I’ll withdraw, tethered,
From a world of silken touches.
I’ll walk a long way backwards
To a cocooned bed of water.
I’ll close my eyes and open my mouth
Into a wordless scream.
From the last lingering reserves
Then release the sound
That’ll ricochet off my curled up limbs
And I’ll swallow it up again.

Tonight will be a long night –
So long, I can’t lose myself.


- Siddhesh Inamdar.
siddhesh.inamdar@gmail.com

Life - A Perspective

Life is strange. It forces you to take decisions that you don’t want to but; teaches you things you don’t want to learn but; makes you do things that you know would hurt others and yourself but; always gives you hope when you know there is none but; shows you a starry dream and then snatches it away from you just when u thought u have realized it but; gives you happiness and tenfold sadness but; makes you believe that you’re as worthy, important as everyone else and then shows how everyone can be perfectly fine without you but…but after everything that’s happened and even after knowing what the outcome of every situation is, deep inside you still feel like fighting for what you want because you just can’t stop living life.

What is it that is binding us to our lives? Why are we so obliged to live it in a manner that would never make us happy? Each day we face is a struggle; bogged down by friends, family, relatives, even the pets sometimes. The logical solution to every problem you face is always the one that leads you to make some sort of sacrifice. Why are there only a few who really want to challenge this process and make a difference? And are they ever successful? Who decides what is right or wrong in an absolute sense? What are we here to do? Does anyone really know? Well, quite unlikely, but if someone really does, then I guess that person is actually living his life rather than life living him. I would say he is close to finding the rarest thing on the planet - ‘happiness’.

If you take life for granted then it flies past you without you ever knowing when the time passed; and if you take it too seriously, you will end up not enjoying it and then becoming a grumpy old man. They say, “Life is what you make of it”. But if you try to live it your way then suddenly you become ‘weird’ and unacceptable in everyone’s eyes.

What is it about the humans that even after suffering from and sulking for a particular thing they tend to take a second chance at it? Is it optimism or is it mere stupidity? This is a mere fraction of the questions that we are asked by each passing day.

Well, I have asked these questions to myself and have realized that there is no fun in living if you don’t struggle for what you want. If there was no struggle Involved, would success ever be so sweet? Would you ever get healed if you were never hurt? Would you ever be able to experience the joy of happiness if you were never sad? Can you ever overtake someone unless you are behind him? It’s great fun to really go after what you want wholeheartedly rather than being a dingy bat who has forgotten how to fly.

I know I am different and it’s great fun. It feels liberating to know that the others think that you are weird when you know you are just freaking them out. It’s amazing to know that you are rebelling for a cause that you believe in. That’s where you find satisfaction.


- Nereus Baretto
nereus_barretto@hotmail.com

New Joys

Like a princess newly crowned
I feel eternal joy around

Pianos & violins I no more need
For silence today is ringing its melody own sweet

Freed myself from all inhibitions
No boundaries now have my ambitions

To paint the picture of my life
And to give it a meaning new & bright

My heart today has found solace
The beauty of each day I now embrace

Had never felt the same before
For learnt I today to love myself to the core




- Priyanka Rathi
prynkrth@yahoo.co.in

Four friends

In close proximity of each other,
lived four friends, who grew up together.
One of them was a girl and three were boys,
Together they would shed tears and unitedly they played with joys.

Ricky loved the birds, the trees and the open skies,
Nik would think everything can be bought for a price.
Sheena was a fantasy child, gifted with brains,
Andy thought life runs as easily as electric trains.

Andy once found a crystal ball on the street,
ran home with a grin, much to the amusement of Nik.
Sheena was curious to see the future,
Ricky was concerned about the fate of the nature

Andy was seen alone whiling away his time on the sand
Sheena was studying abroad in a far off land,
Nik was a millionaire, playing with money,
Ricky was alone in a state of mind, rather gloomy.

They all sat together and looked inside,
Shattered were all of them to see that site.
They all cried in the arms of each other,
Perhaps, that was the last thing they did together.


- Mihir Chitre
- mihirmumbaikar@gmail.com

Taare Zameen Par – Let’s promote creativity!

There are really rare times when a film brings about sensitivity, a social awakening and a couple of tears as a token of emotions that are fomented by its brilliance. Don’t get us wrong. We are not saying that this film will make people take to the streets and protest. It makes no such claims. It addresses an issue which is seething under the pressure of progress – parenting and elevating education. Why these are the deeply connected fundamental issues, on which a society stands on!

The film, like other notable films in the recent past, walks on the path of idealism. It is about the ‘underdog’- the marginalized. It is also about optimism, the spirit of life and ultimately the heavenly delight of an extremely less probable victory. It gives us Ram Shankar Nikumbh who labors to prove to the world – boy’s parents, principal of the school and importantly the audience that difference should not translate into defect. If the boy cannot write clearly, he can paint like no other. The film celebrates this difference. Tare Zameen Par portrays emotions in a way, no other bollywood movie has ever managed to. It gives a practical description of how flamboyant can simplicity be.

Let us put our hands together and applaud a sincere effort coming from one of the most creative brains of our film industry - Aamir Khan. Also, let’s not forget Amol Gupte, Darsheel Safary and the entire TZP team for their vital contributions. Such films give us a hope that creativity still exists in our film industry full of absurdity. This film needs to reach the masses and let’s be a part of ‘word-of-mouth’ movement.

- The FRW TEAM
edit.frwmag@gmail.com