What the fuck!

The drama that was played through the last night, which is not under control even after almost 24 hours of its commencement, was nothing less than the most dreaded nightmare of us Mumbaikars. For the facts, it was something unprecedented in independent India, something that would have easily gone in as a tall story if talked about earlier, and rightly so, because the way the drama unfolded in was simply unbelievable.

Around 20 - 25 men dock a ship at Sassoon dock, in the heart of Mumbai, with ammunition that outplayed the imagination of our top cops. They get inside what probably is one of the most known identities of Mumbai, The Taj, and later go on to destroy it; they go inside the Oberoi, which has been the prime face of Mumbai's extravagance over the years; and they also get inside the Cama hospital where patients were heartrendingly held hostages as in the formerly mentioned places. Moreover, some gunmen hijack police vans, and fire randomly at the common Mumbaikar. The men also cause a Taxi explosion at Vile Parle, leading to beliefs that the attack was going to spread over the suburbs too.

101 reportedly dead, and over 300 injured. We lose 3 top cops.

I managed to get back home safely from Malad which was thankfully an unaffected place, before I got hooked to the television that spoke of the grand scale attack that has shaken Mumbai at the roots.

What the hell! Isn't it utterly shameful that these men come right into the heart of Mumbai, and execute such a devastating plan? Can our intelligence be called even moderately intelligent if it wasn't aware of this efficacious plan? Is Mumbai police just good enough to harass middle class and lower - middle class people? Did they have no information network or disaster management scheme at all? And how the fuck could people dock ship loaded with heavy ammunition at the sea coast of Mumbai? Does our coastal security exist? Are there really so many loopholes in the security system the great city of Mumbai?

Is it an epitome of the incapability of our government to take a stand against the relentlessly repetitive terrorism? These and many other questions have haunted me since 9.40 pm, last night. I have perhaps missed many things that I would have written in a better state of mind. This is not an article. I don't care a shit for language or quality at the moment. It's time to get back at these people big time. Find them from their roots (which quite obviously lie to the north - west of India), and kill them! It's high time Manmohan did a Bush. It would surely require planning and patience but start the eradication process right away. The city of Mumbai that has given us so much over time cries for help. It's time to pay her back.

Anomaly

I’m holding on to the last strands of lucidity that I think I possess.
The sleep that I didn’t sleep is all pervasive.
She engulfs me like a thick mist.
She beckons me like a sweet temptress.
But I’m afraid it is not to be.
She will not let me enjoy her. Exploit her.
She would rather keep me waiting, so I don’t stop wanting her.
She delights in my agony, reminding me of Him.

He, the man of my dreams.
A face I can put a name to but not much else,
who has made me less than myself.
He says You’re my best friend.
He says I’m giving up on you.
He says You slut!
He puts himself first.
He lacks the courage to be vulnerable.
He is not faithful.

This elusive duo has shattered my existence.
Sleep.
Him.
Sleep.
Him.
I resent both.
I desire both.
I am scarred.
Living, but not alive.
My gut says this morbid state of being will not subside.

I am going out today, all dolled up.
The kohl in my eyes hides the circles around them.
Caused by the Two.
My archenemies.
Today I will rise
Above the power they hold over me.
I will defeat them.
Conquer Her and set Him free.

Again, a night!

It's 3 A.M. The darkness of the night intrigues me to write, and it's appearance provides me with the words. The window of my hall is half open. An astonishingly empty road separates me from the vast field on the other side of it. The road is lit by the light of a street lamp hidden behind the window. The light is intense on half of the road, and gets tame as I look towards the empty field, leaving passage for an evoking darkness to be seen and felt.

It's just a fractional part of the cosmic darkness spread over eternity that I am looking at. And how simply intriguing is the experience! These nights are transitory worlds. Experiencing them is a pleasure of an unmatchable satisfaction. The night comes to you with a new tale everyday. Hear it carefully until you, yourself, become one of the popular ones!

The Sinner's Paradise

As I sit by the window
and watch the sun go down,
down the cliff, the glittering waters fall
they've always stopped my frown

As I see the greens extending towards the horizon,
I see an angel gliding through the fields,
her beauty shines through as much as the sun,
the purity and the whiteness, it is love revealed

Her hair catches the flowing wind
Her hands make a slow breeze
I forget that I've sinned
as her gracious steps make the time freeze

She comes near, now closer to love I am
My hands on her hips
her kiss on my lips, a permanent ecstasy
I can't help but believe, real is this fantasy

She holds my hand
and caresses me tender,
but since I'm a sinner
why did God send her?

I'm lost in the trance
wanting the magic to continue,
but she's got to go, she's called back above
she whispers to me
"I am your angel
who's been looking for a chance
to replace your heart of hatred, with the heart of Love"

She lets go of my hand
and glides away into the sky,
She looks back with her diamond eye gaze
assuring me that
she'll be back soon, in a new phase

I rub my eyes and wake up from the beautiful dream

realize that the lost paradise awaits the sinner,
but the warmth in my heart confirms that God resides in me

so I'm ready to start again as a humble beginner.

The Drummer

A song was being played in the background. Two typical beats per second. The process was continuous. They all enjoyed and swayed to the song untill an aberration was heard. It was an extra beat. "Where did it come from?" They all wondered in unison.
"How did that transpire?" Most of them asked. "Was the sound unprecedented?" asked the others expressing panic.

She was unmoved and serene. She hardly bothered. "I have a different question," she announced,
"I wonder who the drummer was."

SkEtcH mE

lying down trying to figure out
me and myself
all i have are doubts
stuck in a corner with no help

trying to collect
pieces broken of the past,
to figure out myself
of a known me last

can u sketch me?
a figure in the shade?
can u figure me?
I'm a sketch never made

down and frayed
lost and never found,
though i prayed
hope never made a sound

weeks gone by
with nothing to remember,
can ticking time be a lie
like this onset of cold december?

free yet caged,
moving but still,
feeling yet numb,
is this HIS will?

can u sketch me?
a figure in the shade?
can u figure me?
I'm a sketch never made

in the light i lay
but wander still in the dark,
once bright as a sunny day
searching now for the lost spark

once i knew me
and knew myself,
now there's many me
and i can't find myself

can u sketch me?
even now a figure in the shade?
can u figure me?
i'm a sketch once made

The Comeback!

Well, many of us have truly longed for this moment.
Here I am, launching The FRW Magazine again.

FRW has come out of the sabbatical with a new structure, new ideas and the old fervor. It learned a lot in the time of inactiveness while introspecting on a large scale. Some of the major changes that FRW has gone through can be understood while reading the new features listed below.

1) Increased Flexibility: FRW will now have registered authors, who can post their articles, poems, reviews or any other random write-ups directly on the blog at any time and on any topic.

2) Freedom of Expression: In spite of it being one of the most important characteristics of the first era of The FRW Magazine, it will be implemented in a new manner this time. Anything that an authorised author posts shall go up without editing.
Spelling, grammar and content editing will be a responsibility of the respective authors.

3) No Editor: I, Mihir Chitre, will not trouble any of our writers with their write ups. Individual writers are solely entitled to them. I shall just be the blog admin.

4) How to get a login?: Our old writers will get a 'writer-invite' right away. Anyone else, who is interested in contributing to the blog, may contact us with a valid blog link or a demo article on edit.frwmag@gmail.com or/and (since multiple copies of the same mail do not cost more) mihirmumbaikar@gmail.com

Come on! Let's share a word again.