tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-87790449839028868972024-02-08T16:13:58.341+05:30Seven Floors Highshruti natrajanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02265517864779255906noreply@blogger.comBlogger11125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8779044983902886897.post-80430920662434402312011-01-14T23:06:00.000+05:302011-01-14T23:06:20.862+05:30bleep bleepBeyond the velvet of night and the sheep-herds of cloud passing by, overlooking a paper mache of concrete cultivation, she twinkled like a single winking eye of some constellation that had moved in inches to a new dais lit, not by the streamline white of a random aircraft or the static red of a steely stronghold, but by the luminance of a formative crescent who filled a charming smile with the symphonic bleep bleep of the little fluttering eyelid it had left behind.shruti natrajanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02265517864779255906noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8779044983902886897.post-30183200969535466752011-01-14T22:45:00.000+05:302011-01-14T22:45:59.716+05:30d'uh-ayeTomorrows are interesting only if there were yesterdays<br />
Day-after-tomorrow is still an empty wish<br />
Yesterdays were interesting because there were day-before-yesterdays<br />
What makes today interesting is that it's just a dayshruti natrajanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02265517864779255906noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8779044983902886897.post-42407838977406493352010-08-12T00:16:00.000+05:302010-08-12T00:16:23.261+05:30SwooshI'd like it to cast my shadow along with it's own.<br />
<br />
Freeze it.<br />
<br />
Coagulate with cobwebs of unique patterns each...<br />
<br />
Glide it through dark tunnels<br />
<br />
Every cycle being a different one of the same kind...<br />
<br />
Unique.<br />
<br />
Dynamic.<br />
<br />
I'd like it to keep me waiting for the next<br />
<br />
Forming dunes of it as i walk along<br />
<br />
With all the shadows...<br />
<br />
Some that tread along<br />
<br />
Some that are taken away by the gust<br />
<br />
I'll simply walk<br />
<br />
Footprints of mine left for none else<br />
<br />
I'd like it to heal me...<br />
<br />
Time...irreversible time...shruti natrajanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02265517864779255906noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8779044983902886897.post-32582470805166926512010-08-05T23:04:00.002+05:302010-08-05T23:21:29.193+05:30Into a point.It's you but it's not you. The soft blob of feature-less coacervates of nothingness .Plain. One color of opacity.Keeps you allured to the perceptions.Fingers become birds and bunnies.Smiles and frowns are equated to nulls.Illusion of company in solitude. Hot is cold.Fat is thin.Half is twice.An oasis in the desert.Nothing is something. Meanings everywhere.It keeps you lost in translation.No, it's not the light that plays around.Umbras and penumbras reach way before light does and deceive it.Fake promise to tag along everywhere and then suddenly disappear into a single point.It will still keep you wanting to play the hide and seek. It will still want you to want it. The coziness is surreal.The shadow is not for real.Almost everything has a shadow. True it is that some say, nothing is real.shruti natrajanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02265517864779255906noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8779044983902886897.post-6812807250173668772010-07-31T23:15:00.002+05:302010-07-31T23:15:45.791+05:30I feel sorry for EuIn that really vast pond he floated<br />
He was among the older few<br />
He was a broad leaf of lotus<br />
He was always filled with dew<br />
His surface was mostly lush<br />
It was on his free spirit that his veins grew<br />
He had a genuine lustre amongst all in his family<br />
And hence he was called Eu<br />
He watched his greener siblings around<br />
Sometimes he envied their lush<br />
They were all adobes for the colourful frogs<br />
The monsoon frogs looking for mush<br />
She was a growing frog<br />
She croaked a choke for attention<br />
For, it was after all the monsoon<br />
And the amph needed her fun<br />
Every rainy day she sat on “her” lotus leaf<br />
She had a new one everyday<br />
For every leaf sank under her weight<br />
And emerged again as she jumped away<br />
Eu heard her cacophony<br />
It was symphony to his ears<br />
For he had a lonely silence inside<br />
That could only match hers<br />
Eu called her to sit on him<br />
On his sparkling dew-filled patch<br />
She blew her heart through her gills away<br />
For, he was not her right match<br />
But her monsoon was to end soon<br />
And she needed a place to crouch <br />
And with all other lotus leaves filled with frogs<br />
She had just Eu to grouch<br />
He was overwhelmed with cheer<br />
He anchored his stem tighter to the ground<br />
He puffed himself with all his strength<br />
He wanted to be her best ground<br />
It rained a rain of happiness then<br />
All the amphs jumped into the blue glee<br />
She looked at a greener lotus leaf<br />
That’s where she wanted to be...shruti natrajanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02265517864779255906noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8779044983902886897.post-83889527432135592010-05-02T11:20:00.000+05:302010-05-02T11:20:48.863+05:30The key, chain holed herFor centuries now he was kept away from her. She lived a life of service. Her purpose was the most important to her. She protected the treasure and the secrets with utmost pride and honour. She came from the “Royal Guard” clan. That instilled in her the sense of loyalty towards her creation; purpose and duty that kept her strong even in her rusting days. She made sure her hands never let go of the strength that made her the best in her clan. But today, after all the years of respect and significance she assumed, she felt belittled by him. They had found him. He would control her now.<br />
<br />
There is always somebody with a purpose exactly opposite to yours; to make you undo what you do. Ironically, that somebody has no purpose without you. Puppets we are all, of our purposes. Existentialism is a mirage.<br />
<br />
They brought him to her chamber. She saw him. The chain who remained her loyal aide suddenly seemed to hold her hands back tight. She knew the time had come. She froze into the moment. She was stabbed by him. Her hands let go loosely. Her body hung tiredly. She heard a distance voice say...<br />
<br />
“The key has truly been a national treasure keeper!.....but the lock is so rusty...”shruti natrajanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02265517864779255906noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8779044983902886897.post-22187843046609982082010-05-02T00:22:00.000+05:302010-05-02T00:22:15.134+05:30Some jazzHe went flying like in projectile<br />
I don’t know how he felt<br />
But my anger loved the outburst<br />
So the optic mouse had to suffer<br />
The laptop said her last prayers<br />
Her skin looked redder than ever<br />
She thought about being flung around<br />
And put on her low-batt beep quiver<br />
Don’t know why i wondered about the language<br />
But i did understand she begged for mercy<br />
The lava in my blood got icy<br />
So i let her be and banged the door shut<br />
The “thud” told me he was unaware<br />
But he still maintained his hard teak enamour<br />
And turning to the other side, he shuddered words of swears <br />
The brown room stared at me in dismay<br />
And then the visitor breeze came to say her usual hi<br />
Everybody inside smiled<br />
All the burgundies and crimsons turned brown again <br />
The optic mouse’s injuries were mild<br />
But now he doesn’t click or move...<br />
He’s still wondering why<br />
He doesn’t understand that it can never be his fault<br />
But they can still make him cryshruti natrajanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02265517864779255906noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8779044983902886897.post-47296280577952688282010-03-03T22:33:00.000+05:302013-04-26T11:14:20.509+05:30SatelliteThe dusk was decorated by the bright neons at a distance.The floodlights stood there in pride.From the romancing couple to the mongrel who pissed on them, they were watchful of everyone.They beamed as they guarded their territory and beamed in competition to their belligerents on the other streets.The smaller headlights gave a quick salute as they passed them.And then there were the stars.The shimmering glitterati kept a safe distance from each other that gave the night an arcane elegance.As the congnoscenti twinkled and watched, from behind those cloudy curtains, she emerged.<br />
<br />
She blossomed.<br />
<br />
She posed.<br />
<br />
An applauding radiance filled the night.<br />
<br />
The moon...she smiled at us.<br />
<br />
The envious beams of the stars were not as bright as her radiance.The floodlights glared at the ground, in a sudden lack of attention, and did not even want to turn their heads up to catch a glimpse of her.With her unparalleled beauty, she is The Miss Universe or The Miss World.But then again,labels are for people.<br />
<br />
She is the moon; she is forever.Luminance is more than just a physical characteristic of this celestial pulchritude.She does not reflect just light;she reflects moods;she reflects change;she reflects the circle of life.Her brilliant exterior has always been an epitome of chastity.Then why all those efforts to look beyond the luminance... Why the voyages and the missions... We don't want her water; we don't want her rocks.Why should feel her lack of gravity... Why should we rig her ground...<br />
<br />
We could just wait and watch her as she dresses in her different robes of shadow everyday.We could smile and sulk with her.We could seranade in her company.Let this Mary's lil lamb spin around happily...<br />
<br />
As i watched her in awe..she slowly drew herself behind the cloudy curtains.I think she heard Sir Richard Branson plan his next "space tourism" shuttle.I watched her till i could see her last visible silhouette.<br />
<br />
Satellite...shruti natrajanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02265517864779255906noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8779044983902886897.post-59027622462330363352010-02-18T20:15:00.000+05:302010-02-18T21:23:08.039+05:30Scrabble<div>The cooker in the kitchen vibrates from the pressure of whatever is cooking within it. They sit on the marble kitchen slab facing each other and staring down at it, kept in between them. </div><div><br /></div>He : ..so honey, you know the boss is always expecting me to work late..and the project never seems to be getting over...i'm so tired these days..all i want to do in the weekends is slee...*yawns*...You should be able to go to the doc yourself...now come on baby! <div><br /></div><div>She : Es..Escapist..</div><div><br /></div><div>He : Honey..you have 15 letters! We're playing Beginners!... and you take so long to form your word! </div><div><br /></div><div>He *leaning close to her* : Try the S...i think you should try S-E-X...</div><div><br /></div><div>She *looking up at him.Watching his sly hogging eyes* : Es-Escalate...</div><div><br /></div><div>He : You know what we should do..we should try the new stuff i read in that book!!!</div><div><br /></div><div>She *rolling eyes* : Ecstasy!</div><div><br /></div><div>He : Wo! that was good honey...the mens' room talk told me they all loved it..the more complicated it gets...the better it is...</div><div><br /></div><div>She *Closing eyes.Frowning* : Escarbuncle!</div><div><br /></div><div>He *in a whispering smooth tone* : ...and we can do it throughout the weekend....</div><div><br /></div><div>She *arranging the words on the board briskly* : S-C-U-M-B-A-G</div><div><br /></div><div>He looks at her for a few seconds reading the slight lines on her forehead and the vague smirk on her lips. Then he stares down at his letters.</div><div><br /></div><div>The cooker lets out its first whistle.</div>shruti natrajanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02265517864779255906noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8779044983902886897.post-91348002342856988832010-02-16T22:29:00.000+05:302010-02-16T22:40:25.399+05:30BrewThe uneventful stir slowly settled. The brisk stuff was added in strong, yet measured ratios. Caramel-like crispness added zing to the brisk stuff. Then came along the ever favourite dollops of the smiling soft. Although slightly smothered by its layers, the creamy smoothness was still alive.The glassiness gave the final touch. A simple plain brew was now the White Chocolate Mocha.Ice tea and cappucino watched.shruti natrajanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02265517864779255906noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8779044983902886897.post-13218841406794015122010-02-13T14:38:00.000+05:302010-03-04T20:42:45.938+05:30Been There. Done That<span class="Apple-style-span" style="BORDER-COLLAPSE: collapse;font-family:arial, sans-serif;font-size:13;" ><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0px">February. Valentine hangover. The sun was in a “Work in progress” status as he fought hard with a big gust of ozone-depleting pollution clouds. Not many seemed to care as they lounged in their smoke-spitting locomotives and got into an inglorious stupefaction of their compulsive obsessive tunnel- vision driving. The Indian Budget was to be announced. The “Common Man” was discussed at varied length and breadth in every inch. Lincoln did say that “God must love common man. He made so many of them”, maybe love was His reason to put so many of them in India. Two such common men had chosen to show their “love” over a broken scooter that all the man gods in their big ships had to come to a brusque halt in the infamous traffic jam.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0px"><br />
</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0px">On any other day she would’ve chosen to fight the passive war of “cribbing and complaining” with the pathetic ruling party, just like the man gods did in their air-conditioned ship lounges. But today it was a much needed bonus time in her heavily packed day. She opened the compact box and checked her eye make up in the mirror. The black eye shadow was still zing. Nirvana Black. He had loved it. “You’re some rocker chic”, he had said more than once. She gave herself a hot pout as she remembered. She casually looked out of the window. The eunuchs were on their prowl. They hunted down the man gods with utmost ease. Their weapon of sheer outrage silenced the manicured touch-me-nots. Then, there was the mad man. He wore a torn blazer and partially shredded pant. With his rash hair and a smoky white beard he reminded her of Rumpelstiltskin. Most mad men reminded her of Rumpelstiltskin.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0px"><br />
</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0px">This rumpelstiltskin did clumsy somersaults on the empty pavement. He settled down to see his face in his small mirror for a brief minute and then started a second seizure of his clumsy act. Although she did pity him, a part of her still called him a loser. She was sure she radiated a blue aura since last night... the calm blue of a clear sky; the wisdom brimming blue of a coffee mug with black coffee; the sacred blue of the Turkish blue eye; the charming blue of the pair of jeans with the white shirt; the analytic blue of Rorschach’s blot done in royal blue ink. Whoever said aura therapy gives greater detail to soul searching was so right. She let herself into a trance of “connecting” with this loser.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0px"><br />
</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0px">...Life can be miserable. Nothing one plans may work. It may drag and doodle and succumb to any one of those diabolises in those seven sins. It may finally meander to nothingness. But love, love is the saviour angel. It makes life seem filled with opportunities. Love instils trust. Love gives hope. In fact love was the reason to live. This loser either had no love in his life or he just didn’t hold on to it. Who would ever crumple himself to such a state if he had the medicinal flavour of love in his life to help him recover from any zenith of turbulences...He was a soul of lesser god. Without love, he merely existed...</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0px"><br />
</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0px">She was now sure that her aura was pink, not blue. It was the pink of love. Rose Tinted.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0px"><br />
</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0px">Rumpelstiltskin was taking a break from his cosmic dance of poltroonery. It looked like the somersaults were his way to wade off the attention he was getting from people. He was telling them to look away from him. He wanted to clear them off from his personal space. He wanted to hide. He now clung onto his mirror and sat still facing the ground.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0px"></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0px">She turned on the radio. The RJ was just promising the caller to play a new popular track after a “short commercial break” in his well practiced tone that was heavy with pseudo zest. This was a great song. It was her favourite song too. The world was conspiring, after all.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0px"><br />
</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0px">She checked herself again in the car mirror. Self obsession gave a pearl-like glow. She couldn’t resist her urge to fish out her box of shadows. The palettes of brown and burgundy were almost empty. The peaches and the lilac were untouched. Perhaps now she’ll use them more. Time to plume. The warmth of the Cherry Daze or the kissing shimmer of the Berry Blast shall contour the happiness around her eyes. He might like the chic black, but she was sure he’ll love this. But not the dark shades again. She had nothing to hide anymore.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0px"><br />
</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0px">She slowly slept through the thought of the events of last night. The boss was leaving. It was his farewell party. She loved him. He had always reciprocated her gestures. He had always smiled at the hints she threw. But it was all still unspoken. They met at the smoking zone during the claustrophobic phase of the party.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0px"><br />
</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0px">It started with “you smoke? How cool”...</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0px"><br />
</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0px">Went on as “You think it was Sangeetha?! Wohoho! No way...not that b!&*%! Oh c’mon......it was always you...”</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0px"><br />
</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0px">And ended as “Oh you rocker chic...you know I’m crazy about you...”</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0px"><br />
</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0px">The chemistry was crazy. That’s how they ended up together at his place and after a night of Armageddon sex minus any guilt, she lay there watching him sleep. Of course this had a future. Unlike the ones before, this was like magic that manifested over time. Falling in love at workplace was a complete no for professionals like them both. But now the time was right as they did not work together anymore. He had waited for this.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0px"><br />
</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0px">He suddenly woke up and said “Hey don’t tell Sangeetha that I called her that. Promise me by putting your hand on your heart.” Romance was all about foolishness.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0px"><br />
</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0px">She suddenly woke up to the loud ring. The shadow box in her hand was thrown down due to her response to the stimuli. The popular song was playing on the radio.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0px"><br />
</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0px"><i>Dil tho bachcha hai ji...thoda kachcha hai ji...</i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0px"><i><br />
</i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0px">She winked at the radio and answered the call.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0px"><br />
</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0px">“Hey sexy...”</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0px"><br />
</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0px">“Serious talk...umm...yea sure”</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0px"><br />
</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0px">Rumpelstiltskin was now holding on to a stray dog. The mongrel tried to wriggle out. He put his arms over her neck clumsily. She settled for a little while on his lap but she started to wriggle out again. He tried petting her but she barked at him and let herself free. She walked away with a snooty gait as Rumpelstiltskin sat there staring into his mirror.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0px"></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0px"><br />
<br />
“....so it was just a one night...”</p><br />
<br />
<p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0px"><br />
</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0px">The sun had won the feud with the clouds and was now flaunting his victory flag. The atomic and subatomic particles were unleashed with an overwhelming vigour. The steels of the vehicles woke up to the call of the green house effect. Some of those particles had managed to mix with her aura of pink and make it a coagulation of brown...the brown of unsettled loose soil; the brown of a withering old bark; the brown of degenerating cane sugar juice; the browns that she wanted to avoid. The brown aura serenaded.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0px"><br />
</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0px">“yea...I’m...I’m here...yea...”</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0px"><br />
</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0px">“... I’ll call ya...so we don’t call also...”</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0px"><br />
</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0px">“...um...yea...I’m cool...yea...”</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0px"><br />
</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0px">“yea...I prom...s...”</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0px"><br />
</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0px">Her hand clumsily fell off her chest. She gazed at something till it became really large and blur. Her hands trembled a little. An usher of blood caused some gooseflesh. Her eyes were moist. She picked up her box of shadows and dug out a last chunk of Copper Champagne. She needed new ones. The radio sounded louder than usual.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0px"><br />
</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0px"><i>Dil sa koi kameena nahin....</i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0px"><i><br />
</i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0px">Rumpelstiltskin was looking at her. His mirror was held against his chest with the reflecting side on the outside. He had a fixed stare. She felt him penetrate into her aura. Maybe he was “connecting”.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0px">The moment froze. The song played on.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0px"><br />
</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0px"><i>Dar lagtha hai ishq karne mein ji....</i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0px"></p></span>shruti natrajanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02265517864779255906noreply@blogger.com1