Ode to my bipedeled friend

OK. This might give you an idea as to what might drive an individual to write such a bad poem. This was penned during a particularly boring physics tutorial. It happens to be about my bicycle. If you happen to notice any innuendo in the poem (as pointed out by my worthy friends), please note it is purely coincidental and was not what I had in mind when I was writing. If you don't, well that's better for me, isn't it?
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Ode to My Bipedeled Friend

I still recall thy heavenly lustre,
And my heart did go aflutter,
When mine eyes beheld thee,
In all thy metallic glory.
Paths I was wont to trod,
I rode upon my steed, proud.
Thou hath always been beside me,
As I manoeuvred every turn in glee.
But now I am loathe to say,
That our eternal bond has begun to fray.
Thou art with problems fraught,
And thy trusty kickstand doth not,
Stand for thee any longer,
And thou plummet ere I walk yonder.
Thy iron links art bereft,
Of its enduring strength and deft.
Thy staunch armour for dust,
Now only receive their mirth.
When upon the boulevard thou hasten,
I am unable to show thee reason,
And bridle thy boisterous venture,
And find my life in grave danger.
Rickety, rusty, creaking, breaking,
Bereft of thy bell joyously tingling.
Curse the Gods doth I,
Whence They sent thee I cry,
But no matter how much thou might offend,
I shall always love thee - my Bipedeled Friend.

For her...

Mist rolled in. The night was yet young. The moon shone brightly in the dark sky freckled with stars. The street was empty and devoid of any movement or activity. Somewhere in the distance a dog howled. A tall figure leaned on a streetlight - its features in shadows. His overcoat ruffled in a chill draft of air and he merely lowered his hat further.

There was a brief flare of light and smoke twirled languorously among the dust motes seen in the flickering light of the streetlamp. The man shifted on his feet and took a deep puff, welcoming the warmth. His shifting momentarily revealed a strong jawline and a prominent nose - the features that were almost as famous in the underworld circles as himself. The murder of the Governor, the industrialist by the harbour, and Spider Reilly the gangster...all works of this one man.

He stood across a villa, foreboding and forlorn. Cracked windows, a broken front door, weeds growing everywhere...There was an altogether ominous look about it - memories of a turbulent past, refusing to leave like the cold, dank air that hung about the walls.

His thoughts wandered back to that fateful night that had turned his life upside down. That night the villa wasn't deserted. There was a solitary lamp that glowed through a window. He had stood across the street in the same way. But murky clouds had blotted out the moon. A quick turn of his wrist - 1:05 AM. It was taking longer than he thought. While he waited he thought about Jennifer. A reluctant smile came to his face. It was for her that he was doing this last assignment. He wanted to stop this life of risk and danger. He wanted to settle down with her - the one he loved so truly. So this was his last big job for money. And after this a lifetime with Jennifer to look forward to.

2:00 AM. The time had come. He stuffed his hands deeper into his pockets and strode toward the house. Silhouettes moved around inside the room and deep voices floated out onto the street, "Ah, that's the river, mate. The time for the final showdown...our deal must work out today." The man on the street tensed like a tiger ready to spring on unsuspecting victims.

A deep rumble overhead. Like the low guttural of some phantasmal mythical beast up in the sky. Lightning forked across - the beast bared its fangs in a maniacal grin. Drops fell like icicles from the heavens. The drizzle soon turned into a downpour and the wind rose to a howl.
Rivulets of water flowed down the man's coat just like the blood pumping through the sinews of a hunter. Water was dripping from the brim of his hat.
When he stepped up to the door the warmth of the fireplace permeated through to where he stood. A thunderclap - the door lay hanging weakly on its hinges. The man held two Berettas in his hand. Six people, six bullets, three seconds. The guns were back into his coat before his victims dropped their cards and glasses.

A whisper of a movement behind him and he whipped around to find himself face to face with a pistol. Jennifer stood behind the gun. Her hands were trembling but her eyes were set in a cold hard stare. "I hate you Paul," she said. "I had loved you once. But you never did love me, did you? You were my everything. But what was I to you more than just another object in your life?" She laughed hoarsely. "Always the professional, aren't we? Wherever we go, the secrecy, the lies. You said we'll settle down, just you and me. But now I realise it's just another thread in the web of lies that your life has become." Her voice now became strained, as if she was choking back tears. "Sometimes I wonder if you even know yourself. Or even if there is the Paul whom I had loved waiting for me behind that web. But enough is enough. I've done my waiting. But I'm not the one leaving, Paul. You are."

With this she levelled the gun to his forehead. Paul hadn't reacted till now. But with a gun pointed to him instinct took over. With a flash he twisted her arm, the gun fell. Another swipe of his hand the gun was pointing to Jennifer's throat. Her face paled with fear but she put on a defiant expression. He pulled the trigger......

All these thoughts came crashing back to him now as he stood under the flickering streetlamp across the derelict villa. He felt nothing but a deep sorrow, a pain at the betrayal of his trust, languishing that his love was questioned so. He had answered. But the answer had cost him a part of his life, his love, Jennifer. Her beautiful soft eyes that had stared lifeless after she fell haunted him. A sense of emptiness overwhelmed him. He wiped away a tear.

The road was empty again, the sky clear as ever. There was nobody beneath the flickering streetlamp. But a cigarette stub lay on the pavement. And footsteps were heard fading into the shadows of the night....

Parvaaz: The Flight of Thoughts

Pavaaz is my Hall's magazine and I'm proud to have been a part of its second flight. Visit http://www.iitk.ac.in/hall2/parvaaz.pdf to peruse it. Comments and suggestions are welcome...

This is where you stop...

Hey all the ardent followers of my previous blog(whom am I kidding :P)....this is my new address. So mail all your brickbats to me HERE. This blog has all my previous articles and poems just to make sure you relive all the torture....Enjoy!!

Rewind: Chapter #71

Hey ppls...Me back this time with a collaborative piece of(what I think is) literature.This short story has actually been (in most part) written by my good friend Ashish(who's here with me in IITK).I just came by and screwed up his story actually....but he seems to like it...so i sure do hope tht u guys do.....Its my first attempt at a proper short story...especially in this genre. Thank Ludlum, Coliin Forbes and all those thrillers that I've read for my inspiration. And please try to read the entire thing now that ur here already...
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Chapter #71

The assassin removed the lock pick from the hole and pushed the door open. He stepped out onto the sprawling rooftop of the building. From here he would get a clear shot of his target. He went to the edge of the roof and found an ideal vantage point. He unpacked his suitcase and assembled his XL088 sniper rifle. Through the high telescopic zoom, he could get a clear shot of the stage some 10,000 yards away. He target would be arriving soon. The only thing left to do now was wait.

"Fuck you woman, are you fucking retarded? Who gets all the money in the house? Who gives you the green so you can go and buy the petty little things you want? ME! Take this! And this!" His father had come home drunk again. He was beating his Mom with his leather belt. The whipping sounds ran through his ears like icy cold shards. He would beat his Mom until her skin became raw white and bled. And then he would come and beat him. He would have been afraid had the whole charade not been so routine.

When his agency got the assignment to kill the Mafia drug lord from a rival gang, it was passed onto their most skilled and dangerous agent-him. He knew it would be one of his most challenging missions yet. Being at the top of the gangster hierarchy, the drug lord was obviously well guarded. But there was a much bigger problem in this case- identity. Nobody knew who he was. Nobody knew who was pulling the strings for the whole cartel. He loved such challenges. He lived for them. He would relish this kill.

Very soon, his mother committed suicide. In her note, she blamed her husband for the atrocities committed upon her and cited them as the reason for her death. Very soon after that, his father went behind bars. He was sent to a foster care home for boys whose parents were involved in crime.

They were taken to a large dark room in the basement by three of the guards. The guards unzipped their trousers. One of them said, "You three kids look thirsty." Another chuckled, "Why don't we give them something to drink then, huh? Enjoy it while you can kids...."

He was standing in front of a ramshackled building with tinted windows. He went round to the inconspicuous back door - he had been here before. The lady at the counter asked,"Ah Herr!Was kann ich fuer Sie tun?"He smiled wickedly and said, "The usual." He opened the door and stepped inside. She was lying there, hands tied to the bedpost, her flaming red hair running wild over her milky skin. He looked into her hazel eyes. The beast inside him was awakening. His carnal desire overpowered him. Her eyes widened as he unclasped his belt. He saw the fear in her eyes, the raw naked terror that surged through her. It turned him on even more. Just as the feel of guns did. He was reminded of the first time he held one is his hand.....

The assassin and three of his friends made a scheme to escape. One of them knew about a secret cache of guns hidden in the old warehouse. They sneaked out of the dining quarters at night and stole some .45 barretas. They would use it to shoot the padlocked exit. They formulated their scheme for escape at night. It would be done tomorrow. They would escape at the break of dawn before the guards checked their rooms. But their plan failed. One of the patrolling guards got whiff of their conversation. They were caught jumping over the perimeter fence in the morning. They ran. Ran as fast as they could to the exit. One of them shot the lock. It didn't budge. It would need more firepower. The guards were chasing them. One of them was almost upon them. The assassin did not want to be caught again. He wanted to escape from the abuse, from the nightmares. He aimed his gun and shot the running guard between the eyes. BAM! Blood was oozing all over his face. The guard crashed to his knees and fell flat on his face. His skull cracked and spinal fluid mixed with the blood which now had drenched his entire body.

And then something arcane happened. The assassin loved it. He loved the sensation of the gun in his hands firing a bullet. He loved the easiness with which he just took his tormentor's life. He loved the feeling of superiority, of domination. He targeted the other guards. By now, they had stopped running towards him. They were just standing still, away from them, telling him to drop the gun and escape without any more casualties. The assassin laughed to himself. How the hunter becomes the hunted. How he pleas when the tables are turned against him. But he would not show any mercy. BAM! The second guard fell, he caught him just above his left eye. Blood splattered on the wall. Bone splinters and brain tissue was now slowly being covered by the fiery red fluid. Now the third was alone. He looked at the assassin. In his eyes, the assassin could see raw, naked fear, the kind of fear one could only experience in the face of death. He could see those eyes begging for another chance. But the assassin already knew what he was going to do. He smiled. BAM!

The first thing he would have to do was to infiltrate the gang. From intel sources, he found out about a high profile gathering which was going to take place at the pier. The mayor was throwing a party to celebrate the economical progress made by the city in the past year. All the big players would be there. But the party was also the venue for a high-profile drug exchange between the Mafia and the Yakuza. His target would be there as well, though he would be invisible to his eyes. Getting an invitation for the the party was easy enough, he just asked for a favour from many of his high-placed friends for whom he had carried out hits before.

He carried out some reconnaissance work on the ship. But it was useless. The ring leaders, let alone the low breeds had no idea who their leader was. They simply called him Shina. All he could decipher was that there was one person who communicated to Shina directly, the capo. He would have to get to the leader through him. He could kidnap him now, and interrogate him about the leader's whereabouts later. But he would have to dispose of him later and that would make the other gangsters suspicious, most of all Shina. It would also be a messy approach, leading to unnecessary collateral damage. There was no reason to get him now. There was a much simpler way. He stealthily placed a transmitter under the bumper of the Capo's car.

With the transmitter in place, he could follow the Capo like a shadow. His plan was to follow his movements for a while, then strike him when he was most vulnerable. He followed the dot on the GPS screen for a couple of days, trying to chalk out his routine. But there was something suspicious about the places he was visiting. Suddenly it all made sense. He understood. He made a couple of phone calls. He had his man.

Though nobody worked with him closely- he could not afford any close contacts- the people who had communicated with him always felt terror at the chill in his voice. They all described him as a cold calculating killing machine, which was probably true. Circumstances had turned him into this. He enjoyed what he did, he liked being the harbinger of death for the high and mighty. It made him feel powerful. He had a habit of calling his kills 'chapters'. He had a book where he wrote down the details of all his hits chapter by chapter. He liked to think of his life as that book. He had a fetish for expanding it- adding one more page, one more chapter.

Shina was the mayor. He was there on the ship, making a speech about the developments made in the commerce sector in the past few months. But he was actually overseeing the whole deal. He could have killed him right there on the ship, he could have poisoned his food. But it didn't matter. He was here. The mayor would be delivering a speech to the public about a new trade reform in Central Square. He was half a block away, and many stories high. Through his lens, he had a view of the whole ceremony. He was waiting. Then the mayor came on stage. The adrenaline started pumping through his veins. This was the feeling he lived for. The same feeling he experienced when he shot the guards. It was like cocaine, only much better. He had to feel it again. He adjusted his scope and got the mayor's temple in his crosshair. He adjusted the stock, steadied his aim and took a deep breath.

Then he pulled the trigger.

In a moment, the mayor slumped to the floor like a rag doll. The stage became red with blood. The people panicked and started running. There was chaos everywhere. The mayor's bodyguards searched around for the killer. But it was futile. The assassin packed his weapon and left the roof without a trace, like a shadow. Another chapter had been written.

When in juvenile prison, he had no visitors. His parents were the only persons he knew. But one day someone had come to see him. An old man,


"Son, all I can say is that I am proud of what you did in the foster home. You stood up for yourself. You acted like a man. You are a born killer. You feel no remorse. You feel no pity. We need people like you. Join me; I'll get you out of here. You'll start a new life, one full of adventures. I have contacts in places the police can't even dream of reaching. So what's it going to be? Yes or no?"

The assassin looked at the old man. In his eyes he could see madness, the same kind of madness he felt with a gun in his hand, the kind of madness that absolute power brings. He smiled.

"Yes", he said.
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Till literature decides to smile upon me again...

Rewind: Zzzz...

OK...This is another of my pathetic attempts at poetry. I really don't know why I wrote this in the first place, or even why I'm torturing my few readers by blogging it. Anyway here goes....

I return tired and spent,
Dragging along my leaden feet,
The burden of the day's problems,
Weighing upon my stooped back.

Head upon my downy pillow,
Sinking into the depths of its comfort,
Enveloped by the blanket of silence,
Rocked by the lullaby of aching limbs,

Tranquillity descends into bloodshot eyes,
Ragged breathing becomes slow & content,
A smile forms on my lips,
Peace pervades through my mind,
Lost in the throng of blissful dreams,
Soothed by the cool night air,
I sleep.........

Rewind: Midnight Beauty

The fathomless, inky black sky,
Gave forth pinpricks of light,
In myriad, splendid forms they lie,
Twinkling in and out of sight.

Into the vast realm of stars,
Rose the silver sickle bright,
His smooth surface marred,
And spilling his cool moonlight.

Some trees loom tall and dark,
Leaves rustling in the chilly wind,
While others stood gaunt and stark,
Branches in eerie shapes grinned.

A murmuring stream wandered by,
With waters mysterious and deep,
Meandering under the midnight sky,
When the entire world did sleep.

As I did this sight behold,
As Nature's beauty did unfold,
This mystic vision did I forsake,
Leaving an empty silence in my wake...

Rewind: Unnumbered Tears

The heavens my roof,
The earth my bed,
With leaves as my downy bedspread.

My ears are hollow,
My mouth a ghastly grin,
My mangled bones eroded and thin.

No veins throb,
No blood flows,
Yet bereaved am I of repose.

My heart is dust,
My hands are cold,
Yet clasped within - a locket of gold.

With holes for eyes,
But yet I See,
The memories of a past - full of glee.

Her enchanting smile,
Her beautiful face,
Her pure character and sensual grace.

My clothes are tattered,
My hair are wisps,
My beloved I call with wordless lips.

A darkness upon me does descend,
The wind howls above my grave today,
But all barriers does my love transcend,
'Coz I whisper her name even as I fade away...

Rewind: Aelin-uial

This is just another useless poem that I thought of in a span of 5 mins....so here goes nothing:(for the uninitiated Aelin-uial is a marshy confluence of the Aros in Sirion in Beleriand - a part of JRR Tolkien's imaginary world)

Aelin-uial: The Meres of the Twilight

Swimming in the Meres of the Twilight,
Oblivious to what's wrong and what's right,
Drowning into the depths without a fight,
Giving in to my burdens' supreme might,
Unable to see owing to my failing sight,
Yet I perceive an object bright,
Will it save me from my sorry plight?

PS:Pls note I AM NOT DEPRESSED or STRESSED...the poem just came to me, so here it is....I'll try to write better nxt time.
Till then,
Keep smiling ,
Anish

Rewind: Untitled

This poem is an outcome of my frustration due to my inability to solve my physics assignment. It is a very bad attempt at poetry....coz its probably just my 4th or 5th one. But, as my English prof. T. Ravichandran says,"...poetry should be the spontaneous overflow of powerful emotions..."And this is truly that.....Hope u guys like it....if u dont, dont worry i'll keep writing anyway!!

Hands upon the balcony,
My eyes roved the night skies,
For a hint of epiphany,
Among the sea of eternal lies.

The heavens lay dark and still,
The wind sighed through my hair,
A tear dropped onto the sill,
But there was no respite to my despair.

Anguish pulsed through my veins,
Confusion obscured my vision,
Tenfold became all my pains,
I could not see any redemption.

Is this what life is then?
With reasons elusive to my grasp?
The wind sighed yet again...
My hands began to unclasp.

Frustration drove me to and fro,
Shadows flitted in the mist,
Soon my pacing began to slow,
And my doubts began to lift.

Life's all about illusions,
About mirages and mirrors,
We all labour under the delusion,
That in others lies the error.

We fail to look into ourselves,
'Coz oft within us are the fallacies,
We hope the problems will resolve themselves,
And wallow around in hypocrisy.

And so for me a new journey has begun,
There was a melancholy in the air...
The wind sighed yet again,
As it ran through my hair......


After writing this poem I still couldnt solve my assignment......but thts another story :P
Till then...