The Song of the Raging Sea

Only the tumult of a raging sea,
rocking our boats to places it needn’t be,
who dares whisper a few good words and conciliate?
For mighty is her resolve, and feeble her invaders.


Beating against our aged wooden hulls,
her stories she forces us listen,
of conquerors who’ve tried quelling her ire
and soldiers who wished not to partake.
Songs of past surface under the raging storm,
as she cries louder into the setting sun,
and our vessels are but dumb dots,
lost in a mighty gale, drifting away with no desire.
The heavens gather, to listen to her fables,
that which needs be told to every sailor passing.
She sings, in a majestic low soprano,
that the men have made merry in her midst,
carrying goods of war and crime,
that her song is the only redemption, she roars
in a frightening contralto.


The old few those who’ve listened with care,
warned us of her ire before we sailed away.
Like seasons weathering old rocks to dust, their lore,
distant and washed away,
little did the forgotten wisdom give us hand,
our wet faces, now bereft of any realization,
piecing the parts only to fail.
In the frantic cadence of her waves,
in her wild cosmic dance,
in the fearful tremors of her ballad,
we solemnly pray for the tale to twist our way,
to the young and true, she’ll say,
listen again, listen again!
That your understanding of this divine tale,
of man and his destiny shall see the light of day.


In a desperate bid for a final confluence,
we merged a raft from parts of the now wrecked hull.
She is the canvas for our dreams,
in her we float free like in our mothers’ wombs,
her story too ambitious to comprehend, we let go,
and like a violin soundtrack to God’s elegy,
her rage turns to deep sorrow.
The last voice of this universe,
like the distant hymns of a hindu sage,
she sings the song of the raging sea.

I see you now

When to the nether worlds you elope
When on the lands beneath you tread
I see you, sore and forlorn

You are freedom and you are fire
Why then have you forgotten your place
Among gods, bathed in divinity

You are an explorer, a pioneer
Why then do you not rise with the sun
Shine bright like the stars in the breathless sky

When hope pervades your heart
When bliss isn’t far
I see you, eager and spirited

To that which you can be
To worlds you cannot fathom in the dark
Be the light, be the light

Rest not until you are awake
Fear not until you are alive
I see you now, I see you now


Blinded, we venture into this raging storm
In faith and in bravery, and in death we trust
Do not be foul, oh gentle soul
Do not be blind, oh gentle soul
Guide me through, guide me back
Take this path, take me with
Do not be tender, oh helpless soul
Do not be callow, oh helpless soul
Rise above, my darling love, to us we dance
Songs of lust shall play in my mind
Do not be dreary, do not succumb
In this world of mine, I shall come
Like kings of past, with boiling blood
To learn my place, learn my time
When my mother teaches me right
Do not be gentle, oh foul soul
Do not be gentle, oh blind soul

Love, Conquer, Bliss

Light, reason, we see those times,
Over ends as reached, through means unknown,
Vile men conquer on as we honest forlorn,
Ever be joy, bliss, you solitary soul.

Long nights stay, and lovers separate,
Of these pitiful days you say not,
Veer thy mind and body, veer to the good, veer!
Ever be joy, bliss, you solitary soul.

Lost in time, lost among doers bad,
Out you come, rise, rise above this broken land,
Vast lands await unseen, conquer, be vile!
Ever be joy, bliss, you solitary soul.

The Everyday 9-er

Off I went, through the streets, braving wind & rain. It was my everyday. It is my everyday.

The window stared at me, in its other worldly demeanor, as if to say ‘You’re another man and another life, with you here and with you not, I will forever look on and on.’ Across the hall it stood; tall and noble. It had a big commanding frame. Its wood, darkened with season but grand nevertheless.

The world that it opened up to paled the grandeur of the window. It glistened a golden gray and a most certain doom awaited. The sun slowly receded in its rank and made way for an increasingly powerful cloud that loomed above with an attitude that could frighten even a Viking lord. The window let a small moan, it was in the storm’s path. The people who were sheltered by this valiant window gasped at the deafening roars of nature. All hell had broken loose.

Amidst the chaos, the streets of this busy town got noisier with activity, rickshaws and buses cried out loud, hurrying their way home, for none dared face the fury that was about to be unleashed on them. Taxi drivers looted passengers with exorbitant fares and nary a single soul raised their voice. Everyone needed to get home. Except me. I didn’t have a home.

The fact that I didn’t have a home yet was the last thing that I was worrying about. It was the magnificence of the situation that had me lost. Moments passed and the rain raged on, and I was just a dumb dot in the doings of God. After what seemed like an eternity but was really just a minute or two, I convinced myself to stop ogling at the window and beyond, and get my shit together, because a long night and a longer day was waiting for me, like wives of worker men whose lives go by waiting for their loved ones to return home, my work waits for me everyday. I will divorce my work someday. Break her heart and shatter her soul. She can go wait for another man and another life, and trap him with her lure. Let her give him 10 lakhs a year, 15 lakhs a year or more, I will not lust for her anymore.

The rain raged on; it’s something about gray clouds that make even the most mundane man the most profound philosopher, and thus I started to walk back to a temporary place where I slept, a decent hotel room. Yes, I could afford to stay for weeks in a hotel. It is the fruit of my work. I had thusly been smitten by her, and her rewards I have used. I am neither a proponent nor an antagonist of the honorable-worker-to-support-family school of thought. The proponents of this school argue that it’s extremely honorable for men to constantly work for an employer and get paid a decent monthly wage to support their families and school their children and the antagonists believe that you should inherently rebel against institution and dream big, live off the edge and what not.

In my walk back to the hotel, I saw a group of sickle people. The people whose sole work was to harden the cement for constructing buildings. There is no question of rebellion among them at all, because they just can’t afford to. They are through and through the honorable people who work for a fixed wage to support their families.

“Indeed, fate plays a role from the very beginning of all our lives because we don’t choose our parents; we don’t even choose to be born. If we exaggerate the role of free will in our lives we become either arrogant, attributing all our achievements to our own efforts and abilities, or depressed, attributing all our apparent failures to our weakness.”

— Sir Mark Tully, in India’s Unending Journey

Chaos got more chaotic. A kilometer into my walk, a motorcyclist had bumped into a rickshaw driver. If there was ever a TOEFL exam with a category for abuse vocabulary, these people would’ve blasted off the charts. A forty something balding man, the rickshaw guy’s adrenaline rush was comparable to an Olympic athlete. His foul mouth showered a semi solid mixture of paan, spit and bad odor at the now retreating biker. The biker was gradually losing his ground. The ominousness of the situation heightened. On a normal day, this would’ve become an onlookers paradise, but not today. The rain brushed away all, it laughed at the puny men and their puny pains.

I was like a towel that had been dipped a hundred times in an ocean. The rain had made my skin soft and my brain softer. I was lost in spiraling thoughts of love and hatred, peace and war, string theory and time travel (as I usually am most of the time when I’m not thinking of space travel). Led Zeppelin’s Kashmir would’ve partly summarized the thrill that went through my bones as the wind enslaved me with its force. Off went the street lights, and the power cut made things only more epic.

Families probably sat around and sang songs in the candlelight. Those who were alone would’ve cried for a companion to cuddle and get cozy for the cold night. It all happened that evening; there was laughter in the narrow gully where kids disobeyed their parents and had broken free into the streets. They wanted in on the action too, for this festival of water and wind would make them wiser in the years to come. They were the children of the quintessential India that many a Bollywood flick has immortalized. I looked at them and smiled, because they reminded me of the English lesson I had in my school. There really is another world and I was living in the other. Here I was in another world, with all sophisticated thoughts and all, and here these innocent children, chasing each other and laughing. The rain had finally found its equal. The rain which had laughed at mortal men who were so busy in escaping to their homes had no answer to the immortality of innocence of these children. For some reason, I don’t remember when I lost that innocence and became a member of the Zombie clan. Age and responsibility has corrupted mankind. How I wished these children never grew up, and never succumb to the overpowering force of greed and lust.

I reached the hotel and sat under the hot shower thinking about the days to come, for I’m not divorced to my work yet, and her lure hasn’t waned. I have to get some sleep and leave at 9 am the following day, because it is still my everyday


Reposted from my medium page.

Ire That Fired Madmen Kickass!

I be the fire storm, doomed forever
I be the rage, shall deeply requiem,
to lie more, abhor, betray forever,
for ever, shall punish haughty bastards,
cocky scuzzy atheist dawdlers!


I was thinking about abusing lethargy in a satire, but somehow ended up with the above poem. My idea was to embody myself as an incarnation of ire, fire and all things red, and see what happens when this force of fury comes in contact with a Sunday afternoon fool who’s obliviously lazing around.

However, the above piece turned out quite differently, and I leave it up to you to really decide what’s happening up there (maybe it’s something, and maybe it’s nothing) – but don’t forget to figure out the Fibonacci series and some Arithmetic Progression hidden in the words above!

ಇಂದು ನನ್ನ ಗೆಳೆಯನಾಗಿ ಬಾರೋ ಕೃಷ್ಣ

ಇಂದು ನನ್ನ ಗೆಳೆಯನಾಗಿ ಬಾರೋ ಕೃಷ್ಣ
ಬಂದು ನಿನ್ನ ಧ್ಯಾನದಲ್ಲಿ ಮರಿಸಿ
ಬಂದು ನನ್ನ ಪಾಪವನ್ನು ಕ್ಷಮಿಸಿ
ನಿನ್ನ ನಾಮವನ್ನು ಸ್ಮರಿಸೋ ಕೃಷ್ಣ

ಇಂದು ನನ್ನ ಗೆಳೆಯನಾಗಿ ಬಾರೋ ಕೃಷ್ಣ
ಒಂದು ಹೆಜ್ಜೆಯನ್ನು ಇಟ್ಟು ನಮ್ಮ ಮನೆಯೊಳಗೇ
ಒಂದು ಕ್ಷಣವು ನಿನ್ನ ಮುಖದ ನಗುವ ತೋರಿಸಿ
ನಿನ್ನ ಕರುಣೆಯ ಪುಣ್ಯ ನೀಡಿಸೋ ಕೃಷ್ಣ

ಇಂದು ನನ್ನ ಗೆಳೆಯನಾಗಿ ಬಾರೋ ಕೃಷ್ಣ
ಇಂದು ನಿನ್ನ ಕೊಳಲ ನುಡಿಯು ಕೇಳಿಸು ಕೃಷ್ಣ
ಇಂದು ನನ್ನ ಮುಕ್ತಿಯ ಮಾರ್ಗದಲ್ಲಿ ಇರಿಸೊ ಕೃಷ್ಣ
ನಿನ್ನ ಭಕ್ತಿಯಲ್ಲಿ ನನ್ನ ಸಂತತ ಇಟ್ಟು
ನನ್ನ ಗೆಳೆಯನಾಗು ಶ್ರೀ ಕೃಷ್ಣ ।।


My first attempt at a Kannada devotional, be kind to me! 🙂