Cohabitation

We're both

You and I

Packets of conflict

Which we've somehow learnt

To package within

The warm comfort

Of chaos

And cohabitation.

We're both

You and I

Starved

Within our respective set ups

Of repute and fulfilment

The flakes of which erode

As we dunk

Head first

In our tentative hooks of attachment.

We're both

You and I

Seeing through this shallow

Merciless

Groping world

Together

And within the counted hours

Of agitated murmurs

Do we find the sanity

Of shared dissent.

We're both

You and I

Ready to fly

Unto the horizons

Of risings dawns

And calming twilight

For too much light

Was never our turf

To play out the game of life

Within.

We're both

Getting by

On truth and a lie

Unhinged from our reality

But necessary for theirs.

Our existence only counts them

As expressions

Potent

If well uttered.

Our truth encompasses

The need to lie

To keep palaces of love

And lustre

Afloat.

We're both

Sitting aloof

Under a common roof

Of practiced codes.

We're drilling
Endless skies of imagination
Within these roofs of convention.

Our belonging is in pristine secrecy

Unhindered by mores

Undefined by the knowns.

We're both,

Both brave and naive

And hence lethal

To conditioning

And evolution

Of mimetic contours and edges.

We're tracing our own

Eclectic filigree

Of infrequent passion

Subsumed by over-awing need

To be different people
Within the same
Ancient

Conventions of chivalry.

We're both

Breaking conventions

By upholding chivalry.

Our rebellion is quiet
Lit by clandestine glee

In the warm glow of which

We carve a sub-realm

Of demands and unrealistic dreams.

Realism was never our cup

Or perhaps it was

Not that china held in dainty hands

But one gurgling on wobbly beams.

We’re both

Evolution’s pride

And each other’s private nightmares

Full to breaking with intensity

We know our lust for creativity

Can subsume.

We’re yellow today

And red tomorrow

And blue in distance

And golden each rise of morrow.

We are

Our private griefs

Shared from a distance

For the insistence

On owning our misery

Is absolute.

Our misery makes us whole

Our love breaks us

Into miserable quarters
Of timepieces set wrong.

We’re both

Accepted by the obtuse

And scorned by the obvious.

We’re both

Silenced by conversations

And stirred by observations.

We’re both

Traced by the confused

And rejected by definitions.

Source - Wallpaper Craft

Wisps of Winter

Today, I felt the first faint signs of chill around me. For one, I developed slight, welcome fever. 'Welcome fever' might be a difficult concept for many to understand. It is the kind of pleasant fatigue that makes you pop a pill, lie down, and willingly let go off he humongous weight of work you had been dragging along. It is the kind which tells you nothing is wrong, but this pause is good to recover strengths and smiles. It, at this point of time in the year, also informs you that the romance of winters is going to knock on your door soon, that the season is changing. So yes, as I lie tired on the couch and type it all out, I am actually quite pleased that the hum of the airconditioner is fast becoming a thing of the past.

Winters are special. They make my city beautiful, and my heart fond. They make coffee tastier, and books crispier. They bring along blankets, and consequently, warmth. They take away the irritating moisture, to replace it with a forced dalliance with cold creams. It may sound odd, but I quite like drawing on my arms when they turn parched, and a sheet of moisturiser is the eraser to this slate. A duller world, makes the self more pronounced. And I like, I like it immensely.

Here is my winter wishlist. All things basic, all things romantic. You're welcome to join me, for any, and all of these :)

1. Street shopping for winter clothes

Janpath, Sarojini and Paharganj are on my radar. Any better suggestions for budget and statement winter-wear? Drop me some advice in the comments section!

2. A book date in Rabindra Bhawan

Rabindra Bhawan houses one of the best libraries in Delhi - the Sahitya Akademi library. For a frugal fee, you get access to few of the most amazing titles from Indian, American and even Russian literature. Enough to keep you occupied. Their reading room is inspiring, and if you don't find space inside, the winter sun can give you company outside.

3. Poetry reading in Lodhi Gardens, Humayun's Tomb, Safdarjung Tomb et al

Delhi is a grand city. So many historical venues call out to you in winters to explore and inhabit them. I am eager to take Poets' Collective to all these wonderful places, and also discover some new ones where poetry can resonate and leave behind memories. Let's do poetry in excess for the next few months, shall we?

4. Early morning walk through Sanjay Van

The last time we went there, it was in scorching monsoons. Bad idea! Lal Kot and Sanjay Van seem like a winter destination for a walk along with some stories. A picnic with the close ones is on the cards, definitely.

5. Roadside Chai

It is not even winters, and we have already begun loitering about in N-Block, Connaught Place, searching for chaiwallas on the pavement. Samosas, kachoris and bina-cheeni-ki-chai are going to be my evening companions as days start getting dark sooner.

6. Statement neck-pieces and dark shades of Lipstick

I don't know much about this. But, these winters will be about understanding a bit more of fashion. Who is helping?

7. Conversations over coffee 

Do you have something interesting to discuss? If you can afford some coffee to go with it, you have my attention. Delhi has many roof-top and garden cafes. I am making a list of all the places I want to go to. May be you and I can go along together?

8. Long walks on random roads

Broke or rich, this is something I have been doing since the past few years. With or without company. Music in my ears. Thoughts swirling in my head. Greens becoming greener. Poems calling me out. I love taking walks in winters - an unparalleled fuel for the soul.

9. Reading and writing romances in my blanket 

Nothing comforts like the warmth of winters. I have my reading list fleshed out. I have my story-plots ideated. And I don't mind doing some cosy story-telling sessions at home - an exclusive all-girls, openly gender-biased gathering.

10. Letting my hair down

Well-styled or unkempt - I am letting my hair loose this winter. Winters ought to be a little wild, no?



You can see, clearly, how fascinated am I with the prospect of some chill arriving in Delhi. My winters, curiously enough, begin in the hills. I'll be heading out to Nainital to moderate a session at the prestigious Kumaon Literary Festival on Monday. I'll carry some wintry emotions back.

What are your winter plans? Would you want to join me for any of mine?

P.S. - I am also giving away a lot more free hugs in winters. Just saying.

A Little Something On Me

There is a tag going on around at Instagram, where people are asked to state 20 random facts about themselves. I remember a time when such tags were routine in the world of blogs. However, I feel, with the coming up on multiple social networking fora, where the content you write is instantly and easily share-able and tag-able, blogs have sort of gotten relegated to a secondary expression position - laborious, slightly inconvenient.

Anyway, so I wanted to do the same tag here; for old time's sake. Also, for archiving purposes. Here we go.

1. I am in love with the world of written words - I want to own it, play in it, learn with it, carve it, destroy it, reconstruct it and flow with it. 
   
2. Ammi - Letters To A Democratic Mother by Saeed Akhtar Mirza is the book which has influenced me most in life. Following it at a close second spot is a book called The Assassin's Song by M. G. Vassanji. 

   

   Saeed Akhtar Mirza

3. Faiz Ahmed Faiz is the poet who tugs at the cords of my heart most strongly, though I will admit to not being able to comprehend his language completely. 
   
4. I have always been a people's person, but that manner of existence has begun disenchanting me lately. 
5. I am crazily in love with Silver Jewellery - buy me some and be assured I will instantly fall in love with you. I am also slowly opening up to the idea of gold and bling. Dang is my favourite place to pick up gold-funky-accessories from. 
   
6. I discovered Mythology, specifically Mahabharata as a huge ocean with depth as yet waiting discovery, earlier this year. I hence started a club called Maha Varta with a bunch of mythology enthusiasts which has opened my eyes to much which would have otherwise been left elusive. 
   
7. I desire to be married to books and nature, with a cottage all to myself, high up in the hills. 
8. I have been blessed with a friend who remains with me to grant me unconditional love and support even when I am a witch. Such friends, companions, lovers are rare. They are a blessing most of us fail to understand. 
9. This blog has been dearer to me than most journals I have written in moments of intimacy with myself. Each time I see the ticker at the right hand side move, I do a mental jig. 
10. My day job is that of a Content Strategist; but then, so are my night jobs, one  of which is that of the Poetry Editor at a forum called Positivally Cynical (intentionally spelt that way). Here, my boss is someone way younger than me, but this fine young man hides within him an ambitious entrepreneur I love seeing come of age.
    
11. I love experimenting with new flavours of tea. You want to take me out for a date? Sunset and tea, or monsoon and tea work wonders!
    
12. I was a coffee addict at one time. The incident which changed that was when I collapsed due to drinking 12 cups of coffee in a span of 8 hours. Don't ever try that at home!
    
13. I am in love with my voice.
14. If I were to venture out this moment for a holiday, I would pick between - Udaipur, Jaipur and Sattal. 
15. I go to the fanciest of restaurants to savour the fanciest of dishes from the most exotic corners of the world, but my favourite hangout remains Janpath McDonalds', with their breakfast menu served to me on rain-fed or foggy mornings.
    
16. I want to keep exploring arts - all forms of it - throughout life. Right now, playback is the weird ambition I have been day-dreaming after. 
17. I think faith is a tough concept to hang onto and that we all need our Krishna in life - living, breathing, wise entities who have something very humanly admirable about them. My Krishna exists in combination of real and imagined entities. 
18. I love getting clicked. 
    
19. I met poetry last year. It made me happy, but then caused immeasurable pain. I am trying to meet it again now, through a concept called Poets' Collective. I have no clue where it will go - but I do know that I will not try too hard again in life. 
    
20. I am trying to lose weight these days. Extra volume doesn't bother me. Alarmingly low levels of stamina do. 

Bonus - I am obsessed with the idea of becoming the flow, whatever that means. 

I would love it if the following people to repeat the exercise on their respective blogs - Achint Mathur, Manan Kulshreshtha, Neha Menon, Navin Dutta, Sudhanshu Shekhar Tiwari, Neelkamal Pandey, Yogesh Pandey, Aakriti Mallik, Kunal, Archika Poria, Varun Rustagi and anyone else who happens to drop by here. Leave a link to your blog in the comment section below. I would love to visit and know a little more about you. 

Hurriedly Scribbled #1

If the last year was the year of possibilities, this one turned out to be the year of impossibilities. A lot of things I deemed impossible happened, and no, I don't mean in the achievement sense. I do not mean in any positive sense. I mean those things which make you withdraw, which make you look at the world with renewed amusement. However, since those sad-kinda-impossible-things have been continuing for sometime, I am hoping their days are numbered. Since I like dates, and turning points, and all those things which have romance-like-connotations attached to them, I am hoping that the end of this week will bring some novelty in a life which has its happy moments, but against an overall pall of gloom. At the end of this week lies the start of a new year of my life - and for a week, I thought of hurriedly scribbling these little notes to myself, about things which are whirling in my head at the precise time I sit down to write them. My attempt will be to count blessings, to delineate incidents in a cryptic manner and to decode them in an evermore frustrating philosophical tone. Now, since I never listen to philosophies others waste on me, the typical bull-head that I am, it is imperative, that time and again, I formulate junk philosophies of my own. I have a whole trash-can full of them, did I tell you? Well, invite me over for a coffee and I shall entertain you. If you don't like what I philosophize, well, too bad, since I won't be listening to you in any case. You see, I can pretend to listen very well - but, yes, it stops at pretension. What is left then is the lovely, stubborn world inside me.

So, if someone were to ask me, what was the most amusing, and heart warming thing that happened to me in the day that went by, I would have the following to narrate. Four individuals, not much younger to me, wished me a happy Mothers Day. One of them even recorded a beautiful song to accompany the wish. Now, I am only 23 (about to turn 24), and completely unmarried - so messages like this are amusing. What is furthermore amusing is the fact that I unconsciously reciprocate with motherly emotions. Some awesome mess of wiring in my brain might be the enabler of these seemingly funny relationships I build - but then, all of these relationships are extremely dear to me.

We all have those principle things in life which we gravitate towards, in which we locate the source of our existence. I locate them in these relationships, these bonds which nurture me. People - who are all essentially eccentric - and their stories are enough to make my days and my thoughts seem full. My first scribble is dedicated to all of them, and the roles these people play and not play in my life. When certain people forget to fulfil a certain role you had expected them to play in your life, it adds to you. Let's not get into the mechanisms, but I just know it does. So, yes, to people. Cheers, to all of you, for existing, and not-existing in my life. You're all awesome.

Isn't life too like an awesome illuminated cage? Sometimes?

The countdown to my birthday begins. Really excited :) 

That Chocolaty After-taste

Dear PACH,

You have completely taken over my blog. Which should be fine, because in essence, you have actually taken over my life. You're grand, so grand that I am scared of sending a lot of letters to you. What if they get lost in your fan-mail? Are you promising me to hold them special, each word I write to you? Thanks. And I know you make the same promise to each name which associates itself with you. For all this warmth you show to a growing tribe of urban poets, I am proud of you. So proud.

The PACH #8 Invited - crafted by Aastha di and Sidhant Mago. 

A level up, each time. I am not even going to ask you now how you manage it. Lets both take it as a given. Lets also be clear that all this love that we have towards each other will stay, will grow and will spread to more hearts. Yes, more of those loving hearts connected with us last time - in manners so unique and new and pristine. Who would've known that PACH family would expand to over 50 members, all so soon! Its so incredible its crazy. But then, you're bored of this adjective, aren't you? Positively insane, lets adopt this for today.

Thats not all of us, but most of us. 

You're growing rich with all these emotions, dear PACH. Can you tell me how to handle them all at once? I mean, how do you react when a little, vivacious girl opens her heart to romance and its naughtiness with an understanding of relationships which leaves us flabbergasted? It was a Sunday she dedicated romance to, and it was a Sunday she made special for all of us staring at her with an open mouth, refusing to come out of the influence of those coveted love-filled moments. Mago said there are some poems you hear, and immediately wish you had written them. That silly little girl, Aavika, precisely turned out such a gem. At her age, how? And this 'how' will remain.

That cute, little show-stealer.

My twin came along a little late this time, to recite the verses which were her first. Do you remember PACH, this was the same girl who had gone on record saying that she cannot at all compose a poem, and hence even tried to stay away from you. But you, you managed to permeate to her creative inside, in which resided a poet who could give expression to both, love and angst. She shared them both with you, PACH. In that sense, you are lucky.

She is pretty, she is my twin, and the chain goes on...

Our latest tryst with you happened at the most pleasing and apt spot - the Kunzum Travel Cafe, that fabled place in Delhi which allows you to pay as much as you like for the lovely coffee, cookies and aromas they serve. Lets both admit, you and me, that Kunzum has been one of the best places we have met each other, and a host of other poets. Some things about you don't change, which are definitively looked forward to. One such thing is Mago's humour, which manifested in a poem we managed to sing along. His understanding and insight into feminine preoccupations is so perfect, that it leaves us in splits. Another such regular feature with you is a certain duet poetry performance, which leaves some hearts amazed, and yet more craving. These are the masters of poetry-dom. They rule over it with verses which are impossible to concoct, but effortless to connect with.

At the lovely Kunzum Travel Cafe - thankful to them for entertaining us at such short notice and tolerating us for such long hours. 

And then, there were these innumerable moments which I am living, reliving and enjoying each time I picture them on my memory-scape. Who do I share them with, if not you? Do you remember that song, 'Happiness'? Its one of those PACH moments I  which I tug onto with full force lest the melody and the message desert me. Lets not comment on the philosophy and ecstasy of Abhishek sir's contribution to PACH. Lets just gently savour the fact that a certain new addition has been made to the way you go about, and lets both fervently hope this guitar tradition continues. Talking of additions, how can you miss out on Aastha di's dialogue with God, which began at your seventh instalment, and attained culmination in the eighth. Her nervous excitement, and the care with which words tumbled out of her lips - don't you feel ridiculously special when people share such intimate, new aspects of their life with you? You must. Feel special, and stay innocent. Pretty please, always.

"Lay's ka packet hai, Happiness!"

Aastha di, with all her nervous excitement

Poets with round-rimmed glasses come and share their farewell musings with you and start crying on their own verses as well as those of others. I am, of course, talking of Sudhanshu. I have to admit, that his mention has an ulterior motive - it is to let you know a certain compliment he gave you behind your back. In his words, PACH, you are that which scratches old wounds, but then, you also heal them, you cause such tears to flow which carry negativity out, which purge some and comfort others. You don't just make us share tears and painful pasts, you also encourage dialogues on forms of poetry, 'Ghazals' being the subject of discussion the last time around. Aditya and Rohini shared some wonderful ghazals, and I was unfortunate to have missed out the latter's recitation. I also missed experimentation with Bangla poetry, but I am not sad. I know you will help me make up for it. Oh, by the way, you still have fan-poets like Nabila and Mukul who had you as their muse. Blushing, or growing vain? The former, I know.

Getting ready for a masterpiece to come our way. 

When we listen to those amazing lines. 

Among those many that thank you for reviving the creative spirit in them, I think Navin ji stands right in the front. Not only does he write the most amazing lines, but the way he recites them makes each listener's heart grow fonder. He said something about being unimaginably busy and yet wanting to share useless details with that one good friend, that loving presence. You know, this is a routine I follow, which he set in such beautiful words. For you, PACH, Navin ji does one more fabulous thing. He creates doodles as finely crafted memories from each session. You're lucky people spend time after you - drawing sketches, making posters, editing pictures - all because they want to do it, not because you ask them to. Again, when did you become so special to all of them? Kamal, Aaqib, Gaurav - they all are the fabulous people who help preserve your most special moments in exquisite frames. They should be given a nice chocolate next time, what say? Not out of my quota, of course!

The PACH #8 doodle. 

From realization of eradication of small pox, to a man traversing through life; from thirteen dimensions bestowed on a pillow to fascination with unrequited love; from meeting old familiar faces, to entertaining complete strangers for an entire day; from remembering Shail Chaturvedi to encouraging some unbelievable creative spirits; from verses written by ailing dads to poems sent by members living overseas - aren't you perplexed by the amount and the diversity you are able to subsume within yourself and yet be ready for more? I mean, you're still dreaming of those dizzying peaks which we all have to ascend to, right? I'll be there with you throughout, its a promise I don't even need to be consciously aware of. Meeting you was like falling in love. As days go by, I feel I am growing in love and also growing up in love - don't you feel the same?

Dobara, Chal Gayi!

Do you remember, I had claimed once that I already have my favourite PACH decided, while you were still in your nascent days? Well, that just changed. This one became very special. Not just for what I witnessed, but for the way I participated too. Rahul said that you can know more about a person through his poetry than anything else. I think I agree. You help me connect with myself too, in moments when I write those stoic paeans of love, or those dirges of what has remained in place of what could have been. You allow me to share all that heavy load with so many beautiful people. Few become pensive, few others shed tears. I maintain, shedding tears is good, it lets out so much of negativity. And then, the best thing, the realization that we share with each other because we trust each other. We love each other, of course, but trust - more important, for me. Not only during, but also before and after your six-hour-long stay, I had moments I am keeping with myself. Looking forward to you, and looking back at you. There is all this love I feel, that just stays. 

All set to recite.

Warmth. As the first signs of winters start raising their shy heads in our city, I am feeling this splendid glow from inside, this warmth, which refuses to go. It all seems normal, natural now. But I will never forget how if I step back and see it all, it seems like magic. People are going crazy after you just by hearing about you. Lets hope they all come to meet you the next time. Lets hope they too become a part of this magic you are casting on sleepy poets of the world. 

The colours I am gifted with. The moods too. 

I did not eat any chocolate this time while you were on, but I can feel the satisfaction of having gobbled up an entire Bournville, Cranberry flavoured, alone, which I earned, of course!

Just outside your nascent days.
Still revelling in your magical ways.
Living your memories like a sweet, chocolaty after-taste.

PS - What is also astonishing are all these bonds which have formed between all of us. I found a comforting elder sister here. Many others call PACH their family. And a family celebrates the happiness of its members. We celebrated the birthday of Aaqib and Pratibha this time, trying to make them feel special by some mad, last minute efforts. PACH, and all those who make it send them their best. We're all going to grow up together, right? 

Oh, Your Magical Ways...

Dear PACH,

This is my second letter to you, in a series of many more to come, God willing. But this time, I write to you with a very heavy heart. Not sad, just a heavy heart. If I understand you right, you endorse words as a therapy for setting ease to all aches. Isn't that precisely what you demonstrated yesterday? You did, and I trust you, each day a little more. So words, aah, not that they are easy to find. But I will try. For you, for all who make you, and for myself. By the way, did you hear, they called you a 'healer' from behind foggy eyes yesterday? You're too grand to register it sometimes, I thought I will tell you once.

Aastha's art  and Aaqib's artistry 

They then called you magical. It did not seem enough. So they simply began calling you magic. You know I agree with them, and you know what I think about you. I think you are crazy. You are doing crazy stuff which my mortal experiences put in doubt. How, no tell me, how can you have an entire gamut of people come together from distant corners of human diversity and share details of love and life which are feared, which are locked, and which are seldom retrieved from those painful musty corners? Do you believe what happened? I have to, you see, because I was present there, and was listening and absorbing and hugging and absorbing a bit more. Please don't laugh at me when I tell you this, but I think, I have absorbed a fragment of each heart which beats for you. I honestly, genuinely feel so. And carrying those many hearts in my heart, it makes me heavy. It makes me float for a while, too, but it leaves me full, and pleasant, and heavy, all at once.

As I said, literally and figuratively, leaning on each other. 

Tell me, do you know magic? You have to, you are just too mean and too smart to give it away. Or you're just secretive, in a nice way. You keep your magic under wraps, you make me nervous before each meet, you put my excitement to test, but you do it so I may never have any idea what kind of spells your wand will cast on those many hearts looking at you in innocent anticipation. Oh, you playful thing. You make it rain too, which pushes me to assure others while I am shivering with panic deep within. But now I know - you did it to take us to the place where we began. And of course, you take us there to help us realise how far we have come in how little time. We did dwell on it - from a cosy group of nine, we became a cosier group of some forty odd people, all taken together. So cosy in fact, that the warmth drew in people from other tables, stopped some more in their paths to other destinations. Was it because our coffee smelt better than their coffee? Okay, now I am being crazy. It was our mad laughter, our visible happiness, our lovely verses and then, this unmistakable love and trust we shared. That invited them. That invited everyone. That is also what keeps us together. Trust, before love. 

It was another of those days when people cried, and I again, could not. I never cried in your midst, did you notice? You know why? Because I was taught to carry hearts with care. I was also taught to care for emotions laid bare. And there, in that gathering spreading out person by person on the floor, all veils had been voluntarily abandoned, as I looked around in absolute disbelief. Only pure and honest expressions came out, some via exquisite pens, some via gleaming eyes. You did this. I do not even understand what you are made of, or how did you become a living, breathing entity, but I do know you did this. You don't just know magic. You are magic. 

That is what my last letter to you looked like - In Your Nascent Days 

There is this little girl among us, who called you a gift. The best she has gotten in her life. You crazy PACH, I hope you realize you are just two months old, and here are your admirers, calling you a gift and a blessing in the same breath. I am sorry, I should not call them admirers. If I call you a living, breathing entity, it is they who infuse life and breaths in you. They are a part of you. They lean on each other, they lean on you. It is positively insane the way you make them come up with pristine thoughts, gem-like words and majestic verses. You took us on a journey from Agha Shahid Ali, to squirrels and suicides, to schizophrenic delusions, pausing for sometime at Eliot too - all the while perched high on the wings of love, being flapped gently by that demure, yet vivacious girl. You taught us of hope and hopelessness, of love and its silences, of strangers exchanging mute glances, of inhibitions and their overcoming, of bantering in love, of break-ups and break-up humour, and of poetry and its essence. Pardon my extra-liberal usage of the word 'love' in these musings, but, excuse me, is it really my fault?!

Aastha di's creativity - oh, she gave life to the Panda!

Mist. In my eyes. Has to be, right? You are crazy, PACH. I maintain. Last time I spoke to you publicly (for personally, I seldom stop chattering away with you), I was apprehensive about you losing the innocence with which you were born. Today, I have to tell you, that if it were possible in the world to gain in innocence with time, you have accomplished that impossible feat with grace. You're growing, alright, but you're still the toddler whose chuckles give life to the despairing. People are exposing their softest sides, flowing with you in gay abandon, and while you might get used to all this unbelievable attachment, I will still look at you with goofy disbelief. 

You wash away my cynicism, you filter me off all the bad energies I acquire on the way to meet you, and leave me nascent and beaming to face a new week. Trust me when I say this, I feel a little newer after each tryst with you. It is akin to how finding love makes you feel new. This, you already know - finding you was like finding love, in more ways than one. 

You're poetry. You're stories. You're trust. You're love. You're magic. You're enough. 

Talking about you is not, but then, there are tales still waiting to be woven into the regal velvet of your fabric. I will wait for the tapestry to develop a little more before I get down to describing it again. 

You're now called PACH and more. 

All this, still, in your nascent days. 

All this, in your inimitable magical ways. 

PS - I now have one. Aditya Mani Jha, our master storyteller, left me a message which touched me beyond imaginations. He sent us blessings, exquisitely worded. And while reading it, all I could think of was the person where it all began - Anup. However much PACH grows and branches out, it will remain on the first page of our fact book that he gave birth to this idea which is has now acquired a life of its own. Each day PACH makes me happy, I never forget to thank him for it all. I call him the superboss, as do many now, and he is the nicest one could ask for. A genius poet, an outstanding human being, he merits an entire, lengthy post, but that, later. For now, I just want to thank him for being bored in life, because in that boredom lay the seeds of PACH, and of a grand vision for poets and poetry. PACH looks up to him, as do all those who are a part of it. 

Oh, and for PACH to be this crazy, Anup has to be crazier, which he conveniently is. 

In Your Nascent Days

Dear PACH, 

You know, luck lies in the availability of someone to love, someone to care for, someone to nurture, and someone to bask happily in the memories of. Luck lies in creating memories even when you are in the nascent stage of developing a relationship. Luck lies in being so content with the present that future can hold no disappointments; if anything, it can only tell you how smiles can be stretched beyond their extremes. 

Luck lies in knowing you, in being a part of you. In your nascent days, of course. You are not even a month old, but you are that cheerful infant whose chuckles reverberate day and night in my head. Like a lovely background score, to all my commitments in life.

At the last PACH, lost between hands which churn out most deft verses. 

You are not a commitment, you must always know. I ask myself, as much as others ask me - why do I spend so much time and energy into helping you grow, what is the incentive for being a PACH-pagal? The answer lies in the realm of intangible infinites. With you, incentives are such which will last me a lifetime. I commit myself to pecuniary incentives, so that they may fetch me comforts and happiness as a next step. With you, dear PACH, I leap straight into the arms of unadulterated bliss. I hence endeavour to stretch you ahead, while hoping you always sustain the innocence with which it all began. 

If anyone, it is this girl writing this rather gay letter, who is unaware of your trajectory, or your scope. All this girl wants to do is to chronicle all this overflowing mirth, before she gets used to it. These musings should have been given a vent on 14th July - the best PACH day ever - but there was an inertia of inaction, of just sitting down and running a montage of best moments, with nothing but absolute equanimity on my face. Oh, did you notice? In your nascent days, I already have a forever favourite tryst. You must be crazy, for you remind of the month I fell in love for the first time. Things were as sudden as now, I was as overwhelmed as now. Does it sound like an exaggeration? Well, it is after some six years that I have seen myself so simply, overwhelmingly happy. Try putting yourself in my shoes, and you will know what I am saying. If you can't, let me tell you, it is like falling in love again. 

So, why not poetry to express these thoughts, you ask? It is, because, about expression more than the form. I work well with prose, but someday, I will set you in verse, I promise. For now, I will let you know, how awesome you have been. Or wait, wasn't scintillating our word? It was. It is. You are. All shaky steps have culminated into fantastic dates with incredible people. It is the people who make you what you are - but you are scintillating, because you bring all those people together. You made me bring so many of diverse worlds together, and you gave me the privilege seeing these seemingly incongruous pieces fit together into a iridescent mosaic. You do know it is a personal account of my association with you, and nothing else, right? So this is me, talking from my vantage point, letting you know things as honestly as I can. There is a need for this honesty to pour out, for I know it makes me happy, and I reckon it will make some others happy too, especially in the moment they see me uncannily steal their thoughts. 

You, PACH, gave me the chance to see a silent, but ebullient girl dazzle people with her sophisticated oration. You introduced me to a girl whose pen flows with powerful might, but dwells on delicate sensibilities. She made me envious at first, but her words gave me the strength to love and appreciate that which is genuinely brilliant. You lured in a confessedly (and credibly) proud man, who could not save his soft side from surfacing. It was humbling, but enjoyable too, to see him shed a tear or two when PACH reached one of its crescendo moments. You showed me the subtlety of love between two people who are on the threshold of a life long nuptial agreement (God bless them). You gave fillip to the verses of someone who is perpetually hidden behind the lens, capturing others in their weird and cute states. You exposed the master of laughter - whose humour reflects on important learnings of life. He guffaws at his heaviness, only to make others feel so light. You drew many more people, who will soon creep into these musings, but not before I understand them well. 

You beguiled people who were not even poets, but came along to share songs, stories and smiles. Age no bar, profession no bar, you have not stopped causing a child-like zeal in many more who are awaiting your future manifestations, in and around Delhi. Will the PACH charisma work again? I don't know, and I don't care. I love you, but I have gained enough. All this, in your nascent, formative days. 

"My dear, we make new memories no more"

You know the most awesome thing you did? You made me trust myself to trust others. When I had secretly given up the thought of sharing my poems with this group of superlative poets, you gave me the confidence to take the plunge. I am glad, so glad I got the knowing nods and a tear in prize. Encouragement is secondary. My precious thoughts, I felt, had got their due. Oh, and you made me sing too, details of which are best left to kid around in all that playful space within me. 

You did not just bring the enchantment of poems with you, you brought the magic of stories, and the promise of mirth. You gave me a chance to let out secrets, and to mean something where I desired to feel important. You gave me new friends, who've made travelling in Delhi a slightly tougher task. You're aware that desires have no limits, but I'm so full that one extra smile, and it bounces off me to light up someone else's face. You know I can't stop talking about you to people, right?

And here you are, still a week away from being a month old. You must be crazy.

And to think, these are still your nascent days...

Still brewing...

PS - There has to be a postscript. I can't quite figure out what, but I know I am shutting up too soon. May be, keep up with this space for that one more priceless confession? 

Pach, Pach, PACH!

There was an author. There was a tv anchor. There was a graphic designer. There was an amateur cook. There was an aspiring civil servant (two, actually). There was a teacher, who likes to call himself a software person.

And then there was poetry.
Humorous, and serious poetry.
Polished and amateur poetry.
Hindi, English and even Urdu poetry.
Biographical and narrative poetry.
Original and quoted poetry.
Observant and reflective poetry.
Mesmerizing and impactful poetry.

Our first poster-invite

In CCD Lounge, Connaught Place, collected on Sunday a bunch of diverse people who were also poets in their private world, and they were brought together by a recently (hastily?) formed group called 'PACH'. PACH expands into 'Poetry and Cheap Humour', and while 'dirt cheap' poems were what a cosy group of poets were anticipating on their way to the event, what greeted them was a myriad of sentiments encapsulated in beautiful words. Beautiful, sure, but at times absolutely crass words too.

In fact, at crass it began. And then journeyed through various topographies. Amid a cacophony of laughter, issues of social relevance were raised, and experiences shared. Adjoining tables were initially perturbed, but ended up lending us their most dedicated ears - first laughing at us, later with us. The superboss was happy, I think, because his idea was to draw closet poets out from behind closed doors and award them few claps of encouragement. Worked like a charm for me! A nasty comment here, and serious dialogue there - no one in that group of nine (all set to expand to twelve at the next gathering) could have imagined the nascent concept could be so perfect an experience.

The group also made space for people who merely wanted to come and listen. All three members of this species are now furiously scribbling away words with rhymes, and no rhymes, and have made a glad promise to not just be at the receiving end of poetry next time. Effectively, I was not the only person encouraged - and that should make the superboss happier. A burst of fresh, and even surprising ideas is taking the shape of most priceless words with the aid of young pens in the world out of there. Part of such words were lavished on us at the first PACH gathering, and for the first time, I could understand what a gulf of difference exists between reading and listening to poetry.

With some old and some new faces, we are all set for our second meeting, details of which can be procured by leaving a comment here. Or sending across a mail to anupbishnoi@gmail.com or, to yours truly saumya.kulshreshtha@gmail.com

Cheap humour, yes, but poetry it is, primarily.

All of us, in service of poetry