27th January 2006
Rajpath, New Delhi
I find scattered
Some crushed plastic glasses,
Some used paper plates,
Some chairs overturned,
Few exploded balloons,
Some newspapers,
Some pamphlets on road
AND
Some NATIONAL FLAGS
made of paper
After 50 yrs of Scattered
Republican Spirit
These are the Left Overs of
Patriotism...
Tuesday, March 6, 2007
Saturday, March 3, 2007
Please hear what I am not saying...
Don't be fooled by me. Don't be fooled by the face I wear...For, I wear a mask-I wear a thousand masks, masks that I am afraid to take off, and none of them is me. Pretending is an art that is second nature to me.
My surface may seem smooth, but my surface is my mask, my ever-concealing mask. Beneath lies no smugness, no complacence. Beneath dwells the real me-in confusion, in fear, in aloneness.
I play the game, my desperate pretending game, with a facade of assurance with-out, and a trembling child within.
And so begins the parade of masks, and my life becomes a front, I idly chatter to you in the suave tones of surface talk. I tell you everything, of what is crying within me. So, when I'm going through my routine, do not be fooled by what I'm saying. Please listen carefully and try to hear what I'm not saying-what I'd like to be able to say, what for survival I need to say, but can't say. I dislike hiding. Honestly, I dislike the superficial game I'm playing, the superficial phony game. I'd really like to be genuine and spontaneous, and me, but you've got to help me.
Only you can wipe away from my eyes, the blank stare of the breathing dead. Only you can call me into aliveness. With your sensitivity and empathy, and your power to be understanding, you can breathe life into me. I want you to know that.
You alone can release me from my shadow-world of panic and uncertainty, from my lonely prison.
Please try to be gentle with me; for a child is very sensitive. Who am I you may wonder? I am someone you know very well. For I am every man and I am every woman you meet....
My surface may seem smooth, but my surface is my mask, my ever-concealing mask. Beneath lies no smugness, no complacence. Beneath dwells the real me-in confusion, in fear, in aloneness.
I play the game, my desperate pretending game, with a facade of assurance with-out, and a trembling child within.
And so begins the parade of masks, and my life becomes a front, I idly chatter to you in the suave tones of surface talk. I tell you everything, of what is crying within me. So, when I'm going through my routine, do not be fooled by what I'm saying. Please listen carefully and try to hear what I'm not saying-what I'd like to be able to say, what for survival I need to say, but can't say. I dislike hiding. Honestly, I dislike the superficial game I'm playing, the superficial phony game. I'd really like to be genuine and spontaneous, and me, but you've got to help me.
Only you can wipe away from my eyes, the blank stare of the breathing dead. Only you can call me into aliveness. With your sensitivity and empathy, and your power to be understanding, you can breathe life into me. I want you to know that.
You alone can release me from my shadow-world of panic and uncertainty, from my lonely prison.
Please try to be gentle with me; for a child is very sensitive. Who am I you may wonder? I am someone you know very well. For I am every man and I am every woman you meet....
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