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The world of my thoughts

Dead Poets Society: A Poetry Studies Group


I have this huge love for poetry even when I write such tacky poems. For my love of poems I have started this poetry studies group called as ‘Dead poets society’ with some of the students of Delhi university. So, we try to meet every month and discuss poetry. A topic for every session is set on which students/friends are encouraged to write poetry. Even when students cannot write they can Google some poems and bring them for discussion. Till now, the response has been tremendous and overwhelming. To document the events and the poems recited we have also started a blog.

Please see below the link to the blog and the manifesto set for the blog and for the group.

https://deadpoetssociety2015.wordpress.com/author/deadpoetssociety2015/

Manifesto of the Group

“We are a group of enthusiastic poets who believe in the power of Poetry. This blog is an attempt to bring the Poets and the Poetry together. We hope this naivete process encourages people to regain interest in the poetry which has lost in the hardships of time. We also wish to pay tribute to the spirit of the movie Dead Poets Society from which our blog derives the name”.

Last Poem


               
My Muse keeps on fighting with me
Says that ,
I, poor I
behave like a besotted lover.
I struggle to calm him down
And ask him,
Muse, dear Muse
Why can’t you behave like other Muses?
Why can’t you just be happy being praised and loved ?
He throws a fit and
Doesn’t answer me back
Tears roll down my eyes
As I erase the lines of my poem and shout,
Fine ! Now onwards no poem for you !
He laughs at me and mocks,
Sorry that won’t be possible for you
I gulp down his remarks
And write the last poem for him
Last of my many lasts !

Goodbye Muse, with love


Want to write but my pen refuses to obey. Trying to create a poem but not succeeding. Writer’s block always results in frustration and incompleteness. It feels as if something is there inside you which wants to come out and until & unless you take it out you cannot rest. It’s not that I don’t have an inspiration. I do have a Muse.

Lately, he has stopped speaking. Its not that we talked a lot. In fact, in eight months we spoke only twice. But, we messaged and it was these messages through which I knew his voice. I mean I imagined his voice, tone & moods and now, I yearn for the same. I long for the words which opened the window of my imagination.

It’s strange that how people suddenly enter in your life and then stay forever.  I do not mean they refuse to leave rather we do not allow them to.

My Muse wants to leave me. He doesn’t want to be part of my creations. He has already distanced himself from me.  Prodding and persuasion resulted in nothing. And now, I have this mad urge to talk to him. To discuss woes of the world. But, I can’t. I think he closed the doors of friendship long time back. Now, no one is allowed inside or may be it is just me.

After full eight months, I have decided to release him from the clutches of my imagination. How did this happen ? Yesterday, when I sat down to write thinking about him, my pen refused to move. Suddenly, I felt as if I don’t remember his face, do not know his voice, my past imaginations about him which gave a history to our bond were just not there. There was nothing. A complete nothingness.

I think what starts has to end one day. May be today is the day.

50 Posts !!!


Yippeee. !!!

 

 

Request


You and Me,

Can We be, 

Shams and Rumi ? 

The Poetess and the Muse


The Poetess in me is going wild,

Trying hard to be mild,

What can she do,

without much ado?

The Muse still behaves like a child,

Keeping Poetess beguiled.

 

She doodles here and there,

And follows him everywhere,

He scolds her and says,

“Girl, Mend your ways!

I am just an imagination,

Get rid of this fascination”

 

I pout and give him a kiss,

How is that possible for this Miss?

Suddenly, I stop and think

“Isn’t this my poem?” and blink,

I am the Poetess and he the Muse

He is born to seduce and amuse!

At last ! I dated Maximum City !!!


I don’t know whether I love or hate this city. I hated it when I landed. Rains , jams , traffic, people, everything, irritated me and now when two days have passed and I have travelled most of the city I don’t know whether I still hate the city. The men here are still nothing to talk about. Women look equally sad. However, there is something about the city. The houses, the sea everything just mesmerises you. I just can’t describe how much the houses here have fascinated me, especially those old apartments which have this stamp of the past glory. 

Bombay always reminds me of those 80’s bollwood movies which had all arty people like farooq sheikh, Deepti Nawal, Amol Palekar etc. Surprisingly, Bombay still looks the same. It can change its name to Mumbai but it cannot change its identity attached with the name ‘Bombay’. It also reminds me of my visit to Calcutta and the colonial architecture which also gets replicated in this city. The major difference, Calcutta being a dying city with its past-glory hangover and leftist burden while Bombay a constantly changing, developing capitalist city. 

Coming from a place like Delhi which I literally breathe, it is hard for any city to match until and unless it’s Athens ;) ( Let me tell you Greek men are Gods !!! ). 
So, what confused me the most ? The city which enchants the whole of nation and many parts of the world does not seem to impress the people here. People are away from the limelight. The way they dress up or carry themselves show that they are still untouched by the showbiz. They are super composed people. Even when their language seems that they are fighting and abusing, they are quite simple and cool.

Me being a woman and lover of short dresses, I can tell you I loved the city, the way it behaved with me. There is just no concept of ‘male gaze’ or even ‘female gaze’ here. Women can travel at anytime wearing anything without being scanned from head to toe and being scared for their lives. No matter how much I love Delhi, the truth is, it is one of the most unsafe place for women. I personally have experienced multiple things which are not easy to forget. In the past days, I travelled alone in public transport wearing whatever I wanted and not being afraid. I just love the city for that. 

There are not multiple places or locations for sightseeing and the turbulent sea just follows you wherever you go. Street shopping is more like Delhi’s week-day markets and nothing compared to Janpath or Sarojini. But they do have huge showrooms with some of them being really good. However, I really think the people do not use the clothes of those showrooms or I become blind when they use them ;). Bombay being a city of celebrities you do would bump into one or the another. Ok ! I am not that easy to impress and don’t get fascinated by these celebrities ( The last time I was in total awe, was when I met Sitaram Yechury ! ). My kind of celebrities are different. 

So, landing in the city with all kinds of preconceived notions and prejudices, do I want to visit it again ? I think, I might. To meet my friends, to travel alone in public transports and to lech at Sea at Worli sea-face during night. 

I will definitely date the city again ! 

A Short Story of Y 


Y was very sad. Being one of the last letters of the language, Y always felt excluded. He thought that my friend X has a life, he becomes so important during christmas. No one can do without him during winter holidays. My other friend Z also feels that he is superior than me. Being the last alphabet he feels that the world ends with him. In fact nowadays, he boasts of having two names Z and Zee. This is not fair ! Am I the only one without any importance ? 

One morning, he suddenly started getting so many calls. He was being called everywhere. He was surprisingly happy but wasn’t aware what is happening? Then he got to know that there is this new SMS language which has evolved in the market and Y from being a ‘letter’ now has attained the status of a ‘word’. Y has pushed out W and H from WHY and has emerged a solo winner. As important as other questions of inquisitive humans, he was now the question of answered/unanswered answers.

And with this new identity of a question Y lived happily ever after.

Resurrection of old/new blog


I am about to resurrect my old/new blog confessionsofabook.wordpress.com. Do check it out.

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