Poet On a Motorbike...

Welcome to a world of pleasure and relaxation... a literary art gallery which aims to engage ones spirit....

Saturday, 20 October 2012

The offended, the religious and the atheist

Its now been almost five years since I’ve chosen my mode of faith, since I’ve taken that leap of faith, since I’ve visited a temple, a mosque or a church. It’s now been almost five years since I’ve started believing in people, and in science, in evolution, I am an atheist now. I came out, so as to say.
While growing up, I was never given stern commands to visit a temple, being born a Hindu. My father always educated me about the different religions and the different cultures. There was a choice, there was always a choice. As a young kid growing up, God comes to you as a super man. The only sole power, your soul guardian, but again someone who could punish you if you did wrong.
But there comes a time, when you take a moment to stop and think. There comes a moment when you realize that enough is enough, enough of the suicide bombings, enough of the random religious killings, enough of the fake God channels, enough of faith cutting us apart and preparing us for battle. Science, I believe has come to liberate us here, making sense to all the queries and the randomness. Evolution is my new savior. Richard Dawkins, renowned author and atheist rates himself only a 6.9 on a scale of 7, where 1 makes you a religious prick and 7 being a complete atheist. There is only so much science can prove, we are still evolving, we are still a young world when it comes to science. And science will show the way, sooner or later, of how such a wonderful thing as the earth came to being. It could be randomness, it could be God, but I rather wait. Like my dear evangelical Christian friend once proclaimed, I am a believer, Halleluah!
People often have misconceptions and stigmas attached to atheism. It’s not anti- God, its not anti- Christ, and it’s not a religion. Atheists are people who simply choose, not to believe in God. We are not brothers, we are not a clan, and we don’t congregate to decide how to convert the others. It’s just a feeling of being free, not restricted by society, not restricted by rules and misnomers, not praying to my imaginary friend.
The world in itself has become such a precarious place, with people electing to be offended. It’s the new thing; people find ways to be offended, they crave to be offended. Taking offense against religion, against country, against race, color, against jokes and country policies and what not. The opposite sex is no less guilty for this craving of being offended. The minority as so lovingly they are called. Being offended when being asked ones phone number, when being asked out, when someone professes their love. It’s a dangerous situation we are leading ourselves into; there will come a time when we would think twice about asking someone their name, would I offend her/him now?
I think to myself, I am any different, do I get offended? Sure I do, I get offended when someone ridicules my favorite football club, or my favorite players or my favorite actor. But would I be wiling to kill someone for my leap of faith?  Now, what offends me the most is stupidity. I just cannot identify with a person who chooses to die by his faith and someone who gives precedence to his faith more than anything. He refuses to be swayed by logic, facts and reasoning. I’m not just talking about religious people, this stigma is attached to everyone with a blind faith attached to it. But maybe its faith that pulls them through, that keeps them going, the thing that makes them yearn for more. Sure, but at what cost? But the more importance question is; can faith be offended? Faith by design stands a chance of being offended.
The most important argument that evangelicals post is that of the moral argument. Would we humans be moral if not for our religious teachings? I understand society, its values not because of my religious study, but because of how I was engineered (scientifically may I add).
Each day, people force themselves to move apart from each other. There is suddenly that invisible white line that separates all of us, pushing us apart. Where is the faith that we should put in another human being. Why is it so hard for us to trust another being? Why is everything so complicated, why are people so hard headed. We all just need to relax, take a back seat and listen. Spread the love, and live life. We need to open our eyes, our minds, and our hearts and embrace each other; not because he/her is a Christian or a Hindu or an Indian or a Pakistani, but because of his/her good heart.


Tuesday, 5 June 2012

Drops from Heaven

Trickling down, them drops from  heaven,
Instills a pristine novelty,  each droplet
Caressed by, the zephyrs doused  in her scent,
Draped in the scent of love I stand

The clouds part, shining through, the yellow ray of hope
The colors of life, smears the heavens,
All that I can envisage, her blissful face
Draped in the scent of love I stand

Each walk of life, presents a new memory
Enchants all my senses, her cerulean eyes
Her mesmerizing smile, my  new found glory
Draped in the scent of love I walk…

Dedicated to all of you beautiful women


Friday, 1 June 2012


Let them cars soar, into the purple and blue,
Don’t nothing matter, if you aint got a clue
Perplexed and dizzy, the new horizon
Now is not, the time to be bedizen

Let the trumpets roll and the drums thump
This aint no time to hit that speed bump
Rock and roll life and the drag queen party
It’s the season, be a self proclaimed arty

Let the champagne flow into the moonless dark
On a new drive we embark
Twisted and a narcissist, I might be
But at the least I am myself, an esprit 


Thursday, 17 May 2012

The Silent Whispers

Douse the pain, the smoke doesn’t
Numbs the air, the stillness
The throbbing within, intense
Only, the mother’s whisper to her son, lucid

Inconsolable, the soul
Impaired, the heart feels
Moments have turned memories, bitter sweet
From the eyes that always twinkled, unbounded tears
Only, the mother’s whisper to her son, lucid

His eyes now, shut to the faint world
A thousand dreams, gone astray
Vanished have now, the smile that always brought joy
To awaken, she pleaded
Her frail voice, now it hums, goodbye
Only, the mother’s whisper to her son, lucid

Dedicated to my lil bro in heaven


Tuesday, 13 March 2012

The Number Se7en

The end of an era

To date there has not been a day with such emotional milieu for me. A day Madrid fans wished would never come, the day when their talisman bid adieu to his Home, Santiago Bernabau.
Ever since the left footed maestro donned the Whites of Real 15 years ago, he’s been the foundation around which the Real Madrid success was build. A true Madridista can never imagine the whites stepping onto the green without their stalwarts. For years they’ve cheered and cherished the two favorite sons of Real, Raul Gonzalez Blanco #7 and Jose Maria Guti #14.
Like many around the world, Raul was the reason I started loving football and Real Madrid. The awe-inspiring, unassuming striker would find place in the heart of every Madridista and every football lover around the world. It’s hard to pinpoint why Raul is such folklore. But one thing that always comes to your mind is his unparallel love for this club. Right from his first day of stepping on to the field, to donning the captains arm band, to the very last day he played for his love, Raul has always played his heart out. Apart from being a magician on the pitch Raul has always been the leader personified, inside and outside the green.

The Crossing

Right from his first outing for Real everyone knew that Raul was special. His pace, dribbling and most of all his vision and ability to be at the right place at the right time left his opponents flabbergasted.  Memories etched into one’s mind would be the way Raul celebrated each time after scoring; the trademark kiss on his wedding ring, which would symbolize his undying love for this wife. He scoring against arch rivals Barcelona at Camp Nou and hushing the crowd is another favorite moment. Though he’s been an inspiration throughout his tenure at Madrid everyone would agree that his best years were between 98 and 2000.  
Raul became branded for his strength in the air and his finishing. He made the chip shot his own. But above all it was his grace that captivated one and all.
He would continue to be Madrid’s all time top scorer and the highest scorer in the Champions league; playing a pivotal role in Real Madrids success in both the Spanish league and the Champions league, after being handed over the captains arm band in 2003. As the days got thinner we would continue to be an inspiration both on and off the field. Cheering on the team and being a leader even if he was stuck on the bench. 
It’s been years now since Raul has left his abode, but no true madridista will ever fail to remember this Los Blancos emissary, their Captain..
Some people leave, some stay, while some will always, always live in our hearts.....

Wednesday, 1 February 2012

The diary of a protagonist - Page V

The Rattlers were one of the main reasons for me to move to London; they were an up and coming jazz band and my mate from college, Paul Schofield had given me invite to join the oddly named band. I saw this as an opportunity; to flee, more than anything from the old foes, familiar places and the ailing loves.  My childhood had left impregnable marks on me that forced me to stay away from any form of commitment. I’d voyaged to a new place, seeking to find new people, and to ignite my music career.  We started out playing jigs at small pubs, and it was at one of those jigs that I’d met her.  She would arrive at all of our jigs, wherever we played. ...
We started chatting, first about music, then poetry, and about life. I was a struggling artiste and she was a scholar of music, we would talk through the night and into the day and it wasn’t long before both of us pledged our affection for each other.  Kaydence was born to an Italian father and an Irish mother. Her dad was a part time musician and her mom was someone who adored music and musicians. Her mom’s relatives were active members of the IRA which had forced her to grow up under very gruesome circumstances.  This had transformed her into a tough woman with an ardent love for music.

I felt trapped inside my own body, I wanted to be liberated. I wanted to fly, just once, but all I could see were closed doors. My body had become considerably weak. I had trouble even lifting my head up. And watching over me carefully was an angel. She was the kind of sight that could even melt someone as emotionless as me. “Mom” she called out, “he’s awake”.  Kay stood right beside her hubby, his face as cold as stone. The little angel and Kay’s husband left us both to catch up.
 “Why are you here? Why have you come back?” enquired Kay’s frail voice. 

Tuesday, 31 January 2012

The diary of a protagonist - Page IV

I lay on the floor shivering,  the cold draped me, and the loneliness embodied me.  The cold winter made the agony seem longer and harder. I looked out the window to see an angel floating in the snow.  Her eyes called me towards her, I summoned the last ounce of liveliness in my fragile body to walk towards her.  She looked like a fairy wanting to take me away from all the pain. She got on one knee and asked me to live the rest of my life with her.  I wake up suddenly from the heavenly vision due to a sudden jarring of the plane.  Hallucinations, they were one of the many repercussions of the tablets. Mostly they were nightmares, but sometimes pleasant trances which were even worse as they made me yearning to live longer in this estranged world. 
I’d finally reached London, I treasured airports, they housed many amazing characters all etched into one place, not because they wanted to, but by chance. Soon they would all depart to their desired destinations. For some it would mean happiness, home, for some it would still mean the same. I had fallen in love with being lonely for the most part of my life, and I always felt comfortable in an airport.
I took a rented car and drove down to the beautiful country side of Kent.  I had a short stay in London when I was a struggling instrumentalist out of college. I’d just started playing for a band where I was still finding my feet at music. It was in one of those jigs that I had met her.  She was breathtakingly beautiful, the kind of beauty that took your breathe away. She had little curls at the end of her dark beautiful hair, which would fall over her angelic face and her eyes; they told you stories that obsessed you. ...
In between the pastures I saw a cottage, there I saw her, playing in the small farm with her lovely daughter.  She looked at me; I couldn’t see the expressions on her face because of the beating sun. She beckoned her daughter to scurry inside the house and walked hurriedly towards me. With open arms I called out to her, “Kay”. Kaydence greeted me with a vicious right hook.   She restrained from her abuses when she saw the unsightly seizure and the blood pouring out of my nose.  My weak hands failed to help me reach the tablets in my coat.
I woke up in a beautiful room, covered with portraits of beautiful flowers and Kaydence’s beautiful eyes over me.  Her eyes showed the care but her face was expressionless.  Kaydence had been the rhythm in my out of tune life. The one I was supposed to spend the rest of my life with. I’d hurt her, like many others down the line, but I’d probably hurt her the most. ..........

Friday, 27 January 2012

The diary of a protagonist - Page III

I had endured yet another seizure, it reminded me about the careless life I had lived, and about the very modest time I had left. I had too little time and too much to do, I had to bid adieu to Rachel and Clara. Rachel held on to my arm, pleading me to stay on, deep down she hoped for a miraculous recovery by her aunt. But some how, Clara knew better beneath her almost vacant face, I could see that she was sure that I’d return back to her. She kissed me; it was one of the first times she’d done something impulsive in years. It reignited the passion in us; it took us back in time...It made us feel alive.

I had driven all the way to California. It gave me time to reflect about the long-ago, the present and what was to remain.  I hadn’t seen him in years, nor had I spoken to him. My secretary did once tell me that he had tried to contact me, but I never paid much concern. 
Down the aisle I walked, dry leaves fell at my feet. The wind pushed my hair back, there in the front porch sat a man, with steel grey hair, petting his dog. “Ted” I called out to him, through extremely large spectacles he gazed at me.  His face was void for a minute, but then he rose to greet me.  He still had that old bewildering smile, and he was still robust. We dint talk much, except about his new partner. It dint baffle me that he could still entice the ladies.
As the sun began to set, we headed out to the lake to indulge in some fishing. I told him about the dream I’d lived, about how fortunate I’d been. He listened to everything very intently. Then I told him about the ailment, about the lump that lived in my head. He turned to look at me; through his eyes I felt the compassion.  We had dinner by the lake; he went to sleep listening to one of my famed songs. He told me how he was my biggest admirer, and how proud he was of me.  I sang a song of heartbreak and hope under that moonlit sky, and the stars, they seemed brighter than ever.
The next morning we took a small road trip. We had no plan or agenda, we just went forward. We talked about Maggie, about the wonderful Lucy. About how they’d broken our hearts and how we’d learned to love them. We sang and shared jokes over some beers. We pulled up near a broken down airstrip. It housed some fascinating aircraft relics. It reminded me about the times when we would go to the airfields just to watch the planes fly, high into the sky. It was one of the most potent feelings ever. The burly bird made a thundering voice and shook everything in its path, before it disappeared beyond the horizon. It was something that fascinated us both, the power. I would emulate that a hundred times, gradually I would start my sprint down the runway, increasing pace along the way and spread my wings, and then I’d raise my head to look at the heavens. It gave me a sense of inconceivable freedom, peace and serenity.  I stepped out on to runway, painfully realizing that I was too late and too old to fly now.  Out from behind I heard a roaring voice; it was Ted, trying to lift off into the blue. I burst out laughing seeing the old man try to run, but  I knew what he was trying, a tear rolled down my cheek. Some say that you have to be blessed to laugh and cry at the same moment. I hugged the ageing trooper, “Thanks dad, thanks”. It was the first and the only time I’d called him that. 

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