Three Bad Poems

Stephanian Winter
In the concrete Serengeti, the meeting season had begun.
The day was marked by raucous calls of prospective meets.
They fell on deaf years.
At night, little Timmy relieved himself by the lamppost
And sniffed a stray burning Navy Cut butt.
He had to be fast, the dew would extinguish it soon.
The Ritz at one end of town, bustled.
There were no seats left – you had to book yours.
The Oberoi had lost a lot of business lately.
Ski-masked terrorists lurked in dark corners.
The cold had taken a toll on them.
Their heaters blew the fuses. Darkness. Time to strike.
Lazy men sat in wasted old-age homes
Drinking vodka without caviar.
That was the thrill of it…
Jokers in dark suits, boots and ties were laughed at.
The jokers laughed when the act was over.
They stopped laughing when they had to pay the taxi bill.
A white Esteem rolled out of the gate at night.
The crowd screamed in delight:
Elvis had left the building!



Rickshaws in Europe
Rickshaws in Europe
Is that too much to ask for?
Their frail axle is susceptible
In the moon surface of Kamla Nagar:
You bounce, jump and jiggle in your seat.
Suspension, non-existent…
The roads of Europe are smooth and clean –
Smooth as a Basu’s head.
You don’t need a fishbone suspension
Rickshaws are perfect for Europe.


Sad Boredom
Sitting alone in a stupid stall selling ‘study abroad’ advice
When there’s hot music to chill to on the dance floor.
Sitting alone in a room sulking and hearing
Heavy rock emanating through your window.
Sitting alone in a rave party stone cold sober
Watching others dance to the DJ’s bad Punjabi music.
Feeling guilty to have fun because you’re worried about the future.
It’s sad…

Are These Actually True?

Shortest Essay:
An English university creative writing class was asked to write a concise essay containing the following elements:
1) Religion 2) Royalty 3) Sex 4) Mystery
The prize-winner wrote:
"My God," said the queen, "I'm pregnant. I wonder who did it?"

Another one says that a class was asked to write a two thousand word essay on "Courage" and the prize-winner handed in a blank sheet with only one line on it:
"This is courage"...

Of Love And Scooters In The Ditch

One summer holiday I had stayed back in Dehra Dun to study. It was my last year in school and I didn’t want to waste it by going home and loaf around all day. My father arranged for a house in an obscure place called Indira Nagar. He knew that in a colony for retired people I wouldn’t find any items of distraction. Unfortunately in his quest for peace and serenity, my father had set me up 14km away from the main town!
My tuition timings were fixed; right from 6.20 a.m. in the morning till twelve noon. Each morning I caught a Vikram and took a three rupee and thirty-minute roller coaster ride, downtown. First up was Physics, followed by Math, English and finally Chemistry. Between math and physics I always kept an hour and a half free for breakfast, which I usually had at Barista. I became quite friendly with the staff there and by the end of my holidays I knew all their wives’ birthdays!
Carrying my doggy bag of a ‘Brrrista’ and a grilled sandwich, I usually parked myself in the cyber café next door. Each day I would type ‘mighty_180’ on Yahoo! Chat and expect to find a virtual ladylove, like those thousands of hopefuls who place their ads with Yahoo! Personals and expect their true love to be delivered to their doorstep on Saturday night.
However, I did meet quite a few interesting people. For instance there was this Austrian who shared similar literary tastes and an American teenager who believed Fred Durst is Jesus reincarnated. Love, however, was something that escaped me.
Before I could get bored of the devotional songs playing on the café stereo, I had to take a walk down Rajpur Road, survive the traffic of Suicide Alley and arrive at my math tutor’s doorstep. I always found Rahul “Bhappa” Singh and Anshul Wasu (couple of my school mates) hanging around his house, waiting for his previous batch to finish. They would come early to watch the chicks come out and drive away in their scooters.
We usually sat under the fiber glass shade of a video library, discussing Doscos and Welhamites (who said girls were the only ones who gossip), licking an occasional ice-cream and trying to puncture scooter tyres (So we could act chivalrous and help the girls change wheels, but that plan never worked out!).
Math tuition usually passed by in a breeze. We either discussed whether Devdas was a loser or Haseena Maan Jayegi was a better movie than Analyze This! By the time we actually opened our registers it was already time to leave.
Bhappa had an ancient crackpot contraption which only passed as a scooter because a dilapidated ‘TVS-Scooty’ sticker was pasted on one side. He lovingly called it Dhobal, after a classmate, because according to him they both ran on jugaad. We would ride down together to English tuition from Math and thus Dhobal became an intricate part of my daily life. The adventures of Dhobal are another story itself which I shan’t delve into.
Without fail, Bhappa, Dhobal and I were always ten minutes late for English. Not that it really mattered for the class always started fifteen minutes into time. Ganging outside the classroom we would spend time breaking litchis and bitching. To make matters more interesting there were a bevy of pretty girls in our batch and one fatally smote poor Bhappa. A real cutie who went by the name Piya. Bhappa was always falling in and out of love; he could never hold a relationship for more than a week – that was his record.
For the next few days Bhappa followed her scooter (hell, everyone had a scooter, except me!) in a feeble attempt to find out where she lived. However, when all the jugaad failed, Bhappa decided to adopt the good old fashioned lover boy style. The next day he came along with a single stem of a red rose wrapped in an aluminium foil like a tandoori chicken leg. The rest of us guys obviously couldn’t help but burst out laughing, and were then as useful as a toothpick in the Amazons. I couldn't stand all this juvenile mushy, mushy crap so I promptly fled the scene and walked all the way to the Vikram stand without waiting for anyone to give me a ride. I don't know what happened that day, but I guess it turned out quite well since the next day Bhappa and Piya stuck together like the 12th and 13th page of a book.
There were the evenings at Barista, the romantic walks, hand in hand, through Paltan Bazaar, gifts of expensive perfumes stolen from mummy's closet, chocolates and the like. Then it all fell apart.
It was a Wednesday. As I walked into the path leading to my math teacher's house, I saw a bent and forlorn Bhappa throwing pebbles at a bewildered dog. The end of another relationship, his longest yet – a whole fifteen days! Damn, the guy was getting better.
That day Math and English passed unceremoniously. I didn't bother to ask Bhappa what was wrong and surprisingly he didn’t say a word either. As soon as English class was over Bhappa stormed out and stood under the litchi tree with his hands on his hips. Soon another chap called Thoothoo came and joined him in the shade. The rest of us quietly slinked away. Something big was up and we decided to watch from a safe distance. Then Piya came and stood beside Thoothoo. A three way face off. It reminded me of some lines from the merchant of Venice…
A heated argument followed, but I was least interested. I would rather watch my dog fall asleep. But from what I could gather, it was a love triangle feud. Apparently Piya had been two-timing both Bhappa and Thoothoo. I don’t blame her. After all, who wouldn’t want to mufti twice at Barista in one day? I mean, c’mon she’s only human. Hell! If I was getting two free meals a day, even I would have done the same. Unfortunately Bhappa and Thoothoo didn’t quite grasp this simple logic. They spoke about truth and commitment and all that other horse manure you usually hear women say in TV soaps. Then they asked her to choose. Well let’s see, Thoothoo had a sexy new Hyundai and owned most of Rishikesh and Bhappa had… Dhobal.
Poor Bhappa in his grief stricken stupor could only murmur, “…well in that case, remember the perfume I had given you, could I have that back?”
I was really bored by now and my stomach was beginning to growl. I hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast and I wanted to go home and have a nice lunch. Unfortunately, my ride was stuck up in a seemingly stupid argument. What was more pissing off was that they had been at it for an hour and still showed no signs of letting up!
I quickly checked my wallet and figured that I didn’t have enough money to buy a ride to the Vikram stand. Then my guardian angel came in the shape of Sakhlani.
“I don’t think they’ll manage to sort this out before nightfall, man, come, I’ll drop you off at the stand.” With a wry smile I jumped onto his scooter and thanked god for letting me out of this mess. As Sakhlani revved the engine I looked back and saw Piya bored to the teeth. I knew exactly what was going through her mind… “Guys could we sort this out at Barista, please?”
I smiled at the thought and turned my head. I felt the sweet summer breeze on my lips as the scooter raced down EC Road. We were doing seventy. I didn’t want the ride to end. I just felt like singing, so I started singing “Sun is shining”. Suddenly Sakhlani turned around and gave me a dirty look. I guess he didn’t like my singing. Well, hey, not everyone’s Elvis!
“Dude, girls are pure poison, bloody hundred percent cyanide, man. Arre, Bhappa and Thoothoo were such great pals and now look what the weaker sex has done to them!”
Sakhlani was sore about the incident. I nodded my head in agreement. He took it is as encouragement.
“Bloody hell yaar, I’ve seen it in every Hindi movie. It’s always the girls who breaks up friendships and get brothers separated. What the hell yaar, I mean…”
It was too late when we saw it coming. In all his excitement Sakhlani had forgotten the road and missed the white Gypsy heading right at us. In my absolute state of shock all I could do was poke Sakhlani in his ribs. Sakhlani turned around after he saw my white face and what followed was a scene The Matrix fans would have paid to see. Sakhlani braked hard and skid the scooter to one side. We hit the road at fifty and slid down, the rough asphalt cutting into our jeans causing internal injuries which would trouble me for the next couple of weeks. We were headed right for the ditch and before we knew what had happened, we were waist deep in the dirtiest and murkiest Dehra Dun water. Sakhlani looked at me and shrugged.
I finally got to the Vikram stand; wet and stinking. Seeing my condition several Vikrams simply refused to take me! Somehow I reached home – hungry, but smarter than I had started. I had learnt a lesson: having anything to do with love is a dangerous proposition. But don’t let that take your mind off Dehra Dun roads, lest you end up in a ditch.

Why Did The Chicken Cross The Road?

Teacher: To get to the other side.

Plato: For the greater good.

Aristotle: It is the nature of chickens to cross roads.

Karl Marx: It was a historical inevitability.

Saddam Hussein: This was an unprovoked act of rebellion and we were justified in dropping 50 tons of nerve gas on it.

Martin Luther King, Jr.: I envision a world where all chickens will be free to cross roads without having their motives being called into question.

Richard M. Nixon: The chicken did not cross the road. I repeat, the chicken did NOT cross the road.

Freud: The fact that you are at all concerned that the chicken crossed the road, shows your underlying sexual insecurity.

Bill Gates: I have just released the new Chicken Office 2000, which will not only cross roads, but will lay eggs, file your important documents, balance your cheque-book and eat your neighbours.

Oliver Stone: The question is not, “Why did the chicken cross the road?” Rather, it is, “Who was crossing the road at the same time, whom we overlooked in our haste to observe the chickens crossing?”

Charles Darwin: Chickens, over great periods of time, have been naturally selected in such a way that they are now genetically disposed to cross roads.

Albert Einstein: Whether the chicken crossed the road or the road moved beneath the chicken depends upon your frame of reference.

Buddha: Asking this question denies your own chicken nature.

Ernest Hemmingway: To die, in the rain.

Not To Be

The night flies swarmed around the lamp on the desk. The room was dimly lit. The leaky tap maintained a drip in the otherwise quiet night. The coffee was as cold as his feet.

The clouds rumbled... would it rain? He couldn’t afford to let his mind wander. He had to work. His family had left him. Only loneliness survived. He liked the loneliness, it helped, but the sadness did not.

Sheets of paper were scattered all over the desk. A bunch of typewriter ribbons occupied the corner. On the centre of the table stood an ancient machine, no wait, it wasn’t just an ordinary machine; it was a livelihood. It had been idle for sometime now.

He stared at the ceiling and sighed. His gaze shifted to the rusted old fan cloaked in cobwebs. Outside, the rain fell hard, washing away the unfairness of society, or at least he hoped it would. He got up and walked towards the cupboard, the only piece of furniture besides his table and his bed. He had decided.
***
His cheek rested on the tabletop. He stared unblinkingly at the last three words on his typewriter. In his right hand was a bottle of morphine. The dust swirled around the room as a gust of wind forced open a window. It settled on him, the man who was to become the greatest writer ever. But he will only be remembered as a dusty little man in a dusty little room.

Love At First Byte

The Sunday morning was bright and clear,
When she entered his life;
He had named her ‘Daisy Dear’,
And wanted to make her his wife.

Love at first byte was the case,
But it lacked reciprocation;
He loved her from his magnetic core
But she refused the relation.

My capacity for love is boundless
My pixels leave others dumbfound;
Resolution, class, perfection,
In me, SVGA, abound.

“Don’t get fresh,” qouth Daisy,
“ You vain son of a screen,
I already love another
One who is to you supreme.

Don’t grovel at my base,
Or slobber my print head with kisses,
I cannot answer your love
So save your swears, groans and hisses.”

But VGA remained undaunted,
He made one final attempt,
To woo the one he loved,
And overcome her contempt.

He grabbed a light pen from the desk,
And etched it onto his chest,
In bright red the eternal words –
‘I love you with all my zest.’

But before he could enter his tale of love,
Into his permanent memory,
Load-shedding came and took away,
His precious thought – his treasury.

When the lights came on again,
SVGA’s screen was blank,
Where once were sights of life and love,
Was void, cold and dank.

He had forgotten the emotions he felt,
When his eyes had fallen on Daisy;
The incident had removed the last traces
Of the affair, so one sided and crazy.

Daisy was relieved and overjoyed,
To see this madness end.
And just as he was in the beginning
Lay SVGA, at the end.

This tale thus ends where it began,
Reminding us that love is hard;
A machine needs not circuits and memory,All it really needs is a heart.

Oi Faccha!

Rain. Luggage. Seniors. Ragging. Sweat. Embarrasment. Intellect. Welcome to St. Stephen's College, freshman

Politics For Beginners

SOCIALISM: YOU HAVE TWO COWS, YOU GIVE ONE TO YOUR NEIGHBOUR.

COMMUNISM: YOU HAVE TWO, THE GOVERNMENT TAKES BOTH AND GIVES YOU THE MILK.

FASCISM: YOU HAVE TWO COWS, THE GOVERNMENT TAKES BOTH AND SELLS YOU THE MILK.

NAZISM: YOU HAVE TWO COWS, THE GOVERNMENT TAKES BOTH AND SHOOTS YOU.

CAPITALISM: YOU HAVE TWO COWS, YOU SELL ONE AND BUY A BULL.

TRADE UNIONISM: YOU HAVE TWO COWS, THEY TAKE BOTH, SHOOT ONE, MILK THE OTHER AND THROW THE MILK AWAY.

MORAL: DON’T HAVE ANYTHING TO DO WITH COWS THEY ONLY BRING TROUBLE.

Dosco Expelled

You join school you leave school too young too late.
You play games and read books and wait and wait.
It’s all books and balls, balls and books but wait! Wait, or otherwise cook!
Sit and treat. We wanna eat! What? No meat no sweet so no treat! Then hey! Beat!
You don’t wanna treat? Then serve. Serve!
Serve - yourself - your - head - your - own - and - the - rest - of -your - house!
But always remember serve the shouts.
[Server!] [Server!] [Chapats?] Run get chapats. Cold!
Must get chapats! Everything else... hold!
Hold up your head, serve it first.
Once the bell rings, sit, eat, and savour your thirst.
You’re always thirsty and always late.
Toyetime! Playtime! Everytime late! Classes, P.T., what’s-the-time? “Late!”
Change-in-break! Change your books! Wrong books!
“Sorry Sir, I’ll just...” “Uh-Uh! No excuses! Hey, where are you going? Stop! Wait!”
Can’t go back to my house now?
Under your breath, you swear.
“Can’t go back to my house”,
What’s this place coming to?
You think and suddenly hear a bell.
The class just got over, you think oh well... swell!
Pitter-patter, pitter-patter; all the scopats windows I have to shatter, says the rain.
You’re wet, you’re cold. No umbrella no bag no plastic
Books-wet, CDH-wet and cold and finally you make it, slish-slosh to stare at your windowpane.
Then your friend shouts, “Arre...yaar change up fast, we’ve got a game!”
Game: Ball! Big ball small ball hard ball bouncy ball,
Suddenly you remember oh my god you had to make a phone call!
Phone call means chit: chit! Phone chit! Outing chit!
Store chit cog chit book chit good chit bad chit. How...!
Books! What about them! Notebooks Rough books.
Only wanna read library books but can’t. But, why?
No study now, read later! Learn now, why later?
But no. They why can’t you study now and pay later? You cry.
Learn? (Sob) study? (Sob) now (sob) why (sob)
“WHY? I’ll tell you why. For getting into a good college you blob!
But you only need four! Sir, best four. Don’t need to count the rest?
Their marks don’t count and why? Why the rest? What is the rest?
The ‘rest’ was very relaxing and short and nice and is equal to ten schools a week
1800 minutes a month 240 hours a year minus extra classes!
And - it - doesn’t - even – count.
Armed with education minus rest the college gates you shall mount
Forward backward but onward into rain. Rain.
Mist, breath, smokes rain. (Bell)
Bath! What? Now? Have you seen the time? Are you insane?
Hmm...You say rub out the sleep and step out.
Rain mist breath smoke! Chappals towel soap dish –
Ammunition You step out!
Cold. Very cold. Brrrr.!
You shiver and try to come back in but... bang! bang! bang!
It’s me, let me in. It’s damn cold out here bang bang bang Please I don’t wanna have a bath. (Pause) ok don’t!
FINE!
You borrow shampoo from the next room and inquire about your old friend time.
Ohhh my god, ooh my god has the bell rung?
Yes! someone shouts back its rung!
Damn you time, some friend you are!
You deserve to be hung.
Run! Run after your food before it gets cold.
Open up! I’m late aah! It’s open.
But where’s my... Form-mate won’t wait can’t wait or he’ll get late,
Some mate or he’ll get late. Late for dinner... so that makes you a...? Sinner!
Everyone angry with you. Cater-er, Headmast-er, serv-er,
Makes you wanna commit murd-er.
But how? Knife? Banned! Gun? Banned.
Wife? Banned! Tuck?... I repeat Tuck-your-shirt-in-and-pull-up-your stockings
The way you’re going there Ain’t gonna be no stopping
And change those awful shoes! How many times do you have to be told
Can’t you follow rules? Fit in with the mould?
Rules? Who rules?... and us?... Fools?
What are we here for? What do we do?
You learn, study and enjoy yourself now shooo!
Enjoy? How? By studying? By standing? “No!”
Its sunday stupid! Arre watch the 2-5 show!
Oh yes! Its sunday and there’s a movie but why can’t you go?
You’re gated! So stick here, study and do so and so and so.
Watching the cricket match you say “I’ve heard the new movie...”
“CATCH IT!” You’re interrupted and the fielders go up. The ball goes up, up! up! Up in the air
So if you were fielding at 3rd man you wouldn’t just stand and stare
You’d go for the catch... You’d jump over the wall after the ball.
But you’ve been warned. Take heed!
But you still go for the catch, you do
And you succeed... but......oooo
Well done! Congratulations! You’re caught! You’re healed
You’re school life is over, another letter is sealed.
Howzzat! You listen as the batsmen shout.
You glance at the umpire he shrugs- up goes his finger I’m sorry you’re out!
Out, out! out from the field, out from the gate... you’re finally leaving.
But one second, hold it now, wait!
Where’s your gate pass? Where? It slipped through which crack?
But then you remember you won’t be needing it cause you’re not coming back!
You don’t need to walk, the gate walks towards you,
It looks different like a spare,
Then you see the chowk and think,
“Aah, atleast he’s still there”
“Namaste bhaiya...” you want to continue but your vision and eyesight suddenly blurs.
He’s a collector like you... you collect cards but he... he prefers signatures.
So you think you’ll give him one not another’s like last Sunday’s but yours.
Your very own... and so you ask for the book and you feel its bark.
You open it sign and leave your mark.
You pick your bags and suddenly you’re out... Check mate!
You look behind you but he’s already,
Shut the gate.
Too late again... again too late.
The game’s over! You’ve won! And don’t you feel great?
No more boring classes. No more form-mates.
No more coffee and noodles. I guess you call it fate!
You’ve been expelled... but sadly it came too late... for had it been sooner and as much as you hate yourself for admitting it... you stayed on just long enough to get that lethal taste!
What taste? You wanna know what taste?
That taste which lingers and connects you to dust!
That taste which makes you enjoy your last bust!
That taste which like steel survives even rust!
That taste which is so sweet that return you must!
That taste which hits true and when it does, goes straight to home base!
That even you can’t help admitting, “Damn, I’m gonna really miss this place.”

Apurv Chandola at his best in 1999