citizens cane

the invasion

2011-12-22T08:50:00.000-08:00

the invasion

peacock

was preening his pretty plumes

when a rainbow sprouted

from behind the hills.

he stuttered in delight

and spread out his feathers;

a thousand rainbows bloomed.

he was dancing……………

suddenly-

they came;

chopped him into pieces

and threw his flesh

to a golden eagle.

vendor

beneath the banyan shade

was selling tender coconuts.

cool and soothing, the juice

of his lush green lands

went down thirsty throats.

sweat trickled down his

corrugated forehead:

he was smiling……….

suddenly-

they came;

bent his ebony back

and corked him inside

a pepsi bottle

youth

with its erudite looks

looking weird with

soft beard and glassy eyes.

neruda erupted from

tobacco tarred lips.

marx and marquez

shuttled across

cafe table tops:

they were dicussing……….

suddenly-

they came;

shaved off the young beards,

rubbed the face with old spice,

and filled their brains with

green-card dreams.

comrade

in his ram shackled rented room

was dusting dialects

with a red linen rag.

the bust of a baldie

with a short chin beard

stoop atop his shelf,

a streak of verdigris

had spread on that

prole-forehead

“the bust has lost its lusture”

he was thinking……….

suddenly-

they came;

mocked him,

tickled his armpits

with a sickle tip,

hammered the bust to pieces

burned the volumes of das capital

and renamed him

capital das.

the invasion had begun!

[the song of carla hills]

madame carla

tra la la

she’s out for trips

around the world.

see how she trims

the world.

“your history n’ mystery

its bullshit, its junk

your age n’ heritage

oh boy, its punk.”

madame carla

tra la la

she stops to drink

cocoa-cola

“you belong to us

your sons belong to us.

your sun n’ moon n’

skies n’ stars

they all belong to us.

even your thoughts belongs to us

your bread belongs to us

your breath belong to us

your life before

and after death

belong to us, to us.

even your dreams belong to us.

your words belong to us

your verse belong to us

this world, that world

next world, third world,

they all belong to us.

whole world belong to us.”

madame carla

tra la la

what she says

is law

“what you hear n’

what you see,

what you write n’

what you read,

what you think n’

what you feel,

are intellectual property

of uncle sam

the sole mighty.

pay royalty

to uncle sam

he’s almighty

he’s almighty”

with horror n’ chills

(sd)

carla hills

campus-

rock n roll n pop

are out,

break is in and

rap is here to stay.

girls are busy

burning their bra’s

boys are busy

eating pizzas.

“yehi hay right choice baby”

hostel walls are

infested with

offset-printed poster

rambo, with bulging biceps

and bloodshot eyes

aims his bazooka

straight at your face

madonna, with pouting lips

and colossal tits

winks at you wickedly.

up above still remains

the torn remains

of a red head band,

green green beret

and the bright brown eyes of

che!

streets are full of

sycophants

and yankee-fans

screaming screaming screaming

“kill the bolsheviks,

kiss the capitalists,

red is good if only it has

blue and white with it.

stars are good if only they have

stripes to go with them.”

a torn tricolour peeps

out its battered head

from the garbage can

and weeps, weeps, weeps.

signs of resentment

have started appearing

here and there.

effigies with top hats

are set ablaze.

cow-dung drips from

marlboro hoardings.

street urchins are urinating

on cowboy faces

scribblings in charcoal

sprawls across the walls

“america,

your liberty is just a statue!”

“we shall overcome………”

once upon a time...

2011-12-22T08:38:00.000-08:00

dry days

2010-06-23T10:17:00.000-07:00

dry days

mondays are mundane…

the tom sawyer syndrome.

snails on watch dials.

the sloth inside

loathing about

slowness.

bubbles of

nothingness

ferments

inside the distillery

of stillness

all days are

mondays

hate summit

2010-03-08T09:39:00.000-08:00

hate summit

the hall is filled
with holy men.
the dais, crammed
with deities
maestros of mayhem
are orchestrating
a phoney symphony
green and saffron
spotlights are on.

and then…
out of nowhere
they appear,
the gods of war!
avoiding
the eyes of cameras,
they wink at each other
wickedly

and then…
they embrace
and start to shower grace
upon the human race

amidst all this cacophony
devil descends from heaven.
he, who else,
is the master of ceremony.
after fluttering a white dove
and a black raven.
he takes over the show
“friends, moron, holy men
lend me your fears
for i have come
to bury peace
and not to praise it…”

the crowd goes crazy,
they cheer in full frenzy.
devil wags his tail
in response
and starts to announce

“this years prize
for peace
goes to…
(pause)
unfortunately
the prize for the peace
goes to…..
humanity
but…..
fortunately,
it will be given
posthumously.”
(curtain)

outside,
the devotees
had started
fratricide.

listen to my poem "adrift"

2010-03-08T09:23:00.000-08:00

Click here to visit VoicesNet.com to read the poem called "ADRIFT" by Baiju Raj Thuruthel, India

a short short story

2009-10-19T08:11:00.000-07:00

THREE STUPID MONKEYS
Dedicated to Dr Binayak Sen

They had no manners, the police people. They didn’t knock on the door. Instead, they knocked it down. Maybe they didn’t consider our door as a door. It was a poor door. It broke into three and a half pieces. The half piece landed near my face. I slammed my eyes shut and pretended to be asleep. If I had ear- lids, I would have shut them too. The first sound that I heard was that of a coconut falling on mud followed by the scream of Kakka. More coconuts started to fall and kakka’s screaming stopped. I got the courage to open my left eye and saw the police people kicking Kakka in the stomach. Red liquid trickled out of his mouth. It was not betel juice .Mamma started to scream when the police people started to chase her. It is better to play police and robber outside the house, I thought. Her scream came to an end when the police people stuffed her mouth with her red blouse. Mamma would have closed my eyes like she does when “grown-up-people-scenes” comes on the TV screen.

It was Doctor uncle who gifted our village with a TV.

He gave a speech about Gandhiji and then switched on the TV and everyone clapped their hands. Well almost everyone because I didn’t. But that was because I had three stupid monkeys in my hands. It was a prize for reciting Vaishnava Janato, the song that Gandhiji liked very much. When Doctor uncle gave me that statue of three monkeys, someone took a picture. Doctor uncle tussled my long hair and told me that Gandhiji was the father of our nation and I asked him who the mother of our nation was, and he laughed and the whole village started to laugh, and I felt stupid. That was one gift I didn’t like much. Why should monkeys close their eyes and ears and mouth? Monkeys are no doubt, stupid animals.

Police people are more stupid that monkeys. Otherwise why should they drag me by my hair and push my face into the photo of Doctor Uncle, and ask,

“Where are you hiding him?”

They caught Doctor uncle because he was not hiding from the stupid police monkeys.

The village people saw Doctor uncle being dragged into the blue van and they heard him say “Satyameva Jayathe”, which means Truth shall Win. But when the TV people asked them about it, they said that they saw nothing. They felt bad inside. Then the newspaper people showed the village people so many newspapers which said that Doctor uncle has won a big prize for being a goodie good man , the village people said that they have not heard anything about it. But they felt good inside.

I still have that photo of Doctor uncle smiling like a good little boy with a big long beard, giving me that stupid three monkey prize.

One day, I will go to that big jail and knock on the jail doors because I have good manners, you know, and I will ask the jail people
“Where are you hiding him? “

If they give him back to me, then I will bring him back to my village and in front of all the village people, I will give him back that stupid statue of the three monkeys, and I am sure that he will throw it into the river.

Maybe then he will tell me who the mother of my nation is.

spiritual awakenings

2009-05-10T12:39:00.000-07:00

spiritual awakenings

during
bouts of boozing,
i try to brew
thought-spirits.
exotic concoctions.
cocktails of philosophy.
half a peg of marxian whisky
with a double large lenin gin
ignites your proletarian pyrotechnics.
trotskian vodka on the rocks
is insipidly sober.
but when i fill it to the brim with
social fascist soda,
the drink starts to fizz.
one gulp
wipe your stalin moustache
a lick of krushchevian ketchup
and
your cold brezh-nerves are ready
to start a prole-war.
bubbles of discontent
rise
gain size
reach the brim of your brain.
but then
hey peristro!
you become
glasnostalgic
and
the bubble bursts.
that is the real
revolutionary spirit!
ha ha ha

hangovers are forever!

SEEKING SOME SPACE

2009-04-26T09:22:00.000-07:00

BOOK EATER

2009-04-26T08:32:00.000-07:00

I was eating my Roberto Bolano for breakfast…that guy tasted good…too good…a hot and spicy latino word-blast…2666 soup mixed with CHILE sauce , whetted my alpha-beta-appetite …after swallowing some 50 odd pages, I heard a scream from my wife and a banshee-wail from my kid…oh yeah…too much Bolano for breakfast was showing its savage effects…I was transforming into a green gringo…so I stopped my breakfast after getting a promise from those two that I would be served Umberto Eco for lunch and Murakami for dinner after dark…

VISION IMPOSSIBLE

2009-04-24T08:54:00.000-07:00

my generation

had a vision...

which turned out

to be a grand illusion

LADDER OF PROGRESS

2009-04-22T08:04:00.000-07:00

the tragedy of the indian left is that it is only just a leftover of the ideal left...or what is left of the leftist movement...the left used to be always right in its political stands...but today...without any such stands, the left is moving towards the right...and...the danger is that...leftists are finding this shift unbearable...and yet...they obey in the name of discipline...

my motto is...DISSENT OR DESCEND

adam

2009-04-18T03:01:00.000-07:00

adam

first bite
on the blood red apple.
indecent exposure
of innocent flesh
in off-white.
then…
the edges turn brown
and sepia tinted sin
seeps in.

me
with a throbbing throat
watches the slimy serpent
slowly sliding out.

she
the apple of my eye
places her blood red lips
on my bulging jugular vein.
i am in heaven # 7
love is… insane
amen.

depre$$ion

2009-04-06T21:00:00.000-07:00

thin king

2009-04-06T20:56:00.000-07:00

sayin' i'm insane

2009-04-06T20:36:00.000-07:00

idiot in a box

2009-04-06T20:30:00.000-07:00

dawn 2

2009-04-06T20:12:00.000-07:00

stilettos of april sun
pierced the palm leaf roof
and sliced the entrails
of my ram shackled hut.
crumbled and cracked
the cow dung smeared floor
disclosed its original hues.
chrome yellow here,
forest green there,
greasy camouflage outfit
of a guerrilla warrior

dawn 1

2009-04-06T20:08:00.000-07:00

dawn 1

at forty past five,
day broke.
millions of porcelain pieces
spewed from heaven
crash landed on
the wretched earth.
nebulous clouds like
fetid molten porridge stew
lay splattered across the sky,
offerings for the oracles of mom.
and then…
the crows came.
a cacophony of caw-caw,
waving shreds of black flags
against the breaking dawn.
silhouettes of malice and mayhem
casting chaotic shadows in motion
upon dew-dripping green floor.

alcoholic dawn

2008-09-24T23:01:00.000-07:00

Tremors in full swing…the gap in between consecutive bouts is diminishing…they are coming like waves in quick succession…engulfing the body from toe tip to hair ends…the vibrations from the vehicle is also mounting…why is the driver slow ?...is he slow ?...road is deserted…yet…the guy is not speeding…should I ask him to hit the throttle ?...will he take it as an insult ?...maybe this is his usual pace…he too may be a member of the majority race of humans…the optimum folks…never too fast…never too slow…the normal beings…always in control of themselves…they never commit mistakes…they never react…and when guys like me react, they put on that sneer on their flesh masks and say we are over reacting…anger makes me shiver…but unlike this shivering, it subsides quickly…anger comes…anger goes…so does the shivers that accompany that emotion…this shivering never stops unless…

At last…I am there…please stop dear tremors…stop for a few moments…how am I gonna deal with the auto rickshaw driver…dear tremors…please give me a gap…at least allow me to get off the rickshaw in dignity, or what remains of it…doubt is creeping in …is there any left ?...no no no …not dignity…I am thinking about money…is there any left…I cannot take out my wallet…its in my back pocket…hands are shivering…yes yes yes…I can take it out…no no no…it will fall off…even I might fall off…remnants of self dignity will fall off…the driver is waiting for me to get off the vehicle…the driver is examining the meter charge…”how much ?”…is my voice steady ?...yes it seems to be…there is nothing abnormal in the expression of the driver…”minimum only”…is he in a hurry ?...no no no …I am the one who is in a hurry…at least my mind is working in minimum speed…I can decode the minimum charge as ten bucks…I can understand the situation …I have to pool out ten bucks and pay the driver…I am not very sure if there is ten bucks in my wallet…I am sure that there is a wallet in my back pocket…it may or may not have ten bucks…a fresh attack of tremors…I am trembling all over…I have to fish out my wallet…tremors once again…fresh attack of shivers…mind is working in optimum pace…or so I think…at least I can think… I am a shivering body that can still think …help me Descartes…help me someone…I have to get off this auto rickshaw…I have to pay him the minimum fare…I am still capable of converting the minimum fare into ten bucks…I have a wallet in my back pocket…it may or may not have ten bucks…I have to take it out…it might fall down…I might fall down…my dignity will shatter into pieces…help me someone…please help…

And the tremors stopped.

I am getting off the auto rickshaw all by myself…I am taking out my wallet from my back pocket all by myself…the wallet is empty…the gate watchman is watching me…he is smiling…no no no …he is not wearing a flesh mask…its his own face…my mind is working at a little above the average speed…I know this watchman…he knows me too…should I call him ?...will he respond ?...yes he will…yes I will…I wave at him…my hand is not shivering…he waves back at me…he is responding.
“Got any change on you brother ?, I need a tenner”
“No problem Boss, I’ll pay him.”
A deep sigh escapes…immediate problem has been solved…my looks still fetch respect…the watchman called me Boss…I am not his Boss…I am nobody’s Boss…I am not even my own Boss…things have started to slip away from me…I am slipping away from things…I am a slippery Eel…an enigmatic Eel…

The watchman is smiling at me again…he has paid the ten bucks…he has dismissed the auto driver…now I owe him ten bucks…he knows I’ll pay him back with something more…maybe he is expecting twenty bucks… his smile is different this time…it has a tinge of sarcasm…or is it plain sympathy ?...it is not respect…he called me Boss not out of respect…maybe it’s his style of addressing customers…not all customers maybe…just for people like me …Regulars.

“You were late to leave last night Boss, and you are quite a bit early this morning”

It is sarcasm…yes…plain unadulterated sarcasm…dry and scorching sarcasm…VSOP sarcasm without ice and soda…I owe him ten bucks…I have to take his sarcasm without any offence…I feel my dignity leaking out…I smile an unaffected smile…I am deeply affected…oh no…a slight shiver is passing through me…the tremors will be coming back any minute…I have to take a flight of steps to reach there…will I be able to make it ?...another shiver…this time it lasted a little longer than the first…I give a friendly pat on the watchman’s back…body language helps…I might need his assistance to climb the stairs…he lend me ten bucks…he is expecting twenty in return…so he will surely help…
“Don’t forget to ask for the tenner, people like me are very forgetful…”I gave him my million dollar smile…I returned his biting sarcasm with a mouthful of lacerating self-sarcasm…he relished it…

“No problem Boss,”

I am not his Boss…and I am having a big problem…the steep staircase in front of me…I have to climb those marble steps…those steep steps towards my destination…or is it my destiny…my own tragic destiny…in any case those steps are the immediate problem…I used to take them three steps at a time…but that was long time back…oh no…I am feeling sad…I am feeling self pity…what is happening to me ?...the first few steps were not much of a problem…oh no…there comes the tremors…they are back with full gusto…where is the sarcastic watchman…his stool is empty…might have gone for a leak…no problem …that’s what he said…yes…I will make it…I have to make it…where there is a will there is a stairway…oh yeah…I can still make a joke…jokes are good to tide over situations…humour is good against tremors…oh yeah …I can still make catch phrases…just a few more steps and I am there…go go go…I am going up…up…up…but I know pretty well that I am actually going down…

I was never upwardly mobile.

At last …I am there…there is the door…it is closed…three other guys are waiting outside…all Regulars like me…are they staring at me ?...I am shivering…I am panting too…why are they staring at me?. I put my hands in my pockets…my shivering hands keep on shivering…no no no…they are not staring at me…I am only thinking that they are staring at me…they are Regulars…just like me…Regulars never stare at each other…Regulars share a common feeling…its an universal camaraderie…Regulars belong to the same fraternity…a brotherhood of craving…why is the door closed ?...I take out my left hand from the left pocket…its shivering…I take out my right hand from the right pocket…its also shivering…I hold them together…I glance at my wrist watch…it shows half past six…half past six is the regular opening time…I squint my eyes and looks once again…the long needle has not reached the dot denoting six…one minute remaining…I glance at the corridor…what happened to Cats Eye Joe ?...what if he is sick…will there be a substitute?…if so, what happened to the substitute…is he still asleep?…substitutes are always late…what if the substitute is a new guy…what if he refuses to give credit…no no no …that wont happen…I am a Regular…and Regulars can enjoy certain privileges…credit is on of those privileges…free snacks are also privileges…pickles are free for everyone…Regulars usually avoid pickles…Regulars get roasted groundnuts…Regulars never ask for roasted groundnuts…Regulars get it free…on the house…that’s the regular usage…someone once said that the roasted groundnuts that the Regulars get for free is actually leftovers…collected from empty tables…that someone is not a Regular for sure…we Regulars are a privileged class…we get roasted groundnuts on the house…the rest of the guys get pickles…what the hell happened to Cats Eye Joe ?...is he sick or something…will there be a substitute ?...if there is a substitute, then where the hell is the substitute ?...will he give credit ?...of course he will…Regulars get credit…but will the bloody substitute know that I am a Regular ?...what if he refuses credit ?...no no no that wont happen…what is wrong with the long needle…why is it not moving…is it stuck or something…I strain my eyes once again…the watch is working…the slender needle is shivering…it is moving from dot to dot…its moving in slow motion…its an automatic watch…used to keep good time…maybe it needs oiling…no need to shake it…it is automatically shaken…my hands are shivering…where is Cats Eye Joe ?...did he meet with an accident…is he dead…maybe he is dead…maybe they are mourning his death…maybe the door will remain closed today…but then , where is the black flag ?...people usually hang black flags to announce death…there is no black flag hanging anywhere…so Cats Eye Joe is still alive…sure he is alive…he will be here soon…oh boy…how can he be dead…the watchman never mentioned it …I owe him ten bucks…he is expecting twenty in return…he never mentioned the death of Cats Eye Joe…oh no…the tremors are coming like waves…no gaps in between…what if Cats Eye Joe has committed suicide …maybe he is hanging dead in his room…and nobody knows anything…what is that buzzing sound ?...is it coming from inside my head ?...where are you Joe…please come and open the door my li’l Joey…the buzzing sound is gaining pitch…its coming from my head…Joe…open up Joe…the buzzing sound is at a high pitch…yes…that’s it…my head is going to burst…please don’t die Joe…its not Joe who is dying…the buzzing sound is coming from my head…its me who is dying and not Joe…maybe I am already dead…yes…that’s the bloody fact…I am dead…GONG…a single bloody knell…that’s it…that was my death knell…bye everyone…will someone give the watchman a tenner…maybe he wont accept it…he may be sarcastic…but he is not the flesh mask type …what is that sound…oh yes its my head bursting…no no no…it’s a different sound…its not that buzzing sound…it’s a creaking sound…I have to open my eyes and look around…but my eyes are already open…but then, where the hell is the bloody door ?...what happened to the others …the Regulars…there were two of them standing outside the door…no no no…three of them…outside the door…where are they…what happened to them…what happened to the door…somebody is standing there…standing at the spot where the door stood…who is it ?...is he waiving at me ?..I. strain my eyes …yes he is asking me to come over…I am walking towards him…standing and waiving at me at that spot where the door stood…oh no…it looks like Joe…but the watchman said Cats Eye Joe is dead…oh no…is it his ghost or something…oh yes…its his ghost…I can see it because I am also dead…but then , why am I shivering and Joe is not…he is smiling at me…maybe some ghosts shiver and some ghosts smile…I am the shivering ghost and Cats Eye Joe is the smiling ghost…in any case I feel happy to see him ...he is giving me his arm for a support…he has a strong arm…my shivering arm on his strong arm…some ghosts are strong…I am sitting on a chair…its raining…should have taken an umbrella…

“You OK ?”

Its Cats Eye Joes voice…I can recognize it even in Hell…there…his green eyes are right in front of me…cats eyes…sharp…piercing…ouch…I feel a slight pain in both my cheeks…some body is slapping me…again the cold showers…

….and suddenly I feel the familiar taste …the burning taste…somebody is smearing my lips with fire…liquid fire…somebody is piercing my lips with spears…oh no…its paper straws…

“Sip up fast Sir”

I sip up fast…I can feel the flames in my mouth…my tongue is burning …my throat is on fire…I can feel the flames going down my throat…I sip up the last drop of fire…
I am still alive!...I need a fag…one of the three Regulars tosses a cigarette for me to catch…he can read my thoughts…Regulars can talk without talking…I catch air…the cigarette lands on the table…the Regular rises from his chair and picks up the cigarette…he is trying to put the cigarette between my lips…I say “its OK I can manage” without saying so…he apologizes for throwing it at me to catch…I accept his apology and match box…I light the cigarette…I take a deep drag…I feel good…the Regular guy feels good…I owe him a fag…I owe the watchman ten bucks…I owe Cats Eye Joe eighty bucks for my life saving double large with double straws and all…I feel double good…Cats Eye Joe is behind the counter…he winks at me…I wink back…I look at the time on my wrist watch…it shows a quarter to seven…the day is quite young…I stand up…no trace of the tremors…I pick up my empty glass…my hands are almost steady…I pick up the straws and throws them out of the window…I am a cripple no more…I’ve discarded my crutches…I raise my index finger at Cats Eye Joe…he raises the peg measure…its filled to the brim…he too can read my thoughts…glass in hand with the fuming cigarette dangling from my lips, I walk towards the counter…towards Cats Eye Joe…towards my next drink…towards my being…towards my nothingness.