The Flipside of the Coin.

           So today, as usual, I switched my TV on. Surprisingly enough, I put the news channel on, as my father had told me I'm a mature Indian now and should be aware of my cultural surroundings. And I didn't object, because I had this wave of patriotism flowing through my insides since I woke up, anyway. The television light flashed against my face on a dewed winter morning, accompanied by the proud faces of the innumerous battalions, marching their way through the disciplined streets of New Delhi. The faces of all the corrupt, inhuman politicians very meticulously pseudomorphed into the representatives of our country lit up my television, which made it more apathetic for me to watch the day parade as the hands of the clock whirred by. The legions of all major states marched by, disciplined as ever, followed by the the troops representing the folk dances, post-harvest celebrations and much more. The culture of the Kerala legion blended in with the strength represented by Rajasthan, among other states exhibiting their strongest facets. An enormous missile makes way, accompanied by the destruction and sorrows it could bring to the households of plenty, if there are any households remaining after it strikes, that is. Two military tanks crawl right behind the truck boarding the missile, high over which three jet-planes speed through the atmosphere, leaving a trail of patriotic tri-coloured smoke as they twist and turn, freighting the pride and prosperity of India, along with a tinge of aggression. The parade comes to an end, following the national salute presented to the various battalions and armymen by the VIPs present there.
           I turned the TV off, sat at my window, and just stared outside. Seconds. Minutes. Hours. I don't even remember how long I sat there for. Want to know what I thought about? Yes, hate me for saying this, but our country is pathetic. Malnourished children run rampant on the streets, scouring for anything that would insure them to stay alive just for another hour. The streets reek of broken dreams and shattered experiences, laying waste to the abilities of who would've conquered the world. Females, once born, are thrown outside the window overlooking a garbage can, while the ones who were unfortunate enough to live on are beaten up by their spouses at the age of 16. Aged parents, once having seen the world in their day, are left to rot in despicable old-age homes, their progeny remaining untraceable. Inflation ricochets up the clouds, leaving middle-class families struggling for their roti, kapda aur makaan(food, shelter and clothing) while cocky politicians paint the public with facades, gulping down what they could never earn. Girls are raped in broad daylight, their intestines strewn on railway tracks, after which we have yoga preachers saying that it was the girl's fault to walk out of her house at 7pm in the f***ing evening. Yes, this is Incredible India. Have you ever wondered why only three out of four faces of the lions representing our National Emblem are shown when the logo is imprinted somewhere? Hats off to the perceptions of it's creator, for the fourth face represents the dark side of the country. Corruption. Backwardness. Lag. Inability. Famine. Hidden from the common man, the fourth face grows in the shadows. It hinders the augmentation of India, making way for impure thoughts in people's minds. So relish this day, fellow Indians, fellow patriots. For today, we celebrate more of what's wrong than what's right about our country, for the 64th time in a row. And you're a part of it.

Happy Republic Day.

There Will be A Time..

"Haha, maybe someday", she said, and a cascade of dreamy possibilities smacked me in the face. I have to get to know her better. Contemplating it is not an option. She's condescending, cold, deep, maybe even a little bitchy at times. But she has a certain level of concern in her addictive tone, like a velvet-walled heart just waiting to absorb you in and never let go. Thoughtful. Deceptive. Romantic. She's exactly like me. To a point where it's even scary. Like two moths drawn to the same light bulb. "But it'll be worth a shot, fo shizz", says a newly-born minuscule optimist, drunk with the joy of possibilities somewhere deep inside me. Someday, I shall finally meet her. Someday, we shall laugh over how we even started talking. Someday, we may explore the soft spot in each other's conscience, which is but hidden from even the closest to us. Someday, I shall pull the chair back for her to sit comfortably while she laughs at the the biggest gentleman-related cliche I've indulged in. And while the musician a few feet away plays her favourite Owl City number on his acoustic, someday, I shall stare into her eyes while my sorrows and agony flow out of me making way for the fine melody of the song which will correspond to the memory of this beautiful evening. Someday, we shall walk down a winding road which leads to nowhere, and at one point she'll just stop and stare up at the starry night skies, her eyes full of infinite puzzles. Desires. Demands. Dreams. And that's when I may just lean in and kiss her, but on the cheek, just to let her know that I'll be there. When all hell breaks loose. When the walls holding her dreams together fall apart. When all she needs is a shoulder to cry on. Someday. And after I've waken up from this little dream of mine,

"Haha, let's just hope that day is not too far away" is all I say.

Tag! You're it.

The foundation's done, you break a leg,
You celebrate, and down a peg.

Out in the dark, he's on his way,
even your shadow will but betray.

He breaks it down, and lights the flame,
the foundation's gone, and you're a shame.

Beyond the twilight, begins the cascade,
and disappointment rains on the day parade.

You hit your head, feeble and frail,
you pray to her, the Holy Grail.

You fail the test, you but complain,
the mirror's been but a bane.

You back the hell up, and get the hell down,
you think to yourself, "The architect's in town".

Once again, the foundation's anew,
but he's out again, crumpling the dew.

You see his face, the darkest grey,
his sledgehammer out, you spurt and say.

"I've done so much, I've crumbed the trail,
but your treachery is all I inhale".

"I can't keep trying, I'm an outcast,
and the wounds burn like a furnace blast".

So today I say, "Fuck you, fuck it"
I slit your throat, and Tag! You're it.