Slow Dancing to a Bittersweet Memory

Many a moon ago

I danced in tune

With our songs

And you asked how each song

Could be so beautiful

Afterward

The rose tinted glasses

Fell from my eyes

And I moved on

To a better place

With better people

Who are my few precious friends

And I saw that we never happened at all

Was it just a dream then?

Or was it a harsh reality?

I don't know and I'm past caring

I'm a hundred miles away

Rolling down the freeway

And darling, you aren't even pretty anymore

The Bilge Master

Candlelit Nights

You come to me bathed in candlelight

From my desk where I sit and write

We waltz to Englebert the whole night through

You are in my dreams too

My pillow is a witness

Writing you down for posterity

Is something I strive to do

For you are a friend in need

As well as my muse

Someday soon I shall

Pen a poem that

Does justice to you

Until that time comes

These few lines

Are all I've got to give to you

The Bilge Master

The Forgotten II

We come across a lot of people in our lives- friends, family, teachers, acquaintances- the list goes on forever. However the list is incomplete because we also come across another set of people whom we do not notice.

I'm talking about the guard at the gate of your house. I'm talking about the shopkeeper who sells you rice. The cashier at the supermarket or McDonalds.

Aren't they people too? And should we not be thankful to them for services rendered?

I live in a complex where there are tons of security guards. You literally cannot chuck a brick without hitting one. I talk to them. One of them recently had a baby boy. Another- a middle aged man in his late forties- requested me to take a photograph with him. Another has promised to take me to his village and show me a famous temple there.

I am also friends with all the shopkeepers in the area. Some treat me to a free chocolate or a cup of tea sometimes.  I play with their kids, telling them stories to keep them entertained.

I have a friend who knew a shopkeeper like the ones I've described. He would talk to her, give her free toffees from time to time and advise her on life in general . The shopkeeper has passed away, leaving my friend (understandably) heartbroken.

 You see, he was not just a shopkeeper. He was a friend.

The people around us, whom we see every day but do not acknowledge are living, breathing entities. Some are compassionate, others thoughtful and some are the ones you can turn to for advice.

So, next time when you take a selfie, try keeping the security guard or the fruit seller in the frame- hell take a selfie with him. You don't know how much it means to them when they are talked to by other people. Do it while you still have a chance, because one day they'll go and you'll never see them again.

My condolences to you my friend. I know you're hurting. Maybe this will help.

The Bilge Master

Marking My Brother's 22nd Birthday

Relationships have funny ways of starting. Suddenly, you find someone who becomes someone special within the space of a week, like the person I am going to talk about today. He is my brother, but we are not related by blood. That makes him all the more special to me.

Let me  tell you our story.

It was in 2007 that we first met I think. The date is not important but what followed that day is. I had been given a copy to return to a kid in class five. I was then in class seven myself. I went inside, called out the name Sagnik Mukherjee and a kid of average height, wearing a red t-shirt stood up. For a few seconds, our eyes met. I think that was all it took for the bond to form.

During recess, I went to find Sagnik, not knowing where he was. It was a short search because he found me first. We knew who we were, we had just not talked . And so it began. We introduced ourselves and swapped phone numbers and in the evening after school, I called him and we started talking about books and music. He had not heard or read much at that point in time and he liked the suggestions I gave him. The plot thickened.

As I stated before, our relationship took exactly a week to mature. By the end of that week, he introduced me to a friend as his brother and I was so touched by that gesture that I remember it even today, although so many years have passed.

He's a Manchester United fan, I am an Arsenal enthusiast and we have our ups and downs regarding that, but apart from that one little issue, we are inseparable. We have kept up with the times, each of us listening to the new music that comes out and discussing it at length over WhatsApp. We don't message regularly but even by not doing that we know we are there for each other and since I am essentially a lone wolf, this particular relationship means the world to me.

I know we will grow old together, talking about girls and bikes and To Kill a Mockingbird, while our kids proceed to watch the latest Transformers movie. How many people in your life can you say that about?

Here's looking at you kid!

The Bilge Master

Raindancer

There was once a boy who liked the rain. Whenever a storm started, he'd run out of the house and dance in the shower of the tiny globules of water, letting them drench him inside and out. It was as if he had attained nirvana every time he danced in the rain. His mother used to be mad at him later because he would always catch a cold, seeing as he had thick, curly hair.

As he grew up, his love for rain grew with him. He loved jumping in the puddles that formed in the ditches on the road, he loved the muddy water that would drench his shoes and socks every time he jumped into a puddle. His friends nicknamed him Raindancer. They were reminded of him every time it rained and throughout college they loved seeing him come to class in the rainy season, drenched to the bone, with a broken umbrella in his hands and a sparkle in his eyes.  They all warned him that he would catch his death of cold someday and he shrugged it off saying he was too far gone to care, before sneezing loudly into his handkerchief.

One day he was at the canteen having a cup of coffee, when suddenly someone asked him if he would mind sharing the table. He shook his head no and the stranger sat down. This person was about five-eleven, with neatly parted hair and a goatee. There was something about him that magnetically kept your attention on him. He introduced himself and said he was just a year above our protagonist in the college. After some time, they started to talk about hobbies and he mentioned he liked the rain. That sparkle returned to our hero's eyes and he started to gush out about how he too liked rain, infact loved rain. Their tea had gone cold by the time their conversation was over and the canteen had been lit up with tubelights too. Both of them had missed their afternoon classes, but it seemed worth it to them.

The stranger smiled and it was as if his entire face joined him in the smile. His entire face was animated by it- his eyes twinkled, his mouth curved upward and laughter lines appeared around them. So it was thus that a friendship was struck up. They both eagerly awaited the rainy season and would hum Simon and Garfunkel's song "Kathy's Song" while walking in the rain. They would discuss Dylan and The Eagles and Jimmy Page. They had the same tastes in books too. His favourite was To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee and his friend with the goatee preferred The Little Prince by Antoine de-Saint Exupḕry. They were inseparable throughout college and they would spend weekends in each other's company as well. The stranger had become a close and treasured friend.

Then one day, college ended. The job hunt began in earnest.  Our protagonist's friend managed to land one, but it would take him out of the country to France. He was delighted with the job, but wondered what would happen to his rain loving  friend. Our protagonist was contemplating that as well, but then again, it was a small world what with Skype and WhatsApp and they swore that they would stay connected.

The days blew by and suddenly it was time for him to leave. He was accompanied to the airport by his friend and just before the final call for his flight, they embraced. His friend gave him a kiss on the cheek and walked off towards the terminal exit.

Our protagonist stood there and saw the plane take off, taking with it someone he had loved. He wondered what it would be like now, without his presence in his life. He stayed there absorbed in thought for a while, then headed off towards the exit point of the airport.

Just as he had stepped out of the building, it started to rain. He put his hand on his cheek, where the memory of the kiss was implanted and started to walk away.

The Bilge Master

Gabby

There was once a girl with a fiery tempest in her soul. She didn't remember when the fire started burning, only that it had become an inferno as the years passed by. It was not an all consuming fire, it was a fire born of creativity. She just had to express herself in different media. She read voraciously, devouring books like an apostle at the sultan's banquet. Over time she took to writing too, maintaining a personal diary which knew her every secret. She called this diary Gabby and Gabby was her first friend.

Gabby taught her a lot. Gabby saw her writing evolve and become mature, from the initial baby steps to standing on its own two feet. Ink stains and endless paragraphs covered Gabby from head to toe. She remembered staying up nights, writing in Gabby, somewhat like a non evil version of Tom Riddle's diary. And like a true friend, Gabby was a good listener and didn't mind the repeated scratched out sentences written in blood red ink.

Sometimes she would draw. Small animals, a good looking boy from her class, a couple of muscular men from a series such as Supernatural. She put these drawings up around her room, decorating the four walls with numerous faces and scenes from her favourite movies.

Time passed and she grew up into a tall woman with really messy hair. Gabby had aged too, but the duo were still strong. Whenever Gabby ran out of pages, they would be replenished and over the years, Gabby had become as thick as Tolkien's masterwork The Lord of the Rings. There is something curiously comforting about a blank page and a pen. You can work wonders with them.

One day, she brought someone home and showed him Gabby. She told him Gabby's story, about how Gabby always understood, a silent knight in shining armour. He understood because he was like that too.

She was fire, He was rain. She was Yang, he was Yin. They had a lot in common, but were not lovers. They were friends and because they were friends it was easier for her to tell him the things that previously only Gabby knew. But nobody would know Gabby in its entirety. There are some things that only a diary and its owner know.

This person who had walked into her life was initially shy and aloof. He was introverted and sometimes caused her chagrin because she felt like she was leaving him out of conversations. But, time worked its magic and soon they talked daily about how their days had been, broken hearts, pizza sauce and Mentos. Needless to say, Gabby was kept up to date about their shenanigans, like that one time when she had flipped out and yelled at him for ten minutes straight, only to find a giant smirk on his face instead of anger or that one time she had frozen French fries which had to be  blow dried before frying at a hangout with friends. Gabby heard it all and sometimes she would look at the words with a smile on her face. That insatiable fire of expression burnt brighter than ever, and he recognized her need for timber, supplying her with music to further hone her skills.

The first time he had given her a song, he was nervous. He didn't know if she would like it. But she did. It was as if a new door had opened and their friendship evolved. You see music was to him what Gabby was to her. Music always understood him, motivating him, supporting him. Whenever he needed a hug, music spread its arms wide. He could lose himself in music, for days on end.

Look at me, rambling on seemingly without a point. But there is a point. This is the tale of two people, who are alike. It is the tale of a girl with fire and a boy with serenity. But, more than that, it is a tale of two friends whose paths just happened to cross in a spider's web. These two children have the world spread out before them. They will grow, live, love and laugh. He will always  find a text from her, and she one from him. Maybe one day, she will become an aunt or he an uncle and the story shall live on, to be told by even more children. As for her fire, it will continue to burn and maybe one day this teller of tales will spin a story about her for you to read.

Remember reader, a boy and a girl can be friends. It just takes common sense.       

The Bilge Master 

Imperfections Are Kinder Yardsticks

I tried to be thin

Because society wanted me to

Until I realized

Being fat was okay too

I tried to be perfect coz

They wanted me to

But I identified with my imperfections

Strongly too

I tried to be the guy

Everyone called hot

But that my friend

Is something I'm not

The next time someone tells you

To follow a trend

From way up there in their Isengards

Remember the scars on your back

And the places you've been

Tell them you're an individual

And they should try being one too

Instead of living shallow, meaningless lives

In their lofty halls of stone

The Bilge Master

What Not to Do to Your Kids- An Open Article to Parents

This article is going to be the first of its kind that I have written and will probably come as a bit of a shock to some people. I'm putting up this disclaimer in advance. Do not read it if you're easily offended.

I came across this tumblr post that one of my friends shared on Facebook and it was about the topic of privacy of your children. Some parents apparently check their child's phone messages in an attempt to get to know them better. They think they have their child's best interests at heart, but the sad truth is they don't realize that it's the shortest route to driving a wedge between themselves and their child permanently.

Let me (at the risk of repeating myself) state this once again: BEHAVIOR SUCH AS THIS IS NOT, REPEAT NOT OKAY.

It is important to respect your child, who is in himself/herself an individual. My parents, and I am very proudly saying this, are my best friends. I share everything with them- when I've drank some rum, when I've tried a cigarette, when I've got a crush on someone- they know everything about me. This did not happen overnight however. My parents always treated me with respect- they never checked my phone, they never prodded into affairs which I said I didn't want to share with them.

And now I am gonna ask one simple question- why can't all parents be like this?

It isn't rocket science parents! If you want us to trust you but don't extend the same hand to us then you're living examples of hypocrisy. 

It is very essential that you understand one simple fact- respect isn't given freely, it's earned. How to get someone's respect varies from person to person but if you have the courtesy to respect them first, it becomes easier to gain their respect and with it their trust.

A mother-child-father relationship is the very first one your child is taught to understand. If something goes awry there then the child is like a complex number, his/her roots are imaginary. This can cause mental problems, trust issues and has the potential to scar your child for life.

I'll wind up by saying just this- trust us to trust you. That way, we know we can always confide in you no matter what the issue is and that in itself gives us confidence to tackle life head on.

If I ever have children I would like to be the sort of father whom they can talk to about stuff. You drank? It's fine. You like this girl/boy? Tell me something about why you like them. And so on. I hope one day to be lucky enough to be my child's friend, maybe their best friend

Until then, here's to the next blogpost

The Bilge Master