Budapest: a turn

When I had the first glimpses, I won’t deny..  I was disappointed. After the uber-elite and art-ified Vienna, the modesty of the grey and brown buildings here was quite a contrast. It almost felt like I have reached back the home country, except for, of course,  more cleanliness and single line traffic jams. Through the chugging industries and smoky terrains, our bus slowly moved. What was amazing was the place’s contrast with Austria and similarities with India.  The train and the trams are open,  as in not air conditioned. Both move using the same 1.2-1.2.3 rhythm that is synonymous with our trains. Dimly light,  and stuffed with people,  both carry the life through the city.  But what caught me most was the tiredness in all eyes. The drained and weary- as if all the color has been washed away. The bent posture,  saggy eye bags,  wrinkled foreheads and the empty eyes. As if another battle lost.  And it wasn’t just one, every other one rather. And when that drooping lost head rises up and meets your eyes, there is the split second in which they tell all about themselves, and then look away..  As if turning away from a wrong stop.

But sometimes, when they meet yours,  you take a step more. You smile. And what you receive in return is priceless. You get to see the empty eyes fill up. You find that deep down in the person,  the war’s still not lost. You see the colours returning. And then when you walk away,  it’s like departing a friend. Even if not correct, this intermediate was one maybe worth the stop.

Anyways,  struggling with 3 and a half bags,  huffing and panting (because metros had no escalators or elevators. Yes,  couple places it’s that primitive) we reached our apartment. Our host was downstairs to welcome us. He is an amazing artist and a really warm person. Peter’s life story is so much like an average Indian kid. Son of a book-keeper and an engineer,  he was pushed to science and stuff till one of his teachers figured out how he was meant for art. He helped us a lot to plan our 2 days in Budapest. He also had 3 bikes in his apartment. So we biked through both Buda and Pest, early morning,  by the river. Told us quite a few things about budapest,  what places to eat.. I still remember, for one high end place he said “This place food is good but too costly.  So you only pay smiles and walk away.” That’s the great thing about people here. They have more life to themselves. They are more open about their expressions.  I loved just sitting on the train platform and see people carrying out their clockwork tasks. Somebody’s getting late for an exam,  somebody having hard time bidding good bye to the loved one,  somebody’s lost in the hopes while somebody trying hard to find one.

That’s what I loved here..  People. Their warmth, genuine love. Their struggle with the smiles.

That’s how, Hungary started turning for me. People.. Emotions.. Honesty.. And Love.



| Longing |


It binds us all..

Longing for love.. for trust

For hope and faith and everything old school..

Some even long for longing..

And when they do get to long..

They long but for..

Longing no more.


21314696_1430885213693130_7684119535256182236_nThis mask..

Borrowed? Or owned?

If borrowed, where is the owned?
If owned, why mask?

Borrowed? how different from the owned?
Owned? hid the borrowed where?

Borrowed? from whom.. And why?
Owned? lended to whom.. And why? 

Borrowed? how long will you keep it?
Owned? how long can you keep it? 

Borrowed? Isn’t your skin enough?
Owned? Is your skin enough? 

Borrowed? How deeply?
Owned? How shallow? 

Borrowed? How long til’ you start owning?
Owned? How long til’ you start borrowing?

Borrowed | Owned


It..  The Light.. 

They were there.. 

They saw it..  Heard me..  

Heard how i looked at it.. 

Saw how i felt it.. 

Touched it..  

Pined for it..


The light.. 
And when they could no more.. 

Hear.. Feel.. See.. anymore

They did it.. 

Vouched up..  Moved around.. 

Stealthily in the night’s dark.. 

Quietly from the moon’s arms

They grabbed it.. 

Stole it.. 


The light.. 
They stole it.. 

And gave it to me.. 

Saw my heart return.. 

Heard me get filled.. 

Felt as i took it all in..  

And followed as i swayed..

Swayed by it.. 

Led by it.. 


The light.. 


She waited.. and waited..  and waited..

The altar will tell you that..

And so will the eyes.. but to the one.. who never came by.

And she hopefully so stuck to the innocence..  or ignorance rather..

of the truth she chose to see not..

Or maybe it was the truth that chose to hide in the heat of all that love that remained..

And still remains..


untaken by..