Shelled and Chewed

He made a car, never put an engine in it, you see it was never meant to run. A car, a beautiful car even a perfect car but only, he knew it would never run. He auctioned the car, sold it as a dream and all the time he knew it was never meant to run.

She, a hopeful girl bought the car. Captivated by its beauty and intoxicated with its perfection. Blinded by the paint. Him explaining the merits of its superior engineering. The curves feeling like they were created for her. She put her life savings and bought the car.

Of course, it never ran. She still feels the curves with her fingers, still basks in the paint, and again and again looks at its pedigree. Passers by pity and ridicule her by turn. Bedraggled, homeless, coaxed into the sun, her burnt out visage still stares at the empty shell that ensures that the car was never meant to run.

Dont ever show you care

There is this you know how
if I could go back in time and wipe my life clean
I would
Just so I dont carry any baggage with you

But I am old and worn and sad and lost
the promise of a dream almost fulfilled and lost

If I could round out the edges that experience has honed
I would
Just so they dont dig into you when you hold me tight

But I have been around the park and on the bend
too many cracks and wounds that cant be mend

If I could look in the mirror and not see your face
I would
So I would not need to walk with my eyes closed

But I have seen more than I care to know
for i am just too much a reflection of you

If I could erase that night in the ruin
I would
So I would not want to close in on my reality and go to sleep within

But I have the memory of your touch and smell of the dust
And the smoke from your lips on mine has formed a crust

If it has to be this way dont ask me anymore how I am
My broken thoughts and pathetic rends
Wandering alone in soulless dens
reaching for your hand not finding it there
Running hard, not looking back, staring ruin, burning the brain

Just never ask me anymore how I am

You will never Know

I hope you dont see this today
for tomorrow it will only be a heap of fetid ashes
dampened by the rain
trod upon by stray dogs
lying in the corner of the street swept up by the garbage van

Lucky to be spared the details of how I came to this
Not hearing the last jumbled thoughts breathing their last,
Not see the slow crawl of the rot spread through my inert limbs

You will never see the dogs chewing out the remaining bones,
the plume of smoke rising from the heap
the morning birds feasting on the ants swarming on my remaining dregs

Be spared the agony
Of the searing heat of pain
That will still emanate from the remains

For tomorrow it will still only be a day
like any other in your life
after having cast me out into the night
Tomorrow you will still awake believing that you were right

THE THORN BIRD

There is a legend about a bird which sings just once in its life, more sweetly than any other creature on the face of the earth. From the moment it leaves the nest it searches for a thorn tree, and does not rest until it has found one. Then, singing among the savage branches, it impales itself upon the longest, sharpest spine. And, dying, it rises above its own agony to out-carol the lark and the nightingale. One superlative song, existence the price. But the whole world stills to listen, and God in His heaven smiles. For the best is only bought at the cost of great pain.... Or so says the legend.

Colleen McCullough

No other way...

Dear Heart,

Why did you choose this way? If you wanted to end it with me I would not have clung on. Why did you have to do it this way?

All I wanted, was to know how I hurt you the first time, so I do not commit the same mistake this time. I wanted to grasp what made us part in the first place so I could stop it from happening once again.

If justice is to be had by all why not by me? I mistrusted you and you were mad at me. When you did the same, did I not even merit an apology?

Your facts, so lethal, so final, never once did you question your conclusion. Never once did you give me a chance to defend myself. A sentence passed without a trial. Tied to a post and pelted with scorn, I cant even run and hide away from it all.

You dear heart were so precious to me, why did you choose this way to end it with me?

Torn shreds, Broken threads

When I spoke with you, I got the distinct sensation you were far away.
Our speeches lapsing into banality
Stench of dead thoughts assailing my breath
But I tried to revive our earlier clarity

I shouldered the conversation till I could find nothing else to say
the mockery of the past, in every moment of the present
unclean and dishonest,
I wish I had known that all feelings were now absent

I tried to invoke the magic of yesterday
electric intense passion fusing merging together
finding each other in shared sparks of ecstacy
All to no avail and insipid rather

I hung up on you, but the misery continued to stay
The dart of distrust had found its mark
slowly spreading its poison
and terror throughout the dark

I told you I loved you and you had nothing to say
I felt unclean, mucky and sorrow furrowed my brow
I sat in a hush, not knowing how to react
I wish I had known then what I know now.

Bleached Bones, Tired Thoughts

I am distorted from reality right now
Questioning
Take it forward or take a bow?

What we have
What we had
Are they just the bleached bones of a passion, now?

Words so throbbing with pain,
Thoughts so poignant
The wounds open, raw, infected
Can we turn them around, now?

Right now that you have me
Is it all that you dreamed it would be?

Right now; Right now;
When the fiber of your skin is so real
The feel of your lips is so near
The ridges on your nose so clear

Now, what is it that I fear?

Pauline

Pauline turned 35 today. Her family (mom, dad, husband, 2 kids, 1 golden retriever) did the duitiful cake, the practical present and a lot of whooping. Her co workers, ate the HR sponsored cake and gave her the HR sponsored present. her friends took her out shopping, slinky electric blue dress, drinks at the new lounge, dance at the underground club. Her lover came over and did some extra special tricks in bed as a present ( he mooches off her, does not give her stuff).


Sexy, replete, sated. Thats our Pauline.

She stays awake at night, prescribed pill does not work. Wondering if it is time to phase out the lover, hasnt had sex with the husband for so long he might suspect something. Maybe, start working towards the ambitious business plan she submitted the other day. Hmmm kids, what have they been upto lately. She just could not sleep. Yeah, definitely buy that new wine cooler the neighbours had.
Had been going on for a long time now. Insomnia, sleep deprivation, looking haggard and pale. Loss of appetite. She decided to go for a medical check up finally.

It was cancer, terminal stage, somewhere in the lung. Chemo will help for some time, but not long.

Change facebook profile, post pictures of bald head, chemo room. Outpouring of emotion. Offers of support. Tears, promises, drama, bathos.

She is sleeping. Soundly. She finally has something to live for.

On the Importance of Being Earnest:)

You know how this is
I could say and I would
Follow you till the ends of the earth
I will say you are what keeps this breath going in my body
blood flowing in my veins
Corrollary, you keep me alive.
I say all this and more

If I cast my eyes around and find you walking few steps behind me
I say all this and more

You are shrouded in a mist, up straight ahead its clear and crisp
I am the limit of my senses
and I want to live
Up ahead, is crisp and clear and thats where I will be
I say all this and more
to whoever then I can see

( apologies to Oscar wilde, Pablo neruda , everybody else)

I Tried....

...to get through to you


and make you see how much I care for you.
you choose however to wallow
a path I cannot follow

I was taught
long ago
to count the joys; and
to let go

the ball was in your court
so I cant play
adieu, my heart
this misery I cannot keep at bay

adieu my heart, adieu my muse;
I pray we meet at phillipi

Denouement

It’s early in the morning, another September the 11th. A date that has acquired immeasurable significance in my life. Exactly 8 years ago right about now (9am Eastern Time) my office building, the north tower, was the first to be struck by the hijackers, how I survived is a tale I am not ready to recount yet. And exactly, one year ago on 9/11/2008, I was struck by another bomb, the biggest one day drop in the share price of my company Lehman Brothers. A company where I had spent 13 years, its demise was now looming large over the horizon. Jurassic Park could happen!


Feverish meetings, as a part of the CEO’s office it was my job to figure out a merger, credit lines, government bailout, anything. Fuld exhorting us to churn out reports day and night to show ourselves in a better light than what was being reflected at present. Creditors at the door asking for assurances and those were beyond us to give now. Best case scenario govt. bailout, worst case: Barclays underwrites our debt and takes us over. Nobody thought that the worse case scenario would come into play, Paulson cant/wont let it happen.

Paulson is flying down tomorrow for a meeting with a group of banks culled from the disaster already hitting the street. He took over Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac two days ago; surely that’s a positive sign? C’mon we are Lehman, the mucho macho of them all, sure we made some mistakes but then, so did everybody else, watch out for a domino effect if you let us become a British bank. Execs going around with determined strides, with looks of pure concentration on their faces. We can do this people, we are the best of the best, we went to the best B-schools, we created the street for chrissakes, and we are going to lick this yet. I can picture the Nazi generals doing pretty much the same just before the Russians entered Berlin.

Another 9/11, hearts fluttering with fear, dread and wild hope. Just like the one 8 years ago, this one was a uniquely New York phenomenon. All over Manhattan, in lounges, bars, high priced restaurants, people speculated over daiquiris and martinis. Nobody wanted us to go down. Nobody took any perverse pleasure in seeing the Lehman execs still at work trying to work out a solution. There was overwhelming surge of sympathy all around, classmates, former colleagues, even friends who had recently lost their jobs over at Bear Sterns calling, reassuring, its going to work out just you wait and see.

Its late evening we are all still at work (contrary to reports in the media that the top brass was out for drinks). We don’t have much to do really, everything depends on the Paulson meeting tomorrow and Barclay’s response which was delayed in coming. But nobody wanted to leave, holding onto our offices in the grand building, fearing that it may all disappear overnight if we went home.

Then my phone rings, its my liaison over at Barclays, I have been in a deep relationship with this man over the past few months, he and I have spent more time together than we have with our respective partners. Wading through numbers, discussing compromises, financial scenarios, redundancies. It starts off badly and just gets worse.

Barclays needed the help of the UK Chancellor of the Exchequer, Alistair Darling. They need a waiver from British regulators of a rule requiring shareholder approval for the takeover. Alistair Darling would not give the necessary waiver. He said something to the effect that he did not want to infect Britain with America's cancer. The same man who ironically on 9/11 in 2007 had allowed Northern Rock(UK’s 5th largest mortgage lender) to go down. Why would he be concerned about Lehman?

I held onto the phone a long time after he disconnected. I had to call a meeting of the strategy group, had to brief the Fuld first. How was I going to explain that our fall back option, our plan B was no longer available. Suddenly I was filled with a wild sensation; ofcourse plan B failed, we are not going to need it. We won’t be sold off, the Lehman brand will remain intact. I quickly fire off a PowerPoint on why I think that’s going to happen.

As I am heading out the door the phone rings again, it’s my boyfriend. He works at the IMF, has been as worried about the current crises as I. Hi sweetie, no everything is fine, yes I am in a good mood, I think everything is going to work out. Don’t know when I will be home. Bye, love ya too.

Fuld’s office, I break it to him. He looks at me with his trademark expression, you fucked it up, it says. At that moment he doesn’t even have the energy to rant. The rest of the top brass files in and worried distraught faces take on a look of wild desperation. I explain the reason for my optimism; everybody gets caught up in it. They had to believe, had to cling to whatever hope was in the air. We order pizza and beer.

Late night 9/11, I walk the short distance to my apartment looking around at the only city in the world I call home, look around with pride, after all it’s my ilk that created what it is today. I get home, boyfriend is asleep but wakes up to envelop me in his trademark warm cocoon of a hug. I feel happy and secure

Next day, meeting started at the Fed, buoyant mood in the Lehman office, and then the reports start trickling in. Paulson “No government bailouts would be offered to Wall Street.” He is hoping that a consortium of banks will step forward to save us from bankruptcy. Other whispers “Lehman not considered ‘too big’ to fail.” And then “its Paulson’s cronies over at Goldman, they are behind this” Finally, Paulson felt such a buyout "would create a terrible precedent."

"Which other firms would take that as a cue to ask for U.S. government help -- and from what other industries? Detroit auto makers were already knocking at the door." Timothy Geithner “Exhorting the other banks on the street to come forward” Nothing.

Over at the office a deathly calm. Nobody making eye contact, on the fourth floor traders counting down the time. Last minute lobbying, but we all knew it was fruitless.

A year later and questions are being asked. Naked short selling, rumor mongering, Fed caught flat footed. All terms being bandied about. For those of us who were at the death bed, seeing the giant collapse, it was the same feeling that we had when we saw the towers collapsing on that fateful morning. After all, the towers were America, supreme, absolute, inviolable! Just as the towers stood as a symbol of the free world, so did Lehman stand as the stone with which that world was paved? Free market forces that we lobbied for all over the world had finally been our waterloo. Had fate chosen this cruel allegory to make a point? What point?

Then, crouching in an alley holding a wet cloth to my face I had watched with a sense of disbelieving awe, bile rising in my throat, chest feeling as if it would burst out. Thinking, no way any of this is true; it’s just some weird time space discontinuity that will get corrected tomorrow. This time sitting high up in my fancy office with a view, I felt the same, stifled, yearning for tears and not finding any.



The telegram says you have gone away
And left our bankrupt circus on its own;
There is nothing more for me to say.

The maestro gives the singing birds their pay
And they buy tickets for the tropic zone;
The telegram says you have gone away.

The clever wooly dogs have had their day
They shoot the dice for one remaining bone;
There is nothing more for me to say.

The lion and the tigers turn to clay
And Jumbo sadly trumpets into stone;
The telegram says you have gone away.

The morbid cobra's wits have run astray;
He rents his poisons out by telegram;
There is nothing more for me to say.

The colored tents all topple in the bay;
The magic sawdust writes: address unknown.
The telegram says you have gone away;
There is nothing more for me to say.

-Slyvia Plath

Overture

Twilight, New York, H&H Bagels. Me, seeing into the double espresso, looking at nothing.

Him: Excuse me, is this seat taken?
Me (without looking up): Yes
Him: Mind if I join you?
Me (still not looking): Yes
Him: Oh well, in that case I will have to sleep with someone else tonight.

Head snapped up, “Hey fancy meeting you here, I thought you were up at Berkley.”

He said he was in NYC just for the night. He was/is a moderately famous author of two wildly famous books. In a country starved of intellectual role models, he was/is the perfect peg to hang your opinions on. Young, fresh scrubbed, almost too wholesome a look to him. Had met him at a party once and been on email off and on.

The way he was looking at me right now, I could read the glint, troubled woman; maybe, I will get a story, at the very least an idea for the blog.

The usual chit chat, where have you been; you never answered my email; how come you don’t take any calls; just been busy. Read anything lately; no. Silence. Stir sugar, which he didn’t add.

Him: Heard the story about the woman who lacked perspective?
Me: Whose perspective?
Him: You were always a tad too smart with the rejoinders, weren’t you?
Me: Um-hmm
Him: Anyway, that’s the stuff I am researching right now.
Me: Sounds boring

He said, it was terribly interesting how the modern woman with her obvious intelligence, spirit and accomplishments, still allows one rejection to undermine her entire confidence.
I thought that was overstating it a bit. Just because we let our emotions show doesn’t mean we are stripped off self respect.
He said it wasn’t about emotions; it was about how perception of self changed if a man didn’t do as he was expected to do or feel as he was supposed to feel. I think, you are pompous and presumptuous, that’s what!

Silence, again.

That speculative look and then: You look more beautiful tonight than I remembered you to be. You mean with my pasty, flu ravaged skin, sagging flabby body and oily ,disheveled hairdo? He glowed then, under the sharpness of the retort. Almost like a bright light seared his face to a hot red and then “you mean you don’t consider that beautiful?” The involuntary shared laughter. Relaxation almost imperceptible; achieved.

One step at a time he draws close. This writer of a fancy bordello book that I regretted ever wasting time/money on. He is getting near, almost inside my head. How can a guy preoccupied with writing about the exploits of wannabe page 3 types, be interested in the mundane inner workings of an all too common mind. Yet, here he was sidling up to me, looking hopefully at my face, waiting to be fed. Chance to play god for a day, mess my head!

Him: I know I am a sellout, I told a story that didn’t really need to be told. I talked about things which did not really move me. I wrote about people I could never comprehend or be interested in even. I camouflaged the lives of uninteresting people in pop psychology, tacked a moral at the end and whored myself. I know, I know! You can never respect me. My books will always come between us. How I hawked my gift for financial gain for fame and recognition. I know!
You will always hold it against me that I had the gift of being able to think so much more, broaden the contours of thought as it were and yet put down only what the audience could take. You won’t forgive me the hubris that made me deform, modify and ultimately nullify the original spark so I could see my name in print. You see me as a purveyor of packaged sensibilities, pandering to the hordes. The median denominator.

Me: um-hmmm

The maws of pain on his face; open, raw, throbbing. Can this be? Is he really in torment? His voice full of self loathing. Is he really so conflicted? So in touch with the darkness within him. Is he? Or is this a kind of hubris to widen the circle, take in the other denominator now. Me?

No way! He is way too smug, way too sure of himself and the mesmerizing power of his handsome face, the almost studied humility that could fool anyone. He is only looking for a story, maybe some inspiration; he told me long ago that words had dried up inside of him, he no longer felt the need to communicate. Yet, here he was opening himself out, on the off chance that I would take the invitation and in turn allow him to delve into the layers I so successfully camouflaged under so many labels. Finance shark, soccer jock, clubbing gal. Nah no way!
I turn to him; practiced smile, great running into you, hope to see you again soon, look forward to your next book, blah! He hands me my jacket and then falls into step next to me. Second Ave, I turn onto the 80th, he walking beside me as if oblivious to the fact that I am there. Trudging, hands in pockets, counting the pavers on the sidewalk. Wow, never knew the street was so long. Ah, Lex at last, my office in sight, should I dash in, or keep walking home. Try and lose him; just pretend he isn’t there. Two can play that game.

Just look at him, walking as if the crowd doesn’t exist, the Sunday evening strollers, mostly people like me looking for comfort in a crowd, alone at home, thoughts like sharp sphincters. Incisive, honed, they never miss. Escape to the streets, the billboards, the ethnic food, the tourist throngs. Avoid solitude at all cost. Here he is, oblivious to them and especially to me! Glancing around, his gaze passes me by.

And finally, the Park, I have to turn, to home. He is walking on.

Me (pointing at my building): Sid, this is me, would you like to come up?

Him: Um-hmmm

On Solitude

My loneliness, what makes me really lonely,

Is that I can't feel by my side a single will to halt this drift to ruin,
To get to the root of loneliness, to join the rest of the world.
That's all.

We are all Modern Day Ophelias in our own way....

Dressed in a white nightgown flowers strewn in her hair: vulnerable, poetic, beautiful and passionate. My name is Ophelia, lush, ripe, fecund and whole. Oozing sensuality, igniting your wildest dreams, beyond your imagination. You are possessed, captivated, cant get enough of her. Every fantasy you ever imagined but tucked away as too wayward, every desire you had but left unarticulated it all seems to be just a touch away. If only you could reach out. She is a vision, delineated yet smudged on the edges.


Isn’t this the type of woman most men are attracted to? The madness and uninhibited passion removed from worldly experience, given up to the most sensual pleasures of the senses and indulging the mind. A woman who reflects back at you exactly what you want. Worships you, adores you makes you feel like a MAN.

Madness however is never far from Ophelia. She worships, only because she expects to be worshipped in return. She lavishes her attention on you because in turn she gets yours. Stewed in her own thoughts, reality is a rude shock. She lives in a cloud floating above the mortal ground. How many fancies can there be, how many flights?

Because the madness is only a refuge that men take from their logical lives. Surrender themselves to magic only to withdraw from it once the sylph asks too many questions. To go back to your lives, touched and bemused not knowing what came over you. To sanity, home hearth and goodness.

Ophelia, poor Ophelia, driven insane by yet another dream that he walked with her only to abruptly leave. Fuelled every desire, answered every wish and then woke up. She is left to her melancholy, the blinding pain and the yawning emptiness.

Delete, Stamp, Destroy

Delete the number, delete the million texts, delete delete delete! Stamp out his existence from my life.
How many times?
Wonder why I ever put myself through this?

One week that’s all it was! Am I really that fragile?

Fragile was the attraction. The thoughts expressed. The compliments. All lost in that one awkward moment. That moment in which fumbling, a fear expressed. Maybe, could have done it better or maybe could have lived with the fear.

Maybe, if it wasn’t this it would have been something else. Equally fleeting, equally meaningless but just as powerful. Wrecking hopes wishes and desires that had been fuelled in a mutual ecstasy of feeling someone so close.

Another sickness to be cured. Antibiotics for the mind. The cure provided the sickness himself.

Nights of woe, self doubt, perishing agony, hmmm why did I ever think I was rid of you? Words we bandied passion, attraction, connection. Tell me how in one fumbling moment i negated them all. How?