Big Banger with his poems and other art forms

The Big Banger

An aimless evening stroll. In my head, I am a man on his first day out of prison after serving twenty years of sentence (falsely accused, to add to the drama). Not a very original or deep idea, more of a boyish fantasy. The boy sees a girl. She’s pretending to read a message from her mobile as she approaches the tragically wronged man. Eyes meet and look away, wondering just for a moment.

As she passes by, I can’t help pondering that all the atoms that make up her hair and that constitute my hands, all the atoms of the lace touching her body and of the leather of my belt, of her lips and of my boots, all those atoms which have vibrated when she had said her words or cried her sorrows and all those atoms which I have breathed in and breathed out, all of these damned atoms were once confined within a cubic inch of space in heat where they mingled and frolicked in the mother of all orgies that eventually gave birth to this world with a big bang.

She takes a turn and goes out of sight. I don’t feel the need to pursue her. My mind has pierced her beyond the level of intimacy possible in today’s Universe. I look around for the next conquest. My eyes fall on an auto-driver taking a leak.

__________________________________________________________________

PS: Creative liberty has been taken with regard to the size of Universe at the time of Big Bang

__________________________________________________________________

A Trespasser-Alert To Aliens, Put In Order To Mislead Them About Our Norms And Preferences

Do not shoot a pigeon

It’s banned in this region.

You may kill a duck

No one gives a fuck.

__________________________________________________________________

A Love Song

I got no mistress

That’s causing distress.

Would you be my lily

And I’ll be your silly.

__________________________________________________________________

Gardening

To all those who went “oooh” when I mentioned about my terrace garden, here’s a confession:

My Jazz Album

In a bid to up the cool-quotient I’ve taken to jazz these days. Have come to realize that jazz is an interest that will need a bit more cultivation. Listening to the numbers on “Smooth Jazz” on 91.9 FM, I couldn’t help wondering, sometimes, at the connection between the title and the music, especially when there are no words in the song. Of course when there are words, it’s straightforward and apparently I am yet to go beyond the straightforwardness in jazz.

I acknowledge that I have a lot to learn and understand. However, the possibility of naming such songs whimsically led me to create a jazz album of my own. I’ve tried to keep up with the contemporary themes and hence you’ll sense an inclination towards the matters of heart. Following are the songs with brief introductions:

1. Your Imperfect Teeth: Tune for a lad in love who finds his object of desire to be perfect, almost though.

2. Did You Sneeze On My Hanky : Let’s face it; we breathe in a devious world. No one, I repeat, no one, can be trusted; especially with your handkerchiefs.

3. One And Two And One And Jump : The song lacks universal appeal. It’s an expression against the guys who go to aerobics class near the park I go for my weekly jog. Douche bags.

4. Promise You Won’t Chew My Red Rose Again: A haunting melody of repeated attempts at unrequited love. Set to be a critics' favorite.

5. There Is No Fork Either: Melancholic psychedelic rhythm set to bring nerds closer to jazz and putting fear of God in ill mannered butlers.

6. Petty Coats: A rendition that forces the listener to contemplate the lack of fashion scene in the downtrodden blocks of the society.

7. Don’t You Marry That Monkey, My Baby : A misleading title, granted. This is not a song for the jealous or disowned. Au contraire, it’s about a discerning father trying to put sense in the smitten daughter’s head.

8. Wash Wash Wash : The only song with lyrics in it. It goes “Wash Wash ,Wash Wash Wash,..” in a feeble feminine voice that seems to be fading away, but never does so . Partial inspired by Macbeth, this song is expected to be popular in a niche audience, the over qualified housewives.

9. The Man With Concrete Ambitions : A dedication to the solid men of the society, the men with square heads on squarer shoulders. Let me tell you this: Jazz is all about improvisation. But this tune is tailored to leave no scope for hocus-pocus.

10. Your Almost Always Covered Body Parts: One can sense the perversion with a concern for hygiene and regular toilet habits in the title. The tune is bound to be popular in bands that play in baraats.

11. Ain’t Got No Damn To Give No More: A pinch of blithe and rebel in the beats. Targeted towards teenagers and middle aged men alike. Acid-Jazz at its best.

12. Hazards Of Broken Heart: A sad soft song. Guaranteed to leave a lump in a few throats by the time saxophone kicks in. The tritest of the lot, but done with elegance.

13. Nibbling The Sibling: The piece that pushes the album from the clutches of ordinary to the realms of grandeur. Limits of jazz are flirted in this surrealistic rigmarole of incest, gore and cannibalism.

The Restaurant

I picked up the menu card. The first page said ‘For Gents’. A bit odd, but you never know with these upscale restaurants.

“Can I have My Youth Back?”

“A bit late for it, sir. We don’t serve it after 5 PM.”

“How about My Fair Lady?”

“Out of stock, sir. We don’t compromise on quality and all the good ones are taken.”

“Can I have It All?”

“I am afraid, you flipped over to ‘For Ladies’ page, sir.”

“Oh right. Well, I’ll have two of What He Is Having."

“We can’t serve two of that, sir; defeats the purpose.”

“To hell with this menu. Why don’t you being me any salad and we just get over with it.”

“The Food-section is upstairs, sir.”

“And what section is this?”

“Silly Desires”

“But why do you list the items as dishes?”

“Sir, it’s a clever signifier for wishes.”

“I wish I had never come here.”

“Sir, before you leave, here is something for you. It’s the most recommended dessert from our menu.”

“What is it called?”

“Sir, Be Careful What You Wish For”

The Usual

So this guy walks into this pub. With swagger and all.

Looks around. Three chicks drinking. None good enough for him.

Goes straight to the bar.

“The usual.” He says checking his watch. It’s 4:58 PM.

Bartender gives him the glass with a nod of bitter familiarity.

He empties the glass in a single gulp and walks out. No payment needed.

Checks the watch again. Has the smile of a conquerer.

5PM is always the right time to have your fifth glass of water.