The Frame

Life in a hole of hollow expectancy

Shelved in a child’s fantasy

“Up you go,” says the man

Of creamy, slimy, pompous clan

Looking forward to a day

Of heartless, broken, muddy clay

Sounds abound I hear

But upon my return they fade

If only I knew

Never would they smite ‘The Frame’

“What you say?” “What you mean?”

Questions a many, indulgence none

‘The Frame’ vanished in a cult of clerical clowns

Remnants smudged on their gory frowns

Beauty mystified in its purity

Vandalised by their countless obscurities

Feelings procured in a glorious harmonic sound

Just another jewel in their crown


‘Wayward Lament’


Nothing prepares you for truth’s lasting abuse…
All the lies through reasons meet to create an excuse,
For being led on while you give yourself to someone else,
Now it’s gone and all you are left with is yourself.

Closing all paths to chasten the lies,
Thread the lore and spin my grief
Drive to end with my consent…
But did your lies set us free?

I knew the time and place you turned,
Your eyes grew sore your loins burned,
To seal your thought with every reason,
And justify a sacred treason.

Though my faith and trust grew dull
You never felt the need to say;
“I trust in you I am your soul,
So live in mine till life will hold”.

Instead for months you cut a maze,
And at its mouth you forged a way,
I found the secret to my pain with what you put inside,

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Act 2: The case of three cans, a rotund Vizier and an era within an age within a universe

Scene 3

The sombre mood in the room was marked by silent observation. Sidharth had immersed himself in the finer points of the case; reading the hastily drafted case file. The keenest minds in the kingdom’s police had worked tirelessly for two days and three nights to uncover all the missing links of this most perturbing case. Despite their efforts, they hadn’t made any headway into finding poor Batindra’s missing handkerchief.

“You understand why we called you here,” the Grand Vizier addressed Sidharth. But his eyes were riveted on the file containing statements taken from the staff at the Viceroy’s palace. Seeing his friend’s terrible sense of societal courtesy, Raafae decided to jump in.

“Please forgive my friend’s terrible manners, Your Excellency. He obviously missed the lesson on social etiquette.”

Sidharth, completely oblivious to the conversation taking place within a metre of him, shouted with excitement – abrupt as ever.

“The chamber maid.”

Stupefied, all eyes stared in his direction.

“Her statement’s missing from this file,” continued Sidharth.

The Grand Vizier stomped on the floor; his cheeks blown with anger. “Such incompetence. How did the police miss the chamber maid?”

Raafae intervened. “It’s alright, Your Excellency. We are here to control the situation. I assure you, we will find the perpetrator.”

The Grand Vizier nodded his head; his eyebrows furrowed and lips as stiff as his starched kurta.

“I’ll leave you gentlemen to it,” said the Grand Vizier. “Once you’re done here, Bansi will accompany you to the Viceroy’s palace.”

“Papa,” a voice came from the edge of the entrance to the mehmaan khana*. Sebastian’s eyes twirled with excitement as he heard the serenading voice.

“Come in, my dear,” said the Grand Vizier. Sebastian’s sight was set firmly on the young woman walking elegantly and with utmost care towards them.

She wore a pink dance dress; its fall just above her ankles. The borders were laced at the bust. An enchanting silk scarf caressed her soft neck as she moved.

“These are the three sleuths you were eager to see,” the Grand Vizier addressed his daughter.

“Buds blossom on spring’s arrival, my lady.”

Sebastian held the young woman’s gloved hand and kneeled to kiss it.

“My daughter – Mahjabeen Cornwallis,” said the Grand Vizier.

“The name matches the effervescence of your grace, my lady,” said Sebastian. His eyes gauged Mahjabeen’s blushing cheeks. He wanted to immerse himself in the comfort of her soft skin that glinted under the sunlight, passing through the gilded bay window.

“The time’s here,” shouted Sidharth; his abruptness unapt and inept as ever.

“Time for what,” replied Raafae.

Sidharth’s eyes widened and a pursed smile appeared across his face.

“It’s time to travel.”

*Drawing Room

This post is purely for the Blogging 101 class


To whom I am the unknown and the unfamiliar, I shall keep it like that. Instead, I would like to introduce my friend and my muse – the progenitor of the blog Babar’s Musings.

Meet Babar – the musing gnarl. This gnarl is no ordinary gnarl. He has the ability to transform thoughts into words and write them down on a piece of paper (or type more accurately). He is a cultured gnarl. He refrains from devouring human skin or gulping a pint of fresh blood acquired from human tap. Some call him a courteous stiff. Others call him Kermit the hermit in jest.

He can be silly at times but you may also find him brewing philosophical barley in the back garden of his thoughts. He is fiendishly hilarious and monstrously serious. He loves his other gnarl friends but hates their company. He finds the prospect of verbal exchange tiring but finds it hard to put on the brakes when he starts talking. He can be your best friend and worst enemy at the same time. He is the epitome of conflicting ideals, stemming from his ebbing and flowing sense of self-worth.

Babar – the musing gnarl – likes one cube of sugar in his tea, well stirred. He seldom takes strolls down the local park to avoid reproach from public. He loves the quintessentially British game of bat and ball; the purveyor of moral character. He adores all things sweet, ranging from chocolate to Dedenne.

He will try to make you laugh. He will try to make you cry. He will try to entertain you. But if he annoys you on occasion, please make an attempt to forgive him. After all….he is merely a musing gnarl 😉


Follow three idiotic geniuses on their quest through quirky parallel worlds and lop-sided alternate realities

Twisted Caricature: Ba-Si-Ra

Three main characters journey through the land of the unknown; two willingly, one forced. Meet our heroes who twist and turn the tides of time and reality in search of (no, not truth!) crippling adventure and gut-busting punch lines.

Sidharth: A budding particle physicist, his incredible invention opens a portal to new realities. A reserved and non-engaging person, he is known for a qualified non-existent sense of humour. Part of the brain-drain generation of India, he migrated to England with the noble intention of conquering the scientific world.

Sebastian: A practitioner of vernacular pomposity, he is obsessed with the great Romantic poets of the late eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. A hopeless romantic, he has a regular habit of falling in and out of love, fuelled by the Shakespearean desire of being in love with the idea of being in love.

Raafae: An archaeologist in training, Raafae is the string that ties the other two to the outside world. As a child, a visit to the history museum in Lahore, Pakistan, changed his life forever. A history buff, his thirst for learning brought him to Cambridge and in eventual contact with his two eccentric friends.

Act 1: Three Main Characters

The dim lighting in the living room mirrored the vacant chasms of Sebastian’s mind. He was bored. Toying with a set of colourful marble balls he had collected from his last visit to India, he was incongruously mixing his wails of tedium with the knocking sound made by the balls.

“Stop it,” whispered Raafae in a cringing tone. His hand was over his lifeline; the Holy Grail of digital communication – his cherished mobile phone. “Can’t you see I am trying to have a conversation here?”

“You are having sweet talks over the ring machine,” replied Sebastian, “while my heart sinks in the depths of an empty well of sorrow and destitute.”

“Stop your rumblings of an antiquated lover,” cried Raafae. “Your penchant for the dramatics is sickening.”

“What do you know about the soul of an artist – his suffering, his pain?”

“The self-proclaimed artist speaks again.” Raafae arched his eyebrows and let out a sardonic sigh. “I think I’ll have to call you later,” he said to his girlfriend and placed the mobile on the palm wood coffee table lying adjacent to the grey crumpet sofa he was lounging on.

“I didn’t mean to be a drawbridge between lovers,” proclaimed Sebastian.

“I am not her lover,” replied Raafae dismissively. “I am her plaything.” He pictured himself cuffed to his girlfriend’s wrought iron bed-stand blindfolded as she spread her legs across his chest.

“Ah! The digital age’s disdain of love,” sighed Sebastian. “Where’ve gone the days of old; when birds twittered the songs of summer’s arrival in harmony; the days of Shelley, Keats and Byron.”

“These days, birds tweet on a webpage in one hundred and forty characters,” chuckled Raafae.

“Laugh, my cruel friend, while I paint my words on the canvas of life. Undeterred, I shall plod on and conquer all.”

Before Raafae could get a chance to come up with a cheeky reply, the entrance door flashed open. Sidharth stood with his hand firmly placed on the door, his large dark brown eyes almost bulging out of their sockets.

“I have done it,” exclaimed Sidharth, his eyes deranged like a madman’s.

Raafae looked at his friend with comical irreverence. “What have you done now?”

Sidharth fished out a small metallic cube from his trouser pocket and held it in the air between his thumb and index finger. There was a momentary silence. His friends were waiting eagerly for him to speak. With his eyes firmly planted on the cube, he finally spoke.

“This cube has six sides.”

Raafae stared at him with candid stupor. He reclaimed his bearings after a second and rose from the comfort of the soft sofa cushion.

“Thanks for enlightening us ‘O Genius One’.” Raafae bowed with his hand neatly placed against his stomach. “Your esteemed observation will forever be etched in our memories.”

Fully immersed in his own world, Sidharth continued as if he hadn’t heard Raafae at all. “In this cube lies the mystery of the universe. It produces gateways to other worlds – worlds yet to be discovered; to be explored.”

Raafae pursed his lips and shook his head. In the company of his eccentric friends, he was a beacon of normality, bridging the vague with the real. He cleared his throat, mocking his friend’s deluded exposition and said, “Sid. Now you’ve officially lost the plot.”

Sebastian raced to his friend’s aid, excited by the mystery of his words. “You have piqued my curiosity with your fine words. Tell me…tell me all about it.”

“Stop indulging him Bassy,” interrupted Raafae.

“Stop,” said Sebastian with animation. “Is that your word of the day?”

Raafae sneered at Sebastian’s remark and moved in the kitchen’s direction. “I don’t have time for this. I’m going to fetch myself something to eat.”

Sebastian turned his attention back to Sidharth. “Ignore this enemy of the creative. You were saying?”

“I have torn the fabric of reality,” said Sidharth, as abruptly as ever. “Do you want to see it?”

Sebastian rubbed his chin as he gazed at the metallic cube. “I would very much like it my dear Sid.”

“Brace yourselves for a rough ride,” replied Sid.

Raafae popped out of the kitchen, munching on a chicken and bacon sandwich. “Brace ourselves for what?”

“Ba-Si-Ra,” muttered Sid. The cube dropped on the floor from Sidharth’s hand by itself. It kept rolling. All eyes were transfixed on its shaking numbered sides, waiting for the cube to reveal the number. It kept rolling and rolling beyond the normal frequency of turns of a normal dice. And then, without any visible sign of deceleration, it stopped.

Number three.

“Let’s see where it takes us,” exclaimed Sidharth.

A stream of light emanated from the top of the tiny cube. It began to expand, forming an arc in the air on both sides. The space above the cube began to deform, creating ripples visible to the naked eye.

Horrified at the sight of this amorphous space killer, Raafae’s heels seemed to move on their own accord. “What the fuck is this?”

The sandwich dropped from his hand. Instead of hitting the floor, it stopped midway and swirled in the direction of this rising wormhole.

“See you on the other side,” announced Sidharth and his body disintegrated into the portal. Sebastian looked at Raafae’s horrified face and passed a goofy smile at him before disappearing into the wormhole behind Sidharth.

Terrified, Raafae tried to turn from the wormhole’s pull, but its massive weight attracted his human mass in its direction. His shriek remained buried in his dismantled throat, as shreds of his atomic existence descended into the portal.

“Stop,” shouted his consciousness as it saw chunks of its physical abode travel faster than the speed of light.

Autumnal Majesty

Pry upon their death wish

My esteemed insolence

Destruction of their bloodlines

Smoothness of my majesty

Wave upon wave of dimensional insanity

Creature of a booming humanity

Runs around the autumn tree

Whistling his life time away

Come upon spring’s misery

Where they call all day long

But the answer remains the same

Don’t come near us again

Rising from the grave

Is the angel of dismay

Neither to cry nor to slay

But to feed on the laughter of insects

Solemn Bay

Salutations, my dear friend

Your ride is here

Sail to the shores afar; in flight

Surrender to your senses, my fallen mate

I cried your name on that day of mourning

But malady grabbed you at solemn bay

The lines on your hand scattered in tandem

Your fate weaved a spider’s web

Now I stand at the altar of morning’s light

To see you fly; cut through the sky

Where I hope to see you again; so soon

My dear friend; you departed too soon

Just a Dogmatic Fib

Life has no origin

History classifies it

The painter holding a brush

Not knowing what to paint next

If only the human mind understood

The relative structure of life

Alas! It’s known only

To the brush of the painter itself

Withhold the lies of the preacher

Withhold the lies of the intellectual

Withhold the lies of the initiated

Till ‘the lie’ becomes a manufactured feeling

Efficiency is a creature of misfortune

Whether it be fascism, communism or capitalism

Simply gather the references

Just go to school kids

Withhold the lies of of the banker

Withhold the lies of the salesman

Withhold the lies of the politician

Until ‘the lie’ becomes a manufactured feeling

The lie…the lie…the lie…the lie

Someone please tell ‘the lie’

Not to become my bitch

Just go and fuck itself


Act 2: The case of three cans, a rotund Vizier and an era within an age within a universe

Scene 2

Three idiotic geniuses stood at the altar of magnificence – the great mehmaan khana* of the Grand Vizier’s palace. The roof was high enough to fall and die from. Exquisitely carved vaulted arches stared down from the top. Male and female statuettes, copulating in the Ananga Ranga position, were sculpted on the arrises where the vaults met.

Raafae was lost in admiration of the skilled craftsmanship that graced his eyes. Sidharth was lost in his own thoughts of…well…what scientists think. And Sebastian; his nose was breathing in the aroma of the red rose he brought in case of a meeting with the Viceroy’s daughter – the devastated Batindra Joseph.

“Attention! Attention!”

Their heads moved in tandem in the direction of the voice. The palace’s messenger boy was standing by the gate-like door, wearing a blue ribbon across his neck. He held a small chrome bell in his hand, jingling it from side to side.

“The great mercurial one; the omniscient light of the kingdom; the bearer of serendipitous tidings; the nation’s barrel-chested pride…”

“Just cut to the chase,” interrupted the Grand Vizier.

“The Grand Vizier of the United Kingdom of Indrastan, Abdul Jalab Montgomery Bahadur Douglas Cornwallis are** blessing your ignoble existence with their** presence.”

Unamused, the Grand Vizier passed a discerning glance at the witless herald. “How many times have I told you Bansi, just Abdul Cornwallis. Do you hear? Abdul Cornwallis.”

“But Your Excellency,” said the herald but a stern stare from the Grand Vizier put him in his place.

Chin upright and brow high, the Grand Vizier strolled in the direction of the three sleuths. Raafae rushed to greet him.

“It’s an honour Your Excellency,” said Raafae as he bowed slightly. The Grand Vizier nodded his head to acknowledge him.

“The majesty of your each footprint sprinkles gold dust in the air.”

A proud smile appeared across the Grand Vizier’s cheeks as he heard his praise. Sebastian bowed with his right knee bending and his left hand neatly placed behind him. The Grand Vizier was surprised to see such etiquette displayed by a foreigner.

“You sound like a citizen of Britannia,” said the Grand Vizier. “But you possess the poise of an Indranian.” Britannians were known for their brutish and often lewd behaviour. Hence, their dignitaries were seldom seen at Indranian balls and banquets.

“Your countrymen should follow your lead,” the Grand Vizier continued.

“Maybe they will,” Sebastian replied. “In another timeline.”

Raafae nudged him to shut his mouth. He simply winked at Raafae and stared at him with a sardonic smile.

“Shall we begin?”

*Drawing room

**In sub-continental culture, elders and persons of high status are often referred to in the plural such as they, them or their out of respect