Life

2011-08-20T10:59:00.000-07:00

Ch3. M for Misery

Let yourself go waste. You do not even try anymore. People expect the least, is to fake it for them. You are caught in two minds.Waiting for moments to pass. You wait for more misery. Punishment of mundane robotics. You take a break. You go back for more. You get away from the noise and yet the buzz won't leave you.

You look at yourself in the mirror. You look dirty. You wash and scrub. You brush and floss. Yet the eyes won't lie. The stench won't leave. The wretched thing inside you that eats you from inside. It can carve an ulcer in you. It is not the stress. Rather something within you. It makes you feel smaller and smaller. Your personality shrinks. You aren't exactly listening to others, while trying to hear to the "I" underneath.

Mask it with temporary releases of your vices. Intellectualize and add handful of own grown philosophy into it.

Love -distortion.

Lust- distraction

Destruction- disaster

You fail to encapsulate your feelings. You hold back. Create diversions in conversations. You wish you were a guy who could cry. You envy women. Women call you impatient. You ask 'what has patience paid you?'. The never ending roller coaster in this dark wilderness leaves you topsy-turvy. You want someone to pick up the pieces of you and put them together. You try to do-it-yourself. The jigsaw underneath the ego is complex. Seems certain like an identity crisis you can't fix. You have become what are you not. You now want to become what you have left behind.

Plaque on a wall in the alley haunts me.

"If you do not have, what you like,

you must like, what you have."

2011-07-24T08:20:00.000-07:00

Knightmares ~Ch2. Prisoner Of Love~

The noise wakes me up. I am in a bride's room. I rub my eyes to regain my eyesight. The bride enters and closes the door behind her. I stand up my feet in a startle. She is all dolled up with flowers, henna and loads of ornaments. I search for her face. I knew her. She quietly sits down opposite to the dressing table with a large mirror. I see her face in the mirror. She wears her nose ring.

She gets up from the stool and walks across the room towards me. I know not of what to make of the situation. I try to comprehend if she looked better with or without her nose ring. I wait in my queasiness. She looks up and locks her eyes with mine. I reminisce looking at her familiar jawline. She looked fulfilled.

She had lost her mother. She would come home to ask the keys to the terrace. She did not speak much. I would follow her up, where she would dry the wheat grains. I would pop a few grains in my mouth every now and then. She would be angry till we broke into some mundane conversations. It was tough to get a giggle out of her. I could empathize with her tragedy. I tried to play company whenever I could.

"You take care." she said with some sympathy.

She gave me a hug. As we parted her soft cheeks rub against mine. I feel stirred emotionally. The door opens again. It was a common friend of ours. She wasn't pleased at my presence. I smile. It looked like a painful frown in the mirror. The bride steps back. Her eyes offend me as she walks away. It was her silent way of rejecting me. I didn't know my reasons for being fond of her in the first place. I didn't how I turned up there. Sadist destiny, trying to beat me down. But I am no prisoner of love, but prisoner of my own choices.

2011-06-29T10:07:00.000-07:00

Knightmares ~Ch 1. mascara~

It was dark. My movements were restricted. My arms were tied at the back. I was pushed against the wall from behind. My face was thrust against the rails of a dusty window. My face sits in between the rails. I could see into a dimly lit room. I gasped for breath with the gag in my mouth.

A man lights up a cigarette. It momentarily lights up the room to uncover its sleaziness. He looks around and sits down on a armchair. The scent of tobacco makes me alert.I sniff into the air like a dog. A saree clad woman with her wet hair open walks in. Her back is seen. She walks in provocatively towards the man and kneels in front of him.The man stands up and walks away in a hurry. He looks out of the window at the far end of the room. He flicks the butt out of the window.

She moves her head to bring her wet hair to one side. She gets up and walks up to him slowly.She stands next to him, braiding her hair. I still can't see her face. She speaks with her lips closer to his ears. He looks away from the window towards her. He scans the woman 's physique. She moves her face towards him in anticipation.

The man suddenly holds her neck in a strangle hold, as if to stop her. She arches her neck as the hold gets firmer.She holds the arm of the man with her both hands. The arm doesn't relent or withdraw. The man unbuckles his belt with his free hand. His arm frees her neck and pushes her back. She falls into an armchair.

In a swift movement, he lashes her with the belt in his hand. She lets out shriek with each lash and runs towards me. I can see her face. Flushed and in tears, running away from the whipping. She was the whore from the past. Not my love, nor lust. I try to call her out, but my voice fails to escape from me.

She come to window with her hands on each of the rails, exactly opposite me. I look her eyes, her mascara now running into dark tears. She couldn't see me. She stared at me blankly . I feel a mind block.I think the mascara has made her go blind. The belt finally finds its way into her flesh. She holds on to the rail, shuddering periodically in pain. He would not stop. I struggle to no avail. I accept my helplessness.

(To be contd..)

2011-05-01T11:24:00.000-07:00

Anger~Impotent

The anger does not subside. Despair and disappointment distill within. The anger is impotent. Else, it would smash some faces and bones with a jagged plank. With anything solid. The thoughts and emotions are reprocessed in the blast furnace of mind. The silence wants to break itself, but can't find its voice.

Work. I want to pick up a fight. A real fist fight. No holds barred. I want to get hurt. A few words of consolation. I don't know if they really mean it. Some others would just tsk-tsk and give weird advice. The people who really mattered hardly bothered.People won't let me fit in and be. Camouflage doesn't help hide your true identity.

I look at my palms. I don't believe in destiny. I don't agree that destiny is in your own hands. I make a fist. The anger stays impotent.I sigh because, I can't make it on my own. That is why I wear this leash. I ran with my blinders on. I did run a good race. Not good enough, they say. I have been running for far too long, yet they say you are past the prime. You are not worth the fame. I am scared I will be shot when I can't keep up, and my leash would read 'an underdog'.

The anger drags smoke from amber lit flames. I gaze at the flickering tube. I switch through channels aimlessly. I feel my body going limp. I wonder if people get married to let their impotent anger through lust. I call my lust. I talk in monosyllables till I hang up. I can't speak my mind. I feel like screaming foul.

The incense sticks tries to keep you tethered to the faith. I look up at the heavens. I can't find the answers. I kneel and prostrate. Begging for an escape. Questioning your own patience and His. Folks back home are scared at your anger. They say life is unfair. I don't remember I last got so hung up on how I was placed in my life.

2011-02-22T10:03:00.000-08:00

Frigid

I slept for more than 14 hours. I need more sleep. I remember returning home, late yesterday. The chillness in the air had frozen my nose. I felt a shivering frenzy as I got off my bike. The lock wouldn't open with my key. Struggled in the morning from inside, now from outside. The levers finally click, and the door opens. I black out in the darkness of my room.

Few hours back. I remember the height. I remember the salty sea wind in my face. I adjusted to the awkwardness of being there among the smiling strangers. Set up in the roof, dimly lit by bulbs, thatched with bamboo strips. I kept looking out at the darkness, trying to phase out of the present.

A tap on the shoulder and there she was. She took me through the crowd introducing to her friends. I kept my constipated smile on. She got busy with some of them. I went back to find a place to seat. I busily searched the screen of my mobile, as if my life depended on it. The analog clock on it seemed undecipherable. She came back. She knew I hated it.

Socializing.Networking. Social Networking. Long back one my text books in school read "Man is a social being. ...interdependent on each other..". Networking was the key to success. I didn't want to be successful, neither did I want to depend heavily on any one. I thought of myself as Social Not Working. As I thought these words, I felt my emotions leaning on the face that gleamed in the dark.

"Is that a new hairstyle u got?" I asked.
"U liked it?". She spoke girlishly.I nodded. I liked the way she toyed with me to get me going.

With her I thought about us being unconditional. But then I didn't feel it was that way any more. It was more of causal casualness. Forget love, even truth was not unconditional. So the strings would always find its way to strangle you. I didn't know if I was clinging or trying to cut away. I tried to lit up in the windy terrace. I couldn't quit the darn thing. The smoke made me feel light.

We had dinner. She sat next to me. I looked up from my food to gaze at one of her friends in the nearby table. She looked away disturbed. I dug into my food. The gentleman opposite to me kept telling stories of his business trips. I listened uninterested. But I knew what he spoke. I looked at his mannerisms. His dressing sense. He was trying to be flamboyant with his smooth flow of words.

I asked him a question, a query related to what he was trying to explain. He stuttered for a moment. He grew silent. He then spoke, except his mannerisms, flamboyance was lost. I didn't reply to his rebuttal or go defensive on my query pleading ignorance. I just acknowledged it. It felt like flushing out stagnation.

She did not tell any thing. I knew she didn't like it. Later she argued with me. I gave her my gift. I left.

2011-02-08T08:22:00.000-08:00

IN Convenience

After staying in sub-urban and outskirts of the city, I finally did change coordinates. After huge deliberations and taking a leap of faith I am here. The new place comes with its own baggage. Finding a decent parking space, broken taps, creaky fans can seem like minor setback. The deal was to have a place closer to our workplaces, hospitable house. While I still orient to the new co- ordinates, I haven't had time to really think it through. I think I have moved on faster, trying to pace myself with the real world. The real rat race.(Thanks to my folks & my old friend n' roomie, I have had the mental strength to make the transition)

I am not nostalgic about my old space. It was more like a prison sentence, from which I draw a lot of good things for myself. I was OK with déjà vu, the status quo. The new place fails to overwhelm me, except for a bit of technology in terms of WiFi orgy. Music is back in life and I am not paranoid of old memories.

I hope I remain unseen, but not unforgiven.Till we meet to part again!

2011-01-20T09:38:00.000-08:00

Hi

Everyone needs a high. In love, lust, narcissism,caffeine, nicotine, alcohol, tobacco,success,technology, gluttony, power, wealth, luxury, etc etc. The adrenaline rush does it. And then we search for a higher high.

What do I search for? Iam blindfolded in pain. So are these words, my steps to unfold my hypocrisy. Where is the conscience? Why am I fishing in shallow waters to find my true calling? Is this my low, or am I higher than the last low?I can't keep scores. Now that I say it I need to do it.

The fact is that I hide my identity and try to be Roman where ever I go. It surprises people sometimes. Where is my locus standii is being able to understand the sentiment of being in another culture. I am permeable. So do I lose my self on a path far from my roots. Or, am I trying to
dissapprove all paths before I return to my ponderings.

2011-01-01T06:37:00.000-08:00

Mo(u)ld

Just read some of my older resolves for new year, feel like a hypocrite.

If you hit hard against a wall, chances are it could break you. Yet, chances are you could become harder.

People getting hassled over small things, hassles me. People are into quick fixes not solutions.

Every one talks about the customer. But are we listening to them?

I may not succeed, learnt to survive the game of life.

Familiarity can make me squirm. I think I'm getting OK at it.

A colleague told me, I look young for my age. Don't know if it was a compliment or otherwise.

Buy- Use- repair. Learning the repair and maintenance part.

Changed co-ordinates officially again. Looking for a change on personal co-ordinates too.

People are searching for euphoria in a moment, for a fond memory. Am I molding in?

HNY

2010-08-10T11:07:00.000-07:00

Semblance

The flute played in the distant dark. The notes escaped the wooden hollow, into his own. The crescent slice of the moon, lit up the chilly night. His sat at his study table trying to jot down his thoughts. He felt stuck. The sips from the bottle didn't help him either. The chillness seeped in through the window. The flute stopped.

The madman sang in the dark. He hoarsely recited the native folklore.

"In this forest of the vast sky,
you pleasure yourself, by hiding
By shying in the darkness,
I find you covered in the shining stars,
The moon lit face, half unseen,
I know it is you, I think it is you
Because you resemble her
..... you resemble her.."

The voice faded away in the distance. He failed to find the exact word translation.
His thoughts were interrupted by her voice.
"Hey! Close that window...Cold". She walked across to close the window.

He stood up in annoyance. She stood there skimpily dressed with her open hair. The words "you resemble her" struck him as he saw her.
"What the hell are you still doing here?" he asked.
"Screw you". She replied as she stomped off the room.

The flickering lights of the television in the next room, meant she hadn't left. He stepped into the shower. The needles of icy cold water numbed him. The anger wouldn't leave him for several minutes. His lungs heaved in pain. If he died, it would be a novel death. He put on his bathrobe to dry himself.

He woke up to find himself lying on the wooden floor half naked. He felt sick and tired. He called out for her. He could not find her.

2010-07-08T09:40:00.000-07:00

Jotting down..

"in the drowning darkness of this heart, pain is the only white light"

When an old friend asked me about you and my book, I felt awkward. I have always tried to black out bad things, though the sourness remains. I cannot describe you. You are latent, yet your influence to drag me back to light has been paramount. In your own subliminal way, you have given me the sense of direction. If I ever wrote a book, it would be on the lines of mountaineering back to positivity. Else, it was a free fall.

When doubt and fear tried to push me off the cliff,thanks for being my secret harness. I have tried to portray you here, but I think I fade it into my old templates. Adjectives are lame, gratitude is a small word. It is a strange bonding built on no expectations. I am left pondering on your thought process.

"Can I lust about you?"
"Go ahead, just keep it in your head itself."

2010-06-22T09:44:00.000-07:00

...

The anger has burnt the cynicism for real. The past blurs. Getting over regrets. Picked up fight on phone with two guys from past. "Phone a fight" with two sick dudes. My punching bag is still sulking. Something in me,seems to have moved underneath. Looking back is re-inviting trouble.

Peace. Be, Still.

2010-06-19T21:05:00.000-07:00

Anger

I felt angry and humiliated. Anger that had been subdued, to prevent me from being volatile. The anger stayed for long, as I went limp on the chair. I felt angry for not being angry all these days. My old man said," First deserve and then desire." I am not sure if I do not deserve to desire for more. Angered at being naive,for being happy to be an underdog.

2010-06-13T07:04:00.000-07:00

Plot X
... might be renamed as "Refractions of a breaking glass"

'A'looked at himself in the mirror. He was tense.He sighed and combed his hair nervously. The phone buzzed in vibration. The screen flickered "B calling". He disconnected.He checked for the last time, each of his pockets as if searching. It was time. He picked up the keys, banged the door close and ran down the stairs.

'B' sat in his car, parked right next to the no parking sign. He rolled his side of the window down, and fiddled with the radio. 'A' hopped in. He turned off the radio.
"Where do we go?". He quizzed. B never liked A's over concern to detail.
A checked on the wires on him again. It was a hidden camera and a microphone underneath his shirt. They had hit upon a plan to get some candid- camera footage that they could trade for some money. It was their low cost, simple and straight forward plan. They weren't exactly convinced, but being in drama school hardly paid.

Camera on A was to capture the close up shot and the voice. B would shoot with his camera from the car. Both had been unsuccessful in writing a script. B drove up to a posh locality, where he parked his vehicle right across a building gate. He knew A's nervousness. They did not want to screw it up.

"Just walk up to that gate, strike a conversation...Don't worry ..we can always edit it". B spoke quickly.

A ran across the street. B went to the backseat,and held the camera through the closed window. The AC wasn't working. He focused on the nervous looking A. He saw a girl walk up to him. A spoke to her. His hands moved as if asking directions. B sighed. His phone rang. He put the camera down with focus on both of them, and moved to pick up the call. He talks animatedly on the phone. He looks back to check on A. He isn't in focus. He sees through the eye piece and tries to refocus.

In moments cops swarm outside his car. He comes out alarmed to see A trying to explain their prank to the cops and the unsuspecting girl. They don't seem convinced. Minutes later, they are in the station with a complaint against them. The cops confiscate the camera and the equipments on them. They were in a soup.

Both sat in the lock up. They had been roughed up. The girl had raised alarm that the camera was being used for "wrong reasons". A cop came in with their equipment. His eyes weren't pacifying. He knew the story as he had heard it, when the complaint was being registered.A had pleaded and explained, but no avail. B looked less concerned.

"Ok, How do you make these work?". The cop demanded.
A explained. A laptop was brought. The footage of his camera was run. To his own annoyance, the camera had the wrong angles on the girl, while conversing. His friendly tone made it look even more sleazier. The footage ran till A's camera accidentally popped out. The girl notices the camera and informs the cops. The cop stares at A. A is clueless.

The footage on B's Cam is run after rewinding. It has A and B, discussing on a script.They then mouth a few lines from their latest drama. A's girl giggles in the background. She is seen for a moment as camera keeps changing hands. Moments later, B is found in a compromising position. He is moaning and writhing in sighs. A puts up in hands in the air, till he sees the face of the girl on cam. He turns cold. He sees the guilt in B's eyes. He grits his teeth. He wails. Staggers across the room. He falls to the ground in shock. He feels a need to commit a crime.

(Word limit exceeded, Hoping Zeus and Ram could rewrite n shoot it on regular cam for me ;)

2010-05-28T11:25:00.000-07:00

The Pawn's Commentary

Are you happy to be in the game?

"I am just a pawn. A piece that sometimes is happy to have taken the two long steps towards the throne in sight. In reality, I am amazed to see the knights and horses' move. I can see the rooks holding the fort, and listen to stories and saga of powerful queen and the limping King."

Dreams, Aspirations?

"In 5-6 small steps, I could be one of them. But in these moves, I can haplessly be sacrificed as the power tussle begins. Unlike others, I try to play it in straight steps ,barricading and slaying competition."

Game Over

"For a pawn like me, game is over once I've been sacrificed. I mostly watch the game as a bystander from outside the arena."

Any preferences

"It doesn't matter if you are black or white. Aww.. You're just a pawn"

2010-05-13T09:24:00.000-07:00

Character X on Padma

I always saw her seated in the balcony. She looked down blankly at the streets from the sturdy teak armchair. By her side was a metal box with betel leaves, pickling lime and a betel nut cracker. She didn't have them with nuts any more.The nut cracker had lost its shine and teeth . She would chomp the paan noisily in her toothless palate.

Years ago, she had lived with her husband in the village. Everyday after work, her husband would find her seated in the large wooden swing that hung in the porch. As he would wash his hands and feet in the courtyard, she would craftily roll up the paan . She would always be seated in the swing, with her head covered. Her oval face,large red dot at the center of her eyelashes, vermilion line parting her hair. She would hand him a paan as they would start their chatter about the day gone by.

A spittoon would soon arrive, followed by a tray of hot tea. The helper would scamper in and out hurriedly, waiting for gentle nods after the sips. The scene would be enacted exactly the same way for years to come. Even when she would have their children.Three daughters and then a son. On the swing, they would sit side by side. Their conversations were always direct ,discussions of mutual respect.

Years later, she would be hollowed into silence. He would pass away after a brief illness. She stopped sitting on the swing. Her son would persuade her to come with him to the city. She would give away her jewelery and other possessions to her three daughters and son. His son would refuse, so would secretly give it to his wife. She would give away her fields to the helper who had served them for long and loyally. He would weep as she moved out.

She would move into her granddaughter's room. She would say tales of her village to her curious granddaughter. Her grandchild would become her closest till the deafness set in. Every day she saw her set out for work and come back late. Her daughter-in-law would check on her a couple of times. Bland food would be served. Her son would also set into his busy schedule.

Her granddaughter was an example of female empowerment and she happily acknowledged it. Yet, she secretly prayed for her safe return every day on the teak chair. Her son would announce her engagement to a guy, she had chosen. Her granddaughter blushed, and waited in anticipation of her acceptance. She put her hand over her head and mumbled.

I was introduced to her. I gave my best smile to her. I touched her feet and she stared back blankly. Her granddaughter would talk to her in loud and animated way. She would grin.We would click photographs, standing next to her. I felt awkward. I kept looking at her ornate betel box.

2010-04-23T11:50:00.000-07:00

What about love?

What about it? It lies beneath somewhere, in the corner of your heart. It oozes to the tip of the tongue, yet in silence it refrains itself. Do we magnify our likes? Do we get disillusioned by pheromones of lust? Or, we cradle in the bonds of trust. Is it just an extension of our assumption? Or,is it an obligation to another obligation, and so on.

Why does it feel like a prism, scattering us away in reality far from truth? So what about it? Care. Affection. Understanding. Kinship. Friendship. Your folks show concern, yet it irritates you. Friends lending you support can anger you. You feel hollow away from it, yet can get poisoned with it.

As Freud would put it, that every thing is pre-conditioned. Is it same about love? Why is it so attractive to be smothered in this dejavu of frenzy cocktail of emotions.Why do we keep asking ourselves, in guilt? And other times, trying to search it the other person, in anticipation to reciprocate. Is it existent, or a shadow in search of the euphoria? What about it?

2010-04-11T09:41:00.001-07:00

Movie.Woody Ego trip.

SHOT #1
Camera adjusts to a moistly figure. Character wipes the camera. Amateur camera shake as he adjusts it to him.

Dialogue:
"Friends cometh and leave. Departures and reunion, rituals of emotions. I shall stay. My address shall not change."

SHOT # 2
A pen shakes nervously between the fingers. Zoom out to the character.Drops the pen and lets it roll. A hand with bangles,pours steaming tea from kettle. Picks up the cup. Sips.

D:"Would you burn yourself in your addictions? Let yourself slip into a tasteless high, to numb your sanity, bottle up, to fake it, hide that hurt. Your lips smile yet the eyes cannot lie."

SHOT # 3
Side profile as character photographs his confidante. She is blurred in a distance as the shot zooms on the make of the camera. Specs.

D:"Men need a hobby as an escape route to get lost from normalcy. Away from constraints.Conversations.Confrontations. Electronic gadgets, gizmo, grumbling engines set us free as they actually enslave us. I can't generalize the same about her. They can be complex in their own ways."

SHOT # 4
Dark theater. Behind the couple of red seats, a movie flickers on the screen. The character turns around to the camera. Confidante's back of the head also seen.

D:"I am cool about things or I might assume to think so. See I can introduce you to her, yet I don't trust you entirely. Does that also mean that, I do not trust her either?"

Camera zooms out. Moves to the movie on the screen that reads.

THE END

2010-03-23T08:27:00.001-07:00

Days to remember

Heroes became Martyrs. Rather the rebels were allowed to be killed. Made the dissent heard. Respect.

2010-03-19T09:36:00.000-07:00

True State

Pain is in the oblivion.
Healing.
From Move on to Move out.
Hope to recover completely.
Proof?.
I haven't blogged.
(My limited readers won't complain either)

2010-03-11T06:48:00.000-08:00

Loner

Words do not come out. Thoughts are stuck. Anger is lost in a selective amnesia. The mind clashes to get away, yet slips back to memories. Mind comprehends that it has reached the state it needed to be. Yet, a wave of unrest rises. Gizmos and electronics, now owned are fidgeted with. No longer insecure of being secure. Mundane dejavu is dealt expertly with. There is no anxiety of the future. The present is benign. The nostalgia of past drifts aways. The deafness sets in.

2010-03-07T09:46:00.000-08:00

Quixotic

2400+ unread mails. At the bottom of them, was the billet-doux. It lay there for past three years.It wasn't like some paper that could not be searched. Google could define my alter-ego better than me. Hit delete was easier said than done. 50 mails at a time. I reach at it at last. I look at it finally. I look away towards the Rubik's cube on my desk. Undecipherable. Invincible.

Have I dozed off? I see the same canine from the image. I stand by the bougainvillea at the gate. It is colorful from the bright yellow sun. I can see the open door through the arrangement of hanging flower pots in the porch. The crotons, money-plants and the other unknown shrubs and creepers, lined up in the mid air. I can see her through the grill door in the living room, watching the loud television.

Is this for real? And why the hell is there a packet of her favorite Biriyani in my hands. The dog gets a sniff and starts barking. It turns me deaf, but no one comes out. As I can't find a bell, I plan to enter by distracting the dog with the food.
The dog comes for my hand and bloodies it. In a moment, a heavy animal mauls me as blood sprays around.

I wake up in a strange place.I can't feel my hand. I have slept on my arm. The head hurts from a bad hangover. Something wet is on your numb hand. You find a large black dog. A different one, with a large dangling tongue licking my arm. It is panting heavily in anticipation. "What the..?". As you think, you gather your limp arm away from the animal. Under the sheets, your clothes are missing. Your watch isn't working.

Am I under some spell? I still can't figure out the place. Whom do I call out for? The dog nervously trots around the bed, creating an imaginary boundary. A distant azaan is heard. The rays of sun spill through the ventilator. My bladder feels like a time-bomb. There is an old pedal type sewing machine at the corner. On it is a huge metal scissor. Do I kill the dog with it? May be sew some clothes, before I escape.

2010-02-14T05:11:00.000-08:00

Billet-Doux

In a moment, life can change. A moment before, the conductor asks to step back on the bus and collect the change and when your turn comes he has none. Fuck 20 bucks! you think. A moment later, your face seems to love the gravel on the road. You pick up yourself and your glasses from a quick fall. You know from people's look on your cut and bleeding face. You try not to faint. Thank you for not offering me water. I would have done the same. The moment itself suddenly feels unimportant.

Autorickshawallah looks on as I hop like some bleeding hero. I tell him the address to go. I quickly dial home, in-case I faint. My mobile is grazed along the camera. Mind utters words of SOS to sibling in despair. I am better now bandaged and plastered. Pain endured. I slip back into these moments, hallucinating. I know it could have been worse.

Valentines Day is here. If it brings a smile on your face, HVD. If not, I guess you are the right wing fascist so go screw some celebrity while you are at it. If you are not either, then love thyself and fucking move on moron. It is not worth it sometimes. When I say move on, it does not mean to find the bottom of a bottle.

2010-01-31T05:59:00.000-08:00

Refractions

He sat facing the sea. The feet were dug into the sand. The tall waves threatened at a distance. It approached him as if they had broke loose from the silent calm. He drew his feet back in anticipation. The frothy waves licked his feet, wiping off the sand. He exhaled in to the wind. The sun stared at him in anger. He wanted to retreat from the heat. Instead he stared aimlessly at the sea. The panorama of two blues,distinctly divided at the horizon.

At a distance, the fishermen pushed their boat into the sea. The boat wobbled as they waded it through the water. A distant eagle hovered high in expectation. He was thoughtless. People thought he lacked focus. He thought he lost his blinders early on. It was tough to survive without them. Because you are never sure.

He was never sure. He went overboard to fake his emotions. Like he lacked control. He hid them away. He would alternate between cold clueless stares to a hyper maniac. Life had knifed him. And he went through the pain, knowing not how to handle them. Two years he lived in a state of perpetual deja vu. Alternating between selective amnesia of bad memories and insomnia for two years.Yet forgetting was not easy.

2010-01-21T07:39:00.000-08:00

Bug

"The bug bit me. It died"

2009-12-31T23:00:00.000-08:00

09

As the new year dawns, I think of something clever to say. I fail, like my grammar fails me.

09 was a year of –

meeting old friends, some good things and some same old crap.

Saw some amazing movies (which meant I was sleepwalking at work),too many to mention

Happy to see some good Hindi Movies being made.

Read "Inheritance of loss" completely

Still incomplete "Bombay Rains, Bombay Girls","A piece of cake","7 habits..","Midnights children", "Above average", "Between the assassinations","The Hour of God" ...

Reading "Train to Pakistan"

Some resolutions partly kept, some completely broken.
Did not workout.
Still can't read the local native language (can guess the city name on buses though!)
De-addicted in the final month completely.
Bosses changed.
Bought lotsa stuff.
Still wary of riding, after 5 crashes.
Still can't drive.

Felt if ppl tried Farmville in their backyards, the world would be greener.
World leaders need not fool us with Flopenhagen.
Facebook nuisance would be less with FV and Mafia Wars updates.
Blogger b*tched, as I tried to be short and tweet.
Discovered that I was actually 27 years old and not 28.

09 was the time to dissolve some pain. The midway where love meets lust. In semidarkness. Like my own country. Incomplete without its own contradictions. I hope people do get rid of their worries and pain. I pray selfishly for myself and a few close ones. My friend tells me about zakat. Will do. Tired of resolutions. Seek normalcy.

May you have the perfection of a Hattori Hanzo sword, the technique of Pai Mei,& the motivation of the vengeance of the Bride.

HNY

2009-11-25T08:38:00.000-08:00

Moksha

But the last bondage is the passion for liberation itself which must be renounced before the soul can be perfectly free, and the last knowledge is the realisation that there is none bound, none desirous of freedom, but the soul is for ever and perfectly free, that bondage is an illusion and the liberation from bondage is an illusion

-Sri Aurobindo "Moksha" from "The hour of God"

2009-11-23T09:28:00.000-08:00

Unbecoming

Stayed alive, lived in pain. The purpose is still undefined. I might obfuscate in pain and dark thoughts. But these thoughts don't mean I am not affable. I am cold in my emotions, lost from your reality. I am half asleep. I am half dead. Waiting for the other portion to self destroy. Death is all but a natural consequence.

The meaning is not seen in these words. Not in my actions. I wonder when others do good things. Saw this friend of mine help this blind man find his way. I felt ashamed of being aloof. He spoke of the deeds being weighed, when the end arrives. I know not of heaven. I have become wary of being religious. Religion is only for the larger good. The focus is wavering. The path is there to be taken. The rebel dodges being branded as a puritan.

"Hate, love, lust, greed, gluttony, aspirations...playing along hiding in inaction"

2009-11-18T09:02:00.000-08:00

par-A- phrase

"Sanity-insanity- switch,
conscience unable to twitch,
mammoth of pain,unable to flinch
exegesis of love in vain, u dumb itch"

2009-11-09T07:44:00.000-08:00

...

The train began to move again. People got in and got off it till the last moment. The name of the station was not decipherable in the sudden jolt of speed . I thought of going back to sleep, but I felt hungry. The old lady's face reminded me that I had n't smoked. I did not have any left with me. A few guys ran past from the other end of the coach towards ours. They passed us in hurry towards the toilet.

The panic in their face was evident. The clap of the hands made me cringe. Soon a group of eunuchs, were all over the place. The clapping and cursing began. People especially men, soon dug into their pockets. Faces were struck with fear. I froze in my aisle seat. The clapping noise woke up the old lady. One of them came close to me. I was stuck in the gender wonder. My purse was empty. I knew that. I had heard the gory stories in hostel.

I avoided looking up, trying to dig out a magical note. Even before I could look up, the place had emptied. The old lady had paid for me. A sheepish smile left me as I thanked her. Some one went back to her tattered book. The sigh was silent.

2009-11-07T23:57:00.000-08:00

...

She appeared from the far end from the passage through berths, with a soap case in her hand. Her face was still wet. I could see the compartment scattered messily with peanut shells and puffed rice. The guy next me was busy reading the local native newspaper. The guy next to him slept in seated position.

The supplementary pages fluttered with the photos of voluptuous women and other movie stars. I was always interested in the movie gossip, that sleazy mags and papers wrote. It had the best fiction I had read. Media's propaganda. Sometimes harmless, sometimes skewing your rationale. It was sometimes the communication machinery of the local or state govt.

"We could have been friends", I thought. She went back to her tattered book. The train slowed down to halt at an unknown station. Hawker clinked the bottles of soft drinks in a flow, with the can opener. The buzzing station interrupted the thoughts. Yet the mind got stranded into its old feelings.

I could smell her in the sea wind
Her eyes flickering,
watching the shining sun in the waves
the wind messed up her hair
on to her sandy face
trying break that stubborn gaze
the latent anger, she sat alone
far from us
poking the sand
she smiled,yet would not speak
Why didn't she?

It was amorphous. The thing between us. We never knew what was going on. Support systems to each other, not willing to explore.I felt mad thinking about it. I wanted to get off the train.

2009-11-05T08:10:00.000-08:00

...

I woke up to a dreamy sleep. I felt like my mother was calling my name out. It couldn't be her, as she called me only by my pet name that I hated. I sensed that I had slept on the upper berth of a train, chugging along, shaking and disorienting. I was famished. I looked down trying to remember how I got here. The old lady had given me the seat to the extra ticket she had.

I checked for my purse and got down. It was a sunny day outside. The train passed through the stretch of trees and human encroachments, along the tracks. The track beamed the sunlight. Sometimes running in parallel, sometimes curving into the train. A guy with tea can shouted out. I carefully held on to the hot cup on shaky train that created ripples in the tea, as I paid the guy in grey uniform. I searched for her from the corner my eye.

She wasn't there. The old lady slept, with her head covered. I smiled at her as she slept. In years, she was the only one who told me to quit. She did not know she was partly responsible for me to start smoking in the first place. As she emerged from the crowd,her face interrupted my thoughts. The smile on my face shrunk. I sipped my tea staring into to it.

2009-11-01T06:33:00.000-08:00

Junction

It had been weeks of unemployment. I was doing OK, in this new garden city. I never felt like an outsider here. This was my dream place, and now I was leaving it for a short trip. A visit to an old colleague down in God's own country. So here I was. In a cold early morning, puffing and panting with my only bag to find the correct platform.

I finally found my way through the shitty over bridges and weak knees, praying for my reservation to be through. The scary over bridges with rail tracks underneath scared me to the core. My legs ached. I finally settled down as the rush began. The squeaking trolleys, passengers shoving and poking you with their luggage as they passed by. There was a cubical tea stall in the center of the platform, with all the sides open. It had the tea counter on one face, the eateries and fridge on the second side, the newspaper and magazines stall on the third and the owner's counter with a juice stall on the fourth face. The corner shops had the sophisticated vending machines for tea, coffee, noodles and colas.

I smelt a whiff of smoke, and I knew the tea stall had it. A porter sucked on to his beedi as I gingerly asked for my smoke. The owner gave me one with a puzzled look. I lit up, fishing my pocket for change and my ticket.I asked him about the reservation list. He showed me imaginary place far in the platform. I walked hurriedly towards it. I felt tense, as if it were some examination results on the notice board.

As I walked to the dimly lit area, a few families checked. I found a familiar face in them and froze. The world slipped under my feet. She looked at me like a stranger. She rolled her full sleeved striped sweater in manly stance and put the luggage into the trolley. It felt like the camera shake in important movie scenes. I felt distorted.

"Stop Smoking" a voice cried.
I dropped the smoke and froze like some cop had said "Hands up"
I found a meek old lady next to her looking at me in disgust. I knew who she was. She continued.
"Don't you know that...." catching her breath.
"I'm sorry.. aunty". I cut her short in concern.

I searched for her stares, as I saw her face with long hair in a single pony and her trademark black bindi missing. I searched for evidences if she had gotten married. She seemed unconcerned. I excused myself and made way to check my ticket which was not yet confirmed. Travelling near railway toilets would not be pleasant. I heard the old lady calling some one. The trolley wouldn't budge with both of them pushing it.

A few moments later, I was shoving a trolley full of luggage towards the seating area. I was sweating in cool cloudy morning, with a talkative old lady walking next to me. We were travelling on the same route and she told me everything about her that I already knew. She also did a quick police type interview and found out about me and my journey. The familiar face on the other hand buried herself into a book with a tattered cover. She was briefly introduced to me, muttering monosyllables. She tried to hide the familiarity, while I searched for the familiar tinkle. The old lady commanded me to sit next to her.

"Son, smoking is bad and you know that... wait", she said as she opened her thermos flask with coffee. She held me the lid of it, as she poured some into it. She insisted that I have some. I refused despite the biting cold. We waited for train to arrive. I tried to spot the similarities in the old lady and her daughter. She looked like an obsolete version of a new prototype. I hated myself for thinking that way.

(Only ridiculous portions are true...)

2009-11-01T01:03:00.000-07:00

Because the time passed by cannot return
I put my thoughts, in this digital urn
I think of this story, with you in it
Since u are not reading it, I hit delete

2009-09-28T10:48:00.000-07:00

Stray

the prolonged shadows of darkness,
pls put on the candle least,
a mouthful,if not a feast,
sanity tested yet again,
quantum of hate muffled underneath

unknown time passed by
zigzag paths taken
yet u stayed away
like a puritan
at the sinned
can't amnesia dissolve this
No! rather stored away
in the formalin of insomnia

wat is it wih this lifetime?
I am all zero, an no-no hero
A traveller, with no map to pursuit
Have I wandered in this valley
I thought some one would call out
pull me back
It could have been u
My saviour

But u watched along
uninterested, from far heights
scoffing, muttering curses
U were the only few
Only strange face I knew
why did u not pelt me with ur words?
Why?
Why?
Why?

2009-09-16T18:26:00.000-07:00

Passage

It is a belief that the educated mind could open up whole new possibilities. It would break the dams of biases, to a more unified heterogeneity. But contrary to the belief, people act like they fail to see the crack. They develop a blind eye. It is the realization, that borders built by cultures, faith, social strata, are not porous as they seem. The path to question ourselves can easily be termed controversial. The "free mind" remains a myth.

In our associations, which either by birth or social upbringing, dissociating can be treacherous. The path now predefined, cannot make new inroads. We are bogged down by our own compulsions. The economically backward needs its own social affiliation for survival. This is replicated in all classes of the society. To be a part of the chain. The network.

The clock ticks away.And until this moment, you were sure. Because the books told you it would be this way. You still have no doubts that it would remain that way. People may argue globalization (and the technology that led to it) has led to the desirable "heterogeneity". But at the back of the mind, we seek the opposite.

So what do we seek? What are our dreams, aspirations? We seek everything in Maslow's hierarchy. And more. We are measured on the basis of our successes,achievements. Our displacement from where we started.Nobody cares the route you took, or the distance traveled.

How would you measure yourself? Happiness is subjective and these days people are happy to be sad. What would salvation then mean? Just sacrifice. To give up and follow prescribed paths. To wash away the stains greed,filth, guilt,envy. Annihilate without a question. No reason. No emotions. Or, it is fear of unknown or plain escapism. Do we seek good things for ourselves, in our own predefined term of "good"?
Paths are questioned, yet in silence we follow.

2009-09-14T10:03:00.000-07:00

She removed the flowers from her hair and put it on the table. In the full length mirror, he saw their images adjacent to each other. He measured up against her, as if convincing himself that they were a pair. The vermilion divided her oval face into two, scattered in her hair. She looked at him.

"Who was the old man in the white kurta?"
"Who? white kurta?" he mumbled
"The guy whose mouth was red with all paan and reeked of alcohol"
"I am not sure" he said thoughtfully

He sat on the bed, dangling his feet over the cold floor. He looked back at her face in the mirror. She was removing her golden bangles, from her slender henna colored wrists and palms. She seemed different, like a whole new person. He had seen her in the photos, the initial proposal. They even spoke over the phone, sharing notes on what their respective families thought about this marriage. He had fallen prey to the quintessential Indian wedding. He thought the flashbulbs of cameras had turned him blind.

"You know Ma wanted us to visit the nearby temple. It is a faith that newly weds visiting..."
"Ok". He interrupted her impatiently.

He lie on the bed, looking at the rotating fan. He felt the world go around. He knew that his bride spoke and laughed at something, but he couldn't understand it. It was like she spoke from underwater. He could hear the voice of Obama playing in his ears saying "Change is here"

Shite...

2009-08-12T20:19:00.000-07:00

Dr.

One late night, a taxi brought an elderly gentleman with chest pains to the Govt Hospital. The young doctor examined him repeatedly. The old man writhed in pain.The young doctor had found a job as a house surgeon. This was his first experience of the big city, its lifestyle,the crowds and his medical career. He had picked up a few words from the native language to query the patients, and write their case sheets.

He asked the nurse,"Sister, admit him. Keep him under observation"
The nurse grumbled, "Dr., you are young. The old man seems alright. Admitting him would be unnecessary..An injection of...."
"I insist".

The young doctor knew he was being cautious. Occupying a bed meant adding stress to a failing infrastructure. He knew the people in administration knew it.They would retort, "What infrastructure? Don't we have enough doctors heh?". The young blood could not accept this. For decades to come, this would still remain the pressing question.

He passed through the wards of the dingy and dirty hospital, smelling of spirit, phenyl,urine as he passed. The isolation ward for leprosy patients, anxious eyes at the childbirth ward, burns ward, suicide cases, overflowing out patient departments. People screaming, wailing,crying,sobbing, shouting. Life and death had become two difficult words.He had thought it would be easy playing the savior.

He met the old man on his routine visits. The old man was unmarried. His brothers and nephews came to visit him. The overgrown white beard,the shining bald and a meekly smile gave him a sage like look. The young doctor knew that despite his illness, it was the loneliness that was killing him.

The old man was fond of the young doctor. He told him stories of his younger days. The young doctor didn't mind. He didn't feel homesick or wait desperately for the monthly letter that his elder brother or father wrote to him.At least,his family was happy that they didn't have to send him money order for his expenses.The old man cautioned him, to beware of the pickpockets in the trams and buses.

In the meantime, the young doctor had got a call for post graduation degree in a prestigious university. At that time, all universities were prestigious, because they were the only ones existent. The PG degree meant he would be in a research environment. Away from direct patient interactions. Away from ghastly images, memories that gave him sleepless nights. The images he could not help change. He did not have a heart to inform the old man. But he came to know about it.

He gave an hour long fatherly advice. To wake up early,eat on time, stay away from spicy food, sleep well, save some money and so on.
"You must write me a letter" he insisted
"But I can't write in ...."
"Write to me in English"
"Sure" was the doctor's feeble reply. He was worried about the old man.

The old man did receive a letter after a fortnight. He happily showed it everyone in the ward. The young doctor was to visit the hospital at the end of the month, to complete his relieving formalities. The old man had been discharged a couple of times, but his recurring illness and complications brought him back. He was a welcome visitor now. He showed the letter to everyone in the hospital.

The young doctor reached the hospital in the early hours of December. It was semi-dark waiting for the sunrise. The ward boy recognized him and took the suitcase from him.
"Your friend was happy that you sent him the letter", he spoke excitedly
"He must be dead by now" he continued in disappointment.
The doctor headed towards the OT to confirm it.

He saw dawn break.

[P.S: This story is not mine.]

2009-08-04T11:59:00.000-07:00

Q

Its been more than a year that I stayed alone. I thought it would mean automatic solitude, or this far flung imagination of being independent. At the outset I hated the noises, the one in the early mornings. The hawkers, the unknown salesmen. All eating into your sleep. The moments, when stress burns you out. This phase had me breakdown and left all alone. Even the phone calls back home weren't all that soothing.

I have a feeling I have been waiting for things. And while I watch movies, read books and try to convince myself that I can still write, I wait some more. Now that I can generalize, I see too many ships sail off without me boarding it,me waiting in vain. Iam happy that certain ships did sail off, far away. Away from my thoughts.

Second of the generalizations, is probably I bump and land up in things I actually started running away from. Whether its my career, friends, even likes and dislikes.Is it because of the fact that I cannot make up my mind?

Crazy thoughts line up the queue. But the sarcasm is lost. The latent despair has transpired. People loathe self deprecation minus the humor.

2009-08-01T11:38:00.000-07:00

Unscience

The mind is compartmental. It has a thousand blocks where we store away our thoughts, memories, experiences. Some are put up in the extreme boxes of like and dislike. So if you open up on one aspect/flap of the box, perspective and impressions could change. Like and dislikes could alter. So moods too could.The flaps keep opening to assimilate fresh experiences, memory gets stacked up. The thoughts get altered.

2009-07-29T08:51:00.000-07:00

Undecided>>

I woke up to Ramu's rap on my door. I appeared like a blind man from my den. Room number 30. Yeah, that was our corner, next to the balcony. The guy with short stature stood there. I thought he wanted money for his beedis again.. I fished the pockets of my pant for coins. Not so early in the morning, I cursed him. I finally understood that someone was waiting outside.

"Who" I asked him, as I handed him the coins.
"Donno, do you need tea now?". I nodded undecided.
I tried to peep through the chilly balcony to find out.
It was her conversing with the security.I came to know that it was impolite to call them watchmen. Changes in nomenclature can cause faux paus.

I rushed to the loo to take a leak. I looked at my face in the dirty mirror. I washed it as if, it would transform me into something more acceptable.I wet my overgrown hair. I looked like a drug peddler. I had tried to look different. I remember every time I did that, my folks would nag me to cut my hair and oil it.

Days were passing by in hurry. Days that at times, crept into long hours of work into late nights.Friendships and kinship built over past months, take small diversions to do our projects. To satiate our course curriculum. Recorded and hard bound. Statistical data, tools and techniques abused. Simple words wrung and twisted to make it sound knowledgeable. Feeding egos of academicians. By the end of it, you didnot know or hardly cared if the hypotheses was right or wrong. Type I or Type II. Screw it all, is what I felt.

Suddenly I remembered about her. Yesterday. I spoke to her, on our hostel intercom to theirs for probably an hour. It was the era, when even incoming was charged on mobiles. SMS were bloodsucking, and outgoing meant you were insanely rich.My folks had nagged to get me one. I knew it was more to keep tabs on me. Also, they had M's number.M lived in the next room. For sometime now, we hardly met each other. Each time we spoke, there was frenzy, a tinge of depression from upcoming uncertainity.

I played with the curls of the phone as she kept speaking. If you are a listener, you know that conversations had a graph. You just plotted the right dots along to keep the conversation going. I could see K in the far corner, impatiently waiting as if signaling me to hang up. I asked about her brother's studies instead. I guess the bugger was ambitious, or so as she said.

I spoke in different postures. Standing, slanting, squatting,sitting, sleeping. My legs went limp. I heard M call out my name. My guide was searching for me.He had messaged him. He could not reach the hostel line. Aargh! It was time to stop plotting the dots. I hung up, promising to call back.

I sat like a dumb duck having an information overload, sitting in front the dirty desktop screen. All the internet searches, the old dusty library books that made you sneeze, old project records showed the same hollow output or answers. I sat there getting instructions from behind. I had to keep my ears open as he hated repeating. I looked at the cozy sofa in his office. It made me sleepy.

He asked my objectives set, and my achievements till now. The next set of objectives for the upcoming week, actionables and expectations. I knew it was not a suspense novel I was scripting. So I gave the redundant answers, with exploring some new variables. He smiled as if he had been satisfied. Then he said it might deviate from the topic. A mention would do. Was it some wicked or evil intention?

His phone rang. It was his wife, was my guess. It was. He told me to finish the work and mail it to him. He gave me the keys to office, which was to be locked and handed over. I didnot get it. Why mail him again if already had it on his desktop? I scratched my head and try to make the head and tail of the excel sheet I was working on. I thought of doing Ctrl + A and Shift + Del on the excel sheet and then his hard drive.Instead,I opened my mailbox to check mails.

........Incomplete.........

2009-07-18T03:50:00.000-07:00

History of Violence

In movies, we find solace, we search ourselves. We weave our world, in another man's eye of imagination. So how would you chronologically put the history of violence. I have a very myopic point of view on terrorism, and I shall restrict to citing of two Indian movies that depict the Mumbai blasts in 93.

Shootout at lokhandwala, a fictionalized account of the true incident actually sets the prelude to the blasts. The movie depicts the confrontation of cops and the young lads of underworld. The killings and encounters are justified in the end. It silently blames the disbanding of ATS as a reason to the 93 blasts.

Black Friday,actually depicts the blasts its aftermath, and reasons that led to it. The movie is based on the book by Hussain Zaidi, and is actually as said by the people as seen by them. Rakesh Maria's character played by Kay Kay and the prophecy of Tiger Memon, sets the tone. The movie is hard hitting and is pretty true to the book. It can be easily said that the movie can make you lose neutrality,atleast it had the guts.

I started this blog, citing about hate amongst the Palestinians and Israelis. I was myopic then too. I saw Paradise Now, a story of prolonged human conflict. It has strange justifications and in reality life asks us to take stand on certain issues. The fact that in Hindi movies, we see truth like the central characters of Mani Ratnam's movies. Like in Bombay, or Roja, the victim's perspective is kept neutral. In reality, hate is evident and present everywhere, that ignites into violence. We have our own biases, and are never truly free from them.

2009-07-09T10:17:00.000-07:00

A little less conversation

We went for lunch. The drive to the restaurant seemed to be a long while. I looked away into the mad crowd, as she drove silently. In a different reference point, familiar faces seem a bit awkward. She asked me to close the door again as the latch hadn't locked. Cars, they can add up to complexity.

We managed to find a seat in the crowded place. We ordered the usual favorites. I guess nothing really changes, just the world goes around. Hell! I was lying to myself. She was tight lipped. We tried to quiz each other about the people from past for some time. The order took a long time. She glanced at her watch and I kept looking back at the invisible waiter appearing with our food.

She was still reserved, silent in her thought. My sarcasm, PJ humor faded in past memories. Didn't I like her? Yet here we were forcing ourselves into one another. The main dish arrived. The waiter grinned and informed that the remaining items would be there soon. Someone dropped a spoon.

I munched on the food, unable to comprehend. Wouldn't it be a dream date seated opposite to your (ahem!) old flame? It was far flung from it. The pessimist in me thought, she would probably break the ice by telling me about her upcoming wedlock. Nah, she asked me if salt was less in the gravy. She sprinkled some into the dish. I felt desperate chewing my food. I tried to smile.

The waiter interrupted us, if we wanted to have anything else as the kitchen was closing. He didn't even bother to look at me. I felt angry and jealous. I scratched my spoon on the china plate in fury. We ordered the bill. She insisted to pay. I paid trying to be chivalrous. She tipped him. He grinned vulgarly. Beep.

I asked her, what were her plans for the day? She wanted to meet some friend of her's. I cringed as I heard her friend's name. Not too fond of meeting strangers. I told her to call later.

She didn't.

2009-07-05T11:13:00.000-07:00

Unlocking - Life

I have crashed and fell off my bike twice in last week.
I have been traveling a lot in the heat and rain.
In share autos, expensive auto rides, in crowded buses.
Standing, dangerously hanging out to balance my self,walking thru' puddles.
In each of these instances, I feel intimidated.
Uninterested, I look on.
Conservative women, modern gals,uncles and punks-all hooked to their handsfree.
A mixed bag.
Talk to some good old friends.
Watch your favorite cable shows.
You buy a new phone. Notebook speakers.
Hear some bad news.
Some ask for favor.
You value your life a bit.
You question the path to self destruction.
You smoke a little less.
You mock the drunkards in your street.
Some questions are caged in silence.
You don't wait for pretentious answers to your queries
You walk along.
Some times march ahead. Other times follow.
Success is the poison we wish to live for.
You repent, that you couldn't sense love when it was around, for you were drowning in infatuation.
Words and thoughts are a merry- go-round. They end where they started.
Despair, Disgust and anger hold you down.
Folks growing older, friends getting obese, others losing their hair.
I couldn't remember my real age last year.
You try to drown the nostalgia.
Old songs sound different.
So do old friends.
You don't argue anymore.
Your story plays in your head, yet you don't write it down.
You are the lonely sailor, and the world your rough sea.
You plan to quit cribbing, and move on.

2009-07-01T10:41:00.000-07:00

Ubiquitous

Read all books you wanted,
Watch the movies,
Work out, may be not,
sip some juice,
immerse yourself in work
travel near, travel farther
Live in the unknown, lost
Forget your priced mobile,
Away from the net,
yet the ubiquitous name appears,
on the shops, on the billboards,
in the auto rickshaws,buses and trains
on application forms,
visiting cards,
letters,mails wrongly addressed to you,
bags of cement
mocking you of your misery
you try to black it out
fade it out,
blindness,
yes you can
yeah may be
please keep trying
power animal???
but WTF,
how can you be such an hypocrite

2009-06-15T10:02:00.000-07:00

these meaningless lines,
a splatter here, blabber there
in a bit of hope, hidden despair,
if everything was planned,
then am I being conned,
where are my friends?
pigs lost in the crowd
living their dreams
so I strayed,
half baked, half cooked
I frown, I envy
weird music playing on my mind
I sing it out loud,
thru' my helmet
I want to speed and crash,
been there and done that
So should I run over others in fury
Shite in my mind
I tell you
I need to bury
somewhere else
the drums of merry,
strings of happiness,
play at a distance
have I lost ground,
or direction
This silence, speaks to itself
I hope you could read my mind
it would help,
the lips could be locked forever
we, beggars of destiny
showing each other,
the mirror of reality
weeping in the dark
waiting for the rain
to wash away
this hurt, guilt
into new fragrance of the earth
the new nostalgia
drowning the past in itself
the lady of lust reappears
so unlike the one you loved,
she dances unconditionally
to the tunes of your imagination
smiles and eases your agony,
and you query love
the pain in the ass
real pain..argh
complex intuition of egoes
clashing and crashing
stabbing and stinging
dreams that stagnate
to fornicate
now you despise me
coz you thought
truth to be sublime
non controversial
like the great one said
astute,in effulgence
and you close your
eyes in trust
and read this in disbeleif

2009-06-02T10:02:00.000-07:00

Unknown

Did I dream of my past life?
How did I die then?
Where am I? Where is the truth?
Be born,grow, decay, destroy to be re-born
The hardship of passing through nature's labyrinth
Filth of fate, burden of actions
patterns and paths revisited
Faiths frozen in time,
The swing that rocks back and forth
Logic and emotions alternate
The truth unheard, muffled by noises,
lost in translations
we search Thou, in manifestations
In five senses and intuition we are chained
Floating in desires and its dreams
we wade through, we stumble
Sediments of guilt,
in the heart that is turning black

2009-05-15T11:28:00.000-07:00

Essence

I closed my black umbrella and asked for chilled coke at the thatched bunk shop. I paid and walked back towards home, through the dark lane lit with flickering fluorescent lamps. My umbrella would not open. Two other guys bought fag and looked on. I tried the button, pushed and pulled, but no avail. I walked with coke in one hand and the wet umbrella in the other. The guys scurried past me to a nearby house.
My orange T shirt that read "Show must go on" was now fully wet. I felt poignantly funny at myself. "My umbrella wouldn't open." I kept thinking looking for stupid deeper meaning. Dealing with real life bullshit. My eyesight faded with the raindrops on my glasses. The lamps and the street looked different. I felt the music of Kar wai Wong's movie run in my ears.

Thin-ghik-ghik Thin-ghik-ghik... Thin

PS: I can't even spell umbrella

2009-04-14T11:48:00.000-07:00

98 memory plank

We bunked the morning prayers.
We were seniors. So we could.
We would check on late coming.
Coke was equivalent to liquor.
Pocket money made me feel like a millionaire.
We rode around on the so-called-bike.
We ate the cheap samosas from Milky Mist.
Endless discussions on future.
I was directionless.
So I tried to stay in the present.
99 was coming to show me hell.

Comments

I was growing in wild fascism and atheism.
Zeus was a knowledgeable gentle giant, lucid in his thoughts and was shy of violence;)

2009-04-12T11:04:00.000-07:00

Shots

Freckled face.
Pieces of paper being rolled up.
Nimble fingers, tongue sealing the rolls.
Voice on Philosophy.
Lighter sparks.
Flame.
Burning tips.
Closed lips.
Thrashing waves of sea.
Fading blue skies.
Deafening drums.
Head Rocks.
Spinning reality.
Laughter.

2009-04-10T10:08:00.000-07:00

Things to do

In addendum to the NY resolve

Punch a hole in my boss's heart
Attempt yet another career suicide
Run away from this blog
Get high one last time to beat the low
Talk, fucking smile(even shitty fake ones)
Check out if the Nano is worth the deal
Stay away from fag(TRY...)
Erase movies from my hard disk (DevD,FightClub etc)
Work out
Breathe
Day dream. Write (wait..)
Write an updated CV (soon..)
Stop lending (even advice)
Tell ppl that stories written here are imaginary (for the blogger's ego trip only)

sms from the shithead on my daily achievement: "I don't want gas"
Dad trying hard to cheer me up: "Did he smell it?"

2009-04-07T03:44:00.000-07:00

2009-04-05T07:08:00.000-07:00

Hallucio!

The phone woke me up. I thought it was the alarm. It was her number. I knew it, even at the dead of the night. Thanks to her, I had enough sleepless nights. Now again.
"Hello" I croaked.
"Hi, I'm standing outside", she exhaled ".. of your house."

Damn her. All these years..and now she barges into my place. I let her in. She looked flustered. Half asleep, partly in the darkness, I check if it was really her. I slip into a T shirt in awkwardness.

"Sorry, I woke you up". she said pausing into a long silence.
"Bah", I thought. She drank water from the jug.

The words stirred me up though.I made tea hurriedly. I came back to find her sleeping on the sofa. She seemed hollowed by time. The contours of her face had changed. I sipped on the bitter tea.

Dream.

On the mountains, by the lake is the tree with blue colored flowers. She stood under the tree, on the blue carpet of flowers. From a distance, I can see her outstretched arms calling me. It is serene, silent. I keep walking towards the tree, but can't seem to reach her. The quicksand under the tree,is quickly pulling me in. I look up to her. She smiles.Wicked. Darkness.

I wake up to the alarm, sweating.I had slept on the carpet. Rewind dream. She is still dozing. I make breakfast and get ready for work. A part of me was trying to avoid her. She woke up. She adjusted my tie,as if seduced by the fabric. I felt like an asexual being, without any emotions. No lust, No love.

I ran, mumbling the time I would be back. My curious owner queried me on my way out.
"Old friend" I said without winking.Nosy Dog.

All day I thought of things, I would have said her. I felt guilty. On the memory swing, I felt impatient wanting to meet her. The thought of me confronting her made me uncomfortable.I thought of good times. I thought of my lonely misery. I did not smoke.

Kya soorat hai kya soorat hai kya soorat hai Yeah..
It's been so long since I last fell in love
Baby I swear I swear by heaven up above
I wasn't ever keen for what you call the love thug
Living was so easy it could never going rough
But since I saw your face my mind's not in place
The time's lost it's phase and I'm going insane

Old lyrics rang again.The lyrics would play by its own every time I saw her.I laughed at myself. They said love is blind. I felt love was blindfolding yourself to someone.

I came back in the noon,to find her watching TV.
"Who taught you to cook?".
"Hunger. Let us go out" I replied ignoring her.
"I could not write back to you" She continued switching off the TV."and my parents.."
"Leave it" I replied dryly. "Your life, your choices, no need to explain"

[Might not be continued...]

2009-04-03T11:10:00.001-07:00

Blind spot

Have you not spied?
Had you not tried?
"Shake it off", "Move on"
Press Shift+ Del
Wait! WTF is it
restarting?Reloading?
Blind spotting anxiety
angst,lust, envy
drown in spirits
hazed by the smoke
fancy myriad flicks
yet like a bomb it ticks
its same as before,
I can write no more.

2009-04-01T10:33:00.000-07:00

Work shite

I have been digging in the same place for past 4 years. I haven't struck gold yet.
I feel I have built my own trap.
Stuck in shite.

2009-03-27T10:13:00.000-07:00

Yesterday

We resumed our journey after dinner at the local drive in. Dosas, coffee, and smoke.
10.30 PM
31 kms to go.
The traffic comes to a halt. At a distance, I can see the crowd piling up.

My elderly friend gets off the steering wheel to check. His eyesight is poor, but I trust his driving skills. More cars and tourist buses come to halt queuing up behind our vehicle.

He informs that its an accident. He asks me to roll up the windows and come and see.
I followed him. I tried to look through the crowd. I lost my friend to the crowd.

I saw the entire engine of the car was shattered, smashed. Non -existent. Behind the steering wheel was a guy sat with his eyes closed. Under the light of the car's roof.

For a moment it felt like he was sleeping, ready to wake up to the crowd's noises. (I guess he would have so pissed looking at his car). A guy in early 30's, in his T shirt. Eerie, no blood, no injuries. Just a sedan with a smashed bonnet at the middle of the road.

My friend calls out my name. He mumbles in disdain. The engine oil had spilled on the road. We walked back after the traffic started clearing.

(You may laugh, but I can still feel the heat of spilled engine oil on my feet radiating from my skin)

2009-03-26T13:07:00.000-07:00

I can't get my thoughts arranged,
Do I qualify as the one deranged?

2009-03-24T11:42:00.000-07:00

Hindsight "23 March'31"

"Nothing can happen" he said "Nothing will work, we are plain inefficient"

"Would it have been different, if we had picked up the guns and shed blood instead of...". I queried "The people who dared to pick up the guns, are lost in our stories of struggle.."

"May be it would have kept us together.. united." He said unconvinced " I don't know. May be..."

2009-03-22T00:57:00.000-07:00

?

"dipped in the thorny thought,
from the ruins of the past,
these memories I fought,
how long will they last? "

I wrote. She read it slowly.
Looked up and said "You' re strange" as if looking at a queer.

I asked her about her new earrings.

A sugary 'cho chweet',I remember vaguely.

2009-03-15T09:43:00.000-07:00

Cold shoulder

She lay on the bed. I dug my face into her shoulder, trying to hold back the tears. I looked up at her pale face. I hid myself into her once again. She turned cold. Into a lifeless corpse.

I kept thinking that,she didn't say it was over.

2009-03-13T11:05:00.000-07:00

Ahh

what will rekindle the passion today?
Clean up the cobwebs on the window,or look through them?
Rejoin life, will I or Can I?
Hallucinate in pain,
agony so real
blurring stains of the near past
drops of tears trickle by,
the wind blows it dry,
Why me? I ask...
'Hell it had to be you', fate replied
the poison of karma,
Faith distorted,
Lost in self
no respect, nor disgrace
keeping the glimmer of delusion on

2009-03-12T10:27:00.000-07:00

drown pain with a more complex one,
then deal with both

2009-03-03T07:29:00.000-08:00

fowl

It is a dark and chilly night. We ride down to the local government sponsored liquor shop, so unlike the ones back in my hometown. People noisy and drunk, rustle past you through cramped narrow entrance. We park the bike and look around for place to be seated. It is large ground with shiny aluminum sheets along its perimeter, with evenly spaced tube lights illuminating the area. There are table made of rectangular cement slabs set up on cement blocks. The seating area is covered by asbestos and yellow or blue tarpaulins.

The crowd filled up the space seated on the cheap plastic chairs. The kitchen is set up at entrance, with sweaty and lean muscular men teasing the orange flames, tossing food, working on the batter and taking orders. A cage nearby holds the fowl, which restlessly flutter their wings suddenly. This place made me feel like a zombie looking in awe. It was menfolk and more menfolk. Small kids and young lads took order on old bills, and stuck the refill/pencil behind the ear. They carried cash in between the fingers, reminding me of the bus conductors. The guys are street smart and do quick math. We settle in the corner nearer to hot kitchen.

Drinks are ordered, and young kid takes an advance. In such places, money has to be paid first for the drinks to arrive. My colleague is all excited and recommends a specific fowl, that is softer than chicken. The bird is supposedly smaller than hen.
"No Pepsi,only Coke, 7up and sprite."
"Sprite", I say in sheepish voice trying to command.

Looking around, it is the lungi clad men, who lift it up occasionally to fish out cash or matchbox from the shorts underneath it. Even white dhoti men do that,and some even secure it with a belt. Serious. People took the upturned transparent plastic cup on the liquor bottle and poured the liquor into it. They mostly mixed it with water, expertly from water packets. The water gushed into the liquor creating a crazy mix.

Some drank slowly, others just gulped it down in fury. We waited. There were others, rather well to do educated people, with shiny gold strapped watches, clean pleated pants, checked half sleeved shirts. The heads were smeared with the holy ash and looked fresh. It seemed like ritual they enjoyed and followed strictly. Their conversations were rather hushed, on serious matters of politics and family. They stare at me as I eavesdrop. Then there are other who seem powerful, with their scary big mustaches,large gold rings, thick chains and their dhoti linings indicating their political affiliations.

The cage is opened and fowl is let to escape. The kids scurry and catch hold of the bird. The cook dips it in the water, and removes the feather as if shearing. The bird soon loses its life to be dipped in the spicy ingredients and into the cooking oil. It soon arrives on a plate on our table. My colleague talks about his debt, the parental land he owns which now stands mortgaged. He talks about his fiancee, as he excitedly gulps his whiskey neat.

His decibel level increases with every sip, and is suppressed by the underlying sadness in his tone. I dig into the smoking fowl which has large amounts of coriander and onions.Other delicacies apart from meat include half boils better know as bull eye vanishing into peoples mouth at a go. People light up, the younger ones with "filters" and the older folks with "beedis". The smoke paints the dark night grey. The people move to the farther corner of the place , which leads to a darker adjacent ground where people take a leak. Beer and soda can put lotsa pressure on the bladder.

It is getting late, and my colleague insists on one more.The garbage is being picked up by guy who looks like a rag picker. He puts the plastic cups in his white sack. The kids pick up and hurl the liquor and soda bottles into a large blue bucket. The dogs sniff and nibble on the bones that are thrown by the people. People break into small quarrels and to be shooed off by the bar men. The cage gets emptier by the night.People hurry back to their own cages.

2009-03-01T00:11:00.000-08:00

Moi

Don't be like me. One sans real friends. I do have friends, not around though. Its the random tapping of the keyboard or a short spurts of conversations on receiver, till every one gets busy. It is the only touch, a touch that has no real feel. So I really do not miss most of them. Skipping through web pages of the social networking site only makes the loneliness more evident.

I miss real conversations. The ones that are directionless, without expectations or guilt of whiling away time. I still have conversations,but I am constantly watching my back from getting stabbed or giving in to the person's need of me or my things.

Work stress got to me. I felt like a kid being bullied. I had to put on my oxygen mask of support- my parents. Hell! Why can't I talk to them? Cold heart, lonely longings. Strange sanity that can't get unstuck. Music scares me with old memories, the memories that are supposed to be healed by it in the first place.

Half Life. Part of the self scattered in memories. Half anger, half forgiveness. Plots of insanity dying their natural death. Infinite monsters of desires from the womb of the innocence. I can't be me anymore.

2009-02-22T07:57:00.000-08:00

Saline

A lacerated wound. At the bottom of thumb, making it almost un-opposable. A kid wails in the small room, where the cut on his head is being cleaned up. Sitting on a bed, he is cajoled by his mother to stop his crying. The nurse frightens him with her stern voice. He chokes for a moment in fear and wails even louder.

The intern walks back with a couple of saline drips and kidney tray. I see my kidney-ed image on the shiny plate. He tells me to hold my hand over the tray as he cuts the saline packet open with a medical blade. He pours the saline on the wound, trying to wash off the pus from the drying wound. It tingles me. I can feel the salt touching my bone.The treatment is always worse than the pain.

I look at the kid, now silent, shaking in sobs. I try to gather strength, rather hide my pain from him. The intern opens the next packet, to start over again. Ouch! the mental strength is wearing out. I tell myself that I have had worse.

I think of you. Your eyes. I remember you voice. I can see you appearing from the white light of the corridors. Your ahh...fucking smile. The pain turns me pale. Kill the pain with hurt. I feel like fainting. I can see dark spots in the air disappearing. I wish if he could pour some saline on my heart, to wash away the leech called love and the rotting memories. I now, did not clearly understand which pain was killing the other.

"Ok, it over." he said as he moved his fingers as an instruction.

(P.S: Not a suicidal wound;)

2009-02-15T07:30:00.000-08:00

Valentine Dare

I am sitting in her city. I am thinking about her. Hmmph.... Heart skids and mind brakes the flow of imagination. A smile crosses your face. Sorry smile that has no real hope of happiness. But the heart begs, "One last try".

Ahem. Devil in me works overtime. My friend has got his girlfriend with him. Their closeness leaves you awkward and a tad bit envious. They argue with each other, in a very colorful manner. They squabble in their local dialect. He was crazy about her. I quietly smiled, queasily poised in my loneliness. My friend leaves his mobile on the table. He clicks photos with the gang.

I look around like a thief. I pick it up. I am unsure of what to do. I dial her number frantically. May be I could just hear her voice and hang up. Call dialed. I put the phone to my ear, anticipating. The heart skids momentarily till the truth sets in.

"You do not have sufficient balance to call....".Phone bitch.

"Fucker" I cursed him.

(P.S: Work of fiction, inspired by real life stalkers;)

2009-02-14T10:58:00.000-08:00

Tooth ache

"Calling Speed Dial 1" Ringing...

"Hello"
"Hello"
"Hello?" the polite voice asks, "Who is speaking?"
"Ahem,its me freakie," sheepishly "Isn't Ma there?

The voice was a reflection of his own, an echo yet original. The tooth hurt, jabbing in throbs of pain. It was like an electric drill stuck on the molar, turning itself on every now and then. It was getting unbearable, that the left ear felt deaf.

"Ah.. She is not here. Gone out"
"My tooth is still hurting. Had analgesic A with antibiotic B in the morning"
"Ok, Have another analgesic A with Sedative C now. It should help you get some sleep"

Sleep. Not a wink. Losing myself to pain. Toothpaste, Listerine, chewing on cloves. No relief. Gulping the prescription as said.

"And keep doing the warm saline gargling"
"Yeah, doing that"

No thoughts. Silence. Did he hang up?

"So you are not coming this weekend, huh?"
"Nah, I can't..."
"OK,... you submitted the investment proofs..?"
"Ye, done"
"And, the rent receipt?"
"Ye.."
"Did the owner give the...?
"Ye, all done and sent", getting impatient.

Line 2. GF calling.

"I am going to hang up the call.Tell Ma."

Line 1 disconnects. Line 2 blinks on the screen.

"Yeah.."
"You busy, heh?" sweet voice teasing "Boss or another gal?"
"Dad" gruffy tone
"Why so sad? You getting married or what, heh?"

Humour. Fucking painful humor. Ho-Ho. I can't laugh.

"Nah..."plainly "tell me.."
"Hey" excitement in the voice," my bro is back from the US after 8 months, and this time he is taking sister-in law with him"
"Hmm"
"Guess what? They are planning to go to the Niagra Falls. Can you imagine that?"

I guess I can imagine without a passport.

"You too going?"
"I wish I could. It would be a dream come true. What would your wish be heh?"
"I don't know..."

Hang up the phone.Switch it off. Tell her Low battery/No signal story tomorrow.No wait, that's a good question. The sedatives have started working. My tongue feels different.

"I would like to have a studio, with these huge blank canvasses to stare at for the whole day long, and then may be paint a bit?"

"No, I meant as in traveling"

"Hmm... its strange, but I feel like visiting the only alive religious leader, the Dalai Lama. I want to travel with this friend of mine. No cameras,no phones,no music players. Only public transport and private memories"
"Oh really! Why is that? And which friend? ... and then what happened to the trip to the Andamans, heh?"

Did it hurt baby? Hurt when you cannot please someone.I can't feel a thing.

"Hypothetically, it would have been the revolutionaries but they are branded as terrorists or naxalites, I thought..."
"Hey! Gottago" interrupting annoyed. "Will get you the chocolates my bro got"

Yeah, poison me instead.
Lying down. Shut eyes. I can feel the warm lips locked. Soft breath against my face. Hallucination repeats.

2009-02-01T07:46:00.000-08:00

Re- union

It was late in the evening he walked into this hangout in the basement of the hotel. In the far corner, he was waiting for him. He smiled and shook his hands.
"Long Time", he heard
"Yeah, quite long" was his reply.
It was a pretty spacious and well lit place. He sank into the comfy leather seats. His friend lit up and ordered drinks. He insisted for a cola, and his friend shot him a stare.

The guy looked different from the last time he had met him. Such a braggart,that when they first met he thought he could never stand him, but the guy was fond of him. There was a band playing at the far end. Two oriental girls, one with the guitar and the other with a microphone, swaying as they sang.A guy behind them was on the drums. The music was soothing. His friend excused himself with a vulgar looking blackberry.

One guy from the crowd, got up and joined the girls for a number. His singing was OK, having fun in between the girls.Guitar, soft drumming and giggles. He looked around.
A world of wannabes.
High on egos.
Giving orders. Repeat.
Burp. Fart.
From both ways.

This was the world of sugary success. Diabetics unaware. Women with excessive kohl and straightened hair, trying to perfect the witchy look. They stuck to the salads, yet guzzled down the booze. Shallow, pretentious,born from the womb of feminism. They were matching the men on each step- power,money and pragmatism. Most commonly seen, picking out their snazzy mobiles from their ugly deformed handbags to text message others, while still conversing.

His friend rejoined him. He lit up again and offered him one. He shook his head. He spoke about the countries, he had recently visited. He was animated about the food, the people and of course- the women. He had also trekked to the far part of the upcountry, where he had photographed the most visible element-poverty. It looked so desirable on his expensive Nikon. It seems he had smoked on beedis and had country toddy desi. He was also excited about the ticketless train ride he took on the trip.

Country A rediscovering country B through the lenses, though it went unnoticed to the naked eyes everyday. The country B was always there around, in the slums, on the pavement.Scraping, scavenging, scantily surviving. Of course, that would not be so glorifying.

His friend smoke and drank in excess. He kept calling the waiter for the refill and it seemed like he was a regular here. Some old memories spoken about. They joined the crowd clapping for the oriental girls with silky voices, swaying hips. He offered to drop him,he politely refused. He walked along the pavement, walking away from the huge entrances and exit of the hotel. Away from signs of valet parking, No auto rickshaws after this line.

He burped the acidic cola. He thought of the Oriental girls swaying. He walks across a large group of chitchatting auto rickshaw drivers. They break away their conversation to offer him a ride. They pounced swiftly and he obliged to be their prey. He sat in one of them painted yellow, and covered by a black rexine. Sticker of gods, goddesses, saints and movie star cum politicians. The meters did not work but showed the correct time. He saw himself on the rear view mirror. So where did he belong to?

Perhaps he was just like his friend, glorifying about country B on some fucking blog.

2009-01-24T11:44:00.000-08:00

Cyclic

I felt homesick. Even though I was at home for 3 days last week. The hollowness of silence seeps in. Entering vacuum from chaos. Depressing work pressure. It is as if you have been cornered and have no place to run. Eating food out of aluminum foiled parcels.Putting them back into the plastic bags afterward. TV running the same news on all the channels. Just a matter of colors and newsreaders you like. Lying on the creaking bed, waking up to bad dreams, smothered as if someone stood on your chest.Morning chill, hawkers screaming.Alarm one. Snooze. Alarm two. The cheap mirror on the sink gives a new dimension to the unattractive face. Wash utensil one. Make milk powder tea. Strain. Nevertheless. Yawn, drown in uncertainty. Work.

Run back home. Known faces reassure.

2009-01-16T05:46:00.000-08:00

Anomaly

Here he was, bidding her goodbye. He hugged her. Took one hard look at her face.

"Don't get lonely", she said.
"Ye, you send me your number". he mumbled.

He had met her, when everything was going wrong. He was dumped. She was committed, not entirely happy. They had known each other from long time. But the present had been different. Meeting each other "out of the blue". They were a strange equation. Keeping morals aside, exploring unfulfilled romance. Or satiating strange platonic lust.

She was everything he desired, yet the social taboo of being born into different cultures, built a fencing perimeter in reality.He remembered breaking down to tears, sobbing like a kid to her. She was his healer. Well read, she could logically drive any conversation. Unlike others who wanted to just make their point. He did not know, why she chose to be with him. He never asked. He could sense betrayal though.

Infidelity was the cure. Because they could not turn back time, to set things straight. He picked her from her workplace, and rode through the buzzing traffic. His helmet was a conversation killer. Helmets, like condoms did not make sense.It would not make sense to a dog or a monkey.

"It isn't accidents or AIDS, it is the fear that makes sense", she quipped.

(Rewritten for RAM)

She was a an outdoor person. He remembered when she drove him through out the dead night, to shown him the best dawn break he had ever seen. It was refreshing, and it challenged him physically. They had drove and slept alternately. For being bad at driving, he kept ogling at her face in the darkness. He did not know if she looked better with her eyes shut or open. He liked most women till they kept their mouth shut.

She had a her way to pursue things. He was grateful, yet sorry to dump his emotional baggage on her. They never spoke about their relationship. They lied close to each other, on the bonnet with their backs up the wind shield .They looked at the sky as if watching through each others eyes. She poured tea from the flask. He sipped at it hungrily and tired. They took off their shoes. He thought, if the beauty was worth driving all this way. He looked at her. She was scary with her disheveled look.

"Are we good people?". He asked, as he played with her entangled hair.

"Altruism isn't everyone's forte" was the reply. "Everyone has a selfish pursuit of life, where we consider ourselves being in centre of things". she continued.

"Why?" he nagged.

"Fuck it. Ask yourself." she said and guffawed, jumping off the bonnet in self defense.

He grinned in half insult. He chased her bare feet, sprinting to get hold of her. His heart beat harder as he tried to close in on her.

In reality, it was a mirage he was chasing.He could now feel the needle of pain throbbing. Unsure, insecure once again.

(P.S; Work of fiction, written in haphazard manner)

2009-01-11T07:54:00.000-08:00

the line

The protagonist walks through the corridors of a building. There are doors on the left and the huge windows on the right alternating with walls. The guy is neatly dressed in formals with a tie on. He is wearing spectacles and walks briskly. (Camera from behind)

The corridor has line right on the center, till which the sun reaches through the windows. He walks on the line, passing through the dark alley each time he passed between the windows. The sunlight is blocked by the wall between the windows. It is a half image of him that vanishes into the dark, and then reappearing.(Front long shot)

His face is half hidden in bright sunlight and half in the darkness. The eye gleams, sun through the glasses. He passes through the corridor, just to find himself at the entrance of a similar corridor. He walks frantically on the line. He loosens his tie, sweat appears on his glasses.

He looks at the line, stares at it as he starts as if about to sprint. He looks around,up and down again .Sweating profusely. The line gets blurred and isn't straight. The line blurs again and forms an illusion of a circle. (Close camera)

Screen darkens.(Flute)(pauses)

Guy screams. (Muted)(Flute)(pauses)

Guy lying on the ground.(Flute)

Credits.

2009-01-08T08:27:00.000-08:00

Late Resolve

This might strange, yet the year 2009 wasn't exactly happy or new. It was just plain. Spent my new year on a bus standing and later sitting near the footboard freezing.People were euphoric for the new year, shouting and screaming. Some old friends called up, others forwarded the easy-to -do text messaging. It helped me regain a few lost numbers.

Taking cue from Zeus's 15 point agenda, here is a late resolve. A resolve not a promise, yet a few months from now I hope to feel good about it. I can't jot them point wise.

To remain de-addicted from vices,and to stay that way. I hope to be more rational and yet not be cold hearted. Hope to bury horrid past,anger and wrath.To be able to accept obnoxiously biased people and thoughts without intellectualizing about them. Be diligent and mix hard and smart work, for atleast next couple of months.Will definitely like to upgrade my "working for Peanuts" status, irrespective of the ground reality. Network with more people. Take risks for exploring new avenues of success.

Watch more movies, Read more books, Travel.Click more photos. Even if they seem meaningless. Take care of health by learning to cook some simple stuff. Workout, try to move from the Fight Club Norton look to more like American History X. Give Zeus helluva complex next time we meet up ;). Don't miscalculate relationships, and prioritize personal life. Understand emotional expectations and reciprocate. No nostalgia no hang ups. Come back here with some good pieces of creativity. No emotional dumping.

No mixing of idealism with morals. No hard feelings. Be a part of the culture I was born into, and understand the culture of people I was brought up. Learn the vernacular language better and understand the history and current affairs.

HNY

2008-12-13T20:23:00.000-08:00

Dysentry

same sequence
encore
day and night
the silent fight
no wins, no defeat
only repeat
time line- year end
discovering new bends
staring at mosaic of life
why rebel? why strife?
all for the empty mind
an excuse for inaction
wipe the stains,
switch off the mains
stay afloat
in hope and despair
rebuild, repair
the simmering rage
a new odd age
burn past on the pyre
let the ashes remain..
memories fond
untie knots, unbond
my unoccupied yoke
would you serve me my egg yolk?

2008-12-09T06:18:00.000-08:00

I miss you so much....it hurts...

I guess when celebs can't sell themselves, they sell their relationships..hah!

Ocean's Eleven
Danny: Does he make you laugh?
Tess: He doesn't make me cry.

Movies for Encore

Music and Lyrics
Chashme Badoor
Ayutha Ezhuthu
A Few Good Men
3 Iron
A Bittersweetlife
The Motorcycle Diaries
Fight Club (Hate admitting!)
Flavours
Before Sunrise
Before Sunset
Eternal Sunshine of the spotless mind
Good will Hunting
Departed
The Beach
Enemy at the Gates
Rainman
Rainmaker
Pulp fiction
Patch Adams
Reservoir Dogs/ Kaante
Dead Poets Society
Finding Neverland
Con Air
Gone in 60seconds
Taxi Driver
The last Samurai
7 samurai
Seemabaddha

2008-12-06T11:22:00.000-08:00

We are just plain Shameless!!

Athoo! 10 days passed,and all I watch is news channels brainstorming again and again over the same issues of security, our insensitivity to our martyrs, resilience of the city, with celebrities, page 3 elite and little known politicians. Sometimes they are just selling their news channels with anger as a selling point.The most unlikely person with whom I could relate was probably Priety Zinta, who despite her celebrity status, wasn't talking to promote PR for her latest movie or herself. Her anger and grief was evident. Why can't the news persons stand united to form a larger platform for once? The politicians are playing their dirty old game in a very bad taste. And instead passing the blame, rather create of plan of action and Heaven's sake act on them.

As Nandan Nilekani promoted his book "Imagining India", he spoke about the divide in India between people like us,( who have the opportunity to be educated and can speak english) and the one's that are far from it. I guess all our ideas don't get realized into reality, because we have ignored the people from the latter group. If we keep widening the rift, with development not seeping down to the important bottom of the pyramid, its going create the imbalance. The products and services need to be redefined(not just for NRIs,humongous middle class or the upper elite) for an inclusive growth. The parallel economy rooted on pure capitalism and so called meritocracy, cannot self sustain.

The agrarian economy needs to be developed with better education, credit facility, technology and subsidy/incentive based on their actual demographics must be handed down? Why else would they care if a city is attacked, when you weren't exactly helping him fight the maoist/ naxalites or communal/ caste divides? Its sad we know these problems, yet we have not identified them as a potential opportunity. Unless an equity is created, we are going to fall in to our trap of self indulgence and profiteering.

60 years and we have seen that both the Superpowers have been reeling from the flaws of Communism and Capitalism. It is time to build advantage, unless plan of action is created and acted upon. Lets stop basking in the glory of the past and embrace the present, with a realistic and humane approach.

2008-11-30T08:27:00.000-08:00

Purpose. Propose.

It has been strange times. I look at my country, and I feel its a reflection of me. Morbid, fractured, mediocre,contradicting yet existent. The purpose of life seems insignificant. Have you lived life like it were a free fall into hell? You know what, you meet your alter ego at the end of the descent, and you want to climb back. The ugly face of fascism is revealed, and myths uncovered. I look around my friends, and I believe goodness prevails. Otherwise, wouldn't we just self destruct?

I saw tears rolling out of my siblings eyes, when we caught up on a movie after a long time. We were happy yet the movie had hit us hard. A few years back, if there were tears in eyes, it was mainly me. Now again.

A week long reflection of the past gone by. The present seems more visible. Destiny has been merciful to me. Speaking with known people warms your heart. I know I need to return some calls,write to them, regain contacts. No words to write, no thoughts to unite.

- Unapologetic me.

2008-11-20T04:59:00.000-08:00

Hibernate. Recuperate.

Have you heard of silence drowning your loneliness? The eerie of momentary solitude. Till the clock ticks, the hawker’s cries. Strange stagnation of mind. The focus is not shifting. The torture of the half day long power cut is soothing. No ringtones to interrupt, no reruns of TV, no internet.

I think about fidelity, what is it to the whole concept? Is infidelity in the mind ok, but not in action? I'm reminded of the word, “committed/commitment”? Doesn’t infidelity rise out of desires, which are bottled within us.Is it specific to the values we hold, cultures we are rooted in. Pandora’s box. Can I tell a story of infidelity not being sinful, yet not justifying itself? May be later.

2008-11-19T06:17:00.000-08:00

I dreamt in madness
Like a lost bee
Trying to drown the sadness
Burying the boring me
I laughed at life
Till I got serious
Then life laughed back at me

Strange devils in the brain
Making my life go down the drain
Iam not insane
Yet I cant stay sane
Enough mindfuck spoken,
please sell my soul, for the price of token

Handful of words
mouthful of thoughts
stuck in quicksand of love
cobwebs of the wrecked mind
Is this the world I can leave behind?
oar less, rudderless,
help me stay afloat

O' Leonor
Can I listen to that song once more?
Encore
the blurring images,
the sweet scent of emotions,
caresses and whispers,
the soul unchained
into frenzy untamed

2008-11-17T11:41:00.000-08:00

Now I know why you wanna hate me..

I ran away from work...did not turn up rather..sent an sms and switched off my cell..should hibernate for another two days...funny I am gonna be so screwed... I hope my devilish desire of getting laid off comes true soon.

Iam so lonely and it is so evident. I donot have the courage to begin all over again. Just dragging old memories. Thoughts are stuck typing on the fragile keys of the laptop. Sophistication can be shitty.

2008-08-31T07:56:00.000-07:00

Creativity - Giving the impossible/improbable a little chance. I like it.

2008-08-24T08:47:00.000-07:00

Opening

I am tired and I feel screwed, back from work. A voice from behind startles me, as I open the grill gate of my place. It's my landlord. He is excited about the opening ceremony of the Olympics. He is in both awe and envy, about the Chinese prowess.I give a fake grin, as I try to escape yet another conversation in my life.

We won

We did. And yes, a Gold. Historically speaking, it is great. But we need to objectively look at it. He ended by saying, "....I guess it was my day". I guess that is what is to be blamed. Our Luck. It may sound harsh, but may be we Indians, a highly heterogeneous mix of people, aren't exactly athletic to truest sense.

Withdrawn

"You are so withdrawn. You are constantly making up your mind if want to do or say something. You are so disconnected, as if you are intellectualizing and judging what the other has to say. You don't even react. ....You are not biased, yet to want sell a losing argument...".

Hmmm.. maybe she is right. But then I was busy jotting this stuff in my mind, as I saw her vulgar lips move.

2008-08-10T00:18:00.000-07:00

Will you be there?
when I let out the last sigh,
my soul, a paper kite drifting high
a speck of color, on the fragrant sky
hanging on to the wind till I drop, untethered
in a temporary stillness, un-bothered

Will you be there?
when I feel empty and alone
smothered in love, in disgust i mourn
please be witty and make me smile
i hope this last mile, shall be worthwhile

2008-08-03T08:46:00.000-07:00

Mantra

Is it a revelation after 97 posts?
Life = Risk doesn't motivate me anymore.
The sulking doesn't make me look pretty on this space.
So, the fact remains that life is what you make out of the RAT RACE.

Love it, Hate it, we are a part of it. In academics,in professional lives, in wooing life partners, the gizmos you own, the combustion engines we drive. Every thing you took pride in -your country, race, religion. The satisfaction of upmanship.

Fulfilling destiny has a new meaning- be a hypocrite, play foul, and feel good about it. The new rules of the game are play2win. It is time that we deal the dumb ass organizational hierarchy, the vulgar lips, annoying co workers, smart ass salesmen, pot bellied cops etc.

Kill the guilt, bottle it and deal with it in old age.

- Shylock

2008-06-28T20:54:00.000-07:00

Changes

Finally found my footing in the outskirts of the rogue city(which was my belief). My comfort zone vanished. I found myself handcuffed to reality. Not that I hate it. It is a numb mind that is unwilling to comprehend. People with the least probability of helping you, were the ones to rescue. I am trying to learn new things. I am staring at people as if I cease to exist. Why do I feel like a alien everywhere? My identity crisis.

*******************************************************************
A few weeks later...

I am lonely. Silence gnawing my mind. Cleaning, washing, sweeping, plumbing, mopping seem to be new pass-time. Spillage, sinkholes, keyholes open new gates of wisdom. Living in less is the mantra. Life longs for luxury though.

Crappy Cable. Friends DVDs are the only saving grace.

******************************************************************
My song

O fortune teller!
how do I believe you?
the present that seems slipping away
under the sadness of the heavy past
'this status quo', I ask
How long shall it last?

While the distant world conspires,
I dig in to my dull desires
it doesn't hurt
yet it wouldn't fade
like a old broken fountain
alive in its occasional ugly spurt
under the orchard's shade
amidst the cloudy mountain

2008-06-08T06:20:00.000-07:00

Esc / Retry

Go on, duck n hide
what about the mind?
That can't forget,nor lie
fading memories on the memory sky
in the stillness of solitude
does my silence seem so rude?
disowning thoughts,like an unholy smear
Will I stand up to fight my fears?

2008-05-09T04:57:00.000-07:00

This is...

love lost
friends forgotten
chances are..
we lied,
for the sake of fun..
did we really care?
seeking more
we went blind,
farther, looking away

cornered into to sanity
this is my emotional garbage
buried on this virtual space
I hope that,
when I dig this past
the memories don't haunt
in regret, with despise
as if I were a hollow soul

Cradling my emotions
swinging high on an egotrip
in digust, and unrest
a thousand thoughts
bumping into one another
forming illusive opinions
on the mental kaleidoscope

2008-04-22T09:03:00.000-07:00

Dilemma

I hate change, esp. when familiar faces vanish. The newer faces don't sink in and there is an emotional disconnect. It makes me queasy. On the other hand, I can get sick of some people, who make life monotonous and miserable. I can't stand some of them, that a even eye contact can be such a pain.

I can be an ass. My designation says that. I don't mind making an ass out myself(at times). I just wish people don't keep pushing me to become an asshole. I hate it when people judge others(except I don't mind listening to harmless gossip). It does sting the ego, when people start judging you on the basis of a single instance or action. The past just doesnot matter to them, when things were fine.

Life minus its vices, feels like standing outside a government office to get your work done. It can seem forever. There are people around, who constantly need to cash in their chips; emotionally on relationships . No one is interested in playing a long hand. These people make me jittery and test my patience. A silent anger creeps in. Hope they rot in hell, if they backstab me.

In the span between hope and caution....

2008-04-10T01:31:00.000-07:00

4 lines
Do I speak my mind?
else, just stay behind
like always,
I'm stuck in the foreplay

2008-04-08T13:13:00.000-07:00

Mind(less) (Sh) IT

What is it with our "leaders"/ politicians, who seem to just find a way to be politically incorrect to get mileage in terms of media visibility. Have we lost ourselves in regionalism/statehood that we need to compare iconic actors like Amitabh and Rajinikanth to prove their "sons of the soil" status?.

We did not mind it when movies of Bhagat Singh showed him singing around trees, or SRK as Ashoka luring with an imaginary Kalinga Princess, but we seem to be uptight about showing Akbar romancing his own wife?. Our tolerance levels have been skewed to new heights.

Why do the Goan cops have to question the chastity of Scarlett Keeling, and making it obvious on a cover up? It certainly gives a new meaning to brand "Incredible India" with its age old punch line of athithi devo bhava.

For being born and brought up as a confused Indian, it is more evident to me that there does exists, the North- South divide in various workplaces ( I bet my friends would disagree, and be rather euphemistic about it.) One of my senior colleagues preferred to remain silent, when I asked him the rationale of building a Thiruvalluvar statue right next to the Vivekananda Rock memorial in Kanyakumari. (Of course with due respect to both of them). The silence did scare me.

Why do we feel guilty that we have not been able to stand to the Tibetan cause, when we have failed to acknowledge our own issues in J &K and North East? I am not against their cause, but it does surprise me that we lack the same kind of unity on other issues that hit us hard directly.

Does the govt. need to to distribute color TVs in urban metros (which are being sold by the beneficiaries later) for vote bank, open state sponsored liquor shops, or rather sort out hardpressing issues like scarcity of water for farmers?

Can of worms/ foot in the mouth, I guess??

2008-04-04T09:42:00.000-07:00

Does Life suck?

It is a strange question to ask on this blog. Because if you have read this blog, you might find a guy with a L - board on his forehead blogging. Life has been hard for sometime now, yet a scary psycho kid in me, just can't get enough of it. Shit happens. Life goes on and then more shit happens. Give me more???.(My pals wouldn't disagree)

I have been pretty rash and impatient, especially on the last lap of this year(to be read as financial year). I guess I get screwed, every time I lose the "gut feeling" and take things for granted. The gut feeling is like the third eye/ sixth sense, where logic takes over, which can sniff out deceit just like that. I can sense deceit from an eye contact, or just by the tone of the voice in the receiver. It sounds like bragging, but it is the only expertise I have acquired in past three years.

My world can come down crashing, yet I can't feel a thing. The shell of numbness, that hides the emotions that seem superficial to me. There is no right or wrong/ good or bad? It’s on which end of the deceit chain you identify yourself. Screw or get screwed? Be comfortably numb?

Is there cold criminal hiding in me or does this post just suck in vagueness?

2008-02-14T08:45:00.000-08:00

Romancing Reality

The roadside rope- walker family hammers the newly laid road open with iron pegs. The shop owner isn't too happy. The street gets cramped. In this buzzing and honking traffic, the music plays. The girl walks on the rope. The traffic comes to a momentary halt of silence, and then snails through. Coins tinkle, and people sheepishly retreat.

Poverty hurts. Somewhere, we have left these people behind. To our intellect, they are just a bitchy statistic or, an acronym like BPL. The government has overlooked them, other independent bodies have just studied and made more statistics. Do we not have a Nobel Laureate in Economics?

2008-02-09T06:54:00.000-08:00

Lump in the throat

I was back home for a late lunch as usual, till I found someone in my porch. Normally I'm welcomed by my backyard stray dog, or a group of roaming campus monkeys. This time I found a meek old man, sitting in the shade of the mango tree. He chomped on the rice - dal, served to him, in his toothless jaw. He ate hungrily in slurps. The picture of the old man made me feel mushy. I felt weak. What if destiny changed, swapping the roles we play?

I thought about all the people who ask for alms outside the temples. Is God, only for people throng these places and carry out the rituals laid down? Is this the path of righteousness, just to say your daily prayers, without being bothered about others..

2008-01-27T05:08:00.000-08:00

Blogger & Stuff

As an addendum to the franchisee theory, we are today more keen on recording stuff around us. We are not historians- just plain recorders. We are today clicking more photographs, podcasting, making movies and writings blogs (like this).

Today as we click photos, the process of photography is more paramount than the moment itself. The moment is useless, its the sleek camera, the light set up that supercede. We want to store our opinions, our sense of beauty, intellectualizations on our blogs/ webpages. Everyone to him/herself, trying to be immortal on the webspace, on some part of the hardware as 0's and 1's.

Today most of us, would either end up writing a book, or make a movie. Its like we are constantly, creating some kind of epitaph of our existence. A journal, a dossier of our lives. We are too much in love with ourselves - overwhelmingly narcissistic.

Journos & Bloggers

I guess this piece of info, is available on all blogs, who saw/ were part of the show that, Barkha Dutt(now Padma Shri), held this discussion on bloggers in India. I guess it was partly in bad taste, asking stuff like whether blogs are to be regulated, parents reading stuff. Found this blog, Emancipation of Eve, written by a journo. I was in awe, for finally some one speaking her mind, her swearing part did suit me.

Most of my friends, who blogged have either stopped (or deleted their stuff). The chaos ( or Cranial Exodus), is from the trio. I still read their older posts (esp. during my bouts of insomnia). I have grown fond of Neo's stuff, esp. the long pieces, with a mix of movies, philosophy and crude reality. Zeus, is definitely loaded with a lot of info, and a heavy vocabulary; though holds ground of his creativity with his rationale. Ram's posts are short and in spurts, yet its like a nail that drives up your arse.
So, why do I write this? I can't get enough of it ( So I beg them not to stop).

The other blog, I found was from dharmabum. Looks like dude from past, not sure who. Definitely relate to him, on the ground reality.

The worm/ Wishlist

The organization worm keeps quoting Robin's Blog. I hate it, but it eases the hypocrisy. (Among other stuff like following cricket, digging into other's personal lives to effectively network, stupid PJs, being a stock market buff, giving gyaan on trivial matters etc).

My blog has been a record of the lows in my life. I wish it was gone one day. Hacked away.

"True love is Silent. - Victor Hugo. That makes me a virgin."
(q. RAM)

2008-01-26T08:25:00.000-08:00

Destiny

my destiny distanced..
a whore that swayed her hips,
to the beats of desires, the seductress danced
for the existentialist, was just a lonely pimp

sounds of hallucination, blurs of the mirage
I am lost in the paths of my own thought
yet in the open I hide, I camouflage
in the womb of negativity, I find my spot

I remember you green, or was it blue?
or, flowery patterns, on tur·quoise
are you a riddle, one without a clue
untangling like a bum, Im a helpless bourgeoisie

2008-01-22T10:48:00.000-08:00

Guilt of Karma

Hurts, rising bile in the early mornings. I try to take my mind off, muttering verses, drinking water, trying to puke. Nothing to avail.

I hurt this person from workplace. Big time, just when he thought he could look up for support. To bully a weak guy, I hate this ....power, is it?. Hope it does him good. Acts of hypocrisy, fulfilling karma (kill the thinker in me...) .

Flashback...why could I not learn programming? Find a may be mundane but easier, high paying job in Silicon Valley. (My insane ego retreating finally).

The Choice has been made. Now is the time to understand "Why?"
( or WTF)

2008-01-17T09:22:00.000-08:00

Revisited...

I am not what I really am,
till such time that u are not....
I know not if it's right or wrong
if I cross ur mind, in your thought

my promises, now broken
into silence of hope, I' m taken
lonely yet, solitude denied
madness shed, sourness settled

in uncertain obfuscating darkness
pangs of guilt, asking forgiveness
Iam not sure, what I really am
till such time you are not...
:(

2008-01-14T11:25:00.000-08:00

Riding on the high

The euphoria surrounding our developing economy is unwarranted. As Zeus puts it "its all perception...u can feel proud or u can open ur eyes to the fact that there is still a lot of work that remains to be done."

As a kid, the most amazing (and mind boggling) thing was the robots built by the Japanese. They said it would automate everything with perfection in our lives in future. A decade later, Indians were found. And the production is pretty simple, considering our population and fertility rate. Also, we come cheap. Yes, it is degrading.

On the macro level, we as a country are riding on the high of instant gratification. The economy that was primarily agrarian is currently importing food. Inflation shocks are currently being regulated by lowering liquidity, and highering common man's mortgage rates.

For once, fuck the pride... enough of sloganeering, garlanding statues, singing on nationalism....Let's face the competition.

2008-01-10T08:35:00.000-08:00

Trivial Matters

"Winning isn't everything"
I wish I was right. These days, failure hurts. May be I've started taking the rat race a bit too seriously. At least, it allows me to rise above my mediocrity. People may no longer take it politely, when I ruthlessly pursue for perfection and confront every obstacle. It does scare me. My laid back past does question me.

"Crashed & Stolen"
Yup, my PC crashed and somebody stole my mobile at office. It did humble me. I lost the contacts, as the backup was on my PC. Please do send me your numbers again.

"Boss"
The year was about working with women- my boss, colleagues, counterparts and my reportees. She was the best thing that happened to me, in this organization. She was sweet, never unreasonable. She has put in her papers, which brings me back to same situation that I report to my super boss (ala my ex boss). It breaks my heart that she's leaving.

"Getting undone"
I wrote in hurt, on matters of heart. It did rise the phoenix of optimism in my life. (Toying with words again.) I guess certain things in life are done, which are tougher getting undone. Infatuation (or lust for love) I believe, cannot be forgotten, and forgiveness seems too lame in anonymousity.

I have quit liquor and meat. (Hope, the satans aren't reading this). Smoking on the other hand is an occupational hazard. Trying hard (any suggestions).

"The Franchisee theory( Old thought)”
If this life was all about finding our true self, then why were we constantly trying to be like the people around us .... our parents... our bosses...our peers. We are urged to reveal ourselves, yet we conceal in our conformity... in fashion... in tradition...in religion. It is like the human race is constantly replicating either a process... a lifestyle..., as if trying to build a franchisee. Common to all civilizations is the fact that an idea, was constantly being reapeated in a similar fashion. Even the very fact of progeny follows the same pattern.

“Bloggers"
Happy to see blogs, with updates from personal front too. Finally some chaos ;).

Mr. Anonymous blogger, thanks for your concern on my virginity. I have a question, as Samuel Jackson puts it "Does Marsellus Wallus look like a bitch?” heh..

HNY

2007-11-28T09:05:00.000-08:00

eyes moist

memories frost

Is it true?

I think of you

my dear one,

your gossipy tone,

Of time that flew

and fondness grew

I stood there,

as if lost in a fair

staring at the giant mill

the night seemingly still

into this frenzy unreal

I fell

u vanished, breaking my dreams dreary,

fog fading, setting ugly reality,

was I blind, or was it dark?

if only my silence could speak

I threw punches in air,

thinking I had fought?

I weave these words,

and call them my thought?

( I have an intuition, somewhere, something is terribly wrong, and I have had a hand in its making)

2007-11-25T12:10:00.000-08:00

Set me free

I can't feel happy for other's happiness, nor am I sad for their sorrows. Am I jealous or plain selfish? I can't makeup my mind. Why am I feeling so empty, yet I feel I had to write here? Wasn't this blog, my space for letting out my frustrations and bad mouthing the world? Yet, I donot feel better. Why do I have a gut feeling that things could always go bad?

I know Iam alternating between professional and personal highs, in search of happiness. I am aware that this can't be happiness as I am not content with it. And if I was content, then it would be compromise. Other day, I fagged so hard that my body shivered uncontrollably. I wished I could disappear like the smoke molecules in the air. I want to be set free.

How do I let go, when nothing was in my control?

2007-11-17T23:59:00.000-08:00

Devil’s Delirium
(Attempted screenplay)

Bike comes to halt at a traffic stop, alongside the road divider. Rider turns off the engine, a guy wearing a sports shoes, denim jeans and pinstripe black shirt, face not shown. Pillion rider jerks forward, and lets out a sigh of restlessness. Large billboards surround the bust of a historic figure at the center of the signal.

Across the road, the rusty signage reads the name of the tea shop. The chaiwallah pours tea from one tumbler to other, in a quick and tall flow between his hands. Face not shown due to movement of hands and focus is on the frothy tea poured into the tumblers.

On the pavement of the shop stands a cop, busy on his mobile phone. His walkie- talkie crackles on his waist, as he sinks his palate into the cream roll. Cream sticks on his moustache. Face not shown.

Pillion rider sighs again, as the traffic of the narrow lane comes to a halt across the divider. A heavy vehicle screeches to halt overstepping the stop line. A white vehicle with a red flashing light on it tries to go through the traffic, stops behind the heavy truck.The cop at the tea shop sips his tea, still on his phone.

The rider jumps off the bike. The pillion rider tries to hold the bike. Bike falls and crashes on to its side. The rider sprints across the road negotiating the on coming traffic. He moves fast on to the lane as he ties a kerchief on his right palm.

The guy athletically climbs on to the bonnet of the white car. His hands quickly move and in a moment, a gun is pointing from his hands aiming at the glass. He pulls the trigger and there is a loud sound, followed by the falling bullet clinking on the bonnet of the car.

The bullet proof shield cracks but does not shatter. Two more bullets, but no avail. The guy frantically holds the hot barrel of the gun like a hammer, and tries to smash the glass again and again. The glass does not budge. The guy fires the gun point blank at the tiny hole on the glass, created by the earlier bullets. The shattered glass goes red.

He climbs on the roof the car and hops on to the next vehicle’s bonnet. Suddenly a bullet catches him from back and he falls on the vehicles roof with a thud, denting it. He grasps for breath like an asthmatic. Blood seeps on the roof of the vehicle.

Flickering eyes shut. Each flicker darkens the screen.

Chopper view of the guy (moving out).

OST (Heavy guitar and drums).

Credits.