idle musings

The journey so far...

2011-10-08T09:20:00.000-07:00

27th July.

A date I had marked all my countdowns for. Yet it managed to sneak up on me and I was almost caught unawares. The things that had gone wrong in the previous year, made me want to get away as soon as possible. It was this thought that propelled me during the toughest of times, during the moments I had to either swallow my pride or I was on the verge of a complete internal collapse. As the final moment itself got closer, I felt deflated and drained. There was a part of me that did not want to even go. The painful goodbyes made sure of it. As most things of late, I let my thoughts simmer on some desolated back burner, dimly aware of its presence but never quite letting them surface.

Back to documenting the journey so far. As I let my thoughts settle their battles by themselves, I sauntered on, carrying on with the motions of it all. After the last minute weight transferring at the airport, the rest of the journey was pale and uneventful in comparison. A few hours later and I breathed the air of America, Boston.

The familiar had soon enveloped me in its warm embrace. Everything was familiar, everything was known. The dates molted and new ones appeared in its place, indistinguishable from the previous ones. Until, the dollar optimization hit me :)

The dollar optimization : 1

2011-10-08T09:18:00.000-07:00

Purple. An incomprehensible color that stretches, slightly peels and more or less absorbs any liveliness out of my odd shaped room. The random assortment of my belongings almost make me believe in Toy Story. I swear they crawl out of the small closet or the makeshift crate storage and create a maze for me to hop over each morning. Roll out, stumble, fall, repeat.

My modest frame tiptoes across the house making it sound like Sunny Deol is doing his Kammo dance again. The sentient house theory hangs in expectation on the periphery of my conscience. I'm too busy to summon and it retires once more into the recesses of my labyrinthine mind. (I'm sure its keeping my Math superpower hostage there !) Minutes later I'm out on the familiar street. Weird globe of light? Check. Beware of Miles? Check. The random guy with shades and a leather jacket? Check.

Dijkstra propels me through a combination of cars, broken sidewalk, wet grass and a random stoned guy prostrating (okay I may be having hallucinations on the last one). This is when it gets interesting. Of late just when the bus stop moves into view, so do I barely comprehend a metal roof of white and blue. Sprint! On other days I am forced to optimize my location based upon a series of parameters: number of people at the bus stop, percentage of Asians, time of departure of the last bus, current time, average mood of the crowd, number of approaching buses, ambient temperature, average hotness quotient in the periphery, etc. The algorithm I may say is still under test.

The giant metal cradle approaches and I embark on another day of learning (?) and enlightenment (!!!).

***

Note: I have been fairly reticent and largely disconnected. Being a grad student is tougher than I had imagined and hopefully I do manage to look at it in a lighter vein thanks to this blog. Ill try and post more regularly!

Theories on trust

2011-07-19T12:54:00.000-07:00

I never quite really understood people. Maybe it is best to leave them that way, at least you can shrug off a few things as inexplicable oddities that defy logic. There are a lot of things I would like to believe or temporarily place my trust in. Well, better than juggling it around in the air and having an odd incident decide which one falls on the ground and shatters into a million little pieces.

Crude couplets

2011-03-03T23:07:00.000-08:00

Meri rooh ke zarron mein basey hai,

Par mera aks, mera iraada na sahi.

Ae gham tu pyaalon se chhalakta hai,

Abr sa belagaam barasta kyun nahi?

Random

2010-11-20T21:48:00.000-08:00

Another night melts in the vice like arms of time, another night later I would've turned a year older. The usual weight of retrospection apart I do really feel older. There's an indelible mark of age, almost an innocuous whisper of the time to unfold. Yet there's a before and after, and as much as I'd like to use age as an excuse there's a irreversible change on the horizon, yet not close enough to feel but it's shadow looms large. I might just touch it one of these days!

Sent from my iPhone

Joker

2010-08-28T13:41:00.000-07:00

So its been a little quiet of here, guess I have been doing a lot of "off the grid" stuff. For a while I thought that was pretty smart of myself, this is way to public anyhow. Why throw yourself to public scrutiny? A lot has been happening but it fails to evoke an outspoken post on this blog. Weird. Very weird.

I wonder what kind of nightmares do jokers have?

***

So you come back into your dressing room one evening after a lukewarm performance. You let the hat off your head and toss it into a corner, it lands impeccably on the dummy's head. Basketball, that's what you must try, you make mental note. Well Mr. S did ban you from throwing the hoops, and anyways, who needs a stuffed teddy bear or a cheap plastic car?

A shy pool of light clings to the edge of the window in fear, stray lights from the stage peek in at random moments but leave rest of the room in a dark, solemn state of preservation. It makes it look half ageless and half dead, or maybe its three fourths and one fourth or two thirds and one third. You were never good in apportioning, precarious assumptions must persist yet another time.

The audience has moved onto adulating another act. The applause now forces itself into your room, threatening to bulldoze the last vestiges of your tattered ego. Did they clap so loud for you? Is that someone singing? Are they just trying to prematurely abort the act? Does it really matter? You're just glad you still got your five minutes, it might be four thirty tomorrow, who knows?

The gloves are off now and you unbutton the ridiculous shirt in disgust. Polka dots? Funny, you put up an act each night and they think they're laughing at you, you think they're laughing with you, but in fact they're just being a part of the herd. Who the hell finds polka dots funny, someone with a rounded sense of humor. Note to self, might work tomorrow. You're the ice candy man on some days, some days you're just selling more marijuana. Roll another joint, roll another joint.

Your best friend awaits you. Doesn't lie, doesn't flatter, could perhaps find a job as a caricaturist. Mirror, mirror on the wall, whose the fairest of them all? You are you freak, now get that god damn paint off your face. Splash ! Splash! It won't come off. You get desperate now but no avail. It sticks on. Hours later, you've managed to paint your regular face on your actual face. Good job, you mutter to yourself and begin the long walk home. Its raining. Perfect.

Switches

2010-06-30T13:20:00.000-07:00

I turned off all the switches and then,
It was dark /
And it swallowed me, stoic and stark /
Flipping them back on is the iron hand, /
The marijuana wears off now,
Hallucinations withstand.

From Nikhil to Nick to Nikhil

2010-06-20T21:11:00.000-07:00

(In retrospect, the trip to USA)

I was excited to see the foreign shores, for as long as I began watching FRIENDS or the later plunge into stale shows from NBC, ABC, et al pouring onto Star World, AXN and Zee Cafe, or from the time I was armed with the GRE book and an ancient dictionary (and my first serious brush with etymology) or from the time my views on sex and marriage began deviating from the accepted Indian norms. I wanted to go and well, I finally did.

My so called transition to Nick had probably been in its final stages even before I left. (Do you need more proof after the words above?) So I began immersing myself into my new and temporary American life. For my larger part of the stay in Norwood, it pretty much meant nothing new except perhaps the quick commute, the bewildering adherence to traffic rules, the confusion on cents and dimes, the 5 cent beer bottle refunds, the pondering decisions of which trash goes into which bucket, the compulsory soda after lunch (still sort of miss iced tea in bottles, snapple and vitamin water).

And I felt at ease, it felt like I had perhaps always belonged here. The actual rechristening happened one irritated hungry afternoon when I had gotten sick of spelling out my name at innumerable restaurants and then I suddenly was Nick.

As days passed with this new found identity (and I call it identity for I felt at ease, another face in the crowd), the desire to get back home started growing stronger. As much as I may try to camouflage it behind any other reason, I missed this stupid place. Did it really define who I was? Even though I detest crowds, was I still just one of them? Did being Indian go beyond how we dress and think? And slowly I began taking pride in things about this country. I became Nikhil once more. Although shortening the name was all it did, the immensity of my name was shredded off in one instant.

But then arent we more than our names? I'm sure of who I am. I am still who my parents thought I would become when they named me, I am also who is perhaps very different from what they imagined I would be. I can still flout an accent and can still converse in Sanskrit. I am just like my country, an amalgamation that just works, I am and will always be, Indian.

Shunya

2010-04-14T20:40:00.000-07:00

Ek shunya teri aankh bhi,

Ek shunya tere aansu bhi,

Ek shunya dhara,

Ek shunya parikrama

At the big apple : Part 1

2010-03-29T18:39:00.000-07:00

Adventures have a way of announcing themselves, they rarely begin with a whimper or wouldn't sneak up on you. They begin with a bang and hit you right in middle of your eyes. This one did too.

The odd feeling that Douglas Adams would be an expert in describing washed over my body as I watched the train rush by, from 20 feet. As triumphant as I felt leaving work, the sheer defeat of the incident did wonders to my ego. It was pointless to wait for the next train or go back to work, so I walked. About 2 miles to Legacy Place. my warm pockets full of cash begged me to empty them as rapidly as I could, could I refuse? Of course not! So about spending a hundred dollars on a cellphone (mobility, yay!) and a taxi to Boston South Station, I headed to have a Chinese bus experience.

My confidence had plummeted by about this time, my walk had slowed and my expression hovered close to a kid lost in a fair. As embarrassment wasn't ready to let go of me that evening, I continued to stare and peer at the signboards on either side as I made my way to the bus. Right in front of me, two Chinese women were waving their arms, gesturing me to head their way (seen Veer Zaara's Main yahan hoon song? Picture the scene when Preity Zinta is walking down the stairs and the extras on either side of the staircase gestured her to head down? The exact same thing!)

***

The bus raced through states and dropped me unceremoniously in china town. The mere size of the place was scary and for the first time, I wanted to have someone with me as against being and travelling alone. As I wandered hopelessly on the streets of NYC wasting away my precious 30 minutes of talk time, me and Ambarish finally found each other.

Some train hopping later, we were in a downtown pub called the red lion. A slightly old band trying savagely to be hip were dishing out some standard pub tracks (eagles, dire straits, you know..). Half drunk women shook their heads in zig zag fashions, tried moving their hips in either directions and thereby did their imitations of what they liked to call dancing. Enthusiastic men of all ages jumped in to try impress these women with their charms. The fun was just getting started.

So we had downed a couple of beers and after unsuccessfully understanding what "keeping a tab" meant had pissed our waitress by not tipping her every time she got our drinks. Well, we had good intentions to begin with. We planned on getting pitch drunk and hence, tip in the end based on how much we consume. It so happened that her patience defeated our alcohol intolerance and she swiftly came over after the third round. I mistook her curiosity of my country of origin as her friendliness and spooled out an introduction not less than 30 seconds (hey I was drinking and she WAS cute, sort of. Now dont get me to describe the beauty and alcohol correlation). She looks at me and explains what tipping is all about and we don't disappoint her. BEfore we ran out, we neatly line up all change from our pockets along with a few dollar notes and spell "FU" as nicely as we could. Touche!

The rest of the cold evening was spent walking several blocks relishing the delicacies of downtown (kathi roll, thats from where that ridiculous facebook tagging snap was all about, more are on their way; some pizza and pee visits to Q'doba). We went visting to UN center and rockafeller center too, but most of that is a daze for me now. Anyhow, half asleep, we made back home and fell instantaneously to sleep.

***

Weekends summarized : Part 1

2010-03-24T19:29:00.000-07:00

The growing burden of a quiet milieu had begun to manifest itself in abundant restlessness. I could barely contain myself from travelling to a big city on the first opportunity and having to wait half a day for it didn't do too well to my mood.

A cold grey morning had settled quietly on my window, smothering the usual harbingers of the start of day, some fresh sunlight or other sundry bird sounds. It was a distant, depressing morning. Several minutes later (after a hunt for an umbrella and gloves and getting a lift till the station), we stood on a narrow platform, that seemed to lead from nowhere to nowhere. The usual skepticism had started to get the better of me. Either ways, the train did arrive at its scheduled time and off we were.

The brutal morning didn't offer much in terms of a view from that fogged, watery window. I almost sleep sat through the journey, bored at not having enough exciting things to offer. I confess here, I had probably imagined a train full of eye candy, but alas, kids and old people don't do much to my sense of appreciation :)

Then began the unfolding of the sights and sounds of Boston. The train station was large and clean. Not that finding something clean was a surprise anymore. Wandering around (again) as an enchanted school kid, we stuffed ourselves with a large slice of american food. That's probably when my fixation with Wizard of Oz re-emerged, jumping from a red line to green line to orange line? Or was it from orange to green? Either ways, "Down the yellow brick road, down the yellow brick road" played in my head in a adamant loop.

Before I embark on any further narration, I am reminded of the curious incident of Betty (or was it Bertha or Jenna?). We stood close to the exit of the South station, trying to gather our dismembered wits and worrying about the inevitable encounter with a torrent of rain outside, we noticed someone waving outside. A car with its engine still running, a silhouette of a lady inside and her frantic waving. Hmm, waving, to us? I looked around, no one else seemed to notice her. And she continued waving, it probably just got even more frantic. Curious me, I stepped out in the rain to see an old Indian lady. She was draped in a saree with her pallu drawn over her head, the years of her life wandered carelessly over her hair that pepped from within her saree and the wrinkles that gathered around her cheeks and chin. Her temple had ash smeared on it and her teeth ended a few centimeters beyond her nose (not kidding).

Then she showered me with cherubic adjectives and finally declared her reason to be put there on such a morning. Apparently she was there to pick someone up and she didn't know where she was inside the station, except for the fact that she was in there. Hmm, predicament. As silly as it sounded, I couldn't walk away and thus, I walked up to half a dozen women (seriously could she not be picking up a hot girl?!). A rather embarrassing few minutes later, I gave up but the lady persisted on. Anyhow, the story doesn't head anywhere more interesting than this, but it needed chronicling.

Moving on, two trains and a bunch of stairs later, it struck us. The howling frozen wind and sheets of endless rain. And the sheer enormity of everything else around us. We were heading on with a bare thin purpose of two words: Quincy Market. As we ducked under make shift awnings and jumped over carts of fruits and vegetables, dodged a variety of fish scents and ignored the persistent rain, we reached the end of the market. When we figured out thats where we were headed, the balloons of our dreams were rudely burst by the sharp pin of reality. (Im in one of those quirky moods right now, ignore the bad analogies). If that wasn't enough to alter our definitions of reality, we ventured into the Hard Rock Cafe close by.

I look wistfully at my smile in the photograph just before we entered, only to be greeted by yet another reality check. It looked nothing like the one in Pune, it was a stunted restaurant than the abode of awesomeness that we thought it was all over. Oh sure a few pretty young lasses strutted around in striking green outfits and proclaiming that they be kissed (for luck, duh!), our glasses of whisky was far more warming to our hearts then. As luck would have it, we didn't quite get the best of the servers and to top that she thought she was funny. Ouch!

My ink of humor runs dry at this odd hour to scribble in something funnier, but thats all I'm game for writing now. Not that anything much happened later. We shopped a bit, explored the place across the street (fanleigh place or something like that) and got back. Next blog update about the family visit :)

Orion and a dime

2010-03-16T21:36:00.000-07:00

Let not the odd title mislead you into expecting to find an interesting anecdote here, its far from that but merely a continuation of my attempted repackaging of the mundane. Now that my voyage up to here has been safely put out of the way, I would but have to redirect my musings to something more commonplace, the actual stay.

As luck would have it, I have not had any cases of suicidal onions or self-immolating eggs to embellish my recalling of my cooking experiences. They would now unfortunately would have to be relegated to a later re-telling, or maybe simply fade away to an obscure memory to resurface later at a dull coffee table conversation.

As my mind had decided not to be awed by anything around me, I would probably just enumerate things that just sort of stand out, completely random.

- I struggle with notes and coins, I am probably screwing all labor standards out there as the cashiers at Hannaford pass through various stages of amusement and frustration .

- There are visible tokens of the long wars America has waged. Memorials to the innumerable young soldiers that have fallen in innumerable such wars.

- The wide open roads seem cold and distant, the tall leafless trees solemnly tower over you. Its all big and breathtakingly beautiful, but bare.

- Its enviously convenient, but seems wasteful. Energy is cheap and it doesn't weigh down on you if your lights are switched on uselessly or you're using too many of them. Anything goes.

- I cant even cook maggi without trigerring the fire alarm :(

- Conversions freak me out, pounds and kilos, fluid pounds and litres. Gah! Have stopped trying to convert items into Indian values, its utterly pointless.

I almost forgot about the title. I tried juxtaposing what I know and what I dont, the orion hangs faitfully in its own place up in the sky as I continue to struggle with my dimes :)

But I still like it. I wouldn't stand out as a pariah if I sat by myself. There's no judging, the golden land of dreams. Could I become what I ought to be and not should be?

America: Travelling and first impressions : Part 2

2010-03-13T19:36:00.000-08:00

Day 1: Last journey

My first foot on a foreign land and the experiences themselves begun to evolve onto newer levels. Heathrow was a big pain in the ass. A double security check later, I found myself wandering, almost like a school kid at the flashy displays and swanky stores.

To build upon my musings on sticking out, I fit the part to the tee. Not that brown skin was a rarity, every third person was an Indian, Paki or from South east Asia. Talk about fitting in though! For some reason I was clinging onto whatever was familiar, i.e., my iPod. As I look back in retrospect now, I probably did find the British befitting to their descriptions, my good morning and hellos were looked at with deep suspicion, as if I was going to pull out a suitcase of items to sell from my shorts.

Anyhow, the minutes slowly crawled close to our time to depart. The departure was rather uneventful except perhaps my co-passengers thought my security check (the third time) was rather longer than for everyone else. They further elaborated their hypothesis much to my chagrin that they thought that perhaps the security personnel thought that I fit into the profile of a terrorist. I decided not to mention for a fact that I was actually way too clumsy to manage to put my belongings back into the bag and hence, it looked longer. Plus, they needed their eyes checked, me, a terrorist? Dude, its just the sweat shirt!

Anyhow, another curious phenomenon had begun to manifest itself, my monstrous stomach. No matter how much I fed it, it would rear its head in about two hours. Investigation is still underway as to if its the weather or simply my subconscious thoughts pushing my organs to their will :P

The following journey was rather uneventful or even thought stirring for that matter that would bring anything noteworthy to recall. As landmasses begun to appear on a seemingly endless sea, the journey thankfully drew close to its end. Making my way through serpentine queues and some 'Good Afternoons' later, a large, strong alienness gripped me. From the coins to the pay phone, to the mini streets and silent buses that creep up on you and promptly halt within inches of you, it was all very new and numbing.

I felt nor lost nor excited, just the amount of change left me frozen for a few minutes. The temperatures had plunged close to zero since London and that shock was over and dealt with. Wide, open roads and right hand drive vehicles (or wait is that left hand drive? one of the two) was something that movies and television had administered you in strong doses, and hence, I felt myself yearning for more. I felt nothing and that's exactly where my problem lay.

America: Travelling and first impressions

2010-03-11T03:55:00.000-08:00

(Musings on my way here)

Day 0:

After hours of travel, I long for a few moments of silence. It feels like any other domestic flight, just probably a few more Caucasians than on a normal day. Ah, Caucasians!

I tried to figure out who stuck out? Everyone seemed equally pre-occupied, if not lost. Some stereotypes were lost in the endless crowds that were now scattered across terminals and gates and some new ones emerged like the blonde, severely tanned, holi played firang, delightful!

The crowd gets even more interesting, more so after a delightful shot of coffee. Indians, boisterous, gregarious, usually spotted ina group or with extremely loud ringtones. Intersected by herds of conservatively dressed muslims and yes, the omni-present tanned firang.

Some lost in thoughts, others dozing away to dreams of new possibilities, the shy introverts curled up in a corner with a book, hassled mothers tending to their wandering, screaming kids. All with their own stories, aspirations, disappointments, troubles, dreams, lives and, unfulfilled wishes, the common denominator.

Day 1:

A bobbing orange sun floated gleefully right behind me. One of the rare occasions of being awake at sunrise. Added bonus, several thousand feet up in the sky. As the light gradually filled the hitherto grey landscapes that stretched out below with detail, I peered over for a first glimpse, of a foreign land.

Whenever the abundant veil of clouds permitted, a parched barren land looked up desolately.For miles and miles that I could see, it was empty, a myriad of self repeating patterns that wouldn't stir even the most passionate of poets. I diverted my gaze up at the horizon instead.

The dismembered floating puffs of cotton had now organized themselves into tight ridges. Much akin to a series of waves: foaming, frothing, ominous by their fury, lined up and waiting to strike the hapless shore.

My thoughts wandered back to the landscape below. Was this where the vast armies of Hitler had suffered cruelly at the indifference of this land? If the current desolation wasn't potent enough, I wonder how unforgiving would it be once draped in cold snow?

Change, for a change

2010-03-04T10:36:00.000-08:00

Its a moment frozen in my mind, an indelible part of me. It may not shape my existence but is something I would hold close to my heart. And I held it tight, if that could free it from the vagaries of time. I did not want it to change.

***

I clawed and tore at the walls, I lunged at them with force, to get them to shatter and break, to let me out. I was living my life in a screensaver, he fish went out and the fish came back in and over and over and over again. I wanted out.

***

Their response did not stun me, a look around the room and a common expression of doubt confronted me. It was a common response, almost a reflex to a change. Whether I could convince them or it was just trust or just plain fear, they shrugged off the look one after another and a thick silence descended onto the room.

***

Different changes, different reactions. As I sit on the threshold of important changes, some short some a little longer, a retrospective mood grips me. Could it be that we secretly long for things, we may not profess about them openly, might not even confess to ourselves, but it stirs within us somewhere? Silently nudging our feelings, once gently this way, once strongly towards another. COuld I walk away just this once? Detach myself and stand still?

QLC + Me

2010-02-16T11:02:00.000-08:00

As I was rapidly putting years behind me and stealing glances in the mirror if I yet had any grey hair, a quirky quality began to take root in me. I began to stray and wander down lesser known paths, to delve myself into experiments. I could not claim them to be experiments with truths, I had not yet sunk to such advanced stages of emancipation and I would never wear such perfectly round glasses. But they were experiments nonetheless and the lid on Pandora's box had been flung open.

I was always meant to be somebody, a deep rooted ambition that might just justify the proud trot that I had so carefully cultivated during my school days. I knew not other ways to live but being fiercely competitive and give everything my best shot (even my best shot at sucking at sports). As years progressed through their meandering, not so rosy ways, the odd truth of impossibility begin to dawn on me. Things weren't always "just" outside your grasp, you could not just pump in extra effort and propel yourself closer. It was much more complicated, balanced carefully with perhaps a thousand more variables, such as jealousy, wit, diplomacy, sycophancy and several such other odd components. I wasn't the earth around which the universe revolved. Some aspirations were larger than mine and larger than me.

It unfortunately wasn't everything that life wanted to teach me, it was probably just a multiple year orientation course. I drag on, I fight on, I cry on, I perspire on, I crib on, I limp on, I crawl on.

It took me a good few years to realize it had a name: "Quarter Life Crisis". It was a giant whirlpool that I had jumped in, with all my ideologies, aspirations, quirks, all abstract and concrete. Unsure of how long I'd have to spin and what to cling on and what would be whisked away by the strong currents. Maybe I would adopt some flotsam as I got out, who knows? And then your arms began to ache, your mind begins to wander and you start to let go of things, one after another.

I am still spinning, sometimes I think its about to stop and someone puts in another coin outside and the tumble wash begins all over. Geronimo!

Choices

2010-02-15T09:43:00.000-08:00

I have been away for much to long, wandering and lost somewhere, or maybe just hiding somewhere, either waiting to be discovered or just shrivel up and die. Sometimes we have choices that have a consequence to follow, on most other occasions, you will be overrun by a bus, no matter if you are on the side walk, in the middle of the road or on the fifth floor having an orgy. (Yes, buses have recently been mated with kangaroos with rather springy results). So yes, the paradox of a choice, do you let yourself be carried away by the deceptive power of the choice or simply be entrapped by your own cynicism?

Darts

2010-01-24T10:01:00.000-08:00

A fragile silence quickly descended into the room. The gun still smoked from its recent discharge and a limp, lifeless body slipped off the sofa on the carpeted floor. She blinked, in a vague attempt to comprehend what she had just done. Elation did not rush to soothe her frayed insides as she had hoped, nor did relief find a swift way to console her now shivering body.

She left the gun in plain sight and walked over to the kitchen to brew herself a strong coffee. She thoughtfully sipped it with a deliberate lack of speed. As if it would delay the inevitable or that it would happen once she gulps the last sip.

She picked up a post-it, scribbled a note on it and walked back to the living room. A scarlet stain was quietly settling itself on the rug, determined not to be nudged from the soft caresses that only extravagant purchases and/or romantic husbands can bestow. She stuck the note at its precise designated position and let herself out, into the world of anonymity that eagerly swallowed her whole.

"We should have played darts instead" is all the officers could read, they just guessed the blood-stained word was Love. It always is, ain't it?

Mirror mirror on the wall

2010-01-17T08:54:00.000-08:00

And so we settled uncomfortably in our cheap plastic chairs; sandwiched between a wiry smoking chimney of a gentleman and arm waving, giggling teenagers. We couldn't have chosen a more appropriate place for the conversation to follow.

"Ah! You showed up on time, that's rare." was how the conversation really began. Visitors,1; Home, 0.

All I could manage was a something in between a shrug and a smile. My wits were half blown away by how beautiful she looked and the other half were loitering about somewhere between my feet where evolution decided thousands of years ago to rid my tail from.

Her opening lines had pretty much set the mood for what was to follow and it was euphemistically India bashing. And I was left wanting to find a good defense. (Wait, do I spell that with an s or a c?)

So yeah, we have bad roads, we are known for having flexible interpretations of time, we may not spend eons over the little details and are a nation plagued by countless problems. Our newspapers are littered with trivial details. And yet, I am proud to belong to this country? (Of course I am!) I did not however, put up passionate arguments (what, really? me not arguing?) and let the evening take its own course (observe that course has not been peppered with an adjective).

Sure we are a staggering plurality with about as many different aspirations as people. In a land so diverse, it is difficult as much to get ten people to arrive at a single item from a small restaurant menu; getting them to act so for national issues is a very tall order (pun on the word intended). To top it off, we are quick to heap adulations on anyone remotely Indian (Kalpana Chawla? Naipaul?). Now whether that is our love that oozes out into such copious amounts or simply our towering self pity that we seek pride in any achievement? (Look at Slumdog being the darling of masses when it shows a bunch of kids rolling about in muck and grime and getting a bunch of lucky breaks!)

But does that suffice as a convenient excuse to walk away from things? I know I cannot take a moral high ground here and I should hang my head in shame as much as anyone else. Do we really need patriotism to be cool for us to get down about it? But still, forget patriotism, why can't we start with basic common civil sense? Start following traffic rules and walking on sidewalks? Really go out there and vote? Educate people around us? Use RTI and make deep ingresses into the fortresses of corruption? I really have no authority to ask others unless I change myself. I MUST.

Sitting the fence

2010-01-10T10:07:00.000-08:00

Some words have always shied away from making their presence in the mortal world. They remained on the peripheries of my mind, biding their turn to be released or me to muster enough courage to acknowledge them. And then, why would I lack the courage to utter them? Have I caged myself into another one of my dualities, or more aptly worded hypocrisy? I am certain it is the latter, a hypocrisy better left ignored or is it?

I have variously opined of others as shallow and petty. As bemused as I may have been of the manifestations of their egos, I stood there standing within the transparent confines of mine. Not that that came as a surprise, I have often been a deluded marionette if not an Quixote reincarnate. I have gone to lengths to keep up the appearances and have often vacillated between devoted and reckless views about it.

As I variously weigh my responses to admitting my numerous foibles versus setting myself up for sympathy, I still sit the fence. Still.

The purpose of defeat

2009-12-30T10:24:00.000-08:00

There were bits of me that ached to be freed, they screamed and crashed, and refused to subside into depths of anonymity. They were stronger than the rest of me, not bowing to the dismal, ominous hopelessness. And then, there were none.

A morbid silence that settled heavily, bringing thick layers of dust with it that advanced its presence to days beyond.

Wrimo memories : 3

2009-11-03T10:32:00.000-08:00

Lost, helpless and stuck!

This is tough work but I'm not really complaining. I am tempted to give up once more but I guess am gonna keep trying. As of now, I'm getting stuck in the detailing and description part. That could be because I am more or less winging it. Let's see how I could get myself out of that.

Well, as of now I have established two of my main characters, an auxiliary character and the link between those characters, but yet have not been able to establish the overarching theme, the way the novel will progress, or anything like that. Let me try to work those details out.

Theme one: Social discrimination / Eklavya : Someone who is probably bound to do the right thing even in the wake of injustice. Of having to give up the one chance that you get at redemption because its claimed you don't deserve it. So then, would you give up your ideals or your redemption? What makes people idealistic and is it even worth it?

Theme two: Nurtured prejudice / Drishtadyumna : What if you have been living your entire life on a certain premise? On hatred for someone / something because you have been told that is what your purpose is. When you finally get your chance, do you take that shot at revenge? Either ways, isn't your existence nullified?

The common link: Drona - If E and D are to meet each other, their common link is Drona. But who and how? One seeks to destroy him and the other gives away something precious on his bidding. If I give D a religious twist, Hindu against a Muslim? Riots? But where does E fit into this then? What about the father angle? Who breeds such single minded hatred and in what scenarios? Needs more thought.

Wrimo memories : 2

2009-11-01T10:53:00.000-08:00

So the road from here goes both uphill and downhill. The word count as of now is hovering around 1200 and I say now because I was about to sleep off a few minutes ago but may *not* be a few minutes from now. Lets see, its good either ways and its again, rare to be in such a position.

Anyhow, today was rewarding. I got something on paper and it wasn't too bad. I am essentially learning two things, one is to just let go and not worry about what happens and the second is try to put backgrounds and histories and words to people. Its easy on one hand to sketch out a plot and characters, but difficult to put them on paper. Sure, they are up there in my head but my readers don't really know them do they now? The story so as to speak is much more than just what they do.

SO here I am trying to draw sketches of how people look, trying to describe what they are seeing, what they are doing, where they are. I am caught in trying to refrain justifying everything that everyone does at the start on one hand and on the other giving everything a human touch and not keeping it clinical, devoid of any emotions, or rather observations.

Another interesting thing that is happening is how characters are evolving by themselves, whether or not they will survive is a different story altogether. I hope "Sharmaji" doesn't mind dying :)

Wrimo memories : 1

2009-10-31T12:33:00.000-07:00

Alright, so Im on board again and trying to do this for a second time. I also know its going to be tougher this time around!

Anyways, so thought Id use the blog o talk about what I'm doing and how I'm tackling this and what I'm thinking! SO the idea is to put minor characters from Mahabharata into present scenarios and context. I want to describe the so called "War" from the sidelines, never really getting down to describing the war by itself but present it merely as a background in which these characters are the protagonists or heroes. Yet they continue to be "Lesser Heroes" in the broad sense of the world.

Easier said than done, I need to present the battle itself. What could it be? As of now Im split between politics (a local, regional take like Omkara?), a corporate setting (family business, too cliched again?) or just leave it metaphoric. I think the last part strikes the best. I could use Kauravas as the vices and Pandavas as virtues, or either way, based on how you look at it. There's a constant struggle between idealism and practicality, between shortcuts and the long, hard way, power struggles that normal people get drawn into, whether they like it or not.

Hmm, that could make this interesting. SO I begin with Eklavya's story. He would need to be someone who is discriminated against. A rigid caste system that keeps him out and away from what he wants to do. Do such boundaries exist today? Sure! He could be fighting stereotypes or merely his upbringing or social background or both.

I will have to think more on this. Wrote about ten words and my eyes are droopy. Need to take another crack tomorrow during the day.

Word count : About 10

In the name of faith

2009-09-03T11:33:00.000-07:00

It had been several hours now that the music was unbearable. No matter how many windows you closed or doors you slammed on it, it pushed through with such fervour that you seemed like you were on the street and not within the "imagined" comfort of your house. My response to the entire affair swayed from irritaion, amusement to downright curiosity.

Its the same every year, different occasions and yet it is the same. I saw a crowd dancing to varied songs, songs far removed from religion and piety. Yet, they were happy, for those few moments, they had managed to leave it all behind. Further on, did religion have any role in to play in this? Sure, it was a convenient aegis under which they could freely dance on the streets, unquestioned, uninhibted. But religion does not end there.

IT seeks you no matter where you go. Its in stones under trees, painted orange and red, its in cows that lazily sit on roads and disrupt traffic, its on the songs that hammer your head come ganpati and navratri, its in the air , is in the water, its everywhere! I do not wish to slip into another introspective moments questioning if this is rigt or wrong, its just the way it is.

We invent symbols to assure ourselves of some divine existence, or to link them to our own ulterior motives; we identify with visible things that can be felt and touched, unlike concepts and ideas that even a million would not completely fill our minds.

Clearing the air

2009-08-30T12:00:00.000-07:00

I can barely begin to understand how Yambo must have felt in his perpetual wanderings through a wall of fog, when objects appear as mere boundaries, shadows and all seems blurred. I try to find my way through a similarly overwhelming blanket of obfuscations, and before I begin to find a way, I am confronted with a question. DO I have the choice to close my eyes and keep floating away and keep wandering, though of another kind? Perhaps I do, but with a price, a price of time and delayed understanding...

So well, here we go. As I sit questioning everything, what makes people make friends? Should past expereinces be discarded to be clung onto hope? Is compromise an integral part of human existence, yes I know it is, but to what degree, what extent? What is it that you should cherish for eternity, what if circumstances force you to discard what you hold dear? What if you realize that what you have held dear has been nothing but a pack of lies or worse you mistook fairytales for life?

There is way too much going on here, here as in, in life. No matter where our religious dispositions lie, is life a person, a person with its own ambitions and desires? IS it given to act with cruelty, rashness and detachment? Is wisdom what we gain by paying by everything else? I find pain more enlightening than happiness, its definitely more humbling. Does that then mean we should go looking for pain, or rather welcome it than shun it as our enemy ? I am inclined to say the latter.

As I sit surrounded by questions, not knowing who to ask and not knowing whether I can trust other's answers, I begin to see some light. There are no rights and no wrongs. We all try to learn from what our lives offer us, we are but what our lives make of us and what we let it make us. THere is no point in blaming some unseen force or fate or destiny for what we are. We could never have been what we are without our consent.

With that morsel of truth, I begin things anew with a renewed vigour. It makes things so much simpler, and easier, to learn, accept and ask :)

Chain of thought

2009-08-01T07:20:00.000-07:00

As I wandered through my thoughts, within shadows and under crevices for stories to brew, an interesting proposition presented itself. The idea by itself was quickly cast aside as I plunged once again into existentialism, religion and God.

As I toyed with the lives of my characters, as clear as it was, I was for their God. But then, I pondered, who is God, or how would one define God? Let say I created and placed self-aware characters into a story or in a cartoon. I let them make their own choices, take their own paths and merely tweaked their circumstances as I chose necessary or worthy to please me. I could disguise them as needed by the plot, but the plot itself is my doing.

How would then these react to such circumstances? Unless I present myself to them, would they be able to figure out how their lives work? Is it even pointless for me to even assume that they would get existential? What if I design them to be overburdened by one character flaw, so that they are unable to see beyond it? I had once thought of a man who dabbled only in lust and poetry. I could create hundreds such others and they could all continue to stay content in their little worlds; chasing what they thought was their happiness or their pain. I could really act twisted for them as far I know anyways.

But what if they weren't ? I know there is a piece of me in all that I create. What if they too share the same questions that I have? What if they knew exactly who they were and what they were doing? That is when it gets mind bogglingly interesting!

I say I give them that knowledge and also grant them a true picture of myself, me with my flaws and my virtues. I then cant imagine to wonder in which direction would they sway. They could begin to worship me or rather try to please me. Kindle a bit of hope that that would help them to ward off their miseries. Or they could get despondent and resign themselves to fate or whatever be my whims. Or would they try to use my flaws for their benefit? What if they knew that I could never bring myself to do certain things and use that exact bit of knowledge to arm wrestle me into submission? Wait, they could never do that. I mean I could still kill them in a freaky accident, make them impotent or better, encumber them with a life long depression.

If they begin to worship me though, how would I react? Am I so shallow to need such boosts to my ego? If I am so powerful, do I need such validation from my own creations? And then, why go through such enormous trouble only to get people who worship me? If I wanted that, I could create armies of such! It would be rather vain to do something like that.

But then, coming back to religion. I would not delve into who invented who, religion God or God religion. How would my characters frame their religion? Would I need to give them down into writing? Thou shall not do this and thou shall not do that? Or would they derive one of their own? Assuming what I would like and framing it accordingly? How would they validate that then? Would I not be robbing them of their choice of actions by dictating what I need?

I am yet to find answers and its scary to look at this inside out. My religious orientation is a little strange, but what if my creator, if there is someone as such believes in the same way? Would he be so shallow and vain to want people to bow down to Him? Anyways, maybe this really needs to be explored through a story!

WIP

2009-07-19T03:09:00.000-07:00

चढ़ते दिन की गर्मी में
सपनों के धुओं के छल्लों को देखते हैं
निराशा की बारिश से छिपते
वादों को जलाकर हाथों को सेकते हैं

Quote / Unquote

2009-07-15T11:53:00.000-07:00

As raindrops ploughed through,
Undoing the conspiracies of dust,
Clearer and murkier at once,
A thought was forth thrust.
Puffed, vagrant, grey,
In guise of innocence, watered

रात

2009-06-06T23:36:00.000-07:00

सांझ की छोर से बंधी, एक रात वह सहमी सी, अपने होने के ताज्जुब से जूजती, ख़ुद के सवालों में उलझी सी। सुस्त अलसाई सी, इत्मिनान की पनाहों में करवटें बदलती, अचानक उन् ख्वाबों से जगाई सी। उसके अन्धकार से डर कर कुछ कायर डिबियों में जुगनुओं को पकड़ते तो कोई चिरागों की आड़ से हँसते । पर किस साए की असीमता में तन्हाई यूँ लुप्त हो पाती ? वह भी तन्हा उन हजारों सी, बेखबर उनके काफिलों में घूमती ।

A cold death

2009-06-01T00:10:00.000-07:00

A still wind raked an autumn harvest as trees witnessed the silent massacre. Speechless, they betrayed their brethren. Amongst a crowd of strangers, they heaved a sigh of recognition. And yet I stood untouched, untouched by humility, dignity and boundless pity. The cold night warmed to the embers of their effigies and yet, I died a cold death.

Random trivia

2009-05-15T01:05:00.000-07:00

Just had to put this down somewhere:

The plane that Abhishek bachhan flies in the song "Dil gira kahin dafatan" from Delhi-6 has the following written on it: "ROMPD6"

It stands for Rakyesh Om Prakash Mehra Delhi 6, not sure if that's detailing or what got painted on it to identify the plane :|

Evolution of morality

2009-05-10T11:18:00.000-07:00

Questions raise their heads again and swirl in giddying circles in my muddled mind. As I stand on the threshold of morally ambiguous decisions, I wonder if there is such a thing called moral evolution?

Contrary to the popular belief, evolution need not necessarily indicate a postive growth. Its just a change, a direction in which motion occurs. Its a natural process that we have no rights to adjudge as correct or not. We participate in the process but fail to notice the subtle changes that happen around us, it takes years to for even the slightest of recognition to emerge that evolution has left its indelible mark.

So what about morality? Are we as a race enforcing changes in our moralities and if yes, is that evolution? I am tempted to concede that decadence in moral values is rampant. Almost until the point I was about to write this down, I had planned to spin this out as a great dilemma. On one side, the very sense of morality diminishes as we speak and on the other, to regard it as a natural phenomenon, as something we cannot change. Would it not have been a true representation of our times? Of apathy that has soaked the last fabric of every living soul? An ominous sense that nothing can be changed and we can but spiral into nether realms?

But then I wondered, does not evolution have to be subtle, something that cannot be quantified or observed ? What if I am viewing the world in its worst period of turbulence and assuming this is the steady state? I cannot but try to measure things by looking on the outside from the inside.

But coming back to the point, for a moment if I choose to ignore the direction of the motion but simply observe the motion. Does the human race have a collective moral memory to be able to transform it? Morality is way too personal and liberal to be tied down to a collective. But then, can it not derive its potential for evolution from this fact?

The common denominator of all human actions, can it be equal to morality? Or is it always delegated to a position of much lower imporatnce in crucial turning points of history? Has not revenge and lust undone the moral merits of an entire civilization? Has not anger and greed make unalterable changes to the human race? Is this morality or the lack of morality? Is morality an unattainable utopian concept? Something that you claim you can not adhere to, for you are a malleable human, something to be kept on a pedestal and worshipped but not enforced and used?

Even in such a case, evolution would exist, the realm of morality would perhaps increase a hundred fold. I seem to have not travelled far from where I began, I must do this once more.

Blink

2009-05-02T11:44:00.000-07:00

No, I'm not talking about thebook, but rather just the act of blinking or more so the phrase, who blinks first? So well yeah, have been having some shit hurled at me or rather, a lot of shit just hitting the fan and being splattered all over would be a better description. However, distancing myself from such descriptions, when you do not blink, is it ego or is it patience?

I still don't know, I guess its a bit of both. But can you be patient about pointless things? Like yu thriw a penny down a gutter and wait "patiently" for it to come back to you mysteriously and miraculously. Aint gonna happen, or does it? Does whatever that goes around, comes around? Or is it just plain ego? Why should I blink, I can prove I can wait too.

SO am I making this more difficult for me than it already is? Do I have an option than keeping my eyes open? For everytime I seem to close my eyes, there they are, fresh tracks of blood emerging from the latest stab.

Vriksh

2009-03-08T11:58:00.000-07:00

Rakht ki boondein woh
Shaakhon par lipti, khili hui.
Shaque ki tehniyan rengti,
Hawa main simtee, sili hui.
Ek dard ka sooraj chhipa sa
Chhaonv ke darmiyan ghula hua
Guzarti hawaa ka elaan karta
Patta woh asambhav akela chhila hua

I lie awake

2009-02-26T11:41:00.000-08:00

I lie awake on such nights,
baking truths in cauldrons of assumptions.
I lie awake,
pondering, wondering
the meanings of absurdities.

I lie.
I lie awake.

I lie awake on kissed moonlight dreams
On prejudiced bridges
And haunted rivers that flow beneath.
I.
Lie Awake on ingrown ambitions
On desires, dreams and such hollow nestings.

Lie awake I on whirring fans,
Stirring stale air on open fields
On stooping dwarfs
On clipped wings
Awake, Lie, I.

....

Battling thoughts : Beer induced musings ;)

2009-02-21T10:06:00.000-08:00

Why should I worship the pure? For the sheer strength of disatncing itself from what it isn't? Why not I kneel before the impure for it carries the mark of experience? Worship what you hold dear, what you nurse in the deepest recesses of your heart as your utmost desire. Does it matter then what you worship or is the intention itself paramount?

***

Why bother explaining? Why bother forcing understanding? Why not be content in the vastness of our ignorance than take pride in the minisculity of our knowledge? Isn't bigger the better, the larger the more potent, the more powerful? Why bind everything in clasps of knowledge than swim free in oceans of ignorance?

Aas

2009-02-14T10:42:00.000-08:00

Kabhi jugnuon ki Baarish,
Kabhi Chaadar chandni ki,
Toh kahin sookhi hansi ko
Mere, Pyaas Roshni ki.

Kahin gehre sannaton ko,
Unnchi deewarein SHor ki,
Kahin Qaid Khwabon ko
Mere Gagan chhomti meenarein bhi.

In retrospect: Goa diaries

2009-02-14T09:42:00.000-08:00

3rd Feb:
It was finally happening: weeks of counting down to this day and it was already here. As I battled vigourously with myself to disalow any thoughts of code, work or Reflexis to contaminate my euphoria, I knew it was easier said than done.

When and how I had changed, I did not know, but the purpose wasn't that elusive. And hence, I made two promises, first to banish Reflexis to the peripheries of my conscious for the next five days and second, to undo all pretensions. It didn't matter what people thought; I knew no one, no one knew me. It was the time to reintroduce me to myself; Nikhil, meet Nikhil.

4th Feb:
A day passed by and I was no closer to finding the answers I was looking for. Maybe not all, just one, perhaps just one. AM I too broken at the moment to feel anything? Has all the pain made me go numb to feel anything else? Or have I managed to block it all, just not letting it get through? In moments of weakness it does come surging, filling every inch of my body with that horrible pain. It hurts, I hurt and I feel like giving up. Should I, shouldn't I?

I no longer seem to be able to read people's eyes. Do you need to be able to feel emotions to feel others'? I could slice through their deepest emotions as a knife through butter. But now, no more? The gift seems to have been taken away. More questions, just more questions. Ambiguous eyes that stare from behind the glass, plunging me into a sea of confusion.

5th Feb:
The despair desrted me for a few moments and I could inhale the heady scent of euphoria. I was happy once more and happier for there was no reason. No crutches to hold me afloat as such. Then I wondered how impotent happiness was: a moment of sadness and all was undone.

But such abstract questions would have to wait. There are more pressing mmatters at hand.I knew not where to keep them waiting, for their sharp edges were bleeding my insides. Procastination trumps me yet again.

6th Feb:
There is so little I know and so little that I have seen. Is that reason enough to harbour hope? THink so. Guess all I needed was proof that my convictions were correct after all.

And that got me thinking even more. It needn't be full or nothing, it could be in parts. And when the time is right, the part shall be whole yet again.

....

SIlences come undone

2009-01-26T09:54:00.000-08:00

I spoke not a word as the assault continued. Perhaps I had learnt to ignore now, let the open wounds bleed, let the streaking tears leave their marks, let the widening smiles disappaear into the folds of time. Were they waging a war against me, a war that I was losing? Or was I winning this time for my countenance betrayed nothing? I have not the answer and I seek not too.

The mist embraced the naked glass, half sobbing, half content. It longed not for the impersonal touch the glass had to offer but the intricate paths that the hand on the other side carelessly offered. A quick death accidentally postpone;, trapped in unsightly doodles. What then when the hand no longer pledges the caress? It views indifferently as the gentle mist crashes upon the walls, with all its fragile might. Smiles and whispers a unrepentant eulogy; abolishing the differences between days and night, warmth and cold, for the glass is always moist, just perhaps not on the same side.

Refracted realities

2008-10-29T01:55:00.000-07:00

Truth is as I see it not as how it happens. Refracted through my viewing glass, I cage reality in metaphors; uninhabited miles, unsurmountable mountains, silent crowds, eroding tears. And then you blame me for distorting your perspective, of drowning your opinions in the verbosity of mine?

And they silenced me...

2008-10-04T11:11:00.000-07:00

...

Days and nights

2008-09-15T20:49:00.000-07:00

Painted moments were swallowed slowly into calendar entries. The days were filled with clouds, dark and gray, filled to the brim with water, threatening to come undone. The nights were but a mosaic of blue and white, patterns strewn across the sky and a waning moon peeking from behind the covers. His life however, remained colorless in contrast.

A stoic weather welcomed the busy days, silently watching as a million people indifferently rushed along their paths. Only once in a while would it assert its presence, gently admonishing the wayward; tempting, cajoling them to drench themselves. He vacillated between his two selves, once with them, once with him.

The night danced with joyous abandon as the world slept, indifferent yet again. The gifts of muse were bestowed generously on those who cared to look, the agonized lovers, the insomniac poets and him. He obeyed then, and wrote it all out, as such.

Balance sheets

2008-08-24T21:45:00.000-07:00

"At the end of it all, none of us make any differences, we just make additions!" Another typical obfuscation served, I look back at it with astonished marvel. Did I really say that and put it as simply as that?

Sure, impotency stares me in the face; I cannot but look helplessly as events unfold around me and as a character, I get woven into the narrative. And then, I get my moment of redemption; when fates are served to me on a platter. But then, thats more liek the free will of a penny. An outright seduction that tempts you into action; simply to cherish the stillness, right after the orgasm.

I fail to discriminate between disparate futilities, one that stems from complete inaction and other from ineffective actions....

Hello, I'm Clark Kent!

2008-08-05T22:34:00.000-07:00

His costume peeking from within his shirt, his bespectacled visage barely disguising his extraordinary prowess, Clark Kent stepped out. He had outlived his reason to hide, outwitted reason that stood between him and disclosure; he loved it!

They no longer looked at the sky, nor did they seem to notice the obvious. All that intercepted him were their furtive glances, that dared not hold his glance a moment longer than necessary. Their hero had left them.

But then they were all heroes, the boundaries of distinction blurred since the incident. It was a night not much unlike any other; stiff with inaction, pregnant with an inconsequential purpose; until the meteorite crashed...

He grappled with this new reality for several days. He felt relieved, freed of his guilt, yet robbed and betrayed. He braved stepping out today and before he realized it, he had reached his destination.

Up the elevator and out into the reception, "Hello! I'm Clark Kent", he announched himself just before the world went blank.

Motion in standstill

2008-08-05T11:54:00.000-07:00

The car remained still, all that moved were umpteen thoughts inside his head and drops of water sliding down the window, creating myriad patterns. His hand reached out and changed a few destinies, a few droplets were saved from anonymous deaths on a unforgiving road.

He could not detach himself from his surroundings and let his mind wander as before. Rather, he did not want to. Why, he did not know or maybe he did. Nothing made any sense, the duality of knowledge and ignorance had amputated his intellect.

Until another time...

2008-07-27T10:27:00.000-07:00

Until another time when I shed tears in e;se's name, until my fingers trace the eyebrows on someone's face yet again, until another's ear pressed close against my chest senses my heartbeat, until life touches my soul yet again, I stand wronged, wronged and deprived.

Deprived of a life I could have lived and the smiles that I could have spread, deprived of the pleasure of watching someone's smile disarming anxiety with ease, wronged perhaps by both fate and life, until me or destiny set them right again.

Until I can smell perfume as I kiss a neck, until I can hold a face in my palms and see nothing but my own reflection, until I can love someone yet again...

Hisaab

2008-06-08T10:56:00.000-07:00

Likha chittha jab khola kal,
Aur hisaab joda sukkhon dukkhon ka,
Toh dukh toh sab sahi nikle,
Ek khushi ko kahin kam paaya.

Khuli hatheli se jo uddi thi,
Kya samet usse woh titli udd gayi?
Ya bheegte bheegte pehli baarish ke
Boondon ke sang dhul gayi?

Talwon ko choomti lehrein kya,
Kured kar sagar main bhar gayi?
Ya peetal bikharte suraj sang,
Ksitij par door dhal gayi?

Fairy tale

2008-06-05T22:50:00.000-07:00

It was a simple story, a modern day fairytale if you may. Or rather it was about convictions in fairytales. As all such stories begin, once upona time there lived a little young girl. She by the mercy of the author lived ona a rather modest sustenance. Although, she did have a staple diet if fairytales and like all oither poor little girls, she waited for herprince charming to arrive in her life and sweep her off her dirty little feet.

And so it shall be, said the author. But of what use is a happily ever after tale without a few hiccups on the way? For sure there has to be some clichedly cardboard cutout evil charachter that has to be thrown in, for else would the handsome prince prove his virtues? Granted, and a lusty, good for nothing bloke is pumped into the story. He was meant to be the cause of the greatest misery for our girl. With no devices to construct tall imposing castles or cast cruel little spells, he merely mounted an assault of poor poetry.

For the fear of losing out the readership on this story, the author decides not let the audience cringe through the pains of our heroine. IT would merely suffice to say that the poetry involved detailed descriptions of vital female anatomy peppered with crude metaphors and the recital did need articulate hand gestures and pelvic thrusts.

Ah, I can almost hear the prince charming fuming with anger for his introduction to the tale has been delayed much beyond his liking. So let me just throw him in. His swanky little car that accidentally almost runs over our heroine. Of course she is convinced that he is the prince that she always yearned for and he also obviously feels no such thing, the plotn just about begins to get interesting. So now for the cupid to strike our hero, the plot needs to throw the two of them closer to each other, hmm, tricky.

Well, they say the way to a man's heart is through his stomach. Although, some would beg to differ on this and would like to claim that it is actually a few inches lower. But the author would probably use that route if he is forced to reposition this story into the adult market. ANyways, the plot has for long now avoided disclosing the professions of our protagonists. Well, lets get it out of the way then. Our hero is obviously rich and in this modern day tale carries a huge burden. No, he does not have a shady past with ghastly murders nor does he have grave doubts about his sexuality, he merely carries the modern mark of affluence, a sizeable paunch. And what better way to keep him at close quarters with our heroine, make her a fitness trainer!

So there you have it. THe girl, smitten as she is, works hard to reign in the hero's paunch. As you may have guessed, she is obviously successful and predictably, the hero ends up falling in love with her. Well, thats the thing about charachters in fairytales, they more or less live with a standard set of rules : mostly either fall in love, cast curses on each other, sleep for unreasonable amounts of time, lead frugal lives and eventually, live happily ever after.

As simplistic as the plot is, the reader may not rather enjoy reading the details about the villian and his plan. Eventually, he is going to fail at whatever he is trying and the story is going to have a happpily ever after ending. SO lets just skip the whole jealousy and obsession angle, the plans to thwart the marriage, a failed kidnapping, the MMS sex scandal, the myserious gay lover and all that jazz. Its just one of those things that do not affect the ending of the story and have been edited.

So, a lavish wedding happens, everyone eventaully get what they wanted, a enviable set of abs, loads of credit cards and bunch of fat children and maybe even redemption for the poor villian and well, as they say, they lived happily ever after!

The ENd

The long and short of it!

2008-06-02T07:47:00.000-07:00

I meant to write it all, I meant to say it all, without fear, fear of failure, fear of mediocrity. I meant not to cage myself, not bound myself. Its an odd cycle rather, I cage my thoughts in words and liberate them, I am caged within my own liberated thoughts.

Ah how I wish my wit would dissolve these obfuscations, my humor would soar above this verbal chicanery, how I would cease advocating thesaurus sales. Can one simplify complexity without destroying it? Perhaps such existentialist questions drew Heisenberg towards the uncertainty principle, who knows?

Forty two, the number echoes through my numb mind. Perhaps insanity is sheer genius, for you defeat the interconnectedness (is that really a word?) amongst everything. Let me try an exercise, to blurt words completely unrelated to each other, one part of me that tries to connect the dots and the other an anarchist:

The connected words:
Blank
About (about:blank)
Mary (there's something about Mary)
Lamb (Mary had a little lamb)
Slaughter (Duh!)
House (Duh again!)
Full (Full house)
Moon
Werewolf
Lupin
Harry
Sally
Meg (Ryan)
Lloyd (VP, Oracle Procurement)
Weber (andrew Lloyd Weber)
Rehman
....

THe anarchist gets even more creative:
Blank
Yellow
Ravan
Chocolate
Vicious
Fart
Chickenpox
... (its really tough and ) though when I put it all together like this:

As Blank as the yellow pages of my time worn diary,
Yellowed by disease, corrupted,
Corrupted like Ravan,
indulgent in sins, like Chocolate and lust,
Vicious in reclaiming themsleves from virtue,
yet an object of ridicule, like a Fart
euphemistically docile, like CHickenpox

Of vices and virtues

2008-05-24T07:43:00.000-07:00

"Of siblings of an unequal birth,
I choose the lesser immortal,
Bask not in the glory of either,
In their neglect, wither neither"

I soak in my own words and look beyond the emotion I sought to weave into them, beyond the smoke screen of verbosity, to glimpse into my own mind.

I celebrate my imperfections, for they cement me to the ground. They serve as ready excuses to banish me from eden, adieu my pedestals.

Its my virtues that put me to shame. They prop me up for scrutiny, attracting undue attention. That is something I had not signed up for, but well got to live with it.

Then as my attention wandered to my vices and virtues, I could not help feeling a little more sorry for the vices. Not only are they shunned, they are not even treated equally. Its okay if you lie but hel, you can't smoke. You can be dishonest as much as you like, but hell, ont drink too much.

I cant seem to decide whether we live in a world of twisted individuals or twisted morals.

Escape routes

2008-04-03T20:51:00.000-07:00

Words continue to elude me, but thoughts still haunt me. Helpless, as I watch myself squirm with the inability to break these shackles, I'm sinking now, and sinking fast. The pursuit of happiness is probably not a very happy affair in itself. Go chase a butterfly I tell myself, or the rainbow maybe, you'd be much happier.

I sense the walls inching closer towards me, sharp, barbed heads and all, but it fails to invoke an exaggerated "eye popping" response from me. I'd rather end the agony once and for all, the coward's way out...

In retrospect...

2008-02-27T10:35:00.000-08:00

As I looked on from within my cage, I yearned for the free sky; to spread my wings out wide and soar into the infinite blue. But perhaps, freedom is just another illusion. There are meant to be no open spaces, just different cages.

Should I seek the refuge of my sins and anonymously vanish into their folds? Should I let all possibilities dissolve into a mundane void...?

Their place under the sun: And miles to go before I sleep...

2008-02-10T09:46:00.000-08:00

The sun mounts steadily on the sky, my day is about to begin, but the end draws near for some others, or perhaps not. And miles to go before I sleep, and miles to go before I sleep, the lines wander through my mind with a purpose. There he is yet again, dragging his feet towards some unknown destination. It obviously causes him pain as he takes each step, his crooked feet, his bent posture, the years trapped gray in his hair, spectacles askew on his nose and before I could soak in any more details, I pass him by.

Its another day and nothing seems to have changed, each day I prepare myself but his demeanour defeats me everyday. Its odd to feel empowered and powerless at the same time, powerless at my defeat and empowered by the strength of the words that rise within me. Lost in the verbosity of my thoughts, the old man keeps walking silently and so does his story for he has miles to go, before he sleeps.

Their place under the sun

2008-02-05T10:25:00.000-08:00

As I keep looking for my place under the sun, a place that does not rest upon any mercies, I embark upon another journey of storytelling: a mosaic of self invented tales, of individuals I see around me, little misfits that wander aimlessly like me and I find them their place under the sun....

As I stumble upon more individuals, I try to record here the situations I encountered them in, invoke my artistic liberties and trace out the arcs of their suggested lives, let their stories and their multiple paths unfold freely until the different threads connect to each other..

*******

Whirls of smoke

She just came and sat there, with her back to the world and to me, right under the street lamp, not hiding, not afraid. She did not glance at her watch, nor fiddle with her cellphone, nor look around. Strangely, she expected no one. Before I could trap her into stereotypes, I looked again at her and it compelled me to dismiss all such thoughts.

She pulled back her hair and tied them into a tight pony. She seemed relaxed and oblivious to the world around her. If this was not enough to intrigue me, she lit a cigarette and simultaneously ignited a fury of speculations within me. The whirls of smoke that rose from her slender lips rooted new ideas into my mind....

Flashback 2007

2007-12-31T09:45:00.000-08:00

First I thought I would sum this up month wise, but then found it way too boring and tedious. So Im gonna do away with this quickly.

Ill remember this year for:
Changing jobs, moving into my new house.

What Id like to forget that happened this year:
Hmm, the last bit of complications when getting away from Hyd, ouch!

Best party of the year:
Reflexis year ending party

Achievement of the year:
Getting out of oracle, sticking to a workout routine for an extended period of time

Disappointment of the year:
Sucking badly @ rumba and jive, sigh!

Birthdays, bottles and coffee mugs

2007-11-28T10:17:00.000-08:00

Another day passed and a candle more, it feels kind of odd to reach a monumental age of twenty five. Yikes! Im just five years from gaining avuncular distinction. So far so good, Im not on my way to getting married anytime soon nor do I have any gray hair, so its only chronological age that I need to find.

A new muse?

2007-10-24T04:01:00.000-07:00

Qayamat dhane main unhe
Bas muskurane ki zaroorat hai,
Par humein kya pata tha ki,
Sirf humare ik khayal par,
Sharma jaana unki fitrat hai.

***
They perish silently as we wake
The dying embers in the fireplace,
Sunlight nestled among the pines,
And me in your loving embrace.
Snow lays stretched till miles in sight,
As the gifted smile on my face

Silences

2007-10-21T09:59:00.001-07:00

Silences used to scare me, they would fill me with fear and rage. I would act to finish them with sound or even noise. Conversations punctuated with long pauses would become unbearable. Yet, silence sticks to me as a second skin now. It makes more sense than the babble that the space around me is filled with. It is when I cease to pretend to be one with the world and become the one with myself.

Aren't we all floating in a sea of silences? Silences that stem from absence of words and those from the absence of meaning. I utter not a word and let my mind speak. It oozes out what it had absorbed as a sponge. Unacknowledged thoughts, bewlidering instances of intution and the dying remnants of my true soul.

The growing comfort with silences has silenced my urge to question them as well. But then I am not silent, as long as I think, I wont be :)

Another incomplete poem

2007-09-27T23:10:00.000-07:00

Ek bheegi hui shaam jab,
Dhundh jama tha dil ki khidkiyon par,
Saaye ke libaas main lipta,
Doston main woh qafir na aaya nazar.

Pushing creativity to its seams

2007-09-03T01:03:00.000-07:00

Its here and its official, well as its got to relate only to me, I guess it makes it official. I have hereby been crowned the king of all vellas. (Author's note: Vella is someone who has lots of free time on his/her hand, maybe free enough to invent new words, phrases or an entire language. Since the latter would take a realllllly long amount of time and would render the person involving in the same to border on insanity, it has been dropped from consideration before conferring the king's title :D)

So being free all the time may seem to be a lucrative career for some time but then it slowly wears onto you. I'm surprised Douglas Adams did not weave one such character into his Hitchhiker's trilogy (oh well, five part trilogy if we are being technical). Unfortunately, I do not have immortality on my side or I may have attempted to actually be BowWagger, the Infinitely Prolonged. But then that in any case, would have nothing to do with tweaking with seams of creativity.

Now I clearly understand that though the author himself maybe swimming in an ocean of free time, the readers may not be similarly equipped. Hence, without beating about the Bush, shrub, tree or any other American presidents, let me jump, dive, pole vault or simply somersault into the topic of discussion.

Now if you're into my shoes, what would you do with so much time on your hands? I may have already set records on time spent on Orkut, facebook and other such sites. I also evolved out of the youtube, google video browsing spree and being a complete geek and just reading random articles on wikipedia. The side effects of the last being people reporting unusual luminous activity recorded near my head. So I just dropped the whole idea, this clearly isn't a season for sporting halos.

So I get about doing something that I thought I had lost and had rather abandoned after my social studies and economics papers in college. When you know just a line about a theory, it takes some rather cunning convincing on the student's part to fashion it into a three page long convincing sermon on the theory. My vocabulary was rather pygmied then, for me to intimidate my professors to hunt for a dictionary. I'm sure I can collaborate with the local stationary vendor now and ensure that his dictionary sales to set new records. I'm just glad I'm not currently studying, the pity on my professors to be beat the hell out of the prospective financial gains from dictionary sales.

If you've still been reading this article and wondering whats the whole point about this post, then I may have some conclusions to offer. First, you may be a semi vella yourself to have spent so much time in the first place. Secondly, I do not usually insult my readers, but you may have insulted your own intelligence in trying to find a meaning for this post. If you did get that, you have uncovered an important paradox: its hard to make a point about something when you intend to make a point about nothing at all to begin with.

Now if the right people are reading this, I may soon have better things to do than write random blog posts from my new workplace :D

Oddities at large

2007-09-01T03:46:00.000-07:00

Firstly, odd things happen and sadly, they don't even out. Secondly, Ive used oddly and evenly one after another way too many times. Oddly, it may even be a record.

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Review

2007-07-22T06:54:00.000-07:00

Nothing like a book to get out of a writer's block and just the hype with this one had me bustling to get hands on my own copy. Well, I'm done reading it, but my hard copy is yet to arrive. So much so for Indiaplaza and its sale gimmicks. Blah!

The book leaves much to desire, unfortunately. Rowling lets go of wonderful opportunities to forge greater emotional bonds with her readers. The book somehow seems exceedingly long and the narrative gets lost in the middle. I actually fell asleep reading the book at one point of time and none of the earlier six books met a similar fate.

What possibly works for the book is all questions are eventually answered, even Aunt Petunia's hatred for Lily, euphemisms not withstanding. Some characters get redemptive deaths but there aren't any shockers like Sirius' or Dumbledore's death. The book begins on a firm footing and promises to be dark, alas though, it never really reaches the crescendo expected.

I had expected Harry or at least some major characters to dabble in some tantalizing Dark Arts, but the book fails us there too. The list of disappointments stretches on to a curtailed final battle. What I liked though was perhaps the way she has presented Harry's, Ron's and Hermoine's shortcomings and fears. Neville and Luna do get a special mention for the roles they played. Neville at last fulfills the great promise his character has and sheds the image of a bumbling fool. Luna on the other hand, despite her eccentricities, has her moment of glory as a friend too.

Several emotions are woven liberally into the plot; guilt, jealousy and love, and the last isn't as you would have expected it. Though the book failed to overthrow the special affection I feel for Prisoner of Azkaban, despite several shortcomings, some of which I have myself enumerated, I would still re-read the book several times over. The reason though would be entirely different from what made me treat the previous installments similarly :)

Split realities

2007-06-21T00:46:00.000-07:00

Reality unfortunately cannot afford the existence of an undivided entity; fractured and compartmentalized, its enslaved by our senses and their limitations. A forced derivative of being human is to bound this reality within logic and rationale.Dreams and truth are the fractions of my reality, both as real as another and always in conflict.

The bolted door

2007-06-19T00:22:00.000-07:00

Little by little, I had accumulated them, behind that bolted door. It had been so long that I had been using that door that I had forgotten when it had all started. It just stayed as an ancient relic within my mind, something I was aware of, knew what it existed for, but not the horrors that I had stored behind it.

And today the door opened by accident, and it all came flooding back into existence. A solitary unprepared moment and a flood, I can't decide what was more overwhelming, the moment itself or that that came back into my mind.

A burning horizon

2007-06-10T07:52:00.000-07:00

A shot of molten mercury dripped across the sky much akin to a dewdrop, indifferent to the clouds that veiled its descent. A few clouds flared up in anger, glowing shades of red and orange.

Duality bounded by the trinity: An abstract sketch

2007-04-19T10:27:00.000-07:00

Three edges that extended into infinity, right angles to each other, the three axes of reality. A solid wall of darkness, placid, imposing stretched on the left. A lone window showcased a quarter of a sun. Sunlight stumbled on to the floor carving a dull rectangle, half the imprint of truth.

A cube of darkness hung on the right, incomplete edges that provided clarity. A face deprived of darkness and blessed with the moon, the other imprint of truth. The walls that confine into repetitions of darkness and light, knowledge and ignorance.

Beyond the cube the wall disappears into free space, open sky with birds soaring, limitless, unhindered. The enlightened rectangle on the floor evolves into a kite, the artificial metaphor for freedom, completing the duality with the soaring birds.

A superimposed eyebrow and a tear, the hastily added stars and I descend into the drawing myself.

Water

2007-03-28T10:43:00.000-07:00

Water; pure, transparent, emmaculate. It takes little to rob it of its pristine form, of its clarity. Is it intolerant because of its purity? Intolerant of assimilation? Not really, have you not seen sugar and salt disappear within its arms? It remains pure to the ignorant eye, yet desecrated to the learned tongue.

Waves and me

2007-02-11T10:47:00.000-08:00

I see darkness ahead,
But my ears betray me,
Crashes, a wave after another,
The tongue of a turbulent sea.

The breeze voices the unsaid,
A virgin, sacred thought,
Is this what I wished to be with?
Or is this what I valiantly fought?

All that remains is the wish,
A thought, an idealist's desire,
The dreamer's little paraides,
A thinker's perpetual mire.

Paint me my own sunset

2007-02-11T10:45:00.000-08:00

Paint me my own sunset,
In a little puddle of sea,
Orange, marigold and yellow,
Like a cup of swirling tea.

The silent torcher

2007-02-11T10:26:00.000-08:00

A knock on the door, a phone call, an instant message, his life existed at the mercies of such waits. Like a puppet dragged along and adeptly manipulated by invisible strings, he continued to dance. Somewhere within the vast darkness that lay before him, lay the source of the applause.

There was an inexplicable pleasure in waiting such, the unspelled excitement of the next impulse, of the next twist, of the enxt command. He felt guilty of his own admission of it, but sinful pleasures derives from guilt. The guilt had arrived first, he waited now for the sin to be delivered.

Motionless, he waited for the next stimulus but all he received was silence. Ironic, now when he was free, he felt chained. The wait stretched on and so did his torcher.

She stared blankly at the computer screen, but she was seeing something far beyond. Her eyes darted from the screen to her hands, her fingers, her slender arms and felt a smile spreading on her beautiful face, her mind traced the journey from one act to another, from the first play to the next.

She shied from terming herself as sadist, manipulative was all that her courage had granted her to call herself. Power existed only when it was exercised, it rot into the void otherwise, hence, she consoled herself time yet another time. It is when the puppet resisted that she enjoyed, the tension in the strings seemed to feed an unknown energy into her. Total subjugation was something she was not prepared to deal with. Ironic, now that she had total control, she felt powerless. There was no resistance forthcoming and so wasn't an end to her torcher

Goa: Parting comments (8/2/7)

2007-02-11T10:14:00.000-08:00

Playing my favorite song and performing a muted karaoke, almost there but not quite. This was perhaps the best way to describe how I felt, like a caged bird staring at the door in anticipation, a door about to be flung open any instant.

So what did Goa do to me? Sure, it taught me a few lessons and unchained from a few shackles, but there are several things that I could have done. However, when has abslute contentment been so close than now?

I shall remember the first kiss of the sea, the gentle crumbling of the sand below my feet, the vanishing footprints on the wet sand, the fishesh weaving about near my feet, the azure skies draping the golden beaches, the copper sunsets tiptoing on a turbulent sea, the gentle sway of submissive boats on the waves, the innumerable stars that kept watch on me during the night, the dulcet lullaby of a caring sea and all he other metaphors that nature used to speak with me.

Memories to last my lifetime and an anire lifetime to relish these memories. Adiue Goa, and some day, I shall return and then I shall ask for a larger smile from you :)

Midnight by the sea (7/2/7)

2007-02-11T10:00:00.000-08:00

The sea grows restless as the silence of the night pervades everything else around. I do not know what it wishes to say, its turbulence is verbose yet comforting, as I sit in an uncomfortable, pensive silence.

This journey draws to a close; its too soon to judge its fruitfulness, to quantify the satisfaction that I derived from it, but it is a time I shall cherish for a long time to come. A bold initiative that I took, a decision I followed through from start to finish.

There are things unsaid and thoughts spoken, of thoughts vaulted by silence and thoughts betrayed by words, of the sweetness of sugar and the sour remainder of a pinch of salt.

Solitude (6/2/7)

2007-02-11T09:44:00.000-08:00

I walked over molten rocks and sharp edges, but I finally had the lasting solitude that I was seeking. My feet dipped in water, the sounds of civilization, distant and ignored, this was the bliss of solitude that I was looking for.

I knew that the contents of my trip would be a source of surprise and amusement for everyone that I have left behind when I return. I had to leave everyone behind and seek anonymity to be myself, identity at the cost of recognition. The fishes kissing my feet , it was like a greeting of welcome, a welcome that they had been waiting to give and a welcome, that somewhere I was expecting myself too.

Sunbathing and pondering (5/2/7)

2007-02-08T19:31:00.000-08:00

There was one oddity that kept buzzing around on the brim of my thoughts. Ignoring its presence did not do much to banish it altogether from my conscience but merely shocking me with its longevity when I finally acknowledged its presence.

It was not all the nudity that I saw around myself, nor it was Sunil's jubiliant cry of "Indian! Indian!" but surprisingly, the lack of buildings! Miles and miles of the sea and people, but no buildings. Sure, I had seen either of the two stretching for large distances but never both of them together and definitely not me amidst them.

Buildings that paint the landscape and make people look like accessories that fill the voids, towering, ominous; the symbols of civilization itself. Yet, here there was nothing. I was surprised at my own thoughts: a thatched roof was a luxury here, your feet dipping in sea, sheer indulgence.

There I was, near naked and basking in the sun, so much unlike me. It felt good to belong for once, to break a dozen social norms and follow them simultaneously. To be odd and even at the same time, this merely was the beginning of paradoxes.

Footprints on sand (5/2/7)

2007-02-08T19:23:00.000-08:00

As the sand gently kissed the naked soles of my feet, its soft seductive touch was sufficient for the orgasm of happiness that followed. Waves kept crashing at the shore in a joyous rhythm, celebrating each moment of their existence, the feeling of being alive, unlike the some of us.

My futile footprints on the sand were eagerly lapped up by the waves, there was no proof tat remained that this was the path I had taken. I wasn't sure whether I wished to fight or relish the feeling that rose within me as I watched , helpless and amused at eaxh footprint vanished.

This was perhaps the permeance of life itself, that nothing was here to stay. Then, what right do we have to take pleasure in our achievements, to soak up happiness or be weighed down by worries? The next wave would arrive soon and it shall all be washed away.

The futility of life and emotions themselves that this presented seemed surreal. It was the battle of the imprint against the might of the waves, of eternity against effervesence, of me against an unnamed unknown.

Over a blanket of clouds (4/2/7)

2007-02-08T19:18:00.000-08:00

Blue and its thousand shades, the sea and the sky, me and my joy. The sun spilled lazily on the ocean and a generous blanket of clouds spread to keep his shadow warm. Little puffs of cotton, in a myriad of shades swam over the sea.

Small clouds that cast great shadows, large and ugly, the clouds themselves being innocously little and obviously harmless. They were only emulating the nature of problems in our life, look up at the cloud and judge not by its shadow.

Pitstop: Mumbai (3/2/7)

2007-02-08T19:08:00.000-08:00

The city neves ceases to amaze me, not by the spirit of the people, the myriad of differences endlessly juxtaposed under its aegis or the sheer indifference of it all; but simply, by being itself. The city is in constant motion, but, it is actually held still.

An urban milieu would not perhaps prod me to write, except perhaps by the disgust of its omnipresence. My journey has not even lasted twenty four hours yet, but it seems that I have been walking forever, probably, I have been walking too fast.

A cacophony of noises fills the air around me, a voice somewhere within me wishes to scream at them all, to order a grim silence to replace all the sound. But, this is silence, the lack of any pertinent thought, this is the manifestation of chaos.

As conversations progress at all tables around me, they seem to mimic a much larger picture. I am a part of all these conversations, they stike my ears as sound, words evolve from the randomness and yet, I am isolated; a singular focus in a swirling sea, the eye of a raging storm, a silence within sound, sound within silence.

The beginning: Trip to Mumbai (3/2/7)

2007-02-08T19:02:00.000-08:00

A wide open road stretched ahead, open, welcoming; a generous sprinkling of sunshine, warm and cajoling; nature seemed to be speaking to me in metaphors and I, seemed to understand it all. The wide smirk on my face inexplicable for most, but for me, it was the only meaningful remnant in a world deserted by logic.

The mountains rose high, proud and unabashed in all directions, as if trying to escape them was impossible. They shied away from rising to pinnacles and me, from granting them an ode of reverence.

The way ahead is long, but the goal in sight is too inspiring to be daunted by distances, time or purpose.

The savage world

2007-01-30T20:13:00.000-08:00

I look around and I see a world of contrast, a kaleidoscope of vibrant colours, of edges, distinction and differentiation. I see difference as the essence of existence, the seed of individualism, but does the world agree?

How comfortable are we in dealing with differences?

Instant poetry!

2007-01-30T03:49:00.000-08:00

anjaan waqt ke faisle se
intezar bas karte hain
agar kal juda hue raaste
dekhe fir kab milte hain

***

See not the tree or the rose,
They wither and prosper with seasons,
See not the day or the night,
They come and go with scientific reasons,
Just see me and my loe for you,
For it shall stay until death can undo.

Musings

2007-01-13T04:53:00.000-08:00

***
Pondered I, whether my loyalty lies with light or with darkness. Light that illuminates, light that leads or light that casts its own impotency as shadows? Or with darkness, that is indiscriminating, welcoming? Perhaps the words I chose have deemed a further dissection useless.
***
Utter not a word under torcher and grant the perpetrator the pleasure of your pain.
***
The one that relishes the fight and not victory, must be granted victory for his defeat.
***
Edges, curves and archs, bathed in the golden glow of a perishing sun. Monoliths of glass and concrete, aiming for the sky, caught in the game of hide and seek, of shadows and of light. A glistening drop on the arrays of glass, it slid down the sky and down the glass. An inky dusk tiptoed, her purple robes now cast over the sky and the feeble crimson brimming at the horizon. The moments before being swallowed, he granted the final spectacle of beauty, a ring of red around the brim of the earth and glowing him ornamented as a stone.
***

A lil poetry :)

2007-01-08T05:03:00.001-08:00

1.

Alone, as sun in the sky,
As the moon that adorns the night,
On a pinnacle that rises high,
I cherish the solitude in delight

2.
Returns she such, in a veil of silence,
Unaware of the storms that brew,
Fed by a glimpse of her countenance,
And that little smile, knowing, askew.

Life a mirage, yet death an oasis

2006-12-27T05:17:00.000-08:00

(This is the edited copy of the same article I had composed for the college magazine sometime in 2004)

What is reality? A mere perception that blinds our eye, till the truth unfolds? A warped existence between multiple dimensions, a blissful reverie till a message like “Wake up, Neo” appears on our console?

All our life has been an evasive chase for a far-away dream. Life, a short voyage towards a pre-determined destination:‘Death’. Every achievement is a mere passing milestone; all sorrows, a trivial transitory formality. Like a water droplet over a lotus leaf, superficial yet alluring in its beauty.

The only true companion is death; all our actions, belongings, relations weakly attached by the delicate thread of life, lasting each day by the mere mercy of death. Life, in its vitality & vigor, embraces us fondly & effortlessly carries us away with its pace, blurring all perceptions of truth.

We need to pause for a moment & ponder upon our ephemeral existence, about our obscure origins and ends. This illusory mirage that we pompously relish, demands logical dissection. Every deed has an ultimate purpose, yet, the first truth that we encounter seems to defy this logic. Elevated by his intellectual prowess, man must, but, utilize it to justify his otherwise futile existence.

What are we here for? What have we achieved? Questions like this would continue to hammer silently in our sub-conscience until we resign to death. Death, the only truth, yet shrouded by the deepest veils of mystery. The oasis in this mirage, yet, feared the most.

If the destination is pre-decided & life is nothing but illusory, what purpose are we serving by continuing this existence? If the search for Truth is that important why not embrace it at this very instant? Who knows what lies on the other side? Perhaps, death is a mere transition to another such frugal existence?

Life though a mirage, is worth living. Perhaps, the very opportunity for us to realize the truth or just another of alternate realities that infinite number of us continue to live in, utterly oblivious.

We may never know & perhaps, are destined to fret till we find out.

A wedding and a funeral

2006-12-25T19:45:00.000-08:00

I walked briskly towards the terminal from the tarmac, my steps propelled with a sense of great expectations of things to follow. A price of one hundred fifty rupees for my karma and I was being transported across the roads of Nagpur. The city was impersonal in the least, cold at the most. Memories arose from within their graves, as I passed familiar roads, signs and buildings.

***

There she was, hands outstretched, enshrined within a casket of happiness and a house full of relatives and friends. She was merely an actress playing the role of the bride, effortlessly weaving in and out of her real self and her expected self. A distant past summoned by and for a purpose. A purpose that had conspired to bring us all together again, a purpose that had gained so much strength.

Soft palms being covered with henna, designs intricate and involved, a work of art to co inhabit with your own self. Society had never granted men that privilege, another prerogative of females. The final embellishment of laughter now completed the decoration of the house, the house where a marriage was about to take place in two days.

Talking, laughing, dancing; moments cemented into cherished memories and soon midnight had sneaked upon us. Parted we thus, to greet another day, to meet as strangers once more, but not to become acquaintances this time..

Poetry

2006-10-14T05:07:00.000-07:00

Labon main sili shikayaton ko,
Shabd bana ke riha kar do,
Aankhon main umadte sailaab ko,
Ab ashq bana kar wida kar do.

Maathe ki shiqan ki lakeeron ko,
Haathon main yun sil jaane na do,
Bhula kar ab un beeti baaton ko,
Zakhmon ko bhar jaane ka mauka to do.

My mistress

2006-09-26T13:11:00.000-07:00

My mistress visits my door again, the world knows her better as insomnia. But Im actually wondering if she is faithful enough to be called my wife. Well, not really, there's too much romance and that ominous feeling of guilt lurking somewhere to consider her my wife.

I think that would be sleep, but one really doesnt waste too many words on one's wife and mine, is up for grabs, so go ahead and indulge! Returning to the object of my affections, my mistress does hold sway by her seductive ways.

My yawns surrender, and stand guard outside my private chambers till me and her make love. I father insanity and absurdity, and they do good to the world until they live. My wife would be here soon and her jealous ways shall seek the death of my illegitimate children. She shall keep me company on my bed, but passion she shall never encounter.

I hear the guards knocking again and the dark of the night shall soon swallow my mistress, until her lost feet find my door again. Till then my love shall stay protected, deep within my heart, and only for her.

Between heaven and hell

2006-09-17T21:02:00.000-07:00

Another bike ride back home, a pitter here and a patter there. The clouds waited for an opportune moment to part and shed the weight off their chests. I simply accelerated and let my mind wander.

It seems to follow its own laws of physics, you know those exponential radioactive decay kinds..? I cant seem to shrug off the linguistic chicanery that I seem to aquire after reading something good. Yes, I haven't read something this morning and commonplace words like "good" seemed to have crept in. Sigh!

So back to the things on my mind. NSUI has protested against the word "Gandhigiri" used librally in a hindi flick. Yawn! I decided to do a little investigative (read googling) journalism and look up at what NSUI actually stands for.

Here's their pledge:
(source: http://www.nsui.org/)

NSUI Pledge
* That we shall strive to develop character, discipline, sense of social responsibility and selfless service in the students community.
* That to strengthen the foundation of the dramatic society, we shall motivate the students to selflessness, fraternity, tolerance and social harmony.
*That pledging ourselves towards the greater cause of bringing revolutionary change in the social structure, we shall proceed with changing ourselves in a constructive spirit.
* That we believe and shall upkeep the multi-cultural, multi-religious, multi-regional, multi-lingual,diversified social fabric of our nation and shall make efforts to promote social and economic liberty to every citizen of the country.
* That we shall continue our work with ceaseless effort to make India the most powerful and prosperous nation and the future leader of the entire world.

Is it just me or are solecisms screaming at me from those lines? It so happens my hunch was correct (well, its rare to find a students body that actually has a motto and stands by it than just flexing their muscles and raising their voices for some publicity). I could sit here and let my thoughts meander around idealistic sugesstions on running this nation, but guess we have enough people doing that already. No wonder the society is so "dramatic" :D

As the clouds kindly waited for me to get back home, my mind continued its agressive dispersion of thoughts. The moment of philosophic glory arrived on L.V Prasad road. Choices; we all make choices that we deem supremely important for our lives. Choices that determine the future courses of our lives. But how important are my choices for the beggar on the road, for the Prime minister of this country, Sharukh Khan, my neighbour? Maybe it does, maybe it does not. Could we actually be a part of a complex computer program that studies the possible outcomes that emanate from seemingly infinite choices?

Speaking of choices, I wonder why I made the choice of blogging this inconsequential post. Time shall tell ;)

Mumbai : Impressions

2006-09-14T21:18:00.000-07:00

It bustled with a thousand colours, but it wasn't exactly bulging at the seams as I had imagined it to be. I did not go without a prejudice against the city and perhaps, I viewed it with eyes of someone who contemplates shifting there soon.

There were no jazzy "Welcome to Mumbai" boards, (I seem to have a fetish for such boards, my first disappointment came with a conspiciously misisng "Welcome to Secundrabad" board) she appeared as gently as a sun quietly rises above the horizon each day. So here I was, familiar names were being called out "Panvel", "Sion", blah, blah.

As I was to discover later, I was in South Mumbai and perhaps what I saw was not representative of the city. Each city has its own flavour, and Mumbai's flavour was stunningly different. Agreed the sea was the wrong shade of brown and not as inviting as the Marina beach @ Chennai, it was a pleasure to watch nonetheless. Giant metallic structures rose from the sea, necessity is the mother of invention indeed.

A local train passed, the India Today in my hand had a picture of a train during partition, I think it would have a good "Spot the Differences" entry. Roads were in a perpetual state of traffic jams, I wonder how people actually get from one place to another. The people had neutral expressions, they werent exactly celebrating their lives nor were permanent frowns etched on their faces.

Our day passed with envious ease, mom made small talk with other aspirants in the lounge and I tried my best to avoid any such conversations. The independent half hour that I had for myself, I passed @ the Barrista. A couple of loud Gujrati girls ensured my headache sustained. The were loud in their speech and make up, Im glad I did not hear them attempting to speak english, I would have done more than just cringe.

Now the crows aroused my curiosity. They are the bravest crows Ive seen around. Unfazed of all human activity around them, they carried on with their scavenging with undeterred determinantion. One of them did not even mind posing for my camera, neat!

Towards the fag end of the day, the humidity got me. My head spun and my shirt was completely wet. Impatience manifsted itself as irritation, but it was over after four numbing hours when I returned to Pune. Mumbai is still not off my list :)

A thought experiment

2006-09-10T08:23:00.000-07:00

I thought it would be an interesting experiment to juxtapose a thought provoking input with a thought emptying output. My ramblings...

Vulgarity of oppression...? Is oppression really vulgar? Isnt it a subtle, or rather, a brutal impression of humanity itself? Power flows from the sword or from the bullet, it injures or mauls the weak. Power rules, weakness is defeated. Ironically though, weakness is perennial and the seat of power, emphemeral.

Who does really change the world, if ever that does happen? Are we not thrutsing our ambitions upon innocuous yet idealistic vehicles of well intended transformation?

Crude, vugar language flowed effortlessly from their lips. Not a hint of shame, not a flutter of dignity.

Not all stories have a happy ending, but not all stories end.

Expensive perals hugged their necks as they mocked their necks in heady admirations. Arguments and counter arguments bounced off people, around the farthest corners of the room. A euphemistic ping pong game was in progress.

"Sorry"..."Its okay". Been there, done that! Its really not okay sometimes. Guess, ive been on either sides of the fence, the fence blurring more often that not.

Bicchad ke mere daaman se,
Hawa ke saath to chal diya,
Teri to bas ek silwat chhoti,
Main to poora chhil gaya.

Like a bunch of pigeons, they flew high upon the tree tops. Dragged they had me into the open, vulnerable as I lay there, to be either devoured by them or be crushed to death by the passing crowd. The helplessness of it all, the unanimity of all ends.

The clothes collapsed in a unruly pile in a forgotten corner, the fires vented, the bodies united. An orgasm of fluids, an orgasm of desire. The peasants watched, the Gods witnessed, the little green monster danced.

A deep voice that ushered the silence to reign. It spoke, it reverberated, but it was all silence. Spineless words that lacked emotion, sentences that adhered to gramattical constructs but abandoned the passion of communication. It was smothered in words, yet silence found its way.

Insanity sprung up in his eyes. A mild oddity, a passing eccentricity if you may. It persisted though, refusing to be swallowed by a vaant expression. It was mildly revolting, but romantically appeasing.

Embers sigh silently, churning ash as they perish, content with a life well lived. The room breathed their souls, a warm and cozy embrace, of live and death, of stillness and of motion.

A waking dream

2006-09-02T03:22:00.000-07:00

Sunlight seeped through the tall trees, a mosaic of darkness and light; an idle chatter of birds punctuated my own thoughts as I wandered aimlessly in the forest. The recurrent images flashed through my mind, I looked for the signs again, but all the trees seemed the same.

The leaves bristled with indignant rustles as I trampled them underfoot. The wind voiced creepy whispers with modest extravagance. Night carried on with destruction of the day, swallowing it in great gulps of darkness. I could barely see now, I would have to return, continue this search some other time. I marked my name on a tree. By a great coincidence it was a gulmohar tree, dead , dormant awaiting the summer, much like me. I closed my eyes and prepared to be awake. I opened my eyes, a flood of light filled the room. I was on my bed, and had the knife in my hand and wood scrapings lay by my side.

It was five years ago that I found these constant companions; I thought to myself as I glanced across at my crutches. Only in dreams could I walk now, and seek the answers that lay under a dark veil of my forgotten past.

***

The room was spartan in its furnishings. It grew familiar with every passing day, but there was something very alien about it. It had an imprint of someone else, not the curtains, nor the choice of the furniture. They told me this was my home, they made sure I was comfortable, they told me they were my friends. I could do with some friends then.

*to be contd*
*im writing something everyday, so hopefully id have one finished story soon*

Moving on...

2006-08-27T06:24:00.000-07:00

As I pass over the pages of my past, I find myself lost somewhere in the journey that I undertook. Changes are inherent and apparent, happiness perhaps, sometimes isnt.

Driven my the consumerist age, are we treating people as commodities too? As dsiposable nothings that are up for a dime a dozen at the local supermarket? Or am I holding past much to dear? Have others moved on and Ive stood rooted at the same point? Do relationships necessarily need to transition through time, can they not stay where they are.

I have lost several friends to time and distance, several others are somewhere in the limbo. Fragments of an old past that I deemed dear once, but are very different and distant people today. I am much different today to begin with. I am learning to live without the unnecessary burden of expectations. Its been a helluva relief.

I guess time changes everyone and everything, eventually...Its time to move on, make peace with the past

Reincarnation of words...

2006-08-20T23:08:00.000-07:00

I puppet around with words, and I conjure another emotion. Upon the barren landscape, I paint, paint with words to capture moving images, images of sorrow, of happiness, of love, of hatred. I paint and I puppet, I am no magician, a mortal human, but I seek immortality...

Lifeless words in dejected corners of my conscience, I summon them and reincarnate them, over and over again. Would they thank me for breathing life into them? Or would they rather be left alone, to make merry with others of their kind? As they slowly eat into my mind, hollowing my imagination, am I liberating myself as I liberate them?

Are they me? Am I projecting myself with what I write? Then God I am, for I am His son, for I have been born out of Him? Or have I created Him too? Words and God, abstract butresses to concrete concepts. A bridge between ideas and reality...?

Poetry @ work

2006-07-30T23:52:00.000-07:00

I cant believe that Im actually speaking poetry, I still cant get over this weird feeling of writing poetry when u actually should be working!

Heres what ive written so far...!

Guzar chuke woh makam
Jab hum kuch kaha karte the
Ab bas tanhayi hi sahara hai
Woh ho na sake jinpe marte the

Kuch khwab palkon main the bithaye
Ruksat unhein kisi mod pe kar aaye
Kuch yaadein dil main chhupa kar the baithe
Annsuaon se unhe kahin baha aaye

Mausiki ko tum pyaar ka naam na do,
Kalpana ki udaan ko aisa anjaam na do

Pagal to hum pehle se the,
Ye ilzaam tumne ab kyun lagaya?
Kya tum abh ho samjhe,
Jo tumne bhi ye mukaam ab jo paaya?

Hosh main rehke kya paaoge?
Tute hue sapne, chubhti kuch yaadein?
Kaise unhe phir bhulaoge,
Jo hain rom rom main basein?

Jo hua woh shabdon main bata nahi sakte,
Par usse hum yun chhupa bhi nahi sakte,
Samajh paye usse kisime ye kabuliyat nahi,
Itni anoothi kisi ki asliyat nahi!

Jin se hum baat bhi nahi kar paaye,
Woh kya hum pe sitam karenge,
Jo kahde dil ki dehleez pe hai,
Woh kaise usse barbaad karenge?

Fear and courage...

2006-07-26T06:58:00.000-07:00

My incessant musings took a serious turn yesterday when I inadvertently pondered over "courage". A standalone definition continues to elude me. The harder I try to steer it away from fear, the stronger the butresses of fear grow.

As darkness and light, fear and courage are indeed complementary. If you shed your fear, you gain courage. At a more personal level, I did find the rationality behind several of my fears, but some of them continue to be irrational. What again does divide your fears as rational and irrational? Perhaps, knowledge....

I find it appalling to imagine the plight of a neandertal man trying to come to terms with his life and his surroundings. Several million years of evoltion has been unsuccessful in eradicating the fear of lightening from the some of us, how do you think a caveman coped with it? He deified it of course, along with rain, sun, dawn and death amongst others.

*more later*

Hands bound

2006-07-15T09:50:00.000-07:00

"Ouch!" and several other such equivalents of expressing pain currently occupy a prime position in my vocabulary. As the wound on my left palm transitions through myriad shades of white-yellow to crimson and deep red, it still doesn't seem to have made its mind on looking a little less revolting.

Speculative extrapolation seems to have caught on widely among people. As multiple theories of my accident began to float around, I did bask a little in the brief moments that celebrated my presence, everyone likes to indulge once in a while. The shots of pain that I experience from time to time would not really aid in defining "excuriating" pain, but the wounds do paint a sorry picture.

The embellished little finger, the strategically placed yet, grotesque wound on the collar bone, I should have been bathing in waves of sympathy, but people have been thrifty :(

I cringe by the mere thought of clapping my hands or a handshake. I feel like Ive been living with blinders all my life and suddenly someone took them off! Poor hands, seriosuly, you dont necessarily have to lose something or someone to relaize how precious they are. Say it as often as you can to as many people as you want, that you love them, like them and you need them in your life. It really isn't you who is this lonely, it really just isnt you who feels utterly worthless sometimes, everyone does and everyone needs someone to tell them, that they care :)

Go ahead, untie your hands..!

Kodaikanal flashback!

2006-06-25T13:07:00.000-07:00

Well, when writing a post to a community, I had the chance to revisit my Kodai trip/camp nine years bacs. Here's a good 'ol flashback!

Part 1:
So to speed up the background, me and three friends of mine were selected to attend a camp @ kodaikanal (a hill station in tamil nadu, india...a very beautiful place). I had topped the exam that was conducted to select us. One of our teachers was accompanying us, school had booked our train tickets.

Now this was the first time I was gonna be away from my family, so mom was going through a list of Do's and Dont's, the top on the list being to control my infamous scorpio temper. I thought the journey was going to be memorable, but never thought that it would begin from the train station!

All of us were supposed to meet at the entrance gate to the station, as none of us had the tickets. I was running late, a couple of minutes behind the scheduled time of meeting, but still on time to catch the train.

Now the passenger does not need a platform ticket, but anybody accompanying them do. Now these tickets are worth like two rupees, but its a nightmare if youve a train to catch and are out of change.

I rememebr wasting a couple of minutes at the ticket booth by which time everyone else (thats my friends, their family and our teacher) had already entered the station.

Thankfully, I knew the seat numbers, so all we needed to do was to find our seats.
Now with a baggage weighing a ton, we are literally running across the platforms, im sure uranus was afoot that day!

SO now picture this: We have two trains with the same name going in two opposite directions present at the same station at the same time. And which one did I happen to board? The wrong one of course!

I think I had an argument with the people in the train as well, for I believed they were on our seats. Till it finally occured to us that we may be on the WRONG train!

So off we were running with one huge suitcase across three platforms. Heaving, puffing, we finally made it! Hurray!
***

The train chugged off and so did the good times. Antakshari, jokes and card games were afoot. Now there were five of us and a compartment has SIX seats in an indian train. Ive the greatest pity for the sixth passenger with us

Travelling in an indian train..

Lesson #1: Never leave your seat unguarded! We learnt this the hard way. Me and my friend had gone to the bathroom to freshen up. By the time we returned, some ppl were sitting in our seats! They had no tickets and were travelling without one. Now our female teacher couldn't practically stand in front of them and ask those soilidly built guys 2 back off. Anyways, we managed to squeeze back into our seats, but now we were seating four instead of two. We figured it would be a temporary discomfort.

Lesson # 2: Always sleep with your legs extended. Carry an extra blanket if you need to, but NEVER curl up and sleep. Much to our chagrin, we had people sitting on our seats as we slept.

Lesson # 3: Always listen to your animal instincts when cornered. And so we did, to our donkey instincts. We kicked and we kicked bravely. We did win the fight, and had the whole seats back to ourselves

Lesson # 4: Respect your thirst, but control it until you can. Now we all had our waterbottles filled when we left home. But we were travelling in May and the heat was unbearable. By the time it was night, we were out of water. Now a train does halt for a sufficient period of time at some stations, but at some its only a minute or two. We learnt this the wrong way again...I dont rememebr who had gotten down the train to fill the bottles, but wa salmost left behinnd at the station as the train began to move much sooner than we'd expected. This also taught us another lesson, Pepsi doesn't taste THAT bad when warm.

The journey was fun. We finally amde it to Chennai the next day morning after 18 hours of travel. The route was picturesque...winds caressing the fields, hills yearning to touch the sky, rivers sprawled majestically across the plains, little huts with thatched roofs and wisps of smoke from their makeshift chimneys, trees bathing in the copper hues of the sunset, I could go on and on! Its like page after page of poetry, set to the rhthmic motion of the train...

We had our train late in the evening to Kodai, and a whole sticky day at Chennai to spend. When i say sticky, i literally mean it. You sweat like a pig (or a mouse in labour as I have recently heard) and the humidity prohibits the sweat evaporating, its uccckh (in so many words!)

Another thing about chennai, the water's hard, you'd need to have beefy muscles to make your soap froth like a turbulent sea! A soap in Chennai nurses an ambition to produce at least ten bubbles in one usage, and they are QUITE unsucessful in achieving that modest target. I fear to imagine the fate of the "imported" soap that friend of mine was carrying for the trip. I think the soap really did not wish to be put through more msiery and vanished into the murky depths of anonymity after its virgin abuse, err, use. But it was remembered as a martyr, for my friend went on and on about leaving it behind in Chennai. He kept pondering about its fate, much to our chagrin and irritation.

Our sojourn completed, we moved on to our final destination, kodaikanal. Our teacher and the sixth traveller fell asleep after playing cards for a few hours, but we four were just getting started. We occupied the topmost beths, two on each side. Me and another firend of mine, tallest amongst the four of us were on the opposite seats. We balanced urselves with sitting on one side and our legs on the other. On the makeshift bridge thus produced, was laid a blanket and voila, a table was ready, for us to continue playing cards! We reached kodai the next morning...more later!

(part 2 later!)

Poetry, lost and found!

2006-06-25T12:38:00.000-07:00

Looks like Ive found my muse again :) (I say no furhter, let the words speak for themselves :D)

The profile:

I am the wind, the earth the sky,
I am the truth, I am a lie.
The rain tat drenches you, I am.
The tear that caresses you, I am.

We all are but shadows of each other,
But none of us is the light,
Wronged remnants of a forgotten event,
A memory of something sometime that did go right.

The jealous lover:
Spell the names that have kissed your pink lips,
Whose hands have wandered into the forbidden?
Whose minds you have seeded with your desire?
Whose thoughts you have impregnated with your image?

*to be contd*

An exercise in words!

2006-06-19T12:33:00.000-07:00

An astounding encounter, intimate and amazing. Alternating innuendos and euphemisms, angled expressions of angst and affection. It all appeared alien, abstruse; until it unfolded itself, asymmetric, idyllic, exotic. An overture aimed at obfuscating extremities, an innocent attempt immersed in ambition. An instant approval, and an embrace afterward, I acknowledged adoration. Abandoned emotions obtained an unchained access, an open arena. I acquiesced, impotent in impeding an avalanche of emotions.

Somehow, restraining myself was not feasible. Time they say heals wonderfully. Lies! Healed wounds chafed, bled. The moment proved too costly. Penance for the sin, punishment for failing to comply. Time stretches till time's death, the pain till my demise. Cruel reminders, cruel ways to survive the memories. Wisom burdens your soul, pain, but, liberates. Mysterious ways that dictate the world, mysterious beginnings to mysterious terminations.

Destroyed....

2006-05-28T21:05:00.000-07:00

I have destroyed myself, with banal excesses I could have done without. To dull one's mind, is but destroying it. Left to myself, I would continue to go about in dreamy circles of impossible reveries, let time slip away and let the fog engulf me deeper and deeper.

A tiny guilt surfaces sometimes, a minor distraction and I don't even notice it. I am reminded of the lyrics of "Roobaroo" at this moment, that I too have a fire within me, I too can swallow the sun. I wish.

A definite purpose continues to elude me, as I pass another mundane day. The fires within need to be stroked, revived, lest the embers die into ashes, lest only charred remnants of a great fire remain. Ashes that bear testimony to a great conflagration, ashes that would be scattered by the feeblest of winds.

But ashes from which a phoenix can arise again. Ashes that continue to nurse heat within their bosoms, ashes that singe. Protesting on the streets the other day, when people would follow you only because you chose to lead, I sensed an old aquaintance within me somewhere. I was transported back into time. I want to go there again.

Strange again are the ways of the heart, I now at least know what my possible weakness could be. Am I waiting for a miracle to happen, or perhaps even a tragedy? SOmething that evokes me from my slumber? Perhaps, I do not wish to wake up to ugly relaties of life, dreams are subtler, safer.

Yet, I stand destroyed, yet, I burn....