My Last Gasp Pseudo Intellectual Aspiration

Monochrome Rainbow

2012-01-26T01:22:00.005+05:30

If I could remember how and when it all started, it might just help me put the pieces together. But then again, my memory fails me these days; not sure if it's age or simply that I have become careless with this closet that I carry in my skull. It's become this leaky bucket; things just don't stay put. And all that is there, just slips out slowly and something new comes and takes the place of all that has been displaced. I have realized that for all the 'exactness' that people attach with memory, it's actually very fluid. You can not attach a shape to it, can you? More often than not, it bends and twists and takes the shape you want it to.. and when that happens, it's not memory, is it? It's fiction; and in all that we reproduce from memory or claim to produce from memory is a work of imagination, aspirations and well, if I may venture to add, exclamations. Memory is like clay, you see- give it shape, let it bake for a while, color it, and then maybe preserve it; the possibilities are endless...

So now you understand my quandary, don't you? You see, for all those attributes that memory, alright, let's be specific, my memory has, it'd be difficult for me to recall and recount, exactly how and when it happened. It could have been that Monday morning, when I saw you for the first time, looking lost, squinting at the sun, too shy to approach a stranger, too proud to admit your ignorance.Or was it that rainy Friday in August, when you were looking out of the window, and perhaps wishing that they hadn't told you how dancing in the rain in your formal dress, is not an acceptable behavior. Oh, you were so disappointed... But that's the point; I'm not very sure about the precision of my own recollection.So what I write here can be a memoir, or it can be a story, I leave that to you to decide. For now, I'll just proceed and get on with things.

Of late, I have woken up to very cognizant mornings..I have stared out of the window in my room to clear white light and a feeling of floating in the dreams I have dreamed of, in the night gone by. I can always put names to all the people I come across in my dreams. I can even sense their presence in my room... very sublime, ethereal even. I can almost feel my lips moving to start a conversation with them, but something always stops me.. and it's at this moment that I think of you. Why? I don't know.. if I could explain myself to me, your reason for existence in my consciousness would be lost, no? So let's keep it that way, shall we? For all that is gossamer and ephemeral, I'll take you for granted and submit you to permanence. That's how I want it to be... it can not be any other way, you see.

I can not sing, I can not dance, I can not play any instrument. Talent-less, that's what I call myself and laugh it off. You laugh with me, when I do that. You are not didactic or preachy and you do not use 'should' in excess.... I can live with that. 'But you can listen... and you can observe', you tell me. 'And you can tell stories..', then you pause.. it's that moment when you see me staring at you.... you catch me red handed, and my gaze falls down from your face... still, I'm replaying the twitch of your lips as you spoke.. all in my head. I look up and I see you smiling..'And I like listening to your stories', you say, as I am mesmerized by the glaze of shining diamonds that only I can see at the corner of your eyes. 'All is well with the world', I think...

I want a canvas and some colors and a paint brush. Let's turn all of this in a magnum opus, shall we? For when you are gone, I'd extract my quantum of solace by hanging this masterpiece in my bedroom and make critiques- Oh! I wish we'd have painted the butterflies purple and not orange... and how the chateau should have had graffiti on its walls... and why the wine should have been of sanguine temperament... If only you could realize that as you detach yourself from the world that I dwell in, the colors somewhat fade away.. and I hope, that like me, you also realize that we can always add a few magnolia flowers near the window... and a few nebulous clouds wouldn't harm anyone, would they? And that adding a few sparrows against the sun stained horizon might just complete the picture..And oh! how about a rainbow- one with an all-encompassing spectrum, that makes you and I believe that the possibilities are endless....

Sweet Bile of Mine

2011-12-14T01:20:00.010+05:30

Blink, blink; Blink, blink, blink, blink
In the pitch darkness of the room, as his eyes groped for familiarity and consciousness, a sudden feeling of nausea gripped him. In one quick swishing motion, he jumped out of the bed and rushed towards the bathroom. A flick of his hands caught the switch and in the pale yellow light of the ceramic tiled room, he was already bending over the toilet pot, and regurgitating out all that was the evidence of the night just gone by...The whirring sound of the flush and his last few retches were the only sounds piercing the silence of the night. Head still in his haunches, he tried to compose himself. The dehydration and the shock of the whole exercise had left him completely drained of any thought and energy. He felt his head spinning; and with it the relative feeling of the entire room spiraling out. His grip on the frame of the seat tightened...silence ensued, the echoes of which resonated in his head....
With one giant effort that his body could somehow muster, he got off the floor. As his senses searched for balance, he fumbled; then regained his equilibrium and turned on the tap of the wash basin. Splash, splash; the cold water hit his face like sharp icicles; he looked at himself in the mirror- disheveled, sweat soaked hair; blood shot eyes, perhaps they still have the snapshots of what had happened a few hours ago. He did not have his shirt on; he was standing in his boxer shorts-this too was something that his reflection in the mirror made him realize. Even in this hour of physical distress, he couldn't help but marvel at his chiseled torso- the streamlined shoulder blades leading to the well built biceps and shapely triceps; the broad chest that he had inherited from his father which swelled even more as he admired himself. He smiled at his vanity; "Bloody Narcissist", he thought to himself and splashed some more water on his face.
As he took out the towel from the rack, he noticed a long strand of hair sticking out of his neck.. "that's not mine", he thought and buried his face in the towel... until the gravity of the discovery was finally realized upon by his 'now-slowly-regaining-consciousness' brain. He rushed into the bed room and switched on the light.. there lay on the bed, wrapped in his favorite comforter, the woman, to whom the strand of hair belonged to. With slow, careful steps he moved towards her... yes, there she lay, lying sideways, peacefully sleeping the night away, her bosom heaving lightly in periodic motion, as she breathed in and out. Her breath smelled of alcohol; vodka he concluded. He never could fathom why women preferred vodka over other drinks- was it the transparent, inviting color that held its deceptive charm or was it that despite all the hoopla surrounding women's liberation, women still went by the conventional norms where vodka was still considered a woman's drink. "Not in Russia, though.Everybody drinks vodka in Russia, no?", he thought as he peered over her body. It was beautiful, her face.. "Sharp features", thought he as he stared intently at her face, making mental notes about her thin lips and pierced nose, and her long hair and her slender neck.He caressed her forehead out of sheer impulse; the flashback of the night came swooping in to his head at that very moment- the party, the drinks, the dance floor, a few stealthy glances, some unspoken words, few more drinks, some more dancing, some more drinks, a wild car ride, a flight of stairs, a dark corridor leading to an array of apartments, a tussle of bodies and....
He tried hard to recall her name; "aarghh!", for once his memory failed him. Hell! he couldn't even recall the first letter of her name. "Alcohol! You bitch! Your wonders perplex and amaze me", thought he with a wry smile on his lips as she turned on her back emitting a soft whisper in the process. He reached for his pair of trousers that were lying in the mish-mash of clothes on the floor and pulled out his pack of cigarettes and his Zippo lighter. As he lit one and inhaled the smoke, he looked at her radiant face. "We are all accidents waiting to happen" he concluded at the serendipitous rendezvous as he hummed this Radiohead song...
He tapped the ash on the tip of his cigarette in the ash tray; he was fascinated by ashes in general- they were, to him the equivalent of ruins of buildings and monuments left to decay or destroyed by an invading force or decimated by some act of God. In that moment of deep, penetrative reflection he dawned upon the only truth that was left with him- in the holocaust of memories tonight, not even the ashes will remain.....

Echoes, Silence, Patience & Grace

2011-11-02T23:59:00.008+05:30

Between the extremities of hope and despair, lies a life, that goes on living... unnoticed. It remains confined to the four walls of a room; unobtrusive, silent and motionless. But alive..it resembles the faucet in your kitchen, the type, you know, which no matter how hard you try to turn off, always has a trickle of water dripping from it... not a jet of water; not a completely dried up nozzle.. but somewhere in between. Or maybe like the stillness of the leaves on the tree in front of your house that you see daily from your window in the cold winters... pale, lifeless, but still functional... This peculiar life is like an insomniac's sleep- just when he feels that he is drifting off into that blissful state of unawareness, his mind makes its presence felt... so near, and yet so far away. Insomnia is really weird, it's not that you don't sleep; your body does go to sleep, but your brain just doesn't... and it is this un-synchronized state that grips you and leaves you somewhere in between... just like this life which has found its restive equilibrium...between false dawns and lonely nights, it stays put in this room... it peers out of the solitary opening carved in the walls, the window I mean, beyond the curtains.. every morning, sometimes late at night. Not much changes though; not when you watch from this window. There is an inertia which seems to have stopped time.. the clock ticks away the seconds, minutes and hours everyday... the calendar marks the end of the month, flips over a page, moves over to another. but this view from the window stays static....dust accrues over the window sill, cobwebs grow in size, and this life keeps on living...Sometimes a pigeon comes over at the window.. its curiosity aroused by the strangeness of the room. It taps at the glass.. as if trying to say 'hello! Anybody home?".. No response... just a few incomprehensible murmurs... a rustle of the bed sheets... but no more than that. The pigeon flies away disappointed...

There is a fountain pen which lies on the table, uncapped. There is a blot of ink on the nib, as if inviting you to pick it up and pour out a story that will be grander than creation of this universe.. but alas! the ink in it has dried up... the story, thus remains untold...There in that very room, lives this life... between a newborn's first cry and a funeral march... between the vacuum of black holes and the fulfilling enlightenment of revelations... yes, in that very room... lives this life...unnoticed, unperturbed..

In one corner of the room, if you had looked hard enough, you would have noticed an army of ants moving in a beeline towards the window... stocking reserves, marking the onset of a seasonal change....
"Winter is coming", you would have concluded..
"It's time to hibernate", this life would have responded.....

Fever

2011-09-28T16:52:00.000+05:30

Eyes red, pulse slow
Teeth clenched, in readiness for the next blow.

Breath heavy, chest heaving
I stare fixedly, at the empty ceiling.

Body flaccid, thoughts skewed
Mind battles, with pledges renewed.

Mercury rises, my limbs quiver
Pills swallowed, welcome to my fever.

P.S.- This 'rhyme' was composed last year when I was suffering from severe illness. Another bout with illness and a serendipitous retrieval of an old notepad, got it in its present form.

Half Light

2011-09-04T14:55:00.002+05:30

The cigarette between his fingers was glowering slowly; the ember on the tip pulsating between a faint and a fierce complexion of orange; the smoke emanating from it, taking random shapes. He was standing at the parapet of his balcony watching the city skyline, the synonymous coffee mug in his hand and the ipod plugged in his ears. It had been that kind of a week-hectic, turbulent, unpredictable- with the highs interspersed with the lows; the usual randomness that he associated with everything these days, seemed to be orchestrating every turn of events. The weather, however, had been slightly more favorable; the ruthlessness of the sun, at times was mellowed by the nebulous clouds, bringing intermittent, heavy showers. And when the rains started to get to you, clear skies would suddenly take over and provide relief from the ennui of gray. A few puddles had formed, none the less, on the road stretching out in front of him, reminiscent of the desecration that the overbearing skies brought out every year on the earth at this time of the year.
The crescent moon was out adorning the night sky; its pale fluorescence providing a luminescence that was inviting and comforting. There were a few clouds moving around; their movement resembling the ambling of tired joggers in a park doing their last laps. The songs on his ipod kept shuffling from one to the other; he wasn't paying attention to them. The only purpose that they were serving was of blocking out the hush of the sounds of airplane engines and distant car horns. He recalled this conversation he had had when someone told him that the purity of music is at its best when there are no words attached to it; for when there are words, we attach meanings to it, and embellish the reason for its existence.
There weren't many stars out tonight; and even if they were, the smog and smoke enveloping the stratosphere, obscured them. He took in a puff; he was always fascinated by the stars; their distance from him was gargantuan, yet these twinkling bodies of burning gases, gave a sense of transience to the meaning of life, the universe and everything in between. The selfless act of burning themselves out in the hope that their lights will reach humanity; was something that was beautiful and disturbing at the same time. A wry smile escaped him as he peered hard and spotted a lone star right above his head, as it twinkled as if to catch his attention and remind him that he is not alone in his reverie.
Suddenly there was a power cut. And everything went dark; the streetlights went out, the red lights flashing atop the high rises were gone. As if to gel well with the surroundings, the moon decided to hide behind a passing cloud. The only light left now was the one from the burning cigarette, and of course there was the starlight. It all looked gloomy, and even depressing. Out of nowhere in that moment of darkness appeared a sprinkle of fireflies; dancing away merrily in a zig-zag motion; the blackout being a cue to showcase their talent. They were right in front of him, these lightning bugs, moving so carefree, with their tail-lights forming a synchronized pattern. He could sense their excitement as their blinking increased in rapidity, the purpose of their lives being fulfilled in that rhythmic acrobatics.
"If only I can catch them, and store them in a jar... just in case of a rainy day", thought he as an overwhelming feeling of peace and serenity pervaded his being.
The last sip of coffee was sent down his throat...the cigarette was stubbed out, its ember disposed of... the lone star overhead, also disappeared in the night. For now, the fireflies would have to do....

Disillusion

2011-07-14T02:36:00.005+05:30

It's hard not to keep looking at it, isn't it? You stare at it fixedly till your eyes begin to water; everything becomes a blur, your mind loses focus and all of it disappears for a fraction of a second. But then, there you are at it again; with a renewed vigor, transfixed at the sight in front of you. Yes, you see those words... your very own words dancing in front of you. They are not mocking at you; they are, well just there. The glow of the soft, silver luminescence, illuminating them from underneath, makes their movement all the more hypnotic. It's a slow, deliberate and delicate ballet that is playing out in front of you. You are privileged to watch this subtle yet eerie movement of letters and symbols and numbers.... you are watching history as it unwinds and paves its way into permanence. You are slightly nonplussed by the creepy feeling of deja vu that the scene in front of you brings to your senses; you know what the next step in the dance sequence is going to be. Yet there is that irrepressible serpent rising up in your chest, that wants you to believe that, perhaps this time the dance steps would change... only to be disappointed to see the outcome contrary to your expectation. Perhaps the masochist in you is now feeling happier for you did give in to his wants by subjecting yourself to this sustained self abuse... Damned be the serpent for poisoning your existence
Slowly the performance of the words is about to reach a crescendo. You can feel it; you've seen it before; you know it all. There is a heightened sense of urgency in their movements now; a frenzy of sorts; as if they are gripped by an epileptic spasm; reckless, convoluted, and without purpose. You feel like reaching out to them, but then, as you extend your arms, you meet the glass boundary that space and time have created. You sigh; a helpless, distressed sigh, that makes you feel incompetent and impotent.... the words in front of you, implode, and fly in all random directions as you fall on your haunches, with an empty feeling that the loss has created . You look up only to see them coming back, and coalesce again. But this time, they'd mean something else...
The alarm rings with a whirring sound. Time to get up and brew your morning cup of tea.

Ruins

2011-06-30T22:01:00.007+05:30

As I watch
The sun set
To mark,
The end
Of the day,
On my knees,
I bend;
Silently, I pray
For the neurons
To die and my
Memory, to decay....
But my prayer,
Instead
Lays bare,
The fragments of
What once
Was here...
Obsolete perhaps,
Redundant maybe,
Blinded still,
I stare,
At these ruins,
In the hope of
Finding my
Eloisa, Lenore,
Fenchurch or Clementine...
I break apart and,
Wish for nothing, but
The gods to be
Kind,
And grant me my,
Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind...

Reflection-101

2011-06-01T00:40:00.000+05:30

My attempts at perfection are my biggest imperfections.
And this is the most perfect realization I've had till date. Period.

Yaad

2011-05-10T03:03:00.010+05:30

चिड़ियों की चेहचाहट से,

कुच्छ गुमनाम क़दमों की आहट से,

सूरज की उस पहली किरण से,

जब मेरी अचेतना की सुबह टकराती है,

तब 'याद' का क्या है!

बस यूं ही चली आती है....

उठता हूँ ये सोच कर,

कैसे कटेगी आज दोपहर,

दर्पण में मेरे प्रतिबिम्ब की छ्त्पताहट,

मुझे घबरा सा जाती है,

तब 'याद' का क्या है!

बस यूं ही चली आती है....

दफ़्तर में जब होता हूँ खाली,

फुर्सत के वही दो पल, और हाथ में चाय की प्याली,

देखता हूँ जब खिड़की से बाहर, बादलों की दौड़ को,

अधरों पर मेरी, एक मायूस मुस्कराहट सी छा जाती है,

तब 'याद' का क्या है!

बस यूं ही चली आती है....

सांझ की अरुणिमा में,
जब बढ़ जाता है गाड़ियों का शोर,
बोझिल कदम मेरे, बढ़ते हैं घर की ओर,
इस भीड़ के सन्नाटे से, कुच्छ कोफ़्त सी हो जाती है,
तब 'याद' का क्या है!

बस यूं ही चली आती है....

निशा की कालिमा को, और चाँद के एकाकीपन को,

जब तारों की फ़ौज सजाती है,

तस्वीरों पर ज़मी धूल और आँखों की नमी,

मुझे फ़िर यही समझाती हैं,

इन 'यादों' का क्या है!

ये तो यूं ही चली जाती हैं....

Falling Upon Deaf Ears

2011-04-26T16:50:00.002+05:30

The sound of silent voices surveying my thoughts
Regularity defining perfection
Neither sorrow nor contentment
Whispering emptiness, whispering emptiness, frail words collapse
My weight only stirs the ground
How long can I hold your hand as you walk over graves
You search for tears of compassion
Yet find the comfort of winter
Reassurance dead like the falling leaves
Losing hope in your unchanging ways
All of my strength cannot save you
If you are unwilling to help yourself ......
- Falling Upon Deaf Ears, As I Lay Dying

Apogee:- Journal Entry of the Wolverine

2011-04-24T03:39:00.006+05:30

It's that night again... the night of the full moon. Bright. Large. Beautiful. Inviting... And deceptively wretched... In all its grandeur and outlandish magnificence, there is this treacherous, rabid, dark side to it, which multiplies itself on such nights, and invokes the feral, uncouth, untamed, hidden facet of mine which I dare not disclose to those around me. This moon, this shining orb, that supposedly soothes others with its gentle and calm light, torments me with its wickedness... it makes me dwell in my sub-conscious and pick out strands of living memory that I had so carefully buried in a chest, and disposed of in the dark recesses of my brain... it subdues me with its magnetic power of allure and weakens my resolve to remain stoic... it makes me feel; and in the process reveals the humane side of me. That heavy mask of nonchalance will be put down and my primordial self will arise, once again. Tonight....I become myself again..
The wind has been quiet for sometime. Not a leaf moves, as it surreptitiously slithers through the mesh of hollow branches of the trees... the network of their wooden limbs reminding me of the skeletons in my closet. All of them silent witnesses of events; tragedies, disappointments that my longevity has made me suffer.As I meander in my reverie, the wind picks up, breaking the silence that hung between my present and my past. It howls as if possessed by the souls of those who had come and gone.... my countenance is now lined with furrows as I can feel my composure breaking... the mask will come down now...
The Wolverine has awaken...

My serene, composed self, now thrown out of control; makes me draw out my claws- sharp, saber-like, ruthless and unbreakable- they shine sanguinely in the twisted moonlight, that slits through the curtains across the window in my room. 'Solid Admantium', I remark, as I am thrown back, pensively, in an era gone by, where my innocence was shattered into multiple fragments and the mutant in me, descended. I slit one of the veins in my forearms; drops of blood trickle down in a very slow, suspended animation... I don't feel anything... I watch with a deriding smile on my face, as the scar heals automatically, leaving no trace of any damage. Immortality... something to die for, is it? I think of what pain used to feel like; when wound marks, lining my memory used to make me realize of my own mortality... All of it is gone; all of it; so fuzzy and blurry; and what is left is a ravaging mutant; a monster; destined to wander with a cursed existence.

Dawn is about to break, my sojourn about to end. I retract my claws gaining some control of my muscle memory. A vulpine shriek escapes my lips.... the moon had been particularly cruel tonight.. it made me pine for something that can not be...At least for now..............

Time to put back my phlegmatic mask again. It's an ordinary day now, in an ordinary world, again..

Ergodic

2011-03-25T02:49:00.005+05:30

Agent Smith: Why, Mr. Anderson? Why do you do it? Why get up? Why keep fighting? Do you believe you're fighting for something? For more than your survival? Can you tell me what it is? Do you even know? Is it freedom? Or truth? Perhaps peace? Yes? No? Could it be for love? Illusions, Mr. Anderson. Vagaries of perception. The temporary constructs of a feeble human intellect trying desperately to justify an existence that is without meaning or purpose. And all of them as artificial as the Matrix itself, although only a human mind could invent something as insipid as love. You must be able to see it, Mr. Anderson. You must know it by now. You can't win. It's pointless to keep fighting. Why, Mr. Anderson? Why? Why do you persist?
Neo: Because I choose to....
- Dialogue between Neo and Agent Smith in the final fight sequence, The MATRIX Revolutions

At most levels, an apathetic, logical and rational mind would agree with all that Smith has to say. But the sentient, empathizing human in all of us, sides with Neo...And perhaps it is this reflection, in the ability to make a choice that defines the difference between man and machine; that unlike machines, our choices are not coded or guided by a string of 0's and 1's; that our lives and purposes are not governed by binary logic. Unlike a machine, let's say a simple Toaster, which when malfunctions just leaves an oddly toasted slice of bread, for it might have chosen to do so; the fallout of human choices encapsulates consequences that are at times unforeseen, unprecedented and even unimaginable. The plausible reason for this behavioral divergence and the accompanying variance in the results is because humans feel. Not just that; they are also designed to believe in what they feel; all those ideas that Smith speaks of- freedom, love, peace. Perhaps in the grander scheme of things and rules that govern the mechanics of the Universe, they sure are vagaries of perception; amusements created to indulge the weak, easily dis-tractable minds of us humans; all done so that our choices produce random outcomes that indulge the Universe by increasing its entropy.
Just like the choices that you made/are making/will make based on your feelings and which have served/ are serving/will serve the purpose of increasing the randomness, that is multiplying at an exponential rate, so will this vignette; for it was written as a consequence borne out of a choice thoroughly based on what has been felt by the writer....

P.S.- I loved THE MATRIX, though was disappointed by the sequels as they were good only in parts. The above mentioned conversation is one of those good parts.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3YC7TMi0l68
P.P.S.- I have a toaster that works perfectly fine, thank god for that!

Indifference

2011-03-13T23:57:00.015+05:30

The screen flickers with images that move incoherently; random words are being transmitted through that piece of electronic wizardry. You pay attention to it; trying to distract yourself from the voices rattling inside your brain. Forced distraction is an art and you realize you have a long way to go before you master it. That sardonic smile on your face makes you understand that your efforts so far have been in vain... yet you persist with the exercise. That ephemeral, fleeting sense of victory that you feel for the moments you can control the aimless ramblings of your mind; it is ephemeral; orgasmic... you hope for this eluding comfort and battle on against the odds stacked by your very own mind. An impossibility achieved, relished, and thrown away in the very next few seconds that pass you by..
The phone rings to break the uncomfortable silence.. silence you feel, for your senses have already been dulled by the conflict between the phantoms inside your head and those booming for redemption from the hollow box made of tubes and diodes. You answer the call, mumble a few choppy, disconnected words to relieve yourself of the quotidian routine as soon as you can; trying your best not to give away any signs of the futile emotions that have clouded your thought process for quite some time. A part of you dies everyday as you put yourself through this vapid degeneration. You feel like spitting out all the by-products-non-degradable; toxic even-of this systematic, ritualistic decay... you give up and try to ignore the scar tissues that are entrenched deep within this putrefying existence.
You look up at the screen.That manic, diabolical face with the most twisted smile you'd ever lay your eyes upon, just spoke your mind.
The Joker was right... Whatever doesn't kill you, simply makes you STRANGER...

Ashes in the Wake of a Dream

2011-02-18T01:52:00.005+05:30

'Tick, tock, tick, tock, tick...'

It had been a long day. He could have sworn that he had felt every second tick by. The heaviness of each moment was etched in his head; like screeching tyre marks made by a skidding car on a slippery, lonely highway. As he walked up to his apartment, with nothing but the jangle of the bunch of keys in his pocket to break the silence, the skies opened up. He looked skywards; fat, lead-like droplets of water rushed to meet his furrow lined face. He didn't flinch... he let those fallen-from-grace molecules meet their predictable fate, and enjoy their dignified last rite.

Carefully, he turned the keys to open the doors to his apartment. Darkness swiftly moved in from every corner of the house to embrace him... hardly the kind of reception a tired body and a drained out mind wishes for. His lips curled in a condescending smile...he was used to this ritual of rancid, decaying welcome that he was meted out for quite sometime. The novelty of it all, had long been lost. He prepared himself for what lay ahead. His nocturnal date with his mistress. Slowly, he pushed open the doors to his room... there she lay in her majestic, carnal grandeur on his bed; her hair waving in their opulence; enticing him with the shadows that moved on the walls in demonic fashion as lightening bolt after lightening, broke the silence between them. He switched on the lights.. "Not in the mood, right now, darling", said he as Senorita EMPTINESS left his presence and shrunk away in a corner.. He knew she would be back; it was sometime before he went to sleep. He had a sinking feeling in his heart which told him that she will get what she wanted from him. La Belle Dame Sans Merci... she was beautifully cruel; in her own morbid ways. He acknowledged that as he lit a cigarette and let the puffs of smoke perform their 'dance macabre' before fading out of existence...

He turned on the television. "Television is a great invention; it provides useful and sometimes necessary distraction from the web of life.." he admired the idiot box for its ubiquitous utility. He stared at the screen without paying too much attention; the action playing out on it was more like a background noise for the agitation inside his cranium. And with every puff he inhaled, it became all the more distant and incoherent. Outside, the rain had stopped. A cool breeze was blowing across his room and he let it caress his nape. He lowered the 'stick of death' kissing his lips to drop off the ashes. The wind swept it across in a flouncing, Brownian motion. He extinguished the cigarette and switched off the television; all in one nonchalant movement of his torso. It was time to mate the black widow he had left unsatisfied in his bedroom. He switched off the light and let her swoop over his existence to consummate their alliance in an all consuming, unforgiving sadistic love.

The ash from the cigarette was scattered all over the room....

Separation-III: Snow

2010-10-14T00:32:00.009+05:30

It was just one of those regular January Delhi winter nights, you know; with all the usual elements that have given it its unique scent -phlegmatic fog that makes the fluorescence of the street lamps even more desultory, cacophonic silence that penetrates not only the mind, but also pierces the heart, lonesome, desolate streets with their concrete skeletons that become more unforgiving as the chill of the darkness finds a malleable ally in them . Looking outside the balcony, with a mug of coffee in his hand, he absorbed the sights and sounds in all their sanguine, macabre magnificence. The mug was special; it had the bearings of not just the wear and tear of the past two and a half years, but also engraved in the cylindrical, monolithic porcelain were stories no one would know of; except him. Funny things mugs are; you think they are just a piece of stone with a mural painted to charm the simpleton mind; and here he was holding it close to his chest, guarding it more carefully than Golum had guarded "The Ring". "My Precious", thought he; he took a sip and stretched the extremities of his lips to their limits as the hot liquid marked its progress down his throat and into his bloodstream to give him that familiar rush of untamed energy he was so accustomed to having.

He thought of the day that had gone by; career reviews, appraisals, unrealistic deadlines, routine parades to the cafeteria, the same old trivial squabbles with colleagues; nothing special; just the same cycle of periodic redundance; all totemic symbols of the unimaginative, ordinary world that he had submitted himself to. Perhaps the monochromatic consistency of the season had rubbed off on his life as well. He thought of April that will soon bring spring and perhaps more colors than he could see right now; when perhaps the obfuscation that Winter had created would give way to the more serene, heliocentric moonlight. But there was still some time before that. And as he mused about the wanton behavior that Nature is wont to display, somewhere far away from the coziness of his balcony, beyond the Atlantic, it was snowing...

The coffee felt lukewarm; he smiled as he took another sip; and acknowledged the cold sweat that trickled down his spine...

Oh wicked sun,
Oh wicked sun,
See,
What we've,
Become...

Separation-II: MUSE

2010-10-05T17:36:00.005+05:30

Of the passion that we shared

When we

Last kissed;

Of the times you silently cried

And these moments,

I missed…

I live in the longing,

And regret;

Lest I forget

How it all felt…

And still,

Make acquaintance

With this

Gargantuan distance..

Yet, somehow

Console my heart,

Which plays

Its part,

In this systematic abuse,

I call LIFE

To which I put myself through;

Everyday…

And you ask me;

“Is our love so painful?"

"Is it so abstruse?”

To which I smile;

And give you

The eternal excuse,

“Love, you aren’t just my love;

You are my MUSE”.

Invictus v2.0- Voices and Visions

2010-09-26T00:53:00.000+05:30

Thoughts- weird, eccentric, random, ghastly- wake me up early, every morning. They cloud my dawn; in a semi-awake state as my eyes try to grope for consciousness. The lower portion of my skull feels heavy; I have a feeling that is where my sub-conscious is located; it makes its presence felt; and I acknowledge it. Paralysed by this torrent of brain pulses whose origin I can not trace; whose purpose I do not know, I lay in this state as my physical self tries to construct the solidity that exists but has been slightly bent out of shape by my semi-conscious mind. In those moments of random cogitations I defy what space and time might mean to a trained and educated mind.

I leave my bed; I switch on the lights of my room. 8.30 am- it's too early by my standards. Strangely, the familiar coziness that my pillow used to offer is a distant past. I look at the mirror. My disheveled hair speak of the night and the loneliness that it brought along. I look at my blood shot eyes; they are the same; they are still mine and they return my gaze unhindered, unrestricted, uninhibited; and reassure me that indeed I haven't been kind to them, yet they'll not hesitate to respond to me in case I need a reality check.Words of Douglas Adams ricochet in my head- You live and learn. At any rate you live...

Existence has often perplexed me. I am not a biologist; but I have often felt that it is slightly apathetic to classify humans as a bundle of nerves and elements. Is it possible that we are just thought waves or extensions of a previous thought wave that has come and gone by? Uniqueness is a rarity and in truth most of us are living, breathing cliches.

Mental isolation piques me; I am a thought extending like the horizon in the hope of meeting my zenith; like a desolate neuron trying to bridge the synapse that separates it from its kin, I reach out with my dendrons. This is also existence, and I must know it as it is.

I am a thought that will not die; I am an idea that will live and spread. I exist because I chose not to fade away. I am undefeated; I am unafraid; I am myself- unique, pure, chaste.

I am the Invictus.

Out of Exile

2010-09-14T11:03:00.001+05:30

Something that I wrote during my placement season of 2008-09. Don't know why I never posted it. But here goes..

Being jobless is an altogether interesting experience. Not only do I get to sleep all day long in my room,the varied range of emotions that I get to go through everyday amazes me. I never thought that I would get to feel all of it within a matter of few days. The joy that I felt when I got drunk on one of my despondent, dejected acquaintances' getting through a top notch job was heartfelt. And the jealousy that came along with the hangover was devastating to say the least. Cynical happiness uplifted my spirit to a new abyss as and when I heard the news of someone not making through. The misery that fate splashed across the faces of the rejected, keeps getting compounded with the passing of each day; misery becomes happiness when measured relatively; I feel happy.
I feel amused at the circus the "placement season" has become. I feel vindicated when the true colours of any individual is revealed. I am not a friend anymore; I am a"threat" to others' livelihood.A "threat"? And I thought I was "mostly harmless"!! The thin line between good and bad has vanished and the "bourgeois" are behaving like men on a sinking ship; "Every man for himself". And what do I do amid all this melee ?I sit back in my room; smile at the chaos that humanity or lets' say a part of it is creating; smack my lips; relish the fact that eventually "man" will devour "man" and wish "How cool it would be to have my canines grow like that of a vampire?".
It would make me more human...........

"We've got your pal"- A Catch-22 situation

2010-09-12T23:56:00.003+05:30

If you ever go on the wikipedia page and type "World War-II Literature", you'll be taken to a page where there is a mention of works like "Flags of Our Fathers","The Harvey Girls" and other such classic war-time literature. No doubt that these works capture the trials and tribulations of those affected and those involved in the most compelling way, yet the seriousness of The War in the narration can become heavy and tedious for the readers. In 1961, an ex-US World War-II bombardier by the name of Joseph Heller decided to set the record straight by publishing Catch-22, a satire and if I may be allowed to call it, a mockery on The War, and it is this eccentric piece of literary work that is I am going to write about here.

Catch-22 is the story of Captain John Yossarian who is a US B-25 bombardier for the 27th Air Force Head Quarters. Everytime he completes the number of missions that are required after which one can be sent home, the powers to be raise the number. His only motive in the entire book is to save his life come what may. To achieve the same he tries various shenanigans-tries to get himself grounded on the grounds of insanity, gets himself admitted in the hospital with pain in his liver which was "just short of jaundice" but "not jaundice" and the likes. He is aided in his theatrics with a motley crew of characters- each suffering and being tormented by their own insecurities, ambitions and the failures to achieve them.

The thing that sets Catch-22 apart from the rest of the books based on The War, is that the action on the battlefield, is secondary. At the center of the novel is a simple man's struggle to come to terms with the hysteria and paranoia that war brings and his indefatigable fight to live through and perhaps beyond it. The book's high point is the convoluted humour which can make those well-versed in logic tear their hair apart-characters contradicting themselves in every next statement, corruption being justified by the economics of profit,reason going for a toss just like that, sanity and insanity becoming subjective- all add to the queer and twisted humour of the book. There is situational humour as well and it at times makes you wonder if between all this madness, a war is actually taking place. Consider this for an example:-
'Sure, that's what I mean,'Doc Daneeka said.'A little grease is what makes this world go round. One hand washes the other. Know what I mean? You scratch my back, I'll scratch yours.'
Yossarian knew what he meant.
'That's not what I meant,' Doc Daneeka said, as Yossarian began scratching his back.

It is not just war and logic that Catch-22 makes fun of. Death, the greatest equaliser and finality of any war is also poked fun at. In fact it is dealt with a comical, and some might feel, even a slight derogatory treatment with the characters making near mockery of the process of dying itself.

War has always been devastating to the fairer sex and the book is full of instances where women folk have been shown in the veridical light of the misery they suffer in conflict situations. The savage attitude of men that war time brings out is exposed but only in necessary measures and there is no overdoing of the same.

Catch-22 does has its shortcomings as well. The narrative is leisurely but at times it does get tedious due to the repetition of the similar jokes in similar situations. The chronological order of the story is also difficult to keep pace with and at times you need to revisit the earlier pages to make complete sense of what is happening. The end, though climactic, is a bit disappointing and you are left with a feeling that a somewhat crazier, more maniacal solution could have been a more befitting.

Catch-22 has been listed in the TIME magazine's 100 Greatest novels of the 21st century and it justifies its presence for the uniqueness of perspective that it brings about the War. The lofty nobles of patriotism, heroism, sense of duty and bravery have been brought to the fore by many novels, films etc. but survival? That is something that this book explores and leaves you wondering whether the sense of duty in war times can or can not prevail over our innate sense of existing. Read Catch-22 for Captain Yossarian, read it for Hungry Joe, read it for Doc Daneeka; read it to realize the frailty of life, read it for the enormity of death; read it for the fact that you may understand and yet not comprehend the catch of Catch-22.

Separation-I: An Ocean Between Us

2010-03-25T02:10:00.010+05:30

How do I know that I am alive; that this is what reality looks like and it is not an incoherent dream sequence dancing in front of my eyes? Are my senses giving me the right readings; or have they become so numb, so petrified by this nightmarish reality that actually exists, that they have chosen to paint an illusionary picture….

Inertia adds more somber colours, and I grope at nothingness that defines this reality in the hope to catch some pigments that constitute this illusion….

The unknown silently whispers in my ears, “It is time; it is time we meet”. I pay no heed to it, I believe in the illusion; it’s comforting; it allows status quo, a quasi static equilibrium, where everything happens so slowly for infinite amount of time that nobody notices any perceptible change. I gaze vacantly at the stars; their distance from where I stand is in measures of light years. And light years is what separates them from each other; each an island burning as brightly as it can. A day will come when each of them would swallow itself….. They call it the ‘supernova’; I call it suicide; suicide of the most macabre and galactic proportions… I detest the universe for what it is trying to show me…

The frost on the window trickles down, tracing a serpentine path; every turn uncertain, every bend unpredictable to the naked eye. But perhaps, at the minutest level of existence that defines matter, there must have been a perfect harmony, a symphony of sorts that caused that movement; a reason, perhaps pushing its way against all odds stacked. And then again, what is visible is randomness, not the reason and we always trust our senses and our instincts…..

I sit by the window,
I watch time fly…
I wake up,
I stop dreaming with open eyes...

The Sound Of Truth

2010-03-16T17:10:00.004+05:30

To all those in DCE/DTU, protesting /not protesting, I hope you know what you are doing.
This is a song by the band "AS I LAY DYING". Hope you guys can get the message implied...

We have all heard what we wanted to hear
Truth that sounds right to our ears
We have all heard what we wanted to hear
Truth that sounds right to our ears

But what wisdom is there within us
To live based on the feeling of our hearts?
How many times has instinct let us down
Never to be thought through
Never to be questioned

Say what you really mean
When your ambition calls you, calls you
For what use is there in praying
If you will only hear what you want to hear?

We have all heard what we wanted to hear
Truth that sounds right to our ears

We speak of fighting to resist this world
But what about the battle within us?
If we have chosen to live against the grain
Then why are we all facing the same way?

There is no difference between us and them
If we all blindly seek truth from sentiments

We have all heard what we wanted to hear
Truth that sounds right to our ears

MICRO CUTS

2008-10-16T02:35:00.002+05:30

The breaking of neurons;
Collision of neutrons;
Produces energy
Which I use to burn
Your effigy; in my mind
As I rewind; and witness
The spatial excess; that separates us
Like the unfathomable nothingness
Of silent emptiness; as we create
Super massive blackholes; with the clash
Of our egos.
The breaking of neurons;
Collision of neutrons;
The death of a star;
And all that remains with me
Is a deep, ghastly SCAR.

THE LONELY POSITION OF NEUTRAL

2008-07-26T01:18:00.008+05:30

I quit one of the spirits,
To cleanse the other,
The other left me saying,"why so pure; why do you bother?"
I took too many swigs of one,
To relieve the other,
The other got infuriated, " your body is my hell, you take me to slaughter".
Tempted by one,
Berated by the other;
I swung between,
Sobriety and a stupor.
I did not know where i stood;
The temple or the cellar;
I worshiped both;
My Conscience; my Lucifer.
I decided then,
To draw the line.
I have stopped thinking;
I find no refuge in the wine.

PS:- after eight years, i have created what can be called a semblance of poetry.

THE BLAH ABOUT BLAH

2008-07-03T04:22:00.004+05:30

Blah blah blah blahblah blah blah blahblahblah. If ever in the Queen’s language was a word that can describe almost everything that is there without pretensions and without overdoing the obvious it is “blah”. The fact that this word is omnipotent had been a matter of great research for the scientists of the planet JOLGA BETA-IV of the eastern arm of the galaxy. The people of this planet had only this monosyllable in their lexicon and yet it was sufficient for the entire population to convey their thoughts and feelings. The scientists upon intense research and protracted investigation came to the conclusion that if and when they go public about their research, public response would be limited to a single word, and that being “BLAH” as the report was full of nothing but “blah”. So they abandoned the research and committed mass suicide , their last words being a collective “BLAH”.

Coming back to Earth, where the word has been as easily and consummately accepted in people’s lives as toilet papers, it is considered a powerful means of communication and is revered alongside other such powerful words like “FUCK”,”SHIT” etc.

Etymologists and anthropologists believe that “blah” was actually first used by trees before they stopped talking. The first use of the word “blah” was 2 million years ago when a Mango tree told his story of bitter divorce to his nearby standing guava tree. Incidentally it was an orchard and apart from the Mango tree all other trees were guava trees. Each guava tree decided to hear the story in person from the Mango tree. This created such a confusion for the Mango tree, who found that all guava trees looked alike and he would have to repeat the same story over and over again, that he became paranoid and all he could speak was a solitary “blah”. The word caught on with the other trees and they all started using it till they finally got exhausted and stopped speaking forever.

There are numerous examples from day to day life where “blah” has been found to be useful. Take the case of this reporter from a very reputed international daily who once had to scribble what our PM had to say about a particular nuclear deal that had started at some place, went on to some other place, turned around in circles and finally lost its way somewhere in The Bay Of Bengal where it was rediscovered by “red clothed politicians” who decided that the PM should be made to see red in the face for all the trouble they had undergone in finding the deal. That however is another story. To our reporter we must come back. So there she was with her paper, pencil, lipstick, handkerchief, paper soap, keys, bangles, blah, blah… After listening for a while, concentrating real hard for ages and trying not to fall asleep under the soporific effects of the speech, she realized that if she did fall asleep at that very moment and miss out on the rest of the speech, she can very easily replace all of it by “blah”. She did that and the next morning when the report was published nobody noticed the difference and the reporter went on to win some prestigious journalism award for publishing the “factually most accurate report of the year” for that very report.

A more common and widespread use of the word “blah” is when you suddenly meet an old acquaintance(whom you did not ever want to meet in the first place) while you are out in the market, looking for books that can increase your vocabulary(come to think of it, it can be any book, for that matter!). You would greet each other warmly and all you would remember of the conversation later would be nothing but a string of “blah”s( which would be considered a very profound conversation if you were on the planet JOLGA BETA-IV). And when you would describe the encounter in a party to your close friends including the part where all of it is nothing but a string of “blah”s , you would be highly commended for your admirable social skills, graciousness, demeanors, blah, blah and blah.

Lexicographers and sociologists working together have found that future uses of “blah” may have a greater impact on communication gap that exists today. They have realized that as we become more intolerant, impatient and constipated due to lack of words we have to say to each other, “blah” will become the bridge that will prevent our social structure from falling apart. They even simulated some tests in real time which went on something like this:

Old aged father:- Son , I think you should go and blah, blah, blahblahblah.

Son:- Dad, I already blah blahed the blah without blahen(perfect tense) the blah.

Old Aged father:- then blah blahblah to blah your blah blahblah!!!

Son:- blah?? Blah!! Blah@#$!!.

This, they believe, would constitute a highly fruitful conversation in the near future. And they do point out that “blah” will thus play a very important role, henceforth.

Students studying in engineering colleges, had however, realized the potential of “blah”, since time immemorial. Almost every college had and still has a secret society which was and still is called “the Brotherhood of the BLAHRIC BLAH”. They passed and still pass on the social etiquettes associated with “blah” to the newer generation. For example, when girls/ boys where to talk to their boyfriends/girlfriends, all of the conversation could be neatly described to their friends in a four-worded sentence, and this sentence being “blah blah blah blah”. Further the secret society also promulgated or still promulgates that if you “blah” your way in the semester exam answer sheets the chances of getting good grades were blah is to blahblah which blahbically speaking is kind of blah on the higher side.

As a signing off note all I can say that as responsible young citizens of this world we must not undermine “blah”, for one day it will be the word of true freedom(from all unwanted noise that is in our heads, ears etc), chanted by GREENPEACE, PeTA, POTA, activists and due must be given to it for blah” is eternally blah,blah,blah, and some more of blah, blah blah blah, with blah, blah and blah, blah….

BLAH!!

STARK REALITY

2008-04-13T05:28:00.001+05:30

As I sit enchanted with my eyes fixed on the television screen, watching the latest tragedy that strikes one of the characters in one of the most watched prime time soap opera, I can’t help but chuckle gleefully. “Another one bites the dust”, I think. “Serves him right”, I mutter under my breath. Yes; tragedies enthrall me… I derive perverse pleasure from the non-sensical, yet satiating pain that man bestows to the other of his kind….

Sadist though I may sound, yet I am no different from you.; you, who consider yourself an epitome of rectitude and all that is or is supposedly right with mankind. I am a voyeur……just like you .I have my fetishes; just like you. The only thing separates you from me is that I can accept my follies as a human being; you however would not; for the fear of being showing to the world what you truly are.

I am not being harsh on you. I have no intention of publicly humiliating you. I only want to tell you that humanity is truly, and in all essence nothing but a giant mass of voyeurs, sadists and vengeful creatures. Hidden beneath your mask of uprightness there is a lurking voyeur which takes control of you when you try to peep into the lives of others; when you derive happiness from the pain of others. This voyeur is your identity when you discuss the latest grapevine; when you nose around to find what your neighbor is up to; and yes, even when you watch those idiotic soap operas. You live vicariously through the lives of others; enjoying pain, depravity and life itself.

I have not seen vampires, nor have I seen a carnivore tear apart its prey, but I have seen human beings. We are a species that enjoys tragedies like no other species. Tragedies are to human beings what blood is to vampires. We all feed on them; part voyeurs, part vampires, part carnivores; we are homo sapiens. It would be credulous on your part to believe that there are angels in the hearts of men; our world has always been a man eat man world; it is hostile and at times impersonal and impossible. Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde was one and the same person; the good and the bad intertwined into one. Like the colour grey; mix of black and white. The world is so colourful yet the only colour that describes us humans is grey…. .reality is always grim.

Don’t run from yourself; don’t hide yourself from the world. Your brethren are also humans who are just like you. Accept your design, for you are what you are; VOYEUR, VAMPIRE, CARNIVORE, PERVERT, AND ABOVE ALL, HUMAN…………

INEBRIATED RANTINGS OF AN ENLIGHTENED MIND

2007-12-23T01:47:00.002+05:30

anger is perhaps the most fulfilling of all the emotions. what it gives to us is beyond the power of any other feeling. the feeling of unadulterated anger rushing through your veins, subduing everything that surrounds you and enclose you in sheer exhilaration, is purely orgasmic . the instant surge of untamed power coupled with the onset of the awakening of our atavistic feralis is gratifying. to become the way nature has intended us to be is like a home coming. we all are savage...and that is what anger, which is a manifestation of our longing to be what we innately are, allows us to do.
anger.....is what i am filled with when i think of the past...a rage so brutal that even i am afraid to confront it. anger... is what i seek solace in when i think of old, dilapidated, derelict bonds. a rag doll; that is what they make me appear... use and throw...hate...black...sick and tired...redundant..bull shit.. friendship..dear...damn you....idiot...photograph...fake.screw you...love....whatever.
random words echo in my head. my anger pounds my head like a merciless thunderstorm. and i enjoy it. it is my punishment for being the fool that i was. it liberates me.... i am being purged of my sins.... absolved of all the guilt. there are no tears but fading memories of what was and eluding promises of what might have been. was it so difficult to comprehend? was i blind? or was it my faith in the faithless too strong? sycophants....leeches....that is what i think of you. lay off me. i know you now..............my anger gets a justification.

RESTIVE IN PEACE

2007-12-14T23:50:00.001+05:30

why i keep coming back to this place , i don't know. maybe amidst all the chaos that is there in my life, this is the only place which belongs to me. i own it. its mine. no matter what happens to me, it will forever be imprinted by my identity. i am free; liberated to do whatever i want. unrestrained is what i become here. but then a thought flashes my mind... what is it that binds me? what is it that is holding me back? is it the fact that i contemplate over things that i can not change? or is it my inability to come to terms with reality and take things in my stride? i think i live too much in a state of self denial; trying to find reasons and logic in things that are beyond me. i try to find explanations where there are supposed to be exclamations.

I vs i

2007-12-05T03:26:00.001+05:30

The opening line of every post throws new challenges at me. I simply have no idea where to start from. Should I start with something funny? Or should I write something completely pseudo intellectual and create a pseudo intelligent image of the post, no matter what incoherent mumblings I pour out in it? I believe at times writing a new post for your blog is similar to solving maths... the feeling is uncannily familiar and exasperating to say the least..
Ah! I mentioned maths!! Let me see... Oh...and I do find that i have placed the word "exasperating" close by it. And even knowing fully well that as and when I become an engineer I would be expected to propound the beauty of an insanely insane subject, I truly and and sincerely hate MATHS.........
Oh, come on. you cant despise me for hating the damn "thing". I mean if ever there was a subject that has made me look stupid, helpless and very very pseudo engineer like, it has to be maths.
A subject that goes on promulgating theories about stuff like i(iota) which, for the love of God ,doesn't exist must be the creation of the most wasteful minds of all times. I mean how can we talk of something that is "imaginary" and more precisely write theorems on its absurd uses is beyond the comprehension of a pseudo intellectual brain like mine. If such absurdities are allowed in what is called the language of science then we must not condemn JK Rowling for talking about magic. Damn you and the hypocritical world that you have offered me Euler....
May your soul rot in an argand plane of imaginary repose....

NO ME

2007-10-29T02:57:00.001+05:30

I am late. Horribly late, even by my standards. My lazy bum not permitting, i would've been late by a zillion years. A four month delay is something that i didn't imagine in the wildest of my nightmares. And yes, perhaps by being contrite here, i am trying to show the importance that i attach to this mere insignificance in the gargantuan meshes of the internet. Maybe it's because whatever it is that i pour out here is a part of me; my reflections in their most rudimentary, yet coherent form. Maybe because what is out here is finally a semblance of me that i have concealed from the world. I have lived incognito........throughout .
Why I have never revealed what i actually am like, even i don't know. Maybe its because i would have felt vulnerable and to use the word, "naked" before all of you. Or maybe because somewhere in my messed up head there is an indefatigable attraction towards enigma. On taking a pause and contemplating what i have just typed down i wonder with a sense of bemusement... was it me who had jotted down these lines? Even I don't know myself.....
You wrote down slam sheets for me; you wrote down testimonials for me... yet each one of the descriptions offered by each one of you so varied. I even tried searching myself in them....in vain.
In spite of all the temptations that you might offer me to be me, i shall live the way i have been living. I shall be judged by you; i shall give you the satisfaction of appraising me; yet you'll never reach me...... for it is my disguise ; a mere shape that shall be present before you. And you can only wish before I, in my true form shall appear and vanish: IF YOU COULD KNOW ME...

TOOK A LOOK AROUND

2007-07-28T01:22:00.002+05:30

I am in a horribly bad mood. And no, this is not a "pseudo" state of mind. Things have gone horribly wrong today. Not only did I not receive my laptop today( as opposed to the fact that I was supposed to) I realised that I had also lost my wallet. And the worst thing is its not the loss of cash that is distressing but the fact that I, now am, without my ID, my DL ,my library card and above all my ATM card. Sheesh, i wonder how am I alive up till now???( which roughly translates into," What the HELL I'll do the registration day??!!")
Problems aside (at least i got a decent preface for this post.Optimistic, ain't I!!) I believe I have a duty to fulfill towards all of you , and that is to keep this blog alive. I know you have been patient and not even once during the hour of mis-information, mal-information and somewhat no information , you did not sound "mutinous" ," rebellious" and all such words which describe dissent.
On my comeback trail , I did notice a few other blogs that have recently mushroomed out of nowhere. Now I am no expert, but I was surely disappointed by the quality control(or rather the lack of it!). I mean, blogs are supposed to be consistent with the overall feel and varying in terms of the content. For example , a blog may have a dark aura about itself but the posts on it can be kaleidoscopic without in anyway distorting the gloomy aura of the entire blog. Most of them had posts which a neutral reader will never find interesting for they'll fail to relate to them. So apart from having wasted my time (and most likely of many others) their contribution to e-waste is surely prodigious. Bless them, and when you get sick of them, blast and lambaste them .
Aarrgh!! I guess my ominous and black mood is being reflected on this post. But then at least the pseudo consistency of the blog is maintained.
I love to criticize, but i hate to be judged negatively. My paradoxes outgrow me.......

IN SIMPLICITY LIES PROFUNDITY...

2007-03-25T20:17:00.001+05:30

before i start tapping the keyboard with stuff that is essentially metaphysics or rather pseudo intellectual in nature(by default and for the purpose of uniformity of the posts on this blog) i would like to ask people, who are into blogging,whether they are populist by any chance. i mean what is the purpose of blogging if no one reads your blog? and in order to do so you ought to create, filter , dilute , modify, fabricate the content in your posts!! so essentially i believe the people who blog are someone like me who are looking for popularity and crying out loud for attention!!! more on this later...

hmmm.. let me begin now. long time ago when i was in class 9th or so and when my sis was in std.11th,she told me about this novel by Charles dickens titled "great expectations". the story dealt with this young, proletariat boys' obsession to be "uncommon" or rather different. somehow i instantly bonded with this character, christened as "pip".from that day onwards i have sub-consciously ( and i must admit unsuccessfully) tried to be different. i have complicated things in my life which, if i had been my usual self, would have been so simple. i realised that i am a person who likes to bask in the limelight, to be appreciated, to be applauded, to be accepted by the crowd and at the same time i have this queer desire to be a lonewolf. in contradictions , so far i have lived my life. this blog i believe is perhaps another reflection of this paradox. on one side i want these random, mindless scribblings to be appreciated by the "crowd"; and at the same time i dish out the same "pseudo intellectual" stuff in order to appear different; not a part of the "coarse and common" crowd.i have failed to understand that why i can't be what i am.i fail to grasp why,this facade of aloofness and profundity that i at times try to adorn myself with, can't be thrown and burnt for good. i simply fail.......
life, i tell you, is meant to be lived simply; to be lived as a human being...

FOR THE LOVE OF"LOVE"

2007-02-18T18:57:00.001+05:30

to all those people who were idle and prodigal enough to have gone through my previous posts; and quite unnaturally; expected a barrage of new posts from me; i am sorry!! it was an unintended extended hiatus- unintended i say, because i wanted to write lot of crap but somehow was not being able to do so(thank god for small mercies!!). lets move on,then...
of late i have been thinking...yeah, you read it right.. thinking!! the month is February and all i see is red all around me. they say it is the season of a virulent, contagious disease colloquially called 'love'. and the red does signify the sickness all around us. shops all around were and in some case still flooded with red medicines-heart shaped candy boxes, teddy bears with red ribbons, red wrapping paper, red boxes and red what not; and yes all this makes me see red, literally!! i mean , i have nothing against red; it happens to be my favourite colour; yet for this entire month i abhor anything that is red!
my general angst against red or for that matter against this market of love is purely personal. i am not going to lecture upon the commercialisation of love or for that matter the negative influence of western culture and other such redundant theories.it is purely what i feel( and most importantly this per chance happens to be my blog, so i am at liberty to write whatever i feel like). i do not believe that love comes wrapped in a box of candies or a teddy bear or candles!! it is not something which can be quantised into red packets and disposed and dedicated to anyone at will.i simply detest the fact people who have the faintest idea of what love is all about go gung ho about it.they believe that by uttering three words to someone they think is their beloved and roaming about uselessly and purposelessly and spending sleepless nights on the phone asking how the dinner tasted tonight makes them eligible to be preachers and professors of 'love'. blast them and their already blasted world!!
if i were to be asked what is my definition of love, i think I'll be stumped!! love,i believe,can never be defined. it is beyond the realms of explanation. it is an exalting feeling; it is that state of mind; i believe; that you wake up with every morning believing that things are possible, a ray of hope, an all pervading optimism. the object of your affection is not at all important, it is inconsequential. only the realisation that yes; this is perhaps what love might be is of consequence.this feeling is like a shadow; playing hide and seek with your mind; eluding at times then suddenly swinging in front of your mind. love the feeling; for it is akin to chocolate melting in your mouth,swirling with your tongue; giving you consummate pleasures!! love the feeling; for it is an intoxicant with an unmatched concoction to give you a perfect high.

AN ASYMPTOTIC LIFE......

2006-12-27T23:53:00.001+05:30

asymptotes......mathematically speaking a line which touches a curve or its branch at infinity.yet another concept of maths which made no sense to me(my list of absurd mathematical concepts start with "iota".. i mean how come you sit and devise theories for something which is non-existent and yet have the hypocrisy to call it "imaginary"!!). neways , back to asymptotes for now.. it was one of those rare moments of inspiration that i realised that how asymptotic life is!!
ah!! another of those profound statements...i even surprise myself!!

as i was saying, life is so asymptotic....
when i was a kid, i sometimes couldn't understand certain things. my questions were answered with a simple you'll- understand- when- you''ll-grow-up type response.. i am 20 (20.5 to be precise) and yet i don't think that i have understood those very questions.. like why i was ornate with specs for no fault of mine( a congenital defect resulted in me getting bespectacled at the age of 9),or why i failed to achieve what i wanted to,or why things happen to me in a way they do...maybe i need to "grow up" further... it is quite possible that when once again I'll be in this sort of vacant or pensive mood, at some other age ,at some other time and once again i might be ravaged by such abstract thoughts then again I'll pacify myself that maybe i will understand when I'll grow up...
life, you see, is so asymptotic.. trying to catch up or maybe just touch past the curve of existence....

BACK AND HOW!!!

2006-12-24T16:04:00.000+05:30

well, it seems that there was some sort of conspiracy on the part of blogger.com for , as it is , i have to start all over again!! so much for conceit and vanity.... the thing is ,that i am back in action. feels good, damn good!!

through these tough times (yeah, not being able to update my blog was a testing time indeed!!) i have been ably supported by my great friend, kedu, who made me believe that there is a popular demand to read my chronicles, though i am not sure why!! kedu(real identity undisclosed, for reasons obvious and even for those that are not!!) will keep featuring in future blogs for he is an imortant "creature" in this zoo called my life.. his antics, though not as flambouyant as mine , will be a pleasure to type out!!

ah!! its late now and since i have contributed my alloted share of e-waste, time to say good night... so here goes.................................GOOD NIGHT!!!

Who is "The One"??

2006-12-23T16:11:00.000+05:30

now that i am very much alive and kicking, i mean, blogging, i feel a compulsive urge to write lots of profound stuff, all of which , i can promise, will be very much superficial indeed!!(and it kinda goes with the title of my blog too!!) . so here goes...

i was watching the "matrix" this afternoon and was marvelling at neo's antics, trinity's gorgeously athletic body and Morpheus's' cool glasses when i couldn't stop myself from wondering about the whole concept of "the one". it struck me that this whole concept is deeply rooted in our mythology!!

OK!! so either i have intrigued you or i have made you believe that i am a deranged personality. either way , i know, you'll still read on. given that you have met crazier people and heard even more bizarre theories, i think you guys will give me a chance...

so here goes..

i wrote that the concept of "the one" is rooted in our mythology , and now i will elucideate my point. firstly , let us note down some very general points about "the one", which i again say have been passed down the ages. the most important feature of "the one" is, that his advent is prophecised. next, he is always projected as the saviour or the "messiah". and being the protagonist, he is always the best loooking stud around. now that we know the general traits of
"the one", i shall proceed with my not-so-crazy-after all theory. remember "ramayana"?? yes , the same great hindu epic by saint valmiki!! if you do and even if you don't, the story has it that a prophecy is made to king dashrath that lord vishnu will reincarnate on the earth as his son and he will be "the one" to free the sages from demons' opressions. and as we all can remember very well now(come on ye tubelights, stop blinking) that lord rama was indeed the most handsome stud of his era. so now , do you all agree??? still not convinced... all right here's another story to make believers out of you all..

the most popular god in hindu mythology, lord krishna's life also has very interesting points to offer and to substantiate my theory. king kansa of mathura had dethroned his fsther snd had become the king of mathura. there was a lot of unrest due to his policies and yet again a prophecy was made that his sister, devaki's, eighth offspring will be "the one" who will be his nemesis.
and everybody does know who devaki's eighth son was.. the most charming, romantic and yeah very manipulative and because of all abovesaid, most controversial god of hindu mythology-krishna....

so i have put forward my theory. it is upto you to test its relevance and rationality .by the time you are through with this exercise, i would have:- read another potter book glorifying his scar , watched another star war episode where anakin explores another facet of the "force", gone through another lord of the rings chapter amusing myself at frodo's quest with his destiny..........in short , an attempt to capture the essence of "the one"