Scarce Imagination

O Night! Where is my yellow window of light;
The zenith of so many of our adventures together?
This lamp casts a somber shadow, not the brightness I like.
Scarce Imagination vexes me. Is it why I do wither?

Words find it hard to wriggle out the fancied world;
So they snuggle up there, chuckling at my irritated self.
Ideas, Expressions - now seem like friends of the past,
Lost in the sepia frames of my old picture album.

There's Music playing in the background - incoherent notes.
Even songs lose their meaning in this delirium of sorts.
I grope in this darkness slowly engulfing my very being;
But I just scrape at my thoughts - evanescent and ever eluding.

My bruised ego steals a peek into pages filled long ago,
With a certain longing to indulge in the pleasure again.
I strive time and again to eulogize my debacle.
But even in my darkest efforts, those words do desert me.

Cheers Darlin'

It is 5 A.M. in the morning. I have just woken up from an uneasy slumber. "So very unlikely of me", I wonder.

I get up to drink some water. A lovely breeze is blowing outside. I think it rained last night. Hmm. I smell the sodden earth. So very refreshing. But this is no time for enjoyment and I shuffle back into the confined spaces. Yellow light flickers into place. I am in familiar surroundings.

I must study now. Numbers and electrons. Statistics and Holes. Modulation and Society.

A book is already open. The one I was reading before I went to sleep. I had found it boring I remember. But my choice in these matters is limited and I must trudge along.

"What's the problem then?", Mind retorts back. "Nothing", say I and shyly start flipping through the pages. But soon the interest is lost.

Mind wanders in unfamiliar lanes. They are not that pleasant. But it sticks around. Gaping at the horrors perpetrated. It's disgusting. The very thought of it all. Mind is overwhelmed and staggers back into the present.

"The future looks bleak", it tells me. "I know", I confess. "But I had thought it better not to tell you. You'd be troubled."

Mind doesn't speak to me. It's frustrated at my helplessness and and I at mine. We both amble along. Each finding solace in the other's company.

From Russia With Love

This is an impromptu post triggered by a chance letter that reached me this morning. Usually, I would have waited for all my regular readers (heh heh) to respond to my previous post. But, an exigency calls for some unforeseen measures. So on we go.

Letters always have this strange old world charm associated with them. Be it Papa sending you his wishes in the most unromantic monotones. Be it Didi sending you rakhi with nothing but a message like - "Sending in hurry, so unable to enclose chawal". Be it your best friend pouring his heart out. A hand-written account of even the simplest of things can never fail to move you. A smile is bound to grace that grumpy face. A memory is bound to be cherished. And the chitthi is bound to be read again and again.

It doesn't matter if you are the g33k G0d or n3rd p3rs0nifi3d. It doesn't matter if you swear by e-mail and Instant Relay Chat. That little chitthi will transform you (even if it's for a moment) into a teary-eyed fool (okay maybe that was an exaggeration). Like a flash, moments shared together are bound to, you know, just roll off. (Arrggh... I don't have the perfect expression for the feeling!)

We live in the age of emails and teleconferencing. Of flickr and orkut. So what is it that affects us in such a subtle way? Is it the personal touch? Is it the realization that the person took time out especially for you and not just forwarded the season's greetings? Or is it something beyond words? As always, questions like these can only have fuzzy answers. In the end, it's just the feeling. You feel strange (and good). So why the heck worry about the reason?

I, for one, used to enjoy writing letters. Believe it nor not, I used to write letters to my mum, while in school, pleading with her not to send me to that place the next morning. I even used to tell her that I was ready to clean utensils and all. "Mummy I am ready to even mop the floor. But I don't want to study!", I remember writing. Of course I was a lot more stupid and carefree back then. Those letters never fail to break me into peals of laughter even now.

But it's all telephonic conversations and emails now. "The old-world-charm is too slow a way to keep in touch", says the multitude. But it's not too much of a trouble to find time every now and then. On second thoughts, maybe it is. But take the time yaar. You might succeed in making someone smile today. And that is one good deed in your bahikhata. Start collecting the points now

On Terrestrial Black Holes

I am feeling remarkably sappy this afternoon. It's been a long time since I felt the same way. So instead of trying to find a reason to this "Strange Condition", I do what I have done umpteen number of times - capture those fleeting moments.

I was just fine this morning and even managed to give the final finishing touches to a project that I (and some other guys) had been working on. In short, it was not the kind of prologue I expected to an afternoon of day-dreaming. But Life often has a very weird way of getting to you.

Now before you start thinking on those lines, let me tell you this. I am not even remotely 'sad', 'morose', somber' or any other synonym that you can think of. Contrary to expectations, things haven't been better for me in several years. A lot of factors have gone into making them so.

I feel more confident of myself on the academic front. The feeling of invincibility (that had begun to slowly ebb away) has found its voice once again. I have been reading voraciously and writing copious amounts of crap (much to the dismay of some unsuspecting visitors) over the past one month. But very importantly, I have been able to make my family happy.

That lone factor might very well account for my present state of being. But there is something else. Just like a black hole, I can feel its presence; but I can not put a finger to it. But our friendly-neighbourhood-black-hole is all goody goody in the sense that it exudes brightness instead of sucking it. It's affecting me as well as the people I interact with. Whether they can sense the difference is an entirely different matter.

I do hope that in the coming days, I'll be able to zero in on the phantom saviour and when I do so, I'll make sure to let you know.

Navy Cut

Somebody said today:

People always talk good things about you Sid.

I am positively amused and very surprised. I didn't have that opinion about myself. The bliss of ignorance! I am reminded of some lines:

Don't get mad if I'm laughing
Blame the caffeine for all the 5 am phone calls
I haven't slept a single night in over a month
And not even once did you start to make sense to me
Well maybe I'm a little bit slow, or just consistently inconsistent

- Middle of Nowhere, Hot Hot Heat

Strange Condition

Hmm. Let's see. What to write about? Actually this post is due to the persistent nagging of my very irritating roomie (who's probably the human equivalent of an anopheles mosquito) who wanted me to write about something. What got him going was a remarkable feat that I achieved yesterday. I successfully (without in any way harming my mental or physical faculties) managed to attend all three lectures that were scheduled the day before.

*clap clap clap*

Oh Please! Thank You for the big round of applause. I am honored. Ok, so on we go. Well the truly spectacular achievement did not unnoticed. I was approached by a lot of people who were making sure the guy they knew had indeed honored them with his presence in the hallowed grounds. I, being the good Samaritan that I am, honored all the starry eyed fans with autographs (heh heh) and handshakes. But there is more. Having already conquered one Everest, I went on to attend the tutorial and the lab scheduled for the day. Now that is something, I tell you. Especially when it comes from someone who is probably the most kaamchor creature under the sun. My mom keeps trying to change me for the better, readily employing even abuses and curses. But even she has been unsuccessful (so far) in her noble endeavors. And I have a hunch the scenario is not going to change much (unless and until The Terminator himself intervenes to save the day).

Now that was about yesterday. If that was funny then please tell me so (because I tried to be). If not, then forget all about it and make sure you read it again, you moron!

Now I seek to use this stage to answer certain allegations leveled against me by a certain Gullu Ghalib. I have the right to use the picture (that you see here) as my profile pic for three solid reasons. Firstly, it is mine - copyright et al. Secondly, Ghalib is not even properly visible in it. Thirdly, I don't have a better (and pseudo-artistic) pic to put up. So the matter thus stands there. And I, being the sole authority on the matter, decide to rule against moralities - in favour of Lanky. The pic stays; at least until you find me another chicks-ko-pasand-aane-waali pic.

Memorablia

Memories are a beautiful thing if you don't have to deal with the past.

As dumb as a one liner can probably be. Got this from a Richard Linklater movie. But if one ponders a little, then you realize the line's got a certain whackiness to it. As well as a bit of substance. Go on. It doesn't hurt if you think. Whatsay huh?

Hey...I realized after I posted this junk that today's April 1. My Day! So I came back to write some more. Isn't this supposed to be funny and all? But believe me, I haven't got a funny bone in my entire body. I can try to be sarcastic if you want me to. But serious laughs, well....... I can do the laughing part, you know. When I sit down to write something, pen and paper et al, all I can remember is when I peed the last time. Big Problem with thinking. So leave alone the funny part, I have serious-unknown-syndrome in just converting thoughts into ink (or binary in this case). But I never cease trying, much to the dismay of people who are forced to read my 'work'.

Only yesterday, I remember using copious amounts of mental and physical coercion to get Chingari Baadshah to read (and comment) on my blog. But Baadshah is an expert in wriggling out of tight situations. With a swish of his water jug and a shrill "abbeeeeyyyy kya kar rahe hoo??", he managed to wiggle out of my persuasive hold. 'Damn', I muttered under my breath and set out in search of some other unsuspecting bakra. But fortune has been known to side with the jerks. So I thought better and decided to feed some movie to my starved senses (courtesy 3 days of prolonged labor pains aka exams). I went for a Woody Allen flick - Annie Hall. I expected the movie to be some another melodramatic flick that I usually end up liking. But surprisingly, the romance was fresh and the humour subtle. But even then it managed to evoke loud giggles (and certain glares from my roomie). Go for it if you are looking for something new and closer to life. You might surprise yourself.

Okay. So the post started off with some sappy one-liner, moved onto some humorous (or not so humorous domains), and finally ended up discussing cinema. That is sign enough that I should get my daily dose of meditation. And no, that is not the reason why I am so smart, intelligent, creative etc etc. Till Next Time!

PS - Try making a bakra out of someone today. If you want to be original, make him read my post and tell him it's supposed to be funny.