Black Magic, woman.

The terrible thing about building a wall around oneself is that it is heartbreakingly easy. The bricks slide into place so conveniently that you wonder what had been stopping you from donning the hat of a mason all this while. The terrifying thing about doing it is that it comes down all too quickly. All you need is a lone voice that gains in strength as it revolves in ever tightening orbits around the cold sphere of your solitude. The past and the present merge to form a meaningless blur of regret and disappointment until this voice is all that you know and all that you feel. It overwhelms every last ounce of your will and consumes your mind and your body, your heart and your soul. And while you are lying on the floor, groping around in the darkness and assuming that the clouds will never clear, the darkness lifts just as quickly as it had descended. In that moment of temporary respite, you make the rookie mistake of quickly assuming Nietzsche was right. What doesn’t kill you must make you stronger. Yes, but not always. You don’t have to take my word for it. Try letting down your guard and letting in that lone voice once again. If your heart doesn’t explode thinking about all the things you thought your life would be, you can have your money back. As I said before, the terrible thing about building a wall around oneself is that it is heartbreakingly easy.

Where is my Red Pamphlet?

The opulence of this place is suffocating. It is a world inside a world, barricaded from the filth and the dust outside by men and women who must return to the filth and the dust outside at the end of the day. We are spoilt for choices. There is enough food here to feed a village and yet we sniff at it, scowl, and move on. Make no mistake, I am not a communist weeping over the death of a dream. I enjoy walnut brownies. (I ate one too, although I had trouble managing a fork. It would crumble to pieces before I could bring it to my mouth. A telling sign, perhaps of what my life in this world would be like.) But the excesses lavished on this gathering are a bit too much for my taste. I realise, much to my consternation, that I have seen people die of hunger while I am wondering what "hummus with pita bread" is supposed to be. Life is never without a sense of irony.

People can get used to anything. To having the doors of their cars opened for them. To the company of light music softly floating down ghost jukeboxes hidden from view in the labyrinthine, immaculate washrooms. To mineral water and generous helpings of pineapple for dessert. Getting used to is not the difficult part. (She tells me I must be more open to new experiences. Well, I have never really been able to explain to her my fears. Better safe than sorry, you see) Soon, they begin to expect their asses will be wiped for them. They will turn up their noses, make a face, and sport a grimace every time the stench gets too strong. The excesses and the opulence become a fact of their privileged lives and they are loathe to relinquish this vantage point. Why should they? This life is good. Hell, it has good manners, paper towels, and caesar salad.

That is when I stop empathising. Fuck, that is when I begun to ignore. (For empathy is too loaded a word and whoever knows the heartache of a lover spurned without having suffered herself.) I see but do not notice. I hear but do not listen. So run away. Don't let the comfort of these cynical words turn into an excuse for inaction. For time is running out and there is no place to stand. The voices are closing in and they are murmuring strange, dark, tempting secrets in my ears. They will have my soul and I won't even know it.

Hot Noon

A random conversation carried out with much zeal and enthusiasm sometime around 4 in the afternoon. An afternoon which was both endless and ending.

Marvin - bada lethergic time hai man.
piper - sahi hai man.
piper - yahi theek hai man.
Marvin - but its ending, man.
Marvin - smoke, man?
piper - shit, man...
piper - I just had one, man.
Marvin - tsk tsk, man.
piper - if you want, we can have another, man.
Marvin - but man, i heard there was supposed to be checking, man to man?
Marvin - what the heck, man!
piper - that's tomorrow, lots of time till then man.
piper - especially with these long afternoons, man.
Marvin - come over then, man.
piper - ok, man!
Marvin - yo, man!

Metallic Eye

Farther than what sees the biggest metallic eye.
From the land of dragons and eternal sunshine...

Came a story about love that had lived forever. They said it was so because in memory, love lives forever.

~~

Almásy: New lovers are nervous and tender, but smash everything. For the heart is an organ of fire.

~~

Their love seemed to reflect all the changes he had undergone. It did not mirror them. But the symphony was a secret that was known to both of them. The fact was evident in his love hate relationship with the empty afternoons that brought his life to a grinding halt, almost without fail. In the unending source of inspiration that it had seemed to become. In more poetic moods, he had made himself believe that it had become a cornerstone in his life – a steady anchor in the ever meandering scheme of things. And now, when his romanticism had finally assumed a new image, he wondered how long he could refuse to don his own mantle. One such empty afternoon had caught him unaware and silently posed a question which he had been avoiding answering.

~~

Almásy: This - what's it called? - this place, I love it - this is mine!

~~

He does that often. Cup his face in his hands and look at the trees lining the road near his house. The view is through a grilled window and the pattern gives a surreal kaleidoscopic quality to the usually featureless trees. The Sun is beating its hammer on the anvil and the fresh leaves of spring are dry and parched already. Vehicles plying on the road leave little dust storms in their wake which settle contentedly on the leaves, depriving them of any bright colours and the least bit of dignity. A little out of touch with reality, he finds resonance in the scene. Life seems to be in a state of dysfunction and its presence tugs at his sleeves.

~~

Almásy: When were you most happy?
Katharine: Now.
Almásy: And when were you least happy?
Katharine: Now.

~~

You sit on your throne of question marks. Why? - Pain and suffering. If one can not share them, one can not love. Happiness is secondary. Overrated.

~~

Almásy: Every night I cut out my heart. But in the morning it was full again.

~~

Yes, I wish for your kind of people to smile and chuckle. To look at me in that heightened state of existence. So I take off on my flight of fancy once more. I swim in and out of clouds. In and out of reality. With and without patience. All the while being loved and not loving back. I miss heartbeats sometimes. Other times, I just skip them. On a whim. Catching a fancy. I keep all my heartbeats in a tin jar. It lies buried in the ground beneath my window. I will take you there. There are thumbpins on the board in my room. A pin for each heartbeat I missed. Yes, one for each of those missing ones which lie safe in the tin jar. My jar has a ship drawn on it. The wind is puffing up the sails. It is almost ready to take off. Bon voyage! The voyage to unknown lands. In search of treasure and pirates. The ship has therefore a black sail. The mast carries a sinister flag. A skull with two crossed bones underneath it. I will have a ship like that one day. I will be the captain. With a wooden leg and nasty parrot. Just like Captain Finch and Long John Silver. But none of your kind of people are going to be on board this time. You come to say your last good bye’s. I am happy I am casting off. Your kind of people are happy too. To see me happy. Whatever that means. I cast off my anchor and smile that last toothy grin, the gap in my teeth giving it an ominous feel. I don’t look back. Neither do your kind of people. I am off, thus, and despite all the eccentricity, I still remain yours.

~~

Katharine: My darling. How long is the day in the dark? Or a week? The fire is gone, and I'm horribly cold. I really should drag myself outside but then there'd be the sun. I'm afraid I waste the light on the paintings, not writing these words. We die. We die rich with lovers and tribes, tastes we have swallowed, bodies we've entered and swum up like rivers. Fears we've hidden in - like this wretched cave. I want all this marked on my body. Where the real countries are. Not boundaries drawn on maps with the names of powerful men. I know you'll come carry me out to the Palace of Winds. That's what I've wanted: to walk in such a place with you. With friends, on an earth without maps. The lamp has gone out and I'm writing in the darkness.

~~

The people come alive and emotions are felt once more, their bite more tangible than ever. The plots, the sub plots, and their umpteen characters are sketched to perfection and it seems you had been lying all along, pretending to forget, so that you could goad me into telling my version of things. You sigh, you smile, you wish, and you yearn. The night seems to dilate in order to accommodate the vividness of your narration, and by then time it ends, I have lived another life in the span of a few hours. You’re exhausted, and parched.

If not for my sake then yours. But this is inevitable now. And since it is, it’s best we did what’s the right thing to do. For both of us. Begin afresh. Don’t feel guilty about anything for you did nothing wrong.

~~

Madox: I have to teach myself not to read too much into everything. It comes from too long having to read so much into hardly anything at all.

~~

Almásy: What do you hate most?
Katharine: A lie. What do you hate most?
Almásy: Ownership. Being owned. When you leave, you should forget me.

~~

I slowly find my path, “So out of place”, I wonder.
And soon it dawns how everything was a Slip of Time.
An asylum from banal reality, in guise of a mistress
Of words. How fitting I should sing of it in rhyme!

Monument of Words

The numerous shelves in the room were like edicts glorifying some unknown tyrant. Each narrated its own tale of horror. Or maybe the stories were not that gruesome after all. His imagination always got the better of him. Baah. Gullible spectators roamed in their midst. They looked, searched, and often found bits and pieces of themselves in those mundane gray columns. Having eluded capture till now by lurking in dark corners, figments of their personalities shied away from discovery. Jump cut.

He craned his neck to look beyond the tinted glass of the windows. The view outside seemed mellow, as if the might of the sun had been subdued by some supernatural force. They sky seemed bluer and his fancy only exaggerated the effect. The lights in the room, reflected in the glass, seemed like orbs of radiance suspended in mid air. One could see the leaves being disturbed by gentle gusts of wind. But none could hear their rustle. The usual cacophony of existence had been muted with striking perfection. The only discernible sound was the continuous scrawl of graphite on paper. People shuffled in and out of the hushed chambers, most of them mystified by the strange ambience. An unassuming loafer caught him staring at the ceiling and he quickly hid his embarrassment in the book in front of him. Montage.

The clock ticked to a stipulated hour. It was time. He gathered his ornaments and looked around, soaking it in. “I’ll be back”, thought he and proceeded to retreat into his shell.

Guilt/Repentance

Do we repent over the fact that we caused it to happen? Or do we feel guilty about it being the cause of our unhappiness, and worse still, jealousy?

~~~

I think I feel bad about feeling bad.

Pronouns Used:

It: A seemingly innocent incident. One thing led to another. And now it has caused an entirely unexpected chain of events.

Modernity Vs Tradition

They say India is nation where tradition is fighting for space with modernity. They say we have been able to strike a balance till now. I wonder. Then I catch myself doing this.

Every night I soak a fistful of dried amla in a glass of water. In the morning, while bathing, I use it as a, well, ayurvedic shampoo to wash my hair. But then soon after, I use a fancy conditioner to make them smell decent. I wonder how long the balance will last.

Vote of Confidence

In general, people have immense potential for good. Possibly, it is inherent in each and every one of us. However it lies untapped because of our lack of confidence in others. Our inability to say good things about them. Our inability to put our confidence in them. Our inability to confess to the transformations they have set off. Our inability to be frank, humble, and honest about it all. Our incapacity to confess to our weaknesses and emerge a better person out of the act. We choose to dwell upon the insufficiencies and derive conclusions from them. We spit spite and think that it can be justified because we have been blind to each other. We survive on the bitter concoction of jealousy and pride, our jaded appetites intolerant to anything more humane. As I observed some time back, the unease seems so palpable that we can taste its bitter tang in our mouths. We qualify humility as an obsolete virtue instead of accepting the truth and letting others know about the same. Instead of making others feel better because of it. Instead of at least sometimes ignoring those pitfalls. Perhaps, that is not how things ought to work. Perhaps, we need to be a bit emotional for once, without preconditioning misguiding our reason. Without ridicule leading us astray. Without indifference making us shrug our shoulders and settle for anything less than that. Let it not be so this one instance. If possible, hear me out.

Should we, thus, move a motion to instill confidence in others? A Vote of Confidence in their potential and not ours? It’s worth a try, if anything. If nothing comes out of it, we can all go back to being ourselves. No harm done. After all, we must walk down that road; the one which runs through ‘The Forest of The Night’. The one which compels us to face our demons. The one, which in turn, helps us in finding our angels. So, in order to start a process, I would use this platform to say certain things to people. Good things. So that they can take something out of this. Perhaps for the better of both of us. Yes, I do intend to be selfish, but not at all self-centered. I might miss out a few people and I sincerely regret that. Rest assured that shall happen only due my inefficiencies and not yours. Due to my inability to mould words around the good that is yours. Due to my blindness which has prevented such a disclosure so far. Due to my incapacity to see something that is inherent in you. Due to the foolishness that had prevented me from looking beyond perceptions. Due to everything me and nothing you. Please forgive the bias, if any, which creeps into this narrative. The order of this monologue is one which is the least biased of them all.

To Ghar Parivar – The debt that I owe you eludes normal statistics. So it is futile to even try making a mention of it. All I can say is that I am indebted to you for accepting me with all my weaknesses and strengths. For accepting my rudeness when it had seemed unreasonable even to me. For accepting my failures in the same vein as my numerous accomplishments. For accepting me for who I am, without any pretensions or complaints, whatsoever. I owe myself to you.

~~~~

To Chacha Chaudhary – There is something in the composure that you carry about you that tells me that no matter what, everything will turn out to be well in the end. I have been inspired by the way you have donned your responsibilities, regardless of their repercussion on your own ambitions or desires. I would go on to say that you have been an idol of sorts. In some ways. It’s strange, thus, that I have been a mute spectator with respect to everything ‘you’ in this comradeship. Let me think about it. Your capacity to love has been a subject of conversation between I, me, and myself. Someday, I wish to emulate it in a fashion akin to yours, without being misled by any preconditioning whatsoever. But most of all, I wish you luck in your endeavours. I am sure you guys will see it through and emerge out of it wiser, even if harried.

I am glad that my initial impressions of you were proved to very wrong soon enough. The only reason why I have failed to describe you is because you remain something of an enigma to me. I have still not been able to understand why we got along well. Or maybe we don’t. Would you care to hazard a guess? You are one of the few people who have given me more than I have returned back to them. I appreciate your efforts in fighting for a lost cause. And I apologize for not being there when you might have needed me. But, please, keep at it. We need more of that. For there might be few people like you. And more like me.

~~~~

To Gandhi Baba – I have known you as a pillar in my life from the time I understood the full implications of the term friendship. It’s another matter altogether that you have been at the receiving end far too often. The patience with which you have heeded to my grievances has been astonishing. Especially since it was never reciprocated with the same fortitude. Your advice always bordered on being labelled abstruse. However, with time, all of it has made sense. I have realized it was lack of comprehension on my part which prevented me from understanding your perspective. You were just ahead of your times. The support you have extended whenever I have needed it has not gone unnoticed. I have just been shy about accepting the facts. I love it when I can talk to you without even looking at you, something rare and special for me. I know you will understand everything. Thank you.

Your idealism might seem eccentric to some, even to me at times. But that is something you must pursue with all your heart. What are we if not the victims of our ambitions? I say victims because we suffer because of our aims, as you have. But please do not think that a battle lost is a war never begun. You know that even though you lost it out to her, it was not because she deserved better, but because maybe you did. Perhaps you should think about being a bit more carefree and gullible than you are. There is fun there that you are missing out on. I have heard stories being told about that faraway land. Pay a visit sometime. I am sure we will have a lot to talk about.

~~~~

To Professor Saab – You have more potential for good than any person I have known. Unfortunately, I have not been able to imbibe most of it. Perhaps not even a tiny little bit of it. But that only speaks about my inadequacies and not yours. It seems that humour comes almost as naturally to you as grumpiness to me. However, let that laughter not be at the cost of others’. The support that you extend to others is something of a miracle in itself. The time, the patience, the effort, the concentration, and the impartiality. All of it is commendable. I have tried a hand at it myself, to no obvious gains of course. Your respect and devotion to family and friends has sometimes made me feel inadequate in the same perspective. However, you inspire, and so there is still hope. Let it never be otherwise. Your diligence inspires awe (and perhaps bits of jealousy) in me and I hope that one day you will get what that merits. Perhaps the desserts might come a bit later than expected. But they will. Have faith.

As far as everything ‘love’ is concerned, look no further than where your memory takes you. You dwell upon the past way too often for comfort. I am sure you deserve to find whatever you are looking for. It will find you before you do. For there must be someone out there with as much you in her as yourself. We can not settle for anything less than the best. Now can we? And remember, being selfish has become fashionable again. Perhaps, you should give it a try. Sometimes, and only sometimes, you can rely upon my fashion quotient as well. Take care and all the best. I shall see you around.

~~~~

To Salim Sinai – You have been a strange acquaintance (friend?) in many ways. I have enjoyed the conversations, the generalizations and the abstractions we have indulged in. Often, if not always, I have wondered if I would miss out on them. It seems that self deprecation is an art that you have not only mastered, but also made contagious. I should refrain from indulging in it too often. If being disillusioned is cool, I wonder if you can take coolness to any new heights. There is this strange mix of worldliness and innocence in the way which you go about life. I love it. Honestly. Your inadequacies have amused me more than once. But only in a matter-of-fact innocent way. Perhaps you will be able to overcome them someday. Or maybe we can endure them alright. We will drink to that. And we will smoke to that.

I have a grouse as well. Something which I have mentioned a few times. You underestimate yourself way too often to realize your merit. So, I must quote Shakespeare here:

But what my power might else exact, like one
Who having into truth, by telling of it,
Made such a sinner of his memory,
To credit his own lie, he did believe
He was indeed the duke;
- Prospero, Act I, Scene II, The Tempest

Roughly translated, Shakespeare means to say that just like a usurper of the throne, by the constant wielding of power, begins to believe he is the king himself; when a person repeats a lie often enough, he begins to believe it is indeed the truth. You get the hint I presume. But then again, it is probable we have been putting up a charade. I say “we” and not “you” because I am as much a part of it as you. As much a culprit, for we look at it as a means for escaping out. A medium for reaffirming our worth. But no more on that.

You quote senseless psychics way too often. And probably you seek to find ratification for all that you do in their ramblings. But who’s complaining? As befits the scheme of things, let me do the same. For I share a weakness I am not willing to get rid of too soon.

Everyone I come across, in cages they bought
They think of me and my wandering, but I'm never what they thought
I've got my indignation, but I'm pure in all my thoughts
I'm alive.
- Eddie Vedder, Guaranteed

And do not worry. I am pretty sure you won’t go bald before you get married. Even if you do, you can always woo the lady in question by means of the pseudo-intellectualism and intellectual chutiyapa we have been practising and perfecting. Moreover, I have heard that ladies with an altruistic bent dig men with receding hairlines, a perspective on communalism, and a penchant for writers like Saul Bellow. Your Shobhaa De is safe. At least for the time being. We will drink to that too.

~~~~

To ‘The’ Med – I have been inspired (affected?) by you in ways you can hardly imagine. If I were to start enumerating the changes that have crept into me because of you, I would perhaps do injustice to others I wish to speak to here. So none of that. I am sure each and every one of those changes has made me a better person. They have not only made me humbler, but more tolerant towards the insufficiencies that plague my character. Pushing me to improve and enhance. Your talent, and the humility with which you ignore it, has motivated me to reach its heights someday. Oh, did I tell you how ambitions have proven to be double edged swords for me? I must keep away from them. Now will I?

I have been a weaker person in your company, something I had not known myself to do. I appreciate the fact that the conversations have not come out of compulsion, but a suppressed willingness. Maybe it’s your skill, and not my inability, that serves the process. I will miss it if we were to part ways sometime in the future. But only in a good way. I would, anyway, have my ‘memory mines’ to serve me in its stead. I say so because I have come to believe that good things do not last forever. Maybe that’s why I have chosen to write about it. To perpetuate it before it fades into oblivion. But I have been known to be eccentric and delusional. Never mind.

The grace that comes so naturally to you has not only amused me time and again, but has also been a subject of thought. That being said and done, your ability to switch from elegance to tackiness with such practised ease has often engaged my attention. I sometimes wonder if the skill has been rehearsed, well in advance. The knack of dwelling upon tiny details in your life, and making the most of them, has amazed me and I wish to someday imitate the feat. Till then, I shall be content in trying, and failing. Compassion. I see it inherent in you even though you have oft claimed otherwise. I expect you will wake up to the fact, more sooner than later. Or were you pretending all this while? I wouldn’t know, right? As a parting wish, I hope that selfishness comes to you as a grace and not as a vice. I say so just because I want you to get whatever you had wanted out of life. Please do not let compromises get the better of you. Do not. We all deserve better than that. Be good. I shall wait and watch.

~~~~

I steal some lines. Let it be so for all of us.

I'll take this soul that’s inside me now
Like a brand new friend
I'll forever know

I’ve got this light
And the will to show
I will always be better than before

To Everyone Else – I wish I were competent enough to mention all the people who have affected me, however subtly. Yet, as you might have realized, that is not possible. Not because I do not wish to do so. But because I stand incapacitated in such a situation. I hope you won’t mind, for that was never the purpose of all this melodrama. Would you like to carry on from here? Take care. Everyone.

PS – Yes, there IS a Calvin strip for each post one can ever think of.

Venus and Venus

Let’s jump straight to the point this time. Without much babble about lyrics that are either abstruse or philosophical. We don’t want any of that. So. There has to be something about them. The way they have all the time in the world to not only look, but actually be concerned about all our worries and vices. The way in which they can advertise their weaknesses only because it makes you feel better. The way they have turned predicaments into something fashionable. The way they can take care of you better than yourself. The way they can keep you hoping for the best, and expecting the worst, all at the same time. The way they can remain silent just because you don't know how to talk. The way their pimples seem something exotic and worth emulating. The way in which they hop, skip, and jump, making each of those maneuvers seem like something only they are capable of. The way the words ‘mundane’ and ‘monotonous’ attain new connotations in their presence. The way they rest their chins on their hands in the same fashion, the world over. The way in which they don't change, but mould, you to become a better being. The way they always end up making you feel self-centered, no matter what. The way they inspire good, almost always. The way their gross inadequacies don't seem that inadequate after all. The way their dresses can flatter like no other. The way their love not only teaches you to love, but also hate in return.

Why the big deal about their eyes anyway? What makes us so blind that they manage to become a part of us, so integral that the very thought of coming apart seems unbearable? What makes them think they can make us feel special and neglected when they desire? Why do their little idiosyncrasies make us fall for them, time and again? What makes humility come so naturally to them? Why do we always smile when they crack jokes about us? What secret to happiness have they refused to share with us for so long? Why do they make us remember things we never thought we would? What prompts them to smile at our pathetic jokes and even worse choices? Why do they give us more than we can ever repay? What makes them do all this and then not want to do anything with us at a moment's notice? More importantly, why do their hair still smell so delicious after every bath?

Then there is the other side. Only more abstract and mysterious. It’s revealed in the way their eyes seem so innocent even when they divulge the worst of their crimes. In the way they can perpetuate the most mundane of gestures into fond memories. In the way their affection seems like a distant prospect even when they have shared their most intimate secrets. In the way their association takes you to the brink, and back again, as if it were a game. In the way you always end up forgiving them for wrongs you would punish yourself for. In the way they can fool you into believing that you know them. Yes, girls, they must be having something to them. Something much beyond our limited comprehension. Something special. Ah girls, they still do black magic and still get away with it. Damn.

Potli Wale Baba

guchcha hai bhai guchcha hai
kahaniyo ka guchcha hai
kahani le lo...

khatti ho to namak laga ke
khatti ho to namak laga ke
gale mein atke paani
kahani le lo...

His mind had left the room and decided to go into an overdrive. He watched wistfully as it left the confines of the four walls. The room had relapsed into silence, once again. Well, almost. The only other soul had decided to tease his dream girl. On the other hand, he thought he never dreamt, neither in colour or white. So he had trouble imagining himself planning clandestine meetings with the love of his life. Often giving up in exasperation, he resorted to the comfort of yellow light. It smoothed the creases the day that had just passed had gifted him with. The soft notes playing in the background eased the transition into a different mode. The words seemed to be coming from a parallel universe. They spoke of exotic lands and romantic getaways. Sometimes, they whispered about woes and longing. However, he tricked himself into believing in them all. Not a soul objected. After all, his reason had just departed through the window for a game of poker with the stars.

Sometimes, his reason, sensing something wrong down below, sent his minions to check up on him. They usually arrived in all their pompous glory, not troubling with the much needed subtlety. Finding him alone and puzzled at the sudden fanfare, they would take pity on him and tell him stories about poker games and how his reason had often cheated and yet managed not get beaten up for it. It seemed as if hIS reason was a celebrity among the minions. So he began to take them from granted and believed they were just trying to get into his good books. But he was no fool to become too complacent. He listened to the tales from the other universe, rapt in attention. When they pompous guests had left, he sold their anecdotes as his own, not bothering with even copyright issues. He was never very creative to begin with. So his conscience never bugged him about the literary blasphemy. When the reason returned late into the night, he had already done the dirty deeds. He sniggered at his own smugness. Fooling one's own reason was a commendable job.

He went about his day in hurried eagerness. The minions would be back again, with more scandals. He had to prepare for their arrival. It seemed as if both needed the other's company. He yearning for it probably a bit more than them. After all, they had other windows they could slide into. But there was something about his yellow window of light that did the trick for them, time and again. We have heard rumors that he still sits there, waiting for the minions with their endless tales. We speculate that they never disappoint their strange companion.

On Numb3rs

I am dumb because I don't have the numbers to support a contradicting claim. I don't have any brains because of the very same reason. I have come to believe this fact as a part of my life. There's no escaping it. The past was an illusion, meant to heighten the effect of this expose. It was The Prestige, the final and hardest act in any magical show. The only difference being that over here, the show was staged backwards in time, with the prestige preceding the The Turn and The Pledge.

I continue to live and stumble on. It's not the end of the world. It's the end of just some part of me which believed otherwise.

P.S.: Just before writing this, I saw the lamp on my table going phut. Now there will be no yellow cadence tonight. Perhaps, a sign of things that I was going to write about. HE seems to know it all.

On Lethargy

Some-friggin-body said today I am too lazy to even talk. Another enlightened soul tried to warn me about the repercussions of not seeing too much of the world too often. "Bahar ki duniya bhi dekho kaka. Kamre mein hi rehte ho," the wise Oracle spoke. I find it highly disconcerting. I mean I can't go on blabbing like some people (do you get the hint?). Neither do I find bliss in scoring goals. I find pleasure in doing other things. Be it reading, writing, collecting trivia, or just enjoying some good 'ol music. Is it my problem they don't require neither company nor exertion? That being said, I do indulge in the ancient art of bakar, often with remarkable finesse. I do flay my hands around while supposedly playing badminton. And I do enjoy traveling as much as any other person. It all depends on what catches my fancy. Probabilistic predictions seem to hinge on the former options. I have absolutely no say in those matters.

I need my privacy and I am jealous enough to protect it with nasty glares and even nastier retorts. That somehow gives people the wrong ideas. But I seriously don't care. I have been following a dictum for quite some time now. It goes something like this:"You're with yourself all the time; better enjoy the company Fortunately, it has been serving me well.

Some remarkably gol body said about me, "He's is unsocial, shy and quiet... prefers solitude or at most the company of one person to a crowd. He has aptitude for creative work..." I have come to find a lot of truth in that statement. Maybe I am meant to be that way. *sigh*

So people, please be considerate while reaching conclusions the next time. It's not all about saving energy. It's often about preferences. Let's be a little more - uhmm - lethargic. What say, eh?

Amalgam

For the past few days, I have been the unsuspecting victim of a tumultuous converge of varied thoughts and feelings. I had been searching for a word that aptly described this sangam of sorts. But I had no special longing to look up some abstruse term in Barron’s High Frequency List. So my g33ky sub-conscious came up with this loser title.

Amalgam, as some of you might have read when you guys were chhote-chhote bachhe, is used to refer to any alloy containing mercury. Likewise, I consider myself the mercury which is undergoing metamorphosis due to other elements being mixed with it. Also, amalgam exemplifies the factotum nature of this post. It talks about a lot of things, and at the same time it talks about nothing at all. So read further at your own risk.

I am just back from Mysore, a lovely city. Mysore wowed me with its clean roads, irritating obsession with uncle-type heroes, I-want-to-be-here resorts, biking sprees, and overtly eager buggers (read kids). Make sure to visit it if you get the time. I’ll tag along and serve as your free guide (accommodation and food not included of course).

It was last year, somewhere around this time, that I sensed something different in me. I could not put a finger as to what had changed. But then, just like well-crafted sarcasm, it could be felt. I am sure that sooner or later, all that I have learnt in the past two years will make its presence felt. Maybe it’s evident in the discussions I have with my mom. Or maybe it’s making itself felt in the kind of future that I want to have. Who knows?

We dream big. We dream a lot. We dream to make this world a better place. We dream about eradicating poverty and hunger. But somewhere down the line, all these ideals are lost in the struggle to eke out a living. We go with the flow, like sheep. I am not saying I won’t be one of you, one of the umpteen sheep. But I will probably strive not to. If I succeed you’ll know my story, plausibly sooner than me. Make sure you are not caught napping then. Sometimes, just sometimes, we need to ignore that potent concoction of forty winks.

P.S.: This was written quite some time ago, 22nd July 2007 to be exact.

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.

Renaissance

Dear Bored Reader,

I have been meaning to write something constructive and beautiful for quite some time now. “The drought has lasted long enough”, so said one of my friends. Another acquaintance remarked casually and reminded me of my sabbatical. But I feel helpless right now. The inspiration is just not there. Ideas are lacking and even when they do make an appearance; words find it very tedious to wriggle out of them.

But plunging into the “seas of passion” in search of “wrecks sublime” comes to me in the guise of a compulsion. So just like a mathematician trying to ascertain the reasons and cure of his depression using some abstruse equation; I decided to give my ‘creative poverty’ a run for its money.

The Summer of 2006 was like a dream. The ‘Siddhartha’ in me attained his enlightenment sometime while he was dozing off on his study table. The halo around the Neo-Buddha served its purpose steadfastly for about 4 months. This small period saw an explosion of amazing ideas and tiny grey cells in me. I metamorphosed from an analyzing engineer into a day-dreaming poet. I wrote like a maniac. Loads of stuff. Needless to say, my grades plummeted like a falling meteorite. But as I read somewhere – the juice was worth the squeeze.

The sudden burst of creative inspiration was only aggravated by the fact I spent 6 blissful weeks in the Himalayas. The sight of it all still doesn’t fail to make me nostalgic. I am very certain that the trip helped me evolve in more ways than one. Things that seemed so certain till now, lost ground. Meanwhile, dormant seeds germinated and laid the foundation for radical changes in my thinking. It would only be right to say that a juggernaut has been set into motion. It’s only expected that it will transform a lot of ideals and notions in its wake.

The dream faded into oblivion and so did its repercussions. The old schedule slowly found its way back into my life. The halo which had so faithfully served its purpose; began to flicker and it was not before it went out like a moist fuse. But this time on, there was a longing for all that I was missing. I had begun to see things in a new light and that signified the dawn of a new phase in my thought process.

I questioned my actions and underwent a rigorous self-analysis. Flaws were unearthed and examined with a scalpel in hand. Modalities were discussed in detail and ambitious plans were hatched. But I have a much criticized habit of shelving my time-tables. They continue to grin at me like skeletons in one’s closet. But this time serious effort is being put into scripting an anti-climax. Things are somewhat falling in place. The tower of cards might come down any moment. But there will be the satisfaction of having given it a shot. The very effort has probably changed me. For better or worse, I can not to tell. Maybe you should ask time. It always has some story to tell, some poor soul to ridicule and some unsuspecting audience to bore.

very lovingly yours,
"by whatever name you know me"

What Were You Thinking?

This is what I felt on the 2nd of Jan, 2007 after a ‘sudden’ something happened on a quaint lakhnavi evening. A very personal account of things. So very much possible it is all crap for ya. Just read and you’ll agree!

As a new year dawns the horizon of my life, so do new aspirations, new resolutions, new ambitions and the most important of all, a new hope.

There are several things that keep giving meaning to your existence. You don’t realize how they affect you. It’s amazing. The way these hidden magic moments apparate in front of you like whoosh and rejuvenate you. I smile. I am feeling positively bubbly. At least for some precious minutes I am.

It’s a gargantuan task to pen down my exact feelings for I am ill-equipped for that task. After all, my vocabulary is not that large. But I will try because that is what a writer is meant to do.

Just when I begin to think there are not reasons to make life interesting, something out of the ordinary always happens to make me feel otherwise.

I look back over my shoulder and I see wasted opportunities. But then there are people who have always had faith in me and are proud of all that I am and all that I did achieve in spite of what I consider failures.

There are friends who are like pieces completing the jigsaw puzzle that I am. They inspire me and in some ways I inspire them. They are the ones that keep me going. They make life interesting. They are the ones who continue to have faith in me and will always continue doing so.

There is a lot that’s still left to do and see in this world. And there are a lot of moments that need to be cherished. We must continue trying just to nurture those wonderful moments, if for nothing else.

“It’s foolish to keep harping on the past”, some people say. It might be true or it might not. What is more important is that you keep getting inspired by whatever you have achieved.

One is not successful all the time. Failures will always be there to crush you or make you feel miserable. But then there are people whom you trust blindly, someone whom you love blindly, and friends whom you always rely upon. They are the ones who will keep making you feel special. They will keep you going, no matter what.

So the next time you are down and out, don’t sulk like me. Instead call that pain-in-the-ass friend of yours or the special someone. You will be amazed how the world turns upside down by just talking to them about how miserable things have been. If nothing else works out, read this post of mine and call me up. I promise to sulk with you, if nothing else.

Write to me you dumbo. It always helps. I am not talking about you. I am talking about myself :-)

very lovingly yours,
"by whatever name you know me"

Decoding Melancholy

I have been thinking about this and many a time I have expressed my thoughts on the subject. It was only tonight that a chance remark triggered a train of thoughts. I tried flagging a red signal to stop the juggernaut mid-way. But to no avail. I kept on doing my work while at the back of head an altogether different thought-process was bugging me. So in the end I decided to put away my books and do what I always try to do in such a situation – pen down my feelings.

This write-up pertains to people like me who somehow got confused about what they wanted and ended up wasting any talent that they had. I was a hard working guy before I came to college. Though the desserts of my labor were not exceptional, they were decent enough to be proud of. But sometime in the first semester, a higher power managed to mess up my brains and everything that I had sought to do, became fuzzier and trivial. I started bunking classes, missing labs and ultimately stopped studying at all – not realizing that at the same time, an uneasiness was creeping into my being. Clambering over the walls of my defenses, this queasy feeling made itself comfortable in my sub-conscious.

I went on with my life, thinking that my restlessness was rooted in something else. So much so that I almost became paranoid and people saw less and less of me. I was often left alone with my musings which often found vent in the form of write-ups like these or poems. But like they say, every dark cloud has a silver lining. I won’t say I have been able to find the solution to all my problems, but at least there is a semblance of one which has made itself apparent to my troubled psyche. Let’s see if the things work out. For the time being I would only like to discuss its pros and cones.

I think it is the guilt of not working hard enough that germinates the seed of restlessness within us. We go about like studs – people who don’t study and still manage to get decent grades. But the crux of the matter is that we can not make do with just decent grades. Maybe (just maybe) we’ll end up with similar grades even after throwing our legs around. But at least the satisfaction of having tried will be with us (Yeah, we may also end up feeling even more miserable after all that). Lost in our world, we discard any normal (read the ones who slug it out) mortals as nerds and muggus - not worthy of our attention. It maybe so, or it might not be. I am not the one who knows. This puzzle is all about ‘mays’ and ‘might bes’. Maybe if we start putting in that extra effort, we’ll end up with that stupid grin on our faces which is so characteristic of content souls. Maybe we’ll do even better the nerds we were so jealous of. Maybe we’ll be gloating just because of the pleasure of having so much to learn and explore. You have to decide for yourself.

ACID TEST: If music starts sounding better when you do something then rest assured that you really are happy.

The Thinking Disease

Cause you can’t jump the track, we’re like cars on a cable
And life’s like an hourglass glued to the table
No one can find the rewind button now
Sing if you understand
- Ana Nalick, Breathe (2 AM)

It is really a herculean task to pen down all the thoughts and questions raging through my mind right now. But it would be foolish to feign ignorance and let them create a pandemonium. So I will do what is best in such a situation – just go with the flow and write down whatever comes to my mind.

Due to my philosophical rejuvenation at SIDH, if I might call it so, a lot of preconditions have been shaken through and through. What is the biggest surprise is that I did not mean any of this to happen. I had always thought that I was comfortable with my conditioning and that would be the way things would probably be. But the seed planted has not only germinated but begun to grow. I really am questioning things that I thought I wanted to do.

So then, what is it that will help me attain contentment? What if I chuck away all my plans and set out in search for that eluding phantom, like the shepherd of ‘The Alchemist’? What if I find out that the things that I have for so long pursued with such determination were not really what I wanted?

These are just some of the questions that have been boggling me. Unless I am able to answer them, I’ll be like that man who tries to ride two boats at the same time and finally ends up in the water.

I have always been a tad bit strange. Imagining the world as an ideal place and being frighteningly conceited; all at the same time. I have been a chronic victim of the “Thinking Disease”. Hmmm…..I really do think too much. Maybe it’s because I don’t do anything. An empty mind is, after all, some kind of a workshop. The Devil may not own it all the time but someone has to, all the same.

So there’s the sum of things. I don’t expect things will change a lot. Not unless a bolt from the blue lights up that proverbial bulb. And till then, I will be ‘thinking’ a lot – looking for answers and finding newer problems in their stead.