Faustus's Sin

Sub-Normality

2012-01-11T23:01:00.003+05:30

"Dad put our dog in an asylum without telling me." Tales told when drunk are seldom meant to be heard. She went on talking and picked up a puppy in a lane next to the pub. It yelped to no result. The up-town female suddenly was the not-so virgin mother Mary. With love in her eyes she stroked the dog. It made an effort to be let loose, with modicum of reluctance she put it down. She said that the dog seems hungry and looked at me pleadingly. Not used to the fickle emotions of female kind, I looked around and realized the entrance to pubs kitchen was near-by. Without a clue of what to do and semi-drunk I ventured and Lo! Behold! brought a bread back. Had entered the kitchen and embarrassed, had asked the nearest chef to give me something to feed a dog. He had stared for a second and curtly, had asked me to pick a piece of bread that lay close by. Like Arthur bringing out his sword, I brought the bread out.

The lady, swept the bread from my hands and showered her love on the dog. The canine, receiver of such affection stuck to its high ground. I holding on to the moral ground, helped her, prevented her from falling, tried to drill reason into her. And a bunch of ruffians too busy to bother stared and laughed intermittently. With my male pride not completely over ridden by alcohol, I did not stoop to conquer.

Whats a boy supposed to do? Would it be appropriate to hold her back? When such emotions surge what right does society have to intrude? Should I try to hold her straight? Would it be indecent? How much touching was allowed foe her benefit? Whats strange tales lurk in the shadows of us, normal people? "He used to beat it when I was gone." No, damn your dad. Damn you. Do not I have enough tales of my own. What waves rolled underneath the calm earth? Why did everything have to be so wrong,do happy endings exist? A million words exploded in my head, conversations erupted. There were a thousand things I wanted to tell her. To hold her shoulders and say, it'll all get right. To tell her, let the past be. Were we still acquaintances, tomorrow we would again be distant. The dog ran away, fed on left over chicken pieces from the pub, it cared not for the peasants bread.

"Diya, where the hell are you.?" She abruptly stood up and moved where rest of the friend circle beckoned. Like the darkness lurking behind the lamp, I followed, silent. And life was normal again and people strangers.

Melodramatic s(n)obbery

2011-09-15T23:40:00.005+05:30

Not all those who die manifest themselves as roses, what faces become dust and are lost forever.

"Tell me it gets better." he asked his mother. "Yes son, it does." she said. It didn't for her. For him she hoped it did. Born of a broken home and a burnt house she had married a man who would never betray her. Absence of heart break is love for some. Those who do not aim heaven for they know the truth about it.

Parents divorced early during her childhood. It wasn't easy growing up in an Indian society without a father. She hadn't met him after the divorce. All she remembered was a smile and she wasn't sure if it was Rajesh Khanna in an old Hindi movie or her father. Mother had brought her up well and she had brought up her mother well. The early days, she faintly remembered, had been difficult, living in their aunt's place. Her mother's incessant wet tears. Strange how she remembered the tears more than her fathers smile. Maybe because they lasted longer.

Not a happy family her aunt's was either. Aunt was a nice woman. Not perfect but bearable and her husband an understanding man. How she wished to be born there. To have a father to teach her to ride a cycle. Interestingly she hadn't learned how to ride ever. Not that no one did teach her. Her husband had tried once but the absence of a father figure teaching her to ride was imprinted on her mind to an extent that she refused to learn. Her uncle couldn't be the father she wished. He had a autistic son to look after. Each family unhappy in its own way. Still born, still living, still surviving.

After living with her aunt for two years her mom eventually shifted out with her. A welcome relief for both her mother and aunt. Her mother got a job as a teacher in a primary school not far away. Their house with one bedroom and a hall was as big as her ambitions. Not huge but cozy enough. School was a nightmare, and like a bad dream she lived it all alone everyday. It wasn't difficult. She passed and not remarkably either. She passed and her mother wasn't bothered by teachers. Or by the bullies who mocked her everyday and threw her tiffin. In the end she resorted to emptying it before hand. Mother was too sad anyways. She had realized sadness is the natural way of life and that happiness is an aberration, the warmth of sun to be feared lest it burns you. School days flew by. School days always seem to have been fleeting in retrospect. But she remembered how days didn't seem to end like the horizon. There was always more at the end.

Her mother sobbed sometimes in her sleep. She cried sometimes during day too. Odd serials used to make her cry. Some episode some day and out poured torrents of tears, flooding the room with melancholy. She had learned her lesson. Never would the mother of a dying child, cry in front of anyone. Never would the world know of her sorrow. Something that was her and would remain her forever. It frustrated her husband to see her come out of bathroom red-eyed and not acknowledging the reason for it. It was always some speck of dirt or extra rubbing of eyes. He had quit demanding as he did with the bicycle lessons. He had learned enough in life to not attempt a female to reveal her secrets.

"Why all this misery, this over emphasis on tears?" I said to the author.

"It is easier. Sorrow is the natural state of humanity" I replied.

"Giver them some happiness. Some thing to live for except death." I persisted

"Let it be." author replied.

And then was born to the Kumar's a son. Not the most beautiful blue eyed kid, he was her kid. She didn't get an option, neither did he. Forced upon each other they learned to love the twists destiny introduced. Destiny is a bitch.

Her mother attempted suicide twice. She had to be hospitalized for a month each time. Apparently 20 sleeping pills weren't enough. She should have tried 30 second time, but then. Those 2 months she stayed with her aunt's. And each time her mom came back home, she asked her not to redo it because she hated the autistic child.

Her kid by the grace of the absent god was born normal. Normal was good enough. He was the average kid whose right everyone wants to protect. Guess it was the genes then.

"Mother will I be ok?" He wouldn't be. He had some form of cancer. The best friend of any author who wants to drop a character off. Death was imminent. Chemotherapy immediate. A ring as dark as devils halo lingered around his eyes. With cheeks sunk and hair cut he looked like a famine victim. Her heart with a sword drawn through it wept. Her soul trampled on, trembled. Her mother who had all her life wished to die lived and this poor soul was about to die. Equations of life were not balanced. Law of nature was blind indeed.

Her husband had told her what the affliction was but from his silence she knew he would die. First her father, then her mother almost and now her son. This wasn't fair. It wasn't right. This won't do. With her sword drawn against the might of life she would fight to change destiny. She would burn the pages of any book God wrote. Her son wouldn't suffer.

As her husband arrived,some doctors report in his hand, she sat next to her now dead son, . The poison had worked. The war was won, he hadn't suffered. Swift the candle had been blown.

The doctor had realized the cancer was curable.

The Thursday

2011-07-14T22:23:00.004+05:30

Some bombs blew up in some part of the town yesterday. Here I am en route to office today, fodder for evil, like a meek goat to the butcher. Realizing its a fight between death by starvation or by bomb is no comfort either. Which one will u have, Ma'am? Ah, bomb, excellent choice if I may say so. Our chef makes a brilliant version of it. A little IED here and lots of ingenuity. Do not worry though no one is going catch anybody in this town of millions.

The station's not as crowded as usual. Some wives have made their husbands stay at home and some husbands have asked their wives to rest at home. Remainder poke their heads one by one up the stairs on to the platform. No unattended bags here. They won't attack just the day after the previous attacks? They did blow up 3 consecutive bombs but still. We all will die one day won't we. Haha.

Too many new faces in the station today. All dressed for office. There is a guy in informal dress though. A red henna dyed beard. He looks shifty, wonder what's going on in his mind.

Trains are late and scarce today. A slow one creeps in slowly and is quickly occupied. The coach is full of people. That guy gets in too. Here begins the journey that might not end. Too many new faces in here. I am afraid. Having thought about it last night, I have concluded I am afraid of death. Afraid of dying. I do not wish to die. Held at the gun point I would be the one grovelling and begging for mercy. Whenever I think of myself in a blast, I prefer being the one who just survived.

Second station arrives and I am pretty sure now I do not want to die. Kill them instead. Kill those nameless faceless entities that I can forget within minutes. I try to push to the center. Let the others act as shield for me when it goes off. Let them cushion the effects of the explosion.I do not want to be a statisticians delight, a number. I do not want to be the dead body that increases the death count to 20. No one likes the dead. I do not like them. I sometimes have this nightmare where i am buried alive in a coffin. The curse of not dying. The train does eventually get crowded. People pushing against me. Which push will trigger the bomb? I try not to touch anyone. A Herculean task in this over crowded city.

Third station and by now there are so many people in here. So many faces to be figured out. Which one is from SIMI and which from ISI? Is that bearded guy from LeT? I scan for bags big enough to carry a bomb. There a suitcase on the carrier. It could carry a bomb. I stare at it and the people near it. A man stands up, fidgets with it and sits back down. Ah, if that suitcase blows up and I survive I could give a sketch of the terrorist. Strange he does not look like a Muslim though. Maybe he is. You never know. Unlike usually, breathing does not come naturally now. I make an effort, for how much longer i have no clue.

Here cometh, Kurla. The land of the leftovers. The crowd goes berserk. Everyone gets down. Everyone gets in. You know whats wrong with this country. Muslims. Why didn't they all go to Pakistan? Wasn't that the logic behind partition anyways? I am afraid of bearded people now. And the skull cap. Which one will blow up, I wait? I don't want to die. I have Muslim colleagues, mind you. I fear I couldn't vouch for them either now. You never know with these people. There's a hidden evil in each and everyone of them,. Blowing up like crackers at random places. I wonder what do they think. When they blow up will it matter i like Urdu and read Urdu poetry? What about having read so many books? Does that count? Ah, what's the point to it. There is none.

Fifth station and I no longer care what they think. I don't wish to know their demands. Take all that you want. Let me live. The person next to me is gazing around, maybe he is checking out his victims. Making sure his death is worthy of at least some condolence from the American president. There's an eerie silence today. No one seems to be smiling or chatting. No one mentions the previous nights events. As if the mere mention of it will cause it to re-occur. I do not talk either. What if it does? I do not wish to know. I do not wish to travel but I am too afraid to be afraid. It will become normal, I placate myself. The narrator never dies, I should narrate something.

At the sixth station a man just jumped from our coach on the platform. People stared. A lot was left unsaid. Did he leave something? A furtive glance roamed over the luggage area. A questioning look on every suspicious bag. I wonder what does that thin man standing at the door do after his office hours? Prime minister asked us to be calm. What was anyone going to do anyways? Will the bombers listen to his request? I do not wish to blame anyone. I have had friends from every community. I realize chemicals do not understand religion. Let the dormant fears and prejudices lay where they belong, in the deep crevices of my heart. Let them lay still until I need someone to blame for situations where I myself am powerless. Do not just end my existence. Do not let the sole reason for my death be my fate. I never realized I would get this afraid. I always thought I wouldn't care. Maybe one does when his own life is at stake. The train approaches the last station, my destination.

Dear CST, majestic and humble. Huge but not as vulgar as the Delhi station. There's something calm about it today. Some platforms lay barren. A circus no one attends. 8 policemen on one platform some sitting, some strolling. What is a man supposed to do in times like these? I walk on to my office.

Drifting on the Precipice

2011-05-24T22:37:00.004+05:30

If I was to die tonight, everything would be just right. But here I am, and all's not fine. Few years back I wouldn't have ever thought of being in a pub at this time. But here I am and all's not fine. The number of students in the lecture hall has been dwindling. Literature, as we know it, is dead. Dying perhaps. The last bastions shall fall soon. The watchmen shall go back to whence they came. To be burned between woods, the woods that could've been books, the books that could've been Hamlet.

I could've been someone rather than this pale reflection of a morose narrator. Could've been burning in the glory of literary fire, but now I sit amongst the smoke, coughing occasionally. No one cares anymore. Where is Italo Calvino? Where is Nabokov? It's 6pm in the pub and why is, bloody hell, anyone here. They don't serve whiskey the way they used to. The beer is all bitter nowadays. It was not so always. This new generation shall never know the difference and all feeble protests shall be gulped down. But I know the difference. I have lived those days. What about me?

A complaining sarcastic old man now, I was once a complaining sarcastic young man. Words desert me now. I have lost my mirth. Lets go somewhere far away into the hinterlands of humanity. Way back when everything was new. Men flying in air was a novelty to be looked upon as man's triumph over nature. Nowadays all everyone does is complain about the price of peanuts served in airplanes. Don't people realize they are flying. They are up in the sky where Gods' reside.I have gotten old. I hate myself sometimes. Sometimes I just sit all day patronizing myself.

Why am I here? What convoluted moment in the long and twisted history of mankind resulted in a bitter me mumbling to self in this dark, wooden pub? It's time I left. This pub,this life. It's time I walked away. The games lost, the pawns and the kings are resting in their box. The player survives the pieces, the player faces the ignominy solitary, of having lost the game, self and everything.

One last drink and then to the abode of the lost tragic hero we walk to.

In the house

I don't remember leaving the window open. The cool night breeze runs its soothing hand on my cheek. Look how high it blows, look where it beckons to. Stop,stop this breeze, this fleeting moment, a second of bliss in this lifetime of sadness. There's a hand on my neck choking me, an emotion in my heart bruising me. A pain I am used to.

Enough. 'tis enough. Shall not have it anymore. I shan't be humiliated by destiny, shan't be thrown around by the greater Will. Rashkolnikov killed her, I shall end my tragedy. I don't want to live. Down with the dictatorship of fortune, to hell with the divine Scribe. Where is the epilogue of every sad tale? Where lies the gun? Ah, the grim metallic reaper. So cold, so cold and yet the blood goes so warm. Why do I cry now that the revolver is held up? Why do these streams flow over the contours, now that there shall be no tomorrow to repent over? This world shall end with me. My world shall end. This sea of troubles, this outrageous fortune. I am sorry, Mom. Dad I wish it could've been better. The guns loaded. The barrel between my eyes. My last vision. This dark cylindrical barrel of the revolver, this endless hole that my life has been.Why? Why? Stop stupid tears. End this farce. Pack up the tragedy. Remember the dreams that you shall dream when you sleep, the sleep of death. What soliloquy was it? Hamlet, wasn't it. Some mortal coil. To die, to sleep. How belittling, now that I die literature deserts me too. What else shall this world take from me now that literature goes away too? Life, but life's just a trifle.No, no more, the last bastion shall not fall. How could I forget this passage? Where lies that book. Ah, let me check.

A thin line of saliva trickles in between those lips. The tears have not yet dried. Sweat, like dew drops on his face exists but merely. His face sideways with Hamlet below it. The revolver still on the table.

To die, to sleep--
To sleep--perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub,
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause. There's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life.
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
Th' oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office, and the spurns
That patient merit of th' unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? Who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,

Hope Lost.

2011-05-04T19:04:00.007+05:30

"Lets go and check out the city" Priyanka said. There was a shine in her eyes."Yeah. Sure I'll ask Mohan out too. After the 5 pm class then." "Uh, okay." Mohan liked her. He never said so but somethings need not be explicitly stated. He had been searching for a chance to meet her for quite sometime now. He's a nice guy. This was the first time I had seen him actually trying for a female. And I have known him since school.

So the clock stuck 5. Earth had made the necessary rotation. But our dear professor lingered. Like an irritating song the lecture on structure's did not seem to end. She's in my class, amongst the frontbenchers too. She's a nice girl, not shallow, neither too incomprehensible either. Like a good book she was interesting and not too deep either. But then she wasn't my type. I had loved and lost quite recently. The song got over, about time too. A silent prayer to the gods was offered by the students. With their chains broken now, the flock of boys dashed towards the door and Mohan went with them. She stayed back, so did I.

Mohan met us outside the department. He was trying to withhold his laughter. Mohan has this strange habit of grinning when faced with a female he liked. "So lets go."

I walked ahead and let the two of them come together. "How are you?" Mohan asked. "Fine and you?" She replied politely.
"Stupid class that,eh?" "Yeah, stupid professor too."
"All of them are strange here dunno what they plan on doing." "Uh hunh." "We have this strange prof who has to throw one student out every class." "Hmmm."
This was going nowhere. "Lets take a pic." I said. "Sure". She handed Mohan the camera and stood next to me smiling. He obliged. "Lets take a pic of you two now." I offered. I and the smile were replaced with Mohan and an indifference that would've ashamed gravity. Photograph taken, walk continued.

She walked next to me with Mohan on the other side of her. "Where are you from?" she asked. She knew the answer, I had answered that many times in the class. I smiled and said "Surat. Mohan's from my school too. We were in the same class. He was the topper." He wasn't. He was my best friend. He grinned. "Where are you from?" he asked. "Kolkata." Land of everything right in Indian literature and everything left in Indian politics. "Dirty and humid isn't it?" "Naah, not much you get used to it. Surat aint too dry either." "But the weather's good at least." "Weathers good in Kolkata too,hunh." And there goes the conversation. Time for photography session two. Session one was repeated with more photographs of me and her than Mohan and I desired.

It isn't as if Mohan can't talk. He talks just fine with us. We have been in debates many a time. He gets along with other boys also pretty well and was in talking terms with other females too. It was time I moved on in life too. Time for the search to begin afresh. Two females had been zeroed on. Future existed whether I wanted it to or not.

The topic of professors had been taken up afresh. With renewed vigor he lectured on his theory about the education system. He also mentioned a teacher who had mocked him in front of the whole class and how that event had scarred him forever. It had taken 3 years of friendship for him to divulge this tale to me over a drink. She never noticed. She looked ahead. She didn't care. I wished she did. I didn't want to interfere lest he take it otherwise. He asked questions, he received monosyllables. He put in some more funny incidents. I smiled, they were funny. She didn't seem to think so. What was she thinking? I know, but if I don't mention it maybe it'll go away. "Why are you boring me? I don't care." Silence reigned. Dusk was upon us. Few stars twinkled, they glistened like tear drops shed by moon. Birds squawked on their way back home, on their way back to their loved ones. I suggested returning to our abodes too. She readily agreed. Mohan followed.

An auto-rickshaw was boarded. She sat between us. As in rickshaw so in life. She was tired, so was I. Mohan had too many emotions mixed up. The steel horse reached her house in no time. Her head had just rested on my shoulder. Awkwardness is not an awkward enough word. Why this, why now? The return began. I looked at him. He was thinking something. I was trying not to.

Pessimistic Romantic

2011-04-24T02:02:00.002+05:30

I wished to move my arm but did not; I feared she, who was leaning on it, might wake up. Thus the arm remained in situ through out the bus journey. The joy of juvenile affection.

Yes, I was juvenile in college. Freedom they say is a difficult bird to cage, well so is a man’s heart. We gave our hearts’ out for free. Every girl could take it, it was up for sale. And then there was this beautiful female in our batch. They say a thing of beauty is joy forever, even if she is committed to some other guy. She was a joy to watch, to talk to. But then I stood no chance with her. You see I had gained sense by my second year of college. I had realized life is not about running after dreams. It is about realizing achievable goals and, god damn, achieving it.
She was an achievable goal. We did hang out in the same group and we had spoken before. But now things were different, I had an aim in life, temporarily. (In the future, I wanted to open up a coffee shop cum pub in bourgeoisie Mumbai but more on that later.) I wish 12th standard biology also explained the process of attracting human females, I had no clue. How is one supposed to change your daily banter in to love-talk? When does friendship become love? What the hell is this love anyways? I made efforts. I am ashamed of them of course; I was juvenile as has been mentioned earlier too. But boy, I did try. To be fair though, she didn’t mind it. I wanted her to. I wanted her to ask me to fuck off. She didn’t. I fear she was half-waiting for it.

Locate Target. Aim target. Shoot.

I love McD. Cheap food, upper-middle class crowd and A.C. I held her hands, looked into her eyes and spoke my brains out. I knew not what, but speak I did. What else was there to do? And so, was the aim achieved. Houston, the eagle has landed.
And then what? What’s a boy supposed to do? We spoke a lot. I had asked her to not to make a public declaration of our co-dependence but it seemed the college were co-signees. Everyone knew, everyone gazed. Pretty soon everyone started speaking, but then so were both of us.

Days passed by. Talking continued. We knew each other a lot. This is not good. If you stare at Monalisa a lot, you will eventually find a flaw and then whenever you look at it, the flaw will surface. The flaw will dominate the view. The twitch in the movement of brush across her face will destroy the magic of her beauty. It did for me.

I didn’t want to hint anything to her. I wasn’t in love but I wasn’t a heart-breaking ogre either. Distances increased. Pauses became frequent and talks smaller. Days passed by. CAT happened (but that’s a tale for some other day). And then one day abruptly, in cafeteria she said she didn’t love me. I didn’t break her heart after all. But suddenly the glow on her face was gone, the sparkle was lost. There was a hint of moisture in my eyes. So this is how it ends. So this is it. It’s over. When did it begin? 2 weeks after the McD episode, I think. And that folks was the end of second love story of my life.

We are friends still. Not a good position though it is. There’s always that hope. That lingering question. Don’t matter though, ‘coz I ain’t gonna ask it.

Relax

2011-01-17T23:19:00.002+05:30

Relax. This is not a thriller. This is not a conspiracy theory. Take a deep breath in, let it out now. Loosen your back, stretch your legs. If you have any urgent work now, stop reading this, finish it, then come back. This post wont change your life. If you don't have an urgent work, congratulations you have deciphered the secret of life. If it is day now, take your head a little further away from the monitor, don't strain your eyes, you won't miss a thing. If it's night switch on the light. If you smoke keep an ashtray handy. As you might have seen this post ain't too long. Anyways, you are amongst a selected few who know this post exists. Be proud your friends shall never get to read it, unless of course you make them read it, which I am sure you won't.

Now that I have instilled some self-confidence into you, I ask what do you expect the post to be? A sad love story? Why haven't we lived enough of those? What you want is something interesting, something that takes you away from your dreary existence, to a land where you reign supreme. Any bad thing/person can be just thought away. You want some support to build you dreams tonight. You may or may not find them here. This might change your life, or again this might not. Does it matter? For a few seconds you want to live someone else s life, cry over some one else sorrows, laugh at someones jokes. You want to be someone else. And once you have read this you'll be yourself again. Safe in your old familiar environment.

But let me warn you, as I said this wont change you, but it might change your environment, your habitat. For this is the story of you.

Quite a few years back was born a child...and you ended up reading this post.

That's it? This was a waste time. You demand your time back. Take it, I have loads of it and no purpose. Trouble is you expect a lot. But what are expectations if not great? Ha, this is my last line I wont give you the pleasure of deriving any pleasure from this.

A life that never did.

2010-10-03T01:56:00.003+05:30

He was a normal man. But can a man be normal? Tapas worked in a 9 to 6 job. He wasn't best at it. He knew that. He did not love his job. He knew not what he loved. At an age of 30, he had realized life was not going the way it was supposed to. He knew better things were possible. He knew he could do better. But better at what he knew not. Trouble was not that he didn't think, trouble was he did too much of it.

Tapas loved books. He devoured them. He felt them. He hated the new age Indian post MBA authors. He hated Chetan Bhagat. He hated chick-lit. Books were capable of so much greater. He had read so much better books. He loathed anyone who said they liked these books. He preferred the classics and not necessarily aged books. He wanted to be moved, to be stripped off his defenses, to be reduced to tears. He had cried while reading books. He had cried to Devdas, to Jude the Obscure, to The Last Burden. He hadn't cried though when his grand mother had passed away. He liked her but tears never gushed from their springs then. Stripped of that solace, of that belief in one's own humaneness, he was a shadow of devil. Lurking but not shamed. What sadness is the life of a flower that blooms only once in it's lifetime, but then there are lives that never do.

Every good story is essentially a sad one. Everyone dies, in the end. Of late he had been reading Crime and Punishment. If Rashkolnikov, could do it, so could he. All he needed was the perfect subject, the perfect murder victim. He wanted to kill someone, to know he had the strength to do it, to know he could take live or forgive. For isn't the power over someone Else's life the greatest power. To know the swift movement of one's hand could end a life's story. To know one could undo the great creation of God. He wanted to not just script but perform the greatest crime. The untraceable murderer, the unmotivated murder.

Dear World, I hate you.

2010-08-20T03:25:00.001+05:30

Half the articles in this book will be love stories. Boy meets girl, falls in love. Hearts break.

Is it just the hilly views of our tiny frontier or is that all that our minds fathom at this age? Sun will shine, so shall the moon. You’ll write and be forgotten soon. I hate love stories. I hate those who write love stories. I hate the stupid smiles. I hate the cheesy dimples. Yes, god-damn it, I hate them. Yes, I have taken the God’s name in vain. But isn’t He vain. Giving us life at his will and taking it away similarly. Either you don’t give it or if you have given it don’t just take it away when you deem fit. So much for the ultimate freedom of human choice, all just liberal-atheist propaganda. There’s no ultimate freedom, you weren’t born by your own choice, and there cannot be ultimate freedom. You will read this, you will toss it away. You might not read this, you will toss it away.

Nothingness has an artistic beauty that no thing can ever obtain. Hence, I wish to write nothing worthwhile here. Maybe it will add some beauty to this mushy creature. Maybe it will be tossed outside by the editor, for who wants to read nonsensical articles now. I do. There are too many sensibilities, latent prejudices, too many do-gooders, to many hard-working people around. Too many wanna be messiahs-if-i-had-the-time people now. Be bad, be nice, be human. Be whatever you are. Or rather please don’t be what you are, ‘coz you might just end up being the prick of the classroom.

I hate you. I hate myself too if that is any consolation. I hate the concept of the all devouring rain or the all destroying heat. I hate having to wake up in the morning. I hate waking up late feeling lazy. This isn’t a hate mail. It’s a love letter to all you self-condescending goth/emo punks out there. Don’t worry folks you aren’t the only one who hate yourself, I hate you too, now quit whining and get me a glass of scotch on the rocks please.

But sometimes I hate the fact that love is so hard. I hate that hearts break. I hate love matters so much. Do away with it. Love is not the way. Love is the by-lane that leads to nowhere. People fall in love and rise out of it. But everyone does fall in love. The silent guy in the end corner seat has too. That cheerful ugly girl has blushed at glances too. They too think people are thinking of them. Ah, load of non sense.

Yes it’s getting a tad too long. If you wish to stop reading, do so now, rest of it is as empty as the above. Or maybe it isn’t. Maybe this is the foundation stone to the greatest story ever told. Hang on Shakespeare in me is yet to wake up from his alcohol induced slumber. Naah, chuck it. He ain’t waking up any time soon. Leave it now. Turn the page. That’s it. Nothing more here now. Bugger off.

Run Smith Run

2010-07-24T23:27:00.004+05:30

Do you want to know how this ends? Do you want to know what the F*** is going on? I'll tell ya sonny, I'll tell ya well good, how this goes down...

A truck rolled up the avenue. Nothing unusual about it, except that this was a a truck rolling up a regular avenue. It slowly came to a stop in front of Smith's house. Birds had been awakened as had been Smith. "Holy shit! a truck? The whole bloody truck?" The money bag flew out of the upper cupboard and in to the socks went the Smith & Wesson M&P9 pistol. This was the back up one. When in trouble, have a back up. Latter was what Smith hadn't planned for. He had not planned that today would happen. It was supposed to be a clean sweep. The whole gang had been blown up in the explosion in the yard, he had escaped with the dough but then out of the graveyard shift rolls out the good old Truck. Why the truck? How come the whole damn truck? Where were men enough for it?

Doors swung open, both the door of the truck and the back door of the house. As Smith jumped the fence he heard the front door fall and thick soled shoes thumping on it. Idiots, ha, hadn't he told them many a time, always block both the entrance. Thank god, they didn't learn. Thank God, he had a back up car a few yards ahead. He ran like his life depended on it, well it did and he did run pretty fast. The few female joggers smiled at him, where were they when he jogged every morning?

As he took the turn he heard something whizz past him, a look back and there were the cars galloping towards him and people in there firing at him. The cars too? The truck and the cars? What was it the rebirth? The Second Revelation?

When in doubt go left. And left he ran into someone's back garden, jumped his second fence. They couldn't get him. He was the best, that's why the job had been given to him. Run, Lola, Run. It was a beautiful morning, specially the clouds, they had some beautiful shapes. It was a good day to die. It was a good day to live. Ah, spring, the first day of spring. The rye field used to look so cheerful as the rye swayed. Maybe, everything does count a little more than we think.

He had lost the car following him and had found the car that was to be his ride. Silently, he congratulated himself on being so professional. Experience does teach a thing or two. A few seconds more and he will have vroomed out of the newbies' reach. The black Chevrolet shined in it's full glory, bestowing upon it's viewer a sense of pride. He pushed the handle of the car. It wouldn't budge. The bloody keys, those harbinger of sorrow of remorse unknown, in the bloody table drawers. May untold woe and tragedy befall those that remain hidden in their dark corners when needed. Life is a tragedy on repeat loop.

Well then, again, Run Lola Run. Now what? What was the back up to the back up plan?
...
Contd.(Hopefully!)

Pakistan within

2010-05-11T01:02:00.003+05:30

Dear Banno,

I still remember, how beautiful you looked when sleeping. Those petite lips contracting into a pretty smile, eyelashes fitting so perfect into each other, the face so peaceful. Of course, I haven't been able to sleep of late, I can't seem to forget the cross-roads near Karim's shop. Hope you remember that's where all of us friends use to hangout together. Ah, the good old days. But then most of my life has been nothing but re-collection of those days in here.

You always asked me what I thought of as I waited near the shop, for you. Why, dear it's you I thought of. I didn't mention it then , I should have. That tiny lane you came from, bordered by open sewers which used to flood during the monsoon,ah, what a stench. Look what I have started doing flowing away with the sewage.

I never said I love you, but then they said it before I could and then I could never mention it, could I? As I waited for you, while near by Ganges rolled on in all its holy majesty, I thought of saying my heart out to you. What happened then? Why am i here and you out there married, i guess, by now?

Pakistan had just been formed, my dear. That eternal damned moth-ridden state and a Pakistan had formed in the village, in all our hearts. The Great divide from which only blood migrated but the souls were left behind. One night a horde of 15 Muslisms came to my house and threatened to kill me if I didn't stop seeing you. How furious I was, how bloated in youthful anger? I promised to chop the head off every damned Muslim who said that but then i remembered your dad had intervened the day before and made the horde go away. The borders had been drawn, the migration was inevitable. But we were in India, this was the secular land, the land of a million religions, of religions people hadn't heard of, of religion people can't talk against. Why then did I have to go?

When I told you of the incident, you asked me to stay, to prove them wrong, to do something brave. Oh, how I wished to turn into the Aurangzeb and chop the heads of the dissidents, of anyone who dared to speak against you. Maybe, you wanted me to run away with you, I can never know. But that evening, when I went back home, my folks were very scared for my life. That same night a bigger horde came in and dared us to show my face so that they could kill me on-the-spot. My parents caring as they were hid me in the basement. They trapped the volcano amongst old boxes. Your dad had again intervened and saved the day. As I came out of my shelter, the lull was contagious. It was decided that I should leave my village. I should go somewhere, to Bombay.

I never said good-bye, did i? It was all so sudden, so out of the blue, but then I had to go for the sake of my parents if nothing else. A hurried suitcase was packed, the same one in which I had stared few hours back seething with rage and now, I stare with growing disappointment in life. With a caravan of 10-15 Hindu uncles and Karim I was sent off in the night local. As is reached station I had vague hope that you would come, your dad must have told you. And you, the unfettered, would break free and be with me. We would run away as you had planned, from this village which was mine but never ours. As the train gave its first puff, I thought I smelt you or maybe it was the banks of Ganges. As I lost the vision of the platform I knew there was to be no more Banno, there was to be no more me.

Mumbai, yes they call it Mumbai now, it has as many rats in its gutters as humans on the roads and equally filthy are both. The first few days were terrible. The nightmares of people pounding on my door, of you drowning in the gutter like Ganges, of you shirking off the news of my absence. But then a man has to eat doesn't he. Ah, life caught up on me and now its only when I am sleeping do i remember my village. I am afraid the only time I will forever be en my village will be in my dreams, the longest dream ever dreamed, in the eternal sleep.

But that's a very sad note to end on for a woman who must have a kid or more by now. Hope you bloom forever and forget me. Hope the star-less sky the engulfs my nights, lay's not a finger on your roof. Hope you do remember me. Hope, the hope never dies.

Falteringly yours,
Karn

Letters

2010-05-02T01:40:00.004+05:30

Dear God,

Dear God, my dog died today. Could you please return him to me. You know my mother said, everyone who dies goes to you, so i thought you might have him right now. If you could please send him back, sir. I know it might be some trouble but you know i promise to help you out henceforth. I could... I will be good now onwards. I will do all my homework from now on. I will clean my room. I will not even cry when i am hurt. I will never shout at anyone. I will not make fun of ELijah. I promise God. I know i have not been the best i could have been.

I am a kid sir. I might have made some mistakes but will not anymore. I love him, i love pucho. I will not be angry at him when he wets my face by licking me in the morning. I have no friends other than him. I used to play with him every evening and if he does not want that I will not. I will ...I will do anything you want. I am so sorry...i didn't mean to hurt you or him, if i ever have. Please forgive me.

If you cannot return him, at least pat him for me once. You know he likes playing ball and used to go with me to walks in the garden. Could you please take him to garden once in a while. I know you must have huge beautiful gardens everywhere up there. Or if you could take me up to him. I could come up there to look after him, otherwise he would get lonely. But then mother would cry as she did when grand mother passed away. Please do send Pucho back.

Mommy said you lived in heaven and everyone who dies goes to you. Could your dead postman take this along when he come here next. And i didn't eat that cookie, the servant did, though when i told Mommy so she thought i was lying and scolded me, hope you know that and are not punishing me just for that. I promise not to eat cookie ever again. I am sleepy now, have to go to school tomorrow. Hope you get this letter, Please send pucho back, please,please,please,...

The Sun's Charioteer - 2

2010-03-18T21:40:00.003+05:30

"If you dare question my birth, ask it to my strength, to my sun like aura and my armor - earring. Read my history, if you have the capability in my shining persona. If Arjuna is the mighty Kshatriya he claims to be, then let him come forward and prove it to me. I will let you know my glorious clan after I have acquired his bow and arrow from him." Kripacharya answered " You are getting angry for no cause, dear Karn for only a ruler of a kingdom has the right to fight such a mighty Rajputa."

Unable to face the disgrace, an unquiet occupied Karn. Suyodhana rose "It's a sin that you mock him so, a man who glows like a heavenly orb. It is difficult to realize the power of a river, of a warrior for what is a Kshatriya's real test if not his skills? With pious acts do men become great, only cowards forever beseech their fate. Who did not fail to admire when Karn walked ahead, did not a reverend silence fall upon the crowd? Karn may be a charioteer's son, a Sudra but pale in front of him are all the royalties. Is it fair to jibe at such a jewel of the earth, at such a greatness amongst us mere mortals? If u deem him not fit to be brave without a kingdom, let this be heard by all, I bestow over him the kingdom of Angadesha." The spectators went wild as he lifted the crown from his head and placed it upon Karn. He, the poor lad he had always been, unable to cope with this sudden twist in fate fell into Suyodhana's arms. The latter embracing him said " Friend, why do you act so, for such a trivial reason. This gift of kingdom would not matter to me a bit if in return you just give me your hand in friendship." Karn melted with emotions " Oh, to have a friend too. My dear friend, henceforth we shall be one soul in two bodies. The pride you have bestowed upon me, for the first time in my life can I raise my head in this crowd. How will i repay the mighty gift you give me, O friend tell me of what use can i come to you?"

Humanity flooded across these friends, for haven't humans forever lauded courageousness. No matter how you try to pull down a man, the society does recognize true greatness when at hand. Everyone started showering praises on Karn and soon the stadium was full of flowers and saffron. Karn baffled by these praises bowed and the stadium erupted with the chants of " Long Live Angesh(god of Angadesh)! Long live Angesh!" "King Angesh!" Unable to bear this attack to his ego, Bheema said in absence of anything worthwhile "This is the fault of our society, raises anyone to these exalted position. How can a charioteer's son rule a kingdom?" Duryodhana replied "Bheema! You call yourself the righteous yet why do you murmur so, why do you poison your heart such? For how is a man great if he cannot help others, for acts are the true tests of a man not his birth clan. Wasn't Karn correct when he asked you about your father, if you know the mystery do enlighten us so. This fault in society I cannot overlook, this sudden blindness when measuring their own sins." Kripacharya trying to placate the scene, said "Shame, what slanderous talks you are exchanging. Look dusk is upon us, the sun has almost melted, let us retreat to our abodes now."

So walked the crowd singing praises of Karna to their homes. Only Guru Drona, walked separate along with Arjuna "Alas Arjuna, Who is this new contender we have to face now?"

P.S- Karn was born with an armor attached to his upper abdomen and a pair of earrings.

The Sun's Charioteer

2010-03-17T22:26:00.004+05:30

Henceforth I will try to paraphrase two pages out of the epic poem 'Rashmirathi' by Ramdhari Singh Dinkar daily. Rashmirathi in Hindi stands for the Sun's Charioteer. Ramdhari Singh Dinkar was hailed as the "Rashtriya kavi' or the national poet. In this poem, the poet has depicted certain scenes out of the great Indian epic, 'Mahabharata', pertaining to Karn. Karn was the illegitimate son of Kunti and the Sun God. Kunti since she was unmarried when she asked for a son as a boon which was fulfilled in the form of Karn, had set her son adrift in the river to prevent her from being condemned by the society.

Salutations to the man who harbors virtues of the eternal fire for No matter where a flower grows it is still heart warming. A wise man is he who does not recognize the differences of birth, great is he who has learned the art of divine charity. The real warrior is one who knows no fear, the real ascetic is one who is alight with the flame of renunciation.

The wise do not gain praise by showing off their high birth but earn the world's praises by showing of their talents. The society might mock those of lower clan but make their mark they do on history's plan.

His father was Sun and mother Kunti Kumari. To one of such a birth, life could only provide a a broken wicker basket set adrift in river. Brought up amongst charioteers and even without the taste of his mother's milk on his lips, yet Karn grew up to be the greatest among the valorous. Strong of body, sentimental of heart, merciful by nature,not of his birth but of himself was Karn proud. Knowledge of Shastras and of weapons he had full, with his brilliance he gave knowledge in this field a mighty pull. He prayed in his corner, far from the maddening crowd of cities. Selflessly lost in his prayers and practicing his skills day and night, Karn bloomed like the unknown flowers in a forest. Not all that is brilliant grows in the royal gardens for the nature keeps it's dearest deep hidden in its bosom. But hidden in the darkness how long can the sun hide, for one day with the rise of youth rose the son divine.

Showing off his skills, Arjuna stood in the stadium while the crowd cheered. Tearing away the crowd, Karn stood up to the former,sneered. "Amongst this accolade why do you grow so proud? Here let me show my skills, my clout.Here watch what all I am capable of and realize how little have you explored these realms" With such vigor Karn displayed his acumen, watched with amazed wonderment Ajuna and every other men and women.

With the chants of 'Sadhu, Sadhu' the crowd grew wild. The royals in their balconies shifted and sweated in fear. The Pandavas, Dronacharya, Bheeshma all worried in their seats while Suyodhana(Duryodhana) alone rose up on his feet and congratulated Karn."'Brilliant. Bravo!" Karn then challenged Arjuna to wrestle him in the very ground but the latter's Guru signaled him to remain seated. Kripacharya (Arjuna's Guru) said' Listen rebel,Arjuna is the grand child of the noble Lord Bharata and you young man are unknown. A proud Kshatriya, Rajput is Arjuna. Do not expect him to fight just any man in the crowd. If you wish to fight Arjuna, then do not feign innocence, break this silence and enlighten us about your heritage, your lineage." "My clan, Alas my clan!" with these thoughts Karn fell silent, with bitter eyes looked up at the sky and proclaimed "Lineage, Birth, that's all that matters to the meek. What do i know of my lineage for my might and my valor is my clan. You might be clad in golden robes but your heart are smeared with ink. Do you feel no shame, when you ask me my father's name. I am the son of a charioteer but who is Arjuna's father i ask? If an ounce of pride do you posses then go ahead answer don't let my question go in vain. Reciting your lineage you walk with your head held high while trampling the poor underneath without uttering a sigh. With fear of those of lower births shiver your souls and it is you who asked for the students thumb."

A dirty Sheet IV

2010-03-14T04:52:00.002+05:30

How beautiful is this concept of a full-stop. The reader never knows how long the gap between a full stop is.The two sentences could have been separated by a year or by mere moments. Yes, it has been time since i wrote last. Life suddenly engulfs you and like a wave takes you far away from the shore and somewhere in the sea it leaves you alone. All alone to swim back against the same wave to the shore. Guess i have reached shore at last. I read these sheets before i start typing them and i believe the mad man had had some education. Where? How? I guess we shall never know. Anyways, you do not care about my stories, so we shall move ahead with the diaries:

"
Gandhi came by yesterday. Sad old man he is now. Killed by his son, for wasn't he the Father of the Nation. The anguish of partition had already obliterated his former belief in humanity, the bullet was just a means to dispose off his human body. I didn't ask him, but he sat down beside me anyways. What was I supposed to tell him? Console him for his nation was not all that bad or question him about his anti-mechanization , anti-Patel tirades? He spoke first, "Times have changed but have the people? How does my nation do now?". I said reassuringly "Baapu (what else was i supposed to call him? Mohandas? Gandhi?), poverty has decreased, this is a stronger nation now. Everything's just fine". For what use was troubling this frail old man with your problems. "Do you remember me?" I was taken aback. Remember me? Ha, i remembered you, you who are imprinted on Rupee notes were in my palms once, but then now i have lost even that touch with you. "They do, baapu. You are remembered everywhere, from parks to streets to our currency notes. They see to it no one forgets you." He wasn't amused, with downcast eyes and a sigh he sat silent now. It was morning already, the rush had begun, the queue for taxi had started forming. This town teeming with people had begun the daily cycle already. "You all question me don't you? They are angry with me. My sons doubt me, my grandchildren mock me. If I was to be derided by future generations, I wish someone had drowned me to have no processions after my death, to have no grave. Do i know not that you think i am a coward, a hapless old fool. I who...". Suddenly he choked on tears that did not shed from his eyes, the emotions exhausted him. The dogs had formed an audience for this sketch. I was at a loss of words, I was supposed to be seated at the station entrance,begging now. "Baapu, they don't mock you Baapu. It's just that they are juvenile yet and haven't realized your reasoning yet. They will understand someday. Be proud that at least they are doing good. For haven't children always thought themselves better than their parents and haven't they always done the opposite of what their fathers asked them to do?" He looked questioningly at me. "What about you?" "What about me?" "Do you hate me?" I sat silent. Did I? Did I hate the guy who wasted his life, his family, himself for this nation of mine? Did i abhor his non-violent victimization of a nation? He kept looking at me with eyes which understood the meaning of the silence. A tremor passed through my body, had i betrayed him? Should i question him? And he was gone. Like the memories of childhood he had faded away. The distinct un-easiness remained with me through out the day. The collection in the begging bowl was good today, maybe because of the pain reflected in my eyes reminiscing his words. But then these are changed times and you all have changed. Have you? "

And then there was dawn...

2010-02-10T23:44:00.003+05:30

Closed the kitchen window and walked up the stairs. She was putting finishing touches to her make up. She saw me in the mirror looking at her and said 'Do i look alright?'. I replied 'Darling, you look wonderful tonight.' It had been years since we went out to a party. Taking care of the kids, the initial hectic years of the job had taken their toll. But at last, we were free, the kids had gone to college and jobs. After 25 years of marriage we had time for us alone. I had met her in university, smitten with love had married in few months. Just out of the varsity had got a job in an uptown firm and since then life had been just average. A beautiful wife at home, two average kids and a good job. But of late, something had been missing. The load of work had decreased, so had more free time. The kids weren't home, hence the dinner table was quite, the house lacked the vigour of past days. I had changed over the years, she hadn't. She still loved me, why i know not. I feared i was no longer the same man she had fallen in love with, i feared i was deceiving her. How long could this facade last, what if she recognizes that i am no longer what i used to be. I wished no longer to be here, to be somewhere far, into nothingness. I wasn't exactly the smartest person in town. She deserved better. I felt guilty, guilty of being loved, guilty of having stolen her youth, guilty of not being in love, guilty of not loving her enough. This wasn't the life we had wanted in our college days, this wasn't what she had wanted. So i had failed at last. So now i was the average bloke now, not the prince she had wanted. I felt cold, the room had lost the brightness, everything seemed dull. Of late everything had lost the joy, the misery had been killing me. When would she just walk away? Then what would i do? The misery of it all, the blasted patheticness, why this drowning in the sea of emotions. I couldn't have foreseen this thing happening to me. With downcast eyes i waited, with a broken heart i waited.

She stood up from her stool in front of the mirror, came up to me, brushed her lips against my cheek and said 'Love.' and looked at me. The wind was no longer chilly, the room was perfectly painted, the world was at my feet and i at her's. The dam broke but only a few droplets got through my eyes onto my cheek and she smiled. She smiled and all was not wrong with the world. She smiled and there was nothing else i could have ever wanted. She smiled and I fell in love again.

A dirty Sheet III

2010-01-05T22:54:00.002+05:30

Please continue this. Please do. You readers don't care about anything but your comfort do you? I lost my grandfather,but , ah, what do you care? You just want your daily dose of stories. Indeed the self-centred creatures of the beggar's diaries you are. Here, have your letters.

"Sun rose early today. Disturb my daily trysts it does. Poor Christy couldn't sleep well. He is in a bad mood today. Luna had to rush away early, mid discussion. Birds just won't shut up today. Jesus had it easy, a day of pain for an eternity of bliss, it is I who has to bear you everyday, listen to you bickering everyday, going on and on about your petty troubles and in the morning too. Leave your sadness at home, don't fret over fiddling details in the morning at least. There comes the ugly woman. She drops a coin at me everyday and tries to be kind. Ah, but all the generosity of the world won't make you pretty, lady. Get away from me don't ruin my already dim morning. This crowd, this continous noise, this constant bedlam, run away from my space, run away to you ant holes, to your kennels, to your pyres and burn forever in your fury. This is an angry city, these furious times. They cry not due to their pains but due to their inability to anything about it, as do I everyday. The day was an archetypal shitty day( i use this in lieu of any suitable word). Everything was going wrong until, ha you guessed it, i know what you want to hear now, i know what your heart desires to read now, you believer of fairy tales, yes until she walked by. She threw a glance at me and quickly looked away and what a glance it was. I can't think of how many men have slept a sleepless night because of her. The face that launched a thousand ships. She was Helen, she was Cupid's mistress, she was destroyer of households. Suddenly the day grew dark and all the sun's rays lived for only one mission, to light her face, or rather she was the bestower of light. And then she was no more. Lost amidst this flood of ugly bodies, my beauty was lost. Christy, is sulking today. Luna, was hidden in her curtains of cloud too. But i don't need you all, i have my visions to give me shelter, her beauty to cradle me through lonely nights, her glance for eternity. As these eyes relinquish their right over vision, I know the fairy sleeps somewhere bereft of any remembrance of this poor soul."

P.S. My apologies for my earlier tirade. I have of late, lost all my mirth. You don't care about my personal sorrows just as i don't care about yours. Fair enough. Sleep in the memory of a beautiful vision.

Sermons

2010-01-02T02:47:00.002+05:30

Earth is back to the same position it was last year. Calendar wise, new year. I hear people moaning the total lack of change witnessed in everything. My dear friends or acquaintances or strangers, nothing will change just because arbitrarily assigned numbers on your watch changed. What did you expect the sky to turn a rosy orange, clouds to take perfect shapes, air to smell sweet? If there's a god, he must be pretty pissed off right now. He must be wondering, "What do you want from me?".

I sometimes don't understand this world. I don't understand why are strangers to be feared, to be looked at with suspicion, why are people with lower social standing to be taken to have lesser understanding of life's nuances, why can't we just smile more often? The guy honking his car horn may just be tensed right now, maybe his some dear one is at hospital and he just wants to reach the place as early as possible. Smile at the people walking by you, you never know they might be feeling depressed and wondering if everyone hates them. Your smile can change lives. Remember seeing a child smile or laugh brightened up your day once? Return the favor to humanity. Its easy to come back to your corner and type your depression into a laptop and be praised by fellow beings for being a person of excellent skills but smile at a stranger and you might actually make someone happy. Listen to middle aged or old men rant about their lives. It makes them feel wanted, it gives them a hope that they are not actually worthless, they have not wasted all their life over nothing. It might be interesting, you may learn something. You are not so busy to have no time for other humans. I do not ask for you to give any dedicated time for humanity, just these small acts and world will be a better place for someone.

Have fun this year. Let's break some resolutions this year. Let's not just exist, let's live. :)

A dirty sheet II

2009-12-23T23:11:00.002+05:30

It's been sometime since I attempted working on the mad man's letters. Too dense for me I suppose. Haven't been able to look at beggars the same way I used to earlier. The days are getting colder and my heart refuses to come out of the abyss. Haven't I pain enough of my own, why did that letter have to fall in my hand. Silence is a cruel bride, my friends mock me now,"Uff, this gadha won't speak sense now? All senti venti now are you? Chal be, drop this affectations man, let's have beer." Beer? I stare at them, that poor old man might have died of thirst for all I know and you want beer. I don't say that,of course, i am too ashamed of my lamentations. Anyways, it's time now for me to type the next few lines from the letter.

"Sun is an affectionate enemy. With its dawn the birds start twittering, the humans start crowding my alleys, the harbinger of noise,of chaos, of multitudes of simians, most yet to climb into human corridors. It takes away from me my darling moon, my precious, my love, my frigid betrothed. She listens to me every night, never complaining, never burdening me with her woes. Every night she calls me to her, My dear Luna calls her lunatic lover to her and we drift in these clouds while the dogs bark to prevent ordinary beings from hearing our conversations. Ours is a relation that has lasted, my sole companions in these lonely nights. Christy sleeps early you know, he has to get inspiration for all those epics he writes. My pens scribbling used to disturb him so now i write not in the bus stop but under the tree. But today I sit under the bus stop's asbestos canopy. Why do i write? What has the world given me in lieu of which i give it in these musings? Don't write, shun these words that They might read, store all your knowledge inside you, you fool,They have forsaken us and we shall discard them now. They are the fools,my friend, you are the normal being. One day We will destroy them. Ah, but dear Christy i was Them a lifetime back. I know what these rats feel. I know these men, I know love. This solitary tear on my cheeks is just a drop in the ocean of world's sorrow. I am inconsequential. What is a dust particle in the huge machine of humanity. Christy sleep now dear. Sleep, tomorrow will be a new day. Tomorrow we might find love."

P.S. the last lines seems to have been added later

Sorry, my friends I haven't the stamina to go on further. Sleep my friends, tomorrow who knows we might find love.

A dirty sheet

2009-12-02T23:03:00.005+05:30

Found this letter in hands of a dead pauper on my way from station in the morning. A very dirty paper written on, in almost illegible handwriting. Here I reproduce it to the best of my cryptographic skills and i dare apologize in advance for I ain't too good in this job:

"I am a mad man! Yes, go ahead mock me, look at me with disgust, with contempt. Pity me, ain't I a filthy creature! Not worthy of being called a human, you miserable loathsome ants! All you self-appointed guardians of morality and decency, all you liberal cowards hiding behind your purdah of self inflicted non-violence, all you extremists killing a part of your own God for His sake. You rich snotty got-here-by-my-own-hard work jackasses, u sympathy-hungry lazy destitute bastards! It is I who face the wrath of nature everyday, it is I who return to her every night. It is I who live in sync with her. Look at that bird, how beautiful it is, how free in it's cares, how unchained in it's flight. Yesterday I saw a fledgling being eaten by a dog. It was raining then. Ah! the pitter-patter of rain drops like the footsteps of people walking from station in the morning. Chris is a nice man, u know under-appreciated and that sort. Christy? who? You ask You egocentric homo-sapien. Christopher Marlowe?? Author of Doctor Faustus? Bah! leave it. He's melancholic nowadays all that ado about Shakespeare bloke. But u thought I was mad didn't you. Yes! Yes! I am mad, idiot I am not. I have read, read a lot. All those posters you prima donnas don't care to even look at, those old torn books you discard,I read them. Chris and I have long discussions about life usually. All this talking and discussion makes my throat dry. But where do I get water to drink from? You don't care, do you? No one does. Throw a coin at me, even, you won't and cry you have to if you have less to drink, you will. I hate you, I hate you as much as you hate me or less for what does a mad man want but to get sane but what is a sane man nowadays but an insane.

Incoherent mutterings of lost soul

2009-11-09T23:42:00.004+05:30

I have always have had this strange belief that one day by some improbable chance by some fluke of destiny i will be asked the question "who wrote tragical history of doctor faustus?" and whilw rest of the world looked foolishly i would proudly stand up and answer "Elementary sir, why of course Christopher Marlowe." When i was in college i begged to destiny to let there be a question related to novels i had read to be present in the exam which was on the next day for 50 marks. Just once,please let me get what i want. But alas,destiny aint a fan of mine as is obvious. I wonder has reading books ever done me a favor. Wouldn't it have been better if i had rather been a sportsperson. Females dig them, it gets you scholarships into colleges, you stay fit and it has mannish feel about it. On the other hand reading books is cowards profession. Exuding emotions depending on the authors dreams,how weak is that. TO be fed on someone else's experiences, to be forever dependent on someone else's appreciation to judge yourself.What has reading books given me? But then i read books because i like them, because i understand them, because they are far more true to me than mortals. They say books help you discern humanity but doesn't playing on the field with 10 other men help u comprehend humanity better. Maybe i am a midnight rambler. Don't read this rather punch a wall, the physical pain is far more true and pure than any emotions that can be written about.

Every human has a second person inside of him, someone to whom he can tell all their secrets. Some people even have 3 such personalities, but the real problem arises when these inner beings start sharing their secrets with you.

I am a very adept liar, in fact i lie so well that i myself start believing in them. Maybe the preceding statement was such a lie.

Humans have a inherent weakness for losers. we always relate to the jovial loser.In fact if truth be told devil has far more fans than God shall ever have. For we have far more experience of losing than of winning. We know what it feels like to be on the other side. To be chided by the winning party. The fierce wish to disappear from the scene if we have lost an event. To smile when all you felt was hatred for the winner, to be disgusted when the winner acted modest and tried to congratulate you with all the condescending acts he could garner. to be repulsed when the winner shouted out jovially to celebrate his victory. We all want to be winners but obviously we cant forget what we really are.

Sometimes when i talk to my third self, i ask it "why do you write? You believe what you write in.Why does the world need to know? Why waste time to convert your multiple thoughts into black and white text. To bind those free flowing thoughts, these rivulets of dreams with the chains of grammar and prose." My inner self blushed and says "To remind the world that you exist."

Love's Abyss

2009-10-15T22:54:00.002+05:30

I hold you so delicately between my fingers and as I look at you I recall all those days, gone now forever, when you and I sat all alone in our own private universe. No one else but both of us. You look so innocent so delicate as I touch you with my lips. You have been here before and you are the last one who'll ever be. My parents warned me about falling in love with you, the world seemed against us. But I pursued you with a thirst unknown and when at last you reciprocated my love there was no turning back. You repaid my efforts with sleepless nights, bouts of insane creativity. I used to be so tired after work, my head hurt, my back ached, life was a eternal night. Then u came along with a flame and lit my stars away. A moment with you and it was a new day. I missed u in between work, stood up from the dreariness of the mindless slogging for a break every now and then, just to be near you. Will you forgive me if I let you go now. Can these chains be broken can we be driven apart? I don't want to. Everyone shunned me but you never left my side, without you I have no where to hide. Runaway world, for my love u will never understand i bet, there’s no one in this world I love more than my cigarette.

Life's going fine. Work keeping me busy most of the days. SOmedays have cipher to do rest of the days i slog. Gimme some characters and something u would like in a story and let me tryin weavin one. :)

Dusk and Dawn

2009-09-13T23:29:00.002+05:30

Mumbai is a mad place and it is fascinating. Not as in your face as Delhi. It is subtle, it is welcoming, it is so obvious yet so contradictory. It does not have the history Delhi has and maybe Thank God for it.

I was traveling by a local train 9pm at night. Had been out to check out some flats for residence purpose. Few kids hopped aboard the train at some station along. Filled with their childish enthusiasm, they were creating quite a ruckus in the coach. They got down at the next station and ran along the train as it began to depart. Just when the train picked up speed they climbed back in the coach. Reminding me of the passions of youth, the futile actions of young. The carefree life that i left as i walked outside my college campus. How beautiful are the times gone by, how strange are the times you live in. No time to stand and stare now there is, and when you had the time who actually stand's and stare's. You rather run down some odd gully, play cricket in some street, let the wind blow through your hair and the sun tan you. What does a child know of letting the scenery, the surrounding seep in the body. And now when i want to , i have no time. As i let these thoughts run through my head, a middle aged guy looked at me and remarked 'look at these kids running wildly.' I smiled in response. He continued 'Shame on them. Their parents must have let them out thinking they are of to studies or tuition. What has become of kids nowadays.' Then it hit me, how different can humans perceive the same event. He was right in his own manner, he had kids at home who made the same excuse. What this event's significance was to him, was completely different from mine. A parent's concern, a father's worry who returns home late at night and has to take his child's statement as truth. This man was a child once, this man had been through his youth, this man had grown up. Will i too? Will i loose the shackles of youth and be free or forever get caught in the web of adulthood? Will i recognize the change or be one with it? Contradictions, stupid theories, when will it all end? Dusk and dawn are the same event just reversed in time.

Cleanin the Closet Series - II

2009-07-05T02:02:00.003+05:30

Lines from Lower Depths by Maxim Gorky

Satin: Thermopylae! Thieves are the finest people in the world!
Kleshch (sullenly) : Money comes easy to them . They don’t work.
Satin: Lots of people get money easy, but not many give it up easy. Work? Find me work it’s a pleasure to do, and maybe I’ll do it. Hm .Maybe. When work is a pleasure, life’s a joy

Everyone wants others to have a conscience, but nobody wants one himself.

We were honest in the past the year before the last.

We wake up with a groan, and sleep with a moan.

Belonging to the gentry’s like having smallpox – a person may recover, but the scars remain.

I tried it once, getting married. It’s like jumping through a hole in the ice. Once you’ve done it, you’ll never forget it.

I don’t see why we should pull people apart who are fighting. They’d stop themselves when they get tired. It’d be better to let them slug each other as much as they liked. They’d remember it and wouldn’t be so quick to pick a fight next time.

Every morn the sun arises…
Still me cell is filled with gloom…
Day and night the prison sentries,
Ah-h!
Watch the window of my room

Guard my window at your pleasure
I will never run away!
Though I languish for my freedom
Ah-h!
Chains are forcing me to stay!

There is if you believe there is; there isn’t if if you don’t. Whatever you believe in, that’s what there is.

You have no heart, woman. A woman ought to have a heart. Us men are beasts, you’ve got to… you’ve got to tame us and teach us.

If no paths can be found that leads
To the realms of sacred truth,
Then blessed the crazed mind
That brings men soaring dreams.

If tomorrow the sun should cease
To light the earth with its rays
Tomorrow some madman’s dream
Would illuminate the world.

Here I have no name. Can you understand how it hurts to lose one’s name? Even dog’s have a name…

Natasha: Everybody has it bad. Don’t I see it?
Kleshch: Everybody? That’s a lie! Not everybody. If it was everybody it wouldn’t be so bad. Then you wouldn’t mind.

If a person’s worth depended on how much work he did, a horse would be better than any human – goes on hauling day in and day out without a word.

A person can be a believer or not, just as he pleases. That’s his business. A person’s free to choose.
He pays for everything himself: for believing, for not believing, for loving, for being clever. A person pays for everything himself, and that’s why he is free.

A good fellow can be stupid, but bad fellow has to be smart.

Cleanin the Closet series- I

2009-07-05T02:02:00.001+05:30

In this series i shall try to finish up all the unfinished drafts that clutter my dashboard..

The ability to forget events is a man's greatest triumph against nature.... how easy it is to forget what u deem forgettable.... nature takes all the pains to give a man all the experiences,moments and man, alas, forgets... i don't know whats worse living everyday just for the moment, with no fear of consequences or living everyday for the next, to lose the present for the moment that shall never be... man is a strange creature... so unfathomable, so pure, so sad, yet so joyous.. i am unable to fathom is life a tragedy or a farce.... a low blow joke of destiny... the fact that we all end up as dust and ash should be the motto of criminals... in the end we all are equal.. mother Teresa and me... in the end we enter the same box.. have played our parts in this never ending game of chess.... farce its all a sick farce....what does world care for the petty emotions of a non- consequential man like me... why should world care for someone who does not strive to make himself of some consequence..... tragedy alas its all a tragedy....

Withnail and I

2009-06-11T03:33:00.002+05:30

I have of late - but wherefore I know not - lost all my mirth;
and indeed it goes so heavily with my disposition that this goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a sterile promontory,
this most excellent canopy, the air, look you, this brave o'erhanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire,
why, it appeareth nothing to me but a foul and pestilent congregation of vapours.

What a piece of work is a man! How noble in reason! How infinite in faculties! How like an angel in apprehension. How like a god! The beauty of the world! The paragon of animals! And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust? Man delights not me: no, nor women neither. Nor women neither.

Hamlet Act 2

So that's it?

2009-05-10T05:45:00.003+05:30

Wind blows as leaves fly in front of the clear blue sky. Not a sign of any bird in the sky. Tall tress sway around wailing, bidding adieu. It was nice having you to talk to, they say. I stand there mute. Words fail me as i look down not sure about what to say. All alone in the morning after frequent night outs, these trees used to cheer me on. These guardians of my dreams used to placate me promising to be there when i woke up, promising nothing would change, it will all remain the same. They wouldn't judge me, they wouldn't question, they wouldn't talk they'd just listen. Silently they used to nod accepting my side of the debate without ever debating me. No matter how a week would end they'd stand there waiting for me. Happy to listen to me after a tiresome week. I am not the most interesting of men and it rarely bothered them. They'd just be happy to have someone to talk to as was i. Tears are merely physical materialization of emotions. This thoughts kill me as i say farewell. I hope i long for this eternal silence that every day began with. I hope i don't get satisfied with the noise. I hope i keep writing or have anything good to write about. Kal aur aaenge nagmon ki khilti kalia chunnen wale, mujhse behtar kehne wale tumse behtar sunne wale. Fir koi mujhko yaad kare kyun koi mujhko yaad kare, magroor zamana mere lie kyun waqt apna barbaad kare. Mein pal do pal ka shayar hun. Why do i write this? The blog i mean if not for recognition of some kind or some kind of narcissist approach towards life. I could have kept a private diary. Every author is a narcissist. If there is a good author who isn't, you've most probably not heard of him for he shall never make his work public. Maybe the greatest authors kept the best of their written material to themselves. Birds are chirping now, goodnight alarm for me. if you read this and like it, imagine what beautiful material i shall never show to the world and die of envy .[:)] why so serious, son?

Remin me to edit this.... when am sober....

2009-05-09T05:01:00.003+05:30

It's 5am. The sun's about to dawn upon us, the moon shall silently wander into wilderness. It had its moment good and bad. But the hour's gone. A new day shall dawn upon us.

The problem with waking up this long is that you have no one to talk to or more of no one who wants to talk to you. So you talk to yourself and you contemplate over matter trivial or not so trivial and you think, reminiscence. That's bad if you are semi-drunk as in being drunk 3 hours ago and not being completely sober. So this establishes the foundation of my write up. Not that I have nay structure to be held. But then sometimes the beginning is where all the fun lies and the rest is looking back at past. Missing the lost and fearing what lies ahead. It's 50% probability (the good vs bad thing) and yet we fear the bad part because you'd rather fear the future to like the present rather than love the future to get rid of the present. Get Drunk , Live life... Will edit this when am sober.. Am all apologies.... I used to drink,..... i still do.... I didnt drink..... i gulped.... I hate whisky.... but then i don;t like life too much either.....

Dig on this....

Aye Mere Pyare Watan
Manna Dey
aye mere pyaare watan aye mere bichhade chaman tujh pe dil kurbaan
too hee meree aarajoo, too hee meree aabaru, too hee meree jaan

tere daaman se jo aaye, un hawaaon ko salaam
choom loo main us jubaan ko jis pe aaye teraa naam
sab se pyaaree subah teree, sab se rangee teree shaam

maan kaa dil banake kabhee seene se lag jaataa hain too
aaur kabhee nanheesee betee ban ke yaad aataa hain too
jitanaa yaad aataa hain too, utanaa tadapaataa hain too

chhodakar teree jameen ko door aa pahuche hain hum
fir bhee hain yahee hain tamannaa tere jarro kee kasam
hum jahaan paidaa huye, us jagah hee nikale ye dam

Kambakht dum bhi to nahi nikalta.... Crap.

They say you are too easily manipulated. I mean, i say that to myself. It is more of me talking to my sober self. Why wouldn't i like to be manipulated, i have led too much of my life on my own. Why not give the gears to someone else for a time being just for the heck of it...

I don't talk to drunk men(talking to a drunk fem might not be that boring ...:P)

Why?, is it their drinking whiskey or is it the whiskey itself.. if i can handle my drink. what the f dos it matter to anyone else...

but others have a right to reject someones initiative...

but don't others have the right to take that initiative.. then why label them bad...

but u have to maintain the social decorum....

who made this decorum. i didn't and i refuse to follow anarchy,,,,,

if u refuse to do so, then kindly walk out of the system. Everything was going fine in your absence too

..... hahaha. throwin me out for debating the established order quite friendly eh...

Write

2009-05-04T22:43:00.001+05:30

Write something, anything. Is writing such a trivial matter. Can one write anything?

There she stood before me. So strong yet so delicate. The eyes smiling look into nothing, nothing at all. She looked beyond you into the emptiness inside. Her hair fallen all over her face. The darkness inviting into the mysteries of the world. The forehead so pure like a bridge between heaven and hell. With a movement of those dark orbs she could declare the fate of humans. A sudden upward moment declaring surprise, a downward moment announcing shyness. Those blood red lips so luscious, so near yet so far. The ultimate prize for a man's lifetime of crusade. a slight upward moment declaring sunshine, a downward twitch the end of humanity. When she smiled her teeth seemed to be what they were, the pearly gates of heaven.

The sun was shining bright. Not that it was summer, the winter was on decline and the sun was shining after a long time. The sudden warmth had brightened many a lives that day. As he walked down that empty footpath, he couldn't help singing. Suddenly he veered to the left and then back to his position and then to the right. He felt like dancing. The birds chirping around encouraged him along. He rotated around his position ending the step with his hands spread out and his face downwards The king 'Elvis' couldn't have don't it better. The smile kept spreading its tentacles around his face. he loved life. He in that moment forgave his enemies, reached out to heaven and beckoned hell along. His song got a bit louder, his steps a bit hasty, his smile wider. Love was in the air, and he was not immune to it. He remembered her, she was smiling. Ha, does life get any better. He moved left his home stared at him. Kept dancing on his way to his house humming the song. When suddenly a car came out of nowhere and hit him. As if life played in slow motion. He remembered being thrown up and his slow fall downwards. A drop of red fell into his eyes as he lay sprawled over the road. So, this was life, death at last A smile in between.His life flashed in front of his life. His mom, his father, his sister all as if stood in front of him, smiling. He raised his to try and touch them for the last time, a weak smile on his face. But the strain was too much, and with a sigh he ended his song.

Sparks

2009-04-17T21:04:00.000+05:30

“Pathetic. Incredibly stupid. That’s what I think it is. This is incredibly pathetic. All of you are stupid, daft, nonsense. Idiots. A bunch of rotten pigs you are. I haven’t met a gathering of idiots in this school as rotten as you. The whole bunch of you is sickeningly rotten. None of you even try to study do you? Only one kid, Amit, here seems to be trying to study. He is the only one who gives me hope in this class. Rest of you are useless fools.”

The teacher paused taking in a breath before beginning to lambast the students below average performance once again. I sat as usual in the second bench in the middle row. My head hung low in acknowledgment of all the attention I had garnered. Being in the middle of the class ranks had been just perfect for me, this sudden rise to stardom left me speechless and feeling awkward. Life of obscurity, the absence of attention, had been my goal but this term everyone seemed to have failed miserably. Embarrassment overflew from me, as did the promise to never top again. As I came out of the mist of these emotions that I noticed the girls in the first two benches of the row left of me . There was she, the beauty that glittered in this winter morning. Ah, how many days I have wasted staring at her knowing very well that the looks will never be reciprocated. I know such things look daft, but alas love is kind of stupid. Being a nobody, had not helped either. Now as I looked at her I noticed her staring back and she was giggling pointing in my direction and from that corner I heard the word ‘Blush’. I had been blushing, I assure you, I didn’t know it though. This nightmare of displaying my emotions left me further embarrassed and perplexed. But as with any other day, the class ended and the gathering of idiots broke up for the recess. As I sat with my usual group of friends I noticed her still staring at me and whispering something to the girl next to her. I was sure they were talking about the blushing incident. And that sadly embarrassed me even more. I did what any other normal human would do; I stood up and just went away aghast that this moment when at last she noticed me would be so disappointing, so crushing.

The last class was games or P.T. period. The boys played cricket while the girls played basketball just next to the cricket ground. Batsman had hit the ball high. I ran under the ball to catch it and was just about to dive when I slipped into a puddle of mud and the ball fell right on me. Everyone laughed and she in that corner, in her heinous voice, laughed out the loudest I am sure. The wretchedness of the moment was too much to bear. All along the second half of the class day, I knew positively that she had been laughing at me, giggling like the stupid bitch she was. Making comments about me, the blush .To think I had been begging for attention from such a girl exasperated me. At that precise moment I knew I had to make her pay for it. The vengeance would be mine. I wanted to pick up the bat. I wanted to walk to her in utter silence. And when the distance was just right, hit her straight on the face with the wide side of the bat. As she fell, to knock her in the abdomen with the thinner edge of the bat. Then to continue smashing her face with the narrow handle of the bat. I wanted to hit her face as if it was golf ball. To stomp on that evil face, to leave her face battered beyond recognition. To go on thrashing the shamefaced bitch till she had no life to utter any other word against anyone ever. As the crowd looked on too shell shocked to react, I wanted to kill her to death right then. I wish I hadn’t.

Cleanin the Closet Series - III

2009-03-30T03:21:00.006+05:30

Ther'es a silence now... the free flow of last few years has taken its toll... u grow up, u fade away.... the transition from the peak to the depths,... the realization of decay that is what gnaws at our soul every day.... run away??... where to?? or to fight but to fight whom, when there aint no enemy... anyways following is the stuff i wrote in college....

And the summer days are gone... and the winters coming out.....and i feel alone i miss something somehow... the nights have passed alone.... then the dawn returns... and i sit on the couch crying like i did last night.... and the summer days are gone.....the winds blow, the silence has won... the sun rises and begins the dawn... but theres no light now in my life.... now that the brightness is all gone.... i know i never told how..... much i loved u and do..... how much i miss u now.... and the paints shall fade away and the wall shall crumble down..... but i shall always be here.... waiting for u to come around.... u know wasnt always so bad.... i gave it all that i had... the coffers empty now...and the actor takes his bow.... i hope u know i do.... i hope u know i love you.... i hope so many things.... i wish i could do all of it again.... dont just leave me here alone.... a dark room where the light once shown...

Pyaasa - Shayari

2009-03-30T03:20:00.002+05:30

Jab hum chale to saaya bhi apna na saath de, jab tum chalo zameen chale asman chale
jab hum rukein sath ruke sham e bekasi, jab tum ruko bahar ruke chandni ruke.

GHam is kadar badhe ke mein ghbra ke pi gaya,is dil ki bebasi pe taras kha ke pi gaya
Thukra raha tha mujhko badi der se jahan, mein aaj sab jahan ko thukra ke pi gaya

Yeh hanste hue fool yeh mehka hua gulshan,
yeh rang aur noor mein doobi hui rahen
yeh foolon ka rass peke machalte hue bhanvre
mein dun bhi to kya dun tumhein ae shauk nazaron
le de kar mere paas kuch aansun hai kuch aanhein

Tragical History OF Doctor Faustus

2009-03-30T03:05:00.001+05:30

Been planning of publishing for a long time. Well at last here it is, lines from Tragical History of Doctor Faustus by CHristopher Marlowe...

All things that move between the quiet poles
Shall be at my command: emperors and kings
Are but obeyed in their several provinces

Was this the face that launched a thousand ships
And burnt the topless towers of Ilium.
Sweet Helen make me immortal with a kiss (Kisses Helen)
Her lips suck forth my soul! See where it flies!
Come Helen come, give me my soul again
Here will I dwell, for heaven is in these lips,
And all is dross that is not Helen.

O, thou art fairer than the evening air
Clad in the beauty of thousand stars;

Stand still, you ever moving sphere of heaven,
That time may cease, and midnight never come:
Fair nature’s eye, rise, rise again and make
Perpetual day; or let this hour be but
A year, a month, a week, a natural day
That Faustus may repent and save his soul.

Let Faustus live in hell a thousand years
A hundred thousand years, and at last be sav’d!
O, no end is limited to damn’d souls.

The stars move still, time reins, the clock will strike,
The devil will come and Faustus must be dam’d
O, I’ll leap up to my God! – Who pulls me down?
See, see, where Christ’s blood streams in the firmament.

Terminat Hora Diem
Terminat Auctor Opus.
(The hour ends the day
The author ends his work.)

A Day int the LIfe of the Prince

2009-03-30T03:01:00.000+05:30

He wept all alone in the corner of his magnificent castle. The room was very neatly arranged and obviously with good taste. Some of the best pieces of work had been bought by him from Christie’s. People never realized nor did they care about who bought them or where they went. But he had all of them arranged in their frames aesthetically in this room. This was his private lounge. It was perpetually dark, he seemed to love darkness. He found it more natural. He very often said “You see light is artificial, there has to something to provide you with light but darkness well even God could not create it. It was always there just waiting for the light to go out. You could remove the light but you could not remove the dark, it would always sneak in”. The place was so silent, so beautiful that he always came to contemplate and occasionally cry in this room.

His name was Lucifer, though most people better knew him as Satan or by his title The Prince of Darkness. And no, his favorite number was not 666, it was 2. There was no particular reason for this; it was just arbitrarily his favorite number. And no, he didn’t have horns or a tail, though he wore them when he felt like going old school with his newer entries. Ruling a sad place like hell had worn him down. He wanted a break; he wanted to stay for a few days, away from this misery, this silence. It overwhlemed him.He hadn't always been so alone. Once the closest to God, he now lay forsaken in his kingdom. To have been amongst the chosen few of Lord himself and then to live in such a cold place, broke him. Sometimes, even after so many years, he dreamt he was back with his father in heaven, tucked near him, listening to a bed time story. He pondered when in his life had he become the villain of those tales.He still cried in his dreams over the beauty he was missing. He hadn't always been so alone. God himself had kept him company many a times when he felt alone, and now in this giant mansion he felt like a brick himself. It seemed he was there just because the mason had nothing better to put there. This facade of evilness was eroding the core of his heart, which was not completely dark yet. He wanted to run away but where he had no clue. He had no friends, no relatives he could go to. The dark clouds were covering the sun, but somehow a few sunrays still gleamed from that core.

Heaven was no longer as merciful as it had been. This had happened ever since God had appointed Peter to be the guardian of those pearly gates. He lighted a cigarette. He loved smoking when he was all alone, it calmed him,thought he never did so in public. He didn’t want people to die prematurely and not get their complete life duration to live. He wanted to give people every second of their lives so that they could do a good deed, so that they could repent and not have to come to such a poignant place. The smoke cleared his head, sobered him down. He had left drinking ever since his wife had left him. Though he had tried to hold on to her on virtue of his being the sole authority of this inferno, he had let her go realizing all the powers of hell were not enough to please a women when she did not love you, for hell hath no fury like a woman scorn’d. Ah! The happy moments he had with his wife still lingered fresh in his mind, her sweet smell, and her rosy lips all felt so delightful in such a place. He wished he had not been so busy back then with all that job of re-arranging everything in hell. How he wished she could be here. That someone cared for him was all he longed for in this inferno.

A knock on the door woke him up from his day dreaming, and Mephisto walked in announcing that his daily speech was due in 15 minutes. The routine speech about repentance, to give the poor souls one more chance to make it to heaven, was one of the most interesting times of his daily fixture.He could act the way he was meant to be, a lone soul with a wosh to help others. He stood up from his armchair with a sigh and walked out of the room, with a sly smile on his face for that was what the crowd expected from him and as was very well known in private circles he always kept what he promised. He gently closed the door of the room leaving behind him his feelings for he knew they were safely locked in. No one cared, and he knew he wasn’t worth being cared about.

Forlorn collection of I's

2008-10-05T06:25:00.003+05:30

I have always wished to talk to someone late at night i.e. around 4 and 4:30am. I mean its not like i haven't survived the nights till now but I think talking to sum one else is far more interesting than talking to yourself. i mean talking to sum one else is far more mentally stimulating, u might get to hear some thing new.

I talk to myself all the time. i discuss stuff, debate a lot with myself. But then it limits the opposition. I am in a constant race with myself to one up myself. Since i am the both sides of the debate, its basically me vs me and no matter what i win. I find points against myself and vice-versa when i should be trying to come across new horizons at all new level itself. the problem is i haven't come across any other person who challenges me in the manner I want them to. May be its just plain loneliness and all the despair it entails. A paradigm, a paradox, a quote something, anything that i can appreciate and, depreciate myself on not having thought of it earlier. I don't speak much publicly but there are a lot of stuff i would like to point out to people, a lot i would like to make them understand but i just don't want to take upon myself the burden of educating the masses. i don't care, that's my problem i don't care enough about my problems, about myself or anything for that matter.

I am a procrastinator, no may be not, procrastinator only delays plans, i don't even plan. i just go to sleep rather than sit up and plan. this is the kind of stuff i do when i should be calling sum one up and asking them to talk to me, i write a bull shit piece of keyboard strokes. i wish i could run away far away from everywhere, but then i wouldn't have anyone to talk to even there.

i don't want to walk into a crowd, i hate crowds. A group of people depresses me , i want to run away. I hate being a part of the mob. i want to stand out, be sum one, not a part of everyone. i don't like to talk out publicly I'll rather wait for a person to come to the corner and chit chat with him rather than approach him when he's in the crowd. I don't usually write this kind of weird stuff, because it exposes me. I want people to play blind with me, if they knew me, they'd screw me. I know no one reads this, so am posting it to read it few months from now and laugh on it.

A path out of nowhere leading to nowhere

2008-10-05T06:12:00.002+05:30

I just saw two movies completely world apart. Woody Allen's classic 'Annie Hall' and Robert Redford's latest offering 'Lions for lambs'. Both are good movies nothing awesome but decent acting fine directorial cuts etc. What this represented was the variety that these moving photographs can provide. The wide spectrum they covered, was all too obvious. But the question that has bothered me since my 9th grade and does so now concerns more with music.

So we all know there are 7 'sur' as we call it hindi music. These sur can be arranged and rearranged in a million ways. The problem is what happens when all the possible combination have been used. What then. DO we stop making new music? Do we make a new sur or do we remix the old ones? I hate remixes by the way. If the original song was good enough to deserve a remix then why do we need the remixes anyways. This paradox is quite interesting to say the least. I for one am wholeheartedly against remixes. I like originality. The beauty of the fact that sumone thought of such a beautiful creation before me enthralls me, captures my imagination, challenges me to innovate, do something before sumone else does. What happens when all the possible story lines have been used. Are there as many emotions possible in a human being so as to feed the hungry mouth of an avid reader. What when all combination of emotions have been tread upon? Where lies the new path? Who comes to the rescue? An American patrol team?( if u have seen the latter movie you'll understand where this came from). Thank god i won't be alive then but the question is so disturbing that it can't just be overlooked.

So what should we do, stop making new music or decrease the rate at which we make music to give more combination to the future genreations than we will today? Do we try to repress our imaginations our thoughts to give a better future. Its like the case with environmentalist. Do we stop living our live to the full to let our children live their lives to the full? Do we become the scape goats for the future. Do we compromise to prevent them from compromising? Which way do we go? What path do we take? Why is the right path always represented as the less trodden upon? Why can't the majority be right? Why the sudden onslaught of such stupid question? Why doesnt this kid go back to sleep? Why does this 21 yr old human being call himself a kid? why the...? So many questions so little time. So few holidays, even less answers and fewer people who even care to answer. Why is everyone nowadays like a pandora box full of questions? Where are the answers? Inside ourselves? when shall they open? who has the key? why werent the answers provided in a booklet the moment we were born.

Damned be thou, O spring

2008-10-05T05:43:00.002+05:30

The summer days are gone.
The reasons i was born
are no more, a cold darkness
left, future is a dark abyss.

It's all the same now,
Not long before i take my final bow.
This is not the way it was meant to be.
This wasn't meant to be my reality.

Long ago i used to try,
many years ago i used to cry.
The coldness inside suffocates me,
like i am where i was not meant to be,

My character will die out
but the drama will play.
no matter how i shout now,
no matter what i say.

the third act all morose
hold it now, for i know not where it goes.
the fourth arrives in all its darkness
and misery, the sadness
suffocates me.

Days will come, days will pass by
I'll sit here all alone under the moonlight
and no matter how i try
I'll watch you go like a forsaken dream.

The spring shall arrive again
and I'll shall wait here
I know u wont remember
but i no longer care.

Mostly concerned with death

2008-09-19T20:21:00.004+05:30

Lived a hundred dreams now is it sad if i die for one.

Never lived long enough to see my own death.

When i die Please dont cry.

When we die there will be no soul left, its just me and my ashes

Where do the bad folks go when they die?

If we become the same after our death then why not do sumthing bad and live our lifes to the full. At the end of the game both the king and pawn go into the same box, don't they?
you turn to ash me too.

Every man dies the same death every man lives a different life

Ashes to ashes dust to dust

Saw u yesterday,
did nothing just walked by,
nothing no more has any meaning
tommorow you too will die

Yesterday i was dead
tonight i shall die
i have this evening to live
why should i cry

the only reason i never walked far away from you was that i feared i wouldnt have the courage to come back

go away do not come back
for tommorow i may not be

i lived amongst men and tommorow i shall reside amongst angels.

i cry
when angels deserve to die

i cried twice
'cos they wouldnt kill me and then they wouldnt let me die

Given a choice between life and death i'll pick life so i could write about death

if i were to die, would you cry?

i say dont cry 'cos i can't live with guilt of being your weaknesss
i say dont cry 'cos i need when i do.

Hopeless Romantic Fool

2008-08-31T20:49:00.002+05:30

The wind blew hard along with its close friend, dust.It had been almost two hours waiting at the junction. Sunday afternoon ensure the absence of crowd on these roads.He re-read the letters with a vague hope that some hidden code or password lay somewhere but the words hadn't changed, they never did. No matter how many times he read the letter the stood intact, after all they were the sole guardians of the letters intent. If only they knew what difference they made to the poor boys life, the beauty they were capable of bringing to him, they might have relented.

He suddenly heard the noise of an upcoming vehicle. Stooping from his position he peered through the corner of the shop to view the vehicle on which rode his love. At that instant he realized,he had no idea of what he would speak to the angel. He felt dazed. Trying desperately to think of a line worthy of the beauty, the charm was an arduous task & the blazing afternoon sun was no help either. He staggered for a while.Then another thought crept into his mind, what if he became speechless as he had on previous occasions? The mere presence of such a probability gave him shivers in the sweltering heat. 'What would she be dressed like? A million possibilities roamed freely in his head, fighting for attention when their owner had none. The coach was fast approaching. This had to be her. To pass by at this time in this place. He thought he detected the sweet smell of her perfume blowing in the wind. All thoughts vanished from his mind and a picture reigned supreme.

The letter in which he proposed this meeting had been a difficult one to write. Written late at night, when the town slept and the wine house woke up, written under a tree in the backyard of his house with the moon for his only companion. It looked upon as the little boy undertook a perilous journey across the 40 pages he tore before he finalized a small and concise letter, not lacking the intent but devoid of profuse poetry. The coach had almost arrived He straightened his bow tie, brushed off dust from his coat, tried to undo the blemishes of the 2 hour vigil. The coach arrived in front of him. He stepped forward, was at a hands distance from the coach when he realized the coach hadn't stopped. He stepped back waiting for the coach driver to stop the vehicle. All he wanted at this moment was to be worthy of the love that waited inside this magnificent vehicle.Not wanting to rush into the matters, a trait he inherited from his father along with the coat, he waited. The coach kept moving. 'Stupid, coach driver couldn't he stop at this spot itself.' Now he would have to walk to the coach. But the coach did not falter in it's path & kept marching ahead. 'Of course, the coach driver must be taking her to the next junction.' He thought of running along with it but did not do so. Remembering a short-cut to the junction , he ran as fast as he could. Almost out of breath as he reached the new destination, he stooped with his hands on his thighs, his hair falling all over his face. A vehicle had just passed the road, it wasn't the coach he was sure. The road was dusty, the wind seemed to be a futile sweeper destined to clean the roads all it's life. The sun was setting, spreading the paleness of a summer dusk all around.A young boy sat near the road, waiting. Childish passions, alas, know no limits. That night the moon sighed, wished it could speak and not just be spectator to these spectacles, for few kilometres away a girl lay sick on her bed, begging to her parents to let her go out. Strange are the ways of life and the pawns don't decide the moves.

Few drinks, a crappy movie and a nightout later.....

2008-05-04T22:24:00.000+05:30

The crescent has dimmed. The sky clear and subtle. No wind blows. There is silence all around except of course, for the chirping of the birds. A dog barks somewhere off. I light my night's (now the break of dawn's) last ciggarette. A million tree watch on silent and calm, the way do every morning. Party time wasting is so much fun. A tree stands alon in our courtyard. Home of a million birds, spectator of a milion dreams dreamt and many more forgotten , silent keeper of lost secrets. I hear the opening of a door. One of the genius student has already woken up for a new day, while I wait the end of yesterday. Have just finshed watching a movie. Don't ask me which and no slangs shall you hear.Cry me a river(Julie London version) plays in the background. The crow caw harsher today, they didnt expect an intruder into their realm I suppose. As I return from a walk around the corridor the crescent has disappeared, the sun is about to rise. The almighty sun is yet to defeat the miniscule moon. Yesterday love was such an easy game to play. Today is a different day. I wish to talk to someone, anyone, share a joke or two but its too early in the morning and no one's awake yet. Many an unknown men died yesterday, many a battle were lost. Many a briths to be heralded today, many a wars to be waged. A million will get bored today and few will live centuries this day, while a lonely boy will got sleep late wistfully waiting for time to stop and let him be what he was yesterday. Strange ain't it, that yesterday's could always have been lived better?

Back and Forth

2008-02-23T13:53:00.003+05:30

I wasn't always like this,
my days lost i miss.
Let the memories come again,
let my eyes still rain.
The days fly by so fast,
i never realized my present would be my past.
I know you listen to none,
i know this cant be done.
I know you won't stop, alas,
I don't want this time to pass.
The rain drops wet me so,
pleading me to let my past go.
But how can i just let it be,
when i have never been me.

Yesterday i dreamt of my past,
and today i regret my yesterday.
Waiting for some miracle,
shall never unbound you of your shackles.
Stand up, stand up tall,
stand up what even if you fall.
For mistakes are due,
even if they are not few.
They tried to stop me at every step,
they tried to break my will.
I kept walking
and keep walking i will.

With Love, Me

2008-02-23T13:46:00.003+05:30

Never forget......shed a tear when needed but cherish the memories. don't let the tears wash away your past.... the thoughts u shared, the dreams u saw, the lives u led, they'll stay. people may part but friends don't..... How i wish it was all the same...nothing changing... sadness is not the answer to the grief..... don't cry oh plz don't cry tonight...u know i am there waiting for u thinking about u.... i would have been with you but life is not all that we want..... i luv u no matter how far we are ....no matter how many years pass.....I'll always will be there right beside you....hope u trust me.... hope u still believe in the dreams we saw......the world that was ours..... the loves not lost ...it might be separated but the separation has given it a new meaning......dont cry tonight....it hurts to know i could have been better but then i hope u know i tried..........time passes on memory fades away but the feelings, the dreams dont let them pass....... remind urself of every dream u did dream as a child and live it..... remember what u disliked in those days....try not be like the ogre of ur childhood....not the fairy i now but the kind, nice, cheerful being u are.... time flies by and we cant clip its wings like an eagle it soars free over all the place never under anyones control everyone bows down to it...it flew over the deep black forest....the mighty oceans....the twinkling rivers........the huge part white part green part rocky mountains that stand guard of land unknown..... it bows down to none ....hope u don't either...... wish i could ask the eagle to halt but alas i am a mere being..... the world is not what it looked like to you but u can still dream, you can still see the good..... who knows there might be more good than u ever dreamt about...life is strange and beautiful..... memories are a strange thing they keep the pain alive but when the doors to good time open up, the world it helps us reach....the times passed by, we wish it could have waited........ make most of the moment.....moment passes by so do friends and so does life.....what is today may not be tomorrow.... and also remember tomorrow may not be yesterday it might be better......and remember i miss you and i miss you so bad.....but move on......cherish me but live life the way i would have wished for you......i hate tears ....i could never control them and the make this page so wet.....sorry for the blotches this watery stuff pouring like waterfall dont abide by any laws....... i ask u to not cry and cant even make myself stop from it....... u know i was never good at words......you were and how i miss ur lucid poems the fantasies the unbounded lands the quiet river...... u dreamt big and made me see it too..... i thank you for that and want you to know it'll never be the same...... everything will change but our friendship shall stand the test of time........ plz dont cry tonight for if u do i shall cry with you......

Omg A Happy 0n3!!!! :))

2007-11-10T22:21:00.000+05:30

And I may not be the world's most passionate guy,
But when i saw in her eyes i was fuzzing around like Jeri Cola.....

Sometimes you feel alone, sometimes you want to be left alone, sometimes you wish you didn't feel so much, times change, moods change, wait and it all gets right. Life always has a happy ending. You'll make it alright, life goes on and so shall you.... The punishment sometimes does not seems to fit the crime but keep walking and in the end u shall shine....what a blooper of a line...me scx :)....G00d m00d are real g00d...wish we all had more of them....sumtimes everything seems to go right, the sun peeks out of the clouds, breeze messes ur hair and all u can do is smile helplessly, things come ur way...wish the day lasts long enuf to be written down in a notebook...days lasts long...night waits and with it comes the sigh...the sigh of remembrance of a new dream that was the day gone....Sweet Home Alabama rocks.....specially when u sit with ur friends and shout the chorus....

BTW re-read 1984...read Thousand Years of Solitude by Gabriel Garcia Marquez - 2 much hype, first 3/4 is good...last quarter starts stinks of repetition......read Hannibal Rising by Thomas Harris...not up to expectations but ten i expected 2 much....gud read once....

Confessions Of a Passer-By

2007-09-15T02:07:00.002+05:30

There was a certain urgency in his manners. He didn't walk neither did he run, he moved in a manner I have never seen anyone move before, but then i hadn't seen a man who knew he would die 4 days later. Alas, modern science, the sweet poison. According to some formula, Poisson's probably, the modern oracles had calculated the moment of his death down to the last minute, a few days in advance. Obviously there was no cure, there's always no cure when you want one so desperately. It's easy to solve formula's, difficult to find a cure. So, from that day onwards he had acquired a manner so different, so strange that left me exasperated due to my inability to understand it.

To wish to see an eternity in 4 days is what fools strive for. Urgency and the looming shadow of death over him had made him a fool. A fool so sad had never been seen before. A fool so sad i didn't wish to see again. Life is strange, me with unknown days to live wasted it around foolishly. What assurance i had that i wouldn't die before him. Who knew i would live to see this day? Stupid medicine men don't know when to keep their mouth shut, they had to boast about the technological advances they had acquired recently from some other nation.

Alas, i have strayed a lot from my narrative too early. He stopped suddenly outside a building, waited. i watched him from the other side of the road, he wished to be left alone at that moment. Few minutes passed, suddenly he moved towards the entrance of the building. Stopped this ordinary looking girl and said something to her. He looked in her eyes, her hazel wet eyes stared at the floor. He kept on the monologue and for a moment she looked up at him, her eyes begging him to stop. And as if in a dream she ran inside the building leaving him standing all alone at the door. He had tears in his eyes too, but that was a common sight for me nowadays. He was not the hero of a bollywood movie he cried a lot, actually his eyes were forever moist ever since the medical debacle. Stupid girl hadn't realized not everyone had a lifetime to think matters over and live happily ever after. he loved her and had said so. She didn't and had run away. Life's mean , it likes playing games with you. He was losing and boy, he was losing fast. He was a goner ever since medi-kids had announced his departure after the sudden bout of sickness few days ago. I was his room mate and had traveled with him just in case he fell sick again. He had been quite ordinary actually,not a wiz-kid, not a rich man's son and certainly no hot shot in any manner. That's what i had always appreciated in him, he was no genius and he knew that, above all he didn't strive to be something he wasn't. Fear of the Reaper had changed him, he tried to do things he had only dreamt of before. This change had made him a stranger to me. He was not despondent, but it was his helplessness that killed me. One night he had woken me up and asked "What wrong did I do? Did i ever hurt u? Did i strive to take someone Else's position from him? A man waiting in the gallows for his death sentence at least has a reason to die for, what do i have? Lived a life so long without a reason to live and now I die with none." I was shocked,he hadn't spoken to me in this manner about this topic. I didn't talk about it to prevent reminding him, but had forgotten he couldn't get the truth out of his head.

All his life he had done what ever he wanted. He had done nothing of great value to the world. He loved a few girls but hadn't mentioned about his feelings to them. He was good in mathematics but then he didn't work hard on it. He had done what he liked, this sudden weakness crushed him. Killing him every moment.Yesterday, he died.

>>>>Shut da F*(< up<<<<

2007-06-20T19:02:00.000+05:30

Nobody care's
Nobody acts as if they do
The light's forever gone
We stand in the dark
me and you
The feeling's pain
the feeling's my life's drain
i am no longer me
i'm one of the Society
i'm now WE
No words to pray
No songs to say
i stand alone in the Crowd
Lone & proud
Have to kill the i in me
to be one of Them
no one wants to know
about the sadness the shame

Growin Up

2007-05-28T01:33:00.000+05:30

There comes a time in your life when your friend circle stops growing. You don't want to discover new friends, not because you don't want new friends but because you don't want to get hurt in this process. There comes a time in everyone's life when he/she grows up. Instead of the usual brilliant glimmer in our imagination a general melancholy creeps in. Sadness is the rule of the day.

You wish u could stop those clocks, stay a moment more but alas time moves on. You and your friends separate from each other. You wish you were an innocent child again for a day, just for a day u beg, but then we immortals can't be beggars leave alone choosers. One lonely night you wake up long enough to actually remember those days. Feel sad but can't for long, have to sleep, routine begins tomorrow morning.

Meet one of your school friends on thee street. For a fleeting moment u feel you aren't grown up yet. U aren't completely devoid of childishness yet. Life has changed ur friend too. You talk about those days but in your hearts u slowly realize it ain't the same now.

Grow up ,everyone has to.

The Meek One

2007-05-15T02:31:00.000+05:30

The pity of it is that it was sheer accident- an ordinary cruel and senseless accident. Thats the pity of it! Five minutes, I was just five minutes late! Had I come back five minutes earlier, that moment would have flashed past like a cloud, never to enter her head again. And it would have all ended in her understanding everything. But now there are empty rooms again, and I all alone. There's the pendulum swinging and clicking without the the least concern or pity for anything. There's no one- that's the misery of it!

Oh, nature! People are alone on this planet, thats the trouble! "Is there a living soul in this field?" cries the hero of a Russian legend. Though no legendary hero, I make the same call, but no one responds. They say the sun gives life to the universe. But the sun rises and- look -isn't it dead? Everything is dead, the dead lie everywhere! Just solitary people, and all about- silence. That's the kind of world we live in. "People, love one another" -who said that? Whose commandment is it? The pendulum is clicking unfeelingly, horridly. It's two in the morning. Her shoes are standing beside her bed, as though waiting for her... Now, they'll take her away tomorrow, and I shall wait here all alone??

Excerpts from a short story (or novella perhaps) by Feodor Dostoevsky.

Champage Supernova....

2007-05-14T23:14:00.000+05:30

Someone once told me "Never Generalize". Don't group people based on their sex, color, ethnicity. There's always a variety of people out there who may be part of some sect but are not really the same as others. By grouping them you do injustice to them. Just because a person belongs to so and so community by no way means that he is the way u suspect others to be....

I hate such kindda preachin stuff....The first line was enuf but the speech after that seems as if u are questioning my ability to understand simple lines....When you belive sumthing from your heart it's a common practice to elucidate on that matter but to go on and on sickens me....Speak the synopsis of what you feel and then gimme a break...

Blogger doest open up in my college...so well didn't update this Blog..If sum one ever checked it and found some cobwebs here...sorry for them..hope for more updates soon...

Roll Another joint..

2007-05-13T14:35:00.001+05:30

But let me get to the point, let's roll another joint
And turn the radio loud, I'm too alone to be proud
You don't know how it feels
You don't know how it feels, to be me.

So let's get to the point
Let's roll, another joint
Let's head on down the road
There's somewhere I gotta go
You don't know how it feels
You don't know how it feels, to be me

-Tom Petty (You Don't Know How it Feels)

The Road Back..

2006-11-01T16:41:00.000+05:30

Those eyes said it all, pain, anguish, memory of those golden days bygone when true smile was still possible. Those days when even unknown streets welcomed him and asked him to play with his friends in them whenever they wanted to. Those days when strange trees waited earnestly all day, so that he could climb on them in the evening. Those days when the old uncle at the local grocery shop whom they lovingly called Dadu, used to pass him sweets without ever asking for money. Those days when his friends would cry and wail in front of their parents to play with him and he who had feined headache to skip school would slip out of his house to play with them.Those days when every evening ended with a fight and every morning began with a renewed freindship.Those days...

How I Wish You were Here

2006-10-24T20:52:00.000+05:30

So, so you think you can tell
Heaven from Hell,
Blue skys from pain.
Can you tell a green field
From a cold steel rail?
A smile from a veil?
Do you think you can tell?

And did they get you to trade
Your heros for ghosts?
Hot ashes for trees?
Hot air for a cool breeze?
Cold comfort for change?
And did you exchange
A walk on part in the war
For a lead role in a cage?

How I wish, how I wish you were here.
We're just two lost souls
Swimming in a fish bowl,
Year after year,
Running over the same old ground.
What have we found?
The same old fears.
Wish you were here.

How I wish You were Here....How I wish....
Nostalgia is quite a common syndrom on those cold days when its raining outside and all you can do is look at the rain drops falling wishing you were somewhere else with someone else.How I wish You were There.

Careful with that axe, Eugene

2006-09-17T04:42:00.000+05:30

Times have changed, the times are strange.
Here I am but I ain't the same.

You know when you are young you think about things, about right and wrong. And then one day you grow up and you become a mirror image of whatever you loathed in your childhood, everything you were sure you wouldn't be in those innocent days. Then one day you look into the mirror and can no longer face yourself you lower your eyes; a faint mist, a faint remeberance of childhood. Indeed time is a strange phenomenon. Preying upon us without a clue of what is to come, not even a slight hint.

I used to consider my self as a benchmark for generalising the huge mass of public. I used to place them above me or below me and I had a huge crowd below me. I considered myself morally above a few, consider myself innocent and sometimes I wish you were here. Ok, what I really want to discuss is the fact that I know longer study the way I used to, I always wanted to study less but wanted to gain information just know the facts, liked physics. Wanted to have mastery over everything, knew I was capable of that. I could be all I wanted to be and became just the one thing i loathed. I hated all those leeches who feed upon the society gave nothing back. Would have given anything to not be a common man, I didnt want to die like the thousands of humans die everyday I wanted to be myself not be a generalization. I want to run away somewhere dark somewhere where I can start again though am sure would make the same mistakes . Loose the game once again. Am frustrated and paranoid.

So how did this so obvious facy just hit me right now??? Exams got over today. May flunk in few of them. So the maths exam is going on. Had woken up all night long, hadn't studied anything earlier. Sat for the exams ready to face whatever would come, ready to face the consequences of my faults. Paper in hand with nothing to write I tried to copy. Did copy. The source of the original answers had solved the answer in the wrong way, knew that. Copied it anyhow. Didn't try the numerical by the correct method. I have become COMPALCENT.

I hate myself sometimes, but how I wish you were here.

Fear of the Dark (Unfinished Stuff)

2006-09-17T04:01:00.000+05:30

He was frightened, wanted to peek outside the bed sheet but could not. He was sweating he had never before. The noise kept coming a strange ruffling sound that was so odd in this time of night like an actual chick coming out of a common egg. He wanted to run away but first he would have to come out of the bed sheet. He gathered all the courage he had, he had none. Kept shivering inside the blanket the same way he had been since last 10 mins. . Even the fan seemed to make a creepy sound. A dog wailed somewhere. The devil intervention was omnipresent. He could hear the curtains blowing. He wished it would all stop, he wished he could sleep. He hadn't slept properly for for 3 days. For last 3 days, he had slept in the same room. Suddenly the windows closed with a sound that would've shaken a 1000 Hercule's. He jumped out of the bed. Now was the chance to run to safety, to peace, to light, to his mother. Perturbed he ran outside his room. He felt someone staring at him, it had a black body and even darker eyes. Not minding the darkness in the room he ran. Cuddled next to his mother & fell into the realm of peace which he called sleep.

Woke up in the morning and went to school. As he sat in the class felt someone was staring at him. The walls seemed to come closer every second to crush him in the end. He feared the fan would fall any moment. Death loomed everywhere and a second was all he had to live. His head hurt, his stomach ached, his heart seemed to burst, his throat felt dry. A gust of wind gave him chills, felt as if some spirit pass through him. Twice the teacher scolded him for not paying attention in the classroom. Stupid teachers, none of them would ever understand. How he wished to tell them all, let them know it was not easy undergoing all this all day all night.He wanted them to feel what he did - Fear of the Dark. He couldn't find the right book in his bag. He was sure he had kept it there. Where was it? Who was he, whose presence made him feel the fear he had never known? He looked out of the window and thought he saw someone duck down to prevent himself from being seen by him. He kept looking at the window expecting to see the person, put an end to this troublesome mystery. Great stories don't just finish like that.

Thankfully the class ended. He ran from the school, literally ran from the school. The girls giggled watching him, stupid girls what did they know what he was undergoing. Hah fools, he wouldn't tell them, they would laugh at him, the way they all did. Reached home one piece.

2006-08-18T11:39:00.000+05:30

Woke up at 8:10 am. Brushed, washed my face. Am in my class by 8:26 am. Sit in the classroom as the professor lectures on I look at him thinking of my Counter Strike game last night, the grenade should have been thrown a little earlier. He looks at me acknowledging my mental absence from the room and teaches on. I knew he wouldn't care, they are paid to teach not make us understand.

The second lecture from 9:30 to 10:30 is off the lecturers not in the campus or maybe he is but who cares. Go to my room on the way have bought my dose of GF. Sit in my room and start engage myself with counter Strike while listening to Nirvana. After 2 many frags rest my eyes for a while using up GF's. Open my eyes and as always I am late for my class.

Run to class sit farther from the teacher and try to pass my time writing lyrics of the songs I remember or well go ahead with my open eyes sleep session. Teaching goes on and on and on. Times up and teacher leaves after the mandatory attendance session and I kinnda mess it up 'cos I didn't shout up during my roll call and after a session of interaction my attendance is accepted. Run to go out of my class room and see the next Fuhrer walking up the corridor towards the class. Run back into the class.

The earlier stanza continues including the attendance mess up. Somehow survive the class and walk to my room after collecting my clothes from Dhobi.

Sweet Child o' Mine

2006-08-12T00:19:00.000+05:30

I never hated her, never loved her. She was more of an non-entity just like that stupid bush behind the hostel's second gate. You look at it think about it for 2 minutes and then you never think about it except in dire loneliness. Maybe the bush never guessed but it should've.

And yes, the girl wasn't dumb either, I knew she had guessed it. She might have wept in some corner about this. I did not care, I don't want to. I don't love her, how can I act as if I do. Maybe she does but what if she doesn't. Am I selfish? Yes I am but Ain't she?

Ok, she is not ugly, not bad but she is not HER. I am not perfect either but aren't we supposed to aim for it. Why should I compromise? I dont love her no matter how much she wants me to. I'll tell her but how can I? Should I leave this thought like those unsung songs wich i wanted to remember but couldn't. I dont care I'll get over it, she will have to. I am not a messiah or watever.

2006-08-10T11:56:00.000+05:30

"I like cigarettes,Miss Taggart. I like to think of fire held in a man's hand.Fire, a dangerous force, tamed at his fingertips.I often wonder about the hours when a man sits alone, watching the smoke of a cigarette , thinking.I wonder what great things have come from such hours.When a man thinks, there is a spot of fire alive in his mind-and it is proper that he should have the burning point if a cigarette as his one expression."

ATLAS SHRUGGED- Ayn Rand

And Then I..........

2006-07-31T01:28:00.000+05:30

I dont breath no air
I dont live no dreams
I dont die no death
I hold life at its seam

Nothing is true
Nothing but you

May be i fool myself
Maybe you do

I would do anything for love
I will beg in front of you
I will do anyhting for you,love
I dont want to beg in front of you

I dont shed no tears
I dont have no fears

Its a one big book
We just dont know where to look

Maybe you did
Maybe u didnt try
May be you hid
May be i did

I dont live no lies
I dont care if i die

Tell me its true
Tell me its you

Let me go away
Let me find a way
I dont care no more
I have closed the door

To LIVE is To DIE

2006-07-21T14:55:00.000+05:30

These are the pale deaths
which men miscall their lives:
for all the scents of green things growing,
each breath is but an exhalation of the grave.
Bodies jerk like puppet corpses,
and hell walks laughing.

This poem is from 'Lord Foul's Bane, Book One' of the series "The Chronicles of Thomas Covenant the Unbeliever" by Stephen R. Donaldson.

The first two lines were used in Metallica's song 'To Live Is To Die'.

Lived a hundred dreams now is it sad if I die 4 one

I am not

2006-07-21T01:23:00.000+05:30

And I am not frightened of dying
Any time will do, I don't mind
Why should I be frightened of dying?
There's no reason for it
You've gotta go sometime
I never said I was frightened of dying

The Great Gig In the Sky By your daddy PINK FLOYD

Atlas Shrugged

2006-07-17T13:22:00.000+05:30

Was reading Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand hence didn't post anything.

Here's an excerpt from a speech by one of the main protagonists of the book.

"So you think that money is the root of all evil?" said Francisco d'Anconia. "Have you ever asked what is the root of money? Money is a tool of exchange, which can't exist unless there are goods produced and men able to produce them. Money is the material shape of the principle that men who wish to deal with one another must deal by trade and give value for value. Money is not the tool of the moochers, who claim your product by tears, or of the looters, who take it from you by force. Money is made possible only by the men who produce. Is this what you consider evil?

Money is only a tool. It will take you wherever you wish, but it will not replace you as the driver. It will give you the means for the satisfaction of your desires, but it will not provide you with desires. Money is the scourge of the men who attempt to reverse the law of causality,the men who seek to replace the mind by seizing the products of the mind.

Money will not serve the mind that cannot match it. Is this the reason why you call it evil?

Or did you say it's the love of money that's the root of all evil? To love a thing is to know and love its nature. To love money is to know and love the fact that money is the creation of the best power within you, and your passkey to trade your effort for the effort of the best among men. It's the person who would sell his soul for a nickel, who is loudest in proclaiming his hatred of money and he has good reason to hate it. The lovers of money are willing to work for it. They know they are able to deserve it.

So long as production was ruled by force, and wealth was obtained by conquest, there was little to conquer, Yet through all the centuries of stagnation and starvation, men exalted the looters, as aristocrats of the sword, as aristocrats of birth, as aristocrats of the bureau, and despised the producers, as slaves, as traders, as shopkeepers as industrialists.

2006-06-25T20:57:00.000+05:30

Hi! Just finished Short Stories by Guy De Maupassant. Gr8 stories.

Is having lead a traumatic childhood reason enough for odd and cruel behavior? Can a person who has been ill treated during his childhood allowed to conduct himself on the same manner.

I point towards Ivan, The Terrible for reference.

He was well not brought up in the best of conditions but was the way he conducted himself during his reign excused because of his earlier experiences?

Is a person who has some bad experiences during his earlier days allowed to kill or ,well, be cruel?

Favor:
Me and you do not know what effect an abused childhood leaves on a person. We'll never know what changes it brings in the grey cells of top floor. Having had a comparatively decent childhood what right do we have to judge those unfortunate beings. They do not want to its just that they cant help it. The have seen things, felt those emotions that just cant be explained by law. They didn't want to be this way but destiny was too stubborn a master to change her decisions. We'll never feel that pain that they did. Neither do I and most probably you want to do so.

Against:
Time heals .
If you want it to. It's all about changing your destiny. So what if you had a troublesome childhood but it was no way the fault of those innocent people on whom you vent your Dark emotions. Change is the way life is led. Time was bad make it good for yourself as well as for others. Being bad just won't help maybe doing good will. You were not treated good. Treat others good. They'll give you the love you craved for all your life. I am not a preacher just a human that's the way I want people to live their life helping someone (well a little bit of malice is not that bad).

Do give your comments and recommend me a gud book.

2006-06-18T02:52:00.000+05:30

I will never bother you
I will never promise to
I will never follow you
I will never bother you
Never speak a word again
I will crawl away for good
.
.
.
.
.
Things have never been so swell
I have never failed to fail

Last line modified by me originally it's

'I have never felt so well'

Am I depressed??
No nothing just leave me alone for a while. Think will grow out of it.

Times have changed The times are strange
Here I come but I ain't the same

Remember time changes everyone tell your friends this before they start accusing you of changing.

Wish I had.

2006-06-16T23:47:00.000+05:30

This ones for all those who know HINDI

'Dil behal to jayega is khayal se
haal mil gaya tumhara apne haal se '

Hemant Kumar's song If u havent heard this song yet go do so.

'Bula raha hai kaun mujh ko chilmaano ke us taraf
mere liye bhi kya koi udaas , bekarar hai....'

These line's from a song By Asha Bhonsle for the motion picture Umaro Jaan are some of my most memorable lines.

mere liye bhi .................................................................................... ............................................................................................................
I am a sentimental (does this word by anyway mean partly psycho senti and mental!!!) fool.
It makes no sense in this world of ours to think a lot. We've become MECHAINCAL ANIMALS. Slog all day sleep all night.
curse each other and just fight.

I wish I could go back in time
Away frm this Shit away frm this slime

I know I write stupid verse's
but what can u do other than stupid curse's

Hey justwanted to ask seeing is correct english or wat?

Iron Head

2006-06-14T22:49:00.000+05:30

Title of a Rob Zombie song his first song that I've heard.

Read Alex Hailey's The Final Diagnosis SCKXXXXXXXX
Its an excruciating pain to read.The most shameful waste of tress ever seen on this planet.

Ok Will tell u one thing dont go around sprding the news.K.

Were getting bored in the park ,me and my friend Anu SO well Saw a girl a regular in this arena.
She was beautiful fair, nice hair, nice face, overall a gr8 piece of art.Now the prblm part-she was walking at a pace that i cant or just dont walk at.K.

So well miscreants that we are we ........................................................... ....................................................................................................................... ........................................................................................................................
started walking at even faster speed than her overtaking her and making her follow us for 6 rounds of the park.
6 rounds...............
PPl that joggers path was abt 750m long.
6 rounds................
we kept turning back just to see her following us.She was enjoying of th8 i m sure.

I smoke so low on stamina wch lead to our giving up th race just to keep gazing over her.When she saw us staring at her(WE were getting naughtier every sec.)

She SMILED.

End.

Heart Shaped Box

2006-06-12T13:20:00.000+05:30

Became a fan of Nirvana yesterday.
Heard their song 'Heart Shaped Box'

"Hey wait I've Got a new Complain"

And thats what half the world seems to do now a days-complain.
And all u intellectuals who think all's wrong with the world

"Forever in Debt to your priceless Advice"

Wats wrong with the world wats right dont matter as long as u keep yourselves all right.
So kinnda quoting H.S.B for every extract.

"Broken Hymen of your Highness I'm Left black"

This line kinnda is Cobain's point of view about the female's of human gender after his not so happy marriage life with Courtney Love.Well one things for sure me and Cobain had same thoughts abt girls, allright.

"Cut myself on Angel hair and Baby's breath"

Don't know why but this one's sure the most beautiful line in the whole song.Didn't understand it completely though,Died due to a child or a female.Cant break this one althought it shook me up.

"I've been drawn into your magnet tar pit trap"

K drugs are a trap keep away frm them smokin ciggs is fine drinkin is fine but drugs are a severe NO. I follow this strategy.Smoke drink but no doping.

Hey try n leave some comments on this blog i'll appreciate that.

ADIOS