Laziness

A Force Unto Its Own

There is a quaint difference between will and desire.
One who unites them, is a force unto his own.
A man who thinks not but to reach his goal.
A man whose machinery drives him down destiny's beautiful road.

A man whose will alone is aligned, simply walks down the path.
He knows he has to, but the music is gone,
gone is the sound of the breeze upon his skin,
simply lost in his creations din.

A man whose desires point him down his path,
will diverge from his perfection, and upon reflection,
will tangent into this pathetic mode,
without a will, is without a force.

Thus beauty and strength form this blade-pen,
allowing a man to calligraph his will,
and flourish his nature of human being.

Street Grease

Flip, chop, turn, sizzle.
the aroma wafts with the spicy drizzle,
of perfect gentle rain upon my face,
as a street master prepares to ensnare my taste.

The food tastes so damn good,
it flavors on just as it should,
sure sounds unhealthy, let it be -
street grease at its best, for all to see.

Bite after juicy bite, tastes just like grunge,
to me and to people who seek to expunge,
any insensitivity, anything mundane,
on the rain licked streets, and to be profane.

This is street grease. Its rude. Its more than just food.
Be a citizen, but be of the grease. Please, trust me, please.
Its fun to be alive there, without them hassles, without a care.
Don't point up your nose, to strike a pose.

This is street grease. Its rude, but definitely more than just food.

For Sneha And Samit

Samit, I've always been Sneha's first true love, sorry man. :).

There have been such times when I've lost my heart.
But you've found it back for me, every, single time.
And thrust me back into the world, saying,
go lose yourself again.

There have such times when I've shed tears.
But you've collected them, drop by drop,
and why you claimed them precious, I never did see,
But ever did you think of holding a soft hand to my wet cheek.

There have been such times when we’ve - gone nuts laughing,
At such silly little things,
Laughing till we sobbed, peal after peal.
and reveling in how the next euphoria feels.

What you give to me has not a name, it is a new emotion in itself,
so I've always been clueless about how to thank you -
merely contenting myself by shouting at you, losing my heart, shooting a laugh, shedding a tear,
just to see if you were near.

You'll be near Sneha, I'll keep you so.

Samit my man, you've always been joined to us,
just covered thus far by a beautiful drape,
and I could never have asked for more,
as I see this beautiful bond take shape.

How I love you both? Its tough to say,
just know that you'll have me tag all along,
and be a disruptive uncle,
as you go about your married way.

The Light that Lit the Darkness

She didn't like her mom,
for as long as she could remember.
Since she gave her a no,
for that something last December.

They sat at a table eating,
in glares they were competing,
the mother just resigned,
the daughter - angered mind.

Then darkness fell, and there wasn't a candle in the house.

They had a cluttered home, t'was impossible to move.

The daughter wanted her feelings,
dark as they were, to further blacken the air,
her mother thought of her little one,
sitting in the dark.

The daughter thought of all the things,
to scream at her mother's face,
but she could see it not,
for it was dark.

She realized she missed the sight,
and longed for it again,
if only to rage at, if only to cry,
"how can you not understand?"

She realized she felt the void,
of her target in her eyes,
she realized that all she wanted was a bond,
no matter what its guise.

All of a sudden she felt afraid of the dark.

In silence a hand took hers, and held it there,
and the daughter never felt so aware,
that what she felt was an angry love,
and tears fell on their clasp from her cheek above.

Finally, she closed her eyes,
she could see her mother so much better then,
the lights went on, but her eyes stayed shut,
and the tears washed away the dark within.

Developing Passions

All my life (thus far) I've wondered what I want to be good at; one obvious answer would always strike me - that I want to excel in whatever I do. Thats all good, we'd all love to be virtuosos in virtuosity. But I look around me, and I see limits (from what I've read, people call this growing up). We aren't exactly going to do everything and thus be great at everything, so what DO I want to be good at?

I'd sit down and wonder and ponder, becoming lethargic after a point - and become irritated at my lack of want of a specific (want of want, seriously). I envy people who know exactly what they want and set out to get it, thus becoming masters of their fields. In my case, I sometimes end up feeling happy because there are so many things to be good at, and get stuck with the - kid alone in the candy store+the man who got an egg and dreamed of a castle - syndrome.

What I have seen as, I now want more specific things, at least more specific than before. On one side of my age, us kids talk about being clueless so as to where to go, on the other side of my age, us adults reminisce about being in such a state of energetic youth when they were younger.

I don't mean even to say that I'm confused, merely rambling, detached. All I know is that, as an ultimate absolute, if you can take an easy breath in and tilt the corners of your lips upward (even if all of this is in your mind), your fine. There are so many material things to guide you on your way, so I just look up at the sky, and know whats going to make me smile. Its a lovely feeling of anticipation. I know now that photos of people with their arms stretched out in front of cliffs have captured not only current exaltation, but also future ecstasy.

I just love looking up, seeing it stretch across, seen by so many others. It feels so wide, just like the possibilities in a field and outside it.

Chocolacy

Doesn't that taste good?
More than good - damn - its great!
I need more of this,
who said truth was only bitter?

Makes me feel like a god,
in the midst of a deep bite,
makes me pose for a pic,
with a wide brown smile.

It makes me want to curl up in an orange coffee shop,
with heavy snow outside,
it makes others want to do a lot of things,
it governs, no questions, just thus.

So take a bite, a sip, a sniff,
and flash your own brown smile,
and conduct your own chocolacy with others -
it starts and ends all, so stay a while, and smile.

Ends of a Rod.

Life can be... mixed... at an international university. So many people from so many places, so many different cultures - all engaged in developing some aspect of themselves and of their surroundings. In the midst of so many, it is as easy to get completely lost as it is to find an interesting experience that will help you find yourself. I sometimes just loved to sit in the common room of my library, watching such a flux of humanity flow past me. Quite a chapter in permutations and combinations, I'd imagine my math professor to say...

Math class started, and I observed from the back bench as two stalwart scholars set out to answer all the outrageously tough questions the professor had put to us the other day. None of the remaining students, including me, had bothered to even raise their hands as the two tried to outdo each other with their increasingly brilliant and efficient solutions. I shook my head as I prepared myself for Physics, where the same thing was about to repeat itself.

Those two were in all my classes - I never found out their names, but I do remember that they looked so alike. The same height, roughly. The same rough coarse hair, the brown skin, seemingly soft features with sudden harsh contours. The same shaved upper lip (completed with a french beard below); I chuckled to myself thinking that they wouldn't appear out of place in any reputed software company.

I also noticed a certain animosity between them. They never spoke to each, never referred to the other by name. A common friend (just an acquaintance to them) mentioned that they were second generation Americans whose home countries had a few tensions between them. They looked so alike. They spoke in similar fashions, I'd heard them to laugh in exactly the same manner in reaction to the same joke. They even liked the same girl. Thank god they didn't know it, or else they would have seriously had something to fight over. They never worked together, and I think they resented each other for being so similar.

Two ends of rod, thats what they were. Two ends of an inflexible, metal rod - staring right out in opposite directions, despite being fundamentally the same. Imagine if they were elastic, they could actually meet. And gain some expertise on being the end of a rod. And still come back to their original positions. And there are so many people like them. I don't know what figure has those many ends, but I do know that all those people, all those ends, could meet to form a ring. Actually see each other. All it would take is a little bend.

The Day before College started.

The Day before College started.

For the un-initi-Ated, I've been on vacation since march (yo!, uhhuh, fill dat! - *BEATS*)
I'd been strummin 'round - later bored as starch (yo!, uhhuh, back dat! *FLASH SIGNS* *BEATS*)

Well, in the world of rap, I'm sure starch can get bored. But I do have enough of feel in me to want to rap on starting college. Cuz it is March since when I've been on vacation - till September! Its nothing compared to those rich boy vacation some people send their kids on ("Discover yourself beta" - or - "Discover the world beta"). Much as I wish I had the money, I do not wish to go on a tour of holdiay forced self discovery. I am to discover myself, let me to do it apace normal college life.

The day before college started.

The day seems as momentous to me - more maybe - than the actual college inducer itself.

The day before college started.

Might as well start writing sense about it, no?

The day started out with me springing out of bed and knowing I was gonna do a compelling work out at the gym. I spring out of bed, at 9 AM... Then I see the copy of Brisingr, the third book in Chris Paolini's Inheritance cycle, lying so brand new on the table. Hard bound too, never remember mom letting me buy hard bound stuff in India (not that I ever complained, ever). I took my time reading it. Chris Paolini, has matured, no doubt, but I hope he can complete and execute the mound of information he's dumped on us. If the fourth book fails, then the series shall as well (kinda duh, but whatever).

The book took me a while to finish because I interspersed my reading with stuff like napping, food and a movie in the evening.

The movie I watched...
I watched A Wednesday, starring Naseruddin Shah and Anupam Kher to name a few. The movie's citizen view capture was almost flawless for its perspective. It started out with a few moments of over cooked action, but the second half of the movie was apt, climactic, and dominated by a crisply delivered sililoquy by Shah.

The movie's strenght was in its second half sharpness, though they could have spent a little more money on production values.

The movie did manage to inspire several laughs with its irony and street humor. The movie managed to prove its worth when it ended. Instead of rubbishing the movie, we found ourselves in the midst of a heated discussion about social issues in India...

But I digress... College starts today... Finally... I hope I'm good for it... I can be a baby at times... Before I went to sleep, my head buzzed with so many things I wish I could remember I wrote down. I wished (in the words of another) to whisper myself something very profound and then fall asleep. Needless to say, I last remember thinking about sushi, and how expensive it is here...

*Yo! Yo! Back it up! Uh! Uh! Shawty! Dawg!* *Thump BASS*

Peace to all.

Red Moon

There is a shiver in the sky.

There is mystery afoot, no one one knows why.

There is tint awash the dark
there is a hint of falling bark.
A change of times? No one knows why.
There is mischief afoot, amidst the sky.

Tonight is one that a fortune shall change,
tomorrow is one where no sights range,
destiny puts its mark on today's brow,
there is menace afoot, no one knows how.

This lighter than black seems darker instead,
as it kisses innocent sleepers a'bed,
will they see red when they open their eyes?
I know not. No one does.

There is mischief afoot, no one knows why.

Updatus...

Well, like I said before, I'm at UW, the U or whatever name you wanna know it as. The past few weeks have been spent in

1. Setting up my room - closet, bed, computer (which hasn't arrived yet), docking station yada yada.

2. Buggering about university - checking out the hotspots, libraries (which might also be hotspots), and walking up and down the university avenue - the Ave - with its collection of stores and restaurants and college folk...

3. Buggering about University - but this time for Advising and Orientation sessions - There's a pretty diverse international crowd here which mostly consists of South East Asians - students from Vietnam, Korea, China, Japan and the like. I've found about seven Indian undergrads so far, rooting from Ludhiana to being born and brought up in Dubai... Its been a lot of fun interacting with this crowd, finding out that we can be quite similar at times. I introduced an Egyptian, a Korean and a Japanese to Indian food - Masala Dosa, Chilly Chicken (their call), and Butter Chicken - along with rice and Naan. They loved it - though the food wasn't completely desi prepared.

Also,
We'd all gone for this activity that involved us being let into a pub (the activity took up the entire pub) and playing a game of trivia. A few questions into the round, we really got into the game and warmed up to each other - pulling legs, asking history, that kind of thing... The questions were clearly of an international nature, ranging from

"Who are the two candidates up for Vice Presidency in the US National elections this November?"

to

"How many World Cups has Brazil won?"

to

"Which weight lifter dedicated his Olympic Gold Medal to his recently expired wife, holding her photo on the podium?"

to

"What is the national tree of Washington State?"

All this was over three rounds. We (team iPod) ended up tying with 'Still Smoking', who looked to be made up entirely of Indian Graduate students sticking together. The tie breaker was

"What is the population of the proper city of Seattle?"

Our first guess was given by this girl called Sherry, from China - at a nice 3.4 million. I swallowed my misgivings for want of a better figure myself - and we entered it. The the quiz master looks at us and asks us whether we knew this was for Seattle proper. We take the cue and say that we had no idea (OMG, was it that?? Oh..!!...). And now being better informed by whispers that its around 500K, I jot in 540K as our guess. Turns out the actual population is 592,613. ... ... ... The other team guessed 580K. They won. :(. But we got more candy as a consolation prize than they did. Suckers.

4. Buggering about the University - for getting into courses that are already full. I've been successful once, and should probably get going for the next and not waste the library's computer access. Ta.

Well, I have a change of address.

A chronicle, just that. I've changed my address. Basically have moved across an ocean. Man, I actually traveled all those miles. All that I had built up previously, I am in contact with (duh!) but still - the space that asks to be filled here with my doings is... New to say the least.

Random language aside, I'm currently in Seattle to pursue an education in Engineering. UW is a very reputed school with an extremely beautiful campus. In some of my readings, I've come across a lot of people talking about how they always wanted to squeeze what they could from college, and I now get what they mean. There so much of infrastructure available, as well as the time being perfectly right to start doing something. Cliches aside, no - no cliches aside. I do want to do something (as has been said by so many teens before me (heck, talking about this cliche like this is a cliche) and thats a cliche too... How many times do I have to do this before I stop cliching - nice word... But I digress)

Lets see, I'm gonna pursue computer science... Which is definitely of huge interest to me - so no worries about not liking class. I get to work part time - wohoo!... I can't wait for my first paycheck - maybe I send a photocopy of it to mom - old school :D Well, this rant just serves to record a bout of bounciness... Cheers to all!

Whisper

Do you hear that trickle trickle?

Trickle? Fickle – Sickled heat?

Bound in colors, hear them speak.

Empty and full are now the same.



Do you feel that bending shiver?

Swiveling up your shivering spine?

Like melted slivers, dew and wine,

In you they are my claim to fame.



Are you aware of the pass through you?

Yes you are, just haven’t realized what it means,

Just a feel that you glean,

As your name is caressed, again and again.



Want to breathe again?

Just hear those words and let them through,

Words truly known by but a few,

That bitter dark chocolate, so out of the blue.

Those merry little secrets from me to you.

The Black Hole that is Faith.

Nicole sips and sips and sips,
the water she thinks is wine,
goes high on the nectar through her lips,
is thus high on faith, not wine.

Friends relax, with their own,
their favorite selves on their surface,
with their faith in laughter, that godsend,
who questions the faith in friends?

Kin, by a line of blood flowing through their veins,
feel the all blotting shine of faith -
blood shall blot, clot and cleanse,
as it holds together a race.

A little child fears not,
the darkness of the night,
for it has faith in strength, faith unbent,
in its guardian's might.

A lover holds a vigil,yet she worries not,
as she knows her faith shall carry him across any sea,
and her faith in him, his in her, theirs in love,
was but only meant to be.

Under the platform of my palm,
that holds my prashad,
I feel the weight and and pull,
of the institution that is faith.

I may not sing your prayers and hymns,
I may not feel what you feel, but I do feel,
the vibes of faith that you send around,
which bring me to my knees.

In the halls of learning, worship, war and peace -
and starting thoughts are but these -
I give you my respect, if only just,
for the faith pulled from you by those who must.

We all have our Gods, and our faith,
and I put mine in my God's hand,
which nudges me to work and love,
nudges me to reap my land.

Faith, you are beautiful indeed. Which for I salute you.

For it is you who makes us human and strained,
us imperfect - but such a beautiful stain.
Us dirty but to be cleansed, us pained but to be reprived -
you make us one, as we believe.

Faith, you are beautiful indeed.

Exalt, Mine.

My hands are on you,
with every finger stroke,
I harbour only my most extreme -
for you to soak.

I wish to purge myself of you,
if it may only be,
for the unrestrained pleasure,
of seeing you outside me.

You are a frozen portrait of myself,
a momented sliver, if I may say,
and you're mine now, mine to last,
mine in every way.

You cannot feel yet, so I feel for you,
feel your contours, reflections and feel,
immerse myself in the near future,
of what you are to be.

My hands tremble as I release you,
as I hope to see truth shine,
before I give you your completion,
you unshackled part of mine.


Oh! - you - Mine!
Capsuled breath of life -
I release you!
so exalt in newfound existence!
Oh! - you - Mine!

Dedicated to the release any creator of anything gets right before he knows he's reached completion.

Rider's Dawn - Spirits (and Spirit's, and Spirits') Call

A candle is sparked in the dark,

Twin flames light up your eyes,

A surge of moralled power flows,

From flames of the deepest sacred crevice.

For a moment, I ask you to put aside,

The daily vexes that break your stride,

To seep to the deepest oaths you’ve sworn –

And know –

This flame a’burn is our own.

I am your spirit,

The very heart of your unexplained,

Your fundamental desire to live,

Your endeavor, will and pain.

I tug at you from your inside,

I sparkle and crackle against inbuilt bonds,

I beg you to spread and ignite,

In the truest form of your scarlet might.

I am your spirit, and I clarion this call,

At your horizon – a beacon of dawn.

Your dawn – ride to it now,

Hesitate not, the time is now!

I hold a candle to your eyes,

What do you see?

Open your eyes, self, and see your flame,

In me and you that are just the same,

Burning us to know and to believe,

That we shall forge our willed without reprieve.

Self, I ask you to realize and merge.

I hold a candle to my face,

I admire the fire in my eyes,

Embronzed, I ride to set alight,

Towards my dawn – to end the night.

The Little Girl With the Angelic Smile

The Little Girl with the Angelic Smile.

The rain was torrential,

I observed, from my rickshaw,

and shifted to the centre,

so as,

to not get wet.

But a purple sedan passed me by,

and aside the driver was a little angel set,

entrenched in warmth, that angelic smile, which,

drew me to the side, to again get wet.

The car sped ahead, and I,

Urged on my rickshaw man as well,

Till he pulled up beside that sedan

at the next red light,

and I saw, and fell.

Into a pit of shock and surprise,

at seeing the little cherub sobbing,

fell tears like molten drops from her halo above,

fell they that set me throbbing.

The light turned green,

and I lost that scene,

as she was driven away into the mist,

a smile to a sob in a couple of seconds,

was my driver’s sardonic gist.

I didn’t need to scream,

at my rickshaw man,

to pull aside, that purple sedan,

and prayed for the next light to be red.

But when he did,

the light was green,

giving me just a glimpse, of another scene

Of what can truly be said –

That t’was an angel among angelic smiles,

Returned to an angelic face,

her summer of joy after tears in rain,

Returned - her eyes shone again.

I thanked my god, my lucky stars,

For entrusting lovingly to me,

That simple, sylvan, angelic smile,

If but a memory.

And I thought of changes in life,

So ephemeral as the dew,

But then I thought of that

Simple, sylvan, angelic smile,

And my own refreshed, anew.

Rat Fight!

Prologue: There was a 'kebab mein haddi' in the peaceful domains of 11 Kalyani. A till then unsighted rodent had been wreaking havoc in our abode, chewing up soap, closed doors and making passes at our potatoes. That, in the world of a South Indian, scrubbed clean household, is about as personal as it gets... Dearest mom had claimed to have spotted the miscreant once (giving detailed explanations about its size and why it shouldn't be in her kitchen) and yours truly had heard its squeaks in the cookery as well. But we were still unsure so as to where its realtime position was. Then came Sunday morning.


The fight begins.



The damage done to our kitchen door by the rat, in its bid to escape.


We'd closed the kitchen door tight, thinking that the menace might have escaped to the piping in the building (home CID had determined that as an entry point previously), but this morning I awoke to see the bottom of the kitchen door bearing heavy ratty influence - as is shown by the wooden shavings above. The creature, obviously bugged by the tight food security measures we'd taken had tried to escape and literally chew its way out of the kitchen door. We knew we had a trap on our hands. Which meant...


Its go time!

We (me and mom) scoured the attic, in the process getting rid of a lot of unwanted junk (and hence really doing what we should have done years ago) but the rat eluded our scrutiny still. We could feel it though - it was just the pulse of our kitchenous surroundings, but we could sense it. I was on the stool when mom uttered a shout and jumped back remarkably quickly. The rat wasn't above us, but was below us, behind the gas cylinder!

Sticks were brought out as the melee began. It was two very frustrated soldiers against an experienced harper of the dark. What a fight it was.

(Match of the extremely early morning - Mom vs. the rat (not in picture))
(Snap deleted due to persistence of the subject)

I had a stick in one had and narrowly missed the rat as it scurried past me into another corner. I grabbed a large tub and had, in a single moment - an epiphany of a fantasy. I would trap the rat in the tub and quietly sit on the tub till we could decide what would be done with it, yes, that was it!

The rat used its pace and cunning against us, cramped us we were in our confines. It never gave us much room to maneuver. Me and mom took the lead in turns, generally ceding when we'd been reduced to screams and random stick banging. All of a sudden, we sensed its absence. We cleared up the whole kitchen (and I had to wash everything that existed there) but there was no further sign of the blighter.



We still think it escaped from behind the Ganesh statue out to a window. How can the tusked one forget his companion? All is peaceful now, as I sit, squeaky clean and rat free to record this incident.

Once again, may peace exist. Always.

Timelines

Feel the glitter of stars upon your faces -
the sheen of timelines of distant races,
singing a storied tune cast in light -
a tune of millenia past, in our sight.

We are unknowingly swathed in their lore and legend,
bathed in their timelines' flow,
but need a sixth sense, an antenna maybe,
to decipher their crypt, decode their glow.

These races may now be extinct,
expired physically in their own space,
but their previous existence is cast upon us, in light,
though in time 'tis out of phase.

I guess Mr. XYZ of far away,
looks through his scope and sees,
our own light, our own past,
of dinosaurs and now ancient trees.

O' Light - you giver of sight,
you've set our clocks to differ by such,
that you've partially blinded us in our sight's imperfection,
made our present and their past touch.

Maybe we shall conquer you one day,
and observe our done from far away,
maybe one day we shall truly see,
and unlock our timelines' mysteries?



To Mr. XYZ of far away, I say hi.

Mother's Day

Lets hear it for all mothers, mother figures, fathers who take on the roles of mothers, mothers who take on the roles of fathers and every being you associate with ma.

Daily do we further grasp, daily do we learn.

You're Godsend,
and we feel like we've been given to our gift.
A gift that eases us through all there is to do,
just hope we can do in our own way, as much and more for you.

Folks, to the motherly spirit that gives so much, and asks for so less in return.

The placement of a show

The lights blare, colours sing, sounds flash in my head,
as I make my way to a prime time show.

I am in the theatre, as the audience.

My ticket is a receptive mind,
which is my brain and heart combined.

I see the thought forms of others,
whirling across the stage,
see is a misnomer - I experience them
and enjoy myself,
as they stare at me from the dias.

I am in the theatre, as the showman.

My backstage pass is an expressive mind,
which is my brain and heart combined.

I send my own thought forms,
flying across the stage,
jingled, encoded in my energy waves.
I know not whether I assault or please - but am simply at ease,
my work as a showman done.

I think at times, though,
I am both audience and artist -
in the same show
as I display and receive within myself, critique myself,
I realise, so many times, that I am my theatre.

And that an entire show is within me, makes me smile.

What one has to say.

Heres an excerpt from a recent chat convo of mine. 'A' is me, 'R' a friend.

.... .... .... .... .... .... .... .... ....

A: Aite then, time for me to go, Rikadablaka.

R: Yeah, me 2, wiazapi.

A: Aureal bourgeois onions.

R: This is kinda fun, banooki.

*Lines of nonsense later, both exit*

You might be wondering where 'A' and 'R' forgot their brains - but hold it. I've recently come to the conclusion that the conventional confines of language aren't always enough to satisfy a person's sheer instincts. I read about a study somewhere that showed that the internal techniques of human perception, mental organization and understanding vary vastly amongst individuals. Original Expressionists like poets, writers and other artistes are revered not only for technical skill, but also for their expression of what is instinctive within them - their expression of how they see their medium. If the audience catches on to their patterns, well, I suppose a new trend may emerge. On a personal level, we (or I at least) mentally arrive to a conclusion after a hopelessly personal-specific thought process and then translate our result into some society defined code answerable only to ourself.

So, progressing from human uniqueness to that chat extract above.

Some sounds may have different connections and associations inside your head, that even you might only be partially aware of. You might have felt good upon hearing a random sound or getting a particular fragrance, not only for the nervous action taking place, but also for the triggers it sets off. Theres even this new fangled thing where people get high on certain co-ordinated digital sounds...

Now, instead of saying a conventional goodbye, I try saying random nonsense that comes into my head. In a way, what I say is very reflective of my state; but also in way that mainly I am privy to. My one rule is that I shouldn't have to overthink to get the word out but simply let it flow. It provides a welcome escape from the usual set rules like 'Ta', or 'bye' or whatever. At that time, the feel of the phoentics of 'Aureal Bourgeois Onions' really appealed to me as something funny.

Uttering such nonsensical, convoluted phrases forms a good oral exercise to improve knowledge and feel of that particular cavity. The word can even mean something in real life, but you just say it because you want it to be there. Its a question of letting it come onto your tongue from the deeper recesses of your conscious.

Next time you feel like saying chonchon for no rhyme or reason, try it out. Whatever it is you wish you'd had the chance to just say - make use of your jaws, teeth and tongue to fully vent. Its pretty satisfying.

Of Post, Fruitless Resilience and Monkeys :(

Today's been an interesting day so far... Interesting is really an interesting word, covering both positive and negative ends of the spectrums, and the reader might have guessed which end I'm writing about...

The day started with me having set to post a few documents to the States via India Speed Post. I trudged out in the scorching April sun of Bombay, completely sweaty within seconds of departure. I reached the post office without too many incidents and took my place in the appropriate line, starting non-concomitantly at either the ceiling or the ground as I awaited my turn. My mind was more focussed on the ice cream I'd promised myself after I'd posted the package off. All of a sudden I get a blast of tobacco stained breath in my mouth - something along the lines of "Arre, Kai Karto re?!?!?" I look down from the ceiling to see the sweaty man in front of me screaming at another sweaty man who had apparently tried to cut in line. I would've joined in, had I known any bit of Marathi, but simply contented myself by giving him the worst possible glare I could. I spent the rest of my time in line thinking about how that horrible blast of breath had come on my face while the man was staring to my right... Some questions never can be answered. After posting the package, I found that the nearby store had run out of ice-cream. I returned home with my grump quotient slightly above the acceptable average.

As events came about, I had to buy two blank CDs later in the day. I headed out to the local have-it-all store (god bless small time Indian entrepreneurs for this) and found that the store owner was lunching. I asked him if he could just deal with me and then be free to eat, and he told me that he'd join me in just a second. Hmm... Just a second... His 'Just a second' consisted of cracking, by the count, four jokes on Gujaratis with his lunch-mate, taking out his cellphone and playing some random instrumental music and laughing to himself - all while not even touching his food. The combination of the insanely high humidity and temperature, and his irritating ambiance prompted me to threaten to leave, rather haughtily, I might add. To my dismay, me gave me a flick of his head and continued with his jokes. The other store that stocked CDs was a good fifteen minutes away, but I'd never really liked this shopkeeper (Whom we call 'Anpad', hindi for illiterate). I stomped away, muttering to myself. On the road, I came across this group of guys listening to, I am almost sure, the same dumb song that the shopkeeper had been playing on his cell phone. Bad turned to worse, and I just had to swear out loud. I felt this haze forming before my eyes as I stolidly marched on ahead. Too bad about the haze, it caused me to ram into this horizontal pole, knocking my cap off and sending me to the dizzy verge of senseless tears. I sat down, collected myself and restrengthened my resolve to not let that shopkeeper get any monetary purchase from my CD shopping. I said some vile things to no one in particular, and moved on. I managed to buy the CDs while keeping myself in one piece - when a thought struck. The owners of both the aforementioned stores are cousins. My day seemed to have reached rock bottom right then, as I swore at everything I could think of for the second time that day - and then burst out laughing at my plight. Little did I know that the day hadn't even ended for me.

I got home and started burning the required data into the CDs. One of the CDs didn't even work, but I was too tired to get angry then. I managed to my best and went for a nice shower. Then this happened.



The lady who lives below me phoned to say that my next door neighbour wouldn't go upto her flat because of two monkeys sitting between our doors. She asked me to drive them away so that my neighbour could return with some peace of mind. My previous frustrating experiences of the day turned into some macho-rage-aggression mindset, complete with images of monkeys scurrying and crying away at my fury. I put on some really heavy metal, got out the trusty stick that most Indian families use to hang wet clothes, and bravely opened the door. I was confronted with two very lethargic looking creatures sitting about a foot from my door. Seeing me, they hurried up to the top of next flight of stairs, and surveyed me from there. I started up the flight whipped out my cellphone, snapped them, and then loudly banged the stick close to a tail. My bluff was called for the second time that day, as both of them calmly surveyed me. Only upon actually prodding them quite strongly, did they slowly get up and clamber out onto the terrace... They weren't my business anymore, so I trudged back inside after escorting the dear lady home.

I did go out in the evening later and vent my frustration on the field, which was very satisfying. But still, having my bravado being zapped so calmly by the omnipresent one sure did make me blink.

Just writing all this down takes lightens the load by so much. Vive le releases, vive indeed.

Satiation

I want to freeze a moment,
not go back and change it,
just freeze it,
and satiate myself.

Moments happy, sad, good and bad,
I'm not asking for one alone,
I'm asking for them all, as may come,
only to realise them, as my own.

I wish to fully claim my parallel emotions,
fully take in these works of art,
drink deeply from this cup of occurrence,
to the bigger cipher to add a part.

Each 'pal' is unique in itself,
one of God's combinations of synthesis,
I want to recall perfectly, realize completely,
the treasure trove that each moment is.

I want to feel a moment,
not go back and change it,
just feel it,
and satiate myself.

The Monk, The Archer and My Sedative

The monk perches upon cold stone,
basking in sunlight and dew,
meditating upon nothing alone,
no thought does he pursue.

The archer stands in the field, upright,
his only target set in sight,
he draws, his muscles tense,
without a whimper, without pretense.

I am not so fortunate.

I stand between one and none,
my thoughts web about, oft undone,
by forays to frequent, clarity too rare,
so much to grab, so little to spare!

Ah yes, clarity.
'Tis what I meant to speak about.

Clarity for me is an elusive fix,
is often lost amidst the mix,
with my targets to hit, aims to fulfill,
"What am I to do?", I wonder still.

To know one has a hundred preys,
behind one's back, ahead in the day,
clarity promises a lot when it does strike,
to reveal but explain, be both heavy and light.

Realization arrives as a packaged gift,
filling the holes, bridging the drift,
bringing the greatest outlook of all -

I haven't done it yet,
but at least I have,
a problem to solve.

Time Pass...

My Orkut profile "About me' section... Just wanted to store it some place...

*Convo with self* Sometimes I wonder: Is Orkut a medium through which people can simply check out what other people are talking about them, under the complete pretention of anonymity, and also a place where the people holding the pre-mentioned conversations drop purposeful snippets so that the post-prementioned convo people can check them out with the knowledge and consent of the holders of the conversation but while retaining the pretention of anonymity and maintaining a firm silence (maybe) between each other in all combinations about the ergo spoken topic?

PS - Why the hell do all the chics on Orkut put their albums as locked? I won't post their snaps all over the internet; just appreciate and move on.

PS 2 - When will people realise that every person on Orkut knows what a "creepy, scary, stunning mind reader" is and has realised that the code they give is complete shit?

PS 3 - Or that there is no kid dying of some rare, supposedly uncurable disease that needs an immediate operation for which funds can be collected only by irritating the hell out of Orkutters by asking them to send the whole scrap all over the network. Guys, the play on one's moral goodness is no longer cute. Drop it.

XBox 360 - Or that those other flashy HTML enabled forwards are equally irritating, have caused huge amounts of irritation, anger, frustration and a general feeling of uncleanliness? *F.Y.I*: They do not make you look cool, in Sync or culturally or socially active. These people have enabled a digital network to require the same kind of cleanup that our dear city does. Dammit.

But I go ahead of myself, I don't want to scare away friends and other potentially interesting scrappers who can actually make up a vibrant social life.

Final Comment: I like browsing Orkut and inserting random (though relevant and maybe insightful) comments when I come across a profile or some other detail that catches my eye. I am not (maybe not) flirting if its a female in question. It forms a great way to make them brain juices flow.

Final Comment 2: This is all I care to say about myself at the moment, showcasing only that facet of my persona that overlaps my Orkuttian instincts.

Final Comment 3: I do not accept testimonials; In case someone does bother.

Footnote: I hate the distorted keyboard text language thats being used "lyK thS Is sO rAdICaL!" It doesn't represent GenX or Gen whatever in my watery eyes. Get over it and learn to write properly. Or go join Aamir Khan in TZP.

*Maniacal laughter at having possibly made someone read this much*

Two kinds of pain

Courtesy them Rocky movies... :P

Two kinds of pain...

There are two kinds of pain,

The first kind of pain,
is felt,

when a dear one is lost,
giving us despair and sorrow.

When an error proves its cost,
clouding hopes of tomorrow.

when bruised by an adversary's strike,
one slips, its gone - the will to fight.


The second kind of pain,
is felt,

when dear ones are lost,
but you know in peace they rest.

when mistakes prove their costs,
but only the learning do you attest.

When you reel from a blow, but somehow know,
you have it in you to go on.

When your muscles ache, from welcome strain,
spurred on from dusk to dawn.

When in your finest hour,
involved, intoxicated in your fight,
you know

victory, if not in hand,
will always be in sight.