July 9, 2012 § 3 Comments
The dreary hot days of summer afternoons, with nothing much to remember by, except the tales of a great grandfather whose photo hung unnoticed on top of the kitchen door. The days where you drew cars racing through colourful hills and sunsets, coniferous trees and exotic lakes, wishing for those vistas of freedom, blocked by grill doors of civilized fear.
The memory is a lamp made of frail glass, like that sold on a pushcart during the days of habitual powercuts. Games of hide and seek with people who no longer are around; charades which linger around in the recesses of your mind like the candle lit shadows which seemed ever present.
Of a swing, which has hung where it has for generations. The wild days of dauntless fury it has seen, holding your ambition, propelled by hands of love, and words of encouragement which turned you into what you are today. The simmering patterns of sunlight, dutifully falling everyday, till an apartment grew out of an old house.
A landscape festooned; A swing, which tends to the present, yearning for that story; Replaying all those tears, laughter and diffidence like the song your mother sang to put you to sleep.
A precious grasp of knowledge, half hidden in ignorance and half in childish hubris, now stares at you, frail and old, like those hands which carried you to look at the trains. As if the roads, lined with cars are a noir, for they remind you of some days which were better, some which were worse but all equally hazy, all mixed with elation and rebellion.
The duress of an archaic system pressed itself all around you, yet innocent you built ships and castles and planes, crossing seas and bombing nations with your imagination, bridges arranged with marble lights, hoping to find the meaning of distance in a map.
Your dreams, let loose; You see a chance in everything, yet opportunities were as biased as the coin in your magic kit. Those glasses, which you wore as you raced to school on a fifty cc two-wheeler, are now nowhere to be seen; much like the suppressed dreams lost in reality; much like the paper boat sinking in the rain; much like the paper planes flying across the class room and landing on a despotic girl’s head; much like your favorite green and maroon pencil sharpener gifted by an aunt abroad being taken away by a heartless teacher, hoping to reprimand you for a mistake of another, whom you cannot remember.
Prayers told with half opened eyes, confused veneration- in fear, untamed by rote, by repetition into belief. The smell of coffee and the rain, folded together like the supplement into the newspaper. Chagrined balls of despair, turning to bowl you over and you remind yourself that you have a long way to turn fifteen.
Like a piece of paper with a word slipping out of a dictionary. The wonderful days, rush back to you, like your neighbour’s pet dog. And like the dog which was greeted with chains, you pick it up and shove it back into the page.
October 5, 2011 § 3 Comments
There is the point of indifference. I seem to keep reaching it only to feel the pinch again. There are times when tomorrow is already here. That feeling that it is inevitable that I have to go through my day. I crib a lot on twitter, but I am not sure if it is heart-felt any more. Probably a knee jerk reaction to everything that is happening, a vent.
I still haven’t got the hang of this friendship thing. At one moment a person is nice and smiling at you. The next moment they act like a stranger. It is confusing. And these aren’t random people you get to know on the web, these are ‘real people’. Going through random quotes on friendship isn’t going to help. There is no point really, it seems tiring to talk to people. I used to talk a lot. Now days, I have stopped talking to people all that much. A random conversation with a stranger on a train is fine but talking to ‘acquaintance’ isn’t worth it anymore.
I am afraid to talk about ‘me’. Talking about what I do is fine but I am not too sure if I can talk about myself to anyone. You think someone has become a friend and has risen beyond seeing you as weak when you talk about problems but it isn’t so. Even with people who you have known for most of your life. This probably is growing up- one needs to shut oneself in a tight shell.
It is remarkable how one has to learn not to be offended, as well. My standards for the world have almost reached 0 but not quite. Still, day by day my expectations keep falling(much like the stock markets now). Twitter helps me retain my sanity, still there are times I wonder what is the purpose of the whole site.
People may come, people may go but I go on forever.
May 17, 2011 § 4 Comments
I would love to stand on top of the tallest hill in the world and shout my lungs out and roll on the grass at that tallest hill laughing away like a maniac. But since I cannot for myriad reasons(like for eg. me being really lazy person), I just decide to think about it and end up day dreaming, rather evening dreaming while doing the chest press at the gym.
It is rather significant fact that life is so much more enjoyable when you pretend it to be enjoyable. Over a period of time it does become enjoyable. In that way anything and everything is enjoyable, including walking in 40C and sweating all over. Life is in pretense than in the actuals, simple because there are times when one has no clue as to what is real.
It is easy to say gulping down a tetra pack of apple juice is your reality but it probably isn’t the reality of a prodigal daughter sitting in a bar and drinking away or that kid in the corner of the road trying to sell coloring books for some unknown mafia. But you learn to ignore both and still fall in love with that costly car and that dark street with a single street lamp and cool evening sea breeze.
Not that you are poor or something. You have reached material contentment and it should last a while- as long as people keep making annoying ads.
I stopped calling myself a writer. Not that I can’t find time, but I don’t see the point in writing. You can feel depressed and bothered and writing does ease it, but you don’t make anything out of it. You take a stance on a topic and you can argue but you don’t achieve anything. Thinking is one thing, doing is another. I am trying to figure out how to get things done.
I will start writing stories and the like again sooner rather than later but I continue writing poems every now and then- poetry is that verse that reminds you of your joyous self. Some say I read too many depressing books, but I enjoy them. There is a part of me that enjoys being grave. There is no use fighting my love for melancholy, I embrace it, enjoy it and continue. And while it my sound bad, it was necessary to reach this point- now I can enjoy those smaller things which I couldn’t before. I am happy because I don’t have a reason to feel sad. And even when I feel sad, I know I am happy about it.
I went to North India for the first time. There are as many Indians as stars in the universe. You can never put it in words nor in pictures. It is one long motion film, never ending and never ending. The contrasts are too much but Jai ho! and corruption followed me all the way to Wagh Border. Someone told me corruption isn’t in our DNA, but I tell you it is.
I refuse to write about things that bother me any more because I know they bother me and that if something has to be done about it, I need to do it. All that is important is that I remain happy forever. And that is possible only when sources I seek happiness from exist and are happy.
I still dream and I always will, it is just that I see things differently when I am awake, but my dreams always inspire me.
I exist because I think, but more importantly I exist.
May 12, 2011 § 2 Comments
Totems have been made famous by that little spinning thing in a movie. But totems aren’t just minuscule little spinning things, they probably are more than that but who cares anyway.
They say life is in detail. But detail takes too long and the macro is just too glossy at times that you are left spell bound. Problems in life really happen when you are confused. Most of the time, I am confused as to whether to be confused or not. It just kills me.
Emotions seem like choices to me. It is so easy to predict when I am going to get angry. It really becomes a choice then- do I go ahead and become angry or control my temper? It probably shouldn’t be like that. But if it is, then it is right? Hell to probability.
The most hated man on Earth is not Osama but Murphy. No arguing that. But not many know who he is. Not that we all know who Osama was. But giving a care is like following rules in Chennai-redundant.
At times things make absolutely no sense, at other times, things seem as if they are nicely drawn bath with awesome fluids in it to make you feel good, but they come at a price, always.
There is so much of nonsense out there that it should be free, but we end up paying for it anyway- education apparently.
Never expect people to make you happy. But if you do- read Dostoevsky or try reading. Or even better read Rushdie.
The world has always been crazy- it just seems crazier because we seek sanity more than ever before. Stop watching TV and get to reality- it should set you alright.
But if the crazies bores or wears you down just project some more of that TV nonsense into reality or simply switch the channel to NDTV.
Corruption is like honey potatoes. You have no clue which part of the world it was invented in, but everyone thinks it tastes good.
In the end all that is going happen is that everything is going to end. The problem of course is knowing where is the end. After all we are nothing but a ray seeking an end. For some humour died with the Docomo ads.
April 8, 2011 § 5 Comments
Complete, contemplative and beautiful!
The story of Sinclair the narrator how he grew up and the influence of his friend Demian on his life. Simple yet powerful, this coming of age book is like no other.
Hermann Hesse is one of favorite authors. His writing has this force which is calm yet stimulating. While his protagonist is clever, knowledgeable and talented he is still brash, raw and innocent. One cannot but help identifying with him and in my case, this book is a landmark, just like how Siddhartha was. Like Siddhartha here too the protagonist is someone who moves from the existing conventions and lives a life of his own.
Hesse gives you hope, while reminding you that there are many obstacles you have to conquer- the biggest being yourself. The writing doesn’t merely appeal to you- it talks to you. While the book was intended to represent how a generation felt(Hesse has published it under a pseudonym as he felt that youngsters would feel that an older person will not understand how they feel), it is universal and personal at the same time.
The beauty lies in the simplicity of the writing and the depth of the theme. The book brings in art, music, writing, spirituality and religion- factors that influence and have a grip on you. The book is truthful and makes you think. To me it brought back memories of earlier times. In a way it reminded me of where I am today and because of what and gave me a renewed confidence.
I could completely identify with Sinclair, though Demian and his mother seem rather mystic. But that is part of the book- as everyone else except the author are influences that appear in the person’s life. There are some among humanity, who live with, for and because of a greater force, the characters in this book are such.
Simple and powerful, this is a must read book.
April 4, 2011 § 2 Comments
They say nothing is constant except change, but no one seems to have any change! I treasure change- no way would I part with 5, 10 or even 20 Rs. , I need to have enough of ’em! As it is, bargaining with the Auto drivers is madding, I am not going to fall for the no change excuse- no sir!
The summer is here, already. It drove in a Nano, whizzing past the Altos, Autos and well the thermometer got all hot for it apparently. Hopefully it knows that Nanoes are prone to catch fire- time we replace our veins and arteries with Havells?
Too many things happening, though everyone seems to be talking only about the World Cup. Time for hockey to get a jockey- the next best thing to naked you see?
Bad jokes apart, I am busy playing a game with the universe. And I think we have a NDA(Non-disclosure agreement), so can’t say much about it. Well expect:-
1) One can become calm without studying B.calm.
That book was amazing! I did hear many people couldn’t get past the first page- blame you not- that is why it is really good! Catch 22, you see? My life is being defined by these ridiculous books and terrible books(the ones authors send me- one fellow even spammed me for giving a thumbs down!), which frankly I am enjoying.
But on the down side, reading a lot means, I cannot write. And anyway, my brain is dead, almost. Guess I haven’t done anything intellectually challenging for a long time now. It probably is going to take a lot of effort to get it back alive- maybe I should eat Aliva?
The heat is unbearable! And for the first time in my life- no proper summer holidays! I feel all grown up- need to keep reminding myself, that I am only 19.
No exams for 2 years! Doesn’t that sounds wonderful? Apparently not, for some. Not that the exams are challenging or anything. See, now I sound all snobbish, which I am not. I am just a normal person, who suddenly seems to like using ‘I’ a lot.
But of course no one thinks I am normal. I am so used to standing out in a crowd that, that has become my way of blending in. You know that lemon slice on your drink? Some love to give it a squeeze, others just look at it curiously, while the rest throw it out without another thought.
I am of course, not a lemon slice, I used to be, maybe, but not now. What is the point in trying to make friends anyway? I have enough of them(they can be counted with one hand) to keep me happy for now.
Anyway, take care, be nice and use nycil, nicyl or however you write it.
February 8, 2011 § 14 Comments
Well the results are out and I have cleared Intermediate. Whines, champ-pains anyone? The sky did not turn a dark yellow, dirty medicine colour, neither did thunder roll over Parangi Malai(St.Thomas Mt.), but as I sat trying there refreshing the mobile page furiously, I did get my results with as much pomp and gusto as Humpty Dumpty had during the great fall.
Of course, no one knows why eggs sit on walls, or why companies have firewalls. And what is with firewalls anyway? The term is very misleading in the Indian context. Didn’t Sita do the agnipariksha to prove that Ravana didn’t touch her(if only 298 existed then-I googled that btw.). Doesn’t that mean, we have to break through and prove ourselves? Mythology my friend shouldn’t only be in spirits or Bunsen burners, it should come in LPG cylinders, with cycle brand agarbati.
Anyway, I hope I don’t need to write any exams for another 2 years. Hope because I may end up being forced to join some other stupid course 😐
My friend’s play ‘A Play About Death’ is happening in March. If you are in Chennai, keep track of their FB page to know more. Or well, I will write about it soon enough 🙂
A very short post, yes, but well see you soon.
January 13, 2011 § 7 Comments
Life is moving so fast that I can walk faster than a car. A car stuck in a traffic jam in T Nagar. But every speeding human, has a ticket to somewhere and mine it seems is to Kerala. Finally a place where my name will be home! The chutzpah of it all. This will be the first time in my life, I will be away from home for 10 days. I am terribly excited and fired up to count the assets before I see them.
Fortunately this time, it is a job which is less tiring. I shall admire the sea,the nari(wolf? or naari=women?) and the scenery and of course curse the coconut trees that block my view every now and then. That is gross stereotyping of course, but well, I am typing this right now.
I have in a way run out ideas for blog posts. Once upon a time, that would have been a whole post by itself, but that was once upon a time. This week has been pretty busy. Went to one of those big corporates with lots and lots of cubicles and people who kept saying “I don’t have access”. Well at least they all can excel. Word. Power to point out a bad font.
I want to write more stories. So planning to post a story a week. The first two were inspired by Chennai. Do read them, if you haven’t already. And if you have, hope you liked them.
Now that my vetti-time is over and I have run of anything witty. Tata!
January 9, 2011 § 3 Comments
She sat on a wooden stool next to a stub. Her hand moved over the cavernous canvas, freely sketching a parapraxical tree.
A thick, short trunk which called upon an infinite foliage. The olive melt into the bright green- an iridescent plaque of herself to be hung on a sour cream wall of a monstrous mansion. Her passions tempered into a 30 inch hypotenuse, the diagonal to the quenching quadrilateral.
Behind her a seemingly infinite jungle made of imported trees, with eyes prying and mice hiding from venomous snake in rat holes – a montage to the erogeneity of the city. In front of her a perfect boulevard, leading to a monumental arch, commemorating the thesauri of a linguist state.
Yet, neither the painted jungle nor the built arches inspired her. The tree which once belonged there and had cast its shadow to the dusty traveller and the hopeless migrant, was now a marginal stub- cut and left to grow mushrooms, moved her enough to empathies and create.
She sat there, dreamily, unaware of the snide sarees and disgruntled dothis- the gossip mongers and jinn eyed obnoxious self-professed moralists, who knew none better than to judge. Her world moved faster than the time it took the sweat to trickle down from her forehead to her brows. She was in a canopy of dreams and azure blues, beyond the jaded varnish of a painted plants and polythene leaves.
On the stub, stood her paints, strew around and left a mark or two of colours on the once magnificent Banyan. The clock milled along second by second, exasperated, waiting for the artist to reach the poignant final stroke, so that it could stop itself and look at the world for a moment. The Janusian winds urged the dead leaves to rustle a bit more on the cobbled paths and moved the fountains to spray drops on to her enchanting face.
Her hands moved faster than the dissonant traffic, that screamed away past the red lights into junctions of copping helmets. Her face gleamed brighter than the setting sun, the awakening neon lights and the impending moonlight. As the day set into the inevitable night, a sudden chill thrust itself on the painted tree and the paint flowed no more.
In desperation, he searched for her and her work, but none was around. Neither a stub, nor a stool. All that remained were bright lights of the newly laid pathway and flowers with name boards. The trees swayed silently, absorbing the din, the jinn and malign.
As he came to his senses, he realized that it was a dream. A young girl with her mother walked by- there was a book in her hand whose cover he recognized.