Change

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.

2)Catch 22.

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.

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This and that

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.

The story of a tap

I am a tiny tap with a big dam behind it.  I would like to believe that my very presence is a symbol of history having been altered. I see myself as a monument, which stands there to remind anyone who would look  that sometimes even the greatest force in this world has a very small outlet. Some might say, I am being narcissistic, but I’m just a tap, which dare not shed a tear, because what follows after that might be cataclysmic.

I have no clue why I exist. Dams are not meant to have a tap in their walls. Taps are always prone to leak- any second now, I might let a drop out. I have many reasons to cry. As a tap, you want to be turned on. The joy of feeling water rushing through you is so immense that it has to be felt. Yet, I may never feel it. This is a cruel joke-whoever put me here, had a reason way beyond my perception. I think about it at times- I end up thinking that it was done as a joke.

In front of me is a dry river. Behind me, I know there is a lot of water- I can feel the pressure. I want to let it all go. They don’t keep quiet, they keep whispering. They have been through this before. Being held behind a damning wall and waiting to be either sucked up or down by the sun or ground or to be let loose.

I stand at the center of this great wall. The dam has never been opened till date- so I have no clue what will happen when the doors are opened.

Sometimes I feel depressed. But  then there is nothing I can do to show it- I just wait here, a poor tap, being baked in the sun or washed by the occasional rain, waiting to be opened. My days and nights are the same, I stare upon the sand and it stares at me. The sands speak to me sometimes- apparently someone is picking them up and taking them far away.

There is nothing much to do here, so I do what I am supposed to do- wait to be opened. One thing I have learnt though these humans are crazy. They stop the water from flowing, they remove the sands from where they belong and they make things like me and torture us. Why do I even serve them? At times, I wish to let go. But something within, stops me. How ever hard I try- I just cannot do it.

I know not, why you are listening to me. I can see you are a human being. I can be rude to you and you can do nothing about it. If you lose your control and do something to me- you will perish along with me, for what I hold is stronger than you think. But I will not be rude to you or to anyone else, for I am a simple tap.

I have no ego, because there is no other tap around me. I have nothing to compare myself to- I stand here, without any purpose of my own. I do what I do, without knowing why. I have tried to think about it- but then there is only so much a tap can think about.

My only hope is that someday, someone opens me. I want to feel this great energy I possess, flow through me. I want to see it pounce on  the dry grounds and wet the sands and let dreams grow. I maybe destroyed by it, but that no way will be worse than what I am at the moment. At least, I would be of better use that way, than I am now and I would have felt the energy.

Sometimes Witty, Sometimes Vetti

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!

The Artist

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.

Sometimes all it takes is a leap to create faith

He stood at the balcony- he was a score stories high.

He watched as the evening sun dealt its oblique rays on to the transgressed shore. The waves crashed in hope to win back the mile they had lost to the thick boulders of the city. Under the heavy cloud of the city’s spirit and pollution, the panorama was breath taking, literally.

He was long used to the choke and wicked whispers of this city built by Britannia and concrete. The bridges that seemed to connect, also cut through the arteries and brought to an end the tracks left by the last generation. Anachronistic cenotaphs to iconoclasts and sensationalists, served to remind anyone who would look- the origins of the parimutuel progress of the city’s neighbourhoods.

Today, he stood on the balcony with a railing painted black and potted plants hanging in proportional chains looking at the sunset, waiting for the right moment, to do what he wanted to do.

The sparrows, parrots and crows, flew in tight groups keeping shape, towards their distant homes, cemented into the souls of every growing area. The decadent heart, was slowly being to be troubled by the clandestine wheels, which clogged the cycles and caused the tired black cells to curse and honk their way to a place of hopeful quite and peace.

The city with its sundering cacophony was a furlong away from where he was- caught in the mesmerising magic of the sunset. The ravenous sun, which scorched hard on works and toils, was now bidding its adieu for a few hours. It first dipped behind the miranda glasses of an assurance company- he moved a couple steps and could see it again. It then hid behind the veils of a corporate- he again moved.

The sun now hung, on a few yards of open horizon, between the corporate and a newspaper company. It pressed on now, a few yards from the translucent waters of the sea. By now he was at the end of the balcony. To get a better view he climbed over the spiky railing and stood confident on the edge.

A crowd gathered below- reporters hoped to scavenge a scandal,  police to ponder a rescue and others out of abject curiosity. He saw the finally minuscule crimson dive- he jumped.

As the crowd rushed fast towards him, he heard them scream and could feel the din. He was a star- he was a son of the sun. When they noticed who he was, the crowd was stupefied and a wail hung over.

The implications- the heir to the horizon of bridges had leapt over a rail! The parks laden with waste newspapers, airport with incomplete hangers! The shock. Who would bear the riots and rage of the malevolent men?

But their worst fears failed to come alive. He hung on from a shock cord. The sun after all never dies- it sets, only to returns to arise and awake.

The crowd noticed he wasn’t who they supposed. Neither was he a bud with two leaves – he was a someone, who they never knew was there.

Sometimes all it takes is a leap to create faith.

All that bakes in not cake

Quite obvious, but that sounded like a good title.

Hope you all are jingling along, making merry and drinking wine. Chennai is way cooler than it is supposed to be. Pun intended. The city has over the years evolved, built bridges and even threaten have free wifi. Of course, the pot holes, remain firmly potted and the auto drivers still drive you mad in every possible way.

But not for a guy who has mastered the art of bargaining with the auto drivers and driving on Chennai roads. I have formulae for both. While I can’t give you the formula for haggling with the drivers(planning to a Ph.D on it, someday), the secret to driving is simple, if I hit you straight up/behind my mistake. If you hit me, your mistake. The exception of course are the two wheelers, who try to ride through the car. It is their mistake most of the time.

As I was saying, the city has become way cooler. From the times of Bhagyaraj dance it has come to women coming to sabhas in jeans. So cool ya! Amethyst is moving, KFI’s lease I heard has expired and they even built a very super-dooper park and called it semmozhi poonga.

They even replaced the street lights! That made feel really melancholic and I wrote this poem. You better say it is nice or I won’t talk to you 😛

But I have started to take things more lightly. After all why bother about anything? The world is as it is meant to be, let it be. Some people are born stupid while the rest become stupid.

That again sounds like a very deep and philosophical statement and let it remain like that. It probably could be true, but depends on your sample size.

There seem to be a lot of celebrities around me. Well, at least people who are either all busy-busy or act busy-busy. I too act busy-busy. I’m very busy dude!!!

One of friends has written a play. Coming out in Feb, do watch it. Everyone seems to be an author. And what’s more they are all either published or getting published. I too have started writing something. But as usual I’m lazy. Rather it is just that I don’t like what I’m writing after a while and chuck it. Monkey-Donkey only.

Had plans to go to Bangalore or Kodai. Nowhere. Everything seems pointless anyway. What is the big deal, anyway?

Watched The Tourist. Pointless movie. Easily predictable. But watch it anyway, you will like it.

Anyway once again, Merry Christmas and thanks for all the wine.

Onions please, thank you

So I broke up today- I gave up my domain.

I probably should feel dejected, but we did agree to just try. I was in love, but hey, we weren’t going anywhere. The same old, same old- nobody cared about us really. That was the saddest part. One part of  ‘going out‘  is others going “awww…” or whatever, I think. But considering I have never ‘gone out’, I am most probably wrong.

The whole leg and almost died story sells no more. That’s the problem of living in a society which is a slave to Gates. I passed that spot today- the hole is still open. Well time to invite Tiger Woods or wait, Booooo Weekly or Yearning Elfs or whoever to come and play on our roads.

I’m planning to gift a kilo of onion to everyone on new year, after all people like expensive gifts, right? I am extremely bored right now. Went to a slam poetry competition. Fad wonly. What’s with love poetry anyway? Take a hike. There is this Gandalf/ evil twin of Dumbledore/ future Ramdev white granddad who teaches gay studies in some university- he told people to grow up and not be illiterate. Apparently we are to try to emulate a certain Rushdie, is what I surmised. Stupid fellow.

The event on the whole was crappy. Love poem after love poem – depressing. Everyone seems to be in love. Pheromones overload. Am the only one who seems to be stuck with Platonic love?  Think I should move on to Limerence now.

One thing which I love is the way wp.calm makes me write nonsense. I thought, people would read my blog even when I move to self-hosted(and click on ads?) but hey, I was wrong. Guess this whole thing was a mistake. WTH! Who cares, eat an onion.

I am reading Douglas Adams. Genius! he gives me hope- there is a chance for crazy people like me to do something worthwhile and become rich. Rather rich enough. That enough is probably not 42, though(see am making references, bah!).

Kweezzzing, is another nice obsession. You can show off ya! Like big time ya! lol..heheheheahahahaha…whatever. Too many people with weird fake accents.

Everything is boring. Mutual indifference or well at least I’m trying to keep up my part of the bargain. Everything is depressing. Blah! I don’t trust anyone or anything. All liars and hypocrites. I shall add myself to the list- I want to blend in or whatever. This is hopeless really, trying to write.

Whatever…Alium Cepa! yo!

THE POINT OF RETURN by SIDDHARTHA DEB(book review)

image from here

Pure delight. Brilliant, poignant and beautiful.

There is something about Indian authors which I like- the maturity in their writing, the raw emotions and sharp images and the unfailing indigenous love and attachment to the land and to its people- related or not.

CLICK HERE TO CONTINUE READING.

Prologue( of a new story).

It has been a while since I wrote a story. This is another humble attempt at writing one. As the title says, this is a prologue, hopefully i will continue this one(*fingers crossed*).

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Raj looked up from the book he was reading. It took a couple of seconds for his vision to adjust and as the blur disappeared, he saw who it was and smiled.

CLICK HERE TO CONTINUE READING.