Realisations and such

On Saturday I will be turning twenty-four. A lot has changed in my life, but amongst those which haven’t is the urge to write. I still write a lot- in my head. It is a weird process, but one which is most fulfilling. The fact that technology hasn’t invaded our heads is fortunate, else even that would be captured and put out in the web. Paper is a lovely option, but this is more about not putting pen to paper and just losing yourself to the words. Music has been essential in me discovering this. Anyway, that’s for another time.

Amongst what has changed is the way I see the world. The idealist me still exists. My belief system hasn’t changed. But what has changed is the way I deal with people and the world. The ropes that bind(freedom, rights, independence etc) are such that one needs to be suspicious if it is too long, fight if it is too short, or be left wondering what is the right length. But as you go along you try to get a grip of it. Ultimately nobody knows, and what’s essential is to enjoy the process. Along the way I have learnt a few things, some on my own and some through people- you know who you are, and I am glad that you allowed me to be a part of your life. This isn’t a definitive list or in any order,

a) No self-pity.

b) The world owes you nothing.

c) You can have no friends or a seemingly endless list of people, but you got to deal with yourself. You owe yourself something- enough care to be with yourself.

d) Your happiness is important. You may derive happiness through people, but don’t expect people to make you happy.

e) You care for people, but there is a line beyond which you can’t do anything for them. No, you haven’t failed.

f) There’s much wrong, but there’s also much right. Anger shows you care, but you need to bear in mind that actions have consequences; think things through. Respond and not react.

g) People will go away. Some forever, some for a while. You don’t control them neither are you controlled by them.

h) What’s here today can be destroyed in seconds. Look at the sky- there is a universe out there you don’t know.

i) Be nice to people, but don’t expect people to be nice to you. You will encounter rude people, hateful people- be firm but don’t lose your manners.

j) There’s no point in getting stuck. Space is in the mind.

k) Believe in yourself. You will fail, again and again, but don’t stop believing.

l) Hope is that which makes you want to get out of bed. There are those days when you don’t want to- let it be, you soon will.

 

I am at a stage where I don’t depend on people for happiness. And that’s not sad, bad or mad. There’s a contentment in that. I take comfort in music, writing, art and the shadows thrown by my reading light. I think of old stone and new- of Hampi and of the Himalayas. We are in an age when everything is shared, told, advertised and success is that which someone else is surely jealous of. The world is gluttonous, and there’s a clamour for privilege- I cannot escape this, but I can ensure that it doesn’t consume you.

To Life and Hope,

 

 

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Freedom

There’s nothing like the comfort of the keyboard. The rhythmic sound of keys being struck to produce words, sentences, stories, poems. So today is Monday the 29^th of 2013, slowly drawing to a close, IST.

Sometimes you wish life had defining moments, and then there are times when you just want to live it, just like that.

If you read, if you write, your sanity is defined by the impossible things you believe in to be possible. It is all there is- a different world, different stories, different lives, all coming true as if they were your own. Maybe staying true to reality isn’t the right thing after all.

Life is best when there is nothing for you to worry about, just a moment to live, to feel, to let go, to stand on top of a hill and shout your heart out and then listen to the silence of the world and know that the words spoken are tucked away from sight and cannot possibly reach you here.

How does it matter who you are, or what you be, if all you had was a moment? You know, independent of time, of people, of places and origins, just midstream, idling along,  moving ever so lightly, un-dammed, let go off, free as the breeze, soft as the skin that the drizzle falls upon?

But all that is a moment, and an epic is nothing but one composed of many such. Like One Hundred Years Of Solitude, like eternal-ephemeral love. Jokes are wonderous to hide behind, sarcasm acts as a twinkle in the winking eye, just a sign, just a hint of what really is, what ought to be.

The freedom from inevitability, of fate, predetermined course, does that exist? What comfort is there in knowing things are happening like the way they ought to? Isn’t it better to just move on, another step forward and another into the future, as if the past was a subscript long ignored and forgotten, to be seen by those far away who cannot make out the language?

Is courage facing your worst fears or the willingness to look beyond, to see the sunset and know that there is a dawn around the corner, till there won’t be any? And that no one sets out these things, at least no one you know.

True freedom, maybe is living beyond purpose, beyond intent and just being. To see beyond the cycle of causation and the perforated  blankets of relationships, to stare at yourself at night in a mirror and know that the stars are out there, because they are.

It is easier to listen to the songs of love and believe than to look at reality. It is easier to lie, to yourself, to the world and sprinkle it with wisdom cleverly made in the shower to ensure there are no clogged drains. It is easier to never admit than to fight for what you think you really want, because maybe to lose what you already have is worse than to have more.

Is it wise to have nothing then? Where there is no hope, where it looks ridiculous even to the most fantastic of the poets, is that the moment when that thing, possibly the human spirit or just the drunk you, rises up to give it a go? Is that the freedom we really seek?

On the lighter side…

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.

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 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.

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.

At a crossroad

So I haven’t posted anything for about two weeks. And I cannot let my blog, suffer can I? Actually I can. But then I have to write. While prodding over things as been a recent trend, today I aim to stay away from it. I am glad to announce that the optimism bug has bit me again!

So, you have  formed an image of me,  smiling noir and radiating effervesces of  the Axe kind( but I doubt radiation will bring joy in this heat, turn on your AirCon, ha! that is better, see?) , I am sure. And I see myself as such. So much positivity in the air, no wonder we can’t see the antiparticles! I think, I am growing immune to the grief of the world no maybe not.

I refrain from straying into the world of mad gunmen, after all we made love to one such through our ever projecting and exposing media!

“Who will bear the whips and scorns of time? ”  Dear Bard, I say time itself! Who would want to scar the raw flesh and taint the blood, so fresh?

Anyway, let me not run into some limericks or half boiled insane verses(after all I am a vegetarian). I saw my sister reading a book called Percy Jackson  or something, apparently he is a half God and someone stole the thunder etc. So after taming werewolves and vampires, we make Gods seem petty. But then anything to do with God sells, except God.

There is so much demand. Well again, I am supposed to say something positive. The problem with positive things is that the lose the charge pretty fast(if you happen to be a student of physics, spare me, tax has already taxed me enough). A joke is a joke only for that long, but sad stories will always make people cry.

There are a lot of things to look forward to in life, but then you can only see so much. That’s the thrill, they say, but well, if you fall off a cliff it is better to die than live with broken bones surely( Murphy keep away!). Ha! so you are shocked!? Or you think, I am crazy. Or you might agree with me. Whatever.

Or maybe optimism is not merely about talking about good stuff in the present tense but rather has to do with the fickle future, always nebulous and it exists for sure?

Maybe this is not the time, for me to indulge and explore such thoughts. I am tired and taxed(quite literally) and well I hope it hasn’t been in vain.

If you ask me, I am growing too old. Innocence is a bliss and I want that back. I have grown up all of a sudden( how you ask? I shall tell you later. And now that cannot be your comment, pity 😛 ) and the world seems too weird a place to be in.

Because there are sane things and the insane things. On one side the days move as sure as a clock hand and on the other, the battery dies and takes people along with it the time freezes and NEWS channels advertise.

Maybe I sound callous. Maybe I am making sense. But I know, I am at a cross-road. The choice I make is informed to the extent I can be informed. What the path holds, only the world knows. I try to listen to it, I try to see as far as I can. I try to taste the wind, and smell the thoughts, only one thing is for sure, every land ends at a sea. What is behind that horizon? I waited for it to rise, I think I will go and see now.

P.S:- Shaved off my Moustache. How do I look?

And another jobless sketch..(you are seeing it the wrong way, turn your head right, how does it look now? 😛 )

EVERYTHING IS AN ILLUSION

The repeated melancholic voices are irritating. They continue despite every effort of mine. I am writing this, without knowing why. Sometimes the best way to dispense away with something is to face it. And this probably is the only way I can face it.

The guild of voices resonate and ricochet merry-less in  the stupor. The sun’s streaks through the window and the colloidal streams fail to kindle any sense of zest. The very media chosen to express my disdain lacks the  boisterous spirit of that which runs it. The fact that a thought in the head of some man or woman lies behind every doormat, duster or digits fails to provoke awe.

This I figure might be normalcy. Finally the crows don’t symbolize the nature nor do the mosquitoes seem a matter of interest. A bucket of water, is no more an apparatus for experimentation. And the only thing that can numb the quaint piquancy of a fantabolous mind are the works of another.

The fact that thoughts can be enslaved only by other thoughts, doesn’t escape me. But mere knowledge doesn’t provide indemnity. Knowledge puts the possessor  through  worse tests. Of knowingly having to give up, of carving a niche, where you happen to be the accompli , when you can see mens rea and yet keep a straight visage leads to precocity, wont or not doesn’t really matter.

Time has weathered the race as much as it has parched the Saharas and grown the Himalayas. Yet the very time is too great to perceive. Whether it is to kick the planets a few degrees so as to make the charts more pretty or to cause a comet to fall at the death of a Caesar, you cannot do it.

It menacingly trots along, it’s heart beating like the waves, origins unknown yet with treasures plenty. The Cryptic chronicler it  is, which strikes the senses and causes palpitations. I would at this stage and time in this endless memory of the universe, like to let a thought fly and in gratuitously commendable audacity I proceed so.

Lines don’t mean an end, but the beginning. The horizon is not an end, but where the earth and sky supposedly seemingly meet. Yet, that very convergence, oblique yet surprisingly tangential, is nothing more than illusion. For a knife-edge to exist you need a knife. And that knife cannot cut and create or cruelly kill without being in the same plane of existence.

And if everything lies in the same plane, then in truth their identity must purport a single origin. For without the work of a man, the edge cannot be sharpened and shortened to suit the need. And  we, another from such a plane operate and dissect our chosen subject, we stand on the edge and wonder which way to choose.

The choice is an illusion. Simply because we need them both. You cannot cut white and black and choose one. Merely because you paint a wall white, doesn’t mean black has been rejected. And if you look beyond, colours are a product of the mind, which conveniently exercises it’s supposed right.

By extending this argument(albeit hastily concluded, but never the less will be valid on further exploration), I propose everything is an illusion. And that one object quantifies itself into three.  Think carefully and you will notice the presence of this trinity(so to speak).

If everything is convened and  dissipated by one singular force, then why do we go on? What is, simply put, the “purpose of life”. As time tilts the axes and changes the seasons and trepidations are nurtured and peace squandered and revived from the ashes of fallen cities, men have grown beards, women have touched their eyebrows and children have cried louder.

Yet every time someone nears the vantage point, the vintage time delicately plays and acts. This as every one of our kind knows is “maya”. If such a force albeit not figuring in the laurels of   science gravitates the course of life. And if trinity is a conclusion, then we have the object and maya. Thus maya, is nothing more than another aspect of that final object.

Life then can be assumed to be the third. There is then a border less, connection. Where the sky and earth meet, is not the end, but the beginning, where we need to try to see, what really is this plane of existence.

What is more provocative is the  fact  this life, has supposedly thrived at a mere whim. While it seems fine to depict the object as “God”, it doesn’t seem pragmatic to make such a supreme force visceral in judgement and ambiguous is predicaments. It serves no purpose to supposedly play with dolls when you know the inside out of it.

And all this seems every more senseless, when it is you. Make this supreme creature human and he/she/it seems sadistic, crass and perverted. But by general conclusion it is not. For after all, such a creature/being/entity, isn’t going to allow me to say these things, if indeed it was as bad as deemed.

So what then is this one? Logically it seems crazy and almost unthinkable to think that you don’t know who you are. But fascinatingly that is the question we arrive at. So then, is this a question of the hand trying to find the body’s identity, only that it can’t because it doesn’t have a brain?

If so, maybe that is what life is heading towards, self-realization and actualization. Maybe we should consider the edges, the duality that naturally exists as a lock. The key being, seeing beyond the cleavage, so to speak. “But then why the hell all this?” you belligerently ask.

Maybe the hand does the work of the head, for the rest of the benefits. But imagine if all this is an illusion and everything is one, then surely what is the purpose of that one?

If I find an answer to all this, I will let you know. I was feeling bored 😛

Something about me

This probably has become a habit now. Sunday afternoon posts. There is something comforting about it(though it doesn’t fetch many comments). Today I am going to write something about me.

ASPIRE, is the word. Now what do I aspire to be? The way I talk , people think I have it all figured out. So here is the truth- I haven’t figured out anything.

True, I am doing CA(about 100 days to go for the exam *sigh), but well I am not really into the idea of working as one.  I am doing it because otherwise I will be wasting my time with B.Com alone. Of course, not that formal education is going to turn me into Bill Gates.

SO what do I want to be? Well, when I was a kid, I wanted to be an astronaut, but that seems pretty far away, especially since I am in the commerce stream(you can make my day, by telling me, how I can still become one). Some how the idea of flying in an almost surreal world, combined with views of swargaloka(though I had figured out,even back then, that it didn’t exist) , comets and planets, captivated my imagination.

I used to be left to my own devices. In a world of “big kids” and  adults, I usually found day dreaming and imagining more fun. Superman and Spiderman, were never my favorites, simple because they had too much to do with humans. I preferred my own characters and turned even the most mundane object into something awesome.

I used to rearrange chairs and make the nether world beneath tables and beds my cool crafts. In short I wanted to be a superhero, but with another dimension- I wanted to be up above the world so high, like a diamond in the sky.

Some how I have always felt more comfortable, in my own world. People who know the gregarious me , will be surprised. After all, I keep making friends(and ‘enemies’ so to speak) all the time. But behind that there is that love for being in my own world. And probably that is why, I have never feared any God, as such- I saw the idols as “fun people to play with” and used to think of new wars and stories.

And I used to be shy(The change probably came during the summer of 2007 and of course blogging, but more about it later)- I couldn’t stand being blindfolded(those games at kiddy parties) or being too far away from people I knew. There is a gap of six years between me and my sister, so that probably, added my preference for playing alone.

Building blocks were a strong favourite. I probably would have made will make a very good architect. The scope they offer along with their definite proportions is overwhelming. Only wish I had bigger blocks to build now.

We have a swing at home. And I have never fell down from a swing. For others it might be horses and ponies, for me it is swings.I came up with a variety of polo- cycle polo(among myriad others) The opposition- chairs, tables and anything/anyone in my way.

Imagination changes everything. It gives you a lot of freedom, blank walls become carpets of history and thoughts, the sky holds animals  and people.

I was and still am a very cautious person. I never take on anything head first. I see, I analyse and then act. People around me can make fun of me, but I analysed how to walk on walls way before any of my class mates did, I am sure. Walls offer a great way to practise balance.

Walking around the perimeter of my house and imaging all sort of opponents and ways to fight them. I think I have fallen from a wall, only once, that too, when I tried to get down hurriedly, for some unknown reason but then again, that probably is it. I hate making big mistakes and make sure they never happen again(?).

My judgement is mostly right, because as I said, I never get into something without thinking about it. The only place where my prognosis might be wrong, is here, the blogging world. It still hurts to think that my idea failed to materialise.

I am a bad loser. I cannot stand losing. And yet success in competitions, exams and even sports, has eluded me. I set high standards (probably too high, thanks to being the hero in my small little world) and when the bubble broke, I used to feel very very low.

True to my sun sign, I can very emotional, sensitive, while in fact I seem the contrary. And that has given a sort of “emotional photographic memory”. Colours have always fascinated me(my mom will tell you, that she had to teach me “white”, because I refused to accept white to be white, I am very tenacious) and though I am not all that great at drawing, I like to doodle.

Cricket cards and cricket. I remember the vigour with which we used to collect those things. When I grew older, it was replaced with cards, but it was cricket at least till I was 9-10. The only part of cricket I still like is bowling. I like anything which can be made to act under my spell. Batting is no fun, I probably got no where in cricket, because I refused to play forward defence in my coaching class(much much later).

Watching. Trains, autos, sky, construction etc. Sitting quietly and observing things, is second nature to me. And questioning when I don’t understand is first. While now I can articulate and describe it, back then, I think I understood that a lot of effort goes into it and felt that everything could be figured out. The element here is, that things can be moulded and can fit in.

I am already approaching the 1000 words mark, but these are things which I love to recount. Someone questioned me a few years back(on one of my poems), how can someone so young write such stuff. To me and probably to people who have seen me grow up, it has never been a surprise. I enjoy thinking, watching, observing and most of all creating.

From Drop Box

I started to write much later. But writing is a sum of all those things which I used to love doing, which I cannot do now because of various reasons. It is my shell, where I can hide, it is where I am the hero again and where things cement and mould into each other, the way I want.

The paint will stain the walls in the angles I want and the sky is probably not that high. unlike other kids, I never wanted to be a doctor when I saw one, an engineer or a teacher, I wanted to be an astronaut and I believed it was possible and still do.

I learnt history, tales and fables and politics through my grand dad. That probably is the reason, why I never struggled in social science like others- I knew them already and to me, they were plays being performed in my head. India in my head, was a fantastic idea, it was a passion and something which we fought for and got it. It is our home and we belong here.

Yet time has disrupted that view. More than time, it is people. I still have the belief in my dreams. I still believe India can be much more, India can be the best. But it is the people. And that is the element, which though I understand a lot about, I fail to understand one thing- the need to be caught in a box. Or maybe I am.

But one thing is for sure. What I want to be, What I really want to be , What I really really want to be, is , a writer. And I am one. It doesn’t matter if no one reads what I write. I have always been the hero. The skies and the walls and the chairs and my friends are there for me. That is why I say, I write for myself.

It probably is a wall, erected to block the disappointment of not being what I imagined what I write will bring to me, but it has a door. You can knock, I am waiting.

P.S:- The post should tell you one more thing about me- I can be random and let my thinking cleave it’s own path.

Why I have to wash my face :P

Note:- I know, I know, you don’t need to tell me- it is long. To be more precise, about 950 words. Thank you 😀

So with a self imposed mission of trying to break the ‘curse’ or the internal diaspora and integrate those fleeing parts, I sat down to  introspect and concluded that the reason for all that is simple- simpler than this sentence- some how my assumptions have been disturbed.

The effects are the ones which are surprising and not the cause in itself. For I have always believed that everything is based on assumptions. This very post, is based on so many assumptions-  that visceral sounds are assumed to mean such; that when written down, clarity will reveal itself again(albeit the nonchalant pall hanging over my gait) ;  that people do care enough, to read this ; the fact that I have adopted this language(or has the language adopted me?) to write instead of my native tongue; And a billion or trillion more, depending on your preferred currency.

But the point is assumptions are the base of life. They give the mind hard things to compare and accept or reject. The equation of life, is full of variables, and assumptions just about cement them to be more reassuring and constant. But that in itself can act against us. See what this whole business of letting your mind chose its basis to decide and follow(highly influenced and intoxicated by the world, in more candid terms by the adults and adult influenced peers when we are growing up) is that it tries to ab initio remove fear and guilt.

The twins are notorious enough to be the reason(in my humble views) for most of the events in the world. From having a hallo around your head to being fried in the devil’s oils(which flavour do you choose?) all are caused because of these two. And when assumptions are moved by forces stronger than themselves and when cruel reality(again based on other assumptions, nevertheless, supposedly) sets in, along come the twins, with kisses and words that bewitch you and send your hormones in all the wrong directions and steal your brain or it’s acclaimed human rationality.

So my assumptions were struck by a lighting, but fortunately I had bothered to stick a lighting rod out. But sometimes light in itself can lose to a sloth- when it enters a fortress formed by materials which have been hardened with fervour and self belief and not to mention assumptions that I am bound to not see a victory till I turn a new leaf(is it now?), it slows and crawls, but still doesn’t lose the pinch which it brings along, so what really had happened was that I was stunned(thanks to my own need to fend myself against the world’s ever altering assumptions) and now with a fine poem, I have but got rid of it.

But the optimism that I wont possessed has been shaken the most. The lazy bug, without the wonder drug(optimism) has turned lazier and has decided to stay and not vacate its place in the system, to expand. Though it isn’t all that compelling(like this pseudo style, heavily influenced I am sure by God(another assumption?)  knows what!) the bug is quite comforting.

But by writing that very sentence I have managed to sort out a paradox or two and at the same time, kicked the bug a bit, after all I know no one is going to bother to read this, at least entirely. Probably, one of my hopes that was dashed(with a red ink, memories of Tamil papers dawn) was my belief that I would be read and my blog garlanded with words of praise and I would make News and promote optimism and help in rolling the wheels of progress across the oblique course(s).

But that seems pretty stunted and in more ways decaying from neglect, being ignored more so, by those who can give it some spirit. Yes, I have said it, I black and with, well punctuated with commas and fullstops, I seem to lack a belief in people.

Once upon a time, I prided myself in hating humanity. But a sense of hope, that hate can morph into love, existed. But pretence has turned into the present’s love and as I pour my love into my belief about humanity’s greatness (and bits of shallowness and vanity) , the world in return seems to offer more walls than doors(but more doors than before, but being as astute as I am, I can see many other doors being filled with bricks, all red – the capitalist in me, mourns ).

The doors I am willing to take, because I have for a long time now, refused to honour fear and guilt, more than deemed necessary. Visitors are welcome, as long as they follow my dogma and yield to the imposed moratoriums and curfews. But are those the doors I want to take? This is a stark question, the answer, shall go unwritten, at least as of now.

Now my assumptions having been swayed by the lights and developments, are back to their old staunch selves. They again, wish to re-establish their command, having fought the wars with words, wisdom and weapons and have returned with better men and women and not to mention new ways and knowledge.

They face a struggle though, the throne, occupied by the prince, his highness the lazy bug, has to be won. How can you lull someone who is laced by reality and lives in a shell? Probably being a moon child and a crabby person, the waters hold the answer. So simply put- I guess I have to wash my face and get going again 😛

P.S:- why does wp, want me to rewrite this entire post in active voice? hmpf.