Bad Timing

It is my 100th post. In the last 3 years, I have changed and today I have come to accepting that change. This blog sphere that was filled with empty and had scope for plenty is no longer empty. The virgin warmth is lost to cold rape. I have not had any awefully depressing experience ever. But, this feeling of change seeping in made the colours fly out. I don't have my way with words any more. On this note, I declare the end of this blog. I will miss the crab-shell. But, I guess it's time for the crab to walk out of the shell. It's time to enter the ocean and take to a stream. Ambition has not overcome my feelings of sensitivity, so don't discard me as ambitious. Newness and dawn of realization has brought the tree theory to a close and my imagination to the dark caverns of truth.

My last note in this shell. I don't know if this qualifies for prose or poetry. But this is how the flow came, and I let it be.

I will also publicize this post because I want everyone to know of this end.

Astray amidst the arrow-headed approach of ambition.

Why couldn't I care about career and take control of the wheel of success I must steer.

Daze and delusional drudgery sweeps me off my sunken rooted feet..

It's mush and muck I am so firmly rooted in..

The mush of romanticism that must become much less pulls me gravitationally towards the roots..

I plunge in the dilemma of dreams and duty..

Trivialities of dressing and late-coming bound unto us by the norm of civilization is suffocating..

The corporate is killing the hippie..

The norms are confronting the free-spirit..

The need to fit in is weakening the feminist..

Esteem takes a whirl and then takes a bow and falls..

The much needed beams of faith of family are crumbling with their own need to sustain..

The other pillars of friends are crumbling due to lack of faith..

The lone standing in the this world of money, power and sex is causing reform..

Reform to confirm..

Reform of ruin..

The lead blunts out so must I stop now? Is it a sign?

I must.

With this - it's the end of Zero.. Can I say, stereotypically, it's a new start.. After Zero, it's always: One - Two - Three - Go!

The end.

End of story.
Seeking glory?

Trial of the Tree Theory

Words have contradicted their own meaning so many times. Inspiration has lost faith in the calling, time and again. Truth has lost its' way through transition. What we see, we believe. What we see is what is seeming.

Seeming is scheming.

With constantly questioning my being, I am losing pace. A stride I can not cope with.

Le Roi Moore paints the picture with the saxophone; I sit and dissolve in his modern blues.

Is there any need?

Can we run away, back to the tree?
Can the tree even set free?

Are we here for the self or the lack of self?

Purpose unsound. Nothing profound. It's the same, over and around.

Nothingness.

Why?

splurge

The day

Two and a half tomatoes and a trio of multi-colored toes... Some polish and a little threading... A wrap around some beer mug and then a haywire trip to nowhere... A sniff and a pinch of salt... Aah, savour the flavour... An encounter with a fake hug... Some teasing, no blush... End of today!

In a conversation with Shone-ally over facebook, she said:

black inside. shiny outside. cracked and chapped. could be anything for someone else, could be anything for oneself. appealing when it can't be sold. fatal when wrappe

d around your fingers. getting rid of the rot. drowning in my own mentally challenged thought. like a ship that can't find a shore, like the island it becomes. like the island it moves toward. can't pick a side, can never pick a side.

And then, in reply, I said:

the island picked isolation.. but man made that too a nation.. and thus it thwarts to one side and then another.. letting go of the waste that is putrid.. a broken shell and a conch or two.. do we care to look at the brown sand when there's such an overwhelming blue..? how i wish we 'd drown instead! then there would be no side, we would be inside.. deep within, a beam of light.. some Davy Jones' treasure chest.. a steal down under.. who needs the thunder? all we need is something that makes us ponder to the yonder and then wander.. occupation, the only way of being..

The night

My overwhelmingly putrid mind says bye-bye to creativity and writing for now… I shall be better with time and some breath… Adios amigos!

the cynic speaks

Somehow, everything is pointless.

There is people, breathing, everywhere.

There are ifs, buts and butts all over the place.

Where there is room, there is air.

And where there is vacuum, there's nothing.

Everything is occupied.

Occupation of kind, of space, and of unkind.

When I type my words, they seem deranged and they are pleading to be arranged.

It's all about show time and air time.

How do we explain the occupation?

Is there any nothing left in our world so full of nothing?

Why do we do what we do?

Passion is lost in this transition. A three-year long one. I am two thirds way there.

Poetry refuses to be by me.

Time with no ticking is all I am asking for. A freeze on stage where I alone can walk.

Why can't words be beautiful again?

For Alice

Alice was the laziest and coolest dog in the world. She was called 'koolya' by all of us which translates to 'bums'. Her favorite food was coffee bite. She was part of our 3rd floor family. I will miss her. Cancer took her away from us. I love you Alice. My mother, who hates dogs in general, also developed an affinity to this little bag of nerves. Her temperament in life was uncannily similar to my own.. Whine and dine.. Didi, Alice and I grew up like sisters, almost.. :'(

May your soul rest in peace.

Closure

The brightness of the room fills in perfectly. A shaft of shadow leaves a mark on the cushion lying there. A rug made up of warm colors like rust lain with a layer of dust safely marks its' spot in the room. There is a little love in a corner, huddled along the book shelf. A striking smell of ginger-tea gives a hint of awareness that we may not at all times possess.

Thought appears to have appeared out of the caffeine in the tea. A dawn upon the pawn who is willingly walking towards destruction. There is immense action, no pretense. An anticipation of intensity creeps in from the doorway which is closed.

Sudden rushes and adrenalin gushes. Why is there anxiety? There is a feeling of misadventure, unnecessarily accurate.

The beat takes a pacing pitch and the nerve catches on.

The occupation of the past was just a run-away route. The feeling of reality running into the self is rather drowning.

Breaking free by keeping busy. A breath must not be wasted is the deceitful conception.

A machine that runs the load is what the self was being.

Closure scared the self. Yes, it did.

Where is the living and the being?

Pace. Action. Pretense. Insensitivity.

Indulgence in oneself is not what we need.

The cup of ginger-tea is drunken to dregs. Awareness is gulped with guilt so slyly.

Occupation comes back alongside responsibility. They park themselves at the the desk. The room is unlit. A block of light outshines in a corner near the night lamp. The cushion is lying here. The rug has the self on it. It is also now dusted and seemingly clean.

Analysis destroyed the whole.

the day called Today

today was a day called Today and the date happened to be 18th January.

At midnight, I heard stories from the cornered woman about her little kingdom-country where she had a zillion pets. She was telling me stories of the tragic deaths of her pets. Her pet hamster Fudge died of a heart attack. This heart attack was due to some bitches shining burning torch light into his tender eyes. And her pet fish committed suicide apparently because she brought some new sea water fish into the fish bowl. The sea water fish troubled the sweet one from fresh water. So the fresh water princess jumped out of the bowl. Strange, right? This kingdom-country is very blessed otherwise, oily and all that, after all. The only problems they have here are maid problems. I will elaborate on how the maid made problems - in another post.

Coming back to Today.

So, after midnight, it was early morning. 6 o' clock. Alarm rang. Cornered woman tried to wake me up. I didn't wake up. I slept away to glory, blissfully ignoring my radio assignment that was due Today. Then I was shaken up by Sukdoo at 08-20, she told me to hurry up for the class at 9. This particular class, you have to be timely, else you 'd be absent despite your presence. I conveniently woke up at 08-35 and decided to take a wonderfully long bath. My housemates had left for college by then, they banged on the bathroom door saying it was five to 9 and I must hurry. The lazy one in my house decide to bunk. And I had to run. I grabbed the gaaon ki gori in which I dumped my laptop (I abuse technology, man!) And in the Elvis bag, I had my books and wallet so I just grabbed that as well. Then, I remembered Newaari boy's laptop had to be returned so I grabbed his laptop and dumped it in a bag as well. I ran. I met my neighbour, I gave him a tense smile and ran. I ran as fast as I could to the ricksha stand. Auto took one whole minute to cross the road. Vroom vroom. MIC. Paid money. Ran. Running. Reached class. Three bags tumbling around me. My friends say, 'eh you made it to class.' I am very pleased as the teacher jee is not around yet.

I went back to my favorite last bench and wore my lenses, caught a breath and drank some water. Now I am all flustered already and our teacher jee decides to show us Requiem for a Dream. For those of y'all who have seen the movie will understand the impact of the film. It's brilliant but in the morning, empty stomach? Appetite killed for the whole day. The sound and scenes still linger in my mind. Drugs scare and intrigue me. My plan was drugs on deathbed, I am not too sure if that will happen after the film. I will only do peaced out drugs like acid, hash and grass on the deathbed. I wonder why all my favorite bands glorify narcotics so much? Lucy in the sky with diamonds... Is psychedelia overrated? Even if it is, I love the idea, will always. Wont indulge because I am too scared and I care too much.

Then I hugged my cornered woman for I felt very cranky after movie. And I went to the canteen to get something to eat and chai of course. Couldn't eat, chai mein keeda gir gaya. Uh! Newaari boy and a-jinx-yeah and my favorite Bihaaris made some happy distractions. Then I sat myself down to concentrate on academics for a while. Just when I had started to write my radio script some A19 work errupted. That done. Some UTSAV work butted in. Radio script still undone. Then it was 01:30, I wrote jaldi jaldi... Shakti Kapoor helped me convert the files...

Two of my most loved Manipal people have already left for the 4-month long exchange programme. I miss, I miss. Bittersweet.

Then a class happened with the most peaceful person in my college! I ran after class to the Sound Lab to ask questions of importance to teacher jee about my radio practicals. Then I ran to PG Lab to print my script. I did chance pe dance and took laser print outs. Spite comes! I pay 60-grand for a BA! Why not use college paper and ink and printer? Huh?

Radio Practicals happened. I am talent for two, I do that job well enough. But then comes my turn to be producer. I am nervous, more so around little-bit-intimidating teacher jee! I screw up! All wrong. My script is cool and so are my talents! But, I, suck! Don't want to say more about that.

Then it's evening. Kalamanch meeting. Audition posters go out not Today.

Then elaborate discussion on very many things of some importance.

Then I want to run to our Manipal home. But on the way my lovely Karwaar wants to pick up nose ring. So we do all that jazz. She is very new to the nose piercing so we all have to stand by her in these times of surgery, you see. It's all about the look.

Now... That lazy one was messaging about din-din... So we ran off to CCD soon after to eat a chocolate fantasy and mustard with veg puff... Decent enough... Chocolate cake craving in Manipal is never quenched!! It really sucks.

Then we have to go to KC to help put up the countdown. We waste time, nothing happens at KC. I am bummed. Faaltu waste of money, time and energy.

We say hello to Hostel people and head back home.

Drunk boys we meet in the lift, back to mighty mighty MIT-ian-full building, eh! They follow us to our floor. Ring the bell many times. We YELL at them and tell them to FUCK OFF! How much they bothered us!? But we are the champions so we just fought. The cool chicks, full on! Feminism funda! Ooh la la!

It's such breathlessness all the time. Today comes, everyday.

I take up so much work that in the end I can't give my full dedication to anything. I don't know how work follows me everywhere! Creativity and spontaneous activity are no longer my ability. My ability now is willingness to accept responsibility.

If you were wondering about the significance of the illustration on top, I must tell you, it means nothing. It's a picture clicked on Madgaon station, Goa. It's B/W and done by Mario Miranda. I just photoshopped it, little bit.

If you have read this post with endurance till this ace of base... You really love me or you are just bored... Thank you for bearing with me... I needed to blah blah yap yap for a while now...

Ummm, ignore the erratic switching between tenses and other grammatical errors!

wine

raga says typing bout wine for 5 minutes will help me get rid off my writers block! i m creatively crashed right now. don't judge!

generate generate, said the somebody so great..
he stooped over a crate..

they whined and still whine..
as they step endless steps over a bottle of wine..

the grapes, they grow in the vineyard so wide,
hundreds of years ago to make this very soil some plant died!

so dead plant gave soil,
to bring the grape out with toil..

insisting he did with some, pluck pluck..
they had no choice of lets' chuck..

daily bread and butter..
they earned with instructions from this man so sinister!

they' pluck and step and pluck again,
from hither, thither, there and then!

the packaging the machine did,
a label and a cork for a lid..

now the wine made outta whine was ready,
after a little bit only, people were unsteady.

all was red. red red wine.
it was yours and mine.

drink and make merry,
forget the damned worry!

love was

5 minutes over

guess what 2009..!

i am at a loss of words these days..

and the laze is crazy..

will write later..

peaceful new year to y'all..

India is a SOVEREIGN SOCIALIST SECULAR DEMOCRATIC REPUBLIC.

The constitution of India states the above. Yet, news channels and all of us are trying to feel proud of the way the politicians were united about combating terror at the Lok Sabha session today. Well, isn't that the way we are supposed to function anyway? Why the pride? Shame.

scare

Pain, I did feel when I glued on to the TV screens seeing devastating images of the recent terror attacks. That was the pain an onlooker feels when a scene such is seen.

I was happily eating a pizza at Snack Shack in Manipal when I saw Leo's. I saw a fallen chair and it looked familiar. And then there was blood and more news and repeated clippings of terror for the next four or five days. The first time I ever did go to Leo's, it was with my Vaze and dhanananda. They are both very special people and that visit was very special as well. We reached the place at about 5 in the evening, they had breezers and beer while I had chai. The feeling of Colaba, the feeling of Bombay. It was magical, to say the least. Mom and Dad never liked the idea of me going to Colaba, back then, I was only 16, and apparently Colaba wasn't safe for me. They didn't like the idea of their little one going to a place where the Bombay brothels were. And of course, they thought that Colaba was drug overdose. So my mom and dad will never know of my first visit to Leo's. After that I grew up, so my argumentative skills swelled up. Shanataram happened. Vinee was always company. And Colaba became habit. We ignored Bandra gravely despite Shalaka and Vinne's urges to shop out there.

Then, the mad psycho guy stabbed two chinki girls at Colaba, Gateway to be precise in broad daylight. Ha! Mom had another reason to dislike Colaba. She said no more Gateway for you. By some random coincidence, my friends and I were planning on going to Gateway that same day but we didn't because we didn't know what bus to take to get there. Well, God works in strange ways.

Then the gang molestation occured. Disgusting and distasteful. Colaba was pathetic again.

Dad had memories attached to Colaba. He has been in Bombay from the early 80s. He and his cool cousins would drink pints after pints at Leo's. Kabab at Bade Miyaan. He loved Colaba. But he still felt like being over-protective about his daughter. So he 'd yell at me everytime I came back from Colaba with my junk jwellery. Once, just to take a dig at me, he told me that the earrings I had bought were made of bones and thats the crap that Colaba gives. I got grossed out and scared, I threw those earring away! Ugh.

Kala Ghoda festival further ignited my love for Colaba. That heritage walk. I love my Bombay. The information about the architectural splendour of the Sailor's Home(now Mumbai Police HQ) and Regal Cinema's neo-gothic design had me in awe of my home-city. The way the causeway was full of refugees and how it is now a popular bazaar. All the jazz. I loved, ever more.

Manipal era came. I was ocd-ing about Bombay all the time. People in Manipal were tired of my rant. But Bombay was the eternal love. So I did my presentation on Colaba. We could choose any topic we wanted and I chose Colaba. The teacher liked it and she gave me a 13 on 15. Doesn't matter because I spoke with passion. Intensity was there in the heart.

Hippie high. I took everyone I knew to Colaba. I mean, every new person in Bombay. Bhaiya ji, Kyam, Pavi, all of them. And they sure did like. I felt very content. Showing off my city, my lovely Colaba.

Then I made plans to marry a Bawa so I get a nice Colaba appartment. But thats for the future, the plan is still on.

Today, Colaba is not safe. Say the parents all over again. When they said it before, I wasn't bothered. I would endevour into the alley-ways of Colaba anyway. But now, when they say its not safe, something happens inside of me. Jitters. A hurt pierces deep. I hate that feeling. I can feel the scare. It's not alright. It's not. It's not.

I have to psyche myself out, so I forget this scare. The fact that I am scared quenches their purpose. And that is just not acceptable. Frustration.

Scare.

I will not be scared.

The onlooker phase ended when I stepped back into the city. I felt the tremour of the terror. Far far away in Manipal, the tremour was dampened by the wet soil full of no care. It's back. The grind. The pace. I shall overcome this scare.

:(