Ramblings of an utterly disjointed mind

Whispers I

2012-02-02T11:31:00.000-08:00

How is it that I have so much to say to you,

And no way to say it once I see you?

How is it that my eyes search for you everywhere,

But when they find you they're unable to stare?

How is it that you are so beautiful to me,

And this I can never truly make you see?

How are you so intelligent and perceptive,

Yet so oblivious and ignorant to how I feel?

I have reached a nadir, I think. Of just posting anything that comes to mind. But meh.

Shallow Gods

2012-01-18T11:38:00.000-08:00

The story of this world, this life,

Can be told and explained in a few simple lines,

The day you're born, they make you sign,

"What's yours is mine, what's mine is mine."

The rest of this farce plays out in one way,
It keeps getting clearer with each passing day,
It's pretty obvious, I do have to say,
Everyone is bloody selfish in their own bloody way,

It becomes your duty to do their jobs,
If you refuse, you'll drown in their sobs,
Hurtling to their quicksands of grievances,
Crucified by their one man mobs.

Gods of their own shallow worlds,
Their fiefdoms of false self worth and pride,
Be shameful heretic, if you think to fight,
Be grateful mortal when you're on their side.

No Hard Feelings

2012-01-03T11:24:00.000-08:00

Look at me once, look at me now,
Stop, smile, wait, and decide how,
How you feel about me,
How you want me to be,
I'll break every barrier, and swim every sea,
I'll change for you, no one to stop me, no force,
Whatever you decide, I'm yours, I'm yours, I'm yours,

I stayed up so many nights for you,
Wasting away in the dark, finding new things to do,
To get through your defences, these walls you've built around,
Your friends, your prejudices, your likes, your dislikes, your sight and sound,
For you I made myself better, without you I'm lost, one look and I'm found,
I wait on your every word, every move, every laugh , every sigh,
With every smile I die a thousand deaths, I die, I die.

And I knew
From the first smile, I knew
That I'll bow down to you,
And your tyrant eyes,
Make me laugh when they do,
Make me cry when they do,
I've become a slave to your eyes,
A puppet to your smile
I knew
From the first look and the first words,
I was over,
I was sentenced,
I was damned.

And when you refused, I was lost,
I met the wall I couldn't have crossed,
Everything so unimportant and bleak,
I can't have you, loneliness I seek,
And I wasted away in the dark for weeks,
But then I realize, maybe you're not worth the strife,
And I don't know if you know, but I'll survive, I'll survive.

Dying

2011-12-19T01:00:00.000-08:00

Your voice fades and I feel nothing,

The world seems to wait for me to react,

But all that I have for them now is exhaustion,

So tired of putting up with this act.

Wistful whispers of happy memories surface,

Then drown again in swamps of indifferent haze,

They cry out for me to hold them close,

But I watch them die in a cruel daze.

You are no one to me now, nothing,

A vestigial part, dead, cut off, discarded,

A goddess once, beautiful, mighty, pure,

Now an uncomfortable evil I have warded.

Leave me now, let go of my hand,

Your touch washes off me like sand,

Our love songs sound like dirges now,

Played by ghosts and funeral bands.

Red Eyes

2011-12-15T15:04:00.000-08:00

These red eyes I've been given,

They only see the truth,

They look through the bullshit and deception,

They look through the smiles,

They look through the saccharine sorrow,

They just stare through the wiles.

These red eyes I've been given,

As a gift for my naivete,

A gift for my fucked up morals,

They tear through my misconceptions,
They stare past my self-illusions,

These red eyes I've been given,
They tell me what is,
And not what I want,
They show me what lives,
And also those that can't,
These red eyes I have now,
They point me in the direction,
Of transparency and justice,
They tell me now to go to places,
Where lies are out of practice.

These red eyes I've been given,
They look through you now,

These red eyes I've been given,
They no longer wonder how,

These red eyes I've been given,
Even see things you won't allow.

Black

2011-11-14T11:47:00.000-08:00

As I gaze into the black,

It is as if I have lost sight,

I wonder if the night defines you,

Or do your eyes define the night.

I touch your oceans of hair,

And time seems to stop,

I plunge into their depths and then,

I drown in every drop.

I see the world as you do now,

Bright colours and happy shades,

Until I look at you standing there,

And then everything except you fades.

Perhaps an illusion, the only thing I know,

Is that for my drowning eyes, you are the shore,

I could keep watching you now,

And continue for an eternity more.

Infinite

2011-09-21T14:14:00.000-07:00

The world is so big, love,

So big we can go on forever,

The world is so cruel, love,

So cruel we will never reach the end.

All we have is so little, love,

All we have is you and me,

All we have is so much, love,

All we have is what lets us be.

Do you need the world to know, love?

Do you need the world to see?

Do we spend eternity together, love?

Do we part ways to be free?

What do I say to you now, love?

What do I say to change our life?

What if my words could change the world, love?

What if sadness disappeared and joy was rife?

Words mean nothing to me now, love,

They seem hollow and untrue,

Wish for my happiness now, love,

And all my happiness is you.

Insomnia

2011-08-31T14:48:00.000-07:00

I don't remember sleeping anymore,

The world just turns off and then on again,

I keep wandering through any open door,

Walking on that deserted lane.

I don't remember thinking anymore

Questions of what if and what not,

The days pass by and I keep chasing,

With oblivion, I have cast my lot.

I don't remember searching anymore,

For joy or pain, love or hate,

I don't now have any desire to soar,

Just drift on the gentle gusts of my fate.

I don't remember hoping anymore,

Hope is for people with expectations,

All I have in place now is a rot in my core,

An absolute emptiness and strange infestations.

I don't remember living anymore,

I have seen life, all I have is imitation,

Nothing helps, not money, drugs or education,

No desire, no love, and no ultimate motivation.

The Boatman and the Winds

2011-06-27T02:45:00.000-07:00

The winds, they ask the boatman,

How much will he take to take them across,

The great river that flows through his land,

To the lands beyond these fields and this rain,

To the lands of neighbours and those who live far away.

To the cities and nations dying,

To deserts and forests sighing,

To shores where there is no laughter,

And through doors of people,

Who grieve and are crying.

The winds, they ask the boatman,

How he drowns out all the noise,

Of tragedy and all this pain,

And glides along the river,

When the universe and all life are for vain.

How he keeps faith inspite of this pollution

Of the minds that has permeated the mighty river,

How he sticks his oar in the filthy waters everyday,

To carry miserable people not wanting to return

To lives that make the deepest levels of hell shiver.

The winds, they all despair,

Each year for change they bring fresh air,

But all they find is destructiveness and doom,

And the pure monsoon clouds they bring

Only rain down blood in this living tomb.

Why bother anymore, why continue?

What use is air when no one wants to breathe?

What use is change if all you ever get is grief?

Corpses of little children decorating the streets,

The delicate glass houses of their dreams,

Shattered by their own screams.

The boatman just paddles,

Pushing his boat onwards to other shores,

He just smiles, thinking about his many chores,

What was it to him if miserable people died?

Why should it matter if everyday to himself he lied?

He could see his land wither and die,

He could see his love, his river, wash away the rot,

He wasn't deaf to the crying, not impervious to the fear,

And as much as he tried to pretend,

He knew this land, to him, was dear.

The boatman, he just felt the winds against his ears,

Whispering their admonishments, their helplessness, their misgivings,

And as reply he just sings the songs of hope,

The songs he used to hear his father sing,

Songs of the time when the river and the land did elope.

And in the song, the winds heard defiance,

A simple refusal against the destiny he had to cope,

The boatman would ferry people to their shores,

He would bring them to their destinations,

All the while hoping they brought hope.

The boatman sang louder, willing everyone to hear,

Willing them to rise up and join the chorus,

The land was paralysed, it had to be shaken out of it's trance,

He would do his hardest to deny the end,

No complaining and no acceptance.

The winds joined the boatman in one voice,

Singing the song of the land, of hope,

The storms would end, the sun would rise,

And until this endless night of despair came to an end,

They would persevere inspite of all the false dawns and cries.

Abbotabad Blues

2011-05-14T15:01:00.000-07:00

In the city of Abbotabad,

The US killed a man called Osama,

A bit of a bastard he was,

But his death caused too much drama.

The Al-Qaeda will not vanish,

Like a damn magic trick,

And the rhetoric arguing otherwise,

Only just makes you sick,

This wasn't even a won battle,

Let alone the terror war,

Don't they realise a little ointment

Does not cover a global scar?

And so the idiots justify,

Ten years of bloodied Afghan and Iraqi soil,

Try and convince us that the thousands lost,

Were not for a few drops of oil.

As if one life was worth,

The thousands of innocents killed,

As if this would make us forget,

The lies told and the coffins filled.

They celebrate it as victory,

Not realising it is so hollow,

Their actions will bite back,

Their poisoned fruits they'll have to swallow.

Because the world is fucked up,

More now than ever before,

And in bringing it to this place,

The 'Allies' too have a pretty good score.

And so they dance,

Laugh and sing on the street,

Unaware or perhaps ignoring,

The quicksand still beneath their feet.

When I See You

2011-04-25T05:41:00.000-07:00

When I see you,

I am just happiness,

I am clean, I am pure,

And for that one moment I endure,

Truly, in a way that feels right,

In a way that is as it always should be,

In a way that robs me of all fight,

Free, hopeful, needy, and still in your might.

When I see you,

I am like a kite,

I am boundless and I soar,

And for that one moment I am more,

More than just paper held back by strings,

Destined to fall or be cut down,

In that one moment, my soul has wings,

From no worth, in the air I am the king of kings.

When I see you,

For that fleeting moment I conquer,

I conquer peace, war, the living and death,

I condemn everything alive and I treasure every breath.

I give rise to empires, and I kill giants,

I become your Hercules, your saviour, your hero,

Rise higher than an emperor, Fight villains and tyrants,

To die at your lightest touch, the smallest, weakest of ants.

When I see you,

I forget my place in the world,

I forget that I have duties and you’re not my right,

I forget that I have limitations the moment you are at sight.

I forget that you are not of my world,

That I cannot love an illusion,

I forget every law, every tradition, every notion,

I can only remember to love you, my love, my only devotion.

Because I wanted to post something. No other reason. A bit stupid, yes I know.

Raisins

2011-04-17T02:26:00.000-07:00

Raisins. As his alcohol addled brain tried and failed again to make any sense of the weird song playing in the bar, all Alok could think of were those tiny dry nibbles that were offered to the gods every morning but found their way invariably to his stomach. When he thought about it, he realised that in the history of mankind, those were one of the very rare instances when religion resulted in something good. He hazily remembered biting the top off the raisin, remembered the feel of its thin skin on his tongue and spitting it out and how he then squeezed the sweet gel-like dry stuff inside his mouth, savouring the taste as he threw away the rest of the skin left in his hand.

At that moment the taste of the raisins seemed to have lingered through all the years, but even with nostalgic hallucinations and a fuzzy brain, Alok could no longer ignore his surroundings and how much it was annoying him. He hated the bar, hated the psychedelic lighting and music, the darkness and the smoke which vodka multiplied exponentially and especially hated the horny idiots on the dance-floor. He suppressed an impulse to go over and slap a few of the people in one really obnoxious group who seemed to be dancing as if they were high after snorting their own sweat. Smiled at how hard drunkenness was actually making it for him now to suppress crazy impulses.

He was also getting irritated by the banality of his friends, their sob stories about their boring love-lives and their unbreakable conviction that people’s lives depended on details about how much they spend on their girlfriends, how their girlfriends suspect their every move and how they check their message inbox and call logs on the sly, how they suspect some guy of having his eyes on their girlfriends, how they almost killed that guy when they talked to her. One of them was contemplating suicide because he thought his girlfriend was cheating on him. Alok started listing out ways for him to successfully carry it out and concluded that jumping from the top of the six story shopping mall they were in now was perhaps the most foolproof way to do it. Sobriety would perhaps have given way to a measure of sympathy, but Alok was not in a mental condition that allowed him to tolerate bullshit.

As the pretty girl he was eyeing since he first came into the bar started puking all over herself and the floor, he realised that he had to get out, he realised that the events of the evening had crossed the line in the sand that separated tolerable levels of asininity and nauseating levels. He had to get out. He snatched the motorcycle keys from one of his friends and walked out. Right then he didn’t care how they were going to go home. He sped off on the bike as fast as it could go. He was furious at nothing and he knew better than to suppress irrational drunken rages. He also knew that speeding away on empty roads with the wind playing its strange toneless harmonies against his ear was a good way to vent and calm himself.

He didn’t exactly know where he was going, just that it was almost impossible to get truly lost in this city with its extensive number of road signs which seem to point everywhere. He went past rickshaws and autos, with their riders lying inside and over them sleeping in impossible positions, beneath bridges and with plastic sheets and tarpaulin draped because it looked like it was going to rain soon. He was calm now, and he needed to find a good lonely place beside the river where he could breathe in the putrid fumes it emitted after a long day of washing away the filth and sins of the city.

The relatively puny river cutting right through the city reminded him of home and the immense river that flowed just a few miles from his house. It reminded him of how inconsequential he always felt when he sat on the bank of the other river back home, how the opposite bank was always lost to the horizon. The one river reminded him of the other, however different one was from the other, and assuaged vague feelings of homesickness that surfaced from time to time.

He found the spot he was looking for, a narrow footpath type ledge on a deserted bridge with protective railings. He could sit on the broad railings or just lean over and look at the polluted disease-filled waters. Alok parked his bike, went and leaned over and immediately felt light-headed and nauseous. He still dragged himself up and sat on the railings and realised that the alcohol, the crazy bike ride and the smell from the river taken together was a bit too much to hold inside. Burning vomit gushed out of his mouth and nose, at the same time as he was aware of a girl sitting on the same railing about twenty feet away from him to the right. While in the process of literally spilling his guts into the river, Alok was thinking of how drunk he actually was not to have noticed the girl when she was positioned right there in plain sight and hoped she wasn’t too disgusted by the sudden malfunctioning human fountain she was witness to. He sniggered at the irony of leaving the bar at the sight of vomit just to travel many kilometres to do the same but even more spectacularly.

He sensed the girl stiffen when she heard his strange laugh. He was very obviously wasted and she had already crossed the threshold of the incredibly stupid by being out in the streets alone so late. But she didn’t move, which made Alok think she was perhaps even more stupid than he previously thought. As he started to look at her closer – she had on a blue kurti over jeans, short hair dropping over her spectacled eyes, hunched forward and looking down at the almost coagulated water flowing beneath her – he felt her crying. She wasn’t wailing or sniffling, she wasn’t even moving or showing any outward signs that would make it seem like she was crying. But Alok knew she was, like you always know when someone near you has been crying, almost like sadness gives off an odour that you can’t smell but that still reeks.

He shifted and started looking around. Girls crying made him extremely uncomfortable, like he imagined it did every man (well, maybe not Enrique Iglesias). It made him feel like he was obligated to do something to make her stop, amuse her, entertain her. He smiled idiotically at her and waved, alcohol made that seem like a pretty good idea. She stiffened even more and he could start to see a little fear in her eyes. That embarrassed him. Alok was a lot of things but he was proud of the fact that he was not a lecher. He stopped waving, raised up his hand and started shifting away from her, which he thought would allay her suspicions about his intent. He felt her loosen up and his actions have the desired effect. And then he started ignoring her.

They both sat there for about a half hour, looking intently at the water, careful to avoid each other’s eyes. He wanted her to go away, and he felt that she wanted him to do the same and was getting irritated with him. But he had parked his bike near her and he would have had to get up and stumble towards her drunkenly. He would not do that, no matter how long he would have had to sit there. She had once mistaken him for a drunken letch or rapist, and he was not going to let her think that of him again. So he adamantly remained sitting where he was, with minimal movement and careful that even his breath did not make any noise that would alarm the girl.

Another half hour went by like that, and it was almost 4am in the morning as he looked at his watch, when suddenly there was a loud exasperated scream from the girl which scared him out of his wits. He jumped in his seat and when he recovered himself he could see the girl had stood up on the railing and was tensing and loosening in a semi-crouched position. She was going to jump, she was there to commit suicide, she wanted him gone not because she was afraid of him but because she did not want a witness – each of these things hit his head slowly and painfully, as she started rocking back and forth unable to summon that last ounce of resolve that would fling her over the edge. He had no way of knowing how long he had before she did. So he stumbled up on the railing, almost losing his grip and falling over the edge himself, jumping down on the road, running towards her hoping people would hear him and gather to do something because he had no idea how to stop her except panic and scream.

“KISHMISH! KISHMISH!” he screamed the first thing that came to his mind, “Raisins goddamit!” That seemed to surprise the girl even more than it did Alok. She looked back at him and he could now see that she was crying, tears gushing out, dropping one after the other on her dress and on the railing below. She screamed back in a trembling voice, “What?!”

Alok was asking himself the same thing. What?! Why raisins? Panic, beer, vodka, whisky and nauseous fumes had all spouted these words from his mouth, but how was he supposed to keep her from jumping with goddamn raisins? He could hear his 5 ton heavy brain creaking with the effort of making the most of the words he had already spilled out.

“Don’t you want to eat raisins again?” he screamed back, hoping his stupidity wouldn’t be the last straw that would demolish her faith in mankind and send her over the edge. He looked around desperately for someone, anyone. He was convinced it would not be possible for anyone to do a worse job than him. There was no one, not even a stray dog. He looked back at her face and the incredulous expression there. He was hardly surprised at that. When anticipating possible arguments against suicide, a discussion on dry fruits would probably not be on her list, he thought.

“Why the fuck are you talking about fucking raisins?” She screamed. He winced as he heard her, not because she was a woman, he had heard worse abuses from them, sometimes directed at him, and let’s face it, the situation earned her a few expletives. He winced like he would have if he had heard a child use those expletives, inexperienced at it and stuttering. He found himself hoping that screaming out expletives was on her “to do before I die” list and wanted to slap such drink induced inane thoughts out of himself. But he had more pressing concerns, like the answer to her question.

“They are delicious. Don’t you remember their taste? You will never again get to eat them if you jump now.” He groaned inside. What was he saying, what was he doing? He should have talked about her family, maybe her mother, maybe her lover, someone, maybe even her pet. Who talks about bloody raisins? He had seen films where they negotiated and calmed people about to commit suicide, none of them had the rescuer talk about raisins, or any kind of food for that matter. Why raisins? He cursed himself and wanted to jump on the river himself. But he had to keep her from turning away towards the river, he had to keep talking to keep her attention on him.

“Come on, think hard about it. You will never get to taste raisins again, or anything else. Never. Raisins in cakes, in puddings, custards, biryanis. You’ll never feel that sour-sweet taste in your mouth. If you die, you will never feel anything again. You will never see anything or hear anything again. You will never be able to listen to songs again, watch a movie. You’ll never get to watch Sachin bat again! Do you have a car? I know I want to buy an Audi before I die atleast. You’ll never get to do that if you jump now. You will never watch the rain again as you eat raisins. You have to eat raisins for one last time before you even think about dying, anything else is absurd!”

She was distracted by his incoherent jabbering. He could see that. She had visibly stopped tensing, and inexplicably seemed to be considering his, literally, fruity appeal. Alok knew she was going to decide one way or the other in the next few minutes, and no amount of drunken bullshit was going to change her mind then. He inched closer to her, maybe he could pull her down if he got close enough. His motor functions were at a really bad shape though, and a betting man wouldn’t bet against him flapping his arms in thin air when reaching out to pull her down. He knew that.

“I don’t know why you want to kill yourself. I just know that you will not be able to eat raisins again or do anything again if you do. I just know dying cannot be more important than tasting raisins again. You know what I mean. You will never get another chance if you jump off now.”

Alok looked at her eyes. He saw that she desperately wanted a reason against jumping off the river, a reason to continue living. He also saw that his drunken ramblings had given her that reason, but he had no illusions. He saw that she desperately wanted to live. Raisins surprised her and gave her that reason.

He knew then, that it was over. She wouldn’t jump. Slowly, but surely waves of relief started washing powerfully over him as he saw her straightening and weakening. He saw her swoon, get down from the railing and collapse on the road. His feet started shaking too, and he went down on his knees. He hadn’t realised how scared he was, and how weak the last few minutes had made him. He started taking deep breaths. And then she started crying.

He sat back on the road, waiting for her to stop. Awkwardness and Relief kept taking turns at bludgeoning his brain, as he slowly felt his heartbeats slowing down to a human frequency. She cried for a long time and he kept his distance. He wasn’t taking chances. Who was to say body odour or his ugly face would not give her a reason to stand up, run to the railing and jump off? Even raisins had their limitations when put against factors like those. She stopped crying and kept sitting there motionless, as he got up went over to his bike, sat and told her he would leave her home, or wherever she wanted to go. She said nothing, but got up and sat behind him.

They went through the streets as she kept giving him directions, finally stopping in front of some residential society. He left her there and heard her say something to him as she was getting down which he couldn’t understand and sped off once he saw her enter the gates. Alok did not remember much after that except that he somehow made it back to his rooms.

He woke up late in the evening to concerned faces. His friends told him that he had left the bike just lying on the road, stumbled through the gates and then puked on the door. He then fell down unconscious on the floor and started shaking with high fever and mumbling non-sense. A doctor had come to see him, and had given him medications and strict instructions to lay off alcohol. He had been out for more than one and a half days.

But once he sat up, Alok realised that he felt fine. There was no after-effect, he didn’t even feel weak. He hurriedly got up, ignoring his friends and telling them he was fine. He started remembering what had happened, like a hazy surreal dream. He needed to meet her. Well, maybe he needed to eat first because he was famished. But he would meet her after he had eaten something. He realised he did not have any recollection of where he had dropped her, but he knew he had to go back to that bridge. He knew she would be waiting there, curious as he was. He knew they both had to talk.

But maybe not about raisins this time.

The End

2010-10-06T13:56:00.000-07:00

Waiting for the world to end,
Because I've realised only then can I start.
Because I'm too afraid, too much of a coward,
I've made my back strong, strong enough to carry the weight of routine,
But crippled it, made it sterile so that wings may never sprout,

I realise now, there are no expectations, no compulsions,
There is only conviction, and in it's absence cowardice.

My excuses have started to fade away inside my own mind,
I can't even deceive myself anymore, just disgust.
Rendered helpless by my own hands, constructing this coagulated existence,
Time flying by me, as I am held back by my own denial,
Denial of time, denial of opportunity, denial of my own deep cravings.

Waiting for the world to end,
Because I've started to lose hope there will be a beginning,
Because atleast then, there will be a reason to my soul's coma,
Atleast then perhaps I'll learn to accept the chains I've tied to my own feet,
Atleast then I will die a humane death,
My dreams no longer screaming out from the pain of submission,
My soul euthanised.

Came on me all of a sudden, urge, craving to write something like this, and it came out as it is, word by word, slowly. I haven't even re-read it, so don't know how it is. Only that I broke my self imposed ban on the blog to post this, because I could not hold back.

Never Happy

2010-06-05T15:00:00.000-07:00

Do you hover over us or sit on our head

Since the first day of our lives, helpless and small?

Are you gravity, the weight of the world over us?

Melding us with this earth, holding our necks down,

Making us crawl.

Do you appear just before that moment?

Because you're strangely absent afterwards in the void,

And long before that moment, we only feel your presence for perspective,

While passing judgment on a life lived, faces seen,

Destinies toyed.

Why do you need to pave your way with misery?

Why not just come and go, without regrets, without pain?

Do you feel the need sometimes to feel welcome?

Do you feel the need sometimes to not be cursed at,

To not be despised, not be resented by the sane?

Do you always feel the need to enter a home,

Through the broad roads of despair, not happiness

And it's narrow lane?

Do you like this ambiguity of being the saviour and the villain?

Do you like to see people suffer or do you like to see them enraged?

Do you like to give the illusion of deliverance?

Do you like to stoke the embers of their rage?

Do you like to break down ruthlessly every vestige of defiance?

Do you like the way you release the hurricanes of the human mind,

Uncontrolled, unbridled out of their cage?

Perhaps you know you'll always be despised, always resented,

And so you revel in your excesses, your injustices, sickening.

Perhaps you hate us as much as we do you,

Try and assert your ultimate superiority,

With happiness receding and wills weakening.

As yet you've failed, but perhaps you'll succeed,

But the war can only be won by me,

Because when you succeed, you'll long since have appeared,

And you'll still be despised with all my being,

With a relief and a rage as big as the sea.

Incoherence

2010-05-21T13:11:00.000-07:00

I see absurdities and confusion all around me,
But the slapstick of life fails to make me laugh,
All around me people thirst for mercy,
But they don't know where to go, whom to ask,
Because everyone else is waiting for deliverance as well,
So misery pervades, no rain to wash it away,
No sun to dry it off and bask.

Portents of pleasure misguide and humiliate,
They are but sadistic and cruel jokes,
That get played out in this world every moment, Bait
For guilty and innocent alike, deceits and hoax,
Reasoning with the mind that it does not need reason,
That the crutches of delusion and blind faith are enough,
To tide over every hour, every day, every season.

I see people supporting leaders that will destroy them,
Parents praying to a God who is killing their children,
Disasters laughed away as something to balance the world,
Murders overlooked as some perverse test of faith,
Until we all just look away and turn blind, even those who don't believe,
Until the mind is reduced to a memory, a ghost, a wraith.

Why doesn't anyone see? Why can't they hear?
Perhaps reality is blindingly stark and the bedlam of misery too loud,
Perhaps we choose to see and hear what does not hurt us,
Perhaps we choose to be emasculated by ourselves,
Perhaps we choose to take comfort in the history books,
Forgetting the same gutless people live in library shelves.

How do you sympathise with murderers and not innocents?
How do you even try to justify their acts?
Does sharing the same religion alleviate the horror?
Does sharing the same race change any of the facts?
The rot has grown so deep inside your beings you aren't even aware
How red floods of guilt flow out of your cataracts.

We choose the problem though the solution is in reach,
It's pulling us, getting closer to us everyday,
But we push it away, take the mandatory two steps back,
Back to the life we've gotten used to, where we have no say,
Back to being puppets of invisible imaginary strings,
Revelling in our problems, ugly orgies where we surrender and we pray.

Less poem, more ramblings of a mind which is currently a bit disturbed and irritated by the world at large.

When Angry, Type....

2010-03-29T11:11:00.000-07:00

As I'm writing this post, I feel angrier than I've been in a long long time and I really do need an outlet now, unless I do something stupid. And I hope after this post I have some idea of what the point of all this is? What is the point of all this? What what WHAT what WHAT WHAT what??? NOTHING. Not one stupid inconsequential retarded thing.

What is the point of obedience and honesty? What exactly is the point when you know it isn't worth anything, when you know you will be accused and questioned at periodical whims of paranoia? Why be good when there's absolutely no appreciation for you being good. Appreciation be damned, I'd be content with silence, just stay quiet and I'll be happy. Why try and provoke a response when everything is going well and as it should be? What is the point?

What is the point in denying your friends when they offer you a puff of cigarette (among other things) or a glass of alcohol? What is the point of respecting a few boundaries, I mean, it's not even like any of my parent's money is being spent on the stuff, it's for bloody free? Why not just say "yes" the next time there's a booze party and all of your friends are there? What is the point of being the only sober person within a 20 metre radius? What is the point?

What is the point of being transparent and truthful when everyone else lies? It would make my life so much easier and there is no human way to catch me lying? Why not just hide the truth like everyone else does? Surely that is to be expected? I am a student, that's what I do, fudge the truth, lie and manipulate. So why don't I? What is the point?

That is all out now and no I'm not really anywhere near as good as I made myself sound, but those three paragraphs and Mr. Tambourine Man have served their purpose and not so angry now, just annoyed, disappointed.

P for Pretentious

2010-03-18T07:15:00.000-07:00

This perfection that has pervaded my perversions presently, is putrid and pernicious, but provided by the passive populace, preaching and poaching on my present and my past and the perception that positive participation will protect my person, a priori, paying no heed to my pitiful protests, parting me from my placidity and panache and possibly producing a posse who are party to my perish - patient, pleased and poised

Inspired by the film, V for Vendetta. And I think it does make sense, in some ways...

Haze

2010-03-06T03:09:00.000-08:00

I see you through the haze,
Every moment of every eternity,
For everything else my sight fails,
But you grow clearer,
Luminescent, afire, a shower of hails.

You put the fog around you on fire,
Burning, brilliant, scorching the air,
I sit here in dreams and fantasies,
Of dark mornings and dense forests of your hair,
Silent, scared and enraptured, I'm lost,
I should leave, wake up, but I don't dare.

You bring chaos with your presence,
Riots start with every breath you take,
But calmness decorates your forehead, placid,
I'm getting sucked in, no matter how much I fake.

Let me go, release me from the stranglehold
Of your eyes that choke me through the smoke,
Your face clear, every detail lucid, bold,
Drowned in your aura, I'm destitute, I'm broke.

Your visions have become more vivid than reality,
A terrific beautiful hell of pristine destruction and flawless pain,
Tempting me away from my scattered, rotting heaven,
Of occupations and aspirations, overwhelming loss and gain,
Highlighting how bleak, my existence, how odd, how even.

And as the haze descends, I'm helpless in it's embrace,
Demented, senile, tormented by the motions,
That rack my brains, leaving me in a daze,
Petrified, enamoured with you, my devotions,
Where I stand, in despair weeping, my Lady of the Haze.

Almost entirely a result of how mind-numbingly boring I find Signals and Systems classes...

From Noida to Guwahati While Sleeping

2009-12-18T13:39:00.000-08:00

This is a whatever number of steps process -

1. Have an exam the day before. Obviously you did not sleep the whole previous day and night.

2. Go shopping at Palika on bikes soon afterwards even though you'd rather be sleeping.

3. Make plans for an all-night computer lan gaming party. And ofcourse go to the party. And play. And not sleep.

4. Have the plane take-off next morning.

5. Get on the metro at 6.30 am after not having a wink of sleep in 2.5 days.

6. Fall asleep leaning on your guitar. No worries because you're getting off at the last stop. Wake up just in time to get down.

7. Get an auto to the airport and fall asleep inside. Not the best plan as auto driver may take advantage and deliberately waste time as he sees you sleeping. As a precaution, tell him to get you there 30 mins before you need to be.

8. Make the driver wake you up when you reach there. Get inside, go through security, have some ridiculously overpriced sandwiches for breakfast and get on the bus which takes you to the plane. Lean on your trusty guitar and fall asleep.

9. Someone will wake you up when you reach the plane. Get down blearily, try and look the best you can to the pretty lady getting up behind you, even though drooling when asleep probably makes everything irrelevant.

10. Get to your seat and sleep. You don't remember the take-off, the cruising or the landing. As far as you're concerned they may well have used a particle transporter thingy from Star Wars (or is it Star Trek, oh yeah, Beam me up, Scotty). You just know the scene outside your window changed from Palam to home.

11. Get your luggage and get on your car. Fall asleep in the car (no, not if you're driving). Many unconscious but hot and uncomfortable minutes later land up at home.

12. Get something to eat, find the nearest bed and fall asleep again.

That makes it 12 steps. Sweet.

Light

2009-12-16T10:54:00.000-08:00

I saw you gazing at the sky yesterday,
And I thought "what does she see?",
In the black clouds and the drops of rain,
That touch your face and scatter, disappear,
And I realised I thought, I thought in vain.

Because I realised, I realised I did not want to know,
As I saw your face light up the dark clouds,
I found out the meaning of a silver lining,
So clear, so apparent, so obvious, so true,
The silver lining is your smile, shining.

You saw me transfixed, and you blinked,
Your smile wavered for a second, I weaken,
Thirsty, needy, desperate, my eyes plead,
And you comply, and light floods,
And I realise, I realise that is all I need.

So I gaze,
So you smile
And the raindrops,
They touch, scatter,
Disappear.

The Last Metro - Revisited

2009-12-10T09:47:00.000-08:00

Why, why is it that, just when you try and sit down to study, you find other so much better things to do, addictions you didn't know you had. Like news. Why do I need to know what's on the news when Advanced Engineering Mathematics is in my hands? Can't I do it when I'm free? What catastrophy am I expecting that may somehow make studying maths unnecessary? It's a bloody conspiracy, a great elaborate plan ( a parting gift from the Nazis probably). Even the metro just started conveniently just before our exams. Coincidence you say, I don't think so! I just can't figure out the motive. What kind of a sadist takes pleasure from torturing innocent young hopeful students, out to make a mark, taking the shine out of their eyes

Take another example - I hate coffee. But put me in front of VHDL Primer and I start craving it. At 10 pm at night. I have to have it, and not just from any roadside stall, no sir, me and my friends just have to go to Nirula's at Connaught Place. At 10.40 pm. So we take the metro (yes, the one and the same evil Delhi Metro), a day before VHDL practical end semester examinations, and land in CP.

We go to Nirula's, gorge on Ice-cream soda (suddenly cappucino doesn't sound so good, after all it's 10.50 pm) and Nutty Buddy Ice-cream (which was delicious by the way, recommend it), which a friend insisted on eating only after we cleared of all the nuts. It's nutty buddy. It has an exorbitant price only because of the nuts. I mean what's the point? Might as well eat plain vanilla. Anyways, we spent almost all our money. Meh what do we care? We've got the Metro Smart Card. Think Smart, Travel Smart. Except the Metro's smart timings have the last train for Noida leaving at 10.55 from Rajiv Chowk. Not so smart.

We walk in to the metro station at 11.15 politely asking Enquiry when the next train to Noida comes in. Shock. Horror. Stranded. No bus. No metro. We were smartly too late. And with less than Rs.100 between the three of us. One of us asks an auto-wallah how much to go to Noida. Answer - Rs. 250. We all laugh in his face, hoping he'll somehow be enraged enough to take us there for free, or at least for less than Rs. 100. Didn't work out all that well. We got out of there before either side became too abusive.

Empty streets. No place to go, and no way to go back home, we start walking in general direction east (Noida is east of Delhi, or atleast I think it is), ready to call everywhere hoping some friend would be good enough to take us in for the night. And then we see a Kwality Walls ice cream guy and ask him if he knew some cheap way to go back to Noida at midnight. Long shot but it paid off. He told us to wait in front of Barakhamba station, lots and lots of cabs going to Noida for as little as Rs. 10 per person, call centre duty. Would have bought a whole months supply of ice cream from him then and there we were so happy, if we had the money that is. So long live call centres it was as far as we were concerned.

Got a cab as soon as we hit Barakhamba Road, didn't even have to go as far as the metro station. Got in, only the three of us in an Indica, with a fat-ish and bald driver, with a considerable moustache - about all I remember. He asked for Rs. 20 per head and even then, cheapstakes that we were, we got it down to Rs.15. And so he got going, and get going he did spectacularly. There were 15 near misses in the next 15 minutes, as I was reduced to quietly hoping that the guy doesn't hit something today, he can happily go back to crashing as soon as he drops us off. So atlast he screeches to a stop at a red light somewhere near Pragati Maidan, and one of my friends passes around his mobile, in which it's written, "The guy is drunk". That was about all that we needed to make it perfect. So we start humming the songs in the radio at full volume, afraid that he may fall asleep, as he continued playing with his and everyone's life for the next 30 minutes.

And then the gates to Noida. The Buddha statue looked like a very dear and long lost friend, the stupid hoardings of the MP almost making us grateful enough to then and there sign up for the BSP. We get off as soon as we reach familiar grounds. We were Kings now, there's no worry anymore, we were in Noida. Our place, our backyard.

But there was still some distance to our homes. So we took another cab. This one had a shifty guy driving it, which prompted one of my friends to tell the one who hailed the cab that he was going to kill him, if the driver turned out to be a mass murdering psycho. No such luck. We were back, and I gave my exams the next day.

But that is a horror story for another day.

For the warmongers

2009-11-29T23:48:00.000-08:00

When you ask me for a drop of blood,
I cannot give it because the blood is not mine.
The river's are red enough without it, overflowing,
Stop and consider the consequence, look at the sign.

When you ask me for a head,
I cannot give it because I refuse to lose,
To them, forcing on us grief, misery and death,
Or to you, trying to do the same, that's what you choose,

When you ask me to kill,
You ask too much of me,
A life taken is another life lost,
Your rage blinds you, you cannot see,

That when you ask me to die,
For you, I will always refuse,
You don't have the authority, and nor do I,
To play with life, decide it's dues.

And when you ask for vengeance,
Who is it against and what?
You'll never hurt those responsible,
Always those who are not.

And when you ask for sacrifice,
You forget that you don't have the right,
You'll stay back and stay safe,
And from your ivory tower, you'll send others to fight.

When we ask for sanity,
Will you listen to conscience and reason,
Or will you go and do the same as them,
Make more people watch their last rise of the sun.

When we ask for help,
Can you listen to us over the overpowering noise, this bedlam
Of rage, of rhetoric, of lies, of hatefulness,
Created by merchants of death, in their murders calm

And when they finally ask for forgiveness,
Will you have the choice to not give it?
Or will you choose to turn into them,
Blinded, damned, covered in blood, covered in shit.

Mumbaikar now

2009-11-26T06:00:00.000-08:00

I'm writing for my blog again, because I need an outlet. I've watched transfixed from 12 am on the 26th. I became a Mumbaikar, a Bombayite as much as any Indian. I watched horrified as terrorists, roughly my age went through the city at will, killing, firing at innocent people with a smile on their faces. Now, I am a realist, and so I didn't expect them to be crying their eyes out on the suicide mission, but watching it for real, up close through the camera was a different experience, one that I hope is never repeated, not in Bombay, not in India, not anywhere in the world.

These were the words I wrote a day after the madness was stopped in Mumbai. I never posted this because I couldn't finish it off convincingly and I didn't feel right posting this then. A year has passed now and I think these words, to a very small extent, show honestly how I felt then, better than what I can express now, sleepless and glued to the TV, scared, helpless and impotent. This is not how it's supposed to happen, you can't just walk into my country, my home, my India and just kill us, kill me, rendering our security forces helpless and running around. Those 70-odd hours shattered our illusions of security so so much more than all the countless bomb blasts put together. This wasn't supposed to happen, you can't just do that, you cannot rape all of us, my country. Because that's what we were that night. Raped.

It sounds harsh and dramatic, but it's true. I can't find any other word that is as apt. We were raped, forced and played with, our outrage and all our efforts, our strength, our pride, all amounting to absolutely nothing. And then to endure the posturing, the political milking of the situation, the fake grief in some places. But all of that seems so much better than the indifference and the blase approach so many of us have adopted now, probably even me. But there is a residue left, which refuses to be washed off after a year, I can feel it, and I'm morbidly pleased about it. The pain and the shock is numbed, but not forgotten. And that gives me a little hope, because if I feel it, others must to. And I think I observed it through the day today on the news. Beyond the jingoism and pretentions, there was determination, grit and honest resolve, and the same residue that I feel.

And for the warmongers - Grow up. Giving Kasab a fair trial is what separates us from them. We cannot hang him or lynch him on the streets, because frankly that's not how civilised democracies and civilised people do things. We keep a distance between us and them by our actions and in a way they win if they succeed in dragging us down even a bit to their level. We cannot let that happen. As convenient as saying that we should declare a war against Pakistan is, it's neither advisable nor justified.

It's been a year. A year when we haven't had a major terrorist attack. We've pumped money into security, and we seem to have found a competent Home Minister. And maybe it's just dumb luck, or whatever, but not tuning in to see people dying left, right, centre, is a change I think I can happily get used to.

If the sun don't come

2009-11-23T02:03:00.000-08:00

I am he as you are he as you are me and we are all together. Nonsense. I'm not he, he's never me and we sure hell aren't all together. But I guess that's the point. To be nonsense. Everyone wants to be him, but everyone fails. Goo goo g'joob. But that makes sense, even if Lennon does say the opposite. Sorry, John, that song actually makes sense. You failed.

But then, we all fail, some fail more than others, some don't fail but think they're failing,which more or less has the same result, some fail without realising they're failing and all of us living with the fear of failure even as we know it's inevitable. I'm crying. I'm cryyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyying. I'm crying.

So then we come to the eggmen and the walrus. Goo goo g'joob. Who are these eggmen? Mere semi-hallucinatory, nonsensical, irreverent Lennon inventions or part of something much deeper, goo goo g'joob? Are they the authority, the 'MAN', the government, the superiors, our gods, our leaders? Who are they and what do they do, goo goo g'joob? I am the eggman, They are the eggmen, we are to blame for them as we are them. So sing along - Goo goo g'joob.

But I am the Walrus. And the Walrus is free, and the Walrus knows, the Walrus can see. And he sees it all, and he sees everyone. And that is why He was the Walrus then, and I am the Walrus now. You're not the Walrus and you can never be, because you don't even know that Walruses like us even exist. You assume that we are all eggmen like you, conforming, obeying, walking along. And it's good that way, for both of us.

Look how they run, like pigs from a gun, see how they fly, see how they snide, see how they run, Semolina Pilchard, pornographic priestess, yellow matter custard dripping from a dead dog's eyes. We are the Walruses, we are the eggmen. And we'll get a tan from the rain...

Dear Zara...

2009-11-12T03:00:00.000-08:00

Dear Zara, I am sorry I killed you,
I apologise for the agony and the injustice,
I did it because of a reason I can't remember,
Reasons that were important once, a time for which I wish.

When the lives of others didn't seem so important,
So weak, fragile, vulnerable, precious, unique,
That slips away from a bullet like sand from my closed fist,
Your open vacant eyes make me forget my convictions, my certainties,
Make me doubt all the answers I seek.

Why did you have to come in my path?
I was sure in my sedation, happy in my misconception,
Content in my hatred, satisfied in my lust for blood and death,
Determined, driven, clear in my eyes, red in my vision,

And I believed what I heard, without question,
Without demand, without complaints or doubts,
Breathing in death, breathing out bullets from my gun,
Taking in orders, carrying out executions amidst screams and shouts.

Until you came in that day, one moment that changed the game,
Until the moment when you walked in through the door,
Until then I killed you and others in cold blood, no remorse, no shame,
Until I saw your pretty eyes.... why couldn't you wait a moment more?

Wait now, wait just a moment more,
Wait till I pass, wait till I go, wait till I die,
Wait and watch the clouds, listen to old stories and lore,
Wait just a second more and grow up and live, smile, laugh, cry,

I've tried and I've wished and I've screamed and I've prayed,
But I could not roll back time, could not stop you, could not hold you back
Just that one moment and an eternity, for that moment any price I'd have paid,
Paid with everything I have and everything I lack.

Dear Zara, speak to me with your sweet sweet voice,
Sing songs of love, freedom, happiness, hope,
And dance to them, so graceful, so pretty, with such poise,
And smile, and laugh, and love, till none can cope,

Spread your innocence, spread your naivete,
Share your jokes, your anecdotes, your story,
Travel the world, see the sights, talk to people, greet, meet
Love your life, be safe, be right, be wrong, be sorry.

And find a man that will love you,
And find a cause that you believe in,
Find successes to celebrate and failures to rue,
Reduce your loads, expand your kin,

Get married, give birth to children, a boy and a girl,
Raise them up far away from all this hatred and pain,
Give them hope, give them reason, give their ideas space to unfurl,
Keep them free, keep them safe, most of all keep them sane,

Far away from this madness, these unholy red waters of blood,
Far away from people like me, far far away from us,
Far away from this place, our land, our dirt, our mud,
Our rivers, our lakes, our mountains, our trees, our people, far far away from us.

Dear Zara, you will never hear me, and I'm thankful for that,
My pitiful voice, with these pathetic words,
My screams and my ravings, from where you lie, where you're sat,
I can't get through to you, not my entreaties, and it hurts.

And it hurts me more than a bullet ever could,
It hurts so much more than my beliefs could cure me,

It hurts so much I can't cry, and I don't know if I should
Feel your pain, hear, taste, touch, see.

And I failed, I failed so bad, I failed forever,
I failed in life, in death, couldn't give you life, nor kill myself,
I failed in ideas, in belief, in faith and it's over,
I failed you Zara, I killed you, I failed myself.

And you shattrered my thoughts and my life,
You shattered my mind and my heart,
You shattrered me to pieces, cut me up with a knife,
You shattered my life, you shattered my religion, and I'll never again start.

And it hurts and I failed and I'm shattered,
And I know if you knew, you still would be sad,

Sad that I'm hurt, I failed, I shattered,
But you don't, and that is happiness more than everything I ever had.

Dear Zara, only you can heal me, but don't,
I don't deserve to be healed by your sacred hands,
The guilt and the blame will remain and I won't,
I won't ever let myself escape these sands,

These sands of my hatred and sins,
These sands of the souls that I've destroyed, decimated,
These sands that are sucking my blood away by poking me with a million pins,
These sands where I'm stranded, I'm stuck, I'm cremated,

These sands where I'm lost, where I call out to you, in this desert,
This barren, lifeless land, stranded on this Sahara,
Where I will die everyday, each pin piercing my heart,
Forever calling out to you, beautiful, sweet, innocent, Dear Zara...

Reloaded

2009-11-11T14:24:00.000-08:00

And I'm back, to keep it short and simple. Hope you weren't holding your breath, because if you did, you're obviously dead. And I don't want that. As it is, considering the number of visitors this blog would have, I'm probably talking to myself and I definitely don't want myself dead. I'm a pretty good guy once you come to know me, and I know me better than anyone else.

And my first post will be a poem...

Introspection on recent events

2008-05-05T12:56:00.000-07:00

I'll try and stay as I am, stay awake,
But it's hard, it's hard to go on,
When you know there's nothing to fall back on, no other road to take,
Nothing to push me but desperation, I'm repulsed more than I am drawn.

So, will you save me from this,
My hell, where I feel fear,
So acute, so painful, so oppressive, so visceral,
Help me, for I am still rudderless, help me steer.

Because I drift on the open seas,
Like a nomad, who travels because he likes to,
Not because he has to for his woman or his children or kin,
But maybe all that has changed now, changed for the better, changed for true.

Then why does it not feel like it should feel,
Why does it not feel true, feel safe, feel strong,
And yet there does not seem like anything is wrong,
Everywhere, everyone, dancing to the same beats, singing the same song

Or is that the reason, and am I too much of a rebel?
Or am I clear, like so many aren't, like so many believe,
Like so many robots, so many assembly piece products,
Churned out everyday, everywhere, in front of everyone, like it's all falling out,
Like there's a huge gaping hole in the sieve.

And every one falling in the same place, doing the same thing,
Having the same life, marrying the same wife,
spanking the same children, ignoring the same parents,
coveting the same fantasies, suffering the same strife,

Order, even in the most disordered life,
Conformation, in the most free-flowing souls, souls almost impossible to breach
Because everyone has a plan, and eveyone follows it,
And the one's who don't are rare, and put down,
Or raised to a pedestal that no one realistically aspires to reach.

Forgive me my little preachings,
I know they are pretentious and arrogant,
And I know a lot of, make that almost all, of what I say is non-sense
So don't heed my words, I'm a bit bitter, and I am a bit tired,
Rest assured, even if you have read this, nothing I say is sacrosanct.

Exams and professions

2008-04-22T11:54:00.000-07:00

It's funny. It's mortifying. When exams come around, the feelings one goes through.

I've never been a person who worries about exams or the result. I've never felt crushing disappointment when I've done badly, nor boundless joy when I've done well (not too many times). And my emotions are just migrating towards the mean point as the days go by. There are no sleepless night nowadays even when my preparations aren't all that good, no confident strutting around when I know I'm going to do well. It's just one series of boring and indifferent reactions to the whole concept of going there and writing those few words in the papers provided, which are oh so important. And they probably are. But it just doesn't get the adrenaline flowing any more.

Why? Maybe because I am not yet sure what I want to do in my life. And should I be sure? I have no idea. Probably. I mean it has to be the ideal situation if you know what you're going to do for the rest of your life when you've just about finished 20% of it. I don't though. I'd like to drift along for another 2-3 years or so, but I can't and that's just the long and short of it. And therefore I'm off to join the scores and scores of engineering hopefuls that my country is producing by the buckets.

But what else is there though. I'd like to write for my food, journalism being the most obvious choice then as a profession. I'd like to travel as well, so the journalism thing still is a winner. But it doesn't pay all that much now, does it? Not really. And I'm not sure I can sit on a fence as much as being true to my profession would require.

Oh well, when I write the next time, my immediate future would probably have been decided. And I probably won't be able to change it for some time now. And that scares me more than exams ever have.

Absence

2008-04-06T18:20:00.001-07:00

Yes, I've been absent from my blog for quite some time now. A lot of factors played their part for my untimely and unfortunate departure from these blessed pages. Because the blog was 'found' by people I was hoping this would be a secret, not to be seen, because I am just extraordinarily lazy, because I knew not many people would be holding their breath waiting for my next post (in case, anyone did, my apologies and condolences), and also because I plain forgot about this place.

But now that I've kept a sufficiently low profile for the last 6 months or so, I'm ready for a comeback and ready again to write the crap that only I can write, and only I and a few very unfortunate souls read, who stumble upon my lair. My heart goes out to them, brave martyrs.

Goodbye.

PS - If I don't actually post regularly and disappear again and this was just a premature attempt at a comeback, I'd advise not waiting with bated breath. Lung problems are sure to follow.

Absence

2008-04-06T18:20:00.000-07:00

Well, yeah, I have been absent from the blogger world for sometime now. Because I was 'found' by people I know, people I wanted this place to be a secret from, because I was too lazy, because I couldn't find something to write about, because I know not many people actually read my blogs, so I wouldn't actually be missed, and also because I had forgotten about this place.

But right now, I think it's safe to make a comeback. I've kept a sufficiently low profile this long, so I doubt anyone would be checking on the blog nowadays. So, I hope I'll be churning out a few posts from now on with more regularity than I've done so far. You probably hope the opposite (well I'll be damned if I know why you are reading this then), so we're all in agreement. Sort of.

No that didn't make sense...... or did it? D'oh!

Sweeney Bloodyknifehands

2008-03-06T05:40:00.000-08:00

       From the start to the end, you're left in no doubt that it's a Tim Burton film. All of his dark, macabre, eccentric signatures are right in place in the film, unmistakeable, subtle and in your face in the same time.

        London is dreary and hopeless, a god forsaken city, inhabited by vermin, as Sweeney so menacingly tells us. Who is Sweeney? Well, he was a barber with a different (more normal) name, with a pretty wife and a pretty child, who is packed off to Australia on false charges, because judge (Turpin) has eyes on Sweeney's wife. Until he's found by a young sailor (Anthony) 15 years later. When he moves back to his house/shop in Fleet Street, he finds the landlady (Mrs. Lovett, who's as much of a loony as Sweeney) baking the worst meat-pies in London, who tells him about the fate of his family. The wife raped by the judge, later gulps down arsenic, and the child adopted by the same judge who is the root of all of Sweeney's misery. Thus he goes mad with rage. After that follows a series of events which is best left covered up. I'll divulge only the following : the sailor who saved Sweeney falls in love with his daughter (I feeeeeeeeel youuuuu, Johannaaaaa!!), and the judge also wants to make her his wife. Oh and the chair, though I guess most promos have already shown it (again and again) - sinister, very very sinister.

         Johnny Depp just becomes more immense with every film, every performance. There's not much more to say really. One of the finest of his generation. Helena Bonham-Carter is brilliant as well. Infact, I can't think of anyone else to play Mrs, Lovett, even more so than Depp/Sweeney, she's so perfect. You fall in love and are repulsed by her in equal measure. BRILLIANT. Alan Rickman is suitably evil, Timothy Spall as slimy as he has ever been. Sacha Baron Cohen, as Signor Pirelli, a rival barber, who in a way starts 'it', is madcap as always (very good actor nonetheless). The sailor and the daughter don't have much to do, but do it well anyways. Toby, the boy employed by Pirelli from a work-house, and later Mrs. Lovett is surprisingly good as well. Surprisingly because you don't expect a child to be an important character in a movie like this, and it finally turns out he is.

        The music's quite good. The singing's quite decent, the situations almost perfect. Go to the theatres to see a film which is quite exquisitely, breathtakingly, brilliantly beautiful. The humour will almost induce a laugh, and then a blush that you could laugh at things like that. There'll be people you pity, who you shouldn't, and enjoy deaths of people you should pity. The actors will own you for those couple of hours, the film will possess you. I mean, a musical about serial killing. You'd be stupid not to see it.

         However if you're queasy in the sight of blood, stay faaaaaar away. This is one of the bloodiest, most violent films I've ever seen.

She Lives in Beirut

2007-10-14T09:06:00.000-07:00

I saw on the papers, a child, a young girl,
Being carried by her father, in his shaking arms,
Her beautiful eyes will never again unfurl
She'll never walk on the water cold, or the desert sands warm.

Her fate has been sealed, she lives in Beirut.

She was shopping with her parents perhaps, with gifts being smothered,
Thinking about where all the toys, the gifts, to put,
With Hezbollah and the conflict, she was least bothered,
Looking at the doll with the black tie and grey suit.

The missile struck behind her, the paper's they're saying,
As she let go of her father, to hold a pretty doll,
It's frightening to know, there are people for her blood baying,
Entangled in violence's viscious circle that never seems to fall.

Her father, in the picture, uttered one eternal silent scream,
Asking what justice it was to kill an eight year old,
His head and his entire body burst in the seam,
When he realized, his daughter's body was already getting cold.

To be killed at an age which gives innocence it's meaning,
The burning embers in the altar, they proceed to prod
There is nothing more inhumane, nothing more demeaning,
The most damning evidence that there is no God.

Dreams

2007-07-29T10:30:00.000-07:00

So I stand here in front of you now,
Neither lost nor alone;
Do you know where I've been, where I'm going?
Do you know how much I've grown?

Probably not, probably not I think,
Since when have you been here, ripping my seams,
Here where I live, breathe, cry, die,
Here where I meet my dreams.

Dreams of perdition, vindication,
Dreams where I'm myself, happy and content to be,
Dreams of women, of sin, of fear, of happiness,
Dreams no one else tries to share, only I see.

They still try and make me sad, they don't have to try hard,
Happiness is a blur, sadness is clear
I've been drifting away from things I love,
Things close, accepted, connected, dear.

Prey upon my misery now, the only chance you'll have,
I'll leave everyone behind, not one would stand in front, none behind
Scale heights that would amaze you, heights no one ever knew about
Achieve more than most people dream of.

Yeah, I know, fantasy, make believe, aim too high
Bite more than I can chew, deluding myself, night won't be day
Asking for the tears to roll down, down where I fall,
Dreams shattered, fantasies ruined, ambitions all astray.

But I hope I motor on, on where my sights lie,
Don't stop, don't rest, till I reach the destination I aspire,
I've made a start, dreaming is the most important step, I feel,
Failure will not, it cannot, douse my fire.

Ramblings - D'oh!!

2007-07-06T23:43:00.000-07:00

I seem to have made it a habit to think very hard about the things I'm about to write in this here blog. How stupid is that? These are supposed to be ramblings. You don't think you idiot, you just write whatever occurs to you in that moment. So, I ask myself, what do you write when your mind's blank? You write 'blank', pat came my reply to myself. Yeah, that makes sense and compelling reading. But that's the whole point moron. You don't really care about making this 'compelling reading' and you certainly don't care about making 'sense'. Who would read this blog then, genius? You think people care about the condition of your perpetually empty, insane mind? Do I care? Well, no, not really, but it'd be nice if people read all this once in a while. Well, yes, but.....

OK, Is talking to yourself all the time normal? And I talk with myself inside my mind not only in my voice (that's the confused and stupid one), but a few more. There's my Munnabhai voice, there's the cynical Lennon voice, the surreal and dreamy Marquez voice (even though I have no idea how he talks and how his voice sounds), and then there is the throaty, rough, a politically aware Dylan voice, and there are a few others. I could probably have a PARTY!!!! right here inside my head if I wanted to. And no two people would have to talk to each other during the whole time! Am I crazy or what?!?!

Now, that's much better, don't you think? You've honoured and respected the theme of the bloody blog. You should be proud. Oh I am, it's just that, you know, I'm not that loony. Meh? Who cares? It's not like anybody reads all this crap you write anyway, and even if anybody did, what's the chance it'll be someone you know, and even if it is someone you know, what's the chance they'll know it's you who's written (or typed - for any insufferable pedant who might stumble here) all this. Next to none my friend, next to none. This is why people love the internet, I guess. Oh yeah baby!! (That was my Austin Powers voice by the way) Smashing!!

So that settles it then aye, we won't be having this conversation again, savvy. Or will we mate? I'm talking to you, ya jelly livered coward!! Mmmm, jelly! liver! *drool*

Adios.

Claustrophobia

2007-07-06T05:58:00.000-07:00

Sun's out and the first lights are on,
You feel the world closing in and out.
If you're lucky, you can sometimes wait until dawn;
The claustrophobia just made you in yourself doubt;

Come close to me, don't let them close in,
I can almost feel the wall
They are just out of my hand's reach, kissing my skin
Did I scream out? I can't seem to recall.

Let me check my vital signs,
Increased heart-rate and pulse, dilated pupils too, I bet,
I'm sweating a river, gasping for breath, is this punishment for my crimes?
How many years has it been since the last human being I met?

I'm so alone here, so scared and quiet,
The silence is unbearable, it seems to pound in my ears,
I want to see things, people, birds, beasts, even if they bite,
Right now, I'd be happy if I could again see my fears.

A rabid dog, Freddy Kruger, a murderous clown,
Heck even Himesh Reshamiya singing for hours, without pause,
And me forced to hear it, bear it, gulp it all down,
Anything to keep me out of these ever closing jaws.

So help me out, or put me out of my misery,
Save my life, or kill me outright, no permissions needed, no query,
Be my messiah, my prophet, my saviour, my tourniquet, my hero,
End this now, now I'm old, tired, have no passion, no fury.

Jhoom Barabar Jhoom - The 3 hour long fancy dress competition

2007-07-02T14:27:00.000-07:00

We were supposed to go and watch Shootout At Lokhandwala. So we promptly reached the theatre at 7.30 pm. Only problem, the last show of Shootout At Lokhandwala was at 6.30 pm. Being an evil multiplex and all, it had the temptation of a 8 pm show of JBJ. Needless to say we succumbed.

So, we get on the elevator, packed with insufferably giggly people - ranging from age-groups 12 to 60 of both sexes - talking about the dresses they saw Lara Dutta and Preity Zinta wear in the promos, casually throwing the names of the Director and Producer as though they knew them personally. Possibly the longest 15 seconds a human being can go through. We rush out of the elevator before we catch the contagious disease these people seem to be suffering from, get 3 cups of coffee from the counter, where the nutcase behind it politely asks us to stand in line even though we are the only ones there. And then we enter the hall.

After trailers of Apne and Chak De India, the film started with Amitabh Bachan looking like Captain Jack Sparrow's father, doing the Keith Richards impression with a guitar. Enter Abhishek with the now old and cliched swagger and Preity looking, er, pretty. And then they concoct stories about their 'fiances', which try to be funny, almost are, but just fall short. Then both of them fall for each other, to maintain the falling pattern. Then they have a dance competition, kiss in the streets and probably marry each other. The End.

That about does it for the story, there's Lara Dutta and Bobby Deol in many places, being a French hotel manager and a cussing prostitute, a super wealthy lawyer and a mama's boy, and all four of them dressing like no one could in the real world unless they were filthy rich and bonkers in the head.

I would write more, but frankly there isn't much to say about this film.

Do I really know who I am?

2007-07-02T10:33:00.000-07:00

Who am I? Do I know who I am? Do I really care?
I am angry, I am scared, I feel so helpless and alone,
I can't, don't, won't, I refuse to know how I'll fare.

Six billion people in this round, big, green earth,
So many all around me living, breathing, talking all the time,
Does anybody notice or care,
Who would want to waste a dime?

So let me be, don't cry no false tears,
Talk incessantly like you always do,
Leave me alone, let in silence pass my years;

Kill everyone, see if I care,
Religion, colour, caste or class, the excuses are many,
I'm caught in front of a runaway train anyways,
Caught in it's headlight's glare.

Don't look down on me now, don't act all superior,
I know, as well as you, we're in the same boat,
Sailing along, saying the same prayer;

To a non-existent God, and his false illusions of life after death, a new day,
To peace, love and dreams of salvation in heaven and/or hell,
Are we really that naive? Or are we just happy to have a right to pray?

To drown our sorrows in another shoulder,
To blame our failures on another, paramatma, the ultimate soul,
Cleanse our soul and our heart, for now they are as coal.

And so I finish these ramblings off,
And in my parting words, a plea,
Respect yourselves, take responsibility for your own mistakes,
Never drown them in a faith's false and poisonous sea.

My first foray into blog-dom

2007-07-02T03:28:00.000-07:00

Gee, it seems real strange. I never thought I'd want one of these. Reading these things all over the place in our beautiful 'www', is a chore in itself. Still it makes a nice change.

A bit short of words right now. To finish off, in the words of the immortal Gabriel Garcia Marquez :

"To hell with the Arch-bishop"