Shallow Gods

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.

Dying

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.

Abbotabad Blues

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.

Never Happy

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

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....

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

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...

From Noida to Guwahati While Sleeping

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.

The Last Metro - Revisited

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.

Mumbaikar now

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

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...

Reloaded

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...

Exams and professions

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

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

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!

Ramblings - D'oh!!

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.