Dreams

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!!

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

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

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?

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

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"