Journals Of The Nameless One

The Insensitive Asshole

2012-02-04T02:55:00.000+05:30

Har ek baat pekehte ho tum, ki 'tu kya hai?'

Tumhi kaho keyeh andaaz ae guftagu kya hai?

Ragon meindaudte phirne ke hum nahin qaayal,

Jab aankh hise na tapka, toh phir lahuu kya hai?

Ham ko maloomhai jannat ki haqiqat lekin,

Dil ko khushrakhne ko Ghalib ye khayaal achcha hai!

Dil ae nadaantujhe hua kya hai?

Akhir iss dardki davaa kya hai?

Humko unsevafaa ki hai ummid,

Jo nahinjaante vafaa kya hai!

Har dor kotuhkrake tu khudgarz,

Hamdardi kikaunsi misaal nibha raha hai?

Saat samundarsamay hai tere mere beech,

Kagaz ki merikashti usmein dube ja raha hai.

Dua karein kezindagi ki har khushi tujhe mile,

Mujhe byasmera abhimaan pyaara hai.

Tujhe bhikabhi dil tutne ka aisa gahm mile,

Nasoor lagehar khoyi khwahish jab rooh aur akele na reh paye!

Jo na dekha tumeri ankhon se, woh na kabhi tu dekh payega

har raaste petu kosega naseeb; Hai! yeh kaunsi zindagi hai...

[ Note : First five couplets are fromdifferent works of Ghalib. The next pitiful five are mine. ]

Voice Of Angels

2011-09-07T01:04:00.000+05:30

Four women - across the ages. Singing on like no other.

Ella Jane Fitzgerald with The Ink Spots. Making life easier during rain.

Mama Cass Elliot. Helping to make our own kind of music.

Susan Magdalane Boyle. Letting our own little dreams come true in our own small ways.

Adele Laurie Blue Adkins. My personal favourite. The underdog. Reminding us of what we almost had.

Really, did you?

2011-09-01T17:08:00.001+05:30

Couldn't find the words to say

2011-08-16T00:55:00.004+05:30

Happiness

2011-06-02T02:48:00.009+05:30

Pleasure in an hour? A whorehouse it shall be!

Whenever you feel lonely, you can always come to me.

I will take care of your needs and satisfy all your wants,

pay me a nickel since that is what counts.

You know what my worth is, you know where I will be,

Everything of mine is for yours to see.

I was walking down the street,

When out the corner of my eye

I saw a handsome little thing approaching me.

He said "I've never seen a woman

Who looks so all alone,

Could you use a little company?

If you can pay the right price

Your evening will be nice,

And you can go and send me on my way."

I said "You're such a sweet young thing

Why you do this to yourself?"

He looked at me and this is what he said:

"Oh, there ain't no rest for the wicked,

Money don't grow on trees.

I got bills to pay,

I got mouths to feed,

There ain't nothing in this world for free.

I know I can't slow down,

I can't hold back,

Though you know, I wish I could.

No there ain't no rest for the wicked,

Until we close our eyes for good".

You can play with my feelings and toy with my heart,

and whip out all your anger on me.

You can hurt me if you want to, since I won't feel a thing,

and tie me down, not to be.

You can have all your fun, as much as you want,

Just don't think about my tears.

They are tears of joy, please just f*** me now,

You will start loving me then is my deepest darkest fear.

Don't look into my eyes, don't try to find me,

I have already gone where I deserve.

In this void and this sadness, is now where I dwell,

Happiness is just reserved.

[ Note : The lines in italics are the lyrics of one of my favourite songs 'There Ain't No Rest For The Wicked' by a rock band 'Cage The Elephant'. ]

Hardest Story

2011-05-30T02:19:00.001+05:30

Have started writing again :)

This story's gonna be tough...

Anti-depressants

2011-01-28T23:31:00.000+05:30

You could never say no. To me. I knew your secret. However much you tried to hide it, it still felt like the fig leaf Eve used to cover her 'nakedness' - just not enough. We sat on those rickety termite-ridden wooden benches nestled deep inside that forest. You would always dust it first. Your hair would sweep the dead leaves on the floor as you sat down. Birds would stop chirping. The frogs and the crickets would run off. Your brown eyes were black magic.

And everyday you told me a story. A new one everytime. Like Queen Scheherazade from the Arabian Nights. But I wasn't Aladdin or Sinbad. I didn't feature in any. The vines would creep in as the stories would go on. Wounded trees would stand still in stony silence and the paralyzed leaves would forget to sway in the breeze. Living new lives. Crossing deserts, climbing mountains and sailing seas.

I grew a beard but you didn't age a bit. Whenever you would ask me as to what I wanted, I would ask for another story. We would get lost in our dreams. I would walk a thousand miles. For a thousand years. And whenever I would feel tired, you would appear. You would touch my heart and pray for peace. An adolescent poet's figment of imagination. Banalata Sen.

I would wonder sometimes. Why was I being kept alive? I would shout and kick. Demand answers. Where was I? Why was this happening? You would smile and shed mute tears. Your pursed lips never opened. Even when you said no stories. Being Juliet of Verona for the devil. It was a cage, you said. For me. So I couldn't harm others. You would sing. Never dance. And everytime you hit the high notes, it rained. And the lights grew dimmer.

I would say, I am there.

Forever.

Tell me another story.

Don't leave.

Dog's Day

2011-01-13T13:33:00.000+05:30

He stood there with his nose pressed to the glass, gazing intently at that gadget on display. Knees wobbly and arms on hip. You call him with a light tap on his shoulder. It could have been longer - you forget. He turns and that sharp smell of liquor hits your nose. You take it in, into your lungs. You close your eyes - that heady feeling is tough to miss. That same childlike, impish grin. With those black puppy eyes. Shaved and impeccably dressed. Yet drunk. A show like that could have gone better with an unkempt beard and the shabbily clothed look. The teardrops at the corner of his eyes aren't that lucky - they don't fall.

Ankhon se saare ashq baha do ishq ke,

Ke nazron se hum gir na paye.

Gahm bhulaney ke liye kaho saqi se,

Itne mein toh hum doob ke bhi mar na paye...

Yeh pyala phir se bhar do khushboo se,

Zaalim waqt bhi sooni raahon pe yun taras jaye.

Koi akhir aake roke toh mujhe,

Kahe duniyadari tumharey waastey nibhaney aaye!

Kutton se bhi bura haal jinka,

Unhe tadapte dekh ab aap kaunsa mazaa paye?

Au Contraire

2010-08-29T13:21:00.003+05:30

No wonder people don't tread this way. To sift through the cobwebbed colossal failures reeking of grief is an achievement in itself. When you pass these ancient archives by, your heavy footsteps echo through the dark halls, making you believe that my small world might be worthy to get lost in. The parchments crumble to dust as you read between the lines. This place is dying. And you can just watch. As you move on. See. For your perverted voyeuristic tendencies. Let this be fun. Then we would play. Inconvenience is regretted.

Truth of the day : There are only two tragedies in life: one is not getting what one wants, and the other is getting it (But frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn).

Memento

2010-04-27T01:23:00.002+05:30

Memory's a bitch. Each time one dives in, one finds strange new wounds.

I used to see him whenever I used to wait there to catch a bus. He used to sit underneath that flyover, playing chess with random strangers in the evening.

Dark bearded guy with male pattern baldness, almost fifty. Wearing dirty yellow checks and navy blue pants every Wednesday. His sleeves folded to his elbows. Sandals, instead of shoes. Paying little attention to the game - watching people speed by. His frayed cheap chessboard compensated the lost plastic white queen with a black pebble. He lost regularly, I suppose - his opponents never returned. At six, all the king's men would troop to their doom, jumping into the dark crevice that was his office bag - but the pebble - that went to his left pocket. He didn't have to look at his watch. He would look around, pick up his belongings, and disappear into the crowd. He wasn't handsome enough to be missed.

It was raining that day, when I shook my umbrella dry, and sat beside him unknowingly.

Chess? He asked. It sounded like chase. His word dripping with the local accent.

Startled, I looked around.

Embarrassed at my uncomfortable silence, he looked down and started placing his pawns in position.

Harle kintu kalo pathorta amar! I joked to break the tension, not knowing why I said that.

Besh, he groaned.

I always thought myself to be good at this game.

And so it went.

By the 11th move, I had scalped the bishop.
Both rooks, dead by the 18th.

He seemed unperturbed by the massacre that I was causing - watching the rain drops making puddles on the road.

I was winning! My bishop, rooks and queen were still on the battlefield, and I had cornered his struggling army.

And then something very strange happened.
He looked at me.

Bhalobashai bishaash koro? He asked in his deep calm baritone.

Maney? I muttered incongruously.

Pawa, bujhle. Jete dite parbona - He said, cryptically.

By the 22nd move, he had lost the black rock.
But then, I was checkmate too.

It was past six. He packed up hurriedly. With an awkward smile, he picked the pebble up. It seemed to shine in his lifeless eyes. I felt myself waiting for the My preciousss line. He shoved it inside his pocket.

Chinte parbena naholey, bujhle khoka? A hop, skip, jump later, he vanished.

To each his own, they say. The collector of souvenirs trudged back home, with a heavy pocket, but perhaps a heavier heart. I sat there, dumbstruck, waiting for the rain to stop.

Truth of the day : All the world's a stage and most of us are desperately unrehearsed.

As To What This Is All About

2010-03-20T19:06:00.002+05:30

A Gazillion things. Concocted and preserved. Right here. Inside. But, who am I kidding? Some cheesy movie line went on and on about the doer and the thinker. Literally, I am lost. I am the latter. I haven't ever done anything which I have thought of doing. In my mind. About these things. Sounds complicated but trust me, its simplicity redefined. Inadequacy.

And my relative loneliness.

And the lack of holy water.

Just like old times.
Oh, how I love to hate myself!

Truth of the day : Men are liars. We'll lie about lying if we have to. I'm an algebra liar. I figure two good lies make a positive.

A Cure For My Insomnia

2009-12-23T16:37:00.004+05:30

You would not believe your eyes
If ten million fireflies
Lit up the world as I fell asleep

'Cause they'd fill the open air
And leave teardrops everywhere
You'd think me rude
But I would just stand and stare

I'd like to make myself believe
That planet Earth turns slowly
It's hard to say that I'd rather stay
Awake when I'm asleep
'Cause everything is never as it seems

'Cause I'd get a thousand hugs
From ten thousand lightning bugs
As they tried to teach me how to dance

A foxtrot above my head
A sock hop beneath my bed
A disco ball is just hanging by a thread

I'd like to make myself believe
That planet Earth turns slowly
It's hard to say that I'd rather stay
Awake when I'm asleep
'Cause everything is never as it seems
When I fall asleep

Leave my door open just a crack
(Please take me away from here)
'Cause I feel like such an insomniac
(Please take me away from here)
Why do I tire of counting sheep
(Please take me away from here)
When I'm far too tired to fall asleep

To ten million fireflies
I'm weird 'cause I hate goodbyes
I got misty eyes as they said farewell

But I'll know where several are
If my dreams get real bizarre
'Cause I saved a few and I keep them in a jar

I'd like to make myself believe
That planet Earth turns slowly
It's hard to say that I'd rather stay
Awake when I'm asleep
'Cause everything is never as it seems
When I fall asleep

I'd like to make myself believe
That planet earth turns slowly
It's hard to say that I'd rather stay
Awake when I'm asleep
Because my dreams are bursting at the seams...

Gods Of The Godless

2009-11-26T14:45:00.002+05:30

A Rather Stupid Story

2009-10-18T22:54:00.006+05:30

My entry for the Science Fiction competition. Tech Fest. 2007. Just don't laugh. Please. There was a word limit. And a meagre four topics to choose from. And I was in my First Year. So.

~ * ~

This is the story of how everything ended.

Fifty years were left. Like a guillotine hanging over mankind, informing of its impending doom, with the peculiar sense of helplessness when nothing can be done. The earth, vitiated by pollution, overburdened by population, raped of resources, stood testimonial to the centuries of misuse. By the end of the half-century, the earth was supposed to stop rotating. Its gravity deceased, it would then let go of the atmosphere. Breaking off into innumerable fragments, it would be reduced to space rubble : its fate to rotate the sun till the star burnt out.

But then, its an old popular saying that crisis gives birth to ideas. Faulty, but brilliant. Destined to failure, yet excitingly alluring. Thus it was the responsibility of the United Earth government to come up with a plan. The ultimate plan to save mankind. And ignoring the laws of Murphy, they surprisingly did it. Not that it was somewhat impossible for them to come up with a plan. But then, people expected very less from them (though ironically no one had the courage to say that aloud). It was perhaps both the best and worst of times. It had to be. It would be an understatement if it was said that even die-hard science fiction fanatics couldn't have ever predicted that man would have turned out this way. But then, the future was always spooky. Everything was now one. One party. One religion. One science. One world. One life. One toothpaste. Thats what everyone wants, isn't it? And you know what happens when all these ones come together. The other alternatives are banished. A crime it would be to say that one belonged to such-and-such country or adhered to this-that religion. Or even protest that string theory isn't correct. Or say that sugar was far better than saccharine. Because once the government decided one thing, then that thing was supposed to be Right. Not right, but The Right. The Only Right. And all others were yes, false. Bad. Man, though, a sucker for rules, had always, perhaps secretly, pined for this.

Thus under the 'benevolent rule' of the UE, a plan was formulated. Four unmanned locator starships, equipped with the most modern proton spacedrives, were supposed to leave the earth in search for a new world. Where man could live again. Breathe, consume, procreate. Multiply and colonize like viruses. It was widely broadcasted (on the only channel the earth had), the purpose of these ships. If within these fifty years, they managed to find a new world that could be inhabited by mankind, they would promptly send a message back to earth. Man would then leave for this paradise, in order to have a home again. Many might think that this was a populist gesture in order to win the common people's hearts for the elections. But then, the UE wasn't bound by voting. It was considered stupid that people who couldn't run the place would choose someone capable to run the place for them. You know, futuristic philosophies. People of the twenty-first century would have never got a hang of all this. Amidst much fanfare and melodramatic tears, the four starships were thus launched. Their aim : to scour the universe in all directions and seek for a planet like Earth. Man's last hopes were in space. Obscured. And enigmatic. Since no ship had ever left the solar system. And the presence of aliens, though highly claimed, had never been established. Sentient life outside earth was thought to be non-existent. But then any intelligent lifeform would have steered away from contact with man. So yes. The spaceships left. Much was written about it (in the only newspaper). Much was spoken and shown about it (by the only electronic media). And then there was a lull. A long long one. Like the ones that happen before a hurricane.

Forty eight years had passed, when the silence broke. Man, weary of life, had left itself to succumb to nature's wrath. The UE was in shambles. Riots were a regular occurence. New age messiahs had sprang up in every hell-hole cashing in on the panic - selling amulets and blessings which were to save the fearful people from dying. From the inevitable end of the world. Billions of people were already dead owing to the dearth of breathable air. The others, who could afford, were spending their last few days living in extreme luxury in artificially controlled environments. And the other others, the majority, banished from cities, having flouted the rules and regulations of the UE, were eking out their lives in the wild - living together in small communities - praying and hoping that this wouldn't be the end. Then it happened. A lone voice was caught vibrating electromagnetically in the void in all directions. A signal from a starship which had been launched many decades back! No one remembered about it anyway. But then, everything had its own queer impact. The UE, pounced back at its chance, and claimed that it was the one to save mankind - the starship it had sent had found a new planet suitable for human existence! Political ramifications, there were various, but which could be essentially summarized to the fact that the UE was now backed by the faith of many. People joined the government in droves in order to be included on the exodus to the new planet. A list was chalked up, and two lakh fifty six thousand were shortlisted from the thirteen billion population that came for help. Don't even ask what the procedure was. Since no one fully knew. Wealthy people - in. Poor - out. Supporters - in. Protestors - out. Young in. Old out. The usual. It had happened all the time on earth. Discrimination.

Eight arks, massive space vessels, were assembled in haste, in order for the long journey towards the planet. Towards a new life. Leaving earth and many of their fellow beings to die, the UE, with its select few, left. The arks on autopilot, tracing the signal of the starship hurtled towards its destination, while men and women onboard slept, cryogenically preserved, spending their dream lives in bliss. Where the starship was, no one knew. All they knew that it had found a planet. And they, like moths attracted to fire, were being pulled towards it. Fifteen years, it took, to cross the solar system. Earth was now long dead - and so were the people who had been forsaken. People, inside the arks had been resuscitated in batches in order to keep them alive. Fed weekly on micronutrient enriched vitamin supplements, the passengers were supposed to lead carefree lives. But a growing concern had spread like wildfire, about the planet. Did it really exist? Had the starship made a false signal? Were they chasing after a mirage? Why had they never identified that planet before? Numerous questions. You know - how it is. If you feed a man, and give him a nice place to rest, and give him no work, its a surity that he will think about unanswerable questions in order to spend his time. But to quench the thirst of curiosity, there was nothing that could be done. Sensing discontent amongst the awakened, the ship's advanced AI put them back to sleep again. But the worst wasn't over.

A huge cosmic storm awaited them outside the solar system. Pools of crackling energy fanned by solar winds - a tempest of mythical proportions. Chaos reigning supreme.The arks went right in. Though 'went' will be quite a soft word to use. The fractured time-space fabric, warped incredibly by a black hole that had stealthily shrouded itself behind all the razzmatazz, pulling in everything - towards its point of singularity - the heart of dark matter. And you know when accidents happen. By the time, the AI of the arks could realize that it had to change its spatial coordinates, they were already in. It was a sorry situation that no one was awake to see what was going outside - since such a spectacle, man would never be fortunate to see again. The space was now like that of a negative film of a photograph - white where there should have been black. And strange pulsating colours were abound in the universe : coalescing and cleaving off with abnormal ease. The arks were in a wormhole - a corruption of nature, meant to awe - time dilated to an eternity retarding off everything inside it to an unnatural slow-motion. Probability, man's fickle friend, had abandoned him already. And strange it was, that man would undertake the most perilious journey in order to find a new home, but fail in the end. Kind of, didn't match with the perennial good luck its race had faced till then.

Life they say, springs terrible surprises. Terrible but nice. The wormhole had egested out an ark back into the void - the other seven either destroyed or bound in the infinite continuum for aeons to come. But then we never talk about the ones who fail - the ones who win are all who matter. So we come back to the ship that escaped the warp. Astoundingly enough, the ark received its strongest signal yet. The starship, now desperate in its call. Where was it? Where was the planet? How far were they from their goal? They sailed forth again.

And In the distance there it was! That puny medieval starship - rotating around an extremely blue planet in a geosynchronous orbit! The ark's emergency procedures kicked in - humans had to be awakened from their hibernation - much was to be done. Bodies were being kicked into action - defreezing them and shots of adrenaline being pumped in to course in their veins. And like sudden twists in a story, the AI found that mostly all had kicked the bucket in their sleep. The black hole had taken its toll. The arks, which weren't designed to land, flushed out mini-pods carrying the last few humans out into space. Once ejected out of the mothership, the planet's gravity pulled them in. It was an atrocious waste of human life. All pods got reduced to ash - on entering the planet's atmosphere - the pods, slowed by friction, had caught fire. Except perhaps one. One pod remained. The typical cliche - the last hope for humanity. And it landed safely. Inside the gleaming pod, lay two near perfect human-beings. Adam. Eve.

God must have been really cruel to do this. Sending off future homeless humans through a time-warp back into the past. Into the same earth. And then allow them to inhabit it, without even letting him know about it. A paradox, yes. But then, to God, nothing was impossible. A fascinating move in the game He plays with Himself. Cruel, but super-intelligent. Binding off its most terrible creation in an eternal cycle like this. Destined to live. Destroy earth. And then go off in search of a home, and be directed to Earth itself. And again inhabit it.

You wouldn't believe me if I told you, but this is also the story of how everything started.

~ * ~

They gave me a 1000 bucks, quite reluctantly. Since they had no choice. I suppose this was the only entry. They were very embarassed anyways.

No One Else

2009-07-25T21:57:00.003+05:30

I dreamed I was missing

You were so scared

But no one would listen

Cause no one else cared

After my dreaming

I woke with this fear

What am I leaving

When I'm done here

So if you're asking me

I want you to know

When my time comes

Forget the wrong that I've done

Help me leave behind some

Reasons to be missed

And don't resent me

And when you're feeling empty

Keep me in your memory

Leave out all the rest.

I have been living a hundred lives. Dying a thousand deaths. And I am back again. Like always.

I have started on that childhood fantasy of mine on a sudden whim. The book. For all those voices inside my head. All those pent-up real-life events. That mingle with the impossible stories that I make up. I am still a bit unsure. I can't write a line without being depressed. And I can't keep myself that way for long, for obvious reasons. But still. Worth a try :P

Truth of the day : The person who writes for fools is always sure of a large audience.

The 'Lou' Tag

2009-01-09T01:32:00.009+05:30

Another year. Another tag. The same bloke. Life is so hard, ain't it? :P

If your lover betrayed you, what would your reaction be?

It’s a very complicated three step process with its termination to normalcy (as in recurrent inherent abnormality) period going on for about you-really-don’t-want-to-know years. Denial, which runs a long run – quite like a marathon. Then, Anger, shorter, but runs like if its pants are on fire and rabid dogs are chasing it (the pants). And then finally, Forgiveness. Calm and sad, but cheerful and content. Feeling is like just being released from rehab.

If you can make a dream come true, what would it be?

Very nice. I mean, till it lasts, of course. Until I wake up. And get to know that I had been dreaming of making a dream come true. That will be quite awkward.

What do you do when your love is unrequited ?

Sulk. Sadly. Silently.

What would you do if you had a billion dollars?

Splurge on Amadei or Maralumi. A supercomputer. Trip to space. Buy/build a dark spooky castle in the remotest part of the world (better if on a tropical island). And build a secret lab. With a secret underwater cave entrance. To to er er (edited by FBI. For further information, die.)

Would you ever fall in love with your best friend?

I love him already. I mean. (ahem) (cough)

I should stop saying this. Sheesh! Children visit here (bangs head on wall at ever decreasing audience)

Which is more blessed, loving someone or being loved by someone?

Its like wondering whether submarines can swim. Er, sorry wrong comparison. Whether computers think. Shit, wrong again. I mean. Likewise. You know. You get the drift. A Macguffin.I tell you.

How long do you intend to wait for someone you really love?

(Funny Coincidence + Freaky Spark + Being Not Dead) x (Rare Probability That Someone Will Like You Even After All This – Imaginary People In Your Head) = So Long. (unidentifiable parameter)

If the person you secretly like is already attached, what would you do?

I would. Yes. Keep it a secret.

What captures your heart the quickest?

Muppets singing and dancing to an infectious tune.

What would you be, ten years from now?

Bald. Potbellied. Disgruntled with life. Thick glasses. And non-matching socks. Leaky pens. Less teeth.

What do you fear?

Myself.

What kind of person do you think the person who tagged you is?

Insane Dracula. Cut that. Lucy the-prancing-I-love-ponies-girly-pink-girl. Add that-she-will-kill-me-when-she-reads-this.

What's the first thing you do when you wake up?

Crawl down to the floor. Then remain there. Then walk groggily to the bathroom.

Would you give all in a relationship?

Give all as in? Depends.

If you love two people simultaneously, who would you pick?

The hypothetical situation won’t arise. And if it does, it would be that both are attached (to god-knows-what the questionnaire points to). And then I would have to keep that a secret. For that, I would have to kill you. Ninja Code.

Would you forgive and forget, no matter how horrible a thing that special someone has done?

Forgive? Depends. Forget? Nope.

If you get to go back in time and fall in love all over again, would it still be with the same person?

Yes. It will be. The same.

Truth of the day : Duct tape is like the force. It has a light side, a dark side, and it holds the world together.

Freedom

2008-08-17T19:04:00.008+05:30

You never know what surprise-bunny life springs at you from the magic hat. One day you are moping back from school thinking about how everything sucks, and the very next day (in the space-time frame of psychopathic penguins) you moon around college believing and considering that this world, and especially past and current human existence, is without objective, meaning, purpose, comprehensible truth or essential value. Because in life, we search for so many things. But get none. Since there are none. Things get so variable in the end that the constancy only remains in our futile attempts at understanding it.

So there was I. Riding second pillion on a scooter at 70 kmph without helmets on a wide-enough road having about half-a-dozen killer buses at five in the evening with two of my best friends. Whoa! Now that's like a big sentence. No. I am not into two-wheelers. Neither into speed. And I don't get a kick out of it. And I don't even like such sudden idiotic whims of mind. The most rush I get is when eating a nice chocolate. But no. It wasn't such then. And I have a fear of speed. And heights. And er. That's not the point here. So yes. I was sweating. And at that instant, the most unlikely thought hit my head - like an express train on an impact test - right there.

My life had changed. So much that even I couldn't comprehend.

It was as if I had lost a big part of me and gained another huge one at the same time. Delete. Accept. I was no longer the school guy I knew. I wouldn't even recognize me. Tragedy. Comedy. All in one.

Who am I then?
I really don't know.

So there I was. In front of our school. With my best friends and the decade-old scooter parked beside the sidewalk. Laughing. Smiling. Over plates of hot kachori. The ones with the really watery gruel. And the tasteless chutney with blocks-of-who-knows-what. And the really spicy small portions of chilli achaar. We weren't the same anymore. We still understood each other better than anyone else. But we weren't the same. All in different places. With dissimilar timings. And constraining schedules. It wasn't there. The walks back home. The jokes. The classes. The fights. The mischiefs. The exams. The spit. The cockroaches. The blood. The dances. The songs. The meetings. The love. The hate. We were all a part of each other, yet so fragmented was our universe.

Had I really changed?
Or was it the situation?

I wanted to go back to school again. But at the very next moment I hated the notion. I wanted to stay where I was. To remain free. I don't know from what. Perhaps from myself. Or perhaps it was from the past.

Was this freedom?

And I was back there again. On the scooter. It was all a blur - memories, vision. My friend's words echoed hollow.

Yeh kambakht life saali jaan marr degi.

(bleep) (bleep) (double bleep) (sigh)

And we laughed again. Especially at the part where our 5ft 2in Gabbar from Sholay, speaking in a high-pitch female voice wasn't allowed to stage his play, since people thought it was derogatory. Hell, yeah! Sarcasm was so so under-rated. Ours were the dogs dancing for the male Basant(i)! The ropes of Veeru and the whip of Gabbar were too bdsm-inspired anyways.The angel and the crows - too political. The pain road - too obtuse. The song-dance - too funny and unrelated. Now where was such a class whose plays were constantly banned for show for four continuous years? Aye, aye!

I am now what I am because of what I have gone through. And this is freedom. To choose to live to the death on the terms of what one has only dreamed about. It all might be a mistake. I might be a big mistake. But thats perhaps the thing about freedom. You are what you wanted.

Lord Of The Last Benchers. Forever and ever. To you. To freedom.
And to everything that mattered once.

Truth of the day : True terror is to wake up one morning and discover that your high school class is running the country.

Alphabets

2008-08-01T22:13:00.004+05:30

I realized something today. Happiness is not the best of me. Sadness is.
And to celebrate my grief, I write again.

Was tagged by Kazarelth a few months back. Couldn't come back to it. So here it goes now. Better late than never.

A is for anger. For absence. Angst. You wouldn't notice. It seeps through.

B is for books, babies and blindness. Black. Belief. Blood.

C is for chocolates. Diary milk. Dark chocolate. Bitter too perhaps. Ishtill adjaashteeng.

D is for donkeys. Dance. Demons. And death.

E is for end. For eagerness. Ebb. Eternity.

F is for the-f-word.

G is game. Gallows. Goal. It is for goodness. Goth.

H is for hell. Heaven. Happiness. Haplessness. For hope. For the head and heart. Hollow.

I is for irony. For I. Ice-creams. Idle.

J is for Joker. Jagged. Jolly. Jinx.

K is for knowledge. Kill.

L is for love. Lost. Luck. Lucifer. Lunacy.

M is for machine. Matrix. Magic. Moon.

N is for none. For need. Name. Naive.

O is for one. Over. Obliterate. Omega. Odds. Overcome. Opposition.

P is for perfect. Piyu. Poke. Peek. To pine for.

Q is for queen. Quest. Questions. Quench. Quills.

R is for rest. Rivers. Reach. Race, Rains. Red.

S is for Saawariya. Secrets. Soak. Silly. For saviour. Separation.

T is for touch. Torch. Tears.

U is for umbrellas. Unable. Unaware.

V is for vacuum. Value. Vanish. Vulnerable.

W is for we.

X is for the X chromosome. One and two.

Y is for you. Yes. Yet.

Z is for zen.

Truth of the day : Love is like pi. Natural, irrational and indispensable.

In Fact

2008-03-04T23:54:00.006+05:30

Things change all of a sudden. I suppose I don't need to tell that every time to myself. But that what I need to tell the most, I can't express. That very fleeting feeling gets lost as soon as it gets found. That, I believe, is its destiny.

Sterilize the mind, and sanitize the soul.

Just one more now. One down to go. Atlast. Now it doesn't even matter anymore.
Speculation? Dunno. Like an amateur painter retouching Cara-frigging-vaggio.
Maggots, we are, in this world of death, spiralling into oblivion.
And the most interesting thing is that I don't even care.
Just don't come near me. Again.
Please.
I can't suffer that again.
Burn me then.
And shower the ashes in space.
Nice.

Are you angry?
No. I am King Kong. And you are the Queen Of Hearts hitting oversized golf balls through horse-shoes with flamingos doused in pink.

89 wordsNice score, eh? Care to post yours? (And yes, you can beat this one easy.)

Truth of the day : As far as the law of mathematics refer to reality, they are not certain; as far as they are certain, they do not refer to reality.

The Vanishing Act

2008-01-06T14:10:00.001+05:30

Lest someone think I have died, and be happy, this blog post is actually a total let-down. Oh and wish me luck, I have been dying. You know why, don't you?

To all the people who couldn’t reach me and to all the people who didn’t want to, I am back. From the dead. Yet again. Had been down under for quite some time now. Didn’t know that I might return. I suppose, times came, when I was sure that things couldn’t get worse than this. But then, I am always wrong. And this time too it was no different.

I have changed somehow.

Loneliness, my friend. A pinch of luciferianism lunacy. Perhaps two spoonfuls of my very own la-di-da. And a dollop of the finest lemur-llama antics. Nice, na?

Don't worry. I won't be back soon. Atleast figuratively.
Meet you on the other side.

Till then, rejoice.

Ping. Ping.
Pong.

La-la-land.

I am raving mad. And this is just pushing it.

1984 and stringent censor.
2+2=5 and Neuromancer.

I am not what I was.
Dancing with all the glaring flaws.

Hypocrisy. Me. You. All night.

In No Man's Land Of the Dead.
Enough talked, enough said.

Just passing by, like a passer-by.
Not to laugh and not to cry.
Never to say a sincere bye.
Not even a silent sigh.

You don't go where I am.

You don’t know who I am.
You never phone,
Never call.

You can’t find me where you seek..

I am the Braveheart of the meek.

Like a retard I-am-Sam.
Like a clone.
So droll.

Let me sleep,
Let me die.
Let me be nice.

And then from the ashes I will rise.

I am still officially dead.
Boo Hoo.
Being scary and morbid was never my cappatea.

P.S. : A happy new year to everybody! (Though I wonder what will be so happy about it except the fact that Superman will get to celebrate his birthday)

P.P.S. : Cyberoid (with an enhanced positronic brain). Moblu. Oala. My three new gadgets! Bhery intereshting.

Truth of the day : There are no stupid questions, just stupid people.

Did I Never Say This?

2007-09-11T21:16:00.002+05:30

The tag by Sharky that has been long overdue. I am a bit slow at everything, so, here goes, without further ado. The ten things I want to learn.

1) I want to pwn Quake III like Fatal1ty and frag while circle-strafing. I wish that I learn how to be a god-gamer sometime in the near future. If I die without achieving that, I am gonna haunt Romero and Carmack. Yes, that apparently made no sense.

2) I want to learn how to accept mistakes. I really can’t. I have to forgive myself sometimes. I never have done that. Er. Hmm. Yes. I am right at this atleast. Yes, the one-to-the-right got this one.

3) I want to be the ultimate computer guy. Yes. Steve Jobs. Bill Gates. Linus Torvalds. All rolled in one. Yes. I dream too much. I know. Dreamer. Psh. I have been that from the start.

4) To stop being idle. And mope. And sulk. And procrastinate.

5) I want to stop losing. Yes. To stop being a loser.

6) I want to stop forgetting things. I do it all the time. Like dreams. Like song tunes. Great ideas which can change the world. Rhymes.

7) How to play a musical instrument. I guess that would be fun.

8) To write. Yes. I suck at it big time. I just make it all up all the time.

9) I am bad at learning things. So I want to learn how to learn. Yeah, that was kinda lame once you think of it. But it goes with the flow so.

10) Erahemcoughtoruletheworldcoughcoughend.

Truth of the day : Never take life seriously. Nobody gets out alive anyway.

That Was Not A Quote

2007-08-26T20:22:00.000+05:30

You know the times when you hope some thing, but it doesn’t happen? Hah. Yes, I know you know that feeling pretty well. And no I can’t read minds. Atleast when I am awake. But thats just beside the point.

So, there was this blogmeet. And many many people were supposed to come. But ahem. Things happened. Like you know, how things happen? The same way.

First, it was my best friend, Senorita. Who couldn’t be there due to unavoidable circumstances. Its very complicated, so don't even ask.

Then, it was Ship. Who was out of station. She didn't like our idea of changing the day of the meet.

Aas. Em-purr-or got injured. And she wrote to us explaining everything.

Shreya. Ill. Down under. I hope she gets well soon.

Jade. Cousins at home. Hehe. Amusing in a way.

The One. Deleted his blog and refused to come.

Aruni. Princey bugged him off.

I was pretty worried whether this might work out or not. We were down to four. And the blogmeet hadn’t even started yet. Moreover blogmeets for me were quite scary in a way. I mean just think – a person knows you only through your posts and chats, and then one fine day – blam! You go to a blogmeet leaving behind that shield of yours. And you start feeling low since all this while’s elaborate ruse of being mysterious goes kaput! The next time that person will be writing about you, he/she will be remembering your clownish face and laughing their a** off. Yes. I do get weird ideas all the time.

Back to the point. Ah, yes. It was ten ten already. And I was late. And there at a distance I could see Princey and Sharky. I sneaked upto them. Prince started laughing like a madman possessed by the ghost of Queen Victoria. Apparently, he found my no-moustache face quite funny. People around there didn’t find Princey funny. Especially when he couldn't tie his shoelaces by himself. If he had done that for one more minute I bet we would have people rushing to him thinking that he needed to smell a soiled shoe incase he was in a fit.

And I met Sharky. She had sharp vampirish teeth but didn’t bite. She packed quite a punch. And was reed-thin. And looked Chinese though a Bong. And was very nice.

We walked upto CCD (I hate glitzy places though) round the corner. Prince ordered three chocolate fantasies, after we both failed to come up with a decision. Before it came, Sharky already had gulped down three glasses of water. I bet Prince’s words were difficult to digest – he spoke rot most of the time. And by the end of it, there were twelve glasses stacked one over another. Yes. All emptied by her. And yes, she did carry an umbrella in her bag. So Sharky’s mom (Yayness To Yahoo! Games) this is to you – Don’t worry!

We walked back and entered Crossword. Browse through books, movie and game CDs. Irritated some people on the way. Princey got punched by Sharky. It was a total let-down though. I expected a catfight er ahem. The people continued playing cry-baby Enrique and bugger us. We spewed out quotes which could change the world but we were scared of Sharky taking (noting) us down. Sharky did her incredible Jerry mouse laugh (which I tell you needs to be recorded very soon). Prince expressed his love for pink princess movies and introduced us to his imaginary unicorn friend. Pinky Pansy Princey Had A Uni-Corny (so goes a famous rhyme).

After a while, we went out again. To drink water. And Sharky suddenly answered to the name Lucy (which is actually a funny in-joke). We waited outside for Dark Chocolate. She came after a short while. She was tall and had sharp facial features. Spidery fingers. And would look quite a catty witch in shock-green robes and a pointy hat. But she was nice! And she takes great pictures! And she meows. And makes faces. So.

We went up again and sat down at Coffee Pai, the cafe at the first floor. A commie, cappie and a neutral. And an authoratarian. We chatted and laughed/sniggered for quite a while over pizza and sandwiches. They found that I was quite a quiet silly silent bore. And amoebas and E. coli bacteria did gym inside my brain while the calculus cat died at the roadside with four legs up in the air, unable to do an IIT sum (Yes, that perfectly made no sense). At about three, I said an unwilling goodbye and was shoo-ed off by Princey - who didn't have the slightest idea that I was irritating him all the while. Thus, it ended. For me, atleast. It was fun! And ahem vhary vhary amushing.

I was thinking of wearing a tag named Sidenote. But he objected. He said it wasn't my business. He had his own Publicity Agent. And the other people who came along with me were also quite insistent at not being spoken about. They were a bit shy, so you know.

Truth Of The Day : Everyone has a photographic memory. Some just don't have film.

Come Feed The Rain

2007-08-23T16:49:00.000+05:30

Do you breath the name of your saviour in your hour of need,
And taste the blame if the flavor should remind you of greed,
Of implication, insinuation and ill will, till' you cannot lie still,
In all this turmoil, before red cape and foil closing in for a kill.

Come feed the rain...
Because I am thirsty for your love dancing underneath the skies of lust.

Yeah feed the rain...
Because without your love my life ain't nothing but this carnival of rust.

It's all a game, avoiding failure, when true colors will bleed,
All in the name of misbehavior and the things we don't need.
I lust for after no disaster can touch us anymore
And more than ever, i hope to never fall, where enough is not the same it was before.

Come feed the rain...

Don't walk away, don't walk away, oh, when the world is burning.
Don't walk away, don't walk away, oh, when the heart is yearning.

Poets Of The Fall - Carnival Of Rust

Truth of the day : If you're too lazy to start anything, you may get a reputation for patience.

The Big Picture

2007-08-08T16:24:00.001+05:30

I never believed that some things could change. Like attending school. Seeing your friends every day. The walk to school and back home. Wearing the uniform. The badges. How each and everyone knew you and how you knew each and everyone else. The classrooms. The teachers. My life.

But it did. You may say, wtf. It was bound to happen so. Yep. Right. I knew it. To say it more clearly, I feared it. Feared that all this will have to change someday. And it did. School ended. College started. Timings changed. Distances changed. Teachers, clothes, classmates. Life.

Yeah. Right. What you are thinking is just right. Teens. Ha! Hormones. Mental. Emo. This must be the customary yayness-I-entered-college post. Stop bawling and go stick your head in the mud, cry-baby. Do you really think we have time to go through this crap? Sift through these pages which are stinkingly soggy in angst? Oh my, poor chap. You have to deal with it yourself, kiddo. We all went through this. Ah. Oh. Hokay. Whatever. Did you even for one time think that we all went throught this, silly? Are you just filling this up since you are in a writer’s block and won’t let anyone know?

I never had much to speak about. Repeat after repeat. Every word. Every thought. Every news. Everything I ever talked about was this cycle. Thus, the big picture always was quite clear. There was nothing much to do. You just have to live through this.

On less depressing notes, I am quite happy with my college. The teachers are wonderful. My classmates, friends and seniors doubly so. The place is nice. Classes, labs, canteen, common-room – all bhery good. I just thought that you might wanna know that. So.

Truth Of The Day : Two wrongs don't make a right, but three lefts do.

Dream

2007-07-18T23:30:00.000+05:30

Have you ever had a dream, that you were so sure was real? What if you were unable to wake from that dream? How would you know the difference between the dream world and the real world?

It is very embarrassing telling you about my dream. I have never told them to anyone yet. I trust you - very much. Maybe thats why I am telling you all this crap of mine.

I was 12-13 then. I was (and still am) very introverted. Very few friends. Less talking. All I ever did was to sit in the terrace alone for four-five hours during evenings after school. Thinking about who knows what. Study - think - eat - sleep : this was my karmic cycle. I was unpopularly known as the dumb guy. But not that it was that bad. I actually enjoyed that phase immensely. Used to count the ants on the stairs - push my palms through the rays of light and pulling them back - make water-designs with my fingers on the floor - feel the clouds growing and receding like a fast-forward Discovery video. That was the birth of the 'me' inside me. Like a gnawing conscience. Nibbling at my every thought.

And then it all started.

Whenever I used to sleep, I started having a dream. Repeatedly. Recurringly. But without any pattern. I will see myself walking up to a huge crowd. There would be commotions, whispers and then a hushed silence. And then I see what they were seeing from quite a while ago. A very tall crystal-white building. And on its terrace there is a person standing on the parapet. And then suddenly he leaps - quite naturally - as if he was attempting suicide.

I turn my face away unable to bear the horrific event.

And then even before I can remember, I see myself with a revolver in hand, running towards the backyard of the building. I notice a door - I push it open and start running up the stairs. The stairs and the floors are all carpeted. And there are photos everywhere - framed. Sometimes the lights dim and I grope my way up in the dark. I climb. Again. And again. Not a single soul anywhere. And then I reach the terrace. I see a kindergarten there. About sixteen to seventeen children who all look like me as I was seventeen years ago. I They stand and stare. Some laugh. Some start crying. I frisk them off - tell them to go. They move away.

And then I see myself staring at me from a few yards away.

He says to me, "Who are you running from?"

I shoot him.

Its all air. He isn't there anymore.

I start to laugh and cry at the same time.

I come near the wall bounding the terrace. I climb it.

And then in a sudden bout of whimsical fancy, I jump.

I feel all the events of my life racing through me at an incredible speed.
I open my arms and embrace them with my full strength.
My eyes start watering.
My ears stop functioning.
My heart throbs like hell.

And then I close my eyes and everything stops. And then I have a feeling that I am supposed to see something. What, I myself do not know.

And then I find myself back as a spectator.
And rewind.
On and on.
On and on.
Until I wake up.

Oh, and yes, by the way, this is my fiftieth post. Oh my! I feel so old. So so old.

Truth Of The Day : People will believe anything if you whisper it.

Eight Simple Things

2007-07-07T16:38:00.000+05:30

Things have been very interesting lately. Tags have been found flying around in fuious tandem in this blogosphere. So I knew that it wouldn't take much time for an obscure blogger like me to get noticed (Probability says that). And moreover, I have noticed that I always go through certain phases which repeat themselves. Like the time I started writing horrendous replies to poetries written by my blog-pals. And like the time I continuously embedded YouTube videos as posts in my blog. So, it wasn't very hard to guess that this tag thing would repeat itself too.

This time around I got tagged by a bipolar fellow blogger who incidentally happens to be a Class XI girl who always submits Environmental Education's case studies in the end. And funnily enough, she even accepted my "I wnat to make frandsiip whith u" request. Hehe. So, thanks to Miss Weevil for tagging me and thus giving me an oppurtunity to post again in this blog. Really, I am always at dearth with topics.

So here goes (Oh, and yes, please don't laugh).

1. I am an aspiring writer and film-maker and I suck at both of them.

2. I have beautiful nightmares everytime I sleep. Blame that on my hyperactive imagination.

3. I forget things easily. But ironically, I remember certain things. Which go on and on in a loop in my mind.

4. I am so very morbid that I believe I will be the Grim Reaper in my afterlife.

5. I am lazy. And I mope around most of the time. And I suffer from OCDs. Four at last count.

6. I am always playing games. Pun intended.

7. I am my seventh voice. But I haven't got a roll-call yet.

8. I am obsessed with chocolate, kisses, obscure music, love and hate. And with SFF. And with cartoons.

And I tag Nabanita, Abhirup and Dhruva.

Now where was I again?

Truth Of The Day : Believing we can improve schooling with more tests is like believing you can make yourself grow taller by measuring your height.

Five Reasons Why I Blog

2007-05-20T23:27:00.000+05:30

Prince tagged me a few days back with this. This is the first time I have been tagged and lemme tell you, it feels good. But as for reasons, I think I do have some stupid ones up the sleeve.

1. I blog because The Nameless One wants to. Even Lucifer wants to blog sometimes. And sometimes even the numerous others lend a helping hand. That brings it to the point that I don't have a choice in the first place. Though I remember there was this one guy who didn't want to blog. But that was quite a long time ago. He is a bit dormant nowadays. Speaks very little.

2. I blog because I feel like a voyeur sometimes. I write things that I may often never say in person. I write things that I might never ever tell to anyone. And reading about others makes me feel so involved. As if I was part of their own life. As if they knew I was a friend. As if all the secrets were only meant for me to know.

3. I blog because people don't pay attention to me in real-life. They shrug off and move on. They stare blankly when spoken to. And they say things which make me sad. Blogging makes me feel important. People flock to you to hear what you have to say. It makes you feel that your words are not essentially meaningless even though they are.

4. I blog because I feel like a human sometimes.

5. I blog because I get that gooey happy feeling within me when I do. That sappy emotional response which says to you that you will go on trying no matter what. It isn't in your destiny to give up.

Oh and yes, I forgot to say. I got a 77% in the board exams this year. It suddenly makes me feel like a loser. Not that I didn't used to feel that before. Its all the way more now. As if the result was a Q.E.D. I have been quite reserved lately for the same. So if any of you have been trying to find me online for a chat, but couldn't find me, please don't start to believe that I hate you. Its just that I have been hating myself.

Truth Of The Day : The more studying you did for the exam, the less sure you are as to which answer they want.

New Order - True Faith

2007-05-10T19:22:00.000+05:30

I feel so extraordinary!
Something's got a hold on me.
I get this feeling I'm in motion,
A sudden sense of liberty..
I don't care 'cause I'm not there,
And I don't care if I'm here tomorrow.
Again and again I've taken too much,
Of the things that cost you too much.
I used to think that the day would never come...
I'd see delight in the shade of the morning sun!
My morning sun is the drug that brings me near.

To the childhood I lost, replaced by fear,
I used to think that the day would never come,
That my life would depend on the morning sun...

When I was a very small boy,
Very small boys talked to me.
Now that we've grown up together...
They're afraid of what they see.
That's the price that we all pay,
Our valued destiny comes to nothing,
I can't tell you where we're going -
I guess there was just no way of knowing!
I used to think that the day would never come...
I'd see delight in the shade of the morning sun!
My morning sun is the drug that brings me near.

To the childhood I lost, replaced by fear,
I used to think that the day would never come,
That my life would depend on the morning sun...

Truth Of The Day : Whoever said money can't buy happiness, didn't know where to shop.

Where Art Thou ?

2007-04-27T17:05:00.000+05:30

I have climbed the highest mountain,
I have run through the fields,
Only to be with you...

I have run,
I have crawled...
I have scaled these city walls,
These city walls...
Only to be with you...

But I still haven't found what I'm looking for...

I have kissed honey lips,
Felt the healing fingertips,
It burned like fire...
This burning desire!

I have spoke with the tongue of angels,
I have held the hand of a devil!
It was warm in the night,
I was cold as a stone...

But I still haven't found what I'm looking for...

I believe in the kingdom come,
When all the colors bleed into one,
Bleed into one...
And yes, I'm still running.

You broke the bonds and you
Loosened the chains,
Carried the cross
Of all my shame,
All my shame...
You know I believe it.

But I still haven't found what I'm looking for...

Truth of the day : The only thing worse than not having anything to say is letting the other person know that you have nothing to say.

Aurous

2007-04-20T15:46:00.000+05:30

It is much late at night now.
I pray, "How are you?"

Words unsaid have been piling up all these days...
Only with you today,
Shall I venture alone into the tricky maze of this heart!

That day with the tide of your saline tears,
In this doomed life in the desolate night -
I get lost...
In the fairytale of the Queen's dreamless slumber.

With your words,
My life returns after this long flight into my hand...

Pictures of the xanthous abode,
Are an aquamarine ocean...
Your chocolate-brown hair conjures that hope!

We are both dumb, I know,
But the closed doors of this silence will surely open.

Today on your call -
In this iron's apartment,
Surrounded by loneliness,
That arises from the absence of the new moon's blind night...
In this grief, say, Where do I go leaving you?

That is why in the lap of my iris,
The shadow of your eyes shift and swing!

On seeing you...
The sun becomes golden in the far distant sky!

On touching you...
The tarmac clouds sprout dragon wings and fly!

Lakkhichhara - Shonali

Truth of the day : No matter where you go, there you are.

It's All The Same!

2007-04-09T11:25:00.000+05:30

Why that twinkle in the eye?
That spring in the step?
The shy intimate lie?
And that pink-shirt crepe?

You have been naughty, haven’t you?
Don’t nod your head…
Say, “I do, I do”
When all has been said.

Standing on the dias,
You claim,
“Listen to me all of Us…
Isn’t being a gay all the same?”

“Hang them! Those perverts!
How dare they consecrate…
The purity of the land…
And the water of the lake?”

We face the firing squad,
And the indifferent fellows,
We sit on the sand,
In neat comical rows.

And then you take me into the rush,
And fix that gun chain,
But listen to me all of Us,
“Isn’t being a gay all the same?”

Bang!

The birds flutter away.
But not the freedom that in our hearts stay.
What you sow so shall you reap,
But aren’t We all the same in the genes deep?

Support the rights of lesbians, gays, bisexuals and transgenders to live respectfully in society. They do not deserve the atrocities inflicted on them. Support this cause of humanity and end this discrimination. Your actions can help save a life and a soul.

Truth of the day : You are what you eat. Atleast, superficially.

Guess Who's Back?

2007-03-27T20:51:00.001+05:30

My board exams had come to an end quite a long time ago. About six days before, I believe. It was all a kind of a rush. It was like a bullet-train trampling your already limp body to a undifferentiable pulp. I came to know many things, and among them the most prominent was the fact that I really sucked at Science. And that I am a really bad actor, buts that’s just beside the point.

I realized that it was time I got out of this shell of mine. I had been a parasite for too long. And so after a tedious wait of about two and a half years, I landed back in the groove. And to take this concept a bit further, I tested myself with a social interaction scenario. So off I was on the call of the wild, beating my chest like the vestiphobic super-male Tarzan^TM, to the Holy Grail Of All Things Pure into The Black And White Maze Of Words.

It was D-Day. And I was already late. I closed the door of the car, and signaled to my anxious mother that I will be back home in time. And as the car zoomed off, I whispered to myself the end, “If I survived this…”. I have always been extremely fearful of meeting people who I did not know or whom I just knew by reading their words. It suddenly felt like that it was a bad idea – that this blogmeet thingy was a bad idea from the start – that it would be better if I simply ran back home – no one would know a thing and I could conjure up an excuse that I had got ill. “Drats!”, one guy was already eyeing me suspiciously, as if saying, “You can’t f***ing escape now!” (followed by a long-drawn evil mechanical laugh). But happily enough, he wasn’t what I thought him to be. He walked off the pavement as soon as I came upon it. Not that I have any prejudice, but he was too fat and too old, with spectacles and a coarse beard. He was so fat infact that he blocked up the view of the bookstore. It was closed – with shutters drawn. With half-muttered imprecations, I stood in the shade nearby, wondering if they really were those kidnappers (who supposedly seemed innocent but that was a part of their modus operandi before butchering one and processing them as dog-food) which my grandmother often scared me about when I was a kid. It was always like this with me. I was in constant fear of something happening.

About five minutes later, I see three teenagers walking up to me as if on an invisible red carpet. A lanky dreamy-eyed Pale-Face (a Red-Indian right from the pages of Tintin in America), a Marlon Brando (with Sith-ian soft features) and a person in front of whom the Laws of Physics had started bending. I am interrogated : “Do you have a name?” S**t! A googly! A trick question. I hesitantly answer, “I…I don’t think so…” And then for a cross-verification I am asked one of the most intellectual question that could ever be evoked in a prosimian brain, something on the likes of life’s meaning being 42. I reply with the code-word, “SKM” (an acronym which doesn’t deserve being fully said in order to maintain the Blogger’s Code Of Decency). The message is conveyed spot-on – we end up in fits of geeky laughter. And then we wait. Wait for that dratted store to open.

After about a quarter of an hour, the doors are opened. The One’s vanity bag is seized, and we head up to the video-games section. The Prince drools over all the game covers. We collectively salivate over the NeverWinter Nights : Diamond Edition and then we end up sitting in the small café. We order chocolate shakes, except for Alarond, who orders black horse-pee (nicknamed coffee). The genial atmosphere being interspersed with the blowing of spit bubbles, produces that warm conducive cocoon for that elusive bout of male-bonding. Shoes, ships, sealing wax – fart bombs, kings, disco bash – tolkien, potter, adjective clash – RPG, school, hack-n'-slash – bandwidth, roses and potato mash – it was starting to feel that the entire world had been created there in those few moments of genius-ness. And then we trudged back to the books section downstairs for a few more licks.

The One, in his masterly rendition of verbal energy with a heavy dose of Eminem, declared that he had some things which needed to be xeroxed. We slog it back to their school, and then to a Xerox-shop (where it has been rumoured I get commissions from) and then to our infinitely-obscure-hall-of-a-school. With exhausted feet, we head up to the Café Where Coffee Is Served Every Other Day. Over a plate of endorphin-flooding chocolate delight, I narrate to them a certain thing, which in their drugged state, they all agree to as being good. A bottle of Sirf-Bujhaye-Pyaas to wash the brain down, and then we part ways. We all nod to the fact that this was the bestest thing to happen to us after quite a while. Prince and The One head off to the metro-station. I and Alarond walk towards the Bata mor. He boards an auto, and I wave him goodbye. The auto leaves with that fresh plume of grey smoke. And I am left back in the place where I spend two sleepless nights – once with a dog and the other time with a beggar for my best friend. But it was funny nonetheless. And bhery happy, I was.

Truth of the day : Money can't buy you happiness... but it does bring you a more pleasant form of misery.

The Stereotype

2006-12-28T20:20:00.000+05:30

Mine, immaculate dream, made breath and skin.
I've been waiting for you,
Signed, with a "Home" tattoo,
"Happy birthday to you" was created for you.

Can't ever keep from falling apart,
At the seams...
Can't I believe you're taking my heart,
To pieces...

Oh, it'll take a little time,
Might take a little crime
To come undone now...

Who do you need, who do you love?
When you come undone...

Time has been rolling down quite fast, ain't it? It all started with that voices-in-the-brain shit - and its back to square-one again. I said many things - this, that and what not. Most of which were, I agree, terribly gloomy and saddening. Seeing all this someone reading my blog may infer me to be a perfect copy-book case of a depression-addict, enslaved to self-mutilation. I really don't know whether that may be true or not. But yes, it came to me that I am too boring for things like writing and such. It didn't quite appear to me that people hated repititions of things which were not good - good as in happy.

Its that time of the year again - when one ends and the other starts - and people write about how good or bad the year was and make resolutions and things like that for the next - its that time again where people like me write in their blogs about how futile their existence in this world is. In all this months of me coming to know and understand you all, it was seldom that I mentioned about how "normal" I was. About how I love computer games, psychedelic music, chocolates and sleeping. I didn't even tell how normally I spend my days - about how I come back from school walking or about how excited I get on the stage while debating. It was always about this pain, sorrow, treachery, shitty no-rhyme poems, speaking doppelganger diaries and vacuous mushy love sentiments. In all and all, I am led to believe that I was wasting myself in a strange and obtuse way.

I feel its time that I come to my senses. Its time that I stopped this crying-inside thingy and opened up a bit more. Time that I tell you more about my life here, my ways and me. Its time that I told you that how my school days were, now that it has ended. I have been thinking of this all inside my head - and it was all yes's and no's being shouted at the top of their voices. But yes, we came to a truce - a decision of sorts.

My board exams are around the corner. Nervous and all that. I don't think that I will be able to be here. I believe its also time that I went into hibernation for a while. A period of inactivity where I will be able to pull myself up again. Where I will prepare for the exams, eat, sleep - end and repeat till the day of my actual reckoning.

And till then, I think, its time I said Goodbye and a Happy New Year to ye all!

Truth of the day : By the time a man is wise enough to watch his step, he's too old to go anywhere.

No Seem As Such

2006-11-22T21:53:00.000+05:30

And I'd give up forever to touch you…
Cause I know that you feel me somehow
You're the closest to heaven that I'll ever be,
And I don't want to go home right now.

And all I can taste is this moment,
And all I can breathe is your life,
Cause sooner or later it's over
I just don't want to miss you tonight…

And I don't want the world to see me,
Cause I don't think that they'd understand
( When everything's made to be broken )
I just want you to know who I am…

And you can't fight the tears that ain't coming…
Or the moment of truth in your lies
When everything feels like the movies,
Yeah, you bleed just to know you'r alive.

This proves it, doesn’t it? You use such fine actions – such fine words. You really don’t have to ask me for that answer. We just can’t see beyond the choices we do not comprehend. I ain’t f***ing philosophical – put it straight. See? There we go again. You make no sense…No use playing with words in my mind. Never mind. At times I thought I was forcing myself on you. There was nothing to tell on the face. You poison my sweet memories by saying this. By saying that it was always like this, you make me feel very sad. Just don't regret. I will never want you to do that. Someone once had said that the choices that we don't make are the ones we regret the most. Isn't there enough peace in your life without me? Oh and yes, you don’t require permission for leave. Just tell when you are going. Don't go off as you did in the end. One of my innumerable vices. Can't help, you know. You deserve better, really. Now come on, don’t deny. I remember, I remember. What do you hate in me? Nothing as a matter of fact. I love you damnit. I still get to hear those thousand words that go unspoken. Wouldn’t you ask me if I could call you? No. I wouldn't ask that lest I get to hear words that I want to forget. So that’s how horrible I am. Why didn’t you say that before? Love just comes once in a lifetime, lady. And we just missed the last bus.

Where'd you go?
I miss you so,
Seems like it's been forever,
That you've been gone.

I am the king of my kingdom. Yes. Right.

Taqdeer mein likhein hai aise kuch baat,
Na dohra paye, na chor sake tera saath.

Truth of the day : The question of whether a computer can think is no more interesting than the question of whether a submarine can swim.

Regret

2006-09-16T00:37:00.001+05:30

Journal Archives (4^th September, 2006 Monday)

The hall was quite empty, by normal standards. A few streamers here - a few there. Some rolled up round the pillars and some still on the floor. Balloons were there too. Floating about in a dreamy stupor.

Memories get hazy after a while.
They float away.

There's no getting them back.
And sometimes even when you want to lose them they don't let go.

I was sitting in front of her then. On a stool meant for a kid. Saying things which I was ought to. She was suppressing her tears. I didn't want her to cry. She kept silent as her quivering hands wove the two streamers together. As if I was a convict and it was my duty to explain.

Never liked explaining that much.

As my last words approached I found a sinking feeling emanate from deep inside. Didn't know what she would say or how would she react.

As if it mattered.

She broke into an outburst soon after. Loud. Harsh. Nothing more. Reminding me of all the mistakes that I was alleged of doing. This and that.

I regret having fallen for a guy like you.

Yes. I think those were the words.

I was left speechless. For the first time in my life, I felt that there was nothing left for me to stay. Everyword in my mind felt inappropriate. As if, these words, signalled to me, that I should be leaving. For her peace. And mine.

She had moved her head to take a streamer from the floor. As if insisting that there was nothing left now. I stood up, a bit shaky. Picked up my bag, reluctantly and made for the exit. I ran on the streets that day. Trying to escape from the moment. Trying to escape from myself and those words. I didn't know where I was and where to I was running.

It didn't matter.

A month later she phoned. Her voice like the sweet poison ivy around my ears trying to strangle me. She was talking as if nothing had happened. I couldn't speak that much. Never wanted to. I knew what to say now.

I told her that she was making a mistake. I didn't want her to regret anymore.

She hung up.

And that was it.
That was how it ended.

Watching her walk out of my life hasn't made me bitter or cynical about love. Instead, it has shown me that if I wanted so badly to be with the wrong person, how beautiful it will be when the right one comes along.

Truth of the day : Most of us can keep a secret. It's the people we tell it to who can't.

Long time no see

2006-09-15T23:45:00.000+05:30

Kab se ankhein meri
Raah mein tere bichi...
Bhule se hi kabhi,
Tu mil jaye kahi!
Bhule na mujhse baatein teri,
Bheegi hain har pal ankhein meri...
Kyun saans lu kyun mein jiyun -
Jeena bura sa lagey...
Kyun ho gaya tu bewafa,
Mujhko bata de wajah...

I was there then. The paint smelt fresh.
Curving brush strokes were all around the canvas.

There was water.
Mountains.
Trees.

Sun.
A house.
A rainbow.

I was alone on the stage.
It was nine already.

It is not always that I get induced trances. Not that I am susceptible that much.

The darwan's radio was playing near the entrance.

The sounds were wafting in the air.
With my dreams.
Like smoke.

The power of that moment was astounding.

It was as if I was in everything but nothing at all.
It was as if I was dead and alive at the same time.
It was as if I was starting a world and ending it there.

The lights died down as I pressed the switch.
The music was now irregular.

Bad wavelength.
As if it could catch my frequency right then.

A lingering feeling was all that was left behind.

Emptiness.
Vacuum.
Black.

Your initials were all that were left behind.

Hid behind the fourth leaf from the right of the second fir tree.
Hid behind the blue flower beside the pavement leading to the house.

Sometimes there is no reason why,
Even after failure we go on try.

Truth of the day : Anything is possible if you don't know what you are talking about.

On whatever you wish...

2006-08-22T14:54:00.000+05:30

After this post it may seem that I am suffering from an OCD of writing poems in reply : sequels and all that. It may seem quite preposterous for me in indulging in such activity : I was never a poem person at all, you know. Atleast, thats what I thought. Thus, I present, for the last time hopefully, a very pathetic sequel to an astoundingly beautiful and appealing poem "On a Moonbeam" by akaash. And I hope I do not dash the hopes which my friend Vivek has heaped on me. And to others, I will be back again with a true post soon after. I promise.

A desert run.

The radiant sun.

And I return again.

To these crowded golden sands.

Crowded with the memories of yore,

When we were together and sadness was no more.

The blue day sky,

Carries trillions of twinkling stars,

Sends me your message

But are blinded by the rays of sun from far.

It reminds me of your promise.

The sun is harsh – it scowls at me,

And it spreads its mellow to wake everyone up to see

The truth which is hidden in thee.

I wait...

Yet again...

“You fool, you have come again?”

Time remonstrates.

“The last time I met you under the purple light,

And the absent moon – you hallucinated...

You thought your dead love had come back – you insane!”

I say,

“She is not dead!

And she asks me to not to shed tears…

She asks me to not to be sad!”

“She will come from there – the stars,

From far far away

And the moonbeam would show her the light

Nonetheless, I daresay.”

“Ha!”

He laughs...

“All those relativity and rule bending are passé

Just figments of your imagination

Never is she gonna come to you

From sufferance and indignation...”

I wait.

And He laughs on.

“Look there! – Here she comes at last!”

Dressed in eternal white

She approaches,

An ethereal sight!

The sun gets dim.

The sand gets cooler.

Water arises from the desert for a thirsty dweller.

It’s your touch that I feel again.

It’s your scent that I inhale again.

He cries, “How can it happen?”

“This must be a dream!”

My heart races,

For that moment it seems

Is being packed away in tiny little cases.

And scattered.

To be assimilated again.

I can’t hear Him anymore,

Whilst she shows me the door.

Fulfilled at last,

Be it moon or sun it doesn’t matter anymore.

We are One again.

There will be no parting this time,

No promises would be forged to reunite again,

For the tears needn’t run anymore,

And no need will be for the Wish Fairies of the Holy Sycamore.

“If only you knew

How to wish…”

I tell Him.

“If only you knew

How to dream…

How to hope,

How to believe…

If only you knew

How to resurrect the grays of Reality,

With pure, innocent faith…”

“It is through my end that I start again

That I meet with my lover

And never depart in the rain.”

“Thou hast killed yourself for Love?”

“Is it really worth dying for?”

Says Time, now on His knees.

The echo of my answer lingers,

“You can’t fix a price on Love, after all...

Ain’t it?”

If only you had a moonbeam for these.

Truth of the day : By the time a man is wise enough to watch his step, he's too old to go anywhere.

Good things?

2006-07-23T21:33:00.000+05:30

I wrote this poem in reply to a poem some two years ago. At that point I didn't know it was written by so many people. Very amusing. A certain person even holds a copyright to it. This is just a reply - just don't sue me or block my site saying that it promotes something.

Read the original poem here, here, here or here.

It is true, many say, that good things don’t stay together but often stay apart,

I never knew the verity of the line until I was a part of the craft.

I agree that jotting down memories could not be done on paper,

It needs a heart and a soul to touch upon the latter.

Chemistry, Physics, Biology, Math – I never did understand,

Vapour was never ever my intended rant.

You walked into my life and made the deepest mark,

The fire you bore, etched into me an indelible arc.

When you are here, and when you aren’t – I have you with me,

Better than the world and the heaven than to suffer a parting cynically.

Reality was never that sweet with us – it showed us dreams of moonlit walks,

When we actually languished in the pain, thrashing our heads to the rocks.

The warmth was all I could muster in my dreams,

Securing to me the times when I was asleep.

Neither do I feel your touch now, nor your presence worthwhile...

The actual problem is with me since the poison has got into my eyes.

You are my pain, you are my cure,

Even if you didn’t want to stay you would have stayed for sure.

As the moon rose, and a new day just begun,

You thought I left your hand to make done things undone.

You didn’t notice that I was behind you all the while you cried,

You just heard the words I said but didn’t understand why.

The look in my eyes, if you had seen, had always been more

Than what you understood and than what you reckoned.

The day will never be finally there where I will leave you alone

Since I live in the memories of yours never to be begone.

My eyes are shallow, my touch cold and my feeling numb

But are these the things you will miss me for, miss me for real?

No, my friend! Wait and brood for a while

Ponder and stay again – do not drop those precious tears, again and again and again...

Your sorrow ruins my soul – your grief bleeds my heart and rots the words within

Dark emotions stirring in the shadows lurk out in this wind.

Because it is not easy to leave you behind – a lifetime of love spent together

Be it only a handful of days – it is dense enough to define everything which remains undefined.

If I had to give something, that would remind you of me,

I would give you nothing since nothing is what you will need.

You would remember me in the insignificant of things

Like in the bricks and bats, and cabbages of kings.

You will remember me in happiness, in deep pain and sorrow,

And in every other thing of the deeps and the shallow.

I don’t think that you would need something to remember me,

Or would you rather want something to actually feel me?

Whatever I have of mine is rightfully yours,

Does that leave me in a place entitled to give you anything more – anything more than a rose?

The time of parting will never be at nigh

At death even you will find me following your enchanted sigh.

My heart is not like glass that it would shatter and give you pin-pricks

Since all I have is actually with you even the blood that the wounds lick.

You wouldn’t have to wait for me – it never was meant to work that way

You just have to look around to find me waiting for you to say.

Life’s hollowness, many say, will never disappear,

The feeling of incompleteness will melt away since life is like an endless storm waiting in the rear.

Real love is actually meant to be unfulfilled

Even if all the troubles in the way actually get killed.

The sun will go down, as it everyday does,

With every starting, comes an ending as such.

And with every ending will come a starting,

When the king and the pawns will unite for another parting.

I will miss you too even if you are in front of my eyes

Since love really doesn’t really work that way, it seems to get more bright.

I know it is a stupid poem and it seldom rhymes,

But this is all I wanted to say, this is all I liked.

I hope it gives a response to what you wrote

Though I know that in comparison it is not even near to its quote.

But the meaning lies deeper inside,

Which you have to unravel, born from the most of primitive of fears, it would be a raven.

I think you have got what I said,

If not then erase it promptly as it went.

The orphan will miss his mother, a homeless will miss his home,

But will I always be like that – like the water in the briny foam?

Friendship is hard to die, even if you strangle its throat,

But do remember that it makes mistakes sometimes – like staying alone in the cold.

The night, I pray, may never pass,

Since a new day may bring in other hardships to encompass.

Truth of the day : Love is blind. And so are the ones in love.

Love Murders

2006-07-23T21:23:00.000+05:30

Firstly I would like to make some things clear. The poem below is a reply to the poem “Murder of Love” written by Vivek. It seems that I have an inherent obsessive compulsive disorder to write poems (which, truly said, is actually, rubbish prose) in reply. Please forgive my futile attempt as just what it is. I don’t mean any disrespect to Vivek or to the poem he wrote. And the funny thing is that, he seems to like this, don't know why. And by the way, the thing about me keeping posts for a long time for more comments is a big no-no. I go through writer's block so intermittently that such things are bound to happen. Just forgive me and go through this quickly unless you want to bore yourself. Thats an advice, by the way.

Love Murders

The birds are returning to their nests –

So are the men to the concrete boxes.

The sky is holding back -

Not the rays of the sun,

But the darkness

Of the urging rising moon.

Both are the same.

Black and white.

End is near.

Its just reflection, ain’t it?

O feel! The mourning breeze blows.

They say its silent.

It just wants to be heard.

Once.

She clasps her hands onto mine,

It feels cold now.

The search is futile – nothing in her eyes can I see anymore.

Not even myself.

In the deep dark abyss of her hypnotic eyes

I drown

In the water of my own tears.

No.

None sees them.

Its all deceit I get in return.

Its open now.

No secret left unknown,

No stone left unturned.

I can feel f***ing nothing.

Yes.

Those twins are beautiful.

Like the black holes which people say exist.

They exist there,

In her eyes.

The ocean I once saw is dry now.

The salt is left.

It rubs my wounds.

Up and down.

Where is that She which was?

Not in those lustrous blade-edged eyes.

Not in the saccharine poisoned words.

No.

She is not even in the false peace of her innocent face.

Alas!

My hopes are too high.

She possessed my soul.

Consumed me in totality.

But then she left.

Threw me away like those roadside flowers when they get stale.

Ensured the end of my life.

Content I should be with what I got –

A grimace, an abuse.

A dollop of hate.

No one belongs to us.

Neither do we to someone.

Not food are we,

Neither are we ornaments.

We are just the mud that with the lotuses blend.

Through days and nights,

Through eternal sorrow,

Through death alone,

We wither.

In secret.

But put up dirty worn masks to hide the rotting within.

Countless times we run about in the Karmic Cycle.

Only to find ourselves at the same place - again.

With the knife of desires,

We are cut.

Piece by piece.

We thought we were all here to love.

Sufferance is all what we got in return.

It is long we have fallen in love.

Now let us

Rise.

Rise from the waters that intend to strangle us

And drench us in love.

Its all false.

There is no Fountain of Hope in the places you seek.

Pierce our souls with the prongs of sin.

And let us live.

Even it be through death.

If it doesn’t hurt, it isn’t love.

Truth of the day : The best way to make a fire with two sticks is to make sure one of them is a match.

Amie?

2006-07-07T19:44:00.000+05:30

Journal Archives (28^th May, 2006 Sunday)
And then it started all of a sudden. I didn't have a watch like in the last occassion - couldn't have seen the time - but it must have been ten or so. It came down in large fat drops. I was sitting there then, on the pavement.

15th November, Sunday, 2003 - yes, that was the date. I am astonished that even after all these years, I am, yet again, at the same place as I was.

Things had changed.

Atleast the posters on the walls had. The dog wasn't there anymore. There were soggy bread crumbs on the kerb. The streetlights were off. And there was a ghastly silence inspite of the rain hitting hard on everything. The broken tap with the plastic wasn't running anymore. A beggar was there too - probably a madcap like me - squatting on the other side of the road - he was laughing - don't ask me why.

I was wet, but I convinced myself that it was for my own betterment. You don’t get better opportunities, do you?

I know all this doesn't matter to you. And yes, I am wasting your time by telling you all this. After all, who am I? You may be sleeping right now dreaming of wonderful things waiting to happen in your happy life. After all, you wouldn't be thinking of this insane enemy, do you?

I don't know why I have come here. Just like the last time. No questions, no answers - nothing.

Someday
When my life has passed me by,
I lay around and wonder why you
Were always there for me.

One way
In the eye of the passerby,
I look around for another try and fade away.

Some say
better things will come our way,
No matter what they try to say,
You were always there for me...

You wrote this to me once. Yes, I know you don't remember. I don't know what I might have thought then when I got this letter, but now the meaning I infer is so different. Don't know why. Just can feel. And those innumerable cryptic dots and blanks which you so liberally used to use find their appropriate alphabets, speaking to me in the feeling which you once used to feel for me and stabbing me underneath the very skin of my existence. Yes, I know. They are meaningless to you know. And yes, I am a jerk to keep on reading the letters. In that rain, I don't know why, I remembered the lines of this poem of yours. And all those memories came flooding back breaking the dam of resistance. The three holiday letters, the writing on the small glass T-shirt you gave me, your tears when I had shouted on you, the laughing buddha, the hammer, the fear of trains, the debates - Yes, I am stopping. You don't have to close your ears to stop my creepy voice. I sound like a maniac. Its better if I stop. Otherwise, you would be accusing me of being a psycho stalker now. Or maybe, an angry egoistic snob, which I already am.

There won't be any morning tomorrow - no soft rays of the sun will be kissing the pavement - no milkman or newspaper vendor will be selling their wares tomorrow - there will be no aarti at the shiv-ling under the tree - no one will hear the aazan at dawn - there will be no school - no road - no chaos - no cars - no people. This night will continue and so will the rain - throughout our life. Dark and alone, we shall be.

I had started laughing - as a non-existent God kept on clicking photos of me. Laughing just like the beggar on the other side. Now I knew...

Atleast the rain hides away all the tears.

Truth of the day : By all means, marry. If you get a good wife, you'll become happy; if you get a bad one, you'll become a philosopher.

Cruel Intentions

2006-07-04T22:10:00.000+05:30

A lot has changed. A lot has stayed the same. Don't understand which one's better. I have come a long way. I have stayed in the same place as I was. Have nosedived in studies, bled my fingers, jumped relationships, ignored responsibilities, commited grave sins, lied, cheated, ran away from my own conscience - done everything which I hated - turned into the very thing I did despise. But I am not a hypocrite - atleast, that is what I believe. I will not feign innocence by questioning myself, "Why have I become like this?" - I know exactly why. Yes. I know exactly why. I have matured a lot. At least, comparatively. Matured a lot in these few years. Have thrown much meat at my Doppelganger to chew at - gnaw at. Gave him to drink goblets of blood to quench his thirst - satiate his greed. Yet, he stays unsatisfied. Bites at my soul, he does. Comes out from those dark recesses to face me when I don't need him. Pours vile in my ears with his poisoned bifid tongue. Laps up the rotting stench of my mind, hungrily. And since he is me and I am him, I do the same. He makes me do things which I would not have done - which I would have feared doing. He is the it in me - the animal. He makes the heart beat when it should not have - it makes the mind question things when it should not have - he confuses things for me - allows the lust to grow in me - fills my mind with thoughts I couldn't have ever imagined. Gives me powers and makes me cripple. Makes me juggle the halo and the horns. And he is still there since I allow him to. I am not him now. I am not that which everybody knew. Yes. This one is sadistic. He hurts himself to feel that pain.

Truth of the day : Be careful about health books. You may die of a misprint.

Confused? No.

2006-06-14T23:22:00.000+05:30

A terrible sequel to a poem which I thought was good. Yes. I do act very queerly sometimes.

I didn't have wings,
I ne'er could fly,
My life was mine then :
Not a lie.

I was never a free bird,
Already caged -
In your love,
And charm I raged.

My life was divided...
I couldn't breathe.
I didn't have it all,
Even the tear of my greed.

I want to burn you now...
With the loving burning touch,
That you gave me once
And took away again.

My heart is like a glass...
Yes.
Prone to break.
And with its shards I shall tear,
My nerve and your face.

Not the one you carry about -
But the one you left in my mind.
I will die.
Yes.
But that won't be enough.

It is also true.
My heart is not like glass.
That it would shatter,
And give you pin-pricks,
Since all I have is actually with you
Even the blood that the wounds lick.

I thought I found my dream in you...
But you proved me wrong.
Left me in the mud and blackness,
With just a song.

A song that I couldn't utter
That played like a loop...
Drived me so crazy,
That I died even without dying.

I fell in love with you once.
Atleast thats what I thought,
You left me though.
And bred in me hatred and other putrid stuff.

Yeah.
I know what you all will say.
I am a mad crazy guy.
Don't know what love is.
That real love stays always unfulfilled.
Thats what I want you to believe.

My heart is aching within...
No.
I didn't commit any sin.
Just gave you a piece of mine once,
Which you took away
And never returned.
Pierced it with voodoo thorns.
Just for having loved you.

What am I to do?
I know.
What you sow, so shall you reap.

It isn't a reply to any poem
As you might have wrongly guessed.
Its just my POV.
Yes.
Love looks quite sick from this side.

I know this is a stupid poem
And it seldom does rhyme
But this all I wanted to say.
This is what I liked.

Ain't confused anymore.
No more blind.

Reality isn't sweet.
I hate love.

Truth of the day : The secret of a good sermon is to have a good beginning and a good ending; and to have the two as close together as possible.

The paradox that is love

2006-05-14T23:58:00.001+05:30

Love.
I don't know its meaning.

Thousands have spoken about it. Many more have not. And many more may know better about it than me, I believe. I don't think I will be able to say to you anything more than what has already been said. In fact, it also may be completely untrue and absurd.

This most-discussed, most-not-discussed and most-thought-of word, according to all reknowned dictionaries means "A strong positive emotion of regard and affection". Of course, our topic here would not deal with its meaning in dictionaries. It would deal with its effects, its probability, its improbability, its functions and its mechanisms. (I, of course, will not stop from beating about in the bush, as I normally do in situations where only I get to speak.)

What is love? Is love a feeling? Is love a want of love? Is love a emotion? Is love a complex process which involves the stimulation of certain parts of your brain? Is love a drug? Is love poetry? Is love pain? Is love oxygen? Is love poison? Is love lust? Is love trust? Is love a crush? Is love a need? Is love a connection? Is love a certain cartoonish shaped heart with an arrow through its approximate left diagonal? Is love sex? Is love originating in a place where blood is constantly being pushed in and pumped out? Or is it originating in a place much lower? Is love freedom? Is love a muse? Or is it just a series of alternating currents send by a unknown external source to make your semi-conscious mind reciprocate with the release of certain analgesics like endorphins? Or is love football?

Is love really love?

What can a person in love do? Can he give his/her life for it? Can he/she take someone's life for it? Can love make a person do things he/she can't do? Can love make a person not do things he/she normally does? Can the absence of love after the presence of love kill a person? Can the presence of love after the absence of it kill a person? Can a person live without love? Can a person die without love? Can love make a person endure the hardest of all difficulties? Can love hurt?

Does love make a person happy? Does love make a person sad? Does love make a person enthusiastic? Does love make a person angry? Does love make a person laugh? Does love make a person cry? Does love make a person write poems? Does love make a person leave everything? Does love make a person to want everything? Does love make a person a slave? Does love make a person complete?

I don't really know the answer to the above questions, and I feel I am not getting the answers to it in the near future. The answer to why I think so is hardly in my domain of comprehension.

Love is different for different people. Love maybe sweet for one and bitter for another. Love maybe a girl for one and a Lamborghini for another. Love maybe family for one and food for another. Love maybe life for one and death for another.

Love is ambiguous. Just like real life. Neither completely black nor completely white. Just different shades of grey.

Just like everyone of us.

A little of both, to say the truth.

A little of both.

Truth of the day : Lottery - a tax on people who are bad at Math.

Rain

2006-05-14T23:56:00.000+05:30

Rain.
Angst and pain.
Happiness and gain.

I don't know why I like when it is going to rain. It feels pleasant inside. As if I was born to be with the rain. Entwined with all the memories of mine, it is. High and low, fast and slow - whenever I remember it, I feel. Feelings are so muted without them.

I was thirteen then. When it first rained for me. Through the grey clouds came the rain, drop by drop. I used to visit the terrace everyday then. There was an awning in our terrace those days - a flimsy piece of corrugated metal sheet to stay under if it rained. And in of those magical days, it got blown off by the Kalbaisakhi winds. I used to sit there till the clouds turned black. I used to sit there till the winds went howling against my ear. The light used to dim, and there used to be a sudden coolness everywhere. And then it rained. And I used to sit there until it ended and the rainbow came out. And sitting there, alone, I used to think. It didn't matter what I thought. There was a hidden joy in it. A subtle laughter. A suppresed cry. An emotion of fullness and emptiness at the same time.

I was fifteen then. When it next rained for me. As if the rains had come only for me. She was there then. Amongst those thick drops and thundering sounds. And she was just a few feet away from me. We were returning from a quiz competition. We had lost. But it didn't matter. Her glasses were getting foggy all the time. But still it went on raining. And then she got on the auto and waved her hand to me and went away. With the wooden arrow. And again, I was alone. Wading through the waterlogged streets I came back. I don't why, but it struck me that this was not the last time it was going to rain just for me.

I am seventeen now. And it rained for me again. It was dark then and the lamps on the roads had lit up. I was sitting on the pavement when the drops started calling again. People began to run, fewer cars started plying and the dogs started barking. The silece was unbearable. And then the raindrops started screaming in my ear. And with the briny tears they flowed away, disguised. I got terribly wet. But it didn't matter. Atleast I didn't feel sad. Atleast I was not alone...

Truth of the day : He who laughs last thinks slowest.

He is what He is

2006-04-21T11:50:00.000+05:30

It was the best of times. It was the worst of times.

Awake, it was bad. So was sleep. Respite was nowhere.

It was as if He was dead and alive at the same time.

As if He was singing breathlessly all the tunes He had ever heard but it was horribly rythmless.

Like someone was strangling him whenever He tried to forget and whenever He remembered.

It was like seeing the whole universe while still being immersed in a confined well.

It was as if He was underwater and in space at the same time.

As if the fabric of space and time was crumpling near him and straightening again.

As if someone was pressing a pillow against His face.

Coldness and heat - He felt both together.

Sweet and bitter - He tasted them both together.

All His past memories which He was living on was passing by him at inhuman speeds - running off like a handful of sand in a fist.

Laughter and tears were as if flowing like rapid streams in opposite directions through the same path.

The pain was now racing through His blood - clogging His veins and blocking His heart.

It was as if all He said and all He didn't was escaping him.

It was like as if he had got the answers to his unsolved problems and had lost them at the same time.

As if all the unanswered questions and all the answered ones were hammering away at His brain.

It was as if He was existing and perishing at the same time.

Rain and darkness was together - and the sun wasn't shining anymore since the moon had engulfed it.

He could see the ugliness and the beauty together.

As if He was vulnerable and strong at the same time.

He was feeling lonely even when among a crowd.

It was as if the rising notes and tempo of the song, which was at the tip of His tongue, was not stopping - neither was it starting.

As if he was hearing the silence and the noise at the same time.

It was as if white and black had merged together - and the result wasn't grey.

As if the colours of the rainbow were draining away.

As if the wind was blowing in all directions at the same time.

As if His soul was being torn apart and rebuilt at the same time.

It was as if He was mad and sane at the same time.

It was as if He was being killed and being born at the same time.

As if all His wounds were being torn apart and sewn at the same time.

He was the True and the False, the Good and the Evil.

He was the Villain, the Hero and the Story Itself.

He is still so now.

I told you this was going to be exciting.

The deserving happiness

2006-03-28T23:37:00.000+05:30

Sometimes I think whether I really deserve all the things that happened to me. The othertimes (when I am not pondering over such silly questions) life makes me believe that I really don't. Thats a happy feeling, you know. A feeling that you are not really responsible for any of your actions. Though untrue, I seem to like this feeling. After all, very few things in life can make you happy. I am glad that I think like this. I am sad too for the same reason.

Truth of the day : How long a minute is, depends on which side of the bathroom door you're on.

I am what I am

2006-02-07T12:41:00.001+05:30

I am His Shadow.

Who is this you may ask.

I am the Writer itself.

"But how can a diary be the person itself?", you may ask.

Sometimes they say that a person obsessed with anything becomes that thing itself. I am just a cistern. And the scribbling that He does on me is his soul. People sometimes mistake me to be His property. In fact, the truth is actually the other way round.

It is advised that any person interested in reading me must first please obtain the permission of the Writer. He does not often let anyone read it though and I doubt that anyone is wanting to read this - leaving those who either possess incredibly long attention spans or simply an insatiable desire to read about numb dumbs like the Writer, I guess. Frankly, I will be amazed and pleased to know that anyone has read this far. In fact, I would like to take this oppurtunity to thank that reader for his/her stalwart readership.

He calls Himself "The Nameless One". A cliched and a very stupid way to address oneself, many think. I think the same. Though many people often laugh at the idea of a sixteen year old writing a diary in order to keep himself sane, it must be noted that the Writer does not often heed to their mockery.

I am treated by Him as a friend of His - he gives me many names - Evanescence (The event of fading and gradually vanishing from sight), Emovare (Emotion) and Doleros (The Deceptive One). But in truth, I am his doppelganger - his somnus ambulare (The Sleep Walker).

The reader may find certain pages of me empty - the Writer does not often stay in a state where such problems can be evicted - He apologizes for that with his blood. I weep for that.

If seen from a third person's view, we may notice that the Writer is in a threshold - at the face of a crossroad - where he must make choices which will shape His life, and this friend of His would bear a testimony of this trial.

He is aimless, to say the least - spicing up a story would never be so simple without this. The Writer Himself doesn't know what will happen to the Protagonist of the story i.e. Himself. In the age of reality shows, this is reality in itself.

A real life story with no apparent solutions or results in sight. The story will continue, no matter what.

Strange Things Will Happen To Him. Interesting Things Will Happen To Him. For He Is The Hero, The Villain And The Story Itself.

And I am his Shadow.

Dirty Vegas - Days Go By

2006-01-06T12:39:00.000+05:30

You are still a whisper on my lips,
A feeling at my fingertips
Thats pulling at my skin.

You leave me when I'm at my worst,
Feeling as if I have been cursed...
Bitter cold within.

Days go by and still I think of you,
Days when I couldn't live my life without you
Days go by and still I think of you,
Days when I couldn't live my life without you

Without you...

Lie of the day : Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words : they will never hurt me.

New Year?

2006-01-01T22:26:00.000+05:30

Things have changed.

Atleast my view has.

Previously, I too was quite normal : saying bye to the ending year, welcoming the new year, making resolutions, celebrating...

I see the truth now.

Its like a vicious rolling cyclic cage where we toil like guinea pigs. Cliched as it may seem, but I do not see how the matter of a new year can make you happy. We can celebrate all we want but the truth is that we are wanting to hide the real pain and sadness by forcing us to believe that we are feeling good.

I am sad...weak...and depressed.

And I will stop here.

Truth of the day : A sorry will not wake the dead but it will definitely make living beings feel better.

Rain, rain come again!

2005-12-09T23:37:00.001+05:30

It was raining.

The wind seemed to sweep off the droplets which doused every inch of what was in sight.

I was soaked.

It didn’t matter.

Lying down, all I could see was the shy moon running from cloud to cloud.

The rail tracks had started to hum by then.

The wait was over now.

The 55-second call

2005-12-09T23:25:00.001+05:30

[ The 8 digits fly off through the wires with the same expectation ]

Hello?

Yes?

It’s me.

‘Me’ who?

Don’t you remember me?

Who are you?

Are you trying to ignore me?

I don’t know who you are. Why do you keep phoning?

So...you recognized me...Why did you lie?

I don’t love you anymore.

Love Story

2005-12-09T23:04:00.001+05:30

The bench in the mall was cold when I sat down.

I saw her then.

Holding on to the railing she was trying to immerse herself in the dawn’s radiance. Her gaze seemed to weave tendrils of love around my heart. They started strangling me when she smiled.

And then she jumped.

I followed suit.

Torching my heart

2005-11-02T00:53:00.000+05:30

"Let there be light", He may have said.
All I could reply was, "Darkness is better, my Lord!".

The fireworks brighten the night sky - the festival of lights had come again.
The flames, kissing the face of the clouds, rendered them asunder with their mighty voices.

All I could do was stare.
And they said I was a dreamer.

Some stood hung in the sky while others lasted less in their showery blaze. Some rose high, as if to escape reality - but they came back - dejected, hurt, burnt, spent - the world is harsh.

Their ashes fell on me.

I smiled. Don't know why.

And I closed my eyes.

Truth of the day : Expecting the world to treat you fairly because you are good is like expecting the bull not to charge because you are a vegetarian.

Bad habit?

2005-09-24T16:26:00.000+05:30

They ask me, "Why do you bite your nails?".
I keep quiet.

I maintain silence not to prove my inability in doing so but since they will not be able to comprehend my reason for doing it.

They say, "Its a very bad habit!".
I think it is an expression of my inner self.

I bite my nails, tear my flesh, maim my fingers and suck my blood to give vent to my inner pain. Can you understand how bitter my pain is? No. Neither can I fathom the depth of yours. So stop judging me, and intruding into my already sour life.

Punishing myself for my follies gives me pleasure.

I don't want my wounds to get healed. I don't want my eyes to become dry. I don't want to feel. Numbness is all I want. I want them to remain as a testimony that love is actually pain.

Nothing more.

Nothing less.

Nothing else.

Truth of the day : Experience is the name people give to their mistakes.

Deprived

2005-09-24T16:08:00.000+05:30

Does want of more make you deprived? Are we all deprived of love and happiness? Is deprivation synonymous with desire? Will the answers to these questions make me feel content? As always, I don't know.
I, too, am deprived.

Truth of the day : Smooth seas do not make skillful sailors.

Dulcet Memories

2005-08-18T17:50:00.005+05:30

I don’t know whether I should bring back these moments from the depths of my mind since they push me back into the anguish of solitude instead of alleviating me from the pain – but still I persist : I don’t know why…Are bruises all that my heart craves for?

That single fleeting look which made the wings of my heart flutter…the ice-cream which we had together…the letters she wrote…the heart and the arrow…the place where she waited for her auto…the velvet voice which I used to hear whenever I phoned…the futile attempts of her to keep the strands of hair which caressed her sweet face into the tight bun which she sported…

Moments : they came unannounced, and left without saying goodbye. They tested me in a brief flash. I could not run or hide. I was defined by how I received the moment that visited me, how I took it in my arms, how I responded to its call. I didn’t get a second chance…nobody does.

And I let my moment go. I had been praying for it, with all my being. But when it came, it blinded me with its flash. I was overpowered, inadequate. It slipped by.

Now all I am left with is emptiness. A hole in my heart. She doesn’t even look at me nowadays…the sweet taste of ice-creams have become acerbic…she doesn’t write anymore…the broken heart is still with me – she must have thrown away the arrow…she still stands there but not for long…told me not to phone – said that she hated me…she stills waves aside those disoriented strands of hair but now she does it with such a wave of indifference that it reminds me of my helplessness in handling the situation – the tears taste salty…was this always so?

She still laughs…more heartily than before…maybe it is another trick of my eyes but nowadays she looks much more happier…without me…

Am I not strong enough for love?

The word Love. It almost jumped out of the context and hit me. It occurred to me that I had not thought of the word in a very, very long time – it had reached out to me from the abyss of oblivion. Strange is the power of moments.

Truth of the day : Laugh alone and the world thinks you are an idiot.

Am I repeating?

2005-08-03T15:47:00.000+05:30

Journal Archives (21^st July,2005 Thursday)

Have you sometimes felt your life dredged in monotony? Emotions bundling up, inducing you to an awkward state of pseudo-happiness-pre-gloom? Encountered a burning splinter in your mind which has driven you mad till you had doused it with neglect? Craved for permanent multi-orgasmic satisfactory state? Have you always felt that the person staring at you from behind the mirror is not actually "you"? Think that what just happened to you was actually experienced by you before it even happened? Had always felt that these were not the words in mind which you have said just now?

If yes...then thank the Devil! I found company at last!

When I first saw the question paper, I did not really know that my not studying mattered - since all I could see was a blank sheet. As I awoke from my day-dream, after being slapped by reality, the first thought that came to my mind was that it did not matter now - I didn't even know a single answer. But as I came out from the hall after an hour I felt surprisingly contented - I was now aware of the truth which I wanted to know for a long long time - I had passed - passed the test of not being afraid of the unknown.

The bouts of deja vu have started becoming more regular - more prolonged - more prominent ; Weird dreams turn up with astonishing credibility. I don't know where I am taking myself to. Fogged is the purpose of my life. What should I do?

PS : If you are reading this, and chuckling silently in your mind or laughing aloud, then f*** you!

(Expletives censored for obvious reasons.)

Truth of the day : A bird in the hand makes it awfully hard to blow your nose.

Middle of nowhere

2005-06-22T18:54:00.002+05:30

I didn’t expect myself to write again. I thought that blogging, for me, was just a fleeting sentiment, but finding myself writing here again after about a month, I was forced to believe that my alternate reality resided here.
Nameless One? Is that what I will eventually turn into? Just another face in the crowd? Just another person whom you cross ignorantly on the road? What am I fearing? Am I fearing that I will get lost? Is that a phobia? Or is that the thirst of the senses? Why do I keep asking questions? Or am I really a pessimist? And why am I so bent to define everything? Teen angst? Or crap rants?
I can’t write. Neither can I understand. Nor can I feel.

Truth of the day : A hero is a person who is afraid to run away.

PS : Does anyone remember a key?
PPS : Does anyone remember me?

Sound of Silence

2005-06-21T19:20:00.001+05:30

Have you ever heard it? It will be quite impossible to convey to you the actual extent of this exquisite feeling if you haven’t felt it yourself. The first time I heard it (or should I say “The first time I could hear nothing else”?) I was gripped by such a maddeningly indescribable emotion that I really could not believe what I was hearing (or “not” hearing). It seemed that the whole world had come to a complete standstill, so serene that even if you heard the dropping of a pin your heart will start racing with adrenaline.

Truth of the day : Just because you cannot see the path does not mean it is not beneath your feet.

2005-06-01T17:00:00.000+05:30

Road or something like it

Bored to death

2005-05-28T12:01:00.000+05:30

Journal Archives (13^th May,2005 Friday)
As the heavy voice of the teacher droned on, I really could not believe that something so interesting could be transformed to something so boring that it could force me to write about it. Surrounded by boys, who were so lazy that they even hesitated to turn the pages, with fake interested eyes, intent on fooling the teacher, nodded their heads as if perfectly understanding her rant. The momentous event of sporting blue pants as a brand of seniority had been lost in her incessant dictation. As if to further prove the saying "men will be men", the students, with diverted attention, continued to shift their legs in boredom, helplessly trying to find a mean of entertainment in the flight of a kite just outside the window. To fly off into the blue sky is all they want - but the windows have bars, and we have no wings.
To be crowned an LLB (Lord of the Last Benchers) is not a disgrace if the current situations are to be analyzed. To be truthful, my job is to pass comments (lewd, rude and amusing) on anything and everything - so as to evoke laughter in the others, and also to pay the least attention on studies and also encourage others to follow the same divine path. To quote a famous line, I am actually loving it.
As the teacher continued endlessly the levels of consciousness of the students dropped so low that it was not surprising to notice closed eyes and deaf ears.

Truth of the day : If you percieve that there are n possible ways in which a procedure can go wrong and circumvent these, then a n +1^th way, unprepared for, will promptly develop.

Moon

2005-05-26T19:26:00.000+05:30

Journal Archives (23^rd May,2005 Monday)

Its nearly twelve now, but not twelve yet. To say the truth, I know that you know I am writing my diary after a long time (to be precise, two months), and I by saying this, am unnecessarily pontificating over an obvious truth.
Through the orifices of the window grill, I come to see the full-moon. It was my first companion. I had watched it since I was of six years. And every time I saw into it I saw a new thing...never did it become boring for me. Its edges are blur - my vision is weak - its reflected aura seems to breathe - twitch with every movement of mine. I bathe in its soft rays. They sink their sharp teeth deep, through every fibre of my soul I feel its bite. The heavy dank wind caresses my hair, and they fall over mine eyes in careless strains. I love solitude. People say I suffer from insanity. I don't. I actually enjoy every bit of it. And every time the moon shows its face to me, I feel that it would have been better if I had been mad after all. I know I am actually being incoherent. But that is how I am. And a night's sleep is all I want - undisturbed by nightmares and unblemished by the realization of truth.

There is darkness outside, if light is all what prevails inside.

No...this is not supposed to be a moral. You will understand me if you sleep beside a window, an open one to be sure. But it maybe that I am the only person knowing this irrevelant fact. Forgive me if I am right.

Truth of the day : If anything just cannot go wrong, it will anyway.

Am I mediocre?

2005-05-22T14:56:00.000+05:30

That is what I feel. My board results are out. I secured, call it bad or good, a 88%. To say the least, I am not that satisfied, but its okay after all. If all I can be is a mediocre student, then I deserve it. After all it is not always that I get to know the bitter truth. If this is one of them then I gladly accept it.

Truth of the day : If there is a possibility of several things going wrong, the one that will do the do the most damage will go wrong.

Scared...

2005-05-17T22:46:00.000+05:30

Its tomorrow at four when my ICSE board results will be coming out - though its not often that I feel extremely helpless this is the moment when I am feeling it. I really don't know whether I would obtain good marks or not...though it sometimes seems that it does not matter to me, but often I have to accept the bitter truth i.e that this is which will make or break my future. I don't know what to say, do or think (as always)...Hope the rising sun brings with itself hope and courage which I direly require.

Truth of the day : Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong.

Boulevard of broken dreams

2005-05-07T10:26:00.001+05:30

Visions of love
Paint pictures in my mind.
I try to hide myself,
But there's nowhere to hide.

Loneliness leaves
A stain on my heart.
My soul is torn
But not ripped apart.

Pieces of me being sane
Slowly drift away,
Like a boat with no anchor
Sitting in the bay.

My heart needs to heal.
My soul needs to mend.
I try to get back up
But I fall down again.

Weighed down by burdens
Too heavy to lift,
From shoulder to shoulder
The weight of darkness shifts.

Hoping for a hole
In this wall that I make,
So that maybe through it
Some light can penetrate.

Truth of the day : Everything takes longer than you think.

Solitary thoughts

2005-05-06T23:18:00.000+05:30

At the end of the day,
It was simple in a way,
And rather too easily explained.
There was not much to say,
And I would have walked away,
But then, it rained.

Truth of the day : Nothing is as simple as it looks.

Dedicated to my “amie”

2005-04-06T16:29:00.000+05:30

Journal Archives (15^th November, 2003 Sunday)
It is two thirty right now (if my watch and my eyes are to be believed). There are no cars plying on the road, there are no people out either. An idol rests under the tree behind me…the sweet smell of wild flowers provided to the deity wafts through the air and so does the stench of the accumulated garbage a hundred metres away from me. The streetlights cast wraith-like shadows on the road, sparsely illuminating the pavement. As I sit down on the cobbled-pavement along the Bata-tram road juncture the cool mild breeze seems to give me goosebumps. Since no one was home today (everybody has gone to our village) I had decided to spend my night out in the streets. After locking the door of the flat I had walked down the road to the place I intended to visit. Out here there are only two things to give me company – one is a street dog and the other a broken tap whose water gets collected in a small plastic bag, which has been presumably attached to it by some mischief-maker. The always-running water gets collected in it and its existence amplifies the sound of dripping water. The lights of the surrounding buildings have been extinguished long ago. Even the dog yawns and sleeps at my feet. It’s a bit cold…but I convince myself that it is for my own betterment. You don’t get better opportunities, do you? You may not able to fully comprehend the purpose of mine in spending a night at a street-corner, and maybe I will not be able to convey to you the sanity behind this idea of mine. Sitting here, writing this piece with the help of the only source of light - the streetlight, and a faulty leaking pen on a coarse piece of paper it is really a pain. A few yards across my friend lives. Maybe she is sleeping soundly right now with a blanket over her body and a roof above her head unaware of her friend’s mad ideas. Maybe relishing her sweet dreams…I didn’t get to talk to her…but the reason is: why I am brooding over this trivial loss…I would surely get to talk to her…but am I saying this in order to convince myself? I really don’t know. She is my only true friend. But why have I stole from bed and come here…maybe to contemplate on matters, which I feel, I need the answer for…maybe not…in the distance behind the trees clouds scud frantically across the sky. Every few moments the moon seems to rip through them, creating strange effects that race along the ground. A night bird seems to be keen on proclaiming her presence in the tree-branches by constantly letting out heart-wrenching cries. The film-poster adorning the wall of the opposite pavement seems to have frayed to the point of no repair. By the way, am I making these careless observations in order to prove something to you? Maybe yes,but I don’t want to know.

She maybe at the window right now…maybe thinking about me…or maybe not…it maybe that I expect a lot out of her…She is of course my only friend and the only person who seems to understand me…but why am I filling the pages of my diary with what I think her to be doing? Does she matter so much to me? I shouted on her once…I hated myself for that…I know she is not going to be with me forever…but how could I forget her?

The soft rays of the sun are flooding the road, as if washing me from the vile of the night. I don’t know why I am still sitting there…the milkman and the newspaper vendor stare at me while passing. As I rise, I start walking aimlessly down the road. The thought of meeting her at school provides me with the impetus…the persons who had been on the road at that hour of the morning maybe did notice a boy running down the road mumbling something to himself. He seemed to be happy in the eyes of the onlookers and that was maybe the only thing that mattered. Nobody would believe but he actually had spent a night on the pavement…there were no other proof except his bloodshot eyes…which his friend missed noticing that day at school. Don’t blame her…how could she? She never even tried to come so near to him so as to notice something so minute…

Truth of the day : Tact is the ability to tell a man he has an open mind when he has a hole in his head.

Somewhere I belong...

2005-03-27T18:31:00.000+05:30

When this began,
I had nothing to say...
and I'd get lost in the nothingness inside of me!
I was confused...
And I let it all out to find that I'm -
Not the only person with these things in mind
Inside of me...
But all the vacancy the words revealed,
Is the only real thing that I've got left to feel!
Nothing to lose...
Just stuck hollow and alone...
And the fault is my own...
The fault is my own.
(Linkin Park)

Truth of the day : Ecstasy is a feeling when you feel you are going to feel a feeling you have never felt before.

I don't know...

2005-03-26T20:18:00.000+05:30

I am scared of myself. Are my dreams my own? Are my goals the goals I really want to achieve? Am I my own? I don't know. "Why" is the question many may ask to which the only answer I may provide is "I don't know". The world seems extremely convoluted through my eyes...I am always lost in the labyrinth which people term as reality. The truth really does matter to me...I want the answers...which I myself may not be ready to accept...

Truth of the day : Compromise is the art of dividing a cake in such a manner that everybody believes he got the biggest piece.

(I forgot to give a title)

2005-03-25T22:58:00.000+05:30

People tell me that I am rude, unsmart, and "act" different just for the sake of it. I don't want to know whether they are true or not...maybe that's because I don't care a damn about it. Sitting alone in this bed beside the window, the only light which is illuminating me, except the harsh screen-light, is that of the full-moon. The increasing collision of the rainpricks on the asbestos sheet above me, fuels the emanating smell of moist soil which continues to invigorate my senses. Far off, a bird calls, as if echoing the hollowed tearless cries inside of me. I do not seem to get the grasp of anything...everything seems artificial...I cannot comprehend any reasons...I do not imagine any motive...Either I have became bland or the world has...but I do apprehend the correctness of the first option. Nearby the stray street-dogs continue baying at the moon.

Truth of the day : Needing someone is like needing a parachute. If he isn't there the first time you need him, chances are you won't be needing him again.

Anyone reading this?

2005-03-24T22:09:00.000+05:30

I don't think so...Nobody ever leaves any comments nor do I find anyone who says he/she likes it...Maybe all I say in this post is futile since I do know, that this, at last is going to get lost in this maze which we call Internet...I know I am being paranoid but yet...If you feel even a little for this person who is sitting at the other end please...for the devil's sake - say something!!!

Truth of the day : The certain proof that intelligent life exists elsewhere in the universe is that no one has bothered to make contact with us.

Karmic Wheel

2005-03-22T19:51:00.001+05:30

Shelter me for I am locked in a world,
That lost the will to be free
Dying age - a chronicle of forgotten peace
Replaced by hate…
Rescue me for all I can do is try
To escape this reality
Trip away…colour the night
until the Sun awakes another day,
The karmic wheel is turning…
Faster than before!
Cover me with blood – life’s essence
Leading me to a cosmic desire sent from God
the spark of an earthly existence leaves new ornaments
Burn my psyche…
lead it to the Crystal stake and set it on fire
Here to stay before it could begin,
You lead it to the end
The karmic wheel is turning…
Faster than before!
Till the end of time, till the end of life,
The wheel is turning as we die…
Come with me to, where all greed ends
honesty is all that matters…
Far from here,
awareness far beyond Industrial intellect
Lay on me for the ones who felt
The same way won't forget us…
All I lose concrete slavery
Liberty so imperfect,
The karmic wheel is turning…
Faster than before!
Till the end of time, till the end of life,
The wheel is turning as we die…

Truth of the day : There are three kinds of people in the world, those who can count, and those who can't.

Bonded Freedom

2005-03-21T22:20:00.000+05:30

With my completion of the Bengali 2 paper of ICSE (Class X) I regarded it as somewhat of an achievement....my exams were over...but I know that this feeling of joy is short-lived since I have to again go back to my studies after a month or so...its somewhat like acting free even when you aren't...kind of a dream of false hopes...The only way I can think of spending my time is through playing games (pun unintended)...

Truth of the day : 98% of all statistics are made up.

Inner Voices

2005-03-17T01:01:00.004+05:30

I am sixteen years old…but yet the complexities of my own psychological analysis weakens the very essence of my soul…I fail to understand myself…maybe after reading this you may assess me as a self-obsessed, teen-angst ridden, stupid boy who wants to be different just for the sake of it…but I believe I am not…maybe I am…and maybe that my own Conscience forbids me to think in that way…but I really can’t tell…and neither can you…maybe your own constructive criticism about this is prejudiced…all I have learnt from the day of my Revelation is that nothing can be said or predicted about anything…Maybe it is just that that my Two Voices within me dampens my ability of Judgement…Constantly altercating about my every action…however minute may it be…each in nature, choice and intention, absolutely opposite of its partner…I really am caught in a civil war with myself…or maybe it is just something which my idle mind is making up…for the past two years my divided Conscience was never at rest…rebuking, mocking, taunting, criticizing my every action, accomplishment, defeat and even my thoughts ad infinitum…acquainting myself with this split personality disorder was never easy but yet my Persistence forced my Senses to cooperate…or maybe it was my own denial of Reality which made it more tough for me to attain Subjugation…this Confusion has started making me mad…or maybe I am mad and only acting as if I retained my Balances…rhetorical questions and incessant puns in my everyday Speech and Thought has started making my Life miserable…or it maybe that I am just faking it for the sake of being different…I really don’t know the reason “Why”…or maybe I cannot comprehend it…These two pseudo “Me” and “Me” who try to pretend to be the actual “Me” are making my Life hell or maybe worse than it as I really don’t know whether such an inhuman place exists or not…maybe I really am faking this Feeling just for the sake of writing this piece…or it maybe I am just a figment of my own Imagination…I really can’t tell for sure…

Truth of the day : Gravity doesn't exist, the earth sucks.