Inflicted by a disease to start again from square one

It Rains Outside

2011-03-03T15:45:00.003+05:30

In the shade of the green outside,
I think of the light she brought in from the rain.
In spite of all the things I never thought I would say,
She listens to the ones that aches the world of her.

Beside the rain on the window panes of my room,
Her ache aches me from within and I misplace why she is that way.
She tells me the places she is going far away from me,
I try to keep it all there by trying to do something,
Her words are so far away that I despite inhaling, I feel suffocated.

Try my love a little bit, I tell her.
Try my love to be in there.
Try my love to sit on my arms of words,
Try my love to be with me.

She tells me how she can be different from who I am
She tells me the lines that brings inside me a wave of fear
I sing for her and wonder why she is saying it
I dance for her as I try to throw away her tear.

On this passing afternoon, her pregnant thought of leaving sucks the life out of me.
No one can see me from within except her
All of a sudden she seems to be abrupt there as well.
I ask her to sleep with no thought of good or bad
She sleeps and wakes with the sadness quilt on her belly.

Try my love to listen to the apologies I cry
Try my love to work it out
Try my love to be happy
Try my love...................

Was listening to: "Passing Afternoon" by Iron and Wine

Coorg and growing up

2009-06-01T04:36:00.004+05:30

This weekend was my life being telecasted from a candid camera onto a funny channel. A weekend which would have made the makers of each and every sitcom in the world, the funniest episode ever made. The only difference is that instead of reading the lines from well crafted scripts with the hope of things becoming better, i read scripts made of pain and ego...with no hope of seeing the future in the next episode. In fact, there seemed a lack of some weird level of friendship and foes.

Going through the entire 36 to 40 hours, i could distinctly see similarities with the infamous episode of Seinfeld. Well, atleast in that episode all love lost between George and Jerry was fast resolved, understood and worked upon by the end of the episode. In fact, while returning from the horrible trip of wherever they went...they decided to gift each other a girl for each other. I love George Constanza.

“Break ups are easy...you live it, feed on to it and then hang in a strip bar and forget the sweat pants you had been wearing for 3 whole weeks.” Ah, genius Joey. In my funny episode, there is tears, panting, begging, anger, hate, bitching...fuck, you name it, its there. The highlight would be the drunken ass bickering about how life turned upside down for nothing but a simple world of pleasure and fun. Oh, and there is the confession kept well secret to avoid running out of ideas for the next few episodes. Turmoils of a plain old insignificant life is always the fun the world has come to laugh about.

Sadism is cruel and a sin...think, Eric Forman said it to Hyde in one of their many circles in one real funny episode of That 70s show. It’s so goddamn true, ain't it? Think about it, which were the most popular seasons of That 70s Show. The ones in which Eric and Donna had broken up or the ones in which they were together. Without uncertainty, i can say my favorite episodes were the ones in which Eric was miserable as a goat eating grass..or smoking them. Ha, the sadism trait of laughing at plain old miserable fucks are much more funnier. In my episode of the horrible trip, its all there. Well, not sure though of ending of the season, i tell you.

I love Barney Stinson...oh i really do. His ideas and devices to sleep with any moving object [girls] make him a hero among lost guys trying to find a right...whatever that is...girl. I envy the makers of How i met your Mother for trying to hook him with Robin. If that happens, it would be a perfect murder to the show i say. Let Barney remain just as he is right now...living for the moment. Speaking of living in the moment, i lived a moment of my own too. Well, in fact a little too much i guess.

They say, if you are ready to die for a moment, most people, i guess 99.99% of the people would shave away the idea and go straight ahead to leading a happy and nurturing life. I tried to die, and lived to tell everyone about it. It was fun to a hell lot extent...except the fact my dean screwed me for it. A moment changes everything i find nowadays. Maturity does this to young men. Philosophy entwines itself to every move of humans.

With all philosophy of life, at this moment, i know...that moment came and should have just blown away. It should have mellowed away with time, instead it stuck there like a storm. Hurting everyone and screwing with everyone’s cool breeze of the summer. It was odd...it felt nauseating...it felt cursed...it felt jinxed...it didn't feel good at all. Normally, on these circumstances, my funny side just gets turned on and plays a karaoke of funny jokes. It makes me happily high on its own....and for a while i did feel like my own personal karaoke jokes machine will save me. And i tried to instill the lyrics of the jokes to everyone around...till the machine got squashed. Leaving my humiliated and sadly without anything. That’s when i learned a new emotion eniterly mine. Its a emotion i know nothing about. Its was like an emotion hanging between introspection of another man....and looking inside to find that not everything can be compared to sitcoms. Somethings are not made up and scripted...like the trip.

When i was 18 or 19...i dreamed to sing a song with a girl under a non-stop rain on the beach of Chennai. I did it and found it amazingly stupid. First of all, you cannot kiss on a public beach and plus...you can catch a damn cold from the girl. During the trip i wanted to get to know some people who i know little about...i wanted to see how life was of a friend long gone in the future...wanted to know someone in normal times while not talking about crap shit work. Guess what i found.. all the fucking negativity of theirs. Its not their fault. Its our human nature to kill...stretch...act stupid...think low and high...

Ego? What the fuck is that? I know i have it around somewhere. Apparently when things go wrong, i use it. English language actually gave a word for it? Its not an emotion nor a state of mind. Its apparently a hidden entity or a subdued feeling? God, how did it come to play. I don't believe in Butterfly Effect. I have lived by the principle of let live and let die. So when moments arrives i am there, and when it starts to fade, i say sorry and let it die. But how does butterfly effect making me write this...we had knocked on a practical joke and 2 days later i am writing this with a ache slowly but steadily making me grow and find new absurd behaviors of humans. Ha! Think i do live in a world where god is watching our episode of “Trip from Hell” and laughing away to glory. Its like that part of the sitcom episode where the commentator of these sitcoms commenting about new stuff learned by him about his friends and families. Whoa, i am the commentator today. Hurrah!

Well, don't think there is going to be another episode of ours again. Well not soon though.

Near the shade of the green and hills of brown,

By little streams of water and coffee and tea filled gardens,

Chilled by the playmates showering in soothing moves,

New old cold hands slapped, which made no sense. Ill prudence.

Silence seemed a passion, the storm tearing us apart,

Drops of tears saved for happy moments turned upside around,

Nice going big guy, now all he stood is an insignificant blur,

Pass me a cigarette while i call you a bloody fucking motherfucker.

Was listening to "Scarborough Fair / Canticle" by Simon and Garfunkel

Wish I could quit

2008-05-08T17:13:00.003+05:30

A sudden rage,
A cunning sensation,
A drowning asphyxiation,
A buried inside craving,
A loud agitation,
A filter with smoke.
Unable to let it shave away,
Unable to clean the stench,
Fighting the lightning burning,
Troubling the veins in thought.
Attached to its every spell,
Lost in its myriad counts,
Flew in vain to the burning sun,
Normalcy forgotten, shyness lost.
Accused heavens,
Threw away spirituality,
Fought lords, in bored cause,
Confused eventuality.

Laughed with comrades of death,
Juggled my life for them,
Chiseling my own self,
With knives made of ash.
I wrote stories of the confusing smoke rings,
Inspiration, I seeker,
They blinded into,
Ha! They cried, I went deeper.

Now that you are here, so far away

2008-04-20T00:33:00.001+05:30

Indians are not evolved enough when someone comes up with a crazy notion of driving all the way from Bangalore to Delhi and then back…for nothing. For a scrap of inviting adrenaline, for a drive and dive into the crazy lands of nowhere and everywhere, for a fast and furious fight to stay alive and never die….well, Indians will never understand. That’s the beauty of geniuses; they sort themselves from the ordinary by doing something no one has ever thought before of doing. But does genius and stupidity go hand and hand. Do they compliment each other, are they friends, or are they foes….who knows. Maybe and this I say from the wildest deduction, that Aditya is either the craziest son of a bitch alive or the genius in a vague and insensible way.

It’s been mere eight or nine months since I have met Aditya and he is not the type who will change you or effect you each time you have a resolute discussion with him. No Christmas blooms when he speaks, no firecrackers bursts out when he does something….in a summary, he is a bloke. Another brick in the Wall. One of the many, in any sense, in any world. The standing out of ordinary is a wish everyone dreams and fight to achieve. This was probably Aditya’s way to show the world, that he is no mundane person, not the regular ones, not the ones who you will introduce to your friends to like….in a line, kid just drove on his bike from Bangalore to Delhi. He is somewhere in Gujarat or Rajasthan at this point, rising away in his insane search of hope and passion.

‘Ideally’ is not a word you can use when this sort of game is fashioned. It takes balls, it takes heart and it takes a lot of concentration. Pardon me to be idiotic for blotting out my ego, because I was there in the first phase of his journey. I was with him till Pune, a city close to Bombay….a large city at that. I had reasons to take the trip though, unlike Mr. Aditya. That was the difference we possessed, he had a reason which he alone could justify to himself, whereas me being a rational, logical kid…had a solid reason, a reason to give back and prove myself right. But I question myself and sometimes find answers to them….question in the vein of “Why? Is he doing this? Who is proving himself to? Who is his mentor? Why?” Tell you the truth; I can answer them sometimes, when I use words that Aditya himself used. I can answer them when I am smoking the last cigarette of the night, a state when insanity and guilt seem to mingle and play a weird little game with your brain’s functionality. But most people, me included are ice boxes inside. Filled with regular impressions of regular ambitions and moves. Henceforth, you cant start comprehending how is Aditya’s heart going to be.

Beatles had a song called “Let it be”. Oh, how this synchronizes with the situation. Let people be as they are. Let people do, what they want to. Let people dream, what they want to. Let people have, what they deserve. Let people chase their heart, till they don’t fail. Just let it be.

Aditya, wherever you are, be safe and be awake….people are going to call you crazy, me included….but then again I am probably the biggest fan of Cobain and he was crazy enough to commit suicide to earn recognition for himself. Well, you are not far fetched; you have chosen to die on your bike.

“Now that you’ve come so far away,
All those stuck away from all the way.
All the mistakes that life can give, they finally will fade away.
You can’t forget that you’re not ashamed,
Of being the person that you are today.”

The Bike Ride Story

2008-01-06T17:53:00.000+05:30

Drowning in the wind that hits you,
Swearing at the mudholes on the road.
The speed slowly devours you; makes you wonder,
The veins harden, your pulse weakens; your abode.

Without wings you can fly now,
Without drinking, you can be high now.
The asphalt hardness helps softening your thoughts,
It doesn’t matter ‘cos without thinking you can dream now.

Sunrise and sunsets passsby in a haze of dust,
All guilt and surprise turns into rubble of mud.
The moon’s rays and the sun’s gaze; laugh at our foolishness.
Friends, family and your love tear you down like a flood.

More I cry; give me more of fucking adrenaline,
Let me die; let me die while waiting in this fucking feeling.
Cleanse myself of past and future; be submerged in only the present.
Let me stay; in this ocean of sailing soul.

Written on my wild trip to Pune on a bike....with just Aditya on my side...

To Bangalore

2007-12-03T00:56:00.000+05:30

A city which sleeps in the undercover of its loud noise,
Where kids like us wake and live and die and fire and jive and be high.
Every source of fulfillment, it endows in its bosom,
Chilling cold or unbearable heat never makes anyone feel all alone.
I understand its stupid methods of alarming awake.

Shadows of articulate life still run on,
But the heavy artillery of fast-moving, irrespectable people, stills hurts on.
City of lights and city of dying bulbs, the fascination builds on,
On a sea of fiery waves, the city glows on alone, blown in its windy horn.
I understand its stupid methods of show-off.

Females clad in skinny little tops and scrawny underwear,
Men dressed in ear-rings and ponytails.
Shivering cold makes they shiver in the screaming night of the city,
They don’t care; they don’t dare; to act as, even though they are half bare.
I understand the dressing sense of the city.

Beer and a little whiskey; that make the city drink and drive,
Vodka and spirit cold, that makes the city sing and jive.
As spaceships they fly till the unlimited infinite space hits them without gravity,
Even though unworthy, people suicide in the hanging maze of the city’s knife.
I understand the riddle woven by the city.

Firecracker

2007-11-08T03:26:00.000+05:30

As kids we were fired up, charged up, hung up, and fooled up.
We scorched in the sun, playfully, chasing each other.
Drank the same water each day, flew in the same air,
Nothing and everything amazed us, nothing vividly to bother.
Then something happened. A blurry spot on the rear mirror.
We tried making noise and light. Like a bloody festival firecracker.

A dark night we tried to enlighten with our dying fire.
We went high and high in hope of going higher.
With a noise we wanted people to get scared with, we tried blasting.
The stars looked close; the sky was merciless liar.
Suddenly the sky is clear again, only the dying smoke toss and stir.
Oh, in the festivals of lights called life, we are the forgotten firecracker.

Was Listening to: "Epiphany" by Staind

08th of November,2007. 3.20 A.M.

Young Man and the Sea

2007-10-18T12:43:00.000+05:30

In the middle of an ocean of troubles.
The silvery water gazes at your gentle boat of travel.
The migratory birds cross you with a laugh for themselves.
You migrate on the hopeless boat of rubble.

Ripple; ripple….the union of man and boat rips through the water.
Searching for a dark island far away.
A place where he can rest his cloudy head.
Forget the nuisance while crossing the last bay.

The star show direction and lets him know that he is lost.
The diamond twinkles of lost hope.
Someone is still on the stars, with intention of help.
Crying for you; looking at you from a telescope.

A single hole will sink your boat to the rocky bottoms of the sea.
Like when a single hole in your chest sinks you.
The water of the cruel sea asphyxiates and kills you.
Like the tears in your heart, comes sinking you.

The call for help….”SOS”.
The waves of your radio fade in the growing storm that you have made.
Still you persist in sending out friendly message for help.
Till you learn to cry, till you have learnt to live in a morbid shade.

Was listening to: "Riders on the Storm" by The Doors.

17th of August, 2007. At office.......

What is Passion??

2007-10-03T18:07:00.001+05:30

Was Romeo passionate about Juliet? Was king Leonidas of Sparta so passionate about his Sparta, that he lay down is life and the life of his infamous 300 for a cause which he knew was preposterous and utterly ridiculous? Was Einstein so passionate about science and physics that he let his theories take him for a ride of bad haircut and an aloof old age? Was Cobain so obsessed and passionate with creating music in his own world and his space that he had to die in the pressure the world forced onto him?

If that is what the definition of passion gets allied to…..then are we even a little passionate about anything? Is that the right definition of passion, then?

In my short life (most of which has I been spent wasting in futile dreams and wrong assessment), my passions have changed from being a Nobel-prize winner (for physics, by the way) to CEO of a music company. And it is more than normal, to have changing dreams and passions with the advent of age. But at a point, you start questioning yourself that what you dream about and what you crave deeply is meant for some inner happiness and nothing else. All in all, what you assume is passion, your fervor; your craze is a part of what the world wants you to be. A conspiracy that this universe plays with you to be something it wants you to be. Something you never wanted to be…something that you are missing completely…something that you have never started a search for…something that Leonidas or Einstein or Cobain had searched and found…or, maybe they didn’t, they just happened to think that they did.

Passion. What the fuck is it? I can safely say, at this moment of my life, I am passionate about what I write and what I show people on my blog. But is that what I want dearly? I must be crazy to die for something that I have not even searched looking for. I can probably die for inspiration and stimulation and a few drops of praise for what I write, but not to the extent of letting my life for it. But examples this world shows us about passion makes me shiver with the doubt that I have absolutely no passion or fervor in me. Romeo, Leonidas, Einstein and Cobain….they all died for the one thing that was common between them: the thing I can’t produce, the thing I question, the thing I probably lack.

They say when you have discovered what you want and then you go onto to have it in your grasp for a while, you can find magic sparks blow out from within you. Has that ever happened with anyone? I hope it has. I hope I get it too. Not now, but with time…think, I have enough of it with a whole lifetime to live.

For Anuja. Never lose your hope, it sucks...…but it’s good and out there somewhere….

Was listening to: “Smells like Teen Spirit” by Nirvana.

3^rd October, 2007.

For two people, I wish they care more……..

2007-09-28T16:51:00.000+05:30

It’s not nice to be nice.
There are no hiding places then.
Not many people appreciate it.
They give you directions for the wrong lane.

Admitting that you are just here.
Stagnant in this revolving world.
Just another speck of grain.
An everything of nothing, pale and dull.

Your senses beg you to feel its sensation.
Asks you to touch another soul.
Deep inside, your veins cast a fear.
You grow scare inside your shallow hole.

No one is black, white or gray.
No one wishes to wishes to be.
They develop into robots, skilled and lie-equipped.
Living life for people to see.

Forgive for god’s sake.
It’s not one of god’s pretty pictures.
We should have stayed as animals.
Without much worry or care for the world.

Child you are not, childish is your act.
If you want to play; play merry go round.
Don’t play with steely eyes.
It scares me, takes me back to my steel cage of bound.

It’s easy, you know for absolution.
A hug is all you may need.
They say small things come and go.
A flower blooms from one small seed.

This is a prayer I send to two people I hope things go well……wish they forget everything and kill their stupid reasons of contesting

Was listening to: “Teri Deewani” by Kailash Kher.

28^th August, 2007.

Apost

2007-09-17T21:27:00.000+05:30

I drink more vodka than I drink water,
I smoke more cigarette smoke than the amount of air I breathe,
I eat more junk food than a normal person’s dinner,
I live more life than immortals.

I protest more than I speak,
I act more in crisis than actors,
I choke on words, more than people who call it conversation,
I screw up things more than a screw-driver.

I bottle up more than a coca-cola bottle with chili pizza,
I trouble you more than when we were in love,
I sing more than the number of songs sung,
I lie more to you than to myself.

I cough more own dreams than a cancer patient,
I stay awake more forcefully, hurting myself, than an insomnia patient,
I laugh more than a crying clown,
I cry more than a laughing clown.

I have dreamt more than the dreamer on the movies,
I slept more for those dreams than gods, who had nothing to do and made us,
I started more often than an athlete on his get-set mark,
I stopped more to start all over better.

Was listening to: “Shine on you Crazy Diamond” by Pink Floyd.

17^th of September, 2007.

If I believed in god, I would have prayed for this……

2007-09-07T11:51:00.000+05:30

its sometimes difficult to not believe in god

Give me enough money to build a house with friendly bricks,
Paint it yellow, not blue.
Give me a teeth with which I can taste the flavors of living,
Drink summer’s rain, eat winter’s cold dew.

Give me a lift, with which I can reach the highest clouds,
Shout from there anything, forgetting everything.
Give me lightbolts of inspiration, with which I can write,
Fulfilling everything.

Give me the unraveling energy of migrating birds,
To see the end of the lonely earth.
Give me solitude of a lonely whale, flowing underwater,
Giving birth.

Give me knowledge, in hope that I don’t falter,
On anyone’s doorsteps.
Let them know I have read too, so that they take me,
So that they learn to accept.

Give me more space to speak my mind, more time to hear me.
Give me a mouth full of words,
Simple and articulate,
As much as I can be.

Give me songs to love and adore, not listen once and get bored.
Give me lyrics I can die for,
Tunes I can shout and dance and sing,
Till it hurts in my throat.

Give me maturity to live more than I can,
Enough for a few lifetimes.
Give me a magic potion of immortality,
With poetry and a sense of rhymes.

Give me satisfaction between grief and pain,
Something no one gets.
In foggy days we find romance,
Under the clouds, under kissing shades.

Give me companions to do the same old thing,
Again and again, untiring.
Let me heart swell up every time they fool around,
Happy in our grace. Thrilling.

Was listening to: "Glycerine" by Bush.

6th August, 2007. 11.50 P.M.

The king of all flying fishermen

2007-09-03T17:47:00.000+05:30

Cheers!
The act of happiness in the sorrow of tears.

Far inside a beat stops to beat,
Hating itself for being a piece of meat,
Troubling itself of being cursed,
Lost in the funny circus of trust.

Hey!
Please can you come and join me in play.

Sing in the karaoke of my day.
Pay attention to what I say,
Choose for me the clothes I wear,
Engulf my torrid wilderness of fear.

Fuck you!
The words accompanying things you can’t chew.

Don’t turn on the lights when you ask darkness,
In this state, any light will blind in the brightness.
Don’t ask me to label you obscene,
The darkness’s going to fuck what you’ve seen…..
………..of what I’ve been, of what I’m becoming……..

Was listening to: “Freebird” by Lynyrd Skynyrd
2^nd August, 2007. (don’t really remember the time)

The Queen

2007-08-26T19:21:00.000+05:30

My first romantic poetry ever!!

Queen of steely ideas, is it all over?
Queen sublime, can’t I help you, as you suffer?
Pause for a while, don’t play it so loud.
Watch as many sunsets and sunrise,
But one day, the sky is going to be full of clouds.

I don’t belong here; I don’t belong here,
not here, talking to you, feeling unclear.
Trying hard to fool you again,
Trying hard to show the past light,
In a tunnel of yellowing pages; irreparable plight.

It’s never poetry without you,
A stubborn art, the one I learned with you.
You taught me the poetry in life,
Taught me to fight in the blind.
Now I’m finding things in things I never wanted to find.

Nightangle of my sore day
The unknown Christmas ray
How far have you gone?
In this darkness I have found enough
Whistling away nights, singing a new play.

Held in custody of invisible bars
You threw me far away, as far as mars.
Its all cold now, I can’t feel my fingers
Somewhere a drizzle is forming a mud hole
I’m living in it, trying hard to cope…..

Fine, if you think was all over,
But was it a crime to live happily ever after.
On a hazy night, a second took our turn,
We couldn’t see what was for us later.
Now I miss you, queen; in photographs and in solitude……

Just know this, my lost love...I was nothing before you....now, I have a message.

Written, edited and completed on the 25^th of August, 12.55 A.M.

Was listening to: “Blue Eyes” by Remy Zero

It’s Bangalore

2007-08-26T19:13:00.000+05:30

Convulsive. Aggressive. Intimidating. Enticing. Bold. Beautiful.

Some of the few adjectives that I can shower about this place. It’s not actually a place. For some, it’s few acres of heaven. For some it’s a dark alley of burning hell. For me, a new place…..it’s the turning, a decision. A decision to either turn right, or turn wrong. The dilemma is: “Those who turned wrong had more stories to tell. And those who turned right had more savings in their bank accounts.” Now which one do I choose?

Looking back at the myriad days of college, I invariably turned left. A list of mimics which included a rock band, included a girl, included a soccer team, included vodka, included adrenaline, included politics, included photos, included stupidity, included indiscipline, included abnormality, included chaos, included cigarettes, included flirting, included porn, included laughs, included…..smiles, memories.

Fuck, so many things are changing. I can see my grave of youth, the night of the youth filled evening, the shitless dusk. Fuck, and it’s this Bangalore that showing me.

Bespectacled in the words of so many people, I raise my voice in the defense of this city. Like a parrot, my insides talks about its startling pubs, the hot-babe fashion show on Brigade Road, window shopping for more hot babes on MG Road, new fashion statements, Hookah joints, Coffee joints, Chicken joints, Time-Wasting joints. Joints of every form and figure - some for your balls, others to just show off. But, in the end…it’s all good.

Argh…Bangalore is going to be so unclear. It’s been less than 20 days I have been here and I stand irresolute, confused as an atheist who just saw god. My father’s edged out words were: “Save as much as you can…..you’re in the corporate world now.” And I heard it as: “Spend as much as you can…..you’re in Bangalore.” As I formerly said, it’s either going to be right turns or a freaking-run-wild-blasted-wasted wrong turn for me.

Written on the 14^th of August, 00.55 A.M.

Was listening to: “Electric” by Pentagram.

A Music System’s Requiem

2007-08-11T16:45:00.000+05:30

Written for the Creative 2.1 speakers which I owned from my 2^nd year in college, the system which played Iron Maiden and Metallica in tandem for days…..now ‘cos of their master(that being me), they play Jazz and Harmonica. I don’t think they like it too much and gives me all reason to write them a song…..the funeral song, a Requiem.

The loud speakers are booming in the room,
Craving to be them all over again.
Shouting in the light harmony of slowness,
The one song they liked the most…..the loud ones, the un-singable ones, the ones their master couldn’t give them.

They cry and die, the lighter they go, more they try,
They begin the process of rusting.
Joining the million other passions of their idiotic master,
Addicted and bleached in the milk of hard sound, they cunningly disagree to anything that they now boom.

The speakers saw the transitions, from the wild distortions, to stupid instrumentations,
The drink of yesteryears’ hangover can’t seem to leave,
Crazy fire still burning,
But it’s definitely out of oil…..sometimes the cigarette’s lighter oil, sometimes the midnight oil.

Tired, ragged, tortured, beaten up…..they feel it all at the same time,
The wait for freedom seems to have fuelled away from the fighting soul of theirs.
Senility setting freely and cunningly into their soft body,
Inspiration of the music they once played, the dream of the loud chords…all seems to fade with the age.

Now the time has arrived, slow as they dived…
Into the age old custom of getting sold away, bartered by masters, for their satisfaction.
Glorious they once stood, earsplitting and shrill, noisy and quiet
Now they choose to be quiet forever…..for their stupid master has left his heart in another place, with the music beating in there……

Written on the 4th of August, 2007. 01.05 A.M.

Was listening to: “Let Go” by Frou Frou.

Schadenfreude

2007-08-11T16:27:00.001+05:30

Schadenfreude, a German word meaning 'pleasure taken from someone else's misfortune'. It derives from Schaden (damage, harm) and Freude (joy).

Laugh, you cunning beast, laugh.
Jolt out loud, turn crazy. Make me envious, and make me go sleazy.
Raise me higher, bury me.
Burn every single entity, every cell, and everything that for me is lively.

Glee, my friend, glee.
Bask in its music, till I learn the song. An everlong.
Make me corrupt, with a shy look.
A useless piece on the chessboard, an ineffectual rook. An open book.

The time has its beautiful nature.
Slow, effective and innate. Laugh now. Then, learn to hate.
Instigate. Cry it, don’t expect it.
Light is for the day. A dark cave is for the night, a hint to pray.

Prepare, for the apocalypse, prepare.
Make your own ark, and buy your supplies. Live in it, till your last leave dries.
Schadenfreude has spoken.
The joy lives in me, ready in its cauldron. Fighting for its freedom.

And freedom is what I’ll die with………

Written on the 11^th of August. 2.35 A.M.

Was listening to “Fine Again” by Seether.

TRUE Philosophy is so Easy

2007-07-10T01:13:00.000+05:30

Anticipation has a habit to set you up, for disappointment

Anticipate, under supervision
Supervise, when you’re old enough.
After all, you don’t want to land up in my father’s shoes.

Recuperate, when you’re luck turns “left”
Whine, when the luck turns left again on a right turn.
Instead of cursing lady luck, you can watch TV and write poetry on the comp.

Felicitate, with less enthusiasm
Encourage, when you’re asked to.
Don’t open you’re mouth when its not you’re turn.

Loathe, the simple things in life
Orate, these niceties on a first date and continue it on sms.
In the end, only the foolish ones of the opposite sex fall for them.

Abhor, nothing and none of the other holy souls
Compromise, with only those you hate and with all the luck
After all no matter what Gandhi said, he hated the f**king Britishers.

Precipitate, all the love and harmony to the world
Complain, when politicians don’t do it.
C’mon, nice guys don’t do politics, they do engineering.

Negotiate, with yourself and yourself
Gratify, with some make-believe and some hopeful lie.
Oh, the fun of anticipating will leave so many of us disappointed.

Disclaimer: I have never lain to women and I hold no grudge against Gandhi.

Was listening to: “Twinkle” by Junkyard Groove.
9^th July, 2007. 1.15 A.M.

3rd wing something

2007-07-05T14:54:00.000+05:30

You know when you listen to music playing from another room? And you're singing along because it's a tune that you really love? When a door closes or a train passes by so you can't hear the music anymore, but you sing along anyway...then, no matter how much time passes, when you hear the music again, you're still in the exact same time with it. That's what friendship is like.

(Quoted by some bloke on his gtalk status message….)

I miss some people,
I miss some days.
I miss those curses we shed on each other,
I miss those dark alleys, the ones we lighted with our cigarettes,
I miss some punches,
I miss some girls, who never turned twice,
I miss good old wickedness, as light as forever,
I miss those stupid cravings to mess around,
I miss those walks to the tea-shop, where conversations never mattered,
I miss some photographs,
I miss some colored festivals, those with mud flying all over,
I miss the dirty ragged bed, and its companion, the creaking ceiling fan,
I miss some annoying, some pleasing, some arbitrary, some just plain pain in the ass,
I miss a guitar, drums, a mic and a bass guitar,
I miss some summers, plain t-shirts and jeans,
I miss my heart,
I miss myself,
I miss the devil,
In the end, I miss my third wing; this angel could never have flown away without his third wing.
I miss some people,
I miss some days.

For the corridor called third wing of Godavari hostel. A place where I spent only two years, but ended up learning to fly, ended up being comfortably numb, ended up exploring the dark side of the moon…..and now, wish you were here……

Was listening to: “Anuva’s Sky” by Blackstratblues. 3rd July. 2 a.m.

The prisoner

2007-07-02T15:48:00.000+05:30

Smoking the last part of the left over cigarette
Clashing with myself over the designs I have crafted
Waiting for my unpretentious fingers to get inspired
The smoke talks to me in codes and tries to tell me something,
I ignore it completely, living life in my hole.

Unlike the desert, this heart is not as crude and unfinished
It’s not like the noon’s brazing sun
This heart is like the cool night’s cool, a monsoon wind;
In which desert travelers watch their last wood burn
And the water’s of their oasis disappears, as we churn.

A small black cube is the art I unconsciously draw
With a black dead pen, on white clear paper
Now I know why I draw it;
‘Cos from inside the black cube room, I shout;
But I have never given it a window, from where to get out.

I have convicted myself to feel guilty
And I have confessed against myself in the higher court
I have enclosed inspiration in a bubble
A great escape from which is impossible
After all, I am the prisoner of my own prison room.

Written on 2nd of July. Was listening to "Little bit of this" by Helga's Fun Castle.

My bitter but sweet Lies

2007-06-17T01:55:00.000+05:30

Searching a new lie to utter, bound with his own endeavor
An unintentional engineer; making a problem boundlessly queer.
Lying about variables and solutions
Becoming the scientist of his own obstructions.
The light seems to dim over his bright little head
But he lit it back with make-believe and a monologue
A monologue written in the dark, with a stingy dialogue.

Searching a new lie to utter, bound with his heart’s predictions
A simpleton lover, making love with lies that he utters.
Lying about his futile and idiotic past
Mistakes he can’t cover with words, mistakes that last.
Promises that will haunt his present and future rebel in his head
But he covers it with a blanket for him to sleep
A sleep which he wishes to dream of his love; a dream committed and deep.

Searching a new lie to utter, bound with his popularity ratings
A gross foolish bugger, a shop of lies with an open shutter.
Lying about absolutely nothing and something
Deluding him to be taken seriously, as a figure for everything.
How many times has he lied?
Without thinking of the consequence?
But he blinds them with specially made blindfolds
Blindfolds made with more lies,
This pierced into him each time as swords.

Searching a new lie to utter, bound with the lines on his hands
An undemanding kid, but a world is what he begins to bid.
Lying about the future which he had weaved
He weaves it a little better now, profusely and deeper delved.
Reverie is to forget,
Not made real and then made into a part time obsession
But it doesn’t matter to him how pathetic he dreams his guise
Though he doesn’t gamble, he knows that his fate is just like a dice.

I have spent much of my time……supposing.

Was listening to: "Somewhere in a Corner" by Red Cube

Just for the sake of rhyming…….

2007-05-30T21:31:00.000+05:30

Travel.
Traveled far and beyond with airway-imagination
Traveled fast in cars with no airbag protection
Traveled slow and steady in my lovely chemical reaction
Traveled light and heavy in my hearts imputation
Traveled clear in a cloudy guilt foundation
Traveled blindly to places to simply avoid desolation.

A Thing called Friendship.
“Ha”, was the word in our land
Little concave, but we overacted like a rock band
In laughter we swiveled away like the beach sand
Never took the retorts to heart, always used our hand
Sarcasm was usual, in spaces- exciting, in places- bland
Raised a few fingers on institutions, reminded us of our special gland.

Drugs.
Stole for pleasure and a reason which I didn’t mean
Then in an ocean of guilt, I dived lowly in my own submarine
In a make believe bubble, tried hard to come clean
But I lied again, for the happiness of my adrenaline
The stealing made me a little high, places I have never seen
The sound finally muted, and I was left with a furnished serene.

Love.
We were going fast
Since our time we had were not to last
So we went without a plan, straight fire and blast
We searched for the wind to raise our mast
Young we were, innocent, plain chaste
Diluted our heart in the future; overlooking the past.

Singular I.
I am normal, the epitome of a cloudy youth
Frank and free and blunt, vodka in sprite dilute
Never flying too high; trying to prove my words as if I was a mute
A cigarette with friends is where I found a perfect soothe
I lied to myself, but to my love I found the criticizing truth
If I was the car, she was the person to find me the route.

Was listening to: "Epiphany" by Staind. (Click here to listen)

This is exactly the life I ordered for….

2007-05-22T23:08:00.000+05:30

The restaurant of life is greeted by the head-waiter, whose only lines in the world are “What would you like to order, sir?” or “Table for one or two, sir?”

In my case, I had a look around to find whether there were couples enjoying the dinner. There were none. So, my safe answer was, “Table for one….and can I have the menu?” Sophisticated and in accord with the ambience around.

The menu was handed down to me, which apparently was being used by a nerdy-looking, simple, straightforward, shy guy in the corner of the restaurant. I felt giddy at the choices laid down in front of me. The menu read:

Starters

Hard Work……………………………… Rs. 50
Joblessness…………………….…………Rs. 25
Cigarettes……………………….………..Rs. 40
Girls…………………………….…….….Rs. 75
Parents…………………………………...Rs. 15
Entertainment……………………………Rs. 15
(Includes movies, music, internet, shagging, etc.)

Main Course

Education………………………………..Rs. 60
(Includes the essences of hard work and a pinch of future)
Friends…………………………..………Rs. 35
(With bunch of friends, this will melt into your mouth)
Girls…………………………….……….Rs. 25
(Comes with the package of Yahoo Messenger, which is mandatory)
Confidence………………………….…..Rs. 70
(Recommended if you want to go for the Girls)
Will Power………………………….…..Rs. 60
(Helps if you’re smoking, drinking and trying out different leaves)
Entertainment…………………………...Rs. 5
(Different from the starter items, includes many more flavors)

Desserts

Education…………………………...…Rs. 100
Entertainment…….. (Complimentary from the chef)
(Cigarettes with movies and music sprinkled outside and inside the pie)
Love……………………………………Rs. 150
Confidence……………………….…….Rs. 100
(Needed for flavoring on top of love, it tastes better)
Will Power……………………………..Rs. 200
Time…………………………………....Rs. 300
Home………………………………….…Rs. 15
Ambition……………………………..…..Rs. 20
Liverpool FC……………………………...Rs. 5

I couldn’t decide what I wanted. I wouldn’t really. The waiter was waiting and I knew that I had to make my decision in a few seconds. And that decision decided what I wanted to do with my dinner. The dinner I was ordering about my life. Well, I checked my pockets, to find out how much I could buy. That made my decision even more intricate. Even more confusing. I found out I had only Rs. 400. Enough I think for a kid who just came from a place where people survived with even lesser than that. My parents taught me to choose the costlier stuff first, and then live a simpler and more tranquil life later. And that’s what I tried to do. But unfortunately, got a tiny-weenie-bit greedy and ordered something more lavish.

This is what I ordered in the “Restaurant of Life”.
For starters, I had raw hard-work and nothing else. In my main course, I had a lot of friends, girls and entertainment. Here, a taste called Flirting and Hanging-Out stuck to my tongue. Something, I so definitely wanted to feel when I was to have my desserts. And my desserts were obvious after that. Chose Love, Confidence (something which was recommended when I ordered love, and something that I learnt when tasting real love), Home, Ambition and Liverpool FC. Well, in the end, I think I should have chosen something’s differently. But, I am not complaining. After, THIS is exactly the life I ordered for…and I’m happy. More than happy.

Plus next time I visit the "Restaurant of Life"......it will be a table for two, in the smoking zone....

--------------the end-------------

Starters were my life in 1st year, main course-the life till the end of last year, and the desserts……the life right now…….

22nd May, 2007. 11 P.M. Was listening to: “It’s Ok” by Junkyard Groove. (Click here to listen)

A Conversation Within.......

2007-05-17T20:15:00.000+05:30

(In around 10 days I leave my college, to Bangalore, to pursue a job. The conversation ranged the whole of my last 4 months here in Chennai. Hope it gives an insight into me)

The writer: “Hey, people…bad news, man. Our protagonist here (patting his old friend on the back), is leaving this city for a new venture. Leaving for a city which people called the city of thousand gardens. The city now harboring a million jobs afloat. Well, our little tambourine man has grown up.”

The Protagonist: “ Well, will miss these times of conversation among some friends and foes.”

The Optimist: “Too bad your leaving, protagonist. Used to like some moments with you. But guess, things will be a hell lot better. It’s a place where the future is bright, better try it out.”

The Hangover: “I would love it…hic…there. Loads of booze and hopefully lots of aspirins for the morning…hic….by the way, knock some babes there…..snore….”

The Creep: “Absolutely man, knock some shit out of some chicks, dude. Tell them a story, get them a drink and who knows….bang, bang, thank you ma’m. Ha, that would be fun…..Bangalore….the city of thousand beds. Ha!”

The Pessimist: “Creep, fuck man. Look at our protagonist. Does he look remotely the kind of person who can attract hordes of woman….”

The Protagonist: “Fuck you man. (with a sly grin, knowing well, he is going to be disappointed after the Pessimist finishes his lines)”.

The Pessimist: “Ha, gotchya going huh. Anyways, shall say this….get ready to get fucked hard in Bangalore. Unimpressed bosses, ugly tenants, crowded buses, alien auto-walla’s, long distance love, long hours, infuriated clients, fatigue, exhaustion, taxes….your gonna be called old….old as a senile man. Enjoy, man.”

The Disappointed: “Oh, I’m depressed. No way am I going away from here. Will find some way to stay back here in the cool, beautiful, magnificent piece of earth. I’ll be more than disappointed if I change.”

The Hope: “Think it will be alright. Its always been that way. Fate has a unique way of molding everyone to engrave themselves in any place they go. New or old. So, protagonist, it will be just fine….trust me….its gonna be JUST fine….”

The Disappointed: “Well, that was crap, Mr. Hope. But hope your right in some mystical way. Think I’m convinced, yup, am cheerful now for a while.”

The Frolic: “Hey. Dudes. Look at the bastard (pointing at our protagonist). He is feeling confused. Chill man…..chill. C’mon, you cant tell me that after living a nomad’s life for 21 years, think you can mange there…..”

The Protagonist: “But….this IS new. Very new. A start I’m so not sure of.”

The Frolic: “Ya, I know that. But dil pe mat le yaar, haath main le (Don’t take it to your heart, take it in your hands and enjoy.)”

The Protagonist: “True man, true.(Finally a smile arrives on his usually smiley face). The hand gives more pleasure than anything. (With a middle finger) Up yours, pessimist.

The Confidence: “But dude….umm…well. Are you sure. What if its not fun. What if its seriously fucked up?”

(The Protagonist looks down and hopes to find an answer to that question.)

(After a while, the Protagonist’s mother speaks out and tell him what to do)

The Philosopher(the mother): “At the end of the tunnel, there is always light. Unless you explore the unexplored, you may never know what there is. Assume that you know nothing, and probably you’ll learn some things new, untouched and intact. Made for you, in gold carvings. So, explore the new world, you will learn to deal with it.”

The Protagonist: “ What about the woman I’m going to be far away from.”

The Love: “Its ok. Its alright. We are same, there is nothing to cry……we can always fight and have fun when we can. Don’t worry about simple things like moving away.”

The Protagonist: “I’m not going away far, baby. Your still here, hope you understand. I’m sure your not so stubborn.”

The Writer: “Ah, think our boy is going to Bangalore then. Toast to him. And oh, his room and the posters in his room. Ha, and to his youth and his joyous heart.”

The Youth and the Joyous Heart(in unison): “Hey, we are going with him to Bangalore. He owes us a lot, and think he has to give us a party…..”

The Writer: “Well, its decided. Youth and Joyous Heart are coming with you, Protagonist. Are you cool with that?”

The Protagonist(cheerfully): “ABSOLUTELY MAN. I’d love their company. Well, its time to go now…..gotta start preparing my bags. Ciao.”

------the end------

17^th May, 2007. 8.10 P.M. Bangalore, here I come.(Took me close to 3 hours to write this. Definitely my longest.)

Was listening to: The album “Come away with me” by Norah Jones.

Rock. The Vibrations which flows inside me

2007-05-17T13:09:00.000+05:30

The lines are made simply out of rock songs and as rock songs, meant little but meant big.

“Where were you, when I was burnt and broken.
while the day survives, from my window watching.
And where were you, when I was hurt and I was helpless
because the things you say and the things you do, surround me.”

The pink of barber floyd still haunts me,
Wishes me I was there.
Swallowing their music as if I was comfortably numb
My high hopes got mixed in a haze of brain damage
A brick wall hit me hard, a novice became a bard.

I asked myself WHO I was?
A teenage wasteland survivor or a tommy on the road.
Fooled again, I couldn’t stand
It was my generation to decide, they influenced
Well, the kid is alright.

Cos I’m a poet, don’t you know it.
But I’m not Mr. Dylan, the king.
The Mr. Tambourine Man.
The rolling of every stone.
The tangle of the blue.
Lets sing something absolutely new.
Write about revolution or about dope
C’mon, he deserves it though.

Lets travel oceans of music in a zeppelin.
Fuck, songs will remain the same, its pretty lame.
Evermore is unique, no need of a battle
As beautiful as Kashmir, as ugly as a black dog
As weird acoustic which left you with a bittersweet craving
They found me a stairway to heaven.

As I traversed, I asked each one :”you too”
They smirked U2, not you too.
I couldn’t live for a week with or without them
I reflected on streets with no name.
They felt like frenzy with blue, as if they are the only One
Sweet and sour and juicy, Numb is all I go.

Smell me, Cobain, teen spirit is what I wear
You made me suffer aneurysm, lithium is not what I care.
Polly is not someone I raped
All Apologies sir, there is nothing inside this box shaped heart.

Come creep listen to the radio inside your head.
Though my head is an android paranoid,
I have an airbag safekeeping, an accident enjoyed.
My love is not a fake plastic love
Its true though, I am a creep,
But I dissolved in the waters of the sandy heap.

Dedicated to the rock bands and singers who made me a stupid admirer of them. Pink Floyd, The Who, Bob Dylan, Led Zeppelin, U2, Kurt Cobain, Radiohead.

17^th May, 2007. 3.25 A.M.

Was listening to: “Bob Dylan Blues” by Syd Barrett. Rock on…..really…..

Chennai

2007-05-14T17:57:00.000+05:30

A city I hated. The city I despised to try out. The city I was scared to explore beyond my college’s vicinity. A single theatre was my only place to cool down and hang my sorrows into oblivion. Communication with a stranger was as hard as….well, as hard as something that’s hard. A beer bottle cost us a few kilometers of petrol and the brand always sucked. Every minute in the city of south light was followed with a shadow of impure doubt and distrust. In this fascinating city, a feel of a certain air of alienation covered me in the blanket of hesitation. But, then…something happened.

An October sky, filled with rain and dark clouds covered this city of the sea. The beach became a place of forgetting any riddle in my head. She was there holding my hand and pulling me to herself, and I was more than happy to get pulled over. At first, Chennai didn’t give me that pleasure and I had my own questions, probing out without an answer. Then the few final days of the winter showed me my immediate future. The city had changed into a garden of my own eden. People became friends, a companion. Streets with no names, became streets I follow. Music flowed and danced I stood. She was there too, with the city, loving me and accepting me as I had never felt.

Chennai. Now. The city I love. City with no limits. Anytime cigarettes with a cheap tea. A cold vodka with plain soda. A heartbeat away falling in love. It’s a center of the universe for me, a place I call HOME. A place where I want to die, side by side with the crashing dying waves of the sea.

To Chennai. To fruit shop on Gream’s road, to pizza hut, to diesel, to Zara’s, to leather bar, to Mocha, to Pupil, to the pavement on the beach, to Hi-Look, to everything…….

Was listening to: ”Mehfuz” by Euphoria.

14^th May, 2007. 6 P.M.

The ashes are burning, so is Ash…..

2007-05-13T04:43:00.000+05:30

For Ashok. I hope he finds some faith I want him to get.

Convergence
The converging effect of hot chocolate brownie with cold chocolate ice-cream
It leaves a ubiquitous effect on you
The converging effect of the hot-in-frenzy me, with the cold-disheartened Ashy
Has the same effect on me.
I sound radiant in the dark skin of the night
He sounds like the night, under a streetlamp light.
Glowing and directing, obscure about the riding moon
A palatable joy surrounds me with him, oasis rising in the sand-dune.

Conversing
The conversation that builds through the perfect smoke and ash of the cigarette
His hopes find me jealousy, unclear and unworthy.
The conversation reaps me to be the smoke-ring, while he remains the forgetting ash
Why is I ask myself to judge, I know not.
Deep as a forest his lost cravings go
Like a lost waterfall in the same forest, he lives to flow.
Desires swollen in him, he is pregnant with hope
With a few newborn changes, he just wants to elope.

Fantasizing
The fantasies of Alice to fall in the rabbit hole and let wonderland take her in
It’s a story I can now relate to
The fantasies of touching the rabbits on the moon, and fall in the rabbit hole
Moon being his high hopes, the rabbit hole being his dreams
He engraves in stone, simple/blind/innate essay
To be touched by one woman. Like Christmas, light up his each day.
Finds himself in a position, succumbing to engineer
In a shadow he survives, waiting for some love, someone dear.

“Don’t pile up the sorrow, my friend
Pile up joy, that you can mend
Drink up the regret and distress with a forgotten gulp
Join the party, frenzy and don’t think of an amend.”

For Ashok. Rather Ash. Dude, this is after our CCD trip at 2 A.M. remember. Well, rock on………

Was listening to: “Shadow of the Day” by Linkin Park. (By the way, found the new album of Linkin Park before its release. Long live my LAN. Hehe….)

Btw, all those who dont know Ash, do check out his blog, click here to find pain

She tried to kill herself....thats the title of the painting below....

2007-05-12T03:49:00.000+05:30

(A 'provoked' state of mind)

Shawshank Redemption, It's a wonderful life, Schindler’s list, La Bamba, Sunset Boulevard, City of Gods…..do you know what is common with all of them. Well, will sound very unlike-me, but I dropped a tear for each of those movies. Actually the list would have been a little longer if I could have thought for a little while more. But seriously, don’t wanna depress myself all over again. Well, now add Provoked. Ah, shit…hated the movie cos of Aishwarya Rai, but couldn’t help not write about it.

It’s a mad mad world sometimes. Very cunning, very disturbing, disgusting and profoundly depressing. The whole concept seems to shake the insides of anybody. I mean, c’mon, how the fuck can anyone actually beat another person for some fucked up reason like booze. The idea deludes me, misses me…..blinds me.

Cruelty is not new, I presume. Rationally speaking, its quite relative. Hitler is right is my world, but you might think laterally. But, your own wife…. The mother of your children. Someone you love, or at least respect. Its sickening, its abhorring, its repulsing, its nauseating, it’s a bloody fucking-mother fucking shame. A scar on an institution called marriage and love. Somewhere in the middle east, they torture people by stoning them. Guess, people like Deepak Ahluwalia should be getting the same damn fate somewhere in hell. Rotting like a dead insect. Putrefying in his own puke.

Anyways, guess I should apologize for the intense words I used. Right now, I’m biting under my teeth, formulating ways to calm myself down. Hated writing this piece, but think anger’s sometimes good for self-emulating the sadness.

12^th May, 2007. 3.45 A.M. Just finished watching “Provoked”.

Was listening to: “Mad World” by Gary Jules.

“Those three words I have said too much, but they are not enough”

2007-05-11T12:04:00.000+05:30

Grape juice with perfectly woven conversation,
Then the pavement on the beach enclosed light, frolicked chatting.
She wanted to try giving up her chastity towards cruelty to animals,
But I got skeptical whether she was having fun.
It was her love for ice-cream that kept us alive and happy
We went back to the beach pavement, sat to talk, composed and in each other’s love.

Finally, we fought over some stupid reason which concerned both of us
But the air was polluted with a ceaselessly long doubt.
About parasitic past and hesitant future.
Like classic lovers we disagreed and ego flowed faster than our maturity.
Childish we sounded and childish acts we did.

But those three words were enough after a few minutes.
It brought us back to our garden of Eden, to the place we call our home.

Like a Spanish quartet playing their most beautiful love song
We conversed like we had always done.
We fooled and made a fool of each other, our norm as the best friends we were.
Nothing changed nor did it want to, I was here with her, and she with me
Our words to each other seemed like poetry, a simple beautiful symphony.
Nothing changed, we kept repeating the three words
Until I made her cry, a cry found in joy………

Now,
I write about the day and dissolve in my good fate.
She was here an hour ago, seems a zillion days ago.
Tomorrow is something I can’t wait for.
To kiss her and tell her, how much I ache for her……..

10^th May, 2007. 3.15 A.M.

The beach bear witness to one of its lovely little love story….between cloud minus nine and his companion for life, the one who would take me to cloud positive nine each time she smiles.

Was listening to: “Chasing Cars” by Snow Patrol. (The title is taken from one line from the song)

Colors

2007-05-09T12:53:00.000+05:30

A cold, simple heart-
Placid like a forest waterfall, inconsiderate of the consequences of the river below.
Flows down and mingles with the river
The blue of the water turns white with the bubbles.

Light as a feather-
Our hero talks in syllables, hides much more than he can and he could
Tries hard to express himself in the complex way possible
Red, he turns with anger because of his blue interior.

“Look at the stars, look how they shine for you-
And everything you do, 'cause they were all yellow
I came along, I wrote a song for you-
And all the things you do, and it was called yellow.”

Wishes of a kid-
They don’t arrive in a day, they formulate with the maturity of gaining ideas
But in time realizes, the unfortunate.
Its this golden dreams that make a bare red angry soul.

A train on fire-
They were leaving to a place they called their motherland, their place of start
Somehow they aggravated some mild human beings.
An orange gang lit up in the mix of green jealousy and red blood.

A naïve lover of the ghetto-
He fell in love with the idea of reaching a star that one had named “destiny”.
Instead he came tumbling down on god’s hard rock.
A violet lover destined to become a black-hearted murderer.

Wish you were here-
Every second, time and again, ponders where his lover is.
Whether she would show up and bring the flowers back into his heart.
His colorless face turns a rainbow with her.

The principles we hold on to-
He raises his finger to protest and the same finger to defend, and the same to shit.
He lies about roads, whores and about his wife.
A white politician’s spirit turns a black mint.

On a day like today-
Your best friend gives you a hug, your mother cheers you up, your love just confesses her love.
The day seems like a movie.
A silver screen idiom, anybody’s yellow dream.

Finally for my love-
The beach tells us stories after stories in cryptic ways and teaches us enigmatic verses.
Poetry comes and reaches me like the stories when I’m with you.
Love flows in the air, takes me wildly
Shows me a light and leaves an advice to give her.
A pimpled white moon reflects in the blue sea, and brings a message home.

the yellow line---------------the white---------------the blue line

(I wanted to interpret that yellow defined joy, the blue defined sorrow…in between was my childish heart, white.)

Inspired completely by Coldplay’s “Yellow”. Never thought a song can actually mean so much and hit me so hard. Apparently, it was meant to be a normal poetry, but the last para just gave it away with just too much to write about my love. By the way, contains elements I love to discuss, like politics, ghetto, friendships, music………..

9^th May, 2007. 3.50 A.M.

Was listening to: “Yellow” by Coldplay. (Obviously)

Your skin and your bones, turn into something beautiful….make love not….

2007-05-09T00:53:00.000+05:30

The highlight of the day runs strong in my head
She came at around 11, and came again a million times.
Whenever I couldn’t keep up with her
I said the three words loud enough, to
Remind me. Of how much I wish to be with her then.
Cured I feel of any obtuse reflection I could inherit
Curse myself for even doubting the insane fact.

She cried once and laughed thrice
Latter one I enjoyed and joined her to the joy
Former one I blamed myself and joined her to cry.
The pain she told me later was something inscrutable
How selfish could I become,
I remorse and I cry more than her.

Sometimes the proverb “Hungry like a wolf”
Sometimes “Timid as a bunny”.
More often chocolates dipped in plastic
Sometimes the chocolates eaten undone.
The glow remains the same
Her face tells me all the stories that have to be told
I don’t need to look very far into her
Just her expressionless eyes, telling me what she wants.
The commencement is not close.

Though novices, we both of us
We manage in a few moves learnt in love movies
At least, kid here does. And wishes he had more.
But kid is just too much in the rabbit hole
A hole made for him to fall
And fall he does.
He cant wish for anything more than this thing he doesn’t want to stop.
In a wishing well, he wishes, for more of her.

The air changes suddenly to a deep and thoughtful talk
She wants to forget somethings
And remember unnecessary details, not required
That’s the only thing I tell her.
The air outside changes into a melancholy and tender drizzle
We tenderly smile and give each other a invisible ring of commitment .
She smiles her beautiful smile
I smile the “don’t ever go away” smile.

“It’s not time yet”, I try convincing her
As the prophet who is always right and wise,
She is right. I lament on the fact that time is unwise.
If I get to stay in this cuddle of hers eternally
It would be a second, a fraction of the evermore.

The curtains finally lay down,
We can see the world outside blooming as they have never.
Friends and family become trivial, we converge
Into a being. Her thoughts are our decisions,
My Virgo is the frolic, considerate and indecisive.
A kiss away are we to our own worlds
A kiss away are we closer to our own world.

9th May, 2007. 12.55 A.M. The day when I could wish for a million times and not worry too much of what the world thought about it.......

Was listening to: "Its Ok" by Junkyard Groove the whole time. Must have heard it a million times during the writing.

An unusual thing called friendship

2007-05-07T17:05:00.000+05:30

Wittiness proclaims a limit, a strange boundary, unwritten-unedited and build with bricks of walls, strong enough, yet strangely placid. You could make one silent till they conjure up a silence, loud enough to show a crack in the futile attempt of humor for existence. The dwellings of being a youth are these subtlety we tend to forget.

Jealousy is normal. Best friends are found and lost when in a untimely fashion you learn that hate is mutual for a mutual friend. Its understood and trusted. Its cruel and its crispy. You climb together and fail together, the joy that is found is insane.

It’s a play. You’re a part of it. Sometimes the protagonist. Sometimes the water-boy. Everyone prays once in a while for that part we refer as the ultimate. Justifiably, you lie in that moment, build stories unheard, rumors revised and updated, old memories recapped. The moment to be a hero, or just plain significant for that moment.

Time zooms by at the speed of the laughter and frolic. At one moment you were strangers, now the strangeness left the building and wind of friendship brought a figure called brothers. Stupid brothers, to be more specific.

Four years have gone by without notice.

7^th May, 2007. 5.55 A.M. Rock on…….

Kitten

2007-05-03T14:49:00.000+05:30

On the morning of 2^nd May, while walking from my college to a tea-shop, for a fag actually, I met this interesting character. A kitten. Young, perhaps a few days old. She would have survived if I would have taken her. I wish I could. But I would have obviously imbalanced something which I don’t own. Wish, I would have imbalanced it. Now I curse myself for not taking her with me. And I dedicate it to her. The kitten.

Daringly you stand
Cold outside
Shivering you’ve learnt on your own
To teach me how to shiver.
Death is her choice
Mellows creek unfortunately
Buying some time.

Its raping me from my own human emotion.
She walks gracefully
Toddles I should say
Furry, quiet, miniscule, pretty.
She suffers it unconditionally.
Fear defies my baby,
Hate fills me inside.

Verges of tears closes by,
Options seems to open
Wide and forgivingly open
Save it, I must
But sense plays its play.

Blind I cant stay
Deaf I cant stay
Soulless I’m not.
Painless impossible.

Sensitivity creeps from inside a heart-shaped box.
It succumbs and dwells inboard
A trait I learnt from love
A trait I learnt IN love.

She scares a mongrel street dog
Even my protagonist can
But the maker, me
is scared of that as well.
Just hold on, my baby
just stay for a while, a few more days……

Updated and uploaded on the 4th of May, 2007. 3 p.m. Rock on......

The boundaries of hope....and "Ai"

2007-05-03T06:17:00.000+05:30

Sometimes lie

It’s her smile
you crave
In anyway
In an unimaginable way
through dark darkness
facing blue

Find a tale
to interest
her.
Intriguing.
Keep her guessing
intriguing
fulfilling.
Killing time

A song
never unsung
radiating.
Takes her higher
reminding
the days
Pinching her heart
recapping
completing.

Obsess
Deluded
Prove
that she is
not
the loneliest girl
in
the world.
Period.

Stay for
foolishness
its
the first act of the play.
regret
pain
tears
following the pattern.

The
search has ended.
Repentance
grips.
tortures
torments
agonizes.
Cruelly
Its not really ok.

Regret
nothing.
Regret
everything.
regret fantasies
regret
this.
Ask yourself
“are you guilty?”.

Forget
you.
I can’t.
Leave
you.
I can’t.
Let you
go.
I can’t.

Say
something.
anything.
say what. just
anything.
lets hush.
A silent silence.
To
break
the monologue.

Ocean
of hope and my love
the tambourine circus kid
begging
pleading
hoping
hoping
hoping…..
beyond boundaries of hope.

The japanese word "Ai". The calligraphy consumed me.

It simply means Love.

Was listening to songs of Cary Brothers from his website: www.carybrothers.com .As a habit, the recommendations would be "Blue Eyes" , "Ride" and "Loneliest Girl in the World". They are beautiful. They are filled with emotions, high and dry.

4th April, 2007. 7.25 A.M. Rock on.......

On a sandless beach, on top of a stone

2007-05-02T23:04:00.000+05:30

I am telling my lone companion to wither away
Its given me everything and nothing, but I still want him away.
This moment is fascinating me and irritating me
Its disturbing me and still taking me away.

Sounds of waves crashing on to the black stone
The golden sand is behind me, the sun trying to rise.
Far away a sound called humor crashes in
A far away lighthouse tells its story to the ships.

Clouds jealous of us and the rising sun
Black and shapeless and distant and still envious
Listening to Zeppelin’s “Stairway to Heaven”
I could go on writing if my light’s permit the rays.

Cigarette smokes have rashed my lips
Cheap tea has bound me to the state of insomnia.
My green t-shirt is tired of the weariness
My new jeans is ripped and darkened in blue.

My watch reads early morning
My head reads the end of the day.
My pen reads the lines of loneliness
My finger reads the end of the lines

Far away a boat or a ship reads its future
Close I see people ready for their end.
Fair people observe the land of obscurity
Dark people observe what I perceive-idiocracy.

One thinks of corporations build on brilliance
The other thinks of his bleaked unconfident days.
I think how attention gain be gained
And people think what we can never think.

I am bored, I am tired, I am weary
I am sleepy, I am insane, I am waiting.
I am happy, I am bliss, I am annoyed
I am alright, I am alright, I am alright……

(Written on the beach at Pondicherry, after a stupid night-out and a insane urge to fun-a-holics. I was traveling with Ash and Mahek….and they were close to me till this day.)

Rock on……Uploaded and Updated on the 2nd of May, 2007. 11.15 P.M.

The curse of the mighty, so red and shady

2007-05-02T22:52:00.000+05:30

The inspiration for this writing. Its a painting by Sebastian Spreng. Found it in one of my mails, a spam mail, really, but....Anyways, its called "Distant Shores". And it was painted for three friends of the painter, one day on a beach. By the way, the colour you see right now is RED.

The sun’s hollow to the radiant energy inside us,
Cool teardrops of the sea tearing us into two
Eyes have stopped looking from far off into the distant
Only the heaven below us, hell inside us.

Two shorts, one towel and an orgy of frolic and fain
One pen, a notebook and a gloriously stupid writer.

Three different hearts and three different mind and thoughts
One simple purpose; consume whatever we can never.
A beer Can flows in and dissolves the pain unfruitfully
Deludes our thinking, purpose becomes useless, fruitless.

Every cigarette puff is an adventure undefined
Every word from a friend is a companion
Every side that touches me is a god send
Every breeze on my body is a shock.

I don’t know what will happen in a month
I might know what rules define in a year
But this moment knows nothing that far
Curse it or bless it.

Never felt so good, nor so exhilarated
A monster of words beginning to make sense
A reaper of poetry pulling out the life out of me
“Bend over” he says,” I am here for more”.

Writing the last paragraph, before I end up as myself
Waiting for the life I lead, with humility and shame
Waiting for that same death of my humility and shame.

Pair of thoughts still remains to be shown,
Spare a thought for my listless soul………

Around the world in 80 SECONDS

2007-04-29T04:56:00.000+05:30

Well, read the whole thing, and you can travel the world in 80 seconds. Hope you can read slowly to get the jist of travelling the world in the so-prescibed 80 seconds. Well, at least your conscious and mind can.

The city with a quiet beach and a melancholy life
The start of the journey, please take your seats politely
We fancied its name from Madras to Chennai
Hell’s here for passer-bys, a heaven for me-a congenital guy.

We head east to the cities of the mandarin and cantonese
Shanghai and Hong Kong….polluted and populated
Corrupted in the fastest lanes of money and mobile phone
Raped by forwards of men, life is dead and belated.

Tokyo shines in the limelight of tall skyscrapers of progress
Simplification still continues, slow and easy
They kneel to eat, bow to greet
Fast trains to commit sure suicide, slow and easy.

Over the pacific to LA, city of stars and cars
Dreams fulfilled and dreams shattered for that stars and cars
Fashion statements of the losers and intellectuals
Endorsement made to suck you in.

The Chicago wind blows your mind off
A shady Philadelphia leaves you a hangover
New York still remains enigmatic and classy and business-like
Its still America, just take cover.

The Rio festival is made for your will
Because only then you wont care about your horniness
The Argentinians will show you a thing called hospitality
Mask you before their slyness and cunningness.

Atlantic is fast, the time to cross it is even faster
London gives you the big bang
A bridge to cross over
And the countryside on your ears sing.

Paris is nice.. sweet and sour as its etiquette
Always the one to tell you where to start and where to end
Shopping for the silly girls, football for the silly boys
For you they invented the kiss, rules they like to bend.

The Berlin and Munich are my fantasy cities
So many thinkers thought about so much
But forgot to mend their disputably futile flaws
They covered it up with some European touch.

Moscow is beautiful, the pictures will suggest
Heights don’t matter to them, nor does fast
They live their own way, drinking and saving
One time is enough to know them, an arrogant blast.

The town of Kabul is quiet right now
It bustled, I have heard, once upon a time
The lights were brighter and the clown always laughed
The dark guys of the east and the fair guys of the west, burnt it.

The city of all Indian dreams called itself Bombay
It shouted all day and all night long
Hearts prayed out every second, wishing to be rich
All deluded in, depressed in or just come and gone.

We are back my passengers to the city we started
The hot weather and the darkest people greet you
The smile on each faces here is evident
Welcome back to heaven and hell, the city of Chennai, elusive u can tell.

(28^th April, 2007. 2.15 A.M. The title is stolen from an existentialist’s thought about the changing life of the world. The whole idea and perception of man being able to fly and travel the earth in 80 hours. Which was beyond human thought. So I made up went a step ahead to prove that we can travel the earth in 80 seconds. Guess, I’m an existentialist. And it’s a nice feeling.)

Exasperation, a miracle and the known heaven

2007-04-29T04:29:00.000+05:30

I am not sorry or apologetic
I am hardly in guilt or in any sort of agony
But why am I lying.

The ideas why stupidity takes its course
Rises waves of thoughts blundering the show
Silly is all I feel, but why?

The rising tide rises a little higher
Abuses me and engulfs me a little tighter
Blame oneself for being thick.

Turn up the volume to drown myself
Lower the lights to blind myself
Have a notion of crying for some nameless emotion.

A miracle strikes.

Fallen in the rabbit hole again
The dream finds the humor of the whole rout
The proud feeling of attitude sublimes.

Redefines the trust built in these months
Clarifies answers asked in these hazy days
No words mean more, than hers.

Speck of smiles and then a fury of joy
The same old sensation of caring and my indisputable coy
She is home…the delight is reborn.

The waves of the storm finally resides back
The addiction finally flows inwards
The moment of delusion fades, its ok.

29^th April, 2007. 4.30 A.M. Rock on…..

My tribute to Kurt Cobain

2007-04-23T00:08:00.000+05:30

I am one of those fans who still believes that the death of Kurt Cobain was the end of an era of music revolution and song creation of brilliance. Grunge Alternative Rock...thats how Cobain defined his music....too bad, he didnt see the explosion he created after his death. Wont call it death, will like to call resurrection. Afterall, the man did resurrect music and brought revolution with a baggage full of marijuana and drugs into many lives. Mine, as well. (though i stay away from drugs.) A tribute to Cobain, when the time is ripe to grow up, its time like these we learn to live again.

Foo Fighters' epic song "Times like these" on unplugged. Dave Ghrol showing the mastery of his vocals, and the emotion just flows........

To all Nirvana fans out thr, this is a freaking treat.......

I might just shag over Steven Gerrard someday

2007-04-22T03:10:00.000+05:30

So, its 4 days for the semi-finals of the UEFA Champions League. And my Liverpool….oh, hell yes, people, MY Liverpool is in it. Well, hard luck that they are gonna play the sons of bitches Chelsea…..but, think my team can manage the onslaught of the blues. But, the aspect of the writing is not about Liverpool, nor over Chelsea or over anything to do with the football match. Its about fanaticism.

Being an Indian has so many disadvantages. First of all, it starts with all the shit about poverty, unemployment, etc etc…..fucking bull shit actually. Politician’s jargon on the electoral manifesto. I am talking from the forum of a young kid with ideas of world being as cold as a fridge. But from the warm desert of the heart of a kid…..the things that matter more are things like music, movies, girl friends, sex….and sports. Cricket, the entity we define as our religion. Boys my age, no matter how fetched out and fucking intellectual they get, will love this game. Slow and steady, kind and easy…are the rules of the game….and its just that. And we patriotic idiots are kind-a like that. Slow and steady, kind and easy.

Growing up, I have played more games than any young kid growing up in lanes of any city. I have played cricket and loved it and adored and cried over it. I still remember the time when India lost to Sri Lanka on the March of 13^th in Calcutta. I still remember the tears I dropped over 11 men. I still remember my mom holding me and telling me that would be alright the next world cup. Cha, uselessly I cried that day. Next on the lines of cricket came football. Bloody, who the hell calls it soccer. How can a soccer field have a ball and played with balls. But, the issue is not that. (sorry, about the millions of critical views today, I am just pissed with my professors.) I have recently devoid myself of sleep and friends for the love of football. The energy and exuberance in the game deludes me. The whole idea of seeing crazy fanatics stuffed in a small field day in and day out. Like, consider the pie of my eye, Liverpool. Its unparallel stadium, the Anfield. 3 years of seeing every game of the Reds, and I have not seen one match where the Anfield has not been full. Its fucking amazing….its marvelous….its beautiful. There are actually people out there in the world who think of a single game as their religion….there might be people who might take the man, Steven Gerrard as their god. It’s a elevating thought. A new process of parallel thinking for me. A voice against those editors and journalist who would say, that India is tunneling into the whole cricket mania. Well, go on, lets go on prove them wrong.

Anyways, think its time to sleep. I have a lot of mugging to do tomorrow, so cant afford to stay awake. Oh, fyi…..Steven Gerrard is God.

(22^nd April, 2007. 3.10 am. And the topic was taken from my roast during our hostel night, and apparently in my roast, I shagged over Steven Gerrard. Well, to you MFs, I’m not the only one.)

One strict man, one even more strict woman, one woman who can scratch and ME

2007-04-20T10:39:00.000+05:30

Grew up with a smirk and always a heaven beside me,
A love of a woman who inherited the power to be comforting.
A woman I call my dear mother.
Never ran too fast, nor did I decide to do anything stupid,
Had the advice from a higher power, which I couldn’t hate to admit.
A power clinging from my strict father.
Never doubted or hesitated to do anything this woman had asked,
We fought like two cats and mongrel dogs, the meaningless curse she cast.
This nice little curser was my lovely elder sister.

The young one always seems to be right,
And damn I was never right.
But always, cunningly enough, I ran scot-free.
Mom covered me with a plain sheet, every night.
My red little anger buddy was always laughed at,
My disoriented dance was never made fun of,
2+2 was 5 sometimes, and it was not an issue.
Three people worried when I let a simple cough.

Worry was something that these simple people kept me away from,
Never was asked to do anything, gardening for me was considered a storm.
Enjoy the years, never forget it, the simple plain norm.
Morals were taught with each new mistake I so many did,
Kicking, biting, wrestling, mudding…forgotten…he’s just a kid.
Tracks I have built were on these words of advise.
Shove away from bad influences and bad friends,
I stayed away from teachers, classes, geeks and a few errands.
Hell, I learnt from bad influences, many would know.

The young one gets to make the choices,
No matter how dumb or delusional it is.
He has the power over the whole gang, misusing it.
The love given unconditionally for me to attain bliss.
I can wonder, as much as I want,
They will never stop me from making up dreams.
They want me to be something or somewhere.
I want to sing, a poetry for three people, just sing.

I have never cared for dames and mischievous games that everyone played,
But did hope to find a mate who I thought I could have cared.
Justifying this point is my disease, cursed as I stand.
My simple folks don’t expect me to shower them with accolades unintentionally,
They don’t have a plan they made up voluntarily.
It’s the dreams of mine they care more, period.
Love is an understatement, this sweet emotion is even more powerful,
Everyday far away is bitter, though I forget and have learned to be tactful.
So many helped to mature me…. my mom, dad and sis, helped me be a kid.

Was listening to Keith Carradine's "I'm Easy". Couldnt get its mp3 anywhere. But apparently its thr on YouTube.com. And its beautiful. 20th April, 2007. 2.45 A.M. Rock on......

Its times likes these, you learn to love again

2007-04-18T20:55:00.000+05:30

Record the voices in the playstation of your memoirs
The strong current of the wind will bring the echo back
Redefine again the faith and conviction you build
Of sandcastles withering and collapsing,
Penning down ages of regret and guilt and humor
Cursing and thanking the same god for various reasons
For friends I had and friends I made
Affectionate and cold had its own connotation,
Tears’ are mischievous, uniquely subtle and humorously fucked up.

A smoke made everything alright and comforting,
Fire and ice came simultaneously and tripped us beyond shores
Closets were kept for the indifference which we felt
Hoping each night, the next day would be the usual
The time to remorse was always interrupted by time to be yourself.

So the finishing line is as close as ever.

(For the ones, whom I will miss. The four years that laid the path of being a man….to my Godavari hostel 3rd wing, I’ll so miss you bastards….18th April, 9 p.m. Rock on……)

Unfortunately, truth’s as white as snow.

2007-04-14T02:03:00.000+05:30

Cant sleep because I’m scared to lose you,
But I want to sleep, because I’m scared I might not amuse you.
Its not the puff of smoke that keeps me awake,
It’s the ashes of your memories, falling like snowflake.
Don’t shiver in the rain of falling hearts,
With a sentimental echo, the teardrops starts.

Undercurrents of foolishness takes its effect,
Politeness is destroyed, an uncouth religion has become our sect.
The lowliness of our friendship has flown,
Maybe we will be happy, but will we find each other mourn?
I cant forget now what all I need to reminisce,
Diseased I stand, the cure will be these days of bliss.

Shine on like the beacons of the lighted lighthouse,
The broken torn building, from the ground it tries to rouse.
The fleets of war between give and take,
Has subsided to conclude who gets to learn and who gets to break.
Time has run out and running is all we have,
Instead of running ahead, we run right-worldly like a crab.

I haven’t broken down or made up,
The flaws keeps accumulating, showing me which way is up.
Demented is not what I am,
But I have an unusual power, to prove to me that I am damned.
Whenever I start to feel slightly swell,
That’s when I conclusively know, that things are not very well.

A twisted thorned flower has turned black inside,
Its digging a hole, a well for the forgetting child.
Now shadows overlook the far away light,
They tremble in the fear of giving hope, a dazzle which will bite.
The glare reflects on the mirror which cracked,
It still shows the tears, a quality of the past which lacked.

Inspired and the title's copied from "Hey oh(Snow)" by RHCP. Good song. Very much suggested to be listened to......

April 14th, 2007. 2.10 A.M......Rock On.

cant sleep......

2007-04-12T05:08:00.000+05:30

Insomnia is certainly confusing. Its hard to put down words when you are wide awake yet your as sleepy as a worked out dog. You know your sleepy and want to sleep for the next day. But the notion of sleep has just forgotten to exist in the mind frame of yours. Its like, you have forgotten how to sleep and chastised yourself into a form of waking forever. Distraught I stand at this point. Typing fast has become a nuisance for my hand. My eyes burn as hell for I have to stare at the computer and type in word after word after word. It’s a cunning and a wicked feeling, a game being played by sandman to keep me from getting a brisk of happiness. “Cannon in D” is buzzing out from my far away conceited and hidden speakers. I feel like killing myself and sleeping for the rest of time. But I cant…..maybe because I am way too proud to do it, and the other reason is that I am just too timid. I can see the shadow of my reflection behind me. The light is from my monitor and the millions of words and sentences that I have to fill. I am deluding high and dry….a nauseating head-ache, cold and sly……a swollen hand due to a insect bite……a foolish infantile mind, flying high like a kite. Its time to say goodbye to the one and only friend at this moment called loneliness. Its crafty and devious ways of conquering my memory banks are amazing. I remember all the times and ways and trickery it plays…..but disregard the times when its counterpart, the companionship, is mostly looming around me and giving me the pleasure you cant furnish in the best orgasm that you can have. Remember “Trainspotting”. The dialogue which actually helped me take up cigarette like it was a weapon to kill boredom and class was: “take heroin for example. Imagine the best orgasm you have ever had….multiply it by a thousand times…and you still cant get close to the feeling that heroin gives you”. Well, right now, I feel the same. Its so bizarre, my god. Anyways, think my sleepy head needs a rest…..fuck it…..am going to sleep.

April 12th, 2007. Nearly 5 in the morning. Oh, by the way Liverpool are in the semis of the UEFA Champions League....Yipee!!!!

Laziness

2007-04-09T17:14:00.001+05:30

Oh, how I love you.
Could give anything to have a miniscule of your charm.
Could steal and could sober up,
Lenient that I am, will forgo that.

Then give away all the past fucked up things;
Remember just the shitty things I am about to do.
Like smoke millions of slow killers;
Or, waste time in a rowdy town.

Fail to attend every notice that I must;
Excuses I’ll find, I know the art to lie.
Charm myself out of every known mess and tribulation;
Then go back to forget all the fucked up things.

Keep visualizing every dream again and again;
Then discontentment will wrap me, it’s the usual.
Let my world get dirty and my head slow and steady;
Guilt is my companion, laziness the instigator.

Habituate myself with the idea of falling behind;
No longer does it concern me.
Vague memories of myself still bring back the suffering;
I don’t think I can deal the cards anymore.

Sitting behind on the bike, reminiscing those things I liked

2007-04-09T17:10:00.000+05:30

So many journeys and voyages I have experienced down the years,
So many voices of laughter, and falls that has brought us tears.
Tasted life and frolic, experienced heaven and hell,
Tripped up we were, but hoped that the authority couldn’t tell.
The only thing that led us to bind, well, nevermind.

From the beginning we knew that we had to face our own demons,
But we managed to conceal it, a lesson from adolescent to become men.
We surrounded ourselves with make believes of content and a fulfilled life,
But strangely we led one that was close to discontent, jealousy and strife.
We were not remote from vanity, well, its our profanity.

Flew fast which brought tears of dirt and happiness back to our veins,
Some shed over shattered glass-hearts, the one that pains.
You are scared of the road and the road’s scared of you,
The adrenaline is indescribable, like weed leaves you blew.
Couldn’t have gone any faster, well, it didn’t impress her.

I raised my arm to be one of the birds and feel the sensation of flying,
All I felt was nausea, the burning inside of running away and liberating.
The strong gust of air on your face deludes you of what you are,
Freely you roam to a place made of fame, money and rockstars.
The idea of innocence, well, for me it always made sense.

The full story of your love seems to surface on to your head,
All the things you wanted to say to her, all the wrong things you said.
Sang songs you knew and songs that you just made up,
Humming the first lines of a song that you just found, you build up.
The idea of being known, well, shadows of being alone.

Your closest ally is, I think, closest to you now,
He is thinking of something too, I am sure he is, but I don’t know how.
Many times I have found him lost in his own world,
He doesn’t say anything at all, think he doesn’t think at all.
Strange logics evolve, well, in strange emotions they revolve.

Summon up all the lingering hindrances to your mostly fulfilled life,
Like parasites they eat you, and cuts your ecstasy like a knife.
Bloody teachers, parents, girls and all your remaining debts,
You feel like jumping off the bike, as good as it gets.
Things will always get you down, well, me not gonna frown.

The drive’s reasons are always monotonous and boring, but you never grow tired of it.
The end is not the sole purpose, that what we call is shit.
The silence between friends when there is nothing much to say,
The end of the travel brings that, it’s the price that every soul has to pay.
Sitting behind the bike, well, reminiscing the things I like and dislike.

8th April, 2007. My clock's not working, so dont really know the time......Rock on

The reasons I want you to know

2007-04-07T03:58:00.000+05:30

Before you guys read this piece of mine, turn on the western classics song "Cavalleria Rusticana" by the great Mascagni. You might get a feel of what I was feeling when I wrote this. Its all about love, and its something I cant get enough of........its a magical feeling I tell you.

Haven’t slept but I cant sleep anymore,
Want to stay bright and shiny when I see you.
Find a remedy to answer anything you throw at me,
Like a dictionary or an intelligent glossary.
Take you out for a dinner and then a long walk,
An unfinished moon and infinite water with a silent, quiet voice of its own.
Surprise you with the simplest of the smiles,
Or the unseen emotion of love and desire.
Kill you with the softness of all niceties the world can yearn for,
Then make you cry over the big deal I will never make.
Make you crib about the miniscule of innocence I possess,
And then fool you with my foolishness, which I act to suppress.
Present you with a heaven, on a gold plate,
Nothing very fancy, just the usual as I had promised too.
No matter how much I try to erase the sense of loneliness I feel because of you,
It haunts me everyday, like a butterfly, which stings like a bee.
Cant stop myself from smelling you even now,
The sweetest of sweets…..the wonder I cant help scrub off.
My lips can still taste you and I cant get enough,
But the happiness is indefinable, its like finding gold in a coal mine.
Relativity once said that hours can seem like a second,
Oh, I must be in love, because now, days seem like a second.
My mum once told me to be courageous and never to cry,
This time I am more than courageous, but courageous enough to cry.
I still remember when we first met,
I even remember the first time I proposed.
I still remember the first jokes and the tricks we played,
They will be locked up in the memories, and not even the worst parts over.
I cant ask you to stay for a silly kid, just out of the blocks,
Seven seas eh!! Shit, that’s gonna hurt…..
I had met you just a day or two back,
And I still feel I said too less and made you laugh a little less,
That’s hyper-paranoid,
Just like you would have said.
Lay your head on me and hug me more than you can,
Maybe I will never be able to ask you, but its something I love about you.
I wont be able to stay anywhere close to intense or deep more than a minute,
But tonight I had to say it, and I have been serious more than ever.
Flaws I know, everybody in the universe will have,
I’m not flawless but I’m not even close to being sober,
But I try hard to hide everything from you,
Because I love you and don’t want you to know so much I don’t want you to.
You can say I am foolishly protective,
But that’s just another flaw of mine, but know this, I love you.

--4th April, 2007. 5.15 A.M. Rock on........

Rock..is what Im all about, and Im gonna shout it out

2007-04-06T18:22:00.000+05:30

Come to decide that the things that I tried
Were in my life just to get high on.

When I sit alone come get a little known
But I need more than myself this time.

Step from the road to the sea to the sky
And I do believe that we rely on.

When I lay it on
Come get to play it on
All my life to sacrifice.

-“Snow(Hey oh)-RHCP”

Bloody hell, when did Anthony Kiedis become such a good songwriter. Oh, by the way, Anthony Kiedis is the lead vocalist of Red Hot Chili Peppers. Now, I have heard RHCP from the time I started to listen to rock. That will be….around 7 years ago. Yup, I was 14 when I first heard a band called Pink Floyd singing about how to fly. The song was “learning to fly” and it set me flying along with them. And I have loved all the flying-time I got from that song. But things have become so much more dense and deep and multifarious and simple since that first time I heard Pink Floyd. Basically, I love Rock. And have always wanted a reason to write about it. And RHCP have distinctly made me more romantic to Rock than I will ever be.

I was considering listening to jazz and also some western classics after the I heard the new album by Muse. It sucked. The album was nothing but pure crap, wrapped in a gold. A mild case of “shit inside-but-gold cover”. Just like Beyonce and Britney Spears. Fuck, thinking about leaving rock music still makes me uneasy under my guts.

But this is not a critics point of view. It’s a simple and worried kid with a couple of rock ambition folded inside. And a few rock albums under his sleeves too. Well, mostly MP3s I have collected down the 3 years. Bands that have made history and bands who failed to even impress me, have gone and come and failed and retorted and stayed on. But, I have never doubted that Rock will ever die.

The whole notion of Rock dying is such a fallacy. How in the hell can Rock ever die. Its evolution that we need to see. We were amoebas when we started. Then we became a fish. Then we went to become monkeys and then apes. Then the curse of world, the parasites, the virus of the world came at the end of the evolutionary cycle….called Humans. Homo Sapiens.

The evolution of music was in a similar pattern. We had the niceties of classics. Meant for sons-of-bitches like kings and noblemen. WTF is a noblemen? How can anyone be a noblemen if he has the cash to show-off? Anyways, we had the classics. Then came jazz and then swing and then rock n roll. Then the parasites of music, the virus to pollute all, the non-ending saga of childishness, arrogance and egoism, called ROCK came to descend on the world. The finesse I have loved and hated. Not hated as much as I hate some girls, but very very close. The evolution of music doesn’t stop here.

First there was rock. Bob Dylan and Deep Purple. The notorious drug-addict freaks. Then came the Doors and The Who…..still the notorious drug-addict freaks. But this time there was an addition to their criticism. It was revolution and rebellion. The upheaval and the search for the ultimate peace and shit in the world. Then with the end of the era of (still) good boys…came the bad boys. The ones we still call the gods. The Black Sabbath, The Led Zeppelin, The Aerosmith, The Pink Floyd, The Jethro Tull……cant name all of those mother fuckers in one line. There is just too many to even put down. Then the evolution got down to its usual business again. And transformed itself to glam rock and the all two faced psychedelia of rock got easier to chase and learn. There were bands forming everywhere. On the streets, on the pavement, on the lanes, under bridges, over heavens and below hell.

The 80s had Metallica, U2, Megadeth, Sepultura, GNR……think they will be the Mozarts and the Beethovens of rock music. But the favorite of that era, was a small band with a grungy vocalist, bad bassist and an equally bad drummer……called Nirvana. “Smells like Teen Spirit”. The line which changed my rock-loving years…..

“And I forget
Just why I taste
Oh yeah, I guess it makes me smile.
I found it hard
It was hard to find
Oh well, whatever, Nevermind”.

The last stanza in the teen spirit song. Cobain and his one night stand song. Nirvana . The foundation of grunge alternative rock. The facet of one man to commit suicide because he hated fame. The cocaine, heroin mix of rock…..the seattle rock age. The love and my passion.

Well, whenever I think of Nirvana or Cobain…..I cant really concentrate on what I am writing. It’s a personal thing and its something I hate about my favorite band in the universe. Over the years, since I first heard Cobain sing “All Apologies”, I have never really liked any other band and would probably never be able to. And I think I am cool with that.

Linkin Park, Korn, Audioslave, Pearl Jam…..all these bands are more than good. They are awesome actually. But I can never love them as I loved Nirvana. And its not that good. I try to settle down into a cocoon of my own. But the cocoon has a very hard shell and I would never be able to break it. Well, Nirvana has one bad effect.

Anyways, gotta go. My booze is here and have a long drinking night ahead. So, Rock On.

5^th April, 2007. 11.20 P.M.

The beach melody

2007-04-03T00:05:00.000+05:30

I’m watching my brain build up walls,
Its going on slow, shivering slow.
A vague known emotion called laughter erupts,
I have heard it play, like music plays.

More I ask, the lesser I get,
The fictitious emotion again clears the air.
Oh, the beauty of nature, don’t solace me so much,
Wait a while, till I arrive at your gaining sensation.

It’s a clear moonlight night,
Not even the last birds wants to fly.
They are horrid scared to become a part of the night,
The sandy, tanned, clear moonlight night.

I am shivering due to the cold and mild wind,
The crashing of the end is disturbing me.
My pockets and my hands are dirty with the mud and the sand,
But I am more worried about my head filled with the same shit.

The train of thought don’t seem to wait,
And I don’t have any thoughts as yet.
I’m flowing through every sea and sky,
But I’m lost…..so lost, that I don’t know if I should cry.

Crazy and ridiculous I sound,
The infinite sea always has its effect on me.
It has given me so much and has taken so much as well,
I don’t know whether to complain, but it set me free.

April 3rd, 2007. 2.35 A.M.

A prayer to inspiration

2007-04-01T15:17:00.000+05:30

Come my source of inspiration,
Delude me in the womb of your grace.
Take me to the higher worlds and the lower hells,
In thoughts I start to maze.

Make me fight the demons of myself,
And express the worldliness around me.
Pour vodka of words from my heart,
To really show I can cry and I can glee.

Make me loud enough for a small crowd,
And hide the whispers.
Conceal inside you what I don’t want to be,
And show everything as a blur.

Bless me with a vision,
And grace me with an oracle.
Ideas only prophecies can ever endeavor,
And deeds that only A one can miracle.

Let me thank those whom I cant directly thank,
And curse whom I don’t want to.
Let the sea of hatred and jealousy be dissolved,
In guilt and shame I don’t want to stay for you.

Let me ask for more than I want,
Hell I care, `cos I know I am bit delusional.
Sometimes I am so innocent to ask more than my carriage,
Its my innocence that made me responsible.

Hope is the structure of my inspiration,
It’s what kept me alive and made my compositions.
Its not easy to hope in the bright lights of despair,
Well, screw that, let me send a prayer to inspiration.

1st April, 4.25 a.m. Rock on......

Was listening to "Fair" by Remy Zero. Bloody depressing song.......but good gloomy lyrics--"So what if you catch me, where would we land? In somebody's life, forsaking his hands".

Fools like me just rush in…..

2007-04-01T03:32:00.000+05:30

Bored and in a nausea,
A hellish feeling of unfriendliness.
Victim of the turning new world,
The kids are probably alright.

Summer’s coming close too,
And winter’s calmly caving in.
Autumn just stayed for a short time,
A rain of tear is nearing by.

Where is my destiny,
Cant see anywhere close.
But probably I certainly don’t care,
But what if I did?

I have slept enough,
But I don’t want to wake up.
God of laziness is my prayers,
Poetry, my expression.

Confused and a little mixed up,
About questions I need to answer.
Whether it’s a big mistake,
Or I have lamely followed my heart.

The only emotion is laughter,
That’s what I care.
I would cry to have it,
And grin on without thinking twice.

Its called unlucky,
The subtle voice of failing.
Its touched me sometimes,
And penetrated me sometimes.

Mistakes are a part of life,
It was not hard for me to learn that.
A simple man can become complex,
I learnt it the hard way.

I’m not lonely,
Have told myself a million times.
I’m not unique,
But have started believing in that.

Anusha

2007-03-28T00:42:00.000+05:30

Anusha.
An enigma.
A bird.
A riddle.
A heaven.
An intoxicant.
An aphrodisiac.
A bliss.
A dolphin.
A smile.
A source.
A book.
A delight.
A happiness.
An ecstasy.
A taste.
A support.
A stranger.
A rarity.
A specialty.
A dumbass.
A French.
A bitch.
A teaser.
A critic.
A mystic.
An angel.
A devil.
A writer.
A linguist.
A paranoid.
A hypertensioned.
An excited.
A dreamer.
A motivator.
A inspiration.
A dexterous.
A kisser.
A sentimentalist.
A romantic.
A prosaic.
A sexy.
An idealistic.
A microbiologist.
A urine-sampler.
An adorable.
A song.
A poetry.
A rhyme.
A chaos.
An amorous.
A lonely.
A realist.
An ordinary.
A Libran.
A sensibility.
An unassuming.
A blabberer.
An abnormal.
A nutcase.
A Christmas tree.
A waterfall.
A supporter.
An optimist.
A merry.
A company.
A bookworm.
An atheist.
A rock-fan.
A dictionary.
An enthusiast.
A feeling.
A passion.
A fondness.
A tender.
A friend.
A lover.

MY LOVE.

Obsession and Possession

2007-03-28T00:41:00.000+05:30

More than an hour without touching,
Are like years on an island surrounded by water everywhere.
The whirlwind of connection and disturbance,
Are the window of the world we live in.

She strangely disagrees about intimacy,
And moves miles apart when I ask her too.
I am assuming so many different things,
That my brain just bursts out without much clue.

The speed of our car is a million miles above normal,
But our carriage is slow and light.
It’s the only way to fill the space,
So lets kiss, suck, hold and bite.

Despise me as much as you want,
And leave me whenever you want.
Worthiness has values subjugated with an anomaly,
Love is worthless and worse…its blunt.

The terrace floors above you has my markings,
And it will leave a certain stain.
The dogs of lust will cover us,
And the talk and the walk will disappear in a cry of pain.

Strange sense of humor addresses my inside,
It tells me to release its best.
As an addict of pure geniuses,
I want to fulfill her, cry must she lest.

I love her and I will love her like she wants,
Wont stop myself from falling in.
My god, poetry tells a story,
In simplicity, this is not a sex talk, its stealing.

Now this has gone beyond a cloud,
And its deepened far below the hell or the marinas below.
I have still not understood what I have to do,
Maybe do noting, or maybe in darkness I have to glow.

I am obsessed with this thing,
And trying hard to forge it with lies and believes.
I have become possessive with her every move,
Obsession and possession has finally grown out into my leaves.

I am happy..yes, Im...

2007-03-28T00:39:00.000+05:30

With the days ticking away like an unseen time-bomb,
The days flying away like birds on the last day of migration,
The minutes of the days showing that its passing and fading away,
The finale of the day is here, and I am not really happy.

Distant is the only word I find for people I love,
The Christmas of happiness has deluded far beyond,
A simple state of arrogance has filled into every heart,
Maybe its me, but am I color blind or just plain ignorant.

Now I stand without a spine as strong as it used to,
Pray everyday that I find a leisure in living,
An ego as hard and as haughty as a bull,
The failures have descended and slowly walked by.

Touch of love and heart-break has made me a lot older,
The comforts of friendly hearts have made feel lighter,
The confidence to rise upto my folks expectations,
I have had my share of smoke and my share of being a bit higher.

Assuming that life will no longer be different,
It makes me make designs of my own life as it wants,
Cruelly and without even considering the repercussions,
Consciously I despise my dreams, unconsciously I am happy.

Whatever I have learnt and whatever I can learn,
I have forgotten it with the puff of a cigarette,
Care of remembering any of the nonsense,
Has left me brightening up.

did i just write this in 10 mins and in the middle of the day????

2007-03-26T17:49:00.000+05:30

Why is that nearly all blogs in the universe are about random thoughts and expression merely on depression and sadness and remorse. God, people in the world are depressed. Hell, I used to think that the whole blogging scenario are meant to communicate the different ways of improved living. That was the main reason why I joined it and giving my inputs. At the start, it was only for the mere pleasure of vanity but…..now, it has become a huge part of my life. Earlier, I used to wait for 4 in the morning, when the whole 4 A.M. miracle used to hit me hard. Now, I can write absolutely anytime I want. And about anything I want. Like, right now, I am blaming the blog communities worldwide that people out there are more depressed than I am. Guess, everyone is suffering. As the famous REM song goes: “everybody hurts, everybody cries”.

The thing I don’t understand and would probably never be able to understand is that happiness is so easy to find when you are depressed or remotely sad. Then why don’t people write then. I try hard to write something funny, something cheerful, something red and not blue…..but, I cant. Maybe, it’s the vanity thing again….but, no, I am pretty sure its not that rite now. I am genuinely sad. Well, I just came from my trip to the cigarette shop, so I am pretty sure I am not sad. Its something else which I can’t put my fingers on. Ah….this sucks.

I have friends to cheer me. I have parents to care for me. I have done pretty well in my academic life to not worry about. I have listened to the innumerable songs which I always wanted to. I have seen more movies than Kubrick himself. I have sung every song I wanted to. I have shagged enough and have had my share of sex. Then, what the hell is wrong with me. God, I can complain. And its not that great a feeling. Let me tell you that.

By now, the irony of the essay is profound. Look at it. First of all, I complain about the complains of all bloggers in the world, then I end with complains of my own. Maybe, and this is one hell of a hypothesis, writing is just too personal and when you sit to write, the only thing that you can write about is the suffering you go through. The idea of writing itself is about suffering. I remember, once I was going through the epilogue of a Stephen King book (I think it was dreamcatcher). He had written that he suffered a lot while writing this book, and his sufferings were inadvertently passed on into the character and the storyline. Well, guess that’s what happens with me and the millions of bloggers. Maybe, when we sit to write, we suffer and remember all the suffering and write about them. Ha…..I have become good in understanding people. (:P). Maturity is not a curse then. Hmmmm…..need to think about it and write about it.

[P.S. the last few lines were on a happy note….cos I got a call from someone special and it made me forget a lot of pain…and it helped me write something joyful and merry. The person I am truly in lve with…..]

Enjoy and Rock on…..Abheet.

Btw, was listening to the soundtrack of "Garden State" while writing this piece. Awesome songs. go listen to them and defintely see the movie. Zach Braff and Natalie Portman. My fav romantic movie till date.

someone once told me:"ur the visual kinds"

2007-03-26T14:22:00.000+05:30

well, i pained ladoo to make this collage in picasa. it didnt come out exactly the way i wanted, but it has everything i want say thro' pictures. thr is metallica, cobain, eric foreman( thr is a feelin in me that i will turn out to be like him one day), maggie gyllenhall, gerrard, a pic of the movie garden state, the hope pic of shawshank redemption, the mind-twisting scene from a clockwork orange, monalisa with a lead guitar, my cell phone-the w550i, smokin and cigarettes, a lot of booze, interpol, bob dylan......etc etc. well, hope it says enuf.

The Adieu

2007-03-26T00:54:00.000+05:30

The goodbye. Officially.

Oh, man, this sucks. I just got myself crying and smiling all over again at the prospect of leaving my college, my village, my place, my freedom, my hostel, my friends, my ideas, my dreams, my life, my room, my computer, my show, my happiness, my sadness, my fucking everything.

This is going to be one hell of a year. Uncertain in so many ways. Not just from the point of leaving college and going, but from the perspective of the new life which I am going to lead and follow. The whole concept, of beginning a new life scares the shit out my bollocks. Where will I find strength I find in the people around me. The joy when I am with them and also when I am not with them. The cunning embarrassing show downs everyday. The running around girls for the pleasure of being a young kid just fresh out of adolescence. The late than later studying for the worse exams. The drinking and the smoking and the pepsis and the teas. Millions of calls to the one you love dearly each time. Well, guess its going to be Adieu to all of those small petty but unforgettable and cherished things I had in the 4 years of my college. My college….the famous Indian Institute of Technology, Madras. Famous, nahhhhh…..its not that good. But, suited me. And that is what made me cry tonight.

There is going to be more tears and more crying by the time we finish out of here. But right now, I will contemplate to have more and more fun and a lot of happiness. Bliss, they say, goes to the one who doesn’t regret about what they did or they are gonna do. Well, I think I have found that bliss. Insurmountably. Abundantly. Unassumingly.

Right now, after Adieu ’07, my legs hurt after the 2 hours of dancing. My neck hurts from the unimaginable head-banging. My throat’s choked with the shouting and the cursing. My specks broken because of my silliness. My new t-shirt and my pants dirty from the rolling around. I smell worse than the fish market. My shirt’s wet with the sweat of my childishness. My eyes teary with the tears I don’t know how to show. And, my dick’s heavy with what I saw and touched today……..

26^th March….. I may never forget. But still 2 months to the end. The end, my friend, my end…….

26^th March, 2007. 00:55 A.M.

no need of a title.

2007-03-25T18:19:00.000+05:30

This is the end, my end, my friend. The age of happiness is going away fast. Boredom’s creeping in, and I’m still waiting. Underneath the surface of love and compassion, I am finding depression and ache and tears. Wake me up when the September ends, I would like to cry…..but we are in March and there is a lot of time. Exactly 6 months and 3 days to the finale’. The departure to my own self. The hated side of my existence. The forced contemplations of heart ache all over again. Inconspicuous as it might look to people who know me, but yes, there is going to be some tears when the September ends. The sand, which you love so much, is going to be a distant memory. Our foolish, stupid, naughty talks are gonna be a reminiscence. A nostalgia of phone calls, long talks, kissing, loving, excuses, teasing are probably going to be the ones that will be left. I am not gonna cry, I will not shed a tear. Nope. “I am boy, I am boy. But my ma doesn’t agree it”- those are special words by the Who. And I believe them. Well, I hate this. Whenever I sit to write, I feel a special need to be sad…..to be miserable…..to be cheerless. Maybe, reading all the other blogs in the universe sends a message unconsciously to my head….that I should be like them…be Depressed and Sad. Well, will try to write something hell cheerful the next time. Try writing like the Rolling Stones. Or like Deep Purple.

Enjoy, and Rock On.

25^th March, 2007. 3.55 A.M.

March 24th, 2007....5.30 in the morning.....My observatory of youth

2007-03-24T06:54:00.000+05:30

My most experimental and long and passionate writing about my 3rd wing. The wing that had everything hidden and made me a man and weakling. My friends for the short life i will lead. This is to you, loves......go on and mock me.

Count me in,
Lose the dream,
Play the game,
Lets go sing.

Lets go swimming,
Lets go fishing,
Lets go running,
Lets go balling.

Build a house,
Burn a mouse,
Run around,
Till the clouds.

Kill the boredom,
Smoke up and die,
Drink till we cry,
Or till we are high.

Exuberate,
Elevate,
Manipulate,
Pulsate.

Say nothing,
To say everything,
Move around,
To go nowhere.

Drink tea,
Eat little,
Wake late,
Feel cripple.

Shout,
Support,
Curse,
Rejoice.

Lets go fucking,
At least talk about it,
Try our luck,
No doubt about it.

Talk as if we are brothers,
Walk as if we are brothers,
Share as if we are brothers,
Love as if we are enemies.

Lie for no reason,
Play games for fun,
Cheat for nothing,
Steal till the sun.

Act stupid,
Act serious,
Act innocent,
Act Kurt Cobain.

Listen to rock,
Listen to classics,
Listen to metal,
Listen to indi-pop.

Choose pink t-shirts,
And green jeans,
No underwear,
White chappals.

Closed doors,
Porn on comp,
Hand in use,
Now stomp.

Waste water,
Not for a bath,
But for fun,
Or fulfill your wrath.

Buy the loudest music player,
Buy the cheapest condom,
Steal the closest t-shirt,
Donate the worst comp.

Cry when we leave,
Laugh still,
Keep the tears inside,
And don’t send me the bill.

Cinderella

2007-03-21T14:50:00.000+05:30

We call the this enigma as fairy tale.
But devils are fictitious too, then why not devil tale.

Why not write fables of cunning wolves and killer dogs,
Of fabricated serial killers for kids, running around panicking about cockroaches.

About wars, blood-filled and about conjured treachery,
Satan’s works about corruption made to look merry.

Lust filled hunger of men and women,
To teach the young ones about how the world reigns.

Why not fill the bookstores about real truth,
Truth undeleted and true and not about fairies in heavens.

Pretentious episodes of massacres and assassination,
In 3^rd grade classes for students to revolt.

Worm alike nature would be considered a happiness,
Heaven then would be considered as useless and hapless.

The strength then among men would rule,
Women would live as the one among all.

The mind would forget the sensations of aching,
The force of sense would miserably held disappearing.

Isn’t it a curse to live life a fairy way,
Getting and doing things for the sake of producing infants.

Instead of thinking from the aspect of reality and truth,
Shadows and make believes eat us as brutes.

Politicians lie about politics, and a common man lies to his wife,
I lie in this poetry and you lie- that you like it.

Still the ones talked most about are kings and good deeds,
Why not make harder souls out of you.

Morals and ethics are just made up words,
When they sit writing in their rooms, the goodness blurs.

Now I must shut up and stop to admire,
And accept that I love to think about Cinderella.

March 21st, 2007. 5.04 a.m.

Writing the Ending

2007-03-21T14:22:00.000+05:30

There are so many ways of writing a story. So many ways of making one and then deleting one. But none of them have a vague ending and none of them have a special meaning towards the end. For example, “to sir, with love”……great story. But the end was not imp…..what was imp was the beginning and the middle.

Alright, why am I writing this. I m writing a story about an author. An author so into writing that he has spent classes after classes in hope of getting so bored that he can write one story that made real sense. In his recollection, he has never been able to write one. Why? Well the answer is simple, he doesn’t know how to end a story at all. He actually sucks in it. He hates to end a story. He goes on writing and writing, thinking how to end the damn story…..but all he does is makes the entire story a mini-novel and then ends abruptly. Eventually he forgets the idea of the story, or forgets where he wrote it and then thinks he is a bad writer who just needs a proper ending quotes.

Maybe, he is good. Maybe he is amazing. Just maybe, he is so talented. But the hint of genius comes only in his mind, when he dreams, the words flow from his interior but never flows when he writes those thoughts down. He feels as if, he is forgetting what all to write. He feels that what he is writing is absolutely worthless and absolutely useless. And to tell u people the truth, he is right. His writing are absolutely bizarre and absolutely senseless and has no meaning. But one thing I like about our friend, the author, is that he is never tired from the dissolution of failure. He has seen many failures in his life and this is just another one.

He writes on various topics. Politics, politicians, leaders, losers, Korea, America, Japan, Russia, democrats, republicans, congress, parliament, monuments, pornography, Japanese heroes, loudspeakers, rickshaw walla’s, trains, buses, cars, raincoats, terrorists, peacemakers, girls, boys, intercourse, Pamela Anderson, Marilyn Monroe, nouns, proverbs, punctuations, questions, answers, computers, hypnosis, matrix, neo, trinity, love, hate, gays, lesbos, alter-egos, sadness, happiness, arrogance, movies, pink floyd, nirvana,Courtneylove………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Now he is writing the story that will change everything. He is going to write the one and only of his stories where he has an ending without a hitch. And I am narrating the story which he is going to write. First of all, let us name this person. We might not need it, but our friend would obviously like a name. I want to call him Denver. I don’t know why.

Denver is sitting is a easy couch chair, leaning all back and waiting for thoughts to come to him. Generally, he is writing the first things that are coming in his mind. He is typing as fast as possible so that he doesn’t forget what he just thought. He is making a lot of mistakes. In Microsoft word, the lines in red are appearing in almost all the words. Sometimes he looks up to find the number of mistakes and this breaks his concentration and he gets slightly pissed with this. But he is keeping the calm he rarely has. He is shaking his left leg which is resting on his right leg. He simply looks up and finds that a certain content is flowing in him. But something is running in his mind that something is not really right. Somewhere, something has to give. He is thinking, I need a smoke. But he doesn’t want to take the risk of waiting again and writing the same story, so he keeps on typing and typing and typing and typing………

Denver thinks again and then reminds himself. He should smoke a little less. “This is nuisance”. He thinks. Someone in his neighborhood …his neighbor is playing a song he hates or dislikes. It irritates him a bit but, he thinks that was obvious. He looks to his right for the first time after nearly half an hour of writing. He looks up and the mistakes are flowing like rivers of red. Now his typing is as fast as possible. He thinks “At this rate, I will probably win a speed typing competition”. Shit!

Denver. Some say, the end of a story is most imp. He feels that the end makes the story and hence it is the most imp part. If the end is not right then the whole story sucks. For example, the godfather. If suppose in the end Marlon Brando wouldn’t have died and if Michael Corleone would not have become the godfather would the movie had done well………well it might have. But fuck those who think it would have been done in another way.

Denver and examples are a same pair. Without a solid example, he thinks that the derivation of a problem is unnecessary and shady. He is true sometimes. But what can u give example of a n-dimensional space. There is nothing in the world like that, but still there is something like that. But our friend thinks it is not……..he does not have an example and hence “fuck the n-dimensional theory”

Denver now has the end. It is like the scene from the movie “The Matrix Revolutions”. Where Agent Smith after fighting Neo, knows at that particular time he has to say something. He was supposed to say……everything that has a beginning has an end. In our case, he would not like to go so deep.

Denver has finished the story and thinks of the title………..he think….and thinks. Trying to give it a rock-alike title. Something to make him a part of Metallica or Nirvana…….so he gives the name……he gives “WRITING THE ENDING”.

The band that cruelly ran on my comp during the
time i wrote "writing the ending"...

INTERPOL.

cos tonight's the night, the world begins again....

2007-03-11T05:28:00.000+05:30

Night time has its own words to say,
But you cant hear it till its time to play.
My playtime begins at the end of 4 am,
When the first birds rejoice the sun rays.

The silence of the world I know is eerie,
The peace and quiet is so unseen.
The notion of them being asleep is strange,
The dirt they are now seem so clean.

I begin to wonder where I am,
And comprehend other places.
Like the world of rocks and visuals,
Of sentimental dialogues and love mazes.

Maybe I am insane to waste the whole morning,
Or I am the only sane one left.
But its important I know,
Cos there is hardly anything that I can accept.

What is the question of staying awake?
When the only thing will be to talk.
I just might stay awake and write,
For I have so much to say for you to mock.

I am negative like the iota on a plane,
This is my place to prove them wrong.
I hint of positive writing on the white background,
To tell my story, of a weakling who is strong.

Experimental ways have always been for vanity,
With an ending I cant decipher.
Its meaning I cant understand,
Two things help me: music and a bartender.

People have loved me and have hated me
Cant lie about not being loved for a day.
Cant lie about being depressed for a day,
I wanted to stay either black or white, but never gray.

So take these words and sing out loud,
Cos everyone is forgiven now,
Cos tonight’s the night,
The world begins again.

4 bottles of whisky and a coke bottle.....

2007-03-11T02:54:00.000+05:30

Four friends having the fun of their lives,
Like they never may have.
Its definitely their last one before leaving,
Filling the rain of time and saving.

Run the race of sleeping and waking up,
It’s a long way back.
Its now time to bring forth the big guns,
Of boozing and effortless love hack.

It is said that drinking is the best solution,
And I wouldn’t go against it.
But is it the best way of telling the truth?
When your whole life hangs about it.

Curse the one who made my drinks,
And praise him for being subtle.
It’s a shade out of order and array,
4 bottles of whiskey and a coke bottle.

Yawning away the time of my life,
Its fun to be awake and still alive.
Hard and hazy it is too be conscious,
When all I can do is just jive.

The songs playing in my head are too close to my head,
And too far away as well.
They say words which I may never grasp,
Just sing along, cos it makes me swell.

Now a man is on the moon,
That means he is high.
He feels he is Elvis or Cobain,
They went places but I found a place to cry.

Forgiveness is what I asked,
Dropped my guns and threw away my muzzle.
On the verge of vulnerability I took,
4 bottles of whiskey and a coke bottle.

dont pay too much attention

2007-03-11T02:19:00.000+05:30

Its march 11^th…..

The day when everything in this world seem meaningless. When everything in this world seem wasted. When everything in this world seems like a movie. When everything in this world seems like a book. When everything in this world seems like a song that buzzes every moment of your life. And that day happens to be now. when I’m drunk to the happy state of existence.

Its been a while since I have written serious matter on the things going around my life. Ha, my life. I cant believe that I have become a sort of a playboy. Its so weird for me to even think of it. Shady and so unlike me. But, hell………ladoo is right I guess. He told me a couple of days back that I was a bit too sentimental and the reason I keep getting dumped is my sentimentalism. But, shit…..is that true…..no wait….fuck….

Questions which I cant answer has been asked to me. Its my stupid heart that made me ask these. Like, what is the future? Or, the worse, where do you see yourself after 10 years? My brain….small one compared to yours said……said, attraction is the main thing. But I am just too complex too answer them. But I ask myself, when I became so complex. When did I start thinking about the other sex? But with maturity, came another dilemma, its called love. And I am in deep like the hell below. And high like the bittersweet stars above. And I hate it. I detest it. I loathe it too. But, I cant help it. My best friend is ladoo…….and he is in one of those love based purely on physical pleasure. Well, I think I am too….till sometime. But, now I know, how I feel. And I have had enough.

Just like I started, its been a while….and as so many song will tell me….its gonna be fine…

i was listening to snow patrol's "chasing cars" and had much booze to write this....so, forgive me if i said a bit too much...but...
i have said those three words,
just too much.
i guess, thats not enough.

thought i had something more to say

2007-03-10T13:37:00.000+05:30

i dont think why i wrote so much this week. never in my short fullfilled life, i have felt so inspirational to write more than 20 poetries. yup, 20 poetries in a week. i cant actually tell why i felt like writing, but heart's a weakling....cries without caring much about the ache. anyways, i love these 3 poetries i wrote. feel somewhat like Bob Dylan. ok, not like dylan, but atleast like Syd Barrett. check them out.....and if your are a publisher....call me....

Let the violins cry

As I brace my self for heaven,
As I wait for the day to come.
I clasp my hand for any forgiveness,
Keeping pleasures for my own.

It will be a while before I see you,
It will be a while before we walk.
U may forget all things we said.
But my memories all wont dissolve.

Shooting darts at all ambitions,
You were far ahead of me.
But one thing that will never change,
Are my propositions and humility.

And now your placing things in order,
And telling people the weird lie.
Forcing tears out of me,
When I let the violins cry.

My March

Everyday in March the late fall was blue,
Those young upright trees reaching for the sky,
like love they flourished and grew.
Above us floated the fair clear sky,
Which a cotton white cloud was walking through,
And with faith in your heart it shall never leave you.

Under that same sky we would fall,
Down rabbit’s hole and above eden’s garden,
We would run and crawl.
Only to find ourselves entangled,
Mercilessly in fits of flowing wind and shawl,
Outside I wait for cupid’s call.

Fine I feel cursed and roads are winding,
Deliberately I step into a place not meant for me,
Inching closer to submissive worsening.
Finding doors closed on the path,
I notion a pain increasing and admitting,
I stand by a fortress, loud and sacrificing.

I have said enough, and wish I could have said more,
Some things are meant to be silent,
Some try to reach out on your shore.
You know its cruel to keep mum,
Interpreting this for you is my docility,
For me its easy like a whore.

Moonlight’s Song

As the cheerless wind pass by my window,
I can see a washed out moon through the fog.
And then a voice inside my head,
Breaks the analogue.

I survived against the will of my twisted folk,
But in the deafness of my world the silence broke…and said,
"Follow me down to the valley below
You know, moonlight is bleeding from out of your soul"

My love don't you worry,
This cold world is not for you.
So rest your head upon me,
I have the strength to carry you.

"Follow me down to the valley below,
You know, moonlight is bleeding from out of your soul,
Come to me friend,
It's time for you to go".

january 6th.....my employed nite-out

2007-02-15T19:33:00.000+05:30

“Its been a while, since I could hold my head up high,
Its been a while, since I could look at myself straight.”

Those happen to be the lyrics of the song “its been a while” by staind and right now, applies to me in every sense or sensibility……I HAVE GOT A JOB. A place of my own, a seat of my own, a life I can stand out for, a place in my dad’s heart, a reason to find myself, a reason for all the hard work and shit I took of the college….and I have got a job.
Manhattan associates. A company I had never even heard of till today morning. But now that it has come walking upto me…I feel so fucking relieved that I cant start to think what I have to do or where to start doing it. That’s probably one reason why I am writing this at 4 in the morning, cos I have absolutely no clue what to do after this. Seems like all the purpose and pre-requisite of life has come to its place. I want to call someone and tell them that I have got a job…..I want to keep talking for hours on the net with friends and enemies and tell them that I have been placed. But I know its going to be idiotic and useless. Not many people are going to enjoy me calling them up at 4 in the morning. But, shit……what a fucking relief.
A day where I started out planning so many things. First of all, I was really unsure whether to go for the company. I was confused….and a slightly scared to compete against so many other guys a lot better than me. But, all those people reading this blog….let me tell you guys a “BIG” secret. I am freakingly talented from the inside. I have started believing in one big thing: “I CAN PUT A LOT A LOT OF FART, WHEN ITS NEEDED”. A politician’s trait, I know. But, I can be a great politician….and I think….well, everyone thinks……that’s how it works in a company. You have to be political….and now, I am in.
Looking at what kind of a job I will be getting……who the hell gives a shit. More importantly, I will be in Bangalore. Anusha and ladoo made loads of fun because of this placement. But, shit….I would lie like hell if I don’t say that, I will enjoy being there with durba. She is the reason I so wanted to go to Bangalore. She has become one of the guiding light of my life. In some way or another….I work and toil and fight…..because of her. Its strange for me….very new and very stupid. But, hell….who cares. I don’t care what others think about this idiotic thinking process of mine. But, I like to believe…that I have finally found someone dying for. Someone, I can look upto at the high points and the lows. And I am more than happy. No wait…..I am extremely happy.
And guys…..another thing that attracts me to the company…..hehe…..the package. Which was one of the big reasons of giving the test in the first place. Else than that….all the bull-crap about how the job is and everything….who cares.

Well, it was nice writing today’s blog. It was fun to an extent. This is how I am when happiness takes away all the pain. I have not slept for the past 2 days because of a lot of things. And now……I am not even feeling a bit sleepy. I feel like running around the town and shout out loud about what I have just done. And oh….nearly forgot.
My lovely 3rd wing. Thanks a lot. You guys made my day. To ladoo, anusha, cheenti, pati, majas, gillete, sachin, my dad, my mom, sis, all my relatives, etc etc etc….thanks a lot for making my day.

And dad, well, I know you wanted to see me go into a core company and shit…..but hopefully since you may never read this…..I have always hated core companies. Hated chemical engineering from day 1. So, I would have never loved it there. And plus…cmon, dad…..try to understand…..your hone-waali bahu is in Bangalore….so please spare a thought for us.
With love for all those guys and gals……Abheet.

Rahul’s position in the universe…..

2006-12-07T10:24:00.000+05:30

Well, imprisonment is a strong word. It can be used in absolutely all context of life and has a strange power to distract you from the thing that you are doing right now. Like, for example….I am trying to write on my computer. But in the back of mind, I am contemplating that, “since my computer is on, why not I play a couple of songs…or play a game and then resume….”. That is the way every single soul has been imprisoned by the technology of the internet, the LAN and the worst disease…or the virus….games.

Here goes Rahul’s famous and mostly crude hypothesis. He is a shy, content, small, simplistic, sometimes ambitious, subtle human being. Very intelligent and sometimes very dumb. Decision-maker in his own repertoire of judgment. Sometimes, I love that bastard and sometimes just laugh out loud about the innocence of his judgment and talk. But….he is nice in all his idiotic adventures. About his hypothesis…..remember that I am talking from a third-person’s point and from a very idiotic talk over a cigarette.

He used to gaze at the stars at night whenever he used to have a spare time to reflect on his life. He enjoyed this simple pleasure to spend it with silence, with beauty, with the moon and the stars, and most importantly….about his glorious future and his dreams. He exact words were, “ I still remember the times I spend on my corridors lying silent and watching and gazing at the beautiful universe…made me feel like I am a part of this universe”. Then I asked him, with what context and circumstance was he saying this. He said, “ Yesterday, at 1 in the morning….when our net got cut and my Counter Strike game got halted….I did the same thing. I went to the parapet…lay there and smoked a cigarette. But this unique thing happened. I looked at the sky and the stars like I used to when I was a kid. And suddenly remembered the dreams and ambition I used to have….and now I suddenly forgetting those and getting cocooned up. Roomed up. Prisoned up. Literally…..getting bottled up by words like selfishness, rat-race, cunningness, unfaithfulness, supremacy, power, hate, rage……What have we become? Have we become the prisoner of this strange society? The society which we wanted to build for our own convenience. What’s suddenly wrong with us?”

Rahul said that. For one moment….I was grinning….because I could never imagine a guy like Rahul to come up with a philosophy so strong that its inconceivably true. What have we become??? We have become a prisoner. A prisoner of our own prison. We hardly read books nowadays. We hardly read the newspapers. We hardly communicate. We hardly refer to the dictionary. We hardly talk. We hardly………there is so many things that we have stopped doing since a person called Bill Gates revolutionized what we call Windows XP. Well, its not his fault for sure.

That day, I had 3 instances when I thought, I should seriously write it. One, was Rahul’s out of the blue philosophy of life. Second, was my sister….who called up all the way from Detroit just to tell me, that she was online and would like to chat……that hurt. Thirdly……well, it may not sound cool or forward….just might sound pathetically unworthy of note…but it touched me…..this poetry was in Hindi but I had to translate it into English. It’s the lines from the movie Munnabhai-2. It literally told me to write this piece.

“For all of them who running in the city,

On the verge for the race of the city.
If that’s the life then what is death.

Complain about the train being late due to the first rain,
But do you remember the fun in getting drenched in that same rain.
You would probably know everything about the serial characters,
But don’t have the time to care about your mother…..
For pleasure you took a carefree walks on the beach sand..
Now, there are 108 channels…but do you enjoy them.
Connected with the global village through the internet..
But cant know who’s in our neighbors.
Life’s full with mobile and landlines…….
But don’t have that line that connects you with your best friend.
Remember the last time when you saw the sunset.
And remember when the evening is over.

Still you want to run in the race…

If this is life then what is death…..”.

dylan's "the times they are a-changing"

truth is sometimes harsh-IT firms and their "kindness" towards smoking zones

2006-12-02T01:48:00.000+05:30

I was going through my mail a couple of days back and found this certain pic, very interesting and out of the ordinary. Generally in IT firms, they have inspirational posters and company strategies hanging and sinfully asking its workforce to do some worthy work. But this pic hit a different note and think, left an impression…….

The pic is of the smoking area of the firm…..

Note that the poster is hanging on the top of the ceiling and it is calling out that smoking area is the coffin of the company.

When I first saw it, I felt like laughing and complimenting the makers of such an awesome idea. Then the usual strategy shit of the stringent companies took over…..think about it, it also commands you that you start working and stop smoking……

50 things I have to do by the age of 25

2006-11-29T18:54:00.000+05:30

Go to a Pink Floyd concert
Get an autograph of Gilmour or Wright
Watch Liverpool play any side at Anfield
Sing the song “sing” by the Dresden Dolls to a crowd of ppl who critic my singing ability
Any metallica cover sung by me….in front of a crowd…
Meet the person who said “College education must have Attendance”
Learn the meaning of the word “Ego” and “Confidence”……ya, it has a deeper layer attached to it….
Run a entire triathlon
Finish watchin all the top 250 movies on the IMDb top 250 list…..i am already half way there
Prove to atleast one person in this world that Satyajit Ray was better than Kurosawa and definitely better than Kubrick
Finish writing a novel with a title which has no meaning…..
Believe in “grass in greener on the other side”
Fuck atleast one prof’s daughter…..just to piss the shit out of him
Kick Anusha’s ass atleast once to prove to her wht a man I am……its might never gonna happen but…..
Watch a record 10 movies in a day
Read an entire novel…atleast 300 pages in a day…..which is definitely impossible for me
Prove Anand(prof) wrong about my trip to pune
Download an entire movie…….thats a test of my patience
Kiss Sushmita Sen and then I am ready to go to jail
Type at a speed of lightning……300 words/min is more than enuf
Not smoke for a complete week…..no wait….2 days at a stretch
Meet a terrorist and tell him……ur awesome
Dope up and get as high as the stars and the heaven…..if there is anyplace beyond that….let it take me
See “lock, stock and two smoking barrels” after a slight high
Headbang with a girl in a metal concert
Remember my mom’s bday atleast once in these 4 yrs….
Wake up at 6 in the morning
Meet P.V. Narasimha Rao……..its a waste I know….but he was right in a lot of places
Participate in an Indira Gandhi Hate March
Fuck atleast one shiv sena or bajrang dal activist…….tell them on their face wat sons of bitches they are
Make a software…any software….a porn search software will also do…but it shud be credited to me
Understand free software and open source software and- WAT THE HELL IS LINUX?
Read a book about the life and death of Che Guevara…..and a positive view point is wat I need
Tell on the face of an American…..u guys rock man….fuck the world as much as u want….its the way to go….an then shake his hands and salute him
Convince durba, she has found someone awesome and a li’l screwed up
Give my Mom the present of her lifetime and show dad, that I love her more than he does…..hehe
Meet Fred, Sai and Rino at Softy Den………and order a Rs. 5 cone ice-cream……and talk nothing but about girls we missed out on…..
Watch an entire day go by, and not feel guilty about absolutely anything…..think, no one can achieve this
Make my sister cry by showing her how much I love her….
Have long hair…..and hey look cool
Get a tattoo with the message “u know ur alrite”.
Travel in a general bogie for a whole night…..
Visit Arunachal again….and not miss a single part of it
Debate about two things with professionals…..one Kubrick was an asshole and secondly Metallica sucks in front of Nirvana
Try understanding the meaning of the song “smells like teen spirit”…..cos there are like a million stories and interpretations about the song
Have money to buy myself a car
Learn how to ride a bike…….(embarrassing)
Learn atleast the basics of a electric guitar, and play the one song I can die for….”new slang” by the shins….
Flirt with riya……one thing, I just cant….my libido never allows me too….probably I just like her too much
Do all he above 50 things without fail…haha…am too lazy to do any one of them

the most abstract likings of mine

2006-11-29T17:59:00.000+05:30

Three hours of sleep on a lazy Monday afternoon.
Live show of rhcp
Dylan with only a guitar
Movie abt nazi killins
Watchin the watch on the verge of hittin 4
Cigarettes of regular
Show incomplete and incomprehensible
Kubrick on the idea of WW3
Books without philosophy or intent of creating a scene
NIRVANA
Cobain
Novoselic
Grohl
All that you cant leave behind
Staring and gazing at the field for a laugh or a grin
Attendance problem
Cool tshirts and a ragged jeans
Writing things no one comprehends or follows or criticize or sympathize or emphasize or underlines or overlines or just cries…….
Friends on the corridor and in my room without a cause to be there
Heart
Eddie Vedder
Lyin on the parapet and deciding which side I shud put my feet…..
Talking on my old cell and pray for some fucked up connectivity
Searchin for the rite movie on the rite time and on the rite day
My ATM
Solitude and silence and darkness
Black
Ballack
Kaka
Messi
Gerrard….mostly his right foot
Slow ballads of extreme rock bands and see their lonely heart and feel incredibly happy
Moves and shakes and breaks and cracks and cokes and dopes
Keys on the hangin point
6 oclock
4 am with net
Chicken and fried
Smoking is injurious to health
And “thank you for smoking”
Archer
Kane and abel

And writing the shit out of anything……and ppl reading the shit…..

My dream…..

2006-11-18T23:16:00.000+05:30

Wat is the first impression u get when u see this kind of post? Ya ya…..i know. I must be writing abt my future. The big fuckin dreams I have and shit like that. Well, guess wat, I have stopped dreamin abt my future a long time back. Well, atleast 2 years ago for sure. Now, I can care no less. I wait to get the hell out of this place and clean my slates and move on. Ya, I would cry the last day here…cos I would miss my college life and more importantly, my friends. The freedom and my dad’s hard earned money.

But, this is not abt me. Its abt this dream. U know those lazy afternoon naps rite. If ur young like im rite now, well, u would understand. If ur old like im goin to be in 50 years, the hell with u. so, anyways, this lazy Thursday afternoon, while mugging, I fell asleep with the idea to wake up in 15 mins. I slept for more than an hour and this dream stuck to my head. And this is the story…..

MY DREAM BEGINS HERE

I love myself. I love every part of being me. I love the idea that im the one guy in this world who would die for another man for anything. If I have to give away my organs for that one man, I will graciously. But this man, he doesn’t exist. He exist in the celluloid world. He belongs only on the screen. He is non-existent actually. And he comes to our world again next may. And I die next month. This is December and im goin to the other side of the universe by January.

Now, I hate myself so much. Not hate because of the choices I made. But hate cos i cant keep my penis from rocketing each time it sees a beautiful lady. And hate cos I cant spend a penny on the word called contraception. Yes, I have aids and I die in a month.

But, death is not why I hate myself. I hate it cos I wont be able to see the one man I love perform again. And he happens to be rocky bilbao.

(author: if this would not have been a dream, I would have definitely put some artificially implanted, intellectually propagated character like yanni or maharishi, but I cant lie really well. Atleast not at the rite places)

Rocky Bilbao…..the most popular underdog story of all time. The man, who fought against all odds and against himself to become a two-time world heavyweight champion. Ya, he did it on the screen but he did it with so much perfection and poise that I cant help myself falling in love with the man. I have never needed a wife. The tv screen kept me company all nite. And with my looks, I could have had any girl I wanted for a wham, bam, thank u, ma’m.

Now that u can see my obsession with Rocky, well let me swank a bit more too.

I have everything u want a twisted asshole like me to have abt Rocky. I have posters of every Rocky story in every room. I have more than 45 posters in my 2-bedroom apartment. I will not deny, but I have kicked girls and thrown them out of my place for their lack of appreciation for my obsession with Rocky Bilbao. Bloody sluts. When will they see how much I adore the man, without asking abt it too much. Wat is their problem with me and rocky in the same room, as she is goin to get banged anyways.

Anyways, the final rocky bilbao movie comes out in may, and I am goin to die in January. I am showing this piece from the dream of a man, who will probably just write this for attention. But, I need to show it to him. Hope that his post in a certain blog be seen by a promotional asshole who forwards it to my Rocky……and I get my chance to be remembered forever by him.

END OF MY DREAM

Prologue:

Well the dream was very much similar to this. I added some spice to make it more..u know…..psued. but, I think it means wat I say.

cat's in 5 days and i am bloggin....cant help

2006-11-15T15:25:00.000+05:30

This week has been a topsy-turvy ride into hell and back. I have cat and end sem comin as close as possible and they both are lookin and staring at me as if to say……fuck u kid……..

But managed to get some new and lovely songs. At first I thought that with the type of mugging I have to do, its near impossible to do anything new and hear anything new. But guess wat, during these high-pressure adrenaline pounding painful weeks, the fun to do something different and time wasting is always a lot of fun.

So here is wat I have been listening to lately. I got this 3 doors down song from binay. By the way, bunay is this guy in my hostel. We used to be close, but now I don’t know, where we stand. Anyways. He gave me “here by me” by 3 doors down and me and ladoo have become crazy about it. It’s a rock ballad and its freaking awesome. Its so good and I even put the lyrics into my orkut profile and now presently dreaming abt singin it in some college competition. Ya, that’s my flaw…..whenever I listen to a good song, I dream abt the song on my lips in front a crowd. It happened with me during the teen spirit era, then stairway to heaven era and a million times after that.

Well, I was talking abt “here by me”. Its definitely a love song. Something I wouldnt have heard normally….but this song was an exception on its own way. And I say proudly. I have mugged a love song. Go screw me.

Other than that. LYN by 4lyns……that is the type of song I used to hear in my 1^st year. Hard and raw and rap-metal. But the lyrics though not strong and intriguing, was a ok song for linkin park fans. Panic at the Disco is slowly but steadily becoming one of my fav bands. Teir song “lying is the most fun a girl can have without taking her clothes off” is just brilliant. The video is exciting and strange. Something I love. Ever since I have heard “I write sins and not tragedies”, they have made me wait for their videos and albums. Their album is not that great, but these two songs are good and vibrant.

My Chemical Romance. U know why they r famous……cos they suck and sing for sissy girls. Their lead singer is cute…that’s wat one girl told me in orkut. And shit, their lead singer cant sing crap. I sing better and in my toilet. But, cancer is a good song…..though not a new theme….but alrite…

Finally……the band I am surely goin to listen. MUSE. Oh! Man wat a band. They rock like hell. Post-punk and hardcore. Lyrics emulating coldplay of even metallica. They r good.

Anyways, that’s all. And ya, I wrote this in Microsoft word…..hence the capitals after every full-stop……rock on.

And fuck u kid,…..

poverty and terrorism

2006-10-22T14:37:00.000+05:30

When resource is abundant
There is plenty of peace
Shortages lead to turmoil
Turmoil leads to war
War leads to poverty
Poverty leads to terrorism

When democracy is abundant
There is plenty of stability
Dictatorship leads to anarchy
Anarchy leads to war
War leads to poverty
Poverty leads to terrorism

When education is abundant
There is plenty of knowledge
Ignorance leads to conflicts
Conflicts lead to War
War leads to poverty
Poverty leads to terrorism

When peace is abundant
There is plenty of harmony
Bad leadership leads to chaos
Chaos leads to war
War leads to poverty
Poverty leads to terrorism

well the start is here....this week's music..

2006-10-21T16:31:00.000+05:30

the start is always the toughest. u have absolutely no clue wat to write and wat to do.... plus, i think i am losin it on internet. i seriously didnt know wat to do here in blogspot.
well, lets see wat to talk.
first of all, blogspot.....kya pain hain be. it shud be more easy to use. its too damn difficult to use. it has just too many questions....i just copied and pasted from orkut and made the blog...
but the main reason to make my blog is to tell ppl abt wat all i listen and see. i love music...and have started listening to alternative rock like hell. i like the idea of underground music..and want to create a indian base. our rock scenario is just too awesome and can have a huge sucess..but it needs exposure. we r just too concerned about that stupid reshamiya...
i want ppl to see the underground rock and pop scenario of india. there r so many awesome bands that it will take ages for a man to learn indian rock. and thats where i want to come in and change the system......

well, that was not bad a start....next blog, i will discuss the music i discovered this week...so if u want it.....just knock on 245, godavari, iitmadras......im always ready to help u